# The Realms of Enlightenment: The Grey Companions



## Jon Potter

Okay, recently my PBEM game made the switch to 3E (finally). I've decided to post the group's adventures here for the possible enjoyment of others. I've got 15 sections that I will post, bringing the game up to date. After that, the updates will settle into a once-a-week schedule. The first nine posts use 2E rules but I think they're necessary to get the gist of what's happening in the game.

The charcter stats are available in the Rogue's Gallery.

Older write-ups (pre-board) are available for download as Word documents here, here, and here.

You can also find the early adventures as .pdfs, repackaged with introductions, and reader blurbs. These represent the most complete chronicle of the campaign.


 Volume One: The Grey Companions
 Volume Two: To Live and Die in Riverneck
 Volume Three: Something Rotten in Barnacus
 Volume Four: Against the Cult of Chaos
 Volume Five: The Problem with Portals
 Volume Six: A Tale of Two Forests

 Volume Seven: The Keys to Her Heart

Now, on with the show...


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #179] A Gathering Storm*

After they had all eaten their fill of chicken pastries and lamb stew (which in Kirnoth's case wasn't much - he left several fatty gobbets of lamb in his bowl) the conversation turned from pleasantries to talk of strategy. At the first mention of it, Abernathy hurriedly began gathering plates and bowls, the signal to Gwaedry and Allylra that it was time for the family to retire to the kitchen.

"Abernathy?" Ledare said to get the man's attention before he left. "Could you possibly show Draelond, here the way to the Day Room. Maybe he could pick out some libations for us all."

Draelond looked a little puzzled, but he nodded and got to his feet.

"I would be happy to-" the manservant began to protest, but seeing the look on the Janissary's face, he realized that the tactic had more to do with getting the big warrior out of the room and less with thirst. His face went blank, betraying not a hint of emotion and he bowed his head to Ledare.

"It would be my honor," Abernathy said. "Please follow me, Goodman Draelond."

The two men left and Ledare immediately leaned forward. "Draelond has offered his sword to help our cause," she told them.

"Really? Why?" Kirnoth asked, a trifle surprised that anyone would want to put himself so readily in harm's way.

"He says that he owes much to the king, and would be willing to assist us in our assignment," the Janissary explained. "He seems sincere, and quite sure of himself."

"Well, he did help us once, already," Finian said. "He seems worthy enough."

"I have no objections," Kirnoth put in with a nod.

"What do you think, Ledare?" Ruze asked.

Ledare considered for a moment, her eyes studying the tabletop and her trigger finger gently tapping her lips as she pondered. At last she looked up and nodded her head. "He certainly is strong," she admitted. "And we could use his help."

"If Ledare approves," Ruze said, "that's good enough for me."

Everyone looked over at Omrixx and the half-elf sat up in his seat. "I get a vote?" he asked.

"Why wouldn't you?" Finian asked.

"You are one of us, are you not?" Ledare added.

"Being so new to your group, I questioned whether I would get to voice an opinion," Omrixx said. "But, if my opinion is wanted it would be to let this young human join us. More numbers will only help us in future confrontations, be it Nunzio or anything further."

"Then it is settled," Ledare said.

"I found something interesting when I was going through the stuff we found on Mice and Fendy," Finian began. "They might be even more appropriate now. Let me go grab them."
He stood up and Omrixx got to his feet at the same time.

"Let's grab everything, I'd like another chance to look at what we've got," he said and he and Finian hurried off into the Audience Chamber.



When they both returned, Draelond had also come back from his foray to the Day Room. A two-gallon keg of Bone Hill Ale sat on the tabletop beside him. Ledare was explaining to him the nature of the King's mission and the uncertain path that lay before them.

"We have to weigh our options," she concluded. "The king has charged us to deal with the skaven, which we have not done. That was primarily due to the fact that we lacked a plan and the manpower to pull anything off. We may be better equipped now."

Draelond grinned and nodded. "I hope that I may live up to the faith that you all have showed in me," he said.

"I think she was talking about all this stuff," Omrixx chuckled as he lay the double armload of miscellaneous gear on the table.

"No, I was talking about Draelond, but all of this stuff might help too," she said.

Finian put the gear that he was carrying on the table beside Omrixx's load and then pulled out two necklaces from the pile. Most of them recognized the mithral coin that was the symbol of the Grey Company as he held them aloft.

"I think that these definitely should go to Draelond, for helping save us, and to Omrixx, who gave his away," the Archer announced. With a smile at Omrixx he added, "Provided he does not trade this one for a pile of magic beans."

The half-elf's face darkened, however and through gritted teeth he growled, "I believe those "beans" saved us from Nunzio and I will be more prepared to kill him next time because of that wise choice."

Finian blinked and lowered the two necklaces. "I was just teasing," he said.

"Sorry," Omrixx muttered, not looking the Archer in the eye.

"Well, I, for one, will accept this token with all due reverence," Draelond said. "I am truly honored to be counted amongst your number." He took one of the coins from Finian and slipped the leather thong over his own head, smiling broadly all the while.

"It seems I am just in time," Abernathy announced as he re-entered the Dining Room with a tray of shining silver mugs. "A toast is in order."

Abernathy distributed mugs while Draelond insisted on dispensing the beer and they all (except for Abernathy, of course) raised a mug to their newest member. No one noticed the half-elf do anything, but the mithral coin that Finian had laid on the tabletop when he'd gotten his beer had somehow migrated to hang around Omrixx's neck by the time they all shouted "Huzzah!"

Once again, Ledare stopped Abernathy before he could slip back to the kitchen. "When will we find out about this secret transportation possibility?" she asked the manservant and Abernathy clutched the round tray in front of himself like a shield.

"I will begin looking for all of the necessary references in the morning," he told her. "Master Mirelich keeps meticulous notes. It shouldn't take me more than a day or two to find what I'm looking for. Is that acceptable?"

"I imagine we'll be busy over the next few days, anyway," she told him. "But I'm also curious to know what contingencies have been left by the Grey Lords in their absence?"

The manservant sighed. "Very little, I'm afraid," Abernathy explained. "The Grey Lords are often absent from Grey House for extended periods on one quest or another so they left no specific instructions this time. They certainly didn't expect to die this time."

Abernathy's face fell and in that moment, he looked very old.

"I can't imagine that they are all dead," Ledare said, intending to lift his spirits a bit. "Perhaps they are fighting a bigger battle on some other kind of plane of existence."

"Perhaps," Abernathy reluctantly agreed.

"If that is the case, what could we possibly hope to accomplish by following them?" Ledare asked and Finian shrugged.

"And if they are actually dead, I hate to say it, but we would do very little good in that case either," the Archer admitted. "I suggest we stay here and pursue an immediate assault on the sewer to find Nunzio."

"I think it is possible the Grey Lords are fighting on another plane," Kirnoth told them. "But if they are or if they're dead, as Finian thinks, I believe our first obligation is to Grey Company. That is particularly true given that the skaven fit into the evil we would be fighting by going to Myth Drannor."

"So you think," Ruze said, taking a long pull on his beer. "There is no strong evidence that the trouble in Myth Drannor is related to the troubles here. We KNOW there's a Chaos temple in Othelwood. We have no idea what awaits us in Pellham."

"Ruze is right. After we take care of Nunzio and any other skaven, I say we head to Othelwood," Finian suggested and Kirnoth groaned.

"Our focus should be on the troubles in Myth Drannor," the mage reiterated.

"I'm afraid that the King's mission must take precedent," Ledare told Kirnoth.

"I was not one of the original members to have been procured by the King, but I seem to be involved none the less," Omrixx spoke up. "And regardless of the path we take toward stopping this evil, the outcome should be the same as the King would desire, anyway. Yes?"

Finian nodded.

"I say we finish the King's mission first," Omrixx went on. "Finian is right, with the festival going on, Nunzio may be able to harm many more innocents, if that is his cause. Now would be an ideal time for him to strike with the festival's added populous."

Heads nodded around the table and the elf let out a resigned but exasperated sigh. "Fine," Kirnoth acquiesced. "We deal with the skaven first, then go to Myth Drannor."

Several of his Companions opened their mouths to protest, but Kirnoth raised his hand to silence them. "At least, that's where I'll be going, unless Abernathy uncovers information to change my mind," the elf told them. "I would love to have all of you accompany me, but I'll be going one way or another."

"I will try my best to find out what I may," Abernathy told the assemblage. "I will spend tomorrow writing letters to each of the Grey Lords and researching a way to cover the distance between here and Myth Drannor."

"Thank you, Abernathy," Ledare said and the manservant started to turn toward the door.

"Wait, Abernathy!" Omrixx called and the man turned back toward him. "Could you take a look at some of this gear and see if you recognize their make."

"I'm sure that that's beyond my-" Abernathy started to say and then his eyes fell on Fendathiel's matched scimitars. He picked them up and closely examined the bears carved into the hilts and pommels of both weapons. "Oh my," he said, sounding every bit as surprised as he looked. "I do recognize these. Masters Mirelich and Ocif made them for Mistress Cerakkean. They're called Scimitars of Doubling. When she got her current weapons Mistress Cerakkean must have given these to Fendathiel."

"What do they do?" Finian asked but Abernathy just shrugged.

"I don't really know," he admitted. "I believe they allow the wielder to use them both without suffering the usual troubles from wielding two weapons."

"None of the rest of this stuff you recognize?" Omrixx asked again, holding up the spectacles and one of the wands for the manservant to see. Abernathy just shook his head again.

"Give me those," Kirnoth said, accepting the spectacles from Omrixx. "I'll examine them before I go to bed. But right now, let's decide on a plan of action to get the skaven immediately."

Ledare rolled her shoulders to work some of the kinks out of them. "Let's discuss it in the morning," she said. "Some of us haven't slept since night before last."



Omrixx stayed up for a while after the others had gone to bed and copied another spell out of the tome Kirnoth had liberated from Andamacles' stronghold. Kirnoth spent a number of hours carefully examining the spectacles, the sets of keys, the two chests, and finally the various gems. He checked them all for any of the hallmarks of magical construction or any sign of enchantment whatsoever. There was none. They were all mundane. Disappointed, the elf contented himself by transcribing two new spells from Andamacles' tome to his own spellbook. He climbed the stairs to his room with the spells Stinking Cloud and Spider Climb waiting to be cast once his manna had recharged overnight.



Sometime later they were all jolted out of a sound sleep by a brilliant flash of lightning that left a blurry white after-image burned into their fields of vision. They each sat bolt upright in their narrow beds with adrenaline coursing through there veins. The sound of rain or hail pounding down on the roof of Grey House soon followed and one by one they crept across their darkened rooms and opened the heavy shutters to look outside.

It was raining hard outside, but there was something very wrong. As a gust of wind blew some rain drops against the pain of glass separating them from the outside, they each saw, to their horror, what was wrong.

It was raining blood.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #180] Rat Catching*

They met in the hallway, disheveled from sleep but energized by the horror that they had each seen outside their window. "This has to be a sign of something bad!" Finian asserted and Kirnoth shook his head.

"Little escapes your keen perceptions, does it, Finian?" the wizard groaned and rubbed at his bloodshot eyes.

"He's right, Kirnoth," Ledare countered. "Whatever this means, it certainly can't be a good sign."

"I do not remember," the Archer went on. "Have we had any prophecies of it raining blood?"

"As I recall, there have been numerous references to blood," Ledare said after a moment's pondering. "But nothing specifically about blood raining from the sky."

"I'm betting this signals the birth and it's taking place in Othelwood," Kirnoth suggested. "We should head there immediately!"

Ledare shook her head. "I, for one, feel it necessary to stay and continue with the task of ridding the sewers of the skaven," she told the elf. "If I run off to Othelwood without first completing that assignment, I fear I will have to answer to the king."

"Even if it means missing our opportunity to stop this evil at the source?" Kirnoth went on.

"As much as I agree with you, that this blood must be a sign of the birth," the Janissary explained, "I can't just leave to pursue that unless I can make a connection in my mind between the two."

The mage sighed.

"For the little that I know about this situation," Draelond offered, "I agree with Ledare's point. Whatever we think about the blood-rain at this point is purely conjecture until someone can put hard and fast connections between it and the birth Mice spoke of."

"We need to act immediately, but I do not know what is best to do!" Finian growled and slammed his fist against the doorjamb. "It is very frustrating."

"I agree," Omrixx said. "But I'm in no shape to go anywhere until I've rested more and given my magic time to recharge."

The half-elf looked at Kirnoth to back him up and the elf nodded. "I require more rest as well," he told them. "I would be of limited use if we go anywhere tonight."

"Well, you two get back to bed then and the rest of us should meet now and put our heads together," Ledare suggested.

"The King's charge is to deal with the skaven," Draelond said. "And as Ledare mentioned earlier, now that we have more manpower, perhaps an organized plan of attack might get us somewhere."

"If we're going to go after the skaven," Kirnoth added. "Let's do it in the morning and stop letting them get in the way of other things we have to do."



So Kirnoth and Omrixx returned to bed and did their best to rest although it did not come easy.
The others gathered in the Library and went over the various clues and prophecies that they had collected over the last few moonsdances. They studied each intently, looking for any mention of a rain of blood. The closest they could find was a snippet of poetry:

"As with plague the world becomes stained,
Slaying the righteous of Light slowly waned,
Seek then to free Her, a goddess unchained."

"Plague isn't the same as blood," Ledare said after she read the passage aloud. "But blood-rain will certainly leave a stain on the world."

Finian yawned. "Maybe," he groaned. "But it seems like a stretch to me."

"It's the best connection that we've got at this point," the Janissary told him and he shrugged.

"Uh huh," Finian said, getting out of his chair stiffly, "Well, if Omrixx and Kirnoth are going to sleep for a few more hours, I'm going to get a bit more rest, too. I plan to use one of those healing potions in the morning, but I may as well make the most of my herbal remedies until then."

Ruze stood as well and nodded. "I believe that my time would best be spent in meditation," he told them. "I'll just fetch myself a snack from the kitchen and head up to my room."

Ledare looked at Draelond after the others had left. "You can go too," she told him. "I'm going to stay up and try to find a reference to the name: Zagaroth. Mice'talla'burra mentioned him as the Queen's own son in her letter to Kirnoth and I know that I've heard it or read it somewhere else recently."

Draelond stifled back a yawn and said, "I'll help you. It may go quicker with two pairs of eyes."



Freeday, the 2nd of Wealsun, 1269 AE

In the morning, the light from Orin's Shield fell over Barnacus and the members of Grey Company were shocked to see no evidence of the blood-rain that they had all seen the night before. Not only were there no bloodstains on the roofs and walls of the city, but everything looked more-or-less dry. It was as if the rain had never fallen - bloody or otherwise.

Abernathy told them that he hadn't been awakened last night by any thunder or lightning and to the best of his knowledge, there was never any rain during Kakadiador. The Druids of Dridanis had an arrangement with the Fists of Cyr to keep the local weather pleasant during the three days of the festival. Whatever they had all seen the night before was, apparently, for their eyes alone.



After Kirnoth and Omrixx had spent some time going over the spells in their respective books (which was taking longer and longer as their repertoire of incantations grew) and Finian had used one of the potions of Curing that Abernathy had brought back from the Argo Forest tower to bring himself back to within a hair's breadth of perfect health, they set off for the sewer entrance off Crescent Street.

They took a circuitous route in order to avoid the throngs of fair-goers amassed in the plaza around the arena. Even taking the long way around (up South Gate Road, then west onto Wizard's Walk, north through the Temple District and onto Livermore Avenue before finally arriving at the west end of Crescent Street) they met many folk on their way to the fair. Most gave the group no more than a second glance although a few wished Draelond luck in today's events. Rather than argue, the big man just smiled and nodded.

They reached the burned out house that concealed the entrance to the sewer temple just as a magically amplified voice was announcing the line-up for the second day of Kakadiador. With one last look at the bright sun of early morning they slipped inside and down into the cramped tunnels that ran beneath the street.

They navigated the tunnels without incident, encountering no opposition along the way. Evidently their efforts to smash the cult had yielded at least some success. Draelond had to slip out of his chain shirt and wriggle and squirm a great deal to navigate the narrow fissure that lead from the sewer to the catacombs beneath them, but with only that small bit of difficulty, they made it to the worked stone tunnels of the temple itself.

Aside from the usual sewer vermin, it too was empty and they traveled quickly through the silent labyrinth to the ladder that they hadn't explored. Nunzio's dried blood was still evident on the iron rungs set into the side of the cylindrical shaft and one by one, they made their way up it.

After not too far, there was a door set into the side of the shaft, and Finian (who was in the lead) noted that the trail of dried blood ended there. He pushed the door open stepped out into a normal sewer tunnel such as they had seen elsewhere in the city. Water flowed away to the right down a shallow trough in the center of the passage. There were flat walkways along either side of the trough that were crusted over with black moss and rat droppings but were otherwise fairly dry. To the left, was a junction room and shafts of light were filtering down through a grill in the ceiling of the chamber. There was a splashing sound coming from that direction.

The squeaking of rats was everywhere. The smell, while undeniably unpleasant, wasn't the typical sewer stench that permeated tunnels elsewhere. Rather, this was a horrible, charnel house odor as if they had just stepped into a slaughterhouse.

Finian covered his mouth and nose with his hand and padded toward the junction room. Three other tunnels let onto the room, one in each wall. All of them were letting in various amounts of noxious water so that a constant flow fed away from the chamber. Once he got closer, he could see why the place smelled like a slaughterhouse; the water that flowed out of the chamber was running red with blood. As he peered into the junction room, he had a momentary feeling of deja vu. Blood was falling from the grate in the ceiling like rain. But unlike the grim spectacle of the previous night, lumps of entrails and torrents of gristle and bone accompanied this rain.

The gruesome waterfall sluiced through the grate and fell into the pool below. There, fighting over scraps of intestine and other organs, were two of the largest rats that Finian had ever seen. They squeaked and snapped evilly at each other as they fought over the choicest bits. He managed to tear his eyes away from the horrible creatures long enough to notice that three more enormous rats sprawled atop a noisome nest of bones and torn cloth off to the right. A metal ladder was set into the wall behind them, leading up to the ceiling and an open trapdoor that gaped there.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #181] A Better Ratrap*

The Archer studied the trapdoor in the ceiling a moment longer before turning to head back to the others. As he did so, however, the arrows in his quiver scraped along the curved wall of the tunnel. It wasn't much sound, but the two enormous rats nearest him immediately stopped their fighting and trained their glittering eyes in his direction. He froze in the shadows. It was clearly of little use.

With a shriek that was louder and more piercing than any rat's cry should have been, the two rodents came splashing toward him.

Despite his hunter's instincts, Finian was unprepared for the sudden charge. Before he could even draw an arrow, they were upon him. He raised his bow and managed to fend off two rats; their snapping jaws clamped down savagely on the weapon. They were too close for him to draw his sword, and his hand went instead to the dagger at his waist. He stabbed outward with it and was rewarded with a dying squeal from one of the creatures as the blade sank hilt-deep into its left shoulder.

The Archer let go of the dagger and the dead vermin fell into the water. Before he could turn his attention to the other rat, however, he heard a thunking sound and it reeled backward, transfixed by a bolt from Ledare's repeating crossbow. It was dead before it could let out a squeak of pain.

Finian glanced back and saw that the others were advancing on his position. Ledare was in the lead with her hand crossbow drawn. Behind her loomed Draelond followed by Omrixx, Kirnoth and finally Ruze.

The Archer smiled and turned back to the junction chamber. The grin rapidly fell off his face. The three rats that had been sleeping atop the noisome nest in the far corner were awake. One of them crouched at the foot of the ladder and one of them was creeping down toward the water. The third, a large specimen with tawny blond fur, reared up on its haunches and stared down at Finian with its nose twitching.

"I don't believe it!" the rat said in the common tongue. "You! Coming here?"

It started to titter then and as it did so, it began to change. Its forepaws began to lengthen and grow more massive, while its torso shrunk and flattened borne aloft by two humanoid legs. Only its head remained unchanged and the wererat, Rudivan, bared his sharp rat's teeth at the half-elf.

"You're an even bigger fool than I thought!" he taunted. In response, Finian nocked an arrow and drew back. "You can't hurt me with that, fool!" the sneering rat man told him and Finian answered with a single word.

"Silver," he said and let the arrow fly.

It struck Rudivan in the left shoulder and embedded there, eliciting a squeal of pain and horror from the skaven. He immediately ducked down behind the partial cover of the nest so that Finian second arrow lodged amidst the tangle of bone. His grin restored, Finian drew another arrow, stepped off the narrow ledge and began to walk up the wall of the junction chamber using his Slippers of Spider Climbing.



As soon as Finian stepped out of her line of sight, Ledare squeezed off another shot with her hand crossbow. The rat that she was aiming for ducked into the water an instant before the bolt struck and the shaft clattered uselessly against the stone wall.



Having been warned that only silver and magic was of any use against the rat men, Draelond trudged grimly forward with Ravager ready in his big right hand.



Kirnoth glanced at Omrixx and Ruze before starting toward the melee. "Let's get moving," he said to them as he pushed up the sleeves of his jacket. "We came here for a battle and I'd say we've found it!"

Omrixx put a staying hand on the mage's arm. "Wait," the half-elf said. "We should conserve our magic!"

"Since when are you one to be cautious?" Kirnoth replied

"No one's been hurt on our side as yet," Ruze interjected, his hand resting on the ursine pommel of one of the scimitars he now wore at his waist. "Let's see if the day may be won without sorcerous aid."



From his position half way up the wall, Finian drew back on his bow and released. The silver-tipped shaft cut a bloody groove in Rudivan's furry chest. The wererat cried out again in pain and let loose with a loud series of chittering squeaks. He was trying desperately to pull Finian's first arrow out of his shoulder, but was so far only succeeding in making it bleed more.

Finian hit him with another arrow, but this one did little more than punch a hole through one of Rudivan's large ears.



*We should go!* Gordigan spoke into Kirnoth's mind. *We should go now!*

"What is it?" the mage asked his cowardly familiar.

*That big old nasty rat man just called for help,* Gordigan responded fearfully. *And there's a lot of help down here.*

"How do you know what he said?" the elf replied.

*I told you I could speak the language of some animals a few times a day,* the duckbunny sighed. *You NEVER listen to me.*



"Do you see where it went?" Draelond asked Ledare as the two surveyed the foul water swirling around their shins.

"It's in here some-" she started to say when the rat thing sprang up behind them with a shriek. Its jaws snapped at Draelond ineffectually, but the warrior raised his sword expertly and dealt a heavy blow to the skaven's left forepaw. It squealed and fell back into the water.
Ledare fired her crossbow but missed.



Finian cried out as a hurled dagger sliced into his forehead. He had almost forgotten about the wererat guarding the ladder and for a moment, as blood trickled into his right eye, he was back in Strenchburg Junction, rescuing Grmnmral in a darkened alley.

Blinking his blood away, the Archer ignored the other skaven for the moment and fired again at Rudivan. His arrow tore away a bit of flesh and fur from the rat man's left arm. The limb, which was already slicked with blood from the first wound jerked from the impact and then fell against the nest, stilled for all time.

As he reached for a second arrow, he heard a voice above him. "You!" the voice hissed with all the malice and hatred that a single syllable can hold.

Finian looked up through the grate above and saw a disturbing sight. In the room above him, stood Nunzio, wearing a gore-soaked leather apron over his fat, naked torso. In his right hand he held an enormous, bloodstained meat cleaver and from his left a woman's head dangled by its hair.



Kirnoth hastily explained to Ruze and Omrixx what Gordigan had told him. "We may quickly be outnumbered," Ruze admitted and drew the matching scimitars from their sheaths. As he began trotting forward along the narrow path beside the river of sewer water, he added, "Wait here! I'll notify Ledare!"



The skaven that Draelond's sword had injured tried to dart away to its left, but Ledare fired another crossbow bolt into the water beside its head and it darted right instead... directly into Ravager's path as the saw-toothed weapon came down. Draelond grunted as he drove the heavy blade through the lycanthrope's skull.

The brown water around them began to fill with clouds of blood.



Finian raised his bow and slammed an arrow into place with a single fluid motion. He had caught Nunzio flat-footed and he sighted up through the bloody grate. As he drew back on the pull, he heard a sickening CRACK-ACK as his bow, weakened as it had been at the start of the battle by the rats' chomping teeth, broke apart uselessly in his hands. He watched as the bits of wood fell into the water below.

Above him, he heard Nunzio laughing.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #182] Soup's On!*

Ruze splashed over to Ledare and Draelond and began relating to the Janissary about the danger of which Gordigan had warned Kirnoth. Ledare listened intently, but ended up shaking her head. "It makes no sense for us to come this far again and then retreat," she told the Battleguard.

Ruze's face betrayed no hint of fear when he stated the fact, "We might be overrun."

"Okay, so a lot of rat-help is coming," she admitted. "I am tired of running, only to have to return in the future."

"As am I, kitten," Ruze grinned and looked up at Draelond.

The big warrior looked from Ruze to Ledare and nodded his head. "Agreed," he said. "Killing these creatures is, after all, what we're here to do."



"Mother had convinced me to let you live until after the festival," Nunzio told Finian. The man tossed the bloody head down through the grate and it splashed into the water a dozen feet from where Ledare and Ruze and Draelond stood. "You shouldn't have come here, coward!" the fat man taunted.

"We came back down here to finish the job, one-eye!" Finian sneered up at him. "Get your fat behind down here so I can kick it again!"

Finian produced one of the throwing daggers he carried about his person and threw it upward at Nunzio. It flitted unerringly through the wide holes in the grate and struck Nunzio just above the bloody apron, squarely between his hairy breasts. The fat man grunted and then grinned down at Finian. "If that's the best you can do, half-elf, then killing you won't even be any sport!" Nunzio said as he pulled the dagger out of his chest and cast it aside. "Not that I won't enjoy it just the same."

Finian was the only one close enough to see the knife wound close the moment that the blade was pulled free.



Kirnoth watched Ruze and Ledare and Draelond conferring. Judging by their body language, they didn't plan to flee. "Looks like you've been outvoted, Gordigan," the elf said. He beckoned for Omrixx to follow him. "There'll be no retreat."

*Noooo,* Gordigan whimpered inside Kirnoth's head. *We're all gonna die.*

Kirnoth ignored the duckbunny's mewling and reached the mouth of the sewer tunnel in time to see Nunzio toss a woman's head down through the grate. The elf gasped in horror and moved his hands through the gestures of Force and Direction.



"Come on up, coward," Nunzio beckoned his left hand. He held up the blood-slicked cleaver and licked the fouled blade. "There's room for you on my chopping bl- ahkkk! Ahkkk!"

The fat man's words ended in two shocked cries of pain as blue-white bolts of force sizzled from Kirnoth's outstretched fingers into Nunzio's left leg. He jerked back with smoking holes burned into his thigh and knee.

"You should have killed me when you had the chance, you stupid son of a b****!" Finian chuckled grimly. "I'm not alone this time!" The Archer started to make his way along the wall toward the trapdoor in the ceiling, drawing his longsword as he went.



"Nunzio!" Ledare hissed and moved forward to get a better shot at the rat man.

She sighted down the barrel of the repeating crossbow and squeezed off a shot before Nunzio staggered away from the grate and out of sight. Her aim was off, however, and she missed by a wide margin. "Dammit!" she hissed and holstered her crossbow. To Draelond and Ruze she commanded, "The ladder. We need to get up there. Clearly, he is some kind of leader. Maybe the "help" will scatter if we finish Nunzio off!"

The two men obeyed without question, moving toward the mound of twigs, bones and torn clothing that was the skaven's nest. The Janissary followed, her silver-iron longsword already in her hand.



Finian reached the nest first, however, and he saw the rat-thing hunched low beneath the ladder. It was curled into a protective ball and squeaking softly. Upon sighting the half-elf, it let out a frightened shriek and produced a battered shortsword from the pile of refuse on which it crouched.

Finian, who already had his sword out swung first. There was something unsettling about fighting on two separate planes - Finian standing on the wall and the skaven on the floor. The Archer's swing missed by a large margin. The skaven thrust at Finian's foot with his shortsword, but instead struck the wall, chipping off the tip of the weapon in the process.
This seemed to make the rat man very angry and he thrust at the half-elf again with his sword. This time he landed his blow, but the blunted weapon was unable to penetrate Finian's protective leathers. The Archer swung a return blow but missed.



At that moment, Draelond attained the top of the rat nest and saw the two combatants trading swings beneath the metal ladder. Gripping his huge sword in both hands he struck at the skaven. His footing was unsure, however, and the sword contacted only air.

The skaven dropped its sword and its limbs began to shorten as it took on a more rat-like aspect. It started to dart away down the side of the nest, but Draelond's sword landed a solid blow to its right forepaw, causing it to falter. Finian's longsword savagely pierced its left flank killing it instantly.



Finian, Draelond and Ruze all stood atop the nest and as a group, they moved toward the ladder. Ledare was halfway to the top when she heard Kirnoth calling behind her. "What about the reinforcements?" the elf asked and Ledare paused for a moment before responding quickly.

"You and Omrixx use your spells to prevent other rats from coming in here!" she ordered. "That might give us the time we need to take care of these vermin!"

Kirnoth nodded and then looked around at the empty tunnels. "Where is Omrixx?" he muttered.



Ledare's hesitation to speak with Kirnoth saved her from the torrent of boiling stew that Nunzio poured down through the trapdoor.

Draelond and Ruze, who were still at the bottom of the ladder were able to avoid the worst of it. Draelond suffered only incidental splash damage and Ruze emerged unscathed. Finian, however, took it full in the face and fell, screaming, off the wall. The nest of branches and bones cushioned his fall so that he suffered only minor bumps and bruises, but the burns from the pot of soup were severe. Ruze dropped immediately off the ladder and hunched over the writhing Archer.

Draelond looked up and saw Nunzio standing above him framed by the trapdoor. Gritting his teeth, the warrior began to climb. Nunzio tossed down the cast iron pot that had held the stew and it thudded against Draelond's left shoulder before careening off into the water below.

Still the man climbed and Nunzio was too slow in closing the wooden door. As it came down, Draelond was able to put his shoulder against it before the skaven could slide a bar in place to secure it. The warrior threw it back as he watched Nunzio slip into the next room, which was lined with shelves.

The room with the trapdoor was completely empty and featureless except for the trapdoor in the center of the floor and the single door through which Nunzio had fled. "Mother!?" the fat man was shrieking as he went.



Ledare paused with one foot on the ladder. "Will he be okay?" she asked and Ruze looked up at her.

"With My Queen's healing touch, he will be," the Battleguard said and gripped the holy symbol he wore on a chain around his waist. "Stop him, kitten. We'll join you shortly." He then turned back to his patient and began to pray while Ledare went up the ladder as quickly as she could.



Kirnoth stood near the center of the junction room looking around from tunnel mouth to tunnel mouth for any sign of Omrixx.

There was none.

He began to hear a feint chittering - a squeaking sound that seemed to be drawing ever closer. He couldn't tell which direction the sounds were coming from since they seemed to be coming from all four directions at once.

*They're coming,* Gordigan informed him, the familiar's voice filled with naked terror.



Draelond pressed onward through the narrow, shelf-lined storeroom into the area beyond. There, he stopped.

The room was lined with blood-flecked tiles on the walls and floor. The heavy metal grate that they had seen from below was set into the floor beside an enormous butcher's block that was heavily scarred from repeated blows from a cleaver and deeply stained from untold gallons of blood. The floor around it was slick with the stuff. The ceiling was low and festooned with hooks of various sizes from which hung the bodies of no less than a dozen men, women, and children. All were in various states of dismemberment. Draelond's mind could scarcely comprehend the level of madness and evil necessary to perpetrate such a thing.

Ledare stepped into the room behind him and sucked in her breath when she saw what he saw. "Dear gods," she whispered, her eyes moving left, away from the gore-soaked abattoir to the rest of the room which held a number of coal-fed stoves and heavy stone ovens. there were things cooking there that she didn't want to think about.

A set of rickety wooden stairs along the wall led up to the floor above.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #183] Soylent Green is People*

"Omrixx!" Kirnoth hissed into the darkness.

There was no reply.

"Well, you're on your own then," the mage muttered as he began to splash over toward the nest. "I have no time to worry about where you've disappeared to."

*Does that mean we're getting out of here?* Gordigan asked, his voice filled with hopeful excitement.

"No," Kirnoth said flatly and began to climb the nest of twigs and bones.

Behind him, the tunnels were alive with the sound of many, many rats.



"What is this madness?! " Ledare gagged, keeping her breakfast down by force of will alone.

Draelond found that he had no answer, although madness is what it seemed to him as well. Perhaps he would ask this Nunzio what it all meant... after he'd impaled the foul creature on Ravager's blade. "I don't know what lies at the top of those stairs," Draelond said, motioning to the dilapidated staircase, "but I think we need to find out."

"Agreed," Ledare nodded. "Let's press on quickly; the sight of this room makes my skin crawl."

"I'll take the lead, but... uh... don't lag TOO far behind. Okay, Ledare?" the big man said as he stooped his head to avoid the rafters and crossed to the staircase. "Who... or whatever is up there surely won't be serving warm tea and pastries." Ledare snorted nervous laughter as she followed him.

"You're starting to sound like Ruze with your reference to pastries," she told him. "How anyone can think of food at a time like this is beyond me."

"Don't let my comments fool you," Draelond shot back as he glanced uncomfortably at the many pots of meat stew that boiled atop the charcoal stoves as he passed. "I'm not sure I'll ever be able to eat again." He tightened his grip on Ravager in one hand and grabbed the crumbling railing in the other - even if he knew it offered little more than a false sense of security at best.



"Uuurrn," Finian groaned as Shaharizod's favor worked its healing magic on his blistered face. His eyes flickered open and locked onto Ruze's.

"Oh, Finian, just what have you launched yourself into again?" the Battleguard chided. He clucked his tongue and shook his head. "You have to remember to not always lead head first into things, because I may not always be here to heal you."

"It still hurts like hell," Finian growled and started to get up but Ruze held him down. "How does it look?"

"Despite my healing powers, this will still be very painful, and I can do nothing about the scars that will remain," the cleric confessed. "Nasser-Ubeen, yes, could heal without scars, but, alas, it is beyond my powers."

Finian nodded grimly and fished out the potion labeled 'Cure Critical', popped the top and brought it to his lips. He only took a swallow - roughly half of the vial - but it hit his stomach like peppermint fire that spread in the space of two heartbeats throughout his body. The pain from the boiling soup was gone. The pain from the fall off the wall was gone. The pain from the knife wound to his forehead was gone. In fact, he felt perfectly fine.

He grinned. "Time to go find Nunzio so I can shove my sword up his a**!" the Archer said.



"Get up the ladder!" Kirnoth shouted as he made his way up the side of the nest toward Finian and Ruze.

Finian already had his hands on the iron rungs. "That's what I was just about to-" he started to say, but Kirnoth cut him off.

"Just do it!" the elf urged. "And hurry!"

Finian started up, but Ruze paused. "Where's Omrixx?" he asked and the mage shook his head.

"I don't know," he admitted. "But we'll all die if you don't - Hello! What's this?" The elf pointed to an area of the nest that was thickly woven from strips of clothes and human bones with dried gristle still attached.

"I don't-" Ruze began, but Kirnoth bent, grabbed hold of a branch and pulled aside a section of the nest that had been cleverly disguised to hide a secret compartment. Hidden within were three smallish chests.

Kirnoth tossed the panel back into place. "No time!" he said and pushed Ruze up the ladder.

The squeaking was getting very loud behind them.



The stairs led to another storeroom. Sacks of flour were piled in the corner and a pair of floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with spices covered one wall. There was only one door and it stood ajar. The storeroom was dim, but there was daylight shining into the room beyond. Draelond crept toward the door as stealthily as he could despite the fact that his own clinking chainmail and the clatter of Ledare's Janissary plate must surely have announced their presence to anyone who cared to listen. The wood floor creaked and groaned beneath his weight. He pushed the door open with his left hand, keeping Ravager ready in his right.

The room beyond was largely empty with only a narrow wooden shelf affixed to the far wall for decoration. A dozen high, wooden stools were pushed against the wall below the shelf. The room itself fell away to the right and there was a pair of narrow windows set high up in the far wall. It was from here that the light was coming and a barred set of double doors was set to their left. In front of the door was a high counter faced with more stools. A charcoal-burning stove sat behind the counter with several covered dishes resting atop it.

Draelond stopped short again, a shocked expression growing on his face.

"What is it?" Ledare asked as she moved around him. She looked over the place and her face went ashen. She recognized the place. They both did. There wasn't a citizen of Barnacus who wouldn't recognize the homey interior of 'Mom's Pie Shoppe', purveyors of the finest meat pies in the near Realms.



Finian stepped out of the storeroom into the grisly abattoir and let out a startled cry at the sight that greeted him.

Behind him, Ruze sniffed the air. "Is that...?" he muttered as he sifted through the contents of one of the shelves. "It is!" he cried and held up a smallish wheel of sickly-looking green cheese. "Emerald Moon chee-" He stopped as he glimpsed the room of horrors. The cheese fell from his nerveless fingers and rolled away across the bloodied floor.

"Shaharizod have mercy," he whispered but Finian was already heading for the stairs up.

"Come on!" the Archer said. "Nunzio can't get away!"

Numbly, his face looking almost as green as the cheese he had discovered, Ruze followed.



Kirnoth had reached the top of the ladder well before the first of the rats entered the junction room. There were just a few at first, and of normal size, but soon there were dozens and many of them were giants. They poured from the tunnel mouths, climbing over one another as they piled into the room. There had to be hundreds of them. They made for the skavens' nest and the ladder with a frightening level of organization.
Kirnoth remembered all too well the terrible scream that Selejian had let out when the rats had swarmed over him.

He cast Grease on the ladder.

The rats that had reached it immediately slid off of it, only to be replaced by another, and another until Kirnoth realized that they would keep trying until his spell ran its course. They would pile madly one atop the other until they had made a pile high enough to reach the trapdoor, heedlessly crushing the rats at the bottom as the rats on top sought their prize. His flesh.

He cast Stinking Cloud into the junction room.

The noisome cloud filled the chamber and the agonized shrieks of a hundred stricken vermin rose up to assault his ears. Kirnoth slammed the trapdoor shut and slid the bar into place.



"This can't be," Draelond muttered as he walked forward into the dining room.

"I don't-" Ledare managed to say before she sensed something was wrong. She shouted a warning an instant before Nunzio leapt up from behind the counter, his meat cleaver whistling through the air above his greasy head.

Ledare's silver-iron longsword flashed out and struck Nunzio a solid blow to the head, severing the top half of his left ear and opening a bloody gash across his cheek. Draelond brought Ravager up and cleaved easily through the man's groin, despite his hanging belly and the leather apron. Nunzio got a very surprised look on his face before he fell heavily onto the floor. He never even had time to cry out before he died, bleeding onto the floorboards amidst a snarl of overturned stools.



Finian burst into the room followed by Ruze. They both had their weapons ready. The Archer took one look at what was left of Nunzio and lowered his sword.

"Oh," he said.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #184] They're Selling Like Hotcakes*

Draelond stepped back from Nunzio's lifeless body as Finian rushed into the room followed closely by the pale Battleguard. The look of disappointment on the Archer's face surprised the Warrior as he had expected instead to see some sort of hideous disfigurement caused by the burning brew.

"Gee, Draelond, what's the matter?" Finian grinned. "You look disappointed?"

"Your face is-," the man began and the Archer patted his belt pouch and the healing potions contained therein.

"Healed," he finished Draelond's sentence. "Boy, I sure am lucky. That will teach me to go first into battle." The look on Finian's face told them all that not even he believed that statement.

Draelond quickly offered an apology of sorts. Indicating Nunzio's corpse, he said, "I'm sure you'd like to have had the pleasure Archer, but there wasn't much time to consider the ironies."

"Dead is dead," the Archer replied, pausing to spit once on the wererat's corpse.

Draelond raised an eyebrow at this before turning away. "Thank you, Ledare," he said as he wiped Ravager's blade clean. "Your warning may have saved me from becoming Mother's Sunday Afternoon Special."

He chuckled nervously until he heard Ruze make a choking sound. The cleric was bent over, leaning heavily on the counter. His pale face had taken on a greenish tinge.

"Are you alright, Ruze?" Ledare asked.

"Uhhh..," he groaned, his mouth watering horribly. "I think I..."

"Gee, Ruze, how many meat pies have you eaten from here?" Finian joked. "Kind of makes you sick don't it."

In reply, the Battleguard convulsed as if someone had punched him in the stomach and promptly vomited his breakfast all over Nunzio's body and Draelond's boots. Cursing, the warrior hastily stepped away his face twisted up in disgust.

"I'm sorry," Ruze managed to say before he convulsed again and sent another gusher of half-digested food onto the floorboards. His third convulsion yielded nothing. "I don't think I will ever eat again," he sputtered between dry heaves.

Finian pressed his fist against his lips to hide his grin as he eyed Draelond's boots. "We really need to search this place carefully and be on the look out for 'Mother'," the Archer said. He pointed at the door. "We all heard Nunzio yell for her and if the door is barred, then no one has left."

"I say we burn this place to the ground," Ruze suggested. His complexion was returning to its normal swarthy color.

"I don't know if torching the whole place is the best idea..," Draelond replied. "But torching the rats... Now that's a possibility. I'm sure there's something here that would be useful in setting them ablaze."

"Do any of you have any idea how to mix up something like that?" Kirnoth asked from the doorway of the storeroom. "This may be our best opportunity to destroy all the rats in one place. If there's a way we can blow them all up, then I vote for doing that."

"I think that oil would do a good job if we want to burn them," Finian suggested. "I would think there would be some around a kitchen."

"Don't be daft," Ledare said with a firm shake of her head. "We're not starting any fires. We'd burn down half of Barnacus."

"Well, I'm all out of manna for the day," Kirnoth told them. "Could Ruze conjure up some kind of miracle to aid in the rat's destruction?"

The Battleguard shook his head. "I doubt it," he said. "A miracle of that sort is beyond my skill. And anyway, I need to purify and sanctify the processing area down stairs." At the thought of it, the color began to drain from his face again.

"Are you sure you're up to that?" Ledare asked and Ruze swallowed hard and straightened himself.

"I cannot allow that to remain as it is. I need to put those souls to rest," he told her. "So I say back down we go."

"We still need to search this place," Finian reminded.

"I'll help with that," Kirnoth told the Archer. "I've no desire to return to that room of horrors."

Finian nodded and suggested, "And let's hide Nunzio's body from sight. So if 'Mother' comes back, she may not know he is dead."

"I'm not sure who 'Mother' is, but it seems as though leaving the body in plain sight just invites a rage attack," Draelond nodded. "Maybe catching her by surprise if she happens to return would be helpful."

"Fine," Ruze said. "Draelond is the strongest and can carry Nunzio. My kitten, kindly come hither, so I may pass on my Queen's protections."

Ledare rolled her eyes and stepped forward.

"My Queen, blessed be thy sight," Ruze prayed, laying one his hand on his holy symbol and the other on the Janissary's shoulderguard. "Grant Ledare the power of thy protection from the blight of these foul and evil creatures."

The room flooded momentarily with moonlight, and the air around Ledare seemed to retain a bit of that silvery glow even after Ruze had taken his hand away. "And now, I must do whatever is in my power to end this right now!" he exclaimed and headed for the storeroom and the stair down with Ledare and the heavily burdened Draelond following closely behind.



Finian and Kirnoth searched the restaurant's ground floor carefully, looking for anything that would explain what was going on there. They found nothing out of the ordinary with one exception. The covered pies that were warming atop the stove behind the counter each had a curious symbol cut from dough, decorating the center of each top crust.

"What do you make of it?" Finian asked and Kirnoth shook his head.

"It's familiar, but I can't say where I've seen it before," the mage replied, holding his hand over his nose. The odor coming off of the warm pies, while it would have made his mouth water yesterday, today served only to knot his stomach.

A sudden knocking at the door gave the two Companions a start.



Neither Ledare nor Draelond recognized any of the thirteen bodies that had been hung around the abattoir. Of course, that wasn't surprising since they had all had their heads, hands and feet removed along with all of their internal organs. Ruze and Draelond carefully took each of the corpses from the meat hooks and laid them on the floor with as much dignity as the bodies' condition could manage. Ledare stared down through the grate into the junction room below. The chamber was empty save for the floating bodies of the dead skaven and dozens of drowned rats. There was no sign of any living creatures below at all.

"My Queen, I am so sorry for the innocent and the weak that have been slaughtered," Ruze said as he began a prayer to speed the dead to Myrkul's halls in the afterlife.



"Mom?" a voice called from the other side of the front doors. "I've come fo' mo' pies!"

Finian and Kirnoth looked at one another.

The knock came again - louder this time. "Come on, Mom! Open up!" the voice called again. "They're sellin' better'n I've e'er seen. I swear tha' jus' about everybody at the festival's eatin' yer finest!"


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #185] Get Yer Meat Pies Here!*

The Battleguard was performing his burial rites over the bodies while the Janissary and her warrior Companion stood a respectful distance away standing a silent vigil. Suddenly, Ledare cocked her head toward the stairs. "Did you hear something?" she asked Draelond in a hushed whisper.

The man nodded and bent to the Janissary's ear. "It sounds like voices," he said softly so as to not disrupt the spiritual ceremony. "I'll check it out."

He turned to go and Ledare drew her sword. "I'm going too," she told him and Ruze's chanting stopped abruptly.

"Why don't we all go," he said wiping his palms against one another. "I'm all through here."

"That's it?" the Janissary asked. "All of Soriah's ceremonies always took quite a long time."

"What can I say?" he shrugged. "I'm not Soriah."



"Let's hide!" Finian suggested and Kirnoth nodded. They both rushed to dive behind the counter.

"Wait a minute," Kirnoth hissed, laying a hand on the Archer's forearm. "What are we hiding from? He can't see us through the door."

"Come on, Mom!" the voice shouted. "I can 'ere ye movin' about in there. Open up!"

"My guess is this person calling for Mom is innocent and has no idea of the ingredients," Kirnoth told his Companion, his voice barely audible, even to the half-elf. "Finian, why don't you use the slippers to get a look at who is at the door without them seeing you."

"Good idea," Finian said.

"Why don't we just let him in and act like we are here wondering where Mom is too?" Ruze asked as he and Ledare and Draelond filed into the dining room.

Ledare nodded. "I like that plan too," she said. "Let's pretend we are here for the meat pies."

"Wait one minute, sir!" Ruze called out brightly toward the door.

"Well, it's abou' ferkin' time," they heard the man on the other side of the door grumble.

Draelond flexed his muscles and pressed his left fist into the palm of his right hand. "I could have a little... um... let's call it... 'discussion' with him to see what he knows about 'Mom' and the whole operation," the man suggested. There was little doubt that noone would be able to resist Draelond's 'debating skills' for very long.

"How about we try it the non-violent way first," Ledare suggested and slipped her sword into its sheath. "Then if it looks like it is going nowhere, you can take over with your muscle?"

Draelond looked down on her and his eyes fell on the Janissary symbol that clasped her maroon cloak around her neck. "Okay," he nodded. "But he'd better talk fast."

Finian took up the stout bar that held the two doors shut and before he could do anything more, a hand on the rightmost door pushed it open, flooding the dim-lit interior of the shop with light from the street outside. A nondescript fellow of medium height and tawny-colored hair walked in immediately.

"What took ye so lo-" he stopped short as his eyes moved over the assemblage. "Who inna nine hell's is you?" he asked, taking a half-step back toward the open doorway. Finian stepped up behind him and blocked the door.

"We're just here for the meat pies," Ruze said with a broad smile.

"O-oh," the man replied. From the expression on his face it seemed that he was trying hard to convince himself that that was the group's purpose. "Ye mean yer temp'rary 'elp, like me an' Simon."

"Simon?" Ledare asked.

The man jacked a nervous thumb toward the street. "My mate," the man said. "He work's the cart while I brings 'em in."

"Bring them in?" Ruze asked. "Bring who in?"

The man licked his lips and a false rubbery smile moved twitchily across his mouth. His eyes shifted uncomfortably from Companion to Companion. He was beginning to sweat. "Why customers, a course," he said and then he cupped a hand around his mouth and bellowed, "MEEEAAAT PIIIEES!!!! GETCHA MEAT PIES 'ERE!!!"

"Yes, of course," Ledare said with a diplomatic smile. "How many do you need?"

"Why alls ye got," he said, clapping his callused hands together. "It was a right reg'lar stroke a genius sellin' the pies at the festival! I kinna keep the cart stocked! None of us can!" He fumbled under his tunic and hands went instinctively to weapons. The man stopped and drew his hands slowly out from under his shirt. Sweat was now beading on his upper lip and forehead. He took another step back and bumped into Finian.

"Say!" the man protested. "Wha' is all this? Where's Mom?"

"Mother had to step out for some... ingredients," Ledare began and the man turned quickly to duck out past the Archer and slip into the street.

Finian was able to block him long enough for Draelond to step forward and latch two hands on the man - one around his neck and the other in the waistband of his trousers. The warrior hauled him backward into the restaurant and Finian slammed shut the door. The bar fell into place with a THUNK of finality. "Oh, sweet Flor," the man was gibbering as Draelond reeled him around. "Have mercy! Mercy!"

"Did you show mercy to those poor folk downstairs?" Draelond growled. He clamped his hands around the man's torso, one under each arm, and lifted him bodily off the ground.

"I've got wha' money we've made so far t'day!" the man whimpered as he fumbled under his tunic for the bulging coin purse he had strapped there. He tossed it to the floorboards where it landed with a loud ka-chink. "Take it! Take it! Jus' dinna kill me!"

Ledare and Ruze stepped up on either side of Draelond.

"I don't think he knows anything," the Battlegaurd said and Ledare nodded.

"Has Mother shared with you the extra special recipe?" she asked the sweaty man.

"O' course not!" the man choked out. "I was only hired on Waterday. An' only to sell th' pies at Kakadiador. Nothin' more!"

"He's lying," Draelond suggested and lifted the man a little higher into the air.

"I ain't lying'!" he squirmed. "My real job's at the' Bellman's Guild! I'm a crier! Please, with Ibrahil as my witness, I ain't lyin'!"

Draelond lowered the man roughly to the floor and he collapsed into a heap there, clutching his ribs where the warrior's hands had been. Ledare squatted down beside him. "Where are all the meat pies going?" she asked.

"To the festival," the man moaned. "There's prolly a half dozen carts out there sellin' the pies. We come back 'ere to get more when we runs out."

"And who meets you here?" the Janissary pressed.

"Mom was 'ere this mornin'," he told her. "She an' 'er oldest both."

"Nunzio?" Ruze asked and the man nodded.

"That's the one," he said. "Great fat fella, him."

"And you say, he's the oldest?" the Battleguard went on.

"Ayuh," the man replied. "There's five of 'em altogether. All boys, an' the fat one's the' oldest."

Ledare stood back up. "That still doesn't tell us where Mother got to and what this is all about," she said. "I can't believe this is just a lucrative business endeavor."

"I wonder if there's some sort of a taint on the people who eat the meat pies even if they don't do it knowingly," Kirnoth suggested. "So when the time comes those people won't count on the side of good. Or something."

"That is a very interesting suggestion, Kirnoth," Ledare said with a nod. She looked back down at the man on the ground. "Have you noticed anything different about the people who ate the pies you were selling?"

The man shook his head but said nothing.

"I do not so much think that eating the pies makes them evil, but could make people sick and kill them," Finian offered.

"Mom's pies?" the man asked with a look of confusion. "Not likely. I've been eatin' pies from this 'ere shop fer years an' nothin's ever happened to me."

The man's gaze suddenly fixed on some distant point and he looked even more confused suddenly. "But I did 'ear Mom mention that she'd whipped up a right special batch of pies for sale at the festival," the man told them as the memories slowly resurfaced. "Fit to herald the birth of a king, she said, whatever that means."


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #186] No Pie for You!*

"If the pies are fit to herald a king, perhaps that refers to the birth," Kirnoth said excitedly.
"I was thinking the same thing," Finian agreed.

Ruze let out an expansive sigh and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. "That suggests that the pies were not always fouled with human meat," he said. "Maybe just now to herald in She Who is Coming. That makes me feel better."

"Let's cut open one of these pies with the special mark and see what is in them," Finian suggested, cocking his thumb toward the warming stove behind the counter.

"Special mark?" Ruze asked, looking toward the covered pies.

Before Finian could respond, the man on the ground cleared his throat and asked in a very small voice, "Did ye jus' say 'human meat'?"

The Battleguard turned and scowled down at him. "Yes," Ruze said. "That's what's in Mom's special pies."

The man chuckled nervously. "Mom?" he snorted skeptically. "Are ye daft?"

"Maybe we should show our friend the 'body room'?" Draelond suggested. "Let him see first hand that he's been spreading unspeakable evil."

"Evil?" The man sounded thoroughly confused. "We're talkin' 'bout pies 'ere, right?"

"On your feet," Ledare commanded and the man started to rise. "We'll show you what Mom's been cooking up in her kitchen."



"This is the secret ingredient fit for a king!" Kirnoth told him as the group ushered him into the abattoir.

At the sight of the blood on the walls the man began to cry. When he saw the bodies he screamed and tried to claw his way out of the room directly through Finian and Ruze. Draelond stepped forward and laid hands on him, restraining him easily. "P-p-please!" the man sobbed.

"We're the good guys here and we have no intention of killing you," Kirnoth told him.

"Yes. We are working for the king," Finian added, pointing at the fat corpse lying off to the side. "We caught Nunzio decapitating a lady that is why we killed him." 

"Oh, dear gods!" the man cried out. He seemed near to the breaking point - as if his sanity was hanging on by the narrowest of margins.

"But in order to stop mother, we obviously can't let you leave," Kirnoth added and Ledare gave him a disapproving look.

"What can we do with him here?" she asked the elf.

"We can tie him up," Kirnoth suggested. "Surely there is some rope or twine or something in the shoppe to tie him up with. And then we should then attempt to do the same with new vendors as they arrive for meat pies."

The Janissary shook her head. "It would take too much to tie up all the prospective vendors," she said.

"If we let him go he can go tell all of the meat pies salesmen to return the pies," Finian suggested. "Or, perhaps he could tell us where all of the pie vendors were and we could send Kirnoth to buy them all, so no one else would eat them."

"Why me?" the elf asked with a tone of annoyance.

"Well, you said you can't cast any more spells today so you'll want to avoid combat," the Archer explained.

"I think it would be almost impossible for Kirnoth to go out and buy up all the remaining pies," Ledare said. "But you're right; he may not do much good with just his darts here."

Kirnoth just glowered until Draelond spoke up. "I've not the experience of all of you," the warrior said, turning to face the group, "but tracking down the rest of these vendors in the City during the Festival seems pointless. I think we'd best be served to make sure that we stop the damage at the source and see to it that none of these carts get refilled. 'Mom' and the rest of her family are bound to return soon enough, and we'd be wrong if we didn't put an end to all of this as soon as possible."

"I agree with Draelond," Ruze said. "I think we should stay here as he suggests and kill the source. It should be enough to just tell this wretch to stop selling pies."

"Oh, yes! Yes!" the man said clasping his hands together and pleading. "Please jus' lemme go!"
Ledare looked dubious but Finian snapped his fingers to draw the man's attention.

"I want descriptions of all Mom's 'boys'," the Archer demanded and the man began giving a detailed description. From his words, the others were able to determine that one of Mom's sons was Lenicius, the skaven that Ledare and Kirnoth had dispatched at Selejian's studio. Another was Rudivan, the wererat that Finian's arrows had done in in the junction room below. It seemed likely that the other two had been the other two rat men that they had fought below, although none of the Companions had actually seen either of them in human form.



Upstairs again, Ledare scooped up the bulging pouch of coins and handed it to the man. "Take this money you have made and do not sell any more meat pies ever," Ledare instructed. "The same goes for Simon."

The man nodded his tear-streaked face and clutched the purse in trembling hands.

Ledare gestured toward Draelond and added, "If he runs into you again he won't be as diplomatic as we are today. And if you return to this place without the money, Mother will certainly have it in for you."

"I'm never returnin' to this twice-cursed place," the man spat on the floor. "Cyr, herself ain't strong enough to drag me back 'ere!"

Satisfied that he was telling them the truth, they let him out and barred the doors behind him.

"Now what?" Finian asked and Ruze nodded toward the covered dishes behind the counter.

"You mentioned something about pies with symbols," he prompted and Finian quickly gathered them up, placing the pies on the counter in a row. One-by-one, Ruze uncovered them and scowled at the various symbols. All at once, the cleric hefted his warhammer and smashed the first pie. Brown gravy and bits of shredded meat sprayed in all directions from the sundered crust.

"Shaharizod, this place is an abomination!" he wailed as he smashed each of the pies into bits and the others took cover to avoid the spattering pastry. "It seems I have walked into the horrors of chaos. Shaharizod, grant me your light to cleanse the taint." Huffing from his rush of adrenaline, he glared at the others.

"So are you going to tell us what those symbols meant?" Finian asked, flicking a bit of piecrust off his studded leather jerkin.

In reply Ruze said, "I will continue my blessings up here in an attempt to cleanse the taint."



While Ruze, Kirnoth and Ledare remained above, Finian and Draelond went down to try recovering the three chests. Using Finian's slippers of Spider Climbing, it was a simple matter to walk down the wall and fetch them. There was no sign of any further opposition from the tunnels surrounding the junction chamber and the numerous rat and three rat-man corpses were completely inert.

All three chests were locked and all showed signs of having been scratched at in an effort to open them. Someone had worked on the brass fittings with claws or the point of a knife, and the wood itself was gouged around the hinges and locks. One of the chests was noticeably lighter than the other two and only one of the heavy ones clinked with the sound of coins.



Ruze chanted and traced symbols in the air as he paced the floor of the Pie Shoppe. Ledare and Kirnoth watched in silence. The cleric had just finished his cleansing when something heavy thudded against the front doors. An instant later it came again accompanied by the sound of breaking wood.

A voice cried out from the street, "By order of the Watch and in the King's name, this shoppe is declared criminal! Surrender yourselves immediately!"

The sound of a ram striking the doors came again and the bar that secured them made a splintering sound. It seemed unlikely that the doors would resist the battering for much longer.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #187] No Honor Among Thieve*

It didn't take Ledare more than a moment to decide on her course of action. "Hold!" she yelled through the door. "I'll remove the bar."

"Hold up, men," they could hear the Watch Sergeant say and the ram stopped. "Open these doors in the name of the King!"

"Help me with this," Ledare hissed to Ruze. She was working at the bar with one hand while she fished in her pouch for the King's writ with the other. With the Battleguard's help, she removed the bar and the guardsmen piled inside immediately.

They were dressed in studded leather and armed with a mix of spears and broadswords. Their commander, easily identified by the breastplate that he wore, stepped forward as his men leveled their weapons at Ledare and Ruze and Kirnoth.

"Gwias Batelstan of The Bellman's Guild has accused this establishment of both murder and witchcraft," the captain told Ledare and she held up the King's scroll.

"We are on a mission from the king to rid the city of skaven," she explained as the guardsman carefully read the dispensation. "They have been crawling around under the streets in the sewers."

"Aye," the man said, handing the scroll back to Ledare. "I had heard similar tales of rat men from Sergeant Griffith. He said that the King had dispatched a team of specialists to deal with the problem."

Ledare wasn't at all sure that the term 'specialists' applied to her and her companions, but she accepted the term and moved on. "Our search for them led us here to this slaughter house," Ledare explained as she slipped the writ back into her belt pouch. "We managed to kill four of the skaven, but their leader is still on the lose."

The Sergeant seemed very interested in this and turned to one of the armsmen who was already jotting down details of the exchange. "Did you get a look at him?" the Sergeant asked. "Can you identify him?"

"It's not a him at all, Sergeant," Ledare said. "It is Mom, herself. We believe she may have bolted when we killed her sons."

"Mom?" the man writing notes asked, looking up from his paper, slack-jawed. The Janissary nodded and the man went back to scribbling with his stick of charcoal.

"She and her sons have been selling meat pies at the festival tainted with human flesh," Ledare said gravely and this time the note-taker actually dropped his paper as he startled.

"Are you serious?" the Watch Sergeant asked, his face twisted with disgust.

"There are carts with hired help selling pies in the street," she replied.

"I know," the man said. "I ate one yesterday for lunch. I was planning to do the same today."

"Aye," the note-taker concurred, his face gone pasty white. "We all did."

"Don't do it," Kirnoth suggested.

"We need to close down this whole operation quickly to prevent others from eating them," Ledare ordered. "Salvage any leftover pies for inspection. The individuals manning the carts are most likely oblivious to the contents of their wares, but they should all be carefully questioned."

"Aye," the Sergeant agreed. He paused to spit on the floor before turning to his men. "Split up into two teams. Half of you head to the arena and confiscate all meat pies from Mom's Shoppe. The rest of you are to stay here and secure the area against the rat men's return."

The armsmen started to split off and Ledare spoke loudly so that they all could hear her. "We are still looking for the one they call 'Mom'," she told them. "Get as much information from her as you can, but be mindful that she is not human and is capable to changing form."

The group that was heading for Kakadiador voiced their assent and the Sergeant added, "Do not spread word of this amongst the fair-goers or we'll have a riot on our hands! Seize the pies and detain the sellers, but do not spread word of either rat men or cannibalism!"

As they hurried off, the Sergeant turned back to Ledare. "I have to report this to Watch Commander Oxnard," he said. "I pray to Sato that we're in time to put a stop to this madness."

As they headed away from the horrors of Mom's Pie Shoppe, Kirnoth protested the decision to leave Mom's capture to the Watch.

"I believe we should try to locate Mother quickly before she gets too far away," he asserted, but Draelond had another suggestion.

"I'm thinking we head back to Grey House, open the chests up and see if they contain anything of significance," the man suggested. He had a chest under each arm and Finian carried the third. "Then I think we should consider heading to Othelwood to prevent the birth of this 'king' that the drow's note and the pieman mentioned."

"Yes," Finian concurred. "I want to search the chests, too."

"I agree with Draelond and Finian," Ledare nodded. "Let's get those chests open."

"But Mom could be getting away entirely while we waste time with these," Kirnoth maintained.

"I assume by the scratch marks that the skaven were also interested in the contents," Ledare continued. "I bet the chests were stolen and brought back to the nest. Whatever they contain was important to them. And I think that makes them important to us."

"Ruze?" Kirnoth asked. "You agree with me, don't you?"

The Battleguard shrugged. "Actually, I choose to side with Ledare. She IS the Janissary," he said and Kirnoth threw up his hands in frustration.

"I will try picking the lock if possible when we get back to Grey House," Finian said, looking at the brass keyhole with some interest.

"Good idea," Ledare agreed but after a few moments' pause, Draelond cleared his throat.
"I don't know all of the background well enough to make any distinct connections between the various individuals we've faced in the last days, but I recall that we found a keyring with three bronze keys on Fendathial," he conjectured. "Do you suppose they go to these same three chests?"

"Using the three keys is a brilliant idea," the Janissary replied, clapping Draelond on the back.



Abernathy threw open the front doors of Grey House as they crossed the courtyard. His face betrayed the worry in his heart.  "Thank the gods you're all right!" he said as they mounted the front steps. "When Master Omrixx came running back here to collect your things I thought surely that something terrible had befallen you all."

"Omrixx is here?" Finian asked, his tone hovering between concern for the half-elf he considered his friend and annoyance that his supposed friend had abandoned them all in the heat of battle.

Abernathy looked confused. "Well... no," he replied. "I thought that he'd be with you. Isn't he?"

"No," Finian said. "What did he say to you when he came back here?"

"Just that there had been trouble and you needed all of the gear from Mistresses Mice'talaburra and Fendathial," the manservant said. "He collected it all, as well as several things from upstairs and headed back out. I assumed it was to bring it back to you."

"Dammit!" the Archer hissed and sprinted toward the Morning Room where they had left all of the gear that Kirnoth hadn't yet examined for magic.

"My spellbooks!" Kirnoth cried out with a start and ran for the stairs.



Gone.

All of it.

Everything that they had taken from Mice'talaburra, Fendathial, and The Hand of Four that seemed even remotely valuable was gone. So too were all of Kirnoth's spellbooks - his own, Andamacles', and the spellbook of Charlay the Brown that Allenthe Thurgoodman had given him.

Finian's ears had darkened to a scarlet that Ledare hadn't seen since he went sprinting our after the orc in the underground ruin where Soriah had died. Kirnoth just sat staring off into the middle distance. Without his spellbooks, his days as a wizard were over...

"I- I AM sorry," Abernathy said for what seemed like the hundredth time. "He was very convincing and-"

Ledare raised her hand to quiet him. "It wasn't your fault, Abernathy," she said. "Why would you ever have suspected this from him? After all, we brought him here, did we not?"

"Do you have any idea where he might have gone with everything?" Draelond asked quietly, trying to be helpful without treading too heavily upon the group's betrayal.

"Not really," Ledare said with a shake of her head.

"He's very good at hiding," Finian said with restrained fury. "But I swear that one day I will find him!"

"I guess we don't get to test my theory about the three keys," Draelond sighed.

"No," Finian answered. "But we'll still see what's inside these chests."



Twenty minutes later, Finian had opened the three chests with a set of finely crafted thieves' tools Abernathy brought him. As he and Draelond had initially surmised, only one of the chests contained coins - about 200 gp worth of mostly silver Crowns and electrum Eagles. The second held a carefully folded suit of fine leather armor and two well made, but unadorned shortswords. The last was by far the most interesting. Lying within like an odd-shaped bit of discarded snakeskin was a familiar leather glove - its surface heavily stained by dried blood.

All save Draelond recognized it at once as Selejian's Glove of Petrification that had been stolen five days earlier by the wererats.


----------



## Dungannon

*Re: [Realms #181] A Better Ratrap*



			
				Jon Potter said:
			
		

> **We should go!* Gordigan spoke into Kirnoth's mind. *We should go now!*
> "What is it?" the mage asked his cowardly familiar.
> *That big old nasty rat man just called for help,* Gordigan responded fearfully. *And there's a lot of help down here.*
> "How do you know what he said?" the elf replied.
> *I told you I could speak the language of some animals a few times a day,* the duckbunny sighed. *You NEVER listen to me.*
> *




I may regret asking this, but what exactly is a duckbunny?


----------



## Jon Potter

*Re: Re: [Realms #181] A Better Ratrap*



			
				Dungannon said:
			
		

> *
> 
> I may regret asking this, but what exactly is a duckbunny? *





Just what it sounds like: part duck, part rabbit. It's from an old issue of Dragon Magazine (maybe around issue 240 or so). They were presented as an example of what a cross-breeding wizard might start with before graduating up to making owlbears and such.

An earlier adventure saw this group investigating a mage whose specialty was magical cross-breeding. Duckbunnies were running rampant in the surrounding area. The party wizard just happened to choose that location to finally summon a Familiar. What he got was a cute little black rabbit with a bright orange duck bill and four webbed feet.

In addition to providing the Alertness Feat, it grants Kirnoth a +2 modifier to Swim checks. And it can speak with either rodents or birds once per day.

It doesn't really have much going for it, but gosh is it cute!


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #188] Othelwood*

This is where we officially switched over to 3E rules and the party wizard decided to become the party sorcerer.

-----------------------------

"What's that?" Draelond asked and Ledare briefly explained Selejian's involvement with the wererats as well as Finian's and Ruze's firsthand experience with the Glove of Petrification. By the time she'd gotten to the part about the mad sculptor's death, Draelond had backed away from the open chest as if it contained a live scorpion.

"What shall we do with it?" Finian asked. "It is very dangerous. Should we lock it away or use it?"

"We must destroy it immediately!" Kirnoth insisted, snapping out of his torpor.

"I was thinking that you could use it since you are a wizard," the Archer countered but Kirnoth's face contorted at his words.

"Not any more," the elf mused with a sardonic grin.

"Omrixx is a dead man when we see him again," Finian said through gritted teeth as he packed up his lockpicks. "Never trust a thief. Soriah always thought we were too trusting."

Ledare let out a little chuckle. "And I had a funny feeling about him all along," the Janissary muttered. "Let that be a lesson to us." 

"I too had a feeling he was not to be trusted," Kirnoth shrugged. "A lot of good that does us now of course! We must move on. We have little time to waste and none of those objects was likely to be THE crucial thing to put a stop to this evil."

"Yes, but that stuff he took makes you unable to use magic, so he basically made our only wizard unable to use spells!" Finian fumed. "I wonder if someone like Allenthe Thurgoodman knows where he might be?"

Before anyone could respond, another idea blossomed in the half-elf's mind. "Is there a "bounty hunters" guild in Barnacus?" he asked. "I wonder what it would cost to have them hunt-"

"ENOUGH!" Draelond roared, slamming his hand on the tabletop hard enough to make the three chests dance briefly in place.

"What?" Finian asked, blinking up at the human with genuine confusion on his face.

"After all you've seen today, Archer?!?!" the warrior screamed, "After learning that the good people of Barnacus have been fed their own brethren? After seeing the butchered bodies of dozens of innocents, slaughtered so that they might be used to spread evil? THIS is what your worry about? You worry about your stolen fairy dust and a few coins?"

"We lost some valuable stuff," Finian started to explain, but again Draelond cut him off.

"Perhaps I misjudged you, Archer," the warrior said with a disgusted scowl on his face. "I took you for a good man who cared about the difference between good and evil, but you're starting to look to me like a greedy little troll who cares about possessions first and foremost."

For a moment Finian just glared up at the man, but both Kirnoth and Ledare had seen him interact enough times with Soriah to know that the incident was far from over. The muscles in the Archer's jaw bunched as he clenched his teeth and his ears seemed almost to glow as they suffused with blood. For a moment, there was something wild in his eyes, but it passed quickly and when he spoke, his voice was surprisingly even. "I am mad that Omrixx stole our ability to fight as well as we could," he said, his voice eerily calm. "I am also upset that I risked my life against these evil opponents to save that rogue's life."

"We all-" Draelond began and this time Finian cut him off.

"Additionally," the Archer said, "I do not like being talked to in the tone of voice you just addressed me in. No matter how big you are or think you are I do not wish my motives to be questioned in such a way. I do not like being talked to that way. I will forgive it as I too feel some pain at the way those people were butchered."

"I don't think any of us was unaffected by the sight of such evil," Ledare said, disarming the situation in her diplomatic way. Draelond and Finian stopped their staring contest and looked instead at the Janissary.

"Yes," the Battleguard agreed, speaking for the first time. "The spread of the Taint, is a grievous concern to me."

"Ruze, do you know what those symbols meant?" Finian asked. "And no evasive answers this time."

"Those symbols were ancient marks of Chaos meant to disrupt and corrupt," the cleric told him gravely. "Did you notice how if you looked at them too long your eyes kind of went cross-eyed and your stomach turned? That is the mark of chaos."

The others looked at one another for some confirmation of the symptoms that the Battleguard had mentioned. But only Ruze had felt the affects he described and all they could do was shrug.

"Was there actually human meat in there?" Finian asked. "We kind of just jumped to that assumption."

"That I do not know," Ruze admitted. "But I suspect this was the first step to subtly infuse the Taint of chaos in the normal law abiding citizens. People often mistakenly assume the assault of Chaos to be a blunt hammer, and it can be. But often it is more insidious - corrupting from within by preying on our faults, our greed, our power, our hubris."

A weighty silence settled over the room at the cleric's pronouncement. While the rest of the group sat, watching in silence, Draelond took the opportunity to voice his opinion. He spoke quietly and evenly with renewed calm and said, "I think we need to ride to Othelwood as soon as we can."

Ledare nodded. "Since the festival is only on for one more day, we don't have time to waste resting," she said. "I too say we seek out this birth in Othelwood."

"I feel I should report this to Nasser-Ubeen," Ruze announced. "Let me locate a runner to give him the message, whilst we be on the way to stop the birth. I fear we do not have time to waste."

Finian looked annoyed but he too nodded. "Considering the amount of time left, perhaps dealing with Omrixx should wait," he said, looking pointedly at Draelond as he did so. "That is of course unless Kirnoth needs those books very badly."

"Do not worry about me, Finian," Kirnoth said. "I am not powerless without my books."

"What do you plan to do without any spells?" the Archer questioned, but Ruze spoke before the elf could answer.

"My spelling brother, do you have a God you pray to?" the cleric asked. "For methinks you will have to start praying for your miracles now."

Finian grimaced at the Battleguard's suggestion and offered, "Kirnoth, do you have any friends in Barnacus who would let you borrow spells for a price? We have the equivalent of 200 gold crowns here, plus I would be willing to give some of my gems to-"

The elf held up his slender hand to quiet everyone and with a somewhat embarrassed expression said, "Wizardry is not my only source of magic. I am also a sorcerer, although I have always focused on wizardry as most others in my family do."

Sorcerers, the others knew, wielded the same arcane magics that wizards did, but did so without the use of ancient books and tomes. Their magic came from within themselves and was shaped through the force of their own will rather than carefully learned arcane formulae.

"My grandfather, Tirnoth, was also a natural sorcerer," the elf went on. "He helped me develop my sorcery as well. While most of the other mages at Myth Drannor disagreed with him, his philosophy was: 'you can only depend on your own innate skill in a tight spot, and books can leave you'."

At that, Kirnoth smiled thinly and let out a small chuckle. "I always thought he was odd to think that way. But he was my grandfather and I loved him and so I humored him about the sorcery," he went on. "Now I finally see what he was talking about!"

"I know little of the ways of magic," Draelond admitted, "and you certainly have great worth beyond your magical abilities, but does this mean you are not still able to cast spells?"

Kirnoth nodded, "Although I can access my sorcery, I only have minor spells - cantrips you might call them - available to me until I rest."

"Will that be enough?" Ledare asked dubiously. From what little that she knew of arcane magic she seemed to remember that cantrips were the equivalent of parlor tricks.

"I'm also an elf, remember," Kirnoth told him with a smile. "And if I am to now abandon my career as a wizard, I can once again contribute to battle with something more effective than my darts. I would like to get a composite bow and arrow for distance attacks and a longsword for hand to hand combat."

"What?" Finian shouted, surprised at the mage's request but Kirnoth just grinned.

"All elves esteem the arts of swordplay and archery, Finian," he said with a wink of his violet eye. "And I'll turn 150 years old this year. I learned to swing a longsword, before you were born."

The others just looked at the elf as if they had met him for the first time.

"And since I'll be casting only the simplest of spells I believe I can wear leather armor without risk of the spells failing," he went on, moving over to the open chest that contained the suit of leathers they had found. "I can also detect magic. SO let's have a look at this. And given the upcoming battle, if it is not magical, Finian, would you have an objection to me wearing it?"

"N-no?" the Archer replied. Grinning wickedly he added, "I really suggest you keep the glove too. It would be great for you to turn our enemies to stone."

Kirnoth shook his head and closed the lid on the chest containing the Glove of Petrification. "That thing is evil, Finian," he admonished. "You saw what it did to Selejian. I'll not fall into the same trap."



While Draelond readied the group's horses, Finian and Kirnoth went to Grey House's armory and got the elf outfitted with armor and weapons. Kirnoth looked a little strange dressed so, and felt more than a little uncomfortable. "This will take some getting used to," he mused, trying to get comfortable in the binding armor. The sword, however, danced in his hands like an old friend and Finian couldn't help but laugh as he watched the elf twirl the blade expertly.

Ruze and Ledare each called for a runner and sent messages to the Temple of Shaharizod and the Janissary Guild respectively. Ledare wished to be notified in the event that Mom was captured.

Ruze's message said: "Spirit sees Mountain; No Moon overbrims; Spirit away and flows"



It was early afternoon when they rode out of Barnacus and Orin's Shield had set when they arrived at Othelwood. Despite the darkness, it wasn't difficult to spot an area along the side of the caravan trail that had been disturbed recently by horse hooves. Nearby, a broken wagon wheel leaning against a tree marked a narrow trail through the dense foliage.

As they rode into the trees, each remarked to themselves how utterly still the woods seemed. Not an insect chirped or a bird cried out. It was most unnatural. Ruze took some comfort in the fact that beams of moonlight shed by the just-passed-full Handmaiden Moon broke through the dark canopy of leaves above them as they went. But still, shadows danced everywhere as a chill wind blew through the trees. They soon rode out into a clearing, roughly sixty feet across, dominated by a dilapidated buckboard wagon covered in vines and rotten leaves. Four horses were tethered to the wagon and two men stood beside them.

As the group broke out of the trees, one of the men stepped forward and hailed the party. He was dressed in studded leather armor with a longsword at his hip. His long hair and scraggily beard and mustaches were dark and when he spoke it was with the accent of a man from Redwood. "Ho there, strangers," he called. "What would you say if I asked what brings you way out here?"

The other man, who was thin and bald and covered in heavy tattoos, leaned against the wagon, ostensibly cleaning his fingernails with the tip of a dagger. But he seemed to be studying the group with keen interest. For a moment no one spoke.

Ledare glanced around and saw that both Finian and Kirnoth were studying their surroundings carefully, perhaps expecting an ambush. Draelond was easing nonchalantly out of his saddle and Ruze was looking at her.

"Ledare, methinks you should be the one to answer this man's questions," the Battleguard said softly. His voice was rich and true, but at such a level that only she could hear him. "As you are a Janissary you might be able to suggest you are on the king's business on patrol during the festival. Of course we can be pretty sure that they are not here for good reasons."

His words struck a chord with the Janissary, and confidence washed over her as she urged her horse forward. She loosened the clasp on her riding cloak as she advanced until her armor and the tabard she wore were both easily visible in the moonlight. "There are a wide range of answers you might receive... if you were to ask that," she said noncommittally. A slight smile played cautiously across her lips. "None of which would be of much interest, I am sure."

The man looked up at her coldly and nodded. "True enough," he said, studying Ledare for a moment before stepping back and indicating the ruined wagon. "You lot can leave your horses here. The path through the woods is too overgrown to ride."

"Thank you," Ledare said and dismounted. The rest of the group did the same. As she handed the man her reigns, Ledare went on, "We're here on royal business, and the king is not one to make his matters known to everyone. But I-"

"King?" the man said as if he'd been slapped. His eyes narrowed and he shouted, "Intruders!"

Then everything started to happen at once.

The tattooed man jerked upright at once and began waving his hands and muttering strange, slippery words. He wasn't close enough to hear the invocation, but even in the poor lighting, Kirnoth recognized the somatic components of the spell being cast at once: Invisibility.

Ruze and Draelond both drew weapons and charged toward the wagon. Finian was drawing his bow and shouting in elfish, "Tira ten rashwe! Ta naa neuma!" or "Be careful! It's a trap!"

The Archer was looking to the trees, sure that hidden crossbowman were ready to assault them at any moment. He wasn't looking at the enemy mage at all. Kirnoth drew his sword and shouted back at the half-elf, "Tel'edan istar ista amin quella! Tampa ho!" or "The human wizard is casting Invisibility! Stop him!"

Finian turned and spotted the wizard just as he winked out of sight. The Archer let an arrow fly at the spot the man had just occupied and was rewarded with a cry of pain as it struck true. Unlike the ring that they had taken from Andamacles, the man didn't reappear when he was struck, and the arrow itself promptly vanished.

Ledare's longsword flashed out of its scabbard and bit into the mustachioed guard. He staggered back from the blow and tried to duck around Ledare's horse to put some cover between himself and the Janissary. Ruze's whirling scimitars met him.

One of the blades opened a bloody gash in the man's armor, but he had drawn his longsword in time to block the second steel crescent. As a result, he couldn't bring the sword around to block the descending blade of Ravager. The bastard sword split the guard open from shoulder to crotch. He let out a brief gargling sound, dropped to his knees and then fell backward onto the grass.

Finian and Kirnoth stood near one another, listening for any sign of the invisible mage. Neither Kirnoth nor Gordigan heard anything, but Finian had spent many years in the forest and he heard the ever-so-feint sound of a potion being unstoppered. "There!" he shouted and fired another arrow. Again, the mage yelped in pain as Finian miraculously scored a hit on the invisible target.

Ruze and Draelond and Ledare began to cross the clearing toward Kirnoth and Finian, but the Archer held up a hand to stop them. Their clanking armor drowned out any chance that he had of locating the invisible mage by ear.

Kirnoth was advancing toward the woods slowly, his longsword out. He had a spell prepared in his mind, but his attention was split between listening not only to the environment around him, but the mental urgings of the duckbunny tucked inside his shirt. *Over there by the trees,* Gordigan murmured in the elf's mind. *Toward Finian.*

Then Kirnoth heard it too, the soft murmuring of a spell being cast. "Acid sagitta..," the invisible mage whispered and Kirnoth recognized the spell: Acid Arrow.

"Conturbo!" the elf shouted and gestured toward the sound of the casting. A dazzling cloud of winking lights exploded in the air where Gordigan had pinpointed the mage and Kirnoth was pleased to hear the audible pop of a failed spell as the Acid Arrow was disrupted.

Finian followed up with an arrow of his own, but his uncanny luck seemed to have run out. The missile sailed off harmlessly into the trees.

Kirnoth heard the footfalls dashing off toward a narrow footpath barely visible amidst the trees. He slashed outward with his longsword, but connected only with air. Finian saw the brushes part as the mage left the clearing and he reached for another arrow; in his haste, however, he stripped off the fletchings, rendering the arrow useless and unfired.

The underbrush snapped back into place as the invisible mage dashed off into the night.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #189] Giving Chase*

Cursing, Finian cast his ruined arrow aside and turned to Ledare with his hand out. "Quickly, Ledare," he cried. "Give me the ring!"

"What are you planning?" the Janissary asked as she fished the Ring of Invisibility out of her belt pouch.

"We have just given up any chance of surprise unless we catch that man!" the Archer explained excitedly. "I assume that he'll leave a pretty good trail, but I think he will keep going until he gets to the base. I can track him and it would be best if l scout out ahead."

"Tanya nae quel, Finian! Lle auta yeste lye sooruva lle," Kirnoth said. All save Ruze recognized his words as elfish for "Good idea, Finian! Go and we will follow behind you."

"Diola lle, Kirnoth," Finian replied with a nod, rather enjoying speaking elfish after so long.

The Archer took the ring from Ledare and slipped it on his finger, disappearing from view immediately. "Tie the horses so they do not flee before you follow," the Archer's disembodied voice said in the common tongue, then the brush parted where the mage had gone and Finian stepped out of the clearing.

For a moment they listened for any sound from the forest, but there was none.

"Why do I have a bad feeling about this?" Ledare asked no one in particular.



Just beyond the bushes was a well-used footpath. The Archer crouched there and examined the ground, but it was too dark to spot any tracks or spattered blood, even with his low-light vision. Still, it seemed likely that the path had been the mage's escape route, so Finian padded onward, taking care to move quietly. He didn't have to go far before he heard panting and hushed cursing up ahead. Silently as a shadow, the Archer edged toward the sounds, an arrow nocked in his bow.

"Ferking... arrows," a voice grunted, followed immediately by a stifled cry of pain. Then one of Finian's arrows clattered to the ground a few paces from the Archer's feet, appearing as if from no where. The mage was obviously somewhere on the trail ahead. "Only fit for someone too... scared to look you... in the eye when they... kill you, eh, G'zzk?"

Finian edged closer and heard a startled intake of breath some distance ahead. For a long moment, the Archer didn't move... didn't breath, just waited and listened.

"I know you're there," he heard the mage whisper in the darkness. "You can fool me, but you can't fool little, G'zzk."

That was when Finian saw the drops of blood that were blossoming darkly on the path less than five feet away from where he stood. Drip. Drip. Drip. They spattered on the path.

"He can hear you," the mage went on. "And he tells me w-"

Finian fired his arrow at the spot where he thought his Invisible opponent stood. As he fired, he became visible, but it didn't matter. His arrow struck true, and in striking, killed the mage outright. The tattooed man fell, slumped against a tree with the Archer's arrow protruding from his side. He became visible in death, and as his nerveless fingers uncurled Finian saw the glass vial that he had held in his bloodstained hand.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #190] The Ruined Keep*

No one responded to Ledare's comment about her bad feeling. She sighed and hustled toward the center of the clearing. The others followed and, as she grabbed her horse's reins, they did the same. They secured their horses to the wagon alongside the others.

"If Finian is successful in stopping that man, our presence here may still be unknown," she whispered to the group. "Let's search the wagon and these horses for anything of interest and then get going after him."

They nodded and started their search. There was little to see on the horses. Three of them bore identical saddles and tack all branded with an unfamiliar symbol. The last horse was branded with the symbol of Findar's Stable and Smithy, a business both Ledare and Draelond knew operated on the outskirts of Barnacus. None of the horses held any gear of a personal nature.

The wagon, which was missing a wheel and surrounded by weeds, was also empty save for a cocked and loaded light crossbow resting behind the driver's seat. It was located conveniently near the spot where the guard had been standing when they approached. It was the same sort of wagon she'd helped pull out of the mud back in the moonsdance of Coldeven. Whether or not it was the same wagon, she couldn't say although it certainly could have been. It looked as though it had sat in its current spot for no more than a season or two.

"I find nothing of import, kitten," Ruze said, snapping her out of her intent study of the wagon.

"Nor do I," Draelond confirmed. "And I don't think we ought to spend much time with needless searches. We should press on before Finian traipses too far ahead."

"Agreed," Kirnoth said with a nod.

"Let's move quickly and quietly," Ledare added and they crossed the clearing once again.

Just then, Finian appeared from the bushes looking well pleased with himself but a little nervous at the same time, as if he feared he'd had too easy a time of it and was waiting for the other shoe to drop. He quickly explained what had transpired on the trail. "I will bet G'zzk is his familiar," the Archer said at the end of his hurried tale. "A mosquito maybe? What happens to the familiar when the wizard dies?"

"G'zzk is likely this mage's familiar," Kirnoth nodded. "He couldn't be a mosquito, though. They're too small for a mage his size. Smaller wizards - a goblin or hobbit, say - could have..."

"Kirnoth," Ledare said sharply. "I'm sorry, but we don't have time for lengthy explanations right now. Will we be in any danger from this G'zzk now that his master is dead?"

"Of course," the elf replied with a quick nod. "The familiar will become a free-willed magical beast with the wizard's death. How intelligent G'zzk remains after the link is severed will depend on the mage's power. At the very least, it is very likely that others in his party will recognize G'zzk and become alarmed if he shows up without the mage. So we must still consider that we may be coming announced."

"Great..," Finian grumbled.

"Also, if he's been bonded long enough, G'zzk might be able to talk, in which case, we're in serious trouble," Kirnoth added.

"Great..," Finian said again.



Kirnoth concentrated on maintaining the Detect Magic spell while Finian carefully went through the dead mage's belongings. Nothing radiated any immediate magic, but the corpse itself held the faintest residue of Illusion magic... the lingering remnants of the Invisibility spell he'd cast on himself. The Archer held out the two matched vials he'd found; a translucent liquid sloshed around inside them.

"Anything?" he asked quietly and Kirnoth shook his head.

As Kirnoth continued to concentrate he saw that the mage's eyes were just barely detecting as magical as was a third empty vial that Finian had uncovered. The last dregs of a potion in the vial were radiating Transmutation magic.

Finian pulled a slim, well-worn book from some kind of leather rigging that kept it affixed snuggly to the mage's back. He opened it and Kirnoth saw that the pages glowed with a rainbow of various magics. "His spellbook," the elf muttered.

"Can you use it?" Finian asked and Kirnoth shook his head again.

"Doubtful," he replied. "I'd need time to study it first anyway. It won't help us tonight."

"Well, that's everything," the Archer said, disappointed. "This pouch has about thirty gold and this one's empty!" As he said that, he upended the large pouch and something black and many-legged dropped out of it and fell to the ground.

Ledare recoiled, slamming into Ruze and nearly sending him to the ground. A shriek of terror ripped itself from somewhere deep within her and went careening through the night air. A murder of crows sleeping in the nearby trees was startled into flight and when flapping off after the sound, adding their own raucous caws to the sudden din.

Finian stamped out his foot and crushed the scorpion under his boot with a satisfying crunch.

Ledare's breathing was ragged and barely under control as she looked with horror at the broken remains of the vermin once Finian lifted his foot tentatively. She pushed herself off of Ruze, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I thought it was a spider," she said.

Finian grimaced. "There goes our chance of sneaking up on them," he grumbled.

"At least we don't need to worry about G'zzk anymore," Kirnoth added.

"We ought to push onward," Draelond suggested. "All of this distracts us from our goal."



They took Draelond's suggestion and pressed on along the trail, and although Finian could find no tracks in the near darkness, he surmised that this path was likely the way to the enemy base. He and Kirnoth (being the only two who had any real hope of moving quietly) trotted along some distance ahead of the others, mindful of any noises in the trees. They heard none, which, to Finian was a clear indication that there was something unnatural about Othelwood.

"Wait," Kirnoth hissed at Finian's back and the Archer skidded to a stop a few paces further on along the trail.

"What is it?" he asked as he rejoined Kirnoth beside a tangle of thorns.

"This doesn't seem right, does it?" the elf muttered, indicating the bush without any real clue as to why he thought that. His keen elfish eyes had spotted something out-of-place.

Finian looked at the brambles, squatting down low to look at it from several different angles before he withdrew one of his throwing knives and cut a cleverly concealed bit of twine. The thorny bush, which was really two thorny bushes tied together, snapped back from a side path that snaked away through the brambles. Despite the darkness, Finian was immediately able to discern that a number of man-sized humanoids had used the path recently. The mud from the rainfall three nights ago had mostly hardened, but there were fresh tracks overlaying the deeper ones that had been made when the mud was wet.

"Good eyes, Kirnoth," Finian said, getting back to his feet. "Let's wait here until the others catch up and then we'll head this way. It seems our best bet."



The new trail threaded along through thick brambles and weeds and tightly packed yarpick trees for over a quarter of a mile and as they traveled, everyone began to feel better about the chances that perhaps Ledare's scream had gone unheard. Finian also felt confident that any would-be ambushers would announce their presence long before they reached him. Movement off the path was sure to be noisy. They followed the path until it emptied into a shallow, bowl-shaped valley surrounded on all sides by wooded hills.

Meruna, the Handmaiden Moon, shown her silver radiance on the valley and by her light, even Draelond and Ruze could see that in the center of the valley, surrounded by a moss-covered moat squatted the ancient ruins of a keep.

The aged structure had a 10-foot high stone wall around it that had crumbled away in sections, revealing a weed-choked courtyard beyond. A stone bridge arched over the moat, directly before the remains of a small gatehouse that was in horrible disrepair. One bronzewood door lay on the ground, and the other dangled from one rusted hinge. The moat was at least 60 ft. from the edge of the forest, and they could just see the remains of an ancient wagon path that led up to the stone bridge. The rutted path had now been mostly reclaimed by the short scrubgrass that covered the bowl of the valley floor.

Everything was deathly still and utterly quiet as if the very forest were holding its breath in fearful anticipation.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #191] The Smell of Fear*

It was Finian who broke the oppressive silence.

"I have come through here with Grmnmral on our way to Barnacus," he told the others in a hushed whisper. "I went out to hunt and I must have passed out somewhere and I woke up in the morning. I had weird dreams of sheep bleating and blood from one of my wounds opened up." He absently touched his forehead where he'd been cut by a thief's knife all those moonsdances ago. "It was spooky," he concluded.

Ledare looked around at the wood and the ruin before them. "That much has remained unchanged," she said. Then, looking at each of her companions in turn, she added, "Suggestions?"

Finian squinted at the keep and said, "They may not have heard us, but we should watch a little since I am sure they have look outs and traps set. They seem very concerned about hiding themselves. We should approach with caution."

Ledare nodded and Kirnoth added, "When we get closer, I will use Detect Magic to determine if there are spells around this place. I will also keep my bow ready and stay alert for 'snipers'."

"Good idea," the Janissary said and Draelond spoke.

"Perhaps, Kirnoth and Finian, while the two of you check out the keep below, I'll go with you to keep watch. I don't like the feel of this place a bit," Draelond whispered, hating the thought of what he was saying "but it may be the only hope we have of finding where we ought to go from here." He bared Ravager's hungry, saw-toothed blade and held the bastard sword in his grip so tightly his knuckles lost color immediately. "I'll be as quiet as I am able," he added, "but a bull doesn't tiptoe through a glassblower's shop without being noticed."

"Are you thinking it would be wise for Ruze and I to stay behind?" Ledare asked. "For what purpose?"

Draelond shrugged. "The noise of our armor..," he began, but a shake of Ledare's head cut him off.

"If, indeed you tiptoe like a bull, there seems to be no reason why we all shouldn't go," the Janissary contradicted. "It looks too quiet and still to let just the three of you go on ahead. We'll all go."

She looked at Ruze and said, "Unless you have another idea, Ruze."

The Battleguard shook his head. "You're the Janissary," he said again. "I follow your lead."

"Perhaps Finian can take the ring and slip slightly ahead to scout things out," Ledare suggested and the Archer was already nodding his assent.

"I will gladly go ahead," he said, fingering the Ring of Invisibility. "It may be a good idea to check for traps on the bridge. They seem to really want to guard this place, so it could be trapped. Give me time to go ahead and do that. Then follow."

"We'll let you give you until a count of fifty before we follow," Ledare told him. "I don't want us to get too separated."

Finian considered this before slipping on the Ring and vanishing. "Fair enough," his disembodied voice told them, "but do not be afraid when I whisper. I have been in this woods before and it is spooky."

The nearly prophetic irony of his words was, for the time being, lost on the Archer of the Green.



Invisibly, Finian moved diagonally down the gentle slope to the valley floor. The grass, painted silver in the radiant light of Meruna, was already slick with dew, and it made the footing somewhat less than steady. But he made it all the way to the remains of the rutted wagon track in front of the gatehouse without losing his footing, and he crept forward even as Ledare reached her mental count of fifty.



"Let's go," she hissed to the others and they started down the bowl of the valley.

"Careful," Kirnoth muttered. "It's slippery here."



The bridge was made of weather-worn stone and covered with dead vines. It arched ten feet above the stagnant floor of the moat. Below, Finian could see the Handmaiden Moon reflected in the black mirrors of standing water. On the other side of the bridge yawned the open maw of the gatehouse. Two 10-foot-tall bronzewood doors once protected the gateway, but no more. One door hung precariously on a single rusted hinge and the other had fallen entirely to the ground and lay half-hidden amidst some high weeds. A shattered and collapsed wooden walkway hung uselessly over the doors. Years of apparent disuse had taken a heavy toll on the bridge itself, but it seemed sound.

Finian glanced back over his shoulder and saw the others moving inelegantly down the slope toward the bridge. Kirnoth was doing a good job of staying inconspicuous despite the open terrain. The others were having a harder time of it and Ledare's armor actually seemed to be sending back flashes of reflected moonlight as she moved.

The Archer gritted his teeth and began checking the bridge for any traps. He thought at first that perhaps the vine was some sort of living guardian for the keep. But it was just a thorny vine, long dead from the black rot that had stricken it. The lighting was poor, but he did his best to spot any tripwires or pressure plates. He completely missed the odd symbol drawn on the bridge stone in human feces until he discharged the Glyph of Warding.



They had taken a little more time than was absolutely necessary in order to prevent each other from slipping in the wet grass and falling to the ground in a clattering, jangling pile. Consequently, the others had just reached the rutted trail when they heard the girl scream.

Only it wasn't a girl as they all thought. It was Finian and he ran passed them all, invisibly, gibbering in terror. They couldn't see him to stop him, but they all heard a loud crashing sound as he slammed into the thick brambles that choked the woods at the edge of the valley.

"Dammit," Ledare had time to say as she listened to the Archer smashing his way off randomly through the trees. Then the first volley of crossbow bolts whistled through the air around them. Three quarrels thudded into the weeds - one each, at Ledare's, Draelond's and Ruze's feet.

A quick glance across the bridge revealed movement in the courtyard beyond the partially collapsed curtain wall. Two men in chainmail were drawing longswords and moving out through the gateway. Behind them stood another fellow dressed in leathers who was cocking back the lever on his light crossbow.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #192] Storming the Keep*

Ledare's sword was in her hand in an instant. "Ruze, Kirnoth see if there is anything you can do to the crossbowman from a distance," she said, her voice calm but commanding at the same time. "Draelond, you're with me."

She went to meet the two men charging them across the bridge.

"No arrow has been pointed in my direction, so I assume they have not seen-" Kirnoth began, but was cut off as a crossbow bolt whistled over his head. He gulped and looked back at the quarrel thrust into the earth behind him. "Scratch that," he concluded and readied his bow.

As the elf moved cautiously toward the bridge, Draelond was cocking back the lever on his own crossbow and Ruze muttered a hasty prayer to Shaharizod.

Then the two enemy warriors were upon Ledare.

Expertly, she sidestepped the first man's wild swing, ducking under the blow and coming around on his unprotected flank. Her silver-iron longsword tore through his chainmail as if it were parchment and he fell lifeless to the ground at her feet. His compatriot, however, used the Janissary's momentary distraction to land a solid, but hardly life-threatening, blow of his own.

A bolt from Draelond's crossbow sailed to Ledare's right and disappeared into the moat. Ruze appeared at the big man's side and laid a hand on his forearm. "Now, listen up, without Finian here, we are one less," the Battleguard barked. "But, Draelond, with your strength I know we will prevail. With Shaharizod as my Queen, I bless thee. Now follow me!"

Draelond didn't need convincing, and he moved forward, unsheathing Ravager as he went.

"Kael's Loom!" Kirnoth cried out as another crossbow bolt thudded into the ground at his feet. The elf raised his bow to return fire, but the man had ducked back behind the corner of the gatehouse's right-hand tower. Kirnoth held his bow drawn and waited for the man to reappear.

Ledare swung her sword at the second warrior, and her blade darted in low beneath his shield and drew blood from the man's thigh. Before he could return the blow, Draelond was there and he swung his massive bastard sword at the man. Somehow, the out-numbered warrior managed to raise his shield and deflect the blow away although Ravager's jagged teeth gauged into the wooden device. The man's longsword cleaved ineffectually through the air.

Ruze ignored the melee and walked resolutely across the bridge toward the gatehouse. The crossbowman darted out from behind the wall, spotted Ruze and raised his crossbow. Kirnoth let fly with his arrow. But it had been too many years since he'd last used a bow and his arrow clattered harmlessly off the gatehouse wall. The crossbowman seemed ignorant of the attempt on his life; he sighted down his weapon at Ruze... but was unable to fire. Ruze scowled at him, and cursing, the man ducked back behind his cover.

Ledare and Draelond exchanged misses with the grim-faced swordsman. Steel rang on steel, but no one landed a blow. Kirnoth ducked around the combat and followed behind the Battleguard, nocking another arrow as he went.

There was still no sign of Finian.

"Ursh! Get out here!" they all heard a voice cry out from inside the keep. "One of 'em's a spellcaster! We could use a little mojo!" Only Ruze was close enough to hear the sound of retreating footfalls coming from the other side of the wall.

As the swordsman momentarily directed his attention at Draelond, Ledare's blade slashed across the man's throat, dropping him to the ground amidst a spray of blood.

"Well struck," Draelond said with a nod.



Ruze drew his twin scimitars as he felt the power of his Sanctuary spell recede. Beyond the ruined gate lay a courtyard choked with dead weeds. Off to the right was what looked like a well, covered with moss and decaying vines. Straight ahead was the main keep itself; it had seen better days. The fieldstone walls of the dilapidated, two-story structure had weakened in many areas, leaving large cracks and gaping holes. Many sections of the roof had completely collapsed, exposing rotten timbers and leaving shingles and planks scattered around the base of the building.

The Battleguard spotted a shadowy figure dart inside the structure. Kirnoth saw it too and he let loose with another arrow, but it struck earth well away from the retreating figure.
The elf glanced back over his shoulder and saw that Ledare and Draelond were hustling across the bridge toward them. He and Ruze stepped forward through the remains of the gateway, and blundered into a low-hanging string that was hung amidst the weeds that grew between the two towers. Small bells that depended from the string rang out loudly as they were disturbed.

"Oops," Ruze began, but an instant later a new voice cried out from the shadow of the ruined keep.

"Hold, intruders!" the voice cried out in thickly-accented common. "Taste the doom that awaits all who trespass on her sacred ground! Taste it and tremble!"

Ruze felt an unholy spell wash over him, but his faith in the Silver Queen bolstered his will and the enchantment failed to take hold. "It is you who will tremble before the divine might of Shaharizod!" the Battleguard bellowed and charged forward.

A quarrel whistled passed Ruze's head, nearly parting his hair as it went and then he saw the enemy cleric, a bald half-orc dressed in brown robes trimmed in yellow. An unholy symbol of Aphyx hung around his neck and he stepped forward with a quarterstaff to meet Ruze's challenge.

Kirnoth raised his bow to fire, but found that, somehow, he lacked the will to attack the half-caste. Much as he wanted to, he just couldn't loose the arrow. Draelond and Ledare rushed passed the elf, following on Ruze's heels.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #193] Aphyx & Arrows*

"Behold, the power of Shaharizod," the Battleguard bellowed as he raised the scimitar in his right hand and leveled it at the half-orc. "Behold, as I smite thee."

A blackish-green smile split the Plaguebringer's face as Ruze approached. And it was only then that Ruze heard the half-orc muttering a prayer under his breath. Enraged, Ruze lashed out using one of the forms he'd been taught in the temple: Wind Over Mountain. His scimitars flickered in the moonlight opening bloody gashes in the half-orc's pox-marked flesh. The Plaguebringer cried out in pain and with a gasp his prayer went unfinished and unanswered. "As my heart is pure with her love so is my aim!" Ruze grinned as the cleric took a retaliatory swing at him. It missed by a wide margin.

Ledare reached the melee a few paces ahead of Draelond and stabbed her sword at Ursh, aiming for the hideous symbol of the goddess of pestilence that hung loosely about his neck. She was taken momentarily aback by the superior martial display that Ruze was exhibiting with his twin crescents. She missed completely.

"Kitten, assure you stand outside the range of the twin moon blades lest I cut your silky skin," Ruze quipped jauntily. "Draelond, I suggest you do the same although your appearance alas would be improved with a few more scars. Ha!"

Draelond grinned at the cleric's comment as he stepped up to the half-orc's flank and raised Ravager. "I'll follow you to battle anywhere, Ruze," Draelond yelled, preparing to chop handily through the malformed Plaguebringer. He found himself unable to swing the blade as much as he wished it. The bastard sword trembled above his head and he grew red-faced with effort, but he was forced, at last, to stagger away from the melee.

Kirnoth approached and called out, "I can't attack him either."

As Draelond turned to address the elf, another crossbow bolt was deflected by the big man's chainmail. "There are other foes!" Draelond observed. "We'd all be served to keep half-an-eye on that shooter in the crow's nest up above!!"

"I've been trying," Kirnoth admitted, "It's coming from the ruins of the upper floor, but I can't see exactly where."

Draelond angled his head toward the base of the keep and started in that direction. "We'll have some cover if we're closer to the wall," he told Kirnoth. "Keep your eyes open for any sign of the shooter."

The elf hesitated. "What about Ruze and Ledare?" he asked, reluctant to leave them on their own.

"We're no good to them in battle with a foe we can't attack," the warrior asserted and Kirnoth had no choice but to agree.



As it turned out, Kirnoth's fears about leaving Ledare and Ruze alone with the half-orc were unfounded. Ursh did his best to concentrate on the miracle he was attempting at the same time as he avoided the harrying blades of his two adversaries. His best fell far short of what was necessary... on both accounts. His spell fizzled with a pop and a momentary whiff of brimstone and Ruze's twin scimitars cut him to ribbons in the very next instant.

The Battleguard paused long enough to spit on the stinking corpse before he and Ledare went to follow on Draelond and Kirnoth's heels.



The stairs leading up to the nearly non-existent second floor were strewn with debris. Fallen timbers and crumbling blocks of stone competed with drifts of powdered mortar and piles of broken shingles. Draelond nearly fell as he tried to step over a precariously balanced beam. It was a little cluttered to swing a sword as big as Ravager and certainly no place for Kirnoth to use his long bow.

The elf propped his bow against the wall and switched to his longsword as he and Draelond moved out amidst the debris from the fallen roof. They moved side-by-side, each looking and listening for some sign of the shooter, but the clattering of Ruze's scale and Ledare's plate armor climbing ungainly up the steps made hearing anything almost impossible.

Kirnoth turned to hush his two companions when the hidden figure struck, leaping from behind a partially-collapsed wall and stabbing at Kirnoth with a shortsword. Miraculously, the elf's leather armor managed to turn away the point of the blade, sparing Kirnoth a pierced kidney.

The elf whirled and thrust outward with his longsword and felt the blade strike true. Staggered, the shadowy assailant was in a poor position to avoid Draelond's attack. The bastard sword, too found its target, but Draelond could see little in the darkness and the blow was only a slight one.

The figure darted back behind the cover provided by the outcropping of wall and vanished again from sight.



In the courtyard below, only Finian saw the shadowy figure creeping along the outer wall of the keep's second story, silently maneuvering into a position behind Draelond and Kirnoth. He trotted into point blank range, drew back an arrow and fired. He became visible an instant before his missile struck the shadowy figure in the center of the back.

For a moment, the man clawed and clutched at the wall, trying to maintain his grip, but in the end, he fell the 15 feet to the courtyard, landing with a bone-crunching thud.



All their foes vanquished, the group gathered in the shadow of the keep. They'd battled through two lines of defense and so far, only Ledare had been injured.

"This seems too easy," Finian muttered.

"The gods smile on our actions," Ruze offered and the Archer shrugged.

"So what do we do now?" Draelond asked.

"Well, there's that hidden doorway over there," Kirnoth suggested, pointing to a disguised door with some easily-moved bits of rubble blocking it.

The door opened onto a wide set of uneven stairs that coiled away into icy darkness. The stairs themselves were made of black basalt worn smooth by the tread of untold feet. There seemed to be no light below although empty iron torch holders were set into the walls at regular intervals.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #194] Trapped Between a Door and a Cold Place*

"The hidden doorway seems the most appropriate path for us to follow," Ledare told the others. "Are we in agreement?"

"I wonder if it would be worth while to sneak down invisibly and scout things out?" Finian hypothesized, unconsciously spinning the Ring of Invisibility around and around on his finger.

Kirnoth peered down into the darkness below and shrugged. "It's pretty dark down there," he said, turning back to the Archer. "You'll need a light source. And with a light source, being invisible's not much help."

"And you'll need to be wary of any more silly traps that would alert others to our presence," Ledare reminded and Ruze chuckled.

"Wouldn't want you running off again like a little girl," he smirked and the Janissary glowered at him.

"You rallied your courage and helped us in the end," Ledare said to Finian before turning her eyes back to the Battleguard and allowing a disapproving tone to creep into her voice. "Think no more of it."

"I appreciate your tolerance," Finian said, a trifle shame-faced.

"As long as you are well, it doesn't matter," she consoled him. "I have not forgotten my own loss of control when we confronted the ghost at The Five Elements Inn. It can happen to anyone. If Ruze had been there with us, he might have known that."

The Battleguard looked a little uncomfortable and he squirmed a bit under Ledare's scrutiny. "Sorry," he muttered. "Just trying to lighten the mood a bit, kitten. I didn't mean anything by it."

"Let us press onward," Draelond suggested. "The longer we delay the longer our enemies have to prepare."

"He's right," Finian admitted and drew the longsword that had been given him by the king. It flooded the area at once with pale, blue-white radiance. "I would not be surprised if more booby traps are set either, but this should provide sufficient light to search by." He marched over to the doorway and held the sword out into the stairwell. The blade filled the claustrophobic passage with light as far ahead as the bend where the stairs coiled out of sight 25 feet down. "I'll go ahead, checking for traps as I go," Finian told the group. "You all stay behind until I reach the bend then come that far and I'll continue on. We'll go like that until we reach the bottom or a door or something."

"Sounds good," Ledare nodded.

"Let us remain on our guard and assume those within know we're coming," Kirnoth told the others.

"Keep that poem in your mind, Kirnoth, and be on the watch for anything it might reference," Ledare added. "We should all do the same, but you seem to have it committed to memory the best."

"Don't worry, Ledare," the mage explained with a serious nod of his head. "I will be on the lookout for anything magical, hidden or that looks like a piece of the poem."

"Wish me luck," Finian said and started his examination of the stairwell by the light of his enchanted blade.



He'd almost made it to the bend - about 20 feet down - when he suddenly stopped.

The stair that he had just begun to put his weight on wasn't a stair at all. It was a trigger for some kind of trap and it gave just enough when he started to step down that he was able to detect it before he set it off. He eased his foot off and began to examine the surrounding area for some indication of what the trap did. In the ceiling above he saw a narrow slit, and a blade glittered eagerly in the dark fissure. It was clearly some sort of scything blade trap.

Finian licked his lips nervously before turning to the others clustered at the top of the stairs and gesturing for them to wait. Then he pulled out the thieves tool kit that Abernathy had located for him and went to work disarming the trap. After what seemed like an hour - but was actually less than a minute - he heard a satisfying click from inside the triggering mechanism. He leaned back and let out a sigh of relief before slipping the tools back into their kit and the kit back into his belt pouch. He gestured then for the others to join him, pointed out the false stair and whispered, "I think I've disarmed it, but you should probably avoid stepping on it anyway."

"Better safe than sorry," Draelond whispered back and the Archer nodded.

"You all wait here and I'll move on," he told them and he did.

After another 20 feet, he encountered another trap. This one gave no warning, except for an ever-so-faint hissing sound and instant before a five-foot area on either side of Archer was flooded with magical cold. Luckily, Finian's reflexes - which had improved somewhat since the damage that the viperwolf venom had done to them - saved him. As soon as he heard the hiss, he lept forward, landing six steps down and well outside of the icy blue curtain of elemental cold.

He stared up at his Companions through the scintillating blast and then glanced down. About 20 feet below, he could see a small landing with a set of double doors at the bottom of the staircase. A sickly green light could be seen pulsing through the thin gaps between and under the two doors.

The narrow staircase was growing cold and Finian could see his breath in the air. A thin layer of ice had begun to form on the stairs and wall and the Archer had begun to wonder how he would get back to his Companions when the curtain of cold dropped.

"It's a magical trap," Finian hissed up at them. "I don't know if I can disable it."

"Can you do anything, Kirnoth?" Ledare asked and the mage shrugged.

"Maybe," he said and began casting Detect Magic. As he completed the spell, the others saw his eyes take on the opalescent silver quality that they always did when the mage was looking for magical dweomers. Kirnoth saw his companions glowing dimly, the stair halfway between them and Finian glimmered in the dark and something dimly radiating from below and behind the Archer. As Kirnoth concentrated, the auras became clearer: Finian's sword and the Ring of Invisibility glowed so brightly that he had to blink. He concentrated on the stair that radiated both Divination and Evocation magic and after a few more moments of concentrated effort, he determined that there was a small magical rune or glyph inscribed on the stair. "But there's no way for you to get to it without triggering the trap," Kirnoth told Finian. "And even then, I'm not sure what you could do to it; it's carved into the stone."

"Can we not just avoid that stair, like we did above?" Draelond asked and the elf shook his head.

"The magical cold is keyed to some sort of Divination magic," the elf explained. "I don't think that touching the stair triggers it so much as passing within its radius does. Even if my magic were at full strength, it is beyond my ability to dispel."

"Mine too," Ruze said before everyone even had a chance to look at him.

"So either I deliberately trigger it by trying to disable it, get caught by the spell, and *maybe* succeed in disabling it," Finian summed up. "Or you each try jumping through and *maybe* avoid it like I did."

"Oh, and I should mention that there's something else down below you that's radiating magic as well," Kirnoth added. "It's out of my line of sight, so I can't tell anything more about it. But it's definitely there."

Finian glanced back down at the double doors. "Yeah," he muttered. "I think I see it too."


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #195] Beyond Disease's Door*

Draelond considered Finian's statement for a moment, pondering the alternatives - if in fact, there were any. "You forget, my half-elvish friend, about the rule of somewhat large, marginally-dexterous men in bulky armor, working in tight spaces, getting a little skittish about performing feats with *maybes* attached to them," he said with a smirk. "But it DOES seem like the best approach."

"What else can we do at this point?" Kirnoth added. He looked across the trap at Finian and then onward down the stairs behind him. "I think we have to plow ahead."

Ruze shook his head with a frown. "I really do not think we should just jump through that thing unless as a last resort," he said, eying the area with the triggering rune that Kirnoth had pointed out.

Draelond paused and pondered the Battleguard's cautioning words before adding,"But it seems that the need to press forward eliminates a long list of other options."

"Could you walk on the walls with the slippers?" Finian suggested, pointing to his purple and crimson silk footwear. "Perhaps I could toss the slippers back to each of you and then you can get over the rune."

"We don't know the trap's detection radius," Ruze pointed out. "Or even what triggers it. Mayhaps, lets try to pass a torch over the glyph and see it that sets it off."

"And get caught in blast when it goes off?" Finian grimaced. "I don't think so."

"Good point, Finian," Kirnoth said with a nod.

"Hmm... Kirnoth, me thinks I may be able to nullify this elemental if it originates from Evil," Ruze said, rubbing his goateed chin. "What do you think?"

The elf shrugged. "I must admit that I know little of divine magicks, my friend," the mage admitted. "I'll defer to your knowledge of such things."

Ruze looked as though he were hoping for more endorsement of his idea. He sighed and stepped into the front rank. He reverently clutched his silver holy symbol. "Well, it's at least worth a try," he said and closed his eyes in prayer. "Shaharizod, my Queen, bless me with thy virtue to erase this glyph of evil that blocks thy servants to thy task at hand.'

He felt the warm tingle of holy energy fill the core of his being and he gestured outward with a forceful sweep of his arm, directing the power into the trapped stair. For a moment the air in the stairwell seemed charged with the divine and then it gradually dwindled away.

"Did it work?" Ledare asked.

"Well, Kitten, there really is no way to know until we jump," the cleric told her. "Hold for a moment whilst I grant some additional protection." The Battleguard bowed his head again and touched Ledare's shoulder. "My Queen," he intoned, "grant Ledare thy protection."

He then looked to the big fighter. "Draelond you are next," he said, holding his open palm outward in a gesture of benediction."Grant this lumbering oaf some protection, my Queen, for he needs it." He winked at Draelond and the warrior grinned back before turning to face the trapped section of stair.

"I'll go first. If I make it..." Draelond stopped and cleared his throat." ...WHEN I make it, then it then should be a breeze for the rest of you."

"No," Ruze told him. "Let me go first. If there's some sort of mishap, you'll need my healing powers on the other side."

He looked around at the others and nobody argued.

"Kirnoth I fear you and I go on Faith alone so that I have some curative abilities to give if they become necessary." Ruze and the elf nodded at each other and the Battleguard took a deep breath. "Well, no time like the present." He crouched, brought his arms back and muttered a little prayer that would have made the temple clerics cringe with horror, "My heart is pure, my feet are light, please don't freeze me tonight!"

And then he jumped.

At mid-leap, the trap was triggered, filling the stairwell to either side of the trigger step with frozen death. Fortunately, the Battleguard was lighter on his feet than his portly physique would have suggested and he was able to twist his body around to avoid the brunt of the magical onslaught. He landed with  precision on the step beside Finian with his entire right leg coated in ice.

"Not good," he grunted, teeth clenched against the pain. Immediately he and the Archer began breaking away the ice and tending the wound as best they could. When that was done, the trap had reset itself, and Ruze beckoned to Draelond. "You're next," he said and the big man flexed and jumped.

Like Ruze, he triggered the trap and managed to avoid most of the damaging hail of ice. However, he landed poorly, twisting his ankle and tumbling face-first down the stairs. Finian lept aside with near balletic grace; Ruze was directly in the falling warrior's path and both men fell downward, clanking and grunting with each impact. Draelond managed to extricate himself from the tangle about ten feet down, but Ruze fell all the way to the bottom where he lay panting in the chill foyer before a pair of closed iron doors.

The Battleguard gasped.

The doors were covered with ornate sculptural reliefs of tormented faces in various stages of disease and decay. They seemed to rise up out of the black iron surface of the door their eyes pleading with Ruze to end their suffering. As he stared at them he saw strange black symbols were appearing and disappearing on each of the faces' foreheads, flickering in and out too quickly for his eyes to discern them. Noxious green light was spilling out from beneath and between the two doors. The place stank of evil.

"Are you alright?" Draelond called down the stairs and Ruze got awkwardly to his feet.

"I don't think I'll be dancing any time soon, but I'll live," the Battleguard grunted.

Kirnoth jumped next, avoiding the blast entirely as he went. He landed gracefully and turned to look up at the Janissary. "Come on, Ledare," he assured her. "There's nothing to it."

"Easy for you to say, Kirnoth," she grumbled. "Finian, toss me those slippers."

They didn't do her any good, unfortunately. She jumped through, triggered the spell and, like both Draelond and Ruze managed to avoid the worst of the damaging ice. And like Draelond she landed poorly and went careening down the stairs. Again, Finian dodged, and this time, he was able to shove Kirnoth out of the way as Ledare went sliding passed him on her armor-plated back. She managed to grab Draelond's hand and so avoided the ride all the way to the bottom.



"No traps," Finian announced after he'd finished examining the doors. "But these doors certainly look familiar."

"They do?" Draelond muttered.

"We saw a similar door in the tomb of an ancient Aphyx priestess," Kirnoth explained. "That's where the Scrolls of Vector were hidden away."

"And it's the same as the door to the main temple in the catacombs beneath Barnacus," Ruze reminded.

"Can anyone make out those symbols that keep fading in and out on their foreheads?" Ledare asked. The others shook their heads.

"It's too fast," Ruze said.

"Ready to proceed?" Finian asked and they brandished weapons, nodded, and threw open the doors.

The iron valves opened onto a hexagonal chamber with 10-foot-high walls that arched to 15 feet in the center of the room. The chamber was illuminated by a to-foot-high, 10-foot wide archway that glowed with a swirling green mist. Six black stone statues stood in the corners of the chamber, their heads nearly scraping the ceiling, their feet treading upon a field of broken skulls.

Finian, Kirnoth and Ledare recognized the hulking orc-like carvings for what they were. They'd seen them in the frescoes of Mogrelden's tomb and the Plaguebringer, Heurist, had even named them for Finian - Mendicants.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #195a] What Now?*

Finian gulped and the sound seemed very loud in the smallish chamber.

"Mendicants," Kirnoth whispered, his gaze moving over the statues with a mixture of curiosity and revulsion.

"Excuse me?" Draelond asked and the three who had been in the tomb of Mogrelden hurriedly explained what little they knew of the creatures. The Plaguebringer who had captured Finian, Heurist, identified the creatures represented here in stone as mendicants. They had been depicted herding smaller, pale creatures covered in red tattoos - called vectors - in some peeling frescoes the group had seen in the tomb. The evil cleric had attached a great deal of importance to both the mendicants and the vectors and had recovered some ancient texts of Aphyx's faith from Mogrelden's sarcophagus called the Scrolls of Vector.

"Didn't that traitor, Hawk, have markings drawn on him when we rescued him?" Finian asked while Draelond digested this new information. Kirnoth nodded and the Archer continued, "Perhaps vectors are victims of some horrible ritual with the disease queen."

"Nasser-Ubeen said that the writing on Omrixx's... err... Hawk's body was in a dead language - ancient Sobar," Ruze reminded. "Part of a ritual to create a Plague Ghoul."

"Perhaps plague ghouls and vectors are one and the same," Ledare pondered. She grimaced as she shifted her weight and a jolt of pain shot up her spine.

"Kitten, you look as bad as I feel," Ruze consoled as he approached the Janissary wth his holy symbol in hand. "Come here. Let me ease your pain." He touched her head with the twin crescents and muttered a simple prayer to his goddess, "My Queen, lend us your strength..." He finished the ritual by turning the symbol and touching it to his breast. Moonlight seemed to flood over Ledare as many of the aches and pains caused by the magical trap and her subsequent fall down the stairs drifted away.

"Thank you," Ledare said with a genuinely grateful smile.

Ruze just grinned back, nodded and then looked over at Draelond. "Come here, you oaf," the Battleguard chuckled and dropped to one knee. As he did so an involuntary groan of pain escaped his lips. The others looked concerned, but he waved it off with his usual aplomb. "You know, Draelond, I really could have done without you tackling me down the stairs. My back is killing me. Oi!"

"I'm sorry, Ruze," the big man replied with a sheepish look. "I slipped and-"

"I know," the Battleguard interrupted with another wave of his hand. "Now, lemme look at that ankle." Draelond offered up his sore leg and Ruze squeezed it and moved the foot in all directions. "You seem okay. Can you walk on it?" He looked up as Draelond nodded and then the cleric got achingly to his feet. "See Finian for some pain killer root if you need it."

In response to the cleric's stubborn refusal to heal himself, Finian shook his head and urged the Battleguard back down to his knees. The Archer unslung his satchel of herbs and began loosening the straps on Ruze's armor. "Let's have a look at your back," Finian insisted. "You three stay alert for trouble."

The others spread out, watching both the stairs leading up to the surface and the swirling archway of green vapor.

"Do you suppose that is some kind of portal?" Ledare asked Kirnoth in a low voice and the mage shrugged.

"If it is, it's unlike any I've ever seen before," he told her. Rethinking, he added, "Not that I've seen many portals before, mind you."

They looked up at the mendicants' vaguely pig-like faces and shuddered. Their expressions were carved in grimaces of unmistakable malice. Their thickly-muscled torsos were covered in scales like a snake's, but they were portrayed as having worn or flaked away in places revealing open sores and supporating wounds beneath. Their hands and feet were tipped by long talons. Discounting the height of the bases, and assuming that they were carved life-sized, they determined that the mendicants would tower several feet taller even than Draelond.

In all they were not opponents that any of them wished to face.

"Now we are ready to proceed," Ruze announced as he got to his feet with a clink of scale armor.

"To where?" Ledare asked. "Do we head into the mist?"

"Not until I've searched for trap doors. Runes. Whatever," Finian added and shouldered his way toward the glowing archway. He began examining the area in detail and located a section of stone to the right of the archway that was worn smoother than the surround wall. He pressed it and a narrow door popped open just beside the archway, revealing a narrow closet lined with pegs. Hanging within were a half-dozen full length, moss green robes trimmed in muddy brown, with pointed hoods that completely covered the face of the wearer save for narrow eye slits.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #196] Maternity Ward*

"Looks like a chance for a disguise!" Finian grinned as he held up on of the robes.

"Yes! We should definitely check these robes out," Draelond said excitedly. He stepped forward and felt the voluminous sleeve of the robe that Finian was holding up for them all to see. "If they seem to check out okay, we should wear them to conceal our identities as we pass into the misty area!"

"No," Kirnoth countered. "This HAS to be a trap! I really don't think we should try on those robes. It seems to obvious!"

Draelond scowled. "If there's something going on on the other side we may be able to pass undetected," he pointed out, but Kirnoth still shook his head.

"Trap," he stated flatly.

"Okay," Ledare interceded, holding up her hands. "Let's let Draelond try on one of the robes first. If he seems like nothing more than Draelond in a robe with a pointy hood, then I agree that we should all put one on and proceed through the portal."

Draelond nodded and took the robe from Finian. It felt greasy in his hands. "Kirnoth, could you detect if this has magic associated with it?" the man asked, holding the vestment out to the elf.

"I can, but that will leave me with only two of my most minor spells remaining," the mage told him as his left hand moved into the starting symbol for Divination. "I still want to do it, mind you. And if Ruze can detect evil, we should do that too."

While Kirnoth muttered the incantation for Detect Magic, the Battleguard shook his head, his ponytail wagging in the air behind him. "Not today, I can't," the cleric admitted. "I've all but used up my allotment of divine grace for the day. Detecting Evil is beyond me for now."

"Yaaa!" Kirnoth gasped, shielding his eyes from the mist filled archway. It flared with Evocation magic. He blinked and squinted. Beside it, the dweomored robes looked very pale indeed, but they radiated Abjuration magic. The statues of the mendicants weren't magical at all. "The robes have some sort of protection magic on them," he explained to the others. "The archway is tapping into some powerful energy. That would be consistent with a portal of some kind."

"Protection magic?" Draelond muttered, looking at the robe skeptically.

Kirnoth blinked again and the silvery glow left his eyes as he allowed the spell to dissipate. "Of the eight schools of magic, I would be least afraid of Abjuration spells," the elf said. "Spells of that school are principally defensive in nature."

"The choice is yours," Ledare told Draelond and the man nodded.



The robes were cut long. The hem nearly dragged on the floor with Draelond wearing it and the material pooled around the others' feet. The sleeves too were long and wide, completely hiding the wearer's hands. The conical hood completely masked the identity of whoever was wearing it. The vestment, likewise concealed the bulges of armor and weapons such that only Draelond's huge sword, Ledare's shield and Finian and Kirnoth's bows gave them away.

One by one, they stepped through the mist, feeling a cold tug at their guts as they passed, but suffering no injuries and appearing in a room that was the mirror of the one they had just left. The dark hexagonal chamber was only dimly illuminated by the green portal. Six familiar statues stood in the corners, this time with arms outstretched as if to strangle passers-by. Directly across from the portal was an archway leading to a flight of stairs leading to a flight of stairs that descended to a dark chamber. The air smelled rank - stale and filled with the lingering stench of decay and mold.

Ruze grunted and held his stomach. "Unhallowed," he cursed through gritted teeth. "This whole place is dedicated to the powers of Chaos and Evil."

They heard a door open in the room below and the frantic sounds of chanting and the discordant piping of some sort of reed instrument spilled out from beyond. Just before the door closed again, they heard the laborious scream of a woman echoing outward.

Without hesitation, the group moved forward and were halfway down the wide black stairs before they could make out the chamber below. At the bottom of the stairs, a lonely black brazier glowing with a greenish flame illuminated a small vestibule. Long green and brown robes hung on either side of the small room with piles of clothing arrayed on the floor beneath them. Across from the stairs was a set of heavy doors, beyond which came the muted sounds of chanting and the airy call of woodwind instruments.

A fair-haired woman with her naked back to the group was donning one of the robes. Her head shifted in a curious manner as she began to turn toward the stairs.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #197] Behind Door Number One*

Finian started to raise his bow as the woman turned, but Ruze put his hand out to stop him. "Hold," the Battleguard hissed in the Archer's ear. "She may not have seen us yet."

She did see them, however. And for half-a-second the woman looked at the group, confused. One side of her face, they could see, was studded with puss-filled blisters that seemed to grow out from her hairline toward her lips and left eye. She spied the bow in Finian's hands and the shield in Ledare's and her expression turned immediately to rage.

Draelond bounded down the remaining two steps and rushed the woman just as she turned. A look of surprise blossomed on her face and she dropped the robe she was about to don and dashed naked toward the double doors.

As Draelond's boots hit the floor he felt a twinge of guilt about attacking what appeared on all accounts, to be a woman. He instantaneously concluded that the severity of the situation merited such drastic action and put the thought out of his mind. If he could get to her before she had a chance to sound an alarm with a shriek, perhaps she could be "persuaded" to give him some information...

He thought all this in the two seconds it took him to charge across the vestibule like a rampaging bull - a bull wearing 40 pounds of chain armor! She managed to pull open one of the double doors, filling the vestibule with the sounds of chanting and discordant melodies. Then Draelond's hands lashed outward and slapped down around the woman's head, totally covering her mouth and smashing her nose to a pulp in the process. His momentum drove her backward, away from the doorway. She went limp and collapsed out of his grasp like a broken toy. Blood from her nose and puss from the burst blisters on her face were smeared across the fighter's hands.

The others hustled down into the vestibule and Ruze bent down to check the woman's condition while Finian and Ledare took up positions to either side of the open door. Kirnoth hung back, his bow ready and looked for anything that would fit with the prophecies that they had previously read.

After a moment, Ruze looked up at Draelond and handed him the hood to the woman's robe. "Wipe your hands," he whispered. "She's got a broken nose and a dislocated jaw, but she'll wake up in a few hours." He stood and added, "She's also got the bubbling pussties. So I'd wipe those hands really well."



The double doors opened onto a long, dark room. There were two doors set into the left hand wall, and a massive archway opened in the wall on the right. Torchlight and the cloying smoke of burning incense came from that direction. Maniacal chanting, the unnerving moan of woodwind instruments, and the laborious screams of a woman echoed through the area, coming from the area beyond the archway.

Invisibly, Finian poked his head around the edge of the archway. He looked into a scene plucked straight from the pits of hell, itself. Eight fiery braziers stood in shallow alcoves, creating disturbing shadows that danced  upon the cold stone walls like deranged marionettes. A dozen armed guards stood near the walls and in the aisle, watching over pews filled with green-robed worshipers. The aisle ended before a raised stage, atop which lay an enormous altar of black stone and a monstrous tapestry depicting a skeletal woman whose slavering mouth drooled corruption.

Atop the altar lay a red-haired woman suffering the pains of childbirth. A figure was pushed forward by several cultists to attend the delivering mother. As the figure glanced back to stare fearfully into the faces of the chanting cultists, Finian recognized the man. It was Rherram, the healer from  Strenchburg Junction who had acted as Finian's defender. The man had clearly been recently beaten.

Behind the altar, an imposing figure wearing brown robes and a helmet sculpted in the shape of a rat's skull studied the delivery with great anticipation. Behind the helmeted figure stood a horribly diseased creature, fully eight feet tall with glistening black scales and eyes that burned with bilious green light. The mendicant leaned forward to look over the robed man's shoulder and a look of perverse joy played across its orc-like features.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #198] Endgame, part 1*

Since he was invisible, no one saw him and Finian ducked back out of view of the temple and padded back to where the others waited on the other side of the double doors. As he entered the vestibule, he saw Draelond staring down at the unconscious woman. It was difficult to say what he was feeling given the hood that covered his face, but he was pondering those feelings deeply, all the while wiping his hands clean on the woman's hood.

"Clean those hands as best you can, and be careful not to touch your nose and mouth with that hand until I have a chance to cure you." Ruze said, snapping the warrior back to attention.

Draelond nodded and Finian slipped off the Ring and explained what he'd seen. He saw several of the others blanch at the odds.

Ledare let out a deep sigh and then nodded grimly. "I think we need to have a plan for moving into action and each take a target, but only do this if it appears that these evil-doers are going to harm someone," she said, looking pointedly at Finian. "We could quickly pick a target and then maneuver our way to the front, hidden in our robes."

"Well, I certainly don't think bursting in, swinging weapons is the best approach here," Draelond quipped and both Kirnoth and Ruze nodded.

"I say that Finian should be in charge of protecting the baby and the mother if he can get close enough using invisibility and the slippers," she suggested but Finian shook his head.

"I'm going to be focusing on the orc-like creature," the Archer said with such menace that for a moment no one spoke.

They all knew Finian's hatred for all things orcish. They likewise knew that his hatred stemmed from the manner in which his father had been killed - by ogre-sized, intelligent orcs. The mendicant bore an uncanny resemblance to just such a creature and not even Ledare thought she'd be able to persuade the ranger not to attack the thing.

"Do we have any spells or ideas of ways to cause confusion in the big room if we need to use that in order to get the edge on an attack or an escape?" she asked instead. "Any way to cause it to become suddenly dark or smoky?"

Kirnoth shrugged almost apologetically. "In terms of spells, I'm down to my last one or two cantrips," the elf admitted. "I could cast Daze on the mendicant or robed man so someone else could attack them, but I don't think that is particularly useful."

"Alas, Kitten, I am afraid that I am no longer able to seek my Queen's direct aid this day," the Battleguard told the Janissary. "I can, however, focus her lifeforce into that altar of evil, mayhap destroy it, and put an end to this den of evil for once and all."

Ledare nodded. "Okay, so you do that. I'll take on a few of the guards closest to the alter and then try to deal with the figure in the robes and helmet," she said. "And Finian, since you are going to be plain out fighting, give Kirnoth the ring so he can protect the mother and child."

"I was hoping to use the ring to sneak up behind them," the ranger responded twisting the ring around on his finger. "I have a hunch the mendicant will crush me in battle unless I get really good shots at it. They can use spells too."

Ledare sighed again and looked up at the big fighter beside her. "Draelond, do you think you can help Finian with the mendicant?" she asked.

"As always," he replied, "I will do my best."

"If Finian needs the Ring of Invisibility, let him keep it," Kirnoth offered. "I'll do my best with the mother and child without it."

"No," Finian said with a shake of his head. "I will give up the ring since it is not mine. You'll need it more than I will anyway."

He pressed the band of gold into the elf's palm.

Kirnoth looked at the circlet before closing it tightly into his fist. "If I get the baby, I will run for the doors on the opposite side and try to get out of here as fast as I can and return to Grey House with the baby," he explained and the others agreed that it was a good idea.



Finian entered first. He skulked amid the abundant shadows along the wall and quietly eased himself off the ground. Using the Slippers of Spider Climbing he made his way up the wall in moments and moved along near the ceiling, heading for the stage at the front of the temple and the grim ritual taking place there.

After a count of fifty, the others entered. Ledare came first, followed by Ruze and Draelond. 

Kirnoth, crept into the temple invisibly and made his way forward along the side of the room as quietly as he could. Not that noise was a great concern in the current situation; the cultists were chanting wildly and the breathy cries of the laboring woman filled the smokey air, easily drowning out the elf's stealthy tread.

Ledare, Draelond and Ruze made it half-way up the center aisle before two of the guards, one man and one woman, both dressed in chainmail stopped them.

"Take yer seats, worms!" the woman sneered over the chanting voices.

"Yeah!" the man agreed and added, "None may approach the emissary!"

He shoved Ledare for good measure then and his hand pressed solidly against the steel breastplate she wore beneath the stolen robes. The look on his face changed abruptly from annoyance to confusion. The chanting rose to a fever pitch around them and Ledare's mind fumbled about for some possible explanation for her armor.

"What are you-?" the man started to ask when all at once the chanting stopped and for a moment silence filled the temple. The guard turned away from Ledare and looked back over his shoulder toward the front of the temple.

The silence was quickly broken by the cries of a newborn infant.



No one looked up. If they had, they might have seen the robed figure moving along the wall like a humanoid bug. But as it was, Finian made it unseen to a vantage point behind the edge of the massive tapestry, not twenty feet from the mendicant's back. He took a moment to ready his bow and arrows before he flexed his shoulders and drew notch to ear. He heard a baby's cry split the air and had a clear view of Rherram leaning forward unsteadily to cut the umbilical cord with a pair of rusty shears that one of the guards pressed into his hands.

He sighted down the silver-tipped arrow and waited.



Kirnoth was just scrambling, invisibly up onto the dais when the infant's cries ripped through the chamber. The joyous sounds of new life seemed woefully out-of-place in this dungeon. He managed to attain the stage and had gotten to his feet just as the old man performing midwife duty shakily swaddled the writhing infant in a tattered brown cloth and handed the child to the robed man behind the altar. The man smiled down at the child for a moment before holding it up before the congregation.

"Tonight, our destiny ends and a new destiny begins!" the man cried out in the common tongue. "This child - my daughter - will grow up and become our spiritual leader, a vessel for Lady Pestilence! Look now upon the newborn emissary of our dark queen, Aphyx! Rejoice, for she has come! "

The robed figure returned the child then to the waiting arms of her mother, who still sprawled sweatily atop the altar stone. The mendicant handed the man a twisted symbol of Aphyx wrought in some gleaming black metal. He pressed it against the child's chest and smiled down at her.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #198a] Endgame, part 2*

"We have to stop this," Ledare heard Ruze growl into her ear and she nodded, maneuvering herself so that she could squeeze between the two guards. The guards were having none of it, however, and they turned quickly to oppose her.

"None may approach!" the woman snarled at Ledare and the hooded Janissary felt a lie form quickly and easily behind her lips. She smiled and let it free.

"We've been hired to attend to the baby when it is time to move," she bluffed. "Word has it that this location has been compromised."

"Compromised?" the guard scoffed. "I've heard nothing..."

"No one was told," Ledare continued to spin. "The orders came from the top."

"You're a liar," the male guard challenged. "We would have been told."

The Janissary held up her hands and shrugged. "Fine," she said, as if she didn't care in the least. "But it'll be on your heads if anything happens to the emissary."

The two guards looked at each other, at Ledare, and then back at each other. "Fine," the male guard agreed at last, stepping aside so that Ledare and Ruze and Draelond could approach the dais. "But there's no way anyone can get in here. Our time is now."

'Sure, it is,' Ledare thought with a smirk well-hidden beneath her hood.



Kirnoth crept closer to the altar stone and the bizarre ceremony being enacted upon it. The mendicant was huge! It hunched over the robed man, looking nearly twice man's height. Its scales were slick with some sort of clear slime, and the elf could see fat insects lazily circling the creature's orcish head. The smell that surrounded it like a hot cloud was so horrible that it almost made him retch. He was reminded unpleasantly of the stench that had filled the bane midge tunnels in the sewer beneath Barnacus. The robed man and the exhausted mother seemed unperturbed by either the mendicant's noxious odor or its leering presence. They were both expectantly watching the infant as the man pressed the symbol of Aphyx against her chest. As he approached, he could see that the baby had entered some sort of cataleptic state. She lay limp and senseless between her mother's breasts. The air around the unholy symbol shimmered as if with heat and Kirnoth realized that there was some sort of magic being performed on the child.

With only a single hesitant glance up at the expectant mendicant Kirnoth made a grab for the baby.



That was when everything started to go poorly.



From his vantage point high on the wall, Finian saw some commotion with the infant. It seemed for a second to jerk in its parents' grasp and then Kirnoth appear standing beside the robed man. He'd managed to grab hold of the baby, but not to wrest it from the man and woman. They - and the entire congregation - stared blankly at the robed and hooded elf.

Kirnoth blinked back at them and took an automatic step back.

"Rake," the robed man said, calmly. "Kill him."

The mendicant let out a burbling hiss and sneered down at the man. "Do not seek to order me, Elgoth," the creature said in gargled common. "What I do, I do for the Queen." Then it turned and lashed out at Kirnoth with blinding speed. With its superior reach it simply slashed out over Elgoth's helmeted head with one claw and pierced Kirnoth's left hand. It wrenched back its talons and stripped away flesh from the bone.

Kirnoth cried out and nearly collapsed from the blow.

Finian meant to make certain that the mage didn't have to endure another. He fired his arrow and the mendicant howled in pain as the shaft pierced the scales covering its left shin and sank deeply into its flesh. Weakened by the sneak attack, the mendicant turned and looked up at the Archer hiding behind the tapestry. A murderous smile split its diseased face.

"Elgoth, you seem to have an infestation," it said with a tone of amusement in its phlegm-choked voice.



There were four guards stationed on and around the steps leading up to the dais. Despite her armor, Ledare darted passed them before they could react to stop her and she made it easily to the stage. The guard's hands went to their weapons, shouts of alarm on their lips and then Ruze and Draelond were upon them.

The Battleguard's scimitars flickered like lightning in the dim temple. The steel crescent in his right hand licked out and stabbed beneath the chainmail hauberk protecting the guard to his left. The man screamed as blood began to flow down his chest and he staggered, within a hair's breadth of death. Somehow, he managed to raise his longsword and slash it across Ruze's hooded face. The hood tore open and a bloody diagonal opened beneath. The cleric cursed.

Draelond drew Ravager and plunged the saw-toothed bastard sword into the guard on his right. The blade bit hungrily through the man's armor, cleaved his heart, and continued on out his back with a spurt of gore. Several inches of the weapon's point embedded itself messily in the neck of the guard standing behind the first. Both men collapsed as soon as Draelond jerked the sword free.

Atop the dais, Ledare turned quickly, her longsword appearing in her hand as if by magic. The blade arced up and then down, aimed for the only unwounded guard remaining on the stairs. He managed to raise his shield however, deflecting the blow harmlessly. His retaliatory strike came in low, catching the Janissary on the right ankle. The blow was a solid one and caused Ledare to gasp in pain.

She glanced quickly back over the head of the guard who opposed her and saw that the entire temple was in chaos. At least two-thirds of the cultists were cowering in their seats; some were headed for the archway that led out. The ten or so guards who remained alive were converging on the Companions. Likewise, a hand full of the cultists seemed to have found their guts and they were drawing daggers. Among them, Ledare saw a figure that stood head and shoulders above the rest.

The tall figure ripped off its hood, and in the instant before its features began to flow into a new, inhuman shape, Ledare recognized the face of Mother Bromson from 'Mom's Pie Shoppe'.


----------



## dshai527

Just made my way over here to see what's going on and I have to say that I am very impressed. I am enjoying your story very much. It sounds like it was a lot of fun to play. Meat pies, I love it. 

It sounds like you have a very good group of players. I really enjoy how well they work together and for the benefit of the group. Good job all around. I look forward to reading more. 

As a matter of fact, I demand more. Bath her and bring her to my tent. The streets will flow with the blood of the non-believers, or something. I'm the customer do my bidding.


----------



## Jon Potter

dshai527 said:
			
		

> *Just made my way over here to see what's going on and I have to say that I am very impressed. I am enjoying your story very much. It sounds like it was a lot of fun to play. *




Thanks and it was... err... IS fun.



> *Meat pies, I love it.  *




I wish that I could claim sole responsibility for that little bit of nastiness, but I can't. Mom and her pie shoppe are amalgam's of Cyrus Kirby's "Mini-Encounter" Mom's Butcher Shop and the old Citybook location "Sweeney's Pie Shop". With, of course, a thankful nod to the orignal Sweeney, Sweeney Todd. 



> *As a matter of fact, I demand more. Bath her and bring her to my tent. The streets will flow with the blood of the non-believers, or something. I'm the customer do my bidding. *




You'll get more. But you'll have to wait until Sunday when we find out whether everybody survives or not.

[Insert Diabolical Laugh Here]


----------



## Piratecat

Hey Jon, can I talk you into putting in blank lines between every paragraph? I know you do between sections, but I find it _really_ hard to read - no matter how good - unless there's a blank line after every carriage return. I dunno, maybe it's just me.

Thanks for considering it!

And I love the mendicant - he has style!


----------



## Jon Potter

Piratecat said:
			
		

> *Hey Jon, can I talk you into putting in blank lines between every paragraph? *




For you, PCat? Anything. ;-)

Seriously, though, the only reason I hadn't done that is that I feared it would make the posts r-e-a-l-l-y   l-o-n-g.  And I have the terrible penchant for writing in lots of little tiny paragraphs; putting extra spaces in would further showcase that bad habit.

At any rate, I'll edit up the last post if you'll be so kind as to let me know whether the readability is improved. If it is, then it's a simple matter to edit spaces into the other posts and  put them into future installments.

It's not as though your opinion isn't educated, Mr. 200,000+.



> *And I love the mendicant - he has style!   *




Yeah... the new improved mendicant - now with player character-mincing style.


----------



## Piratecat

Much easier to read. One thought - I would probably do this...



> The two guards looked at each other, at Ledare, and then back at each other.
> 
> "Fine," the male guard agreed at last, stepping aside so that Ledare and Ruze and Draelond could approach the dais. "But there's no way anyone can get in here. Our time is now."



more like this:



> The two guards looked at each other, at Ledare, and then back at each other.  "Fine," the male guard agreed at last, stepping aside so that Ledare and Ruze and Draelond could approach the dais. "But there's no way anyone can get in here. Our time is now."



As long as the "descriptive paragraph" is about the same people as the "speaking paragraph", I think you're okay combining them, just so long as there is only one actual speaker per paragraph. For instance, you're probably okay combining everything from "The mendicant was huge!" to "grab for the baby" all into one paragraph.  Or, for instance, combining things like this....



> The mendicant let out a burbling hiss and sneered down at the man.  "Do not seek to order me, Elgoth," the creature said in gargled common. "What I do, I do for the Queen."  Then it turned and lashed out at Kirnoth with blinding speed. With its superior reach it simply slashed out over Elgoth's helmeted head with one claw and pierced Kirnoth's left hand. It wrenched back its talons and stripped away flesh from the bone.



Instead of having it separated as three different paragraphs. It's a slightly different flow, but I think it may be a style that works.  I dunno.

Anyways, this is good stuff! I don't mean to tell you how to write, you sure don't need that; but I thought tying the paragraphs together might help condense the length a bit, while still making it easier on the eyes.  It's all good either way.


----------



## Drealond Khemir

*The Mendicant...*

"Yeah... the new improved mendicant - now with player character-mincing style. "



JP, I'm not so sure you're supposed to be enjoying that fact *QUITE* as much as you seem to be.


----------



## Drealond Khemir

Damnit, i just realized that I transposed the "a" and the "e" in his name... and I can't fix it.


----------



## Jon Potter

*Editting Finished.*

I've just finished going through the old posts and editting them per PirateCat's suggestions (adding spaces between paragraphs and condensing some of the smaller paragraphs). I like the new flow quite a bit more than I care to admit since I didn't think of the modifications myself.

So a big thank you to PCat for the editorial assistance; it should benefit my writing in the long run.

And Drealond... err, Draelond... I didn't say that I was enjoying the mendicant's killing ability, merely noting it. Truth be told, I don't really want him to kill everybody off - that would really upset the rest of the campaign. And by "upset" I mean throw it straight out the window.  But sometimes, that's just the way the die rolls. If there's no risk then there's no heroics, and without heroics there's really no reason to play the game in the first place, IMO.

And I don't think the name thing is a big deal. If it really bothers you, you could always register again with the correct spelling.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #199] And The Walls Came Tumbling Down*

Kirnoth activated the Ring of Invisibility again and repositioned himself to make another attempt to liberate the infant. The pain in his flayed hand made his grab weak and ineffectual. He became visible again in the process.

"Once the Binding is complete," Elgoth hissed at the elf, "you will die as none has died since the time of the Godwars. It will be glorious," he asserted and grinned evilly. When the Plaguebringer smiled, Kirnoth saw that the man's gums were bleeding rather profusely and his teeth were slick and red.



The mendicant looked up at Finian and crossed the distance to the wall in two strides. "Let's see what we've got here," it burbled as it gripped the tapestry then and pulled.

The iron rings that were holding it to the ceiling burst from the strain, pelting the Archer with tiny bits of metal. He retained his balance on the wall with little difficulty, but his return shot with the bow was horribly off. His arrow shattered against the stone dais at the mendicant's taloned feet. And, of course, Finian's concealment was now gone.

The tapestry fell in a drift against the rear of the stage, revealing a door set into the wall there.



The wererat was pushing her way through the chaotic mass of cultists and it would take her some time to make it within striking distance. Ledare hoped that they'd have the baby and be making a hasty retreat by that time. She had to do something to make the priest - if that's what he was - release his hold of the infant.

Ruze was keeping occupied the guard he'd wounded with one scimitar and the guard who had wounded Ledare with the other. He couldn't land a blow, but the blades danced in a flashing display that kept his opponents from wounding him either. Draelond took a step up the stairs and brought Ravager around in a vast sweeping motion.The blade severed one guard's leg just below the right knee and caught the other man in the right thigh. The guard was swept off his feet and fell on his back; his head made a sickening cracking sound as it struck the stone stairs.

"Can you hold the stairs, Ruze?" Draelond asked hastily.

The Battleguard turned, his eyes falling upon the two dagger-wielding cultists who were approaching. "If Shaharizod wills it," he growled.



Ledare made a partial charge across the dais toward Elgoth. Her sword flashed out, aiming low as she'd seen Draelond do, in the hopes that she'd have similar success. The silver-iron longsword sliced through the man's robe, connecting with the meat of his right calf. He cried out, but didn't fall. Neither did he remove the blasphemous symbol of Aphyx from the infant's chest. Ledare could see now that the air around the symbol seemed to be wavering, as if reality itself were running like candle wax.

Elgoth turned to regard the Janissary with unflinching hatred. His eyes were lit with madness and pierced Ledare despite the rheumy film that covered his pupils and the disgusting crust of dried puss that ringed their lids.

With the robed man momentarily distracted, Kirnoth made another grab for the infant and failed. "You'll never take her from us!" the baby's mother spat at the elf, her breathing ragged and wet. "She is the Chosen One! Lady Pestilence incarnate! A Goddess to walk Oerune!"



At the sound of Elgoth's cry, the mendicant turned and groaned in frustration. It glanced up at Finian and made a casual gesture. Instantly, the Archer was blinded as darkness blossomed around him.

"I'll deal with you later, sweetmeat," the mendicant chuckled and closed with Ledare. Its claws whistled through the air above the Janissary's head, narrowly missing her.



Finian moved carefully out of the darkness and fired another arrow at the mendicant, but this one was easily turned aside by the creature's thick, black scales.



At the stairs, Ruze's scimitars enacted a dance of death on the robed cultists. He had the advantage of higher ground and greater skill and he cut down with ease the first two to reach the stairs. The robed assailants were lined up four deep behind them, however and behind them were several armed and armored guards. Beyond that, Ruze couldn't see and didn't care; he was at peace with his goddess and would guard this stair with his life if that's what it took to stop the spread of Evil.



Draelond saw the huge mendicant close with Ledare and slash at her ineffectually. While its attention was focused on the Janissary, he charged into a flanking position and laid open its back with his bastard sword. Ravager parted the creature's scales hungrily and bit into the flesh beneath. The mendicant jerked in pain even as vile yellow ichor began to paint its black scales. It slashed at Draelond, but its claws were turned aside by the man's chainmail.



Ledare ignored the mendicant for the moment, trusting her companion to keep the creature occupied. Her target was Elgoth; if she could distract him, perhaps Kirnoth could finally grab the baby and they could quit this place. Her sword came up and then down in a vicious arc, slashing across Elgoth's left forearm. The man's chainmail absorbed the worst of the damage, but Ledare's longsword still managed to taste his blood a second time. Again, he gritted his teeth against the pain and maintained his grip on his concentration. "Rake!" he hissed up at the huge mendicant. "Protect me, damn you!"

As Elgoth's eyes turned up to the foul creature, Kirnoth again grabbed for the baby and this time, he succeeded. The infant slid greasily out of its mother's arms and out from beneath the dark symbol of Aphyx. In one graceful motion, the elf swooped the limp baby up into his arms and activated the Ring of Invisibility.

"Nooo!!!" Elgoth screamed as Kirnoth vanished. The hand holding the unholy symbol swished through empty air where the elf had stood moments before.



The mendicant slashed with its claws, splitting its attention between Ledare and Draelond. It ripped open the Janissary's swordarm at the elbow, sending her to the floor and her protective couter ricocheting off the stone altar. Draelond felt the thing's talons rake across his abdomen, parting his chainmail like parchment. He was within precious few steps of death, but he retained his feet.

"Ledare?" he groaned, but there was no response.



Again, Finian fired an arrow at the mendicant, and again he missed. Cursing, he moved along the wall to get a closer shot.



Ruze heard Draelond's cry and glanced back to see the Janissary lying very still beside the unhallowed altar. The Battleguard swung the scimitar in his right hand, spilling a cultist's guts before he turned to head for Ledare's side. Daggers came at him out of the crowd as he exposed his flank, but none managed to connect and he was able to scramble quickly out of their reach. He saw an old man creep out from the shadow of the altar stone and hunch over Ledare's body.



Staggering with pain, Draelond roared and brought Ravager to bear on the mendicant. Again the saw-toothed weapon chewed through Rake's scales, this time opening a wound on the creature's left forearm that went clear to the bone. It bellowed in pain and then glowered down at the man.

"I'm going to decorate my throneroom with your entrails, insect," Rake gurgled, phlegm drooling from its scabbrous mouth. It clutched its injured arm with its other hand and Draelond saw the wound heal at its touch.



That was when Elgoth smashed the black symbol on the altar in impotent rage. The device shattered, causing a wave of black energy to roar through the temple, shaking the stone to its foundations. Finian was knocked off his perch as the walls convulsed like a living thing beneath him. He landed well, suffering only a few minor bumps and bruises. Suddenly, large chunks of the ceiling began raining down on the congregation. The cultists screamed as the jagged shards sheared flesh and shattered bone.

A chunk of the ceiling fell onto the stage, inches from Kirnoth's head. He dodged out of the way at the last moment, shielding the still unmoving infant with his body. The others likewise narrowly avoided scraps of falling stone that came thundering down onto the dais. A sizable chunk struck Elgoth in the left arm. He fell forward across the altar, pinning the baby's mother to its surface.

The cultists were making a mad dash for the exit. Some of them seemed to make it, but it was obvious that the temple would become a grave for any who didn't quickly escape. Rake clearly saw that was the case and produced a small potion from its belt. "Another time, perhaps," it mused, bringing the bottle to its lips.

Draelond, seizing the distraction, swung Ravager and connected with the mendicant's right foot. But Rake managed to down the elixir despite the attack and instantly assumed a gaseous form.



Beside the altar, Ruze saw that the old man had bound Ledare's elbow with a scrap of his own tattered robe. Her bleeding had stopped and her condition stabilized.

"Who are you?" the Battleguard demanded and the old man looked up fearfully.

"My name is Rherram," he managed to say through lips swollen from a severe beating. "I'm a healer. We must get out of here."



As the ceiling and walls continued to crumble, Elgoth stirred atop the altar, rising unnaturally to a standing position. He threw back his head, his battered and bloodied arms spread wide and roared with a voice that was not his own. The voice was amplified far beyond what a mortal's could ever attain and it sent waves of dread through each of the Companions.

"I AM MADE FLESH!!!"


----------



## Jon Potter

Finian picked himself off the floor and glanced out at the temple proper. Those cultists who hadn't been crushed outright by falling debris were franticly exiting through the archway and the double doors beyond. Ruze and Rherram were hunched over Ledare's unmoving body and Draelond was standing nearby clutching his bloody abdomen and looking fearfully at Elgoth. If it was in fact Elgoth anymore. The Elgoth-thing stood stiffly with arms thrown wide. Malice seemed to be coming off him in waves. There was, of course, no sign of Kirnoth.

Finian moved forward, fumbling for the kit holding the Cure Wounds potions as he went. 

"AT LONG LAST MY POWER SHALL-" the voice faltered as Elgoth - or whatever power had taken possession of his body - looked curiously at his hands. The fingers on both were twisting as if arthritis were rapidly deforming the bones within. "THIS IS NOT THE VESSEL."

"We need to get out of here," Rherram asserted again to Ruze and this time he grabbed hold of Ledare's unconscious body trying without much success to muscle her off the floor.

"THIS IS NOT THE VESSEL!!! " the impossibly loud voice bellowed.

The sound echoed and re-echoed off the walls, dislodging more stone and dust from the ceiling and causing the floor to buckle ominously. A wave of palpable, otherworldly dread washed out over the Companions. Draelond, who was standing just to the right of the Elgoth-thing, had an all too clear view of bones twisting, boils spreading across bare flesh and of puss drooling from a grotesquely huge mouth. He was stunned for an instant. His mind became untethered, floating free in a vast expanse too great to comprehend. He felt a prickle of pain deep inside his skull as his nose began to bleed.

And he ran for the exit, dodging falling debris as he went.


----------



## Jon Potter

Kirnoth had made his way invisibly across the treacherous temple floor. Many of the pews had been smashed to flinders and two of the flaming braziers had been overturned, spilling their hot coals onto the stone floor. The elf dodged falling rock and jumped over the broken bodies who hadn't managed to avoid the same. The cultists and guards who had survived - perhaps half of the original number - were frantically pushing and shoving one another in an effort to crowd through the double doors leading to the vestibule and the stairs up and out of the complex.

The Ring of Invisibility that they'd taken off of Andamacles' corpse was faulty, the mage knew. Finian had repeatedly warned him that its glamor would fail should Kirnoth be struck or touched by someone while he was invisible. It seemed unlikely that he'd be able to follow the crowd out through the doors without being jostled and having his magic disrupted. Becoming visible - holding the cataleptic infant - amidst the very group from whom he'd stolen the child appealed to him not at all.

There were two doors in the wall opposite the temple archway that they hadn't yet explored. Perhaps they led to safety.

"THIS IS NOT THE VESSEL," Kirnoth heard the inhumanly loud voice growl and he glanced back at the dais. Elgoth stood over the altar looking at his hands. He seemed to be surrounded by some sort of distortion that made the air nearby waver as if with forge heat. Ruze and the old man Finian had said was named Rherram were crouched over Ledare's body. Rherram seemed to be trying ineffectually to drag the Janissary's armored body. Draelond stood nearby, his bastard sword hanging loosely in one hand. Behind them all, Finian was getting shakily to his feet.

"THIS IS NOT THE VESSEL!!! " the voice bellowed again and Kirnoth darted quickly through the leftmost door. The room beyond was plain, disorganized and filthy. Ten dirty cots lined the walls. Each cot had a small trunk at its foot. The walls were painted fecal brown, and the floor was tiled with dull-yellow stone. There were no other exits.

A huge crack appeared in the ceiling of the room and began raining dust. An ominous grating sound as stone ground against stone seemed to come from every direction. It was maddeningly loud and it rumbled in Kirnoth's guts.

The elf quickly ducked back out of the room and went to the other door. That room was no exit either. It smelled thickly of sweat and was in complete disarray. Six unmade cots sat in a haphazard row against the far wall. Each had a small trunk at its foot. A communal sleeping area heaped with clothing, weapons, and personal items filled the left side of the room. A round table covered with tankards, tools, and three half-assembled suits of chainmail stood to the right.

More debris fell to Kirnoth's right and the elf staggered against the door frame, choking on clouds of raised dust. He didn't need to be a dwarf to know that this place wasn't going to stay together much longer. The pounding of racing feet reached his ears and he turned in time to see Draelond dash out through the double doors hot on the fleeing cultists' heels.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #199c] Get While The Getting's Good*

With a silky double hiss Ruze's scimitars slid back into their sheaths. He unslung his warhammer and pressed it into Rherram's hands. "Use this as need be," the Battleguard instructed.

The old man looked at the sledge and shook his head. "I wouldn't even know how-"

"No time for arguments!" Ruze grimaced as he lugged the Janissary into a sitting position. "Take it and help me lift Ledare onto my shoulders!"



"YOU!" the Elgoth-thing growled, regarding with infection-crusted eyes the woman who had just given birth. He reached down, grabbed her by the throat and hauled her kicking into the air. Blood-filled boils blossomed across her head and shoulders spreading outward from the thing's scabbrous touch. Maggoty pieces of his flesh were sloughing off his body with every movement. "YOU FAILED ME!"



"Finian! To Me!" Ruze bellowed in his temple parade ground voice as he strained to his feet with nearly two hundred pounds of armored half-elf slung across his shoulders.

"I'm right here!" the Archer protested, trotting up to the Battleguard's side. He had the small case of healing potions in his hand. Ruze reached out and took them from him.

"Give me those," he grunted. "I and Rherram will take care of Ledare. You use the slippers to follow Draelond along the walls and look for Kirnoth. I will meet you on the path to Grey House. Or, if not there then at Grey House itself in two days."

"Finian, m'boy!" Rherram blurted, as a grin spread across his swollen lips. "You've colored your hair! And what happened to your ear?"

Finian lay a quick hand on the healer's shoulder. "We'll catch up later," he said. "Stick close to Ruze!"

A chunk of stone nearly a dozen feet across crashed thunderously to the floor, crushing several rows of pews to kindling.

"Go now!" the Battleguard commanded, nodding toward the exit. He watched the Archer hustle off amid the debris. "Queen's speed! Stay out of trouble!"



"THESE HANDS ONCE RIPPED THE BEATING HEART FROM DRIDANA'S BREAST! MY POWER WAS WITHOUT EQUAL!" the Elgoth-thing was shrieking. With each word he shook the woman in his hands. She was no longer struggling and her limbs flapped back and forth. "YOU WERE CHOSEN TO CARRIER THE SEED OF MY RESURGANCE! AND YOU FAIL-" He stopped shaking her, realizing at last that she was already dead, and he tossed her aside with a disgusted sneer. She sailed through the air before thudding wetly against the right hand wall and collapsing in a ruptured heap on the floor. The putrescent mass of her corpse crawled instantly with parasites.

"Flor have mercy!" Rherram hissed as he witnessed the horror. The Elgoth-thing looked up at him as if noticing his prescence for the first time.

"YOU DARE MENTION HER?! HERE?! IN MY OWWG AHHGK?!" Elgoth's words devolved into nonsense as his tongue burst apart and his lips rotted off his face. His sallow, blistered body looked like a fluid-filled sack supported by a malformed skeleton. He took a step and his leg snapped off at the knee, spilling worms from the ruined joint. "OO HIG HIE!! OO AWG HIG HIE!!!"

The ceiling opened above his head, splattering him beneath several hundred tons of stone.

"He... It... It's dead!" Rherram informed the Battleguard. Ruze, who was moving for the exit at his best speed, merely grunted his acknowledgement. The ceiling continued to collapse and stone rained down. Ruze shuffled along as fast as he could under his heavy burden with the old healer easily keeping pace with him as he went. Rherram darted through the double doors and turned to usher Ruze through when the ceiling finally gave way entirely, driving the cleric and his insensate burden to the ground beneath an avalanche of rock and earth.

"Nooo!!" Rherram's anguished voice echoed up the stairs


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #199d] Showdown in the Courtyard*

There was no sign of Draelond or Kirnoth. By the time Finian had retraced his steps around fallen chunks of stone and the trampled bodies of those cultists unfortunate enough as to have fallen in front of their panicked fellows Rherram was rolling rubble aside. Ruze and Ledare were lying, half-buried beneath the cave-in. There was blood on Rherram's hands. The light from the Archer's drawn sword alerted the healer to his presence and he cried out, "Help me! They're bleeding to death! If we can get to the healing potions we might save them yet!"

"Better yet," Finian said and pulled out the one potion bottle that he'd kept. He crouched down and started to administer half of the curative to Ledare. "I was saving this for Draelond, but under the circumstances..."

"Help those in the most need, m'boy" the old man said. "It's the healer's code." Rherram checked the lifebeat in the Janissary's wrist; it was weak but steady. "She's stabilized," he informed the half-elf and Finian coaxed the remainder of the potion down the Battleguard's throat. Falling dust made it difficult to see.

"Let's hope this place stays together long enough for us to dig them out," Finian mused as he tossed the potion vial aside and started to haul rubble away from the fallen Companions.



Over half of the cult had perished in the initial rain of debris. Another handful were trampled to death in the ensuing rout. Draelond had beaten two of them senseless when they failed to get out of his way. Three more were cut to pieces when they triggered the scything blade trap in the stairwell leading out. In the end, a congregation of more than fifty was reduced to a baker's dozen of torn and sweating individuals standing shakily in the courtyard of the ruined keep. The ground continued to rumble beneath their feet.

Kirnoth maneuvered among them, keeping for the most part to the shadows despite his invisibility. He'd lost sight of Draelond when the large human had brained the two cultists who stood between him and the mist-filled portal. the warrior had plowed on through the crowd while the elf lurked in the rear, keeping himself away from any who might bump him and dispel his protective camouflage.

He'd finally picked his way halfway to the gatehouse when he heard someone cry out, "Flor be praised!" This oath elicited several harsh looks from the cultists nearby. One of them hissed in disgust. Kirnoth followed their glances and spotted Finian, Ledare, Ruze and the old healer Rherram stumbling out of the dark throat of the stairwell. The Battleguard and the Janissary were both stained with their own blood, and all four of them were covered with dirt and dust, but the elf smiled at the sight of them just the same.

"These are the ones who brought ruin to us," a woman's voice rallied from amidst the crowd. She stepped forward, a mountain of a woman, with blazing eyes, and Ledare recognized Mother Bromson at once. Mom wore her unappealing human face, but the Janissary still vividly remembered her features shifting to that of a red-eyed wererat in the temple below. "These are the ones who must pay!" she said and stabbed a thick finger at the battered figures huddled around the entrance to the dungeon.


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## dshai527

Just wanted to let you know that I am still enjoying your story. I eagerly await the next installment.


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## Jon Potter

dshai527 said:
			
		

> *Just wanted to let you know that I am still enjoying your story. I eagerly await the next installment. *




Thanks! It's good to hear that I have at least one reader.  

I quite enjoy Small Beginnings too. In fact I downloaded the whole thread today to reread from the beginning. It'll have to wait - and so will you - as I'm off to vacation in Arizona next week. No further updates until December 1st.  

Until then...


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #200] Not With a Bang...*

"You've got to be kidding me," Finian muttered with a weary shake of his head. Several of the guards who had survived the temple's collapse were readying weapons and moving toward the front of the crowd.

"I will give them this," Ruze observed. "On the path of the pure they are not, but they are steadfast in their cursed belief. They are that, they are."

"Indeed," Ledare grunted then lowered her voice and added, "Perhaps we can talk our way out of this. We have crushed their plans after all."

"Might I suggest we run," Rherram said hopefully, but instead Finian handed the man his satchel of herbs.

"Ruze and Ledare would never make it," he said and drew a silver-tipped arrow from his quiver. He took a step forward saying, "Target Mom, if you can. If we kill the toughest one of the bunch, perhaps the rest will flee."

"Sound tactics," Ruze said with a nod. He readied his scimitars "Assuming we can get to her."

The ugly woman wasn't making any attempt to advance on them, seeming content, instead to let the cultists do the dangerous work. She was standing near the rear of the crowd now as the others swarmed forward like rats. Finian aimed for Mom's head and loosed his arrow, but the shot was too high and it sailed harmlessly over her.

In unison, the Archer and Rherram both said, "Sh*t!"

A particularly brave, or crazed, cultists charged forward, brandishing a dagger. He was chanting something that sounded like gibberish as he ran. His eyes were wild. He charged at Ledare, but Ruze took a single step and put himself in the man's path. Or rather, he put his scimitar in the man's path and a combination of skill, luck and the man's own momentum did the rest. With a single blow, he decapitated the cultist and sent the head tumbling horribly into the crowd. The mob split to avoid the grisly missile and several of the more weak-willed cultists ran for the main gate, screaming.

The nearest guard swung his longsword at the Battleguard, but Ruze easily dodged the clumsy blow. He retaliated with one of his own, but the man's shield deflected it harmlessly away.
Ledare sighted down the barrel of her repeating hand crossbow and squeezed off a shot at Mom. Her missile faired no better than Finian's and flew off into the night.

A pair of guards and a pair of robed cultists came at them, but their attacks were pitifully ineffective. One of the cultists somehow managed to disarm himself as he charged, nearly stabbing himself in the foot. It was almost comical.


Mom was not amused and she roared and hissed her displeasure from the rear of the dwindling mass of cultists. Kirnoth smiled at her rage and twisted the Ring of Invisibility on the unconscious baby's finger. The ring magically sized to fit the infant's digit and an instant later the baby vanished. Marking the spot where the invisible child lay, the mage moved away, drew an arrow from his quiver and fired it at Mom's back. His shot flew true, sinking deeply into the woman's back. She turned and regarded Kirnoth with her evil red eyes. Viscous drool fell from her pointed teeth as she smiled and pulled the arrow free.
The elf had forgotten that it took silver or magic to harm the wererat.


Finian saw Mom turn and spotted Kirnoth across the courtyard with his bow drawn. The Archer lined up another shot and fired, missing badly once again.

"Dammit!" he cursed and dropped his bow. As he moved toward Mom, his hands went to his longsword and dagger. One of the guards took an opportunistic swing at the ranger, but Rherram landed a glancing blow to the man's neck with Ruze's warhammer and made the blow go wide. The old healer was just barely able to avoid the enraged guard's retaliatory swing. Ledare spun, her longsword suddenly in her hand and laid open the guard's throat with a savage slice of her longsword.

Ruze traded swings with the other guard and the cultist who had managed to retain a grip on her dagger.


Kirnoth had no time to fire another arrow or draw his longsword before Mom closed with him. He managed to avoid her meaty left fist and the flashing point of her kris dagger, but her jagged yellow fangs opened a bloody rent in his leather armor. He staggered back, alive, but just barely, and gestured at the skaven. "Conturbo!" he shouted, but the pain from his chest wound made the spell fizzle ineffectually.

Mom chuckled evilly and bore down on the mage once more.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #200a] ...But With a Whimper*

Finian closed with the skaven from behind, his longsword and dagger flashing in the moonlight.  Unfortunately, the glowing sword missed its mark and only his dagger found flesh. The non-magical blade sunk up to the hilt in Mom's shoulder; she hardly seemed to notice it and the wound promptly closed once Finian drew the dagger free. She half-turned and leered at him mockingly.

"I'laito naa manke?" the Archer called out to Kirnoth in elvish, hoping to learn the whereabouts of the baby without alerting Mom.

"Re na-aru i'eithel!" Kirnoth managed to gasp in rely. The well had seemed like a good spot at the time; now with his body growing cold from loss of blood, the elf thought it seemed too close to the melee. He collapsed onto the ground and played dead; it was his only defense.

Finian glanced to the side, making sure that he knew where the well was if he was forced to make a hasty retreat. Mom seized the momentary distraction and sank her teeth into the Archer's side. Finian grunted in pain and danced back a step even as the wererat swallowed a bloody mouthful of his flesh.



"Oh dear!" Rherram said. He'd spotted Finian and Kirnoth's predicament despite his human lack of low-light vision. He pointed in that direction, quite unmindful of the armed aggressors nearby. Ledare glanced in the direction he'd indicated, scabbarded her longsword and drew her hand crossbow all in one elegant, lightning-quick motion. That's where her grace ended, however. Her quarrel sailed off into the night well away from her intended target.

Cursing, she slammed the nearest cultist with her shield. The woman, who had only just found her dropped dagger and moved to engage them again, was in mid-stride and caught the rim of the shield on her left knee. She cried out and fell to the  ground, unconscious from the pain. Ledare stepped over her and set herself to charge across the courtyard at Mother Bromson.

"Kitten, stay closest to me," Ruze called out. "It seems my Queen grants me her strength this day." The scimitar in his left hand slashed outward and pierced the last remaining guard in the chest. The man gurgled and crumpled over backward. The last cultist stepped fearlessly in and thrust his dagger beneath Ruze's dancing blades. The knife caught the Battleguard in the right knee and sent him falling to the ground.

His scimitars clattered against the cobbles as they fell from his nerveless fingers and Ledare turned toward the sound. "Where the hell did Draelond go?!" she cursed, abandoning her plan to help Kirnoth and Finian in favor of keeping Ruze alive if she could. "Now would be a wonderful time to have his swordarm at our sides!"



But Draelond was far away - too far away to hear the clashing of steel on steel or the screams of the wounded and dying. In fact he couldn't hear much of anything except the pounding of his heart and a part of his own panicked brain urging him to run as far and as fast as he could. He tried to fight against the urge but was unable. For every rational argument toward valor that his mind made, his instincts screamed, "Get out of here! Now!"

He warred with himself as he staggered along the path that lead eventually out of the forest altogether. Now that he didn't have the benefit of guidance from those with elven blood in their veins, he realized how dark it was under the dense branches of Othelwood. His progress along the path was slow and painful; he stumbled into thorny brambles and yarpick trees over and over again, opening stinging welts on his hands and legs. It wasn't until he'd made it almost as far as the body of the mage that Finian had brought down that he was finally able to bring himself under control. He brought himself to a stop,  hid behind the trunk of a bronzewood tree, clutched Ravager to his chest like a lover and shivered in the darkness.

As the knots of fear in his stomach slowly uncoiled themselves, he thought of the others. Had they all perished in the temple's collapse? Were they even now fighting for their lives? He wanted to find them and help them if he could, but every time he even looked in the direction of the ruined keep the need to run started to reassert itself. Instead he huddled in the dark beside the path with the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.



Finian slashed at the skaven with longsword and dagger, but she avoided his attacks with more agility than seemed possible for a woman of her size and age. She retaliated with her dagger and another snap of her yellowed fangs. Finian fended off both attacks with ease, but stepped in the path of her left fist. It thudded into his right thigh and nearly made him lose his footing. She chuckled at him and Finian thought that he could see where Nunzio had gotten his sparkling personality.

On the ground, Kirnoth peeked open an eye and it seemed to him that Mom had totally forgotten about him. He edged his hand to the hilt of his sword and waited for the proper moment to strike.



Rherram dropped the warhammer and bent down to attend Ruze, ignorant of the dagger-wielding assailant who took an opportunistic stab at him. Ledare made sure that he didn't need to worry about him any more. The Janissary spun her silver-iron longsword as she came at the cultist and the blade cleaved through the man's right shin, splintering bone and sending him to the ground, dead. "You can deal with Ruze," Ledare said. It bore little resemblance to a question.

"Yes! Yes!" the healer replied without looking up. "Go!"

She did.



Finian thrust outward with his longsword but Mom managed to twist away from the blade. She couldn't avoid his dagger too and it sank deeply - and ineffectually - into her abdomen. Again, Mom attacked Finian with wild abandon, stabbing with her dagger, gnashing with her teeth and madly pummeling with her fist. The Archer dodged and weaved expertly, avoiding her assault with ease.

Kirnoth seized Mom's preoccupation with Finian and sat up abruptly. His sword slashed upward through the air, but missed the wererat entirely. He did, however, succeed in alerting her to the fact that he was still alive.

Mom had other things to worry about, however. An instant later, Ledare came clanking out of the darkness at full speed with violence in her eyes and a battle cry she had learned at the academy on her lips. Her sword licked outward and opened a bloody slice in Mom's side. It was a minor wound, but it was also the first lasting damage that Mother Bromson had suffered. The wererat's demeanor changed instantly to one of defense rather than offense. She backed away from Ledare, her attention shifting warily between each of her three attackers.

Finian roared in anger and lashed out with his sword and dagger, but Mom deflected the longsword with her own dagger and dodged the knife blow with ease. Kirnoth slashed with his longsword, opening a gash on Mom's right shin that went all the way to the bone. Even as the wound began to knit itself closed, Ledare struck the same spot with her own blade. Mom cried out and this injury didn't heal.

"Fresh ingredients for the Mother of all meat pies!" Ledare bragged as the skaven turned to flee, dropping her defenses as she did so.

Finian seized the opportunity and stabbed her in the head with his longsword and sunk his dagger into her right knee for good measure. Kirnoth slashed his sword across the back of her right shin. And Ledare's sword sliced through her left shin. Mother Bromson fell ignominiously to the ground dead.

"Yes!" Finian hissed, raising his sword skyward in victory. Ledare clanked her own sword against his and smiled.

"The baby!" Kirnoth said quickly as he scrambled back to his feet. They found the unconscious infant without much trouble in the spot where Kirnoth had left her. He returned the Ring of Invisibility to Ledare and let out a weary sigh.

"Let's get back to Grey House," the mage said and Ledare nodded. Rherram, had other ideas, however. The old healer stumbled out of the darkness wiping Ruze's blood off his hands with a bit of cloth.

"I'd prefer it if you all accompanied me back to my compound," he said. "It's on this side of Strenchburg Junction. If we ride, we could be there just after first light."

"We have business with the King that can't-" Ledare started to say and the man held up his hand to silence her.

"It's not just for my own sake that I make this suggestion," he explained. "In checking your friend, the Shaharizod worshipper, I discovered that he's infected with bubbling pussties as well as the first stages of pudding lung. I daresay that we've all been exposed to some rather nasty diseases tonight, and are likely contagious. Walking into Barnacus like you are would be dangerous for the capital's entire population. But I've got the supplies and such necessary to treat every known disease back at my place." He put his hands on his hips and nodded. "I'm a fair healer, as Finian can attest, and I could likely have you all on your feet by Moonsday after next."


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #201] More Bad News*

"He is a fine healer," Finian conceded. "And I don't want to spread a plague in Barnacus." He nonchalantly raised his sword and brought it down on Mom's neck, severing her rat-like head with one blow. Rherram jumped at the sudden burst of swordplay and gasped in horror when he saw what the Archer had done.

"Why did you do that?" the healer asked.

Finian shook his head and wiped his blade on what was left of Mom's robe. "The King sent us to kill her," Finian said, overstating the truth a bit. "She might have healed herself if we'd left her."

"B-but-" Rherram stammered. "I might have saved her."

"It seems to me that in war, you do not fell your enemies and then immediately heal them," Kirnoth interrupted. "That seems silly." He was somewhat surprised with the hard edge that had crept into him since he'd left his homeland to walk amongst the humans and he wasn't entirely sure that he liked it. He'd changed much in half-a-year.

"I-," Rherram seemed stunned.

"My vote is to leave this place immediately," the mage said and Ledare nodded.

"And I have no problem stopping off at your place for rest, Rherram. But I think we should still be vigilant," the Janissary explained as she cleaned her own sword and slipped it into its scabbard. "We may now be major targets for the forces of darkness, as we have managed to snarl at least one thread in their tapestry of doom."

"But what of these others?" Rherram asked as they walked back to where Ruze lay. The healer indicated the guardsmen and cultists that lay unmoving in the dark courtyard. "With some time and luck, I might be able to save them."

"I think you should consider what they may do if you do save them," Kirnoth asserted. "I vote for leaving them. If they recover, fine. If not, that's fine too."

"That is not the healer's code," the old man said, regarding Kirnoth as if the elf were slitting their throats where they lay. The elf sighed and looked to Finian and Ledare.

"Some of their cohorts ran away," he explained. "Maybe they'll come back and heal them when we leave. I think our first order of business should be to track Draeland."

"I imagine we will pick him up on the way back to the horses," Finian said with a snicker. "It should not be hard to track a big ox running through the woods. Boy, I cannot wait to see his face."

Kirnoth cut of the Archer's mocking litany with a raised hand. "Surely something in this place had an unnatural effect on his bravery and I will not fault him for that, nor will I tolerate anyone else doing so," he said, directing his comments to Finian especially. "We have all had our bad moments. He is part of our team and deserves our respect."

Finian sighed, thinking that perhaps wearing armor and swinging a sword had gone to the mage's head. Kirnoth's ego seemed to have grown quite healthy in the time since they'd been in one another's company. He seemed a far cry from the bumbling wizard who'd summoned mice rather than missiles on the Riverneck Path. Instead of telling the elf so and chancing a long argument, the ranger glanced over at some of the wooden beams that poked out of the rubble of the keep. "Ledare," he said, "help me rig up a travois from some of this timber and we'll get Ruze out of here."



As Finian had suspected, they found Draelond on the trail leading out of Othelwood. The big man was huddled beside the trail. Rherram checked him and attended to his wounds with the help of Finian's herb satchel. When he was done, he handed the bag to Finian and said, "You're nearly out of 'Old Man's Friend' and he's got the pussties too."

Draelond who was unconsciously scratching at the red bumps that had started to appear on his palms looked up at that and grimaced. "I've got what?" he groaned.



Only four of their mounts remained waiting for them in the field with the broken-down wagon. The other four horses that they had searched upon arriving on the scene were gone and one of the fleeing cultists had stolen Kirnoth's horse as well. After some deliberation they pressed on with Rherram riding Ruze's horse and dragging the Battleguard in his travois. Kirnoth rode behind Finian since they were the lightest armored.

They eased their mounts along the short trail that led from Othelwood to the caravan trail and pointed the horses southward, away from Barnacus. No one was more excited than Draelond to have the evil forest swallowed up by the night behind them.



They were a few hours' journey along Merchant's Way, roughly half-way to Strenchburg Junction when both Ledare and Kirnoth began to complain about itchy eyes. Rherram examined them closely and shook his head. "They've got 'eye crust'," he announced. "Your eye lids are going to cover over with a thick growth that hardens quickly and itches like prickly nettles."

"Great!" Ledare huffed, grinding at her right eye with her fist.

"The truly awful part is the thin, viscous film that covers the eye itself," the healer said with  his most compassionate tone. "Regardless of how much crust has developed on the outside, that film will effectively cause blindness in a few hours."

"What?" Ledare exclaimed.

"B-blind?" Kirnoth whimpered.

"Just until you're healed. Draelond, might I suggest that you take the reigns of the Janissary's horse. She won't be able to guide it for very much longer," Rherram said, turning to the blistered warrior. Draelond stopped scratching at the raised pustules long enough to urge his mount forward close enough for him to grab the lead from the Janissary's mare.

"How much farther is it to your place, Rherram?" Finian asked gruffly. He looked a little disgusted with having to ride so close to Kirnoth who was beginning to weep puss.

"Not much farther," the healer announced. "We should be there by dawn."

Finian looked eastward at the darkened sky and cursed to himself. It would be a while before Orin's Shield rose from the sea; the first lightening that heralded its coming had yet to touch the horizon.


Starday, the 3rd of Wealsun, 1269 AE


It was past dawn when they arrived at Rherram's home. It had taken slightly longer due mainly to the combination of Ruze's travois and the fact that Kirnoth and Ledare were both weakening from their illness. More than once, they almost toppled sightless from their saddles.

The healer's home was located at the wagon turn at the end of a narrow cart path that climbed a tree-cloaked hill on the northern outskirts of Strenchburg Junction. His ramshackle house was made of stone and was large for one man. A vast herb garden that showed hours of careful maintenance skirted the house on three sides. A small dirt yard abutted the wagon turn in front.

Rherram dismounted quickly and pointed to a wooden door set to the far left of the yard. The universal symbol for 'healer' painted on the door - a circle of white flowers. "Quickly, now," Rherram said as he hurriedly went to release Ruze from the travois. "Bring everyone into the hospital ward and let's get to the business of saving lives."


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #202] Some Time in the Country*

Finian helped the healer get Ruze out of the travois and across the dirt courtyard to the door he'd indicated. A sign hung beside it that read, "Rherram Ongensleer, Healer" in every script that the Companions knew how to read and several that they didn't. The door itself was locked and the old man patted at his shirt as if he expected to find the key there. It had been taken from him by the cultists, of course, and Draelond was obliged to put his shoulder against the door to allow them entrance to the room beyond. Rherram lead them through the shattered doorway into a large hall whose ceiling was open to the rafters of the peaked roof. The floor was earthen, but a raised wooden platform ran around the room a foot off the ground. On the platform were arranged a dozen narrow beds, dressed in white linen and separated one from the other by white draperies. The room was illuminated not only by the light that streamed in through the windows, but from several cast iron chandeliers hanging from the rafters that had been enchanted with Continual Flame spells. The room smelled faintly of antiseptic.

"Finian, m'boy, I'll need your help," Rherram said as they eased Ruze down onto a nearby bed. "Get everyone undressed while I get some supplies from my lab. You'll find a gown under each pillow." 

The healer disappeared through a side door that led into the rest of the house leaving the Companions alone in the infirmary. Finian sighed as he looked around and Ledare asked, "Are you sure this man will be able to help us, Finian? What do you know of him?" Draelond was leading her blindly toward a bed and she stumbled as she reached the raised platform.

"He helped me when I was last in Strenchburg Junction. He didn't have to, but he did," the Archer said. "I trust him more than some people we've been forced to rely on since this all began. And he IS a competent healer."

Ledare's armor creaked and clanked as she eased herself down onto one of the beds. She let out an exhausted sigh as she sat there, her eyes crusted with yellow-brown. She touched them lightly with her fingertips and her mouth twitched in revulsion and worry. "I guess that we have little choice in any case," she said weakly. "We're not in a position to turn down whatever help we can get."



As it turned out, Rherram wasn't just a competent healer, he was an excellent healer. After determining that Finian hadn't succumbed to anything contagious, Rherram enlisted the Archer to assist him with the others. It was a humbling experience for the half-elf since the old man was easily twice as skilled at healing as he was. Rherram's skill level rivalled Finian's mother, Caralie's and the Archer found himself relegated to mixing herbs and wrapping bandages. Still, with his help, Rherram was quickly able to examine and treat each of the Companions.

The healer determined that Ledare and Kirnoth, like Ruze, had contracted pudding lung. And they and Draelond had all been infected with skin ripple through the diseased wounds dealt to them by the mendicant. Draelond's and Ruze's cases of bubbling pussties weren't life-threatening, although the puss-filled blisters that were spreading over their flesh were disgusting in the extreme. Ledare's infection of eye crust was minor, the healer announced; her sight would likely return by the next morning. Kirnoth's however, had firmly taken ahold of the elf and would require greater convalescence to cure.

By the time that Orin's Shield had begun to dip toward the western horizon, Rherram had treated everyone as well as he could. Draelond and Ruze were slathered in ointment and wrapped in bandages, looking a good deal like greasy mummies. Ledare and Kirnoth had twin poultices strapped over each eye with a blindfold. Rherram and Finian had erected cloth tents over Ruze, Ledare and Kirnoth's beds. A small charcoal-burning stove boiled water in a kettle set beside each bed, releasing medicated steam into their afflicted lungs.

"Come, Finian," Rherram suggested. "Let them get some rest. They need time to heal and we need to eat something."

Finian nodded reluctantly and surveyed the scene in the infirmary with concern. The baby, who lay in a bed far from the diseased patients, still hadn't moved or made a sound.



"Did the thieves hang after I left?" Finian asked suddenly. He and Rherram had eaten a cold meal of dried fruit and crushed barley cereal and while the healer gathered up the bowls, Finian had been leaning back, deep in thought. He now regarded Rherram expectantly.

"You mean Councilman Ozmea and his sister," the old man said with a nod. "The Baron means what he says when he passes sentence, m'boy. I think what's left of Wearonna's still hanging from a tree near the caravanserai. I don't get out that way very often."

"Have there been any other incidences in town?" the Archer asked, picking absently at his teeth with his thumbnail. Rherram chuckled at the question.

"No, m'boy!" he said. "Most all of the troublemakers in the Junction come and go with the caravans. And seeing a woman's corpse hanging in irons right outside your front door tends to give a body pause. No, the Baron knows a good deterrent when he sees one."

Finain nodded grimly. "I'm glad justice was served," he said.

"Yes," the old man agreed without much conviction and lowered himself back into his chair. "Now, before we get some rest ourselves, why don't you tell me what possessed you to die your hair?"



Sunday, the 4th of Wealsun, 1269 AE


The patients were awakened in the morning by the baby's squeals. Those who could see spotted a plump woman seated across the room nursing the infant. She looked up, regarding them with a warm smile as she shifted the child from one ponderous breast to the other. Rherram entered then, and conferred briefly with the woman before coming to check on his patients. "Feeling better, I hope," he said as he began to check bandages.

Most of them were feeling a good deal better. All save Kirnoth felt ready to get out of bed; their wounds had healed considerably under Rherram's care. The healer wouldn't allow Ruze or Ledare to leave their beds, however, lest they interrupt the pudding lung steam treatment. The Janissary thought that might be just as well since she still felt somewhat weakened by the eye crust infection. After Rherram had snipped away her blindfold and wiped her eyes clear of accumulated muck Ledare was relieved to have her vision return in full.

Kirnoth had continued to deteriorate through the night, however and was too weak to even lift his head by the time Rherram made his rounds. "Don't worry, good sir elf," the healer assured him as he changed the poultices on his eyes. "We'll have you cured today. I'm confident that you'll turn the corner by sundown."

Finian spent most of the day discussing the finer points of herbalism with Rherram. Not surprisingly, the Archer was particularly concerned about healing both the damage caused by the viper-wolf venom and that done to his mangled left ear. Healing the damage to the Archer's reflexes wrought by the viper-wolves was beyond Rherram's abilities, but he had heard of magic that might be able to do so. It was called the 'Grove of Renewal' and was considered a sacred site by the Druids of Dridanis. Unfortunately, Rherram had no idea how to find the Grove; his only suggestion was to seek out the Cult of Dridanis near the Freehold of Redwood.

"As for your ear...," Rherram muttered, holding Finian's chin and examining the scar tissue critically. "I believe I have some elf hazel in the lab. It won't regrow the ear, but it'll clear up the scar tissue so it doesn't look quite so nasty. What'd you use on it? Woundwort?" Finian nodded and Rherram wagged a finger at him. "You're stuck in the old way of doing things, m'boy. Follow me to my lab and I'll show you some new medicines that I've learned to make."



Moonsday, the 5th of Wealsun, 1269 AE


The group continued to heal and the wetnurse, Jisselleen, continued to tend to the child, who had begun to act - and cry - like a normal, two-day-old infant. Ruze had completely shaken the bubbling pussties and Rherram predicted that even the reddish bumps that remained would likely be gone by Godsday. Draelond's case persisted, but it too had dramatically  diminished when the healer checked beneath his bandages; his prognosis for recovery lagged a day behind the Battleguard's. None of them had yet shaken the wet breathing and bubbling cough associated with pudding lung, although, again, Ruze seemed to be doing better than the others. Kirnoth's eye crust lingered, although Rherram assured him that he was making regular progress. He remained blind and too weak to rise from his bed.

Finian spent the morning shooting rats that had been eating some of Rherram's valuable herbs. The rest of the day he scoured the surrounding countryside, gathering mushrooms and medicinal plants, and being careful to avoid the town and its inhabitants.



Godsday, the 6th of Wealsun, 1269 AE


Ruze had returned nearly to full health. Some of his injuries hadn't fully healed, but he'd completely recovered from his bought of pudding lung. Draelond was close behind him; the pussties had dried up, but his skin was still pocked by numerous red welts where the blisters had been. His wounds were all but a bad memory. Ledare continued to suffer from phlegmy coughing fits despite Rherram's medicinal steam treatments. Her constitution, weakened so long ago by spider venom, was struggling to fight off the illness and she and Kirnoth remained on the same recovery path. Rherram thought that it might be cleared up by Earthday. The elf's strength continued to slowly return and he felt well enough to sit up and engage in conversation with the others.

They all wondered and debated whether or not they'd put an end to the Aphyx threat entirely or merely stopped one part of a much larger scheme.



Waterday, the 7th of Wealsun, 1269 AE


Ruze, Draelond and Finian were all fully healed. Draelond's welts had almost completely faded, leaving him, if not handsome, at least no worse-looking than he had been. Ledare and Kirnoth's chests continued to rattle with every breath, but their coughing had eased up considerably. Rherram removed the elf's blindfold and cleared away his eyes with a clean rag, eliciting a gasp of joy from Kirnoth. At last, he could see once more. He still felt weak, but he could now sit up in bed and read some of Rherram's books between steam treatments.

With Kirnoth's returned sight, the group's spirits were considerably boosted, and there was laughter in the infirmary for the first time since their arrival. After another rat hunt, Finian made another foray into the wilderness in search of herbs to replenish some of Rherram's supplies.



Earthday, the 8th of Wealsun, 1269 AE


Rherram pronounced both Ledare and Kirnoth free of pudding lung and he dismantled the tents and medicinal kettles. Everyone's wounds had fully healed thanks to Rherram's handiwork, and Kirnoth's strength had very nearly returned to normal. "By tomorrow at the latest," the healer assured them.

"Then that's when we'll head back to Barnacus," Ledare said, stretching. "We've imposed on your kindness for too long as it is."

"At last," Finian sighed after Rherram had left them. "I'm worried about Grey House."

"About Gwaedry, you mean," Ledare jibed and the Archer's face grew red.

"Her too," he admitted.

The four Companions who were able spent a good portion of the afternoon sparring with one another in Rherram's dirt front yard. They tried new combat maneuvers that they were hoping to eventually master and generally worked the kinks out of limbs that had been stuck in bed for too long. For his part, Kirnoth remained inside, reading "A Treatise on Distillation and Its Usefulness in Modern Alchemy". He didn't feel much like swinging a sword, but he was quite pleased to note that his access to the Weave had not only returned, but it seemed to be greatly increased as well. He concentrated on the energy patterns and felt confident that he'd be able to produce some new magical effects with a little practice. In all, it was a glorious afternoon, and they had all worked up a considerable appetite by the time Orin's Shield dipped into the hills to the west.



It was at dinner that Rherram brought up the subject of recompense for his services. "For the most part, I collect my herbs myself," the healer explained over a spicy potato and leek soup. "I enjoy the fresh air and I think it helps keeps me young. Mind you, Finian has helped me immensely these last few days collecting herbs for me while I tended to you and the baby. But, some of the herbs that I used to heal you all are exceedingly rare and can't be found around these parts."

He paused, blowing on a spoonful of soup.

"I had wondered if you all would mind collecting a few medicinal plants that will be difficult for me to replace without your aid?" He forced his eyes up and looked at them as if embarrassed by his request. "I'm sorry to surprise you with this at the last minute, but there didn't ever seem to be a good time to ask. And now... with you all preparing to leave..."

"We have the baby...," Kirnoth began, but Rherram cleared his throat to interrupt.

"Jisselleen and I will be happy to look after the child until you return. That is, if you decide to undertake the task for me, of course," the healer said. "I don't expect you to commit to anything right now. I'm sure that you'll want to discuss this amongst yourselves. If you are willing, we can go over the details in the morning."



"I don't know about hunting for herbs, but what about leaving the baby with Rherram?" Ledare asked. "We are not in a position to care for an infant. Who's going to nurse her? Ruze?!"

"Hey!" Ruze chuckled, clutching his man breasts in mock indignation. They all shared a laugh but Ledare wasn't letting her point drop so easily.

"Taking the baby with us seems like it would be bringing her closer to danger," she explained. "Leaving her behind - if we could find a way to ensure her safety and anonymity - would be best, I think."

They discussed the baby and their future plans at length, but hadn't yet reached a decision by the time that they bedded down for the night. Sometime later, they were awakened by what sounded like Kirnoth screaming. It was full dark in the infirmary - the Continual Flame chandelier had been capped off so that they could sleep more easily- but the white disk of Great Celune was visible through the window and she filled the room with her silvery radiance. It took longer for Draelond's and Ruze's eyes to adjust to the near darkness, but both Ledare and Finian saw immediately the horror that hunched beside the faerie elf's bed. A skaven stood in the moonlight, its fur seeming to blaze like silver fire. It regarded them with evil red eyes and hissed menacingly, its clawed hands balled up at its chest.


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## Jon Potter

*Rogue's Gallery Updates*

I've updated most of the characters in the Rogue's Gallery thread to reflect their recent leveling.

You can find them here.

When I get the final skill point allotment from Ruze's player, I'll update him as well and we'll be all up-to-date.

Look for an actual story update this Sunday.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #203]  I, Wererat*

For an instant it hunched there in the moonlight, wringing its long-nailed hands over and over again. Then it shrieked and burst into motion, moving more quickly than seemed possible. It darted downward, seeming to almost flow bonelessly under the bed. They could hear its nails scrabbling on the wooden floorboards as it moved.

Ruze jumped out of bed, fumbling in the dark for his scimitars.

"Ruze!" Finian shouted as he drew his bola out from beneath his narrow bed. "Go check on the baby! This creature may be a distraction!"

Ledare sat up and grabbed her crossbow from its holster. Nearby, Draelond was making a great deal of noise as he tried to blindly locate and unsheathe Ravager. "Where is it?" the man growled. "I can't see where it went!"

Ruze's feet thudding against the floor as he rushed out of the room, drowned out any sounds that the wererat might have been making. For a moment, no one was sure where the creature had gotten to. The door creaked open then, letting more light into the infirmary. Draelond had broken it upon their arrival and it hadn't yet been repaired. The skaven slithered out through the crack and Finian shouted, "There!" He let his bola fly, but the device thudded ineffectually against the door and forced it closed.

Ledare tried to squeeze off a shot at the creature, but her quarrel bit into the wood of the now-closed door. "Dammit!" she hissed in the shadows.

The sound of breaking wood exploded in the darkness to the Janissary's right as Draelond tried to negotiate his way to the door. His human eyesight was a good deal less keen than either Finian's or Ledare's and he took a blind step off the raised wooden platform on which all of the beds were situated. He smashed down onto a small table as he fell, reducing it to kindling in an instant. Finian drew his longsword then, bathing the room in pale, bluish light and revealing a blinking Draelond sprawled on the earthen floor. The Archer vaulted down from the platform and moved toward the door.

"Get up!" Finian growled. "We can't let it get away!" He threw open the door, scooping up his bola as he did so.

Great Celune was bathing the dirt courtyard in silver light. To the Archer's eyes it was nearly as bright as day, but he could see no immediate sign of the skaven. Grimacing in frustration, he bent down and examined the ground.

"Do you see anything?" Draelond asked from the doorway.

"It went that way," Finian said without looking up. He pointed across the dirt lawn toward the stable, and even as he did so, they heard the horses inside whinnying in panic. He broke into a trot, urging, "Come on!"

"What about Kirnoth?" Ledare asked. She stepped into the doorway, strapping on her longsword as Draelond ran after the ranger. They looked like two ghosts, dressed as they were in white gowns.

"I think three of us could handle the wererat!" Finian shouted back.

"That's not what I meant," Ledare muttered, sparing one look at the sorcerer's empty bed. She shook her head and hefted her six-shooter as she went to follow them, barefoot toward the stable.



"What is it?" Rherram asked. He held a candle in one hand and was rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the other. "What's going on?"

"There's a skaven in the infirmary," Ruze told him with remarkable calm. "Where is the baby?"

"Right over here," the healer said fumbling toward a nearby door. "She sleeps in Jisselleen's room, but I'm sure she's just fine." He threw open the door and the light from his candle looked in on a narrow room with no windows. An empty bassinet stood against one wall and Jisselleen sat cross-legged on her bed, nursing the tiny infant. The wet nurse raised a hand to shield her eyes from the candlelight.

"What's the matter?" the woman asked. "Is everything alright?"

"No," the Battleguard told her before turning to Rherram. "Stay in here with her and bolt the door. I'm going back to help the others, but there may be more of the creatures about."

Rherram nodded and as Ruze headed back toward the infirmary he heard Jisselleen fearfully ask, "What creatures?"



"Get ready," Finian said and Draelond raised Ravager in a two-handed grip. They were paused outside of the stable and they could plainly hear the fearful cries of the horses within. The door stood slightly ajar, but there was no light within. Ledare came up behind them just as the Archer opened the door. She had her crossbow ready.

Both Ledare and Finian could instantly see that the stable was in chaos. Rherram's stable wasn't built to house more than two animals for any length of time, but they had been forced to stable four of them here since Starday. Finian had taken them out every day for exercise and brushed them every night before closing them in. But that didn't change the fact that they were jammed into too small a space and they were now panicked. All four were tethered to a central rail that ran the length of the small barn, and they were rearing up against the restraints and lashing at the air with their steel-shod hooves. It was only a matter of time before they started to do grievous injury to one another in their madness.

There was no sign of the skaven and Finian took a step inside with Draelond and Ledare at his back. The ranger's trained senses could almost smell the fear that was pouring off of the animals. As the light from his longsword illuminated the interior of the stable, he could at last see what it was that had spooked the horses. The rafters above their heads were crowded with dozens of hungry rats. Their eyes glimmered unnaturally in the magical light.

Before Finian could tell the others what he had seen, the skaven dropped down from above the door and drove him to the ground beneath its silver-haired bulk.



The infirmary was empty, and the door to the front yard stood open, giving Ruze just enough light to see by. He could hear the frightened neighing of their horses coming from outside and spared only a moment to ready his twin scimitars. He raced along past the foot of the beds, heading for the door, but something caused him to stop beside Kirnoth's empty bed. A pile of torn white fabric lay on the floor beside the bed; it was quivering. The fabric looked like one of the hospital gowns they all wore to bed, but it had been badly ripped. Ruze reached out a scimitar and flicked aside the white shreds, revealing what lay beneath.

It was Gordigan, and the duckbunny did not look well. In fact, it looked frightened out of its wits. It just lay on its side staring glassy-eyed and shaking with horror.


----------



## Jon Potter

*Final Rogue's Gallery Update*

I've updated the last of the characters in the Rogue's Gallery thread that enjoyed a recent leveling. Ruze is up in all his glory.

You can find them here.

Look for an actual story update as always this Sunday.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #204] Demon Rats*

Finian felt the thing's hot breath on his neck and heard its teeth snap shut with a loud clack a hand width from his left ear. Then the Archer was in motion, spinning himself onto his back and drawing his knees up before kicking the skaven off of himself. It tumbled into the stable and recovered its footing almost instantly while Finian was still scrambling backward toward the door. Draelond's hands latched onto the ranger's nightgown and dragged him out into the yard. Ledare slammed her shoulder against the stable door and leaned heavily against it. A moment later, the skaven thudded against the other side, nearly sending Ledare to her knees. Draelond backed up against the door and braced himself, adding considerable bulk to the barricade.

"I - I think that wererat is Kirnoth," Finian sputtered as he got unsteadily to his feet. The rush of adrenalin was still coursing through him.

"What?" Draelond asked, his face screwed up in disbelief.

"I believe that Kirnoth is now a wererat because he was very badly hurt by Mom Bromson," the Archer explained. "And look at Great Celune; it's a full moon that triggers the change, isn't it?"

"I hadn't thought of that," the man said as the skaven thudded against the stable door. The horses were absolutely crazed within - shrieking with fear or pain.

"But would this disease change Kirnoth so radically that he would attack us like this?" Ledare asked, her face gone very pale in the moonlight. "Maybe this creature is some other skaven who is here to help bring in the 'new recruit'. Maybe Kirnoth is terrified and is hiding somewhere."

"Maybe," Finian said. "But I really have a strong hunch that this is Kirnoth. I hate to kill him, so I perhaps think we should let him escape and track him, hoping he comes back in the morning."

"Whether it's Kirnoth or not, we need to prevent him from hurting anyone else," Ledare said and raised her hand crossbow to her shoulder. "I say we aim to injure or subdue only."

Draelond nodded. "I think subdual is the key here," he said. "I don't want to go off killing what appears to be an evil wererat to find out later that I slew Kirnoth." With some solemnity he thrust Ravager point-first into the ground beside the stable door. "I don't know a lot about wererats, but I know that they can change form. If we could keep this one in our custody until we can see what alternative form it takes, it could make our decision easier."

"Okay," Finian said. "We'll open the door and when it comes out, I'll attempt to subdue it with the bola, and attack with the flat of my blade if it keeps coming after me."

"I should be able to pin the creature without much trouble," Draelond said and Ledare nodded.

"I'll only shoot it if I have to in order to prevent it from hurting either of you," she said as she stepped away from the door and moved off to the side where she'd have a clear shot. "And then only to wound, not to kill."

"Ready?" Draelond asked and then threw open the stable door.



Ruze placed his scimitars on Kirnoth's bed and knelt down, gingerly scooping up the elf's familiar. He gave the duckbunny a little shake, but Gordigan showed no signs of snapping out of his fugue. The cleric scowled and set the small black animal on the bed and picked up his weapons again. With his jaw set, he moved toward the door and stepped out into the yard just in time to see a ravening ball of silver fur explode out through the stable door. The Battleguard started to run.



The wererat was incredibly fast. No sooner had the Draelond opened the door than the thing was there, its eyes gleaming red in the darkness and spittle drooling from its snapping jaws. It came at the man before he could even fully register that it was there and its jaws clamped down over his left shoulder, drawing blood. Finian let loose his bola, but narrowly missed the target. Ledare carefully lined up her shot and would have landed a bolt into the wererat but at the last moment, she pulled up to avoid hitting Draelond. The quarrel thudded into the side of the stable.

Draelond's wound was minimal, and he focused passed the pain to the matter at hand. He grabbed the rat man around the throat with both hands, easily avoiding its snapping jaws. It wasn't really very strong despite all its ferocity and it was a simple matter for the big man to grapple the bipedal rodent. It wriggled around in his grasp and pawed at him with both its hands and feet, but so far was unable to break free. "Hurry!" Draelond grunted as he struggled with the writhing man rat. "I can't hold it all night! We'll need to tie it up with something!"

Finian ducked forward and picked up his bola. He was coming toward Draelond when three horses burst out of the stable at full speed. The horses were all squealing in pain, their backs and flanks dark with biting rats and streaked with their own blood. The Archer's uncanny reflexes allowed him to jump back, avoiding the stampeding animals, but Draelond wasn't so lucky. The first animal grazed a hoof against his head, making him lose his grip on the skaven. The wererat scurried away, dancing beneath the second animal's hooves. Moment's later, the third horse stepped squarely on the lycanthrope's right elbow, crunching the bone with a sickening sound. One of the same horse's rear hooves clipped Draelond in the left forearm, but miraculously, his injuries were minor.

As the animals thundered off madly down the road, the skaven got to its feet and hissed. As they watched, its pulverized elbow snapped back into its proper shape.

Finian raised his bola, determined to bring the creature down. Even as he let the bola fly and watched the two balls wrap snuggly around the skaven's torso, pinning its arms and sending the creature to its back, the world around him exploded in an arcing burst of chaos. A crackling web of magical energy arced between the four Companions who remained in front of the stable. The energy seemed to have no effect on Finian whatsoever, but the others twitched and jerked as if they were struck by lightning. When the arcing stopped a moment later, both Ruze and Ledare were visibly staggered. Smoke rose from their hair and blood ran freely from their ears and noses. Draelond, who had been weakened already by the skaven and the horses, fell unmoving to the earth.

Finian's eyes darted around to find the source of this magical assault and his bowels turned to ice as he saw the dozens of glittering red rat eyes gathered in the darkness of the stable. They were piling atop one another into a squirming mound of furry bodies. As one they began to chitter and squeak, and somehow the unnerving chorus became a single unified voice that twittered a warbled as it spoke.

"This one is ours," it said. "Leave him to us and you may live. Persist and your lives are forfeit."


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #205] Demon Rats II*

"Ruze!" Finian cried. "Heal Draelond! We need his sword!"

"Fools!" the rats' weirdly modulated voice screeched and an aimless sense of despair clutched at the group's guts as unknown magic was invoked.

Ruze looked first at the struggling wererat and then at the unmoving Draelond. His vision swam and he shook his head in order to get his senses under control. "My Queen, bathe me in your protective light!" he prayed, touching his right fist to his chest. Moonlight seemed to play across his skin.

Ledare raised her crossbow and squeezed off a shot at the rat pile. The bolt flew into the mass and disappeared beneath the squirming rat bodies. It seemed to have no effect whatsoever and a sense of fearful impotence began to creep into the Janissary's heart.

Finian took a step back and raised his head to the night sky. "Brogine! Emperor of Beasts!" he bellowed at the stars. "I call upon you to send me your aid!" His cry was echoed by a shriek from above and a hawk dove out of the sky toward the rats. It pulled up at the last moment and scratched outward with its claws, but missed.

"You, beastmaster!" the rats cooed, fixing Finian with dozens of tiny red eyes. The eyes began to fill the Archer's field of vision. "Free the wererat!" The half-elf felt the oily effects of evil magic wash over him and for an instant, the idea of cutting the bola thongs seemed like a perfectly fine one. His found himself half-turned with his sword ready to sever the bonds before he was able to shake off the power of the charm. 

The rats hissed when they saw him resist their influence. It didn't matter, however; the skaven had changed shape again. This time it became a large three foot long rat with silver fur and it wriggled free of the bola without any trouble.

"Touch Ledare with thy healing grace, oh Queen!" Ruze prayed and brushed his hand against the Janissary's back. She felt the power of divine healing sweep through her, undoing some of the hurt that the rats' magic had wrought. She was still a long way from good health, but her aches and pains subsided a bit. Grimly, she raised her hand crossbow and fired into the mass of rodents. Again her shot flew true, but again it seemed to have absolutely no effect.

Finian brought his sword to bear on the retreating wererat. It had a good fifteen feet head start on him, but he closed it to five in a matter of seconds. He was close, but the unnatural creature had made it to the slope along the edge of Rherram's property and it slipped off into the high grass along the verge. The Archer had no desire to separate from the others, and he turned back in time to see the hawk he had summoned swoop down again from the dark sky. It dove in again at the rats and this time its claws sank into the body of one of the creatures comprising the squirming pile. As one, the rats swarmed upward, their tiny fangs ripping the hawk to shreds in an instant. The animal disappeared in a puff of smoke and feathers as its spirit returned to the ether from which the ranger had called it.

Ruze knelt beside Draelond's unmoving body and laid a hand on either side of the man's bleeding head. "Let not this man go too early to Myrkul's hall," he said and channelled just enough of Shaharizod's power into his fallen companion to stop his bleeding.

Ledare lined up another shot - this time at one of the rats along the edge of the main mass - and fired. The arrow struck home, piercing the rodent's side with a satisfying THWOK! But an instant later, the creature flexed its body and expelled the shaft without injury. "Dear gods," the Janissary muttered as fear once more gripped her heart. "Weapons don't hurt it."

Finian came charging back in, his longsword flashing and Ledare stood up quickly and shouted, "Weapons don't hurt it!!" The Archer skidded to a stop a few feet from the mass of rats, looking very confused.

"Weapons don't hurt us," the rats said as they began to move away toward the slope at the side of Rherram's property.  The wriggling carpet of rodents moved passed Finian as they went and the Archer felt the slippery sensation of dark forces probing his mind. "Lead them away, beastmaster," the rats whispered as they passed. "Tell them you did not see which way the wererat went."

That was a good idea, the Archer thought. Why should he endanger everyone by pointing out where the skaven went, anyway? It made perfect sense, really. Or at least it did for a few short moments before his own will reasserted itself and he shook off the charm effects for a second time.

"If we meet again, we will feast on your rotting corpse," the rats hissed as they swarmed off into the tall grass.

Ruze stood and pointed one of his scimitars in the rats' direction. "My Queen, lend me your-" he began but Ledare stilled him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Let it go," she groaned. Her voice sounded very small and very tired. "We're in no shape to deal with such a thing. It will be our undoing."

Finian trotted back toward them and his low-light vision picked out the scene of carnage inside the stable. One of the horses - and at this point, it was impossible to tell which one - had been killed. Its skeletonized carcass lay within, glistening redly in the moonlight. Its reins were still tethered to the center rail.

"Brogine, help us," the ranger said. "What are we dealing with?"


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #206] On the Trail*

"Dear gods!" Rherram sputtered as he smeared a dollop of healing salve into the bite wound on Draelond's shoulder. The sticky green substance started to work immediately, knitting the edges of the bite closed. "You lot manage to undo in minutes what it took me a week to accomplish!"

"It was hardly our idea," Ruze muttered and Rherram snorted in reply.

The baby was crying and Jisselleen stood in the corner of the infirmary rocking the child in her arms. The wetnurse looked very frightened, her normally plump and ruddy face seeming pale and drawn. "Are those... creatures gone?" she asked timidly.

"For the moment," Ledare replied. "Why don't you take the baby back to bed? There's nothing you can do here."

Jisselleen shook her head, her thick braids lashing the air. "If it's all the same to you, I'd rather stay with everyone else for the time being," she said and Ledare couldn't blame her. Skaven and invulnerable rat piles weren't exactly things that a wetnurse had to deal with in the normal course of things.

"I found it!" Finian shouted from across the room. He stood up from their packs with the bundle of herbs the king had given them. He rushed over to Rherram, unwrapping the package as he went. The healer took one look at the belladonna and shook his head.

"It's too old, m'boy. If we're going to poison your friend we should do it with fresh poison, don't you think?" he grumbled and cocked a salve-covered hand over his shoulder. "I've got some in my lab. Go fetch it and bring me the small mortar and pestle as well."



The belladonna didn't kill Draelond -thanks in no small part to Rherram's expert dosing - so lycanthropy wasn't a concern. His injuries were greater than Rherram's salve could quickly heal however, and Ruze was obliged to use his divine gifts to mend himself, Draelond and Ledare. None of them were feeling in perfect health, but they felt a good deal better than they had.

"I can use the healing salve again tomorrow," Rherram explained. "If you would just wait until then before rushing off."

Ledare shook her head as she strapped on her breastplate. "I am afraid that if we wait too long, the trail will be cold," she told him. More concern crept into her voice as she added, "Or worse, it will be a trail of dozens of tiny rat feet."

"Shall I track, find the lair and come back?" the Archer asked. "I'm uninjured, but I hate to think what would happen if they caught me."

"I may slow you down," Ledare said, "but I'm going with you. It's too dangerous for you to go alone."

"I think we should all go," Ruze said as he hefted his scale mail.

"I agree," Draelond admitted. "But it doesn't seem like any of our weapons are doing much of anything to that rat pile; we need another plan."

"He's right," Ledare said, eyeing the mottled blade of her silver-iron longsword skeptically. "Do we have ANY defenses against the rats? Our special silver weapons seem to have no effect. Any other thoughts? Fire, perhaps?"

"Bringing something to start a fire is a great idea," Finian nodded. "Rherram do you have any oil?"

"I do, but I also think I can do you one better," he said wagging a finger in the air as he started to turn. "Wait one moment! I'll just run to my lab!"



Rherram supplied them with several alchemical items from his stockpiles: 4 flasks of alchemist's fire, 2 thunderstones, 2 flash pellets, a smokestick, and a tanglefoot bag. "I sell these little goodies to most of the peddlers who come through the Junction. They're very popular with those adventurer-types. Being a healer doesn't always put food on the table, m'boy," Rherram explained to Finian as he doled out the supplies. "Folk just aren't happy with my methods when they can visit some local shrine and get divine healing much faster. These little goodies are my real bread-and-butter."

So laden, they set out down the long slope at the edge of Rherram's property. Neither the skaven nor the strange rat colony was making any attempt to conceal its path, so Finian had little trouble following the trail.

"At least there is a full moon," the ranger said as he crouched down to examine the tracks.

"Don't forget, that full moon is the reason we're in this state," Draelond quipped.

The skaven's trail meandered aimlessly to and fro across the field moving generally south and westward. The path lead generally away from the town of Strenchburg Junction - a fact for which everyone was thankful - and into a series of wooded hills to the west of the settlement. The pursuing rats, moved unerringly toward the same hills, on an angle that intercepted the skaven's trail just inside a copse of trees some 500 feet from the westward caravan trail, Longway. Apparently, the rodents weren't the only group moving abroad under the moonlight.

Inside the small cluster of trees was a campsite that had been recently abandoned. Although no smoke rose from the firepit, the ashes still radiated heat. An odd silence hung over the entire area, and it appeared that those who had camped here left in a hurry. Finian was about to creep forward into the clearing when a tall, cloaked figure detached itself from the shadows at the southern edge of the campsite and knelt down to look at something on the ground. The newcomer didn't give any indication that he had seen the Companions.

Something on the opposite side of the clearing caught both Ledare's and Finian's attention. A net hastily concealed with dead leaves and branches had been strung amidst the trees there and as soon as they caught sight of it, the net fell aside and several bloated, shambling creatures moved forward into the moonlight. They were leaking black ooze from wounds and other holes all over their swollen bodies. Flies buzzed around them and worms were crawling over their bodies, whose skin has been stretched nearly to its limit.

They were clearly undead, and they were moving to attack the unsuspecting stranger.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #206a] Earlier that same morning...*

... and several miles southeast of Rherram's infirmary.

For Fat Gurnie, the day began like any other. He arose before Orin's Shield had done little more than paint the eastern sky with pinks and oranges and fetched his breakfast of fresh eggs and leftover bread. As he fried the eggs, he hummed a tune that he'd heard performed by the bard at Hammond's Rest the Freeday prior and kept look-out through his kitchen window. From his vantage point in front of the fire, he could clearly see the barn where he parked his pushcart each night.

On most days, he would follow breakfast by taking his cart to the caravanserai where he would buy fresh fruit and vegetables from the merchants moving through the Junction. Sometimes, if a caravan was leaving too early in the morning for him to conduct business, he would collect his produce the night before and lock his cart securely in the barn. Lately, whenever he collected his wares under the moons' light, thieves had been sneaking into his barn and pilfering from his pushcart. They never took very much, and Gurnie rather suspected that it was the work of a nimble-fingered child.

The most likely culprit was the young scalawag, Oswald Honeycutt. Gurnie had seen the boy skulking about with some of the seedier elements in Strenchburg Junction. The fat man knew that there was a small but active thieves' guild in town despite Baron Wicaop's assertions to the contrary. With all the money to be made from exhorting protection money from the caravans passing through the Junction, the Baron was a fool to think otherwise. Constable Boralle knew of the guild's existence if not its membership and actively worked to keep it a secret from the law-abiding folk in town. So long as the thieves confined themselves to shaking down the caravan masters for loose coins and didn't disrupt the lives and livelihoods of the citizens of the Junction, the Constable was content to turn a blind eye to their activities.

This arrangement was apparently good enough for the local guild. Fat Gurnie, himself, had never been approached to pay protection money to anyone. But that didn't mean that the thieves didn't exist, merely that they were clever enough to know a good arrangement when they saw one. They were most likely associating with young Oswald for largely the same reason; the boy was so eager to please that he could be counted on to run minor errands and keep his mouth shut about the particulars.

Gurnie hated to see a child lured into such a shady world, which was why he hoped to catch whoever was stealing from his pushcart in the act of theft. Perhaps a lesson could be imparted. At the very least, Gurnie might make it clear that he would willingly part with a piece or two of fruit; there was no reason to steal from him.

"No reason at all," he mused, stepping out of his small house, eating an egg sandwich - the other three were wrapped in a handkerchief and stuffed inside his purse. As he walked across the barnyard, he could plainly see that the lock he'd placed to secure his pushcart was unmolested. He grinned, and then a sudden gust of wind ripped through his hair and his day took a most unexpected turn.

A roiling knot of luminescent cloud began to swirl in the air above the barnyard. Lightning crackled and the wind whipped and swirled. Fat Gurnie had time only to gasp and stare dumbly before the center of the cloud dilated, revealing a glittering black hole in the sky. Over the howl of the wind could be heard the increasing sound of a woman screaming. The screaming grew louder and louder and an instant later, a woman fell out of the hole. She belly-flopped in the barnyard with a bone-jarring thud and her screaming stopped abruptly.

The black hole in the sky began to close, but not before it also vomited out a gleaming sword that tumbled end over end through the air. Gurnie found himself unable to move, his eyes transfixed by the sword tumbling blade over pommel toward him. For an instant he was sure that he was going to be skewered by the falling weapon, but it embedded itself in the ground at his feet. Gurnie watched the blade's hilt waggle back and forth in the air and suddenly realized that he hadn't been breathing. He sucked in a lungful of air and took a frightened step backward.

The woman groaned and started to get to her feet. As she rose, Fat Gurnie's first thought was that she was beautiful. The next was that she was huge, standing fully half-a-head taller than he did. And finally, as he got a more complete look at her, he thought that he might be in serious trouble. She was dressed in fine - if a bit odd - clothing: leather boots and pantaloons, a frilly shirt beneath a tight-fitting leather vest and jerkin. Over it all, she wore a heavy traveller's cloak. Her head was bare and surmounted by fiery red hair, pulled back in a thick braid that hung to the middle of her broad back. Her complexion was ruddy and as she regarded him with honey-yellow eyes, he thought that he saw fine, iridescent scales on her cheeks and along the line of her strong jaw. Her sparklingly white teeth might have been a little pointed.

"Nunca confíe em um pixie," she grumbled as she dusted herself off and looked in the direction of the closed gate. "Näo podem ajudar-lhe mas fazer batota."


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #206b]  Another Perspective*

Ixin dragged herself painfully to her feet. The gate had closed, she saw; there was no going back. Not that she truly wished to go back to that... place. Or non-place. Or whatever it was you called the hub at the center of the Great Sphere. What had Babiran called it? The Gateway to Eternity? To Ixin it was a creepy maze of huge, empty halls filled with gates - portals that looked out onto various parts of Mid'Gaard and beyond. It was also apparently home to enormous insects the likes of which Ixin had never seen and hoped not to ever see again. She was about to become a meal to one of the armor-plated things when she was magically hurled through one of the portals by a woman covered with jeweled scales and having eyes that shone with golden light.

Conveniently, Babiran had neglected to mention the existence of giant bugs and angry dragon-witches when she'd traded him a Wand of Wonder 'borrowed' from Drake Irthos. Typical.

"Never trust a pixie," she grumbled as she dusted herself off and looked in the direction of the closed gate. "They cannot help but cheat you." The fat man standing nearby looked at her with a complete lack of understanding.

"Do you not speak Castillan?" she asked and his confused expression remained unchanged. She tried the Common Tongue and then Draconic with similar results. She needed Arivexoth and walking forward, she snatched up the cutlass from where it was stuck in the ground at the man's feet. The sword's wire-wrapped hilt throbbed in her hand and she tried again. "Can you hear me know," she asked, aided by Arivexoth's magic.

"Y-yes, m'lady," the fat man stammered, blinking his eyes several times. "Who? Who are you?"

"My name is Ixin, daughter of Ventisjir the Red, granddaughter of Lady Dominor Corastrixarosvith of Clan Vermillion," she said as she sheathed Arivexoth at her hip, "Ur-Corastrixarosvith serves as Grand Councillor for Clan Vermilion to the Council of Wyrms. Her daughter, my mother, Ventisjir the Red is a Clan Champion."

She spoke the litany without much interest or conviction. She'd repeated her lineage enough times in the last decades that it had ceased to impress her much anymore. But it was impressive, she knew, for Skrazargul the Green and his sons Drakes Thuulsias, Irthos, and Ulric made her repeat it often, their eyes flickering with lust and greed at each syllable. It was a gem in the horde for any Green Dragon, even one of Ur-Skrazargul's age and wealth, to have in his holding one of the lineage of Cr'Corastrixarosvith. Even though she only shared 1/4 of the Lady Dominor's fiery blood, Ixin knew that she was an important trophy for Skrazargul the Green. Not only was he naught but a Green, but neither did he claim clanblood on the Council; he had left the Dragon Isles to live in the human lands. But it was this very fact that made him attractive to Clan Vermilion who retained little of their former influence among the lesser races. So she, Ul-Ixin, was the linchpin of an elaborate political marriage of two Dragon Houses.

"A-an impressive lineage, to be sure," the fat man sputtered, his hands pressed together in front of him. "What brings you to my... humble home?"

She almost said, "I'm fleeing from Skrazargul the Green and the Dragon's Claw." But that was no way for her to disappear and wasn't that the very reason she'd sought out the Pool of Glenmasis in the first place? After all the trouble with Babiran the pixie and his one-way trip to the Gateway to Eternity, it would be foolish to announce herself to every person who asked for her history.

"Are we very near Highgate?" she asked and the fat man arched an eyebrow.

"Never heard of it," he told her. "This is Strenchburg Junction."

"Is it in Castillia?" she asked and he shook his head. "Lyonesse? The Frankish Lands? Estalia? Condottieri?"

At the mention of each country, the man shook his head. "Strenchburg Junction is in Elcaden," he offered and this time it was her turn to look confused. Ixin looked around. She suddenly realized that she recognized nothing. Perhaps the pixie had fulfilled his promise to hide her where the Dragon's Claw was unlikely to find her.

"Where on Mid'Gaard is Elcaden? Is it one of the Slavian Realms?" she asked and the man shrugged.

"I don't know about Slavian," he explained, "but it is one of the Realms... of Enlightenment, that is. But anyway, it isn't on Mid'Gaard at all. It's on Oerune."

Ixin's teeth ground against one another as she growled out the words, "Never trust a pixie."


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #206c] It Always Starts in a Tavern*

Hammond's Rest was far from restful. Fat Gurnie had insisted on taking Ixin to the tavern and showing her off to the locals. Once they were convinced that she wasn't some type of demon, they warmed to her rather quickly. They pawed her mercilessly of course, clutching at her magical cloak, running their hands over the fine scales on her cheeks, marveling at the small horns that were all but hidden in her hairline. It was much the same treatment she experienced from Drake Irthos and more than a few of the more aggressive Hands in the Dragon's Claw. Of course, the townsfolk lacked the lecherous smirks and lascivious glances that were so common to all of Skrazargul's underlings.

And until she knew more about her surroundings, it would serve her better to be tolerant of the humans. More sensible to cultivate friendships than to make more enemies. She'd have enough of those if the Claw were able to track her down. Of course, with Drake Ulric's recent spectacular failure in Freeport, Ur-Skrazargul might have his talons too full to worry about a single errant drakeling.

If only she could convince herself of that.



"Well! Bless my soul!" Fat Gurnie shouted across the tavern. "If it isn't my old friend, Mikal!"

The man who was squeezing himself through the front door to Hammond's Rest made Fat Gurnie look slim. He was a mountain of a man precariously packed into finely-made but well-worn clothes: sausage-casing leather pants, a matching vest, and a red and white striped shirt open at the throat and bubbling over with the man's prodigious bearded jowls. His eyes were wary but not mean and his gaze traveled over the assemblage in the tavern before settling on Gurnie's smiling face. "This is not a social call, Gurnie," Mikal barked as he plodded across the tavern. "Your nonsense has cost my caravan a day's travel."

Gurnie's face fell and his brows knit together. "Whatever do you mean?" he asked. "We conducted business last night."

Mikal paused at the bar and snatched a tankard of Critwell Ale from Blodd, the barkeep. The big man drained half his mug, spilling a goodly amount of froth down into his beard as he did so. "Tis not your business that detains me, my friend," the big man explained. "Tis your talk of a woman who fell from the sky - a woman who claims to have the blood of dragons running through her veins."

He walked to their table, his eyes falling on Ixin, appraising her in a glance as one might decide on the quality of a cut of meat at the butchers. "Such talk has vexed my wizard," the man went on after he drained his tankard. "He'll not go on but that he has a chance to speak with this dragon scion. And if he won't go on neither can my caravan."

"I assume that you are she," said a thin man who stepped out then from behind Mikal. The man was oldish by human standards, clean shaven with sallow skin and unruly white curls peaking out from beneath his sweat-stained skullcap. He looked positively skeletal beside his boss and Fat Gurnie. He wore the quintessential robes of which human wizards were so fond; they were a grimy blue and decorated everywhere with strange arcane-looking (but meaningless) symbols stitched in silvery thread. He was festooned with countless chicken skulls, onyx pebbles, lizard scales, and other dubious talismans that rattled and clicked with each of his jerky movements..

Ixin regarded him meaningfully and said nothing. With the exception of the wizard himself, she was the only person in the tavern who looked out of place. He met her eyes and then smiled uncomfortably; he cleared his throat before continuing.

"Of course you're she," he said. "I mean who else would you be? My name is Torren Gadge. I work for Goodman Tobrannon."

He extended his thin hand to her and she looked at it and then back at the wizard's face without moving.

"What do you want of me, Goodman Gadge?" Ixin asked.

"Just to ask you a few questions. That's all," he said apologetically and dropped his hand to his side. "I mean 'blood of a dragon', and all... It's really quite unbelievable." Torren laughed nervously and began to look very uncomfortable in his robes.

"Not where I come from," she said flatly and the wizard licked his lips and tried to force a smile.

"Yes, well I'd like to talk to you about that too," he explained. "I mean it's not often that someone falls from the sky, now is it?"

"I wouldn't know," Ixin told him and Mikal Tobrannon cleared his throat and leaned forward so that his big ham fists rested on the tabletop.

"Look. Are you willing to talk to my wizard or no?" the man asked. There was no malice in his tone, but it was clear that he had grown tired of Torren's poor attempts to negotiate with Ixin. "If you're willing, I'll see that Blodd keeps you in food and ale for so long as you care to put up with Gage's prattling." He grinned at the wizard who crossed his arms in mock indignation.



Torren Gage was a competent wizard after all. He was what Drake Thuulsias would have called an artificer - interested more in the creation of magical constructs than in dealing with the more ephemeral aspects of magery. The Claw would have easily found a place for his talents within the organization - not that he would have lasted very long. He had narrowed the focus of his magic too much and lacked the breadth of knowledge that one needed to survive in Highgate's underworld.

He questioned her extensively on dragons and how she had come to fall into Fat Gurnie's barnyard. On the former, she spoke only in generalities; she had no wish to draw undue attention by naming names. On the subject of how she had come to drop in on Gurnie, she explained all that she could (which wasn't much). Torren became very excited by what she told him and he began delving into more esoteric applications of arcane theory that went right over Ixin's head. For someone who didn't even know how to power his spells by tapping a ley line, he certainly knew a great deal of magical minutia that seemed of little use to her. Ixin's magic flowed from her blood, not through the study of dusty old tomes.

"On the one hand, sub-etheric vibrations might account for the opening of portals between planes that otherwise don't share any linking commonality," the wizard was saying while Ixin stifled a yawn. He stopped in mid-sentence as the door to Hammond's Rest was banged open and a young man fell out of the night. He looked very haggard and the left sleeve of his tunic was soaked with blood.

"Slatter!" Mikal bellowed as he exploded up from the bench where he was sitting and smoking an after-dinner pipe with Fat Gurnie. He moved quickly for a man of his size and he was able to thunderously cross the tavern to the young man's side in two heartbeats. "What happened, boy?! Is it bandits again? Has the caravanserai been breached?"

The young man looked up at Tobrannon and let out a sob. "Yes," he moaned. "But they didn't steal anything!"

Mikal looked relieved at that, but then he looked at Slatter's bloody arm and concern crept into his voice again. "Then what happened to you?" he asked. "What did they want if not to rob us?"

"Nilia Lant," Slatter told him. "They came and took her away. Den and me, we tried to stop them but they came in and were out so quick I barely had time to catch my wits. They... they got away."

"Is Den alright?" Tobrannon asked, giving Slatter a little shake that elicited another moan from the young man. "Tell me, boy!. Does he live?"

"Yes. But they musta had a wizard with them," Slatter coughed. "I found Den paralyzed outside Nilia's wagon and chased off one of the bandits before he could cut his throat. I don't understand, sir. Why would they take Nilia?"

Fat Gurnie interrupted the exchange by hurrying up to the two men's sides. "I'll go fetch the Constable," he said but Mikal stopped him by grabbing the lesser man's flabby upper arm.

"And he'll do what?" Tobrannon growled. "He's been letting these bandits prey on my caravans for years! He's probably in league with the scum!"

"Now, Mikal, my friend, I don't think-" Gurnie started, but Tobrannon wouldn't hear it.

"No!" he shouted. "We'll not involve that incompetent Boralle in this! We need help we can rely on!" As he spoke, his appraising eyes fell uncomfortably on Ixin.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #207] Common Ground*

_In which we return at last to our steadfast Companions crouched in the bushes as undead approach a mysterious cloaked figure...
_ 

Finian started to rise, his hand going to his quiver, but Ledare put a hand on his shoulder, keeping him down. She pointed to her eyes and then to the scene unfolding in the clearing indicating that they should wait and watch. The Archer nodded and passed the message on to Ruze and Draelond. In truth, the two humans hadn't seen what the two half-elves had; they could perceive movement in the darkened clearing but that was all. They waited as the creatures advanced on the cloaked figure.

Thankfully, the shambling things were slow. They had barely reached the midpoint of the clearing when the cloaked figure spotted them. She stood (for it was now clear that the figure was a woman, albeit a tall one) and her hood fell back from her red-tressed head in alarm. She was backing up even as she made a gesture with her left hand, flicking it out toward the nearest undead. They heard her shout a word in an unfamiliar language, "Valignat!" and tiny flaming sparks flew from her fingertips. Her aim was off, however and the fiery missiles landed some distance to the left and behind their intended target.

"Okay," Ledare whispered. "I'm satisfied." She raised her hand crossbow but before she could squeeze off a shot, Draelond stood and lobbed his vial of alchemist's fire into the center of the clearing. Considering the fact that he could see little of what was going on in the abandoned campsite, it was a somewhat risky course of action. It paid off however, as the flask struck one of the decaying creatures in the right arm, engulfing it almost immediately in flames. The undead to either side of it were also splashed with the sticky alchemical contents. It also succeeded in illuminating the clearing in a cheery orange glow, clearly revealing the five shambling undead and the red-haired woman. Three of the undead changed course, heading toward the spot where the four remaining Companions were readying their weapons.

The cloaked woman blinked her eyes in the sudden brightness, distracted long enough for the lead undead to slam its rotting fist into her right shoulder. It was a solid blow and she cried out involuntarily as pain shot through her arm and chest. She reeled with the impact and nearly fell to her knees.

Ledare aimed carefully and fired her crossbow into the creature that was attacking the cloaked woman. The arrow connected, but just barely, cutting an inconsequential groove into the back of the thing's head. An instant later, Finian's bowshot accomplished exactly the same feat, striking the thing's skull for minor damage. The walking corpse seemed to care little about the damage and continued to harry the cloaked woman.

"Vuthasjach!" she managed to shout. Immediately, darkness seemed to flow up from the ground, clotting around the walking dead like a net of shadows. It was instantly enveloped by the inky blackness and disappeared from view, but not before its fist was able to lash out again and thud into the woman's left leg. She fell out of the thing's reach, then, but was clearly suffering greatly.

The three zombies that had turned toward the group - including two of the burning creatures - shambled forward as fast as they were able. That speed offered plenty of time for Ruze to stand up and present the holy symbol of Shaharizod. The firelight played across the twin crescent moons. "Behold foul creatures!" the Battleguard bellowed. "Let my light banish thee to the cursed earth from whence thou cameth."

The holy symbol blazed with energy as Ruze channeled the power of his own faith into the advancing corpses. The three creatures immediately covered their heads and retreated as if they were burned by the light radiating from the Battleguard's hand. They moved away toward the woods at the opposite side of the clearing.

"Good work!" Draelond congratulated as he unsheathed Ravager and charged into the clearing. Ledare was following close on his heals. The undead that was not sheathed in magical darkness turned to face the warrior and slammed it's meaty fist into his armored chest, driving the breath from his lungs. He still managed to use his momentum to drive the point of his bastard sword deeply into his opponent's breast, the saw-toothed blade sliding messily between the creature's ribs. Stinking black ichor spurted from the wound, but the undead creature did not fall. It staggered backward from the impact, its weight braced on its left leg; that is where Ledare struck. Her longsword bit into the thing's knee, tearing away rotted meat from the bone and causing the thing to sway unsteadily.

The Janissary looked at her sword, happy that she was able to at last cause some damage. "Good old reliable undead," she snorted.

An arrow whistled passed the half-elf's ear, lodging deeply in the corpse's neck. It stood there for a moment, the dark energies that had animated the thing building within its body. For an instant it seemed to swell and then it exploded in a putrid cloud of stinking gore and hungry parasites. The blast caught all of the melee combatants within its radius, pelting them all with bits of sharp bone and flying slop. Ledare managed to deflect part of the shrapnel away from herself with her shield, but several bits of bone fragments still managed to tear into the gaps in her armor. The enshadowed undead staggered under the onslaught. The red-haired woman shouted out as she fell back against a tree and collapsed, unmoving. Only Draelond managed to avoid the damaging hail; perhaps his many recent near-death experiences had sharpened his sense of self-preservation. He dropped to the ground and the grisly explosion passed harmlessly over him.

Ruze approached once the rain of undead flesh had subsided and held his holy symbol out at the shadow-shrouded opponent. "Look you unto the light," he commanded and his holy symbol flashed with holy light. The creature bathed in darkness seemed unaffected by his display, however. "It resists my power," he cursed and hefted his warhammer. "Lay into it!"

Draelond did as directed and limped toward the darkness. His blade passed through the shadows without making contact. He heard the creature's fist pass harmlessly in front of his face, so apparently, it was having just as much trouble connecting as he was.

Ledare stepped up to the opposite side of the be-nighted undead and stabbed into the mass of shadows, hitting nothing. "This is pointless," she cursed. "I can't even see to hit the thing."

As if to dispute her claim, Finian fired another arrow. It disappeared into the darkness and they all heard it strike undead flesh. Emboldened by the Archer's success Ruze stepped up and swung his warhammer two-handed into the darkness; the blow connected solidly, but the thing hidden within didn't fall.

"Ruze can you not try to use your Queen's power again?" Draelond asked as he took another swing with his sword. Ravager bit into the undead flesh within the shadows and the creature rocked backward. Draelond felt the wind of the thing's fist as it passed within a hair's breadth of his nose.

"Even if we are able to defeat this thing by force of arms, it'll just injure us in death when it explodes," Ledare added even as she stabbed into the darkness and felt her sword connect with rancid meat.

Finian loosed another arrow, but this one passed harmlessly through the patch of shadows and sank deeply into a nearby tree. Ruze glanced at the arrow and nodded, releasing his grip on his warhammer and taking up his holy symbol again. "Get thee from this realm, foul creature!" the cleric cried and this time, the darkness seemed to shudder under the onslaught of divine energies. The undead thing turned and fled toward the trees and as it did so, the shadows that had been concealing it melted away. It had reached the treeline when Finian put an arrow into its retreating back. It stumbled and fell forward against a tree before exploding in a shower of putrescence. Everyone was glad that they were nowhere near the thing when it went up.

Which was not to say that both Draelond and Ledare weren't already gravely injured again. At least neither of them was in immediate danger of dying. "I wouldn't be surprised if those things carried a disease," Finian mused as Ledare wiped its stinking blood off of her face.

"Wonderful," she deadpanned.

"Look here," Ruze called. He was crouched over the unmoving body of the cloaked woman.

"Is she alive," Draelond asked as he limped closer. The Battleguard nodded.

"She's stable," he explained. "But I'm not sure what she is."

They gathered around and Finian unsheathed his glowing sword to illuminate her form for the benefit of the humans. She was dressed in studded leather armor that was masterfully cut to look like pantaloons and a short-waisted jerkin. She wore a short-bladed sword with a basket-hilt at her hip, but seemed otherwise unarmed. Unless one were to look closely at her hands; her fingers ended in heavy reddish points that looked more like claws than nails. Her face was inhuman. Fine reddish scales adorned her cheekbones and the line of her strong, square jaw. Her hair was a fiery red color, pulled back in a single thick braid. There were two small, but unmistakable, horns set high on her forehead at her hairline. For all her inhumaness, she was very attractive.

"What do you think?" The cleric asked. "A demon, perhaps, or-"

He stopped speaking as the woman's cloak moved and an owl appeared from beneath it. The animal ruffled its feathers and flew up, settling at last on a branch of the tree above. It cocked its head sideways and fixed the group with its intelligent yellow eyes but made no threatening motions.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #208] Ixin*

The owl regarded them from the tree limb. Its large, unblinking eyes studied them with curiosity as it rotated its head around from side to side, taking them in from various angles.

"Hmm..," Ruze muttered as he studied the unconscious woman's face. "Humanoid form but definitely not human."

"Whatever she is, we should disarm her so that she does not wake up and attack," Finian suggested. He tore his eyes away from the strange bird and pulled the woman's cutlass from its sheath. It buzzed and vibrated angrily in his hand and he almost dropped it.

"What is it?" Ledare asked, taking in the strange expression on the Archer's face.

"The sword," he muttered, looking for the words to describe it. "It's pulsing. Definitely magical and I think it might be... alive!"

"Really?" the Janissary asked, looking at the weapon critically - but not taking it from Finian. She still remembered well the way that the Ebony Grimoire had affected her when she touched it and was wary of inanimate objects that displayed signs of intelligence. "It doesn't look like much. The blade's not even sharp."

The weapon was a simple one. It had a steel blade, no longer than a shortsword, that was straight on one side and slightly curved on the other with a polished brass basket hilt and a wire-wrapped handle. The pommel was a globe of what looked like violet glass. The unusual pommel and the runes etched into the blade were the only indications that the weapon might be more than it seemed.

"Well, it doesn't seem to be hurting me any," the ranger said, hesitantly. "The vibration is distracting, though; I don't think it would be of any use to me in a fight. But I still don't think that she should have it." He slipped the weapon through his belt where it continued to hum annoyingly. "We can give it back to her when she awakens and proves trustworthy."

"Do we even have time to wait for her to awaken?" Ledare asked, looking around at the faces of her three Companions. "I think we need to press on and try to trail Kirnoth."

Ruze cleared his throat. "I am sorry, Kitten, but I fear Kirnoth is lost for good."

Ledare gave him a reproachful look. "I REALLY don't like that idea," she said sternly.

"Nor do I," the cleric told her. "But we must face facts. The change is rumored to kill those of elven blood. If'n it was he that changed, then none but my Queen's direct aid could cure him."

"And you are unwilling to give it to him?" the half-elf snapped back.

"Of course that is not what I meant," the Battleguard explained. "It is beyond my power to cure him of this affliction. Perhaps it is beyond Nasser-Ubeen's power. I don't know."

"As long as there is even that much doubt then I, for one, cannot abandon him," the Janissary said resolutely. "If you had journeyed with him as long as the rest of us have then you would not be so quick to just forget about him."

Ruze sighed and shook his head. "Let's not FORGET him, Ledare, but let's ever keep an eye out for him. We must remember the living and why we have all been brought together. There is chaos free in this land and if we do not stop its ebbing tide then Kirnoth's loss will be as but a gift to him for he will not have to live through what this Realm is about to bear. And there is also the small price to pay for Rhem's assistance to us. I say back to his place to regroup, recover and rethink what we are about."

"And I say we need to press on and try to trail Kirnoth," Ledare told him. She looked to Finian and Draelond for support.

"I would like to keep searching, but anyone who is too injured could return," Finian offered. "Draelond seems the worst off of any of us."

The warrior could do nothing to conceal the fact that Finian was right. He simply nodded and said, "I am in no shape to engage in further combat. But I am on my feet and in control of my faculties. If I may be of help to Kirnoth by pressing on, then I am willing to continue."

"I know we're in a bad way, but my conscience is screaming at me to continue and try to find him," Ledare said. "I'm not in favor of chasing the skaven or the undead, but quietly following the trail may be doable in our present state, correct?"

Draelond nodded again and Ruze just sighed.

"Whatever we are going to do, we should press on quickly as those undead may return," Finian added.

"Fine," Ruze acquiesced. "Draelond, let me tend to your wounds." He drew forth his holy symbol and clutching it in one hand, pressed his other upon the big man's broad shoulder. "My Queen," the cleric intoned, "eradicate the pain and sore from my companion's body." Draelond's wounds closed visibly and the color returned to his cheeks.

"That's better," he grinned and gave Ravager an experimental swing. "Much better!"

"Let's find this trail and get on with it," Ruze suggested and they spread out to search the clearing with Finian and Ledare doing most of the searching while Ruze and Draelond watched the surrounding trees for any sign that the undead were returning.

The combat that had occurred in the campsite had eradicated most of the tracks and Finian was about to give up and wait for sunup when Ledare called him over to the north side of the clearing. She indicated a spot where the underbrush had been parted and was flattened as if by numerous feet. "Is this what we're looking for?" she asked and the Archer nodded.

"You're getting good at this, Ledare," he said as he examined the path through the underbrush. "And look here," he added and pulled some scattered coins from amidst the weeds.

Ledare took one of the coins and looked at it critically. "Coin of the Realm," she announced. "It was minted in Redwood."



While Ledare and Finian were searching and Ruze was watching the trees on the opposite side of the clearing as best he could given his human night vision, Draelond stayed near to the unconscious woman. After a few moments, he heard her stir, and rather than turn to confront her, he gave no indication that he'd heard her. The owl in the tree above hooted down to her softly and she began whispering in an unfamiliar language.

"Marty, você tem prestado atenção a estas criaturas?" she hissed so low that Draelond could barely hear her. The owl hooted back and she continued. "Como parecem? São evil?" Each question was answered by a hoot from the owl.

Draelond sidled away from the woman and signalled to the others. They joined him and he told them, "She's awake and it sounds like she's talking to that owl. I can't understand what she's saying."

"The owl is probably the woman's familiar," Ledare hissed and then they moved passed Draelond toward the red-haired woman.

"Atacaram-me ou conservaram-me?" she was asking the owl. It hooted back and she asked, "Sou eu um prisioneiro aqui?"

"Of course you're not a prisoner," Finian responded and the woman looked up at him with her startlingly-bright yellow eyes. She smiled. "We mean you no harm."

"Meu familiar diz-me que você me conservou," she said. "Obrigado. Eu estou em seu débito."

"It was nothing," Finian told her. "What are you doing out here?"

Ledare grabbed the Archer's bicep and said, "What language is that that she's speaking?"

"Sounds like the common tongue to me," Finian shrugged and the other Companions shook their heads.

"It sounds like gibberish to me," Draelond told him and the Archer shot the woman a suspicious look.

"Dê-me Arivexoth," she said to him, holding out her hand. "A espada. É conhecida é Arivexoth."

Finian looked at the woman's weapon and then back at her. "What do you want it for?" he asked.

"Dar-me ele ou não podem compreender o que eu estou dizendo," she explained but the Archer seemed unconvinced. She sighed and held up a clawed finger. "Relógio," she said before turning to the others and adding, "Você compreende o que eu estou dizendo?"

The others stared at her blankly.

"Veja?" she said to Finian and the Archer nodded. He drew the sword from his belt and handed it to her blade-first. She took it and sheathed it at her hip. "Thank you," she said. "This will make things much easier."

"Who are you?" Ruze asked.

She got unsteadily to her feet and gave a little bow. "My name is Ixin Chaririejir," she told them. "I am glad your group means me no harm. I also intend no harm."

"What are you doing out here?" Finian asked again.

"I was out trying to help a local group find one of their companions," Ixin explained. "I do not know what became of her or the group, but given those creatures that attacked me, I fear the worst. What were they?"

"Undead of some sort," the Battleguard offered and Ixin nodded.

"Are they common in these parts?" she asked, looking nervously into the woods around the campsite. The owl glided silently down from its tree branch and perched on her broad shoulder.

"No more so than anywhere else, although," Ruze started to say and Ledare cut him off.

"Who designed this attack? Do you have any idea?" the Janissary asked and Ixin shook her head.

"I am not from this area. I am starting a new life," she replied. "Can you tell me about yourselves and what you were doing skulking in these woods so late?"


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #209] A Near Utter Lack of Direction*

Ruze had just opened his mouth when Ledare shouldered him out of the way, effectively cutting him off. "What of this local group?" she asked Ixin. "Who is missing, and why do you think the answer lies in these woods?"

"A girl named Nilia," Ixin told her. "She was kidnapped by brigands from the caravanserai a few hours ago. I followed the kidnappers' trail from the way station to this campsite."

"Alone?" Finian asked. "I would not be out alone at night with undead and skaven about."

Ixin nodded. "I did not know that such creatures as these were abroad this night or I would never have agreed to scout ahead. The caravaneers were taking some of their wounded to a man named Ongensleer; they were going to meet up with me after they had done so."

"Ongensleer," Finian interjected, recognizing the last name. "That's Rherram, the same man we were going to see for healing. He's a friend of ours."

"How serendipitous," Ixin smiled, her pointed teeth flashing white in the light from Finian's sword. "I feel responsible for alerting the officials in the town about what I saw out here. After that, I would like to go with you to this Rherram's to heal and learn what I can of your culture."

Ledare shook her head and took a step back from the larger woman. "People who are 'starting a new life' are usually running from an old one," she said in a challenging tone. "We cannot allow someone whom we do not trust to insinuate herself so readily into our group. And if you would have us trust you, we need to know more about you first."

Ixin's eyes glittered like gold coins in the darkness, but her expression was unreadable. When she spoke, her tone was even and her words carefully phrased. "Madame," she began. "I do not blame you for your lack of trust. If I were in your position, I would certainly question the timing of all this. And anyone who looked as different from me as I do from you would also raise my suspicion."

"This has nothing to do with your appearance," the Janissary brushed the idea away with a wave of her mailed hand. "Kirnoth's bed is barely even cooled and conveniently another is all ready to take his place. And my group seems ready to embrace you without giving a thought to our lost comrade." She was pointedly not singling out any one of her three Companions when she spoke. Her eyes remained fixed coldly on the newcomer. "I find it distasteful."

"That is my misfortune," Ixin sighed with a nod. "I have nothing to hide from you, but I am hiding from someone. Very astute of you."

"I've seen it before," Ledare said simply and Ixin chuckled.

"I doubt it," she said and paused as she considered what to reveal to these people she had just met. "I must admit, I am leery to divulge my past as my safety is at stake. But I fear there is no way for you to trust me unless I tell you." Ledare's crossed arms made it clear that Ixin's assessment was not far from the truth.

"I am from a place far from here," she began. "I am not exactly certain how I got here, as I have never heard of this place and I doubt you have heard of my homeland. My heritage is draconic. I am from the line of red dragons, but I have grown up in a "family" with a green dragon line."

He tried to hide it, but Finian's surprise at the mention of red dragons slipped out as he huffed in the darkness. If Ixin noticed, she gave no indication and merely continued with her tale.

"I was their prized possession. The Dragon's Claw was an evil gang that ruled our city with an iron fist," she went on, hesitant to admit the truths about herself that she would prefer were erased from her memory. "I was raised to perform illegal acts for this group against my will. When I was able and had a way, I finally escaped into a portal and ended up here."

"And you're afraid this 'Dragon's Claw' will follow you?" Ledare asked, her voice dripping with skepticism.

"Oh, yes," the woman responded. "My 'family' is definitely after me and if they catch me, I will not likely get the chance to escape again."

There was silence for a moment and then Ledare turned away from Ixin and said simply, "Thank you for explaining your situation."

"Now can we admit the truth about Kirnoth and return to Rherram's?" Ruze asked impatiently and the Janissary whirled around again.

"We can't abandon Kirnoth now," she growled in frustration, "regardless of what state he may be in!"

Ruze sighed again as he sensed the familiar ground upon which the conversation was moving.

"Alas, I knowst thou wilst run to the ends of the earth to find your comrade, Kirnoth, as I would expect nothing less from such loyal companions as ye," he began, settling into a sermonizing cadence that had served him well in the cloister. "However, I must point out again that even if we find Kirnoth, as Finian has pointed out, it's not Kirnoth any longer. It's a ravening lycanthrope who will kill us as readily as it will look at us." He paused to let the image sink in before continuing. "Then what shall we do? Is it our duty to kill one who has supped with us?"

He moved easily amongst the Companions, laying a hand on each of them as he named them. He laid his hand on the Archer's shoulder and said, "Finian, I do not doubt your skill with a bow nor your steadfastness in your duty, but I knowst I could not bear my moonblade against one who was once my friend that easily - even if in my heart I know that it is no longer Kirnoth but a foul chaos-spawned rat."

Touching the Janissary's steel-plated arm, he said, "Ledare, your loyalty to your duty and to your companions again is true, but may I appeal to your logical side? As a Janissary you know that sometimes the few must be sacrificed to save the many. Chaos is now loosed upon this world; it seeps in and corrupts even as our blood flows in our bodies. Look at it as a soldier. We are weakened."

He touched Draelond on the back and continued, "I barely knot Draelond up when he becomes undone again. Kitten, you are using so many of your pretty lives. The Queen does grant me her favors, but they are not boundless. I must rest and pray.  I have not been as dutiful a Battleguard as of late and need to tend to my religion or these favors that bestow life upon us may be taken away. We have been_charged by a great duty to be a part in ridding chaos from turning the tide to evil."

The cleric stepped into the center of the group and folded his hands. "Again, I say, let's away to Rehm and beg for his healing prowess," he suggested. "Let us pray and heal. Let us return the favors to Rhem in the way he has asked us.  Let's us rethink what we are about. Kirnoth's fate is in the Gods' hands now; may Shaharizod guide him to the light."

He stepped toward the newcomer and gently touched her bruised ribs while muttering a few divine syllables under his breath. Once he was finished he looked up into her compelling eyes. "As for you Ixin, let us not sway you from your task, but we have respite not far from here. Mayhaps each of our goals lie together as there is strength in numbers."

"You talk of a great evil and chaos," Ixin replied, resting her clawed hand on the Battleguard's shoulder in friendship. "I would very much like to do good works and shift the balance of my fate. The little I have heard of your mission sounds as if it has a good and noble purpose. I would be interested in learning more and helping you."

"We can speak more once we've returned to Rhem's infirmary," the Battleguard told her but one look at Ledare's face suggested that he might be premature in his suggestion.

"Ruze, you speak wise words, but what of the value of loyalty?" the Janissary asserted. "Certainly your queen expects that from you. Well, Kirnoth deserves that from us."

Ledare-" Finian began and the half-elf looked back at him reproachfully, silencing him.

"Finian, let us hope you too don't transform into a wererat," she said. "It looks as though I alone would seek after you."

"You're being unfair," the Archer said. "I do not debate whether or not we should seek Kirnoth; of course we should! My only concern is whether this is the best time."

"I say we press on," the Janissary said, unsurprisingly. Finian nodded.

"I agree. We are probably not that far off from him now," he said. "But the longer we stand here arguing, the colder his trail gets."

"And we're only talking about following his trail, right?" Draelond asked. "This is just reconnaissance. We're not planning to get into any more combat?"

"Right," the Archer assured him. "I will not hesitate to lead an orderly retreat if conditions look too risky."

"So it sounds as if your group too will be looking for someone tonight as well," Ixin said gently. "Since your trail and mine seem to be one and the same at this point, I guess I will accompany you. At least until you return to the healer's."

"Fine," Ruze said with more than a note of frustration in his voice.



The trail that Ledare had spotted leading away to the north was easy to follow through the sparse woodlands. Finian ranged ahead, moving quickly and quietly through the shadows. After a few hundred yards, the trail moved down into a dried riverbed and turned eastward. After only a bit further, the path angled up the northern bank of the river and over a squat hillock.

As Finian crested the hill, a gruesome sight stood before him. A cave opened up into the hillside below, and bloodstains covered the grass outside the cave. A solitary horse stood motionless in its tethers, even as two disgusting beasts, each the size of a large dog and looking like bloated centipedes with dozens of slithering tentacles ate the flesh from the horse's belly.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #210] The Best Laid Plans...*

The Archer was looking up at the trees overhanging the small knoll below and the grisly scene unfolding within it when the others caught up to him and peered down. Ledare and Ixin could readily see in the darkness what Finian had already noted and they both turned away, near to retching from the sight. Ruze and Draelond were spared by their human eyes and the cloud cover that had rolled in on the westerly wind and totally occluded the full moon.

Finian motioned for them to move back down the trail a bit, away from the unfortunate horse and once they had done so, he outlined a quick plan. "Give me some time to sneak up and perch in a tree using the slippers. I'll then begin firing arrows," he explained, his eyes twinkling at the thought of a well-executed ambush. "Perhaps I can slay at least one of them before we have to get into combat. When they approach me to attack, then you four could attack the creatures from behind."

"Um, excuse me," Ixin whispered. "I don't mean to interfere, but didn't you say we were just scouting?"

"We said that. But I too think that we should investigate the things eating the horses," Draelond said, nodding his great head gravely in the darkness. "Mostly because it might give us insight into where Kirnoth is and what happened to him."

"We are looking for Kirnoth, not these creatures," Finian agreed. "But there is always information to find and I think we could get a sneak attack in and kill these things with little danger to ourselves."

"Little danger to you, maybe," Ixin mused. "You'd be out of reach up a tree."

Finian opened his mouth to respond, but Ruze spoke first. "Ledare, you know I will follow your lead, but I feel compelled to offer my suggestions even if they disagree, else I am not a good companion," he said and the Janissary gestured for him to go on. "You said the path we would follow, and we have followed it. Now are we about to engage these chaos-spawned mongrels, when we are weakened and weary and sorrowed from the loss of Kirnoth? I urge you to reconsider Finian's plan. Let us ask Ixin if the girl she seeks is near; let us then get her and away back to Rhem's. What say you?"

"Quite frankly, Ruze, I'm not here to rescue this girl for whom Ixin searches," Ledare replied casting a brief, icy glance at their horned companion. "I'm about Kirnoth."

"Do not fight the Gods, Ledare," the cleric urged. "They are in control of Kirnoth's fate, not you or I."

"Maybe so, but I'm not ready to give up yet," she stated. Her tone suggested that it might be unwise to challenge her decision but the Battleguard started to just the same. What might have happened had he gotten the opportunity to speak will never be known for Draelond chose that moment to weigh in on the discussion.

"I have been listening to your comments in silence for some time now, Ruze and I find it inconceivable that you would accept Kirnoth's death without some sort of confirmation," the warrior hissed. "It seems to me that considering the circumstances, we should search for Krinoth until we have valid proof that he is either dead or no longer the Kirnoth who was once a member of our party. Nethlar knows that any one of us could have been left for near dead any number of times. But we didn't do that."

"Kirnoth is worse than dead," Ruze said simply. "His fleshly shell has been corrupted. All we can do is pray that his soul moves toward the light."

"What if Finian hadn't gone back to dig you and Ledare out of the rubble when the temple collapsed on your head?" Draelond pressed. "It was a pretty safe bet that you were dead, but he went back anyway. And here you both are. We must try to do the same for Kirnoth. And if that means cutting our way through a couple of nasties in the process, then that's what we must do."

"Don't be daft," Ledare countered. "We can't engage these creatures. For what purpose?"

"It seems rather significant to me that they're here in our path when we're following Kirnoth's trail," Finian said.

"Isn't it possible to go around?" the Janissary asked, gesturing to the ridge of the hill in which the cave mouth yawned. "Couldn't the trail continue beyond this strange site?"

Finian considered this for a moment. Without getting closer, he couldn't tell whether the trail went into the cave opening or merely passed in front of it. It was certainly possible that it picked up again on the opposite side of the knoll. "Cover me from the crest of the hill," he said. "I'll circle 'round and check the opposite side of the clearing. If those things move toward me, I'm going to take to the trees and we'll pick up with my attack plan."

"I'll pray it doesn't come to that," Ruze frowned as Draelond and Ledare readied their crossbows and Ixin stood nearby clutching her robe around herself tightly.

Finian nodded and melted into the trees. He'd made it two-thirds of the way around the knoll when a branch snapped underfoot and his companions watched the two enormous green worms turn their heads in his direction. Their rubbery pink tentacles flailed at the darkness and they started to move warily toward the Archer's position.

"Dammit!" Ledare cursed under her breath as she and Draelond lined up their shots and fired. The Janissary scored a hit, but barely nicked her target. Draelond's crossbow bolt, however, managed to shatter as he pulled the trigger and jammed the weapon quite effectively.

The element of surprise was lost and the creature that Ledare had struck whirl its tentacled head around in her direction. Its glittering black eyes fixed on them and it charged across the bloodied grass.

True to his plan, Finian took to the nearest tree, walking easily up its trunk thanks to his Slippers of Spider Climbing. He made it to a stout limb about 15 ft. up and began to loosen his bow. He had a clear view from his perch and he saw one of the centipede creatures break off its pursuit even as the other came at him still. He lined up a shot on the advancing thing's head and fired; his arrow struck the chitinous exoskeleton between its large round eyes and splintered harmlessly away. The worm reached the base of his tree and Finain saw to his horror that the thing had no problem whatsoever climbing thanks to the dozens of segmented legs than covered its belly. It moved toward him, its tentacles flailing out at him hungrily.


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## mdougherty331

*Comments on game*

Jon, I just wanted to publically acknowledge my appreciation for your hard work and continuing interest in the game.     I enjoy playing Finian almost as much as I did Big Z and I too love how the party works well together (or so at least it seems as the story goes)  We have different ideas about how to go about doing the right thing, but with a common goal, we are doing a good job.  

I do feel it is a bit hard to achieve maximum effectiveness due to the fact that real life and distance prevents me and everyone from becoming an "expert" on rules.  Therefore I encourage some suggestions to help me and some other players learn to utilize some of their new abilities by occasionally offering suggestions.   I am not a ranger although Finian is and his character might have some knowledge that I do not have since the only camping I know involves finding a place with lots of beer and a public restroom close by.  

Thanks again and Happy DM Appreciation Day!

Mark (Finian)


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## Jon Potter

*Re: Comments on game*



			
				mdougherty331 said:
			
		

> *I am not a ranger although Finian is and his character might have some knowledge that I do not have since the only camping I know involves finding a place with lots of beer and a public restroom close by.
> *




Sadly, Mark, that's the extent of my knowledge as well. (That and make sure to bring some bug repellent) I generally make a check for you against the pertinent Knowledge skill when there's something that I think the character SHOULD know wven if the player doesn't. For Finian that is usually against his Knowledge (Nature) skill.

FYI.


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## Donna

Well, here I am with my new character. It felt weird to let go of Kirnoth, as I had him for so many years. Jon is my husband, and all the time we were in school, I took a minimal interest in D&D. I'd roled a few characters, but never really got into playing. Until Kirnoth and this game. It's been going on for five years. Then one Sunday morning, I take my cup of coffe and go read the turn, ready to respond, and I'm dead! Well, not dead but I might as well be. And poor Gordigan. Alas...that's the way of the game. So now I have Ixin. I really like her so much better. I feel like I had no clue what I was doing when I picked Kirnoth, and so often, I was unsure how to play him. And I feel like I never did anything with Gordigan, other than my brief adventure when I cast that intelligence spell on him. I want to take more chances with Ixin and pay more attention to really keeping in character. And I want to use my familiar as more of a character. Any suggestions for meeting these goals would be appreciated. 
As for the DM, well, I think he's amazing. It surprises me that so few people are reading this, since he is such an incredible writer. I know I'm biased, but it also happens to be true. SO for all of you reading this, tell your friends. There's a really cool story going on here! It's kept some of us interested for five whole years.
-Donna/Kirnoth/Ixin


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #211] Catching a Break*

Ixin took a hesitant step back and bumped into a tree. She pressed her right hand against her aching ribs and grimaced at the agony that stabbed her with each movement. She doubted whether she'd have the stamina to cast a spell or even be able to focus her mind enough with the grating pain in her side. But she had to do something. With her left hand she drew open her Cloak of Many Pouches, freeing Martivir from the extra-dimensional space where he often sheltered. The owl spread his wings and was airborne even before he fully cleared his safe haven. He circled upward silently, adding his keen sense to Ixin's own as he surveyed the battlefield.

Finian, of course, didn't see the familiar take flight; he was much too preoccupied with the tentacled aberration that lashed at him from the tree below. In his youth, Finian had seen the so-called wild elves of Spiney Wood move through the branches of the mammoth conifers that were their homes as easily and as quickly as he could run along the forest floor below. His father had called them "tree toppers" and, while Finian had spent most of his life immersing himself in nature, he had never attained the level of affinity necessary to perfect the art of tree stepping. That didn't stop him from trying, though.

He flexed and jumped the six feet to a stout branch on a nearby tree. The Slippers of Spider Climbing clung tenaciously to the limb and he swayed in the air dangerously but did not fall. The worm flailed at him, but he was just out of its reach.

Ruze eyed the worm scuttling toward them and drew forth his holy symbol. "My Queen," he intoned, "Bless us with thy grace as we face these creatures of chaos!" Ledare, Draelond, and Ixin all felt the presence of divine favor an instant later.

Ledare allowed the blessing to guide her aim, and even as the unnatural creature charged toward her she squeezed off a shot from her repeating crossbow. The bolt flew straight and true, sinking deeply into the pinkish flesh surrounding the creature's beaked maw. It squealed in pain but came onward.

Draelond met its advance with his weapon and Ravager's jagged blade skewered through the moss-green exoskeleton protecting the thing's head as soon as it came within reach. The bastard sword pinned the head to the ground but its rear legs continued to scuttle forward for a few moments more before realizing that it was dead. Its stinking, bloated body piled up against Draelond and the warrior grunted in disgust.

Finian dropped down from his branch and landed lightly in the soft loam. A quick glance over his shoulder showed that the green worm was still pursuing him, but it was slowly reversing its course down the tree trunk rather than attempt the jump that he had. The Archer sprinted across the clearing to rejoin his companions rather than engage the thing on his own.

Ledare aimed at the worm and fired as soon as it came into range. The bolt flew wide of its target.

Draelond pulled his blade free of the corpse of the first worm and readied himself to meet the charge of the second. It reared up to face the man and exposed its belly to his sword. He split it in half with a single, massive upswing that sent its noxious lifeblood spraying twenty feet into the air. Its corpse thudded to the ground on either side of the big man and he stood there for a moment, breathing heavily through gritted teeth. When he finally turned to face the others, Finian summed up their feelings rather concisely.

"Wow," he said.

-------------------------------

(To quote Dr. Midnight) * More to come...*


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #211a] Pressing Luck*

The owl settled quietly on a branch above Ixin's head and hooted down to her. She listened intently for a moment, nodded and let out a relieved sigh. "Marty says that he doesn't see any more of those things nearby," she informed the group and her keen eyes saw shoulders relax all around.

"Finian," Ledare began, "Check the area for -"

"Tracks," the ranger finished and nodded. "I'm already on it." He bent low to peer closely at the blood-stained grass and the others waited nervously for him to finish. After a time, he stood up and announced his findings. "Both trails go into the cave," he explained, pointing absently at Ixin. "It looks like your missing girl and our missing mage went inside. There were six men wearing soft-soled boots with the girl. They dismounted and went into the cave. Then a barefooted man came out and started leading the horses in as well; I don't know why he left this horse out here."

No sooner had the whispered words left his lips then the horse collapsed in a heap. Finian examined the animal. It had bled out from the many ragged wounds to its belly. Peering over the Archer's shoulder, Ledare squinted at the animal's bridle.

"This is one of the horses that we saw tethered in Othelwood," she announced.

"I don't much like the fact that we find it again here," Draelond muttered and Finian nodded.

"It doesn't bode well for Kirnoth," the half-elf said and stood.

Ledare sighed and studied the dark cave mouth. "We're no worse off than we were before," she stated. "It's in our best interests to find out what is in that cave." Ruze started to protest, but upon looking Ledare in the eye he instead held up his hands, acknowledging his defeat.

Finian led the way with his glowing longsword drawn, ever wary for ambush or trap. Martivir floated down from his branch and settled on Ixin's broad shoulder.

The cave mouth narrowed quickly to a damp crack that was scarcely more than five feet across. The floor was muddy and gently dropped below ground. After descending a short distance, the floor levelled and the walls fell away, opening into a cold, damp cave, roughly circular and about 40 feet in diameter. a scattering of loose stones littered the dirt floor, and two passageways led deeper into the earth. To the left was a narrow, jagged corridor, and to the right a wider, more passable exit.

They paused in the dank chamber and listened. Ixin's eyes flashed in the near darkness. "Do you hear-?" she started to ask and Ledare nodded.

"It's coming from over there," she said and pointed toward the narrow fissure to the left. The others listened and could just make out a wet tearing and smacking sound. It was a furtive and hungry sound and it made the hair stand up on more than one of the Companions' necks.

Finian bent and examined the packed dirt floor, ranging around the room in his search. It didn't take him long to reach a conclusion. "The boot tracks - and Kirnoth - lead to the right," he explained. "The horses were led to the left."

"Is there any sign of Nilia?" Ixin asked, hopefully but Finian shook his head.

"I did find this, though," he held up the dagger in his left hand. An iron necklace was looped over the blade and a heavy, black medallion depended from the chain. The medallion was crusted with mud where it had been dropped on the cave floor  and trod upon by more than one foot, but the unsettling symbol was still apparent. Only Ixin failed to recognize the rat skull surrounded by a serpent eating its own tail for what it was.

"Aphyx!" Ruze hissed and spat upon the ground.


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## Drealond Khemir

*A day late...*

...as always...  But, as I'm sure Jon will tell you if you ask, that should get me a few extra XP's for staying in character.  Not Draelond's character... *MY* character.  

Although I have admittedly known no other DM but Jon (either in-person or PBEM) I can't imagine that it is possible to approach the game more skillfully or with more craftsmanlike attention to every detail of the world our characters live in.  His ability to weave five different (and usually diametrically opposing) character viewpoints into a seamless and well-written storyline that values every player's input is utterly amazing to me.

Draelond is my second character in this game and in large part due to my own fascination with his overwhelming strength, I have used him as little beyond a human death dispenser.  My familiarity with the detailed rules and descriptions of gameplay is cursory at best, as is my gaming experience, so I often feel that it's unfortunate that I haven't delved to deeply into his abilities other than swinging a sword _REALLY_ hard.  To Jon's credit, the storyline and charcater interactions have allowed Draelond to evolve into a much more interesting character than he might otherwise have been.

So... my best belated wishes for a Happy DM Appreciation Day to you JP, and to other DM's who follow the Saga of these five somewhat quirky individuals.  I have no reason to blow sunshine up anyone's... well... you know the saying... when I say that those of us that spend a couple of days a week in Jon's world are among the lucky ones.

Thanks,
Russell Bartlett

_Addendum: This is not to dismiss the fact that there is indeed a dark side to this man that sometimes scares me._


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## Jon Potter

*I'm blushing...*

 

I appreciate all the praise from my players, but gaming is definitely a two-way street. If not for the continued effort and interest from each of you, this campaign would certainly have folded. I mean what can a DM do without players... play with himself? Err... That didn't really come out right. 

Anyway, I have to 'fess up given of all this back-patting. I've been hanging the meat of the campaign on a skeleton of published and free online adventures from the outset. In fact, the over-arching plotline was wholely inspired by a trilogy of 2E adventures that I downloaded in 1998. Since we haven't played through those adventures yet, I'm not going to divulge their names, but I do want to give credit where it's due.

The following is a list (in order) of the adventures that have appeared (in some format) in this Story Hour.

1) *The Artist's Loving Touch* by Charles C. Reed, an adventure found in Dungeon #68. They played through this adventure largely as it was written some time before the start of the Story Hour. I mention it here because several of the villains escaped, appearing later in and beneath Mom's Pie Shoppe.

2) *The Cult of Pestilence* by Gebhard Blucher. The group actually played through a modified version of this adventure prior to the start of the Story Hour. They do utilize the cult's abandoned tunnels to approach Mom's Pie Shoppe, which is written up in the Story Hour, so I mention it.

3) *Mom’s Butcher Shop* by Cyrus R. Kirby. A wonderful short encounter that I fleshed out into something more using some npc's from _The Artist's Loving Touch_ and a bit of meat from Flying Buffalo's excellent Citybooks. The butcher's shop became a Pie Shoppe and another sinister plot was added for the group to foil - or try to, as the case may be.

4) *The Cradle of Madness* by Robert Lee. Another Dungeon adventure - this time from issue #87. This one underwent a great deal of modifying before finding its way into the Realms of Enlightenment, but the story kernel is still there.

5) *One Day's Journey into Night* by Wil Upchurch. Again, this one has been heavily modified, but it is the inspiration for the party's current adventure.


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## mdougherty331

*Response to Donna*

Donna and Russ,

The whole idea is to have fun with the character.  I do not always (although most of the time I try to ) do what is in Finian's best interest.  If there is something I want to see or do, I do it.  It is just a game and it is fun to take risks to be successful.  No risk, no reward

Sometimes it seems so clear that Jon wants us to explore something and we do not.  Our party plays close to the vest.  You should liven things up without putting other party members in too much risk.  I never blamed Kirnoth for Soriah's death, finian did, but it was part of the game.  It was part of Finian's character to be resentful to you for it and get under your skin, just as it would be Ledare's character to keep us from killing each other.  Do not be afraid to be agressive, you will find a friend in Finian if you do.

It seems clear to me that we should push on.  It would be ridiculous to leave Kirnoth out here, especially if we are so close
The best part of the game is interacting and staying in touch with friends who live too far away to see.  

Russ, I think your character is cool.  Finian has not given him a hard time because he would whoop him.  Ixin is new and exciting.  Oh well I will have to get under Ledare's skin for a while.  By the way JP how is her hair growing in?  I could surely make fun of that.

I too am unclear of the new rules, so that does make it hard.  I feel our party has some untapped strength. 

Mark


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## mdougherty331

*An other thing*

Sometimes we know what our character thinks, but it would be interesting to know what everyone else in the party thinks about each others character.   I know I want Finian to be perceived as adventerous, brave, some may say foolhardy and annoying, but overall is a good guy who would do anything for his comrades.  

We have some preceptions of other characters, but do not know how they think until we play a while.  We do not know that much about Draelond yet, or Ruze's powers beyond healing (why he is so different than Soriah).  What is Ledare's relationship with that other janissary, what is the deal with Ixin being part dragon.  The questions last longer in PBEM, but they keep us interested as do the NPCs (are they still called that?)

I would love(hate) to fight with Heurst and Sir Brin again.  They were good bad guys.  I REALLY hate them.  Maybe they are here (evil laugh inspired I am sure Jon)

Mark


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## Jon Potter

*Re: An other thing*



			
				mdougherty331 said:
			
		

> *The questions last longer in PBEM, but they keep us interested as do the NPCs (are they still called that?)*




One of the early complements that I remember from any of the players was from Raef (who was playing Soriah at the time). He said that he couldn't tell which of the NPCs (and yes, they're still called that) was important to the story line and which were just there living their lives as 'window dressing'. To me, it was high praise that he thought the charcters were lively and vibrant enough that none of them screamed, "Plot device! Plot device! Talk to me! I'm important!"



> *I would love(hate) to fight with Heurst and Sir Brin again.  They were good bad guys.  I REALLY hate them.*




Ah, yes. The true mark of a good villain; inspiring hate in the PCs. I'm so proud.  

Mark, you'll be happy to know that I know exactly what both Heurist and Sir Brin are up to. Just what that might be will have to wait.


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## Jon Potter

*Back Story*

Don't know if there's any interst in background story, but the online repository of The Grey Companions' story is available  here.

It's not precisiely up-to-date, but there is a lot of reading there.


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## Jon Potter

*Rogue's Gallery Update*

I've updated the campaign's  Rogue's Gallery thread to add Ixin to the group.

She's the first non-core race in the game and the first templated character (at least that I'm telling about right now), giving her ECL +2. The Drakeling race is from Green Ronin's excellent book, "Arcana: Societies of Magic" and the Draconic Template is from Dragon Magazine #301 for those of you playing along at home.

Since Ixin has +2 ECL, she's the lowest level member of the group, but she's got some interesting racial abilities up her sleeve.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #212] Death from Below*

"How about if I scout ahead invisibly using the Slippers to climb the walls to avoid traps or wards," Finian suggested, his voice lowered to a hushed whisper. In response, Ruze groaned and shook his head.

"Alas, it seems here we go again, into to the maw of danger half healed, and half prepared," the Battleguard grumbled. He eyed Ixin critically in the wan light from Finian's longsword. "Our newest recruit can barely bend over to tie her boot," he concluded.

"I will not engage anything, Ruze," the Archer countered. "I'll just do it so I could get a good scope of the situation."

"Like you did outside," the cleric replied and beckoned Ixin to his side. "Come here lass, I whilst not allow someone to die only moments after I have met them." She approached him and Ruze lay one hand on his holy symbol and the other on Ixin's aching side.'My Queen, I beg thee to grant us your queenly gifts once more," he prayed. "Heal this one to her fullest potential."

Silver moonlight swelled under the cleric's hand, suffusing Ixin with healing power and when it faded, her injuries had diminished considerably. The sharp pain in her side had become nothing more than a dull and distant ache such as one might experience from a week-old bruise. She grinned disarmingly at the cleric, her teeth flashing like polished pearls in the dim cave.

"Thank you," she said. "That feels much better."

"Don't thank me," Ruze answered in a self-effacing way. "Thank the Silver Queen. And just to keep you all informed I am going to have to do some serious praying later for all these gifts bestowed upon us."

"Well, I for one certainly appreciate her efforts," Ixin replied. "And yours."

Ruze dismissed her comments and turned toward the Janissary. "We should get on to this business of finding Kirnoth," he said. "Ledare, what are we up to?"

"It might be wise for Finian to again go ahead quietly and see what he can see," Ledare confirmed. "The Slippers and the Ring should be quite useful in that regard and he can be pretty quiet when he puts his mind to it."

Finian had an uncharacteristic moment of hesitation then and looked nervously at the Janissary and the Battleguard. "It occurs to me that these skaven can smell us coming," he reminded. "Remember what happened at Selejian's?"

Ixin knew nothing of Finian and Ruze's petrification at the sculptor's studio, but the concern in the Archer's voice and in both the Janissary's and the Battleguard's expressions told her that there was some risk in being caught by these skaven. The trick, of course, would be not to get caught.

"Martivir could go," the mage suggested, scratching at the downy feather on the owl's chest. The owl seemed to be enjoying the attention until Ixin's suggestion registered. He hooted once in alarm. "Can you go check quietly on the horses without being seen, Marty? I know, but we're not in Highgate anymore. If it is too risky, do not go. I will not risk your death or dismemberment."

The owl shifted its weight on her shoulder from foot to foot for a moment, ruffled its feathers and then took flight across the cavern. It glided silently into the dark fissure on the left side of the cave.

"I'm going to have to let him go hunting later," Ixin told the others. "I hope you have shrews on this world; they're his favorite."

"We have shr-" Finian started to say and the woman held up a hand.

"Marty, do you see anything?" she said and paused as if listening to a reply. "He says that the room smells bad... There are two more of those big worms in there... and... many dead horses. The worms see him... but they don't seem interested in him. There's no other way out through there." As soon as she'd finished relating what her familiar had seen, the owl came gliding back into the chamber, circled once and landed gracefully on Ixin's shoulder.

"Well, it seems that there is no hope for the horses," Ledare muttered. "I see little point in jumping into action against more of those worms."

"Agreed," Draelond said with a grim nod. "I don't see any particular need to rid the world of these things at this time... given the condition we're in."

The others concurred and Finian looked hopefully at Ixin. "Any chance the owl could check out the other passage?" he asked.



"Marty says that the cave down there is as big as this one," Ixin reported once the owl had made its reconnaissance flight and returned to her shoulder. "It smells even worse than the worm cave - like droppings and dead things, he says. He didn't see anything, but he heard some bat sounds coming from somewhere further on, but it was too dark for him to fly on safely."

"I thought owls were used to the dark," Draelond observed and Ixin nodded.

"Dark, yes," she told him. "With moonlight to see by. Not underground like this with nothing but one glowing sword to light the way. Especially not when the sword is in the next chamber. I'm surprised he saw as much as he did."

"That's a good point, Ixin," Finian admitted. "Without a light source, I'm not going to be of much use scouting ahead. And with a light source, the Ring of Invisibility will do me little good."

"Then let's stick close," Ledare suggested. "Finian, you can lead the way, and we'll follow behind. I don't want you getting caught alone too far ahead."

"Don't worry, Ledare," the Archer said. "I will not fight alone. We can tell by the tracks that we are outnumbered so if it appears as if we are being overwhelmed, let's use the smokestick as a diversion to cover our retreat."

It was agreed and the group moved tentatively into the tunnel that led off of the entry chamber. The dirt floor quickly gave way to bare stone worn smooth by the passage of water and many feet. The flowstone descended deeper into the earth as they went, seeming almost like a natural staircase that curved downward. As Martivir had warned, the place stank and they could smell the room before they had stepped out into it.  An incredible smell of rot and waste wafted up at them from the cavern, combining all the worst aspects of a charnel house and a midden pit.

Moments later they stepped out into the natural area. Again the owl's scouting proved accurate; the cavern was as large as the one above although this one was wider than it was long. Finian's light very dimly illuminated the room, revealing a dark passageway more-or-less directly across from the one that had lead them there and another along the curve of the wall to their right. The rest of the room hung in darkness. Intermittent keening sounds echoed throughout the cavern from somewhere beyond, and small pools of darkness pocked the cavern floor.

Finian took a few steps into the room and bent to look at one of the pools of darkness on the floor. It was a hole, he saw, likely caused by the same flowing water that had created the 'staircase'. The soft blue glow of his sword revealed glimpses of another cavern below this one. It appeared to be piled high with all manner of foul waste. That was all he had time to register before a dung-colored tentacle erupted up out of the hole and flailed at him. Finian's uncanny reflexes allowed him to avoid the first such attack, but not the second, which sprang up from another hole behind him. A tentacle as thick as his forearm and covered with rough, thorny protrusions wrapped itself roughly around his right shin. It squeezed his limb savagely and began to tug him toward the small dark hole in the floor.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #213] The Big Squeeze*

"Cursed Aphyx!" Ruze spat from the rear. "More tentacles!"

Finian grunted in pain and reversed his grip on his sword in order to stab downward at the tentacle. Before he could do so, however, Ixin took a step to the side and gestured passed Ledare's right shoulder.

"Hesjingacid!" she growled and a dollop iridescent green flew from the mage's clawed fingertips. Her aim was off, however, and the missile splashed down three feet shy of the tentacle; its acid hissed on the stone at Draelond's feet.

The Archer saw none of this, of course. He was doing his best to prevent himself from being dragged down into the filth below while at the same time trying to sever the gripping limb with his sword. He succeeded in neither regard. The barbed tentacle continued to swell upward, wrapping itself snuggly around the half-elf's waist and only the fact that the hole was too small for Finian to fit though prevented him from disappearing into the dark recesses of the under chamber.

"Draelond, mighten you have a flame bomb from Rhem's you can-" the Battleguard started to ask, but the big warrior darted forward with his hands gripping Ravager tightly.

"Hold still!" he bellowed and swung the bastard sword at the writhing tentacle. His attack was more restrained than was his norm, but in his effort to avoid damaging Finian, he missed the tentacle as well.

"Dammit!" Ledare cursed and stepped to the right, putting her into a flanking position with Draelond. Her sword sought an opening, but found none. Finian felt the bones in his leg and pelvis groan in protest as the tentacle continued to constrict.

"Ledare! Wait!" Ruze cried. "Let me tie a rope around your waist!" But it was too late for that, and it wasn't Ledare that needed to worry. A second tentacle snaked up from another nearby hole and flailed at Draelond, but fortunately found no purchase on the man's chain hauberk.

Ixin repeated her invocation and flicked her arm outward at the tentacle that had reared up behind the big fighter. Although Acid Splash was an old spell and one that she had cast countless times during her years stuck amongst the greens in the Duchy of Bluffside, she somehow managed to stumble over the last syllable of the verbal component. Consequently, the acid droplet appeared on the tips of her fingers but didn't go anywhere; the noxious smell of Ixin's burning flesh blossomed amidst the general reek of the chamber.

Finian tried his longsword again, but he just couldn't manage to strike the tentacle. Dark spots were forming in front of his eyes.

Grumbling about the lack of planning and poor listening skills of his companions, Ruze moved in to help Finian. He latched his strong hands onto the throbbing tentacle and managed to loosen it momentarily - long enough for Finian to take in a ragged gasp of air.

Draelond twirled Ravager in his hands and brought it to bare on the limb that swayed in the air above him. It seemed that Lukane was frowning on his actions however; the bastard sword flew from his practiced hands as if the grip had been coated in butter. It clanged to the cave floor a few feet away.

Ledare's sword again flashed in, seeking a solid blow against the limb of their unseen opponent, but found only air. Fortunately for Draelond, the tentacle that hunted for him was having no better luck than his Janissary Companion. He felt the thing part the air beside his head as he darted after his fallen weapon.

Finian cried out as the tentacle squeezed him again, turning his guts to paste despite the Battleguard's help.

"We need to get out of here for Io's sake!!!!" Ixin hissed, but instead of retreating, she darted forward to add her not-insignificant strength to Ruze's. But her hand was slick with blood where the acid had burned her and she couldn't get a grip on the tentacle. The Battleguard's help was enough, it seemed. Finian was able to muscle his way free of the coils and regain his feet although the pain in his stomach and leg was enormous.

At once, Ruze released his grip on the tentacle and scooped up Finian as he had once scooped up Ledare in the collapsing temple of Aphyx. In the process, he presented the flailing limb with an opportunity to strike at him - which it did, wrapping itself around him as snuggly as it had the Archer. The cleric tried in vain to swear an oath, but the constricting limb forced the air from his lungs.

While Draelond fumbled in the darkness for his dropped sword, Ledare once again moved into a flanking position, this time opposite Finian and Ixin. She slashed at the tentacle but missed for a third time. This time, however, she was alone in her misfortune; no sooner had Draelond's fingers closed around Ravager's familiar black walnut handle then the second tentacle found him. He felt the barbs that lined the tentacle's underside rake against his left thigh, but was able to muscle the limb aside before it could successfully grapple him.

Ruze, who was already firmly gripped within the other tentacle's coils could do nothing but fight back a scream as the taste of his own blood bubbled up in the back of his throat. He dimly felt himself hauled into the air.

"Hold on, holy man!" Ixin said as she looked up into the cleric's rapidly-purpling face. She renewed her efforts to grip the tentacle and this time she managed to latch onto it solidly. She wrenched backward with all the draconic strength in her limbs and the Battleguard was able to suck in a single breath of air.

Finian gritted his teeth and drew his dagger. His twin blades licked out at the barbed coils that restrained the cleric. His longsword missed by a wide margin, but his dagger opened a line of blood along the tentacle and they heard a squeal of pain echo up from somewhere below. Momentarily heartened, Ruze strained against the limb that was doing its best to crush his ribs, but it was to no avail. The thing's grip was too powerful.

With Ravager in hand once more, Draelond felt a good deal better about his chances of survival and he threw everything he had into the sword. It sliced through the tentacle that was harrying him, severing it four feet from its barbed tip. An agonized roar filled their ears and the stump of flesh retreated below, leaving the majority of the tentacle to writhe around at Draelond's feet.

Ledare tried desperately to replicate her companion's success, but she couldn't seem to land a telling blow. Her sword struck the tentacle binding Ruze, but skittered off the thick hide without causing any damage. And the thick limb then gave the Battleguard another squeeze that caused his eyes to bulge in their sockets. Ropes of swollen veins stood out along his face and neck and he sprayed a gout of blood from his mouth before going limp in the thing's coils.

"Holy man!" Ixin roared and slashed at the tentacles ineffectually with her claws.

Finian lunged in again with both sword and dagger and this time it was his longsword that scored a hit, skewering the tentacle momentarily before the Archer removed the blade, sending the creature's blood spraying in two directions. Again their was a squeal from below and the coils unwrapped from around the cleric whipping back down through the hole in the floor.

The Battleguard fell unceremoniously onto the hard stone floor.

"Rereat! Now!" Ledare barked as she sheathed her sword. She grabbed Ruze's limp arm with her free hand and dragged him back into the narrow 'staircase' away from the holes where she lowered him gently to the ground. She stepped away from him, giving Finian room to examine the fallen cleric. "Is he-?" she asked afraid to give voice to her fears.

The Archer bent down, feeling the Battleguard's throat for a lifebeat with one hand even as he fished in his herb satchel with the other. "He's alive. But just barely," Finian said grimly. "Give me some room to work."

Ledare stepped back and pointed at Draelond. "You be ready if that thing decides to try again," she said, nodding her head in the direction of the dark chamber where they had just done battle. As the warrior reluctantly took up his position, the Janissary spotted Ixin's yellow eyes regarding her from the shadows.

"I am confused about what is going on here," Ixin told the half-elf. "I had agreed to try to save the girl, Nilia, because I thought she had been taken by humans or humanoids. In my opinion, we are in over our heads."

"I didn't ask for your opinion and I don't much care what it is at this point," Ledare told her coldly and she heard Draelond suck in his breath with surprise. He turned and her lowlight vision had no trouble picking out the disapproving scowl on his face.

"Ixin is right, Ledare," he said. "We are in greater jeopardy every moment we stay in this evil place."

"And what of Kirnoth?" the Janissary asked, her voice sounding very small in the darkness. "What danger does he now face?"

"Trust me Ledare, I understand as well as anyone your desire to find Kirnoth, but at what cost?" he asked. "If Ruze is lost but we find Kirnoth is the price sufficient?  If we find him dead? If we find him as a wererat?"

"I need confirmation that he could no longer be saved by us," the Janissary replied. "I can't leave him without proof of that."

"I respect the very little I know of your mission to find your friend, but I am not very comfortable blindly running headlong into my death," Ixin said bluntly and Draelond nodded.

"If he will have us back, let us retreat to Rherram's and regroup," the warrior said. "Perhaps if Kirnoth is alive he can find his way back to that place as well."

"I've done all I can for him," Finian said as the Archer got painfully to his feet. "He's stabilized, but he won't be much use to us in his present state."

"What say you, Ledare?" Draelond asked. "I shall follow your lead, but my suggestion has been gi-" The man's words ended in a startled grunt as an arrowhead appeared with a spurt just below his collarbone. Draelond stared at it uncomprehendingly as he pitched forward against the stone wall.

Two more shafts launched themselves out of the darkness of the foul-smelling chamber and clattered against the tunnel wall. A fourth dinged off of Ledare's steel shield.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #114] Blinded By the Light*

"Draelond!" Ledare shouted in dismay as the warrior fell to the cold stone floor.

"Retreat!" Finian called from the rear. "Grab Draelond and let's get out of here!"

Before anyone could react to do anything of the sort, two leathery shapes flew from the darkness with swords flashing. Their attack was sudden and savage, but Ledare's heavy armor protected her and her sword and shield blocked the narrow fissure rather completely, preventing them from advancing further into the 'staircase'. Draelond was exposed on the ground at the Janissary's feet, but the flying things showed little interest in him.

Lying uncomfortably on the stairs, Ruze swallowed back on the coppery taste of his own blood and grabbed his holy symbol with both hands. "My Queen, I am close to you now. I can see you," he intoned in a voice that was little more than a whisper. "But I know now is not my time. I have not completed my mission here yet. I beg for more time to rid the Realms of the foul taint of chaos. Rain your tears upon me - heal me, my Queen, so I may continue to do thy bidding." The narrow tunnel was lit momentarily with moonlight and the cleric smiled as his aches and pains abated.

Ledare held the line at the foot of the stairs even as a third assailant appeared in the dark chamber behind the first two. She had a moment to glimpse its slavering, inhuman face filled with long fangs and surmounted by enormous pointed ears before she was forced to turn her full attention back to defense. She batted aside a blow with her shield and as she opened herself up, the third attacker's shortsword  licked in and opened a gash on Ledare's left forearm. Her own sword stabbed outward, lightning quick, sinking into the furry meat of the creatures bicep. She felt the blade slice across bone, severing a major artery and causing the creature to fall backward in pain.

Ixin reached around the Janissary's feet and grabbed Draelond's left hand in both of hers. Heaving with all her might, she was able to drag him backward behind the protection of Ledare's blockade. The mage was little skilled in the matters of healing, but it was plain to her that the fighter was losing a lot of blood. His chainmail was painted with the stuff like a crimson tabbard.

Finian, meanwhile, had been fishing in his gear for the alchemical items that Rherram had given them when they'd set out earlier. He pulled forth the vial of alchemist's fire, the smokestick, and one of the flashpellets. Using the first was out of the question and he had no fire with which to light the second. He settled on using the last and drew back his arm.

"Cover your eyes!" he shouted and threw the pellet. It flew unerringly over Ixin's back and beneath Ledare's swordarm, striking one of the Janissary's hirsute opponents in the abdomen. The pellet exploded on impact, flooding the stairwell and the chamber in a white-hot burst of light.

Finian knew when to avert his eyes and was uneffected by the dazzling brilliance. Ruze and Ixin were both able to react in time to shield their own faces from the blast of light and likewise suffered no ill-effects. Ledare, however, who was engaged in melee with two opponents could do little to avoid the blinding light. She cried out as spots of purple, blue and black exploded and swam across her field of vision.

And to make matters worse, it seemed that neither of her attackers had been fazed in the least by the light.

*more to come...*


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #214] Blinded by the Light*

The inhuman creatures pressed their advantage against the dazzled Janissary. Shortswords flickered out expertly and only Ledare's half plate armor saved her from a pair of grievous wounds. Her enemies attacked with abandon and came in close. She retaliated with a blind upward slash that drew her blade along one of the creatures furry wrist. It let out a high-pitched, keening wail of pain that gratified Ledare more than she cared to admit.

Ruze scrambled to his feet and moved forward to bend over Draelond. Even the cleric's poor human eyesight couldn't miss the  ashen color of the man's face and the pool of blood that was collecting beneath him. Clutching his holy symbol he laid a hand on the man's chest. "It's not much but it's the best I can do," he apologized as silver light blossomed beneath his palm. With a grunt of effort, he pulled the crossbow bolt from the man's chest and watched as the blood stopped flowing. His patient lingered near death, but Shahrizod had heard the Battleguard's orison and Draelond was no longer bound this day for Myrkul's dark realm.

Ruze stood and addressed Ixin in a hurried whisper. "Get Draelond out of here. I'll see to Ledare."

The mage nodded and immediately grabbed Draelond under the arms. She began to struggle ineffectually up the stairs with his weight.

"Who's got the tanglefoot bag?" Finian asked as he caught Ixin's eye.

"What?" she grunted.

"The tanglefoot bag that Rherram gave us! Where is it?!" His tone was exasperated.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she answered then added, "Help me get him out of here. I can't do it alone."

The spots in front of her eyes were thankfully diminishing, and Ledare managed to block another shortsword blade with her shield through sheer luck. The second stabbed into her abdomen, parting the chainmail there and biting deeply into the flesh beneath. The blow doubled her over momentarily before her knees unhinged and she dropped to the ground with a clatter.

Ruze's scimitars hissed free of their scabbards, all plans to convince Ledare to retreat put momentarily on hold as he sought instead to keep such a retreat possible. His first blow was turned aside by a shortsword. His second came in high, slashing across the toothy snout of the thing on his left. It let out a squeal so high and piercing that Ruze thought his teeth might vibrate out of his head. They struck back, but the cleric didn't even make an effort to block the attack, relying on his scalemail to protect him. Instead he focused on his own attack and thrust outward with both blades simultaneously. They pierced the creatures' hairy chests and erupted between their leathery wings. They fell to the ground and lay still.

Ruze lay his blades down beside Ledare and put his hand on her stomach. "Take the Queens' graces, Ledare," he prayed and her wounds stopped bleeding. "This is my last healing; let's not waste it."

He gathered up his swords and slung Ledare across his shoulders before huffing up the stairs toward the surface. Behind him he could hear a distant otherworldly keening sound echo against naked stone.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #215] The Better Part of Valor*

The ranger was hunched over Draelond in the clearing outside the cave. Finian's hands worked feverishly to apply herbs and bind the fallen man's various wounds.  Ixin stood beside him holding the Archer's longsword so that its pale blue glow played across the warrior's body. She glanced over fearfully at the sound of Ruze huffing out of the cave shouldering Ledare's steel-plated frame. After the stench of the lower caves, the night air smelled particularly sweet to the Battleguard.

"Lay her down here," Ixin suggested. "Finian can-"

"No," Ruze panted as he continued moving as quickly as he could toward the trail at the western edge of the clearing. "They're right behind-"

His last words were drowned out as a cloud of bats exploded from the cave mouth in a flurry of leathery flapping and high-pitched shrieks. They surged outward, enveloping the group and momentarily blotting out the meager light from Finian's sword. Then they took to the cloud-covered sky, circling overhead but making no overtly threatening actions. Their squeals and whistles were maddening.

Finian scrambled to shove his healing supplies back into their satchel. "Come on!" he said to Ixin. "Help me get him out of here!"



The bats showed no signs of following them and once they'd followed the dried riverbed a ways southward from the caves, they stopped long enough for Finian and Ruze to dress both Draelond's and Ledare's injuries. While they worked, Ixin had Martivir survey the area nearby from the air to make sure they weren't being followed.

"Don't worry yourself, Finian," Ruze said as they worked. "I think that was a good plan to throw the blinding things. Who would have known it would not have affected the bat creatures?"

"Thank you for your support," Finian said without looking up. Whether he felt responsible for their situation or not showed not at all in his voice. "It was a good idea, but it was too 'spontaneous' and in too close quarters."

Ixin's familiar drifted silently down from the cloudy sky and settled on the mage's broad shoulder. The owl hooted softly to the woman and she thanked him before turning to the others. "Marty says that we're alone apart from some 'food' - squirrels and the like."

"Good," Finian said, taking his waterskin and splashing its contents in Draelond's face. The warrior sputtered and stared around groggily. "Let's get moving. We should return to Rherram's with great haste and in the quickest manner possible."



Of course, with two comrades as injured as Draelond and Ledare, there was little hasty or quick about their journey. They picked their way along the trail with the warrior and the Janissary barely able to maintain a pace half as fast as the others. Martivir ranged ahead while everyone else stayed close to one another. The owl reported back that the three undead that Ruze had turned away with Shaharizod's power had returned to the clearing where they had first encountered them. The group wisely elected to bypass the clearing and return to Rherram's by a route further to the north.

Before they had exited the sparse woodland, it began to rain. The cold drizzle did nothing to improve the group's spirits and by the time they mounted the long slope at the edge of Rherram's property, they were soaked to the skin.

The courtyard in front of the healer's house was filled with miserable-looking people. Many of them were ordinary folk, who were enduring the rain and the hour dressed in shabby wet clothes, but their was a cluster of men in their midst dressed in splint mail armor and wielding longspears. Finian recognized them from his last visit to Strenchburg Junction as members of the Watch. The Watchmen stood around the door to Rherram's infirmary where two men were arguing.

"And I say again!" the larger of the two men shouted over the rain, "if you had gotten off your lazy arse and done something about those guild thieves when they first started-"

"There is no thieves guild in Strenchburg Junction!" the other man interrupted. His voice was strong and commanding and it carried clearly to the back of the crowd where the Companions stood uncertainly. Finian easily recognized the voice of Constable Boralle.

"No thieves guild that you are willing to break up, you mean!" the first man countered and there was a murmur of approval from the mob of men and women who stood watching the exchange. His voice was just as powerful as the Constable's and he was working the crowd. Ixin recognized him as the man she had met earlier that day at the tavern; it was he who had convinced her to venture out to find the kidnapped girl, Nilia.

"Are you accusing me of something, Tobrannon?" the Contable barked, his tone as sharp and deadly as a bear trap. "Because if you don't like the way the law works in the Junction, you're welcome to use another caravanserai!"

"I don't think that Mikal was accusing you of anything, Constable," a third man said from the doorway behind Tobrannon. The bearded man moved his bulk aside to reveal the speaker. Ledare's first thought was that the man was Mendel and her hand went unconsciously to the handle of her sword. But this man was taller and younger with a full head of lank hair.

"You don't speak for me, Gurnie," Tobrannon growled but before the argument could progress any further, someone in the crowd spotted the haggard Companions and gave a shout. In an instant, all eyes were on them.

Mikal Tobrannon's keen gaze spied Ixin and he began moving toward her. The crowd parted before his massive form like water at the prow of a sailing ship. "Ah! My champion!" he said loudly, gesturing at the tall woman. "What news do you bring of Nilia? Has she been found?" He looked about the group as if expecting the girl to be hiding behind one of them.

"Not yet," the mage replied. "But I-" Her voice faltered as murmurs and curses drifted through the crowd at Tobrannon's back.

"And what of this lot?" the big man wagged his beard at the Grey Companions. "Are they the ones responsible for these foul deeds?"

"Don't make yourself more the fool Tobrannon!" Constable Boralle spat as he forced his way to the larger man's side. The Constable studied the group with a shrewd eye. "Do you not recognize one of the king's own Janissaries when you see one." He indicated Ledare's worn tabbard which bore the symbol of The Realms beneath its many blood stains. Another murmur arose from the crowd at this new revelation.

Tobrannon seemed flummoxed; he clearly hadn't been expecting to find Ixin in the company of one of the King's elite fighters. He blustered for a moment and then managed, "What about the girl?"

Finian eyed the crowd and the two men in front of them. "Perhaps that's a tale best saved for inside," he suggested. "We are in need of Rherram's services."



"Carrion crawler brain juice," Rherram explained as he tended the group's wounds. "There are no lasting ill effects. It's pretty cheap as poisons go and easy enough to make if you've got the raw materials on hand."

"Over the years some of the local hunters have reported carrion crawlers in the woods southwest of town," the Constable added. From the description of the creatures, the group realized that the tentacled worms they had faced outside the cave were carrion crawlers.

"Even if it weren't magic what did me. It still weren't natural the way they just appeared like they did; like they just dropped down naked outta the sky," the lean man muttered from Tobrannon's side. His name was Den Lent - he and several others had been paralyzed during the raid that had seen Nilia kidnapped. She was the man's daughter and from the way that he clutched his steel-shod quarterstaff he planned to enact some measure of vengeance on whoever had taken her.

"Perhaps she was taken by these bat creatures we encountered," Ledare suggested. "They could certainly have flown over the walls of the caravanserai." Lent shook his head.

"What I seen before I went down weren't bats, missy," the man said. "It were men an' women naked as the day they was born 'ceptin' for the swords they carried on a belt 'round their waists.

"And it doesn't account for the undead," Gurnie reminded with a shudder.

"Yes," Constable Boralle admitted as he scratched his stubbly chin. "There does seem to be more to these goings on than a simple kidnapping. I'll notify the Baron  and in the morning we'll look into it more closely." Tobrannon shook his balding head at the Constable's words and Den Lent's eyes flared with anger. 

"Tomorrow?!" the man roared. "My daughter is still out there! What of her?!"

The Constable shook his head. "It is too dangerous for me to send my men out tonight - what with undead and who knows what all else ranging afield under cover of darkness. No, we'll look into it at first light and not before."

"Coward," Lent said as he turned and headed for the door. "I'll find her myself if I have to."

"I won't stop you," Boralle answered matter-of-factly. "But my duty is to the people of Strenchburg Junction. It won't serve them if their Watchmen are slaughtered on some ill-conceived attempt to rescue an outsider." Tobrannon sneered openly at Boralle and turned to follow Lent out.

"Every caravan that is extorted by thieves in town knows how much value you place on the well-being of outsiders, Constable," the man said and Boralle merely huffed in reply.

Fat Gurnie, looking uncomfortable and more than a little embarrassed by the whole situation, wrung his hands and turned to follow the two men. He looked nervously at Ixin before stepping out into the rain. "Wha- Where are you staying tonight, m'lady?" he stammered, blinking his eyes several times. "There's plenty of room at my cottage if you..." His voice trailed off as his face suffused with color.

"Thank you, Gurnie," Ixin said with a smile that seemed to brighten the room. "But I think I'll be staying with the healer tonight."

"Oh," the man's face seemed to fall but he recovered quickly and waved it away. "Of course you will. You're hurt. How stupid of me to suggest- I mean where else would you stay? That makes perfect sense to me!" He hurried out the door after adding, "You know where I live, m'lady. My door is always open to you."

"You seem to have an admirer," the Constable said as the door closed behind Fat Gurnie. He regarded Ixin's vestigial horns and brilliant yellow eyes critically. The mage developed a bemused smile and shrugged her broad shoulders.

"It happens a lot," she admitted.

"Of course it does," Constable Boralle said. The tone of his voice seemed to suggest that Ixin's hold over members of the opposite sex might have more to do with witchery than it did with her inhuman beauty, but he quickly changed the subject rather than dwell on the implication. "I'm glad to see that you've made your way back to the Junction, Archer of the Green. The Baron will be pleased," he told Finian as he too crossed the room toward the door. There, he paused. "And one more thing," he began, "I'll be presenting the facts to Baron Wicaop. In the meantime, don't leave Strenchburg Junction until you get my say so."


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #215a] Conspiracy Theories*

"If I want to leave, I will leave," Finian said after the door had closed on the Constable. Ledare regarded the Archer quizzically.

"What was that all about?" she asked.

"I think he was talking to all of you, Janissary," Rherram explained without looking up from his patient. He was working on the crossbow wound to Draelond's chest, and the warrior looked very pale as the healer slathered the puncture with salve. Ledare considered the man's words for a moment and then nodded.

"That could be," she admitted before turning her penetrating, if a little bleary, gaze on Ixin. "Why was that man, Tobrannon, surprised to see a Janissary, Ixin? Is there more to this than you are telling us?"

"No!" the mage asserted. "At least I don't think so... I only met the man for the first time earlier today."

"Not to butt in," Rherram interrupted, "but we don't see many Janissaries in Strenchburg Junction. Passing through, certainly, but not wandering around in the rain in the middle of the night. I could be wrong, but that may have contributed to Goodman Tobrannon's surprise."

Ledare thought on this possibility, all the while studying Ixin for any sign that the woman was lying. Ixin, for her part, seemed to honestly be going over the details that she knew for anything pertinent that she hadn't shared with the others. After a moment of this uncomfortable silence, Finian spoke up. "Perhaps the girl's father and the guard will want to go back to the caves with us tomorrow." he suggested then added, "I am concerned he will not wait."

"A valid fear given his apparent state of mind," Ruze said as he stripped off the last of his scale mail and let it fall heavily to the floor. "Why not go and try talking some sense into him?" The Archer nodded and turned to the Janissary.

"Ledare, come and help me," he said bounding to his feet and moving toward the door. "You can explain that we will help them tomorrow much better than I can."

"I am in no shape to do anything other than to find a soft bed, and rest," the half-elf told him with a wince of pain. She clutched her stomach. "Well, maybe a warm meal first... I feel like Ruze!"

The Battleguard chuckled wearily. "I don't think I'd make a very good meal just now, kitten," he jested. "Although I daresay that I've been tenderized quite thoroughly this night."

Finian hesitated at the door, ignoring the cleric's attempt at levity. "I want to stop Lent and tell him that we'll go back with him once we're healed," he said, his face conflicted. "I understand if he does not want to wait, but we should at least offer."

"Oh sh*t!" Ixin cursed suddenly and moved toward the door in a flurry. As she passed Finian she added, "Come on! We've got to try to stop him!" They disappeared out into the rain and as the door slammed shut behind them, Ledare turned and glowered at the Battleguard.

"There's something that Ixin's not telling us," the Janissary muttered and Ruze merely shrugged. She turned to Rherram and asked, "Why would anyone want this girl, Nilia? What else do we know about her?"

"Very little, I'm afraid," the healer told her as he finished up with Draelond. "Nilia travels with Goodman Tobrannon's caravan. Her father, Den Lent, is second in command. She's also very ugly - or so I'm told. I've never met her personally and I've heard nothing else of note about her. Perhaps Jisselleen has heard more."

At mention of the wetnurse, Ledare's expression grew darkly serious. "What news of the baby and Jisselleen?" she asked and Rherram waved away her concern.

"They've been asleep since before the caravaneers brought Den Lent in," the healer told her with a smile. "I checked in on them shortly before you all arrived and they were sleeping yet."



"I'm worried the creatures that dropped out of the sky are looking for me and are not related to your current problems at all," Ixin explained to Finian as the two hurried across the muddy yard toward the cart path. In the rainy distance, they could see the knot of townspeople moving down the hill that led toward Merchant's Way and eventualy southward into Strenchburg Junction.

"What?" the Archer asked. "Why would someone be looking for you?"

"Do you remember me saying that I was trying to get out of my old life?" she asked and the Archer nodded. "Well, I'm afraid that my old life wants to pull be back in. And with the possibility that the men and women that dropped from the sky with their swords may have been from the gang family I was in, I feel more responsible than ever for getting Nilia."

"Gang family?" Finian asked skeptically, having no idea what Ixin was talking about.

"They likely figured they could lure me out with an attack on an innocent," she said, her face growing angry at the thought. She bared her teeth in a dangerous grin as she added, "Well, they were right."

The two caught up to the group of peasants and stopped talking as they pushed their way onward through the throng. Before too long they spotted Tobrannon and Fat Gurnie and between them was Den Lent. Finian called out to him and the three men turned to regard them darkly.

"Ah... my champion." Tobrannon said the word as if it tasted bad to him.

"What do you want?!" Lent growled. His gray hair hung over his eyes in wet ropes.

"Sir, I would like to accompany you on your quest," Ixin said and Lent shook his quarterstaff at her.

"You had your chance, demoness!" the man sneered. "I don't need your help."

Ixin smiled, undaunted by Lent's gruff attitude. "It is possible I know these creatures that attacked the caravanserai and I may have some ideas about how they might proceed. I only want to help."

Lent's face softened at her words, but his eyes remained skeptical. "Really?" he asked cautiously.

"Really," Ixin said.


*More to come...*


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #215b] Out of Our Hands*

"I still don't know how you were able to convince Lent to wait until morning," Finian muttered to Ixin after they'd extinguished the lights in Rherram's infirmary. The night was seasonably warm, but after the thorough soaking that the group had endured - not to mention the loss of blood - they decided to stoke a fire in the hearth and the low flames now lit the room with a warm glow.

"I can be very persuasive when I need to be," the woman replied. Across the room, Draelond was breathing loudly in sleep's velvety embrace and the smell of salves and herbs hung thickly in the room, overpowering even the scent of burning wood. "When I told him I would be in significantly better shape tomorrow and would thus be in a better position to help him find his daughter, I don't think he could really argue."

Finian grunted his ascent and lay silently for a few moments before rolling over onto his side to face the sorcerer. "Ixin," he hissed. "Can you tell me a bit about dragons?"

The mage smiled, the firelight flashing off her teeth as she did so. "I can try, Finian. What do you want to know?"

"Well..," the Archer considered. "What powers do dragons have?"

Ixin chuckled softly and let out a sigh. "Finian, that would take all night and I'm tired," she explained. "Do you have anything specific in mind?"

"I've heard that dragons can dominate people," Finian replied after a pause. His hand went unconsciously to his auburn hair. "Is that true?"

"You mean mental domination? Like mind control?" Ixin asked and Finian nodded. "Yes, some dragons possess such powers, but not all do. Some of the lesser races are predisposed to such control; the dragons call them Kindred."

The Archer swallowed nervously in the dim light. "Do they like humans usually?" he asked.
"Oh, yes," Ixin reassured him. "Dragons can breed with nearly anything, and humans are almost as prolific. They are well-matched to one another in that regard."

Finian swallowed again. "That's all they want them for? Breeding stock?"

"Well, no. That's not all," Ixin said. "But humans make useful servants for a dragon. And even a drop of dragon blood makes a human so much more powerful that they typically welcome the opportunity. My mother was fully half-dragon, but my father hadn't had a dragon in his lineage for three generations. He was Dragonkith but he looked entirely human." 

"Dragonkith?" Finian asked.

"Mortals who bond themselves to a particular dragon or family of dragons. They gain a great deal of power over time as the bond deepens," Ixin said, stifling back a yawn. "There are many such paths that the lesser races follow in order to share a bit of draconic power. There are dragon warriors, dragon mages, dragon disciples... too many to mention."

Finian grunted his understanding and rolled onto his back. Ixin had almost drifted off to sleep when the Archer asked one more question: "Are red dragons evil?"

Ixin sighed. "If you mean are red dragons cruel, the answer is yes, many are. Dragons of any hue may develop a streak of cruelty. It is difficult for such proud creatures to avoid," she explained. "Dragons enjoy a special place in the world, Finian. Perhaps a quote from the Draconomicon will explain it better than I. In the Year of the Blessed Tears, Lord Iejiresjing of House Bloodtide said, _Nothing compares to the power and majesty of dragonkind, and no other dragon compares to the power and majesty or the red dragons._ Does that make sense?"

"Red dragons really see themselves that way?" Finian asked, trying to imagine Cynder's thought processes during their brief time together.

"They don't just see themselves that way; they ARE that way," Ixin clarified. "Dragons have existed since before the gods of the womb were born. And they remain second only to the gods in power. Is it any surprise that 'good' and 'evil' are just words to such as they?" Her voice resonated with the respect she held for her dragon ancestors as she spoke, but in his bunk where he lay quietly listening, Ruze felt his jaw clench. He knew in his heart that 'good' and 'evil' were much, much more than just words.


*Freeday, the 9th of Wealsun, 1269 AE*


"He doesn't look good," Ledare said with a note of concern in her voice. It was mid-morning.

"He isn't good," Finian told her, stroking Gordigan with the backs of his fingers. The duckbunny's furred side rose and fell with each shallow breath, but the strange animal showed no other sign of life. He was stretched stiffly atop Kirnoth's former bed in exactly the same spot that they had laid him the night before. In the gray light streaming in through the rain-spattered window, they could plainly see that the silver band of fur around Gordigan's throat had visibly faded. What that meant, no one was sure.

"I don't know what to do," the ranger admitted. "I can't get him to eat or drink. He's not responding like a normal animal."

"He isn't a normal animal," Ixin said. Martivir was perched on her left shoulder, regarding the others with his curious round eyes. "He's a familiar, which makes him inherently magical - linked inexorably to his master, Kirnoth."

"That doesn't bode well for Kirnoth, then," Ledare grimaced, looking at the cataleptic duckbunny.

"Actually, if Kirnoth were dead, then his familiar would have already become a free-willed beast. So the fact that Gordigan hasn't wandered off to live what ever sort of life such a creature as he normally lives is actually a good sign. It means that his master yet lives," the mage offered hopefully. "Of course, I don't know what his current condition means for your friend."

"Hopefully, we'll find out today," Finian said, giving Gordigan one last pat before standing up and resting his hands on the pommels of the longsword and dagger in his belt. "My priorities are getting Kirnoth and finding the girl. These are things we cannot come back to.  Time is of the essence and Umba only gives us limited opportunities for some actions."

"Kirnoth's dagger?" Ledare asked, eying the pommel of Finian's knife. The Archer nodded.

"We should use his gear for rescuing him," he explained. "Kirnoth would have wanted that. Perhaps Ixin can "borrow" that spell book we took off that wizard in Othelwood. I saw it amongst Kirnoth's gear."

Ledare shot him a scathing look, but Ixin shook her head. "I don't need a book," she told him with a proud smile. "The dragonblood flowing through my veins fuels my magic."

"Well maybe it has a spell you don't-" Finian started to argue but a loud pounding on the door to the infirmary cut him off. Ledare crossed to the door and opened it to reveal a very wet Dent Lent clutching his quarterstaff and looking miserable. He wore a chainmail shirt and a traveller's cloak whose hood kept his face relatively dry despite the weather.

"I'm here to see Ixin," he said gruffly as he stepped in out of the rain and closed the door behind him. He was alone.

"Where are Tobrannon and the others?" Ixin asked and Lent just glowered at her for a moment.

"The caravan's moved on," he said at last, not meeting anyone's gaze. "There are schedules that have to be met - buyers who are waiting in Restenford for the caravan. I can catch up once I've found Nilia."

"So it's just you and us," Finian said and Lent nodded. Reaching into the pack at his hip, the man drew forth a scroll of vellum and offered it to Ixin.

"Gadge gave me this," he said as she unfurled the scroll. "He said it might be helpful in finding Nilia. He said you'd know what to do with it. It's some kind of magic."

Ixin squinted at the arcane symbols and formulae written in the precise, orderly hand of Torren Gadge but could make no immediate sense of it. She'd be able to decipher it with the use of Read Magic, certainly, and given enough time she might be able to without the use of the spell. She smiled and rolled the scroll tightly.

"You must thank Goodman Gadge for me when next you see him," she said and slipped the scroll into one of the many hidden pouches of her magical cloak. Lent nodded his assent.

There was another knock at the door then and the man took a step away from it. "That'll be the Watch," he said without preamble. "I noticed a watchman following me out here from town."

Again Ledare opened the door and this time revealed a dripping watchman. He was human, wearing splintmail armor and clutching a longspear in one hand and a wooden scroll tube in the other. He looked to be barely past puberty.

"Janissary?" he asked and after she nodded, offered the scroll tube to Ledare. "Baron Wicaop bade me bring you this."

The half-elf arched an eyebrow and hesitantly accepted the tube. It was sealed with the maroon wax symbol of The Realms; she unstoppered it and read the parchment inside:

_Most honorable Janissary,

It is with mixed feelings that I receive news of your presence in my humble holdings. On the one hand, I am always eager to offer assistance and succor to one of His Majesty's chosen and am honored that I now have the opportunity to do so. But on the other hand, your presence is only made known to me at the same time that I receive the news that a crime most heinous has been perpetrated upon innocents who look to me for protection.

I am told by my trusted Constable that you are aware of the kidnapping which occurred last night and of the subsequent accusations of thievery and banditry levied by Goodman Mikal Tobrannon. As you might imagine both events trouble me greatly for they represent an obvious and  direct threat to trade passing along the caravan routes north, south, and east.

It is therefore with a heavy heart that I invoke my right as the duly appointed representative of His Royal Highness, King Haermond VI and with the full authority of the Realms Council as provisioned in the Charter of the Enlightened to impress you into service for the good of both Strenchburg Junction and the Realm of Elcaden as a whole. I charge you with finding and dispensing justice upon the person or group responsible for the kidnapping of Nilia Lent and the harassment of the traders using the caravanserai.

You may report back to me when you have completed this task I have appointed to you.

May Ibrahil guide you, Janissary.

Lord Mayor of Strenchburg Junction, Baron Allan Wicaop"_


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #216] Back to the Caves*

"Of all the swiving -," Ledare hissed then caught herself and addressed the Watchman in a calm voice. "Fine. Tell the Baron that I will report back to him forthwith."

"Janissary," the boy said with a curt bow before walking off into the rain. Ledare closed the door soundly behind him.

"Problems, kitten?" Ruze asked as he walked through the door from the adjoining living quarters. He held a steaming cup of tea in one hand.

"It's nothing," the Janissary said and waved the Baron's scroll dismissively. She glanced sideways at Lant before adding, "We'll discuss it later, Ruze."

The cleric nodded his understanding and sat comfortably on his bed. Lant ignored the man and turned to Ixin. "Can we go now?" he asked expectantly and the mage nodded.

"I've been trying to think of where the Claw might go," she explained as she coaxed Martivir into one of the extra-dimensional pockets inside her cloak. It was a tight fit, but one look at the weather outside was enough to convince the familiar to cooperate."I was thinking maybe into town to try to steal supplies." Finian shook his head at the suggestion and began gathering his gear to depart.

"I think the best course of action is to return to the cave to look for clues since it appears the girl was brought to the same place Kirnoth was," the ranger said.

"Nilia," Lant said darkly. "The 'girl' has a name. It's Nilia."

"Yeah. I know," Finian muttered. "Sorry." Lant snorted derisively and turned to Ixin again.

"Are you ready?" he asked and Ruze cleared his throat before she could answer.

"I fear we are following too many threads," the Battleguard said cryptically. "We are like the weaver with too many yarns; soon the cloth will be tangled."

"Huh?" Finian grunted and Ruze got to his feet, put down his tea and began to speak louder.

"It seems that no sooner are we on the scent of Chaos and nearer to ending its foothold in our realm than we are off again on a side errand," he explained. "I for one must remember my purpose to keep Chaos from its reign." Ruze dropped down from the raised platform and came to stand beside the lanky Den Lant. He laid a hand on the man's shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly. "Now, I cannot let a kidnapped girl go unnoticed, Goodman. Fear not," he told the man. "But I propose a plan with a beginning, a middle, and an end. We need to know when we are done, and may continue on to the overriding concern of Chaos."

"If'n you're plannin' on helpin' me find my daughter, mister," Lant said taking Ruze's hand of his shoulder and fixing the cleric with a stern gray eye, "then you'll know you're done when she's back with me safe and sound."

Ruze nodded and stepped away from Lant. "I propose we find the girl, keeping Kirnoth in mind along the way, and helping Rhem along the way if we may," the Battleguard went on. "Once we find the girl, we report here for healing needs, and continue our quest to rid the Realms of Chaos. What say you?"

"It seems a sound course of action, Ruze," the Archer said with a nod. "And don't forget that sometimes loose threads lead to the same knot. We just need to pick one and start following it."

"Since Finian is of the opinion that Kirnoth and this girl might both be in the caves somewhere, then I suppose that is to be our course," Ledare agreed. "Still, I insist that we rest and recover somewhat first. Otherwise, I personally will be of no help to anyone. My injuries still bother me."

"I can help in that regard," Ruze said with a proud smile. "My Queen saw fit to grant me many healing miracles last night when I performed the SulTuh. I won't have as many blessings to use during the course of the day, but I can start our journey off on a strong foot."

"Where do I sign up?" Draelond asked as he stepped through the doorway from Rherram's house, his face looking nearly as pale as the bandage on his chest.



"I still say we need to deal with those undead," Ruze complained again. They had bypassed the three bloated zombies that still mindlessly guarded the abandoned campsite on the forest's edge and the continued existence of the undead rankled the cleric's sensibilities.

"Fightin' corpses ain't gonna get my little girl back, mister," Lant muttered and peered down into the abandoned clearing. The man's gruff attitude was beginning to grate on the group, but in this case his words made sense.

"Until we find Nilia," Ledare told Ruze, "we need to conserve our strengths. And that means picking our battles."

"I understand the wisdom of your words, kitten," Ruze said. "But I won't feel very good about myself if some innocent runs afoul of the creatures."

"None of us will," Draelond agreed.

"We told the Constable about them," Finian said. "It's his job to get rid of them now." Lant and Ruze harrumphed in unison at the Archer's words and then scowled at each other. "I'm willing to scout ahead a little, but not much," Finian went on. "I do not want to get caught alone by anything."

"I'm fair to middlin' when it comes to sneakin' about," Lant said without looking at Finian. "I reckon I could go with ya."

"Okay," the Archer said, a trifle surprised at the man's offer. "The rest of you are too loud in all that armor. What about you, Ixin?"

The mage shrugged her broad shoulders. "I'm afraid skulking is not one of my many strengths," she admitted. "But when Marty is nearby, I do share some of his penchant for stealth." She opened her cloak and drew out the owl. Marty hooted softly and blinked at the dayight. "Oh, hush," Ixin told him. "It's only rain. It won't kill you to get a little wet."


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #217] Ambush!*

Finian looked down at the dark cave opening and the bloated horse corpse that lay beside it. The bodies of the two carrion crawlers that they had killed the night before were gone. "I'd sure feel a lot better about going in there with some more healing," the Archer said looking hopefully at the cleric, but Ruze just shook his head.

"Just take it easy and preserve your energy," the Battleguard told him. "I'm unwilling to venture into harm's way without some divine reserves. I'll not squander the blessings that Shaharizod showered on me when we might need them more later."

Finian scowled at that. "The stronger we go in the better, Ruze," he wheedled. "If-"

"Finian, we're all still hurting from last night," Ledare interrupted. Draelond and Ixin shared a guilty look since they had both been fully healed through Ruze's magic and Rherram's salves respectively. "There's little sense in arguing with Ruze about it. He knows his goddess' will better than any of us."

The Archer's scowl deepened and he shook his head in resigned disgust before turning away from the group to look back down into the clearing. "Fine," he grumbled.

"Don't be afraid, mister. I'll protect you," Den Lant said with a touch of mocking humor in his voice. Before Finian could retort, the lanky man stood and trotted down the hillside, his feet squelching in the mud as he went.

"Oh, he's _real_  quiet," Finian quipped in a voice dripping with sarcasm. Ledare laid a hand on his shoulder before he could follow the older man down into the clearing.

"We hardly know this man," she cautioned, angling her head toward Lant. "Keep your wits about you." Finian nodded grimly and hustled down the slope, making a good deal less noise than Lant had.

"Go on," Ixin urged her familiar. "If you spot anything dangerous, get the fairy-born's attention and then come back to me." The owl hooted in reply and took reluctantly to the air, drifting silently down toward Lant and Finian.

"Fairy-born?" Ledare asked and Ixin nodded, indicating the Janissary's pointed ears.

"Isn't that what you half-sidhe are called on this world?" the mage responded innocently and Ruze stifled back a chuckle.

"Oh, Finian's going to love being called that," he said, his dark eyes twinkling with mischief.



"I can't make any sense of these tracks," Finain admitted with some reluctance as he stood and wiped rainwater off his face. "Something or someone moved those two carrion crawlers we killed, but I can't say where they moved them to."

Lant grunted in response and headed toward the cave entrance, grim-faced. Martivir, who was perched on a low branch of the nearest tree watched him go with his shiny yellow eyes. Finian shook his head again and went to follow. Once he'd made sure that there were no traps or enemies waiting for them in the uppermost cave, the Archer walked back out into the rain and motioned for the others to join them.

Draelond came first, followed by Ixin and Ruze, with Ledare bringing up the rear. The Janissary had her hand crossbow drawn and was watching and listening attentively for signs that anyone or anything might be following them or lurking amongst the trees nearby. She noticed nothing out of the ordinary, but couldn't quite shake the sense that something wasn't quite right. For her part, Ixin's magical blood made her aware of the presence of a magical power nexus nearby. If she hadn't been so wounded the night before, she couldn't have helped but notice it then. Her veins nearly thrummed with the chaotic currents of magic moving through the air around the cave.

When they reached the cave mouth, Ixin called for them to pause a moment. She closed her eyes, focusing on the raw magic flowing around her. She could sense the nexus pulsing within the cave somewhere, but couldn't quite get a fix on its location. It seemed slippery as if it were warded against her in some way. She couldn't anchor to it at a distance, and even more troubling was the fact that in such close proximity to a nexus point she'd be unable to even tap a ley line to boost her power. Disappointed, she opened her eyes and looked at the others.

"There's a source of magical power inside the cave," she explained. "If I can get close enough, I can use it to fuel my spells."

"Fine," Ledare said, unimpressed. Ixin sighed.

"If things get ugly in there, I can cast shadows and we will be able to hide," the mage whispered. "The problem will be we will also not be able to see each other. A better option might be for me to cast sleep. If we can find it, I can utilize the nexus to add power to that spell."

"That is a better solution, Ixin," Ruze told her. "The bat creatures seemed unaffected by the loss of their vision when Finian used the flash pellet on them. I believe they may have a form of blindsight."

"I can also cast magic missile if that seems like a good option," the sorcerer added. She flashed her claws and grinned. "And I can hold my own in hand-to-hand combat."

"Let's hope it don't come to that," Lant muttered from the shadows. "But if it does, I'm right glad you're on my side."



The upper chamber was as they had left it although Finian was able to determine that there had been a great deal of movement in the room. Bare humanoid footprints criss-crossed the chamber many times over and something - most likely the carrion crawler corpses - had been dragged down the narrow staircase that they had previously explored.

Again, Finian, Martivir and Lant ranged ahead, using the Archer's magic sword as a light source. They had just reached the bottom when Finian's boot snagged on a tripwire that had been rigged low across the foot of the staircase. No sooner had this registered to the Archer than a small clay jug tied to the wire smashed to the ground at his feet. He tried to leap aside to avoid being splashed by its contents, but was unable. Lant and Martivir had no opportunity to avoid the dark liquid either and both were splattered with it.

"Poison!" Lant hissed, but Finian didn't think so. The pungent, foul stench that wafted up from the puddle of fluid was strong enough to overpower the general midden-pit reek of the chamber beyond. It smelled like musk of some kind.



Martivir came fluttering up the staircase in a panic. His feathers were splotched with the liquid that had come from the small container, but he seemed unhurt. He alighted on Ixin's shoulder and hooted into her ear.

"A trap," she told Draelond and Ledare. "They've sprung some kind of trap and got splashed with... something. Something that doesn't smell very good." She turned her face away from her stinking familiar and blinked her stinging eyes.

"Great!" Draelond deadpanned as he unsheathed Ravager and headed down the stairs.  Ruze followed close on his heels.

Ixin looked at Ledare and the Janissary pointed at the staircase with her crossbow. "You next," she said simply. "I've got the rear." Ixin nodded, drew her morningstar and started down toward the distant glow of the ranger's longsword.

Ledare heard movement behind her and looked around, trying to pinpoint its location. It didn't take her long. The gray light coming in from the mouth of the cave revealed a pair of carrion crawlers moving out of the cul de sac in which they had been feeding since the night before. Their pink tentacles flailed at the air a moment before both worms turned and headed straight for her. Apparently, they hungered for something other than carrion.



"I don't think it's poison," Finian cautioned, sniffing tentatively at his fingers. "But I still don't like the fact that-"

An arrow striking him suddenly in the chest cut off his words. A second slammed into left thigh, but he hardly noticed it; a cold sensation was spreading outward from the wound to his chest and it numbed him as it blossomed. Lant cried out as an arrow pierced his hand and Finian managed to half-turn his head toward the taciturn man before he completely lost the ability to move at all.

"Arr, you b*st*rds!" Lant wailed into the darkness as he yanked the quarrel from his bloodied hand. "What have you done with my daughter!?"


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #218] Counterattack*

There was no answer to Lant's fevered cries but a faint squeaking and the sound of crossbows being reloaded somewhere in the dark chamber ahead. At the sound, Lant began fumbling in the half-light to ready his own crossbow even as the thunderous clinking and jingling of Draelond charging down the steps drowned out his opponents' noise. The big warrior took one look at the unmoving Finian and the two crossbow bolts that were sticking out of him and stopped short. "By Ibrahil's vow," he hissed. "What happened?"



"We've got trouble in the rear!" Ledare yelled as she sidestepped away from the passage down and aimed her handcrossbow at one of the crawlers. Only Ixin was still within earshot, and she was too far down the stairs to offer immediate assistance to the outnumbered Janissary.

Before she could squeeze off a single shot, the crawlers were upon her, flailing at her with their rubbery pink tentacles. The tendrils did no real damage to the armored half-elf, but the clear mucous with which they were coated had an immediate numbing effect on her. She was able to fight off the first wave of paralysis that spread coldly through her body, but the next - and each one after - stiffened her muscles. Soon, she couldn't move or feel the lapping tentacles as they probed for openings between the plates of her armor. She stood there with an unvoiced scream trapped in her throat as she thought with horror about the horse they had seen being eaten by the crawlers when they first arrived at the caves.



More crossbow bolts streamed from the darkness. The first, Den narrowly avoided; he managed to twist aside at the last moment and it was deflected by his chain shirt. The second was clearly aimed at Draelond, but it struck the wall several feet above the warrior's head. The third struck Lant squarely in the right side of his chest, and even though his armor absorbed most of the damage, it still made him cry out involuntarily.He felt poison seeping into his blood, but managed to resist the effects.

He raised his crossbow and fired into the dark chamber ahead toward where he suspected at least one of his assailants stood. The quarrel sailed off into the darkness and clattered off stone some distance away.



Ixin raced back up the natural staircase and gasped at what she saw in the entry chamber. Ledare lay toppled over on her back with her crossbow pointed at the ceiling and her left leg raised as if she were taking a step. The two bloated green worms were pinning her to the ground, their tentacles sliding messily over her heavy armor while the small beaks concealed amidst the writhing mass snapped ineffectually at the air.

"Ledare, shield your eyes and I will cast Color Spray!" Ixin cried out. She reached into the folds of her cloak and the scroll she had 'liberated' from The Claw before she fled Highgate appeared magically in her hand. She unfurled it, her attention divided between the crawlers and the arcane symbols written on the vellum. "Fuco aspergo!" she intoned and the scroll was instantly consumed by eldritch fire. She pointed with her now empty hand and a cone of flashing color erupted from her fingers, bathing both carrion crawlers and Ledare in its disorienting radiance.

The two worms let out piercing wails of shock and one of them tumbled off of the Janissary's paralyzed body, clearly blinded. The other, however, regarded Ixin with malice in its shiny black eyes and waggled its mop of tentacles at her.



"It seems I just about patch everyone up and 'ere we go again with unmending everyone," Ruze grimaced as he came down the stairs and peered around Draelond at the paralyzed Finian. He grabbed the Archer's left arm at the elbow and tilted him over so that he could grab him around the waist. The action made the shadows cast by the Finian's longsword skew wildly. "We need to get out of this corridor," the cleric huffed as he dragged the half-elf behind Lant and Draelond, "else they will shoot us like kettlefish."

As if to lend credence to the Battleguard's assessment, another quarrel sped from the darkness and struck Draelond in the slab of muscle that was his right bicep. The warrior grunted with pain but resisted the numbing clutch of the bolt's venom. He pulled the bolt out of his arm and cast it aside.

Ruze turned his attention away from Finian's wounds and fished instead in the paralyzed ranger's pouch. "Draelond, I suggest a flamed attack," he said, producing one of the flasks of Alchemist's Fire from Finian's bag. "What say you hurl this their way?" Draelond took it and grinned before lobbing it out into the benighted chamber.

Being human, none of the three men clustered at the foot of the stairs could see much beyond the meager light of Finian's enchanted sword. The crossbowmen were somewhere beyond that radius, effectively hidden by the darkness that pressed in on the wan, bluish light. Like Den Lant, Draelond had gotten a general idea where one of the shooters must have been and it was toward this unseen spot that he threw the glass flask that Ruze had given him. Unlike Den Lant, Draelond's aim was true.

The flask shattered against the hirsute belly of the creature that stood reloading its weapon in a narrow opening almost directly across the chamber from where the three humans were clustered. At once, the creature's torso was limned in a nimbus of flame that illuminated its inhuman rat's face and the membranous wings that sprouted from its back. It shrieked in pain, dropped its crossbow and began beating frantically at the flames.

"Now I gots you!" Lant growled and raised his crossbow.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #218a] Counterattack II*

"Ledare is down! We have to get out of here," Ixin shouted and Martivir took to the air at the sound of her voice. The owl flapped his wings twice and spiraled upward toward the ceiling. The carrion crawler that hadn't been affected by Ixin's spell turned its head toward the familiar and reared up to clutch the bird with its tentacles. Martivir was out of its reach, but he continued to draw the worm's attention away from Ixin.

"Good boy," Ixin whispered and began to draw on the manna in her blood.



Lant squeezed off a deadly accurate shot with his crossbow. The bolt perforated his flaming target's guts, sinking up to the fletchings a thumb's width below the creature's ribs. It wailed in agony and Lant hooted and cast the crossbow aside. Before he could snatch up his quarterstaff and charge into melee, however, the winged rat man convulsed once and expelled his arrow whole from its body.

"Myrkul's bones," Lant gasped, his eyes going wide at the sight. "What manner of pit-spawned beast is this?"

It was a happy coincidence of pure chance and poor aim that that allowed him to avoid the bolt that was fired at him from the darkness.

"Drae, I have to say your aim has finally paid off, now go off and take care of that thing before it puts itself out," Ruze intoned, nodding once across the chamber where the burning creature continued to beat at its flames. "Den, follow Drae and dispatch the front.  I will to the rear and check on the ladies who I now notice aren't with us.  Go, quickly while we have the element of surprise!"

Draelond nodded, feeling the power of Ruze's words as they inspired in him a confidence that he hadn't felt a moment before. He had nobility of purpose and the moral conviction of a god's blessing on his actions. How could he fail?

"Drae. Dent. Know that I have faith in you both," the Battleguard added, further fueling the warrior's swell of morale as Ruze made a gesture of benediction. "I know you wilt not let the front crumble."

With a bellow of confidence, Draelond turned and charged into the chamber with Ravager held high. The firelight glittered wickedly along the bastard sword's jagged edge.



Ixin gestured with both hands, urging the magic toward the carrion crawler and shouted the word that would activate the spell,_ "Sopio!"_ The crawler fell forward unceremoniously and began to snore loudly into the mud and Ixin slumped back briefly against the cave wall.

Martivir hooted softly and fluttered down onto the mage's outstretched hand. "Thank you, my good boy," Ixin cooed to the owl. "I know the smell is awful. Can you tell what it is?" The owl hooted back to her and she frowned. "Oh well. No matter. I need you to stay calm. Are those two carrion crawler things the only ones around?" Again Martivir hooted into her ear. "Well, that's some good news for a change."

Ixin sighed and stood up, holding open her cloak with her free hand. "Time for you to get back into your pocket," she urged. "It's too dangerous out here and I won't risk losing you." The owl hooted his relief and vanished into the folds of her Cloak of Many Pockets. Ixin frowned then at the two carrion crawlers - one blinded and the other asleep - and grimly readied her morningstar for the messy work ahead.

"I knew no good would come of these caves," she grumbled.



The winged skaven had just about extinguished the alchemists fire when Draelond reached it. Ravager descended in a vicious arc that entered the creature on the right shoulder and exited above its left hip. The two halves of its smoldering torso slid wetly apart from each other and fell to the ground at the big warrior's feet. The sound of a crossbow firing somewhere very close reached Draelond's ears over the pounding rush of his own blood, but with the echoes and the clinking of Den Lant behind him he couldn't tell for certain from which direction it came. Draelond turned to see Lant approaching with Finian's glowing sword in his hand.

"Our chance at surprise is ruined," Lant said with a tone of annoyance as he held up the sword. "I thought that we might as well see the... Sweet Flor!" The man came up short when he saw the remains of Draelond's opponent. What had looked like a hairy winged rat man before now appeared to be a naked man with swarthy skin and a number of intricate tattoos across his chest and along his arms.

Before they could reflect more on this, the sound of rushing footsteps reached their ears.



"Hmm. This is quite the situation," Ruze said as he mounted the last step and entered the earthen-floored upper cave. He looked first at the paralyzed Janissary, and the blind carrion crawler mewling on the ground beside her and then at Ixin's bloodied morningstar and the dead crawler she stood over. "Ixin, good work," he said, even as he clutched his holy symbol in one hand and knelt beside Ledare. He touched her on the elbow and muttered, "Shaharizod, your strength of will I need to borrow. Lend it to my lady."

All at once, Ledare felt sensation return to her body and she quickly rolled away from the worm rooting around beside her. Ruze helped her to her feet and showed her his flask of alchemists fire. "This should do the trick," he said with a grin but Ledare shook her head.

"Save it," she told him, holstering her hand crossbow and drawing her silver-iron longsword in one fluid motion. "The thing's practically helpless." To illustrate her point, she stabbed her sword into its side and the aberration squealed in agony and flailed its tentacles impotently. Two more quick hacks ended its blind torment.



Lant turned toward the sound of approaching feet just in time to catch a crossbow bolt in the side. He started to cry out in pain, but the envenomed arrow quickly cut off control of his lungs. He stood frozen at the tunnel mouth - clutching the glowing longsword in an ironic parody of Finian before him. Draelond rushed around him and stabbed Ravager into the chest or the crossbowman - or woman, in this case - who stood in the chamber beyond.

She let out a wheezing hiss that would have been a scream if her furry chest hadn't been bisected by four feet of saw-toothed steel. The crossbow fell from her nerveless talons and she clutched weakly at Ravager's bone inlays for a moment before the breath of Flor left her and she fell to the ground. Draelond had only a moment to gape in wonder as her inhuman flesh twisted and ran into a very human - and very dead - shape. The woman was dirty and battered, but her features were delicate, almost elven; her bright green eyes stared blindly at the wall.

Another crossbow bolt whistled from the dark tunnel behind him, narrowly missing Draelond's head. He whirled to see another of the winged skaven standing at the curve of the tunnel, but this one wore a sickly green robe trimmed in filthy brown. A bilious yellow belt cinched its waist where was hung a sheathed shortsword. It regarded Draelond briefly with its inscrutable black eyes and bared its fangs before turning and scuttling off into the shadows that clotted beyond the light from Finian's sword.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #219] I'm Batman*

Ledare and Ruze moved Finian's stiffened form up the narrow tunnel with little difficulty while Draelond negotiated the paralyzed Den Lant up behind them. The light from the sword in Lant's hand skewed crazily, filling the tunnel with dizzying motion. Ixin stood in the upper chamber, her attention divided between the three egresses that opened onto the chamber. Outside it was still raining.

"Are they alright?" the sorceress asked, looking sickly at the two quarrels that still pierced Finian's body. Ruze looked briefly at the arrows and then nodded.

"They'll live," he said. "But I'll need to do some quick triage."

"Make sure it is quick," Ledare warned. "We should put some distance between us and these caves while we can."

"So you admit that we need to retreat?" Ixin asked, half-surprised that the Janissary finally agreed with her. Ledare snorted derisively at her and scowled.

"We seem ill equipped to continue," the half-elf admitted sardonically. "And we aren't finding out much of anything from these frustrating little trysts."

"I vote we go back and figure out what we are going to do with all these clues we've been accumulating," the Battleguard offered without  looking up from Finian's thigh where he had very nearly removed the second arrow. "We have all these clues, but we don't have a battle plan with them." He harrumphed and added, "We don't even have a goal."

"What clues?" Ixin muttered but no one heard to answer and Draelond spoke up before she could ask again.

"I say we all regroup and be sure that everyone gets the medical attention they need," the warrior suggested. "Our mission is not to rid the world of wererats. And we have no idea how many of those things are down there."

"That's a good point, Draelond," Ixin nodded. "Given how wererats reproduce, there could be hundreds or more in these cave. We've got to leave. We can't win."

"On that point you are correct," a strange voice added.

They turned to see a man standing at the mouth of the fissure that led down. He was dressed well in a dark purple cloak that hung loosely about his shoulders. Beneath it he wore studded leather armor. A shortsword hung at his waist. His face was dark and angular and mean. Piercing black eyes smoldered beneath an exceptionally high forehead. He sported long mustaches and a small beard that came to a sharp point beneath his chin. On his chest rested an iron symbol of Aphyx.

The Companions moved hands toward their weapons and he sneered at them. "I would think before you act rashly," he said, his voice not betraying an ounce of fear as he pointed his chin at the cave mouth. Three winged rat men entered from the rain outside. They were unarmed but their bared fangs and clenched fists left little doubt as to their intent.  Two more of the creatures appeared behind the man with crossbows levelled at the party. They were dressed in green robes with loose yellow belts from which hung shortswords and quivers.

"You have found our lair," the man said, his appraising gaze moving over the group like a king at a buffet. "We are not yet ready to be found so we cannot permit you to leave." He took a few leisurely steps widdershins about the group as he spoke to them, gesturing with his left hand. His right he kept beneath the folds of his cloak. "And more troubling yet: you have slain five of my children. Plaguebringer Corben will be most displeased when he returns to find our ranks depleted thus."

He stopped and smiled then, his lips pulling back from sharp, crooked teeth. His face took on the aspect of a hungry rat.

"But there are six of you so we can at least recoup our loses," he pointed out. "I'll let you decide who should be food for the others."


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #220] Scaredy Bat*

For a moment, no one spoke. The three unarmed werebats held their positions at the mouth of the cave. The two with crossbows stood to either side of the fissure leading down. The leader in his purple robe regarded the Companions with a smug expression on his face that clearly displayed the confidence he felt in his own ability to kill any of them without breaking a sweat. All that could be heard was ragged breathing and the patter of rain outside.

"Hmmm.... another situation Ledare," Ruze finally spoke, breaking the moment. "I do not think we can out run them even with Draelond's exceptional strength. I think this is where we stand and fight the evil that is before us."

The bearded man made a dismissive gesture with his left hand and half-turned in mock affront. "Such melodrama, priest,"  he said. "Evil is such a convenient label, isn't it? Nothing galvanizes the righteous like a good evil to smite."

"Perhaps we should listen to what the man is saying,"  Ledare suggested smoothly. Both Ruze and Draelond looked at her in surprise, but the leader of the bat men nodded as if he had been sure from the beginning that she would suggest just that.

"Your lady's words show a wisdom that you seem to lack, priest," the man said and smoothed down his mustache with his left hand. As he did so, Ledare caught just the briefest glimpse of the loaded crossbow the man held in his right hand, hidden beneath his cloak. "There is no sense in resisting what may not be avoided."

With a sudden swelling of pins-and-needles over his body, the paralysis finally wore off Finian. It was accompanied by a curious slippery sensation on his hand, as if the unidentified magical ring that he'd worn there for some time were about to fall off. It remained in place, however, and the sensation passed in an instant. The Archer looked disdainfully at the leader and then at the Janissary. "Ledare are you crazy?" he growled. "Cooperate with them? Maybe you did not understand that they want to turn us into skaven!"

The leader rolled his eyes and sighed. "This is quickly getting out of hand," he said. "Kill the priest. Take the others alive." And, as if that was exactly the word they'd been waiting for, the werebats attacked.

The two crossbow wielders each fired at Ruze. The first quarrel caught him in the left thigh, but he was able to twist away and avoid the second altogether. As Finian, Draelond and Den had discovered earlier, the bolts burned with poison, but the cleric's hallowed constitution was more than up to the task of resisting the effects.

One of the unarmed werebats at the cave mouth stepped forward and took a swing at Finian. The Archer's armor absorbed the blow with no trouble and Finian's left hand went for the dagger sheathed at his hip. Another werebat came at Ixin and took a swing with its hairy fist, but found only air.

"Followers of Aphyx, I spit on you and your cursed beliefs!" Ruze said, yanking the arrow out of his thigh and gesturing at the skaven leader with his other hand. "Shaharizod, cleanse this fool of the taint!" An instant later, six gallons of water splashed down onto the man, drenching him to the skin. He sputtered and staggered, trying to untangle his crossbow from the folds of his sodden cloak. Ledare seized the man's distraction and charged forward, silver-iron longsword flickering from its scabbard like a lightning bolt. She threw all the weight of her armored form behind the blow, but the man managed to avoid the thrust by a hair's breadth, and her sword drew sparks from the cave wall rather than blood from her foe.

The final unarmed werebat charged toward Draelond and swung at the big man with its right fist. Almost by instinct, Draelond avoided the clumsy blow and brought Ravager out to counterattack. But even with most of the creature's effort focused on attack, its inhuman reflexes allowed it to dodge the huge sword by the narrowest of margins.

"Now you'll all die!" the leader bawled, taking a dripping step back from Ledare to raise his crossbow. "Corben, be damned!" Before he could loose it at Ruze, however, a mighty roar shook the cave, drawing the man's attention to Ixin.

The mage stood nearby, but she seemed to have grown in an instant to titanic proportions. Her skin was covered with red scales as hard as adamantine. Her teeth and claws were like ivory daggers. The almighty fires of a dragon's heart burned in her golden eyes and when she spoke it was with a voice of ages. *"Tremble before me, mortal worm!" *she bellowed and the leader of the werebats found he could do little else. Ledare and Finian both recalled the frightful presence that Cynder had possessed whenever his ire was up; it had been enough to cause friend and foe alike to drop their weapons and cower in their armor. It seemed the same now with Ixin, but it was the werebat leader alone who bore the affect.

His crossbow clattered to the ground and he ran, gibbering for the fissure leading down. He shouldered the two robed werebats out of the way and disappeared into the darkness below.

Finian seized the opportunity provided by the man's startling disappearance to plunge his dagger between the ribs of the werebat that had attacked him. It sank up to the hilt in the lycanthrope's hairy side and the Archer grinned as he heard the creature's hissing intake of breath for he knew that he had struck one of the thing's lungs with his blade. It staggered backward, but didn't fall.

"What have you done with the girl?" the ranger demanded, waving the bloody dagger in front of him even as he reached for his longsword still clasped in Den Lant's paralyzed hand.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #220a] Holy Massacre, Bat Man!*

The two crossbow-weilding werebats at the top of the natural staircase fired another volley of bolts at Ruze. Only one of them connected, however, cutting a bloody groove in his left forearm. The damage was minimal, but this time, the poison on the quarrel proved too much for the Battleguard to resist. He froze in mid-stride, paralyzed with his hand on his holy symbol and an unvoiced prayer on his lips.

The hirsute assailant that Finian had wounded stepped back and began to shrink. In the twinkling of an eye, its body dwindled, its arms atrophying and eventually disappearing enirely even as its wings spread voluminously and beat against the air. The man bat had become wholly bat and it sought to take wing and escape from the Archer's flashing blades. Such was not to be, however. Finian took the opportunity presented by the bat's retreat to slice into it with his newly retrieved longsword. The blade parted the thing's membranous wing and sent it spiralling backward toward the cave mouth. It recovered, but had obviously been severely wounded.

The winged skaven that had been harrying Ixin took another swing at the woman. With little effort, she was able to avoid the blow, her concentration unbroken. Magic swelled within her.

Ledare glanced at the two robed rate men who were reloading their crossbows on either side of the fissure. Ruze and Den Lant were easy targets to the creatures if they were able to get off another volley unhindered. She charged again, closing the distance between she and them in four quick strides and slashing the nearest werebat across the right forearm. It squealed in pain and released its grip on the crossbow. Both it and its partner reached for their shortswords.

"Sopio!" Ixin shouted, gesturing not directly at the creature attacking her, but rather at a point behind him, nearer to both the fleeing bat and the hairy brute that was trading swings with Draelond. The bat man that threatened her fell abruptly into the mud very near to the carrion crawler she had put down earlier. The fleeing bat careened into the cave wall and bounced out into the rain where it lay blissfully snoring.

Draelond drew Ravager up across the hairy torso of the skaven that faced him and the sword's teeth chewed hungrily through its flesh,  spilling the thing's blood in a hot torrent. The creature fell backward without uttering a sound, its flesh running and changing even as it went. A naked man with dark hair and dusky skin fell dead to the floor with a horrible rent marring the network of dark tattooes that spread across his chest.

Finian stepped forward and drove the point of his longsword into the throat of the unconscious bat. It died without a sound and instantly swelled to the form of a naked woman who might have been the sister to the man that Draelond had dispatched. She had similar tattoos on both shoulders and upper arms. Her head had been very nearly severed by the ranger's sword.

Seeing the elimination of the rest of their brood, the two robed bat men chose flight over battle. They turned to flee down the stairs and Ledare stabbed in the side the one she had already wounded. It cried out and fell to the ground, but its companion wasted no time with mourning. It lept over the body and hurtled down into the darkness below.

Ledare spared a glance down after the fleeing creature before she turned back to the group. "We should go," she said. "Now."

Den Lant, however, at that moment was released from the supernatural paralysis that had afflicted him. He groaned as he jerked his stiffened limbs into motion. "No," he grunted. "I'm not leavin' without Nilia. We're too close now to run!" He unstrapped his quarterstaff from his pack and looked hopefully from one Companion to the next. There were tears visible in his eyes as he added, "My little girl's innocent in all this. She don't deserve to suffer alone here. And I'll not rest 'til she's safe with me again."


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #221] The Bat Cave*

"I can imagine the desperation you must feel to find your daughter," Ledare countered. "But logically, it is foolish for us to continue.  We would serve Nilia better with a smarter course of action." Lant's face darkened at her words, and he quickly wiped his tears away with one rough fist, but before he could say anything Ixin spoke.

"I can't believe I'm saying this," the mage mused, laying a reassuring hand on Den Lant's shoulder, "but I think we should pursue immediately and try to catch them unprepared."

Finian stepped forward at that, making a flourish with his two blades. "I will continue with Den Lant.  He is right about his daughter," the Archer said. "Ixin is right too, we have the upper hand and need to press it."

Ledare sighed and wiped her blade clean on the robed skaven's cloak. "What do you propose?" she asked.

"I volunteer to scout ahead, borrowing your ring if you will let me," Finian offered. "This way I can see if they are lying in wait. Someone needs to watch Ruze. Perhaps Ixin, Draelond, Den Lant and I can press on. They can count to twenty then follow the path and I will warn of anything coming. What do you say?"

"I say my dragon fear won't last forever," Ixin urged. "We should go if we're going to."

Draelond stepped forward, holding his bastard sword in a reverse grip so that the blade loomed up over his shoulder and the egg-shaped pommel pointed at the ground. "Is this plan okay with you, Ledare?" he asked. "I feel we have already done what is in our power to attempt to find Nilia. And I fear the worst for her. But if it is decided that we press on, then I am willing."

Ledare sheathed her sword and fished in her belt pouch before answering. "Go," she said, holding out the Ring of Invisibility to Finian. "I will stay behind with Ruze."



The ranger Spider Climbed down the wall of the 'staircase' and out into the large chamber that had twice almost become the site of his death. As he passed the spot where he had been paralyzed, the light filtering down from the cave above began to fail even his half-elven eyes. He fished out the sunrod that Den Lant had given him and struck it against the wall. It began to glow brightly, lending an incongruous yellow warmth to the foul-smelling cavern. With the added illumination, he could clearly see the remains of the two skaven that Draelond had killed earlier lying at the mouth to one of two narrow tunnels on the opposite side of the chamber. Listening he could hear nothing telling beyond a faint and distant sound of movement.

Paying careful attention to the holes in the floor, the Archer raced across the ceiling toward the far wall.



"Okay," Ixin announced. "That's twenty."

Draelond nodded and Den Lant struck his other sunrod against the cave wall before stepping over the body of the fallen werebat and rushing down into the narrow fissure. Ledare watched them go and then looked over at the immobilized Battleguard.

"I owe you my thanks for your queen's healing many times over," she told him with a wan smile. "There's not much I can do for you now, but I'll make you as comfortable as I can while we wait for this to wear off."



The network of caves was larger than Finian had suspected it was, and he kept expecting to encounter opposition at every turn. He didn't, however, so he pressed on, mindful of the sound of the others' advance along the trail he had blazed for them. He ignored another set of natural stairs that curved back and down, perhaps leading to the area beneath the large chamber with holes in the floor, in favor of a set that went more or less straight back into the hillside. He could just make out very recent tracks where two humanoids had run through.



Ledare stared out into the rain and muttered a quick prayer to Shaharizod on Ruze's behalf. "He always puts the greater good first, often to his own detriment," Ledare spoke into the void. "If you hear this, watch over him and grant him speedy recovery." There was no swell of divine presence to indicate that the goddess had heard, and no change in the cleric's condition. The Janissary sighed, unsurprised that her own prayers didn't hold the same weight as a Battleguard's.

Glancing down, she couldn't help but notice the corpse of the woman Finian had stabbed through the throat. She lay on her back, staring blindly up at the clouds. The rain had washed her body clean and now the diluted blood puddled in the mud around her.

With a shudder, the Janissary thought about the carrion crawlers the constable had said were native to this region. Hastily, Ledare reached out, grabbed the corpse by the ankle and dragged her inside where she wouldn't present so tempting a target.



Ixin hesitated and closed her eyes. She could clearly sense the hectic energy of the power nexus coming up from below. She glanced down the dark natural staircase that curved back in the direction they had already come. The ley line nexus was beneath them, probably in the lair of the tentacled monster that had assaulted them on their first foray in-

"Come on," Draelond urged, grabbing her firmly by the elbow. "Finian went this way." He nodded toward the other, narrow set of stairs that led off the tunnel in which they stood at a right angle. She could see Den Lant already moving along the stairs as quickly as he could given the close quarters and the quarterstaff he carried. Casting one more curious glance down the other passage, she followed after the man with Draelond close behind her.



Ledare looked down at the two dark bodies. Side-by-side, their similarities were even more striking, and the Janissary found it difficult to believe that they were not brother and sister. They both possessed dusky skin such as was common in the southernmost of the Near Realms - Awad and Byr - with strong, hooked noses and heavy brows. Her hair was a lustrous black and Ledare supposed that his must have been as well, although his head was clean shaven. Each had a single long scar running down the inside of their left forearm as though someone had cut them with a knife and then left the wound to fester rather than heal it. But the most eye-catching bit of body modification on each was the tattooing.

The man's torso and thighs were covered with heavy, intricate tattoos that twined about one another in a confusing web of jagged black spikes and flowing lines. Here and there - on his right breast, on his shoulder, each bicep - the network parted like a clearing amidst brambles and a different type of tattoo dominated. Each was a small colorful bit of art with a strong nautical theme - the sort of thing that was popular in coastal cities.

The woman's arms and shoulders were decorated much like the man's with webs of black lines. A similar design but in a radial pattern encircled her belly button. Ledare rolled her over with her foot and gasped involuntarily. On the woman's right shoulder cavorted a colorful redcap fairy captured in bright ink amidst a nest of tangled black lines. The fairy looked at Ledare and winked.



Finian removed the Invisibility ring and  waited for the others to catch up. He held his hand up to his lips as they approached and they moved close to him in the corridor as quietly as they could (which wasn't very in Draelond's case). The archer glanced toward the dark opening of a chamber ahead before whispering, "They're just ahead. I heard them moving around a few moments ago and two voices."

"Two?" Draelond hissed. "Only two? Where are the others."

The ranger shrugged. "Maybe there aren't any others," he offered and Den Lant shook his quarterstaff at that.

"Then what are we waiting for?" he growled and charged into the chamber beyond bellowing, "What have you done to my daughter!? She did you no wrong! Give her back NOW!!!"

"Well, a plan would have been nice," Finian grimaced, slipped on Ledare's ring and disappeared.



For a moment, Ledare doubted her own eyes. The fairy just leered up at her, a smirk frozen on its inked face. Then as she watched it turned its head playfully to the side and winked before settling back into its static grin. After a few beats, it repeated the motion and after a few beats more repeated it again, over and over in a continuous loop. Ledare had seen an animated tattoo only once before and not so long ago. During her last visit to Byr in the Moonsdance of Coldeven, there had been a festival honoring Neodig and there amidst the chilled bodies and hot drink had been a travelling wizard who offered up just such decoration to those who could afford it. His name was Tormar Helmfre and he'd lasciviously offered to tattoo a rearing unicorn on Ledare's right buttock. At least he had until her father put a stop to such talk.

The Janissary could only imagine that this woman had gotten her redcap faerie from the same artist. She had never heard of another wizard offering such a thing.

"Kitten," Ruze said as the paralyzation finally wore off. He stretched his back and pointed across the cave with the scimitar in his right hand. "You do realize that that skaven over by the carrion crawler is still breathing, don't you?"


----------



## Jon Potter

*Ixin Makes a Break*

*DM's Note:* This bit is presented out of order and has no real bearing on the current events of the game. It's just some flavor text I wrote about Ixin's departure from Highgate and her life with The Dragon's Claw.

---------------------------

Alimday, the 23rd of Amarolus of the Year of the 16th House

This section of Undercity was well maintained. It wasn't particularly close to the Mining District or the tunnels normally used for the transport of goods up from Sordadon, so Ixin could see little incentive for The Five to keep it so well. It still stank of stale grease and sweating bodies, of course, but it was lit by everburning torches and relatively free of the human dross that skulked elsewhere in these cliffside catacombs. She knew she had little to fear from such living flotsam, though; no one in his right mind would dare attack her for fear of angering Skrazargul. That she was under his organization's protection was well known throughout Highgate and there were very few in the city that would be willing to draw The Claw's attention, much less raise its ire.

Ixin hoped that Dwardolin the Hibernian wouldn't realize the risk that helping her presented.

Dwardolin was a dracomancer of no small skill, an Outcast Specialist combining the instinctive casting of sorcery with the learned approach of dedicated wizardry.  He hailed from a city to which Ixin had never been called Tiambdamyr in Hibernia far to the north.  She had heard tales that it was a pirate city much like Freeport... only worse, so it was little wonder that Dwardolin had chosen to leave the place behind. He had told her once that in such a port someone of his skills and appearance could only escape being impressed into the most foul of criminal practices for so long. The irony of the mage's current position as thrall to Ur-Skrazargul wasn't lost on Ixin.

Like many of the Atlantean-descended Albions, Dwardolin had the blood of dragons flowing in his veins. His connection to his draconic ancestry was quite obviously distant - his powerful blood thinned by many generations - but the color of the fine scales on the backs of his hands indicated that he and Ixin shared the lineage of red dragons. That much had been plain to her on the occasions that the two had met. Whenever he came to perform some service or other for Skrazargul the Green, Ixin and the mage made a point of talking briefly. He had always treated her with an extra measure of affection because of their draconic bond, but it wasn't his dragon blood that seemed to most influence him. Reputedly the blood of faeries ran through him as well and he was clearly altered in ways that being dragon-blooded could not cause. Twinkling lights, the color of which could be used to predict his mood if you knew what to look for, often surrounded him and his red hair fluttered as if blown by a wind that only it could feel. Why a man related to the nature spirits kept his shop here in these noisome tunnels, she couldn't fathom, but she was glad he did.

This area of Undercity was of little strategic value to smuggling or the drug trade and so was not often frequented by any of the Claw's many Hands. The Hibernian was Skrazargul's servant, and as such usually warranted a low-level guard or two at his home. Today, however, Ixin knew most of those low-ranking gang members were off putting down a group of upstart rivals calling themselves the Golden Sabres who were trying to get a foothold down in Sordadon.

She found the unguarded door to Dwardolin's shop exactly where she'd been told it would be, carved into the side of a twisting tunnel between a merchant's warehouse and a tavern called the 'Hole in the Wall' that was covered with row after row of carved dvergar runes. One of those bearded folk regarded her from the doorway of the inn with suspicion as she approached and then quickly disappeared within as soon as she used the ornate knocker on Dwardolin's door. When there was still no answer after the third knock, she tried the knob and was surprised to discover the door unlocked. Without hesitation, she thumbed the latch and stepped inside, eager to be away from the smell of 'rat-on-a-stick' wafting up the tunnel from some distant restaurant.

She didn't have a true grasp of the fact that it would be the last time she would walk the tunnels beneath Highgate.

Dwardolin's shop was long and exceedingly narrow. Thick, smoke-blackened timbers crossed the ceiling at regular intervals, each one hanging with drying herbs, metal tools and bits of fragile glasswork. There were three massive worktables overflowing with scrolls, ledgers, and rack upon rack of vials and flasks. The air was hazy with aromatic, yellow smoke that billowed up from an enormous and ornate water pipe towering beyond the farthest workbench. One sniff told her that is was serpent weed smoke cut with the bitter and slightly metallic odor of something more potent. 

*"HOLD!"* Dwardolin's scratchy voice cried out from the back of the room. Ixin could tell by the way the air around her momentarily charged with raw manna that the mage was speaking in High Draconic, the language of magic itself. Hanging at her hip, Arivexoth automatically translated the word into her native language, but Dwardolin's intent was obvious. As was the fact that his weed-numbed tongue had mispronounced the power word. Ixin heard the old man cry out in pain as the strain of channeling the raw magic rebounded on him without the buffer of properly pronounced High Draconic. 

Scowling, Ixin picked her way through the crowded shop. She found Dwardolin sprawled on a couch amidst a drift of colorful silken pillows. He was a gaunt shell of his former self.

When they had first met, ten years prior, the Hibernian had been a robust mage in the prime of life, fired with the knowledge of his draconic blood and eager to unlock the secrets of ascendancy hidden within it. He had unraveled some of the intricacies of High Draconic, divined the pronunciation of a handful of power words, and was well on his way to becoming a true dragonchild. Then he met Skrazargul, became addicted to The Dragon's abyss dust and was made his thrall. In the last decade, the dracomancer's mind and body had been broken many times over and he was now wholly Skrazargul's. Ixin shuddered, full of the knowledge that The Dragon would do the same to her if not for the strength of her own blood relatives and their prominent positions on The Council of Wyrms.

"Oh, it's you," the Hibernian managed to wheeze between ragged coughs. Where he had once breathed gouts of fire now came only bloody spittle. Motes of brownish-green drifted in the air around him like flecks of ash. "I wasn't told that The Dragon had need of me today."

"I'm not here on Ur-Skrazargul's business," Ixin told him. With one clawed hand, she idly picked through a pile of scribed scrolls on the nearest worktable. "I've come seeking transport out of Highgate."

"Without alerting The Five, eh?" Dwardolin jumped to the obvious - but incorrect - conclusion, just as Ixin had hoped he would. He chuckled, his laughter rattling around in his clotted chest and the motes that drifted in the air around him moved from dull green to deepest mauve. He lovingly fingered his waterpipe's silver and bone mouthpiece and bemusedly added, "I can teleport you to Byzantium if you wish. I've a place or two there that I can remember passingly well."

She knew full well that such a trip was within his power. He had specialized in Transmutation to such a degree that even his sorcery followed that path of magic. It was a most unnatural occurrence and one that had earned him his Outcast status. But still, the farther he teleported her and the lower his familiarity with the target area, the greater the chance for a mishap and his once-powerful mind had become clouded by weed. "I don't think I'll want to go that distance. But I do need to go somewhere that I can't be tracked down," Ixin explained. "I've got to disappear rather completely."

Dwardolin paused for a moment, his face gone slack as his gaze turned inward, searching his memory. The purple motes darkened to black and then brightened to a blue the color of a winter sky. "I know of a Fey Crossroads in Lyonesse that leads to the city of Shadow in Between," the dracomancer offered as he took a pull on his pipe. It bubbled and churned like a witch's cauldron. "Once you have gone there, you can cross into the Twilight Lands or use another path to elsewhere. Exceedingly difficult for The Five to track you then."

Ixin considered. She didn't relish a trip to FaerieLand. The Sidhe were notoriously difficult to deal with - even those of the Seelie Court - and were often happier with the chance to trick and humiliate a traveler rather than aid them. Fey Crossroads were always guarded and trapped in such a way that journeying via them was often more troublesome than using other means. Any other means.

"I can teleport you to the Faerie Stage in Synenzia Woods halfway between Kirkwood and the Barony of Threehills," the Hibernian went on, his words and the motes of magic in the air around him charged with his excitement as the plan took shape. His magic was dizzyingly powerful for a mortal and it hurtled along steadily even under the influence of snake weed and whatever else he had laced his smoke with. "It's a flat rock beside a small lake of great beauty. There you'll most likely meet a nixie I was once friendly with named Kyrielee or a thorn faerie by the name of-"

Dwardolin faltered. His eyes took on a slightly panicked look and his mouth opened and closed like a fish's. The colorful motes that swirled around him dimmed and winked out. He looked confused as he turned his face to look at Ixin. "I... I can't seem to remember the thorn faerie's name," he stammered. "I can remember her face as plain as day, but her name..."

Ixin felt sorry for him. He had fallen from a great height to end up where he was. "Is her name important?" she asked in an off-handed way, as if the dracomancer's memory loss was nothing but a trifle. "You did say I'd most likely meet the nixie."

"Kyrielee," the Hibernian said to reaffirm that he did remember the nixie's name at least. He nodded and bit down reassuringly on the waterpipe's mouthpiece. "Yes, that's true. And you'll need to bring her a gift or she'll never show you how to navigate the fey path that leads to the mountains of Lyonesse and the portal to Shadow." He exhaled a plume of yellow smoke and before it had mingled fully with the fog that blanketed the room his momentary mental stumble was forgotten. He bade her take a double armload of minor scrolls and potions that he had crafted over the years. Some she would use to bribe Kyrielee and the rest Dwardolin insisted she would need to defend herself. They vanished into the various spaces within her Cloak of Many Pockets.

The Wand of Wonder she had taken from Irthos' personal horde was hidden there as well.

"That should do," the dracomancer grinned from his couch. He laid aside his mouthpiece and hauled himself more or less upright, clutching his blue wrap around his gaunt frame as he did so. "I'll miss our little chats about the Dragon Isles," he told Ixin. "And I'll look forward to your return when The Five have lost interest in your capture."

And before she could say anything, he began to cast. "Wait, Dwardolin!" Ixin protested even as he completed the intricate somatics involved in casting a teleportation spell. "I'm not ready to-"

And those words were the last that Ixin, daughter of Ventisjir the Red, granddaughter of Lady Dominor Corastrixarosvith of Clan Vermillion spoke in the city of Highgate.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #222] Question & Answer*

Draelond paused for a moment to adjust his grip on Ravager and then plunged into the tunnel after the glowing ball of light that he knew was Finian's invisible sunrod. Ixin followed close behind him. The warrior noticed the tunnel was brightening as soon as he reached the dogleg and saw the warm glow of firelight once he stepped out into the chamber beyond. The Archer's sunrod clinked to the ground nearby and Draelond hear Finian's disembodied voice  whisper down from above, "It is my job to stay out of the way. You do what you need to do and don't worry about hitting me."

A dozen torches lit the cavern, Draelond saw. It was large and high-ceilinged and it seemed to be raining within. Water dripped down steadily from the stalactites above and flowed in from some underground source, trickling over the stone formations on the floor in slow sheets. The large, flat rock formations were spread throughout the cavern, giving it the look of a giant stack of coins. Den Lant was charging across the center of the room - or trying to at least. The weird elevations of the stone floor seemed to be giving him trouble and he was more lurching across the floor than he was charging. His course was meandering, but his target was clear. The highest formation in the room was covered by rugs and pelts, and the well-dressed leader of the werebats sat there on a cushioned chair. He seemed to have recovered from Ixin's scare and he sat watching Lant negotiate the uneven floor with a bemused expression on his dark, pointed face. A werebat in a purple cloak stood behind him. 

"Leave this place, old man, or end up as food for the crawlers!" the leader shouted to Lant.

"I'm not leaving without my daughter!" the man bellowed back, using his quarterstaff as a counter balance as he fought against the uncertain footing. "Where is she?"

The leader scowled and leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand and his elbow on his knee. "You keep going on about your daughter," he said. "But I'm quite sure I don't have a clue what you're talking about."



"That's odd..," Ledare murmured as she eased over toward the unconscious werebat. "Draelond is most effective with his sword. It seems quite unusual that there would still be life in this body. In fact, there's not a mark on it that I can see."

"In the heat of battle, it was difficult to say with certainty, but I think that creature may have been engaged with Ixin. But, any way Kitten, what say you we immobilize that skaven before it wakes up?" the Battleguard asked as he moved to join Ledare. Catching sight of the carrion crawler lying beside the werebat he stopped short and pointed at it with his scimitar. "Is that carrion crawler unable to attack?"

Ledare turned and looked at the thing's crushed skull and the noxious soup of brains revealed within. She shook her head. "Not unless it turns undead," she told the cleric. "Dragongirl really did a number on it with her morningstar."

Ruze gave the Janissary a stern look and touched his holy symbol. "Best not to make jokes about the undead," he said before crouching down beside the sleeping werebat. "Do we have any way to tie this creature so that it can't escape?"

Ledare reached behind her back and unclipped the standard-issue manacles that she carried at her waist*. Letting them dangled from one hand she grinned. "Will these do?"

Ruze craned his neck as if trying to get a look at Ledare's armored behind and asked, "What else do you have back there?"

Now it was Ledare's turn to give a stern look. She tossed the manacles to Ruze and frowned. "Let's keep our minds on the task at hand, shall we?"



"You winged devils took her from the caravanserai last night!" Den Lant cried. "I know you have her here!"

"Oh. Her," the leader said and leaned back on his throne. He made an off-handed gesture and shrugged. "She's dead. Has been since last night, I believe."

"What?!" Lant groaned, stopping short a half-dozen paces from the raised platform of stone on which the skaven leader sat.

"You can find what's left of her down below if you'd like," the werebat smiled a cruel smile. "I don't know why you'd want to though. She was an ugly thing, wasn't she?" The taunts were all the more Lant could stand. He charged, eyes dripping with bitter tears of rage and loss. The robed werebat spread its membranous wings and leaped over the leader's throne, drifting down to meet Lant's advance with its shortsword.

Den Lant had spent most of his life as a caravan guard, the last twenty years travelling with Mikal Tobrannon. Before that, he had trained for a time with the Tuk Academy in Restenford and gained there an intimate knowledge of fighting with the quarterstaff. There was little that Lant hadn't seen over the years and he lived his life not being roused by the goings on in the world around him. When it came to his daughter, however, he was possessed of a single-minded ruthlessness that seemed at odds with the man's generally impassive nature. The news of his daughter's death provoked his violent excesses and it cost him his life.

Lant swung his quarterstaff underhanded, intending to catch the advancing skaven on the chin. He struck the uneven floor, however, and left himself wide open to a savage slash across the throat. He gargled on his own blood, and staggered clamping his hand futilely over the vicious wound. Crimson rivulets pulsed through his fingers but somehow he didn't fall.

"You should have joined me when you had the chance!" the leader shouted. His laughter echoed and reechoed off the cave walls and ceiling, drowning out the stealthy sound of Finian's approach from behind.



"Wake up!" Ledare growled, slapping the unconscious werebat's snout. It took three more open-handed smacks to wake it, and when it came around, it was slowly. When the truth of its situation became apparent, it let out a mewling whimper.

The skaven was lying on its back with its arms awkwardly manacled behind it. Ledare and Ruze stood one on either side of it with the points of their swords hovering dangerously close to its hairy neck. It fixed them with a red eye and bared its teeth impotently.

"Who was the bat man leader?" Ruze asked, prodding the werebat with his scimitar for emphasis. In response the creature curled its lip and let out a squeaking that might have passed for laughter.

"This is getting us nowhere," Ledare hissed and drew back her sword to stab the helpless prisoner. "I don't trust any skaven, breathing or otherwise."

"His name is Valdymyr!" the werebat quickly blurted out. "He's my boss but he don't run the show 'round here. There's a guy name of Corben who really calls the shots. Now don't kill me. Please!"

Ruze exchanged a look with Ledare and gave her a surreptitious wink. "What say you, Janissary?" the cleric asked. "Should we listen to what he has to say? I am sure this is not a chaos cell we need to worry about. They are too rag-tag to amount to anything."

"I tend to agree," Ledare replied, picking up the bluff effortlessly. "Still I must think first about the safety of The Realms. Killing this thing would certainly make the world a better place."

"Now wait!" the man bat protested. "I can tell you things!"

"I don't know," Ruze went on, paying no attention to the werebat's words. "I am sure they are just a bunch of bored, misled farmers. They certainly do not take the King's notice."

"He's right, mi'lady!" The prisoner nodded as much as the swords hovering above its throat would allow. "I'm not much of a threat. But I know things that can help you!" Ledare squinted at the inhuman face that looked fearfully up at her.

"Start talking," she said with a scowl and the prisoner smiled.

"What do you want to know?" it asked.



Ixin saw the two shadows detach themselves from the cave wall and swoop down toward the throne. They were enormous, wicked-looking bats with wingspans easily 8-feet across. They looked as though they were moving to attack the man seated on the throne, but that seemed unlikely given his position as leader of the werebats. She was too far away to do much more than shout a warning.

"Look out!" she cried. "Two bats! BIG bats!"

Draelond paused momentarily in his advance across the cave to aid Den Lant if he could. He craned his head and spotted the two dark shapes, determined that they weren't a direct threat to him and continued onward. Lant and his opponent paid her no mind. On his throne, Valdymyr turned his head toward the creatures and grinned. Finian, crouched invisibly a half-dozen paces behind the throne looked up to see the two winged monsters dive right at him!

They attacked in tandem. The first sank its needle-sharp teeth into the Archer's side, splitting open leather armor and flesh with ease. As soon as the first withdrew, the second darted its head in and took a bite of meat from Finian's left thigh.  He cried out in pain and slashed wildly with his two blades, but the winged rodents were simply too quick and he couldn't connect. The Archer staggered, his wound burning with pain even as the cold chill of blood loss began to settle into his limbs.

Den Lant spun his quarterstaff expertly in his right hand; his left was plastered redly to his throat. He readied the staff to brain the skaven that faced him, but he never got the chance. The werebat stabbed outward with its shortsword, opening the artery on the side of Lant's neck. His face went ashen as his lifeblood pulsed out across the cave floor. This time, he sagged and fell despite the fierce hatred glowing in his eyes.

Draelond stepped over Lant's bleeding form and struck outward with Ravager. The winged skaven raised its shortsword to parry the blow, but Draelond's great blade chewed through the creature's hand, snapping bones and shredding flesh. The werebat shrieked but maintained its feet.

"This isn't going well," Ixin groaned and raised her crossbow. She got off a lucky shot despite the distance and the fact that she was trying very hard not to hit Finian. One of the bats squealed as the mage's quarrel struck it in the flank. The wound was a minor one, but it did attract Valdymyr's attention. He whirled around and his eyes settled on Ixin.

"You!" he roared, his eyes blazing like hot coals as he rose from his throne. "I'll kill you myself!"



"What foul rituals are going on here?" Ruze pressed and the prisoner turned to look at him.
"No rituals. We're here to build up our ranks," the werebat confessed. "That's all."

"No it's not," Ledare corrected, sensing the creature's half-truth. She pressed the point of her sword solidly against its throat. "This blade is made in part from silver, you know."

"Believe me, mi'lady. I can tell," the skaven gulped. "And you're right. We're also here guarding a portal down below. It leads somehow to other parts of The Realms. Don't ask me how it works, 'cause I don't know. But that's how we're going to move our troops when the Goddess says it's time."

"What Goddess?" Ruze asked. "Who is your patron?" The werebat prisoner was visibly uncomfortable admitting its religious affiliation to a Battleguard of Shaharizod who was holding a scimitar to its throat, but one glance over at the Janissary's shrewd eyes was enough to convince it that the truth might be the better path.

"L-Lady Pestilence," it stammered. "I serve the Mistress of Decay. Aphyx."

"No big surprise there," Ledare deadpanned. "Now let's talk about a relatively new member of the ranks. A tall elf with silvery hair and purple eyes."

"Yeah. He's here," the prisoner admitted. "He's real important to the powers-that-be for some reason. Valdymyr's got him chained up down below until he can be trusted."


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #222a] A Hero Falls*

Valdymyr shrugged his cloak back off his shoulders and a pair of enormous bat wings unfurled at his sides. The great wings snapped downward with a sound like a sail flapping in a stiff breeze and he came off the ground. With two more beats, he was airborne and headed straight for Ixin. He drew his gleaming shortsword as he came.

Steeling herself, the mage leaned casually against the damp cave wall with her arms crossed. One of her hands moved toward a hidden pocket within her cloak wherein was secreted a number of the Hibernian's scrolls. She smiled winningly and called out, "Come now, friend! Surely you do not begrudge a lady taking advantage of an opportunity when she sees it?"

Valdymyr faltered in his advance, he jerked clumsily in the air, like a marionette manipulated by an inexpert puppeteer. He landed a few paces from Ixin and sneered at her. "We're not friends, witch!" he growled. "Your magicks may have debased me once, but I'll be damned if I let it happen again!"

"I understand your embarrassment, surely," Ixin purred. "But your actions can remain our little secret." She winked at Valdymyr and saw a smug smile play across the werebat's face. His eyes, however, did not lose their malicious glint.



Draelond jerked his head backward at the last moment and the point of the werebat's shortsword passed through the air directly in front of his eyes. Before the winged skaven could recover from the back swing, Ravager rose upward in a massive arc that found the creature's guts at the midpoint. It fell backward in a messy, broken heap.

Draelond flicked wet hair out of his eyes and turned toward the sound of battle in the far recesses of the cave. Finian was there, defending against the predation of the two enormous bats he had seen earlier. And he wasn't doing well at all.

Clutching his sword firmly, Draelond bounded across the cavern with as much speed as he could muster on the uneven ground.



A strategic withdrawal. That was the only thing that would save him, Finian suspected. He resolved himself to that  course of action, but the bats were too fast and they harried him mercilessly. Their great, beating wings and dangerous, snapping teeth seemed to be everywhere. Before he had taken a single step, one of the creatures was sinking its fangs into his chest, filling his face with its stinking fur and a splatter of his own blood. He somehow managed to push the bat away and take a halting backward step before the second bat tore into his right thigh, opening a wound there that was the match for the one that was currently slicking his right leg with red.

Finian sagged, a surprised expression on his face. Darkness was creeping in around the edges of his vision, and it swallowed all sight even before he'd collapsed to the floor.



"There's no hiding my failure, witch," Valdymyr cursed. "You've slain my troops and compromised our secrecy."

"Listen, we did not come here looking for a battle," Ixin explained. "We simply came to gather up two missing people. If only you had informed me of the girl upstairs, we could have avoided that whole messy encounter."

The werebat's face scrunched into a disappointed scowl at the possibility that he might have come away from the encounter with a victory rather than an ignominious rout. He told the mage none of this, but turned to look when she pointed out across the cavern.

"This one appears to be going little better for either of our parties," Ixin told him, indicating the ongoing battle between Draelond on the two gigantic bats. The warrior swung at the nearest bat as he charged up, but the rodent narrowly dodged the flashing bastard sword. It snapped its fangs at him ineffectually. The attack served to distract the man enough for the second bat to sink its teeth into Draelond's right shoulder.

"All we want is to know if you have a certain sidhe," Ixin went on. "If you do, we'll just take him back and be on our way. We'll write it all off to a misunderstanding."

As Valdymyr watched, Draelond reversed his grip on Ravager and drove the blade through the torso of the bat that had just bitten him. It squealed and spasmed weakly before falling to the ground like a broken kite. The bat's mate darted in to half-heartedly attack the warrior, but its jaws found only air.

"Call off your half-orc and we'll talk," the skaven leader muttered, looking hatefully at Ixin.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #222b] After the Fall*

"He's alive?" Ledare ejaculated and Ruze could see the glint of unalloyed hope in her eye.

"Remember, Janissary," the cleric reminded. "Finding what was once Kirnoth, does not mean it is still Kirnoth. Lycanthropy is lethal to elves." Ledare's hopeful vigor dwindled at that prospect and she turned angrily on their prisoner again.

"Is that true?" she asked and the werebat shrugged.

"I don't know the answer to that, mi'lady," he replied warily. "I've never seen any elves amongst the brood, so maybe..."

"Once bitten by one of your kind, is there any cure or antidote for the 'wereling disease'?" she pressed. "What can reverse the process?"

Again the prisoner shrugged. "I don't know these answers, mi'lady," he mewled. "None of my broodmates have ever sought to cast off the gift."

"Gift?!" Ledare shouted, pressing her swordpoint against the werebat's collarbone, dimpling its hairy flesh. "Curse you mean! Did Kirnoth ask for this 'gift'? Did he?"

"I- I-" the werebat protested, trying vainly to twist away from Ledare's sword. A dark trickle of blood formed beneath the blade and ran down its hirsute chest. Ruze wrapped his left hand around Ledare's right, urging the sword away from the creature's heart. Reluctantly, Ledare allowed him to do so. The werebat looked up at the cleric with a mixture of relief and gratitude in its eyes.

"I cannot kill a helpless creature regardless of the evil that is within," Ruze told the skaven and the creature opened its mouth to speak. The Battleguard held up a finger to silence it. "I cannot, but the Janissary has no such compulsion. In fact she has been compacted to put you and all your brood to the sword."

"I don't want to die..." the creature whimpered, looking plaintively from Ruze to Ledare and back again.

"Then answer my questions," Ledare growled and the werebat swallowed thickly.

"I'm trying to, mi'lady," it replied, its voice barely above a whisper. "Really, I am."

"Where is the elf kept?" the Battleguard asked and the prisoner nodded toward the passage they knew led down.

"The Voice of Aphyx told Valdymyr to chain him up down below," the werebat said. "In the Caves of Night."

"The Voice of Aphyx?" Ruze asked. "She speaks to your leader?"

"No... Yes... I don't know," the skaven struggled with the explanation. "The Voice of Aphyx brings us the will of Lady Pestilence. He... They... come to us as a swarm of her most sacred animals."

"Rats," Ledare said and the prisoner nodded. The half-elf thought immediately of the swarm of rats that they had encountered at Rherram's the night before. "And this Voice instructed your boss to lock Kirnoth up in the Caves of Night?"

"Just so," it replied. After a moment's consideration it added, "That's where the portal is too."

Ledare nodded at this new information. "How is Kirnoth being kept?" she asked. "You mentioned chains. Are there other precautions? Traps? Wards? Guardians?"

"I don't go down there, mi'lady, but I don't think there's anything keeping him there beside the chain and the Devourer," the werebat said.

"Devourer?" Ruze asked nervously and the werebat nodded. 

"Thaledan said that you met him last night," it told them. "After you fought him off, Thaledan sent three of his men in to finish you off. But you killed them instead."

"The thing with the tentacles," Ruze surmised from the werebat's description.

"Just so," the prisoner said. "He usually just eats our night soil. But he's not against a bit of fresh meat every now an again. Who can blame him?"

Ledare grimaced. "What numbers of your kind can we expect to find in the cave?" she asked and the skaven pushed itself up onto its elbow and craned its neck to survey the bodies strewn about.

"Not many," it admitted after doing its brief inventory. "Me and Heriles and Thinia were the last of the regulars. Gaarick and Borris were Valdymyr's personal guard, but it looks like you got one of them too." It indicated the hairy feet sticking out of the fissure that led down. "The wizard, Ingardulf, was here, but he went through the portal last night with the Voice of Aphyx."

"Who else travels through this portal?" Ledare pressed, but the prisoner had little information about that.

"I don't know, mi'lady," it mewled. "It takes magic to make it work. A few teams from other locations have been sent through looking for the portal to the High King's prison."

"But they haven't found it?" she continued and the werebat shook its head. Ledare straightened and turned her attention to the Battleguard. "We should press onward as quickly as we can," she told him. "The others have been gone for too long as it is."

The cleric nodded and waved his scimitar at the prisoner. "What about him?" Ruze asked. "If we take him with us, it's another body to manage who could turn on us, but he could be helpful along the way. I will leave the decision up to you, kitten."

"I have no qualms killing him since that was the king's assignment initially anyway," Ledare said and the werebat made a whining noise and scrunched its eyes tightly shut. "But you may be right. He may be of use to us further on."

"So?" Ruze asked, cocking an eyebrow at the half elf.

Ledare nudged the skaven in the ribs with her boot and it opened its eyes in shock, certain it had been stabbed. "Is there anything else you can do for us, or has your measly little life's worth been spent in answering a few questions?" Ledare demanded.

"I- I-" the creature stammered. "What do you ask of me?"

Ledare growled in annoyance, but Ruze crouched down and grinned conversationally at the man bat. "I could maybe persuade the Janissary (who has been commissioned to kill all skaven and baven, remember) to spare a particular baven if said baven remained helpful along the way," he told the creature. "Maybe even offering information when not asked. And of course should a certain bat man try to escape and evil is loosed upon the world, a cleric is duty bound to slay such evil."

"I- I cannot," the werebat answered. "They will kill me if they discover that I have been helping you. Better that I wait  for you chained here."


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #223] Put to the Sword*

Ixin momentarily flicked her eyes away from the werebat leader and saw Draelond yank his jagged blade messily free of the giant bat carcass. She fixed a smile on her face when she turned back toward the baven. "He is not a 'half orc' and he is not mine to 'call off,'" she told him.

"He's killing my pets," Valdymyr snarled. Ixin saw him casually adjust his grip on the shortsword in his right hand. She calmly pulled Dwardolin's scroll of Magic Missile from an inner pocket of her cloak.

"So he is," she said in a tone of voice that told the werebat that she didn't give a Chaldileen drachm for his pet's life. She raised her voice then and shouted to her companion, but her eyes never left the werebat's. "Draelond, how do you and Finian fair?"

Draelond readied his sword as the enormous bat darted back in, but spared a glance at the fallen Archer. What he saw didn't look good. Finian's face was ashen, and his wide eyes stared glassily from their sockets like blue marbles. His lower body was painted in his own blood. The bat came in then, but the warrior had been distracted and not only missed his opportunity to drop the creature, but almost lost his hold on Ravager. If the bat itself hadn't been trying so desperately to avoid the blade, it might have taken a bite from Draelond's unprotected side. Instead, it snapped at the air however and circled around for another pass.

"Finian is down!" Draelond bellowed as he spun to keep his bastard sword between himself and the winged creature.

"Then I suggest you finish that baven quickly and then let us attend to Finian!" Ixin called back to him. She saw Valdymyr's jaw clench and his shoulders tense at her words; she let the scroll nonchalantly unfurl in her hand. "No point going around life with half-finished acts," she said with a shrug. "Now then, where is the Sidhe and what is your purpose here?"

"You lying whore!" the werebat cursed. "The only help I'll give you is finding your way to hell!" And he came at her with his sword at the ready.



Ledare snorted derisively at her prisoner's suggestion and levelled her sword at its throat. "Your choice is to come with us and risk death at the hand of your own kind, or die here now," she told the creature. "I will not leave you alone to 'bite us in the end' so-to-speak."

"On my honor, mi'lady!" the werebat protested, but the Janissary cut in before it could say anything more.

"Honor?" she laughed sardonically. "The word is a mockery on your foul lips, vermin."

"He still might have some use as a guide," Ruze reminded, but Ledare shook her head.

"If your Goddess can grant us some light, we do not need this skaven anymore. And it would not be prudent to leave him here alive, even if he is shackled," She said and drew back her sword once more and prepared to skewer the werebat.

"Okay! Okay!" the baven shouted, its eyes wide with fear. "I'll accompany you! Just don't kill me!"



"Magicus telum!" Ixin shouted the activation words for scroll.

Or rather she tried to. What came out was something more like, "Magicus tela-a-a-agh!!" as Valdymyr's shortsword sliced deeply into the meat on her left shoulder. Her arm immediately went numb except for the actual wound which burned with a pain she had not known before. The Hibernian's scroll crumbled to dust in her other hand, its magic spent despite the fact that the spell had gone untriggered.

The werebat grinned and told her, "I pray that Myrkul leads you quickly to your final torment, witch!"



Draelond heard Ixin's cry, but kept his focus on the incoming bat. He swung his huge sword at the creature and felt the jagged blade tear open a wound on the bat's leg as it passed him. The impact caused the winged beast's own attack to go wrong and it snapped its bloody jaws above the warrior's head. Draelond could smell the stench of death on its breath.



"Acid terum!" Ixin intoned and gestured at Valdymyr. A droplet of green acid flicked from her fingertips and struck the werebat in the left leg. There was a hissing sound as the splash burned through his trousers and he grunted in pain. He bared his fangs and looked menacingly at the mage; it was clear that he was a long way from falling.

"It that the best you can do, witch?" he growled. "Where are your commands to tremble now?! Who's the worm now?!" He stabbed outward with his shortsword and Ixin gasped as it sank easily into her chest above her right breast. She felt the sharp blade scrape against her ribs and then it withdrew, taking her senses with it.



Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ixin go down and Draelond felt a momentary swell of panic and rage within him. Roaring his frustration, he swung his sword at the bat as it came it, throwing every bit of the strength contained within his mighty thews. The blade tossed up a massive spark as it rang out against the stone floor but the bat had twisted out of the way of the swing and came in before the warrior could recover. Its fangs opened a bloody gash on his scalp, and Draelond felt it pull away a mouthful of his black hair.

Before it could wing up and away for another pass at him, the man reeled around, cleaving upward with the bastard sword. The blade ripped through the bat's fragile wing bones sending the rodent tumbling crazily through the air before it crashed lifeless to the ground some distance away.

Breathing heavily, Draelond bent over and braced his hands on his knees. His wounds were very near to being the death of him, but he had to make sure that his newest comrade at arms hadn't walked the same path as the half-elf lying nearby. He thought dimly of belladonna, but he knew that he had none and he couldn't waste potentially valuable time looking for it. Something hot and stinging ran into his right eye and he swiped it away before hauling himself upright and moving with all haste to check on Ixin.



"There's another guard post up ahead," the werebat told Ruze. "But I don't hear anybody there."

It had given up talking to Ledare entirely. The Janissary never believed anything it was saying, not even on those occasions when it was speaking the absolute truth. She wanted to kill it, the man bat knew, and now that the priest had put some magic on her helmet so that it glowed with moonlight, the Janissary looked far too much like the wrathful angels it'd heard preached about it the temples of its youth. So the baven had given up trying to communicate with her. In fact, it'd given up even looking at her stern face as much as possible.

"You first," Ledare whispered, urging the werebat forward while keeping her shield hand on the chain that bound its wrists. "If you're lying let them shoot you and not me."

As it turned out, the prisoner hadn't been lying and they encountered no one on their way through the caves although both Ruze and Ledare remained vigilant in fear of an ambush. The werebat showed them the passage that curved down to the Caves of Night where Kirnoth was being kept, but Ledare forced it onward.

"Let's just find out what's keeping our friends shall we?" she said with a mean smile that spoke volumes. Its implication was clear to the werebat and for the first time in a long, long time, it hoped in its fearful little heart that nothing bad had happened.

Eventually they saw torchlight up ahead and Ledare hastened their pace so that the baven was stumbling along off balance as she pushed it from behind. They passed a dogleg in the tunnel and suddenly it opened up into a vast cavern. Nearby, Draelond leaned against the wall of the cave. He was ragged and bleeding and his eyes had a distant, haunted look. His face was a mask of blood. Ravager was laying across his legs with its handle very hear the man's right hand. At his feet lay Ixin. Her wounds had been dressed in an amateurish but still competent fashion. She was breathing shallowly.

"By Shaharizod's grace!" Ruze cried with a start and Draelond held a finger to his lips.

"Finian's dead," he whispered, his eyes watchful. "And the leader's still in here somewhere." He gestured then to the shadowy cavern and Ledare's prisoner let out a frightened whimper.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #224] Retreat!*

"What?!" Ledare cried out a trifle too loud. Her voice echoed off the far wall and came back to her with all of its guilt and loss intact. She winced as the emotions came back at her, then turned her eyes to survey the cavern. "Are you sure?" she asked, already having spotted the fallen Archer. She moved toward him without waiting for an answer.

She let go of her captive's chains and the werebat looked opportunistically from its manacles to the Grey Companions to the tunnel leading out and back again. On its second cycle through, Ruze caught its eye and said one word: "Sit." It complied without question, whimpering in fear all the while.

The Battleguard quickly looked over Ixin's bandaged wounds, found them adequate and nodded at Draelond. "Good work, my large friend," the cleric said. "You likely saved the mage's life."

Draelond grunted in reply, his eyes never leaving the darkness where the skaven leader might still be hiding. "I'm no healer," he told Ruze. "I did what they taught me at the Academy."

"They taught you well," the Battleguard responded and clutched his holy symbol. He lay the other hand on Ixin's punctured chest. "My Queen, guide this one away from your sister's dark path." Moonlight swelled briefly beneath his hand and Ixin convulsed once, spit blood and her eyes flicked open, seeming almost to glow with intensity.

"Dead," she wheezed and Ruze shook his head, getting quickly to his feet.

"Not yet," he told her and then started after Ledare adding, "Get ready to move. We're in no shape to be questing after portals now."

He had already moved out of earshot when Ixin croaked, "What Portals?"



Ledare dug feverishly through Finian's satchel of herbs looking for belladonna... moss... garlic... Whatever it was that the ranger always used to bring them back among the living. None of the pouches within the medicine bag were labelled, and she knew nothing about herbs. Her training at the Janissary Academy had included basic triage, not herbalism, and even those classes had been entirely optional. As she madly pressed the contents of several herb pouches against the Archer's many terrible injuries, she wished now that she had paid more attention to Imlia's classes on herblore.

Ruze reached the scene and quietly knelt beside Finian's head. He pressed two fingers against the Archer's throat, seeking a lifebeat. There was none, however and he quickly whispered a few words of benediction, his hands set in the symbol of the double crescents. The Janissary continued to press herbs against Finian's corpse and Ruze laid a hand over Ledare's, stilling her.

"He's gone, kitten," the cleric told her. "His soul has moved on to the end of its mortal path."

"If we can just find the right herb..," she began but Ruze gripped her by the shoulder guards and forced her to look into his eyes.

"He's beyond my ability to heal, Ledare," he said, his voice full of compassion. "What can you hope to do with a few spices." Ledare hung her head at that a moment before quietly reaching out and closing Finian's eyes.

"We have to go," she said as if the idea had only just occurred to her. Her voice was barely audible, but it gained in volume as she went on. "I'll lead and you should carry Finian's body."

"As you wish, kitten," the Battleguard said and hoisted the ranger across his shoulders with a grunt.



Ledare was barking orders by the time she and Ruze had crossed the uneven floor to rejoin the others. "Ixin," she said, "We're going to retreat as quickly as possible. You bring up the rear and remain watchful for the leader. You know the one."

Ixin nodded, but Draelond protested as he rose to his full, towering height. "I should take the rear. If the skaven does attack-"

"You'd be in no condition to do a damned thing about it," the Janissary concluded for him. "I don't know if you've looked at yourself recently, but you're in pretty rough shape. You should conserve your strength and be vigilant." Draelond lowered his eyes and nodded his acceptance. Ledare turned, grabbed the chain binding her prisoner's wrists and hauled it to its feet.

"You're in the front with me," she told the werebat, pressing her sword against its throat  even as she drew it in close with the chain. "You'd best tell us if you sense something, if you know what's good for you. I've very little patience right now."

"Yes, mi'lady," it managed to squeak out before she shoved it forward up the dark tunnel.



They encountered no opposition on the way out of the caves, and the trek through the forest, while it was slower without Finian to guide them, was never the less uneventful. The fact that it had stopped raining was a relief to everyone. When they reached the site of their previous battle with the exploding undead, they made ready to circumvent the area. The three zombies that had remained in the area, however, had been destroyed. There were signs of a great deal of combat in the clearing, and both of the creatures had ultimately exploded much as the others had when they first met Ixin. Arrows were lodged everywhere in the area, and there was fresh blood spilled on the ground as well as the noisome contents of the bloated undead. Withotu Finian's skill at tracking, more than that, they couldn't tell.

They had left the forest behind, and were crossing the grassy field below Rherram's home when Martivir reported to Ixin that he had spotted a child moving through the grass to the northeast. It seemed likely that the child was heading for Rherram's as well and the Companions met up with him at the footpath leading up the bluff to Rherram's.

He was young, probably no more than five or six with a wild mop of blonde hair that fell down over his dark eyes. His cheeks were ruddy as if from sunburn and two points of color marked his cheeks. He wore simple traveller's clothes and carried a pack on his back. He was calmly eating an apple when he stepped out of the tall grass and spotted the others. He cringed backward at the sight of them and fearfully stammered, "H-hello?"

"Hello, child," Ledare said. "We're on our way to see the healer."

"Uh-huh," the child responded, staring nervously up at the shackled werebat, Ixin and Draelond. 

"This creature is our prisoner," the Janissary said in an effort to soothe the child's worry.
"Uh-huh," he gulped, still staring.

"What about you, kid?" Ruze asked startling the child out of its awestruck reverie.

"Oh!" he shouted and smiled broadly, revealing a mouthful of bright white teeth. "Me too! He asked me to pick up a few things for him and I'm just now bringing them back." He indicated the large backpack and took another bite of his apple.

"Well, lead on then," Ledare suggested and the child moved quickly up the path, sure-footed as a goat. At the top, they found him standing near the stable, surveying the ruined interior.

"Wheew," he whistled. "What happened to Rherram's barn?"

"It's a long story," Ruze grunted and lowered Finian's lifeless body onto a patch of grass near the front door.

"Is that guy dead?" the child asked, taking another bite of apple. His copper-colored eyes were wide with concern.

"Yes," Ixin told him and before she could elaborate, he trotted closer and pointed to the ranger's feet.

"Cool shoes!" he beamed. "Kinda girlie though. Where'd he get 'em?"

"That too is a long story, I'm sure," Ixin said with a sad smile that revealed her pointed teeth. The apple fell from the child's mouth and he screamed. It was a loud, full-throated scream most unlike a six-year-old child's.

"M-m-monster!" he yelled and ran for the front door of Rherram's home. The door opened an instant before he reached it and the old healer stepped out.

"What's going-?" he started to ask and then the "boy" slammed into him, rebounded and landed on his back in the muddy yard. His blonde wig fell off and landed a few feet behind him, revealing his pointed ears and light brown hair. It was clear now that he was wearing make-up to give his pale skin a sunny complexion.

He waved up at Rherram. "Hiya," the halfling said merrily. "I got those things you wanted."

The healer was doubled over, clutching his groin, his face a shade of red that bordered on purple. "Vade!?" he asked, wide-eyed, his jaw clenched against the pain. "Whay are you wearing a wig? And more importantly, where did you get that disguise in the first place?"

Vade grabbed his wig and bounced to his feet. "Well, there was this group of travelling actors. And it was my birthday. And..," the halfling stopped talking. The expression on Rherram's face told him that he didn't believe a word of Vade's story. The diminutive creature produced another piece of fruit from his belt pouch and held it up to the healer. "Want an apple?" he asked, sheepishly.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #225] The World Moves On*

"No!" Rherram said firmly. "I do not want an apple." The old man straightened up painfully and looked the rest of the group over. His eyes paused momentarily on the shackled werebat and then they fell on Finian's unmoving body lying on the ground. "Oh no!" he gasped in horror, his wizened face filling with sadness.

"He died fighting werebats," Ledare said in her best business-like tone. "We were all injured by them and could use some healing and belladonna."

Rherram went over and knelt in the mud by the Archer's side. He placed one thick-knuckled hand on the half-elf's blood-encrusted chest and sighed. A tear fell onto Finian's rent studded leather armor. "You should have stayed here with me, Archer of the Green. The quiet life might have kept you long in this world."

"Did you know him?" Vade asked, stepping up to the healer's side and placing a small conciliatory arm around the old man's shoulders. The halfling sounded as if he might be on the verge of tears himself.

"Yes," Rherram choked out, wiping an errant tear off his cheek with the sleeve of his robe. "Though not as well as I'd have liked. I met him in much the same manner as I met you, m'boy."

"I'm so, so sorry!" Vade wailed and buried his face against Rherram's shoulder. Heavy sobs wracked the little halfling's body.

Ledare looked on, grim-faced, her lips pressed together in a tight line. A wet glitter in her coppery eyes was the only indication that she shared Rherram's feelings of loss. About the halfling's motives, she knew little and cared even less. She cleared her throat during a momentary break in the little creature's crying.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Ledare said when the healer looked up at her, "but many of our injuries were caused by lycanthropes and-"

"Of course," Rherram finished, prying Vade's small arms from around his neck and getting to his feet."You'll want belladonna."

"Yes," the Janissary said. "I think it would be prudent."

"I've got some locked up in my lab," the man told her and began fishing in a pouch at his waist. "It's only truly effective if administered within one hour of the injury, but... The key to my poisonous herb cabinet's gone. I-"

Vade held up a small silver key in one hand, wiping away a tear and smearing his stage make-up with the other. "Here," he sniffed. "I found this on the ground."

Rherram rolled his eyes and snatched the key away. "You all can wait in the front room," he said as he moved toward his front door. "Jisselleen can fetch you some-"

Ledare cut him off glancing sideways at her prisoner. "Perhaps, under the circumstances, it's better if Jisselleen stays in her room," she suggested and the old healer nodded.

"I'll let her know," he said and hurried inside.



Rherram fed them each a tiny bit of wolfsbane, and although Ledare experienced some brief cramping, no one was poisoned by the herb.

"Why can't I have some?" Vade asked, tugging insistently on the healer's robe.

"Because you weren't injured by any skaven," the old man said again. "And because it's poisonous, that's why."

"Oh," Vade said and went to sit on the floor.

Rherram rolled his eyes again and took a large tin of healing salve out of the bag he'd procured from his laboratory. "I'm sorry that this salve is the best I can do. I've some contagious folks in the infirmary just now so I can't admit you there overnight."

"Contagious with what?" Ruze asked, smelling the influence of Lady Pestilence.

The old man shrugged before going back to helping Ixin peel off her leather jerkin. The specially tailored armor was sticking to her sword wounds. "I wish I knew, Battleguard," the healer replied. "I've never seen it before. It's responding well to my initial treatments, but from what the patients tell me it's completely resistant to divine healing."

"What?" Ruze almost shouted.

"I know. I know," Rherram agreed. "I've never heard of anything like it. And the disease is rampant in the capital. I heard a rumor today that they've sealed the city's gates!"

"Barnacus is-" Ledare started to say and Rherram finished for her.

"Quarantined," he said and began stripping off Ixin's tunic. He heard Vade suck in his breath as the heavier red scales on the mage's shoulders were revealed. "Perhaps it might be best if I took care of each of you one at a time."



"My Papa and my brothers, Duece and Trey, run a profitable business in sales and entertainment and whatever," the halfling was explaining as he swung back and forth on the horse rail in front of Rherram's. He didn't seem to notice - or care - that only Draelond and Ixin were listening to his story. Ledare was anxiously watching the front door, waiting for Ruze to finish his turn with the healer. The werebat was doing its best to disappear from the Janissary's sight. The day remained overcast, but it was warming up as the height of mid-afternoon loomed.

"I helped them until I decided to strike out on my own for a while," Vade went on. "I was quite successful, but lately, times have been quiet and sales were slow. Customers did not have much where I was doing business, but I kept myself safe." He swung his legs forward and landed with his feet atop the rail. He stood up on it and began walking back and forth along it.

"You're very nimble," Ixin told him and Vade cringed so hard that he fell off the rail.

"Sometimes," Draelond deadpanned as the halfling bounded to his feet.

"Now that I've been able to thank Rherram for his hospitality, I would like to move out of these parts to a more interesting area... get a fresh start, you know..," Vade went on. "Where are you going?"

The front door opened and Ruze stepped out sporting some fresh bandages and a worried scowl. "We're going to visit Constable Boralle," Ledare announced, yanking hard on the werebat's chain. To the halfling she added, "And you're staying here!"

Vade looked crestfallen, almost ready to cry, but Ledare paid him no mind.

"We've got to turn over our prisoner to someone who can keep watch on him," she told the others and Draelond nodded his agreement.

"Mayhaps we can find someone who knows what's going on in Barnacus as well," the warrior suggested and the werebat snorted a tiny laugh before it could stifle it. Ledare whirled on it in a heartbeat.

"What's so funny?" she demanded, her longsword whistled from its sheath and found its way to the werebat's throat. "What do you know about this?"

"Nothing, mi'lady! Nothing!" it lied and Ledare made it clear that she knew it was lying by pressing more firmly with her sword blade. "Okay! All I know is that I heard Ingardulf say that Corben was hatching a scheme against the capital. Something about a festival and poisoned food. It was supposed to break the people's faith. That's all I know! I swear!"

"I think he's telling the truth," Ixin said softly and Ledare took her sword away from the creature's neck.

"I know," the Janissary growled. "But we'll see if a night in the Constable's donjon jars his memory any!"

"Ledare, I think we must really sit here for a while and deal with the tragedies that have befallen us," Ruze countered, gesturing piously toward Finian's body under its draped cloak. "To ignore the dead only means that they will continue to haunt our thoughts and actions.  We must have a ceremony for the fallen - both Kirnoth and Finian - so the living can continue to live. We must continue our cause with hearts that are pure so that they did not die in vain and our cause is not lost."

"Kirnoth isn't dead yet," Ledare reminded, giving the werebat a shake. "Our little 'friend' here told us that much!"

"Ah, yes. Kirnoth - or at least the host that was Kirnoth - is down in the cave held captive," the cleric said with a sad nod. for a moment he looked at the ground and then sighed deeply. "I must say that if he has been converted there is nothing we can do for him except save his soul. Now that I know he is down there, I do say we should think of something to do, but, Kitten, I know not what to do. Again, I ask: if we do find him, what do we do? Slay him?"

Ledare seemed conflicted. Her face moved through a range of emotions before settling on frustration. "I don't know, Ruze!" she exclaimed. "I don't have all the answers yet! But I do know that we need to get this... THING locked up! So I'm going to take it into town and throw it in the Constable's donjon!"

"As you wish," the Battleguard said with a deferential bow before turning away. "Now, I am off to prepare Finian's body for its final journey."

There was a moment's awkwardness during which Ledare moved in one direction and Ruze in another, leaving Vade, Draelond and Ixin in the middle.

"I'd better go with Ledare," Draelond announced before hustling off.

"I guess I'm staying with the fat guy," Vade said and did a cartwheel after Ruze.

After a moment's thought about the pawing she'd gotten the last time she was in Strenchburg Junction, Ixin moved to join the Battleguard and the halfling. As she went, she opened her cloak, releasing Martivir. The owl took to the air, circling over the mage's head. "Go find yourself a shrew, little one," Ixin called up to the bird. "But stay out of trouble."



The Constable had been happy to accept the Janissary's prisoner. He'd also been happy to brag that his men had dealt with the three exploding undead that Ledare had, in the Constable's words, "left behind". One of his armsmen had been injured during the assault. He said the last as if it were somehow Ledare's fault.

Of the troubles a day's ride north, he knew little more than Rherram. Refugees that had fled the capital and merchants who had been turned away from the city's gates began showing up in Strenchburg Junction that morning and they'd been trickling in throughout the day. The caravanserai was overfull and all three of the town's inns were completely booked up. Blodd, the barkeep at Hammond's Rest, had even begun renting out sleeping space in his stable. They all told a similar story about the plagued city: it spread like wildfire amongst the tightly packed cityfolk, weakening the afflicted's constitution and causing delirium in its later stages, and clerics were powerless to heal those affected by it. Constable Boralle added one sinister bit of news that Rherram hadn't told them: the clerics weren't just unable to heal the disease, they seemed to be spreading it each time they tried.

The information did little to raise the Janissary's spirits. And displaced commoners and worried tradesmen alike pressed her for answers to their dilemma as she and Draelond tried to leave town. All saw her, as a representative of the King, as a likely source of comfort. When she could tell them nothing many of them turned surly, and in the end, Draelond suggested that perhaps an overland route back to Rherram's might be preferable to fighting their way through angry throngs.

It was nearing dusk when they finally reached the cartpath that lead up to Rherram's infirmary and Draelond finally broke the brooding silence that had pressed on them since leaving the town. "You seem troubled, Ledare," he said.

"The Realms are unravelling around us, Draelond," she snapped back. "Don't you find that troubling?"

"I'm sorry," he said quickly and they tramped on in silence again for a bit. At last he worked up the courage to speak again. "You were troubled before we found out about Barnacus," he told her. "Is it Finian's death?"

Ledare stopped and pressed her hand against her face. "Yes," she said. "I guess it is. It started weighing on me on our way back to Rherram's."

"You were close-" Draelond started and Ledare shook her head.

"It's not that," she explained. "It's just that I'm the last one, now - the last of my original Companions. And I can't help but think that it might be my fault. That my lack of strong leadership led to so many deaths amongst our group." Ledare looked up at the darkening sky and sighed. "I never asked to be leader."

Draelond cleared his throat and, looking down at the tips of his mud-caked boots, said, "Please, forgive me if you find me to be speaking out of line, Ledare, and know from the outset that I hold your opinion in the highest regard." He kept his head lowered and dropped his broad shoulders in an attempt to make himself appear as unassuming as possible before continuing. "Your leadership under these unbelievably trying circumstances has been put to the ultimate test, and though you may not feel it now, you have met the challenge in the fullest."

Ledare made a harrumphing sound, not at all unlike the one that the long-dead Soriah always used and waved the warrior's words away with a dismissive gesture.

"No. I mean it. Without your direction and guidance this quest would have been called a failure long ago." Draelond went on, undaunted. His words were gaining in conviction as he went. "I understand your grief over those you have lost, both before my involvement and after. But they fought the cause with the knowledge that this unspeakable evil lay before them and they have died a warrior's death. There is no shame in their passing."

Ledare looked at the man, and his black eyes held hers.

"We cannot let their deaths have been in vain," he told her, righteousness building in his voice. "We find ourselves at the threshold, the very cradle of this evil. We know where the portal is, and we may well be able to do something about it if we can heal and regroup quickly."

"You're right, of course. It's just that... it's disheartening to..," Ledare said in a small voice. "I find it hard to fill the empty places of my comrades so easily." Draelond nodded at that but offered a counter-argument.

"An able body who is willing to lend a hand stands ready to join us, and you would turn him away," he said, his voice heavy with emotion. "Vade's appearance at this moment in time is more than just luck. Surely, it's a sign that we were meant to finish this work!"

Draelond paused then, realizing as he spoke that his posture had changed. He was now standing fully upright and his fists were clenched so tightly that fingernails had pierced flesh at the palm.  He loosened his hands, breathed deeply and lowered his head. There was a pause before he spoke again spoke slowly. "I apologize," he muttered. "I have no right to speak to someone of your stature in such a way. It is my greatest weakness that I allow my emotions to flow unchecked."

Ledare said nothing, sensing correctly that it was taking every ounce of the big man's will to state his opinions to her. If she interrupted further, she feared that he might never speak his thoughts again.

"What I mean to say," he continued, laboring to maintain a measured pace, "is that this little man, Vade, could help. All I ask is that you talk to him. If he wishes to fight for the cause, then we cannot turn him away. If he wishes to fight for loot and riches, then perhaps he can help us anyway and be turned away when he has served us. Whatever his reasons, we face something that cannot be ignored at this moment, and whatever the outcome, I would like to be able to say that I availed myself of every available resource to fight to see that no more have to die as Den Lant's daughter, Finian or countless thousands of others have." Again, he bowed his head and started to move away up the path. "Thank you for hearing me out," he said. "I will leave you to your thoughts."

Before he could take more than one long stride, the Janissary gripped Draelond's massive shoulder and stopped him. "I have heard your words and I thank you for them," she told the man. "Vade may join us if he so chooses. I need to rest and clear my head. There is much to think about."


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #226] Death! Death! Death!*

But rest seemed intent on eluding the Janissary.

As she and Draelond mounted the hill to Rherram's home, they spotted the orange glow of torches burning behind the building. They took the path on the south side that took them through Rherram's low beds of fragrant herbs and found that Ruze, Ixin, and Vade had been busy while they were gone. Well... maybe not Vade since he seemed to be doing little beside sitting under one of the large trees and eating an apple.

Ruze was dressed in a white gown that Ledare recognized as similar to the one that Soriah had worn during special ceremonies. Ruzes was trimmed in silver thread and bore twin crescents in the same material centered on his chest. Ixin was had removed her leather armor and looked a good deal healthier than when they left. She had obviously bathed and whatever Rherram had done for her wounds had worked wonders.

They stood beside a raised platform of logs taken from the stack of wood Rherram kept behind his laboratory. It formed a sort of rustic bier. Finian was laid out atop the pile, dressed in his adventuring gear. He too had been carefully bathed and arranged so that he looked to be sleeping rather than dead. Ruze was leaning over and talking to the little halfling, a bemused smile on the cleric's face.

"Wow! You don't miss any meals do you?" Ledare and Draelond could hear the newcomer say as he gestured to Ruze's belly. "Do you cook or does your wife cook for you? Oh! Here she is now!"

Vade looked over at Ledare and she gave him a scathing look. The halfling turned back to Ruze and said in a loud whisper, "She is cute, but I don't really like her hair cut." Ruze stifled back a chuckle in spite of the somber surroundings.

"What's all this?" Draelond asked, gesturing to the bier and torches. As they stepped out into the firelight, they could see that several more torches - unlit - were piled up nearby.

"I would like to conduct a funeral service for Finian and a memorial for Kirnoth," Ruze explained, folding his hands reverently as he spoke. "I have prepared a burial speech and would ask each of you to remember and approach Finian and Kirnoth in your own way when the time comes."

"Ruze," Ledare sighed, "We learned things in town and I don't you really think we have time for-"

"This is important, Kitten," the Battleguard asserted. "Finian deserves to be ushered properly into Myrkul's dark hall. Vade, kindly go fetch Rhem so that we may begin."

The halfling nodded and bound to his feet in a single, convulsive leap.



"We are gathered here tonight to remember those who have fallen whilst fighting against the taint of chaos that e'en now as we speak spreads throughout the Realm" Ruze began his eulogy, gesturing to the ranger's body. "Finian Talteppe, Archer of the Green, has fallen while gallantly fighting the minions of evil. He lay down his life so we could be here today. There lies his body, dead. But he is not dead; for he lives on in each of us. And we are not dead."

He looked pointedly at each of his companions as he spoke that last, making sure that the implication of hope was apparent to each of them. "We can be thankful for the grace of Shaharizod shines on us all even on those who are not of the Faith. Be glad that we stand here today and do not be sorrowful," he went on. "Finian chose his path and chose it well. He died in honor and would want us to carry forth the fight against chaos. Only one now stands of the original companions: Ledare Eelsof'faw. In her lifetime she has seen those around her fall."

He approached Ledare and lay a comforting hand on the shoulder guard of her Janissary plate before moving on with his prepared words.

"Let us also not forgot my sister, Soriah Ilea Chaste, who was the first to fall in the fight against chaos. Her spirit now rests with my Queen," he said, raising his hands to the dark sky where Great Celune shown full and round. Lower in the sky, just above the horizon hung the tiny sliver of the Handmaiden. Ruze bent and picked up a folded cloak that Ledare, Draelond and Rherram recognized as belonging to Kirnoth. He held it sadly in his hands for a moment before continuing.

"Then Kirnoth Val Satha, who has been stolen from our breast into the heart of darkness," he intoned. "Kirnoth has befallen a fate worse than death! For Chaos has stolen our friend and companion and now seeks to use him against us as if he were a mere pawn!" Ruze lay the cloak at the foot of Finian's rough-hewn bier. "For Kirnoth we now also mourn the loss. I ask my Queen to guard after his soul and when it is time to guide it to your bosom. May we find Kirnoth and put his soul to rest."

"And now Finian has been stolen from us as well," he added as he turned and faced the gathered companions. "May Shaharizod provide the hunting ground for his soul." He bowed his head a moment and silence save for the sounds of nature and crackling of the burning torches pressed in around them.

"But let us now not forget the living, for we are the next generation to fight chaos: Draelond Khemir; Ixin Chaririejir; myself, Ruze Bloodbow Faith; and now Vade Briarhopper, for Shaharizod brought us the little one to lighten our spirit, and most likely some of our load," Ruze said with a wink to Vade as the cleric clutched his silver holy symbol protectively. "I also consider Rhem Ongensleer as part of the Companions for he does not range forth with us, but remains here steadfast against Chaos ready to aid when and where he can. Let us not forget Ledare, who has lead those before her and not these here today, for she is a good leader, a kind leader, a just leader, and a compassionate leader. I can say that those who follow the path of Shaharizod are trained to walk alone, as I can now, yet I chose to follow Ledare as she will guide us through the darkness into the light."

Saying this he folded his hands and stepped away from the bier, stepping in amidst the others' ranks. "Now let's all take a moment to remember all those who have fallen.," he said with a pious smile. "Let us approach them each in their own way. Let us speak to our Gods and Goddesses. Then let us go back to living, let us go back to that which is before us. Let us take a moment now."

No one stepped forward and Ruze looked awkwardly at the group.

Draelond avoided his gaze. Ledare merely stared sadly at the body. Ixin shook her head and explained, "I only met him yesterday. I hardly knew him." Vade, however, squared his small shoulders and walked up to the side of the wooden platform. From that position, he could barely see half-elf's body stretched out atop it, but he craned his neck and stood on his tip-toes in order to do so.

"You seem like you will be missed," he told the corpse, then started to walk away. Stopping at the foot of the bier he turned and added, "I have to say I admire your bold fashion statements. It takes one tough man to get away with hair and shoes like that." He started to say more, but his voice cracked and a sob overtook him. He blew his nose messily into a handkerchief as he walked back to rejoin the others. The handkerchief was embroidered with Rherram's initials.

The healer paid no attention to it, but somberly approached the ranger's body with Jiselleen and the baby at his side. They stood there with bowed heads for a moment and then stepped back. Ruze looked over at Ledare and Draelond one last time before gathering up the unlit torches and handing them - one each - to the assemblage.

"Very well," he said as he lit his torch off of the nearest flame. "Then I would like to have us each touch our torches to the  pyre, sending Finian's spirit on its final journey."



Later, as they watched the fire consume the Archer's body, Ruze gritted his teeth.

"You know, I suddenly grow tired from all of this," he said to no one in particular. "Finian is dead, Kirnoth lost, Ledare is dispirited, and I now grow tired that all our efforts seem unable to stem the tide of chaos. I say tonight, I shall pray to my Queen for divine power to make a difference." No one said anything as they watched the remains of their companion burn. They all turned to regard him when next he spoke, "We go back to the caves tomorrow. We find this portal and find the evil that has destroyed Kirnoth and we eradicate this cave. I will purify it so that evil cannot grow back there, then at least one small area has been rid of the foul taint of chaos."

"We shouldn't dilly-dally here," Draelond grumbled. "Our prisoner can lead us to the portal and ostensibly, Kirnoth as well, but it may be a time-sensitive issue."

"Seek Rhem's cures, for I pray for my Queen's Swords tonight not her Spirit to cure," the Battleguard said with a menacing scowl.

"We should prepare and be off to deal with this in the morning," the big warrior agreed, grinding his right fist into the palm of his left hand.

"I can help!" Vade piped up. "I am great at finding things! Did you lose this?" He held up a twisted red finger that Ruze recognized as his dried Devil's Tongue bean. He snatched it away from the halfling and clutched it in his hand since his robe didn't have any pockets.

"What are you good at?" Ledare asked, glowering at the little man.

"Hmm... Let me see..." the halfling said and began counting off on his fingers. When he got to his missing picky, he frowned sadly before looking up at Ledare with a grin. "My brothers used to say my brains were made of jelly because I was good at getting out of jams." He laughed loudly (as did some of the others). Ledare, however, stared at him stone-faced. "I am good at making friends," the halfling suggested and clutched at the healer's leg. "Right Rherram?"

"How do you purpose to be of assistance to our group?" the Janissary rephrased the question. "By making friends with our enemies?"

"Well... whenever anyone loses stuff, I seem to be good at finding it," he offered and Ledare snorted derisively. "Just lucky I guess. My Mama used to say, 'Boy you could talk the ears off of an elephant!'. So I must be a good talker... I love my Mama." Vade got a wistful look on his face and sighed expansively.

Ledare looked at Draelond as if to ask: this is who you want joining our quest? Draelond shrugged in response and the Janissary shook her head in resigned confusion. "Fine," she said, throwing up her hands. "Before we go to bed tonight, I want to tell you all what I know. From the beginning, leaving nothing out."

And she did.



Starday, the 10th of Wealsun, 1269 AE

They were awakened by a loud pounding at the front door before the day had even brightened to dawn and in the gray light, Ledare groggily croaked out, "Just a minute, Abernathy!" She wasn't in Grey House and the pounding was coming from the front door of Rherram's. Vade hoped nimbly over the forms of the companions who were stretched out uncomfortably on the floor in the healer's living room. He slid back the bar and threw open the door before Ledare had even propped herself up on one arm.

The halfling looked up at the young runner who stood panting outside in the pre-dawn gloom. The runner looked down at him in turn. "Who are you?" they both asked at once.

Rherram appeared at the back of the room dressed in his nightshirt and holding an oil lamp in one hand. Seeing him the boy at the door said to him, "Healer! I've been sent to find the Janissary."

Rubbing sleep from her eyes with one fist, Ledare yawned expansively and got to her feet. "That's me," she grumbled. "What is it?"

"The Lord Mayor sent me," the boy said. "There's been some trouble with your prisoner."

"Dammit!" Ledare cursed, fully awake now. Around her the others had begun to stir as well. The Janissary reached for her breastplate and the boy held up a cautioning hand.

"The Lord Mayor suggested that you might want to come as a civilian," the runner added and Ledare nodded her understanding.

"Give me a few moments to get dressed," she told the boy, gesturing that he should wait outside.



The sun was above the horizon when they reached the jail and a large, nervous crowd had already gathered outside it. A few scrawny armsmen wielding longspears kept the mob at bay, but some of the guards had stains on their uniforms from being pelted with rotten fruit. Ledare could only imagine what would have happened had she walked up wearing her Janissary plate and the tabbard of Elcaden. The guards ushered her and the others (except Vade, who had elected to stay behind and help Rherram with breakfast) into the low, fortified building. Many of the gathered townspeople shied away from Ruze once they recognized him as a Battleguard of Shaharizod. They made the sign of the Evil Eye and spit at his feet as he passed. Several amongst the crowd hissed, 'Dragon bitch!' at Ixin as she walked by.

The scene inside the jail was much worse.

There were three dead armsmen in the front room. They weren't just dead, though. They looked like they had been forcefully stabbed with a thousand needles... from the inside. Blood was everywhere and judging by the unnatural positions of the bodies, they hadn't died quickly.

"Good gods!" Ixin hissed, covering her mouth with one gloved hand and narrowly stifling back a retch.

"Aye! That's what I said too!" a voice called from the back of the room. He was a heavy man with finely plaited white hair held in place with a simple circlet of gold. He wore a sculpted breastplate that bore the symbol of Ibrahil the True. A longsword depended from his waist. He scratched at his jowls with one hand and offered his other to Ledare. "You must be the Janissary," he said as they clasped wrists. "I'm Baron Wicaop, Lord Mayor of Strenchburg Junction."

"I am Janissary Ledare Eelsof'faw," she said. "Your runner said there was trouble with my prisoner. Did he escape?"

The Mayor considered this for a moment, then said simply, "No." He turned and passed through a narrow doorway that was normally blocked by a heavy iron door. They followed into a cramped area surrounded on two sides by stout iron bars. There was a tiny drain the center of the stone floor and it emitted a steady drip-drip-drip as blood fell away into darkness below.

The place was a massacre. Constable Boralle lay nearby, clutching his chest with one hand, his face the color of ashes. There was a pile of corruption near his body that may have been another guard, but he appeared to have somehow rotted away to near liquid putrescence. The stench was horrible. The dismembered body of another guard was hanging from its own intestines on the weapon rack. His head was conspicuously missing. A message had been scrawled in blood on the wall above the body. It read: "Do not interfere, Janissary!"

"Your man's over here," the Mayor said, gesturing toward one of the cells. "At least I think so."

Where Ledare and Draelond had left the werebat the night before was a sickening pile of green slime. Several prisoners in nearby cells were completely shriveled as if the very life force had been leeched out of them. The desiccated husks of their bodies lay on the floor of their cells curled into pitiful positions.

"What could do this?" Ledare asked no one in particular.

"Apparently one man," a woman answered. She was a matronly type dressed in robes of green and gold. Her feet were bare despite the filth around her and she wore the wheat-stalk symbol of Merikka on a chain around her neck. "I spoke briefly with the only survivor of this massacre. He was raving when I arrived but became coherent long enough to impart his tale before lapsing completely."

"This is Annette Higheagle, an Archal of the Sun Lord," Baron Wicaop announced. "I asked her here when my men discovered this..." The Mayor's words trailed off as he gestured to the room that had once been a place of law and now served only death. "She's the most powerful priest we have in the Barony."

Annette bowed her head once, accepting the praise and then approached the Companions. "I had the survivor - a prisoner named Grith Deethblak who was incarcerated on a charge of public drunkeness and assault -  taken back to the temple by some of my acolytes," she said sadly. "But I fear it will matter little; his mind is shattered. And I'm not surprised considering what he claims to have seen."

She then recounted the tale that Deethblak had told, sparing no detail, and offering what explanation she could in the process. It had started with screaming in the outer room, Deethblak had said. One of the guards (named Thompar, Baron Wicaop told them) opened the door and found the three outer guards writhing around on the ground, bristling with thorns. Standing in their midst was a tall human dressed in black leather, wearing a black cape with skin that looked like it had never seen the sun. He moved quickly - more quickly than any human had the right and touched Thompar on the shoulder. The guard started crying and went down immediately. The man in black moved into the room and spit something at one of the other guards (Merin, gods rest his soul). Deethblak claimed it looked like the man's tongue, but it was about two feet long, and it pinned the guard to the weapons rack in an instant. Constable Boralle got up and went for his sword, but the man in black cast a spell and the constable fell to the ground clutching his chest. He never got up.

Then the man in black walked over to the werebat and cast another spell that made the prisoners in the cells beside the werebat begin to weaken visibly. Then the man lit up a long bone pipe and stood smoking it while he and the werebat muttered to each other. What was said, Deethblak couldn't hear, but it seemed to make the man in black very angry. He cast another spell and the werebat started to convulse. In less than 30 seconds, he'd turned into that puddle of green slime.

And then the man in black started doing things to the guards. Thompar, who was still weeping uncontrollably, he turned into that putrid husk. But Merin, he kept alive for a while, as the prisoners withered in their cells and Deethblak watched.

"In the end, the man in black used magic to convince Grith Deethblak that his body was rotting away in much the same way. It was too much for his mind to handle," Arcal Annette concluded. "The man in black made him remember something that he kept repeating over and over: 'The Black Bishop will rise again! We will free the High King!'."


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #227] Butt-kicking for Goodness!*

"I say Ledare, this is troubling news," Ruze said, turning away from the gory scene to whisper into the Janissary's pointed ear. "This man in black appears to be a leader or sub-leader underneath the Black Bishop."

"So now we have to worry about a bishop and a king?" Ledare muttered back. "What happened to She Who Was Coming?" Ruze shrugged slightly.

"I would say maybe the Black Bishop is a very powerful person under She Who Is Coming," he offered. "I think the baven leader of the cave is under this man in black. He appears to be a very potent spell caster in the dark arts. We will need to be a full strength to deal with him."

"Agreed," Ledare replied and Ruze raised his voice to address the group.

"Let's back to Rhem so I can outfit you all with healing kit," he said. "I have prayed for My Queen's sword arm. Then let's back to the caves. Find the Baven leader, determine the location and use of the portal, and sanctify the cave. In the meantime mayhaps we can find Den Lent's daughter and even Kirnoth or what used to be Kirnoth."

"Is this related to that business with the kidnapping and the banditry?" Baron Wicaop asked, he voice full of concern.

"Most likely, your lordship," Ledare grimly replied and the mayor's face grew dark.

"Were that I had men to spare you, Janissary," he replied. "Wealsun is the busiest moonsdance of the year in the fields and I dare not impress any of the peasants into military service else we'll miss the opportunity to harvest the first of the winter wheat. I can entreat my Lord, the Count of Woodbury, for temporary guards to manage law within the Junction until I can recruit more men from the city, but..." His voice trailed off and Ledare nodded.

"We're on our own at the caves," she finished and he nodded back.

Ixin drew open her cloak and fished out her familiar. Maritivir ruffled his feathers and let out a startled hooting at the sight and smell of the jail.

"I know. I know," the mage soothed, but the owl wouldn't be calmed.

"What are you doing?" Ledare asked.

"I thought that perhaps Marty could tell us something," Ixin explained as the owl fluttered on her hand. "His senses are more acute than ours."

"And...?" Ledare asked and Ixin shook her head.

"Nothing we didn't already figure out," she replied. "He says there was black magic at work here." The owl launched itself from her hand, then and flew to the narrow window set high up in the right hand wall. It perched there and hooted once.

"Fine," Ixin told the bird. "We'll meet you back at Rherram's. But stay out of trouble." The owl ducked out through the bars and flew off. They all heard a startled cry go up from the crowd outside and Ixin sucked in her breath in shock.

"They're throwing stones at him!" she growled, the warm honey glow in her eyes suddenly burning with inner fire. "He wasn't hurting anyone! What's wrong with these people?"

"They're afraid, good lady," Archal Annette said. "And fear breeds hatred. They're looking about for a target... something to be the focus for their hatred."

"Archal, I must say that I am unnerved at the crowds response to me as well," Ruze told the priestess. "I mean, they spit at me. A holy cleric of Shaharizod should not be spit upon by those he seeks to heal and cure."

"I am well-known to the folk hereabouts, Battleguard, and I received much the same treatment when I arrived with my retinue," the cleric explained. "The crowd was smaller then, but with talk of plague in the capital being spread by clerics there, the townsfolk are lashing out temporarily. It will pass."

"I am also concerned that the holy powers of the Gods have been unable to cure this pestilence in Barnacus. I fear the spread of Chaos is over tipping the cup and is spilling over the brim. We are now just seeing the results," Ruze explained and the woman spread her arms in a gesture of acquiescence.

"You may be right, Battleguard," the cleric told him. "The Archals are not a martial order. We know little of these things and do not wish to know more. Merikka teaches us to tend our flocks and leave the smiting of evil as the domain of other Gods' followers."

"And smite we shall!" Ruze said, turning to address Ledare and the others. "We need to strike at the head of chaos. We could spend years trying to stop the small occurrences, but it would be like stopping the tides. We need to strike a decisive blow to this cave, the black bishop if possible, and continue on. I may not be able to stop the tide, but I will not stand idly in its wake either."

"I think we are all in agreement," Ledare said, "Let's be off."

"May the blessings of the Sky Father shine upon you," Archal Annette called as they turned toward the door.

"And may Ibrahil guide your swords!" The Mayor shouted zealously.

Ruze snatched up a bucket in the front room and held it up to the crowd as he walked out into the early morning sunshine. The surly villagers grumbled and began to part a little as the Companions tramped forward. Ruze stooped and placed the bucket on the ground amidst the peasants as they passed and then clutched his holy symbol.

"Here, is some clean fresh water people, may you drink from it and be blessed by Shaharizod!" he intoned and clear water began to surge upwards from the empty bucket, easily filling it and then spilling over the sides in its bounty. The Battleguard smiled and bowed and then turned to follow the others out of town.

None of them saw the angry villagers kick over the bucket, sending its contents into the mud.



"Ewww!" Vade said, scrunching up his face after they had recounted the scene at the jail. "I am glad I didn't have to see that pile of green slime. Yucky!!" He shoved another piece of saltpork into his cavernous mouth and began chewing it with zest. "Ruze, you hurl? I bet I would have." He paused long enough to swallow thickly and reach for another griddle cake. "Breakfast anyone?" he offered. "Mama Briarhopper said never to start an adventure on an empty stomach. I bet your mom said that too Ruze, old buddy." The halfling reached up and patted Ruze's belly with a smile. "I never miss breakfast!  Or an adventure for that matter."

"We don't have any time for breakfast, Vade," Ledare said with a tone of exasperation. She stood in the hallway between the front room and the kitchen area, busily tightening the straps on her vambrace. "Whatever we're to eat we'll have to eat on the march."

"I'll gather some things," Draelond offered and began to shovel food wrapped in napkins into his empty pouches.

"Ewww!" Vade said again. "Do you have to touch all the food? Your hands don't look very clean and that armor! Pheeww!" He fluttered his tiny hand in front of his nose and blinked his eyes. "You are smelling riper than this peach I have in my pouch." He produced a pit and tossed it out the open window behind him. "The stream is that way, big guy."

Draelond glowered at him and continued to collect food.

"Man, that is a big sword!" Vade added with a frightened smile, looking at Ravager's handle peaking over Draelond's massive right shoulder. Draelond grinned ferally at the halfling and, without breaking eye contact stood up and called to Ledare.

"What?" she asked, pulling on her gauntlet as she entered. She followed Draelond's pointing finger to Vade's dangling feet, kicking idly back and forth beneath the table. He was wearing the Slippers of Spider Climbing. "Those. Are. Not. Yours." Ledare said through gritted teeth.

"What?" Vade asked innocently. "Oh, these? I was just trying them on. Come on! They won't fit you! They fit me because I have really tiny feet. You know what they say about small feet don't you? Small shoes." He laughed at his joke and squirmed in his seat. "I don't know how that guy got into these things. They look girly, but they sure are comfy slippies!"

"Kitten, perhaps it is best to just let him wear them for now," Ruze suggested. "I do not think that any of the rest of us intend to make use of them, and every little advantage helps our cause."

Ledare's expression softened and she nodded at Ruze. Then looking skeptically at Vade she asked, "What else of Finian's have 'just tried on'?"

Vade began emptying pockets and pouches, producing the dagger that had once been Kirnoth's, Finian's unidentified ring, the Archer's pierced mithril coin, the unidentified potion and candle they had found in the woods where they had been attacked by the exploding undead, a double handful of assorted coins, and a few lumps of polished amber. He blinked up at the others. "I was holding it for you guys... really."



The trek overland to the caves was uneventful and quick now that most of the group knew the way. Of course, it seemed longer with Vade's incessant story-telling. "I met this ogre once who wanted to have me and my brothers for dinner, but Duece wasn't feeling well and we had to leave," the halfling yammered as he walked along, holding Ruze's hand like a child. "Usually ogres aren't friendly, but Grumblebutt kept insisting we stay for dinner. He did, in a way, treat us to dinner though, as a going away present. Too bad he couldn't come since he kind of got stuck in the back door of his lair... too bad."

As they crested the hill that led down into the small bowl into which was cut the cave mouth, the halfling was silent for the first time since they'd met him. After a pause he whined, "I'm not going in there! It's dark in there!"

"Then you're staying here," Ledare said and started scrambling down the hillside.

"By yourself," Draelond added as he went to follow.



Ruze called upon the glorious might of Shaharizod to cleanse the taint of chaos and evil from the cave. Holding his holy symbol high, he channeled the energy of goodness at the opening. It had no visible effect.

"Did that do anything?" Ixin asked dubiously.

"At the very least, the evil that we eradicate will have to take the time to rededicate the cave," the cleric explained as he fished torches from his pack. "I'm just trying to stem the tide of chaos any way I can."

They lit torches and picked their way through the abandoned cave. The dead carrion crawlers were still there, but the skaven bodies they had left behind were gone and while they had clearly been dragged, no one was skilled enough at tracking to tell anything more. They encountered no resistance and in short order found themselves at the unexplored passage that lead downward toward where their prisoner had said Kirnoth and the portal lay. Ixin paused there and reached out her magical sense. The hectic power of the nexus point was clearly down that passage. She informed the others and they started down.

About halfway down the curving staircase, Martivir hooted into Ixin's ear and she started to inform the others what the owl had heard, but Ledare held up her shield hand. "I already heard it," the Janissary said. "A gurgling and a shuffling sound."

"I didn't hear anything!" Vade said loudly as he squeezed Ruze's hand tighter and clutched at the Battleguard's mailed thigh.

"Nor did I, Ledare," Draelond confided but the Janissary simply lowered her arm and continued down the natural staircase. At the foot of the staircase, she was set upon by six shambling corpses that were pressed into the cramped area at the foot of the stairs. It took her only an instant to recognize them as the creatures they had killed the day before. The three nearest her seemed prepared to slam her with their fists, but Ruze was more prepared than they.

"Hide thy unclean faces from the glory of the Silver Queen!" Ruze commanded, shoving his holy symbol passed Draelond's thick arm in order for the undead to see it as it flared with holy power. The zombies had time enough to shield their eyes from the moonlight streaming from the symbol before they exploded into dust.

For a moment all was silent and then Vade said, simply, "Wow! That was pretty good!"

"Yes, Ruze," Ledare said, turning to favor the cleric with an approving nod. "Well done."

Draelond clapped him on the back and they moved into the small chamber. Of course, there was little to see within. The chamber was low-ceilinged, of natural stone, and inexplicably blocked at the far end by an iron gate. The gate blocked ingress into the large cavern dimly visible beyond. There were no apparent locks or hinges, merely several iron rods stretching from the floor to the ceiling. A gurgling sound could be heard in the darkness beyond.

Ixin closed her eyes for a moment and turned to face the bars and the cavern beyond. "The power nexus is through there," she said. "But I'm still barred from anchoring to it unless I can make flesh-to-nexus contact."

"Well, I don't see any way passed these bars," Ledare said moving closer to investigate. "Vade do you think you-"

Before she could finish, there was a grating sound and the bars and circular section of floor around them spun on a central axis, trapping Ledare on the far side of the bars. There was an audible thunk as the gate locked into its new configuration.

"Great," she muttered. "A trap. I hate traps."

Behind her in the cavern, something enormous and misshapen moved at the edge of their lightsource. The Devourer made a wet gurgling sound as it sent a huge tentacle toward its armor-plated meal.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #228] The Devourer*

Ruze was the first to react to the shadowy movement in the cavern behind Ledare. He drew his scimitars, puffed up his chest, and began to speak. "Ledare, fear not, for we are with you!" he shouted. "We'll have this gate opened and you returned to our ranks in the twinkling of an eye! For the might of Shaharizod is on our side and with her divine aid, we cannot fail!"

The power of his words stirred the hearts of each who heard them.

Vade felt a courage that he only rarely experienced flood through him and he bounded forward, unfurling his Open Kit as he went. He immediately fell to examining the trap, paying particularly close attention to the seam in the ground and the section of floor that was affixed to the bars. It was here where he assumed the trigger must be located and he had no wish to set it off with him still on it. Courage or no courage.

Draelond reacted almost as swiftly as the little halfling, but he knew little of traps and was unmindful of any triggering mechanism. He moved quickly up to the bars, sparing a single glance into the cavern beyond and the misshapen thing that shambled about in the darkness behind Ledare. Then he grabbed two of the bars in his meaty hands and strained against them with all the strength of his mighty frame bolstered by the righteous nobility of Ruze's words. For a moment that seemed to last an hour, he strained against the thick metal, cords of muscle standing out along his neck and shoulders and visibly rippling beneath his chainmail. The iron bars creaked and groaned beneath the onslaught of Draelond's uncanny strength, but, although he felt that he had failed to overmatch their resilience by the narrowest of margins, they held fast.

Ixin stepped forward so that she had a clear view of the cavern passed Draelond's shoulder and reached inside her Cloak of Many Pockets. One of Dwardolin's scrolls found its way into her hand and she held it up, intoning the words that would release the magic that the Outcast Specialist had encoded onto the parchment. As she spoke the activation phrase, the scroll itself was consumed by fire and its magic thrummed pleasantly through Ixin's veins. "Ledare, duck!" she yelled and gestured at the noisome thing in the shadows. The mage needn't have bothered warning the Janissary as the three bolts of force that leapt from Ixin's clawed fingers swerved to avoid Draelond, the iron bars, and Ledare and then slammed unerringly into the lump of flesh beyond.

The thing let out a bubbling cry of pain, and Ledare turned to look at it, the momentary light from Ixin's Magic Missiles giving the half-elf  an unimpeded view of the Devourer. She immediately wished it hadn't. The thing looked like a tumor given mobility and an obscene vitality. A thick tongue of flesh surmounted its misshapen body and two yellow eyes, set one above the other, regarded her from the tongue's surface. A tooth-filled vertical gash in its side drooled cloudy white mucus and gurgled wetly with each breath the thing took. It had two tentacles covered with a ropy network of veins and tipped with a paddle of flesh bristling with sharp thorns - or rather it had originally had two. One was currently considerably shorter than its mate, severed at least four feet from the end.

Ledare remembered the wound that Draelond had inflicted on the tentacle that had come up at them through the floor of the chamber above and smiled. Perhaps she would be able to do the same now. Of course, the Devourer had other ideas.

Its remaining tentacle lashed out from the darkness and slammed into Ledare's breastplate, knocking the Janissary back against the iron bars. The wind was forced from her lungs and her helmet rang against the gate like a bell. Before she could do anything more than grunt in pain, the tentacle wrapped around her torso and dragged her 15 feet away from the bars. Draelond, who stood just on the other side of the bars, reached out his hand to catch her, but he was too late. Her feet left twin furrows in the wet earth as she went.

The creature's dripping maw loomed very large as she was drawn toward it. She couldn't get to her sword and her breath was being inexorably forced from her lungs. She struggled weakly to loosen the tentacle, but it was to no avail. The thing was just too strong. It was like trying to pry off an iron bar.

"Ruze! For the love of Cyr, help me with these bars!" Draelond grunted, redoubling his efforts upon seeing Ledare's impending fate.



*More to come...*


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #229] The Devourer II*

"Draelond, you do not need me for the bars," Ruze said, sheathing his weapons. He stepped up to the straining warrior and lay a hand on his back while clutching his holy symbol in the other. "You have the strength within you." Strength seemed to flow from the cleric's hand into Draelond and his armor fought to contain the sudden swell of his invigorated thews. He had been a big man before the divine vigor flowed through him, but now he positively bristled with muscles to a nearly inhuman state. "Try again, I know you can do it!"

For his part, Vade could find nothing which his nimble fingers could manipulate to disable the trap. Most likely it was a one-shot trip mechanism that would either require resetting manually or was on a time-release. Either way, there was little he could do standing on this side of the bars. Draelond was blocking the opening, so there was little chance of using his sling without hitting the big guy, and while that would certainly bring a smile to Vade's lips, he wanted to try out his shiny green sling stone and he didn't want to waste it on slapstick. Instead, he went to squeeze between the bars, and although he was small and usually as slippery as the greased pig that made its appearance in every harvest fair from Awad to Haven, he couldn't negotiate the narrow space on his first try.

"I've done this before," he pouted. "Really."

Draelond ignored the halfling and focused on bending the bars. Despite the fact that he now possessed the strength of a bull, he made little headway. The bars held firm.

Undaunted by the failure of her companions, Ixin summoned the mana in her blood, curled her hands into the proper gestures and intoned the words of power. _"Sopio!" _she shouted, directing the spell of sleep at the Devourer. The spell energy washed over the creature, but neither it nor Ledare were affected.

It drew the Janissary to its obscene mouth and sank its many teeth into her left thigh. Ledare grunted as burning pain roared through her body from the creature's bite, but she also felt a lessening of the monster's grip and forced her sword arm against the tentacle that held her while she simultaneously rammed her shield between herself and the sinuous limb. She twisted away and found herself momentarily out of the creature's grasp. She stepped back and reached for the flask of alchemist's fire she carried in her pouch.

"Ledare, we are with you!" Ruze shouted as he raised his hands in benediction. "My light shines upon you! Together we will slay this beast!" The cleric pointed at the Devourer with his right hand and a glowing crescent of force appeared above the creature's lumpen body. The replica of Shaharizod's Moonblade immediately slashed across its pustulent flesh and drew blood. The wound, however, was a minor one.

Vade tried again to slip between the bars and again he failed.

Likewise, Dralond was having little success bending the bars.

Seeing this, Ixin reached for her crossbow. As she did so, her cloak unfurled and Martivir poked his round head out of his extra-dimensional pocket. As she pulled the lever that locked the bowstring into place she consulted her familiar. "Stay within the pouch my friend," she cautioned. "But do you have any ideas?" Before hooting that he did not, the owl vanished back into the safety of the Cloak. "Great," Ixin deadpanned, raised her crossbow and fired. The quarrel sailed passed Draelond's ear and off into the dark vastness of the cavern.

The Devourer, unaware that it was coming under missile fire, and disappointed that its next meal had slipped free of its grasp, lashed out with its tentacle. The thorny growths on the tentacle pierced through the chainmail girding Ledare's abdomen, ripping into her flesh before the rest of the limb wrapped around her, and dragged her in close to the creature's body where the drooling maw waited eagerly.

The Janissary threw the flask in her hand, trying to smash it against the thing's eye stalk, perhaps blinding it. Not surprisingly considering the pain she was in, her aim was off. The flask shattered harmlessly against a pile of refuse behind the creature.

While Vade failed again to wriggle between the bars, Ruze directed the Spiritual Weapon to attack the tentacle that held Ledare, but it missed the furiously writhing limb.

Draelond continued to strain ineffectually against the bars. He felt them give a fraction, but they would not yield to his incredible strength. He roared in frustration while Ixin fired another crossbow bolt passed his ear close enough for him to feel the wind of its passing. The sorcerer missed her target again.

Perhaps realizing its error in trying to eat its dinner while she still struggled, the Devourer squeezed Ledare again rather than draw her to its wet mouth. She heard something straining in her chest though whether it was her armor or the ribs beneath she couldn't say and she tried to cry out from the pain. There was no air in her lungs to do so, however. With dark spots swimming in front of her eyes, she strained against the tentacle and once more managed to get herself a moment's reprieve. She dropped from the creature's grasp and backed away as quickly as she could, shield held on the defensive.

Ruze directed the shimmering blade of force against the the main body of the Devourer in order to distract the thing from Ledare, but failed to land a blow. As soon as it missed, the weapon winked out of existence.

"Everything is going to be alright Ruze... isn't it?" Vade asked, abandoning his attempts to squeeze through the bars in favor of using his sling despite the obstruction. He let fly the emerald green sling stone that he'd picked up... somewhere. It flew passed Draelond, through the bars and smashed to the ground several feet from the Devourer where it promptly exploded in a burst of acid. Smoke rose from the disintegrating piles of refuse.

"Whoah!" the halfling exclaimed. "I didn't know they did that!"

"Ledare, come to me, so I may administer my Queen's aid!" Ruze yelled, already preparing to call upon divine healing. "Fear not the monster; we will dispatch it when it draws near!"
Draelond strained but the bars still held.

"Drae, when the tentacle draws near and ensnares Ledare, chop the damned thing off!" Ruze ordered without even looking at the warrior. His attention was held by the Janissary's plight. She was backing towards the bars with her shield and sword held defensively, but the Devourer was drawing back its tentacle for another strike.

Ixin looked at her crossbow and then turned her face to the bars. She drew upon the inner fires of her dragon blood and directed that potency at the Devourer. A palpable wave of fear emanated from Ixin's face which was drawn into a snarl of inhuman rage. "Hold creature!!" she roared, and her voice was that of a dragon. "You have been abandoned by your party!! There is nowhere to run!!" The Devourer resisted the fear with no visible effect.

Vade, who had never seen Ixin use her natural ability to cause fear, nearly wet himself at the sight. He clutched tightly at Ruze's thigh.

"Vade, look to where we can reset the trap," the Battleguard commanded, prying the halfling's hands off his leg. "It's probably behind us somewhere as the trapped person would not be able to reset it." Vade nodded dumbly, but his eyes never left Ixin. For just a moment, he had seen a dragon's features superimposed over the woman's and he couldn't shake his unease.

The Devourer's tentacle came in low and fast and would certainly have knocked the Janissary off her feet if she hadn't been especially vigilant about focusing on defense. As it was, she bashed it aside with her shield and maintained her pace until she clanged up against the bars and felt Ruze's hand press against her cheek. She immediately felt the damage to her ribs and the bite to her thigh both fully heal themselves.

"Stay at the bars, kitten," Ruze spoke into her ear. "I've more healing to give you yet."

Vade searched around the small chamber as Ruze had directed, and Draelond readied himself to attack the tentacle when it came near. Ixin grabbed her morningstar in the hopes that she could do the same.

The Devourer slurped hungrily forward and lashed out at Ledare. As soon as it came within range, Draelond's bastard sword sliced between the bars and dealt the limb a wicked slice, that, while it didn't actually sever the tentacle as Ruze had hoped, it ruined the creature's attack. Ixin couldn't find an opening to attack with Draelond, Ruze and Ledare all blocking the bars while Ledare took a half-hearted swing at the tentacle as it passed.

They repeated the process and Ruze's healing touch eased nearly all of the Janissary's aches and pains, bringing her to within a hair's breadth of full health. This time when the Devourer struck at Ledare, Ravager did messily split the limb in twain ripping a scream of fear and pain from the beast. The misshapen lump of its body was still twenty feet away, and well out of reach of Ledare's sword, but before the creature could turn to flee, the Janissary's longsword was back in its scabbard and her hand-crossbow has aimed at its eye stalk. She squeezed off a shot as the aberration stumped off into the dark cavern, but the arrow flew wide.

"Quick, while that thing's gone," Ixin suggested, "let's get these bars out of the way!" They all heaved to, and although Ixin and Ruze were of little help in the confined area, Ledare was able to use her not-inconsiderable strength in concert with Draelond's and with a squeal of fatigued metal, two of the bars were parted enough so that any of them could pass through without difficulty.

"Is that monster gone?" Vade asked. The halfling had abandoned trying to find a trigger to bypass the trap given that it no longer presented an obstacle. He grabbed ahold of Ruze's hand and squeezed it for reassurance.

"For the moment," the cleric told him, patting him on the head. "But it's still in there somewhere." Vade gulped.

"And so is the power nexus," Ixin reminded. "And the portal. And your friend."

Draelond flexed his enhanced muscles and balanced Ravager on his right shoulder. "So what do we do now, Ledare?" he asked and all eyes turned to regard her.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #230] The Portal*

"We go forward, toward the portal," Ledare said matter-of-factly as she reloaded the single spent quarrel from her crossbow. "But be ready. That thing was robbed of his dinner, and I don't imagine he's too happy about it."

Draelond nodded and added, "Although it may require us to move more slowly, I think we should stick fairly close together from this point on."

"No argument there, Draelond," Ledare said as she reholstered her hand crossbow.

"Ledare, I am a little leery about slipping by that monster without attacking," Ruze voiced his concerns. "Those tentacles are pretty quick."

"But we've got him on the run!" Ixin countered, shaking her morningstar for emphasis. "We must strike now. It is our best chance."

"Why do we have to fight a monster?" Vade whined, peeking out from behind Ruze's leg.

"I say we all move forward," Ixin asserted, looking reproachfully at the halfling. Vade ducked out of sight behind the Battleguard.

"You're right that we should move forward, Ixin," Ledare disagreed. "But we shouldn't lose sight of our goals in these caves. Our first priority is to find and cleanse the portal. Then we need to see what can be done about Kirnoth. And lastly, make it out of here alive."

"That's our LAST priority?" Vade squeaked but Ledare ignored him as she went on.

"Fighting the Devourer - unless we have to - doesn't immediately help us meet any of these goals," the Janissary concluded.

"And we should also be on the lookout for the man in black," the cleric reminded. "I have a feeling he is skulking around these caves. He sounds like a very powerful wizard and I fear he will use that magic to our detriment."

"He didn't seem all about sunshine and flowers at the jail," Draelond deadpanned and Ruze turned to regard Ixin.

"Tell me more of your magic," he began. "Are you able to protect us from spells? For instance: darkness?"

The mage shook her red mane. "I have a spell that can illuminate natural darkness in a variety of ways, but magical darkness would quench that spell along with our torchlight were it employed against us. How much divine energy is left in you?"

"I've used most of my more powerful miracles," the Battleguard confessed. "But I still have a handful of lesser. Sometime over coffee and cakes you and I can trade information on our spell-making abilities."

"I don't think that now is the time," Ledare chided. "We should press on."

"Agreed," Draelond said, readying his blade. "Can anyone detect the energy as we get nearer the nexus?"

"I can," Ixin informed him. "I guess that means I should probably be in the lead, right? Since I can feel it and I have dark vision." She slipped her morningstar inside her Cloak and drew out her heavy crossbow.

"Before we go, I want to tell you all something," the Janissary said. "I am indebted to you all. Most especially to you, Ruze. The healing powers of your queen have brought me back from the edge of this life once again."

The Battleguard blushed and nodded his head. "My new mission in life is to not let you die," he told her. "You are the last of the original group who was called to stop this evil."

Draelond seemed to share this opinion, but Ledare would have none of it. She laid her hand on Ruze's mailed shoulder and shook her head. "If I fall, then you all will go on with our purpose. It's that simple," she said and purposefully turned her gaze on each of the others in turn - even Vade. "You are all involved in this now, for better or worse. I am of no more import than any of you"

"Gee, I bet you will be nicer now that I helped save you from the big old monster," Vade said with a wide grin as he ambled forward. "Sometimes stuffy knight types don't always like me at first, but when I get them out of a jam, they usually warm up. I am glad you are okay." He wrapped his tiny arms around Ledare's armored thigh and pressed his cheek against the platemail.

For the space of three heartbeats, there was an awkward silence. Then Ledare cleared her throat, pried the halfling's arms away and drew her sword. "Ixin, you know more about this portal than any of us," the half-elf said. "Will you lead us?"

The mage nodded and ducked through the bent bars.



It was an easy matter for Ixin to follow the pull of the nexus across the foul-smelling natural cavern. And even if it had been, there was a rather obvious footpath winding through the offal and night soil that had been cast down through the holes in the ceiling above. It began at the bent bars and branched off a few paces away, one branch leading southeast and the other leading west. They followed the wester branch and eventually came within sight of another set of bars that blocked a narrow passage deeper into the earth.

"It's through there," Ixin informed them. She gestured passed the bars, in the direction her humming blood told her the nexus lay.

"Looks like another trap," Ledare said and turned to the halfling. "Vade?"

The halfling was crouched down and poking with the point of his shortsword at something mired in the pile of detritus at his feet. He looked up with a start at the mention of his name. "I'm not doing anything!" he said loudly. His voice echoed in the chamber, making him cringe.

"Would you mind checking the bars for any traps?" the Janissary asked with a dubious expression on her face. "You can do that, can't you?"

The halfling smiled so wide that half his face seemed to be teeth. "You know I can," he said, sheathing his little sword. As he trotted up to the bars, he fished in his pack for his Open Kit. It took his keen eyes no time at all to spot the telltale seams in the floor and wall around the bars and he went to work with the tools of his trade. A few moments later there was a soft click followed by Vade saying, "Uh-oh!" as the bars and the floor around them rotated quickly and locked into place in the same way that the other set of bars had done. Luckily, Vade had made a point of staying off of the trapped section of floor while he worked, so he remained where he was. The halfling sighed and wiped non-existent sweat from his brow as he went about the business of securing his Open Kit and slipping it into his pack.

"I took care of the trap," he said a trifle sheepishly as he got to his feet.

Draelond sheathed Ravager and stepped forward. "Let's see if I can take care of the bars," he said, spitting into the palms of his hands. He grasped the centermost bars and strained against them. The seconds ticked by as the iron-hard muscles warred against iron itself. In the end, the bars surrendered with a loud wrenching sound that Draelond enjoyed immensely. He managed to wipe the grin off his face before turning to face his companions. "Shall we proceed?" he asked.



Beyond the bars, the corridor met up with another tunnel on the left and continued on in a more northerly direction. Before they'd gone too far, they spotted a sickly green glow up ahead. The glow eventually resolved itself into a 10-foot wide by 10-foot tall archway filled completely with glowing green mist. The arch was composed of 29 stones. The two stones at the base were unadorned, but each of the other 27 was carved with a rune. The rune on the keystone was larger, inlaid with iron and corresponded to one of the other stones; its rune was the only one duplicated.

"Well, this looks familiar," Draelond muttered.

"What do you mean?" Ixin asked and they filled her in on the mission during which they had stolen a baby that was about to become a vessel for evil and Kirnoth had gotten infected with lycanthrope. "Well, this is definitely the power nexus," she informed them after they were done with the recounting. "I can feel the energy coming off it like heat from an oven."

"Stand back," Ruze said, shouldering his way to the front. He brandished his holy symbol in one hand and extended his other toward the portal, palm outward. "Shaharizod, my Queen, bless me with thy virtue so that I might cleanse this portal of evil that serves thy enemies." The tunnel filled with a hushed stillness as the cleric channelled positive energy into the bilious green vapors. Outwardly there was no apparent effect.

"Is that it?" Ixin asked and Ruze nodded. "Then let's see what happens when I anchor to it," she said and touched one of the stones with her right hand. She went rigid as an orgy of magical energy flooded her body. Her face split into a toothy grin as the raw mana sizzled through every fiber of her body and soul. Ixin's fiery shock of hair seemed to be moving as if it were stirred by a strong breeze although the air was very still.

"Are you alright?" Ledare asked and Ixin looked at her dreamily. It took the mage a moment to recognize the Janissary but when she finally did, she nodded her head.

"I'm fine..," she began. "It's pretty powerful. I'd say it's rated an eleven... or twelve... Twelve. Definitely twe-"

Draelond jerked her away suddenly from the nexus and Ixin looked at him angrily. "It wasn't hurting me!" she growled and the overly-muscled warrior said nothing but pointed grimly at the portal.

The rune etched into the stone where Ixin had placed her hand was glowing and the mist in the archway was beginning to thin. Shapes began to resolve themselves out of the green vapor and after only a moment, they were looking out into a clearing amidst a forest of bronzewood trees. Ancient standing stones stood tall at the treeline. The sky filled with scudding white clouds with Orin's Shield visible behind them midway through its climb to the vault of heaven. A lone mountain peak thrust up behind the uppermost branches of the bronzewoods on the far side of the clearing. In the center of the open space squatted a black sacrificial alter such as both Ruze and Ledare had seen in the sewers beneath Barnacus. The ground around it was bare of vegetation and stained dark with years of blood-letting.

"I don't like the looks of that," Vade said, peeking out from behind Ruze's leg.

Ledare stepped forward and looked closely at the scene in the portal. She turned her head this way and that as she studied the area. "I know this place," she said at last. "Or at least I know where it is. That peak in the background is the northern face of Little Boy Mountain. This must be the Spiderwood. It's not more than a half-day's walk to my aunt's manor outside of Byr."


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #331] The Gatekeeper*

"Spiderwood?" Vade cringed. "I don't like the sound of that."

Ledare didn't look at him as she explained. Her gaze was drawn into the scene visible within the archway. "It's called the Spiderwood because of its history," she said. "Spider-creatures called Chagmat have plagued the area for over 250 years, although not constantly. They would raid villages, slaughter civilians and then disappear... just long enough for the people to get complacent and think the stories were more for frightening young children."

She turned then and looked at her companions with eyes that conveyed unspoken depths of hurt despite her stony expression. "I was taken in one of those raids," she said after a pause. "I was fortunate enough to be one of the few survivors. Many of my family members and friends did not survive. It was a harrowing experience, and it haunts me still."

"I don't want to go there," the halfling whined and Ruze patted him on the head.

"Do you want to stay here with the Devourer, little one?" the Battleguard asked and Vade clutched his leg even tighter. "It will paralyze you and eat you like a sugar coated mushroom."

The halfling looked up at Ruze with big, sad eyes. "I really do not like mushrooms," he told the man then considered for a moment before hesitantly adding, "Maybe I would with sugar on them."

Ledare nodded at the halfling, acknowledging his reticence and added, "Usually the attacks are preceded by a notable surge of spiders in the area - the normal kind. Keep an eye out for that, and we should have some fair warning."

The cleric smiled before looking up at the strange portal. He perused the runes for a moment then announced, "My first instincts on the portal is that the runes correspond to various locations around the world." He took a step nearer to the archway and pointed to the rune about midway up on the right hand side that Ixin had touched. It continued to glow weakly. "Ixin put her hand on one rune/ location and activated the portal that leads there. The runes shows all the locations available and the duplicate rune at the top indicates where we are now."

"These are good points, Ruze," Ledare said looking at the runes with renewed interest. "What is the significance of each of these spots, I wonder?  And is the time frame the present in each area?"

"Only one way I can think of to find out," Draelond said. "We go through."

"It's easy to say, 'through the portal we go'," Ruze told the larger man. "But which location, and why?"

"Ledare recognizes this place," Draelond replied, gesturing casually at the portal. "To me, that makes a good place to start. We should investigate that altar... and anything else that looks like it is of significance."

"What would be the sense in going through the portal if we don't know exactly what the purpose is?" the Janissary asked aloud then answered her own question with her next breath. "Then again, maybe we have to go through first in order to find out."

"I think Ruze's theory is probably correct," Ixin spoke up at last. "It's worth a try to test the rune theory, at least. I think we should see if I can touch another rune and get a different location."

"Fair enough," Ledare said, stepping back and gesturing for the mage to approach the archway again.

Ixin extended her hand and touched another graven stone. Raw magic surged through her body. At once, the luminous green mist filled the arch again, obscuring the scene of the  Spiderwood. After a few seconds, the mists began to thin again, and the archway filled with a pane of utter black.

"Nothing," Ruze grumbled. His theory appeared to have been dashed, but a moment later Ixin shook her head.

"No, there's something," she announced, her draconic eyesight easily piercing the darkness. "There's just no light there. It's underground, I think. Worked stone floor and ceiling. That's all I can see."

"No altar?" Ledare asked and Ixin shook her head. She put her hand on another rune and the mists closed again before another image resolved itself. It was another woodland scene, but the trees were tall and spiky pines and the portal looked down on the forest from the mountainside above. The sky was overcast and dreary and sleet fell down in windswept sheets. There was no sign of an altar or anything else that any of them recognized.

"Should I keep going?" Ixin asked and the others exchanged glances and shrugs before Ruze spoke up.

"One more," he said. "And if we don't see another altar, then I vote we go through the portal to Spiderwood and I will attempt to purify that one. Then I will need rest and prayer to regain my Queen's blessings."

"Okay," the mage said and moved her hand to another stone. The mists filled in and then parted again, looking out into another woodland glade. Broken, ivy-wreathed columns of pitted white stone slanted this way and that amidst the trees and blocks of stone carved with time-worn symbols of acorns and oak leaves peeked out of the underbrush. But all of that seemed to fade from view when they spotted the majestic creature that stepped out from behind a fractured wall. Its coat was so white that it almost glowed in the sunlight; its mane and beard and tail were of glittering silver. The unicorn looked directly at them and then it reared up on its hind legs and flailed at the air with its front hooves. For a moment, its golden horn seemed to pierce the heavens and then it was gone. It didn't gallop away; it simply vanished.

The underground chamber filled with a hushed silence. No one spoke, then Vade chirped merrily,  "I want to go there!"

"Unicorns are fey creatures, my wee friend," Ixin cautioned. "It was a fey that tricked me here from my own world. They are a devious lot, and you would do well to avoid such encounters if you can."

"Did you fly through one of these, Ixin?" the halfling asked pointing to the portal, but the sorcerer shook her head.

"No," she told him. "But the idea is the same. And 'fell' might be a better word than 'fly'."

"Turn it back to Spiderwood," Ruze said, grimly. "We've proven my theory about the runes and my faith demands that I destroy that altar."

"If, as you say, you'll require rest after you do that, perhaps we should sleep in shifts until-" Ixin started to say, but Vade cut her off.

"I don't think I could sleep a wink here," the halfling said earnestly. "It is too creepy. And I can sleep anywhere!"

"I think we're getting ahead of ourselves with such thoughts," Ledare diffused the situation. "Maybe someone should stay behind to be sure we are able to come back, though."

"Oh no! I'm not staying here by myself!" Vade said, clutching on to Ruze's right hand with both of his own. "I don't want to be a sugar coated mushroom for that Devourer!"

"It doesn't have to be you.." Ledare began but Vade rambled on.

"I bet I do taste pretty sweet," he guessed. Looking at Ledare he asked, "I wonder how you tasted to him? You are lucky you are big! He would have just swallowed me whole!"

"Unless one of you are able to anchor to a ley line nexus, I imagine it'll have to be me that stays behind," Ixin assured the halfling as she touched the rune that summoned up the image of the Spiderwood. "I'm the only one who can work the portal."

"Okay," Ruze said with a nod. "Once we go through the portal I vote for a quick perimeter search then I will attempt to purify the altar."

They lined up and one-by-one they stepped through.



Spiderwood didn't smell a whole lot better than the Devourer's lair. The air was thick with the vile stench of rotting offal and sun-cooked excrement and soon, everyone was covering their mouths and noses as they looked around. They didn't have time to see much - the altar was in the center of a ring of ancient standing stones, the portal was set into one of the stones and Ixin seemed to be regarding them from within. Then the air was split with a horrifying bellow that smote their ears like a peal of thunder.

Hands went to weapons and then two of the trees beyond the ring of stones were pushed apart as an enormous creature forced its way into the clearing. It stood twice as tall as Draelond, with gangly, clawed arms that hung well past its bowed knees. Its flesh was a riot of rubbery green sinew, caked in places with dried blood and bits of rotting meat. Its head and tail, however, were those of a gargantuan rat. It fixed them with feral red eyes and roared its intentions once more before it exploded into motion, its talons digging great furrows in the bare ground.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #232] Gate Crashing*

"Golly wilikers! I knew I should have brought a bigger piece of cheese!" Vade stammered as he stared, slack-jawed, at the enormous creature.

Draelond unsheathed his great sword and quickly wiped his brow with a massive forearm as the beast went into motion. "I have a bad feeling about this," he said to no one in particular. The words hung around him in the air like a prophecy from The Great Book.

The thing moved with surprising swiftness and it was in their midst before anyone had any real chance to react. It didn't help that its 10-ft. long arms allowed it to reach them while keeping its body out of harm's way. Vade's luck seemed to have run out as he found himself the target of the rat-thing's attacks. The quick-footed halfling dodged the first swipe, but the creature's second claw savagely opened his guts.

"Yaaah!" the halfling squealed. Vade doubled over and took a step back. He fumbled one of his special glass bullets into his sling and let fly. Instead of striking between the giant's bulging yellow eyes, the tiny missile went up and over the creature's head, shattering harmlessly on the ground behind it.

Ixin, since she was not immediately threatened by the thing, reacted quicker than most of the others. Of course, she wasn't sure what she could do on the cave-side of the portal. She decided to perform a quick test of her limitations and drew some of the nexus' power into her body while her hands traced the relatively simple somatics that would activate one of her most minor spells. She conjured a tiny droplet of vitriol and cast it out at the monster that was currently rampaging amidst her friends. The green globule dissipated as soon as it intersected the flat plane that formed the portal's surface. Magic wasn't the answer, she grumbled as she began fumbling in her Cloak for her crossbow.

Ledare saw none of what Ixin had attempted. The Janissary was too busy sizing up their situation and closing with the rat-headed giant. "Ruze, mayhap this creature guards the altar!" she shouted as she advanced, silver-iron longsword at the ready. "Concentrate on the altar and do your business while we engage this thing!"

Even as Ruze nodded and forced his attention back to the unholy block of stone, Ledare came within reach of her opponent's claws. She cried out in pain as its filthy nails found a gap in the armor at her left knee. She faltered, but didn't stop until she was within sword's reach of the creature where her blade cut a vicious arc through the air. The blow, however, was turned aside by the creature's rubbery hide and caused it no injury.

Ruze heard the Janissary's cry of pain, but he forced himself to seek the inner calm that would allow him access to the divine energy needed to destroy the chaos altar. It was no easy task, but he managed. "Blessed be Shaharizod!" he cried out, brandishing his holy symbol in his fist. "Blessed will this shrine now be! Bathe it in thy light!' He felt the flood of positive energy pour through his soul and into the altar. The connection was strong and would have sent a dozen zombies cowering in fear. Against the unholy power of the altar stone, it had absolutely no effect.

Draelond finally gathered his wits and charged the giant rat-thing's flank. It was too preoccupied with Ledare to take an opportunistic swing at the warrior as he closed, and Draelond intended to make the creature pay dearly for overlooking him. He swung Ravager two-handed with all of the might within his divinely-enhanced body and buried the saw-toothed blade in the creature's kidney. It roared and turned on him as he withdrew the sword. Before he could do anything to react, it was upon him,  grabbing Draelond like a mean child might grab a toy it no longer fancied. It brutally ripped his arms out of their sockets. Draelond screamed in agony for only a moment before the creature dropped his broken body onto the ground at its feet. He didn't move.

"Nooo!" Vade screamed as the big warrior fell. The halfling's sling whirled over his head and he let fly with his amber bullet. It struck on the thing's right hip and shattered releasing a greasy blossom of fire on the creature's leg, causing it considerable pain.

Ixin aimed her crossbow through the portal at the enraged behemoth and fired. The quarrel shattered against the surface of the portal much as her spell had done. Short of stepping through into The Spiderwood, Ixin was powerless to help her companions.

Ledare swung her sword at the giant once more, but her aim was off and the weapon sliced only air.

Disgusted with the unholy vigor of the chaos altar, Ruze turned with determination to face the creature. He called upon Shaharizod's divine favor, "My Queen grant me thy sword arm!" Holy power suffused his being and he drew his scimitars to face the altar's guardian.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #233] Oh, How the Mighty Have Fallen*

"Kitten, use your abilities to distract the Rat Giant!" Ruze bellowed across the battlefield. "I will get Draelond!"

He needn't have bothered.

The rat-headed giant whirled on Ledare of its own accord and slashed at her savagely with its claws. She was ready for it this time, and weaved a well-practiced defense with her sword and shield, easily diverting the great creature's first attack. Not even her expertise was enough to turn aside the force behind the second claw; dagger-length talons ripped into the Janissary's abdomen, shredding chainmail and flesh in equal measure. Ledare doubled over in pain and the monster's enormous jaws snapped shut where her head had been an instant before. She could smell the charnel house reek of its breath wash over her like a foul cloud.

"Vade stay way-y-y out of its range and see if you can pester it with sling bullets to chase you!" the Battleguard directed. "Get it away from the portal and from Drae!"

Vade gasped as the thing engaged Ledare and the halfling began back-pedaling toward the portal. Even as he loaded another bullet into his sling, he saw something that the others were in no position to notice and the sight made his heart sink into his bowels like an icy stone: the edges of the ragged wound that Draelond had caused in the rat giant's lower back were knitting themselves back together as he watched. He noticed too that the burn his exploding sling bullet had caused to the thing's right thigh showed no signs of regenerating. As he let fly with his sling, he shouted, "Shoot some of that flaming gooey stuff!" His bullet bounced harmlessly off the giant's tough hide.

"It's time for a tactical retreat!" Ruze shouted. "Ixin, if you can hear me, get ready for us to come through and cover or backs!"

"Come on then! Just Come on!" Ixin was muttering over and over to herself as she worked the crank on her crossbow. She kept her eyes on the portal, mentally willing the others to step back through to safety.

Ledare groaned, pressed a hand into her bleeding guts, and activated the Ring of Invisibility. The rat giant let out a confused grunt as the Janissary disappeared. She began to move toward the portal, trusting in Ruze's ability to rescue Draelond. She hadn't made it five feet when fire exploded in her right thigh as the giant's claws ripped into her invisible body and drove her to the ground. Her last thought as the barren dirt swam up darkly to meet her was that she could see her hands again.

The giant rat bent low over Ledare's inert form and sniffed it with its long, twitching nose before turning its feral eyes on Ruze, the last standing target within reach of its claws. It locked eyes with the Battlegaurd and its salivating jaws parted in a lunatic's parody of a smile.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #233a] When Heroes Go Down...*

Ruze stared back at the huge monster and narrowed his eyes.

"My Goddess now is the time for thy shield," the Battleguard intoned. "Allow me to pass unmolested so I may reap the fallen and retreat." His holy symbol seemed to flash in the sunlight and he felt the protective mantle of a Sanctuary spell gird his body. He sucked in his breath and moved toward Draelond adding as an afterthought, "We have walked into a bit of a mess here, I am afraid."

The rat-headed giant opened its mouth in anticipation, thick ropes of saliva falling on Ledare's prone form as the creature eyed the cleric.

Ruze's eyes never left the huge monster as he reached down and grabbed Draelond by the collar of the fallen man's chain shirt. The cleric was happy to hear Draelond grunt in pain as he hauled his head and shoulders off the ground and began to drag him toward the portal.

That was the last thing that Ruze was happy about that day.

The giant came at him, thunderously, its claws ripping divots in the earth as it charged. Ruze had faith in his goddess, and he did nothing to avoid the creature's talons as it came at him since he was certain that it would be unable to actually strike him through his spell of Sanctuary. He was wrong. The creature's filthy nails ripped into his right forearm, trying to make him drop the scimitar in his hand. The initial pain was terrific and he felt his fingers going numb from the impact, but he maintained his grip on the weapon and the presence of mind to avoid both the monster's second claw attack and its snapping jaws.

From his vantagepoint near the portal, Vade watched his friend suffering at the monster's claws. For the first time ever, he wished he had a great big sword so he could stick that great big nasty and help Ruze out. But he didn't have a great big sword and his sling didn't seem to be doing much of anything to the giant. The cleric's wife, though... She had a big sword. Too bad she was sucking mud instead of fighting. Vade remembered the potion he'd found in the cave and pulled it out of his pouch. It was still crusted with yuckiness from that weird Devourer's place, but maybe it was a potion of healing. It was worth a try. He shrugged and darted across the clearing toward Ledare, tumbling acrobatically when he came within the creature's 10-foot reach.

On the other side of the portal, Ixin could stand no more. She reached into one of the impossibly deep pockets sewn into the lining of her cloak and produced a potion of her own. She remembered taking the vial from one of the racks in the Hibernian's laboratory. It was a potion of Divine Favor labeled with the grail symbol of the Bretoni goddess, Rhiannon, and it sent a waterfall of ice through Ixin's body as she drank it. Even as she cast it aside, she reached into another pocket and withdrew one of Dwardolin's scrolls before stepping through the portal into Spiderwood.

"Step back!" Ruze commanded, leveling his moonblade at the creature's head and the thing did as he bade it. It blinked at him in confusion but stepped away, allowing Ruze to drag Draelond out of range of its claws.

Vade rolled up to Ledare's side and came up short. The half-elf's breathing was shallow and ragged. The ground around her was growing dark with her blood and he could see a red gusher pulsing up from her wounded leg. The halfling grimaced and poured the potion down the Janissary's throat saying, "Through the teeth and over the gums... watch out belly here it comes." At once, the tiny fountain of blood dwindled to nothing and her breathing evened out somewhat, but she showed no sign of regaining consciousness. Frowning, Vade tugged at Ledare's sword arm; he may as well have been trying to uproot a tree, it seemed, but the Janissary's armored form moved a fraction after a few moments' strain.

"You. Need. To. Diet," he grunted, red-faced as he pulled.

Ixin stepped up passed Ruze with the scroll unfurled in one hand. The parchment crumbled into ash as she spoke the last words of the spell, "Fuco aspergo!" She gestured at the giant and a rainbow cone of clashing colors sprayed from her outstretched hand, enveloping the creature in the dizzying display. The rat giant's face went slack and it blinked crazily as the colors subsided, but it showed no sign of attacking.

Ixin and Ruze exchanged a glance. "That won't last long," she told him and the Battleguard nodded.

"Go. Help Vade drag Ledare back here," the cleric said. "I'll hold it off as well as I may."

The mage took off at a run and Ruze muttered another quick prayer as he unsheathed his second scimitar. "My Queen," he whispered, "I beg you for your guidance against this minion of chaos."

As if it had heard the spoken prayer, the giant blinked the confusion from its bulging yellow eyes and glowered down at the cleric. Its claws rose and fell rapidly and were just as rapidly turned aside by Ruze's scimitars. He couldn't avoid the bite attack that descended onto his right shoulder, piercing his scalemail and scraping off the bone beneath. Ruze roared in pain but kept his focus, maneuvering himself and his opponent away from the portal five feet at a time.

The Battleguard's agonized scream of pain caused Vade to whine in fear and redouble his efforts with Ledare's unmoving form. She was so heavy, though, and it was very slow going.

Ixin ran up beside the halfling, unfurled another scroll and spoke the magic trigger, "Contego!" As the scroll crumbled away to nothingness, an invisible disk of force materialized in front of the mage. She had no trouble sensing the temporary hardening of the Weave and she mentally directed it to face toward the giant before grabbing Ledare's shield arm. "Come on!" she urged and together, she and Vade made good time with the Janissary.

Ruze held his swords defensively and made a tactical adjustment, luring the giant away from the portal as he did so. The rat monster took the bait and moved to follow, slashing at the cleric with its claws. Ruze wove a masterful defense with his curved blades, easily deflecting the creature's first attack. The second came in, and almost found its way passed his defenses, but the Battleguard felt the hand of his goddess guiding his blade into place and the monster missed by the narrowest of margins. Its bite found only his whirling steel.

"The thingie!" Vade cried as he and Ixin got to the portal with Ledare.

The archway was filled with the luminous green vapor and for a moment Ixin's heart sank. Perhaps she had trapped them all here by stepping through from the Devourer's lair. She reached out a clawed hand and touched the rune that corresponded to the caves outside Strenchburg Junction. A wave of relief washed over her as the green mist thinned, revealing the darkened cave interior. She and Vade heaved the Janissary's body through the portal and went to do the same with Draelond's.

Ruze continued to lead the giant away, his swords held in their defensive positions, and they wove a nearly impenetrable net of flashing steel between cleric and monster. Its claws and teeth were driven back by the moonblades, but the Battleguard had used the last of Shaharizod's guidance, and this time, when a talon swept in low beneath his defenses, there was no divine guidance to turn his blade in the right direction.  The giant slashed its nails across Ruze's left foot, tearing away flesh and sending the cleric to the ground on his back.

Symmetry, Ruze thought as darkness took him. He'd been in a similar position at the moment that he'd decided to devote himself to the Silver Queen. It seemed fitting that he should find himself in the same state when he went to meet her in the afterworld.

Vade saw the cleric fall and had a slightly different opinion. "We're dead," he said.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #233b] ...They Go Down Fast!*

Tears began to squirt from the halfling's eyes and he became a furious bundle of energy. His nimble hands worked to free the strange blackberry sling stone he'd found inside the locked building at the elves' compound, load it into the leather pouch of his sling, and start it spinning. "Get away from my friend!" he screamed as loudly as his tiny lungs could muster and then he let the bullet fly.

Whether his accuracy was born of desperation or natural skill was immaterial. The stone flew across the clearing and thudded against the giant's left bicep as it turned to face its two remaining foes. It had time to grunt at the sting and then the bullet exploded, releasing an expanding mass of webbing. One end of the web anchored itself to the standing stone behind the giant and the other stretched all the way to the altar. The rat-headed giant was trapped amidst the strands rather like the center tent pole of a travelling minstrel show. It didn't seem particularly happy about it and it was further enraged when four big spiders swarmed up out of the webs.

"Good job, little one," Ixin said as she withdrew another vial from the folds of her cloak. Like the potion of Divine Favor (whose effects she could still feel) it bore the symbol of the fey goddess, Rhiannon, but unlike the last this elixir wasn't meant to be drunk. Ixin sprinkled the Oil of Magic Weapon over her crossbow, raised it to her shoulder and fired. The quarrel sailed off into the trees and the mage cursed under her breath.

The four large spiders scurried out of the webbing and up onto the giant's rat head. It thrashed around and wailed as it struggled against the sticky mess holding it in place. Two of the arachnids injected their venom into the monstrous creature, but it seemed to do little more than enrage it further. With a mighty roar and the sound of both tearing webs and tearing fur, the creature began to force its way to the edge of the webs.

Vade's knees shook as he loaded another bullet into his sling. He was all out of his special, weird bullets and had only those that, while well balanced, looked just like ordinary missiles. The stone made a perfect arc and then pinged ineffectually off of the giant's temple. The halfling let out a small, "Yipe!" and turned to flee through the portal, but with Ixin no longer anchored to it, the archway was filled again with luminous green mist. Vade whined in abject terror

Ixin slipped a quarrel free of her case and began the arduous process of cranking her heavy crossbow.

The spiders continued to swarm over the giant's rat-like head, but only one of them was able to bypass its naturally tough hide. It showed no signs of succumbing to the spiders' poisonous bite.

With a final, defiant roar it burst free of the confining webs.

"Turn on the door! Turn on the door!" Vade urged, bouncing up and down behind Ixin. "Turn on the door! Turn on the door!"

"Not yet!" the sorcerer corrected as she gave her crossbow a final crank and raised the weapon again. "Ruze is still under your webs!" She fired and this time the bolt struck the webbing several feet to the creature's right.

The giant began going to work on the spiders. It swatted two into pulp on its head and plucked a third off its shoulder with its teeth. It crunched its many-legged tormentor between its jaws with relish.

"We should go!" Vade implored. "It's gonna kill us! And it's barely hurt! We should go!"

Ixin was busy reloading her crossbow, but she shook her head. "We're not leaving Ruze behind!" She glanced to the side in order to catch the halfling's eye, but Vade had activated the Ring of Invisibility and disappeared.

The giant clawed the last of the spiders into a broken mess on its neck and let out a roar of such volume that the ground vibrated beneath the sorcerer's feet.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #234] Snatching Defeat from the Jaws of Victory*

"Damn," Ixin cursed, returning the crossbow to its hidden pocket. "Vade, come help me drag Ruze from the webs and let's get out of here," she called to the halfling, but Vade wasn't near enough to hear her request. And anyway... he had a plan of his own!

"Hey limburger breath..," the halfling called out invisibly some distance to Ixin's left, away from the webs. "Over here!"

The giant turned its rat-like head toward the sound of the halfling's voice and sampled the air with its sensitive nose but Vade's voice rang out again from a spot ten feet further on from where it had been. "No wait!" the halfling giggled. "I'm over here! Hahahaha! Dumby!"

Ixin gestured at the creature's back with both her hands and uttered the final words to an incantation. At once, the shadows of the standing stones (which were pooled at the bases of the plinths in the early afternoon light from Orin's Shield) shuddered along the ground, stretching up to envelope the enormous monster in a night-dark net. At the last instant, however, the giant stepped out of the area of effect and the net collapsed at its feet.

It whirled back around then and came at Ixin. The mage grimly stood her ground as the beast thundered toward her trailing thick white ropes of saliva from its open jaws, its eyes blazing with inhuman hatred. Enormous claws came at her in rapid succession, striking like lightning. Her Shield spell deflected both attacks harmlessly.

Ixin took a step back and summoned the power that had flowed through her bloodline since before the Fall. The rat-thing took an opportunistic swipe at her with its claw as she began to cast, but again, her Shield turned the blow aside. She felt drained by the effort to manipulate the Weave and realized that if this didn't work, she'd get no third chance. She could power no more spells of the first circle today. "Vuthasjach!" she shouted and swept her arms toward the giant. Again the shadows snaked unnaturally along the ground and wove their way up over the monster. This time, however, it couldn't resist the effects of Ixin's magic and the dark net fell over it like a shroud.

The monster roared in frustration and slashed blindly at where it had last seen Ixin. One of its claws slashed the air several feet above her head and the other was deflected by her Shield.

Vade, meanwhile had taken the opportunity to put some distance between himself and the giant. He stood, invisibly, on the other side of the clearing, hurling insults and the occasional handful of pebbles to attract the thing's attention. "You are going to look pretty stupid among your rat friends after this halfling kicks your hairy, smelly rat butt!"

It worked, and the enshrouded monster lumbered blindly in the halfling's direction, leaving Ixin a few moments to contemplate freeing Ruze. He was clearly visible lying some 15 feet from the edge of the webs, but he was completely covered by them and there was no way to get close to him without become ensnared herself. Cutting was futile as well. She knew well enough from watching the Dragon's Claw at work that the one sure way out of a web spell was to burn it and she thanked Io, The Ninefold Dragon that she possessed a bloodline of fire.

"Valignat," Ixin hissed under her breath and a flame-substituted Acid Splash spell flicked from the ends of her clawed fingers. It was one of her weakest spells, but the droplets of fire fell on the web strands and burned away a 5-foot patch in an instant. She smiled and moved closer to the fallen Battleguard.

"Ouch!" Vade was shouting - this time from the creature's right. "Boy! You hurt my tummy! I am mad!"

With a roar, the giant lunged at Vade. Ixin's Net of Shadows concealed everything from the rat creature's sight, and while it could smell and hear well enough, that did nothing to reveal the location of the altar until it was too late. It tripped over the black stone block and went sprawling with an earthquake of a thud. 

The mage repeated her spell and a fine spittle of fire dripped from her hands, turning another 5-foot section of webs into so much smoke. She could see Ruze lying just a bit further on, but couldn't tell whether or not he was still breathing.

"I bet that poison is making you feel sleepy, mouse man," Vade taunted. "You had better go wash out those bites before you go nite-nite and we skin your retched hide."

The giant got awkwardly to its feet and slashed at the air where it thought the halfling was standing, but it connected with only empty air. Vade's taunting laughter drifted maddeningly to its ears.

"Valignat," Ixin muttered again and burned away the last of the strands that stood between her and the unmoving cleric. He was still firmly entangled, but she was close enough now to see the blood that slicked his armor.

Vades laughter suffered a choked death in his throat as Ixin's spell ran its course and the shadows fell away from the rat thing. It was standing 20 feet away and facing the wrong direction when the spell dissipated and the halfling used the opportunity to sneak another 10 feet further away from the creature. He stopped short when he reached the edge of the webs and for a moment stood on his tippy-toes, pin-wheeling his arms invisibly to avoid falling into the sticky mass. When he'd regained his balance, an idea struck him and a mischievous grin spread across his face. Of course, no one could see it, but if someone could - someone who knew him, like Papa or Mama or Rherram - they would have known to become frightened and begin protecting their valuables.

Ixin, meanwhile was trying without success to pull the Battleguard free of the webbing on its opposite side. She was strong as mages went, she knew, but she was no powerhouse and she was making exactly no progress toward extricating her friend. She let his foot go and her hands came away red and wet. There wasn't much time left for the cleric, she knew. "Forgive me," Ixin moaned as she reached out to the Weave again.

"Hey, ugly!" Vade called, as he deactivated the Ring of Invisibilty and blinked into sight. The rat monster turned quickly and let out a growl that the halfling could feel in his stomach. It charged and Vade struck a tindertwig on his belt buckle. As the giant came at him, he touched the flame to the smokestick he'd borrowed from Ledare and feinted left. The smokestick instantly exploded in a thick cloud of black, sooty smoke that the giant tore into, expecting to find Vade. What it found was the sticky mass of webbing. The halfling had tumbled expertly to safety several feet to the right.

Sparks of fire dripped from Ixin's fingers onto the strands that held the cleric, and although she did her best to shield Ruze from the flames, he was still burned a bit by the ordeal. Ixin, of course, was completely uninjured by the blaze; the protection of red dragonblood shielded her from the heat, and she used her immunity to pull fistfuls of the burning webs away from the Battleguard's inert body. As soon as he was freed, she grabbed his arms and began dragging him as fast as she was able toward the portal.

"We need to get out of here!" Vade's disembodied voice said into Ixin's ear as she went. He had activated the ring again. " I don't want to be a sugar coated mushroom!"

"Help me with Ruze and we'll get going!" Ixin agreed.

"Now you are speaking my language, dragon lady!" the halfling exclaimed happily. He grabbed hold of the Battleguard's leg and did what he could to lighten Ixin's load. "I am so into getting out of here quickly!"

The rat-headed giant, had become completely ensnared within the confines of the web and although it struggled titanically, it couldn't free itself before Ixin and Vade had reached the portal with their burden. The sorcerer activated the portal with a simple touch and the green vapors parted revealing the dark cave and Draelond and Ledare's unmoving forms. The halfling and the drakeling struggled to get maneuver the Battleguard through the opening and the giant had still not extricated itself from the strands.

At the threshold, Vade paused, deactivated the Ring of Invisibility and waved at the huge monster. The wave turned into an obscene gesture the instant before the halfling dived through to the other side. Ixin stepped through after him and quickly unanchored herself from the nexus, deactivating the portal.

"We made it! We made it!" Vade was joyously crying over and over again. Ixin's darkvision revealed that he was kissing the stone floor of the cave in between exclamations. "We made it! We made it!"

"Saltatus iubar," Ixin said, tracing patterns in the air with her fingers. The dark chamber was quickly lit by the ruddy glow of Dancing Lights.

"Thanks," Vade said as his vision returned. "It was kinda dark in here."

"This spell will only last for a short while, so we'll need to find the torches," Ixin said, gesturing toward Draelond. "I think he's got them in his pack."

While Vade hunted through Draelond's belongings, Ixin checked on Ruze's health. She moved then to Ledare and quickly to Draelond, performing the same test for a lifebeat on each of them. She sat down heavily, her back against the wall of the cave, and buried her face in her hands.

"What's wrong?" Vade asked as he lit one of the torches he'd found. For a moment Ixin couldn't answer, but at last she heaved her head up to look at her little companion.

"Dead," she said flatly. "Draelond and Ruze are dead."


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## Dakkareth

I have only read the first few parts of the story hour so far ... but there's already a question: Where are the first 178 parts? 

Whatever the answer I'm sure I will enjoy reading this SH. 

If it is the custom here, that intrusive replies are deleted, I will not object. I can't be the first replier, can I?

-Dakkareth


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## Jon Potter

Dakkareth said:
			
		

> *I have only read the first few parts of the story hour so far ... but there's already a question: Where are the first 178 parts?  *




Right here. Or at least mostly. There are a few bits missing, but not much. The early stuff is in more of a digest format rather than individual posts.



> *Whatever the answer I'm sure I will enjoy reading this SH. *




I appreciate the vote of confidence. I'll try not to disappoint.



> *I can't be the first replier, can I?*




Pretty close to it! Of the 100-ish posts to this thread, I think 98 of them are story. Enjoy...


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #234a] Interlude*

The dream that had intruded nightly on Windstryder's sleep was always the same. In it a child fell, plummeting from the night sky amidst a cascading explosion of feathers. The young girl's arms and legs flailed uselessly against the air, her beautiful face contorted into a rictus of fear. Below her, from the darkness, arose a malignant claw of enormous size that spread its taloned fingers to pluck the girl from the heavens. As the clutching hand neared the girl she opened her mouth to scream, but no sound issued forth. Her glittering green eyes pleaded for protection but, although Windstryder reached out her right hand to catch the girl, she quickly disappeared beneath a rising tide of darkness.

*Starday, the 10th of Wealsun, 1269 AE*

She awoke suddenly to find the sky lightening with the dawn. Feln was already up, sitting cross-legged atop his sleeping mat, and the half-orc stared at her across the smoldering embers of their campfire. "You're awake early," the ranger said as she forced her tired body to a sitting position. She knew that the dreams had started only nine nights previous, but it felt like a moonsdance since she'd had a good night's sleep.

"You were screaming," Feln replied simply and Windstryder found it difficult to meet his eye. The half-orc, oblivious to her embarrassment, continued to regard her with interest. "Was it the dream again?"

"Yes," the elf answered, rubbing sleep from her eyes with her left hand while she braced herself with her right fist.

"Then we should get ready to move," the monk observed and rose to his feet in one graceful motion. "We are still many days away from the girl. If she is the right one."

"Not too many strange orphan girls fall from the sky, Feln," Windstryder said. A note of irritation had crept unbidden into her voice. "She's the one."

"Some of the tales say she came up from the earth," the half-orc responded as he carefully tended to his minimal gear. "The rumors are..." He stopped in mid-sentence, struggling for the right word.

"Inconsistent?" the elf offered and Feln nodded gratefully.

"Inconsistent," he repeated.

"She's the one," Windstryder assured him and looked at her right fist. It had remained tightly closed since her waking and she willed it open with some effort now. There, crushed from the force of her fingers, lay a feather. She recognized it immediately as one of the feathers she had seen raining down around the falling girl. It also matched the color and patterning of her hawk companion, Anta. "She's the one," she said again.

"Some say her showing up is a sign of the end days," Feln cautioned. "What if they are right and your dreams are wrong."

"Then we have failed," she said flatly as she got to her feet. "Either she has the cure or our questing is for naught. The king will die and Barnacus will be reduced to a plague-haunted graveyard within a fortnight."

The half-orc nodded. Without a hint of irony, he said, "So long as you know where we stand, Windstryder."


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #234b] A Chance Encounter*

Feln crouched low, avoiding the creature's flailing tentacles and spinning on the ball of his left foot even as he drove his right piston-like into its side. The giant cuttle worm staggered sideways from the impact, blood spraying in a dark cloud from its sphincter mouth. It took one half step and then collapsed in a boneless heap, its lifeblood continuing to pour from amidst its rubbery tentacles.

The half-orc rose slowly, easily to his feet. A pair of eight-foot long carrion crawlers lay dead in the underbrush around him. He wasn't even breathing hard. A few paces distant, Windstryder went about the business of collecting those of her arrows that were still serviceable. Anta regarded them both from a nearby tree branch.

The worms had struck without much warning as the two companions passed through this forest north of the caravan trail, Merchant's Way. Only Windstryder's ability to resist paralysis kept her from falling during the creatures' initial attack, but the two combatants, long used to acting in concert on the battlefield, soon turned the combat around. Feln relied on his superior speed as well as his uncanny ability to avoid the worms' attacks in order to take control of the melee while Windstryder stayed on the periphery, pumping arrows into the carrion crawlers two-at-a-time. Neither needed to speak to the other; their counterattack was silent, swift, and brutal.

Windstryder suddenly froze nearby, her head cocked to one side. 

Instinctively, Feln melted silently into the shadows cast by the noonday sun while the ranger crouched low, following the faint sound she had heard coming from just over the ridge to the southeast. She eased herself onto her belly and crept forward to peer over the edge into the clearing below.

There she spotted a halfling slinking out of a cave that opened in the ridge almost directly below her vantagepoint. He was wearing an overstuffed backpack and bore a shortsword at his hip. He was rather filthy, and his shirt and trousers were stained with blood. As he turned, surveying his surroundings, Windstryder was obliged to duck back down lest she be spotted. But in the brief glimpse of his turning she saw that he had a rather large and very fresh wound to his belly.

Feln crawled out of the shadows to her right and looked pointedly at her. Windstryder shrugged and held up one finger. She gestured for him to circle around to the south while she moved around to the east; the ridge was less-pronounced there and would provide them both with an easier descent if it became necessary. The half-orc nodded and pulled out his Hat of Disguise. In a moment, he looked like an elf; his features were similar enough to Windstryder's that he might have been confused for her brother. With practiced grace, he moved silently away to the south.

Windstryder stole another look over the edge of the ridge and saw that the halfling had disappeared - most likely back into the cave. She rolled to her feet and moved along the edge of the ridgeline, darting expertly from tree to tree. When she heard a rattle and clank from the clearing below, she dropped to the ground and crept back to the edge for a look.

The halfling had returned, but this time he wasn't alone. With him was a redheaded woman the same size as Feln, if not larger. She was dressed in leathers with a basket-hilted sword at her waist. Over that, she wore a voluminous cloak trimmed in cloth-of-gold. It was clear from the unnatural tint of her coppery skin that she wasn't human, but what race she did belong to the ranger couldn't say.

The tall woman was struggling backward, dragging an armored warrior, her hands threaded beneath the smaller figure's arms. Considering the numerous dents in the smaller figure's half-plate armor, and the glistening patches of blood that adorned it, the warrior was either dead or very lucky to be alive. 

As they moved further away from the cave and Windstryder's view improved, she was able to recognize the cut of the half-plate armor as that worn by the King of Elcadan's elite Janissaries. The ranger eased forward a bit more to a better angle... and dislodged a clump of dirt from the edge of the ridge.

As it started to fall, she was already jerking her head back out of sight, but Windstryder feared it was already too late. An owl that she hadn't noticed previously launched itself from a nearby tree and began circling over the trio in the clearing below. The elf silently cursed her clumsiness.

Sequestered silently and invisible amidst the trees, Feln watched the scene unfold. The way the owl hooted and the way that the tall woman reacted to it told him that this was no ordinary animal. She lowered the injured fighter to the ground and gathered her cloak around herself. The halfling had already disappeared beneath its folds.

"Show yourself!" the redhead cried. Her voice was rich and clear in the mid-day air. "Be warned! I have powerful magic at my disposal! My companion may be injured, but if you mean us ill, you must still deal with me!"


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #235] Wandering... Monsters?*

At Ixin's pronouncement, Vade's lower lip began to quiver. His eyes grew wet and he was soon crying in earnest, draped across Ruze's body. "Th-that... That meanie!" the halfling sobbed. "That m-meanie killed my b-b-best friend!"

Ixin felt the little rogue's pain, and turned away to give Vade a moment to mourn in peace.

The sorcerer bent over Ledare's body and checked to make sure that she was indeed stable. She looked terrible, but her breathing was normal and her wounds had all closed to some degree. She was no longer bleeding, although she was slick with the stuff. Whatever had been in the potion Vade had poured down her throat had no doubt saved her life.

When Ixin looked up, Vade had his backpack sitting on the floor next to him and was stuffing Ruze's scimitars into it as best he could. When he noticed the mage looking at him, the halfling wiped tears off his cheeks and sniffed loudly. "We should take their stuff," he told her. "They would want us to have it." Ixin couldn't argue, but when she went to check Draelond, she found that he had little on him besides his clothing and armor.

"Where's Draelond's sword?" she asked and Vade shrugged.

"Back there?" he suggested, gesturing toward the glowing portal. If that's where it had fallen, Ixin considered the weapon lost. There was no way she was reactivating the portal to go retrieve it.

"We need to drag Ledare back to Rherram's as quickly as possible," Ixin observed. Reflecting on both Ruze and Draelond, she added, "I suggest we burn the bodies here and say a prayer over them."

"B-burn them?" Vade whimpered and he started crying again.

"We don't have any chance at all of carrying them out," the mage explained. "And I couldn't live with myself if I allowed even the possibility of Ruze turning undead."

Vade had to agree and they quickly went about the business of laying the two men side-by-side atop a bed of tinder - which included strips of both men's cloaks, two unused torches, and scraps of blank parchment that Vade had in his pack for some reason. They then arranged Ruze's holy symbol on his chest and bowed their heads.

"Ruze's queen, Shaharizod!" Ixin said awkwardly, her hands clasped as she had seen other penitents do, and casting her eyes upward. "Your Battleguard fought valiantly for you. He did his very best to turn the tide of Evil and Chaos. Please grant him a place in a better realm where he can be at peace. And please also send your blessings to Draelond - a strong honorable and brave warrior - as he journeys to the other side. They will both be sorely missed."

She lay a comforting hand on Vade's head briefly and the halfling sniffed loudly. "I am sorry you had to die, Ruze," he said. "Thank you for saving us. You were my best friend and the Dragon Lady and I will miss you." Looking over at Draelond he said with genuine awe, "Man, you were big. I hope they have extra large chairs for you to sit on in heaven."

There was a moment's silence and then they could hear the very faint sound of wet movement coming from back inside the warren of caves. Vade looked quickly up at Ixin and Ixin glanced down at him. "Grab Ledare with me and let's get the hell out of here! Now!" she said.

Vade nodded vigorously, wiped his nose on the back of his hand and whispered to Ruze's body, "Do not worry. I will take care of your wife and see that no harm comes to her."

As the two companions hauled Ledare off the cave floor, Ixin gestured at the two bodies and spoke the command that activated her last cantrip, "Valignat!" A fiery spray fell across the two bodies, igniting the tinder. As the flames licked up they shuffled awkwardly out of the small cul de sac.

"Come now, Kitten," Vade grunted as he heaved against the Janissary's foot. "Let's go."



The journey up and out of the caves, while uneventful, was lengthy and tiring. It took Ixin and Vade (Well, Ixin, mostly, since Vade was barely able to handle the weight of his overstuffed backpack) over an hour to drag Ledare's limp body up from the Devourer's lair and out to the upper cave. There, they lowered the Janissary to the floor of the cave and Ixin rested, panting from exertion. She freed Martivir from his pouch and sent him and Vade outside to see if either the carrion crawlers or the winged skaven were waiting in ambush. Vade returned a few moments later to tell her the coast was clear and she dragged Ledare out into the sunshine of early afternoon.

They made it to the center of the clearing when Martivir took flight from a nearby tree branch where he'd been waiting. He hooted a warning and circled overhead.

"There is a person hiding on top of the ridge," Ixin conveyed the owl's message to Vade in a hushed whisper as she lowered Ledare's body to the ground. "I am fresh out of magic, so there's no way we're fighting our way out of here." 

Vade moved close to her and clutched her knee, quaking with fear. "Oh, no. Oh, no," he was whimpering over and over.

"Follow my lead," Ixin said and gathered her cloak around herself. Then taking a deep breath she bellowed, "Show yourself!" Her voice rang out rich and clear in the mid-day air, but there was no immediate response. "Be warned! I have powerful magic at my disposal! My companion may be injured, but if you mean us ill, you must still deal with me!"

When there was still no response, Ixin spoke to Martivir flying overhead. "Show me where this person is hiding, Marty," she hissed. "But don't take any risks. If he tries to hurt you come straight back here." The owl hooted in reply and then took off for the top of the ridge, a little to the right of the cave opening. He began to circle.

After a moment, a figure rose up from the grass there as if she had just sprung whole from the earth. She was fae, Ixin could tell, wearing a silvery chainmail shirt and carrying a reinforced longbow. She regarded the mage with grey eyes and then gestured with her left hand as if signalling to others that waited in the weeds nearby.

"I seek no trouble from strangers," she said and began to move easily along the ridge line. "Keep hands off weapons and do not incant, for I am very familiar with spell casters." She nocked an arrow in her bow, but kept it pointed at the ground as she moved down the slope to join them in the clearing. "Mygroup has you covered from a higher elevation. No sudden moves."

"Who are you?" Ixin demanded. Beneath her cloak, her hands neared one of the few scrolls she had left.

"You may call me Windstryder," she said, her eyes moving appraisingly over both Ixin and the fallen Ledare. "I see you have a fallen Janissary from Barnacus. Once I have determined whether or not you follow the tainted path and decided whether you wounded her, we can determine what you are about. The King, although sick, still does not take kindly to bandits wounding his honor guard."

The brown-haired woman made another gesture with her hand. and a second fae moved noiselessly from the underbrush at the south end of the clearing. Ixin was unsure how alike the fae looked on this world, but from all appearances, he could have been the female's brother. He carried no bow, but had a well-worn staff in one hand.

"I'm no bandit," Ixin hissed angrily. Vade's fingers dug into her leg beneath her cloak.

"What are you?" the second elf asked in response. "You are strange looking."

Ixin fixed the male with her golden eyes and said angrily, "My name is Ixin, daughter of Ventisjir the Red, granddaughter of Lady Dominor Corastrixarosvith of Clan Vermillion. Ur-Corastrixarosvith serves as Grand Councillor for Clan Vermilion to the Council of Wyrms. Her daughter, my mother, Ventisjir the Red is a Clan Champion."

The male elf blinked in response but seemed otherwise unimpressed.

"I can offer my help to heal you as I may," the female elf spoke up. She was crouched over Ledare, but had put her bow on the ground beside her. "It's not safe to administer aid to your wounded here in the mouth of this cave. We just dispatched two worm crawlers up above." Despite this pronouncement, she shrugged off her pack and removed a healing satchel from within.

A large hawk settled on a nearby tree branch and shrieked once.

"Oh, and Mage," Windstryder added, cocking her head towards the kestrel. "I suggest your owl keep its wits about it, lest Anta chases it for sport."

Ixin opened her cloak and Martivir flew inside, disappearing into his extra-dimensional pouch. In the process, the sorcerer revealed Vade clinging fearfully to her leg. The male elf looked at him quizzically.

"A halfling on the trail," he remarked. "How strange."

"I- I move around a lot," Vade told him in a small voice.

"Yes," the elf replied. "But what use are you in combat?"

"I-" Vade started, his pride injured. "If I- There was this-"

"Come here, little one," Windstryder said, holding up her healing kit. Ixin urged Vade to step forward, and he did so reluctantly. The female elf examined the claw wound to the rogue's stomach.

"Say," Vade smiled cheerily. "That's a very pretty bow you have." The elf grunted.

"Halfling, let's make one thing clear. I do not wish to find any of my weapons, gear, supplies, or items missing from my person without my expressed permission," she said as she worked. Her eyes never left the wound she was tending, and her tone was very matter-of-fact. "I do not accept apologies afterwards on how it accidentally fell out of my pouch and you were just keeping it for me. If a gem falls in the woods, then it is for Brogine. Not you."

"I'm no thief," Vade said then added, "I'm a rogue."

"I mean no offense. I am merely stating my intentions to you," she told him and then looked up, staring intently into his eyes "Or... I may accidentally poison you when I really meant to heal you. Yes?"

Vade nodded mutely and the elf stood, patting him on the head. "Good boy," she said.

"We have administered aid," she said to Ixin, looking up at the drakeling. "Now we are off on some King's business that must be attended to immediately. But it occurs to me that we would be aided in a mission for the King with one of the elite guards on our side." She looked down at Ledare's battered body.

The male elf snorted. "What use is this 'King's Soldier'?" he asked. "She will slow us down and we do not have time to waste, Windstryder."

"There is a healer nearby," Ixin suggested. "Help us get her there and we can talk more of your King's mission."

The two elves stared silently at one another and finally, the male produced a vial and tossed it to Ixin. "Make her drink this," he said. "It will get her on her feet."

"Which way is it to this healer?" Windstryder asked.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #235] Comparing Notes*

The elf's potion further closed Ledare's wounds and roused her immediately to consciousness. She got to her feet and was briefed by Ixin and Vade as to the fates of Draelond and Ruze. Her face darkened and for a moment she looked close to tears, but then a look of resignation settled on her delicate features and she nodded grimly. Next she was introduced to Windstryder. The male elf merely nodded at her and said, "You are indebted to me for a very expensive elixir, Janissary."

"I'm beholden to everybody," Ledare replied, brushing filth off her armor. Windstryder approached her and stepped in very close, muttering elvish into her ear.

"Are you all right? Have you been taken hostage?" the ranger asked. "I normally do not see the King's elite exit a cave's mouth with a dragon born and a halfling thief! What can you tell me to rest my fears aside, for I must tell you I could use your aid in the King's mission."

Ledare took a step back and smiled politely. "Diola lle. Lle ume quel," she said before switching to the common tongue and indicating Vade and Ixin with a gesture. "These are my comrades."

Windstryder looked the pair over appraisingly and then nodded to Ledare. "We should make haste," she said.

"OOOH! I know the way to the healers!" Vade exclaimed jumping in the air with his hand raised high. "Tell me about your mission from the king, guys! Kitten, Ruze's widow, is on a mission from the king too. Maybe she can tell you about it. I have never met a king before. Boy I would like to do that. I bet he knows a lot of stuff. I met a Baron once, but I really did not like him to much." The halfling stuffed his right hand into his pocket after studying it for a moment.

Windstryder chuckled darkly and shook her head. "A Ranger such as I knows not the King!" she told him. "I imagine my Guild Captain, Thornstryker, knows the King but my mission comes from the Wardens in Barnacus and I intend to complete it. Now which way to this healer?"



"Boy! I am glad that Ledare made it or it would be just you and me, Ixin!" the halfling mused as they walked along. "And I can't even say your whole name, it is so darn long." He bounced over toward the two elves and told them, "My name is long too: Vadenhuffer T. Briarhopper, the IV. Bet you did not know that! You all can call me Vade."

Windstryder and the male elf regarded him blandly but neither spoke.

"Do you want to know what the 'T' stands for? Trouble!" Vade announced proudly. "After my Uncle Trouble. He was always in trouble... Gods rest his soul. His wife lives with Mama and Papa. We took care of his wife after he was caught... I mean, after he went away for awhile. I will take care of Ruze's wife just like we did with my aunt. Us Briarhoppers take care of our people! And there's a lot of us!"

"I have two brothers Duece and Trey," Vade went on, oblivious to the newcomers' disinterest. "My Papa was Vadenhuffer the first, but he lacks any originality and named all of his sons after him. Vandenhuffer II and III - Duece and Trey, get it." He giggled and went on without waiting for an answer. "My mama always hoped I was a girl. I did put on a dress once to get out of.... well, you do not want to hear that story."

"I do not wish to hear any stories," the male elf replied gruffly. "Will your blather ever stop little one?"

Windstryder grinned at her companion and then turned to Vade. "Say, little one, how is that stomach wound of yours?" she asked. "I think all this talking may be loosing the bandage. Let me tighten it for you."

"No. I think it's fine," the halfling replied brightly, dodging out of the Windstryder's reach. "What is it like being an elf and living thousands of years? How old are you two? You look 25, but I bet you are 200 years old at least."

"Have you not learned from your mother that it is impolite to ask a woman her age? My age is my own," the elf replied coolly. "Know this, I am no stranger to the ways of the forest. And you know as well as I do, boy, of the life span of a full blooded elf."

"Age and wisdom must bring meaning and consideration to conversations," the male elf added rather cryptically.

"Great Grandpa Bumbler lived to be 174... oldest halfling I ever heard of," Vade said by way of answer. "People tell me to act my age. I am 26. What does a 26 year old elf look like? Is he a child? I bet I act a lot like a 26 year old elf. I must be part elf! Uncle Trouble did have awfully pointed ears. He said that they got caught in a headlock by an angry guard at the jewelry store. He could have been part elf, I betcha, though... Kind of lean, pointed ears. Yep that is it!"

"I know not the entire history of your race," Windstryder told him, as she was inexorably drawn in by the halfling's babble despite her best efforts to resist. "Your race steals from our blood, that is sure, but a pair of ears do not make an elf. And know this, halfling, I was scouting deer older than you while you were still stealing the milk from the breast. As for acting your age, I know not the proper age for one such as you. I have only heard of your race. I have not met one before this day, although my ears are worse for it."

Vade laughed, oblivious to the ranger's insult. "I think elves are neat. Kind of snooty, but they make really nice stuff," he told her. "My best friend Ruze was human. He was not snooty. His wife is half-snooty, though."

"Umm, hmm," Windstryder intoned and quickened her pace, quickly out-distancing the halfling although he trotted along briefly in an effort to keep up but his heavily-laden backpack slowed his progress

"Snooty," Vade muttered before turning on the male elf. "Do you like spiders?"

"I make no distinction between one critter and the next," the elf answered, his eyes looking a little after Windstryder. "I just ask that they don't bite me."

"I never really cared about them either, until we fought the rat man. I shot a weird little pellet out of my sling and POW! out come a dozen big spiders!" He waved his sling about and punctuated his tale with excited gestures. "The rat man ate them all though. But they bit him good and they had a really neat sticky kind of web! It is a good thing Ledare was not awake for that. Poor little Kitten is afraid of spiders." He ran up and briefly hugged the Janissary's leg. "Bad hair cut, but a nice lady, once you get to know her."

"Thank you, Vade. I-," Ledare started to say, but the halfling bounded toward the elf again.

"Sure. Sure," Vade waved her off and went on with his tale. "Some elves gave me that sling stone. Have you ever heard of elves making slings that shot webs? It was pretty cool. Anyway, I went over to examine the web and the giant rat man and he came over to grab me and the big guy got stuck. It is a good thing too because, man, this really hurts." Vade lifted his shirt to show the bandages Windstryder had wound around his midsection. "He sure packed a whallop. He killed two of our comrades."

The elf snorted again. "Were your friends and you trying to steal something... rogue?" he asked. "It's a pity your line of work costs your friends so dearly."

"Hey!" Vade snapped back. "If you people would keep track of your stuff, I would not always have to find it! I always have to pick up after you people! And I'm trying to be so nice, too!"

"I care not for your pleasantries or your inane stories, thief," the elf growled. "You must learn to shut up if you are to walk along my path." And saying that, he leapt up, grabbed a low-hanging tree branch of a bronzewood tree and vaulted up acrobatically into the canopy. Vade grinned and started to use the Slippers to follow, but Ledare put a hand on his small shoulder and shook her head.

"Let him go," she advised with a wry smile. "I think you've tormented him quite enough for one day."



The three Grey Companions were left alone in the woodlands, but each knew the way to Rherram's and they kept marching in that direction. They walked for a while in silence and at last Ledare broke it by saying, "It seems that daily I have someone to thank for saving my life. This time it is you two."

Vade beamed up at her. "Like I said: us Briarhoppers take care of our people!"

"I owe much to Io to balance the scales," Ixin said gravely. "I could not leave you behind."

"But, you have risked your lives for a mission that isn't even your own," the Janissary said, placing a hand on their shoulder. "I am indebted to you both."

"What we should do with these?" Vade asked, producing two of the three pierced mithril coins that he had taken from Finian, Ruze and Draelond. The third, he already wore around his own neck. "I want to give one to Ixin, since I am starting to like her, but I do not know about those elves yet. Awfully defensive if you ask me."

"The way is clear all the way to the bluff you mentioned," Windstryder said, stepping soundlessly from behind a nearby tree. Vade let out a yelp and Ledare's sword was half way out of its sheath before she realized who it was. Windstryder chuckled. "Say, halfling, those ears might be pointy but they do not hear like an elf's, do they?"

Vade stuck his tongue out at Windstryder's back as the ranger walked away.



Those who had been there before, found Rherram's home to be just as they'd left it. A bit of smoke still rose from the blackened funeral pier that Ruze had burned for Finian near the compost pit in the back yard. The many aromatic herbs planted in the extensive gardens around the building almost masked the odor of charred wood. Despite the warm day, smoke drifted from the chimneys set into the roof of Rherram's lab.

The courtyard was empty save for a solitary elf with pale skin and white hair. He was dressed in a suit of fine scalemail that fit him like gleaming fishskin. He bore an enormous silver greatsword that he spun and thrust through a series of intricate practice moves. As he caught sight of them he lowered the sword and leaned on it. The weapon was half-a-hand taller than he.

"Hail and well met," he called out in common.

Ledare returned the greeting and asked, "Who are you?"

"I am called Morier," he told her. They could see now that his eyes were a pink that verged on red. He seemed to be an albino. "You'll find the healer in his infirmary."

As Ledare, Ixin and Vade made their way to the far door, Windstryder and her companion hung back. "Once you have been tended, Janissary, please come outside that I might talk with you."

"And be quick about it," the male elf added, glowering at Windstryder. "People are dying while we waste time here."
Ledare nodded and she and her companions ducked into the infirmary. The albino watched the two elves arguing tersely with each other in low tones for a moment and then went back to his weapons practice.



"Have you been to Barnacus lately?" Windstryder asked Ledare later that evening, after Rherram had grumpily tended to her many wounds. "The situation there is dire and grows dimmer by the moment." She gestured toward the other elf. "Ugly Boy, over there and I must finish our mission or Barnacus could fall."

"It has been just over a week since I left Barnacus," Ledare told her. "Is this illness somehow associated with the Festival of Ibrahil? I am aware of some tainted meat pies that were causing trouble."

"I do not know," the ranger replied. "No one knows for sure where the plague started."

"But the King, himself, is stricken?" the Janissary asked and Windstryder nodded. "This is truly frightening news." 
"Surely a King has the very best healers," Ixin suggested. "I would not worry on his health."

Ledare shook her head. "You don't understand. The King is physically and spiritually tied to the land by divine edict. The land’s health is the King’s health and vice versa. He should be immune to even magical ailments unless there is something seriously wrong with the kingdom itself." Turning to Windstryde again she asked, "Can you be more specific about this cure that you seek?"

"To you? Yes," the ranger replied and then pointed to Ixin and Vade. "To them? I am unsure."

"If you would have my help, then you must trust them as well," Ledare countered and Windstryder grew thoughtful for a moment before turning to Vade.

"Little Boy, if a gem falls in the woods, who's is it?" she asked the halfling. "Is it yours to keep?"

"First of all: I am not a little boy. I am 'Rescuer of the King's Janissary'," Vade said, puffing out his tiny chest and sneering at the elf. "But I do digress. Oh, what was the question again? Oh yeah - the gem. Well, I would certainly not let a gem just sit in the woods where anyone could just take it. It could fall into a thief's hands! I would keep it safe until the right person came along. Did you lose a gem? I have quite a few" he fished in his belt pouch and produced some brightly-colored stones and showed them to Windstryder. "Are any of these yours... I didn't think so. What are you trying to imply anyway?"

Windstryder ignored the halfling's question and looked at Ixin. "And you, Dragon Born? If your mana is near spent and you face the option to escape combat but in doing so you will leave your 'mallon' to meet the combat alone, what do you do?"

Casting her eyes down as she considered the question, Ixin paused before answering. Vade picked up the silence at once. "What kind of a question is that? What does it mean? I do not get it!" he said. "Ixin does some cool stuff with her fingers. You should see it up close."

"My life is worth nothing if I can not live it in the company of trusted comrades," the sorcerer said gravely. She flexed her hands and grinned displaying both claws and fangs to the ranger. "I would not hesitate to risk myself for the good of my comrades. I am strong and I have other resources than my spells. I would stay and fight and live with honor."

Windstryder nodded at her before turning back to Vade. "I know not your group. I cannot make you stay behind or leave, Half Boy, for I am not the Janissary. But my elven eyes are sharp."

"Enough of this, Windstryder," Ledare said quickly. "Stop insulting my comrades and tell me about your 'urgent' mission."

The ranger nodded and threw up her hands in a gesture of acceptance. "As you wish, Janissary. Barnacus has fallen under a quickly spreading rot. It spreads as fast as root rot. It seems with the casting of any spell, a plague is multiplied among the denizens of Barnacus. The King has caught this plague and the clerics state he will die immanently. If the King dies, Baranacus falls to the plague within a fortnight. The Augers claim a miracle cure might be found in a town called Hillville Junction that could save the King and in doing so, Barnacus. I have been sent to get the cure and bring it back to the King."

"We've heard rumors of this disease already. But tell me, why wouldn't the king send Janissaries along with the ranger units in order to find this cure?" Ledare asked and the elf shrugged.

"I do not know the King's mind," she said. "Perhaps the Janissaries are too busy keeping the city contained. They've locked the gates, you know. No one gets in or out."

"What about this cure in Hillville Junction?" Ledare pressed. "What is it?"

"A girl," Windstryder's companion spoke, his voice deep and gravelly. A girl who performs miracles. A girl who fell from the sky." the ranger shot him a reproachful glance and the male elf shrugged. "We have no time for your double talking, Windstryder."

"Who has seen such a girl?" Ledare asked the male. "What do you know of her?"

"Rumors only," Windstryder answered quickly. "We have heard tales from travelers and the words of the Augers."

Ledare nodded and quickly shared with the two eves her own assignment to rid Barnacus of the skaven. At the end of the tale, she added, "Ridding Barnacus of skaven is a task which is proving larger than life... larger than several lives, it turns out."

"Will you abandon your quest to help us with ours?" Windstryder asked and Ledare shook her head.

"I cannot abandon my own assignment," she told the ranger. "However I will accompany you at least for now. I am fairly certain that somehow all this evil is connected. And to be quite honest, I have gained too little ground and lost too much in pursuit of the skaven. I need to find a better way to navigate that course. Perhaps in journeying with you an answer will come."

"What of these two," Windstryder asked, gesturing to Vade and Ixin. "There is no reward offered - nothing except your honor to do the right thing in Barnacus' time of need."

Ledare shrugged and looked at her two comrades. "Once again, you are not bound to participate in this. I cannot and do not expect you to risk your lives for the king's purpose," she explained to them. "I can make no promises about what lies in store; the path has already proven too deadly.  But, I would value...I would cherish your company."

Vade jumped up and threw his arms around her suddenly, pressing his face against her chest. "Yes! I will come with you and help you!"

"I would not abandon you now," Ixin said with a nod that Windstryder took as a cue to stand.

"Tall One and I leave in the morning," she said cocking her thumb at the male elf. "Pack lightly, for we will be traveling swiftly."

"Excuse me," a voice said from the darkness and the albino elf approached with his hands held out in a gesture of peace. "I overheard your conference here and would like to offer my sword to your cause. If the situation is truly as grave as you claim, then how can I not pledge myself to your cause?"


----------



## Jon Potter

"Sure come on! The more the merrier!" Vade chirped, grinning up at the pale elf. "Do you like a good story? 'Cause I got a whopper!" The halfling inhaled, preparing to launch into a third re-telling of their exploits in Spiderwood, but Ledare put a hand on his small shoulder and urged him to be quiet.

"Yours is a rather unusual offer," the Janissary said, eying the newcomer appraisingly. He seemed unperturbed by her assessment and turned to face her as he spoke. His eyes, however, seemed to be regarding the ground at Ledare's feet.

"It is to you that the others here seem to look for leadership, so it is to you that I shall make my offer," He began quietly. He fidgeted nervously with a small coin while he spoke, rarely making eye contact with Ledare. "As I said earlier, I am called Morier. I know well, the way to Hillville Junction, and I may know of others in the demesne who could be able to lead you to the girl you seek upon our arrival. I ask only to be allowed to accompany your band of..." He turned to quickly survey the room, taking inventory of the companions. "...your followers on your adventure. Adventure courses through my very blood and toward that end I find myself currently without fulfillment. I require neither significant monetary reward nor great spoils of battle, for I seek little else but the experiences one finds only in adventure."

Windstryder's companion nodded once to the albino and grunted, "We need not squabble or talk on it for days; your sword is needed and you are welcome to travel with us." He grinned sardonically and added, "Not to mention: a treacherous albino elf should not be too hard to track down."

Ledare gave the elf a look before turning back to the newcomer. "I am certain that your sword would be beneficial to this cause, but to pledge yourself to something you have simply overheard for the sake of adventure only?" she said, incredulous. "You cannot blame us for being skeptical. How can we know you do not have foul purposes in mind?"

As Ledare spoke, Morier's eyes widened. He raised his eyes to study her features and a look of recognition played across his face. "If you understood the ways of the Eldritch Warrior, Ledare Eelsof'faw, niece of Lady Clebrylla, you would not misunderstand my intent. It is their very nature to seek adventure, often as both the means and the end to their purpose." He paused briefly and crafted his next statement carefully, emphasizing each word ever so slightly. "The Eldritch Warrior has even been known to volunteer for rescue missions of persons they have never met, not only because it is the right thing to do, but because adventure refines their soul. They do so not for praise, thanks, or reward. They do so for the same reason that a master craftsman creates a perfect piece and then refuses to sell it or display it."

"Hey I must be one of those guys," Vade said brightly. "I volunteered to help save Kirnoth and I never knew him. I just thought it would be fun." Then his face fell and he added, "It wasn't though." He blew his nose loudly into a handkerchief.

"Do I know you, sir?" Ledare asked the pale elf, her voice barely louder than a whisper as she studied him again as if for the first time. When he continued, Morier didn't answer her question, however.

"I'll not force my services upon you, but I would be grateful for the opportunity," he told her.

Windstryder stepped forward and offered her hand to the albino. "Morier, I have heard of your kind," she said. "The king will accept any sword he can; therefore, I will accept yours as well. As I see it this is my mission. You follow me and stay out of Feln's and my way. We move swiftly and lightly. Follow our lead." They clasped wrists and the ranger turned to look at Ledare. "The Lord Janissary of course has rank over me overall, as she is the King's direct emissary. But I have been granted this mission and I mean not to fail. The girl is rumored to be a miracle. Our mission is to go to Hillville Junction, find her, verify her abilities, and return her to Barnacus. I am sure the foul taint of chaos opposes us, as well as other ranger teams on our side.

Morier nodded and told her, "I hail from a forest near Hillville Junction but I do not claim to know of the girl you seek. I do know many in the town though, who may know who she is."

"Who are these others from Hillville Junction who can lead us to this girl?" Ledare asked and Morier turned his attention back to her.

"There are several men whose counsel we might seek upon our arrival in Hillville Junction," he explained. "A ranger who goes by the name Arwold Wyverneye would know if anything strange has happened on the frontier. A druid friend named Malcom comes and goes from reclusiveness, but if he has been about the town he'll know if anything is awry. The Greenbriar Inn is the place to look; Goodman Silverbush will be able to tell us what Malcom has been up to."

Ledare nodded as Morier went through his list of contacts. "I know of the druid, Malcolm, and Goodman Silverbush," she admitted. "They are both good men, although the druid and I view the world quite differently. The ranger of whom you speak is not known to me."

"Perhaps, Arwold Wyverneye is one of the rangers leading the other teams questing for a cure," Windstryder postulated, but Morier shook his head.

"I've known Arwold for a number of years," the albino told her. "His presence in the area is due to it being his home, not because of a quest."

"So it's agreed?" Vade asked. "The new guy comes with us?" There were nods all around and Feln cleared his throat.

"If we are to travel together I think we need to be clear as to our intentions," he said, choosing his words carefully as if he were little used to speaking. "I have made a promise to Windstryder to help her find this girl and aid her in cleansing Barnacus.  You have your own quest, but I agree with Ledare that the solutions to our problems will likely be woven together.  It must be agreed that traveling with trust in our hearts will make us a better party and so I pledge my service to all of you, so long as we travel towards the cure for Barnacus"

"I agree with Feln. We must pledge our allegiance to each other," Ixin said. "The journey ahead is likely to be treacherous, and we will require trust in each other and all of our best ideas. Not to mention supplies."

"I will buy more of the alchemy stuff from Rherram," Vade announced. "Whatever he has, I will buy... Healing, alchemist's fire, and I really like those smoke sticks. Plus any long lasting torchie type things." He began counting items off on his fingers but as his list mounted he ran out of digits and had to start again. "Can our basic stuff be hocked in town to buy more supplies?" Vade asked no one in particular. "We need gear."

"Gear?" Windstryder asked. It was plain from her tone that she didn't share the halfling's enthusiasm for shopping. "I agree that we need as much healing as we can get. But other than that, what supplies do we need? We have weapons and food right?"

"I just need a few more sling bullets," Vade said. "And a rope could come in handy."

"We could probably get those things in town," Ledare guessed and Windstryder rounded on her immediately.

"Lord Janissary, I must insist that we have not the time to travel into town," she said in elvish. "This healer of yours can outfit us each with basic healing supplies.  I do have a healers kit that can aid in healing, but a cleric, I am not."

"I am not a 'Lord Janissary'," the half-elf told Windstryder in the common tongue. "You may call me: Ledare."

"Clearly, getting rid of this plague would be a service to Rherram, right?" Ixin offered. "There must be something he can give us in the way of healing, defense or food supplies."

The ranger nodded. "To the portal, we must, as I understand the journey to be greatly shortened by its use.  We are lightly equipped so we should be able to move quickly."

"We're too lightly equipped, if you ask me," Vade muttered, looking imploringly at Ledare. The Janissary shook her head, however.

"You may voice your opinion, Vade," she said. "But since this is really Windstryder's mission, she should make the final decision."

All eyes turned to Windstryder and she seemed to shrink away from their scrutiny. "We leave in the morning," she said before turning and trotting off into the darkness. Feln rose and followed lightly behind.

"I guess I will resort to hurling rocks," Vade told the others glumly. Then he brightened as a story occurred to him. "I would have been the shire rock throwing champion, but Duece is just too good. He could knock a bird out of the sky at 200 feet!  No exaggeration... Boy, we could sure use his help now."

"Yes, little one," Ledare said and got to her feet with some difficulty. "I am going to retire and heal as much as I may. Why don't you see to buying what you can from Rherram."



Sunday, the 11th of Wealsun, 1269 AE


In the morning, over a light breakfast, Vade showed off the supplies he had purchased from Rherram and the group distributed them is what seemed the most useful fashion. The night before Morier had been able to identify a random potion that Vade had found in his pack as being an elixir of Delay Poison simply by smelling it and testing a single drop's its consistency between his finger and thumb. The candle remained a mystery.

Windstryder walked in through the back door with a grim-faced barbarian in tow. The human was thickly muscled and naked but for a loincloth and a pair of buskin boots. A utilitarian longsword was strapped across his back.

"It's time to go," Windstryder said without preamble.

"Who's this?" Rherram asked, pointing at the muscled specimen behind the ranger and looking a trifle shocked that the pair had burst into his kitchen without knocking.

"There are enough elves in the party," the barbarian said and it was Feln's husky voice that came out of him. It suited a human barbarian a good deal more than it did an elf. "And besides, a barbarian will give people second thoughts about messing with us."

They had to agree. "You're full of surprises," Ledare said. "Do you have any other tricks we should be aware of?"

The barbarian grinned. "One or two," he said.



The trip to the caves was uneventful, although Vade persisted in singing despite the dirty looks from both Windstryder and Feln."On the road again... I just can't wait to get on the road again... All I want from life is to slay monsters with my friends, and I just can't wait to get on the road again!" He quieted down once they reached the caves themselves (for which everyone was silently grateful) and they descended back into the Devourer's lair. The traps had reset, and were sprung again, harmlessly now that the bars had been bent to allow passage. They saw nothing of the Devourer although they heard it clearly enough. It burbled and smacked its lips in the darkness beyond the limits of their vision, but didn't attack.

The horrible stench of raw waste and decaying offal that filled the creature's lair was blunted somewhat by the acrid smell of smoke. Both Vade and Ixin felt their hearts fall as they realized what it was they were smelling. And as they neared the portal, the odor grew stronger and stronger until they came upon the charred remnants that had been their friends, Draelond and Ruze. Lit as they were in the soft green glow of the portal, the group almost expected the blackened remains to rise up and attack, but they didn't.

Not looking directly at the remains, Ixin approached the portal and everyone got into position. "Everybody remembers the plan?" she asked and received nods from the group. "Okay then. Get ready."

She reached out and placed her hand on the rune that corresponded to Spiderwood.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #238] Heroes at the Gate*

Feln went through the portal first, stepping out of the dim cave into a brilliant morning in Byr. The sky overhead was free of clouds and so deep and bright a blue that it looked as though it had been freshly scrubbed. The ground beneath the bronzewoods that girded the clearing was shrouded in light mist - the ghost of a fog ready to burn away at the barest touch of Orin's Shield. The crisp morning air was pleasant, but promised to become a Wealsun day that would be hot and humid. Feln's nose was filled immediately with the familiar earthy scent of the forest, but beneath it was an unwholesome hint of rot and corruption.

Of the giant, there was no immediate sign, so he followed the plan and crept gracefully westward, away from the portal, his staff held in one hand and his sling in the other. He saw scorch marks on the barren earth where Ixin's flames had burned away webbing, and noted the numerous gouges and splashes of blood that remained from the battle that had been fought there the day before. Vigilantly, he padded to the altar mound and looked at the weather-worn cube of black stone. Its surface was pitted from exposure to rain and wind and gouged by overzealous blows from a sacrificial knife. The whole was stained by years of blood-letting.

Across the clearing from where he stood, visible between two ancient stone plinths, were some fallen trees and a mucky area of crushed plants and rotting vegetation. It was from there that the others had said the giant came, but Feln could detect no sign of the creature. He continued to sidestep south-westwards, away from both the portal and the area of fallen trees, his sling ready for the first sign of the giant.

He motioned for Vade to come through and the halfling stepped out of the caves clutching his sling in one hand. The little rogue hadn't made it more than 15 feet when Feln caught sight of a shadowy movement amidst the trees. At once he spun his sling and let fly the scentbreaker he had cradled within its leather pouch. The bag wasn't particularly aerodynamic, but Feln's skill with the sling was excellent, and no sooner had the giant's rat-like head appeared from the shadowy bower of its lair than the scentbreaker struck it across the snout. An alchemical cloud erupted around the thing's head, eliciting a scream of discomfort from the giant.

Even from his position some sixty feet away, Vade could smell the distinct odors of camphor, menthol, licorice and pine. He grinned, watching the rat-giant's eyes and nose stream with liquid as it came forward, toward Feln. It made it as far as the nearest standing stone when Windstryder stepped through the portal and crouched down on one knee. She had a small tin of bladefire and she set the burning container down by her side and readied her bow.

Morier came through the portal next with Ledare right behind him. The albino had his glittering silver greatsword unsheathed and ready. His job was to protect Vade, and he moved up beside the halfling and readied his sword should the creature turn his way. Ledare stepped in and moved westward, away from Windstryder and Vade. She raised her hand crossbow and squeezed off a shot at the creature, but her arrow ricocheted off the giant's tough, rubbery hide.

Vade placed a flashpellet in his sling and spun it around over his head before sending it at the creature. The tiny bead of chemicals fell six feet short of his target, erupting in a burst of light that never the less caused the giant to wail and blink, dazzled by the flash. "Yes!" Vade shouted before activating the Ring of Invisibility and fading from view.

Ixin came through the portal last and as soon as she did so, an incantation was on her lips. She gestured at the dazed giant and shouted, "Vuthasjach!" The shadows that pooled beneath the monster began to writhe and claw their way up its body, but the giant did as it had done once before and managed at the last moment to step out of the spell's area of effect. The frustrated shadows collapsed across the ground.

His quarterstaff spinning defensively in his hands, Feln stepped up beside the nearest standing stone, seeking partial cover against the attack that he suspected would soon be coming from the rat-headed creature. The giant didn't disappoint and it charged toward him with an angry roar, its claws slashing outward. Feln was able to expertly dodge the attack and its long nails scrabbled uselessly across the standing stone. 

Windstryder dipped an arrow in the tin of bladefire, took aim and sent it toward the giant's back. The flaming arrow arched up across the clearing, but clattered off the huge stone plinth behind the creature.

Morier could no longer see Vade, so he could no longer protect the halfling as he had been directed. So he did what he felt any warrior worth his sword would do: he charged the creature menacing one of his companions. The move would have been an unintentional mimic of Draelond's doomed assault, except that the elf failed to injure his target. His greatsword struck at an unwieldy angle and slid harmlessly off its grey-green flesh.

Ledare cursed and fired her hand-crossbow again. The bolt flew well wide of the mark, however.

Vade flickered momentarily into view as he tossed a jug of oil at the giant. He missed unfortunately, and the ceramic container shattered against the standing stone, splashing both the rat monster and Feln in the process. "Oops!" the halfling shouted before activating the Ring and disappearing again.

Ixin moved forward, getting within range to try her Net of Shadows again.

Feln backed up five feet, keeping the giant flanked between himself and Morier. His quarterstaff whirled in his hands, a ready defense against the dazzled monster's attacks. Of course, it now split its attention between the two companions, and slashed its claws in two directions. Again, the partial cover provided by the standing stone saved Feln from a nasty slash from the giant's claws. Morier had no such protection, and he suffered a claw wound to the face that opened the elf's pale flesh to the bone. Before he could recover, the giant's jaws descended and tore flesh away from his right forearm.

Morier reeled from the savage assault, realizing too late that he was probably overmatched by this creature in hand-to-hand combat. Still, he had to try. He put every ounce of his strength behind his sword and drove the weapon halfway to the hilt in the giant's right thigh. The silver blade scraped across the bone and sent a river of black blood streaming down the monster's leg when Morier withdrew the weapon. The giant let loose with a scream of pain unlike any they had heard from it yet.

Both Windstryder and Ledare, startled by the giant's roar, fired their missiles off into the trees.

Vade appeared long enough to toss another jug of oil onto the rat-monster and shout to Morier, "We're supposed to be trying to get passed this guy. Run away already!" This time the jug broke open across the creature's back, drenching half its body in oil.

"Vuthasjach!" Ixin intoned again, gesturing expansively as her magic urged the shadows up and over the rat monster. This time, there was no escape for the giant and it roared again as the Net of Shadows closed over it, completely concealing it from the Companions and concealing the Companions from it.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #238a] Beating Him Down*

Feln eyed the enshrouded giant approvingly for a moment before he ducked around it and directed his attention to Morier. "Step to the side, elf," he urged as he gestured toward both Windstryder and Ledare with his staff. "These marksmen see bulls-eyes on us." One of the giant's claws groped blindly out of the darkness, slashing the air more than a foot above Feln's head. "You don't look so good, elf," the monk assessed. "How are you feeling?"

"I've been better," Morier replied, allowing himself to be moved backwards, away from the thrashing monster. As he went, he popped one of the vials out of his potion belt, thumbed off the stopper and downed the draught. A pleasant tingling sensation flowed through his body, followed by a strong healing itch as his wounds began to close.

Vade appeared suddenly on the opposite side of Morier from Feln. This time, he had a jar of green healing salve in his little hands. "I will protect you," he told the albino as he looked flinchingly at the injury to Morier's face. "Kitten told me about this cleric named Soriah once that... ouch that had to hurt." He offered up the salve, but Morier stayed his hand.

"Thank you for your offer of assistance, Little One, but I am well enough equipped," he told Vade with a wane smile on his pale lips.

"Okay," the halfling replied. "I will tell you the story later."

Feln looked ready to say something, but the words died on his lips as Windstryder's flaming arrow finally found its mark amidst the shadows. With a rush of air, the giant went up in flames. It roared in pain and panic and tried madly to get away. It blindly ran into the standing stone, its skull contacting stone with a hollow crack.
Ledare's quarrel sailed off into the trees.

"Are we staying to fight?" Ixin asked, uncertain of what they were doing now that their fortunes had turned. She cradled a jug of oil in her hands.

"Since it seems we are able," Ledare said, "we should finish the creature here and now." Ixin nodded her understanding and stood ready with the oil.

The flaming giant was flailing about crazily in its pain and confusion. Feln stepped up and bellowed, "HAH, YOU PUTRID BEAST, COME DANCE WITH FELN!!!" With a roar the putrid beast obliged. Despite the shadows that nearly blinded it, the giant managed to backhand Feln as it came at him. Blood sprayed from his ruined nose, and he went reeling backward from the impact, recovering gracefully before he was thrust into the flames licking up around the nearest standing stone.

Windstryder had finally found her mark and she sent another flaming arrow into the shadows prompting another cry of pain from the benighted giant. Unfortunately, her tiny pot of bladefire had burned itself out, and she would have no more flaming arrows to use against the monster.

Morier leveled his greatsword at his shadow-cloaked opponent and charged forward with all the might of his wiry frame. The sword slid through the shadows and bit deeply into the giant's flesh beneath. In response, the creature roared and slashed outward with a claw, catching Morier solidly in the chest. The elf sailed through the air for a half dozen feet before landing hard on the ground where he lay unconscious.

"Vade, get him out of there!" Ledare shouted as she fired off another miss with her crossbow. Disgusted, she slipped the weapon back into its holster and drew Ruze's twin scimitars from the sheaths criss-crossed over her back.

"My spell won't last much longer!" Ixin warned. "Get ready!"

"I appreciate you trying to protecting me, but maybe I should be protecting you," Vade muttered as he grabbed Morier and began dragging him away from the combat. To the halfling's relief, the elf was a good deal lighter than either Ledare or Ruze had been.

Feln darted around behind the standing stone, careful to avoid the flames and shouted, "You got lucky with that blow, foul beast, but your time in this realm has almost ended!" The towering mass of shadows turned toward the sound of his taunting voice and a smoldering claw slashed outward, missing Feln and slamming instead into the stone plinth. "That's right, beast!" Feln continued to taunt as he took a swing at the shadows with his staff. "I am right here... CAN YOU SMELL THAT?"

Windstryder trotted closer and fired off another shot with her bow. The arrow slipped into the darkness but this time it lacked the giant's accompanying wail of pain. Ledare changed that as she moved up to the shadows opposite Feln and slashed Ruze's scimitar into the darkness. It struck flesh amidst the shadows and came away slick with the giant's blood. The creature bellowed a cry of pain and frustration at the wound, but it dwindled as Ixin's spell ran its course and the lingering shadows fell away.

Two of Windstryder's arrows were lodged in the creature's left leg and it had a fresh greatsword wound to its gut, but the savage injury Morier had dealt to its right thigh had begun to close somewhat. The giant looked down at Ledare and Ledare stared back at it.

"Remember me?" she asked.

Ixin heaved her jug of oil at the revealed giant, but the grenade went wide, shattering at Feln's feet and splashing the monk with its contents. Feln cursed and raised his quarterstaff to fend off one of the rat-headed creature's claws. Ledare deflected away the giant's other claw, but left herself open for a minor bite to her right forearm.

"Perhaps we should run now," he suggested.

"Perhaps not!" Windstryder offered and she fired a white-shafted arrow into the creature's shoulder. The arrowhead was blunt and it seemed to do no immediate damage although it released a burst of energy as it struck. The giant, however, resisted the effects of the Sleep Arrow.

"Let me!" Vade said and heaved a tanglefoot bag at the creature. He missed, unfortunately, and the bag ruptured  on the ground, spilling its alchemical goo harmlessly. Morier stepped easily around the sticky puddle, his wounds smeared still with Rherram's healing paste. His greatsword licked in and cut a groove in the giant's side, causing the creature to turn back toward him. Ledare's swords whistled through the air, but failed to land a blow.

"Vuthasjach!" Ixin shouted, and raised her hands to the giant. The Net of Shadows once again whirled up from beneath the creature's feet and settled over its struggling form.

Feln swung his quarterstaff at the giant, but connected with only darkness. "Elf, can you fight on?" he shouted, sparing Morier a single look that almost cost the monk his head. He managed to bend backwards and narrowly avoid a sweeping claw, but he felt the wind from its passing on his cheek.

"Don't worry about me," Morier shot back. "Keep your head on the task at hand."

"Everybody back up!" Vade shouted. "I'm going to try something!"

Windstryder fired an arrow into the darkness and it sailed out the other side, clattering off the standing stone. Morier and Ledare backed up from the darkness and Vade produced a thunderstone from his pack. He lobbed it into the darkness and heard it strike the creature hidden within a moment before it exploded with a deafening bang.

"Yes!" Vade exclaimed happily. "Good one!"

Ixin tossed another clay jar, but it shattered on the ground halfway to the darkness, soaking the ground with lamp oil.

Feln took another swing with his quarterstaff but missed. "If this thing breaks from this web we run... agreed?" he asked the others as he dodged the giant's blind attacks.

"NOOO!" Vade pleaded. "WE CAN KILL IT!"

Windstryder fired another arrow and missed. Ledare moved back in and slashed with the scimitar in her right hand, connecting solidly with the concealed giant. Morier drank another potion of Cure Light Wounds. Ixin fumbled her last jug of oil, sending it onto the ground behind and several feet beyond Ledare.

"This is getting us nowhere!" Feln cursed, missing again with his quarterstaff.

"I agree," Windstryder muttered, as she sent another arrow off into the surrounding woods.

"I still think we can take him!" Vade argued and tossed his last vial of alchemist's fire into the darkness. It shattered and whoomped into flames, eliciting another shriek from the hidden giant.

"I think you're being overly optimistic, Vade!" Ledare said and laid into the darkness with Ruze's swords. The first blade found nothing, but the second sliced wetly through the giant's flesh, drawing forth a squeal of pain from the monster.

"Believing in your ability to win is the first step toward victory," Morier countered, driving his sword into the darkness. He thrust up and in with his hands braced on the crossbar of the weapon and felt the blade slide into and through the monster's flesh. There was a crunching sound coupled with a gurgling shriek and Morier felt the sword jerk suddenly out of his hands. The darkness shifted and a moment later, the giant struck the ground with a jarring thud that sent both Ledare and Ixin off their feet.

By the time they regained their footing, the Net of Shadows had evaporated revealing a badly-mangled giant with a greatsword piercing is rat head.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #239] On the Banks of the River Drewett*

There was silence for a moment, broken only by the group's adrenaline-fueled breathing, and then Vade jumped into the air. "Yahoo!" he cried. "We did it! We did it! I knew we could do it! I just knew it!"

Ledare nodded and stepped closer to look at the giant's injuries. "Yes, Vade," she said with a wry grin. "Your persistence paid off, thanks to Morier's sword."

"Yeah!" Vade said, patting the albino appreciatively on the back of the thigh. "That was some good sword-swinging!"

"Truly," the Janissary agreed. "Well done. We are fortunate to have you with us. Are you badly hurt?" Morier ignored the question and wetly wrestled his sword free of the giant's skull.

"I'm not convinced this thing's dead," the elf said grimly. "Off with its head, I say!"

"Aiyah!" Vade exclaimed, pointing to one of the giant's sword wounds. "It's still healing! We need to burn it!"

"If someone will soak it in oil, I'll light it with a spell," Ixin offered, stepping forward with her hands at the ready. "Morier, will you do the honor of cutting off its head?"

"I will," he said. And he did.

As soon as Vade started splashing oil over the creature's headless body Feln backed away. "I was splashed twice with oil," the monk said. "I have no wish to be near open flames just now." Ledare nodded and gestured toward the marshy area at the east end of the clearing.

"Why don't you have a look through its lair to see if there is anything interesting there," she suggested and Feln nodded.

"I intend to," he said and started to turn and Vade's head popped up.

"Oooh! Someone is looking for treasure... and without me?" He handed off his oil to Ledare and trotted over to Feln's side. "You might need my help," he told the monk.

Feln shrugged. "I'm looking for anything that might aid our quest," he said as they walked across the clearing. "As for treasure hunting, I am only interested in any special weapons I am trained to use... monk weapons."

"Oh! MONK weapons!" Vade said, nodding sagely. He had no idea what a monk weapon was.



"Return to the foul place from which you came and plague this world no more," Ledare said gravely as she watched the flames Ixin had conjured burn the meat off the giant's bones. It's furry head lay nearby; the ragged neck wound showed no signs of regenerating.

"Must we bury the head in hallowed ground or burn it or something?" Ixin asked and Windstryder laughed derisively. The mage was undaunted by the ranger's mocking attitude. "Let's be thorough," she said. "I don't want this thing coming back to haunt us physically or spiritually."

"We don't have time to hunt for hallowed ground," Windstryder grumbled as she stuffed the three arrows she had been able to recover back into her quiver. "It's dead and we're wasting time here."

"Do you have time to minister to Morier's wounds?" Ledare asked archly. "He took quite a few heavy blows."

The ranger looked at the eldritch warrior's face wounds and reached for her healing kit. "Hmm, I'd say it's a bit of an improvement," she laughed. No one laughed with her.



"Look what we found! Look what we found!" Vade exclaimed as he and Feln returned from the giant's noisome lair. The halfling had a large book in his arms and his pack was jingling more than usual. Feln was similarly laden, carrying a pair of brown furry shoes, a battered gold candlestick and a large saw-toothed sword that Ledare and Ixin both recognized as being Draelond's weapon, Ravager. The monk had a gnarled black wand stuffed into the thong of his barbarian's loincloth.

"The halfling wouldn't let me leave any of it behind," Feln said apologetically as if he weren't quite sure how Vade had managed to talk him into lugging away so much stuff.

"It could be magical," the halfling explained.

"Only the sword and the wand," Ixin reported, her eyes glowing crimson as she Detected Magic.

"Well, anyway I thought you'd want this, Kitten," Vade said grunting as he offered the large black book to Ledare. It was made of leather stretched over a metal frame. The cover was stamped with the symbol of Aphyx - a rat's skull surrounded by a snake eating its own tail and the hundred or so parchment pages inside were filled with tightly-packed writing. As far as Ledare could tell it was written in the common tongue by a single author. There were several disturbing illustrations interspersed within the text and the first page bore the title: 'The Trials of Decay'.

"Come on, group let us go," Windstryder urged and Ledare looked up from the book.

"This is a very good find, Vade," the Janissary said. "You're sure there was nothing else back there worth our while?"

"We both went over it," Feln interjected. "There's nothing else there."

"I have already fallen behind schedule with the trip to the cave mouth, the trip to your healers, and now this," Windstryder snapped angrily. "I do admit the portal should keep me on time. I just won't let Huile's group beat me to the girl." The last sentence she muttered more to herself than the group.

"Then let's be off," Ledare said, snapping the large book closed. "But first, Windstryder, tell me; what do you know about administering belladonna?"



The answer to that question turned out to be: not enough. Both Ledare and Morier were struck with severe cramping after taking the dose of belladonna that Windstryder prescribed. The abdominal pain was accompanied by weakness, so much so that after a few minutes, Morier could barely move in his armor. They sweated and shivered as they walked through the woods toward town, their jaws clenching and teeth grinding involuntarily as the poison worked on their muscles.

Ledare called Vade over and placed a trembling hand on his slim shoulder. "I have an important job for you," she managed to get out through clenched teeth. "Since you are closest to the ground, watch it carefully for spiders as we move.  Remember, it may be our only warning against a chagmat attack."

In a very serious, but reassuring voice, Vade said, "I will keep an  eye out for them... Don't worry, I will protect you, Kitten." He reached up and patted her gauntlet with his four-fingered hand.

"See that you do, Little One," Morier added. "I am in no shape to battle spider folk today." Vade shot him an annoyed glance.

"I do have a name," the halfling told him. "It is Vade not 'little one'."

"I meant no-" the albino started to say and Vade cut him off with an upbeat note in his little voice.

"Although my Papa used to call me little one when I was a baby... He called all babies that though," the halfling mused, any annoyance completely forgotten. "Are you a daddy? I love little kids. I like looking people straight in the eye, you know what I mean?" As he said this, he looked Morier straight in the bellybutton. "I hope that baby is okay at Rherram's. I would like to play with her when we get back."



And so it went all through the morning and on into the afternoon. Neither Ledare's nor Morier's condition worsened any during the trip, but neither did it improve and both of them were out of breath by the time they reached the banks of the River Drewett that cut north-to-south through town. During all this time, Feln and Windstryder ranged ahead of the others, occasionally waiting for the group to catch up to them. At one point, Feln appeared with a bloodied bandage on his shoulder, but he brushed off any questions, saying it was nothing.

"Marty says that Windstryder shot him," Ixin told Ledare, Morier and Vade once the other two were out of earshot. The owl had been flying free all day and had just resettled on the mage's shoulder to convey what he'd observed. "She's been sniping at him all day and he's been knocking the arrows out of the air with his hands. Maybe it's some kind of game. I guess that Feln missed one."

"That's a pretty scary game!" Vade shuddered.



The day was heading toward evening with several hours of light remaining when they finally passed out of Spiderwood and spotted the hamlet of Hillville Junction nestled among some low hills to the south. A little-used logging road followed the banks of the rocky Drewett and they hastened along it, making much better time in the open country than they had in the dense woodland. Gorlan Wood lay across the river to the west, and Ledare glanced at its treeline warily as they traveled.

After another half hour's march, they could see see the carefully cultivated fields that supported the townsfolk but Ledare and Morier both scowled and looked nervously at one another.

"Shouldn't they be plowing field two?" Ledare asked and the albino nodded.

"I don't see any sheep in the pasture either," he added, panting from the prolonged exertion.

"Somebody's coming!" Vade said pointing at a fast-moving man running northward on the road.

"There's trouble in the village!" Feln shouted as he trotted up to them from the direction of the Junction. If they hadn't recognized his voice, they would never have known him. He now looked the part of the warrior lord, dressed in finery with a gleaning sword strapped across his back. His heroically-square jaw had a cleft in it that you could have used to hide an olive. The expression of apprehension looked terribly out-of-place on that strikingly handsome face. "Looks like a raid! Couple of burned roofs and such. Probably happened last night or late yesterday."


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #240] Up the Junction*

"We obviously need to go in and ask questions," Vade said and began rummaging through his pack. "Could this be the work of that other party?"

"Which other party?" Morier asked, his breath still coming in ragged gasps.

"The one she keeps talking about," the halfling said, gesturing absently at Windstryder. The elf arched her eyebrow and shook her head.

"Huile's group are fellow Wardens," she said curtly. "They wouldn't attack the village just to get the girl."

"Perhaps there's something more going on here," Feln grunted. He looked at Windstryder and made a series of gestures with his hands. The ranger nodded.

"Lord Jannissary," she said, to Ledare in elvish. "Ugly One and I will scout the area and once it is secure we will watch and cover you from any danger. Have Vade signal us by scratching his ear if the danger is not visible. Once the package is secure signal us to come in."

"If the problem is not readily apparent, I think it would be good to do some poking about in the local taverns and shops asking the villagers," the Janissary suggested, squinting at the distant village. She couldn't shake the terrible feeling of deja-vu.

"If there are any children around, I can talk to them," Vade said, wrestling his disguise kit out onto the path. "Sometimes they see things without being noticed and they might talk to someone their own size. I had you guys fooled last time!" He giggled and slapped on his blonde wig. 

"Vade has a good idea to ask the children," Ledare agreed with a nod. "I can go to the manor and find out what I can there. If we need shelter and food, that might be a safe haven for a bit."

"Should we agree to meet at the belltower at sundown?" Morier suggested and the others nodded.

"That'll give us an hour or two to find out what we can," Windstryder informed them before she gave Feln a gesture and darted off eastward. As she moved, she hunched low to the ground and soon disappeared completely into the tall grass.

While Ledare and Morier watched the elf go and conferred with one another about the apparent state of the village, Feln drew Ixin discreetly aside.

"Would you prefer to go in a little less noticeable?" he asked and drew off the polished steel helmet that kept his perfectly coifed locks in place. As he did so, the image of the handsome knight flickered and dissolved, revealing a coarse and weather-worn figure beneath. Feln now wore simple breeches and a loose shirt with fine-made calf-high boots. Sashes of fabric were knotted around his limbs at various points, and one kept a quarterstaff strapped to his back. His face was brutish in aspect with an underslung jaw, jutting brow ridge and sloping forehead. Purple eyes stared out at Ixin from beneath bristling strawberry blonde eyebrows. Small tusks protruded from behind his bottom lip.

Ixin took a surprised step back. "You're trolborn?" she said, using a term from her own world.

"Half-orc," Feln replied sullenly. "Is that a problem for you?"

"N-no," Ixin admitted with a shrug. "I knew many of your blood back in Highgate. In fact, Kruumeesh, one of Drake Thuulsias's daughters, was both trolborn and a monk!" Feln snorted and offered his hat to her.

"You would be remembered and easy to recognize and that may not be what we want," he told the mage. "Just concentrate on an image and that is what you will appear to be. Don't forget the clothes, Ixin. That might be easily remembered as well."

"Thank you, Feln," Ixin said. "I was worried about the same thing!" She placed the hat atop her head and her figure wavered and flowed until she appeared to be a rather average-looking commoner. In many ways she resembled a younger, taller Den Lant dressed in a rough supertunic and cap. "How's this?" she asked and Feln nodded.

"Just don't speak," he told her before approaching Vade.

"Vade, I would like you to keep your eyes open for some fine artisan's tools." Feln asked. "I have an interest in creating fine weapons but my make shift tools make it quite difficult."

"How do you keep changing your appearance?" the halfling asked as he looked over Feln's half-orcish features. "WOW! I thought I was good at disguise, but you are the best! Can you make yourself a halfling next time?" Feln chuckled.

Perhaps," he grinned. " If you see such tools let me know. If they are inexpensive enough, you could just buy them, and I will pay you back. Whatever price you name fair."

"Oooh I can find some for you I will bet!" the little rogue winked as he applied some rouge to his cheeks.

Feln nodded and sprinted down the path toward the bridge further down which spanned a series of rapids in the river. He hunkered down and soon vanished into the grass with nearly the same skill as Windstryder.



As the main group made its way down the forest path, past the millpond and down into the wattle and daub village itself, they could see the effects of the raid. As Feln had reported, Hillville Junction had  obviously been raided, and not very long ago. Some buildings along the main road through town were missing their thatched roofs, and others showed signs of the torch as well. There was no shortage of villagers about, many of whom they recognized, but all were engaged in various repairs and offered the foursome little more than an odd glance as they went about their business. The market area around the belltower in the center of town had suffered the worst, and the shrine to Sato bordering the market had borne the brunt of the assault. The flowering plants growing up around the foundation of the modest shrine were trampled and front door was smashed from its hinges. Many of the shutters had been wrenched off and the wooden shingles on the roof were charred in several places.

“Welcome to Hillville Junction!” a voice called out in a friendly, if a little slurred, manner. “I’m afraid you’ve not caught us at our best, strangers. But you’re welcome to share with us what still remains of the town!" A thin, weather-weary figure lay prone in the dirt, his head propped against the wooden belltower, a clay jug propped against his side. He laughed drunkenly and grinned up at the four with bloodshot eyes hazel eyes. His unkempt grey hair and the red blossoms on his cheeks and nose indicated that he'd spent many years at the bottle.

"By the look of you, I’d guess you’re adventurers!" the man went on, pointing a wavering finger at either Ledare or Morier - it was difficult to tell which. "You could find plenty of wrongs to right around here, if you’re of such a mind."

"Leoric," Morier said, approaching the man with a look of pity on his pale face.

"Do I know you?" the drunkard asked, not even bothering to sit up as the elf came near.

It pained Morier to see the man who had valiantly fought at his side fifteen years before reduced to such a pathetic shell of his former self. The horrors that Leoric had seen on that rescue mission had shattered the man's nerve and plagued him with nightmare memories that he could only drown with cider. It was sad, truly, but Morier could not find it in his heart to scorn the man; Leoric hadn't had the childhood that Morier had after all.

"It is I, Leoric," the elf said. "Morier Tulien." The drunk squinted up into the warrior's face and a glimmer of recognition appeared beneath the apple-scented haze of alcohol.

"Morier?" Leoric chuckled. "I heard tell that you'd finally left the Junction." He brought the jug unsteadily to his lips and  took a long pull.

"I've returned," Morier told him matter-of-factly. "What happened here?"

"Chagmat!" Leoric said before spitting messily.

Ledare felt an icicle of fear touch the base of her spine. Her hand was on the hilt of her longsword before she fully realized what she was doing.

"It wasn't chagmat, Leoric!" a woman's voice chided from behind them. "Stop trying to scare everyone."

They turned and saw a woman coming toward them from the direction of the shrine. She was dressed in well-made and well-worn robes of brown, red, and gold hues. The large square holy symbol of Sato hung about her neck and her head was completely shaved, as was the fashion of Orderbringers from one end of the Realms to the other. Her left arm was missing from just above the elbow, and the voluminous sleeve of her robe was pinned up at her shoulder. Her face was kind and creased with a homey, lived-in quality that put the group at ease. Her name, both Ledare and Morier knew was Maerwynn.

She introduced herself to farmer Ixin and little-boy Vade after favoring the others with a hug. "It is good to see you again, Ledare," she told the Janissary. "I just wish it could be under better circumstances."

"What happened?" Ledare asked and Maerwynn sighed.

"We were raided last night," she said. "It was like the last time, only...  different."

"They was chagmat!" Leoric asserted again, finally pushing himself to a sitting position so that he could point a finger at the cleric.

"These were not chagmat! Chagmat do not fly!" Maerwynn argued before turning back to Ledare. "Like the chagmat, last night's attackers looked like some kind of weird cross between men and bugs, but they were different. Some of them flew like huge wasps, others scuttled about on four legs, and the largest - the leader, I think - looked like a big grasshopper man!"

"Bah, woman!" Leoric scoffed. "You wouldn't know a chagmat if it bit you in the arse!" Maerwynn shot him a scathing glance.

"I most certainly would, Leoric!" she exclaimed, cradling the stump of an arm she'd lost defending a child during the last attack of the spider folk. "These things last night took supplies and valuables, which the chagmat didn't ever bother with, and they only carried off one person— Ilea. Our gift of the star." The Orderbringer got a wistful look on her face and mention of the name and frowned. "The girl’s been the light of the village ever since she came. She has been staying with me since her arrival and the attackers focused on breaching the shrine to get her. I don’t know what we’ll do now that she’s gone. She’s a good girl.”

"Who is she?" farmer Ixin asked and the cleric gave her a strange look as the voice and the face did not match in the slightest.

"I don't know," Maerwynn said, blinking at Ixin curiously before turning back to Ledare. "None of us knows. Nine days ago, Ilea fell through a brilliant white hole in the sky on a night that seemed filled with magic."

"I was afraid you were going to say that," Vade sighed.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #242] The Latest Buzz!*

Feln made his way east and then south rapidly covering the distance around the bottom of village. Years of training had left him preternaturally quick and his legs devoured the distance in great chunks as he passed through fields of peas, oats, barley, vetch, beans, and winter wheat. All the while, he encountered no one, and while he was no farmer it seemed clear even to him that there was work to be done. He could clearly hear the sounds of hammering and sawing coming from town, leaving little doubt where the laborers had gone.

As he crept westward through a field of half-cut hay, Windstryder stepped silently from behind a stalk of grass - or so it seemed for all the suddenness of her arrival. Feln had slipped into the Fighting Cobra stance out of habit, but he relaxed and endured her smug grin. Even Anta seemed to mock the half-orc from her perch on Windstryder's shoulder.

"I found an obvious trail leading to the village from the hills in the southwest and back again," the elf said, pointing off in that direction. "I don't recognize the track type, but they total about twenty in all."

"Raiders?" Feln asked and Windstryder nodded once.

"Likely," she replied as she reached up and coaxed Anta from her shoulder onto her right hand. She pointed the bird southwesterly and tossed her in the air. "Seek!" she commanded and the hawk squawked its reply as it gained altitude.

"Let's move closer and wait for Vade's signal," Feln suggested and without a word, Windstryder crouched low and hustled off in the direction of the village.



"Is that a problem, little boy?" Maerwynn asked, bending down to smile at the disguised Vade.

"No," the halfling said with a shrug. He scratched his ear conspicuously. "It's pretty much what I expected. Have you any news of where these raiders come from?" Maerwynn stood up with a confused look on her face.

"He's very precocious for a child his age," she said, looking at farmer Ixin. "Is he your son?" Ixin started to open her mouth in response but settled instead on shaking her head no. Ledare quickly changed the subject.

"Tell us more about the night Ilea appeared," the Janissary pressed. "What made it magical?"

"Well, it's hard to say. It was in the air. You know... like right before a big storm," the cleric explained. "Only the sky was clear and seemed to have twice as many stars as was normal."

Ledare looked at Ixin, but the mage just shrugged her broad farmer's shoulders and gave a slight shake of her head.
"And what of the girl?" Ledare asked. "She is human?"

"No!" Maerwynn said quickly before amending herself. "I can't really say for certain what she is. Though she resembled an elf, there was an almost unearthly beauty about her."

Again Ledare looked at Ixin and again the mage shook her farmer's head and shrugged her farmer's shoulders.

"How did she arrive in town, exactly?" Morier asked, a quizzical look on his pale features.

"It was hard to sleep with that charge in the air that I mentioned, so many of us were up to see her arrival," she explained. "It started with a bright light that appeared in the sky above the village. Those of us who were awake came out to marvel at the new "star" in the sky - a star whose light seemed to bring feelings of peace and well being to all who gazed upon it. It was truly wonderful to behold, and I wish that I could keep that feeling in my heart always."

"Fah!" Leoric spit before upending the jug of hard cider into his mouth.

"Well, right out here in the village common," she went on, ignoring the drunkard completely, "we found a young girl, barely more than a child, lying naked and shivering on the ground. We asked her who she was, but her reply came in a musical tongue that I nor any of the others had never heard before."

Just then Ixin pointed behind the Janissary to where Feln and Windstryder were jogging into the village square. For a moment, the Orderbringer looked worried, but Ledare raised a hand and said, "They're with me."

"Janissary," Feln began with a slight bow, "Windstryder and I have found tracks of nearly twenty beasts."

"That fits with what we've just heard here," Ledare said, gesturing to Orderbringer Maerwynn. "This woman was present when the girl was taken by the raiders."

"Taken!" Windstryder growled and took a step toward the cleric. The one-armed woman quickly gave ground to the physically smaller, but none-the-less fierce elf. "Why were you unable to protect the girl?"

"It happened so quickly..." the cleric began.

"Were you overpowered?" the ranger pressed, crowding into Maerwynn's personal space. "Did it occur in the night?"

"Yes! It occurred at night. I was asleep when it started," the priestess sputtered. "And I'm not much of a fighter. At least not anymore." She flapped the stump of her arm for emphasis and Windstryder scowled but backed off.

"Perhaps you should let her tell what happened again," Ledare suggested and the ranger nodded, her eyes askance. After Maerwynn had brought Feln and Windstryder up to date on the raid, the half orc grunted noncommittally.

"You are all tired and I see you enjoy your rest," Feln observed, noting the way that Ledare and Morier's armor sagged on their respective frames. "We don't know what they are doing with this girl - the only salvation to the plight of Barnacus. We need to plan and we need to move, quickly."

There was murmured agreement from around the small band, until Maerwynn cleared her throat. "Excuse me, but you said 'plight of Barnacus'. What's wrong in Elcaden?" Ledare quickly explained and the Orderbringer's face fell. "Oh dear," she moaned, a stricken look on her face. "Lady Clebrylla and Master Robin left for Barnacus two week's ago to visit her sister in the city. I pray that nothing ill befalls them. Milord Arundel can bare little more tragedy in his life."



"I did really want to check out that neat shop," Vade sighed as they trudged southwestward into the night. He still wore his disguise although his blonde wig had come slightly askew as they traveled.

"It is not the best time to shop," Ixin soothed. She had doffed Feln's had and returned to her natural form. "We really need to move with haste. We don't want the trail to grow cold."

"Ixin's right," Ledare huffed. "The valuables and supplies taken in the Junction give no indication where the beasts were headed with the girl. The trail is our only solid clue. We need to follow the trail while it is fresh."

"I know," the halfling sulked. " But I bet I could have gotten some information out of her without paying. For most folks, telling wondrous stories about our adventures would be fair trade. People are always telling me all sorts of things if it'll get me to go off and have some more fun adventures." He paused for a moment and thought.

"But maybe it's a good idea that I didn't go. Merchants do have a habit of accusing me of taking things when I am only just looking," he explained. "Boy! They really are pesky at the fruit stand in Strenchburg Junction. For a while, I thought my name was 'Shoe Boy'! When I told them I was not selling shoes I just was admiring their fruit, they got all mad at me and chased me away with a broom. Wow! That fat guy wields one mean broom." He rubbed his bottom with both hands at the memory.

"Listen for once, humble warrior," Feln whispered into Vade's ear. "I am going to give you the chance at greatness."

"Hey!" Vade hissed back. "I listen plenty!" The monk ignored him and walked quietly up to Ledare.

"Janissary," Feln began. "Twenty of these transmogrified bugs - if such they are - may be more then we can handle if we raid their lair. Many of Ixin's spells are depleted and both you and Morier are weakened from the medicine Windstryder gave you."

"I know," Ledare said with a note of annoyance in her voice. "What's your point?"

"I think Vade and I should sneak into the lair and rescue the girl," Feln said matter-of-factly and both Ixin and Morier looked at him with surprised expressions. Ledare just looked over at Vade as they walked. The halfling looked back and shrugged.

"Stealth is obviously on our side with me and Feln," Vade mused. "And I will be sure to be quiet!" the others looked at him dubiously. He hadn't stopped talking since they left the village. "Hey! I can be quiet... when I want to be."

Windstryder appeared suddenly out of the darkness, her hand extended, palm down. At the signal, Feln immediately dropped to his haunches. Seeing Feln's reaction, the others did the same. "Just over the rise there's a cave opening. The trail leads inside," Windstryder explained. "There are two flying things buzzing around the entrance. As big as the halfling. Hard shell. Two arms. Two legs. Big stinger in back."

Vade swallowed audibly and then whispered. "Monsters around is a good time for being quiet."


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## Jon Potter

*[Draelond #1] Purgatorium*

Draelond awoke slowly, his senses returning to him only reluctantly.

He was laying face down on a rocky plain.

And he was cold.

Beyond that, he could tell little at first and it was only with great effort that he pushed himself up to his knees, shook himself free of snow and looked around.

That didn't help.

He stood up and blinked. The light was a dim, silvery radiance that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere. Draelond's shadow splayed outwards across the snow, surrounding his feet like spokes on a wheel. The sky above was a misty, violet glow in whose depths he could see faint motes of color - metallic greenish-blue and rusty orange-brown, mostly - but everywhere else all the color seemed leeched from the landscape. The soil on which he stood was a flat lusterless black, dusted with a thin crust of pale snow. Here and there he could see some wiry clumps of grass struggling up through the effluvium; the sickly blades were a strange gray non-color.

A flurry of snow fell all around him like chill dust, already obscuring the imprint his body had left on the ground, but seeming to accumulate little.

An expectant hush predominated, seeming almost to press against his ears.

At his back swirled a bank of frigid mist that seemed to be the source of the cold. Ice crystals spun lazily through the air, borne on air currents that he couldn't feel. A thick layer of frost covered the ground before the fog bank.

Abruptly, the fog spit out a figure that landed unceremoniously on the glaze of frost a half-dozen paces to Draelond's left. The figure was larger and bulkier than the warrior and dressed in skins and furs. It lay still for a moment and then it scrambled stiffly to its feet and Draelond saw that it was a bugbear. It turned to regard him and he saw its squashed nose sample the air as it hefted an enormous, pitted double-axe. Draelond took a step back, his hand going up to Ravager's handle as he did so. He was grimly surprised that he was going to have to do battle so soon after fighting the rat-headed... giant...

He paused, blinking again.

What had happened to the giant?

And where were the others?

The bugbear snorted at him non-committally and holding its axe easily in one hand it loped off into the snow where it was swallowed up by the gloom.

Draelond forced his mind to remember what had happened before and he was surprised at how little memory there was. He clearly recalled charging at the giant's flank and stabbing half of his bastard sword into its back with all of the strength Ruze's spell had granted him. He also remembered feeling somewhat surprised when the thing turned on him, grabbed his arms in its barrel-sized fists and...

He put a hand to his shoulder, half-expecting to find his arm hanging by thread of gristle, but he appeared to be uninjured. His divinely enhanced musculature had returned to its normal size, but there was no pain. His armor wasn't even dirty.

The giant's huge claws came down, grabbed him savagely and... and then he was here. And he had a sinking suspicion that he knew where 'here' was.


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## Jon Potter

*[Draelond #2] Ruze*

Draelond turned in a circle, surveying the open plain on which he stood, absorbing the dull, slate-tinged scenery of the snowy landscape. He knew he should be feeling tremendous pain.  He knew he should be clinging to life by a thread, but here he stood... the question was... where was 'here'?

As strange as everything around him seemed, it also carried with it a certain air of familiarity. Something about it made the strangeness in everything around him somewhat... okay. 

He again surveyed the landscape and had his first sense of true unease. From somewhere deep inside, through the chill that pervaded his bones, a flicker of warmth grabbed his attention. Before he was consciously aware of what it was, he heard himself utter the name, "Ibrahil."

Equally without measure, he began to walk into the grayness, leaving behind the frosted ground upon which he had landed in this strange place. Not knowing exactly why he was doing so, but understanding that it was where he should go.  Gnawing at the back of his mind was the reality of his situation. There were so many things that "should be", that simply defied logic by their absence, but he refused to allow his mind to confront them at the present.

He hadn't gone far when he began to hear the sounds of battle ahead and to his left. An awful cacophony of chains assaulted his ears, defiling the stillness with its clanking. For a moment, Draelond was transported back to Barnacus by the sound; he was standing outside the gates of Grey House with Badriembor guarding it against the Hand of Four...

But that was impossible, of course.

Badriembor was dead.

And so were the members of the Hand of Four - three of them by his own hand.

A blood-curdling shriek of fear clawed at Draelond's ears and before he knew what he was doing he'd moved away from his path and taken a few long strides toward the sound. It didn't take long for him to locate the source of the disturbance.

The sound of clanking chains came from a gaunt figure. It was black, so black that it seemed to absorb the meager light, corrupting Draelond's vision as his eyes tried to define a shape that made no sense to his rational mind.  It seemed composed more of chains than flesh and its eyes and mouth blazed with turquoise fire. The air around it was alive with animated chains whose links bore terrible spikes and dripped with black wetness.

The screams were coming from the thing's victim.

She was a human woman of indeterminate age wearing intricately tooled plate mail. She bore a shattered sword in a locking gauntlet and carried a large steel shield. Both the emblazoning on shield and a tattoo on her face bore the mark of Bane, the Tyrant God. She was bleeding from dozens - maybe hundreds - of slash wounds and struggled mightily against the chains that bound her limbs, but it did no good. A heartbeat after Draelond arrived, she was wrapped in a cocoon of barbed links.

The black corruption turned its flickering blue-green eyes on Draelond and smiled. No sooner had it taken a step toward the warrior than a glowing silvery light manifested out of the falling snow to Draelond's right. The black figure recoiled from the light as if it had been splashed with acid and hissed impotently. An instant later it darted off into the gloom, dragging its burden as it went.

Draelond turned toward the light and raised an arm to shield his eyes. It was a woman - or something like a woman. She was easily 8 feet tall, bald and green-skinned. A scowl of determination was on her face. She carried an enormous silvery falchion in one muscular hand and a great pair of feathery white pinions rose up from her back. She extended her empty hand in Draelond's direction.

"I was sent for you," she said in a voice that was dripping with goodness and purity.

Draelond extended his hand to her, but she raised her falchion and kept him at bay with the flat of the blade. He saw then that she was reaching passed him at another figure that came staggering out of the falling snow.

Ruze came forward and took her hand in his, a look of ecstasy on his face. Tears streamed down his pudgy cheeks as he looked up at the glowing winged figure. "You're beautiful," he said, his voice cracked with emotion. 

"So are you," she said and smiled back at him. "We're all beautiful in Her glory. Come. You have earned your reward."


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #242] Alone in the Dark*

"Monsters around is a good time for carrying a big sword," Morier muttered and unsheathed his glittering silver greatsword. Vade looked at the huge blade and shook his head.

"Sheesh!" he grinned. "What are you compensating for with that thing?" The albino gave him a scathing look, but Feln interrupted before the two could really start going at it.

"Morier, your blade is most powerful, but I do not think a direct assault will save the girl," the half-orc said. "I doubt if we could even defeat them all. What do you think of having a distraction at the cave door? Ixin, Ledare, Windstryder and yourself would need to handle whatever comes out."

"While you sneak in with the halfling?" Morier asked and Feln nodded. "I don't know if the two of you can sneak in and rescue the girl, but a little recon could certainly go a long way toward helping the fact that we're drastically outnumbered. I suggest that you go ahead and scout out what's up, but if things go south..."

"I know these are unaccustomed tactics to you, sneaking and soft footing around," the monk replied. "If things go poorly for me, you must decide what is best. I will fight my way back to the cave entrance but... in any case, I don't expect you to dive in after me. Things will be bad enough as is."

"We're not leaving you," Ledare said flatly. "Let's make a direct assault our last option, but I'll take it before I leave you in the clutches of Andamacles' creations."

Feln nodded and said, "I volunteer to enter first - Vade behind me a short distance - and see if we can locate the girl."

"I can't see in the dark," Vade said in a small, small voice. " Everyone turned to look at him and the halfling realized for the first time that with both Ruze and Draelond gone, he was suddenly the only one in the party who didn't have some form of night vision.

"I did not realize you could not see in the dark," the half-orc admitted. "I think that is a pretty major drawback but I have no problem going in on my own. I think I can handle it."

"Wait! Here is an idea," Vade said quickly, trying desperately to circumvent his... ahem... shortcoming. "You wear the invisibility ring and carry me to the cave entrance. If you are carrying me perhaps we both can be invisible. This way I do not need to see. If it is lit, I will go in with you. If not I will hide by the entrance and observe and wait. You can take the ring." The halfling pulled off the plain band and held it out to the monk.

"I will take your ring, Vade, if you can stand to lose it," Feln said. "I make no guarantee of its safe return."

"Well, the ring is not really mine," Vade admitted and pressed the magic item into Feln's rough palm. "I am protecting it for Kitten." Ledare snorted.

"Yeah, right," she said. "I don't remember the last time I wore it. And please stop calling me that."

"Enough talking, for Brogine's sake," Windstryder growled, her eyes constantly surveying the surrounding trees for any sign of ambush. Feln nodded his agreement and quickly explained his plan.

"Ixin, you go a short distance - say 100 feet - and light a fire," the monk offered. "Maybe it will distract these... things."

"I will cast Dancing Lights as a distraction instead of a fire-substituted Acid splash," Ixin told him. "It offers me more options as I can control the lights from a distance. And we don't run the risk of starting a forest fire."

"The dizzying lights may let the bugs know there are adventurers nearby," Feln warned. "Do you think that is too risky?"

"Ixin knows her spells better than we do," Ledare defended and the monk nodded.

"Windstryder, I think you might be best to cover the entrance with your bow... if you agree," he went on. The ranger nodded silently and drew an arrow from her quiver. "Ledare and Morier, you two stay in reserve. If there's trouble, you know what to do. Vade, leave behind everything non-essential."

Then Feln stood and stripped off most of his gear, leaving it in a pile at his feet. Vade did the same, although the halfling's pockets were still bulging with supplies. Feln crouched again and Vade hopped lightly onto his broad back. Feln winked once at the party before activating the Ring of Invisibility and vanishing from sight.



"Wee," Vade whispered into Feln's ear as they eased toward the top of the hill. "This kind of reminds me of piggy back rides my Papa used to give me!"

Feln stopped abruptly and whispered in his gravest voice, "Hold your stories, Vade. I will listen to them over breakfast... if we live 'til breakfast."

"Okay," the halfling replied glumly and settled into waiting for Ixin's distraction to come. 

While they waited, Feln edged closer and closer to the narrow cleft in the hillside. His gaze moved constantly from the ground at his feet to the trees to the air above and back again, following a pattern that had been drilled into him from an early age. Despite the persistence of his training, his gaze kept being drawn to the things floating lazily in the air around the cave entrance. They were, as Windstryder had said, the same size as Vade, but there the similarities ended. They were skeletally thin with heads shaped rather like a dog's. Covered with a segmented exoskeleton and buzzing about on translucent wings their insectile origins were indisputable, but apart from bulging, multi-facetted eyes, the rest of their appearance spoke of a goblinoid heritage. Ledare's belief that these creatures were the result of magical crossbreeding - what she had called transmogrification - seemed to be correct. At this close range, Feln could see that what Windstryder had identified as stingers were actually light crossbows secured to the creature's belts.

It didn't take long before Ixin began her distraction. Feln and Vade spotted four glowing balls of light whizzing through the trees about 40 paces to the south. The two transmogrified things flying near the entrance also saw the multi-colored lights and let out a chittering bark of alarm. Another pair buzzed out of the cave mouth and the four of them took wing off into the trees.

Feln crept closer and peered into the opening. It was dark inside... too dark for Vade to see anything. Without a word, Vade let go of the half-orc's neck and scuttled into the shadows around the cave mouth. Despite the fact that he knew the halfling was there, the half-orc couldn't see him at all... even with his darkvision. The rogue was good, Feln thought, hoping silently that he would be able to say the same about himself when this was all over.

Taking a breath he eased inside.



The fissure sloped steeply downward, opening into a roughly circular chamber that had obviously been hewn from the rock of the hill deliberately. Looking closely, Feln could tell that the hands that did the hewing were less than skilled. The floor was damp and sandy underfoot, and the walls were rough limestone. The ceiling was high, at least 20 feet above the floor, and mostly hidden in shadows, although Feln's darkvision easily picked out the strange, papery nest that filled the vault overhead. It looked like a wasp's nest of colossal size, and the monk spotted two more of the humanoid insects sleeping in the circular entrances.

Feln's breath caught in his throat and he listened intently. A distant dripping sound was audible, as if water were filtering through the limestone roof and making its way down the walls. But he could hear no sound of the girl; if she were in the nest, she was either unconscious or dead.

The monk licked his lips and headed for the tunnel opening on the opposite wall. It was of the same construction as the chamber and continued on straight-ahead, terminating in a T-intersection at the limits of his darkvision. He crept silently down the roughly cylindrical tunnel, his feet making less than a whisper on the wet sandy floor. At the intersection, he paused, looking both ways. He saw no movement, although the tunnel continued on past the 60-ft. range of his vision in both directions. There were two openings leading deeper into the hillside and one that went back the way he had come leading off of the intersecting corridor. One of the openings was across the hall, ten feet to his right. He stepped gracefully across and listened.

Apart from the ever-present dripping of water, he could hear the furtive clicking sound of insectile armor coming from somewhere down the corridor. A quick glance revealed a passageway leading off to the right about twenty feet down as well as the fact that the corridor elbowed off to the left at a point thirty or so feet beyond that. It sounded like the chitinous clicking sounds were coming from the nearer opening. He was about to head back - the complex was simply too expansive for him to search on his own - when he heard something else. As he turned, the sound of crying briefly reached his ears by some acoustical trick of the caves. It seemed to be coming from further down the passage, beyond where it elbowed off to the left.


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## Jon Potter

*[Draelond #3] Claimed and Unclaimed*

Draelond saw the blissful look sweep across Ruze's face and suddenly felt as though he understood many things. A surprising pang of jealousy tugged at his heart and he pushed it aside, his sense of duty overpowering his longing. He approached and began his appeal, hesitantly at first, but growing quickly in urgency. "If we are... where I think we are, Ruze, we have unfinished business... elsewhere."

Ruze turned slowly to look at Draelond, drawing his gaze away from the celestial with difficulty. He clearly did not want to turn his face from his spirit guide, but felt the bonds of brotherhood pull his eyes toward Draelond.

"I think I know how strongly you believe in the fates, but maybe we have the opportunity to finish our work in the material world," Draelond urged and Ruze grinned back him, his cheeks still wet with tears of joy.

"Can you not see her?" Ruze asked, dreamily. "She is so beautiful. Look how she comes for me!"

"I see nothing, Ruze," Draelond replied and that distant sense of longing stirred again in his chest. He forced it down; there was still work for him to do. "Think of the good that could be... Think of the evil that we were so close to destroying."

"I did not know until this moment, how much I have coveted to stand next to my Queen as her personal retinue," the cleric answered, his eyes glazing over in rapture. "Me, a son of a poor dirt clod farmer, will stand at the ready for Shaharizod."

"I am sure that I am not ready," Draelond admitted, taking the Battleguard's hand as he spoke as if to keep Ruze from drifting away into the falling non-snow. As he took the cleric's hand, Draelond saw the green-skinned woman flinch as if she were ready to raise her falchion at the Battleguard's defense.

"I know not what faith you follow, Draelond, but my Goddess is pure and true and I can entreat her to have you stand at her foot as well," Ruze said. He gave Draelond's hand a reassuring squeeze and then slipped free of the man's grip.

"I have left too much above," the big warrior answered. He looked up at the stern-faced woman... angel... whatever.... and pressed his mouth into a resolute line. "I am willing to fight the fates to leave this place and return to the others. Will you come with me?"

"No," Ruze said flatly. "We have fought and died well! This is our reward. You can be part of those that believe - the uninitiated warrior!"

"You must first renounce the two who already lay claim to you," the bald figure told Draelond in a voice that sounded almost like wind chimes. "Only then can the Silver Queen take you as her own."

"Come, Draelond. Come follow me," Ruze said as he and the winged woman turned into the storm. "Come."

"Beware this place, warrior," the woman added, her voice clearly reaching Draelond's ears even as Ruze's began to fade. "There are dangers aplenty for the unclaimed."

"Come follow me. Draelond Come with me to my Queen," Ruze continued to call, his voice now barely audible from the swirling snowstorm. "Come."


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #242a] Angels & Insects*

Ixin was crafty with her Dancing Lights. The four colorful globes of radiance were easily three times as fast as their transmogrified pursuers and they changed direction at her whim, zipping over and under limbs and speeding around the trunks of trees. Still, she was hard-pressed to keep the insect creatures from getting close enough to recognize her ruse for what it was. Firstly, she was constrained by the limitations of her spell: no single light could move further than 10 feet from any other. Secondly, she was limited by the fact that she was trying to avoid sending the flying humanoids too near to where Ledare, Morier and Windstryder were hiding. And thirdly, the insects were using clever tactics, initiating flanking maneuvers and setting the moving lights up for sudden crossbow attacks.

It was really just a matter of time...

The globes of light orbited each other as they careened amidst the trees and Ixin directed them around the trunk of an oak tree of considerable size. Too late, she noticed one of the four insect men buzz down from above with its crossbow drawn. It fired a shot into the midst of the lights, not managing to score a hit on any of them. However, Ixin couldn't prevent one of the insubstantial glowing balls from slamming into the thing's chitin-plated chest. Of course, it caused no harm, but contact with the disbelieving creature disrupted the spell and the globe that had struck him dissipated at once, leaving Ixin with only three circling balls of light.

The flying creature alighted on a nearby branch and barked to its fellows. Hanging at her hip, Arivexoth immediately translated the thing's words to Ixin. "Lights a trick!" the creature yipped. "We tricked! Braath be mad we chase lights! Mad we tricked!"
"Braath be mad we not guard!" one of the others countered but the first shook its horned head.

"Guard we do. Not chase lights," the first asserted, pointing at its bulging multi-facetted eyes. "Look we do. Find light maker. Chase light maker. Kill light maker!" Its four fellows barked their approval and Ixin let her spell lapse. The three remaining light globes drifted lazily to a halt and dropped to the ground where they burst like soap bubbles.

"Saltatus iubar... arthonath!" she chanted softly and pointed her finger. At the spot she'd indicated in the distance appeared the glowing figure of a man. The figure moved furtively through the trees, appearing and disappearing eerily as it passed behind the trunks of oaks and ash and pines.

"There! Guard there! Chase there!" one of the bug men yapped, pointing a clawed hand at the figure. "That light maker!"

"Kill!" a second bug man yipped and the other two took up the battle cry. "KILL!!!"

They launched themselves from the branches and buzzed toward the shimmering figure at full speed.



It didn't take Feln more than a moment to reach a decision. He took a breath and moved down the passage, as silent as a shadow. The bug-like clicking and clacking grew louder as he neared the side passage, and as he drew breast of it a foul midden pit stench assaulted his nostrils. Venturing a peek down the connecting passage, he spotted something large and multi-legged moving about in the chamber beyond. His darkvision could reveal little about the thing apart from the fact that it was both enormous and some type of vermin - most likely a giant spider or scorpion.

Feln's breath caught in his throat as he darted across the mouth of the corridor. He could here a rustling now accompanying the clicking and clacking as if the huge arachnid had sensed his passing and was maneuvering itself into attack position. But no attack came and the half-orc slowly let out his breath and padded toward the far end of the corridor.

Where the passage turned off to the left, Feln paused because he could now see faint light coming from that direction. He pressed himself against the passage wall and glanced around the corner. It continued passed the corner for only aouther 15 feet or so before emptying into a much larger chamber. The sound of dripping water was more pronounced and now Feln was certain that he could hear a girl crying.

He moved forward and glanced out into the "chamber". What it really was, he saw now, was a central passageway twice as wide as the others that he'd moved through were. It extended away to his right as far as his eyes could see, and other smaller tunnels fed into it on both sides. The rugged limestone walls streamed with water and the floor was damp and mucky. He could see no tracks in the mud, however. To his left, the passage let into a squarish chamber illuminated my strange silver light. It was the girl, however, that immediately drew his attention. A beautiful, forlorn-looking young elf girl was chained to the floor of the chamber. Numerous bloody stripes across her chest and back indicated that she had been flogged. She was crying, but her eyes were clear, green, and full of an anger that could only be described as righteous.

Sighing with relief that he'd found the object of his quest, Feln mentally willed his Hat to trigger his elf disguise and his features ran invisibly into their new shapes as he stepped out into the passageway.

His only warning was the mud shifting beneath his feet before the trap went off and the ceiling collapsed on his head.



Outside Vade heard the muffled crunch of falling rock echoing up from inside the cave. "Uh oh," he said.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #243] What's Bugging You?*

The halfling swallowed nervously and squinted into the dark cave. He could see nothing within beyond a few feet, but that falling rock sounds was too ominous to ignore. He edged through the shadows, moving away from the cleft and back up toward where Ledare and Morier had stationed themselves in the underbrush. He froze in his tracks as the quartet of bug men roared passed in pursuit of Ixin's glowing deception. They noticed him not at all, and Vade was able to creep right up between Ledare and Morier before those two noticed him either.

"I heard a really loud noise coming from inside the cave," Vade explained in a hushed whisper. "Like rocks falling. We need to go in and help Feln."

"Good!" Morier said, gripping his sword eagerly. "I've had enough of skulking about like a thug!" He struggled to his feet, and it was plain that despite his bravado, he was still feeling weak from the belladonna.

"Wait a moment," Ledare urged, laying her hand on the elf's forearm. "Vade, can you move quickly and find Feln?  You are small and have been able to hold your tongue long enough to be silent."

"What's the point?" Morier asked. "If Feln's made enough noise so that we heard it, then the bugs heard it too. There's no secret that we're here and trying to gain access at this point, I'd guess. And unlike the halfling, I can see perfectly well in the dark."

"So can I," Ixin said as she trotted across from her own hiding place. The others looked at her questioningly. "It'll take those things a few moments to realize that my illusion was just that. And I saw you guys arguing..."

"Swords ready," Morier told her. "We're heading in."

"Not necessarily!" Ledare countered and Vade quickly told the mage about what he'd heard.

"I think it makes sense for Vade to stay outside with Ledare while Morier, Windstryder and I to go in for Feln," Ixin said. "I have darkvision and the ability to understand the bugs."

"I want to go and help Feln," Vade whined. "He is nice."

"You'll be blind," Morier reminded the halfling. The albino's hands moved over the vials in his potion belt and checked the wands he kept in his wrist sheaths. Everything was where it should be. Battle awaited!

"There are lots of big nasties in there... you need me! I knew I should have gone with him." The halfling looked genuinely remorseful. "Besides, some boring philosopher man once told me: the whole is greater than the sum of its parts."

The others looked down at him with surprised expressions on their faces. The little rogue clucked his tongue in  exasperation. "It means don't separate Vade alone in the dark," he explained and wrapped his tiny arms half-way around Ixin's knees. Sighing heavily, she reached down and pried the halfling's arms off her legs.

"Let's not waste time arguing," she said. "We are needed in the cave so let's stay together as Vade suggests and get moving." As she turned, the sunrod she'd been carrying in her belt plinked onto the ground. Her eyes flicked between it and the too-innocent-looking Vade and she smiled. "If you wanted the sunrod, you need but ask little friend."

He stooped to pick it up. "I was thinking that someone could just carry me on their back and I would only have to break open the sunrod when we need it," he said, grinning sheepishly at her. "They already know that we are here anyway."

"While we stand here, Feln might be fighting for his life," Morier asserted. "I'm going in."

"Go now and find out what has happened," Ledare told them as they hustled down the slope toward the cave. "I will keep those bugs from following you. You have my word."

Ledare glanced around and saw the transmogrified insects still flying off in the distance. Of Windstryder there was no sign.



Feln dodged the first piece of falling debris, his body moving into Flowing Water Style automatically. The second bit clipped his arm as he wove his body between the third and fourth. The impact threw off his balance and sent him tumbling awkwardly to the ground. After that, it was all he could do to keep from being pinned beneath the wet rubble. When the deadly rain of stone finally stopped, his legs were buried beneath the collapse and his arms and head were bleeding freely from half-a-dozen wounds. Dust choked his airway and he sputtered to catch his breath as he extricated himself from the cave-in.

"You're not like the others," the girl spoke. Her voice was like music in the damp dark.

"We are here to rescue you," Feln groaned and coughed as he got to his feet. "Hold on. My friends are coming to save you." He brought one of his two remaining elixirs to his lips and felt the pleasant warmth of healing spread through his body. When it had passed, of his many injuries only an insignificant bruise on his temple remained.

"Are you hurt?" the girl asked and Feln shook his head. He activated the Ring of Invisibility and vanished a few moments before another voice issued from behind him in the passageway, ringing off the limestone walls.

“Petty creatures!” it shouted. “You have incurred the inestimable anger of Brath the Lesser. Prepare to be destroyed!” Feln heard a few muttered words of spell casting and then found himself shrouded in a darkness so deep that even his darkvision couldn't penetrate it.



"I hear something," Vade warned as they passed through the entrance chamber. "Up above." Ixin and Morier trained their eyes on the ceiling and saw the papery nest that Feln had noted earlier. There were transmogrified bug men visible in many of the entrances and egresses of the nest, but they weren't sleeping any more. And they weren't happy about finding three intruders in their home. A shower of crossbow bolts descended on the trio.

Two arrows pierced Morier's scalemail, one striking a glancing blow to his chest while the other cut a bloody groove in his right knee. A shaft found its home in Ixin's right thigh, piercing her armor as if it were silk and not leather. Vade, clinging blindly to Ixin's back faired less well than she. Two quarrels struck him, one in the right shoulder, the other in the right foot.

Of the first salvo, only three bolts had failed to find their mark and the three companions could hear the creak of levers rachetting crossbows back into firing position.



Outside, ignorant of the troubles within the cave, Windstryder moved through the underbrush as noisily as a ghost. If there was a back door to this cave, she would find it and retrieve the package herself. She could not sit idly by while Mud-Face  secured the package that she had been assigned by order of the King himself to obtain. And what if he failed? The package was too crucial to the fate of  Barnacus to allow her to be relocated or killed if Ugly wasn't up to the task.

And so she hunted on the other side of the hill for another way in with her bow at the ready.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #242] Raids Kill Bugs... Dead!*

"Tell me what you see girl," Feln grunted as he blindly reached out a hand, groping for the cave wall. It was right where he'd left it.

"What is wrong?" the girl asked. Her voice came from behind and to Feln's right. Braath the Lesser's ensuing laughter came from his left and slightly above.

"Your savior is about to learn what it means to incur the wrath of Braath the Lesser," the voice chuckled and Feln could hear the muttered sound of spell casting.

"Direct me girl!" the half-orc shouted. "You need to be my eyes!"

"He's on the ceiling!" the girl said. "Right in front of you!"

Feln took a sweeping swing with his quarterstaff, connecting with nothing. An instant later, his dark world was filled with burning.



"Sopio!" Ixin shouted, gesturing at the nest while casting the last of her First Circle spells. Of the eight visible bug men, six immediately went to sleep. One of them slumped over to the side and remained in the nest. The others fell limply to the ground with a sickening crunch of bursting exoskeletons. Only one survived the twenty foot drop to the floor; Morier immediately skewered it on the point of his greatsword.

The two bug men that had been unaffected by Ixin's spell let out a yap of fear and disappeared inside the nest.

Ixin and Morier blinked in surprise as Vade struck his sunrod against the floor, flooding the chamber in a soft golden glow. The halfling's human child disguise looked even more convincing in that light, which made the arrow protruding from his shoulder all the more unsettling.

"Should I ignite the smoke stick and make haste down the corridor?" Vade asked in elvish. He angled his head toward the dark opening at the rear of the chamber. "Or should we stay and deal with the nest? I bet it's flammable and would create quite a distraction."

"What?" Morier asked, clearly not understanding Vade at all. The albino produced a vial from his belt and tossed back the contents like a shot of whiskey. Immediately, his wounds closed.

"He wants to know if we burn the nest or press on," Ixin translated as she yanked the arrow out of her thigh with a grunt.

"Press on," Morier said without preamble and stepped into the dark corridor. Vade and Ixin looked at each other.

"Do you have any oil left?" the mage asked.

"One," Vade responded, digging in his pack. Ixin wiggled her fingers.

"Think you can get it in one of those openings?" she asked, indicating the nest above. Vade glanced at it and nodded.

"Probably," he said. "What do you have in mind?" Ixin grinned in reply.



Ledare surmised that she had been spotted by the returning bug men long before they got within crossbow range. The quartet of bolts they sent at her confirmed her suspicion. Three arrows thudded into the ground at her feet, while one nicked her right arm, threatening to throw off her own aim. It didn't however, and she sent a quarrel from her hand crossbow into the nearest bug man's head, skewering it through the eye. It was dead before it hit the ground.

The other three circled around for another fly by.



"Leave him alone, you monster!" the girl was screaming. Feln could hear the rattle and clank of her impotent struggle with the chains, but all her could do was roll around on the ground  trying to extinguish the flames that had caught on his clothing. "It's me you want!"

"In due time, archon!" Braath's voice came from somewhere closer. He was moving toward the girl. "Once I have dealt with this fool, you and I can resume our... transactions!" He chuckled and the sound was very chilling indeed.

"Casting me into darkness," Feln grunted as he got to his feet. The monk was sure that smoke must be rising from his charred skin and hair, but he still had a lot of fight left in him if he could lure this mage into one. "Did you learn this spell on a bar-room table. This is the lamest spell I have ever seen... or not seen really."

"Darkness?" Braath snorted a derisive short. "That is a spell for brash Evokers. The Transmuter enjoys infinitely more subtlety in his craft!" Feln could hear him casting again and took a swing in that direction, connecting with nothing.

"Release me from this darkness, Braath!" the monk said. "Do not let your lack of confidence in yourself make you a dirty fighter."

"Confidence is one thing I have aplenty, wretch," Braath replied from very nearby. Feln's training kicked in and he ducked, miraculously avoiding an attack that parted the air above his head. "I'll teach you to fear the name Braath the Lesser!"

"Lesser? What kind of name is that?" the monk retorted, swinging his staff again and missing again. "I am Feln the Mediocre. Or wait, maybe I can be Feln the Not-So-Good!" He felt the wind of another blow coming at him -this time from further to his left.

"Soon you will be Feln the Dead!" Braath told him.




Each time they flew passed for an attack, Ledare would whittle their numbers down by one. On the second pass, she deflected a bolt with her shield and pinned one of the bug men's arms to its torso with an arrow of her own. On the third pass, she managed to transfix another of the creature's heads. The transmogrified corpses lay scattered at her feet amidst a small forest of her enemies' missed ammunition.

There was only one opponent left when she smelled smoke and glanced back to see the cave mouth belching forth a sooty cloud.



"Yaaagh!" Feln screamed involuntarily as Braath laid a hand on his back and sent electricity coursing through the monk's body. The scent of ozone filled Feln's nostrils, replacing the odor of burnt half-orc that had been lingering in the cave. He swung his quarterstaff, but Braath had apparently taken a step back and was out of his reach.

"You're a tough one, orc blood. I'll give you that," Braath said and Feln hear the sound of something long being unsheathed. "But Master Nicetas taught me many things before he entrusted command of his army to me! Pray now to whatever god you worship, for you go now to meet -"

"Hey, bug face!" Vade called and Braath the Lesser - who looked to be equal parts humanoid and insect - turned. He was just in time to swat at the thunderstone Vade had thrown. It exploded on contact with a concussive roar that sent Feln reeling. It had a decidedly worse effect on Braath. He dropped his greatsword and brought a pair of his four arms up to his head, screaming in pain.

Morier was the next to react and he spared no time in charging headlong toward the staggered Braath. His silver greatsword crackled with electrical energy and when he plunged the blade into his enemy's thorax, lightning arced back and forth between the blade and Braath. Braath the Lesser's exoskeleton burst apart under the electrical onslaught, sending gobbets of sizzling bug juice flying in all directions.

Morier pulled his sword free and turned, tiny sparks of lightning playing across his arms and dancing in his eyes. What was left of Braath the Lesser collapsed into a smoking heap at the albino's feet.



Outside, Windstryder had still not given up hope that she would locate a back door to the cave complex.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #245] They're Creeping Up On you*

Windstryder stopped and sniffed at the air. She smelled smoke... and nearby. Turning, she spotted the dark plume against the star-filled sky and was about to head back to the cave mouth when she spotted the faint trail in the grass. The same inhuman tracks in the soil indicated a path to and from the forest to the east. It was barely visible in the dim light and she wouldn't have spotted it at all except that it seemed to end nowhere. She stooped and spotted the concealed hatch with little difficulty now that she knew where to look.

"Yallume," she hissed in elvish, pleased that she'd finally located the object of her search. "Amin utue ta." She reached out a hand to trace the outline of the trapdoor, and was almost struck by it as the door was thrown open from below. Something large and hairy swelled out of the opening and Windstryder's first thought was: gnoll. But it was a gnoll whose mouth sported a pair of sharp mandibles and whose arms ended in snapping pincers. It surged upwards on numerous spindly legs and a thick segmented tail curled up from its hind-quarters surmounted by a wicked-looking barb as long as a shortsword.

Windstryder took a step back from the opening, raised her bow and sent an arrow at the thing. The shaft struck and drew blood from the deadly tail making the creature bark in pain. It came at her, one of its claws drawing retaliatory blood from her right thigh. Staggered slightly by the blow, the ranger brought her bow wide, away from her body and drew her rapier with her other hand. The slender needle of steel stabbed outward, piercing the chitinous armor on the transmogrified thing's right forearm. Enraged now, the creature sought to grab her with its pincers and skewer her with its tail, but she danced nimbly around the attacks.

Behind her opponent, Windstryder saw other multi-limbed shapes moving out of the hidden bolthole.



"We need to watch for traps," Feln said immediately. "The ceiling fell on me because of a plate in the floor."

Vade surveyed the rubble that littered the floor of the wide tunnel. "Ow that had to hurt," he said, wincing as he did so. "I heard the the rocks fall on you, Feln, so I went and got Morrier and Ixin.  We took care of the guards and Braath, the not-so-tough. hee hee!"

"Thank you, Vade," Feln replied. "Can you keep your eyes peeled for traps?"

"I always do," the halfling lied and the monk hung his head.

"Sorry for charging in like this," he apologized. "My expertise is in cities and buildings. I did not expect a trap... careless." Vade smiled and drew out his last tin of Rherram's healing salve.

"Don't worry about it. Use some of this on your wounds," the rogue said and tossed the tin to Feln. It pinged off of the monk's cheek, eliciting a disapproving growl.

"AAAAHHHHH, I cannot see, damn it," Feln grumbled, waving his hand around blindly. "Ixin, can you break this spell?"

Ixin shook her head and then said, "No. But you must maintain your control or that bastard will have won." She stepped in close to him and laid a hand reassuringly on his broad shoulder. "Remember that you have finely-honed senses beyond your vision. Rely on them and on us now. We will fix this."

Feln grunted his acceptance of that logic then whispered nervously, "How long will this trickery last?" Ixin sighed.

"I have no way of knowing at this point," she admitted. "We will lead you out and get some answers in town."

"Is that the girl we came to find?" Morier asked as he cleaned the gore off his greatsword. He nodded to the elf chained in the chamber just beyond.

"Yes!" Feln said quickly as if he'd just remembered she was there. "Vade, can you-?"

The halfling jingled his lockpicks and began trotting toward the shackled girl. "I'm already on it!" he sang as he went.



Ledare redirected her attention to her adversary and fired another quarrel at it. The thing dodged and shot back at her, its bolt drawing blood between the plates of steel that protected her left thigh. As it circled around, she saw it toss its crossbow to the ground and draw its shortsword. It yapped out a few words that Ledare couldn't understand.

But the words weren't meant for her, she discovered as the droning of wings drew her attention to the sword wielding bug man that was coming at her from the direction of the smoking cave mouth.



Realizing that her position was about to be overrun, Windstryder broke off her attack and moved quickly to the top of the hill. Her opponent wasn't about to let her get away so easily, and it was faster than she. It scurried forward on its six legs and snapped at her with its claws, but connected only with air.

Behind it, a second of its ilk moved forward. It would be within striking range of her in seconds, and a third was scrambling up out of the bolthole. They were too fast, so clearly, running wasn't going to get her very far.

"Caela ie'lle, saurar!" she cried and stabbed outward with her rapier. Unfortunately, she fumbled the attack and lost her footing on the crest of the hill. She staggered sideways, arms pin-wheeling wildly and her opponents chuckled darkly as they moved into attack positions.



"Thank you, kind sir," the girl said as Vade nonchalantly popped the lock on her shackles. He looked up into her bright green eyes and gulped. He'd seen that same look of zealous righteousness flickering in the eyes of a paladin or two whose path he'd crossed.

"Oh, I was chained up like this just last moonsdance," the halfling explained as he put away his tools."I did not like it one bit either."

The girl got quickly to her feet, rubbing at the chafed bands circling her wrists. She looked outward at Feln, Morier and Ixin, her expression and body language managing to somehow convey both innocent humility and imperious indignation. "Thank you all for freeing me," she said. "Much evil might have been done if you had not come."

Vade was close enough to see that she had been both whipped and beaten rather severely. Numerous bruises and cuts marred her otherwise perfect skin, but she seemed not to notice them. She was likewise unperturbed by the fact that she was standing naked in a dank cave. Vade produced a blanket from his pack and wrapped it around her thin shoulders. "Are there any more big nasty creatures we need to worry about?" he asked and the girl turned, her eyes flashing like emeralds in the light from his sunrod.

"Yes," she said with an eager tone. "There are other dark monstrosities here, but Braath the Lesser was their leader. With him dead, the others will quickly fall to our swords."

"Ummm," Vade began. "I think we just want to get you safely back to the village."

"We're in no shape to deal with this now," Feln agreed, but the girl shook her head savagely.

"These abominations pose a direct threat to Hillville Junction," the girl said grimly. "Without Braath the Lesser's strong rule, these things are certain to swarm out of the hills onto the unprepared village like a plague, devouring anything they can get their claws into. Once this region is depleted, they will simply move on despoil another area." She surveyed the group with a stern expression. "We must smite them now while they are unprepared and reeling from your successful attack!"



Somehow, Windstryder managed to avoid the attacks from the creature she had already wounded twice, but she couldn't seem to regain her footing. Wherever she placed her foot, the ground seemed to collapse, or her ankle would turn. She lurched to the side, directly into the pincer of her second attacker. Its claw crunched down on her left elbow,  grinding against the bone and the pain was tremendous. Somehow, she managed to remain conscious and avoid the tail that curled up and stabbed down at her over the thing's shoulder.

Another of the creatures was right behind these two, she saw, and there was more movement at the bolthole.



Ledare holstered her hand crossbow and drew Ruze's matched scimitars in one graceful motion as the two transmogrified bug men took op flanking positions on her. The creatures struck as one, showing a fair amount of tactical savvy, and Ledare was only able to deflect one of the sword thrusts. One of the blades nicked her side just below her breastplate, and she could feel blood slowly trickling beneath her armor.

She had to end it now. Twisting the twin moon blades around, she stabbed at both of the bug men before they could fly away out of her reach. One blade severed a wing, sending the creature spiralling into a nearby tree with a bone snapping crunch of finality. The other scimitar deprived the janissary's tormentor of his shortsword... along with most of its sword arm as well. The creature joined its brethren at Ledare's feet.

She turned in a circle looking for any further threats before she moved back into hiding. At the top of the hill overlooking the cave mouth, Ledare spotted Windstryder being harried by three creatures that she recognized at once. Several moonsdances ago, one of those same things had very nearly killed Soriah. It had taken the combined might of Finian, Kirnoth and Ledare, herself to put the creature down and Soriah's very life had been saved only through Finian's expert healing skills.

But now, Soriah, Finian and Kirnoth were no more. And there were three of those things attacking Windstryder.


----------



## Jon Potter

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> She turned in a circle looking for any further threats before she moved back into hiding. At the top of the hill overlooking the cave mouth, Ledare spotted Windstryder being harried by three creatures that she recognized at once. Several moonsdances ago, one of those same things had very nearly killed Soriah. It had taken the combined might of Finian, Kirnoth and Ledare, herself to put the creature down and Soriah's very life had been saved only through Finian's expert healing skills.
> 
> But now, Soriah, Finian and Kirnoth were no more. And there were three of those things attacking Windstryder.




The events that Ledare remembers here  are chronicalled in the turn archives  at this link  toward the bottom of the page.

FYI.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #246] The Girl, the Bug Men, and Everything!*

"I do not want to hang out here," Vade said in a small voice and the girl turned to regard him with her glittering green eyes. Her expression said that he was being judged... and found wanting.

"We must not leave them to regain their strength," the girl said. "Now is the time to strike!"

"No," Ixin said flatly. "Now is the time to go find Ledare and Windstryder ASAP. Then let's head back to town, rest and heal as much as we can and head back to Barnacus."

The girl frowned and bent to pick up Braath the Lesser's fallen greatsword. "I'm not leaving," she said as she hauled the huge blade up until its tip pointed at the ceiling.

"Too many people are depending on your safe return," Feln grunted. "We can't risk you getting hurt or..." His voice trailed off an the girl sneered.

"I am ready to sacrifice my own life, if need be, to eradicate the threat these creatures pose," she said and lowered the sword so that the flat of the blade rested on her left shoulder. It was a pose that Draelond had often assumed and the sight brought momentary pangs of loss to both Ixin and Vade. "In fact," the girl went on, "I am half-convinced that I have been sent here to test my willingness to make such a sacrifice on behalf of others."

"Sent from where?" Vade asked. "Where did you come from?"

The girl smiled down at him, and the look on her face was one of both serene happiness and profound loss. She pointed one finger upward. "Up there," she said and Vade scrunched up his face and squinted at the ceiling.

"There's an upper level to these caves?" he asked.



Miraculously, Windstrider's foot stepped on solid earth and the ranger ventured a look over her right shoulder at what lay behind her. Down the slope of the hill, she could see the Janissary holding two scimitars and hustling in her direction. The elf let her right knee collapse beneath her weight and pushed off with her left foot and her momentum carried her over the crest of the hill and into a barrel roll. She drew her bow and rapier in tight against her body and let inertia do the rest.

Two of the bug things reacted at once to follow her. The one that the ranger had twice wounded and the one that had bloodied her own left arm so severely lurched after her, there many legs scissoring down the hillside.



Windstryder rolled passed Ledare and the Janissary braced her feet to receive the charge of the first of the transmogrified insects. The scimitar in her right hand slashed outward as it advanced and severed the creature's arm above the elbow. The thing shrieked in a voice that was utterly inhuman and fell to the side clutching weakly at its fountaining stump. Its companion was on Ledare in an instant and the point of its pincer dug firmly into her gut.

She felt more blood pouring beneath her armor, but her entrails stayed where they were supposed to be.

Another of the creature's skittered up to the half-elf's flank, catching her between itself and its ally. Despite its tactical advantage, however, it failed to pierce Ledare's armor. Windstryder pumped an arrow into its right arm and it turned to regard her with utter malice gleaming in its many-faceted eyes. The distraction cost it dearly as Ledare's crescent blade buried itself in the creature's chitinous side. Ichor went spraying outward and then it slumped to the ground.

Before the half-elf could raise her other blade to defend herself, the other bug man that was on her pinched its claw down on Ledare's right knee and she started to pitch forward. As she went, it stabbed its other pincer up under her left arm, the lighter chainmail there and into the warm meat beneath. The Janissary tried desperately to catch her breath as the ground spun up to claim her.

Even as it turned to face Windstryder, the ranger put two arrows into its torso. The first slammed into its gut, staggering the thing. The second pierced neatly through its heart before continuing on through its back with a spurt.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #247] Medic!*

"I'm done talking," Ixin said and her voice was unusually gruff. She tugged savagely at the frilly cuff of her shirt and then ripped it away from the sleeve. "We will continue this discussion after we have rejoined our comrades."

"What are you doing?" Vade asked the mage, his childish face scrunched up in confusion.

"The smoke is what we need to worry about at the entrance," she told him as she pressed the torn cuff of her shirt against the dripping cave wall to wet it. She ripped the strip in half and pressed one into Feln's hand. "Everyone needs to rip off a square of cloth from their clothing - just enough to fit over your mouth. Then wet it as I have done and cover your mouth. It will aid with the smoke."

"There is another way," the girl said and all eyes turned to her (including Feln's although it was only out of habit; he could still see nothing at all). "I heard Braath the Lesser instructing some of his followers to take the eggs out the back way."

"Eggs?" Morier asked and the girl shrugged.

"I don't know what he meant by that," she admitted. "But I believe there is a way out of here that doesn't involve smoke and fire."

"But it does involve exploring these caves further," Ixin stated the obvious and the girl nodded.

"Yes," she said. "I do not know where-"

"What is your name, girl?" Feln interrupted, the scowl on his face making his "elvish" disguise look bestial in the glow of Vade's sunrod.

"I am called Ilea," she said and Feln nodded once.

"Ilea, there is another outside this cave right now who has dedicated herself to finding you," he told the girl. "She has done this at the expense of everything, risking her life - and mine - because she believes you are the key to saving an entire kingdom. I may be blind but even I can see that there is no advantage in charging around these caves without every able sword."

"You may fight yourself to death here girl, if you wish," he went on. "But I am going to get the woman who believes in you and honor her by allowing her to be part of this decision... I urge you come with us at least that far, before abandoning those who saved you."

The girl said nothing in reply, but her young face seemed to burn with a beautiful intensity that made Ixin seem plain by comparison. She sighed and it filled the cavern like the sound of wind chimes. Without saying another word, she ripped a small strip of cloth off of the blanket that Vade had offered her.



Windstryder scanned her surroundings quickly even as she fished out her last healing draught. She could see no sign of any more bug men, but she was too savvy a hunter to trust that there were none just because her eyes told her so. And anyway, she had seen at least one more of the things coming up out of their bolt hole, so she knew that the danger wasn't passed.

Ignoring one of Thornstyker's first lessons, the elf administered to the Janissary before tending to her own wounds. She poured half of the potion down the half-elf's throat and saw some of the woman's wounds close in response to the healing magic. The Janissary's eyes fluttered, but she didn't regain consciousness. Scowling, the ranger poured the other half of the potion over her own wounded elbow. The elixir bubbled and hissed, and she felt her wound knitting itself closed. The pain lessened by half, but the injury didn't heal completely.

She shoved the spent vial into her pack and muscled Ledare to a more defensible position amidst some trees. Once there, she unpacked her healer's kit, knelt over the Janissary and went to work. Windstryder's attention divided itself between suturing Ledare's wounds and surveying the surrounding area for trouble.



"Stay low and you should be alright!" Ixin called through the smoke. The nest that she and Vade had put to the torch was almost entirely burned away now and the sandy floor of the antechamber was strewn with smoldering remnants and charred insect carcasses. Ixin's natural resistance to fire kept the burning embers and hot ash from posing a threat to her, but the smoke was thick and foul-smelling. She had made her way across the cave and cleared a path between the entrance and the passage leading into the underground complex where the rest of the group huddled coughing on the smoke despite the improvised filters that they pressed over their mouths.

"I don't like this," Vade whined as he peered into the fire-lit chamber. He was already close to the ground and the smoke was bothering him somewhat less than his taller companions. Feln gave the halfling's shoulder a squeeze.

"I need you to be my eyes," he said through his wet cloth. "Take Ilea's arm. She'll take mine and we can go through as a group." Vade looked skeptical, but he nodded.

"Okay!" he said after he remembered that the half-orc couldn't see him nodding.

Morier watched them dart off into the smoke, felt the heat of the fire pressed on his pale face, and the cool darkness of the caves pressing on his back. He glanced over his shoulder and seeing nothing pressed the cloth more firmly against his mouth and lurched into the inferno.



"Is she alright?!" Vade sobbed as he caught sight of Ledare's bandaged form. He darted forward and Windstryder interposed herself between him and the Janissary.

"She'll live, but not if you go pawing all of her stitches open," the ranger told him.

"What happened?" Morier asked, although the numerous corpses dotting the hillside answered that question for him. Windstryder quickly told them what had occurred outside the caves and Ixin explained the her what had happened inside. The ranger didn't give mage a chance to finish, however. As soon as Ixin made mention of the girl, the elf darted forward.

"Come here, let me examine you," she said, grabbing Ilea by the elbow with one hand while brushing the hair back from the girl's face with the other. "Come, little one, you must have been frightened. Are you alright? Have you been harmed?"

Ilea looked intently at Windstryder and bared her shoulders to display the red lines caused by flogging. She said, "Braath the Lesser and his lieutenants were free with the lash. But he seemed more interested in collecting my tears and blood than in doing me permanent harm. At least so far..."

"Why do they want you to be their prisoner?" Vade asked the girl. "You are just a child."

Windstryer kept right on talking, ignoring the halfling's question and forcing Ilea to do the same by drawing her in close so that they stared into one anothers' faces. "See that ugly ogre over there?" the ranger asked, angling her head toward Feln who still looked like an average elf thanks to his Hat of Disguise. "He and I will let nothing hurt you. Also, we travel with a Lord Janissary and her companions. You are in good company now."

The girl looked around and shrugged.

"What do we do now?" Morier asked, his eager hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. In response, Windstryder looked pointedly at Feln and circled her fist around and waved backwards in the air. Feln, of course did not respond in any way.

"Um... Feln's blind," Ixin muttered into the elf's ear. 

"Oh," Windstryder said and Vade giggled a bit at her expense.


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## Jon Potter

*[Draelond #4] How Sweet. Fresh Meat.*

The big man strained to watch Ruze as his figure faded into the snow. The realization struck him; he was alone now, more so than ever before. As though his mind had been cleared by a cool blast of air, he realized that the dangers that doubtless awaited him in this strange land were multiplied as he stood in the wide open, mouth gaping. A cacophony of noises was distinguishable from every direction. Primal screams, the clash of weapons, tearful recognition, and voices speaking in tongues he had never heard reached his ears.

He headed off the cobbled path and began to make his way across a clearing toward what looked like a wooded area in the distance. There were decisions to be made, and he needed an out-of-the-way area to stop and reflect. He was not ready to be here. He had so much to do on the plane from which he had come. The King's calling... the evil in Barnacus... the group of adventurers who had befriended him and accepted him as family. He needed to go back... but how? He had resisted his fate as a small child... the pirates who had destroyed his family had spared him. By accident or by design he did not know... but he could not allow himself to be here... not now.

As he walked, he found himself unconsciously reciting the words of Ibrahil. He had learned them many years ago, and now they poured forth as though controlled by someone else. He reached the edge of the wood and selected a path to a point that afforded him some degree of cover. He crouched low by the tree and began to ask Ibrahil for help...



So far Ibrahil hadn't answered.

Without Orin's Shield or Shaharizod's Mirrors making their way through the heavens, there was no sound way to judge the passage of time. Draelond leaned against the tree, if such it was, (With its weird flesh-like bark and curly tangle of branches he had never seen a tree like it before) growing neither tired nor hungry as he crouched there, unable to apprehend time's passage.  The sky above remained a vaporous swirl of silver lit by occasional flashes and streaks of color. But after a while, the snow stopped falling.

The air was very still, so the sound of the tree's knotted branches clattering against one another drew his attention at once. He darted to his feet, Ravager sliding into his hand as he went. He turned, throwing every ounce of his strength as well as his own momentum into the sword. The steel blade bit into the thing that was leaping at him from the branches above, eliciting a startled squeal of pain from the creature and simultaneously driving it to the ground.

The bony creature landed on its side, but quickly righted itself and turned its bulbous lump of a head toward Draelond. It was four feet long from snout to rump. Two, long, curved antennae, each the thickness of a bullwhip curved upward above its multifaceted eyes. Six pincered talons and rubbery, toad-like skin completed its unnatural appearance.

"What in the-?" Draelond started to say and the creature was upon him. He tried to interpose Ravager, but the thing was too quick. Its limbs seemed to be everywhere, and a pair of its pincers dug into his flesh, easily piercing the chainmail on his chest and stomach. Its antennae whipped forward over its head, but failed to connect.

It clung to him tenaciously and he couldn't bring the bastard sword to bear on the thing while it was so close. Grimacing in disgust, he planted his big hand over the creature's wart-covered head and pushed. It's antennae hooked down at him again before he pried it loose, and one of them slapped against the side of his head. With something akin to panic, he realized that the antennae were coated with a poison that numbed his neck and jaw and shoulder. His natural fortitude prevented him from succumbing to the venom, but he could feel his muscles knotting uncomfortably just the same.

He took a step backward and slashed at the creature, satisfied that the bastard sword again tasted of the monster's horrible flesh. It was bleeding freely from both gashes, but seemed undeterred as it leapt up again. This time, Draelond was quick enough to get the big sword between himself and the creature's body. He couldn't save himself from two more bloody wounds from the creature's pincers, but he was able to pry the beast off himself rather easily. It landed on its back and the warrior drove his sword through its gut, pinning it to the gray soil. Its legs pawed weakly at the air for a time and then were still.

Breathing heavily, Draelond leaned on Ravager's pommel and clutched painfully at the wound marring his torso. His hands came away coated with brown wetness. It took him a moment to recognize it as blood in the weird lighting.

An unenthusiastic clapping drew the man's attention to a figure leaning against one of the other nearby trees. He was dressed oddly, in bulky leathers and loose-fitting pantaloons. He grinned at Draelond and lurched up from the tree.

"Not bad, warrior," he said in the commontongue. "Not many fair so well against the harvesters. But how long do you think you can really keep this up? Sooner or later someone or something's gonna do you in. And when you die here... Well, let's just say you don't get any second second chances."


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## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> Sooner or later someone or something's gonna do you in.




Ain't that the truth.


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## Jon Potter

*[Drealond #5] Decisions. Decisions.*

Draelond looked at the man curiously, not for a second loosening his grip on the great bastard sword that still held the slain beast's carcass firmly against the terrain. "I have many questions, and perhaps you have answers," he said, peering at the man. "But perhaps you also conspire to steer me wrong." The man looked casually at his hands as though he had no interest in what Draelond was saying. The warrior stood straighter, wincing at the pain in his torso as he did.

"What do you say?" he asked.

"You've asked me no questions, so for now, I say nothing," the man replied.

"This creature, the one you called the harvester... What kind of beast is this?" Draelond asked, nudging the thing's inert body with his toe. 

The stranger made a dismissing gesture with his hand. "The harvesters roam the plane in search of souls to devour. Their power derives from the souls they capture," said the man, rarely changing the tone in his voice. "But they are just one of the many dangers you face walking this plane. And one of the lesser dangers at that."

"I ask for your help since I have no allies in this strange place. What can you tell me of where I am?" Draelond asked, planting his foot on the creature's corpse and jerking his sword free of it. "How do I leave this place and go back to the place from which I came?"

For the first time since his abrupt landing on the snow, Draelond felt a glimmer of hope. But it quickly began to fade as the man began to laugh at him.

"I like you, warrior!" the man said between guffaws. "You bring a touch of mirth to this joyless place!"

Draelond scowled and stared at the man icily. "What is this place?" he demanded, his voice filled with restrained fury.

"Purgatorium!" the man said with a broad smile. He raised his hands expansively and spun in a little circle. "The Seasons of the Soul! The gateway to Myrkul's judgement! The Walk of One Hundred Days! The crossroads of the dead!" He laughed again and stopped spinning, his face toward Draelond and his hands planted on his knees. "Pick your euphemism, warrior. The reality is the same."

Silence hung between them for a time during which the distant sounds of steel ringing on steel reached Draelond's ears. "I'm dead," he said finally, his voice sounding very small.

"Very good," the man smiled. "There's more to you than just muscles, I see. Of course, most of the departed realize their situation right off. Better late than never, I suppose."

Draelond's scowl deepened. He didn't like this stranger. "How do I leave?" he asked.

"Only two ways out for a departed like you," the man said and cocked his thumbs in opposite directions. "The front door and the back door." Draelond's eyes narrowed and the man shook his head in disgust. "On to judgement and the Outer Planes or back to the Prime."

"I choose the latter," Draelond said flatly and the man laughed again.

"You really are a funny one, warrior," he chuckled. "It's usually the evil ones that beg for another chance at the mortal coil."

"I'm not evil," Draelond said, puffing out his chest despite the pain of his injuries.

"And that's what makes you so funny," the man repeated. "Giving up the comfort of eternity on the Higher Planes in order to continue the daily struggle on the Prime. It's funny!"

"I left too many responsibilities behind," Draelond said gravely. "My duty is unfulfilled."

This response caused the man to laugh all the harder, so much so that tears squirted out of his eyes. "That's rich!" he laughed, holding his belly with one gloved hand. "It doesn't matter anyway, warrior. I know for a fact that there are others who've been hired to make sure you don't move on, even if you wanted to."

"What?" Draelond asked. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that there are some factions determined to prevent you from reaching Aoemzyre and the Outer Planes," the man explained. His attitude had sobered quickly. "The Fate Defiers don't want any mortal souls reaching the gods, but they've taken a particular interest in making sure you don't. And they're not the only ones. The Olnag-Kun are also after you for one reason or another. And a group of Cyois-ghalfung are the ones who hired me to find you."

"H-hired you?" Draelond stammered the enormity of his situation sinking in at last.

The stranger pointed to a round patch embroidered on the shoulder of his leather jerkin. "I'm with the Astral Bounty Hunter 's Guild," he said. "And I've been hired to deliver you to a Cyois-ghalfung grove just this side of the Bridge of Parturition."

"And if I do not wish to go?"  Draelond asked, raising Ravager to a ready position.

"Don't worry, warrior," the bounty hunter said. "I've got an offer for you before we resort to a test of blades - a test that I am sure to win, by the way. Have you heard of Death's Forsaken?"

Draelond shook his head, but did not lower his sword.

"I'm not surprised, considering all the enemies they have. They are a secret brotherhood that exists on the Prime - those who have returned from the dead and have become sensitive to the worlds beyond death as a result," the man went on. "As you might imagine, I have many contacts within their ranks and I am willing to break my contract, take you back to the Prime, and make the proper introductions for you within the Forsaken."

Draelond's heart jumped at the opportunity to return to Oerune and the bounty hunter read it on his face.

"Or I can take you to the Cyois-ghalfung grove and you can find out what the druids there want with you," he finished. "The choice is yours."


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## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Ain't that the truth.




And it's especially true with Mongoose's "Purgatorium" setting.

It's very interesting and quite unique in flavor. I'm probably not doing it justice, but someone with a more meta-physical bent could probably do a lot with it.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #248] Search & Destroy*

"Vade, you are capable of moving quickly and silently as well, are you not?" Windstryder asked and Vade nodded, still grinning at the ranger's gaff. "Then let us after the encumbered bugmen and reconnoiter their escape."

"Err...," Vade groaned. "I want to return to town. Splitting up is what got us in this mess in the first place. And I can't move as fast as you. I've got little legs!"

"If we catch them we can we can dispatch them," the elf coaxed. "If not we can at least see where they head after they crest the hill."

Vade shook his head and looked at Morier, Feln and Ixin. "Windstryder is too injured," he told them. "I do not think she can do it in her current state."

"Even in my current state, I'm twice the warrior you'll ever be, peck," Windstryder sneered.

"What did you call me, you snooty-" Vade started to retort and Feln stepped forward, waving his arms blindly.

"I swear, blind or not, if you two continue to bicker I will thump you both," he growled and Ixin nodded.

"Now is not the time for in-fighting," the mage added although she'd spent more than enough time amidst the back-stabbing ranks of the Dragon's Claw to know that once such conflicts surfaced within a group, ignoring them only allowed the hurt to fester. Still there were more pressing issues at present. "Ilea mentioned eggs. I think those eggs are likely more bug people about to hatch. And better to dispatch eggs than bug men."

"Agreed," Morier said with a nod.

"Hold please," Feln insisted. "Let us take stock of our situation. I am blind, our party lead is lying in front of us badly wounded, our supplies are dreadfully low and... well damn it I think that is damn near enough!"

"Morier, I sure could use your sword arm and Ixin your magic but someone needs to stay here and guard the Lord Janissary, Feln, and the Holy One," Windstryder suggested. "With the Lord Janissary down until further healing, I suggest we catch those that are fleeing so they cannot report we have the girl. We need the element of surprise."

"This might help," Morier said and produced a vial from his potion belt. He handed it to Windstryder. "It's a healing draught," the warrior told her.

Windstryder poured it down Ledare's throat and the Janissary was soon back on her feet, although it was plain that from her body language that she was still in a great deal of pain. Vade rushed forward and wrapped his thin arms around her steel-plated thigh.

"Poor Kitten! Are you ok?" the halfling asked. "Oh dear! Ruze would never forgive me if I let something happen to his widow. I am going to be right here with you from now on!"

"Then it's agreed!" Windstryder said clapping a hand on first Ixin's and then Morier's shoulder. "The Lord Janissary, Feln and Vade will take Ilea back to Hillville Junction while we three follow the bug men."

"This witchcraft can not last too long and I don't think we should split up the party. Can we wait until it has passed?" Feln implored. "If it is not gone in a short while then I will press on to the village."

Windstryder shook her head despite the fact that Feln couldn't see her. "We'll have lost the element of surprise if we wait too long," she said. "I will send Anta back to the village if we get into trouble. Now, let's away." She broke off into a low, cautious jog up the hillside followed closely by Ixin with Morier bringing up the rear.

Ledare watched them go and sighed. "I assume this was decided on while I was unconscious," she said. "But I maintain that it's a bad idea to divide our strength by splitting up."

"We should join them in glorious battle against the forces of darkness," Ilea proudly intoned and once more hefted her stolen greatsword.

Feln groaned and bared his teeth. "Is there something I am missing in you girl?" he asked angrily. "I hear the words of a fearsome warrior in the voice of an eight year old girl. If we are to follow you into battle please tell me what hidden power you possess?"

Ilea puffed up her chest and glared fiercely at the blind martial artist. "I have the greatest power of all. The power to tell right from wrong and the courage to always choose right!"

"Enough with the looks, little girl," Vade scowled. "Whenever I looked at Mama that way, I would get the wooden spoon on my hiney. You are lucky she is not here, young lady."

She harrumphed in response. "I think it is you who are lucky, kind sir," Ilea said with a frown. "I do not think your mother would be very pleased with the choices you are making this day."

"And just what are you going to do when all those nasties are fighting us?" the halfling shot back. "I want to save Hillville Junction too... I am a hero after all! But I do have some common sense. As my Papa used to tell my Uncle Bob the Razorback, 'You's can't defend notin' when you's dead, fool!'." Ilea harrumphed again. "I don't want to end up like my Uncle Bob... He was high strung - died of a heart attack. He did not know how to relax."

"Clearly, you did not inherit your uncle's zealous work ethic," Ilea said and Ledare interceded before the disagreement could escalate further.

"There are those who believe you have been sent for a great purpose in the fight against this evil," the Janissary told the girl. "We must use that advantage to the fullest power. A small girl with a sword is no threat to our enemies, no matter how determined you may be."

"I can-" Ilea started to argue but Ledare cut her off.

"It is for the king to say how you will best be used as a force against the evil," the half-elf explained. "Perhaps you are to be a beacon of light in a world plummeting into shadow. Maybe it is your face that will give strength to a disheartened army. I don't know your path, but I do know that your life will not be senselessly lost in the woods if we have anything to do with it."

Ilea harrumphed again and turned her eyes away from Ledare.

"Now you can come along willingly like a mature young lady, or Feln can sling you over his shoulder like a spoiled brat," the Janissary told her. "Your choice."

The girl sighed and nodded sullenly at Ledare. "Okay," she said in a small voice.

"We had better hurry back to town," Vade whispered, tugging on Ledare's threadbare cloak. "I have to pee."



The area around the bolt hole was quiet, and Windstryder took only a moment to spot the trail leading off into the woods to the west. She gave the hand signal to move up quietly which neither Morier nor Ixin recognized as such. They moved up quietly anyway, following on the ranger's heels to keep her within the range of their darkvision. After they'd gone a few hundred yards into the woods, Windstryder gestured for them to stop and take cover. They stopped and then began to ease forward to see what it was that the ranger had spotted.

Ahead, the ground sloped up into a natural rocky hill. The wood thinned out into a clearing that was lit well by moonslight in which were three more of the creatures that Windstryder and Ledare had fought earlier. Two of them were laden down with pearly-white sacks that glistened wetly in the light from Great Celune. The third was unloading the sacks and handing them off to a small entourage of creatures that were the same general size and shape as the winged guards that they had all encountered before entering the caves. The difference between the two creature types being that these had no wings and scuttled about on four segmented legs with their opalescent burdens, moving to and from a hive-like structure built against the trunk of a gnarled oak tree on the far side of the clearing.

Overseeing this activity was another creature of the same type as Braath the Lesser. It paced near where the egg sacks were being unloaded on overlong legs that bent the wrong way at the knee. A greatsword was strapped across its broad chitinous back.


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## Jon Potter

*[Drealond #6] The Price of Doing Business*

This man was clearly not someone that Draelond would have been keen on entering into business negotiations with under almost any circumstances. But his options were drastically limited. He knew so little about the ground on which he stood, he clearly needed assistance of some sort... He was, however, very wary of the price the curious stranger would seek for his guidance.

"Your help is very clearly the kind of help I need, and perhaps the only help I may find, but allow me to clear my concerns if you will," Draelond said to the bounty hunter. "If you are so willing to break your contract with those that have sent you after me, how will I know that you will honor your word to me? What assurance do I have that you are not leading me directly into their clutches?"

He realized even as he heard the words leaving his own mouth that he was not in a strong bargaining position. He knew he would have to take the offer, and he needed the answer to the ultimate question. Before the stranger could answer any of his questions, he added, "I must know, what currency do you require in return for your services?"

The bounty hunter laughed again and waved his hand dismissively. "And just what currency do you think you've got to offer, warrior?" he asked. "You're dead! You've got no currency to tempt me with. Leastwise nothing that I want."

Draelond squinted at him and the man gave another little dismissive wave. "Oh, lighten up, warrior. All I mean is that as an unclaimed soul you are your own currency, but I don't like doing business with the creatures that deal in such tender."

"So why are you helping me?" Draelond asked and the man sighed.

"I'm helping my friends in the Brotherhood; you just happen to be benefiting from the situation," the bounty hunter said. "They asked me to bring back a willing soul - one who wasn't destined for the Lower Planes. That's not as easy a task as you'd think; unlike you, most of those want to go on to their eternal reward."

"You're in the right place at the right time, warrior," the man went on. "But I'm not forcing you to go back with me. I'll be happy to take you to the Cyois-ghalfung grove and collect my bounty. There are always other souls and one of them is bound to want to return to the Prime. Of course, I'd be real surprised if the druids wanted you to return to the mortal coil, so you might want to consider that before you make your decision."

"And speaking of which," the bounty hunter concluded. "What's it going to be? I don't like hanging around Purgatorium in one spot for too long. It invites all the wrong kind of attention. So give me your answer, one way or the other, and we'll get moving."


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## Hairy Minotaur

Really good update Jon, I'm looking forward to where this is going to lead.


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## Jon Potter

*[Drealond #7] Caveat Emptor*

Draelond looked at the man for no more than a second, shrugged, and said, "Let's off then. I've things to attend to in, as you put it, 'the mortal coil'."

The bounty hunter reached behind his back and unhooked a small brass cage from his belt. It looked like a birdcage of the sort Draelond had seen in the homes of certain burghers and wealthy yeomen in Barnacus. No more that a foot tall and half that in diameter, the purpose of the cage was not immediately apparent. The bounty hunter placed the cage on his open palm and opened the tiny door set into the tarnished bars.

"What's that for?" Draelond asked and the man grinned.

"Well, you didn't think I was going to house you did you?" he replied. "This'll let me bring you out of Purgatorium without turning you into a ghost. Now hold still and don't try to resist." Then he muttered a word that Drealond couldn't hear and a tremendous force began to tug at every fiber of the warrior's being.

Whether he'd wanted to resist or not, he had no opportunity. In an instant he felt himself being drawn into the cage and the charcoal stench of burning filled his nostrils. Then there was only silent darkness.



Rhedon SkyFox stared at the glowing pea of light within the soul cage and smiled. The cool green light bathed the bounty hunter's features, casting the planes of his face into harsh relief. He nodded.

"This ought to do," he said to no one in particular and then produced a small hood from a pouch and proceeded to cover the little cage. The glow of the warrior's soul - one of the few colors that remained true in the weird light of Purgatorium - would attract the attention of every harvester and collector nearby and the sooner it was shielded from covetous eyes, the better.

He consulted a small brass device rather like a compass and hustled off in the direction of the nearest frost tide.


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## Jon Potter

*[Draelond #7a] Caveat Emptor II*

For Draelond waking was like struggling to the surface from the depths of the Tyredemia Sea.

His first conscious indication that he might yet live was the acrid smell of burning incense that reached his nostrils. The sensation of cold stone pressing against his back and the prickly scratch of a fur blanket covering him from chin to toe came next. He saw the dim glow of candle light through his eyelids and heard the muttering voices a moment later. He groaned and tried futily to raise his hand.

"I think I saw him move!" a female voice said excitedly. "It worked!"

"Of course it worked!" replied a male voice. "Did you doubt me?"

"Well.., the woman answered and then there was laughter.

"You have to admit, Harcourt, this wouldn't be the first of your schemes to come up short," another woman chuckled. The male voice huffed.

"Enough with the short jokes!" another woman said sharply.

"Azril smiles on this endeavor," Harcourt answered petulantly. "It's the ultimate trick."

"I thought stealing the Godstone was the ultimate trick?" another man said and there was more laughter.

"Hush, Chemb," Harcourt said quickly. "This will be different."

Draelond groaned and forced his eyes open. He was lying on his back in a room with an exposed beam ceiling.

"He's opened his eyes!" one of the women exclaimed and Draelond heard clapping and the rustling of clothing as someone moved about to his left. "Quick! Fetch the mirror!"

A halfling popped into Draelond's field of vision and studied him critically. "He looks right," the halfling told the others and from his voice, Draelond knew that he was Harcourt. The halfling then directed his speech to Draelond. "How do you feel?" he asked.

"I-I-" the warrior rasped and Harcourt nodded sagely.

"This is all perfectly normal," the halfling said and then turned to his side. With an air of importance, he announced, "Claret, the mirror!" A round, steel mirror was passed into his little hands and Harcourt held it such that Draelond could see himself in its surface.

Of course, it wasn't himself that stared back at him from the mirror's depths. The face that confronted him was human, clean-shaven and tanned, framed by thick brown hair. Piercing gray eyes flanked a nose that had been broken at least once. There was a glimmer of panic in those unfamiliar gray eyes, and an instant later Draelond heard himself shriek. The cry was answered by laughter from somewhere nearby.

"Sheesh!" Harcourt winced. "There's just no pleasing some people!"


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #248a] We Are The Eggmen*

Windstryder gave the hand signal to move back and then crept back down the path until she was confident that they were out of earshot. "There are way too many of them to handle at our current strength," the elf whispered. "I say let's quickly go though the caves to see if there  is anything we can do to prevent them from relocating back into there."

Morier shook his head.

"While I know very little of the nature of this group's operation, I do know that I have sat idly by and said too little for too long," the elf said. "This band of bugmen threatens Hillville Junction, and again we sit and debate the virtues of too many half-baked plans."

"We cannot afford a frontal assault right now," Windstryder countered. "Let's move quickly but efficiently through the  caves, find what we can, destroy what we can, and catch up to the others."

"Those of us that are able need to put an end to this menace as quickly as we can," the albino argued. "I mean no disrespect, but I cannot watch this threat to my former home continue. Those that are with me, I beg your valor. Those that are not, I beg your tolerance." Ixin nodded her agreement with Morier's words.

"We can take ten creatures!" she asserted. "It's a surprise attack and they're stupid! Let's get this over with. I feel certain it is for the greater good and we can explore the caves if we survive."

"Agreed," Morier said and started to turn back toward the clearing.

"Hold!" Winstryder commanded. "As much  as I want to catch these bugmen unawares, I must stick to my mission which  is to return the Holy One to Barnacus."

"The girl will get to Barnacus with or without you, Windstryder," Ixin said gravely. "I think we should flank the creatures and use ranged weapons. Then we burn the eggs. Then we explore the caves."

"I am pretty badly injured," the ranger admitted.

"All the more reason to use distance attacks," Ixin told him and fished in her belt pouch for a vial which she handed to Windstryder. "Here. It won't heal you, but it'll make you a harder target to hit."

The elf looked at the potion and slipped it away in her belt pouch for easy access. "Thank you," she said and Morier grunted.

"Since we are sharing," the albino said, slipping one of his wands out of his wrist sheath and handing it to Ixin. "Color Spray," he told the mage. "Command word's 'Contuliath'."

Windstryder grinned. "Okay," she said. "Here's the plan..."



The ranger signalled the attack by pumping two arrows into the largest creature. The first arrow nicked its right thigh and as it turned, the second slammed deeply into its chest. Obviously severely wounded, it shrieked in pain and Ixin fired her crossbow trying to drop it. Her shot flew off into the night, however and the bug creature had time to take a half step before a wolf spontaneously appeared in its path. It leapt at the bugman, sinking its fangs into the exoskeleton covering the bug man's thigh.

The creature shook off the wolf and drew its sword in one motion. The blade clipped the animal's foreleg making it yelp in pain, but it stayed on its feet. Seeing three of the small, four-legged bug men moving to join the combat against the wolf, Morier dropped a globe of darkness onto the two combatants, isolating them.

Isin moved out of the treeline and pointed her borrowed wand. "Contuliath!" she shouted and a cascading sheet of colors fell across the three large, scorpion men. Two of them fell immediately to the ground, dropping their glistening burden of egg sacs. The third resisted the effects of the Color Sray and turned to face Ixin with a defiant roar.

Windstryder dropped it with a pair of expertly-placed arrows to the torso.

The battle within the darkness continued to rage with neither side having much success landing a telling blow against the other. The three small bug men who had sought to engage in the battle now stood ringing the bubble of darkness, unwilling to enter it but ready to attack the wolf should it appear. Another of the things was hanging back near the hive, presumably guarding the eggs, while the remaining two moved to intercept Ixin, who was currently the only visible target.

Morier took a few steps out of the trees, moving close enough to the hive to get it within range of his other wand. "Irakulos!" he shouted and a cone of fire erupted from the wand, bathing the hive and its single guardian in roaring death. The bug man and most of the exposed egg sacs were reduced to blackened husks in an instant while the hive itself showed signs of melting under the flaming onslaught.

The two small bug men closed with Ixin and one of them managed to clamp its hooked mandibles down on her thigh. The wound itself was painful, to be sure, but it was the numbing poison that Ixin felt trying to take hold that caused her the most concern. She cried out the command word and pointed the wand again. The cone of color caught both of the closely-grouped creatures and they dropped unconscious.

Windstryder pumped an arrow into one of the things clustered outside Morier's globe of darkness, dropping it before it even had time to squeal in pain. The Eldritch Warrior stepped forward and finished off the other two, as well as the two creatures within the globe of darkness with another burst from the Wand of Burning Hands.

The whole battle had taken less than half a minute, and apart from Ixin's minor injury, they had emerged unscathed.

With a look of grim determination, Ixin loosened her morningstar and moved up to the nearest of her unconscious foes.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #249] Homecoming and The Mother of Monsters*

The fortified walls of Arundel manor were a welcome sight to all of the companions, but most of all to Ledare who had spent the Moonsdance of Readying within the manor house's familiar walls for as long as she could remember. It seemed odd to be here without her parents and with the weather so mild. Not that she missed the sleet and freezing rain of winter, mind you, but there was a sense of strangeness about her current visit that she never associated with a visit to her great uncle's home.

On normal nights, there were never any guards stationed at the manor gates, but tonight was different. The raid the evening before had put everyone in the town on edge, and it was evidenced now by the two men standing outside the wall with crossbows raised.

"Who goes there?!" one of them yelled, and Ledare stepped ahead of her companions with her arms spread wide.

"I am Janissary Ledare," she said. "My companions and I have recovered the girl, Ilea, and we seek the protection of Arundel Manor."

"Ledare?" the other guard asked and the Janissary recognized his voice. She had played with him when they were children, before the chagmat came.

"Yes, Knooris," she answered. "It's me." The guard lowered his crossbow and motioned for his companion to do likewise.

"We had heard that you came into town and went after our gift of the star," Knooris told her, clasping wrists with Ledare. "Gellir wasn't very happy to hear that you went out at night. He told us to wake him if you showed up before dawn."

Ledare sighed and Knooris regarded her sheepishly.

"Sorry," he said and rang the bell set beside the gate.



"Of all tha repugnant, sliver-witted breadcrumbs I've e'er had tha misfortune ta meet, ye lot take home tha gold cup! O' that ye may be sure!" Gellir bellowed as he stomped into the great hall, his iron-shod boots striking the flagstones like hammer blows. He pointed at Feln, who was still disguised as a wood elf and was sitting near the hearth. "I'd expect this sort o' nonsense from an elf. An' a hobbit'll do whate'er seems fun at tha time with nae thought for tha consequences! But ye, lass? Ye shou' ken better'n tha!"

"Hello, Gellir," Ledare said, straining to her feet as the dwarf approached. "Well met."

"Well met?!" Gellir roared. "Well met, she says! Are ye daft? Ye might've been killed! Ye ken right an' true that nae search paty's go inta the wood at noche! Always wait for tha morn! Always!"

"We found the girl," the Janissary said, knowing from experience that it was best to just let the dwarf rant when his ire was raised.

"Oh, and ye were right lucky at that, weren't ya?" Gellir pressed on, wagging his squat finger in Ledare's face. "I kinna believe tha ye went off into the wood at noche! After what happened to ya as a wee lass an' all, I'd o' figgered ye'd have more sense! Ye take too much after yer tree-climbin' father, ye do!"

"Enough, Gellir," another voice called from the stairs set beside the hearth. A willowy man of perhaps sixty winters with gray hair and beard descended the stairs from above. He was slightly stooped with age, but his honey-colored eyes burned with vigor and there was still a great deal of lightness in his step as he came across the room. "Leave my niece be, you old fool. Can't you see that she's injured."

Gellir harrumphed. "Got off light if ye're askin' me," he said with a sideways sneer at Ledare's blood-stained armor.

"You can be quite sure that I didn't ask you - not that that ever matters. I think you love the sound of your own voice, too much to wait for an invitation to speak," Lord Arundel said and Gellir began to sputter. Before the dwarf could say anything more, the man gestured toward a doorway off the great hall. "Send someone to fetch Maerwynn from the shrine. My niece requires healing."

Gellir grumbled as he headed for the door. "An' now he be givin' me orders like I'm one o' his lackeys!" the dwarf muttered as he went. "I ken nae what keeps me here with that rickety, chasm-hearted old snake's egg. If I were-" His words were muffled by the closing of the door although his voice could be heard  trailing off into the night.

Lord Arundel took Ledare's hand in both of his and smiled at her warmly. "I'm happy that you could be here, Janissary," he said. "But what brings you to Hillville Junction at our time of need?"


--------------------


Morier used another two blasts from the Wand of Burning Hands to destroy all of the remaining eggs and to melt the hive into waxy slag, while Ixin went about the grisly business of destroying the senseless bug men.

"I am sorry I doubted your combat abilities, Morier and Ixin," Windstryder said, stepping suddenly out of the trees nearby. The hawk, Anta, was perched on her left shoulder. The bird surveyed the area with an approving eye. "I knew with a fully trained Ranger Team we would have been able to do it but as Team Leader, I did not want to put you all into jeopardy when I am at less than full health."

Ixin snorted, wiping gore off her morningstar. "I'm tired of playing it safe," she announced. "What's that the smallfolk say? Risk is just a four letter word for opportunity."

Morier grinned.

"You two can fight by my side anytime," Windstryder told them both. "But for now, I suggest you examine the area and pull any supplies we could use. I will remain in visual range of you both and scout the area. Anta will survey from the trees." The ranger gave the bird a command, pointing to the sky and Anta took wing.

"I want to check out the caves and insure there is nothing left alive and no interesting tools or clues," Ixin said, slipping her weapon back into the folds of her cloak.

"Agreed," Windstryder said. "If we are lucky we will not encounter anything there. But we can't leave any stone unturned. So let's move." And say thus, she vanished once more into the underbrush.

"I'm not much of one for pawing over dead bodies," Morier told the mage after a moment spent looking at the burned and battered corpses. Ixin nodded and sighed.

"Nor am I," she admitted. "But I've done worse."



Ixin and Morier's search yielded nothing of interest, although they did spot some extremely large tracks that they called back Windstryder to examine. She couldn't readily identify the creature that had made them except to say that it was four-legged and at least thirty feet in length. It had entered and left the clearing by the same manner: it had flown. Leaving that mystery for another day, they back-tracked to the bolt hole entrance to the cave complex.

"Either of you any good with track?" Windstryder whispered as they paused around the concealed trapdoor. Morier and Ixin both shook their heads. "Okay then," the ranger said and indicated that Morier should open the hatch.

Windstryder and Ixin covered the hole with arrow and wand, but nothing came up to attack them. A dark, cramped tunnel led down into the ground crudely dug from the muddy soil.

"Who's first?" Ixin asked and Windstryder stepped up.

"I'm the quietest," she said. "It should be me."

"Can you see in underground darkness?" Morier asked, skeptically. "Without the moonslight, I mean?" She shook her head.

"Can you?" she asked with equal skepticism but the albino nodded.

"So can I," Ixin put in but Morier was already adjusting his sword so that he could more easily negotiate the confines of the tunnel.

"I'll go first," he said and descended the wet tunnel to the cave complex below, coming out into a squarish, high-ceilinged chamber roughly twenty-five feet on a side. The tunnel came out near the ceiling and a sloping mound of dirt rose up to meet it from the ground below. Fortunately for Windstryder, the wet walls of the cave were covered with a phosphorescent fungus that glowed with a pale bluish light. Of course, that also meant that she and her companions had a clear view of the horror that quivered grotesquely in the far corner of the chamber.

A thing that looked as if it were once a woman lay naked there atop a bed of dried grasses and leaves. Her head and torso seemed normal apart from the fact that they were drawn and emaciated. From her hips down, however, the woman was completely alien. Her legs were gone, replaced by a bloated eggsack that was sprawled across the floor. Strange webbing seemed to hold the sack up as if it would collapse under its own weight. A few white, puffy larva about half-a-hand long were squirming out of a swollen, pink orifice at the end of the sack. At the foot of the bed, almost entirely wrapped in a cocoon was a man, eyes wide with fear. The only thing keeping him from screaming were the gossamer strands that covered his mouth. Giant larva wriggled over him, working their way into the cocoon.

Morier recognized the man as his one-time mentor, Arwold Wyverneye and a gasped cry of "No!" escaped his pale lips before he could stop it. Ixin, who stepped out of the tunnel beside him, spotted what he hadn't seen: two more of the large sword-wielding bug men. They were busy stacking up more of the quivering pearlescent egg near the base of the dirt mound. But as soon as Morier's exclamation escaped his lips, they turned and drew their greatswords. An inhuman chittering filled the air as they charged.

The creature on the bed seemed to be lost in a trance but began to stir when the two bug men started their ascent up the dirt mound.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Draelond #8] At What Price, Victory?*

Still reeling from the events of the last... how long had it been? Draelond suddenly realized that he had no concept of time. His mind swam with questions, visions, all shrouded by a thick fog that lay in his head. More substantial than any he had known, he tried to clear it by breathing deeply... the air hurt his lungs. A dull ache covered his entire body. Was it his body? Again... questions.

He strained to sit up, but Harcourt placed a hand on his shoulder and despite their size difference, Draelond didn't feel as though he could muster the strength to overcome the halfling's resistance. He fell back to the stone slab with a thud, his head hitting last, adding to the mother-of-all-headaches that clamored to break his skull open from the inside.

"I hope you won't mind telling me what you mean when you say this is the 'ultimate trick'?" the warrior said.

Harcourt exchanged a look with someone to Draelond's left and the halfling seemed to be non-verbally asking for opinions. "It can't hurt," a female voice said.

"We owe him a debt of gratitude," the other woman added and Harcourt dismissed her comment with a wave.

"We brought him back from the dead, didn't we?" the halfling asked, then looked at Draelond and shrugged. "Well, sort of at least. I think that should be thanks enough for what he's doing for us. Don't you agree?"

 "Where did you find me?" Draelond growled and Harcourt rolled his eyes.

"We didn't find you, did we? That would be SkyFox. The bounty hunter?" Harcourt seemed annoyed with Draelond's lack of understanding. "He did explain things to you, did he not?  You did come of your own free will, didn't you?"

Draelond nodded. "But how did I get here?"

"Didn't we just go over that?" Harcourt asked and looked to his unseen companions for support.

"Maybe there's somethin' wrong with his brain?" the other male, Chemb offered.

"Well, you'd know," one of the women retorted and Draelond heard the sound of a fist striking flesh followed quickly by the woman's indignant shout, "Ow!"

"No," Draelond said with as much strength as he could muster. "I mean here... in this body!"

"Oh..," Harcourt said sagely. "Well, have you heard of the Followers of Calaam?"

Draelond thought for a moment and nodded. Calaam was the son of Myrkul, the goddess of death. He stood at the gateway between life and death, preventing souls from returning to Oerune as undead. His followers were few, but those who embodied the god's edicts to smite the undead whereever they might be found had attained near mythical status.

"Well, Sir Alechtus of Gudiberg was a member of the Order of Endings," Harcourt explained, nodding eagerly as he did so. "A real scourge against the undead, that one. Example to thousands, that sort of thing. Except he died and... well... Calaam isn't too keen on his worshippers returning to Oerune once they've passed on."

A human woman suddenly appeared in Draelond's field of vision, leaning over the halfling. Her tawny hair cascaded down over Harcourt's face as she leaned in, smiling. "And Harcourt, here, thought that the best thing to do would be to put another soul into Sir Alechtus' body. That way-" Harcourt pushed her away angrily, spitting out her curls as she went.

"That way," he said loudly, "those people who took comfort in seeing him traipsing about the countryside could continue to enjoy the solace of knowing he was still on the job, smiting the undead, righting wrongs, that sort of thing."

"Even if he isn't," the attractive woman added and Harcourt shot her a dirty look. "I mean not really..."

"This body..," Draelond started to say as his fog-shrouded brain began to put the pieces together.

"Is Sir Alechtus of Gudiberg, minus the parts that make him Sir Alechtus of Gudiberg, with your soul running the show," Harcourt explained merrily. "All we need you to do is to be seen and don't tell people who you really are. Who are you anyway?"

Draelond licked his unfamiliar lips. "Draelond Khemir," he croaked and Harcourt made a face as if he smelled bad cheese.

"Yuck!" he grimaced. "You won't mind losing THAT stinker, now will you... Sir Alechtus."


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter"A human woman suddenly appeared in Draelond's field of vision said:
			
		

> Ah the greatest roleplay challenge, to be someone else. This is going to be exciting.    I'm looking forward to reading this.


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## Jon Potter

*[Draelond #9] The Worst Laid Plans*



			
				Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Ah the greatest roleplay challenge, to be someone else. This is going to be exciting.    I'm looking forward to reading this.




And as you're about the see, these guys aren't particularly interested in making it easy for him.   

--------------------------------

"My name is..." Draelond stopped himself short and swallowed the surge of anger that had risen from his gut. He looked at Harcourt and loosened the tension from his face. "It... it's going to take some getting used to," he sighed.

"Sir Alechtus of Gudiberg..." the halfling said with a great deal more pomp and circumstance in his voice than he needed. There was applause from the two as-yet unseen members of Harcourt's entourage. The halfling smiled winningly and bowed at them before addressing Draelond once more.

"I'm just saying... you could have done worse," he explained. "I mean, you could have ended up a half-orc or a bugbear or something. You lucked out to be honest. The parchment we read from suggested trying the whole process out on a grimmelfish first. Lucky for you we didn't have time."

The woman exchanged glances with one of the others. The look on her face made it clear to Draelond that she didn't know if Harcourt was joking or not.

Draelond smiled a bit and was happy that he had at least that much control over his muscles. He thought under different circumstances that he could have taken a liking to Harcourt.

"So I am to parade around... around... wherever I am.." Draelond began and Harcourt nodded. "...pretending to be someone I know absolutely nothing about..." Harcourt nodded "...in a place where I know nobody." Harcourt nodded again.

"Now you've got the idea," the halfling grinned and gave Draelond a playful nudge on the shoulder. His face fell when he saw that Draelond wasn't smiling back.

"Surely you've thought this plan through a little better than that?" the warrior asked looking closely at Harcourt's eyes, waiting for his answer, trying to determine how much of what he heard was to be believed. To his surprise he found that he had no trouble believing Harcourt's response at all.

"Um. No. Not really," he said, making an exaggerated production of thinking. "That's about it."

"And that seems like a good plan to you?" Draelond asked.

"It seems like a good plan to me," Chemb said, dully and Harcourt shushed him.

"You're not helping, Chemb," the woman said.

"Sorry," Chemb replied.

"I told you we should have saved his stuff," the other woman said and Harcourt snapped at her.

"And what would we have paid Skyfox with?" the halfling asked. "The money you gambled away in the Merchant's District?"

The woman made a huffing sound and said in a sulky voice, "How was I to know he was a Fatespinner?"

"The holy symbol of Lukane might have been a clue!" the human woman said smugly.

"That's it!" the other woman said angrily. "When I'm through with you, people won't be able to tell the difference between your face and a troll's butt!"

"Just try it, shorty," the human woman replied with a laugh. "Although, I'm sure at your size you're awfully familiar with people's butts!" The other woman roared angrily.

"Enough, Resseka," Harcourt intervened. "You know how much Claret hates short jokes. And they grate on me as well after a while. Why don't you two entertain yourselves in the market. They should be just setting up right about now, and it's still fairly dark. I'm sure the two of you can find some way to amuse yourselves."

The human woman nodded and slid out of Draelond's sight. "Good idea," she said. "I'm getting bored here anyway. Nice to see you again, Sir Alechtus." Her laughter trailed her out of the room.

"Now. Where were we?" Harcourt pondered then thrust his finger at the ceiling. "Right! I was getting ready to tell you that you're pretty much on your own from here on out."

"What?" Draelond tried to process.

"My associates and I have places that we need to be, but you're welcome to stay here," Harcourt said with a wave. "I'm afraid there's not much left with any portable value, but you'll have the run of the place, at least until the guy who owns it gets back."


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #250] Knight Takes Queen. Checkmate!*

Windstryder worked her way out of the dark earthen tunnel and blinked in the relative brilliance of the chamber. She made an immediate assessment and stepped back into the bolthole.

"Retreat," she hissed, but she saw at once that Morier had other ideas.

"Arwold!" the albino growled, gesturing with his left hand at the bound man. In his right, he gripped the Wand of Burning Hands. He glared at the two bug men laboring up the earth mound and his intentions were plain. "We cannot leave him like this!"

Windstryder disagreed. "Leave him," she said. "We... no, I cannot jeopardize the original mission. I must see the girl back to Barnacus."

"Then you go!" the albino spat and took a few awkward steps toward the advancing bug men. The mound of dirt shifted and collapsed beneath his feet, but he gracefully maintained his balance even as one of the bug men below him lost its own and rolled fifteen feet to the floor. Morier pointed his wand at the one target that remained within range of his wand and turned it into a thrashing pillar of fire with a word, "Irakulos!" The bug man squealed and then went tumbling down the mound to join its fellow at the bottom.

Ixin raised her own wand and went to join Morier farther down the slope, but the earth fell away beneath her boots and she was forced to pinwheel her arms in order to avoid falling down the mound entirely. She wavered there, but made no progress.

"He is lost, Morier! Let us go!" Windstryder grumbled even as she threaded an arrow into her composite longbow, drew and fired. Her shaft sank fletchings-deep into the remaining bug man's groin, ripping a scream of pain from its inhuman throat. A second arrow pierced its outstretched hand and pinned the limb palm-up to the thing's armored chest. It fell over dead atop the smoldering remains of its fellow. "Now!" the ranger urged. "Move!"

Morier turned to shout back, but never got the chance for at that moment, the disgusting queen raised her swollen egg sack and ejaculated a noxious gout of wriggling larvae and amniotic fluid onto the flat-footed eldritch warrior. He didn't vomit from exposure to the foul-smelling stuff, but it was a near thing, and he was retching visibly as he clawed ropes of cloudy mucous off his face. The larvae were on him and moving, seeking openings in his armor through which they could get to the meat beneath. Their bites were like bee stings and the albino dropped his wand in order to slap at them. Two of the revolting things burst like boils beneath his fingers.

Ixin, meanwhile had finally regained her balance, but it was short-lived. No sooner had she taken another step than her feet went out from under her and she went somersaulting to the bottom of the earthen mound. She landed, predictably, on her back and lay dazed there, gasping for air.

"We should retreat!" Windstryder reiterated from the top of the mound. But even as she was shouting it, she was sending arrows at the queen. One struck the throbbing egg sack while a second nicked her left bicep. She keened in pain and anger and with a tremendous slurping sound began to detach herself from the sack.

Morier neither saw nor heard anything but the squirming larvae that were working their way toward his unarmored flesh. He worked feverishly to get them off. He clawed and beat at them with both hands, but he couldn't seem to kill them fast enough. They seemed to be everywhere. And once they got beneath his mail...

Ixin got to her feet, surprised to hear the seemingly fearless eldritch warrior whining with horror a dozen or so paces above her on the mound. The look on his face told her he was near to panic and she dashed upwards as quickly as she could. She slashed two of the larvae on Morier's back to bloody ribbons with her claws.

Behind the mage, the queen finally slucked free of her egg sack, which lay, deflated on the cave floor like a discarded piece of rotten fruit. Her mucous-slicked lower body was armored like a huge black millipede; her belly bristled with numerous tiny legs that pawed at the air as her tail uncoiled. A black stinger easily as long and sharp as a scythe blade snapped to attention at the end of the queen's thorax, glistening with a wet sheen of poison. The smell was horrible.

Windstryder fired at the queen again, but now, free of her encumbering egg sack, she avoided both arrows sent at her with ease. Her wicked tail lashed out at Ixin, but managed to miss her, despite the mage's preoccupation with Morier's situation. She and the albino succeeded in destroying the last of the larvae just as the queen lurched forward, with her jaws unhinged impossibly wide. Rather than bite them, however, she vomited a cloud of noisome vapors on the pair that immediately sent Ixin into paroxysms of gagging.

The mage doubled over, her eyes streaming uncontrollably, her gorge seething. Whether because his experience with the larvae had inured him to nausea or because he was made of sterner stuff than Ixin, Morier resisted the effects of the queen's breath weapon and drew his greatsword. He stepped forward and swung the silver blade at the creature that swayed before him like some strange cobra. His sword, which crackled with impotent electrical energy, found only air as the queen writhed to the side, dodging the attack.

She couldn't avoid Windstryder's arrows at the same time, and one buried itself between her withered breasts. She wailed and jerked toward the ranger. The elf took a chunk of meat from the queen's left arm as she turned. In retaliation, the abomination lashed at the helpless Ixin with her stinger. The massive barb transfixed the mage's left thigh and Ixin screamed and clutched at the bloody wound with both hands. She fell on her side against the mound of dirt, grinding her teeth as her already weakened constitution sought to fight off the poison that burned in her blood.

Morier roared a challenge to the queen, dodging her filthy claws and snapping fangs, even as he brought his greatsword to bear. Sparks of lightning danced along the length of the blade as he drove it into the queen's writhing thorax all the way to the weapon's ricasso. Electricity arced back and forth between the weapon and the queen's spasming body for a moment before she sagged and slumped to the side. She let out a last coughing sigh before she lay, still and smoking on the cavern floor.

Morier turned and looked grimly up at Windstryder. "Now we can leave," he told the ranger before turning to check on the health of Arwold Wyverneye.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Keep it coming.


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## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Keep it coming.





Sadly, I'll be out of town for the next week or so. So no more updates for a while.


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## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> Sadly, I'll be out of town for the next week or so. So no more updates for a while.




Does this mean we'll get a giant sized update in 10-12 days?


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Does this mean we'll get a giant sized update in 10-12 days?




Probably not. I'm going to try doing some experience point calculation and some updating (we're making the switch to 3.5) while I'm away. That and the usual holiday madness will likely take up all of my time.

I promise that you'll see some interesting things in the coming weeks, though. So hang in there.


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## Dakkareth

I finally got the time to read this story hour from the beginning to the present. And considering the fun I had reading it I'm more than perplexed you have had so few people replying in the thread.

The campaign sounds very interesting and much more 'non-standard' than most I've seen. I especially like the bigger political picture in which it takes place, that the group manages to see a part of the big picture and struggles to do all that it needs to on all fronts. Also the purgatorium is a nice touch. 

Now I want more


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## Jon Potter

Dakkareth said:
			
		

> I finally got the time to read this story hour from the beginning to the present. And considering the fun I had reading it I'm more than perplexed you have had so few people replying in the thread.




I'm a well-kept secret it would seem.  Feel free to tell our friends to stop by for a read.



> The campaign sounds very interesting and much more 'non-standard' than most I've seen.




In that regard, it helps that it's a revival of the campaign world I was using back in the days of 1E, before there was such a plethora of plug-and-play campaign worlds available for purchase.



> I especially like the bigger political picture in which it takes place, that the group manages to see a part of the big picture and struggles to do all that it needs to on all fronts.




They try, but they really have precious little idea what's really going on. At least for now. Things should begin to come together for them in the coming weeks/months.



> Now I want more




Fear not, gentle reader. It'll likely be another week but you shall have more. Oh yes! More indeed!


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## Rel

Hey, Jon!  I just posted an update to my Story Hour thread and saw yours near the top of the list too.  Thought I'd drop in and say hello.

I've had precious little time for updating my own Story Hour lately, much less reading those of others.  But I have some time off and I'm hoping to get a chance to read some more of yours.  From what little bit I've read, it looks very interesting.

Looking forward to seeing you again at the next NC Game Day.  Keep up the writing!


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## Jon Potter

Rel said:
			
		

> Hey, Jon!  I just posted an update to my Story Hour thread and saw yours near the top of the list too.  Thought I'd drop in and say hello.
> 
> I've had precious little time for updating my own Story Hour lately, much less reading those of others.  But I have some time off and I'm hoping to get a chance to read some more of yours.  From what little bit I've read, it looks very interesting.
> 
> Looking forward to seeing you again at the next NC Game Day.  Keep up the writing!




Thanks for stopping by, Rel. I'm sure there's room for another reader among the two or three that I currently enjoy.   

I hope that you get a chance to read some more and that it gives you as much enjoyment as reading your Faded Glory story hour has given me.

And I'm pysched for Game Day III. It'll give me a chance at not one, but two d20 games I haven't yet had the opportunity to play: d20 Modern and Arcana Unearthed! Yahoo!!!


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #251] Dangling Threads*

For those of you who've been waiting for some more reading, here's a rather lengthy (if a tad under-exciting) post.

------------------------------------

Windstryder's laughter caused Morier to stop in his tracks and shoot her a look of confusion and disdain. The ranger was bounding nimbly down the earthen mound, shaking her head as she came. "Again, it seems I have underestimated our team's combat abilities," she said, skidding to a halt between the albino and Ixin who was still lying on her side and clutching her heaving gut. "I am impressed by that greatsword of yours, Losse. Are you able to power it all the time?"

Morier looked first at the sword in his hand and then at Windstryder. "No more until I've rested," he admitted and then turned back toward Arwold. Windstryder looked at his back and nodded.

"Still, it is an impressive display," she said before turning to Ixin. She crouched down beside the trembling mage, careful to avoid the steaming pile of vomit beside her and laid a hand on Ixin's brow. 

"How do you feel?" she asked as she fished in her medicine bag. "Is your stomach strong and your eyes steady?"

In response, the mage coughed up more of the breakfast she had enjoyed that morning in Strenchburg Junction. "I'll live," she managed to groan.

"I am afraid I only have mild cures for stomach ailments," the elf explained and handed Ixin a bit of dried root from her kit. "Chew on this. It should ease the cramping. When you are able, begin a search of the room whilst I to the door."

The mage nodded and bit down hesitantly on the offered root. Windstryder paused a few paces away then turned back to her nauseated companion. "I suggest that we stay away from the Queen," the ranger cautioned. "I fear even in her death throes she may be able to harm us still."

Ixin nodded again and continued to chew.

Morier crushed the larvae that were squirming over Arwold's cocooned body until his gloves were wet and sticky with their pulped organs. All the while, his red eyes kept searching the man's face for any sign of consciousness. There was none, however. And Arwold's normally tanned complexion looked deathly pale in the glow of the phosphorescent fungus.

"Don't die," Morier muttered, fumbling a vial from his belt.

From her vantage point at the entrance to the chamber, Windstryder's keen ears heard the albino's words and her equally keen eyes could see that the cocooned figure wasn't stirring. "Morier, is you friend fit for travel?" she asked and her voice betrayed her belief in what the answer would be.

"He will be," Morier said as he poured his last potion of Cure Light Wounds down Arwold's throat. The ranger's color improved, but still he showed no sign of stirring. Undeterred, Morier dropped the vial and began ripping at the cocoon's fibers.

"We cannot be burdened down," Windstryder cautioned and Morier glared at her before returning to the task at hand. In a more reconciliatory tone, the elven ranger asked, "Who is he to you that you risk the lives of us all?"

"He was... IS a great ranger," Morier grumbled as he shredded Arwold's cocoon. "An Archer of the Green. Sworn protector of Briarton Province. It was he who taught me swordplay some twenty harvests past."

Windstryder could think of nothing more encouraging to say than, "Once I secure the room I will examine him."



"Your time of need is echoed throughout the Realms. We came in part to assist in the retrieval of the girl, Ilea," Ledare sighed, clasping her free hand over her uncle's. She lowered her voice as she added, "But also in pursuit of the evil which has taken the city of Barnacus, as I'm sure you've heard."

Lord Arundel nodded grimly and drew away from Ledare. The weight of his years seemed to momentarily bow his shoulders. He sagged for only the span of two heartbeats, however, before his vigorous demeanor reasserted itself. "Gellir conveyed to me the sad news you shared with Maerwynn this afternoon. Hillville Junction is well removed from Elcadan's capital. We have heard nothing save what you have told us."

"It is imperative we get word to the king," Ledare said, skirting her great uncle's thinly veiled request for information. She was painfully aware that his daughter and grandson - her aunt and cousin - were likely stuck within the quarantined city. Their health was unknown, and no amount of explanation would ease Lord Arundel's mind. So for the time being she put off having to add further ill news to what little the man already knew. "Is there any way to contact Barnacus?"

"There is a shrine to Garjarven east of here on Centermarch," Lord Arundel said without much enthusiasm. "A Sacred Runner can be sent from there. When Gellir returns I'll have him dispatch a rider to the shrine. None will make better time than the chosen of the god of roads."

There was silence for a time as the lord stared off into the hearth fire. "Perhaps a magical means exists as well," Arundel said at last. "In the morning we can contact the druid, Malcolm and the wizard, ap-Llewellyn. In all my demesne, they are the most knowledgeable about such things."

"Very good, mi'lord," Ledare said with a courteous bow. When she raised her head, Lord Arundel was regarding her with amber eyes that seemed a trifle too wet, despite the fierce hold he kept on his emotions.

"Now, Ledare," her uncle said with carefully measured words. "You will tell me all that you know about the goings-on in Barnacus. Nearly the very last of my family might even now be suffering from plague and I would know all that may be known on the matter."

"Mi'lord-" Ledare began, sorrow creeping into her voice.

"No!" Arundel barked. "You will tell me, Janissary! I am a representative of the king. And if I have to compel the information from you by invoking the Charter of the Enlightened, I will!" Ledare hung her head.

"You do not, uncle," she said. "Sit and I will tell you everything I know."



After Ixin had recovered sufficient control of her guts to search the room she used a cantrip to Detect Magic. Other than the various bits of enchanted gear that she and her companions bore, only one aura of magic was evident. It had been many, many hours since Ixin had slept and in that time, she had very nearly exhausted her magical reserves, so she wasn't surprised when she couldn't adequately identify the school of magic represented by the glow.

Still, even her addled mind was able to follow the glow to its source: a ring worn by a desiccated corpse that was still partially entombed beneath a clot of webbing. With some disdain she reached out and pulled the band free of the skeletonized finger. Surprisingly, the ring wasn't made of precious metal as she had imagined, but rather of supple blackened leather. The band was cunningly crafted to look like a series of sculpted hands circling the wearer's finger. Each disembodied hand gripped the wrist of the hand in front of it in an unbroken chain.

"What did you find?" Windstryder asked from the doorway.

"A ring," Ixin told her and slipped it into a pocket of her cloak. "I'll examine it more later."

"Help me get him out of here," Morier grunted from Ixin's left. The mage turned to see the eldritch warrior struggling with the limp body of Arwold Wyverneye. She moved over to help her companion and they supported the unconscious ranger between them.

"Are we leaving?" Ixin asked and Windstryder answered at once.

"I suggest we away, away," the ranger said, breaking away from the door and moving to intercept her companions. "We must remember the mission."

"Ledare and Vade have the girl well in hand, Windstryder," Ixin countered. "We've come this far. Let us complete our search in a thorough manner."

"Arwold needs healing," Morier grunted as he and Ixin shouldered the unconscious ranger toward the earthen mound.

"We have an opportunity here," the mage pressed. "Let us search for clues, including any symbolism that might serve to enlighten us."

Windstryder scowled at her and then relieved the sorcerer of her burden. The ranger helped Morier lower Arwold onto the soft earth and then she reached for her healing satchel again. "You can see in the dark, yes?" she asked Ixin and received a nod in reply. "Then you have a few minutes while I tend to this man. Do not stray too far and at the first sign of danger return here."

"Agreed," Ixin said and she trotted off into the darkness beyond the chamber and Morier watched her go with concern on his pale features.

"I have a bad feeling about this," the eldritch warrior said grimly and Windstryder grunted noncommittally.

"You argue with her," she said and went to work on Arwold.



While Ledare and her uncle conferred on the other side of the room, Vade jumped up onto one of the benches flanking the table and from there boosted himself up onto the table itself. A bowl of tiny red and gold apples had caught his eye, and he grabbed one... and then stuffed four more in his pockets for later. The apple was small and a bit on the tart side, being very immature. But it was still quite juicy.

And Vade loved fruit.

He grinned around a huge mouthful until he caught Ilea's reproachful eye. "Wha-?" he grunted, juices dripping down his chin.

"You take from the master of this house without asking permission," the girl said in the annoying tone that she seemed to reserve solely for the halfling. "It is wrong."

"I like fruit," Vade said with a shrug. "I can't help it. I'm hungry."

Ilea harrumphed and Vade offered her one of his purloined fruits. "I like fruit," he said again. "Apples are my favorite, but I really like most any kind. Exotic fruits like mangos are good, too. Ever try a clementine? Man, they are good..." He slipped off into a momentary reverie as he chewed his mouthful.

"I am not hungry," she said and turned her back on the halfling.

Vade stuck his tongue out at her and thumbed his nose before turning to the silent Feln. The martial artist had been sitting motionless beside the hearth expertly disguised as a wood elf. His expression was forlorn and he had a far-away look in his unseeing eyes. Vade frowned and dropped lightly off the chair.

"What's wrong," the rogue asked, taking a big bite of apple.

"I am worried," Feln answered after a pause. "My sight has not returned - not even a shadow."

Vade waved his little hand in front of Feln's face experimentally but his companion didn't even blink. The halfling's frowned deepened and he offered an apple. "Do you want something to eat?" he asked. "Eating always makes me feel better. Why when we were little, if something went wrong, my mother would just cook up-"

Feln cut him off. "What I need is to see a cleric or a weaver of spells to see if they can help me," he said, laying a hand easily on Vade's slim shoulder despite the fact that he couldn't see it. "This could be the end of our acquaintance, humble warrior. I may not be able to venture further unless I can restore my sight."

"That dwarf went to get the cleric lady," Vade said. "I'm sure that she will be able to help." And as if on cue, Gellir thundered into the greathall with one-armed Maerwynn in tow.

"Here be yer healer, yer lordship!" the dwarf said with a flip tone. "I 'ad ta drag 'er outta bed, but here she be."

The cleric looked around and curtsied to the dewy-eyed Lord Arundel. "How may I serve you, mi'lord?" she asked and Vade jumped up quickly.

"Me!' he said at once. "Oh, me! I got shot with these arrows and I used some healing stuff, but it doesn't seem to have helped all that much so I could really use some magic or whatever you have because it really hurts whenever I do this!"



Ixin moved out into the roughly carved passages with as much stealth as she could. It was dark and claustrophobic, but no more so than some of the Undercity passages used by the Claw to make raids and move goods in Highgate. Her keen draconic eyesight allowed her to see perfectly well in total darkness within 60 feet, albeit in shades of gray, and she moved confidently with Martivir perched on her broad shoulder.

She stepped out of the narrow side passage into the vast central tunnel she had been in before. At the far end, which was well over 150 feet away at least, she could see the faint silvery glow of the chamber where they had found Ilea chained. That far-off light was sufficient to illuminate the tunnel as if it were full daylight to the mage's eyes. Ixin could clearly see two smaller passages branching off on each side of the main tunnel in the direction of the lighted chamber. In the other direction, the vast passage quickly ended in a wall of rubble. A single passage branched off it about mid-way between where she stood and the rubble. The vaulted tunnel echoed with the ever-present sounds of dripping water, but was otherwise as still and silent as a crypt.

Ixin dashed across the passage and entered the narrower tunnel. It ran straight for a time and then turned sharply to the left before opening up into another squarish chamber identical in size to the queen's lair. This room, however, was furnished as a human might live. Moldy tapestries masked the damp cave walls and the floor was piled with rugs that squished with moisture beneath Ixin's boots. A wooden bed was in the far corner, mounded high with blankets. Beside the bed stood a small wooden table atop which rested an oil lamp. Workbenches strewn with bits of alchemical gear and scrawled notes, most of them victims of water damage and smeared beyond legibility, ringed the walls of the room. Ixin was at once reminded of the Hibernian's disorganized chamber, but unlike Dwardolin's workshop, which always just seemed fairly sad to her, there was something sinister and vaguely unsettling about this place.

A quick Detec Magic revealed no auras, so Ixin grabbed the few items that looked to be of worth: seven moldy books which were still readable despite the moisture damage, a pair of purple gemstones, and a sealed jar of greenish fluid in which floated a blob of something unidentifiable.

"I think that's enough for now, Marty," Ixin said as she stuffed the items into her cloak's extra-dimensional pockets. "We should get back to the others."

The owl hooted his agreement and they headed back the way they came.



"I can find no sign of injury or disease," Maerwynn said with a weary sigh as she stared into Feln's purple eyes. The cleric's close scrutiny had revealed his glamered appearance, and the half-orc had reluctantly doffed his Hat of Disguise. He couldn't see her expression, of course, but Maerwynn seemed wholly unperturbed by his race. She examined him with as much diligence as she had used on Ledare which was nearly as much care as she had lavished on Ilea.

"The effect is magical," Feln asserted and the Orderbringer nodded.

"I'm beginning to agree with you, goodman," she said. "And it may be within my power to aid you. But unfortunately, I have not prayed to Sato for the miracle necessary to dispel such magic. Come tomorrow to the shrine and I will do what I am able."

"Thank you," Feln grunted, inwardly cursing his ill luck and trying once more to imagine what his life might be like if the Orderbringer was unable to restore his sight. He was well trained in the arts of blind fighting, but he didn't much fancy the prospect of relying on it for the rest of his days.

"I need a quiet place to meditate, sir," Feln said aloud, hoping that Gellir or Lord Arundel would hear him and take notice. "Do you have a quiet corner I could occupy?"

"Aye, orcblood!" the dwarf growled. "Ye an' tha halfling ken share a room. Tha way I ken keep me eye on the both o' ye at once. Now, where'd tha wee bugger get off ta?"



Angwyn ap-Llewellyn's dooryard was full of goats. It was always full of goats, Morier knew, but after finding Malcolm's grove warded against approach, the elf had half-expected to find changes at the wizard's as well. The sight (and, yes, even the smell) of the animals struck a nostalgic note within the eldritch warrior's breast that swelled his spirits, despite the limp burden that he and Ixin supported between them.

Arwold Wyverneye clung tenaciously to life, but despite Morier's healing potion death seemed a near thing. Angwyn was no healer, to be sure, but he might have another healing draught lying about and Morier was running low on ideas.

The eldritch warrior pushed the rickety gate open with his hip and led Ixin into the yard. Some of the goats were startled out of their sleep by the pair and began to bleat, shying away nervously. All except for one, that is. Undisturbed by the smell of blood one goat blocked their path and bayed out a challenge. 

"Move aside, Daffyd," Morier urged as they approached, but the goat just lowered its head in a threatening manner. "We've no time for your-"

"WHO DARES DISTURB THE REST OF ANGWYN, THE MIGHTY?!" a voice thundered throughout the yard, sending all the goats save Daffyd scurrying around behind the ill-maintained hut. The front door was thrown aside from within and a wizard of epic proportions squeezed his way through the opening. He had a mostly bald head ringed in back with long white hair. A flowing beard of the same color trailed down across his oft-patched robe, stretching nearly to the ground. His eyes flashed icy blue in the near darkness and he raised an enormous, gnarled staff the size of an ogre's greatclub as if to smite them.

Then he stopped and blinked.

"Oh, it's you," he said and shrunk quickly back to his normal human proportions. He seemed almost disappointed. "I didn't expect you back so soon. And what in the nine hells did you do to the ranger?"

"He was poisoned and-" Morier began, but the old wizard just waved off the albino's response and turned back toward his front door.

"Yes. Yes. Just bring him inside," ap-Llewellyn sighed. "And take off that ridiculous sword before you come in here. You look silly. It's bigger than you are, for Kael's sake!"

"Yes, father," Morier said with the exasperated tone of a son who had heard it all before many, many times. He unbuckled the baldric that kept his greatsword in place and the weapon thudded unceremoniously on the ground. Morier favored the weapon, crafted in large part through his own sweat and blood, with a forlorn glance before he and Ixin stepped over the blade and carried Arwold into the wizard's hut.


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## Hairy Minotaur

Well, I thoroughly enjoyed it!   

Great read Jon.


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## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Well, I thoroughly enjoyed it!
> 
> Great read Jon.





Well, I'm glad you like it! Half of my players love chatting it up with NPCs and delving into social politics while the other half likes hack-n-slash and daring-do all the time. It's tough to balance that and still keep it interesting for non-players to read.

I'm glad it's worked so far.  With you, at least.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #252] Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes..*

"Ah dinna like tha wee hobbit roamin' free about tha manor," Gellir grumbled as he led Feln down a passage off the greathall. The dwarf's incessant complaints allowed the blind martial artist to follow behind him without fear of becoming lost. And despite the fact that Feln was forced to slow his normally swift gate to what seemed a crawl, it was still sufficient to keep pace with his short-legged guide. "Thieves an' sneaks, tha lot of 'em! Mark me words, orcblood, e'en now 'e be fillin' his pockets with Roderick's heirlooms."

"I think you judge Vade poorly, dwarf," Feln said bluntly and he heard Gellir suck in his breath. The dwarf stopped suddenly and the martial artist nearly slammed into him, but his training allowed him to narrowly avoid the collision.

"Ah'd expect as much comin' from an orcblood," Gellir snarled up at Feln and the half-orc could smell beer and sausages and pipe smoke on the dwarf's breath. "But what ah dinna ken be wha' Ledare be doin' with the likes. She was raised better than tha!"

Gellir harrumphed and began walking again.

"Dwarf, would you humor a blind traveller and spar with me?" Feln asked. It sounded more like a challenge than a request. "Do you have a practice room or fighting yard?" He heard the dwarf stop short again, but this time he had no trouble avoiding any collision.

"There be no valor in fightin' a blind warrior," Gellir told him. "But ye'd do well ta watch yer tongue. There be many who dinna share me sense o' honor."

"Ooo! Ooo! Can I play?" Vade's voice issued from Feln's left.

"Where've ye been hiding, hobbit?" Gellir demanded.

"I've been right here all along," the halfling insisted and Feln suspected that Vade was getting some use out of the Ring of Invisibility. "I'm surprised you didn't see me!"

Feln heard Gellir's sharp intake of breath and suspected another tirade to ensue. He quickly cut off the dwarf by speaking directly to Vade. "Perhaps we can devise a game of sorts, humble warrior," the martial artist suggested. "I could have something in my pocket and you could try to take it from me without my noticing. If I caught you in the act, I would have to snatch your arm or wrist or otherwise prevent you from taking it. The winner would be obvious."

Vade giggled and clapped his little hands with delight. "Mama and Papa used to play this game with me. They always kept candy in their pockets. They said my brothers and I were welcome to it and could help ourselves as long as they did not know about it. Duece and Trey were good, but I was the best," Vade said with a wide grin. "I think it is because I am so huggable. I would have worked even harder if they kept fruit in their pocket...healthier you know. I usually gave my candy to Duece....he was kind of fat."

"So we will play with fruit?" Feln asked, bemused at his eager sparring partner. "Is that it?"

"Sure!" Vade asserted and Feln felt tiny hands shoving things into the pockets of his rough clothes. "Here, Feln.... Put some fruit in your pockets... No, I did not take anything yet. The game doesn't start until you say go."

"An' there'll be nae roughhousin' in yer chamber!" Gellir rumbled. "If yer ta be playin' games an' sparrin' an' such, ye'll be doin' it in the greathall where ye won't break anythin'!"

"As you wish," Feln replied with a nod. "Please lead the way."

"Mr. Dwarf, sir, would you like to play too?" Vade asked after Gellir had taken a few steps back toward the greathall. "I bet you would be good at it, being a dwarf, who I know have such keen senses... Hee hee hee."

Gellir only harrumphed in reply.



"Set him down on your bed, Morier," Angwyn ap-Llewellyn instructed, pointing toward a narrow sleeping pallet built into a recess in the wall. The wizard bent over one of the workbenches nearly overflowing with vials and alembics, one hand dancing among the various alchemical apperati while the other kept his beard from trailing across the workbench itself. "I think I've still got one of Malcolm's Cure-"

He was interrupted as Windstryder darted in through the front door with her bow in hand and her hawk perched on her shoulder. She carried Morier's sword in her other hand and she leaned it up against the wall. "It seems we have not been followed by the creatures," she stated without preamble. "Of course they could have flown over me although Anta would have alerted me were that the case." Anta screeched as if to acknowledge this and ap-Llewellyn sputtered angrily.

"Who is this?!" the wizard asked Morier. "Another of your friends?"

"This is Windstryder," the albino elf said as he and Ixin lowered Arwold Wyverneye onto the narrow pallet. "She's a ranger, father. Like Arwold."

The old man made a huffing sound with his lips. "She has the manners of a bugbear!" he said before turning back to his workbench.

"This is your father!?" Windstryder said with a chuckle as she took in the familiar contents of a dedicated wizard's home with a glance.

"My adoptive father," the albino said although it was clear that no human wizard could ever sire a full-blooded elf.

"Well, it seems we have more in common then our blood, Losso," she replied and Angwyn looked up at her sharply as she called Morier by the nickname she had chosen for him. She didn't notice. "Are the others here?"

"Others? I've no time to host parties for your friends, boy!" the wizard said, and Morier raised a calming hand.

"They're not here," he told Windstryder. "They most likely took the girl to Arundel Manor."

"Can your father care for the Archer or shall I send for clerical aid?" the ranger asked. "If my scouting is correct we should be very near Hillville Junction where the one-handed cleric resides."

"Aye. Head northeast along the path until you reach the fields," ap-Llewellyn said without looking up from his search of the workbench. "The village should be easy enough to spot from there. But we've no need for Maerwynn's aid this night."

Windstryder looked questioningly at Morier and Ixin. The two nodded and she shrugged before heading for the door. "I will away to Maerwynn to report what we have found on the bug creatures and to find the girl." And saying thus, she slipped out into the night.

The wizard groaned and gestured at the door. It slammed shut immediately and the old man looked up angrily at Morier. "I don't like her," he said flatly and the eldritch warrior sighed.

"Father, she's-" he started but ap-Llewellyn silenced him with a cautionary finger.

"That name she calls you. Losso." He spit the word as if it tasted bad in his mouth. "It's elvish. Did she tell you what it means?"

"I-" Morier began, but the wizard cut him off again.

"It's no more flattering that the name your parents chose for you," ap-Llewellyn said and an awkward silence settled on the room. Ixin's stomach broke the tension by growling loudly.

"Sorry," the sorcerer said, clutching her belly and turning an even darker shade of red than was normal for her. "I suddenly find myself very hungry. Do you happen to have anything to eat?"



Vade was in his glory.

His touch had never been lighter. His fingers had never felt so nimble. He snatched three of the five pieces of fruit that he had deposited on Feln without the martial artist even reacting. He surprised even himself with his skill.

On the fourth try, his thumb accidentally brushed against Feln's trousers, and the martial artist's hands lashed out like twin cobras. Fortunately for Vade, the half-orc was blind, and the grapple attempt missed by a wide margin.

Vade laughed good-naturedly. "That was close, Feln," the halfling lied. "Are you sure that you're blind."

"Perhaps you're just clumsy, my friend," the martial artist replied. A smile played across his lips until he realized that Vade had reached in and taken the last apple while they were talking. The halfling had taken something else as well.

"Oops!" Vade said as if he'd reached into Feln's pocket and found a rat trap there. "F-Feln? C-Can I try for your dagger, too... if I promise not to protect it for you too long... or... or would you have to hurt the person who was protecting it for you?"

Feln's hand went instinctively to the now-empty hidden pocket where he normally kept the eagle-hilted dagger. He felt sure that the halfling hadn't taken the knife on purpose; he was just playing the game and run out of fruit. He smiled. "Vade, the dagger is a prized possession of mine but I think I would trust you to hold it from time to time," he said.

"You trust me! Thank you!" Vade said and impulsively threw his arms around Feln's muscular torso. The half-orc returned the gesture with some reluctance. "That means so much. I won't let you down!"

"Please remember its importance to me," Feln said, patting the halfling's back reassuringly.

Vade felt the martial artist clumsily take one of the mithril coins from his pocket but didn't say anything. Especially since Feln hadn't noticed him lifting the Hat of Disguise right off the half orc's head.



Windstryder moved through the dark streets of Hillville Junction like a shadow. Her low-light vision, coupled with the light of the moon hanging low in the sky, was more than adequate to keep her from stepping on a fallen branch or kicking a loose stone. None were alerted to her presence, least of all the cleric Maerwynn or the armsman who escorted her home from Arundel Manor. The ranger spotted them easily enough and appeared in their path before either of them knew she was there.

The armsman was too surprised to get off a shot, but he raised his crossbow even as Windstryder knelt down and bowed her head. "H-halt!" he stammered. "What- who goes there?"

"Oh, Great Holy One," Windstryder said, ignoring the man's question. "I seek to advise you we found a nest of the bug creatures and have dispatched their Queen and her lieutenants. I do not think a counter attack is imminent but you may want to post a watch to the South where the Lair is."

"Who are you?" the armsman asked again. "Do you know this elf, Orderbringer?"

Maerwynn looked at the ranger and nodded. "I believe I do," she said. "We met this afternoon. You're with Ledare, are you not?"

"We serve a common cause," Windstryder answered. "Have you seen the Lord Janissary this night?"

"I have," the cleric replied. "She is with her uncle in his manor. A halfling and a half-orc are with her."

"Very good," Windstryder replied. "Also, I must ask of the girl Ilea. Where is she? It was my duty to find and protect her. Do you knowest where I may find her?"

"She too is at Arundel Manor," Maerwynn told her. "I was just there tending to their many wounds."

As if she had just remembered her own sorry state of health, Windstryder stood and looked hopefully at the cleric. "If I may further inquire," she began. "My own wounds are beyond my healing ability. May I ask as the King's servant for some healing so I may continue my quest to return the Miracle One to the King?"

"Were it within my power, gentle lady" she replied. "But I have used the last of my healing to mend the others. The half-orc, Feln, is coming to see me tomorrow about his blindness. Join him when he does and I will offer what aid I may then."

"Thank you, Holy One," the ranger replied and dropped again to one knee.

"But now I must take my leave," Maerwynn said, urging her chaperon to get her home. "Without sleep, I will be ill-prepared to seek divine blessings come the 'morrow. Good night to you."

"And to you," Windstryder returned before vanishing once more into the night.



Moonsday, the 12th of Wealsun, 1269 AE


Morier was jerked out of his trance state by a woman's scream. He leapt nimbly to his feet, a spell coming almost unbidden to the forefront of his mind. Sparks seemed to dance in his red eyes and across his fingertips.

It was Ixin who had screamed, and she sat bolt upright on the floor across the room. She was naked to the waist and her sheets and blankets were pooled around her hips. They were bright with blood.

"Are you alright?" Morier asked as he looked around for some sign of the mage's attacker. Ixin groaned in response and raised an arm to demurely shield her breasts. She turned with some effort to face away from him and Morier's jaw dropped open with a snap.

The sorcerer's back was broad and plated with flexible scales. A raised set of spiny nodules traced the curve of her spine from her hairline down to below the drift of white blankets. Her entire back was wet with blood that streamed down from two rents in the flesh that covered her shoulders. Small, membranous wings hung there, dripping with fluid where they had broken though the scales.

Ixin looked at Morier over her left shoulder and she smiled. "Looks like my wings finally came in," she said.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> Ixin looked at Morier over her left shoulder and she smiled. "Looks like my wings finally came in," she said.




Yes, I also find that those are consistantly on back order as well.


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Yes, I also find that those are consistantly on back order as well.




 

My wife plays Ixin and she chose the Dracowings feat from Sean K. Reynold's site as the sorcerer's 3rd level feat.

The link is here  if you're interested in taking a peek. They don't allow actual flight (yet), but they're still pretty cool and full of oh so much character flavor.


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## Jon Potter

I've uploaded the main story so far to the EN World story hour archive  here  for your downloading pleasure. It's saved into three parts and is up-to-date with the current postings here.

I've got some other miscellaneous bits that I may upload at a later date should there be an interest.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #252a] More About Town*

"Man, these apples are good!" Vade asserted again, slurping back on the tart juice of yet another small golden fruit. "Want a piece, Feln? You had better not put it in your pocket though."

"No, my friend," the half-orc said holding up a hand. "I have already eaten. I find that moderation in all things is the best path."

The serving girl came to the table again with a steaming kettle. The cloying odor of cinnamon preceded her as she came. "More tea, goodman?" she asked and Feln had lifted his stout mug before the third word was out of her mouth.

"Yes, please," he said with an eager grin. Vade completely missed the irony.

"It sure was fun playing Mama and Papa's candy game again... especially with fruit," the halfling went on. "I think I'll go see if that silly dwarf wants to play." He hopped down but Feln's big right hand moved out to block him.

"That might not be the best idea," the martial artist said. "The dwarf was... less than pleased that we were spending the night. He did not seem the type to enjoy playing games."

Vade nodded and then said, "Maybe I'll just take a look around then. There must be something interesting in this drafty old-"

"I thought that you were going to accompany me into town," Feln reminded quickly. "I must meet with Maerwynn about my sight."

"And I can check out that cool old shop, too!" the halfling remembered, his body quivering with excitement. "When do we leave?"

Feln savored another sip of his bantern tea before putting down the cup and standing fluidly. "I must go outside and perform some exercises. But they shouldn't take too long. Why don't you join me?"

"Oh. I don't know," Vade hedged. "Exercise? It sounds kinda-"

"You could tell stories of your family," Feln suggested. "I would hear more of them. They sound interesting."

"Oh, they are!" Vade agreed. "And I haven't even told you the really good stuff yet! There was this one time I thought Grumblebutt the ogre had fallen on Trey..."



"'Occultum Esoterica and Other Theories'," Angwyn ap-Llewellyn read from the binding of one of the books Ixin had liberated from the bug men's cave complex. He scowled. "'Theory of the Arcane Gambit'. What rubbish!" The wizard tossed the book onto the table where he and Morier sat eating a small meal. The albino picked up one of the other volumes.

"'The Great Compendium of Spell Components'," he read. "You have a copy of this one. You made me read it. Twice." Angwyn snorted and waved his hand.

"And a great lot of good it did too!" the old man said. "You couldn't just cast spells like a proper mage!" Morier sighed and gestured toward the window. Ixin was visible without standing in the sunshine and stretching her new wings.

"Ixin is a proper mage and I've never seen her eat a spider or throw bat guano," Morier argued. He took a bite of barley cake.

His father looked out the window at Ixin for a moment and shook his hoary head. "Sorcerers," he said disapprovingly. "There's just no accounting for them." There was silence for a time as ap-Llewellyn fussed about with something on one of his workbenches and Morier ate quietly, watching Ixin through the window. "Tell your sorcerer friend that I'll take the books off her hands. Tell her I'll trade her potions in exchange for the lot of them."

"Tell her yourself, father," Morier countered. "And besides, maybe she wants to keep them."

"And just what is a sorcerer going to do with an old copy of 'Magic and Military Tactics: Spellcasters on the Battlefield'?" the old man asked, picking up a thin tome from the pile. "Ah, now that's one that good old Battlecaster would have loved, eh, Morier?"

Before his father could settle into more stories about his former adventuring partners, Morier changed the subject. "We found some other things, too, father," he said and reached for Ixin's Cloak of Many Pouches. "There was a ring, I think. And some other things that we could use Identified."

"Do you suppose that she might want to get rid of that cloak?" ap-Llewellyn asked, eying the cloth-of-gold greedily. "I think I still have that old mithril cloak of mine hanging up in the back closet."

"You'll have to ask her," Morier replied and the wizard nodded, making a shooing gesture with one hand.

"Well go and fetch her while I check on our patient," he said taking Morier's plate away before the elf could argue.

------------------------------------------

_Note that the titles of the books that Ixin uncovered are from the great resource "The Netbook of Books". Angwyn ap-Llewellyn's assessment of the various titles' value is strictly his own and does not reflect the management of this story hour. _


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Man without that disclaimer, I thought that I was seriously undercutting the profits in my campaign.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #252b] Even More About Town*

Lord Arundel looked much the worse for wear. The man's face sagged. His eyes were ringed by the dark circles of sleeplessness, his cheeks and jowls bristling with a night's growth of beard as he descended from his chamber. His clothes, however, were impeccable, and his hair was held in place by a polished circlet of gold that was the symbol of his office. And he didn't let the heaviness in his heart deter him from his duties as lord.

His steward, a shrewd-eyed man who seemed wed to his ledger, outlined Lord Arundel's day while the older man picked at his breakfast. Ledare had witnessed such interaction many times during her stays at the manor house and she knew that matters of manorial law would be first on her great uncle's agenda. It had long been her habit as a child to sit in on the hallmote when her uncle managed disputes. It was assumed that she would continue to do so, and so she joined him as he dispensed justice.

Justice almost always involved paying amercement to the court which Lord Arundel would benevolently roll into the guilty party's yearly chevage rather than demand payment in minted coin.

When the hallmote was over, and the steward brought in the grangers and the haywards to give an accounting before his lordship, Ledare excused herself and went off to look over the book that they had recovered from the rat-headed giant's lair. The tome, grimly entitled "The Trials of Decay", was of simple construction: rough parchment pages stitched to a black leather binding. The symbol of Aphyx emblazoned in iron on the cover gave little doubt as to what subjects would be covered in the text.

The writing within was spidery and cramped, obviously penned by a zealot to Aphyx's cause. As such it read more like a religious text than an historical document and after spending a goodly amount of time reading it, Ledare had culled only a few tidbits from the rhetoric. She estimated that it would take her the better part of a week to sort through the book in its entirety.

What little she learned amounted to the following:

_"Centuries ago, during the Age of Pestilence, the lands that now make up the great kingdom of Pellham were divided. The rulers of the land held their position not through law, but through strength of arms and war between the city-states was common. One of the strongest of these warlords was Greurd Wulfhun who ruled a territory known as Erlacor. Lord Wulfhun's army was the largest and best trained fighting force in all the lands and few would dare challenge his troops on the field of battle."

"It was during this age that Aphyx, goddess of decay, reached the pinnacle of her power on the face of Oerune. Famine and plagues that devastated the people as much as the weapons of war followed in the wake of the ever-present conflicts. Flor, goddess of health and fertility - and Aphyx's antithesis among the gods - had been severely weakened by a confrontation with Graath, god of chaos and murder, and Aphyx saw in this her opportunity to gain the upper hand over her eternal adversary. With dreams, visions, sendings and omens, Aphyx directed her worshippers to take up arms against the followers of Flor. The campaign of horror that ensued was gruesome to behold, and the followers of Flor were unable to hold back the tide of undead that Aphyx's Plaguebringers unleashed against them. Their patron goddess, in her weakened state was unable to grant them the divine support they needed, and so most perished at the hands of Aphyx's minions."_



"Lord Sato, Patron of Enlightenment, King of the Gods, grant thy humble servant the power to set right that which was made crooked by the unclean touch of chaos!" Maerwynn said and laid her hand upon Feln's forehead.

For a moment. the half-orc felt only the cool touch of the woman's hand. Then there was a slow building of crystalline light within his mind's eye. It unfolded with steady and orderly precision filling more and more of his mind until light seemed to force out all thought. The cleric's hand grew chill with the cold power of absolute Law and, with a flash of white so dazzling that Feln reeled away from Maerwynn, the darkness fell away from Feln's eyes.

"I can see!" he cried out, in spite of himself.

"Good," said Vade. "Can we go now?" The little halfling felt discomforted by the stark symmetry of Sato's shrine. He squirmed in his seat and found his eyes drawn frequently up the mirrored ceiling where he could see himself staring down. To him, it was just plain creepy.



"I believe that the common name for such an item is a Ring of Climbing," ap-Llewellyn announced, holding the leather circlet between the forefinger and thumb of his left hand. With his right he slipped the pearl spell focus back into a pouch at his hip. "Personally, I have little use for such an item. But I'll take the two spellbooks off your hands."

Ixin looked at the two volumes - one had been among the mysterious Kirnoth's belongings and the other was from the bug men cave - and shrugged. Her own magic came from the draconic blood that flowed through her veins so she had little use for book magic. Ur-Skrazargul's son, Drake Irthos, would burn spellbooks to release their magic, she knew, but the results were far from stable. There had been a few spectacular successes and a few equally spectacular failures, but most of the stolen spellbooks turned to ash without incident. To him, burning spellbooks was an end unto itself as it represented one less avenue for any upstart wizard to tread toward power. As a sorcerer, Irthos saw wizardry as inferior and he chafed under the lordship of the Wizard Council in Highgate.

"I'm not sure that these books can truly be called mine to sell, good sir," Ixin said, standing up. Her wings stretched and flexed behind her involuntarily. "Allow me to go into town and confer with my companions. I will have an answer for you then, one way or another."

"I've got a few old items leftover from my adventuring days that might be of use to a spellcaster such as yourself," the wizard told her. "I would offer them in fair trade for the spellbooks."

"I understand. But I must consult with my friends," Ixin repeated with a smile. "Now if you'll excuse me. I must get dressed. I can't very well go into town in this." She had put on a strapped undertunic that hung to mid-thigh and allowed her wings to move freely while she got used to them. It hardly made for appropriate public attire.

Once she was out of earshot Morier shook his head at the old man. "You shouldn't pressure her so, father," the albino said. "Either she'll sell the books or she won't. I haven't known her long, but I know her enough to tell you that pushing won't sway her."

The old wizard snorted and moved over to another of his workbenches. "I just wanted her to know that I was interested in helping her get rid of books that have little value to her," ap-Llewellyn said as he picked up a smallish package wrapped in colorful paper. "And I have something for you, son."

"What's this?" Morier asked as he accepted the package. It was fairly light for its size.

"Open it," the mage insisted with a grin. "Today is your birthday is it not?"

Morier thought back. It wasn't the actual day of his birth - he didn't truly know when that was - but it was 40 years ago today that Angwyn ap-Llewellyn had found the young Morier near death in the benighted tunnels of the Underdark. Morier smiled and tore open the package. "Parchment..," he said with a note of confusion. "Thank you..."

"It's for scribing scrolls, Morier," ap-Llewellyn explained. "It's one of the few lessons I taught you that actually stuck and I thought that if you had the proper supplies you might do it more often." Morier smiled and stood.

"Thank you , father," he said and embraced the man warmly. When he looked up, he saw Ixin standing nearby. She had slipped on her leather pants but still had the undertunic on.

"I can't go into town," she cursed and stretched her wings. "I can't go anywhere. Neither my shirt nor my leather armor fits anymore."

"Perhaps we could cut it," Morier suggested but his father shook his head.

"Don't be foolish. Must you always think of sharp objects first, Morier?" he moved over to an old trunk under a crowded bench and rummaged through it briefly. "Ah. Here we go. I took this off of a dark elven witch-priestess on one of my last adventures. It's got a fair bit of protective magic on it, but it's not quite my style."

He turned around and held up a chainmail bikini.

"That covers less than the undertunic!" Ixin exclaimed with a shake of her head.

"But'll it'll protect you better than that silly leather armor and leave your wings free," the wizard told her with a grin as he pressed the abbreviated garment into her hands. "Besides that's part of its charm."


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> He turned around and held up a chainmail bikini.
> 
> "That covers less than the undertunic!" Ixin exclaimed with a shake of her head.
> 
> "But'll it'll protect you better than that silly leather armor and leave your wings free," the wizard told her with a grin as he pressed the abbreviated garment into her hands. "Besides that's part of its charm."




heh, heh, heh. I was going to say something witty but..... 

Nice update Jon. It's the "down times" that bring out the best in parties.


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## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> heh, heh, heh. I was going to say something witty but.....




The chainmail bikini is based on an item from "Son of a Portable Hole Full of Beer". I toned it down considerably to make it a legitimate - if a bit embarassing - item.



> Nice update Jon. It's the "down times" that bring out the best in parties.




Well if you've been reading along, you probably realize that these guys have essentially had no 'down time' for quite a while. They've been operating under the "advance/retreat to heal and regain spells/repeat" method of adventuring for some time. As a result, they've got some un-Identified magic, some un-examined clues, and lots of un-crafted items (scrolls and weapons) that they're itching to make.

You wouldn't believe how hard it is to get them to just sit and relax in town for a few days.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #252c] The Light That Rent The Sky*

_Contrary to how it might seem, the celestial in this post is not a direct response to Hairy Minotaur's recent inclusion of a pit fiend in his story hour._

------------------------------------------

"The tenants of canon law dictate that I must offer succor to those who serve Lord Arundel's fief," Maerwynn was telling Vade and Feln. "In return, his lordship affords the shrine exception from all taxes. It is a well-balanced and orderly accord, blessed fully by Sato, himself."

"So we don't owe you anything?" Vade said again. The expression on his face indicated that he was having trouble getting his mind wrapped around the concept of something for nothing - at least in so far as he didn't have to do anything sneaky to get it. Everything about this place made him uneasy.

"It is we who owed you," the cleric explained. "You came to Hillville Junction's aid and were injured in the process. My church's charter clearly indicates that it is my duty to heal those injuries as is within my power."

Feln bowed. "Thank you, Orderbringer," he said. "No matter what you might think, I am in your debt."

Maerwynn smiled sweetly and placed her hand on the martial artist's shoulder. "Go forth in a spirit of community and do the good works of Law that-" she started. Windstryder throwing open the double doors of the shrine cut her short.

"Ah, Feln!" the ranger said, moving easily toward the gathered three. She clasped wrists with the half orc and nodded to the cleric. "Holy One. I have returned to seek your help with my wounds."

"Of course," Maerwynn smiled and channelled healing energy into the elf. When she was done, she carefully arranged her robes. "I would thank you again for retrieving our Gift of the Star and for eliminating the nest of Chaos that festered unknowingly so close to our very hearths."

"I was charged by the king to find the girl and return her to Barnacus," Windstryder replied. "And I cannot say with certainty that the bug man threat is eliminated. I have scouted the area and have not seen signs of a new attack to reacquire the Holy One, but that does not mean it is not on the horizon." The Orderbringer looked shocked.

"The threat remains?" she asked and Windstryder shrugged.

"Perhaps," she answered. "But I have been charged to return the Holy One to Barnacus and I intend to do so. Feln and I started this journey and we need to finish it."

"Surely you can abide a short delay," the cleric told her. "Time enough to ensure that the lair of our enemies does lie empty." Windstryder shook her head.

"I think we should leave as soon as we can be provisioned to go," she told the cleric.

"Then I will be compelled to require monetary recompense for the healing I have given," Maerwynn said, her face gone suddenly stern. "The cost for foreigners is 360 pieces of gold."

"But you said that it was all free," Vade protested.

"The canons require me to aid those who serve Lord Arundel's demesne. They also provide me great latitude in deciding who I feel should qualify," she stated. "You have not given me sufficient cause to believe that the threat to Hillville Junction has been eliminated. You may have stirred up more trouble than you have alleviated. Until I am convinced that the lair is truly empty, I cannot in good conscience consider you to have served this community."

Vade shot Windstryder a reproachful look.

"Good job, blabbermouth," he scolded.



Ilea had spent the day as she had spent so many since she found herself in Hillville Junction. She sat on the greensward of the village commons, gazing up at the firmament with the River Druett muttering and splashing at her back. She spoke to no one, but people were drawn to her presence none the less. They gathered in groups of two or three and watched her as she watched the sky.

Ledare trudged down from Arundel Manor in the afternoon glow of Orin's Shield. the Janissary met Vade, Feln and Windstryder and Morier and Ixin at the edge of the commons and she held up a twisted leaf for the others to see.

"I found this tacked to my door," she said and Morier held up a similar leaf. "There's a message on it that says to meet here."

"We found one too," the albino said and Windstryder nodded.

"I left them," she said bluntly. "We need to discuss our next move."

"I found some interesting information in that book Vade and Feln found," Ledare offered.

"And we found some interesting things in the bug men's lair," Ixin put in but Windstryder shook her head.

"Only the girl matters. I do not know the nature of the Holy One's power nor her role in the plague that I sense on the wind, but I do know to Barnacus she must go," the ranger said. "Will you all wish to continue with Feln and I? Lord Janissary, I know I hold no power to compel your attendance but I wanted you to know where I stand with you and your team."

Ledare ran her fingers through her closely shorn hair. "My duty, too, lies with the king," she admitted. "But I think that we would be remiss not to avail ourselves of any new information that might aid us."

"I understand new items have been obtained to assist us in our quest," Windstryder said with a wave of her hand. "I think, they should be distributed to those of us that can use them. Does anyone have anything el-?"

Just then the wind picked up and a cry of fear arose from amidst the commoners gathered on the greensward. A dark knot of swirling cloud had appeared without warning in the blue sky above the village green. The few sheep on the commons fled at once, bleating in fear. The peasants clutched one another, quaking in superstitious awe. Ilea had risen to her feet and had her arms spread welcoming to the heavens.

"Trouble!" Ledare said, her hand reaching for her longsword. Windstryder already had her bow out and was moving toward the girl. Feln was at her heels.

"What is it?" Morier asked even as his greatsword hissed from its scabbard.

"A gate," Ixin offered in a small voice.

With a thunderclap, the dark cloud parted and a solid column of light poured forth that was so bright it forced everyone present to look away. When they were able to look back once more, the brilliance was gone, replaced with a figure of such singular beauty that no one could speak. He looked like an elf with hair the color of sunshine and eyes that dripped with light. He stood naked and glowed as if he were limned in silver faerie fire. An aura of serenity and peace surrounded him despite the crackling sword of fire that he bore in one hand. He came toward the girl and where he stepped, he left footprints of flowers.

"Ilea," he said in a voice that was at once horrible and wonderful to hear. "I have come for you."

"The test is over?" she cried and threw her arms around his torso. He hugged her with one arm and smiled. Those commoners nearest him burst into tears at the beauty of that smile.

"There was no test, young one," he said and indicated the village with a sweep of his flaming greatsword. "This... All this... is for you no longer. You were stolen from us." And at this his face grew momentarily angry. Flames danced in his eyes and people shrieked and fainted all around. He had regained his composure when he spoke again.

"You six," he said and the Companions knew that he spoke directly to them. "You risked much to aid my charge and I would offer you a reward. I am privy to much information that is beyond your perception I would offer it to you in a manner of your choice. I can offer you ten questions answered by my masters through Commune. I can answer three questions in a more thorough manner such as I myself am able. Or I can tell you three things of my choosing which you do not know but that might well serve you to have answered."

"And this I tell you without condition," he added. "The same weapons that our enemies thought to make of Ilea are the very building blocks that will save your king. Look to their lair for the cure."


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> _Contrary to how it might seem, the celestial in this post is not a direct response to Hairy Minotaur's recent inclusion of a pit fiend in his story hour._
> 
> ------------------------------------------
> 
> 
> "You six," he said and the Companions knew that he spoke directly to them. "You risked much to aid my charge and I would offer you a reward. I am privy to much information that is beyond your perception I would offer it to you in a manner of your choice. I can offer you ten questions answered by my masters through Commune. I can answer three questions in a more thorough manner such as I myself am able. Or I can tell you three things of my choosing which you do not know but that might well serve you to have answered."
> 
> "And this I tell you without condition," he added. "The same weapons that our enemies thought to make of Ilea are the very building blocks that will save your king. Look to their lair for the cure."




I hope for the party's sake they picked the 10 questions, I hope for the DM's sake they chose the 3 question version.   

I don't think there's a correlation between the 2 outsiders at all, unless......


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> I hope for the party's sake they picked the 10 questions, I hope for the DM's sake they chose the 3 question version.




I was surprised when they jumped at the threee things of his choosing. The rationale being that they wouldn't waste their questions asking about things that are irrelevant.

It wouldn't have been my first choice.



> I don't think there's a correlation between the 2 outsiders at all, unless......




Nah. He's legit. A garden-variety celestial.

It would have been funny though.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> I was surprised when they jumped at the threee things of his choosing. The rationale being that they wouldn't waste their questions asking about things that are irrelevant.
> 
> It wouldn't have been my first choice.
> 
> 
> 
> Nah. He's legit. A garden-variety celestial.
> 
> It would have been funny though.




If I was in the party I'd want the 10 questions. Where can I find "   "? could illicit a vague enough answer, yet still give direction.

However as the DM, 3 very clear and consise answers will get the party moving along the lines you want. 

I wait almost patiently to read what info the party was given.   

Keep up the great work Jon!


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #253] Mysterious Answers*

His intense, glowing eyes studied the Companions as they sheepishly came forward into a group. They looked at one another but for what seemed a long time, no one spoke. Not even Vade.

At last Feln stepped forward and dropped respectfully to one knee. "By your leave," he said to the glowing figure who watched them all so closely and turned to his friends. "Windstryder, I defer to your better judgement," he announced. "I have given you an oath to help you in your quest and I will trust your judgement in this area." Looking at Ledare he added. "I feel that you and Windstryder should make the final decision."

The half-orc then reached down and scooped Vade into his arms like a child. "Come, Vade," he said. "Let us step aside and let them council."

"Hey!" the rogue protested. "We are all in this together! I am a half-LING, not a half-WIT. Put me down... please?!" Feln did so and looked apologetically at the halfling.

"I am sorry," he began. "I didn't think-"

"As Papa said, 'I know you have brains Boy, the question is are yous smart enough to use 'em?'," Vade said with a hurt look on his face. "I can help make good questions. You said you trusted me."

"I am sorry," Feln repeated as Vade darted back to the others. The half-orc sat down, cross-legged in the grass and waited for the others to come up with a strategy.

"I sense a lack of accord," the man said in his voice like musical thunder. His eyes studied them as if he were reading their very thoughts. "Decide quickly 'ere I must leave you. I may not linger long on this world lest I violate Umba's Injunction."

"I can think of lots of things I'd like to know," Vade chirped and three sets of hands reached out to clap over his mouth. He dodged them al and looked reproachfully at his companions. "Hey! Watch it!"

"Even as a newcomer, there are a thousand questions I would like to know answers to," Morier said before Vade could say anything more. "But our group has many agendas and we fight many battles on many fronts, even if we do work toward the same end. If we select to be enlightened by three pieces of knowledge, we can use those as the foundation of our new focus."

He stopped and looked at the faces of those gathered around him. "I have said my piece and will accept the decision of the group whatever it shall be, but my voice has been heard."

"You speak wisely, Morier," Ledare told him. "And if Windstryder has no objections, I agree with your course."

"Like Feln, I will defer to you, Lord Janissary," the elf explained. "You know more of the whole scheme whereas my mission is of a more limited scope."

"Then you have reached an accord?" the glowing figure asked although there was something of a statement in the question. Ledare nodded in reply and took a single step forward. She looked up at the man, who while he looked like an elf, seemed to stand as tall as an ogre. She had to squint her eyes against the brilliance of his countenance.

"We have not been together as a party long, and we each have our own private struggles and burdens," she told him. "I think we stand to gain more as a group from your divine guidance. We ask that three things be told to us, in hopes that they will unify and direct our efforts toward ridding this world of the evils which plague it."

"As you wish," the man said and he smiled down at her. "I speak now of the past. Twice has Oerune seen the death of a god. Most recently the Red God of Hule, Cretia the All-Seeing, slew Riane, the goddess of equality, freedom, and immortality. There was great lamentation amongst the gods and her corpse gave birth to Umba, the Devourer. It was he who decreed that the affairs of man and the affairs of god should remain forever separated and that Injunction has kept it so to this day."

"One who was once amongst you bore, all unknowingly, a bit of Riane's divine spark," the figure mused. "But Riane's death, while terrible, was merciful when compared to Dridana's murder at the hand of Aphyx. After her forces were defeated and her son locked away, the goddess of decay and disease ripped the living heart from the goddess of things that grow in the earth. Aphyx bound Dridana's essence to a red gemstone and secreted it away so that her spark could not be reborn into a new godform. For the Queen of Rot knew that the Fruitful One would always oppose her and thus has Brogine's twin languished since the Age of Pestilence."

He bowed his head and paused for a moment. A great melancholy had settled into him at the telling of his tale, and it made hearts ache to see sadness on a face possessed of such otherworldly beauty.

"I speak now of the present," he said at last. "The veil between worlds has been pierced. There is one amongst you who comes from another existence and there are those who seek her return. Ilea was snatched from Purgatorium a mere 11 days into her Walk of a Hundred Days and returned to the mortal coil before she could complete her ascension. It is all but unheard of for the god of endings to be denied, and her abduction was wrought by evil magics men were not meant to know. But where Calaam is cheated once, might he not be cheated again? Events in Battle City unfold that may have a profound effect on your lives if not your quest. For it is unwise that mortals should owe a second debt to Myrkhul and it is difficult to shed the baggage of a life once-lived."

"I speak now of the future. But it is a future as will likely be, not as it must," the man said. "Events transpire to the south that will lead to bloodshed across The Realms. One who the Janissary did not trust is suddenly not trusted by those who were once his staunchest supporters though the fault of it is not his own. Follow his trail and you will uncover a dark and twisted secret kept from the eyes of good and evil alike for millennia. I foresee ancient evils thought long buried brought to the surface and forces for good thought lost found once more. One who you counted as enemy will become as your friend. And one who was your friend will become the worst kind of enemy. I see dead friends avenged and living friends lost. I see one amongst you making a choice between following their heart or following their duty. And I see a scorned love trudge ever onward toward an unpleasant end."

And saying thus he sagged as if whatever ability he had used to divine the future had taken the strength from his body. He stooped there for what seemed a long time, but when he stood his face was filled with the same vigorous light it had held before.

"And now I must take my leave," he boomed. "Ilea must complete her Walk across the Seasons of the Soul. She has much to contemplate before she reaches Aoemzyre and completes her ascension to the celestial host. She has much bitterness about her death at the hands of one she called friend and she must rid her spirit of it lest Myrkhul judge her poorly."

Ilea looked up at him with a hesitant sort of expression - as if she were only now remembering what had come before for her. A glimmer of recognition crossed her serene face and she turned to look at Ledare even as the column of light descended once more from the heavens. Her green eyes locked onto the Janissary's and for an instant before the light became so bright that Ledare had to look away, she was sure that she saw another face overlaying the girl's - a face that bore the scars from an attack by a broad banded hawk.

"Soriah?" Ledare almost whispered as she squinted back in the direction of the girl, but both she and her protector were gone. Spots danced in front of Ledare's eyes and tears were wet on her cheeks.

"Well, did that make any sense to anybody?" Vade grumbled. He shook his head in an I-told-you-so fashion. "You guys should have let me as the questions."

-------------------------------

_ I couldn't resist being vague. And I also couldn't resist stealing a little from PirateCat with the celestial's prophecies._


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## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> " But where Calaam is cheated once, might he not be cheated again? Events in Battle City unfold that may have a profound effect on your lives if not your quest. For it is unwise that mortals should owe a second debt to Myrkhul and it is difficult to shed the baggage of a life once-lived."
> [/i]




Interesting, this is the part that is most intriguing to me. 

Good work Jon.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #254] Back to the Caves*

Windstryder scratched her head at and snorted derisively. "I'm beginning to agree with you, little one," she said.

"More riddles," Ledare grumbled. "And I certainly can't make heads or tales of it."

"I don't know," Vade mused, adopting a thoughtful expression and rubbing his chin. "I think we may have gotten good information from this guy. But it'll just take some time to process."

"We are at a crossroads, it is very plain," Feln offered. "Windstryder, my pledge to you has been fulfilled; we have found Ilea and although we did not get her to the king, I think she is where she belongs." Windstryder squinted at the half-orc for a moment and then nodded her head.

"Feln, you traveled with me when you did not need to.  You were part of my team as if you were a ranger.  Your team debt is now paid.  You performed well, and may travel as part of my team any time," she told him and reached into a pouch at her hip. "Here, if ever in need and a Ranger is near present this.  They will aid you." Feln took what she offered and looked at the acorn ensribed all about with tiny symbols.

"Thank you," he said and slipped it away.

"But for now, it seems my mission has been completed although I have not gone to the King," Windstryder said. Turning to Ledare she added, "As his direct emissary, I will follow your orders, Lord Janissary."

"My first charge is also from the King," the half-elf answered. "However, since it appears we will not be taking Ilea to him, and we may be able to find some kind of cure in the caves, it makes sense to go there first."

"Then how do you suggest we alert the King that we have found Ilea and still try to rid Barnacus of the Plague?" Windstryder countered. "I and Feln can travel to Barnacus if there is no other way." Feln shook his head at this.

"I agree that saving Barnacus is important, Windstryder," the martial artist said. "King and country and all. But I stand in Hillville Junction and these people have the taint of chaos stalking their fields at night and stealing sleeping babes from their windows. I will cleanse those caves and I ask that you join me in that. Once it is done I will accompany you to search for a cure for Barnacus."

"Without Ilea to deliver in person, I believe your task now falls in step with mine, Windstryder," the Janissary told her. "We should do whatever is necessary to help cleanse the city of Barnacus, and its king, from this plague. Of that there is no question. But hopefully the answers lie in the caves. We will need to be rested and at full strength before we enter them again." 

"As you say," the ranger nodded. "We will to the caves tomorrow. In the meantime, I will follow your lead as to these prophecies the celestial spoke of. I have noticed the taint of Chaos on the winds and in the lands. I would like to see it rid of this evil."

"What of you?" Ledare asked, looking at Morier, Ixin and Vade. "What are your thoughts on our next course of action?"

"I am in full agreement with Feln in this matter," the albino said. "We must clean things up here before we move onward." Ixin nodded.

"We must go first back to the caves, using all of our weapons and abilities," the sorcerer said. "Once the cave is cleared, we can decide on our next step."

"We need to go and clean up the bug men," Vade said with what served him as a fierce scowl on his face. "It seems urgent to me."



So it was agreed and they spent the remainder of the evening going over the details of the prophecies, debating their meanings and committing them to paper lest they be forgotten. Ledare shared what she had read in the "Trials of Decay" and Ixin told the group about ap-Llewellyn's willingness to buy some of their acquired goods. They concluded that it would be a good idea to use Hillville Junction as a "home base" for a few days after they cleared out the caves. That would give Morier a chance to scribe a few scrolls, Ledare and Ixin a chance to read more of their books, Feln a chance to do a little weaponsmithing, and Vade the opportunity to visit some local shops that had attracted his attention.

Feln took the opportunity to approach Lord Arundel with a question that had been on his mind since first meeting the aristocrat. He held up the black dagger, displaying the eagle-shaped pommel for Arundel and asked, "Sir, I know your community has been through a great deal as of late but I beg you for a moment to tell me what you might know of the symbol on this dagger?"

Lorde Arundel knew nothing, but sent for Geneviève the Fair, a travelling bard who was performing that week at the Greenbrier Inn. She studied the dirk with interest, but could offer Feln little beyond the vague notion that it resembled the heraldry of the fallen Black Eagle Kingdom. Disappointed once again, the half-orc retired to his room to meditate while the others sat up listening to Geneviève's singing and lute playing.



_"Roland! Roland!! Roland!!! Dekonic and Roland! Roland! Roland!! Roland!!! Brynn-toth!!!!"_ Vade sang the chorus to 'The Ballad of Roland of Leer' in his vest off-key voice on the way out of town, but he didn't need to be silenced as they drew near the wood. He could easily appreciate the seriousness of their situation this time.

The cave entrance was abandoned and Windstryder made a quick and silent pass through the surrounding woods, confirming the absence of any fresh tracks in the area other than their own. Once again, Feln went alone into the complex (although this time, paying closer attention for traps), and found no immediate signs that the caves were occupied. The others followed him inside.

They found three chambers that seemed to serve as living chambers of some kind - there were bits of molted exoskeleton, gnawed bones, and silvery splatters that Windstryder identified as droppings. A fourth, larger chamber was piled with miscellaneous items apparently looted from the Junction - mainly ruptured sacks of grain, a barrel half-full of pork jerky, and the like.

"Gellir will want to bring some men up here to recover this once we're finished," Ledare commented. "Most of it's still good."

"I'll say," Vade grinned with a strip of jerky clamped in his teeth like a cigar.

In the end, they determined that they had searched the entire complex with the exception of the chamber where they had previously heard the clicking and clacking of giant insects. It was here that they finally gathered and listened to the sound again.

"We're clearly not alone," Ixin whispered out of the side of her mouth. Morier nodded and adjusted his grip on his greatsword.

"This is why we're here," the albino remarked. He lay a reassuring hand on Vade's slim shoulder. The halfling was holding his glowing dagger like a tiny torch. He gulped audibly as they moved forward.

The narrow corridor opened suddenly into an enormous chamber. The floor was worked smooth and flat, the walls were tall and chiseled, the ceiling was some forty feet above. Heavy wooden counters skirted three walls, littered with bits of exoskeleton, metal and glass. A strange apparatus of steel and glass towered in the far corner, all rings and globes and twisted bits of wire. Ledare had seen something similar once before - in Andamacles' laboratory - but she didn't have time to remark on it before they heard the hissing and turned to see the aberration clinging to the wall above the door.

It looked as if it might have been a lunatic's idea of a huge scorpion - 15 feet long, not counting its tail - but it clearly wasn't a natural creature. Its shell was an amalgam of different-colored exoskeletons; the black of scorpions along with the bristly brown of spiders and the striped of wasps and bees were all present, held together with angry metal staples and thick silvery thread. Half its limbs were made of jointed steel that oozed greenish-black fluid; its pincers looked like solid blocks of metal. Its segmented tail was draped with flexible tubes and ended in a massive, polished needle. A single eye glowed red in the darkness as a strange device not unlike a mounted crossbow swivelled about on its back to target these interlopers.


----------



## Jon Potter

*A tiny, tiny hint of what's to come...*

"Eeep!" Vade cried, as he activated the Ring of Invisibility and promptly vanished.

The... thing... didn't move in reaction to the halfling's disappearance, but the strange crossbow-like device built onto its back swiveled slowly around to track a path in the direction of the weird machine crouched in the corner.

Ledare sheathed her sword and drew her six-shooter crossbow in one graceful motion. Unfortunately, the shot she squeezed off went horribly awry and her quarrel shattered against the stone wall. As if to show her how it was done, Windstryder drew and fired a pair of arrows in rapid succession, sending one arrow into the creature's head and another into the shoulder joint directly beside it. The aberration squealed in pain and shuddered as it shifted slightly to face the ranger.

"Telum magica!" Ixin shouted and pointed her right hand at the creature. Two crimson-tailed bolts of force arced from her fingertips and sizzled against the monster's exoskeleton. It shrieked in pain again and directed itself toward the sorcerer, but before it could react, Morier stepped up beside Ixin.

"Contuliath!" the eldritch warrior intoned, pointing his wand of Color Spray at the thing's head. A sheet of clashing hues washed over the aberration and it slumped on its perch. From his position in the shadows, Feln watched the creature's  needle-tipped tail droop across its back and its metal-sheathed pincers hang slack against the wall.

He grinned.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #255] The One Left Behind*

"What the hell kind of freak are you?" the half-orc taunted even as Ledare fired another shot from her hand crossbow. This time the Janissary's bolt stuck solidly in the first joint of the thing's foreleg and the creature let out a thin squeal. As Feln moved forward, his hands worked at his quarterstaff. He gave it a twist and it split into two clubs; he dropped one and gave the remaining piece another twist. It separated into two lengths of wood connected in the middle by a short chain. He got it spinning in one hand, jumped up, planted his foot on the wall and jumped again until he was eye level with the scorpion-thing for a moment. In that split second, he slammed the nunchaku in its face and the weapon clanked against the armor protecting the creature's brain.

From his vantage point near the machine, Vade watched Feln's acrobatic display with a grin. When he saw the thing's armor repel his companion's assault he looked at the sling in his own little hands and gave an inadequate sigh. He moved along the wall using the Slippers of Spider Climbing, loaded the weapon and sent a bullet at the aberration. It rattled across the monster's back without striking solidly and the halfling cursed as he became visible.

Ledare fired a third shot from her repeating crossbow, missing again while Windstryder sank a pair of closely spaced arrows into the creature's enormous metal forelimbs. It writhed in pain and let out another piercing wail.

"It's coming out of it," Ixin warned before she drew mana from the invisible web of magic that surrounded her, directing it through word and gesture into a pair of fiery missiles. They slammed into the creature's back, raising to four the number of scorched craters in its exoskeleton.

"No. It's not!" Morier told the sorcerer and activated his wand of Color Spray again. The patchwork scorpion had enough time to move forward half-a-step before the prismatic cone washed over the creature and it grew still once more. Feln shook his head in disbelief.

"This thing is no challenge!" the martial artist growled. "No wonder they left it behind!" He repeated his earlier feat of acrobatics - made easier now that the monstrosity had lurched forward before succumbing to Morier's Color Spray once more - and slammed his nunchaku against the thing's left pincer. A crack appeared in what was apparently a weakened section of its armor. Green-black ichor began to spill from the wound.

"Keep your mind on the battle," Ledare suggested as she fired another errant bolt from her crossbow.

"I seem to be doing alright," Feln grinned back. His nunchaku traced a dangerous pattern around his body as it spun.

"Are we going to use more spells because I want to stay out of the way!" Vade called from up on the wall. He whirled his sling around and sent a bullet into the aberration's tail at the base. There was a sputtering sound and a thin streamer of smoke rose from the impact site.

"Stay back for now, Vade!" Ledare advised as she sank another quarrel into the scorpion's forelimb. "Our tactics seem sound. Don't get in the way of Morier's magic!"

"Or my arrows!" Windstryder barked sending two more shafts at the thing in rapid succession. The first sank into its head a hand's width from its glowing red eye. The second struck the think armor at an odd angle and ricocheted off into the shadows.

"Telum magica!" Ixin shouted for the third time, sending another pair of sizzling force bolts into the scorpion's back. Morier grinned, his teeth merely a paler shade of white, in the semi-darkness as he raised his wand again.

"Contuliath!" he intoned and a disorienting burst of color slammed into the creature. When it cleared, the eldritch warrior's field of vision was filled with metallic death as a pincer as large as a good-sized chest came at him, propelled forward by six, rapidly pistoning legs. It was a clumsy attack, to be sure, but Morier was ill-prepared to avoid it. The claw snapped down, vise-like over his right forearm. Metal serrations on the pincer's inner surfaces bit into his bleached flesh and pain exploded up Morier's arm as he felt himself lifted easily off the ground. Feln moved forward, putting himself right in front of the thing and slammed his nunchaku against its arm in an effort to get it to release the elf, but it did no good.

Vade took careful aim and sent a bullet at the creature, striking the side of the crossbow-like device on its back. It appeared to do no damage.

Ledare fired the last shot from her repeating hand crossbow at the thing only to have it turned aside by its armor. She dropped the spent weapon and drew her silver-iron longsword. It cut a vicious arc through the air and drew sparks and a shriek of pain from the monster as it bit into its shoulder.

Windstryder switched to firing only a single arrow to increase her accuracy now that Morier was in the way of her target. She focused all of her concentration into aiming her arrow... and nearly fell as she stumbled on some loose rocks. Her arrow shattered against the chamber wall.

Ixin took a step back so as to not immediately draw the monster's attacks and cast Magic Missile a fourth time. The bolts of energy leapt from her fingertips, swerved to avoid Morier's flailing legs, and sizzled into the scorpion's armor. It squealed and turned to fix her with its glowing eye.

Morier, for his part, could think of little to do to save himself. The hand holding his wand was pointed at the ceiling and separated from him by the wall of metal that was the scorpion's pincer. He needed both hands to cast any spells or to wield his sword. The elemental powers of the storm raged within him, but he needed the cold steel of his sword to release them. He needed to free himself! He swung his feet around and braced them against one side of the scorpion's claw while he gripped the other side with his left hand.

And then he strained.

The scorpion gave him a contemptuous shake and dropped his limp body as it turned on Ixin and Ledare. Its other pincer licked outward and clamped down savagely on Ixin's right shin. Its needle-tipped tail arced down over its back and came at Ledare, but the Janissary was able to turn aside the javelin-sized stinger with a swipe of her shield. She could do nothing about the pale ray that came at her from the device mounted on the scorpion's back. It struck her full in the chest, with such force that it seemed to take her breath away.

It was only after a moment that she realized that it had taken away more than that. She was completely paralyzed.

Feln saw the Janissary halt in mid stride and he let out a battle shout that rang off the walls as he jumped up onto the scorpion's back and drove his fist down through the armor on top of its head. His arm sank into the thing's brain up to the elbow and for a moment he remained there - fist buried in his enemy, every muscle in his body standing out in harsh relief, his face a contorted mask of fury - with the last echoes of his ululating battle cry reverberating in everyone's ears.

The scorpion collapsed and there was silence for a moment before Feln rose to his feet, his arm dripping with oily gore. He sneered at the dead thing and growled, "They didn't build you so good, did they... freak?"


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## Jon Potter

*[Draelond #11] Seeing the Sights*

Draelond closed his eyes and tried to rest. It helped settle his mind when he couldn't see the strange form that housed him. His strength was nil, his ability to concentrate was obliterated by the thousands of questions stampeding through his mind, and he needed a plan.

All in all, being in Battle City was probably a fairly lucky draw, he thought. Of all of the places he could have been "brought back" to, at least he was within reach of where he needed to be. One of the last things he remembered was the Janissary saying something about "Little Boy Mountain" in the distance and Hillville Junction being nearby. If he recollected properly then, the Grey Companions had ported into Byr. But the past few days had been a blur.

Were they days? Hours? Minutes? Who knew if they were still there?

He thought about returning to Grey House in Barnacus. Sooner or later the group would return there... but when? Barnacus also meant returning home and he was sure that he wasn't ready to do that. He could trail them to Byr, but he felt sure that it would be days before he felt strong enough to walk across the room, let alone set out across the Realms. "Sooner or later," he thought, "Ledare will have to make a report to the King." So Barnacus it would be.

Suddenly, it dawned on him. His heart sank. He couldn't simply walk into Barnacus, knock on the door of Grey House and be given the hero's welcome.

For all intents and purposes, to everyone else he was Sir Alechtus of Gudiberg. Who would believe his story? He would be labeled a crackpot and locked up. He had to be Sir Alechtus of Gudiberg then too. How well known was he outside of Battle City? What enemies hunted him? He remembered Harcout's explanation about the Order of Endings and hunting the undead.

"There's a bit of irony for you," he thought.

None of this helped settle his mind. Things had certainly not played themselves out as he had envisioned. He just knew he'd had unfinished business and he wanted to come back and see it done. None of the complications he'd suddenly encountered had been planned for or even thought of.

He knew he needed rest now, but doubted he could summon sleep. The cold, hard slab upon which he had been laid made the idea of sleep even more remote, but he closed his eyes again and tried.



He was a little surprised to find that sleep had come after all. The shadows were long when he next opened his eyes. Clearly dusk was approaching and the empty library was filling with a darkness that lent it an otherworldly quality. For a moment, he was back in Purgatorium and he felt a shriek of fright building behind his lips but then he began to recognize his shadowy surroundings for what they were and the fear went away.

Was he the same man who had thrown himself at a giant to protect his friends not very long ago? In a very real sense, he realized, he wasn't that man any more. He did not remember fear coming to him so easily before... before... before he died. A dread feeling of despair began to stir in his guts. He didn't remember that happening to him either but he clenched his jaw and forced the feeling away.

His strength seemed to have returned, and with some effort, he got to his feet. It did him no good to lay on his back and wait for the world to find him. He needed to understand where he was and what was his situation. As he grimly wrapped his naked body in the bearskin blanket he recalled words that he had learned in his brief time training at the Janissary guildhall in Barnacus: "The warrior who chooses the field of battle is the warrior who gains the advantage."

There might not be battle in his immediate future, but there was sure to be conflict. And Draelond had precious few advantages just now. He intended to learn all he could about this strange place in which he found himself.



The city stretched out below him in all directions lit by the radience of two moons. Behind him, to the east was a dark warren of narrow streets and tired buildings that could only be a slum - the Rat Town that Harcourt had mentioned. The house in which he found himself lay in an area of well-lit shops and apartments stretching northwards to encompass what looked like a rough pentagon of barren earth in which no lights could be seen. The empty area butted up against a wide river that split the city in two. A fortified area rose up on the solitary island in the river's center, connected to both halves of the city proper by arching stone bridges. On the other side of the city, Draelond could make out merchant districts and temples. Far off, the walls of an arena rose above the surrounding buildings.

A chill night breeze ruffled the furred blanket and stung at Draelond's exposed flesh as he leaned against the rail of the house's widow's walk. He hardly felt it; a crushing weight was rapidly building on his heart.

He was a ghost...

A phantom of two dead men...

A stranger, adrift in a strange land.


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## Hairy Minotaur

I was finally able to get caught up with your story, after being away for the past 2 weeks. 

Amazing story Jon, keep up the great work.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #256] Epilogue at the Caves of Chaos*

Windstryder moved toward Ledare first, placing her bow beside the unmoving Janissary and drawing out her healer's satchel. She looked earnestly into the half-elf's eyes as she fumbled within her bag for the proper herb.

"Can you breath, Ledare?" the ranger asked. "Blink if you understand me." Of course, being paralyzed, Ledare could do no such thing. Windstryder frowned and placed her ear to Ledare's breastplate but could hear nothing through the heavy armor. She then pressed close to the Janissary's mouth and felt the faint tickle of breath against her ear. She popped a dark bit of fungus in her mouth and began vigorously chewing it into a soft paste. She then eased Ledare onto her back and hunched over the woman.

"Uh, Windstryder?" Ixin called. She was bent over Morier, and the expression on her face plainly showed that the sorcerer's assessment of the albino's health was not encouraging. "I don't think Morier's going to make it!"

The ranger held up a hand a gave the gesture for 'hold position and wait' then she hunched over her current patient. She pressed her lips firmly over the Janissary's mouth and drooled the masticated herb onto Ledare's tongue before straightening up and wiping her mouth on her sleeve. She grinned down at the paralyzed Ledare.

"Hah, hah," she chuckled, her laughter sounding very out-of-place given their surroundings. "Lord Janissary, we call that the healer's kiss. Not a pretty gesture, I know, but necessary under the circumstances."

"OOOH! I can help Morier!" Vade exclaimed as he trotted to the fallen warrior's side. He began rifling through the elf's belongings, adding, "I know he has a potion in here somewhere."

Feln reached down and urged the halfling back with one hand. Vade looked up at the half-orc with a distraught look on his child-like face. "Don't you want to help Morier?" Vade asked. "Why are you stopping me?"

"To give you this," Feln explained, opening his hand to reveal a tiny potion vial. "It's not much, but it should stabilize him until we can aid him further." Vade took the philter and grinned at Feln before pouring the Cure Minor Wounds draught passed Morier's pale lips. Immediately, the albino's breathing evened out and became regular.

"I think this might be what you were looking for," Ixin offered, pointing to a vial bearing the same symbol she had seen on the door to Rherram Ongensleer's hospital, a circle of white flowers. It was one of only three vials remaining in Morier's potion belt. Vade nodded and reached for it, becoming distracted in the process by the potion belt's cunning craftsmanship.

"This is a neat belt!" he said as he palmed the cure potion. "I want one!"

"Step back, Vade," Windstryder said as she came up to them with her healer's kit ready. The halfling moved to get up, but emptied the potion into Morier's mouth before rising. Immediately, Morier awoke, sputtering and trying to get to his feet. Ixin pressed against his shoulders with her hands.

"Easy!" she urged and Morier's red eyes flicked up to hers.

"Is it dead?" he asked and the mage nodded.

"Thanks to Feln," Windstryder laughed as she hunted through her kit. "That was some killing blow, my friend. I have never seen you preform such a feat before."

Compared to the elf, Feln's demeanor seemed almost somber. He looked at his still-bloodied fist and flicked the worst of the ichor off onto the floor. "We have never been in such dire need before," the martial artist explained. "I am trained to find weak spots in my enemy's defenses and strike with precision at their vital organs."

"Well, after seeing what you're capable of I will never come near your dagger again," Vade said, holding both hands up to show that he did not have his fingers crossed. "I promise!"

Feln smiled wanly and drew the dagger from its hiding place. He offered it to Vade saying, "I can think of no safer place for it, friend. You fought bravely. I am in awe."

Vade looked at the offered black blade with something akin to reverence. Then he smiled and gave Feln a big hug. The half-orc smiled and patted Vade's slim shoulder with one calloused hand.

"Come, Vade. Let us search this area for any secrets it might be hiding," Feln suggested. "This lair reminds me of a basement I was in some time ago. The Maester I was sent to... talk with... had a cupboard hidden behind the wall. You had to push in on a certain spot to get it to pop open."

Vade noticed the hesitation and guessed that there was more to Feln's visit than a conversation. But he had no intention of prying; he knew well enough what it was like to have something to hide.



While Feln and Vade searched, Windstryder aided both Morier and Ixin, using her not-inconsiderable knowledge of healing to dress the eldritch warrior's arm and eliminate a portion of the pain in the sorcerer's leg. Once she was back on her feet, Ixin moved about the room, casting a spell that the Dragon's Claw had put to good use in Highgate both to locate people who didn't want to be found and to avoid The Five's law enforcers.

She cast Recent Occupant at several spots around the chamber and discovered an interesting fact: the two individuals who had been in this room last had kept themselves discretely separate. The first presence revealed by her divination was Braath the Lesser, and the magic identified his race as a Skag. He had kept himself exclusively on the northern half of the room, skirting the various workbenches as if he were purposefully avoiding the machine that dominated the south west corner of the chamber.

The other half of the room bore the psychic remnants of another: Nicetas RedFair. The spell marked him as human, although there was enough ambiguity in the response that Ixin was sure that there was something more to it than that. He apparently moved freely about the room and approached the machine with impunity. It wasn't until Vade found the lead box that she found out why.

It had rested inside one of the machine's larger glass globes, and once Vade was confident that the device was untrapped, he had opened the hatch set into the side of the globe and moved to retrieve the plain box. It was corroded and heavy - too heavy for him to move - but the lock was a simple one and he popped it open after only a moment's fiddling. The box's contents made his jaw drop open and his eyes bug.

Platinum! And not just a few coins either! There had to be several hundred royals within the box! Maybe several thou-

"What's that scroll?" Morier asked, startling Vade out of his reverie. The halfling hadn't even noticed the rolled piece of vellum. Using the blade of his dagger, Vade removed the scoll and handed it to the albino.

Morier intoned the words to a minor spell and his eyes glowed violet. "Not magical," he said. "For that matter, neither is this machine."

"What does it say?" Feln asked, indicating the scroll. Morier unfurled it and read the letter aloud.

_"To my apprentice,

If you are reading this, it can only mean that you have bypassed my guardian. Congratulations! You have proven yourself to  be a better wizard than your father was and I applaud your skill and tenacity! I built that scorpion as a final test for him when he was my apprentice and I know well its capabilities. Your skill in the art must be great indeed.

I fear that you will be disappointed to discover that my apparatus is no longer functioning. I am sure that it has sat in the laboratory mocking you with its inaccessibility and the promise of power beyond your current means. I know that feeling as well. It can drive an apprentice to strive for greater and greater skill. It was that which instilled in me a drive to become the greatest transmuter Oreune has ever seen. Do not be disheartened to find the power beyond your grasp at the moment. Rejoice in the fact that you have passed my final test of worth.

You may join me at my tower in Rhadcliffe. Use this money to purchase whatever you will need to make the journey and leave the hive to fend for itself. Fomenting a war with Hule was ever my master's dream not mine and I grow weary of following his orders any longer. We follow another path, you and I - one that will see such changes wrought across the face of this world, that our names will be forever remembered!

As it says in The Sanction of Transformation: 'All hail the blessed mother of change! In her infinite glory she has seen fit to warp that which was straight and bring asymmetry to that which was caught in the tyranny of redundancy. Conformity is the enemy. Distortion is the key to freedom and joy! All hail!'

Your master, Nicetas the Weaver"_

Morier rolled the scroll back up and sighed. "Anybody ever hear of Nicetas the Weaver?" he asked.

"I have," said Ledare as she got awkwardly to her feet. The paralysis had taken a long time to wear off and her joints ached from being locked in the same position for so long. "According to those spellbooks that Kirnoth studied for so long, Nicetas was the name of Andamacles' apprentice."

"Remind me," Windstryder said. "Who is Kirnoth again?"



The rest of the lair held little of immediate interest to them although they did find the real object of their quest: a padded wooden box that held two crystal vials. One was filled with a thick red liquid and the other held a clear brackish fluid. Ilea's blood and tears were theirs at last and with it came the promise of a cure for the plague that was currently decimating Barnacus.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> The rest of the lair held little of immediate interest to them although they did find the real object of their quest: a padded wooden box that held two crystal vials. One was filled with a thick red liquid and the other held a clear brackish fluid. Ilea's blood and tears were theirs at last and with it came the promise of a cure for the plague that was currently decimating Barnacus.




Yay! Although it's never that simple is it?


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #257] It's All Right Here!*

"It is a tremendous service you have done for our village," Lord Arundel told them and raised a flagon of mulled cider. "You have not only eliminated a threat to our very lives, but you have allowed for the recovery of goods produced from the very sweat of our citizens over this passed year."

Vade didn't like the sound of goods made of sweat and he grimaced. "Eeeww," he moaned under his breath and Feln looked over at him with a bemused grin on his lips.

"We could not leave you in such a dire situation, mi'lord," Ledare told her uncle and the man smiled at her paternally.

"Of course not, Janissary," he said. "You are far too honorable for that."

"Aye!" Gellir agreed, thumping Ledare hard enough on the back to make her armor rattle. "Tha' ye be! There be nae mistakin' it!"

"I offer you and your fellows  the hospitality of my hearth for so long as you might wish it," Lord Arundel said. "I will arrange for a feast tomorrow night in your honor and-"

"We can't stay," Windstryder said, cutting off the Lord. She turned to look at her companions and asserted, "We must to Barnacus with all haste!"

Lord Arundel sputtered, obviously unused to having someone interrupt him only to refuse his offered hospitality. Ledare could see color rising in Gellir's cheeks as he readied himself to defend her great uncle from further embarrassment. She stepped quickly into the social breach and bowed diplomatically to Lord Arundel.

"Mi'lord," she began. "Uncle. We now have the cure for the plague that has befallen the capital. We dare not tarry here while so many lives depend on us returning with this cure." 

"I understand, Ledare," Lord Arundel replied, and a shadow of worry passed over his face. He turned toward the hearth and stared briefly into the flames as he thought about his daughter and grandson. The hound reclining on the stone nuzzled against the man's leg as he turned back to the assemblage. "No one understands the importance of the cure better than I or has more to lose if this cure fails to reach Barnacus in time. But we have dispatched a rider to the shrine of Garjarvan and doubtless a Runner has already made haste toward Elcaden. News of the cure will reach the King's ear within the week."

"News of the cure is not the cure itself," Windstryder chided and Vade's eyes widened with alarm as he mentally willed her to stop talking. It didn't work. "My mission was to bring a cure to Barnacus and I intend to do just that."

"Your intentions are good, but your methods would take too long, ranger" another voice said and all eyes turned toward the hearth. The hound that had been there was gone, and a burly man with a thick beard sat in its place.

"Malcolm!" the man's name was shouted in unison by Morier, Gellir and Lord Arundel. Only the albino sounded pleased to see him.

"What have I told you about snooping about my manor?!" Lord Arundel bellowed.

"Desperate times, mi'lord," the druid said by way of explanation. The word "mi'lord" passed his lips with some difficulty. "And anyway, I've only just returned to your demesne, so you needn't fear my intrusion beyond this little meeting today."

"And what is so desperate that you felt it necessary to violate our agreement, Malcolm?" Lord Arundel grumbled. "If our treaty means so little to you, I have hunters and loggers eager to ply their trades within Spiderwood. I need but give them my blessing."

"And I have many beavers upstream eager to damn the Drewett. And wolves that would love to dine on your flocks. Not to mention mice that I can barely keep away from your graneries," Malcolm said with a huff, not at all impressed by Arundel's threat. "I do not violate our agreement lightly. I have heard of the troubles that have arisen in and about these woods during my absence. I was told of them who slew the invaders and wished to thank them myself." The druid got easily to his feet, moving with grace despite his girth and age.

"It seems now that you need my help!" he said and laughed deeply. "I have already sent a message to a druid closer to Barnacus that a cure has been found. And I've an albatross that can carry the cure on its way."

The Companions looked at Malcolm with suspicion.

"Come on, now!" he chuckled. "Winesada will have notified the king of your success by nightfall and my animal messenger can have the cure in Barnacus before Lord Arundel's runner has a chance to start back for Byr. You have succeeded in saving the city."

"Well, then," Lord Arundel said after a moment during which no one spoke. "It's settled then. We'll celebrate and you'll stay for the feast." But Ledare shook her head.

"With all due respect, mi'lord," she said. "Nothing is decided. We have other duties to which we must attend and other things we need to acquire. Things that Hillville Junction can't readily offer us."

"Such as?" Lord Arundel asked, arching an eyebrow.

"I have some magical stuff that I need to have a wizard take a look at," Vade piped up, drawing back his sleeve to show off one of the bracers he had found in The Devourer's caves. "So I can know what they do."

"Angwyn ap-Llewellyn is a capable wizard," Lord Arundel said. He turned to Morier and asked, "He would be willing to look at your halfling's bravers, would he not?"

"Probably," Morier said after a few moment's thought. "He'd probably want to be paid, though."

"You have a chest full of platinum," the Lord reminded. "More species than this entire village is likely to see in a decade's labor. Surely you can afford to hire a wizard to cast a few spells. Now what else to you have that Hillville Junction can not provide you?"

"I would like to acquire some new, lighter armor. Chainmail perhaps," Ledare said and Gellir burst out laughing.

"An' why would ye be wantin' ta leave tha Junction, then?" he guffawed. "When ye've got a dwarven smith at yer beck 'n' call? I ken make chainmail in me sleep, lass!"

And so it went for some time, with the group mentioning items they wished to have and services they needed to purchase and Lord Arundel explaining that those things could be found right within the confines of Hillville Junction. It was plain to  Ledare and the others that the Lord was trying his best to ensure that a goodly portion of their newfound wealth stayed in his fief rather than migrate elsewhere with their leaving. But in the end, they announced that they would stay for dinner and discuss their plans amongst themselves.



Meanwhile...



Winesada stepped out of the trees and surveyed the farmsteads that marked the hills below like a quilt. The men of this land did their best to tame the wilderlands - an effort that rarely bore them fruit - but there was a harmony here that pleased the druid. The pulse of the Green was all around her even here on the edge of cultivated fields, fields that represented an imposed order that Nature would never have chosen. She sighed, sensing the next oak in range and stepped into the tree behind her...

... and out again from another oak several thousand feet closer to the city walls. She emerged amidst a stand of beech trees near a wooden signpost. A weatherworn plaque on the post bore the black silhouette of a petrel in flight above a name carved in the commontongue: Fudd O'Sheah. An arrow pointed along a narrow path leading into the stand of beech trees, but that wasn't Winesada's destination. She sensed another oak and stepped into the tree by which she'd come...

... appearing at the edge of an untended field of wheat. The tree was on the corner of the plot and a barricade of cleared brush and stones surrounded it.  They presented no impediment at all to the druid and she stepped through them into the unkempt field. It had been many days since the wheat had been tended and weeds were beginning to reclaim the once-orderly rows. Winesada smiled and looked toward the whattle-and-daub farmhouse on the opposite side of the field. It too looked untended behind its shuttered windows.

Apparently the stream of refugees fleeing north through Rowan Wood had come from these very farms. Suddenly Malcolm's whispers of plague didn't sound so outlandish. The druid stood and strode purposefully back through the pile of cleared undergrowth.

Two Tree Strides later she was inside the walls of Barnacus. The stench of death was strong here, and Winesada could hear the sound of sobbing and insane babbling coming from many of the buildings that abutted the small park in which she found herself. She grimaced and wildshaped into the form of a gull. Running and flapping, she took awkwardly to the air.

The view from above was as bad as it had been from the ground. The city was like a ghost town. Shops and homes alike were tightly boarded up and the streets themselves were deserted apart from the few staggering figures she occasionally spotted moving from alley to alley. Oily clouds of smoke choked the afternoon sky where the druid could see armored men dutifully burning corpses in the main thoroughfare that crossed the city. She avoided that area and sailed out across a nearly empty harbor toward the rocky island that jutted up from the sea like an enormous titan of stone wearing a formidable castle as a crown.

Her shadow passed over the ruins of a pair of sailing ships that had been sunk in the harbor. They were surrounded by clouds of flies and swarms of hungry fish, speaking of the drowned sailors floating, bloated amidst the wreckage. Winesada adjusted her wings and angled in over the outer curtain wall.

The bailey was crammed with refugees seeking respite from the plague. They seemed miserable, but the druid could tell from their clothing and the richness of their pavilions that these were the wealthiest of Barnacus' people. The nobility had come to the king for a safety that even the impressive walls of his castle could not provide.

She landed near a cluster of soldiers and resumed her elven form. There were cries of fear from the gentry, and the guards levelled their halbards at her. Unperturbed, she approached them with her hands neatly folded.

"I have been sent to speak with your king," she said in the commontongue. "I bring word from Byr that a cure has been found."


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #258] The Archer takes a Bow*

"We should take the cure to Barnacus ourselves," Windstryder said flatly and Morier shook his white-maned head again.

"I disagree," he asserted. "Malcolm has offered us a way to deliver the cure faster than we could manage ourselves. We should avail ourselves of it."

"I do not know Malcolm and know not if we can trust him with the cure," Windstryder said disapprovingly. "He is a druid and that automatically lends my trust to him from ranger to druid; however, I do not know him."

"I've known Malcolm for years," the albino argued.

"So, Morier, you think we should trust Malcolm with the blood and tears?" Ledare asked. "Are you sure?"

"I am saying that I would trust him with them without hesitation," the eldritch warrior replied with a nod.

"I'd argue that that decision rests ultimately with Windstryder," the Janissary told him. "These days it's hard to be sure of anything, or anyone."

"Debate is pointless," Feln growled. "Our mission is too important for us to deliver this cure. We need to give the druid the ingredients and send them off. It will take days for us to get there overland and those days will cost lives."

"But how do we know the druid's albatross will make it to Barnacus? What if it is shot down or captured by the enemy? Then everything we have fought for is lost, and Barnacus may well be lost as well," the ranger persisted, giving the half-orc a somewhat betrayed look. She had clearly been hoping for his support.

Feln sighed heavily and regarded the elf. "I know it is selfish, Windstryder, but I have never been a hero," he apologized. "It feels good and I am going to stay here for at least a few days."

"Yeah!" Vade agreed. "We should relax a little."

Now it was Windstryder's turn to sigh and she looked away from the group for a moment while she gathered her thoughts. The others discussed the matters of re-outfitting themselves in Hillville Junction and identifying the few magic items that Vade had been carrying about, while the ranger pondered her course. Ledare had decided to take Gellir up on his offer to craft her a new suit of armor by the time Windstryder had decided what she must do.

"I understand your desire to stay here to rest," the elf announced to her companions. Her tone indicated that, while she understood the desire, she in no way agreed with it. "I could go alone, but I do not believe I will be back in a few days. We could rest here and go ourselves in a few days. Of course there is no guarantee that we will make it there in time to save the city."

"Which is why I think that Morier's plan is the best one," Ixin said in a diplomatic tone. "Malcolm has offered us a method to get the cure to Barnacus quicker than we could deliver it ourselves."

"Perhaps the albatross is the safer route," Windstryder conceded. "My vote is to trust the Druid and his messengers. I believe he was sent to aid us at this moment. I believe our efforts need to be away to the other clues we have sought. Adamancales' apprentice for one."

"I'm glad you agree," Ledare said with a smile. "I'm sure that the druid's messenger will arrive in the capital unmolested." The ranger nodded.

"Just the same, I will confer with Anta to see if she chooses to travel with the Albatross and protect it," Windstryder offered. "A hawk is a noble fighter to protect the Albatross. But she is her own girl. I do not control her in anyway. She and I have an... understanding... and she chooses to travel with me. The Gods will guide our paths, I foresee, to where we need to be."

At that moment, the others had no idea that the elf had already decided where it was that she needed to be.



Some time later, after they had given over the blood and tears to Malcolm and the druid had used his rapport with nature to convince a bird to take the two small vials to Winesada in Barnacus, the Companions were treated to a meal fit for the Lord of the Manor. They dined on mutton flavored with a heady pear and currant glaze, a platter of sliced and roasted root vegetables, hearty wheat bread sweetened with honey, and fine pastries stuffed with fragrant cheese. Wine flowed freely from several large pewter pitchers, and both Vade and Ledare agreed that Ruze would have been in his glory before such a repast.

No one thought much of the fact that Windstryder had elected not to attend the dinner. Not until Lord Arundel bade his steward read the note while they finished up the last bits of pastry. "This was left by your associate, the elf," Lord Arundel explained as his steward unfolded the sheets of parchment,"with instructions to have it read aloud after we had supped."

"Lord Arundel, I require this be written down for the annals and for my report should I be unable to give it upon my return to Barnacus, and I must apologize for my bluntness, for I know not the ways of the court," the steward read from the parchment. "I am an elf raised far from any elven community that would teach its people the waypaths for interior navigation. The King chose me to sally forth singly for that is where my skills and weaknesses are best served. I do know I seem not to be on the good sides of those I encounter. In my mind what I say is clear and without brutality, but those that interpret me, see me differently. I often do not operate well in a team, and the King's advisors must have foreseen this. So Ranger Teams One through Four were dispatched as units, and I was sent alone."

"Well, your friend is certainly verbose," Lord Arundel remarked with a chuckle as he began lighting a pipe.

"Now here is the ironic part, my Lord. My team recovered the cure for Barnacus," the steward went on after a signal from Arundel. "First noble and quiet Feln who, although not a ranger and not charged with the King's mission, travelled and protected me on the waypath. He fought hard and put his life at risk for the King. I would like him to be formally commended."

"High praise indeed," Lord Arundel said with a note of surprise in his voice. Gellir merely harrumphed and gulped down a goblet of wine.

"Second, although charged with her own mission, Janissary Ledare allowed my mission to continue under hers," the steward read. "She commanded with clarity, thoughtfulness, and care for her soldiers. She risked her life several times to assist me in my mission and the King's. I know it goes without saying, but I formally commend the Lord Janissary in my report."

Lord Arundel said nothing, but smiled proudly at Ledare while indicating that the steward should read on. He shuffled to the next sheet of parchment and went on.

"Ixin and Morier are warriors I would fight next to any time," the steward said. "We scouted and deployed on a hillock where we were outnumbered 12 to 1 by the enemy. We struck swiftly and efficiently and dispatched all of the insect creatures and their brood, quietly and quickly. But we did not stop there, my Lord. We continued to the lair where Morier and Ixin alone killed the brood Queen - suffering near-mortal wounds in the process. I formally recommend commendations for Morier and Ixin."

"You shall have to tell our bard of this tale," Lord Arundel told Morier. "I am sure she would like to spread it about."

"And lastly, there is Vade," the steward read. "How he does not end up in the King's jail for his sticky fingers, I do not know. How he escapes the clutch of the robbed, I do not know. But I sense his heart as pure, and he uses his skills for the cause. These are skills I do not personally respect or like. I believe them to be underhanded. Yet, I am not a Lord or Judge. I am a ranger and my thoughts are my own. Were it not for his abilities in support of the team, I do believe we would have failed. I thusly recommend Vade for commendation as well."

Gellir harrumphed again and, with a shake of his head, he muttered a single word under his breath, "Halflings." The sound was almost drowned out by the steward shuffling to the last piece of parchment, but Vade's hearing was keen. The halfling glared at Gellir and stuck his tongue out when the dwarf turned his head.

"So, it is only after I have learned the value of teamwork that I must travel on my own again," the steward read on. "I am afraid I must follow my duty and see the blood and tears safely to Barnacus. The King would expect no less from me, and I shall not fail in my mission."

"What?" Feln said, standing so abruptly that his chair tipped over backward with a bang. Servants scuttled forward to right the chair immediately.

"Calm yerself, orcblood," Gellir growled across the table and Lord Arundel nodded.

"Yes, do sit down," he advised. "I believe there is more."

"Feln, you may travel with me anytime, brother, but your waypath lies with the others now," the steward went on after the martial artist had settled himself back in his chair. "Ixin and Morier, your battle prowess shall serve you well. And little one, remember what I said, although your heart lies pure there are many who would not have the patience to deal with your deft fingers. Janissary Ledare, it was a pleasure serving under you. Our waypaths are determined. Where we meet next only Brogine knows."

"She followed the druid's bird?" Ixin asked, after a pause.

"So it would seem," Lord Arundel remarked.

"Should we go after her?" Morier asked, tensing to stand, but Feln shook his head.

"She knows the lands too well and she has too much of a head start," the half-orc admitted. "We'd never overtake her. And anyway, I don't think she'd want us to try."


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> "
> 
> "She followed the druid's bird?" Ixin asked, after a pause.
> 
> "So it would seem," Lord Arundel remarked.
> 
> "Should we go after her?" Morier asked, tensing to stand, but Feln shook his head.
> 
> "She knows the lands too well and she has too much of a head start," the half-orc admitted. "We'd never overtake her. And anyway, I don't think she'd want us to try."




A fracture, a separation, or did real life cause Wyndstrider to leave?


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> A fracture, a separation, or did real life cause Wyndstrider to leave?




None of the above. Her player simply couldn't reconcile the fact that Windstryder simply would not have let the cure go like that. All along, he's been saying that Windstryder is all about her duties as a ranger and to the king. Her mission was to retrieve the cure, and, with so much hanging in the balance, she would absolutely want to see that mission through to the end.

The rest of the group - wisely I think - wanted to rest and re-equip a bit before rushing into the next hornet's nest. So it became a question of playing Windstryder in-character and leaving the group or going along with everybody else and hanging out in Hillville Junction.

He chose the former and asked if he could put her "on hiatus" while he played a very different sort of character for a while. Let's just say that Gellir's about to have some company.

You can read about his "new" character right here


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## Hairy Minotaur

Awesome! And here I thought it was going to be a permanent thing. So what's up next for the heros? Some personal gratification, or save the world?


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## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> So what's up next for the heros? Some personal gratification, or save the world?




You've just named their short term and long term goals - in that order.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #259] The Festival of Who?*

Feln hung his head for a moment. He hadn't counted many as his friend since the fall of the Brotherhood, and Windstryder had been such a one. It left him saddened and angry all at the same time, so he focused on the empty plate before him while he wrestled back the violent emotions that were part of his orcish heritage. The others were similarly quiet, though for reasons of their own. Even Lord Arundel busied himself muttering to his aid about the contents of Windstryder's message.

"What's going on here?" Ledare said at last. Her voice sounded very loud in the quiet hall.

"What d'ye mean, lassie?" Gellir growled, picking at his teeth with the nail of his little finger.

"I mean her praise was nice and all that, but I certainly hope there isn't more to this," she explained, looking at each of her remaining companions. "Does anyone else suspect foul play?"

"Windstryder had her reasons for leaving the group, Ledare," Ixin assured the half-elf. "Her mission and ours are not the same at this point, that's all."

"I do see why she would want to follow the bird, but I doubt that she could keep up with it," Vade added with a shrug of his slim shoulders. "I mean, how can she hope to follow so quickly? Unless I am missing something."

"Windstryder is capable of great feats of endurance when she wishes," Feln muttered. "I have seen her run tirelessly long after my own reserves have failed me. She may not be as fast as the bird, but if the creature rests on its journey she will make up the distance."

"Then perhaps we will meet again further south," Ixin said optimistically. She winked surreptitiously at Vade and added, "I hope so, as she was a valiant warrior." Vade rolled his eyes at this characterization of someone he considered to be more of an annoyance than a help.

"So, do we just carry on while Windstryder does what she has to do?" Ledare asked the group and there were nods all around.

"I do not see how her decision can change ours, Ledare," Ixin offered. "We must head south. Ultimately, in my opinion, to Myth Drannor."

"That's a really long way," Vade said. "At least I think it is."

"It's in Pellham," Ledare told him. "Six moonsdances of hard travel at the least."

"What if we use the portal?" the halfling asked and then thought about returning to The Devourer's dark cave and gave a little shudder.

"Perhaps," Ledare said and her expression told Vade that she didn't wish to discuss all of this in front of Lord Arundel and Gellir.

"I am also concerned about the location of this Andamacles, as clearly he is responsible for war mongering," Ixin added and Ledare nodded.

"Andamacles is dead," she told the mage. "With my own eyes I saw him laid low by a dwarf some moonsdances ago. So unless he's returned from the dead, we have nothing to fear from him." Gellir made the sign of the evil eye and spit on the floor.

"Best nae ta speak thus o' the dead, lassie," he told her. "Lady Death nae be likin' it when the Gaurdian o' the Gate loses one o' her charges." 

"So assuming that Ledare is right," Ixin went on, "we still have to focus our attention southward. I do not see how we can possibly do more locally than we have already done, except to leave the money we do not spend, as Feln has suggested."

"A donation to the manorial coffers?" Lord Arundel perked up at once. "You are truly an honorable group and I will see that Ranger Windstryder's recommendations for each of you is sent with all haste to the capital!" He nodded to his steward and the man began to rush off.

"My lord," Feln began awkwardly, "I would send along a message for Windstryder with her report, if I might. So that she knows of our plans and how to rejoin us if that is her decision."

"Certainly," Lord Arundel replied and motioned for Feln to accompany the departing servant. "My steward will happily scribe your message before sending the report off to Barnacus."

"My thanks," the half-orc said as he got to his feet. Morier clearing his throat and getting to his own feet at the same time, gave Feln pause.

"Although my timing may seem odd given Windstryder's recent choices, I would like you all to know that you have all quickly become the most solemn brethren of one who once considered himself a solitary warrior," Morier told the group. "I am proud to fight beside any of you, any time."

"Well said, my boy," Lord Arundel agreed, applauding Morier's brief speech. "We will hold a feast in your honor on Starday. We will commemorate then your rescue of our Gift of the Star as well as the salvation of Barnacus and her people! It will be grand. It shall be known as the Festival of..." He paused, looking strangely at Ledare and asked, "What is it your group is called?"

Ledare thought for a moment and then let out a single melancholy chuckle. "When we set out from Barnacus, we were The Grey Company," she mused. "But I think that I'm the only member of that group left."

"Well," Lord Arundel said with a dismissive wave of his hand, "You'll need to come up with a name by Starday that we can properly name the festival!"

*Waterday, the 14th - Freeday, the 16th of Wealsun, 1269 AE*​
Over the next several days, the group attended to various personal activities.
Feln threw himself fully into the task of forging some shurikens. He spent nearly every waking moment at the village forge asking questions of the Gellir and the town smith, Alfgar Strongarm and pounding away at misshapen lumps of metal.

His first day's effort was very encouraging, and he had successfully divided the metal into properly weighted metal disks, but he made little progress on Earthday, and was forced to melt them down and start again. On Freeday, disaster struck and he somehow managed to spoil his supply of raw materials. Cursing and spitting, he threw the ruined bits of hot slag into the field behind the smithy.

"I can sneak into the most protected castle, still a king's heart and be gone before his kingdom notices but I CANNOT CRAFT A SIMPLE STAR!" he bellowed to the heavens and Gellir seemed to take great joy in seeing the half-orc's failure.

Ixin, who had the least to do in town, arranged the sale of her books with Morier's father in exchange for some magical knickknacks. He offered to sell her some warcaster's armor that had once belonged to ap-Llewellyn's former adventuring companion, Arraramosh Battlecaster. She then visited Wulfric the Tanner on the outskirts of town to acquire a leather jerking that could be worn over the top of her chainmail bikini and would not interfere with her vestigial wings. She was quoted a price that dropped precipitously after she removed her cloak for the tanner to take measurements. That night Wulfric ate dinner unable to look his wife, Hilde, in the eye and went to bed with intrusive thoughts of voluptuously-scaled flesh in his head.

Morier was at ease amongst the familiar surrounding of Hillville Junction. It was the only place where he had felt joy and warmth and so he spent much of his time with his old friends Malcom and Arwold Wyverneye, who, while still as weak as a kitten, was out of any life-threatening danger. They spoke of many things - the happenings around the village chief among them - and Malcolm warned Morier that a fellow druid from the Riverneck region had warned him of strange, mutated beasts seen in the forests around Shrouded Lake. Now, it seemed that Malcolm would have a similar tale to tell of the forests around Hillville Junction. On Freeday, Morier gave in to his father's constant urgings and sat down with quill and ink. He spent the day scribing a scroll to augment his rather limited spell-casting abilities.

Vade, true to his nomadic heritage, found himself here, there, and everywhere within the village. He visited Cormac's House of Wondrous Goods and Services on numerous occasions and became passably good friends with the owner, Henna the Wise. Like Rherram in Strenchburg Junction, she had a variety of mundane healing supplies for sale, although no true magical draughts. That she left to Angwyn ap-Llewellyn and Orderbringer Maerwynn. The halfling, of course, made the acquaintance of both purveyors of magical potions. In addition to buying minor magic, he paid the wizard to identify three items that he had been using for a while without really knowing what they were. It seemed that he had come into possession of a Freedom of Movement Ring, minor Bracers of Armor, and a Wand of Regenerate Moderate Wounds. Vade was truly excited about the first two items, but when he found out that the wand was druidic in nature, he frowned. "Shoot! I thought it would be some cool toy I could use," he sulked, although he was already determined to focus his attention on learning to manipulate the wand, regardless of its intended users.

Angwyn ap-Llewellyn had no use for either the bracers of the wand, but offered a fair price to take the ring off of the halfling's hands (so to speak). For his part, Vade was gracious and promised to think about the offer. And, although it pained him greatly, he refused to give in to his desire to "pick up" a few things from the wizard's workshop. His brother had once been turned into a frog for a time, after all, and Vade didn't fancy eating flies if he didn't have to. So he put his people skills to work organizing a friendly unarmed combat competition that he had Feln had dreamed up. It was to be held the morning of the feast and the prize of 100 gold nobles was enough to draw the interest of every farmer and would-be warrior from the neighboring countryside

Ledare divided her time between martial and studious pursuits. She was subjected to frequent fittings for the breastplate that Gellir and Strongarm were crafting for her. The armor was beautiful, but it was taking longer than Gellir had thought it would, so by nightfall on Freeday, he announced with some embarrassment that it would be at least two more days before the breastplate was finished. He blamed much of the delay on Feln and his incessant questions.

When she wasn't at the forge, Ledare was either struggling through the stilted rhetoric of "The Trials of Decay" or acquainting herself with Draelond's bastard sword, Ravager. When she first began practicing with the huge blade, she was forced to swing it two-handed, and even then she dug furrows in the earth with the tip of the blade and found herself thrown off balance by the weapon. But by the afternoon on Earthday, she was wielding the sword easily in one hand, and by Freeday, her skill with the saw-toothed weapon easily matched her ability with her familiar longsword.

She learned much in the three days spent with the book and determined that given another three days she would likely have all of its mysteries revealed. From the tightly packed prose, she culled the following facts:

_"The headquarters for the priesthood of Aphyx, as well as for its military order, the Unholy Order of Defilers, was a huge fortress-temple in the Altan Tepe Mountains known as Deathshead. From within the bowels of Deathshead the Plaguebringers used a powerful artifact called the Tapestry of Passage to bring forth all manner of demons from their Goddess' plane into the world to serve their cause. So for many years the cult of Aphyx held sway over the lands of Oerune and brought chaos and misery to all who lived there. To help ensure that her Plaguebringers would remain in power, Aphyx created a magical artifact called the Rod of Ruin, and bestowed it upon the high priest Melengar. Imbued with a portion of the goddess's essence, the rod granted Melengar a vast array of abilities and powers which he wielded in the service of Aphyx for many years.

For Flor and her followers, the future held little promise until help came from a very unexpected source. The twin gods of nature, Dridana and Brogine, who normally held themselves aloof from the machination of the gods of humanity, secretly approached Flor with an offer of aid. The depredations of Aphyx's followers, while initially confined to the humanoid races, had begun to affect the natural order. Animals were being slaughtered in large numbers for sport or sacrifice, lakes and waterways were becoming fouled, and large tracts of land were being laid waste for no purpose other than to spread chaos and destruction. So the gods of nature had decided to break their long-standing policy of neutrality and join with Flor to overthrow the forces of Aphyx and restore the balance of power. In return for their help, they demanded that Flor allow them to recruit from the ranks of her remaining priests, a new order of human worshippers dedicated to the preservation of the natural order. Flor agreed to the proposition and the three powers began their campaign.

Initially, there was little visible progress made against Aphyx's dominance. Dridana and Brogine began to convert worshippers of Flor to their cause, and as the ranks of this new order grew, so did the power and knowledge of these new priests, who took the appellation of "Druid". While Aphyx was inexorably linked to her divine rival in ways that would alert her to any growth in Flor's power, she was unaware of the quietly growing power of Dridana and Brogine. And so when the gods of nature unleashed their forces, the cult of Aphyx was taken completely by surprise. As the war began to rage between the Druids and the cult of Aphyx, the goddess of decay was forced to focus her attention on this new, unforeseen threat to her power. Taking advantage of her adversary's distraction, Flor was able to begin to rebuild her own priesthood which in turn began to gather together worshippers and the goddess's strength was slowly restored.

The ensuing conflict between Aphyx's forces and those of Dridana, Brogine and Flor was long and chaotic. Neither side commanded a large, organized army and so the war was characterized by seemingly unending skirmishes, forays, raids and guerrilla attacks. As the conflict between these religious orders intensified, the evil Plaguebringers of Aphyx found themselves losing ground to those who had united against them. High priest Melengar soon realized that he needed to augment his own forces somehow, and so devised a plan to take control of the kingdom of Erlacor and Lord Wulfhun's army. His followers succeeded in infiltrating Wulfhun castle and in one dark and evil evening, killed the entire Wulfhun family and made of their deaths an offering to the goddess of disease. Aphyx responded by taking unto herself one of her male followers and begetting of him an avatar of great power who would come to be called Zagaroth, the Despoiler. Through the power of Aphyx, Zagaroth was born full into his power and strength and was placed upon the throne of Erlacor with the high priest Melengar acting as his spiritual advisor.

With the army of Erlacor under Zagaroth's control, who in turn acted under the direction of Melengar, the tide of the conflict once again turned in their favor for a time. Zagaroth however, was not content to simply wage war against Melengar's enemies, and sought to expand his own power as well. He engaged in repeated and successful campaigns of conquest against his neighboring states and inexorably the avatar's territory and influence grew."_​

*Starday the 16th of Wealsun, 1269 AE*​

The day dawned hot with little wind to offer relief. But there was no sign of rain and the light from Orin's Shield promised a fine day for the festival to honor the companions. Lord Adundel had arranged for a fighting circle to be marked out on the village green and Aldwin the Silent had taken time away from repairing those buildings damaged by the bug men's raid to build a small set of raised bleachers to one side. Tancred the Stout was up bright and early rolling barrels of his best ale down to the commons and by the time that the companions arrived, a large group of villagers had already come to enroll in the fighting contest.

Among them were Black Dougal and Drogo Ravenot, both seasoned human soldiers who had retired young to Hillville Junction. And, despite the fact that Black Dougal had developed quite a gut after retiring and Ravenot spent most of his waking hours drinking himself into a stupor in the Greenbriar Inn, if one of the companions did not take home the 100 gp purse then it was assumed by all that one of the two ex-soldiers would.

That is until the dwarf made his way from the direction of the smithy. He stopped at the front of the crowd and surveyed the assemblage with an appraising eye. He was a squat, powerfully-built dwarf with his beard neatly braided upon his stout chest. His arms rested on the head of his war axe, its handle planted firmly between his iron-shod boots. His gaze tracked through the crowd, finally coming to rest on Feln. His face was an expressionless mask while cold gray eyes studied the half orc from beneath bristling blonde eyebrows.

"Now that there is an ugly one," he grunted quietly before raising his voice and stamping his axe haft on the ground. "Ye may as well go back to yer homes, humies! Karak, son of Kignar will be takin' home yer prize this day!"


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## Jon Potter

*[Draelond #12] Where Madness Dwells*

Ever since he awoke in the cold emptiness of Sir Alechtus's frame, Draelond's mind had been filled with darkness. The thoughts that had once brightened his spirit and made the world feel like a good place, were nowhere to be found. He remembered them, just as vividly as before in fact, but they no longer cast the same light. Instead of lifting him, they depressed him even further.

He thought of his adoptive parents, the kindest people he had known in his entire life... His sister Mithlin, the truest friend he had ever had.

The thoughts reverberated against the walls of the emptiness that grew inside him. He couldn't understand why they meant nothing to him now.

This was not the life he had envisioned. This was not even a life.

Visions haunted his every moment. The look of utter bliss on Ruze's face... contrasted with the vile smirk on the weather-worn face of the bounty hunter who had retrieved his soul... He knew now he had made the wrong decision. But what to do about it? Should he see through the mission he was so keen to return to this plane to complete? It seemed so much less urgent now. In the grand scheme of things, was it worth the price of his soul to do the King's bidding against an enemy so unknown?

Who was he supposed to be fighting anyway?

His body slumped harder against the railing and he made no effort to hold himself up. As he collapsed to the ground, he heard the sounds of a wailing voice, crying out in the deepest of despair. It took several seconds to realize that it was his own, or rather, Sir Alechtus's own voice that was sobbing. The voice grew louder and louder, it was the only thing that seemed right to do.

Slowly, Draelond began to feel... something. It was faint... but it was feeling. Draelond had not known feeling since he felt his body go limp in the hands of the giant creature outside the portal in Byr. Truly, a lifetime ago.

He recognized the emotion that had started to grow... in fact he knew it well. It was the one he had spent so long trying to squelch. It was the one that he had bottled, for the most part, all of his adult life. Only this time it felt good... and he allowed it to grow. He felt his heart pumping faster, forcing blood through his veins harder and harder. He grabbed the railing of the widows walk and pulled himself upright, the rage building with every heartbeat. His sobbing began to turn to a low growl, building on a slow crescendo into full fledged primal scream, ending in what anyone who heard it could only have described as maniacal laughter.

Suddenly Draelond wanted nothing more than to have Ravager once again in his hands, to feel her blade sink through flesh and bite on bone. He looked to the heavens once more and again let out a gutteral scream that lasted until his lungs ached for air.

He felt alive. 

------------------------------------------------

DM's Note: Draelond's player has decided to abandon this storline where it is, so Draelond/Sir Alechtus will become an NPC from this point on. While we may well see him again (I haven't decided yet) this marks the last of Draelond's solo turns.

And I would be remiss if I did not mention that this post was written almost entirely by Draelond's player. Pretty darned good IMO.


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## Hairy Minotaur

Is this the final time he'll appear in the story as well? Or might you revisit this character in the future?


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## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Is this the final time he'll appear in the story as well? Or might you revisit this character in the future?





For right now, he's effectively frozen in time. We purposely kept the amount of time that had passed between his death and re-birth undefined so that we could segue him back into the main game at a convenient time without worrying about reconciling dates. Now that he's decided to stick with his "replacement character", Morier, the uncertain nature of Draelond's place in time makes it easy to slot him back in at a time of my choosing. <Cue diabolical laughter>

The bottom line is that we've left it open for his return, either as a full-fledged NPC or as a replacement should the worst happen to Morier. not that I'd do that, mind you.


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## Jon Potter

*[Karak #1] A Death in the Family*

This was written by Karak's player as a way of bringing the character up-to-date. As I mentioned before, this character was from an earlier game that ended prematurely. His exploits are detailed  here .

As you'll see, there's been a bit of trouble since then.

---------------------------------------------------

Karak held his brother’s head in his hands as he kneeled upon the hard flagstones of the busy market street. The knee bracers of his plate mail bit into the inner soft shell of his knees, but he cared not. The sounds or caterwaulers hawking their wares fell upon deaf ears. The cold of the flagstones began to creep up his legs, as his feet grew numb from supporting the small squat mass of his body. The dwarven war axe lay dormant by his side. The dwarven runes glittered, catching the light from nearby torches posted on the edges of the market tents. The press of bodies flowed around Karak like the stem of tide around a boulder in a stream. No one looked at the stoic dwarf, yet all saw the small frail body he held with the telltale signs of the pox. Muttering and making the sign of Flor and Shaharizod they offered their prayer to the sky, thankful they are not the ones lying cold and broken on the street.

Karak’s body slumped and his shoulders shook with grief. His twin braided beard tips caressing his dead brother’s face like moths kissing his cheeks. Finally Karak could take no more and he tilted his head backward and howled into the darkening sky. The throng of people scuttled away quickly from the huddled pair, looking to the sky as if lightening would strike them all dead. Karak's voice sounded like the crack of thunder in the dead of the night. A silence filled the square; even the merchants were silent with their catcalls of ham hocks, baskets, and cloth. The sound of the dwarf’s voice carried in the wind and wailed ceaselessly with remorse. The only sound that could be heard above the dwarf’s cry was the sound of marching feet as the town’s men-at-arms came to investigate the disturbance. 

All were on edge due to the onset of the plague and the king's men were no less at edge, often dealing cruelly and wickedly with those that disturbed their watch. The sergeant at arms approached Karak, kneeling on the street, and poked him in the back with his pole arm. “Ye better be moving along now, stuntie. We cannot be having a disturbance in the merchant square. Take your dead now and move ye along.” Karak’s shoulders were still slumped in defeat as he cried silently upon his brother’s breast. The small squad of men at arms took a few steps back when the saw the sign of the pox on the dead dwarf’s face. The poleaxe poked again hard and rudely between the shoulder blades of the grieving dwarf. “I said, stuntie, be moving along now. Come, now go.” Karak sat like the boulder in the stream, cold, hard, and unmoving.

The sergeant's men moved another step back making the sign of Flor as they retreated hoping to the Gods that they would not catch the pox. The sergeant lost for the fact that his command went unheard. Gripping his pole arm with two hands, he shoved hard with the iron capped butt end into Karak’s back. The force of the blow pushed Karak forward over his dead brother’s body and his hands splayed out to the side to catch himself from falling onto his brother. His left hand slapped the flagstones, his right hand landed on the leather wrapped hilt of his war axe. 

Quietly and quickly the merchant tents closest to Karak untied the straps that held the main flap in place and let them drop with a plop onto the flagstones. The merchants dipped inside and were not to be seen again that night. Suddenly where there had been a small throng of evening shoppers there were now none. All that remained in the square was a lone dwarf who stood planted with his feet square on the ground and a headless sergeant at arms with both his arms still gripping the offending pole axe. Lying next to the sergeant like petals of a flower were five of his men. Dead from grievous war axe wounds to the chest, head, back and arms. Steam rose from Karak’s body as his sweat cooled in the night air. 

The rage burned itself out like it often did, and Karak snapped into the present with his ears ringing and his sight blurred into focus. His muscles ached with exertion and his breath shot in gouts of steam like a bull in the cold of the pre-dawn morning. Karak looked around him and saw the faces of the throng staring at him. Some with fear, some with disgust, and a few with admiration. No one approached him. The town was silent again. Karak looked at what he had done. He had killed before, but these men were butchered, disemboweled, and lay broken in heaps upon the street. The blood pooled in the valleys of the flagstones and the steam rose in wisps. How the dead were at his feet his did not know, that they were dead by his hand he did know. The cry of “Alarum, Alarum!” rose in the distance. 

Karak stood still, unable to break from his stance. To leave his brother without deep interment in his mountainhold was as baseless and vile a thought as any mountain dwarf could have. And yet, Karak knew to stay meant instant death by the hand of the King’s men. Even through his grief he knew that would waste his brother’s death, Aye, waste his life. No, the plague would not take two dwarves this day. And, drawing from strength of will Karak did not know he had, he knelt by his brother’s side and kissed his forehead. “Chalak, me, Chalak. I will make this up to you,” and he stood grasping his war axe close by the haft near the head. Before he left, however, he knelt back down and pulled the silver crescent moon pendant from Malak’s tunic and with a swift tug set the necklace free from his brother’s neck. Grasping it by the chain, Karak, began to run in the slow steady run of the dwarf, the silver holy symbol flashing in the moonslight as it twisted in the wind. 



The next morning the sun rose and burned the mist from the streets. The sounds of Barnacus waking filled the air as thin weedy boys played in the alleyways next to the market square and mothers swept out the last days dust. Gillik stood on the wooden threshold of his small inn that served the merchant square folk visiting from neighboring towns. He leaned back and stretched backward as he pressed the backs of his hands into the small of his back. Then reaching down he grasped the large water bucket left outside the inn’s door having been emptied into the street last night and left for this morning’s cleanup. Feeling the weight of the water still in the bucket, he swore an oath to himself “If’n I told that serving wench once I told her twice, to empty the bucket at night when she leaves.”

“Hilda!" he yelled inside. “Get outside here this moment. I am tired of telling you…” Hilda ran to the door with the morning’s sleep still in her eyes.

“Yes, Gillik, yes I forgot…” As her eyes drifted down to the water bucket and the full realization hit her, she let out a scream that was heard for blocks.

“Flor’s Behind, woman! How dares you make my heart race this early in the morning, why I have a mind to…” Gillik followed Hilda’s horrified stare to the water bucket that he grasped in his hand and was quite astonished to see that a decapitated head lie quite stuck inside his empty water bucket.


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## Jon Potter

*[Karak #2] A Goddess Speaks*

Here's the rest of Karak's backstory, as told by his player.

The Warehouse​
So the days blended into night and into days again. Karak made his escape from Banacus without a problem. All knew that no one would stop him from leaving the city, it was entering the city that was the problem. The plague that had befallen Banacus caused the city gates to be closed to outsiders for the first time in fifty years. Whether the plague left Banacus and spread no gave a care. So Karak left with only what he could carry on his back and the weight of his brother’s death on his heart. He had sworn to his King that he would see Malak safely through it all. He was his brother’s fighter. How can a miracle worker protect himself? He needs the might of axe, armor, and shield. He had heard Malak talk of Faith. Hmpfff! Where was his Faith now? What did his Faith give him? Nothing but death, that’s what. Where was his Goddess to save him from his plight?

These were the types of thoughts Karak thought whilst he sat upon the wooden crate in the warehouse. Three days forced march brought him to Vimore, about a week’s travel from Hillville Junction. The gates of the town were open and people were not wary of his presence. Karak promptly found a job and lodging as a warehouse guard for Hungrt the Cautious. Hungrt has made his fortune in flour and vinegar, which he stored, in his large wooden warehouse. Thieves had begun to steal the large wooden barrels that stored the vinegar and rat tracks tromped the flour sacks. What was strange however was the vinegar barrels were stolen empty! But Hungrt could not sell vinegar without barrels and so Karak was hired to guard the warehouse, and in the process search for the offending rats that were soiling the flour. 

Night had fallen for the third night of the watch and not a crate had been stolen or a flour sack nibbled. As Karak made the rounds in the rectangular warehouse the vinegar arranged in neat rows stacked three barrels high and four rows deep; he could see the rat tracks in the straw of flooring. By the size of the imprints this warehouse was being hit by a large number of rats. A swarm was all that Karak could tell. Karak strolled to the south side of the warehouse where the twin moonsbeams fell through the window to the floor. Karak walked and stopped so each foot stepped in the white rectangle of moonsbeam on the floor and clasped his war axe behind him as he gazed out the window.

He remembered a half-elfin woman wearing the King’s armor. A Janissary was it. The king’s soldier was searching for him. Karak knew by now that his description would be posted throughout Banacus for killing the sergeant and his men. But how did Karak know about this Janissary? This one he knew from somewhere in his past. Shaking the image of the fairy face from his mind, Karak looked around him. Nothing stirred. Only the sound of wooden window shutters softly blown and hitting the outside of the warehouse could be heard. Karak watched the dust motes swirl in the moon light kicked alive by his metal shod feet. The dust moved and danced as if they were alive. Upon peering closer Karak could envision the dust coalescing were little people acting out their lives. Karak could see he and his brother following Arngrim in the snow. The dust swirled like the unnatural blizzard that struck them and claimed the life of Arngrim. 

Next Karak saw the haunted human monastery filled with the undead that he and his brother defeated. Malak was glorious in the pursuit of his Queen. He glowed with her holy essence, much like the dust mites glowing in the moonsbeams now. Karak next saw meeting up with a caravan and he and his brother descended a mountain. Then the image shifted onto a small watchtower where he encountered more enemies to smite. The battle was played out in the dust. The next 'play' was peculiar indeed for he saw the elfin Janissary as fresh in his minds eye played out in front of him of a battle in the house of a manor in Banacus. It was the same house he and his brother delivered the message to. In this house he saw acts of spider climbing, miracles of Shaharizod, and pure out and out fighting. It seems the Janissary’s group defeated the attackers, and that seemed as it should be.

By this time, Karak was kneeling in the moonsbeams watching his past play out before him. He swept his hand through the dust mites disrupting their little play and watched them swirl around and around. Karak’s lids grew heavy from the hypnotic circling of the dust in the moonslight. Slowly as if on the edges of his eyesight, Karak watched as the swirl began to take on features. First the edges of a smile, then two round and blue eyes, then a nose, then a chin. A beautiful face of unknown heritage formed in front of his eyes, the mouth was moving but the sound was too silent. Karak leaned in closer. "Karak Kloskurmbur, son of Kignar, bother of Malak, hear me." Karak sat motionless enthralled by the face of beauty.

"You are wasting your life, and I am not pleased," the face spoke to him. "You did not cause your brother’s death. The forces of Aphyx move against me my son. They move to destroy my faithful servants like your brother… and… you."

Karak harrumphed at this.

"Yes, Karak, I have not only overseen your brother, but you as well. You too are a faithful servant to the Queen. I know that which lies within your heart and it was once pure. I ask of you to make it pure to me again. Do not blame me for your brother’s death, blame the followers and corrupt of Aphyx. They destroyed your brother as well as my clerics and Battleguards, and they seek to destroy me. If they succeed in their quest, the world as we know it will be destroyed. I need you Karak. Many have served and perished as my Battleguards, and I mourn them all. But the task I ask you is even greater. I know you have the mind and heart to follow me for I am your Queen now Karak. I am your Goddess as I always have been. Go, now Karak, with all the rights and responsibilities as my right hand. Leave this place forthwith and travel to Hillville Junction. Go, my son, my faithful, and my Battleguard. Travel knowing you are guided and protected by your Queen who loves you as she does her own skin."

And, with that Karak, stood up, blinked in the moonslight, and turned to exit the warehouse. Nothing stirred - not even a mouse. Karak knew not what his Goddess meant by being a Battleguard. Inside he still felt empty and alone at the death of his brother, and he was no more comforted with the knowledge his Goddess watching over him. He did not feel any more protected or safe. And if truth be told, he was still angry with her for allowing one of her faithful to die. And, now he was supposed to put his life in her hands.

"Hmpfff! Hardly," Karak thought. 

* * *​
An outsider would have found it interesting to know the thoughts rolling inside Karak’s head with his angry thoughts of defiance to his Goddess, because Karak was making good speed, even for a dwarf, as he made for Hillville Junction.


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## stonedogs

*Jon Potter's Realms of Enlightenment - The Grey Companians*

Well, it has been a long time since I have posted on a web board, but the time is now.  By the way I play Soriah Ilea Chaste, Battleguard of Shaharizod, Ruze Bloodbow Faith, another Battleguard, Windstryder, and now Karak Kloskurmbur.  For DM appreciation week, I hereby express my appreciation to Jon for all his dedication and time to out PBEM campaign.  It is definitely the highlight of my week and I think my fellow players feel the same.  We all played round table D&D and Warhammer Role Play in college and have now found a way to play over state lines.  I firmly believe it is Jon's dedication to the game that continues it.  By "forcing" us to write each week by having a non-wavering deadline we keep the game going.  So let me express all the reasons I like this game.

#1.  Its open gaming content.  By that I mean the map boundaries are endless.  Jon has never said, "Well you can't go over there, because I have not scripted that out."  That may not seem like much, but think about that players out there.  A completely open world.  I have role played in a kitchen for crying out loud, and it was fun!  One truly can go wherever or develop one's charactor in any manner.  I could have kept roll playing Windstryder into Barnicus but I chose not to, not because Jon did not want to.  So I love this game because of the possibilites.

#2.  Our actions have real consequences.  Jon does not fudge the die rolls or our actions into what should happen or what he wants to happen or that he may not want to have a character die.  Again think about that players.  I believe it is no fun to have one's character be invincible due to DM intervention.  What makes his campaign so fun, is the potential for success or failure by our characters.  Every battle scene I read on the edge of my seat, I never know if we are going to make it or not.  That leads me to #3 which I will post later.

Raef aka stonedogs


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## Jon Potter

The tournament was a simple elimination affair, and after five successive rounds of brawling, it came down - not unexpectedly - to four stalwarts: Feln, Black Dougal, Drogo Ravenot, and the newcomer, Karak. Both Feln and Ravenot had remained largely uninjured during their earlier bouts, and Karak seemed all but impervious to injury despite the fact that he was hit by most of the blows thrown at him during the contest. Black Dougal was not nearly so lucky, and his slow and ponderous fighting style had left him on the receiving end of a good many haymakers. By the final round of competition, he was bruised and bloodied and barely on his feet.

Feln made quick work of the warrior. The bout lasted less than twenty seconds and earned the half-orc a few jeers from the spectators who were eager to see a more lengthy exhibition. For a moment, Feln wondered if his idea to hold this competition had been a poor one. His time as a celebrated hero had been a short one, it seemed.

Karak faced-off with Ravenot in what was a longer match only because both fighter spent the first twenty seconds circling one another in the ring. It was Ravenot who acted first by throwing a handful of grit in the dwarf's face then darting in while Karak was blinded to deliver a fist to his face. The crowd roared disapprovingly at the display of poor sportsmanship, but it was nothing compared to the silence that followed.

Karak wiped the filth from his eyes and spit out a mouthful of blood as he glared at Ravenot. "So, humie. That's the way it's ta be, eh?" he growled, his voice dripping with malevolence. He beckoned the man closer and bared his blood-slicked teeth. "Come on over 'ere an' let ol' Karak show ye what we dwarves think o' cheaters!"

Ravenot ended the bout prematurely by stepping voluntarily out of the fighting circle. He double-timed it away from the village green as fast as his shaking knees would carry him. The crowd's laughter chased him the whole way.

Seeing the display, Vade decided that it just might have been a good thing that Gellir had refused to fight him in the contest. The halfling was content to sit on the sidelines and eat the delectables being offered by the townsfolk. And cheer Feln, of course! Ledare had joined him - wearing a gown, of all things - and sat in the stands cheering the half orc and hurling insults at his competitors. She seemed to be having a grand time watching the fighting, but Vade suspected from the way she kept looking around that she might just be trying to keep an eye on the halfling's nimble fingers.

So Feln and Karak faced off against one another. The wiry half orc was naked to the waist, his well-muscled torso slick with sweat, new piercings twinkling in the noonday sun. In contrast, the dwarf's body was as wide and as hairy as a bear and so thickly-muscled that his skin looked stuffed with boulders. Both fighters were barefoot since ap-Llewellyn's keen scrutiny had revealed before the first bout that each wore magical footwear and magical augmentation was strictly forbidden in such contests.

Unlike both of their previous bouts, this one wasn't over quickly.

Both combatants sized each other up for a moment and it seemed as if neither wanted to be the first to act, but Karak dispelled this thought by throwing a roundhouse punch at Feln. The half-orc had a considerable advantage in unarmed combat and was able to not only dodge the incoming blow, but also deliver an opportunistic punch to Karak's ribs in the process. He tried to follow it up with a kick to the dwarf's jaw, but Karak was too savvy for that and he ducked beneath the martial artist's foot, driving his fist up toward Feln's groin. The half orc blocked the blow, however, absorbing the impact with his forearm; just the same, it was like being hit with a steel hammer.

The dwarf had over-extended himself again, and Feln slammed his elbow into the back of Karak's head at the same time his knee thudded into his right thigh. The maneuver was intended to trip his opponent, but Karak was far too sturdy to go down so easily. He spun around, but his fist found only empty air. Feln seized the opportunity to send a heron kick at the dwarf's head, but Karak dodged the foot on the way up. He didn't expect it to come down on him again, however, and was only able to avoid taking the blow on top of his skull by the narrowest of margins. Feln's heel sank into the meat of Karak's left thigh eliciting a grunt of pain from the dwarf.

"Aye, lad, ye be a mighty one," Karak grunted, his lip quivering with restrained fury. "But I ain't losin' to an orcblood!"

What happened next took the martial artist completely by surprise. Karak exploded at him like a jack-in-the-box made entirely of fists. Feln saw the dwarf's eyes grow huge and wide, lit by a baleful rage that could no longer be contained and then the first blow landed against his right knee. He felt the joint give out momentarily from the force of the blow and he started to pitch forward. Then the dwarf's other fist was slamming into the half orc's sternum driving him back to a standing position.

Feln tried to bring his not-inconsiderable skill at unarmed combat to bear, but Karak was unrelenting. No sooner had the martial artist raised his right fist to deliver a viper strike then his opponent's fist slammed into his elbow, driving his blow out of alignment. Karak dodged the knee aimed for his throat and backhanded Feln across the kidneys. The half orc staggered forward half a step before sprawling face-first into the dirt.

He didn't get up and for a few moments, Karak turned in a circle as if looking for more opponents to pummel. But after the thudding roar of blood in his ears died away, he heard the awed roar of the spectators. They were on their feet, clapping and cheering. As the adrenalin wore off at last, Karak fell backward on his rump and sat, panting beside his fallen adversary.



"Dinna take it so bad, orcblood!" Karak boasted, his moustache foamy with ale. "I be a dwarf, afteralls! Ye were bound ta lose!"

Feln endured the dwarf's laughter in silence, staring at his own untouched mug and stewing. The contest hadn't gone at all the way he'd thought it would. He'd imagined it a foregone conclusion that at the end of the day it would be him being slapped on the back and lauded with free ale and well-earned praise. The joy he had felt at being honored with a hero's feast had turned bitter and poisonous. So he said nothing and went over the battle again and again in his mind, intent on figuring out what had gone wrong.

Ledare came over and laid a comforting hand on Feln's shoulder. "Well fought," she said and the half orc only grunted in reply. When she looked over at Karak, his gray eyes were studying her face with interest. She approached and offered her hand to Karak.

"You," the dwarf said as he examined her features. Ledare looked nonplussed.

"Do I know you?" she asked, withdrawing her hand.

"Oi, lassy! I do believe we met before," Karak told her. "Were ye not travelin' with a fat human, a couple o' half elves like yerself, an' a faarie wizard? Where be they now?"

Ledare looked as if she'd been burned for a moment and then her eyes narrowed. "There have been some troubles of late," she told him and Karak snorted laughter.

"Ya think ye got troubles, lassie?" he growled. "I take it ye have nae been to Barnacus lately?"


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #261] Heading Out*

Karak gave the only first-hand account that they had yet heard of the state of things in Barnacus, and although it had been more than a fortnight since he'd fled the capital, the picture he painted with his words was very grave indeed. The trouble had began with a riot at the Festival of Ibrahil - some madness about cannibals and tainted food - and the next day people started to get sick. At first it was the weakest - children, the elderly, elves - but it quickly became apparent that Barnacus had a full-scale epidemic on its hands. By the time that even dwarves began to succumb to the disease a few days later, the city gates were sealed. But who knows how many sick people fled to the countryside carrying the plague with them?

The disease struck hard, its effects both powerful and disturbing. Horrible weeping sores were common as was bleeding from the eyes and mouth, but as terrible as the physical effects were, it was the mental effects that were the worst. Victims were quickly overcome with delirium and terrible hallucinations. Violent episodes were common in the first few days of the epidemic, but it didn't last long. Victims were stripped of their reason and became vegetables within a week usually.

"Ye might remember I had me a brother when I last saw ye," Karak told Ledare. His face twitched with emotion as he tried without success to contain the tears of loss. "Well, he is no more." 

"I'm terribly sorry," the Janissary began but Karak brought his ale to his lips and stared off into the crowd.

"It seems he nae be protected by the Goddess Shaharizod as me and you," he cleared his throat and spit a sizeable gobbet of phlegm onto the ground. He wiped his nose and eyes on the sleeve of his tunic before looking up at Ledare once more. "What'n yer band be called again?"

Ledare looked a trifle embarrassed that she had let to come up with a name that captured both the spirit of the group as well as their purpose. 'Thrown-together-sorry-ass-miss-matched-aimless-do-gooders' just didn't have the proper tone. "We were once known as the Grey Company," she said lamely.

"Were ye not last in a manor in Barnacus?" the dwarf asked although from the sound of it he already knew the answer. Ledare nodded and Karak asked, " What brings you out here?"

"The trouble in Barnacus, actually," the Janissary began but then Vade staggered up to their table and thudded down two of the largest pewter steins that Ledare had ever seen. She was surprised that the halfling could manage them both.

"Hi!" Vade grinned, looking from the dour Karak to the sullen Feln. "I brought you guys a beer. Best in town, according to the brewer."

"Why thank ye, little one," the dwarf said and tipped back what was left of his own mug before reaching for the one that Vade had offered. He grinned. "Whippin' yer friend's arse be thirsty work."

Feln glowered at Karak and then started to get up, but Vade stopped him by grabbing onto his leg with both arms.

"Do not feel bad, Feln," Vade pleaded. "Karak sure was tough. In fact, he reminds me a little of my Uncle Bob, the Razorback. The way he fights that is. Bob did not have a beard... or huge muscles, but he was ferocious. Man! I would not have liked to have been hit by one of those blows. Ouch!"

"Aye, orcblood, the wee one's right," Karak said, taking a long pull on his new mug. "I'd say for an orcblood ye fight good. Who be teach ye all those fancy moves, eh?"

"I spent many years learning my fighting style," Feln growled. "And you, without any discipline, beat me."

"My Uncle Bob took out 3 gnolls once all by himself," Vade interjected. "Knocked out 6 of their teeth and ended up wearing them as a necklace. Not very pretty, but he was proud of it. He did not like it when I borrowed it from him for a while."

"Three gnolls?" Karak snorted. "Ye shoulda sent a dwarf. Woulda taken out the three gnolls an' the rest o' their tribe while he was at it. Remind me to tell ye o' the time me chalak an' me wiped out a whole tower full o' orcblood bandits someday, little one."

Vade was a little hurt that Karak thought so little of his uncle's accomplishments, but he let the insults roll off his back. He'd had nearly a week dealing with Gellir to understand the ways of dwarves. "You see, Feln," the halfling said with a smile. "He took out a whole tower of bad guys, so you did really well."

Feln didn't seem convinced.

"I agree! I was amazed how you'n bounced aroun' and all, but as you can see it does nae good against the might of a dwarf!" Karak said, thumping his broad chest with his fist. "It was a good show though. I think I might'n be watching you an' pickin' up a move or two."

Feln looked at him disgusted. "It takes years of dedicated training to learn to do what I do," he sneered.

Karak shrugged. "If'n you like, I'll teach ye how to stand still like a dwarf," he said and up-ended his tankard. "By the by, you be drinkin that ale?"

Feln shook his head in disgust. "You lack discipline and-" He stopped in mid-sentence for he could see that Karak was no longer listening. The dwarf's face had filled suddenly with wonder, his eyes growing wide as he looked off into the crowd. Following his gaze, Feln spied Ixin approaching their table with four foaming mugs gripped in her hands. She had on the new black leather clothes that Wulfric the Tanner had crafted for her - tight breeches that laced up the outside of each leg and a sleeveless bustier that laced up the front. Only she didn't have the laces done up on the top, revealing the scintillating chainmail bikini she wore underneath. As she moved toward their table, the crowd parted around her and all eyes turned to watch her sachet passed.

"S-s-succubus," Karak muttered, a thin line of ale trickling out of the corner of his mouth.

Ixin smiled as she got closer and offered the mugs to her friends. "I have never in my life seen two men fight so impressively!" she told Feln and Karak. "Clearly you two are kindred spirits!"

The dwarf blushed and raised the mug to his lips. Feln just scowled.

"I feel certain that any team on which the two of you fight can do nothing but win," Ixin went on. "Aphyx has no IDEA what she is in for!"

At mention of the name, Karak spewed beer from his nose. "Aphyx?!" he growled, teeth grinding together as he thudded to his feet. Ixin recoiled uncontrollably from his advance. "What do ye know about Aphyx, succubus?"

"Only that we're trying to stop her," the mage blurted out before Ledare interposed herself between drakeling and dwarf.

"Stand down, Karak," the Janissary commanded. "Ixin is with me." The dwarf settled somewhat at that and sat back down.

"So ye're aimin' to stop 'er are ye?" Karak mused. "Then we've got us some talkin' ta do, 'cause that's me own goal, as well."


*Sunday the 17th - Moonsday the 18th of Wealsun, 1269 AE*​


With some help from Karak, Gellir was able to finish Ledare's breastplate almost a full day early. She was surprised at how light and mobile she felt after shedding her suit of half-plate, and she decided that it was well worth the wait. Especially since it gave her the time she needed to finish reading through the Trials of Decay. On the evening of Moonsday, she filled the rest of the group in on everything she had learned.

_"Angered by the unbalanced influence the Goddess of Decay held over the land, the gods of good and law began to martial their own followers and worked to create an army under the leadership of a charismatic young lord called Imruk of Pell. Imruk succeeded in uniting the independent lordships and city-states and establish the rule of law under the new kingdom of Pellham. He then led the combined forces in an effort to topple Zagaroth's evil empire. One detachment of Imruk's army was sent to lay siege to, and ultimately destroy, Deathshead while the remainder marched into Zagaroth's domain.

The war that followed, which became known as the War of Unity, was long and bloody but eventually Zagaroth's forces were broken, and the demons that served him banished back to the abyss. While there was no one, great, final battle which decided the outcome of the conflict, the turning point came when Melengar vanished, and the great Rod of Ruin was lost. Few people ever knew exactly what happened to the High Priest, and those that did, kept the information to themselves. But it was not until this mysterious disappearance of Melengar and the subsequent seige of Deathshead that Zagaroth's evil empire began to falter. 

Deathshead had long been thought to be unassailable, but the mysterious disappearance of Melengar had upset many of the priesthood's plans. In their confusion and the subsequent internal power struggle to fill the void left by Melengar's loss, the Plaguebringers had allowed their defenses to weaken. Even so the inhabitants of Deathshead were still quite powerful and the siege was expected to be a long one. To the dismay of the evil goddess' followers however, several months into the siege, a small group of powerful Druids arrived to assist Imruk's army. These Druids summoned elementals of earth and fire and set them to the task of sundering the outer fortifications of the castle. While their elemental servants battered the walls, the Druids combined their power to cause massive earthquakes which shook the fortress and weakened its structure. Eventually, the walls were breached and the army was able to mount an attack against the forces within. Once begun, the battle was won in but a few days, although not without heavy losses. The Tapestry of Passage was recovered from the Defiler's stronghold and turned over to the priesthood of Flor for safekeeping.

Meanwhile, Imruk's armies finally breached the walls of Zagaroth's capital and began to raze the city, the avatar saw that the end was near and he called upon his goddess-mother for immortal aid. Aphyx however was embattled upon her own plane and did not hear, or could not respond to her son's pleas before the three great Avarial generals of Imruk's army came upon him. These three knew that killing Zagaroth upon this plane would simply free his evil soul to return to his mother and so instead they began to weave a great spell that would open a magical gate into the Void and cast him in, thus destroying his soul forever.

As the gate neared completion Aphyx finally heard her son's call and began to reverse the spell the winged-folk were attempting. The Avarial realized that even their combined power was no match for a that of a god and so rather than let the spell be undone, they caused it to be placed into a state of stasis thus trapping Zagaroth between the Void and the prime material plane - beyond the reach of man and immortal alike.

In the aftermath of the War of Unity, the cults dedicated to Aphyx were destroyed wherever they could be found and those priests who escaped were forced to go into hiding."_​
For her part, Ixin used the extra time in town to consult with various authorities on the mysterious Myth Drannor. The bard, Geneviève the Fair, was by far the most helpful, spinning many tales of wonder about the doomed City of Song. So by the time Ledare's armor was ready and the group was prepared at last to leave Hillville Junction, Ixin was able to convince the others that Myth Drannor might be the next best choice for them to visit.

The others hadn't seen much of Morier during their time in town. The albino had deep ties to the folk of the village and spent his time renewing those bonds that mattered most to him. The others were somewhat surprised when he presented them each with some small medallions that he had crafted for them - with the help of Algar Strongarm - out of iron. They were each small and plain and each was etched with three initials: VQS.

"What's this?" Ledare asked when the eldritch warrior made his presentation.

"It stands for Vla'rinnyn Quarth Sila. It means 'Brotherhood of the Order Bringers'," he explained and then quickly added, "We don't have to keep that as our group's name or anything. I just thought that since we didn't have any other-"

Ixin smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I love the name, Morier."

The albino's face did its best to blush.


*Godsday the 19th of Wealsun, 1269 AE*​


The VQS retraced their steps back northward along the River Druitt into Spiderwood. The trip was uneventful although Ixin's familiar Martivir was excited to be back in the woods and spent the trip gleefully snatching mice and voles out of the underbrush. They hadn't taken any pains to cover their path when they'd made the trek toward town, so there were plenty of broken branches and obvious footprints along the way. Still they suffered from Windstryder's absence, and a trip that had taken half a day the first time, now took them three quarters. It was approaching dusk by the time they reached the clearing.

All looked to be as they'd left it - the noisome remains of the rat-headed giant still lay in a blackened pile beside one of the standing stones, its body swarming with fat white ants, the alter still squatted in the center of the barren clearing - but there was a sense that something had changed. Someone had been there since their last visit. Without discussion, the group spread out to investigate and it was Karak who first noticed the dark altarstone was wet. He reached out to touch its surface and his gloved fingers came away red.

"There's been death 'ere," he growled, hefting his axe. "An' recently, too, by the looks."

"There are tracks over here," Ledare said, indicating the ground near the portal. "But I can't make any sense of them."

"Uh, guys?" Vade said, his voice sounding very small and afraid. "I think we should get out of here."

"What is-" Feln started to ask, but the question quickly died on his lips as the source of Vade's concern became apparent.

The swarm of ants that were eagerly devouring the rat-giant's remains had gathered into a tight cluster of snapping mandibles and flailing legs. They were advancing on the group like a moving carpet of death.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #262] Ants in Their Pants*

"Yaaaaa!!!!" Vade squealed as he ran toward the portal of swirling green vapor just as fast as his tiny legs would allow. "Burn them! Burn them!" he urged and Morier pulled one of the wands from his wrist sheathe.

"My thoughts exactly, Vade!" the eldritch warrior smirked, pointing his wand and speaking the command word: _"Irakulos!" _A sheet of fire erupted from the wand and settled across the swarm's left flank, instantly crisping a dozen of the large white ants. Immediately, a dozen more swarmed over the charred remains to take their place.

"Not good..." Morier grimaced.

"Head for the portal!" Ledare commanded. Even as she drew Ravager and waved the blade overhead in a rallying gesture, the Janissary began moving toward the standing stone that bore the arched portal. "Ixin! We need you to activate it!"

"Right!" the mage responded and darted after her. Unencumbered by any armor, Ixin quickly overtook Ledare, reaching the portal a good five paces ahead of the half-elf. Vade was already there waiting for her and hopping nervously from one foot to the other like a child who needed to use the privy.

"Which one?" Ixin asked, pointing to the various runes that she had already tried and naming them each off in turn. "Caves, mountain, unicorn, or dungeon? Or one of these others?"

"Caves!" Vade shouted, but Ledare skidded to a stop behind him and shook her head.

"Wrong way!" she told him. "We're heading south, remember?"

"Unicorn?" Ixin asked, looking wide-eyed at the Janissary.

"Do it!" Ledare answered with a nod just as Morier cried out in alarm.

The ant swarm had reached him and their pincered mandibles quickly found their way beneath his mail. He felt dozens of painful stings as they ran wildly up his body, giving the impression from a distance of the albino melting into a mound of ants. That was all the more that Karak needed to see. He turned and clanked toward the portal.

"Oi! These little creatures look like they be havin' a mind to think we are their next meal!" the dwarf cursed as he neared the standing stone. "Lassie, what be ye doin' o'er by this 'ere stone gate?" Before Ixin could answer, however, Feln came bounding up, very nearly bowling the mage over in his haste.

"We should get out of here!" the half orc urged. He was visibly shaken by an opponent that he couldn't fight. "This is a fight that gains us nothing but more trouble."

"I'm trying!" Ixin said as she reached out a hand to anchor herself to the portal. Vade and Ledare readied themselves to jump through as soon as the mist cleared, signalling that Ixin had successfully activated the portal.

Morier, cursing and spitting ants from his mouth, ran as fast as he could toward the others, and quickly left the main body of the swarm behind. The ants that were still under his armor continued to bite him, however, and he could feel blood flowing beneath his mail. He reached portal seconds after the mists cleared, revealing crumbling stone walls overgrown with flowering vines beyond. He jumped through the portal right after Vade and Ledare, landing in the soft loam beyond.

Karak scowled at the magical doorway, delaying long enough for Feln to dart around him and through to the other side. "Are ye sure ye ken how this thing works, girl?"

"Just go!" Ixin urged, her voice, infused with the raw power of the nexus, sounded hollow and otherworldly. Karak paused again, glanced back at the swarm which was moving ever nearer, then harrumphing once, stepped through into a distant woodland.

Ixin moved to do the same, just as the ants reached her and began tearing eagerly into the flesh of her legs. She cried out in pain, lost control of the portal, and barely managed to fall through the gateway before the mists swirled closed over  Spiderwood. The swarm was left on the far side of the portal except for the few dozen that continued to crawl angrily over Ixin and Morier's bodies. Vade and Karak darted forward to squash the remaining insects while Feln continued to back away from the things.

Only Ledare saw the figure on the far side of the clearing, standing beside one of the enormous standing stones, and she glimpsed it for only a moment before the portal clouded over, cutting off her view of Spiderwood. The figure was humanoid and robed in mustard yellow. It gestured with one arm as if it were directing the actions of the ant swarm, and  that one visible arm was covered with filthy scabs and infected lesions.

Then the mists closed in, obscuring the view beyond completely.

"Morier's bleeding an awful lot!" Vade said loudly, and it was true. The albino's armor was dripping with blood from the many bites he'd taken.

"Help me get this off!" the eldritch warrior implored as his fingers worked at the straps of his custom fit scalemail.

"What about Ixin?" Ledare asked as she turned away from the portal and sheathed her sword.

Karak looked up from the mage with a huge white ant squeezed between his fingers. It flailed around and snapped its fiery orange mandibles for a moment before the dwarf crushed it to a pulpy mess. "Aye! She's bleedin' a wee bit more'n seems right for the wounds she took," Karak said grimly. "These ants be unnatural creatures."

"Can't we stop the bleeding?" Ixin pleaded, an edge of panic creeping into her contralto voice.

"We can try, lassie," Karak said. "But healin' ain't me be best skill. That was me chalak's strength, not mine."

"Let me try," Ledare said as she dropped down beside Ixin and began to work on the drakeling's many lacerations. Karak backed up and watched her work for a moment before turning to examine his surroundings.

They were in a forest, but it was quite unlike Spiderwood. Firstly, the trees were huge, towering taller than any trees the dwarf had ever seen. Many of them looked to be almost as tall as the bridge pylons connecting the twin delves of Zhufbar and Kadrin in the Thunder Mountains. Secondly, they were surrounded on three sides by the crumbling remains of a stone wall that had clearly been built by human hands, and had long ago succumbed to the ravages of time. It was pierced everywhere with gaps in the stonework and what remained seemed fairly held together by the flowering vines that grew over it. The portal was built into a single flat standing stone that faced in toward a shrine. The shrine itself was bathed in shadows, but Karak's darkvision clearly revealed the presence of a rectangular altar of some kind flanked by two elaborately carved, but weather-worn stone statues of snarling lizards.

"I can't stop the bleeding!" Vade cried out again. "We need to use one of your potions, Morier!"

"Not yet," the albino protested weakly. His words were slurring from blood loss, and his white hands looked startlingly red as he and Vade worked futilely to bind his wounds. He had a smear of blood on his forehead where he'd wiped away a drop of sweat. "With no cleric to heal us, we'll need them for emergencies."

"This is turning into an emergency!" Vade cried. He looked a little sick to his stomach from the sight of so much blood.

"Just keep at it, both of you," Ledare urged. "I'm almost through with Ixin."

Karak strode over to Vade and thumped down beside him. He looked at Morier and watched the elf work skill-lessly at his own wounds. The dwarf harrumphed and swatted away Morier's hands. "Ye be doin' it wrong!" Karak growled. "This be how Malak always did it." The dwarf laid his hands on Morier's head and chest, closed his eyes and muttered some words in dwarfish under his breath. The holy symbol of Shaharizod that Karak had taken off of his brother's corpse, slid free of his armor and hung free on its silver chain, winking in the twilight as it spun back and forth.

Morier felt something move through him, like a wave of sunlight or the heat from a forge and his wounds stopped bleeding. Karak harrumphed again and got to his feet. "That be the proper way ta heal," he grumbled and backed away from his patient.

No one was in a position to see the eyes on the rightmost statue flare with a cold, baleful light, but they all felt the sinister urgings of a _Fear _spell wash over them as they did so. Feln, Vade, Morier, and Ledare all dropped what they were doing and ran off screaming into the surrounding trees.

Karak and Ixin blinked at one another. "That's not good," the drakeling told her remaining companion.


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## Hairy Minotaur

Anyone having regrets that there's no cleric after that encounter?


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## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Anyone having regrets that there's no cleric after that encounter?




It's worse than you know. Nobody's even got any ranks in Heal. Ledare has a high enough wisdom that she's got a +2, but poor Vade has a -1. Or maybe I should say poor Morier. 

Actually... Karak _IS_ a cleric although you'd be hard-pressed to get him to admit it. According to his back-story, Karak was initially trained to become a temple guard but failed the spiritual test that would have allowed him entry into the priesthood. His brother, Malak, was the cleric in the family, and it's only after Malak's death that Karak has found himself in touch with his spiritual side... such as it is. His player's concept was to have him unaware that he's making things happen magically-speaking.

To that end, I'm using the Reflexive Spellcasting rules found in Green Ronin's "Denizens of Freeport" - essentially putting his spell-casting in my hands until he comes to grips with the fact that: "Yes, Karak. You are a cleric." He can set himself up to cast a spell (such as the whole 'This is how my brother always did it' thing) but he's not consciously casting spells until someone convinces him that he's already doing it.

His character is a real mixed bag: Barbarian 1/Fighter 3/Cleric 1 utilizing several variants from Unearthed Arcana including: Whirlwind Rage, Spontaneous Divine Casting, and the unnamed variant that grants clerics the paladin's Smite Evil and Aura of Courage abilities in place of the normal Turn Undead. He's an interesting character, to be sure despite the fact that this player has run two other priests of this same deity already in this campaign.


Note to self: I really need to update the Rogue's Gallery thread.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #262a] The 1,000 Yard Dash*

Mad with unreasoning fear, Feln, Vade, Ledare and Morier sped off into the trees. There was only one obvious path leading out of the clearing and they all made a dash for it, colliding with one another a few paces in, for it was a narrow path and the trees pressed in close on both sides. Ledare and Morier clanked against one another and Vade ducked low beneath a tangle of legs to pop out the far side. But Feln, unencumbered by weighty armor, merely vaulted over the knot of steel-plated limbs, landed amidst a cluster of bright red mushrooms a few paces further on and sped off down the path. He never looked back, and it didn't take him long to leave the others far behind.

Not that they didn't try to keep up, mind you. They were all single-mindedly intent on putting as much distance as they possibly could between themselves and the ruined shrine. But both Ledare and Morier were burdened by armor that prevented them from moving as fast as they otherwise might, and Vade's legs were quite simply half-as-long as the others'. So they trotted along in a tight knot, none of them pausing to speak to their fellows, the only thought in their heads being to _run! Get away!_

At times, Ledare would lead, until her foot would snag on a root and Morier would push her down to get passed. Then he would lead for a time, until a low-hanging branch would strike him in the face and send him to his knees. Then Ledare would knock him aside and push onward. Once, Vade planted his foot squarely in Morier's eye as he clambered over the eldritch warrior.

At last, after what seemed like an hour but was more likely only a couple of minutes, Ledare could go no further and she pitched forward onto her hands and knees, her breath coming in ragged, wheezing gasps. She crouched there, panting, unable to catch her breath, a stitch stabbing sharply into her side.
Morier skidded to a stop a few paces onward and Vade slammed into his backside, nearly sending them both to the ground.

"Sorry," the halfling apologized, grinning nervously up at the eldritch warrior. Then, abruptly, Vade's smile grew broader and more genuine. "Hey!" he cried. "I'm not scared anymore!"

"Yes," Morier said breathlessly, his hands planted on his thighs. "The spell seems to have run its course."

Vade looked around at the thick forest. The path continued on in both directions before being swallowed up amidst the trees. "It looks like we did too," the halfling joked but neither of the others laughed.

"Are you alright, Ledare?" Morier asked, noticing the Janissary wheezing on her hands and knees. He approached her fearfully, but she sat up on her haunches and waved him off while she wiped away a string of saliva with the back of her hand.

"Armor's. Heavy," she panted. "Not. Used to. Running."

"May I help you up?" the albino asked and Ledare shook her head and peeled off her helmet.

"Just gimme. Minute," she said. "I'll be. Alright." Her coppery hair was plastered wetly to her head and Vade scowled at her.

"Aww, Ledare," he groaned. "And your hair was just starting to look really nice. Maybe if you had a nice brush." he shrugged off his pack and started to rummage. "I think I might have one in here somewhere."

Ledare just glowered at him and said nothing.

"Say," Morier began, looking concernedly up and down the empty trail. "Didn't Feln run off with us?"



Feln plunged around a bend in the trail and stopped short quickly. The trail he had been following had ended abruptly and another path intersected it leading off to his left. He paused and looked up the new path until it was swallowed by the gloom of twilight several dozen yards away. He paused and listened in the manner that Windstryder had instructed him over and over during their time together. He had never truly developed the skill at woodcraft that seemed to come so easy to her, but he had picked up a few of her tricks along the way. Listening to the wood was one such skill, but he heard nothing apart from the rustle of branches and the crackle of tumbling leaves.

Sighing, he turned back the way he'd-

The path was gone.

He turned back to look down the path leading left and then back toward the spot where the path he had followed to reach this spot should have been. There was a tree there now. He looked behind the tree, but there was no path there either. He could see his footprints in the soft loam, but they just appeared out from beneath a layer of last autumn's fallen leaves. He cleared them away, but the tracks disappeared after only a few paces.

He listened again for any sign of his companions, but heard nothing save tree branches rattling against one another in the night breezes.

Feln shook his head. "Sh*t," he said.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #263] Dazed and Confused*

"Hmphhh," Karak grumbled as he watched Feln, Morier, Ledare and Vade slam into one another as they all vied for position on the narrow path leading out of the clearing. Ledare and Morier went down on a tangle of limbs, but Vade ducked low between their legs and Feln easily vaulted over them. After a moment, they were gone, swallowed up by the trees.

Ixin groaned and started to get to her feet, but Karak thumped to her side and put his hand on her shoulder, urging her to the ground.

"Hold up, 'ere an' let me look at those bites," the dwarf growled. "Are they still bleedin on ya?"

Ixin looked over Ledare's handiwork with makeshift bandages and shook her head. "I think it's stopped," she told Karak and after a few moments spent examining them, he nodded his agreement.

"I say... Ixin, your name is, eh lassie? Where do you be thinkin' the others run off to, eh?" he asked once he'd gotten to his feet. He planted his axe haft on the ground between his furry boots and rested his arms across the broad blade. The ornate runes and filigree etched into the steel axe seemed to glow in the dying light of Orin's Shield.

"A _Fear_ spell would be my guess," the sorcerer told him as she stood up.

"Well now is not that a fine welcome to this ere spot?" the dwarf mused as his steely gray eyes scanned the gathering darkness for any sign of threat.

"The effects shouldn't last too long. And my hope would be that when it does wears off, everyone would gather back at the last place we were all together," Ixin went on. She dusted herself off and gestured expansively to the crumbling ruins. "That would be here. What say you, Karak?"

"I say we wait 'ere a spell while you an' I get a look see at our surroundings," he told her, hefting his waraxe in one hand. "Then we go off and fetch the others."

"Shouldn't we wait for the others?" Ixin asked. "Won't they return here once the spell-"

"Th' others might slow down once they be outside the sphere o' the spell, aye," the dwarf concurred, but his attention was on their surroundings, not on Ixin. "But if'n they encounter trouble out there in the woods? Then that, lassie, be another story. If'n ye get my meanin'."

She did.

"Now that you bring it up, let's not wait here too long as I am worried about the spell getting us too," the mage said as she too looked around nervously. "At previous portals, we've always been safe once we got away from the immediate area."

"Hmm," Karak said noncommittally as he looked around.

"What about heading off in the direction they ran and getting to a high place so we can see better?" Ixin asked as she unfurled her cloak and released Martivir from his pocket. The owl hooted its appreciation, drawing a wary look from Karak.

"Don't be gettin' ahead o' yerself," the dwarf grumbled. "Let's be checkin' out this 'ere ruin first. Then if'n they're not back by the time we finish, then we 'ead out after 'em."

"Agreed," Ixin said as she lifted her familiar above her head, releasing the owl into the twilight. "I'll have Martivir recon the area and find everyone while you and I search here."

"Avoid lookin' at the faces o' the statues as ye search. I think they be the cause o' the other's fright," Karak muttered as he headed for the altar in the back of the crumbling shrine. He could tell at a glance that no dwarven stonemason had laid chisel on the altar. It was a simple thing built of fitted stone and carved extensively at one time. Now however, the weather had eroded most of the carvings and caused some of the stone blocks to begin separating from one another. Here and there he could make out a leaf or an acorn carved into a block, but most of the details had been lost to time.

"Let's find out if you're right about these statues," Ixin said as she wove her hands through the simple gestures of a _Detect Magic_ spell. Even as the drakeling's eyes began to glow with the dweomer's power, the eyes of the statue to the altar's right flared with a light of their own. Ixin felt the effects of a spell wash over her, but she seemed to shrug off the effects. In its wake, however, the enchantment left a hot, boiling rage in the mage's belly.

"Those statues!" she thought. "Those statues were the cause of  so much ill for her and her friends! They had to be stopped from further spreading their cruel mischief!" She reached into the folds of her cloak, drew forth her morningstar and charged at the stone lizard.

Karak had just spotted the hidden panel in the back of the altar when Ixin's first blow rang loudly against the lizard's stone snout. The dwarf looked up with a start to see the mage draw back for another swing. She was holding the morningstar above her head with both hands and her face was a snarl of anger.

"Lassie!" Karak cried out. "Are ye daft? What are ye-?"

"YOU!" Ixin bellowed. "This is all YOUR fault!" She swung the morningstar at with all of her might, but Karak was behind the altar and the weapon never even came close to striking him. Angry that she'd missed, Ixin darted around the statue on the left, coming for the dwarf. "I'll KILL YOU!!" she roared in frustration as she came.

"You're mad!" Karak shouted back as he swung his axe at her, easily knocking the morningstar from Ixin's grasp. Unperturbed by the loss of the weapon she slashed at Karak with her claws, but they glanced ineffectually off his plate armor. The dwarf hefted his axe again hesitantly, uncertain of the sorcerer's motives, but ready to strike if he had to. Ixin turned away from him, however, covering her face with both hands and muttering incoherently about lizards and dwarves and some conspiracy betwixt the two.

Karak kicked her morningstar off to the side, well out of her reach should she turn on him again. It was unnecessary, however. She crouched down against the shrine's wall, curled herself into a ball and cried about the injustice of lizards and dwarves working together to bring about her downfall. The dwarf approached her hesitantly, his waraxe readied to strike her if she made any sudden moves.

"Lassie, I think ye may have been ensorcelled," he said and she looked up at him with mad, tear-filled eyes and leapt to her feet. Or she tried to, at least. The butt end of Karak's axe found her forehead about mid-way through her leap, sending her quite handily into unconsciousness.



"I don't like it here," Vade whined and gripped Ledare's shield hand tightly as they trudged along back along the path. "This place gives me the heebee jeebees."

"I think you are safe with us, Vade," Morier said from up ahead. To the halfling's straining eyes, the albino looked like a pale ghost in the near-darkness. The length of his silvered greatsword glimmered in the first hints of starlight.

"We should be back to the portal in a few minutes," the Janissary said in a soothing voice. "Everything will be alright."

"That's easy for you to say. You can see!" Vade quipped. "Can't I light this sunrod?" The halfling waved the tiny rod that Ledare had given him as a reassurance.

"Bad idea," Morier hissed in the darkness. "We'll be spotted easily if there are enemies about."

"Enemies?" Vade trembled and Ledare squeezed his little hand.
"Save the sunrod for if you really need it," she said. "Otherwise, trust Morier and I to lead the way."

Vade sighed. "I wish Feln were here," he whispered under his breath.

The three companions marched back along the trail toward the ruined shrine, the portal, and - they hoped - Ixin and Karak. It grew darker as they picked their way through the trees, and the noises of the forest (which normally held no fear for Morier) began to take on a sinister sound as they went.

"I don't like it here," Vade repeated and Morier started to speak when something dove from the sky above and slashed him across the cheek. It was gone again with a fluttering of wings before anyone could be sure of anything but that it was a bird of some kind.

"What was that?" Vade cried.

"Was that a bird?" Ledare said at the same time.

"What in the nine hells?" Morier grimaced, touching the bloody scratch on his cheek.

"There!" Ledare shouted, pointing with Ravager at a shape that swooped down again at Morier. None had seen her draw the weapon; it was just suddenly in her hand.

Morier instinctively mouthed the words to a spell and gestured at the bird, hurling sparks of electricity at his assailant. The bird let out a hoot of pain, but continued to dive straight for the eldritch warrior's face. It scratched him again and disappeared up into the branches overhead.

"What's going on?!" Vade shouted, preparing to strike the sunrod.

"It's a bird," Morier cursed, touching the painful scratch to his opposite cheek.

"An owl, I think," Ledare added as she scanned the foliage overhead. "But I don't see it anymore."

"Perhaps my _Electric Jolt_ scared it off," the albino guessed and Ledare sheathed her sword.

"Perhaps," she said. "But let's keep moving just the same."

"Maybe we could move a little faster?" Vade urged.



The owl attack was an aberration on their journey. It didn't show itself again, and nothing else assailed them. Still, they warily approached the ruins containing the portal and found Karak waiting for them. The dwarf was chewing on a piece of mutton jerky and keeping a close watch on the bound and trussed Ixin.

"Ye lot aren't much for sneakin' about are ye?" the dwarf grunted as the trio crept out of the forest. "A deaf man could've heard ye comin' from half-a-league away."

"What's goin on?" Ledare asked, ignoring Karak's comments. She nodded at Ixin.

"There was another spell," the mage groaned. "_Confusion_, I think. But it made me... do things."

"She attacked me!" the dwarf spat. "For no good reason I can fathom."

"It was the statue, I'm telling you," the mage retorted but Karak just harrumphed.

"Whate'er the case," he told Ledare. "I decided to wait until you lot showed up before I let her loose. I wouldn't want to have to kill her if she attacked me again."

"I'm sure that's very comforting to her," Morier said sarcastically.

"Ixin are you in control of your faculties?" Ledare asked and the drakeling nodded vigorously. "Then let her up."

Karak shrugged and did as he was asked. "Oh, and I found a tunnel back behind the altar," he told them as he worked the knots. "There was this locked panel what needed a wee bit o' coaxin' to get open, but it leads to a nice little tunnel that heads off into them hills over there." He pointed to the wooded hills rising up behind the shrine's rear wall, opposite the only path leading out of the ruins.

"So that's north," Ledare said after doing a little mental calculation.

"Actually, I think it's east," Morier countered and they began to debate which direction was north until Karak finally grunted, "Oi! What ever happened to your half-orc, anyways? Did ya lose him in the woods?"

"There's only one path in or out," Ledare said. "He'll find his way back here."

But after an hour's wait, he still hadn't returned...



He must have gotten turned around. That's what Feln kept trying to convince himself of. The path he was on had to be the same path that he had run down. Paths didn't just disappear, after all. In his ensorcelled state, he must have gotten turned around on the path so that it had seemed like the trees had moved around behind him. That was the only explanation.

He had climbed one of the immense trees to get a better look around, but from above, one patch of forest looked very much like another and he could see no sign of his companions. He did spot some hills to the north, what looked like a small lake or large pond to the south and another larger body of water just visible in the distance to the southeast. But other than that, it was just trees for as far as he could see in the gloom of evening.

So he took the only path available to him and tried to convince himself that it led back the way he'd come although he was quite certain that it didn't. He trotted along until he saw the path dip down toward the edge of the lake or pond he had seen from his earlier vantage point. It was fully night by then and the glimmer of the Handmaiden Moon was reflected in the waves ahead. It was then that he knew he'd gone wrong.

But by then of course, it was too late.

Something brushed against his face as he walked toward the water - something sticky that clung to him tenaciously. He tried to back away, but it was no good. He was stuck in the gossamer threads of an enormous web that was draped across the path, probably to catch creatures coming here to drink. He struggled for a moment and then heard the low, slurping chuckle from the branches above.

"Yessss," it hissed wetly. "Orc-flesssh. Much tassstier than sstringie old goblinssss."

There was movement in the dark canopy and then Feln saw it. A grotesque cross between a man and a spider was moving along the upper edge of web. Its arms and legs were long and emaciated-looking compared to the swollen, fleshy lump that was its body. Its head was a size too small, and shaped like a spider's with glittering black eyes and twin mandibles that dripped venom.

"Tassssty!" It hissed again as it tested the edge of its webbing. "Tasssty morsssel for my larder."


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #263a] Come into my Parlor...*

"My flesh is niether tender nor succulent, great beast," Feln told the creature as he struggled to reach the flask of bladefire Vade had bought for him in Hillville Junction. If he could set the web on fire, he surmised, he might have a chance. "I have lean muscles because of my martial training. I could help you gather some food in exchange for information or company."

A blob of venom splatted down on the half-orc's shoulder as the spider-thing rubbed its mandibles together and chuckled to itself. "Food gathersss food," it laughed, rubbing its claws together. The sinister noise sent a shiver up Feln's spine despite the balmy evening.  "Sssso hungry," it added and made a smacking sound.

"My name is not food. It is Feln," the martial artist replied. His fingers worked around toward his pack, and he heard a tearing sound as the web - or maybe his jerkin - gave a little under the strain. "And what is your name, great beast?"

"Namesss. Namesss. All the sssamesss to me," it reflected. It plucked at the edge of the web above, testing its strength and sending vibrations through the half orc's body in the process. "Food you are, Hungry I am."

"This is a magnificent web," Feln flattered, the words sounding hollow to his own ears. "Did your mother teach you to do this?"

The spider-thing made a chittering sound that might have been more laughter or a sigh. It was difficult to tell. But it gave no answer to Feln's inquiry.

"No?" the half-orc asked as he felt the web give again the tiniest bit. "Where you not born a spider?"

"Noisssy food. Alwaysss yapping. Like goblinssss," the spider-thing hissed. "Noisssy food triesss to essscape. No essscape from my larder." And then it lunged downward toward Feln, its mandibles snapping at the half-orc as it came.

But Feln reacted a fraction quicker and gave a lunge of his own. One of the clasps keeping his jacket closed popped free and he rolled forward, leaving his jerkin, his hat of disguise and more than a few strands of his own hair fluttering in the webbing. With practiced ease, he tumbled forward along the trail and came up in a fighting stance with his staff held ready.

"My food!!!" the spider-thing wailed from its perch in the middle of the all-but-invisible web. Even knowing where it was, Feln could barely make out the sticky strands and it gave the creature the appearance of floating in mid-air.

"You should have taken my offer to talk," the martial artist grunted. "Once I have defeated you, how do I get out of these woods?"

The spider-thing hissed in reply and thrust its hips in Feln's direction and released an expanding ball of webbing from the spinnerets in its crotch. The half-orc was able to easily avoid the attack, and whirled forward with a strike of his own. The leading end of his staff struck a glancing blow to the monster's head.

It shrieked in pain and indignation a moment before it exploded in a flurry of slashing claws and snapping mandibles. Feln's body moved sinuously to avoid the attacks, and only one claw managed to connect. A bloody line appeared across the half-orc's right knee. Feln grunted and smacked the creature in the side of the head a second with his staff. Hissing, the spider-thing scampered up its web, disappearing into the branches overhead before the martial artist could react to strike it again.

He could hear it moving around overhead, but lost sight of the creature immediately as the foliage seemed to swallow it.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #264] The Wandering Trees*

The half-orc peered into the branches above but could see nothing of his opponent. He listened and heard the clear sound of sharp claws scrabbling along rough bark. The noise came from his left and Feln was able to turn just in time to spot the creature as it ejected another ball of webbing at him from its position in the tree on his flank. The martial artist spun and dodged by instinct, but it wasn't enough, and the web fell over him like a net.

Or a shroud.

Thankfully, he had his quarterstaff in hand and the weapon acted almost like a tent pole, keeping the worst of the sticky mess off of him. He managed to toss off the web and turned to face the spider-thing just as it jumped down upon him. Bracing on his staff, Feln kicked his opponent solidly in the thigh, eliciting a yelp of pain and foiling its attempt to grapple him. It seemed to land awkwardly, but the half-orc's attempt to attack it with his staff was met with an elegant dodge, and his weapon whistled through the air without effect, over-extending him in the process.

The spider-thing seized the opportunity to slam into Feln, clearly trying to force the half-orc back into the strands of the web strung across the path. Feln tried to bring his elbow around into the creature's right eye, but the blow was too high and Feln was too off-balance to prevent the inevitable. He sagged backward into the web with the full weight of the spider-thing pressing against his chest.

Fortunately, his shirt was just loose enough that he was able to shed it with ease and slide free of the pin. He dropped down beneath the snapping bite of the creature's mandibles and rolled up behind it. His staff cracked loudly against the thing's spindly left leg and it shrieked again in pain. It scurried back up the web so quickly that Feln couldn't react, and vanished once more into the canopy above.

Once again, Feln listened and watched, but this time he neither heard nor saw anything. Hesitantly, his body quivering with anticipation of an attack, the half-orc reached out and plucked his Hat of Disguise, his shirt and the torn bit of his jacket from the sticky net. He then backed away from the water's edge, his eyes and ears alert for any sign of his foe.

There was none, however, and after he'd moved sixty or so feet from the ambush site, he turned around and resumed his course at an easy jog. He kept alert for any more webs strewn across his path.



"It certainly doesn't take us long to land ourselves in a predicament!" Ledare grumbled as she cleaned the fresh scratches to Morier's face with water from her drinking skin. "We've been here, what? An hour? And already we've been subjected to spells, random attacks from wildlife and lost one of our own."

"Yeah...," Ixin said with a look of embarrassment on her face. "About that owl attack... I think that Martivir may have suffered the effects of the same spell that got me."

"That was your familiar?" Morier asked, incredulous. Ixin nodded and the albino touched his cheek where the bird's talon had opened his flesh.

"Your owl's a feisty one, and brave to have selected Morier as his target," Ledare told Ixin with a smirk on her lips. "Let's hope we don't have to shield ourselves from him again."

"Oh, you won't. He feels just awful about doing it the first time," Ixin told the eldritch warrior and once again, Morier found himself happy that he had performed the _Ritual of Independence_ rather than bond himself to an animal. When he'd done it, the decision was based more on defiance of his father than on careful planning, but he had yet to regret the choice. Why mages sought to dilute their personal power with what amounted in many ways to a magical parasite was beyond him.

"I hope that the owl was not hurt too badly by my _Electric Jolt_," Morier said.

"Just his pride, mostly," Ixin assured the elf and raised her arm above her head. Her familiar dropped noiselessly out of the sky and landed on her fist. "And Karak, you have my sincerest apologies for what happened between you and I."

The dwarf harrumphed and waved off her apology. "Regrets dwell in a candle's flicker, lassie," he said. "But I will be watchin' me back."

"I've heard of such spells before and I don't think you'll have anything more to fear from Ixin," Ledare said. "But let's be wary of these statues just the same. They may reset themselves and be capable of more mischief."

"What do we do now, Ledare?" Ixin asked as she carefully checked the burned spot on Martivir's shoulder where Morier's spell had struck him.

"We need to find my friend Feln!" Vade asserted. "Let's go back and look for him!" Ledare sighed expansively and turned to look at the halfling.

"No, we're not going to look for him!" she said sternly. "That makes no sense."

"I am not going to lose another friend!" Vade whined, stamping his little foot. Thinking of Ruze, the halfling began to cry. "I will go by myself to find him if I have to," he sniffed.

"Let's remain here a while longer, Vade," Ledare said in a softer tone. The rogue's emotional display touched her; she had lost the same friends that he had - and several more that he'd never known - and she could well understand his desire to not lose another.

"You don't find gold by licking the rock," Karak stated suddenly and everyone turned to look at him, their faces knotted in confusion.

"What?" Ledare asked in an exasperated tone.

"Ye shouldna be too hasty to dismiss the wee one, lassie. Perhaps he's right," Karak offered sagely. "In any case, I do believe we should be makin' up our minds as these statues seem to be ensorcelled. We should either go down below in the tunnel I found or go fetch your orc."

"We can't follow the secret tunnel without Feln. It would be foolish of us to follow it without somehow telling him," Ledare said flatly and Karak nodded again and stroked his voluminous beard.

"I do say, we of the dwarf clans never leave a clan brother alone," he said. "Although I also have to admit, Feln, be no dwarf. So why should I care?"

"Feln is a good person!" Vade told the dwarf, wiping tears off his cheeks with his sleeve.

"So ye say," Karak replied, hefting his axe up onto his shoulder. "And he did fight me good in hand to hand combat. I thought him a tough fighter then. I would hate to think he be outnumbered in a fight or down in a pit somewhere out there and be needin' our help."

"See?!?" Vade said to Ledare while pointing at the dwarf. "He could need our help."

"I still think it is best to wait for a while longer," Ledare explained. "Let's give it another hour."

"No! We need to go now," Vade asserted. "I hate this place! Let's go! I do not need a _Fear_ spell to convince me to run as fast as I can away from here." Karak walked over to the halfling and put a heavy hand on Vade's shoulder.

"Why not we have Vade, here, scout just a little ahead since he be so willin'. And we go down the path looking for him," the dwarf suggested. "In the state you all ran outta here, he should have left a trail even a blind wizard could follow."

"Vade can't see in the dark," Morier reminded and Karak put a hand on his chin as he pondered. At last he turned to Ixin.

"Maybe that owl of yours, lassie, could be our eyes in the sky," the dwarf began and then his own eyes grew wide as he thought of an even better plan. "As I think of it, could that owl of yours not just go look for Feln? Then we could know what is up. Maybe, if Feln is lost, the owl can lead him back."

"That plan makes the most sense, I think," Ixin admitted. "Let's get Feln first and if we can come back and search the tunnel when the party is all together, we will. I will use Marty to scout ahead as we go, if he's willing." She asked looked at the owl and Martivir tested his wings before hooting his agreement. With a soft flutter, the bird took again to the air.

"I am not sure how long we should stay in sight of these statues," Karak added as he started after the owl. "I'll be followin' the orc's trail by ground. You lot can do as ye please."



"Marty's not having any luck finding Feln," Ixin announced after she'd spoken briefly to the owl. "He does say that there's something strange about these woods, though. He says that the trees are moving."

"Moving?" Ledare asked, confused. "Like the wind is blowing them?"

"Or like something big is moving through them?" Vade added, gulping audibly with fear and clutching Ledare's shield arm tightly.

"No," Ixin asserted. "Like they're changing position."

"The Wandering Trees!" Vade said suddenly, his voice full of excitement. "I've heard of this place! We're not too far from Haddonshire, where I was born."

"I've heard of it too," Morier added. "It's supposedly sacred to the druidic cult of Dridanis. Malcolm mentioned it a time or two over the years, but he wouldn't speak of it further."

"Supposedly the trees move around of their own accord," Vade said in his best spooky voice. Then he choked and let out a little whimper. "People get lost and never make it out again."

"Well as foolish as that all sounds, I think it might be the way o' things," Karak grumbled and got up off his hands and knees where he'd been examining the ground. "According to these tracks, your orc ran smack into this 'ere tree. Course I can't find any other sign that he did. It's like he ran straight through it. Or like the tree moved across his path after he came through."

"We'll never find him," Vade whimpered, pressing his cheek against Ledare's thigh. "The trees won't let us."

"Well, Marty also says that there's another trail that runs at cross paths to this one a little ways ahead," Ixin offered. "If these trees indeed blocked Feln's return path after he came through, he may have made it as far as the connecting trail. Maybe we could find his tracks there."

"That be a mighty big 'if', lassie," Karak grumbled as he peered off into the thicket of trees ahead.

"Trouble is, I don't think we've got much of a choice," Ledare said. "Without a return path, there's little chnnce of Feln finding his way back to us without some help."

"We can't just leave him," Vade protested.

"Nae, lad. We can't just leave 'im," Karak agreed as he bent back a branch and ventured off the narrow path. "Stick close together like. I don't want anybody else gettin' lost."

"Fly ahead and wait for us at the other path," Ixin whispered to Martivir and tossed the bird high. She was confident that she'd be able to use her connection to the owl as a sort of compass to keep them from wandering off course as they trudged in the dark through the thick underbrush.



If moving along the path had been frightening for Vade, movement straight through the forest was even worse. The trees pressed in all around them. Branches seemed to claw at them as they passed. Exposed roots sought to trip the unwary. A pervasive rustling and creaking filled the otherwise still night air. At one point, a large branch dropped suddenly from above in such a way that it fell on everyone. Only Karak and Vade managed to avoid the deadwood timber, and the others cried out in alarm as the branch bore them all to the ground. The damage to each of them was minor, but unsettling, and in the case of Morier - who had suffered greatly at the jaws of the ant swarm - enough to bring him nearly to the point of unconsciousness.

"I get the feeling we are unwanted here," the albino mused as he got unsteadily to his feet.

"The feeling is mutual," Vade whispered under his breath, fearful that the trees might somehow hear him and understand his words.

"Martivir is just up ahead," Ixin encouraged and they plowed through the clutching branches and thorny nettles to reach the intersection path.



He heard them long before he saw them, and it was a simple matter for Feln to step into the shadows as Karak and the others clawed their way out of the underbrush. The dwarf looked both ways up the path and then bent to the ground.

"His tracks head off that way," Karak said after a moment's examination. He pointed in Feln's direction.

"West," Ledare asserted after she looked the opposite direction up the path and then at the patch of sky just visible through the dense foliage overhead.

"I think it's north," Morier countered and there was another heated debate over which direction was north - or more importantly, which direction was south. As they argued, Feln stepped out of the shadows and leaned against a tree in plain sight to watch them.

Even so, it was several moments before anyone saw him. And even then it was Ixin's owl that spied him first.

"My, but you're a stealthy bunch," Feln mused with a rueful shake of his head.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

When good familiars go bad......


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> When good familiars go bad......





Yeah. That was stretching the "Share Spells" rule a bit, but I thought it made it a little more interesting.

I rolled very high for Marty's attacks. Of course, when his attacks do 1 point of damage, he could have rolled criticals without seriously endangering Morier.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #265] Hunting Party*

"These woods are full of trickery," Feln grumbled. "I have learned a bit of tracking from Windstryder but this damned forest has me turned all around."

"We know," Ledare said and Vade piped up.

"The trees move around!" he said and Feln grunted in reply.

"There are creatures about as well," the half-orc added, holding up the torn remnants of his jacket as an example. "Watch out for spiders webs."

At the mention os spiders, Ledare let out an audible gulp and Vade tightened his grip on her shield hand. She looked down at him and whispered, "Vade, do you remember what I told you about watching for spiders? Be vigilant."

"It is okay, Kitten," the halfling replied, stroking her mailed gauntlet reassuringly. "I'll protect you."

At that, Karak harrumphed and rolled his eyes - not that Vade could see him do so in the darkness. He turned and said in a conspiratorial whisper, "She is afraid of spiders, you know."

"If we stay a bit apart we should be able to keep each other safe," Feln offered but Ledare cleared her throat.

"I-," she began, searching for an easy explanation for Vade's statement. "I had a bad experience once." Marier laid a hand on her shoulder and smiled at her comfortingly.

"No one faults you for your reluctance to relive past hurts," the albino said, and the tone of his voice reminded the Janissary that of all her companions only he truly knew what she meant when she said 'bad experience'.

Karak spat into the bushes, tiring quickly of all the spider talk. He fixed his eye on Feln and pointed at the martial artist with a thick finger. "Oi, Orc-Blood! Where've you been at, eh?" he challenged. "It be seemin' tha' even tho we be lookin' for you, instead you be the one ta find us!"

"What's the matter, Karak?" Feln shot back. "Are you still sore that I beat you in that contest?"

"Beat me?!" the dwarf roared and raised his waraxe to chest level, his fingers white-knuckled upon its haft. "You beat me? Why you fungular, sliver-witted goblin-spawn! I'll show you who-" Karak's tirade was cut short by a calming word from Ledare and a plaintive look from the halfling.

Vade stepped forward cautiously and looked up at Feln. "Are you okay?" he asked in a small voice.

"Would you like your sacred knife back?" the half-orc asked in reply, his eyes studying the little rogue's face intently.

"What do you mean 'my knife'?" Vade asked, patting himself down. "Do you mean the one that is really yours? 'Cause I didn't take it. I promised I wouldn't unless I asked first and you haven't been around to ask so-"

Feln crouched down and opened the flap of his torn jerkin to show Vade the handle of the knife in question (although Vade had only the vaguest idea what what the half-orc was doing in the darkness). "I am just being paranoid, my friend," the martial artist explained and Vade sighed with relief and gave the half-orc a big hug. "It seemed a bit convenient just bumping into you all on the trail."

"Convenient?" Ixin mused as she painfully worked burrs out of her hair. "Clearly you haven't been off the trail."

"And had a tree fall on you," Morier added weakly.

"Well, I do be admittin' to you all tha' I nae be likin' these woods," Karak grumbled. "I feel like a youngun trapped in a bad dream in this 'ere forest."

"A good analogy," Ledare said. "Karak found a secret tunnel back in those ruins. I suggest that we all stay together and return that way."

"Our options are becoming more limited," Ixin announced, pointing in the direction that Feln had just come.

The path was no longer there.



Thanks to Ixin's familiar, they were able to find their way back to the portal without getting lost. The return trip took much longer than the trip out had since the path that they had followed had disappeared entirely now. Still they shouldered their way through brambles and undergrowth without suffering any lasting injuries although they were all - even Karak - tired by the time they spotted the clearing in the woods ahead.

"Mazkurbak murgelm hermotmararn || Larigrulnosnar," Karak said to each of them in dwarvish before they stepped back out into the crumbling ruin surrounding the portal. Only Vade, who spoke dwarfish, and Ixin, whose magical cutlass endowed her with a permanent _Tongues_ spell, understood the meaning of the words: 'I promise you safety and peace against magic. We conquer fear with our courage.'

Only Vade recognized the words for what they really were.

"Now!" the dwarf said, slipping once more into the common tongue. "All gather around. Remember those statues are set to have us run from this place. Keep your wits about you and dig down into your fortitude. If ye be gettin' funny thoughts to hurt yer companions, speak up first so's we don't be hurtin' ye."
And with that, he turned and walked defiantly into the clearing. But nothing waited for him and the statues remained inert.

"Mayhaps the statues've run out o' power," Karak suggested, but Ledare pointed toward the rear of the ruin, urging him and the others toward that area.

"Just the same, I'll feel better once they're not staring at us," she said and the dwarf couldn't argue with the logic of her statement. He followed her, muttering under his breath.

"I do nae know how those elves can be likin' these parts," he groused. "Gives me the creepies. Give me a nice deep dark cave any day."



"I did find tha tunnel but I do nae ken if there be any traps," the dwarf said, pointing at the smashed panel in the rear of the timeworn altar. Let's go down and out and find tha' Apprentice ye be after."

"How about we get a little rest," Ixin suggested, rubbing her aching neck. She smirked, "I feel like a dwarf's been beating on me with his axe."

"Oh ho!" Karak laughed. "An' well ye should, lassie! Well ye should!"

"I agree with Ixin," Vade said. "My feet hurt from all this walking."

"I have several healing draughts that I purchased from Maerwynn back in town," Morier said releasing the clasps on his finely tooled potion belt. He held it up for them to see even as he eased his battered frame to the ground. "I'm not eager to be rid of them all in one night, but those that need magical curing to get out of danger should make use of them." Taking his own advice, the eldritch warrior pulled out a vial, but Vade stayed his hand.

"Save your potion," the halfling said, rummaging through his prodigious backpack. He pulled out a gnarled shaft of black wood tipped with a red gemstone and waved it in the air mysteriously. "Your dad told me this wand is supposed to heal people. But none of us can work it." He turned to Karak and thrust the wand at him. "But you can!"

"Me?!" the dwarf recoiled from the device like it was on fire and he was made of paper. "Are ye daft, wee one? I be nae wizard!"

"Nope," Vade stated with confidence, forcing the wand into the dwarf's hands. "You're a priest."

"Ye're thinkin' o' me chalak," Karak asserted, thrusting the wand back at the halfling. "Malak be the one in The Queen's graces, nae me!"

"I saw you heal Morier," Vade accused and Karak harrumphed in reply.

"What of it?" the dwarf grumbled. "Did ye nae see the half-elf do the same thing to the wizard?"

Ixin didn't bother correcting him.

"I also saw you cast another spell on us before we came into the clearing," the halfling persisted.

"What?! That?!" Karak was more amused than anything else by this. "Tha's nae magic! Tha' be an old dwarven blessin' the tunnel wardens taught me back when I was your size. 'Course I was already helpin' to defend the delve from gobbos by then."

"Try the wand," Vade insisted.

"I do nae ken how to use this 'ere gnarled stick," the dwarf grumbled, swinging the wand around like a club. "It be nae big enough to hit someone with. Look 'ere, see." As an example, he tapped the halfling on the head with an audible thwap and the gemstone on the tip of the wand began to glow vermilion in the darkness. The ruined shrine was quickly filled with a ruddy glow.

Vade yelped and clutched his scalp in mock pain, but it only lasted an instant. He could feel the magic working its way through his body, and although he had no injuries to be healed, he was sure that it was healing magic. "See! I told you!" Vade cried, pointing to the wand as the gem's glow began to fade. Karak looked at the wand too.

"Well, I'll be an elf's uncle," the dwarf muttered, shaking his head.



The wand did indeed heal all those who needed healing, but it was of a slower sort that worked over the course of a minute rather than curing them all at once. All in all, they settled down feeling a good deal better than they had arrived in the clearing. It was, of course, short lived.

Morier and Karak took the first watch and neither warrior saw or heard anything out of the ordinary. Feln and Vade were next up and after an hour, they were more or less at ease in their duties (although Vade still repeatedly cursed the fact that he was completely blind in the dark).

"Use your ears, my friend," Feln told him, shifting his weight a little on the cold stone. The martial artist had opted for a bird's eye view of their campsite and the clearing as a whole, so he had scaled the remains of the rear wall and crouched there as still as a gargoyle. Vade didn't like being alone, and thanks to the Slippers of Spider Climbing had no fear of falling even though he couldn't see to climb. So he had joined the half-orc in a duty that was normally a solitary one for Feln. For some reason, he didn't mind as much as he thought he might.

"I'm glad I do not have to be on watch alone," Vade whispered loudly. "It is kind of scary."

"Hmmm," Feln murmured in agreement. "In all my time with Windstryder I have never encountered a place like this. The forest itself seems to want us-"

He was cut short by a jar of alchemist's fire shattering against the side of his head. The noxious goo inside burst into flames on contact with the air, peppering Vade with burning splatter. Not that either of them saw the second flask, but it arced up out of the trees and crashed squarely on Ixin's chest, splashing both Morier and Ledare with flaming syrup.

Vade distinctly heard the tittering commands of someone speaking gobbledy out in the darkness, and the voice was telling their archers to spread out.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #265] Goblins in the Night*

Thinking quickly Vade shouted in his most authoritative voice, "Gej-jez! Kot rargad!" He then vanished from the wall beside the slightly dazed Feln. Ledare heard the halfling's words and, since she spoke gobbledy herself, understood that he had just shouted the command to stop shooting and charge the enemy.

"Zozgat!" another voice from over the wall protested. "Jez rargard!" Moment's later, another flask of alchemist's fire sailed out of the darkness shattering on the ground beside the Janissary, coating her in a sheet of liquid fire. She couldn't hear any more over the sounds of her own cries of pain as she began to roll furiously in the dirt.

"Oi, from wherst dost those fire globes be fallin'?" Karak grumbled as he scrambled to his feet, instantly awake. He slammed his helmet onto his shaggy head and hefted his waraxe. "Let's ready all, up and up. We are being attacked."

As if to lend further credence to his warning, an arrow lanced out of the darkness and buried itself in the dwarf's left calf. Karak looked down at the shaft and scowled.

Ixin awoke to find herself on fire! Of course, this was of little concern to her since she carried the blood of red dragons in her veins and was therefore resistant to all but the hottest of flames. Still it was startling and she looked around at her companions. Ledare had already rolled well away from the sorcerer, but Morier was rolling back and forth ineffectually beside her. Ixin reached out with her bare hands and began to beat at the flames that were burning the eldritch warrior.

"Take cover, Ixin!" Morier warned even as they worked together to smother the flames burning on his chest and shoulder.

Karak reached down and yanked the arrow out of his leg and sniffed it once before tossing it aside. "Poison!" he growled. "Gobbo poison! Seems like there be 'ere gobbos in these 'ere woods.  I will attempt to snuff 'em out." He cast a single glance back at Morier, Ixin and Ledare before charging toward the nearest breech in the crumbling wall. "Watch me back, lads. I be goin' in!" and with that, he disappeared into the underbrush with his waraxe gripped tightly in both hands.

The nearest goblin let out a warning yelp and fired an arrow at the dwarf, but it struck the tree a full foot above Karak's head.

Ledare managed to put out the fire that was threatening to consume her only set of decent sleeping garb. Without getting up, she looked back toward the camp, spied Ravager and her shield balanced against her shiny new breastplate near where she'd been sleeping. She started to belly crawl back toward her equipment even as an arrow thudded into the ground where she'd laid moments before.

Finally regaining control of himself, Feln slipped into a state of eerie calm. Without a word, he back-flipped off the top of the wall and landed on his feet below where he proceeded to slap out the flames that were blistering the flesh on the side of his head. The smell of burning hair was horrible. He had time to see, but not react to a goblin who popped up from the underbrush long enough to lob a flask of alchemist's fire in the half-orc's direction. It shattered harmlessly against the wall to his right.

Ledare had just reached her weapons when another arrow struck the ground a few feet away, but who it was aimed at was unclear.

"Cover your ears everybody!" Vade's disembodied voice screamed from somewhere above followed by a grunt as he heaved a thunderstone with all his might toward the source of the voices he had heard. The area he was targeting was pretty thickly overgrown, and very dark, but the thunderstone struck against a tree trunk in the area and shattered. A colossal *BOOM! *resounded in the forest, sending flocks of birds flying from the trees nearby and causing a scream of goblin pain to rise up in its wake. This, of course, prompted Vade to become visible in the process and anyone who had cared to look would have seen a mischievous grin splitting the halfling's face. That is until the arrow whistled passed his head and the little rogue suddenly realized what a nice target he made now that he could be seen. As he went to activate the Ring of Invisibility, a second arrow graced his right hand and he squealed in pain.

"Are you alr-" Ixin started to ask and Morier pushed her away as he struggled to get up.

"Grab your crossbow and take cover behind the wall," the albino insisted as he scrambled over to Karak's bedroll and grabbed the dwarf's light crossbow. "We need to return fire!"

The two of them made there way at a stooped run to the edge of the ruins and fired into the woods, hitting nothing.

As arrows hissed through the branches above, Karak watched as the goblin struggled nervously with its quiver. The dwarf grinned back at the creature ferally and raised his waraxe. "I ask here an' now for the aid of my ancestors. May they guide me," Karak muttered and brought the blade affectionately to his lips. After planting a kiss, he took a step toward the goblin. "Come 'ere, me wee gobbo. I got a present for ye!"

The goblin finally managed to put arrow to string and fired a shaft straight into Karak's torso at point blank range. The dwarf's scowl deepened slightly as he continued to advance on the creature. He didn't spot the second goblin until after the foul creature had sunk a second arrow into the dwarf's already injured leg. It was a much stronger shot than he'd received previously - not enough to truly worry him, but it gave him pause.

Ledare snatched up what gear she could and raced for the cover of the ruin wall. With her back pressed against the cold stone, she strapped on her crossbow belt and secured her shield just in time to block another arrow aimed for her chest. This time, however, she saw the breech in the wall that the goblin was using as an impromptu arrow slit, and her eyes narrowed as she unsheathed Ravager.

In the darkness behind the ruin, Feln popped a healing draught and brought it to his lips. As the elixir eased his pain, he fixed his eye on the goblin who had thrown the alchemist's fire and dove behind the nearest tree.

_To Glub, the goblin that had been readying his bow to attack the half-orc, it was as if the forest had drank the martial artist in one silent gulp._


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #266a] Exchanging Glances*

Vade activated the Ring of Invisibility and did his own disappearing act. Moments later, safely cloaked by magic, he raced down the side of the wall and headed toward Ixin and Morier - the only two of his companions he could see in the darkness. He could dimly make out Ledare moving toward an opening in the ruined wall and saw her bat away another arrow with her shield. Draelond's big, jagged sword was in her right hand.

Ixin worked to pull back the string on her crossbow, and the weapon slipped out of her hands, launching itself up and over her head by the very tension in its bowstring. It nearly clipped her nose as it went flying to land with a thud ten feet behind her.

"Nothing fancy, Ixin," Morier deadpanned and raised his borrowed crossbow. He fired into the trees, hitting nothing.

Karak, had no such trouble. He closed quickly with the goblin in front of him, striking true with every ounce of his strength and every bit of his race's contempt for goblinkind. It was difficult to discern just where the blow had landed on the creature; there was more of the goblin splattered on the nearby trees than was left inside its ratty leather armor.

Ledare saw her quarry dart away from the narrow gap in the ruined wall and she altered her course to intercept. She stepped up onto a bit of fallen rubble and vaulted lightly over the wall, landing easily five feet away from the startled goblin. It didn't get a chance to cry out, however, before Ledare brought Ravager up in a cruel arc. The sword split the creature literally in half, its saw-toothed blade seeming almost to relish the carnage.

"Dakar ot, kez," the goblin who had already injured Karak hissed as he nocked another arrow and sent it the dwarf's left bicep.

"Not today," Karak answered as he fixed the goblin with his steely gaze. The creature moved off into the underbrush and disappeared from Karak's sight.

Ixin cried out as she moved to retrieve her crossbow and suffered an arrow to her left fore arm.

Glub the goblin put down his crossbow and drew his shortsword and dagger. He knew well, the way of the hunt, and knew that the half-orc would be closing with him to engage in hand-to-hand. That was the way of orcs. But Glub was a goblin and he preferred the silent and swift arrow to the messy complication of-

His thoughts were cut short by Feln's foot slamming into the back of his head. The goblin cried out and pitched forward, but recovered quickly enough to slash the half-orc's shin with its shortsword.

Ledare dodged an arrow meant for her head. All it did was mark the archer in her sight and she moved toward the goblin with her sword ready.

Ixin reached her crossbow and was reaching for it when she heard the whirring sound nearby. An instant later, Vade appeared from nowhere with his sling extended in his hand. The sound of breaking glass followed by the horrible wail of a creature in mortal agony alerted her to the goblin archer that had been shooting at her from a breach in the wall. Vade had made use of his last glass sling bullet and the goblin was quickly reduced to a pile of steaming goo by the concentrated acid within the missile.

"That is what they get for messing with my friends," the halfling said grimly.

"Thank you," Ixin said, somewhat taken aback by the halfling's attack. She stooped to pick up her crossbow and then moved to return to her position on the wall when Morier fired an arrow through the throat of the goblin Ledare had targeted.

Suddenly without any obvious opponents, Ledare called out to Karak, who she could see nearby. "Are there more?" she asked.

"I lost one o' the wee buggers," the dwarf crumbled, sweeping his axe through the underbrush in the hopes of drawing the creature out. "It got away."

"Ixin? Morier?" Ledare shouted, moving back toward their campsite. "Are you alright?"

"We're fine," Morier called back. "Battered a bit, but otherwise fine."

"What about my buddy Feln?" Vade cried out and a goblin head thudded to the ground near the halfling's feet. The goblin's head had been twisted off its body.

Feln dropped down from the top of the wall and moved easily toward them.

"That's the last of the ones on my side," he told them before looking pointedly at the halfling. "No more talking while on duty, Vade," he said with a frown.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #267] The Great Goblin Hunt*

While Ledare made her way back toward camp, Karak continued to watch the underbrush. He could neither see nor hear anything telling in the surrounding area. He grabbed the arrow sticking out of his side and jerked it free with a grunt. The ones in his left arm and leg followed and he tossed them into a pile before crouching to examine the ground.

"Well lads, I must say, I do believe one got away!" the dwarf grumbled loudly so that the others could hear his basso voice clearly. "If I know gobbos like I know gobbos, they'll be back an' in greater numbers, if they want'n to be."

He could see no identifiable tracks in the soil.

"They may even bring one o' their shamans too," he added and rose to his feet and started to move off in a likely direction. "I'm after 'im, though."

"What?" Morier shouted back, halting Karak momentarily in his tracks. "You should not travel into the night alone hunting goblins! Allow me a moment to put my armor on and I shall accompany you." The albino hefted his hauberk of fine steel scales.

"Aye, lad, I appreciate your gesture," the dwarf snorted. "But by the time you or I be armored the gobbo'll be gone. The time is now. Let's go if ye will. One gobbo can nae stop us. That be for sure."

Vade looked at Morier hastily scrambling into his armor with a little help from Ixin and then listened to the sound of Karak stomping off into the trees beyond the wall. He looked stricken but he called out bravely, "Okay! Maybe I... or someone borrowing the Invisibility Ring... could scout out the area to see if there are any remnants of the goblin crew that attacked us!"

There was a moment of silence, then Karak laughed in the distance. "Oi! Are ye nae a brave wee one!" he called. "But nae, lad. You stay here. Smashin' gobbo's be a dwarf's duty. Beside ye can nae see in the dark, and I can run a wee bit faster'n ye, lad. I be right back."

And with that, Karak trotted off.

"I think Karak is right. We need to find that extra gobbo if we can," Ixin asserted and called out to her owl who was perched on an overhead branch. "Marty, can you take a look from a higher vantage point? And keep an eye out for Karak as well when he goes to look." The owl hooted and took silently to the air.

"Ixin. Would you come with me to follow Karak?" Morier asked the mage as they struggled together with his armor. "Your connection to your familiar could provide us with an aerial perspective. And I'm assuming that the sound of a dwarf trudging through the woods will be sort of easy to follow."

"I don't know..," Ixin hesitated, looking at Ledare for some guidance. The Janissary shrugged in response.

"I can't stop Karak from doing what he thinks he must," she said. "But I think rushing off into the forest unprepared is ill-advised."

"I'll go with him," Feln grunted and performed a running jump up and over the wall before anyone could stop him.

Ledare sighed and shook her head.



Karak wasn't having any luck uncovering the trail of the fleeing goblin, but he didn't give up hope. He knew that, while the green-skins were faster than the average dwarf, Karak had spent a goodly part of his youth running in the wilds and could easily outpace even the fastest of his kin when free of the fetters of his armor. He also knew that if the gobbo were trying to move undetected - which the sneaky bastard was clearly doing - then it wouldn't be moving all that fast to begin with. So he pressed on, beating the underbrush with his waraxe to flush the gobbo out of hiding.



"Why would goblins attack us?" Ixin wondered aloud as she worked at one of the straps on Morier's scalemail. "Could they be part of the guard for this particular portal?"

"They're goblins," Vade said by way of explanation. "That's just the way they are."

Morier clucked his tongue. "It's possible for individuals to transcend the stereotypical morality of their race," the albino argued and something about the way he said it made the others think that he'd probably given the subject a good deal of previous thought. "No one is bound to align themselves with the ethics of their ancestors."

"Morier's right," Ledare agreed. "Plenty of goblins live peacefully in Barnacus. I think that the owner of The Crossroads Inn is a goblin and there's been no trouble with him that I'm aware of. He even took a human wife."

Vade shrugged. Most of what he knew about goblins he'd learned from Dairgren back in Thumble, and the retired adventurer hadn't spoken highly of the creatures.

"I wonder if the goblins work for the apprentice?" Ixin continued to wonder. "Perhaps they are mutated? They seem smarter than the goblins of my own land."

"They used good tactics," Ledare nodded. "We could learn a bit from them in that regard."

"I miss my rollicking adventures with my brothers in the meadows just south of here... a few days," Vade said with a wistful smile. "If we get through this, can we please go visit my home town of Thumble? I miss my Mama and Papa.  And my brothers and cousins. And Cora and Miss Calwee. And Perythea's pies and..."



Karak thought that he'd been heard some movement in the underbrush - stealthy creeping such as a sneaky gobbo might do. So Karak had done a little stealthy creeping of his own and moved toward the sound as silent as a dwarf walking very quietly on his tippy toes. That is to say, not very quietly at all. He had no training in it and very little patience for skulking about in shadows when there was an enemy that could be met with a swinging axe. Still, despite his rather guileless approach to the time-honored skills of moving silently and hiding in shadows, the environment was on his side with little light, clattering branches overhead, soft loam underfoot, and the incessant hooting of an owl in a tree up ahead.

Mokar, jabaj-net of the Habozargar clan, never heard him coming.



'I can't believe I am even thinking that we should explore the secret door," Vade said and gave a shiver. "Underground... eww!"

"I can't believe you are suggesting it either," Ixin said, tugging one of Morier's last straps into place. "That could get us trapped underground and we have no clear reason for exploring there anyway."

"I think our immediate goal was to get to Myth Drannor," Morier said securing the last of his straps and grabbing his greatsword. "We're getting sidetracked by this secret tunnel."

"But there could be-" Vade started to say and Ixin held up a hand.

"Martivir is agitated," she said, a look of concentration on her face. "I think he found the missing goblin. That way!" She pointed off into the trees and Morier took her by the wrist as they raced toward the wall. Vade went to follow and Ledare grabbed him by the shoulder.

"We should stay here to guard the camp," the Janissary said. "They might be trying to lure us all away and leave our gear lying here unprotected."



The sound of the hooting owl was beginning to grate on Karak's nerves, and he gritted his teeth together so loudly that Mokar, squatting in the bushes five feet away jerked his head in that direction. A yellowed grin split the goblin's mean little face as he drew his matched daggers and eyed the dwarf's broad back.

The bearded creature wasn't Mokar's favored prey, human, but he would still enjoy the opportunity to slide his blades between the thing's ribs and watch it bleed its life away into the forest floor. He would skin his kill and bring dwarf meat back to the clanhome. His kublaj-zenkal, Herruk, would be pleased as would Sheesak, the zenkal. His place of honor within the clan would be assured and they would sing his praises around the firepits!

He thought this right up until the instant the shuriken struck him in the small of the back, severing his spine roughly a hand-width above his weapon belt. At that moment, his dreams of stabbing his way up the clan hierarchy died in a wave of pain. He let out a gurgle of pain and fell forward, slumping to the ground at Karak's feet. The dwarf looked down and casually split open the goblin's head with his axe just as Feln dropped down from a nearby tree.

"Oi!" the dwarf grunted at the half-orc. "How'n did ye spot that wee goobo? He was hid well enough from my eyes!"

Feln pointed to the branches overhead where Martivir was perched, regarding the dwarf with its big round eyes. "The owl's been trying to get your attention," the martial artist pointed out before turning to head back to their camp. "And I count two kills for me to your one. Perhaps you were just lucky last time we fought."

"Lucky!?" Karak roared, starting after the martial artist. "I'm ready for a rematch whenever ye like! We'll see who's lucky!"


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> "They're goblins," Vade said by way of explanation. "That's just the way they are."
> 
> Morier clucked his tongue. "It's possible for individuals to transcend the stereotypical morality of their race," the albino argued and something about the way he said it made the others think that he'd probably given the subject a good deal of previous thought. "No one is bound to align themselves with the ethics of their ancestors."
> 
> "Morier's right," Ledare agreed. "Plenty of goblins live peacefully in Barnacus. I think that the owner of The Crossroads Inn is a goblin and there's been no trouble with him that I'm aware of. He even took a human wife."
> 
> Vade shrugged. Most of what he knew about goblins he'd learned from Dairgren back in Thumble, and the retired adventurer hadn't spoken highly of the creatures.




No, I think Vade got it right   

You used Hamlet of Thumble as well? Do tell...............


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> No, I think Vade got it right
> 
> You used Hamlet of Thumble as well? Do tell...............




So far, it's just background info.

Vade's player (Mark) has been making up tales of the halfling's past since before the character was introduced and has been pining for a trip home to see his family. He wanted a community of halflings and I won the copy of The Hamlet of Thumble from Ed Cha (autographed even!).

It seemed a natural fit.

Of course, I'll have to expand the Hamlet to accommodate the Vadenhuffer clan, and the party's much too experienced to be challenged by the Yappies, but it should be an interesting experience, none the less. You can be sure that, should they give in to Vade's incessant pleading and visit the halfling community, you'll hear about it here.   

And I'm still waiting to find out what happens with Tharhack in Oester!


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Do you have Village of Oester as well?


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Do you have Village of Oester as well?




Not yet. But if it lives up to Thumble, I may just have to get it.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #268] The Great Debate*

Morier and Ixin met up with Karak and Feln as the latter two returned from their search and destroy mission. The dwarf and half-orc were arguing in hushed tones that would occasionally flair into near shouting. Most of the shouting came from Karak.

"Did you find the last goblin?" Morier asked at once and Feln nodded.

"The owl found it. I killed it," the half orc explained.

"Ye do nae get to count one runt gobbo that I was just about to squish between me axe and a rock," Karak protested loudly.

"It was my kill," Feln replied softly.

"Nae! That be unfair," the dwarf argued. "But I'll be keepin' an eye on your count, that be for sure!"

"It was my kill," Feln muttered again.

"What happened exactly?" Ixin asked and they recounted the goblin's quick demise. There was some dispute over whether the shuriken sneak attack or the waraxe coup de grace had done the creature in.

"It was still twitchin' when I split its head! But that was a nifty bit of throwin' with those forged disks, though," Karak admitted, pointing at the half-orc with his gore-smeared waraxe. "Might nice work those things. I bet ye a dwarf made those, eh?" Feln merely shrugged in response.

"Let's get back to camp," Morier suggested and the others agreed.



They recounted the tale again for Ledare and Vade once they'd all safely returned to their campsite. Ledare listened politely as she cleaned Ravager's blade with a torn bit of goblin-cloak. Watching her work, Karak raised his waraxe and glowered at the blade critically.

"Well, it'n be a long long time since ye tasted gobbo blood, eh?" he said to the weapon. "I figurin' it be nigh time I bless ye an' clean ye up."

He went and rummaged noisily through his pack until he produced a bundle of tools for the care of arms and armor. He stuffed this under his arm and trundled over to confront Feln. "I dare say, lad, ye understand I hold ye no personal grudge, see'n as how ye can nae help how ye been born or who ye been born to," Karak said, sneering in disgust at Feln's orcish features despite his best attempts to be diplomatic. "Plus ye 'n' me fought and that makes it a'right for us to travel together. But ye see, I have to clean and bless this 'ere axe from tastin' the goblin blood, and whilst I do that the axe can nae see orc blood too. You be gettin' me meaning?"

Feln glowered down at the dwarf, but said nothing.

"I'll just have to ask ye to stand over here for a spell, won't ye, good lad?" Karak asked and then headed off for the far side of the clearing without waiting for an answer.

Vade edged up to Feln's side and said, "That's just how dwarf's are, buddy. Don't let it bother you too much." The half-orc grunted and laid a hand on Vade's slim shoulder.



"I like exploring as much as the next orc but I think we need to take a moment and decide what our priority is," Feln growled as they huddled around a small fire while Karak tended his gear in private. They were - temporarily at least - unwilling to succumb to sleep and risk another goblin attack. Vade had again raised the subject of the secret tunnel and the debate over how to proceed raged again.

"No secret tunnels!" Ixin asserted with a stern shake of her head. Her stunted wings spread wide, casting a monstrous shadow on the crumbling wall behind her. "On to Myth Drannor!"

"Amen to that," Morier groaned. He traced lightning bolts in the dirt with one pale finger.

"And just what will we do once we get there?" Ledare asked. She took a sip from a waterskin and waited for an answer that Ixin didn't have.

"We need to stay on the trail while our leads our fresh," Feln offered.

"Going into the secret area could be a good idea," Vade said with a shrug. "Somebody went to a lot of trouble to hide it."

"We are in good health," Feln told the halfling and poked purposefully at the glowing coals. "A trip underground may cost us that advantage or even cost us a party member."

"We'd have to be extra careful, of course," Vade said brightly. "If it was worth hiding, it is worth investigating." There was a glimmer in his eye that might have been the gleam of imagined gold, but Feln quickly snuffed it out.

"These woods are difficult enough without worrying about a wounded comrade!" the hal-orc growled.

"Oi!" Karak chuckled as he tramped back to the group. "If you'n don't all be a bunch of sallies!"

"Sallies?" Ledare asked and Karak nodded, planting the haft of his axe at the fire's edge and resting his arms across the weapon's great blade.

"That be what we call little dwarven girls back in the delve," he explained with a snort. "What? You all scared of a little tunnel? Why, I was runnin' down tunnels like that'n when I was but a wee one - gettin' rid o' all sorts o' filth: goblins, skaven, trolls, an' orcs." Looking up at Feln, he added, "Ummm... Sorry about that last reference, orc-blood."

Feln said nothing, but turned pointedly back to stare into the fire.

"Let's nae be afraid of a little dark tunnel," Karak went on after an awkward pause. "I mean ye have a dwarf with ye, and a tunnel. I mean ye can see that be nae problem!"

"We're not all like you. I don't like it underground," Vade said and Karak harrumphed.

"Now for the white skinned elf, I can understand it for the forest be his trompin' ground. And for you woman folk, I can understand it too - you all not bein' dwarvenkind an' all," the dwarf continued. "But Vade and Feln, ye two can nae be afraid of no tunnel, now can ye?"

Again Feln was silent, but this time, Vade filled the uncomfortable pause. "I... Well, I am a little afraid of the dark," he said and eased up to Karak's side. He held out his little hand and with a grin asked, "Will you hold my hand? Ha ha! Just kidding..."

The dwarf scowled down at the halfling and Vade swallowed audibly. "Uhhh... I will have my weapon ready, instead!" he said quickly. "Yeah. That is it!"

"We're kind of just ambling along to Myth Drannor without really knowing what we'll do there anyhow." Ledare spoke up. "I think it would make sense to explore these caves."

Flen nodded his head and added, "These portals are just as important to our mission as anything else and there has to be some tie between these altars and the portals. The more we know about the portals the better."

"Aye, lad!" Karak cheered. "That be the spirit!"

"Allright, Karak, I think we can take some time to explore this dungeon," the half-orc said and rose lithely to his feet. "But I propose we move now, not after sleep. I don't want to deal with another gobbo raid."

Ixin sighed and got up from the ground. "What say you, Morier? This goes against my better judgement, but I can't have this dwarf thinking me a sally."

Morier rose to stand beside Ixin and nodded grimly.

"Sally," Vade said, letting the word roll around on his tongue. "That is a pretty name. I like that for you, Ixin. What do you think, Kitten?"

Ledare stood and sheathed Ravager with a single lightning quick motion. "There are no Sallies here," she said regarding Karak archly. 

"Aye! That be plain enough!" the dwarf guffawed and thumped her on the back. "Here be what I propose. Me an' Vade up front. Vade checkin' for traps. Ixin an' Morier in the middle for sorcery, And Ledare and Feln in the rear."

"Vade, remember to keep your ring on and be ready to climb the walls if trouble arrives," Feln offered and the halfling looked skeptically at the _Ring of Invisibility_.

"Well..." he muttered. "It's not really my ring. It's Ledare's and-"

"Keep the ring, Vade," the Janissary said with a wave of her hand. "I've never used it to its full advantage. Sneaking around lightly and being devious isn't first nature to me. You're a much better man for that job! Consider it a gift." With a wink she added, "But keep your hands off my other stuff."

Despite her light-hearted warning, Vade threw his arms around Ledare's knees and pressed his face against her thigh. "Thank you, Kitten!" he exclaimed. "That was the nicest thing you have ever said to me."

Karak harrumphed again and produced the _Wand of Regeneration_ from amongst his gear. "Now any o' ye want me to whack ye with this 'ere magic stick?" he asked, thumping it against his palm in an almost threatening gesture. "It'n must be ye all be hangin' out too long with faeries an' ye need a real fighter to hit ye with this 'ere magic stick."

He grinned at the prospect of distributing some _healing_.


----------



## Jon Potter

No one took the dwarf up on the offer to be healed, choosing to conserve their resources until they were truly needed. Instead, Karak and Ledare tended to everybody's wounds using what little first aid they remembered from their warrior training. Karak's application of healing salve from a small flask that his brother had given to him seemed to work wonders on the relatively minor injuries.

"A night's rest'll do everyone a dragon's hoard o' good," Karak announced as he carefully wiped the metal flask dry and returned it to his pack. Before it disappeared, however, the dwarf planted a kiss on its side and muttered, "Thank ye, chalak. Seems yer Queenies' holy water's good fer somethin' after all."

"I agree," Morier admitted. "Without some uninterrupted rest, I won't be able to regain my spells."

Karak harrumphed. "Can't ye jus' read em outta yer fancy wizardin' book, come morning?"

"It doesn't work like that," Morier said, shaking his head. He pressed his lithe hand against his chest. "The magic comes from in here, not from a book. But I still need to rest or the spells don't... recharge, I guess is the best word for it."

Ixin, who's magic was also inherent to her very nature, had always assumed that her _draconis fundamentum_ was the source of her own spell-casting abilities. It was the gland responsible for elemental resistance and the wellspring of a dragon's breath weapon, so it made sense that it would also allow her to channel arcane energies. That had been Dwardolin's assertion, at any rate. The Hibernian had spent a man's lifetime studying draconic lore, and he gave a great deal more thought to the whys of a dragon's abilities than a true dragon ever did.

Ixin was quite certain that Morier possessed no _draconis fundamentum_, but she supposed he might have some other organ in his chest that gave him magical powers.

"I could use some more rest too," she said. "Especially if we're sticking with the same watch rotations."

"Fine," Feln huffed and stalked off into the shadows. "We'll go in the morning."

"I hope the goblins don't come back," Vade said before activating the _Ring of Invisibility_. What he did after that was anyone's guess.



*Waterday the 20th of Wealsun, 1269 AE*​

The day dawned gray and damp. It didn't actually rain on the group as they went about their routine, but the humidity in the air soon made it a hot, sweaty morning.

"Oi, Morier!" Karak called after he and Ledare had finished strapping on his full plate armor. "I'm gonna venture down that secret tunnel a bit an' I want ye at the tunnel entrance for backup. Ye can see in the dark, can ye nae?"

"I can," Morier replied. "But I-"

"Good lad!" Karak cut him off thumping the albino solidly on the back. "So I'll head out the standard tactical distance - about ten paces, that be - so's to keep ye in range o' me darkvision and me in range o' yers. From there I'll see what me dwarven eyes can see about the tunnel."

The dwarf started to head for the hole with his waraxe ready, but Morier grabbed a hold of his gorget as he went and drew him up short. (No pun intended.) "I still think that we should not be distracted by this tunnel. Our goal is to get to Myth Drannor, and a spelunking mission to search for treasure only sidetracks us from that."

Karak harrumphed. "He who fears death invites it to visit," he grumbled meaningfully.

"What are you-" Morier started to ask, his face knotted with confusion.

"It means: don't worry too much. The worrying is usually worse than what you're worrying about," Vade answered. When everyone looked at him, including Karak, Vade shrugged. "My Papa used to say that all the time."

Karak gave a belly laugh that sent birds flying up from the trees nearby. "Yer dad be a wise one, fer a halfling!" he roared and Morier threw up his hands.

"Fine," the eldritch warrior sighed. "But mark my words: nothing good ever lived in a cave."

"My grandmother lives in a cave," Ixin muttered as Karak climbed into the tunnel.



He returned a few minutes later with a report.

"The tunnel only goes in one direction - into the hills that way," he said, pointing off away from the ruins. "Runs pretty straight, too. It slopes down some as it goes, but nothing too severe. Seems stable enough, but the air's pretty stale in there."

"Any sign of monsters?" Vade gulped and Karak shook his head.

"Just empty tunnel as far as the eye can see," the dwarf reassured. "We can walk two abreast. Me an' Vade in front. Then Morier 'n' Ixin. Ledare and Feln bring up the rear."

"Karak, you want me to wait outside the tunnel for a few minutes so you can try and get some extra kills?" Feln asked with a wry tone. "I mean, you already have me at the back of the line. I don't know what else to do; should I go blind-folded."

"Oi, Feln. That be funny," the dwarf said sarcastically. "O' course, ye could always take the front, so ye disappear down a hole or become a pin cushion for an arrow trap. Then I get all the kills."

"I think we'll stick with the current marching order," Ledare interceded. She gestured for Karak to re-enter the tunnel.

"Remember that we keep goin' to the right," Karak reminded tapping his finger to the right side of his helm. "So when presented with an option, we go to the right. That be the dwarven way. In a maze if ye always go right then eventually ye explore the whole place."

Unfortunately, they never got a chance to explore in the dwarven style.



The tunnel ran unwaveringly in one direction. The walls and ceiling and floor were always a constant distance from one another and despite seemingly interminable stops to search for any further hidden passages, they found nothing to break up the monotony of the tunnel. This particularly chafed on Feln, who was frustrated being at the rear anyway; if there had been an option to do so, he would surely have slipped off down a side passage to explore on his own.

They marched on, stopping at one point to eat a desolute meal in the wan glow of Vade's magical dagger before Karak announced a change. "We're slopin' up down, lads," he said excitedly. No one else noticed any change, but they were all thrilled when they finally noticed pale, gray light filtering down to them from somewhere ahead. Vade wanted to dash toward it, but Karak reminded him of their methodical plan and the halfling stayed on task as trap-spotter.

Eventually, they reached the end of the line; the tunnel opened into a slightly wider natural cave that had been carved everywhere with symbols of acorns and intertwining vines. The stonework was intricate and very old. One side of the cave was open to the outside, but overgrown with thick roots and brambles. Karak quickly cleared them with a few swings of his axe.

They stepped out onto a grass-covered ledge on the side of a steep hill. A huge briar bush claimed the side of the hill around and below the ledge apart from a narrow set of stone steps that led upward to the hill's top. It was darkening toward evening, and the sky above looked ready to shed rain at any moment.

"Well," Feln sneered. "That was both enlightening and exciting, Karak." The dwarf harrumphed and began stomping up the  narrow steps.

At the top of the steep hill was a natural bower of oak trees surrounded by a verdant carpet of lush grass that seemed both wild and carefully manicured at the same time. Five cairns of piled stones were just visible nestled amidst the intergrown oaks.

"Oh ho!" Karak announced, pointing to the cairns with his axe. "The trip may yet be worth our trouble." He started forward and then stopped dead in his tracks.

The top of the hill presented a commanding view of the surrounding forest and the dwarf could clearly see the overgrown gleam of white stonework in the trees to the left of where he stood. It was miles away, to be sure, but the distance only reinforced the enormity of the ruin. An entire city, partially reclaimed by the forest, lay in ruins there. And in the center, surrounded by what appeared to be a hedgelike ring of thorns, was an unnaturally vivid tree with leaves so green that it made the surrounding plantlife seem drab by comparison.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #270] The Path to Ruins*

"I think we found Myth Drannor," Vade whispered at Karak's side.

"I think you may be right," Ixin replied as she stepped up to stand next to the halfling. Morier took a position beside her followed by Ledare and Feln.

"Has anyone ever heard of this place, or something like it?" Feln grunted. "Vade, surely you have heard a tale or two about a place as odd as this." The halfling shrugged, reluctantly tearing his eyes away from the verdant tree in the center of the ruins.

"I never came into these woods. No, sir!" the halfling told his friend. "I hear if someone straggles away from their party and the trees don't like you... Whooosh!!! They come and snatch you away and you are never heard from again!"

"That sounds a little far-fetched," Ledare argued but Morier disagreed.

"Sounds like the work of treants to me," the albino offered. "Malcolm told me that there were a few of them active in the old woods of the Realms. I've never seen one myself, but that sounds like what Vade is describing."

"Does that sound familiar, Vade?" Ixin asked and Vade scratched his head.

"I always just thought that the trees snatched up stragglers," he told them. "At least that is what Mama told us boys when we were traveling just outside the forest. Anyway, you won't catch me alone in these woods! No, sir."

"I think it would be better if we stayed close to each other," Feln said with a firm nod. His calculating eyes surveyed the flat meadow on which they stood, paying particularly close attention to the shadowy bower and the cairns within. "There could be any number of evils stalking this... shrine. If that is what it is."

"We should examine the cairns an' determine their maker," Karak said, turning to survey the sheltered area beneath the oak trees.

Ledare looked up at the sky and frowned. "We haven't much daylight left," she told them. "We should stop for the night here. It seems like a sensible place to be - high enough to watch the surrounding area for anything that might approach, with an eye kept on the tunnel we just exited."

"Aye," Karak nodded. "A goodly plan."

"I say we set our watch schedule as before, with additional consideration for those who did not sleep much," Ledare went on, nodding at Morier and Karak. "No fire. We're too exposed here."

"Let's explore this area first," Ixin suggested and Ledare nodded in agreement.

"At the very least, we ought to examine the tree prior to pitching camp around it," the Janissary told them. She looked at Vade and gestured for him to go search the area.

"Me?" Vade gulped. "Go first? It's not really my job to go first, Kitten. I'm here to tell you stories and keep your stuff safe and make sure people like us."

"Then go and make nice with those trees over there," Ledare advised. "Make sure that they like us."

Vade gulped and proceeded forward.

"Hey trees, we are the good guys," the halfling called as he edged toward the bower. "I think we need to get to Myth Drannor... for some reason that I can't remember right now." He chuckled. and stopped at the edge of the group of inter-grown trees. "I'm not the brains of the party; I just am along for the ride and to save the world like Roland, Roland Roland. Deconik, Brinn-Toth and Roland!"

There was no response from the trees to his singing. And he shot a glance back over his shoulder at the other members of the VQS before ducking beneath a low-hanging branch and stepping into the cool darkness of the bower. There was an almost hallowed sanctity to the place. Sounds seemed muted and the shadows within cast the area into sudden twilight. The air smelled sweet. Branches overhead creaked rhythmically in the breeze.

"Any way, it would really be nice of you if you could lead us to a really nice path. We have a lot of elves in the party and I think you guys like elves... right?" the halfling went on. "Can you talk? I have heard of trees that can talk. I know you can move, but talking would be really cool."

He examined the cairns as he waited for a response, his eyes squinting in the half-light. They were all roughly the same, being oblong, composed of well-rounded river rocks, and capped with a slab of smooth white stone. A lace of ivy grew over two adjacent cairns. Honeysuckle was creeping over another and accounted for the sweet scent in the air. The three most heavily-shaded were green with moss. If there had ever been any markings on the stones, they were long-ago erased by the passing of the seasons.

"I really like trees and I find them helpful," Vade continued after it became apparent that he wasn't going to get any response form the oaks. As he spoke, he moved around the edge of the bower, looking for anything of interest in the cairns. "One time my brother Trey and I sto...I mean 'accidently ate' my brother, Duece's, dillenberry pie that my Aunt Pery made for him. He was so mad!  We out ran him and hid up in our favorite tree. It must have been 100 feet tall! Not as big as your friends out in the forest, but a really nice tree.  We stayed there at least three hours until it was after dinner.  We knew Duece would not be as mad if he wasn't hungry."

Vade chuckled nervously. He'd completely circumnavigated the area and found nothing of inordinate importance. He shrugged and ducked back outside the area, waving as he went. "Bye!" he said. "Nice talking to you."

"Did you find anything?" Ledare asked and Vade shook his head.

"Not really," he admitted. "But the trees are very good listeners."

Karak harrumphed and stalked over to find a good place to make camp.

"I think it's going to rain," Morier noted as he sniffed the air. And he was right.



It started a few hours after sundown while he was on watch with Karak and continued throughout the night. Prior to that, the dwarf and the elf had spent their time on watch studying the distant cluster of fires they could see on another rocky hill some distance away. The flickering points of light were accompanied by the chaotic thumping of goblin war drums and the sound put Karak in a foul mood. The rain was really just the topper.

As the first fat drops of rain began to pelt down, the dwarf woke everyone and hustled them down into the dry cave. Morier lingered behind for a time, watching as Hubris and Garn-Zanuth traded lighting bolts and thunderclaps behind the dark clouds above, until he was soaked to the skin with rain.



*Earthday, the 21st of Wealsun, 1269 AE​*​

The rain slowed to a drizzle by daybreak, but gave no sign of stopping, so the party decided to head out despite the weather. Likewise, they chose to descend the rocky hill rather than return to the forest floor via the tunnel. This decision presented another interesting problem: none of them had any rope. Vade, of course, had no concern about the climb thanks to his magical footwear and Feln was nearly as good thanks to his own ability and the aid of the ring Ixin had found in the bug queen's lair. Karak had picked up some minor skills in his misspent youth, but Ixin, Morier and Ledare were completely untrained in the art of rock climbing.

In the end, the trip took several hours to get started thanks to the need for careful planning. They all stripped off their armor and redistributed it as best they could amongst various packs so that no one was overly encumbered during the climb. Ixin's _Cloak of Many Pockets_ came in very handy in this regard as did her under-developed wings. She was able to use them to slowly lower herself to the forest floor by rapidly fluttering as she jumped from the hilltop.

The controlled fall was physically taxing but none the less exhilarating for she had always harbored a secret desire to soar unfettered through the heavens on powerful scaly wings. True, falling to the ground as lightly as a feather wasn't the same as thrusting oneself through the clouds, but the feeling of being unbound by the constraints lesser beings endured sent a thrill of pride through her draconic heart. The fatigue she felt upon landing was a small price to pay; she was able to put it out of her mind by dreaming of the day when her wings had developed enough to carry her up into the sky...

The others descended with painful slowness. Taking as much time as they needed, with Vade and Feln offering what aid they could to Morier and Ledare. Karak declined assistance, but it was all he could do to make it down on his own in one piece. Once they had gathered together at the bottom, they reassembled everyone's armor and ate a wet and uncomfortable lunch of trail rations.

"Let's have that bird o' yers fly o'erhead to act like a compass," Karak advised. "Like we did before."

Ixin nodded, offering Martivir a morsel of food before tossing him into the rain. "Lead us to the ruins," she called as the owl took wing.

Feln headed into the trees without a word.

"Where are you going?" Ledare asked as she slung her shield over her shoulder.

"I will be right in your shadow," the half-orc told them before stepping into the trees. "I'll be just off the trail, keeping an eye for danger." And then he disappeared into the shadows.

"Give a yell if there's trouble," the Janissary called. "And don't stray too far from us. We don't need you getting lost again." There was no reply.

"Boy! Feln sure is brave," Vade said with an admiring sigh.

"Or foolish," Morier offered as he headed off after Ixin. "Let's go."



It was an hour before they came across a path. And during that time each and every one of them had to dodge falling deadwood or branches that whipped around in the wind. Both Ixin and Karak had close calls with the mishaps, but no one was injured. And to add insult to injury, the path ran perpendicular to the direction that Ixin kept indicating Martivir was following. They ignored the trail and continued toward their goal, and it was another hour before they crossed another path, one which ran almost directly in the direction that they needed to go.

"Should we take it?" Vade asked and then shouted, "Look out!!" as another bit of deadwood fell from above the group.

Everyone dove for cover, but the stout end struck Karak in the shoulder while the slender end cut a bloody scratch across Morier's cheek. The injuries were insignificant but unsettling; it was hard to deny the fact that the forest didn't seem to want them traipsing about.

"Let's take the path," Ixin suggested and they did, making much better time on the trail than they did through the trees. They were able to cover twice the distance in an hour's time than they had otherwise, and just as they were coming to a spot where the trail crossed a small stream, Ixin announced that Martivir was waiting at the ruins and that he was likely no more than another hour or two away.

It was at that point that Karak and Morier both fell into the concealed pit trap. The eldritch warrior was slightly in the lead, and although it was his weight that triggered the trap, he almost managed to snag the edge of the pit on the way down. Two hundred and fifty pounds of steel-plated dwarf slamming into the albino's back more or less prevented him from succeeding, however. They both landed in a clanging heap at the bottom of the pit.

"By Ibrahil's blade!" Ledare cursed as she watched her companions disappear into the earth.

"We've got other problems!" Ixin noted, pointing to the branches above. Hidden amidst the shadowy canopy of the trees overlooking the trail were a pair of shiny black spiders. They were the largest spiders that any of them - with the exceptions of Ledare and Morier - had ever seen. Each was easily as large as a warhorse.

"Flesssh! Flesssh!" they heard a hoarse croaking voice bellow some distance off the trail and they spotted a grotesque creature that looked to be partly man and partly spider jumping up and down excitedly. It had a soft, bloated torso and long, spindly limbs with a flat, utterly inhuman head complete with mandibles and glittering red eyes.

"Eewww!" Vade moaned, clutching Ledare's thigh. "What is that thing, Kitten?"

Ledare, of course, couldn't answer. She was staring up at the spiders, paralyzed by fear.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #271] What a Tangled Web...*

"Why the bloody hell do you call me kitten?" Ledare asked looking away from the spiders as if they bored her. She blinked at Vade and the halfling saw nothing recognizable in her eyes.

"Uuhh... I think something's wrong with Ledare," Vade announced and Ixin stepped between the Janissary and the pit edge.

"Take care of her!" the mage told Vade as she began to weave magic with her hands. She pointed at the spider-headed humanoid and shouted,_ "Magicus telum!"_ Two bolts of pure force arced from her fingertips and sizzled into the creature's right shoulder.

"You've got really nice breasts," Ledare told the drakeling, spinning Ixin around and pointing needlessly at the taller woman's chest. "Everyone thinks so."

"I could use your help up here, Morier!" Ixin shouted as she self-consciously pulled her cloak closed.

"If you can get Karak off of me, I might be of some use!" Morier yelled up to her even as the dwarf rolled to his feet.

"Quit yer complainin', elf!" Karak growled. "It was ye who stepped into this pit in the first place!"

The dwarf gripped his waraxe in both hands and swung it with all of his might at the spider that was creeping down the side of the pit. The blade crunched sickeningly through the exoskeleton on the spider's abdomen, releasing a gusher of milky gore. The spider shrieked in pain and sank its fangs into Karak's right arm. He gritted his teeth as he felt poison burn into his system.

"Ye'll hafta do better'n that' ta hurt a dwarf!" he grunted and, as if in answer to his challenge, the second spider dropped down into the floor of the pit and sank its own mandibles into Karak's left leg. Again, the dwarf's incredible fortitude kept the venom at bay.

Morier clambered to his feet, avoiding an opportunistic bite from the spider on the floor of the pit and drove his greatsword up and through the thorax of the spider on the wall. He pinned it momentarily to the side of the pit with his blade, and when he jerked the weapon free, it was clear that the creature was done. With more of its lifeblood painting its shell, the monstrous spider spasmed and fell to the ground.

"Food burnsss me," the spider-man hissed, looking at the two scorch marks that Ixin's _Magic Missiles_ had left in its hide. It looked up momentarily at Ixin before turning quickly to look at Feln. The half-orc had been sneaking up on the thing's flank, but its keen senses alerted it to his approach. Seeing that stealth had served him little, the martial artist focused on the core of his strength, drawing forth a surge of power from within that fueled his body.

He closed the distance with the spider-man with a superhumanly fast charge. It tried to run, but it was no good; Feln was almost twice as quick as it was in a straight run. He spun his quarterstaff at his side as he came and struck a solid blow to its left arm. It hissed and whirled around unexpectedly. Feln bent sinuously backward to avoid its fangs. His quarterstaff came up and struck against the thing's arm a second time.

Vade tugged at Ledare's belt, drawing her away from the spider that was moving still in the pit. "My Uncle Havadag was crazy too, and we all learned how to deal with him," the halfling told Ledare. From her belt pouch, his nimble fingers produced the small vial he had purchased for her back in Hillville Junction. "Don't worry, Kitten. I know you are not crazy."

"This is bad," the half-elf answered. "Now I'm really going to have to eat all the leftover meat pies. I think there should be dancing."

"There should be drink too," Vade told her and handed Ledare the potion of _Remove Fear_. She smiled and tossed in back in a single gulp.

"I don't usually drink," she said, smacking her lips. "One time I- I-" She blinked as the magic took hold.

Ixin saw Feln engage the spider-man and stepped up to the edge of the pit. _"Magicus telum!"_ she intoned again as her hands moved through the intricate gestures of the spell. She pointed down at the huge arachnid below her and two pulses of force slammed into its back.

It shrieked and jumped straight up onto the wall, easily avoiding Karak's blade as he brought it down to split the thing's head. The dwarf cursed, but Morier merely let go of his greatsword with one hand and mouthed a few words of power. An _Electric Jolt_ sprang from his fingers. His intent was to strike the spider, but in his haste he missed badly.

Karak jumped as the spark landed on his helm.

"Sorry," the albino apologized even as he watched the spider scurry up the side of the pit and jump for the trees above.

It would have escaped to the leafy canopy if Ledare hadn't regained her senses. The spider was in mid-leap when Ravager's blade connected with the cluster of eyes and snapping jaws that served the creature as a head. The blow, however, was a glancing one and not enough to kill the vermin outright. It was just enough to delay the spider long enough for Ixin to hit it with another pair of _Magic Missiles_.

It fell twitching at the edge of the pit.

"See, Kitten? They are just spiders," Vade said as he got to his bare feet. He didn't seem convinced of his own words. "Really big, scary spider-mutant things, but still spiders." He looked down into the pit and dropped his slippers in. They landed on Karak's head and the dwarf looked up indignantly.

"What are ye-?" he started to complain and Vade shouted over him.

"Put them on and climb out!" he demanded. "I don't care if they look girly they can make even a fat dwarf like you climb walls."

"Who are ye callin' fat?" Karak growled as he inspected the purple and red _Slippers of Spider Climbing_.

"Just put them on," Morier said as he failed in his own attempt to climb out of the pit. "If you don't, I will!"

Ledare moved to help Feln, as the half-orc's opponent was the only one visible. As she went to close the distance to the melee, she couldn't help but be reminded of the chagmat. The thing engaged with Feln was clearly similar to those monstrous humanoids, but it was different in many respects as well. For one thing it fought unarmed with its own natural weapons - something that the chagmat never did. And it had only half as many limbs as the followers of Chag.

The spider-man withdrew from the martial artist confronting it, darting out of reach of his quarterstaff before changing direction and heading for the trunk of one of the trees. It couldn't avoid the two bolts of raw force that Ixin sent into its abdomen, however, and it sagged lifelessly against the tree after only a few paces. Feln started forward to make certain it was dead when Ledare shouted.

"Feln! Stop!" she pointed with her sword to the ground at the half-orc's feet. "There's another pit right in front of you!"

"I hate traps!" Karak grumbled as he climbed out of the pit with Morier holding on around his neck.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #272] The Lost City*

Vade worked his dagger through the last of the heavy strands and the body fell to the ground with a brittle clatter.

"Oops!" the halfling called from the branches above. "Sorry! I was just trying to get a look at this other guy - Eeeeww!"

"Are you alright?" Morier yelled up.

"Yeah! It's just another dead goblin. It's just so gross!" Vade answered. "Why am I the one doing this, anyway? This is yucky."

"Because you're the only one with magical slippers that let's you walk straight up the side of a tree and a ring that let's you move through the webs without getting stuck to them," Ixin shouted.

"Oh yeah!" Vade answered.

"And ye're the one what wanted to look for treasure!" Karak added rubbing his head with his hand.

"Oh yeah," Vade said again, with somewhat less enthusiasm.

There was silence for a time as Vade picked his way through desiccated bodies above. Ledare continued to stare with obvious revulsion at the dead spider lying crumpled on the trail so that Morier, who understood her fears was obliged to push it down into the pit with his foot. Only after it crunched to the pit floor did the Janissary look at Morier.

"Thank you," she said seriously and the eldritch warrior nodded.

"Think nothing of it, Ledare," he replied with a wave of his hand. Karak started to duck away from the elf at sight of the gesture.

"You best watch where ye be pointin' those faerie fingers, eh, elf!" Karak grumbled, glaring at Morier. "Or maybe I might just lose me grip on me axe next time I be swingin' it."

"I am sorry, Karak," Morier said with an embarrassed grimace. "It was an accident and-" The dwarf cut him off with a wave of his own hand. 

"I now've a 'eadache the pain o' which I've nae endured since the mornin' after the squash-goblin tournament last Auraunangazan time," he explained, and, although none of the others had even seen a squash-goblin match let alone an entire tournament, and not a single one had ever attended the 'Night of Silver Beer' festival, they all got his meaning.

"If you need a healing potion, I have one for you," the albino told him, quickly popping one of the vials out of his potion belt but again Karak waved him off again.

"Save it for when it's needed. I've a bit more life left in me yet," the dwarf told him and examined the puncture wounds in his forearm. "But I must be admittin' these bites do be stingin' a mite." 

"Perhaps you should use Vade's wand?" Ixin suggested and Karak snorted.

"Oh, aye!" the dwarf scoffed. "Ye'd like to see ol' Karak a wackin' himself in the head with that there magic stick now wouldn't ye?"

"I could use a good laugh," Feln muttered and Karak fixed the half-orc with a withering eye.

"By my count, orcblood, I have two spiders to your man-spider, an' I be down in a pit fighting from a lower position." the dwarf challenged. "So I be ahead. Ah haaaa!"

"You're a dwarf," Feln deadpanned. "You always fight from a lower position."

"Oh, so it's ta be short jokes now, is it?" Karak bellowed, starting towards the martial artist. Ledare stepped between them.

"I won't stand for in-fighting," the Janissary commanded, her voice strained with emotion. "We've got enough problems without the two of you at each other's throats. Understood?"

Karak glowered up at her for a moment before turning away. "I need to tend to me wounds, anyway," he said and Ledare turned to look at Feln.

"I was just getting ready to head up one of those big trees to get our bearings," the martial artist said, getting to his feet with a slight groan. Tapping into his inner energy always left him fatigued when the extra reserves ran out. "I'd also like to know if there are more of those spiders lurking about."

"Good idea," Ledare said with a nod. "But let's be ready to move on as soon as Vade finishes his search."



Karak stripped off his gauntlets and the vambrace on his right arm as well as his left greave in order to attend to his injuries. He cleaned the bites with some more of his brother's holy water and grumbled aloud the whole time.
"Now what would me chalak be saying at a time like this?" he asked himself as he worked. "Probably be mutterin' to his supposed Queen. But then where was she when he needed her?" He snorted and took a swig from Malak's flask before raising it in a toast to the heavens. "Well, Queen if you'n be listenin' I could use ye now to be takin' the sting out o' these bites, the aches out o' me bones, an' bit o' help with this 'ere 'eadache I be livin' with."

There was no response from the sky, and it wasn't until he was putting away the flask of holy water that the dwarf noticed his headache was gone. He got a puzzled look on his face and stroked his beard. "Hmm. That do be odd," he remarked. "I do feel better."



While Karak attended to his wounds, Morier and Ixin examined the cocooned goblin corpse that Vade had dropped out of the tree. Ixin's claws made short work of the webbing, but even freed of the confines, the dried body remained curled in on itself, like a mummified fetus. Its gear was largely intact but of such poor quality as to be entirely worthless. It wore tattered hide armor and futilely clutched a crude bone-handled axe  in one shrivelled fist. Its face was twisted into a rictus with dried lips pulled away from cracked teeth and eye sockets that gaped wide around the dried raisins of its eyes. The whole conveyed the last expression of a creature that had died a slow and painful death... and been awake and aware the entire time.

"Horrible," Ixin said, turning away from the body.

"This goblin isn't equipped nearly as well as those we encountered two nights ago," Ledare remarked, looking over Morier's shoulder at the desiccated body. "Those carried steel swords and wooden bows, not bone axes."

"Why do you think the gobbo's who attacked us earlier were better equipped?" Feln asked as he sidled up to the other three. "Could they have been sent to attack us?"

"It's possible," Ledare remarked. "It is also interesting to note that that man-spider had only half as many limbs at a chagmat. Could it be possible that this, too, is some transmogrified creature hatched from Andamacles' transmogrification program? They're everywhere, it seems!"

"Nae, lass!" Karak remarked as he approached. "That' thing be an ettercap! They're found now an' again in the lower reaches o' some dwarven delves. Come up out o' the Dark Below, they do! If'n they was hatched by anybody, twas them spider-worshippin' drow!"

Karak turned and spat distastefully over his left shoulder. Emotion flared across Morier's face like a sudden storm, but the elf soon regained control and retreated a few steps from the others. "Vade?" he called, his voice creaking with feeling. "How goes it up there?"

"Just about done!" Vade called after a moment's hesitation. "Sorry, though. I don't see anything... Oops!" A crudely made wooden box fell out of the branches above and shattered against the ground below sending an explosion of polished coins went everywhere.

"Well, what have we here?" Vade called sheepishly from above.



It soon stopped raining, but it was another two hours and just nearing sundown before they reached the city proper.

The place had toppled in the distant past and been almost entirely reclaimed by the woodland. The group passed many crumbling stone structures covered over by undergrowth with only the occasional glimpse of polished white stone behind the ever-present green to indicate that a building had once stood there at all. As they trudged onward, warily probing the ground ahead of them, the group found the overgrown ruins to become more and more numerous until walking down the remains of a cobbled street became almost like walking down a shallow, brush-covered valley. It was beautiful in a haunting, melancholy way that spoke of glories long past.

A weighty silence hung over the ruins, but it was not like the sepulchral stillness of a tomb, but rather the respectful hush of a temple. Only the intermittent call of a bird, the droning hum of insects, or the drip-drip-drip of water broke the quiet, and even they seemed to come from a far way off, falling dead and muted on the ears of the VQS as they explored.

The path through the woods deposited them at the bottom of a steep incline that they were obliged to scale before reaching the level of the central tree which continued to dominate the sky above with its achingly vibrant green leaves. It was their goal, and it drew them like lodestone draws iron filings.
They passed a wide plaza of standing stones whose carvings of men and elves and wild things had long ago worn away to near illegibility before discovering a cobbled road - all overgrown with moss and vines - that led in the direction of the tree. They picked their way along it for a time while the shadows grew thick around them. It meandered up a subtle incline facing a row of mostly intact stone buildings on the right and a dense stand of trees and shrubberies on the left. It was through this tangle of plant life that they caught their first glimpse of the wall.

It was utterly black and polished to such a finish that each of the group could see themselves reflected darkly within its glassy depths. It was rose straight up, at least a dozen feet above their heads, and as they approached it blocked the great tree from their sight. No tree grew close enough to extend its limbs out and over the wall, and likewise no clinging vine had crept up its surface.

"It be granite," Karak announced in an uncharacteristically hush voice. He ran his hands lovingly over its smooth surface. "An' not a single seam in it what I can see."

"Perhaps there's a way around," Feln suggested and started to head off along the perimeter. He turned and motioned to Vade. "Coming?" he asked.

The halfling grimaced, but gave a nod and went to follow.

"Oh aye," Karak called after them. "We'll just wait 'ere then."



It was almost full dark by the time Feln and Vade returned, and the hushed silence that had predominated the ruins during the day had been replaced by a chorus of insects and frogs that nearly threatened to drown out conversations. The air came alive with the flitting glow of fireflies lending the ruins the quality of a fairy wonderland. Only Ixin - who had had unpleasant experiences in so-called fairy wonderlands - was disturbed by this.

The half-orc trotted out of the shadows with Vade clinging to his broad back. He returned from the opposite direction in which he'd left and the expression on his face indicated that he'd not discovered good news.

"The wall goes all the way around," he told them. "It's square. Has to be a good 150 paces to a side. With only four ways in."

"Well let's be off!" Karak suggested, shouldering his axe even as Vade dropped down from Feln's back.

"It's not that easy," the halfling explained. "The ways in are four metal gates, but they're rusted shut."

"Well did ye-" the dwarf started and Vade cut him off.

"There's no lock to pick," he told him. "And no way to force them that we could see."

Feln nodded. "They're covered with these protruding latticework bits. Anybody trying to shoulder them open'll get mangled long before they get the gates unstuck."

A morose silence settled over the group for a moment. At last Ledare spoke up. "So we're at an impasse," she announced and Vade sighed.

"Unless anybody's got any bright ideas," he said looking around at the group.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #272a] Beyond the Black Wall*

"Huh!" Ixin exclaimed as she wrinkled her forehead in concentration. "Apparently the last intelligent being to be in this area was a unicorn named Glittermane - or the equivalent in their tongue." She opened her eyes and shrugged at the unsatisfying findings of her _Recent Occupant_ spell. "That was three years ago."

"And there's been no one since?" Ledare asked, her own expression equally puzzled.

"The magic doesn't lie," Ixin said, straightening her shoulders as if it were a personal affront to her spellcasting for Ledare to suggest otherwise.

"At least it weren't a troll or some such," Karak ruminated. "Unicorns don't rip a body's arms outen their sockets; trolls've been know ta do that."

"Weren't the members of Grey House headed here?" Vade asked the Janissary, quickly turning the conversation away from the subject of dismemberment. "Isn't that what you said?"

"They were headed to Myth Drannor," Ledare nodded. "Or that's what they told me. If this is truly Myth Drannor, then they should have been here."

"Well, the spell is a minor incantation," Ixin admitted. "Its range is rather limited - to about ten paces or so in all directions from where I stand when I cast it. Perhaps they just weren't in this particular spot in the city."

"Can you cast it again in another spot?" Ledare asked hopefully and Ixin nodded.

"But I had wanted to detect magic on the area as well," the drakeling explained. "And there are limits to how many spells I cast in one day. How about if Feln leads me toward the nearest gate that he and Vade found and I'll I cast the spell along the way a few times? It will leave my magics nearly depleted, however."

Ledare considered for a moment and then nodded. "And I think that Morier, Karak and I will set up camp here," she said. "We'll learn what we can tonight and decide our next move in the morning."

"Come on," Feln grunted and started off along the wall with Ixin close behind. Vade caught hold of her cloak and gave a tug. When she turned to look at him, the halfling grinned broadly, and nodded toward the high, black wall.

"Maybe you should send Marty up there to see what he can see," Vade suggested and Ixin nodded.

"Good idea," she told him and called the owl to her from a nearby tree.



In the end, Martivir's reconnaissance proved more useful than Ixin's magic.

The sorcerer cast _Recent Occupant_ twice more along the way as Feln lead her to the nearest gate. The second casting yielded the same result as the first: a unicorn named Glittermane, while the third - cast directly in front of the rusted gate gave a different result. Apparently, a goblin named Vrunk of the Habozargar clan had paused in front of the gate just over a year ago. Following Ixin's announcement, Feln discovered a spot on the bars where someone had taken a few whacks at the bars with a sharp object before giving up the task as hopeless.

_Detect Magic_ revealed nothing at all beside the items that she and Feln both carried.

When Martivir returned, however, he had a detailed description of what awaited them on the other side of the wall.



"Looks like more of the same," Ixin relayed her familiar's report to the others back at camp. "There are four buildings inside that are all in pretty good shape. And apparently, the forest isn't as dense in there. There are some trees and brush, but nothing too thick except for a gigantic hedge of thorns."

"A wha'?" Karak grumbled, raising one eyebrow.

"A hedge of thorns," the woman repeated after Martivir confirmed what he'd told her. "Like a wall around the big tree in the middle."

"A wall within a wall," Ledare mused and Karak bit off a sizable chunk of jerky while grunting his approval.

"Tha' be sound tactics," he explained, gesturing at the inscrutable ebony wall that formed one edge of their campsite. "Tha' way if one wall be breached t'other still stands to hold back yer enemies."

"Something worth protecting must be in there," Vade said, his eyes wide as he imagined the possibilities. His face fell, however, as another thought occurred to him. "Or is it protecting us from what is in there?" he gulped.

"No sense worrying ourselves about it. When the time comes, we'll do what we must," Morier announced as he got to his feet. "I guess Karak and I are up for first watch."



First watch passed uneventfully for Karak and Morier although the eerie nature of the ruin only intensified with the deepening darkness of night. An orchestra of night insects provided accompaniment for a frog chorus well into the night, and the wind picked up making the trees clatter their limbs like the appreciative clapping of an audience. More than once, Morier or Karak would startle as the snap of a dried branch or the clatter of falling stones reached their ears, convincing them that some foe was circling their campsite just beyond the range of their darkvision. But they saw no enemies approach and they were all too happy to trade off guard duty with Feln and Vade.

Feln was glad as well... but for a different reason. He waited until Morier's breathing grew slow and deep and Karak's stertorous snoring settled into its usual rhythm. Then he waited a while longer before drawing Vade in close to whisper into his ear.

"Vade, let me see the slippers," the half-orc urged. The halfling moved to comply without hesitation, but as he took them off, he yawned.

"What for?" he asked and Feln grinned ferally in the darkness.

"I want to go over the wall and see what's there," he announced in a barely audible whisper.

Vade stopped with his slippers clutched in his little hand. "Gee. I don't know if that's is a good idea," the halfling said with more caution than he usually displayed. "What if something nasty is on the other side? You might need my help."

 "I would bring you over... but if I don't come right back I'll need you to tell the others," Feln said matter-of-factly and Vade let out a tiny moan at that thought.

"Why not wait until morning?" he suggested. "Ledare and the others will be real mad. I bet Karak would get really mad at me if I do something stupid. He reminds me of my Papa. Probably whack me in the head too! Karak gets really mad, just like when that guy threw sand in his eyes."

"Vade..." Feln whispered, drawing the halfling away from the events that transpired in Hillville Junction and back to the conversation at hand.

"I dunno," Vade whined uncertainly. "The wall is kind of high. What if the slippers get caught in the tree? Remember, I cannot see in the dark to throw them over... unless I lit a sunrod. " And he produced a golden rod from his sleeve.

"It has risks Vade, I know," Feln admitted and it seemed for a moment as if Vade had convinced him. Then, grinning he suggested, "How about we just climb to the top and look. I'll carry you on my back. I mean, if we have to stay up we might as well entertain ourselves... agreed?!?"

"Well, if you put it like that," the halfling smiled back, handing over the brightly-colored slippers. Vade's sense of caution was easily overcome by his sense of enjoyment. "There is no harm in a little fun here and there. Hee hee!"

Feln clapped his big hand down over Vade's mouth and the halfling mouthed the word 'sorry' against his rough palm. None of the others stirred, and when the half-orc took his hand away Vade continued but at a lower volume.

"Maybe you can catch up with Karak if we find any-" he hesitated and swallowed nervously. "I hope we don't find anything."

"I'm sure we won't," Feln muttered as he forced his big feet into the magical slippers. They stretched and expanded unnaturally to accommodate him and once they were in place, it took all of fifteen seconds for Feln to reach the top of the wall with Vade clinging to his back. The wall was roughly three feet thick and the top edge was very smooth and rounded so that no climbing grapple could ever have found purchase there. It did provide sufficient room for Feln to crouch and for Vade to sit beside him.

"What do you see?" Vade asked in a hushed whisper as he peered unsuccessfully into the darkness. "Should I use my sunrod?"

"Not yet," Feln cautioned and he surveyed the inside of the wall with eyes that could see perfectly well in darkness... to a certain distance, anyway.

Within the wall was not so thickly forested as without, although there were still many trees and shrubs to be seen. At the extreme edge of Feln's darkvision was a tall mass of thorns that towered even higher than the wall on which they crouched. Further along the wall to their left Feln could glimpse the nearest of the four gates that he and Vade had discovered upon circumnavigating the enclosed area. To their right, the wall came to a corner, and nesting in that corner, amidst a stand of lush trees was a stout building of bright white stone. It was a perfect cube but for a short, walled but roofless walkway that stuck out of the far side. Beyond that he could see no openings, or anything else of interest within the limits of his darkvision.


----------



## Jon Potter

*Realms #273] Divinations in the Dark*

It was well into the second watch that Ixin was awakened by her familiar. She sat up amidst her blankets and spotted Feln descending the wall with the aid of the _Slippers of Spider Climbing_ with Vade clinging to his back. It was their surreptitious return to camp that had awakened Martivir and Ixin did find it somewhat odd.

She had spent the first century of her life sheltered within the pampered safety of Clan Vermillion's holdings in the Bubbling Mountains on Fireshore Island, and when clan politics had resulted in her being sent to abide under the care of Skrazargul the Green in the human city of Highgate, she went with an unmatched naivete. Two decades spent within the ancient green dragon's web of intrigues, suffering all the rapacity that the world of criminals had to offer had sharpened her paranoia a great deal.

She rose to her feet and spread her arms, clawed fingers curled into the first symbol of the cabalistic gestures of a spell. "What are you two doing?" she growled, her voice not quite loud enough to guarantee awaking the others, but threatening to just the same.

"Eep!" Vade whimpered and jumped behind Feln, but the half-orc merely narrowed his eyes and glared at the sorcerer.

"We're on watch," he grunted in reply. "What does it look like we're doing?"

"It looks like you're sneaking back into camp," Ixin said. She had spent too much time among liars to believe that Feln wasn't hiding something. "Can you explain why you are sneaking back into camp this way?"

"I thought I heard a noise on the other side of the wall," Feln countered. "We were just checking it."

"And?" the mage pressed.

"And what?" Feln challenged.

"And did you find anything?" Ixin asked and the half-orc's demeanor softened.

"Oh. No, we didn't," he said. "False alarm."

"This is strange behavior indeed, my friends," Ixin said, suspiciously. "Please don't take it personally, but I would like to cast _Detect Magic_ on both of you to determine if you are under some sort of spell."

"Go ahead," Feln told her, spreading his arms away from his body. "If it'll make you feel better, cast away. Right, Vade?"

"Oh... Uh... Right," the halfling said nervously and stepped out from behind Feln's leg. "Ummm... Cast away."

And she did. But apart from the usual assortment of magical gear that both halfling and half-orc carried, there was nothing untoward about them.

"See?" Vade grinned after the inspection was over. "Nothing to worry about. Why don't you go back to sleep? We've got a big day tomorrow.  I can't wait to go see the white tower."

"What white tower?" Ixin asked and Vade scratched at his head and suddenly found something very interesting on the ground near his feet

"Uhh... I had a dream about a white tower," the halfling blurted out. "I don't remember anything else."

"Dreams can be important," Ixin started and Vade cut her off by again saying, "I don't remember anything else."

"Are you sure you're all right?" the drakeling asked, narrowing her eyes as she studied him closely. Feln grabbed Vade by the back of the shirt and tugged him away from Ixin.

"He's fine. Just a little spooked by this place," the half-orc said and Ixin nodded.

"I don't blame him," she said with a smile. "This is a very strange place."



*Freeday, the 22nd of Wealsun, 1269 AE*​



It dawned cloudy with the threat of rain in the air. Ixin said nothing of her strange encounter with Feln and Vade and neither of them brought up the subject. After a brief meal, it was decided that they would use Vade's _Slippers of Spider Climbing_ to go over the wall one at a time. Vade went up first on Feln's back and waited at the top of the wall to toss the magical footgear back over to the next person in line. The process was time consuming, but it worked flawlessly and soon they were all standing on the damp grass inside the wall.

It was much as Martivir had reported. The area was overgrown, but the plants were not a third as thick within the wall as they were without. From where they stood, they could see three of the four buildings that the owl had seen, one situated in each of three visible corners of the black wall. The fourth, presumably nestled in the last corner, was obscured from their view by the twenty foot tall hedge of thorns that marked the center of the enclosed space. The hedge formed a circle a hundred feet across, and the vibrant green tree was visible towering above it.

"Well?" Karak asked. "Where to first?"


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #274] What's Behind Door #1?*

"I think we should check these buildings quickly and get to chopping through that thorn bush," Feln announced at once. "Karak, why don't you get to choppin' that thorn bush? I'll go check out that tower... Ixin, do you want to come with me?"

Before she could answer, Vade shook his head nervously. "I think that we really need to keep a good eye out around here and not split up."

"Agreed," Morier intoned, dubiously scanning their new surroundings for signs of attack. "We should stick together. No divide and conquer, here. There is something about this place I don't really like a whole lot."

"I be seein' no quick way in to that tree, orcblood," Karak added, gruffly. "But I tell you this: I known enough druids to know I will nae be attackin' this wall o' thorns with me axe. I nae be upsetting the tree spirits and be entangled. No, nae this dwarf! I do suggest we look at these buildings together. It may tell us what we be about."

"I agree with Karak," Ixin said with a nod. "This whole complex suggests that druids built it in which case, we must be very careful not to upset the tree spirits. Hacking and fire are out of the question. There is a way to get in, but it will be a puzzle we must figure out." Feln let out a groan that trailed off into a weary sigh.

"All right," he relented. "Why don't we take one walk around the tree... together. We can fan out. Karak, you stay closest to the buildings and I'll stay closest to the thorns."

"Okay," Ledare said. "Let's go."



Apart from what they had already assessed about the place, they learned little from their circumnavigation of the hedge. There were four buildings situated in each corner of the surrounding black wall. Each building was made of a different stone and had a single door that faced the thorns; each door was flanked by two trees each of a different species. The thorn hedge remained a mystery. There were no breeches in it and it remained a uniform height all the way around. That latter fact coupled with the exact circular shape of the hedge confirmed that it was no natural phenomenon.

"Well, that wasn't very helpful," Feln said sarcastically.

"Let's see if there is an easy way in," Ledare said and drew Ravager easily from its sheath. As she drew the weapon back, Morier caught her arm at the elbow.

"Please no, Ledare," he said staring into her eyes. "If I allowed you to chop away at that hedge, as much of a nuisance as it is, Malcolm might never find it within himself to forgive me. There must be a better way."

"I think we should think twice before trying to get in, anyway," Ixin worried as she studied the seemingly impenetrable wall of thorns. "I think we may be headed in the VERY wrong direction here and are likely to inadvertently help Aphyx." Karak spat on the ground at the mention of the goddess of disease.

"I agree, Ixin," Morier said gravely. "I have a bad feeling... like we're blindly feeling our way into something we really don't understand. Or that I don't understand, anyway."

"Well, we're not getting any answers here," Feln observed.

"Can Marty get a closer look?" Vade suggested, indicating the high hedge. "He could fly over and tell us what he sees."

"Aye," Karak grunted appreciatively. "Tha' plan has worked for us twice already!"

The owl was resting on a small tree nearby and Ixin called him over, explained what they wanted the familiar to do and then sent him skyward. As soon as he passed over the top of the hedge, Ixin's rapport with him vanished. She gasped. The connection between herself and the bird wasn't something that she thought much about although they'd bonded one to the other over twenty years ago. Martivir's presence was as familiar as her own left arm and like an amputee, she felt the absence heavily.

"Martivir!" she cried out, her voice edged with panic. She started to race toward the hedge bout Karak caught her left wrist and spun her around.

"What are ye doin'?" he growled, his steely grip keeping her from advancing toward the wall of thorns. "Yer cries'll bring on us the eyes o' whatever fiend haunts this place!" Fearfully, Ixin explained how Martivir had vanished from her mind and Morier came forward to lay a comforting hand on her broad shoulder.

"But if he were dead, you would feel it, correct?" he asked although there was more of the statement than the question in it. Ixin nodded and drew some comfort from that fact, but she was still plainly shaken by the loss.

"Perhaps he'll just come right back in a moment," she said hopefully, her golden eyes surveying the top of the wall. Karak released her arm and scowled at her.

"Keep yer wits about ye, lass," the dwarf grumbled.

"And what do we do while we wait?" Feln asked anxiously.

"I think we should explore one of these building," Vade told him. "I would even go first... if Feln would come with me." The half-orc grinned and patted Vade on the back.

"I'm all for going into each building, as a group, and scouring every crawl space and hallway," Feln offered. "I will defer to Ledare to choose the building."

"Good idea," Ledare said as she turned slowly in a circle to look in each of the four building's directions (although from where they stood close to the thorny wall only two of them were visible). She stopped and pointed to the white, cubic building to their right. "I guess I'll choose the closest of the buildings to poke around in first. Let's be sure to check carefully for traps as we go."

"No... wait," Ixin said with some effort. She was having trouble forming her thoughts; concern for her familiar filled her mind. "Holly is the symbol of luck and good fortune, unless your own world differs from Mid'Gaard in that regard as well. I think we should explore there first." She tore her eyes reluctantly away from the top of the hedge and pointed toward the  gray stone building on the group's left.

Ledare shrugged. "It doesn't really matter to me," she said and gestured for them to proceed in that direction.

Two small holly trees flanked the entrance to the roughly octagonal building of grey stone, topped by a tower, with a total height of 60 feet. The door was of tarnished metal, apparently silver. Feln made a quick circuit around the building confirming that there were no other doors or windows.

They spent a good deal of time carefully examining the door for any sign of traps or other impediments, but found none and discovered that the door wasn't even locked. It yielded easily with a little pressure, opening onto a shadowy interior that was remarkable only because of its barrenness. A low moaning drifted out to meet them as the door opened, but there was little to see. The floor, walls, and ceiling were all of the same gray stone as the exterior and were uniformly unadorned in any way. They were built in a style that Karak recognized as being one that men used to build their monuments in his grandfather's day, some three hundred years ago, and had thankfully abandoned for more appealing designs. A raised dais of gray stone rose in the center of the room supporting a rectangular altar of gray stone. Light filtered down onto the altar from the shaft of the tower whose apex was open to the sky. The open mouth of the tower was the source of the moaning sound - like a man blowing across the neck of a jug, the wind filled the building with a mournful noise.

They crept cautiously inside and saw a few more details of the place. Atop the altar rested two censers of the same tarnished silver as the door.  A silver bowl rested between the two devices containing some decaying cubes of what looked like incense resting half-submerged in a shallow puddle of collected rainwater. There were shallow alcoves built into both the left and right walls and a stone shelf ran the length of each. One each of the shelves rested another thurible similar in craftsmanship to the ones on the altar.

"Anybody home?" Vade squeaked, but only the unsettling groaning of the wind answered him.


----------



## Jon Potter

*Rogue's Gallery Update*

I've posted some character portraits to the  Rogue's Gallery Thread. No updated stats at this point, but it'll give you an idea of how I picture each of the characters.

The players might disagree with my assessment, but until they draw better ones you're stuck with mine.


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## Hairy Minotaur

Awesome job Jon! 

My only comment: Vade looks much too happy.


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## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Awesome job Jon!
> 
> My only comment: Vade looks much too happy.





You'll notice that Vade's the only one smiling. He clearly knows something that the others don't.   

Actually, I just couldn't imagine Vade without at least an impish grin. He just exudes cheerfulness.

Good to see you back HM. Any chance we'll get to find out what hapened to Tharhack, et al?


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Yes, The problem is: That by the end of the campaign, attandance was so warped that piecing together the finale was proving to be a severe headache. Then I started a new group with 7 players! (talk about famine to feast) and we've played 4 sessions up to now. The old campaign notes are packed right now, soon they'll back out and I'll finish up and their story will be all told.   

Your new plot seems to be taking a nice foothold on the players. "Abandoned" ruins never seem to be all that abandoned.


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## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> The old campaign notes are packed right now, soon they'll back out and I'll finish up and their story will be all told.




Great! I hate to think of Tharhack languishing unconscious forevermore in my memory.



> Your new plot seems to be taking a nice foothold on the players. "Abandoned" ruins never seem to be all that abandoned.




Well... as abandoned ruins go, these pretty much live up to the name. If you've got any old Dragon Mags, you might recognize this adventure as a modified version of "The Wandering Trees" from issue #57. It's one of the 'set pieces' that I built my campaign around back in the early 80s when I first started it. When it came out of retirement a few years ago, I vowed to make use of the adventure and with some relatively minor tweaking, it came to pass.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #275] A Quick Look Around*

When nothing came immediately to assail them, the group spread out. Morier and Karak walked quickly around the place, each trusting in their natural ability to spot any secret panels or doors, while the rest scrutinized the building's interior with more care, tapping and probing the stonework as they went. All save Ixin, that is. The sorcerer walked up to the alter and attuned herself to the Weave; it thrummed within her breast in response to her gestures and invocation and she cast her minor divination.

"The last person to be here was 'Swaefred Graebrenn, Initiate of the 9th Circle'. Whatever that is," she turned to look at the others and shrugged non-committally. "That was 671 years ago."

"Anyone know what an 'Initiate of the 9th Circle' is?" Ledare asked and the others all shook their heads or mumbled replies to the negative.

"I've heard certain wizards refer to themselves as a 'Magus of the 5th Circle' or the like," Ixin told them. "But that was on Mid'Gaard and the practise had gone out of fashion there. Only the truly pretentious would ever use it."

Unenlightened, they returned to their search.

Karak gave a running commentary as he walked, occasionally running his battle-calloused hand along the wall. "Oi, this craftsmanship be old. I nae think I've e'er seen such work by the humies. I've only been told it by me ancestors.  Seems solidly built though."

"I detect nae secret doors or compartments," he stated at last and the others asserted the same claims.

"I think we should burn the incense to see what happens," Vade chirped, standing on his tip-toes to peer at the altar top.

"I wish me chalak were here," Karak said glumly as he tipped over the beaten silver bowl, letting the stagnant rainwater spill out onto the floor. A perfect circle was left by the bowl, imprinted in the mold that covered the stone. "He surely would know what these items be about. Alls I can tell is that this 'ere bowl'd fetch about a hundred pieces o' gold in the right market."

"I don't think we want to go pillaging this shrine, or whatever it is," Ledare observed. She picked up one of the cubes of incense and it dissolved into sludge at her touch. There were perhaps three cubes that, while damp, still retained enough integrity to be burned once they were properly dried out. "Obviously some ritual was performed here."

"I know little of these spiritual practices," Feln admitted. "It may be good to burn the incense but why not look in the other buildings first and see what they reveal?"

"I think we should check out each building before we interact with anything," Ixin nodded.

"I agree," Morier added.

"Let's explore the other buildings then and see if there are similar setups in each," the Janissary decided. "If there are, then perhaps we should light up the censers and the incense." Muttering agreements, they stepped out into the increasingly gloomy day.



They proceeded to the next building which was unusually shaped - formed by a curved outer area connected to a half-dome on the far wall, all constructed of red granite. The outer doors, situated in the center of the curved wall, were redwood with brass fittings. Two tall ash trees stood to either side of the structure at the corners facing the thorn hedge. Like the previous building, there were no other visible doors or windows.

The doors were untrapped and opened easily onto a darkened interior. Eight brass braziers, tarnished and ash-filled, were bolted to the curved wall that contained the doors, four on either side of the opening. The gray light from outside and the pale illumination of Vade's magical dagger was answered by a warm glow from the area directly ahead and it drew them toward it. What they saw made some of them gasp with awe.

The whole interior of the half dome was gilded with an abstract gold leaf design that sparkled brilliantly in the light, shining as brightly as if it had just been polished moments before. The floor beneath the dome was a mosaic design formed by tiny bits of brightly-colored stone. In the center of the rainbowed design was an eight-pointed star with a circular gold plate embedded in the floor at the star's center. It too shone with inviting warmth in the light.

Beyond the beautiful floor and ceiling stood another altar, smaller than the one that they had seen in the other building, with another pair of brass braziers - these gleamed brightly however, displaying no tarnish or other signs of disrepair. Above the altar was set another star design that mimicked the one of the floor, but in this star's center was a polished plate of silver in which the taller members of the group could see themselves reflected.

"By Moradin's hammer," Karak mumbled in astonishment as he bent to examine the gold plate in the floor. "Tha' be solid gold! That'd be worth 2,000 nobles... or more depending on its thickness."

Ixin waled forward and cast _Recent Occupant_ again. "Saeyth Ongenferth, Initiate of the 9th Circle. 671 years ago. Same as the other," she announced with an unsatisfied sigh.

"Should we light those things?" Vade asked, pointing with his dagger at the two braziers set into the altar top. The action made their shadows slant crazily along the walls. Ledare shook her head.

"Let's spread out and search for any hidden doors or compartments," she said. "Just like last time. If we find nothing we move on to the next building."



The third building was the one that Ledare had initially suggested that they enter. It was a cube of white stone with a short walled walkway leading up to a wooden door set with copper fittings that are green with age. Clinging vines grew up and over the roofless walkway which was flanked by two large hawthorn trees. Like all the buildings, the door faced the hedge. There were no other visible doors or windows.

The vines rustled almost as if they were threatening to lash out at these interlopers as the VQS made its way up to and through the wooden door, but otherwise there was nothing to deter the group. Inside the shrine (for it too had an altar as did the previous two buildings) was very from outside. All of the walls were covered with intricately-carved redwood panelling, gilded extensively with brilliant copper. The scenes depicted were of harvests and woodlands with animals and men living side-by-side in a primitive but peaceful existence.

Opposite the door was a semi-circular altar of wood inlaid all about with copper. Four small bowls of beaten copper and studded all around the rim with rubies rested atop the altar. Karak let out an admiring whistle as he looked at them and Ledare waved off his impending comment.

"Save it, Karak," the Janissary told him. "We can all see that they're valuable. We don't really need an appraisal."

The dwarf harrumphed. "Nobody appreciates good craftsmanship anymore," he grumbled as Ixin strode forward to cast her divination.

"Barda Blakwysard, Initiate of the 9th Circle, 671 years ago," she told them and they set about searching the place.

After the casting, Ixin found herself drawn to look outside, nervously searching the sky for any sign of Martivir. She saw none, however, and the void that his absence left behind yawned maddeningly within the drakeling's mind. She jumped as a heavy hand settled onto her shoulder. She turned to look into Feln's violet eyes. She noticed for the first time that he was only an inch shorter than she herself.

"Are you alright?" the half-orc asked and Ixin gave a small nod.

"I'm fine," she told him and her eyes again sought the skies. "I'm just worried."

"I am sure the bird is fine," Feln reassured gruffly. His eyes narrowed ferally and he asked, "Do you want to go find her?"

"Him, actually," Ixin replied. "Martivir is a him. But no. Morier is right; if Martivir was hurt I would know it. I would share his pain. But this is all very strange to me. Nothing has ever come between us before. I didn't know that anything could."

"It seems clear there is some sort of magical wall in place," Feln muttered rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "What else could break the bond you two have?" The half-orc's words stirred something within Ixin and she jumped.

"An _Antimagic Field_ might do it," she said with a hopeful expression. "I don't know why I didn't think of it before. A Dead Magic zone might as well, but I'd be able to sense such a zone if it were nearby and I can't. An _Antimagic Field_, though..."

"Come on ye two," Karak grumbled as he shoved passed them and walked outside. "There be nought 'ere. And now it's goin' ta start raining! Bah!"



The last shrine was a hexagonal building of pale, blue-streaked rock with two hoary willow trees growing on either side of the wall facing the hedge. The door was of tin, heavily worn and pitted by age and it creaked open easily to the touch. A breath of cold air blossomed out of the building's interior striking all save Karak like a slap on their rain-dampened skin. Their breath came out as thin clouds of steam.

"Brrrr!" Ixin complained as she wrapped her arms about herself for warmth. Of them all, she wore the least clothing and was also least accustomed to cold weather. "It's freezing in here!"

"It is the chill of winter dawning, girl," a strange voice said and all at once, the two pools of water set into the floor on either side of the doors began to churn and bubble as if coming suddenly to a boil. At the same time, they began to glow with a pale phosphorescence as if lit somehow from below by witchfire.

In the glow of the pools they could see the interior of the shrine. It was all blue-streaked stone carved to look like ice so that the whole place had the impression of being thrust suddenly into a arctic cavern. Two thick pillars rose up in the center of the room and beyond lay another pool of water. A stone altar stood in the pool's center,  its top dominated by a fountain whose spray had turned to ice. But all of this held their attention for no more than the space of two heartbeats before two figures rose up from the pools that flanked the door.

They were womanly in general aspect, but only in so much as a figure made entirely of water can bear resemblance to creatures of flesh and blood. From the waist down, their bodies dissolved into a serpentine column of water that churned and foamed mightily. They bobbed up and down and undulated back and forth as they regarded the group with wet, inhuman eyes.  They might have been sisters, for their strangely-beautiful features were very much alike, or perhaps twin aspects of the same entity for when they spoke it was at once or in tandem. And when they spoke it was like water falling over rocks, waves licking against the shore.

"Long have we lain here," the one on the right said.

"Long have we waited," the one of the left added.

"For they to come who would meet his approval," they finished together.

"You might be they," said the first.

"For you have passed his first test," said the other.

"You have neither despoiled the temples nor harmed the woodlands," they said in chorus.

"Now you must face the second challenge," the first explained.

"For the honor of coming before him," the second went on.

"Uh, who be him?" Karak asked, breaking the muteness that seemed to grip the companions. Even so, his voice seemed very small when compared to the women of water.

"The Great Oak," they told him in unison.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #276] The Second Test*

"Is that the tree outside?" Ledare asked. "The one behind the hedge?"

"Yes," answered the water-woman on the right.

"Is the tree being held prisoner within these walls?" Feln asked, hopeful that he had sussed out the mystery of the ruins.

"No," replied the water-woman on the left, dashing the half-orc's hopes and Feln snarled in disappointment.

"He waits while the Wheel turns ever onward," the women added in unison.

"Um?" Vade called out, peeking out from behind Ledare's leg. He waved at the watery figures and smiled uneasily. "What's the second test?"

"A great evil has reawakened within the forest," said the first woman as she turned her liquid eyes onto the halfling.

"An evil that has not been seen upon the face of Orune for millenia," the second put in.

"It troubles the Great Oak and he would see you destroy it," they told the group.

"Aye!" Karak grinned, thumping his hand appreciatively on his axe blade. "Destroyin' evil be a test I can pass!"

"Just a moment," Morier interjected. "Where is this evil?"

The water-women pointed in a synchronized fashion, but only the woman on the right spoke. "Amongst the goblins, a half-day's march to the northwest," she said. Morier, Feln and Ledare all made mental notes of the direction that must have been true north on the compass although they all knew that with the trees moving the way they had been it would still be all too easy to get lost.

"Can you guide us there?" Morier asked.

"The way will be made clear," replied the water-woman on the left.

"What can you tell us about this evil?" Ledare asked.

"It is a blight upon the natural order," they said together. "An ancient evil thought long-vanquished."

"The Wheel turns ever onward," added the water-woman on the right.

"Uh-huh," Feln grunted, rolling his eyes. "Can you tell us anything that might help us defeat this evil?"

"Or give us anything?" Vade quickly added.

"No," said the water-woman on the left.

"You have with you all the means that you require to pass this test," the two figures said as one and Karak harrumphed.

"Enough o' this tongue-waggin'," the dwarf grunted anxiously. "Let's be off!"

"Wouldn't it make more sense to rest now and set out for the goblins at midnight?" Morier asked. "They said that it was half-a-day's march to get there and that way we would arrive at dawn..."

"When them night-lovin'  gobbos be beddin' down for the day," Karak finished and grinned. "I like how ye think, elf!"

"Is there any problem with us resting here before we deal with this evil?" Ixin asked and the two water-women shook their heads and began to dissolve back into their pools.

"Respect the shrines," the woman on the right said.

"Respect the forest," the woman on the left added.

"Return here when your test is complete," they finished together and sank into the pools with a loud double *PLOOP*!

While Morier, Karak and Ixin discussed watch rotations scheduled to ensure that the sorcerer's spells were at full capacity, Vade drew Ledare and Feln aside. "I find it really hard not to sneak a little gem or two," he whispered earnestly. "Help me. I don't want to ruin it all." The Janissary smiled down at him and Feln gave his slim shoulder a rough pat.

"Don't worry, Vade," Ledare told the halfling softly. "We'll keep a keen eye on your hands."

"A keener eye than usual, she means," Feln said with a wink.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #276] The Second Test, part II*

It was still raining outside when they bedded down, and despite the fact that they'd been up for only half-a-day, they had little trouble falling asleep. The sound of the rain was almost hypnotic as it fell upon the sward outside, but the precipitation trailed off sometime before midnight. By the time they were prepared to head out, it had stopped entirely. They climbed quietly over the wet wall and headed for the trees.

"I'll take point," Feln growled and moved toward the woods in the direction the water-women had indicated. As he approached, the trees parted before him almost like a curtain, revealing a clear and open trail heading off into the darkness. The half-orc paused, reconsidering. "If the trees are going to cooperate, I guess I don't need to blaze a trail," he shrugged.

"The way will be made clear," Ixin said, repeating the water-woman's words.


*Starday, the 23rd of Wealsun, 1269 AE*​


The followed the trail all night, passed buckling towers of stone that reeled drunkenly amidst the trees, and out of the ruins entirely. The canopy of foliage dripped rainwater on them as they went, the trail bowing slightly to skirt the jutting base of a rocky cliff before resuming its northeasterly course. They heard the stealthy creep and nighttime calls of animals, but the sounds seemed to come from far away and nothing threatened them as they went.

So it was that dawn found them hidden at the treeline, peering toward the base of another set of cliffs that thrust up defiantly into the brightening sky. A dark opening like the yawning maw of some great titan marred the base of the cliff between two jutting buttresses of stone, and it had been painted with the ocher whirls and bloody lines of goblin artistry. Many crude totems - spindly poles which bore the skulls and pelts of animals and men - had been driven into the bare earth around the entrance. A narrow trench had been dug between the two stone buttresses, creating a moat of sorts to guard the goblins' lair.

Between the trench and the treeline was barren earth. Nothing grew upon the sandy soil; not so much as a single blade of grass. The ground had a pale, drained look, as if the very vitality of the soil had been corrupted and sucked away. The trees and underbrush that abutted the barren section were withered and twisted with a sickly brown and yellow tinge that was quite at odds with the vibrant green that pervaded elsewhere in the forest.

Of the goblins, there was no sign.

"Let's go see if'n anyone be home," Karak muttered with a dangerous grin. He took a step forward and Feln grabbed his vambrace to stall his advance.

"How about if Vade and I scout ahead first?" the half-orc asked. "If we can catch them unawares, perhaps we can end this quickly and quietly without facing the entire tribe."

"That'll be tough to do with you clanking over there," Vade grinned and poked the dwarf playfully in the thigh. Karak harrumphed.

"I ain't scared o' nae gobbos!" he asserted.

"We don't know how many are in there," Ledare reminded.

"Or even what we're looking for, really," added Ixin. "The 'Great Evil' might not even be a goblin."

"Fine. Go then," Karak grumbled, crossing his arms across his great chest. "But be quick about it. Me axe be gettin' restless."

Vade turned invisible and Feln melted into the shadows. He headed a ways west through the trees before cutting silently across the blighted landscape to the cliff. There he pressed his body against the stone and edged stealthily toward the cave entrance, stopping only when he reached the trench. He could see now that it was at least ten feet deep and bristling with stakes at the bottom.

"I don't think I can jump that," Vade's disembodied voice whispered beside him.

Feln was confident that he would be able to, but not without making some noise. He looked up at the cliff and grinned. "Use the _Slippers_ to climb along the wall," he suggested. "Bypass the trench entirely."

"Good idea," Vade chirped and Feln heard his small companion scuttle up the wall.

On the other side of the trench, the ground was featureless, scoured down to bare stone that showed considerable sign of foot traffic. Still invisible, the halfling crept toward the cave entrance which was clotted with darkness to his eyes. It was early morning, so he wasn't totally blind, but Orin's Shield was rising on the other side of the hill, and the buttresses of stone to either side of the cave mouth cast considerable shadows. Within the cave was darker still, and-

Furtive movement caught Vade's eye. One or more shadowy figures no larger than himself darted away from the cave mouth, disappearing quickly into the interior of the lair.

Feln saw it too, and jumped nimbly across the trench. Clearly the goblins were aware of their presence although whether they had heard Vade, spotted Feln, or had some way to defeat the halfling's _Invisibility_, he couldn't say. If he could get into a good position, though, maybe he could still do some good.

His train of thought got that far and he got about a dozen paces from the edge of the trench when a deafening roar exploded out of the goblin's lair, followed a heartbeat later by the biggest bear that the half-orc had ever seen. It paused only long enough to swivel its great head in Feln's direction before it charged, its claws rasping wickedly against the stone as it came and promising death to whoever fell victim to their embrace.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #276] The Second Test, Part III*

Feln could do little to avoid the bear's charge. During his time at the monastery he'd trained extensively to dodge attacks, but he was caught so completely by surprise that he just stared in horror as the half-ton animal thundered down on him. It's paw slashed outward almost contemptuously and raked across the half-orc's torso, shredding his tunic as easily as it did the flesh beneath.

"Vade! Get out of here!" Feln blindly warned his companion even as he rained a flurry of blows on the bear with his quarterstaff. They may as well have been actual rain for all the effect it seemed to have on the animal.

The bear reared up onto its hind legs, poised for another slap from its paw and then faltered. A bellow of pain ripped its way out of the great beast's gullet and Vade suddenly appeared on the bear's flank, his invisibility spoiled by his sneak attack. A bloody shortsword was clutched in his hand. He grinned fearfully at the half-orc.

At the treeline, Karak shook his shaggy head and took off for the trench at a full run. Morier was at his heels, and his greatsword flashed like blue lightning in the early morning light.

Ledare stood her ground and drew her repeating hand crossbow. She squeezed off two quick shots at the bear, but only one bolt found its mark. The other cut a bloody groove in Feln's shoulder before shattering against the cliff wall.

"Dammit!" the Janissary cursed her fumbling attack.

Beside her Ixin moved her hands through the gestures of a spell before intoning the words, "Magicus telum!" She pointed at the bear and two crimson-tailed missiles of pure force lept from her fingertips and sizzled into the animal's ribs, drawing forth another yelp of pain from the beast. Grinning with satisfaction, the sorcerer moved forward toward the lip of the trench.

Karak reached the trench and jumped. Now, dwarves, as a rule, are not known for their tremendous jumping skills, and Karak was no exception. He reached the midway point of his leap and seemed to hang there for a moment while his short legs paddled uselessly against the air. Then he drifted down into the pit, saved from a sharp and painful landing by his _Ring of Feather Falling_. He landed atop the stakes at the bottom and cursed venomously at the trench, its diggers, and the diggers' mothers.

Seeing the dwarf's spectacular failure to make the leap across brought Morier up short. He lingered on the far side, his greatsword in one hand, and drew the _Wand of Burning Hands_ from its wrist sheathe. He pointed it at the bear, being particularly careful not to catch either Feln or Vade in the area of effect and spoke the command word: "Irakulos!" A cone of fire erupted from the wand, catching the bear broadsides and narrowly missing both of the eldritch warrior's companions. The bear roared in frustration and pain.

Whisps of smoke rose from its hide as it struck at the two attackers within reach. It's jaws snapped shut on Feln's arm and narrowly missed getting a firm grip on the half-orc. But Feln's instinctive training had kicked in by now and he twisted out of the beast's grasp, leaving a scrap of bloody fabric in its jaws. It back-handed Vade with its paw, sending the halfling staggering back with a burning pain in his chest. He could taste blood in his mouth as he regained his footing.

Feln saw the blow Vade had taken and realized that the halfling could stand little more of this punishment. Drawing back his quarterstaff, he delivered a resounding two-handed blow to the bear's right foreleg. The impact was tremendous, and the sound of breaking bones was audible for the brief moment before the bear roared in agony.

Ledare trotted forward toward the trench, her crossbow levelled at the bear as she came. Reaching the edge, she fired point blank into the beast's shoulder, drawing blood. Overwhelmed by the pain in its foreleg, the bear seemed no to notice the tiny quarrel in its side.

Karak, cursing and sputtering in dwarvish struggled without success to climb out of the steep-walled trench.

Morier and Ixin repeated their magical assaults on the bear, searing the creature with _Burning Hands_ and _Magic Missiles_, and by now the beast's injuries were beginning to tell. It moved with slightly less speed and strength than it did at the beginning of the melee, but it clearly wasn't done yet. And it directed its fury at the two tormentors who were within reach.

It took another swipe at Feln that the martial artist couldn't avoid in time and the impact lifted the half-orc off his feet and slammed him against the cliff wall with bone-jarring force. Feln slid limply to the ground, knocked senseless by the blow.

Vade fared less well.

The bear whirled around and snatched the halfling up in its slavering jaws before he could reactivate his _Ring of Invisibility_. Vade screamed weakly and writhed about like a mouse caught in the jaws of a hungry tomcat. The bear shook him viciously, sending droplets of blood spraying onto the stones before casually tossing the little Rogue aside. Vade thudded to the ground in a broken heap and did not stir.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #276] The Second Test, part IV*

Ixin and Ledare both looked at the trench and then at each other. Without a word being spoken, the Janissary stepped back and the sorcerer spread her stunted wings. They were still far too small to allow for true flight, but they were large enough to provide the drakeling with a significant boost to her jumping ability. With a convulsive flexing of her muscular thighs and a massive downsweep of her wings she sailed up and over the trench, landing lightly beside the tattered remains of the halfling.

The bear roared in protest at this new interloper, but the sorcerer paid it little mind. Vade looked even worse up close than he did from afar and she knew that he wasn't long for this world without some immediate magical aid. A pool of blood was spreading beneath his ruined body and she thought that she could see some of the halfling's organs visible within the raw wound tore into his belly. Choking back her revulsion, she produced a healing potion from her _Cloak of Many Pockets_ and poured the contents over Vade's wound, suffering an opportunistic slash from the bear's one good claw as she did so.

Vade's body arched upwards violently as the magical elixir knitted his guts back together. He moaned, coughed up blood and opened his eyes which glittered brightly like two polished copper pieces.

Ledare fired two more bolts into the bear and Morier finished it off with another gout of flame from his wand. Vade was obliged to take shelter behind Ixin as the cone washed over them, but the drakeling was highly resistant to fire and provided him more than adequate cover.

"Is everyone okay?" Ledare asked, breathlessly after the mamoth bear dropped at last to the ground.

"Nae! I'm nae okay, lassie!" Karak bellowed from the bottom of the trench. "Somebody throw me a rope or something! I smell gobbos!"

"And look at my poor buddy, Feln!" Vade cried out, rushing painfully toward the unconscious half-orc. He drew a vial from his pack and administered the contents to Feln.

"Somebody help Karak!" Ledare said as she holstered her crossbow and backed up to take a running jump across the trench. She faired little better than Karak and clanked into the far side; she managed to grab onto the stoney ground and prevent herself from falling down onto the stakes, however.

Morier cleared the trench without trouble and offered the Janissary a hand up while Ixin went toward the cave entrance and peered inside. She only just noted the four small figures stirring in the shadows before they raised blowguns to their lips and peppered her with darts. Only one managed to pierce her naturally tough skin, but she felt the burning sensation of poison take hold of her at once, stiffening her joints and filling her with lethargy.

"Poison!" Ixin hissed as she gritted her teeth in concentration and began summoning mana to power a spell.

"Nothing they could tell us, huh?" Feln groaned as he downed his only potion of _Cure Moderate Wounds_ and felt the magic heal some of his many hurts. "They could've said, 'the goblins have poison darts', couldn't they? It would've killed 'em?"

"Wouldn't want them to make it too easy for us, would you?" Morier grinned wolfishly as he helped Ledare to her feet and moved toward the cave. He carried his greatsword awkwardly in one hand and quickly re-sheathed his wand with the other.

"I'm just saying that they could've warned us," Feln replied as he moved in step with the eldritch warrior.

"Sopio!" Ixin commanded and sent her magic into the goblins' midst. Two out of the four visible goblins succumbed at once to the _Sleep_ spell and the sorcerer thought she heard the thud of several more bodies hitting the ground behind the ones that she could readily see. The last two goblins standing clutched their pathetic blowguns uncertainly and fumbled for darts in the small pouches at their hips.

"Somebody throw me a rope for pity's sake!" Karak sputtered as he again tried unsuccessfully to scale the wall of the trench. "I be missin' all the action!"

"Vade!" Ledare instructed as she moved up behind Morier and Feln. There was a wry smile on her face as she said, "Throw Karak your slippers!"

The halfling nodded and sat down by the edge of the trench to remove the magical footwear. As he worked, he occasionally glanced down at Karak who was fuming among the stakes at the bottom. "You wouldn't have fallen if you weren't so fat," he told the dwarf which sent Karak into a momentary fit of apoplexy.

"Ye'd best pray to the god o' skinny runts tha' I dinna get me hands on ye when I get outen this pit!" Karak growled, exercising every shred of self control he had to keep himself from flying into a rage. Vade could hear his teeth grinding with effort as he spoke.

"Do you want the shoes or not?" Vade taunted, waving the purple and red slippers over the dwarf's head. "Because I could just go help the others." Vade saw a ropy vein pop out on Karak's purpling forehead and dropped the shoes. He rolled away from the edge before the dwarf could respond.

As Feln advanced on the nearest goblin who was struggling to reload his blowgun, he gave his Gelgian multi-staff a twist. The weapon split at the center into two well-balanced clubs. The twin bludgeons reduced the goblin warrior to lifeless meat in seconds. Beyond him, the half-orc's darkvision revealed that only one goblin remained standing although she looked considerably different than the others. For one, she was female and festooned with withered fetishes of bone and hair. For another, her skin was pox-covered and her cracked-and-bleeding lips gave her chin the illusion of a beard of blood. She snarled at the martial artist, baring teeth that were nearly rotted from their gums.

There were two more goblins lying unconscious at her feet and she kicked one of them roughly, growling something in gobbledy that Feln didn't understand. When she made some powerful gestures with her gnarled hands and produced a ball of greenish fire between them, he got the picture. She drew back her arm and hurled the flame at him before he could react properly and the small fireball burst against his shoulder, singeing his skin.

Morier advanced on the other goblin, closing the distance to hand-to-hand combat and ending the creature's life with a single thrust of his silvered blade. Ledare followed in his wake, her longsword making short, unpleasant work of the goblins that had been rendered unconscious by Ixin's magic.

For her part, the drakeling wasn't wasting any time agonizing over the stiffness in her joints and the aching in her muscles. She advanced toward the cave mouth and as she went, her hands moved through the somatic components of the _Magic Missile_ spell. With a harsh cry in the tongue of dragons, she sent two bolts of raw energy into the she-goblin's wrinkled chest. The gobliness hissed in response and looked in Ixin's direction even as a second ball of fire appeared between her two hands.

"You'll pay for that!" she said in gobbledy; the _Persistant Tongues_ spell active on Ixin's magical cutlass effortlessly translated her words into something that the mage could understand.

Feln made to close with the goblin witch, but the goblin that she had kicked stirred at the half-orc's feet. As he started to rise, Feln brought one of his clubs down on the creature's head, crushing the top of his skull and sending him dead back to the floor. Even as the goblin dropped, Feln's other club was swinging in the witch's direction, but she was able to avoid the clumsy blow.

"You'll not touch me!" she wailed. "None of you will touch me!" And she hurled the ball of fire in her hand at Ixin, striking the mage full in the face. It had absolutely no effect on the fire-resistant drakeling.

"Ha. Ha," Ixin said with a grin. The witch's shriek of frustration was quickly drowned out by the clanking juggernaut of steel that charged her on daintily-slippered feet.

"Shaharizod! Guide me axe!" Karak bellowed as he charged with his waraxe held above his head in a two-handed grip. He felt a swelling of _Divine Favor_ as he came and put considerable strength behind the swing that followed. It was a blow on a scale similar to ones that Ledare, Vade and Ixin had seen Draelond deliver on a regular basis and it split the witch from jaw to crotch. Her putrescent guts uncoiled into a noisome pile at her feet moments before the rest of her body collapsed atop them like a marionette whose strings had been unceremoniously cut.

"Tha' be another fer me, orcblood," Karak panted, as he stood over the body. "And she be a spell-caster ta boot. That' be worth double, methinks!"


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #276] The Second Test, part V*

Feln ignored the dwarf's words and trotted cautiously into the cave. The entrance opened onto a ledge running along one wall of a natural cavern about five feet off the ground. Two floor-to-ceiling pillars of stone supported the vaulted ceiling. Another ledge on the opposite wall sported an arched tunnel entrance leading deeper into the earth. That entrance had been fortified with jagged bits of stone and wicked-looking stakes mounted on the wall below the entrance. A pool of stagnant water stood in the corner to the half-orc's right and another tunnel went off into darkness at that point. To Feln's left, the ledge gradually dropped down to the level of the cavern floor as it curved along the wall, forming a ramp of sorts up to the main entrance. There were six giant rats scurrying along toward the ramp.

Feln motioned to the others that they were about to have further company and then dropped quietly off the ledge landing lightly on the cavern floor. He pressed himself against the nearest column of stone and peered around it. Three of the rats had broken off from the others and were heading straight for him.

Karak had already dropped onto his backside in order to strip off Vade's _Slippers of Spider Climbing_ by the time that Feln gave his warning gestures so he could do little other than struggle with the footwear more quickly. Morier, however dropped down from the ledge with a clatter of mail and took up a position beside the half-orc, his greatsword readied to strike.

Ixin started forward but was drawn up short as Vade wrapped himself around her right leg. He planted half-a-dozen kisses of gratitude on her thigh before she could pry him off. "Thank you for saving me, Ixin!" he said without any guile. "Without your help, I might never get to see my family again!"

"If you don't let me get in there you still might not!" the mage replied. The halfling relented and thrust a healing potion into Ixin's hand.

"For you arm," Vade said, indicating the bear scratches. "You got those helping me, so it's only fair." Ixin nodded and downed the elixir.

Ledare, meanwhile had sheathed her hand crossbow and drawn her silver-iron longsword. She advanced through the cave entrance and moved along the ledge until she reached a point where she could see the three yard-long rats coming at her. She grimaced. "I've just about had all the filthy stinking rat crap I can handle!" she cursed as her sword dealt a swift death to the nearest vermin.

The trio of rats threatening Morier and Feln came finally within weapon's reach and Feln swung one of his clubs at the first. It split open like an overripe piece of fruit beneath the blow. "That's one more for me, dwarf!" the half-orc growled.

Morier's sword licked out like a lightning bolt and the second, but drew only sparks from the cave floor.

A thunderous clank like someone dropping an anvil signalled the arrival of Karak on the cavern floor, but the dwarf was only just maneuvering himself into position when the two remaining rats began to convulse. They each made phlegmy hacking sounds as if they were sucking air through a lungful of putrid custard. Then they both vomited steaming projectiles of mucous, bile and who-knew-what at Feln and Karak. Feln ducked to avoid the putrid wad directed his way, but Karak was struck full in the face by his and it stopped him dead in his tracks since it not only burned his eyes, but clogged his nose as well.

Ixin could made her way into the cave, but could see no obvious place to ply her magic since the situation seemed well in hand. She assumed a defensive posture against the column of rock and waited for her skills to be needed.

Ledare meanwhile stabbed twice with her longsword, dropping another of the mangy rats that faced her. But then the last made that horrible retching noise and coughed up a stinking missile. She was able to avoid the worst of it, however and the  sticky mass which had the unfortunate consistency and odor of rotten cottage cheese splattered across her breastplate and dropped down her chest. The stench was ungodly.

Before the rat could celebrate its victory, however, it lurched backward with a sling bullet lodged deep within its left eye socket. It twitched once and fell dead. "That's one for me!" Vade cheered as he waved his sling in victory. "Can I play now?"

Morier didn't answer as he dealt with the last of the rats, but Feln chuckled at his little friend's enthusiasm. Karak, who was blindly scooping vomit out of this eyes just grumbled.


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## Hairy Minotaur

Fiendish Bile Rats?   

Good work Jon.


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## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Fiendish Bile Rats?
> 
> Good work Jon.




I'm glad you approve, but I don't think my players would share your enthusiasm.

They were visibily disturbed by my attempts to recreate the sound of a dire rat retching.   

And for the record, the rats weren't fiendish since they were the goblin druid's animal companions. I'm getting some good use out of Mystic Eye Games' _Blight Magic_. Well, maybe "good" is the wrong word; perhaps "corrupt" would fit better.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #276] The Second Test, part VI*

Ixin unfurled her wings and floated gently down from the ledge. She moved toward Feln, Morier and Karak who were clustered together in what Drake Thuulsias would have sarcastically called _"Fireball Formation"_. Karak was still working at clearing his eyes, while the others were prodding the dead rats.
"Are you all right, Karak?" the drakeling asked and the dwarf harrumphed.

"Nothing a dwarf can nae handle," he assured her. "The worst sting be to me pride."

"We should press our advantage while-" Feln said before a dart stung his neck. Two more struck Morier, although his mail repelled one harmlessly. Another pinged off of Karak's breastplate. Feln growled as the poison dart sapped his strength, leaving his joints stiff and aching. Morier remained unaffected, however. He drew his _Wand of Burning Hands_ and turned, pointing it in the direction that the darts had come. Four goblins stood in the mouth of the arched tunnel above the fortified ledge. He spoke a command word: "Irakulos!" and a cone of magical flames engulfed the quartet as they busily reloaded their blowguns.

They were immolated at once.

"Wow," Vade said, as he watched the flaming goblins collapse one-by-one. He looked up at Morier and blinked. "Wow," he said again.

"We should press on," Feln repeated as he tossed the dart that had struck him to the floor.

"Perhaps we should wait here and let them come to us," Ledare countered. "We don't know how many of the creatures remain or what awaits us beyond. We're at least familiar with this area and there's only so many directions they can come at us."

"An ambush?" Karak challenged, stepping in front of the Janissary. She nodded and the dwarf's bearded and slime-streaked face split into a grin. "I like the way ye think, lassie!" he laughed and pulled the _Wand of Regeneration_ from his belt. "Now who be needin' a whack from this 'ere magic stick?"

Only Feln and Vade availed themselves of the healing and while the magic did its work on them, the others spread out to examine the cave. It was mostly empty although it showed obvious signs of habitation by goblins. Their primitive "art" adorned the walls, there were a few woven straw mats on the floor amidst bits of broken crockery and carved wooden vessels. A set of large war drums dominated the area between the stagnant pool and the smaller tunnel leading deeper underground.

"Okay," Feln suggested once he no longer felt that he was standing on the brink of death. "I'll take Vade's _Ring of Invisibility_ and scout ahead to see what I can see. You stay here and ready the ambush." It was decided that he would try the unfortified tunnel and Vade reluctantly handed over the ring. "I'll bring it back safely, little one," Feln said and promptly vanished.

It didn't quite work out that way.



Feln crept into the irregularly-shaped side tunnel and as he went he heard Vade behind him whisper, "Be careful." Then he focused all his attention on the area ahead. The tunnel was narrow and low-ceilinged so that he had to stoop his head in places, and it curved around to the left. Eventually, it worked its way around to connect with the fortified passage and at the point where it turned at a near-right angle, there was a side spur.

At the intersection of the three passages skulked a solitary goblin. It was dressed in oft-patched leather armor and clutched a glassy-sharp dagger of polished obsidian in one hand. Its features were wizened, and its hair seemed to be silver or gray - although it was hard for Feln to tell with certainty using only his darkvision. The goblin seemed to be watching and listening down both of the passages.

Feln clutched his nunchaku in his hand and crept in for the kill, but something betrayed his presence to his quarry. The goblin stiffened and jerked its head around nervously before creeping noiselessly down the small spur passage. There was no indication that it had pinpointed Feln's location, but it was wary.

Feln went to follow and found the goblin pressed against the wall with its dagger ready to stab. It was watching the passage for any intruder prepared to plunge its knife into the interloper's back. It gave absolutely no indication that it was aware of Feln's presence although the half-orc moved within an arm's reach of the wrinkled goblin.

The martial artist grinned and moved into a position to dispatch the sentry. That was when his foot snagged on a hidden trip wire and the ceiling dropped down around his ears. 

As he dodged falling chunks of stone he thought, "Traps! Why does it always have to be traps?!"



The sound of falling rocks and a screaming half-orc alerted the others to an unravelling of their ambush plan. Cursing, Karak set off down the tunnel after Feln; Morier set out after him and quickly caught up to the dwarf. The others followed close behind.

Feln dodged a slash from the goblin's hewn knife and returned a glancing blow from his nunchaku before Karak even rounded the corner. Snarling, the dwarf swung his axe at his racial enemy, slashing the goblin's shoulder. The creature doubled over in pain with blood streaming freely down its arm, but it did not fall.

Morier came up behind the dwarf, but seeing that Feln and Karak seemed to have the situation in hand, he turned to look up the adjoining passage in time to spot another goblin rounding the far corner. It raised its blowgun while the eldritch warrior fumbled with his wand. The dart struck his armor and ricocheted off to strike the wall.

Three of the goblin's compatriots were on its heels and they rounded the corner, raised their blowguns and sent their missiles at the albino. Morier was standing in the center of the tunnel without any cover and he made an easy target. Somehow, all three goblins managed to miss him, however.

He saw that all four goblins were bunched tightly together at the corner of the tunnel and quickly assessed that he'd be able to catch them all within his wand's area of effect provided he moved a bit closer; so he did. He trotted right in front of the arrow slit carved into the side of the passage.

Herruk, kublaj-zenkal of the Habozargar clan had been patiently waiting behind cover of the wall. He spoke an arcane word and fired his ray gleefully through the slit as Morier went passed.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #276] The Second Test, part VII*

The curuscating ray sliced through the air and struck Morier in the side; the eldritch warrior felt its cold touch even through his armor. His father had drilled into him the value of Spellcraft to determine a spell being cast, and to recognize one from its effects, and Morier had spent more days and nights than he cared to remember poring through old books that stank with age. It was an easy matter for him to determine that he'd been the victim of a _Ray of Enfeeblement_, but that did nothing to ease the drain on his vitality that he suffered.

He cursed himself for being greedy. If he hadn't moved forward to encompass all four of the goblins in his _Burning Hands_ spell, he wouldn't have put himself in a position to be targetted by the ray. But he had moved forward and there was no going back without risking another attack from the arrow slit. So he pointed the Wand at the quartet of goblins as they drew obsidian hand axes. The magical flames turned them into smoking husks in seconds.

Ledare moved forward to join Morier, but the eldritch warrior shouted a warning, "There's a narrow fissure here with a spellcaster on the other side!" The Janissary drew up short and shot the albino a stricken look. "Wait there," he advised and dashed around the corner.

Karak and Feln had handily dealt with the lone goblin and they moved up to join Ledare. Ixin (who was leading the very-blind-in-the-dark Vade by the hand) followed at their heals and they all heard the grunt of exertion followed by the sound of steel stiking flesh, followed by a wet thud. A moment later, Morier appeared around the corner and beckoned them forward.

"All clear," he said and the others could see a few drops of blood spattered across his chalky features.



That lone spellcaster, Herruk, had been the last line of defense for the paltry goblin tribe. All that remained beyond the passage he was guarding was a communal living area in which huddled a terrified group of non-combatant women and chldren. They wailed and prostrated themselves before the group, pleading in gobbledy to be spared, and it was no difficult task to convince one amongst them (a hoary old gobliness named Gorguul) to speak to the VQS on the promise of leniancy. Ixin put her super-human charisma to work and, aided by Ledare's considerable skills at diplomacy, was able to piece together the Habozargar tribe's recent history - or at least in so much as the less-than-intelligent Gorguul knew it.

The goblins had lived simple - if not always peaceful - lives, content to farm and hunt in the forest for many generations. Their greatest threat in those days had been the occassional encounter with the spiderfolk who lived in the forest and preyed upon the goblins for food.

Then Sheesek came. At first, the tribe welcomed her because she brought considerable magical power with her - she could make their crops grow large, make the game more plentiful, and protect them from the spiderfolk. Herruk, the chief (and a mighty spellcaster in his own right) named her as the tribe's medicine woman and often took her counsel on matters of spiritual import. But her benevolence didn't last, and it was only after she had swayed many of the clan's best warriors to her way of thinking that Herruk realized that he had let a viper into their den.

But by then it was too late. Sheesek provided her warriors with weapons and armor of steel bought from men, she withered the crops, and summoned "The Great Bear" to slay all who opposed her. Herruk was deposed and retreated from his private chamber to live with the others in the main cave.

"So you're saying that this Sheesek is a great evil?" Feln prompted, hopeful that they had completed their task.

"Gorguul show you," she said and led them to the front entrance of the cave. She pointed to the barren soil on the opposite side of the trench. "Once that our food," she explained. "Beans, squash, potatoes. Then Sheesek come and steal life from the ground. Crops turn to dust. Nothing grow here now."

Morier looked at the blighted earth and his crimson eyes narrowed. Malcolm would have been mad with fury over such a desecration.

"I think we've taken care of the tree's second test. Don't you?" Feln asked the others and there were nods all around. "Let's check for anything worth salvaging from these bodies and get back to the ruins."

"Oh boy," Vade said clapping his hands together. "Treasure!"

"What do we do about the women and children?" Ixin asked once the Rogue had gone to work. All eyes turned to Ledare.

"Their threat is broken," the Janissary told them. "They'll be lucky to survive as they are now. I think we should just let them go."

"Do you have a problem with that, dwarf?" Feln asked and Karak harrumphed.

"There be nae honor in killin' women an' children," he said and turned away from Gorguul. "E'en if'n they be filthy gobbos."



A thorough search of the many goblin corpses yielded a not-inconsiderable amount of booty. Most of it was in the form of potions, scrolls, and some loose coins. The she-goblin, Sheesek (who they surmised was some kind of dark druid), bore a wooden shield and a sickle - both of which Ixin determined were magical in some way, as well as a slender wand that Vade tucked away for later examination. Herruk's body held little of value, but Vade's clever fingers discovered a small clay flask of liquid, which wasn't magical, but probably held some value. It disappeared into the halfling's pack.



Sheesek's lair, a concealed cavern letting onto the entry chamber, spoke of a swift decent into evil madness. The place stank of stale sweat and urine and the musky closeness of large animals. The floor was strewn with filthy straw and gnawed bones. The walls, floor and ceiling were a riot of disturbing symbols and designs painted with blood, feces and other substances that none of the group cared to identify. No one was very surprised to find the rat-and-snake symbol of Aphyx figuring prominently in the insane scrawlings. 

"These 'ere be symbols o' Chaos," Karak announced in a somber voice as he pointed out a many-pointed arrow on one wall and a disturbing green spiral on another. "I saw 'em before, in me youth when we took back Helzak delve from the skaven. Nasty folks, them Chaos cultists."

"Ya think?" Vade asked sarcastically as his eyes roamed over the unsettling images adorning every square inch of the cave.

"Aye, wee one," Karak said gravely. "I do." He drew the little vial of Malak's holy water from his pouch and yanked the cork free with his teeth before splashing the contents across the largest symbols. There was no spectacular sizzle or the hiss of steam, but the symbols began to dissolve and run into one another. They watched the designs slowly deface for a moment and then Karak thrust the flask away and turned his back on the cave.

"Let's be gettin' back to talk to that tree," he said gruffly.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #276] The Second Test, part VIII*

"You have passed the second test," the first water woman said.

"You may well be the ones for whom he has waited," chimed in the second.

"You have earned the right to stand before The Great Oak," they said together and gestured toward the door of the cold shrine. 

"Err. Thanks," Feln said. "But how do we get in?"

They said nothing but continued to point. Morier ducked outside and then quickly darted back in. "I think you should probably see this," he told the group.



It was nearing sunset and the shadows were long inside the walled compound. The vibrant green branches of The Great Oak stood out vividly against the rose-colored sky. But their eyes were drawn immediately to the hedge that girded the tree. Directly opposite the doorway to the shrine in front of which they were clustered the thorns seemed to be glowing as if someone had painted an archway on them in silvery light. The VQS hesitantly approached the hedge and as they came, the thorns in the doorway of light receded until there was an actual arched passage through the barrier.

They entered and found themselves immediately in the hushed presence of The Great Oak. The area within was quite dim since the tree's vast canopy blocked nearly all light from reaching the ground where the group stood feeling quite like insects. It was like being inside a great cathedral coupled with a sense of being swallowed by a living thing; there was a quiet and stillness in the air, but the very ground seemed the thrum with energy. For a moment, they could do nothing but stare in awe, then an owl hooted and Martivir fluttered down from one of The Great Oak's branches.

"Marty!" Ixin cried and caught the bird on her fist. She nuzzled against his downy breast with her nose and tears of joy were hot and wet on her cheeks. "I was so worried..."

"This is a good place," the owl told her. "It's safe here."

"You have done well," a voice said - or rather didn't say. Not exactly. There was no sound save for the rustle of leaves in the wind and the creak of ancient, wooden limbs. But each of the group felt words form in their head and knew without being told that it was the voice of The Great Oak. "As I hoped you would."

"So Sheesek was the great evil?" Feln asked after he overcame the fact that he was speaking to a tree.

"Sheesek was the instrument of a great evil," the tree answered after a pause. "Her magic came from a corrupt source that has long been absent from Orune. Its reappearance signals that the wheel is turning once again."

"Chaos!" Karak grumbled, his fist and teeth tightly clenched.

"In part, Karak, son of Kignar," the Oak answered. "But only in part. The power of Blight Magic comes from Chaos but its evil is far darker than the desire for mayhem. It is destruction incarnate. The dissolution of all that lives. The lure of the void."

For a moment, Karak's mouth opened and closed like a fish drawn from water and his beard wagged over his chest. "How- How do you know me name?"

There was another pause and the tree said, "My roots go deep and far into the earth. They touch many things and places. I know much."

"Could you answer some questions?" Ledare wondered.

"If it is within my power to do so," replied the Oak.

"Is this Myth Drannor?" the Janissary asked at once. She'd clearly had that question in the forefront of her mind.

"No," answered the tree and Ledare's face split into a relieved grin.

"Then what is it?" Feln asked. "A temple?"

"Once," the tree told him. "It was a place to learn and worship known as the Aronerai School where favored souls were trained as druids and priests. But the wheel had turned and what once rose ascendant now has fallen to ruin and decay."

"Is that Aphyx's doing?" Morier asked.

"The fall of the Aronerai School?" the tree asked and Morier nodded. "No. The school fell to a barbarian warlord aptly named Bargol the Wicked. He came seeking the Dridanis priest's treasure and his followers laid waste to the school in their fruitless search. I destroyed them once they tried to leave."

"Destroyed them?" Vade squeaked. "Are you a... a god?"

"No, Vadenhuffer T. Briarhopper IV," answered the Oak. "But I was planted here as a seed by the hand of Dridana herself."

"Well, do you know what the "T" stands for in my name?" Vade asked and several of the others shot him dirty looks. He shrugged. "What? I'm just testing."

"Trouble," answered the tree. "You were named after your grandfather who himself earned the name due to his many brushes with the law and frequent incarcer-"

"Okay! Okay!" Vade shouted, hold his hands up in submission. He grinned uneasily. "No need to tell my whole family history, right?"

"So this is... or was, at least in part, a temple to Dridana?" Feln asked trying to make sure he understood things completely.

"Yes," replied the tree.

"But Aphyx killed her, right?" the half-orc went on.

"No," came the response. "The Queen of Filth imprisoned the Fruitful One, stealing her spark and binding it to a gemstone so that Dridan's essence could not be reborn to stand against her in the future. For Aphyx knew, as I know, that the wheel of life grinds ever onward and her time of ascendence would come again."

"And that's now?" Ledare asked.

"Soon," said the tree. "What once was crushed beneath is drawn to the apex once more. Such is the cycle of things. It is as it should be. But Aphyx has sought to disrupt this balance. During her last great rise to power, Dridana and her brother, Brogine, stood at Flor's side to defeat Lady Pestilence. This time Aphyx has imprisoned Dridana, and Brogine has fragmented his own power, giving bits of his own essence to each of his Beastlords. Even the power of Flor is at an ebb on Orune. With the world in such a state, it is unlikely that Aphyx can fail to break the cycle."

"And what happens then?" Ixin asked.

"The cycle stops progressing from birth to death to rebirth," the Great Oak told her. "Orune is blighted. Undeath reigns. The wheel stops turning. It is the end of things."

There was a pause during which the VQS absorbed the import of The Great Oak's words. Finally, Karak broke the silence. "An' just how can we put a stop to all o' this?" he asked.

"Aphyx acts subtly, creeping into the world measure by measure," the tree responded. "Her influence is too easy to overlook. The followers of Flor must be warned. They must see what you have seen here."

"What about freeing Dridana?" Feln asked. "You said she's not dead, right?"

"She lives. I can still feel an echo of her power," answered the tree. "But only the Keepers of the Grove of Renewal know the secrets of Dridan's imprisonment and you are not ready to face the challenges of The Grove."

Karak harrumphed. "So where can we find some followers o' Flor?" the dwarf asked and there was a pause.

"Three day's march southwest along the Eginnion Road lies a settlement called Flavonshire," the tree said. "Therein is a shrine dedicated to Lady Mercy."

"Then that's where we'll go," Ledare said and then squinted up at the darkening sky. "May we stay here tonight and head out in the morning."

"Sleep beneath my branches and I will offer you what safety and succor I may," the tree said.



That night, as they prepared to bed down, Ledare was whistling one of the jaunty tunes that Geneviève the Fair had sung at Arundel Manor. It seemed more than a little out-of-character for the normally serious Janissary.

"Why are you so cheery, kitten?" Vade asked and the half-elf shrugged.

"It seems as though our path is clearer now than ever before," Ledare answered. "We travel three days' time to the southwest in search of followers of Flor. When's the last time you felt like you knew - I mean really KNEW - what we were supposed to be doing?"

"Too long," Ixin answered for the halfling and Ledare nodded.

"Exactly!" she said, still grinning. "And since this woodland ruins turns out NOT to be Myth Drannor, then it is still possible that the members of Grey House are in the actual Myth Drannor. And they can shed further light on what it is we should be doing."

"I like to make my own choices," Vade told her and then his face darkened. He clutched weakly at his stomach and grimaced. "Of course, that's gotten me into some trouble lately."

"You mean the bear, Vade?" Ledare asked and the halfling nodded. "You shouldn't let it worry you too much. I've seen more than my share of men die and been very close to it on occasion myself. It was not your time."

"I guess," Vade muttered, but he didn't sound convinced. Ledare knelt down and put a hand on the halfling's shoulder.

"Do you know what I was thinking while I was hanging over that trench by my fingertips?" she asked quietly and Vade shook his head. "I thought about my initial test with the rock in the road and my first appearance before the king. I thought about how I'd left things with an old friend of mine named Delaroux, about talking religion with Soriah around a fire late at night, and enjoying supper at Grey House with Ruze, Finian and Kirnoth before all the badness happened. I thought about about all those things and resolved to survive for the sake of what had gone before but more importantly about what I had left to do."

"Do you understand, Vade?" the Janissary asked. "I had to survive so I could finish the tasks we have before us. Perhaps you too have yet to serve some great purpose in this world."

Vade smiled up at her. "Maybe," he said. "Thanks for the talk." He went and sat down on his blanket, pulled out the _Wand of Cure Light Wounds_ they had found on Sheesek and ran his fingers experimentally over the magical device.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #276] The Second Test, part IX*

*Moonsday, the 25th - Waterday, the 27th of Wealsun, 1269 AE​*​
The day dawned bright and cool, promising excellent weather for the start of the group's journey. They bid farewell to The Great Oak and headed along a winding forest path that eventually met up with a wider track that could well have been a road at one time.

"D'ye reckon this be that Eginnion Road the tree was goin' on about?" Karak asked as they stood in the middle of the track and looked up and down it.

"Perhaps," Ledare told him. "I've never heard of the Eginnion Road."

Morier looked up at the sky and then pointed down the road to the left. "That way's southwest. Even if it's not the right road, it goes in the right direction."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Feln asked and set off down the road with the others following behind.



After about half-a-day's march along the disused road, the VQS reached the downward slope of a wide river valley and the forest fell away behind them as they descended into a land of grassy hills freckled with heather. Vade smiled broadly, sucking in the scent of home through his nose and tumbled off into the tall grass.

"Quit yer, foolin' 'round, hobbit!" Karak scolded. Vade popped up from the grass and grimaced at the dwarf.

"Oh, come on, Karak!" he said playfully. "Don't you ever miss your homeland? I haven't been here in so long..." Vade did a cartwheel and landed back on the trail.

Karak harrumphed. "Dwarves do nae roll around on the ground!"



The good weather didn't hold and they did some marching in cold drizzle. It turned the trail into mud and spoiled spirits. But the light rain was the worst that they had to contend with; they encountered not another soul on the Eginnion Road (for they did encounter weathered signposts at various crossroads along the trek that identified the path as such).

There were several aging waystations - relics from another time when merchant traffic traveled this way - built at intervals along the trail with roughly a day's march between them, but they were all unoccupied. Of course, given the fact that they were simply square compounds bounded by wooden palisade walls without roofs of any sort and therefore offered little protection against the elements, it wasn't surprising. There were ancient firepits within each and countless signs of past occupation, but nothing recent. Even so, sleeping with the massive double doors closed and barricaded made everyone feel safer than simply sleeping by the roadside.



On Waterday morning, they spotted columns of smoke in the distance and by mid-day crested a hill and laid their eyes on Flavonshire.It was a tiny settlement consisting of a half-dozen weathered, sod-roofed log buildings clustered around a square that was really little more than a widening of the muddy Eginnion Road. A few sullen-faced commoners moved about the place, and many more were visible in the surrounding fields. All the usual buildings were evident; a trading post, a tavern, and a smithy were all obvious at a glance. But the eye didn't linger long on the drab settlement, instead traveling beyond to the distant edge of another dense forest rising up over the foothills of the Altan Tepe mountains which lurked misty, purple along the horizon.

"Look there," the keen-eyed Ixin said pointing at a modest building that looked newer than the rest. A sign hung above the door on which was painted the ring of white flowers that they all recognized as the symbol of Flor.

"At last," Ledare said and they hurried toward the structure.

"Can we go to Thumble after this?" Vade asked as they went (for what seemed like the hundredth time). "It's not too far from here if we go back to that fork in the trail leading toward Redwood. We can be... Oh, crap!"

They all saw what Vade did. A strip of yellow cloth was tacked to the frame of the door leading into the shrine. It was the universal symbol for plague in The Realms. All but Karak drew back from the door. The dwarf harrumphed and pushed the rickety barrier open with one hand.

Inside the shrine was dark and warm. Two rows of wooden benches were arrayed before a raised wooden altar painted bright white with a blue teardrop on its face. There was a human-sized figure laid out between the altar and the first bench; it was draped with an old hide blanket. The body swarmed with fat flies. The air in the place was fetid.

Undaunted, the dwarf approached the body and drew back the edge of the blanket with his axe blade. Beneath was a horror of putrescence. Little remained of the body save discolored bones thinly veiled with liquifying skin. Yellowish curd dripped from the corpse's open mouth, nose, the sockets of its eyes. Karak shook his head, let the blanket drop and stumped back outside.

"Twas no natural thing what took this man's life," the dwarf announced as he stepped out into the fresh air.

"Aye! Sure enough!" cried a voice from the smithy nearby. A squat, sooty man with bulging arms and a fire-scarred leather apron approached them. He bore a light hammer in his meaty right hand. His left eye was blackened and swollen. "Poor Simon was struck down. Killed by some accursed evil right here in the very street we stand upon." The smithy spit into the mud and Karak returned the gesture.

"Were are the Florians?" Ixin asked, pointing up at the sign above their heads.
"Simon was our only priest," the smith explained. "Started up this shrine last spring. Built most of it with his own hands." Ledare's shoulders slumped at the news.

"What 'appened to 'im?" Karak asked, planting his axe haft between his feet and resting his arms across the blade.

"An unspeakable horror was inflicted upon him!" the smith grumbled and again spit into the mud. "That black-hearted ranger, Plonius, struck him down with a spell!"

Only Feln heard the hushed curse from the rear of the shrine or saw the shadowy figure dart behind it. He motioned to Karak to circle around one way while he went the other.

"Plonius?" Ledare asked the smith, unaware of the events transpiring with Feln and Karak. "The Hound?"

"Aye! The very same! May Garn-Zanuth take his soul!" he cursed in response. After a moment's pause, he hefted his hammer defensively and asked, "He a friend o' yours?"

"I wouldn't call him a friend, but we've met before," she told the man. And Ledare quickly recounted her prior encounter with the ranger on the Riverneck Path during the moonsdance of Planting. At the time, he had seemed rather sinister, skulking about silently in the night, but Plonius had ultimately given them a potion that had saved Finian's life. Of course, Soriah had sent him off in a huff after insulting him badly. Only Finian had accepted the man at face value.

"Hey, wait a moment!" Morier said and pawed through his pack for some of the notes he had taken. While he did so, the smith scratched his whiskery jowls.

"He was trackin' horse rustlers, you say?" he asked Ledare and she nodded. "That sounds like him, all right. Damn shame he's gone evil! He was a regular hero around the frontier with ranchers."

Morier pulled out his notes, found what he was looking for and read the portion aloud. "One who the Janissary did not trust is suddenly not trusted by those who were once his staunchest supporters though the fault of it is not his own. Follow his trail and you will uncover a dark and twisted secret kept from the eyes of good and evil alike for millennia," the eldritch warrior recited the words of the celestial they had encountered in Hillville Junction.

"Where did he go from here after he killed the cleric, Simon?" Ixin asked and the blacksmith gave her an appraising look up and down as if he'd just now noticed how inhuman she appeared.

"H-he rode straight off  down the track toward Greenhill Woods," the smith said, pointing away to the south west although his eyes never left Ixin.

"See!" cried another voice. "Plonius was of the Horse Nomads. The horse is a sacred beast to them! He'd never set himself upon one!"

They turned to see a lanky man dressed in leather and pelts standing betwixt Feln and Karak. He was of average height and weight for a man, standing taller than every member of the VQS save Ixin and Feln. His skin was bronzed, his black hair pulled back in a long ponytail that hung to the middle of his back, and his eyes flashed a poisonous green beneath his dark brow. He wore a cloak made from the skin of a large wolf and a necklace of bones and teeth from the same hung over his studded leather armor. A longsword was at his hip and a pair of throwing axes were tucked into his belt.

"We found him behind the shrine, listening to our conversation," Feln explained.

"He is spreading lies about The Hound, calling him a murderer" the man growled, bearing his teeth at the smith in a great snarl. "This killer of yours could not be Plonius!" 

"That man's in league with the ranger!" the smith bellowed and back-pedalled away. Pointing to his swollen left eye he added, "He gave me this earlier today!"

"Speak lies of Plonius again, dog, and I'll paint this town with your blood!" the man growled and rested his hands on sword and axe.

"S-s-see!" the smith said, stepping behind Ledare and Morier. "He's as mad as The Hound!"

The stranger started to lunge forward, but Karak and Feln restrained him. "Where was your venom when Plonius and I slew the gnolls who were preying on your women, jackal?" he spat. "Were you spouting these lies while you cowered in your hut, sobbing with fear like a-"

"Okay!" Ixin said suddenly as she stepped up in front of the stranger. No one had seen her do it, but she'd fully exposed her _Chainmail Bikini_ and it caught the light, glittering like quicksilver. The stranger blinked, staring at her chest. "I think that's just about enough insult-hurling. Let's calm down and sort this all out. What's your name, by the way?"

"I am Grisham Freeclaw of the Forest People," the stranger said proudly and the smith spat once more.

"He's one of those barbarians!" the smith said, disgusted. "You can't trust them!"

"Your trader likes my people well enough when they bring him pelts and skins," Grisham said. "When your town needs protection from the gnolls the Forest People are are your friends. Bah! A barbarian would not be so insulting as you lest he find a sword in his guts."

Karak laughed at that and released his hold on the barbarian. "I like ye, Grisham Freeclaw," he said. "Ye speak your mind like a dwarf."

Feln let go of the man's other arm and Grisham collected himself. "The wolf does not hide its nature when it walks amongst sheep," he said, running his fingers over the bone-and-teeth fetish he wore.

"Why were you evesdropping on us?" Vade asked, peering out from behind Ledare's armored thigh.

"To hear what he told you," Grisham said, stabbing a finger in the smith's direction. "I feared he had not told me the whole truth when I arrived earlier today."

"You punched me in the face when I talked to you earlier today," the smith argued, his tone incredulous. Grisham shrugged.

"Your lying accusations could not go unanswered," the barbarian said simply. "There is some deviltry at work here that I cannot see. But no matter! I will track down this imposter and give him a taste of my steel for marring Plonius' good name! And when I do, I'll bring back his head for you to see, smith. Then you will know that Plonius, The Hound, would not slay a man with dark magic."

He started to trot away down the Eginnion Road out of Flavonshire and Morier called for him to stop. The albino looked at the other members of the VQS and repeated the celestial's words once more,"Follow his trail and you will uncover a dark and twisted secret..."

"Should we go after The Hound?" Ixin asked and Vade kicked at the dirt.

"Aw! What about going to see my mom and dad?!" he whined.


----------



## Jon Potter

*Deleted*

Double Double

Post Post


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #277] Tracking the Tracker 2*

"I think that Thumble will have to wait," Ixin said and Feln snorted.

"The world will not fall because we stopped in Thumble," the half-orc told them. "Our path is not certain."

"I disagree," Ledare interjected. "Again, our path seems clear. We should move quickly in the direction of Greenhill Woods. Perhaps we can still find Plonius. Or more likely, he will find us."

"Then let us move!" Grisham growled. "His trail grows cold while we stand here yapping!"

"Um, shouldn't we think about getting horses?" Vade asked. "I mean he does have a two day lead on us and he's riding a horse."

"Proof of two things," Grisham said as he returned to the group. "First that this killer is not The Hound and second that he knows nothing of Greenhill Woods. The undergrowth is too thick for a horse and rider; we'll soon overtake them if we get moving!"

"Oi, woodsman, lead us to The Hound so we may determine the truth o' the villager's story," Karak said running his thumb along the curve of his waraxe as he spoke. "Me and my axe have a fine way o' determining the truth. If'n he be the one after all that killed the high priest, then justice will be met. If'n he nae be the one, then justice will be met as a man will nae longer be accused of the crime."

"He's not a killer of men," Grisham repeated his stance. "But when the time comes to face this imposter, your axe will but follow my own blades toward justice."

Karak harrumphed and rested his axe on his shoulder. "We'll see, lad," he told the barbarian as he started down the Eginnion Road. "We'll see."

"Wait!" Ixin called, pointing at the small shrine of Flor. "We can't afford not to bury this body or it could come back as an undead."

"Undead!?" the smith bellowed fearfully. He backed away from the shrine while making the sign of the evil eye.

"We must do whatever Karak can do to bless the body and the ground and give it a proper burial," the drakeling urged and Karak stopped in his tracks and turned around.

"An' jus' what am I supposed to do?" the dwarf grumbled. "Just because me chalak was a cleric do nae mean I know all of 'is tricks."

"We can't take the time to bury this dead body, anyway, Ixin," Ledare said. "But perhaps Karak can move it or maybe we could quickly treat it so that the townspeople will not fear for their health and can have some kind of burial."

"It be better off where it is until a real priest can see to it," the dwarf told them. "There be nae undead what'll rise on hallowed ground anyhow."

"Are there other priests who could see to the burial?" Ledare asked the smith and the man nodded slowly as if in a daze. His eyes were fixed on the door to the small shrine as if he expected a shambling zombie to come barreling out at him any moment.

"We sent a rider east toward Redwood to fetch someone," he explained. "Simon said that there was a right big temple of Flor thereabouts."

"Good," the Janissary told him and reached into her belt pouch. "Your people can assist us in the battle against the great evil responsible for Simon's passing. Not Plonius; I speak of an evil that is beyond even your worst imagining." She pulled out the handful of coins that her pouch contained and scowled at the meager offering. Then she forced the copper and silver and gold into the smith's hands adding, "Do this for the sake of your families and loved ones: reopen this shrine and let its small light shine bright in the blackness that surrounds us." 



"Are all rangers irritable and crabby?" Vade asked as they moved off the road at the point where it started to curve away the vast wall of green that marked the edge of Greenhill Woods and head more directly to the south. Somewhere in the distance, it would eventually meet up with an old trade route leading into Olven Vale, the Altan Tepe mountains and eventually via a high mountain pass into, Pellham itself. Grisham was crouched low to the ground surveying the damp soil with a practiced eye.

"Without looking up at the halfling he grunted, "You obviously never have met The Hound. He was always laughing and offering kind words to those we helped. And look where it got him! Hated and feared by those for whom he so long protected."

"Well, I never did meet The Hound," Vade admitted, "But we were with Windstryder for a while and... Well, my mama says if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything... bitch." Grisham shot him a look and Ixin stepped forward, smiling.

"Windstryder was a little short on people skills," the mage explained and Grisham snorted derisively.

"People skills are of little use in the wild," the barbarian told her before turning back to the trail he was following. "Stopping to make nice with a lion will earn you a warm spot in its belly - nothing more!"

He stood up abruptly and pointed toward the woods. "The trail heads straight off that way!" he said and took off at a trot that was faster than any of the others could keep up with. "I'll scout ahead and meet you at the forest's edge!"

"Well. He's not much for small talk is he?" Ledare observed and Ixin nodded.

"It's just as well," she said. "I wanted a chance to caution everyone to be wary and not speak about our mission to Grisham if we can."

"Aye!" Karak said with a nod. "I be as friendly as the next dwarf, but I say for security we keep an extra careful eye on the guy during our watches, as well."

"I'm not sure he should be trusted quite yet," Morier agreed. "So we should be on guard about him, but I think we do need to follow him." The albino pointed toward Grisham who was a dwindling speck in the distance now.

"Oh, right!" Ledare said. "Let's hurry up."



Grisham was crouched down beside a large spruce tree popping berries into his mouth one after the other. As they approached he stood up and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. "We'll never catch up to this imposter if you lot don't hurry up!" he growled. "The wolf spirit teaches us to trust our alpha and follow his lead. You all circle every decision like vultures, worrying over every detail as if it were a bit of carrion."

"We value each other's opinions," Ledare defended.

"Reflecting on different courses of action often helps to reveal the correct one," Ixin added and Grisham snorted again.

"Time enough for reflection around the evening fire," he asserted and then pointed off into the trees. "The imposter went this way, still mounted. And as I predicted, his pace has slowed considerably. If we press on we might overtake him in a day or two even with the dwarf and the hobbit along."

"Then let's go!" Karak grumbled, matching Grisham's surly attitude snarl for snarl. The barbarian grinned and tossed a small leather bag to Vade.

"Here!" he said. "Those should help supplement our food as we go." Vade opened the bag and his face split with a grin.

"Dillonberries!" he cheered and stuffed a handful eagerly into his mouth.



"What cool stuff can you do?" Vade asked the man later as they stopped again for Grisham to study the thick layer of needles and leaves over which they were marching. "I mean besides finding yummy berries."

Grisham grunted noncommittally and edged a few feet away along the trail. Vade didn't take the hint.

"I am good at finding stuff," the halfling said as his gaze moved appraisingly over the barbarian's meager supply of gear. The man seemed to have little of value although his weapons and armor were of high-quality. "Ixin is good at saving people," Vade went on. "She saved my life.  If it weren't for her, I would not be standing here talking to you."

"Remind me to thank her later," Grisham said without looking up. The man's tone made it difficult to decide whether he'd meant it as a joke or a threat.

"Where are you from?" the little rogue went on. "I mean what kind of a name is Grisham, anyway?"

The barbarian stood up quickly, one of his hand axes in his left hand. He looked around nervously. "Did you hear that?" he asked in a husky whisper.

"Hear what?" Vade replied and cupped a hand around his pointed ear.

"There is is again!" Grisham announced, jerking his head to look the way they had been heading all along. He started off at a jog that was a quick and silent as a panther's. "Wait here!" he advised and vanished into the underbrush.

The others stood looking at one another for the space of a few heartbeats and then Karak hefted his axe.

"Like hells I will!" he growled and shouldered his way through the brush after Grisham with the others following close behind.

They heard the sound before too long - a horse in distress. It was an easy thing to follow the sound to its source: a roan mare lying weakly on the ground. Her right foreleg was clearly broken and from the dried feces smeared on her haunches and the way that the underbrush around her was matted and trampled, she'd laid there struggling for a day or more. She still wore a saddle and bridal although they'd gone askew from her throes. Her eyes rolled with fear as the group stepped into the small clearing that she'd made for herself in her thrashing and she let out another pain-filled whinny, gnashing against the bit that was still in her teeth. Her lips were flecked with bloody foam where the metal restraint had cut her lips.

Grisham was on the far side of the beast, examining the ground. He looked up at the others and said grimly, "The imposter continued this way on foot. The evil bastard didn't even have the sense to put the beast down. He just got up and continued on his way!"


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #278] Horseplay & Healing*

"Well, this certainly doesn't seem like the work of a guy who is always laughing and offering kind words to those he helps," Ledare observed. "Something's fishy here."

"Aye!" Grisham said with a fierce nod as he got to his feet. "Like I've been saying from the start."

Feln took in the tragic scene and rapped his knuckles against Karak's helm, saying, "Karak, will you help me put this animal down? Your axe seems the most efficient tool." Without waiting for a response, the half-orc began easing his way toward the horse, making a calm shushing noise as he went.

"While you attend that I'll follow these tracks a ways and see if they reveal anything more," Grisham told them and the forest drank him up in a single gulp.

"I be nae one for animal husbandry, but it seems to me this horse needs to meet Shaharizod!" the dwarf agreed gripping his axe grimly in both hands. He shook his shaggy head and clucked his tongue. "Poor creature of burden. It does its duty only to be left a lyin' here to die a slow an' painful death." He was about to join Feln nearer the downed animal when Ixin darted between them, her cloak swirling about her.

"Don't you dare harm this creature," Ixin admonished, her eyes were slits of yellow bale-fire. She produced a vial of Cure Light Wounds that she had purchased back in Hillville Junction. "We have the ability to heal it and we can not simultaneously work for the forces of life and also take it." Unimpressed, Feln snarled at the mage.

"Ixin, do not speak to me as if I do not understand the importance of life. I carry that knowledge along with the guilt of past misjudgements with me at all times," he said, hesitating for a moment as a wash of memory played across his craggy features. Then he pointed a finger at the drakeling and went on. "If we are to truly serve the purpose of life, we need to hold that healing potion to keep ourselves strong and give this horse a painless death to end its suffering."

And saying thus, he reached out quick as a cobra with one meaty hand, grasped Ixin's arm at the wrist and spun her behind him so that they exchanged places. Ixin's face twisted with surprise and then anger, and when she regained her balance her sharp teeth were bared and the smoldering glow in her eyes had increased to a fiery light. "You dare lay hands on me?!" she growled. "In my own land that would get you fed to the clan wyrmlings! If I have to flay the sinew from your bones bit by bit to save this animal, I will!" She started forward, her hands hooked into rending claws, but Morier interposed himself between she and Feln.

"Hold!" Ledare commanded but for a moment, emotions were running too high to respect her order. Morier heaved his shoulder against Ixin's sternum with a strength that belied his small stature and he halted her forward motion. She glowered down at him for a moment and her fierce gaze locked onto his own. Only he was close enough to see the wisp of sulfurous smoke escape from the drakeling's flaring nostrils but the sight of it was enough to stop them both from struggling further against one another.

"I said, HOLD!" the Janissary bellowed again and this time Ravager was in her hand. She pointed the serrated blade at them as she spoke. "Listen, both of you! We are together in this, and we will make decisions together. No one acts alone, no matter how passionate your feelings may be or how much you feel misunderstood?"

Reluctantly, both Ixin and Feln nodded.

"I just think it's unbelievably important that-" Ixin started but Ledare held up a hand to forestall any arguments,

"No matter the justification, I WILL NOT tolerate in-fighting," the Janissary said simply and Morier nodded.

"We must all understand that the road we have travelled together thus far has been difficult and frustrating, but we have travelled it together and we must continue to do so," the albino told them. "Opposition within our own ranks is exactly what allows these evil forces to make the in-roads that derail those who seek to destroy them. Let us not fall victim to those same traps."

Feln sighed and turned to Ixin. "Use your supplies as you will for this... animal," the half-orc said. "But pray that do we not fall short of healing later." Then he turned and slipped into the underbrush, disappearing in the same direction that Grisham had gone.

"Ixin, in that at least, Feln is right. We need every healing potion we have," Ledare admitted. "Does anyone have a spell that can make this horse comfortable?" She looked around at the remaining faces: Ixin, Morier and Karak shook their heads. Vade's face brightened however and he began rummaging through his pack.

"Oooh! I know!" he said and then pulled out the Wand of Healing that they had recovered from the goblin caves. "I've been practicing with this since we found it. This might be the prefect chance to try it for real!"

"Fine, Vade," the Janissary said, resheathing her sword. "Do it quickly, and let's proceed. If it doesn't work, then we do what we can for the horse without using a potion."

"This is another living creature and the god of beasts would ill approve of us not doing everything in our power to help it," Ixin argued but Ledare just shook her head.

"You mustn't lose sight of the bigger picture, Ixin," the Janissary explained. "We could fail entirely if we use up all of our resources without a thought for what lies ahead."

"I disagree," the sorcerer sighed.

"And you're entitled to, so long as you can put that aside and do the job we all need you to do" Ledare admitted. "We must operate as a team and we can't do that while at the same time allowing rash and emotional acts, no matter how logical they may feel to the individuals involved."

Ixin said nothing, but went to help Vade by calming the horse as best she could. She laid one hand over the animal's eyes and stroked its muzzle with the other all the while cooing into its ear. It seemed to have the desired effect and Vade moved in close vigorously waving the wand around and spewing out every magic word he'd ever heard in a long litany of gibberish. To the halfling's credit, he managed to get the wand to glow with magic, but the spell fizzled without any results.

"Darn it!" Vade cursed, looking closely at the shaft as if he hoped to find tiny instructions etched in the side that he'd somehow missed during his previous examinations. "I wonder how you work this thing?"

"That's alright, Vade," Ledare said and she stripped off her gauntlets. "I'm not sure what I'll be able to do without a bone crank, but we did cover broken bones a bit back in the academy. Maybe I can-"

"Here, Karak, you try!" Vade interrupted and shoved the wand into the dwarf's hands. Karak looked at it as if it were sculpted from troll dung and tried to force it back onto the halfling.

"Nae! Nae!" the dwarf argued. "I be nae-"

"I tried to make it work, but I can't," Vade explained, refusing to accept the wand back. "I watched Ruze heal many, many times, but then he never used a wand. He would just get this look on his face, say some words like: 'Moon Goddess from the sky please take away the cry.'"

"He was a Battleguard," Karak protested. "I nae be-"

"Why, I remember when I was a boy in Thumble when I would fall down my mother would give me a cloth soaked in ginger root and she would say, 'Here you go, this will take away the hurt and the cry." Vade went on, oblivious to the dwarf's reddening face. "It never really did stop the hurting, but my momma sure did try. So-" 

"All right, hobbit!" Karak growled shaking his head in frustration. "Clamp your mouth down shut. I can nae hear my own thoughts." He shoved Vade aside and stamped toward the horse, his eyes cast upwards to the darkening sky. He found no obvious answers there to help him deal with Vade however. Reluctantly, Karak knelt by the horse's broken limb and spit into both palms before twisting the wand and circling it around the bruised and swollen area. At first, nothing seemed to happen, but then the dwarf scrunched his eyes shut and muttered a prayer that he remembered Malak using a time or two and the wand sprang to life in his hands. He directed the magic into the horse's limb and after a few applications, there was no longer any sign of the break and the horse lay peacefully on its side.

Karak harrumped and looked critically at the wand. "It takes a dwarf to use things mechanical," he said.



By the time that Grisham and Feln returned, it was getting on toward dusk and the forest was darkening around them. Grisham carried a trio of furred animals in one hand - two squirrels and an opossum, and he announced that they'd be making camp for the night while he went about the business of hanging the meat from a nearby tree.

"There's no sign that the imposter did anything but continue on his way," he told them and Karak harrumphed. "We'll pick up the trail in the morning. Too dark to press on, tonight."

"It nae be too dark for a dwarf," he said, jabbing his thumb against his breastplate. Indicatiing Feln he added, "Nae the orcblood, neither."

"Then by all means, follow the trail in the dark," Grisham said as he started making a fire. "But I'll not waste time and effort finding you after you become lost."

Karak started to say something else and Ledare stepped forward wearily and defused the situation. "I'm tired," she said. "I'm ready to camp."

"I think we should keep an extra eye out for the rider," Vade said nervously. "We've been making more noise than an armored mountain dwarf falling down a rocky hill after chasing a hobbit with his bag of gold. Grandpa Trouble always liked that saying. It is very funny. Hee-hee! You will like Grandmpa when you come to Thumble with me, Karak... really."

The dwarf just harrumphed and offered to take first watch.



*Earthday, the 29th of Wealsun, 1269 AE*​



The trail continued on, ever southwestward. It veered around trees and other obstacles, but always resumed its path. By the time Orin's Shield had begun its journey to the west, Grisham was obviously troubled by the trail.

"What's wrong?" Ledare asked and Grisham turned savagely toward her with teeth bared. After a moment, his features softened, however and he shook his head in confusion.

"He's made no camp," the barbarian said, nervously fingering the tooth-and-bone fetish he wore around his neck. "I saw a  spot where he'd slept a few hours back on the trail. But he's made no fire, hunted for no game. This imposter..." His voice trailed off. He had no words to describe the dread he felt.

Feln stepped up behind Ledare and whispered loudly into her ear, "I think you should ask him why he is so sure that this is an imposter?"

Grisham shot the half-orc a fiery look. "Ask me, yourself, orcblood. I've known Plonius since I was a barely passed the first hunt!" he explained. "His people and mine would spend several weeks together at the start and end of the dry season, trading. Plonius was already a great hero by that time and when I asked he took me to his hearth. He was as a father to me. So I know that the word of that peasant is false! The man we follow is not The Hound!"

Feln was unconvinced. "When is the last time you saw The Hound?" he asked.

"Nearly two moondances ago," the barbarian answered cautiously. "He visited me near the end of Planting."

"Why and when did you begin tracking this Hound?" Feln pressed.

"I've been looking for him for a bit over two weeks," Grisham said. "Because I desired to see my old friend again."

"Um. Isn't the bad guy getting away while we're standing here?" Vade asked and Grisham let out a growl of frustration.

"I'm with you lot for less than two days and already I fall victim to your bad habits!" he said and stalked off into the underbrush.

"What bad habits?" Vade called after him. "We are an elite fighting machine!"



*Freeday, the 30th of Wealsun and Starday, the 1st of Reaping, 1269 AE*​



The trail continued with no further sign of the man they tracked. Grisham insisted that they were gaining ground on the man, a feat that he claimed further supported the fact that this man wasn't The Hound.

"Plonius is of the Horse Nomads," he explained. "They can all run like the creatures they hold sacred. If this were truly Plonius we'd have no chance of overtaking him!"

"I remember when I first met him he'd been tracking riders on foot," Ledare added, a note of awe in her voice. "He was running and gaining ground on the horses."

"What else do you remember about The Hound, Kitten?" Vade asked through a mouthful of wild blackberries that Grisham had discovered. He smiled broadly and asked, "Didn't you mention he smelled bad?"

Shaking his head incredulously, Grisham went back to tracking. Toward nightfall, they followed the trail to the top of a hill bordering a narrow valley with a shallow river running along its bottom.  The trail itself continued straight down the steep, gravelly slope of the hill through some heavy undergrowth. After a quick look around, Grisham discovered that a much easier descent could be made by moving down the ridgeline a mile or so where the hillside was considerably less treacherous.

"Any ranger worthy of the title would've seen the same thing," Grisham smugly explained as they moved along the ridgeline. "This isn't The Hound we're following."



*Sunday, the 2nd of Reaping, 1269 AE*​



They were following the trail across a wide valley of old growth trees when an elf dressed in dark, leather armor and armed with a short bow suddenly materialized out of the undergrowth a hundred feet in front of Grisham. He seemed to be alert with a defensive attitude, but was not outwardly antagonistic. His bow, while it was ready with an arrow nocked, was not drawn and he held it pointed at the ground. After a moment's study of the group, he spoke in an accented version of the Common Tongue.

"Halt, trespassers!" he commanded. "Be aware that you are moving through the lands of the Ten'Venielle; what is your business here?"

Grisham was looking nervously around and a low growling was coming from his throat. "Elves," he hissed. "Where there's one you can see, there's bound to be a dozen more that you can't. All of them ready to put an arrow in your eye."

"I ask again," the elf said and drew back on his shortbow for emphasis. "What is your business in the lands of the Ten'Venielle?"


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> "Any ranger worthy of the title would've seen the same thing," Grisham smugly explained as they moved along the ridgeline. "This isn't The Hound we're following."




These aren't the hounds you're looking for, move along.   

Going great Jon!


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## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> These aren't the hounds you're looking for, move along.




It hasn't really come up in the Story Hour before, but Ledare's player (Kristen*) wrote a very "Luke Skywalker" history for her character. Away on some frivolous activity when there's a raid at her aunt and uncle's home. She returns to flames and dead bodies.

So far she hasn't displayed any mental powers however.   



> Going great Jon!




Glad you like it. This adventure is one of the tent poles holding up my campaign. I found the adventure series online back in '97 or '98 and liked it so much that I structured everything else around it. This particular installment is very linear and light on action at the start (two things I didn't realize until we got into it) but when it heats up it _really_ heats up!


*I may post the recent picture of our gaming group that Kristen emailed to me. One of the other players is supposed to be taking some shots of our minis as well that I planned to put on display here or in the rogue's gallery thread. If I ever get around to updating the rogue's gallery thread, that is.


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## RangerWickett

Does this thread start with the, um, start?  Because while I'm perfectly willing to read things that begin in medias res, I'd prefer to know a bit more about what's going on.  It's a little hard for me as a reader to get involved with the story when it starts on a heavy bit of dialogue.  The mystery of the blood rain was interesting, but by the end of your second installment there still hadn't been much action.


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## Jon Potter

RangerWickett said:
			
		

> Does this thread start with the, um, start?  Because while I'm perfectly willing to read things that begin in medias res, I'd prefer to know a bit more about what's going on.




It does not begin anywhere near the beginning, actually. I think the PCs were around 3rd or 4th level by this point and we started the game at 1st. This is more the beginning of the game using the 3E ruleset.

The rest (if you're really ambitious or have a lot of time to kill) is  here .



> It's a little hard for me as a reader to get involved with the story when it starts on a heavy bit of dialogue.  The mystery of the blood rain was interesting, but by the end of your second installment there still hadn't been much action.




Well, I see your point. However, my players are all about talking every problem over from every point of view, so there's no getting around it. And things heat up considerably by the third installment, Turn 181: A Better Ratrap.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #278a] Which Way Did He Go?*

"We should approach him," Feln grunted over his shoulder to the Janissary. "Do you want to do the talking or should I?" Karak cleared his throat meaningfully to get the half-orc's attention.

"You watch the fore, I'll watch the aft," the dwarf muttered into his beard, his gray eyes darting around nervously. "While we let the elves do the talking." Feln acceded to the wisdom of Karak's suggestion and the dwarf moved to the rear of the group clutching his axe warily as he searched the trees for any sign of elven snipers. He saw none.

Vade watched all this whispering and milling about and tugged on Ledare's scabbard to get her attention. "Why don't we tell them the truth?" he whispered up to Ledare. Turning to the eldritch warrior he prompted, "You are an elf, Morier. Maybe you should talk to them."  Morier looked stricken for an instant before he regained his composure and stepped between Vade and the elf with the bow. He looked meaningfully into the halfling's eyes and raised a finger to his thin lips.

"What's the matter, Morier?" Vade asked, blinking up at Morier. "You are an elf too. You should talk to your people." Again a storm cloud moved across the albino's face, but this time Feln intervened.

"Why don't you hold back," the half-orc suggested, meeting Morier's gaze. The eldritch warrior nodded and did his best to blend into the group's ranks. Feln directed his attention to Vade then and said, "Keep an eye on Morier; most elves dislike him."

"Why?" Vade asked with genuine concern in his voice. "Morier's an elf like-"

"Hush now," Feln suggested, giving Vade's shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"By Roofdrak's bloody maw!" Grisham barked in frustration. He shot the group a reproachful look and without further warning he lurched forward to address the scout himself, "Ho, elf! We're tracking a killer! One who is impersonating The Hound!"

This prompted some concern from the elven archer and spurred both Ixin and Ledare to step forward. "What the human says is true," Ixin said with a warm smile. "We are banded together in search of a murderer whom we believe may have passed this way."

"A murderer?" the elf asked, his emotions unreadable.

"Yes," Ledare told him. "He killed one of Flor's Mercybringers in the town of Flavonshire and fled to these woods. Have you seen anyone else trespassing on your land recently?"

The elf released the tension on his bow and thought for a moment before responding. "Before I answer, I would know more of you and your intentions," he said, his eyes intent and penetrating. "By what authority do you seek this man?"

"We are the VQS!" Vade cried loudly, dodging Feln's restraining hands to trot up beside the women and Grisham. "We mean no harm to you or your land. May we please go about our business?" He then stage-whispered up to Ledare, "How is that, Kitten? I have been practicing sounding authorative."

Before Ledare could answer, the elf spoke again. "The Veek'yuess is unknown to me," he said, his voice dripping with condescension. It was clear that he was looking chiefly in the direction of Feln and Karak as he spoke, but he turned his scrutiny on Ixin as well. "You are.. a motley group."

"The forces of good transcend race and breed," Ledare told him without missing a beat. "We band together because we must." Her response seemed to meet with the elf's approval and he returned his arrow to its quiver with a nod.

"We did not intend to trespass and would be grateful for safe passage through your lands," Ixin added with her most winning smile, "or any information about the possible whereabouts of the man we seek."

"The Hound is known to the Ten'Venielle," the elf admitted as he approached the group. "He helped us drive the gnolls from the forest in winters past. We find it difficult to believe that he is a murderer."

"It's not The Hound we've been tracking!" Grisham growled, making a slashing gesture with his hand. "I've been telling them from the beginning: we're tracking an imposter! Someone is trying to ruin Plonius' good name!" The elf nodded.

"I am sure that you are correct," he said. "Two of our shikar, Lithraldor and Lenndel, reported seeing The Hound - or someone they thought was The Hound - the day before yesterday moving through these woods along the path you now follow. They did not approach or hinder him, however. The Hound is welcome in our lands."

"Thank you for this information," Ledare replied. "Have there been any other out-of-the-ordinary occurrences here of late?"

"No," the elf said. "Other than the Veek'yuess, it has been quiet. Seeing The Hound in the forest is not unusual."

"It's not The Hound," Grisham grumbled and the elf nodded.

"We will be on our guard," he told them. "If you wish we can escort you to the border of our territory, but you are free to pursue this man as you will. If we see him again we will question him to determine his identity."


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #279] End of the Line?*

"That is a generous offer. We would appreciate any assistance we can get in tracking this man," Ixin told the elf.

"We don't need any help," Grisham snapped. "He's leaving a trail that a blind man could follow."

"You seem capable. You are already following the path on which our shikar saw him," the elf explained. "And if he indeed pressed on at the rate he was travelling his trail is not long for our territory. Beyond that we will not stray."

"Perhaps we should ask him to help us find this imposter. As Papa used to say, 'A blind squirrel can't find any nuts unless he knows the trees,' Vade asked the others in a voice clearly loud enough for the elf to hear. "We are the blind squirrels, the elves know the trees and together we can find the nut... or The Hound... or the imposter... or-"

"We get it, Vade," Ledare said with a smile. "An escort might help us to gain some time on our man. The elves would know this land better than we do, and might be able to speed us along."

"It would be our pleasure," the elf said with a bow.

"What do you know of the temple of Flor and her followers?" Ixin asked, sidling a step closer to the elf. 

"Little, I'm afraid," the elf answered. "I am aware that she is a goddess of healing and mercy, but I was unaware that she had a temple in the human settlement to the north. We leave the woodland but rarely."

"What other news might you share with us of events in your area then?" the drakeling pressed, flashing a gleaming smile. "We are fighting a great evil and often find that events of chaos are connected when they do not seem to be. Any news you are able to give us could help in our fight against evil."

The elf thought for a moment and then shrugged. "The cycles of late have passed with little unexpected trouble for us," he said. "The Deer of Plenty have grown to such numbers that our Wayshepards have bade our hunters thin the herd. Our bellies have been full this season and last. The angler lizards have begun to manifest a red glow rather than blue near the waters of Luc'Elradrielind, but we think it is due in large part to the closeness of Lady Qillaquithe's arcanenexus."

Their new guide went on as they walked, spouting off "news" of the elflands that managed to be at one and the same time both wonderfully magical and mind-numbingly dull. The path he led them along followed the direction they had been travelling and continued on until they reached a wide and deep river that flowed sluggishly along through the forest.

"This river marks the edge of Ten'Venielle lands," the elf announced.

"His trail continues on," Grisham observed after checking the ground closely. He grimaced at the dark water. "It'll be a wet crossing."

"There is a natural ford less than a mile to the south," the elf observed. "The most you will suffer there are wet boots."

Grisham scowled at the elf and then his face softened. "Thank you," he said and started to trot in the indicated direction.

"I hope that you find this murderer you seek," the elf said with complete sincerity.

"Thank you," Ledare said as she passed. "Your help is appreciated."

"May the spirits of my ancestors watch over you on your journey," the elf added as the VQS went off to follow the barbarian.



At the ford, which consisted of a series of partially submerged stepping stones, Grisham shook his head in disgust. "No one with any skill at woodcraft would have crossed where this imposter did," he grumbled. "He's not only a killer, he's a damned fool to boot!"

After they had all made the crossing (some more dryly than others) the barbarian squinted up at the darkening sky. "We'll backtrack up the river to where our man crossed," he announced. "Then we'll make camp for the night and head out again at first light. We're bound to catch him soon."



*Moonsday, the 3rd of Reaping, 1269 AE​*​

The forest grew more and more dense as they travelled, with gaps in the leafy canopy created by the toppling of elder trees filling in with thickets of saplings and brush. The sky glimpsed in these gaps was cloudy and threatened rain, but none fell. It was in the morning, only a few hours after breaking camp on the edge of the river that they forced their way along the trail of their illusive quarry as it followed the north face of a large wooded hill. The morning sun had not risen far enough to shine directly on the area, and so it remained both dark and damp. As usual, Karak was guarding the rear with Vade; Ledare, Morier and Ixin were spread out in the center of the line; and Grisham and Feln ranged ahead. The human was looking for signs of passage and the half-orc was on watch for signs of trouble. 

Both were quite familiar with their duties, but that morning neither one proved themselves particularly adept at their task.

Grisham knelt on the game trail that the killer had been following since crossing the river and studied the prints while Feln stood behind him watching the surrounding trees intently. Both men could clearly hear the clank and rattle of the others moving through the trees further back on the trail. "Are we gaining ground on him?" the martial artist asked and Grisham grunted softly.

"He's still a day ahead," the man admitted. "At least."

"We're far from help should we run into trouble," Feln observed and Grisham rose to his feet pointing savagely with one of his hand axes back toward the advancing sound of others.

"No one begged for you to come along, half-caste," the barbarian said. "Go back to the village. I can bring this murdering dog to justice without your he-!" The last word he drew out into a cry of surprise as the ground before him on the trail suddenly gave way beneath his feet. Most men would have found themselves at the bottom of the pit concealed beneath the flimsy covering of woven sticks and leaves and earth, but Grisham's reflexes were honed by years of fighting and living in the wilds. Even as he started to fall, he propelled himself forward, across the pit and rolled to a crouch on the other side with his hand axe at the ready.

Feln was impressed. He was scarcely sure that he could have done better. He didn't have time to marvel at Grisham's panther-like reflexes, however as the trees quickly disgorged three creatures that leapt at them without warning. Before Feln could even register that they weren't human, two of the creatures had slashed him solidly with their claws. The third was on the barbarian, but the man's leather armor foiled the attack.

Feln heard Grisham roar defiantly and then the half-orc turned all of his attention on the things flanking him. They were human in general shape although their arms were longer and ape-like and they were covered head to toe in what looked like shaggy green moss. Their faces were unlike anything Feln had ever seen, dominated by a great toothy maw that snapped and slavered below two flashing eyes possessed of an intelligence and vitality that seemed truly alien in so beastial a form.

The half-orc planted his quarterstaff and kicked up into chest of one of the things. For a moment his feet beat out a staccato rhythm against its ribs as he delivered a flurry of blows, then the thing wailed and fell back, clutching at its torso. Its partner however, moved in, its limbs a blur of motion, its teeth snapping at Feln's face. His martial artist training allowed him to avoid all of the attacks almost by instinct alone. He almost managed to avoid all of the injured one's attacks as well, but one lucky claw raked across his shoulder, drawing bloody lines along his back.

Feln brought his quarterstaff around in a mighty two-handed swing that the wounded creature tried to deflect with its forearm. It succeeded to a degree, but the limb still absorbed a substantial amount of the impact and it yelped again in pain. It opened a gash along Feln's ribs in retaliation, but the half-orc quickly discovered that his second opponent suddenly had other things to worry about as Grisham appeared at its flank like a wild-eyed specter.

It turned to face this new foe and left Feln momentarily able to devote his attention to the monster he'd wounded. He swung his quarterstaff at the thing and landed another solid thwap on its torso. It let out a grunt of pain, but it was nothing compared to the shriek that came from the thing facing Grisham.

Both monsters broke off their attacks and made for the trees. Feln's hand went to the shurikens attached to the sash slung across his chest and he sent one after the fleeing creature. It stuck in the monster's thigh but didn't drop the beast. Beside the half-orc, Grisham threw the blood-soaked axe in his hand and planted the blade unerringly into the back of the other creature's skull. It fell out of the tree with a meaty thud.

The entire battle had lasted less than 30 seconds, enough time for Ledare, Morier and Ixin to catch up to them, but not long enough to allow them to lend support. They burst upon the two warriors with weapons brandished ineffectually.

"What happened?" Ixin asked.

"Are you alright?" added Ledare.

Grisham and Feln looked one another over. The half-orc had definitely faired worse; the only mark on the barbarian was a single scratch on his left cheek that oozed crimson. The longsword in the man's right hand dripped gore onto the matted turf.  Grisham grunted and turned toward the trees.

"The half-caste could use the dwarf's attention," the man said. "Once I collect my axes we should move on. One of those devils got away. It they lair near here, more may be upon us soon."

Karak thundered up the trail with his axe in hand and bloodlust on his face. His steel-plated shoulders sagged when he saw that the battle had already ended. "Tha' be that!" the dwarf bellowed. "From now on, I be at the front o' the line!"



*Godsday the 4th and Waterday the 6th of Reaping, 1269 AE​*​

But Karak got no further opportunity to display his combat prowess on the trail. They passed the remainder of Moonsday and all of Godsday unmolested as they moved into and out of a swampy section of the forest, always in the footsteps of the murderous fugitive. Despite a near-forced march pace they were barely able to keep up with the man, and he showed no signs of slowing down as he plunged further and further into the untamed foothills of the Altan Tepe mountains. The topic of abandoning the chase came up around the campfire, but Grisham was resolute and Morier kept reminding the others of the celestial's prophecy about following a trail to a secret long-hidden.

Even so, spirits were low by the time they reached the end of The Hound's trail.

Grisham stopped short and motioned for the others to halt as well. The area up ahead of him was clearly the sight of a recent battle. The brush had been trampled down, but another large portion of the ground had been churned up as if by some huge burrowing creature. There was a smell of charred things in the air and the barbarian grunted, "Wait here."

Of course, Karak would hear none of it and he followed close at the man's back as Grisham knelt to examine the soil.

"These bootprints match the imposter's," the man announced as he pointed out the chaotic overlay of tracks in the freshly turned earth. "There's blood here. And here. And here." Reinvigorated, Grisham drew his throwing axe and trotted off into the underbrush following the trail with renewed interest.

It became clear to everyone that the trail was heading toward a vast clearing in the trees a few hundred yards ahead. As they approached the clearing, they realized that it was in fact a large, circular valley nearly a mile across, enclosed on all sides by a cliff-face that descended more or less vertically for close to 100 feet to the floor below. The tops of the trees that filled the valley reached nearly to the top of the cliff, and many were covered with an ominous layer of spider webbing. Ledare's breath caught in her chest, and she felt a cold sheen of sweat break out all over her skin although thankfully, none of the huge beasts that must have created the webs were visible at the moment.

"So this be where 'e was a headin'," Karak observed and although there was still no obvious reason behind the killer's flight to this place, the dwarf's conclusion seemed likely none the less.

Vade stepped up beside Ledare and squeezed her hand as firmly as he could. "It'll be all right, Kitten," he reassured the Janissary. "We won't let any spiders get you."

Ledare licked her lips and forced a rubbery smile onto them. "Thank you, Vade," she said. "That means a lot to me." The tremble in her voice suggested otherwise, however.

Grisham was still following the trail when he startled into flight a group of large crows who had been picking at something in the bushes. As the birds flew off over the trees cawing in anger, the barbarian dropped to his knees beside the bushes, a single mournful sob ripping from his throat.

Feln and Morier hustled over to Grisham's side and looked into the bushes through a swarm of slow-moving flies. Therein lay the remains of a man dressed in intricate leather armor. He had apparently died in battle, for a longsword lay near the body and a hand axe was still clutched in one hand. The smell was less than pleasant. The body had been there for more than a day, clearly, for most of the face had been stripped off by the carrion-eating crows, leaving little more than a grisly skull with a graying beard.

But what remained was enough for Grisham to identify the man. "Plonius!" the barbarian wailed. "No!!"


----------



## Jon Potter

*Rogues Gallery update*

I finally found the time to post some updated stats for all the PCs in the Rogue Gallery . The pictures now have some stats associated with them.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #279a] The Scene of the Crime*

Grisham was broken. He sagged forward so that his face rested nearly on the ground as sobs wracked his body. The sudden display of tenderness was so unlike the caustic attitude that they had come to expect from the barbarian that for a few moments nobody acted. After an uncomfortable  pause, Vade disengaged himself from Ledare and eased up to Grisham's side.

"I am sorry for your friend, Grisham," the halfling said, his voice dripping with sincerity. He laid a hand on the barbarian's shoulder and Grisham's body stiffened. He looked up abruptly at Vade, studying the halfling's face with bloodshot eyes.

"Would you mock my weakness, hobbit?" Grisham growled and dragged his forearm across his dripping eyes. A smear of trail grime spread across his forehead. Vade withdrew his hand as if he'd just touched a hot stove

"No," Vade replied and took a step backward. Grisham kept pace with him, creeping like a predatory cat.

"Plonius was my friend!" the barbarian snarled. "Am I not entitled to my grief?!"

"Of course you are," the halfling answered, uncertainly. "I've lost some friends too and-"

"Enough, Grisham!" Ledare commanded, coming to her companion's defense. "Vade was trying to offer you consolation and you turn on him? I respect the fact that you are are hurt by this discovery, but that is no cause to attack someone who is offering you aid!"

Grisham glared up at her without saying anything. His eyes challenged her and she didn't back down from it. She held his eyes as she went on.

"We should search the area and see if we can determine how this man died," she said. "Plonius is beyond our help now, but perhaps his name may yet be cleared."

Grisham looked at her for a moment longer and then his face softened. He nodded and turned away, busying himself with an examination of the ground. After he was no longer staring her down, Ledare let out a relieved sigh.

"Thank you, Kitten," Vade whispered and by the tension in the Janissary's eyes he could see that they had probably avoided bloodshed by a narrow margin. She waved at the body in the bushes.

"Let's take a look," Ledare said and they moved in closer to investigate.

Up close, the death smell was worse, but several interesting things presented themselves at once. The first thing Ledare noticed was that the man's leather armor was very well-made and she remembered it from her previous encounter with The Hound. It had distinctive and intricate tooling across the chest and shoulders as well as a curious lattice-work of leather straps on the arms and legs. Grimacing, she rolled the body onto its side in order to see the back. There wasn't a mark on it anywhere.

"It wasn't sword or arrow that killed him," she announced as she lowered the body back down. Vade's hands moved deftly over the body, but discovered little of interest. A dagger with a curved blade and a brass handle cast in the shape of a cricket was concealed in the left boot, but other than that and the weapons that they had already seen there was nothing on him. He had neither pouches nor pack, nor any sign that he'd carried either prior to his death.

"What do you make of this?" Ledare asked, pointing to the body's wrists. There were several bloody grooves cut into both arms just above the hands. Leafy material was lodged in the lacerations. Vade grimaced and unconsciously rubbed his own wrists.

"Looks like restraint marks," the halfling observed darkly. "Maybe he was tied up with vines before... You know." His voice trailed off.

"There's blood on these bushes, too," Ledare added, turning her attention to the shrubs in which the body lay. "And this mark around his neck looks like a necklace or something was ripped off." She grimaced again and got to her feet. "Ixin? Is there anything magical here?"

The sorcerer stepped up and cast her spell. "Sword. Armor. Knife," she observed. "There's a slight dweomer on the body itself, but it's too weak to identify. I think he was killed by magic." The Janissary nodded.

"That would explain why there's no mark on the-" Ledare started to say when Karak interrupted.

"Wha' be this?" he asked, nearby and Morier stooped down where the dwarf was looking. He reached down to the ground and produced a lump of dusky glass.

"Lightning strike," the albino told him after sniffing the glass. He pointed to other nearby disturbances in the soil. "There's another one there. And there. And there."

"There be other tracks here, too," Karak observed. "Nae jus' the man we been followin'. A might smaller, like an elf or a half-elf."

"Here's where our killer went," Grisham called from the cliff edge where he crouched beside a gnarled old tree. "The tracks lead from the body to this tree. There's a rope tied off that trails down the cliff."

Feln looked over the edge of the cliff and could see the rope, swinging slightly in the breeze. It descended down into the mysterious darkness of the forest below. "He went down?" the half-orc asked and Grisham nodded.

"Within two days," the barbarian announced. "And he didn't come back up."


----------



## Funeris

Ok...I've read all thirteen of the pages you have up here...and I may go back and read what came before.  Keep writing, man.  Its good stuff.

I was quite happy when Windstryder left the party and Karak joined.  Karak seems to deal better with the group.  And its all about the party.  Plus Karak is
just more humorous and the rivalry between Vade and he definitely lightens up
the hopeless tone often imbued in the story.  

One question though, am I reader #4 or 5?  
Keep up the good work.


----------



## Jon Potter

Funeris said:
			
		

> Ok...I've read all thirteen of the pages you have up here...and I may go back and read what came before.  Keep writing, man.  Its good stuff.




I'm glad you like it. It's a labor of love for me, but it's also nice to hear that others appreciate it as well.



> I was quite happy when Windstryder left the party and Karak joined.  Karak seems to deal better with the group.  And its all about the party.




Yeah! I think that the party as a whole is better off with Karak (with the possible exception of Feln who lost his only friend other than Vade). But it's funny that the guy playing both characters decided to switch from the elven ranger right before the big outdoorsy adventure tracking a killer through elven lands.  :\ 



> Plus Karak is just more humorous and the rivalry between Vade and he definitely lightens up the hopeless tone often imbued in the story.




If you think the tone is hopeless now, you really _should_ read the stuff when they were 1st level.



> One question though, am I reader #4 or 5?




Other than Hairy Minotaur, you're the only one I've had in... oh, 10 pages or so.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #280] A Mighty Wind*

"Is there only a single set of tracks?" Ledare asked and both Karak and Grisham nodded.

"That's good," Vade sighed. But Ledare wasn't so sure.

"I don't know, Vade." she observed. "It's certainly significant if one individual was responsible for this murder. The Hound was no easy target for slaying. Right, Grisham?"

The barbarian nodded grimly and there was a note of pride in his voice when he spoke. "At the second battle of Aquae Sulis he left two score gnolls dead on the field before he sought healing. I've seen many men cross blades, and I can count Plonius' equals at swordplay on one hand... with fingers to spare."

"It was magic that killed him, though," Ixin reminded gently and Ledare nodded.

"And if these other tracks belong to a magic-user with the intention of killing him, why bother with binding the hands and all that?" she asked. "The lacerations match these very bushes, so clearly he was killed here."

"What does it all mean?" Vade mused and scratched his head.

"Bah!" Karak grumbled. "Give me somethin' I can sink me axe into! Nae all these questions!"

"The dwarf is right," Feln said reluctantly. "I say we go down now!" He moved over toward the rope.

"Now hold on," Ledare cautioned. "I agree that we need to go down, but let's be smart about it. We don't have any idea what's down there."

"I could cast _Dancing Lights_ and send them down to the bottom of the cliff," Ixin suggested. "That should give us some idea what's down there."

"Good idea," Ledare said with a nod and the sorcerer went through the necessary evocation, agitating the ether between her hands until the normally-invisible mana coalesced into four globes of ruddy light. They bobbed in the air above her palm until she mentally directed them down into the valley.

The others peered over the edge of the cliff, watching as the globes went in a tight cluster that swirled and pulsed as the individual lights orbited one another. Ixin sent them down to the floor of the valley and out to the maximum range at which she could sustain the spell, but there was nothing of import to see. No foes crouched in ambush on the shadowy forest floor, and it was much too far to spot any tracks below. The trees and shrubs below rustled in the breeze, but concealed no enemies that they could see. After a minute, the spell ran its course and the lights abruptly winked out as if the hungry darkness swallowed them whole.

"Well, that wasn't particularly helpful," Ixin apologized and Grisham grunted.

"I'll go down and find-" he started to say and Ixin forestalled him.

"No! I should go first," she told him. "I have a spell that can tell us something about the last person who used this rope, but I need to be the first one to step into the area. If I follow you down and then cast the spell, all it'll do is pick up echoes of you."

"Maybe we should wait until morning," Morier suggested. "We can move on with some light to see by and less weary from the trail. But sleeping here carries with it a certain... I don't know, call it a concern if you will... I hate to use the word fear."

Ledare looked at Morier and then out across the canopy of the forest below. The last fading rays of Orin's shield were glowing over the thick sheets of webbing that were strung there. "Not a bad idea," she admitted. "But we'll need to take some precautions."

"I can string some alarms," Vade said eagerly. "I learned how to make them when I was younger. We used to have this problem with yappies coming in and stealing the village chickens so we-"

"Vade," Ledare interrupted. "Maybe you can tell Feln about it while the two of you set some up."

"I'll get us some food," Grisham said before he lurched off into the surrounding forest.

"Let's the rest of us put Plonius to rest," the Janissary suggested. "He deserves a burial at least. And I don't much fancy the thought of his rising as undead."



Vade took about twenty minutes to carefully set up broken bits of used potion bottles in several likely approaches to the group's campsite on the cliff edge. He also spent another twenty minutes setting up tripwires cunningly affixed to the two thunderstones he carried. The rest of the time before dinner called him was spent in setting up the classic "porcupine's kiss" trap - a tripwire affixed to Ixin and Karak's loaded crossbows. He was quite happy with his work, although he really wasn't sure that the crossbow trap would go off as he hoped.

They ate without joy, huddled around a small fire in a vast dark night. The sky was clear and stars glittered there like diamonds strewn across black velvet.



*Earthday, the 6th of Reaping, 1269 AE​*​


The watches passed uneventfully and the Orin's Shield rose to find Grisham kneeling sadly beside Plonius' grave. His sword was laying across his knees and tears shown wetly on his cheeks. The others knew better than to try to comfort the man and instead went about the business of breaking camp and readying themselves for the decent into the valley below.

Ixin, it was decided, would go first so that she could safely cast _Recent Occupant_ and learn something about their new quarry. She would be followed swiftly by Grisham and Feln. Morier and Ledare would go once the others had safely reached the bottom. Vade, who didn't need to use the rope thanks to his  _Slippers of Spider Climbing_ and Karak who didn't need to climb at all due to his _Ring of Feather Falling_ would descend whenever seemed prudent.

Ixin stood at the edge of the cliff, her red hair whipping this way and that in the eddies of wind, the stout rope held firmly in her strong hands. With one last look down into the dimness below she smiled at the others and said, "Here goes nothing."

She'd made it about half way - some fifty odd feet from the valley floor - when the air attacked.

Her only warning was a whistling sound that grew rapidly louder and shriller. She looked over her shoulder toward the apparent source of the noise and saw... something. A vague, misty shape came at her with incredible speed. Its form was amorphous and indistinct, but she got the unsettling impression of being regarded by an alien intellect before the wind roared into her with the force of a battering ram. It slammed her roughly against the cliff, sharp stone cutting through her scaly hide like it was silk. She cried out from the impact and managed to maintain her grip on the rope for just long enough to look up at the members of the VQS who were staring down over the cliff edge.

And then she fell.


----------



## Felikeries

i was wondering why the spell level adj for the characters party versus their
foes is never really discussed,you know maybe some question of what the enemy might cast and what they may use to counter,or some similar issue

obviuosley 'detect evil' or 'detect' magic' was a major factor for earlier versions of D&D,which i make the 'story hour' i write from,so if this is used,are there times when the players discuss what they are thinking of using versus the enemy and isn't written  etc...


----------



## Jon Potter

WOO-HOO!! Another reader! I'll be darned! Welcome.


			
				Felikeries said:
			
		

> i was wondering why the spell level adj for the characters party versus their
> foes is never really discussed,you know maybe some question of what the enemy might cast and what they may use to counter,or some similar issue




Well, there are really only three "spellcasters" in the party and all of them are spontaneous casters with fixed spell lists: Ixin (obviously), Morier and Karak. Of those, only Karak isn't a level-adjusted race, so we're not talking about spell casting powerhouses to begin with. Add onto that the fact that Morier is more interested in "burning" his spells to power his Eldritch Warrior powers (his character class is from Malladin's Gate Press' "Forgotten Heroes: Sorcerer") and Karak is in denial about being a cleric (for role-playing reasons) and has only cast two spells so far in the campaign, I think.

What you get is a group that thinks with its swords (so to speak). Magic is never the first thought for them and thus far, I haven't made their foes magic-focused either. Although if you spot the foreshadowing (such as the man in black who killed their prisoner in Strenchburg Junction way back in Turn #226) you know that that's going to change in the future.



> obviuosley 'detect evil' or 'detect' magic' was a major factor for earlier versions of D&D,which i make the 'story hour' i write from,so if this is used,are there times when the players discuss what they are thinking of using versus the enemy and isn't written  etc...




The short answer is yes. There's already a pretty high discussion-to-action ratio, so I tend to weed out the suggestions that go nowhere. The characters' conversations you read here aren't the totality of the players' conversations.

I hope that answers your question(s).


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> Other than Hairy Minotaur, you're the only one I've had in... oh, 10 pages or so.




Well shoot, I guess I should pop in and say it's been a good read getting caught back up while I was away at Gencon. Came away with some niffty books to torment my group, and on the plus side, I found my notes.


----------



## orsal

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> WOO-HOO!! Another reader! I'll be darned! Welcome.




If it means so much to you to know -- I've been following for a while, just never saw any reason to say anything about.

Good story. Keep it up.


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Well shoot, I guess I should pop in and say it's been a good read getting caught back up while I was away at Gencon.




Glad I could keep you entertained. I am surprised that you couldn't find something better to do at Gencon than read my storyhour, however.



> Came away with some niffty books to torment my group, and on the plus side, I found my notes.




Does that mean that we might actually find out what happened with Tharhack?



			
				orsal said:
			
		

> If it means so much to you to know -- I've been following for a while, just never saw any reason to say anything about.




Yeah. It matters to me. I write this for myself and my players, but I wouldn't post it here if I didn't want others to see and enoy it.



> Good story. Keep it up.




There's a good reason to break your silence right there.   

Thanks.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> Glad I could keep you entertained. I am surprised that you couldn't find something better to do at Gencon than read my storyhour, however.




Well surprisingly, there's only three things going on at 4:00am friday morning.

1) Vampire LARPers

2) Gencon the LARP (sleeping on concrete, in the hallway, on the grass, on a bench.)

3) Opening gaming with people who've either had too much to drink, or not enough.

Others experiences may vary, this is all I had where I was staying anyway.


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Well surprisingly, there's only three things going on at 4:00am friday morning.




Never been to Gencon myself, but that's certainly not the image I had in my head.   

It's good that you picked up some devilish new booty to use in your game.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #281] Break Like the Wind*

Ixin had witnessed several 'Challenges of Claw and Wing' during her youth on the islands of Io's Blood. But the one she always remembered most vividly involved her grandmother, Lady Dominor Corastrixarosvith, and one of the great wyrm's own children, a dragonmongrel named Farnathrakinax. The challenge was supposedly one of honor and something about a place on the Council being denied to the younger dragon because of his mixed blood, but whatever the reason, it ended with ur-Corastrixarosvith facing off against ur-Farnathrakinax above the Field of Challenge on the Council Aerie. The outcome of the challenge was never truly in doubt, and Ixin remembered well the sight of the defeated challenger falling out of the sky, the sun glinting violet on his scales, smoke trailing from his tattered wings. Almost at the last moment, before he was sure to be broken against the stoney surface of the challenge area, ur-Farnathrakinax had twisted his enormous body and stretched out his wings to stall his descent.

Ixin remembered the scene as she fell and the memory saved her life. She twisted awkwardly to face the up-rushing ground and spread her wings. There was a jerk and a painful tearing sensation as her wings caught the air and temporarily broke the pull of Rontra's Grasp, allowing her to drift down to the ground. She still landed hard, but she rolled with the impact - or tried to - and managed to avoid any broken bones. The exertion of using her wings took a lot out of her, however.

She looked up at the swirling mass of vapor and drew mana from her inner reserves. "Magicus telum!" she intoned and directed two bolts of force into the airy thing as it bore down on her. The _Magic Missiles_ knifed through the creature and the suggestion of the face within the mist contorted in pain a moment before it was on her with incredible speed. It slammed into the drakeling with bone-jarring force, driving Ixin off her feet. She landed on the ground a half-dozen feet away and lay there for a moment, stunned by the impact.

Feln growled in anger and went immediately to the rope. He was surprised to see that Grisham was already shimmying down toward the valley below. The barbarian was some twenty feet down from the cliff edge and descending fast - but not fast enough. Feln looked at the rope, looked at the ground... and jumped. He plummeted past Grisham and looked down to see the valley floor coming up to splatter him and then he grabbed for the rope. It was the sort of legendary feat that none of those who witnessed it would have believed possible had they heard the tale sung by a bard, but Feln had spent almost two decades learning to climb and the magical ring that Ixin had found further augmented his already considerable skills. He caught the rope in one hand, swung himself over and began to descend it at a fast - but controlled - pace.

"Gods!" Ledare hissed as she saw the half-orc's unbelievable display. She steadied the rope for Grisham and shouted for the others. "Hurry up! Let's get down there!"

"I don't need the rope," Vade said and began scuttling down the cliff using his _Slippers of Spider Climbing_.

Morier moved for the rope and started down as quickly as he dared. He made no pretensions about being as talented a climber as either Grisham or Feln were and he moved with the belief that "slow and alive" was of more value to the others than "quick and dead".

"Oi... what we 'ave 'ere is a Wind Monster," Karak pontificated. "They can be tough opponents... We need magick to defeat something as spiritual as this." After Morier was out of sight down the rope, the dwarf looked at the Janissary a little sheepishly and added, "By the by, Ledare you be mindin' if I borrow the twin moon blades that I be seeing me brother's fellows use sometimes? I believe I need the kiss o' the Moon Goddess to even hit yonder Wind Monster."

"Take them!" Ledare barked, turning her shoulders so that the dwarf could grab the swords crossed over her back. "But get down there!" Karak took the Matched Pair weapons and and smiled at Ledare.

"Ye have me thanks, lassie," the dwarf said and stepped off the cliff, buoyed at once by the magic of his _Ring of Feather Falling_. Even with the magic, his descent was fairly quick and he shot passed Moirer, Vade and Grisham as he fell, muttering a prayer as he went. 

Ixin managed to sit up and begin weaving another _Magic Missile_ spell when the thing slammed into her again. She struggled to retain her focus, but it was no use; the spell was disrupted and it fizzled even as her grip on consciousness did the same.

The misty monster gathered itself up and came at the next closest target: Feln. It was incredibly fast and it was on the martial artist almost as soon as he heard the telltale roar of its approach. He had just enough time to wrap his arms and legs tightly around the rope before it slammed into him, sending him roughly against the rocky cliff face. Pain blossomed all along his side, but he maintained his grip and kept climbing downward as fast as he could. The wind slammed him against the cliff again, opening fresh wounds all over his back, but he maintained his grip long enough to let go of the rope again and plummet toward the ground. Miraculously, he managed to catch himself on the rope again once he was out of the creature's reach. From there, he continued his slide downward. Karak waved to the half-orc as the dwarf fell past.

"Last one down be a rotten fish," he taunted. A moment later, Karak landed with a clatter and readied the borrowed scimitars. He looked up at the hazy form roiling above him and muttered a hasty prayer. "I know you 'n' me've not seen eye-to-eye in a while, My Queen, but I am still your faithful. I just be mad, so let's put this aside for now. I ask ye for your aid, Shaharizod. Please bless me and my fellows for what lies ahead." Filled with _Divine Favor_, Karak dug in his heels and waited for the "Wind Monster" to come for him.

He didn't have to wait long. It hurtled downward like a falling rock and struck him with nearly as much force. The dwarf's ears rang from the impact and he shook his head in surprise before closing with the thing. The scimitars were unfamiliar weapons although he had seen his brother use one often enough to know that they could be deadly. He threw considerable power behind the blows, but the monster avoided the blades with ease, darting to the side with unnatural swiftness.

Nearby, Feln landed unnoticed and tumbled toward Ixin's unmoving form. He uncorked a healing potion as he went and carefully poured the contents down the sorcerer's throat once he reached her. She coughed and sputtered and opened her eyes, alive, but just barely conscious.

Meanwhile, Karak endured another slam from the wind and slashed the scimitars into the mass of vapor. He put more care into placing his attacks and less muscle this time but still his off-hand was too unwieldy to strike properly. He felt the blade in his primary hand catch on something within the mass of air and mist and saw the wind monster jerk in apparent pain. He suffered mightily for that minor victory, however, as the thing redoubled its efforts to destroy him. He groaned in pain as the deadly winds pummeled him from what seemed all directions. But still, he stood his ground somehow, certain that the next blow that landed on him would be his last.

A throwing axe slashed into the vaporous thing from behind, hurled by Grisham who had finally made it to the bottom of the rope. The axe drew another jerk of pain from the Wind Monster and it threw itself at this new enemy with wild abandoned. Karak took the creature's momentary distraction as an opening to slash outward again with the scimitar. Despie its divided attention, it seemed ready for him and deftly avoided the blade.

Vade had also made it to the ground, and took a moment to turn himself invisible. He wasn't sure that the creature actually had a back to backstab, but he thought that being invisible was always a good way to enter a fight. He maneuvered himself into a good position, his hand on his dagger, but not drawing it lest the light on the enchanted blade betray his presence.

He didn't get a chance to draw the weapon before the Wind Monster began to spin in place, generating a massive whirlwind 40 ft. tall that sent up a vast cloud of dirt and debris where it touched the ground. The cloud blossomed outward, quickly blotting out all vision much beyond and arm's length.

Vade managed to nimbly avoid getting sucked into the cyclone, and couldn't see what was happening through the cloud of dirt, but he heard a scream nearby that might have been Grisham.

On top of the cliff, Ledare had too good a view of the proceedings 100 feet below. The whirlwind rose up out of nowhere, slamming into Grisham and tossing the man backward. More horrifying, however, was the fact that the top of the wind cone, which was at least thirty feet across, easily plucked Morier off of the rope. The albino might have screamed but if he did his voice was drowned out by the thunderous roar of the cyclone as it sucked him down into its spiralling depths.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #282] A Blustery Day*

"So, it's a goin' to be this way is it?"  Karak grumbled as bits of dust and dirt scoured his face. He could see nothing in the cloud of debris, but tucked one scimitar under his arm and started backing up away from the roar of the whirlwind. As he went, he fumbled blindly with the straps of his pack. "Time ta get the power o' the dwarves to fix myself right up a'fore headin' off to hurt a little wind devil!"

Nearby, but effectively out of earshot thanks to the noise of the cyclone and completely concealed by the dust cloud, Ixin looked up bleary-eyed at Feln. The half-orc was doing his best to shield her body with his own and though it was accomplishing little, she appreciated the gesture. She tried to get up and a horrible pain shot through her chest as she did so; being slammed around by the Wind Monster had taken a heavy toll on her. She produced a healing potion from her magical cloak and downed the contents, feeling better but still far from healthy.

Elsewhere in the cloud, Vade saw Grisham stagger briefly into view. The man was bleeding from a head wound, but still seemed eager to battle the whirlwind; he was holding Winower, The Hound's magical longsword, in one hand and one of his own hand axes in the other. The look of feral rage in his blazing green eyes made the halfling gulp nervously. Then the cyclone turned and slammed into the man again. Grisham was lifted momentarily off his feet, but managed to avoid getting sucked up into the vortex. Even so, he suffered a heavy pelting from the rocks and sticks that were kicked up by the wind.

Vade endured the same, and was scarcely able to jump back in time to prevent himself from being lifted into the air, but he managed. Predictably, the whirlwind's contact, even unintentional, was enough to cause his faulty _Ring of Invisibility_ to fail. He became visible again, much to his chagrin and watched as Grisham unleashed a whirlwind of his own, slashing with sword and axe in a deadly flurry of steel. His longsword seemed to make the cyclone wobble in pain with each strike, but the axe blow that came between them connected with nothing.

Oblivious to the actions of the barbarian, Feln looked down at Ixin concernedly. "Are you alright?" he asked as she downed her healing draught. She nodded despite the fact that she clearly wasn't, but right now, none of them were. "We need to get out of the open. Let's head away from the whirlwind." He helped Ixin to her feet and they moved away from the roar of the cyclone. After a dozen paces or so, they stepped out of the cloud and could see the base of the cliff to their right and some trees and underbrush that might offer cover ahead and to their left. They made for the latter and as they went, Feln quaffed his last _Cure Light Wounds_ potion.

At the top of the cliff, Ledare stared indecisively down into the cyclone. She held her hand crossbow aimed at the vortex, but every time she was about to fire, Morier's form would cycle across her target. He was moving around erratically within the whirlwind, being savaged by the winds and she couldn't bring herself to risk adding further injury to the man who had stood beside her through so much. She had seen too many friends die already and wouldn't be responsible for adding to that total. She holstered the six-shooter and headed for the rope.

In the heart of the whirlwind, Morier was buffeted from all sides. As the winds whipped his pale form, he was sure that he would soon be making the journey to the afterlife. He didn't intend to go quietly, however, and managed to focus his not-inconsiderable powers of concentration on the casting of a spell of _True Striking_. Then he readied his greatsword, a predatory smile playing across his lips.

"Where is that confounded magic stick?" Karak groused as he rummaged through his pack for the wand. At last he pulled it out and held it aloft, triumphantly. Of course, in the cloud of debris, no one could see his victory, but still... "Ah, here it be!" he bellowed and, after looking around furtively to make sure no one could see him, he whacked himself in the head with the wand. His expression changed quickly from embarrassment to surprised relief. "Well, now! That feels a might better! Now to show tha' Wind Monster he can't just blow down here, hurt my friends, blow little bits o' dust, dirt, rocks, and all manner o' things into me face and get away with it!"

He shoved the wand into his belt and turned to face the direction that the wind was howling.

Ixin moved the rest of the way into the treeline and then turned back toward the melee. The cloud of dust and dirt completely obscured the base of the whirlwind, but it extended a good twenty feet above that and the sorcerer could see a humanoid form spinning around within - no doubt one of her friends although which one she couldn't tell. The suggestion of an enormous face leered at her from the side of the cyclone and it was at this that she directed her _Magic Missiles_.

They arced across the clearing, slicing into the misty visage and making it twist in pain. Then it bore down on her with unimaginable swiftness. In the process, it swept passed Karak, sucking the dwarf up into its center without even quite realizing that he was there. Then it was on Ixin and it did the same to her. She tried clinging in vein to the tree beside her, but she was easily ripped away and slammed bodily into Karak. Her head struck his armored pauldron and she lost consciousness again.

Feln, who had been standing beside the sorcerer when she was taken, managed to roll behind the tree, avoiding the cyclone entirely. He rushed off into the trees, swallowed at once by the concealing cloud.

Grisham and Vade (who had craftily activated his _Ring_ again and so was invisible) were suddenly left standing in open air as the debris cloud travelled with the whirlwind. Vade stood clutching his glowing dagger and looked up to see Ledare swinging unsteadily on the rope above. The Janissary was still 80-feet or so up and moving carefully, but with purpose toward the bottom of the cliff. Grisham, in the grips of a blood-rage, ignored the glowing dagger of light to his left and charged passed Vade into the cloud of dust, a warcry echoing in his wake. Vade trotted in that direction as well.

Morier endured another rock to the torso  as he whirled around inside the tornado, but he held onto his concentration and with an ecstatic release, channeled the power of a cantrip into his sword as pure electrical energy. The greatsword crackled with sparks and the albino thrust it with all of his might into the misty form that swirled elusively around him. Under normal circumstances, the blow would have gone horribly awry; augmented by the spell of _True Striking_, however, it slashed unerringly through the insubstantial vapor controlling the cyclone, cleaving it in half and then frying what was left with lightning.

There was a loud sucking sound, like the rapid intake of a giant's breath and the wind stopped. The shear momentum of Morier's cyclic journey vaulted him into the trees. He plunged forty feet toward the ground, through layer-after-layer of thick spider webs. And landed on his feet, shaken and bruised but miraculously alive.

Karak landed hard on his head and lay there for a moment unable to much more than groan, "Oi..."

Ixin fell on her back and blood sprayed from her mouth at the impact. She made a weak gargling sound but did not move.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #283] Should We Stay or Should We Go?*

Karak brought an armored hand to his head and groaned again. "Oi... I feel as if an elephant is sitting on my chest, me chalak, I can nae breathe."

Nearby, Grisham staggered forward and slumped to his knees gasping for breath. The ragged remnants of a battle cry wearily pulled themselves from his throat as he sagged to the ground. Vade ignored him and bounded passed invisibly.

"Oh, no!" he cried as he worked to get to his healing potions. "Ixin are you... alive!?" The sorcerer didn't answer. The halfling produced his last vial of _Cure Light Wounds_ and started to unstopper it when he spied his two flasks of Gash Glue. He grabbed one of them instead and went to work on Ixin's bleeding injuries. "Don't die!" he pleaded as he applied the sticky substance, becoming visible once more in the process. "Don't die!"

With great effort, Karak rolled his steel-jacketed form onto his belly and from there propped himself onto his elbows. He lay that way for a moment, watching as Vade did his best to bind Ixin's wounds. "Oh... the lass do nae seem to be the right color no more, me chalak," the dwarf mused. "I sure do wish you were here to do the Queen's work a'properly now.  I be just a clan warrior;  I be nae healer, as you were." He hoisted himself to his knees, fishing for his wand as he did so.  "I do believe I left the healing stick in my belt.  Ah... 'ere it is."

Vade's hands were a sticky mess, but he seemed to have stabilized the drakeling nonetheless. With a sigh of relief he turned to look at Karak as the dwarf got to his feet with some effort. "She's in bad shape," Vade said. "She needs some healing."

"Aye," Karak agreed and knelt beside Ixin, opposite Vade. The dwarf clasped the wand against his beard with both hands  and looked to the morning sky. "Shaharizod, me Queen," he intoned. "Let your healing breath rain upon the lass, 'ere."  Then he rapped the wand lightly against Ixin's forehead. The wand glowed and a suffuse light settled over the mage's body, healing some of her wounds, but she didn't stir. Scowling with concern, Karak laid his hand against Ixin's chest to feel for a heartbeat; moonlight swelled up beneath his palm, outlining his fingers with silver and when it had faded, Ixin opened her eyes and smiled weakly.

"Thank you," the drakeling said and Karak harrumphed.

"I weren't sure that magic stick was gonna work this time," he grumbled and Vade tapped him on the shoulder.

"I don't think the wand did work this time," the halfling said smugly, and thrust the _Wand of Healing_ into Karak's hands. "You weren't even holding it when your hand went all glowy."

Karak took the wand in his right hand and looked curiously at his left as if he suddenly didn't recognize it. "Must be a bit o' the thing's mojo rubbed off on my hand," he said, but not even he seemed to believe it.

"Sure," Morier said as he swaggered back into the clearing as if being sucked into a cyclone, slaying a Wind Monster and surviving a 40 foot fall were all everyday occurrences for him. He pulled sheets of webbing out of his hair as he came. "That must be it."

Karak grinned like a child with a new toy and waved his wand in the air. "Allright, ye buncha sallies," he said in a flustered tone. "Who needs a good thumpin' from this 'ere magic stick?"



Feln found that moving along the floor of the crater valley was like walking through eternal twilight. The heavy, light-blocking  canopy high above him was made even denser by the numerous layers of spider web that covered the trees. The ground beneath his feet was nearly bare of plant life. Thick carpets of moss and some low-lying ferns were all that managed to survive in the sun-starved environment. The ground was spongy with moisture, and a thin mist billowed and curled around his ankles as he darted silently from shadow to shadow. Drops of dew hung overhead, catching what little light there was and glittering like gems suspended in the webs above.

Given the amount and size of the webbing, he shuddered to think of stumbling across the spider that had spun it. It was much, much larger than the ettercap webs that he had encountered amongst the Wandering Trees, but being the disciplined warrior that he was, he pressed onward. It wasn't as though they had much choice, anyway; several of his comrades were in little shape to travel let alone make a hundred foot climb to the top of the cliff. There was nothing for it but to press on.

And sadly, after a couple of minutes spent in quiet searching, he'd found sign of no further opponents. With a sigh, he pointed himself toward the rattling jangle of Karak's plate mail and went to rejoin the others.



"Is everyone alive?" Ledare asked as she trotted over to the others. She was out of breath and sweaty from the long climb down the rope.

"Oh, aye!" Grisham growled, his lip curled in disgust. "We're fine. No thanks to you."

Ledare looked embarrassed and had nothing to say in her own defense. Vade, however, shot Grisham a withering look that would have put a medusa to shame. The barbarian didn't even notice.

"I have these," the Janissary offered, holding three potions of healing in her hands. Karak shook his head gruffly.

"Nae, lass. Save them!" the dwarf instructed, holding up his two wands. "It seems that I be the only one what can make these 'ere magic sticks work proper like. So ye'd best save your healin' draughts for when I be nae aroun' or knocked out or somethin'."

Morier looked at Ledare and shrugged, indicating the 8 vials of _Cure Light Wounds_ lined up in the potion belt at his waist. "He said the same thing to me," the albino told her.

"Aye!" Karak grumbled as he hit Grisham a second time with the gnarled _Wand of Vigor_. "An' it be sound advice! Ye'd do well to-" Just then Feln burst out of the underbrush nearby and joined the others.

"An' just where've ye been, orcblood?" the dwarf demanded.

"I have searched the immediate area and there seems to be no spellcaster controlling that wind demon," the martial artist told them. "I would guess it was either a magical trap or something random we encountered... Of course, our quarry would have had to deal with it as well, and it seemed at full strength."

"You've done real well spotting things up to now," Grisham said derisively and Feln regarded him stonily.

"It was very dark and I can't be sure," the half-orc admitted. "A spell caster may have been able to hide himself or something."

"Good point, Feln," Ledare said as she stepped forward. "My eyes are keen. I'll just do a little perimeter surveillance while-"

"You?" Grisham snorted laughter. "Why don't you stay here where it's safe. I'll go take a look around." The barbarian skulked off into the trees and the shadows seemed to fold him into their embrace as he went; he vanished almost at once.

"It's a good thing he ran off or I'd have to kick his smelly ranger butt!" Vade said, shaking his tiny fist. "Nobody talks nasty about, kitten!"

"Perhaps I should go with him," Morier offered, getting to his own feet.

"You can help me set up camp," Feln countered and Morier looked confused.

"Camp?" he asked. "It's not even midday yet."

"Are you telling me that you're not tired after that ordeal with the whirlwind? And you don't need to recover any spells?" the half-orc argued and the albino held up his hands in acceptance. "I would recommend that we rest up near here, and keep at least two up on watch and a fire going. That should at least give the spiders something to think about before coming into camp."

"Spiders?" Ledare asked, her face gone suddenly the color of curdled milk. "Did you see any?"

"I found nothing but large webs, which would indicate very large spiders," Feln told her. Vade kicked the half-orc un-subtly in the shin and shot a look at Ledare. Seeing the expression of horror on the Janissary's face, the martial artist hastily added: "Sorry."

"Why don't we just climb back up to the top and head away from here?" Ixin asked. "I'm voting we go back and find those followers of Flor. That is now the clearer mission in my mind."

"We have come this far," Feln countered. "I do not think it wise to give up now."

"I don't know, Feln," Ixin argued. She winced with lingering pain from her strained wings. "Unless there are some clues here that could lead us to more answers about this mission, I see little compelling reason to press on."

"Yeah!" Vade chimed in and bounced to his feet. "I bet that creature was guarding something! Let's do a search of the area." Feln nodded in agreement and moved to join the halfling. Vade took the half-orc's hand as they walked passed Ledare and in a stage-whisper the halfling added, "Stay together and beware of spiders."



They found nothing and sometime later, Grisham returned with similar news and another grim realization.

"There's no game in the valley," the man said as he emptied edible mushrooms and truffles from his satchel. "I gathered what I could, but there's little worth eating here abouts. Unless you've a taste for spider." He chuckled, missing entirely the shiver of fear that shot through Ledare at his sarcastic suggestion.

"Any idea how this trail will continue?" Feln said quickly to change the subject. "Do you have a clear route on where to go next?" The barbarian nodded his shaggy head and spat into the fire.

"Plonius' killer went straight off toward the western rim of the valley," he explained moving his hand in a straight line to the west. "Followin' the same path as Plonius was. The same as we've been followin' right along. His trail's about a day old."

"Soon to be two," Ledare told him. "We need to rest."

Grisham spat into the fire again and then wiped his chin with his hand. "I thought you might say that," he said, glowering at the Janissary. "I'd press on alone, but given what we've already faced in this valley I fear that I would stand little chance of success without help. I could use a stout swordarm at my back." He looked around at the others and pointedly did not include Ledare in his glance.

"I say we bed down for the time being and rest," Karak grumbled. "I'll take first watch."

"Relax, Karak," Ledare said as she patted him on the shoulder and took a position at the perimeter of their camp. "Even the bravest of dwarves need to rest a bit now and then."



It came during the night.

Karak was on watch with Grisham when there was a rustling sound at the edge of the wood. It seemed to be coming from a particularly thick patch of brush. Karak tapped Grisham's arm and pointed at the underbrush; the scraggly-looking saplings growing up out of the bushes were moving. The barbarian squinted into the darkness and then his face twisted into a grimace of horror as the "bushes" themselves rose up off the ground and they found themselves facing a spider fully 20 feet across and over 10 feet high!

The firelight glittered orange in the half dozen eyes mounted above the scimitar-sized mandibles that reached out of the darkness for the two warriors.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realmd #283a] A Quiet Conversation*

Earlier that evening, before the first watch...

"I would speak with you, greenskin," Grisham muttered quietly when he walked passed. He made no eye contact with Feln, but instead cast his eyes covertly over his shoulder to where the others were setting up camp. Loudly, he added, "Come, let us gather fire wood!"

Reluctantly, Feln followed the man into the woods where they mechanically went about the business of picking up fallen branches. Most of the wood was wet, however and would burn poorly, if it burned at all.

"At my birth I was sworn to the wolf totem," Grisham said as they worked. "I have followed the lessons of the wolf throughout my life and he has taught me many things."

"Hmmm," Feln intoned by way of answer, unsure what the barbarian was going on about.

"One of the wolf's lessons is that the pack can only be strong with a strong alpha to lead it," Grisham went on. He stood and looked intensely at Feln, adding, "Our current pack suffers with the weakness of its alpha."

"What are you talking about?" Feln asked.

"The wood baby. Ledare," Grisham said. "She is an ineffective leader. We need a pack leader who gets into the thick of the fight and leads by example, not someone who hides at the back until the fighting is over." The barbarian spat on the ground for emphasis.

"It is not for me to choose and it is certainly not for me to lead, Grisham," Feln told the man, calmly. "My allegiance is not to Ledare anyway... It is to this group."

"Then you should be wary of following her commands," Grisham said. "I, too, think of the group when I say that she is unfit to command. Someone who is unafraid to bare their blade needs to challenge her for control." Feln shook his head.

"It will not be me," Feln said. "But I will listen to whomever makes suggestions."

"The wood baby doesn't do even that," Grisham replied sullenly.

"I do feel that Ledare is the best to represent us to strangers however," Feln added. "She has skill with words and the authority of her office. And besides, in battle we do not wait for a leader; we act." The barbarian considered this and nodded his head ruefully.

"That sort of unplanned approach will serve us only so long," Grisham muttered and started back toward camp with his armload of damp wood.



Karak and Grisham took the third shift on watch, and the night was wearing on into its blackest hours. The two warriors sat on a log some distance from the camp fire that warmed the others. The night was eerily quiet apart from the hiss and pop of the fire and the sounds of their sleeping companions. Grisham cast a look over at them arrayed on the far side of the fire in a rough semi-circle before he spoke to Karak.

"I have been talking to some of the others," Grisham began in hushed tones. "About something that has been troubling me."

"Aye?" the dwarf replied. "What is it be weighin' on ye?"

"The wood baby. Ledare," the man replied. "I worry that she is ill-suited to lead us."

"Do nae worry on tha'," Karak replied. "She be a fine choice ta lead."

"I disagree. And I think some of the others share my feelings," Grisham countered. "She has yet to draw her sword. Not against those things that attacked me and the greenskin up above. Nor against this wind demon, neither. It damned near killed us all and she cowered out of reach the whole time."

"Now jus' hold on," Karak grumbled. "A warrior of the front she may nae be. Dealing death with axe and sword like you and I, she may nae do. But I tell you this, tracker: a leader with an eye for the truth and justice she be. A leader with a cool head under battle I have seen her be. A leader with the mind and quick wit to see the whole puzzle rather than just the pieces afore her, she be."

"Every pack needs a strong alpha who leads by example," Grisham countered. "Not one who weilds words more keenly than her blade." The dwarf sighed in response and tugged thoughfully at his beard for a few moments before answering further.

"In my clan, my clan leader and king surely do lead from the front with axe and shield," Karak explained. "But she be not a dwarf and I nae hold her to the same standards. I know she cares for those under her charge. I have seen her grieve for the loss of her comrades."

"I fear that she will have more fallen comrades to grieve if we blindly follow the commands of one such as she," Grisham spat into the darkness. "She's no leader."

"Yeah, she be a leader, and just a fine one, too," the dwarf argued. "She can leave the fighting to me in the fore. That be fine with me, because I know she always be looking out for my back. You, Grisham, I do nae know you. You seem able with axe and sword, but you're a touchy fellow. One minute bellowing about like a boar the next docile as a new born babe."

"I am a man of passions," Grisham explained, clearly off-balanced by this turn of the oncersation. "Amongst the Forest People my ways are common."

"Fair enough. But ye nae be amongst the Forest People now, eh. Ye be here. And you are here because we let you be here," Karak said plainly, assembling his argument with the orderly, unhurried nature of a dwarven engineer. "You are able to track the one we need to follow right now, so your skills are useful."

"That is the extent of our association, then?" the barbarian grumbled. "I am a mercenary, not a brother-in-arms?"

"Do nae mistake my meaning, ranger, every good axe arm is needed now," the dwarf explained. "But your concern for the leadership of a group that does not belong to you is misplaced concern in my mind. I say you figure on keeping up with the trackin' and fightin' and we will get along fine. As for looking for my help to misplace Ledare as our leader, you will nae find it with me. In fact wild one, you would have to go through me first."

"Is that a threat, hairface?" the barbarian asked and Karak could sense the man's body readying to leap into action should Karak make any aggessive moves.

"Nae, lad," the dwarf chuckled softly. "But there ye go again, misplacin' my meaning. I just want you ta know where I stand. Yeah?"

Grisham nodded and his body relaxed.

"Yeah," Karak nodded slapping the man on the back. "Now let's ye an' me get ta watchin'. I would nae want one o' them big spiders to come a walkin' in here an' catch us yappin' like a pair o' halflings!"


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Hey, I read in Grisham's background, in the Rogue's gallery, a little blurb about Redhurst. Do you have the book? and how do you like it? I'm using Path of the Magi in my campaign and was looking to supplement it.   


Also is Grisham's "jack-of-all-trades" level progression planned? or are you going to be taking him in in one direction eventually?


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Hey, I read in Grisham's background, in the Rogue's gallery, a little blurb about Redhurst. Do you have the book? and how do you like it? I'm using Path of the Magi in my campaign and was looking to supplement it.




Sadly, no. I just have the "Player" download available for free at the Green Ronin site. All of the fluff/none of the crunch. It's one of those books that I always _planned_ to pick up at my LGS (from the discounted table, no less) and when I finally went back with money in hand the book was already gone.

If the group decides to head to Battle City, I'll probably need to get the full version since I've painted myself into a corner with all the hints that I've dropped.




> Also is Grisham's "jack-of-all-trades" level progression planned? or are you going to be taking him in in one direction eventually?




What do you mean, "jack-of-all-trades"? He's highly specialized in one thing: kicking ass!   

No, seriously, Grisham's character build is lifted straight out of Goodman Games' "Power Gamer's Warrior Strategy Guide". He's following the Light Infantry multiclass archtype with a few twists tossed in. And by a few twists, I mean that he's a Frankenstein's monster of rule variants.

Grisham uses the Wolf Totem barbarian variant, the Whirlwind Rage barbarian variant, and the Favored Territory ranger variant from Unearthed Arcana. If he lingers in the campaign, I planned to have him follow the non-spellcasting ranger variant from Complete Warrior; he's angling for a Weapon Style feat from that same book (High Sword Low Axe). It was all I could do to not give him the Wolf Totem Focus from Badaxe Games' "Heroes of High Favor: Half Orcs" at first level, but I opted to stay true to the Light Infantry build instead.

So far, I have no complaints. The original adventure (an old AD&D online mod that I converted over) featured Grisham as a straight 5th level ranger. I thought this was much more interesting. They also had him as a nice-nice helper guy. I simply couldn't have that!


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #284] That's a Spider?!?!*

"Well... well...," Karak muttered getting slowly to his feet and turning to face the gargantuan arachnid. "What 'ave we 'ere? It seems you and me woke up a mighty big one, ranger." Grisham said nothing in response, but the dwarf saw him clutch the wolf fetish around his neck and mouth a few words over it - a prayer most likely. It was the first time that Karak could remember seeing Grisham look frightened or reluctant to enter into battle.

"Listen up lads and lassies! We seem t'ave woken up a beastie 'ere in the night!" the dwarf bellowed in the loud baritone that he normally reserved for forge chants and he heard the others stir on the far side of the fire. "Me and the tracker will hold 'em back for a while! Get up an' wake up! Get your wits about you, and when we need you I will go a' callin'.  This nae be somethin' we can nae handle!"

The spider seemed unimpressed with Karak's inspirational words. It let out an unnatural shriek and darted forward, sinking its fangs between the plates of steel armor and into the dwarf's flesh. He roared in pain from the stab wounds and felt the burn of venom, but he didn't worry about that in the slightest.

"I'm a dwarf, ye great hairy git!" he taunted. "You can nae poison a dwarf!" It was true that his tremendous natural fortitude had saved him from the spider's venom, but it was a near thing. And the bite itself had felt like getting stuck deeply by a pair of spears. But there was no reason to let the spider know that.

Vade was the first roused out of his bedroll, and he grabbed the sling under his pillow and a rock off the ground as he rolled to his feet. "Hey you! Stinky spider!" he sing-songed and let the stone fly. It struck the spider in the mass of eyes that covered the front of its head and it turned its attention to the halfling. "Over here! Can't catch me!"

Ixin was next up and she hurriedly fumbled in her cloak for a potion of _Mage armor_. She downed it and saw a shimmering glow surround her body for a moment before it faded to an invisible barrier.

"Now spider! You and me are a'goin' ta tussle!" Karak growled, stoking the fires of rage within himself. He gripped his waraxe firmly with both hands and struck the spider's nearest leg. Once! Twice! The blade bit deeply, nearly severing the limb. The arachnid horror squealed in agony at the blows and drew the leg back reflexively, giving Grisham an opening to roll under the limb and tumble around the creature.

"Flank it! Flank it!" he was yelling as he went. Unfortunately, the spider wasn't as distracted as the man had hoped and it darted forward, plunging its fangs into Grisham's back as he moved. He screamed as the bite sank down, but he kept rolling and brought his longsword up and into the creature's soft... ahem... backside, burying the sword hilt deep in its vitals. The spider shrieked again in pain, and this time the cry was of a timbre high enough to shatter glass.

"Wand, wands, where are my wands ?" Morier was asking as he scrambled out of his bedroll. "Oh yes, here they are!" he got to his feet and moved toward the battle, readying the _Wand of Burning Hands_ as he went.

Flen rolled into a crouch, shook the sleep from his head and then darted into the fray. He stayed near Karak to provide a distraction to the spider - or at least another viable target.

The spider turned toward the tormentor who had just deprived it of the opportunity to ever procreate. Grisham tried to ward off the attack with his handaxe, but it plunged its fangs into the barbarian's chest, staggering the man.

Vade watched the ranger get mauled by the giant vermin. He'd had worse times and although he held no love for Grisham, he knew that once the barbarian fell, the spider would turn its attention to one of his friends. He drew out a flask of alchemist's fire and threw it with all his might against the creature's side. It shattered there, coating the spider's abdomen in flaming goo. The hit was a little too close to Grisham, and the man was splashed by a few flaming drops. The scent of burning hair filled everybody's nostrils.

Nearby, Ixin cast _Dancing Lights_ in the space near Grisham, conjuring a humanoid form composed entirely of ghostly light. If the vermin was confused by the apparition, it was difficult to say, because a moment later, Karak was savaging its legs again with his waraxe. One cut sank deeply, but the second was turned aside by the spider's thick natural armor. On the vermin's other end, Grisham found his luck deserting him as neither his sword nor his handaxe could penetrate the creature's heavy chitinous armor.

_"Irakulus!"_ Morier shouted, pointing his wand at the spider and sending a cone of fire across the thing's legs. It shrieked in pain as its hair crisped and its exoskeleton charred. It seized the opportunity to turn and bite into the albino's torso, pumping poison into his body. Morier was no dwarf and he felt the venom burn through his veins, stealing his strength. He fell back weakly.

Letting out a ululating kai shout, Feln vaulted over near the eldritch warrior, did a hand spring and drove both feet into the spider's head as it turned back toward Grisham. It was a powerful blow, and while it didn't finish off the creature, the vermin was clearly staggered by it - so much so that it missed sinking its fangs into the barbarian. It also failed to see Vade's sling stone before it struck the pulpy mass trailing from its ruined abdomen. That tiny impact was all the more the thing could take, however and it shuddered and careened onto its side with a resounding crash.

Karak stepped in close and buried his waraxe in the creature's still-flaming belly; Grisham planted Winower's blade in the spider's head. Vade jumped up and down, waving his sling.

"Yippee!" he cried merrily. "I did it! I did it!"

"Yes, little one," Grisham agreed as he staggered forward, his leather armor slick with his own blood. He smiled approvingly at the halfling. "Well done."

Vade looked shocked at the man's back as he passed, but before he could reply, Feln called for their attention. He was holding Morier's pale body in his arms while the albino shivered and foamed at the mouth. "He's been poisoned," the half-orc announced unnecessarily.

"I'll... I'll be fine," Morier managed to stammer unconvincingly.

"Sure you will," Grisham said, producing a potion from his belt. "Once you drink this." He crouched down, roughly grabbed Morier's face and poured the liquid down the elf's throat. Morier sputtered and choked, but the tremors wracking his body quickly subsided.

"Thank you," Morier said and tried to sit up. His body felt like lead. 

Grisham grunted in acknowledgement of the albino's appreciation, but looked critically at the way the elf was moving weakly. "We'll see how you feel in the morning. If your strength is still gone then, I'll give you another potion I've got. It should restore some of the weakness."

"Lucky you had tha' potion, tracker," Karak panted as Grisham turned away from Morier and turned toward the dwarf. The barbarian nodded and limped toward him.

"I spent some time doing bodyguard work in Battle City," Grisham told him. "Some of the shadier gangs there like to use poison on their blades. I got pretty good at fighting off the ill effects, but it pays to have a little insurance on hand."

"Aye," Karak agreed, leaning heavily on the handle of his axe.

"Now how's about you break out that wand of yours and patch me up some," Grisham suggested, indicating the bleeding wounds on his chest. He grinned at Karak. "I'm afraid that if the wind starts blowing, I'll sound like a flute with all these holes in me. Wouldn't want anyone to mistake me for a bard."


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> "Now how's about you break out that wand of yours and patch me up some," Grisham suggested, indicating the bleeding wounds on his chest. He grinned at Karak. "I'm afraid that if the wind starts blowing, I'll sound like a flute with all these holes in me. Wouldn't want anyone to mistake me for a bard."




oohh, a little foreshadowing?     


When I read the update the first time, I thought the dwarf had yelled to "flank" the spider, which had me laughing at the thought of a 4' dwarf trying to flank a 30' x 30' spider.


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## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> oohh, a little foreshadowing?




Come on now. You saw his stats in the Rogue's Gallery. Does he seem like bard material to you?


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## Hairy Minotaur

Bumping this so it's easier for you to find Jon.   

I missed having your update this morning.


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## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Bumping this so it's easier for you to find Jon.
> 
> I missed having your update this morning.




Thanks for noticing my absence. This Saturday was the ENWorlders' NC Game Day here in Raleigh, so I simply ran out of time to write. Too busy gaming with the likes of fellow Story Hour writers Rel and Shemeska (who I saw updated his own SH _before_ Game Day) to put fingers to keyboard.

I do plan to write up a little something for the Story Hour by mid-week at the latest if my schedule cooperates. I hate to leave it at such a "nothing" point for too long.

I at least need to get to the part with the treant.

Ooohhh... hint-dropping. I hear it's all the rage.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #285] The Trees Have Ears*

Later, while Karak dispensed whacks from his healing stick, Vade argued that he was now even in the head count with the dwarf and Feln by virtue of the spider's great size. Karak would have none of it, however.

"T'were a lucky shot, wee one," the dwarf grumbled sullenly.

"Oh no, Karak," Vade said, his face the very picture of earnestness. "I am silver medalist at the Hamlet of Thumble stone throwing competition. Give me that sling and I can shoot a spider in the gut at 50 paces."

"Oh, ye be a regular menace with that pee-shooter," Karak said shaking his wooly head. "There be no denyin' it."

"I am a skilled warrior, indeed, right orcblood?" the halfling beamed, slapping Feln on the back and favoring the martial artist with a conspiratorial wink. "Even Duece would have been very pleased with that shot. If we make it back in a few weeks, I may go for the gold! Duece does not know what he is facing this time. I practiced for years..." His mood grew suddenly glum as he considered this, adding, "I had nothing better to do..."

Karak and Grisham each cocked an eyebrow at him and Vade waved them off. Talking of his past (and his family in particular) seemed to have touched one of the little rogue's many over-developed heart strings and his expression was hangdog. "I miss Duece," he sniffed, "And Mama, and Papa, and Trey, and Uncle Trouble, and Mama's cookin', and-"

"If your blade was as quick as your tongue, halfling, our enemies would tremble before you," Grisham interrupted with a grin as he started toward the spider's corpse. Vade stopped him and hesitantly gave the man's leg a squeeze.

"Thank you for saving our friend," the halfling said and Grisham suffered the affection stoically. He reluctantly patted the rogue's hair.

"We all have a part to play, little one," the barbarian said. "Our success in the wild depends on each of us playing that part as best we are able." And then he walked off. If he cast a reproachful eye on the pale-faced Janissary no one could say in the darkness.

"We need to settle back down," Ledare said as she got to her feet beside the fire. Her voice was even but strained. "There's plenty of night left. We can still rest."

"We are never going to get any rest here!" Vade whined, but the Janissary shrugged and began to gather her armor.

"If we don't rest, Ixin and Morier won't be able to regain their spells," she told him. "This latest attack depleted those resources even further. And Morier's barely able to lift his head, let alone swing his sword. I don't see how we have any choice."

"I'll be fine," the albino said weakly. He was lying supine beside the fire, and although his injuries had been healed, he clearly lacked the strength to do anything more strenuous than lie on the ground.

"I'll take next watch," the Janissary said, plainly.

"I will stay on guard with you," Feln said with a meaningful look that Ledare registered. She nodded.

"Agreed," she said as she shrugged into her chain shirt.



"Ledare, a moment, please..." Feln whispered once the others had settled down into sleep, leaving the half-orc and the half-elf on watch. the Janissary turned and peered at him, but Feln's expression was impossible to discern in the dim firelight - even with her keen eyes.

"What is it, Feln?" she asked and the martial artist sighed as he collected his thoughts.

"I have been approached about your ability to lead," he said at last, "especially in the area of battle."

"What?"Ledare asked, her voice a trifle louder than she intended. "Who?"

"I am no longer in the information business, Ledare," the half-orc replied with a tone that made it clear he found the whole business to be rather sordid. "I can speak only of my own thoughts and intentions. I do not think that you need ask that question however."

Ledare squinted at her companion and then looked over at the campsite. "Grisham," she sighed.

"I wanted you to know that I have no intention of 'revolting' against you or questioning your authority in certain areas," Feln told her without confirming or denying her assumptions. "I just thought it important that you know."

"That allegience is appreciated; I don't inspire it naturally, as good leaders do," the Janissary said simply, her eyes searching the darkness that pressed in on the meager light from the fire. "It seems that in this case the responsibility to lead has chosen me. And right now, in this place, I have failed."

"I don't necessarily believe that you need to be the first into battle to lead. But there are times when troops require that... of course, we are not troops exactly," the half-orc argued. "I do think that there are others who are more aggressive during combat than you are."

Ledare sighed and poked the fire with a stick, "Grisham is good with a sword," she whispered, "but he follows his own agenda. I don't know what he seeks to gain by stirring up unrest within the party but I'll certainly be keeping my eye on him even more from now on."



*Freeday, the 7th of Reaping, 1269 AE​*​


Grisham returned just as the others were breaking camp. "I think I found where our mysterious quarry is headed," he said, breathlessly. He beckoned with his hand axe, adding, "Kit up and I'll show you."



The stone building was small - barely more than a shack, really - and nearly covered with vines. Unlike the rest of the dark and forbidding valley, the area around the building was free from spider webs. The trees, themselves, were as thick as ever and their foliage still blocked out most of the sunlight. Crouching amidst the giant trees, the building looked even smaller than it probably was. Grisham pointed at a set of barely visible tracks in the muddy soil, tracing their path toward the building.

"They go straight in," the man said, excitedly and started forward before anyone could stop him.

Well... almost anyone.

Before he'd gone more than a dozen paces, an inhuman voice boomed out in an unusual dialect of the common tongue: "Stopping you will now, unwanted visitors! None allowed be here! Return you will or made one with the earth you shall!"

Grisham stopped moving at once and dropped into a defensive stance, sword and axe ready as he frantically scanned the area to find the source of the voice. All he could see from his vantage point were trees and ferns.

Standing back a bit from him, however, the others could see the wizened, man-like face peering down from the bark of one of the trees near the man. Bright eyes the color of sun-warmed chestnuts stared down at Grisham as the barbarian circled beneath the branches of the angry treant.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #286] The Trees Are Watching*

"Easy enough to issue threats from the shadows!" Grisham growled, his weapons held wide as he circled around, looking for the source of the strange voice. "Come! Test your steel against mine, coward!"

"Oh that's brilliant," Ledare whispered with a shake of her head.

"Time for you to show you are are leader, Kitten," Vade said, tugging on Ledare's frayed cloak. "Talk us out of this one and Grisham won't give you any more trouble." The Janissary shook her head.

"Grisham ran ahead in that rash, emotional way of his," she whispered, grimly. "Let him speak for himself."

"Show yourself, if you dare!" Grisham taunted.

The treant turned itself toward Grisham then, and when it moved, it was accompanied by the tremendous sound of creaking timbers and groaning wood. To Ixin, who had spent many years in the port town of Highgate, it reminded her of being in the belly of a ship on rough seas. As the treant turned, its trunk split into two legs, and its roots came free of the soil. "Killing you I want not!" the treant groaned, its crown of leaves rustling menacingly. "But none allowed be here! Stopping you will I now!" Grisham stood his ground and by the look on his face, was working himself into one of his rages.

Vade cast a nervous glance up at Ledare, saw her mouth set in a resolute line, and decided to take matters into his own little hands. "Mr. Treant, sir," the halfling called as he stepped out of the trees, a wary smile on his face. "We are only following the trail of the person who killed Grisham's friend, the Hound. You may have heard of The Hound - friend of man, beast, and tree alike, so I hear."

The treant turned and took a single thundering step toward Vade, making the halfling cringe in fear as the enormous plant creature loomed over him, further blotting out the meager light that penetrated to the ground in this valley. A face, strangely man-like stared down at him from the rough bark 30 feet above, its craggy features knotted in anger. "Forbidden you being here!" it warned him. "Forbidden!"

"We are good guys really," Vade whimpered, his eyes wide and round with fear as he stared up at the treant. "Gosh you are tall..."

Grisham moved around to flank the treant and Ledare knew well what his intentions would be once he got into a position opposite Vade. She sighed and removed her helmet as she quickly stepped forward. "What my friend here says is true," she called out loudly as she advanced confidently, her eyes flashing copper in the half-light. "We are following the path of one who has done wrong. His trail has led us to this place. We mean you no harm."

"What?!" the treant moaned, looking up at the half-elf as she advanced. Its face was twisted in confusion as it regarded her. "Many unwanted guests being here. Show yourselves! All!"

Ledare half-turned and called for the other members of the VQS to step forward.

Morier complied at once, but Feln caught hold of Karak's arm as the dwarf moved to join him. "How fast could this thing be?" he whispered to Karak. "Let's just run for it!" Ixin shot the half-orc a meaningful 'shut up!' look as she strode out to join Ledare and Karak just chuckled sardonically.

"Have you ever tried running in plate mail, orcblood?" he asked as he freed himself from Feln's grip and plodded forward. He moved up near the Janissary, planted his axe on the ground, settled his feet and rested his arms on the axe haft. He nodded respectfully at the treant as it surveyed the group, but he said nothing.

"Bad is this! Bad!" the treant said. "Return you must! None allowed be here!"

"None allowed be here?!?" Feln snorted. "Someone has just recently passed, Treeman! Why he and not us?"

"None allowed be here!" the treant repeated, more loudly this time. "Guardian am I. Forbidden is this place!"

"Perhaps you were unaware of the trespasser?" Ixin said as she nonchalantly eased her cloak back over her shoulders. Even in the meager light beneath the arborial canopy her _chainmail bikini_ glittered and flickered like a polished diamond. "We would be happy to remove him for you." The plant man shook his leafy crown emphatically, sending a few birds shrieking from his upper branches.

"Stopping unwanted visitors I do," the treant asserted. "None allowed be here! None!"

"You're a liar!" Grisham bellowed, causing the tree to whip around to face him. "I saw the tracks with my own eyes! I had always heard that treants were guardians of the forests. Why are you protecting a murderer?"

"Puny, rootless intruder!" the treant roared and swept its branches around in a huge arc that struck the barbarian across the torso. Grisham was caught completely unprepared for the assault and was nearly driven to the ground by the blow. As it was he had still clearly suffered greatly from the attack and he favored his ribs as he prepared to counterattack.

"Stop this!" Ledare commanded in her most strident voice, and Grisham paused long enough to look over at her. The treant, did the same and Ledare addressed the plant man directly. "The one we follow is responsible for tainting the reputation of a good man - Plonius, The Hound - and ultimately taking his life. We seek answers from that one, and we believe he has come here to this place. Will you let us pass?"

"None allowed be here!" the treant replied angrily and it turned back to glare at Grisham. "Passing you shall not! Stopping you I will!" Karak harrumphed at the creature's stubborn litany.

"Treant, do you know of the one called Plonius?" the dwarf called out the the plant man. "Do you know he now lies dead in the woods? Murdered? And we seek the one or ones who killed him."

"Know him not, I do," the treant replied and its features softened. "But grieve I do for his untimely return to the earth."

"Save your grief, Mr. Oak," Karak said. "Ye can help us catch his killer. Have you seen anyone pass through here recently?"

"None allowed be here!" the treant said and its tone was beginning to suggest that it thought these little animals were a bit dense. "Passing here none have." Karak shook his head and scowled.

"Sir, we will certainly not pass without your permission. But we hope we can persuade you to grant it," Ixin offered and walked forward in such a way that the light on her chainmail seemed to scintillate distractingly. "We were told that following our current path would lead us to important knowledge that we hope will help us in our battle against a great and ancient evil. Our path has led us to your door. For that, I am sorry, but we ask your assistance in our mission."

"Nothing there is for you here," the treant said somberly, shaking its head. "Knowledge lies here not. Only an evil device from long ago awaits." The others exchanged glances.

"What evil device?" Morier asked and the treant seemed to shrug.

"Know it not, I do," the plant man said. "Laying here it was when my seed was first growing. Guarded has it been for seasons beyond reckoning."

"And you've been guarding it all alone out here all this time?" Vade asked and the treant rustled as it shook its head.

"Tarawyn is guardian as well," it told them.

"Tarawyn?" Ledare prompted and the treant replied, "He is one with nature. The Green sings in his veins. He it was who planted my seed in this place."

"May we speak with Tarawyn?" the Janissary went on. "Is he somewhere near?"

"Nearby is he always," the treant said and pointed to the ramshackle hut. "He entered his den two days ago."

"You said no one had passed!" Grisham growled. His body immediately tensed like a cobra ready to strike, but Ledare held up a hand to him and several of the others shot him warning glances. He sneered but backed down.

"May we speak with Tarawyn?" Ledare repeated. "Perhaps he can help us and we can be on our way without further confrontation." The treant nodded.

"Summon him, I will," the plant man said and closed its eyes. After a few hushed seconds, its features twisted into a look of confusion and its eyes snapped open. When it spoke, there was an edge of fear in its voice. "Sense him, I cannot. Apart from the Green he has become!"

"Has that ever happened before?" Ixin asked and the treant shook its head.

"No!" it asserted and now the fear in its voice seemed fully realized. "Bad is this! Bad!"

"Well, where was he last time you saw him?" the drakeling went on.

"Passing this way was he," it said and indicated a path from the trees to the small hut. It was lost on no one that the path it marked was the same as the one that they had been following. "Into his den."

"And he didn't come out?" Ledare asked and the treant shook its head. "May we look inside? Perhaps we can help." The treant's face grew skeptical and it glared down at the group.

"Well, you're far too large to go inside," Ixin added hastily. "And if something bad has happened to Tarawyn, perhaps we can help him." Her bikini glittered in the wan light and the treant's face softened.

"Go," it said with a nod.



The stone building was slightly larger than it had at first appeared, but it was still only about 10 feet by 15 feet and stood little more than 5 feet high with a flat, moss-covered roof. Beyond its unusual size, its construction was also unusual in that it seemed to be made of one single piece of rock as opposed to individual stones and mortar. There were no visible seams anywhere in its visible surface. The vines that covered the majority of the building were a dark green with waxy round leaves and one or two strange-looking yellow flowers that gave off an unpleasant smell quite like rotting meat. Grisham was immediately distracted by the blossoms and he plucked one as soon as they were close enough, popped it into his mouth and began to chew.

"What're ye doing?" Karak grimaced. "That' smelled like death!"

"Its a troll-flower," the barbarian said. "It'll heal up what that fool treant did to me out there."

Karak harrumphed and grumbled, "Ye had it comin' from wha' I could see." Grisham did not respond, but his lip curled into a snarl as he chomped down on the yellow blossom.

There was only one door into the place, made of heavy wood planks about 3 inches thick and held together by wide strips of hardened leather. The door was held closed by a simple wooden lift-latch and according to Vade was neither trapped nor locked.

"Let me go first," Ixin suggested. "I can finally cast Recent Occupant and see if it tells us anything." The others hung back while she ducked her head and stepped into the odd little building.

The interior was simple and unadorned. A curtain made of a patchwork of animal furs separated the room into two sections, although it was currently pulled back, revealing that the place was wholly uninhabited at the moment. The door opened onto the larger of the two areas, and it would provide just enough room for everyone to crowd inside although Ixin (and likely Feln, Grisham and Ledare) would all have to stoop to stand up within. The sorcerer saw a rough stone table on a pedestal of wood, and a pair of smallish chairs made from tree branches lashed and woven together. A wooden plate, spoon and cup rested on the table along with a clay jug. A hollowed out section of a tree trunk sitting in the corner behind the door served as a water barrel, replenished via a bamboo pipe running up to a small hole in the ceiling by the rainwater that collected on the roof of the building. Against the wall next to the fireplace were several clay jars, some sealed with wax, and sitting askew in front of the cold fireplace was a large, wooden chest.

Behind the curtain was a narrow bed which, like the chairs, had been fashioned from tree limbs lashed together with strips of leather. A small stone basin filled with water was carved into one wall, on top of which rested a wooden cup and a worn cloth towel.

"Nobody home at the moment," Ixin told them, her head at an angle.

"What kind of fool builds his house with ceilings so low," Grisham grumbled through his mouthful of troll-flower as he surveyed the room from the doorway.

"An elf, maybe?" Morier ventured, indicating one of the small chairs. "It's about the right size."

"Let's find out, shall we?" Ixin said and plucked at the strands of the Weave, knitting together a minor divination spell. "Tarawyn Alusiil, Archdruid," she announced to the others. "He was here two days ago. And, you're right, Morier, he's and el- Hold on! There's a second set of vibrations here!" She knitted her brow in concentration and then her ruddy face grew pale as she turned to the others. "The second set of vibrations overlay the first; I thing Tarawyn's being possessed or dominated or something."

"And the second presence?" Ledare prompted. "Does your magic tell you who that is?" Ixin nodded.

"Melengar the Black, First Bishop of Aphyx," the drakeling said with an audible gulp.


----------



## Jon Potter

*Update to an older post.*

For anyone who's interested, I posted an update to an earlier post  here that details the interaction between Karak and Grisham prior to the spider attack.


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## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> "Well, you're far too large to go inside," Ixin added hastily. "And if something bad has happened to Tarawyn, perhaps we can help him." Her bikini glittered in the wan light and the treant's face softened.





So was this a feat or a skill?


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## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> So was this a feat or a skill?




Skill (Diplomacy) enhanced by the following magic item.

Lesser Chainmail Bikini
(+1 Deflection bonus to AC; +3 to Bluff, Diplomacy, Gather Information, and Perform checks; cast Daze 1/day)


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## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> Skill (Diplomacy) enhanced by the following magic item.
> 
> Lesser Chainmail Bikini
> (+1 Deflection bonus to AC; +3 to Bluff, Diplomacy, Gather Information, and Perform checks; cast Daze 1/day)




Wow, what's a greater one do?


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## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Wow, what's a greater one do?




More of the same, actually. It's from "Portable Hole Full of Beer" which is full of ridiculous, d20 joke items/templates/classes/etc. As such, the Chainmail Bikini as they present it is something like +3 Deflection Bonus, +5 to all Charisma-based skills, and Dazzle 1/day. A bit much, in other words. (I downloaded the pdf onto my work computer so I don't have the file in front of me right now.

I toned it down a bit and offered it as one of those mixed-blessing items. It provides some nice benefits at the expense of walking around looking like Red Sonja. Most men playing a woman character probably wouldn't have an issue with the whole concept, but it took my wife (who's playing Ixin) a long while to warm up to the idea.

She's fully embraced the idea now, much to the detriment of anybody who tries to argue with her character. Especially if Ledare and she are tag-teaming someone (using the aid-another action) with Diplomacy. The joke in our group is that they're the Charisma Twins.

As in, "Charisma Twin powers... ACTIVATE! Form of a persuasive argument! Shape of a heaving bosom!"


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## Jon Potter

*I found the complete stats*

The item on which I based my "Lesser Chainmail Bikini" is actually from the "Son of a Portable Hole Full of Beer" free pdf.

_*Chainmail Bikini of Beguiling*
Although this item is attributed to the wizard Leopold he has always denied fashioning them. There are two versions of these, one for females and one for males, both of which are composed of a fine links of chain mail. These items barely cover enough for decent society, but that is part of their "charm".
They have a +3 deflection bonus to AC, but contrary to normal chain mail do not confer any armor bonus. In addition they give a +10 circumstance bonus to all Charisma skills and the wearer can cast charm person once per day._

You can see why I toned it down for my game.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #287] Descent into the Depths of the Earth*

"As in: "When the Bishop again on high crag stands/And clasps his Rod with bloody hands/Then Darkness seeks the sunlit lands'?" Ledare recited one of the poetic fragments that they had been trying to suss out for the past several moonsdances. "That First Bishop of Aphyx?"

Of course none of the others had that answer, but it further intensified the dread that had begun to creep into their faces. Except for Grisham, that is; he had no idea what the Janissary was going on about since the VQS had taken great pains to exclude him from any knowledge of their greater mission.

"Oi! I reckon that explains why The Hound did wha' he did," Karak grunted and Grisham scowled. He shouldered his way passed the others and ducked inside the stone building.

"So where'd 'e go?" the barbarian growled, his keen eyes assessing the building's interior at a glance.

"Good question," Ledare admitted. "The treant said that an evil device was hidden hereabouts. Was it in this place? Let's have a look around."

"Dibs on the chest!" Vade called as he tumbled between the Janissary's legs, rolling himself into a crouch in front of the chest.

"I think we have a very serious choice to make here," Feln said as the others spread out to search the small dwelling. He stood in the doorway with a purposeful look in his eyes. "If Aphyx is gathering items of power then maybe one of us should get Flor to rally together as well."

"One o' us?" Karak asked, casting a suspicious eye on the half-orc.

"I will volunteer to find the followers of Flor and return to you as quickly as I can," the martial artist said, nodding. "I think at my best run I should be able to make it to civilization in-"

"NO!" yelled Morier with as much forcefulness as he could muster. His voice boomed like thunder in the close confines. He threaded himself through the cramped building until he was standing directly in front of Feln. "To divide now is to risk being conquered. What we do from here on in we do together, as one. If our numbers dwindle so does our might - and as things have gone since we left Hillville Junction, that could well be a deadly choice. Fighting at our full capacity, several of us have barely escaped death a handful of times already."

"Feln, you're right about rallying Flor and her followers. We need someone with fire and conviction to bring the people together in this," Ledare added, speaking over Morier's shoulder. "But we cannot spare you." The half-orc's face clouded over and he let out a measured sigh.

"It was merely a suggestion," he told them. "I fear that we do not have the power within us to fight this evil."

"I understand your concern for the gravity of the situation, Feln, but this is not the time for individual heroics," Morier explained. "If we are to act, we are to act as a collective." The martial-artist crossed his heavy arms over his massive chest and stared down at the elf.

"I saw a powerful priest exorcise a demon when I was in a city far to the north. It seemed to require a great deal of power and focus," Feln said gravely. He looked up at Ixin and Karak then back to Morier. "Not to belittle you, magic casters, but I do not see that power or focus in you at this time."

"I can see Feln's point," Ixin admitted after a moment's pause. "I have no magic to compel a possessing spirit out of a host body."

"Well do nae look a' me," Karak growled, waving off the others' questioning eyes. "I be nae exorcist!"

"I think we should at least attempt a prayer to Flor," Ixin suggested and when nobody objected, she closed her eyes and held her hands out at her side. "Flor, I know we are not your followers and in truth, we do not know your rituals. But we fight earnestly on the side of truth and we beseech you for assistance. We were to gather your followers according to the wishes of the Great Oak, but now we are faced very directly with Aphyx and can not risk losing a chance to win in battle against her. Our forces are meager, but we fight with truth and righteousness in our hearts."

Whatever the drakeling was expecting, she was disappointed. Nothing seemed to happen and an uncomfortable silence settled briefly over the small room.

"Well, now," Grisham spoke up. "If we're through contacting the spirit world, maybe we can get back to the business at hand!" He turned and continued to rummage through the jars near the fireplace.

"Is this neat-o or what?" Vade exclaimed, drawing attention to himself. He stood beside the open chest, draped in what at first glance looked like a pile of leaves. After a moment more of him wriggling about and tugging at straps it became obvious that he was putting on a suit of armor cunningly crafted from overlapping leather plates - each one expertly cut into the shape of a leaf. It was clearly of elven design, and judging by the way it conformed to Vade's small frame, possessed of some magic as well.

"Where did you get that?" Ledare demanded as she knelt beside the open chest. Inside she saw an assortment of clothing, a sheathed scimitar, a silver-handled sickle, an open pouch in which glittered a handful of gems, and a smaller wooden box holding parchment, ink and quills.

"It was right here in this chest," the halfling said innocently. He squirmed inside the armor and the leather contracted to fit him like a second skin. It was fascinating to watch, but Ledare had other things on her mind.

"Vade, was there anything else in this chest that we should know about?" she asked and the rogue got a nervous look on his face. "You can still keep it, just tell me." Reluctantly, Vade produced a trio of gems that he had palmed - a sapphire and two moss agates. Ledare gave him a look of mock sternness and turned to Ixin.

"Anything in here magical?" she asked and the sorcerer did her thing.

"Just the stuff we're carrying," Ixin announced after concentrating for half a minute.

"This is a dead end," Feln said quickly. "I would suggest that if we are not turning back to gather the followers of Flor that we move at our greatest speed after this ghost who possesses others. Grisham and I can take the lead and you others follow as best you can... Ixin, you will need to move at a slightly slower pace to stay with Karak and Vade. Does that offend anyone's ideas of our next move?"

"Didn't the treant say that Tarawyn never came out?" Vade asked as he put the chest back together. "There either has to be a secret door or he is still hiding in here. One time Duece, Trey and I hid from Grumblebutt up in a tree for... oh, must have been six hours. I didn't ever move! Boy did I have an itch, too! Poison ivy... ooooo! But we held on for dear life I tell ya. Oh, did I hear something?"

"Yep," Grisham said as he tapped again on a section of wall near the fireplace. It sounded hollow. "Though I'm surprised you could hear anything over your constant yammering." Vade opened his mouth to argue and Grisham held up a hand to forestall him. "Look, there's a secret panel right here. You're a halfling, aren't you? Let's see you get it open."

"Oh, I'll get it open!" Vade said indignantly as he stalked over to the the section of wall that the barbarian had indicated. In all, it took him about fifteen seconds to locate the hidden catch, and once it was released, a slight push on the hidden door caused it to swing open away from him revealing a narrow shaft with rusty iron rungs affixed to the wall.  Warm, moist air flowed up the shaft and out into the room, condensing as it met the cooler air above to form a wispy trail of fog in the upper room.

"Um, that looks kind of... scary," the halfling said and backed away from the secret panel.

Grisham, however, removed a hand axe from his belt and, still-chewing his troll flower, stuck his head inside and looked down. "There's firelight down below. About forty feet deep," he announced. "Rungs are sturdy enough. Bit of rust, though. Somebody went this way not too long ago."

"What's that smell?" Vade asked, twisting his face into a grimace. "I don't think those mushrooms you had for breakfast are agreeing with you."

Grisham ducked his head back into the room. "It's brimstone," the man said and Vade waved his hand in front of his face.

"Sure it is," he said. "Sure it is." Grisham gave him a disapproving look and then stepped into the shaft.

"I'll go check it out," he said even as he was disappearing down the ladder.

"He's going to get himself killed," Ledare said and there wasn't any real regret in her voice at the thought.




"Shaft comes out at the end of a short hallway. Our man's footprints run along the hall away from the ladder. The other end opens onto a large chamber lit by the reddish glow of fire," Grisham told them after he'd returned from his brief sortie. "It's a lot hotter down there than it is up here. Not so bad as'll kill you, but you'll be sweating before long."

"Sounds like a forge," Karak observed.

"Sound like Hell," Vade countered.

"Well, I didn't get too close, either way," Grisham admitted. "A statue stood between the hallway and a well in the center of the room where that red light was coming from. Bigger than a man and rough hewn. And as a child I heard the same adventurers' tales as you all did. I'll bet my blade that statue's going to come to life and lay into us as soon as we walk into that room."


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #288] It Takes a Thief*

Staring down into the fiery pit, Vade wondered again how he had allowed himself to be coerced into this scouting mission. At the time, it had made sense...



"I say we go down the tunnel two by two," Karak had advised as he leaned on his axe haft and pointed to people as he spoke. "Me and Grisham in the fore. Ixin and Vade in the middle. Ledare and Feln in the rear."

"What about me?" Morier asked from the back of the group. The dwarf harrumphed.

"Oi! I forgot ye, did I?" he said, waving his hand indifferently. "Jus' fit yerself into the marchin' order wherever ye can. Let us either find Tarawyn or his tracks, search the cavern, and then look to the evil device which we may find down the hole."

"What about this golem that Grisham saw?" Ixin asked, reminding Karak of the rather obvious obstacle that lay in the way of his proposed plan.

"Yes," Feln nodded. "I know little about these things. A statue that comes to life? How powerful could this be?"

"It depends on the nature of the thing," Ixin told him. "If it's a true golem, we could be in real trouble. It'll be immune to most spells and we'll need magic weapons to harm it. If it's a simple animated object, it won't be like swatting kobolds, but it'll be easier to damage. I can't know which it is without carefully examining it."

"An' if'n it be what we're thinkin' it be, it'll be swingin' at us 'fore ye can do any examinin'!" the dwarf grumbled, appraising his companions' battle prowess with a glance. He paused on Feln and scowled. "Where be your explodin' fist of late, orcblood? All I be seeing of ye is jumpin in an' out o' the shadows."

"You worry about your axe, dwarf and I'll worry about my fists," Feln replied defensively. "I think our best bet is to try and sneak by this statue but be ready to react. Do we have any thing to blind it to our presence?"

Everyone turned to look at Vade and the halfling almost activated the _Ring of Invisibility_ right there and then. "I don't know... I like Karak's idea: go in swords swinging!"

"I think we should at least attempt to sneak by it," Feln countered. "Vade, if we are all on the ready you could attempt it and we could follow. If it awakens then we could react quickly"

"Maybe it won't wake up if it can't see me," the rogue speculated, his voice full of hope. He took a cleansing breath to bolster his courage and added, "If I can see, I will scout it out."

"Tha' be the spirit, wee one!" Karak roared, clasping a heavy hand on Vade's shoulder.

"It's dim down there," Grisham told them. "But there's light enough to see by."

"Great," Vade whispered without much enthusiasm. "Alright. I'll go. But you had better have my back, orcblood... or I will tell everyone you let a halfing beat you into battle... and we are even." the halfling shook a mock-accusatory finger at Feln.

"I thought the spider made us even," the half-orc grinned.

"Nae! Nae!" Karak protested. "Winging a wee pebble at a large spider does nae count as killing it."

"That's not fair!" Vade argued and Karak held up a silencing hand.

"The last grain of sand will be the one to tip o'er the hourglass, though.," the dwarf conceded. "I will count you in for the assist."

Vade planted his tiny fists on his slim hips and scowled at the dwarf. "You just don't want me to play in your and Feln's little game!" he groused. "Back in Thumble, there was this girl named-"

"By the by, that elf dress look good on ya!" Karak said loudly, cutting off the story before it could gain too much momentum. "Let's see if it can handle an axe blade." Karak pulled a throwing axe from his belt, and drew back as if to toss it at Vade. A loud bark of laughter followed as the halfling tumbled nimbly aside to avoid the feigned attack.

"You big... meanie!" Vade cursed Karak which brought further laughter from the dwarf. Feln just shook his head disapprovingly and turned to the Janissary.

"Ledare, I think it may be best to ask the Treant if he knows of this tunnel and where it leads," the half-orc suggested. "We could possibly bypass all of the traps and meet this ghostly form possessing Tarawyn at the butt hole... sorry, bolt hole!"

The half-elf nodded, a smirk on her lips. "You sound like Windstryder," she mused. "But it's a good idea. Ixin? Would you care to add your voice to this discussion?"

"I'm way ahead of you," the mage replied, arranging her cloak so that it revealed her bikini to good effect.

"Grisham, while they're doing that, why don't you gather some of that foul weed you're chewing and bring it with us?" Feln suggested and the barbarian nodded. He ducked outside after the two women, leaving the men inside.

"I don't like the idea of being alone with a golem,"Vade admitted once Grisham was out of earshot.

"You'll have the _Ring_, Vade," Feln reminded. "The golem will never even know that you're there."

And that was true as far as it went.



"Finding Tarawyn, you are?" the treant asked, its branches rustling with nervous energy as Ledare and Ixin approached.

"Not quite," the drakeling told him. "We did find where he might have gone, though."

"Where?" the plant man asked, and the single word was a drawn out breathy sigh that lasted until the pair of women had reached the base of his trunk.

"We have found a hidden tunnel; what do you know of it?" Ledare asked and the treant shook its crown.

"Nothing," it said, it's voice guarded.

"Is it possible that this tunnel leads to another location in your wood?" she pressed.

"Possible, it is," the plant man replied. "Many secrets are being held by the valley. But the answer is unknown to me."

"Would you know of any information that could help us find it's emergence?" the Janissary asked and saw the tree's woody face scrunch up in confusion. She quickly offered clarification: "For example, is there another place where you remember seeing Tarawyn frequently?"

"One with the Green, Tarawyn is being," the treant answered. "Many places, he is. No place, he is not." Now it was Ixin and Ledare's turn to look confused.

"Do you have a name?" the mage asked and the treant nodded.

"I am called Great Root," it answered, offering them a woody smile.

"Well, Great Root, when you say that Tarawyn is 'one with the Green' do you mean that he is attuned to nature or literally that he is everywhere around here?" Ixin tried and the treant responded with a rustling sound that might have passed as laughter.

"Where the Green is, there is Tarawyn," Great Root told her earnestly, offering absolutely no clarification. Ledare switched tactics.

"Is there any other location that attracts the interest of outsiders?" she asked.

"No!" the treant stated adamantly. "None allowed be here!"

"Right," the Janissary sighed. Talking to Great Root was slightly less frustrating than talking to a rock.

"We met recently with another representative of nature," Ixin said after a pause. "The Great Oak."

Great Root let out an impressed gasp. "Known is the Great Oak to me," the treant told her. "A great power of the Green it is. Fortunate are you being to meet such a power. Fortunate indeed."

"Is there any way that you can send a message to him?" the sorcerer asked. "To let him know what's happened here?"

Great Root assumed a thoughtful pose and then nodded its canopy. "I can," it said.



Using the _Ring of Invisibility_ Vade'd been able to easily bypass the statue, but there was little other than conjecture to suggest that it was anything more than a simple statue in the first place. Without Ixin's magical knowledge, there was little he could discern about its true nature without the risk of triggering it.

Invisibly, he'd snuck up close and personal with the thing, and was impressed with its massive size, but the workmanship left much to be desired. It looked like whoever had made the statue had gotten tired of the project about three-quarters of the way through and abandoned it. The statue was generally humanoid, but what features it possessed were very rough-hewn, lacking anything but the broadest strokes to suggest that it was the sculpture of a man. There didn't even appear to be any seams between its feet and the floor.

Its purpose was puzzling, but not so much so that Vade was tempted to remove his ring and test Grisham's guardian golem theory. Instead, he stole quietly away from the statue to check out the only other noteworthy feature in the vaulted room: the raised well. It rose from the floor behind the statue, in the exact center of the room standing a good foot taller than the halfling. The air above the opening wavered with the heat rising from below and a scent like a forest fire hung in the air.

Vade gripped the hot lip of the well and hauled himself up so that he could peer over the edge. He looked down as if through a window into hell. A circular shaft like the one he'd come down to reach the statue room descended another forty feet into the earth. At the opposite end a circular plane of fire glowed like a hearth, and the heat rising up from below made Vade squint his eyes. It was difficult to breathe the hot, sooty air; his lungs protested with each inhalation. He had the strangely disorienting sensation of looking down from a vast height, thought he could see towers of shimmering brass at the heart of the fire, and almost toppled over the side.

As he was hauling himself away from the edge, his head swimming, he spotted the rusty hand prints trailing down the inside of the shaft. Evidently, the man they'd been trailing (who, Ixin's spell had revealed, was really two men) had climbed down the sheer surface of the shaft like a bug. Vade crouched beside the well, mentally adding _Spider Climbing_ to the growing list of their opponent's abilities as he swallowed down the acrid taste of smoke. He unconsciously cleared his throat and the statue in front of him thundered to life.

It moved as swift as an avalanche, whirling toward the sound. It took a step, its foot coming free of the floor with a tremendous crunch before slamming down again so hard that it sent shockwaves through the floor. A fist of stone the size of an anvil parted the air a foot or two above Vade's head, trailing a dusting of pebbles and debris in its wake.

"Eeep," Vade squeaked.


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## Hairy Minotaur

ooh, splittin' up the party.


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## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> ooh, splittin' up the party.




Wel... Not as badly as it might seem. I used a little misdirection here to heighten the threat to Vade. He's not totally dead. Only _ mostly_ dead.   

The rest of the party is waiting in the hallway outside the room.

And in Vade's defense, the whole throat clearing thing that alerted the elemental to his presence was my way of say, "He rolled really poorly on his Move Silently check."


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #288a] Talking to Trees*

I went back into the last post and editted in Ledare's and Ixin's verbal exchange with the treant.

One gold piece to the reader who can identify where I shamelessly stole the name of the treant.


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## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> I went back into the last post and editted in Ledare's and Ixin's verbal exchange with the treant.
> 
> One gold piece to the reader who can identify where I shamelessly stole the name of the treant.





Ygdrassil?


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## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Ygdrassil?




Nope.

Any other guesses?

Here's a hint: It's from another Story Hour on these boards.


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## Jon Potter

*The answer*

Great Root is the name of a treant that figures prominently in Rel's Faded Glory story hours. That and the 'second battle of Aquae Sulis' that Grisham mentions participating in are direct tips of the hat to Rel and his story hours.

Also, much of Ixin's backstory is lifted in large part from events and locations orginially mentioned in Dr. Nuncheon's various Freeport storyhours.

I enjoy dropping little 'easter eggs' like those into my story hour. I imagine that it's only a matter of time before the group meets a half orc wearing spiked gauntlets.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #289] The Guardian of Earth*

The halfling's brain was filled with the overpowering desire to... RUN!!! And he almost did just that before he remembered that he was still invisible. All he had to do was avoid being accidentally squished by this thing when he moved quietly to the exit and left the room never to ret-

A shrill whistle pierced the air and the stone creature turned its misshapen head toward the sound as Feln stepped easily into the room, spinning his staff from one hand to the other. He had caught the thing's attention and he meant to hold it long enough for the halfling to make his escape. He underestimated the monolithic figure's enormous reach, however and was forced to back flip away to avoid being slammed full on by a great stone fist. If he'd been concentrating on anything but defense at that point, he'd have found himself smeared against the chamber wall.

Vade grimaced at his friend's near miss and then he was in motion, rolling and scrambling away from the golem as fast as his little limbs would carry him.

Standing in the hallway Ledare raised her repeating hand crossbow, sighted down the barrel and squeezed off two easy shots. The first bolt struck true, but seemed to do no damage whatsoever; the second shot skittered off the thing's stoney hide. Seeing the trouble the Janissary was having penetrating the thing's natural armor, Morier cast _True Strike_ in preparation for his own attempt to do just that.

"We should not have divided the party," the albino grumbled and no one argued with him.

Whether the rocky creature didn't notice Ledare's attack, didn't consider her a threat, or simply favored an enemy within easy reach, it focused its attention on Feln. A single ponderous step was enough to bring it within reach of the half-orc, and it brought its huge fist down like the hammer of the gods! The blow shattered the stone tiles on the floor and caused dust to rain down from seams in the domed ceiling. It landed nowhere near the martial artist, however.

Grisham was next to react and he used the tactics that the group had seen him favor in the past; howling a primal battle cry, he hurled himself at the huge creature's flank, clutching Winnower in a double-handed grip. The blade rang against the figure's hip like a struck bell and sent rock chips flying. The stoney creature responded with a cry of pain that sounded like boulders clashing against one another.

"Tha' be the way, tracker! Lay 'im low!" Karak cheered, his voice rising into inspirational tones as he unconsciously gripped his brother's holy symbol. "I want ya all to know that I believe in all of you and know that now that push has come ta shovin' you'll put up the good fight!"

Ixin, certainly intended to. She plucked The Weave's strands and called upon etheric energies to damage her foe. She pointed her finger and sent two _Magic Missiles_ arcing into the elemental's featureless lump of a head. She's spent the time during which Vade had invisibly scouted the room to study the "statue" and she'd come to the conclusion that it wasn't a golem or a construct of any kind, in fact. It was an Outsider, an elemental, the living embodiment of earth brought to the Prime from the Elemental Plane that was its rightful home. It was a powerful and dangerous opponent, but it was as vulnerable to Ixin's spells as any other creature.

The Sorcerer allowed herself a grim smile; she could hurl _Magic Missiles_ for a very long time.

Feln moved instinctively to a flanking position opposite Grisham and did his best to make himself an attractive target while at the same time not opening himself up at all to attack. It was a delicate dance, but one in which the martial artist was trained well enough to perform flawlessly. He rapped his quarterstaff against the elemental's left leg in an effort to distract it from crushing the barbarian into paste. It was a minor blow, but enough to remind the outsider that Feln was still a threat.

Vade darted around the edge of the doorway and pressed himself against the wall in the corridor just as Ledare holstered her six-shooter and drew Ravager from its sheathe in one lightning quick motion. She came at the thing from an oblique angle, drawing herself into a position equidistant between Feln and Grisham. An opportunistic attack from the elemental glanced harmlessly off her enchanted shield and then she was slashing at its midsection with the saw-toothed blade. Raw mud "bled" from the massive gash she opened in its torso.

Now she had its attention! It swung one ungainly fist at her, but again she turned it aside through clever placement of her shield. Its other fist sought Grisham, but the barbarian was in the grip of his frenzy and he dodged the attack with almost superhuman agility. An instant later, he responded by slashing viciously with his longsword, taking a chunk out of the elemental's right arm as it swung passed him.

Morier came in on the barbarian's left, his huge silver greatsword flickering with electricity. He brought it down like a cleaver, slashing away a great piece of the thing's back that tumbled to the floor and shattered. It bellowed again in pain, its voice like an earthquake.

"Shaharizod, guide my blade!" Karak said simply, filling himself with Divine Favor before he stumped in close.

Ixin took a step closer as well (although she was still well back in the hallway outside the room and out of immediate danger) moving forward until she was standing beside Vade and then sent another pair of _Magic Missiles_ stabbing into the elemental's head.

Both Feln and Ledare took swings at the obviously wounded thing, but neither could penetrate its incredibly tough skin. It, however, had no such trouble pummeling both of them. Its fist came around - *one! two! *- and slammed into them with bone-crushing force, knocking the pair backward. Feln staggered against the stone well in the center of the room and had to catch the edge to prevent himself from being hurled over the lip and down into the fiery chamber below. Ledare nearly ended up on her back, but just managed to retain her feet with the coppery taste of her own blood filling her mouth.

At the elemental's back, Morier brought his greatsword around again, putting every bit of the unexpected strength bottled up in his small frame behind the blow. It wasn't guided by the power of _True Striking_ this time, but Morier was a skilled swordsman even without the benefit of his magics. The sword severed the thing's right leg at the hip and its animating force was snuffed out at once. The stone body collapsed into an avalanche of rubble between the eldritch warrior and Grisham.

"Oi!" Karak bellowed, waving his war axe at the albino. "Ye could nae save me a swing or two!?"

Morier lowered his blade and let out a weary sigh. "I don't think that Feln and Ledare were eager for me to sit back and wait for you to join the battle," he countered. "Another blow like that last one and I think we'd be carrying them out of here."

"Burying us here is more likely," the half-orc said and he was right; neither of them looked in too good a shape. Feln was clutching his ribs and Ledare was spitting mouthfuls of blood onto the floor. 

"It's usually a good idea to buff _before_ combat begins, Karak," Ixin suggested as she walked from the hallway to join the others in the hemispherical room. The dwarf shot her a look of mild disgust.

"Buff?" he growled. "What are ye talkin' about?"

"Sorry. That's what Drake Ulric called spells cast before battle," the mage told him. "Magic that makes you temporarily stronger or faster or more difficult to injure."

"Ye be a strange one," Karak grumbled, shaking his head dismissively.

"So where'd our man go?" Grisham asked, peering down into the ruddy depths of the well.

"There's handprints leading down the sides of the well," Vade explained as he stepped up to the barbarian's side.

"I see 'em," the man acknowledged and held his hand out over the hole. "Toasty. We won't last long in that heat," he said, his willingness to proceed after the fleeing Tarawyn a foregone conclusion.

"Maybe there's a secret panel in the side of the shaft," Vade suggested, boosting himself up to peer over the edge again. "I can't see in this light, but maybe we don't have to worry about the heat." Ixin looked over the side and smiled.

"Reminds me of grandmother's sleeping chamber," the drakeling said wistfully before turning back to Vade. "The prints go all the way down, about 35 or 40 feet before the shaft opens onto a chamber of some sort. That bed of flames is another 30 feet below that."


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## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> I enjoy dropping little 'easter eggs' like those into my story hour. I imagine that it's only a matter of time before the group meets a half orc wearing spiked gauntlets.




Sweet!


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## Hairy Minotaur

A whole week with no updates?   

I think I'm getting withdrawls.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #290] Hot Enough for Ya?*

HM- Here's a quick fix for you.

---------------

"Buff? What she mean 'Buff up before combat'? I stand there and choose to rally the party with a few inspirational dwarven war cries, and they all 'ave the nerve to finish off the Stone Golem without me!" Karak grumbled to no one in particular as he rested his axe on one shoulder and felt around with his other hand for his 'sticks o' healing'. He wasn't too happy about completely wasting Shaharizod's _Divine Favor_; such grace wasn't easy to come by. He produced one of the wands and stabbed it at Ixin's back. "An' she thinks I just be standin' there. Well, that be ridiculous. Ridiculous, I say!"

"Karak!" Morier called. "These two need healing. Are you going to do it or should I?" The Eldritch Warrior stood between Ledare and Feln and held his hands near the stoppered vials at his belt as if threatening to use the healing draughts at a moment's notice. Karak fixed him with a challenging eye and spat once before trundling towards him.

"Nae! Nae!" he growled. "Now lemme take a look at ye, Feln! Hmm you not be busted up so bad, but 'ere is a whack o' the stick of healing and off you go, now." Feln wasn't too sure about the dwarf's assessment of his injuries. He felt like he'd been struck by an avalanche, which in a way he had. Still the magic of Karak's wand began to ease the pain at once.

"Thank you, Karak," the half-orc said as the pain in his ribs began to recede. The dwarf nodded once before turning to Ledare.

"Nice back flips, by the by. Ye could be be part of a travellin' circus," he added as he he turned away and levelled his wand at Ledare. "And you, lemme feel your head. I don't think I never see you close in combat before. I usually see you plinking away with yer drow handshooter. Ye be feelin alright, lass?"

"Very funny," Ledare muttered as she endured the dwarf's attempts to check her for fever.

"You nae be under a spell, are ye? Ixin why nae ye check out our Leader here and see if she be enspelled," Karak called to the drakeling. He lowered his voice conspiratorally and favored Ledare with a wink, adding, "We do nae want to be givin Grisham any ideas about your leadership skills now would we?" Ledare managed a weak smile and nodded silently as he sent a trickle of healing magic into her body.

"We're looking at a lot of heat coming from down below," Ixin said as she came over to join the triage. Feln and Morier joined Grisham and Vade in searching the chamber for hidden or concealed exits.

"Now why do you suppose we just face two elementals? One of wind now one of earth," Karak muttered aloud. "Maybe down there be one o' fire?"

"Does anyone not think there's a fire elemental down there?" Ledare asked loud enough for all to hear. Head shakes were her answer from everyone. "Do you recall me telling you that before we left Barnacus, I and my original companions had a series of prophetic dreams or visions? We sought the help of the Onieromancer who tried to interpret our dreams, but didn't really give us much to go on. He did confirm that four is an important number and the elements:  air, water, earth and fire are the four to concern ourselves with."

"I remember that," Vade piped up from across the room. Ixin nodded as well.

"The idea was mentioned that through the dreams, the gods were attempting to communicate around Umba's decree that they not contact mortals directly.  And that they wouldn't place before us a riddle that we were incapable of solving," the Janissary went on, her thoughts returning to a time that seemed so much longer than a half-dozen weeks before. Her companions at that time - Finian, Soriah, and Kirnoth - were all gone, lost to Chaos or death. The bitter taste of regret mingled with the blood in her mouth and her face grew resolute. "So it is my thought that we were meant to chase Tarawyn (or whoever he is really) and delve deeper into this mystery."

"Aye!" Karak agreed, rapping the haft of his axe on the stone tiles for emphasis. "I say we continue to where this leads - to its end and see where this Tamaryn has gone. It's down to a chamber and the flames be below, right?" Ixin nodded. "I do believe Ixin and I can take the heat, for I am used to the forges, but I do nae know for the rest of you. Ixin, do you have a way to determine if we all can withstand the heat?"

"I'm not even sure I can withstand the heat," the sorcerer admitted. "I'm quite resistant to fire, but I'm not totally immune to its effects. And I don't think that I have anything that will protect you guys, in any case."

"I think checking out the pit should be our last resort," Morier admitted. "And even then, I don't think it's a healthy one."

"Given the mention of the four elements and what we learned from the celestial about hidden evil, I think this trail is too important to abandon," Ledare countered. "We must go forward." The albino nodded his deference to her command and returned to checking the walls.

"I don't see how we can not go down," Ixin added. "I think it's a definite that there is an elemental down there and we need to go in ready."

"Aye!" Karak agreed, thumping the mage on the back. "Let's have you go down, take a peek then come back up an' tell us what's what."

"We can't go one at a time," the drakeling argued, striking her right fist into the palm of her left hand. "We need to go together and strike very quickly and without warning." The dwarf turned a skeptical eye on her, raising one shaggy eyebrow.

"How are we going to get everyone down, wizard?" Karak asked. "What do we do if it looks like a massive cavern tunnel or somethin'?"

"I don't know. We have rope don't we?" Ixin sputtered, but she could see it was a losing argument.

"I will let Ixin borrow my slippers if she wants to go down and have a look at the fire," Vade offered. "They would look very nice on you, I must say, Ixin." She sighed and looked over at the halfling's innocent face.

"Okay," she relented.



The shaft was hot and it only got hotter as she descended, following the trail of rusty handprints down to the chamber below. The end of the shaft was centrally set into the ceiling of a large stone chamber that was the mirror of the one above except that the entire middle of the room was a massive firepit twenty feet on a side. Ixin could see no obvious source of the flames, so they were likely magical in nature, perhaps even representing a portal to the Elemental Plane of Fire, and an instant death by immolation to anyone not protected from heat. Only a 15 ft. wide lip around the room's perimeter offered any safe footing, and the drakeling could tell that it would be extremely hot even there. Like the chamber above, a single doorway led off of the room, but she could see nothing of where it went for it was choked completely with clouds of hissing steam.

The heat here wasn't as bad as she feared it would be - certainly, she was in no danger - and she surmised that, provided they avoided any contact with the actual inferno, her companions could survive in the chamber for upwards of half an hour. That would be plenty of time to deal with the fire elemental if there was in fact one to be dealt with.

Hanging from the ceiling, she scanned the conflagration below and felt the sympathetic tingle of her draconis fundamentum within her breast; she was born of fire and she could feel her maturing draconic nature yearning to more fully realize itself. And part of her was eager to become what she was, but she realized that once she started down that path there was no turning back and she was still young. She had centuries to explore her true nature if she chose to wait and-

With a swirl of rising embers, an anthropomorphic creature of sentient flame formed in the center of the firepit. Its arms were twin columns of fire and it swung up at Ixin even as she retreated up the shaft to the chamber above. She felt the white-hot glow of its touch pass by her as she went, able to reach the ceiling of its room but no further. She spared it a glance as she scrambled up to rejoin her friends and saw its burning visage glare hatefully at her from below.


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## Rel

Jon,

Just checking in to let you know that I'm about to embark upon reading your Story Hour from start to finish.  I'm finding myself in need of a bit of inspiration and I figure that there's no better place to look than in the Story Hour of one of my most faithful Game Day players.

As a result, you may find me posting comments or questions from WAY earlier in the thread.  If you find that annoying in that it breaks up the flow of your current posts then I'm more than happy to e-mail them to you instead.  Either way is fine with me.

So don't be shocked when you see your Views count starts to trend upwards over the course of the next week or so.  That's just me popping in to read another update whenever my schedule allows.


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## Jon Potter

Rel said:
			
		

> Just checking in to let you know that I'm about to embark upon reading your Story Hour from start to finish.  I'm finding myself in need of a bit of inspiration and I figure that there's no better place to look than in the Story Hour of one of my most faithful Game Day players.




Well, I'm not sure how much inspiration you'll cull from here, but I hope that you find some entertainment. There's certainly nothing here to compare to the Adventures of Samantha the Red! Expect me to pick your brain at the next Game Day for details of how you "ran" that little gem. I don't want my own pint-sized adventuress to get left out of the fun.



> As a result, you may find me posting comments or questions from WAY earlier in the thread.  If you find that annoying in that it breaks up the flow of your current posts then I'm more than happy to e-mail them to you instead.  Either way is fine with me.




Be aware that the story of this Story Hour actually begins w-a-a-a-y back here using the 2E ruleset. (Yeah, I know. We're behind the times.) And I'm happy to answer any questions you might have right here. Who knows? The answers might benefit another reader in the process!



> So don't be shocked when you see your Views count starts to trend upwards over the course of the next week or so.  That's just me popping in to read another update whenever my schedule allows.




It's surprising, given how important readership is to me, that I don't pay more attention to my Views.Of course, Views are welcome too.


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## Rel

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> Well, I'm not sure how much inspiration you'll cull from here, but I hope that you find some entertainment.




You'd be surprised!  I am preparing to run a solo campaign for my wife in the near future and seeing how you've woven such an interesting early story around Kirnoth is riveting.  I was actually cursing you for ending the first few installments in cliffhangers!   It makes it hard to read in short increments when you keep saying, "Well, I gotta read the next one to see how this comes out!"  I think that the adventure you've come up with for a single, 1st level Wizard is outstanding.

As far as the adventures of Samantha the Red, I'll be happy to share my techniques with you (it's all pretty simple, actually) at the next game day if you like.  But feel free to post any questions in that thread and I'll be happy to answer them.  I'll be posting more updates on our latest adventure tomorrow.


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## Jon Potter

Rel said:
			
		

> You'd be surprised!  I am preparing to run a solo campaign for my wife in the near future and seeing how you've woven such an interesting early story around Kirnoth is riveting.  I was actually cursing you for ending the first few installments in cliffhangers!   It makes it hard to read in short increments when you keep saying, "Well, I gotta read the next one to see how this comes out!"  I think that the adventure you've come up with for a single, 1st level Wizard is outstanding.




This was my wife's first real forray into gaming and it was really a last resort for her. She determined she could either put up with a lot of my free time going toward a game she knew nothing about or she could involve herself in that game. The hardest part about that first adventure was getting her interested in actually adventuring! She was much more concerned with what the people were eating than she was in getting to the bottom of a ghostly mystery.

In retrospect, I guess that was a good thing, given the 1st Level Wizard thing and all. When she did finally get around to slinging a few spells, the spell point system we were using did more damage to her than her adversaries.  :\ 

She immediately didn't trust my very unsubtledly disguised plot hook, Torrik. But at the same time, she blindly accepted what he said about elves being immune to fear although I'd never told her that as DM.

All in all, it was the things that I took for granted as someone who'd gamed a lot that presented unforeseen stumbling blocks. She wouldn't have any trouble with that stuff now, of course. (Just in case she reads this.  )


----------



## Funeris

Ahhhh...a melding of SH minds....
(thinking to self:  Hmmm...that's where Rel ran off to).

I'm running a new campaign this weekend (world is pretty much done now..thanks for the info Rel).  My girlfriend actually yielded and decided to try it since I, too, spend a lot of time working on this stuff.  I only hope she takes to it 

Well.  Enough of the personal BS.  Keep up the good work Jon.  And Rel, when you feel inspired again, feel free to update.  No pressure or anything.

Ditto for you, Jon.


----------



## Jon Potter

Funeris said:
			
		

> I'm running a new campaign this weekend (world is pretty much done now..thanks for the info Rel).  My girlfriend actually yielded and decided to try it since I, too, spend a lot of time working on this stuff.  I only hope she takes to it




Well I wish you success with this. Having my gaming habit turn from a point of contention to one of mutual enjoyment has made it all that much better. Good luck.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #191] The Guardian of Fire*

The second trip down to the chamber below went a little differently than the first. For one thing, Ixin was in a hurry, and she scuttled down the shaft and moved along the ceiling toward the edge of the room. For another, she was trailing a length of rope that was tied to her belt as she went. And for a third, both she and the rope were dripping wet - insurance against the elemental's fiery touch.

Predictably, it rose up within the twenty-foot firepit and took a swing at Ixin; the mage was an easy target hanging awkwardly from the ceiling and she could do nothing to avoid the attack. It flaming fist slammed into her with appalling strength and knocked her easily from her perch. She tumbled, unfurled her wings and glided lightly to the ground beside the fire. As she had supposed, she was in no danger from the elemental's heat, but its strength was none the less considerable and she knew full well that she'd never be able to stand another blow like that one.

"Stick to the plan," she hissed to herself, as she opened up her cloak and reached into the largish pocket reserved for Martivir. From it, she pulled a gasping and sputtering halfling.

"No air!" he choked as he scrambled out of the impossibly small pocket. "How does Marty stand it in there?"

"Not now, Vade!" Ixin growled as she turned to look up at the elemental towering above her. Behind it, she could see Karak come drifting down out of the shaft with Morier and Ledare clasped in his arms - which were rippling with muscles, thanks to the scroll of _Bull's Strength_ that Vade had used on the dwarf. He had the other end of Ixin's rope looped around his belt and thanks to his _Ring of Feather Falling_ was moving downward at a leisurely pace.

She tugged on the rope as Vade activated the _Ring of Invisibility_ and disappeared beside her. The rope snapped taut beside the elemental's head and it turned to regard the drifting dwarf and his steel-plated burden. It swung out at him, but its flaming fist passed harmlessly above his head, and a moment later, he'd clanked down near Ixin.

Morier stepped lightly away from him, his greatsword held awkwardly in one hand as he moved the other in the proper arcane gestures. Ledare managed to lose her footing and she fell to one knee as Karak turned with his axe in hand to face the fire elemental.

"As Shaharizod is me witness, I vow this: with Her strength, I will hold an' me blade will _Strike True_," Karak intoned, steam rising from his water-soaked beard as the elemental loomed above him.

Unseen behind the glowing monster, Feln slipped out of the shaft, holding onto the smallest of cracks by his fingertips alone. He dangled there long enough to swing his legs back and forth, building up enough momentum to propel himself through the air away from the firepit. He somersaulted through the air and landed like a cat on the opposite side of the pit.  A sharp pain shot up his right leg from the fall, but he managed to avoid any broken bones by shear skill.

Ledare got to her feet and readied her sword beside Karak and Morier at the same time that Ixin's familiar, Martivir, came spiraling silently out of the shaft above and came straight for Ixin.

"Hey, Hot Stuff! Over here!" a disembodied voice called from a few dozen feet to the others' right. An instant later, Vade appeared in that spot, his body twisted awkwardly from the throw he'd just executed. The waterskin that he'd especially prepared, arced through the air and slammed into the elemental's left shoulder where it exploded with an obscene seething sound. A cloud of steam rose up at once and the elemental whirled toward Vade, seeking its tormentor.

Vade did his best to dodge, but its fist managed to barely clip him regardless. The thing's strength was enough to drive Vade backward, but unlike Ixin, Vade wasn't immune to fire, and he sustained some nasty burns on his arm as well. His shirt threatened to catch on fire, but with a quick jerk of his arm he extinguished the glowing embers.

Vade's sacrifice was all the more distraction that Karak and Morier required. The dwarf struck with his waraxe, guided by Shaharizod's hand and powered by all the strength he had in his compact frame. It split the flames that made up the thing's torso, and an instant later, Morier was doing the same. With a shout of _"Fidus attingo!"_ the eldritch warrior drove his electrified greatsword into the elemental's back.

It roared in pain, and its voice was like a forest fire.

Feln was struck momentarily by the thing's cry of pain, but an instant later he had disappeared into the shadows on his way to the only obvious door way leading out of the hot chamber.

Martivir landed on the hot floor beside Ixin and waited patiently for the mage to strip off the _Slippers of Spider Climbing_. It hooted to her and Ixin spared him a small chuckle. "I agree," told him as she carefully put the delicate footwear into the owl's beak. "But that's a pretty big 'if'. Now, go! Get these to Grisham!" The bird took to the air as Ixin flexed her own wings and rose at once to her feet, a spell already on her lips.

Ledare stepped up as the elemental was turning back to face them and she drove Ravager savagely into the main conflagration of its body, drawing another unsettling cry of pain from the thing. Vade seized the distraction to activate his _Ring_ and turn _Invisible_ once more. The elemental's arms both lashed outward seeking Karak and Ledare. For the third time that day, the Janissary's magical shield spared her from injury, but Karak bore the full brunt of its attack across his chest. Searing pain filled the dwarf's body and his beard burst into flames.

"Oh, ye great flamin' bastard!" Karak roared as he patted out the flames and swung his axe ineffectually. "Ye'll pay for that, ye will! Nobody sets my beard on fire and lives!"

Morier's sword too seemed unable to match its earlier success, and instead parted air beside the elemental even as Ixin sent a pair of _Magic Missiles_ arcing over the albino's head. They slashed into the monster's fiery body, making it hiss in pain.

Ledare stepped up and drove her bastard sword into the thing's side. It retaliated in kind, roughly slamming her with one of its huge fists. She grunted with pain and alarm as she saw that her cloak had caught on fire. A moment later, however, Karak's waraxe had put an end to the flaming monster.

As its remnants sank down into the firepit, Grisham finally poked his head out of the shaft above, scuttling along with the _Slippers of Spider Climbing_.

"About time, ye showed up, woodsman!" Karak called up to him. "Fun's all over with now!" Grisham snorted derisively and continued to pick his way toward the floor.

"And no casualties," Ixin said as she looked the group over. Vade reappeared nearby and he had a troubled look on his face.

"Has anybody seen my buddy, Feln?" he asked and an moment later, the half-orc's scream pierced the air.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> "And no casualties," Ixin said as she looked the group over. Vade reappeared nearby and he had a troubled look on his face.
> 
> "Has anybody seen my buddy, Feln?" he asked and an moment later, the half-orc's scream pierced the air.




always forgetting the half-orc.


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> always forgetting the half-orc.




Nothing like a blood-curdling scream to get yourself noticed, though!

But he specifically said that he wanted to scout out the next room while the rest of the party dealt with the fire elemental. I think he forgot D&D rules of thumb #12 and #42: 'The opposition in a dungeon usually gets more difficult the farther in you go.' and 'The BBEG is often in the last room of a dungeon.'

I think he'll remember now. The player I mean. The character... well... You'll just have to wait and see.


----------



## Funeris

Nice update, Jon.  Just wanted to let you know, the girlfriend loved it.  So, looks like she's got a new hobbie now.  You're right, it is better this way.


----------



## Jon Potter

Funeris said:
			
		

> Nice update, Jon.  Just wanted to let you know, the girlfriend loved it.  So, looks like she's got a new hobbie now.  You're right, it is better this way.




That's great! Nothing beats turning a bone of contention into a shared activity. Everybody wins!

But, enough soft cuddliness. Back to the mayhem...


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #291a] The Beast from Beyond*

Feln paused briefly and cast a glance back at the elemental as it reared up, its flickering body momentarily lit by crackling arcs of electricity as Morier drove his sword home. He'd hoped that the thing was finished then, but its fiery limbs kept lashing the air, seeking some opening in his companions' defenses. Grimly, the half-orc turned and headed for the only obvious doorway leading out of the hot chamber. That was his task: to secure their exit.

He stuck to the shadows out of habit, and there were plenty to choose from. The light given off by both the firepit and the elemental cast dancing shadows across the vaulted chamber.

Karak was bellowing something about his beard getting burned when Feln stepped into the short hallway that separated the chamber of fire from the next. The hallway was only about twenty feet long and half that wide and floored with regularly shaped tiles, although these were a different color than other's he'd noticed, being a pale bluish green. He'd made it about half way when the quality of the air took a decidedly unpleasant turn. The odor was unlike any Feln had ever encountered before, combining the worst olfactory aspects of a stagnant bog, a midden pile and a charnel house in the heat of summer.

He grimaced and placed a hand over his mouth and nose. It did little good, but he was able to press on after checking carefully for any sign of a trap. Reaching the end of the hallway, the martial artist found a large room that was the duplicate of the previous two they'd found beneath the druid's unassuming shed. It widened abruptly from the hallway to a final width of about 50 feet. The far end of the room was over 60 feet away, at the extreme limit of the half-orc's darkvision. There he could see some sort of stone structure, like an altar perhaps, and it looked as though it had sustained recent damage. Apart for a ledge that ran around the perimeter (just wide enough for two man to stand side-by-side), the room was filled with a pool of disgusting sludge. Lumps of unidentifiable filth floated in a scummy, iridescent green water that bubbled like a simmering stew emitting noxious fumes.

Gagging, Feln took a step forward trying to get a better look at the structure on the far side of the chamber. As soon as he did so, something... indescribable sprang from the water. It was tall, or so it seemed, but it was difficult to apprehend its exact dimensions since they seemed fluid somehow. Not shapeless, exactly, but so complex that the eye could recognize no describable shape. There were writhing tendrils, and oozing puss-filled boils coupled by long dripping ropes of flesh that merged into a bulbous knot from which protruded dozens of glittering, soulless eyes. But then as he watched it moved and everything he thought he'd seen was proven suddenly false as it lashed out with a tentacle that seemed to come at once from both the side and back of the thing and yet somehow also reach at him THROUGH its own chest.

He managed to dodge the attack, but he couldn't quite get the unnatural geometries of the thing to leave his brain. Its very being mocked the rules of the physical world, its presence an affront to everything that the martial artist had ever before held as law or fact. It should not be! It could not be! It seethed within his brain like a swarm of lunatic roaches. 

He pressed his hands violently against his head and released a scream of mad anguish as his fingernails dug into his shaved scalp with enough force to draw blood.

----------------------

_DM's note: Yes, I did paraphrase a bit of HP Lovecraft in there when describing this critter. I could think of no one better to inspire me to describe my beloved Non-Euclidian Plague-Carrying Tendrilicus._


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #292] Regroup*

That bit of pain was enough to cause the pieces of his fragmented senses to momentarily coalesce and without further thought about insane geometries he reached into the unconscious reserves that had been drilled into him by his Gelgian brothers from an early age. Fueled by a surge of adrenalin, he felt his muscles suffuse with strength and agility, and he tumbled backward, making a pointed effort to avoid looking at the thing in the pool. He had the sensation of something rank and unwholesome passing close behind him, caught a half-glimpsed image of something not entirely visible writhing wetly in the shadows, and then he was in the hallway and through it back into the oppressive heat of the fire elemental's lair.

He was moving so quickly that he collided with Vade before either Feln or the halfling quite realized what was going on and it was a good thing, too. In his blind haste to get away from the awful alien thing in the chamber beyond, he very nearly ran headlong into the firepit that dominated the center of the vault. As it was, he and Vade went tumbling into a heap of tangled limbs, rolling to a stop well away from the fire.

"Whoa!" Vade cried as he extricated himself from Feln's person. The half-orc just lay on the ground, panting as the adrenalin left his bloodsteam. "Are you alright, Feln?" the rogue asked.

The veiled suggestion of a semi-fluid, unnameable thing continued to move unbidden behind the martial artist's closed eyelids, and he pressed his fists against them in a fruitless effort to drive the images from his brain. "No," Feln admitted. "I'm not alright. You do NOT want to see what's in the next room."

"Oooh... I had better have a look to make sure," Vade chirped, bouncing at once to his feet. He hadn't taken more than two frolicking steps before Ledare stopped him in his tracks with a cautionary, "V-a-a-d-e." He turned and smiled innocently. "Just kidding," he smirked. "What was there, Feln? Tell us! Tell us!"

"I don't want to," the half-orc groaned, not removing his fists from his eyes. "That... thing... I'm trying to put it out of my mind."

Ledare lowered herself awkwardly onto her knees beside Feln and placed a reassuring hand on the martial artist's shoulder. He was trembling slightly, obvious shaken by whatever he'd seen beyond. "Forget about the... thing. Focus on something else, Feln," she suggested. "What about the room itself? What was that like?"

He thought about it for a moment before answering hesitantly. "It was just like this room. And... and the one above. Squarish, about sixty feet or so on a side, with a vaulted ceiling."

"Was there a firepit?" Morier asked and Feln shook his head.

"No," he admitted. "There was a pool of water. But it was foul... filthy... like that thing spoiled it just by being..."

"Was there anything else beside the pool?" Ledare quickly redirected as soon as Feln's voice started to tremble. "Were there any doors?" Feln shook his head again.

"Not that I could see, but I only had a momentary glimpse before-" This time, he caught himself before he took another step toward madness. "There was an altar or a monument or something across the room from the doorway. It looked like it had been smashed recently. There was rubble."

"Chaos altar, mayhap," Karak suggested, spitting once into the firepit and Feln nodded, drawing his hands away from his face as he sat upright. His eyes had a haunted quality, but he seemed to have regained most of his composure.

"That could be, considering what was guarding it," he said. Then he steeled himself and began to describe the indescribable as best he could. The others listened raptly, and by the end of his retelling they had all grasped the same sense of both horror and confusion that Feln had. Well, all that is save Vade, who muttered, "Ooooh, neat-o," as the half-orc descried what details of the thing he could put into words.

"A creature o' Chaos to be sure," Karak growled, clutching his axe tightly as he eyed the connecting hallway. He looked ready at any moment to march into the next room and smite the creature. Morier saw the look on the dwarf's craggy face and decided to forestall any such activity.

"Time and again I've warned against splitting our numbers," Morier grumbled as he worked his greatsword back into its scabbard. "We continually divide ourselves and someone is continually getting the sh*t kicked out of them whenever we do. It's got to stop!"

Grisham laughed heartily at that and grinned at Morier. "You've got fire for an elf, shorty!" he chuckled, wiping sweat out of his eyes. "I like you!" Vade turned his back to Grisham and rolled his eyes.

"I think Morier might be right," the halfling admitted. "It would be nice if we did not sneak off on our own and get everyone into more trouble." All eyes snapped around in shock to focus on Vade, but no one mentioned pots, kettles, or the color black.

"I thought it prudent to secure our exit if we needed it," Feln defended. "And to scout out what lay beyond."

"You are lucky to have made it back to us alive," Ledare chided. "While your scouting ability is a strong force within this group, it serves us no purpose if you were to scout and die. Better that we face these unspeakable horrors together." 

"It were nae a bad plan," Karak added, shaking his head gravely. "If we'd all walked blindly into yon Chaos Beastie who knows wha' may o' happened? Mayhaps half o' you'd ended up runnin' like th'orcblood 'ere, leavin' the rest o' us to fight the thing."

"Okay, so now we know," Grisham muttered, giving a little flourish with his longsword. "Do we head in to fight it or what?"

"I'd suggest that we maybe head topside and see if Ledare and Ixin can't try to ask the Treant anything that it might know about this thing," the eldritch warrior suggested, gesturing toward the dark hallway leading out of the chamber. Grisham shook his head disgustedly and Morier quickly added, "I'm not saying that we shouldn't go in there; I'm saying maybe we should know something more about it before we do."

Karak harrumphed. "Victors stride ever forward," he said cryptically and Grisham nodded at this bit of dwarven wisdom. Ixin didn't share the two warriors' enthusiasm however.

"I agree with Morier," she said, stepping forward. "We have dispensed with the guardians so we do not need to worry about a surprise attack. I think we should go back to Tarawyn's home and rest. That will allow Morier and I to replenish our spells and get everyone healed."

"I like healing," Vade said enthusiastically. "Healing is good!"

"I think Ixin's point is well taken. Let us retreat to the druid's shack for the evening," Ledare reasoned. "We'll send word to the Great Oak and see if he can advise us further. Then, should we advance upon this new creature, it will be rested and collected. Until we've considered all of the information we've gathered so far, going blindly forward seems foolish."

"Foolish?" Grisham argued. "Every delay we take allows Plonius' killer to get farther away!" Ledare shrugged at this.

"From what I know of Plonius, he was a good man, and I want to see his killer brought to justice," the Janissary said. "But I won't risk everyone's life just because you can't let your personal crusade wait for one more day so we can prepare. We don't even know if our man went that way."

Grisham looked at Ledare in shocked indignation for a moment. Then he sheathed his longsword and started looking begrudgingly for tracks.



While Grisham searched the chamber and Karak, Vade and Ixin worked to shuttle the group up the shaft using the _Slippers of Spider Climbing_, Morier drew Ledare aside and offered her his counsel again.

"Ledare, I beg of you once more - please try to make the others understand that within this group our might lies in the collective," he told her. "The diversity of abilities we possess make us a formidable opponent for any foe, but when we divide ourselves, those differences become weaknesses. I'm sure nobody here need be reminded what becomes of the weak in the field of battle?"

Ledare nodded politely. "Your counsel is wise, Morier, and taken to heart. But I think you attribute to me too much power," she said. "These others are not junior officers for me to order around. They have each tied themselves to my own quest to destroy the rising corruption in the Realms' heart, but they have done so of their own accord, not because I hired or impressed them into the King's service. When I left Barnacus at the beginning of Wealsun, it was with other members of Grey Company. We were equals, making decisions as a group. And now, here I stand little more than a moonsdance later as the only surviving member of that group and I am constantly expected to make decisions for everyone." She sighed wearily and wiped grimy sweat from her brow before continuing.

"I will do what I can to lead you well, Morier," she concluded. "But know that it is not a duty I sought out. Not is it one that sits comfortably on my shoulders."



Grisham's search of the fire room confirmed that the same set of footprints they'd been following continued on into the room beyond where Feln had encountered the loathsome thing. Great Root knew nothing of the creature, but he agreed to send a messenger to the Termlane Forest with the hopes of getting through to the Great Oak advising that guardian of nature what the VQS had so far uncovered beneath Greenhill Woods. He did advise them that it would be several days before they could expect the message to arrive and several more before they could reasonably hope for a response.

Not exactly what they were hoping for.


----------



## old school 1E

*awesome story!*

After 3 days of devout reading I finally went through all 15 pages here.  Fantastic plot and the description of the characters very 3 dimensional.  This is what happens when a great group of role players and a talented DM team up.

Cant wait for the next installment


----------



## Jon Potter

old school 1E said:
			
		

> After 3 days of devout reading I finally went through all 15 pages here.  Fantastic plot and the description of the characters very 3 dimensional.  This is what happens when a great group of role players and a talented DM team up.




Wow! Thanks for the praise!

Given your board moniker, you might find it interesting to note that this campaign world was first played in the late '80s under the 1E rules, with many of these same players. We took a decade-long break from D&D and retired the campaign world. But when the bug bit us again, it only seemed natural to drag the Realms out of mouthballs and retool it for 3E. So, I advanced the timeline 200 years, added some legends about the characters from the old school game, and here we are.



> Cant wait for the next installment




I hope it won't disappoint.


----------



## old school 1E

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> Wow! Thanks for the praise!
> 
> Given your board moniker, you might find it interesting to note that this campaign world was first played in the late '80s under the 1E rules, with many of these same players. We took a decade-long break from D&D and retired the campaign world. But when the bug bit us again, it only seemed natural to drag the Realms out of mouthballs and retool it for 3E. So, I advanced the timeline 200 years, added some legends about the characters from the old school game, and here we are.




I kind of miss 1E.  I too have not played in a long time, so long that 2E rules had come out but not too many were adapting to them at the time.  I too have found that the D&D bug has bitten me, so I am reading through the latest 3.5E rules so that I can get acquainted with them.

Being a big fan of what used to be called magic users, I have mixed feelings about how wizards/sorcerors are handled.  Yes it is nice that they actually have more than one 1st level spell to start which means they can actually help a party more than just hanging in the shadows, but their upper level power seems to have been neutered somewhat.  Eh, this might be a better topic for another board on here   

As for your next installment,



			
				Jon Potter said:
			
		

> I hope it won't disappoint.




Don't worry, it wont!  I'm having a great time reading the story, and I can't wait to see this adventure reach its epic conclusion!
 BTW- are the character profiles you posted accurate to date?  I just want to get a feel for characters levels, spell abilities, etc.


----------



## Jon Potter

old school 1E said:
			
		

> Don't worry, it wont!  I'm having a great time reading the story, and I can't wait to see this adventure reach its epic conclusion!




I'm afraid that you're going to have to wait a little while longer.



> BTW- are the character profiles you posted accurate to date?  I just want to get a feel for characters levels, spell abilities, etc.




No. They're at least a level out of date in most cases. Not a huge differential, but not accurate either.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #293] The Thing in the Pool*

The night passed uneventfully under Great Root's watchful care, and everyone was thankful to have such a protector guarding them. The night was cool but not overly cold and they set up camp outside Tarawyn's shack, leaving the door open. The heat that wafted up the secret shaft from the firepit below was more than adequate to keep them warm throughout the evening despite their lack of a campfire (something that the treant expressly forbade). They discussed the next morning's battle plans in detail and Ledare paced back and forth trying without much success to construct a coherent solution from the many disparate mysteries that they had uncovered. At last she spat a curse in Gobbledy and sat down with a frustrated clatter.

"I'm going to sleep!" she growled and began to strip off her armor.

As if they had all been waiting for the Janissary's permission, the others began their own preparations for sleep. Before another half-hour had passed, they had all sunk into a peaceful slumber. All save Grisham who stayed awake out of habit, quietly tending his gear and listening to the sounds of titanic spiders moving in the trees. Sometime later, with the full silvery brilliance of Celune shining down through the canopy of leaves above, the barbarian settled into sleep, imagining the distant song of wolves rising up into night.



*Starday, the 8th of Reaping, 1269 AE​*​
Ixin awoke knowing that something was different. Ever since leaving the fire elemental's chamber, she had felt warm, as if she had retained some portion of the outsider's heat within herself. And now, upon waking, she knew that the exposure had triggered further growth of her draconic nature; she felt stronger, hardier, her draconis fundamentum fairly thrumming with power within her. And there were other more visible changes as well. Her wings had grown although they were still not large enough to bare her aloft. Her armored scales and claws were more pronounced and her teeth were clearly sharper.She was one step closer to apotheosis and it felt good!*

Karak's rousing speech jerked her out of her reverie.

"We be needin' to gather our strength and our wits and go in to face this beastie with a sound battle plan as we talk about last night," the dwarf urged as he assembled the many pieces of his plate mail and began the arduous process of donning it. "I do believe we be facing the last of the elementals in the plane of water. Now maybe it be a transmogrified one, or maybe it's able to cast spells to create the vision Feln has saw. I dunno, but I will think to what Malak would do for maybe there be divine guidance that can help us here."

"I've all the guidance I need right here," Grisham said as he went through one of the complex weapon drills he'd been taught at the Cat's Claw Dueling Pride.

Karak cast a skeptical eye on the human and harrumphed disapprovingly.



They assembled in the hallway outside the chamber wherein Feln had seen the reprehensible thing that was their intended opponent. Vade lined up Feln, Ixin, and Morier as recipients for his _Barkskin_ scroll. Unfortunately, he flubbed the spell three times, and the scroll crumbled to dust before he had a chance to cast it on anyone but himself. He had similar luck when trying to use his scroll of _Bull's Strength_ on Karak, Ledare, and Morier; only the dwarf received any benefit before the scroll turned to dust in the halfling's hands.

"Uh..," Vade muttered, feeling a trifle deflated. "Sorry, guys."

"I'm sure these bracers you gave me will help protect me," Feln comforted, showing off the magical guards. "I don't need anything further."

"I guess I'm just not very good at primping," the halfling sighed.

"You mean 'buff'," Ixin corrected and Vade's face split into a grin.

He giggled and looked at Karak, adding "Buff? I don't want to picture Karak running around in the buff! Hee hee."

"Ba!" Karak spat. "Buff be nae a dwarven word!"

Vade shrugged. "It sounds pretty good in Common," he said earning another scowl from Karak.

The dwarf raised his axe to his shoulder and clapped the Janissary on the back. "Ledare, lass, when you put your back into the fighting, along with the albino here we three mete out some damage. Why that elemental can nae stand up to the three of us. When we add the tracker to the mix we be nigh unstoppable!"

Grisham, who had been muttering some words to Roofdrak, the Wolf Spirit, and fingering his necklace of teeth, looked up at the dwarf's inspiring words. He felt ready for anything.

"Now let's kick some elemental arse!" the dwarf roared and they surged into the putrid chamber beyond. It was as Feln had described it, but they only had a moment to take it all in before the jellified thing formed out of the pool filling the center of the room. At once, its hallucinatory aura sought to overwhelm everyone's senses, but they had been forewarned by Feln's previous experience and they all averted their eyes before they could get more than a horrifying glimpse of the creature's insane form.

Only Feln, who had spent a good portion of the previous night meditating on what he had seen of the thing was able to stare with impunity into its stupefying swirl of limbs and eyes. He gritted his teeth and tumbled forward in an attempt to flank the creature. It failed as the gigantic thing's head (if that's what the deformed appendage was) seemed to slide sideways into the martial artist. With a wet slurping sound, Feln vanished into the creature's gullet.

"Noo!!!" Vade screamed as his friend disappeared.

The disordered monster turned - or didn't (it was impossible to make sense of its alien shape) - and then its mouth had snapped shut over the halfling and he too was gone. Morier, who was busily casting _True Strike_, saw Vade get swallowed and then a tendril slammed into him. It closed around his arm with appalling strength, but the eldritch warrior somehow managed to both retain his spell and slip free of its grasp.

Grisham was able to avoid the tentacle that swept his way altogether and he roared as he allowed the rage to take him. He hurled a handaxe as he ran, and another was in his hand by the time he had closed with the thing. The initial throw was borne of instinct more than careful aim, and it went harmlessly wide of whatever mark he had intended.

Ixin sent two _Magic Missiles_ into the amorphous thing, while Karak implored Shaharizod to guide his axe.

Ledare was waiting for no such guidance. She charged forward and slashed Ravager across the confusing riot of dripping limbs and appendages. The blade seemed to pass through only air, but she felt a savage, wet tugging and a squeal of pain smote the chamber as the sword struck home.

The sound was followed a moment later by the wail of a falling halfling as he tumbled free of the horror's mouth. His _Ring of Freedom of Movement_ made him an impossible target to hold onto for any length of time. He landed with a splash in the pool beside the repulsive creature.

Morier stepped up then and sent three feet of his greatsword and the most powerful jolt of electricity that he could muster into the nonsensical mass of the thing's body. The thing let loose with another shriek of pain and then it folded itself impossibly and came plummeting down at Morier from above. The albino side-stepped the attack. Its tentacles sought Ledare, and although she turned one aside with her shield, a second wrapped around her left leg. Before she could do much more than cry out in alarm, she had been unceremoniously tossed into a toothsome maw.

Now it was her turn to fill the chamber with screams of pain although they mingled dreadfully with the creature's own cries as Grisham's gleaming longsword chewed twice into its side - or bottom, or flank, or... something.

Ixin hit it again with a pair of _Magic Missiles_ an instant before Karak delivered a massive blow from his waraxe that sent iridescent ichor splattering in all directions. But still it came at them.

Vade splashed around and waved his arms trying to distract the thing from devouring Ledare, but even as Morier attacked and missed the tentacled mass the halfling glimpsed the Janissary's flailing boots withdrawn into the thing's mouth. An eyeblink later, Morier had somehow joined her as a dislocated mouth half-formed around him and swallowed his pale body in one gulp.

Grisham roared and slashed with his longsword, opening what might have been a wound in the creature, but it was quickly lost in the chaotic swirl of flickering limbs. Ixin followed that with another pair of _Magic Missiles_ while Karak continued to hew through whatever quivering mess reared up too near his waraxe. The creature refused to go down, but it's pain was great enough that Morier was able to force his way free of the thing's acidic gullet. He fell through the air, limbs flailing against gravity, and plummeted into the water where he lay face down and unmoving.

Vade activated the _Ring of Invisibility_ and disappeared except for the water that he displaced. He moved to help the eldritch warrior, producing his last potion of _Cure Light Wounds_ as he went.

Presented with only three obvious targets, the repulsive thing gave one attack to each, favoring with its bite, the dwarf and his big axe. With a roar of outrage, Karak vanished into the monster's belly. Ixin's armor turned aside the tendril that strove for her and Grisham dodged away from the limb that lashed his way, following it up with two vicious blows from his weapons of choice - longsword and handaxe. Both blades slashed deeply, sending a tremor of pain through the monster's heaving bulk. It swayed for a moment before toppling into a pile of maggoty flesh.

There was a heartbeat of relieved silence as Ixin and Grisham stared at one another across the lumpy mass of the thing and then the drakeling's eyes widened and they both dashed forward toward the creature's asymmetrical maw. While Vade poured his healing draught down Morier's mouth, Grisham and Ixin heaved together to open the monster's.

Morier sputtered and opened his eyes in time to see the creature's body convulse with renewed life. Both Grisham and Ixin jerked away from the reanimate thing and then its jaws clamped down on the mage and swallowed her whole.

---------

*Ixin took another Racial Level, putting her one step away from half-dragon.


----------



## old school 1E

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> I'm afraid that you're going to have to wait a little while longer.




And I'll enjoy every word as I wait.


----------



## Funeris

Ditto here.  Keep it up Jon.  That was a great update.


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## Jon Potter

old school 1E said:
			
		

> I'll enjoy every word as I wait.




and



			
				Funeris said:
			
		

> Ditto here.  Keep it up Jon.




Thanks for the kind words, both of you. It really is very nice to hear encouragement from readers.



> That was a great update.




My players weren't quite so enthusiastic. The feared term, TPK, was raised by one of them relatively early on. Long before it was a foregone conclusion... one way or the other.


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## Mahtave

"My players weren't quite so enthusiastic. The feared term, TPK, was raised by one of them relatively early on. Long before it was a *foregone conclusion*... one way or the other. "


Um...  That doesn't bode well now does it???


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## Jon Potter

Mahtave said:
			
		

> Um...  That doesn't bode well now does it???




Now, now. Don't discount the importance of my well-placed ::WINK::

There was death. But not everybody.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> Now, now. Don't discount the importance of my well-placed ::WINK::
> 
> There was death. But not everybody.




Oh, one of those "face your mortality" encounters.


----------



## Jon Potter

Vade let out a frightened squeal and fumbled a vial of alchemist's fire free of his belt pouch. He'd drawn back to throw when the thing flowed at right angles to the halfling and still managed to bite at him from behind. Vade's nerves were operating on the raw edge, however, and he dodged the attack uncannily. The toothy maw snapped shut beside him and he tossed the flask at the writhing mass of chaos that he assumed was the rest of its body. To his horror, the creature flickered and the flask sailed completely through its body and exploded against the blue green tile on the far edge of the pool.

Grisham roared in pain as liquid fire splashed across his back.

Morier seized the opportunity to get to his feet. There was little strength left in him, but he intended to spend what there was chopping this horror into tiny pieces. His hands clasped down on the grip of his silver greatsword and with a roar borne of equal parts rage and frustration, he unleashed the power of the storm that lurked within him, bringing the electrified weapon up in a glittering arc that split the lumpy mass before him. Lightning arced between the thing and Morier and then the creature's body collapsed back into the pool. The smell of ozone filled the room and acrid smoke rose from the sizzling corpse, competing with the unwholesome stench that already pervaded the chamber.

Grisham shrugged free of his smoldering cloak and drove his longsword into what he thought was the creature's head. "Come! Gut the thing! " he urged. "Quickly! They may yet live within!"

As if to lend credence to his statement, a concussive roar issued from within the thing and a gout of flame licked from between the creature's closed jaws. A swollen lump appeared amidst the lunatic coils, and stretched as if something within desired freedom.

"There!" Grisham bellowed, gesturing with his handaxe at the lump. Vade jumped on it at once.

"Out of my way, you biggins!" he cried, brandishing his shortsword. "I need to save Feln and the rest of the party!" He stabbed his shortsword home, tearing away a chunk of indescribably flesh and revealing Ixin's acid-ravaged arm. Morier grabbed her hand and pulled her free with a wet slucking sound. She landed in the pool with a groan and a splash.

There was a supernatural light burning in her eyes. Smoke still rose from her open mouth.

"None of you are any fun to get into trouble with... what would I do without my good buddy Feln?" Vade was saying as he continued to work on the corpse with his sword. Grisham joined him, widening the rent with double-handed blows from his handaxe. Karak's foot appeared and Morier grabbed it and pulled, yanking the dwarf free after a bit of tugging. His body was limp from paralysis, but his eyes were still alive and blazing with divine fervor. His craggy features had suffered greatly from acid burns, but he was incredibly hardy and in no great danger from his injuries. Morier propped him up against the side of the pool.

Ixin sucked down a healing potion and got to her feet, feeling the ice water rush of healing suffuse her.

"Well, I do like the rest of you... well... most of you," the halfling was saying as he worked feverishly to split the beast open further. "But no one deserves to be eaten whole by a creature like this!"

Without a word, Ixin moved up to lend her sickle to the process begun by Grisham and Vade and between the three of them, they soon had Ledare's armored feet exposed. Morier grabbed hold of her ankles and dragged her free of the beast's foul innards. She horribly disfigured by the creature's caustic secretions; whole patches of skin and the flesh beneath were burned away, leaving red and dripping wounds everywhere on her body. There was very little life left in her and Morier poured two potions of _Cure Light Wounds_ down her throat before he felt that she was stable enough for him to turn his attention back to the work of the others.

They were making good progress. Vade in particular seemed possessed as he worked, and he ranted as he sliced... and sliced... and sliced. "No one deserves to have their finger chopped off for looking at a pretty necklace or put in a yucky jail for almost three years!" he screamed as his blade hacked away chunks of foul-smelling meat. Tears began to squirt from his eyes. "What a horrible world this is... I want my mama!"

"There!" Grisham gasped, pointing further into the thing's ruptured belly. There was Feln's foot, the heel of his elven boot eaten clear through. Morier moved in, grabbed it with both hands and heaved.

The foot came free, trailing a length of liquifying bone and dissolved flesh. Morier landed in the water, holding his grisly prize in horror.

Vade began to wail and for a moment that was the only sound audible in the chamber. Then Grisham grunted and looked unbelievingly at the brutalized corpse of the impossible creature. He stepped quickly forward and jerked his longsword free of the body.

"By the Wolf Spirit! What manner of hellspawn is this?!" he said, his face gone nearly as pale as Morier's. "I think it's still regenerating!"


----------



## Jon Potter

Vade let out a high-pitched battlecry that sounded at least partly a shriek of despair and drove his shortsword into the thing's filigreed flesh. "Die!" he cried. "Why! Won't! You! Die!" Eacxh word was punctuated by another thrust of his little sword. Tears were streaming down his round cheeks and his eyes blazed with a rage inspired by loss. Morier and Grisham - who both understood the meaning of loss and the need of powerful emotion to be free - did nothing to intervene. The eldritch warrior drank a potion and Grisham grimly joined the halfling in hacking the unwholesome mess into smaller and ever smaller chunks.

Ixin, however, had spent most of her life amongst beings whom she detested and had learned to bottle her own emotions deep within her scaled breast. She knew nothing of rage apart from an abstract idea and so she reached out and grabbed Vade's sword arm. Or tried to. The magic of the halfling's ring made him impossible to grab and his arm slipped free of her grasp as if it were greased.

"Vade," she said and got no sign that he'd heard her. She yelled louder, "Vade!" and he turned to look up at her, his face twisted with heartbreak. "Feln's gone, Vade," she told him and the halfling seemed to wilt at the realization. "We need to check out the rest of this room so that his sacrifice was not in vain."

"But the monster..." he started to counter and Morier lifted his greatsword in both hands.

"Don't worry," the albino told him. "Grisham and I will make sure it doesn't go anywhere." And so saying, he brought the silver blade down in a massive overhead chop that sent gobbets of jellified flesh flying in all directions.

Ixin lay her hand on Vade's shoulder and stepped in front of him. "Let me go first," she said. "I've a spell I wish to cast."



Unsurprisingly, the results of Ixin's _Recent Occupant_ divination were the same as in the shack above: Tarawyn Alusiil, Archdruid overlaid with Melengar the Black, First Bishop of Aphyx. The target of their search had indeed come this far which was encouraging. What they found at the raised area was not.

The rocky outcropping at the rear of the chamber was covered in slime and filth presumably left by the mucky creature that both Grisham and Morier were laying into with powerful double-handed swings of their swords. The footing around the raised area was slightly unsteady for Ixin, but posed no difficulty at all for the nimble halfling. The shattered remains of a small stone cairn which had sat near the wall in the center of the platform lay scattered about. From the remaining portion of the stone box Vade speculated that it originally measured about three feet long by one foot wide and was formed from a single block of granite that was been melded into rock of the platform itself.

"It'd take some kind of magic to do this," he told Ixin as he checked for some kind of seam between the box and the rest of the cairn. There was none. It was as if the box and the cairn were carved from a single piece of stone although neither showed signs of sculptor's tools.

"Look here," Ixin urged, pointing toward the wall behind the cairn. "Is that writing?"

"Could be," Vade replied, holding his little glowing dagger higher to shed more light on the wall. There was definitely something carved there, but it was covered in filth, as if someone had recently made a point of obscuring the lettering. Together he and Ixin scraped aside the muck revealing a lengthy message carved in strange runes.

"Hey!" Vade exclaimed. "I've seen that writing before. It's druidic!"

"I thought that the druids kept knowledge of their language strictly secret," Ixin said. "Unless druids on this world are very different from druids on Mid'Gaard."

"No. It's a secret all right," Vade said without further explanation. "Let's see if I can't figure out what it says."



Karak came out of his paralysis with an oath on his lips: "Let me take the fight to them, my Queen, and I will show you the strength of a dwarven Battleguard of Shaharizod!" Hearing his own voice, he shook himself with a start and got arduously to his feet. Morier and Grisham both stopped what they were doing and looked over at the dwarf.

"You're up?!" Morier said with a sardonic smile. He and Karak clasped forearms and the dwarf harrumphed.

"Aye," he said as he looked critically at the scraggly ends of his once luxurious beard. "But my beard'll nae be the same ag'in. What of Feln an' Ledare?"

"The greenskin's gone," Grisham said bluntly as he wiped sweat off his brow. "The half-elf's-"

"I'll live," Ledare said gruffly as she too began to get to her feet. Both Morier and Karak offered their hands to aid her in rising and she roughly brushed them both aside. "I said I'm alright!" she growled and pointed at the prurient mass behind the albino. "You should burn that. I can see it even now trying to grow back where you stopped hacking at it."



An unwholesome stench like burning feces filled the chamber as Morier's _Wand of Burning Hands_ did its work. It took several applications of cleansing fire, but eventually the thing stopped regenerating and the group was confident that it was well and truly dead. They breathed a collective sigh of relief until Vade and Ixin rejoined them. Neither of them looked very pleased.

"Uh, guys," Vade said. "I don't think you're gonna like this."

Ixin held up the message she had transcribed while Vade translated off the wall. With a gulp, she read it aloud. _"Be it known that herein lies the power of corruption incarnate sent to Erlacor by the queen of decay and thus by its entombment shall it remain evermore unfelt in the world. Once more does the cycle run through life and death and life and so it shall continue in its symmetry from this day until the end of all days, unbiased by the Tainted One's influence "_

"The ancient evil that the treant was talking about," Morier guessed and Ixin nodded her agreement.

"Except the box's been broken open and whatever was inside is gone," Vade announced. "We're too late."


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #295] Up From the Depths*

"So this... thing... What was it here for?" Morier asked, nudging with his boot the charred remains of the anarchic monstrosity floating in the pool beside him. "I mean if the Bishop took the evil artifact, why summon this thing?"

"Mayhap to kill us?" Ixin suggested but Grisham shook his head savagely and stalked to the edge of the pool.

"It was here to cover his back," the barbarian growled. "To guard his retreat!" He dropped into a crouch and began searching the sludge-caked tiles for Tarawyn's tracks. Karak grunted in such a way that acknowledged the possibility that Grisham might be right.

"Well, whate'er the case, no jelly belly can hold a dwarf, that be for certain!" Karak stated proudly, thumping his axe against his breastplate. The hollow clang sounded overloud in the foul-smelling chamber. "But, that being said, I do appreciate all yer efforts to get us out."

"We couldn't very well leave you in there," Morier replied. "You might have died." The last word hung in the air like the tolling ring of a bell. Vade started crying again.

"Roofdrak take you!" Grisham roared and hurled a bit of broken rock at the far wall.

"What is it?" Ixin asked and the barbarian threw another hunk of stone before replying.

"The trail just stops here at this cairn!" he growled, his lip curled into a bestial snarl.

"Let me see this cairn, 'ere," Karak suggested as he waded over to the edge of the pool and clambered out. He eyed it for but a moment before giving his assessment. "It be like no cairn I seen before. The rock 'ere seems to be melded together - unnaturally, I might add."

"So you can tell nothing?" Grisham grumbled. "I thought that dwarves were more cunning than any race when it came to stone."

"Aye. We are that!" Karak agreed. "An' I did nae say I could tell nothing. 'Tis the work of a _Stone Shape_ spell such as the druids back in the delve'd use from time to time."

"Druids?" Grisham asked. "What would a druid be doing in a dwarven citadel? They're all about trees and nature."

"An' what could be more natural'n the very stone beneath yer feet, tracker?" Karak countered. "My people've a druidic tradition what stretches back to before yers knew how to start a fire! Why the Rock Wardens and Stonelords of Dwurheim'd put to shame any one of the tree-hugging druids ye beardless goblin spawn'd care to point out!" The dwarf was mere feet from Grisham, yelling up into the man's chest. Grisham just nodded in response to Karak's diatribe and gestured toward the shattered cairn.

"Is that all you can tell?" the barbarian asked with a scowl. "Or would you like to stand here and argue about druids all day?"

"Hmpf!" Karak grunted and turned back toward the broken stone box. "This cairn once be for good, I sense; now it be desecrated. Lemme see, what did Malak used to do when he came upon a desecrated place?" Karak rummaged under his gorget for his brother's holy symbol, and raised it up, dramatically. The tiny silver object seemed to catch what little light there was in the chamber and reflect it back like a twinkling star Karak had somehow plucked from the night sky.

"At one time this was once blessed; let it be blessed once more," the dwarf said, brandishing the holy symbol at the cairn. "I am a Battleguard of Shaharizod. Let it be as I say." There was no clear sign that anything had been accomplished, but Karak felt better, anyway. He quickly tucked away the holy symbol, rubbed his singed beard and grew red in the cheek, feeling suddenly as if all eyes were upon him.

"Yeah... well, I know what ye all be thinkin'. And... Malak would have said it better for sur'ya. Now, anyone find a secret way outta here? A bolt hole as Windstryder would 'ave said?" The dwarf smirked and Vade forced a smile onto his lips, rubbing a tear off his cheek.

"Or a butt hole as Feln would have said," he squeaked and began crying anew.

"I'll look," Grisham groaned, rolling his eyes.

"As will I," Morier agreed, shooting Grisham a disapproving look.

"Me too, Ixin said and she urged Vade to accompany her.

They spread out and began checking the floors and walls carefully for any hidden panels, leaving Karak and Ledare alone in the center of the room. The Janissary was sitting, slumped on the edge of the pool with her feet still in the fetid water. Her helmet, shield and sword lay beside her on the tiles. Despite the multiple healing potions she'd drunk, she looked a fright, but her face betrayed no pain. In fact it seemed largely bereft of any emotion at all.

"Ledare, lemme see how your plate armor withstood the acid wash of the beast," Karak called as he trundled around the pool toward her. She didn't move. Didn't even acknowledge his suggestion. As he tugged at edge of her breastplate, she jerked bonelessly, but made not a sound. Karak didn't seem to notice. "Hmmm... the straps seem sound, but a little worn. Next respite we have, lemme tend to yer armor, Lassie. Now that you be swinging that nasty sword in the fore, yer armor needs to be in shape, eh?"

Ledare said nothing in reply. She just stared ahead at the black and smoking remains of the impossible thing. Karak harrumphed and turned his back to her.

"Can ye inspect my back plates?" he asked over his shoulder and received no response. So he raised his voice and barked, "Ledare!"

She looked up at him and blinked. For a moment she didn't seem to recognize him and then she stood and began checking over his culet, tugging on his pauldron. "How do they look?," he asked after she'd finished.

"You'll live," she replied, sullenly and bent to collect her gear. 

"I will do the same to my own armour as I offered to do to yours when it time to do so," the dwarf said although it didn't really look like the Janissary was listening. "I do nae wish to be a'doin' it now when the Black Bishop may still be about, eh?"

Ledare said nothing so Karak harrumphed angrily and turned away. "Vade! Any luck on items of value or secret passages?" the dwarf bellowed and the others all indicated that they'd found nothing. So Karak shook his head in mock disgust and stamped over to them. "Lemme lend my dwarven eyes to the task. You lot may have the skills topside, but it takes a dwarf to really know underground."



They found nothing, even with Karak's dwarven eyes. Ultimately, Ixin suggested that maybe Tarawyn had used magic to escape from the chamber and that there was nothing they could do to follow him if that was the case. Teleportation got added to the growing list of the Black Bishop's abilities and they were forced to exit the vault of evil by more mundane means. They backtracked.



Later, as they sat in the dim light of afternoon below the forest's canopy, talk turned to the inevitable.

"What should we do now?" Ixin asked as she released Martivir into the artificial twilight. The owl flapped once, twice and then it disappeared into the shadows above.

"My suggestion will be for the group to forge ahead to Myth Drannor," Morier said. "We need to restock supplies once we reach a good-sized city."

"Nearest human city's Redwood," Grisham told them. "A ten day march northeast of here. Maybe more."

"Myth Drannor's to the south, though," Ixin reminded. "Isn't that right?"

"That's what I hear," Grisham told her. "No human cities in that direction until you cross over the Altan Tepes and you'll have to go through Olven Vale to get there. Of course, you could cut west, through the Caspen Mountains and take Bandit Pass straight to the Gates of Pellham at Krell's Manor." He smirked. "Watch out for gnolls if you do, though."

"I want to go home," Vade whimpered and blew his nose wetly into a handkerchief. Karak spat on the ground.

"Why do we want to go to Myth Drannor?" the dwarf asked. "Did not the big tree we talked to say, 'Go find the followers of Flor'?"

"That'd be Redwood, then," Grisham told them, pointing off into the trees. "Big temple to Flor. Ten days north." Judging by the mischievous smile on the barbarian's lips he was enjoying their lack of direction.

Karak harrumphed, scowling ferociously at Grisham. "What de ye think, Ledare?" the dwarf asked, turning to look over at the Janissary.

She looked up at him after a pause and blinked. "I'm done with leading," she said. "I will assume no more responsibility for this group. Do what you will." And then she walked off into the gathering gloom.

Karak, Morier and Ixin looked at one another, bewildered.

"Well, what do you know?" Grisham chuckled. "The wood baby's not cut out to lead. Who would have thunk it?"

Vade started crying again.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

hmm.... decisions, decisions. Were the players this divided?


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> hmm.... decisions, decisions. Were the players this divided?




Yep. And the one person who usually makes the final decision (or at least works the group toward a compromise position) wasn't contributing. Ledare has had a change of heart about her position in the group and wants to have nothing watsoever to do with decision making. Her player is looking to take her in a different direction.

What direction?

Let's just say that Ledare's time in the belly of the beast has changed her outlook. I'll be interested to see how quickly readers figure out where she's taking the character.


----------



## Funeris

Nice update, Jon.  Just wanted to let you know, I'm still around and reading 
I'm waiting (& praying maybe) for Karak to smash Grisham's face.  But with Ledare denying leadership...eh...guess I just have to wait to see....


----------



## Jon Potter

Funeris said:
			
		

> I'm waiting (& praying maybe) for Karak to smash Grisham's face.




Yeah, Grisham's not getting much love from anyone, it seems. I don't know why. He's been a very fun and memorable NPC, IMO. But, as we'll see in the next update, that's an opinion that is not widely shared amongst the PCs.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #295a] A House Divided*

"You are mean, Grisham," Vade said, wiping his dripping nose on the sleeve of his new leather armor. He looked up fiercely at the barbarian, his mouth gaping in a savage rictus. "Why don't you just take your smelly ranger ass back down that hole!"

"Ouch!" the barbarian laughed, clutching his chest in mock pain. "You cut me, pee wee. Really."

Vade's face turned nearly purple as he stared bug-eyed at the grinning man. For a moment his mouth worked but no words came; when they finally did, they were strangely calm and measured. "I wish that creature ate you instead of Feln. No one would miss you," he said, then turned and hustled off into the trees.

"And here I thought you and me were gonna be best friends!" Grisham called after him, laughing. Ixin shook her head of crimson curls in disgust.

"I'm going to go talk to Ledare," she said, turning to follow the Janissary's path.

"Seems to me she already said all there was to say," the barbarian muttered conspiratorially to Morier and Karak. The dwarf harrumphed and spat near Grisham. Morier's scowl deepened.

"I find it impossible to believe anyone here who says they didn't see this coming," the albino hissed. "We've continually asked Ledare to lead a group which she did not form, into battles she has not chosen, toward a goal that very few of us even understand."

"You're the ones who thought she was up to it," Grisham said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "If you recall, I warned both of you. The tusker too. But he's the only one who took my words to heart."

"Right, Grisham," the eldritch warrior frowned. "And what have you done aside from attempt to undermine and create division at every turn? What have you done to aid Ledare's leadership under these ridiculous conditions?"

"It's not my job to make sure she can do hers," the barbarian bristled. "I was doing you all favor, trying to warn you before it was too late."

"A favor?" Morier snapped back. "You have held a prejudice against Ledare from the moment we encountered you, and there is no reason for it."

"I think you've got me confused with someone else, points," Grisham countered. "I'd like her well enough if she were up to the task she's taken for herself. Her reluctance to draw steel puts the rest of us in danger at every turn!"

"Her skill in battle nae be in question, tracker!" Karak growled. "Her steel's been tested in the forge o' battle time enough for me!" Morier sighed.

"I have said time and time again that our group, when acting as a collective, possesses tremendous strength," the albino explained. "When we put too much burden on one link in that chain, it breaks, and the rest are left to strive as individuals against tremendous odds."

"I'm glad we agree!" Grisham nodded. "That's my point, exactly. Wolves may bring down a bear if they act together. We've all got to do our part or the pack will suffer."

Morier's teeth ground audibly against one another as his own argument was turned against him. Perhaps this barbarian wasn't as ignorant as he pretended to be.

"I know why I battle - I know why I have followed this group and this cause - but do each of you?" Morier asked after a pause. "Perhaps the burden of leadership might not fall so heavily on one person's shoulders if we each understand the other's motive." Grisham settled back against the side of Tarawyn's shack, lacing his fingers behind his head.

"Okay, points, I like a good story," the man said, his mouth set in a resolute line. "Let's hear why you and the dwarf, here, are out risking your skins. I know its not for Plonius; you've made that plain enough since we left Flavonshire. So why in the Abyss are you out here?"


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #295b] Stepping Down*

Ixin followed Ledare's path and after a short walk found her leaning against a tree and staring intently at something in her hand. The mage approached and called out to her as she came.

"Ledare?" she called and the woman half-turned her head to regard Ixin with dark, slitted eyes.

"Leave me, Ixin," she said, wearily. "I'm not good company just now." Ixin stopped where she was and said nothing for a moment until Ledare sighed and turned away.

"What ails you, my friend?" the drakeling asked sweetly. The question brought a cold, hollow chuckle from Ledare.

"An ailment of the mind... and of the flesh," she answered sardonically. "A diseased soul, made weaker and more hollow with each test."

"If you would like to talk about it, I am here to listen. But I will respect your privacy if you do not," Ixin told her, her draconic features softening with compassion for her friend's suffering. "Clearly your recent experiences have left a mark on you."

"A mark?" the woman laughed mirthlessly. "I feel a wasted, graceless presence within by heart that grows only more hollow and more bitter from chasing these..." She hunted for the right words for a heartbeat and when she found them she punctuated her response by crushing the papers in her fist. "...ridiculous riddles!"

"Ledare..." Ixin began, but her own words failed her and she stared sadly at the half-elf's back for an agonizingly long stretch of silence. At last, Ladare spoke again.

"I knew something of the hearts of my first companions," she ruminated, running a gauntleted hand across her face and up through her tousled auburn hair. "I knew what compelled them to venture into depths such as these, to combat unspeakable horrors. I knew them, Ixin, and they are _nothing _now. But you... and the others... whom I don't even know...and Feln..."

"You are not responsible for our experiences. We chose to accompany you," Ixin began, her voice small and soft in the twilight of the forest floor. She reached out a hand to lay it on Ledare's shoulder, but something in the other woman's demeanor made her stop. Her hand hung suspended a few feet short of Ledare's back and after a heartbeat, Ixin let it fall to her side before she continued. "That said, it is surely your choice as to whether or not to lead us. We can certainly choose another leader."

"Do what you want," the half-elf replied. "I've had my fill of making decisions." Ledare looked once more at the crushed knot of parchment in her fist and then she threw it off into the trees. It landed against the roots of a tree some distance away, a bit of litter that looked alien and utterly out of place in such natural surroundings.

"Will you continue on this quest with us?" Ixin asked, suddenly certain that Ledare was going to walk off into the trees and never come back. The idea shook her more than she'd thought it would. "Will you continue to be a member of our team if not its leader?"

The half-elf sighed and her shoulders slumped. "I'll stay as long as I can, and I will fight until whatever life left inside me has died," she said and turned to face Ixin. Her eyes had a dark, sunken look as if someone had sunk two polished copper coins into the shadowed pits of her eye sockets. They flickered hotly amidst the darkness there. "But I will carry this banner no longer," she said and walked off again into the solitude of the spider-haunted woods.

Ixin stood there in the gloom, uncertain of what she should do. She'd never experienced such a power vacuum before. Questions of succession in the Dragon's Claw were always handled through spell duel, sword fight, or the more common poisoned dagger. She was always appalled by the savagery, but she could at least understand it. This, however... This was totally new to her and she suddenly felt very far from home. Very far indeed.

As she turned to walk back to their camp beside the druid's shack, she spied Ledare's crumpled papers lying in the dirt a few paces away. She looked around to make sure that Ledare was nowhere in sight before she walked over and retrieved the crumpled papers - a series of sealed letters addressed in Ledare's own hand. Ixin, of course, couldn't read anything of what they said; her enchanted cutlass' _Peristant Tongues _spell allowed her to speak and understand this world's languages, but not read them. Even if she'd been able, she wouldn't have recognized the name Delaroux at any rate.

Thinking them likely important clues that they might need later, Ixin smoothed them out and slipped them into one of her cloaks extra-dimensional pockets before heading back to rejoin the others.


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## Hairy Minotaur

Excellent update! Very ominous.


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## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Excellent update! Very ominous.




Glad you like it, HM. I'm always nervous about alienating readers when it's strictly talking heads for several posts in a row.

And any "ominous" vibes that you're picking up can be directly attributed to the players. I sometimes take liberties with dialog, to make the story flow a little better, but I presented Ledare and Ixin's dialog 99% verbatim to the way they presented it, themselves.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #296] Clearing the Air*

"The business I keep be my own, tracker!" Karak snorted and stomped close to Grisham - well within arm's reach - before planting his feet. The barbarian looked up at the dwarf and grinned.

"Woah, there, hairface," Grisham chuckled. "You're getting a little up-close-and-personal, aren't you? Like I told you on watch: I'm not really into-"

"And like I told you before, wild one: do nae be calling any of this group names!" Karak interrupted, leaning in toward the human closer still. "If I be hearin' you call Ledare 'Wood Baby' one more time, you and me are gonna have a tussle, barbarian-style."

"Ooh, a tussle!" Grisham gave a mock shiver. "Sure you can manage that in those tin-plated pants of yours?" Karak sneered and thrust his squat and powerful finger into Grisham's chest.

"Nae armour. Nae weapons. Just you and me and my dwarven fists a'hammerin' your body like a score of dwarven blacksmiths before a battle." Karak poked the man again and then curled his fingers into a fist that itself bore a strong resemblance to a hammer. He glowered down at Grisham, the light of rage burning behind his stone-gray eyes. "You get me?"

"Oh, I think I get you clear enough," Grisham said with a curt nod.

"An' yer backin' down from my challenge?" the dwarf asked, somewhat surprised by the man's self-possessed nature.

"No, I'm not backin' down. I'm just not gettin' up," Grisham said and laced his hands behind his head once more as he relaxed against the side of Tarrawyn's hut. "I've got nothing to prove to you, Karak. If you've got something to prove to me... well, I guess you'll just have to kick me while I'm lying here."

Karak's face seethed and for a moment it looked like he might well do just that.



Elsewhere, Ledare walked a bit further into the woods away from Ixin and her questions - questions for which the half-elf felt she had only inadequate answers. Certainly not enough of a response to stop the questions that the others would surely heap upon her again and again. She sank limply to her knees on the soft loam, the weight of her own thoughts bowing her down amidst a tangle of roots. She sat that way for a time, trapped within the narrow confines of her guilt and staring at the forest floor until the perpetual twilight had deepened to full night. Then in the dimness she noted a tiny flicker of movement and an ice water rush of fear washed through her body: spider! She started to recoil before her brain even registered what she had seen, but when she did apprehend fully, she welcomed the raw edge of her fear. She invited it into her heart, but grimly refused to give in and flee. Instead she stared intently at the tiny arachnid - no bigger than her thumbnail, really. No threat at all, despite what her nerves were telling her.

But there were others here, she knew - spiders that made Ledare look insignificant by comparison.

She clenched her teeth and forced herself to look up at the web-shrouded canopy far overhead. "If there are spiders here, let them come," she called to the night, her voice sounding small and raw with emotion. "I wouldn't resist this time."



"You got anything to add, points," Grisham asked Morier. "Or have you decided that now that you brought it up, you might just have to let me in on the little secret you all've been keepin' since the day we met?" The eldritch warrior was strangely silent, but Karak spoke up at once.

"I'm nae done speakin' my mind. The white elf'll get his chance to speak up soon enough," the dwarf said to Morierier before turning on Grisham once more. "I've said before your sword arm and your ability to track have been helpful up to now. But now that I put my mind to it, we 'ave found Polonius or what remains of him. Why you still be here? Hmm? We found the Hound, and yet you still stalk with us?"

"His killer's still walkin' around! Or did that little fact escape your keen powers of observation?" Grisham snarled, the thin patina of humor that masked his rage beginning to show more than a few cracks under Karak's persistent verbal battering. "I was in this to find the man who dishonored Plonius' name, and that man is still out there. I had hoped that you all might have been some help in finding him. Only now it doesn't look like can you can help me after all." The barbarian spat onto the druid's doorstep. "You can't even help yourselves!"

"I'm sick of your pompous attitude," Ledare's voice cut unexpectedly through the air like a sword as she advanced out of the trees. "You're so quick to criticize everyone around you."

"Well look who's back," Grisham grinned. "All finished moping, are we?"

"The fact is, you're still with us because we allow you to be," Ledare said, ignoring the barbarian's obvious attempt to bait her.

"The fact is, _kitten,_ without me you wouldn't've ever have made it this far," Grisham countered, finally deigning to get to his feet. "It was following me that got everybody here. Not you. Me."

"You're the last person we should be following; you know nothing about our mission!" the half-elf argued, turning away with a disgusted curl of her lip.

"Oh, I know enough to know that Feln isn't the first person you've lead to their death," Grisham spat. "I've heard the way you all talk about Ruze and Draelond and Fin-"

"You arrogant bastard!" Ledare roared as she spun back to stare up at the barbarian who stood a good half-a-foot taller than her. "You have no right to weigh in on my past!"

"I have every right!" Grisham bellowed back. "I don't want to be the next name added to your body count."

It was at that point that Ledare punched him. Or tried to at least. Ledare was an accomplished warrior, but Grisham had spent a good number of years in the alleys and taverns of Battle City and he knew a thing or two about brawling. The favorite lesson he'd learned was that nobody's very tough lying flat on their back. So, as soon as Ledare's fist came up, he stepped in and knocked her feet out from under her. She went down on her back with a clank and a loud cough as the air violently exited her lungs.

Karak moved in at once, and Morier's greatsword hissed menacingly from its scabbard. Grisham stepped back, his hands hovering near his weapons as his eyes flicked back and forth between the dwarf and the elf. "This isn't what I wanted," he said as he backed away.

"If Ledare's leadership be of such concern for ye, than here be your chance to leave," Karak snarled, his voice low. "You may even keep the magic armour and sword of Polonius that you took off his body. Go now."

Grisham eyed them up and down and then turned, pausing to add, "Follow the path out that we took in. It should leave you near Flavonshire." He gathered his meager gear and said again, "This isn't what I wanted." Then he was gone. And Ledare couldn't help but think of Plonius' abrupt departure from her company all those moonsdances ago.



"Ixin, what did she say when you found her?" Karak asked later as he conferred out of Ledare's earshot. "Has she decided to take a back chair?"

"I don't think that Ledare's in any condition to lead herself in the right direction, let alone us," the drakeling answered with a sigh. "She said she was finished with decision-making."

"She might have kept that in mind before deciding to attack Grisham," Morier said archly and Karak harrumphed.

"Bah! I had half-a-mind to do the same thing, meself," he admitted and looked over at Ledare who was sitting against a tree and staring off into the darkness. "Well that lass, she been through it that be for sure. She can take a rest. I do nae see the problem in that. But I see no reason to lose a sword. Is she able to travel?"

"As far as I know," the mage shrugged. "She said she would fight as long as she could."

"Well, this is how I see it, then. I agree with the white elf: when we fight together we are stronger," Karak told Ixin. "I do nae think I have all the answers, but I do say this: evil is about this land. My chalak spoke of it, and he sought to stop it. He be taken to Shaharizod by that evil and the puss that follows it. If I can stand in Chaos' way, then I shall do so with my axe and shield."

"Standing in its way might be a bit of a challenge. This Chaos seems to come at us from every side," Ixin confessed. "And yet it slips away each time we try to grasp it. What do we even do next?"

"I say it is off to Redwood next," the dwarf told her. "That be the charge of the Great Oak: to find the followers of Flor. I say we find them. Maybe by then Ledare will have gathered her wits enough to decide the next step. What say you both? Is it off to Redwood?"

"That sounds like a good plan," Ixin nodded, adding, "Let us send word to the Great Oak through Great Root that we are on our way to carry out his instructions. I do not believe we should say more in case our message is intercepted."

Morier nodded once in agreement and Vade called out from the trees overhead, "I want to go to Thumble." Everyone else rolled their eyes and Karak pressed on without comment.

"An' lastly, I be thinkin'. We do not know how Tarrawyn escaped," Karak said, casting his gaze once more at Ledare. "Could Ledare be possessed by the Black Bishop now? Maybe we should have Ixin, 'ere, cast her spell that detects where one has been on us all?" The dwarf looked hopefully at Ixin, but the mage scowled doubtfully.

"I will not cast anything on any of you without your express permission. But I am happy to cast _Recent Occupant_ on Ledare, if she agrees," Ixin said. "I do not think it will tell us anything, though. I do not believe Ledare is possessed by anything but her own troubled soul."

"Right then. Let's bed down and we'll head out in the morning," the dwarf said, clapping his gauntleted hands together once. Morier and Ixin headed back toward their camp and Karak looked up at the branches above. "Vade, if I may speak to you a moment?"

Sheepishly, the halfling tumbled out of the tree. It was clear that he had been crying and equally clear that he had been eavesdropping, but Karak faulted him for neither. "I know the loss of your friend be cuttin ye deep, lad," he said, clasping Vade's slim shoulders with his huge gauntlets. "You halflings seem to have your heart in your hands, you do. I know you feel the loss deep. It seems that Ledare be feeling it too. It may be all the death of her companions be draggin' her down. See what you can do to cheer her up. We will need her head back in this in a moment, I can feel it in my feet."

Vade gave Karak a big hug, burying his snot-soaked face in the dwarf's singed beard. "I will do it," the halfling said. "Fighting is so bad. First Ruze, now Feln... who is next? I want to go home."

Karak pried the rogue's arms off his waist and then waved toward camp. "For now, why don't ye go get some rest," he said. "I'll wake you later to take watch."



It was darker than it should have been. Ledare had to blink to determine that her eyes were indeed open. She struggled to sit up quickly, and as she moved she became conscious of the fact that she was bound. Or perhaps not so much bound as entangled in something. And immediately her mind relapsed to that fateful night. But, forcing herself to breathe, she realized that this was not Chagmat webbing. With a bit of a cry she fought her way out of her bedroll and reached for her sword. It was just another dream.

There was no sound and no light; so that even her half-elven vision could barely discern the others asleep on the forest floor nearby. She took a moment to register that the silent mounds could have been anyone from her past: Mynnah or Terrel - her first Janissary comrades, Finian, Soriah, Kirnoth, Del. Her mind strayed to this last and then, angrily, she forced that image back into the myriad of such thoughts she kept locked away inside her. Thoughts that served no purpose but to make mockery of choices and events which had led her to this place.

From not far to her left there came a subtle clearing of the throat and she knew it to be Vade keeping watch. At least she didn't have to contend with Grisham. Without explanation, she moved a small distance away from the group and slumped down, with her back against a tree. She eyed the darkness for a few more moments and welcomed the damp air as it crept up her backbone. Perched just this way she might be able to hold the nightmares at bay for a few more hours until dawn's welcomed light set forth.



Of course, by dawn, Vade had begun to feel the first symptoms of the vile disease with which the beast they had all fought below had infected them. His normally pale complexion had grown red and puffy throughout the evening and by morning had deepened to a swollen crimson. His fingers were like sausages and an aching weakness had settled into his body.

"I don't feel so good," he whined.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #297] Fever! In the Morning...*

*Sunday, the 9th of Reaping, 1269 AE​*​

Ledare looked down at Vade and her heart ached; he looked terrible. His face was a red that verged on purple and heat was coming off him so fiercely that she could feel it from several feet away. He trembled and started to cry as he looked up at her and saw the worry in her face.

"I feel sick," he said weakly and Ledare smiled, the first she had managed in quite some time.

"Rest now," she said and lightly swept her fingers across his forehead, as she remembered her own mother doing when she was child. And like her mother before her, as she did so, she made a silent appeal for her patient's survival. "I'll get Karak. He might be able to help," she told the halfling and got to her feet.

She crept over to the dwarf's sleeping form and jostled him awake. He sputtered and rolled onto his back, the waraxe he'd been using as a pillow coming up in his hand.

"Wha-?!" he sputtered before realizing that it was Ledare who had awakened him. He sat up, scowling. "What is it, lass?"

"It's Vade," she told him. "He's sick." The dwarf grunted and moved toward where the halfling was leaning against the side of a tree.

Once Karak had moved away, Ledare noticed a strange sensation making the hair on the nape of her neck stand on end. It was as if someone, or something, was just out of sight, watching her. She found herself looking over her shoulder in an effort to pinpoint the unseen presence. The sensation continued, but could not be placed; she felt something lingering by her side. It was not a hostile presence, that much was clear. She had felt that kind of warning go off before and this was quite new and unknown...



"Aye, Vade, let's have a look at ye," Karak growled as he crouched down at the halfling's side. "I must admit, I wish that me chalak were here now for I am afraid I do nae have the skills to cure disease. Shaharizod seems to grant me some o' her powers, but they are powers for the fight."
"I'm tired of fighting," Vade whined and the dwarf harrumphed. 

"Ye'll be needin' ta fight yet! This sickness'll nae go away with my help alone!" Kareak told him, probing Vade's neck and belly as he spoke. "So do nae stop yer fightin'! In the mean time, I can try to make you somewhat comfortable."

The dwarf gripped his holy symbol and began praying at Vade's side.



By the time Karak was finished with his ministrations, Morier and Ixin had awakened. Neither of them felt very good, although both were in better shape than Vade. While Ledare made no mention of it, she had begun to feel feverish as well. She kept her own counsel, however, and no one asked.

"The little one is in a bad way," the dwarf announced as he rejoined them, his tone low enough not to carry back to Vade. "It nae be poison, but something is amiss. I do nae know if we others be tainted from the chaos elemental as it did him. It may have affected all of us; I do nae know. Like I say before: I be nae Malak."

"I don't feel very well," Ixin admitted and the dwarf's expression darkened. He checked her followed by Morier and then Ledare.

"It's taken hold of ye all," he said and scowled more deeply, his stone-colored eyes disappearing beneath his shaggy blonde brows.

"Can you heal it?" Morier asked and the dwarf shook his head.

"I see no option but to head as fast as we can to Redwood," Karak said. "I know we leave behind the Black Bishop that once possessed Plonius' body but I say let us follow one trail to the followers of Flor and kill two hyraks with one stone." He mimed the action of hurling a rock at some imagined creature before continuing. "One: complete the mission that the Great Oak put upon us; and, two: cure any who need curing from this disease."

"Will we make it that long?" Ixin asked, her eyes fearful. "I'm getting weaker by the moment, it seems."

"Grisham may have been too gruff but, now that I think to it, he did tell us to follow the trail back to Flavonshire," Karak answered. "We should head there, pick up mounts and go to Redwood with all haste. I also do believe that Chaos now has a powerful tool in its armory with whatever has been stolen from the desecrated crypt. But that must be for a later time."

"Chaos..." Ledare muttered and the others turned to look at her.

"Eh?" Karak asked and Ledare's gaze came into focus as she raised her head to look at him.

"Ruze was always talking about Chaos," she said dreamily. "Soriah, too."

"Aye..," the dwarf added hesitantly. "From what ye've told me, ye've been standing it its way for a bit o' time now."

Ledare got to her feet. "You should cleanse yourselves. Wash off the taint. Perhaps we can seek the help of Great Root in locating a spring or clean water supply in which to bathe and wash your clothing."

"Ye want us to take a bath?" Karak grunted, one eyebrow arched skeptically. Ledare half turned and regarded the dwarf matter-of-factly.

"Ruze had some test he performed back in Barnacus," she said. "A Chaos check or something, but I don't know much about it. I know it involved getting naked and that Finian didn't care for it much."

"Chaos check?" the dwarf harrumphed. "I've nae heard o' such a thing. Perhaps yer friend was 'avin' a bit o' fun with ye."



The cleansing didn't help, and by midday it was painfully clear that everyone save Karak was suffering from Red Ache. The dwarf did what he could to aid the others, but even with Ledare's help (she had learned a bit of healing in the Janissary Academy) only Ixin seemed to benefit from his aid. Before long, Ledare was obliged to join the others resting on the ground, and Karak was left to his own devices.



The temple stood silent and serene in the distance. Ledare became suddenly aware of tall grass brushing her legs as she moved effortlessly at its invitation. She felt the draw, powerful and without room to question. And she answered with her soul. There was no door, but only an aura of smooth, cool serenity which washed over her as she moved forward. The pain in her heart was left at the threshold of this place.

She paused a moment to look around her. There were others inside - peaceful faces just out of focus, that she felt she should recognize but could not place. One thing she knew for certain - they exuded the same sense of presence that Ledare had felt in recent days. The blurred images seemed aware of her but did not speak. They moved slowly, attending to their own rituals. Even the rhythm of their movement was soothing.

From where she stood, Ledare could see an altar, clear and distinct in the front of the room. Its image was sharp and precise, glowing in a wash of pure white light. Ledare moved to it and, without thought or pretense, knelt down before it. 

In a flash, the weight of her past came coursing back through her. She struggled momentarily with the burden of it all, but then was instantly stilled by a presence much greater than her own. It was a sensation unlike anything she had ever experienced. And she dared not breathe, for fear that the feeling would leave her alone again, as she had been her whole life. 

She would have stayed that way, holding her breath, tipped on one knee forever if allowed. But there came a warm ripple - almost of laughter - and an urging that she heard not with her ears, but in her heart to breathe. Immediately she complied.

Ledare sensed she was not alone anymore. Her doubts... her fears were still there ever-present in her mind... but there was something... else... just out of reach - just out of earshot. Something... there. For a moment she thought she'd pinpointed it, but, no. It was gone, slipping between her grasping fingers like the wind. But it was there. She felt it. She knew it. There was a seeming stir among the leaves, a movement of the moss beneath her feet.

It was something she couldn't feel, taste, touch, or smell yet she knew it to be. At first it had frightened her, but upon continued reflection it did not. She has been through too much, seen too much, lost too much to be afraid of what was not there.

"Have I done mad? Am I tainted with Chaos. Am I communing with my God?" she wondered "Is this what Soriah and Ruze felt?"

She didn't know, of course. She couldn't know. Not yet. But that seemed right to her. Timing, she thought. It is everything.

"Who are you?" she asked and was surprised to receive a response.

"It's jus' me, lass," Karak answered, his gravely voice very close to her ear.


*Moonsday, the 10th of Reaping, 1269 AE​*​

She awoke to find the dwarf bent over her, examining the swollen lumps that lined her jaw as the Red Ache worked itself through her system. She felt worse than she had before unconsciousness had taken her; she barely had the strength to push herself to a sitting position. Nearby, she saw that both Morier and Ixin seemed to have recovered from their own bouts with illness. Vade wasn't moving at all, and only the rising and falling of his little chest indicated that the spark of life remained within him.

"Ye should jus' stay flat on yer back, lass," Karak urged, pressing her down to the ground with one hand. She was in no condition to resist. "Ye're feverish. Talkin' in yer sleep."

"Vade..." the half-elf sighed and Karak's face darkened.

"He's worse," the dwarf told her. "He's too weak to move, an' the fever's workin' on 'im same as you. I'm doin' for 'im what I can." Ledare started to force herself up, but Karak held her down easily.

"I should help you..." she managed but the dwarf shook his head.

"Ye should rest," he commanded. "Ye'll do the lad nae good if ye do nae get well yerself."

She couldn't argue. She didn't have the strength. So she lay back against the cool earth and let the darkness take her again.



So it was that she was asleep when Great Root's voice thundered through the forest later that day, shattering the quiet. His words were familiar and their implication seemed particularly dire given the VQS' present condition.

"Stopping you will now, unwanted visitor!" the treant bellowed. "None allowed be here! Return you will or made one with the earth you shall!"


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #298] Ixin, I Presume*

Ixin and Morier looked at one another and then at Karak. The dwarf snorted and turned back to Vade and Ledare. "Check it out," he grumbled and Morier reached instinctively for his greatsword.

"Might be a good idea for you and I to advance scout and see if we might be able to idnetify who - or what - is coming," the eldritch warrior suggested. "We might be able to maintain some minor level of stealth."

"I've a better idea," Ixin countered and whistled softly beneath the branches of a nearby tree. A flutter of movement above indicated Martivir's location and a moment later the bird dropped soundlessly out of the tree and alighted on Ixin's outstretched hand. She drew the owl in close and said, "Go see what all the fuss is about with Great Root." The owl hooted back at her and the drakeling shrugged her broad shoulders. "That's not my fault. You should have gone to bed when the rest of us did." And then she tossed the familiar into the air.

As she watched him soar off through the trees she shook her head and told Morier, "I think that bird would sleep all day if I let him."

As they waited for Martivir to return, they could hear Great Root's enormous voice arguing with someone or something, but they couldn't make out the words anymore - which probably spoke well for the intruder. Great Root was extremely single-minded when it came to protecting the valley. After a moment or two, the owl returned and landed on a low-hanging branch. He hooted at Ixin and she relayed the information to Morier.

"Marty says it's only one person," Ixin said and the relief was obvious in her voice. "A sidhe, like you."

"And elf?" Morier grimaced and a storm cloud seemed to move across his crimson eyes. "Well, I suppose it could be worse." he grabbed his greatsword and motioned for Ixin to follow him as he moved toward the sound of Great Root's voice.

Ixin paused long enough to make sure that her _Chainmail Bikini_ was properly arranged before she trotted after the albino.



"Wise treant, I approach with reverance to you and the great duty you have to protect this hallowed land," the elf was saying as they approached to within earshot. They could see him standing before Great Root, apparently unafraid or doing an exceptional job of keeping that fear hidden. No mean feat considering the fact that the treant towered over him, easily three times the elf's own height.

Like all elves, the newcomer was slender with upswept eyes and ears; his hair was blonde and long, kept off of his delicate features by a wooden circlet. His eyes flashed corn-flower blue in the perpetual twilight beneath the forest canopy. His clothes were fine quality - that was apparent even at a distance - and cut in that decidedly elven style that favored intricate tooling on every seam and elongated points on the hem of both cape and robe. They were ill-suited to traipsing through the wilderness, but judging from the trail grime that had accumulated on them, that was exactly what he'd been doing. A large satchel slung cross-wise over his torso and a belt that bulged with pouches completed his attire.

"Please, I mean you no ill," he told Great Root and the tree shook its leafy crown.

"Known to me your people are," the treant said. "Friends of the forest all, but none allowed be here. None!"

The elf looked unperturbed. "Then perhaps you cannot help me after all," he said with a gracious bow. "For I seek a party of warriors and that search has led me to you.  But you say that you have had no dealings with six warriors in the last few days. Perhaps my information was incorrect."

Great Root paused, his body creaking as he stood there contemplating the elf's comments. "Warriors? Like you?" the treant asked. "Rootless?"

"Yes, mighty one," the elf said. "Does this mean that you have seen them?"

"Yes," the treant sighed. "None allowed be here. But linger yet they do."

"Ancient Soul , may I have your permission to approach and speak my piece with them?" the elf said and despite his courtly demeanor, Ixin could sense an excited hope in his words.

"No! None allowed be here!" the treant said quickly and the elf started.

"But-!" he managed to utter before the Great Root gestured and the tree behind which Ixin and Morier were hiding twisted as if it were made of flesh and blood rather than solid wood. At once, the two eavesdropping companions stood revealed to the elf.

"Sh*t," Morier whispered out of the side of his mouth and Ixin nodded her agreement.

"Speak with them you may do," Great Root said. "But no more enter the forbidden place."

"Thank you sir," the elf said. bowing graciously once more. "May the druids of this land praise and protect your kind."

"It is you rootless wanderers who need protection," Great Root said with a bemused tone. He gestured with one of his limbs toward Morier and Ixin. The elf nodded and approached them with his hands spread and open. He looked at Morier and said nothing, but smiled as he laid eyes on Ixin.

"You must be Ixin," he smirked. "The humans I spoke with in Strenchburg Junction did not do justice to your majesty. You are truly magnificent, although I am intrigued to know how the blood of dragons runs so hotly through your veins when the last dragon was seen on Oerune during my grandfather's youth. If you discount the anachronism that is the red, Balderdash."

Ixin blinked at him and said smoothly, "You have me at a disadvantage, sir. You know my name and I don't know yours." The elf smiled apologetically.

"Forgive me. I am weary from my travels. I have been searching this land for your party for several weeks," he said with a slight bow. "I am Bisayo Xilosnient of the Ten'Venielle and I would speak with your leader, the Janissary, Ledare Eelsof'faw."


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> "Forgive me. I am weary from my travels. I have been searching this land for your party for several weeks," he said with a slight bow. "I am Bisayo Xilosnient of the Ten'Venielle and I would speak with your leader, the Janissary, Ledare Eelsof'faw."




Well, this ought to prove enlightening for the elf.


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Well, this ought to prove enlightening for the elf.





Actually, there'll be some revelations for everone in the next installment or two.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #299] The New Elf on the Block*

I almost titled this one "The longest update evah!"

--------------------------------------

"Ledare?" Ixin asked, clearly take aback by the comment.

"Indeed," the elf said with a polite nod. "Well, that's not my ultimate mission, but it is where I'd like to start. May I speak with her?" He took a step forward and Great Root whipped his limbs around in a threatening manner. Obisayo took a polite step backward.

"It seems Great Root is not willing to let me enter," the elf said with an indulgent sigh. "Perhaps the Janissary could come out to see me? It's really very important that I speak with her."

Morier and Ixin exchanged glances, neither one quite comfortable with revealing their companion's current state - either physically or mentally. Morier opened his mouth to say something and Ixin beat him to the punch.

"I'll send Marty back to camp," she said, clapping her hands to rouse the owl who was dozing on a nearby branch. He ruffled his feathers and fluttered down to land on her fist.

"Oh! Is that your familiar?" Obisayo asked with a grin. "He's magnificent. I've got my own familiar right..." He looked around for a moment and then shrugged. "Oh, well. He'll turn up sooner or later. I'm sure you'll like him."

"I'm sure," Ixin said, but her tone indicated she was anything but. She told Martivir, "Go fetch Karak," and then she tossed him into the air. He disappeared at once into the trees.

"Karak? That would be the dwarf, correct?" Obisayo asked her and Inin nodded. "I heard from some of the folk in Hillville Junction that you had picked up one of the stone folk while you were there. I've never had occasion to spend much time with a dwarf before."

"Well, here's your chance," Ixin said, cocking her head in the direction of Karak's clanging approach. It sounded a bit like a child banging on an overturned pot.

"Oi! By my beard!" Karak swore as he beheld the newcomer. His free hand crept up to tug habitually on his beard braids, but encountered instead the crisped remnants. The hand recoiled as if it had touched a hot forge. He continued grumbling as he approached the group and they could just make out his words over the clatter of his plate mail. "I be surrounded by olves. Everywhere I turn I see white ones, half ones, reds ones, little ones, and now fancy ones. Feln were my racial enemy, to be sure, but at least he broke up the group a bit. Where be all the dwarves, I say? Are there no more dwarven adventures? Well... when I get back to my delve, I'll be speakin' to the king about it. That be for sure!"

Obisayo looked uncertainly from the approaching dwarf to Ixin, but she offered no explanation as Karak walked up to the elf and planted his axe between his iron-shod feet. He cast an appraising eye on Obisayo.

"Hmm... Well let me take a look at ye," he grunted, unconsciously fingering Malak's holy symbol as he studied the elf. "You seem to have walked a bit in some very fine clothes to find us, that be for sure. The question is fancy pants... why?"

"My name is Obisayo Xilosnient," the elf said with a slight bow.

"That don't answer my question, fancy pants," Karak told him. "Well despite your reasons, I do nae take you for a cleric because you wear no armour and have no amulet. I do take you for a spell caster or alchemist." The elf smiled uncertainly when the dwarf paused .

"Truly, I am a wizard of no small skill," Obisayo admitted. "I was-"

"Figgered," Karak interrupted. "As the others have no doubt already told you I have two mighty sick back at camp with the Rot of Chaos in their gut. I be no healer but I seemed to have... uh... shall we say gained a bit o' experience in healin'. Morier and Ixin, 'ere, have tended fine although they were affected, but I am afraid that Ledare and the halfling seem to have not turned the corner."

"Oh dear!" Obisayo's face scrunched up, moving from serene directly to horror-struck in a heartbeat. He began rummaging at once through his satchel. "The Janissary is injured? I may have a healing potion or an anti-toxin in my bag to-"

"I do say it be from disease not injury nor poison," Karak corrected. "It is awastin' 'em away and I can do nae to stop it. As for me... well as far as I can tell, it's gonna take more than being thrown into the gullet of the chaos beast and a little phlegm to git to me!" He thumped his breasptlate with his axe handle, and tossed his shaggy head back, laughing outloud. The stress and tension seemed to have drained from his countenance when he finished.

"I am willing to look after your ill if it will be of help to you," Obisayo said. "I remember a few elven remedies, but  I have no great giift in the healing arts."

"I'd welcome another set o' eyes," Karak admitted and turned back toward camp. Under his breath he added, "E'en if they be olv eyes."

As Obisayo moved to follow the dwarf, Great Root again snapped into a frenzy. "Stopping you will now! None allowed be here!" his voice boomed and the elf stopped at once.

"Oh yes," he said. "I forgot. Perhaps, if your party is willing, we could set a camp outside of this area and we can feast together." Karak harrumphed and stomped over to the treant.

"Yo, Great Stump... I do have a question for ye," the dwarf barked. "You do sense that Tarawyn be gone right?"

"Yes," the treant replied, his voice full of melancholy.

"And the special thing ye guard be gone too, right?" Karak pressed.

"Yes," the treant sighed.

"So why are you still guardin' this place the same way?" Karak demanded. "Should you not be getting new orders or passing the information along your root system or something to alert the others of your kind? I do nae know but that we may encounter others of your kind on our quest and I do not want to run into the same tangle of roots we did here. Ye ken me?"

"None allowed be here," the treant repeated, but there was little authority in the voice. "Guardian am I. Forbidden is this place."

"Gaurdan o' what is what I want to know," the dwarf shot back and the treant's branches seemed to droop. Ixin gave Karak a reproachful look. Clearly diplomacy wouldn't be nearly as easy with Karak as it was with Ledare.

"Great Root, I understand you have already been more than accommodating to us and we are clearly imposing, but we do so with a great good in our intent," the drakeling told him, her voice soothing as she stepped closer. "We hope to find Tarawyn or at least to find his captor. It appears this Bisayo is in a good position to assist us and we are clearly in desperate need of assistance at this time."

The treant said nothing in reply, but his woody face creaked around to look dejectedly at Ixin. "We plan to leave at sunrise," she told him with a smile. As she spoke, her _Chainmail Bikini_ scintilated in the meager light." Might Bisayo join us for this one night?"

Great Root's branches drooped farther and it turned away from the group. "Go," he said and moved off into the trees. Karak snorted his approval and turned to Obisayo.

"By the by, elf, you do nae have a potion of dwarven beard growing in that bag o' yours, do ya?" he said under his breath.



Ledare's head ached as her fevered mind struggled to make sense of the jumbled images flooding it. First she saw her mother but with Karak's beard, then her lover, Delaroux, with Morier's colorless skin. Vade was standing in the Vale. She could see the verdant mounds that were their burrows, each one smelling of freshly-tilled soil. As she looked at Vade, he waved goodbye to her but she did not return the gesture. Instead she gripped tight the reins of the white horse that bore her, plate mail armor glimmering in the newly risen sun. Her shod feet rested snugly in stirrups that were fashioned of two bronze snakes each biting the other beneath her plated heal. She looked back at Vade and in his place saw a brown hare wearing purple slippers with crimson soles and crimson linings; it hopped into its burrow and disappeared.

She looked around her. She was alone. Her hair was long and worn loose, not cropped severely nor tied back in typical Janissary fashion. She was not used to feeling it blow against the nape of her neck underneath her helm. Her cape billowed slightly behind her. She absently fingered her well known and well worn clasp that held her cape against her armored breast. She lovingly brushed her fingers over the white flower with three platnium thorns around a vine. She felt reassured that it was still there - as it was always. It was a gift from her Mother.

Her Mother's face floated before her just like when she lay down to bed each night as her mother sang to her. Her mother's flame red hair, yellow eyes, and beautiful dragon scales. Her mother's wings folded neatly against her shoulders.

'Wait,' she thought, 'What plantinum clasp?' Her mother never gave her that. And even more frightening to her: 'What dragon scales?'

Her heat beat faster.

She heard Janissary Sargeant Cadeus calling her, his voice booming across the parade grounds. Was she late again? "Stop... now unwanted visitor," he bellowed.

Was she in the wrong place again? She grabbed her cape at the neck as she ran across the slick, stone training grounds. If she was late again, she would have to clean every common soldier's mess pot again - a task she definitely wanted to avoid. There! The barracks! She was almost there.

"None allowed be here!" Cade's deep voice boomed.

'What does he mean?' she wondered. 'I am squad leader. Of course I am allowed here.'

She pulled the wrought iron handle and stepped inside the barrack entryway... and stopped. She looked around her in silent awe. Stretching ahead of her were not rows of bunkbeds with wooden footlockers, but an expansive space with four great columns to each side. The hallway ended in a sepulchre that sheltered a mirrored altar. Above the altar was the double crescent moon symbol that Ledare instantly recognized as the holy symbol of Shaharizod.

The feelings that had been plaguing her - the sense of loss, and pain, and uncertainty- abandonded her in the blink of a leaper cat's eye. She knew not this place, yet there was a familiarity here, as if she had known it all her life. To the right of her were four alcoves; to the left were three. The number seven seemed appropriate to her. Looking up she could see through the skylights piercing the vaulted roof that the sky was blue and clear. The air seemed cold and fresh to her and washed her of her travel weariness.

As her lungs filled with the pleasant coolness, she closed her eyes and found she could remember nothing. Her mind was at once as clear as the air around her and and clean as the sky above. All she felt was the cold breath in her lungs, the throb of the lifebeat in her temples, and warmth of blood flowing into her limbs. All she could hear was the beat of her heart; it sounded comforting to her. Everything in this place filled her with a sense of serenity that felt long absent from her life, although she wasn't quite sure why she felt that way, unable, as she was, to remember being anywhere but here. When she opened her eyes, a figure she hadn't seen before rose from its kneeling position at the altar. The figure's back was to Ledare, all robed in white with fur at hem and hood. The woman's blonde hair fell unbraided down her back to a point. 

Twin scimitars - moonblades, Ruze always called them - rose suddenly from the folds of the robe and the figure began an intricate dance that seemed foreign and yet familiar to Ledare. All she could hear now was the soft slippers skimming the stone floor as the figure dipped and thrust with the twin moons, cutting patterns in the air that seemed to linger in Ledare's eye even after the swords' pasasage. The dance was both thrilling and deadly, Ledare could see, and she watched its dangerous beauty with rapt attention, not daring to blink... barely daring to breathe.

Whether moments or hours passed Ledare was unsure, but the voice that beckoned her startled her out of her reviere. "Ledare. Chosen one," it commanded. "Come to me." She could not resist and strode down the carpeted aisle to the altar and the figure whose back remained to her still. Ledare knelt as she had been schooled, in true Janissary fashion: right knee up, sword tip resting before right toe, hand on pommel thumb down and to breast, head up and proud. 

In a strict and somewhat unkind tone, the figure spoke again. "Rise child. Do not kneel in the form of the Janissary here. You dishonor my Queen and your Mother." Ledare rose, anger flushing her neck.

She was the King's Janissary. No one should speak to her as less without cause. "Face me and let me look upon the one who issues these commands," Ledare said and the tone of command in her voice echoed off the high ceiling. The figure turned and staring back at her was the sneering face of the barbarian.

"Grisham!" she shouted, startled almost beyond words by the man's appearance here. He brought with him all the uncertainty and self-doubt that Ledare thought she had left on the doorstep of this temple. She remembered it all: his biting comments, his attempts to sow discord amongst the group, her humiliation when they'd finally come to blows. The look of fury in his blazing green eyes told Ledare in an instant that this confrontation would become much more than a scuffle in the woods.

In a heartbeat she brought Ravager to the fore, striking at the figure with a brutal upward slash to the neck. The massive blow found its mark, and bit into Grisham's neck. All the rage Ledare felt - for the challenges he brought, all the loss she felt from the death of her companions, all the quiet failure with which she suffered, all the doubt she harbored of the leader she never wanted to be - crashed down with her in that blow. And in doing so, she later realized, they promptly left her. Just like that. 

The blade of the saw-toothed bastard sword rang like a church bell throughout the great hall as it struck Grisham's neck. It was like hitting a block of granite, Ledare thought to herself. The shock of the blow ripped its way up her arms and through her torso. Ledare's arm thrummed with pain and her elbow hurt as it twisted in its socket.

"What?!" Ledare cursed under her breath. She knew her strike had hit Grisham's soft, exposed neck, yet there the figure stood, whilst Ravager lay broken in two at her feet. The sword blow had hit the man's neck but seemed to strike some invisible protection shield. There was not a scratch on Grisham's face nor any blood. Except... upon closer examination, there were scratches on his beardless face. Three broad scratches on each cheek, the middle scratch the longest and bisecting each eye. How that face was not blinded Ledare could not imagine, but she felt its eyes staring at her - staring through her - and then the face spoke in the same firm and unkind tone.

"Sit down, Ledare, lest I show you your place with my two moon blades," it said and Ledare sat unceremoniously upon the stone-tiled floor still staring up at the face. Slowly recognition dawned.

"Soriah!" Ledare managed, suddenly certain that it was she. A girl of just nineteen, scarred by a broad-banded hawk when she was very young, Soriah was the most devout Battleguard of Shaharizod Ledare had ever met. The girl was beautiful, Ledare realized, strong bold features yet softened by something else that gave her an air of knowledge beyond her years. Soriah raised the fur-lined cowl over her head as she laughed.

"Don't look so surprised to see me, Ledare," she said. "I have known I would be seeing you in this place since the day I met you. Remember that day? Remember Muddah? And Fendathial, who slew him?" Ledare's face began to twist in pain as she remembered back to Soriah before her death, Draelond, Ruze, Finian, Feln, and the foul fate that befell Kirnoth.

"Of course, you remember, Ledare. I know you do," Soriah told her, her voice as cold and hard as marble. "You wear it on your sleeve and countenance. That is why you are here. You have been chosen, child. You always have been but you did not know it... until now. Now is the time. It is here."

Ledare's thoughts began to wander, unbidden. She did not find it strange to be called child by a girl her own age, and she did know she has been carrying the death of her companions too long in her breast. "Am I dead?" she asked. "Is this how I come to speak to you, Soriah?"

Soriah laughed again, but now her voice was softer. "No, Ledare. You are not dead. No, not yet," she said. "And listen to me as a Battleguard of Shaharizod: their deaths are not your fault. You did not cause their deaths. Nor did you lead them to their deaths. Each one fought, as I fought, Chaos and Aphyx for our own reasons - for our own cause. Just as the Vla'rinnyn Quarth Sila do now. Do you dishonor their deaths? Do you mean to dishonor mine?"

Ledare shook her head as tears fell unbidden down her cheek. She did not want to forget or dishonor them.

"Then remember them. But do not carry their deaths in your heart," Soriah said as she reached out and tilted Ledare's chin up so that her tear-filled eyes were forced to meet her own. "Look at me Ledare. Do I look unhappy? I sit at the right hand of my Queen and I still do her work to fight the evil that has befouled our lands. Chaos grows strong now, Ledare, and you have been chosen not just to fight it but to lead that fight as well. Why do you think the name your companions chose for your group is an elven one? It could have just as easily been dwarvish or halfling, but it is elven - a tribute to your own heritage."

"Why do you think you out of all of us have survived?" Soriah pressed. "Just plain luck? Because you were chosen to lead rather than to fight in the fore? No. You survived because you have been chosen, Ledare."

Soriah released her hold on Ledare's face and folded her hands beneath her robes. "You are now a Jolidishi, Ledare. The time is now. Time to recognize and face what you truly are, to know your destiny, to unleash what your soul has been telling you these past few years."

"Am I now a fighter for Shaharizod? A Battleguard such as you, Soriah?' Ledare asked like a child.

"No, Ledare," Soriah chuckled again. "No, Child. The choice of Battleguard comes from within. Others do not make that choice for you - not even the gods. We each make our own choice, and your soul has already chosen, but it is now in this place that your soul seeks to reveal it to your mind. The time is now. Do you feel it?"

Ledare nodded eagerly, barely understanding but knowing deep in her soul that this was the time. She felt an urgency building in her chest that rapidly threatened to steal away her breath.

"Am I to follow Shaharizod then, as some kind of holy warrior?" she asked a little less the child this time, for she felt certain that she was very close to the truth of the matter.

"Are you?" countered Soriah, one golden eyebrow arching upward skeptically.

"No," Ledare answered softly, shaking her head as she thought about it. "No. That was the path you chose. I do not feel that is my path." And saying that, she rose and looked Soriah in the eyes speaking softly, but with utter conviction. "No. The path of the Battleguard is not for me. I know now that is not my calling. But the problem is, I do not know what path to take."

Soriah looked impassively at her for a time before she spoke. "Once you answer the question I put to you, then your soul's path will become visible to you," she said. "Then it is up to you to follow that path, Ledare." The half-elf nodded but Soriah raised a cautioning finger.

"But know this: to follow the path of your God is not easy," she warned. "You must put your God's wishes before your own. You must put forth the ideal of goodness and loyalty before yourself. For you, this will not be hard for you are a steadfast and loyal warrior. But sometime you will have to also put aside the safety of others for your cause. You may have to see even more of your companions fall to the powers of Chaos in your fight against it. And most importantly, you will have to lead them, Ledare. Even the strongest serpent needs a head to guide it."

"You will be fighting for more than just your king now, Ledare. You will be fighting for our very existance," Soriah went on. "The powers of Chaos grow strong and threaten my Queen's very substance. If my Queen and her allies fall, than the world as you know it shall cease to exist. What of your companions then, Ledare? I ask you to consider: what of them then?"

Moments more passed, then Soriah pulled back her hood and her hair was like a cascade of gold around her face; her eyes were like polished emeralds." I will tell you one last thing before I ask you your question. I was bade by my Queen, Shaharizod, to act as your conduit - your vessel in communion with the Goddess that has chosen you, child. Search in your heart for the answer to my question and answer the call of my Queen's daughter, for Flor has chosen you, child. From this moment on, if you choose wisely, your communion with the Daughter will be your own."

"Now kneel like this, Jolidishi," Soriah said and gently pushed Ledare's shoulders down and pushed Ledare onto her haunches so her buttocks rested on both feet equally, toes flat and to the back. Soriah lowered Ledare's head downward so her face mirrored the floor. "Always lower your face to your Mother and rest easy on your knees in supplication. And now, here is your question. I ask you Ledare: what has your soul chosen, and does the mind now see the path before it?"

Ledare thought for a moment before speaking, and then......



Ledare awoke.

And she knew her whole life had changed. Or perhaps not changed, but begun. The longstanding ache in her heart was missing but its void was all but unrecognizable. In its place was the strongest sense of purpose she had ever known. And a need to fulfill its duty ushered her into the new day.

It was not as difficult to wake up or to move or to breathe as she barely remembered it had been. Now she welcomed the chance to open her eyes and her heart to a new day, and was thankful that the opportunity to do so had been bestowed upon her. Before the first twitch of her body, she took a moment to thank Flor for rescuing her from her own demise, and pledged that she would use every breath to do what was right.

The prayer was a little awkward and sounded strange at first to Ledare's ears. But the fire of her life had been rekindled... from a small flame of duty to a roaring bonfire of devotion. She would carry the torch inside her now. And she felt incredibly blessed to do so. She knew for certain that she was now part of a light that could not be extinguished.

The fever was gone, but the weakness lingered. With some effort, Ledare pushed herself to a sitting position. and saw Karak, Ixin and Morier conferring with a blonde high elf she had never seen before.

"I know townspeople we could call on who can help us," the elf was saying. "Are you willing to travel into town?"

"Aye," Karak nodded. "That be our next course of action."

"In that case, we might call on the leaders of a nearby community. It sounds as if your cause is just and that would have them rally in support of you," the elf went on. "If I could get word to Geran I may be able to pull favor with the Mayor of Thumble, a man named Opeeindy, or possibly even with Baron Hunsa himself...."

"We were thinking of heading for Flavonshire," Ixin said and the elf nodded.

"Interesting choice, Flavonshire. Do you know people there?"

"No," Ixin said and her tone was somewhat gaurded. the elf didn't seem to notice.

"A difficult lot to work with, or so I am told. They do not often see what is good for the Kingdom, concerned with their own little adventures," he said. "Fine people though, very crafty. I have a piece of art hanging in my eska-nosse."

"Yer wha?" Karak grunted.

"His family home," Ledare translated and there was a flurry of activity as the others realized she was awake. Karak especially poked and prodded her, his thick fingers managing to unerringly find every tender spot on her body it seemed. At last she was able to push them aside and address the stranger.

"Who are you?" she asked. "And how is it you are so familiar with the land and people of this area?"

"I apologize for forgetting my manners," the elf said with a bow. "I am Uanabisayo Xilosnient of the Ten'Venielle and I would speak with the Janissary, Ledare Eelsof'faw."

"I am Janissary Ledare Eelsof'faw," she said. "Forgive me for not standing; I'm a little under the weather, so to speak."

"Think nothing of it," the elf replied. "Your friends have informed me of your situation."

"Are you skilled at all in healing?" she asked hopefully. "We have been fighting the blackest of evils and our party has been touched by its effects."

"I have heard of ancient beasts who can cause the body to wither and lose strength," Bisayo apologized "I have heard of them in tales, but I do not know the cure for such an ailment."

"In that case, perhaps we should get straight to business," the Janissary said graciously. "Why is it that you have come to seek me out? Do you bring a message from the king?"

"Ledare, Janissary to the king, Haermond III. I have met your king's people, although never the man in person. He is a good king and you are just to serve him," Bisayo said. "But it is not at his behest that I come to you, but rather at the bidding of my own king, Valenviel Sithrarion, Scion of the Cantes and Grand Architect of Galerideleli. Or rather, not directly at his behest, but as a result of his edict. I don't mean to suggest that I have personal contact with Valenviel Sithrarion. My father is Od'ahman, but even so..."

"Is 'e makin' any sense to you?" Karak stage whispered to Morier, elbowing the albino in the belly hard enough to make him grunt in surprise. The others turned to look and Bisayo continued with his tale.

"Part of the king's responsibility is for he and his court to make certain that high blood families are married correctly, so that important lands and names are maintained, for the stability and betterment of the elven kingdom as a whole," Bisayo explained, although Ledare was already familiar with the custom; it was one of the things that her father had had to overcome when he fell in love with her human mother. "King Valenviel Sithrarion, in his infinite wisdom, has decreed that the Ten'Venielle's next leader, my younger brother, Narguya, should be married to another family of great stature but little means from Galerideleli, itself, the Val Satha family."

"The maiden Kirelea, daughter of Curani Val Satha of Galerideleli, was chosen as my brother's bride-to-be," the elf annouce with pride. "Kirelea responded well to this betrothal but did make one request of her soon-to-be new family: seek out her brother and return him as an honored guest at the wedding."

"Not to sound impertinent, but what does that have to do with me?" Ledare asked.

"According to my inquiries, he was last seen traveling with you," Bisayo said. "I am quite certain that you know him. His name is Kirnoth."


----------



## old school 1E

the plot thickens! 

(yep, i'm still around reading, although the holidays have taken their toll.)


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## Jon Potter

*Glad you're still reading old school 1E*



			
				old school 1E said:
			
		

> the plot thickens!




Yep. And mostly due to player-created situations.

That whole dreamquest bit with Ledare was co-written by Ledare's player and Karak's player (who also played Soriah before she died) with minimal intervention from me.

The Bisayo/Kirnoth connection was contrived by Bisayo's player (who played Feln prior to his untimely demise).

I think it's great that the players are driving the plot; it helps keep the game fresh.

(And speaking of fresh, I get to play in a 1E classic this coming Saturday, "Against the Giants"! ENWorld moderator and all-around nice guy, Henry, is running the session at the North Carolina Game Day and I can hardly wait!)


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## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> I think it's great that the players are driving the plot; it helps keep the game fresh.




Not only that, but it cuts down on DM work too!


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## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Not only that, but it cuts down on DM work too!




Well, that too, of course!


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #300] The Long Walk*

Ledare held Bisayo's gaze steadily for a few heartbeats longer than the elf was comfortable with, and he squirmed for a moment under the Janissary's scrutiny.

As for Ledare, she felt a rush of adrenaline at Kirnoth's name, but at the same time recognized that there was no longer any personal guilt associated with her memory of him. Only sadness. He'd been a good and valuable friend, but she'd lost him. With that in mind, she replied with carefully measured words. "You are correct," she told him. "I journeyed with Kirnoth for some time. But I'm afraid I cannot lead you to him."

"Why not?" Bisayo asked. "I have tracked your path for some time, and true, I did not hear much of Kirnoth's presence these last few days but I just assumed he scouted aheard or was quiet.  What exactly happened to him?"

"Kirnoth's fate is... complicated. I honestly do not know if he is alive or dead," She said and then, after a long pause to collect her thoughts and bolster enough will to confront the loss again, she shared with the elf the details of their encounter with the skaven and of Kirnoth's subsequent disappearance. She finished by adding, "I have a feeling - a dread really - that he has met some foul fate and lives on now with dark purpose."

Bisayo considered her words and whatever he thought of the revelation, it did not show on his face.

"I imagine news of this nature isn't going to rest well within the monarchy," Ledare continued. "In truth, I can attest to nothing for certain, except that Kirnoth was bitten by skaven and disappeared. Perhaps you need say nothing until you are sure."

"Perhaps..." Bisayo agreed half-heartedly and a weighty pause settled over the little group. Ixin broke the momentary silence.

"I have heard this tale before, Ledare. And, as it did the last time, it sounds serious, but mundane. I don't see how we could possibly sidetrack to find Kirnoth at this point," she said. Her wings beat once against the air and pulled her easily to a standing position. "Perhaps Ledare could write a formal letter explaining that he is missing and presumed dead in the course of a mission for the king? Would that be enough for his sister?"

"I do not know," the elf said, looking up at Ixin. There was a sadness in his eyes, but it quickly vanished as his agile mind made note of something the drakeling had let slip. "I do not understand what you are side-tracking from? What are you doing way out here, anyway?"

"I- I-" Ixin sputtered, caught momentarily off her guard. Her aid came from an unsuspected quarter.

"Well, fancy pants, you do seem to know our little group's history 'ere, and we know little of yours," Karak grunted. The dwarf looked at Ledare and Ixin and asked, "Did we nae pass through some lands owned by the elves o' his clan? I do believe they let us pass."

"Yes. You did," Bisayo agreed. "I was notified of your presence when I returned to the very place from which I started my journey, some time ago. My kinsman are great warriors, and some were kind enough to escort me part of the way here."

"So you know why we're out here, then," Ixin recovered quickly. "We were tracking a killer."

"But the human I passed on my way here told me that there was more to it then that," Bisayo said. "He told me where to find you, but that you were not to be trusted."

"Grisham," Karak spat and Ledare wondered how long his venom was going to continue poisoning her and her companions.

"Let us say that we had a disagreement with Grisham and we parted ways," Ledare offered by way of explanation. "Anything more is perhaps a story for another time. But, I agree with Ixin: we cannot detour to help you with your search."

Bisayo reluctantly acknowledged his acceptance of this and the Janissary continued. 

"However, it is quite possible that we may just encounter Kirnoth following our present course sooner than it would take you to find that very old trail on your own," Ledare suggested and the elf smiled. "If there are no objections, then I welcome you to journey with us."

Karak muttered something incomprehensible. Ixin offered no objection, but continued to study Ledare warily as if fearing their leader had gone mad. Morier - who was rarely one to speak anyway - merely nodded his head once.

"However, I want to be quite clear that getting Vade some help is our first and only priority right now," Ledare added before Bisayo could express more than a quick thanks.

"Of course!" the elf said, frowning sympathetically at Vade's little body. "I will be happy to help you carry your friend if need be... He looks so weak. I can keep some of his items in my bag as well. I am quite a good packer and can fit a lot of things in it!" He patted his worn leather satchel for emphasis and now it was Ledare's turn to squirm a little.

"While the intent is well meaning, I'm sure," she explained, "having only just met us and -"

"Oh, goodness!" Bisayo said with a smile. "Of course, you are right. I had not realized how that sounded until just now. Please, forget I said anything. The offer to carry him is still good, however."

"I think we'll manage," Karak said, looking at the elf's skinny arms and rolling his eyes. The dwarf then looked at Ledare and asked, "Are you strong enough to travel? I do nae know when you should start exerting yourself. Maybe I should carry your armour and -"

"Nonsense, Karak," Ledare dismissed the dwarf's comments. "I'll be ready to travel in the morning. We'll head out then to Flavonshire then on to the followers of Flor."

"I agree," Morier said. "Let's get moving at first light toward Redwood via Flavonshire."



*Godsday, the 11th of Reaping, 1269 AE​*​

In the morning, Vade stirred and the mood as they broke camp was greatly lightened by the halfling's apparent recovery. Not that he was in any great condition, but the very fact that he opened his eyes and they were unclouded by fever was a relief. Unsurprisingly, the first word out of his mouth was, "Thu... Thumble..."

It was also not surprising that the others ignored it.

Morier and Ixin were both still weakened from their bouts with the sickness, and Ledare was too depleted to wear her armor (although she insisted on carrying Ravager strapped across her back "for sentimental reasons"). So they re-distributed their supplies among those who could shoulder them and set out from the valley after bidding a farewell to Great Root.

Whether the treant was saddened or relieved to see them go was unclear, but the VQS was quite happy to leave the ancient guardian to his solitary duty.

My midday, Karak had begun to feel feverish and by nightfall, his impressive constitution had fought off the disease, although some mild weakness persisted. When he awoke in the morning, he was all but recovered.

No one had even realized he was sick.



*Waterday, the 12th - Freeday, the 14th of Reaping, 1269 AE​*​

Despite his feelings about the VQS, Grisham had taken some pains to blaze a trail for them to follow, so they made good time northward through Greenhill Woods. As the afternoon of Freeday wore on toward evening, they found a place where Grisham had made a camp. Karak spent a moment studying the ground before announcing that the barbarian had stayed a day or two in that very spot - most of it lying flat on his back. Ledare spotted some leaves nearby that were smeared with remnants of Laishaberries - a common folk remedy for several diseases.

It seemed likely that Grisham had come down with the same illness that had wracked the rest of them (with the exception of Bisayo, of course). The fact that his trail continued on indicated that he had eventually recovered and continued onward.

"I would rest much better in Thumble," Vade asserted as the group pressed on in Grisham's footsteps. "Everyone is really helpful there. In fact, Karak, I think Uncle Bob the second may actually have a potion of dwarven beard growing, but that was a while ago and it was more of a cream, from what I recall. Boy, did Trey ever look silly with a beard! Ha ha ha!"

Karak shook his head in frustration.



*Starday, the 15th & Sunday, the 16th of Reaping, 1269 AE​*​

Throughout the following two days, it threatened rain. Dense clouds persisted above the treetops and strong wind whipped the canopy into a frenzy of hissing leaves and clattering limbs. It never actually precipitated, however and the Eginnion Road was dry when they finally left the forest and followed it down into the thorpe of Flavonshire.

"I wonder if my brothers think I am dead... or just lost?" Vade wondered aloud for what seemed like the 100th time (but really hadn't been too much more than 50). "I hope Mama does not worry and just thinks I am causing trouble somewhere. I want to let them know I am ok."

"Thumble..." Karak grumbled and spat. "We have no time to trip over halflings and your family. Why they will most certainly abound with a million questions and stories and moonpies and we'll never get to Redwood."

"It is a great place," Vade countered with a broad smile. "Everyone is just like me!"

Flavonshire was mostly as they remembered it although there was a wagon and a team of horses in front of The Hard Cider Tavern that hadn't been there on their last visit. Several bulky objects were secured beneath a canvas tarp in the bed of the wagon. The shrine to Flor was clearly visible and the yellow plague sign had been removed. Its front door stood open to allow fresh clean air to circulate within.

"That's promising," Ledare mused and they began trudging in that direction. Before they'd gotten too far, a figure stepped out from within the shrine. She was tall and broad-shouldered with the long blonde hair that was so common in the northern Realms. Her raiment was spotless white and she seemed almost to glow against the drab and muddy backdrop of Flavonshire. For a moment, Ledare thought that Soriah had miraculously returned to life, but the resemblance was merely superficial. This woman was lithe and sharp-faced and her eyes were as pale as cornflowers. She spotted them and turned so that everyone could see the pale blue teardrop that adorned the breast of her tabbard - one of the symbols of Flor. Once the group had advanced within hailing distance, she raised her hand in greeting.

"Ho there!" she shouted in accented common. "What brings you to this far land armed as you are and-" She got a good look at Ixin then and hastily ducked her head back into the shrine, calling for someone within.

After a moment, a second woman appeared in the doorway. Like the first, she was dressed in white, although her robes weren't quite as pristine as her counterpart's. Her hair was brown and wavy, held away from her cheerful face by a ribbon of blue. She carried a bucket of soapy water in one hand and a stiff-bristled brush in the other.

"What is it?" she asked as she exited. Then she spotted the VQS and smiled politely, adding, "Welcome to this Healing Hall of Flor, modest though it may be. I am Matriarch Lenoire and this is Betina Rouseau, Faithful Daughter of The White Lady. What may we do to aid you?"


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #301] Sisters of Mercy*

There was a definite flow of energy in the air that Ledare sensed at once; the hair on her neck seemed to bristle as she curiously studied the two women. There was an unmistakable familiarity about them - a feeling that she has felt at various times in her past, but had never been able to place. Now, as the sensation recurred, Ledare at last felt confident about its source. As Soriah had suggested: the time had come for her to understand herself. Feeling as if she has met the two women before, but sure at the same time that she had not, she stepped forward and spoke on behalf of the group.

"Thank you," she said with a smile. "In fact, we have been looking for you."

"You have?" the older woman asked with a bemused smile.

"Yes," the Janissary said, nearly laughing with contained excitement. "However, first there is a more pressing concern. Several members of our party have fallen ill, and the disease has gripped our halfling the worst."

"Oh dear," the woman replied with genuine concern. She looked at Vade, asking, "What has afflicted him?"

Vade seized the opportunity to put to good use all of his innate huckstering skill, responding in his most sympathy-inspiring voice complete with a pathetic grimace and huge puppy dog eyes. "I'm sick. I've got the Red Ache," he moaned. "Oooohhhhh, am I aching."

"Oi, I do believe we could use your help, lassie," Karak barked, stomping to the front of the group. He jostled Vade out of the way as he came. "If my chalak be here he would know how to say it better, but these two have been affected by the Red Ache the worst." He said, cocking a thumb at Vade and Ledare. He then pointed to Morier and Ixin before adding, "These two shrugged it off early on, but they should be cleaned out too."

"Is there someone who might tend to him?" Ledare translated the dwarf's blunt statement into a more diplomatically acceptable form.

"Certainly!" Matriarch Lenoire said, putting her pail and brush down so abruptly that soapy water sloshed out onto the hem of her skirt. "Please do come into the shrine. Sister Betina, please fetch my kit from the wagon."

"Yes, sister," the taller woman said before rushing off toward the wagon they all had seen parked in front of the tavern.

They followed the priestess of Flor into the small shrine and found it to be in the process of being renovated. Only Karak had entered the shrine on their first visit to Flavonshire, so only he was in a position to appreciate the difference that fresh whitewash and the smell of disinfectant made on the place. It was clear them all, that someone - presumably the two women - had been busy over the last several days.

Matriarch Lenoire drew Vade toward the altar and examined him by the light of the candles burning there. At once she announced, "The little one HAD the Red Ache, true enough. But he suffers from it no longer. I can help you with the weakness in the morning. Were you few the only ones afflicted?"

"Mostly," Karak told her and pointed at Bisayo. "As for fancy pants, here, well he just missed out on all the fun. We lost Feln to the beast. Poor orc blood was nothing but goo when I found 'im in the belly of the beast." Karak bowed his head a moment in reflection.

"What beast?" Sister Betina demanded as she ducked into the shrine, a massive healer's kit in her arms. There was a look of concern on her face, but also one of resolve.

"Perhaps we should explain what we're about?" Morier suggested and Karak nodded.

"Aye, lass," he said to Ledare. "I do beleive these be the followers of Flor we been lookin' for. Makes sense to tell 'em what's what." The Janissary nodded in agreement before turning back to Matriarch Lenoire.

"We come from Barnacus and travel to Myth Drannor to do what we can in the battle against Aphyx," she said and saw Sister Betina make the sign of the dove at mention of the Diseased One. "We carry an important message from the Great Oak."

"Aye," Karak added. "The great big Tree wanted us to let ye know that 'is shrine be all but empty. If ye would be so kind as to go reconsecrate the shrine, it would be a great help to the fight against Chaos."

Matriarch Lenoire looked confused. She blinked as she tried to make sense of what she was being told. "I'm afraid I don't understand what you're telling me. A tree asked you to have me reconsecrate a shrine?"

"Well, not you specifically," Vade added. "He just said to find followers of Flor and pointed us in this direction. You're the first followers of Flor that we've come across."

"A tree said this?" the woman asked again, her voice dripping with incredulity. But the others nodded ernestly.

"Perhaps they were meant to find Brother Simon?" Betina offered. "If not for his death, we would not be here. And he was a follower of Flor." Matriarch Lenoire nodded.

"Perhaps," she said. "That would make some sense since it was a follower of Lady Death that slew Brother Simon in the first place. Or so his spirit intimated."

"What do you mean?" Ledare asked.

"We were summoned to Flavonshire by a rider dispatched by the shire reeve, Goodman Hillshire. When we arrived we found Simon, the former patriarch of this Healing Hall, dead by magic most foul," the woman explained gravely. As she spoke, she looked at the spot on the floor where Karak had seen the corpse laid out. "It was well beyond my power to bring Patriarch Simon back from Myrkhul's shadowy hall, but I called upon the White Lady to allow me to speak with his spirit and he related to me the events leading up to his death at the hands of one he had once called friend."

"You have heard of Plonius? The Hound?" Betina interrupted. All of the companions nodded.

"Well, Simon had always looked up to the man; it was the Hound who put him on the path to Flor," Lenoire continued. "When he saw Plonius approach, Simon was overjoyed at his good fortune and rushed up to greet the ranger. It was clear that something was wrong at once, for Plonius seemed not to know him, and rather than greet his friend, tried to put him off. But Simon was insistent... and then he noticed the unholy symbol Plonius was wearing around his neck and recognized it immediately as being  the Rot Queen's."

"A snake swallowing its tail," Karak grunted. "With a rat's skull in the middle."

"Yes," Sister Lenoire admitted sadly. "It seems the shock of discovering that his childhood hero was a follower of the evil goddess of disease was almost too much for Simon to take. But with the zeal of a newly-ordained priest, he pushed aside his feelings of confusion and betrayal and called upon the power of Flor to sustain him. Simon's last memory is of Plonius snarling at him wickedly and invoking divine magic of such potency that he was slain at once."

"We have heard this tale from one of the villagers who witnessed the incident," Ledare said. "And we have uncovered some things that might shed some further light on the matter."

"Listen close, fancy pants," Karak said to Bisayo as Ixin and Ledare began to weave the tale of their recent past. "Ye wanted to hear what we been doin' and 'ere be your chance."

"I have a feeling you may already be aware of a great evil pushing its way into this land," Ixin told the two women. "Aphyx is behind it but she has many powerful minions. We have been traveling throughout this area, trying to find clues to help us stop the spread of chaos. We have won some battles, but there is much yet to do..."



The light outside had dimmed toward sundown by the time the VQS had fully recounted their adventures opposing Aphyx. Sisters Lenoire and Betina's moods had likewise darkened with the telling.

"We have several places we need to get to: Myth Drannor to find further assistance and Rhadcliffe to fight more evil," Ixin told them. "Do you have any idea about how to get quickly to either of those places? Preferably Myth Drannor first."

"What about Thumble?" Vade interjected. "Have either of you been there lately? Have you ever heard of Vadenhuffer Briarhopper or Mama Briarhopper?"

"Shush, hobbit!" Karak growled, waving his waraxe in Vade's general direction.

"We passed the road to Thumble on our way to Flavonshire," Betina told the halfling. "But we did not stop."

"About Myth Drannor, I know nothing," Matriarch Lenoire replied. "But I am familiar with Rhadcliffe; it lies in Pellham. We Florians consider it a major holy site. There is a temple there that houses a statue of Saint Dridanis. Any who touch the holy statue are cured of disease."

"I doubt that evil could long go unnoticed in Rhadcliffe," Betina added. "But I am troubled by mention of the two using the same breath."

"As am I, sister," Lenoire admitted and got to her feet. She produced a key from her robe and offered it to Ledare. "We have a room at The Hard Cider Tavern - the only room in town, from what I understand. You folk are welcome to stay there for the night."

"What of you?" Ledare asked as she accepted the key.

"The Faithful Daughter and I have much praying to do," Matriarch Lenoire explained. "We need the Gentle Lady's guidance and answers will not come more easily within the walls of the shrine."

"We will have answers in the morning," Betina said. Looking at Ledare, she added, "Perhaps you would like to join us?"

Without hesitation, Ledare said, "I would." She handed a bewildered Ixin the room key and shrugged Ravager off her shoulder. Ixin looked at Karak and the dwarf shrugged.

"I could go for a spot of ale," he said as he turned to leave.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Ah! I see Thumble got worked in.


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Ah! I see Thumble got worked in.




Well, not quite. Don't go counting your halflings just yet. Vade's player certainly campaigns vigorously for a visit at every turn, but no one else seems interested. The group is closer to the hamlet than ever before in the game, but events seem to be consipring to drive them away.

We'll just have to wait and see.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #302] Backtracking*

Ledare didn't stay all night with the cleric and holy warrior of Flor. Her body ached for a good night's rest, and she conceded that it was probably in the party's best interests for her to regain her strength. Still, the hour was late when she finally left the two women to their devotions and made her way across the square to The Hard Cider Tavern.

The interior of the place was not unlike the dozens of other taverns she had seen in her travels: a massive stone hearth dominated one wall, a long counter ran along another, and small tables filled most of the floor space. This place was smaller than most, and made primarily of wood, although both the fireplace and the bar were constructed of fieldstone. There were few customers in the place - which didn't surprise her overly much given the town's small size and remote location. But Ledare had more than a suspicion that the tavern's lack of business had everything to do with the presence of the VQS. What few folk there were besides Karak and the others were huddled at the far side of the room, sullenly drinking from wooden flagons and muttering amongst themselves.

Karak hailed Ledare as soon as she entered the taproom and motioned her over. "Come join us, lassie!" he bellowed, upending his cup and draining its contents. "Barkeep! Bring another round o' that watered down humie beer we been drinkin'!"

The bartender looked up from the conversation he'd been having with one of the locals and nodded. "We'll have to tap another keg, sir dwarf," he called. "I'll fetch one from the cellar. You've drained what stock I had on hand."

"Ye do that! I ain't in nae hurry!" Karak said and grabbed two of the untouched flagons that stood on the tabletop in front of Bisayo. He clunked one down in front of Ledare and brought the other to his lips. "Ye do nae mind sharin' do ye, fancy pants?"

"Not at all," the elf said with a wave of his slender hand that casually indicated the forest of empty cups in front of Karak. "I have not even finished my second cup. You are clearly more thirsty than I."

"Oh, aye!" the dwarf grinned foamily. "When ye said ye were buyin', well... I felt myself growin' thirstier by the second."

Ledare chuckled and took a a tentative sip of the beer. It was thin and bitter, rather like the pinched young woman who was serving wine to some of the locals at the fringes of the room. "You must be wealthy indeed if you've offered your purse to cover Karak's drink tab," the Janissary said and Bisayo looked a trifle bemused by the notion.

"I wish I were rich... but my family is rich mainly in tradition and responsibility," the elf explained. "I have access to fine things, true. But my people do not hoard money, nor do we follow others based on the amount of coin they carry."

"Just so long as ye've enough to pay O'Meyer, fancy pants," Karak said and belched expansively. He laughed loudly and raised his cup again. "That's better! Jus' makin' a bit o' room!"

"How are the holy women?" Ixin asked, clearly eager to change the subject.

"They're fine," Ledare answered. "Still praying for guidance. What have you all been doing - I mean besides trying to empty Bisayo's purse."

Vade jerked at that and looked innocently at the Janissary. "What do you mean?" he asked. "I haven't done anything. I'm too weak to-"

"Calm yourself, Vade," Ledare soothed. "I was referring to Karak's healthy appetite for beer. Nothing more."

"Oh. That's good!" Vade smiled. "Cause Bisayo helped me find someone who was going to Thumble and was willing to deliver a message to dear old pop and mama." Then his mood soured and he sulkily added, "Since I know you guys won't ever go to Thumble."

"I am sorry, Vade," Ixin said. "But our mission is simply too important for us to become side tracked by personal errands."

"Much as I enjoy the company of the small folk, I fear that Ixin is correct," Bisayo interjected. "If it is true what you say: that Aphyx is rising... by the gods... that would definately explain some of the strange afflictions that the local realms and kingdoms have been dealing with."

"Such as?" Ledare asked, setting down her cup and devoting her full attention to the elf.

"Well, let's see..." he muttered. "There has been a large increase in the number of disease-carrying rats in the southern reaches of Olven Vale, near the pass leading up to Relfren. And one of the recent emissaries from Galerideleli reported that some kind of illness had stricken a small town he had passed near called Miller's Pond. And you know, of course, about the recent troubles in Barnacus?"

At mention of the plague, Karak spat darkly on the floor. The serving girl was forced to jump to avoid the projectile. "Sorry, lass," the dwarf murmured as he dragged his fist across his mouth.

"Things seem to be moving quickly," Ixin grumbled. "I think it's important that we get those two women back to the Great Oak  and help re-establish the temple as soon as we can. I think that will go a long way towards re-establishing the balance of good and evil."

"Again, I find myself agreeing with Ixin," Bisayo chimed in. "This seems to be a rather important next step. I would like to travel there with you, in fact, if you will have me."

"You are welcome to join us for as long as it suits you," Ledare said, but her tone was cautionary. "But understand, it is a dangerous business we are about. Moreso, I would imagine, than just seeking out members of a royal family."

"Do not worry. I consider myself well schooled in the art of battle," Bisayo replied. After a moment's consideration he added, "Just not neccessarily in the heat of battle... so to speak." Ledare nodded.

"When I first ventured with Kirnoth, he was not much of an asset in battle either," she reminisced. As the memories came back to her, she smiled girlishly, "Once his spells conjured up some rainbow mice in the heat of battle. Another time my pants..." She paused, blushing. "Anyway, the skills you refer to will come with time."

"Thank you, Ledare. It is comforting to have your confidence," Bisayo replied. "I find your conviction very drawing. I would really consider it quite an honor to travel with your party. I might even be able to chronicle some of your tales."

"Hey!" Vade exclaimed. "I was thinking about writing a song about us too! Maybe we could work together on it!"

"A song?" Morier asked, raising one pale eyebrow.

"Yeah!" the halfling said and hauled out a small guitar that he had picked up in Myles' Blanket of the Kingdom and Dry Goods when delivering his note home. He plucked a few discordant notes on the tinny instrument and grinned. "I thought we could use a little entertainment on long trips or at night around the campfire."

"By the Soul Forger!" Karak groaned. "Be there nae end to my torment?"

"What?" Vade asked, innocently. "My uncle was quite a lute player in his day... Boy, did the ladies love him!"



*Moonsday, the 16th through Waterday, the 18th of Reaping, 1269 AE*​


In the morning, they bought what supplies they could from the only merchant in town, Myles, settled up their accounts with O'Meyer, the innkeeper, and got themselves fully restored by the blessings of Flor. They set out from Flavonshire with Matriarch Lenoire and Faithful Daughter Betina, heading northeast along the Eginnion Road, back toward the Termlane Forest and the Great Oak. The trip was pleasant, mostly, with the group taking turns walking and riding in the wagon.

Vade thoroughly enjoyed his new way to bedevil Karak, and he played his eukelele incessantly despite frequent threats of bodily harm if he persisted. His musicianship left much to be desired, but he had a decent singing voice.

Ledare spent a goodly amount of time talking religion with Lenoire and Betina. The Janissary felt an unmistakable connection to Flor, but she knew very little about the White Lady's teachings. As such, she was eager to avail herself of this opportunity to learn some of it firsthand. 

The others discussed tactics, going over the VQS' strengths and weaknesses in battle. Each member of the group had something to offer, but coordinating it all seemed to be their biggest stumbling block. They hadn't come up with any real solution by the time they reached the forbidding wall of the Wandering Trees.

"What now?" asked Lenoire as she scanned the treeline ahead.

"Oh, servants of Merciful One," a scratchy voice answered from the shadows. "Great Oak welcomes you to holy place." Saying thus, a small figure stepped from behind a tree. Said figure was clearly a female goblin dressed in crude but functional stitched hide armor. An acorn threaded on a bit of cured leather hung around her neck. Those who had been here before recognized her at once as Gorguul, the gobliness whom they had spared in exchange for information about what had happened to lead her tribe toward Chaos. She looked cleaner and better fed than when they'd left her, but she was clearly the same goblin.

"Come with me," she said, pointing toward a wide path that had opened up in the trees. "I lead you to Great Oak."


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #302a] Mission Accomplished*

"What is this?" Faithful Daughter Betina demanded. She didn't have her hand on the quarterstaff that lay behind her on the seat, but her eyes were watchful for some sign of a goblin ambush. Sister Lenoire placed a staying hand on the holy warrior's arm and turned to Ledare.

"Is this expected?" she asked, and there was a hint of worry in her voice. She was, after all, very far from the civilization that she knew with people she had met but a scant few days previous.

"Don't worry," Ledare answered and hopped down off the wagon. Gorguul flinched at the Janissary's sudden movement, but she held her ground, defiantly. She seemed most unlike the quaverng old gobliness that they had intimidated into spilling her tribe's secrets a few weeks ago. Ledare smiled at her and said, "I'm pleased to see you're looking well." 

"Great Oak say bring you to green place," the goblin answered. "I bring. You follow." And saying thus she turned and stalked off down the newly-created path through the Wandering Trees.

"It's good to see this one has turned her life around in the wake of Sheesek," Ledare said quietly as she turned back to the others. "That in itself is a step out of the darkness. It speaks to the power of mercy."

"Well said, sister," Lenoire answered with a smile.



The trek back through the forest was uneventful, although for both Lenoire and Betina it was a troubling one. They hadn't experienced a walk through the Termlane, and were quite alarmed the first time they turned around and discovered that the path had disappeared behind them.

Bisayo was unperturbed, and kept prattling on as they went about how similar the effect was to one that his own people used to magically lead invading enemies to specially prepared clearings in their woodland home. Once in these treeless killing fields, he told them, the interlopers could be safely dispatched using some of the more deadly spells. He listed _Acid Fog_, _Fireball_, and _Explosive Cascade_ as a few of the spells the elves considered too dangerous to use within the forest itself for fear that they would damage the trees.

Karak did his best not to yawn too obviously.

Once they got nearer the Great Oak, itself, they began to see subtle changes. Several buildings that they hadn't noticed previously had been cleared of choking vegetation and they gleamed white in the dappled sun of midday.

"Some of these designs are similar to those I've seen on the White Hall of Flor's Hand," Matriarch Lenoire observed as they passed near one of the exposed buildings.

"According to the Great Oak, this place was sacred to both Flor and Dridana," Ixin told her. "It was a place for both churches to train."

"I've never heard of Dridana or this place," Lenoire answered. "But I can plainly feel the White Lady's presence here."

Gorguul lead them through the ruins and up to the black wall. The gate that had barred the VQS on their previous visit had been ripped open and now allowed easy access to the inner sanctum. Beyond the black wall, the grounds were being carefully tended by dozens of goblin gardeners - all of them women or children. They paused in their labors and looked up as the group was led toward the massive hedge of thorns dominating the center of the enclosure.

At the hedge stood another gobliness dressed similar to Gorguul. She was taller and younger than their guide, and carried a staff decorated with feathers. A silvery metal baton was stuffed through her belt.

"Stop now!" she commanded, holding up a long-fingered hand in warning. She pointed at the two Florians and squinted her yellow eyes menacingly. "You not enter yet. Only those who Great Oak send to get you."

The two women looked cncerned, but Ledare smiled. "It'll be all right," she told them. "You're safe here."

The younger goblin drew the baton from her waist and pointed it at the hedge. As before, a silvery arch of light appeared and then the hedge withdrew, leaving a vaulted tunnel through the thorny mass. They entered and the hedge closed behind them, sealing them in the awesome presence of the Great Oak.

"You have returned," the tree spoke into their minds. "That is good."

Perhaps it was Karak's dwarven nature, but of them all, he was least impressed by the Great Oak's grandeur. He stamped forward and planted his axe. "Oi, Great Mountain that Lives," he shouted in greeting. "We have brought you two followers of Flor."

"You have done well," the tree sighed. "The balance may yet be restored."

"Yeah, well, I suggest you tell your comrade the Great Root he be needed to guard something else. You see, it seemes that a vessel of Chaos has inhabited Tawayn the druid and escaped with a Chaos artifact the likes and powers of which we nae know," Karak said and punctuated his tale by spitting, as if the very word Chaos tasted badly to him.

"Word of your deeds arrived from Great Root two days ago," the Great Oak said. "Your findings are most troubling."

"Well, what troubles me is that he got away. But we seem to have lost all our trackers. Of course if we be underground than I might well've had a chance to track, but as it stands..." Karak let his voice trail off as he pondered his own words.

"You suffered a loss while in my service," the tree said.

"Aye! We lost two of our number. But I only knew the one," the dwarf said. "Plonius and Feln both fell to the powers of Chaos. I would like to build a cairn for each in your sancturary here if I might."

"You may do so. There are many sacred burial sites within my realm," the Great Oak replied. "It is not beyond my power to restore these two to the Great Wheel if that is your desire."

"Ye mean raise 'em from the dead?" Karak asked, dumbfounded. He had heard of such magic, but never encountered its use before.

"Not resurrection. Reincarnation," the tree corrected. "All I require is a bit of their flesh and I can grant them a rebirth if their soul has not yet migrated beyond." Karak considered this, but before he could answer the tree added, "I owe you a debt for the service you have done me. If you wish these two fallen returned to Orune, I will do so. If you wish gold, I will give it. Ask, and if it is within my power to give, it is yours."


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #303] Deciding Feln's Fate*

There was a pause as the import of the Great Oak's words sunk in. A toothy grin split Karak's beard and the dwarf waggled his eyebrows at the group.

"If it be Feln or gold," he said, "I'll take the gold."

Vade shot him a hurt look and stepped toward the tree. "FELN!" he managed to shout before Ledare's hand clamped down over his mouth. Vade squirmed away and gave her a reproachful look.

"This is truly a great gift you offer us," Ledare said to the tree, ignoring the halfling entirely. "May we have time to properly consider your words?"

"Of course," Great Oak's voice whispered in their heads. "A place has been made for you. Nigoulickit will show you. Go. Rest. Decide. We will speak again on the 'morrow."

"What's to consider?" Vade argued, tears welling up in his big eyes. "I want Feln back. None of you are nearly as much fun as he was... Unless, Mr. Fancy Pants, you like to get into trouble once in a while?"

Bisayo shot him a wide-eyed look of surprise and opened his mouth to reply when Vade cut him off. "No! I want Feln back no matter what," he asserted, his lips pulled into a rictus of despair. "I will go get him myself if I have to!"

"Vade," Ledare soothed. "Calm down. We haven't decided anything, yet. We need time to talk and reach a decision as a group."

"I've already made my decision!" the halfling cried. His face was a shade of red that verged on purple. "What is there to talk about?"

"Please, Vade," Ledare cajoled. "There is nothing lost by talking. We'll speak again with the Great Oak in the morning."

The hedge behind them opened again and the younger gobliness was standing on the far side, beckoning them outward. "Come. Great Oak say I show you where you sleep," she growled and handed off the silvery baton to Gorguul. "Take followers of White Lady to see Great Oak," she instructed and the older goblin nodded.

As the VQS was led away from the hedge across the grassy sward, they saw Daughter Betina and Sister Lenoire being led reluctantly in toward the Great Oak.



Their quarters were in a smallish building from which most of the rubble had been cleared. There were no furnishing, but it had a working fireplace for warmth and six piles of leaves each covered with a coarse goblin blanket that served as beds. It was far inferior to their room at the Hard Cider Tavern, but everything was clean and free of vermin. It was barely a step up from sleeping outside on the ground.

"This is..." Bisayo said as he took in their housing, "...quaint."

"Fine way to treat the returning heroes," Ixin grumbled, clutching her cloak tightly about her as if she feared it touching anything within the place.

"I've slept in worse places," Morier told them and slung his greatsword off his shoulder.

"As have I," Karak concurred. He poked at one of the 'beds' with his boot and harrumphed. "It do nae smell like gobbo at least."

"What do you think Feln will come back as?" Vade asked suddenly. "I do not think he would want to come back as a dog or anything.... Although it would be very fun to have someone to play catch with. He was not much of a talker, anyway, but a real good listener."

The silence in the room was deafening and nobody quite wanted to meet Vade's innocent, questioning gaze.

"What?" he asked as he lowered his bulging backpack to the hard earthen floor. "What's the matter?" Surprisingly, it was the tight-lipped Morier who answered first.

"Vade, I understand your desire to see Feln brought back, but is that what's best?" he asked. "In some way it seems... unnatural."

"What? Havin' the orcblood come back from the dead as a badger or somethin'?" Karak snorted sarcastically. "What could be unnatural 'bout that?"

"Actually, I believe the reincarnated soul can only create another souled form in which to house itself," Bisayo offered. "That is to say, the new form must be of a type that possesses a soul normally. So no animals, or the like. He'll come back as a humanoid of some sort." 

"If we decide to bring him back," Ixin added. "That's not a foregone conclusion."

"What?" Vade cried and tears began to spill from his eyes once more.

"But Feln was your ally was he not?" Bisayo asked. "A way has presented itself to return him from his untimely journey to the afterlife. Why wouldn't you take it?"

"Because I have a feeling that getting Feln back would backfire on us, that's why," Ixin told him. "Perhaps we would reincarnate part of that chaos demon, too. It's too risky in my mind and it seems like it upsets the natural order of things which would further feed Chaos." Bisayo shrugged.

"Well, I do not think it upsets the natural order. Many of my people's Wayshepard's have made use of this magic over the centuries," the elf argued. "Did you not describe this tree as a representative of nature itself? Would such a being offer to reincarnate your companion if it was against nature's will?"

"Bah!" Karak grumbled. "Nature can be bent to a being's will, but gold doesn't burn."

"Karak! I thought you respected Feln. I guess it is true that dwarves are just short fat greedy humans with hearts of stone," Vade cried out in a disappointed tone. "I thought we were friends with a common cause. We never left Draelond or Ruze behind. Poor Ruze. I went out and tried to save them. We can't give up this opportunity to save our friend. He is a great fighter against Chaos!"

"This debate might be for naut, anyway," Bisayo said. "Reincarnation requires some portion of the original body in order to work. According to your recounting of the circumstances surrounding your companion's demise, there was no body left to recover. Did anyone recover a finger... or an ear..." He looked around and the others all shook their heads one by one.

"Wait!" Vade exclaimed and began rummaging through his pack. After a moment's search, he produced a bone comb that still had a few strands of reddish hair wound around the teeth. "This is Feln's hair. I borrowed his comb while he was sleeping and I must have forgotten to give it back!"

"That do nae change things, little one," Karak grumbled. "We need to ask the tree for gold or some sort o' magic weapon to fight Chaos "

"But maybe he could be reincarnated as a dwarf, Karak," Vade offered. "Then you would like him better." Karak harrumphed at that.

"He'd still be an orcblood, to me," the dwarf growled and spat on the ground. He misjudged a bit, however and messily splattered Bisayo's deerskin boots. He scowled at this and muttered, "Uh... sorry there, fancy foot."

Bisayo looked at his soiled foot in disgust and a touch of color brushed his high cheek bones. It was the only indication on his impassive face that he was angered by Karak's mistake. "So his orcish blood condemns him in your eyes?" the elf snapped. "There are others amongst you with more dubious lineages than that. And you associate freely with them." Bisayo looked pointedly at Morier as he said this and the albino laughed sardonically at the mage.

"I wondered how long it was going to take you to get around to me. I saw that you recognized me for what I am when we first met," the eldritch warrior said and sighed. "I didn't think you'd be able to keep quiet so long, although I'd wager you haven't slept too soundly with one of my blood so close at hand."

"What are you talking about?" Ledare asked.

"I'm surprised you hadn't already gleaned it, Ledare. Feln figured it out pretty early on. Perhaps it was just him being more attuned to the plight of the outsider than any of you," Morier said. "As Bisayo will be quick to point out, I'm not what anyone would consider a 'normal' elf... and for that matter, it should also be pretty evident to the rest of you that Angwyn isn't my natural father. He adopted me... in a manner of speaking. The truth of the issue is that he found me on the edge of a cave clearing, having been left for dead by my parents. An albino in the world of the Drow is not exactly what anyone would consider a welcome addition to the family. Nobody seems to know how or why it happened, just that it isn't considered a fatal condition unless your parents are Drow."

"Dark elves?" Karak growled, his lip curling unconsciously. The tunnel fighters of his delve had clashed more than once with the ebon-skinned elves of the underdark.

"Yes, Karak," Morier said sadly. "I have learned how to disguise my race from most I meet. But my surface cousins... I can't ever seem to fool them."

"On my own world, there are some dragonkin who hide their natures from those around them," Ixin offered by way of support and she spread her wings slightly as she spoke. "I can not imagine feeling it necessary to hide what you are."

"It was not always easy," the eldritch warrior went on. His hidden self had been contained behind a facade for so long that it felt good to let his story spill from his lips now that his lie had been revealed. "I was a severely restless child, and Angwyn seized the opportunity to send me to train in combat with Arwold Wyverneye. He claims that the 'spark' of electricity was in me then and couldn't be contained. So it was train under Wyverneye or end up living out my days away from others completely."

"When I finished my training under Wyverneye, I wandered alone for a great while, occasionally meeting with a group of adventurers, but rarely toward any common end. Most plundered for money, or hunted bounty for riches and rewards of one kind or another," he explained. "I spent a great deal of time in taverns and inns, drinking mead and listening to the lies and boasts, and very little time pursuing actual action." 

"But it is in the very lifeblood of the eldritch warrior to adventure, so I continued to search for groups who would seek adventure with me," the albino sighed and then grinned thinly at the others. "It is only in encountering this group that I have found a number of souls with whom I feel a common bond. To work toward a greater good while discovering one's own inner being is the true essence of why I have travelled with you these many days."

Ledare stepped forward and put a reassuring hand on Morier's shoulder. "You are welcome to stand beside us for as long as you wish," she said. "You have proven yourself a worthy comrade many times over and if Bisayo cannot accept your blood..." She let her voice trail off as she fixed the mage with an appraising eye.

As on the occasion of their first meeting, Bisayo squirmed under her prolonged scrutiny. "I meant no disrespect.... But the dwarf..." he stammered before ultimately gathering his cloak around himself and heading for the door. "I need to get some air," he muttered as he went.

"So, does this mean we get to reincarnate Feln?" Vade asked after the elf had stepped out into the lengthening shadows of afternoon.

"I don't see how this changes anything, Vade," Ixin said. "My heart aches for the loss of our friend, but I think our cause would be better served by asking Great Oak for some other boon."

A great wracking sob burst out of Vade's mouth at the drakeling's words. "How?" he sobbed. "How could you leave a comrade behind like this?"

"Vade..." Ledare began to say in a soothing tone, but Vade would have none of it. He stalked angrily away from her, his face a grim mask of fierce determination. 

"No!" he cried. "If you don't help Feln you can have your stinking crusade and kiss my tiny little butt good bye." He paused just long enough to throw his pin engraved with the VQS emblem out the door before he stomped off himself.


----------



## Rel

Dammit, Jon, if you keep posting such frequent and lengthy updates I'm NEVER gonna' catch up!


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Nigoulickit

Nye-goo-lick-it?

Or do you pronounce it a different way?

I wonder if Vade will make the decision for the group?


----------



## Jon Potter

Rel said:
			
		

> Dammit, Jon, if you keep posting such frequent and lengthy updates I'm NEVER gonna' catch up!




I'll try to shuffle my feet a bit, Rel. But I wanted to save you from the malaise that comes from reading along and reading along and then suddenly catching up to the author on a story hour.

It really is quite yucky when that happens.  



			
				Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Nigoulickit
> 
> Nye-goo-lick-it?
> 
> Or do you pronounce it a different way?




Ni-GOO-lick-it actually. But who can account for goblin pronunciation anyway?



> I wonder if Vade will make the decision for the group?




Funny you should mention that.


----------



## Rel

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> I'll try to shuffle my feet a bit, Rel. But I wanted to save you from the malaise that comes from reading along and reading along and then suddenly catching up to the author on a story hour.
> 
> It really is quite yucky when that happens.




Touche, Mr. Potter.  Touche.  This round goes to you.

But you haven't seen the last of me!


----------



## Jon Potter

Rel said:
			
		

> But you haven't seen the last of me!




I should hope not!


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #304] A Second Chance*

"Well this may seem to be my lucky day!" Karak laughed as Vade stormed off into the night. "I can ask the Great Oak for weapons of power and Vade will leave my poor ears alone! We may even see Feln return as a dwarf!"

"Karak, I don't think that having our group splinter like this is a good thing," Ledare countered as she went to look out the window after the halfling. "Especially given the forces stacked against us."

"Ha!" the dwarf snorted derisively. He waved of her concerns and went about the business of tending to his gear. "I would mark this day down in the _Tome of Dwarves_ as a good day."

"Should we go after him?" Ixin asked and Ledare turned from the window with a resigned sigh.

"No," she said. "Let's let him cool off a bit before we talk to him. I have a feeling that he won't actually leave us and there's little harm that can befall him in this sacred place."



Vade sputtered and cursed as he stormed away from the small house that had been set aside for the VQS. He was so clouded by anger that he didn't see Bisayo standing alone in the shadows until the elf spoke.

"Are emotions running too high in there for you too, Vade?" the elf asked and the halfling let out a yelp, his hand going uncharacteristically to the hilt of his shortsword. Bisayo spread his hands in apology. "I'm sorry. I did not intend to startle you."

"I- I-" Vade struggled. For a moment, the words wouldn't come. but he was Vade and the trouble lasted only a moment. "They want to leave Feln dead. They want treasure!"

"So they have decided then?" Bisayo asked and if Vade's eyesight had been better he would have noticed the disappointed expression on the elf's face. Bisayo hadn't known the companions for very long nor the half-orc at all, but he did know that given the same choice, he would have chosen a friend over gold without hesitation. Vade shared his sensibilities, but coupled them with a tendency to act without excessive forethought.

"I've decided!" the halfling cried and tears began to spill down his cheeks again. "I'm going to talk to the Great Oak myself!"

"Vade, don't be rash," Bisayo cautioned. "Let your friends sleep on this news. It is a lot to digest... Sorry, bad choice of words.. It is a lot for them to comprehend in one evening."

"No!" the halfling countered. "Feln is dead and there's nothing to debate."

"I am sure that if your friend was the warrior you say he was then he is journeying towards a better place as we speak," Bisayo offered some comfort. "Your friend cannot lose in this situation... no matter what your other friends decide." Vade considered the elf's words and returned a wan smile.

"Thank you, Bisayo," he said. "But I don't want Feln to go to a better place. I want him here with me." And then he turned toward the path leading up to the black wall separating the inner fane from the rest of the ruined complex.

Bisayo watched him go and turned back to look at the small shelter in which the VQS were deliberating. For a moment he debated whether he should intercede, warning the others of Vade's shortsighted actions. Then he remembered that last look on Ledare's face before he'd left and turned away instead. He saw the halfling disappear through the gate at the head of the trail.

"May Lukane smile on you, little one," he whispered.



Vade hustled up the path full of the certainty that he was doing the right thing. His bravado faltered, however, when he stepped through the gate in the black wall. There were a dozen or more goblins on the grassy lawn beyond, each still working at their various gardening duties. To Vade's eyes, they were shadowy figures only dimly visible moving in the darkening twilight, but the goblins moved about with certainty, unperturbed by the dwindling light.

The halfling gulped as one of the hazy figures detached itself from its work and ambled towards him, its eyes glittering in the darkness like two polished gold coins. The shaking in his legs subsided somewhat when he saw that it was just a child - or so he assumed, for it was smaller than the goblins they had fought in the caves.

"I would like to see the Great Oak, please," Vade said, struggling to remember his gobbledy. He hadn't had occasion to use much more than a few obscene phrases in quite some time, and so was more than a little rusty. Luckily the young goblin seemed to understand.

"Nigoulickit," the goblin said, pointing toward the hedge before moving off to complete its work.

"Nigoulickit. Right," Vade said and headed for the hedge. The enormous dome of leaves rising above the thorny wall still caught the last light of sunset, and against the dark sky the green was almost painfully bright. He looked away and spotted the gobliness, Nigoulickit, standing vigil beside the hedge. She regarded him fiercely as he approached, her hand resting on the silver rod in her belt.

"I would like to-" he began and Nigoulickit cut him off.

"I know. Great Oak tell me," she said and pointed the baton at the hedge. "Say I bring you."

"Um... thanks," Vade said as the wall of thorns opened up before him. She gestured for him to follow and then proceeded down the tunnel. "So how do you like living here?" he asked nervously as she led him toward the immense tree. "Nice digs."

Nigoulickit didn't answer, and Vade didn't press the issue once the tree was in view again. Its majesty momentarily took his breath away.

"Why have you come, Vadenhuffer T. Briarhopper III?" the Great Oak spoke into his mind. "Your leader, Ledare Eelsof'faw, requested time to consider."

"Mr Great Oak, sir, I humbly request that you bring back my friend, Feln," Vade said weakly. "I think It is the best decision for our group."

"Hmmm...," the tree's voice rumbled in his head. "It is within my power to do so. Provided his spirit and the spirit of the Green are both willing. Do you have some portion of his last shell?"

"Well..," Vade began as he pulled Feln's comb from his pocket. "Here is some of his hair. Is that enough? I never used this comb, so I know it is not mine."

"It will do," the Great Oak said after a pause. "What of the other fallen warrior, Plonius?"

"I don't have anything of his," Vade admitted with a shrug. "This jerk Grisham took all his stuff when we found his body. Maybe we could go back after-"

"It would be too late," the tree told him. "The soul cannot be reincarnated once it has moved on to the outer planes. The Green forbids it."

"Okay. Just Feln then," Vade agreed. "Can he come back with better hair, though? He had this silly ponytail..."

"I have no control over his form," the Great Oak said. "The Green chooses a new shell to maintain the balance."

"Okay," Vade hesitated. "It'll still be Feln, though. Right?"

"Yes," the tree sighed. "I sense uncertainty, Vadenhuffer T. Briarhopper III. You speak here for your group. Are you sure this is the reward you want?"

Vade gulped, weighing the decision for half-a-heartbeat - which was half-a-heartbeat longer than he usually deliberated on a decision. "I speak because, although I am not the mouth of the party, I am the heart of the party with some of the best intentions in the entire group," he said with pride. "My actions have always been for the best of the party and I know this is for the best of the party as we contine to fight chaos and evil. I want Feln back."

"It shall be done," the tree said and Vade felt a low rumble move through the earth at his feet.



Feln arose from the darkness bit by bit, struggling against the cold pull of oblivion as a drowning man struggles against the waves. He half-remembered a Chaos elemental that had paralyzed him with fell magic and then swallowed him whole. Part of his mind wondered if that might be where he was still: trapped in the belly of the beast. He tried to move and found he could although his limbs were stiff and heavy - too heavy. He knew at once that something was wrong.

Feln had spent the vast majority of his life training his body into the best fighting machine it could be. He knew it in the way that some fighters know their swords, and he could sense the changes in his body before his mind could make any sense of how or why it had happened. He groaned and it was a thick, rumbling sound.

He opened his eyes and saw the vast canopy of a tree, its branches standing out against a dark sky full of stars.

"The Great Oak," Feln said in a voice that was not his own. He raised a hand to his face and was shocked by the thick, clumsy fingers that he saw on that hand. His face was different, but subtly so. He was still ugly, he could tell at once, with a heavy underslung jaw and a jutting brow ridge. His nose was large and bulbous and the flesh covering it all felt rough and leathery.

"What is this?" he moaned and the unfamiliar voice came mockingly to his ears.

"Feln?" Vade asked and he turned toward the welcome sound of a friendly voice. Vade was there, but he winced visibly, recoiling from his friend. The halfling turned to look up at the tree and shouted, "I thought you said he'd have better hair?"



*Earthday, the 19th of Reaping, 1269 AE*​


The members of the VQS awoke to the sounds of birdsong and sunshine. A sense of well-being and rebirth was everywhere. It felt like spring regardless of the moonsdance. Even Karak was in a good mood as he groomed his beard and made ready to face the day. A short time later, a trio of goblin children brought them trays of food - fruits and nuts mostly although there was also salted meat and cups of goat's milk sweetened with honey - and they ate before going to their scheduled meeting with the Great Oak.

The branches of the enormous tree were alive with twittering birds of every hue.

"I am pleased that you have returned as you said you would," the tree spoke in their heads and Karak was quick to step forward and reply.

"Great Oak I do nae speak for the others; I only speak for me on this," he said. "I do nae know but little of the art of reincarnation. I do nae know if it be in the right order of things or even that it be what Feln would want. He may have found his lost brothers, after all  and who are we to take him from them?"

"Well said, Karak," Ixin interrupted smoothly as she stepped up to stand beside the dwarf. "I too am worried about bringing him back. I am worried that he is happier where he is now and would not want us to bring him back. Is there any here who believe he is in a negative place? Is it in Feln's best interest to have him die twice? I do not know his religious beliefs, but how sure are we that he is not better off now than he was?"

"Aye," Karak agreed. "I know, Great Oak, that you are mighy and powerful to be able to accomplish such a feat and I sense that you would nae offer it if it were to be unnatural. But, as I often say, I wish me chalak were here to guide me as he often knew of these things as I do not. I am a simple warrior of Shaharizod."

"Yes. We must genuinely search our hearts and make the best decision we can," Ixin added. "If we can do so and honestly find that we believe he is some place bad now, I will support the decision to bring him and Plonius back."

"I too will abide by the group's wishes on Feln and Plonius," Karak shrugged. "And I also ask that you-"

"It is already done," The Great Oak sighed.

"Eh?" Karak paused, his gleaming axe held out in both hands.

"Your ally, Feln, has already been returned to this world from the next," the tree explained. "Vadenhuffer T. Briarhopper III came to me last night and sought this boon from me. It is already done."

"He what?!?" the angry voices of the four members of the VQS shouted in unison.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Yay! I called it.   


Something tells me Grisham might like Feln a lot now.


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Yay! I called it.




Yep. It was a very 'Vade' thing to do.

In a party of Lawfuls, his player (when deciding to do this) said, "What is wrong with a little chaos here and there?"



> Something tells me Grisham might like Feln a lot now.




How so? There's no way that you could have guessed what Feln returned as; it's not even on the Reincarnation chart. Actually, I fudged the rules a little here since I rolled "DM's Choice". So what if he's technically got the Giant type and Giant's aren't on the chart; it's DM's Choice, dammit! That means something in my game!   

Besides I could let you have ALL the size Large fun, HM.


----------



## Jon Potter

*A bit of a change*

I edited the last post to add a bit of contexual framing.

I just added a bit at the beginning and a bit at the end to better tie Vade's solo events together with the rest of the group's. Nothing really changes, but it'll make what happens next flow a little better.

Please forgive my retro-fitting.


----------



## Funeris

Forgiven  well...once you update again


----------



## Jon Potter

Funeris said:
			
		

> Forgiven  well...once you update again




Sorry, Funeris. It'll be a few days at the very least.

But stay tuned; I do update regularly.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #305] Reward & Recrimination*

"Briarhopper!" Karak bellowed, flecks of spittle lodging in his beard. "Where is that blasted hobbit!? When I get my hands on him I am going to snap his neck like a rabbit!"

"The reincarnation of your friend was not the boon you sought," the Great Oak sighed. The tone of the tree's comments made it unclear whether it was asking or telling them.

"Our halfling made his decision without our consent, but we will stand behind him," Ledare answered.

"Do nae speak for me, lassy!" Karak fumed through fiercely gritted teeth. "How dare Vade just decide to bring back Feln from the underworld. Why that is where every warrior aspires to be, and I know Feln at least was a warrior when he left this plane."

"I do not approve of Vade acting without us. That is not how a team functions," Ixin added. "Morier has reminded us many times of the dangers of striking out on our own without the group." The Eldritch Warrior just nodded sagely and Ixin went on. "That being said, Vade was right in my opinion. I for one welcome back our friend Feln and hope he can understand our intentions were positive in waiting."

"Bah!" Karak spat. "Hobbits have nae business messing with the dead. Why they have but half a business messing with the living. He stole the chance for us to obtain items of power to defeat chaos. Has he nae noticed we seem to be behind the dark powers at every step. Plonius is taken, killed, and most likely possessed and we can nae stop it. Feln dies along with half our number being swallowed by the beast o' chaos and we are barely able to stop it. If'n it were nae for the electric power of the albino we be all gristle by now. We need information and weapons if we are to stand against this dark tide."

"Returning your friend and ally in the fight against evil and Chaos was not aid enough?" the tree asked and there seemed to be the faintest hint of annoyance in its tone.

Karak harrumphed. "I miss Feln too, but we must worry as to the living too!" he grumbled. Ledare was quick to spot the souring mood of the conversation and did her utmost to turn it around.

"You are an old and wise soul. You know both our hearts and our purpose. You can strengthen our small stance against the powers of darkness," she said to the tree in her most diplomatic tone. "You have given Feln a priceless gift, to be sure. However, we must beg for further assistance. We ask for guidance and that you favor us with the tools to speed our travels. Will you help us in our fight against Aphyx?" 

There was a pause during which the only sound was the pleasant rustling of the Great Oak's vibrant green leaves. Then it spoke. "My reward to you was to be two companions returned from Purgatorium," it said. "Only Feln of the Gelgian Brotherhood has been so returned. My debt to you remains unfulfilled."

"Oh, aye?" Karak asked, his eyes glinting with the prospect of further reward. He held up his waraxe and grinned, "Then I ask that ye bless my axe to be a better weapon against Chaos."

None of the others said anything to stop Karak. Perhaps it was because they saw the earnestness in the dwarf's request. Perhaps it was because they could sense that Karak had been rehearsing this speech in his head. But either way, they let him continue uninterrupted.

"As you may know a dwarf an' his blade be closer than chalak to chalak," he told Great Oak, holding the axe up in both hands "I have been with my axe since its birth in the master forges of my clan. I have cared for it, protected if from the weather and elements, and cleansed it when it has cut Chaos. But, it be unable to hurt the creatures of true Chaos or those that are magical. This be a fine blade but it not magical. I wish it to be magical so I can continue to bring the fight to Chaos. So I nae need to choose another weapon simply to fight the foe. I ask you humbly, to bless my axe in your spirit so it may fight true as any dwarven blade." Karak lowered himself awkwardly to his knees and raised his head to look up at the massive green canopy of leaves overhead.

If any of them saw the irony in asking a tree for help in making a better axe, they did not voice it.

"Any enchantment I could place upon your weapon would be but temporary in nature, Karak, son of Kignar," the tree told him. "My power does not extend to things that deal death... even death to followers of the Rot Queen." Karak seemed deflated, and he looked sorrowfully at his axe, his shoulders slumping beneath his heavy armor. "For that you will need to seek the help of a mage or a priest of the warrior gods," Great Root went on. "I am sorry. But all I can offer you is enough coin to pay for such an enchantment."

Karak nodded and got to his feet once more. He turned to look at Ixin, Ledare and Morier. "As I stand on this hollowed ground, even a dwarf can appreciate its holiness in the wood. As you know, me chalak was a cleric of Shaharizod," the dwarf said gravely. Taking a deep breath, he went on. "I do know and say openly now that I am able to commune with my goddess directly. But no cleric be I. I am a warrior for Shaharizod, yes. But I do not aspire to wear the robes of the priest or the scale mail of the Battleguard. I aspire to wear the armour and the axe in Shaharizod's name as her warrior."

"I be but a simple fighter blessed with some of Shaharizod's skills. These skills I will use to aid in our fight against Chaos," he continued. "I can sense that some balance has been returned to the world with a goblin tribe turning to good and the followers of Flor being brought here. But there be more to do and I say we continue this fight!" He raised his axe overhead in a rallying salute and growled, "With the blessings of Shaharizod I'll carry it into the depths of Chaos itself to restore the balance to our realm!"

"I will have some coins brought from the temple treasury," Great Oak said. "And then my debt to you will be fulfilled." Karak nodded, but Morier got a concerned look on his face.

"Can lend us guidance as to where our efforts might best be concentrated to help stop the evil?" he asked quickly and the tree rustled its leaves in reply.

"Alas, my power is re-awakening but slowly, Morier Tulien," the Great Oak admitted. "However, I can tell you that there is a sense of unease growing within The Green beyond the mountains to the south," the tree added.

"In Pellham," Ledare observed.

"Yes, that is the name men have given the land there," Great Oak confirmed. "I cannot yet divine the exact nature of the troubles in that distant place, but as the Aronerai School begins to attract more Florians and druids to the Termlane forest, my powers too shall grow. Then I will pinpoint the Taint that festers in Oerune's breast and together we will cut it away."



The Great Oak had further agreed to beseech the Beastlord, Hirrumm, to aid them in their travels southward. Then he told them where it was that Vade and Feln had gotten to: an area of sacred standing stones once used for religious rites and meditation. One of the goblins lead them down a cobbled path that was nearly invisible beneath its growth of moss and grasses. It was the same path by which they'd first entered the ruins of the school and they recognized the wide plaza of standing stones from their previous trek through the area. It occupied a flat area between the hill on which most of the school was built and a bluff that dropped off into the level of the forest proper. Vade was clearly visible sitting on one of the rock benches that occupied the center of the hemisphere of standing stones.

Sight of the halfling instantly fanned the embers of Karak's anger and he bustled down the path at a trot, bellowing at Vade as he came.

"What made you believe you could sneak off and make that decision by yourself, hobbit! Who annointed you godling to make the decision of life and death for another?" he roared. "What if you've condemned Feln to living. What if Feln nae like the form he be in! Did you every think of that? What if he nae be himself did you think about those consequences?"

Vade looked at the dwarf and rolled his eyes before activating his _Ring of Invisibility_ and disappearing from sight. Karak spat and shook with anger.

"You'll nae escape me tha' easy, hobbit!" he bellowed loudly enough that a flock of birds was startled from a nearby tree. "If you be human I'd understand you do nae know the consequences of short thought out actions, but you be halfling and live longer. You should know better, Vade!"

"I will remember that when you die, Karak. A team does not leave someone behind when they can save them," Vade's disembodied voice answered from somewhere nearer the standing stones. "I chose to save Feln. He is my friend!"

"An' what is that supposed to mean?" Karak growled. "I miss the orcblood, same as you. But-"

"You wanted to take gold instead of getting him back!" Vade cried. "You're not his friend! You have no right to say you miss him! No right!"

"Vade, I do not believe Karak was right to joke about choosing treasure over Feln, but I do believe he was joking nevertheless," Ixin said, stepping up to stand beside Karak. "What is important now is that our team is whole and that is how we fight best."

"I just wanted Feln back," Vade's voice came again from a spot near the stones guarding the edge of the clearing.

"I know, Vade," Ledare added as she joined the dwarf and the drakeling. "Your heart was in the right place. But we are together in this fight against evil, and you are to remember that even when personal desires stand in the way. We act together for the greater good or not at all."

"Show yerself, hobbit!" Karak grumbled as he stomped forward toward the spot that he thought Vade must be. "Hiding'll nae save ye from answerin' for what ye've done!" The dwarf rounded the nearest column of stone and slammed face-first into the hairy belly of an ogreling who was skulking behind the stone. He looked up, irritated and bellowed "Outta my way, oaf! You are blocking out my sun!"

The half-ogre shook his huge head and smirked at the dwarf - an expression made somewhat disturbing by the tusk-like fangs protruding from the corners of his mouth. "I see my death has done nothing to change you for the better, Karak," Feln said.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Which version of Half-Ogre did you use? As far as source or LA adjustment.


----------



## Jon Potter

*The "official" version*



			
				Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Which version of Half-Ogre did you use? As far as source or LA adjustment.




We're using the updated 3.5 half-ogre from Races of Destiny.

Although now that I think about it, I could have used the way cool half-ogre from Bastards & Bloodlines. I've sort of forgotten about that book in the last 6 months or so. Too bad. I missed an opportunity there, for sure. I'll have to break it out and take another look - there're bound to be some choice feats in there.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #306] Chaos Strikes Back!*

"What!?" Karak grumbled, craning his neck to peer up at the ogreling's disturbingly savage face. "What manner of beast is this?"

"Beast?" the half-ogre grimaced, his sharp fangs protruding disquietingly. His head drooped and his eyes turned away; he looked embarrassed by his appearance. "I am not an animal, dwarf."

"Feln? Is that you?" the dwarf exclaimed as he took a startled step backward. "Why, by the gods' beards, you are even uglier than before!"

"You should talk!" Vade's voice taunted from somewhere nearby.

"Karak! What he looks like isn't important!" Ixin admonished as she stepped up beside him. She looked up at the ogreling and smiled warmly. "What is important now is that our team is whole and that is how we fight best!"

"But, jus' look at 'im!" Karak went on, waving his waraxe at Feln. "Orcblood, what have you gotten youself into now? Why, now you be a little giant! First you test my patience with orcish racial tension, now you go to the other side of the ale house and become a giant?"

"Karak!" Ixin said again. "Didn't Bisayo say that there was no way to predict what form he would return in? Feln had no choice in that. Although my understanding is that you did have a choice about whether or not to come back at all. Is that right?"

"Yes," Feln muttered. "At least, I think so. I don't quite remember what happened after... being swallowed." A slight shiver seemed to pass through the half-ogre's overly muscled body at the memory.

"I am glad to see you and I thank you for your sacrifice," Ixin told him and Ledare stepped up beside her and offered her hand to Feln.

"Yes, Feln. Welcome back to the land of the living," the Janissary said. "I am sorry for your experience in the belly of that beast." The ogreling regarded her and the tremor that moved through her face when she mentioned the Chaos Elemental seemed to reassure him somehow. He took her hand, swallowing it and a third of her forearm in his huge fist.

"I thank you for bringing me back," he growled in a sullen voice. "I know it was a difficult decision. Even in this new body I am unsure if it was the right thing to do."

"It was!" Vade's disembodied voice said. He was somewhere above them, now.

"I hope the pain of your former life is far behind you now," Ledare said gently.

Karak poked him in the belly with his waraxe. "Are you really you?" he asked as if he were convinced that this was all some sort of halfling trick. "Can you do combat moves behind that big belly of yours?" Feln shied away from the prodding weapon.

"I have practiced some of my Sevom and I feel like a new born babe just learning how to walk," he admitted. He moved his arms awkwardly through some of the familiar martial forms that they had all seen Feln practice every morning."It is very disconcerting."

"Clearly your new form will take getting used to," Ixin said and spread her leathery wings to convey her understanding.

"Oi! We are a walking animal spectacle," Karak sighed with a shake of his head. He turned and stalked off to sit on one of the stone benches. "How I ever got mixed up with this lot, I will nae never know. Oi, Malak where are ye now, I wonder, to see this? Remember the times we walked the frozen peaks and encountered the spirits of the monastery? Now those were times! We be frozen to the core, and you barely able to cast a spell, me just learning the way of the axe. Oi, those were the times, I tell you!"*

They turned away from Karak and focused there attention back on Feln. The half-ogre reached down with one of his oversized arms and grabbed a large piece of deadwood. It was half-again as long as Ledare was tall and nearly as big around as Vade. Feln snapped it like kindling. "There are of course some advantages to this body," he grinned. "I am willing to travel anywhere to kill off this Chaos scum. They have bested me once, but rest assured, I will stick tight with the group now and I will not leave you in battle again!"

"See, Karak!" Vade taunted as he deactivated the _Ring of Invisibility_ and appeared perched on the sloping expanse of Feln's shoulder. He was held easily  in place by the _Slippers of Spider Climbing_. It looks to me like we have just got the best weapon of all!" Karak harrumphed and clanked down off the bench. He walked back to join them.

"Lest you wonder where I stand on the issue, I'll say again: You should have nae gone after this on your own," the dwarf told him, scowling up at the halfling overhead. "But it be the way of haflings to meddle where they should nae be meddlin'."

"You know, Karak, your immediate plea for the blessing of your axe is exactly the kind of rash act for which you are criticizing Vade," Ledare interjected. "No wonder we get no group consensus on our decisions. There's barely time to react before someone in this party stands up and speaks for himself!" Karak harrumphed again.

"I spoke o' my axe last night, lassie, while we was debatin' between reincarnation and help from Great Oak," he grumbled. "No one else had anythin' specific to ask for so I figgered it be time to speak up for myself."

"Uh... While we're on the subject: I am desperate for some gear," Feln said, indicating the rough loincloth he wore - which looked like several goblin blankets strung on a length of stout rope. "Do we have any of that platinum left? I hate to be a further burden, but I require weapons of some kind."

"Don't worry, old buddy. I will find you some stuff," Vade comforted, patting Feln's sloping forehead with a tiny hand. The half-ogre smiled and gently lifted Vade off his shoulder and put him on the ground at his feet. The halfling barely came up to his knee.

"Thank you again, Vade," he said, adding, "I will understand if it could not be recovered, but were you able to grab my dagger - the crested one. It is my only link to the group of men responsible for the death of my brethren."

"Feln, everything you had was chewed, swallowed, and digested," the halfling apologized.

"What about that _Hat of Disguise_?" the half-ogre persisted, a look of depression settling uncomfortably on his face. "Did anyone recover any of my gear? I had some nice things."

"There was nothing left," Vade explained. "Except your foot."

Feln looked down at the unfamiliar feet he now wore and his expression of sadness deepened.

"I do have your comb!" Vade said brightly, hoping to cheer Feln up. "There was some of your hair on it. It's what the Great Oak used to bring you back!"

Feln just sighed, but Ledare bent down and whispered to Vade, "I sure do hope you've got a little something of mine in your numerous pockets, just in case."

Vade grinned and hugged her tightly. "I do now," he said with a wink.



It was as they were heading back up the slope from the sacred stones that they heard the rumbling crash of falling rock and the terrified screams of dying goblins. Their goblin guide squealed in alarm and started running up the path toward the sound with the VQS not far behind, wondering what was going on. They didn't have to wonder for long.

The cobbled path leveled out at the top of the top of the bluff and meandered in a gentle arc to the right where it skirted the monolithic black wall on the left. It was at this point that a secondary path led off toward a barely-glimpsed building that stood mostly-cloaked in vegetation. One wall of the building had exploded outward, and blocks of cut stone were strewn along the path. The crumpled and bloodied body of a goblin lay on the path as well, steam rising from it mysteriously.

But there was no time to ponder the implications of the goblin's corpse, for an instant later, an abomination lurched out of the underbrush surrounding the damaged building. It was quite unlike anything any of them had seen before. The horrid creature was vaguely toadlike, with a broad mouth and bulbous eyes. Unlike a toad, however, it had only two muscular legs which supported it from beneath, and its feet ended in claws like a bird's. From its back sprouted two writhing tentacles that ended in mouths - looking like nothing so much as eyeless snakes. It was as large as a warhorse, and the stench of acid and burnt flesh hung around it like a cloud.

As the VQS watched in horror, it stalked forward, scooped the dead goblin up with its tentacles and stuffed the limp body into its tooth-filled maw. It's throat worked and the body disappeared down its gullet even as it turned o face the party. Its tentacles snapped at the air threateningly and it took two ponderous steps toward them before one of the toothsome limbs whipped in their direction and belched forth a stream of acid that splattered across Feln's broad torso.

The half-ogre screamed as the acid seared away his flesh in a huge bloody swathe from hip to shoulder. The cry was answered by an unholy barking sound as a second of the creatures crashed out of the underbrush a few lengths behind the first.

*"Yonk aapsûr gîlizub!"* it croaked in a language that seemed to claw painfully at the ears. Only Ixin could understand them, thanks to the _Persistent Tongues_ power of Arivexoth. And understanding that it said, "More meat for my dinner," was in no way an improvement when it was clear that you were said meat.


-------------------------------------------

*Karak's and Malak's earliest recorded adventures were chronicled in a story hour on the old boards. I'm not sure if it still exists or not.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #307] Return of the VQS*

Vade gulped loudly enough to be heard over Feln's roar of pain, activated the _Ring of Invisibility_ and disappeared.

Feln clutched as his dissolving flesh with one hand and bellowed in pain and frustration. He took a single step forward before he felt Ixin tugging at his arm.

"Drink this!" she urged, handing him a vial that she had purchased from Morier's adopted father back in Hillville Junction. He took the tiny flask and poured the contents down his throat before continuing to advance on the toad-like monsters. A luminous sheen seemed to spread across his body for a moment before it sank invisibly into his skin, cloaking the half-ogre in _Mage Armor_.

Ledare thought of her goddess, and let Flor's pure goodness fill her with clarity. Then she drew Ravager from the sheathe across her back and started forward as well. "Divide the two creatures between the spell casters. Ixin, stick with me," she commanded. "Concentrate on dispatching the creature I'm fighting. Morier, you're on the other one."

"Right!" Ixin said. As soon as Feln had taken the potion, she had pulled a scroll from her _Cloak of Many Pockets_. She unfurled it then and read its spell trigger aloud, _"Contego!"_ As the scroll disappeared n a small pyrotechnic display, the Weave hardened in front of Ixin creating an invisible plane of force to shield her from attack.

"Well now!" Karak growled. "It seems the beasts o' chaos can penetrate this sanctuary. It be time for dwarven steel!" He hefted his waraxe and spat on the blade before rushing grimly forward in a clatter of polished steel plate.

Ledare advanced to a position near, but not directly beside Feln. She hoped that she and the half-ogre would attract attention from two different opponents. As Feln assumed a combat stance, Ledare raised her shield and brought Ravager into position, ready to strike if she were engaged.

A moment later she got her chance as the first monster slurped down the last of the broken goblin and came at her in a rush. She brought the bastard sword to bare as the creature descended on her, and its saw-toothed edge ripped across the thing's snout an instant before it's jaws clamped down on Ledare's shield. The Janissary wrestled it free of the beast's maw and readied herself for another attack.

The second monster lurched out onto the path and plodded gracelessly toward Feln. Despite Feln's best attempts to prevent it from doing so, it bit down on the half-ogre and only Ixin's _Mage Armor_ spell protected him from suffering a nasty injury. The toad-like creature bellowed in frustration for an instant before Karak rushed through the space between Feln and Ledare and slammed into it from the side. His axe blade opened a wound just above its leg that ought to have been considerably more severe than it appeared to be.

Morier watched the initial rush of the battle and wove his fingers through the final somatic components of a spell. _"Fidus attingo!"_ he intoned and felt the familiar rush of a _True Strike_ fill his swordarm with insight. He drew his greatsword and trotted forward to take his place in the battle.

Feln took a tactical step to readjust himself relative to Karak and willed his body to tap into its inner reserves. He felt a surge of adrenaline course through his body and went to work on the thing. Under the best of circumstances, being pummeled by a half-ogre is not a position one wants to find oneself. This half-ogre, however, had trained in the Shadow Warrior style under the Gelgian Masters; he knew how to hit quickly and where to hit to cause the most damage. He sent a flurry of blows into the creature's flank, driving his fists twice into sensitive nerve clusters. The blows were the sort that would have crippled a normal opponent - Feln knew that instinctively - but this unnatural creature seemed only slightly wounded by the assault.

It was enough to cause the thing to turn and devote more attention to the half-ogre, and Karak aimed to make it regret that decision. Where Feln had drawn on his training and discipline to to push himself into a state of enhanced combat effectiveness, Karak simply released the primal warrior lurking within himself, grabbed his waraxe in both hands and sent himself into a whirling frenzy. He slashed at the beast's side and felt his axe cut a notch in its ribs as the blade carved into its flesh. It howled in pain and spun back around and wavered between its two opponents.

Ixin moved forward to within 30 feet of the melee and drew upon the Weave. _"Magicus telum!"_ she chanted and pointed at the creature locked in a death struggle with Ledare. Two bolts of pure force leapt from her outstretched fingers, altered course to avoid the Janissary and slammed into the toad-thing's chest. Both missiles dissipated harmlessly upon impact.

"Spell resistance!" she cursed.

Ledare saw the _Magic Missiles_ strike without effect, but paid them no mind; she wouldn't have known what it meant even if she'd been devoting her full attention to it. As it was, she was concentrating on striking at the madly waving tentacles that seemed to be everywhere in the air around her. She slashed out twice with Ravager, but, while both attacks were close, neither managed to connect with the flailing limbs.

Her opponent retaliated by clamping its mouth down onto her left leg. She felt its teeth find an opening above her greave and the painful burning told her that its saliva was just as caustic as the vitriol it had spit earlier at Feln. An instant later, one of the toothsome tentacles darted in below her swordarm and delivered a similar - though much less severe - bite to her side. Ledare knew she couldn't take too much more punishment like that.

The creature facing off against Karak and Feln split its attacks between the two, favoring Karak with its main bite attack and a nip from one of its tentacles. Only the latter struck home, savaging the dwarf's left thigh and simultaneously burning him with its acidic spittle. Karak was not impressed. Thanks to Feln's hyper-attuned reflexes, he was able to avoid the attack sent his way entirely.

As soon as the half-ogre had dodged out of the way, Morier stepped in and brought his electrified greatsword down in a massive overhead chop to the thing's head. It was the sort of blow that should have split the head in twain and then fried the remnants with lighting. But again the punishment the creature was receiving seemed out of proportion to the amount that was being dealt it. It seemed not to feel the electricity at all.

Vade appeared briefly as he stabbed his glowing dagger at the creature fighting Ledare, but his blade was turned aside by the creature's impressive natural armor. Frustrated, the halfling activated the _Ring_ again and disappeared.

Again, Ixin attempted a _Magic Missile_ spell, and again the monster's Spell Resistance overcame her magic.... leaving Ledare essentially fighting on her own.

She was doing well, however. Twice Ravager slashed out at her foe and twice it tasted flesh. Her first blow, in fact, severed the snout off one of the snapping tentacles, sending a fountain of oily, black blood spraying into the sky. It struck at her anyway, but missed poorly, unable to bypass her combat expertise.

Feln had similar luck attacking his enemy, and only one of Karak's axe blows got through. It caused pain enough to elicit a cry from the beast as well as attract all of its attacks. Its many snapping jaws couldn't penetrate Karak's thick dwarven plate, however.

Morier stepped back a pace and began casting _True Strike_ again.

Feln, simply continued his assault on the thing's flank. He had complained about his new body feeling clumsy and awkward, but anyone watching his display of martial prowess would have argued the contrary. He delivered a pair of thunderous punches to the creature that made it stagger momentarily, its eyes unfocused and ichor dripping from its lips. Then it fell onto its side. Dead.

Karak wasted no time lamenting the loss of his opponent. He turned and charged across the ten feet separating him from the the creature fighting Ledare. His axe sank deeply into its exposed belly, drawing forth a shriek of pain as it turned on this new foe.

Ledare seized the distraction, altered her stance and slashed out again. This time Ravager sliced into the thing's tentacle nearer the base and chewed through the limb as if it were made of smoke. The limb dropped to the ground and writhed about in the grass while a geyser of blood spurted from the ruptured stump. The thing twitched and staggered as pain lanced through its body, then it fell to the ground spasming in shock. Ledare altered her grip and stabbed the bastard sword point first into the thing's chest and Morier stepped forward, burying three feet of his greatsword in its belly for good measure.

"What in the Nine Hells are these things?" Feln asked as he felt the surge of adrenalin leave him.

"Some sort o' chaos acid frog, I'm guessin'" Karak suggested as he too felt the weakness that always followed in the wake of his frenzy.

"It's speech - when it first appeared - I could understand it," Ixin said as she walked up to the battle. "It wanted to eat us." Ledare snorted derisively and yanked her bastard sword free of the carcass.

"I've been dinner for one beast in this lifetime, and that's one too many," she said with a grimace.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #308} Two Roads Diverged in a Yellow Wood...*

"Ixin, thank you for that potion," Feln said with a polite bow of his head. "I will have to find more of that elixir; it saved my skin... or what's left of it." He gingerly touched the swath of acid-scarred flesh that now adorned his torso.

"Think nothing of it," the mage replied. "I only wish I had more to offer you; that was the only vial I purchased. I do have a healing draught or two that..." Feln stopped her with a wave of his massive hand.

"I will take Ledare to the Great Oak and ask for healing and information," he said, noticing the crimson that slicked the Janissary's left leg. "I think those of you who are less or unhurt should find out how those things got in here."

"Maybe the frogs were a distraction to make Great Oak vulnerable," Vade said as he reappeared in their midst. "There could be more creatures around."

"We need to do some reconnaissance," Ixin agreed. She scanned the trees nearby for sign of her familiar, spotted him and called the owl to her. "Martivir, these chaos creatures somehow infiltrated this holy place and caused unholy damage," she told the attentive creature. "See if you see any more or anything else unusual that may tell us what they were doing, how they got here, and who sent them." The owl hooted a response and took to the sky.

"Be very careful, Martvir!" she called after the bird. "And come right back!"

Karak wondered over to the breached building and poked - randomly, it seemed - through the rubble.

"Vade, can you gather the goblins and make sure they are at peace," Feln suggested. "They may need someone to help guide them. Can you do that?"

Vade scrunched up his face and scratched his head. "Uhhh... Okay. I guess," he muttered until Ixin stepped up to his rescue.

"I will help in that," the drakeling said, laying a scaled hand on the halfling's shoulder. "I am better versed in the art of diplomacy than Vade."

"Yeah!" Vade's mood brightened. "I'll look around here a bit. Find out how many goblins got hurt. Check out this building." Ledare's head turned at the latter.

"I would like to be party to that search," she said, limping awkwardly on her good leg. Karak harrumphed as he stepped away from the ruin, ducked around Vade, and came up to Ledare.

"Nothin' special 'bout tha' pile o' stones," the dwarf told her in a low voice. "Let Vade poke about if 'e likes. It'll keep 'im outta trouble." 

"Ledare, I think you should return to Great Oak and consult the tree," Morier said as he carefully cleaned his greatsword of the frog-creatures' foul blood. "As Ixin suggested, we need to get his opinion on the various clues we've collected and you're the most knowledgeable on that subject."

Reluctantly, Ledare allowed herself to be led away, the fact that she had been on this quest the longest coming home to her once again.



"Ye what?!" Karak bellowed, a ropy vein throbbing on his forehead.

"I had the goblins release the Sscree that were imprisoned in the School's vault," Great Oak said again calmly. "They have been trapped there since the School was founded, a roiling blot of chaos trapped within the Green."

"But why did you let them out?" Ledare asked. "Several goblins were killed and we were injured."

"But you lived. And the Galchutt were destroyed," Great Oak sighed. "Your group was faltering, splintering apart. You could not have defeated the challenges that lay ahead of you but that you were united as you were by a common foe: the Sscree."

"But we might have been killed," Ledare countered.

"If you had been killed, then I would have known that you were not the ones for whom I've waited," the tree replied. "But you weren't killed which means that you could be the ones. Which means that you at least have a chance of surviving the Purging in the Grove of Renewal."

"You mentioned the Grove of Renewal before," Ledare said, her curiosity piqued.

"Yes. There are answers there for you. If you have the strength to take them," Great Oak told her. "But it is not through strength of arms that you will win knowledge from the Nature Seers, but rather through strength of spirit and body."

"You said before that we weren't ready to face the Grove's tests," Feln reminded and Great Oak's leaves rustled overhead.

"The sapling grows into the mighty tree given time," it spoke into their heads. "You are not the same callow folk who stood beneath my branches a moonsdance ago. Your experiences have fueled your growth as surely as sun and rain nourish the tiny seed."

"So now we're ready?" Morier asked.

"Perhaps," the tree said. "There is a chance now that you might succeed. Although, too, some of you might not survive the challenges of the Purging."


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> "Perhaps," the tree said. "There is a chance now that you might succeed. Although, too, some of you might not survive the challenges of the Purging."





Hmm.... I don't think I'd survive that kind of challenge either.


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Hmm.... I don't think I'd survive that kind of challenge either.





THE GROVE OF RENEWAL can be found on the WotC site - I believe it's a web enhancement for Magic of Faerun - and it has some interesting challenges. I really wanted to hammer home the fact that hack-and-slash ain't necessarily gonna save 'em if they opt to head there.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #308a] And Sad I Could Not Travel Both...*

"Great Oak, could you spare a straight branch or something from yourself so that I could wield a weapon?" Feln asked. "I am pretty good with a quarterstaff and I figure what better stick to whack the chaos with then a branch of the Ol' Big Oak!" He grinned hopefully up at the branches.

"I do not ask you to give up your arm to aid me, Feln Twiceborn," the tree replied. "My limbs are precious to me, as yours are to you. Do not suppose that to be otherwise simply because our forms are different."

"Hey! I didn't mean anything by it," Feln countered, holding up his hands on defeat. "How about any magical artifacts that could give me more life... or help me sustain more damage with out falling."

"Two lives are not enough for you?" the tree spoke into their heads and they could feel its growing anger, like a hot ember glowing in a nest of tinder. "I have given you already twice what most creatures enjoy and still you ask for more?"

"Good work, ye great git!" Karak grunted to Feln as he shouldered his way passed the half-ogre's thigh and spoke directly to the tree. "Is it Pellham you suggest we go next to fight the taint? If so, where be the mounts you spoke of, it is time we go."

"My entreaties to the Horselord have so far gone unanswered," the Great Oak replied. "It will be on the 'morrow at the earliest that your mounts will arrive. Until then, you are welcome to stay in your current quarters."

"What about my gold?" the dwarf asked, his axe haft planted between his steel-shod feet.

"With the vault free of the Galchutt, the goblins will be able to retrieve your reward," The Great Oak said. "You shall have your gold, Karak, son of Kignar."

"Well, there is one more small matter of some scattered verse," Ledare added. "Perhaps your great intellect can find sense where we have failed?"



"OH MY GOD!" Vade shouted, both his eyes and grin were so wide that they seemed ready to stretch right off his face. "I WANT TO TAKE OFF ALL MY CLOTHES AND ROLL AROUND NAKED IN-" He stopped and looked nervously around, realizing suddenly that he was speaking out loud.

"Did you say something, Vade?" Ixin called in through the ruptured side of the building. She was outside with the goblins who had been arriving steadily onto the scene. She could not see what Vade could see. She knew nothing about the open trapdoor in the floor of the damaged structure. She couldn't see the vault that was hidden below that trapdoor.

And she certainly couldn't see the vast mounds of treasure that vault concealed.

For a moment, Vade wavered at the edge of the opening in the floor, gazing longingly into the glittering depths below. Then a rare thing happened...

He reconsidered.

"Hey Ixin!" he called over his shoulder. "Get a load of this!"



_*"To seal the fate of the Black Queen's doom,
First free Beast's twin from Her cold prison tomb,
To spill salvation from Her fruitful womb."*_​ 

Ledare lowered the scrap of parchment on which she had transcribed the snippet of poetry and looked up at the Great Oak expectantly. "I think this might have to do with the Grove of Renewal," she suggested. "You previously mentioned Dridana's imprisonment. And 'imprisonment' and 'cold prison tomb' are awfully close."

"It seems likely," the tree sighed. "Dridana is the twin to Brogine, God of Beasts."

Ledare grinned at the others, pleased that they were finally, it seemed, getting somewhere. "What can you tell us of this idea: freeing beat's twin from her cold prison tomb?" she asked. "Might it have something to do with the Grove of Renewal?"

"It does," Great Oak said. "Only the Guardians of the Grove - the Nature Seers - know the way to free Dridana."

"Perhaps that should be our next course of action?" Ledare pressed. "If you feel we are ready."

There was a pause during which the tree's epic branches groaned in the breeze. "I can put you on the path to the Grove if you wish it," Great Oak told her. "But be forewarned, it is a place of testing; only by surviving the rigors of The Purging will you learn the answers you seek. Many who travel there never leave."



"Better not tell Karak," Vade chuckled as he and Ixin peered down into the vault of riches he had uncovered. "He would want to trade one of us for it." Ixin grinned at the halfling and stood up.

"Let's go take a look!" Vade urged and started to clamber down into the treasury.

"Vade, our first priority is to insure the safety and wellbeing of the goblins," Ixin said, with a disapproving shake of her head. "Let us attend to that task before we plunder any hidden riches."

Vade hesitated, looking from Ixin to the vault and back again. "I really want to sneak down there and get something, but I remember what Morier said about being a team... and I'm a little  worried about there being some more frogs in there."

"Quite sensible," the drakeling told him and patted his shoulder. "Once we can be satisfied that the goblins are safe and attended to, let us go together to look beyond the trap door. But remember, the items are for us to note my firend, not to take." Vade looked pained by that suggestion.

"I wonder whose it is?" he asked as Ixin led him reluctantly away from the trapdoor. "If it belonged to the frogs could we take it?"

"Stealing is a chaotic action," the mage argued. "We can not afford to put more of that into this world." The halfling's expression became even more stricken and he looked longingly back at the hole in the floor - little more than a darker square of shadow in the darkened interior now that they were moving toward the exit. 

"I want to ask the Great Oak..," he started to say and then laughed at himself. "I don't believe I am asking a tree if I can take treasure. I should write this one down... or, better yet, a song! Karak will love it! Wonder if Great Oak has any paper or a pen?"

"Perhaps it is best not to discuss paper with the Great Oak," Ixin suggested.



"Sir Oak, what about the wierd mixy beasts we have been encountering.," Feln spoke up, his voice dripping with humility as he addressed the ancient tree again. "We came across a machine scorpion... it was guardin' a big wizard's lab." He turned to the others and stage whispered, "That's what that was, right?" they nodded and Feln turned back to the Great Oak.

"Anyway, Oak sir, we was wondering if you knew who might be able to wield that kind of power or heard of anything similar happening in the realm?"

The tree creaked as it pondered. "The unnatural fusing of flesh and metal is a common technique of Chaos. Many who crave power are lured to the darkness by the empty promises of chaositech," the tree told them. "But I have not heard of any such betrayals of flesh in recent memory. Still, a druid, Darig, spoke of unnatural mutations arising amidst the animal populations near the Shrouded Lake, and oftentimes the two blasphemies go hand in hand."



"Has everyone been accounted for?" Ixin asked Gorguul, and the old gobliness nodded in reply.

"Three are dead,"she replied in gobbledy. "They were weaker and older than I. They were a drain on our resources. They will not be missed."

Ixin was somewhat taken aback by Gorguul's cold demeanor, but she said nothing. She'd witnessed far more callous cruelty on Mid'Gaard. "Do you have any idea who these creatures were or what they wanted?" she asked. "Are there more of them about?"

"The tree warned us to stay away," the gobliness explained with a shrug. "Tree say that monsters were in hidden room. Too strong for goblins to face. Strangers would deal with monsters."

"I see," Ixin replied and spoke loudly so that all the goblins gathered nearby could hear her. Thanks to her magical cutlass, she knew that they would all understand her words. "Friends of Great Oak," she called, "Chaos beings entered this sacred place. We fought and killed them. If there are more, we will kill them too. But now we must re-establish the sanctity of this place. Let us clean it, bury your dead, and tend to the wounded!"

"Can we check out the treasury now?" Vade asked, tugging insistently on Ixin's cloak.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #309] Seeking the Grove*

"Great Oak, I will nae beseech you any more," Karak said, crossing his thick arms over his great barrel of a chest. In dwarfish he added, "Maz jorhurnden kaglem bak arausamryn." Not Ledare, nor Feln, nor Morier spoke the language of the stone folk, so they did not understand the gratitude that Karak was heaping upon Great Oak. But he continued in a similar vein when he switched back to the common tongue.

"I will use your gracious gift to smite chaos," he said. "I also thank you for the life of Feln; he is even uglier than before, which will entertain me on our long journey." Karak elbowed Feln's kneecap and chuckled at his own joke. The half-ogre bared his teeth disapprovingly.
"Once we have reached Pellham, do you wish us to report back to you of what we find?" the dwarf went on. "I remember you told us you sensed a disturbance that required investigating."

"Hold on, Karak," Morier interrupted. "I think that this Grove of Renewal might be worth investigating first." Karak harrumphed.

"I've nae fear of risking my life, elf," the dwarf told Morier. "But neither am I eager to die foolishly. There's little reason to put ourselves in harm's way to get answers what we can find by lookin' elsewhere!"

"I for one would welcome the opportunity to test myself against whatever challenges the Grove poses," the Eldritch Warrior persisted, and storm clouds seemed to be roiling behind his eyes as he considered the prospect.

"An' I think ye're a fool for seekin' yer own death," Karak spat.

"I don't know, Karak," Feln spoke up. "In my youth, the monk brothers would set up challenges. They always said it was a test against yourself, but as I remember it, either I was bloodied or another youth was." The martial artist paused, considering the implications of that and Karak snorted derisively. Finally Feln shrugged his massive shoulders and added, "In any case, I will not shy from a challenge, I say we take it. Ledare, what do you suggest?"

Ledare took a deep, cleansing breath and emptied her mind. She opened her spirit to her newfound goddess, hoping that a drop of divine insight would fall into the well of confusion that seemed to fill her. But nothing came.

She scowled and opened her eyes to see the others looking at her rather strangely.

"Well?" Feln asked.

Ledare had just recently been through her own grueling emotional test, and she wasn't eager to face another so quickly. On the one hand, she supported going to the Grove of Renewal, as it would hopefully reveal the information Great Oak mentioned about freeing the imprisoned goddess, Dridana. On the other hand, it was difficult to know if this was an appropriate juncture for a personal test of her newfound faith. She had hoped - expected even - that Flor would take her by the hand and show her where to go and what to do. She longed for the same guidance that the others sought from her.

She pushed aside her disappointment and came to her own decision. "Let's find Vade and Ixin," she said. "Tomorrow we'll leave for The Grove."

Both Vade and Ixin were eager to visit the Grove, but for different reasons. Vade was excited because it presented a new interesting place to explore; his curiosity was piqued. Ixin was intrigued by the prospect of getting some answers and being able to strike a major blow against Aphyx's forces.

Karak received his reward in a good-sized coffer and he spent the rest of the day counting and recounting it. And guarding it from Vade, of course. Morier and Feln busied themselves crafting a quarterstaff sized appropriately for the half-ogre's use. Both of them had spent a good deal of their youth learning to craft weapons, so collaborating they were able to create a serviceable quarterstaff by nightfall. They both agreed that, working together, with the proper tools and a few days' downtime, they could likely craft a weapon that even a master weaponsmith would be proud of.




*Freeday, the 20th of Reaping, 1269 AE*​


Of course, the Great Oak took away some of their excitement the next morning, by reminding them that weapons weren't needed during the Purging. He advised them to leave their arms and armor behind, but did admit that the last person to enter the Grove and succeed at the tests was Trint Aiko, an elven archer of some renown. The elf had taken his bow with him although he'd left the Grove without once laying arrow to bowstring. That had been some 150 years ago.



They gathered in front of the ancient dolmen that the tree had explained was the portal to the Grove of Renewal. It looked like many of the other standing stones in the ruins of the Aronerai School, standing half-hidden and vine-choked amongst the trees. But they could all sense the power coming off the ancient dolmen. They didn't need Ixin's innate sensitivity to the Weave to know that this was a potent nexus of energy - it did everything but glow with elder magic.

As they stood there, they remembered Great Oak's final warning: "Once you step through the portal, the Purging will begin. You can turn back at any time, but if you retreat back to this place without completing the test, you may not enter it again; this portal works but once."

One-by-one, they took deep breaths, tossed onto the ground the fat, red berries they had brought as payment for the portal's fae guardian (who remained unseen throughout), stepped through the dolmen and disappeared.


----------



## Jon Potter

*Reader Question*

Okay, as anyone reading along might have guessed, several of the PCs are planning to undergo the tests in the Grove of Renewal. Since the challenges are individual in nature and essentially the same for everyone involved, I don't want to post write-ups of everyone's experiences. I'd like to do one of two things.

1) Pick one character and follow them through the challenges; or

2) Cycle through the characters with each challenge (ie., focus on one character on the first challenge, another on the second, and so on).

Is there a preference among the readers which path I choose? If the former option wins out, I'd need to know which character you'd like to see undergo the Purging.

Any opinions would be appreciated.


----------



## Funeris

Well Jon, since you asked, I'd go with the cycle of characters.  That way, everyone gets a fair share of time and we can see each character's thought processes for each challenge.  But, maybe I'm just weird


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## Hairy Minotaur

I vote #2 as well.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #310] Vade's Fire Walk*

Karak had opted to stay behind. Vade could easily picture the dwarf sighing as he planted his axe between his feet and looked at them intently. The halfling was expecting another of Karak's speeches about fighting chaos and the value of striking often and hard, but he was unprepared for what the dwarf had really intended.

"Alas, lads, I have something to tell you that you may not expect from me," Karak had said, pausing as if he was uncertain of his words. "I have decided I will nae be going with you on this small adventure." There had been gasps of surprise and a few half-voiced protests at his revelation, but Karak silenced them with a stern shake of his head.

"To a dwarf, to enter a grove seeking answers without axe and armour be very unnatural.  I do still seek the trials of this world 'ere with my axe and companions by myside," he explained. "I do admit that if'n it be a cave hidden with mystery and monsters, I will nae turn it aside, but this portal and grove feel very unnatural to me."

"I have made peace with my chalak's death and my Goddess. I know who I am to be now. I do nae want to rush it or skip ahead on my life's path," he went on. "I will wait for ye that be for certain. But I wait to fight chaos another day without the gains I hope you will find. It is decided, it is to be just me and my wits, my Goddess, and my axe, without the aid of the Grove, then that be what it is. To all of you good luck and see you on the other side."

At the time, Vade had been surprised, but now, standing in what he could only describe as hell, he wondered if Karak hadn't had the right of it, after all.



Feln had been the first to step through - well, charge through, really. "Back into the belly of the beast, it seems," he'd chuckled to the others. "If you don't mind I would like to step through first. I am compelled to start this challenge."

And so he had, carrying nothing save the meager clothes on his back and his freshly-crafted quarterstaff. Vade followed on his heels, sparing one last jab at Karak. "Don't take my stuff, dwarf!" he laughed and darted through the dolmen before Karak could do more than look cross. There was no transition. One moment he was charging beneath the dolmen and the next he'd left the cool damp of a sylvan morning for the nigh unbearable heat of a volcanic cavern,

The place was vast with a ceiling whose height could only be guessed at; it was well beyond the range of his vision. Thin black smoke was everywhere, making the chamber seem murky despite the hellish glow provided by a lake of lava dominating the center of the chamber and bisecting it from end to end. There was no bridge, but a series of small islands meandered across the burning rock like stepping stones.

It seemed like a relatively easy jump to go from stone-to-stone; Vade had jumped further. But it would be made difficult by the obscene heat and the way the heat made the very air seem to warp distance. A misstep here would spell his quick and utter destruction.

Vade turned back to see if the others were following him and saw that, while the portal was there, it looked out onto a forest at night. There was no sign of the others.

Cautiously, he crept toward the lake of fire, favoring the concealing shadows of the numerous stalagmites that sprouted like a forest of stone on the near side. As he approached, his eyes could just pick out the existence of another dolmen on the opposite side, about sixty feet away. Being separated from him by an expanse of glowing lava made the distance seem much greater.

He was deciding whether or not to attempt the jump when lake of lava was rent from below and a creature of nightmarish legend rose from the fiery depths. It was a dragon of incredible size. Its head was easily the size of a wagon and surmounted by great backswept horns that were each taller than a man. The scales plating its muscular neck shown brightly in the dull red glow of the lava flow as it drove the fearsome head up and up until it towered a hundred feet or more above the hapless martial artist. Vast membranous wings, each rivaling a galleon's mainsail in size, spread out behind it, momentarily obscuring Vade's view of the second dolmen.

Helplessly, he felt his gaze drawn upward to the nightmarish jaws above. Looking into its mouth was like looking into the stoked heart of a forge; fire dripped from its glowing, yellow eyes. And when it roared, filling the cavern with thunder and causing stones to fall from the ceiling, Vade felt the dragonfear wash over him. Despite the unimaginable heat, the halfling's guts turned to ice and only the slimmest of margins kept him from running from the dragon in abject panic.

Vade knew he stood no chance against a dragon and instantly regretted his decision to leave the Ring of Invisibility behind. He was relatively confident that he could jump across the stones without too much risk of being burned beyond all recognition. At least under normal circumstances. Being attacked by a dragon was pretty far from normal circumstances; they were supposed to be extinct after all. So Vade swallowed back as much of his fear as he could and did the only thing that he felt he could.

"Hello, Mr. Red Dragon," he said, his voice quavering slightly as he spke. "My, you sure are big and powerful." The dragon roared again in response and breathed a cone of fire up into the air above, momentarily lighting up the cavern as if it were noon. That did nothing to ease Vade's mind, but he persisted.

"I bet you can fly really high," he stammered and then his brain caught up with his mouth and he formulated a plan. "But maybe not as high as I have seen other things fly. Why once I saw a griffin fly straight up so that he was only a tiny little spot in the sky and, boy, he was big. I do not think a dragon could go that high, but I bet you could go close."

The dragon spread its wings again and fanned them once, generating enough wind to send Vade tumbling backward against a stalagmite. Clouds of obscuring grit filled the air and the halfling found himself coughing as he spoke next.

"Wow! I bet I could write a song about you!" he choked as he got back to his feet. "Everyone would love to hear about the power and glory of being a dragon!" The great creature narrowed its glowing yellow eyes, regarding Vade as a man might look at an ant. Not entirely a good thing, but at least the dragon hadn't raised its foot to squash him flat yet, so he had that going for him.

"I bet you would like gold. I know where there is lots of treasure," the halfling said, trying to change tacks quickly before the dragon started thinking that extra crispy halfling was on the menu. "Man, it was more than I have ever seen... knee deep in coins... even for your knees, Mr, Drago-"

"SILENCE!!" the dragon bellowed, tongues of flame licking from its mouth as it spoke. Both ends of Vade's alimentary canal clamped tightly shut at the command. It angled its great head toward the second dolmen, just barely visible across the cavern. "You must pass," it said simply.

"Oh, how nice of you to let me pass," Vade said, regaining his composure quickly. He indicated the series of islands that meandered across the lava flow, adding, "I will just be on my way across the stones."

He stepped up to the edge of the volcanic pool. Standing there and staring into the wavering orange haze was like standing too close to a campfire. His skin protested, feeling taught and papery, his eyes burned as the moisture was drawn off them, the smell of burning rock filled his nostrils. Gulping loudly, he backed up a dozen paces, got a running start, and leapt.

His foot slipped on the last step and he flailed in the air, realizing with horror that he wasn't going to make it. He lurched for the island of stone and landed hard on his belly. For an instant he thought that he had made it after all, but then the pain slammed into his like Grumblebutt's club and he screamed as the flesh burned on his left foot and leg.

Reflexively, he went to scrape the cooling rock from his tortured limb, burning his hands in the process. The stench of his own cooking flesh came to his horribly as he worked, shrieking in pain all the while. When he was done, his fingers were raw and blistered and the skin hung in ragged strips from his leg and foot, exposing the meat beneath.

He looked back. One jump to retreat and four to press on.

Vade laid down for a few minutes to collect himself. “You are probably loving this, Mr. Dragon. Why don’t you just fly me across?” Smoke bellowed out of the creatures nostrils. It was hard to tell if he was angry or laughing at Vade. 

The hobbit felt immense pain from his burns and hoped it would not affect his jumping. He was concerned that he could not make the jump back with such severe injuries... but, on the other hand, if he could not make one how could he possibly make four?

“Well, Papa always said can't get the gold ring if you never reach for it," he said aloud, belatedly adding, "or the ruby necklace or diamond earrings or full purses for that matter. I would much rather die striving for greatness than from fearing failure.” 

Vade sat contemplating his decision and pulled a small piece of fruit from his pocket. He ate it and watched the dragon. The dragon appeared to be growing impatient as it loomed overhead. Which, the halfling mused, was not unlike his companions' attitudes when confronted with some of his actions and comments. “I wonder why I have that affect on people?” he wondered absently.

He finished his apple and disposed of the core in the lava out of curiosity. It quickly disappeared into the molten rock with a flash of smoke and flame. “Ooooh...” Vade moaned with fear. Then he collected himself, took out is lock pick and scratched his name on the stone he was standing on adding the initials 'VQS' beneath. Perhaps he'd just marked his grave, he thought morbidly.

"Might as well give it a shot," he said as he got painfully to his feet. The Halfling stood at the back of the stone, took a preparatory breath, then trotted forward and leapt into the air with all of his might.

As he left the ground his impish smile disappeared.

He knew he would have had trouble making the jump had he not been injured. But as it was he had little feeling and apparently little strength left in his body to make the distance. He covered his face as he headed towards the lava in those final seconds wishing his friends more success than he had. “I should never have taken this test,” Vade had time to think. “Halflings aren’t much for jumping… well, except for Trey. He really was quite fast."

He would have thought longer about that topic but then the halfling disappeared with an unwholesome sizzling sound into the lava, several feet short of solid ground.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Bad rolling, or too high of DC? or both?

You know, when Vade tried flattery, Shreck immediately came to mind and the play in my head turned Vade from halfling to donkey.


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Bad rolling, or too high of DC? or both?




Definitely poor rolling. The base DC was only 10 with all rolls modified by -2 for the dragonfear™. Even with a DC 10 I was amazed at how many PCs failed one or more of the rolls. Of course, some failed worse than others. :\

The odds were stacked a little more against Vade because of his low Strength and movement rate.



> You know, when Vade tried flattery, Shreck immediately came to mind and the play in my head turned Vade from halfling to donkey.




Sorry, but no half-dragon halfling babies are in the game's future.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #310] Ledare's Earth Walk*

The second dolmen was no more than a dozen paces away, and Ledare headed for it eagerly. Before she stepped through, she spared a glance over her shoulder to see what the dragon was doing. It was regarding her from its position in the lava flow, its vast wings spread behind it. There seemed to be a look of satisfaction on its draconic features.

That was all she had time to see before she passed through the second dolmen and found herself abruptly back in the forest. Or a forest, anyway; the trees looked considerably different than the ones she'd seen in the Great Oak's woodland. There was a great many ferns and flowering shrubs growing low to the ground, but a path clearly threaded its way through the trees and Ledare could see a third dolmen some distance away along it.

She picked her way cautiously down the path, conscious of the fact that there would surely be some obstacle to overcome. Nothing came to assault her as she approached the third dolmen and she was beginning to think that perhaps she'd passed this part of the Purging without even realizing she was being tested.

That was when she triggered the Spike Stones trap, and sharp needles of rock pierced her feet and ankles. She jumped back reflexively from the trap, but it was too late, a sharp bit of stone had transfixed her left foot, hobbling her.

She dropped onto her backside and, gritting her teeth, yanked out the offending spine. She was examining the puncture wound in her foot when a deep, booming voice spoke above her.

“The next portal requires a password to activate," the voice said, and looking up, Ledare saw that it was a treant, like Great Root, although this specimen was far larger and more gnarled. Its trunk was half-covered with moss. "Everyone here knows what it is,” the treant finished and then turned and lumbered off into the trees.

Ledare looked around, wondering immediately who the "everyone here" was. As far as she could tell there wasn't anyone about apart from herself and the treant. And the treant wasn't really there anymore, either; it had disappeared into the surrounding woods and it didn't show any signs of returning.

Still sitting on the ground and nursing her injured foot, she called out, "Hello?"
Only the whisper of wind through the leaves and the buzzing of some nearby insect answered.

"I am Ledare Eelsof'faw," she called, hoping for some reply. When none was forthcoming, she grew slightly agitated and shouted, "Please show yourselves!"

The cry of a distant bird came drifting back to her in response.

She sighed and waited, very still, hoping to discover who it was whom the treant had said was around and knew the password. How long she sat there waiting, she didn't know. Minutes, probably but it seemed much longer alone in the unfamiliar forest. At last she got up, heavily favoring her good foot and - feeling a bit silly - she approached a few of the larger trees in the area to see if they would respond to her. She knocked tentatively on trunks and spoke politely to bark, all the while keeping an eye open for any signs of life.

None identified itself.

Now that she had triggered the Spike Stones, its area of effect was obvious, and the Janissary circumvented it with little difficulty. Only the injury to her foot hampered her efforts. As she limped toward the third dolmen she tried to think up a few likely passwords to activate the portal, hoping that this was not a timed trial.



"Open" was not the password. And neither were any of the other hundred words she tried, in common, elvish, and gobbledy. It wasn't getting dark although it seemed like it should have been. The quality of the light never changed. Finally, she slumped down in a heap beside the dolmen, growing tired, confused and frustrated.

"How am I supposed to figure this out?" she thought to herself. Del's voice responded, "Use your intuition - like survival training." Ledare scowled at that, thinking herself mad that she was even hearing him.

"Survival training was not like this," she said aloud, half-expecting Delaroux to step out of the trees and offer her help. But there was no Del to save her. In fact there was no one at all to save her.

"Am I meant to succeed at this?" she pondered, exasperated. "And to what end?"

Again an answer came unbidden to her mind, this time from its voice was her father. "Because success would mean one more soul pushing forward to carry on the battle against Aphyx," Janissary Syrraent told her in that tone of voice he always reserved for those times growing up when Ledare shirked her chores.

"But what can one single soul do?" she wondered, her own mental voice sounding almost like the child she'd been all those years ago. This answer to that question came swiftly and forcefully. The voice was Soriah's. "Well here's a well worn argument. Haven't you learned anything?" the Battleguard seemed to ask. "Each soul is precious, great and small - critical in its purpose to all things. It doesn't matter the size. You take that one soul away and you offset the balance of what was meant to be." 

Ledare considered this. The first portal seemed to be both a test of courage and a physical test too. This one seemed different. She had missed the trap. It hadn't even occurred to her to be wary of a simple trap - what with a dragon the likes of which she had never seen guarding the first portal. This test was more subtle. Perhaps the answer was more subdued as well. 

Remembering Soriah's words, Ledare made an effort to clear her mind and open herself up to whatever communication might be taking place around her. She tried to view things as her goddess might - recognizing the energy flow that connected all things, both living and not. If this was to be a test of intellect or intuition, then the answer would have to come from inside her, as well as all around her. She could hear the buzzing of the insect again, smell the delicate fragrance of wildflowers and wet earth, taste the sweet chill of the breeze. What she felt around her was harmony... but not answers. 

She sagged back against the dolmen again. "How can I move forward, to serve my purpose, if I don't know how to find the password?" Ledare asked aloud. This time the response came in her own voice, and Ledare recognized at last that this argument was taking place not between her and those upon whom she'd always depended, but rather between the person she was and the one she was becoming. "You have found the password," her voice answered in her head. "You are a part of it, just as everything around you is a part of it. You will play your part, large or small, and then be done. That is the way of things. But your part is essential, just as every other part is essential. Without it, the tides will turn once more in favor of Aphyx."

Ledare grinned and got awkwardly off the ground. "The treant was right. Everyone here does know the password. Balance," she said and stepped through the portal and out onto a mountaintop.

In a blizzard.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

When I got Frost & Fur, I couldn't wait to spring a cold "trap" on the PCs. Was the teleport into the blizzard a similar situation for you? My players hate the cold now, and wouldn't use a mountain pass even if the game depended on it.


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## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> When I got Frost & Fur, I couldn't wait to spring a cold "trap" on the PCs. Was the teleport into the blizzard a similar situation for you?




Nope. I don't have F&F, so I was just using a modified version of the DMG rules. I didn't want to immediately kill all the PCs (despite what they might think) so I struck a lethality balance that I thught would be a challenge but not an outright death trap. As it was, it very nearly was anyway.

One of the players said something to the effect: _I can almost hear the chorus chanting," TPK! TPK!"_  

But more on that front tomorrow, hopefully. The Grove of Renewal itself has been on my 'must use' list since I bought Magic of Faerun years ago. I really like the idea of challenges that were neither puzzles (to be figured out by the players rather than the characters) nor immediately solvable by brandishing swords.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #310] Feln's Air Walk*

Cold instantly slapped at Feln's exposed flesh and the half-ogre shivered violently as he limped away from the portal. His feet sank quickly into the snow, deadening the throbbing ache in his foot even as it sent prickles of pain into his toes. He hadn't taken more than a step or two when Ledare stepped out of the same portal that he had just passed through.

"Goddess," she hissed and clutched her shoulders against the bitter cold. She was dressed for the weather better than Feln was, but her clothing was woefully inadequate to these conditions. Despite the blowing snow, Feln could see that her foot was injured in much the same way as his, and that the right leg of her trousers had been severely burned. "How are you?" Ledare asked the half-ogre. "Are the others here?"

Before Feln could answer, Morier stepped through the portal, nearly knocking Ledare off her feet. He reached out quickly to steady her and then he looked up at Feln. "Where are the others?" he asked above the wind. Feln shrugged.

"I haven't seen anyone but you two," he told the albino.

"Vade was ahead of me," Ledare said.

"And Ixin went in before I did," Morier added and looked quickly around. It was difficult to see anything with all the snow, but there seemed to be another dolmen a dozen paces or so away. "Maybe they're in another part of-"

A huge black shape appeared in the air above them, startling the eldritch warrior into silence. It settled to the ground between them and the fourth portal, snow crunching beneath its bulk. It was a sphinx, Morier knew: a strange amalgam of lion and eagle and man. It furled its vast feathered pinions and regarded the trio with its human-like eyes.

"I am Exclamor," it said, its voice booming above the howling wind. "Only you three have survived the challenges of fire and of earth. You face now the test of air. It is a simple test. The portal leading to the test of water will not activate for one full day. Try to survive until then." And saying thus, it flexed its wings and vanished up into the dark sky.

"What did he mean: ONLY you three have survived?" Feln asked. "What about Vade?"

"And Ixin?" Morier added as the wind and snow continued to pound the mountaintop with no sign of letting up.

It took only a moment for the news of their companons' deaths to sink in. But there was no time to mourn their passing. The reality of their own precarious situation was all too evident as the snow continued to accumulate around them. Morier was the first to react.

"We need to build a shelter quickly!" he shouted into the wind. "We'll not last long exposed the elements like this."

Ledare looked around for some building material, but other than the two dolmens and the snow there was nothing. "Head for the dolmen!" she yelled, pointing with one hand at the stone megalith that would take them tot he next phase of the Purging.... if they lasted that long. With her other hand, she grabbed hold of Feln's enormous thumb. "Hold hands in case the snow gives way," she told the half-ogre when he looked down at her, confused. He nodded and they tramped off toward the fourth dolmen.

"We need to pack this snow up into some walls!" Morier observed as he dropped to his knees n the snow and began shoving it up into a pile. "We need shelter from the wind!"



Feln and Ledare aided him as best they could, but Morier was the only one with any real training at wilderness lore; his time spent under Malcolm's tutelage had seen to that. But Byr saw little snowfall of any real significance and so he possessed little practical experience with cold weather survival. Ledare had undergone wilderness survival training during her schooling at the Janissary Academy, but Elcaden was warmer than Byr and suffered more from ice than from snow. Feln had no formal training in nature lore, relying on instinct alone to help construct their shelter.

They were less than successful.

True, they got the snow pushed up into some semblance of a wall around them, and they huddled together for warmth as best they could. But there was no denying that Feln was wearing nothing save a loincloth and between the two of them, Morier and Ledare had but one pair of boots. They were ill-equipped to handle the severe weather and before the first hour had passed, both Ledare and Morier had felt the first numbing tingle of hypothermia setting in.



Ledare tried to bolster their spirits by talking of her days in the Academy, sharing even an embarrassing tale of drunken over-indulgence that she had not spoken of in many years to anyone but Del. Thinking of it again brought a bemused smile to the Janissary's wind-burned lips, but it couldn't hide the fact that she was freezing to death.



The second hour saw Feln's ogrish constitution succumbing to the inexorable grip of the blizzard. He felt cold creeping into the core of his being.

Ledare produced two sunrods and they passed them around their little huddled circle of three, hoping to get some meager warmth from the alchemical wonders. But they burned without heat, shedding a merry yellow glow that seemed insulting in their frigid hell. It illuminated the vacant faces of the three to one another, and they could see in each other's eyes the same chilling conclusion: there's no way we're all going to survive this.

The third hour passed as the first two had.



_“There once was a soldier, Ledare
who found herself part of a pair.
Having drunk herself silly
‘neath the table with Willy!
And the next day…she was still there!”_​
Ledare recited, chuckling as she recalled Orin Miller's poetic assessment of her revels on the night that marked the end of her days in the Academy and the start of her life as a Janissary to the King, the Presentation of Arms ceremony.

"You already told us that story," Morier said flatly, his eyes bright pinpoints of red in the light of the sunrods.

"After the creature gave us our challenge, I said 'balance' again at the other dolmen," Feln said desultorily. "It shimmered to life again when I did. There is a chance we could escape there and move all the way back through the challenges and escape. It may even be possible to move back, warm up, and start again."

They looked nervously at one another, wondering perhaps who would be the first to admit defeat.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #310] The Air Walk, part 2*

"This is not survivable..." Morier said after a moment, giving simple voice to their shared fear. Feln said nothing but looked away into the wind as if challenging the storm. Ledare put a cold and trembling hand on the albino's forearm.

"Do not despair, Morier," she began and the eldritch warrior silenced her with a look.

"No. I mean WE cannot survive this," he explained. "It seems possible that maybe one of us might... but we don't have the resources to get all three of us through."

"What?" the Janissary asked, her brows knitting in confusion.

"I have a plan of attack that might just get me through," he said, belatedly adding, "maybe. But you two need to go back through the portal." Ledare shook her head at that.

"There's no way I'm leaving you alone on this mountain," she told him. "I just can't do it."

"Look Ledare, that dolmen marks passage back to the test of earth, and perhaps back to the safety of the Great Oak from there," Morier said, indicating the far portal. "The journey back is not without risk, but you certainly stand a greater chance of survival against those known challenges than you do these hopeless circumstances."

"The Oak has told us that the key to our journey is freeing Dridana, and that the keepers of this place are alone in the knowledge of how to do that. Only one of us need complete the Purging to gain that information," he went on then shook his head in disbelief. "Let's be honest - all three of us are not going to survive these conditions, and even then none of us may survive the water test." Ledare's face remained hardened, but a low rumbling began to build in Feln's chest.

"I cannot believe we have gotten this far and this challange is so impossibly unbeatable!" he growled, his voice building in volume until he was bellowing at the top of his considerable lungs. "SPHYNX!!! COME AND GIVE ME A RIDDLE YOU FOUL BIRD! GIVE ME A CHALLENGE, NOT A DEATH SENTENCE!!!" Ledare looked sympathetically at the half-ogre.

"Feln has recently returned to this world," she said. "He deserves his second shot at life. I'll stay with you, Morier."

"No, Ledare.... I am no more a quitter than you," Feln said. "I had not thought of this challange as a gateway to the salvation of our world, Morier, but you have shed light on the puzzle again, and I agree with you; this may be the way to a great answer. We cannot allow ourselves to fail in this challenge."

"Someone needs to succeed," Morier said. "Not all of us."

"You are right about someone needing to survive this. But what good does it do to leave you alone here on this mountainside?" the Janissary asked. "Do you honestly think you're more likely to survive if you were alone?"

"Yes," the eldritch warrior said simply. "I do."

"Well, I think you'd be better off if we both, or at least one of us, stayed with you," Ledare scoffed. "That way if one of us dies, you can at least burn the body. Who knows, we may die trying to return through the first two portals anyway."

"But staying here is certain death for you," Morier countered. "We don't have the resources to keep all of us alive out here for long enough to last until the fourth portal opens. I don't have-"

"I won't be a burden and I don't expect you to waste your spells on me," Ledare interrupted. "I'm also not trying to be a martyr here. It just goes against every grain in my body to leave you alone... Morier, you especially know how many friends I have already lost."

Morier grimaced and thought of the first time he'd met Ledare, her just a girl surrounded by the corpses of her family and friends in the bowels of a chagmat lair. As an elf, the passage of ten years hadn't changed Morier much, but Ledare had grown into a great warrior... a leader of men in a great battle against a rising evil. He was grateful for a second chance to keep her alive.

"I can use spells to boost my constitution and my healing draughts to ward off frostbite, and maybe Garn-Zanuth will have a hand in my survival," he told her. "But I cannot keep two of us alive... or three. Staying on this mountaintop is a certain death for you, but I am expendable, a journeyman pawn seeking adventure. You... you are a key to fighting the evil that grips the Realms." Ledare shook her head.

"I'm no more important than anyone else, Morier," she said. "We each do our part." 

"Then let me do mine!" the elf chided. "Go with Feln. Go back through the dolmen and wait for me. Find Karak and wait for me to step through the dolmen." He turned to Feln and looked into the half-ogre's eyes.

"Take her and go!" he commanded. "Remember the trap on the other side of the dolmen - Go!" But Feln just looked at him for a moment as if he were in some reverie. At last he blinked and shook his head.

"As a youngster, the elder monks would tell stories of great warriors and adventurers, one of which has been ringing in my brain in all the time we've sat on this cold earth," the martial artist explained. "Two warriors and their horses set across a great mountainscape. They had commited certain acts which had left them little options but travel over inhospitable ground for every road had men-at-arms and hired cut throats looking for them. After four days of climbing the warriors were exuberant to find that they were scaling down the other side, they had reached the half way point."

"That evening, as fate would have it a blizzard took them by surprise. They had no shelter and they had no time to prepare one," he went on, gesturing to their own circumstances as he continued. "In an act of desparation one warrior sliced open his horse and climbed inside, using his sizable robe to create a small air pocket and try to ride out the storm. The other warrior could not bring himself to do the same, and tried to build a shelter... As the story goes, the warrior in the horse climbed out in the morning and found his compatriot frozen solid. The man's horse was dead as well. I think you see the point of this story." 

"No, I'm afraid I don't," Ledare said.

"We don't have any horses, Feln," Morier added and the half-ogre rolled his pale blue eyes.

"I know we have no horses, but I think Vade may have had me revived as part of some master plan. Why else would I have come back in this ridiculous form, completly out of tune with all that I have spent my life... or my first life anyway... studying," he said and rose to his feet, shaking off a thick blanket of snow as he rose and thumped his enormous hands against the vast expanse of his chest. "I volunteer, I request... in fact, I demand... that you use this shell - this ogrish form - to warm you and get through this test. Find answers and save this world."

"OH MY GOD!" Ledare gasped in horror and Morier's jaw clenched.

"I will tell Vade of your great defeat over this challenge," Feln said with a smile "He will love the story, if I can get a word in edgewise."

"I'm not going to kill you," the elf said.

"We are not going to take a life merely hoping to pass this or any other test," the Janissary agreed. "The others have all been designed around an element...fire, earth, air. Who is to say that 'water' won't do us in at the very next turn. It's too risky and your life is worth far more than that. We should go back." Feln looked at Ledare's face and saw no guile there, only genuine concern.

"I will not leave a friend behind here. End of story," he said flatly. "I leave with everyone, or I stay."

"Feln, you have to go and you have to go now. You must take Ledare and make sure that both of you make it back to the Great Oak," Morier explained, rising to his feet and reaching up to put a hand on the giant's broad shoulder. "I have a chance at survival, but staying here for you is a certain death. I'm not doing this out of some false sense of heroism - I am doing this and planning on surviving and learning how to free Dirdana. You do not stand that chance... now get out! Nobody will remember you as a hero for sitting in a snowbank waiting to die; they will think you a fool for not leaving when you had the chance. There is no point to either you or Ledare continuing this argument that you can't leave me behind."

"Karak was right, Morier - we don't need to waste our lives in pursuit of this. We can be effective against Aphyx in other ways" Ledare suggested. "Let's return together."

"Of the three of us, I alone stand the possibility - however slim - of surviving. You have no such luxury!!" the eldritch warrior argued. "Concentrate instead on the tasks that lie ahead of you in returning through the test of fire and the test of earth. Wait for me to return to you as soon as I finish these tasks... NOW GO !!!" Feln looked solemnly down at Morier and shook his great head.

"If I am meant to die on this mountain, so be it... If I die, then you won't be killing me when you climb inside my ogrish husk," he said as calmly as if he were talking about sharing a pair of gloves. "If I live then we will see this through to the end. We still have to deal with water, even if we make it through the test of air."

Morier's jaw clenched visibly and a blue vein throbbed in his temple as color tried rising without much success to his cheeks. But his voice was carefully controlled when he began speaking.

"Will the two of you PLEASE get out of here!?! " he pleaded. "Heaven knows I could be wrong, but I don't think surviving this test is about decisions, I think it's about just that... survival... and maybe none of us will, but for sure neither of you can. I can cast _Quick Boost_ 6 or 7 times as well as use a scroll of that spell once. I have six healing potions right now, and my strength does not yet feel halfway depleted. That might be enough to get one person through this godforsaken test, but it isn't enough to get all of us through." He paused as emotions moved across his face. The light of the two sunrods struck lightning in his eyes.

"Don't make me watch you die and know that I could have prolonged your life with a healing draught or a spell at the expense of finding the answers we need," he said and his voice cracked with emotion. "DO NOT MAKE ME WATCH YOU DIE WHILE I DO THIS !!! NEITHER OF YOU STAND ANY CHANCE OF SURVIVING.!!! I DO!!! IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS HOLY, WILL YOU PLEASE GET OUT AND GO BACK!!!" His voice rebounded like thunder in the night and for a moment the other two were silent. Then Feln spoke.

"Fine, I will go with Ledare... on one condition," the half-ogre conceded. "Ledare, you agree to stay for two days, no longer. I will not sit at a gate and dwell on the thought that Morier may not have made it. Agreed?"

"Agreed," Ledare said after a moment's consideration. She got to her feet.

"Morier, if it is worth giving up, then it is simply worth giving up," Feln said gravely. "The Dolmen is right there and you should consider walking out right behind us. If you stay, which it seems you are intent on doing, know that you are remembered and loved. May the gods shine on you this day." He clasped wrists with the elf, his huge hand swallowing Morier's completely.

"We are all pawns in this fight, Morier," Ledare said. "But on this day you have proven yourself a King." She leaned close and embraced the elf, pressing a potion bottle into his hand. "White Lady, Goddess of mercy, grant your healing touch to this brave soul. Give him your warmth and favor so that he might persevere in this dark hour," she said as she held him tightly and Morier felt the barest trickle of divine energy flow into him from Ledare.

The three looked at each other as if it were the last time they'd ever see one another. Then Ledare and Feln turned and the two shuffled reluctantly back to the third dolmen. Feln spoke the password and they stepped through and found themselves back where they started in the Great Oak's wood...



... leaving Morier alone in a private frozen hell.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #311] Bittersweet*

The centaurs arrived on the morning after the others went though the portal into the Grove of Renewal. There were six of them, three male and three female, each armed with massive greatbows and various other two-handed weapons they carried secured to their equine bodies. They had come at the behest of the Horselord, sent in response to the Great Oak's request but seemed unperturbed that the VQS wasn't yet ready to leave on their journey southwards. They busied themselves creating some kind of wagon that two of them could pull to better transport Feln's increased bulk.

Karak entertained himself by watching the goblins play at organized society as they rebuilt the wall in the service of the Great Oak. He tended his armor, tended his beard with flaxen oil, and just plain rested. He actually enjoyed the silence and solitude for the first three days. That was until the fairy arrived - or was it two fairies? It was difficult to say; the little thing flitted around so fast and it seemed able to hide itself behind a blade of grass. At any rate, the damnable thing seemed fixated on Karak, hiding in the treetops and tittering away wherever he happened to be at the time. He'd spy it flying about out of the corner of his eye and then it would vanish as soon as he turned. It was nearly as bad as the halfling.

Still, he did enjoy the relative quiet. No more babbling from Vade; or constant questions; or stories of long lost relatives from Thumble. Thinking of Thumble, Karak began to think Vade must miss him home by now. Miss his hearth and fire, friends and family.

Karak began to realize a lot of time had passed since his companions entered the grove. He hoped they were alright. He was tugging his beard and reminiscing with the sounds of the goblins building in the background. Karak thought of how he first met Ledare's group with his brother, Malak. Delivering a message from his king in dwarven lock tube, they'd been. The group was much different now than he remembered them at the time. There had been a portly cleric of Shaharizod with one of those sculpted humie beards, a ranger, an elven wizard, a half-elf who carried himself like a thief, and Ledare, Janissary to the King. Ledare had taken this group long and far, he knew, and the group had had many faces.

Karak, himself, joined after the loss of his brother. A wandering slayer he had become. Why not fight the foes of chaos that Ledare's companions were fighting? It seemed as good a fight as any. Besides Shaharizod wanted him to. Malak would have wanted him to, too. And that, ultimately, was enough.

But now, Karak seemed at loss. Where were they? Were they hurt? Too injured to return? Had they been transported to another place? Did they leave him behind, he wondered? Maybe they have found treasure, and magic beyond their wildest dreams. If that were the case, the dwarf wouldn't begrudge them. He looked at his backpack full of gold and was satisfied with the Great Oak's gift.

"Speakin' of the Great Oak," he thought, "it be time I paid him a visit." Hearing a goblin screaming directions at another goblin broke Karak out of his revere. He went to examine the vault they had uncovered. Maybe he could determine who built it. Then it was off to see the Great Oak.



Karak had spent nearly two full days helping the goblins catalog the contents of the treasure vault Vade had spied. There was quite a horde secreted there, much of it old even by dwarven standards. Most of it was coins, but there were gems and tapestries, scepters and wands, bowls of beaten gold and ingots of raw silver stamped with the acorn symbol of the Aronerai School. A vast horde indeed, but not one that should have taken the better part of two whole days to sort through.

It was that damnable fairy! Karak was fairly certain now that there was only the one, but she was fast and devilishly hard to spot if she was sneaking about - which seemed to be all the time. She'd deliberately move things that Karak had already counted forcing him to go over and over the same items. Again and again. And again. He hadn't discovered this until he'd wasted almost an entire day's labor. It was maddening!

And when she wasn't doing that, she was twittering in the dwarf's ear - he was convinced that she could turn invisible - or pulling his beard while he slept. He'd taken to sleeping with his waraxe in hand and not just under his pillow as he usually did. Not that it helped any...

He was overjoyed when the hoary old gobliness, Gorguul, approached him and croaked, "You friends come back from Grove."



Ledare let out a sigh of relief at the familiar sight of Great Oak's wood. She was grateful at not having to pass through the tests of earth and fire again. That relief lasted a moment  before she realized that she clutched a healing potion  in her hand - her last healing potion and one she'd kept in reserve for Feln and herself to use as they worked their way out of the Grove. She hadn't needed it and it might have spelled the difference between success and failure - life and death - for Morier. A wave of guilt washed over her and she fell against a nearby tree, sinking slowly to the cool green moss below it.

Feln paid her no mind and instead limped some distance away, into a patch of sunshine that filtered down through the canopy above. There he settled himself and began to meditate.



The dwarf burst into the grove where the dolmen stood and saw Feln sitting in the sun and Ledare slumped in the shadows looking sadly at something in her hand.

"Oi!" he bellowed. "Ye've returned! I'd begun to wonder if ye'd left me!"

"I need some time, friend," Feln said without opening his eyes. "Please leave me be for now." Karak harrumphed and turned his attention to Ledare.

She half looked at him and raised a staying hand. Shaking her head she echoed the half-ogre's sentiment. "Some time, please."

"Well, where be th'others?" Karak grunted in confusion and Feln opened his eyes and bared his fangs threateningly.

"Karak, I mean no disrespect... but I need time for reflection," he growled. "I will be with you shortly."

"We know nothing for certain - only that Vade and Ixin never met us at the third portal," Ledare said, her voice sounding small and distant. "Perhaps they came back this way?" She looked hopefully to Karak, but the shocked expression on the dwarf's face told her all that she needed to know.


----------



## Jon Potter

*Yikes!!!*

It's been three weeks since my last update?!

Where does the time go?

Ley's see what I've got lying around, story-wise...


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #312] A Moment of Silence*

*Earthday, the 26th - Freeday, the 27th of Reaping, 1269 AE*​


Ledare refused the leave the clearing containing the portal to the Grove of Renewal. She stayed there day and night for the next several days, sending for supplies and her armor - wearing it despite the lack of threat in this protected place. Feln passed his time in quiet meditation and furious martial training that left him sweating and panting with its intensity. He intended to master his new body, no matter what the cost; if he had to deviate from the Shadow Warrior style, then so be it. But he had to test his new set of limitations to find out for sure what his next step toward mastery should be.

They managed to tell Karak a bit of what they'd endured in The Purging, and to explain their decision to leave Morier alone on the mountain. Karak took it all in with dwarven stoicism, calmly stroking his beard as their tale unfolded. "Aye," he agreed when they were done talking. "A winter storm be nae a thing to trifle with. One time, me chalak an' me were chin-deep in a mountain storm an' -"

Ledare suddenly stiffened and look above them, letting out a stifled shout of surprise. She could see a faint disturbance in the air above them - a wavering of the light like heat coming off sun-baked cobblestones - and sense the intelligence behind that disturbance. Someone was scrying them.

They sat in silence until the sensor disappeared, not daring to speak for fear of giving up some secret to the enemy. Once it vanished, Karak spat at his feet, grumbling in disgust, "Damnable wizards! We'll need to be on our guard."

"None of us has the ability to counter scrying on our own. We'll need to purchase some protection against this sort of thing," Ledare suggested. "How much gold did the Great Oak give you, Karak?"

"Now, hold on just a minute there, lass!" the dwarf growled. " I am glad that ye an' the orcblood survived that Grove debacle, but my gold be jus' that: my gold. While ye've all been off dreaming of a huge reward, I been left to work with gobbos sortin' a treasure vault! I'm a warrior and I been reduced to an administrative clerk!" He spat again on the ground for emphasis, finishing up with, "So hands off me gold. I be savin' that for a nice shiny magical waraxe to smite my enemies with!"

"Spoken like a true dwarf," Feln chuckled, prompting a withering look from Karak.

"I have had some dealings with dwarves and their gold before, so I  should have seen that coming! " Ledare nodded at Feln. "However, I should also remind Karak  that our purpose in pursuing the Grove's tests was to gain information to advance our fight against evil. It was not for personal gains, and it has cost us dearly."

She thought again of the lone healing potion she'd taken with her from The Purging and what it might have meant to Morier.

"At this point we need to make use of  any assets available to us and outfit ourselves in such a way so as to protect against further losses," she went on. "I would expect Karak to see the  value in being prepared and be willing to spend some of his newfound  wealth to fund our efforts.   It is not for our own comfort and  personal wealth that I ask this."

"I ken ye, lass," Karak admitted. "But I think that a fine magical axe be of more use than most anythin' else ye'd care to suggest. If'n I can cut an enemy, I can kill it. But if'n it be immune to my steel, then what hope do we 'ave?" Ledare scowled disapprovingly.

"How do you plan to transport this treasure chest of yours?" she asked. "Perhaps a little deal might be struck to "loan you" a  centaur to transport the stash." Karak harrumphed at that.

"Me an' Brynzin Bri've already reached an' understandin'," the dwarf told her. "An' I don't appreciate ye tryin' to threaten me on that subject. That there Grove might've done more harm to ye than just a few scrapes an' bruises." And saying thus, he turned and walked back toward the Great Oak and the school ruins.



The waiting was harder than Ledare had anticipated it would be. She couldn't allow herself to wander far from the portal for more than a few minutes at a time. Her remaining healing potion had become a sad symbol of the uncertainty surrounding Morier's fate, and she buried it at the bottom of her satchel trying her best to put it out of her mind. She busied herself with preparations for the journey south, and so it was only at night that her mind had time to process what was beginning to feel like cold reality... that Vade, and Ixin, and now Morier were not going to return.

Ironically (probably some grand defense mechanism, she surmised) her thoughts turned to Del. She had lost a score of companions since she had last seen Del at the Sword and Crown.  It was quite possible that his life had also been spent in the pursuit of some assigned purpose unbeknownst to her. The idea was nothing new to Ledare; it had pretty much governed the last waking moments of each day for her over the last several months. Or had it been years? She couldn't remember. And, frighteningly, she was even having trouble picturing his face.

And so it was with a renewed sense of urgency that she wrote - words she couldn't even be sure would ever be received, to a man she didn't even know was alive or dead. She had thrown away the other letters, back in a time when her despair had been at its worst.Which was just as well. This one was new and it held nothing back. At least the Purging had done that much for her.

She finished, sealed the wax with her Janissary insignia, and slipped it into her bag. At the first opportunity, she would send it to the borderlands of Hule. Where she would will it to find Delaroux Haladar.



*Starday, the 28th of Reaping, 1269 AE*​


Ledare awoke early and spent several minutes staring at the dolmen, silently willing Morier to step through it. He never did, and after breakfast and her prayers to Flor, Ledare set about clearing a small area of undergrowth. She cleared away the brush and flattened with her boots a small circle in the dark, rich soil. There she slowly and deliberately constructed three small piles of stones - simple and without pretense. She prayed as she worked and was aware again of the scrying sensor watching her efforts for a time. She paid it no mind and by the time she was done with the tiny memorial cairns, it had winked out again.

She knelt before the cairns, praying for Flor's blessing upon the souls of her fallen friends,  and for safe passage into whatever afterlife the Gods had in store for them. She heard Karak and Feln approach sometime later, but they said nothing until she got to her feet and turned to face them. Feln continued to look at the small memorials, but Karak found his tongue quickly.

"What now, lass?" he asked, his voice a good deal softer than it normally was.

"We head south beyond the mountains to Pellham," she answered, shouldering her pack and heading passed them down the path toward the Aronerai School.

"To Pellham you say?" Karak called after Ledare. He started down the trail after her at once. "I say as long as I can bring the fight to Chaos then it might as well be there as any other place."

"This is not some random assault. We go to Pellham because the Great Oak sensed some disturbance there," Ledare said over her shoulder as she trudged grimly onward. "We need to do more lead following and less flailing about blindly. That's the only way we'll be victorious."

Karak nodded his head in agreement. "We have mounts. We have provisions. Ye're all healed up. So I say let us be off!" he said, shaking his axe in the air for emphasis. He turned to grin at Feln and found that the half-ogre wasn't behind him as Karak had thought. "Oi! I do nae know where the orcblood be about!"

Ledare didn't even turn as she shouted her reply. "Find him and meet me at the wagon."

"Aye! I'll go find 'im so we can be off now!" the dwarf shouted back. "While I'm looking for Feln, I'll roundup Vade and Ixin too! That halfling is probably down in the treasue vault a-." His voice trailed off and Ledare stopped in her tracks, turning to stare at Karak. He had already realized his mistake,  and hung his head sadly for a long moment, sighing into his newly-trimmed beard.

Then he straightened his back and set off to find Feln. On the way, he passed the cairn built for Morier. Karak stood there a moment and said: "Huy oi faust kan due and delve a Karak." _May you rest well and deep in the mountain._


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

This was just lying around?   

Shame on you.


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> This was just lying around?




Hey, I had to look under the sofa cushions to find that.

And while I was in there, I found the following little tidbit...


----------



## Jon Potter

*Meanwhile, back at the Grove of Renewal...*

A few solitary hours went by before Morier felt like he had to cast _Quick Boost_ and drink the first of his healing potions. It was nearly frozen from the cold, but the curing slush tasted like ambrosia on his tongue.

An hour later the two sunrods winked out plunging him into cold, wet darkness. He almost cried out in despair as the last dying glow faded away.

An hour after that he again cast _Quick Boost _and cracked open the sixth of his remaining healing potions. Two hours after that he was on his fifth. Barely an hour later he was drinking his fourth. Another two went by and he was on the brink of death. Two of the remaining three draughts pulled him back from death's door, however temporarily.

Leaving him five hours from the portal's activation with only one _cure light wounds _potion left in his potion belt.

He clutched the last vial and looked at it intently. It represented his only real chance of surviving. He didn't feel like his spells were having any noticeable affect on his condition. The healing draughts were all that stood between him and oblivion and this was the last one. When it was gone it would be just him and the storm.

He uncorked the potion with chattering teeth and slurped down the cure, savoring the warm sensation of healing as it hit his belly and spread outward to his extremities. He was afraid that it might be the last warm thing he felt before he found himself too soon beyond the veil.

"After I've returned to dust, the wind will still howl and the lightning will still sing," he muttered. He'd heard that somewhere or read it in one of his father's many books. Here, facing the wind as a very real enemy, the words seemed particularly apt. Prophetic even.

He thought again of what he'd told Feln: "'Nobody will remember you as a hero for sitting in a snowbank waiting to die; they will think you a fool for not leaving when you had the chance."

Despite the grim circumstances, he had to laugh at himself.



Time passed. Hours maybe. Or minutes. It was hard to say in this sunless hell. But Morier was quite certain that time was passing. For a while he had been able to keep time with the throbbing pain in his bootless foot, but that had long since moved to first a painful prickling and thence to a dead numbness.

Numbness seemed to be settling in all over, and it was only with some effort that he reached out a hand to stiffly pat his cold, old friend, the dolmen. He huddled close to the stone megalith, snuggling the cold rock like a lover. Praying for the portal to open. Willing it to open and whisk him away from this lingering death. He was so tired. So very tired.



"Dalharuk-dobluth," they called him. Or "vlos-yibin". Their words like daggers dripping poison. He remembered being cut by them many times before his parents took him to be killed. If he once knew the words' meanings, he'd blissfully forgotten them. But the biting sting of those words he remembered all too well.



Had he fallen asleep? Perhaps it was dumbness that was settling in, not numbness. Falling asleep in a blizzard was death. Pure and simple. He had to stay awake. Awake and focused on overcoming this challenge. But he was so tired.

He closed his eyes to give them some relief from the biting wind.

And let oblivion take him.


----------



## Jon Potter

*Morier's Water Walk*

He awoke with his foot on fire. Which was odd because he could clearly hear the cavernous echo of water dripping all around him. With superhuman effort he opened his eyes and saw that he was no longer on the mountaintop. He was lying on an unworked stone floor in a domed cavern. The place smelled of the sea. It wasn't very large; he could clearly see the opposite side of the chamber with his darkvision.

He was also glad to note that he wasn't truly on fire. But the exposed flesh on his left foot was a most unpleasant color. Frostbite, he assumed although he'd never actually seen it before firsthand. He tried wiggling his toes and was rewarded with a thousand stabbing needles of pain and some slight movement.

Despite the agony, he was encouraged by the movement and he pushed himself wearily into a sitting position to better survey the room.

The majority of the cavern was dominated by a pool of emerald green water such as Morier had seen on the coast of the Tyredemia. The pool was some sixty feet across surrounded by a ten foot ring of stone floor from which the walls rose up to the vaulted ceiling. Water trickled down from above in a light but steady shower. Behind the spot where Morier had awoke was a dolmen - the only one that was anywhere in sight. Apparently he'd fallen through from one test to the next, completing the test of air while unconscious. He laughed at the absurdity of it and his laughter filled the chamber with echoes.

Before the sound had faded, something broke the surface of the pool, bursting up from below. It was a woman of sorts with skin the same deep green as the pool, and kelp-like hair that hung down passed her shoulders and covered one emerald eye. Her head alone was nearly as tall as Morier and the elf could only guess that her height most have been over twenty feet. She remained submerged apart from her head and shoulders, however, so what existed below the water line was purely conjecture on his part.

“Here, mortal, you must prove yourself able to meet the challenges presented by water,” she said and her voice was both beautiful and alien. “The test is simple. The portal is underwater, and a very challenging swim for an ordinary man. From the edge of the pool where you now sit, swim 20 feet straight down. There is a completely submerged tunnel that is 10 feet in diameter. The tunnel runs for 300 feet. At its end is the fifth and final portal, which automatically lets you and whatever you carry pass through, if you are alive. If you die, the currents here are such that your body shortly returns to the surface of this pool. And the test will be over.”

Morier let this information sink in and did some quick mental calculations. He wasn't at his best mentally, having slept little in the last day and what little he got was under less than optimal conditions. But, unless his calculations were off, he placed his chances of successfully completing this challenge somewhere in the nether regions between slim and none. He sagged back against the dolmen and sighed in frustration.

"Do you understand this challenge?" the giant asked and Morier nodded.

"May I rest a while?" the albino asked. "I have withstood the test of fire, the test of earth, and the test of air, but am physically depleted from the toll they have taken on me." The giant woman nodded in understanding.

"The test of water begins when you enter the pool," she told him.

"I thank you," he said and spent a moment stretching his aching body out into a more comfortable position. But he never took his eyes off the giantess in case she tried to disappear as the other Keepers had. But she did not, she merely stood in the pool and regarded him with her sea green eyes.  "I have entered the Grove of Renewal at the bequest of the Great Oak," he told her once he was reasonably comfortable. "I am the lone remaining hope for a group of adventurers who seek to free Dridana and stem the tides of evil that Aphyx has set upon the the Realm."

"We Keepers possess the knowledge to reunite The Earth Mother's heart with her body," the giantess said. "I will share it with you if you wish. Once you complete the Purging."

"That information is why I have come here in the first place," Morier explained. "But I fear that my chances of completing the test of water are not good. I beg of you, is there any information you can give me that will assist me in this task or enable my companions and I to continue our quest?"

The Keeper considered for a moment and nodded. "I can take you to the portal myself if you wish it," she said at last and Morier's heart nearly leapt from his throat at her words.

"Yes! Yes!" he exclaimed. "That's what I-" She forestalled him by raising one massive hand in a silencing gesture.

"There is a price for such assistance, however," the Keeper said. "You must divest yourself of all these trinkets and baubles with which you adorn yourself. Leave them here and exit the Grove as you entered the world. That is the price for my help." The albino raised one eyebrow.

"Do I have this right?" Morier began, careful of any misinterpretation. "You will lead me out in exchange for all of my belongings?"

"That is correct," the giantess replied with a nod. Morier jerked into motion at once, shrugging off his backpack even as he worked his way to his feet.

"These material posessions are insignificant in comparison to the possible good that could come from my completion of the Purging," he said, tossing his potion belt aside and beginning to work at the clasps binding his wrist sheathes in place. "I would gladly sacrifice them in such an exhcange."

"Do you still wish to rest?" the Keeper asked as Morier tossed his wands to the floor.

"Is there more danger ahead?" the albino replied as he undid his scroll organizer.

"Not if you behave as you have so far in the tests," the giantess answered. "If you attack me I will defend myself. And you will die." The eldritch warrior chuckled darkly at that.

"Believe me," he said humbly, "I have no intention of attacking you." He pulled his tunic off over his head, revealing grey scar tissue that covered most of his torso like an intricate web.

"Then come," she said holding out her large arm. "The answers you seek are at hand.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

ya know, nobody ever asks for help. Did Morier's player let the others know they might've all passed had they asked for help? 

or was this more along the lines of "needed assistance" ?


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> ya know, nobody ever asks for help. Did Morier's player let the others know they might've all passed had they asked for help?




Yes, he let them know how he did it, but this is the first time they'll have to read how the exchange actually went down.

And it wasn't really made clear (since I didn't write it up for the boards) but both Feln and Morier got through the test of earth simply by asking the trean gaurdian what the password was. So Morier's plea wasn't exactly without precedent.



> or was this more along the lines of "needed assistance" ?




Hell no! I gave him plenty of opportunities to back out and he chose to press on. If he'd chosen to do the same thing here and try to swim, then the dice would have fallen where they fell. And barring some kind of minor dice miracle Morier would have ended up floating face down in the pool.

I don't like to kill characters off arbitrarily, but character death is part of the game. And if you push on in the face of explicit DM warnings... well then there's always another character concept to try out, isn't there?

I mean, I killed off my own wife's character twice! What chance did Morier have?


----------



## Jon Potter

*Morier's Water Walk, part 2*

Without a second look at his piled possessions - items gifted to him by his father and others earned with blood shed on the field of battle - Morier stepped awkwardly out of his breeches and into the cool green water.

The Keeper clasped him beneath one arm like a mother and he clung to her like a child. Then she plunged beneath the surface and hurtled through a tunnel that seemed very cramped with the giantess in it. If it was indeed 300 some feet to the fifth portal, then the giantess must have been capable of phenomenal speed in the water; the journey took less than 15 seconds. Then the portal was ahead of them and she pushed him through.



He fell out into the hellish cavern where he'd begun the Purging. It was hot, of course, and seemed doubly so after the frigid day spent on the mountaintop during the test of air. But that wasn't the first thing he noticed. The first was that his foot no longer hurt - in fact nothing hurt any longer. He looked down and saw that his feet and toes had assumed their normal hue and the injuries he'd sustained in the fire and earth tests were healed as well. Even more startling were his chest and abdomen; they were free of scars. He ran his slim fingers across his pale flesh tracing designs cut into his flesh at childhood - designs that were no longer there.

"You are as you were meant to be," the giantess' voice spoke from above. He looked up to see that she stood nearby, her glistening green flesh steaming in the heat. "You are as nature intended."

"Thank you..," he said and his voice sounded tiny and distant to him as he looked at himself as if for the first time.

"There is power within you, mortal," the Keeper told him. "You have harnessed it to walk the path of air, but we are as much at home on the ocean's floor as we are in the mountaintop storm." Morier looked up at her again.

"I don't understand," he began. "What do you-"

"If it is the will of the Green, you will learn these answers for yourself in the fullness of time," she explained, her loud voice easily drowning his own. "But for now, you came here for answers and I will give them now." She reached down and touched Morier's forehead and his world went black; all that was left was the Keeper's voice.

"Aphyx ripped Dridana's heart from her chest and imprisoned its essence inside a gemstone of immense size. Her body, the goddess of filth cast into the void where it drifts still. The gem she plunged into a mountaintop. Using her divine powers she tore that mountain asunder and set it adrift in the skies and warded the gemstone against all who would approach it."

"But her powers are not absolute, and we Keepers, Dridana's most powerful servants, were able to craft four keys that would breach Lady Rot's defenses. These keys we hid away in a pocket not unlike the Grove itself, apart from the Green but linked to it. Each key grants its wielder great power over one of the four elements. And each key must be brought to bear to free Dridana's heart."

"Once the heart is reunited with the body, the Fruitful One will be reborn. And great and terrible shall be her wrath."

The Keeper withdrew her hand and Morier's world returned to him. He was dimly aware of a tugging within his head as if two invisible forces were pulling his senses in separate directions. He knew without being told that one was the direction leading to the keys and the other pull would lead him to the heart.

"This is the knowledge for which you came here," she said. "Use it as you will. You may step back through the portal to return from whence you came."

Morier knelt there, so thoroughly humbled by his experiences that mere words failed in thier attempt to expess his feelings. He wanted to thank the last of the Guardians, but he seemed somehow so small that he couldn't possibly conjure the words. His thanks would be imperceptible in the grand scheme of things.

He looked toward the Keeper and said, "I am only a single humble warrior, but please know that you have filled me with the desire to use what miniscule powers I have to do as much good as I am able."

"Each of us has their role to play," the giantess said with a reassuring nod. "Whether for good or ill, each serves their purpose and plays their role. Your role in the coming times may be pivotal or miniscule, as you say; it is a page yet to be written. Go, and remember well the lessons you have learned here."

"The gift of the Purging will remain with me forever," Morier said, and he was somewhat surprised by the truly heartfelt assertion. The world seemed so much larger now than it had when he entered the Grove... however long ago that was. He rose and turned toward the portal, placed his hand on the dolmen and stepped through...



...back into the Termlane Forest where he was struck at once by the lush beauty of the place. Verdant green was everywhere, pressing wetly against his senses; sunlight gilded each leaf, as if a troupe of faerie artists had painted them with gold; an overarching vault of brilliant azure sprawled above all. It was all more beautiful than he'd remembered.

The second thing he noticed was that it was breezy.

After the parching heat of the volcanic chamber, the cool, moist air felt downright chilly given his over-exposed condition. Gooseflesh crawled across his body as an involuntary shudder took hold of him. He clutched his shoulders and stepped out into a shaft of sunlight, letting Orin's Shield warm him.

There was no sign of Ledare or Feln - or any of the others for that matter. He hoped that they'd made it out of the Grove alive after leaving him in the Test of Air. Nearby he spotted three modest cairns set apart from the forest in a small area cleared of underbrush. The memorials hadn't been erected very long ago, he surmised;  the woodland hadn't even begun to reclaim the tiny clearing of flattened plants.

There were no names associated with the cairns, but he could guess at who they were commemorating. Which meant that Ledare and Feln had indeed returned safely from The Purging...

... and they thought he was dead.


----------



## Jon Potter

*Naked and Alone*

Morier paused long enough to fashion himself a makeshift loincloth of vines and leaves. The garment wouldn't win any of the fashion contests that the bards were always going on about, but it afforded him a degree of modesty and right now that was all he cared about. That and finding his companions to disprove any suppositions about his death.

He glanced about, determined the direction back to the Aronerai School, and set off through the trees.



The goblins looked at him queerly as he stood in his rude skirt outside the thorny wall that hedged in The Great Oak. In comparison, their clothing of animal pelts seemed like finery. He shook his head, glad for the moment that his friends weren't here to see him.

As he pondered this thought, he got a prickling on the nape of his neck that he recognized at once. He was being scryed. It took only a moment to locate the sensor - a wavering, ocular distortion in the air above him - but there was nothing he could do to prevent the voyeurism.

'Perhaps,' he thought, 'it's father checking up on me.' But that seemed unlikely. It was certainly within Angwyn's power to divine Morier's location if he chose to, but remote viewing wasn't the man's style. At least, not any more. He'd be more likely to teleport here directly than to scry for any length of time... and he was very unlikely to teleport anywhere.

More likely it was one of their enemies. A potent mage had served alongside the werebats in the caves outside Strenchburg Junction. It was foolhardy of the VQS to think that their actions against Aphyx would go unnoticed for-

"Great Oak say you come now," Nigoulickit croaked, snapping Morier's attention away from the sensor and back to the hedge, which was now opened to him.

"Get a good look..." Morier growled up at the sensor. "You'll be seeing me again." Then he turned and stalked down the thorny tunnel to speak with The Great Oak.



"I humbly thank you for offering all of us the gift of the Purging," Morier said to The Great Oak once preliminary greetings were complete and the Eldritch Warrior had detailed his experiences with the Grove of Renewel.

"I am not so sure that Vadenhuffer T. Briarhopper and Ixin of Clan Vermillion would share with your gratitude," the Great Oak sighed. "Their experiences in the Grove were less pleasant than yours." Morier paused and bowed his head.

"I regret that those two did not make it through, but my own survival has afforded me information that may be critical to the cause that my companions seek," the elf said after a moment. He was unashamed of his success where the others had failed. His victory within the Grove may well have turned the tide of their conflict with Aphyx. "The keys to Dridana's freedom are within our grasp, but I must find Ledare and Feln. The three cairns at the entrance to the Grove must mean that they think I did not survive the Purging. Do you know what they intended to do upon leaving this spot?"

The Great Oak's leaves rustled for a moment. "They left yesterday morning heading south," the tree spoke into his mind. "They make for Pellham to uncover the source of the disturbance I sense growing there."

"Yesterday?!" Morier cried. "They promised they'd wait two days!"

"It has been four days since your friends exited the Grove," the Great Oak told him.

"What? It wasn't that long ago that I myself entered the tests," the albino protested. and the tree clacked his branches.

"Time flows differently within the Grove of Renewal," he explained. "They waited before heading south."

Morier considered this, noting the relative position of the twin 'pulls' in his mind. Both were in the south, one drawing his senses southwest and the other pulling southeast. That was something anyway. "Is it possible that you can send word to them that I am indeed alive and can help guide them?"

"I can try," the tree replied. "They move with haste, but the wagon required to transport your reborn friend will hamper the centaurs' progress."

"Centaurs?" Morier asked. He'd heard of but never met an actual representative of the horsefolk.

"The Lord of Horses answered by call for aid," the Great Oak said simply, adding after a moment's pause, "Go. I will gather what assistance I can for you"


----------



## Jon Potter

*Naked With Company*

Morier left the Great Oak's presence feeling somewhat unsatisfied. Something about the tree's tone, made him think that contacting Ledare and the others would be difficult if not outright impossible. He wondered how fast he could travel on foot, and whether it would be fast enough to catch the wagon transporting his companions southward.

He was so deep in thought that he failed to notice the scrying sensor hovering in the air above him. Only the rush of air being displaced alerted him to the fact that someone had teleported in behind him.

He turned and stared at a man's back - tall and dark with a bald pate. He was dressed in supple leather and carried an ornate shortspear easily in one hand. "I knew that Garan-Zak had me facing the wrong way," the man said and Morier recognized the voice as one he'd heard before. The man turned his obsidian countenance to Morier and a grin of white split his face. It was the smell of smoke that finally jogged the elf's memory.

"Huzair?" he asked, stunned to see the apprentice of one of his father's associates here. The man pulled out a cigar from a pocket inside his vest, spoke a word and lit it off the flame that danced on his thumb.

"Morier," Huzair said with a disinterested nod. "Long time, no see." The elf was shocked to see the wizard, but he recovered his composure quickly.

"Why Huzair, what in the world brings you to the Termlane Forest?" the elf asked. Before Huzair had a chance to respond he added, "And why have you been scrying me??"

Huzair snorted laughter and breathed on his cigar, making the ember at the end, flare with orange light. "Not me," he said with an innocent grin. "That was Garan-zak. You remember how he loves that crystal ball of his."

Morier could remember clearly the visit the wizard and his apprentice had paid to his father when Garan-zak had first acquired the scrying device. Despite the fact that Huzair was just a boy and Morier was fully-grown the two had been sentenced to reading up on Tenser's "Magical Properties of Gemstones" while the two wizards used the crystal ball to watch Kimbery bathe at the Greenbriar Inn. The pair of them hooted it up like a couple of prepubescents. Over the next few days of that visit, the wizards scried on every attractive female they could think of, until ap-Llewellyn made the mistake of suggesting that they try using the crystal ball to look in on Gisela the horse breeder. She'd spotted the scrying sensor right away and surmised immediately who it was that was invading her privacy. An angry visit  by the raven-haired woman was enough of an embarrassment to cure ap-Llewellyn of his voyeuristic urges. Not so apparently with Garan-zak.

"I'm on the cusp of mastering spells of the 4th Circle. So Scry is a bit beyond me just yet," Huzair went on. "What about you? How go your studies?"

Morier had only just manifested his first spell of the 2nd Circle. A fact he'd been quite proud of until Huzair showed up to flaunt his own power. "Not as well as yours, it would seem," the albino admitted.

"Well, maybe if you spent more time hitting the books and less time running around out in the woods naked," Huzair laughed as he tugged at one of the numerous piercings  that decorated his ear. "This another one of those druid things? You a nudist now?"

"You'll have to pardon my appearance," Morier said, looking himself over. Again he was startled by the absent web of scars on his torso. "I'm not prone to walking through the woods with naught but a loincloth, but an unfortunate circumstance has left me without a single possession."

"What? Did a nymph seduce you and steal your clothes?" Huzair joked, punching Morier in the arm companionably. His fist was hot against Morier's naked skin.

"No!" The eldritch warrior chuckled. He found himself laughing a bit at the absurdity of it all. "Nothing like that."

"What is the deal nature boy? You can tell me," Huzair pressed. He drew back suddenly and asked in a hushed tone, "It wasn't a satyr was it?"

"No!" Morier asserted more forcefully. Then he realized that Huzair had never answered his initial question. So he asked it again, "Just what are you doing out here, Huzair?" The wizard waved him off, exhaling a column of smoke into the bright sky.

"Garan-zak," he said simply. "The old man thinks I'm a bit too aimless - no goals, or something like that. So he was talking to your father the other day and finds out that you're hooked up with some crusading Janissary out to save the world from the forces of darkness. Next thing I know, Garan-zak's got it in his head that I should join up too. He used the crystal ball to find you and a quick teleport later: here I am."

Morier noticed for the first time that Huzair looked ready for travel. He had on sturdy boots and warcaster's armor along with his fashionable leather breeches and jerkin. He wore a potion belt and a scroll organizer just like Morier had given up to complete the test of water. A finely-tooled traveler's bag hung cross-wise on his torso, and Morier felt a twinge of envy when he saw The Valliant Vessel Shipping and Trading Company logo stamped on the purse in gold. A _Handy Haversack_! That magical bag alone must have cost 2,000 crowns or more.

"Well, Morier. What do you say?" Huzair asked with a conspiratorial grin. "Mind if I help you save the world?"


----------



## Jon Potter

*Naked With Company, part 2*

Morier walked with Huzair back to the row of cairns to show the wizard what he was potentially getting himself into.

"It was here in Termlane Forest that five of us entered the Grove of Renewal just days ago," Morier said as Huzair puffed thoughtfully on his cigar. "Two failed to survive the Purging, two turned back before they finished, and only one completed the tasks given us by the Guardians of Fire, Earth, Air, and Water."

"And that would be you," the black-skinned man surmised. The albino nodded.

"It was there that I traded all of my belongings in exchange for assistance in completing the last of the four challenges. The two that turned back and one who declined the Grove have now left, moving South to Pellham, thinking me dead," Morier continued. "But I was given something, I don't know... some kind of 'enlightenment' when I finished the fourth test, and now I know how to find what we're looking for. I need to find them before they travel too far away."

"And we're talking about the half-elf, the ogre and the dwarf, right?" Huzair asked and the eldritch warrior nodded again. "Interesting company you're keeping these days, Morier."

"Huzair, I hope you're serious about wanting to join us. But I want you to know that this is a far more dangerous situation than I ever dreamed when I met this group," Morier warned. "We'd be happy to have you - most of all because two of our number have passed in the last few days and we could use your cunning. Another would be gone too, but for the Great Oak, who was able to encase his spirit in another body. As it is now, the others think I am dead. That's the danger we're talking about."

"Being thought dead?" Huzair asked. "I can live with that. There's been a time or two when that could have got me out of a few bad gambling debts."

"Not being 'thought' dead. Being dead," Morier corrected. "The forces we're up against are determined and the threat to our lives is very real."

"If saving the world was easy, everybody'd do it," Huzair joked. Morier just shook his head.

"The Great Oak is right now trying to get word to my friends to wait for me... well... for us. But it didn't sound very confident at the likelihood of success in getting the message to them," the elf went on. "I know this is a lot of information to take in, Huzair. But I'm glad you're here and I hope you'll join us."

The wizard considered for a moment before opening his _Handy Haversack_. "On one condition," Huzair said, tossing a bundle of clothes at Morier. "You gotta put these on. That skirt isn't nearly as concealing as you think it is."



Morier had just dressed himself in comfortable, if a trifle ill-fitting, traveling clothes when the wolf appeared. It as large and gray with white fangs that seemed perfectly capable of ripping Morier's throat to shreds if it chose. Despite his new garments, without sword and armor Morier still felt naked. Fortunately, the wolf did not seem threatening, it just stood on the path and regarded him intently.

That was when Morier saw the fairy. She was sitting on the wolf's back, clinging to its fur with both hands. She wore garments of green and blue and brown, her hair was gold and iridescent wings became a blur of silver behind her as she rose up from the wolf's back and took flight.

"My name's Lela," she said in a high-pitched twittering voice as she circled above Morier and Huzair. "The Great Oak said you need help finding some folks who headed out with the centaurs. Wolf and I can help, if you want. We can find them for you. Do you know they've got a giant with them?"

"That would be Feln," Morier answered, craning his neck to keep his eye on the Faen. "He's not really a giant; he's a half-ogre."

"Technically speaking ogrish blood makes him a giant," Huzair corrected smugly. "You need to crack a book more often. That whole gish thing is starting to catch up with you." Morier just shook his head. He'd forgotten how insufferable Huzair could be.

Lela alighted on a nearby branch and cocked her head at Morier. "So you're the guy who made it back from the Grove... Cool! Hope you found out what you needed to." She darted off the branch and circled Morier in a tight spiral that carried her from head to foot. "Yup," she announced as she moved back to her branch. "Looks like you did."

"You can help me... us find my friends?" the Eldritch Warrior asked. The tiny Faen nodded.

"Great Oak says I am supposed to come with you two to find the others," she said, puffing herself up to a full 12 inches in height and planting her fists heroically on her hips. "This is my first adventure. Great Oak has taught me lots of stuff but I never get to use it! This'll be great! We'll have lots of fun!"

"This will be far from fun-" the albino began, but Lela had already turned her attention to Huzair. 

"Wow!" she exclaimed, pinching the wizard's black skin. "You're as dark as a drow!"

Huzair jerked away and blew a cone of cigar smoke at the Faen which she expertly avoided. "I assure you that I'm no drow!" he protested.

"That's good! They're awful!" Lela twittered and then seemed to realize the insult she'd just levied at the albino. "Ohhh... You're a drow, aren't you Morier?"

"What if he is?" Huzair argued before Morier could even respond.

"But Great Oak says you're good so you must be good," she shrugged and dismissed it all in an eyeblink. "Well, let's get going."

As they moved off down the trail toward the south, Lela kept up a steady stream of conversation of which Vade might have been proud had he been there to hear it. "So what do you think about all these goblins?... This is Wolf. He's my best friend. We talk sometimes for hours and hours....."

Neither Huzair nor Morier had any reason to doubt her and they had to respect the wolf's patience.

"So, Lela?" Huzair asked at one point. "You're so small. Have you ever sneaked into any buildings?" Morier gave the wizard a shove and Huzair looked at him indignantly. "Relax! I didn't mean anything," the mage shrugged. "Old habits die hard."


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## Hairy Minotaur

Good Lord Jon! You should clean out your cushions more often, look at all the writing you found!   


Excellent as usual


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## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Good Lord Jon! You should clean out your cushions more often, look at all the writing you found!





I'm channeling Lazybones and doing post-a-day™.

At least through tomorrow, at any rate.  I've got a little more than that back-logged, but I'm saving it up as I seem to be hitting a dry-patch  story hour-wise. I'm having a bit of trouble motivating myself to write up the next little section of the campaign, and I don't want another long lapse in posts while I struggle with the VQS' long-awaited adventures in Pellham. So I'm keeping a little cushion of material to dribble out if it becomes necessary to buy myself a little more time.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #313] Southward, Ho!*

*Sunday, the 29th of Reaping - Moonsday, the 1st of Goodmonth​*​

They headed back along the Eginnion Road toward Flavonshire and the mountain passes beyond. The centaurs did not like entering the civilized lands of men and their leader, Brynzin Bri, balked at the idea of heading into Pellham through the heavily garrisoned and fortified toll gate in Bandit Pass. They would lead the VQS into Olven Vale and along the old trade road through the Altan Tepes depositing them on the other side well within Pellham. That way, they would only need to pass through a single human settlement high in the mountains: Relfren.

Ledare smiled sadly at that. Ruze would have really enjoyed this trip given his love for Emerald Moon Cheese, Relfren's chief export. If only he'd lived long enough to make the journey...



They were camped for the night inside the ruins of an open-air caravanserai when one of the centaurs who had been on patrol duty thundered into the compound Karak looked up from his barbecued coney as she regarded the dwarf and the half-elf, settling to a walk as she entered the radius of the firelight.

"What is it, Zerry?" Ledare asked from her spot near the fire where she and Karak were divvying up what gear Vade and Morier had left behind; Feln was at the rear of the compound practicing his martial techniques. Behind the centaur, the Janissary spotted eyes reflecting light near the gate - probably a wolf - and her hand crept easily toward Ravager's hilt.

"Visitors," the centaur answered and two figures dismounted from her equine back. One was tall with skin as black as coal. Light glittered off the numerous rings that pierced both ears. He wore some impractical armor and carried a shortspear in one hand. The other figure was shorter - most likely an elf - and carried no weapons. He removed his wide-brimmed traveler's hat, allowing firelight to paint his papery-white features in orange and red.

"Morier!" Ledare exclaimed jumping to her feet. She rushed forward and crushed the albino in an embrace.

"Oi!" Karak bellowed, wiping grease from his lips as he got to his feet.

"I thought you were dead!" Ledare yelled as she planted an uncharacteristic kiss on the albino's cheek. Seeing the affection being handed out, Huzair stepped up quickly and flashed Ledare his best smile.

"How are you, lovely lady?" he grinned smoothly. Before Ledare could respond, Karak stamped up and pointed his waraxe at Huzair.

"Oi! Who be you, black skin?" he demanded. The wizard gave ground and turned the axe away from his face, touching the weapon with two fingers as if it disgusted him to come in contact with it at all.

"My name is Huzair," he said. "And I am a wizard of no small skill. A Magus of the Fourth Circle." Karak looked at him blankly.

"He is a friend, Karak," Morier told the dwarf. "I've known him for years."

"But what are you doing out here?" Ledare asked the dark-skinned wizard. "How did you find Morier?"

"Ah, it was my master, Garan-Zak, who scried upon your party in search of Morier," Huzair explained, throwing a companionable arm around the albino. "Our masters are close friends who adventured together long ago. Which reminds me..." The mage opened his traveler's purse and began removing parcels of various sizes.

"How did the two of you find us?" Ledare asked Morier. She placed a hand on his arm as if half-expecting him to be a phantom.

"That would be Lela's doing," the eldritch warrior told her, turning toward the gate where Wolf had been waiting. "She and Wolf were-" 

Gone.

Feln lumbered out of the shadows with Wolf at his side. Lela was sitting on the half-ogre's over-broad shoulder with a smile on her face that Morier could see from twenty feet away. She'd found her giant.

"It is good to see you survived, Morier," Feln said simply. But there was something in his tone that indicated he might be harboring some other feelings toward the elf: resentment perhaps or jealousy. After all, Morier had succeeded where Feln had failed... Whatever the case, Huzair defused the moment with gifts.

"We looked at a few simple things you were lacking," the wizard said and handed a small hinged box to Ledare. She accepted it with bemused gratitude and found within a silver dove pin.

"This holy symbol is from a fallen comrade," Huzair explained."It meant something to Garan-Zak and he hoped it would mean something to you." He stepped up to Feln and handed him a bundle of cloth and furs.

"My big friend, here are some clothes to journey in," he said as he handed him the clothing. "No man likes to see an ogre naked. It's disheartening to the rest of us."

Huzair looked next at Karak and wrankled at the dwarf's dubious stare. As he reached into his magical bag and retrieved a potion, he looked at Ledare and said, "Here is a potion of hair restoration. Careful how you use it, though. You don't want a messy beard growing, now do you?"

Karak scowled and touched the recently shorn lengths of his own beard. It was two short by half.

With a smile and a wink, Huzair added, "Give the dwarf what is left for his beard. Can't have a dwarf with half a beard now can we?" He paused and reached into his bag one last time, pulling out a handful of cigars and offering them to the party. Only after everyone declined did he put one in his mouth and light up using a flame that danced on his thumb. After puffing on the cigar a bit through clenched white teeth he grinned enthusiastically and said, "So mates, where are we off to?"


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #313] Southward, Ho! part 2*

*Godsday, the 2nd - Starday, the 13th of Goodmonth​*
The journey through Olven Vale and up the disused trade road into the lowest peaks of the great Altan Tepes was largely uneventful. They passed the time as they always did, by going over and over their accumulated clues. In particular, Morier's experiences within the Grove of Renewal were scrutinized with great care. Ledare wanted to be sure that she understood completely the information he had gleaned.

"We should all take interest in this," she told the others. "Who knows when one might find oneself the sole keeper of such knowledge."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but it seems to me that regardless of what we learned in the Grove, without our little elven compass here, we're in no position to act on that knowledge," Huzair said, patting Morier roughly on the head. The Eldritch Warrior swatted his hand away.

"Yes. It goes without saying, the one we have to safeguard now is Morier," Ledare agreed. "Without his head, we are as directionless as we were before we entered the Grove."

"I say we really only need 'is head!" Karak announced before bursting into laughter. Huzair joined in, but he was the only one. Lela left Feln's shoulder long enough to fly down and pull Karak's mustache.

"That's mean!" she scolded as she dodged with fist.

"I hope you all realize the serious nature of this quest," Ledare admonished once the group had settled down. "It is not to be taken lightly."

"It was but a joke, lass," Karak grumbled, sinking into a foul mood that lasted the rest of the day.



At camp one night, Feln drew Morier aside during one of the rare moments that the half-ogre was free of Lela. "I am sorry for my reaction to your victory over the Purging," Feln apologized, not able to look Morier in the eye as he spoke. "I am sickened to say it, but when I thought you had failed, part of me felt glad for it meant I made the wise decision in turning back. When you returned, it just confirmed that I was not strong enough for the challenge." For a moment, Morier said nothing, and the uncomfortable silence pressed in on them.

"We are alike, you and I," the Eldritch Warrior said at last. "We see life as a series of tests to be met head on and overcome. If our roles were reversed and it was I who had turned back and you who had succeeded, I cannot say that I would not feel the same resentment at your victorious return."

"It warms me knowing that you are back, though, Morier," Feln said quickly. "Truly."

"I know, Feln," Morier said patting the half-ogre's arm reassuringly. "There is no ill-blood between us." Feln nodded in acceptance and moved to the edge of their camp where he threw himself into re-mastering his martial forms.



On Waterday, the 10th they arrived near the alpine town of Relfren and several members of the VQS went in to secure supplies for the remaining journey into Pellham. They left Feln and Wolf and the centaurs at camp in the pine forest beyond the town to avoid undue scrutiny.

That turned out to be largely unnecessary as the townsfolk were preparing for their annual Founders' Day festival in three days' time and were far too busy erecting temporary seating in front of the Emerald Moon Cheese Factory to pay the well-armed travelers much mind. Founders' Day always involved a grand feast sponsored by  the wealthy merchant, Heinz Schiller, owner of both the Emerald Moon Cheese Factory and Heinz Schiller’s Most Excellent Sausagerie - the two largest businesses in town. Unsurprisingly, the feast involved the consumption of prodigious amounts of cheese, sausage, wine and beer but this year was especially exciting; both the cheese and sausage works had closed their doors until the day of the festival. Signs proclaimed a "special surprise" was to be unveiled.

This, of course, was interpreted as a sinister plot. Given their experiences with the meat pies in Barnacus this was perhaps to be expected. So they did a bit of snooping once they'd visited the few shops they needed and discovered that there was no one in the small village that could enchant Karak's waraxe. Their investigation involved Huzair _Charming_ Brother Theo, the local priest of Waukeen; a meeting with Constable Taunen-baum during which he begged their assistance investigating some local ruins; and Lela's nighttime reconnaissance of the cheese factory.

Brother Theo, who found himself suddenly to be Huzair's best friend, allowed them entry into the town's ossuary to view the bodies of two dead elves that they thought might hold some clue to the mysterious "special surprise". The group declined the Constable's request for their aid with the bandit-infested ruins. And Lela's investigation of the cheese factory uncovered a well-guarded building with an inordinate number of rodents of unusual size.

There was no obvious enemy to run through with their swords, and the pull in Morier's head was very insistent. On Earthday morning, they met one last time with Constable Taunen-baum to explain their fears to him.

"Please understand, we do not have the luxury of time to help you now with the neighboring ruins. But there  is one matter which demands your immediate attention," Ledare explained in her most diplomatic manner. "Not long ago, the northern city of Barnacus was the target of a deadly taint. Hundreds of people were afflicted and the city shut down under quarantine as a result of poisoned meat pies from the Festival of Ibrahil. At the same time, the city was struggling with an overflux of rats. Not just any rats, but rats of unusual size. The parallels between your two situations are too close to ignore. We beseech you to take a closer look at the dealings of the Emerald Moon Cheese Factory."

They left with the feeling that the Constable wasn't going to do anything to jeopardize Relfren's festival. They had done all they could without further delaying their arrival in Pellham.



On the journey down the mountains into Pellham itself, they encountered merchants on their way to the Founders' Day and Karak warned them off eating the cheese. The merchants journeyed onward thinking that the dwarf had developed diarrhea as a result of consuming too much of the green cheese and also that he was far too willing to burden strangers with the knowledge



*Sunday, the 14th - Waterday, the 17th of Goodmonth​*

The VQS passed though the tiny outpost of Cutter Jack's at the base of the mountain and received directions to the next nearest settlement, the Village of Bereford which lay to the southeast. Fortunately, this was also the direction in which Morier's head was pulling them, so they bid farewell to Brynzin Bri and the other centaurs and pointed themselves toward Bereford.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #313] Southward, Ho! part 3*

From Karak's point of view, Bereford proved to be even less interesting than Cutter Jack's. The town of poor farmers didn't even have an outfitter's, let alone someone capable of crafting him a magic waraxe. In fact, apart from private dwellings, the only building in town was a traveler's inn, The Wayward Fool. Leaving Feln and Wolf outside, the VQS stepped into the smoky interior of the place where they immediately found all eyes upon them.

"Oi!" Karak bellowed as he stamped toward the bar. "Break out yer best! I've a powerful thirst to quench!"

They drank and ate a bit while subtly pumping the barkeep, Lodar Manford, for any information that might be useful to their quest. He had little to tell them other than to mention a recent murder and point them toward a man drinking hear the fire. That man, a farmer by the name of Jaden Brum, had witnessed a bizarre slaying and it had made him something of a celebrity in town. For the price of a few watery beers he was more than willing to share the tale with the strangers.

"Well, it was near on to dusk about a fortnight ago when I see this figure come stumbling out of the woods near the Jenson farm. I’m a curious sort, so I start to wander over to see who it might be. I was thinkin’ it might be old Homer got himself into the jug again and that he might be needing someone to show him back to his house," the man drawled, taking a refreshing pull off his beer. "I’m about half-way across the field, and I’m thinkin’ that it really don’t look much like Homer when I see Sam Jenson a-walkin’ over to this feller too. Now Sam’s not all that friendly to folks, ‘specially to those who trespass on his property, so I’m figurin’ there’ll be some yellin’ and cussin’ goin’ on pretty soon." The man grinned mischievously, giving the others the impression that he delighted in the prospect of the potential fight. As he continued his tale, his mood quickly darkened.

"Now I’m still aways away from the two when Sam meets up with this guy and starts to yell at him to get off his land. Sam didn’t get more than two breaths before this guy hauls back and clobbers him in the head," Jaden took another sip of courage and ran a worn hand through his greasy hair. "I can tell you right now that I’ve seen my share of brawls, and this stranger didn’t look like he was moving quite right; he was slow and kinda jerky like you get when you’ve had more to drink than you oughta, but that one punch dropped Sam like he was hit with a spade. That stranger didn’t even stop movin’ really. He just walloped Sam and kept on a-goin’ across the fields."

The VQS exchanged looks. They suspected the influence of the adversary they had come to call "The Black Bishop". He was seemingly able to hop from body to body and the herky-jerky description offered them by Jaden lend credence to their supposition. They said nothing to the farmer and let him continue his yarn.

"When I finally get to where Sam’s lying I can tell right off that he was dead. His neck was bendin’ off at an angle and his eyes were open and starin’ straight into the sky," he'd gone a bit pale as he spoke. He was obviously shaken by the events he was recounting despite the notoriety being a witness had afforded him with his neighbors. "Soon as I see that, I came a runnin’ into town to get a bunch of guys together to go after that murderer, ‘cause I didn’t rightly feel safe facing him all alone. We searched through the forest where that guy wandered into but we couldn’t find no sign of him. We even tried to use Cobham Trask’s huntin’ hounds but they couldn’t pick up a scent to follow. They just kinda milled around and wimpered like they was spooked by somethin'."

Thinking his tale was done, they began to pepper him with questions: "Which way did the herky-jerky man come from? Which way did he disappear?" The man drank his beer and eyed the group.

"Now as strange as all that sounds, what really got us worried is what happened next," he said and the questions stopped at once. Jaden was well-practiced in the pacing of his story. He built dramatic tension that a bard would be proud of. "We had a service for Sam the next day and buried him out on his farm like he said he always wanted, right next to Sara, his wife. A couple of days later I go on over to Sam’s place to feed his animals, and make sure they're alright until one of his sons can arrange to get the critters moved over to his farm and I see Sam’s grave all dug up. When I take a closer look I can see that Sam’s body is gone; stolen right out of the grave. We’ve all been a might uneasy about that I can tell you. We’ve checked all the other grave sites around town and none of them seem to be disturbed, just old Sam’s."

This story peaked the group's interests, of course, but as neither the direction the hurky-jerky man came from (south toward the isolated hamlet of Miller's Pond) nor the direction he was headed (north toward the Gray Crags) led in the same direction as the pull in Morier's head, they decided not to investigate. They stayed the night in Bereford, got directions to the next large settlement (the town of Floxen) and bid the villager's farewell.



*Earthday, the 18th and Freeday, the 19th of Goodmonth, 1269 AE
*​

The two day journey to Floxen was without major incident. Wolves approached the group's camp at night, but thought better of venturing closer than the edge of the firelight.

Floxen was much larger than Bereford, walled with many stone buildings. Karak was thrilled; surely here they would find someone who could enchant his precious axe. They paid the small tax to enter the town (again leaving Feln and Wolf alone in the wilderness) and entered the place full of optimism. Ledare's spirits were further bolstered by the presence of a temple to Flor. She urged the group in that direction, reminding Karak that priests were capable of enchanting weapons as well as wizards.

"Oi!" Karak bellowed as he stamped into the healing hall. "Where be someone who can magic-up me axe?" Seeing the shocked expressions on the gathered clerics and acolytes, Ledare quickly stepped forward while Morier physically restrained the eager dwarf.

"Pardon my companion, Sister," she said to the head priestess. "He means well, although his tact is not as keen as his blade." The Matriarch looked at Ledare, her companions, and the holy symbol Huzair had given to the Janissary.

"I see you follow the White Lady," the cleric said with a serene nod of her head.

"I do," Ledare admitted. "I am a Faithful Daughter, but newly called to service."

"Then perhaps we can help one another," the Matriarch said. "Come, follow me to my chambers."



"I’m afraid I have received news that concerns me greatly," the priestess (whose name she told them was Mellona) explained once they had all crowded into her office. "We recently received word of a remote village overrun with undead. A priest of Garjarvan discovered that all the villagers had apparently died of some virulent plague and that zombies now inhabit the town. He barely escaped with his life and upon reaching the town of Bereford convinced a group of local adventurers known as the Speckled Band to accompany him back to cleanse the town. One of the members of this group was a priestess of our order named Shamalin. She sent a message to the temple here in Floxen explaining the situation and letting us know that her party intended to investigate."

"That was several weeks ago and we have received no further word from Shamalin," she finished. "She and the Speckled Band have disappeared."

"And you would like us to investigate?" Ledare asked, prompting a nod from Mellona.

"We have no holy warriors of our own here in Floxen," she said. "If we did, I would not press so upon you, a stranger to us."

"If it would aid the White Lady, I am bound to offer my help," Ledare pledged and Mellona smiled warmly at her.

"Now hold on!" Karak grumbled. "We don't break up a band o' skaven we know are fixin' to taint an entire village. But we run off after a missing cleric without battin' an eye?"

"If you were to do this thing for us," Mellona went on, "we would be willing to arrange for the enchantment of your axe, good sir dwarf."

"Oh, well, then," Karak nodded, getting to his feet. "I'm in."


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #313] Southward, Ho! part 4*

"Ho, there!" Ledare said again. "We mean no harm! We seek parlay!" She and Morier advanced at a cautious pace on the three armored men. For their part, the armored men advanced as well, drawing daggers to complement the bastard swords they all three carried. They fanned out slightly as they came.

To Huzair, the men didn't seem in a parlaying mood. He drew some powdered rhubarb and an adder's stomach from his component pouch and began to cast. _"Acid sagitta!"_ he shouted as he cast the powder into the air where it transformed into a vitriolic missile. The bolt of acid flew true, slamming into the middle warrior's breastplate with a hissing splash. "Yes!" the wizard cheered, raising his fist in victory.

"Stand down!" Ledare barked over her shoulder before turning back to the men in platemail.

"What?" Huzair yelled back. "I hit him, didn't I?"

"I apologize for our wizard. We're really just looking for the Speckled Band. Have you heard of them?" Ledare asked the advancing warriors. Their answer was to spread out into an obvious attack formation. 'That's about how this whole day's been going,' the Janissary griped to herself.



*Starday, the 20th - Moonsday, the 22nd of Goodmonth, 1269 AE​*

Mellona had warned them about the rumored troubles in Miller's Pond, so the zombies hadn't really been any great surprise.

It had been the better part of two days since they'd left Floxen when they reached the summit of a low hill. There, a worn, stone marker with faded etchings indicated that Miller’s Pond was but one mile away. The trail had wound its way down the steep hillside ahead and as they descend into the shadow of the hill, the air became damp and chill, hinting at the cold winter that would come to this southern region all too soon. After a bit more travel, the trail reached the valley floor and began to level out, the forest ahead thinned, and they could catch glimpses of the sun shining on the opposite hillside. When they reached the edge of the tree line, they had seen a typical farming village spread out before them. Fields and farmhouses surrounded a small village which has been built on the edge of a large pond.

The first dwelling they had passed heading towards the village was a small farmer’s cottage with a livestock pen. The yard was completely overgrown with weeds and the door to the cottage stood ominously ajar. They had stopped and listened, but the only sound that came to them was the creaking of a wind-blown shutter and the distant cawing of a flock of ravens. The direction of the wind shifted slightly, bringing with it the unmistakable smell of death.

In spite of this, they had pressed on and when they reached the edge of the village, the usual sounds of activity associated with an active community were conspicuously absent. Moving down the dirt street, the only sound that had broken the silence was the scuff of their own boots and the creak of their leather gear. The houses and cottages that lined the street showed no signs of life and no livestock could be seen in their pens.

As they had neared the center of town, Feln thought he'd heard the distant sound of a door closing. As they turned to determine the direction from which the sound came, Lela also caught a glimpse of movement through the darkened window of the nearby mill. They had moved closer to investigate when the muffled sound of breaking glass from the chandler's shop behind them caused them all to freeze in their footsteps. Apparently, Miller's Pond was not completely abandoned and whoever, or whatever was still there was hiding all around them.



They had to start somewhere and so they started with the mill - easily the largest building in town and obviously the focal point for the settlement. Not surprisingly it contained a zombie that tried vainly to attack Lela after she squeezed in under the door. But it was slow and clumsy and Lela could fly. Once Karak and Feln had battered down the door, the zombie didn't last long. 

The mill had also contained bodies - two of them, both dead by violence. They were several weeks old, with both decomposition and the predation of scavengers making anything more definite about their deaths impossible to tell. Not that they had much time to sort through the evidence; a whimper from Wolf alerted them to the presence of more walking dead. Five of the zombies were lurching at them from the rear.

Peering out through a boarded up window on the opposite side of the mill confirmed another three approaching from that direction.


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## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> "Ho, there!" Ledare said again. "We mean no harm! We seek parlay!" She and Morier advanced at a cautious pace on the three armored men. For their part, the armored men advanced as well, drawing daggers to complement the bastard swords they all three carried. They fanned out slightly as they came.
> 
> To Huzair, the men didn't seem in a parlaying mood. He drew some powdered rhubarb and an adder's stomach from his component pouch and began to cast. _"Acid sagitta!"_ he shouted as he cast the powder into the air where it transformed into a vitriolic missile. The bolt of acid flew true, slamming into the middle warrior's breastplate with a hissing splash. "Yes!" the wizard cheered, raising his fist in victory.
> 
> "Stand down!" Ledare barked over her shoulder before turning back to the men in platemail.
> 
> "What?" Huzair yelled back. "I hit him, didn't I?"
> 
> "I apologize for our wizard. We're really just looking for the Speckled Band. Have you heard of them?" Ledare asked the advancing warriors. Their answer was to spread out into an obvious attack formation. 'That's about how this whole day's been going,' the Janissary griped to herself.




Ya know, this happens frequently in the game I play in as well. The initiative winner charges and then someone down the line yells "parlay!". Kind of hard to use diplomacy when one of your party members is whacking off someone's arm.

Your recent increase in posting it keeping me awake at work keep up the excellent work for my sake.


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## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Ya know, this happens frequently in the game I play in as well. The initiative winner charges and then someone down the line yells "parlay!". Kind of hard to use diplomacy when one of your party members is whacking off someone's arm.




Yeah! Exactly right. It doesn't help that the wizard (who has the highest DEX in the party, and therefore the highest Initiative) is the only Chaotic-ly aligned character, either.



> Your recent increase in posting it keeping me awake at work keep up the excellent work for my sake.





Ahhh... So much better to hear that it's keeping you awake than the reverse.  

This pace is going to have to end pretty soon, but I'm 99% caught up (meaning I'm over the writing 'hump' I was struggling with) and still have a good amount of padding to post between where the story hour is and where the actual game is.

I'll post a little something more tomorrow.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #313] Southward, Ho! part 5*

And those were only the first wave. More of the things came behind those, with every open doorway and dark alley disgorging the undead things. But even vast numerical superiority wasn't enough to cause the VQS much trouble. They mopped up the zombies suffering little more than a small depletion of Huzair's spell repertiore. Only Wolf was seriously wounded, the victim of his own swift attack which placed him in the unenviable position of being outnumbered and far from his allies. Most of the others received but a few scratches - although both Feln and Huzair also received a bite or two from a zombie that got too close.

Karak was sharing around whacks from his healing stick when Feln pointed, alerting the others to the advancing horsemen.



The real threat hadn't been the undead, Ledare groaned as she caught her opponent's bastard sword on her shield. She tried to bring Ravager around in a riposte, but the dagger her enemy carried in his off hand darted in low and quick, cutting her side. Even so, he made and easy target, coated as he was in the sparkling _Glitterdust_ Huzair had laid on the three warriors at range. Her own saw-toothed blade came up, slicing him deeply along the gap between cuisse and codpiece and opening another gash in his left hand before it was done. But, although the wounds were severe, it was the lingering effects of Huzair's _Acid Arrow_ that actually did him in. The spell had eaten an ugly, smoking hole through his breastplate and judging by his screams and the smell, was continuing to work on the flesh beneath.

To his credit, the man raised his sword to strike at Ledare again before succumbing to the acid and falling dead at her feet. His companion was quick to join him, separated from his left arm by Morier's flashing greatsword. He fell, screaming, from shock and blood loss.

A moment later, Feln returned to the group carrying the unconscious body of the warrior who had been blinded by the wizard's spell. The side of the man's head was already starting to bruise up.

"The other rode back up to the manor," the half-ogre informed them, angling his head back toward the hillside overlooking the town of Miller's Pond. "I thought maybe we could ask this one a few questions." Ledare nodded.

"Good thinking, Feln," she said.

"Hey, Morier! Did you see that shot with the _Acid Arrow_?" Huzair called as he trotted up to the group. He was grinning from ear to ear. "It was beautiful. I doubt Garan-Zak could've done better." Morier said nothing as he cleaned off his sword using the cloak of the body before him. He knew what was coming when he glanced up at Ledare's face.

"You have a pretty strange concept of parlay," the Janissary said to the mage. "In the future, if you are to adventure with us, you will practice caution." Huzair shrugged and produced a cigar from his traveler's purse.

"You are most welcome for my services, darling," Huzair replied with perfect politeness as he lit the cigar off his thumb. "It was a nice shot if I must say so myself. I have never tried the spell on a moving target before."

"We were lucky they didn't turn out to be the fine upstanding citizens of Miller's Pond," Ledare admonished with a disapproving shake of her head.

"I would not think men charging at you with swords in a town full of zombies would be upstanding citizens... although I have never been in a town full of zombies until I met up with you," the wizard admitted. He shrugged and exhaled smoke above his head. "So now I know: wait until we are injured or in chains to do something."

Ledare snorted derissively. "That's not what I meant and you know it!"

"Oh, forgive my sarcasm, my lady," the mage smirked, his smile a lusty slash of white in his charcoal face. "I would love to be in chains... as long as I was with you." Ledare shook her head in disgust and walked away, heading back toward Karak and Lela who were still tending to Wolf.



"Wolf is the best friend I've ever had!" the faen was twittering to Karak. "I can't let anything happen to him!"

"Do nae worry, wee one," the dwarf replied. "Between yer healin' an' mine, we'll have 'im on 'is feet in no time - all four of 'em!"

"I don't know about our new wizard," Ledare said as she joined them at Wolf's side and Karak nodded.

"Aye. He rankles me a might as well," the dwarf admitted. "But I trust Morier and Morier's spoken for him. That be good enough for me."

"I think he's funny," Lela grinned.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #313] Southward Ho!, part 6*

OOC- I'll be stealing a page from nemmerle's Out of the Frying Pan campaign and including a few footnotes on this post since it refers to events that predate the story hour as it appears on these boards. I hope readers find the addition to be helpful.


----------------------------

While the others interrogated their captive, Karak examined the building behind which they were conducting the questioning. The door was locked, but it yielded easily to a judiciously applied bit of boot leather, releasing the foul stench of rotting things from the interior. Predictably, zombies lurched awkwardly out of the dark corners of the building, their faces and fists smeared with gore.

Karak spat on the floorboards and waited for them to close. The first fell quickly to his axe; split open from collarbone to crotch, its feet became tangled in its own trailing organs and it fell twitching to the ground. The other two clambered over their fallen comrade and pawed ineffectually at the dwarf's thick plate armor. Karak sneered in disgust and drove his waraxe through the belly of the one on the right, essentially splitting the putrescent corpse in half. His follow-though cleaved into the second zombie's left shoulder, severing the arm and head from the rest of the body.

"Now that be how a dwarf cleans 'ouse," Karak mumbled as he cleaned the fluids off his axe using the curtains of a nearby window. Looking out into the town's square he saw more horsemen - or rather he saw more horses. Of the riders there was no sign. He harrumphed and moved to the open doorway for a better look.

He saw movement between several of the buildings opposite and spotted an archer taking up a position near the horses. Three arrows sinking into the door frame beside his head suggested that he too had been spotted. Harrumphing again, he turned and ran toward the side window which looked out on the mill they had already cleared of undead. With a grunt, he threw himself through the window, landing heavily in the side yard amidst a shower of broken glass. A concerned Morier and Ledare peered warily around the corner.

"We've got more company!" Karak grumbled as he got to his feet. "Archers! And I do nae think they be friendly." Another pair of arrows thunked down into the ground at his feet for emphasis.

Karak looked beyond Morier and Ledare to spot Huzair holding a bloodied dagger. Their captive lay in shackles, his nose split and his face covered with a sheet of blood.

"Oi!" the dwarf roared. "What be this? Torture?"

"I really was not going to do it," the wizard admitted as he wiped the dagger on the grass. "But the bastard spit in my face. He needed to be taught some manners."

Karak saw Lela send a stabilizing trickle of healing into the shackled man at the same time another arrow slammed into the wall beside him. "We'll talk more o' this later, wizard!" he growled before turning back toward the town square and bellowing a battle cry.

Their enemy wasn't immediately visible although the placement of the numerous errant missiles indicated that they were spread-out widely amidst the buildings on the opposite side of the town square. Karak moved boldly forward and surveyed the scene for some sign of the concealed archers while Morier darted into the mill that they had already cleared. The empty building provided some much-needed cover as the Eldritch Warrior moved toward the mill's back door and hopefully onto their enemy's flank.

"Wolf! Stay! I'll go check it out," Lela volunteered and moved skyward before anyone could argue. She quickly disappeared, her tiny form swallowed up by the darkening shadows of late afternoon.

Ledare peered around the far side of the building and saw movement far up the street. An archer was stationed there, taking ineffectual shots at Karak. The dwarf's armor had easily turned aside the missiles thus far, but it was only a matter of time before one of the snipers got lucky. "I'm going in," she told Feln and Huzair before activating her _Ring of Invisibility_ and vanishing from view. It was only the second or third time she'd made use of the _Ring_ since liberating it from Andamacles back in the moonsdance of Planting. [1]



Huzair paused long enough to cloak the half-ogre with a _Protection from Arrows_ spell before he did anything else. Even as the mage's scroll crumbled to dust, Feln moved in the direction that the Janissary had been headed, falling back on years of training to hide his bulk in the building's lengthening shadow.



Ledare had crept invisibly forward, doing her best to soften the chinking of her armor as she went. She made it to the far corner of the building across the lane when a bellowed cry caused her to freeze in her tracks. "Ho, zere! Dogs!" the voice cried out in thickly-accented guttertongue. "Show yourselves and lay down your veapons or die!"

Ledare recognized the speaker even before he stepped out from the side of a building that faced the square opposite the mill, parallel to the Janissary some 100 feet away. He was dressed in full plate and carried a large steel shield in one hand and a gleaming longsword in the other. A cloak and tabard of yellow were worn over the armor, and the latter swept out behind him as he stalked forward into the square. His helm obscured the warrior's features, and it had been six moonsdances since she'd laid eyes on him last, but Ledare knew Sir Brin [2] when she saw him.

She was about to change direction and come at  her old enemy when Lela dropped an _Entangle_ spell on top of the blackguard, filling most of the square with clutching roots and grasses and effectively cutting the battlefield in half.



Lela had wasted no time being cautious, counting on her size and unexpected approach to protect her from view. She angled steeply upwards until she was twenty feet above the rooftops and then zoomed cross the square to get the lay of the land. The majority of the bad guys were amassed behind the main building there; seven men in heavy armor were arrayed there. Another five with composite longbows were either moving into or already established in sniping positions amongst the cluster of nearby buildings.

They were in a lovely position for her to try one of her favorite spells. As soon as she heard one of the men calling down the dark blessings of Aphyx the faen knew that it was time for her to act. The mean guy shouting out for them to surrender provided the obvious target.



Morier had made it to the far side of the mill, across the alley separating it from the adjacent cobbler's shop, and around the far side of that building when chaos erupted in the square. He could hear cries of alarm and shouted curses rising from the VQS' enemies and a thin smile found his lips. He spared a glance in that direction - enough to spot the leader (who Ledare would have identified as Sir Brin if she'd been present at his side) as he tried moving from his position near the front corner of the building directly opposite the mill. Lela's animated plants frustrated his efforts entirely.

Still smiling, Morier darted across the street, searching for one of the enemy archers. 


------------------------

[1] Ledare recovered the faulty Ring of Invisibility during one of her earliest adventures, but Finian and later Vade had a habit of "borrowing" it for extended periods of time. You can read about her recovery of the ring  here.

[2] Sir Brin was the first campaign villain to really get under my players' skins (he's also the only one with a really bad accent). He and his friend, Heurist, posioned the party and kidnapped one of them for use as a trap-springer in a tomb they deeded to breach. You can read about their first meeting  here. Sadly, by the time I brought him back for a rematch with the party, only Ledare remained of the group that met him initially. Still, there were some satisfyingly surprised faces around the table and a gasp or two of recognition when I trotted out my really bad accent.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #313] Southward, Ho!, part 7*

Karak was smiling too when he saw the _Entangle_ disrupt the enemy. He'd have to congratulate the faerie when the battle was done; she'd likely just handed them victory. Raising his axe he roared a battle cry and charged Sir Brin's position, unmindful of the clutching vegetation. Thanks to Vade's _Freedom of Movement Ring_, the plants just slid off of Karak's limbs as he came, not slowing him down in the least.

Sir Brin met the dwarf's steely eyes as the armor-plated figure trundled toward him and managed to draw on the power of his fell patron to _Corrupt _his _Weapon_ before Karak had completely closed with him. The Unholy Warrior raised his longsword, which seemed suddenly to be dripping vile, green ichor, to meet his opponent's charge and grinned darkly.

"You should have stayed avay, doggie," Sir Brin taunted. "Now you vill serve as an example for your cowardly friends!"

"Shut up an' fight!" Karak countered and swept his axe upward in a vast arc of death. Sir Brin expertly deflected the blow with his shield and slashed outward with his longsword forcing Karak to give ground to avoid the defiled weapon. Karak wasn't expecting the second attack Sir Brin drove at him on the back swing, but still managed to deflect it with his waraxe. Barely.



Ledare turned away from the combat - there was no way she could help Karak. She wasn't sure how it was that he was able to avoid the clutching plants, but she didn't like her own chances if she got too close. So she instead turned her attention on the archer she had spotted earlier. She was firing inexpertly at Karak despite the dwarf's closeness to her ally. Not that Sir Brin was in any danger from friendly fire, apparently; the archer wasn't landing a shot anywhere near the melee.

Ledare stepped up to her invisibly, mindful of her gently clinking armor. The archer was too busy cursing her own inaccuracy to hear the Janissary and Ledare quickly put the woman out of her own misery. As she crumpled beneath Ravager, Ledare turned to see a few determined warriors muscling their way toward the perimeter of the _Entangle_ spell's area of effect. The one in the lead cried out suddenly as Huzair plied his _Wand of Aganazzar's Scorcher_ and caught the man squarely in the chest. He fell and was dragged down by the clinging grasses.

Feln stepped up to the edge of the entangling plants and reached in to deliver a pair of surgically-precise blows to the chest of the next opponent to come near. The half-ogre's huge fists stove in the man's breastplate, crushing the ribs beneath and sending the hapless man sagging, lifeless, down into the writhing plants.



Lela was gleefully sprinkling pinches of faerie dust over those unfortunates grappled by her spell. So far, she'd tried some powdered _Deeper Slumber_ without any success, but she was quite pleased to see one of the warriors below swaying mindlessly in the grip of her _Confusion Dust_. The three pouches of dust were - without a doubt - her greatest find; well worth the effort she'd had to go to at Market to wrangle some of the stuff from the bogies there.

Well, her elvencraft shortbow was pretty special too. And the Ten'Venielle were a lot easier to bargain with than anyone in FaerieLand. So maybe *it *was her greatest find.

Not to discount the specialness of her leafweave armor. It was the only armor that she felt-

Morier's frustrated cry cut suddenly through the faen's rambling thoughts. She looked up to see him struggling with three opponents. There was blood on his armor,  but none on his sword.



Morier felt the magic drain from him without discharging and he bellowed angrily. He'd used his highest valence - his only spell of the Second Circle - to power his Elemental Blade hoping to take out one of the archers with a single blow. It was a dangerous gambit, one born perhaps of overconfidence, but he was approaching the nearest archer unawares. The man's unprotected back loomed large in front of him. How could he miss?

He missed and the electricity released harmlessly into the ground instead of into his opponent. 

The man dropped his bow and drew a dagger in one fluid motion, and then showed Morier the proper way to stab an enemy. He drove the short blade into the albino's thigh before the elf could do much more than register the weapon's prescence. Morier took a painful step back and raised his greatsword, clipping the man's shoulder as he drew a bastard sword from its sheathe. There was little force behind the blow, however and it did nothing to dissuade the man from bringing the blade to bear.

"Omuull, remember Master Re'esh's lessons," a second warrior said as he came to his ally's defense with sword and dagger drawn. He moved to flank the Eldritch Warrior and Morier realized at once that he was in serious jeopardy.



"You're tough, dwarf! I'll give you zat!" Sir Brin laughed as his blade struck heavily against the side of Karak's helm. "Zat vill make your death all ze sweeter vhen you fall beneath my sword!" Karak growled in response and took a tactical step back, knowing full well that Sir Brin was rooted to the spot by the _Entangle_. He dropped his waraxe and drew his light crossbow. He didn't use the weapon much, but kept it for sentimental reasons; he and his brother had found it in a haunted monastery and it had belonged to Malak until his death.

"Ah! You show your true colors at last, eh?" the blackguard laughed mockingly. "You're as much a coward as zese dogs you run viz, dwarf!" His words dripped confidence, but there was a look of panic in his eyes as he renewed his efforts to struggle free of the vegetation.

Karak fired point blank into Sir Brin's chest, but the bolt skittered harmlessly off the unholy warrior's heavy plate armor. He was reloading when Lela called down to him from above. "Look!" she pointed across the square. "Morier's in trouble!"



The elf was getting ravaged and there was nothing he could do. Feln was more than 100 feet away and separated from Morier by the vast expanse of the _Entangle_ spell. He'd never get to him in time to prevent the inevitable.. but he had to try. He remembered well, Ledare's cautioning words about protecting Morier and the compass in his head.

Drawing on decades of discipline, the martial artist tapped into his inner reserves, triggering a burst of speed and coordination. He put both to work, tumbling his bulk improbably around the few combatants still up on his side of the battlefield before heading as fast as he could to help Morier.

He just hoped he was in time.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #313] Southward, Ho!, part 8*

Morier gave ground, forcing the three warriors to adjust their stances in order to maintain their flank. They were well-disciplined, however, and moved fluidly back into position, leading with the bastard sword so that he was forced to parry. He caught the first heavy blade on his greatsword's ricasso, and forced the blow aside through sheer brute strength, causing the man's follow-up dagger thrust to go wide.

He could do nothing about the second man, however and felt the bastard sword slam down on his shoulder. The magic of the leather armor kept him from a killing blow, but there was still enough force behind the blade to deaden his arm all the way to his fingertips. He twisted away, his arm hanging limply at his side, and avoided by luck alone the worst of a dagger thrust aimed for his guts.

Morier shrieked mindlessly and flailed his greatsword at his assailants just as the third of them lunged forward to finish him off. Three feet of alchemically-silvered greatsword sprouted suddenly from the man's back and it was unclear who was more surprised, he or Morier. The eldritch warrior reacted quickly to this unexpected turn of events and twisted his sword to interpose the dying man between himself and the other swordsmen giving himself a moment's breathing room to withdraw from the melee.

He didn't get it, however as the first human sidestepped Morier's feint and brought his own sword up. Feeling was returning to the albino's arm, but not enough for him to parry the incoming blade. He steeled himself for the inevitable...

But aid came from an unexpected quarter. Wolf appeared suddenly behind the eldritch warrior and leapt at his enemies. The wolf dragged one of the men to the ground, its jaws clamped down tightly on his neck. The man made a high-pitched gargling sound as Wolf thrashed his head from side to side, savaging the warrior's throat. The last standing fighter ignored Morier in favor of trying to save his companion. He sank his bastard sword into Wolf's side, causing the animal to yelp in agony and release the downed man.

Clinging to life by a thread, Morier took the opportunity to withdraw, leaving Wolf to its fate.



Naaris Fangart stabbed the gray wolf again, stilling it. He paused long enough to nudge Omuull with his boot, but he was clearly dead. Naaris had trained with the man for years as they both sought to master fighting in the Crescent Moon style. Competition between the two had fueled them both to succeed, and while neither was yet a master of the style, they had each been within a maneuver or two of that feat. Omuull clearly would never attain their shared goal.

"Weak!" Naaris grunted, spitting on the fallen man's upturned face before heading off in pursuit of the albino elf. 

It was pretty easy to follow the trail of blood around to the rear of the building and on around the far corner. There he stopped. The dwarf was there, healing the elf with a wand. He held a warhammer in his other hand and looked ready to use it. 'Two-on-one' were odds that Naaris liked only when he was part of the two. He back-peddled, retreating around the building with the goal of returning to the manor and alerting his superiors there.

Naaris never saw Feln's knife-hand strike before the blow crushed the man's windpipe and mangled his cervical vertebrae, killing him instantly.



Sir Brin struggled determinedly through the _Entangle_ spell, heading for the nearest patch of open ground, which unfortunately for him, was over thirty feet away. He pressed on, focused on his goal. Behind him he could hear his lieutenant, Kourd, grunting with effort as he followed in his master's footsteps.

"Yoo hoo!" a high-pitched voice chirped overhead and Sir Brin looked up in time to receive a pinch of _Confusion_ dust in his face. Spitting and cursing, he dragged a hand across his face to free himself of the glittering powder. He was a Defiler - as far as he knew, he was the highest-ranking member of his order to walk Oerune in centuries. Before that, he had enjoyed the dark blessings of the Blackguard. And long, long ago, before he fell, he had been a Paladin in the service of Sato. He was now favored amongst his dark goddess' followers, an unholy warrior without peer!

And still, he succumbed to Lela's faerie dust.

Kourd cried out in shock and pain as the confused Sir Brin whirled and drove a foot of _Corrupted_ steel into the man's gut. The betrayal brought immense pain but it wasn't enough to kill him outright. He was quick to adjust to his plight, however, and raised his bastard sword against his former ally.



"How are ye feeling, White One?" Karak asked after he tapped the albino with his healing stick again. Morier nodded.

"I'll live," he replied, his attention riveted on the battle going on between the two armored men still stuck in the _Entangle_ spell. Karak harrumphed and stuck the wand back into his belt.

"Aye, then. That be all the more we're needin' at the moment," he told the elf. "We're all done 'ere, methinks, but for a bit o' clean up." Indeed, the rest of the VQS were all making their way around the far side of the _Entangle_, their foes all vanquished apart from Brin and Kourd. Karak hefted his warhammer and glowered at the two warriors. "I'll be right back," he growled as he started forward.



Sir Brin spent a moment staring blankly even after Kourd had fallen beneath his blade. He was unable to shake the effects of Lela's _Confusion_, and it was his own pain that finally brought him around. He was bleeding from a half-dozen wounds - one or two of them serious, and he was obliged to use his profane power to heal himself despite the fact that he saw the dwarf returning with murderous intent.

"Back for more, eh, dwarf?" Sir Brin taunted. "Vell come on, zen! My sword has almost forgotten ze taste of your blood!" Karak paused just out of the unholy warrior's reach and Sir Brin grinned at him.

"Have you lost your nerve, doggie?" Sir Brin laughed. "Lay down your veapons and I still might let you live!" The laughter died in the blackguard's throat as Karak called on the divine guidance of his goddess to make his blow _Strike True_.

"Shaharizod, grant me yer guiding hand," he implored before hefting his warhammer in a two-handed grip and smiting Sir Brin with all the strength that his compact frame could muster. His warhammer struck the unholy warrior on the chin, driving his head back and crushing his jaw in an explosion of blood and teeth. The man's helmet flew clear of his head, tumbling end over end through the air and careening off the roof of the building behind him, before it landed ultimately near the fallen body of Kourd. Sir Brin's nearly headless body teetered unsteadily on rapidly-folding legs before toppling backwards and succumbing to the clutch of the _Entangle_.


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## Hairy Minotaur

Couple of questions:

You wrote _Wolf_ like it was/is an NPC/PC as opposed to an animal......... intentional?

and having sold all my Forgotten Realms stuff, I'm unfamiliar with Shaharizod. What kind (domains) of deity is that?

Keep up the great work!


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## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Couple of questions:
> 
> You wrote _Wolf_ like it was/is an NPC/PC as opposed to an animal......... intentional?




Wolf was Lela's animal companion. Not smarter than a normal animal, but well-trained. I invested some good face-time in him because when my wife conceived of the Lela character, she emphasized the face that Wolf was her best friend and had been for a very long time. She was not happy when he died.

And for those of you keeping track at home:

Kirnoth (my wife's first character): contracted lycanthrope and is out of the game
Ixin (my wife's second character): burned to ash in a lake of magma
Wolf (her third character's best friend): killed by a massive critical



> and having sold all my Forgotten Realms stuff, I'm unfamiliar with Shaharizod. What kind (domains) of deity is that?




Well, Shaharizod is completely home-brewed although three of her domains are from the Forgotten Realms: Moon, Destiny, and Nobility. She also has the Good, Law and Protection domains. Karak took Destiny and Nobility as his domains. Ruze, the cleric of Shaharizod before him had Protection and Nobility. Soriah, the first cleric of Shaharizod was pre-3rd edition so she didn't have any domains.

And you'll notice that in addition to some domains and spells, I lifted a couple of locales out of FR as well - most notably Myth Drannor. That's a result of this campaign using a setting I worked up from available sources in the very early '80s. Myth Drannor was featured in an adventure called (appropriately enough) "Into the Forgotten Realms" and I just added the location to an unpopulated area of my world map. This was long before the setting was published, so my Myth Drannor is not the same as the official one. 



> Keep up the great work!




I aim to please.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #313] Southward Ho!, part 9*

Huzair spared one of his healing potions on Wolf, bringing the animal back to consciousness. This prompted Lela to hug the wizard's face, planting a tiny kiss on his eyelid.

"Ah! Mind the piercings!" he chided, gently pulling her hand off the ring in his ear that she was using as a handle. Giggling, she fluttered away to lavish Wolf instead.

The others conferenced at the edge of the _Entangle_ while they waited for it to dissipate.

"There'll likely be more at the manor house," Ledare commented, eying the rooftop just partially visible high on the wooded hillside. Karak nodded.

"Aye. That much seems plain enough," he agreed. "We should press the attack!"

"I disagree," Morier said with a rueful shake of his head. "I have all but depleted my magic. And I'd wager that Huzair is the same although he'd never admit it."

"I've a few blessings in me yet, but my healin' stick's runnin' a might low," Karak admitted. He looked at Ledare. "What say ye? Findin' tha' Shamalin lass be your quest. Do we press on?"

Ledare sighed. "It is pointless for us to fail just because we overtaxed our resources. Shamalin will not be served by our deaths," she said. "I hate to think what evils she may be enduring, but our best chance to rescue her is to go in as prepared as we may be."

"As ye wish!" Karak said. "The faerie's magic seems to be fadin' so let's glean what we can from th' dead an' then make for Floxen."



Their opponents had been well-equipped and well-paid. Their weapons were masterwork quality and in top condition, but without any identifying ornamentation. The maker's mark on each ricasso had been thoroughly obscured, but the origin of each weapon had clearly been a common forge. The same held true for their plate mail although the armor was of a more pedestrian make than the bastard swords and daggers.

Feln gathered the dead into a central pile, carrying the corpses over his broad shoulders like armor-plated sacks of grain. Lela then used her natural ability to _Detect  Magic_ on the pile, identifying by their auras a pair of rings and a mace, as well as Sir Brin's armor, shield, and sword.

"Dibs on the rings!" Huzair shouted eagerly as he snatched them up. He slipped one on without hesitation and felt... a presence.

"Brin?" a voice rasped in the wizard's head. "Are they dead?"

"Uh... Yes," Huzair bluffed, ready to yank the ring off at the first sign of any threat from that quarter.

"Good," the voice replied, apparently unaware of the mage's deception. "Gather the bodies and bring them to me." In response, Huzair removed the ring and told the others what he'd heard.

"Could be Heurist," Ledare postulated. "He was with Brin last time I saw them." She gave them a brief refresher on the pair while they all gathered what spoils they cared to take.



Feln was disinterested in the loot, having no use for armor and swords, particularly those sized for a body half as big as his own. Still he recognized the value of the items and knew that they could be brokered into healing draughts or other items that might ultimately benefit him. He was in the process of joylessly stripping Sir Brin's nearly headless corpse when he froze.

Years ago - literally in another life - Feln had belonged to a group of martial artists in the Freehold of Farmin who called themselves the Gelgian Brotherhood. They had a well-earned reputation within the right circles as consummate infiltrators and spies, trading in secrets and political intrigues. The Gelgians also held a less-well-known reputation amongst a select few clients who had powerful enemies, tight lips, and overflowing coffers. For the right amount of gold, one of these practitioners of the Shadow Warrior fighting style, could eliminate a client's enemy - no matter how well protected they might be. Feln was on such a mission when the monastery in Palton Bay was attacked and his fellow Gelgians put to the sword.

He returned to find only corpses of men and half-elves he'd grown up amongst since birth - the only family he'd ever known. There were no survivors to explain who had attacked or why, and Feln uncovered only two clues within the wreckage of his former life. The first was the word of a nearby blacksmith named Abos who claimed to have seen armored riders bearing a yellow banner visit the monastery during the time that Feln was gone. The second clue was found buried hilt-deep in his former master's chest: a black dagger with a pommel worked into the shape of a predatory bird. Sadly, he'd lost the blade - along with all his other worldly possessions, including his original body - in the belly of the Chaos Elemental.

Looking now at the eagle-head fashioned into the haft of a morningstar hanging from Sir Brin's belt sent a rush of discovery through Feln's chest. He crouched down, ripped the black morningstar free with a jerk and brought it closer to his eyes, examining the iron bird. It was the same. He looked at Sir Brin with new eyes, noting the man's bright yellow livery, and he knew that he was close. Closer than he'd ever been to those who had killed his family.

"What'd ya find?" Lela asked as she alighted on the half-ogre's shoulder. He scowled and rose to his feet.

"Nothing," he said unconvincingly as he thrust the morningstar into his wide, studded belt. "Nothing that can't wait."


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #314] An Unexpected Guest*

OOC- Since no one complained last time, I'll include a footnote at the end of this post as well.

----------------------------

There was a bard in Floxen named Thyri who was willing to _Identify_ the magical gear they'd taken off of Sir Brin and his ilk. It cost the party a fair bit of gold and used up Thyri's entire supply of pearls, but it was worth it for the magical haul they received. Among the choice items were an enchanted longsword, shield and platemail armor taken off Sir Brin himself; and a magical mace and _Ring of Blinking_ taken off the priest.  There was also the matter of the _Ring of Communication_.

No one had dared put that on since leaving Miller's Pond, despite Mellona's assertion that neither it nor any of the other items were evil in and of themselves. No one wanted to chance giving away any secrets to the enemy.



"You all are free of any disease," the Matriarch told them after she'd performed the necessary rituals. They'd all undergone an extensive check-up -  both magical and mundane - upon returning to the Healing Hall and they felt fit and ready for action. Honored Sister Mellona was not convinced of this, however.

"It was a mistake for me to send you to Miller's Pond without a proper cleric," she apologized. "Both you, Faithful Daughter, and your dwarven companion radiate the aura of good that comes only from divine connection. I assumed, incorrectly, that you would be capable of destroying the undead through simple means of your faith."

"Tha' be nae the dwarven way," Karak grumbled and Mellona nodded.

"I have little experience with dwarves," she said. "I should have asked."

"Aww," Huzair said, waving her off. "We did alright without one, didn't we?"

"And you were forced to retreat here rather than press on to locate Shamalin and the Speckled Band for lack of healing," the Matriarch pointed out and Huzair couldn't argue the point with her. "But I had hoped to remedy that on your return journey."

"That is very gracious, Sister. Some healing potions would go a long way toward-" Ledare started, but Mellona shook her head.

"I'm afraid that we haven't a large supply of potions on hand," she said. "I plan to send with you a Sister of Beneficence." At that Huzair elbowed Morier, waggled his eyebrows and grinned lasciviously. Fortunately neither Ledare nor Mellona noticed.

"Are you sure that is wise, Sister," Ledare argued. "This is dangerous business and Flor's clerics are not martially-inclined."

"It will fall upon you to see no harm comes to her, Faithful Daughter," Mellona explained. "But she was called to Flor's side but recently, and she brings many talents from her life before that makes her better suited to this task than an acolyte fresh from the White Hall in Widdershin." The Matriarch motioned to the page standing ready at the door and he opened the door and ushered in a woman of great stature. With the exception of Feln, she towered over everyone else in the room. Her skin was freckled from the sun and a single thick braid of cornsilk hair hung down over her left shoulder. She wore the simple white vestments of a priestess of Flor and carried a worn staff of white ash in one strong hand.

"Yowza," Huzair sighed.

She studied the VQS with ice blue eyes and they spread wide with shock as they fell upon the Janissary.

"Ledare!" the woman hissed.

"Hildegunna!" Ledare shot back. [1]

Then, at the same time they both muttered, "White Lady, give me strength!"


----------------------------

[1] Hildegunna first appeared in the company of Ledare's... umm... friend, Del back in Barnacus. She helped Ledare locate Kirnoth after the elf was captured by Jermlaine. You can read about it  here.


----------



## Kristeneve

Well, after many invitations from Jon and nearly seven years of playing I am writing my first "reply to thread."  (I hope this lands in the right place).  It is a post of appreciation.  First to our most talented DM - whose tireless efforts keep this wonderful game alive.  And also to Hairy Minotaur - for faithful reading.  I always enjoy your comments.

 Kristen / Ledare


----------



## Jon Potter

Kristeneve said:
			
		

> Well, after many invitations from Jon and nearly seven years of playing I am writing my first "reply to thread."




It's about time!   

Thanks for stopping by. Don't be a stranger.



> It is a post of appreciation. And also to Hairy Minotaur - for faithful reading. I always enjoy your comments.




I suspect (but only by viewing the escalating page view count) that there are other faithful readers lurking out there. But I must admit that I too enjoy HM's comments.


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## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> I suspect (but only by viewing the escalating page view count) that there are other faithful readers lurking out there. But I must admit that I too enjoy HM's comments.




Uh oh........ pressure.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #315] All Manor of Trouble*

"You two have met?" Mellona asked, clearly taken aback by both Hildegunna's and Ledare's reactions to one another.

"Yes," Hildegunna responded quickly. "This woman begged my aid some moonsdances past. Of course, I gave it freely."

"That was most charitable of you, sister," the Matriarch smiled and Ledare rubbed her forehead with her hand.

"You've got to be kidding me," she mumbled just loud enough for Hildegunna to hear and the woman shot her an icy glance.

"It is good that you are familiar with one another," Mellona went on. "It will make working together now all the easier. I charge you both with the task of returning Sister Shalamin to us. Further, Sister Hildegunna, it is your duty to heal these worthies as you can. And Faithful Daughter Ledare, you in turn must see that no harm comes to Sister Hildigunna."

"I will do as you have asked, Mother Mellona," Hildegunna said with a respectful nod. Conflicting emotions warred across Ledare's face as she considered the high cleric's edicts.

"I think it is a mistake to send another of our order into harm's way," Ledare managed to say in place of: I don't want this woman traveling with me. Mellona smiled at her warmly.

"It is good of you to show such concern for your Benevolent Sister, but I think it particularly important to have a priestess of Flor along on this mission given the influence of the Filth Goddess in Miller's Pond," she said, laying a reassuring hand on Ledare's shoulder. "And I have every confidence in your ability to keep her from any harm, Faithful Daughter."

Hildegunna gave Ledare an utterly insincere smile and the Janissary rolled her eyes.
"I will do as you have commanded, Holy Mother," Ledare told Mellona, struggling to maintain her much-vaunted calm.



Later, Karak asked the Janissary how exactly she and Hildegunna had met, but Ledare didn't care to relive the incident, saying only, "We spent some time together in the sewers of Barnacus. This is starting to smell even worse."



*Earthday, the 25th - Starday, the 27th of Goodmonth, 1269 AE*​


Huzair spent a full 24 hours riding in the wagon, burning incense and chanting incoherently so that he could summon a familiar. By the time they reached Miller's Pond, the wizard had a new magical helper: a hummingbird named Sparky.

For their part of the journey, Ledare and Hildegunna did their best to stay out of each other's way and managed quite effectively to not speak to one another. Ledare had a particularly difficult time holding her tongue when Hildegunna swapped out her modest clerical robes for the more familiar - and far from modest - garb she had favored the last time Ledare had seen her. The blue teardrop holy symbol resting between her mostly-exposed breasts seemed nearly obscene to the Janissary, but she kept her thoughts to herself.

Hildegunna had little to say in any case. She spoke with the males about her recent conversion to worship of Flor. It was apparently spurred by a visionquest she'd undertaken as soon as she'd left Barnacus. From the bits and pieces the cleric let drop, Ledare was able to surmise that Del had left Hildegunna at the same time he'd left her to undertake the King's mission on the Borderlands. The Janissary felt a secret joy at that news.

Lela spent time flitting about, talking at length to anyone who would listen of her successes in the previous sojourn into Miller's Pond. Before too much of this nonstop chatter, that left only Wolf. "Hey, wasn't that great when I cast _Entangle_? And remember when I sprinkled the _Dust of Confusion_??? I'm amazing, aren't I?" she prattled, making more than a few ears yearn for Vade's return from the land of the dead. "How did you guys battle without me? Or was this your first battle too?"

It was mid-afternoon when they finally reached the town, and they found it largely as they remembered it. The signs of their prior battle were unmistakable in the square although someone had gone to the trouble of removing the bodies of Sir Brin and his lackeys. The smell of death and corruption was more pronounced than it had been the last time - unsurprising given the numerous corpses secreted in the various buildings. Still, it was strong enough to make the horses skittish and cause several noses - Hildegunna's in particular - to curl with disgust.

"Why is it that every time I am in your company I smell sh*t?" the Benevolent Sister asked Ledare as she covered her mouth with her hand. They were the first words the woman had spoken to the Janissary since leaving Floxen.

"I didn't ask to babysit you," Ledare answered as she dismounted. "We'll leave the horses here and head up to the manor through the woods as planned." The others obliged while Lela tried her best to calm Wolf. Clearly, the animal was as frightened as the horses and was whining loudly.

"There's something unnatural here," Lela warned. "Moreso than last time, even."

An ululating cry split the air at that moment, confirming the druid's assessment. Feln darted forward and peered around the corner of the nearest building. There several hundred feet away across the square was... something. The bizarre creature had a body roughly the size and shape of a horse, but a ridge of boney chitin ran along its spine and its belly hung pale, bloated and covered with a network of purple veins. Its head was like that of a huge vulture, possessed of a beak that looked capable of snapping a man's leg in half with ease. Beneath the head, a pair of bruise-colored limbs writhed anxiously.

The half-ogre darted back, forestalling Karak and Morier. "There's some sort of... thing out there," he warned them. "I've never seen anything like it." Karak harrumphed and then two more answering cries ripped the afternoon air. They couldn't pinpoint the sound, but at least one of them seemed to be coming from off to the right of their current position.

"Well, let's get out there an' start choppin' 'em into -" Karak started to say and then Hildegunna cried out in alarm.

"Flor have mercy!" she shouted pointing toward the open doorway of a nearby building. "What is that?"

There, shuffling toward them, was an abomination that had no place in a rational world - a six foot walking bladder, with its arms and legs formed by belts and straps of leather. Even at this distance, it was obvious that the skin of the bladder was human, a horrible montage of stitched-together human faces. As it moved closer, the cloud of buzzing flies and the maggots leaking from the stitched-shut nostrils and mouths and eyes became evident, showing the VQS the vermin that animated the blasphemous skin.

Another unwholesome howl came from behind them, momentarily allowing them to tear their eyes away from the shuffling horror and reminding them that they had other enemies to contend with as well.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #316] Welcoming Committee*

"Oi, and I was worried about facing more zombies. We have serious necromancy afoot 'ere!" Karak grumbled, spitting at his feet for emphasis. He looked from the advancing bag of flesh to the unnatural bird-headed thing and back again. "I do nae know which be worse, the walking dead or chaos."

"Wolf doesn't like either of them," Leala twittered as she did her best to handle the animal's fear. The dwarf nodded, sharing the wolf's feelings on the matter.

"Lass, why nae take Feln and Huzair to the face o' maggots whilst I, Morier and Lela take the buzzard beastie," the dwarf suggested to Ledare. "Lela do your thingie. Huzair try not to light your own hair on fire. Ha!" The bald wizard gave the dwarf a withering look and reached into his spell component pouch.

"You!" Karak commanded, pointing his axe at Hildegunna. "You, tall drink of water, see if your Goddess grants ye the power to turn or smite these foul things." She nodded at the dwarf, clutching her holy symbol.

Ledare caught the woman's eye as she stepped in front of her and saw that, despite her abrasive facade, she was keeping her fear barely in check. "Stand back, but help as you can," the Janissary instructed, and assumed a defensive stance.

Karak turned away from the undead abomination, drawing with ease but not flair the longsword they'd liberated from Sir Brin. He looked up at Morier as he passed and said, "You might want to give me breadth in there, White One, it's been a while since I used one of these long pokers." The albino reached out a hand and stalled the dwarf's advance, gesturing to the undead thing which had closed to within twenty feet.

"Let's take this vile beast from both sides," the eldritch warrior said with an unfamiliar air of command in his voice. Something fundamental had changed for Morier within the Grove of Renewal and he embraced it now. "Karak, Ledare - you take the right flank; Feln and I will take the left. Lela - anything you can do from above to aid us would be much appreciated." The faen saluted and shot up into the sky. "Huzair - do what you usually do - stand back and try not to get your hands dirty with any actual fighting."

Huzair was preparing components to cast a spell, but he spared a moment to sneer at the albino. "Hey Morier, instead of giving orders, how about using some of that magic Uncle Appie taught you?"

"Way ahead of you!" the eldritch warrior grinned, activating his own innate magic without the use of components. _"Taurinus corroboro!"_ he intoned and his body swelled with the strength of a bull.

Huzair's scowl deepened. "Didn't anyone ever tell you to buff before battle!" he chided just as another otherworldly howl split the air from somewhere nearby - perhaps just to the other side of the building behind which they had gathered. It gave the wizard quite a start, but had no noticeable effect on the vermin-filled abomination that was their closest opponent.

It shambled forward toward the nearest enemy - Ledare. The Janissary steeled herself feeling a strange sense of calm come over her moments before she found herself enveloped by the stinking cloud of flies that buzzed around the thing. Several of the fat insects found their way into her mouth and down her throat, making her gag uncontrollably even as the sack creature itself tried spread its arms as if to hug her. Reflexively, she raised Ravager and the bastard sword easily slashed through the thing's stitched-together torso, spoiling its grapple. It also opened a gap in the monster's skin, spilling a torrent of steaming maggots onto the ground beside it.

Feln took a single step onto the foul creature's flank and swung his quarterstaff in a massive arc that caught the creature's torso midswing. The blow lifted the creature off its malformed feet, rupturing its numerous seams in the process and causing the deflated skin to flutter obscenely through the air amidst a wet cascade of maggots. It landed messily some distance away and did not get back up.

"Yay!" Lela cheered, but the excitement was short-lived. The thunderous pounding of feet signaled the charge of the bird-headed thing. It moved with unlikely speed, closing the distance between itself and the VQS in moments.

_"Flammifer sphaera!"_ Huzair shouted, casting iron dust onto the ground. The earth burst suddenly into flame and coalesced into a flaming sphere that followed the wizard's direction and rolled directly into the aberration's path. The creature wailed in surprise as the ball of flames struck its legs. Its cry was answered from the east as another of the creatures appeared from the alley beside the familiar mill. It barreled at them across the square.

Ledare spit the dead flies out of her mouth and grinned darkly at Huzair as she passed him. "There's nothing upstanding about these Miller's Pond citizens," she quipped. "Have at them!" The mage gave her an annoyed look.

"What do you think I'm doing?" he retorted, keeping his attention focused on controlling the _Flaming Sphere_.

Hildegunna wove her hands in an intricate pattern before her, light seeming to trail from her hands as she plucked expertly at the Weave. A swirling mass of color sprang into being between the two bird-headed creatures, its _hypnotic pattern_ mirroring her hands' motions. The newest arrival on the battlefield skidded to a stop, its attention riveted to the intricate pattern of light that filled the air beside it. The beast that was being immolated by Huzair's ball of fire paid the pattern no mind.

"Now, Ledare, I know you have your own Goddess now, but I say this: you've lead us all this far, and you'll keep it up. I do know it," Karak intoned, drawing on his god-granted ability to _Inspire_ his _Allies_. "The white one, the faierie, and I will keep up our end, you lot see to yours. If you need help, just ask Morier. He can dish it out. Ha!"

Lela was getting an aerial view of the battlefield when she felt the uplifting benefit of the dwarf's words. There was a third of the monsters on the other side of the building that guarded the VQS' left flank and the thing would be upon them in another few moments. But perhaps more troubling was the solitary man she spotted running as fast as his two legs would carrying him toward the road leading up to the manor. "Wolf!" she commanded, pointing in the direction that the man was fleeing. "Seek!"

The animal pricked up its ears, cocked its head and then took off around the far side of the building. As soon as it rounded the corner and spotted the runner, its hackles bristled and it poured on the speed.

Bolstered by Karak's words of encouragement, Morier hefted his greatsword and charged the nearest of the creatures. His silvered blade opened a three foot gash along the thing's meaty thigh. It howled again and almost collapsed under the savage onslaught as its dark blood soaked the packed earth of the square.

Of course, Morier's advance left an opening in their ranks that was suddenly exploited by the third of the monsters making its presence known to all. It rounded the building and went for Huzair who stood slightly apart from the others, concentrating on his spell. The creature's beak slashed without warning into the wizard's head, nearly severing it. The mage was built of sterner stuff than he at first appeared, however, and he managed to avoid the killing blow by instinctively rolling with the attack. Even so, the thing's curved beak slashed open a ragged flap of skin from his scalp, painting the wizard's face at once with steaming blood, and revealing  a swathe of the white bone beneath.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> "Oi, and I was worried about facing more zombies. We have serious necromancy afoot 'ere!" Karak grumbled, spitting at his feet for emphasis. He looked from the advancing bag of flesh to the unnatural bird-headed thing and back again. "I do nae know which be worse, the walking dead or chaos."




I vote neither. No wait both. No, I vote whichever is closest to me is the worst.


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> I vote neither. No wait both. No, I vote whichever is closest to me is the worst.




That's the correct answer!   

Actually, the creature lovingly named 'the maggot pillow' by the players is probably the better of the two critters to face. It's certainly grosser, but its main attack - an envelop attack that subjects the victim to some pretty nasty flesh-rending damage - isn't nearly as exciting in practice as it seemed on paper. The attack requires a successful grapple attack and the thing _doesn't have_ the Improved Grab feat. So it was basically: move in to start a grapple, get hit and have the attack spoiled then get the snot kicked out of it by the rest of the group. :\ 

Anyway, both beasties are from Green Ronin's Book of Fiends if you have it and are interested in taking a peek.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #316a] Welcoming Committee, part 2*

Huzair fell back, staggering away from his bizarre attacker.

"Wolf is going after some guy running like crazy back to the manor. He and I will try to stop him!" Lela shouted from above, her tiny voice audible to a few on the battlefield below before she zipped away across the rooftops, drawing an arrow from her magical quiver.

Feln was one of those and he let out a growl at the news from above. "Damn wizards!" he cursed, "not meant for combating, that's for sure!"  He surveyed the melee for a few heartbeats and reached his decision. To Huzair, he bellowed, "'Oomie! Stay back now! Let the warriors deal with this! Karak! Morier! Guard that wizard!!"

"Keep fighting!" Huzair protested. "I can take care of myself for now!" But Feln was already gone, racing around the building and up in the direction that Wolf had disappeared.



Morier spared a look over his shoulder to see what was transpiring behind him, and it almost cost him dearly. The creature he was fighting seized the opportunity to   whirl about and snap at him with its long, sharp beak. It misjudged its prey's position, however and succeeded only in overbalancing itself. It fell awkwardly to its side mewling in alarm and thrashed about to regain its footing. Morier tried to impale it on his greatsword, but it was just nimble enough to avoid the thrust.



Huzair back-peddled until he bumped into Hildegunna and reached out his mind to regain control of the Flaming Sphere while he fumbled at his potion belt for one of his last two healing draughts. The Weave responded to his urgings and the ball of fire rolled to the left and back onto the creature fighting Morier. Smiling darkly, despite the steaming blood painting his face, he drew the healing vial up to his lips, but Hildegunna's hand grabbed his wrist.

"Save it," she said, and clutched her holy symbol with the hand holding her staff, mouthing a prayer for healing from Flor.

"I will take care of myself, thank you very much!" Huzair protested, pointing to the creature nearby. "Kill the damn bird!"

"Shut up," the priestess said and the wizard felt healing energy course through his body. It wasn't much, but it stopped the bleeding and took the barest edge off the pain.



Ledare trotted up to the creature that was staring dumbly at the hypnotic pattern, being very careful not to look at the display herself. She remembered well, the warning that Hildegunna had given her about the spell last time. To avoid a disastrous peek at the spell, Ledare attacked the monster's hindquarters, keeping her shield up against both the spell's entrancing appeal and any sudden attack from the bird-headed thing.

Ravager bit eagerly into the monster's back, causing it to convulse with a sudden wash of pain and snap out of its dazed fascination.



"SPRITE!" Feln yelled from below as he overtook Lela. He was moving incredibly fast, faster than anything the faen had ever seen on two legs. "What are you seein' up there!!  We got any more baddies comin' along?"

"I don't see anyone else. Not yet anyway!" she replied, taking aim with her shortbow. She let fly an arrow that arced well and true before sinking with a meaty THWOCK into the fleeing man's right buttock. He screamed and faltered, dropping the dagger he carried in his left hand even as Wolf reached him and clamped its jaws down on the man's forearm.

The animal instinctively tried to drag its prey to the ground, but the man was having none of it. Even doubly wounded, he wasn't about to go down so easily. He slashed expertly at the wolf with the bastard sword in his right hand, striking the animal at the elbow joint and severing the limb completely. Wolf let out a scream of pain that seemed to rip straight through Lela, but the awful silence that followed as the animal's bloody corpse slid lifelessly to the ground was worse yet. [1]



Karak bellowed a battle cry and laid into the rear flank of the creature nearest him - the one whose beak was painted crimson with Huzair's blood. His axe bit deeply, but it was a clumsy hit and seemed to cause the creature little real injury. He followed it up with a second blow, but this one struck the chitinous plates running along the thing's back and was turned aside.

The creature's response to this attack was both bizarre and unexpected. It lit up, its leathery skin went suddenly translucent and its internal organs glowed with kaleidoscopic brilliance. A _Spray_ of _Color_ flashed out all around it, trying to draw away the senses of those nearby, but through force of will, Karak, Huzair and Hildegunna - the only ones close enough to be effected - were able to resist.



Morier noted the brilliant display out of the corner of his eye and fumbled his own attack, leaving him wide open for his own opponent to try the same trick. It flared brilliantly, sending a wash of color over the Eldritch Warrior and knocking him completely senseless in the process. His greatsword fell to the ground forgotten as he tried without success to free his mind from the reality-warping display.



The creature wounded by Ledare hoped to repeat the success of its fellow and flared with rainbow hues. Perhaps it was because Ledare was already averting her eyes to avoid the _Hypnotic Pattern_ or perhaps merely because she too was made of sterner stuff than she appeared. But whatever the case, she was not stunned by the _Color Spray_ and she renewed her efforts to down the thing. Ravager slashed out quickly, raking once across the thing's ribs and then stabbing deeply into its already wounded rear leg. The thing let out a mewling cry and dropped heavily to its knees before collapsing finally at the Janissary's feet to bleed out the last of its foul life into the ground.

"The albino is in trouble!" Hildegunna told Huzair even as she pointed her finger and sent a ray at the nearer creature that traced a line of frost along its neck.

"I can see that!" Huzair shot back, making his _Flaming Sphere_ brush one more time against the other creature's legs, before the magic was spent and the ball of fire sputtered out.

Karak was unimpressed with the bird-headed thing's visual display and brought his waraxe to bear against it. The weapon cut deeply into the creature's foreleg as it was turning to confront him, actually sticking in the bone as if it were a tree and the dwarf a lumberjack. He heaved it free and swung again, but this time his aim was off and the weapon connected with nothing save air.



"NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!" Lela screamed, her tiny voice sounding a lot like a bird call. She dove at the man, her face twisted into a rictus of anguish and rage. _"Flammifer sphaera!"_ she chanted and dropped a _Flaming Sphere_ onto the blood-dappled sward. It rolled forward immediately seeking out the man who had slain Wolf and slammed mercilessly into him. The man cried out as flames licked at his body and he started to turn and run.

Which was precisely when Feln's flying mantis kick connected with his jaw, crushing the man's skull and causing him to fall dead a half-dozen paces from Wolf's bloody corpse.



Morier blinked and shook his head, trying to clear it so that he could put up some kind of defense against this thing that wanted to kill him, but he could do nothing to resist its assault. He felt the creature's beak snap painfully at his forearm, and felt the strange limbs adorning its neck paw at his torso. One connected and Morier felt a terrific jot of pain pass through him, but through force of will alone he was able to avoid whatever lingering effects it would have had on him. The pain was just the thing to clear his head, and he desperately looked about himself for his greatsword.

_"Radius gelidus!"_ Hildegunna intoned and sent another ice-blue ray knifing into the monster fighting Karak. Again it spread frost over the monster's flesh, but again the beast seemed unperturbed by the assault.

"Er-pothoc rhyaex-weath!" Husair swore in Draconic and hurled his fever iron shortspear at the creature. The black spearhead sliced easily through the meat below the thing's left foreleg, impaling itself deeply into the creature's chest cavity. The monster tottered unsteadily and fell over with a thud.

Ledare hopped over the spreading pool of blood at her feet and charged at the creature harassing Morier. She stabbed outward with Ravager, sinking two feet of the saw-toothed blade into the monster's meaty side. A gout of hot blood sprayed outward from the wound and the creature writhed in agony, but did not fall.

Deprived of his first opponent, Karak hustled over to the last creature and swung his axe at its right foreleg, taking the limb off at the knee. Thrashing horribly, the creature finally fell over, admitting that it was dead.

"Thank you for the help," Morier said as he bent over and retrieved his sword. Huzair rushed over to him as he stood up.

"Have you never read 'The Manifold Wisdoms of Zarnak, the Brave'?" the mage asked, slapping Morier on the back of the head as he stood up. "Any smart fighter would follow that."

"I don't know Huzair. Was that one of ap-Llewellyn's books?" Morier replied, rubbing the back of his head with one hand. The wizard snorted derisively in response.

"Not only are you only on the Second Circle of spells, but you are an idiot too!" Huzair exclaimed in an exasperated tone. "It says under no circumstances should you buff while you are being attacked. Score the damage and buff when you cannot attack. I guess I will have to refer to chapter seven of that book: 'What to Do When Fighting with Idiots or Dwarves'. Just look out for yourself!"

"Oi!" Karak grumbled. "Watch yer tongue, Wizard!"

"I apologize for my acquaintance's short temper," Morier said to the others present before turning an angry eye on Huzair. "I thought he was made of sterner stuff than that."

"Look at what your stupidity cost me, you piece of drow afterbirth!" Huzair roared, his voice filled with a dangerous rumble. Points of flames seemed to dance in his eyes as he leaned toward the albino, displaying the open wound on his bald head. "You could have let me know you were in pursuit! I guess I have to look out for myself since you obviously have a long way to go as a team!" Ledare balked at that and stepped between the two, interposing her shield.

"That's more than enough, Huzair! We do what we can together against our foes. And we are all new to one another in combat," she said. "Morier advanced to put an end to that foul beast. Your injuries are unfortunate, but not the result of anyone's negligence." Huzair said nothing to this, but Morier wasn't through.

"Huzair, we executed our battle plan exactly as we stated it before any of us engaged the enemy - we made it perfectly clear where everyone's responsibilities lay," the Eldritch Warrior said, his eyes narrowed to disapproving slits. His hands were tightening unconsciously on the grip of his greatsword. "You failed to cover your own flank, even though you knew where I was going. It was your own desire to keep your own faerie ass out of the fray at every possible turn that nearly cost you your own worthless life, and I'll not have you turn this on me. Keep standing back and casting your precious spells to keep you out of danger... see how far it got you this time?" Huzair looked surprised for a moment, but then quickly collected himself and backed away from the albino with a grin.

"So. Morier, your gift is to read minds now too. Excellent secret! Ap would be pleased that you actually have some magic power now," he said smugly and reached into his haversack with one hand. With the other he pointed casually at Morier's head. "What else you got in there? Put the sword down, you know I do not want to fight you. My 'faerie ass' might not take it." He produced a cigar and lit it off his thumb.

"You'll have to excuse me, but I never had time to move my ass away from battle before that thing gave me this close shave," he grimaced, holding the glowing ember at the end of his cigar up close to the wound on his head. "It hurts, by the way. I know now why that man gave me me the info we wanted after I cut him." Morier shook his head, disgusted.

"Despite everyone's best efforts to warn you about the seriousness and difficulty of what we're undertaking here, it seems that you somehow still maganed to underestimate it," the elf said, holding up his own wounded arm for the wizard to see. "It's battle Huzair, battle against an opposition that wants each and every one of us dead... if that's too much for you, perhaps you ought to go back to picking pockets and burning mice at the seaport in Farmin, because despite all your 'Zarnak the Brave' bullsh*t, you just proved to me and everyone around us that you're not at all ready to battle with this group!"

"Whether it fits your definition of brave or not, it is smart for me to cast spells away from the combat. Anyone who knows spellcasting should realize that if I get injured while weaving a spell it will disrupt the casting," Huzair continued, his tone conversational, bored almost, as he plied the cigar along his head wound. "Spells are what I am trained for; melee is what most of you are trained for. If you do not want my services... I will leave. But I know I am valuable to the party and you do too."

"You are free to go, of course," Ledare told him, giving them each a pointed look. "And if the two of you can't pull it together, perhaps you should." The mage shrugged.

"I will keep my mouth shut if that is what you want. Morier will know what I am thinking, anyway," Huzair arched a shaved eyebrow at Morier.

"We are stronger if you stay, Huzair," the Janissary admitted. "But don't forget what we are fighting for."

"Hey, I want to win this thing too," the wizard replied. "Maybe not for the same reasons as you, but Garan-Zak hoped that would come in time." Ledare's mouth curled into a scowl.

"Our struggle has nothing to do with settling old scores or adolescent bravado," she scolded. "You'll do well to remember that."

"If your little pissing match is over," Hildegunna interjected, "perhaps we should check on the ogre and the sprite?"

"No need," Huzair announced. "Sparky says that the running man killed Wolf. Then Feln and Lela killed the running man. That smoke is what's left of him." The mage pointed at a column of black smoke rising up from the edge of the town. He touched the wound on his head and added, "Speaking of which, I should get up there."

He started to move off and then paused, grabbing Hildegunna's hand. "Beautiful Priestess of Flor, you have earned my respect and gratitude," he said, planting a hot kiss on the back of the woman's hand. "Would you care to accompany me to check on our companions?" The cleric chuckled and brushed her blonde hair out of her eyes.

"Only if you can spare one of those cigars for me," she said as they proceeded up across the square toward the distant smoke with Karak at their heels.

Ledare forestalled Morier, saying, ""Do not let Huzair's ramblings reach your heart. You are stronger now, I can sense it." She smiled at him, "The rewards of the Grove are well-placed in you. But we need Huzair's ability, misguided as it may be. Together we make a formidable group. I feel it."

"I know, Ledare," Morier agreed. "It is as I've said all along. Time and time again, this group has met peril by dividing itself." Ledare nodded and looked off in the direction of the manor.

"Who knows what lies before us," she mused before drawing her eyes back to fall upon Hildegunna's retreating figure. She sighed deeply and looked Morier square in the eye. "I will do my best to put my differences aside for the sake of this company. Will you do the same?"

"It was never my intention to let Huzair drive a wedge into the group," the albino said flatly. "No one knows better than I that our power lies in our ability to combine our individual strengths into one force. As I've always said, 'when we divide ourselves we each become as vulnerable as if we had no special ability whatsoever'."

"Well spoken," Ledare said with a nod. She clapped the elf on the back. "I just hope that Huzair shares your feelings."

"I don't think he means anything by his words," Morier told her. "He's always been more than a little hot-headed. I think it's in his blood." The Janissary's expression was confused.

"What do you mean?" Ledare asked and Morier suddenly looked uncomfortable.

"Perhaps that's something that you should ask him directly," the albino said and they started across the square after the others.

--------------------------

_ Wolf suffered a critical hit from the running man that again did 23 points of damage, exactly enough to take him to -10. Nevermind the fact that he also failed his Constitution check once his leg was cut off and went immediately into shock (meaning that he'd suffer another 23 points of damage on the following round)._


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> She let fly an arrow that arced well and true before sinking with a meaty THWOCK into the fleeing man's right buttock.




This implies she missed her intended target on his body.   

Action packed episode! Great job Jon!

although, what's with all the smilies?


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> what's with all the smilies?




What? You don't like them?  :\ 

I don't know what the deal is with those things, but sometimes they spontaneously appear when I paste the info into message field. (No, really!) I suspect it has something to do with Microsoft Word, but I'm not certain. Normally, I preview the post and edit them out, but tonight my wife was standing patiently at my side waiting for a moment on the computer so I just hit "Submit" instead.

And then you just happen to read it before I get a chance to go back and edit it to be all nice and pretty. What are the chances?

Anywho, I fixed it and added a missing footnote about Wolf's ultimate demise.

And, HM, you'll be happy to know that I was inspired to new levels of depravity by the "ogre alarms" in your Story hour.  As I was coming up with some room descriptions I used that disurbing scene  from your game to set the bar for my own BBEG's inner sanctum.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #316c] Making it Worse*

Huzair and Hildegunna, both smoking cigars, found Feln standing vigilantly over Wolf's bloodied corpse. About ten feet further on lay the charred remains of the man who'd killed the animal, his body still in flames. At first, they didn't spot Lela; the faen was draped across Wolf's body, her tiny face buried in his fur as she sobbed.

"Lela, I am so sorry," Feln was saying awkwardly as they approached. "My old friend, Windstryder, had a little pet and I know how attached she was... I suppose it is the same for you." He stood awkwardly to the side, afraid to offer comfort to one so small for fear of inadvertently harming her, and unsure of what to do instead.

"Well, wizard, looks like ye were right about th' animal's fate," Karak muttered as he marched along behind the taller pair.

"Sparky saw the whole thing," Huzair explained as the hummingbird flitted up to him and alighted on his finger. "Now you are just a baby, Sparky, but I have big plans for you," he told the bird as he planted a kiss on its diminutive head. then he tossed it high above his head and it zipped off toward the manor. "Do be careful and stay out of the way, sweetheart!" he called and Karak harrumphed, shouldering his way passed the pair.

"Sorry about the 'dwarf' remark back there," Huzair called after him. "I was just using a direct quote." Karak didn't respond.



"I was not brought into this world in this form, Lela," Feln was saying as Karak approached. "I was reincarnated by Great Oak and this is what I became." He thumped himself on the chest. "I know little of how that magic works, but if you would like to get this priestess we're supposed to be rescuing and see what she can do, I would be happy to carrry wolf for you." Lela sat up and smiled, turning a tear-soaked face toward the half-ogre.

"Yes, please, Feln. You are a true friend," she said, a note of hope showing in her voice. "Wolf is worth saving. I would be so grateful for the opportunity to have him back with us."

"Uhhh... Are we going to carry around a dead wolf with us?" Huzair asked, incredulous. "I mean, what are we going to do with it when we are fighting?"

"WE aren't gonna do anything!" Feln growled. "If Lela would allow me the honor, I would like to carry Wolf."

"Come on! We don't need the whole body. Perhaps cut a peice of fur off of the animal and I will hold on to it for her," the mage suggested. "Isn't that how Feln was reincarnated?"

"You are a cruel and nasty dragon-thing who's starting to get on my nerves!" Lela shouted up at Huzair wagging a miniscule finger at him. "I heard their other dragon friend was nice. Why aren't you nice?"

"I have done nothing mean to Wolf. The only one I am mean to is Morier," Huzair said matter of factly. "Morier knows to ignore me and he chooses to do so even when I am correct."

"I'll be sure to make note of that if it ever happens, Huzair," Morier said as he and Ledare finally caught up to the others. Huzair just rolled his eyes at this and went on.

"I suggested taking a peice of Wolf's fur for _Reincarnation_. That way we don't have to carry the body around. That is not mean; that is what a druid would want," the wizard explained and Ledare let out a resigned sigh.

"I do not presume to know what one of the druidic faith would or would not want, Lela," the Janissary said. "But I think that Huzair has a point here, however poor his presentation of it. I think it's a bad idea to bring Wolf's body with us as we advance."

"See!" Huzair said, pointing at Ledare. "And I even gave Wolf a healing potion when Morier or I could have used it. So do not go around saying I am mean, when I am not." He puffed on his cigar for a moment and then turned an accusatory eye on the others.

"Actually people here have been 'mean' to me first," he went on. "I did not know you found it necessary to harass people from the Ethnegarian Karnate, or perhaps you think I am young, inexperienced and an easy target for bullies." He winked at Morier and the albino shook his head in disgust.

"We only think that because you're young, inexperienced, and an easy target not only for bullies, but for anyone with the ability to think one step ahead of where they are right now," the eldritch warrior shot back earning a reproachful look from Huzair.

"Feln, your rude comment about wizards, after an injury causing immense pain, hurt me as much as the scalping I received," the mage went on, pointing his cigar at the half-ogre. "I will think twice before I cast _Protection from Arrows_ on you again. I can save it for myself!" Huzair started to turn toward Karak, apparently done with the martial artist, but Feln was not quite done with him.

His long arm shot out quick as a cobra strike and clamped down on the wizard's neck, swallowing most of Huzair's bald head in his fist. He easily lifted him off the ground and drew him up close to his bestial face, growling, "Then you won't mind when I side step a baddie and it comes up and feeds on your face... will you, Huzair?"

"Feln! That's enough!" Ledare started to step forward, but the half-ogre had already released Huzair and walked away from the wizard in apparent disgust.

The mage in turn looked ready to spit fire, but he got himself quickly under control and straightening his gear snapped, "There is no reason we cannot be friends if we all respect each others skills and value. Feln, I just know you are to be on the front line and I can be a helpful ally to you in this party if you would let me. I respect your skills, you should respect mine." The albino stepped forward with a consoling look on his face.

"Huzair, honestly, and I say this as a friend - You have got to learn to shut up," Morier said, gripping the wizard's fluted shoulder guard and turning him so that he could look up into his face. "I can't even say 'quit while you're ahead' because you're so far off the mark on this. You simply cannot go about spouting off about how everyone around you is an idiot, and then say something so ridiculous as 'I respect your skils'. Please, please, please, I beg of you... just shut up."

"Yeah, Huzair!" Lela chirped, tearfully stamping her teeny tiny foot with her teeny tiny hands on her teeny tiny hips. "I know it's hard for someone like you to understand but THIS IS NOT ABOUT YOU!!! SO SHUT UP!!!" The mage managed to look shocked and wounded in equal measures.

"Lela. I am hurt. I thought we were getting to be friends." he said in a sullen tone. "But I will get over it. You are just in a time of grief. Again I am sorry for your loss." Then he turned to Hildegunna and Ledare and continued with a tone utterly free of any remorse, "Kind servants of Flor. Not only are you both beautiful, but kind as well. As I said before you both have earned my gratitute. I would have expected nothing less from people of your faith. I hope my master's gift serves you well. By the way your hair looks beautiful."

And saying thus, he bowed slightly, presenting his still-wounded head unsubtley.

Ledare and Hildegunna exchanged bemused looks. Utterly speechless, the Janissary walked away - shaking her head.

"What?" Huzair asked, his face filled with apparently-genuine shocked.

"Ugh..." Morier said as he walked away with Ledare, shaking his head, equally disgusted as she. 

"Ledare, I truly am sorry," the albino said to her, his voice just barely audible to the others. "I thought perhaps he had grown up in the years since I last knew him... most do." Ledare discerned the hidden compliment and smiled at Morier.

"What?" Huzair asked again, still unsure of what had just happened. "Isn't anybody gonna heal me?" Grumbling, Karak fished out the stouter of his two healing sticks and prepared to go to work on the mage.



"Your loss is tremendous," Ledare said to Lela while the dwarf doled out healing. "It is understandable if you are not up for this advance. But advance, we must."

"Battle may be something we are becoming familiar with, but Lela has not," Feln protested. "She has lost her most trusted ally and I will not move forward until she has dealt with it properly."

"I understand," Ledare nodded. "We could use you to watch our backs, and be certain that no one escapes the manor, if you wish some time to mourn. Or, you can redouble your efforts and meet this challenge with Wolf's spirit strong in your memory. Either choice is honorable."

Lela brushed tears out of her eyes and scowled up the hill in the direction of the manor. "I'll not have Wolf's death be in vain!" she said determinedly. "I am ready to fight."


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #318] Storming the Castle*

Once he'd finished using the _Wand of Vigor_ on Husair, Karak approached Morier and Ledare who were quietly conferring about the manor. "Well, lass, it seems we handled these beasties rather well with only a few minor injuries to Hothead's skull. Feln caught the runner an' we got one dead wolf," he grumbled as he approached. "Poor, wee one. That's gonna be a tough one for her. Faerie's be nae meant for stompin' 'round the world fightin' chaos that is for sure." He spit at their feet for emphasis. "I wish Malak were here. He would know what to do about possible reinventing or resereincarnatin' the wolf. I just do nae know."

"Perhaps Shamalin might have some ideas," Ledare said. "Providing we find her."

"We'll find her, Ledare," Morier reassured the Janissary. He was cradling his right arm in his left as he spoke.

"Oi, White One," Karak grunted, pointing a thick finger at the eldritch warrior's arm. "Be ye needin' a whack from my stick o' healin'?" Morier looked absently at his wounded arm as if he hadn't realized that he was holding it; the magical leathers had already healed themselves, giving no sign of his injury beneath apart from the dried blood that stained the cuff and covered his hand like a glove.

"I'm not too bad off," he muttered unconfincingly. "How's the wand holding up?"

"I think it be almost dried up," the dwarf replied. "But I do nae see a point o' havin' it if'n we're nae goin' ta use it."

"I prayed today for Flor's _Protection from Evil_," Hildegunna said as she stepped up behind the dwarf. She flicked ash from her cigar and added, "But it is within my power to channel that divine gift as healing energy if it is needed."

"It sure do help to have a full fledged Cleric along that's all I have to say about that," Karak muttered. "But let's use my healin' stick for now. We may need that _Protection _'ere our work here be through."



Sparky had given them the lay of the land. The tiny bird studied the exterior and returned a description to Huzair of a fortified home, more keep than mansion. The manor was large, stone and flat-roofed with buttressed walls that looked capable of withstanding a catapult shot. There were lots of leaded glass windows, however, making the thick walls look rather odd. The whole building was set into the side of the hill, and the front of the manor was a full story above ground while two side doors further back opened up right onto the hillside with only a single step. A small paved courtyard was in front of the place, providing relatively level ground for the reception of coaches and the like, with two sweeping staircases that lead up to the front door. Two massive double chimneys dominated the roof - any of the four flues large enough to allow Lela or Sparky entrance if they chose. Other than a bit of smoke coming out of the easternmost chimneys , there was no signs of life from the manor.

"Let's send Lela down the chimney. Let her earn her keep," Huzair said, unconsciously fingering the new grey scar that marred his cranium. "I'm not goig to risk Sparky."

Lela, perched high on Feln's shoulder, stuck her tongue out at the wizard and glared before turning to Ledare. "If you think that would be helpful, I can go down that chimney and see what there is to see," she said with a shrug. "It worked pretty well at the cheese factory."

"You're right - that did aid us last time," the Janissary admitted after only a moment's consideration. "But for now we'll stick to the original plan: Huzair and Feln will move in first. You go with them. Fly around and check out any vantage points that they miss by being on the ground. We will rely on you to report back news of anyone we encounter. The rest of us will be only a heartbeat behind. Your information will help us know how best to proceed." Karak nodded eagerly.

"I know keeps; I am a dwarf. We have to be mindful of defenses," Karak reminded. "If we go in the front, there may be man pits, or rock drops, or gates what separate us from each other. We pick our point of entry and we move in. This be a raidin' party. We strike hard an' fast an' keep movin'. We sow dissention an' confusion among th' enemy. We find the leaders an' we take 'em out. We cover our backs, an' move room to room until we find Heurist an' the girl. We fortify and rest where we can if necessary."

"Let's hope it doesn't become necessary," Ledare said as she took of the _Ring of Invisibility_ and handed it to Feln. "This'll benefit you a lot more than it will me. Flor knows that you're a lot quieter than I am."

"Thank you, Ledare," Feln growled as he took the device. It looked far too tiny to fit on even the smallest of Feln's meaty fingers, but when he tried to slip it on, it sized itself to fit perfectly. Grinning toothily, Feln turned to Huzair and scowled. "If we come up on any guards, let me deal with 'em."

"Whatever you say," Huzair smirked. "Far be it from me to get between you and any sharp objects. Just give me a minute to prepare." And he started layering on the buffs.



The gathering darkness of evening would have aided their approach to the manor if they hadn't been invisible already. Still, the wan light gave them all hope that those less skilled at sneaking about would be able to make the dash from the treeline to the manor without being spotted. The vanguard had nearly reached the side door when a figure that had been sitting unseen against the foundation stood up with a clatter of plate mail. It was another of the warriors that they had faced on their first visit; he had a bastard sword drawn in one hand and a joint of meat in the other. He peered into the darkness, but Feln was happy to see that he was looking in Huzair's direction.

"Who goes there?" the guard shouted around a mouthful of meat. When their was no reply he dropped his dinner and drew a dagger in his off-hand. It was the last action he ever took.

Feln struck completely without warning and reappeared as soon as his fists had crushed the guard's breastplate, turning the body beneath into jelly in the process. But he only stayed visible long enough to hiss, "Be quiet!" to Huzair and then he activated the _Ring _and vanished again.

The door was unlocked and it opened into a room paneled in richly-stained wood. Several low wooden benches stood against the walls and two large wardrobes flanked the door. There were some child-sized boots beneath two of the benches, caked with dried mud. A closed wooden door led south and a hallway stretched off to the east, lined with closed doors.

Feln squeezed through the doorway and paused, listening. He could hear voices and laughter coming from somewhere down the hallway. Feln deactivated the _Ring of Invisibility_ long enough to signal Huzair to wait. Then he gestured for Lela to check out the hallway. She buzzed off down the darkened corridor while Ledare, Karak, Morier and Hildegunna came across the field toward the open side door.

The half-ogre winced. They made slightly less noise than someone hurling a weapon rack down the stairs. By the time the others had arrived at the side entrance, Lela had returned with her report. The voices were coming from behind the first door on the left, there was the sound of snoring behind two of the other closed doors on the right.

"Wait here," Feln said to the others and he activated the _Ring of Invisibility_ again. Twice the others saw doors open on the right side of the corridor and after a few moments, Feln reappeared beside them, grim-faced. He cocked a thumb towards the revelers behind the door on the left and asked, "What do we do about them?"

Karak raised his axe and cocked an eye at Ledare. "No quarter?" he asked.

The Janissary glanced side-long at Hildegunna and sighed. "No quarter," she reluctantly agreed drawing Ravager.



Feln opened the door silent as death. Inside was a well-appointed den complete with sofas, upholstered chairs and divans. There were several cabinets against the walls that held wine racks although most of the bottles of wine were gone. Several empty bottles were stood or lay on various low tables set about. Six humans in various states of inebriation lounged about the place, passing around a crystal decanter of brandy. Nobody noticed the door open and Feln was able to position himself invisibly without any of the revelers being any the wiser. He struck swiftly, delivering two massive chops with his hands that killed one man instantly. Then the delicate magic disrupted, he appeared behind the sofa and the screaming started.

Lela leapt from her perch on Feln's shoulder and fired her bow into the midst of the scrambling drunkards. piercing one of them in the side. Ledare and Karak burst through the doorway with weapons ready and were upon them before they could prepare. Morier followed on their heels. Hildegunna stayed in the hallway with her quarterstaff ready. Huzair, who wanted to maximize the usefulness of his _Invisibilty_ spell, kept out of the fray, but he kept a _Magic Missile_ spell handy in case it became necessary.

One of the warriors gained his feet and turned unsteadily on Feln with a wine bottle in his hand. Feln struck a pressure point at the man's elbow, deadening his arm, with one hand and drove the other into his opponent's gut. The man fell back with blood frothing from his mouth.

Ledare slashed outward with Ravager, landing two blows with the jagged blade. Neither was telling, however. Lela put an arrow into the wounded man's throat, dropping him at the Janissary's feet.

Karak's waraxe split one man nearly in half and the powerful blow cleaved through to strike a woman who was behind him, wounding her deeply as well. Before she could do anything other than clutch at the wound, Morier stepped up and plunged four feet of alchemically silvered steel through her torso.

In little more than ten seconds, the party of six had been reduced to a solitary woman with a pixie-sized arrow protruding from her hip. She glared at them through a haze of strong drink and rapidly coursing adrenaline, her hand still clinging to the crystal decanter she had been drinking from when the violence started. She came at Feln with it, screaming at the top of her lungs, "INTRUDERS!! INTRUDERS!! IN-"

She was cut off mid-scream by Feln's snap kick. It doubled her over and made her own awkward swing go well wide of the half-ogre. The open-palm strike he delivered to the back of her head drove her to the ground, splintering her face against the floorboards.

Hildegunna looked up as another door opened further down the hall and a man stepped out with a heavy blanket wrapped around his naked body. "Guys! I've got to relieve Nerramas down in the village at midnight. Could you please keep it dow-" he stopped, blinking sleepily at Hildegunna. "Who are you?"

The woman answered by speaking a droning litany of tongue-twisting syllables and weaving her arms as if she were playing an invisible harp. The man's face grew slack, his eyelids drooping to half-cover his pupils. A stupid grin started to spread across his face but at the last moment, he shook off the effects of the _Hypnotism_.

"You're not supposed to be here!" he shouted, dropping the blanket and running toward the door set in the end of the hall wearing naught but a loin clout. His shouts seemed to rattle the walls, "INTRUDERS!! INTRUDERS!!"


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> "Oi, White One," Karak grunted, pointing a thick finger at the eldritch warrior's arm. "Be ye needin' a whack from my stick o' healin'?"




Is this the kind of healing that does 2 points of damage to you before it heals 1d8 +3?   




			
				Jon Potter said:
			
		

> "You're not supposed to be here!" he shouted, dropping the blanket and running toward the door set in the end of the hall wearing naught but a loin clout.




Now is this guy armed or unarmed? And can he threaten a square?


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Is this the kind of healing that does 2 points of damage to you before it heals 1d8 +3?




No. Although I've played in a few of Rel's games where the orc healer had a club of healing that functioned in the manner you describe. That was great fun!

Karak's "sticks o' healing" also known as his "whacking sticks" are a standard wand of cure light wounds and wand of lesser vigor. Back when he took his first level of cleric (using the spontaneous divine caster variant from UA), he wasn't admitting to being anything other than a fighter/barbarian. When someone (Vade, I think) caught him healing someone, he immediately gave him the wands. But Karak maintained that a dwarf didn't use a wand and they weren't even properly-sized to whack someobody up-side the head. Which he then demonstrated on Vade. Which of course healed him of 1d8+3. So that's how Karak's been using them ever since.




> Now is this guy armed or unarmed? And can he threaten a square?




Well... he doesn't have a weapon in hand...

Extremely minor spoiler below:



Spoiler



You'll be surprised to know that this guy doesn't die, believe it or not.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #319] Search and Destroy*

Huair was the only one in a position to do anything about the fleeing man. He reached into the scroll organizer at his hip and produced a piece of particular piece of parchment. _"Lubrico!"_ he intoned, pointing at a spot just in front of the door at the end of the hall. The floorboards there instantly glistened with _Grease_ in the lamplight.

The running man's front foot contacted the area and immediately went out from underneath him. He landed hard on his back and his own momentum carried him unceremoniously into the door, where he lay for a moment, gasping for breath.

Still invisible, Huzair grinned widely as his scroll crumpled to dust.



"There's trouble," Morier said upon hearing the commotion in the hallway. Karak reacted quickly, moving toward the door with his axe ready.

Ledare, however, surveyed the carnage they had wrought in the room and grimaced. Certainly, during the course of performing her duties, she'd righteously dispatched many enemies, but something about this assault rubbed her wrong. These folk had been taken completely unawares and were without armor or weapons. It felt more like murder than warfare.

She was startled out of her own thoughts by a rush of air as Feln slipped passed her invisibly.



Feln reached the doorway two paces before Karak and darted silently passed him. He couldn't see Huzair, of course, but he was easily able to dodge around Hildegunna and barrel down the corridor toward the stunned man. He'd just hoisted him into the air  - becoming visible in the process - and was about to snap his pathetic neck when Feln heard Ledare holler, "Stop!"

Morier moved toward the half-ogre and his intended victim with one hand held out in a warding gesture. "Feln, let's not be too hasty to assume the intentions of those we encounter here... It would be a shame to come this far to rescue the girl and have her fall victim to a misunderstanding."

"What?" Feln asked, crestfallen. The man in his hand was very pale and very still and his eyes were wild with panic.

"I think he means we might be able to learn something from a live captive," Huzair's disembodied voice said from somewhere nearby. Under his breath, the mage snidely added, "I guess he forgot how well that went last time."

"I am maintaining the upper hand, these people will not stop to interogate us," the martial artist said sheepishly.

"We're here to find Shamalin, not to kill everyone in our path," Ledare said as she walked down the corridor. "We're not murderers!"

"Yeah!" Lela said as she landed on Feln's shoulder. "We're heroes."

"Perhaps we should take this man into one of these rooms and leave the ladies outside to stand watch," Huzair's voice hissed into Feln's other ear - loud enough for the man in Feln's grasp to hear. "If he talks, he'll not be killed. If he doesn't... well let's hope he talks."

That started the man squirming in fear and Feln cast him heavily to the ground between himself and Ledare. "Bah!" he growled. "I don't see interogation happening until we have secured this manor. We've no time for this."

Just then - as if to lend credence to the martial artist's assessment - the sound of many feet approaching the door at the end of the corridor at a brisk pace was heard.

"It's a bit late to say this," Hildegunna remarked to Ledare, "but you do realize that having a goal is not the same as having a plan, don't you?"


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #319a] You Sly Dog! You Got me Monologing*

"Karak, give me that movement ring for a spell," Feln hissed quickly, casting a wary glance at the door. "I'll give it back after this battle." He extended his hand waiting for the dwarf to throw the ring. Karak was having none of it, however.

"Nay, lad," he replied with a shake of his head. "I'll just be holdin' on to that for a bit. how else am I supposed to stand in the _Grease_ and smite my foes?"

Feln gritted his teeth in frustration and a rumbling growl built momentarily in his chest. "Fine!" he snapped after a moment. "Ten paces back down the hall. I will let them pass and then we will crush them between us." He was in motion at once, opening a nearby door and slipping into the empty bedroom. As he went, he spoke to Lela. "Sprite? Can you handle this... captive?" he asked, casting a disparaging glance in Ledare's direction. "Make him a non-threat or I will." Lela nodded and leapt into the air, pulling out a pinch of _Dust of Greater Slumber_.

She sprinkled it on the man and he returned at once to the dreamland from which he'd been awakened by the VQS' raid. Morier quickly hoisted him up by his arms and dragged him into another empty bedroom.

"Hilde, I want you in there guarding that man. If he comes to, extract what information you can," Ledare said to her and Hildegunna shook her blonde head.

"I think not," she began. "My abilities-"

"I wasn't asking," Ledare replied, her gaze steely. For a heartbeat, she and Hildegunna stared one another down, but in the end, the priestess  acquiesced and darted into the room that Morier was just exiting. She spared the Janissary a contemptuous look before closing the door.

"It seems our captive has brought more prisoners," Karak muttered as he, Ledare and Morier formed a fighting wedge in the hallway. "Let's dispatch them quickly and find the priestess. May my axe blade strike true!"

"Consider that these men do not know what we have done, Karak. If they choose to speak, we should give them the opportunity," Ledare remarked even as she slipped into a defensive posture. "This night need not lead to further slaughter." She said that last a bit louder for the invisible Huzair's benefit, but if he took the hint, he gave no sign of it.

Morier gave Ledara a nod as he raised his greatsword. "I will follow your lead," he said.

"Aye," Karak nodded. "I'll await yer decision to strike as well."

Ledare mouthed a quick prayer to Flor that they had not made a gruesome mistake. And then the door thudded as something heavy struck the other side. There was much grunting and cursing from beyond and then the door opened out into a grand hallway of some sort that was lit by lamps set into the walls. There was no time to see more before the doorway was crowded with men and women. The first one in line snarled at the intruders and charged forward... or rather he started to.

His foot contacted the _Grease_ and he went down heavily on his back. Hands reached out and pulled him back to safety. And for a moment, there was an awkward staring match as the two groups regarded one another across the glistening stretch of hallway. It was the Janissary who made the first move toward breaking the stalemate.

"We seek the half-elf, Shamalin," Ledare said, conspicuously displaying the holy symbol of Flor she wore around her neck. The reaction of the men in the first rank was less than positive.

"Never heard of her, b*tch!" one sneered, spitting a gobbet of phlegm into the _Grease_.

"She one o' them village women?" a second asked.

"Yeah! We ate most of them!" a female voice shouted from the rear, prompting laughter from crowd. The phlegm-spitter raised his bastard sword and leveled it at Ledare across the patch of _Grease_.

"We got ya out-numbered an' out-muscled," he told her confidently. "Now drop your sword."

"Shamlin is a priestess of Flor," Ledare said, staring at the man's face, ignoring his sword. "She came here with a group calling themselves the Speckled Band." The phlegm-spitter looked at her as if she'd suddenly sprouted a second head.

"Maybe you didn't hear me, b*tch," he spat. "I said drop your ferking sword! Now!!"

"Enough!" a voice commanded from behind the wall of flesh and steel and a change fell at once over the unruly mob. With fearful glances and down-turned eyes, they parted and a man pushed his way to the fore. The warriors shrank away from his touch. It was not Heurist, although there were obvious similarities between this man and the priest of Aphyx that Ledare had been expecting. Like Heurist he was dressed in a tattered brown robe with a cassock of mossy green and a stole the color of an infected scab. And like Heurist, his face was a disaster of boils and running sores. But a many-pointed arrow had been branded into this man's forehead. And he carried a corroded heavy mace in one hand, appearing hale despite the obvious outward signs of disease. He looked at Ledare and Karak and Morier with obvious contempt.

"You and your little band have caused us quite a bit of trouble, Florian," he told her and Huzair recognized the man's voice as being the one he'd heard speak to him with the _Ring of Communication_. "Killing Sir Brin was a serious blow to the Order of Defilers. All to find a lost priestess?"

"Yes," Ledare said, wrinkling her nose in disgust - the man exuded a stench of decay and corruption. "Where is Shamalin?"

"She was given to Blackheart," the priest said simply. His scabbrous lips split into a gap-toothed smile. "And so she is dead. As will you be in but a few moments. You see, our master has arrived." He was looking passed the group then, at the far end of the corridor and despite herself, Ledare felt compelled to turn and look as well.

She immediately wished she hadn't.

Standing in the room by which they had entered the mansion stood a great shadowy thing. It wore black full plate that sagged awkwardly on its skeletonized body. Two points of azure flame burned in the black sockets of its helmetted skull. A tattered black cape trailed behind it like a reluctant shadow. In one hand it carried a black mace of enormous size whose head was rendered in the shape of a spike-crowned skull. The armored skeleton stood between them and the way out.

"Death..," it rasped. "Death to Her enemies..."


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Oooh, Death Knight? Or something "better"?


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Oooh, Death Knight? Or something "better"?




Does Death Knight weilding an artifact count as both?


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #320] Blackheart*

"Gods," Morier gasped as he beheld the black figure. Reflexively, his eyes darted around looking for whatever advantage the hallway had to offer them. There wasn't any, but Karak caught sight of the movement as the dwarf was spitting into the palm of his gauntlet and misinterpreted it as a sign that the elf was looking for escape.

"Why what be the matter, Morier?" the dwarf chuckled darkly. "At the first sign of a demon of chaos you want to turn arse and run?  Hah!  That be the problem of you elves, you are too used to hidin' behind your bows."

"The only question in my mind is whether to fight in the rear or to the fore," he replied. "And... I choose the rear!" He raised his axe and took a single step before Ledare's voice stopped him in his tracks.

"No, Karak! Draw him to us!" she hissed, lifting up on the handle of the bedroom into which she'd just exiled Hildegunna and slamming her armored shoulder against it. "The hallway is a killing field!"

"And running away won't save you!" the Plaguebringer who wasn't Heurist sneered as he drew a tiny bead from his belt and tossed it at Ledare. Unfortunately, his footing was unsteady and his aim was extremely poor; it struck the ground where Ledare had been standing rather than striking the Janissary herself. The bead detonated on the floor sending out a wave of magical force that slammed into everyone within ten feet of its impact. Husair was knocked painfully to the floor and as he got to his knees he saw that a nearly-transparent globe of force filled the ten foot hallway behind him.

"_Otiluke's Resilient Sphere_," he thought to himself. If it had struck Ledare she would have been trapped inside the sphere, helpless. "That's not coming down any time soon."

"Aaaagh!! You have a weakling's luck, Florian!" the Plaguebringer cursed at Ledare. His nose was bleeding from the explosion - missing his intended target had put him within the blast radius. He half-turned and shouted, "Get around to the window, you fools! Make sure she does not escape! Blackheart will want to break that one personally."



Karak was pissed. He was not a progressive dwarf and he retained a healthy distrust of magic - a hold over from another age when men and elves used magic and dwarves wielded axes... and that's the way they liked it. No, Karak didn't like spells flying on the battlefield and he especially didn't like spells that cut him off from his allies. Only Morier remained on this side of the force sphere and he looked somewhat dazed by the explosion. No matter. So long as there was an enemy to vent his displeasure on, he was happy.

"My axe comes for ye!" he bellowed, spittle flying recklessly from his mouth as he charged the skeletal figure. He could feel the oily aura of fear surrounding the figure an instant before he slammed his waraxe into the undead thing's belly. The weapon bit deeply into the creature's torso, opening a ghastly rent in its plate armor. No sooner had Karak drawn the weapon back than the hole closed as if it had never been there in the first place.

Despite the haze of battle rage, the dwarf felt a tiny prickle of uncertainty touch his heart.



Inside the room, Ledare pressed ineffectually against the sphere of force blocking the doorway. It was useless.

"How badly... are you... hurt?" Hildegunna gasped behind her and Ledare turned to see the priestess getting awkwardly to her feet, clutching her ribs as she did so. Her face was a mask of pain and blood flowed freely from her mouth and from one ear. Their prisoner, sleeping blissfully on a bed along the wall was well out of range of the force blast, but Hildegunna clearly hadn't been so lucky; she'd been standing near the door when Ledare opened it and had taken the same punishment from the explosion that the Janissary had.

"Hildegunna!" Ledare exclaimed, concerned in spite of herself but the cleric waived her away.

"I only have... two curative miracles... left to me," the woman managed. "The White Lady expects me... to heal those... in the most need." She smiled grimly, her teeth stained with crimson. "Even if that means... you, Ledare."



Huzair stood up painfully, although it felt like something had broken in his gut. He needed healing, but Ledare had seen fit to put their only cleric off in a room by herself. There was nothing she could do for him. He popped a healing draught from his potion belt and was getting ready to unstopper it when he saw the Grease spell dissipate. Fortunately he'd been going over his available spells while Ledare was chatting up the locals and he had mica dust in-hand.

_"Aureolus pulvis!"_ he intoned and cast the dust into the air, filling immediately with _Glitterdust_ the area around the doorway. The Plaguebringer was within the area of effect and was thus coated liberally with sparkling gold, but he managed to blink away the blinding effect and regarded the newly-visible Huzair with seething hatred. That is, he did so until Feln delivered an eagle-claw-strike to the back of the man's head. The Plaguebringer reeled forward from the impact and turned his scathing gaze on the now-visible Feln instead.

Huzair tossed back his potion with a quick jerk perfected in the drinking halls of Farmin where he was known as 'Black-Smoke-Who-Drinks-Like-Dwarf'.



Lela had been lurking above the door, standing, undetected on the door frame. As soon as Feln did his thing, she finished doing hers and cloaked herself in _Barkskin_. Then she darted under lintel, readying a generous fistful of _Dust of Confusion_ to deliver to the enemies massed against the doorframe.



Morier moved forward to fight at Karak's side muttering the words to a _True Strike_ spell as he came. As soon as he got close he saw the skeletal warrior finally raise his mace against them. It struck Karak like a sledge and clipped Morier on the follow-through. The mace barely touched him, but even so, the elf felt a numbness fill his body, sapping him of both strength and nimbleness as it drove him to the depths of exhaustion.



"Quick!  Can your healing travel through this spell?" Ledare shouted at Hildegunna as the Janissary again slammed the pommel of her bastard sword uselessly against the bubble of force blocking the doorway. "The others need your help more than I." The priestess shook her head grimly.

"I must lay hands on them to confer My Lady's blessing," she said. "If you can breach the sphere..." Now it was Ledare's turn to shake her head.

"I've been trying," she confessed. "It's no good. Do you have any spells that can get us out of here?"

"No," Hildegunna said simply prompting a frenzied assault on the wall from Ledare.  Ravager chewed ugly grooves in the panelling, but  the Janissary quickly realized that it would take far too long to hack through the wall. Time that the others' clearly didn't have. She watched through the _Resilient Sphere_, feeling more helpless than she had in a very long time. Not since the Chagmat...

"Stay in the present!" she commanded herself through gritted teeth, unwilling to let her mind draw her back there. She turned and took in the room with a glance. The window was large enough to let her and Hildegunna escape.

"I'm going out the window. Can you follow me?" Ledare asked the tall woman, mindful of her injuries. With some effort Hildegunna swallowed back some blood and nodded. "Then grab a cloak or something to disguise yourself. We're getting out of here!"



"An ogre!" the Plaguebringer hissed up at Feln, his voice dripping with surprise. "Time to feel my lady's touch!" He spoke a few words in a dark language and reached a hand out toward the half-ogre. That's all the farther he got, however, before Feln's own long arm snapped outward, slamming opportunistically into the man's forehead with all the power of a battering ram. Momentarily stunned by the blow, the cleric staggered backward, his concentration shattered.

There was a cascading pop-p-pop-popping sound as his _Inflict Critical Wounds_ spell went awry. Unbridled by the Plaguebringer's intent, the miscast spell energy manifested as a burst of burning black flames that filled the corridor as far as the _Resilient Sphere_ and spread out into the area beyond the door. [1]

Inexplicably, Feln managed to evade the spell energy entirely, twisting and turning his body to avoid the tongues of fire. Huzair relied on his innate resistance to fire to protect him from harm, but nonetheless made an effort to dodge the worst of the effect. He wasn't as quick as the half-ogre, however, and found himself burned badly by the divine manifestation.

The Plaguebringer, caught dead center of the fiery blast, was killed instantly by the explosion, his diseased flesh burned to a blackened crust by the licking ebon flames. He screamed briefly and collapsed in a smoking heap.

Neither Huzair nor Feln were in any position to see what occurred in the hall beyond the doorway, but they heard plenty of screams coming through the opening as the flames blossomed into the space beyond. Unfortunately, Lela was in such a position, and one of those screams was hers. She was flying over the heads of the half-dozen-or-so enemies crowding around the doorway when the black fireball exploded. And she saw the flames envelop all of them in its dark embrace and instant before they slammed into her cruelly. Her _Barkskin_ did nothing to protect her from the searing heat and she cried out in pain at their touch.



Karak felt... diminished by the hit he'd taken from that black mace. It had stolen something from him - lifeforce, perhaps, or vitality. Who knew? And more over, who cared? In the grips of his rage, all Karak truly cared about was hacking into little pieces this creature of the pits. And his beloved waraxe - crafted with his own hands in the forges of Dwurheim - sadly wasn't up to task.

He dropped the weapon and drew again the longsword he'd taken off Sir Brin's body. And then, gripping the blade with both hands, he swung it at the skeletal thing, hewing deeply into its left thigh. The monster grunted in pain and regarded the dwarf with renewed hatred.

"Once I've properly shaved it, thy skin will make a fine pillow for my feet, dwarf!" the undead creature taunted. Karak, barely heard him, so happy was he to see that the sword wound didn't close as soon as he withdrew his weapon.



_"Incensio Terum!"_ Huzair intoned, sending a sheet of his own fire into the midst of the still smoking warriors crowded in the doorway. The way they were bunched up, only three of them were positioned to be damaged by his spell, but of those three, two of them fell to the ground screaming as the flesh was literally cooked off their bodies by the wizard's magic. The third man's clothing was caught on fire by the spell, and he shrieked in fear as the flames licked up his body.

Feln ended the man's plaintive cries with a fist to the chest that dropped him in his tracks. Huzair winced at the audible sound of breaking bones as the blow struck home.



"This is for Wolf, you slimeballs," Lela whispered as she sprinkled her handful of dust over the crowd, taking heart when most of those left standing did little other than that. They stood. And blinked their eyes in confusion.

Satisfied with her performance thus far, the faen landed on a bench set against the opposite wall of the great hall and nearly crumpled. She had been brought to the very brink of unconsciousness by the explosion and the Plaguebringer's miscast spell. If she didn't heal herself, she'd not be long for this world.



On the opposite end of the corridor, Morier *knew* that he was not long for this world. He was reeling from the glancing blow of the dead thing's mace and again, he glanced around the room looking for the fastest way out: a window... a door...  Distantly, he recognized the cries of his fellow party members through the walls, and could plainly see Karak's grimace at the sound pounding he had just taken. But the dwarf was still fighting; seemingly prepared to trade swordblow for macestrike with the ghastly horror despite the fact that it was clearly Karak who would be on the losing end of such a deal.

Even the dwarf's new sword was no match for that huge black mace.

"The mace..." Morier thought to himself... "that thing will kill everybody."

He steeled his determination, knowing full well that he had to do it.  It was risky, but it might full-well save lives.  He'd need some help from the gods to make it work, but it was a risk he needed to take. And so he lunged, bringing his greatsword up as quickly as he could (which was not very quickly at all given that the blade seemed to weigh three times what it did before he'd been struck by his opponent's strength-sapping weapon) and ducked beneath an opportunistic swing from the skeletal warrior.

It was a difficult maneuver under the best of circumstances, made more difficult still due to the albino's weakness. But the gods, it seemed, had indeed seen fit to aid the endeavor and between their help and the _True Strike_ spell that Morier had already cast, he made a difficult maneuver look easy. The point of the silvered sword caught amidst his opponent's fingers, slid up and between them, forcing the skeleton's grip away from the mace's haft. Morier drove his weight against his sword's hilt, twisting the quillons and sending the black mace flying through the air. It tumbled end over end and landed behind Karak, some ten feet from the undead thing's grasp. [2]

"Waaargh!!!" the undead creature roared, its eyes flaring with cold fire. "That mace was given me by Melangar himself, worm! But I was a potent force for Lady Death long before that time. My power is more than a match for your feeble efforts!" And saying thus, it reached out and touched Morier's shoulder. Just touched him; that's all.

And the elf felt negative energy course into his body as more of his life drained away.


------------------------


[1] Thank you, Ronin Arts' "Lost Spells". A great resource for spell failure. Not all are this spectacular, but all add a level of cool to magic that "The spell fizzles" seems to lack.

[2] Natural 20 on the Disarm check! Despite the fact that a) you can't critical a Disarm and b) even if you could, Undead can't be criticalled, I ruled that such a fantabulous roll (remember he had True Strike going, too) resulted in the weapon flying randomly out of Blackheart's square. I treated it like a grenade-like weapon miss.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> it reached out and touched Morier's shoulder. Just touched him; that's all.
> 
> And the elf felt negative energy course into his body as more of his life drained away.





Ow! Safety word, safety word!


----------



## Funeris

By the gods, Jon.  I've been away from your story hour, what a couple months at most?  And I come back to fantastic after fantastic update.  Absolutely amazing.  You make me worry for your characters...the description of the Plaguebringer was great.

Now that I'm done kissing booty, a couple questions...

1.  Is Hothead...I mean...Hotair...I mean Huzair actually Vade's player?  There seems to me to be a similarity between Huzair's ability to grate on the integrety of the party as compared to a certain ranger the party once traveled (albeit briefly) with.  If this is Vade's player, which is my best guess, then was that ranger a PC or NPC.  I can't for the life of me remember.

2.  Is your wife enjoying her new character?  It certainly comes across that way...and I'm enjoying the faen as well.  I think she fits much better with the party than Ixin did.  Just my opinion though.  I think the loquacious aspect of the character must fulfill the chatty-role that was left vacant with poor Vade's demise.  Perhaps that predisposes me to enjoy the character...dunno.

Alright...enough blathering from me.  Good job on the updates.  Excellent writing.  And I'm truly waiting on the edge of my seat for more.  

~Fune


----------



## Jon Potter

Funeris said:
			
		

> By the gods, Jon.  I've been away from your story hour, what a couple months at most?  And I come back to fantastic after fantastic update.  Absolutely amazing.




Well, I make it a point of posting at least once a week. Two months away makes a minimum of 8 updates.



> You make me worry for your characters...the description of the Plaguebringer was great.




My goal is to make the players worry, but I'll take what I can get.   

I'm glad you like Callethorne (the Plaguebringer). Too bad he didn't survive longer...



> 1.  Is Hothead...I mean...Hotair...I mean Huzair actually Vade's player?




Yep. Exactly right.



> If this is Vade's player, which is my best guess, then was that ranger a PC or NPC.  I can't for the life of me remember.




That depends... Do you mean Grisham or Windstryder? Grisham was an NPC, Windstryder was a PC.



> 2.  Is your wife enjoying her new character?  It certainly comes across that way...and I'm enjoying the faen as well.  I think she fits much better with the party than Ixin did.  Just my opinion though.  I think the loquacious aspect of the character must fulfill the chatty-role that was left vacant with poor Vade's demise.  Perhaps that predisposes me to enjoy the character...dunno.




Thankfully, she seems to be. I think she enjoys each successive character a little more than the previous (Lela better than Ixin and Ixin better that Kirnoth). It'd be more than a tad unfun for me around the house if she kept pining for characters that I've killed off.  



> Alright...enough blathering from me.  Good job on the updates.  Excellent writing.  And I'm truly waiting on the edge of my seat for more.




You picked a very exciting time to jump back in. There are some major changes in party dynamic upcoming. Actually, how about I just post another update later today to 'celebrate' your return to the SH.

And it's a doozy!


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## Funeris

Hey, you wanna 'celebrate' my return, don't let me stop you 

Yeah, I think I meant Grisham...we was a pain in the ass, right?  Good to know that was you 

~Fune


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #321] A Dark Day*

Hoping to draw the thing's attention away from Morier, Karak kept at the skeletal warrior's flank, slamming his enchanted longsword against his opponent's legs, but it was no use. Even with a magical blade, the undead thing's armor was thick and not easily pierced, and Karak's inexperience with a longsword showed in his ineffective attacks.



Feln barely waited for the body in front of him to fall to the ground before he stepped over it and squeezed his bulk through the doorway. To his left was a spellcaster of some sort - probably a priest judging by the vulgar symbol of Aphyx hanging around her neck - to his right was a man with a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other who regarded him with evil intent. Arrayed beyond them were three others: one woman who merely stared blankly as if unsure where she was and two men armed with the familiar sword and dagger combination favored by so many warriors they'd faced in Miller's Pond. There was no sign of Lela, and a finger of fear touched Feln's heart. In a dark corner of his mind he allowed himself to picture the little sprite washed in a wave of flame and burned away to nothing... He actually had to shake his head to remove the image from his mind's eye and get himself back to the task at hand.

Spellcasters were unpredictable, Feln knew, but he judged at a glance that the opponent on his right was the greater immediate threat. The cleric began to call on divine aid and the half-ogre took the opportunity to punch her in the chest. She sagged under the blow as the wind was driven violently from her lungs. Instantly, the hall darkened as the candles and lamps set along the walls tried and failed to compete with the evil shadows that suddenly grew in the spaces between. From them leered grotesque faces ravaged by plague; unwholesome limbs that were riddled with disease reached outward menacingly. Behind it all, stood a woman who was both beautiful and horrible with piercing red eyes, enormous leathery wings and a rat's tail and claws. She groaned in displeasure and black corruption spilled from her lips and drooled down her naked torso. [1]

Of those who beheld the horrible vision, only Feln and one of the warriors near the back had the presence of mind to look away. Huzair, Lela and all the enemies in the hall were stunned by the horrible glimpse of Aphyx.

Under the circumstances, Feln reconsidered his earlier assessment and decided to kill the spellcaster first. She went down with her head hanging at an impossible angle.



Morier took the momentary distraction offered by Karak's attack to step away from the undead thing and imbue himself with _Bull's Strength_. The power filled him, making his muscles distend with strength, but even so, it was not enough to fully offset what had been stolen by that initial blow from the mace.

"Thou shouldst have stayed in thy borrow beneath the mountains, dwarf," the skeleton was saying. "This land will once again be my Lady's realm and all the folk in it will be as cattle before the slaughter!" He reached down and brushed his withered hand along Karak's arm, draining a bit of the dwarf's life away.

Karak tried to retaliate, but again his blows were frustrated by his opponent's armor.



The one warrior who had resisted the stunning effects of the divine image staggered forward, shaken but still intent on dispatching Feln if he could. Unfortunately, the half-ogre's reach allowed him to strike the man before he could even get within sword range. He fell to the floor, knocked unconscious by the blow.

"Wizard, can you fight on?" the half-ogre called to Huzair. "Tend to that bubble! I'll let you know if anyone is coming." There was no response from the mage, and Feln turned toward the swordsman on his right, kicking the stunned man fiercely in the crotch. It was enough to make the warrior double over in pain, but not enough to drop him. He blinked his eyes as if trying unsuccessfully to return himself to the fight.



Morier moved reluctantly into a flanking position. He was injured, but Karak was dead if Morier fled. "We could use a little help here!" he shouted as he swung his greatsword at the monster's back. It rebounded harmlessly from the heavy plate armor.

"There is no help for thee here," the skeleton taunted, "only death at my hand and an eternity as my slave!" He brushed his hand almost lovingly against the albino's cheek and Morier felt an icy tug as more of his soul was burned away by the negative energy that coursed through the undead thing.

He cried out in despair, and it was answered by a battle cry from across the room as Ledare charged in from the side door with Ravager held high. She brought the black sword down mightily onto the skeleton's shoulder, and the saw-toothed blade bit through the armor there. The undead warrior shrieked in pain.

Heartened by the arrival of aid, Karak swung his own sword once! Twice! Opening two additional rents in the creature's armor and hewing into the bones beneath. The thing swayed unsteadily on its feet, clearly injured by the VQS' assault.

"Begone! Blasphemous pit spawn! Your presence is an affront to Flor!" Hildegunna said from the doorway, her holy symbol held firmly in one bloodied hand. Despite the fact that she could barely stand, she pulsed with power as she called on her goddess' divine hand to turn the mockery of life.

It had absolutely no effect and the undead thing began to laugh.



Huzair recovered from the stunning glimpse into Aphyx's realm and immediately began casting a spell. _"Magicus telum!"_ he intoned and pointed at one of the warrior's visible through the doorway. Two ruddy missiles of pure force arced from his finger, evaded Feln and sizzled into his chosen target's chest.

Lela recovered at almost the same moment and imbued herself with some much-needed healing energy, easing the pains of the burns she'd suffered. Spotting the glow of divine energy, Feln smiled. Then he snapped the neck of the man to his right.

"Little Sprite!" he called as a simple mantis kick downed the combatant that Huzair had just injured. "Are you okay?"

"I'm hurt," she confessed. "But I'll live."

It might be better for you to withdraw now," the half-ogre suggested. "I cannot stand to lose another comrade!"

Unfortunately for Feln, the choice was out of his hands.



Morier again slammed his sword against the undead thing's back, but again his sword did nothing to it, but cause a dent that healed as soon as the blade was withdrawn.

"Thou may have beaten me, Florian!" the skeleton seemed to sneer at Ledare. "But there is no victory for thee here! Only death! Even in defeat I strike at thee!" It gestured and a blast of abyssal fire detonated in front of Ledare, filling the room with unholy fire.



It wasn't Karak's destiny to be immolated by the devastating fireball, and Shaharizod's hand guided him to a place protected from the blast. He dived behind the undead creature and found safety in its shadow; once the instantaneous ball of fire disappeared, he stood miraculously unhurt behind the charred remains of the death knight. 

No one else faired as well. Ledare and Morier had both fallen and weren't moving. Hildegunna had been reduced to a pile of smoldering ash.


--------------------------


[1]Another of the Ronin Arts "Lost Spell" effects.


----------



## Funeris

Beautiful.



~Fune


----------



## Jon Potter

Funeris said:
			
		

> Beautiful.




Yeah? Ledare's player didn't think so.

Actually, none of the players thought so, come to think of it.


----------



## Wystan

Any chance of a PDF or DOC of this?


----------



## Funeris

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> Yeah? Ledare's player didn't think so.
> 
> Actually, none of the players thought so, come to think of it.




Must be the DM part of me enjoying it then 

And, Wystan...you can always go up to Thread Tools and Download Thread if you need an offline copy...the bonus of that is you'll get all of Harry Minotaur's witty comments as well.

~Fune


----------



## Jon Potter

Wystan said:
			
		

> Any chance of a PDF or DOC of this?





Well, I certainly could if there's an interest.

I already posted story predating that which is covered here on the board. You can download the Zipped Word files  here,  here, and here.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #322] A Fallen Soldier*

Shock slammed into Karak as he beheld the devastation wrought by the skeletal warrior's spiteful act, and it knocked him out of his rage immediately. He hardly seemed to notice the lethargy that always followed his frenzied state, but it pulled at his limbs, making his armor feel heavy and every movement an effort. He ignored it and pulled one of the healing sticks from his belt.

"Ah... Morier," the dwarf muttered as he stepped up to the fallen albino. "It seems ye fall just when I be gettin' to like ye. I'd say that was some fine disarmament you did there. I can nae say I could have done it alone. Despite being a faeire elf, you were a brave warrier." Saying thus, he channeled a bit of the wand's healing energy into Morier's body and was happy to see the worst of the elf's terrific burns slough off, revealing healthy - if a trifle pale - skin beneath.

Morier groaned and started to stir, but Karak placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Stay low and act dead, white one," he whispered. "Nae sense makin' yerself a target."

In Morier's present condition, acting dead wasn't proving to be a problem.



At the other end of the corridor, Feln dispatched the last of their opposition with frightening speed and efficiency. For a heartbeat, the large hallway was silent. Then Feln was in motion again. He'd seen the flash of light - they all had - when the undead creature's _fireball_ had detonated, but in the silence that followed, there was no way of telling what had transpired beyond the _Resilient Sphere_.

"Huzair!" the half-ogre bellowed, gesturing in the sphere's general direction. "Can you bring down that spell?" The wizard looked at him as if he were insane.

"That is a spell of the 8th Circle! I am a Magus of the 2nd Circle, so obviously I can't do a damned thing about it!" Huzair snapped back even as he began to cast.

All Feln understood of the mage's reply was the part about being powerless to help. So he scanned the hall quickly and formulated a new plan. "Huzair, Lela," he barked. "We need to move. Heal up and let's go!"

"Give me a minute..." Huzair grumbled as he used _Detect Magic_ to scan their fallen foes. A dagger, a ring and a potion vial on the Plaguebringer glowed with potency.



Still lying flat out on the floor, Morier watched as Karak moved over toward Ledare. The Janissary was splayed out on her back, and the eldritch warrior could see that she didn't stir when Karak touched her with the healing wand. But that's all he had time for before the enemy's reinforcements arrived.

"By Aphyx's bloody blade!" a gruff voice hissed and Karak turned to face the doorway. There stood three men, each armed with bastard sword and dagger, although none was clad in more than the soft leathers typically worn beneath heavier armor. The two in the rear were young, probably not much older than twenty years, but the man in the center was clearly more seasoned, his face lined from weather and experience. It was he who was talking.

"You slew the death knight! You slew Blackheart?!" his gaze flicked back and forth between the skeletal warrior and Karak.

"Aye!" the dwarf agreed, defiantly. "An' I'll do the same to ye if ye''ve a taste for crossed blades." This gave the man pause, and one of the two youths actually took a step back as if ready to flee. But the leader was better trained and he could tell that Karak, was bluffing. The bloodstains and sooty smears that marred the dwarf's platemail were testament to the beating he'd already taken. And there was a weariness about him that, while it didn't show in his resolute stare, was clearly manifest in the way he carried himself.

"I think not," the man said after a moment's study and motioned for the youths to take up flanking positions. "I think you'll throw down your sword and I'll march you helpless back to Deathshead. It should be amusing to see what Melengar does to you when he finds out you slew his favored knight of old." The man grinned darkly at the imagined torture. "Now drop your sword."

"Never," Karak spat back, settling himself into a defensive stance in front of Ledare's body. And the battle was joined.

The youth on Karak's left stepped onto the dwarf's flank and slashed with his bastard sword, but Karak raised his shield and turned the blade aside. When he raised the shield, the veteran charged in and drove the point of his own sword into the gap in the armor beneath Karak's shield arm. The dwarf bellowed in pain and brought his longsword slashing up across the veteran's torso. He tried to bring the blade back down across the throat of the youth to his right, but the lad was took quick for the tired dwarf and he avoided the stroke with ease even as he moved into position. His bastard sword came down at an awkward angle, skittering harmlessly off Karak's shoulder guard.

The other youth slashed again with his sword, but this time Karak dodged the blow entirely. The stabbing thrust from the boy's dagger, too found nothing but air. Their leader slashed with his bastard sword and dagger, but both attacks were foiled by the dwarf's heavy armor. Karak, however, had no such difficulties.

His sword thrust opened a bloody wound on the veteran's shoulder and then severed a vital artery in the man's throat as Karak pulled it back. The shocked warrior fell to the ground, his lifeblood fountaining outward from his ruined neck.

That was enough for the two younger fighters. They turned tail and ran out the same door they'd come in by. The darkness outside soon swallowed them and Karak sighed with relief.



Several moment's later, Feln, Lela and Huzair rushed into the room by the same door that Blackheart had used to get behind the VQS. They found Morier and Karak sitting beside Ledare's burned body. The dwarf was praying.

"Oh... Lass it seems this time you came to my aid and it be your last.  But I will tell you this, I will find the Priestess of Flor and bring her home. Whether it be her or just be her spirit, I will do it.  I know it be your wish," he said to the corpse before turning his head to the heavens and continuing.

"Shaharizod, that be a foul end to a foul beast that took two of my companions down like that.  I shall always be reminded of the cruelty of chaos, and I vow to you now I will continue to fight Aphyx with your blessed guidance!" Karak finished, his words growing stronger and with more conviction as he spoke the vow over the earthly remains of the last member of a group that had set out one morning many moonsdances past to fetch some supplies from a hospital in Barnacus...


----------



## Funeris

<sigh> the End of an Era <sigh>


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## Jon Potter

Funeris said:
			
		

> <sigh> the End of an Era <sigh>




It really was! I'm glad that some of the early npcs (like Sir Brin, for instance) got to make another appearance while there was still a PC to recognize them. There's now no solid connection to where the campaign started; Karak has a tenuous connection to Barnacus, but that's it.

Fortunately, Ledare's player made a special point of sharing the backstory with the rest of the group on more than one occassion, so it's easy to fudge player v. character knowledge of the plot so far.

But I'll admit to hesitating. I almost didn't have Blackheart use his fireball so that Ledare could survive. The ground zero fireball was a cheap shot and fitting for a minion of evil, though. And in the end, if I'd pulled my punch there, it would have cheapened every other character death in the game.

I won't say I'm glad Ledare's dead, but I am glad that I killed her.


----------



## Kristeneve

Let it be said that within two weeks of posting my first remarks on Jon's story hour, my character of seven years bites the big one.  It is small comfort that she died at the DM's hand.  If my new character is short-lived following *this* post, I assure you that you'll never hear from me again.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #323] Shamalin*

"Oh, gods!! Morier, you look awful! Karak?!? What happened? The Janissary..," Feln began but his voice trailed off. On his shoulder, Lela piped up.

"She's dead?" the faen asked and tears began to roll down her tiny cheeks. Huzair said nothing, his attention fixed on something shiny in his hands.

"Karak, can't you heal her?" Feln asked. "I see you fight with your healer abilities, and you wish you did not have them... but Ledare needs it." Karak sighed into his beard and shook his head.

"The Lass... when the Demon was in its death throes it seemed to cast off some infernal chaos fire ball. I never seen the likes of it," the dwarf explained. "I know that bringing back Ledare be beyond my powers. I think it even be beyond Malak's powers."

"I don't know how we will progress without her," Feln muttered and Karak looked him in the eye.

"Feln, I tell you this: I be nae done yet. I think we should carry her back to town and see what the Priestess of Flor can do for her," he said. "Her spirit is strong and she be strongly linked with her goddess now as a neophyte holy warrior. Maybe it be easier to bring her back. I do nae know how much time we have, but it may nae be longer than a few days."

"We must bring her back!" the half-ogre nodded. "I will carry her to where ever they can bring her soul back!"

"We all feel for the loss of Ledare," Morier groaned, weakly pushing himself to his knees. Karak helped the eldritch warrior drag himself the rest of the way to his feet. "Her leadership, her sense of calm, and her grace under pressure were all qualities that cannot be understated. It is commendable that in the face of the odds against her, her service to the King and to Flor were forever without waver." Morier bowed his head in referent silence and so did the others.

All except Huzair who instead took a moment to light up a cigar. Once it was going properly, he clapped his hands together. The resulting sound was startlingly loud in the entryway. "Grieve later, people. We have work to do," he said, earning some angry glances from the others. He didn't notice as he looked sadly down at Ledare's scorched body. "It figures chaos would destroy roses and spare a pair of thorns."

Karak harrumphed and Lela stamped her little foot on Feln's shoulder.

"Why are you so mean?" she demanded, her hands balled into tiny fists. Huzair blew smoke in her direction and waved off the question.

"Morier knows I am glad he is okay... and the dwarf too," he explained. "It's just that I'm sorry to see two lovely ladies struck down."

"We all will miss Ledare," Morier grumbled, staring darkly at the wizard.

"Aye, her loss will be long and hard. That be for sure," Karak added. "She be the orginal founding member of this little band of companions, I know that. I cannot even think of the next day without her and her leadership and her kind ways. But now is not the time to ponder that loss. I won't say good bye until we know it's goodbye."

"That being said, I think her loss changes our mission," Morier put in. "We've not the King's call to answer to any more, nor that of Flor. We came to this place out of her loyalty as a Florian and her pledge to find the girl, Shamalin. At the present, we're individually and collectively weakened by what we have faced already, and to put ourselves in further peril for what seems a lost cause would be foolhardy."

"Aye, we can leave this manor as soon as we have dispatched the evil that resides herein and find the priestess or her remains," Karak argued, his face resolute. "Ledare may be gone, but I still remain. And for as long as I be standin' here, I will finish this mission."

"Karak..," Morier started but the dwarf pressed on.

"Flor and Shaharizod be sisters and I do nae mean to leave this mission untended to," he stated flatly. Morier sighed.

"I have been given a gift from the Seers of the Grove, a gift which enables us to get to the very heart of the evil that now crushes the Realms," the albino pleaded. " It is in our best interest and the best interest of all of those around us to use that gift while I am still here. I have tasted death today... and it has served to strengthen my resolve to follow the pull toward making Dridana whole." Now it was Karak's turn to sigh, and the dwarf's face softened a bit as he did so.

"I do nae know what trials you went through in the grove. I'll give you that. But evil does not only reside at the end of your compass," the battered warrior said, waving his sword around to encompass everything around them. "The plague of chaos surrounds us, and this evil manor represents it here and now. I will not leave it alone. I won't, I say!"

"And I say we return the bodies of the Florians to the temple in Floxen and seek their aid in our recovery," Morier challenged. "And then we begin the task of ending this evil for good!"

"If that be the way ye feel, I'll nae stop ye," Karak said with a sad shake of his head. "But I swore an oath over Ledare's body that I'd find this Shamalin or what remains of her and see her returned to the temple o' Flor. And I'll nae break me vow." Again the eldritch warrior sighed expansively.

"There is an old story that applies here, Karak. You'll forgive me as I translate it through three tongues," Morier responded and began recounting his parable. "The fool and the wise man awoke one morning to find that both were plagued by bees invading their houses. In both cases, the swarm had made their hive in a branch that hung directly above the side door. The fool chased down each and every bee and was stung a thousand times before he rid himself of the pests three moonsdances later. The wise man used a single stone to knock down the hive and was rid of the pests before supper."

Karak looked at the albino for a moment and then nodded. "You see. That's the problem with you elves; you have faerie skin. Bee stings do nae hurt a dwarf."

"And if the bees are already swarming, who's the fool?" Huzair asked Morier. "I hate to see what happened at the Festival in Relfren. I will never eat Emerald Cheese again, I know that much."

"What are you talking-" Morier started but Huzair cut him off.

"We ignored that and you will have that on your conscience from here on. We turned down a plea for help. I can live with it, though I wanted to help," Huzair said somewhat unconvincingly."My point is: we cant' leave this alone. We now have two comrades dead. We cannot let their lives be lost for nothing." And before Morier could argue further, Karak turned to the others.

"We need to sweep this place to make sure our enemies have either surrendered or been killed. Huzair, that means not killing those that have surrendered. And, I be nae so old to miss seeing you picked up the other end of that communicatin' ring ye took off Brin." The dwarf pointed at the circlet that Huzair was turning over in his long-fingered hands. "I suggest you give it to Feln and he and Lela go down this hall to points we have not seen and stay in contact with us."

"Not more than fifteen minutes, mind," he told the half-ogre. "Get the layout of the manor. Look for the girl or the other man that was mentioned: Melengar. I do nae think there are anymore baddies about but you never know." Feln nodded and plucked the ring out of Huzair's hands.

"I will stay here with Morier and Huzair," Karak finished. "We will sweep and search this area and guard Ledare's body. Once ye've found the girl, we'll move out."



Virtually the first door Feln opened in his random search of rooms yielded results... but he was unprepared for what he found. The first thing he noticed was the smell. The slaughterhouse stench of sweat, blood, waste, and fear struck him full in the face like a solid thing. He heard Lela make a gagging noise on his shoulder and he made a shushing sound in response. An irregular drip-drip-dripping echoed around inside the large room which was L-shaped with six doors opening off it in addition to the one by which Feln entered. At the far end, a vast open fireplace pierced the wall, connecting this room with the dining hall he'd spied earlier. There was no fire burning, but a layer of hot coals lent the room a ruddy, hellish glow that reminded Feln at once of the first test he'd faced in the Grove of Renewal. There were two enormous iron pots suspended over the coals and their contents bubbled merrily.

Feln moved quickly and silently to the first door and opened it. The room beyond was some sort of private bath. A large brass tub dominated the center of the room, accompanying a wardrobe and wooden bench. It had been converted into an abattoir, however. Blood was everywhere, staining the walls almost to the ceiling with dark splotches. There was something that might have been a gnome or a halfling shackled to the tub, but there wasn't really enough of it left to identify more than that.

Feln closed the door quickly when he heard Lela start to hyperventilate in his ear. He placed a comforting hand up against the faerie. "Perhaps you should go and wait by the door," he suggested and the sound of his voice brought an echo of movement from a door behind him.

He slipped at once into action and stealthily approached the door in question. It stood to the left of an open cistern that was the source of the dripping water sound. He pressed his ear against the door and heard a soft mewling beyond and the clink of metal on metal.

Pushing the door open, he peered inside. A naked and barely conscious figure was curled up on the stone floor beside the large brass tub. A manacle ran from the woman's left ankle to the thick clawed foot of the tub, linking them like prisoners on a chain gang. Feln could see the deep cuts that ran the length of her face and all down her arms and legs. She flinched reflexively and moaned as he stepped into the room, raising her battered arms to shield her face. The tips of her fingers were raw and bloodied - the nails visibly splintered. The places on her body which weren't crusted brown with dried blood were purplish-black from severe bruising. Her hair had been shorn so close to her head that even her ears were mangled and torn.

If this was indeed the red haired half-elf, Shamalin, they'd been seeking he had no immediate way of knowing. He brought the _Ring of Communication_ to his lips and whispered, "I found someone. A woman. Could be Shamalin."

At the sound of the name, the woman raised her eyes slightly to behold her newest tormenter. She waited a moment for him to begin his torture before turning her face away and begging, "Leave me."


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Aw shucks...... here I was thinking this might be the "Ogre alarm"   

Are we talking cult here? Or is this some kind of perverse hemophiliac paradise?


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Aw shucks...... here I was thinking this might be the "Ogre alarm"




No, man. That was too much even for me. I salute the depths of your depravity, but that was something I couldn't bring myself to steal.

Ironically, this segment of the game was _inspired_ by those ogres. After reading that I said to myself, "If HM can do that, then certainly I can come up with something equally horrible."

Unfortunately, the PCs never investigated the dripping chamber or took a peek inside the simmering kettles. So some of my intended horror went unrealized.:\


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #323] The Horror*

"Lela, keep your distance a bit, little sprite, but you might be better at reassuring this little lady that we mean her no harm," Feln muttered to the faen and she left her perch and fluttered to the ground near the broken woman. Her iridescent wings folded neatly behind her and she crept forward slowly.

"Have no fear, Shamalin, daughter of Flor," the sprite said gently. "You have been very brave and we have been searching for you."

Shamalin - if in fact this was she - peered out from behind her raised hands and then tried weakly to draw away from Lela, crying out in pain as she did so. Up close, now, Lela could see that the injuries that marred the woman's flesh were neither haphazard nor savage. Whoever had done these things to her had done so slowly and methodically.

"You are safe now, Shamalin," Lela soothed as she came closer slowly, her tiny hands empty and open. "We have come to rescue you from this evil place and carry you back to your temple." She drew close enough to reach out and gently stroke the woman's shaved and battered head. The woman shrank away from the touch, but did not cry out. Her eyes - as bright and round as polished copper commons - flicked from faen to half-ogre and back again.

"This is my friend, Feln," Lela said, indicating the martial artist. "I know he looks scary, but I promise you he is a teddy bear!"

"You're safe now, Shamalin," Feln said with a rueful nod of his head. "We will protect you." Lela nodded in agreement but Shamalin just stared at the half-ogre.

"He is my protector and now he is yours as well. While you are with us, we will do everything in our power to be sure no further harm comes to you," Lela said hopefully. "Do you know if there will be any enemies coming in here soon?" The woman pulled her gaze away from the half-ogre and looked earnestly at Lela.

"He will come," she said flatly. The words lacked even a hint of emotion but they sent a chill of dread up Lela's spine none the less.

"Who will come?" the faerie squeaked and Shamalin's eyes shifted suddenly to the doorway. She screamed.

It was just Huzair, however, and he looked quite shocked by the greeting. "What?" he protested. He looked at Feln crossly and whispered, "You said you'd found her. You didn't say she was nuts."

"Look at her, wizard! Who knows what she has endured?" the half-ogre growled disapprovingly. "Where are Morier and Karak?"

"Morier's still healing up and Karak won't leave Ledare's body," the mage said easing his way toward the woman while he fumbled in his bag. "By Kael's Loom! They certainly treated this one poorly. Are you Shamalin?" The battered woman just looked at Huzair's dark countenance and said nothing. "Do you speak Common?"

Lela clucked her tongue. "She was talking before you showed up," she scolded. "You're scaring her."

"Well I'm not trying to!" Huzair griped and produced a blanket from his Handy Haversack. He offered it to Shamalin and she looked at it as if he were offering her a dwarven beard-grooming kit. Confused disinterest showed in her eyes. The wizard shrugged and tossed it on the floor beside her before backing away.

"This is who we came to save?" he asked, shaking his head and touching the pale gray scar that ran across his scalp where the bird-thing had wounded him in the village below. Lela sighed and grabbed the edge of the blanket, struggling to get it up and around Shamalin's shoulders.

"Huzair, for all of your great intellect, you have much to learn," the faen said. "Every move we make, we have a chance to spread good or evil into the world. Be it offering a small kindness to a new friend or looting the dead. It is not always in a great battle that we can tip the balance of good in our favor. And when we respond to evil in kind, be it for revenge or 'justice', I fear we hurt our cause in the long run by putting evil into the world."

"Not this again!" the wizard scoffed, shaking his head wearily. "I gave her something to cover herself with, didn't I? That's more than either you or the ogre did!" Lela nodded.

"The blanket shows that you understand the choices life offers but perhaps not the impact our decisions make in return," the faen told him. "Please consider your actions carefully. I do not believe you help our cause when you act out of revenge and anger."

"Fine! I will try to be a good boy! Now can we move on?" Huzair asked. "Have you two gotten any useful information from her? Like how many enemies are here?" He looked expectantly at Shamalin and she held his gaze for a moment before shaking her head.

"I- I don't know," she mumbled vacantly. "Two dozen... perhaps less."

Huzair did some quick calculations and seemed pleased with the result. "We took out that many already, counting the fight in Miller's Pond," he told Feln and Lela. "There can't be much resistance left. Not that I thought there would be with Blackheart and the Plaguebringer both dead." Shamalin continued to shake her head.

"The Death Knight..." she began and her words failed. "Evil such as that does not die," she said at last.

"Maybe not. But he laid down and stopped moving at least," Huzair told her. "That's good enough for me."

"He's dead," Lela reassured her. "I saw the body myself." Shamalin looked from Lela to Feln to Huzair as if trying to sense whether they were lying to her. Seeing no guile on their faces, she let out a sigh and seemed to relax for the first time in a very long while.

"I would see it," she said, trying unsuccessfully to rise.

"Yes. We should get out of here as soon as possible. I have a really bad feeling about this place," Feln agreed. "I have been trained in some dark ways but this is beyond what my mind can comprehend. I have no stomach for this kind of thing."

"Our reason for being in this hellish place is now complete and we must leave with all haste," Lela added. "Feln, break these chains for this lady so we can get her out of here." Feln started forward, but Huzair forestalled him, producing a slim velvet case from its hiding place within one of his bracers.

"I can do that," he said as he opened the case, revealing some lockpicks with mother-of-pearl handles. "Some old skills come in handy," he muttered as he went to work on the leg irons.



Shamalin just stared at Blackheart's blackened remains, clutching Huzair's blanket tightly around her shoulders. Her face never wavered and her eyes scarcely blinked as she regarded the Death Knight, transfixed by its skeletal gaze while debate raged around her.

"I agree with Morier. I don't want to be stung by any more bees this day! Let us go to the temple of Flor with all haste, heal up and move on to destroy the hive!"

"There are still those double doors we haven't opened."

"We could interrogate our sleeping prisoner. I'm sure I could make him cooperate."

"We now stand in a position to sweep this castle an' rid it of chaos for once an' all. Aye, it may be dangerous, but here we be!"

It was only after Morier brought his greatsword down onto Blackheart's head, smashing the burned skull to powder that Shamalin snapped back to reality. She looked at the albino and her lip quivered.

"We are glad that you live, priestess, but we have lost much to free you," Morier said, gesturing to Ledare's body and the burned husk that had been Hildegunna. "Two of our number gave their lives in defeating Blackheart. Can you offer us any healing so that we can find the strength to quit this place?" Shamalin shook her head mutely and stared at the Janissary's corpse.

The symbol of Flor that held Ledare's cloak closed seemed to mock her.

"How many others are here?" Huzair asked and Shamalin twitched as if she'd been stung by his words. Her hand drifted up to a surgically-precise incision that went from the corner of her jaw up past her ear and half-way up the curve of her forehead. Then she turned quickly, her eyes going back to direction from which they'd brought her. 

Her eyes welled up with pain and grief and she whispered, "There were five others." Then the tears over-brimmed her eyes and silently flowed down her cheeks. "He- he took their faces... Why would he do that?"

Each member of the VQS remembered the unwholesome construct they had faced before arriving at the manor and each thought they knew to what use The Speckled Band's faces had gone. Not even Huzair had the heart to tell Shamalin that awful truth just yet. Instead he asked, "Have you heard of Melengar?"

"Yes," she said at once and for the first time there seemed a spark of some emotion other than despair in her voice. "The Plaguebringer, Callethorn, spoke of him. He called him the Reborn Master and the First Priest of Aphyx, wielder of the Rod of Ruin. He told me again and again what Melengar would... would do to me... when they sent me on to Deathshead."

"Deathshead again," Morier pondered. "Any idea what that is?"

Shamalin shook her head, but her eyes held a panicked frenzy. "No. But that's where Melengar is and he's growing his power.  You've got to go there and stop him."


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #324] Return to Floxen*

Morier opened his mouth to voice his persistent assertion that they should follow the "pulls" in his head and not allow themselves to get sidetracked. But Karak protested first.

"I do nae know about that, lassie," the dwarf said. "We've taken quite a beatin' 'ereabouts..." His voice trailed off as he looked at Ledare's burned corpse. He sighed into his beard and looked up at Shamalin. "But at least we've found ye. Ledare's last fight nae be for nought. I know she will be glad to know that we have rescued ye from yer fate."

"Ledare was... a follower of Lady Mercy?" Shamalin asked, gesturing at but not quite looking at the body.

"Aye!" the dwarf agreed. "She walked the path of the holy warrior. She called it-"

"Faithful Daughter," the wounded half-elf interjected. "Holy warriors of Flor are called Faithful Sons and Daughter."

"It was because of her that we came here," Huzair told her as he pinched the cherry off his cigar, saving the rest for another time. "Well that and the dwarf's magic axe."

Shamalin looked confused and Morier explained, "Priestess Mellona in Floxen asked us to look for you. Karak, here was promised an enchanted axe if we accepted the quest. Ledare, being who she was, accepted without promise of reward."

While Shamalin considered this, Huzair produced a steel flask from his pack and tossed it to Karak. "Here, by the way!" he said. "It's _Oil of Magic Weapon_. I found it one of the bodies." The dwarf looked at the vial and shook his head.

"If I'd had this when facin' Blackheart - then we'd've seen something!" he mused. "The lass, there'd still be alive, that be sure."

Huzair turned quickly away and snapped, "I can't loot bodies we haven't killed yet!"

"True enough, wizard!" Karak said and pocketed the _Oil_. "Which reminds me; we have found nothing else here except the bodies we dispatched. I say we are here. It is now. Let's sweep the manor, and be gone. There may be tools of chaos we can destroy or captured items to recover that can aid us in the fight against Aphyx." He spit and the gobbet of phlegm splattered on the wrapped bundle that was the Death Knight's mace.

"I don't think we have the firepower to get involved in much battle," Morier argued and Karak nodded.

"I have one more thing to say about yer bees, White One," the dwarf said, looking at Morier. "I know that once the bee hive be knocked down you elves like to retreat to the safety of your forests. But I say, now that the bee hive be knocked down, it is time to gather the honey. If there be any bees along the way... well... we'll just skewer them." He rested his longsword across his broad shoulder and grinned.

Morier sighed. "This manor isn't the bee's nest, for sure... this is merely a bee in the great scheme of things, my friend."



They encountered no further resistance in the the manor. It looked as if the Aphyx-worshipers had established themselves in the place several weeks previous, putting the entire household to the sword and taking the place for themselves. They found a defiled shrine to Garjarven, god of travelers, behind some barred double doors and many ransacked rooms throughout the manor. Any valuables had been stripped from the place and been redistributed amongst the soldiers.

One room that must have been a library judging by the empty shelves had been converted to a shrine to Aphyx. Whatever horrors had been practiced there to please the dark goddess could only be guessed at. Karak took more than a little pleasure in invoking Shaharizod's _Divine Favor_ and smashing the blood-encrusted altar to bits with his warhammer.

It was near dawn by the time they'd thoroughly swept through the place, but despite their weariness no one wanted to sleep within the manor itself or in the ghost town below. They retrieved their horses and pressed on with their shackled prisoner (the man who had been knocked unconscious by Lela's _Dust of Greater Slumber _at the start of the battle in the hall) until they could go no further. At noon on Sunday, they set up camp on a windy hilltop and slept the sleep of the righteous.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> Huzair turned quickly away and snapped, "I can't loot bodies we haven't killed yet!"





I think Huzair needs to delve into some ranks in Sleight of Hand.   

That or up the DC on a _sleep_ spell and loot 'em while they're sleeping.


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## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> I think Huzair needs to delve into some ranks in Sleight of Hand.
> 
> That or up the DC on a _sleep_ spell and loot 'em while they're sleeping.





Huzair's only got (I think) 1 level of Rogue; his focus is on spellcasting, and not the _sleep_ type either. I'm talkin' spells that go *BOOM!*

But the real reason for that whole exchange is altogether different from how it sounds. Highlight the spoiler if you'd like to know.  



Spoiler



Huzair started the campaign with that Oil of Magic Weapon on his character sheet. His player just forgot that he had it until it was too late.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #325] Floxen*

Karak was plagued by thoughts that would not let him sleep. He sat atop the small chest of coins that the Great Oak had given him. Fifty karn-a-karn's worth of gold and platinum glittered within - more than enough, he thought, to enchant his waraxe. But...

He glanced over at the tightly wrapped bundle that was Ledare's body and sighed.

Might that coin buy him some favor from the clergy back in Floxen? Would it be enough to get the Janissary raised from the dead? He wondered and the indecision kept him up for longer than his aching body would have liked. Before sleep finally took him, he said a prayer for guidance to the Silver Queen.



Karak thought, perhaps, that Shaharizod might appear to him in his dream.

But as he drew closer to the figure standing in the blue light alone in the center of the temple, recognition washed over him. It was Ledare, looking quite unlike herself. Her auburn hair was long and pulled back from her face. She had neither sword nor armor, but instead wore a white, sleeveless robe trimmed in gold which cascaded to the ground like liquid. She smiled at him, and Karak knew in an instant what the dream was about as he felt all his inclinations to put forth her resurrection money wash away. She did not speak, but smiled knowingly, and with a single graceful movement gestured to a trunk at her feet.

Curiously, Karak moved closer and with both hands lifted the heavy wooden lid to find his waraxe within, glowing with a new light.



He awoke with a start, his waraxe clutched firmly in his white-knuckled hands. It wasn't glowing - not yet anyway - but he now felt confident that it would be ere long. Grinning to himself, he sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and looked around him. It was well into the evening and, apart from their sentry, the other members of the VQS slept. Shamalin was up as well, he saw, and she regarded Karak with unblinking, sleepless eyes that shone like freshly-minted pekarns in the firelight. The dwarf felt his smile falter as he beheld the haunted half-elf; in the orange glow of the campfire, she looked eerily like Ledare.

Karak harrumphed softly and got to his feet. He loosened his holy symbol and went to the Janissary's body, ready to spend as long as it took to convince himself that her spirit had moved on...



*Moonsday, the 29th - Godsday, the 30th of Goodmonth, 1269 AE*​


At dawn on Moonsday, they went about the business of quickly examining and cataloging properly the array of valuables they'd acquired. The bulk of the haul was non-magical, composed of nineteen paired masterwork bastard swords and daggers, but there was a considerable number of enchanted objects as well. Among those was a dozen unmarked potions and a collection of gear that Shamalin tearfully identified as belonging originally to the members of the Speckled Band. She took the six silver rings flecked with obsidian chips that had been the groups' symbol and dropped down to the ground away from the group to cry over them.



Huzair made a quick show of identifying all of the potions save three by unstoppering the vials and taking a single whiff of the contents. Of those three, his familiar, Sparky, was able to recognize one as a potion of _Barkskin_, leaving two for Morier to suss out. The eldritch warrior did so, albeit more slowly and with less flamboyance than Huzair, and reluctantly, the wizard drew three additional vials from his haversack for Morier to look at. "Oh yeah, I almost forgot. I found these on the Plaguebringer," he said, earning a disapproving scowl from Karak.

"Ye're holdin' out on us, wizard," the dwarf growled and Huzair made a dismissing sound.

"Hey, I showed them to you, didnt I?" he retorted, rolling his eyes. "Just worry about your damned axe. And you are welcome for identifiying your potions, by the way."

Huzair was quite plain in his desire for the spellbook that had belonged to the elven wizard with whom Shamalin had previously adventured. He was practically drooling after he'd used _Read Magic_ to determine its contents; there were several rare spells of eldritch might that he'd heard of but for which he'd never seen the formulae.



When they made camp on Moonsday evening, Shamalin approached Huzair as the mage was gleefully examining the book. "The keeper of this book was a true friend of mine," she said in a small voice. "May it lend you strength in your endeavors."

"Thanks," he said. "It's good to have someone be nice to me. Everyone else in the VQS hates me... I at least need someone who can tolerate me." Shamalin regarded him levelly and said nothing while he fished in his haversack for some cigars.

"Do you smoke?" he asked as he produced two cigars and offered her one. She shook her head, no, and the mage sighed. "Darn." After he had his own burning well, he confided in the cleric, "The only two members of the VQS that I like were killed: Hildi and Ledare. Oh, that Morier guy... Well, my father says I should be more like him. I wonder if his father says he should be more like me?" He grinned at that thought while Shamalin said nothing, filing it away as worthy of remembrance.



It was after nightfall on Godsday when they finally reached the healing hall of Flor in Floxen. After all they'd lost and been through since leaving it on Earthday, the sight of its whitewashed walls gleaming in the moonslight was most welcoming. Shamalin, however, seemed conflicted upon seeing the temple, and drew more deeply inside herself as they approached.

Once inside, the half elf was swept up in a flurry of white robed priestesses and rushed off to a private infirmary somewhere within the temple proper, leaving the VQS standing dumbly in the hospital room that was the main chamber of the temple.

"Oi!" Karak grumbled, snagging the arm of a passing nurse. "I'd speak with Mellona. We've unfinished business."

"Certainly," the novititate said politely. "I'll fetch her, Please wait here." Karak nodded but instead stamped outside to gather Ledare's body from the wagon. He brought the corpse inside and lay it down on an empty bed with a gentleness that belied his gruff nature. He opened the body's wrapping enough to expose Ledare's dead face and reverently moved her hair from her eyes. Karak backed away slowly while still looking down at the still form. At last he heard the priestess approaching and he raised his eyes to heavens fingering his brother's holy symbol... "Again, I wish you were here, me chalak, I miss ye so still," Karak sighed. "I never quite know what to say at times like this."

Matriarch Mellona stepped serenely into their presence, exuding an aura of calm that seemed to gently wrap each member of the VQS in hope. "I have heard the tiniest bit from Sister Shamlin of the woes that befell Miller's Pond," the woman siad. "Flor has lost two of her faithful in order to rescue one from her enemies."

"It seems to me that Ledare was just coming in to her own: knowing where she fit in and what she was meant to do," Karak told the high priestess. "And what she was meant to do, she died bravely doin'. And, that's fightin' Chaos filth." The dwarf spit at his feet and Mellona looked pointedly at the splatter on the white tiled floor.

"Truly," she said. "It is a Faithful Daughter's duty and honor to resist the Rot Queen where ever she is encountered."

"Aye," the dwarf nodded. "It do seem, however, that this filth be of a higher power than we be used to facin' and, well, I could not distract it long enough or kill it quick enough to stop this from happenin'." Karak gestured sadly to Ledare's corpse and sighed again.  "When the Chaos Knight entered it's death throes - which I could nae have done but for Morier's quick-minded action in disarmin' the thing - you see... when I killed it, it exploded and, well, took out all around it. Hildagunna, the poor lassie, and Ledare did nae survive. Whiped out Morier pretty good, too. Me, well, it'll take more than an explodin' Chaos scum to get me, I reckon. But the Lass she could not make it, and I knew she lied too far beyond me powers to bring her back."

"Ledare and Hildegunna take the path to Myrkuhl's realm, now, good dwarf," the cleric told him. "There is no shame for you that you did not prevent this journey. It is good to think that they might be taking the Walk of a Hundred Days hand-in-hand." Those who had noted the two women's feeling toward one another had a difficult time imagining that. Karak harrumphed at the image and shook his head.

"No. I'd like to request that you bring her back to us, Holy Priestess," he said and Mellona raised an eyebrow. "I do nae know how it works, but I do know Ledare deserves it. And I have this to offer." He showed her his chest of coins and Melonna's other eyebrow joined the first in surprise. "This was given to me by the Great Oak to purchase a magic war axe so I might better be able to smite chaos with it. I suppose I am getting used to this long poker and shield. But I hereby bequeath my chest of gold to bring back Ledare and cure Morier of the malady that has sticken him in the battle."

"Good dwarf-" Mellona started to say, but Karak pressed on.

"Our wagon outside's loaded down with what was left at the manor. We shall take what we need to continue the fight, and donate or sell the rest for items we need on our journey," he explained. "I know the charges in me healin' sticks are wearin' thin, I might need to freshen them up a bit. I am sure glad that I can also present to you the priestess Shamalin that Ledare and Hilde died gettin' to. But from the look of the lassie she was worth it. Lookin' like she stood up to a good amount of evil torture, and I sure respect her for that."

"Yes, she has endured much," the Matriarch agreed. "And if not for your intervention, even now her soul might be enduring yet more abuse in the lower realms."

"Aye!" Karak scowled at the thought. "And knowin' that, I hope I am not out of place here in askin' for Ledare to be returned to us. I have dreams for me axe but... well, they can wait. I will defer to what you choose. I am also worried of the items of power especially the heavy armour and that wicked mace." Karak spit again and Mellona's lip curled in disgust. "I will not have cursed items in my midst, Priestess. I wonder if we offer enough for ye to make sure they are not cursed."

"Certainly, we will examine any items you suspect of being tainted. That is no trouble at all," the Matriarch explained. "But resurrecting Faithful Daughter Ledare is another matter, good dwarf. And it is not a matter of money, although certainly such would be required. Ledare must want to return, and it is beyond rare for one of the faithful to look upon Lady Mercy's divine grace and willing turn away from it."

"But, ye'll try?" Karak asked and something in his face brought a smile to Mellona's lips.

"I will pray on it, good dwarf," she said, laying a hand on his shoulder. "There is no animosity between Lady Mercy and Lady Death, but Myrkuhl is loath to part with a soul once it begins its journey toward judgment." Karak nodded his acceptance.

"That's all I can ask of ye," he admitted. "And that is all I have to say on this sad but happy reunion of one of your flock returning to the fold." Huzair made a loud sound like someone holding back tears, but when the others turned to look at him, his face was expressionless.

"I need a drink," he said and headed for the exit.



The sound of soft knocking entered the sanctuary of the room. Shamalin stirred. The priestesses had come and gone silently tending to her, but had not knocked. Someone wished to speak to her, she knew. And a strange sensation, not unlike fear, assailed her. From where she lay, she watched as the door quietly opened and Mellona regarded her from the threshold. Shamalin dropped her gaze to the floor, not knowing at all what to say. She struggled to keep at bay the unspeakable horrors which had taken hold of her whole being and would not let go. Uncontrollably, her body began to shake.

"Child," Mellona soothed as she crossed to the half-elf's bedside. "You are safe now. Flor has returned you to us." Shamalin thought upon the irony of such a statement. How could she tell Mellona that she had renounced Flor - first in an effort to appease her captor, then later in earnest when there had been nothing left? How could she voice the dark truth within her... that returning her to the land of the living was nothing less than punishment. Flor would not have her. No one would have her.

Mellona took her silence in stride and continued. "You have been through so much. Speak to the goddess and let her heal your heart." Shamalin kept her gaze rooted to the floor. It was wrong to be filled with so much anger and doubt. Mellona had always been a friend to her. And yet, Shamalin felt a twist of rage within her at the instruction. Heal her heart? What about the hearts of her comrades - torn from their bodies by the Death Knight. No, her body could be healed, perhaps, but her soul was scarred beyond repair...


----------



## Funeris

Good update Jon.  Love the emotion you imbue (and obviously your players as well) into the roles of the character.

~Fune


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## Jon Potter

Funeris said:
			
		

> Good update Jon.  Love the emotion you imbue (and obviously your players as well) into the roles of the character.




99.9% of this praise can be rightfully laid at the players' feet. They all do a great job of making these characters come to life week in and week out. Shamalin's player, in particular, took essentially a throw-away npc (who was initially intended to be another corpse in the death knight's abattoir) and turned her into a rounded character full of flaws and potential.

In case it wasn't obvious before now, Ledare's player rolled up Shamalin after the Janissary's death, working from the three bits of info that the group knew about Shamalin: race (half-elf), class (cleric of Flor), and hair color (red). The rest is all her.

In fact, the last three paragraphs were written by her and sent to me in an e-mail.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #326]*

The southernmost border of Pellham was indistinct. The Elves of the Spiny Wood were the undisputed rulers of the taiga that lay between the moors and steppes of central Pellham and the ice-choked tundra that skirted the Frozen Sea far to the south, but the borders of that coniferous forest were hazy in most places. In fact its only clear lines of demarkation were to the west where the Grey Craggs separated Pellham from the unmapped giant-held lands beyond and to the east where the forest grew right up to the base of the Risilvar Escarpment.

Where the escarpment met the forest, the cliffs were sheer and hundreds of feet high. But the Escarpment dwindled in scope as one traveled northwards along its length, being less than a hundred feet in height at the Town of Radcliffe, and amounting to little more than a single step up at its northernmost point outside the Town of Floxen. That spot was a well-known ley line nexus and as-such was marked by a druidic standing stone whose intricate carvings had been all but worn away by wind and ice or covered over by a layer of hardy bluish lichen.

It was here that Lela buried Wolf and said her final goodbyes to her friend.

"Well, Wolf, in a very short time we have a traveled a very long way in miles and in experience," the faen sniffed. "Much as I want you with me, Dear Friend, I know you are much happier in your new plane of existence and so I will leave you there in peace."

She placed her hand on the grave and opened herself to the Green. Insects buzzed and chirped all around her, and the steppes were blanketed in daisies as far as her eyes could see in nearly every direction. This was a good place - one that Wolf would be happy in - and despite the tears on her cheeks, she found herself smiling as she spoke to her animal companion as she had for so many years.

"I feel like a totally different being than when I left the forest and Great Oak," she told him. "I was so excited and happy then. Now I feel... older. Sad. And... serious. I feel the weight of passion and destiny and uncertainty." Her voice trailed off as she stared at the sea of wildflowers. She watched the wind make waves of the daisies and drank in the natural beauty of the place.

"I know I will see you again in not too long on another plane," she sighed, brushing away her tears. "Meanwhile, I will use all of my strength and passion to fight Aphyx and insure that good wins out over evil."

She rose resolutely into the air and headed out over the moor, wondering in her heart how she would ever find another companion that would mean as much to her as Wolf did.



"BALAZAAR!!" The dwarf proclaimed his name like a huckster in a traveling show. Karak half expected the flash of smokepots to go off every time he said it. He didn't take an immediate liking to the wizard, but it was nice to have another dwarf around, even one that wore a dress and was utterly bereft of a beard or hair of any kind.

"I do say Balazaar it be good ta see you even though it be a fartharn shame to see a shaved dwarf," Karak grumbled, slipping easily into the dwarfish tongue after so long speaking the language of men.

"I'm not shaved, lad," Balazaar told him. "It is merely an unfortunate side-effect of too many years spent in the dungeon. I've had worse."

"It nae be natural, I tell ye," Karak growsed. "It just nae be natural."

"I don't know," the wizard shrugged, ruinning his hands down the front of his robes. "It's quite nice being hairless. I suspect that it'll catch on soon enough." Karak's lip curled in disgust at the thought.

Matron Mellona had brought the wizard in to fulfill her promise with regard to Karak's blade. Balazaar studied Karak's waraxe critically, giving it a few practice swings and testing its edge with one thickly-calloused thumb. "A fine weapon, yes," he announced with a nod as he handed it back to Karak. "You have summoned the mighty Balazaar, and you have gold, so the question is: what do you wish?"

Karak looked at his waraxe with pride, forged by his own hands in the depths of Dwurheim, the weapon had been with him a long time and vanquished many a foe. The steel had history and its craftsmanship spoke of Karak's skill. He sighed and looked the bald dwarf in the eye. "I was looking for something with a little spirit," he explained. "I have no idea how this all works, I was just thinking of some of the old forge chants I used to hear 'round the hearth. Ye know, like the _Axe o' Dwarfish Lords_ or the _Hammer o' Thunderbolts_!" Balazaar laughed deeply at that, shaking with mirth.

"You don't ask for much, do ye, young one?" the wizard chuckled. "Those weapons are artifacts of old, forged some say with the aid of the All-Father himself!" Karak harrumphed.

"It do nae have to be all-powerful, wizard," the warrior explained. "I was thinking that mayhap it could talk, or vibrate when undead or skaven be near, or I could throw it and it'd return, or -" Balazaar held up a staying hand.

"All of that is within my power, but it comes to me at a dear cost," the wizard told him. "One that I'm afraid your gold doesn't come close to meeting."

"What?!" Karak argued. "I've done the hard work. The axe be made already. All ye've got to do is waggle yer fingers about like an elf an' go home with yer gold!"

"You speak with the tongue of youth, boy. You don't know one tenth what you should about the subject at hand," Balazaar scowled. "Putting these enchantments onto your blade and making them stay there drains a bit of my life force away. There's magic all around us - in everything. But making that magic do what you want and making it stay put is a daunting task, and it drains away some of my own magic to do so."

"So what're ye sayin'?" Karak asked, appraising the wizard with his eyes.

"I'm saying that a dwarf must first learn to kill kobolds before he goes on to fight storm giants," Balazaar told him. "Consider my work with your weapon to be the first steps on your path the _Axe of Dwarfish Lords_. Now let me see that gold!"

While the wizard counted, Karak plied him with questions about the dwarfholds. "Is the King well? Are the Mountains secure? Has the taint of chaos crept into our realms and the plague of rats too?" Balazaar grunted short answers in response, his attention fixed on the clink-clink-clink of the coins in his hands. Karak barely seemed to notice; he was fixated on his memories.

"I lost Malak to the plague, Balazaar, and I swore then and there to fight the very stuff of chaos myself if I ‘ave ta," said the warrior. "But it do be good to speak in my old tongue again. Me new companions are nice and all, but sometimes I do miss the company of dwarves, always traveling with such a crew of faeries and orc-blood. Why there is no one ta drink with."

This got Balazaar's attention. "No beer?!" he asked, skeptically and Karak shrugged in reply.

"That new black one seems able to hold his own for a ‘ummie. But then again, I nae be so sure he is a ‘ummie," Karak told him. "That albino is a strange one too. One moment I think he just be a normal fae speaking of bees in a bee-hive then next he disables the Chaos Knight - single-handed, mind ye, and with mortal peril. Just so I could kill it! Why what a shockin’ thing I tell ye." the dwarf sighed into his beard. "I am going to miss the lass, too . She be a good one just comin in ta her own against Chaos."

"I travelled for a time with an orc blood fighter," Balazaar told him. "His death weighed on me for a time. Of course it was a foul undead which took him, not chaos." Karak grunted and gave a nod.

"Now speakin of chaos, I've a second question to ask of ye,” the dwarf said and pulled the dull black breastplate of Blackheart's armor from a sack. He set it down on the workbench with a clank.  “Do ye see this ‘ere? This be from the fallen Chaos Knight. From what I can see it be heavier than the plate I wear now. But I fear it be tainted with foul chaos."

"Hmmm...," Balazaar intoned, examining the section of armor with an appraising eye.

"I will rely on your opinion. If ye see no dishonour or taint in it, why I will consider it as my armor, after the proper ritual of course. If not, then I will dispose of it properly as cursed and chaos," Karak explained. "What say ye? Be it fit for a dwarf?”

"With a bit of adjustment, yes," Balazaar said, hoisting the plate armor and looking at the leather straps that would secure it. "It is part of an entire suit, correct? It's not dwarven craftsmanship, but it's certainly stouter than what you're now wearing. I can examine it for you and determine whether it be tainted. For the right price..."



Shamalin was visited by Klara, one of the younger initiates. Shamalin had always enjoyed her company as the girl was a gentle spirit, fond of talk. Still, Shamalin could not bring herself to join in the conversation, but Klara seemed not to mind. She prattled on about the weather and how Sister Benletta had ruined the stew that morning with her spoiled onions. Shamalin only half-listened to the girl, until Klara mentioned the VQS. Then the half-elf looked up at her and Klara lowered her voice to a conspirator's whisper, shooting a glance at the closed door and saying, "The dwarf has a chest spilling over with gold. It's true. I saw it myself! And, it's rumored the ogre has a necklace made of skulls and teeth!" The girl's eyes were wide with excitement. "But..." and her voice lowered even more until Shamalin literally had to strain to hear her. "That man... with all the piercings... No one quite knows what to make of him!"



She knew she should thank them - her rescuers. The VQS. And she wondered for a moment at the name... thoughts which drew her back in time to another band of adventurers. She absently fingered the place where she had once worn a ring of polished silver flecked with black. Where was that ring now? Tucked in the loot pouch of some foul-mouthed follower of Aphyx, no doubt. 

Yes, she should thank them. Again, her mind drifted. There were six of them - or at least there had been. Seven really... Sister Hildigunna had been lost, too. Now there were five. Five adventurers mourning the loss of their leader. One of her own kin. 

Mellona had spoken to her of their endeavor - had told her of the magical pull in the head of the elf. Shamalin knew they were weakened by their losses and in need of a healer. But she had been totally unprepared for Mellona's suggestion. Go with them?! It was too soon. She wasn't ready. She had barely begun to feel her strength returning, not to mention her healing abilities. And she couldn't sing.

But they had rescued her - risked everything in doing so and lost much for the effort. And she could not stay here forever. As much as she wanted to stay in her bed in the dark solitude of her room forever, she knew she could not. Her life was not worth the risks they had taken. Still, she owed them something.

Reluctantly, she rose from her bed and moved toward the window of the room in need of some air. As she did, an image in the crystal mirror on the wall caught her eye. She stopped and studied her reflection intently. The figure regarding her seemed familiar enough, although the road to restoration had been long and involved. The scar running along her jaw and up her scalp was almost completely gone now. Her ears had healed too, although she noticed a slight loss of sensation in the top of one as she ran her fingers along the sweeping curve of her elfish heritage. Her reddish-blond hair had grown in and fell in waves past her shoulders, thanks to a potion that Mellona had provided. She let it hang loose about her face to hide the scar.

Yes, to everyone else she appeared much the same as before. Yet to herself, the woman in the mirror was a stranger – pain and torment having left their markings in the unfamiliar lines on her brow and the pinched setting of her mouth. The sadness of her smile. The most telling, however, were her eyes. Eyes which, even at a glance, reflected haunting images of the evils they had witnessed. Shamalin sighed deeply and pressed her fingers to them, seeking to chase away the horror. Mockingly, the images painted themselves upon the darkness of her eyelids and once again she marveled that spells and potions could do so much to heal the body, yet could do nothing to touch the infection which had taken hold within her heart.

A worry was nagging at the fringes of her consciousness. She had begun to feel the strength of her healing abilities returning slowly to her, and up until now she had believed that these were the gifts of her goddess reinstated. But a new thought had landed haphazardly in her mind, nibbling away at the edges of her fragile confidence. What if the White Lady had indeed turned away from her, as Blackheart had proclaimed? From whence did this divine spark draw, if not from Flor herself? Perhaps the powers of evil now felt a fellowship with the darkness in her soul. And a prickle of fear crept up Shamalin’s neck. Could Blackheart have spared her life to make her a vessel of such evil? Could, even now, the power that she felt returning be channeled from Aphyx herself?

It was possible. She had devoted her entire life to the goddess of mercy, believing that all beings were both capable and deserving of goodness. But now, deep within the reaches of her heart, a darker truth had taken hold. She hated Blackheart. She was consumed by hatred for him - for what he had done and made her do. For all that he had taken from her. She loathed Blackheart with more conviction than she had ever possessed before, beyond any measure that she could comprehend. Given the choice, she could never grant mercy to the likes of such evil. The strength of that emotion called into question the foundations of her every belief.

She opened her eyes again, and caught the glint of malice made plainly visible there. A chasm had opened up and threatened to swallow her whole. And most frightening was that she didn’t even feel like resisting. Effortlessly she could allow herself to fold into its depths and rest forever in the bowels of hatred.

It would be so easy...



Huzair stepped squinting out into the orange glow of afternoon and stretched. His back snapped and popped as he did so and he grimaced. The wizard was stiff and sore from too many hours getting drunk and scribing spells. Nothing that couldn't be cured by a few more beers and the talented fingers of a comely lass, he thought with a grin. He'd been trying to work his mojo on a few of the Florian initiates and thought he was making headway. There was something about their doe-eyed innocence that stoked his fire.

Even drunk, he felt a clumsy tug at the chain around his neck and turned quickly. "You're not getting any better at that!" he snapped at Feln. Huzair had offered the_ Amulet of Natural Armor_ to the half-ogre provided he could pick pocket it from around the wizard's neck. So far Feln had tried on three separate occasions and he was abysmal at it.

"This form-" Feln started to say, obviously embarrassed by his lack of skill. Huzair waved him off and pulled a cigar from his jacket.

"I owe you one you big son of a... whatever you are... Gelgian Monk," the wizard muttered, lighting his cigar off his thumb. "Damn it I owe you for that Iron claw - or what ever the hells that was you put on me. I figured how to counter it so don't try it again." He massaged his throat, still feeling the half-ogre's steely grip. Feln snorted derisively and the mage glared at him.

"Tell ya what," he grinned, "I will give ya the amulet for one free punch... or are yas a chicken?" Feln arced an eyebrow and looked at the wizard incredulously.

"Actually, I was looking for someone to hit me," Feln said and Huzair returned his look of disbelief.

"You were?" he asked, unsure whether he'd heard the martial artist properly. Feln nodded.

"I had several teachers at the monestary. They all favored different styles... I try to practice those that I remember from time to time," he explained. "With this new form I find that I am a larger target and by toughening my skin I may be able to deal with attacks better then by dodging and keeping to shadows - a style which I favored in my old form."

"Yeah!" Huzair mocked. "There aren' a lot of shadows big enough to hide you!"

"I don't know much of the history of the martial form, other then they used to call it the Armored Pugilist," he continued with a scowl. "The idea is that instead of dodging, deflecting, or turning an attack back on your opponent you simply allow it to strike and use your mind to overcome the pain, ignoring any damage."

"And this is interesting to me, how?" the mage asked, swaying slightly. Feln smirked and leaned forward, protruding his chin as an obvious and easy target.

"Take a shot," he said, closing his eyes, "as hard as you can."

Huzair smiled, activated the _Ring of Blinking_ and sneak attacked the half-ogre. Or tried to at least. He wasn't a skilled warrior to begin with and being drunk didn't help him any. He swung and completely missed Feln's head. The half-ogre opened his eyes and blinked in disbelief.

"You missed?" he gaffawed. "And I thought I had seen you at your worst, Huzair!" The wizard scowled and kicked Feln in the crotch. "OWWW!!" the half-ogre bellowed loud enough to rattle windows nearby. Through gritted teeth he snarled, "Yes, thank you, Huzair. I see that I have not yet mastered the way of the Armored Pugilist."

"What in the nine hells are you two idiots doing?" Morier asked, rushing around the corner, bastard sword ready. "People are on edge enough with Feln being in town at all, let alone with him roaring at the top of his lungs! Are you trying to get us thrown out of Floxen?"

"Don't get your scabbard in a twist, Morier," Huzair quipped, tossing the _Amulet of Natural Armor_ to Feln. "The ogre and I were just doing a little negotiating." Morier shook his head.

"Must it involve screaming?" the albino asked, sheathing Ravager across his back. "I don't much relish the thought of sleeping on the ground while we wait for Karak to finish up with his axe because you got the VQS thrown out of town!"

"We're done. Aren't we, Feln?" Huzair asked, puffing on his cigar. The half-ogre nodded, placing the _Amulet_ around his thick neck.

"Yes. But I need to talk with you yet," Feln replied. "Both of you." Huzair sighed and blew a smoke ring.

"I was just on my way to the Lantern," the wizard grumbled.

"No problem. Morier, can you walk with me a bit?" the half-ogre said falling into step beside Huzair. "I have been troubled greatly by what we saw in that manor. It was awful, I am sure you agree."

"Few could argue that point, Feln," the albino told him as they headed for the inn. The martial artist nodded thoughtfully.

"I have a thought on how to use the manor for the greater good, however," Feln began to explain as they walked.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> "I don't know," the wizard shrugged, ruinning his hands down the front of his robes. "It's quite nice being hairless. I suspect that it'll catch on soon enough." Karak's lip curled in disgust at the thought.




Welcome to Dahwgonnit's Dwarven full body wax and hair removal spa.   

Nice big update today Jon, loved it!


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## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Welcome to Dahwgonnit's Dwarven full body wax and hair removal spa.
> 
> Nice big update today Jon, loved it!





Glad you enjoyed it. There are several more like it in the pipe seeing as how the group spent an unexpected amount of time in Floxen doing... well, let's just wait and see, shall we?

As far as the hairless dwarf goes, I wish I could claim him as my own, but I just shamelessly copied the character from another source and twisted him for my own uses. You know, I did the DM thing, in other words.   

A gold piece to the one who can name the source. And, no, it's not another story hour this time.


----------



## Jon Potter

Demetrius Wyverneye sat in the back of the darkest corner of the Shining Lantern Inn, mulling over his lambsbread and mead. He built and razed dozens of different formations from the potatoes and gobbets of meat in his bowl, each more intricate then the last. He was sure that the meal would have been one of the best he had had in weeks if he had been paying attention, but his mind was elsewhere.

In the two moonsdances since he left Hillville Junction he had seen more evil than in the previous thirty years combined, and each day now seemed to be bringing new levels of evil previously unknown. The plague of illness and death that had taken so many in Hillville Junction was only the beginning, he had found the same thing in so many of the towns and cities across the Realms and those lands in between.

He left home with no knowledge of how many people just like him he would encounter in his travels. People who had lost a loved one to the plagues without really understanding how broad the scope of the loss truly was. He had held his father in his arms as he breathed his last, and at that moment it was impossible to imagine that another life could be more precious than the one he watched slipping away.

"The evil goddess returns, Demetrius," the elder Wyverneye strained against his dying breaths. "An unbelieveable evil. I fear that none may stop it. But some must try." And try he would. But how? Where does one begin to look for the source of something so big? Armed only with his father's armor and greatsword and the same martial training he had imparted to tens of dozens who had entered the Wyverneye School, Demetrius set out to find a way to help.

Battle City seemed like the logical place to begin; the largest city within a week's ride of Byr would certainly attract those seeking to do the most damage as well as those seeking to do the most good, he thought. He was half right. His arrival in Battle City coincided with the first of the plagues to strike the city, and within days there were bodies lining the streets while hospitals, temples and sanitariums turned away droves more of the sick and dying.

The scene repeated itself in a handful of other towns and small cities he travelled to as he made his way south and west, with tales of similar settings in another ten to fifteen. Wyverneye had found some similarities in some of the cases, either by first hand information or by anecdotal record. But there was nothing substantial enough to piece together. Festivals, harvest celebrations, anything that brought people out and allowed strangers in without too cautious an eye being cast their way seemed to be a common point. But that was the extent of what he knew, so he continued to follow the trail.

News of a festival in Relfren had brought him to this region through the aptly-named Bandit Pass, and he had stopped here in Floxen for a night's rest before heading into town at the first light of morning.

Wyverneye began again to rearrange the morsels of food in front of him once more when the young tablemaid approached. "Is everything okay, sir? You've hardly touched it..." she motioned to the still full bowl. "Mother made it fresh this morning, I'm sure..."

"No, it's fine," he said with an apologetic smile, "it's better than fine really, it's delicious... I'm just preocc-" He stopped short as a brief shouting from behind the bar startled everyone in the quiet room.

"No, no, no! Not in here, not in here !!" shouted the barman. "We've nothing against you. But please, we're trying to run a family business here. Please, please, around back to the private quarters... You'll be served there."

The room returned to quiet as quickly as it had been disturbed as every one of the patrons broke into a whisper. "Oh, my," the tablemaid said with a start, "I'd heard talk that there was a half-ogre about, but I hadn't actually seen him yet."

As many things as Demetrius had seen in the time since he left HIllville Junction, he was still taken aback by something every now and then. The quickest flash of a huge creature retreating from the doorway at the sound of the yelling barman was enough to take his breath away for a moment. "A half-ogre?" he said in stunned disbelief, "and you'll serve him here?"

"He's been about for a few days apparently," the tablemaid explained "some of the sisters at the Temple of Flor have spoken for his civility, so he's okay. Just makes the place look a little rough if you know what I mean."

"Do you often ge..." Again Demetrius broke off, this time as he watched the huge creature's two companions enter the room and begin conversing with the barman.

The two could not have been more opposite each other in appearance, and it almost looked as though they had been paired together as part of some sort of comic irony. One was tall and extremely dark skinned, with a clean-shaven pate that appeared to have been recently bandaged. The other was much shorter, of elven stock it appeared, with milky white skin and equally white long, flowing hair. The elven one turned to survey the room and his blood red eyes caught Demetrius' attention immediately, stopping him in mid sentence.

He was taken back, he was unsure how many years ago exactly, to the strange man standing in his father's office. It was him, it had to be. Demetrius had been afraid of him then, a young boy hiding behind the door as the elf spoke in calm tones to his father. He was very friendly, and his father had seemed greatly happy to see his old friend, but still Demetrius cowered at the sight of him. The image of the white skin and long white hair were without significant detail, but the eyes had been burned into his memory forever. These had to be those very same eyes.

He rose from the table and excused himself to the tablemaid without taking his eyes off of the elf. As he approached, the tall, dark man caught his gaze first and stepped toward him. Demetrius realized that his apporach left a lot to be desired in terms of social graces, and momentarily considered himself lucky that he was not in the sort of establishment where people pulled daggers first and asked questions later.

"Can we help you, sir?" the man asked with a vaguely sinister smile, looking down toward his belt where he revealed a partially unsheathed dagger.

"Oh, oh, no, I'm sorry" Demetrius stammered as he pulled his gaze away from the elf, backing away as he tried to continue, "I mean no harm, I just... I..." He didn't know exactly how to explain, and instantly felt foolish for putting himself in this position.

By this time, the elf had caught sight of the exchange and stepped toward his companion quickly. "Huzair, what's the problem?" he sighed and rolled his eyes. "Why do we have to end up in a mess everywhere we go?"

"Fine, I'll let the crazed-looking whackjob attack you next time" he retorted quickly as his smile disappeared, eyes never leaving Demetrius'. "You're welcome, by the way."

Demetrius was somewhat embarrassed at being the "crazed-looking whackjob", but tried to explain as quickly as possible, which only seemed to make matters worse. "I was afraid of you then, but now I just want to... my father...

"You were afraid of him?" Huzair's raspy chuckle interrupted, "I can't possibly imagine why!?!?"

"You'll excuse us, Huzair. Would you go check on Feln" the elf motioned him away, "I'm sorry, sir. What were you saying?"

Huzair lingered for a moment, eyes still locked on Demetrius as he pulled a cigar from his vest pocket and lit it before slinking out the door. "Always with the babysitting the half-ogre" he said as he slipped away.

"Forgive my clumsy introduction" Demetrius said, "but I know that you know my father." He corrected himself quickly "I'm sorry, 'knew' my father. I am Demetrius Wyverneye. My father Arwold passed recently and it's still hard to refer to him in the past."

The elf's red eyes widened at the mention of the name. He extended his hand and introduced himself, "My name is Morier Thulien, your father was a great friend of mine and I am deeply saddened to learn of his passing. I learned much from your father. In fact," Morier paused while he pulled a chain from around his neck and turned the medallion on it so that its obverse side showed, "I think you'll understand this inscription better than most."

"Amin khiluva lle a' gurtha ar' thar," Demetrius spoke in flawless elvish, tears filling his eyes as he instinctively translated the phrase he had heard his father's students repeat thousands of times... "I will follow you to death and beyond."

"Goodman Wyverneye perhaps you could join me outside," the albino said, his red eyes flashing with intensity. "I think we need to talk."



Morier and Demitrius stepped out of the Shining Lantern onto the rutted earthen street in the brisk evening air of Floxen. There was a chill in the air that spoke of colder temperatures to come. "I've been searching, Morier," Demetrius said as they walked, "for something. Something that will guide me. My father spoke of an evil rising across the Realms... but he was gone before I could ask him to explain what he meant."

"Arwold was a wise man, and it seems that he knew much. I sought his counsel when my companions and I were in Hillville Junction last. When I left town Goodman Midzier said your father had ridden off to seek answers... Now I know why," Morier said, wondering how much Arwold might have known, and how much he himself had yet to learn.

"I want to be able to help, but it's difficult to know where to start when you don't know who you should be helping and who you should be fighting." Demetrius' voice was straining against his thinly veiled emotions.

"Believe me, I understand your dilemma..." Morier pondered the many thoughts that rolled in his mind about the things he and the rest of the VQS had encountered in the last many weeks. "Come and sit with my companions and me. We'll talk and perhaps we may learn something from one another."

"I'd like that," Demetrius admitted.



Huzair was in the middle of a story when Morier entered the private dining area via the back door. "And there he was standing buck naked in the woods looking suprised to see me!" he paused to laugh smoke and Feln was grinning at the humorous tale. The wizard caught sight of Morier and motioned for him to sit down. "Hey, nature boy! Come on in and join us. I was just telling Feln the story of how we met up in the woods there."

Morier decided that it wasn't worth taking Huzair's bait and he hurried to step aside allowing Demetrius entry to the cramped dining room where Feln sat surrounded by mountains of food. "Where've you been?" the half-ogre started. "We were about to start withou-"

"Out defending the honor of some fair maiden, no doubt," Huzair said with a disinterested tone. "Now let's eat."

"If you'll allow me, I'll make the formal introductions," Morier said. "Feln and Huzair, I'd like you to meet De..."

"So the nut job will be dining with us then?" interrupted Huzair. A frustrated sigh from Morier was the only acknowledgement that Huzair had spoken.

"...Demetrius Wyverneye, son of Arwold Wyverneye - the ranger I sought to speak with when we were in Hillville Junction last." Morier immediately felt a twinge of sorrow at the thought that he and Feln were the only two members of the group who were left from those days. In an instant it seemed like both ages ago and just yesterday.

"I remember the name," said Feln. "You thought the ranger might know something more about the creatures we found in the caves north of the village." Turning his attention to Demetrius he asked, "Do you bring news from your father?"

"My father has passed from sickness brought by a plague" Demetrius said, noting to himself that it got a little easier to say each time admitted the truth. "It is purely chance that I have encountered you this evening."

"Lucky us," said Huzair before stuffing a crust of bread into his mouth so as not to feel obligated to continue the discussion.



The three sat and talked late into the night; Demetrius explaining how his days at his father's training academy had turned into the chase for disease and rot he had followed across three cities, and Morier, Huzair and Feln decribing the chaotic scenes in Miller's Pond and the manor house. As Feln finished talking serenely about the epic battle that had laid two of his companions dead, his eyes suddenly brightened. "Morier, the conversation we had on the way over here... about the manor!"

For a long few moments the half-ogre and the elf sat in silence looking in each other's widened eyes as though they were having a conversation that nobody else in the room was privvy to. "Perhaps!" Morier said at last.

"Perhaps indeed," laughed Feln.

"Would the two of you lovebirds like to share your moment with the rest of us?" asked Huzair.

In a sudden flurry of sound, both Feln and Morier spent the next hour taking turns explaining their vision for the now empty Manor House: A fortress for the training of adventurers that might assist them in their constant fight against evil. Someone to turn well-intentioned men and women into fighting forces who could hold their own against the worst Aphyx could send at them. A place for the VQS to call home. It was all coming together now.

Demetrius, for his part, took in most of what was being thrown at him. He asked a few questions and then sat silently and pondered what the two adventurers were saying to him. "You'd like me to be the steward of such a place?" he asked, trying in vain to mask the incredulousness with some sense of confidence.

"It would be perfect," Morier said, "You've spent the last fifteen years helping to train students at your father's academy. What better way to serve his honor and to avenge the evil that took him from us than to use that experience to train more to be just like him?"

Demetrius looked down and fingered the pewter tankard in front of him for a moment before answering with a very simple, "Absolutely."


----------



## Jon Potter

They answered Melonna's urgent summons and found her in the temple's healing hall. She looked drawn, her red-rimmed eyes surrounded by dark circles; a few wispy strands of gray hair had come free of the crown of woven daisies that she wore and hung loosely across her face. She and several of the other priestesses were crowded around one of the curtained beds, but she drew herself reluctantly away from the patient laying there at the VQS' approach.

"You have brought a great evil to Flor's house," the high priestess hissed as she met them. Her eyes darted around, nervously searching for any unwanted listeners who might be within earshot.

"What do you mean?" Morier asked, although he thought he knew already. Melonna shook her head in response and started to turn.

"Not here," she whispered, casting her concerned gaze on the patient in the bed and motioning for them to follow toward the door at the rear of the main hall. As they passed, several of them caught sight of the maiden lying beneath the bleached white coverlet. She appeared drained of vitality, looking more like a living corpse than a girl in her teens.



Melonna was obviously weary and she sagged against her desk for a moment before speaking. "The mace," she said finally, confirming Morier's suspicions. "It's extremely powerful and evil beyond... beyond anything I have encountered before."

"We dinna find it in the happiest o' places, lass," Karak sighed. "I'm nae surprised that the thing be tainted."

"I don't think you understand, good dwarf," Melonna corrected. "It's not tainted; it is taint."

"Huh?" Hiuzair asked, drawing a cigar from his pocket. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Please don't smoke in here," the cleric chastised and Huzair rolled his eyes in disgust. He returned the cigar to its hiding place and Melonna went on. "The mace is pure - if such a word can be used to describe it - divine evil given form. It's not a weapon forged so much as it is an extension of the Rot Queen's dark power. Poor Beorna came in accidental contact with it and was... drained. It almost killed her."

"I'm sorry, Matron Melonna," Morier apologized. "We should not have brought this evil to you."

"No. Here is exactly where you should have brought it!" the cleric countered. "Such an implement of evil cannot be left lying around for just anyone to stumble upon."

"Is there any way to make it safe?" Feln asked, tightening his fists as if imagining the haft of the weapon in his hands.

"Not that we know of," the cleric replied. "Nothing we've tried seems to injure it. We've sent messengers to Widdershin seeking a means to unmake the thing, but it will be several weeks before they return. In the meantime, we will keep it secured in the vaults beneath this temple."



After leaving the tired high priestess, the VQS retreated to the cramped private room that had been set aside more-or-less exclusively for their use in the back of the Shining Lantern. A tray of foamy tankards had been brought in and left on a sideboard near the door as was the usual practice. Huzair and Karak each took two of the steins before settling into hard wooden chairs. Feln eschewed the ale and paced back and forth in the small room.

"The cleric overstates the danger of the mace," he said, driving his fist into the palm of his opposite hand. "I could over come it! I know I could!"

Karak sputtered over his mug of ale, sending specks of foamy head across the tabletop. “What in the nine dwarven hells are you talkin' about? Are ye figurin' on using that black mace?"

"I thought I might," Feln snapped back and Karak shook his head.

"Why I can nae believe it! That weapon's gotta be cursed for sure. And evil besides!" the dwarf grunted. "Why it took the stuffin' right outta Morier there. I never thought an albino elf could turn more white than 'e did when that wicked thing hit ’im in the chest. And ye're thinkin’ of using it? Shaharizod’s beard! It ain't right, I tell you. It ain't right.”

The dwarf took a pull off his mug and then slammed it down on the table. “And another thing: I won't stand for it, and Ledare would not either!" Karak thundered. "As I sit here before ye, and on her grave, I won't allow that cursed weapon to be used in our midst!”

"Dwarf, let's be clear on who chooses my weapons," Feln growled back, leaning in toward Karak. "It's me!"

Huzair pushed himself back from the looming confrontation and drew a wand from his sleeve. "If you think I am going to let some assassin use a weapon that could make him turn on all of us, you are mistaken," the mage said once he was in a good tactical position to use his wand. "Ogre, you have no understanding of what magic power this thing has. It will possess you eventually. I will not let that happen."

Feln turned to regard Huzair and bared his fangs menacingly. The intimidation tactic seemed to have no effect on Huzair at all. The wizard was either supremely confident or completely drunk. It was tough to tell which.

"What simpleton thinks he can handle the dark powers of Aphyx?" the mage went on. "Gods! The death knight wiped out half our party and if it were not for Morier's excellent decision to disarm Blackheart, I think there would have been four funerals... if not actually seven! And I know Shamalin would not be here now. Come on! Stand up for me, Morier! You know I am correct on this one." Huzair turned to look at the eldritch warrior and Morier sighed. He turned reluctantly toward Feln.

"As much as I hate to say it, and as difficult a time as he is having saying it in a sensible manner, Huzair does have a point," Morier told him. "This thing should be destroyed or placed somewhere under protection so that it never again becomes a tool of evil. I don't think that Melonna would let you have it even if we all thought it was a good idea."

The half-ogre grunted noncommittally and Morier turned his attention on the wizard. "I think Feln gets what you're saying, Huzair," he explained. "And I'd put that wand away before we have to spend a day looking for someone to remove it from wherever Feln decides to stuff it." Huzair shot the half-ogre a reproachful glance as he slipped the wand back into its wrist sheathe.

"I'd like to see him try," he muttered as he returned his attention to his ale.

Karak drained his first and started in on his second. “While we're talkin' on it, I know you all been sayin’ behind your backs that I should use the black plate of that chaos knight I dispatched. But I do nae like that one bit," the dwarf growled, wagging a thick finger at the others. "Why, who knows what evil runs amok in that thing? See, you ‘ummies an' faeries an' half-bloods do nae know a thing or two about armor and weapons. It takes spirit to make those weapons. It takes life force. Just ask Balazaar. He’ll tell ya. So I do nae know if I wish to wear the black armor from a chaos knight.”

"I guess I don't blame you," Morier said with a nod as Karak upended his mug and slurped down the entire thing. "I'm not sure I'd want to be reminded of Blackheart every time I put my armor on either."

“Now, now, I know you must be thinkin’: well, he be wearin' Sir Brin’s armor, now what is the difference?” Karak went on as if he hadn't heard Morier's comments. The dwarf motioned for another tankard from the tray. “Well, I’ll tell ye. The difference is, I killed Sir Brin in hand-to-hand combat - one warrior to another. I, as the victor, am entitled by dwarven rights to his weapons and armor. But that black chaos knight be a different matter. I do suspect he be more demon than mortal. More the very stuff of chaos than naught. He died a wicked death of magick. That was no honorable fight an' would be nae an honor for me to wear it. I tell ya.”

He drank deeply of the offered ale and then reached beneath the table, pulling his massive war axe into view.. “Now, as I was sayin' before, it takes life and spirit to put magic into a weapon. Let me tell you how I started with this ‘ere beloved war axe," the dwarf's eyes grew misty with nostalgia. "Why, I remember the morne... It was bright and sunny on the mountain 'fore I descended the elevator shaft to the bottom o' the mine, and I knew this would be a good day...”

Karak's ale-fueled tale rambled on, the teller oblivious to whether anyone listened to it or not.



The next day, while Morier and Feln returned to the manor at Miller's Pond with Demetrius, Karak once again sought the help of Balazaar. He found the bald dwarf in his improvised work room, stroking his deeply-cleft chin and reading a thick book bound in leather. He looked up as Karak entered, waving his war axe.

"Well, runesmith, I have given it over to a lot of thinkin'," he announced. "I have made counsel with myself, with Shaharizod, and with me chalak."

"And what is it you wish of Balazaar, the mighty dwarven wizard?" the mage asked, closing his grimoire.

"This 'ere axe's been with me for a long time, as you know. I have raised it up from ore and forged it with sweat and fire," Karak explained, turning the weapon in his hands and studying the blade like a lover's face. "It has slain orcs, goblins, and chaos filth. I have oiled it and cleansed it from orc blood." He sighed, laying the weapon atop Balazaar's workbench.

"I miss my twin brother like it was yesterday - and it seems to me like it was just yesterday - when he and I roamed the halls of the fallen monk monastary in the Thunder Mountains," Karak said. His tone was somber; his voice seemed robbed of its thunder. "We barely survived that cold adventure, but what a time we 'ad. I have this buckler and these boots from that place, and I think it only fittin' that my blade be given a magick to remind me o' that time. I choose the Frost rune."

"A good choice," Balazaar told him. "And one that my mighty powers can provide for the gold you have offered."

"Now I got another questions for ye," Karak said with a nod. "One o' my companions has this crazy idea that they can take the fallen Chaos Knight's mace and destroy it."

"Bloody idiot," Balazaar snorted. "Melonna's already consulted me on the matter of the mace."

"I say they'd easier destroy a mountain. I do nae believe they can just destroy it," the warrior nodded. "Can such a thing be destroyed?"

"Surely it can be destroyed. Everything can be destroyed!" Balazaar harrumphed. "Of course, its unmaking may require a blow from Moradin's hammer, or being tossed into a Sphere of Annihilation. In other words: no simple matter."

"What do ye recommend we do with it?" Karak asked. "I say we just got a tool of chaos we should lock it away from the enemy nice and tight. What say you?"

"There is a certain dwarven sensibility in that," the mage admitted. "And, until such time as we actually learn the exact method by which the mace may be destroyed that seems the best course of action."

Karak nodded in reply, adding, "And when can you have me axe ready? I do feel as if the White Elf grows impatient with all this waiting." Balazzar harrumphed at that.

"Elves," he grumbled, shaking his head. "Tell your pale friend it'll be four days."


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Ahhh, some intra-party spatting. All that's missing is an umber hulk to burst in and confuse half the party to attacking the rest of the party. Then it'll be like reading my own game.


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Ahhh, some intra-party spatting.




If I had a nickel for every week that DIDN'T involve some intr-party spatting, I'd... have about 15¢.   



> All that's missing is an umber hulk to burst in and confuse half the party to attacking the rest of the party. Then it'll be like reading my own game.




Ooohh... I can't wait for that! Truth be told, I'm still trying to get the mental image of a naked, story-telling Paquito out of my head.


----------



## Jon Potter

Morier stood in the doorway of the Manor house, squinting into the brilliant red-orange glow of sunrise. Even at this early hour, maybe a dozen or so workers had already appeared from their quarters to continue the work of transforming the manor from a place of unspeakable horror and evil into a livable shelter. For now they had crowded themselves into stables and makeshift lean-tos to sleep, for none who had seen the place as the Defilers had left it could yet bring themselves to sleep within its walls.

He spotted Demetrius among the flurry of motion out on the front lawn, struggling with a huge rolled tarpaulin and what appeared to be several feet of sail rigging spooled onto his arm. Feln appeared from below the steps of the house and relieved him of his burden, tucking both items under one arm and picking up a huge bucket of water with the other to boot. Demetrius smiled at the half-orge's strength and drive in making this project a reality. It had been Feln's idea to turn the manor into a training academy, and he had been tireless in his efforts to make it so once the work had begun. 

Demetrius continued up the stairs to the front door and laughed as he approached Morier. "Supervising the worker bees are we?"

Morier, snapped from his thoughts, smiled back at Demetrius and said sarcastically; "I'm feeling rather like a Lord, looking out over my subjects as they go about their work."

"Lord Morier, your humble servant Demetrius Wyverneye at your service..." he chuckled and made a grand gesture of bowing.

"I didn't expect that there would be this many so soon," Morier said "so many, so eager to turn this place into something."

"If half of them stick out the first week of training it'll be a miracle, but it's possible. The work they've done so far has been either gruesome or backbreaking or both, and we've only had three leave so far. I just hope we can turn them into real fighters in time to do something about things in the village down below." Wyverneye gestured toward the buildings of Miller's Pond, where exaggerated stories of zombies had mixed with reality to the point that nobody really knew what was true anymore.

Both men stopped their conversation as a wagon carrying another twelve or fifteen villagers, presumably from Floxen, came rolling up the road. As it slowed to a stop, most of the men jumped over the sides and took quickly to the task of helping to build the short stone wall around the perimeter of the yard. A single figure remained behind however, cautiously withdrawing from the wagon once it came to a complete stop. She turned and faced the Manor house where she seemed frozen for a moment before she began walking up the path, eyes fixed on the front of the house as she moved.

"Is that???" Demetrius started.

"Yes, it is," Morier answered as he darted out of the doorway, taking the steps two at a time as he rushed to greet the stunned looking Florian heading toward the house.

"Shamalin! You didn't have to come here." Morier tried to soften his voice as he spoke. The half-elf regarded him levelly.

"Yes, I did... I did have to come...There's so much to... But I..." she struggled to gather herself, such was the horror that filled her at the mere sight of the house.  Sighing, she began again, stronger this time. "What you're doing here is... it's more than admirable. I needed to see it."

"We're trying, and not without a lot of help from these people you brought with you... how have you been able to recruit so many?" Morier asked.

Shamalin paused a moment before she answered, "They're mostly Florians, but their purpose is not really one of worship... I think they just want the chance to do something good for a change. We all want that..." Her voice trailed off.

"I'm headed back to Floxen this morning," Morier said, "as soon as Demetrius and I get our strategies sorted out. You'll ride back with me then?"

"I want to see this place first, in the light. I need to see that it's gone..."

"I'll walk with you then if you'd like, just to be sure you're okay?"

Shamalin couldn't argue... the idea of Morier's sword just a few steps away would be at least a small comfort as she revisited the site of the macabre prison in which she'd so many times believed she would die... and at times prayed for it to happen.

Morier led her through the manor halls, pointing out the various changes which had been made. Shamalin said little, nodding occasionally. As they passed through the dining hall she stiffened, her eyes drawn to the adjoining room. Morier slowed and would have offered to retrace their steps so as to avoid the L-shaped room with it's six doors, but Shamalin was moving ahead without him. He followed her, thankful that Demetrius had seen fit to have the place scrubbed clean. The atrocities they had found in the process were unspeakable. He only prayed that she had not known the half of it. 

She walked purposefully from room to room, opening doors. She stood for a long moment in each, her face unreadable. Then at last she turned to Morier and placed a hand lightly upon his arm. "Thank you." She fought to control the quake in her voice. "There is a clearing to the east of the manor - just off the road. Take whatever time you need to finish your business. I will wait for you there." And with that, she turned to make her way out, suppressing an urge to run.


-------------------------


Gruin Foxtar strained once more against the chains binding his hands, driving the metal cuffs of the manacles deeper into the already raw flesh around his wrists. He grimaced but kept at it.

"What do you suppose they'll do with us?" Ruull Wicche-sheld wondered aloud. He too was bound by heavy chains, but he'd given up struggling to break them; they were far too stout for him to possibly succeed, he realized. Gruin wasn't nearly so bright, which was probably why he had never grasped the subtleties of combat expertise and so was lagging behind on mastering the Crescent Moon fighting style. Ruull secretly believed that, despite Gruin's obvious strength and skill at arms, the man would never master it.

Gruin growled and glared at Ruull fiercely. "What's the matter, Wicche-sheld? Afraid?" he snapped. "I've been locked up here for nearly a moonsdance and all they do is talk to me about their fool goddess. It's all 'mercy' and 'forgiveness' and 'compassion'." He spat onto the floor as if the words tasted foul in his mouth before renewing his ineffectual struggles against the chains. "They're weak! And when I get free, I'll kill them all!"

Ruull let his fellow Defiler Initiate grunt and grimace for a while before adding: "Aphyx will cull the weak from Oerune, Gruin. Her touch will spread across the land, leaving only the strongest in its wake." He had a wistful look on his face as he spoke, utterly convinced of his place amongst the strong. "We'll have out revenge on these Florians soon enough. When they are weakened and dying by Our Lady's hand... then... then we'll feast on their flesh! Oh yes... It will be sweet..."

He grinned, turning his eyes up to the single open window set high on the wall. It was well out of reach, but it offered a glimpse of the blue sky beyond the dreary walls of their prison.



Sparky flew away from the open window to deliver word to Huzair regarding what he'd overheard.



Ruull hadn't been back in his cell for very long when he heard someone casting a spell outside his door. He looked up in time to see a dark face leering at him though the narrow view slot cut into the iron-bound portal. He didn't immediately recognize the man, but he was happy to hear him hiss through the slot, "Hold on! I'm going to get you out of there."

"Did Callethorn send you?" Ruull asked, smiling hopefully at the familiar scritch-scritching sound on the other side of the door. Before being recruited to the Defilers, he'd spent a great deal of time working as muscle for one of the thieves' guilds in Battle City, and he knew the sound of a lock being picked when he heard it. The man didn't answer, but a moment later there was the blissfully pleasant click of a sprung lock and the door opened.

Ruull had never seen the man who stepped furtively into the cell. He was tall and lanky with skin so dark that it verged on ebony. His ears and nose were crusted with hoops and glittering stones, and his skin was covered everywhere with tattoos, just barely visible against his dark skin. He wasn't wearing any armor and didn't have any weapons with him save for a dagger at his hip, but he looked capable, none the less. There was a large grey crescent of fresh scar tissue running along the side of his bald head that could only have come from battle. Ruull had never met him, but he knew immediately that he was a friend.

"Are you alright?" Huzair asked and the man nodded.

"As well as can be expected, considering," he turned for the mage to see his hands manacled behind his back. Huzair held up with lockpicks.

"Let's see what I can do about those," he said and sat down behind him. As he scratched at the manacles - but not at the actual lock itself, - with his pick he asked, "So what do you have planned once you get out of here?"

"You mean besides killing as many of these Florians as I can?" he chuckled darkly. "Beyond that I don't know. We were just supposed to train at Miller's Pond, you know? Sir Brin was teaching us about being Defilers." He paused for a moment and shook his head. "I can't believe he's dead."

"He was weak," Huzair said, using the knowledge that Sparky had conveyed to him about the two prisoners' earlier conversation. Ruull nodded his agreement and half-turned toward the mage.

"Obviously! But who'd have thought?" he seemed genuinely flabbergasted. "I mean, he was in charge until we dug up the Death Knight. Next to Blackheart himself, Sir Brin was the strongest of the Defilers. I didn't think that anything could touch him in battle. How are you coming with that lock?"

"It's more complex than the door. But I'll get it," Huzair lied. "Maybe Malengar would know what to do?"

"Well, I'm sure he would," Ruull shrugged. "But it's not like I can just ask him for help. That'd be weak. And besides I don't even know where he is."

"Isn't he at Deathshead?" Huzair asked.

"Yeah... But I don't know where Deathshead is. Do you?" Ruull said, twisting to look at Huzair over his shoulder.

"Nope," the mage admitted, keeping his attention focused on "unlocking" the manacles. "I don't even know what powers Malengar has."

"Well, he's the Rot Queen's High Priest ," Ruul said. "But it's not just Her power that he channels. I heard from Bevina that he can drain the life right out of the ground to power his spells. It's called Blight Magic, I think and she and Callethorn were supposed to learn how to do it soon. Nasty stuff!" The prisoner grinned at the thought.

"Yes, I think it would be," Huzair said. "Can he do anything else?"

"Well, he's got the Rod, of course," Ruull explained. "Not sure what it can do, although Bevina said that as long as he's got it, he can't be killed. I don't really get it, but his spirit can jump to a new body so long as there's one close to the Rod."

_"Magic Jar,"_ Huzair muttered. Ruull had just described in mundane terms the effects of the _Magic Jar_ spell. The Defiler Initiate shrugged.

"Like I said, I don't really know what it can do," Ruull said. "I just know that he looked like a half-elf when I saw him, but that he's really human. Magic..." He shook his head in resignation.

"Must be some pretty powerful magic to create that thing with all the faces," Huzair quipped. "You know, the one full of maggots."

"You mean the Vessel." Ruull grew quiet and a small shiver ran through him at the thought. "Callethorn and Bevina made that, not Malengar. Some adventurers got passed the zombies, the same group that killed Sir Brin. The Vessel was supposed to guard Miller's Pond in case they came back. Which I guess they did since I'm here. Are you almost through back there?"

"Yeah, I think so," Huzair said standing up. He hit the man on the back of the head, knocking him to the ground. "Dumbass! I can't believe you told me everything!"

Ruull stared up at Huzair, utterly confused. "Wh- what is this? I thought you were here to set me free?! Didn't Callethorn send you?"

"Callethorn is dead!" the mage bellowed, drawing the dagger from his belt. "We killed him and everybody else in that stupid manor! And now I oughta do to you what you did to the Speckled Band members!" He leaned forward with the knife until the cell door burst open.

"Huzair, stay your hand!" Morier shouted and the wizard grinned at him. He spun the dagger back into its sheath and stood up.

"No worries, my friend. I learned my lesson with the other one," Huzair grinned. "I learned a lot more with _Charm Person_ than I did by cutting on his pal. Never you worry your pasty little backside about me."

"You charmed me?" Ruull shrieked from the floor. He started thrashing about trying to get to his feet. "You charmed me, you lying bastard!"

"Yeah," Huzair said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Get over it."

"I'll kill you, you cheating bastard!" Ruull wailed as wizard and eldritch warrior headed out into the hall. "Do you hear me? I'll kill you!"

"I'll make sure to get scared if you ever see the light of day again, you murdering psychopath," Huzair said and locked the cell door. He grinned though the view slot. "Have a nice day."

The incoherent wailing of Ruul Wicche-sheld, one-time Defiler wannabe, followed the two members of the VQS up out of the dungeon.


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## Hairy Minotaur

I liked this update a great deal, got to get a glimpse inside the head of a couple PCs. 

Great update Jon.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #328] From Relfren, With Love*

Karak walked out of the chill mist of early morning with a large bundle wrapped in an oiled tarp slung easily over one shoulder. He paid little mind to the odd looks he received from the nurses and initiates who moved about the temple attending to their many duties. And for their part, the Florians paid him little more than a passing interest; over the last week, they had grown accustomed to the dwarf's comings and goings and, despite the fact that most had never seen one of his kind before, the novelty of his presence had worn off

"I be lookin' for Shamalin!" Karak barked at the nearest of the faithful and the girl pointed to the door set to the left of the statue of Flor that dominated the rear wall.

"She's in the rectory," the girl told him. "It's just through-"

"I know where it be!" Karak growled and stamped off, his iron-shod boots echoing through the healing hall as he went.



He found her sitting alone in a small room. She was dressed in a simple white robe decorated across the breast with a sky blue teardrop design. She seemed deep in thought, her coppery eyes staring fixedly at the tiled floor. A vast leather-bound tome sat unopened on her lap.

"Well, lass, it seems you be now part of this party," Karak said by way of greeting. The half-elf looked up at the sound of his voice, but it took a few moments for any recognition to show in her eyes. The dwarf didn't notice or didn't care. "It is still a wee bit strange to me that Ledare be dead - 'Shaharizod protect her'. I can nae explain it, but it seems to me that she be gone so that you could live and be here."

Shamalin flinched at that as if Karak had raised a fist to her. The very same thought had been wrapping itself around her guts since her rescue; two had died so that she could live. The idea filled her with self-loathing.

"You both bein' from the same faith, an' all. It seemed as soon as she turned to the path of the holy warrior, she met her death," Karak went on, oblivious to the turmoil his words were causing in Shamalin. He was waxing introspective. "It be strange. I been tryin' to meet my death since me chalak was killed by the filth of chaos, in true Slayer fashion. It seems that Shaharizod be nae through with me yet."

Shamalin grimaced wondering which god it was that had further use for her on the mortal plane.

"Oi, it seems the more I travel among faeries and ogres, the more I ramble on and on and on. My point, is this lass." And saying thus Karak unshouldered the bundle and placed it at Shamalin's feet. He then squated down over the tarp and unfurled it, revealing its glistening contents. Shamalin recoiled from the heavy plate armor within as if it were a nest of vipers, but again Karak didn't notice. He had his eyes down admiring the armor for what it was: a solidly-crafted, heavily-reinforced boon on the battlefield.

"This 'ere be Blackheart's armor. It is extremely well made and of better protection than even my own," he said as he picked up the breastplate. It oozed protective oil, gleaming in the torchlight as he turned it. "Now I have personally cleaned and cleansed if from any taint in true dwarven fashion and had Balazaar check it for cursedness. He assures me it is clean." He then set down the breastplate and got to his feet. Shamalin was staring at the armor with a curious look on her face.

"I want you to have it," Karak said bluntly. "It seems fittin' to me, that Ledare lost her life comin' to my rescue when I was battlin' the Chaos Knight. And since I see a bit o' her in you, I think it only be fittin' for you to have it."

Shamalin looked up at Karak, trying to make sense of what he was saying. Was he really suggesting that SHE wear Blackheart's armor? Was he mad? The very thought was perverse!

"It will also serve to protect you. Because as I am sure you can see,  in what our little band be doin', death is as real an entity as this stone here beneath our feet," Karak explained, his scowl deepening as he went on. "For me, it all started out as a missive for the King of Barnacus. You may not know this but me and me chalak be the ones that delivered the scrolls of message to Ledare when she started on this path. Now it has grown bigger than that. It is plain to me that this taint be spreadin'. That the powers of Aphyx be growin' stronger." He paused to spit on the floor in disgust and Shamalin thought she understood Karak's reasoning for giving her the armor. It made sense in a way and the irony of it was certainly not lost on her.

"It be up to us and others like us to stop the tide of chaos. I tell ya this, by takin' that mace and infiltratin' that manor we be in the right direction!" Karak continued and Shamalin forced a smile onto her face as she looked at him.

"You have my thanks, my lord," she murmured and hurriedly folded the tarp back over the bulk of the armor. Karak smiled.

"Ye're welcome, lass," the dwarf said. Gesturing at the armor, he added, "Are ye wantin' help gettin' into it?" Shamalin shook her head quickly.

"No!" she said, with a little more vehemence than was absolutely necessary. She changed her tone to a more gracious one and explained, "I've a few things that I need to attend to first. But, again, I thank you."

"As ye wish," Karak shrugged. "We'll be leavin' tomorrow or the next day at the latest. Me axe'll be ready by then and Morier's gettin' his baldric in a twist o'er that head o' his. The work settin' up the manor is keepin' him occupied, but I can't imagine him lettin' us wait around much longer."

"About the manor," Shamalin said tentatively at first, but gaining in strength as she went. "It is fitting that a place which housed evil beyond measure might grow to be instrumental in its own demise. You give homage to the memory of my slain companions in a way which I could never have dreamed. I thank you for that."

"Do nae go thankin' me, lass," Karak told her. "This was the white elf and the ogre's idea, nae mine. I'm just helpin' 'em sell off some o' our loot to help get it stocked up."

"Have you managed to sell all of the swords and such that were recovered?" the priestess asked.

"Not yet," the dwarf admitted. "Floxen be nae big enough for us to sell the lot. We've managed to barter a few o' them in trade for greatswords, but that's a losin' game for us. The swords we're tryin' to be rid of are better quality by half than what we're able to get in return. It rubs we the wrong way to make such a deal, but accordin' to Wyverneye, it's gotta be greatswords. So I guess we've got little choice." Karak shook his shaggy head in disgust.

"I might be able to help you," she said. "I know a master smith named Crofton Mallare. His forge is located off the market square a bit, near the well. My... my friend... used to deal with him when he needed something custom made. He should be able to help you." Karak grinned.

"Aye. That would be a help, lass," he told her. "I was plannin' to get a bit o' food in me belly o'er at the Lantern and then shoppin' a few o' the swords around the market. I'd like it if ye'd join me." Shamalin looked at him and smiled wistfully.

"It'll be good to get out in the world again," she said, not realizing just what the world had waiting for her...



The wall around Floxen had served as a last line of defense against humanoid invaders on several occasions since the town's founding. The tide of both orcish and gnollish armies had crashed against that barricade and been turned aside seeking easier prey and plunder elsewhere. Yes, the wall had served long and well, but it had been many years since any sizable force had set its covetous eyes on Floxen, and no living guardsman had ever had to defend the town.

So it is perhaps forgivable that the guard on duty allowed the coach through the gate.



It came fast across the steppe, too fast, Culun thought to himself. He recognized the vehicle, of course; the Forgeway Company regularly passed through Floxen ferrying the wealthy  from one point to another in Pellham. Mostly it was some minor lord's steward or a rich merchant's representative riding within the body of the coach. Anyone with more coin would just use the Wayfarers' Union to teleport where they wished to go, and those with less could scarcely afford the Forgeway Company's rates, which were very steep.  They could afford to charge nearly enough gold for their customers to buy their own coach because they provided security in dangerous frontier environments. The coaches themselves were stoutly built and the team that drove them trained in the arts of battle. Short of the Wayfarers there was no safer way to travel across the untamed wilderness of Pellham.

Usually, at least... Today seemed different.

The coach came along the little-road leading northeast out of Floxen toward insignificant settlements like Bereford and Cutter Jack's. And it came fast. As Culun had observed already it was traveling too fast, and while he watched, the coach shuddered over a rut in the trail and careened dangerously to the left. For a heart-stopping moment, the young guardsman was certain that the vehicle was going to overturn, but the horses ran on, dragging it back onto all four wheels.

Culun shielded his eyes against the early morning glare of Orin's Shield and squinted at the approaching Forgeway Company transport. As it drew closer it quickly became apparent that the coachman wasn't in control of the team; he sat askew atop the wagon, dead or unconscious, his body whipsawing wildly with every jerk of the coach. The horses were running hard of their own volition, hides slick with sweat, mouths trailing foam as they came. By the time Culun could see the whites of their panicked eyes rolling madly in their heads, it was too late.

An instant later, they thundered past him through the gate and into the town proper. In their wake followed an unwholesome stench, like dead things left to bloat in the sun. The guardsman darted belated out into the road and watched as the coach rushed into Floxen, making it almost to the river bridge before slamming into a slow-moving cart laden with cut hay.

The sound of screaming horses was horrible to hear and it drew people out of their homes and businesses to view the carnage. Culun rushed away from his post and had to fight his way through a crowd of ghoulish townsfolk in order to approach the wreck. By the time he reached the scene, Mobham Horn Star, one of Crofton Mallare's apprentices, had already come out of the nearby smithy and dispatched the stricken horses with a maul. Blood was flecked on his face and soot-stained leather apron and he looked pained when he glanced up to see the guardsman.

"I had to put them down," he told Culun, pointing to the animal's mangled limbs. Culun nodded and clapped a reassuring hand on the youth's broad shoulder.

"What happened here?" asked a woman clutching a wailing child to her breast. Culun recognized her as Goodwife Nedhne and her comments seemed to break the unnatural silence that had settled over the crowd. There were murmurs from the mob and Culun was thinking how best to handle the situation when another voice cut through the growing din.

"Flor have mercy!" Edwidan Seeblak wailed, drawing sharply back. His hand was slick with dark blood and Culun saw that he had been examining the body of the coachman. The driver had been thrown clear of the crash and landed against the base of the well. One glance told the guardsman that he was well and truly dead; blood soaked his clothes, and his flesh hung loosely from his bones as if all the meat of his body had been turned to pudding. His lifeless face was crusted with boils.

"Plague!" a woman near Edwidan shouted. It was Galaida Sigwyn, always eager to spread the latest rumor of doom. "They've brought plague to Floxen!" The crowd shuddered in preparation for a panicked stampede and Culun quickly found his voice.

"Don't panic!!" he shouted, raising his longspear over his head and shaking it. "We don't know what's happened here. This isn't plague!"

"Then what is it?" Goodwife Nedhne asked. "My baby-" That's all the farther she got before she was cut off by the sound of splintering wood. The door of the overturned coach that faced up to the sky burst from within, exploding outward in a shower of splinters. Before the wood had fallen to the ground, a figure moved gracelessly out from within.

It was dressed in clothes that might have been fine at one point but they were stained beyond repair with blood and other fluids that defied identification. His skin was purple like a livid bruise and it  hung loose on his frame, seeming more liquid than solid. He moved with an awkward, shuffling gate, his left leg shriveled almost to half the size of his right. Three fingers on the figure's right hand trailed off into ropy tentacles that flailed sinuously at the air. A mewling cry of madness and pain split the air as the thing lurched forward, thick cables of saliva hanging from its unkempt beard. Even his closest friends would have been hard-pressed to recognize Constable Taunen-baum beneath the layer of pustulating blisters.

He lashed out with his right arm and the tentacles on his hand stretched out, wrapping around Goodwife Nedhne and drawing her effortlessly toward his gap-toothed maw. Her screams heralded the arrival of Aphyx's hand in Floxen.


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## Funeris

Nice.

That's was a great update (as was the one prior--I found that I actually liked Huzair for once  )

Keep it up, Jon.

~Fune


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## Jon Potter

Funeris said:
			
		

> That was a great update (as was the one prior--I found that I actually liked Huzair for once  )




Well. Let's just say: don't get used to the feeling.   

Huzair doesn't play nice-nice very often.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #329] Stop the Rot*

The sound pushed the already troubled mob closer to full on panic. A loud shout split the crowd in two. "EVERYBODY MOVE OUT!!!" Feln roared, opening a corridor down which Karak clanked, cursing as he came.

"Blast! What have we 'ere?" he bellowed, his voice carrying over Goodwife Nedhne's cries and the fearful mutterings of the crowd. Constable Taunen-baum - or rather what remained of him - looked up at the dwarf's approach, hesitating long enough for Karak to get close to it. "Why the Rot Queen sent us a coach full of chaos puss!" He unsheathed his magical longsword and grinned.

There was nothing resembling intelligence or sanity in Constable Taunen-baum's rheumy eyes or the slack expression on his face. But he did pause to regard Karak rather than drawing to his mouth the panicked woman in his tentacle. That, at least, was something.

"Now listen up everyone!" Karak shouted to the gathered throng. "Don't panic! My companions and I have seen and dealt with a lot worse than this!" Morier stepped up beside him and Karak shot the eldritch warrior a sidelong glance. "Stay calm and let no one leave this circle."

"I can attend to crowd control, sir dwarf," Demetrius Wyverneye said as he drew his greatsword and took a place at Morier's side.

"Good man," Karak muttered. "Keep everyone back and let us handle the chaos spawn." The dwarf eyed Constable Taunen-baum, ready to act if he made any threatening motion. Taunen-baum maintained his grip on Goodwife Nedhne, but didn't seem to be further injuring the woman.

"Feln, can you wrestle that lass free?" Karak asked out of the side of his mouth.

"Karak, that beast and all it has touched are cursed with disease," the half-ogre snorted. The dwarf nodded his agreement.

"But we all go in a swingin', she's likely to end up hurt worse than the Constable there," he replied.

"Constable?" Huzair asked. He squinted and recognized beneath the puss and mucous the man the chaos spawn had been. "I guess you were right, Morier. That cheese factory situation was not important enough to deal with."

"Shut up!" Morier hissed at the wizard.

"Where does your little head pull us now, Morier?" Huzair pressed. "Do we leave this town to plague, too?"

"Shut up!" the eldritch warrior said again, unsheathing Ravager with a savage hiss. Karak harrumphed and eyed the spellcasters.

"Either of you got a shot?" asked the dwarf, keeping his gaze fixed on the chaos spawn. "Without hitting the good wife?"

"Of course I do," Huzair snapped indignantly all the while looking pointedly at Morier. The albino set his jaw grimly and looked away.

"Stop worrying about her," Feln argued, eyeing the crowd warily, realizing just how easily disease could spread here. "I think it be best to burn everything inside this circle... coach, monster... even the girl."

"Feln!" Lela chirped. "How could you?!"

"We'll save the lass if we can," Morier added. Feln rolled his eyes.

"Fine!" he growled and surged suddenly forward. He tried to attack quickly, reaching in fast to wrest Goodwife Nedhne from Taunen-baum's grasp, but the chaos spawn reacted just as quickly. It swung at Feln as the half-ogre grabbed for the woman, using Goodwife Nednhe as a club to spoil Feln's grapple. The damage to the half-ogre was minimal; he'd been training himself to take a hit and keep on coming. The woman faired less well, and she swooned on the edge of unconsciousness, blood flowing freely from her smashed mouth.

Morier spoke the words of a_ True Strike_ spell and moved into a position flanking Feln. Huzair opened up with a pair of _Magic Missiles_ that swerved unerringly to strike the center mass of the chaos spawn. It let out a pained cry but seemed little injured by the spell.

"For the Fallen!" Karak bellowed, the battle cry heralding his charge. He clanked forward, stepping between Feln and Morier and slashing mightily with his longsword. The chaos spawn defended itself well, using the semi-conscious Goodwife as a human shield and forcing Karak to abort his attack. The dwarf's enchanted blade skittered uselessly off Taunen-baum's chitinous shoulder.

In retaliation, the former Constable opened his jaws impossibly wide, a wet, unholy sound bubbling from its cavernous maw for the instant before it vomitted a cone of diseased vitriol over Karak, Huzair, Lela, Demetrius and a half-dozen commoners in the crowd.

Guided by the hand of his goddess, Karak evaded the noisome cone entirely and Lela's spritely reflexes allowed her to avoid the worst of it. Huzair, Demetrius and the hapless citizenry weren't nearly so lucky. The mage was horribly burned and dropped in shock without even screaming. Demetrius maintained his feet, but the majority of his skin had been melted off his body and it seemed to be willpower alone that kept him from collapsing. The few commoners who had been in the area of effect were reduced to little more than sizzling puddles of flesh.


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## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> "Why the Rot Queen sent us a coach full of chaos puss!"




Well, to be perfectly honest with the puss, I've never known any Lawful puss. Seems to me puss would be neutral, so the fact that this puss leans towards anarchy would be pretty scary.


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## Jon Potter

In case it isn't blatantly obvious several of us played a bit of WHFRP back when the first edition came out. The guy who plays Karak introduced me to the game and he continues to play a lot of WH40K. It was he who first started talking about the taint of Chaos and he who dubbed the wererats to be skaven. The rest of the players just started following suit, so that's the terminology that I started using as well.

I've gone so far as the buy things like Monte Cook's Chaositiech because of the Warhammer bledding into our D&D.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #330] Something Rotten in the Floxen*

Demetrius Wyverneye had always feared that he was something of a disappointment to his father. The elder Wyverneye spent his early years as an Archer of the Green, but the son disdained the longbow in favor of melee. Demetrius always felt that a bit of the reason his father founded the Wyverneye School was to provide them with a shared experience. And what an experience it was! Borrowing a bit from the Three Thunders style and influenced heavily by the falchion work taught at the Kurshwan Academy, Arwold Wyverneye's One Hit, One Kill style provided Demetrius with everything he could want from battle. It was quick and dangerous and undeniably effective.

At least it typically was... Today - as the younger Wyverneye darted forward, putting all of his not-inconsiderable strength behind the sword stroke - was not a typical day. He had been burned horribly by the mutant's unlikely acid attack and the pain was sufficient to throw off his own attack. The greatsword split the air beside Constable Taunen-baum, missing its target by over a foot.

Lela had been burned as well, but she was small enough and quick enough that she avoided most of the acid's damage. Still, she had seen what it had done, both to Huzair and, even worse, to the innocent bystanders. There was nothing she could do for the commoners, but she could fan the tiny spark of life that still smoldered in the wizard. 

"Everybody back up!" the sprite shouted at the top of her tiny lungs. "Give me some room to cast _Entangle!_" Then she dropped to the ground beside Huzair and channelled a little healing magic into the fallen mage.

His eyelids fluttered, but he didn't rise.



Nearby, Shamalin picked her way through the crowd in a determined, but unhurried pace. As a member of the Speckled Band she had faced much evil, and this was no different; it was base and horrible. So, why, she wondered, didn't this disturb her more? She felt an odd detachment from the scene, as if none of it was real, but rather some elaborate play put on for her... her what? Pleasure? No she felt none at the sight of such carnage. But neither did she feel fear or loathing as she ought. Was this a gift from Flor - strength gained from surviving the trials she'd been through? Or was it just less concern for life all around?

She stepped through the oily sludge that had been a local man and looked down at Huzair. She could save him, she knew, and the voice of every teacher she'd ever had in the temple told her that it was her duty to do so. But another voice worried her as well, a voice that sounded suspiciously like her own. It cut through the cacophony in her head with a simple question:  Would it matter if he died?

"Let me," the cleric said to Lela. Shamalin pushed aside her dark thoughts and reached out to the divine. Energy flowed through her and into Huzair, _Curing_ his _Serious Wounds_. Lela watched with envy as Shamalin's magic did what the sprite's could not; the wizard's burned flesh sloughed off, revealing healthy ebon skin beneath.



Feln tapped his hidden reserves as he'd been taught at the monastery, pushing his strength and agility beyond their normal limits through force of will. His fist struck the chaos spawn twice to devastating effect each time. And with Morier on the Constable's flank forcing the mutant to split its attention, he was able to target some particularly vulnerable parts of Taunen-baum's anatomy. The thing that had once been a man cried out in pain as the half-ogre's fists worked him over.

Seizing the opportunity to _Strike True_, Morier slashed with Ravager. The eldritch warrior had practiced with Ledare's former blade since it was decided that he would be the weapon's new wielder, but he so far hadn't used it with his _Elemental Blade_ ability. And he hadn't tested his _Thunderstrike_ power in combat at all. As the blade slid hungrily into the chaos spawn's flesh, Morier channelled both of his second valance spells through the weapon and into Constable Taunen-baum.

The market was filled with the deafening crack of thunder and the stench of ozone as the eldritch warrior released the raw elemental power of the storm into the mutant. Electricity danced across Taunen-baum's body and sonic energy hammered at him. Torrents of foul-smelling blood streamed from the chaos spawn's ears and nose as it swayed in place, reeling from the gruesome beating it had just received. Its tentacle relaxed, dropping Goodwife Nedhne's limp body to the ground and Karak raised his longsword to finish the thing.

Huzair's _Scorching Ray_ did the honors, however, burning a hole clear through the mutant's chest before Karak could lower his blade. The thing toppled and fell wetly to the ground.

"It's dead!" Lela cheered. "Good thing too. I don't really feel that good." And saying thus, she dropped to her knees and began to vomit uncontrollably.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #331] The Hand of Aphyx*

"Oi," Karak said despondently. "That's that, I guess." Feln and Morier had dispatched the chaos spawn so quickly that the dwarf hadn't had a chance to land a single telling blow.

"Gods..," Armsman Culun gasped, his expression awe-filled. He held his longspear loosely in one hand. "That was amazing!"

"Get these people back!" Demetrius Wyverneye ordered staggering toward the Armsman. Wyverneye was barely standing, but still possessed a commanding presence that the young Culun could little resist. "And send a runner to the temple! We need healing!"

"Aye, sir," Culun said, quickly electing a young boy to head off to the temple. He then began working the crowd.

Demetrius turned, catching Karak's eye. He apologetically added, "I hope that wasn't overstepping my place, sir dwarf." Karak harrumphed, waving off the apology.

"Ye did nae but what I was preparing to do myself," the dwarf said. Pointing to the fallen Goodwife, he said, "Help me with the girl. Then let's check out the carriage."



Shamalin meanwhile looked down at Lela hunched over on the ground nearby; the sprite looked like nothing so much as a queerly animate doll. The cleric hadn't seen much of the tiny creature since returning to Floxen as Lela had spent the fast majority of her time in the wilderness surrounding the town. But Shamalin did remember kindly the faen's words of comfort upon finding her chained and broken within Blackheart's lair. And so it was with a gentle touch that Shamalin called upon Flor's granted miracle to _Remove Disease_, hoping to quickly rid Lela of the sickness which had taken hold of her.

There was little gentle about Huzair at the best of times, and today wasn't anywhere near the best of times. The mage had found himself unexpectedly at death's door, and while Shamalin's healing magic had pulled him away from any immediate danger, the experience had left him... irritable.

And he directed that ire at Morier.

"Look at all these people!" he chided, stepping up to the albino. "I even feel bad for Tannen Baum!" Morier just sighed.

"I know what you're thinking, Huzair. Indeed that carriage and the rot it carried did come from Relfren, but we couldn't have stopped it had we stayed there a fortnight," the eldritch warrior said. He gestured with Ravager at the misshapen body beside him. "We spoke to the Constable, here, and he made us well aware of his intentions that the festival go ahead no matter what. I wonder if he had second thoughts about it before the madness took hold?"

"Look at me, Morier!" Huzair snapped, caring little for the elf's calm demeanor. The lanky mage stood a foot and more taller than Morier and he glowered down at him as he shouted. His long black finger stabbed at the eldritch warrior's chest. "Kael's Loom! You think I was ostracized before now?! Gods! I don't even want to look in a ferking mirror!"

"I didn't do this to you," Morier replied, not giving any ground. He was smaller in stature, but a good deal stronger none the less.

"Didn't you? Whose idea was it to walk away from Relfren?" the mage continued. "We need to save what we can when we can, not walk away until an even bigger mess finds us later on!"

"We warned them, Huzair. But we must remember, there are few who have travelled the land as thoroughly as we have, and even fewer who have seen all that we've seen. We can't blame them for not knowing the power of this evil," Morier said, wiping Ravager clean before sheathing it over his shoulder. "That's why we need to push on... to kill it at its root. We've seen that we'll never be able to convince everyone how truly black this thing is until they experience it for themselves... and by then it will be too late. Let's press on while we still know which way we're being pulled. We'll rest today and move out before first light in the morning."

"You have no clue where your head is pulling you," the mage hissed, but much of the venom had been drained from his words by Morier's argument.

Pausing to sense the pull in his head, he repeated the words aloud that had been burned into his memory by the Water Guardian in the Grove, as though trying to put together the pieces of a puzzle: "...The Keepers, Dridana's most powerful servants, were able to craft four keys that would breach Lady Rot's defenses. These keys we hid away in a pocket not unlike the Grove itself, apart from the Green but linked to it. Each key grants its wielder great power over one of the four elements. And each key must be brought to bear to free Dridana's heart..."

He blinked and turned to look at Huzair. "We need the keys first, and I can lead us there. So you see I have some idea where I'm being pulled," the elf told the mage. Then he looked at the others and added, "We must each vow before we leave here tomorrow that that is our goal, and understand that we cannot continue to be pulled off course by the trivialities of fighting evil for people who won't do it for themselves. We could spend a thousand lifetimes on that course and be no further ahead than we are now."

Huzair looked at the eldritch warrior for a long moment, before turning, deflated. "Second mistake I have made! " Huzair muttered angrily. "Garan Zak said: always stay at maximum range in combat... Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!" He kicked Constable Tannen Baum's corpse in the head and it burst like a rotten melon, sending dark, blood-tinged puss splattering away from the mage's boot. The thick globs of diseased slime fell on Feln, eliciting a roar of disgust from the half-ogre.

"I hate the filth of Aphyx!!" Feln bellowed, looking in horror at the tainted scum that clung to him. "Someone needs to help me clean this... mung... off!" He looked at the nearby well and at the stream, immobilized by indecision about which would be the best choice to wash off.

"Oops!" Huzair said simply. "Damned chaos scum caused me to lose my temper. Sorry about that."

"Don't just stand there!" the half-ogre replied heading toward the stream. "Help me wash this mess off before I catch something!"

"Stay out of the water supply!" Morier sternly cautioned the martial artist.

"Yeah! What a good way to spread the filth to the town's drinking water," Huzair sneered condescendingly. "Great idea, Feln."

"Well, we need to do something!" the martial artist cried, his voice a full octave higher than normal. Huzair laughed, producing a cigar from his pocket.

"I can take care of burning the remains," the wizard told him, lighting his smoke. "That's the best way to be rid of it. And we've got a priestess of Flor in the group to take care of you. Get a grip."



"What's wrong," Lela asked, shuddering. Shamalin had been quietly humming a tune that Lela vaguely recognized; it was a song about kindnesses and nature that enhanced the sprite's feelings of well-being. But the tune had abruptly died in the cleric's mouth. There was a growing look of fear in Shamalin's eyes that the faen - even sick as she was - couldn't miss. The cleric twisted her lips into a false, rubbery smile as she spoke.

"Nothing's wrong," she lied. "You'll be fine."

The truth of it was that Shamalin had cast _Remove Disease_ on the sprite expecting her to make a swift and complete recovery. She didn't, however, which was troubling. There were certain diseases so virulent, she knew, that they required application of other curative magicks in conjunction with _Remove Disease_ before relinquishing their hold on their victim. She racked her brain but could think of only one: Mummy Rot. The Constable clearly hadn't been a mummy, and anyway Shamalin wouldn't be able to cast _Remove Curse_ before extensive prayer and meditation.

The cold rush of doubt was quick to flood Shamalin's soul once more. Was she completely unable to work curative magicks any more? Had Flor turned her healing gaze away from her at last? Had the things she'd said and done at Blackheart's request caught up to her finally?

She closed her eyes and took a deep, calming breath. When she opened her eyes again, the self-doubt had abated enough for her to try another spell. She channelled the power of a Lesser Restoration into the faen and saw some of the color return to her tiny, ashen cheeks.

Shamalin smiled. She had only treated the symptoms, not the disease, but it was good to be able to do even that much. It reaffirmed her connection to the divine. "We need to get you back to the temple," she said at last.

"Thank you so much for your healing," Lela replied, smiling wanly. "I am so glad you will be traveling with us." The faen's confidence seemed misplaced to Shamalin and the genuine affection in the words stung her.

"Shhh," she sighed. "Rest and be well."



"There's nothing we can do for her," Melonna admitted, wringing her hands as she spoke. "This is The Hand of Aphyx we're dealing with here; not Cackle Fever or some such. This is a disease crafted by the Rot Queen herself and no mere spell can put the faen right now."

"What?" Karak growled, hefting his frost-rimed waraxe - freshly-enchanted in Balazaar's workshop. Melonna raised a reassuring hand.

"There is hope, good dwarf," she went on. "There is another temple of Flor to the south in a city called Rhadcliffe. Therein is a shrine famous throughout Pellham; the ill travel there from leagues away to be healed. Shamalin knows the area. She spent some time there with the Speckled Band."

The half-elf nodded. She and the others had done battle with bizarre creatures that seemed conceived in some madman's nightmare. They had dubbed the things gestalt monsters because they each seemed to be the fusion of one or more familiar creatures into a single, disturbing whole. She remembered well a battle with a giant whose head had been replace with the body of a belohder; that encounter had almost cost Amaury his life.

"It is some distance away," Shamalin said after a moment and Melonna nodded.

"True, and Lela will certainly need continued attention during the journey," the high priestess confirmed. "You can use spells of Resistance to help the sprite prevent further deterioration and Restorations to offset the damage that has already been done.

"I thought you guys were supposed to be a temple of healing," Huzair scoffed. "Why can't you just work some magic to fix her?" Melonna sighed.

"I wish it were that easy, but this is a disease without counter, the ultimate fruition of the Rot Queen's dark art," she said. "We are fortunate indeed that the rest of you did not succumb to the illness as Lela has. If that chaos spawn had rampaged wantonly through Floxen, the situation would be far, far worse. I thank Flor that you were here to deal with the situation."

"As it is, the situation to the northeast might be every bit as grave as I fear," she added. "I'm dispatching a team of clerics in the morning to follow the coach's trail and alleviate what misery they can along the way. We must find the point of infection and cleanse it; if a disease such as this were to spread..." She left the thought unfinished as a shudder of fear travelled through her.


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## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> "Oops!" Huzair said simply. "Damned chaos scum caused me to lose my temper. Sorry about that."




heh, heh. Suuurrrrreeee totally the reason.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #332] On the Road Again*

It took little convincing for the group to decide that reaching the shrine in Rhadcliffe was in everyone's best interest. Not even Morier argued against the detour, which was a small miracle in and of itself. When he and Karak agreed on a course of action, Feln fully expected fish to fall from the sky or some other end-of-the-world events.

"Lookie here, Morier. The poor, wee lass is ill, and the cure may lay in Rhadcliffe. I say we off to Rhadcliffe. We need to restock supplies of healing draughts too and charges for this 'ere wand," the dwarf explained, patting at the two healing sticks he had stuffed in his belt. "I know we have Shamalin now and, believe me, I know the power of a full fledged cleric, but she can nae do it all. Plus if'n I do remember proper, there be an apprentice or two that was heading to Rhadcliffe, mayhaps we will find out about that old note we found back in Hillville Junction."

"I agree that we need to get Lela cured," said Morier with a nod. "Rhadcliffe is where we need to go, and fast."

"Now do nae get me wrong, I can see the merit in chasing down those keys with a singular purpose. But I think there be more to it than that. I mean look at the harm we could have stopped if'n we had stayed in Relfren to figure out the goings on with the Constable," Karak continued. "I agree that the way to kill a Medusa is to lop off her head. The problem bein' the snakes will keep bitin' you on the way in." The eldritch warrior sighed.

"Karak, we could chase the evil out of every village and every town and every city from now to eternity, and never even leave so much as a mark for anyone to notice what we've done," Morier explained for what seemed like the millionth time. "A hundred of us couldn't stop every plague and every disease and every sickness brought on by the rot queen, a thousand couldn't... ten thousand couldn't. But maybe, just maybe, this small group of us can find a way to bring down the cause of the whole thing. But if we stand any chance at all, it will be because we hold the four keys the guardians spoke of." Karak harrumphed.

"Aye. We be only one group and we can nae be in all places at once, but that be why we be settin' up the Manor house, no?" the dwarf argued, gesturing at Demetrius. "Then we can add to our number; we can add to the Order."

Huzair threw up his hands in disgust, tired of watching the circular argument unfold yet again. "I'm going to the Lantern for a drink," he grumbled as he stalked off toward the front doors. "Try to have this debate finished by morning, would you!"

Shamalin took the opportunity to duck away as well, saying, "I have some things that I must attend to before we leave as well. I will meet you at dawn." Then she bowed politely to Melonna and disappeared deeper into the temple.

"I too should take my leave," Demetrius said. "I must return to Miller's Pond in the morning. Those I left to supervise the clean-up are capable, but it won't do to be absent from my post for too long. The recruits will get restless."

"We'll check back with you when we return to the area, Demetrius," Morier said, placing a reassuring hand on the human's shoulder. "With any luck we'll have more spoils to add to the manor's war chest." Wyverneye smiled, wryly.

"That would be good," he said. "We've several capable hunters in the group and more than a few farmers who have been able to glean some grain and vegetables from the abandoned farms around the village, so food will not be an issue. But there are other necessities that we'll need gold to buy."

"We'll do our best, Demetrius," Morier said. "You just hold the place together until we return. I have every confidence in your ability."

"Aye, lad, you held your own against that Chaos Spawn and did nae fall prey to the fear 'o it. I can see we made a good choice in you to set up the manor house," Karak said, thumping Demetrius on the back hard enough to make the man stumble. "Why do you nae take that lad, Culun, as one o' your charges? He seemed rightly impressed with what we be about."

"Perhaps, sir dwarf," Demetrius said as they headed for the front of the temple. "I don't wish to deplete Floxen's guard force and we've already got at least two men at the manor with former armsman experience. And it's my personal experience that watchman training isn't all that helpful in learning my father's fighting style." Karak harrumphed again.

"I still think the best way to fight is to have your feet planted with a goodly-made dwarven waraxe, hefty dwarven muscle, and the mind of a goradz to take down an enemy," the dwarf went on, his earlier argument with Morier entirely forgotten. "But I can see the merit in the sword method, too. Aye, I can." His voice trailed off as the double doors closed behind them, sealing out the autumn chill.

Feln sat awkwardly beside Lela's bed, watching the sprite's tiny form with a concerned eye long after the rest of the temple had gone to bed.



*Godsday, the 7th of Harvester, 1269 AE*​


Shamalin woke well before dawn and, resigned, she donned her new armor - Blackheart's armor. She strapped in on piece-by-piece, slowly and methodically, willing it to become more hers and less of whose it once was. It was different than what she was used to... covering her more fully, and twice as heavy. She could barely move inside the armored shell, but she had to admit that, once on, it felt right. And the thought of that sent a shudder through her. She ran her fingers lightly over the symbols of Flor she'd had hastily etched into the shoulder plates and whispered a prayer for guidance.

Next she reached for the sword. If she was to hold her own in this new party, she was going to need to develop her skills with a blade. She hadapproached the VQS, seeking an instructor. They seemed wary at first. Perhaps it had been because of the Janissary, she did not know. But in the endthe albino had agreed to teach her. She thought maybethe timing of Demetrius' arrival and his story of his father's death had played into the decision somehow. Whatever his reasons, Morier was willing andshe had set her mind to it.

She slid herpalm around the hilt of the longswordrecommended by Crofton Mallareupon her last market trip. As with her new armor, Shamalin had requested some manner of personalization. There had been a large jewel set into the hilt. It had easily paid for the smith's work and was now replaced with a smooth silver tear drop. She had done much soul searching before deciding upon Flor's mark on the sword. The goddess of mercy's symbol on her weapon seemed almost blasphemous, butit filled a need within her. It did not change her calling. It did not lessen her capacity for mercy - such as it was these days. The White Lady had not struck her down upon her first grasp of the newly constructed sword. She took that as permission to bear the symbol.

The sword had arrived the previous day, before her ill-fated trip to the market, and her temple sisters whispered upon seeing it. But that only fueled her decision. And so with renewed purpose she packed her belongings and took her place amongst the VQS - The Order, they were now calling themselves. It was time for new beginnings.



As they moved south toward Rhadcliffe, Shamalin did what she could to recall details of her experience in that area which might aid them in their quest to find Lela a cure. At first she had expected the memories to be tinged with sadness, but as it turned out she felt a certain fondness for her time spent there. It had been difficult, of course; the gestalt monsters had been frightening to behold, and infinitely worse to fight. But her former party had all been alive - something so simple and yet so significant. And - she blushed to recall it, glancing around furtively when her mind wandered thusly - there had been other memories as well. She made a vow to herself never to take such things for granted again.

She calculated it would take them nine days on foot. They had considered buying mounts in Floxen to speed their travels. But Feln's size was an issue, and in the end they had settled on a brisk footpace instead. Something that she quickly regretted once she realized how much of a burden her new armor placed upon her. She found she could move no faster than Karak, which she supposed was just as well; they couldn't really move faster than that anyway without leaving the dwarf behind. Despite the heavy armor, it felt good to be moving again, and when Shamalin wasn't monitoring Lela's condition, she drank in the changing scenery with renewed appreciation for its beauty.

She also considered the best manner to approach the clerics within the temple of Flor in Rhadcliffe. If things were really as gruesome throughout the land as was evidenced in Floxen, Shamalin suspected that miracle healing would be at a premium.



*Waterday, the 8th of Harvester, 1269 AE*​


"Ooooff!" Again the broad side of Morier's wooden training sword hit her in the gut. With a graceful sweeping motion, he twisted and pushed at her with both arms. Shamalin lost her balance and then her footing, falling unceremoniously to the ground in a heap. She swore a litany of words that the eldritch warrior hadn't realized had been in the Florian's vocabulary as she struggled to her feet.

"Sorry," she apologized sheepishly. Morier wasn't sure if she was referring to her failed maneuver or her language. It didn't matter, he determined, and sighed deeply.

"Let's stop for today," he suggested, tossing the wooden sword which Feln had crafted for training purposes aside. For a moment Shamalin looked hurt, but she nodded acquiescence and stared down at her own sword.

"I'm really bad," she admitted.

Morier, who couldn't help but agree, searched for the right words to encourage her. His mind raced back to his own experiences with Arwold Wyverneye, and his heart grieved again for the loss of his former mentor. Wyverneye had been an outstanding teacher - demanding yet patient when necessary. Sometimes Morier regretted learning no more than the most basic maneuvers of the man's fighting style before concentrating instead on the path of the eldritch warrior.

"You'll improve," he said simply, lost in the memories of his years spent under the man's tutelage. Shamalin, sensing that his mind was elsewhere, picked up both swords. She could hear Karak's bellowing from the clearing where the company had camped for the night and knew that it meant he was eager to move on. Truthfully, she was thankful. Her whole body ached, and she didn't have much to show for it save one good parry which had really been more about luck than skill.

As she picked her way back to camp, her own thoughts began to wander - a luxury she did not allow herself often. Amaury would laugh hysterically if he could see her now. How many times had he encouraged her to learn to fight? And she had rebuffed his offers to teach her, just as she had turned away so many other things - at least in the beginning. Maybe if she had decided differently...and thus her thoughts ended as they always did. Guilt and shame washed over her, emotions that were almost comforting in their familiarity. Thankfully, the commotion from the clearing ripped her back to the present and she trudged back to camp, ready to strap on her heavy plate once more.



*Earthday, the 9th of Harvester, 1269 AE*​


The last village they'd passed through was several miles distant when the road they were traveling was intersected by another that ran perpendicular to the rising bluff of land that would become the Risilvar Escarpment further south. A weathered signpost standing off to the side indicated that the town of Rhadcliffe lay five leagues ahead. About 20 yards down that road however, was a split-rail fence running across the full width of the roadway, blocking it entirely.

To the side, and slightly in front of this roadblock stood several makeshift lean-to’s arranged around a large cook fire outfitted with an iron spit and cauldron. Behind the lean-to's stood a picket line of about a dozen horses and several low wagons covered with oiled tarpaulins. There were eight men relaxing around the bivouac, all wearing the same dark green tabard over their chain-mail armor. Long swords were clearly visible strapped at their sides, or hanging from nearby pegs on the lean-tos’ walls, accompanied by short bows and quivers full of arrows. One of the men move away from the others and approached the group in a purposeful manner, calling out: “Good-day, neighbors! Where might your business be taking you this day?”

"We're bound for Rhadcliffe," Morier called in reply and the man shook his head.

"That would be a bad idea, friend," the man answered. "There's a sickness that's broken out in that direction and the Duke's ordered us to close the border to try to contain it. Bad stuff. Lots of people are dead." He shook his head sadly.

"We're not allowed in?" Shamalin asked. "The temple of Flor lies in that direction."

"I can't stop you from going in if that's your intent, ma'am," the guardsman said, hooking his thumbs into his sword belt. "But I'll sure as hells keep you from coming out again. The Duke has-"

One of the men at the roadblock suddenly called out ,“Cap’n! We got breakers coming!”

Without another word, the man they'd been briefly conversing with - the captain of these men, obviously - turned and hurried back toward the roadblock. The other soldiers too were suddenly on alert, most of them grabbing bows and quivers from where they hung. About 50 yards down the road beyond the roadblock the group could see a man in peasant’s garb leading a small, gray donkey. Another person, a woman from her dress, was draped over the donkey’s back - either dead or unconscious. The captain called out loudly to the traveler: “You there, with the donkey! I order you to return to your home immediately under the authority of Duke Eram Diliham. If you do not obey I am ordered to prevent you from passing this roadblock by any means necessary up to, and including your death.”

The man either did not somehow hear the captain’s warning or chose to ignore it for he continued forward without slowing, so once again the captain called out to the approaching man, and as he did so the other soldiers began nocking their bows and taking aim. The man was now barely 20 yards away and it was clear that he was not well. His face was sallow, his eyes rheumy and sunken and his clothes hung on his emaciated body like castoffs on a scarecrow. After a third warning, which again went unheeded, the captain gave the signal to fire, and the soldiers let fly their arrows. All the arrows hit their mark and the man crumpled to the ground, his hand still wound around the donkey’s rope lead. The soldiers nocked their bows a second time and proceeded then to shoot the donkey who likewise fell dead in the road.

As the soldiers slowly lowered their bows and turned around, they all had a look of both dismay and resignation. They were obviously not happy with the events that had transpired, and from their manner it was plain that it was not the first time they had had to perform this sad duty.


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## Jon Potter

*Yikes!!!*

Pretty nasty prune here. Fortunately, I've got all my original files, so I can probably update the missing bits in pretty short order. And I'm sure happy to see EN World back up and running!

It's sad to lose what little reader feedback I had though.


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## Hairy Minotaur

Well, I'll still be here.


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## Funeris

I'm still here, too.  

~Fune


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #333] A Change if Plan*

Feln growled in disgust and took a long step forward, his face twisted into an angry  sneer. "Is there not a warning shot to be had or a blunted arrow to drive home your point?!" he bellowed, shaking his fist at the soldiers.

The captain turned back to face the group and regarded Feln coldly. Everyone - except maybe Feln, himself - saw the way the captain's hand drifted to the handle of his sword. "Do not question my actions, ogreling! My orders-"

"Your orders?" the half-ogre cut him off with a snort. "What good is it to block just this road? Could a vagabond or man of the wild not make his way past through the wilds?" The captain narrowed his eyes and drew his sword then, brandishing it at the half-ogre. Both Morier and Karak could tell from that motion that the guard captain knew his way around such a weapon and neither had any doubt that, if he'd wanted to, he could have given Feln a nasty wound as he drew the blade.

"Enough, half-caste! I've seen enough of your kind in my day to be intimidated by you!" the captain growled. "I gave you a chance because I'd heard rumors of an ogreling who traveled the duchy with an albino elf. And you've a merciful sister in your ranks as well. But don't think that I won't have my men take you down same as any plague-carrier if you try anything with me. Anything at all." The man emphasized his point by stabbing his sword in Feln's direction. Glancing up, the half-ogre saw that the archers at the barricade were looking his way with arrows nocked. He was fairly confident that he could take the sword away from the little soldier in front of him and new full well that he could take an arrow or three without serious injury, but Lela and the others...

He stepped back and bowed his head politely. "I understand the weight you carry, captain," Feln said calmly. "I too have had to carry out difficult orders, hard as that may be to believe. I was not always of this body. So recently in fact, I forget it at times." The captain's face softened a bit and he lowered his sword to a purely defensive position.

"You're better spoken than most ogrelings I've met," replied the man. "And you're right. This duty is an ugly burden to bear. But bear it I must for the sake of the duchy. For all of Pellham, maybe."



Shamalin knew the man was telling the truth - at least the truth as he knew it. She had quickly cast _Detect Thoughts_ as soon as the soldiers' attention was diverted by the sick man and woman. She almost lost concentration on the spell when the archers had killed them both and then the donkey as well. But she'd endured much horror of late and watching the murders affected her somewhat less than it would have a moonsdance ago, And the more she concentrated, the more thoughts she could pick up from the man... and from Feln as well; the half-ogre was within the area of effect from her spell and there was no way to exclude him from its power.

When Feln spoke about carrying out 'difficult orders' Shamalin saw men murdered silently in their sleep or in the bath and she cringed. Still it was the fact that she had access to the half-ogre's thoughts that allowed her to discern where he was going as he spoke and warn Morier of his intention to reveal Lela's sickness.



"Lela, I think the choice is yours.," Feln was saying. "We all risk sickness if we go in, but I will gladly take that risk if you feel there is a chance you could be-"

"WOAH!" Morier shouted, raising his hands and stepping forward. He had a nervous and smile on his lips that looked positively strained. "Getting a little ahead of ourselves aren't we, Feln? Shouldn't we discuss this a bit? Privately?"

"What?" Feln scowled as Morier motioned him away from the captain.

"Did you not just see these guys shoot a sick couple on sight?" Morier hissed and Feln shrugged in reply.

"I understand, but the little sprite needs assistance," he told the albino. "And if these guys want to try and take us, they do so at their own peril."

Morier slapped his forehead in frustration.



"What news from the temple in Rhadcliffe?" Shamalin asked the captain, distracting him from the exchange between Morier and Feln.

"The temple of Flor, mi'lady?" the man asked as he sheathed his sword. When Shamalin nodded, he became quickly interested in the toes of his boots. "That's a good question... a very good question. And the truth is, I don't know. The Duke sent at least three riders to Rhadcliffe to contact the temple when people first started getting sick. But none of them's returned that I know of." Shamalin's expression grew troubled.

"How long since this outbreak began?" she asked and the captain answered quickly.

"Right after the Fall Festival," he said. "I remember it well because at first folk thought it might just be some bad mushrooms or some such got served up at the harvest feast. But when things didn't get any better after a week-" 

"Sorry, sir, but we were in disagreement about whether or not we wanted to get involved... that plague looks right nasty," Feln interrupted, returning from his conference with Morier. The half-ogre smiled disconcertingly and went on, "Could we offer you some assistance and possibly bring word to a nearby healer? If not nearby, than the closest one? It woud be our honor to assist Duke Diliham in his quest to keep the Realm safe for all of us!"



"Good cover.  I really believe that one."  Huzair muttered sarcastically to Morier.

"Aye!" Karak grumbled. "Who elected the half-ogre to speak for us?"

"He's sure no Ledare," Morier sighed.



"Nearest healer'd be the herbalist, Mistress Feathertouch," the captain told Feln, pointing west. "About half a day in that direction. But this is well beyond her abilities, I'd reckon. She specializes in midwifery and the like." He fixed a suspicious eye on Feln and asked, "Why would you lot want to go risking your necks to help me and my men?"

Feln didn't have a ready answer to that, but luckily Shamalin did.

"My lord, it is evident that your men are steadfast in their conviction to you and to Duke Diliham. So, too, are we committed to our purpose," she said smoothly, a trifle surprised at how readily the lie came to her lips. "What my companion means is that we carry word from Holy Mother Mellona in Floxen, intended for High Matriarch Kosteny in Rhadcliffe.  We are seeking anyone at the temple who may receive our news."

"Bad time to be delivering messages, mi'lady," the captain said grimly. "As I've already said, three of the Duke's own have gone missing. There's reports of undead and other abominations to the south, not just disease. What's so important that you'll risk all that?"

Shamalin raised an eyebrow and replied archly, "Certainly your duke respects the honor of the religious institutions within his borders. Or do your orders include the interrogation of messengers as well as the termination of  breakers?" The captain nodded his acceptance and took a step back. 

"Flor doesn't have quite the sway here as she does in Rhadcliffe, but I've no reason to question you further, mi'lady. The clergy's business is its own," He hooked his thumbs into his sword belt and nodded toward the barricade. "You can pass if that's your wish. I've warned you as well as I know how and I won't stop you from leaving. But If you leave by that road, there's no returning to Diliham Duchy no matter what tidings you bring back from Rhadcliffe."

"Thank you, captain," she said with a polite nod. Beckoning him closer you added conspiratorially, "In all honesty, good sir, the contents of our message are as dark as the taint which creeps over your lands. We bring news of... events... in Floxen." 



"I didn't realize that you had such an interest in our manor project, Shamalin," Feln said as they marched westward away from the road leading toward Rhadcliffe and instead more directly toward the pull in Morier's head. As they'd left the roadblock, Shamalin had mentioned the manor project to the captain, but loud enough that his men probably heard as well. "It is commendable that your men serve their lord so faithfully in such difficult times," she'd said by way of farewell. "If ever they find their contracts to the duke fulfilled, there is a man by the name of Wyverneye in Floxen who is looking for such skill to oppose the evils of this land."

"As I've said before, Feln," the cleric told him now as they walked. "You're trying to turn a place of the darkest evil into a bastion of light. Those efforts shouldn't go unnoticed or unappreciated." Feln grinned down at her and said nothing more.



Later, as the road passed down through a narrow gully with steep, rocky walls, talk turned back to the debate over whether they should have pressed on to the temple of Flor.  "I still say my dwarven constitution'd be enough to go in and fetch a cleric to heal up Lela proper," Karak reiterated but the sprite shook her head.

"We need to move on," she said. "There is no sense in all of us dying before we get to Rhadcliffe."

"I know I will probably die soon anyways from this disease, so I might as well not be afraid to go in there," Huzair quipped, trailing cigar smoke as he went. "People who adventure with you don't live very long, do they, Morier?"

The albino shot him an evil look and Karak had opened his mouth to say something when the first arrows started hissing down at them from above. The ambush but a quick end to further debate.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #334] The Killing Field*

If they'd been thinking about the danger of ambush, or even considering the possibility that they weren't entirely alone in the wilderness, they might have noticed how ideal the site was for attack. The road descended here to the floor of a muddy gully between two steep hills crowned with a tangle of hardy nettles. and thistley brush. There was no quick way to the summit without climbing straight up the incline - a feat that was difficult in itself, and one that would leave the climber open to missile fire from the opposite hilltop.

The Order hadn't been thinking about an ambush - but somebody had.



Almost before they realized what was happening the sky was darkened by a swarm of arrows. In rapid succession two arrows slammed into Feln - one sinking deeply into the hafl-ogre's right knee and a second burying itself in the meat beneath his right ear. He had time to cry out before a third struck his forehead, careening harmlessly off his naturally armored flesh. A fourth arrow stabbed into the martial artist's muscular thigh; a fifth glanced off his right forearm, breaking into splinters against his leathery skin. A sixth shaft pierced the half-ogre's cheek and lodged there, protruding awkwardly from his face.

Feln was experienced enough to recognize the precision sneak attacks for what they were, but flat-footed on the floor of a gully without any cover, there was nothing he could do about it. Luckily for him, only the archers on his right side had been instructed to "bring down the giant". But Feln's gain was Huzair and Morier's loss.

Three arrows knifed through the air at the wizard and all three found their mark. Two plunged into his hip and thigh and the third sank deeply into his side, just below his ribs. He had time to let out a surprised grunt before he collapsed slowly to the ground with blood streaming down his trousers.

Two arrows whistled through the air around Morier's head, missing by less than a hand-span each. A third struck his magical leather armor and was turned aside. Three more were on target, however, striking his left leg and his left arm, and his hip just below his belt. The albino staggered, very nearly overcome by the sudden wave of pain.

Feln was in no position to see what was happening with the other party members. He yanked free the arrow sticking absurdly from his face and roared defiantly at the top of hill. He called on a surge of adrenaline, feeling the first stirrings of the inner power he would need to scale the steep incline of the hill.

Stirrings was all he felt before two more arrows stabbed into his gut, each a couple of inches from his navel. Then he fell down.

An instant later yet another shaft found its way to Morier's body, sinking deeply into the muscle on his chest and dragging another cry of pain from the eldritch warrior. He maintained his feet... but just barely.


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## Jon Potter

HM, Funeris, there's a re-post for each of you.

Thanks for stopping in to say, "Hi."


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #334] The Killing Field, part 2*

Karak, standing untouched in the midst of the barrage, swiftly assessed the situation: it wasn't good. Glancing around quickly, he saw that only he and Shamalin were obviously uninjured. He didn't see Lela, but that wasn't surprising; she was damned hard to spot under the best of circumstances.

And as circumstances went, these were very far from best. "Aye, they've got the jump on us, lass," the dwarf bellowed to Shamalin, but loud enough that he hoped the archers above would hear also. "The Ogre and the white elf are down." He looked meaningfully at Morier and then at the ground, suggesting that the Eldritch Warrior play dead, but Morier didn't seem to take the hint. Karak spied movement along the ridge line above, but no obvious targets until one archer popped up - perhaps to assess the truth of the dwarf's announcement.

Karak slipped free one of the handaxes he kept threaded in his wide girdle, drew it back and let it fly. The dwarf was not, by his nature, a specialist with ranged weapons, but his attack proved true. The axe bit into the archer's side and stuck there. Screaming, the man - who looked to have some orcish blood in him - fell back down behind his cover.

Up until that point, the archers had dismissed both of the warriors in plate armor as secondary threats. Their leader reasoned that anyone in heavy mail would take far too long to reach bowmen high atop the hill. Time during which the archers could continue to pelt them with arrow fire. Finding that the dwarf could strike at range changed that.
Which was, of course, just what Karak wanted.



Karak hadn't spied her, but Lela was there. Despite the heavy constriction in her chest (which felt awfully like someone were trying to slowly squeeze the life from her fragile body) she knew she had to act. Death awaited all of them if she didn't do something to change the dynamics of the situation. Her wings a bright blur behind her, she rose 30 feet straight up to survey the battlefield and came quickly to the same conclusion that Karak had: they weren't in a good position. Feln and Huzair, she saw, were both down, bristling with feathered shafts and Morier looked like he was ready to join them in the mud at any moment.

She could also see the murderous figures who were raining death on them from above. There was a score of them divided more or less evenly between the two facing hills. Mostly they looked of human blood (or human blood diluted with some other ancestry), but there was a group of four halflings among the opponents on the right and a trio of dour-faced elves on the other. Behind the halflings stood a scruffy-looking man with a rather large sword strapped across his back who seemed to be directing the assault. Not ten feet from him was a hunched figure in heavy plate armor carrying a large wooden shield. As she watched he began the somatic passes of a _Bull's Strength_ spell eager to swell his muscles with power.

She had her target, and she dropped an _Entangle_ spell on the right hilltop. Immediately the nettles and bracken that crowned the hill sprang to clutching life and chaos reigned amongst the enemies there. They cried out in alarm as the scrub that had been providing them with partial cover suddenly sought to pin them in place. Most of the archers, including all four halflings managed to dance about and avoid the entangling foliage, but three of them were snared before they could react. Both the leader and the spellcaster were amongst them and Lela was happy to see the _Bull's Strength_ spell fizzle. A sphere of translucent energy surrounded the caster and those near him momentarily as the magic went awry, but it rapidly faded away.

The archers on the facing hill were not unmoved by their compatriot's plight. The keen-eyed elves spotted Lela and targeted the sprite immediately. Two of the missiles flew wide, but the third transfixed the faen's right thigh making her shriek in pain.

With neither a ranged weapon nor access to healing magic of his own, there was little that Morier could do. He looked for cover, but there was none, so he dropped prone and began to scuttle away from the kill zone. Feathered shafts struck the ground near him, but none found his flesh as he frantically wormed away from the line of fire.

Two more arrows knifed toward Lela, but they were horribly wide of the mark, arcing uselessly away from the battlefield.



A few quick pokes out from behind Blackheart's shield confirmed Shamalin's suspicions - Feln, Huzair and Morier all had taken significant hits from the archers. She scanned the top of the cliffs, but could not make out any discerning shapes. Someone was up there... several someones, in fact, all with good aim. Pulling herself as close to the shield as she could, she closed her eyes preparing her mind to seek out the status of her comrades.

For an instant she faltered as images from her last attempt at the _Deathwatch_ spell exploded inside her head. It was several moonsdances removed now, and yet the shock of what her divine inquiries had found on that fateful day was still sharp in her memory. Pushing those images aside to focus on the Order, she reached out first to Feln. And it was not good.

He was seriously hurt, the small tremor of his lifepulse fading quickly. The same was true for Huzair although somewhat less so. Morier was in better shape still, but not by much.

Shamalin took several deep breaths to steady herself as she considered the situation. "Karak, can you help Morier? I'll attend the other two," she called to him from behind her shield, hoping he was still within range to hear her.

She didn't have an opportunity to look, however for arrows began to clatter ineffectually off her heavy armor. If she'd looked up, she'd have seen a single arrow nick Karak's left ear and have witnessed the sneer of contempt that wound had elicited from the hardy dwarf.

Grinning darkly, he clanked forward across the muddy road, angling to come up the more gentle side slope of the hill. _"Telnon,"_ he growled as he came and the head of his waraxe glittered eagerly with ice crystals in the afternoon light.



In the sky above, Lela whirled in a circle to avoid another arrow sent her way from below. The shaft that had pierced her leg made the maneuver cumbersome, but she managed and looped down with a handful of _Confusion Dust_ at the ready. Flying over their heads, she hurled it into the midst of the elven archers firing on her, but the wind caught it and blew it into the faces of three archers to their left. The first, clearly a half-orc dropped his bow and fled from Lela as fast as he could. The human woman in the center just grinned stupidly and began to babble nonsense. The third dropped his bow as the half-orc had, but he drew a great curved falchion from the sheath on his back and slashed at the nearest elf. The fey archer dodged the attack with apparent ease, but it forced him to divert his attention away from the sprite.

Scurrying painfully on his elbows and knees, Morier avoided two arrows that thunked down into the trail beside him. A third missed him only by virtue of his position slithering on his belly; it struck the ground less than half a foot from his head.

There was no place that was safe from all the arrow fire, but he managed to crawl to the base of one hill thereby limiting the number of archers who could target him.

Still, he knew, it would only take one arrow to send him on to the Walk of a Hundred Days.



Two more arrows pinged pointlessly against Shamalin's shield as she walked determinedly to Feln's body with the words to a _Sanctuary_ spell on her lips. She made a conscious effort to avoid looking at the cliffs and those shooting at her. She knelt in the blood beside him and used her magically enhanced sight to check again for signs of life. But there were none. His body was nothing but a lifeless shell.

Feln, last surviving member of the massacred Gelgian Brotherhood had died a second time.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #334] The Killing Field, part 3*

"Well, now! What do we have 'ere up on this hill, eh? A couple of weedy bandits for me to crack open!" Karak said as he clanked up the hill. "Takin refuge behind a hill and shooting your wee arrows, huh? Felled the big'un. Even a blind elf could have done that,. Not very sportin of ye." He spat threateningly and glowered up at his prey, adding, "No sir, I'll make sure you pay for that!"

The air in front of Karak grew dark with arrows as the five archers not otherwise engaged turned their bows on this new threat coming at them. But he was a juggernaut, heavily armored and undaunted as he hustled at them up the slope of the hill. And then, bellowing a foul dwarven oath, he was upon them, bringing death with him.

Karak struck the first foe he came upon, a raggedy human warrior with unkempt hair and wind-burned skin, slamming into him like the hammer of the gods. The unfortunate human had little opportunity to do anything before he died save grow wide-eyed with fear. Then the frost-rimed waraxe cleaved his left arm messily from his body. Karak's momentum carried him forward into the half-elf who stood behind the human. His weapon cut into the archer's guts, crushing his pelvis and sending him to the ground in stunned silence.



Across the gully, the folk entangled by Lela's spell wailed in impotent rage as they fought to break free. Those who hadn't yet succumbed to the clutching underbrush tried desperately to get outside the area of effect; some succeeded, but others mis-stepped and were dragged down. Lela saw the enemies who were near to escaping her trap and, sparing another handful of _Confusion Dust _on the elves that were still trying to pick her out of the sky, she moved to correct the situation.

Her toss with the dust was half-hearted - hurled even as she turned away - so it was little surprise that she missed her intended targets. Again she hit to the left of center, dosing once more the half-elf and woman who stood there, but the sprite also managed to sprinkle a portion on the dangerous-looking elf who was engaged with the half-elf.

The results were immediate. The elf dropped his composite bow and drew his rapier with murderous intent. He got little opportunity to do anything with the blade, however, before the other two confused warriors, half-elf and woman, tore into him with their falchions, ending his life quickly.

One of the two remaining elves sent an arrow ineffectually after Lela as she moved across to the opposite hilltop, but the other turned and fired point blank into the confused woman's chest. She staggered, but didn't fall, despite the sheet of blood that poured down her studded leather armor. The elf's expression was unreadable, emotionless as he reached for the quiver at his hip and made some tactical adjustments to keep the woman in position.



At the base of the hill, oblivious to events above, Morier looked longingly at Shamalin as the priestess bent over Feln with curative magics at her command. Clearly, he was in better shape than the half-ogre, but that didn't change the fact that he needed healing desperately. By Garn-Zanuth! He had an arrow sticking out of his leg! Did that mean nothing?

Grimly, he clutched at the wound with one hand and firmly grabbed the arrow with the other. Setting his blood-smeared teeth he yanked the shaft free with a groan of pain. For a moment the world teetered and grew dark around the edges as the wave of fresh pain spread through him. But he fought the unconsciousness down, wishing to the gods that he'd paid more attention to Malcolm's lessons on healing. He'd always been too excited to get back to Arwold's training with the sword.

The irony of that was hardly lost on the albino.



There were only two archers left on the one hilltop who weren't confused or fighting for their lives against one of their own confused comrades. Those two stood between those combatants and Karak. As the dwarf moved toward them, stepping over the bloodied remains of two of their allies, both decided to exercise discretion. They ran down the hill as fast as they could go, heading into the heath to the south.



Shamalin looked down at Feln's corpse and thought him lucky. He'd died an honorable death... not flayed alive and begging pitifully for the agony to end... saying things... anything to make the end come sooner... like Deas and Padgett.

Poor, poor Padgett. He'd deserved better. They all had.

A dagger of envy stabbed at Shamalin's heart. She'd touched the half-ogre's mind with her _Detect Thoughts_ spell and she knew the sort of life he'd led. What made his dark life worthy of an honorable death? If anyone was owed such it should have been Antinua; the elf was selfless in her devotion to others. Righteous, even. And she'd died badly for it. The half-ogre was an assassin - or had been - and he'd died cleanly in battle. Where was the sense?

Pondering that thought, she moved toward Huzair and scanned his ravaged body with her death sight. She saw he yet lived, but it took longer to find the pulse and meter of his lifeblood. His rhythm was darker, and she noted curiously that it was accompanied by the glowing sensation of fire. Her cheeks were flushed red with heat by the time she was finally able to draw him back from the dark of death's door through divine grace.

"Announce that I am dead," he instructed her gravely, and she blinked at him as his intentions sank in.



Three of the four halflings Lela had spotted earlier had freed themselves from the _Entangle_. And they'd seen her now as well. Three arrows arced toward her and she was able to alter her flight to avoid two of them. The third clipped her leg, cutting a bloody groove in her thigh. It was on him that she dropped her _Flaming Sphere_.



Deprived of the two targets he'd expected, Karak barreled into the back of the half-elf that Lela had _Confused_. His waraxe took the man's right arm and a goodly chunk of his shoulder off without slowing down. The human woman, already bloodied by an elven arrow, fell from a glancing blow that trimmed her skull messily just behind her ears. That left the dwarven warrior alone on his hilltop with two elven archers.

The two fey wasted no time in adjusting their stance and targeting Karak, but his heavy armor turned aside their arrows with ease. Then, as if by some shared, unspoken accord, they both turned and bolted down the hill to the south, moving lithely amidst the bracken at a pace that Karak couldn't hope to match.



The halfling tried to jump out of the way as Lela's ball of flame materialized in front of him, but he was too slow and instead cried out in pain as fire met flesh with an awful sizzling sound. The scrub grass at his feet burst into flame, making him pinwheel his little arms and dance about from foot to foot in a way that would have been comical if not for all the screaming.

The sound of burning was music to Huzair's ears. And while he'd hoped to be the one doing the burning, he had a lovely spell that would assist the sprite's endeavors. He reached out with his magic, touching the fire started by the flaming sphere and calling on it to produce smoke. Lots of smoke.



Morier heard Huzair mutter the incantation of a _Pyrotechnics_ spell and then the hilltop across from them disappeared behind a bank of expanding black smoke. There came panicked screams and choking coughs from within the cloud, but of the archers, nothing could be seen.

Which meant that the archers couldn't see them either.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #335] The Turning Tide*

The effects of Huzair's spell blossomed atop the cliffs to her left right and Shamalin could hear confused cries from within the billowing smoke. She straightened and looked toward Morier. The spell afforded her a few precious moments which she fully intended to use. She was stopped, however, by Huzair's tight grip on her arm.

"Thank you for saving me, beautiful priestess of Flor. Allow me to return the favor," he hissed, moving little to maintain the pretense of his death with any that might still be able to see him. "I can cast an invisibility spell. Do not attack anyone and you will stay-" But Shamalin shook her head impatiently, cutting him off.

"Save your energy. My goddess will watch over me." And she moved purposefully toward Morier, hoping that the words were true.



The cloud of black smoke roiled below her, completely blocking Lela's line of sight to both her _Flaming Sphere_ and to the entangled bandits. She could still sense her Sphere, of course, and continue to direct it, but it was a blind direction and she didn't much think that -

An arrow arced up suddenly from the left of the cloud, missing her, but still clearly aimed at her. One of the halflings had made it to the edge of the smoke cloud and was sniping at her. As she watched, a second of the four tumbled adroitly out of the smoke and drew a bead on her with his shortbow. It was the one that she had previously burned with her fire, and despite the difficulty of the shot, he managed to send his missile cleanly into her chest. The point of the arrow was turned aside by a rib before piercing her lung, but she felt a stab of hot pain indicating that rib had been cracked in the process. Her side was on fire, and she found her wings faltering as she struggled to remain aloft.

One more hit like that would be her end, she knew.



Karak heard Lela cry out and saw the two halflings that were still shooting at her as if they yet had a chance of prevailing. Deprived of his opponents by their own cowardice, he moved down the far side of the hill back toward the trail below. He loosened his last throwing axe as he went.

He grunted in surprise as an arrow found the gap between greave and poleyn on his right knee. His tough leather leggings absorbed most of the impact, but he could feel a trickle of blood begin working its way into his boot.



Huzair glanced furtively around and saw that the rain of arrows seemed to have let up - at least as far as he was concerned. Sparky was circling above the cloud, marking the position of the only identified enemy spellcaster and Huzair smiled. Producing a smooth chip of white stone from his spell component pouch, he drew on The Weave to send a _Snowball Swarm_ into the midst of the smoke cloud. Spells of cold weren't the mage's specialty, but he was pleased by the multiple screams of pain that issued from beneath the smoke as his spell struck home.



Morier lay in the mud bleeding and waiting for Shamalin to arrive with healing. After what seemed like a lifetime, she finally reached his side. She met his gaze briefly, acknowledging the pain and urgency clearly visible there.

Thankful that it was not too late, Shamalin pushed away the surrounding chaos and turned her mind inward. It always surprised her initially - the sound of one's life, played out in rhythm and measure. It was the utterly unique song of a soul. And it never failed to move her with its beauty. Calling upon the mercy of her goddess, Shamalin took Morier's hand adding the soft sounds of healing to his rhythm in her mind.



Lela dodged arrow fire from the two snipers who seemed intent on knocking her out of the sky, Looping back away from the line of fire and calling on the Green, she managed to suffuse some much-needed healing into her small frame. It wasn't much, but the ache in her ribs abated some. She managed a wan smile, thankful for the reprieve from death she had given herself.

She heard laughter from below and saw that two of the halflings were chuckling despite the situation. They were laughing and pointing at Karak who had hurled his second throwing axe and sent the weapon sailing off into the distance rather than actually threatening anyone with it. The dwarf seemed nonplussed by his performance in ranged combat and he bellowed an unintelligible battle cry as he charged across the trail and started up the opposite hill toward the hobbits who had now turned their bows on him. An arrow pinged off of his breastplate before he'd moved five feet.



Huzair rolled to his belly and crawled toward Feln's arrow-ridden corpse, although what he was hoping to accomplish eluded Morier as the Eldritch Warrior got to his feet. He spared Huzair a disapproving scowl and laid a hand on Shamalin's shoulder. "Thank you," he said simply and hefted Ravager. The sword felt hungry in his hands as he started toward the far hill.

Shamalin watched him go and considered targeting him with a_ Shield Other_ spell. She could tell through the lingering effects of her _Deathwatch_ spell that Morier's health was vastly improved by the application of her _Cure Serious Wounds_ spell. Huzair was in worse shape, but the wizard wasn't making his way toward melee, either. It wouldn't do to have her healing all undone by an enemy's well-placed sword blow.

She targeted the albino's retreating form and then moved to keep him within range of the _Shield Other_ spell.



Arrows from all three halfling archers struck and were turned away by Karak's thick plate armor as he advanced. As he closed with them, all three dropped their bows and drew shortswords, ready to meet the seemingly unstoppable dwarf with steel.

Lela drew her _Flaming Sphere_ out of the smoke cloud , directing it at the halfling she had already burned. He cried out as the fire ball slammed into him from the side and danced away from the flames, but the smell of burning hobbit flesh was strong in the air.

The two uninjured halflings concentrated on Karak, They both assumed offensive postures, sizing up their enemy and awaiting the moment to react. There was little Karak could do except charge on as he had been, axe gripped in both hands and ready to split the hobbits in twain. As soon as he was near enough, the pair sprang into action. The halfling on his right dove forward into a somersault that brought him up behind the dwarf, opposite his companion. They stabbed with their shortswords as one.

Karak was able to dodge the blade in front of him, but the tumbler's sword slid underneath his pauldron and found the soft meat of his armpit, drawing blood and a roar of pain from the dwarf. It was a good plan- flanking the enemy so that he would have to divide his attention between two adversaries. Sadly, it also set up the halflings for Karak to lay into them with a full attack - which is what he did.

His waraxe separated the first halfling's guts from his body cavity, strewing the ground with frost-rimed entrails. The other halfling managed to avoid the follow through attack and the second blow that came in its wake. He tumbled backward out of Karak's reach, drank a potion and vanished.

The third halfling tried desperately to get away from Lela's _Flaming Sphere_... without luck. He fell, his clothing and the grass beneath his feet forming his funeral pyre.



At that moment, the black smoke that Huzair's spell had generated began to dissipate, revealing the remains of the ambushing force locked helplessly in the embrace of Lela's _Entangle_ spell. There were only five of them left including one halfling, the man with the large sword who Lela had picked out as the leader, and the hunched and misshapen spellcaster in platemail. The man with the sword looked up as Morier crested the hill near him with Shamalin clanking along behind him. He cast a glance around at his decimated force and hung his head.

"We yield!" he choked, his voice raw from coughing. "We yield!"


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #336] Complicated Matters*

"'We yield'? 'WE YIELD'?????" Lela screamed at the top of her tiny lungs. Her voice was shrill, edged with grief. "Are you out of your mind???? You don't get to YIELD!!!!" She flew toward the man and as she went she gestured at her _Flaming Sphere_ and the fire ball obediently followed in her wake.

The scruffy man glanced up, saw the flames moving in his direction and quickly renewed his struggles. He was still weakened from smoke inhalation and securely entangled by thistles and grass, so his struggles were futile.

"We are beaten!" he choked at Morier. "We have gold... and magic!"

"You slew our friend," Morier hissed back at him across the expanse of writhing vegetation. Ravager wavered in his hands from a position of rest to one of attack as if neither it nor its wielder could decide on the proper course.

"Feln did not get to call yield!" Lela wailed as she circled down toward the bandit leader. "I'll tell you what, you bastard: how about you tell us why the hell you just attacked us and who exactly ordered it and we will kill you quickly and painlessly... well, quickly anyway!"

Fortunately for the helpless human, Lela's _Flaming Sphere_ spell ran its course before it could reach him and the faen squeaked in frustration as the fire sputtered out.

Karak stalked forward through the _Entangle_ spell - which had no effect on him thanks to his _Ring of Freedom_ - and swung his axe in the air, muscles bulging, his teeth clenched in barely contained fury. "Well, now it seems what you'n all had in store for us did not go as planned, other than killing my old friend with your cowardly bow fire!" the dwarf panted as he came. "That an now you got one mighty angry sprite and a half-dead drow elf!"

The man looked around, apparently searching for a black-skinned elf, but, seeing only the albino Morier, quickly put one-and-one together. The look of despair on his face increased four-fold. Karak couldn't see it of course as he stalked effortlessly through the grasping vegetation toward the man's back.

"I mean just look at 'em," he went on. "Why I seen him stick that bastard sword of his in a man just the size of you and blow him up with electric lightning. Guts went everywhere!"

"We've surrendered!" the human shrieked. "Certainly that means something."

"It doesn't mean as much as it might have a few moonsdances ago," Morier told him. "We've lost too many friends of late. And now you kill Feln and try to kill the rest of us." His words were threatening, but his voice seemed to have lost a measure of its earlier venom.

"See that one over there?" Karak said as he finally moved abreast of the man and could see his fear-filled face. The dwarf pointed at Shamalin with his waraxe. "She seen and lived through more horrors'n the likes of you can even think about with yer pea-sized hummie brains. Personally I think she be ready to snap, and you lot may well be as good a lot for her to snap on as any, I be thinkin'."

The man looked at Shamalin then quickly looked back at Morier, clearly considering a drow to be more of a threat than a woman in antique armor.

The hunched figure to his right, however, saw the cleric and let out a bark of recognition. "Ye be a Florian!" he croaked and a smile of sort played across his naked snout - something he had kept hidden by keeping his head down while his leader spoke. "We beg mercy in the name o' yer goddess!"

Shamalin looked at the misshapen figure more closely now and spotted for the first time the symbol of Neralas, god of thieves, dangling from his forward-thrust, over-long neck. The face above it was furless, but looked otherwise canine - full of sharp teeth and eager hunger. She recognized the presence of gnoll blood in the figure.

"Hamelin!" the priest of Neralas growled excitedly to the human imprisoned beside him. "A Mercybringer!" But Shamalin dashed his hopes by turning away.

"Sometimes living can be a far greater form of punishment than death," she said bowing her head.

"We can tell you things if you let us go!" the human called to her. "About your temple in Rhadcliffe! We been that way less'n a week ago! We saw things!" Shamalin turned back with obvious concern on her face and the man's expression brightened a bit. Until Lela put an arrow from her shortbow into the ground beside him.

"How about you tell us and then we decide what to do with you!" she shrilled circling above the cluster of earth-bounds, another arrow already in her bow.

"You'll kill me as soon as I give you the information," Hamelin argued, tracking Lela's flight as he spoke.

"Aye!" Karak agreed. "The pixie'd just as soon gut ye here and now. The ogre ye killed was 'er friend." The man whimpered and hung his head, but Karak leaned forward, slid the head of his waraxe under the man's chin and forced the captive to look him in the face. "As for me, I still got a bit o'the rage in me, and I sure be dyin' to avenge me friend on ye. So as I see it, you got two ways this can go down. You can tell us who you be? Why you attacked us? And who you be workin' for. If you do that, we let you live. The other way, well you just look around you and at my friends' faces and you figure it out, you lot of thievin' filth!"

Karak stepped back sweeping his axe around to indicate the carnage and then spit on the entangled man. "What's it gonna be?"

Hamelin looked around despondently. Only the half-gnoll priest was alive and nearby, and he regarded the man expectantly. He lowered his head, resolved to his fate. "I'll tell you whatever you want to know," he said.

"Tell your men to lay down their arms!" Huzair's disembodied voice called from nearby. The mage removed a ring from his finger as he walked toward them around the far side of the _Entangle_ spell and became instantly visible again. Pointing to the half-gnoll, he added, "That spell-caster needs to be bound and gagged as well."



While they waited for Lela's _Entangle_ spell to run its course, Hamelin spilled his guts. After the spell had expired and the prisoners had been rounded up and divested of anything Huzair determined was magical, he finished the tale. It was not particularly encouraging.

He admitted freely to he and his band being brigands, eking out what existence they could under the cruel talon of winged-folk rule in Pellham. Contrary to many of the rumors that seemed to be circulating in the area, however, Hamelin maintained that he and his band did not cause the disease infecting the surrounding lands, nor had they actively attempted to spread it. The temple to Flor at Rhadcliffe had been attacked several weeks ago by a military force of unknown origin, he explained, and this same group was now living at the temple. Hamelin had at one point thought that he might be forced into a confrontation with this other group, but so far they had not infringed at all upon the bandits’ activities, and so Hamelin left them alone. He had also heard that the group was accompanied by a dragon, but he didn't believe this rumor to be true. Shortly before the plague first broke out, there were stories of strange creatures attacking farms bordering on the Spiney Wood to the south but he didn't have any specific information beyond that. His group did attack and loot one shipment of healing supplies destined for the Duchy of Deliham, and it was these _Potions of Cure Disease_ that had allowed them to range through the plague-ridden areas with little fear.

With regard to the invisible halfling and the others who had fled, Hamelin supposed that they had retreated to their camp some mile or so distant from their present location.



The sound of hoofbeats tore Shamalin's attention from the words the man was babbling - a string of vile acts committed in his lifetime for which he seemed to be seeking absolution. She knew that it was not in her power to grant or deny such pardons, and wondered if it was wrong to allow the man to think so. As such, she had been half about her own thoughts when the sound assailed her. 

Seeking the source, her heart constricted to see a dark image astride an even darker warhorse approaching along the road. Her fingers grew slack, causing the flask of water in her hand to spill onto the ground as she quickly rose to her feet. The others had heard it too, and already Morier and Karak were scrambling into defensive positions along the base of the cliff walls. Grimly, she wondered what strength remained in them to confront this new attacker. Certainly her own resources were nearly depleted.

Her eyes took in the figure's appearance - spiked full plate armor of a dark metallic hue. A skull's image set grimly in the center of the breastplate. A human rider, wearing no helmet. His strong and handsome features were framed by silvery blond hair. And at the sight of his face, Shamalin let loose a scream of sheer and utter terror.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #337] Entirely the Wrong foot*

The bound man next to Shamalin was totally caught unawares, and nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of her piercing scream. She choked off her cry and stared, open-mouthed at the rider. Her mind seemed to be spiraling inward as she struggled to understand what she was seeing. "It has his face," was all she managed to whisper repeatedly, causing her captive's eyes to bulge out even more.



"Halt rider! You've wandered into a powder keg here on this road," Morier snarled stalking forward with Ravager held ready at his side. "Give me a reason that my companions and I should not dispatch you as we were about to do with this band of common thieves?"

In response to the albino's approach, the man's warhorse began prancing back and forth, snorting eager clouds of steam. Its hooves stabbed at the ground menacingly.

"Stand down sirs! What has happened here?" the rider commanded, his eyes flashing emerald-bright. He drew a morningstar from his side and it glowed like a firebrand in his fist. "Stay your weapons! Who speaks for you?"

"I'm feeling generous enough to give you a piece of advice rider, wanted or not... Explain yourself quickly, or turn your weapon on the dwarf or myself," Morier offered as he continued forward with a sardonic grin, "for if the angry pixie gets her hands on you... well, now THAT would be embarassing to try to explain to your next of kin while they tried to identify whatever was left of you after she gets through."

"Let us take a moment and breathe there, warrior," the rider urged, his voice flinty. He turned his mount crossways on the path, interposing his glowing morningstar between himself and the eldritch warrior. "It may appear you have the upper hand here, and if I were you, I would present myself in the same manner. What you need to know is that I do not travel alone. But even if I did, a party of wounded mercenaries might present a challenge... might.... But you will certainly not have me babbling along and answering your every demand!"

"Now I ask you again: what has happened here?" he demanded, his handsome features set in a grim mask. He nodded toward Feln's body. "Who killed that... thing... in the road?"

"Identify yourself now, rider!!" Morier bellowed in response. He was close enough now to charge and his body posture telegraphed that intent. He glanced back briefly to get a measure of Karak's preparedness. The dwarf was moving forward, his omnipresent axe clamped in his fist.

The rider adjusted himself to receive Morier's attack, his warhorse rearing up angrily on two legs while he pointed his bright morningstar at the albino. "I give you one last chance, sir! Stand down!" The man's eyes flashed with righteous fury and Morier felt his resolve crumbling beneath that withering gaze despite himself. "I have no wish to slay you, warrior. But if you wish to visit Purgatoriaum this day you will find me well-equipped to hasten your journey!"

Morier hesitated, delaying his attack, which was long enough for Karak to approach and forestall the melee. "Hold there, Dark One," the dwarf shouted as he came up. "If'n you be the leader or those rotten lads back at the manor house, let me be the first to tell ye, that we slew them all. And we recovered the Cleric there and you might recognize the armour to prove it." Karak cocked a thumb over his shoulder toward Shamalin. The rider took his eyes momentarily off Morier and his gaze locked with the half-elf's just long enough to force the cleric to look away in horror.

"If'n you thinkin' you are here to take her back, well I suggest you be thinkin' o' somethin' else," the dwarf added, thumping his axe against his breastplate. "Of course, I do admit that a leader of your stature among the Rot Queen's own would nae be ridin' aroun' the countryside all by his lonesome." At the mention of Aphyx, Karak spat into the dirt.

"I don't know of any manor house, and I am not presently looking for the services of a cleric," the rider said, addressing the dwarf, but keeping his eyes on the albino who still had his sword drawn and ready. "Thank you, though." Karak harrumphed.

"So that, along with you not recognizin' the cleric's plate mail leads me to think that you be someone else," the dwarf said and planted his axe between his iron-shod feet. "Who be you then? And why do you so suddenly appear after this ambush gone awry?"


----------



## Jon Potter

*Double Post*

Double Post


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #338] Farewell to Feln*

The rider backed his horse up slightly and, favoring Morier with another appraising look, he hooked the morningstar back in its place. Its light faded away as his hand left the weapon's haft.

"My name is Ayremac," he explained, pressing his left fist against the skull symbol worked into his breastplate. "I am but an Officer of Umba. Why I stumbled across you at this time, only the gods know. Will you tell me now what has happened here?"

"We were ambushed," Morier told him, sheathing Ravager reluctantly as he spoke, "by an admitted band of renegade thugs and common thieves." Ayremac looked at the defeated bandits and his scowl deepened.

"Listen up, lad, you have decided to prance on up 'ere right at hot time," Karak grumbled. "As you can see we just dispatched this 'ere band o' bandits who'n decided to ambush us. Things are a little tense. We do nae know who you are, why you showed up here, and especially at this time. It seems you've touched the nerve o' our cleric and you look a fright."

At mention of Shamalin, Ayremac turned to look at the half-elf, his face betraying nothing. "Cleric, I am sorry to have startled you," he called, pausing for a moment until Shamalin raised here eyes and looked on his face. Then he winked and mouthed the words: 'Are you okay?' before finishing aloud with, "Would you prefer that I ride on?"

Shamalin had been teetering back and forth between belief and disbelief. Her mind flashed to a warm summer day many years gone by, and the face of the man before her as she had known it in her youth. Could it really be? After so long? Such evil as she had known could steal bodies, certainly. But no one except Arland Penibel could take such a serious moment and dispel her tensions in a wink. Perhaps it really was him. All eyes were on her, and for some reason she was compelled to continue his anonymity.

"I am sorry. I thought you were..." she began but she could not find the words to describe her fears. It was enough that they were, at least for the moment, unfounded. She relaxed her shoulders a bit and shook her head in response to his question: no.

"We've more important duties to attend to and a fallen comrade to honor," Morier told Ayremac, his voice dripping with unconcealed sarcasm. "So do with this pile of murdering detritus as you will, Sir 'Officer of Umba'." Ayremac shot the albino a glance that plainly indicated that he had noticed the eldritch warrior's mocking tone.

"I appreciate your candid nature sir, but I am not that kind of Officer," he said diplomatically. "Although I do believe these men will need to be brought to justice, I am unable to do so at this time. What is your intention with them?" 

"My preference is to kill all of these who have 'yielded,'" Lela chirped, swooping in to land on the trail. Glaring at Karak and Morier she added, "I understand I do not have everyone's support in that but certainly we need to disarm them." Karak harrumphed, scowling down at Lela.

"This 'ere is what we are gonna do," he said, stamping the butt of his waraxe on the ground for emphasis. "We are gonna strip these bandits down and take thier gear for the cause against Chaos. We are gonna leave 'em bound so they can nae follow us."

Ayremac dismounted and ambled closer to Karak. The holy warrior eyed the prisoners and lowered his voice so that they would not overhear his words. "I am sorry, my way may not be like yours, but in good conscience I cannot leave men tied in the wilderness. They would surely die."

"So?" Lela cried, her voice cracking with emotion. "There's balance in that! They killed Feln without provocation; let them die!"

"Lela!" Karak scolded. "We're nae the murderers that this lot be." He looked up at Ayremac and added, "If you be an officer of Umba and want to take 'em in your care, so be it."

"I am in no position to give up my current pursuits and take these men to the proper authorities," Ayremac admitted to the dwarf.

"Just what are your current pursuits, holy man?" Morier asked petulantly. Ayremac considered for a moment, his lips pressed tight together.

"Well, I don't mean to be cryptic, but suffice it to say that the people of my temple and my town are being devistated by disease and we do not think it is a random occurence," he said at last. "I am just trying to see if any other towns have been affected by the same plight." 

"We have seen much plague, sickness, and rot," Morier told him, his tone one of commiseration. "More than perhaps most could imagine. It seems to be washing across the Realms faster each day. Barnacus, Relfren, Floxen."

At mention of Floxen, Ayremac looked questioningly at Shamalin. The cleric was standing near the man's horse, stroking its neck. Her face had a haunted quality that he didn't much care for. She'd been so full of life when last he'd seen her; it was like a dagger of ice in his heart to see her like this. "Where have you been, man, to not know of Aphyx's latest deeds?" she asked, her voice almost a moan. Ayremac arched a delicate eyebrow. Where had her song gone?

"Are you telling me that you believe that there are forces rising that serve the Rot Queen?" he asked and Shamalin nodded.

"We know it to be true," Morier added and the Officer of Umba snorted dismissively.

"I find that hard to believe," he said. "Her power was stripped bare when she fought Flor during the early days of Pellham. More likely this is the work of some demon of wizard. I have heard tales of a necromancer that has taken up lairing in the forest near Rhadcliffe."

"This is Aphyx's doing," Morier said. "No matter how hard you find it to believe."

"Aye, her power be on the rise," Karak said, spitting. "An' we've been tryin' to stand in her way as much as we can."

"That's why we can't waste time worrying about these bandits," Lela said. "Let us deal with them with much haste and move on to caring for Feln!"

"Aye! We are gonna put our comrade Feln on his walk 'o the hundred days," Karak said with a sad shake of his head. "We will then be on our way."

"So we take all of their weapons and leave the bandits with their shoes and clothing and that's all?" Morier asked. "Let them go and we go about our business?"

"If one of them killed your friend, then by holy law it would be just to take his life in exchange," Ayremac said, looking particularly at the Sprite as he spoke. "Lela, who would you hold responsible for Feln's death?" Without hesitation, Lela took to the air and circled above Hamelin's head.

"Him," she said firmly. "This one was the leader of the group." Hamelin began to weep.

"Then so be it," Ayremac said loosening his morningstar and moving toward the helpless prisoner. "Let justice be done."



"I did not know this man in life, but I knew men like him," Ayremac said as they stood beside the body surrounded by the wooden pyre they had built for the half-ogre. He and Shamalin and Lela were gathered beside the corpse intending to use their various faiths to speed Feln's soul on its journey. "Brought into the world with a martial purpose but having a heart large enough to care for life's smallest creatures." He looked at Lela and smiled, but the faen screwed her face up in disgust.

"Look, I am small but I am not a child," she chirped. "Watch the condescending tone, please."

"My appologies," Ayremac said, obviously taken aback by the sprite's ire. "I intended no disrespect."

"Crude are the bodies which house souls in this lifetime," Shamalin said, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling between the Lela and Ayremac. "May Feln be at peace in a place where such... packaging... is of no consequence." Taking his cue from the cleric, Ayremac turned his attention back to the body. 

"It has been explained to me that he is taking the long walk for the second time, but this time, Feln, you will not be interupted," he said, placing his hand reassuringly on Feln's massive arm. "May you find peace in the eye's of Umba at your final destination."

"Having been raised and schooled in darkness, he sought out and became one with the light," Shamalin added, her eyes downcast and her hands pressed tightly together. "It was a path which required more strength of will than most could ever hope to know.  And it will not go unnoticed."

"Open your heart and allow yourself to be judged not only on your deeds, but your intent, your spirit, and your nature," Ayremac said as a benediction and then turned toward Karak, Morier, and Huzair (who had finally turned visible once it became clear that the newcomer was not out to kill them), saying, "Friends of Feln, say your farewells, for the warrior has taken to the path. If his life was just, and you live your life in the same way, you shall meet again in the afterlife."

One by one, they filed up and stood briefly at the body's side and then they moved away leaving Lela a moment to say her own farewells.

"You were a great friend to me and you deserved to live a long life," the sprite cried, wiping tears away from her tiny cheeks. "You... I just wish you hadn't died so soon. I will miss you, my friend, but I look forward to meeting you again in the next world. We will continue your battle here. You have not died in vain."

At her signal Huzair conjured a _Flaming Sphere_ and directed it along the perimeter of the pyre, igniting the sticks and grasses that they had amassed around the body. The fire licked up, obscuring the half-ogre's corpse and sending thick black smoke into the darkening sky.



"Ye said that ye did nae travel alone," Karak muttered to Ayremac a bit later as they all stood watching Lela watch the body get consumed.

"Yes," the Officer of Umba admitted. "I was traveling with another man. We separated just before I happened upon you. He followed some folk he'd spied fleeing southward - most likely the bandits you say escaped."

"I am getting tired of being attacked by invisible bandits and things I can nae see or reach," the dwarf snorted. "It's makin me a bit jumpy, not knowin' where 'e be."

"He is not bound to me, sir dwarf," the Officer of Umba explained. "We share a common hatred for undeath, but I cannot say when he will return or truly if he will at all. He comes and goes as he pleases."

"What do we do now?" Huzair asked, puffing on a cigar. "I mean I like a good fire as well as the next man, but are we just going to stand here all night watching the ogre burn?"

"We'll stay as long as the sprite needs us to," Karak grumbled. "Then we'll need to make camp."

"I don't particularly want to sleep here," Morier said. "After being ambushed here, the place seems... cursed."

"There is a wood a bit west along this road, back the way I came. There's a sign indicating the presence of a healer, 'Mistress Feathertouch'," Ayremac explained. "That spot would make a good defensible position for a campsite."

"Are you joining us, then?" Shamalin asked without looking up at him.

"For tonight at least," he said. "I would hear more of your tales of Aphyx."


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #339] Making Camp, Making Friends*

There was an enormous tree near the spot where another, narrower path led off the main road that the group had been following. A weathered, but clearly well-maintained sign reading: "Mistress Feathertouch, healer" pointed down that smaller path, but it was growing dark and the group decided to venture no farther than the tree. It was old with a wide spread of branches and a massive root structure that rose up all around the central trunk. The roots made footing treacherous and the drooping branches offered partial cover to anyone camped near the trunk.

It wasn't a perfect campsite, but it was a far sight better than sleeping out in the open. Karak began barking orders at once, directing everyone to get the job of making a camp done.



Ayremac helped as instructed by the dwarf. He did not mind taking orders and it allowed him to concentrate on something other then Hamelin's face. Hamelin - the name rang in his head. He had not stopped thinking about it once while he lead the group to the campsite. It was a welcome relief to go about the chores of setting up the camp. Placing the stove rocks, walking and learning the perimeter, figuring out where he would attack the camp if he had to. Even the small talk with Karak, Huzair and Lela was nice. Shamalin and Morier were not talking with him, but he understood. Shamalin was uncomfortable with his new calling and Morier still chafed from being shaken by the channelling of Umba's spirit. When the chores were done Ayremac tended once more to Dreyawulf, his horse. He made sure she was fed and brushed, and that her riding gear and splint mail barding was properly oiled. Once she was well tended he took his lamb skin sack and the riding blanket and moved off to one side of the camp were he knew he could have a few moments of peace.

Ayremac sat cross legged on the blanket and ritualistically pulled his spruce altar case from the buttery soft bag and placed it in front of him, saying, "Lord Umba, I sit before you today ready for your judgement."

Again, with a ritualisticly steady hand he opened the case until the fine silver chains caught the lid, holding it open at a wide angle. The mirror in the center of the lid stared back at him, the two eyes painted above it reminding him that Umba was always watching. Even in the gathering gloom of evening, his darkvision clearly revealed the contents of the alter case. Never the less, he removed two small candles from the interior, placing them on the top corners of the lid and lit them with a flint. He then closed his eyes, focusing on the prayers he'd learned at his temple.

"When a life is taken with intent, it is with a heavy heart that we dispense your justice. I seek your righteous mercy and request you lift this burden from me; I cannot carry it," Ayremac said, folding over on himself and laying his head in front of his portable altar. For a full minute he remained in that position, the smoke curling over him, the candle light flickering across him. He then raised himself and sat upright, removing the prayer cloth and laying it across his open palm. He then removed his leather bound prayer book and opened it one handed to a random page, laying the book on his open palm. He read the revealed prayer to himself and then closed his eyes, meditating on it for a few silent moments.

With a cleansing sigh, he closed the book, folded up the prayer cloth, blew out the candles and repacked his altar case. He then placed it back in the soft confines of the lamb skin sack and folded the riding blanket. He returned all of trappings to their appropriate places and started to return to the fireside. A tiny throat being cleared forestalled him.



Lela was uptight.

She had lost so much in such a short period of time: her best friend, a new friend who felt like her protector, her innocence even... She was feeling cold and callous. And, frankly, angry. The fact that she did not feel particularly righteous about her anger didn't help matters either. As she had watched Ayremac dispensing justice, she'd felt a thrill of pleasurable vengeance that made her a little ashamed.

She was still feeling it later at Feln's funeral, when she snapped at Aryemac when he was just trying to be nice. It was as if she no longer felt she understood kindness.

As they walked, the heat of her emotions subsided and when Ayremac went off by himself she followed in order to apologize. She hadn't meant to spy on him, but her curiosity got the better of her when she heard him start to pray. She hid herself and listened intently to his quiet communion. As she listened, her shame increased. Not just because she was spying on a personal moment, but because she had come to thank him in a very superficial way for killing Hamelin.

As he packed his things, Lela cleared her throat and made her presence known. "I am
sorry. I overheard your prayer," she said, looking down at the man from her perch on a low-hanging branch. "I had come to thank you, but having heard your prayer, I am even more grateful." Ayremac smiled, his teeth a gleaming crescent in the darkness.

"Well, the Justiciars in my church would tell me that it is not my place to accept your thanks; as a servent of Umba she alone is to be praised," he told her. "But I am still young in her ways and after today I'll just say 'you're welcome' and leave it at that."

"Anyway, I'm sorry I snapped at you earlier," the faen explained, suppressing the urge to cough. "It has been a difficult period of time recently."

"What is it that ails you?" the holy warrior asked, clearly concerned.

"Aphyx ails me... The bitch!" Lela cursed, spitting a tiny gobbet of blood-tinged phlegm in an unconscious parody of Karak. Ayremac's expression hardened and the sprite wiped her mouth on her sleeve. "Oh, sorry. I guess I shouldn't use profanity in the presence of clergy, but she has really taken a lot from me and I am taking it personally."

"I am sorry that you are not well but I would caution you against speaking in such a way about any of the dods... even Aphyx," he replied and Lela nodded sullenly. "I wish I could help cure you, but in the morning perhaps this Mistress Feathertouch may be of some aid to you."

"I doubt it. Whatever this disease or curse is, it doesn't appear to be cureable by any means known to Flor's followers," Lela explained and sat up defiantly. "It will probably kill me, but I plan to go down fighting." And saying thus, she dropped out of the tree and flew off into the darkness and out of the range of Ayremac's darkvision.

The Officer of Umba sighed and headed toward the firelight where the others were congregated.

"Are you all well?" he asked as he approached and Karak harrumphed.

"Just discerning the worth of our booty," Huzair said, holding up a potion so that his familiar could smell it. "Sparky agrees: another potion of Invisibility," the mage announced, stoppering the vial before returning it to the cluster of small bottles in front of him.

"And we were discussing watch rotations," Morier added, looking at Ayremac. "Are you willing to take a shift?" The newcomer nodded.

"I would like to take first watch with you if I may?" Ayremac said. "Unless you need to rest; I would understand." Morier glowered at the man, unsure if he were being called weak or if it were just his own imagination.

"I do not need to rest," the eldritch warrior said flatly. "Does that suit you, dwarf?"

"Aye," Karak replied through a mouthful of trail bread. Dried crumbs sprayed everywhere as he spoke. "I think you should 'ave the first watch with skull face, 'ere. I need ta check over me armor a bit and rest up after the battle rage."

"Ayremac and I will take first watch, then you and Huzair can relieve us," Morier suggested. "I'll take another shift with Shamalin and then you can sit with Lela after that. It will give the pixie a chance to rest and regain her strength."

"I should like the opportunity to talk with Shamalin if I might," Ayremac told them. "Perhaps she and I could sit watch together?" The man was asking Morier, but he looked appraisingly at Shamalin as he asked. The half-elf looked up from staring at her hands; she hadn't noticed, but they were nervously twisting and pulling at the hem of her cloak. Karak spat into the fire and shook his head.

"I do nae think that be a good idea!" he grumbled, pointing at Ayremac with his crust of bread. "The cleric be a might skittish and ye-"

"No, Karak," Shamalin said, her voice cutting the dwarf off mid-sentence. "I- I want to speak with Ayremac as well." Karak snorted and went back to gnawing on his food.

"In any case, I would be happy to take first watch. Or second," the Officer offered cheerily. "Whatever you all prefer."



"Although I think it began long before, my first knowledge of this group was as a party sent out by the Grey Company from the city of Barnacus," Morier recounted in a hushed whisper once the others had bedded down.

"The Grey Company... I've heard of them," Ayremac interjected. "A mercenary company, aren't they?" The albino shrugged.

"I was never officially a member, but they're more like an adventurers' guild, from what I understand," he countered. "And anyway, it matters not. Any connection this group had with them died back in Miller's Pond."

"Miller's Pond?" Ayremac asked.

"I'm getting ahead of myself," the albino apologized. "This party set out from Barnacus with a Janissary at its head. Her name was Ledare and she was charged by the King to dispatch the growing seeds of evil - I think it was a skaven epidemic in the sewers of the city, if my memory of the stories I've heard is correct. But nobody knew then how great this wave of evil would become."

"Yes. You mentioned Aphyx," Ayremac reminded. "How does the Rot Queen fit into your tale?"

"She is central to it, I am sorry to say," Morier went on. "I joined this group at about the same time as the friend we said our goodbye to today... and numerous others have come and gone before and after me. The Janissary, herself, was slain a fortnight ago by a servant of Aphyx. Those of us who have travelled together have bounced from bad situations to worse, trying to stop it where we could... never really succeeding at much of anything significant."

"All who strive against evil leave their mark upon the world," the Officer suggested and again Morier shrugged.

"Perhaps," he admitted. "But we may now have found a way to fight this thing. But with so much going on around us at every turn, it is difficult to keep our focus." Ayremac nodded.

"The faen suggested that she had been cursed directly by Aphyx," the holy warrior said and Mrier nodded back.

"Yes, Lela's illness is but the latest in a series of distractions," he said. "But she's made us pledge to move toward our ultimate goal rather than hunt for a cure for her disease."

"A noble sentiment," Ayremac replied then looked up at the sign nearby. "Perhaps this Mistress Feathertouch may have some cure. Since we are so nearby, surely a brief visit is in order."

"Sure! Let's spread the disease more," came Huzair's voice from the darkness. Both men on watch jumped to their feet and drew steel. "Might as well give it to the midwife to infect all the new babies." There was no sign of the mage; he'd gone to bed wearing the Ring of Invisibility he'd taken off Feln's dead finger. Morier shook his head and sheathed his bastard sword.

"Go to sleep, Huzair. You're no use without your beauty sleep," he grumbled. "And anyway, I think the midwife is worth visiting come daylight.. even if it's just for supplies before we head out following the pull."

"Pull?" Ayremac asked, still looking around uncertainly.

"Oh, yeah! The pull," Huzair's disembodied voice grumbled. "Make sure Morier tells you all about it. Just wait until I'm asleep. I don't think I can stomach listening to it one more time!"



They had been on watch together for close to an hour before the half-elf had worked up the courage and energy to speak. As he'd always done in the past, the man with her allowed Shamalin to take what time she needed and didn't force conversation where there was none.

"You are much changed," the cleric observed quietly. "How many years has it been?"

"Eleven," Ayremac answered. "Although to look at you it may well have been but a moonsdance. You haven't aged a bit." Shamalin bowed her head. She certainly felt older - as if a century-wide gulf had opened between the girl he remembered and the woman before him. It howled before her, but she couldn't tell him about her ordeal. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

"I'm a bit startled by the change in your course," she said instead. "I never suspected..." she gestured toward Umba's symbol worked into the breastplate of his armor. Ayremac smiled disarmingly.

"Yes, I am a late-comer to divine service," he admitted. "Unlike you. You always knew your path."

"Did I?" she asked quietly. It was odd to hear him say that given how uncertain everything seemed these days.

"Yes. But I must say that I preferred your white gowns of old to this drab armor." He gestured at her head to toe and she flinched from the motion as if she thought he would strike her. Ayremac's face darkened and he regarded her with naked concern. "Shamalin? What's wrong? Has something happened that I should know about?"

She hastily shook her head. "The world is not like I once thought it to be," Shamalin answered, brushing her hair out of her eyes. "It is a dark and dangerous place." Ayremac set his mouth in a grim line and stared off into the night.

"None knows that better than I, Shamalin," he sighed and for a few minutes the only sounds between them were the crackling fire and Karak's snoring. At last he asked, "How did you become associated with these people? They're not Florians, are they?"

Shamalin shook her head. "I have only recently joined this group. They are a strange lot. But their hearts are true and their convictions are strong. Even Morier's." She gave Ayremac a sideways glance and found him smirking. Then her demeanor became serious once more as she added, "And I have a life debt to fulfill." 

"Perhaps one day you'll trust me as you once did and you'll tell me of this debt," Ayremac said and Shamalin started to open her mouth. "When you're ready, Shamalin. As you may remember, patience is one of my virtues."



Mistress Feathertouch was of no use in curing Lela although she did offer to let the faen convalesce in her care. Lela, of course, declined the invitation and they parted from the healer after exchanging some gold for some some healing salve and two excellently-stocked healer's kits. The next stop was the little town of Mifield where folks were skittish  about contact with strangers and they were able to acquire mounts


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #340] The Pull*

*Freeday, the 10th of Harvester, 1269 AE​*​

The first few miles of travel after breaking camp didn't reveal anything out of the ordinary and this only served to put everyone more on edge - well, everyone except Ayremac. The holy warrior's paranoia had not been raised by the bandit ambush the day before. The land grew wooded as they went with occasional sections of open moor and the sharp-eyed travelers often caught sight of a cottage or farmhouse in the distance, and saw livestock apparently grazing contentedly in their pastures. A time or two one of them would spot the occasional farmer working around his homestead. It wasn't until they approached the village of Barlyton that they began to see the first indications that things were not right. At least a dozen buildings had burned to the ground, although obviously not from the same fire as they were scattered throughout the town with undamaged buildings betwixt and between. There was no sign of an inn or tavern, although the large pile of charred debris near the center of town could very well have been such an establishment at one time.

Thoughts of Miller's Pond rose unbidden to the minds of many and both Karak and Morier readied their weapons. Ayremac noticed the action and looked down from his mount.

"The village was like this when Rafael and I passed through here yesterday," he explained. "There's a great deal of fear regarding illness throughout the Duchy. It's become common practice to burn the dwellings of those who die from disease."

"Seems a bit extreme," Morier ventured and the officer nodded.

"I agree and told these folk as much, but they'd have none of it," he went on. "I had to shout at them through barred doors, so don't expect much hospitality here. There's a hostler just down this way."

They turned off the main road onto a narrower track of mud. That street, like the main one, was utterly deserted and, in spite of Ayremac's assertion to the contrary, they had begun to think that the village had been abandoned when they saw a man in peasant garb hurry across the road about 40 yards ahead of them carrying a large bundle. When he spotted the Order, his step quickened and he practically ran to a nearby cottage. He quickly slipped inside and shut the door behind him. As they approached, they could see that all the windows on the cottage had been stoutly boarded up.



The man was Asa the Hostler. The cottage he had hurried into was his shop and home where he lived with his wife and two young daughters. They, like most people living within Diliham Duchy had isolated themselves from almost all contact with others, hoping to avoid contracting the dreaded disease. He left the house only occasionally to get fresh water from a nearby stream, and to gather whatever food he could find that seemed safe. Just now he had been returning from his brother-in-law’s farm with some dried ham and cheese. He barred the door to his cottage behind him, so the Order's conversation with him was conducted through the door. Asa refused to open the door, even when presented with Shamalin's holy symbol of Flor. So far, none of his family had become sick and he refused to risk their lives on the word of a stranger - even a Mercybringer. 

They were able to negotiate the sale of horses and gear from him none the less. Making both Ayremac and Shamalin swear oaths on their respective gods that they would not cheat or rob him, he slid the key to his shop under the door and bid them take what tack they needed and leave the gold on the counter. They could have their pick of horses from the barn behind the cottage.



Shamalin stared resolutely at her mount. He was a medium sized dapple-gray gelding whose black eyes were, even now, watching her warily. She bit the inside of her cheek, smoothing her hand over the gelding's withers. As if she hadn't been having enough trouble trying to learn to fight in Blackheart's armor. Now the prospect of riding in it was like adding insult to injury.

"I'm sorry about this," she whispered to the horse as she hooked her foot in the stirrup and made her first attempt at hoisting herself into the saddle. Her leg felt like lead as she failed to clear the horse's backside. Instead, her foot landed squarely against his hindquarter, prompting a slight buck and a whinny of disapproval. Shamalin locked her other leg securely and held on for dear life. Luckily, the business of Karak attempting his own mount was commanding everyone's attention for the moment.

She balanced perilously on her left leg, feeling like the village idiot. With a massive heave, and a rather unladylike grunt, she managed to flop her impossibly heavy body across the saddle. Once her center of gravity shifted, she was able to drag the errant leg across. Clutching the reins, she let out a sigh of relief and began almost immediately to worry about her impending dismount. 

Looking up, she spotted Ayremac eying her with an amused grin on his face. "Maybe you should try singing to him," he said with a wink as they turned and headed out of town.



*Starday, the 11th of Harvester, 1269 AE​*​

As they road along - overland now that the road had curved away from the direction that Morier's head asserted they should go - Karak sidled his horse up to Ayremac. "So, dispatchin' the leader o' them bandits like you did," the dwarf grunted. "I can nae say I agree with it, but on the other hand, it is a form of justice, aye"

"It is not a task that I relished, Karak," Ayremac said gravely. "The path of righteousness is often a difficult one. Did not your friend's spilt blood call out for justice?" Karak harrumphed.

"I felt Feln died unfairly by that lot's thievin' way, but he did die in the heat of battle," the dwarf asserted. "An ambush be not a fair fight, but it be a fight. And you should know lad that the road we travel is a dangerous one. Feln understood that."

"Yes, but dying in battle is one thing, Karak," Ayremac debated. "Being killed almost before you realize that you're under attack is quite another. Feln was murdered and murder requires justice under holy law."

"No, the justice we dealt, was in all those we killed. Killing a bound and restrained prisoner, nae be what I would have done," Karak countered, his mouth screwing up in disgust. "He already yielded."

"So because he had surrendered himself that excuses him from the penalty of judgement?" Ayremac argued with a shake of his head. "No, Karak. That way leads to anarchy. Umba's law is absolute."

"Shaharizod believes in protecting the weak, even if'n it be those that follow the wrong path," Karak told him. "In fair combat, aye, I would have been happy to dispatch Hamelin. But he yielded before I could get to him."

"So again, I ask whether you believe that his timely surrender should excuse him from any penalty for murdering your friend?" Ayremac asked. The holy warrior had had many similar debates with other initiates during his training at the temple in Frothingham. Karak sighed and shook his head.

"It nae be what I would 'ave done, but strangely, I do see the field justice in it," he admitted then turned a skeptical eye on the Officer. "Now why'n you wearing that spooky armor that gave me cleric such a fright?"

Ayremac snorted laughter and replied, "That's a long story. But I don't think it was the armor that frightened Shamalin."



*Sunday, the 12th of Harvester, 1269 AE​*​

"Ooooff!" Once again the force of Morier's swordthrust sent her careening toward the ground. And for a split-second before she actually made contact with the earth a thought occurred to Shamalin: her only hope in combat was probably that her blundering swordplay might prove a worthwhile distraction. As she buried her face in the dirt she imagined her future - a large tin obstacle thrust out awkwardly in each skirmish in an effort to stun the enemy with her incompetence. It just might work...

Ayremac crossed his arms, watching from a near boulder - one of many that lay strewn about these hills like a titan's marbles. "Are you giving up?" Morier taunted her. Somewhere along the line he had changed his own teaching technique - searching for something to ignite a fire beneath her. He had yet to find it.

"No," Shamalin replied climbing to her feet. Her eyes flickered involuntarily toward Ayremac. Morier took a few perfunctory swings at her, and she struggled to maintain her footing - meeting each with weak resistance.

"I think you are. We're done." And he abruptly stepped out of their practice circle, regarding her critically. Ayremac disappeared quietly away. Watching him go, Morier leaned thoughtfully against the newly vacated rock. Having run out of apologies for her lack of ability, Shamalin did the same. They sat in silence for a moment as Morier carefully considered his next comment.

"So what exactly is your history with Ayremac?" Shamalin stiffened, her eyes narrowing. "You're obviously distracted when he's around." He clearly saw the warning flash in her eyes, but ignored it and pressed on. "Whatever it is, you're letting it stand in the way of your progress."

"It's nothing!" she snapped and glowered at him openly.

"Hmmmm," came his response. Feeling that he was on to something, Morier continued. "You know, whatever Blackheart did to you - I'm surprised you lasted as long as you did. Was your entire party this meek?" That was as far as he got before Shamalin's wooden training sword slammed him hard against the chest. Morier allowed himself a slight smile and rose with his own sword in hand. "It's a good thing you were chained to that tub. You wouldn't have been much help to them even if you had been..." Another crashing blow caught his swordarm. "At last! Now where has this been hiding?"

Shamalin could barely hear him. In a remote corner of her mind she realized that this was just another approach. But the passion of her own response had nearly overwhelmed her. With each comment the rancor welled up from within her, and for the first time she made no effort to contain it. In fact, she embraced it. If the result had been pleasantly shocking to Morier, it was utterly bewildering to Shamalin. The fact that such dark emotions fed her passion seemed strangely and perfectly ironic. Yet if hatred and anger could fuel her ability, well then she certainly had a bottomless reserve of that. 



*Moonsday, the 13th - Waterday, the 15th of Harvester, 1269 AE​*​

On Moonsday, they crossed a road that curved more or less in the direction that Morier kept urging them and so they took it, making good time south and westward into the thickening forest. Here the trees were sparse and relatively small, but they caught occasional glimpses of the dense woodland that rose up further south; row after row of coniferous trees pointing their spires skyward like upthrust spear heads. This was the Black Forest, precursor to the vast Spiney Wood.

The road curved away from their course by late afternoon and Morier insisted that they head off into the trees. (None of those present had any way of knowing this, but they had skirted to within a few miles of Dannibrae, home to the ranger, Finian Talteppe who had set out from Barnacus with Ledare over half a year ago. None of them had ever met Finian, of course, so the irony was lost on them.)

For not the first time since leaving the more civilized lands to the north, Ayremac wondered what had become of his traveling companion, Rafael. Certainly, the archer's skill with woodcraft would have been a boon to them on this journey.



*Earthday, the 16th of Harvester, 1269 AE​*​

Shamalin picked her way quietly through the forest, thinking. She should be praying, she knew. But these days the commune with her Goddess didn't come easily as it once had. No, these days it was the thinking that she couldn't stop. Much had happened in the short space of weeks since she had left her temple home. She felt guilty that her thoughts had been so much about herself, and now the sudden appearance of Ayremac - not about the things which should truly have occupied her mind. Like Feln's death. And the fact that the temple in Rhadcliffe had been attacked. 

Sighing, she rested on a fallen tree, absently running her fingers over its decaying trunk. She had barely reacted to that knowledge. She had even known a few of the religious members from her previous experiences in that area. What had become of them? Perhaps she should have voiced her concerns loudly enough to convince the party to go there. But the part of her mind which doubted so much these days immediately questioned the sense of such an act. Would she be willingly leading the group into peril? They were small in number - unequipped to deal with something of that magnitude. And this band held no debt to Flor. No, Morier was emphatic that they continue southwest. So she had kept quiet and buried herself in the new troubles that Ayremac's presence within the group presented. 

She continued to peel away at the trunk's bark. It came off easily in her hand. She did not like having him around. It wasn't simply because he was a stranger to her now - which he was. His presence was a constant reminder of what had been lost. Of innocence squelched by the disparages of darkness. It reminded her of who she had once been, which stood in such contrast to what she had become. That remembrance was a pinprick of light alone now in a dangerous time. She could not bear to remember it or to shine it, lest it somehow attract the unwanted attention of the gods. Before, there had been beauty and music in her soul which she had poured into the light of her feelings. For Arland once. And for Amaury. But now there was only silence. And darkness.

Shamalin stared down at her hands. Having stripped the tree clean of bark, the heart of the wood beneath was revealed. It was beautiful in it's own dark way, but doomed now to death and decay. She stood up, brushing herself off. No matter; the tree was dead.

Like everything else.



*Freeday, the 17th - Godsday, the 21st of Harvester, 1269 AE​*​

They'd been traveling for what seemed like moonsdances, through the forest and with time, the group's moods had soured. Huzair, in particular was unhappy with the route Morier was leading them on. Morier, himself had no idea how far off the pull was taking him and by extension the rest of the Order, so he could do little to assure anyone. He was finding his skill at wilderness lore, taught him by the druid, Malcolm to be invaluable so far from civilization.

Lela wasn't too happy with some of the unnatural things her own survival skills revealed to her about the area they traveled through. Twice they spotted the carcasses of elk and wolves - carcasses that had been ripped apart and partially devoured by something with large claws and fangs. The tracks in the soft loam were humanoid but easily twice the size of even the largest man's. They also found strips and sheets of scaly black skin wrapped around trees by the wind or caught in the branches overhead. To Lela and Morier both it looked like the shed skin of an enormous snake or lizard, but no such creature was native to this cold region.

In all, it did little to ease anyone's tension over being out so far from civilization.



*Waterday, the 22nd of Harvester, 1269 AE​*​

Midday on Waterday, they found it.

A cave led into the side of a ravine and it was to that dark entrance that Morier's head was directing them. they dismounted at the top of the gully and proceeded the rest of the way on foot. It wasn't until they had reached the bottom that anyone noticed the symbol of Aphyx that had been carved into the rock above the cave entrance. It seemed as though another symbol had been there before but that the skull and snake symbol of the Rot Queen had been superimposed atop it; what the previous symbol might have been no one could say.

Not that anyone had enough time to check it too closely before the slavering corpses came lurching out of the cave, their flesh hanging in rotten tatters and their mouths and hands crusted with dried blood.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #341] The Cave of Death*

"Shamalin, call on your goddess and help turn these abominations! I will do the same!" Ayremac shouted as soon as he spotted the undead. Brandishing his holy symbol he added, "Warriors, please follow our lead; attack those that are unaffected by our prayers!"

Karak needed no encouragement as he activated the frost rune on his waraxe and slammed into the advancing swell of corpses. Unfortunately, they weren't the shambling zombies he had been expecting and his target dodged his attack with disturbing alacrity. It in turn leapt at him with its arms spread wide and its eyes glittering with an esurient light. He managed to bring his axe up to meet the would-be grappler and the frost rimed edge split the thing from throat to hip. Even as it fell three more were surging forward to take its place and one of those was cleaved nearly in twain by the dwarf before it could close. It didn't fall - like any living thing would have - but its attack was spoiled nonetheless.

The other two clamored for him, their grabbing hands trying desperately to get hold of his arms and bear him down to the ground. Their gore-caked mouths snapped hungrily at Karak's face, living little doubt as to the fate that awaited him if he fell. Somehow he managed to avoid their greedy hands and maintained his footing.

Three more shot passed him, scrambling eagerly over the loose soil in an effort to get to the warm flesh nearby.

Two came at Morier and he swung Ravager in an effort to get keep them at bay. The one he'd targeted avoided the blade with ease and wrapped its arms around the albino's waist - or rather it tried to. Morier was able to grab its wrist and keep it from getting a firm hold on him. His second assailant reached for him as well, but its fellow was in the way and the attempt failed.

Moaning hungrily, the last of the ghoulish things went for Ayremac. Under a mask of determination there was just a hint of fear in the officer's demeanor. The trapped souls of the undead always crawled directly under Ayremac's skin and even with all the training and prayer, he could not look at it coldly as a trained officer should. Of course, that didn't stop him from cleaving in the side of its skull with his morningstar as it tried to bear him down. The thing groaned in frustration but showed no sign of pain from the injury as it glowered up at him.

"Shamalin, I will call on Umba to turn these abominations but I cannot turn them all. Call on your goddess if you can and aid me!" the holy warrior said again.

Shamalin scowled at the command. Of course attempting to turn the undead was what she should do first off, and who was he - so young and cavalier in his faith - to order it? But the truth was, the moment he said it, a thought that she might fail washed over her. Once the possibility of one's soul being trapped in a state of undead was the worst imaginable fate. Now, she was not so sure. She could think of worse things. And how would the White Lady reward such skepticism, she wondered?

But that moment of doubt was immediately lost in the momentum of the attack, and she blinked in surprise as Ayremac took action beside her. 

"Umba, hear my prayer," he intoned, holding up his shiny gold holy symbol. "I present myself to you, as a channel from which you may see the ghastly works of the necromantic arts. Please, Umba, show mercy on the souls of these animated corpses. Set them free and aid me in seeking divine retribution on the wielder of this dark magic!"

The words washed over Shamalin like the tide, leaving her tingling in its wake. She felt the tiny hairs beneath her armor ripple with its effect. Arland had always been rather articulate (a necessity when politicking) but she had never heard him weave such poignant emotion into a prayer. And she marveled at it momentarily. Then her lips moved silently as she bid favor of Lady Mercy in her own quiet, but equally fervent way, laying her hand on Ayremac's shoulder.

It was a uniquely foreign sensation to touch the tormented soul of the undead. Theirs was a personal hell of being rent between two plains. While Shamalin ordinarily experienced the healing graces of her goddess in musical contexts, there were no such melodies to be found in the madness which emanated from these creatures. She clenched her teeth against the desire to turn away and reached out to Flor in desperation - whether it be for herself or for the miserable creatures before her, she could not be sure.

In any case, the result was the same.

Positive energy flowed through Shamalin and into Ayremac. The holy warrior seemed almost to glow with power in that shadowy valley and as he directed his arm outward at the zombies, they were knocked back as if by a solid wave of force. It lasted but a moment and then the light passed from the man and the now inanimate corpses slapped wetly to the ground.

There was silence for several seconds and then Karak spat onto one of the lifeless bodies at his feet. "Well, that takes a bit o' the sport out o' the thing, don't it?" he grumbled.

"Thank you, Umba, for granting these poor souls justice," Ayremac said and then looked at Shamalin. "And thank you, too. I could not have done so well without you."

Shamalin said nothing and turned away. She looked at Morier and, gesturing to the forbidding cave mouth asked, "Does your head tell you we have to go in there?"

The albino looked at the dark opening in the earth and then back at the cleric. "Yes," he said without enthusiasm.

"Great..," Huzair sighed as he fished in his spell component pouch. "Time to buff up, I guess, eh Morier?"

"I'll wait," the eldritch warrior said pointing at the cave with his sword. "We don't even know what's in there."

"That's my point; we should try to be prepared," Huzair retorted with a shake of his head. "Gods forbid you should actually focus on magic, for once. If only you knew where real power lay."

The mage's comments touched a raw nerve with Morier and it instantly galvanized him. He whirled on the taller man. "Huzair, as usual your argument is idiotic, but now, given the seriousness of our situation I grow weary of it. If I knew when combat was coming, fool, I would clearly do what I could to prepare myself in advance... or better yet AVOID THE CONFLICT ALTOGETHER, YOU COMPLETE MORON !!! How do you propose I prepare for combat any earlier than the instant I know it's going to happen??? Have you not the common damned sense that Garn-Zanuth gave a maggot??? Or perhaps you are saying that you alone hold the powers to know when we face danger and have been witholding that information? Is that what it is, Huzair? Because that's the only way your idiotic banter makes sense."

Huzair just looked down at him with a slight grin touching the corner of his mouth.

"So that's it, is it? Hey folks, I think I've discovered something about our so-called 'friend'... apparently he is a seer who has been keeping the rest of us in the dark," Morier went on, turning to address the others who were all staring at his tirade in disbelief. "Based on his talk - and BOY OH BOY DOES HE EVER TALK - he seems to know when danger is coming, and yet has never once warned the rest of us about it!!!" 

"Little touchy there, sword boy?" Huzair snickered, drawing out a cigar and lighting it off his thumb. "You know I'm no seer. All I'm saying is that if you practiced your spellcasting more then your spells would last long enough for you to do a little prep work. Mine do. It's not my fault that you choose to focus all your effort on swinging around that ugly piece of steel." Morier sighed and looked again at the wizard.

"Huzair, I propose that unless you have the fortitude to stand toe-to-toe with any of the foes that the rest of us have battled by hand, you keep your inscessant-blatter-hole silent," he said, stabbing a finger at the mage's chest. "Stand back and cast your spells from a distance and let those of us with a backbone save your sorry ass time and time again... but for the love of Garn-Zanuth limit your pointless yammerings to 'thank you' and then SHUT THE HELL UP!!!"

"Ahem!" Lela chirped, landing daintily on Karak's helm. "While you two were shouting at one another and alerting half the forest to our presence here, I had Spot take a peek inside the cave and he says it's empty. But I still think you'll all want to come and take a look."



It stank of undeath and was dark inside the cave, but Ayremac's morningstar provided enough glow for everyone to see that it was in fact empty. It clearly had been worked by skilled hands: the floor was flat and the walls showed signs of having been decorated in places by elaborate frescoes. The latter, however had been systematically destroyed and overlaid with chaos symbols such as Karak and Morier had seen before in the goblin caves they'd helped clear for the Great Oak.

"Well, Morier?" Huzair asked, snidely. "We're here. So where's this key to defeating Aphyx?" The albino shot the wizard a scathing glance and then moved forward toward a bare spot on the rear wall of the cave.

"I can feel it," he said. "Pulling me here. There must be a secret-"

That was all the more he got to say before his outstretched hand touched the wall and he vanished.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #341] The Cave of Death*

It took them a few startled seconds of staring at the blank wall to realize what had happened. Ayremac looked at the smooth surface in disbelief. "Do we follow him?" he asked.

Huzair pushed passed him muttering, "Of course we follow him... I still want to win this damned argument." He walked straight toward the wall, touched it, and then he was gone. Karak grunted.

"Well, I'll not let the elf an' the dark one beat me to it," the dwarf grumbled. He gestured toward Ayremac and Shamalin as he shouldered past. "Especially not after the two o' you took all the fun out o' everythin' outside."

He paused only to lift his mighty waraxe, gripping the thick haft with both hands. "Oh, an' I'll take the sprite with me, too." Lela had already landed daintily on the dwarf's shoulder. She anchored herself to the coil of his plait with her tiny fists as he added, "She's a might good in a battle. Ha!" So saying, he heaved his weapon at the wall and they both promptly disappeared. Lela's spotted cat let out an immediate and lusty yowl of fear and darted forward toward the spot where the sprite had vanished. It too promptly was gone.

"What about the horses? We can't leave them!" Shamalin called out anxiously. But the others were gone and there was only Ayremac left to hear her. He glanced back toward the opening of the cave. "I do need some things from my horse," he admitted.



"-door," Morier finished as he suddenly found himself standing in a small, square room some 20 ft on a side. Some everburning torches set into decorative iron sconces along the walls shed a ruddy light, lending the place a hellish luster. An arched doorway led out of the room in the far left corner.

Pantherish, the albino glanced around for any sign of danger, sword drawn and ready to strike at the least provocation. But nothing lurched at him from the abyssal darkness and so he crept, cat-footed toward the arched doorway. Peering through it, he could see a grand hallway running off to the left and right  as well as another archway directly across from his own. The whole was lit as was the entry room, by sanguine torches set into thorny sconces at regular intervals along the walls - torches whose radiance seemed to fill the very air with blood.

He could no longer feel the pull as he once could; the sensation was diffuse now, more like a generalized pressure than a definite urge to go in one direction or another. Even so, the sensation that he was close to his goal galvanized him. He drew a hand across his damp forehead.

He was sweating, he realized, for it was warm here, especially after the frigid Pellham day he'd just left, and the stench of the grave pressed insistently against his senses. He strained his ears but could hear nought save the thudding of his own heart.

Silent as a shadow, Morier darted across the wide hall and flattened himself against the far wall. He peered furtively through the archway there, his darkvision easily revealing the room's contents. It was filled with weapons set into racks lining the walls. He withdrew his head and glanced up at the everburning torch set beside the archway, deciding quickly to secure it just to have one on hand in case it should prove useful.

As he slipped the brand free, the thorny iron sconce seemed almost to writhe and he narrowly avoided ripping his fingers on the needle-like projections. Breathing heavily, he thrust the ruddy torch into the armory. Slim swords with blades that flashed like quicksilver, shields of wrought iron with deep crimson garnets splashed across them like blood, and narrow-bladed knives with hilts of beasts' skulls and talons wrought in silver were arrayed around the room, but all of that captured his attention for but a moment before he beheld the thing in the center of the place. Set on a pedestal about ten feet from the door hulked a massive suit of articulated armor, its helm shaped like a ram's skull, and its feet-coverings worked like split hooves. From its fingers extended long, razor-sharp knives.

Still standing in the doorway, Morier noted that the design was similar to the armor that Shamalin now sported although it was heavier-looking even than hers and the plates interlocked cunningly. In all Morier decided it was not something he wanted to see animate suddenly so he turned away from the room without entering and headed up the hall.

He hadn't taken more than a few steps when a sharp hissing made him whirl toward the source: the archway through which he'd accessed the hall. The torch fell from his hands, clattering loudly against the fitted stone floor as the eldritch warrior brought Ravager to bear. Its wicked, saw-toothed blade came within a foot of biting through Huzair's neck before Morier arrested his swing, panting with adrenaline.

"What?" the mage said with a mock expression of hurt on his face. "Aren't you happy to see me?"



Wordlessly, Shamalin and Ayremac hustled out as quickly as they could and scrambled back up the steep incline to where they had tethered the mounts. The horses were skittish from the stench of death that was rising from the corpses arrayed on the gully floor - snorting and stammering upon seeing the two armored figures approaching. Shamalin hummed soothing sounds to them as she snatched up some of their belongings - rope, her healing kit, a few provisions- shoving as much as she could into a traveling sack. Clicking her tongue softly, she loosened the horses' tethers.

Ayremac, too, gathered what supplies he could carry. Then, reluctantly, he slapped the reigns affectionately on Dreyawulf's hindquarters. "May peace attend you," he whispered to her in Celestial as the mare ambled off in the direction of the other horses. He stared after her and then turned, sensing Shamalin's presence at his side. A foreboding sense of urgency hung between them as they trudged quickly back toward the cave, laden with their bundles.



The cleric and the holy warrior stepped through the wall and out into the square room that was already crowded with the other members of The Order.

"We're stuck in here, you know?" Huzair said to no one in particular. "The portal... or whatever it is... doesn't work from this side."


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #342a] Wandering the Halls*

The sight of the weapons room was impressive. But as her gaze locked instantly upon the figure in its center, Shamalin felt her chest constrict.

_It was him._

Desperately, she clutched at the nearest thing to her, trying to breathe. Huzair shot her an irritated grimace and roughly dislodged her death-grip from his arm. "Relax!" he hissed. She was frozen, her eyes still riveted upon the figure. Finally, the moment passed - the armor proving to be (for the time being at least) nothing but empty armor. And slowly Shamalin became aware of the subtle differences. The chestplate and design looked quite similar, but the headpiece and the footcoverings were altogether different - bestial even. She drew in a shaky breath and murmured an embarrassed apology, averting her eyes. It wasn't him.

"I'm worried about that armor," Morier said, obliviously echoing the cleric's unvoiced sentiments.

"Reckon it'll animate?" Karak growled. His words had more of the statement in them than question.

"I may be able to determine if that armor will animate, Morier, and provide us some protection," Ayremac offered, but Huzair shouldered his way to the fore and began the moving his left hand through the elaborate gestures of a spell.

"Allow me," the mage said with a dramatic flair as his eyes lit up with dancing flames. "Yeah, there's magic here," he reported as his senses were opened to the Weave. "At least three sources... no, four. The armor, a pair of swords over there and that crazy tower shield right there. The armor's emanation's the strongest of the lot, but that short sword's pretty potent too. I could tell more if I actually went in-"

"No!" Morier and Karak said at the same time and they pushed him back roughly from the doorway, spoiling his concentration on the _Detect Magic_ spell.

"Hey! Watch it, you idiots!" the mage snapped. "You just disrupted my spell, geniuses!" Karak shook his head gravely and cocked a thumb toward the armory.

"We'll nae start mucking about with things until we've gotten an idea o' where we be," the dwarf explained. "What if that armor came to life and started attackin' ye as soon as ye walked into the room? Eh? What then?" Huzair snorted.

"Well then, you big, strong fighters would have to save me, now wouldn't you?" he said fluttering his eyelashes coquettishly and Karak harrumphed and turned away.

"We'll touch nothing!" he advised. "Not until we get our bearings." He looked expectantly at Morier and the albino shrugged.

"I can't tell which way," he admitted. "But the keys are here somewhere. I can feel it."

"But you can't tell us where. Just great!" Huzair groused, patting at his pockets as he spoke. He wanted to light up a cigar, but he was running dangerously low.

"It's no matter," Karak announced. "I think we should buff, then stick together, and explore the hall to the right. An old dwarven trick is to always go right, bein' that eventually it leads ye back 'round to the beginning." Ayremac scowled slightly.

"I only have buffs that last at most four minutes... so my plan is to use them right at the begining of battle," the holy warrior said. "Is that not what you fellows do?"

"All of us except Huzair," Morier said acerbically. "He always buffs at the exact right moment - predicting danger just far enough in advance to be able to prepare himself perfectly in time for the first clash of swords." Huzair snorted derisive laughter and gestured with a bit of cured leather.

"My buffin' lasts for hours," he said with a grin, "just like my lovin'." He followed that up with a verbal incantation, _"Magis arma!"_ and a glowing sheath of force flared briefly around his body before fading away invisibly.

"Perhaps I can offer some words of comfort in these trying times," Ayremac said, clutching his gold holy symbol. "Umba, please cast your gaze upon us and protect us in this time of challenge. Help us dispense justice on those that are in need of it, and accept our gratitude for aiding us in retrieving the souls of those empty corpses."

"While you guys hold your little prayer circle, I'll scout out the hall," Huzair said, following up the _Mage Armor_ up with a scroll of _False Life_. "Invisibly, of course." The others protested but he sighed expansively. "Are any of you sneakier than me? Do any of you know your way around a trap if you find one? Don't forget, I spent my whole life in the Freeport of Farmin." And when it came to vile nests of scum and villainy, few places in the Realms could top Farmin.

"I was going to have Spot scout a bit," Lela said and Huzair shrugged.

"The hall goes in two directions," he said, already turning. "I will show you how to walk out front, Morier!' Huzair added sticking his long finger into Morier's chest before he went invisible.



Spot returned almost at once from his turn down the left end of the hallway, but not Huzair. And while they waited for him to return the Order nervously discussed possible strategies if they encountered guards and the like here. The general plan seemed to be to act like evil folk on an evil mission looking for a key.

As the suggestion was made, Shamalin felt a shiver of fear. Ever since she joined them, this group had been drawn deeper and deeper into Aphyx's clutches like an arrow bent on a target. And not for the first time she found herself wondering whose hand has loosed that arrow. Looking from one to the next, she began to wonder if the same betraying thoughts had occurred to the others. Her gaze lingered longest on Ayremac, with a barely concealed scowl finding its way to her face as she tried to discern whether or not he, too, was a pawn on the gameboard of the gods.

And if so, whose side they were each on.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Almost there.     (to the new stuff that is)


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Almost there.     (to the new stuff that is)




Well, would it be better or worse for you to know that I've got 16 or so updates "in the can" and ready to go? I'm doling them out slowly because I've got an outstanding back log that I haven't written and I don't want to reach a point where I have nothing to post.

To look forward to, you've still got: wizards, dead elves, demons, more demons, negative energy eruptions, spell-stitched undead, more demons, more undead, scrolls written on human skin, even more undead, guardian constructs, a half-fiendish orc thaumaturge, riddles, and tests. And then they finally find what they're looking for.

It should be a fun read.


----------



## Funeris

Hey Jon!  That's great news (about the 16 or so updates "in the can").  I am looking forward to it.  

~Fune


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #343] What's Behind Door #1?*

Shamalin draped her cloak over the Florian symbols she had etched into her armor, hiding them as much as possible. The silver holy symbol of Flor she'd taken off of the Janissary's charred corpse she tucked inside her breastplate. Thus outfitted and with her great helm fully covering her head, she looked not unlike Blackheart himself.

She could pass for such in dim light, she imagined, and while she hoped it wouldn't be necessary, the way things were going those hopes were fading. Knowing what it would involve, part of Shamalin's mind began rehearsing as the other debated how to properly disguise themselves. It was not an easy thing she asked of herself. So much of her healing had involved desensitizing the very details about Blackheart which she now sought to remember. And in this setting, those pieces came rushing back with frightening clarity: the wild-eyedness of him. His frenzied laughter. The incessant tendency to clear his throat - as if something even more foul was struggling to expel itself from his body. She mentally catalogued his idiosyncrasies, sick with the irony of it all. Not only was she in his armor, but she was piecing him together once more inside her head.

Bringing him back to life.

If they failed, she could only hope someone would dash her head against the stone wall and erase the horrible memories once and for all.

She took a moment to cast a spell to mask her aura of good and she felt herself as ready as she could make herself. The others had seemed to reach an agreement as well and Huzair said, "I'm just going to grab that shortsword if nobody wants it." And he started to step toward the armory.

Once again Morier forestalled him. "Grab the shortsword for what? A souvenir?" he asked, skewering the mage with a discerning eye. "Good gods, you're not actually thinking of using a combat weapon are you? Why don't you leave the fighting to the grown-ups and stand behind so you don't get hurt." The albino chuckled darkly.

Huzair retaliated with a withering gaze of his own. "Don't you worrry, I know my place in combat, Morier." Again the eldritch warrior laughed.

"In all the years I've known you, Huzair, your place was the one thing you've never known," Morier told him and Huzair jerked, ready to say or do something. The holy warrior interrupted the action, however.

"Huzair, it is certainly not my place to tell you what to do but I get the impression from everyone here that no one thinks entering that room is a good idea," Ayremac said diplomatically. He looked at the others for confirmation and all save Karak nodded in agreement. The dwarf merely shrugged.

"I'm thinkin' that there armor's gonna come to life if'n ye go pokin' 'round in there," he said. "I've fought such a guardian statue with me chalak. Course tha' one was made o' stone if'n I be rememberin' right."

"That's my point. It is either a trap or the most trap looking room I have ever seen," the holy warrior went on.

"If I am going to go out front more like Morier thinks I should, I will need a strong weapon. Can't cast spells in hand-to-hand!" the mage spat back, truly bewildered by what he thought to be a gross over-reaction. "At least you did not hear me talking about it for moonsdances like Karak did about his axe."

"You had your pick of weapons from the Manor before we left Floxen!" Shamalin countered. "Why now?!"

"It's just a sword, for Kossuth's sake!" was the wizard's response and Ayremac sighed a little.

"What fortress have you ever gone in where the armory is right next to the front door? It's not... this was placed here so that some one would be lured in to spring the trap," the Officer of Umba told him. "If you choose to go in you may bring ruin on all of us."

"Fine!" Huzair snapped in his best everyone's-against-me tone of voice. Morier nodded.

"Let's not grab anything from anywhere until we have a better idea what we're dealing with," he said. "Let's find what we came for before we start treasure hunting."



The doors were recessed into the walls a bit so that it was difficult to see them until one was right up on them. And by then it was impossible not to look at them. They were disturbing - immense black iron valves embossed with depraved images of grinning skulls and leering eyes amidst a tangle of writhing tentacles. At various places on the door could be seen fragile humanoid figures being violated in the most horrific fashion by those tentacles.

"I'm not that good at detecting traps," Huzair admitted as they stood in front of the first such door. "But I'm probably the best shot we've got." He crouched down and moved his hands gingerly toward the door, trying hard not to be distracted by the degenerate images taunting him from its surface.

"I have a _Find Traps_ spell," Shamalin offered and Huzair's face split with a wide grin.

"Spells... Nice. Not like being in front like big brave Morier, but much more effective than my skills," he said, standing and gesturing for the priestess to approach the door. "I guess magic is useful."

Morier merely shook his head in disgust as Shamalin used her magic to pronounce the door safe. Karak and Morier readied weapons then and as soon as Shamalin stepped back they stepped in and pressed against the door. It slid open on well-oiled and cunningly counter-weighted hinges. The room beyond was was richly appointed with expensive tapestries of lewd dancing girls in explicit poses along three walls.

A heavy curtain concealed the wall to the left and an ornately carved desk of polished black wood was opposite the door. Soiled desert rugs overlaid the floor. In the center of the rugs crouched a small misshapen creature that looked like a flayed humanoid, dripping a bloody slime - which was the apparent source of the stains. It looked up as the group opened the door and hissed at them through bared fangs.

Before either warrior could do anything, the creature scuttled away under the desk.

"What was that?" Karak grunted, pointing in that direction with his frost-rimed axe.

"I think it was a homunculus," Morier told him. "I've never seen one quite like that before though."

"What's a homunco- whate'er ye called it?" the dwarf asked, taking a hesitant step into the room.

"It's like a familiar... sort of," the albino said, scrunching up his eyebrows. "Anyway, a wizard has t make one, so if there's a homunculus here there's got to be a-"

Before he could finish his thought, an inhuman roar sounded from their left and the curtain parted as a shaggy, stoop-shouldered monstrosity burst into the room. Its fur was the bright red of freshly-spilled blood and eyes like two black pits stared out from its strangely humanish face. Its mouth was filled with splayed yellow tusks and it let out a dire wailing as it leaped at Karak.

That was all that the dwarf had time to see, but in the brief moment when the curtain was parted, Morier glimpsed a naked figure lying obesely, half-incumbent on a bed that largely filled the alcove beyond.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #344] Please Ignore the Man Behind the Curtain*

Morier shouted a warning, "Behind the curtain!" before turning his attention to the red-furred monster in their midst.

Shamalin tugged on the chain of her holy symbol, drawing the spell focus from its hiding place in the event that she needed to perform any miracles. At her side Ayremac drew forth his morningstar filling the chamber with pure white light before stepping in and slamming the weapon against the broad hairy shoulder of the creature menacing Karak. The beast roared in pain as the weapon smashed against its pelt.

The dwarf answered its cry with a bellow of his own as he brought his waraxe round in a vicious arc... that failed utterly to connect with the beast. He turned the weapon and brought it back, slicing at the thing from the opposite direction and again missed completely.

Morier took a step around to the creature's flank and slashed with Ravager, but the monster managed to twist away and avoid the deadly saw-toothed blade. As it dodged, it came at Ayremac with murderous intent.

The holy warrior was able to deflect its rending claws with a sweep of his shield, but its toothsome maw darted in and clamped down on his weapon hand, drawing blood and a grunt of pain from the man.

When Lela heard Ayremac's cry, she rushed up from Karak's shoulder eager to help her friends. Seeing the shaggy red thing with its back to her, she took aim at it. Shouting behind her, "Huzair, I need your help!" she called on the Green as quickly as she could and summoned a _Flaming Sphere_ at the hairy creature's feet.

Or at least she tried. The thing took an opportunistic swing at the Sprite, back-handing her as she cast. She spun in the air, almost losing the spell along with the blood that flowed freely from her smashed nose, but she managed to hold her concentration and dropped the _Sphere_ on target. The beast tried to dodge out of the way, but was unable.

Even so, the creature didn't seem overly discomfited by the fire licking up its bandy legs.

The next moment the room and the hallway outside the door was filled with bilious green vapors. Both Huzair and Morier immediately recognized the effect as a _Stinking Cloud_ - not that recognition offered Huzair any protection from it. Still it was enough to allow Morier the opportunity to suck in a lungfull of fresh air before the cloud fully formed. Beside him both Karak and his opponent seemed unperturbed by the vapors, Ayremac, however, doubled over suddenly and emptied the contents of his stomach all over his own boots.

Shamalin's ordeal in Miller's Pond had inured her to a great many things, and apparently the nauseating effect of a _Stinking Cloud_ was one of them. As Huzair retched uncontrollably at her side, she called on the power of her goddess to _Hold_ the _Person_ whose braceleted arm was visible sticking out of the curtain along the wall. She felt the spell go off, but it seemed to have no effect whatsoever.

Clutching his heaving stomach, Ayremac withdrew from the fray. The long armed thing tried to take advantage of the Officer's condition, but Karak slashed at it with his waraxe, opening a frost-rimed gash in its side that nearly split it in two. Somehow, it didn't go down, and even managed to duck Morier's attack; Ravager drew blue sparks from the stone floor. In turn the monster reeled on Karak, its claws and fangs clattering ineffectually against the dwarf's armor.

Swallowing back on a mouthful of bile, Lela concentrated on rolling her _Flaming Sphere_ up against the monster venting its impotent rage against Karak. Again the thing failed to get out of the way, but again the ball of fire seemed to have little effect on the creature.

Karak was struck full in the chest by a coruscating beam of magic originating from the curtained alcove and he felt much of his strength draining away as the _Ray Enfeebled_ him.

Had Huzair been watching he would have recognized the spell for what it was, but he knew full well that as long as he remained within the _Stinking Cloud_ effect, he would be of little use to anybody. His gut spasmed unmercifully as he retreated back down the hall until he was outside the cloud.

Ayremac too was making for the hallway, his face ashen and vomit flecked on his lips and chin. He felt something strike him in the back and to his horror saw that the homunculus had landed on him and was seeking some way to bite him through his armor. He tried to strike it away, but found that he was too nauseous to do much of anything.

Shamalin saw the man's predicament but there was little she could do apart from using her longsword and she didn't quite feel ready to try that in actual combat just yet. She cast _Detect Evil_ instead and was little surprised by the results.

Karak, sagging under the sudden weight of his heavy armor, brought his waraxe up into a defensive position. "Now listen up lads, lassies, and faeries. Let the forces of chaos feel OUR wrath. I have confidence in ye all," he bellowed. "Now let us get to it."

Morier felt a swell of Inspiration at Karak's words and swung Ravager with renewed vigor. The jagged black blade slashed upward, splitting the hairy red thing from crotch to chin. It fell back, dissolving into sulfurous smoke even as it dropped. It was completely gone before it hit the ground. The albino merely stepped through the spot where it had stood and made for the curtained alcove and the spellcaster beyond.

Lela beat him to it, however. She moved through the narrow opening between the two heavy curtains and hurled a pinch of _Dust of Great Slumber_ into the face of the first person she saw. The man was naked and bald with gaudy gold hoops decorating his ears. He wore cold and jewel-encrusted bracelets and an amulet that was all but lost in the many folds of blubber at his chin. And that was all although his hanging belly hid anything too objectionable from view.

She hurled the dust and the man dove out of the way moving with a grace that seemed incongruent with his vast bulk. He rolled across the bed, coming up with his naked back against the far side, his hands already moving through the motions of a spell. _"Fulgur sagitta!"_ he roared and lighting shot from his hands.

The Sprite was able to avoid the worst of the bolt, but she still felt the jarring sizzle of electricity course through her tiny body. Her teeth chattered uncontrollably and her hair rose straight up and away from her head like a strange halo.

The homunculus continued to scramble over Ayremac's armor looking for any opening in which to sink its fangs. It was having little luck as the man's movements caused it some consternation even if he couldn't mount any sort of active defense against the tiny invader.

Karak plodded forward behind Morier imploring Shaharizod to let him _Strike True_ as he came. Morier thrust aside the curtain with the blade of his bastard sword, took in with a glance the enormous bed that took up most of the alcove beneath a drift of rich silken sheets and pillows. Then he leapt forward and brought Ravager to bear on the obese wizard. The point of the blade drew a line of blood across the mage's belly and the man ground his teeth together biting back on a scream.

As it turned out, he only needed to worry about it for another few seconds before Lela hurled another pinch of dust into his face. This time he was unable to evade the attack and instead fell onto his side amidst the sheets snoring contentedly.

The homunculus, seeming to somehow realize the danger its master was in, abandoned its attacks on Ayremac and flew back into the room, chattering angrily. Karak cut it from the air with his waraxe as it flew passed him and the two ichorous chunks of homunculus slammed wetly into the wall beside the curtain.

At the same instant, the fat man's body convulsed once, his back arcing impossibly before he fell still on the bed, rivulets of blood pouring from his nose and ears.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #344a] Twisted Doesn't Even Begin to Cover It*

Karak leaned his shoulder heavily against the wall and sighed wearily into his beard.

"I second that," Lela told him. Landing on the rumpled bed she began working magic to call on some healing while Morier checked the mage's body for any sign of life.

"Well, he won't be troubling us anymore," the eldritch warrior announced rising from the body. He reached over for some of the opulent bedding to wipe Ravager clean of blood and jumped at once into a fighting stance. He'd uncovered a foot amidst the blankets - dainty and female with red lacquered nails. He hissed a warning to the others and Lela flitted off the bed as Karak lumbered forward. With the blade of his bastard sword, Morier tossed back the covers.

"Gods!" Karak cursed, his face screwing up in disgust.



Shamalin approached Ayremac as the latter knelt in the hall with his head nearly touching the stone floor. Great heaving spasms continued to wrack his body although he'd already expelled everything his stomach had to offer. Laying a reassuring hand on the man's armored back she channeled a healing spell into him, completely repairing the damage done to his weapon hand.

He wiped his mouth on the back of his gauntlet and looked up at her. His eyes seemed to glow like jewels in the weird light of the place. "You shouldn't have bothered with that," he told her. "I have some healing at my disposal. Another might have more need of your gifts than I."

"Clearly you offer more strength offensively to this party. Save your energy and efforts for the like. Let me do the healing - at least until my swordsmanship improves," she said sardonically, adding, "which may be a while." Ayremac started to say something more but Huzair's disembodied voice interrupted out of the dimness nearby.

"Yeah. I guess magic is pretty powerful," he said, whistling appreciatively. "I hate when enemies use it against us."

"I trust that you are well?" Shamalin called out, inadvertently shouting directly into the invisible mage's face.

"I'll live," he said. "Of course the smell isn't doing anything for me. Here, let me clean that up a bit." They heard him mutter a brief incantation and the flecks of vomit that still clung to Ayremac dropped off leaving the holy warrior pristine.

"Thank you," the Officer sighed, getting to his feet and looking around for some sign of the wizard.

"No problem," Huzair's voice told him. "Ah, right on time!" The misty remnants of the _Stinking Cloud_ faded away into the ether, leaving behind an unpleasant but hardly overpowering odor. It took Shamalin and Ayremac a few moments to realize that Huzair had entered the room, leaving them alone in the hallway.



Being elven, it was difficult to tell her age with any certainty. But she looked young and that made what had been done to her all the more horrific. She was dead, and had been for a while; the blood had settled darkly into the lowest parts of her body giving those areas a sickening bruised look that contrasted harshly with the rest of her pallid flesh. Still, for all that, she was in remarkably good condition and there was no smell of putrification from the body.

Her head was clean shaven and covered over with a haphazard cluster of dark sigils that had been tattooed into her flesh. The tattoos continued down her neck and shoulders and part way down her left arm before petering out. None of them could discern the meaning of the symbols, but neither did they occupy anyone's attention when juxtaposed with what had been done to her face. Grotesque crimson stitches - like lines of blood - sealed shut her eyes and nose and mouth. The work was amateurish, chaotic and messy, and judging from the way that the flesh around those stitches was pulled and puckered, the work had been completed while the woman yet lived.

What the fat wizard had been doing to the body was disturbingly clear and Lela shuddered at the unnaturalness of it. Karak swore a venomous oath and spat viciously onto the dead mage's ashen face. Morier quickly covered the body again and backed up a step, colliding with Huzair and disrupting the mage's invisibility.

"Hey! Watch it!" the wizard protested, catching himself on the wall. Seeing the look on the faces of the other three, he scowled. "What?!"


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #345] A Message from Beyond the Grave*

"There's a body," Lela said, gesturing at the bed. "A woman." She looked sick but Huzair just stepped forward and pulled back the sheet to reveal the monstrous corpse.

"Shararizod's beard!" Karak swore upon seeing the defaced body once more. The dwarf lowered his had and muttered into his beard, "May this little one rest in your arms, me Queen."

"Who is she?" Huzair asked. He was less disturbed by what he saw than were the others. During his youth in Freeport he'd seen many men with unsavory tastes and the wealth to feed those desires. None of the debaucheries he'd seen equalled this level of madness, but a few had come close, and Huzair was not one to be surprised by men's capacity for depravity.

"I think she was a local girl stolen an' transformed into the dark wizard's plaything by the looks o' it," Karak grumbled, casting another withering glance at the dead man slumped against the wall.

"Flor have mercy!" Shamalin cried upon entering the alcove. The blood seemed to drain from her face as she stared at the ravaged corpse. At her side, Ayremac's demeanor was one of shocked silence. His face was a grim mask, his lips pressed in a tight white line.

"What's with the stitches?" the mage went on, examining the work with clinical detachment. "Really weird..."

"Where have we seen that stichin' before?" Karak asked. "What do you all think it means?" At first, no answers were forthcoming, but then Lela spoke up.

"It seems clear that the red thread is significant," she said, softly at first, but her voice growing in volume and conviction as she went on. "Red makes me think of blood. The fact that the eyes and mouth are stiched shut makes me think of not being able to see or speak. So they are taking away people's abilities to see and speak. Why would Aphyx want that?"

"I don't know," Morier admitted.

"Ayremac, have you ever seen this before in your travels?" Karak asked the newest member of their group. The Officer shook his head without uttering a word.

Lela took a deep breath and fluttered down to stan beside the woman's shaved head. "I can't stand the thoguht of leaving this body so defiled," she told them as she began to undo the stiches around the woman's eyes and mouth. "Someone, please help me wrap her in this sheet."

"Wow, I wonder if this would have happened to you if we had not come along," Huzair asked Shamalin in a conversational tone, rubbing his hand over his own bald head to indicate the similarity between this woman and the state that the cleric had been in when they'd found her in Miller's Pond.

Shamalin's response was low and certain. "I'm sure it would have," she said and then went about the business of helping Lela.

Karak scowled at Huzair and poked him in the ribs with the haft of his waraxe. When the mage turned angrily around the dwarf lit into him in a harsh whisper. "For a wizard ye ain't very smart!" he told the dark-skinned man. "Only a great fool'd say a thing like tha' to the lass!"

"You really do not look so tough right now, dwarf, after what the wizard did to you," Huzair sneered pushing the waraxe away from himself with relative ease. "So mind your tongue."

"Mind my-?" Karak sputtered. "Why I've a good mind to-" But Huzair cut him off with a dismissive wave.

"Now would not be the best time to settle our petty squabbles, especially for you," Huzair said looking disdainfully at the way Karak was sagging under the very weight of his own armor. "I do not see why at every possible chance you seek to belittle my abilities. I recall our introduction; You pointed your blade in my face, even though I was with Morier. You are a bully and a racist. I have been a victim of that most of my life and I will not continue to tolerate it... Let's focus on the task at hand."

"Now that be the raven calling the crow black, wizard," Karak sighed and shook his great head. "You insight dissention with your offhand comments and yet complain about settling squabbles. Alas, I have nae belittled your abilities, but have merely noted the boastin' of your abilities all the while, yet, when it's time to use them abilities, ye disappear."

"I do not boast, dwarf, I only state facts and comment on possible improvement," Huzair replied hautily. "My buffing does last for hours and with an _Endurance_ spell, so does my loving."

Karak harrumphed and stepped slowly forward. "Now you callin' me a racist and a bully... why that I take exception to. If'n I be a racist then why would I be traveling in this merry band, I ask ye? An' if'n I be a bully then why was it me that pulled you off a helpless, bound prisoner, I ask ye?" Huzair had no answer and Karak thumped a thick finger into the wizard's chest, peering into Huzair's face with one angry eye.

"Now I do agree with one thing ye said though: to focus on the task at hand," Karak sighed, "To start you could stop barkin' up everyone's boulder and help out with these abilities of yours. Like searcing the wizards belongings and tellin' us of anything useful and magical."

"What a good idea, Karak. Using your brain instead of your brawn. Impressive." The wizard smirked and punched the dwarf on the arm. The sound of knuckles on dwarven plate echoed painfully and Huzair grimaced. To Morier and Ayremac he said, "Search the room and watch the doors. Who knows what lurks under the bed..."



While Huzair cast his spells, Karak sidled up to Shamalin. She and Lela had just about removed the stitching from the dead woman's eyes and mouth. The Sprite glanced up as Karak approached and muttered, "I believe being in this foul place is causing dissention among us. I mean more than usual! Let us focus."

"Aye, wee one. Ye speak true," Karak admitted with a nod. Turning to Shamalin he asked, "Lass, how does the sight of this room take ye? I bet this is the likes of what you saw and went through, eh lass? Do you know why they stich the faces like that?" Shamalin said nothing, didn't even look away from her work with the crimson thread. She just shook her head, no.

"It disturbs me," Karak sighed into his beard, looking reluctantly at the dead elf's marred beauty. "Do nae worry, though. You lived through it then, and you'll live through it now. You are a brave one. I did nae see your back in this one. Just remember, not swinging a sword does nae mean you aren't effective in a battle. There are others ways to help the fight. Me brother was a full blown Cleric, and I never seen a braver soul. And, if'n you really want to use that long poker, I'll show you some dwarven techniques instead of those airy-faery elven ones." He winked at her and she smiled back.

"I'll hold you to your offer, if we ever make it out of this place," She told him, but, despite her smiling mouth, her eyes were dark and fearful.



Huzair had collected the few items of magic in the room - the naked man's bracelets, the amulet, and his earrings - and done his best to determine what they were without actually trying any of the items on. The earrings radiated feint Abjuration and Transmutation magic, the bracelets were enchanted with a moderate Conjuration effect, and the amulet was powered by a moderate Transmutation spell. He could guess that the wide bracelets were probably _Bracers of Armor_, but the other two items were beyond him.

He stepped up to Ayremac and whispered, "I know this sounds really nasty, but I wonder if this was some sort of attempt to impregnate a dead body in some way?" The holy warrior blanched at the suggestion and Huzair could see the muscles bunching in his jaw as he considered this affront to the dead.

"Nasty doesn't quite cover it," he hissed and the wizard nodded.

"I know," he said. "I wonder if we should pierce her womb to kill anything growing in there? I hate to say that to the others for of obvious reasons, but you may understand or have a better idea." Ayremac looked stricken.

"That's an abhorrent idea," he snapped but reconsidered after a moment. "But none the less, I have always felt that the gods guide our thoughts so maybe whomever you pray to is trying to tell us something."

"We will NOT be piercing this dead woman's womb," Shamalin said behind them and they turned to see her regarding them both coldly. "Flor will allow me the power to _Speak With Dead_. Perhaps in death the woman may help undo her captors' evil."

"That's a great idea, Shamalin!" Lela chirped brightly.

"Aye," Karak nodded. "That is a fine idea. Speak with her; anything she can tell us would help, I figure."

"The rest of the junk in here isn't telling us anything!" Morier cursed, yanking down one of the obscene tapestries with a single violent motion.



Shamalin prepared herself and the body and the others gathered around her as she chanted and gestured and traced divine symbols invisibly over the woman's brow. The invocation seemed to go on for a very long time, but the room grew silent at once as the corpse's mutilated eyes snapped open. The left eye had evidently been pierced by the needle during the stitching process - it was a sightless orb of blood - but the other glittered like a sapphire as it stared up at Shamalin.

The cleric almost jumped out of her skin as the dead woman stared at her expectantly, but she maintained her concentration and asked in elvish, "What are they protecting here and where can it be found?"

"Vectors," the woman answered, her mangled lips making even the musical notes of the elven speech sound gutteral and harsh. "Vectors in the pit."

Shamalin blinked back a tear and asked her second question, "Can you tell us anything else which might aid us in the fight against Aphyx?" The corpse turned away for a moment as if it were thinking and when it turned back its eye was awash with fear.

"The lord of this place is strong in both limb and magic," she said. "Do not let him take you alive." And then the body shuddered and lay still.

"It is over now, little one. Your spirit is free," Shamalin said over the body. "May Flor's mercy guide you home."

In response to the dead woman's comments Lela looked sardonically at Huzair and said, "Huzair, don't worry. If they capture you, I will kill you." He looked dubious.

"Thanks," he replied. "That's very comforting."


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Wow, while reading the first part of the update, I thought you had inherited my group.   

But, then I finished reading and saw the folly of that statement (a useful casting of speak with dead)   

Is this the first time Huzair's background in Freeport has been mentioned? How much of a bad ass is he really?


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Is this the first time Huzair's background in Freeport has been mentioned?




I'm not sure if it's come up before. And it's not *exactly * the Freeport you might know. Its full name is actually the Freeport of Farmin. It's not set up as an island, but otherwise is pretty much as GR wrote it, minus a cult or two.



> How much of a bad ass is he really?




Well, I'll leave that answer up to his player since he posts here ocassionally. I will say that he's repeatedly lamented a couple of choices he made when generating Huzair: taking a level of Rogue and taking a level-adjusted race.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #346] Moving Swiftly on*

While Ayremac and Shamalin did what they could to speed the soul of the elf woman on to final judgment, Karak leaned heavily against the wall while Morier paced back and forth like a caged lion.

"Sit down, lad," Karak protested. "Watchin' ye pace is makin' me a bit seasick." The albino turned, his face a mask of anger. But as he beheld the dwarf he let out a frustrated sigh and shook his head.

"I've been living with this pull in my head for weeks," the eldritch warrior growled. "And now that I really need it - now that we're finally here and the keys are within our grasp - it's abandoned me."

"You do not feel the pull because, we are where we need to be!" Huzair said as he worked on the wizard's bracelets.

"Well, at least we know it's here," Lela offered, casting an annoyed glance at the mage. "We're in the right place."

"Yes, but they're not necessarily keys like we'd use for a door.," Morier cursed. "The keys to freeing Dridana's heart could be anything."

"Maybe that's what these do then," Huzair suggested, displaying the earrings he'd taken off the corpulent wizard and slipped into one of the numerous holes in his own black ears. "The bracelets are definitely _Bracers of Armor,_ but I can't tell what these earrings do. Same goes for this." He held up the dead wizard's necklace. "Anybody want it? I'm sticking with my _Amulet of Natural Armor._"

"What, Huzair?" Morier asked, raising one pale eyebrow. "Not going to tell us who'd benefit most from the amulet? I thought you always knew what was best!" Karak snorted laughter at the elf.

"I'm sure that he'll try bullyin' one of us into wearin' the thing 'fore long," the dwarf said. "Mark me words." Huzair gave both Morier and Karak a dubious look.

"Karak you must understand I am not a bully. I have a fiery personality,"  Huzair stated with a wry smile, obviously very pleased with himself. "I am an emotional person and do not tell me after knowing what that crew in the castle did to the Speckled Hand that you did not want to take vengeance. They deserved worse than what they got."

Shamalin, overhearing the wizard's words looked up from where she was standing in prayer and glared witheringly at Huzair.  "If there is vengeance to be had on account of the Speckled Band, it is mine! And I will dispense it at my choosing!" Narrowing her eyes at him she hissed, "I know your thoughts, Huzair. Do not pretend that your interests run any deeper than the enjoyment you'd find being the one to dispense such 'justice'." To the others she added, " This incessant bickering is starting to grate on my nerves!"  

"You are not the only one who lost comrades to these bastards. The only two I even liked are dead," Huzair told the cleric, unmindful of how his words would sound to the other members of the party. "Heck, Shamalin, you did not seem too much for meting out justice to those who killed Feln." He seemed ready to say more, but instead held his tongue, shaking his head in resignation. "Ah nevermind, I am not going to piss you off too."  

As the truth of the wizards words sank in, Shamalin gave him a troubled look, her mouth set in a tight scowl. There was an awkward silence for a moment until the cleric turned away and Karak cleared his throat.

"Well, me strength seems to have returned," he said, giving his waraxe a few test swings.

"Then let's press on," Morier said eagerly. "I am anxious to be about our business."

"This whole place is foul with the necromantic arts," Ayremac added with a nod. "It's taint must be cleansed."

They lined up and began filing through the door, but Huzair briefly forestalled Shamalin by taking her hand in his. "Do not feel guilty for your outburst. Your kindness is your strength," he told her. "Not many have the stomach to do such dirty work as killing helpless prisoners. I, unfortunately, do... and actually would have taken some joy in it. I am very twisted... be thankful you are not like me."

Shamalin studied him for a beat then withdrew her hand and remarked, "I don't know where it comes from these days, Huziar, but I can say for certain that what strength I possess does not draw from kindness." 



Disdaining the two doors on the left of the corridor as they proceeded in favor of the time-tested dwarven "always go right" method of dungeon-crawling, they came at last to the room that Huzair had seen earlier - a sort of study or office. There was no door connecting the room to the hallway, and the entire area was easily visible from without. A plain wooden desk and a tall chair faced the leftmost wall; a twisted, single candlestick of thorn-iron held an unlit candle, pale but red-veined. On the table were scattered several pieces of blank parchment, and a black quill pen in a jar with a block of ink set next to it. A single iron-bound door was set into the right-hand wall.

A quick search revealed nothing of interest and so they fell to examining the door. Huzair discovered no traps with his search and stepped close to the door, activated his _Ring of Invisibility_ and a moment later his _Ring of Blinking_. He stepped out of reality for a fraction of a second, shunting his mass to the Ethereal Plane before reappearing on the other side of the door - which was, he saw, a laboratory of some sort lined with racks of vials and bubbling glasswork.

That was all the more he had time to see, however, because his momentary jaunt to the Ethereal Plane had attracted the attention of one of the guardian creatures bound to the complex. The air shimmered beside Huzair and something slipped through from beyond. Reeking of decay, the gaunt six foot tall humanoid was covered in black, leathery skin. Behind its sharply pointed ears, a large curved horn rose out of the back of its skull like the stingered tail of a scorpion. A mouth of jagged teeth took up more than half of the foul creature's head.

Its eyes - two orbs black as pitch - leered at the invisible wizard as it took a step toward him. Before Huzair could do anything, the thing's insanely-long talons ripped into him, seeking - but not finding - his vitals. Even so, the pain was excrutiating and he was spared from death simply by the fact that the thing's teeth clamped down on his throat at just the moment when he blinked back to the ethereal plane and so they damaged him not at all.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #347] The Bound Guardian*

"Did that sound like a scream to you?" Lela asked, and even as the words were leaving her mouth she was fluttering toward the door. Before she could reach it, however, Huzair flickered back through the door.

"Holy *! There * a *-mon * some-* ov-* there * hid-*-ous * I * ev-* seen!" he stuttered, flicking back and forth between this reality and the ethereal plane. "I * I * a *-ner."

"Eh?" Karak asked, screwing up his face in puzzlement.

"A *-mon! * de-*!" he shouted, pointing frantically at the door with one hand even as he pressed the other against the bloody rents in his torso. No one could understand what he was saying, but the gist of the message was clear: there was something bad on the other side of the door.

"Umba, and all the dieties that oppose the rise of Aphyx, come to our aid now!" Ayremac prayed, invoking the gods to _Protect_ himself _from Evil_ while Karak entreated on his own goddess to let his axe _Strike True_. Shamalin cast _Bull's Strength_ and bestowed the power on Ayremac with a light tough to his back.

And then it was there. It teleported right beside Huzair and raked its claws savagely across the back of his head. The mage screamed a strange stuttering scream as he continued to Blink and everyone turned to see this horror that had appeared suddenly in their midst.

Ayremac was first to react and he whirled on the thing, stepping up beside Huzair and striking his attacker's head solidly. It was a good hit, and with his newly augmented strength behind the blow it should have resulted in an explosion of teeth and blood. As it was the morningstar merely made the creature grunt and fix the holy warrior with its own unholy gaze.

Karak aimed to do better and he stepped to Huzair's other side with his waraxe gripped in two fists. The frost-covered blade cut a glittering arc through the hellishly-lit air connecting mightily with the creature's torso just beneath its left arm. The blade bit deeply - though not so deep as the dwarf thought it should have. He'd put everything he had behind that blow and had fully expected the foul-smelling creature to drop like a stuck gobbo. Instead it simply staggered a bit, cursing in some dark language that he didn't understand.

Lela wheeled in from the side and tossed a pinch of _Pixie Dust_ at the thing - her friends were packed too tightly for her to risk using more - and managed to strike it full in the face. The creature seemed to shake off the effect, however as if its very nature had somehow resisted the magic.

Huzair reactivated the _Ring of Invisibility_ (for the magical effect had been disrupted by creature's initial attacks) and stepped back from the front rank. That left an opening for Morier to insinuate himself and he did just that, leading his advance with Ravager's jagged blade. The sword eagerly sought the creature's gut, but despite the full force of Morier's steely thews, the blade did little more than leave a scratch on the thing's belly.

Shamalin lent Huzair some healing, bringing him quickly back to a semblance of his former self.

The creature, however, had a new target on which to vent its wrath and it laid into Ayremac for all it was worth. Its claws found gaps in his fearsome spiked plate, digging painfully into the man's flesh. The Holy Warrior managed to interpose his morningstar between the thing's jaws and his face, deflecting that blow at least. To his horror, however, he saw that his weapon had been reduced to a misshapen and pitted lump of smoking metal on the end of a stick. Contact with the protective slime covering the creature's body had corroded it severely, but it still glowed like a torch in his hand. He swung the weapon but it seemed to have no effect on the thing whatsoever.

Given the precious nature of Karak's axe, if the dwarf had seen what the acidic slime had done to Ayremac's morningstar he might have taken measures to protect the weapon. But as it was Karak stepped onto the monster's flank and swung his waraxe at it oblivious to the danger. The weapon carved two bloody gashes into the monster's back, marking its frame with a ghastly red "X" that crossed it from shoulder to hip. The thing reared up howling in pain at this attack and turned, unmindful as Lela dropped a _Flaming Sphere_ at its feet.

Huzair had readied his _Wand of Scorch_, but his allies were crowded too closely around the thing for him to make use of it. "Get out of the way!" he shouted. What his companions heard was a stuttering: "* out * the *!" He cast _Magic Missile_, sending two bolts of force into the creature's neck.

Morier struck with his sword, and Ravager's teeth bit hungrily into the flesh along the thing's left arm, but seemed to leave no visible wound on the limb as the blade withdrew.

Shamalin reached out her hand and sent divine magic into Ayremac, healing most of the wounds he'd just received.

For its part, the creature glared fiercely at Karak... and vanished, leaving the hallway suddenly silent apart from the creak of leather and the the panting breaths of The Order.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #347a] Reinforcements*

Ayremac took the momentary pause to swipe his weapon through the air once, then again quickly, scrutinizing it and testing its weight. The surface of the spiked ball at the end of the weapon was pitted and scarred. Most of the points had been reduced to misshapen nubs. Regardless, it continued to stubbornly shed pale light, the magical enchantment on the weapon undaunted by the acid damage.

"My morningstar is almost useless... if it takes any more damage it will be ruined." the holy warrior said with a discouraging tone.

"Ravager hasn't fared very well either," Morier complained. He stuck the bastard sword into Lela's _Flaming Sphere_ to burn away the remnants of corrosive slime on the blade and then examined it critically. It was in much better shape than Ayremac's little morningstar being both more solidly constructed and more heavily enchanted. He quickly cast _Mending_ on the weapon and frowned; it was going to take a number of castings to bring the bastard sword back to prime condition.*

"Oy! My axe has a smudge on it!" Karak bellowed, regarding the nearly-pristine blade with concern. Both Morier and Ayremac gave him a disapproving look.

"I might be able to call on Flor's blessing to _Make_ your weapon _Whole_," Shamalin suggested and without waiting for consent she reached out and touched the holy warrior's weapon. It's glow flared at her touch, growing briefly bright enough to make them all squint. When it had faded, the weapon was in perfect condition.

"Thank you," Ayremac said, his spirits quickly rallied. "I think this is the time to forge ahead. We need to take this demon down while it is wounded."

"Is * what * think * thing *? A *-mon?" Huzair stuttered, blinking in and out of reality.

"Before we rush off to find this thing we have to address the fact that our most powerful weapons and even Lela's spells did almost nothing to the creature," Shamalin cautioned. "Plus, couldn't it see Huzair even when he was invisible?"

"But why else would it retreat unless it felt in danger? Ayremac countered. "It is either going for reinforcements or to heal. Let us move in to the room and see what we find. If we are overwhelmed we retreat to the hallway and reassess. But whatever we decide we should move quickly. We're wasting our advantage."

"We * hurt *," Huzair sputtered. "If * is * sum-* creat-*, then-"

"Huzair!" Lela cried out, annoyed with the mage's unintelligible speech. "We can't understand you when you're flickering like that! It didn't save you from getting hurt it just impedes our ability to communicate with you during battle."

Of course Huzair heard something closer to: "Hu-*! We * un-*-stand * when * fli-*-ing * that!" And anyway, he was a bit distracted by what he kept glimpsing every time he went ethereal and wasn't really paying attention to the sprite's words.



The mage knew that the Ethereal Plane was coexistant with the Prime. Every wizard who'd ever become intangible had shunted his mass to this other realm which was the home of ghosts and other beings both invisible and immaterial to those on the Prime. Prior to acquiring the _Ring of Blinking_ back in Miller's Pond, Huzair's experience with the Plane had been purely academic; he'd studied it, but hadn't really ever expected to visit it. All that had changed now, and every time he _Blinked_ he saw that portion of the Ethereal that overlaid this place. It was very disconcerting, especially to one unused to the experience.

The solid things that he was familiar with on the Prime - his companions, the walls and floor of the corridor - were all rendered wraithlike, silent and insubstantial when he jaunted to the Ethereal. More disturbing were the things that seemed solid on the other plane but that he couldn't see at all on the Material and it took him much longer than he thought it should to suss out the flickering slices of visual input. There was a gaunt shadowy form that might have been the demon creature they'd fought, but it was some distance away, only dimly visible through the hazy fog of intervening walls. He couldn't see it at all when he wasn't briefly ethereal since those same walls were solid rock on the Prime.

As distracting as all of that was, it couldn't hold his attention when the pair of small, distorted figures appeared, fluttering through the air of the phantom Ethereal hallway. He'd never seen their like before although their general form - equipped with horns and tails and wings and spines - screamed: DEMON!. They were disturbingly asymmetrical as if some insane creator had randomly taken limbs and features from a dozen disparate creatures and pressed them into a new shape to make these particular monstrosities. They were small - little bigger than a halfling in size - but that did nothing to make them seem any less threatening.

The lead creature, whose head resembled a flattened disk of brown wax, opened its jaw wide like a snake eager to swallow a mouse, and vomited a glob of acid at the mage. The blob struck Huzair full in the chest despite his _Blinking_ and drew forth a stuttering cry of pain as it burned through his warcaster's armor and into the flesh beneath.

An instant later both things shifted from the Ethereal Plane to the Prime appearing less than a dozen paces from The Order.

----------------------------

*I've house-ruled Mending to repair one point of damage per casting to any weapon or armor provided it's still in one piece. Sort of the Object equivalent of Cure Minor Wounds.


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## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> An instant later both things shifted from the Ethereal Plane to the Prime appearing less than a dozen paces from The Order.





Ha! Surprise! I hope you gave them both levels in rogue.


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## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Ha! Surprise!




As I mentioned before the board wipe, this whole exchange was "inspired" by this bit from The Tomb of Horrors:

*PCs are discouraged from bypassing the material walls of the world via the Ethereal Plane by a host of demonic guardians. PCs become aware of the demonic host only if they attempt an ethereal jaunt while within the hill or tomb. One or more demons arrive and attack, according to the following table (roll randomly) every 1d4 rounds that the characters maintain a presence on the Ethereal Plane while within the tomb. *

It wasn't much later, after the unexpected appearance of a Vrock, that Huzair's player realized it was his Blinking that was prompting the demaonic attacks. 



> I hope you gave them both levels in rogue.




Not yet! The average party level at this point was 6 (I think) so adding class levels would have spelled disaster in three little letters: TPK. I wasn't quite into that.

Hidden by Spoiler tags below is a glimpse of things to come, though.



Spoiler



One of the PCs does die in the Elemental Earth Node later on.


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## Hairy Minotaur

Re: Spolier

Really? I found that part to be easier or at least easily avoidable encounter-wise. I eagerly await this part to see what went wrong for the party.


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## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> I found that part to be easier or at least easily avoidable encounter-wise.




This ain't just any old Elemental Earth Node. In fact it's just the name, really. The actual test is lifted from Goodman Games' "Dungeon Interludes".



> I eagerly await this part to see what went wrong for the party.




Well I won't spoil it for you here, but I will warn you that we've got a ways to go before we get to that point. Plenty of time for you to get attached to the doomed character.


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## mdougherty331

*Not much of a bad ass*

arial

IN reply to Huzair being a badass, it is more from his character background and attitude rather than his abilities as a spell caster.  He is a rouge level 1 and wizard level 4  Not super tough.  Casting 3rd level spells at this point would be helpful in being a damage dealer.  

I am not sure if his background is posted on the site or not.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #348] From Bad to Worse*

"Oi, me frost blade has taken damage. I did nae know that could even happen," Karak muttered rubbing at the spot of corrosion with his thumb. "Shamalin, can ye heal me blade like you did Aryemac's?" He held it out to her and the cleric gave his weapon a quick glance before throwing him an exasperated look.

"It seems just fine to me," she said with a sigh.

Karak sputtered and grumbled,"Wha-? A-a-a-a mere smudge, ye say?" he was incredulous and he waggled the blade at her again. "Why this 'ere axe is the most beautiful item ever created by man or dwarf. I can nae allow some foul demon beastie to mar its surface, especially now that I know you have the power to heal me blade, lass."

"We need to get into that room," Lela said, pointing to the closed door. "That's where the thing went, right?" Before anyone had time to answer, Huzair shrieked in pain and two misshapen creatures materialized in the hall.



They shared very little in common. Both had curving tusks rather like a boar's, long muscular legs rather like a frog's, and two pairs of arms - but beyond that they were utterly dissimilar. One was bristling with spines and the other was covered with matted fur. One had pointed ears rather like an elf's and the other's drooped like those of certain dog breeds - and it had four of them on its wedge-shaped head! Each shared a malicious intent that was plainly obvious as they stepped out of the ethereal and onto the Prime.

Morier took one look at the things and swung Ravager in a fierce two-handed swing that split the air beside the nearer of the gibbering fiends. Shamalin had time to call on her goddess before the creature had closed with them. It was much faster than its fellow, propelled equally by its legs, wings, and its extraordinarily long arms. It lashed out, goring into the albino's abdomen, but his magical leathers turned the attack aside.

"Umba, please give me your devine guidance and protection!" Ayremac implored coming swiftly to Morier's assistance. He thumped his morningstar against the monster's shoulder, drawing its attention and wounding it slightly.

The second creature saw him as well and as it had done with Huzair, it vomited a bolt of acid from its gullet. The poisonous green missile splattered obscenely across Ayremac's face, earning a grunt of disgust from the holy warrior. The Officer of Umba was more than he appeared, however, and the vitriol had absolutely no effect on him other than to irritate his sensibilities.

Huzair had no such defenses against acid and he screamed again as it continued to eat into his flesh. Acrid smoke rose from his chest filling his nostrils with the stench of his own deliquescing flesh. He staggered to the side, clutching weakly at the injury as he maneuvered to make use of his wand. The gout of flame washed over the back of the slower creature, but the flames seemed to sputter out before contacting the thing's flesh.

"I be gettin' the feelin' that we nae be hurtin' these monsters," Karak grumbled as he watched his allies' attacks slide off their adversaries with little apparent effect. "Maybe we can try this on for size. Shaharizod, grant me the protection for me blade." The weapon flared momentarily with light, but the Karak grunted in discomfort as the _Align Weapon_ spell ripped wildly through his body instead of actually going off as intended.

"Are you all right?" Lela asked as she darted in and tossed a pinch of Confusion dust at the creature locked in battle with Ayremac and Morier.

"Me chalak always made this spell castin' look so easy," the dwarf muttered. The sprite's glittering powder missed the creature and she cursed.

Morier tried in vain to open the little monster with his bastard sword, but the thing's leathery hide was much tougher than it looked and again it turned the blade aside.

Shamalin finished her spellcasting and reality warped between the two little fiends as she _Summoned_ a bear from the Seven Mounting Heavens of Celestia. The golden animal roared a challenge and swiped ineffectually at the monster harassing Ayremac.

The complicated summoning taken care of, the cleric paused long enough to take a breath before launching into another spell. Taking her cue from Karak, she reached out, _Aligning_ Ayremac's _Weapon_ to Good.

Perhaps sensing what was about to happen, the creature fighting with the Holy Warrior whirled into a flailing blur of claws and teeth and spines. A nail opened a wound on Ayremac's neck while a spine found a gap in the armor protecting his weapon arm and its club-like tail slammed painfully into his right knee. The ferocity took him by surprise and his planned counter attack went awry.

The second turned toward Huzair and spat a blob of acid at the mage. It was deadly accurate with the attack form, but Huzair fortunately went ethereal just before the missile was about to impact against his abdomen and instead the vitriol splattered hissingly against the wall behind him.

Which was good since the acid that still burned on the mage's chest finally reduced him to unconsciousness. The vial of _Cure Light Wounds_ he'd been fumbling with fell from his nerveless fingers as oblivion came eagerly to take him. He collapsed to the ground and stopped _Blinking_.

Karak stepped up beside Morier, but his axe (which was beginning to feel rather heavy in his hands) couldn't penetrate the thing's hide any easier than could the albino's sword.

Lela managed to cast her pixie dust into the creature's eyes, but it seemed to have absolutely no effect on it.

It was at that point that the slimy creature they had first been fighting teleported into their midst again, appearing just behind Ayremac to set up a flanking situation with the little fiend. It tried to bury its claws into the Officer's back, using the warrior's divided attention to target his vital organs. His plate mail foiled the attack however, and it cursed venomously in a dark tongue that seemed to claw at painfully the ears.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #349] Bad News, Bear*

"Damned creatures!" Ayremac shouted as he brought his shield around, dividing his attention between the frenzied thing he'd been fighting and the newly-arrived foe. "Karak! Gather your strength and take one of the buggers off of me!"

"Aye, lad," Karak sighed, hauling his weapon up only with effort. "I'll be over there in a jiffy, but I seemed to be a mite tired again. I do nae understand it; I should be thrivin' here underground."

Morier took a step to the right, putting himself and Karak on opposite sides of the slime-covered creature attacking Ayremac. Ravager was low and he brought it up as he moved in a savage two-handed blow that laid open the gangly monstrosity's torso in a spray of gore. The thing let out a gurgling sound and toppled backward, nearly falling on Karak as it died.



Shamalin saw none of this; she only saw Huzair slumped and bleeding on the floor fifteen feet away and she was in motion. He looked pretty grim, and this was what - the third time in as many weeks that he has been on death's edge? "Varan azipo monda kau gokta met, teno," she said to the golden bear as she started moving. "Ekfebet aranouylipot maha nili mavano!"

She was fairly certain that among her current companions, only Ayremac would understand Celestial. Her eyes flicked uncertainly in the holy warrior's direction. How odd that the creature's acid did absolutely nothing to Ayremac, and yet looked to be eating it's way through Huzair. She marveled again that there was a great deal about her old friend that she did not know. But this was not the time for such thoughts.

"Ena escobar," the bear replied in a gruff baritone as she passed. "Givo mana maha nili." But it didn't draw its attention away from the creature it was attacking, as it used its divine power to _Smite_ the _Evil_ thing. The bear's claw opened a minor gash across the fiend's back as it tried to opportunistically attack Shamalin, spoiling the attempt.

The cleric stepped up and channeled a _Cure Moderate Wounds_ spell into Huzair. The mage's eyes fluttered open and he slurred, "Tell Morier, buff before you enter battle."

"You can tell him yourself after this is all over," the cleric replied as she began praying for another miracle. She didn't see the second creature as it half-ran, half-flew at her from the side. It landed hard against her back, forcing her to brace against the floor to prevent her landing on top of her patient. Its tusks clattered ineffectually against her heavy armor.



"Take this, bastard!" Ayremac roared, slamming his morningstar against the head of the thing still on him. The weapon, _Aligned_ as it was to _Good_, dealt the monster nothing but punishment. But the look in its many eyes told the Officer of Umba that it could take a great many more hits like that and keep on coming.

To prove the point it struck at him seemingly from all sides. The sudden flurry caught him unprepared and he cried out in alarm as he felt himself being overbalanced. He fell prone and the thing rode him down, slashing at him repeatedly with its many barbed claws. He was unconscious and bleeding out even as he hit the ground.

Karak came at it, stepping forward and swinging his waraxe double-handed. The dwarf was fatigued, however, and was attacking with power behind the blows rather than accuracy and so he failed to injure the thing at all.

Lela saw Ayremac drop and let out a little yelp of surprise. She also saw the fact that the creature on top of the holy warrior was healing its wounds nearly as quickly as it suffered them. She cast Decomposition and cursed as the creature resisted the spell.

Morier made a tactical adjustment, taking an opportunistic blow to his leg for doing so, but managed to get into a flanking position with Karak again. He brought Ravager in again, impacting against the thing's short little neck, but the creature was resistant to injury and it shrugged off most of the attack like it was nothing.



Shamalin's celestial bear lurched to her defense, as she'd instructed it to, swiping the disfigured creature that was riding the cleric's back. Its paw slammed solidly against the monster's side, knocking it off its perch, but causing it absolutely no damage.

Shamalin cried out to Flor, and, raising her shield to protect herself from the thing beside her, called into being a _Magic Circle Against Evil_. As the holy protection descended on herself and Huzair and the bear, the creature fighting them recoiled in pain and revulsion. It flapped its fan-like wings and lurched awkwardly toward Morier and the others. Both Huzair and the golden bear attacked it as it fled, but Shamalin, who hadn't even bothered to unscabbard her longsword merely watched it go. It snapped at the albino as it closed, but caught only empty air with the attack.


The creature perched on Ayremac's chest suddenly stiffened, letting out a yelp of fear and turned to fee from Lela, the glittering residue of _Confusion Dust _still lingering on its disturbingly-twisted face. Its legs were ill-suited to move it, and it lacked the wings of its counterpart, so it was slow. It moved up to the edge of Shamalin's _Circle_ and then moved to skirt it. Huzair's _Magic Missiles_ fizzled out against its spell resistance.

Karak bent and laid a hand on Ayremac, stabilizing him even as he reluctantly put down his waraxe and picked up the fallen man's morningstar. "I'm hopin' ye do nae mind if I borrow this," he said to Ayremac's unconscious body.

Lela cast _Cat's Grace_ and felt her limbs grow more dextrous as she readied her shortbow.

Morier slashed at the second creature since it was now the only thing in range of his weapon and again Ravager bit into its target. As before, however, the wound seemed much reduced from what it should have been. The thing retaliated against the eldritch warrior, goring him with its tusks and slashing at his shins with its cloven hooves.

Shamalin's golden bear lumbered forward, striking at the confused monster, but its attacks were useless against the little creature's tough hide. The monster, luckily was concerned only with fleeing and did not pause to test its own attacks against the bear. It continued on out into the corridor.

Shamalin, who was herself the focus of the _Magic Circle Against Evil_, could not advance or risk disrupting the spell, instead she channeled a _Cure Light Wounds_ spell into Huzair, bringing the mage to within a cat's whisker of full health.



Karak came at the thing fighting with Morier, Ayremac's mornignstar glowing brightly in the dwarf's two hands. The weapon was lighter than his axe - too light as it turned out. He missed, smashing the air several feet to the creature's right.

Lela fired an arrow from her shortbow into the creature, but it stuck in its fur like an over-sized toothpick doing no apparent damage. Ravager failed entirely to connect with the creature and the albino cursed.



The golden bear lurched out into the corridor and made one last swipe at the fleeing fiend before the spell binding it to the Prime ran its course and the animal returned to Mount Celestia. Shamalin moved closer to the continuing battle, careful not to actually force the remaining fiend into the area of her _Magic Circle_ and called down a _Doom_ on the monster. Despite that, however, it managed to jab its tusks into Morier's ribs again.

Huzair tried again to target the thing with a _Magic Missile_ spell and this time managed to bypass its spell resistance. Two bolts of force slammed into the creature's shoulder and it let out a disgruntled cry. The next instant, as Karak slammed Ayremac's morningstar into its right arm, that cry became an ear-splitting shriek of pain. A moment later, Morier's jagged sword put an end to that sound by taking the thing's head messily from its shoulders.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #349] The Workshop*

The severed head thudded wetly against the far wall and slid to the floor; once again silence settled on the chamber broken only by the panting breaths of the heroes. Karak clanked wearily against the wall, sighing into his beard.

As Morier darted out into the corridor after the fleeing creature, Shamalin's eyes locked on the figure lying still upon the cold stone floor. He was covered in blood from the wounds the creature had opened through his armor. Silently, she moved to him, but paused before calling forth her healing abilities. His was the god of death and dying. What exchanges were taking place between them now, she wondered. What would his inclinations be in such a moment? What of her own, were the tables turned? She knew that answer.

No. With a sudden flair of anger, she reached out to pull him back to this life. No. If Flor deemed her worthy, she would make the choice for him. The greatest work was still to be done; this had been only the beginning. She turned and regarded each of the Order in turn. If it took everything she had, they would face the rest together.



Ayremac awakened, eyes popping wide, hand feeling blindly around him for his weapon. Shamalin pressed her hands against his breastplate - mindful of the spikes - and said softly, "Lie still. I'm not quite finished."

The holy warrior sighed and eyed the room, smiling weakly. "Huzair, don't get too close," he grinned. "Your propensity to fall prone in battle seems contagious"

Huzair's mouth snapped open, ready to spout something caustic but he caught himself. "Oh, you are joking," he said realizing the Officer's intent. "Yeah. Right. Heh heh." He sneered sarcastically at the fallen man and began casting some spells on himself.

"Where is my weapon?" Ayremac asked, looking around.

"Here, lad," Karak replied, forcing himself to his feet. He extended the weapon haft to Ayremac's hand. "I borrowed it for a bit once ye fell."

"You should have buffed before combat," Huzair told the man. "It is the reason I am still drawing breath. That's the second time buffing with a _False Life_ has saved my life... as well as Shamalin's divine intervention. Thanks."

"You're welcome," she said, simply.



After a few moments Morier returned to report that the slow-moving creature had somehow managed to vanish - most likely fleeing to the Ethereal Plane. Once everyone was gathered, Shamalin and Ayremac worked together to quickly bring the party back to some semblance of health. They healed injuries while Morier repaired both Karak's waraxe and his own damaged sword.

"Does everyone agree we move forward?" Ayremac asked, looking around at the group and registering nods of assent. "Karak, Morier, you take lead. Lela and I will support as opportunities arise and move to the rear if more monsters approach from that direction. Shamalin and Huzair, you will support from a distance; aid the others. And Huzair, don't be afraid to cast a buff on someone."

"Me? Afraid to cast a buff? What do I look like? Morier?" the mage smirked and Morier flashed him a scathing look as he took a position at the door.



The room beyond the door was cramped and seemed to be a mage's workroom, filled with counters and paraphernalia of a wizardly sort. Racks of vials and jars predominated, but there was an archway filled with glowing green mist in the wall to the left. Both Morier and Karak recognized the arch as a portal like those they'd seen elsewhere in their quest, but no one could pay it much attention once their eyes fell upon the horror before them. In a pool of congealing fluid on a table in the center of the room lay the severed head and raw spine of an elven child. Its hair and eyebrows had been rudely shorn and its pallid scalp partially painted with the same disconcerting runes that they had seen previously. The smell of chemical preservative was very strong in this tight space.

"What sort of twisted place is this?" Ayremac groaned, pressing a hand to his mouth to keep himself from gagging. Before anyone could answer, the eyes of the severed head snapped grotesquely open and its mouth parted releasing a shriek such as none of them had ever heard. It was like the cry of a damned soul and it went on and on impossibly, echoing and re-echoing off the walls of the chamber and out into the corridors beyond.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> "What sort of twisted place is this?" Ayremac groaned, pressing a hand to his mouth to keep himself from gagging. Before anyone could answer, the eyes of the severed head snapped grotesquely open and its mouth parted releasing a shriek such as none of them had ever heard. It was like the cry of a damned soul and it went on and on impossibly, echoing and re-echoing off the walls of the chamber and out into the corridors beyond.




Found it!   

Boy, they sure don't make alarms like they used to.


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## recentcoin

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> Huzair spent a full 24 hours riding in the wagon, burning incense and chanting incoherently so that he could summon a familiar. By the time they reached Miller's Pond, the wizard had a new magical helper: a hummingbird named Sparky.




Man,  your magic wielders get some lame-a$$ familiars. 


Just my 2 cents,

RC


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## Jon Potter

recentcoin said:
			
		

> Man,  your magic wielders get some lame-a$$ familiars.




What can I say? I don't pick them, the players do.

Okay, that's not entirely true: I picked Kirnoth's Duckbunny. But his player got some perks for allowing me to use his familiar as a plot device to introduce the transmogrified creatures.

Sparky does give Huzair Improved Initiative as a virtual feat when he's within 5', so he's not entirely without his good points.

And welcome to the story, BTW.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #350] The Silent Scream*

"It's an alarm!" Huzair said, shouting to be heard over the screaming. "Time to buff, Morier!" Ayremac fumbled in his belt for his handkerchief and made to stuff it down the severed head's throat, but Ravaged was suddenly between him and the thing. He looked angrily up at Morier and the albino shook his head and then nodded toward Shamalin.

The priestess was already chanting the words to some spell. She gestured at the pitiable thing on the table and the room was suddenly blanketed in magical _Silence_. As soon as it was quiet, Karak raised his waraxe and then brought it down, crushing the head into a disturbing, pulpy mess.

Ayremac looked at his handkerchief and then put it away.



They all backed out of the room then, except for Huzair. The mage activated his Ring of Blinking and studied the group's surroundings in the Ethereal Plane. There was nothing particularly out of the ordinary to be seen there - no incorporeal assailants were approaching that he could see. The area beyond the mist-filled archway was oddly twisted and stretched, leading off into the ether for what seemed to him like a very long way. He'd never seen such an effect from his current perspective, but he possessed enough knowledge of arcana to recognize it for what it was: a portal.

He deactivated the Ring and joined the others in the outer room.



"-around the room," he heard Morier say as he breeched the radius of the _Silence_ spell.

"What about that portal?" Karak asked. "Should we nae see where it leads?" Morier shook his head.

"I don't think we should try to go anywhere using the portal until we've checked out this entire place first," the albino said, cocking his head toward the corridor. "It might be good to remember this room though, in case we need to make a hasty departure after we get our hands on the keys." he paused for a moment and sighed, adding, "If we get our hands on the keys."

"Oh, so it's 'if' now? Great," Huzair snorted and produced a cigar from some hidden pocket. Morier glared at him.

"It's always been 'if', Huzair," the eldritch warrior corrected. "There's no guarantee that we'll succeed here or even survive the attempt. The only thing certain is that we have to try."

"Well, aren't you just a ray of sunshine," Huzair grinned, smoke leaking from between his clenched teeth.



Huzair stood on the perimeter of the Silence effect and cast _Detect Magic_, studying the room and pointing out the few items of interest within. The mangled thing on the workbench in the center of the room retained a lingering aura of Necromantic magic. Three vials contained potions (two with a Conjuration aura and one bearing Transmutation) but none of the group was able to determine what they were exactly. The rest of the room was filled with various powders and unguents and all the material components that a wizard needed to cast just about any spell that struck his fancy.

Looking at the portal struck Huzair momentarily blind and broke his concentration so that he lost the _Detect Magic_ spell and fell backward clutching his head in pain. It radiated epic-level Conjuration magic and felt a bit like staring directly into the sun.


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## Hairy Minotaur

As the 500th reply to this thread, let me say keep up the great work Jon!

Oh, and how long did your players figure out the alarm?


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## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> As the 500th reply to this thread, let me say keep up the great work Jon!




Wow! A milestone! And I didn't even notice.

I think it's gonna call for another update when I get home.



> Oh, and how long did your players figure out the alarm?




Almost immediately, actually. They're very paranoid.

I can't imagine why...


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## recentcoin

At least they managed to put it out of it's misery.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #351] What's For Dinner?*

They opted to ignore the portal for the time being and proceed as they had been - following Karak's methodical approach to dungeoneering. The next right-hand turn along the corridor was a shadowy passage that sloped downward to an enormous set of black iron doors. An almost palpable sense of dread hung about the area and, after some consideration, they again opted to press on rather than explore this new option. None of them was too eager to leave potential enemies at their backs as they continued on.


The next room was a bit further along the hallway, guarded by a door like those they had seen previously - grotesquely decorated with leering skulls, probing tentacles and rotting bodies entwined in horrible manners. It proved untrapped and opened onto a massive, vaulted chamber lit by three great chandeliers of black iron, within which burned red-veined, creamy candles that looked disturbingly like frozen flesh. In the center of the room was a long, heavy oaken table covered with white linen, upon which were settings of iron; plates, platters, chalices, rows of knives, forks and spoons, serving bowls and saltcellars. A large dome-covered platter and a huge soup tureen dominated the center of the table, surrounded by trays of glistening sweetmeats.

The chamber was filled with a not unpleasant spicy odor, but beneath it lingered a faint whiff of decay.

"Oi," Karak muttered from where they were all gathered in a cluster at the door. "Seems even the evil need to eat now and then."

Shamalin's gaze swept the room, coming to rest on the display at the center of the table. Her stomach gave in involuntary lurch. "So it would appear," she said with a grimace. "But I for one have no interest in finding out what's on the menu." She turned away from the room and stood quietly in the hallway.

"Something of the magnitude of the keys we're looking for don't seem like they would be kept in the dining room next to the silverware," Morier nodded moving the join the priestess.

"At least give me time to _Detect Magic_!" Huzair groused. "Sheesh! This feels like the shortsword thing all over again." No one took his bait and so he cast his spell and studied the room, keeping up a more or less steady stream of complaint as he did so. "You know, I think that creature kicked my ass because I did not have that short sword. And since you big strong fighters can't keep me safe, I think I need to be able to fend for myself."

Again nobody took up the other side of the argument and with a irritated snort, Huzair announced, "Some bad mojo under the serving dome. But nothing else is magical."

Karak harrumphed. "I do nae like the look o' those candles. They look like flesh," he said tramping away from the doorway with Lela riding easily on his shoulder. "I agree with Morier; I do nae think the key be here. Let us continue."

Ayremac looked into the room and scowled before turning away as well. "I agree, this room does not seem to be of great importance," he said. As they walked away he added, "Karak, do you think that was human flesh?"


As Huzair had noted on his earlier reconnaissance, the corridor soon bent around on itself, apparently forming a loop, with the chamber at the end of the hall forming the link. The door was like the others, but it was cold to the touch and slick with moisture as water condensed out of the air onto the chill black surface. The overall effect was unpleasant, making it seems that the door was oozing sweat. Still, it opened like any other door to reveal a dark chamber that seemed more than a bit like a donjon.

Fourteen small "cells" lined the walls, but they were of a sort that none of them had ever seen. For one thing they had no doors, and for another they were filled with a swirling mass of ebon mist that was somehow confined to the alcoves and did not spill into the room. It was this mist that was the source of the unnatural cold, and it caused The Orders' breath to gather into short-lived clouds as they went. The black mist was largely opaque, so it wasn't until they'd moved some way into the room that they could see the emaciated, hairless, sexless, figures suspended within. Each hovered unmoving inside its cloud, head thrown back and arms hanging limply at its sides.

Unsurprisingly, each had its eyes and all other orifices sewn shut with red thread, and mystic runes were tattooed over every visible inch of its body.

"Oh dear," Ayremac whispered nervously.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #352] Wasn't This Supposed to be a Pit?*

"By the gods' beards! It seems like it's an evil incubation center. In what manner does chaos intend to use these?" Karak wondered aloud.

"Not a good one, I'd wager," Ayremac told him, running a hand across his jaw. Huzair shot him a look.

"Thank you, Sir Obvious," he sneered in Morier's ear.

"I say this, let's investigate in here," Karak said as he strode across to the other set of double doors in the room. "I be willing to watch the doors and I'll be over here to other door which looks, if my dwarven senses be right, to be where we started. Then I say the rest of you poke around a bit. Do nae touch anything, use your eyes, ears and knowledge to learn what ye may."

"I've never seen anything like this," Ayremac admitted. He thrust the glowing head of his morningstar into the black mist and it came out crusted with frost.

"We have seen those tattoos and the red sewn mouths before," the dwarf told him as he looked from one suspended figure to another. "What are they called? Mendicants or vectors or some such thing?"

"Vectors," Morier hissed as he moved forward, surveying his surroundings as he went. He held Ravager loosely in one hand, the point of the enormous blade skimming along an inch or two above the stone floor.

"Do we know that for sure, or are we just assuming that these creatures are vectors?" Huzair countered. "Vectors may be something else, entirely. Maybe vectors are those who make these things, for instance."

"Whate'er these things are, I wish I could know the use o' them. I mean why grow 'em like this?" Karak continued. He was stroking his beard with one hand as he stared intently into the nearest cell. His flinty eyes studied the chalk-white figure within intently as if he might spontaneously read some explanation in the small red sigils tattooed into its flesh. "Why not just enslave a group of people like was done before? Do they have spell powers?"

"Huzair, why not try _Detect Magic_ again and see what you get?" Lela suggested and the wizard shrugged in reply.

"I think it's pretty obvious that there's magic here," he told the Sprite but he began to cast just the same. Lela augmented her own vision with the Hawkeye spell and took to the air.

"These clouds contain strong magic," Huzair announced as he studied the manifestation. "Conjuration... Abjuration... and Necromancy. The bodies... The vectors or whatever they are... are also full of Necromantic magic." Ayremac's teeth clenched at the mage's announcement.

"Shamalin, does Flor grant you any ability to sense what they be about?" Karak asked the cleric, gesturing meaningfully at the nearest mist-cloaked figure. "I sure do nae know."

Looking from one body to the next, Shamalin became increasingly uneasy as she searched her memory for references to such acts in the prophesies of her sisterhood. She closed her eyes and purposefully tried to recall Blackheart's rantings. Briefly she thought of The Speckled Band. Had they been fortunate to avoid an end such as this? But she scoffed at the thought - how could any aspect of their fate have been fortunate? Unbidden, the face of the dead elf girl from the chamber down the hall came to mind. The Order had managed to steal her from this dark path. That, at least, was a small comfort. Should they try as much for the bodies suspended here?

"This is as foreign to me as it is to Ayremac," the priestess sighed at last. "They're not dead exactly, but they're not truly alive either."

"Undead then," the holy warrior surmised but Shamalin shook her head. "I don't think so," she said. "I think that the mist is holding them in suspension, somehow. But I can't be certain."

"Whate'er they are, it seems 'ere we have a good chance to foil whatever evil is planning to be done with 'em. I say we destroy 'em," Karak announced, stamping the haft of his axe on the floor once for emphasis. "But how?"

"Stabbing them usually works," Morier said, looking pointedly at Huzair. The albino's expression seemed to challenge the wizard to argue with him, but Karak went on before he had a chance to.

"Aye, white one. I can certainly do it one at a time, and yer blade ain't too shabby," the dwarf said. "Zounds, even Shamalin could practice with that long poker o' hers. I am a might concerned about that mist, though. Why it could freeze us or be a silent alarm to the other planes."

"I could try to _Dispel_ the _Magic_," Shamalin suggested but Huzair didn't think that would work.

"That mist is strong magic, Shamalin," he told her. "I think an archmage would have trouble dispelling it."

"I noticed some feint runes carved into the floor in front of each cell." Lela revealed the tiny detail that her augmented vision had allowed her to spot. "It seemed to form a bounding area for the mist. We could mar the runes and maybe dissipate the mist."

"Yeah, or release it into the room to freeze us all," Huzair countered. "Bad idea."

"Like usual, Huzair, you're quick to poke holes in everybody else's plan but slow to offer any useful ideas of your own," Morier snapped. "We don't even know that the mist is dangerous." Ayremac cleared his throat and sheepishly admitted to testing the mist with his morningstar.

"It's cold, but it didn't hurt me to touch my weapon to it," the holy warrior said. "And if it's an alarm, then it's already been triggered." Huzair patted the man derisively on the back.

"Nice one, there, Ayremac," he chuckled, shaking his head.

"Sorry," the Officer said. "You told us to poke around..."

"What's done is done," Karak snorted, stroking his beard thoughtfully once more. "I do nae know how I feel about such a thing, but we could try to wake one o' this lot and see what it has to say or offer us information?"

"They're not going to say much with their mouths sewn shut," Huzair observed and Karak fixed him with one eye.

"What say the rest of you?" the dwarf asked, looking around at his companions.

------------------------------

*DM's Note: We're coming up to one of the moments in the campaign where I just had to bang my head against the table in disbelief. Proof positive that you just never know what your PCs are gonna do.*


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## Hairy Minotaur

Are these the things that attacked them in post #472? The slavering corpses?


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## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Are these the things that attacked them in post #472? The slavering corpses?




Nope, those were just some anthropophagi I whipped up using a template for d20 Modern by The Game Mechanics. You can take a look at it here:

http://www.thegamemechanics.com/freebies/TGM_Anthropophagi.asp

The players made short work of those guys, if you remember. The vectors are different; for one thing they're spell-stitched, which is always fun.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #352a] The Opposite of Life*

The general consensus among loremasters and sages regarding planer theory was that the numerous planes of the multiverse formed a great wheel. The Outer Planes - from the Seven Mounting Heavens of Celestia to the 666 Layers of the Abyss - orbited the Inner separated by the expanse of the Astral Plane like the rim of a wheel around its axis. In 462 AE Mageholme's Department of Thaumaturgy in Barnacus commissioned a vast and complex orrery in order to depict for students the interaction of the Outer Planes with the Prime. Since then such devices had become the accepted representation of the cosmos as it was understood on Oerune.

An unfolded tesseract, however, was the typical method of representing the Inner Planes. Each cube of the tesseract's face was generally color-coded to correspond to one of the six Inner planes - four Elemental, the Positive Energy, and the Negative Energy Planes. If it were physically possible to fold this hypercube into a standard three dimensional object, then all of the Inner Planes would overlap in the center forming a representation of the Prime Material Plane.

It was an accepted truism that despite the fact that the Inner Planes were the building blocks of all existence on the Prime, taken individually, they were inimical to those from the Prime. The most dangerous of these was the Negative Energy Plane. It was Death and Undeath; the Void; the End of All Things. It was Destruction and Unmaking, the polar opposite of life. It killed life because it was its nature to kill; it was what _caused_ death. It was what made living beings age and die; what made wood rot and grass wither.



If either Huzair or Morier had spent more time on planer studies they might have protested more vehemently when Ayremac volunteered to break the binding runes.



Shamalin sighed, having thought it might come to this. She didn't know if the spell would work, considering the strange state the suspended beings were in. But for their own sake, whatever they were, she knew she had to try. As disturbing as the thought of trying to rouse these creatures from their transfixion was, the idea of stabbing one with her sword seemed worse.

"Shall I try to _Speak with the Dead_?" she asked, her reluctance to do so plainly audible in her voice.

"I say we mar the runes on one first and see if that wakes it up before Shamalin tries to talk with the dead," Lela suggested and the dwarf nodded.

"Aye lass you have the right of it, I think," Karak told the sprite. "Good work, Lela, spottin' those runes. I say, we mar the runes on one o' them, and hold it still. Then ask it our questions. Of course takin' the mist away may wake it up, do you think we do it thru the mist?"

"I don't think we should do it at all," Morier stated flatly. "Waking up the dead has too much potential to go wrong." Huzair nodded over his shoulder.

"We're messing with some powerful magic here," the mage added and Ayremac looked up gravely.

"Why don't you all stand near the door there, ready to leave if things go bad," the Holy Warrior suggested, gesturing with his glowing morningstar. "I've been able to build up a bit of resistance to cold over the years so it might be best for me to take the brunt of it. I'll mar the rune and step back, waiting to see what happens. If the room clears and the vector is reachable, I will grab it and bring it you."

"Good thinking, Ayremac," Shamalin agreed. "I have an _Endure Elements_ spell that I could cast and remain close." Huzair snorted.

"Good luck... An archmage would have trouble dispelling this," he muttered sarcastically. "I am sure that rubbing away the symbol will work." Shamalin shot him a disapproving look and leaned in close to his ear.

"Your sarcasm lends power to an already sinister place," she whispered. "Have faith in our efforts." And then she began to cast, calling on her goddess for intervention.



Ayremac made relatively short work of the runes. It was loud, work, however. His morningstar clanged again and again on the stone floor, and although both Karak and Morier stood ready at the door, no one came in response to the noise. After a half dozen double-handed blows from the glowing weapon, he had sufficiently marred one of the runes to have an effect. It just wasn't an effect he was hoping for.

The mist that swirled within the small cell, began to spill out from an invisible crack in whatever force was keeping it contained. It blossomed like a roiling, bubbling cloud of smoke squeezing through a door left ajar in a burning building. Ayemac backed up, slamming bodily into Shamalin and almost knocking her to the ground in the process. Neither one of them was fast enough to avoid the soul-freezing touch of the cloud and they both screamed as the smoke caressed their flesh, deadening their life force as it came.


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## recentcoin

So what kind of a saving roll do you need for that?

2 cents,

RC


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## Jon Potter

recentcoin said:
			
		

> So what kind of a saving roll do you need for that?





Good question, and unfortunatly I don't remember if there was a Reflex save to avoid this initial brush with Negative Energy.  I do know that there was a Fort save to avoid negative levels. DC 25 maybe? I can't seem to find my notes for that bit, although it was mostly straight out of the Manual of the Planes. I did use some rules for negative energy bleed from Behemoth3's "Swarm of Stirges" book, mostly the negative energy taint and eruption mechanic. Onto that I grafted some "fire-fighting" rules presented in the "Welcome to the Halmae" storyhour and some other rules I clipped from the free adventure "Dead Man's Party".

They looked something like this:

Each round, an Erupted square would Taint adjacent squares. Those adjacent squares got a DC 15 save. If they failed, they became Tainted areas, just starting to corrupt with Negative Energy. The next round, Tainted squares would become full on Erupted squares. The round after that, they would taint their neighbors.

Any priest or paladin attempting to turn the rift can close it, if they succeed in a check as if to turn an 8 HD undead. The PCs can attempt to dispel the magic that holds the rift open. A dispel magic check against a DC 17 closes the rift.
Any vial of holy water thrown at the gate has a 5% chance of closing the gate. Throwing multiple vials simultaneously increases the chance (e.g. 4 vials gives a 20% chance), but they must all hit the gate at the exact same instant (the PCs may have to devise something clever to make this work).
Rake's power is part of what is keeping the gates open. If he is destroyed, the gates close on their own.

I'm not sure that's a very satisfying answer to your question, but I hope it goes some way toward satisfying your curiousity. And thanks for asking!


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #353] Negative Energy Eruption*

"AARRGGGHHH!" Ayremac wailed as he felt a bit of his life energy snuffed out by the brief contact with the cloud. "Run!" he added as he scrambled toward the door urging Shamalin along beside him. In her heavy armor she was far slower than he, and his urging amounted more to bodily dragging her toward the door.

The cleric felt an icy cold settle against her heart and gasped for a breath that seemed never to come as she was pulled along in Ayremac's wake.

"Shaharizod's toes, what be that!" Karak bellowed. He looked toward his left where Huzair had been standing, but the mage was gone, having activated his _Ring of Invisibility_ as soon as he saw what the cloud had done to Ayremac and Shamalin. Karak turned to look at Morier instead.

"Negative Energy," Morier said, although it wasn't clear whether the eldritch warrior was answering the dwarf or talking to himself. "That would explain the cold and the black mist." Karak harrumphed at the albino's words and turned his attention to getting everyone out of the room in one piece.

"Let's MOVE out! Go! Go! Go! Out this door!" the dwarf commanded, pinwheeling his waraxe wildly to marshal everyone out into the corridor. "Lela! Fly, girl! Fly! Come on all! We've all surivived worse than this."

Lela did as the dwarf commanded and fluttered out into the ruddy hallway. Huzair clearly didn't need any encouragement since he was already gone, having now activated his _Ring of Blinking_ as well. Ayremac was struggling for the door dragging Shamalin behind him like a humanoid anchor. Gritting his teeth in frustraton, Karak chugged forward, slipping one meaty arm around Shamalin's waist and dragging her onward. The dwarf spared an angry grimace at Morier, yelling , "Run, you white fool! What in the nine hells will a sword do for you now?"

"I doubt very much we could outrun a negative energy eruption," Morier replied, still studying the cloud. It seemed to have quadrupled in size as the area immediately surrounding the planer tear became tainted by Negative Energy. The leading edge was now only five feet away. "It seems we've two choices... and maybe only time for one."

"We can discuss options when we're safely away from this... cloud!" Karak cursed dragging Shamalin along with him. Under different circumstances, had the dwarf not been already fatigued by his attempt to call on divine aid, he would have simply slung the cleric over his shoulder and marched down the hallway with her. But as it was, he had all he could do to pull her along. He couldn't even manage that once she started fighting him.

"Wait!" she protested. "Let's hear what he has to say."

"We cannot abandon these caves until we find the keys," Ayremac agreed, regaining some of his composure now that the initial shock of energy drain was passed. "I feel obligated to remain here as I released this."

"Someone can try to _Dispel Magic_... or we can try to channel positive energy into this thing," the albino told them. "Either one may disrupt the negative energy eruption... but we've got to try something PRODUCTIVE!!" At this last statement, Morier glared pointedly at Ayremac as if to say, 'Next time I tell you something's a bad idea, listen to me'.



"Umba, please guide my heart and hand. Allow me to hold at bay this seeping, life draining energy," Ayremac intoned, displaying the holy symbol etched into the breastplate of his armor as if he expected it to fire a beam of holy light into the cloud of unlife. There was no flashy visual display, but he felt his deity's power flow through him and saw the cloud before him react as if it were hit with a strong gust of wind. It blew back, losing most of the advances it had made in the process.

Shamalin gawked at Ayremac's success and wrested herself free of Karak's grip. She produced her silver holy symbol - appropriated off a dead janissary what seemed like half a lifetime ago - and held it forcefully at arm's length. "Flor, aid me in this dark hour," she pleaded and felt the touch of divinity pass through her and into the negative energy eruption. It seemed to have no visible effect and doubt clamped down on her heart like a frost giant's fist. "I can't..." her voice creaked.

"Have faith, Shamalin," Ayremac encouraged. He reached out and put a bolstering arm around the priestess. His vambrace squealed jarringly against her pauldron. (1)



"Morier, you know I do nae run from a battle, but this is a battle we can nae win," Karak confided in Morier, his voice hushed but edged with worry none the less. "I say retreat and live to fight another day, lad!"

"I never said we should stick around to try fighting this, Karak," the eldritch warrior agreed with a nod. He took a step back into the hall. "I just thought we should give these two a chance to counter the eruption. But it doesn't seem to be going well."



They were unable to duplicate Ayremac's initial success against the cloud - even working together. The eruption was simply too powerful for them to negate and it quickly reclaimed what the Officer of Umba had taken with his first attempt to channel positive energy into the cloud. Shamalin tried again to call on Lady Mercy, but it seemed that Flor had her eye elsewhere and the cloud advanced. It was very close to engulfing her in its life-quenching embrace when Ayremac jerked her backward.

"It's no good!" he told her, his face animated by an emotion that Shamalin took for despair and she wondered how closely his expression mirrored her own. "This cause is lost! We must flee!" She allowed herself to be led back toward the hallway, her eyes fixed on the welling darkness.

"No!" she said, jerking her arm away from Ayremac as she had done with Karak. Even as she freed herself, her hands were moving tin the intricate somatics necessary to _Dispel Magic_. _"Resolvo veneficus!"_ she commanded, willing the magical matrix holding open the planer tear to collapse. She'd never attempted the miracle before - and truthfully, she thought it to be beyond her ability to invoke - but she felt the power fill her and manifest as she wished it to. A wave of anti-magic slammed directly into the heart of the cloud.

It had absolutely no effect.


-------------------------------------


(1) I wrote that little bit as a joke - riffing on the absurdity of these two steel-jacketted characters offering one another comfort. But when my players read that they all said: WTF? so I guess my attempt at humor failed. I left it in as a reminder to myself to stay closer to the story and to stay away from things I think might be funny.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #354] Our Rifts are Sealed!*

The chilling irony of the situation did nothing to help calm Shamalin's nerves. So far, in her struggles against evil, her adversaries had taken a definite shape and form. They had been truly horrible, yes, but in some twisted way at least they had followed the conventions of good and evil. This... mistake... was nothing like that. 

Someone, with malicious intent, had sought to secure the suspended creatures with an impenetrable wall. For all the right reasons Shamalin's party had been successful at breaching that wall - only to find the obstacle itself far more lethal than anything it may have been guarding. Why was Aphyx wasting her time with Vectors and plague when all it would take to destroy the world was an uncontainable leak of negative energy?

Shamalin clattered to a stop, startling the others. "Wait! There has to be an answer to this!" she cried, looking back down the corridor at Ayremac. Beyond him she could see the light-devouring darkness of the cloud.

"Lass, ye've done what ye could an-" Karak began, but it was clear that the half-elf wasn't listening to him. Her eyes darted around frantically as she tried to recall any scrap of divine knowledge that could save them.

"A _Magical Circle against Evil_ might..." she started but then shook her head. "Negative Energy isn't really evil."

"If we could _Consecrate_ the area," Ayremac offered as he approached, "that would make channeling much-"

"_Consecrate_! That's it! I can _Consecrate_ the area!" Shamalin shouted, galvanized by the suggestion. Then her face fell. "But I'd need some silver dust to do it."

"I have some," Ayremac told her, "And something else that might help."



Shamalin watched as Ayremac drew forth the spruce altar case from his bag. His every action was reverent - slow and deliberate - so that to someone else the advancing cloud of negative energy might have seemed no more than some odd mist. But Shamalin caught the ever-slight tremor of his hands as he methodically assembled the altar, and it unnerved her more than she cared to admit. Forcing a deep breath, she sought to calm her own emotions in order to perform the task which lay ahead of them.

"We'll still need to get the altar near the breach," Ayremac admitted, looking up at the others but not quite meeting anyone's eyes. "I'd volunteer, but I think I'm needed to channel positive energy."

"It needs to be inside the cloud?" Morier asked, making sure that he understood. Both Shamalin and Ayremac nodded and the eldritch warrior let out a resigned sigh. "I can do it. It's not like I'm much help any other way."

"Oi, elf! You think ye're gonna beat a dwarf in handlin' that cloud?" Karak scoffed. "Why in the dungeons o' Mara a poisonous cloud escaped inta the collapsed tunnels and lasted fer two weeks. Aye, a few of me lads died, but they was 200 years old. It's gonna take more than a cloud to get rid o' Karak, 'ere." He clanged his mailed fist against his breastplate.

"I brought you all here, Karak," Morier countered. "If someone has to-" Huzair cut him off by suddenly becoming visible beside them both.

"We're fighting over who gets to die, now?" the mage asked, incredulous. "I guess it is up to me to save you idiots." He produced a bit of string that he'd knotted 'round a small twig and moved it and his hands through some complex gestures. _"Invisus apparitor!"_ he commanded and then gave a smug nod.

"An' jus' how was that' supposed to save anybody?" Karak asked for there was no visible spell effect.

"It's an _Unseen Servant_," Morier explained, having recognized the spell. Looking at Huzair he nodded begrudgingly. "Clever."

"I'm just glad to see that you weren't completely asleep during your father's lessons," Huzair said, taking the albino's compliment with his usual good nature. "He used to love his _Unseen Servants_ as I recall. Almost as much as Garan-Zak!" Huzair gave a disgusted look and to Morier in a hushed tone added, "Remind me to tell you what I caught him doing with one one day."

"I still do nae see how yer-" Karak began and Morier explained.

"It can move things... like the altar," the elf told him. "And it's not alive so it'll be unharmed by exposure to negative energy. Huzair can just direct it from right here."

"Good," Shamaln said. "Then let's begin. The altar's ready."

Ayremac held the slim wooden altar in his two hands, offering it to the mage. Huzair looked at it skeptically and the Officer of Umba felt it lifted easily out of his grasp and watched as it glided silently into the cloud.

"Where do you want it?" the wizard asked as they watched the altar, now only dimly visible inside the dark cloud.

"Right there will do," Shamalin said and she began to cast.



"I'm feeling pretty useless here, guys," Lela admitted as she alighted on Karak's shoulder. The hallway was filled with chanting as Shamalin and Ayremac went to work on the Negative Energy eruption.

"I know the feeling," Morier confided.

"Well, I was thinking that I could dash downstairs and search around for the keys a bit," the sprite said. "I'm fast and sneaky and have a magic trick or two that can make me really good at spotting things... like keys."

"Here take this," Huzair said, tearing his attention away from the spectacle of channeled energy long enough to thrust something into Lela's hands. "It may come in handy." The sprite looked in astonishment at the _Ring of Invisibility_ she held in her hand. As she handled it it shrunk down to proper size for her tiny fingers.

"It belonged to your friend anyway," Huzair said as he turned back to watch Shamalin and Ayremac's progress. After a moment he added, "Feln would want you to be protected." Lela smiled at the wizard's back and disappeared.



"I can only channel energy once more today, Shamalin," Ayremac admitted to the cleric as they finally stepped within the area of Shamalin's Consecrate effect. The Negative Energy eruption had shrunk dramatically as a result of their combined efforts and it amounted to a few wisps of shadowy darkness around the utter dark of the tear itself. Shamalin looked with horror at that black void and a shudder ran through her involuntarily. Would a merciful god truly allow negative energy to roll across the Realms swallowing everything in its wake, she wondered.

"Then you should pray, Ayremac, that I have the strength to do what must be done," she said, hoping that she sounded more confident than she felt. She raised her holy symbol and implored Flor again in desperation, unable to imagine what could command the White Lady's attention more than this.



Ayremac looked into the tear, and knew that was what he'd fought against for the last many years- every time he channeled Umba's will against the undead. That blackness was what made the dead walk. That cold was what allowed necromancers to exist without taking the Walk of a Hundred Days. It was an abomination, always there, waiting for him to combat it. And combat it he would![1]

He held his arms wide, displaying the holy symbol engraved into his armor and grabbed Shamalin's hand.



Shamalin felt her faith bolstered first by power of the _Consecrated_ altar and then again by the reassuring clutch of Ayremac's hand in hers. Together they held up their holy symbols and willed the tear to close. A warm flood of positive energy moved through her, focusing on her outstretched holy symbol. The silver seemed to burn momentarily with the heat and light of the sun and then it pulsed.

And the tear was gone.



The narrow cell was empty of the black mist and as they watched the stitched and tattooed horror that had been suspended within sprawled out onto the floor with a wet slap. After a moment, it began to stir.

-------------------------------------------

[1] This bit with Ayremac is a direct homage to a scene from one of my favorite old time Story Hours *drnuncheon's Freeport Story Hour*http://www.enworld.org/showthread.php?t=103. It was one of the two story hours that first brought me to ENWorld way back when.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #355] What Vectors Do*

A huge wave of relief washed over Shamalin upon seeing the negative energy rift close. She blew a strand of hair - damp with sweat despite the frigid air in the chamber - out of her eyes, feeling as if she had just run a temple footrace. But there was no time to celebrate, as everyone's attention was fixed on the creature before them.

It lay supine on the floor, its limbs working ineffectually against the stone. It made no sound other than the rasp of its paper-white flesh against the flags.



"Are you coming with me?" Lela's disembodied voice spoke into Morier's ear. "Or are you going to stay and mess with that... thing." The sprite didn't need to be a druid to tell that the creature lying on the floor of the chamber was unnatural.

"Well, it do seem to me to be a waste to not examine this body, 'ere. Since we went through all the trouble to mar the rune in the first place," Karak observed. "Lemme take a look see." He stamped back toward the room.

Morier turned in the direction of the faen's voice. "No, Lela. Splitting up is a bad idea," he told her. "We should learn what we can here and move on. We are very near to our goal." Then Morier followed after the dwarf leaving Huzair, Spot and Lela alone in the hallway. The wizard held out his hand.

"I will have my ring back, please," Huzair said and Spot growled low in his throat.



"Shamalin, can you talk to the dead again, lass," Karak asked as he moved up beside Ayremac and Shamalin. "Mayhaps this poor being, 'ere can tell us something. Let's ask it, 'what is its purpose?'"

"I could," the cleric admitted, but she pointed at the tattooed thing and shook her head. "But this creature isn't truly dead. I'd considered _Detecting_ its _Thoughts_, but..." Ayremac laid his hand on her shoulder.

"To touch such a creature's mind," he nodded understanding. "I would not wish such a thing were it me working the miracle." Karak looked at the cleric's drawn face then down at the monstrous thing working itself awkwardly to its feet.

"I ken ye," the dwarf said with a nod. "So what do ye reckon we do with it?"

"We could try talking," Morier suggested as he came up behind them. Whether that would have worked or not became academic a moment later as the thing finally gained its feet. It touched one of the tattoos on its forearm, causing the rune to glow briefly with a pale blue luminescence.

All at once an obscuring cloud of noxious vapors rose up at Karak's feet. The dwarf screwed up his face in disgust. Morier and Ayremac both gagged. Shamalin doubled over and began to retch uncontrollably. Karak recovered quickly and swung his waraxe in a massive uppercut that opened a gash across the thing's torso, spilling rotted, green organs from the wound. The axe reversed direction and came down again, but the thing danced back into the mist and vanished from the dwarf's view.

Ayremac drew his morningstar and the weapon began to glow, illuminating the cloud and dimly revealing himself and the others nearby. But there was no sign of the creature. "Where'd it go?" the holy warrior asked, nonplussed. Morier held Ravager in a fierce two-handed grip and he strode purposefully forward.

"It's got to be here somewhere," he cursed as he went. After a few paces, he reached the empty cell that had once held the thing in suspension, but he couldn't see it anywhere. "Not here!" he called just as Shamalin screamed.



The thing was upon her almost before she realized it was there. Its hand pawed at her armor as its head leered in toward hers. She caught a frighteningly vivid glimpse of the stitches that closed its eyes and nose and mouth writhing and reaching menacingly toward her. She was able somehow to twist away, avoiding the questing red strands despite the fact that a fist of sickness was clenched firm around her guts. Still, there was nothing she could do to retaliate but dry heave in its general direction.

Fortunately, Ayremac hadn't left Shamalin's side and he lashed out with his weapon, catching the tattooed horror on the side of its head with a sickening crunch. It jerked to the side, but retained its footing.

Karak charged out of the mist, his waraxe flashing in the light of Ayremac's morningstar. The weapon split the thing's ribcage with such force that fully a third of the crescent blade protruded from its back until the dwarf jerked it free and the silent creature fell in a messy heap.



"So maybe I should just scout ahead," Lela suggested later after the sickening cloud had cleared.

"No!!" Morier snapped. "We don't want to split up! Especially here!!"

"Awww!" Lela twittered. "It was just a suggestion. I'm fine with waiting. I just hate not feeling useful."

"I agree with Morier, Lela. You have proven yourself an independant and capable explorer, but please.. .this group has seen enough loss and this wretched cave has put all six of us at death's door once already." Ayremac explained. "I would feel better knowing that anything I face I will have your quick reactions to back me up." Lela smiled at him.

"Okay," she said.

"Well since I've already got the Unseen Servant going I think I'll just have it dart in and retrieve that shortsword for me when we head past the armory again," Huzair said and Morier snapped his head around to regard the mage with shocked disbelief.

"Now you want to go back to the armory and get a sword? SURE, I can't envision anything that could possibly go wrong with that... that's a GREAT IDEA! Everything else we've decided to touch has gone so well for us," the albino shouted, his words burning with sarcasm. "You know what else? I think we could dress ourselves in full plate and run up and down the hallways clanging off of every wall. We could get Ayremac to blow a trumpet announcing our presence as well! That would be great! Just imagine the welcome we'd receive! I'll bet they'd bring tea to make us feel extra welcome. I can hear it now: 'Oh, you're here to steal our most prized possession and the only link we have to maintaining our evil control over the Realms? - Wait... we'll get you a cushion to sit on and rest first. Would you like a cookie?'"

Lela laughed at the albino's tirade. Many of the others just looked at him in surprise.

"Can we PLEASE stop doing unnecessarily risky, dangerous, stupid things in here?" the eldritch warrior pleaded. "Are the odds not stacked heavily enough against us? Must we decide to disturb as much as we are able while we're here? We've barged in here like a band of barbarians; stealing, pillaging, destroying whatever lies in our reach. Perhaps if we took a more stealthy approach through this wretched place, we'd find ourselves faced with fewer situations that pull us in every direction, depleting our resources and draining our energies." There was a heavy silence for a moment during which not even Huzair had anything to say. Finally, Ayremac removed his helmet, holding it carefully on his hip, and spoke.

"Morier, I understand that was a stressful situation...and maybe we all need a moment to collect ourselves," the Officer said, pausing to look around at the group. "I am not saying I am above stealth and discretion, but I am no thief. I didn't come in here to sneak around and steal a set of keys from whatever evil lies in this cave, just to have them hunt us down and nip at our heels as we try to progress."

"I'm not saying we behave like thieves," Morier replied, exasperated. "I'm just saying we should think our way through this. It may take longer, but perhaps we'll get out of here alive with the keys in our posession." Karak harrumphed.

"Well, now lad on that I agree with you, but I just have to say I can nae see you e'en bein' able to carry heavy plate," the dwarf added. "And by the way, I AM part barbarian, so I and me barbarian chalaks take a bit o' offense to suggestin' we be a bunch of mauradin' pirates."

"Karak, I-" Morier started until he spotted the dwarf's grin and realized that he was being made fun of.

"As for you, Huzair," Karak continued, pointing his axe at the mage's chest. "I'm bristlin with weapons. I got hand axes, daggers, warhammers, scimitars, Ledare's longsword and o' course me axe, here." He patted the rune encrusted head llovingly. "Just ask and any be yours to use."

"The shortsword's-" Huzair started to say until the dwarf cut him off.

"Why'n you be so fixated on that blasted short sword? I tell you this, you go near it an' it animates - you deal with it yourself," Karak told him. "We've been all tellin' ye to leave that thing alone. Now let it be."

"Have my sword if you must! " Shamalin said, drawing it with effort. She offered the blade to the wizard but he didn't reach for it. "Only don't go into that room." All eyes were momentarily on the wizard, but Huzair just snorted and lit a cigar.

"Now let's get done what we set out here to do," Karak suggested. "Are we in agreement about how to proceed?" Morier asked, looking at the others. "No more pointlessly risky behavior?"

"As the new member to this party, I will defer to your lead," Ayremac said, holding his chin up defiantly. "But understand that I am here to stamp out the evil of this cave while achieving your greater goal."

"Karak, would you explain the allegory of the beehive to our newcomer?" the albino said as he turned and headed back down the hallway.



"Gods dammit!" Karak cursed as he drew back from the now open door. Fresh blood was spattered on his arm where he'd pressed against the great iron valve to open it. Whoever had designed the door had done so in such a way that it was impossible to open without getting scratched or pierced by the many cruel spikes that decorated its face. The injury was minor, but it irked the dwarf to have to pay a toll in blood.

Shamalin used an orison to heal the minor wound and they moved on. The door opened onto a hallway that ran perpendicular to the one they'd entered by. To the right there was another corridor leading away on the opposite wall and the hallway it turned sharply left after about 35 feet. Likewise to the left it turned a corner after about 25 feet. Almost directly across from the doorway was an opening into a room. It was dark within, but the rattle and clink of chains echoed out into the hallway.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> The door opened onto a hallway that ran perpendicular to the one they'd entered by. To the right there was another corridor leading away on the opposite wall and the hallway it turned sharply left after about 35 feet. Likewise to the left it turned a corner after about 25 feet. Almost directly across from the *doorway* was an opening into a room. It was dark within, but the rattle and clink of chains echoed out into the hallway.




Catching up after GenCon.   

Anyway, where was this doorway? Directly across from the party, or at the turn of a hallway? I don't know why my mind got stuck here. Great updates for the last 9 days though!


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Catching up after GenCon.
> 
> Anyway, where was this doorway? Directly across from the party, or at the turn of a hallway? I don't know why my mind got stuck here.




I'm not the best describer of map details. When we sit down to play, I'm a draw it out for the players type of DM.

The doorway in question, though, is the one through which they entered this section of the complex.



> Great updates for the last 9 days though!




I'm glad you've been enjoying them. Those of us not lucky enough to be at the con had to entertain outrselves some way.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #357] The Trouble with Demons*

"Should I go take a peek into that room invisibly?" Huzair asked. He opened the flap on his Handy Haversack and reached inside. "I've got an everburning torch in here that I could toss into the room."

"Using the dwarf's logic, I suggest we hug a wall," Ayremac said, forestalling the mage. "Is it to the right or left, Karak?"

"The right," Morier answered.

"Well, then lads and lassies, let us off to the right," Karak said, rapping his waraxe oce on the stone floor. "Shamalin, does your goddess leave you room to cure this fatigue o' mine." Shamalin stifled a yawn and shook her head.

"I fear that only rest will help that, Karak," the cleric explained sadly.

"Keep an eye on that wound, Karak," Ayremac cautioned. "Why would a door have a trap that caused only a minor wound if not to deliver a poison or an apothecary's concoction of some kind?"  The dwarf nodded, flexing the fingers of that hand experimentally.

"Aye. I'll be keeping an eye out for me small wound, here. I do nae trust the contagion I may get down 'ere any more that ye do," Karak favored the holy warrior with a wink that seemed to say, 'you can't poison a dwarf' and then he pointed at the albino. "I do trust that Morier, here, knows how to identify the keys when we se 'em. So let's get to it."

Huzair scowled and thrust the everburning torch back inside his traveler's back. His dark fingers momentarily caressed The Valliant Vessel Shipping and Trading Company logo that was worked in gold onto the bag's clasp. "Well, even if you don't want to go into that room I still plan to blink to keep an eye out for ethereal threats," he said, activating the ring before anyone could protest.



As before Huzair experienced the strange stuttering interplay of the Prime Material and the Ethereal Planes and as before it took him a few moments to orient himself to seeing slices of both realities. He could catch enough of his companion's stammered conversation to gather that they were debating the value of retreating to one of the rooms that they'd already cleared upstairs and resting until morning.

Whenever morning was; it was damned difficult to tell in these tunnels. But the plan got Huzair's vote in any case since he still had designs on that shortsword he'd seen upstairs. The level of magic powering the blade was simply too great to be ignored. And he could send in his _Unseen Servant_ to get it since it wouldn't trigger any pressure plates in the floor when it-

His thoughts were snapped instantly back to reality when he noticed that his presence on the Ethereal Plane had attracted the attention of an enormous creature that looked like nothing so much as the unholy cross-breed of a vulture and a man. Its sinewy body was covered with a chaotic mess of feathers but the head it craned around to look at the mage was naked like that of a carrion bird. Its eyes burned with malice.

"A Type I demon!" Huzair thought in horror. What time he'd devoted to learning about the planes was mostly spent reading Garan-zak's out-dated manual of monsters. He knew that the more proper name for this creature was Vrock, but the old fashioned designations he'd read in his youth still stuck in his mind.

Before he could do much more than register the Vrock's sudden appearance, it gestured at him and he felt a powerful telekinetic force thrust him violently into Morier with enough strength to knock both men prone.

Then the Vrock plane-shifted to the Prime screeching a battlecry.

-------------------------

OOC: It was at this point, I think, that Huzair's player finally realized that every time he blinked he was attracting demonic attention.


----------



## recentcoin

It certainly took him long enough to realize....I was starting to wonder if he had a death wish or if he was doing it deliberately - a fifth column kind of thing.

RC


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #358] Between a Vrock and a Hard Place*

As the horrible sound washed over them, it was answered by cries from within the group. Several were so stunned by the Vrock's sudden appearance that they just stood in place, clutching at their heads. Huzair was not one of those effected by the sonic attack and he rolled around on top of Morier - but didn't bother to stand - as he aimed his wand at the demon. He spoke the command word and a line of fire washed over the creature although the magic seemed not to actually touch it.

"Spell resistance!" the mage cursed in Ignan - a sound that was not unlike a pine knot popping in a campfire. Then Morier heaved him violently aside as the albino got to his feet. The eldritch warrior raised his sword and closed with the thing a half-step behind Karak.

The dwarf's waraxe cut a glittering frozen arc through the air as he swung at - and missed - the Vrock. In turn, the creature's claws skittered harmlessly over Karak's platemail as he stepped into position, but it was enough of a distraction to allow Ravager to find its way passed the demon's defenses; the saw-toothed weapon bit deeply into the Vrock's side, spilling foul-smelling ichor onto the stone floor.

Still, the wicked blade left a much shallower wound than Morier thought it should have.



Lela shook her head to clear it after the demon's stunning screech. The rattling clink of metal on metal still seemed to fill her ears and it was only with some effort that she realized the source of the sound was the room across the hall. It was dark in there, she saw; it could be hiding anything. With a gesture, she filled the center of the chamber with faerie fire, liming the floor, ceiling and the four columns there in a violet dweomer. The purplish illumination also revealed a chain-draped body propped in the shadowy recess of the far corner.

"I've got something over here!" she chirped, flying cautiously into the room.

Ayremac watched her go off on her own. He glanced at Karak and Morier who were going toe-to-toe with the demon and effectively blocking the corridor. There was little he could do there so he brandished his morningstar and followed Lela.



"Shamalin!  We need our _Weapons Aligned_!" Morier commanded, sparing a glance back over his shoulder at the cleric. The half-elf was struggling to recover from the Vrock's sonic attack and her first thought was that she didn't really care for the way the eldritch warrior was ordering her around. Still she moved dutifully forward and lay her hand on Karak's axe. In her mind she felt the weight and chill of the heavy weapon, tinged with its magical abilities. Quickly, she appealed to the White Lady to make her strength present in its purpose and _align_ those abilities to _good_.

She was just in time for the dwarf to swing twice at the demon, missing both times.

In retaliation, the Vrock ruffled its feathers releasing a hellish cloud of spores that burrowed painfully into Karak and Morier. Then its claws slammed into him, raking painfully between the armor plates protecting his shoulder. The thing's strength was unbelievable!

Morier's leather armor offered him little protection from the demon's talons. One dug into his left arm, drawing lines of blood across his bicep. Another sank deeply into his belly, critically injurying him as it ripped out a large chunk of meat and viscera. The eldritch warrior screamed in pain, an apron of wet crimson spreading across his thighs.



Ayremac stepped into the eerily-lit room, his face bathed in the glow of Lela's _faerie fire_. The intense light shed by his enchanted morningstar soon banished most of the room's shadows and he could clearly see the withered figure seemingly suspended from the numerous chains along the far wall. When it lurched free and swung one of those same chains at the holy warrior, he was proved wrong, of course.

The spiked chain wrapped suddenly around Ayremac's leading leg and snapped the limb out from under him. He slammed hard into the floor, momentarily dazed and utterly unable to avoid the other end of the chain as it came around and smashed against the side of his helmet like a clapper against the side of a bell.



Karak ignored the spores burrowing painfully into his flesh and, bellowing in anger, swung his waraxe once into the demon's hip and then then again into its opposite arm. The creature's resistance to mortal weapon's did nothing to reduce the punishment wrought by the holy blade and the Vrock shrieked in pain as its foul ichor splattered across the floor.
The demon's apparent weakness was heartening to Morier, and he channelled the eldritch power of his most potent spell into Ravager. The sword bit eagerly into the Vrock's torso, releasing a devastating electrical attack that affected the demon little if at all. Only the welcome surge of Shamalin's healing hand undoing most of his injuries kept the albino from crying out in frustration.



Lela cursed as the undead thing revealed itself immune to the power of her faerie dust. But she was happy an instant later as a _Flaming Sphere_ appeared at the creature's feet, burning it badly. Huzair appeared nearby with a smug look on his face. The zombie took a swing at Lela with its chain, but the heavy links whistled passed her doing little more than tussling her hair. 

Nearby, Ayremac regained his feet, avoiding another attempt to put him on the floor. He rushed in close, slamming his morningstar solidly against the undead blasphemy's head, relocating its jawbone to the far side of its withered face.

Lela back-pedaled through the air, out of the zombie's reach and began readying her bow. The room strobed with ruddy light as Huzair sent a pair of _Magic Missiles_ sizzling into the zombie's chest. It staggered back from the magical onslaught, fire from the _Flaming Sphere_ continuing to lick up its body.

"Yes!" the mage exclaimed pumping his fist once in victory. He was proud of his magical one-two punch. Nevermind that it was an arrow from Lela's shortbow that actually dropped the zombie a few seconds later. His magic had done most of the work.



Outside in the hallway, the Vrock continued to trade blows with Karak and Morier. It was giving perhaps better than it was getting where Morier was concerned. The eldritch warrior lacked his dwarven ally's _Aligned Weapon_ and his best magical attack was electrical and therefore useless against a foe with strong resistance to such energy. Only the fact that Shamalin stood behind him in the corridor pumping a stream of healing magic into him kept the lightly armored warrior on his feet and in the fight at all.

Karak, for his part, was picking up the albino's slack, delivering flesh-hewing double-handed blows to the Vrock while his own heavy armor - for the most part - turned aside the worst of the demon's claws. He was bleeding from a few scratches and gashes, but his own wounds were nothing compared to Morier's.



Shamalin moved as quickly as she could once more to Morier’s side and scowled at him. The healing graces of Flor’s mercy were flowing abundantly today, and she bit her lip against the bitterness of her own thoughts. It was her duty to The Order, she knew, to heal him again. But she lost her sense of determination as images of a different party who had not been blessed with so many chances assailed her. She tried to push away the thoughts, but they had been lurking in her subconscious and would not be put aside. She moved methodically through the motions of a _Cure Serious Wounds_ spell, but even before finishing she knew the spell would go awry. The attempt left her listless and she sank to her knees under the weight of her own renewed grief. Morier looked quizzically at her, but she turned away.



A few moments later, the Vrock collapsed with Karak's waraxe lodged deep in its avian skull.


"I dinnae like the idea of leavin' parts o' this place unexplored at our backs," Karak said later after they'd retreated back to the room where they had so recently fought three demons.

"But I thought we agreed that the keys were most likely downstairs?" Lela countered, inexpertly stifling a yawn. The dwarf shrugged.

"If a thing be worth doin' it be worth doin' proper," he told her. "Leavin' half this floor unexplored rankles me."

"It had been my hope that the keys would be readily apparent once we reached the lower level," Morier nodded. "Judging by what we saw of it, that's not likely to be the case. I think Karak might have a point."

Shamalin just shook her head and rolled over. The half-elf seemed small without her armor on, frail even.

"And I'd like to get another try at that shortswo-" Huzair started to say, but Morier cut him off.

"Don't start, Huzair!" the albino snapped. "We're not going to risk all of our lives for a weapon that you'll never even use!"

"Aye!" Karak nodded. "Why fight the guardian armor if we dinnae have to?"

"Why isn't a suit of armor just a suit of armor?" the wizard groused, dragging himself to a spot against a nearby wall and falling promptly asleep.

"I'll take first watch," Karak snorted after a few moments' pause but Ayremac shook his head.

"Let me," he suggested. "You're still weakened from before and I'm the only one amongst us who doesn't have to worry about spell-casting tomorrow."



The first room they explored in the morning was a larder stocked with the butchered corpses of a disturbing number of sentient humanoid species. In the center of the room hovered a misty globe roughly the size of a fist that was shedding a pale radiance.

"This is interesting," Huzair muttered as he cast _Detect Magic_. "That sphere is clearly magical. I want to explore more." Morier ignored him and entered the freezing chamber.

Ice scritched beneath his feet as he moved forward, extending a hand to touch the sphere. It was incredibly cold - so cold that touching it felt like touching a hot coal fresh from the furnace - and the eldritch warrior jerked his hand back with a hiss of pain. His fingertips were frostbit.

"I'm a bit resistant to cold," Ayremac informed him, as he looked critically at the albino's injured hand. "You should have let me do it."

"Thanks," Morier deadpanned.

"What do you suppose it is?" Lela asked as she hovered near the sphere, her words pluming like smoke form her lips.

"At a guess I'd say it's a link to the Paraelemental Plane of Ice," Huzair said from the doorway. The mage didn't much like the cold. "It forms at the juncture of the Elemental Planes of Air and Water."

"I thought that was the Plane of Steam," Morier argued as he sucked on his fingers. Huzair shook his head.

"Steam is a Quasielemental Plane, Morier," the mage corrected and it was plain to see that he truly enjoyed doing so. "You really should have read Shemeska's Planewalker Guide a little closer." Morier shot Huzair a disparaging look and shouldered his way out into the hall.

"Let's go," he said. "There's nothing to see here."


----------



## Jon Potter

recentcoin said:
			
		

> It certainly took him long enough to realize....I was starting to wonder if he had a death wish or if he was doing it deliberately - a fifth column kind of thing.
> 
> RC





In his defense it was only a 1 in 6 chance (if I remember correctly) so it didn't happen every time. And I wasn't rolling that chance out in front of him.

It made a somewhat challenging dungeon romp into a near death-trap at times, too. So I was kind of happy that he didn't catch on sooner.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> " "You really should have read Shemeska's Planewalker Guide a little closer." Morier shot Huzair a disparaging look and shouldered his way out into the hall.





Dang, these product placement ads are popping up all over, I wonder if they change it for the Made for TV release?    

Good Update Jon, My old DM had salt water under the ice...... not fun.


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Dang, these product placement ads are popping up all over, I wonder if they change it for the Made for TV release?




That was just a fun little thing I added for the benefit of Story Hour readers. I've gamed with Shemeska (the board member, not the yugoloth) and used his Planewalker site to get my cosmology correct.



> Good Update Jon, My old DM had salt water under the ice...... not fun.




Well, we won't be visitting any para-elemental planes any time soon. Salt water, on the other hand...


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> Well, we won't be visitting any para-elemental planes any time soon. Salt water, on the other hand...





Hmm..... ships or flooded rooms?    or Both!   

Oh, and I updated my sig. I hope you don't mind.


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Hmm..... ships or flooded rooms?    or Both!




You guessed it! It's a return to the days of old when nobody asked how they got the galleon into the bottom of the dungeon or what the dragon eats way down on level twenty.   



> Oh, and I updated my sig. I hope you don't mind.




I must say, "I'm flattered!"

And as a thank you gesture, I'll post another update.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #358] The Scroll Room and Beyond*

Unsurprisingly, next to the chill larder and across the corridor from the grisly dining room they'd discovered earlier, they found a hellishly hot kitchen. The floor was crusty with dried blood and rusty hooks and gore-soaked butcher blocks predominated and none of them was eager to discover what was cooking in the mammoth oven that loomed over the place from a shadowy recess in the far wall.

"Should I go check it out?" Lela asked hesitantly.

"No," Morier replied. "I'm pretty confident that they wouldn't hide the keys in the kitchen." As they turned around and headed back down the hall, Huzair snorted derisively and shook his head.

"Tell me again why we're looking in all these rooms and not actually searching them," he muttered but nobody heard him or cared to answer.



The next place they discovered reminded Shamalin of the Holy Writing room back in Floxen. Except that it felt anything but holy. It was dark and had a rather unusual smell. Racks upon racks of scrolls reached from floor to ceiling lining three full walls. In the center of the room one scroll was displayed, framed tight and apparently in the final stages of completion. It's creamy surface glowed pink with an inner light that illuminated the red lettering and made it appear almost wet. Shamalin felt an odd sense of awe as she circled the scroll slowly, studying it from various angles.

As she studied it more closely she saw that the unfurled scroll wasn't finished; it was held in the frame not for display but to keep the prepared skin from shrinking. Shamalin knew little about the making of parchment, but she did know that it started with a piece of hide not unlike this one. And what she'd taken for writing was actually red stitching that seemed to zig-zag haphazardly across the skin. But there was something... strange...

Karak harrumphed, tearing her attention away. "What language be this?" he grumbled loudly. "Nothing I can read, to be sure." He shoved a scroll back into its place and looked around the room critically.

"I cannot read it either," Ayremac admitted, looking expectantly at Shamalin. But she was studying the framed scroll once more.

"Wait. There's something..." Her voice trailed off, uncertain.

Morier stepped closer to the scroll, his hand resting on Ravager's hilt. "What is it?"

"This stitching..." Shamalin whispered, "I think it's moving!"

"What?" Lela asked. She landed on Karak's shoulder as the dwarf crowded close to the piece of hide. "I don't see anything."

"Nor do I," Karak muttered and started to step away.

"No. She's right," Morier said. "It's different now than when I first looked at it. But now it's..." He squinted critically at the stitching.

"Look away," Ayremac instructed. "Then look back." They all did it and several surprised gasps issued from the group. "It only changes when you're not looking."

"Nice!" Huzair hissed appreciatively. "But what's it mean?"

No one had an answer to that one.

"I can pray tomorrow for the ability to _Comprehend Languages_," Shamalin offered. "Then we can come back and take a look at these scrolls again."

It wasn't a very satisfying solution to the mystery, but it was the only one they had.



The final unexplored room on that level was a treasure chamber or trophy room of sorts. An open chest overflowing with large golden coins of a mint that none of them recognized was on the left of the door and three stone pedestals - each surrounded by an inlaid ring of silvery runes - were evenly spaced along the long wall. Atop each of the three pedestals was a silver box and the Order moved eagerly forward, triggering all three _Explosive Runes_ traps nearly simultaneously.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> "Tell me again why we're looking in all these rooms and not actually searching them," he muttered but nobody heard him or cared to answer.




Ach! Definately a dungeoneering faux pas!   




			
				Jon Potter said:
			
		

> triggering all three Explosive Runes traps nearly simultaneously.




I love these things!


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Ach! Definately a dungeoneering faux pas!




I think that - other than Huzair - the party was operating with a smash-and-grab philosophy. They were looking for "The Keys" and rightly assumed that they wouldn't be hidden in a random drawer. They were looking in the rooms just enough to say, "Nope. Not in here." before moving on.

Random looting ain't their thing. They're not the typical adventuring group in that regard.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #359a] Once More into the Depths*

"Oi!" Karak grumbled, picking himself off the floor, capturing in one syllable the sentiments of half the party.

"Should have seen that coming," Morier confided. He dragged his thumb under his nose and it came away wet with blood.

"It was stupid of us," Ayremac agreed. He stood and offered his hand to Shamalin, practically dragging the cleric to her feet.

"Brilliant use of a spell, I must say," Huzair muttered as he got to his own feet, using his shortspear like a walking stick to lever himself up. "_Explosive Runes_, by the way. Fairly nasty, but it's harmless now that it's triggered." Saying thus he moved closer and opened the first box. Inside was a triangle of blue cloth carefully folded to display a rearing horse worked in silver thread.

"Huh," Ayremac muttered as he looked over Huzair's shoulder. He extended a hand and traced the rampant gelding. "That's the symbol of Ibrahil, God of Justice."

"Seems an odd fit for a dungeon dedicated to Ayphx," Huzair observed as he carefully unfurled the fabric. It was clearly a banner such as one might see fluttering at the head of an army on the march.

"Gimme that poker o' yers," Karak grumbled as he reached for Huzair's spear. "We'll string up the banner an' see what she looks like."

"And leave me without a weapon?" the mage protested, trying unsuccessfully to wrench the spear free of Karak's hand. "Why don't you string it on your waraxe if you're so intent on it?" The dwarf regarded him queerly.

"Because I can nae swing me axe with a flag attached to it," he stated. "Are ye daft?"

"And I won't be able to use my spear either, in that case," Huzair argued and Karak easily jerked the shortspear from his hands.

"And when was the last time ye used this or any other weapon in battle?" the dwarf snorted shaking his head as he began to thread the banner onto the wooden shaft.

Morier, meanwhile had opened the second box, revealing a pair of plain metal bracers within. The eldritch warrior removed them and slipped them on readily, hoping secretly for some sort of extra magical protection to keep him from being a magnet for every blade in combat. He could feel the armbands' magic coursing through his body, but he didn't feel any more difficult to hit than he did before putting them on. Frowning he experimented a bit and without really trying very hard, he was able to jump from one side of the room to the other in a single fantastic leap.

"Some kind of _Armbands of Jumping_," Huzair stated the obvious, but still managed to sound like he was sharing great wisdom with the group.

"Those could come in handy," Lela grinned, her smile wide.

"And last we have this," Ayremac said, drawing forth from the third silver box a chalice that seemed to be carved from a single piece of milky-colored crystal.

"Oi, now that's a thing ye do nae see every day," Karak said, setting aside his flag and taking the goblet from the holy warrior. Holding the cup high he intoned, "Give me a cold dwarven ale!" Unfortunately, the cup remained empty.

"Maybe it needs to be filled with liquid first. Hold it up again," Lela suggested, hovering just at the lip of the cup she called on the Green (which, she noted was somewhat difficult in this place, as if it weren't actually on Orune at all), filling the chalice with pure water. "_Aqua Crea!_"

Karak brought the cup down so that he could see into it and some of the water sloshed over the rim and ran onto the floor. "Give me a healing draught!" he urged, and drained the cup in nearly one gulp. But the water remained just water and he scowled. "Mayhaps we'll have to do a bit more experimentin' with this later," he suggested, offering the goblet back to Ayremac.

"I guess that just leaves the gold," Huzair said, indicating the overflowing chest. " The chest won't fit, but, if we all work together I think we can get all the gold inside by _Handy Haversack_ pretty quickly."



Shamalin busied herself with healing up injuries while the others began to gather up handfuls of the reddish gold coins and dump them into Huzair's magic bag. Morier picked one up and looked at it critically; he'd never seen its like before, and moreover he didn't think anybody else in the Realms ever had either. Its mint was totally unfamiliar. On one face was inscribed a sort of stylized star with an eye in the center while the other side bore an oval, broken at either end, with something in the middle like a tower or monolith of jagged lines; or perhaps it was meant to represent a stylized tree.

Before he had time to inspect it further, he noticed the burning tingle in his fingertips where he'd handled the coin. He recognized the sensation: poison! At once, he cast it down and knocked the coins from the others' hands in a flurry of motion, but it was too late. They'd all felt the cursed sting of the poisonous metal.

"Maybe we should just leave this here," Huzair suggested as he carefully poured out all the coins with which he'd just so happily loaded himself up.

"Aye. Let's head back downstairs and see what awaits us there," Karak suggested, through clenched teeth. No one noticed the stiffness in the dwarf's gait or the way his arms seemed to droop as he walked. And Karak certainly wouldn't admit that he, a dwarf, had been badly effected by poison.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #360] Pillow Talk*

Once back downstairs, they returned to the time-honored "Dwarven Method" of exploration - moving systematically to the right whenever such an opportunity arose.



The hallway turned only once before ending in a cul-de-sac with three doors: one in the right hand wall, one at the end of the hall and a third directly across from the first. The first thing they noticed about the doors was that they were a different construction than the others they'd seen within the complex so far. They were made of wood and bound tightly with iron bands etched everywhere with a motif of leaves and twining vines.

After the usual examination of the door, Karak opened it and proceeded inside with his waraxe ready. Beyond was a crypt with enshrouded skeletons in niches lining three of the four walls. A raised plinth holding another desiccated corpse dominated the center of the room. The droning buzz of flies overlaid everything.

The dwarf took another step into the room, followed closely by Morier and Ayremac. A meaty paw slapped down on Karak's back from behind the open door, injuring the dwarf not at all. Ayremac reacted quickly, slamming his morningstar into the thing - which quickly revealed itself as another of the flesh pillows like most of the group had faced and defeated back on their second foray to Miller's Pond. Like that other horror, this one was surrounded by a cloud of immense black flies, and as the holy warrior stepped up to smack the thing, one of the insects tried to land in his mouth. He spat it out in disgust and took a step back.

Morier stepped into it at once, slashing the thing with a massive uppercut from Ravager. The blade rent the pillow asunder, releasing a torrent of foul-smelling puss and wriggling maggots onto the eldritch warrior. He felt his gorge rising, but managed to fight down the urge to vomit even as a trio of _Magic Missiles_ thudded into the monstrosity, dropping it into a noisome heap  on the floor.

Out in the hallway, Huzair looked very pleased with himself as he lit up a cigar and grinned at the albino. Before he could celebrate too much, the door behind him opened and another of the pillowy thing's lurched out. The mage was able to avoid the clumsy attack long enough for Karak, Ayremac and Morier to surround the thing.

It didn't survive long after that.



"Look here," Lela chirped. "This repeating symbol's been purposely defaced." She pointed at a line of carved stone that ran around the base of the crypt walls. Some sort of graven image there had been systematically marred.

"What is that?" Morier asked as he peered at the stone. "A heart?"

"I think it WAS an acorn," the sprite told him. "Somebody went to a lot of effort to deface it, whatever it is."

"Some of these other, surrounding symbols are reminiscent of images I've seen in Brogine's temples," Shamalin added and Ayremac looked where she was pointing.

"You're right," he said. "I saw that same geometric pattern on a frieze in the Temple of Winter's Triumph in Frothingham. And now that you mention it, Shamalin, a lot of this symbology looks like Brogine's."

"Could it be Dridana?" Morier asked expectantly. "Isn't she referred to as Beast's Twin in one of the poems Ledare was always poring over?" Ayremac rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"Well, Brogine is the god of wild beasts," the holy warrior told him. "And there are several instances where I've seen him referred to as 'The Twin'. But I've never read any documentation that mentions who his other twin might be. Personally I was always taught that it referenced his twin nature as both predator and prey."

"I was taught something similar at my temple," Shamalin nodded. "But what you say about Dridana makes a great deal of sense, too."

"I wish the Great Oak was here," Lela mused. "He'd know what it all means."

"But he's not here," Morier observed sadly. "And without further insight, I suggest we move on." He started for the door but Karak stopped him, angling a thumb at the massive stone platform with its crown of dessicated bones.

"I'd like to try movin' that block o' stone," the dwarf suggested. "Mayhaps there be somethin' hidden beneath it."

"Like a key?" Lela observed brightly and Karak shrugged.

"It can't hurt to try," Ayremac said setting down his shield and weapon. Together he and Karak and Morier were able to move block enough to see that there was nothing hidden beneath it.



Discouraged, they moved to the hallway and the door at the end of the corridor. Like the doors to the two burial chambers, this one was different than most of the others they'd seen - wooden and lacking any of the thorny spikes that predominated elsewhere. Huzair stepped up to examine the door, noticing a fine sprinkling of silver dust as he did so. What that might mean, no one knew, but the mage pronounced the door free of traps and Karak's boot opened it without difficulty.

The stench of rot slammed into them like a cold, wet slap across the face and the dwarf covered his nose with his hand, his face screwed up in disgust.

"Wizard, ye'd best stand down wind o' the rest of us!" he cursed. "Ye stink like a troll's arse!" Huzair laughed mockingly.

"Leave it to Karak to know what a troll's ass smells like!" he quipped. "It shouldn't really surprise me, I guess. You're at the right height for it, after all." He patted the dwarf on top of his helmet, then dodged back as Karak turned, teeth bared.

"It isn't any of us who stink," Ayremac told them, disarming the situation as he moved into the room. "It's these pools."

He was right. The room beyond was square, about 25 feet on a side with a five foot wide pathway leading from the door to a five foot ledge that ran the length of the opposite wall. To the right and left the floor dropped away with steep ramps leading down from the pathway to the main floor, two on each side. Between the ramps were round pools filled with rotting slime. It was from them that the stench was emanating.

They moved in and conducted a quick search, but found nothing too noteworthy other than more of the defaced symbols they had seen in the previous rooms. No one was willing to stick their arm into the pool, so Lela called on The Green to _Purify_ the _Water_. She was not able to affect the entire pool, but a crystal clear cylinder of water appeared in the center of it. Before the purified water was completely clouded by the surrounding corruption, Lela was able to see that the pool was perhaps four feet deep with steps leading down from the edge of the pool to the bottom.

"Like a bath," Huzair suggested. "They have similar pools in the bathhouses in Farmin." Karak harrumphed and Morier muttered under his breath something about Huzair's experiences in bathhouses.

"Well I don't think anyone would want to take a bath in that!" Ayremac hypothesized, his face screwed up in disgust.

"Perhaps there is some magic at work here," Shamalin suggested and Lela gave a nod.

"I can check," she said, taking a deep breath to draw on her natural ability to _Detect Magic_. She concentrated, but noticed nothing apart from the numerous auras surrounding the other members of The Order. Then something attracted her attention off to the side; a thin seam in the back wall of the chamber was glowing.

"Nothing magical in the pools, but there's something here," she told the others as she fluttered over to the crack. "Transmutation magic. Strong, too."

Karak stumped over and looked at the spot she'd indicated. His face became thoughtful as he looked. "This be new stonework," he said, running a hand up the seam. He tapped on the wall and paced off a spot ten feet wide. "This whole section's been added within the last few years, I reckon. The workmanship be nae as good as the rest o' this place."

"Is it a secret door?" Morier asked, as he felt along the surface of the wall for some sort of catch. Karak shook his head.

"It looks to be a wall, not a door," the dwarf told him. "I reckon there's somethin' behind this door what somebody di' nae want us to find."

"Like a key!" Lela sparkled and this time Karak nodded.

"Aye, wee on," he said as he carefully set aside his waraxe and drew out his little-used warhammer. "Like a key."

Lela called on The Green to empower Karak's muscles and swollen with the extra _Strength_ of a _Bull_, he went to work on the wall. His hammer blows echoed deafeningly about the room, but the wall quickly collapsed into a pile of broken rubble around the dwarf's feet.

Beyond was revealed a shallow alcove dominated by a solid-looking door. In the center of the door was set a circular plaque divided into four equal sections. Inside each section was a symbol for one of the elements: earth, fire, air and water.

"The four that are all," Morier hissed, his voice heavy with excitement.

"So this is what we've been looking for?" Huzair asked, skeptical.

"I think so," Morier said. "The Water Guardian told me that there were four keys, each of which would grant power over one of the four elements, and that we'd need all four to free Dridana's Heart." He stretched out a hand and touched the circular symbol.

"You'll never get passed me, foul spawn of the pit!" screamed a stone face that appeared in the wall beside the large door. It looked like an old man, wizened and bearded, and its stone eyes regarded the group with anger. "You're not worthy to pass beyond and no amount of-" It paused, looking over the group again and its features softened.

"I'm sorry," it said with a tentative smile. "Do I know you?"


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> "You'll never get passed me, foul spawn of the pit!" screamed a stone face that appeared in the wall beside the large door. It looked like an old man, wizened and bearded, and its stone eyes regarded the group with anger. "You're not worthy to pass beyond and no amount of-" It paused, looking over the group again and its features softened.
> 
> "I'm sorry," it said with a tentative smile. "Do I know you?"




Bi-polar Galeb Duhr?


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Bi-polar Galeb Duhr?





It's a Grandfather Plaque, actually. The 3.5 update is in the Dragon Compendium hardcover. This guy's a little more unique than the one presented there, however.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #361] Grandfather Plaque's Tale*

"No, I don't suppose I do," it added quickly, its features settling into a benign smile. "I don't know much of anyone anymore. At least not anyone worth knowing."

Shamalin glanced at the others, certain that she would find consternation on their faces. The stone image was speaking in elvish, and she knew that there were some within the group who did not speak that tongue. What she noticed instead, was that each of her companions wore a look of curious understanding. And in the next moment she realized that the face was tailoring its message to the ear of each listener. She made the sign of the goddess acknowledging once again the great magic at work in this place.

Morier must have made the same deduction, for he began to explain in Common their intent to locate the four keys. The face confirmed that it was indeed guarding keys, and Shamalin felt a shiver of excitement course through her.

"Rake locked me up," it explained, a low emphasis on the name. Karak and Morier exchanged a glance and Shamalin looked back over her shoulder without really meaning to. In spite of Karak's loud work with his warhammer moments ago, they remained alone. "But that's not a problem any more since you're here."

"Who's Rake?" Ayremac asked and the face gasped, its features flying up into a look of shock.

"You mean you haven't killed the blackguard yet?" it asked, studying each of the group in turn. "Well, then I can't let you passed, it's as simple as that. I'd be remiss in my duties!"

"So you're the only thing keeping us from getting the keys," Huzair interrupted, appraising the plaque as he took a thoughtful pull on his cigar.

"I am only the first guardian," the face continued, its tone wary as if suspecting what the mage was considering. "You must pass my test before you can advance. Beyond the door, there are more guardians, and more tests..."

Karak stamped his axe once against the ground with a resounding thud, and Shamalin noticed with satisfaction that even the face stopped abruptly. 

"We be here for these tests, that be true. But we are not at full strength," Karak gestured at Lela, a sad smile splitting his beard. "Our sprite be stricken with the rot o' Aphyx. Can you heal her?"

The group waited expectantly, but the face responded simply, "I cannot." Then it brightened. "I can heal doors though. And lock and unlock them. It's one of the things I do best, in fact." A proud expression played across the stoney features.

There was a pause and Huzair stepped forward casually blowing his cigar smoke at the face. "You don't seem to be much help. What do we have to do to get passed you."

"Well kill Rake for one," the face told him. "I can't have him just lurking around to wrest the keys away from you when... if ... you complete the tests. It would be too easy for him. The point of the tests is to keep the keys away from creatures like him."

"What can you tell us about this Rake?" Morier asked. The eyes shifted from one to the next and finally came back to look upon the albino appraisingly.

"I will give you information about Rake if you make a promise," it said at last. Its voice sounded a little smaller than it had before.

"What promise is that?" Ayremac demanded.

"In exchange for information, you must promise to take me with you when you leave. If you should succeed, that is." The plaque looked a trifle guilty as it spoke. "I mean, if the keys are gone, there's no need for me to hang around here, right? I'll have fulfilled my duty. So I can go someplace more... interesting. With people to talk to. A-an-and a new door to guard!"

The fact that the face was willing to negotiate with them seemed a good sign to Shamalin. If it could be trusted. They conferred for a few moments before reaching a decision. "We have a manor," Morier said. "It has many doors and many people training there to fight Aphyx."

"That sounds lovely! It's a deal!" the face beamed. It closed its eyes momentarily and then told The Order what it knew.

"The last eight of nine Druids built this place as well as the tests beyond. Rake dwells here, guarding what is hidden. He is not a man. He worships the dark goddess and is truly evil. He is duplicitous, rotten, and smarter than he looks."

"That's it?" Huzair scoffed.

"I'm afraid so," the plaque sighed. "As you can see, I don't get out much." Karak harrumphed at that.

"So we kill this Rake and you let us passed," Morier asked. "Is that the deal?"

"Not exactly," the face explained. "If you want to enter the tests, you'll first have to solve my riddle."


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #361a] Riddles and Scrolls*

"I'm certain that the most obvious answer isn't the right choice in this, Huzair," Morier implored yet again. They had camped out in the room to consider the stone guardian's riddle and had debated possible solutions for what seemed like hours.

"It's five for 'healer' and one against," Shamalin reminded the mage, failing to keep the exasperation from her voice.

"Should we hear it again?" Ayremac suggested, looking meaningfully at Lela. For what seemed like the hundredth time, the sprite recited the riddle [1] out loud.


_"On the Feast-day of Brogine Four men sat on the slopes of a hill under the sun.
Said the Carpenter: "Woe is me, for though my family is healthy, I have a splinter under my flesh."
Said the Clothier: "Woe is me, for though I am rich, I have a needle-stick 'pon my finger."
Said the Farmer: "Woe is me, for though my fields are abundant, the calluses on my palms ache so."
Said the Leper: "Joy, joy is me! For though my body succumbs to the plague and my death
draws surely near, I have neither splinter nor needle-stick nor calluses!"

Who, then, was the happiest man?"​_​

"I don't care what you all say, the leper is the only answer that makes sense!" Huzair insisted, thrusting his chin in a truculent angle. Ayremac sighed and turned to address the face.

"Do we have to have consensus?" He demanded, sounding a little like an overtired child.

The face, which seemed to have fallen asleep during the argument opened its eyes and responded solemnly, "You must all agree on the answer."

Karak grunted and elbowed Ayremac. When he had the holy warrior's attention he leaned in and muttered, "Perhaps Rake will make this easy on us and kill him." Ayremac looked shocked, but both Lela and Morier grinned at the dwarf's jest.

Huzair rolled his eyes and toyed with the tiny flame that flickered atop his out-stretched finger. "I heard many times from Garan-Zak that it is often the most obvious choice which is overlooked," he grumbled. "You're all over-thinking."



No amount of coaxing would change his mind, and finally the decision was made to forgo any answer, and rest for the night before backtracking in order to re-examine the scroll room before facing the challenge of Rake.


*DAY THREE​*​

Shamalin cast her miracle and concentrated on the scrolls that Karak and the others handed to her. The strange parchment was coarse and somewhat brittle. She handled it carefully, suppressing a shiver. What had been totally indecipherable to her before was easily legible now, and she whispered a silent prayer of thanks for that ability. The first scroll was a strange collection of names and dates and numbers. She shivered as she realized that it was a long list of individuals along with what were presumably dates of their capture. All names were elven, and Shamalin's gaze swept over the lengthy list thinking of the nameless elven woman dead in the upstairs room.

"Why elves?" she wondered out loud and Ayremac shrugged.

"You saw the wilderness we came through to get here," he said as he handed her another scroll. "This far into Spiney Wood there's few but elves to be found. There are some human barbarian tribes to the east, but the nearest settled land is days away." Shamalin nodded her understanding and accepted the scroll.

She unfurled it and saw that it was a kind of journal entry by someone named Mendel, detailing a failed attempt to apply spell-stitching to a living subject. Shamalin made no connections to events as she knew them, but Huzair's eyes lit up.

"You can't spell-stich a body while they're alive," the mage told her, peering over her shoulder as if he'd suddenly be able to read the harsh lettering. "That's a necromantic thing; you use it on undead. I'm pretty sure it would kill a living creature."

"I'm quite certain that's of little concern to a necromancer," Ayremac hissed through clenched teeth.

"The name Mendel is familiar to me," Morier said hesitantly. He massaged his jaw thoughtfully. "Ledare mentioned meeting a fat man named Mendel in Riverneck."

"Aye," Karak nodded. "I remember her tellin' us 'bout him. They shared a tender moment, if I recall the tale proper."

"I believe there was a _Charm_ spell involved, but you remember correctly," the albino said. "Riverneck is pretty far removed from here for it to be the same man. But if it is, then I'd say he was likely the naked wizard we killed when we first arrived here."

"A fitting end for such a butcher," Ayremac replied and selected another scroll for Shamalin.

Her eyes were beginning to blur as she studied the third scroll, and she knew in her heart that it would be her last. This one was written in the same hand as the first and specifically mentioned another group of Aphyx's followers on the shores of the Frozen Sea to the south who were attempting to release from his prison the former High King of Erlacor, Zagaroth the Despoiler. Apparently the group had sought the scriber's help in freeing the Rot Queen's son from his bondage, but he had refused - calling them fools. Suddenly Shamalin's blood ran cold and she nearly dropped the scroll. She was beginning to lose her ability to decipher the language, but something had sounded strangely familiar. Frantically she skimmed the rest of it, searching for some mention of names and events she knew all too well. But if that part of history had been documented, Flor was shielding her from it. She released the scroll and it closed of its own accord.

"That is as much as I can do," she announced, wearily.


--------------------------------------------


[1] Readers of the EN World boards may recognize both this riddle and some of the Tests of Character to follow. They were discussed in threads on these very boards, but that was before the database failure earlier this year, so I no longer know who to credit. If you know, please do mention it in this thread so that the proper author(s) can be credited.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> "I believe there was a _Charm_ spell involved, but you remember correctly," the albino said. "Riverneck is pretty far removed from here for it to be the same man. But if it is, then I'd say he was likely the naked wizard we killed when we first arrived here."
> 
> "A fitting end for such a butcher," Ayremac replied and selected another scroll for Shamalin.




It's never that easy.   



BTW are/were you letting the party rest up inside, or our you forcing them to retreat back outside?


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> BTW are/were you letting the party rest up inside, or our you forcing them to retreat back outside?




Well, you might remember that they entered the place through a one-way teleporter in the back of a remote cave. Retreating outside is not an option.

Plus, the place is virtually empty - so long as nobody's blinking that is.   They killed the only human early on and he was the only guy who moved around a lot.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #362] Rake*

The Order had learned precious little relevant information about their foe. The murdered elf girl had told them that Rake was 'strong in both limb and magic'. Grandfather Plaque had confirmed that he was a spellcaster of the divine variety. Both sources of information warned them not to underestimate Rake's evil. "Don't let him take you alive," the elf maid warned. "Don't let him cast spells," suggested the stone face.

They determined to use this advice to their best advantage.



Rake's hold, the stone guardian told them was located at the end of a twisting hallway that turned out to be a horror in and of itself. The same sanguine torches provided illumination, casting in disturbing shadows the numerous humanoid corpses impaled on black iron spikes along the walls. As they neared the location of the Mendicant's lair, even the floor was clad in iron. Huzair stopped them there and turned to Karak.

"May I please have my spear back... or are you all going to ban me from having all weapons?" the mage asked, indicating the shortspear the dwarf had lashed to his back. The banner of Ibrahil depended from it, hanging down across Karak's back.

"Ye do nae use weapons, wizard!" the dwarf grumbled. He clutched protectively at the banner. "Ye'd likely poke yerself in the eye."

"I do need something if my spells run out," Huzair said flatly. The Mark of Fire he'd placed on his forehead seemed to burn in the ruddy light.

"If your spells run out I think we'll be in real trouble," Lela chirped.

"Aye! An' this banner be magic!" the dwarf pressed. "It's power might mean th' difference 'tween victory an' defeat!"

"We don't even know what the stupid thing does!" Huzair countered, prompting Ayremac to step into the debate.

"If we stick to our attack plan, we won't need the magic of your flag, Karak," the holy warrior said. "Huzair was kind enough to lend you his spear for use as a flagpole, but the banner didn't aid us when we fought those foul undead husks. The spear is his by right." Karak stared at Ayremac for a long moment then he harrumphed and began untying the spear.

"Now let's move," Morier hissed impatiently. "Our enemy can't be far now!"



Rake sat on his massive throne, his eyes glassy and unfocused as he listened to Rezsaamar's whispers*. It told him things, mysteries unheard of on the Prime. He was doing the Queen's work and he would be rewarded when she returned to ascendence. Rake grinned darkly, lost in his reverie and anticipating the dark blood-letting that would follow in Aphyx's footsteps.



Karak heaved against the massive portal, once again pricking himself on the spiky metal. He grunted in pain, making absolutely no sound within the radius of Shamalin's _Silence_ spell. They saw the massive figure slouching in an equally massive chair some 60 feet away at the top of a set of stairs that elevated the throne some ten feet above the level of the floor. Braziers full of fire set along the far wall illuminated the chamber and the monstrous horror that as Rake. He was humanoid, they could see, but he was unlike any humanoid they'd ever seen. His vacant face was largely orcish with a toothsome snout and heavy brow ridge. The eyes that stared out of that face, burned with an unholy light that no natural orc had even possessed. Its clothing consisted of robes of leather and untanned, pinkish hides and he appeared to have actually sewn onto himself other bits and pieces of flesh creating a grisly patchwork of skin tones. The rough seams visibly oozed puss.

The stench in the chamber was unwholesome.

At once, The Order sprang into action.

Lela darted forward first, carrying the coin upon which Shamalin had cast her spell. Before the figure on the throne could even react, she moved near him and dropped the coin, blanketing him in complete _Silence_.

Huzair stepped forward and invoked _Pyrotechnics_, causing one of the braziers against the far wall to belch forth great gouts of churning black smoke. In the space of a few heartbeats Rake and the entire dais upon which his throne was raised had disappeared within a billowing cloud.

Morier and Ayremac both moved forward to the edge of the cloud and the _Silence_ effect. The eldritch warrior boosted himself with a _Bull's Strength_ even as Ayremac invoked his _Shield of Righteousness_. They waited with weapons ready for Rake to appear (hopefully gagging uncontrollably) from within the smoke cloud.

Karak, however, had another tactic in mind. He stamped up the stairs, his heavy boots going suddenly silent as he entered the cloud.

Lela hovered near Shamalin, protecting her tiny form with _Barkskin_ while the cleric called on Flor to let her _Detect Thoughts_. The half-elf concentrated on the smoke cloud, picking up only the mental signature of Karak angrily thinking, "Where be tha' great bastard?"

"He's not in there," she announced, wishing that there were some what she could tell Karak that he was wasting his time scouring the smoke cloud.

"Perhaps he's gone invisible," Huzair's disembodied voice suggested from somewhere nearby.

"Spread out!" Morier barked, swinging Ravager through the air in a wide arc. Huzair had _Blurred_ the albino and his form looked smeared somehow as a result, as if some god had taken his thumb and purposely obscured his outline. "Look for any sign of an invisible creature!"

Shamalin positioned herself near the door to watch as the others fanned out across the room in their search. The air was thick with a heavy silence that did not seem to emanate solely from her spell. Tensely, she shifted her weight back and forth, the creak and clank of her armor sounding particularly loud in the hushed chamber.  Movement in the hallway they'd entered by caught her eye and she had to blink a few times to be sure that her own imagination was not toying with her. Within mere heartbeats, wisps of fog from the low corners of the hall began to swirl and mass into the solid form of the Mendicant. Up close she saw it was huge - easily twice her own height. Numbly, she tried to think of some warning, but as the thing's gaze locked with hers she could do little more than utter a strangled cry. Before she could move, Huzair's _Flaming Sphere_ ignited the space between them, startling her enough that she took a shaking step back out of Rake's reach.

Ayremac heard the woman's cry of alarm and he rushed over to the doors and the creature beyond. His morningstar glowed brightly as he charged the noisome creature, but he was two late to prevent its spellcasting.

It gestured and a clashing wall of red and black energy sprang up at Ayremac's back, isolating him in the corridor with the giant orc.

"He's casting spells!" Morier observed as he charged forward. Lela took off in the opposite direction.

"I'll get the coin!" she offered, heading toward the dissipating smoke cloud. She didn't see Morier rebound off the barrier that Rake had erected across the doorway.

Shamalin stepped up and tried thrusting her hand through the wall of magical power, but something that pulled at her soul rather than her flesh prevented her from passing. She grimaced and drew back from the _Wall of Evil_ as something thundered up behind her. Turning, she saw Karak charging forward, axe at the ready and teeth bared. He came on, a deep guttural battle roar coming from his throat; he too slammed into the barrier and fell back, unable to pass it.

"This is a b*tch!" Huzair said, rolling his _Flaming Sphere_ onto Rake's feet, hoping to disrupt any further spellcasting he might do. If it had any effect on the mendicant, he didn't let it show as he reached out and touched Ayreamc lightly on the arm. The holy warrior shrieked involuntarily as he felt a wave of _Poison_ move magically through his body at that touch. His very lifeforce seemed to ebb in the wake of the spell and he staggered back.

"What's the matter, Holy Warrior?" Rake grinned evilly down at Ayremac. "You're looking a little pale."

Ayremac's response was to raise his shield in a warding gesture as he began to chant a powerful prayer to Umba - one that he knew would _Counterspell_ any _Necromantic_ magic. He just hoped that it would provide him enough protection to pass through the barrier and distance himself from the cruelly-smiling horror that loomed in the hallway before him.

To face Rake alone, he knew, would be his death.


---------------------

* Rezsaamar, the fiendish symbiot, is filed under the heading of missed opportunities. I totally forgot about his existance throughout the battle with Rake. Alas...


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> * Rezsaamar, the fiendish symbiot, is filed under the heading of missed opportunities. I totally forgot about his existance throughout the battle with Rake. Alas...




This would've something to see. I've yet to see someone use the symbiote rules.


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> This would've something to see. I've yet to see someone use the symbiote rules.





Admittedly, I secretly hoped that he could tempt Huzair into taking him on much as you've done with the intelligent rod in your campaign, HM.

Whether he culd have succeeded we'll never know.  :\


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #363] BBEG*

Morier saw the position Ayremac was in and slammed his shoulder ineffectually against the barricade. Behind him Karak got to his feet, glowering at the _Wall of Evil_.

"Outta the way, lad," the dwarf growled as he lowered his head and charged. The power of the wall tugged at his will, but this time he made it passed. Rake's long arm reached out and slammed into Karak before he'd taken more than two steps, and the force of the blow made the dwarf stagger back a step.

"Why look, little one!" Rake cackled in mock-glee. "One of your friends has come to play! Once I'm finished with the holy warrior, dwarf, I'll-" Rake's words were suddenly cut off as Lela tossed the _Silenced_ coin into the hallway behind him. For a few moment his lips continued to move comically, then the motion dissolved into a snarl.

Ayremac used the distraction to withdraw back toward the group. He found himself unable to retreat, however - blocked by the power of Rake's spell - and he sagged against the wall, his face gone white as paper. Doggedly, he continued to mutter a constant string of prayers to Umba.



_"Speculum effiga!"_ Huzair shouted as his hands moved through a series of intricate gestures. Suddenly he was surrounded by a bevy of _Images_ whose every action _Mirrored_ his own. He admired the nearest version of himself saying, "One of me is great and now there are five. Wow!"



Rake spread his arms and they reached almost entirely across the twenty foot hallway. Still grinning maniacally, it darted in to grapple the dwarf. Karak recognized the motion at once and brought his waraxe up, slashing the foul-smelling thing once across the shoulder as it came in close.



On the other side of the wall, hovered Lela. She studied the magical structure with her mystic vision, noting after a moment's study where its attachment to the Prime was weakest. She targeted that area with a powerful _Dispel Magic_ that knifed through the eldritch energy like it wasn't even there. The threads of The Weave unravelled from that point and Ayremac staggered through the opening at once. He reached the staircase leading up to Rake's throne but collapsed on the first step, pale and breathless.

Shamalin stepped up to him and could tell immediately that he had sustained unusual damage. Even so, he was still chanting low against the evil of necromantic arts as she reached him. Rectifying constitutional damage was an involved process, but she gave him what she hoped was a reassuring nod and settled in for the duration of her _Restoration_ spell. There was no decision to be made here - something which unsettled her almost as much as the orc had.



Huzair pointed his _Wand of Scorch_ and fired a gout of flame at Rake, the fire streaking over Karak and Morier to wash over the black orc's head. Whether the magic was unable to overcome the creature's resistance to spells or Rake was simply immune to fire, the mage couldn't tell, but either way it seemed little inconvenienced by the conflagration.

Rake kept glancing over its broad shoulder, backing slowly up, shuffling its feet in an odd manner. It became suddenly apparent to Karak what it was up to as it kicked out low to the floor and the sounds of battle suddenly returned. Rake grinned broadly and raised its clawed hands.

"Now!" it drooled, its voice like gravel being ground together inside a fist. "Now I will grant you the Queen's blessing!" It gestured and an _Unholy Blight_ exploded in the corridor, tearing at Morier and Karak both.

Morier fell back, his _True Strike_ spoiled by the pain wracking his body, but Karak gritted his teeth and flew into a frenzy. His waraxe striking Rake in the arm and chest and thigh. Rake stepped back again, out of the dwarf's reach and back into the range of Shamalin's _Silence_ spell.

Its words were lost, but the snarled twist its mouth took on, said it all. It flicked a claw out, slicing contemptuously into Morier despite the fact that he was _Blurred_. The eldritch warrior's blood was hot and red, livid against his pale skin. Raising Ravager defensively, he withdrew from the battle, passing Huzair - well, five Huzairs actually since the wizard's _Mirror Image_ spell was still in effect - and heading with equal parts reluctance and desperation for the priestess of Flor.



Morier was hit. It wasn't a mortal wound, Shamalin saw as the eldritch warrior staggered back, but it followed the creature's _Unholy Blight_. And though Morier was clenching his teeth against requesting her aid yet again, Shamalin could tell it was needed. For the second time she found herself hesitating, and in the space of that moment an awful image came into her mind. In the vision, she was standing over Morier's body wielding the longsword that she had yet to use. It was bloody and she stared in horror at the gash in his side that she knew she had caused. Accusing eyes stared up at hers as the life drained from his body to pool around her feet.

Karak's battlecry yanked her back to the present and she knelt next to the albino, consumed with guilt. He was breathing heavily, but did not look at her. Frightened, Shamalin prayed more fervently than she had in many days - begging healing for Morier and mercy for the blackness in her own heart.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> In the vision, she was standing over Morier's body wielding the longsword that she had yet to use. It was bloody and she stared in horror at the gash in his side that she knew she had caused. Accusing eyes stared up at hers as the life drained from his body to pool around her feet.
> .




Foreshadowing of what has occured in game, or what may occur in game?

Pretty cool Jon!


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Pretty cool Jon!




I'm glad you approve, HM. But...



> Foreshadowing of what has occured in game, or what may occur in game?




I've got to come clean and tell you that Shamalin's player actually wrote that bit and supplied it to me "as is". So I'm not 100% certain what it means. I have my suspicions it has something to do with Shamalin and Morier's training sessions with the longsword as well as Morier's ability to find himself at death's door and in need of Shamalin's healing handiwork on a regular basis.

I know that her player reads these boards so maybe she'll step in and shed a bit of light.


----------



## Kristeneve

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> I know that her player reads these boards so maybe she'll step in and shed a bit of light.




What?  And ruin a perfectly good surprise?


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #363] Beyond the Door*

All five versions of Huzair discharged his_ Mark of Fire_, releasing the tattoo's bound magic as a ray of fire that struck Rake full in the face. Unfortunately the result was similar to the wizard's _Wand of Scorch_ attack; the fire washed over the black-skinned creature causing no clear damage. The momentary conflagration did present enough of a distraction to allow Karak an opening.

The dwarf charged inside of Rake's reach, narrowly avoiding the giant orc's talons in order to bury his waraxe into the creature's belly. The wound was horrific, sending a swath of black ichor spattering across the wall as the dwarf drew the weapon back for another swing. Somehow, Rake remained on its feet even as ropey coils of intestines spilled from the rent in its torso. Snarling silently Karak pressed his advantage, striking again and again before the creature could return to the offensive. His waraxe hacked the fingers from Rake's left hand and sank down to the bone in the orc's hip. He felt a give beneath his blade as the pelvis shattered and then the creature was tumbling back in silence.

It fell against the wall and slid, lifeless to the floor.




After picking the body clean of valuables, they used alchemist's fire to burn it to cinders.



Ultimately, it was Karak who did the dirty job of carrying Rake's head back to Grandfather Plaque. Hauzair had refused to put it in his haversack, or allow Karak the use of his spear to perch the grisly price upon. So Karak had sunk his axe into the bestial skull and shouldered it, charred and lifeless, as they made their way back to the hidden door.

At first they moved through the empty halls in silence, battle-weary and cautious of any further threat. But upon reaching the room, conversation rekindled amongst them. Once again the question arose - which answer should they give to Grandfather Plaque's riddle? Karak had seized the moment before his rage subsided in an effort to intimidate Huzair into agreeing that leper wasn't the correct choice. Huzair made a great showing of not being dissuaded by a dwarf, but, in the end, for whatever reason, he acquiesced.

Morier spoke their answer to the riddle confidently, "The healer is the luckiest man."

"Are you certain?" the stone face asked. "Your answer, once given may not be changed."

"We're certain," Lela assured the guardian. Grandfather Plaque's gaze travelled appraisingly over them, settling at last on Huzair.

"And you all agree to this answer?" the face asked, studying the mage intently. Huzair sighed.

"Yeah," he agreed. "The answer's: the healer."

And slowly the door opened.



The arched doorway was filled floor-to-ceiling with a pane of absolute black that defied scrutiny. Controlling a shared impulse to charge right through, Morier convinced the party that rest was in order. And so they posted watch, passing the night in the room under Grandfather Plaque's watchful gaze.

Later, while pondering the enigmatic pane of darkness, Huzair shared a story he had once heard about a group of tomb robbers who had filed one-by-one through a similar-looking portal while hunting for a lich's hidden riches. "Turned out that the "portal" was really a _Sphere of Annihilation_," he chuckled sardonically. "Killed the whole party." Lela snorted at that.

"If it killed them all, then how would anyone know the story?" she scoffed and Huzair just shrugged.

"Beats me," he said. "But that's the way I heard the story. Kinda funny, if you ask me."

"You're a regular ray of sunshine, Huzair. You know that?" Ayremac sighed, glancing skeptically at the black field.

For his part, Grandfather Plaque was quite beside himself with excitement - first at the smoking evidence of Rake's demise, and secondly at the successful response to his riddle. In the morning, with assurances that they would keep their word and return for him if successful, the party took their leave. Karak led them purposefully through the archway - each one feeling significantly closer to their goal.



One by one they stepped through the portal and stepped into a pentagonal room with a vaulted ceiling. The portal by which they'd entered was set into one wall and each of the other walls had a door set into it. Each door was wooden and bound with brass, adorned with a massive gleaming rune wrought from the same metal. From the left of the entryway, the runes were: Earth, Fire, Air, and Water.

In the floor at the center of the chamber was a series of indentations. A central, circular shaft perhaps a foot across was surrounded by four cube-shaped sockets, each not much larger than a fist. Each of the sockets was labeled with the same rune as each of the corresponding elemental doors.

The chamber was otherwise empty and lit with a diffuse, white glow. "Lots of magic here," Lela announced as she glanced around.

"Not surprising," Morier said as he walked the chamber hoping to feel some sort of tug in his head. There was a steady thrum of sensation, but nothing specific.

"Where do we go from here?" Ayremac asked. He looked expectantly at Morier, but the eldritch warrior shook his head.

"The pull isn't telling me anything," he cursed. "Grandfather Plaque said that there were 12 tests in all - two tests of character followed by one test of strength for each the four keys."

"And he also said that answering his riddle was the first of the 12 tests, right?" Lela quipped and the albino nodded.

"So we just need to pick a door and go through it, aye?" Karak said, gesturing at the four rune-marked doors with his waraxe.

"I guess so," Morier admitted. He unsheathed his bastard sword and looked expectantly at the others. "Any preferences?"



They chose the Earth Door and stepped through into a short corridor. At the far end was another door like the first and filled with another field of utter black. They passed through it to step into a shadowy, ill-defined space. They could see nothing of the walls and ceiling; the floor seemed made of undressed stone. They moved forward and the dark portal was soon swallowed up by the shadows. At the same time, a shape began to resolve itself out of the darkness ahead and after taking another dozen steps, they could see what it was more clearly.

A massive, dark altar of stone rose up out of the shadows with a figure reclining atop it. The figure shifted languidly at their approach and sat up. It was clearly a celestial of some kind, its flesh as white and opalescent as a pearl, its hair like platinum. Its beautiful face was streaked with lines of bloody tears and the raw stumps of broken pinions rose from its shoulders. Beyond the celestial and the alter they could see another door of wood bound with brass and marked with the rune of Earth.

The figure regarded them with awful intensity and spoke. "To pass through the far door you must sacrifice one of your own on this altar."


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #364] The Test of Loyalty*

"Excuse me?" Ayremac asked, incredulous.

"To pass through the far door you must sacrifice one of your own on this altar," the celestial said again, its tone of voice indifferent, apathetic. It gestured half-heartedly at the stained and pitted block of stone atop which it had previously reclined and for the first time The Order noticed the rusty shackles fixed to the block at its four corners. A plain knife with a curved blade was revealed as the pale figure stepped languidly to the side.

"But we need to get the Earth Key!" Morier argued. "It's vital to freeing Dridana's heart."

"I know. And it is my duty to keep that key from the hands of the unworthy," it told him. "Only those who pass this test may face the guardian of the Earth Node."

"I'll volunteer," Lela said at once. "I'm going to die from the Rot anyway. My death may as well do some good."

"Let's not be so quick to throw your life away," Shamalin said and Morier nodded.

"I agree. This test is a strange one," the albino looked pointedly at the celestial and added, "What sort of angel would ask us to kill a friend?" The being regarded him blandly.

"The sort that I am, it would seem," it told him.

"Are you really an angel, though?" Huzair asked, gesturing at his own face to indicate the blood streaming down the celestial's. "That's what I'd like to know."

"I am what I am," it told him. "My nature is immaterial to the test at hand. The door beyond is barred to you until one of you is sacrificed atop the altar."

Karak stamped his axe haft on the ground to get the outsider's attention. "Does it matter who it is?" he asked and the celestial grinned sardonically.

"It must be one of you. My death will do you no good," it told him. "Neither will I wield the knife for you. This test demands that both victim and slayer come from within." They all looked at one another and the celestial added," I may choose for you if you do not wish to."

"So there is a proper choice to be made?" Karak asked and the outsider shook its head slowly.

"No. Who it is does not matter," it corrected. "But often it is easier on the conscience to stand by while a friend is condemned to death than it is to be the one doing the condemning." Again there was a weighty silence as the group considered.

"Who would you choose?" Huzair asked suddenly and without hesitation, the celestial raised a hand and pointed at Ayremac.

"The holy warrior," it said solemnly. If the Officer of Umba was surprised it did not show on his face.

"Huh..." Ayremac said, standing, almost as a statue, watching the others banter back and forth. It was strange to see a celestial, that which Ayremac had always held as the 'advanced' race, point at him and request his death.

"And which of us would you have kill him?" Shamalin blurted afraid of what the celestial would say. But it didn't point at her. Instead it raised its other hand, pointing accusingly at Huzair.

"The wizard," it said. "The wizard should plunge the knife into the holy warrior's heart. Only then can you pass through the door beyond."

Shamalin wasn't cold, but the celestial's pronouncement sent a shiver through her nonetheless. She stepped behind Ayremac and quickly cast _Detect Thoughts_; despite the fact that the spell went off as she'd planned, she received no information from the magic. Something was blocking Divination magic entirely... which made a good deal of sense now that she thought about it. It'd be awfully easy to pass all these tests if all you needed to do was cast_ Augury_ every time.

"Each one in this group willingly gives their life over to the very real possibility of destruction by evil every day, and they do so with the hopes of finding peace and bringing ruin to the evil that would destroy us all," Morier said defiantly. His eyes seemed to flash in the dim chamber, but the celestial reacted not at all. 

"We have been instructed by the water guardian in the Grove of Renewal to follow a force here to find keys which might be used to raise Dridana to fight the evil brought by Aphyx," the eldritch warrior explained. "Few men will make the sacrifice to give up all that they have to follow this fight for the betterment of all the Realms, and we will not sacrifice one of our number, for each is too precious a life to take away from this cause."

"Then you have made your decision?" the angel asked. "You refuse to make the sacrifice and forfeit the opportunity to pass through the far door?"

"I think we should not tempt fate," Ayremac said solemnly, his tone as much as his words drawing all eyes to him. "Before you argue and make this any more difficult then it already is... I have decided," he explained, holding up a staying hand as he set down his shield and morningstar. Staring up at the celestial he announced, "I will take this challenge... and I will do it myself."

Without hesitation, he began the slow process of removing his chest plate. Shamalin stepped forward and grabbed his arm. "Ayremac, don't do this," she cried. "It would be a mistake."

He smiled at her reassuringly as he gently pried her fingers from his arm. "In just a few short days you all have led me to believe this is a cause worth dying for. I look forward to seeing you all in the presence of Umba."

"Dibs on his stuff." Huzair said quickly, earning a flurry of stern looks from the others. He laughed and shook his head. "What? I'm only kidding!" They continued to stare at him and he rolled his eyes before turning directly to Ayremac and saying, "Wait and think."

"I have thought about it, Huzair," Ayremac replied, still loosening straps on his armor as he spoke. "This is the best decision. For all of us."

"I imagine that the followers of Aphyx would only be all too willing to sacrifice one of their own, Ayremac," Shamalin argued. "There has to be another way."

"Aye," Karak said with a nod. "Your desire to die for the cause be admirable. laddie, but I been thinkin'. We have chaos already doin' that for us. I say let us keep your sword arm in the fight."

On Karak's shoulder, Lela nodded vigorously.

"Do the protectors o' these keys really want us to be one less in number to break free of chaos' hold? I think not!" the dwarf went on. "This test is one to make sure we be the rightful bearers o' these powerful instruments. So the test be about doin' the right thing not dyin'. I vote nae." He hammered his waraxe haft on the floor once for emphasis.

"I will submit to leaving the room, but what then?" Ayremac asked the dwarf. He managed to fully loosen his breastplate and he wriggled free of it with some effort. "What do we do if nothing happens?" Karak shrugged in response.

"Perhaps the gesture o' taking one's own life be enough for us to walk through the doors to get the key. Perhaps, in the thick o' things later you be alone facin' the minions of chaos and you have to die doin' so. Perhaps, horribly, one of us will be faced with aiding in that in some tragic way. I do nae know," he admitted with a wave of his hand. In mid-gesture that hand became a fist and he extended one accusatory finger at the celestial. "But I do know this, I'm not going to let some big fairy tell me how to be loyal. I be loyal to me chalak. I be loyal to Shaharizod, I be loyal to meself and me clan. An' I be loyal to you all. I say let the loyalty be true in our hearts and we tell this so-called angel so. That be what I say."

"As Morier has always said: 'we need to stick together.' One of us cannot go off on the 100 day walk," Huzair said, addressing the celestial and Ayremac in equal parts. His voice dripped with sincerity as he stepped forward, putting an arm around Karak. "All of my valued comrades and friends would surely lay down their life for the cause, but we also have loyalty to each other. Our cause will be only further weakened if we were to lose a link of this chain." He stepped nearer the celestial and spread his arms to encompass the entirety of The Order as he went on.

"Laying down our lives for the test is far too easy. We do that every time we open a new door. Sticking together and being loyal to each other is the true test!" Huzair stepped back and embraced Morier tightly. Sniffing back a tear he whispered into the albino's ear, "You judged the healer test right and I just would not listen to you."

Stunned, Morier drew away from the mage's arms. His first instinct was to draw his sword and demand the return of the REAL Huzair, but looking into the wizard's wet eyes, he couldn't help but believe that the man had had a change of heart. His jaw dropped open of its own accord, and he found himself at a loss for words.

"Aye, lad, that be the most touchin speech I do hear in a long time," Karak growled as he stepped up beside the wizard. "Why'n it reminds me of the time the clan elders all spoke to us about the incomin' gobbo raid and inspired us all to tears and bravery."

"Every word I said was true," Huzair told him, smiling and batting his eyelids innocently. The dwarf nodded.

"I believe I do feel lighter in the heart. Come 'ere an let me give you a hug in the proper dwarven way," Karak spread his thick arms and crushed Huzair in and enormous rib squeezing hug that had the mage's eyes bugging out of their sockets. And without subtlety, he began to frisk Huzair. "Alright, what'd ye take, wizard? I know it must be somethin'."

"I didn't take anything from you, dwarf!" the mage protested, batting away Karak's overzealous hands. It felt a bit like one of Huzair's dating experiences, although he was usually on the other end of the exchange. The clang of Ayremac's armor hitting the floor brought a stop to the bizarre development.

"I will not step away from the group in this decision," Ayremac announced once everyone's eyes had returned to him. "I am willing to leave my mortal life on that table, but for the group, not in opposition to it."

He looked briefly at the pile of armor plates at his feet and then at each of the others in turn. "Let us cast our votes," he said. "Fists to leave the room, open hands to continue with the sacrifice." Without hesitation, he reached towards the group, hand outstretched.

Shamalin's position was clear. She put forth her fist, muttering, "This is senseless." After a moment's pause, the others each extended their fists one after the other. When the last person had cast their vote, Ayremac closed his own fist and nodded.

"The decision is made," he said before turning to the blood-stained angel. "No one will die on your altar this day."

"So be it," the celestial nodded. "The return you from whence you came. The door beyond is forever barred to you. Go." And saying thus, the diffuse light that had been illuminating the altar and the door marked with the symbol for earth some 30' further on began to dim. After but a heartbeat, even those with darkvision had trouble seeing the farther door. After three more it had been swallowed up by the darkness entirely.

They gathered up Ayremac's armor and hustled back to the door through which they'd entered this test. Again, the black void greeted them and they stepped through expecting to find themselves back in the short corridor leading to the central chamber.



Instead, after a disorienting moment, they found themselves standing at the bottom of a  rough, rocky cavern in the middle of a small crater filled with razor-sharp crystals. The rune for earth was repeated along the edge of the crater.

"We did it," Lela chirped excitedly.

"Good thing, too," Morier added, looking around. "I wasn't sure what we'd do if we fail a test and don't get one of these keys."

"Look there!" Karak directed, pointing up. They could all see that the sheer cliff walls were riddled with deep niches and studded with crystals that cast a soft white light over the chamber. A wide stone bridge spanned the cavern 100 feet overhead, appearing from where they stood to be roughly 20 feet wide. A soft, pulsing white glow was coming from something on top of the bridge.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> "Dibs on his stuff." Huzair said quickly, earning a flurry of stern looks from the others. He laughed and shook his head. "What? I'm only kidding!" They continued to stare at him and he rolled his eyes before turning directly to Ayremac and saying, "Wait and think."




He's either half-dwarf, or the twin of someone in my group.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #365] What the Faen Saw*

"So this be the Test of Earth," Karak muttered, his head still craned upward to look at the bridge of stone overhead. "It do nae seem so bad."

"Lets be careful, just the same, Karak," Ayremac suggested in a tense whisper. He was working at re-securing his armor in place with Shamalin's help. "I think it is safe to assume that nothing here is at it seems."

"It's not going to be a surprise for me to tell you that this whole place is radiating magic," Lela informed them as she used her natural ability to detect the rhythms of The Weave. "Strong. _Conjuration_ magic. Walls, floor, everything within range."

"One wrong step could start a chain reaction," Ayreamc reiterated, nodding sagely at the sprite's announcement. "Let's be very mindful of where we are stepping."

Morier spent a few moments searching the ground within the shallow crater while Huzair examined the runes around the lip, but neither found anything. Karak continued to study the diffuse white light radiating from something overhead atop the bridge.

"What do ye suppose is makin' that light?" he asked Lela. The sprite was in her usual place on the dwarf's shoulder. She shrugged.

"I can fly up and take a look," she suggested, but Karak balked at the idea.

"That'd leave ye far removed from aid if ye discover somethin' that means ye harm," the dwarf told her, his gaze moving once more to the rocky span above. "It'll take several minutes to make a climb like that if ye need us, and that may well be too late."

"Huzair has Vade's _Slippers_," Morier reminded, pointing at the mage's curl-toed purple footwear. "But that'll still take time."

"I can prepare a _Levitate_ spell as well, if we can take some time for me to do it," the wizard suggested, producing one of the spellbooks from his traveler's bag.

"Oh, if you guys want to _Levitate_, I have some pixie dust that can do that," Lela said, excitedly. She pulled out a pouch made of what looked like green leaves stitched together and shaped rather like a verdant bulb of garlic. She twisted the narrow end lightly and it spread, revealing some iridescent powder within.

Huzair snorted and shoved his book back into his bag. He was a trifle annoyed at being shown up, but he was never one to complain when someone else was willing to spend their resources instead of him having to use up his own.

Lela offered the pouch to everyone and they each took a pinch, sprinkling the dust over themselves. One by one they began to drift slowly upward toward the bridge.

"Remember you can only move up and down," Lela warned as first Morier and then Huzair floated off the ground."There's no way to move side-to-side."

Karak drifted upward, grumbling to himself. "This be no way for a dwarf to travel," he groused.



Morier and Huzair had already attained an altitude of 60 feet by the time Shamalin lifted off the ground, leaving a very confused Spot waiting in the crater below. Lela gave the cheetah a reassuring pat on the head and took off after her companions. She easily overtook the two arcane casters pausing long enough to say, "I'll scout ahead. Give a yell if you need my help." With a grin she twisted her body in the air and angled off toward the far side of the bridge. Before she'd gotten more than 10 feet away, both Morier and Huzair had lost sight of the tiny faen.



She looped beneath the bridge and soared back up on the far side, her wings a silver hum behind her. Like the rest of the cavern, the top of the bridge was crusted with crystals, but even more so than elsewhere; it reminded Lela of the interior of a geode with crystals the same violet color as her eyes. The hectic surface kept the source of the white light from being readily apparent, but the sprite's eyes were accustomed to chasing dragonflies across the water and she quickly found a narrow recess near the center of the bridge without too much effort.

Hovering there she paused to assess the magical nature of her surroundings and she was little surprised by what she saw. The bridge and the ceiling twenty some feet overhead were both magical. like the rest of the cavern. The recess, however, radiated a kaleidoscope of magical auras, _Transmutation, Evocation, Abjuration_... All of them powerful.

"Guys!" she called. "I think I found the-" Her thought was cut short by the sudden appearance of an earthen maw from the surface of the bridge. It rose up like a fish breaching the surface of the water and like a fish, it snapped at the tiny thing flittering just within reach. Lela had a brief glimpse of an ovoid body with the wide mouth set atop it, three claw-tipped arms set symmetrically around the mouth pushing it up out of the rock. That was all the more she had time to see before that toothsome maw snapped shut around her waist, its stoney fangs piercing her flesh with merciless abandon.



Forty feet below, Morier and Huzair heard her cry of pain.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> It rose up like a fish breaching the surface of the water and like a fish, it snapped at the tiny thing flittering just within reach. Lela had a brief glimpse of an ovoid body with the wide mouth set atop it, three claw-tipped arms set symmetrically around the mouth pushing it up out of the rock. That was all the more she had time to see before that toothsome maw snapped shut around her waist, its stoney fangs piercing her flesh with merciless abandon.




Xorn?


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Xorn?




_*Fiendish*_ xorn, to be precise.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #365a] Clipped Wings*

"Okay, lads and lassies, this be the test o' strength. This be what we 'ere for," Karak bellowed as the faen's shriek of pain reverberated against the walls of the cavern. "One o' the keys be within reach. Just concentrate and focus our efforts to prevail. Now let's do it!" 

Shamalin was unsure how she could 'DO' anything at the moment. She was quite a ways away and what had started out as an exciting feeling - levitating serenely up to the bridge - was now a frustratingly slow experience. She gritted her teeth and futilely willed herself to rise faster.



High above her, Lela was doing exactly the same thing. She beat her wings furiously against the air, slipping free of the creature's jaws only to have them snap shut again on her leg, the fangs stripping flesh agonizingly away from the bone. She tumbled in the air, but managed somehow to keep herself aloft. Then the creature's claws were everywhere, coming at her from what seemed like all sides. She avoided the first, then the second, and then the third caught her painfully across the side of her head, sending her mind into unconsciousness and her body somersaulting limply over the side of the bridge.



"Lela!" Ayremac shouted up upon hearing the sprite's second scream of pain. "Lela, whats happ-?" he began only to stop as he saw the faen's broken body tumbling downward, end over end. Just he and Morier above him were in any position to catch her he saw and if she fell from that height, there was no hope of her surviving.

He watched as the eldritch warrior stretched out his arms to catch the sprite. But he was too late and she plummeted passed him through the air. Ayremac tried to make frantic, clumsy swimming motions with his arms and legs until he realized there was no helping his situation; he just had to float up and wait for her to come to him.

He didn't have to wait long, She came on fast - too fast as it turned out. His arms closed around empty air. For a moment his fingers caught tantalizingly on one of the faen's tiny booted feet. But it was slick with blood and he couldn't maintain a grip. Then she was gone, spiraling downward to land splinteringly in the crater far below.


----------



## The Dark Elf

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Foreshadowing of what has occured in game, or what may occur in game?




I'd put it in the "wishful thinking" column...

As Morier's "driver", I think I'm trying to push Shamalin to the brink of pulling a sword on Morier one day... just 'cause I know she's got it in her.

Of course she'll have to heal him once she gouges his spleen out with her big ugly b*stard sword... and that will be a beautiful little piece of irony unto itself.

~RB


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> splinteringly.





Ooh, good word.   


So how did you adjudicate the "grapple" of the faen? Straight grapple check? Dex and Str check?


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> So how did you adjudicate the "grapple" of the faen? Straight grapple check? Dex and Str check?




If you're refering to the Xorn, it wasn't actually a grapple - it attacked once during the surprise round and then beat Lela's inititative to get her again with a full attack. All the rest is just my pretty, pretty writing.   

Morier and Ayremac got Reflex saves to catch her. I think that Ayremac missed the DC by only a point or two. They probably should have been straight Dex checks, but I was feeling generous... Plus, Lela was my wife's character and at that point she'd already lost two characters during the course of the campaign.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> Plus, Lela was my wife's character and at that point she'd already lost two characters during the course of the campaign.




  

My wife would be throwing the "Is this your way of telling me you don't want me to play" looks. Are you getting those?


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> My wife would be throwing the "Is this your way of telling me you don't want me to play" looks. Are you getting those?




Heh heh... No, not really. But it was pretty easy for her to talk me into a rather _unconventional_ replacement character.

Well, unconventional for our campaign, where dead usually means DEAD. But we're not talking minotaur sorcerers or anything.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #366] The Test of Earth*

For a moment silence filled the cavern, then Spot sniffed the sprite's broken body and let out a pained yowl that echoed throughout the chamber.

"Damn," Huzair grimaced, turning away from the horribly damaged corpse. He turned invisible and with a condescending tone called out, "Morier, now would be a good time to buff!"

Morier's face betrayed his annoyance but he began casting _Bull's Strength_ none the less. Huzair smiled to himself as they drifted upward. After a moment, it became clear to the wizard that, while Morier had accurately lined himself up with the edge of the bridge, Huzair had not. He found himself about fifteen feet off target as the eldritch warrior stepped easily onto the uneven surface.

The bridge was rough, and Morier could not at first pinpoint the source of the light. But he moved toward it as quickly as he could, unwilling to linger there any longer than he had to. It was slow-going, the crystalline surface making footing treacherous, and he hadn't taken more than three steps before a gaping maw of stone swelled up from the ground. The mouth snapped painfully shut on Morier's thigh sending blood spraying from the wound and a cry of pain howling from the albino's throat.

"By the eyes of Umba... Morier!!!!" Ayremac shouted as he drifted up. "Move away; we will tackle this thing together when we get up there!"

Hovering nearby, Huzair pointed his wand of _Scorch_ and fired off a line of fire that managed to entirely miss the egg-shaped aberration even as it pulled itself free of the ground at Morier's side. He became visible at once allowing everyone who cared to look the opportunity to see the snarl of disappointment on his face.

Everyone had other things on their mind, however.



Karak, for example had discovered that, like Huzair, he had misjudged the position of the bridge when he'd started to _Levitate_. He wasn't nearly as far off as the mage, but he was still too distant to actually reach the span. He cursed as he saw Ayremac step neatly onto the uneven surface nearby.

"Help me, lad!" he sputtered, flailing his arms uselessly.

The holy warrior turned and extended his glowing morningstar as far as he could. It was just enough for Karak to reach out with his waraxe and hook himself. With a grunt Ayremac pulled him over to the bridge in time for the dwarf to shout, "Look out, lad!"

A second earthen maw had appeared behind him, and it bit at his left leg. The plate armor there held, however, saving him from a painful wound.



There was nothing that Morier could do but attack. He raised Ravager, channeling the energy of his only remaining second level spell slot into the blade. The weapon slashed down, but was turned aside by the thing's stoney hide, skittering down its flank without leaving so much as a scratch.

His opponent retaliated at once, snapping down on the warrior's side. Morier felt a horrible tearing sensation as something in his torso gave way, but he ignored it, devoting his attention to avoiding the flurry of taloned arms that seemed to come at him from all sides.

Huzair drifted upward toward the ceiling and once again let loose with his wand of Scorch. And once again he missed. This time at least, he only missed because he was trying to avoid hitting Morier.



Shamalin finally reached the level of the bridge and, like Huzair and Karak, she found that she'd misjudged. She was even worse off that the wizard had been, drifting some twenty feet from the edge of the bridge. She could see at once that Morier was again staring death from blood loss squarely in the face. With a resigned sigh she began to cast a _Reach Cure_ hoping that she could get the miracle off before the eldritch warrior collapsed.



Karak's eyes grew wide with shock as a third monster swelled up from the ground at his feet. Its jaws clamped shut on the rim of his buckler, but slid off it without finding purchase. "How many of these things be there?" he grumbled as Ayremac slammed his gleaming weapon into the side of the creature that was menacing him. It lurched to the right, shrieking in pain as the Holy Warrior _Smote_ the _Evil_ thing. Before it could regain its balance, the dwarf stuck it twice with his waraxe, opening two rents in its pebbly hide that didn't bleed despite the fact that they clearly caused the creature pain.

It tried in vain to retaliate, but the two who faced it were heavily protected with stout armor and it could find no way through their defenses.



Morier didn't have such luck. And he knew he was probably dead if that thing landed another blow on him. He took a step toward Ayremac and Karak, Ravager weaving a defensive wall between him and the thing. The thing though came at him undaunted, stumping forward on three squat legs. Its maw closed on his forearm a moment before one of its claws slashed across the back of his hand. Both wounds conspired to wake him drop his sword and  collapse unconscious to the rough ground.

"Crap!" Huzair cursed as he saw Morier go down. He'd reached the ceiling and he managed to flip himself upward so that he could walk along the ceiling with his _Slippers of Spider Climbing_. He activated his ring and turned invisible for good measure.



Shamalin completed her spell and sent a _Cure Light Wounds_ spell lancing across the thirty feet separating her from Morier. The ray struck the downed warrior and she sighed with relief as she saw some of his wounds knit closed. His eyelids fluttered open and his hand groped blindly for Ravager.



"Morier's down!" Ayremac shouted to Karak. "Can you handle these two for a few seconds?" No sooner had the words left his mouth than one of the newest arrival's claws found a gap in the dwarf's platemail. Fortunately it was unable to overcome the magic of his axeblock buckler.

"Aye! Do what ye must!" Karak, growled trying unsuccessfully to slash the wounded creature's flesh again.

"Umba, with your great wisdom and fair judgement, please aid Morier... and the entire party... in our attempt to overcome these great obstacles," Ayremac prayed as he proudly displayed the holy symbol worked into his breastplate. His voice resounded due to the bizarre acoustics in the chamber. "Not unlike the Great Walk, we find ourselves traveling forward into the unknown." One of the wounded creature's claws found a way passed his armor, but the injury was minor and it didn't stop Ayremac from activating his _Sacred Healing_ power.



The creature that had been menacing Morier sank slowly into the ground, heading toward Ayremac and Karak, but the eldritch warrior let it go, knowing that he was clinging only precariously to life and that attacking while flat on his back would do little apart from alerting the creature to the fact that he was still a threat.

"Psst!" he heard Huzair hiss somewhere overhead. "Catch." A vial appeared in the air above him and fell, lightly striking his bloodied torso before it rolled off and landed between two largish crystals. Morier began fumbling for it with his free hand.

Shamalin sent another Reach spell into the albino before she drifted up to the ceiling. Scrabbling across the cavern's roof, she realized, was the only way for her to orient herself to the bridge. And she only had left one valance of sufficient strength to cast another _Reach_ spell of any sort but the most minor.



Karak weathered the uninjured creature's attacks without batting an eye. Its claws and fangs simply couldn't pierce his armor. He in turn was unable to land a telling blow against the one monster that he and Ayremac had previously wounded. The Holy Warrior tried to aid him by flanking the creature, but it seemed impossible; the creature's eyes and limbs were spaced equidistant around its body and it seemed to lack am exploitable blind spot.

As he concentrated on locating one, however, the creature found his and clamped its maw painfully down on his elbow. he felt the metal couter deform under the strength of the thing's bite, but the armor held.



Morier stood up and eagerly drank the contents of the healing draught Huzair had dropped to him. He felt the combination of multiple healing sources working to close his many wounds. He'd taken a single step when the creature that had been fighting him moments ago rose up and bit into Karak's flank. The dwarf roared in surprise and pain as he half-turned toward this new threat.

He was surrounded now on three sides and it was enough to distract him, allowing one of the things to strike him with two of its claws. Fortunately his buckler protected him from the slashing talons.

Ayremac tried to distract the injured monster, but his morningstar failed to further damage its armored hide. Likewise Karak wasn't able to land a blow.

The monster seemed to suffer no such problems striking Ayremac, however. Two of its three claws found his flesh, drawing lines of blood across his cheek and the back of his weapon hand.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #366a] The Test of Earth, part II*

They were getting overrun, Morier thought grimly to himself. And this was only the first of four tests of strength they'd need to complete in order to get the keys they needed. Gritting his teeth, he hefted Ravager and continued forward. Ayremac glanced up from within the melee, catching the eldritch warrior's eye.

"Morier, take a moment to heal," he suggested before turning his attention fully to the creatures before him. It was too little too late, however. One of the things unleashed a full attack on him and although he turned aside its snapping jaws with a sweep of his shield, two sets of claws found gaps in his armor and tore mercilessly at his flesh. The Holy Warrior staggered, on the verge of collapse.

Beside him Karak weathered a similar assault without injury, but he could plainly see the state that Ayremac was in.

"Oi, these beasties are like dwarven steam tanks," he grumbled. "The wee one never stood a chance, Shaharizod bless her. We need to peel off the bridge an regroup. Follow me." And saying thus he stepped off the edge and began levitating downward.

Grimacing in pain, Ayremac lurched to the edge and dove after him leaving their three opponents with no one to attack. Alone on the bridge, Morier watched the three creatures sink down into the stone and a pit of anxiety settled into his gut. He stumbled across the uneven surface of the bridge and dove off the edge.



Above, on the ceiling of the chamber, Shamalin paused, seeing that the others were heading back down to the bottom. Using her hands, she'd maneuvered herself over the center of the bridge and now she reversed directions and began heading slowly for the edge. She couldn't see Huzair, but she could hear him casting spells nearby.

"Huzair, the others are retreating," she called without bothering to look around for the invisible mage.

"Go one without me," the wizard hissed from somewhere nearby. "I've got a plan."

"Huzair..." Shamalin paused, a note of worry creeping into her voice. She half-turned, but of course she could see no sign of her companion.

"Go on!" the wizard hissed. "I will not hesitate to retreat if things get at all rough."
The cleric sighed and began to levitate downward.



Huzair had not wasted his time while the others dealt with the bizarre earth creatures. He'd started by casting _Detect Magic_, using the power of the spell to study the diffuse light that was radiating from the center of the bridge. Using the additional input he'd narrowed his search to the small recess that Lela had spotted earlier. But he couldn't see inside from his current position...

Still invisible, he reached into the large pouch at his hip and drew Sparky forth. The wizard knew that his familiar shared his own ability to _Detect Magic_ so long as Huzair continued to concentrate on it, was both small enough and agile enough to examine the small recess, and was easily as smart as the dwarf. Smiling, he released the bird and Sparky tumbled in the air for a moment until he righted himself and then he flickered up to hover in front of Huzair's inverted face.

"Go down and check out the source of all that magic," the wizard instructed. "We're looking for-"

"The elemental earth key," Sparky finished, his tone snarky. "Yeah. I know. Sheesh! Did you think I wasn't paying attention all this time?" Huzair smirked.

"Pinpoint it and-" he started, but again Sparky cut him off.

"You'll have your _Unseen Servant_ pick it up," the bird twittered. "I'm right there with you, boss." He started to dart away, but Huzair called him back.

"And stay safe, little buddy," he reminded. The bird winked once before fluttering away.

"Always do, boss," he said as he dropped down toward the bridge.



On the way down, Ayremac's _Sacred Healing_ continued to work its curative magic on their wounds. The Holy Warrior used his _Cure Light Wounds_ wand to further heal himself as he descended and by the time he landed, he'd brought himself back to full health.

"Does anyone else need any healing?" he asked, holding up the wand, but both Morier and Karak were nearly cured of all their injuries and both shook their heads. Above them, Shamalin descended slowly. As they watched her drift down, Karak began to go over battle plans.

"Phew, those earth elementals be tough. I think we are gonna need a plan here," he grumbled, drawing a gauntleted fist across his sweating brow. He looked up at the bridge far overhead. "Me thinks Lela should fly up and spread that confusion dust o' hers. Meanwhile we need to be buffed up before combat. And let's try some ways to focus our energies on that bridge. Maybe if'n me take 'er down the elementals will nae get up."

"Uh, Karak," Ayremac interrupted. When the dwarf turned, the holy warrior pointed at the broken tangle of limbs that had been Lela. Karak's face fell as he was reminded of the sprite's fate.

"Oh, aye," he muttered into his beard. "Let's jus' move back a bit, establish a watch order and get some rest so's we can get the spellcasters up to speed."

Shamalin landed a moment later and she bent at once to Lela's body. Spot yowled threateningly at the cleric, its hackles raised, but it did not attack her as she carefully straightened the faen's corpse into a more dignified position. "It is not for me to comprehend what the gods do and do not allow. Perhaps Lela was beyond our mortal ability to heal and Flor, in her infinite wisdom, sped her release," she said as she worked on the sprite's corpse. When that was done, she looked up at the others before continuing,  "Or maybe it was simply a careless mistake. We so carefully agreed not to divide when the question of our loyalty was put to the test. We cannot afford to split up again. It was foolish of us to let her go ahead."

She stood then and looked at Morier. "We will end up paying the price of these keys with our lives," she told him, her tone not angry or accusatory, but it was grimly resigned.



"I found it, boss," Sparky twittered and Huzair grinned. "At least I think so. It's not a key, but it is sending off a lot of magic."

"What does it look like?" the wizard asked, concerned that perhaps this wasn't the key after all and his cunning stratagem would fail. 

"Just a rock, really. It's got carvings all over it, though," Sparky told him. "And there's a lot of other stuff too. Diamonds, a knife, some jewelry. Some of that stuff is magical too."

"Right," the wizard nodded. "Go back down and I'll send the Servant to collect things."

"I did good, right, boss?" the hummingbird asked and Huzair smiled.

"You did good, little buddy," the mage told him as he began to cast._"Invisus apparitor!"_ he commanded and the air shimmered in front of him as the _Servant_ coalesced _Unseen_ from the ether. Huzair pointed to the bridge below. "Go and gather the items that the bird indicates. Bring them to me."

The _Servant_ dropped downward without hesitation.



"Shamalin, we all knew-" Morier started to say, but he stopped as an earthen maw opened beside the cleric, snapping down on her left leg at the knee. She cried out in pain as the teeth pierced her flesh and blood began to flow.

Without hesitation Ayremac stepped forward and swung his morningstar at the thing, but the glowing weapon merely slid off the creature's stoney hide.

Karak took a step and drove his waraxe into the thing twice, opening the same bloodless gashes that he'd inflicted on one of the others. In fact that same wounded thing rose up at that moment seeking the dwarf's armored torso, but its jaws closed on empty air.

Morier took a moment to cast true strike while a third of the things came up and sank its fangs into Ayremac, undoing in one strike most of the healing that the holy warrior had applied to himself.

Shamalin's eyes went wide as a fourth creature - one that they had as yet not seen - rose up from the earth behind her and snapped its maw shut around her right leg. Her grieve kept her from losing the limb, but the wound was never the less a critical one and her face showed shock before her eyes rolled up in her head and she pitched forward with a clatter.

"Shamalin!" Ayremac cried, activating his _Sacred Healing_ again in the hopes of keeping her from bleeding to death at his feet. One of the things turned on him and tried in vain to pierce his armor.

Karak sank two more solid blows into the creature he'd already wounded. The damage was clearly adding up, but not as quickly as the dwarf reckoned it should. "We need our weapons aligned!" he cursed. "They're shrugging off our attacks!" His curse became a cry of pain as one of the things reached up and clamped its jaws down on his left arm as if trying to swallow his buckler and the arm it was attached to.

Morier stepped forward and brought Ravager down in a massive downward stroke that drove the blade half a foot into the nearest of the monstrosities. It let out a pain-filled cry and twitched as the eldritch warrior drew out the saw-toothed blade. A torrent of sandy soil poured from the rent in its body, but it did not fall. Instead it turned and lashed out at him angrily. He managed to avoid its jaws, but its claws lashed him unrepentantly, slicing through his magical leather armor like it was paper.

Ayremac stepped toward the eldritch warrior, ignoring the attacks that rained down on his back as he went. "Of all the gods, you Umba, have the true sight that lets you tell right from wrong, justice from injustice, good from evil...I ask that you grant your protection to my ally and keep him from harm!!" Ayremac cried out as he moved. Laying a hand on Morier's shoulder, he imbued him with a ward to _Protect_ him from _Evil_.

Karak traded blows with two of the things, but none of the combatants managed to land a telling blow on their opponent.

Morier attempted to cast another _True Strike_, but couldn't maintain his concentration while trying to avoid the blows of the monster in front of him. The air flickered as he lost the spell, but there was no other obvious effect. He cursed; he could only cast that spell twice more before his reserves were spent. As he mused over this, the creature that stood between himself and Ayremac bit into his arm and slashed once at his chest.

The one on the holy warrior's far side bit into his weapon arm, almost causing him to drop his morningstar. He heard something crunch inside his armor, but he maintained his grip both on his weapon and on consciousness. The latter was a near thing, however. He staggered backward, withdrawing from the combat even as he withdrew his wand from its hiding place.

Karak saw the holy warrior pulling back, blood staining his green plate mail a sick brownish black and he understood that they were surely done for. With Shamalin down, there was little hope of keeping the warriors on their feet long enough to slay these things. He roared once in anger and slammed the blade of his waraxe against the body of the thing he'd been fighting so intently. A sizable chunk of its armor sloughed off, but in all it was like trying to fight a boulder with teeth!

Morier took a step back and tried again to cast _True Strike_ and this time he succeeded. "Now", he thought as he watched the nearest creature approach, "If I can just live long enough to make use of the magic." He avoided the clamping jaws, and one of the claws, but the other two scored his flesh again, bringing him inexorably closer to death.

One of the creatures broke off to follow Ayremac. The holy warrior was able to fend off its attack with his shield, but if was clear that he wasn't going to get the peace he'd need to use his wand.

"Flor have mercy," Shamalin groaned as Ayremac's _Sacred Healing_ finally brought her back to consciousness. She rolled awkwardly to the side, bringing her shield up between herself and the nearest of the things long enough to invoke a _Sanctuary_ spell that she hoped would give her time to heal herself and anyone else who needed it. The creature turned and went to slash her but then at the last minute it paused, unable to resist her protective ward.

Ayremac stepped back again and used his wand, closing some of his wounds, but leaving many, many others open and bleeding.

Karak saw that Shamalin was awake and he drove his axe into the thing that was menacing her. The blade severed one of its spindly arms and split the thing nearly in half. The dwarf's mighty blow cleaved then into the body of the other creature that was attacking him. The follow-up blow sank deep, but failed to drop the thing entirely. Still, it looked very near to falling.

"So ye foul things can die after all, eh?" Karak growled, a dark light shining in his eyes as he devoted his full attention to the last beast within reach.

On the other side of the crater, Ravager hungrily split another of the things. Raw earth exploded from the wound and it seemed almost to deflate as it collapsed in a pile at the albino's feet.

As Ayremac defended himself against the only unwounded monster, Shamalin scrambled awkwardly to her feet and channelled a _Cure Moderate Wounds_ spell into herself.

Karak's blade dropped his opponent and he eyed the one menacing Ayremac. Morier moved forward and cast his last _True Strike_. Ayremac kept on the defensive, stepping away to use his wand until Morier was close enough to hit it. Ravager opened a horrible wound in its side and a moment later, Karak's axe did the same, but it was a pair of _Magic Missiles_ that finally made the thing drop.

Everyone turned to see Huzair slowly descending from above. He blew across his outstretched fingertip and grinned. As he neared the ground, the runes around the perimeter of the crater lit up and pulsed in time to the glowing thing that the mage clutched in his other hand.

"Anybody want to get out of here?" he asked as his feet touched down outside the circle.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Reading Huzair's interaction with his familiar reminds me of an old Sylvester the cat cartoon. The bulldog and the little excitable runt dog, the little dog would bounce all around the bulldog suggestion different things they could do always seeking acceptance from the bulldog. "You want I should beat up the cat for ya Mike?"


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## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Reading Huzair's interaction with his familiar reminds me of an old Sylvester the cat cartoon. The bulldog and the little excitable runt dog, the little dog would bounce all around the bulldog suggestion different things they could do always seeking acceptance from the bulldog. "You want I should beat up the cat for ya Mike?"




I know the one.   

This is the first time that Sparky got any real personality and I wanted to make him a real personality. Much of his demeanor stems from in-jokes at Huzair's player. For instance, he's always the one asking "So, why are we here, again?" so I had to make Sparky hyper attentive to the goings on, etc. etc.

I'm one of those DMs who think a familiar is a good chance to offer up some roleplay opportunities. As opposed to those DMs who think they're a good chance to hamstring the player by targetting them in combat.

Not that I'm above targetting them in combat, of course.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #368] Honor Among Thieves*

Morier smiled at the wizard as he sheathed Ravager. "Huzair, that was a masterful plan," he cheered. Winking at Karak he added, "And we said he was useless." The dwarf snorted laughter and Huzair glared indignantly.

"Maybe next time you guys will stay focused and not get distracted by the opportunity to kill something," he snapped.

"Huzair, I appreciate your quick return to the battle," Ayremac added as he limped back toward the crater which was now filled with a diffuse glow. "Your last minute contribution made the difference."

"Pressing on to look for the key really was a fantastic idea that I, for one, didn't pay enough attention to," Shamalin added quietly. She cast her eyes downward meekly. "Well done." Huzair shrugged with fake modestly.

"Morier, it brought me back to my youth in Farmin," he said with a nostalgic grin. "Just like a bar fight in the Silent Siren. When the fists started flying it meant to fill your pockets. That was the time to do the looting." He winked.

"Lets see what you have there," Ayremac suggested, angling to look at the glowing object the wizard was keeping half-hidden in his left hand.

"I cannot impress upon you enough, Huzair, how important it is that you show us everything you picked up in that alcove," Morier said, stepping close to the mage, his eyes fixed on Huzair's hand.

"Here is the entire haul Sparky and I retrieved from the lair," he said, handing Morier the glowing stone and then reaching into his haversack for some other treasures. He pulled out a wavy-bladded dagger, a small buckler with a stylized lightning bolt enamelled on it, a ring set all around with tiny, bright blue polished stones, an amulet of red gold carved with a pattern of overlapping scales, and a plain silver circlet. He then reached back in and pulled out a double handful of glittering cut diamonds. Morier looked at him stone-faced.

"Everything, Huzair," he said flatly. The wizard huffed in response.

"I said the entire haul, Morier!" he snapped, crossing his arms defiantly. "Don't look at me like that."

"We don't know exactly what the 'key' is, so it could be anything," Morier argued. "Show us what you have found."

"What? The big glowy rock carved with the earth rune that activates the portal we entered the earth test by doesn't seem like the key to you?" Huzair snarked, pointing to the glowing rock in the albino's hands and then the ring of runes on the floor of the cavern.

"Isn't the pull in your head telling you anything?" Shamalin asked and Morier shook his head. Karak harrumphed.

"It'll do ye nae good to hide anythin' from us, wizard!" the dwarf threatened, wagging his waraxe at the mage. "We live or die together! Now hand it over!"

"Kiss my ass, you greedy dwarf," Huzair shouted. "Garan Zak always said people see what they don't like about themselves in people that are different and they are jealous of. You may be strong in body, but I am strong in mind." He waved his hand and nodded at the dwarf. "Nice job killing those elementals by the way."

Karak just harrumphed in replied and Huzair turned to Morier. "Great combination of magic and fighting... just like Brynn-Toth from the texts I read," he said clapping the albino once on the arm. "I will have to get True Strike from you some time. Uncle Appie would be proud!" He smiled, but Morier wasn't letting the conversation turn so easily.

"Huzair..." he threatened and the mage huffed, reaching into The Valiant Vessel bag at his hip.

"Oh wait," he said as if he'd just remembered something. "I picked up a pair of these!" He turned, pulling both his hands out of the bag and showing them both to Morier and Kark. The middle fingers of both were extended obscenely.

Sparky twittered merrily in Huzair's ear. "Good one, boss. You got three birds!"

"Huzair, my faith in you grows each day," Ayremac said patiently as he stepped forward. "As I said, I appreciate your efforts in saving my neck moments ago..."

"Then just take my word for it and it won't become an issue. You saw everything in the bag," he said, backing up a step and angling his haversack so that Ayremac could see inside. "Sparky, are you holding out on me?"

The hummingbird twittered back at him and Huzair laughed. "He thinks you guys are funny. He has more sense of humor than all of you put together," the wizard quipped.

Undaunted, Ayremac stepped closer again. "Huzair, this is important," he told him, his voice low, but menacing. "Look me in the eye and tell me you have revealed everything!"

"Fine!" the wizard snapped. "Come on, Ayremac. Stare me down and see if I am lying... I am not! I'm damned tired of being accused, though! You all think I am a halfling or something.."

Ayremac studied the dark-skinned mage, his eyes narrowed as he appraised Huzair. There was a long, pregnant pause during which no one spoke and then Ayremac stepped back.

"He's telling the truth," the holy warrior admitted to the others.

"There seems to be more concern for the contents of Huzair's sack than for Lela," Shamalin said, gesturing sadly toward the faen's splintered body. "Let's not let the discovery of any key overshadow the loss of another life... no matter how small. Wouldn't you agree, Huzair?" The mage shrugged.

"Hey, I did not start it. This interrogation wasn't my idea," he snapped, examining his cigar as he spoke and waving dismissively at Morier, Ayremac and Kark. "Talk to these three."

Morier set his mouth in a thin line, saying nothing, but Ayremac sighed and looked ashamed. "I apologize, Shamalin. You are of course correct."

"Yeah, it's too bad Lela is gone," Huzair agreed. "She was good at detecting magic." Karak glowered at the mage and shouldered passed him to approach the faen's corpse. As he came, Spot yowled menacingly, its hackles bristling as it slunk backward reluctantly.

"And what do we do with kitty over here when he gets hungry?" the wizard asked aloud as he sized the animal up thinking perhaps that its skin would make a nice jacket. The dwarf, however, held out the back of his fist for Spot to sniff.

"Do any of ye have any skill with handlin' animals?" the dwarf asked, without taking his eyes off the cheetah.

"Not formal training," Shamalin said. "But I've been told I have a way with animals." She looked at Ayremac, wondering if he would comment or even remember the trouble she used to have with the market butchers. He did not look at her, however.

"I have a bit of experience," the holy warrior admitted instead. "Mostly with regard to horses, though. But the basics should be the same, I would think." Karak tried to pat the cheetah, but it slapped angrily at his hand, hissing.

"There there, Spot. I know it must hurt ye to lose her. I miss her too," the dwarf said, his voice heavy with emotion. Tears welled up in his eyes and he brushed them away with a guantleted hand. "She was a good sprite. A good wee lass. I'm going to miss her riding on me armor. May Shaharizod guide her soul."

"Shall I say a few words?" Ayremac asked, removing his helmet. His voice was reassuring and as soft as velvet. He looked at Morier and then Huzair, who just shrugged and puffed on his cigar. Shamalin nodded stiffly and produced her own holy symbol.

"Those who wish to may join me in a moment of prayer," the holy warrior suggested as he placed his weapons of war to the side and knelt at Lela's body.

"Umba, it is with great sadness that I call to you today," Ayremac intoned, his arms spread wide. "Although her small form may be misleading, I trust that your great wisdom will see truly that she is a great warrior. She joined this quest - as did we all - with much taken on faith. It is a quest passed from one warrior to another, unsure of the source or of the possible outcomes. She died trying to protect the rest of us, and although evil has taken greatly from us this day, I trust in you Umba, that her sacrifice will be repaid in blood and the victory of this party."

"It is now that I ask a great favor Umba, please fix your watchful eye upon this little sprite. Make her journey easy, carry her when her little wings are not strong enough to continue. I would gladly walk her one hundred days, Great Umba, if it were possible," he finished by bowing his head and saying, "With great praise."

Ayremac remained kneeling silently, for a few moments, allowing the others a chance to say their own prayers. He did not rise until after Karak got to his own feet saying,  "Bye Lassie. You put up a good fight against Chaos. Your faen people would be proud."

"Would she want to be returned home?" Ayremac asked softly and Huzair rolled his eyes.

"Carry a rotting corpse around with us?" the mage asked, his lip curling in disgust. "You've got to be joking!"

"There is magic that can preserve her body," the holy warrior explained. "The Justiciars of Umba were capable of casting it. I believe that it is within Shamalin's power as well."

"You're talking about _Gentle Repose_?" she asked and the Officer nodded. "I can do it if we rest and allow me time to pray and prepare."

"I don't think that's necessary," Morier said. "She followed The Green. She would want to be returned to the earth... or burned. Not artificially preserved."

"Looks like some good came of you wasting all that time with druids and rangers instead of doing your studies, Morier," Huzair quipped, glad of a reason to not carry around a corpse.

"I know this sounds callous, but we should take her belongings to both remember her by and to not let her magic gear fall into enemy hands," Karak said reluctantly. "What does she have that be the right size for all of us?"



*DAY TWO IN THE ELEMENTAL NODES*​
They dealt with their fallen comrade's body, divided up her enchanted gear, and spent the night in the soft glow of the crater. When they awoke, Shamalin and Huzair prepared their spells, and they stepped into the crater as one. The light flared and they found themselves once more in the pentagonal hub. Everything was as they'd last seen it except that the indentation in the center of the room marked with the Earth rune was glowing softly, pulsing in time with the glow if the cube of stone that Morier held in his hands.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> "Not formal training," Shamalin said. "But I've been told I have a way with animals." She looked at Ayremac, wondering if he would comment or even remember the trouble she used to have with the market butchers. He did not look at her, however.
> 
> "I have a bit of experience," the holy warrior admitted instead. "Mostly with regard to horses, though. But the basics should be the same, I would think." Karak tried to pat the cheetah, but it slapped angrily at his hand, hissing.




A cat whisperer and a horse whisperer? And Karak can listen to the rocks, so really you've got a party of psychics and you're hiding it from us.  All they're missing now is a Huzair whisperer and they'll be all set.


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> All they're missing now is a Huzair whisperer and they'll be all set.




Yeah, I don't think that such a thing exists! Huzair's untameable.  

I must say that his double middle finger bit followed by Sparky's "three birds" comment had me rolling on the floor. That was vintage Huzair there!


----------



## Neurotic

eh, i caught up with the updates.

I hate when that happens, now I have to wait for new ones.

You're doing good job in describing events at your table. Good DM and good players and non-std FR, you make me disregard my work and read, read, read...keep it up !

'nuff praise  Here be questions:

Do you kill so many PCs on purpose so you can try another one (since you mentioned this is kind of testing adventure) or is it just sub-optimal PCs vs. some hard modules?

What races are faens? Where can one find the description of pixie (and the rest) as a player race? Or you just put some classes on monster manual desc?

Tnx


----------



## Jon Potter

Neurotic said:
			
		

> eh, i caught up with the updates.
> 
> I hate when that happens, now I have to wait for new ones.




Well, luckily for you, I'm very routine about posting every week. There are no long droughts in your future.

Thanks a bunch for reading and commenting. Sorry about interfering with your work, though.   



> Do you kill so many PCs on purpose so you can try another one (since you mentioned this is kind of testing adventure) or is it just sub-optimal PCs vs. some hard modules?




Good question. Do I really kill that many PCs? Everyone in the group is on at least their second character, but it doesn't seem egregious to me. Of course I am the DM, so I could be wrong. Maybe one of my players could chime in on that one.

As far as why they die, the answer is simply: the dice said so.

I love telling this story, and I want the players to succeed in order to further that story. However, if a roll a critical hit that drops one of them, then they drop. This is a game and luck (or lack thereof) is a part of the game. I *really* don't believe in excessive fudging; it cheapens the game for me. I hate it when a DM I'm playing with does it and so I don't do it when I'm "behind the screen".

I absolutely do not go out of my way to kill any PCs, but I absolutely do let the chips fall where they may.



> What races are faens? Where can one find the description of pixie (and the rest) as a player race? Or you just put some classes on monster manual desc?




Faens are from Monte Cook's Arcana Unearthed/Arcana Evolved book. Lela used those rules without modification (except where I had to translate to the standard PHB spells). She worked out quite well. Flight wasn't as big a game breaker as I feared it would be and her tiny size was both a blessing and a curse for the party.

Using the MM pixie wouldn't pass my 'balance test' without a debilitating level adjustment. Oddly enough, there are several current PCs in the group with debilitating level adjustments. Including one who can fly.

You can consider that a teaser.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> Oddly enough, there are several current PCs in the group with debilitating level adjustments. Including one who can fly.
> 
> You can consider that a teaser.




A Vrock?   

A Geomancer?   

A Fiendish mummy with the winged template?   

An aerodynamic kobold thrown by a storm giant with the far shot feat?


----------



## The Dark Elf

Neurotic said:
			
		

> Do you kill so many PCs on purpose so you can try another one (since you mentioned this is kind of testing adventure) or is it just sub-optimal PCs vs. some hard modules?




If I may be so bold as to offer my two cents on that question as a player in this campaign:

I so badly want to tell you that Jon kills PCs because he is an evil bastard. (Which he is.)  

But, you know what?  If he didn't "kill so many PCs", I'm pretty sure that our group  would have dissolved long ago. (I am one of the newcomers to the group at a fraction over 6 years.)

It's the simple fact that as a player, I know that I can do anything I want to do... but as in reality, there are consequences.  Jon doesn't (often) direct our decisions to fit in with what he planned, and that's what makes everyone in our group feel a certain level of ownership. It isn't *us* playing in *his* game. 

I'm sure that there are probably subtleties that have had to be perpetrated to dissuade our party (which is a lot like a very dysfunctional family in-game and in real life) from chasing butterflies for a month, but I don't think I could identify more than a sparse handful of times that he's said "nope, can't do that."

I'm not sure if I conveyed my thoughts very clearly, but I hope I got the point across.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #369] The Key of Earth*

"Ah, now lookie there. We've got the rune key, ta be sure," Karak sighed, looking in awe at the stone in Morier's tightly clasped fists. "You know, I 'alf expected it to stick to Morier's head like fleece to a lamb. Heh!"

"Okay, Whitey," Huzair called, elbowing Morier. "What do we do with the keys now that we have one?"

"I'm not sure," the albino admitted, taking a hesitant step closer to the pattern of indentations in the center of the room. "I have a desire to place it in this depression here."

"Hold up a minute," the mage suggested, grabbing Morier's arm. "If I cast identify, could I tell what it does?"

"I don't know, Huzair," Morier said again. "This is all new to me too." Karak harrumphed and stepped in front of the eldritch warrior.

"Now I do nae know who said it - maybe t'were the Great Oak - but I think the keys themselves be magical. I do believe the give us power over the elemental assigned to 'em. I say let us regroup 'ere in this chamber. It seems to me that we be safe in 'ere and when we are ready to go, we insert the key into the glowing spot there and we be let out."

"Do you believe then that we cannot pass on to the next test until we've placed the key where it belongs?" Shamalin asked wearily. The place was beginning to take a toll on her spirit.

"Dunno," Karak shrugged. "But I'd like to do a bit o' checkin o' the thing 'fore we go stickin' somewhere it might nae come out of agi'n."

"Morier, let Karak "play" with the key," Ayremac suggested and Huzair quickly interjected.

"Woah! This is some kind of artifact!" he protested. "I don't think it's wise to let the dwarf "play" with it; it's not a beer stein!." Karak glared at the wizard but Ayremac responded smoothly.

"I think these are instruments of good, so no harm will come to him," the holy warrior replied to Huzair before turning his attention once more to Morier. "When he is done, you can place the key in, is that acceptable?"

"I suppose," the eldritch warrior agreed, reluctantly offering the stone to Karak. As soon as it left his hands he missed its reassuring weight. The dwarf looked at the rune-carved rock with awe and Huzair snorted derisively.

"Fine!" he snapped, stalking away to the far side of the chamber. "I have some work to do before the dwarf makes us all blow up or something." He sat down and began pulling his many spellbooks out of his haversack.



Karak fiddled with the key for what seemed like only a few moments to him but felt like an hour to those watching. He couldn't make it do anything, although as Morier had noted, holding the stone filled him with an urge to put it in the depression in the floor. At last he shook his head and relinquished it to the elf.

"I can nae make it do a thing," he scoffed. "Mayhaps we should have the wizard examine it with his magic." But Morier shook his pale head.

"Enough delaying," he said stepping up to the socket set into the floor. He knelt beside the earth rune and carefully lined up the key to the depression. It slid home perfectly, glowed briefly and then faded, leaving no trace of either key or socket. The floor beside the earth rune was seamless.

Morier looked up at the others with the beginnings of fear touching his eyes.

"Did you lose it?" Huzair asked. He sounded perversely as if he hoped that Morier had. 

"No. Look," Shamalin urged, pointing at the central shaft sunk into the floor amidst the three remaining sockets. It glowed softly as if light were rising from some unguessable depth. Morier scrambled forward, looking down into the well and light bathed his features, making him squint painfully at first and then shield his eyes altogether as he thrust his arm into the shaft and drew a greatsword forth.

"A sword!?" Huzair spat, exasperated. "All this work and all we get is a stupid sword?"

"NOT JUST A SWORD, SOFT ONE!" a voice thundered from the dull gray weapon. "I AM STONEBLADE, SCION OF EARTH. MIGHTIEST OF THE ELEMENTAL BLADES! SPEAK ILL OF ME AGAIN AND YOU WILL NOT LIVE LONG ENOUGH TO REGRET IT!"


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #370] The Next Step*

Jaws dropped all around, and if Morier's grip on the greatsword hadn't galvanized at that moment, he would have dropped it to the ground in shock.

"Sorry, I did not know you could hear me," Huzair replied smoothly, not missing a beat. "I am not used to dealing with relics of great power."

"DO NOT LET IT HAPPEN AGAIN!" the blade thundered.

"Good one, dark wizard!" Karak managed to chuckle. "You've just met the sword and already it knows not to like you!." Huzair shot a withering glance at the dwarf and moved back to his spellbooks, uninterested in yet another sharp pointy thing. Karak, however, felt just the opposite.

"Shaharizod's beard, Morier! You 'ave unearthed an elemental blade. Balazaar talked to me about these once. I do believe they be intelligent weapons with their own mind and, as we all just heard, the ability to speak. It is said they and the wielder form a great bond that cannot just merely be dropped. The wielder can store great power in these weapons. It makes perfect sense to me now: the earth key grants ye spell-like powers over the earth. We can now assume the other keys will do the same, Fire, Water, and Air. These shall surely aid in the fight against Chaos. If only Ledare were here to see this. She would have loved it!"

Morier looked awestruck at the gray stone sword, his mouth gone suddenly dry with excitement. "An elemental blade... Being an earthy, dwarven-type, it makes the most sense for you to be the holder of such an item, Karak."

"Woah! Really!" Karak exclaimed mouth agape and eyes aglitter with longing. "You would give me such a fine weapon? Well I do nae know what to say. I truly be touched."

"Gee Morier, doesn't the dwarf already have a weapon of great power? Why do you want to give away one of the greatest weapons known to man?" Huzair called from across the room. "Since it is intelligent, I am sure it will try to teach you something too."

"And anyway, I have a feeling that it be YOU who the sword chose," Karak added regretfully. "I do nae know if'n it would now e'en allow me to use it. Balazaar mentioned that once a sword chooses its owner it take strong magic to switch the bond. I do nae know perhaps the dark one knows better than I. But me thinks you should keep the sword, choose its edge and use it. Mayhaps one of the other keys be meant for me. Besides me and me Frost Axe ain't done yet. She be magical too, as ye know. Mayhaps if'n one of the tests be cold, I can put that key into the keyhole and we'll see what happens. That'd be what I say! Maybe Aryemac may use the sword?"

"ENOUGH?!?" Stoneblade bellowed. Its voice, like the sound of boulders clashing against one another, echoed around the small chamber. "I AM THE AWESOME SCION OF EARTH! I'LL NOT BE HANDED ABOUT LIKE... SOME COMMON... DOXIE!" Morier's expression seemed even paler as he looked wide-eyed at the greatsword twisting in his hand like a living thing... which, he supposed, in a way it was.

"Hold on! I certainly wasn't trying to pawn you off on anyone!" the eldritch warrior soothed. "I want you. I'll take you and use you and damned straight you're awesome. I just thought perhaps you'd be more comfortable with someone with a natural affinity for stone but if you were meant to be mine... then it was meant to be."

The sword growled skeptically, a sound like gravel being ground inside a fist.

"Stoneblade, it seems that proper etique would warrent introductions," Ayremac stepped in, doffing his helmet and bowing diplomatically as he spoke. "I am Ayremac, Holy Warrior of Umba. I quest along side these able warriors."

"UMBA IS UNKNOWN TO ME!" Stoneblade told him (1). "BUT THERE IS MUCH THAT I DO NOT KNOW!"

"Might I ask, Stoneblade, how is that you came to be here?" Ayremac went on.

"YOU MAY ASK, BUT AS I SAID, THERE IS MUCH THAT I DO NOT KNOW!" the sword replied. "MY BOTHER SCIONS AND I WERE CRAFTED BY THE KEEPERS OF THE GROVE WITH THE HELP OF A CABAL OF DRUIDS AND WARMAGES FOR THE SPECIAL PURPOSE OF RELEASING DRIDANA'S HEART!"

"We are fighting against the rise of Aphyx, and we too seek to free Dridana," the holy warrior explained. "My hope is that your knowledge of the past and those who built this place might help us to complete this quest in one piece."

"MY KNOWLEDGE IS INCOMPLETE, HOLY WARRIOR OF UMBA!" Stoneblade said, and there seemed to be an undertone of regret in the great voice. "BUT I DO KNOW THIS: WITHOUT THE SCIONS OF FIRE, AIR AND WATER, YOUR QUEST TO FREE DRIDANA WILL FAIL!"

Morier again repeated the Water elemental's words - words he'd long ago put to memory: "...we Keepers, Dridana's most powerful servants, were able to craft four keys that would breach Lady Rot's defenses. These keys we hid away in a pocket not unlike the Grove itself, apart from the Green but linked to it. Each key grants its wielder great power over one of the four elements. And each key must be brought to bear to free Dridana's heart. Once the heart is reunited with the body, the Fruitful One will be reborn. And great and terrible shall be her wrath." 

"WELL SPOKEN!" Stoneblade said and the blade seemed to thrum with happiness.

"Well we aim to get the other keys soon enough," Karak assured the weapon.

"One down - three to go," Morier added. Looking at the rest of the group and then to the spot where Lela should have been, he couldn't help but wonder if there was a certain dark interpretation to be found deep within those words.



They passed the time in the cramped chamber as best they could. Shamalin's magic kept them fed and watered while Huzair scribed scrolls and used some of the pearls he'd found in the workshop with the screaming corpse to Identify some of the more interesting items they found since stepping through the portal in the back of the cave. Ayremac spent his time tending his armor and praying, Karak worked on his own armor and then Shamalin's.

It was impossible to tell if it was day or night, but Huzair was able to judge the passage of time by how readily he could cast spells and prepare new ones. On what was to them the morning of the third day, Morier roused them briskly and The Order prepared themselves to set off on the chosen pathway: to the Fire node. The heavy wooden door adorned with a Fire rune symbol swung open at Karak's hand revealing nothing but a black void beyond. Clutching Stoneblade firmly in two hands, Morier led the party through, each of them stepping blindly into the darkness... and reconvening on the other side as one. Shamalin felt the immediate sensation that something was wrong, but all attention was commanded by the six-armed creature advancing toward them.

It was huge, standing at least fifteen feet tall and seemingly made entirely of interlocking plates of metal. It was humanoid in general aspect, with two splayed legs supporting an armored torso surmounted by a helmeted head from which two red eyes burned. But its shoulders bristled with arms and each arm brandished a wicked-looking weapon, each one longer than any of them was tall. It strode ponderously forward across a stone bridge that it blocked completely. On the opposite side of the span they could see another door marked with the fire rune.

Shamalin closed her eyes against the apparition seeking the reassuring presence of her goddess, but found only emptiness. She was almost certainly being punished. Or maybe she had been abandoned all together. Her speculation was interrupted by the creature's screech.

"I yield only to the wise warrior!" it bellowed, its voice hollow and lifeless in the space.

For a moment no one moved and the sound of the thing's metallic body sliced through the silence as it worked its numerous body appendages.

"I'll go in first," Karak whispered to Morier and Ayremac. "Hit it on the left side, then you two follow up on the right. Mayhaps we can force it over the-"

"No! Wait!" Shamalin cried out, laying a hand on Karak's arm. "The wise warrior! Don't you get it? The wise warrior knows only to fight when he must."

"What are you suggesting, Shamalin?" Morier asked skeptically.

"Watch," she told him and started walking forward with her sword sheathed and her arms spread wide.

"Shamalin! No!" Ayremac cried and lurched after her, but Morier and Karak restrained him, giving the priestess her chance. She approached the towering monstrosity slowly but deliberately, unnerved by the clatter and hiss of its many limbs above her. Its eyes focused on her intently, but it did not molest her in any way as she walked between its legs and toward the door on the far side.

"Well I'll be damned!" Huzair snorted in disbelief.

The next test was almost as easy. 



They stepped through the portal and into a small chamber dominated by an enormous rock worn smooth by time. It was featureless except for two things: a dark hole perhaps a foot across and a bit of poetry carved beside it.


_"A gem of legend ye shall find
If to this rock your fate ye bind!
This rock, sought long be knights before
Ye found yourselves at peril's door.
Endure ye now this test of greed
Let will surpass, and sin recede!"_​

"Clearly, we need to not be greedy," Ayremac suggested as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Eh?" Karak grunted, fixing the Officer with an appraising eye. "Do nae be so quick to throw away the chance to get a gem! Mayhaps we'll need it to complete the test."

"I think this rock IS the test, Karak," Ayremac explained, patting the huge boulder. Karak harrumphed.

"It says "a gem of legend"!" the dwarf countered looking to the others for support.

"I think Ayremac's right," Morier said. "We need to leave the rock."

"It's a test of greed, Karak," the holy warrior went on. "Do you understand what that means?"

"I understand what ye THINK it means," the dwarf countered and thrust his arm into the hole. "Aye! There's a gem alright! An' she's a big one! I can barely get me hand 'round it!"

"Do not remove it from the rock!" Morier asserted, pressing his hand against Karak's back.

"As much as I'd like to see my cut of a stone that size, I've got to agree with Morier and Mr. Goodie-good," Huzair quipped.

"Please, Karak," Shamalin added and, cursing venomously, the dwarf let the gem stay where it was and drew out his arm.

The door on the far side of the room clicked open.



A wave of energy coursed through each of them as they passed through the portal. Their vision blurred momentarily and they each had the queer sensation of falling rapidly sideways until a heartbeat later their senses snapped back to normal. They found themselves crowded in the middle of a large piece of obsidian floating on a sea of molten lava. Silvery runes glowed along the edges of the obsidian.

It was oppressively hot and a thick sulphurous stench filled the air. Lava bubbled and spewed around them. Dozens of other floating sheets of obsidian dotted the surface of the lava floe, each bobbing 10 to 15 feet from the next nearest piece. Against the haze of the heat, they could all see a bright red glow coming from a sheet of obsidian some 100 feet away.

The air was painful to breath it was so hot, but Huzair grinned devilishly. "I think I could learn to like it here," he said, not looking bothered by the heat in the least.

-----------------------------------------------------

(1) Umba is the newest deity in the pantheon. You may remember someone mentioning that twice in the history of the world gods had been slain. Dridana was the first, "slain" by Aphyx. The second was the Goddess Rhianne, betrothed of Ibrahil the True. She was ripped in half by Ibrahil's nemesis, the God of Murder, and it was her death that spurred Ibrahil to castrate himself in grief. From Rhianne's corpse rose Umba, Judge of the Dead.
Stoneblade was sealed away before Umba's "birth".


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> "Gee Morier, doesn't the dwarf already have a weapon of great power? Why do you want to give away one of the greatest weapons known to man?" Huzair called from across the room. "Since it is intelligent, I am sure it will try to teach you something too."




Sounds like Huzair has a little teifling in him.   

I think it would have been highly frustrating for your players to have the earth blade speak slow and methodical like the earth it represents. The fire blade could be passionate, the air blade flighty, and the water blade moody (as in comes and goes with the tide).


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Sounds like Huzair has a little teifling in him.




Actually, it's a little Elemarn. Of course, that doesn't account for his personality.



> I think it would have been highly frustrating for your players to have the earth blade speak slow and methodical like the earth it represents. The fire blade could be passionate, the air blade flighty, and the water blade moody (as in comes and goes with the tide).




Where were you when I was planning this?   

But actually, I read something similar with a Galeb-dur (sp?) in Rel's Faded Glory story hour. It's a great read, BTW; I heartily recommend all three of his Faded Glory story hours.

I don't think I have the patience for something like that. I have a hard enough remembering to use caps lock when typing up the sword's speech. And anyway, as the group eventually finds out, there's a common personality behind this and the other elemental swords.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #370] The Next Step*

"My _Boots of the Hinterlands_ are not going to help me 'ere," Karak grumbled, eying the place with a mixture of awe and concern.

The heat was insufferable. Shamalin could not remember the last time she felt such discomfort from being hot. During the summers of her youth she had relished even the warmest of days. But this was a different kind of heat - heavy and oppressive. Even breathing seemed painful. How could Huzair be talking so calmly?

"How do we get over there?" the wizard asked, eyeing the lava critically. "If we mess up a jump, we are dead." He casually flicked the butt of his latest cigar into the lava where it flashed momentarily into flame before being swiftly consumed.

Shamalin shifted uncomfortably and felt beads of sweat roll down her neck. Closing her eyes she prayed that, in spite of the darkness inside her and the fraying chords of her own faith, Flor would enable them to do what they must here and now.

"What about your jumping bracers, Morier?" Huzair asked. "Can they help you?" Absently, Huzair moved his hands through the somatic components of an _Endure Elements_ spell.

"I hope so," the eldritch warrior answered grimly and started casting his own _Endure Elements_.

Ayremac began the lengthy task of stripping off his armor. "Karak, if I might bother you to help me. I think I have the most agility here; I'll try to move forward and draw the attention of any "beasties" as you would say." He grinned at the dwarf as Karak began to tug at the man's straps. The dwarf said nothing in reply, but sweat was already streaming down his hirsute features.

"I won't even make a wise crack about buffing. I do not want to piss off your sword," Huzair observed, testing the temperature of his fluted metal bracer and smiling. Protected by the _Endure Elemetns_, his warcaster's armor no longer felt hot. "Maybe Stoneblade could give us a suggestion?"

"CAN ANY OF YOU FLY?" the sword responded flatly. If there was a note of sarcasm in the weapon's voice, it was well hidden.

Shamalin sighed as her _Protection from Fire_ spell took hold. It was still almost unbearably hot, but at least her armor wasn't cooking her anymore. She placed her hand fully on Ayremac's chestplate, even as he was struggling to divest it. Resisting the urge to withdraw from the already heated metal, she closed her eyes and reached out to her goddess, bestowing on her friend the ability to _Endure Elements_. Karak was next.

"I would love to send Sparky to explore," Huzair was saying, squinting off into the heat haze. "If I cast _Detect Magic_, it could save us time."

"I do nae think that little birdie should fly up there by hisself," Karak huffed and wiped sweat from his brow. "Remember what happened to the poor sprite? Maybe if'n it was invisible..." Huzair considered this but said nothing.

"Morier, I hate to say it, but I think you should sit back. You are holding a key now and that key needs to be kept safe," Ayremac said, pausing as he untied a leather thong holding his vambrace in position. Now that Shamalin's magic had alleviated the damage of his heating armor, his pace had grown less frantic. "We can't have it sinking to the bottom of a lava floe. Huzair, you have an affinity for this heat-"

"If you're going to get that armor off, get to it," Morier snapped. "We don't have the luxury of time for you to stand around and tell everyone what you think." The eldritch warrior imbued himself with _Bull's Strength_, relishing the surge as his muscles swelled with power.

Ayremac stopped, dropped his arm guard and turned to square off with Morier. "Do not speak to me in that way again, Morier, and you shall find that I pay you the same respect." He glared at the albino awaiting some acknowledgement that he'd been heard, but Morier just stared back at him.

"Do not worry, Morier," Huzair stage whispered, elbowing the elf. "I have your back."

Shamalin yanked especially hard on a piece of Ayremac's armor and said firmly, "We've got more important things to do right now!" The holy warrior turned to regard her, chagrinned.

"I have no problem with Morier jumping... but he is not going with that sword. If he falls, is knocked in by some fire elemental, whatever... it would be a catastrophe," he explained. He looked around then at Karak and Huzair, asking, "Am I alone in this?"

"Alone or not Holy Warrior, I will tell you that he is indeed going and he is indeed taking the sword with him," Morier said angrily. "At this point he is arguably the most fit to get from point A to point B safely, and he will be the only one wearing armor when we get across to whatever hellish beast awaits us. He is not leaving the sword behind, and he damn sure is not staying behind... so unless you are prepared to peel this sword from his cold dead hand, I suggest you shut up and jump!" Ayremac sighed.

"And I suggest you leave the Elemental Blade. But I am not your mommy, Morier, so you can do what you like," the Officer of Umba said, resigned. "I just hope you don't drop the sword or the world will end."

"Morier can do whatever the hell he wants! He can make it," Huzair snapped. "What is to say the monsters aren't going to come and knock us in right here?"

"Huzair, you bring a lot to this group and your powers are without question, however, your tact is poor and your arguments cause us to all waste energy that could be used for more useful purposes," Ayremac retorted, fixing a withering gaze on the wizard. "Find a way to control your tongue or you may find that someone else takes that control for you."

"Enough!" Shamalin said, the magic of her new _Circlet of Persuasion_ adding more weight to her words than she felt capable of mustering alone. "This is neither the time nor the place for this... foolish bickering." Huzair nodded.

"Let's not waste time arguing," he said, turning invisible. "Let's get there."

"I like Ayremac's plan except'n why're we all jumpin'?" Karak asked as he peeled away the holy warrior's pauldron. "Let's make us all impervious to fire then draw them to us. We can fight 'em here and no' risk all jumpin' that way!"



It was decided that - Elemental Blade not withstanding - Morier was the best choice to make his way across the lava floe. He wore non-restrictive leather armor plus he had the _Armbands of Jumping_, _Dust of Levitation_, and the added _Strength_ of a _Bull_ to aid in his passage. Layered with buffs, he glanced at the others and nodded. "Be ready," he told them. "If you're right, then there's a good chance I'll have company on my tail when I return." Shamalin caught and held his gaze as she approached and laid a final magical ward on him.

"This will shield you as you advance. Should you need to make an offensive move, the spell will be lost," She explained. Then her voice took on a contemptuous edge and she added, "Perhaps this way you will require fewer of my services later on."



During many a long walk with Malcolm in the woods around Hillville Junction, Morier had seen squirrels making unbelievable leaps from branch to branch through the treetops. The little rodents had seemed almost to fly as they moved about the canopy, and that's how Morier felt here as he jumped thirty feet across the stepping stones. Jumping across a lava floe this time was a great deal easier than the last time he'd tried it. He'd managed that time as well, of course, but the magic made it so much easier.

If Vade and Ixin had had the benefit of Lela's _Levitation Dust_, then they'd probably be alive now. As he landed and took a moment to judge the best outcropping of obsidian to choose next, he wondered again what exactly had happened to them. They'd both died somewhere between the entrance to the Grove and the Walk of Air, which meant that they'd failed either the Walk of Fire or the Walk of Earth. Vade, with his short legs, he could easily imagine burning alive in that first lake of fire, but Ixin both had wings and a decent immunity to fire. The Walk of Earth had probably done her in, although he couldn't quite figure out how she might have died in the treant's forest. Perhaps she'd starved to death trying to figure out the password to activate the portal to the Walk of Air. He grimaced and tensed to leap.

Starvation was a particularly unpleasant way to die, he imagined.



Levitating invisibly overhead, Huzair watched the albino jumping from stepping stone to stepping stone like some kind of freakishly large and pale monkey. Morier always had to do things the hard way, the wizard mused as he moved easily along the ceiling going hand-over-hand. Still, he supposed, it was good that the drow was so quick to rush unthinking into the fray; it left Huzair well out of danger - where any intelligent creature would want to be.

This plan had been his and he felt confident that it would succeed.



Morier landed lightly only about thirty feet from the obsidian outcropping that held the red glow. He was two jumps away from his goal and paused to glance back the way he'd come. He could barely see Ayremac, Karak and Shamalin some sixty-odd feet away through the haze of heat. They seemed to be ready and he knew enough not to bother looking for Huzair; undoubtedly, the wizard was invisible and hiding somewhere well away from any potential action.

He produced the thunderstone from his pouch and tested its weight in his palm. Then, deciding the direction he wanted attention to be attracted, Morier drew back his arm and hurled the alchemical object with all his might. It arced up and came down far to the left striking with a stupendous *WHOOMPFF!!!* that filled the room with the echoes of distant storm clouds.

As the sound reverberated around the chamber, Morier waited for the presumed elemental guardian to appear, but he saw nothing.



Huzair had been closer than anyone when the thunderstone went off - not close enough to hurt him any, but it made his ears ring annoyingly, just the same. Still moving diligently forward hand-over-hand toward the far shelf, he scanned the lava for any sign of the fire elemental that they were all expecting as guardian. He was just about to reconsider Morier's idea that maybe the lava was the whole test when a pillar of fire at least thirty feet across rose up around Morier, extending all the way to the ceiling above. Huzair hesitated a moment, considering the column of fire, but it didn't take him long to recognize it as a _Wall of Flame_ shaped so as to trap Morier inside. Doing some quick mental calculations caused his heart to sink into his guts.

To generate a _Wall of Fire_ that size meant that they were dealing with a Mage of the 8th Order! (1)

-----------------------------------

(1) For comparison purposes Huzair is a Mage of the 3rd Order, BTW.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #371] Great Balls o' Fire!*

Morier yelped in surprise and jumped back, armor smoking, from the roaring wall of flame that blocked his way. The smell of burnt hair filled his nostrils and he looked frantically around for away around the wall. There was none. He was surrounded.

"WE'RE SURROUNDED! Stoneblade thundered, its voice clearly audible over the rush of fire that pressed down on the eldritch warrior. "AND YOU DON'T LOOK SO GOOD!" Morier backed grimly into the center of the ring of fire where it was marginally cooler.

"Well it's a little hot in here just now," the albino told his sword. He glanced up and saw that the flames reached the level of the ceiling.

"THEN PERHAPS WE SHOULD REMOVE OURSELVES FROM THIS SITUATION!" the elemental blade said and instantly, Morier knew what he should do.



"Relax out there, lad!" Karak bellowed, his off-hand cupped around his mouth. "Ye should be protected somewhat from the flames by yer spells!"

"I don't think he can hear you way out there," Ayremac observed. "I told him it was foolish to jump out there with that sword." Karak snorted his assent.

"I was with ye, lad. Why he chose to go off all half-cocked on this one I do nae know," the dwarf confided. "I still be thinkin' it's the sword controllin' 'im."

"I-told-you-so's won't save Morier's life," Shamalin grumbled and protected herself with a _Sanctuary_ spell.

"Okay, okay. We have not e'en seen an attack as of yet. He's just been walled off," the dwarf said in a conciliatory tone. "My bet is the fire elemental has spell craftin' abilities. He'll be fine with all them fire protections on 'im."

"I didn't put any fire protections on him," Shamalin said and the dwarf's eyes grew wide.

"Oh, wonderful," Ayremac said, his sarcasm summing up the other's opinions as well.



He'd had to endure some bullying and discrimination growing up, but for the most part, Huzair had always enjoyed the benefits that the fiery blood running through his veins afforded him. He could _Heat Metal_ with a touch for instance, or heal himself with the heat of a fire, and see through flames as if they weren't there. This last ability gave him a clear view of Morier as he cooked inside the ring of fire.

It wasn't as much fun as he'd always imagined that it would be.

Frantically, the wizard tried to think of ways to bring the _Wall_ down. He knew that the application of sufficient cold would do it, but the only spell of cold that he had prepared was _Snowball Swarm_ and it just wouldn't do enough damage to dispel the wall - even temporarily. He felt a little helpless.

He was very confused when he saw Morier raise his fancy new sword over his head in a reverse grip and then drive it point-first into the ground. Either Morier was a whole lot stronger than he let on or the ground was pretty soft, because the sword sank fully half its length into the obsidian at the albino's feet. Morier continued to grip the handle of the sword and Huzair watched, dumbfounded, as the ground in front of the blade began to rise up in a line that pierced the side of the _Wall of Fire_. It continued to rise up until a _Wall of Stone_ shaped into a sealed tunnel let out onto the obsidian shelf behind the column of flame.

Morier darted into the tunnel and after a moment appeared safely outside the Wall and it was only at this time that Huzair realized his own mouth was hanging open.



"What do we do now?" Shamalin asked and Karak nodded.

"Plan still stands," he said, waving his waraxe broadly. "We are trying to draw the spellcaster away so Huzair can get the stone."

"Karak? Shamalin? Do you see a caster out there anywhere?" Ayremac asked, as he moved off to the side and squinted into the heat distortion. He raised his _Ring of Communication_ to his lips and spoke at it. "What about you, Huzair? Any sign of the guardian."

"No," the wizard's voice spoke into Ayremac's ear, and there was a strong tone of disbelief in it. "But Morier just used that damned sword to get free of the _Wall of Fire_."

The holy warrior's face brightened and he peered out toward the base of the pillar of flame. He could just barely see Morier's pale form against the _Wall of Fire_.



Morier looked up at the tower of fire, a bit surprised that he'd survived the inferno. Oddly, the fire wasn't even hot from this side. He was just turning back to regard Ayremac, Shamalin and Karak when a glowing bead of light shot passed him at incredible speed. He could feel the heat of its passing for an instant before it struck the wall behind his three companions and blossomed into an enormous _Fireball_.



None of them were prepared for it, but Ayremac was far enough away from the point of impact to throw himself flat and avoid the worst of the attack. Shamalin's _Fire Resistance_ magic helped somewhat, reducing a portion of the damage they each took and the cleric's own _Protection from Fire_ absorbed any further injury she might have sustained from the blast. The other two weren't so lucky.

Karak was still standing, but smoke rose from his blackened form. Embers glowed in his beard and he hurried to pat them out. Ayremac's back was livid from the _Fireball_'s touch as it passed over him and he winced as he got to his feet.

"I'm on my way back!" Huzair's voice whispered excitedly into his ear. "Are you guys all right?"

"No! Keep going, Huzair. We have the attention of whatever this is... get the gem and get back!" Ayremac snapped into the ring, his voice heavy with pain. As he stood, he spotted movement in the lava floe; there were serpentine, humanoid shapes swimming toward them through the molten stone. He raised the longsword the dwarf had given him and called over his shoulder, "Karak, I could use some help, if you would not mind..."



Huzair hesitated and so was in the best position to spot the figure that had hurled the _Fireball_. It wasn't what what he was expecting. It had a muscular humanoid torso with a hawkish face on its large, frilled head. Its lower body, however, was serpentine from the waist down, and covered everywhere in red and black scales. Flame shaped spines jutted from the creature's back, arms and shoulders. In one clawed hand it carried a longspear fully 20 feet in length that glowed an ashy pink color in the heat.

It slithered forward through the lava as the _Wall of Fire_ vanished giving the creature a clear view of Morier. The eldritch warrior looked very small compared to the enormous red-scaled thing.


----------



## Pyske

For a story hour with so many posts, you don't seem to have very vocal readers, Jon!

Anyway, just wanted to mention that you can add me to that list, and I enjoyed the heck out of reading from the first post.  I'm all caught up now, and looking forward to seeing what Ixin / Lela's next character will be.

Your group definitely seems to like their adventures on the challenging side!  I've got to wish them luck; it seems like they need as much of it as they can get.   I'm really impressed with some of the fun characters you've had: Ledare, Ixin, Vade, Feln...

PS -- At some point, Im going to have to page back and figure out where the elven wizard vanished to when Great Oak reincarnated Feln.


----------



## Jon Potter

Pyske said:
			
		

> For a story hour with so many posts, you don't seem to have very vocal readers, Jon!




I noticed that, too.

But I can't really in good conscience complain, I regularly read several Story Hours but have only posted myself a hand full of times. I'm a lurker at heart and apparently attract the same as readers.



> Anyway, just wanted to mention that you can add me to that list, and I enjoyed the heck out of reading from the first post.




Thank you. I'm always glad to hear that people enjoy reading our adventures.



> I'm all caught up now, and looking forward to seeing what Ixin / Lela's next character will be.




You won't have to wait long. I think we find out within the next couple of updates. You'll have to let me know what you think of her when she makes her appearence.



> Your group definitely seems to like their adventures on the challenging side!  I've got to wish them luck; it seems like they need as much of it as they can get.




I was just discussing this with my players a few days ago and we're all in agreement that we can't wait for this part of the campaign to come to a conclusion. It's been a little bit too much of one major battle after another for a little too long.



> I'm really impressed with some of the fun characters you've had: Ledare, Ixin, Vade, Feln...




My players deserve the credit for those. I do offer advice during character creation if it's requested and have to write with their "voice" sometimes, but 99.9% of the credit for all those you've mentioned goes to the players.



> PS -- At some point, Im going to have to page back and figure out where the elven wizard vanished to when Great Oak reincarnated Feln.




Well, it's never really spelled out, but you might recall that Obisayo had some issues with the group just prior to Feln's reappearance. Among them were:

1) Morier's race
2) Karak's desire for gold over Feln
3) Ledare's mistrust of him

That coupled with the fact that he was really looking for Kirnoth, not adventure, lead to him quietly fading into the background. Plus, his player chose Feln.   

You may not have seen the last of Obisayo.

What you really should be asking is what happened to Spot, Lela's animal companion? He just sort of evaporated after the sprite's death; we all forgot about his existance entirely.


----------



## Pyske

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> My players deserve the credit for those [fun PC ideas]. I do offer advice during character creation if it's requested and have to write with their "voice" sometimes, but 99.9% of the credit for all those you've mentioned goes to the players.




Aboslutely.  Since they poke their heads in from time to time, hopefully they'll see my praise in due time.



> What you really should be asking is what happened to Spot, Lela's animal companion? He just sort of evaporated after the sprite's death; we all forgot about his existance entirely.




Clearly, he was killed by that first Salamander fireball.  Clearly.


----------



## Kristeneve

Pyske said:
			
		

> Aboslutely.  Since they poke their heads in from time to time, hopefully they'll see my praise in due time.
> 
> 
> Welcome Pyske,
> You won my heart when you mentioned Ledare in your post!  Glad to have you along.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #372] Some Like it Hot...*

Huzair had no idea what that creature was, but he did know one thing: Morier was screwed. "I'll help Morier and-" he started to say in the the _Ring of Communication_, but Ayremac's voice in his own ear cut him off.

"No, Huzair!" he said urgently. "Keep going for that jewel! We can't hold out very long""
The wizard was invisible, so no one had to see the look on his face as he moved toward the glow, leaving his friend to twist in the wind.



"Shamalin, could you grant me some healing?" Ayremac asked as he considered the ten foot jump required to attain the next island of obsidian. "I am going to try to help Morier!"

"Not now," the priestess said. "My resources are nearing depletion and this battle is far from over." She clutched her holy symbol and started muttering a prayer.

Even as Ayremac turned toward the cleric with an exasperated look on his face the first of the things in the lava reached their shelf and hauled itself up over the lip. It looked like a miniature version of the creature menacing Morier, complete with red-hot glowing spear. Its two brethren scrambled up on either side of it and Karak stepped forward, leading with his axe.

The weapon let out a horrible seething hiss as the ice-rimed blade bit into the thing's steaming flesh, but the sound was drowned out by the short, painful gurgle as the creature watched one side of its ribcage explode in a shower of bone and gore from the force of the dwarf's blow. Even as it was falling back into the lava floe, Karak cleaved into the creature beside it, opening a wound in its arm that bled steam. (1)

"Yer not so tough!" the dwarf shouted at the thing, eyes wild above his still smoldering beard.



"QUICKLY! BACK INSIDE THE TUNNEL!" Stoneblade urged, pointing toward the _Wall of Stone_ that it had created. But Morier had other ideas.

"And get stuck in there like a rat in a trap?" He jumped, landing on another island of polished obsidian almost forty feet from where he'd started. "I don't think so!"

"BAH! YOU TAKE THE COWARD'S WAY!" the sword grumbled. "PERHAPS I WAS WRONG NOT TO CHOOSE THE DWARF!" Morier rolled his eyes.

"We can discuss that later," he quipped, sparing a moment for a glance back over his shoulder. The huge fiery creature loomed over the far end of the stone tunnel that the sword had created, coils of its serpentine tail rising up behind it.

Its already ugly face twisted into a rubbery sneer and it snarled, "Du strong-tor dungiri kahm!"



Seeing that Morier was out of the thing's immediate reach, Ayremac took a step back from the creature before him and drew the _Wand of Cure Light Wounds_ from his belt. He activated the device and felt the pain in his burned shoulders abate somewhat. He was just putting the wand away when he heard the shriek of another fireball hurtling toward him. He saw it impact the shelf that Morier was standing on, but well in front of the eldritch warrior, positioned so that as it blossomed it caught both Ayremac and Karak as well.

The holy warrior threw himself flat against the obsidian again, avoiding the full brunt of the magical assault. Beside him, Karak ducked into the shadow of one of the creatures he was fighting and thus avoided any injury from the blast at all. Ayremac knew he likely wouldn't survive another fireball, but looking up, he saw Morier's smoking form laying prone 30' away.

Shamalin saw it too and cursed under her breath. She let the _Detect Thoughts_ she had been preparing lapse uncast and instead stepped forward, readying a _Reach Cure Light Wounds_ spell. It was always Morier, it seemed, and some dark part of her considered how much more help she'd be to everyone in the future if she were too late to save him now.

One of the half-snake things saw her casting and lunged toward her with its spear, the power of her _Sanctuary_ spell overcame its will to attack, however, and it trembled before her with its spear poised to stab.

Its fellow, already injured by Karak recognized the dwarf as the greater threat and it stabbed violently at him even as its tail whipped around and slapped at the air above the doughty warrior's head.

"This be how it's done!" Karak growled, swinging his waraxe  in a mighty overhand chop that very nearly took off the creature's left arm at the shoulder. He reversed the blade's direction and brought it back up, splitting the thing from belly to throat. Whirling, he tried to smack the last of the creatures with his follow-through, but he was too off balance and the blade found nothing but air.



Mouthing a brief prayer to Umba, Ayremac clenched his longsword tightly and jumped, landing a few feet from the near edge of the closest island. Morier lay 15 feet away, and to Ayremac he didn't look too good. The elemental sword lay a few feet from his outstretched fingers. Beyond him, the large creature was moving toward the outcropping, wading threw the lava as if it were cool water.

Ayremac licked his lips and shouted, "I care not for your firestorm, beast! Take me on without wizardry, if you dare!!"

The thing smiled at that. "And who are you to issue challenge to Rafrarrl, Noble Servant of the Mighty Sultan of the City of Brass?" it said, moving still closer. "Speak, kindling, I would know the names of those I burn." It gestured and a _Flaming Sphere_ appeared on the shelf.



Shamalin concentrated on Morier, ignoring how close she was to the edge of the lava floe. She could just barely see him through the heat haze, and the healing ray struck the ground uselessly a few feet from the albino's smoking form. She cursed, despair rising into her throat like bile.

The creature that had been thwarted by her _Sanctuary_ spell hissed at her and gave up, Turning, it stabbed instead at Karak, the point of its spear burning a gap in his gorget, and sending blood sizzling down the dwarf's breastplate.

Undeterred, Karak stepped in close and drove his waraxe into the creature's belly. Steam rose up from the wound, momentarily clouding the melee.

"I am a powerful warrior of Umba," Ayremac shouted. "Move aside or you will feel the wrath of Umba's harsh judgment!" He handled the large gold holy symbol that hung on a chain around his neck, invoking the power of _Sacred Healing_.

"Long have I lingered here, tasked with the guarding of a key," Rafrarrl hissed. "With no company but the darkness that seeks this place. And that darkness has whispered to me of your Umba." It gestured and the _Flaming Sphere_ rolled onto Morier's supine form. It leered darkly as the fire licked the albino's unmoving body. "I will enjoy crushing you in my coils, kindling!"



The creature stabbed again at Karak, but this time a sweep of his buckler drove the point aside before it could find his flesh. Its long tail swept in low and wrapped itself around the dwarf's legs, trying to pull him off balance. But Karak was a dwarf, and not prone to losing his footing easily. He stood his ground and pulled free of the constricting tail with little effort.



There was magic here.

It didn't take a genius like Huzair to know that was going to be the first thing he learned with _Detect Magic_, so he was little surprised with the result. He continued to concentrate, blocking out the sounds of battle nearby. There were six distinct magical signatures hidden on the outcropping below, with the most powerful being of artifact-level power. Undoubtedly, that was the Elemental Key of Fire and he sent Sparky down to hunt them out while he willed himself not to turn and watch the battle.

-----------------------------------

(1) Nothing like starting the combat off with a solid critical hit for x3 damage!


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> Shamalin saw it too and cursed under her breath. She let the _Detect Thoughts_ she had been preparing lapse uncast and instead stepped forward, readying a _Reach Cure Light Wounds_ spell. It was always Morier, it seemed, and some dark part of her considered how much more help she'd be to everyone in the future if she were too late to save him now.




In a similar situation in one of my games, we painted the vest on the guy's fig red and a bright yellow target on his back. As a gag gift one Christmas we got him a bright red sweater to wear as well.    

Shamalin should start preeching to Morier the value of worshipping the only god of healing would do for his shelf life.


----------



## Pyske

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Shamalin should start preeching to Morier the value of worshipping the only god of healing would do for his shelf life.




I think it might just be a little late for that.  "I didn't put any fire protections on him," remember?


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Pyske said:
			
		

> I think it might just be a little late for that.  "I didn't put any fire protections on him," remember?




True, but if Morier converted then he could do it himself and Shamalin wouldn't feel so guilty about having to constantly heal/protect the same prone body over and over again.


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Shamalin should start preeching to Morier the value of worshipping the only god of healing would do for his shelf life.




Unfortunately, Morier's hitched his divine wagon to Garn-Zanuth, goddess of storms and vengence.

Not to be confused with Garan-Zak, Huzair's mentor back in Freeport.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> Unfortunately, Morier's hitched his divine wagon to Garn-Zanuth, goddess of storms and vengence.
> 
> Not to be confused with Garan-Zak, Huzair's mentor back in Freeport.




Similar to Uriah? 'Course I guess there's no better way to get vengence than by constantly getting dropped in combat.


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Similar to Uriah?




Nope. She's based most closely on Habatwa from the Diadamon Pantheon.



> 'Course I guess there's no better way to get vengence than by constantly getting dropped in combat.




That's certainly a good method to garner yourself lots of candidates for vengence, anyways.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #373] ...And Some Sweat When the Heat is On.*

Again the smaller creature locked in battle with Karak stabbed with its spear and slapped with its muscular tail. But again, it was unable to bypass the dwarf's formidable defenses. And again Karak's icy waraxe bit into its flesh, but this time when the steam cleared, the creature was laying at the dwarf's feet, dead.

"Yo, Rafrarrl! Stop sending these puny fire spits o'er to me! Even in this heat I am barely breaking a sweat!" Karak taunted, kicking the body over into the lava. "That is unless you are afraid to go toe-to-toe with a dwarf!"

"In due course, dwarf!" Rafrarrl answered, a smile playing across its hawkish face. "Your time will come." It flicked its eyes at Ayremac and the _Flaming Sphere_ rolled off of Morier and bounded across the shelf toward the Holy Warrior. At the same time, it gestured toward Karak and a _Wall of Fire_ crackled into existence along the edge of the obsidian shelf upon which the Order had arrived.

Ayremac easily dodged away from the _Sphere_'s path and pulled out his _Wand_ as he did so. "I say to you, fiery beast, you have invoked my anger and will find the tip of my blade leading you towards the afterlife!!" he shouted, his voice filled with the righteous fury that only Officers of Umba ever truly master. As he activated the _Wand_ to further soothe his burns, the creature's enormous spear stabbed opportunistically toward him. He was able to catch the point of the weapon on the quillons of his longsword, but even parried, Ayremac could feel the sinister heat of the spear.

"I do not fear the afterlife, little one," Rafrarrl growled. "I would be released from this prison and the maddening voices that taunt me so!"



Shamalin cursed. With the _Wall of Fire_ blocking her she couldn't even see Morier now, let alone target him with any healing. Concentrating on her _Levitation_, she slowly drifted upwards toward the ceiling, the words of a summoning spell on her lips.



The hummingbird seemed to have been gone for a long time, as Huzair listened to the rush of fire and the screams of pain that echoed around the stifling chamber. He knew that his familiar wasn't really taking as long as he thought, he sensed that it was not even half a minute; Sparky needed to concentrate on the dweomers just like he did himself. Still, he almost yelped in surprise when the bird twittered into his ear.

"I found the Key, boss," Sparky said and Huzair let out a sigh of relief. "There's also a curvy sword, some kind of metal shirt, a wand, some gloves-"

"Fine. Fine," Huzair snapped and he saw the disappointed expression on the bird's beak. "I'll send the _Unseen Servant_. Point out which things to take." Sparky didn't answer, but nodded his little head and spiraled back down toward the ruby glow while Huzair twiddled some knotted string into an invisible helper.



Karak pulled out his own _Wand of Cure Light Wounds_ and channeled a trickle of healing into the wound on his neck. The Wand itself was almost spent, he could tell, having little more than half-a-dozen charges left in it, but it was good for now. He looked up at Shamalin hovering near the ceiling and willed himself upwards as well.



Ayremac easily danced around the _Flaming Sphere_ that was trying to burn his legs, but he dared not move too far too fast lest he open himself up to an attack by Rafrarrl's longspear. There was no place on the obsidian outcropping that was out of the weapon's reach, and despite the fact that the creature was taking no action other than to concentrate on directing the _Flaming Sphere_ and maintaining the _Wall of Fire_, Ayremac did not dare to assume himself immune to the spear's attention.

He edged nearer to Morier, hoping with each passing second that his _Sacred Healing_ would rouse the eldritch warrior from unconsciousness. It had already sealed all of his own wounds and he was thrilled to glance down and see Morier's trembling hand tighten on the handle of Stoneblade.

"GET UP!" the sword thundered as soon as the albino's hand was upon it. "GET UP AND FIGHT!"

"No, Morier," Ayremac urged in a whisper. "Stay down. Don't draw attention-"

"What's this?" Rafrarrl chuckled, its burning eyes on Morier. "Still a bit of life left in this one? Let's see how long it takes my Flamebrothers to snuff you out!" The creature took its eyes off the _Flaming Sphere_ and the ball of fire stopped. Then it reached out its hand toward the lava and it began to bubble ominously.

Shamalin finished her plea for divine aid and was rewarded as, on the far side of the _Wall of Fire_, a miniature gate momentarily opened to Ysgard releasing a beautiful celestial hippogriff. The winged creature shrieked a battle cry and dove straight for Rafrarrl its golden foreclaws extended. Rafrarrl raised its spear in time to strike at the new arrival, but not quickly enough to impale it on the cruel weapon. The burning spearhead tore into the creature's withers nearly ripping one of its wings free, but the summoned creature continued onward, driven more my its own momentum than by any desire to close with Rafrarrl, its claws raked across the giant's thorny shoulder, opening a number of smoking scratches there.

"Aah! A new player enters the game!" Rafrarrl snarled, tracking the wounded hippogriff with his eyes. "I think this one's time amongst us is short, however! It will not long- [SIZE=]AAAAH[/SIZE]!!!" The creature's taunt was turned suddenly into a bellow of pain as a burst of frost-filled power erupted around him. Rafrarrl looked up, scanning the cavern for the source of his newfound torment.

"Who dares?!" he roared.

"My name is Huzair Blacksmoke," a voice echoed around the chamber. It was not immediately clear what its source was. "I figured you would want to know the name of the person who is going to kick your ass."

"Not likely, Huzair Blacksmoke," Rafrarrl answered and gestured at Ayremac and Morier. "But you have sealed the fate of these two!"

"Make that these three, fiery one!" Karak said as he moved out of the _Wall of Fire_, smoke billowing from his armor despite the partial protection of Shamalin's magic. The dwarf moved along the ceiling and then slowly drifted down to the same shelf as both Ayremac and Morier.

Morier took Rafrarrl's momentary distraction to scramble to his feet and call upon the power of a _True Strike_. Ayremac stepped in and touched the _Wand of Cure Light Wounds_ to the albino's arm.



Rafrarrl let his concentration lapse on the _Wall of Fire_ and moved the _Flaming Sphere_ toward Karak. The dwarf dodged out of the way even as two more of the smaller flaming creatures appeared in the lava beside the obsidian island and began moving toward them. Rafrarrl kept his eyes searching the far side of the cavern, looking for Huzair. Suddenly, it smiled and looked right at the wizard who was partially hidden behind a rather large stalactite.

"Ah, there you are, little kindling," the creature said. "The pleasure of this meeting will be all mine!" It stabbed outward with its spear again, catching the  celestial hippogriff almost casually on its point as the animal wheeled around for another attack. The summoned creature was transfixed momentarily by the weapon before its essence winked back to the Heroic Domain of Ysgard.

As Rafrarrl turned, Huzair cast another spell. A blast of raw magic arced across the cavern slamming into the huge creature with a crackle. A cascade of motes showered down from the wounds, coalescing into a wicked looking rat that in turn snapped viciously at Rafrarrl. But the creature ignored the nipping rodent and began moving toward Huzair.

Karak was unwilling to let the thing get away, however and he charged forward, his frosted axe trailing steam through the hot air as he came. "Face me!" he bellowed, burying his axe in Rafrarrl's left forearm. The frozen weapon sizzled and scorched amidst the creature's super-heated flesh, and Rafrarrl snarled in pain, fixing his hateful gaze on the dwarf at his side.

He didn't see Morier moving in swiftly from the side. Nor did he have much time to react as Stoneblade slashed neatly across the creature's throat, spilling a torrent of steaming blood that popped and boiled further in the explosion of electrical energy that the eldritch warrior channeled into the blow. It fell sideways in pain, sagging against the edge of the obsidian island.

Ayremac dodged under the huge longspear and _Smote_ the _Evil_ creature. His longsword cracked the bone buried deeply within the arm and Rararrl developed an extra elbow in that limb - one that sagged under the creature's weight and sent it toppling lifeless into the lava floe.

Its body sent a sluggish wave of liquified rock lapping up against the sides of the obsidian outcropping. The wave splattered down against the smaller of the two "flamebrothers' that Rafrarrl had summoned, dragging the startled creature under in an instant. The other managed to haul itself up onto the island where it lay face-down and twitching. Karak raised his waraxe over the spasming creature as Shamalin floated gently down to the shelf behind them.

"FINISH IT, DWARF!" Stoneblade urged, but Morier had other ideas.

"Wait!" he gasped, pointing. "Look at it!"

The thing was trembling with pain as its flesh ran like melting wax. The spines along its shoulders drooped and melded with the rest of the body which was constricting around the middle and expanding at the shoulders. Stunted wings sprouted there, flapping uselessly. Its long serpentine tail split lengthwise, resolving itself into a pair of legs. Its coloring softened somewhat, the coarse ruby scales becoming light and rosy. A thick mane of coppery locks fell about its broad shoulders, entirely obscuring its face.

"By Shaharizod's beard!" Karak exclaimed, lowering his axe and staring in disbelief at the woman - for even laying belly-down the figure was clearly female. Shamalin came up and peered over his shoulder.

"What is it?" she asked.

At the sound of their voices, the red-skinned woman heaved herself onto her side and then toppled onto her back. Her hair falling in sweat-soaked ropes across her face. The tremors were subsiding and the features had settled into a comely if not entirely normal visage. Yellow eyes stared up from beneath the wavy strands, and prominent horns jutted back from her temples. Her lips parted, revealing a predator's fangs within.

"Some type of demon?" Ayremac asked.

"No," Morier said, crouching down to move the hair from the woman's face. "I know her. Her name is Ixin." At the mention of her name, she blinked several times and peered up at the albino.

"Morier?" Ixin groaned, her golden eyes glassy and out-of-focus. "Eu passei o teste?"


----------



## Jon Potter

*And there you have it...*

My wife's new PC is actually her old PC.

It took some major sweet/fast talking for me to allow this, mind you. In the end I went with it for three reasons:

1) Ixin died in the Fire Test in the Grove of Renewal. Having her "reborn" in the Fire Test here seemed to neatly tie the two experiences together.

2) The group needed some old-school blood* since they lose a bit every time one of them dies.

3) Everyone in the group seemed to think that I was a complete bastard for killing my wife's character _again_.

*We rebuilt Ixin from the ground up using the new rules presented in Races of the Dragon and Dragon Magic. (Which may actually be the fourth reason I went ahead with a rebirth: I wanted an excuse to try out the new stuff!) She's the same... but different. As you'll see as we go along.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #374] Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes...*

"Oi! What 'ave we 'ere?" Karak grunted. "Is this Ixin?"

Staring in disbelief at the woman on the ground, Morier took a moment to take in all that had just occurred. He had once again come perilously close to death only to be saved by Ayremac and Shamalin's healing powers, and now here he was face-to-face with a familiar soul that he had just had a hand in trying to kill.

It was all surreal.

"Você não é real," Ixin growled, her words slurred and without conviction.

"What did she say?" Ayremac asked, leaning in to have a look at her. The woman recoiled from the attention and bared her teeth - which, truth be told, were a lot larger than Morier remembered them being.

Ayremac stepped back giving the woman room. He looked at Morier and Karak. "Are you sure this is your friend? She seems... feral." Karak harrumphed.

"It do look to be her... only different," he scowled, studying her confused face. "How did she survive bein' in that lava, I do wonder?"

The lava and heat had clearly given Ixin's dragon-like qualities a much more pronounced look, and Morier thought again of the words the last Keeper had spoken to him when he'd completed the last test in the Grove of Renewal: 'You are as you were meant to be, You are as nature intended.' Had failing the tests had a similar effect on Ixin? Or was this even truly her? She looked up at him, her eyes wild and seemingly lit from within and he knew it was, somehow. Her eyes... her eyes seemed to provide a tiny window into the person who was imprisoned inside. 

"It's her," Morier announced. "But I don't think whatever she's endured in here has been good for her mind. Her not being able to speak Common won't make this any easier." (1)

"Well it be a good thing I did nae split her in half with me frost blade," Karak said, hefting the weapon, unmindful of the way Ixin reacted. Her claws scored the obsidian on which they stood.

"Nao real," she muttered, keeping her head low. "Somente um sonho. Nao real."

"Speaking o' that. What a fine blade I 'ave 'ere. don' I?" Karak eyed his frost axe appraisingly. He chuckled, adding, "Why the bite he laid into these fire creatures must o' gave a real sting, eh?"

"You talk a pretty good game there, dwarf...and back it up," Huzair said as he descended from the ceiling with a glowing red rock in his hand. He gestured toward Karak's axe adding, "Luckily for Morier you and Frosty are so vicious in battle." 

"Actually that be some good coordinated fightin' by all of us, if'n I do say so myself," Karak said. "Nice death move, Morier. One moment you be lying on the ground needing Shamalin's divine touch again, and the next you be standin' up and swinging that earth blade like a Roc after its prey."

"Yeah, that was some shot, Morier," Huzair agreed, slapping the albino hard on the back. "You make Karak's shots look like paper cuts. Nice you could get up to help a little. I was worried about you for a while there. I almost stopped to help you, but I did not want to hear you get on my case after I kicked the monster's ass."

"Yes," Morier nodded reluctantly. "Good job staying on task."

"Glad to be of service," Huzair grinned. "I would say that _Snowball Swarm_ was a distraction that saved your asses; I made him so angry that he was looking for me. That gave you the opportunity to get him. I know how to handle those hot-blooded efreeti types. Such big egos!"

"Yes. I imagine you would," the eldritch warrior said through gritted teeth.

"All part of the- Whoah!" Huzair's eyes bugged out of his face as he noticed Ixin lying on the ground for the first time. "Who's the naked chick?"

"This is Ixin," Ayremac said, glancing at Morier. "Did I prounounce that correctly?" The albino nodded.

"This beautiful creature is Ixin? Your description did not do her justice." He thumped Morier hand in the ribs with his elbow and began making a show of rummaging through his _Handy Haversack_. Finally he produced a cloak from its voluminous interior. "And how come it's always me that has to clothe the party? First Morier, then Shamalin and now Ixin."

"Can we not discuss all this away from this... hellish place," Shamalin urged, unhappy being reminded of her own captivity. "The longevity of my spells against the elements are waning."

Ayremac took the cloak from Huzair and held it out to Ixin, his face calm and his voice soothing as he said, "Let us get you out of this elemental place and back to a sanctum we have found. We can catch up there."

Ixin looked skeptically at Ayremac and then up at Morier. The albino nodded, motioning that she should take the cloak. And she did, getting awkwardly to her feet. She was more than half-a-foot taller than anyone else in the group, and slabs of muscles worked beneath her scaly hide as she moved.

"Wow, Karak," Huzair said as he ascended back toward the ceiling with a malicious smirk on his lips. "Maybe that other one you split in half was your other friend who died in that test you were afraid to take." The dwarf scowled up at the mage, and started to rise off the ground.

"Do you think that one of these... things was really one of your former companions?" Shamalin asked Morier. The eldritch warrior looked to the remains of the other creatures and wondered for a moment if one of them might, as Huzair suggested, have been the embodiment of Vade. There was no way to tell, but another glance at Ixin's tortured appearance and he wasn't sure which of them had gotten the better end of the deal.

"It's possible, Shamalin," he said. "There's no way of telling."

"Perhaps Ayremac and I should say a few prayers to try to free that soul from this place," she suggested, looking questioningly at the holy warrior. He nodded and Morier shrugged.

"Do what you feel you must," he said and putting his pale arm tentatively around Ixin started levitating them both toward the ceiling. "Just be mindful of our waning protections here."



"I have some sympathy for Raffarl." Huzair said later after they'd all returned through the portal to the central hub. Ixin had settled quickly into a deep sleep on the cold stone floor. "What a curse to spend eternity guarding something. Alone." Karak harrumphed.

"Sometimes alone is better," he grumbled casting a sideways glance at the wizard. Huzair rolled his eyes.

"Very funny," he quipped. "You know, Karak, a dwarf spends too much time alone polishing his axe and people start to talk." Before the banter could go any further, Ayremac cleared his throat.

"I think it might be appropriate to discuss who will place the fire key. Agreed?" he asked.

"What's to discuss?" Huzair snapped back. "It's the fire key and I'm the one who got it. I am placing it."

"Yeah, Huzair probably deserves the fire prize," Shamalin nodded.

"I thought there should be some debate," the holy warrior explained. "I would be lying if I said I was not interested in wielding one of these elemental swords."

"There will be no debate!" the wizard said.

"The obvious choice just based on the fact that it's fiery is Huzair," Morier debated. Grinning he added, "But I'm afraid he'd hurt himself with a real weapon."

"Who said they were all swords, anyway?" Huzair snapped, clutching the Fire Key in both hands.

"I'm sorry, Ayremac, but I agree with the others. Huzair goes next since he's fire based," Karak said.

"Fair enough," Ayremac said with a nod. "If everyone feels it is the best course of action then I am happy to let Huzair use the key."

"Damn right, I am using the key!" the wizard snapped again and got to his feet.

Shamalin and Ayremac moved away to meditate and pray, and Ixin continued to sleep, but Karak and Morier both watched as Huzair put the Key into its slot and stuck his arm into the central shaft. He pulled forth what looked like a shortsword made entirely of fire.

"I am Flameblade, Scion of Fire, mightiest of the elemental blades!" the sword's voice crackled, and if Huzair was disappointed at drawing a sword, he had the good sense no to let it show on his face. 



After a time, they slept. Well most of them, anyway.

Ayremac stayed up long after everyone else had drifted off, tending to his gear with methodical precision. Each piece of armor he laid out, carefully placed as if it was the only way to do such a thing. Ayremac took a moment with each piece to inspect it for safety and cleanliness. Where it was needed, he took a small strip of cloth tucked to polish away any remains of battle or mars in the finish.

Once that was completed, Ayremac sat with his legs crossed and turned the inside of his shield to face him. Using the somewhat reflective surface to inspect his face and hair he prepared for a deep, meditative prayer session. Ritual cleaning was not something practiced by all Holy Warriors, but Ayremac's Aasimar heritage had left him unable to achieve a true meditative peace unless he was clean and well kept. Ayremac did his best to prepare himself in the dark and evil place.

After several minutes' inspection and cleaning, Ayremac sat back, closed his eyes and was still. To the casual observer he would have seemed lifeless. Only an intensely close scrutiny of the Officer would have revealed that he was breathing deeply and slowly, in through the nose and out through the mouth. Gradually, as he breathed, he began to glow. His eye slits, his hair, his whole being seemed to radiate with an soothing radiance - not truly light, but certainly a perceptible glow.

After a time of pure, energizing meditation, Ayremac began to slowly and softly chant in Celestial. The words were as beautiful as an elven song, only more so. The words of angels.

_"Those that know and see are strong but carry a great burden.
It is with the strength of my ancestors that I ask for knowledge.
I seek the wisdom, the truth, the greater sight of the unknown.
May the gods find me worthy and allow me to take the steps needed
to achieve that which is hidden in my blood. 
It is for Umba's great judgment I yearn, I seek a relationship that will
bring me closer to Her and allow me to practice Her judgment on this plane.
I seek the scope of vision of the stars, the depth of knowledge held by
the ocean, the unyielding strength of the storm, all that flows in my veins
but to be unlocked by the powers that watch over me."_​

As he finished, he felt the touch of Umba's hand on his shoulder. Its reassuring weight lingered there suffusing him with glory. And his glow increased until it was blinding in its majesty. Brilliance filled the room, momentarily erasing every shadow, and when it faded, Ayremac had transcended.(2)

White pinions sprouted from his back, each feather touched with the platinum color of his hair. His eyes shone in the darkness like glittering emeralds and tears of gratitude spilled down his cheeks.



Across the room, where Shamalin feigned sleep, tears were on her cheeks as well. But they were the bitter tears of grief.

---------------------------------------

(1) You may remember that Ixin's from an alternate material plane (one that includes the Council of Wyrms setting) and their version of Common is different from the Realms' version. I'm using Portugese here to represent her speech.

(2) Ayremac's player had been putting levels into the Asimaar to Half-Celestial transition class and finally took the last level here. He's now fully Half-Celestial.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Really good update Jon.

Is Huzair going to have/touch/hold all 4 blades? That ought to be a crowed conversation in his mind.   

With another party member who can fly, I bet this makes for some hair pulling encounters for you as you try to strategize the encounters with their opponents.


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## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Really good update Jon.




I'm glad you liked it, but I should point out that the "prayer to Umba" portion was written expressly for this by Ayremac's player and isn't my doing.



> Is Huzair going to have/touch/hold all 4 blades? That ought to be a crowed conversation in his mind.




Well, each of the four elemental blades eventually go to 4 different PCs. And not necessarily the 4 you're thinking, either. I did mention to them that if the same character inserted multiple keys, then their elemental blade would gain multiple sets of elemental powers but they opted to spread the wealth around.



> With another party member who can fly, I bet this makes for some hair pulling encounters for you as you try to strategize the encounters with their opponents.




Well, you probably remember that Lela could fly and it was that fact that got her killed.   

Actually, it wasn't as big a game breaker as I thought it would be. It's made some of the challenges easier, to be sure, but it also makes the flier an attractive target to missile fire.

And, as a point of fact, Ixin can't fly, she can only glide.


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## Jon Potter

I see that we're approaching 20,000 page views on the story hour. A nice milestone, to be sure, and one that we could conceivably reach within a week or so at the current rate. So what should we do 'round here to celebrate?

1) Finally update the Rogue's Gallery thread?

2) Put up one or more bonus story posts?

3) Post some world background?

4) Something else entirely?

What do you think?


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## Hairy Minotaur

all 4?


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## Jon Potter

Now let's not be greedy, HM!

And anyway, what would #4 be in that case?


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## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> Now let's not be greedy, HM!
> 
> And anyway, what would #4 be in that case?




Hmm, personally I vote for how your cosmology is built, including inter-diefic relationships and history. So I guess that kind of fits in with option 3, it's just a little more specific.


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## Blarkon Dragonslayer

*Wow*

I just caught up to where you are now, and while I've lurked about these boards for some time, just as an occasional reader, this story hour prompted me to actually register and comment, as well as ask some questions.

First...let me say it again...wow.  The story is captivating, good solid epic (in the story sense) stuff.

Now the questions:

1) With the exception of Karak, who seems darn near impervious to everything, most of the characters seem to have a serious glass-jaw syndrome. Is that just due to what they've chosen to play, or are you using a variant method of damage?

2) I noticed before that you have a lot of semi-spell casters, with the possible exception of the the cleric of Flor, who seems pretty focused on what she does.  The only truly focussed mage, the fussy elf, didn't hang around long.  I should qualify that by saying the only truly focussed mage since your adventures came here, I haven't (yet) read the prequels.

3) When do we see a more updated rogue's gallery?


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## Jon Potter

Blarkon Dragonslayer said:
			
		

> I just caught up to where you are now, and while I've lurked about these boards for some time, just as an occasional reader, this story hour prompted me to actually register and comment, as well as ask some questions.
> 
> First...let me say it again...wow.  The story is captivating, good solid epic (in the story sense) stuff.




Wow! Thanks for the kind words, Blarkon. I take it as very flattering that you went to the trouble of registering so that you could comment here. Thanks again and welcome to the boards!



> Now the questions:
> 
> 1) With the exception of Karak, who seems darn near impervious to everything, most of the characters seem to have a serious glass-jaw syndrome. Is that just due to what they've chosen to play, or are you using a variant method of damage?




That's strictly player choice. The damage is by the book with the exception of critical hits and fumbles. For those I use Torn Asunder from Bastion Press. Except for Karak and Shamalin, everybody's got some level adjusted race, which doesn't help with hit points. On top of that Morier and Ixin are both limited to light armor and Huzair really shouldn't wear any.



> 2) I noticed before that you have a lot of semi-spell casters, with the possible exception of the the cleric of Flor, who seems pretty focused on what she does.  The only truly focussed mage, the fussy elf, didn't hang around long.  I should qualify that by saying the only truly focussed mage since your adventures came here, I haven't (yet) read the prequels.




Also true, and again, player choice.

Shamalin is a pure cleric
Karak has 2 levels of cleric (using the spontaneous casting variant from Unearthed Arcana)
Huzair is mostly Wizard with the odd level of Rogue thrown in.
Morier is an Eldritch Warrior (a class from Malladin's Gate Press' Forgotten Heroes: Sorcerer)/Havoc Mage (a prestige class from the Miniatures Handbook and the only PrC currently in the group)
Ixin is a Battle Sorcerer (a variant from Unearthed Arcana)

Morier and Ixin are pretty much two sides of the same coin class-wise and I think that if the Battle Sorcerer had been around when Morier was rolled up, then I would have used it rather than the Eldritch Warrior. Most everything that makes Morier what he is crom a rules perspective is accomplished with feats.



> 3) When do we see a more updated rogue's gallery?




Ummm... soon?


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## Kristeneve

Awww, come on Jon.  Blarkon Dragonslayer deserves a Rogue Gallery update, don't you think?

Glass-jaw syndrome?  Ha!  Can't wait for Morier's player to read that! 

Except 'jaw' isn't quite the term I would choose!


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## Blarkon Dragonslayer

Morier does seem to be the one with the worst problems in the glass jaw department.  But he has lots of neat abilities too, so maybe it balances out.

Overall, the characters all seem excellent. I haven't had a really good around the table gaming group for some time, so reading about this one is very satisfying (and envy-inducing  ) 

I see that you guys pull your character classes from all over, which is very neat. As a minor question, do you roll your stats, or use point buy of some kind?


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## Jon Potter

Blarkon Dragonslayer said:
			
		

> Morier does seem to be the one with the worst problems in the glass jaw department.  But he has lots of neat abilities too, so maybe it balances out.




That's the theory, but it does make him something of a paper tiger.



> I see that you guys pull your character classes from all over, which is very neat.




Not everything passes my balance "sniff test", but the group is a mixed bag certainly.



> As a minor question, do you roll your stats, or use point buy of some kind?




Actually, I think that the last four or five characters have all started with the default array of abilities. Morier and Karak (and several of the other characters built around that time who are no longer with us) were built with a point buy system wherein I offered bonus points to spend at character creation in exchange for supplying me with detailed histories, usable plot hooks, etc.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #375] On Toward Water*

Ayremac stood, his face serene with no hint at the emotions stirring within him other then the tears glittering on his cheeks. His features were still and stoney despite the otherworldly glow that suffused him, making him look as if his depth of beauty and soul have moved beyond the physical realm into one of pure spirit. A calm and trustworthy aura radiated from him as perceptibly as the celestial light itself. After hesitating for a moment, he stretched his wings to their limit, feathered tips nearly brushing the opposite walls. Then he clenched his fists tightly at his sides, the muscles in his arms and chest rippling with holy power, and cast his eyes to the ceiling. Throwing his arms upward and with a single mighty snap of his wings he shouted to the heavens "Thank you, Umba!!"

Of course, this outburst woke the others

Morier rolled immediately to his feet with Stoneblade already in his hands. "What is it?" he shouted.

"What in the nine hells?" Karak grumbled as he scrambled to his feet, frost dripping off the blade of his waraxe. "Ayremac, lad, what've ye done to yerself?"

"I am not sure," the holy warrior admitted. "But I feel as if these wings were always a part of me. I've just finally unlocked the power of my celestial heritage."

"Wux pothoc," Huzair cursed in draconic, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He turned away from the spectacle that Ayremac had made of himself and made to return to sleep.

"Wux renthisj draconic?" Ixin asked from nearby, huddling within her borrowed cloak. She regarded the wizard hopefully, her eyes flashing gold at him.

"Yes," he answered in the tongue of magic. "I do. Is that a language you speak as well." She nodded and Huzair smiled reassuringly at her. "Well that's just great! We were wondering how we'd communicate with you, Ixin!"

She flinched slightly at the mention of her name and her eyes narrowed as she tried to remember things she'd tried desperately to forget. "I was once called Ixin, but that feels like an eternity ago," she told him. "Before the fire... Ixin... I... died.... sort of."

"That sounds horrible," Huzair said, his face full of concern. His voice fairly dripped with the stuff. "We never knew what happened to you after you entered the Grove of Renewal." She looked at him, recognizing the name.

"The Grove..." she muttered. "You know about that." He nodded.

"I was told about it," the wizard replied. "And I found Morier running around naked after he came out of it." She nodded and sighed expansively.

"I was engulfed in a lake of fire. I thought I was dead... wished I was dead after a time," she said, struggling with the memory. "But... but my draconis fundamentum would not let my heart stop beating. I... changed physically and became more of my dragon self. But it was torturous. I thought I must be in hell. It made sense to me as I had much to atone for." She looked at her clawed hands as if she might see them slick with the blood of innocents. Huzair laid his hand on her forearm and squeezed.

"I find it hard to believe that someone as beautiful and kind-hearted as you would have anything to atone for," he told her and she patted his hand with hers.

"That is sweet of you to say, but it is false. My past is not as spotless as you imagine," she sighed, eyes downcast. "But I believe my atonement must now be complete in the eyes of some god or another. And this group... You saved me from the hell in which I was trapped. I owe you my new life."

"Don't be silly," Huzair said, but their was a glint of something in his obsidian eyes. "Karak almost slew you, after all."

"Karak... I remember Karak... and Morier, but you others..." she looked around the chamber and faces turned to regard her. "How did you come to be traveling together and what are you doing here?"

"What are ye sayin' about me, wizard?" Karak asked in common, stamping toward them. Even unarmored and barefoot his footfalls echoed about the chamber. Huzair smiled at him.

"She was just telling me she finds me very attractive," the wizard said with the utmost sincerity. "Much more so that ugly old Karak and Morier." The dwarf growled and clenched his axe handle, but Huzair raised his own hands in helplessness, adding, "Those are her words, not mine."

"Sure they are, Huzair," Morier scoffed as he came over and squatted beside the two spellcasters. "You never lie about anything, right?"

"What are they saying?" Ixin asked in draconic. Huzair fixed her with an ernest eye and smiled.

"Oh, they say how lucky you are to have someone like me looking out for you," he explained.



"I am pretty sure I could fly with them," Ayremac said the next morning - or what passed for such in this sunless dungeon. He flexed his wings and the feathers rustled in the chamber. "I am not sure if that will help us get the next key, but it could be a nice distraction. I just hope I don't end up like the celestial beast you summoned, Shamalin!"

The cleric looked up at him briefly and then back down at the ring Huzair had found in the cache. She had slipped on her finger last night, but was unsure what it did. And, besides, she found it difficult to look at him. Her head was swimming. She had just started to feel comfortable with the Ayremac of the present, his new name and his new faith. Now suddenly here was this strange new development. He looked foreign to her, utterly unlike the youth she had known all those years ago.

It was the wings, mostly. She was acutely aware that this was a gift like no other. A sign of absolute acceptance by his god... a thing which left Shamalin feeling empty inside.

Ayremac sensed her conflict but not its cause and so he asked, "Have you not yet figured out the purpose of your new ring, Shamalin? Try to shout or intimidate me with it on." Shamalin arched an eyebrow at the Officer of Umbra.

"With pleasure," she said, rising to her feet, her expression suddenly hardened. She circled Ayremac slowly, allowing her voice to build in intensity with each breath. "I've been a member of this party longer than you have, and I'm entitled to the next elemental blade." She jabbed at his chest with her finger for emphasis. "I'll be the one taking the next sword, if we are lucky enough to earn another one, and if Karak does not desire it. So if you think you can flex your big... blond... wings and look down on me with that holier than thou gaze of justice, then YOU have another thing coming."

She stepped back and smiled, pleased with the stunned expression on Ayremac's face. Across the room, Morier clutched his mouth and belly as he stifled laughter. Ixin just looked on, utterly confused.

"Wow. That was pretty good. I almost believed you were really annoyed," Ayremac said, turning away. He contemplated her outburst for a moment then turned his head, eyeing her over his shoulder. 



"Anyone have a strong feeling as to where we should go next?" Ayremac asked later after they had divided up the loot. "I believe air and water are what is left. Huzair, you have the most experience with the elemental planes, what do you think we will face in these challenges?" Huzair was leaning against the wall, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles.

"Oh, I would guess an angry Djinn, air elementals, water elementals, water wierds," he answered, puffing thoughtfully at his cigar. "Those would be my guesses."

"Lovely," Karak grumbled.

"Which is more likely to be cold?" Ayremac asked. "Air or water?"

"Water," the mage answered immediately and Ayremac nodded.

"Do we have any skills here?" the hold warrior asked, looking around at the assemblage. "For instance, I have some natural resistance to cold. Shamalin, you can breathe under water, is that right?"

"It is a miracle I have prepared," she replied and the Officer of Umba frowned.

"Shamalin, I think that this will help with breathing under water. It should be yours... here." Ayremac announced, taking the bright red _Necklace of Adaptation_ off his neck and moving to slip it onto Shamalin's. She held up a hand to prevent him.

"Ayremac, " She said, waiting until their gazes met before continuing. "In spite of what I said before about the elemental blade, we should be wise with our distribution of these magic items. I have a spell that will let me breathe underwater. Keep the amulet... It will give me peace of mind knowing you will be by my side no matter what the test environment may be like."

He smiled at her and lay a reassuring hand on her armored shoulder, nodding.

"Me bootsill protect me a bit from the cold," Karak offered, indicating his _Boots of the Winterlands_. And that was the extent of their preparedness.

"What about Ixin?" Ayremac asked. "What does she bring to our group?" Huzair translated the question and then her response.

"She's got nothing that'll help much with cold or water," he told the others. "She can glide a bit with her wings and she can breath fire once a day."

Ixin was striking to behold, and Shamalin couldn't help but stare at her as Huzair explained what she was capable of. It wasn't so much how she looked - although the height and fangs and muscles were an awe-inspiring combination. Shamalin's curiosity focused more on the idea that Ixin had been reborn from her previous life. This raised so many questions. Was it the place she had died which accounted for her reincarnation - this Grove of Renewal? Had it to do with some fiery element of Ixin's own nature or the means of her death? Had it been a choice? The fact that Shamalin could not communicate any of these questions was frustrating to no end. And so she resigned herself to watching their newest member with an isolated sense of awe.



In the end it was decided that they would press on toward the Elemental Water Key. They stepped through the plane of utter dark and stepped into a gray void. There was ground beneath their feet on which to walk, but it was indistinguishable from the  air above their heads or pressing in all around them. Light came from everywhere and nowhere, casting no shadows and bathing everyone in a disconcertingly flat glow that made it impossible to gauge distance. Not that there was anything to see in the distance, mind you.

"What's this supposed to be?" Huzair quipped. "The Test of Boredom?" Before anyone had a chance to laugh, the man was in their midst, blade flashing.

He was wild-eyed and hairy, naked but for a loin clout and a golden amulet that swung crazily around his neck even as he swung his bastard sword about. The blade hewed into Huzair's right leg, its momentum slowed only by its impact with the wizard's femur. Huzair screamed and fell away from his assailant, blood streaming down his crippled leg.

Karak roared a battlecry and hefted his waraxe in the mage's defense, but Shamalin shouted for him to stop. "Remember the other tests!" she cried. "Defeating this man in battle can't be the ans-"

Ixin didn't speak common.

The half-dragon leapt onto the man from behind, her massive arms, pinning the berserker's own to his side. He struggled to free his weapon, trying to head butt Ixin as he did so. But as his head came back, the drakeling's jaws snapped forward, clamping down on his neck where it met his shoulder. The man seemed not to feel it and when she drew back her head, the wound closed bloodlessly.

"The amulet!" Huzair cried from the ground, where he was trying to staunch the flow of blood from his wounded leg. "Get the amulet!"

Morier's arm whipped out like a striking cobra and snatched the amulet, snapping the chain that linked it to the man. No sooner had the jewelry come free of his throat than he sank into a languid calm, seeming almost to melt in Ixin's thick arms.

"Mercy?" he pleaded. And then his eyes bulged and he made choking sounds as the half-dragon's arms tightened around his weakened body.

"Poc!" Huzair shouted to her, raising his blood-soaked hand. "Poc, Ixin! Sventhric-sthyr!"

"Shar, sthyrirlym wux," she responded and the mage shook his head. She let the man go reluctantly.

"It only seemed that way," he sighed in common and turned his attention to the defeated man. "I grant you mercy," he said and the man smiled.

"You may pass on through the far door," the hairy man told them, gesturing at a door that had appeared some distance away.



"But I don't understand, Huzair," Ixin said in draconic as they stepped through the door and into the next test. "He nearly killed you."

"I know. It doesn't make sense," the wizard admitted. "But I've learned to trust Shamalin on these morality tests."

"I don't see how this is a test of morality," Ixin replied, looking around.

They had appeared on one side of a chasm that was at least 50' across and so deep as to appear bottomless from where they stood. The door had let onto a narrow ledge barely ten feet across and twice that in length. A similar ledge was on the opposite side of the chasm and on it could be seen another door, marked as the previous two had with the rune of water. There was no visible means of crossing.

Huzair's lip curled in disgust as he felt all of the enchantments upon him suppressed  within the chamber. "Anti-magic field," he announced, bitterly.

Karak approached the edge and dropped a rock over the side. He waited, hand cupped around his ear, but didn't hear it hit bottom. "I dinnae want to fall in tha'!" he said, stepping away from the edge. As he turned back to the others his face grew wide with concern and he pointed behind them. "Oy!"

Molten lava was slowly pouring out of two hidden vents one set on either side of the door through which they'd entered. It hissed and spattered as it oozed from the vents and began to pool on the ledge behind them.

"Not again," Ixin hissed in draconic.


----------



## Jon Potter

*20,000 Page Views*

Yep, we reached it!

And I think I'll do a few things to celebrate over the coming week.

1) Update the rogue's gallery thread. Since not only readers but the players themselves want to see this it seems. I've got three of the PCs stat-blocked up with three more to go. When they're all ready I'll slap them up and post a notice here.

2) Post some "bonus eopisodes". I've got a cushion of almost 20 posts between where the story hour is and where the game is, so post-a-day might be a possibility next week.

3) Post my cosmology. Hairy Minotaur's been a reader for so long, I can't ignore his request. That'll probably take the longest to bear fruit, however, since most of the deity stuff is only in note-form currently.

So that's what you have to look forward to.


----------



## Blarkon Dragonslayer

Excellent update. I'm betting the new improved Ixin has a bit less of the glassjaw problem, she seems a bit more combat-ready then the old.  Woohoooo!

And many congrats on the 20k page views...so when you hit 40,000 views will you do 8 things?


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## Jon Potter

Blarkon Dragonslayer said:
			
		

> Excellent update. I'm betting the new improved Ixin has a bit less of the glassjaw problem, she seems a bit more combat-ready then the old.  Woohoooo!




You can see for yourself. I just posted to the Rogue's Gallery, a short 2.5 years after the last one.  :\ 

The party is here.



> And many congrats on the 20k page views...so when you hit 40,000 views will you do 8 things?




Well, it took 5 years of posting to get to this point, so I reckon I've got some time to think up the next big thing.


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## Blarkon Dragonslayer

Excellent work on the Rogue's Gallery!

For me, the link in your post above took me to an old Grisham post.

This link seems more towards your rogue's gallery page as a whole:

http://www.enworld.org/forums/showthread.php?t=27925

Karak is a dwarf after my own heart.

I do wonder what the reason is that Morier took a level of warrior, rather then fighter, though I'm sure there is a good reason.

I also think it'll be far less then 5 years before you hit 40,000 views.  This story hour is very impressive.


----------



## Jon Potter

Blarkon Dragonslayer said:
			
		

> Excellent work on the Rogue's Gallery!
> 
> For me, the link in your post above took me to an old Grisham post.




Thanks again for the kind words. And for letting me know about the bad link. I fixed it.



> Karak is a dwarf after my own heart.




Yeah, he's the very definition of tank.



> I do wonder what the reason is that Morier took a level of warrior, rather then fighter, though I'm sure there is a good reason.




The same reason Ayremac has a level of Expert and the original iteration of Ixin had a level of Aristocrat. One of the Green Ronin books (I think it may be "Bastards & Bloodlines", but I'm not sure) had a suggestion for reducing PC level adjustment by allowing them to offset with NPC classes.

Drow are ECL +2, but Morier became ECL +1 by taking an level of the inferior Warrior NPC class.

The method works out okay. And it's certainly helped with survivability. I'm not sure it's right for everyone, but my group likes it.



> I also think it'll be far less then 5 years before you hit 40,000 views.  This story hour is very impressive.




We'll see. I hope so, but I'm not counting on anything.


----------



## Blarkon Dragonslayer

I sort of like that idea. (Using the NPC classes to buy off level adjustment) I've been toying with the idea of trying to do some PBEM or PBP DnD for some time, due to my lack of available local personnel, and I think I might just drop that one into the pot.

One other question though, leaps to mind.  How much does it effect your planning, as DM, now that at least two of your characters can fly (or at least glide) at will? I've always found that it makes life very complex, once people hit the point where flying and teleportation effects start to become accessible.

And now, I will sit back and impatiently await the next glorious update.


----------



## Jon Potter

Blarkon Dragonslayer said:
			
		

> I sort of like that idea. (Using the NPC classes to buy off level adjustment) I've been toying with the idea of trying to do some PBEM or PBP DnD for some time, due to my lack of available local personnel, and I think I might just drop that one into the pot.




Well, there's room for exploitation by unscrupulous player, so I'd recommend caution. I actually favor the method of "buying off" level adjustment that's suggested in Unearthed Arcana.



> One other question though, leaps to mind.  How much does it effect your planning, as DM, now that at least two of your characters can fly (or at least glide) at will? I've always found that it makes life very complex, once people hit the point where flying and teleportation effects start to become accessible.




Well teleportation is another ball of wax entirely; one that I must admit I'm not looking forward to stumbling over in a few levels. Flight, however, is not the game breaker that many folks seem to think it is. In certain situations, it's very helpful, but in others - such as the ubiquitous dungeon environment - it's just this side of useless. If all of the PCs could fly it might be a bigger deal, but with it limited to one (or two if you count Gliding) then it just serves to isolate the flier from party support.



> And now, I will sit back and impatiently await the next glorious update.




Yikes! I guess I owe a couple of updates if I'm going to keep up the post-a-day rate I promised. Let's see...


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #375a] A Leap of Faith*

Ixin looked over at the far side of the chasm, judging the distance. It was simply too far for her to glide across. Unless she was higher...



"We could-," Morier began, gesturing emphatically at Huzair. Then his face fell and he added, "Oh... yeah, anti-magic field."

Ayremac unfurled his wings, critically studying the others appraisingly. He settled on the lanky wizard. "Huzair, get on now! Let's go!" He turned toward the chasm, poised to leap off.

"You sure about this?" Huzair asked as he grabbed hold of the holy warrior.

"Have faith," Ayremac responded, his expression grim as he pushed off and launched them into the air. He never realized how much the wizard smelled like smoke.

They fell for a moment then his wings caught the air, buoying them upward. His flight was graceful and might well have elicited impressed gasps from the others if everyone hadn't been so busy looking for some way to save themselves.

Ixin was busily climbing the rough wall, searching for a higher launch point.

Shamalin dropped to her knees at the edge of the chasm, the clank of her knee guards echoed by the opposite cliff face. "I don't think the time for praying is on us yet, priestess," Morier told her, then he saw what she was doing as she gathered up a fistful of gravel and scattered it over the side.

"I'm not praying! Perhaps there's an invisible bridge or island or...," she stopped and tried to discern what she'd just seen. The rocks and pebbles and dust had broadcast out into the void and she'd watched them fall intent on any changes in their trajectory that might hint at something unseen. And then they'd simply vanished. "There's something here!" she said excitedly.

"What've ye found, lass?" Karak asked, leaning over here shoulder. She hefted a rock.

"Watch!" she replied, tossing the stone into the chasm. It disappeared and at the same time Huzair yelped. Looking up, she saw that the wizard and Ayremac had landed on the opposite side and Huzair was rubbing his rump.

"Something hit me with a rock!" he grumbled loudly.

Shamalin grinned and got to her feet as Ixin sailed overhead, her wings carrying her easily across the chasm as Ayremac was poised to return. She landed beside them and turned to regard the three members of the Order who still remained on the opposite side of the chasm. Shamalin looked ready to step off into thin air.

"I believe I have rope in my bag. I could tie it -" Huzair stopped with the flap of his Handy Haversack open revealing the bag's empty interior. "Damned anti-magic field," he cursed at Ayremac.



"I've figured it out," Shamalin said to no one in particular. "This is a test of faith."

And she stepped off. She tottered in the air for a moment and then fell like a half-elf encased in 100 pounds of steel. Morier cried a warning and reached for her trailing arm, but he was too slow and then she was gone.

_Literally._

She reappeared with a clatter on the far ledge beside Huzair. Ixin looked at her in disbelief, shaking her horned head.

"Wux pothoc vaecaesin-ir," she hissed and Huzair nodded.

"You can say that again," he muttered and Shamalin caught his eye. He explained to her, "She says you're one crazy elf and I think she's probably right."



A wave of energy coursed through their bodies as they passed through the portal. Their vision blurred momentarily and the sensation of falling rapidly filled them. All at once, their senses snapped back to normal and they found themselves resting on an the bottom half of an enormous shell, bobbing on a limitless pool of water. The rune of water lined the edge of the clamshell.

The sky above was bleak and featureless. There were no structures or land masses to be seen above the waterline - but thick, colorful coral reefs grew mazelike in the depths. The water itself seemed boundless and clear as crystal, illuminated with blue and green light filtering up from the depths. Ayremac peered over the side, but it was difficult to determine the actual depth. At a guess, he figured it to be just shy of a 100' feet to the bottom.

The blue-green light seemed to be coming from something lying directly beneath them on the bottom of the magic lake.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #376] Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea*

"I like this place not at all," Flameblade hissed to no one in particular.

"NOR DO I!" thundered Stoneblade in response. "ONLY WITH BEDROCK UNDER FOOT CAN A WARRIOR BE TRULY HAPPY!"

"Can either of you offer any suggestion on how to deal with this?" Morier asked his greatsword and both weapons were silent on the matter.

"I have the ability to _Detect Evil_," Ayremac told them, looking around at the undulating surface of the water. "Do you think it is worth scanning?" Morier shrugged.

"That's up to you, I guess," he said, looking quickly around. "I don't see anything to BE evil, though."

"I think what's to see be below us, elf," Karak grunted, peering nervously over the side. The water was surprisingly clear and he could see the warrens of multi-hued coral on the lake bottom, illuminated by the blue-green light. The sway of the sea shell as he redistributed his weight made him feel vulnerable.

"I'll scout from the air," Ayremac said, flexing his wings and shooting into the air like a bowshot. He began to circle in widening arcs.

"Somebody's pretty pleased with himself," Huzair muttered to Ixin in Draconic and the drakeling looked askance to the wizard.

"What exactly are we doing here?" she asked him, looking with distaste at all the water. "What key could be worth risking all of our lives?"

"Well, beautiful, it's like this," Huzair began launching into a brief but thorough explanation of the tests Morier had passed in the Grove of Renewal, how the reward he'd gained for doing so had led him to the means of releasing an imprisoned goddess to destroy Aphyx, and how he had in turn led everybody else here.

Ixin nodded seriously at his explanation and prepared herself for battle. By the time he'd finished his tale in Draconic, Ayremac returned with a grim face. "Apart from this shell, nothing breaks the surface of the water as far as I can see in any direction," he explained. "The Key must be underwater."

"I think we'd pretty much figured that out," Morier replied. "Which leaves all of us but you with your _Necklace_ and Shamalin with her spell stuck up here."

"If you think someone else is better suited to wear my amulet into battle, Morier," Ayremac offered, "I will gladly surrender it. It is important that we use our resources to the best of our ability."

"If'n ye feel that way, lad, I'll take yer bauble," Karak grunted. "I've got me _Ring o' Freedom_ what lets me fight underwater as easy as I fight on land. Plus I can take a few more hits than either o' you an' keep on me feet."

"The only real concern is getting back to the surface when we're through," Shamalin said, craning her neck to look over the side without tumbling in.

"Ye could tie a rope to us," Karak suggested. Despite his bravado, he didn't much like the idea of fighting underwater; he was a dwarf and the earth was his element. "Arms or one arm up over head wavin' back an' forth, back and forth means we be in trouble. Thumbs up means we be okay." He demonstrated his signals and the sea shell bobbed and dipped threateningly.

"Problem is," Ayremac pointed out. "Once you go down, trouble or no, there is not much we can do for you."

"I think that everyone should use some of the _Pixie Dust_," Huzair suggested, taking out the little pouch that had once adorned Lela's belt and offering it around. "That way you can return to the surface just by willing it."

"Can we levitate through water?" Karak asked as he took a pinch of the iridescent powder and the wizard nodded.

"Of course," he snorted with a dismissive wave of his hand.

He hoped he was right.



They started with the Dust of Levitation. Then Morier imbued Karak with _Bull's Strength_. Ayremac used his god-given ability to _Protect_ his allies _from Evil_ on both Karak and Shamalin. Then he spoke a word of _Blessing_ over the endeavor and Shamalin cast _Water Breathing_ and, looking at Karak to make sure he was sufficiently prepared she stepped off into the water much as she had into the chasm earlier.

This was much more horrifying. The water, cool but not truly cold, pressed in on her at once, flooding her armor and dragging her downward like a stone. A cloud of bubbles escaping from the gaps in her plate instantly obscured everything around her and she plummeted down nearly blind and mostly deaf. Then her feet hit the bottom and she sank passed her ankles into the sand there. Her shield clattered against an outcropping of red coral, sending up a cloud of debris that sought to further deprive her of her sight.

She managed to right herself, and cleared away a goodly portion of the occluding detritus floating around her with a single sweep of her shield. Of course, that sweep took every ounce of her strength and she realized dismally just how hard it was going to be to do anything in this much water. That was when she felt it; an alien mind pressing against hers seeking to _Dominate_ her will and make it it's own. Something cold and wet slipped across her thoughts and then it was gone, repelled by Ayremac's _Protection from Evil_.

She looked quickly about for her mental assailant, and saw not one... not two... but three massive shapes heave themselves up from the sandy bottom nearby. Like some large insects or monstrous crustaceans, the creatures rose from where they had buried themselves' their pincerlike claws snapped angrily as the aqua-marine light (which, Shamalin noted, was coming from beneath what looked to be the half-buried other half of the same shell the others were floating in above) reflected off their mottled, armored carapace. Their small dark eyes fixed her with a hungry stare, and the mass of tentacles dripping from their mouths squirmed excitedly as they emerged from their hiding places.

Shamalin opened her mouth to scream and bubbles once more clouded her field of vision. When they'd cleared, Karak was amidst the things, his axe swinging.



The dwarf swung hard and his waraxe slammed into and through the largest thing's tough carapace, It squealed in pain, a sound that Karak could hear even underwater, and a cloud of blood leaked out of the wound as he drew his axe free. It turned and the look of malice in its black glass eyes told the dwarf that it could take several more of those same hits without being overly inconvenienced.

Its claws came in like the jaws of a vice, thinking to grapple him, but he avoided both attacks thanks to his armor and his _Ring of Freedom_. One of the others came at him from behind and managed to get passed his armor. locking its cruel grip momentarily around his leg before he slipped magically free.

Shamalin did not have the dwarf's protection against such attacks, however. Fortunately, her own armor was even stouter than Karak's and the third creature, which ignored the dwarf and continued to menace her found no purchase on her form as it struck.



Up above, the others watched the battle feeling more than a little helpless. "This doesn't look good," Huzair muttered.

"What's that?" Ixin asked him in draconic and pointed. A dark, sinuous shape was moving amidst the labyrinth of coral surrounding the melee. The shadowy thing was half-again as large as the giant lobster creatures, and cut with a dangerous grace in the water.


----------



## Blarkon Dragonslayer

Not one but two updates!  Go Shamalin and the incredible sinking dwarf!

Life is good indeed.  

I know what you mean about teleportation. In the past I've found myself in the same position as a Star Trek screen writer, trying to come up with endless different reasons why the party can't just scry, teleport in, whack the big bad, loot hoover,  and teleport out.  All without dealing with vast layers of story and encounter goodness I had laid out before them.  In one campaign I went so far as to make teleportation only possible between very specific places, like ley line connections or specially enchanted shrines and so forth.  That worked fairly well, but wasn't completely satisfying as a solution.


----------



## Jon Potter

Blarkon Dragonslayer said:
			
		

> In one campaign I went so far as to make teleportation only possible between very specific places, like ley line connections or specially enchanted shrines and so forth.  That worked fairly well, but wasn't completely satisfying as a solution.




I've seen the ley line suggestion for teleports and I like the idea from a flavor perspective. From a rules stanpoint, I don't think it's fair to the spellcasters to nerf one of their coolest abilities. If a player's slogged through 9 wizard levels to get their first 5th level spell and wants teleport, I'm not going to take that away from them.

You may have noticed in an earlier post I made offhand mention of the Wayfarer Union, a group of spellcasters specializing in teleportation, so the concept's out there in the game already. It's a bridge I'll just have to cross when the time comes.


----------



## Pyske

"Anticipate teleport", from the spell compendium, takes a lot of the bite out of the scry / teleport tactic, while still preserving the usefulness of teleport as a travel spell.  It's worth checking out, to see whether it fits your campaign.


----------



## Blarkon Dragonslayer

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> I've seen the ley line suggestion for teleports and I like the idea from a flavor perspective. From a rules stanpoint, I don't think it's fair to the spellcasters to nerf one of their coolest abilities. If a player's slogged through 9 wizard levels to get their first 5th level spell and wants teleport, I'm not going to take that away from them.
> 
> You may have noticed in an earlier post I made offhand mention of the Wayfarer Union, a group of spellcasters specializing in teleportation, so the concept's out there in the game already. It's a bridge I'll just have to cross when the time comes.




I do indeed remember them being mentioned.  And nerfing teleport isn't something to do retroactively, certainly. When I did the ley line thing, it was something the players knew about when they initially set up characters, and it was reinforced by campaign events long before the wizard got to the point where it became an option.


----------



## Jon Potter

Pyske said:
			
		

> "Anticipate teleport", from the spell compendium, takes a lot of the bite out of the scry / teleport tactic, while still preserving the usefulness of teleport as a travel spell.  It's worth checking out, to see whether it fits your campaign.




It's a definite fit. I was already aware of the spell, but thanks anyway for the tip.



			
				Blarkon Dragonslayer said:
			
		

> I do indeed remember them being mentioned.  And nerfing teleport isn't something to do retroactively, certainly. When I did the ley line thing, it was something the players knew about when they initially set up characters, and it was reinforced by campaign events long before the wizard got to the point where it became an option.




Well that's different.   

I'm leaning toward one of two options, I think:

1) The "scry / teleport / attack" tactic is the intellectual property of the Wayfarer Union and they have special teams designed specifically to take down anyone else who uses such without paying their consultation fee. This is a bit tongue-in-cheek, but it could make for some exciting spell assaults.

2) The "scry / teleport / attack" tactic is considered an affront to Garjarvan, the God of Roads and his clergy takes a very dim view of folks who use it. This is somewhat arbitrary, but who can argue with "the will of god"


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> 1) The "scry / teleport / attack" tactic is the intellectual property of the Wayfarer Union and they have special teams designed specifically to take down anyone else who uses such without paying their consultation fee. This is a bit tongue-in-cheek, but it could make for some exciting spell assaults.




This sounds like Dune, so I'm picturing the Wayfarer Union in black leather floor length robes and a huge Beholder running the show from inside his containment tank.


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> This sounds like Dune, so I'm picturing the Wayfarer Union in black leather floor length robes and a huge Beholder running the show from inside his containment tank.




Now that is an image! And funny you should mention beholders... stay tuned for an future encounter with some of our ocular friends.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #377] Blood in the Water*

"Huzair, can you summon a distraction for us?" Ayremac asked after looking down at the battle below and the new threat that Ixin was pointing at. "Something... swimming?" The mage shook his head.

"We might be able to provide our own distraction, though," he said, reaching into his back to pull out a tightly bound scroll. He placed it into Ixin's hands and then began making arcane gestures with his own. _"Magicus telum!"_ he intoned and pointed at the big creature swimming ominously off to the side. A trio of strobing missiles zipped beneath the surface and unerringly careened into the fish-shape's flank. The thing twitched at the missiles' sting and the light of their impact momentarily illuminated its slimy tail and trailing tentacles.

"That's going to take forever," Morier complained and Huzair spat.

"You got any better ideas?" the mage snapped. "And anyway, I'm just trying to draw them to the surface. We can get some free shots with _Magic Missile_ before they can close with us. If you think I'm not going to take those shots you're losing it, Morier. When they come above the water, I will hit with flaming attacks that could do more damage."

"Morier, I can give you Umba's _Protection from Evil_ or grant you her _Aid_," Ayremac offered, distracting the albino from Huzair. "Which would you prefer?"

Ixin unfurled the scroll and studied the symbols scribed on its surface. It was draconic, she realized, but the writing was unfamiliar. After a moment's further study, she recognized the spell matrix for _False Life_ trapped within the glyphs and she grinned. "Arcaniss-sjir," she growled. "Vorel!" 

"Don't worry, hon'," the wizard smirked. "You can thank me later."



The seabed behind Shamalin suddenly thrust itself up, twisted fingers of coral rising upward to form an impassable wall that curved upward high enough to obscure view of the fish creature from those floating on the shell. It didn't concern the cleric at the moment, however, as she concentrated on the _Levitation_ spell active upon her and withdrew from her crustacean adversary and toward the surface.

The creature that had been harrying her continued to do so. It snapped its thick tail once and came at her, claws snapping tightly around Shamalin's ankle. She felt her grieve buckle beneath the strength of that pincer and then she was being jerked helplessly back toward the shelled monster.

Karak saw this, but was in no position to do anything about it at the moment. He had two lobster-things of his own with which to contend. He managed to easily avoid three of the claws that sought him, but one bypassed his defenses and clamped down on his weapon arm. The bracer dented but held, keeping the limb itself bruised but mostly intact.

Thanks to his _Ring_, Karak jerked his arm magically free of the thing's grip and moved determinedly toward the creature grappling Shamalin provoking additional attacks from his own adversaries as he did so. This time his left leg suffered a glancing swipe from a pincer and the dwarf saw a trailing cloud of blood leaking from between the plates of his armor. Undeterred, Karak swung his axe into the side of the thing menacing Shamalin and was rewarded with a squeal of pain as his waraxe cut deeply between two chitinous plates protecting its flank. Blood filled the water, but still the thing did not release the priestess.



"Kael's Loom!" Huzair cursed, drawing another scroll from his haversack. He unfurled it and activated the _Magic Missile_ spell scribed thereon. As the scroll crumbled to dust, another pair of arcane bolts slipped beneath the water and homed in on the creature grappling Shamalin. It jerked but gave no sign that it was ready to release her.

Beside him on the shell, Ayremac pressed his hand against the skull emblazoned on his breastplate and bowed his head. "Umba I beg your _Holy_ power now to _Smite_ these evil creatures where they stand," he prayed. Below him, the three lobster-things shrieked in agony, blood exploding from the gaps in their shells as the spell went off in their midst. One of the creatures pursuing Karak as well as the one grappling Shamalin were rendered blind by the spell's potency.

_"Magicus telum!"_ Ixin commanded and a pair of _Magic Missiles_ streaked from her fingertips, adding to the tally of injuries on the thing menacing Shamalin.

Morier was rendered useless by the distance of the battle, but he made himself useful by keeping his eye on the spot where they had last seen the large fish-shape. Thus he was the only one who saw the dark form moving again through the bizarrely tangled coral growth. He marked its path as it circled to the far side of the melee.



Shamalin knew there was no way she could break free of the claws that held her so she urged herself to remain calm and concentrate on the intricate phrasing of the _Water Walk_ spell. She had almost completed the spell when the thing jostled her, making her somatics go wrong and she felt the magic dissipate uselessly.

The creature's pincers constricted her mercilessly as it drew her inexorably toward the writhing mass of tentacles that covered its mouthparts like some kind of obscene beard. The tentacles wrapped around her and drew her in toward the mandibles and she could feel the paralytic venom that coated those tentacles as it deadened her limbs. She was able to resist the paralysis, but she could not avoid the thing's mouth and it ripped jagged wounds across her face. The sustained blood loss was making her feel oddly light as darkness creeped in around the edges of her vision.

The blood in the water was driving the other things to a frenzy and even the blind one sought prey with its claws. The one that could still see tightened a pincer around Karak's waist trying madly to replicate its companion's success with Shamalin. Again the dwarf slipped free with only a flesh wound and again he drove his axe into the soft meat at the joint of the creature's leg, making the thing spasm in agony. It teetered to the side, barely able to dodge the dwarf's second swing, but still it did not fall. And it maintained its death grip on the cleric.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #378] Up From the Depths*

Ayremac stepped to the edge and looked straight down.

"I'm all out of spells until they reach the surface," Huzair admitted grimly. "Damn this water!"

"Well spoken," Flameblade hissed in agreement.

"There's little I can do at this range either," Morier said with a grimace. Ayremac turned to look back at Morier, Huzair and Ixin... then looked down again.

In the clear water it was obvious that the monster crustaceans were winning this battle. There seemed to be precious little life left in Shamalin.

"I hope to see you in just a few minutes," the holy warrior told them and then made to jump in but Morier caught his arm.

"Are you mad?" the albino demanded. "How do you intend to survive this?"

"I can hold my breath a lot longer than Shamalin can survive being ripped into by those things," Ayremac countered pulling his arm free.

"Good luck," Huzair said with a disapproving shake of his head. "Knock yourself out." The wizard pressed his _Ring of Invisibility_ into the Officer's hand.

"Thank you," Ayremac said before gasping a huge breath of air and jumping over the side.

"Huzair, wux arithricirlym zyak pothoc?" Ixin asked in disbelief as she watched the holy warrior plummet into the depths amidst a cloud of bubbles. The wizard shook his head in resigned agreement.

"It looks like it," he muttered in common while the drakeling began weaving her hands into the somatics for a spell.

_"Magicus telum!"_ Ixin intoned, sending another pair of _Magic Missiles_ into the water. The bolts of force arced around Ayremac and slammed into the creature holding Shamalin. It staggered on its numerous legs and sagged heavily against the coral before its claws relaxed and Shamlin drifted from the dead thing's grasp.

"Ocuir!" Ixin growled, pointing at the creature she had just slain. "Ocuir! Ukris-majak Ixin!"

"She'd like us to confer with her next time before we let holy boy do anything rash," Huzair told Morier and the eldritch warrior just nodded.



Free of the grapple, Shamalin wasted no time in healing her injuries with a _Cure Critical Wounds_ miracle. She immediately felt much better and seized the opportunity to begin levitating toward the shell above.

The two remaining lobster-things ignored her completely, devoting their attention solely to Karak, and their pincers savaged his armored form with wild abandon. One of them very nearly ripped the doughty warrior's shield arm from its socket and despite his durability, he found himself on the verge of blacking out from the sustained punishment.

Rather than push his luck, he withdrew, concentrating on the _Levitation_ spell and rising up toward Shamalin who, he saw, was already twenty feet up. The dwarf's actions surprised the two creatures below and he momentarily left them behind, clawing at the sandy bottom where he'd been standing moments before. He'd seen the things swim after Shamalin and he knew that they'd be in pursuit soon enough.



Ayremac plummeted downward until he neared the rising Shamalin and then he too activated the power of the _Pixie Dust_ to arrest his fall. He pressed his left hand against the holy symbol worked into the breastplate of his armor and triggered his _Sacred Healing_. Positive energy washed over Shamalin and Karak, bringing the cleric closer yet to full health and dulling the ache in Karak's mangled arm enough for him to pull out his _Wand of Cure Light Wounds_ and use it on himself.

The water between them was suddenly afire with magic as Ixin sent another pair of _Magic Missiles_ sizzling down toward their foes below. It wasn't much in the face of the massive creature's bulk, but it added to the thing's toll of injuries.



"Wurik arilevethixirlym!" Ixin said, turning an imploring eye on Huzair. But, before the wizard could respond, the air around the shell was filled with a twisting pattern of subtle colors that weaved their way into her brain. She stopped, shoulders slumped as she watched the pattern of color, slack-jawed and wide-eyed.

"_Hypnotic Pattern!_" Morier and Huzair shouted at each other as they both averted their eyes, resisting the fascination effect.

"But who cast it?" the albino wondered.



Shamalin continued _Levitating_ toward the surface, but her gaze was on the two lobster-things below. Their tails stirred up dark clouds of sand from the sea bed as they launched themselves upward. She was likely out of their immediate reach, but Karak wasn't going to be so lucky, she saw at once. 

They closed on him with frightening quickness, pincers snapping. One claw closed momentarily on the toe of his furred boots, but he kicked his legs and managed to avoid their grasp. The _Levitation_ carried the dwarf up toward Ayremac who was waiting for him with arms spread in what looked like a waiting embrace. Instead, he touched Karak lightly on the shoulder and healing magic poured into the injured warrior, closing his most serious wounds, but leaving him in a very bad way nonetheless.



Huzair grimaced. "I hate to do this," he said and then slapped Ixin hard across the face. He wasn't particularly strong and her skin was tough, but after a second slap, she showed signs of regaining her senses.

"Wux-tour?!" she growled, eyes gradually focusing on the mage's face. Then her gaze flicked to the lingering lights of the _Hypnotic Pattern_ and her features hardened. She hissed, "Levex! Ixin tuorvorastrix!" Huzair nodded his understanding and then gestured expansively around.

"Me too," he admitted. "But where is he?"

"I saw that fish thing move over there earlier, but I lost sight of it," Morier told them, pointing at the last spot he'd seen the larger swimming shape. "But I think that Ixin needs to concentrate on the foes we can see since she's the only one of us who can do anything to help."

"I HAD HOPES FOR YOU WHEN YOU ACTED BRAVELY DURING THE TEST OF FIRE," Stoneblade chided. "BUT I AM NOT IMPRESSED WITH YOUR PROWESS THIS DAY!"



Shamalin called on divine aid to help Karak and Ayremac - who were now both within reach of the lobster things. Clutching her holy symbol with one hand she described a circle in the water in front of herself. The water within the flat plane of that circle swirled for a moment and then glowed brightly. An instant later it disgorged a sleek, glittering native from the River Oceanus in the Blessed Fields of Elysium. The Celestial Dolphin chittered and whistled in greeting and then dove at the nearer of the two lobsters, leaving a trail of bright bubbles in its wake.

It didn't serve as the distraction that Shamalin had hoped for, however. Both creatures continued to focus their attention on Karak perhaps out of an inherent tenacity or perhaps because he was surrounded by a rusty cloud of blood from his numerous wounds and they saw him as easy prey. The first creature missed him entirely, but the second snapped its claw around his ankle and tried to draw him in. But again, the dwarf was saved by his _Ring of Freedom_.

Karak, for his part continued to focus on escape, pure and simple. He withdrew toward the shell above which still seemed a league away despite the fact that a glance downward told him that they'd already traversed almost half the distance to the surface. When he was safely out of reach he tapped himself with the _Wand of Cure Light Wounds_ again.



"They're getting closer," Morier said eagerly; his greatsword was in his hands and he was very nearly bouncing from foot to foot at the prospect of finally getting to contribute to this battle. Huzair didn't look up from his bag, from which he'd produced a length of hemp rope.

"Let me know when they get within 35 feet," he said. "I don't suppose you've got any pitons, do you?"

"Pitons?" Morier asked, sparing the wizard a confused glance.

"I was going to hammer one into the shell to anchor a rope in case we-" Huzair began but Morier interrupted him.

"Into the shell? You were going to hammer an iron spike into the FLOATING shell?" the albino asked, incredulous.

"To anchor the rope," the mage told him and Morier just shook his head.

"No," he said finally. "I don't have any spikes." And then he went back to watching the race to the surface going on below.



Shamalin's dolphin friend circled under and drove its snout into the belly of the more wounded of the two things, Smiting it soundly. The injury was minimal, but it was enough to distract the creature from Karak. It lurched in the water and seized the porpoise cruelly in its pincers, ripping the golden-skinned creature in half in a matter of seconds. Mercifully, the summoned animal's remains returned immediately to Elysium rather than cloud the water with gore.

The other crustacean horror kept pace with Karak, snapping again at his feet, but missing. The dwarf pulled away and tapped himself with the _Wand_ a third time. He could sense that the device was all but drained of power. Only a handful of charges remained.



"They're almost in range, Huzair," Morier said, glancing up from the water. "What do you have in - MY GOD! LOOK!!" He pointed to a spot about 100 feet behind the wizard where a great sea serpent had arisen from the water, its head mounted on a neck as long as a ship's mast and twice as thick around. It had two webbed forelimbs that it weaved about as if about to cast a spell.

"You will never get the key!" it bellowed across the water at them.

"There's our caster!" Huzair snapped and immediately began casting _Bolt of Conjuring_. He gestured with his hands and sent a ray of raw mana at the serpentine monster and struck it full in the chest with little apparent effect. The mana coalesced into an evil-looking octopus which immediately latched itself to the thing's neck at the waterline.

Ixin sent a pair of _Magic Missiles_ into the creature, but if it felt any discomfort from the barrage it gave no sign.



The surface was tantalizingly close now. Shamalin knew that she'd be feeling the breeze on her cheeks in moments now. She hoped that Karak would be as lucky. One of the creatures continued to harry him, its pincers seeking every opportunity to snap at him. As she watched its claw stabbed in at Karak's head and ripped away a bit of the dwarf's hair.

The second monster charged upward, regaining the distance it had lost in dispatching the porpoise. It snapped at him and missed.



"You all will die!" the sea serpent told them.

"Let's see how you like ice!" Huzair said, directing a _Snowball Swarm_ at the serpent. Again the creature seemed unaffected although Huzair saw a telltale puff of smoke at he slew his own summoned octopus!

Ixin's _Magic Missiles_ thudded against the creature's jaw without phasing it in the slightest.

"Is that spell resistance? It's not even reacting to the spells!" Morier asked, but Huzair wasn't listening, he was clutching his head, his expression a mask of concentration.

"Trying to _Dominate_ me!" the wizard cursed. After a moment his head snapped up and he stared intently at Morier. "I beat it, though. We need to end this!"


----------



## Blarkon Dragonslayer

Man, they are having a serious rough time.  Of course, having half the party only able to fight in a sort of half-way fashion isn't helping them any.  It'll be interesting to see if they can regroup and pull this one off.  I shudder to think what the air challenge is going to be like.

Excellent, excellent, updates.


----------



## Jon Potter

Blarkon Dragonslayer said:
			
		

> Man, they are having a serious rough time.




Chuul + Aboleth = bad news. Of course, everybody kept making their Will saves, so I didn't get tyo have any PvP mayhem.



> Of course, having half the party only able to fight in a sort of half-way fashion isn't helping them any.




If you look at the PCs in the Rogue's Gallery you'll notice a distinct absence of missile weapons.


----------



## Blarkon Dragonslayer

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> Chuul + Aboleth = bad news. Of course, everybody kept making their Will saves, so I didn't get tyo have any PvP mayhem.
> 
> 
> 
> If you look at the PCs in the Rogue's Gallery you'll notice a distinct absence of missile weapons.




I'll bet they rectify the missile weapon shortage ASAP, though under water at least some of that wouldn't help too much.  I halfway think they are burning spells trying to nail a projected image anyway, but I could be wrong.


----------



## Jon Potter

Blarkon Dragonslayer said:
			
		

> I halfway think they burning spells trying to nail a projected image anyway, but I could be wrong.




You could be... but you're not.


----------



## Blarkon Dragonslayer

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> You could be... but you're not.




Huzzah for Rat Bastardy DM goodness!


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #379] Mutiny on the High Seas*

"If that thing gets closer, I'll end it alright," Morier hissed, making a threatening gesture with Stoneblade.

"STRONG WORDS FROM ONE WHO LINGERS BEHIND WHILE OTHERS TAKE THE VANGUARD!" the greatsword thundered and Morier glowered at the weapon.

"Perhaps then, you have a suggestion that doesn't end with me dead and you lying in the bottom of this pool for the rest of eternity!" the albino growled. "If so speak now, by all means!!"

"IF YOU WISH ME TO LEAD, FRAIL ONE, THEN SURRENDER YOUR WILL TO ME!" the sword shot back. "IT IS WITHIN MY POWER TO MAKE YOU ACT BRAVELY!" Morier's mouth opened to retort but Huzair cut him off.

"The sword's right, Morier. What are you doing?" the mage asked. "You can cast spells can't you?  A _Magic Missile_ or two may at least distract the lobster creatures."

"Arcanissvent wux?" Ixin asked, arching an inquisitive eyebrow at the two before she began weaving her hands in the familiar pattern necessary to cast another _Magic Missile_ spell. The two bolts of magic lanced downward from her fingertips into the more injured of the two lobster things, making it squeal a bit in pain.

"Thric," Huzair replied. "Morier caex-vargach."

"What are you-" the eldritch warrior began when another _Hypnotic Pattern_ appeared atop the shell. This time both he and Ixin stood slack-jawed and staring at the whirling light show.



Nearby, Shamalin finally broke the surface and rose into the air without stopping, water streaming from the seams in her armor and plastering her strawberry blonde locks across her forehead. "They're still on us," she cried to the others. Her face took on a look of grave concern as she saw the swirling display of lights and Morier's and Ixin's obvious fascination with it.

A few seconds behind her Ayremac and Karak rose up, the latter suffering another nip from a claw before he could _Levitate_ out of its reach. The dwarf sputtered to clear the water from his nose and mouth, squeezing a gallon or two out of his beard with his off-hand.

"Oi, these crustaceans are givin' me a beatin' more than I thought," he grumbled. "Shamalin? Aryemac? Can ye spare any more healin'?"



"Watch out!" Huzair shouted, pointing toward the sea serpent. "There's a creature over there using mind-affecting spells!" Then he slapped Ixin across the face again to snap her out of her reverie.

"I'll see what I can do!" Ayremac shouted back, spreading his mighty pinions and activating the _Ring of Invisibility_ in one swift motion.

Huzair gave Ixin another shake and was about to do the same to Morier when the albino seemed to come out of it on his own. It didn't take long for Huzair to realize that it wasn't Morier who had resisted the _Hypnotic Pattern_.

"NOW WE SHALL SEE WHAT WE CAN SEE!" Stoneblade thundered as it forced Morier to leap 15 feet onto the back of the nearest lobster. The stony gray blade bit into the armored body, but the resulting wound was minor. Somehow, the eldritch warrior was able to retain his footing on the thing's sloping carapace and so he remained safely above the water.

Still blinking the confusion from her eyes, Ixin managed to send another pair of _Magic Missiles_ into the body of the creature Morier was riding. She didn't see the tentacle rise up from behind her until it slapped down across her back, almost driving her to her knees.



Nearby, but oblivious to this sudden turn of events, Shamalin channeled a _Cure Light Wounds_ into a ray that washed across Karak's back, soothing his injuries a little. "That's the best I can do at range!" she apologized. "You must get closer!"

"I'm a might busy here!" Karak shouted back before one of the creatures seized him in its claws and squeezed, drawing forth a roar of pain from the dwarf's lungs. Fortunately, Karak's _Ring_ again saved him from being held for long in that deadly grip.

Morier, of course had no such protection, and he quickly found himself held savagely by the creature on whose back he'd been balanced. Even as Karak was driving his waraxe deeply into his own opponent - twice - Morier, fully dominated by Stoneblade, watched as the tentacles surrounding its mouthbits reached eagerly for him.



Under normal circumstances, Huzair would likely have come to Morier's aid, but he his attention was held by the slime-covered tentacle that was flailing about in the air beside himself. He looked over the side at the tendril's owner, some kind of horrible primeval fish. Most of its body was beneath the water, but the mage could see that it was easily twenty feet in length from its bulbous head to its crescent-shaped tail. Three slit-shaped eyes protected by bony ridges were set one atop the other in the front of its head which briefly rose above the water to stare balefully at him.

"Hello," Huzair said calmly and let loose with his _Wand of Scorch_. A ray of fire washed over the thing, but it managed to dart beneath the surface to avoid the worst of the attack. Still, it was plain to see that it did not enjoy the application of fire, which brought a grin to Ixin's face as she leaned over the side and breathed a cone of dragonfire onto it.

The thing shrieked in agony as the fire burned away layers of its slime-coated flesh, turning its skin into char-blackened curls that peeled away like burnt parchment.



Ayremac came at the serpent invisibly. As he approached he heard it say, "You will never get the key!" He watched it move its forelimbs as if it were casting a spell, and he moved to the side, coming at it from an oblique angle. As he got closer, he noticed something odd; the thing was only visible atop the waves. He could see clearly through the water, but there was no body beneath as if it began and ended at the lake's surface.

"You will all die!" the serpent informed them and again its limbs moved as if it were casting a spell, but no spell came and as he passed closer, Ayremac could see why.

The sea serpent was an illusion.



Writhing in pain, the tentacled fish darted beneath the surface and waved its sinuous limbs in an odd fashion. An instant later, another _Hypnotic Pattern_ hit the shell. This time it was Huzair who felt its effects, staring in blank fascination at the twinkling lights.



Shamalin looked around her and judged Morier to be in the worst position. Clutching her holy symbol she invoked Flor's power to summon a _Spiritual Weapon_ that manifested itself as a staff of pure white light. The weapon, directed by Shamalin's will thudded hard against the armored shell of the creature that held Morier, causing it to sway drunkenly in the water. It was not enough to make it release the albino, however and it instead brought him in to its furiously-working mandibles. The tentacles surrounding its mouth wrapped snugly around his body, stinging him repeatedly with paralytic poison. It was a mercy, he decided, since it prevented him from feeling the pincers that still held him and the mouth which slashed again and again at his face.

"THIS IS NOT GOING AS I'D EXPECTED!" Stoneblade said in his hands. The sword's tone sounded genuinely surprised and it released its dominance over the eldritch warrior.



Karak suffered another pair of hits from the lobster attacking him and he returned the favor with two massive blows from his waraxe. One of which severed the thing's left foreclaw at the wrist. It wailed in pain, blood fountaining from the wound as its legs churned the water into a crimson froth. After a frantic moment, its body stilled and drifted slowly downward.



Huzair shook off the effect of the _Hypnotic Pattern_ but knew his wand was of little use against the tentacled fish so long as it remained below the water. so Instead he cast Haste centered on himself and grinned as he saw his companions' movements speed up around him. Using his own burst of speed he _Levitated_ up 20' into the air.



No sooner had his feet left the shell, then he heard Ixin mutter the words of a _Wraithstrike_ spell. He gaped as she dropped the five feet onto the tentacled fish's back, grunting off its opportunistic attack. She had the two scimitars in her hands that Karak had given her and they flashed outward with blazing speed. Once, twice, a third time. Each thrust saw the curved blade opening massive gashes in the fish's body, that ignored its naturally tough skin and found the tender meat below. The creature bucked frantically trying to divest itself of its deadly passenger, but it was no use; Ixin's fangs tore a massive bleeding mouthful of flesh from its back and the thing went still in the water, the last of its life bleeding uselessly from its torn carcass.

The illusionary sea serpent flickered and disappeared.



Shamalin concentrated on her _Spiritual Weapon_ and slammed the force staff into the creature grappling Morier's helpless body. It was the final insult to a creature that had endured much punishment; it sagged immediately and began to sink, taking Morier with it to the bottom. Only Ayremac swooping down to catch hold of the albino's chain shirt kept the eldritch warrior from drowning.



It took only a few moments for Ayremac to haul everyone who was _Levitating_ at a distance back onto the shell. Ixin spat furiously to get the taste of aberrant flesh from her mouth and after a few seconds, Morier sat up.

"That didn't go as badly as it could have," Ayremac said, but before anyone else could argue, Ixin growled in pain and began working at the leather thongs holding her jerkin closed.

"Molikixin valignat!" she complained as she worked at the armor.

"Molikixin?" Huzair asked as he reluctantly helped her.

"What is it?" Shamalin asked.

"She says her skin is burning and- Oh," the mage stopped. They'd removed enough of her leather armor to reveal a hideous infected wound that ran across her back over her dorsal spines and between her tiny wings. It was crusted with slime and the flesh around it was swollen -  livid to the point of being purple. It was in the perfect shape of the tentacle that had slapped her there.

"She's diseased!" Karak grunted, spitting a gobbet of blood into the water.


----------



## Blarkon Dragonslayer

Nice comeback by the party.  Ixin is definitely a tougher lady then previously.  At least they are getting a chance to fall back and rest in between these challenges, or they'd really be meat.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #380] Raiding Davy Jones' Locker*

Ayremac gripped the shell's edge, anxiously scanning the water's depth. He appeared ready to take flight again if more trouble was to come, but the waters remained calm. Small ripples lapped at the side of the shell, and there was an awkward moment of silence in which the truth of Karak's words sank in. Everyone's mind was on Lela, who had borne just such a predicament unto her untimely death. And no one had the heart to speak of such matters at the moment.

"You did good there, lass," Karak at last broke the silence. "You took the big baddie down by yourself and I am might proud of ye. I know ye can nae understan' me, but we'll get you healed up and feelin' better."

"I can assist with that," Ayremac moved forward gracefully, his wings keeping his real weight from unstabilizing the shell as he positioned himself to assist Ixin. "Huzair, can you let her know that I am going to attempt to cure her?" 

Huzair spoke reassuringly to Ixin, and Karak turned to address the rest of the party. "Actually we all did good on that one," the dwarf said, looking at each of the others in turn. "We have to remember, it takes teamwork to fight these elementals." Morier made a guttural sound and looked away. It was evident that whatever had taken place between the albino and his sword had yet to be resolved. 

Karak continued this time looking only at Morier as he did so. "You know when the sword took over your will, that be remindin' me of an old dwarven wives' remedy for what be a goin' on between you and your sword," he said. "You see if'n the husband be not listen' to what the wife wants. Well, she locks 'em up in a cave or mine for as long as it takes for him to see the light. If'n you be gettin my meanin'." Huzair and Shamalin exchanged a bemused look. Morier started as if to speak, and then changed his mind. 

The dwarf went on with increased animation. "That's right... no chalaks, or ale, or even good food bein' allowed 'im until his mind's right, you see. Before too long that old stubborn dwarf, well, he listens now," he nodded his head as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "At least that is what they tell me for as ye can see, I like havin' me own mind and have me no wife." Karak's hearty laugh made the shell rock dangerously as he reveled in the humor of his tale. 

"Indeed, it must be hard for the dwarven women to keep their hands off of you, Karak," Huzair remarked, lighting a cigar with his finger and savoring the taste of it. "I am not suprised that you are not fond of dwarven women." He puffed, contemplating the warrior a moment before adding, "I totally respect your choice. Nothing wrong with that... I even have some friends who follow your lifestyle."

Karak's face screwed up in consternation, but Shamalin interceded. "There's magic below. I could feel it when I was down there. I'll be the one to retrieve the key." Ayremac's head snapped up and the priestess shot him a look. "Stay," she insisted, "do what you can for Ixin. I have some lesser spells which can halt the advance of the disease if you can not cure her." She turned to Karak, who was eyeing Huzair menacingly. "I'll take Karak. We've been down before, and he can move more easily. Huzair, lend us your _Haversack_." The mage's eyes narrowed, but Shamalin held his gaze.

"It better come back just as full as it is now," he relented with a knowing look at the dwarf. Shamalin rolled her eyes.

"Fuller, I assure you," she said.



They found the sea bottom was much as they had first seen it - other than it was now littered with the dead bodies of three giant lobsters. The bizarre growth of the coral that had seemed to press in on them while they were fighting the lobster things was gone, another illusion conjured by the tentacled fish. Already small fish had begun to feed upon the carcasses and Shamalin knew they needed to act quickly, before the smell of blood and flesh attracted more unwanted attention.

Her return trip to the bottom left her buried to the knees, making every moment an exhausting labor. She struggled to maneuver toward the matching half of their clamshell boat. It had glowed strongly with the telltales signs of magic and was lying half-buried in the ocean floor. Karak dug for a few minutes with his hands, then gripped its edge and heaved the great shell over. 

Once the water had swirled and settled, they could discern a trove of underwater treasure. Shamalin's fingers shook with excitement as she held up the Elemental Key of Water, and they marveled at it briefly. Then together they worked to add the remaining bounty into the _Haversack_. Once it was done, they activated the _Levitation_ spell and rose easily to the surface where the party was eagerly awaiting their return.



No sooner had Shamalin climbed out of the water with the elemental Key than the runes around the shell's edge began to glow brighter and brighter. The portal back to the elemental hub activated at once and, given the fact that they were all tightly packed into the shell, there was little choice but for them to gate out of the water node.

Not that there was a lot of desire to linger there.



"Three down," Karak said, grinning at Shamalin and the glowing cube she held in her fist. "Stick it in, lass. It's your turn." Shamalin looked at the dwarf and then at the Key.

"Is that really in the group's best interests?" she asked, her voice sounding frightfully small. Karak screwed up his face in surprise.

"Eh?" he grunted.

"Is it really in the best interests of our party to have me try to become a heavy hitter?" she asked, and there was such naked earnestness in her face that even Karak paused to consider. "I certainly don't mind taking the sword; I am next in line to have one. But, in all honesty, I don't aspire to wield one." The dwarf harrumphed.

"Swords can be used for more than combat if they have special powers," Huzair reminded, and Flameblade swelled momentarily at his belt, filling the chamber with crackling orange light.

"Shamalin, can we speak for a moment... aside?" Ayremac asked, moving toward the furthest point in the room and beckoning her to follow. The cleric's brow furrowed in confusion and she glanced momentarily at the others then shrugged before following the holy warrior.

Once they were both out of earshot, Ixin tapped Huzair's arm. "Ayremac renthisj. Shamalin?" she asked, a note of frustration in her voice.

"Huzair othoroshkent," he replied with a shrug.

"Ixin tuor othokent! Mroshith caex Ixin, Arivexoth, Ixin renthoshisj! Ixin othoroshkent! Ixin dartak!" her voice grew louder and louder with each word until by the end she was very nearly shouting and a bit of acrid smoke curled dangerously from her nostrils. Karak grabbed Huzair by the upper arm and pulled him in close.

"What's she on about, wizard?" the dwarf growled in a too-loud whisper that, of course, he needn't have bothered with since Ixin couldn't understand a word of what he was saying anyway.

"I'm not sure. She says she misses her sword," the mage replied in the common tongue. "That without it she can't speak or understand what's going on." Karak nodded.

"Aye! She had a sword what allowed her to speak an' understand any language," the dwarf explained. "That'd come in a might handy right about now."

Ixin looked painfully at Karak. She pointed at Stoneblade then at the empty spot on her own hip. Then she indicated her ears and mouth and shrugged helplessly. The dwarf stepped closer and patted her arm reassuringly.

"Aye, lass," he said. "I ken ye. We'll suss somethin' out."



"What is it, Ayremac?" the cleric asked once they were out of easy earshot. "You have some counsel for me regarding the Key?" The Officer shook his head at that.

"Shamalin, I can't really counsel you on whether or not to take an elemental blade," he admitted and his expression grew pensive as he continued. "The fact is, I really want to wield one. Maybe it's the warring man in me, or just the eager adventurer... but such a powerful weapon... I feel like I could use it to do great things."

"So you wish to draw the next blade?" the cleric asked, trying to get at the heart of Ayremac's argument.

"No. That's not it," he countered. "If you honestly feel that you can't wield its power to the greatest benefit of the group, then maybe it's a sign. I, however, believe that you can do it. You're creative. You're smart. And not every weapon is at its best slicing through the air towards the enemy." Shamalin looked at the man and then at the Key in her hand.

"Thank you," she said, simply. "You've made the decision easier." Then she turned and walked over to the socket corresponding to water and placed the Key within it. The center shaft began to glow with blues and greens and she thrust her arm in, drawing forth a moment later a dirk that glistened and dripped with moisture.

"I AM WAVEBLADE, SCION OF WATER, MIGHTIEST OF THE ELEMENTAL BLADES!" the dagger roared in a voice like the ocean breaking against a cliff face.



"This isn't a weapon at all; it's a _Rod of Withering_," Huzair told them, holding up the device so that its metal head, fashioned into the shape of a skeletal fist, thrust into the air in an obscene manner. "Pretty potent magic."

"Pretty evil, too," Ayremac said, his gaze threatening.

"Not intrinsically," Huzair countered, putting the _Rod_ into the growing array of _Identified_ magic items on his left. "It is Necromantic magic though."

"And therefore evil," the Officer of Umba said. His voice was calm and even, but it concealed a sharp, flinty edge. The wizard just shrugged.

"Whatever you say, fly boy," he snorted. "I'm not making value judgments, just reading the magic."  He picked up the _Goblet of Life_ and filled it with water from a skin. "Give me wine," he said, holding the cup in both hands (mostly to prevent its contents from sloshing over the side). "And something with a little more kick to it this time."

The water in the Goblet changed at once to a deep red beverage into which the mage dropped some more of the pearls that Karak had crushed with his warhammer. Then he took his owl feather and began to stir the concoction.

"Boss, you're going to need a new feather when this is all over," Sparky twittered into his ear and Huzair drew the feather out and looked at it critically (which was a challenge given the number of wine draughts he'd consumed already). It was severely bedraggled, darkening from snowy white near the quill to a sopping burgundy at the tangled end.



Ixin looked at it too and the sight stirred something within her. She'd seen such feathers before, she felt sure. The draconic word for peace drifted up from some dark and hidden depth within her. "Martivir," she whispered and the word brought with it a flash of snowy wings and kind, wise eyes. Her familiar. She'd kept him safe within her _Cloak of Many Pocket_s and-

She paused with her hands half-way to the cloak that was not there. It had been destroyed when she failed the Test of Fire. And Martivir with it, no doubt. But if that was the case then why did she feel no loss? She knew - or thought she knew, anyway - that the loss of a mage's familiar always ill-effected the bonded mage. Was the owl somehow still alive somewhere? No. That didn't seem right. She felt no bond either. If the familiar yet lived, she would be able to sense a connection to it, but there was none. It was as if Martivir had never existed - as if she'd never called a familiar at all.

She knew that was wrong too, though. She'd had him with her when she'd left the Dragon Isles. She could vaguely remember performing the ritual to call him just after finding out that she was to be sent to the the human lands as an emissary to the holdings of Skrazargul the Green. He had been her companion for a long while, making that pampered prison tolerable. Hadn't he? She could recall a sense of him, but no specifics, as if he'd existed only as an idea and not a real, solid thing.

She felt a momentary sense of floating at that, as if she'd come unmoored within her own skin and was about to go spiraling off once more into whatever hell she'd been rescued from. She reached out a hand to steady herself and it fell upon the hilt of one of her borrowed scimitars. Her hand closed desperately around it and at once she settled back into herself.

And with it came other memories.

She turned the sword over in her hand, looking at the bears snarling from the hilt and pommel and marveling that such an unassuming weapon could stir such feelings within her. It had belonged to Ruze, she remembered, as had its twin. The last time she'd seen the man alive he'd been engaged in battle with the matched pair against... what? A giant? That seemed right, but she remembered fire and spiders and rats as well. The memory was tenuous. It seemed like a very long time ago indeed.

That was troubling to her. The time between failing the Test of Fire in the Grove of Renewal and being saved in the Test of Fire in this place had done something to her. Aged her perhaps, or drawn out her awareness impossibly, stretching her senses until events of half a year ago now seemed to have a gulf of epochs between them and her present self. She was like a strand of gum arabic drawn between two fingers that were slowly moving away from one another, pulling her consciousness ever thinner as they went.

But she remembered Ruze. And the scimitars were a physical tie to what had gone before. They felt right in her hands and for the moment she was content to ignore the part of herself that wondered what would happen when the gulf widened far enough that the strand connecting the Ixin of then and the Ixin of now finally snapped.

"Ixin?" she heard the fairy-born say and looked up. Shamalin was there, divested of her massive plate armor and looking very tiny as a result. She settled herself on the floor before the drakeling. "Mag ich sitzen?"

Ixin just looked at her, confused and the priestess smiled gently.

"Ich möchte Ihnen helfen, unsere sprache zu erlernen," she said, pointing to her own mouth and then moving her hands between herself and Ixin in a back-and-forth gesture. "Wurde sie mögen das?"

The drakeling supposed that she was asking to have a conversation, but that would only lead to frustration and Ixin shook her head. "I cannot speak your tongue," she said in Castillian. "It's pointless."

"Ich kann sie unterrichten, unsere Sprache zu verstehen und zu sprechen," Shamalin replied. She pointed again to her own mouth and then to Ixin's ear and the drakeling began to think she might be offering to teach her to speak their language. She nodded hesitantly.

"Gut," the fairy-born told her. For a moment, Shamalin's eyes hunted about, settling finally on the scimitar in Ixin's lap. She pointed at it and said, "Klinge."

"Klinge?" Ixin asked, raising the weapon a bit and Shamalin nodded, smiling.

"Ja," she grinned. "Klinge."


----------



## Blarkon Dragonslayer

Another awesome chapter!  Have I mentioned this story hour has me hooked?

I keep waiting for somebody to just give Huzair a righteous ass-kicking, though.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #381] Slice-n-Dice*

*DAY FOUR IN THE ELEMENTAL NODES​*​
"Does someone have their eye on that _Shield of Blinding_?" Ayremac asked tentatively, indicating the device that was propped against the wall between the Earth and Fire doors. "I would not mind using that, although it does not match."

Karak looked up from tending his waraxe and skewered the holy warrior with a look. "Match what?" he grunted. "What are ye on about?"

"My armor," the Officer replied hesitantly. He indicated the spiked shield that was worked with green lacquer to perfectly match his spiked plate armor.

"Ye're daft!" the dwarf replied with a derisive snort. He went back to his whetstone work with a shake of his head. Ayremac looked at Morier.

"Morier, am I being crazy?" he asked. "A magical shield that blinds my enemies or the matching spiked shield. I mean, it's more then the matching; I worked a long time for the smith to earn this suite of armor."

"Do what you wish," the albino said with complete disinterest, looking up only briefly from the greatsword he was contemplating. Ayremac scowled and looked from one device to the other.

"Anyone want my old _Ring of Protection_?" Huzair asked, having already upgraded to the new, more powerful one they'd discovered. He offered the old band up to the others.

"Rasvim-levex?" Ixin asked and Huzair nodded. The drakeling had claimed the Horn of the Tritons and was arranging a strap to carry it over her shoulder. She paused to look at the wizard.

"Rasvim-litrix-levex," the mage agreed, tossing the ring to her. She caught it, slipped it on her finger and nodded back.

"Ixin-majak thurirl," she explained. "Ixin-clax."

"Thadarshthric," Huzair told her with a wave of his hand, deciding that she really didn't need to know that he'd given her the weaker of the two rings. He stuffed the _Goblet of Life_ back into his _Haversack_ and in the common tongue said, "That is everything, then."

"Huzair, don't think I did not notice you tucking that Rod away," Ayremac said, fixing the wizard with a penetrating stare. "As much as I appreciate you keeping it away from me, I feel obligated to ask what your intentions are for it." Huzair smirked.

"Well, I am not much of a two-weapon fighter," he said nonchalantly. "And I am happy with my sword, so I thought we might trade it for something useful." The Officer of Umba studied him appraisingly for a moment and then shook his head.

"Huzair, would you be willing to give me the Rod?" Ayremac asked and when Huzair bristled he sighed, adding, "I don't want to make a big issue out of this, nor stir controversy. I know how you are about 'your' treasure, but the more I think about it, the more I feel this _Rod of Withering_ can't be good." The wizard snorted in disbelief.

"I told you that it is not Evil," he said. "It is not nice necessarily, but neither is a sword and I have seen how eager you are to get one of those. You have tried to talk yourself into possession of the last two elemental blades and-"

"It was crafted by someone who covets the dark arts!" Ayremac shouted, his voice strident and full of emotion. With some effort, he calmed himself and said through gritted teeth, "Yes, this weapon does not eminate Evil, but Evil is crafty and just carrying it taints us all. Let me have it and I will destroy it." 

"I will not stand by and let such a powerful weapon be destroyed," Huzair countered. "It would be a huge waste."

"And I cannot allow you to wield it," Ayremac said, crossing his arms. "It seems we are at an impasse." Exasperated, Huzair sighed.

"As you know I am not big on hand-to-hand combat, so me wielding it should not be such a big worry for you," the wizard explained. "First people want me to give up my sword, now destroy one of our most powerful magic items? It goes against a wizard's mentality to do something like that. 

"And it goes against my faith to suffer the dark arts in our midst!" Ayremac said, angrily. "I will not yield on this, Huzair. Nae, I CANNOT yield! I say again; we are at an impasse."

Shamalin stepped between the two before the argument could escalate further. "Give it to me," she said, holding out her hand, "before you two come to blows over it."

"If you want it, Shamalin, here you go," Huzair said, reaching into his traveler's purse. He pulled out the _Rod of Withering_ - which looked like a skeletal arm cast in iron - and placed it in the cleric's hand.

"No good can come of this," Ayremac told her, earnestly and Shamalin laid a reassuring hand on the holy warrior's arm.

"We've known each other for a long time," she said with a pale, bitter smile."I believe I can carry this burden. You can trust me." The holy warrior sighed and shook his head.

"Shamalin, I appreciate your very diplomatic solution, and I do trust you... but don't use that _Rod_ around me... or leave it unprotected," he said, sadly. "I think it should be destroyed and nothing will change my mind on that." Shamalin said nothing in response, but she nodded her understanding.

Morier got to his feet and stepped up to the Officer of Umba, saying, "Ayremac, I know I won't change your mind, but hear me out: The lines between good and evil are not always as well-defined as we would like them to be. If this tool is a weapon that will help us to put Aphyx down, then we would be foolhardy to ignore its possible benefits."

"That way of thinking is a short and slippery path toward Chaos, Morier," Ayremac countered simply and the albino held up a conceding hand. "The ends of a thing are but rarely justification for the means."

"I agree that we must be vigilant against becoming what we fight, but unless this thing is constructed from pure evil, I think we need to see what good might come from it before we decide to destroy it," Morier told him. "We are in no position to turn away anything that might add to our strength." Again, the holy warrior sighed and shook his head, but this time when he spoke, his tone was strong not sad. 

"Let me put this to rest," he said, stepping back from the others. "I am not often a stubborn man, but in just mere moments this evil _Rod_ has bent us against each other. I will leave this to your decision... the _Rod_ may help you in fighting Aphyx, but I will take no further part in its use. You must decide... what will help further the cause more, my participation - with the backing and blessing of Umba - or the _Rod_? If you choose me simply destroy the Rod. Until that time, I will rest and pray."

Saying thus, Ayremac turned and moved toward a far corner of the chamber to meditate. Shamalin could see that Morier's words had brought Ayremac's ire to life once again, and she shot the albino a withering look.

"I had this under control!" she grumbled, as she followed Ayremac to be certain she had the Officer of Umba's full attention. She lowered her voice and looked him squarely in the eye. "I don't know what has happened to you, Ayremac. And... I'm sorry that I haven't been brave enough to ask." She faltered as the pain broadcast clearly in his eyes for a moment. "But Morier is right: destroying the _Rod_ may not be the answer. Neither is flailing it around like some child's toy. So I will hold it for now, and we will determine at another time what is to be done."

She looked expectantly at Ayremac, doing her best to conceal her true feelings about the weapon and the idea of being its keeper. The _Circlet of Persuasion_ she wore across her brow helped somewhat in that regard. Ayremac fixed her appraisingly with the _Eyes of Justice_, staring passed her words to the heart of her intentions. Perhaps it was the lingering memory of their past relationship that caused it, but in the end, he fell for her lies.

"Okay, Shamalin," he said with a wane smile. "As I said, I do trust you. I guess I always have."


They stepped through the flat pane of utter dark beyond the Air door and appeared in a short corridor such as they had seen before although it was much narrower such that they had to line up in single file line. It went for about 15 feet before terminating at a blank wall. At that point on the left hand side of the hall was set a five foot wide, floor-to-ceiling mirror edged in brass.

Karak, who was as usual in the lead let out a disapproving grunt when he looked into the mirror. "Oi!" he grumbled staring critically at himself in reflective surface. "Why didn't somebody tell me that me beard was crooked at the bottom? Damned fire monsters burned it all elfish an' jaunty! No offense, Morier." The albino snorted from the rear of the queue.

"What else do you see up there?" Huzair grumbled from mid-group. "It is getting a little close in here."

"I'll look for a secret door or somethin'," Karak said. "I see naught but the mirror."

Ixin craned her neck and looked over the dwarf's head into the mirror. "Ocuir!" she said, pointing at the mirror. Then concentrating she spoke the word as Shamalin had taught her. "Luke! Luke!"

"Luke?" Karak grumbled and Huzair shouted from behind.

"She is saying, 'Look'! There is something she wants you to see," he said.

"Yes. Look!" Ixin said with a nod, still pointing at the mirror. Then she lapsed back into draconic to add, "Irthos ossalur zara-Karak!"

"She says there is a hidden door behind you," Huzair translated and Karak turned again to look at the blank wall facing the mirror.

"I jus' looked there and I do nae see any-" the dwarf started to say until Huzair's frustrated cry cut him off.

"In. The. Mirror," he said, slowly and deliberately. "The door is in the mirror."

Karak looked and he could see it now, behind his reflection. A plain door made of the same stone as the rest of the wall, with a round brass door pull set at proper height for a human. There were words carved above the lintel in the human alphabet, but they were all in reverse so he couldn't readily make them out.

He snorted and turned back toward the wall behind him but there was no door and no inscription above it.

"I can see the door in the mirror. There's some words carved above it," Karak informed them. And then he went through the process of translating the backwards words into frontwards sense. Well, as much sense as they made anyway:

*"those most willing to observe the world will find that they can always change it"*​
"What in the Nine Hells does tha' mean?" the dwarf spat and Huzair stroked his chin thoughtfully.

"Yes. That quote is somewhat difficult to interpret," he mused. "I would think the mirror image of that would be a good idea, in fact: Those who want to change the world should observe it first."

"Very philosophical," Morier sneered and the mage turned on him.

"I don't see you offering any-" he started to say, but Ayremac cut him off.

"Can you stare in the mirror and cause your mirror image to open the door," the holy warrior suggested. "Or possibly reach into the mirror itself and make it happen."

"Not a bad idea!" Huzair agreed enthusiastically. "I've heard of mirrors that act as portals to a transitive plane called The Hall of Mirrors. Perhaps this is one of those." Karak experimented a bit without luck.

"Nae," he grumbled. "The mirror's solid."

"What about saying the words aloud or backwards," Ayremac suggested.

"I already said 'em aloud," Karak told him. "An' if'n I'm gonna be tryin' to say 'em backwards well then I'll need Huzair to pass me me _Goblet o' Life_. I could use a good drink while I ponder how this be workin'"



Ixin, of course, couldn't read the words above the door in the mirror and she couldn't understand a tenth of what the others were saying. What she could do was tell that the reflected door was behind her even if she couldn't see it except as a reflection. So, while Karak stammered and cursed his way through trying to speak the words backwards, Ixin half-turned, twisting her neck to keep the reflection in sight and using it as a guide, moved her hand to the pull ring. She felt the sensation of cold metal in her hand and tightened her grip, heaving backward and opening the door out of the hall.

Everyone fell silent as the drakeling turned to regard the others. "Ocuir," she said, pointing to the open valve. "Irthos-erekess-ossalur."



Stepping through the flat pane of jet, brought them one by one to one end of a hallway ten feet wide that stretched dimly ahead of them. The walls were sheathed in plaster while the floor and ceiling alike were dressed stone. Several consecutive walls of light beamed across the corridor from one wall to the other at regular intervals, providing the only light in the misty corridor.

The combination of the mist and the dim light obscured the far end.

"I think the plaster could be hiding something," Huzair said as soon as he took a look at the set-up. "Anybody good at detecting secret doors and traps?"

"Isn't that your job?" Morier quipped. "You're the one who always bragged about being raised in a thieves' guild." Huzair shot the albino a murderous look and Karak stamped his waraxe on the stone floor.

"A thieves' guild, eh?" he glared at Huzair. "Tell us more, wizard." Huzair sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Worry about your own stuff and leave my business to me, dwarf," the mage replied, dismissing Karak's inquiry with a wave. "You have nothing to fear about me, unless you really want to start something."

"So what do you think, guild rat?" Morier asked and Huzair frowned.

"I am concerned that crossing those rays of light may be a trap," he said.

"Should we then toss a stone at those light walls before proceeding?" Ayremac asked and after a moment's consideration, Huzair nodded.

"Not a terrible idea," he replied, looking around quickly for a stone. He didn't find any, but eventually Shamalin handed him a copper piece and he heaved that through.

As soon as the coin intersected the wall of light, the corridor was filled with a great mechanical ratchetting sound. Four enormous pendulum blades scythed down from concealed slots in the ceiling, slicing into Ixin, Morier and Karak before they could even react to the blades' presence. Huzair managed somehow to dodge out of the way of the final blade.

"Okay. I take that back," he grimaced as he stepped back from the whirling blades. "That was a terrible idea."

It wasn't so much the damage that the blades did to the companions as it was the poison that was coated liberally on their cutting edge. Even Karak, whose dwarven constitution often laughed at poison was effected by this on and they felt strength drain from their limbs as the blades snapped back into the ceiling as the clockwork mechanism powering them reset.

-------------------------------------

A nice long update for the last of my week of Post-a-Day. I hope that everyone's enjoyed the celebratory extra story.


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## Blarkon Dragonslayer

Very, very much appreciated.

I may have to nab that door in the mirror thing. That was awesome!


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## Jon Potter

Blarkon Dragonslayer said:
			
		

> I may have to nab that door in the mirror thing. That was awesome!




Well to give credit where it's due... sort of, anyway... I stole that bit from someone on these very boards. I cut-and-pasted the set up into my notes and the thread vanished in the database hiccup from earlier this year.

So the idea wasn't originally mine, but I don't know whose it was. :\ 

I'm glad you liked it anyway. I was surprised how quickly my players solved it.


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## Pyske

Enjoyed the post-a-day very much, thanks!  Although you did manage to end on a bit of a cliffhanger...


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## Jon Potter

Pyske said:
			
		

> Enjoyed the post-a-day very much, thanks!  Although you did manage to end on a bit of a cliffhanger...




Alas, my readers must take the bad with the good.


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## Blarkon Dragonslayer

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> Alas, my readers must take the bad with the good.




Conveniently for us, Jon, the bad is fairly thin on the ground...now...about that next update...


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## Jon Potter

Blarkon Dragonslayer said:
			
		

> Conveniently for us, Jon, the bad is fairly thin on the ground...now...about that next update...




Sorry, BD. You'll just have to wait until Sunday. It's back to the regular once-a-week schedule now.


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## Blarkon Dragonslayer

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> Sorry, BD. You'll just have to wait until Sunday. It's back to the regular once-a-week schedule now.




No worries...I'll just sit here and chainsmoke till then.


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## Jon Potter

*Hairy Minotaur... This One's for You!*

Below is a list of all of the deity-level powers in The Realms of Enlightenment, grouped alphabetically. I hope that this answers some of the pantheon questions that Hairy Minotaur had about my campaign world. I'll be happy to field any that this doesn't answer or that it ends up generating.

My big regret with this is that I lifted many of the names directly from the Forgotten Realms. But, oh well. Too late to cry about it now. 


---------------------------------------------

*Akadi -* goddess of the air, birds & freedom.

*Ali-Akabda -* god of sacrifice & duty

*Aphyx, the Rot Queen -* goddess of decay & pestilence

*Azril, the Trickster -* goddess of pleasure & indulgence

*Bane -* god of oppression, intolerance & order

*Bhaal -* god of pain, destruction, & murder

*Brogine, the Beastlord -* god of fauna, winter, & cold

*Chag -* god of fear, insanity, & arachnids

*Cyr, Mountain-lifter -* god of strength & glory

*Da’har Su’revar -* god of night & sleep

*Dridanna, the Fruitfull -* goddess of flora & growth

*Flor, the White Lady -* goddess of marriage, healing & mercy

*Frenzick, the Wild -* god of savagery & plunder

*Garjarvan, Watcher of the Way -* god of destinations & roads

*Garn-Zanuth, the Bitch Queen -* goddess of storms, thunder, anger & revenge

*Graath -* goddess of nightmares & monstrosities

*Grumbar, Boss of Earth -* goddess of the earth & mining

*Hubris -* god of war, battle & lightning

*Ibrahil, the True -* god of honor, virtue, equestrianism & martial skill

*Ilmatar, the Broken -* goddess of suffering & victims

*Istishia -* goddess of oceans & sea creatures

*Kaeal, of the Weave -* goddess of magic & mysteries

*Kossuth, Queen of Fire -* goddess of craft, invention, labor & fire

*Lisori, the Peaceful -* goddess of love, beauty & courting

*Lukane -* goddess of luck & superstition

*Merrika, the Sky Lord -* god of the sun & agriculture

*Myrkul -* goddess of death & the afterlife

*Neodig, the All-Knowing -* god of secrets & obscurity

*Neralas, the Thief -* god of rogues & concealment

*Nethlar, the Lorekeeper -* god of reason & knowledge

*Orin, Lord of Light -* god of day, cycles & integrity

*Othmus, Star-eyes -* god of fate & divination

*Rushlyn -* goddess of artistry, drama & music

*Sato -* god of rule, citizenry & community

*Shaharizod, the Silver Queen -* goddess of the moon, mirrors & guidance

*Umba -* god/goddess of time & judgment

*Waukeen -* goddess of trade & wealth

*Xo, the Thoughtful -* goddess of inquiry & discovery


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #382] It Takes a Thief*

"Hesjing-korth!" Ixin hissed as the poison wracked her body. The slit in her shoulder was minor, but it leaked blood none the less.

Gingerly touching the puffy sliced wound splitting his left cheek, Karak grunted his agreement. "Well of all the bad ideas we've 'ad this one's certainly drained me the most," he sighed, sagging a bit under the weight of his armor. "It's probably like Huzair feels every day," he chuckled and the mage looked up from his haversack and sneered.

"It's good that at least you find yourself amusing, dwarf," Huair snapped and pressed a vial into Karak's hand. "Here, drink this."

The dwarf took the potion and downed it in a single gulp, feeling the draught _Neutralize_ the lingering _Poison_ in his veins. When Morier looked at the wizard, Huzair shrugged. "The guild rat comment hurt... outcast."

"I can heal your cuts, but we'll need to rest a day before I can pray for the miracles necessary to _Restore_ your strength," Shamalin told them as she critically examined the rent in Morier's forearm.

"I would be willing to charge through," Ayremac offered as he studied the length of the hall. "I have a natural resistance to most poison, and I could pray for Umba's blessing... she may allow me to pass through this test unharmed... even if I did trigger the traps." Morier snorted, drawing a disapproving look from the holy warrior.

"Unless I miss my guess, the actual point here might be to identify the traps before springing them," the eldritch warrior said snidely. "Although your method certainly would be an effective, if not lifespan-enhancing, means of seeing where surprises lie." Ayremac's mouth set in a thin, angry line, but his tone was conversational when he spoke.

"There may be a lever or switch at the end," he hypothesized. "Something I could activate to allow you all to pass through. It could be a test of sacrifice, or agility... or both." Karak nodded at this.

"As the wizard was tossin' the coin, I was thinkin' 'you know, they been testin' our strength, our wisdom, our thinkin', our courage... I was just a wonderin' if this'n wasn't supposed to be testin' our dexterirty in avoidin' these lights'." the dwarf shrugged. "But I di' nae say anythin' at the time an'l we know one thing now for sure: the blades be comin' from the ceilin'."

"That doesn't really help us, though," Shamalin added, looking up from her ministrations. "Does it?"

"Why do we nae take the most dexterous of us and put the _Slippers o' Climbin'_ on 'em and have 'em crawl across the ceiling to get to the other side," Karak offered. "Of course, mindin' those beams o' light and trip the trap lever on the side. Hopefully we all do nae have to go across."

"It isn't really safe for us to stand here if the trap goes off again," Morier countered. "The blades reached all the way to the far wall." Karak nodded in concession.

"If'n there can be some kind of protective shield on this end so in case the trap do be sprung we all do nae get scraped again that would be good," Karak admitted.

All eyes looked questioningly at Huzair, but the mage didn't notice. His own eyes were fixed on the ceiling where the scything blades had descended. After a moment, Morier gave the mage a shove.

"Were there actual theives in this 'Thieves Guild' of yours, Huzair?" the eldritch warrior asked. "Kind of leaves one to wonder about the police protection in Farmin... if all of the thieves there are as slick as you are they must be up to their ears in unsolved crime, eh?" Huzair was clearly only half-listening.

"Well, there were and Farmin is known for its unsavory nature," he admitted, his eyes still fixed on the ceiling. "The Watch is mostly just paid off, to be honest with you. They don't really take murder kindly, but usually they would look the other way if it was some outcast or the bribe was big enough."

"I wasn't really looking for a civics lesson, Huzair," Morier snapped. "I was hoping that you'd have some ideas here, rather than leaving the trap-disabling to Karak and Ayremac." The mage turned to look at Morier as his brain processed all that the albino had just said to him.

"You are blaming me for this?" he snorted. "I expected stuff to come from the walls, not the ceilings. And it really was not my idea to throw the coin."

"He's right. The fault is mine which is why I volunteered to go forward on my own in search of a means to defeat the trap," Ayremac admitted quickly. "But this could also be a test of steadfastness."

"Huh? Huzair asked.

"If you were testing someone to see if they were the right person to save the world, would their dedication not be important? Even when faced with certain harm?" Ayremac explained. "It is just a thought. and In any case, I leave it to the group to decide. I would be willing to try going forward if no one has any other ideas."

"Lucky for you, I do," Huzair quipped.



After Shamalin tried unsuccessfully to _Dispel_ the _Magic_ triggering the trap, Huzair turned _Invisible_ and crept along the ceiling using the _Slippers of Spider Climbing_. He approached the first wall of light with apprehension, but moved through it and the subsequent three panes of light without triggering the blades. Unfortunately, once on the far side, no matter how thoroughly he searched, he couldn't find any lever or button to disable the traps. He did see that the corridor continued on - although it bent back around on itself like a horseshoe.

Unlike the trapped hall, this one was well-lit by everburning torches all along its forty foot length. The mist was thinner here, so he could see that the corridor turned right at the far end, and that three wooden chests with brass bindings were arranged in the last twenty feet of the hall. It looked like an easy stroll through there.


----------



## Blarkon Dragonslayer

> Unlike the trapped hall, this one was well-lit by everburning torches all along its forty foot length. The mist was thinner here, so he could see that the corridor turned right at the far end, and that three wooden chests with brass bindings were arranged in the last twenty feet of the hall. It looked like an easy stroll through there.




That would be the signal for the trap of inescapable doom to explode all around them. 

Excellent update, Jon. Well worth the wait   (I say this now, having survived the ENTIRE WEEK  since the last)


----------



## Kristeneve

Quite an eventful week at that...I can't imagine there are many DM's out there who welcome home a new little addition to the family one day and post the very next!

Congratulations to the Potters!
(Forgive me for hoping that the "joys of fatherhood revisited" play out nicely for our characters)


----------



## Blarkon Dragonslayer

Congratulations indeed to the Potters!

You know Jon, if you'd wanted, we could have probably taken a birth in the family as an excuse to delay posting for maybe one day...no more then that, of course, but one would have been acceptable  Barely


----------



## Pyske

Well now, congratulations, Jon!


----------



## Rel

Indeed congratulations, sir!


----------



## Jon Potter

Thanks for all the well-wishes, everyone!

I can't think of a better way to celebrate the new arrival than with a bonus update!

(Well, okay, a nap sounds like a good idea too. But not as much fun for you guys.)


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #383] The Gordian Knot Solution*

Huzair reported his findings and Karak examined the plaster wall critically.

"So this wall be all that separates us from the far side of the corridor?" the dwarf called down to the mage. Huzair glanced back down the other leg of the horseshoe and nodded confirmation.

"I was thinking since it bent around on itself, there may be a secret door connecting the two corridors," Huzair confirmed. "If not , plaster is not too hard to whack through with an axe. Right, dwarf?"

"Aye, wizard," Karak said, hefting his waraxe. "That be me thoughts exactly! Stand back!" He urged the other members of the Order to crowd against the far wall, while he went to work on the opposite side. It took little time for his weapon to carve out great chunks of plaster from the wall, revealing solid, hewn stone walls beneath the sheath. "Shards!" Karak cursed, spitting on the ground.

"We'll not be cutting through that any time soon," Shamalin frowned. "Perhaps there's some way to jam-"

"Stoneblade could do it," Morier interrupted. "Cut through the wall, I mean."

"NO OBSTACLE OF STONE CAN LONG STAND IN THE PATH OF THE SCION OF EARTH!" the greatsword thundered in the small space.

"Well what are you saving it for? Swagfest?" Huzair called from down the hall. "You have the power... use it! At least that is what I say!"

Morier unsheathed the gray stone sword and looked at it hesitantly. "But you can only do this trick once per day, right?" he asked the weapon.

"IT IS NOT A 'TRICK', BUT YES, THE POWER IS USEABLE BUT ONCE PER DAY!" Stoneblade admitted.

"We may need it later on, lad," Karak cautioned and the albino nodded once and stepped back from the wall.

"I know that you're right, Karak," Morier told him and raised the sword. "But the fact of the matter is: we need to make it through here to be able to move forward... and if we die trying to save our resources for later... well, then that's kinda dumb."

Karak pondered this for a heartbeat and then cleared the way for Morier. The eldritch warrior leveled the greatsword at the wall at waist height and drove it into the stone nearly to the quillions. It sank in easily, as if the wall were made of flesh rather than rock and when the albino drew the sword up and out of the wall, the rent there dilated back magically until an opening fully five feet wide and eight feet tall had been created. It opened into the far corridor and he could see both a brassbound chest on the right and a narrow corridor leading straight away from the opening.

Morier stepped through and, looking right spied Huzair creeping down the corridor along the ceiling toward him. The three chests looked inviting, which of course meant that they were trapped; he ignored them and motioned for the others to step through the opening he'd made and follow.



The narrower corridor led off at a right angle to the wider hall with the three large chests for about twenty feet before it twisted back on itself. At that point it widened into another well-lit chamber. The entryway was situated in the corner of the room, and at the far end, they could see a circular door set within a large carving of an eye. Other than that valve and the doorway in which they were crowded, there was no other obvious method of entrance or egress. The walls, floor, and ceiling of the fifteen-by-fifteen foot room were all composed of tiles, and on each tile was the carving of an eye. The eyes themselves were all different sizes, styles, and colors.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #383a] Splitting the Party... Always a Good Idea*

"Sauriv-throden," Ixin sighed, sight of the room stirring a memory within her.

"Axun," Huzair agreed skeptically. "Sauriv-throden. Huzair, ocoshuir marirthos."

"Fortorum garris," the drakeling said, her tone uncertain as she sought the elusive scrap of the past. "Ledare renthisj-ghoros arivorelmiirik..."

"What's she saying?" Morier asked and Huzair shrugged.

"Something about Ledare and a poem she used to speak of to Ixin," the mage told him. "It had eyes in it apparently."

"The prophecies of Brader," Shamalin nodded, looking at the walls with renewed interest. "I recognize the reference." Huzair looked at her strangely.

"You recognize the reference? You never even met Ledare," he said, snidely. "I traveled half-way across Orune with her and I don't remember any poem about eyes!"

"You don't pay attention, Huzair" the priestess said without acrimony. "Both Morier and Karak have mentioned the Tome of Brader on several occasions and there's a transcription of the prophecy written in Ledare's hand packed amongst our gear."

"Brader," Ixin nodded, pointing at the Mercybringer and then gesturing at the tiled room. "Detoimithos Brader. Sauriv-throden persvekdos."

"Aurthon," Huzair said, making a "settle down" gesture.

"I can see why this place reminds Ixin of the poem," the cleric said and Morier shook his head.

"The reference to the eyes in the prophecy is talking about the prison where Zagaroth is being held," the albino pointed out. "I don't believe we're there yet... I think it's a coincidence that there are eyes here."

"Aye, lad. I think ye've got the right of it," Karak snorted. "A lot of things 'ere seem to fit the poem, but there's a lot that do nae fit it as well."

"I'm thinking that maybe we shouldn't ignore those chests after all," Morier suggested, cocking his thumb over his shoulder. The dwarf nodded.

"Aye, lad. I'm with ye," he agreed and shouldered his way passed the others. "Let's examine 'em, before we press on."

"They're probably trapped," Morier pointed out and Karak laughed.

"I'd say 'probably' be under statin' things a might." He grinned and Huzair fell in behind them.

"My guess is whatever we do we should use the utmost care," the wizard added. "I bet this whole place is loaded with traps."



Ayremac, Shamalin and Ixin stood at the entryway to the tiled room, looking at one another as their companions tramped back down the twisting corridor.

"I'm sure this place is what's referenced in the prophecies of Brader," Shamalin said. Ledare would have been proud to see how well her obsession with the poem had taken hold of some members of the group even without her presence. Ayremac did not count himself as one of those believers, however.

"I respectfully disagree. We are being tested to prove our worth. To suddenly think otherwise... It doesn't make sense to me," he said flatly, gesturing toward the room. "I say we search for traps, secret doors or secret switches."

"Agreed," Shamalin said and together the three of them stepped into the room and spread out to search.



"I think we should examine these chests closely," Huzair stated, stroking his chin in a scholarly fashion as they stood before the first of the three bound chests. "Look for runes, detect for magic and traps, etc. Perhaps open them from above while levitating?" He grinned at the cleverness of his suggestion.

"I'm so glad we brought our rogue along," Morier rolled his eyes and muttered to Karak. The dwarf laughed and opened his mouth to say something when a tremendous *CLUNK!* sounded from down the hallway where they'd just left Ayremac, Shamalin and Ixin.



They hadn't been searching long when they felt the vibration of some colossal mechanism lurching into life beneath their feet. Ayremac had time to hiss a warning: "Get out!" before the entire rear wall of the chamber slammed outward with the force of a ballista, sweeping them all up and crushing them against the round stone door.


----------



## Blarkon Dragonslayer

Ummmm....ow


----------



## Pyske

Er... weird.  I'm not sure what made the players decide this was a test of their search skill. So far the tests have been something along the lines of "wisdom", "loyalty", "mercy", and "faith".  "Trap evasion" just doesn't seem to be in the same theme.


----------



## Jon Potter

Well, in the group's defense, this portion actually IS a test of their Search skill... And Disable Device... And Open Locks...

The premise behind this entire scenario is that it was created to make sure that whoever got the Keys would be worthy of them (hence the character tests) and have the ability to keep them out of evil hands (hence the combat and this trap-heavy portion).

And as a note of trivia, this section is based largely on the thieves' guild bit in the original Dungeons & Dragons movie (yes, _that_ one. I amped up the lethality of the traps, but if you haven't repressed the memory of that movie, you might see the bones of the original peaking through here and there.


----------



## Pyske

Wow.  Interesting.  See, your players know you better than I do. I would totally have failed that test by virtue of thinking too hard.


----------



## Jon Potter

Pyske said:
			
		

> Wow.  Interesting.  See, your players know you better than I do. I would totally have failed that test by virtue of thinking too hard.




I have some great players, don't get me wrong, but they didn't necessarily get it either until after the fact. I don't fully remember now, but I don't think anyone was reading my mind during this portion of the dungeon delve. Well, maybe... they did circumvent the green slime... but I'm getting ahead of myself.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

How do Frenzick, Hubris, and Cyr get along? Is it open warfare or is it more "stay out of my way" ?


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> How do Frenzick, Hubris, and Cyr get along? Is it open warfare or is it more "stay out of my way" ?




Well, Cyr and Frenzick are brothers. There's friendly competition between them, but nothing openly hostile. Frenzick, while not an evil god, also shares much common ground with Hubris. And followers of Cyr can also find glory under the banner of Hubris.

Hubris tolerates both of these "lesser gods". His' long-time adversary, however, is Ibrahil, despite their overlap in interests. Hubris is all about war for war's sake, victory at any cost, no holds barred. Ibrahil is concerned with honorable combat and personal excellence in battle. They don't see eye-to-eye.

Cyr also has a rivalry with Ibrahil, but it is usually limited to structured encounters in the fighting pits during Kakadiador, the festival honoring Cyr. Many champions of Ibrahil see the festival as a good chance to show off their abilities.

Thanks for asking, HM.

Would there be any interest from readers to have me post the bits that came before? They're already compiled into Word documents and it wouldn't be a great hardship for me to post them to EN World in a separate thread.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #384] We Were Dumb*

"Oi, what be that?" Karak grunted his ruddy face gone suddenly pale. He started clanking back down the narrow hallway shouting, "Are you all alright? Aryemac? Shamalin? Ixin?"
Morier and Huzair followed on his heels.



Shamalin was once again slapped roughly on the face by the irony which had begun to plague her life since she'd been discovered by The Order. That her life had been saved by something that had once belonged to the monster who had tortured her almost to death was very nearly perverse. It was also true. If she hadn't been wearing the heavy plate armor, she'd have probably been squashed into paste by the crushing trap. As it was, her left arm was twisted horribly - sprained if not broken by the impact - and her head was ringing from the rough contact with the wall, but her internal organs remained in place, protected by the thickness of her enemy's former-breastplate.

She heard a series of racheting clicks as the far wall pulled back, releasing her and her companions. Somehow the pain was greater with the pressure removed and her knees unhinged, dropping her to the tiled floor with a cry. Beside her, both Ayremac and Ixin fell bonelessly to the ground. Neither of them were conscious, she saw and she'd reached for her holy symbol and was muttering a curative before she fully realized what she was doing.



Karak clattered around the corner, arriving at the doorway to the tiled room in time to glimpse turning gears and an enormous steel piston pull the right-most wall back into position. Then it snapped back into place and only the muffled clicking of the clockwork hinted that there was anything off about the wall at all. He saw only the merest fraction of the mechanism powering the trap, but he could tell that it was a marvel of engineering nonetheless.

A deadly marvel.

He stood in the doorway as Morier and Huzair piled up behind him.

"Mind yer step, lads," he warned them. "There may be more traps about."

"Shamalin? Are you-" Morier started to ask, but a fierce look from the priestess silenced him. And anyway, the way her left arm hung limp at her side and blood trickled from beneath her helm down across her face answered his unspoken question.

"We were dumb!" she croaked as she moved from the stirring Ixin to Ayremac. The holy warrior was in bad shape; one of his ivory pinions was mangled horribly and wet with crimson. Shamalin's expression was pained as she went about the motions of healing him.

"Huzair," Karak grunted over his shoulder, "I suggest ye check for traps before enterin'." The mage snorted and pushed his way passed Morier to stand beside the dwarf.

"By the gods, you read my mind," the wizard sneared. "You are smarter than you look, Karak." He whacked the dwarf on the back of the helmet, which hurt Huzair's hand more than it did Karak's head. As he massaged his knuckles, he listened to the whirring and clicking behind the wall to his right; the trap was resetting, but it wasn't ready to activate again just yet.

"Watch and learn," Huzair said and proceded carefully forward into the room.



"Thank you," Ayremac said to Shamalin with a perfunctory nod as he flexed his newly restored wing. He turned away from the cleric and stood, saying, "I believe Umba can do the rest." He called on the goddess of the dead to grant him the power of _Sacred Healing_ and felt positive energy suffuse his body.

"You guys should get out of here before the trap resets," Huzair said, cocking a thumb over his shoulder. To Ixin he said, "Ixin, gethrisjosvith ghoros irthos-korth." She nodded.

"Aurthon!" she agreed, hustling out of the chamber with the wall still clicking beside her. "Yarchonis marnuade duil." Ayremac followed her and after Shamalin had healed her own twisted arm she did the same, leaving Huzair alone in the room. He went to work at once and had just discovered a tile on the leftmost wall that had a hole in the center of the carved pupil that looked an awful lot like a keyhole.

"I found some-" he began to say but Karak cut him off with a startled bark of alarm.

"The wall's stopped its clickin', lad," he said. "I'm thinkin' the trap's reset."

Huzair wasted no time. He sprinkled the pinch of _Pixie Dust_ he had palmed before entering the room and immediately _Levitated_ off the floor. "Pull me out!" he called, reaching out toward the doorway. Karak extended his banner pole and dragged the weightless mage out of the chamber.

"What now?" Morier asked. "Go back to the chests?"

"I found what looks like a keyhole in there," Huzair said. "With some luck, I should be able to pick it without triggering the-"

He stopped as an ominous vibration moved through the floor followed by a thunderous *KA-CHONK!!!* and a tremendous rush of air as the wall slammed outward passed the doorway again. The wall remained in place for a few seconds and then the clicking began again and it started to reset. This time they all had a chance to stare in awe at the complex clockwork mechanism driving the crushing wall trap as it retracted the stone bludgeon back into position.


----------



## The Dark Elf

*Another contry heard from...*

I very much enjoyed catching up on all of the "crap-on-Morier" banter on the boards that I've missed over the last month.

You are so right though... he does have a glass jaw.  I believe that I described him recently as "all-or-nothing".  It's a little like watching a Rocky movie with Morier... watch him get the snot kicked out of him for 10 rounds and then he snaps out of it for one round and does 40+ points of damage.

He would be so dead but not for Shamalin's constant healing.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #385] Chests of Three; Let Them Be*

"I wonder what set the trap off the second time," Ayremac muttered, as he listened to the mechanism whir and click in the wall. "Is it just going to continually go now?"

"This trap be mechanical nae magical so there be some sort o' the laws o' Mechanus at work 'ere," Karak said dragging his fingers thoughtfully through his beard as he pondered. "Which means that once the trap be triggered it'll continue to go off. Which means there has to be a trigger to stop it." Huzair shook his head.

"Laws of Mechanus?" he snorted. "You have no idea what you are talking about, do you?" Karak's lip curled back from his teeth and his face darkened.

"I di'nae hear you offering a better suggestion," the dwarf growled and Huzair waved off the comment.

"This trap is a masterfully crafted instrument. I do not yet know all the details of its workings and I do not like to speculate blindly on something about which I know little," the mage lied although only Ayremac suspected that he was telling less than the absolute truth. "However, if you are asking me to guess, I really think the key is in those chests. I am further willing to bet that they are trapped as well. And I have NO clue how to open them."

"It would seem that opening the chests is an intregal part of disabling this trap," Ayremac speculated. "Or stopping the mechanism behind the wall somehow. But I am no expert in any of these areas so I will defer to others' judgment." Huzair clapped him on the back, mindful of the spiked armor, and grinned.

"No worries, fly boy," he smirked. "I AM an expert on these things. And I have a few ideas on how to proceed. But they all depend on everyone's willingness to rest prior to proceeding on."

"Resting just before the air test, if possible, was my plan," Karak said. "But maybe to be safe it should be before."

"I vote rest and heal," Morier said. "I'm still suffering weakness from that poisoned blade trap."

Shamalin cast him a brief but thoroughly annoyed look before admitting,  "I have to rest anyway, in order to get most of my major spells back."

"You read my mind, priestess," Huzair winked. "Before I do anything more, I want to make sure we will have time to study spells to reload." He looked at Ixin and asked, "Ssifisv usv ssifoshisv?"

"Ssifisv," she chose with a wary nod. "Ssifisv vur ocuir faessi-irthos marnuade epanoshomis diabolich." Huzair nodded back and turned to the others.

"It is decided then; we rest," he said. "But first, let me check out a few things."



Huzair's plan was simple. He left Shamalin and Ixin standing outside the tiled room with instructions to count the intervals between the trap triggering and resetting. Then he went back to the chests with Ayremac, Morier and Karak in tow and cast _Detect Magic_. Unsurprisingly, all three chests radiated magic although he was a trifle surprised by the strength and school of magic that they radiated: moderate Illusion. He had expected Abjuraton or perhaps Evocation. Illusion was unexpected.

"Is there some sort of clue as to which chest we should open?" Ayremac asked after Huzair had explained what he'd seen.

"If they even are chests," Karak grumbled. "With magic foolin' the eye, they could be anythin'!"

Morier studied the chests thoughtfully and then asked, "Isn't there an Illusion spell called _Leomand's Trap_? It makes things look trapped that really aren't."

"It is pronounced _LeoMUND'S Trap_. I guess you were busy playing swordsman during that lesson on the archmagi," Huzair quipped. "And anyway, _Leomund's Trap_ is a spell of the second circle; that is pretty weak magic as far as it goes. This spell here is fourth circle magic at a minimum."

"Was there anything that made one chest look any different then the others?" Ayremac asked and Huzair shook his head.

"If they even are chests," Karak said again.

"Let's just call them chests until we know otherwise," Ayremac suggested and the dwarf snorted in displeasure. "My thought is that two chests are trapped and one has the key to open the eye door. I could be wrong, but that is just my guess."

"Makes as much sense as any other theory we have," Morier admitted.

"I propose that we carefully search the areas around the chests, and then approach them cautiously looking for any differences," the holy warrior explained. "If there are any differences among them, perhaps one is a clue as to which chest to open."

"Just don't touch anything, fly boy," Huzair grinned. "You didn't do so well in the other room." Unperturbed, Ayremac blinked.

"Neither did you, as I recall," he replied, but Huzair ignored the comment.

"Karak, go fetch Shamalin," the wizard said instead. "I'll need her for this next bit."



They searched, finding nothing. When Karak returned a moment later it was with both Shamalin and Ixin and a report that the trap had not gone off at all while the males examined the chests. The report was unnecessary of course, since the trap itself made quite a lot of noise when it triggered, but Shamalin was trying to shake the feeling that Huzair had intentionally separated the two females from the group by assigning herself and Ixin an essentially pointless task. So she made the report and listened sullenly as the wizard explained the situation with the chests.

"So can you _Dispel_ it?" he asked, lighting up a cigar as he asked.

"I can but try," she replied and tightly clutched her holy symbol.



The spell that masked the chests was a potent one, but Shamalin had been pondering her connection with the White Lady ever since surviving the crushing wall trap and that contemplation seemed to have strengthened her magical might. The _Dispel Magic_ cut easily through the carefully arranged strands of Illusion magic and at once the appearance of brass-bound wooden chests melted away.

What had been concealed behind that Illusion were still chests - or at least something chest-like. They each had the same dimensions as a chest, but appeared to be composed entirely of something a wet and poisonous emerald color.

"What be tha'?" Karak asked as they crowded around the nearest jade block.

"It looks like glass," Huzair offered as he studied it from various angles. He exhaled a cloud of smoke that traced the hard edges of the container. "Even the hinges and the lock mechanism. But what's inside it?"

Ofttimes, Morier bristled when Huzair mocked his knowledge of arcana or the planes. But the truth of the matter was that Huzair HAD applied himself more stridently to those pursuits when they were both learning the basics of magic while Morier had... diversified. He'd spent a great deal of time with Arwold Wyverneye and with the druid, Malcolm, learning to spot and identify certain natural hazards.

Like the one that was pressed horribly against the apparent glass sides of this chest.

"It's green slime," Morier said and took a wary step backward.


----------



## davidcfarr

*My Gm Rocks*

I played Feln, and now Ayremac on this story.

Its a great game and the story is incredible.

Jon has an incredible sense of timing, pace, and detail.  He does not go overboard, but gives you enough to put a picture in your mind.

He is also, by far, most incredibly "true" to the role-playing rule...he won't tell you what to do, change the game or the dice to suite the players.  When I ask him his opinion on what to do with my character, he informs me of things that I may be unaware of rules wise, or a possible track I may have not considered, but never leads me one direction or another.

I often wish I would win the lottery so I could pay Jon to do daily turns instead of weekly.

Jon, Happy GM Day, your the absolute best and I thank you very much for providing me with something that I so very much enjoy


----------



## mdougherty331

Our GM does rock.  He is twisted, cruel and evil.  Will all of this butt kissing get me any XPs?  Oh yeah the person who had said he cant wait for Huzair to get a butt-kicking....well I am trying to get a rise out of Morier.  It does not seem to be working that well.  It was one of my goals....the player is too composed to do such a thing.

Happy Belated GM DAY.


----------



## Burningspear

Hiya guys and gals, 

I am replying here after having to catch up on the story, 
neat little adventure indeed, 
ill post more in this reply later, 
when i wake up and feel fresh after my beauty sleep


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> "I wonder what set the trap off the second time," Ayremac muttered, as he listened to the mechanism whir and click in the wall. "Is it just going to continually go now?"
> 
> "This trap be mechanical nae magical so there be some sort o' the laws o' Mechanus at work 'ere," Karak said dragging his fingers thoughtfully through his beard as he pondered. "Which means that once the trap be triggered it'll continue to go off. Which means there has to be a trigger to stop it." Huzair shook his head.
> 
> "Laws of Mechanus?" he snorted. "You have no idea what you are talking about, do you?" Karak's lip curled back from his teeth and his face darkened.
> 
> "I di'nae hear you offering a better suggestion," the dwarf growled and Huzair waved off the comment.




I submit it's a Murphy's Law, _in that PCs trying to figure out what said trap does, will invariably set off trap and thereby getting a really good look at what it does to their bodies._  

Wow Jon, 4 fan replies before an update! That's got to qualify you for demi-god status at least.


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Wow Jon, 4 fan replies before an update! That's got to qualify you for demi-god status at least.




It's certainly noteworthy for _this_ story hour, but compared to some of the monolithic stories on these boards, it's bt a drop in the proverbial bucket.

It still makes me happy, though.


----------



## Burningspear

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> It's certainly noteworthy for _this_ story hour, but compared to some of the monolithic stories on these boards, it's bt a drop in the proverbial bucket.
> 
> It still makes me happy, though.




*Bow, Glad to be of service dear sir...

Bares his teeth unnoticed by himself and brushes his whiskers in response..
then sits down in the chair and makes his tail waggle..

(want to play a Were Tiger Monk-Mage)


----------



## Jon Potter

Burningspear said:
			
		

> (want to play a Were Tiger Monk-Mage)




I can't speak for the were-tiger bit, but with the ascetic mage feat and the enlightened fist prestige class, the monk/sorcerer is definitely a playable concept.


----------



## Burningspear

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> I can't speak for the were-tiger bit, but with the ascetic mage feat and the enlightened fist prestige class, the monk/sorcerer is definitely a playable concept.




But i need the feline bit added, and that costs me a whopping 9 lvl's, 6 equal to the tigers HD and +3 lvl adj. from were,
so a lvl 1 monk were tiger will be equiv. of 10th lvl , o well, patience...


----------



## Blarkon Dragonslayer

Not much to add, other than to say it looks like interesting times, and that I'm still reading


----------



## Jon Potter

Burningspear said:
			
		

> But i need the feline bit added, and that costs me a whopping 9 lvl's, 6 equal to the tigers HD and +3 lvl adj. from were,
> so a lvl 1 monk were tiger will be equiv. of 10th lvl , o well, patience...




Nah...what you need is a catfolk, from Races of the Wild. Big strength bump, decent dex and wis bump, ECL +2. That's much more palitable, IMO. Both the monk and the spellcasting class have reasons not to want too huge of a level adj.; you'll never get to the really cool class abilities pre-epic with a were-tiger.


----------



## Burningspear

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> Nah...what you need is a catfolk, from Races of the Wild. Big strength bump, decent dex and wis bump, ECL +2. That's much more palitable, IMO. Both the monk and the spellcasting class have reasons not to want too huge of a level adj.; you'll never get to the really cool class abilities pre-epic with a were-tiger.




first of all, sorry for diverting from your story hour, i should not...

Your story is a nice and very entertaining and light read, witch i enjoy next to Shemeska's writings..
congrats, go on like this 

Thnx for the replies though, but the Were tiger  atmosphere is what i want first and foremost, and then i might go level 7 monk, and after that i will see what comes ,
with the book Complete Arcana, even a none mage with a lot of know.Arcana can do nifty things, thats my first intention, then build up the Spell craft and spell casting itself.

Again, sorry for my musings, but i am frustrated i cant seem to find a nice group to play with here in my area of Middlesbrough, U.K... , and i try to shout it out everywhere that i have the need to find a noice group to annex myself to..

poka


----------



## Jon Potter

Burningspear said:
			
		

> first of all, sorry for diverting from your story hour, i should not...




No sweat! It's not like I discouraged you! Or that it happens all the time.



> Your story is a nice and very entertaining and light read, witch i enjoy next to Shemeska's writings..




And here's a funny coincidence. I've gamed several times with Shemeska (and Clueless, and a few of their other regulars). They're all semi-local to me.

And while I'm here, let me post an update!


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #386] We three Keys*

Huzair looked up at Morier's proclamation and eased back from the chest he was examining, then he shoved his cigar back into his mouth and shook his head. "Nope. It can't be green slime," he said matter-of-factly. "If it were, it'd eat right through this glass." Karak stepped up and rapped his knuckles on the top of the nearest chest.

"This nae be glass, wizard. This is clearstone," he said admiring. "Oi. I have nae seen this in a long, long time."

"Clearstone?" the mage asked. "Never heard of it." Karak snorted.

"Few o' the surface folk 'ave," the dwarf explained. "It be a substance created by a clan o' dwarves who call themselves the Sons o' the Earth. They live their whole lives underground, never once seein' the light o' the sun. They take their love o' stone an' metal quite serious. Everythin' they make be made o' one or th' other.

"Sounds like very other dwarf, to me," Huzair puffed and Karak fixed him with skeptical eye.

"Ye only say that because ye've never met a Son o' the Earth," the dwarf replied. "They're a great many things, but they're nae like other dwarfves an' tha' be certain!"

"So this IS green slime?" Shamalin asked, looking from Karak to Huzair to Morier. When Morier and Karak both nodded, she asked, "And that's bad?"

"Oh, aye!" Karak mused. "Green slime be nasty stuff. I never encountered it myself, but the dwarves in me clan did in the mines. We lost whole tunnels when the damnable stuff ate through the supports. They say it can eat through solid plate steel. It drops down from above and tries to envelop ye in its mass. All the while its acid be eating away at flesh, ye armor, ye weapons. Basically all of ye."

"I'd say that qualifies as bad," the priestess replied and for a moment there was silence as the group stared at the three chests of slime.

"So what's the point?" Ayremac asked suddenly. "I mean, why go to all the trouble of putting these chests made of some obscure material here just to fill them with green slime?"

"Perhaps it was disguised with the notion that someone would just try to smash the chests open, thus spewing green slime on the unsuspecting chest smasher," Morier offered. Karak shuddered at that thought and turned to Shamalin.

"That be nice work casting the dispell illusion magick," the dwarf confided. "That would have been a great mess to whoever open what we thought were brass chests."

"That was Huzair's idea," Shamalin admitted, giving the mage a brief nod. Karak snorted at that and turned back to the conversation.

"Maybe the slime is protecting some powerful magic items," Huzair suggested but Morier shook his head.

"There have not been significant rewards in any of the other tests of skill, so I don't think they're holding anything we have to have," the albino argued.

"Should we try opening one and finding out what's inside?" Ayremac asked and the wizard laughed sarcastically.

"Sure let's open up the stone chests and let it fly all over us. Good idea, just like tossing the coin," Huzair sniped. "The people who designed these traps are brilliant. I notice when the person springs a trap, the trap gets everyone!"

"As much as it pains me to say it, Huzair's right," Morier said. "We may well have passed this test by identifying the danger of the slime and not exposing ourselves to it. I see no reason to risk springing the trap."

"Well I certainly will not open these boxes of death," Huzair added. "There's no need to get into them."

"Okay. Then what do we do now?" Ayremac asked.

"Leave the chests be, rest and move on," Morier offered.

"That's my point, Morier. Move on to where?" the holy warrior said. "I'm focusing on the chests because we are otherwise at a dead end. Literally. We don't have a clue how to get passed the trapped room with the eyes."

"We have a keyhole," Huzair reminded.

"But no key," Ayremac countered. "And I think the key is in one of these chests."

"I agree with the winged one," Karak announced. "I think what we need be in these chests and more importantly in the green slime."

"So how do you propose we get it?" Huzair asked. "I really do not want to pick the lock on a chest full of green slime."

"Well according to the clan the two best way to deal wi' slime is to either burn it or freeze it. I have a Frost Blade but it needs to be in hand-to-hand combat," Karak said, stroking his beard. A little glumly he added, "I do nae have one o' the elemental blades... but what we do 'ave is a dragon." He pointed at Ixin and the drakeling's eyes narrowed uncertainly; she had no idea what they were all talking about.

"I say we stand back and we burn it with Ixin's fiery breath," the dwarf said, proudly crossing his arms over his mailed chest. "According to me best guess, I think the clearstone will melt right along with the slime."

"Alright," Morier agreed. "I can go along with that. Huzair ask Ixin if she's willing." The mage began explaining the situation to the half-dragon and Morier turned back to Karak. "Should we be concerned that fire-breathing the chests and the slime could in any way hurt, destroy, disfigure whatever is in the chests that we might need to be getting at?"

"Good point," Ayremac nodded.

"I have a spell that should allow me to see what's inside one of the chests before we burn them," Shamalin told the others. "I'd hate to find out what's inside is something like a map and we burn it."

"Good plan, lass," Karak nodded.

"Ixin agrees," Huzair announced. "But she'll only be able to do this once until she sleeps."

"Another vote for resting before we move on," Morier said and the others nodded.

"Then let's begin," Shamalin said, clutching her holy symbol and striding purposefully forward.



Shamalin's _Clairvoyance_ spell revealed that the box was not actually filled with green slime. It looked as if the slime was pressed between two layers of clearstone leaving a small inner area empty of slime. In it lay an ornate brass key etched everywhere with a filigree of twisting vines. The handle portion of the key was wrought in the shape  of an eye. Other than the key, the interior of the chest was empty.

Her work done, Shamalin stepped well back behind Ixin as the drakeling concentrated on her draconis fundamentum infusing her breath with a portion of her innate elemental power. She exhaled a 30 foot cone of fire that filled the hallway from edge to edge and engulfed all three chests completely. She reveled in the power of her heritage actualized and when the exhalation had passed, she was smiling broadly, curls of smoke rising from between her teeth.

The hallway was blackened and filled with the stench of cooked slime. Of the chests there was little left but a rapidly cooling puddle of slag. And amidst the ruins of each lay a brass key. Huzair stepped forward to retrieve these, heedless of the lingering heat and held them up for all to see. All were essentially the same although the eye worked into their grips was unique to each.

"Three keys, one keyhole," Ayremac observed.

"Why does this not seem a good thing," Morier mused.



*DAY FIVE IN THE ELEMENTAL NODES*​

They slept and in the morning Shamalin _Restored_ some of the damage done the day before by the poisoned blades. Over breakfast they debated how to proceed. Ayremac and Ixin both advocated for trying to determine the means by which the trap in the eye room was triggered, but in the end, Karak's suggestion was the one taken.

"We need to be mindful of the trap. We still do nae know what spings it. But we must press on," the dwarf had explained. "I say we levitate someone to the key hole and insert the keys into the hole - assuming I am right and one of these key fits in the hole. Maybe we can tie some rope around the levitated person so we can yank him back should the trap be spung. Or is there a spell that can make the person impervious to the trap? Mayhap invisible and levitatin' would do the trick?"

They took his suggestion, but no one volunteered to test it out. So Karak was chosen by virtue of the fact that it was his plan and he was generally tough enough to endure getting flattened by the trap should it be sprung. Using another pinch of _Pixie Dust_, they poled his armored body out to the spot where Huzair indicated the tile with the keyhole and, as they had hoped, one of the eyes in the key handle matched the eye with the keyhole. Karak inserted the key and gave it a twist, listening with satisfaction as he heard the sound of a bolt sliding back within the round door to his right. He pushed against the door, however and it still wouldn't budge.

"Try to find holes for the other keys," Huzair suggested and the dwarf went to work. His eyes were not as keen as Huzair's, but with the keys in hand it was a fairly simple (if lengthy) process to find tiles that matched the keys. Each contained a keyhole and once Karak had inserted the proper key into each and given them each a turn, the circular door thunked open, revealing another chamber beyond.

Karak peered inside and saw a mostly-barren octagonal room. Directly across from the door the wall was jacketed in iron, and set in that wall was a gleaming mechanism involving blades mounted on shafts of various lengths. Just beyond the shafts he could see a large and prominent lock. The other walls were rough-hewn stone, but on the wall to the left of the metal one was carved a grimacing face, holding an hourglass in its mouth.

Turning back to look at the others huddled in the entryway to the eye room, Karak shook his head. "I do nae think ye'll like the looks o' this next room any better than th' others," he scowled.


----------



## Burningspear

Bump, first post


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #387] Time Flies When You're Being Killed*

"Why? What do you see through there?" Morier called expectantly.

"I can see inta the next room," the dwarf told him pointing to the various landmarks beyond that the others couldn't see from their vantage point. "It is octaganol with a large face holdin' an hourglass in its mouth. On the far wall is another door set back in a cage with all sorts o' wicked knives set around it. There be another lock on tha' door."

"Great," Huzair sighed and Ayremac shook his head gravely.

"This place seems designed by some sadistic fiend," he grimaced and no one could argue with his assessment.

"There is nothing to do but press on though. Correct?" Shamalin observed, bitterly. "It's our destiny." She gloomily considered the fact that they had no choice but to move into obvious harm's way again and again. It made her wonder just whose hand was guiding them.

"Assumin' we can get ye all across this floor," Karak nodded. "I do nae know if the locks I just unlocked also stopped the trap. It be a good bet, but I do nae know. Perhaps ye should all levitate to 'ere. But when ye get 'ere I am nae sure what to do."

"I would be willing to try and walk across," Ayremac said  confidently. "I think Karak stopped this trap by unlocking the doors."

"Are you sure?" Shamalin asked. "If you are caught in the trap then I might not be able to save you this time."

"Umba will protect me, Shamalin," he told her. "I have faith that she is watching over me." That comment made the priestess of Flor start. It was as if the holy warrior had read the doubt in her heart and she drew back from him, nodding.

Ayremac prayed silently to his goddess and then strode confidently across the tiled room to the door in which Karak Levitated. The trap did not trigger and Karak grinned at Ayremac as the Officer of Umba moved passed him into the next room.

"Good show, lad," he congratulated and waited for the others to do as Ayremac had. It took only a few minutes to get the others all into the next room. Shamalin was the last and as she stepped through into the chamber, Karak observed, "I say we proceed with caution. Let's search about the area from-"

Before he could finish, the round stone door behind him thunked shut and he heard the grating sound of the three bolts sliding back into their locked positions. They could all hear the sound of some colossal mechanism grinding to life in the walls, the floor.

"Oi!" the dwarf grunted. "I was afraid of that!"

All at once, the hourglass on the wall flipped over, the blades around the lock on the door began to spin and move back and forth irregularly, and the ceiling above began to slowly descend.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me!" Huzair said.

"I CAN STOP THE CEILING!" Stoneblade bellowed, its voice like an avalanche in the small room. "USE ME!" Morier saw at once what the sword intended and drove the weapon blade-first into the floor. At once a wall of stone sprang up across the door they had just entered through rising upward to slam against the lowering ceiling. There was a squeal of protesting metal from above and a shower of dust along the edges of the ceiling, but it stopped descending.

Ixin drew her scimitars in one swift movement and went to work on the hourglass. Her first blow shattered the glass itself, spraying fine sand in all directions, but she could see through the stone face's open mouth the glimmer of metal gears working beyond it. Her off-hand blow cracked the stone face, but it did not yet yeild its secrets.

"Huzair? Can ye reach that padlock in there passed the blades?" Karak asked while Ixin continued her assault. "Are ye up to it?"

"If you are asking if I can pick the lock, the answer is: yes," he said. "If you are asking if I am willing to stick my hand in there and risk having it cut off, the answer is: no frigging way!"

"Let me worry about the blades!" Karak told him and hefted his axe. He squared himself and slammed his weapon into the whirling mechanism. Sparks flew out along with the tip of one of the blades. A moment later, Ayremac stepped up and added his own weapon to the assault.

The two warriors were making good progress destroying the blades outright, but Ixin was a bit faster and her blows had shattered the stone face and mangled the clockwork behind it before Karak and Ayremac could eliminate the blades. As soon as she disabled the mechanism behind the stone face, the blades spun down and stopped. Just to be safe, Karak smashed the now motionless blades into twisted bits.

"There ye be," the dwarf huffed, smoothing his beard as he admired his handiwork. "Now get to work on tha' lock, wizard. I've had me fill o' traps."

Huzair took a few minutes to pick the lock and as soon as he did so, the entire wall slid down into the floor revealing another, smaller chamber beyond. It was lit by a verdant glow which emanated from a stone acorn carved into the ceiling on which a _Continual Flame_ had been cast. The walls were chisled with scenes of an elf completing the tasks that the party had already completed within this testing ground. In one panel, he battled three armed earth creatures on a bridge of crystal; in another he drove his scimitar through the head of a monstrous lobster creature; in a third he challenged a giant fiery thing wielding an enormous spear; and in the last he seemed to be flying, surrounded by many, tiny winged demons. The borders of these reliefs were resplendent with motifs of twining vines and lush leaves.

Across the room from the doorway was another doorway filled with a solid pane of utter dark.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> "If you are asking if I can pick the lock, the answer is: yes," he said. "If you are asking if I am willing to stick my hand in there and risk having it cut off, the answer is: no frigging way!"




Good Roguey!   

Personally, I'd have called for a bluff check!


----------



## Burningspear

nice, an update, if a tad short


----------



## Blarkon Dragonslayer

One is reminded uncomfortably of the sphere of annihilation in the Tomb of Horrors.


----------



## Jon Potter

Blarkon Dragonslayer said:
			
		

> One is reminded uncomfortably of the sphere of annihilation in the Tomb of Horrors.




Huzair shared your sentiment, back in Turn #353.



> Later, while pondering the enigmatic pane of darkness, Huzair shared a story he had once heard about a group of tomb robbers who had filed one-by-one through a similar-looking portal while hunting for a lich's hidden riches. "Turned out that the "portal" was really a _Sphere of Annihilation_," he chuckled sardonically. "Killed the whole party." Lela snorted at that.
> 
> "If it killed them all, then how would anyone know the story?" she scoffed and Huzair just shrugged.
> 
> "Beats me," he said. "But that's the way I heard the story. Kinda funny, if you ask me."
> 
> "You're a regular ray of sunshine, Huzair. You know that?" Ayremac sighed, glancing skeptically at the black field.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #388] The Test of Air, part 1*

As was the plan, they sat down in the chamber for another day's rest before entering the portal. Never mind the fact that they'd all been awake for only a few hours; no one was willing to brave the next challenge with anything less than their full arsenal at hand.

Shamalin _Created Food & Water_ for them and everyone settled down to discuss tactics and tend to their gear. Everyone except Shamalin, that is; she occupied herself with painstakingly examining the carvings on the wall.

"Well, it seems an elfie 'as already performed these tasks at some time," Karak grumbled, looking over at the fresco the cleric was examining. "It seems the next one be we all floatin' in air." Ayremac stretched his pinions.

"I think my wings will come in handy here," the holy warrior said with an expectant smile. Karak glanced up at him and harrumphed.

"That do nae help the rest o' us, laddie," the dwarf shorted. "I have me _Ring o' Feather Fallin'_, but I do nae think it can keep us all from fallin' if there be naught but empty air beyond tha' portal."

"We have got the pixie dust," Huzair reminded as he re-lit the stump of a cigar he'd found in one of his pockets. "That aught to help us."

"Excellent thought, Huzair," Ayremac nodded. "I think a splash of pixie dust before going through might well be in order. Then I can move you guys around a bit, if needed, with my wings."

"Aye," Karak agreed, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "I think the pixie dust be a good idea, too. I do think when we enter we will surrounded by air. But with the pixie dust or spells I think we can maneuver."

"Should I take the _Ring of Invisibility_, Huzair?" Ayremac asked. "I could run for the Key while you deal with any enemy... if there is a problem or something unexpected, I could return."

"Hmmm," Huzair said while he thought, rubbing the crescent-shaped scar on the top of his head. The wizard was eager to show off his prowess in battle to impress the party so he was more agreeable to the suggestion than he otherwise might have been. He hated parting with his ring, but it seemed like a good plan... if Ayremac had the right skills. "Can you _Detect Magic_?"

"No. But I can Detect the presence of Evil," the Officer of Umba offered.

"How about removing traps?" Huzair asked. "Are you any good at that?"

"No, I-" Ayremac began and Morier cut him off.

"Huzair if you don't want to part with your precious ring, then just say so!" he snapped. "Inventing obstacles to somehow justify your own greed makes you look foolish."

"No, Morier. I think Huzair brings up a good point," Ayremac said diplomatically. "I can't _Detect Magic_ and if the Key is trapped, I am pretty much in Umba's hands."

"See?" Huzair said to Morier, indicating Ayremac with a casual waive of his hand.

"So far, there have not been any traps on the Keys, has there?" the holy warrior asked.

"No," Morier told him, his eyes still fixed on Huzair. The wizard grinned and exhaled a cloud of smoke in the eldritch warrior's face.

"Fine," he said petulantly and pulled the ring from his hand. He tossed it to Ayremac adding, "Just don't lose it."



"I recognize some of these symbols," Shamalin explained later once she'd finished her examination of the reliefs. She pointed at a series of carvings that ran around the base of the larger images that seemed to depict the elf from the main panels traveling a long distance. "This is the symbol for "East" in elvish and here it is in Hightongue as well. But I don't recognize this rune here."

"Tha' be the dwarven rune for "East" as well," Karak told her. "Mayhap it tells us where to go to find Dridana's Heart. East into the mountains."

Huzair elbowed Morier and muttered, "I didn't know the dwarf could read."

Morier rolled his eyes disapprovingly.

"See how in this bit along the bottom his scimitar is always surrounded by these repeating symbols. Each one corresponds to the same symbol in each of the four larger carvings. Earth. Fire. Water. Air," Shamalin went on, pointing to the smaller symbols and then to the same device in the main carvings. "But then here it shows him losing the scimitar and taking up a gemstone."

"Dridana's Heart," Morier sighed and Shamalin nodded.

"I think so," she said. "But I also think that in order to get it, we'll have to give up the elemental blades."

"ALL THINGS PASS IN THEIR TIME," Stoneblade roared. "SUCH IT IS WITH THE WORLD AND SUCH IT IS WITH WE ELEMENTAL SCIONS!"

"We are the keys to freeing her heart," Flameblade crackled at Huzair's hip. "We are but sparks of Dridana's full divinity."

"IT IS OUR PURPOSE TO RELEASE THOSE SPARKS AND FREE HER!" Waveblade thundered. "AND THOUGH IT BE OUR UNDOING WE ARE GLAD FOR IT!"

"THE WHEEL TURNS EVER ONWARD!" the three scions said with one voice. "AS DRIDANA RISES ABOVE SO WILL APHYX BE CRUSHED BENEATH! IT IS THE WAY OF ALL THINGS!"




*DAY SIX IN THE ELEMENTAL NODES*​


In the morning, Huzair distributed the _Dust of Levitation_ and then cast _Mark of Fire_ on himself. "Now would be a good time to buff," he said to Morier, but the eldritch warrior was already casting a spell and Huzair watched as the albino's muscles swelled with a _Bull's Strength_. He winked at the wizard and Huzair grinned. "You are learning," he said.

"I say we enter an' dispatch the rest of these elementals!" Karak growled, his hand tight around his waraxe. "Let's be done with this place. We still have Dridana's heart to free!"

"Work, work, work," Huzair groused as he started in casting _False Life_ on himself.

"I'll go first," Ayremac told them, activating the _Ring of Invisibility_ and disappearing. "With Umba's blessing," he said and stepped through the black doorway.

One by one the others followed.



As with the previous portals a wave of energy coursed through Ayremac's body as he passed through. His vision blurred momentarily and he had the familiar but unsettling sensation of falling rapidly. Suddenly his senses snapped back to normal and he found himself standing and slowly sinking into a large, circular cloud adrift in an endless sky. The cloud's surface was yielding but firm enough to support his weight. Silvery runes puffed and shifted along its contour marking the spot that would return them to the elemental hub once he found the Key.

He craned his neck, searching his surroundings for any sign of it. Clear blue sky extended in every direction, with no sign of a land mass below. A soft breeze billowed about the cloud, tousling the holy warrior's platinum hair. Similar clouds doted the sky in random places, while larger, thicker clouds lay overhead. There was a sameness to everything, a uniformity of shapes and colors that defied the eye to linger long on any one thing.
Then he spotted it.

One particular cloud caught his gaze - the largest cloud in sight, easily spanning 80 feet across and glowing with a silver lining. The silver lined cloud hung in the air, 100 feet above him.

Karak appeared suddenly beside him and Ayremac said, "Be ready. I'm going for the key." Then he spread his wings and took invisibly to the sky.



One by one the others materialized on the cloud and looked around. None could see Ayremac of course, but it was pretty obvious where he'd likely gone once they spotted the glowing cloud high above them. For a moment, there was no sign of opposition, and Ixin tugged at Huzair's arm, pointing to a smallish cloud 15 feet off to the side and 75 feet or so below them.

"Ocuir!" she said. "Kosjirthos sjach." Huzair followed her outstretched claw and saw what the drakeling had. Half-embedded in the cloud below them was a small black speck that as he stared at it resolved itself into a humanoid shape. It was utterly still and made entirely of metal, looking like an adamantine statue or a suit of full plate armor. At this distance he couldn't tell which.

"What does she see?" Shamalin asked the wizard, but before Huzair could answer Karak bellowed, "Here they come!"

The dwarf shouted, pointing upward where winged shapes - a half-dozen or more - were rapidly descending from various points above. All were plainly converging on the group clustered below.



Ayremac saw the creatures. They were small in size, little bigger than a halfling, with tiny bat-like wings on their backs. Their flesh was white as the clouds around them and below the waist their bodies became a roiling funnel of dust that trailed off behind them as they flew. They came at him, moving just as quickly as he and with a great deal more grace, and it was a narrow thing that he managed to dart out of their way as they passed.

Even so, two of the creatures stopped - they didn't slow down, they simply stopped - and both looked in his direction squinting their eyes and snarling. The other six continued on, bearing down rapidly on his companions clustered on the cloud below.


----------



## Burningspear

*bump, 1st post, and i 2nd myself on that 

nice read, if somewhat short , its never enough, u always want to read on... and on... and ..... on


----------



## Jon Potter

*Temporal Physics for Dummies*



			
				Burningspear said:
			
		

> *bump, 1st post, and i 2nd myself on that




Well... before you get _too_ full of yourself, let me point out that it's already tomorrow for us when you read the story. Of course you get to respond first; the UK is in the future. 





> nice read, if somewhat short , its never enough, u always want to read on... and on... and ..... on




Is it any comfort to know that you'll have that long read - but you'll have to wait for it over time?


----------



## Burningspear

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> Well... before you get _too_ full of yourself, let me point out that it's already tomorrow for us when you read the story. Of course you get to respond first; the UK is in the future.




Never actually thought of it that way, 
I was always under the impression (with the kind of presidents u have across the pond), that the U.S. was in the past  (pun intended, no disrespect to any individual though)


----------



## Jon Potter

Burningspear said:
			
		

> Never actually thought of it that way,
> I was always under the impression (with the kind of presidents u have across the pond), that the U.S. was in the past  (pun intended, no disrespect to any individual though)




I'll not belabor this for fear of getting into an overly political (and therefore against the board rules) discussion, but suffice it to say that you'll get no argument from me regarding this assessment. Term limits are our friend.


----------



## Burningspear

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> I'll not belabor this for fear of getting into an overly political (and therefore against the board rules) discussion, but suffice it to say that you'll get no argument from me regarding this assessment. Term limits are our friend.




LOL  , anyway, thanks for writing and keep it up


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #389] The Test of Air, part 2*

As they flew, the cluster of small creatures spread out, with an eager group of four moving ahead of the others and two stragglers strung out behind. Huzair was concerned by the two that had stopped; the wizard was rightly afraid that they had somehow spotted Ayremac. He moved his fingers through an intricate series of gestures and then pointed at the two that had stopped, shouting, _"Telum magica!"_ Three bolts of force launched themselves outward, arcing around the phalanx of creatures rapidly approaching to slam into the two that were looking for the holy warrior.

A pair of _Magic Missiles_ impacted against the nearer while the third struck its fellow. Both creatures let out shrieks and exuded a sheathe of swirling vapor that served to _Blur_ their outlines, making their exact positions uncertain.



Ayremac did not see who had distracted the two creatures, but he mouthed a silent thanks and moved away before invoking a ward to _Protect_ himself _From Evil_.



"Good shot, wizard!" Karak shouted as he began to _Levitate_ up to meet their foes. Shamalin grabbed hold of his arm, forestalling his progress.

"Stay close. I have a plan," she said, clutching her silver holy symbol with her shield hand. She withdrew her hand to inscribe some symbols invisibly upon the air intoning, _"Pariei ventus!"_

All those on the cloud could hear the rush of air all around them and felt the cleric's cylindrical _Wind Wall_ ruffling their hair and clothing. Huzair looked over at the Mercybringer and winked.

"You are becoming quite creative with your spells! I am impressed," he told her. "I must be rubbing off on you. Next thing you know everyone will be mad at you... but you are way to sweet for that." Shamalin smiled wanly but did not respond.



Ixin followed Huzair's lead and fired off a pair of _Magic Missiles_ sending both into the creature that the wizard had already twice wounded. Both bolts of force struck unerringly despite the swirling mist that masked the thing. It let out a stifled cry, stiffened and started to fall. Ixin had never met Lela and hadn't seen the broken Faen plummet from the air as the others had, so she was unhaunted by the image and took nothing but satisfaction from the tiny, falling winged shape.



The first four of the winged creatures came straight in at them, unaware of the _Wind Wall_ that protected the group. They slammed into it at a point about 25 feet over their heads and were immediately thrust upward by the force of the _Wall_. They tumbled about in the air, momentarily confused by the buffeting winds and Huzair took the opportunity to draw a chip of white stone from his spell component pouch. He rubbed it with the thumb of one hand while moving the fingers of his other through the proper somatic gestures to evoke a _Snowball Swarm_. It exploded in the midst of the four creatures clustered above and they wailed in pain as ice and cold ravaged them.

"I'll finish them off!" Karak grinned, but again Shamalin grabbed his arm.

"No, Karak," she said. "The _Wind Wall_ is our advantage here. There is but one way for them to approach. Let them come to us." The dwarf scowled at that but nodded his assent.

"In doing so, Shamalin, it also cuts off any line of escape should things start to go poorly for us," Morier pointed out, but the cleric shook her head.

"We're all of us heavy enough to just step through," she said. "Don't worry."



Ayremac banked up and over the top of the shining cloud, landing beside a pile of treasure there. There was a longbow, a suit of banded mail armor, a slim silver wand, and a carved cube of white stone lying amidst a double hand full of glittering blue sapphires. The cube clearly was the _Elemental Air Key_.

"I found it!" he said into the _Ring of Communication_.

"Good work, lad!" Karak's voice cheered out of the _Ring_.



Nobody noticed the falling creature right itself in the air and stop falling. Likewise did nobody see the other wounded thing above get a look of furious concentration on its face as it willed into existence a tiny, silvery gate. It swirled in the air beside it, but nothing came through and a moment later it closed. The creature gnashed its teeth in frustration.



Ixin saw the creatures above them, coated in frost due to Huzair's magic and she grinned at the tight cluster they were in. Willing herself up she activated the _Levitation_ magic and floated toward them. Feeling the thrum of fire within her breast she took a deep inhalation, calling on that power to breathe a cone of dragonfire that engulfed all four of the frozen creatures.

Perhaps they were ready for such an attack after being assaulted by Huzair's spell, for they all managed to dodge the worst of the fire. But, even avoiding the worst, they still suffered horribly, the flames licking their already frost-bitten forms.

They dropped, smoking to the surface of the cloud below. And they did not stir further.



The two little things that had yet to act hadn't been idle. Both had opened gates and summoned another pair of their brethren. Where there had been two, there now was four, and the fastest of them darted in toward the group. It came in low and looked for a moment as if it were going to charge right into them, but then it stopped suddenly and opened its mouth, disgorging a cone of... something.

Only Karak possessed a frame of reference for the feeling; he had been at the entrance to Khuntelormardin when kobold sappers from below had collapsed the mine. As the breath weapon settled over him, he was reminded of that day and the cloud of grit and dust that had belched forth from that collapsing tunnel. He hadn't managed to Evade the stinging debris that day, like he did now, but the cries of pain and alarm he heard from his companions were the same.

"Missed me!" Huzair taunted (for his _False Life_ spell had completely negated any damage he might have taken from the attack). Then he pressed his thumbs together, fanned his fingers and cried, _"Palmae incendium!"_ A fan of fire of licked outward from the wizard's fingertips, its outer edge sweeping over the unfortunate creature. It tried unsuccessfully to twist away from the spell but ended up twisting in pain instead.

Two more of the creatures flew in as the first had, coming in low and fast. They both stopped ten feet from the group and breathed a cone of dust at them. When the dust cleared, Huzair spat, blinking grit from his eyes.

"What are they trying to do?" he cursed. "Exfoliate us to death?"


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## Burningspear

Here then, a touch of the future, "Bump"...


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #390] The Air Key*

"Morier, why not try to be a good student and use some of what Uncle Appie tought you!" the wizard sputtered, spitting dust. Morier hefted Stoneblade and scowled.

"I've something else in mind," the Eldritch Warrior growled, charging the nearest of the creatures. Or rather he tried to. The soft. yielding nature of the cloud surface made it difficult to build up any momentum. He slogged through Shamalin's _Wind Wall_, feeling the rushing air tug at his hair and clothing, slowing him further. Still, it was only a few paces to close with the thing and then the greatsword was cleaving the creature in twain. The gray blade intersected it at the spot where its neck met its body and split it from there to a point just above its opposite hip, sending gore spewing in every direction.

Huzair got a disgusted look on his face. "That works too, I guess," he grimaced.

Karak winked at Shamalin, saying, "Nice work on the spell, lass. But I think the time for waitin' be passed!" He raised his waraxe and moved forward, implacable. His blade cut a glittering arc through the air, but failed to contact the foe he'd chosen.

Ixin, likewise, moved toward the last of the three nearby adversaries - the one that Huzair had already injured with his _Burning Hands_ spell - and utterly missed it.



The advancing creature paused forty or so feet away and concentrated. A spiraling silver gate appeared beside it, opened and then closed again without disgorging anything. The flying thing shook its tiny arms and legs in impotent anger.

"Oi! It seems to me that those silvery gates will belch more of these air critters at us!" Karak grumbled as he spied the monster above. "We'll need to shut those gates or we will be swarmed."



On the cloud above, Ayremac stuffed the _Elemental Air Key_ beneath his armor and started grabbing other items within reach. A shriek of alarm made him look up in time to see a pair of the things breathe cones of grit onto him. His wings flexed once and he was able to dart away from the brunt of the attack, but he still felt the sting of debris scouring his flesh.

The magic from the _Invisibility Ring_ faltered and he reappeared atop the cloud, his expression annoyed. He pressed his hand against the holy symbol worked into the breastplate of his armor and shouted, "Umba, lend me your _Holy_ power that I might _Smite_ those who stand in my way!"

A shaft of celestial light seemed to shine down from Heaven itself, bathing the two creatures in its righteous glow. They shrieked again, clawing futilely at their skin as the divine magic laid waste to their bodies. They twisted and shriveled and dropped lifeless to the surface of the cloud.



The creatures facing Karak and Ixin both surrounded themselves with an obscuring shroud of mist, _Blur_-ing their outlines. Then they darted back and away to put some distance between themselves and their flightless foes. Both the dwarf and the drakeling seized the momentary opportunity to strike at their opponent.

Karak's axe clipped the leg of his enemy, causing the creature to spin in the air before it righted itself and sneered at him. Ixin's scimitar sliced across her foe's throat, nearly separating its head from its body. It flopped in the air, a bubbling fountain of blood gurgling down its torso for a moment before it fell.



Huzair drew out his _Wand of Scorch_ and pointed it at the thing that Karak had wounded. A jet of fire shot from the wand, struck the creature and burned it to a roughly humanoid cinder.



There was little the last flying creature could do. It lacked the ability to summon another of its kind more often than once per day; and the spell was unreliable even then. The summoning had failed today, leaving it alone. It cloaked itself hopefully in _Blur_-ing mist, but that was no defense against the barrage of _Magic Missiles_ that Huzair and Ixin launched at it.

Less than twenty anti-climactic seconds later it was plummeting lifelessly through the endless sky.



They had been so long battling and testing that when the moment had finally come to lower defenses and breathe a collective sigh of relief, they were loathe to do so. The warriors looked around quietly, waiting. There anticipation of some other threat was clearly seen in their tense postures. Shamalin called on her goddess to grant her a spell of _Sanctuary_, but there was nothing else to hear save the sigh of the wind, eerily muted by the bilious clouds.

"Could this be it?" the cleric asked,  half expecting the words to conjure some new horror to confront. But none presented itself.

"I must say we did pretty well for ourselves," Huzair mused, a toothsome grin splitting his dark face. "This was the easiest test yet... Almost too easy." Shamalin shifted uncomfortably at that thought.

"What do we do now?" she asked, looking around at her companions.

"Let us head back. We did it!' Huzair told her and gave his travel-worn cloak a shake that released a cloud of grit around him. "Damn, my clothes sure got dusty."

"I'm ready to be done with this place," Morier admitted, sheathing his sword. Karak nodded.

"Aye, just as soon as Ayremac be done above, I reckon we can quit this place and get back to the real world!" he brought the _Ring of Communication_ to his lips and asked, "Are ye doin' a'right up there?"

"I'm fine, but I could use a little help with this stuff," the holy warrior answered. "There's a lot of precious stones, some armor. Too much for me to carry by myself."

Morier looked at Huzair, who was explaining to Ixin the fact that they all thought the battle was won. "Time to get up there with your fancy bag, Huzair," the albino observed, cocking a thumb skyward.

"I do not think we should be splitting up," the mage countered smoothly. "Tell him to grab what he can, bring it down and he can fly back up with the _Haversack_ to secure the rest."



They accepted the wizard's plan and Ayremac grabbed a few things - the longbow, the wand, roughly half the sapphires and the Elemental Key - with the intention of returning to gather the remainder once he'd retrieved Huzair's _Handy Haversack_. That was his intention, but the reality was somewhat different; as soon as he got within 10 feet of the group, the circle of air runes that surrounded them flared with light and all of them felt the gut-wrenching sensation of being pulled bodily across dimensions.



They reappeared in the Elemental Hub - which seemed very cramped and stuffy indeed after the open sky of the Air Node.

"So much for going back for the rest," Huzair scowled at Ayremac.

"I could try passing through the Air Door again," the holy warrior suggested. "There was a suit of banded mail and at least another handful of these." He displayed his bulging belt pouch and the glittering blue gems within. Karak whistled appreciatively at the sight, perhaps considering what they would buy if he again visited Balazaar.

"No, Ayremac," Shamalin objected. "What if the traps and other challenges are reset when you pass through?"

"Good point," Morier agreed. "Do you feel that you could pass those challenges alone if it came to it? All for the sake of a bit of treasure?"

"Now that is funny!" Huzair snapped. "Talk about preaching one thing and doing another! You are the only one of us who spent time as a professional adventurer, Morier. Was not your group's motto: Kill 'em all and take their stuff?" Morier shot the mage a glance filled with daggers.

"Unlike some people, I've managed to grow up a great deal since my youth," the eldritch warrior replied. "It is foolish for Ayremac to risk his life needlessly."

"Aye! The white elf be right!" Karak said, stamping his waraxe on the floor for emphasis. "Place the Key and let's quit these tests! I never thought I'd say this, but I'm growin' weary o' tunnels."

Ayremac's face shown with excitement. "Everyone's sure about me getting the next Elemental Blade?" he asked and everyone (except Ixin who did not understand the question) nodded. That was all the more encouragement he needed.

The holy warrior strode purposefully to the center of the room and inserted the Key of Air into the final opening in the floor. Immediately the hole in the middle began to glow brightly and he reached in pulling forth a weapon that was all but invisible. It swirled like a maelstrom in his fist and a breathy voice sighed, "I am Windblade, Scion of Air, mightiest of the elemental blades!"

Ayremac smiled, opening his mouth to speak, but was cut off by a startled cry from Shamalin. An incandescent, smoky face was rising from the central well. Its features were hazy, indistinct, but none the less clearly elvish. Its mouth opened and it began to speak.

"I am Thermril Eniavust, First among the Eight, and you have completed the challenges we have set before you, passing our tests of spirit and mind and body, to free the four who are all," the ghostly visage told them. "It is likely that I will have passed beyond the cycles of the Green when you at last hear my words, but know you that you have my thanks, for you will be the one to return balance to the world by freeing the goddess, Dridana. Yours is a treacherous path, but one whose reward is great indeed. You must journey beyond the Serpent's Eye to the place where lies her heart and from there to a place beyond our beloved Green where heart and body may be reunited. I pray that our challenges have prepared you for what lies along the road ahead, and again you have my thanks. Walk with the goddess."

And then the face began to drift apart like the smoke it was.


----------



## Blarkon Dragonslayer

Excellent update!


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## Burningspear

Yeay...


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #391] An Old Friend*

"Well, lads and lassies, where do we go now?" Karak asked as soon as the disembodied head drifted fully apart.

"Out would be good," Ayremac relied, looking toward the doorway that led back to Grandfather Plaque's chamber. Karak nodded his shaggy head.

"I must admit I am a might tired of these tests. I am ready to breathe the fresh air and see the wind in the trees," he said and then slapped a gauntleted hand to his forehead in disgust. "Oi! Now I sound like a gay faerie elf. I 'ave got to move on."

"I don't think that anyone will argue with you, Karak," Morier said with a nod. "Our time in this place is at a close, but our efforts here represent only half of our mission."

"Aye. I seem to recall that there be the little matter o' freein' Dridanna's heart," the dwarf said with a weary shake of his head. "I believe that that be on a different plane by the way." Huzair snorted derisively.

"Why does the path of adventure always have to take you to the planes?" he grumbled to no one in particular.

"We do what we must to save Orune," Ayremac observed. "The hero's journey is never an easy one."

"And I seem to recall that it was you who came to me asking if you could help," Morier reminded. "You picked this for yourself, Huzair."

"Garan-zak picked it for me, you mean," Huzair mumbled as he lit a cigar.

"What?" Karak demanded, cupping a hand at his ear.

"Nothing, just thinking that I need a fresh supply," the mage replied, holding up his stogie. Then his face brightened and he asked, "Hey we are going back for the short sword arent we?"

With one voice Morier and Karak shouted, "NO!"

"After all we have endured, you're still willing to prod the sleeping dragon?" Shamalin asked, dumbfounded. "And for what: a sword you'll never use?"

"She's right, Huzair. You already have a powerful sword," Ayremac agreed. "One that we suffered greatly to secure, I might add."

"Oh, come off it," the mage shot back. "We're not so bad off."

"Lela would not agree with you, I'm sure," Shamalin said gravely. "But perhaps you'd like to explain your position to Spot, here. I'm sure- What happened to Spot?!" They all looked around at their scattered gear but there was no sign of the cat.

"I've nae seen 'im since we entered through the Fire door," Karak said.

"I don't remember him being here when we returned," Ayremac added. "I just didn't notice that he was missing.

"Surely he didn't follow us into the Fire Test," Shamalin gasped looking at the door marked with the fire rune.

"Maybe he got burned up by one of Rafrarrl's fireballs," Huzair opined.

"Or maybe he went back into the Earth Test to be with Lela's body," Morier suggested, pointing to the door marked with the earth rune.

"Should we go and try to find him?" Ayremac wondered aloud and Shamalin looked stricken.

"Hell no!" Huzair answered, gesturing vehemently with his cigar. "If we are not going back to get the magic items we left behind we are certainly not going back for a kitty that did not even know enough to stay put when it should have!!" Karak sighed into his beard.

"Methinks the wizard has the right of it." the dwarf muttered sadly.

"You know I'm not one to take agreement with Huzair lightly, but I have to side with him on this," Morier added. "Too much is depending on our success for us to risk returning to the challenges."

"But Lela-" the priestess of Flor started and Ayremac laid a hand on her shoulder.

"Spot is a creature of the Green," he reassured. "Perhaps there is a place for him here in this place."



They gathered up all of their gear and lined up at the portal leading back to Grandfather Plaque's chamber. Stepping through one by one.



Karak was first, and he noticed at once that the chamber wasn't as quiet as it had been when they'd left. It was filled with a cacophony of chittering squeaks and the dwarf could see why at once; The recessed sections of floor to either side containing the pools that had at one time been used for purification were filled several feet deep, it seemed with rats. The creatures moved over and across each other forming a squirming carpet of rodent bodies.

"What the-?" Morier grunted as he stepped through, followed by Shamalin and the others.

"I'm sorry..." a cracked whisper sounded from the party's right. Turning they saw Grandfather Plaque, hanging askew in his spot beside the portal. The stone face had been chipped and scratched and gouged and his already lined and wizened face was a mad web of tiny cracks. "There was no way... to warn you."

"You have upset our plans," came a voice from across the room. The rats were surging up into a pile of writhing bodies at the far end of the central walkway, directly in front of the only door out. As the pile grew, the rodent squeaks became a horrible, rasping voice that clawed at the ears. Eyes that glowed with red fire watched them from the mass of rats. "But you have also done us a service. Give us the keys and you may yet live to see your loved ones once more."


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## Burningspear

*Bump, the future touching u again...lol, nice update


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## Jon Potter

Burningspear said:
			
		

> *Bump, the future touching u again...lol, nice update




Thanks, Burningspear.

And I forgot to point it out, but that little bit with the characters finally noticing that Spot had disappeared was inserted in direct response to Psyke asking the same question about the animal companion. I hope that it brought a little smile to readers' faces.


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## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> "You have upset our plans," came a voice from across the room. The rats were surging up into a pile of writhing bodies at the far end of the central walkway, directly in front of the only door out. As the pile grew, the rodent squeaks became a horrible, rasping voice that clawed at the ears. Eyes that glowed with red fire watched them from the mass of rats. "But you have also done us a service. Give us the keys and you may yet live to see your loved ones once more."




Vermin Lord or Hivemind?


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## Burningspear

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Vermin Lord or Hivemind?




hehe, neither?, Buttmunch at the hands of the players, Kick ass dudes and dudettes


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## Jon Potter

Actually, you're both wrong. It's a Demon Flock from Second World Simulations' book, Bodies and Souls: 20 Templates. They first encountered this critter way back when they were 4th level or so, before the arrival of Huzair, Ixin, Morier, and Karak. At the time, it was referred to as The Voice of Aphyx (or simply The Voice) by some werebats outside Strenchburg Junction.

It's a pretty tough customer.


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## Blarkon Dragonslayer

Yay! I remember that. It was when they were hanging around with that healer dude, right?  Kept running back to his house all chewed up and diseased, and healing up there.  Didn't Ixin show up (the first time) immediately following that?

Excellent way to bring back old badness to rudely assault the mighty adventurers!


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## Jon Potter

Blarkon Dragonslayer said:
			
		

> Yay! I remember that. It was when they were hanging around with that healer dude, right?  Kept running back to his house all chewed up and diseased, and healing up there.  Didn't Ixin show up (the first time) immediately following that?




That's the one! The Voice's arrival coincided with Kirnoth's disappearance.



> Excellent way to bring back old badness to rudely assault the mighty adventurers!




I'm glad you approve.   

Personally, I'm a huge fan of recurring characters (not just villains although they're always fun). It lends a sense of continuity to the game.


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## Burningspear

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> That's the one! The Voice's arrival coincided with Kirnoth's disappearance.
> 
> 
> 
> I'm glad you approve.
> 
> Personally, I'm a huge fan of recurring characters (not just villains although they're always fun). It lends a sense of continuity to the game.




Jup, if only the writing was more recurring, lol, hehehe, just being sarcastic.. showing we want more to read


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #392] The Next Step*

"Oi. It seems we have different but just as bad forces at work 'ere," Karak grumbled. "Well there be no way we cough up the keys."

"Then you will die," the voice - a horrible amalgam of dozens of separate rat squeaks - told them. "Now!"

That was all the more Ayremac needed to hear. He summoned a _Holy Smite_ down upon the rat swarm. Unfortunately it had absolutely no effect, sliding off the rats' spell resistance like oil dripped onto water. The chittering rats seemed to laugh at him from all sides as it retaliated with a spell of its own. A chaotic explosion of color tore down in their midst, energy leaping and ricocheting amongst the members of The Order.

Shamalin, Ixin and Karak were all injured by the assault to some degree, but Ayremac suffered the worst. The spell attacked the very nature of his being (or rather the being that he had transcended to) and the power of it seemed to rip at his very soul. A spray of blood exploded from his mouth as the raw stuff of _Chaos Hammered_ at him. He felt his limbs stiffen as the power distorted reality around him, _Slowing_ him.

Shamalin invoked a _Magic Circle Against Evil_ and reached out a steadying hand to Ayremac. At her side, Morier (who had been completely uninjured by the rats' attack) felt Stoneblade's urgings and for once he agreed with the sword. As he had done in the Fire Test, he raised the weapon in a reverse grip and thrust it into the stone floor. The ground rumbled slightly and walls rose up along the edge of the raised walkway, curving upward to meet near the ceiling. The arched _Wall of Stone_ extended from door to door, sealing the majority of the rats outside.

"Let's take Grandfather Plaque and get out of here!" the Eldritch Warrior urged.

"Oh, yes, I'd like that very much," the stone face wheezed, rock dust falling from the cracks in his face with every syllable.

"He'll never make it," Shamalin said, indicating Ayremac who was moving with the speed of a fly trapped in pine tar. Ixin took one look at him and thrust Shamalin aside, heaving the Officer of Umba bodily across her broad shoulders. She grunted and strain showed on her face as she stood beneath her new burden.

"Gethrisj!" she grunted, angling her head toward the far door. "Osvithkarif!"

"If ye said it be time ta deal death to this skaven scum, lass, I'd say ye're right!" Karak roared, charging the four rats that remained between them and freedom. He swung his waraxe in a massive two-handed blow that split the nearest rat and cleaved into the one beside it, ending its life as well.

Huzair had his _Wand of Scorch_ at the ready, but in the tight confines of Morier's impromptu tunnel, there was no viable target. Irked, he started to put the slim device back into his bag.

"Are we ready to go?" Grandfather Plaque asked beside him.

"Looks like," the wizard agreed, looking up the tunnel to where Karak was chasing down the last two rats which were both fleeing like they were on a sinking ship.

"Then I'm ready to go too," the stone face told him. "Just grab hold of me and I'll let go of the wall."

After a few moments more they left the chamber with the sound of rats frantically clawing at stone reaching their ears from beyond Morier's wall. The horrible sound followed them out.



They threaded there way back through the complex and there were signs that intelligent life had been through the corridors after their own passing. It was nothing overt, but the feeling was inescapable never the less and it lent their flight an added level of urgency.

They paused only once and that was for Ixin to put Ayremac down and for Shamalin to heal him somewhat. Fortunately, the slowness that had gripped the holy warrior was short-lived and he was able to move under his own power for most of their retreat from Rake's hold.

It wasn't until they'd reached the chamber by which they'd entered the complex that any of them remembered that the portal seemed to be one-way only.

"Are we absolutely sure this is where we came in?" Ayremac asked. "It feels like we've been down her for a year!" Morier shook his head and pounded a fist against the wall.

"No, I recognize this room. This is definitely where we entered," he cursed. Raising his sword he added. "Maybe Stoneblade can cut us a door."

"Did someone say door?" Grandfather Plaque asked from the rear of the group where he was being carried by Huzair. "I'm quite good with doors, you know. Perhaps I can help." The stone face closed its eyes a moment and a smile spread across its cracked features. When it opened its eyes again a faintly glowing rectangle of light had appeared in the otherwise featureless wall. "There. That's better."

Without hesitation they stepped through one by one.



It was night outside, lit only by the glow of the Handmaiden Moon, and there was no sign of their horses. But none of them had any desire to remain too close to the cave leading to the complex that had been their home for too long and had become a grave for one of their number. They seemed to drink in the cold night air and the smell of pine trees and wet earth invigorated them such that they marched well into the night before electing to make a fire and set up camp.



Shamalin wound the cloth around Waveblade, as she had taken to doing to both protect and conceal the blade when she was not carrying it. Tucking it into her bedroll, she straightened. It felt good to be out of her armor. Not that there was no need for caution. In fact they now had more cause to be on guard than ever before. They had secured the keys that would one day free Dridana's heart. One leg of their journey was complete; a new one was about to begin. It was this fact that perplexed Shamalin and sent her away from the fire to think. 

She found an area of soft pine needles and sat soundlessly. While they considered themselves successful, it had not been without significant loss.  Immediately, the dark shadow of pain which was the Speckled Band welled up within her. If there was a time to part company with her current companions, it was now. Now that her debt was paid. Now before the ties grew any stronger.  

She considered for some time which direction to take. She could not return to the temple. Sadness for the lost melodies that had once been such a driving part of her healing art there gripped her. Yet the ability itself was unchanged, and for that she thanked the goddess. To her infinite relief, the dark forces she imagined were governing her actions since her rescue from Blackheart's lair had amounted to no more than fears. She had not delivered the party into the hands of Aphyx.

She sighed, offering all the uncertainty in her heart up to her goddess. She would remain here, until she was instructed to do otherwise. The truth was, she really had no place else to go.


----------



## Burningspear

woohoo, more to read, njamnjam

if only i had some moldy cheese, preferably blue cheese to go with it


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #393] What Now?*

Given the lateness of the night before, dawn seemed to come early to their campsite. But it came slowly with the sky lightening almost imperceptibly as the rays of Orin's Shield touched gold to the vault of heaven far above the treetops. Below the sheltering boughs of the evergreens, it remained dim and still long after the sky above shown azure between the branches.

Ayremac woke and stretched, his wings glowing white in the shade as he wiped sleep from his glittering green eyes. He felt refreshed and comfortable despite the chill in the air, a benefit of his blood that he had always enjoyed growing up in Pellham during winter. The holy warrior drew in a lung full of air through his nose, savoring the fresh smell of wood smoke and pine needles before exhaling the air as a cloud of silvery steam.

Ixin was awake and on watch, huddled miserably beneath a threadbare blanket scrounged up from somewhere (most likely Huzair's _Handy Haversack_), and Shamalin was already awake and engaged in her morning prayers. Morier was seated against a nearby tree, his body slack but his crimson eyes open. He looked awake, but Ayremac knew he was "trancing" - that peculiar elven reverie that served them as sleep served most mortals. Huzair was soundly asleep quite near the fire and Karak snored sonorously across the pit from the wizard.

He breathed in another draught of cold morning air and looked up at the sky.



Ixin and Shamalin had spent some time that morning quietly engaged in the business of trying to teach the drakeling the language spoken by the folk on this strange, uncivilized world. The fairie-born priestess was a decent teacher, Ixin supposed, displaying plenty of patience while her pupil stumbled over her own tongue. But it was painfully slow going. The sorceress was applying herself fully to the task, but it was difficult and studying was never her strength to begin with. What little of that she had done over the years had been in the area of arcana and magic came naturally to her, so that study had only been to satisfy her own curiosity. Spending hours on end pouring over some ancient tome was almost as distasteful a prospect to her as spending the night outside sleeping on frozen earth.

She watched, desolatory, as Ayremac stood, looked around the campsite and started making his way toward her, feathered pinions arching up from his shoulders. His blood, she knew, ran as did hers with that of some being greater than the humanoids they both resembled. While her own lineage was that of a red dragon, his looked to most likely be some sort of angel or other celestial. He looked... otherworldly.

She followed his approach with her eyes, not moving much in an attempt to keep the cold air outside her blanket. He said something that she didn't understand and waited for some sort of reply. When she shrugged in confusion he repeated the words more slowly and loudly. Surprisingly, that didn't help and he contented himself with gestures instead. He pointed to himself and then to the sky while spreading his wings.

She guessed he was bragging about his fully-functional wings, and she nodded her head. "Yes, yes," she told him in Castillan. "You're very shiny." He nodded and moved off toward the dwarf.

Ixin knew that she could manifest functional wings of her own if she chose. She knew the means to such evolution lay within her. All she would need to do is tap into the power of her draconis fundamentum as she had learned to do beneath her grandmother's wing. It was what made true dragons Dragons and contained all the power necessary for her to grow thicker scales, or stronger wings, or a tail, or any one of a number of other improvements over her current form. All she needed was time and the will to tap that power...



"Karak, sorry to wake you but I tried to explain to Ixin and I don't think she understood," Ayremac said, as he gave the dwarf a shake. Karak snorted sleepily, lifting his eyelids and shaggy head with difficulty.

"Wha..?" he grumbled before clearing his throat and focusing his pale gray eyes on Ayremac's face. "Wha's that now, lad?"

"I did not want to concern the others when they wake and find me gone, but I have to do something," the holy warrior explained, rising to an standing position. "You still have the other _Ring of Communication_, so let me know if you need me back." He raised his wings.

"Uh... okay. Well, you fly safe now, ya hear," Karak replied before dropping his head back onto the ground and falling back asleep immediately.

Ayremac pointed a hand skyward and, with a single downsweep of his wings, shot up through the trees like an arrow.

In three powerful surges, Ayremac cleared the treeline and found himself higher than he had ever been in his lifetime. He saw that Morier had done a good job of baffling their fire so it lacked the telltale column of smoke which an enemy might use to pinpoint them. The holy warrior took care to memorize the location of their camp so as not to lose his bearing in all the open air. The view was spectacular - dizzying in its effect as he continued his assent. Ayremac could not be sure if the tightness in his chest was due to the altitude or pure euphoria at the realization of his ability. Peals of joyous laughter echoed for miles.



Morier jerked back to consciousness, his hand going to the grip of his greatsword even as he got to his feet. A strange cry had reached his ears, even in his reverie, putting his senses on alert for some danger. 

"What was that?" he muttered, galvanized.

"HOW SHOULD I KNOW?" Stoneblade thundered in his fist. "YOU INSISTED ON SHEATHING ME!" The eldritch warrior rolled his eyes.

"I wasn't talking to you," he hissed. He looked around the camp, noting Ayremac's absence at once. He saw Ixin was on watch. Huzair was coming awake, disturbed by Stoneblade's booming voice. That was good; the wizard could ask Ixin what had happened to the Holy Warrior.

"Huzair?" Morier said as he padded over to the mage. The dark-skinned man scowled, rubbing his hand over the smooth surface of his head and avoiding the silvery scar that ran across the side of his skull.

"What!?" the mage spat, annoyed. "I was just having a dream about a couple of my favorite girls from The Frothy Wench!"

"Ayremac's gone," the albino replied. "And I heard a cry." That got Huzair's attention. He jumped up.

"Heck, did that feather brain run off and steal my _Ring of Invisibility_?"



It took Ayremac just a short time to learn how, with the merest twist, he could control his speed and direction. How, holding his arms close he could streamline his body to maximize speed. Or how, by catching the upcurrents, he was able to soar effortlessly. The power was intoxicating. 

And yet, in the midst of his triumph, Ayremac did not forget to whom true glory was due. In fact, so moving was the experience with his newfound capabilities, he considered the possibility that flight would become his prayer and devotion to Umba.

After a time, he settled down to the business which had drawn him into the air in the first place and set out to scout around the camp from above.

Looking toward the rising sun he could see nothing but trees marching to the farthest extent of his vision. The view to the south was the same. At the limits of his eyesight to the north he could see a narrow strip of land at the horizon that appeared to mark the boundary of Spiney Wood. Beyond lay Pellham proper. To the west, the direction from which they had been hastening were more trees, but the jagged peaks of the Gray Crags loomed skyward behind them like a snow-capped wall. Lit directly by the golden caress of Orin's Shield, the mountains seemed both close enough to touch and monumentally large enough to support the sky.

Between his current position and the mountains a thin stream of smoke rose up from the trees. He couldn't tell how far away it was, exactly - maybe as little as a mile or two distant or maybe as much as a dozen. The uniformity of the treetops and the strangely-lit face of the mountains made it difficult to determine scale. He shrugged, altering the angle of his wings and turning himself toward the funnel of smoke in one easy motion.

It was on the closer side of his estimate and he'd cleared the distance in a matter of minutes. The smoke came from a campfire, he saw through a gap in the trees. He could see a single figure seated beside the fire, a pale elf dressed in brown and green robes. He circled once and saw the figure below glance up, startled. The elf stood and pointed something at him that looked like an icicle. Rainbows of light glittered around it and then a lightning bolt crackled upward. Ayremac was able to twist aside, narrowly avoiding a direct hit from the stroke. It still clipped his wing, however and although his own innate resistance to electricity saved him from lasting damage, he still felt the current hum along his nerves.

As he turned back toward his own camp the holy warrior spied the dozens of small shapes moving out of the shadows to gather at the elf's feet. Rats!

Lots and lots of rats!



Karak was just settling by the fire to enjoy a warm breakfast, the first in quite some time, when something moving overhead caught his attention. There was a sound like tearing fabric, and the dwarf's eyes opened wide to see a silvery blur plummeting toward him. Shielding his precious meal, Karak scrambled out of the way. The airborn form slowed abruptly, and with a backsurge of his wings Ayremac landed unceremoniously on the ground next to the fire. He looked around sheepishly and admitted, "Need to work on the landing part a bit."

"Aye," Karak agreed with a scowl as the other man got to his feet.

"Wait until you hear what I saw," the Officer of Umba said, his eyes wide with excitement and concern.


----------



## Burningspear

nice episode on scouting camp and self reflecting on newfound flying abilities...


----------



## Jon Potter

And like I mentioned to the players, if this were a series of novels this would mark the start of Book Four.

For those of you following along at home:

Book One ended with the collapse of the temple outside Barnacus.

Book Two ended with the completion of the Grove of Renewal.

Book Three ended with the retrieval of the four Elemental Keys.


----------



## Blarkon Dragonslayer

Beautiful post. Absolutely awesome.

I look forward to seeing what happens next.


----------



## Jon Potter

Blarkon Dragonslayer said:
			
		

> Beautiful post. Absolutely awesome.




I just wish folks would say that kind of stuff when I do the writing.   

Just kidding. Portions of that post and the post before were ghost-written by Shamalin's player.

But not the parts you thought were awesome, I'm sure.  



> I look forward to seeing what happens next.




Well, to say there's a lot of unexpected stuff coming soon is an understatement.


----------



## Blarkon Dragonslayer

Jon, I liked your writing long before these last couple of posts.  I look forward to reading each installment of this story hour, even on those occasions when I don't comment on them.

Now, of course, I will go even more insane then is my usual state waiting for the next installment.


----------



## Burningspear

Blarkon Dragonslayer said:
			
		

> Jon, I liked your writing long before these last couple of posts.  I look forward to reading each installment of this story hour, even on those occasions when I don't comment on them.
> 
> Now, of course, I will go even more insane then is my usual state waiting for the next installment.




Here yea, Here yea, thump, thump, thump on the table, agreeing here completely with you on the matter...


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

So what was Ayremac's odd motivation for "needing" to scout the surrounding area?


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> So what was Ayremac's odd motivation for "needing" to scout the surrounding area?




He has wings.

That's the full extent of it, I think. And really, who could blame him? He manifested his wings in a dungeon; what a bummer!


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #394] Ahh... Magic*

The party took in Ayremac's report grimly. The relief with which they had greeted the open air after their experiences in the caves vanished at the holy warrior's news, giving way to a sense of urgency. Only Huzair seemed unaffected by the news. He gathered his belongings at half the speed of the others (rarely letting any of his possessions out of immediate reach in the first place) and voiced his opinion brazenly as the rest broke camp.

"We could lay a trap for him... be all buffed and ready," he suggested looking directly at Morier. The albino was too busy to catch the implication and Huzair continued, unabated. "Perhaps we could perch in the trees, or even _Levitate_ all ready to go. How much of that dust do we have left?" Intrigued by his own ideas, he stopped what he'd been doing and turned his attention to his Haversack.

"If you would like me to fly and scout," Ayremac offered eagerly, speaking to no one in particular, "I would be happy to do it..." The only reply was the clinking of armor and gear. "Or I could walk, if we all feel that is safer." Ayremac turned to Huzair, and the wizard shrugged noncommittally. "But flying could be nice." Karak bundled past and Ayremac threw the question out once again. "I could scout... if you feel that would be better." 

"Ayremac, this isn't the time to fly off by yourself!" Morier snapped as he adjusted his chain shirt. "We need to get moving away from whoever that is pursuing us! There's too much at stake." The Officer of Umba looked crestfallen.

"I wasn't suggesting that I scout for entirely selfish reasons, Morier," the half-celestial explained. "I think it could be necessary to try and take out this elf. So I would suggest doing that and then moving on."

"Ayremac's right," Shamalin nodded. "This elf, whoever he is, is likely to follow us no matter where we go. They know we have the keys, most likely they're going to try to take them. So the question is, do we seize this opportunity where we might have the upper hand or are we better off trying to get away - back to town - to get better equipped before confronting the ratman?"

Morier blinked. It was a rare thing for Shamalin to speak her mind so. He glanced at Karak and the dwarf shrugged.

"Lass has a point," Karak admitted. "An' I'd prefer a fight to runnin' away." Morier sighed.

"I s'pose you're right," the albino said, favoring Ayremac and Shamalin with a nod. "We're better off facing him on our terms than we are having him follow us and meet us when he wants to."

"You're probably right," said a voice from the edge of their campsite. Startled by the sound they had just begun to turn when a _Lightning Bolt_ crackled across the small clearing. sizzling through Morier and Ayremac before striking a tree on the far side with an explosion of wood. The eldritch warrior took the full brunt of the attack, but Ayremac again managed to twist away from the worst of the strike and his own resistance to electricity kept him from any harm.

"I'd say that's a good enough reason to take the fight to you," the voice spoke again and then the figure melted into sight as its attack disrupted its Invisibility. Or rather SIX figures melted into sight. Each one appeared to be speaking and gesturing identically and all of them looked like Ayremac in every detail except for the tattered, brown robes they wore. All six Ayremacs sneered as each of the figures flickered a few feet to the side. "I'd offer to let you surrender the Keys but we all know that would be a waste of breath! So I'll just kill you and take them off your bodies. That seems much simpler."


----------



## Burningspear

hmmz, a mimicing NPC bbeg? OOoo-kayyyyy....


----------



## Jon Potter

Burningspear said:
			
		

> hmmz, a mimicing NPC bbeg? OOoo-kayyyyy....





Well, part of that is my attempt to discribe the visual effect of a Mirror Image spell.

It was tougher than I thought it would be when I decided to use this tactic.


----------



## Pyske

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> Well, part of that is my attempt to discribe the visual effect of a Mirror Image spell.




Actually, I think Burningspear was referring to the "all of them looked like Ayremac in every detail" part.


----------



## Jon Potter

Pyske said:
			
		

> Actually, I think Burningspear was referring to the "all of them looked like Ayremac in every detail" part.




Well, for that explanation, you'll just have to wait.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> Well, for that explanation, you'll just have to wait.




Have you used the _veil_ spell (PHB)? I just used it so effectivley against my PCs that I may make this a staple for my wizard BBEGs.


----------



## Burningspear

Pyske said:
			
		

> Actually, I think Burningspear was referring to the "all of them looked like Ayremac in every detail" part.




Yes Pyske, i was, thnx for explaining


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Have you used the _veil_ spell (PHB)? I just used it so effectivley against my PCs that I may make this a staple for my wizard BBEGs.




I haven't had occassion to use that one, actually. It slipped under my radar. I'll use it now, though.

Thanks.  

And my player's thank you.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #395] Showdown in Spiney Wood*

"I know your tricks, wizard, and they won't fool me..." Ayremac hissed, fixing his eyes on one of the shifting images. His duplicates smirked evilly and stared right back.

"We'll see," they all seemed to reply and began moving their respective hands through the motions of a spell.

Shamalin beat him to it, however. Brandishing her holy symbol at the myriad versions of Ayremac taunting them from the tree line, she shouted, _"Veneficium dispelle!"_ and stabbed a targeted _Dispel Magic_ into them. She felt some of the spells hold under her assault, but _Mage Armor_ and _Mirror Image_ crumpled at once. And suddenly there was only one Ayremac staring at them from the shadows with a stunned look on his face. His form still flickered strangely as if unsure where his place was in reality.

Ayremac - the real one - beat his wings and took to the air, flying at the mage who had stolen his face. Windblade was a barely visible swirl of vapor in his hand and he drove the weapon forward as he charged. The attack was hasty, however, and the strike failed to connect.

"What kind of spells you got there, rat boy?" Huzair asked as he sent three _Magic Missiles_ into the Ayremac clone. The enemy hissed in pain and flinched back. Standing a moment later, he'd held forth his fist displaying a ring with a glittering diamond set into it.

"Well, I do have this little stone chipped from the walls of Shra'kt'lor," he grinned and spoke a _Word of Chaos_.

The effect was instantaneous and devastating. Ayremac, who was hovering in the air nearby heard the _Word_ and felt his mind begin to spiral off into a void of madness. But he was able to shrug it off, only his gods-granted resistance to spells saving him from insanity. Morier and Shamalin, who were the next closest felt the power of that single _Word_ slam into their heads like an ogre's maul; they staggered back, deafened with blood running freely from their ears. Huzair heard the _Word_ and thought it sounded vaguely familiar, like a sound from a half-remembered lullaby his mother might have sung to him once upon a time. Beside him, Ixin roared in pain, dropping to her knees and clutching her bleeding ears. Karak was furthest away and he scoffed at the power of magic even as a rain of dead birds and small woodland animals toppled down from the trees to litter the campsite with corpses.

Karak dodged amongst the slain squirrels and chipmunks and moved toward the evil wizard who had invoked such dark power. The mage had retreated further into the woods, however, and he wouldn't reach him before the spellcaster had a chance to act again.

Shamalin looked up and saw blood shining wet and bright against the papery white skin of Morier's head and neck. Ignoring the horrible roaring hiss that filled her own head she poured a _Cure Moderate Wounds_ into the albino undoing most of the damage the opening lightning bolt had done to him.

Ayremac came at his doppleganger again and drove Windblade at his head. This time the strike was on target, but still it hit only empty air as his sword passed through the spot where his evil twin appeared to be... but really wasn't.

Huzair stepped closer and dropped a _Snowball Swarm_ on both Ayremacs, enjoying the experience perhaps more than an ally really ought to. They both cried out in pain and alarm, but the Ayremac in the brown robes had clearly suffered worse than the real one. He stepped back five feet and cast a spell, vanishing immediately from sight.

Ixin got awkwardly to her feet, shaking off the lingering effects of the _Word of Chaos_. A growl of frustration escaped her lips as she sought an enemy who wasn't there.

Karak plowed into the underbrush, aiming at the spot he'd last seen Ayremac's double. His waraxe flashed around in the shadows, but he encountered nothing.

"What? What was that?" Shamalin gasped, her face contorted as the deafening roar in her head dropped to a desperate ringing.

"I'd say it was the elf that Ayremac described," Huzair told her, nudging a large fat red squirrel with his toe. "My theory is that he polymorphed and followed Ayremac to us." The mage lit a cigar and glared at Ayremac, shouting, "Nice job leading him back here, by the way."

The holy warrior was at Karak's side beating the bush to find their elusive adversary. He looked up at the sound of Huzair's cry and yelled back, "He's gone! There's no sign of him!" Huzair grimaced.

"Great..." he murmured.

"Ocuir-arctaos, Huzair," Ixin said. He turned and saw that she was crouched over something lying on the ground beside their campfire. She probed it with one of her scimitars, flipping the little thing over. "Detoimixin. Odoshen sartoma."

Huzair stepped over and bent to look at the thing she'd found. It was small, no bigger than a human's index finger, but with a large multi-facetted ball at one end and a tangled mass of tendrils trailing from the opposite. The wizard shook his head. "Odoshen ominak-sartoma," he said and stood. In common he added. "I've never seen anything like it before."


----------



## Burningspear

Kewl...


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #396] Training for Battle*

"I had never seen somethin' like that," Karak mused as he swung his waraxe half-heartedly through the air around himself. He harrumphed. "'Course it take more than a mere word to rattle a dwarf, but it seemed to have the rest of ye in its grip." Ayremac's eyes grew wide with disbelief at the dwarf's words.

"Karak!!" he hissed, placing one finger over his mouth. When he had the warrior's attention, Ayremac pointed out to the woods and said, "Listen..."

The dwarf cocked his head, his lips set in a firm line. After a hushed moment, he gave the holy warrior a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Ayremac, I would nae stray too far. I know you be likin' yer new wings an' all, but if that elf has slipped inta the wood, then I say let him," Karak said, turning away from the woods. As he did so, he stepped on the corpse of a large black bird. "I'm just wonderin' if'n I can 'ave a _Word_ like that for me axe. Hmmm... I'll have to speak to Balazaar about that."

Undaunted, Ayremac took another cautious step into the trees. Karak ignored him and continued to address the rest of the group. He looked appraisingly at Morier's armor and said, "Speakin' o' Balazaar, I've been thinkin'. I think it be time to head back to Floxen."

"So you're just going to let the elf get away?" Huzair asked, incredulous.

"He's slunk away with his wee fairy tail 'tween his legs!" Karak grumbled. "Good riddance, says I!"

"Short-sighted fool..." Huzair hissed and turned invisible.

"Hold on!" Morier said loudly, stepping out from behind the cleric. "I think it's a good idea to search for this mage while we've got him weakened. But let's not go rushing off without a plan. Let's cover each other from all directions that we're able to cover, and centralize back at this thing that Ixin found." The eldritch warrior looked down at the strange bit of flesh and curled his lip in disgust. "Let's head off in pairs in maybe a 500 pace radius. If you find nothing after that, come back to the group here at the center. Agreed?"

Shamalin, Karak and Ayremac nodded. Huzair reappeared and shrugged.

"Come on, Huzair," Morier said to the wizard. "Let's you and I see if we can't go shake this thing out of the bushes." Huzair hesitated.

"Uh, shouldn't I go with Ixin?" he suggested. "I'm the only one who can speak to her, after all." Morier sighed.

"Fine," he said and turned to the dwarf. "Karak? Any objections to pairing off with me?"

"Nope," Karak replied, hefting his waraxe and marching off toward the trees. "But I'm still thinkin' this be a fool's errand. We have a might big load of items here that we could sell and transfer inta belongings we need..." His booming voice started to fade as he hacked his way into the brambles.

"Be careful, Karak!" Huzair called. "Remember how I found Morier last time he was off running around in the woods!" He indicated his lower body, paying particular attention to his pelvis, and winked when Morier turned to give him a dirty look.

Well, if Huzair's going with Ixin, I guess that puts us together, Shamalin," Ayremac observed with a smile. She nodded.

"So it seems," the priestess replied with little interest. She was consumed with thoughts of the _Word of Chaos_ and did not see the holy warrior's face fall as she clanked off into the trees.

"Well, don't move too quietly now," he joked, half-heartedly. "I'll need you to provide some cover noise for me."



They found nothing on their brief reconnaissance of the area although both Shamalin and Ayremac were filled with the foreboding sensation of being watched by someone (or something) hidden. It was decided that they would break camp and press on at once rather than linger more than was necessary in the area of vague threat.



"I need the practice," Shamalin said simply as she appeared in the firelight that night dressed in her armor with her hand on Waveblade's pommel. Morier looked up to find her gaze directed squarely at him. He regarded her levelly but said nothing. She waited. Karak and Ayremac were gone, searching for small game to supplement the nuts and berries that Morier had gathered during their day's travel. Shamalin had waited for the dwarf to leave before approaching Morier. While Karak had been helping to instruct her, he did not have an elemental sword. Their training stopped short of Shamalin drawing _Waveblade_ and she felt that she was missing a valuable opportunity. 

Huzair barely gave the exchange a glance before returning to the scroll he was studying. Ixin guessed at the meaning of their words and watched silently. Shamalin shifted, waiting for a response ...

"You'll hurt yourself," the albino muttered dismissively, "or worse yet: I'll hurt you. I don't need that on my conscience." Morier looked back to the parchment splayed before him and resumed scribing. It was a measured reaction, but he thought it had seemed genuine enough. 

"Look," Shamalin began, far more pointedly than in her initial tone, "if you have reservations or doubts, I respect your thoughts on the matter. But please don't dismiss me."

Morier let the now palpable tension linger for a moment while he slowly rolled up the parchment and placed his quill in its case. "If my remarks sounded dismissive, I apologize. It was not my intent," he told her. "I do however have very real concerns about you holding a weapon of the stature of _Waveblade_." 

"Yep," Huzair added from his reclined position by the fire, "I was afraid she'd kick your ass too. But you really needn't worry about it, old chum, I certainly won't tell the others, and besides everyone around here knows that she can heal you up real nice once she's done filleting you."

Morier took the opportunity to demonstrate true dismissiveness as he rolled his eyes and ignored Huzair's comments.

Shamalin spoke first, "You began to train me in swordplay once before, but you stopped at the first signs of anger and frustration. Now you refuse to assist me in learning to use one of the most powerful weapons we have? Why?"

"Because anger has no place in battle. Anger and hatred bind the mind and prevent energies from flowing as they must in order to be effective." Morier closed his eyes as he recited that bit of Eldritch code. "The only emotions I saw in you during your training were the ones that will one day get you killed, and I don't want to be responsible for that."

Shamalin looked almost as if she had anticipated such a respose. She shook her head.

"Can't you understand? My mind works differently than yours Morier. I'm not a warrior. Anger is one of the few emotions left me. Have you forgotten how you found me?" He said nothing, but the images flashed in his mind. Shamalin continued in a whisper. "I live with it every day. I fall asleep at night with it coursing through my blood, and wake each morning with the taste of it in my mouth. I need anger in order to do what we must to win these battles. It's what you do... to kill without anger or hatred that seems almost... obscene to me. It is as foreign to me to think that you can kill without hating your foe."

Somehow Morier was struck heavily by Shamalin's last statement. His existence had been so solitary for so long, that he had never really considered a reason to see another point of view about this. The Eldritch code was so ingrained it flowed through his veins, and he assumed it did to others as well, just to a lesser extent. He paused a long moment while the words bounced through his head, unaware for a moment that the Florian had begun talking again.

"..so often about doing whatever we need to do to be rid of the evil. Well, this is something..."

"You're right," Morier interrupted. "You are absolutely right."



_Waveblade_ was both larger than she remembered and lighter than she expected; it now looked more like a shortsword despite the fact that it felt nearly as light as a dinner knife. Her muscles seemed to adjust to its extension in a way they had not with her previous weapon. It was a dichotomy almost too bizarre for her to even consider - _Waveblade_, one of four elemental swords, forged by the powers of good in one hand. And Blackheart's heavy shield, tainted by evil and the blood of her own loved ones in the other hand. Shamalin pushed the absurdity out of her mind and focused as Morier advanced. That is, until the weapon spoke.

_Waveblade_ thundered in an alarmingly loud voice as she wielded it, like a wave crashing against a rock. It was all she could to do keep it in hand, having nearly jumped out of her skin at it's proclamation. "IT'S ABOUT TIME YOU UNSHEATHED ME!"

For a moment she stood transfixed, staring at her sword. Morier attacked quickly and deliberately, forcing her to redirect her attention in order to protect herself. She managed to deflect his first thrust, and he nodded his approval. _Waveblade_, however, was not as discreet.

"YES! YES! NOW SWING BACK. NO, NOT THAT WAY! GO FOR THE ELBOW!" Again Shamalin hesitated, perplexed. And again Morier gave her no latitude. He executed a smooth spin followed by a flurry of attacks, two of which caught sparks against Shamalin's heavy armor. She grunted and struggled to maintain her balance. "GO FOR HIS ELBOW!" _Waveblade_ bellowed. "IMMOBILIZE THE ARM AND YOU NEUTRALIZE THE SWORD!"

Suddenly a second booming voice joined the chorus. "DO YOU DARE TO THREATEN ME, YOU DRIBBLING WAVE OF WEAKNESS?!" the echoing voice of _Stoneblade_ taunted its counterpart. Morier's face was a mask of concentration, betrayed only by the twitch of his mouth. Shamalin gaped openly.

"WHAT DID YOU CALL ME?!" demanded _Waveblade_ in return as Shamalin sliced upwards with the sword in an attempt to catch Morier's arm. "I'LL NOT BE CHIDED BY SOME TWO-BIT PIECE OF RUBBLE! ATTACK, WOMAN! ATTACK!" 

"Stop talking!" Shamalin insisted as she barely managed to sidestep Morier's advancing thrust. "You're distracting me!"



The swords relented and the combatants continued. Once the verbal dueling had abated, Shamalin found she was able to settle into a rhythm of attack, defend, and counterattack. Morier coached her quietly from time to time. And in a small corner of her mind that wasn't completely occupied with trying to anticipate his every move, she began notice things. 

The first was that when she arced _Waveblade_ through the air, the sword emitted a strange and faraway surge of sound. It was a sensation utterly unique and foreign to Shamalin. 

The second was even more intriguing. Totally unaware of when it first began, Shamalin found that in her mind she could touch the existence of that sound with her own pitch and produce surprising results. Where she had been tiring quickly, she suddenly felt a renewed sense of energy wash over her. Buoyed by this discovery, she applied herself anew to the task of combining her essence with that of her sword.



Morier sensed the change as well. Though Shamalin's maneuvers were still rough and unrefined, her responses still strained, she was sustaining her efforts much longer than he thought her capable of. When he finally drew things to a close with a nimble step out of the dueling circle, he noted that Shamalin was looking much as she had at the onset of their practice. She beamed - face flushed from excitement more than anything else. Morier nodded acknowledgement and then watched thoughtfully as she made her way back to the fire.

He had been right all along: she truly did have the heart of a fighter. It was not that he took any particular pride in the feeling that he'd been right. No... not at all. What he felt could better be described as a sense of relief in knowing that the events of her past had not completely destroyed her spirit. 

To Morier, what Shamalin had endured back at the manor house could only be imagined, and even then only by the most disturbed of minds. But perhaps his was one of them. He thought back to his earliest memories of his real parents, and how they had treated him. Therein lay the parallel between the two of them... survival. 

The fact that she survived was what had made him believe that she was a fighter at heart. It would have been easier for her to die in that room than to live, chained to the floor amidst the gruesome remains of those she had once been held captive alongside. But she fought to live, and that was the very reason he had been glad that the group had decided to bring her along when they left Floxen.



As she made her way out of the dim light of the torches that encircled their arena, he made a decision to do something even he felt was out of character. He quickened his step and fell in stride alongside her, never once lifting his eyes from the ground.

"You did well there," he said. "Very well."

"Thank you. It still feels a bit clumsy, but it's all very new to me," the priestess replied, looking over at him awkwardly. He did not look back at her and his profile was inscrutable.

"We're not so different, you and I," he began, and the words stopped her in her tracks. "Maybe there's more to each of our stories than the other knows, but I've thought you had this in you from the moment I saw you shackled to the floor in that manor house... still alive... somehow. I know a small something about the will to live against those odds, and how it opens the door to making a fighter who he is. It's what made me who I am, and it's why I picked up the sword. It's the only time I feel comfortable in my own skin, when I'm in battle. You seemed to be settling into a comfortable place inside yourself back there - something almost inexplicable, isn't it?" 

He didn't wait for an answer, but instead continued on. "It's a part of your soul finding itself again."

"I'm not sure if that's what it is or not," the priestess said slowly, "but you know something? That's the most you've ever told me, or anyone in this group, about yourself since I've known you." Shamalin replied, still surprised at the revelation. 

He paused, knowing that again she was absolutely right. "Nah... Huzair knows. He's just too self-absorbed to mention it."



"Off the top of me head," Karak was saying later as he gnawed on the leg of a spit-roasted squirrel. I be thinkin' we need a ring or amulet o' translation for Ixin. Morier still could go for a mite bit more armor and a barrel of healing elixir." He winked at Morier, grinning broadly and Huzair clucked his tongue.

"Yeah, Morier. Nice job in that last battle" the mage sneered mockingly. "Good job using up the healing." Karak shook his head disapprovingly and went on.

"Me and Shamalin probably need our plate tended to. More than what I've done in the field, that is. I imagine Huzair may need more spell components and the like." He sighed and slapped his hand on his knee. "I guess what I am sayin' is: it's time for a restock."

"I could use some supplies for my new hobby," Huzair agreed, looking up from a sketch he was working on. "I plan to make everyone tattoos." There were numerous skeptical looks around the campfire, but Karak stroked his beard thoughtfully.

"You should tatoo yer face, wizard," Karak suggested. "That is what the Battleragers do!"

"Yeah Karak, that is just what I want to do: look like a dwarf," Huzair said sarcastically, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Aren't ye supposed to be on watch?!" Karak grumbled. "Ye said ye had to take first watch so's ye could get a full night's sleep an' now that ye have it, yer spendin' yer time drawin' pictures and chattin' it up with us. Get to work, ye lazy anvil-droppin' goblin-spawn!"

"Stop getting your beard in a twist, dwarf," Huzair said with a grin as he closed his eyes and clasped his hands behind his head. "It is being taken care of." Karak's teeth ground audibly as he got to his feet.

Morier grabbed the dwarf's arm and shook his head when Karak turned to look at him. "He's baiting you," the albino said. "He's got his familiar watching while he sits here and gets beneath your skin. Let it go."

Karak considered this and finally settled for spitting on the ground near the wizard and settling back onto his rock. "I will nae lie to ya either," he went on, losing almost no steam in his arguement, "but seein' you all wield those mighty weapons is givin' me a hankerin' to visit Balazaar to get me axe upgraded a bit. So I say we take a breather after what we've all been through. I'll tell ya something else too. I been wonderin' how the manor house be. I mean, we should check in on our little experiment to fight chaos. What say you all?"

They were taking a vote, then, but Huzair was distracted by the voice of Sparky crying out in his mind, "Boss, we got trouble, I think. There's a lot of guys heading toward you with bows. I think they're elves, but there's also something-"

Sparky's thoughts cut off in mind stream and Huzair felt his link with the hummingbird go instantly dead.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> Huzair reappeared and shrugged.




I don't know why but I read this and just start laughing. I've had to exit the SH twice now trying to read the whole thing. I think it's because this is something my group would waste a full round action to do.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #396a] The Eyes Have It*

OOC- A little shorter post for Hairy Minotaur.

Enjoy.

---------------------------------

"Sparky has been killed," Huzair declared, jumping to his feet. His body went from a state of apparent torpor to full alert in an instant.

"What?" Ayremac hissed. Windblade was ready and in his hand before he'd even fully stood. He began scanning the perimeter of the campsite for some sign of the latest threat.

"Get ready for battle! Archers are approaching with something Sparky could not tell me," the wizard said, shrugging into his haversack as he moved. "Get cover and, for Kael's sake, do your buffing now before it is too late!" He favored Morier with a pointed look as he said that last.

Shamalin wasted no time and began casting a _Magic Circle Against Evil_ centered on herself. Morier and Karak readied weapons while Ixin, who still understood little that went on without Huzair's help to translate, got uncertainly to her feet and unsheathed her _Matched Pair Scimitars_.

"Remember, archers probably will avoid Karak, Ayremac and Shamalin because of their armor. Morier and Ixin will most likely be the targets until I become visible; then they will focus on me. Nothing wrong with playing dead, guys, if you are going down," the wizard continued to bark orders, his body shaking with rage and excitement as he searched for the optimum position from which to rain death on their enemies. "Those trees would provide good cover. Watch your backs. Elves are in their element here."

"But why would elves be attacking us?" Shamalin wondered aloud and Morier flinched visibly, convinced that his presence was the likely cause of this assault.

"That's a good question, Shamalin," Ayremac said. "Huzair, get into a good position, but don't attack until they do... please... I have some skill at negotiating, maybe Shamalin and I can work together. Just give us a chance."

"You are an idiot," Huzair snapped, pointing an accusatory finger at the holy warrior. "I am hiding. First sign, they are fried."

"At least let me see if I can _Detect_ any _Evil_ out there," Ayremac demanded, his teeth clenched, jaw twitching with barely contained anger as he fixed a wrathful eye on the wizard.

"Killing Sparky was an evil act and someone will be paying for it," Huzair paused and for a moment the rage on his face twisted into a rictus of grief. "He was a humming bird, damn it, not a fire-breathing dragon. Hardly a threat worth killing." His expression of pain hardened into a snarl and his eyes smoldered red just before he disappeared. "They are going to pay." 

Ayremac grimaced, exasperated and activated his ability to _Detect_ the presence of _Evil_. "Karak, try to get Ixin to stand behind you or Shamalin or me, until we can bring the battle to them."

"Aye," Karak nodded and stepped in front of the drakeling, shielding the lower two-thirds of her body with his own. She glanced quizzically down at the top of the dwarf's helm, but held her position, surmising his intent.

Ayremac concentrated on his _Detection_, his eyes glittering jewel-like as he searched the shadows. For a time all the world seemed to be holding its breath. The campfire crackled and popped, but that sound and Huzair's muttering as he layered himself with spells were the only ones to reach anyone's ears. Then the distinct sound of a branch snapping under someone's foot thundered amidst the silence.

"Who goes there?" Ayremac shouted into the trees. Even with his darkvision, there was nothing to see in the forest. There was no reply, but again he felt the flesh crawl on the back of his neck as something watched him from the shadows. Still he sensed no evil within the range of his power to detect it. "We are a simple party of clerics and bodyguards, trying to bring good health and healing to sick people of this region."

"What you are is a liar," a voice said from the darkness. The words were in the common tongue, but they were strangely accented and underscored with a buzzing sound like a hive of wasps somehow given voice. It was strange... alien... "Strange, is it not, angel, that your first inclination is to lie."

"Would you identify yourselves and your intentions?" Ayremac asked, still casting his eyes around for some sign of the speaker.

"Our intentions are mutually beneficial," the voice said again. This time it seemed to have moved closer. "We are representatives of the Dominion of the Final Forge, enemies of the Dominion of Flesh Reborn, whose ally our monitor tells us you drove off earlier today some distance to the west. But I am hesitant to present myself to you with your mage so ready to, as he put it, fry us at first sight."

Ayremac glanced around for some sign of the wizard, but of course there was none. "Huzair, stand down," he commanded. "We have a chance to talk our way out of conflict here." There was no response from the mage.

"Perhaps it would help to convince him to know that I could destroy him with an eyeblink right now if I chose? No, I don't suppose that it would," the voice buzzed. "But perhaps knowing the fate of his little friend would predispose him to negotiation rather than suicide?"

There came then the muttered sound from the trees of a few words that were too low to understand. A second voice repeated the words some distance farther on and then a third and so on until the words disappeared in the hush. After a heartbeat, Huzair felt the link with Sparky re-establish itself. Fear and panic flooded the connection.

"Boss! You won't believe it! There's a be-" Sparky cried out before the link winked out again.


----------



## Blarkon Dragonslayer

Oh, sure, make us wait for the rest of the scene. hehe.

Good stuff as always, Jon!


----------



## Burningspear

Blarkon Dragonslayer said:
			
		

> Oh, sure, make us wait for the rest of the scene. hehe.
> 
> Good stuff as always, Jon!




Agreed! yeay..


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #397] The Eyes Have It*

OOC- Okay, here's the next little bit. But nothing else until Sunday!

--------------------------

"Please show yourself, representative of the Dominion of the Final Forge," Ayremac said, stepping toward the trees. "If you have nothing to hide, you should be willing to do that..."

"Do not misunderstand me, angel," the voice buzzed. "We have much to hide. Especially with your wizard still poised to attack. Perhaps we were wrong to seek you out."

"You have my word that Huzair will not attack you," Ayremac said as he stepped forward into the tree line.

"The word of a 'cleric and bodyguard?" the voice asked. "Your promise rings hollow, holy warrior." Ayremac sighed.

"You call me a liar, which is not a truly accurate assessment," the Officer of Umba explained, spinning the situation in his favor as well as he could. "I simply played down the importance of our quest. But we are trying to heal the Realm."

"We know," the voice responded. "We have been observing you since you exited the Tainted Cave. We have learned much from that observation."

"Fine," Ayremac went on, nodding. "So you know our purpose. What is it that the Dominion of the Final Forge quests for?" There was a pause, and when the strange voice spoke again, it seemed to be coming from Ayremac's left, barely ten feet from where he stood.

"We seek to bring order to the world," the voice explained. "Through order comes justice. Through justice, harmony."

"You have us at a disadvantage." Shamalin's voice rang out clearly as she clanked forward, her hands empty apart from her huge shield. "We know little about the man we drove off - other than his ill intent."

"He is allied with the Dominion of Flesh Reborn," the voice told them. "Our Sovereign will speak more of this once we return to our demesne." Shamalin paused, considering before digging into a pouch at her hip.

"Perhaps you can tell us about this?" she asked, pulling out a small wrapped piece of cloth. Carefully she unrolled and held aloft the strange thing they had found on the ground. "I've never seen such a creature before... one of the many unfortunate enough to have been caught in the wake of Chaos."

"It is but part of a whole, priestess," the voice said. "It is one of our monitors' eyes."

Shamalin looked at the thing and it did bear a resemblance to some sort of fly's eye on the end of a tough, leathery stalk. "Let us return it to you now," she offered before moving forward a few paces and gently setting the thing on the ground before stepping away. She held up her hands again adding, "We mean no harm."

"I believe you, cleric," the voice replied. Ayremac thought it close enough for him to reach out and touch, but still he saw nothing. "It is not you who threatens us; the mage has about him the taint of Chaos. We do not trust one such as he."

"I won't attack. Let the bird go as a sign of good faith," Huzair spoke from Shamalin's right. His voice held a suprising tone of composure and lack of venom. "You have nothing to worry about from a hummingbird. When he is safely with us, I will come out of hiding as my gesture of good faith." 

"In truth, you are not hiding from me, wizard. My sight extends outward passed veils that you cannot mask with such paltry magics," the voice said. "I had hoped you would not force me to take such a provocative action." And on queue a ray of energy stabbed out of the darkness, striking Huzair and _Dispelling_ the _Magic_ maintaining both his _Invisibility_ and all of his _Mirror Images_. His _False Life_ remained in effect, however.

"What?!" the wizard cursed, caught flatfooted by the unexpected disruption of his spells. His hands went to his haversack, but a figure dropped down from the trees behind him and another stepped out in front of Ayremac before anyone could react further.

The one near the holy warrior was cloaked head-to-toe in a voluminous, hooded robe that masked his body entirely and buried his face in shadow. Ayremac, whose darkvision worked perfectly well in shadow, could clearly see the face beneath the hood. The visage was human-looking apart from the third eye that stared out of the man's right cheek like some horrible lesion. He was bald beneath the hood and his head was crowned with eyestalks that writhed around, medusa-like. Each of those eyes was multi-facetted like an insect's.

The one that dropped down near Huzair was just as strange, but naked apart from a loin clout and knee-high leather boots. His body was a coiled spring of muscle ready to explode into action, covered with a tough chitinous hide. In addition to the two on the man's bald head, six other eyes studied Huzair from the man's chest and stomach, arms and legs. They were all different sizes and colors, but they all regarded the wizard warily. A pair of ten-foot long tentacles curved up from the man's muscular shoulders, the last several feet of which were each sheathed in some kind of leather sleeve festooned with sharp metal hooks that seemed capable of shredding flesh handily. An unblinking, multi-facetted eye stared from the tip of each tentacle.

"Now that this impediment to conversation has been eliminated, let us proceed," the robed figure said, pressing the sleeves of his robe together before his chest and bowing slightly. His was the voice that had been speaking all along. "I am Premarch Rabanmar and this is Premarch Brah. We bring an offer of hospitality from our Sovereign, Lord Hofralix. Our most majestic Sovereign wishes to discuss with you our mutual enemies."


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> OOC- A little shorter post for Hairy Minotaur.
> 
> Enjoy.
> 
> 
> "You are an idiot," Huzair snapped, pointing an accusatory finger at the holy warrior. "I am hiding. First sign, they are fried."




 

Yea for Huzair! He sounds more and more like Menthos, you sure he's not going Warlock?


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Yea for Huzair! He sounds more and more like Menthos, you sure he's not going Warlock?




Nope, but you're right. It would certainly suit his temperment.


----------



## Burningspear

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> OOC- Okay, here's the next little bit. But nothing else until Sunday!




Jees, life can be a bitch, even here in the future...lol...


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #398] Welcome to New Mellorell*

Karak planted his axe haft in the soft earth and laughed - the sound seeming particularly loud in the tense atmosphere of the campsite. He nodded at the tentacled figure standing beside Huzair and said, "Well now, it seems you have our dark wizard at a disadvantage. You are in a loin cloth, yet Huzair feels more naked without all his buffs, I'll warrant ye."

"All I want is my bird," Huzair hissed, his empty hands held out at his sides.

Karak laughed again and pulled out the _Goblet of Life_. With a word, he brewed up some ale, slurped some down, and proffered the remainder to the man in the loin cloth. "After a jump like that, I figured you'n might be thirsty."

Premarch Brah, the man in the loincloth, reached out one of his tentacles toward the _Goblet_, studying its contents with the eye at its tip. After a glance he shook his head, his lips set in a tight scowl.

"Premarch Brah follows an ascetic path, Karak," Premarch Rabanmar explained from his position on the edge of camp. "He believes that enlightenment comes through denial of fleshly pursuits, including the consumption of alcohol." Karak snorted and downed the cup's remainder.

"His loss, then," he said, wiping a hand across his wet mouth. "So where might this Sovereign, o' yers be?"

"We will escort you to him," Premarch Rabanmar told him. "The eyehold of New Mellorell is but a short distance to the southeast."

"New Mellorell, eh? I have to say, we all be needin' to spend time in a town," the dwarf nodded. "I know I could use a good bed to go with my good ale. An' me armor and weapons need a tendin' to. A good runesmith could go a long way, too. Do ye have one of those?"

"We have skilled artisans. Of course," Premarch Rabanmar explained. "Lord Hofralix may permit you to make use of their services provided an agreement can be reached."

"Agreement?" Ayremac asked and a trio of eyes snaked around the edge of the Premarch's hood to stare at him.

"Lord Hofralix will speak to you on that matter," Rabanmar told him. "For me to speak further on it would be to overstep the authority of my position in the hierarchy." Huzair groaned.

"Does Hofralix's hospitality include getting my familiar back safely?" the mage asked. "That is the sole reason I was ready to attack you." Premarch Rabanmar's eyes regarded the wizard coldly and he nodded once.

"The bird basks even now in the company of our Sovereign," the Premarch said. "Come with us to New Mellorell and he will be returned to you."

"And if we don't want-" Huzair started to snap and Morier reached out and jerked his arm roughly, cutting him off. The wizard's eyes blazed into the albino's and Morier mouthed the words, "Shut up!" The expression on his face conveyed the rest of his sentiment: "Or I'll kill you myself!"

"I reckon we can go with ye," Karak said, hefting his waraxe.

"I must take a moment to commune with my goddess before we depart," Shamalin interjected quickly and Karak studied her face for a moment before nodding.

"It'll take us a few minutes to break camp," he said. "Ye do what ye need to in that time."



The two Premarchs retreated to the edge of camp while the the Order went about the process of breaking down camp and Shamalin knelt in prayer.

"I feel like I'm being marched to my execution, here," Huzair grumbled to Morier as they stowed bedrolls. Ayremac approached and looked gravely at the wizard.

"Huzair, could I have a word..." he asked, beckoning for the mage to follow him a discreet distance away. Huzair looked at Morier and rolled his eyes, but he stood up and followed. As he went he produced a pair of cigars, offering one to Ayremac. The holy warrior declined.

"I am not one for idle threats, or pompous posturing," Ayremac told him in a conversational tone. "I don't need to be the leader and I don't need to be always right, but I do need respect." Huzair lit his cigar and exhaled a column of smoke toward the night sky.

"Uh huh," he said, the mage said, his own tone was disinterested.

"I understand that you were upset over the apparent loss of Sparky, but you flash to anger and disrespect too quickly for my liking," the Officer of Umba told him and Huzair snorted laughter.

"Damn straight, I am upset. I want my bird back," the wizard replied. "If you have not noticed, I am the type of guy to flash to anger. Just roll with it, angel." He gave Ayremac a companionable punch on the arm, but the holy warrior was unmoved.

"I am going to say this one last time," he said. "Do not disrespect me again like that or it will come to blows between you and I." At that Huzair's jaw dropped open.

"For Lisori's sake, if Morier hit me every time I went off on him, I'd be black and blue... already black, though... ha. My quick reaction is a curse and a gift at the same time," the wizard defended. "I have never seen us so well prepared for battle as we were after my outburst. Thus the gift. Hurt feelings can be the curse. Take the bad with the good."

"I will not be disrespected by you, Huzair. Regardless how much of a gift you consider your flippant tongue to be," Ayremac said simply. "I will not be called an idiot. You will treat me with respect or your mouth will get soap every time it's needed." Huzair sighed and shook his head slowly.

"It would not be the first time my words have gotten me into a fight, but just a warning, fly boy. I am not some bookworm that can be pushed around and I do fight dirty. I learned that on the streets of Farmin, so be ready if you want a piece of me," the wizard told him. "I hope it does not come to that. It would be bad for both of us." Huzair started to walk away and then turned back, pointing at Ayremac with his cigar. "By the way you should be happy; YOU WERE RIGHT! That is as close as you will get to an apology, so I would be happy with that, if I were you. And you were not the one who lost someone you cared about. How would you react if that happened to you? Hmm? I bet the same way. More a alike that you would like eh, big guy?" Now it was Ayremac's turn to laugh dismissively.

"We are nothing alike, Huzair," Ayremac told him. "I am going to say this one last time; do not disrespect me again like that or it will come to blows between you and I." Then he turned and walked away.



"The enemy of your enemy is sometimes your friend," Shamalin whispered to Karak and Ayremac as they tramped along through the woods following the two Premarchs. The shadowy forms of elven archers darted through the forest around them as they travelled, making no more noise than smoke. "When I cast my Divination, I asked 'What will be the outcome of being honest and forthcoming with the Sovereign of the Dominion of the Final Forge?' and that's what I got for an answer."

"Cryptic," Karak observed and Ayremac nodded.

"That is the way of thing with such spells," he said. "The gods almost always leave themselves open to interpretation."

"Still, it seems rather positive," Shamalin said and Karak nodded.

"Aye. It seems that this Final Forge holds no love for Aphyx," the dwarf said, spitting thickly after speaking the Rot Queen's name. "That at least be somethin'."

"I'll try to speak with our guides to find out more," Shamalin said and hustled forward toward Premach Rabanmar. For the next hour she attempted to engage them in conversation in order to gather information about their soon-to-be host. But apart from learning that they did not worship Sato, the god of order, but rather an entity known as the Void Mother, they were tight-lipped deferring constantly to their Sovereign. Lord Hofralix would answer all her questions in due course.



After a time, the more attentive amongst the Order noticed the dwindling number of elves who were accompanying them on their journey, and soon, they vanished altogether, leaving the Order alone with the two enigmatic Premarchs. Only Ayremac looked up and spotted the ornate wooden buildings built onto clever platforms amongst the canopy overhead, and so realized that they had in fact entered an elven settlement. He pointed out to those around him, the thin, wide-eyed faces of dark-haired elves staring down from above and soon the Order was walking along without watching where they were going. The elven houses were uniformly breathtaking structures of crystal, glass, and living wood whose outlines merged into the surrounding foliage with graceful ease. Here and there they spotted narrow rope bridges connecting one tree to another and surmised that both must contain a dwelling although they were often invisible to casual observation.

The trees opened up somewhat when they reached a stream of cold water that meandered through a shallow gully. They followed along it to the south for a few hundred yards until they reached a spot where flat stones had been sunk into the river to allow passage. The two Premarchs moved over them as easily as they traversed the well-worn path, but for Shamalin and Karak the crossing was treacherous and required a delay as they carefully picked their way from stone to stone. On the other side of the river they spied some incongruous dwellings of wood and animal hides which were dug into the earth in concentric rings about an elaborate stone fire pit in which a fire blazed. The buildings were familiar to both Shamalin and Ayremac as designs common amongst the southern barbarians.

Beyond the cluster of dwellings rose a bluff with narrow steps carved into its face. The steps slanted upwards at a steep angle before vanishing at the top of the rise. They could see the tops of monolithic standing stones at the bluff's summit, but the Premarchs led them to a perfectly round opening in the side of the hill.

There was firelight within the cave, but Karak didn't need any light to see that the place wasn't natural. It cut straight into the hill, its sides perfectly even and perfectly smooth apart from a narrow bit of flattened earth at the bottom that served as a walkway. After a distance of sixty feet or so, the passage opened abruptly into a huge, spherical chamber every bit as smooth as the passageway. It was empty and featureless apart from the Everburning Flames that lit the place and another treacherously steep flight of stairs that cut down from the passageway to a similar opening set into the floor.

"What is this?" Ayremac hissed, looking all around.

"This is my audience chamber," answered a voice from the well in the floor of the chamber. It was deep and underscored with the same insectile buzzing that had underscored Premarch Rabanmar's. And then the speaker rose up from the well and they forgot all else. It floated upward from the round shaft, seeming to hang in the air before them. Its spherical body was covered with chitinous plates with a central, unblinking eye above a large maw filled with daggerlike teeth. Smaller eyes, attached to wriggling stalks, sprouted from the top of the orblike body, each glittering like multi-facetted gems in the light from the _Everburning Flames_.

The gaze from its central eye fell upon the group and everyone felt their magical gear suppressed by a powerful anti-magic field. "I am Lord Hofralix, Sovereign of the eyehold of New Mellorell, and representative of the Dominion of the Final Forge. I would start our negotiations by asking what you know of the Dominion of Flesh Reborn."


----------



## Burningspear

Kewl...


----------



## Blarkon Dragonslayer

Woooohooooo!

This gets better and better every minute!


----------



## Jon Potter

I don't think my players shared the enthusiasm which seems to have infected the two of you.

Shamalin's player was ticked that her divination didn't reveal anything sufficiently useful.

Huzair's player was ticked that I'd picked on his familiar.

Ayremac's player was ticked at everybody (and was considering switching characters at this point because his deity-minded holy warrior just didn't fit in so great with everyone else).

It was an... interesting time in the campaign and coming up within the next half-dozen postings or so is one of the most surprising turns of events in the game. Remember when they broke the circle binding the Negative Energy? Yeah. It's like that.


----------



## Blarkon Dragonslayer

It's always great fun reading about really bad things happening to other people


----------



## Burningspear

apart from complaining about what to play, they should not complaint at all   
I have atm no decent game to play in and am getting frustrated by the ignorance i am surrounded with.... 
(playing with a trio of teenagers in a campaign, although i will try to teach them to role-play more, and the dm does not care to much, as long as there is a "game")

and: 

IT WAS MY BIRTHDAY the 4th of june, i became 35 , yeay


----------



## Jon Potter

Burningspear said:
			
		

> IT WAS MY BIRTHDAY the 4th of june, i became 35 , yeay




I got you beat. I turned 39 on May 28th!


----------



## Burningspear

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> I got you beat. I turned 39 on May 28th!




At least there is that tiny bit of comfort in the fact that you are a bit older then me, makes me feel a wee bit younger, hehehe 

Edit: happy birthday to you as well..


----------



## Jon Potter

Burningspear said:
			
		

> At least there is that tiny bit of comfort in the fact that you are a bit older then me, makes me feel a wee bit younger, hehehe




Yeah! Yeah! Rub it in, funny guy. I can practically feel age spots exploding on my hands.



> Edit: happy birthday to you as well..




And to you, as well.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

So next May, is that when the TPK is? or is that when the campaign goes Epic? OR is that when the campaign goes OSRIC?   

I'm running towards the hill that is 40 as well, and when I turn 40 my oldest will be 13   that's a hormonal parade I don't want to attend.


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> So next May, is that when the TPK is?




That seems like a suitable celebratory act for hitting the big 4-0.



> OR is that when the campaign goes OSRIC?




Amusingly enough, I've been rereading some sections of the campaign that used old AD&D ruleset and feeling nostalgic. I haven't checked out the OSCRIC rules, but I understand that they're AD&D-ish.

Of course I also picked up a copy of Hackmaster and shuddered in horror at the metric butt-load of charts in that thing!  



> I'm running towards the hill that is 40 as well, and when I turn 40 my oldest will be 13   that's a hormonal parade I don't want to attend.




Both Karak's player and Morier's player have teenage daughters and they'll atest to the truth of your fears.


----------



## Burningspear

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> Quote:
> I'm running towards the hill that is 40 as well, and when I turn 40 my oldest will be 13 that's a hormonal parade I don't want to attend.
> 
> Both Karak's player and Morier's player have teenage daughters and they'll atest to the truth of your fears.




All of a sudden i feel very young again... Lalalalalaaaaaa     , hmmz, but i don't have a wife yet who wants to make gremlins with me to populate the world... lol   :\


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #399] An Audience*

The members of the order looked at one another with somewhat confused expressions on their faces. After a moment's time, Shamalin stepped forward with her empty hands held out at her sides.

"I'm afraid you will be disappointed," she said. "We have no knowledge with which to 'negotiate.' We were hoping that you could tell us about the man we encountered." Lord Hofralix seemed annoyed with that response, but it was difficult to tell with any certainty; he was just too alien to accurately read.

"Premarch Rabanmar, z'ress lilrivvin plynn ply'uss-khel k'lar-ussta," the beholder said in a harsh buzzing whisper. He paused and added, "Kyone."

The robed Premach bowed and replied, "Elamshin." Then he turned and hurried away without looking back.

Only Morier understood the brief exchange and it had been a long time since he'd heard the language of Har'oloth, the lightless realms of the underdark. But not so long that he didn't understand Lord Hofralix's request to have some humans bring in the corpses of a defeated enemy. Before the albino could ponder the ramifications of this, the beholder went back to addressing the group in the common tongue.

"The elf who attacked you is a servant of the Dorian Brood," Lord Hofralix explained. Three of his eyestalks swiveled around to focus on Karak. "They are what the stonefolk call skaven. Wererat transmuters who scurry about their warrens their entire pathetic lives developing the most virulent plagues. They are a destabilizing force, troublesome at best on their own. But now I find that they have sought an alliance with the Dominion of Flesh Reborn and that has me concerned. I seek information and perhaps more." 

"Lord Hofralix, I am Ayremac, Holy Warrior of Umba, and we appreciate you welcoming us into your sovereignty," Ayremac said, stepping up to stand beside Shamalin. "We are open to any of your questions, but I am afraid we do not know much of your foes, or at least not by that name. Might I ask what made you want to invite us here?" 

"You were seen leaving the Tainted Cave, long a stronghold of the Dorian Brood, although never one that was witness to much traffic," the beholder said, fixing Ayremac with a pair of eyestalks. "You were further pursued by members of that Brood. I am not normally concerned with the affairs of the wererat broods, but with the suspected alliance between the Dorians and the Dominion of Flesh Reborn, I thought it prudent to seek you out - the enemies of my enemy."

Shamalin was momentarily taken aback by the similarity of Lord Hofralix's words to the response she'd gotten to her Divination. Huzair rapped her vambrace with his knuckles, startling her away from further consideration of the coincidence. She half-turned and Huzair growled into her ear, "When you get a chance, ask him about Sparky."

"How is it that you came to be the enemy of the Dorian Brood?" the beholder asked. "How did you come to enter the Tainted Cave, a structure that was ancient and forgotten by the men of the north when I first arose from the night below?"

"Certainly you appreciate the gravity of our situation," Shamalin countered. "We must be careful with the knowledge we do have." Lord Hofralix's mouth twisted into a parody of a smile, made all the more grotesque because of the fangs that protruded top and bottom from the maw as it smirked.

"You fear me," the beholder said. "And you are right to. I could decimate you before you had the time to react. This audience chamber would be your grave, with none to bear witness to your destruction save for my loyal vassals." His eyestalks twisted around until three were aimed at Shamalin. "I could do that. But I choose not to. Does not that speak to my trustworthiness?" The priestess of Flor swallowed nervously, her copper eyes focused on the multi-facetted orbs fixed on her.

"You'll have to forgive me, Lord Hofralix. We have been advised that one who was once a friend is no longer a friend," she explained. "So we must count our allies carefully." The beholder's expression became annoyed.

"And this is your basis for trying to manipulate me to your own ends?" the creature buzzed. "I was never your friend in the first place, elfling. So that eliminates my qualification as your betrayer." His eyestalks turned away from Shamalin and instead played across the group as a whole.

"I have shared with you some of the information at my disposal, expecting you to do the same," Lord Hofralix told them. "If you had hoped to dupe me or to deny me discourse, then you were very foolish indeed to come to New Mellorell." His great mouth drew back into a snarl and Morier stepped forward, taking his turn as group spokesman.

"We were given two bits of information from a powerful water guardian," the eldritch warrior said. "She spoke first of the atrocities committed against Dridana by Aphyx, telling us of the immense gemstone holding Dridana's essense plunged into a mountaintop set adrift in the skies."

"Dridana is a human deity, is she not? Goddess of plants, I believe," Lord Hofralix said. "But Dridana is a dead god. What has this to do with the Dorians?"

"Maybe nothing, but maybe a lot," Morier went on. "We don't think that Dridana's truly dead, just imprisoned within a gemstone. This water guardian also spoke of four keys that must be brought to bear to free Dridana's trapped essence."

The beholder's central eye narrowed. "And this is what you learned in the Tainted Cave?" he asked. "This water guardian's knowledge?"

"No, that's what lead us to the cave in the first place," Morier explained. "We seek the defeat of the Rot Queen and her followers - including the skaven. Does the Dominion seek this same goal?"

Before the beholder could answer, Premarch Rabanmar returned accompanied by four humans. They were all tall with blonde hair the color of corn-silk and dressed in scraps of leather and fur that concealed very little of their muscular anatomies. Each of the men carried a bundle wrapped in blood-stained hides slung across their broad shoulders and at a word from the Premarch they lowered these burdens to the floor. Without a word, they each threw open the bundles, displaying the twisted creatures within.

What they were - beyond dead - was impossible to tell, although Huzair's first thought was that they were mongrelmen. Like the mongrelmen, they were each strange amalgams of several different creatures but they all held unmistakable rodent qualities: here a thin pink tail, here a whiskered muzzle, here and there patches of gray-brown fur. They also had another unifying trait: extra eyes spaced randomly across their disfigured bodies.

"These were once faithful servants of this eyehold until they were taken and twisted. What the Dominion of the Final Forge seeks is the total elimination of whatever power has created monstrosities like these," Lord Hofralix grumbled. "Nothing less will do."


----------



## Fimmtiu

Just finished reading the thread. Great story! The intra-party interactions are great and well-written, and you have a talent for description. Though the body count was a little disconcerting, I'll admit -- your players clearly put a lot of work into developing each character, so the abruptness with which they disappear from the story makes it hard for the reader to get attached to any of them.

But then this is a game first and a story second, so keep it up!


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Ayremac appears to have played this very well restrained in the face of such a tyrannical race (beholder)


----------



## Jon Potter

Fimmtiu said:
			
		

> Just finished reading the thread. Great story! The intra-party interactions are great and well-written, and you have a talent for description.




That's high praise! Thank you and I'm glad that you liked it so far.



> Though the body count was a little disconcerting, I'll admit -- your players clearly put a lot of work into developing each character, so the abruptness with which they disappear from the story makes it hard for the reader to get attached to any of them.




I don't think that it feels that way from within the gaming group. I could be wrong, of course. Maybe a player or two will weigh in on your assessment.



> But then this is a game first and a story second, so keep it up!




I will say that I've been working on some PDFs that lulu.com can use to print into actual paperback format for me. Nothing for profit, of course; just a vanity thing. I've got 7 files that range between 350 and 450 pages each.

The character Ledare figured into 6 out of 7 of those files, and she was certainly a unifying fixture.


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## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Ayremac appears to have played this very well restrained in the face of such a tyrannical race (beholder)




Well, Lord Hofralix is not the garden-variety beholder. I built him and his retinue using Goodman Games' Complete Guide to Beholders.

He's still tyrannical, but he's Lawful Neutral.


----------



## Kristeneve

I can totally understand why Fimmtiu might feel that way.  Most readers are probably unaware that we began this little adventure over ten years ago.  So, even though the characters may seem to come and go when following the storyline here on En World, it feels a bit different from the inside.  

Which is not to say that we don't cringe and groan whenever another one bites the dust.  We do put lots of effort into character building  (thanks for noticing, btw), and its no fun to lose that kind of investment. But the liklihood that things could go gravely wrong for anyone at any time speaks to the DM's integrity - and adds to the fun.

Of course, maybe having said all that nice stuff, Jon will be in a good mood when he writes up the next turn.  Right about now, we need it!


----------



## Burningspear

the Elder orbs were very prominent in certain parts of Faeruhnian history, but never have i myself seen one in any campaign, KEWL!!!!...lol...

and in a fit i shaved my head bald, feels weird...i needed something different , maybe it has to do with that age thingie, becomming 35 or whatnot..


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #400] Let the Wizard Do the Talking*

"Not the people you see standin' before ye, mind, but their predecessors, this group was on a quest to find out exactly what you want to know. Which be what was a'goin' on with all the strange creatures showin' up around Barnacus," Karak said as he eyed the twisted bodies and tugged thoughtfully on his beard. "There were wolves that bit with venom, there were a slave trade involving a clan of dwarves, there were all manner o' strange goings-on."

"So you have seen mutations such as these before?" the beholder buzzed, fixing the dwarf with several appraising eyes. Karak shook his head.

"I was nae involved then, but I remember bein' told that a wizard by the name of Andamacles seemed to have unlocked the power o' Transmogrification," he explained. "Now I be no wizard but that seemed to me to be exactly what be happenin'. Two different creatures have been melded together to form new ones. I am noticing it all over the realm."

"That is the hallmark of the Dominion of Flesh Reborn," Lord Hofralix told him. "Their goals are mysterious, but their methods are obvious. They use their powers to remake the creatures of the world to their own liking."

"Even powerful creatures such as Elementals are warped with other beings. And they nae be creatures o' this world,"Karak observed. "I'll tell ya from a martial standpoint, it makes it hard to fight 'em 'cause their soft spots may nae be soft spots at all."

"You have fought these creatures, then?" the beholder prodded and Karak nodded again.

"We have also seen, all maner of skaven. Hordes o' rats an' large clans of intelligent spell casters. We have fought clerics an' Knights o' Chaos clearly in the Rot Queen's employ. We have encountered plague an' divine spells not working as the taint spreads." The dwarf enumerated the challenges that they had faced as a group. "We have been hunted by unseen foes, and so ye can see why we were so wary of yer group." Before Lord Hofralix could reply, Huzair tore his gaze away from the deformed corpses and looked up at the hovering beholder.

"There were towns we discovered along the way that proved disease was being spread throughout the realms during festivals. Tainted food," the mage explained, having remained in silence for as long as he could. "We are enemies of these skaven. They are in part responsible with what sounds like the Dominion of Flesh Reborn." Ayremac looked at Huzair with an expression of complete surprise on his face.

"He speaks... true," the holy warrior stammered, almost unable to bring himself to say the words. "I began my quest because our town was besieged by a sickness that could not be explained and when I found this group of adventurers seeking to strike at the heart of what was happening I joined them. I think that you seek the total and utter destruction of nothing less then a human god... Aphyx."

Lord Hofralix regarded Ayremac as a master might look upon an over-grasping apprentice. "A god cannot be destroyed, planetouched," the beholder rasped. "One who wears the symbol of the god of judgment should know this."

"It was done before," Ayremac asserted. "Twice." Lord Hofralix's great central eye blinked once and as it did so, the group felt their magic resurge. The renewal was short-lived, however, and when the eye opened again, the enchantments were once-more deadened.

"You speak of Dridana and Rhianne, whose sundering gave birth to your own patron, Umba," the aberration said. "In neither case was the hand of a mortal involved until after the fact. And you, planetouched, for all your shining goodness and feathery wings, remain a mortal."

"I never claimed otherwise, mi'lord," Ayremac said. "But we mortals must do what we can to defeat the Rot Queen's plans for conquest. She has agents abroad that we CAN face and defeat."

"And in this we have a common goal, if what you have told me so far is correct," Lord Hofralix told him, as several of his eyestalks shifted to regard Karak and Huzair. "We actively seek the destruction of chaos threats."

"If that is true then we may find that our alliance could be quite strong," Ayremac said with a nod.

"Aye! Our fight, Lord Hofralix, is simple. We be here to rid our world of the taint of Chaos. To rid it of Skaven an' transmogrified creatures - of the Rot Queen an' her knights," Karak said, gesturing with his axe. "Our next step o' the journey is to release a Goddess to aid in the fight against the Rot Queen. I imagine we'll meet many challenges along the way and I'll be plain with ye: we will need as much help as we can get. It be plain to me ye could squash us like little bugs. But I think, nae. Ye realize that we be 'ere to fight the same fight as you!"

"Perhaps. That is my hope," the beholder explained. "I would hear more... from this one's mouth." And so saying, he swiveled slightly in the air to turn his central eye fully on Huzair. To the mage's credit he didn't cower.

"I will tell you all I know. I am quite sure you could take us out if you wanted, so I might as well spill my guts," he said and reached for his traveler's purse, asking, "Mind if I smoke?" Lord Hofralix smiled.

"I don't care if you burst into flames, wizard," he said coldly and Huzair chuckled.
"You'd be surprised how often I get tha-" he stopped as he looked into his empty Haversack. It's magic was suppressed by the beholder's anti-magic cone. He closed the flap and smiled at the aberration. "I want Sparky back safe, so I am going to give you all I know."

"Do so to my satisfaction and the bird will be returned to you unharmed," Lord Hofralix agreed.

"Well, from what I heard our mission started at Grey House in Barnacus. Shortly after that town was afflicted by disease, like we mentioned. Other towns we have encountered suffered similiar plights during these fairs. One of Grey Company's members was affected: an elf named Kirnoth. We have reason to believe that may have been the one who attacked us. That was long before I joined this crew."

"The one who attacked you was of the Dorian Brood - an afflicted lycanthrope," the beholder added. "Despite the fact that lycanthropy is lethal to those of elvish blood, my watchers saw him transform into rat form as he fled from your encounter."

"Well, like I said, that was all before I joined up with these guys, but Kirnoth was bitten by one of these skaven and then disappeared," Huzair said, licking his lips absently and wishing for a cigar. "Hey, did I tell you how I met this crew? My master, Garan-Zak, thought I needed a direction because I was too free of a spirit... I dont like the word "tainted"..."

"I don't imagine you would," the beholder smirked. "But you bear the taint of chaos none the less. Your ability to stomach that truth doesn't change the fact that it is so." Huzair scowled.

"Anyway, he had me join up here with these guys. They did not like me much at first. Kind of over-protective. Now they love me," he turned and looked at the hard faces of his companions and chuckled nervously to himself before turning back to Lord Hofralix. "You would like Garan-Zak. He is a powerful wizard. Defeated a lich once. He is retired now though."

"How is this lich-slayer involved with the Dominion of Flesh Reborn and the Dorian Brood?" the beholder asked, annoyance creeping into his voice.

"Well, we were scrying on them, Garan-Zak and me, and we saw Whitey over here running around naked with leaves around his waist." He cocked a thumb at Morier who stiffened at the wizard's giggle. "Man, he looked silly. That is when I teleported to join these folks and help them."

"So that is what you call yourselves, then?" the beholder looked at each of the party members. "Grey Companions?"

"Nah," Huzair scoffed. "I mean, I guess Grey Company is a pretty good group of guys and we have the coins, so I guess we are members. But we decided to start our own group. We call it The Order. Kind of making a stand against Aphyx and all her chaos."

"The name appeals to me," the beholder admitted. "As does the sentiment."

"Well, it hasn't been easy. All the original members of Grey Company that started this quest passed away on the trip one way or another. Kind of tragic, I suppose. I guess they have not heard from the Senior members in a while either," Huzair mused and then shrugged. "I only really liked Ledare, though. She was a nice one. I miss her."

"How did she die?" Lord Hofralix asked.

"Blackheart killed her, but we took him out. Also Sir Brin. We also took out Rake. He was a bastard," the mage was ticking off opponents on one hand. Then something occurred to him and he snapped his fingers. "Maybe Grandfather Plaque can vouch for us. Speak up, Stoneface. Got any info to share there, old buddy?" Then he remembered that Grandfather Plaque was in his _Haversack_ which was useless within the anti-magic field. Huzair looked disappointed.

"What Huzair has said about the minions of Aphyx that we have defeated is true, Lord Hofralix. We have much experience in foiling the Rot Queen's machinations," Ayremac cut in. "What aid could you bring to our cause? Do you have information on positions of main encampments? Key players?"

"Indeed," the beholder said. "I have such information and other resources that could be brought to bear." Huzair elbowed the holy warrior in the breastplate.

"Ayremac, when negotiating, we should ask what we can do for them first. Sounds better," the wizard explained then looked at Lord Hofralix expectantly. "How about magic? Got any good spells we could trade?"

"Yes. There are those within the eyehold who practice the the lesser arts," the beholder told him and Huzair's eyes grew wide.

"Lesser arts? Wizardry is not a lesser art!" he scoffed. Then his face softened and he asked, "Or are you referring to sorcery?"

"I am the embodiment of the Void, itself," Lord Hofralix grinned. "The power of the Far Realm flows through me and from me. With the power naturally at my disposal, all spellcasting is but a lesser art."

"But ye have spellcasters among yer people, aye?" Karak asked, hopefully.

"Yes," the beholder told him, looking him up and down. "Are you, too, interested in trading spells?"

"Nae. Nae," Karak chuckled. "But durin' our travels we started a manor house to build up an' train warriors to fight chaos. I feel we need to check in on 'em and we do nae have the time it seems. If we could teleport between the two locations, I believe it would help greatly in our quest. We also need a new translation ring to speak with Ixin. I need to be ugradin' me axe. Morier needs better armor. All of our supplies needs replenishin' an' tendin' to. It seems, Lord Holifax this all be within yer great power."

"It is. And we may be able to reach an arrangement," the beholder announced after a moment's pause. "But we will discuss these matters tomorrow. For now, my Premarchs will show you to the quarters set aside for your use during your stay in New Mellorell."

"If'n I spoke out o' turn or not to yer likin'. I do apologize," Karak said earnestly. "Do nae let the look or manner o' my words turn ye aside. Look instead to the plain meanin'."

"It was nothing you said nor the way in which you said it that delays my decision," Lord Hofralix said, already starting to descend toward the hole in the floor of his spherical audience chamber. "To act without proper consideration is the way of chaos. I will ponder what you've told me and notify you of my decision tomorrow." As soon as Lord Hofralix disappeared down the shaft, the Order felt their gear flare back to magical life.



The two Premarchs led the Order and the corpse-bearers out of the hillside, where Premarch Rabanmar and the human barbarians broke off from the group, taking the transmogrified burdens away to some other locale while Premarch Brah marched toward the rings of wood-and-hide buildings between the bluff and the river. Without a word, he led them to a pair of dwellings side-by-side in the outer ring. Up close, they could see that an earthen ramp had been cut into the ground leading down to a door whose upper lintel protruded only a few feet above the surface of the ground. The roof was formed from stitched animal hides stretched tight over a framework of wooden beams. The walls beneath rose but a foot or two off the ground.

Brah indicated the two with a purposeful wave of his tentacles and bowing, turned and padded off into the night, leaving them alone in the middle of New Mellorell.


----------



## Blarkon Dragonslayer

Hehe, too many tentacles.  I think I'd have had to start to hacking diverse critters up just on principle.


----------



## Jon Potter

Blarkon Dragonslayer said:
			
		

> Hehe, too many tentacles.  I think I'd have had to start to hacking diverse critters up just on principle.




Well, I was really trying to play up the "otherness" of these guys and nothing says, "This ain't right!" like tentacles. Just as Lovecraft!

And don't worry, even in a peaceful environment like New Mellorell our heroes find _somebody_ to fight with. You'll love it.

In fact, you sort of asked for it at one point even...


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## Blarkon Dragonslayer

Thanks Jon, now I can go quietly insane (again) waiting for the next installment.


----------



## Jon Potter

Blarkon Dragonslayer said:
			
		

> Thanks Jon, now I can go quietly insane (again) waiting for the next installment.




Happy to oblige.

Expecially given that I think the incident I'm refering to is actually two posts away.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

> "Perhaps. That is my hope," the beholder explained. "I would hear more... from this one's mouth." And so saying, he swiveled slightly in the air to turn his central eye fully on Huzair.




ah crap...   



> "Anyway, he had me join up here with these guys. They did not like me much at first. Kind of over-protective. Now they love me,"




yep, definately crap   



> "Well, we were scrying on them, Garan-Zak and me, and we saw Whitey over here running around naked with leaves around his waist." He cocked a thumb at Morier who stiffened at the wizard's giggle. "Man, he looked silly. That is when I teleported to join these folks and help them."




That's what put him on the path? Will Ferrell running down the street? Huzair's standards arent' very high huh?   

It truely is a wonder how Ayremac and Huzair don't kill each other.


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Huzair's standards arent' very high huh?




Do I need really to dignify that with answer?



> It truely is a wonder how Ayremac and Huzair don't kill each other.




Give it time.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #401] A Familiar Face*

"Well I told him all I could," Huzair said as they stood staring at the two dwellings set aside for their use. "Do you think I will get Sparky back?"

The mage addressed the question to Morier, but all the albino had to say was, "Pairs should stay on watch while we sleep."

"I wonder how that will look to our host?" Ayremac asked, off-handedly. "It won't seem that we've placed much trust in him."

"No offense intended to Lord Hofralix," Morier responded, "but trust only goes so far. Whatever success we've had in staying alive hasn't been accidental; we'd be foolish not to remain vigilant at all times. Should we not take the precaution of keeping watch over ourselves, Hofralix could just as easily call that a mark of weakness."

"I'm not saying it's the wrong thing to do, Morier," Ayremac said, holding up his hands. "Just that it might seem odd to our host." The albino scowled.

"Let's set up a watch schedule," he said, pointing out individuals as he spoke. "Me with Shamalin; Huzair with Ixin; and Karak with Ayremac. Objections?"

There were none.

"Karak, what do you think about first watch? I'd like to hear some more stories about your training as a warrior," Ayremac asked. "I was trained by men of the cloth; you seem to have been raised amongst a livelier bunch."

"Actually, fly boy," Huzair snapped back. "It is best if the spellcasters get a nice block of uninterrupted sleep. Ixin and I will take first watch."

"I don't need to sleep to regain my miracles, only pray at the appropriate time," Shamalin said. "I can take second watch if that's acceptable to Morier." He nodded.

"Leavin' you an' me on dawn patrol," Karak grunted at Ayremac, stamping off toward the dwelling on the left. "Do nae worry. I can share with ye tales o' me youth as easily at first light as I might now."

"I'll just take a moment to get the lay of the land before retiring," the holy warrior told them, flexing his wings and flying like a bowshot into the sky.

"That worked so well before," Huzair groused. "I wonder what sort of trouble he will return with this time?"

But there was none. Ayremac landed - a good deal more gracefully than last time - and reported that he could see nothing out of the ordinary. After sharing that he went to the hut into which Karak had disappeared and prepared for bed.

Huzair made shooing motions at Morier. "Go on," he said. "I will sleep with Ixin and Shamalin." Both Morier and Shamalin looked at him with a mixture of surprise and skepticism. Huzair grinned and gestured at Ixin. "It is all about communication."

"I don't..." Shamalin started to say and the wizard cut her off with a wave of his hand and a broad smile that flashed brightly in the darkness.

"Come on, sweet heart," he purred. "I promise to be nice. And I do not trust the dwarf. He has been longing for his 'chalaks' too much, if you catch my meaning."



Ixin hoped that Huzair couldn't see her smirk as she listened to his recount in Draconic of the events of the day. He was a skilled liar, but she had been present at the meeting with the Eye Tyrant and she knew that he was exaggerating the details of his involvement. She didn't need to understand the language to understand the body language of her other companions.

"I am impressed with your diplomacy, my friend. I believe you will soon be reunited with Sparky," she said as his tale was winding down.

"I hope so. I do not know what I will do if the guy is killed. The bond between mage and familiar is a strong one," the mage said, displaying a moment of vulnerability. "Did you ever call a familiar?" Ixin turned away, anxiety roiling in her belly.

"I... I don't know," she admitted. "It is one of the things about my return that seems... wrong. Inconsistent. I'm sure that I had a familiar at one time. I have a memory... Not of him specifically, but rather the memory of a sense of him. It makes my head hurt to think on it too much."

"Weird," Huzair said and stared off into the darkness.

"Lord Hofralix sounds like he will make a strong ally and I am glad we will have him as one," Ixin said, changing the subject. "I believe it would benefit us if we took some of his followers with us as we continue our quest to find and free Dridana's Heart."

"Really?" Huzair asked. "Do you think he will want to give us any aid? From the looks of those bodies they brought in it looks like he has his tentacles full around here." Ixin shrugged emitting a low sigh.

"I worry some about taking too much time cutting off hydra heads and never killing the hydra itself. I believe we should talk with Hofralix about the negative side of just fighting the local chaos without getting to the source. Perhaps he knows something we do not about why that would be a useful move."

"Of course he does," the wizard chuckled. "I do not believe for one second that he has told us all that he knows. Any more than we have told him all that we do." He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper and added, "Notice that no one has mentioned having the keys, for instance."

"I don't believe that trying to hide the keys will work for long. It appears Hofralix is much too strong to be fooled even by what spells we might muster," the drakeling replied. "I think we need to simply not mention them for now and keep assessing how trustworthy he is. If we determine he is truly working on the side of good, we should just tell him about the keys."

"You know, Ixin," the wizard grinned. "You are so quiet all the time that it is sometimes too easy to forget that you are pretty smart."



Later...

Shamalin settled her back against the door frame and stared out into the darkness. The low nature of the huts combined with the fact that she was without her armor made her feel small. The night, however, was mild and beautiful. She stared into the distance where she knew the river ran silently and envied these elves the peace and safety of their land. There was harmony here. She took a moment to ponder why she had never sought much from the elven blood which ran in her veins. It had to do with acceptance, and there was little to be had in many places of those who took partners outside of their own blood. But it had more to do with acknowledging from where that heritage was truly derived - a subject never broached by the temple sisters. There was already enough shame in Shamalin's birth not to make matters worse pursuing the scandalous details.

She saw the pale specter of Morier take position not far away. Shamalin wondered what he thought about during the quiet hours of the watch. He had insisted upon a double guard, even in this place - stating that trust only went so far. She was tempted to brush against his mind with a spell, but decided against it. He had only recently opened up to her about his own complicated past, even suggesting that they were alike in some respects. Perhaps she didn't really want to know.

"You spoke well to Lord Hofralix," she whispered, breaking the rules of a silent watch. Morier looked up and studied her for a moment before beckoning her to join him in the shadows.



Even Later...

"Now ye know me feelings on arcane magic, lad, but I'll tell ye, that ball o' fire would've done more'n singed me beard if it hadn't been for that ol' wizard, Ramne's scroll o' anti-magic," Karak spat. "As it was it amounted to naught save a pretty light show. So we beached the boat quick as ye please an' stormed the enemy's position. An' what d'ye suppose we found?"

"A mage?" Ayremac asked and the dwarf harrumphed.

"Nae, lad. One mage would nae've been a match for dwarven steel, I tell ye! Nae what we found there was a creature from the pit. Body like the biggest snake ye ever seen an' the head of a humie woman. A naga, Ramne tol' me later. 'Course at the time all he kept screamin' about was nae lookin' the thing in the eyes lest it steal control o' yer will."

Karak went on with his story[1], but Ayremac was distracted from the narrative by movement in the pre-dawn gloom. He'd noticed signs of the community awaking around them for some time, but this was the first movement he'd seen. A group of the tall, half-naked barbarians were moving up the slope from the river. They carried big, recurved bows and bore quivers full of arrows across their broad backs. Amidst the fair-haried folk walked another, smaller man with dark hair and eyes, dressed in stout leathers.
Ayremac recognized him at once.

"Raf!" he called, springing to his feet and almost startling Karak onto his backside. At the cry, the group of archers turned and looked. The smaller man in the center, smiled broadly and slapped a hand comically on his forehead.

"Ayremac? Is that you?" he shouted and began trotting toward the two sentries. "Of course, it's you! Who else would wear that suit of green mail? But what did you do to yourself?" Raphael approached looking like he wanted to hug Ayremac but was unwilling to risk impaling himself on the holy warrior's spiked plate mail. He settled for grasping his one-time traveling companion's hand and pumping it up and down excitedly.

"You mean the wings?" Ayremac asked and Raphael smacked him playfully on the side of the head.

"No I mean the new haircut," he scoffed. "Of course, I mean the wings! You finally did it, didn't you? Unlocked the power of your bloodline?"

"Yes. And it's everything I'd hoped it would be and more," Ayremac said with a smile. "I feel like I've only now woken up to discover my true self!"

"Oh, aye," Karak grumbled. "He's right full of himself, this one is." The newcomer turned to look at the dwarf and Karak got a good look at him.

He was a slight man, shorter that Ayremac but taller than Shamalin, with dark hair and eyes to match. His skin was tanned from exposure to the elements, but his face was clean-shaven giving the man a youthful appearance despite the lines around his eyes and mouth. He carried an unstrung composite longbow in his hand and bore not one but two quivers full of arrows across his back. He smiled at Karak and finally let go of Ayremac's hand.

"Well, he always was kind of caught up in the whole "glory of the celestials" thing. At least to me," Raphael grinned, favoring Karak with a wink. "With the ladies it was all about making himself invisible, mind you."

A shadow seemed to pass across Ayremac's face, but Raphael didn't notice. "What are you doing here?" the holy warrior asked.

"Me? What about you?" Raphael shot back. "Last I saw of you was leagues from here, heading in the opposite direction."

"You first," Ayremac prodded, his smile gone, but his face impassive. Raphael stroked his smooth chin.

"Well, let's see, after I tracked those bandits back to their lair, I uncovered a chest full of healing potions marked with the symbol of Flor. So I took them and came looking for you, but you were gone. I tracked you as far as Barlyton where I found out that you'd made some new friends." At that he motioned to indicate Karak. "So, figuring that you were okay without me, I decided that the best use of my time was to head to Radcliffe like we'd talked about. Especially since I had that chest of potions to return to them."

"Radcliffe was... is... in ruins," Raphael went on. "There was some contingent of mercenaries operating under a yellow banner that had burned most of the city and had the temple there under siege. They had some kind of dragon-looking thing working with them and it was perched right on top of the temple dome."

"Did ye slay the beast?" Karak asked and Raphael snorted laughter.

"Yeah, right!" he chuckled. "I'm only one man! No, I cut my losses and made for the wilderness. And that's where I met these guys." He waved a hand to indicate the group of barbarians with whom he'd arrived. "They had word of a necromancer's tower in the woods near Radcliffe that they were planning to assault. That seemed less like suicide and more like a chance for me to do some good. We hit it only it wasn't a necromancer's tower - at least not solely. It was full of these... things... men crossed with spiders, winged horses covered with scales. Fleshsculpted, we call them.. Nasty things." He shook his head.

"Anyway, we hit the tower and then followed the ones that got away into the forest," he concluded. "We ended up here."

"So you're just passing through?" Ayremac asked, his gaze flinty. Raphael shook his head.

"No, Ayremac," the smaller man said. "Earlier you mentioned that you'd woken up to discover yourself and that's exactly how I feel. Like I've only now found my true purpose in life. Here. With Lord Hofralix."

Ayremac would have been happy for his friend if not for the fact that Raphael was clearly under the influence of an enchantment of some sort.

----------------------------

[1] This will be a little contest. I'll post the next installment right away if someone can identify the published adventure that Karak's story recounts.


----------



## Burningspear




----------



## Jon Potter

*Incidentally...*

I threw in Raphael to tie up a lose end.

When Ayremac came on the scene an additional player was scheduled to join up as well. He and Ayremac were adventuring companions travelling together. Raphael was the new guy and the player worked up a 70% finished character sheet (Rogue/Scout/Fighter/Order of the Bow Initiate, FYI). Then the additional player evaporated and I introduced Ayremac with vague references to Raphael (in case the additional player returned).

At this point, even if he did return there's little chance that I'd accept him into the game.

And Raphael ended up where he is.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> [1] This will be a little contest. I'll post the next installment right away if someone can identify the published adventure that Karak's story recounts.




I have no clue, only to ask how the story ended?   

I used a naga recently, and my party is now marching off to meet with a beholder to accept a job of his. My beholder won't be as "nice" as your though, but yours did convince me to change his attitudes about certain things.


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## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> I have no clue, only to ask how the story ended?




We may never know...

Actually, it never got played out. They spent their watch "discussing Karak's old adventures around the campfire" and I supplied the old adventure. There's still one or two readers who might possibly have a guess - although the prize of another update is seeming less exciting as the week wears on - but I'll spill the module name by the Sunday update at the latest.



> I used a naga recently, and my party is now marching off to meet with a beholder to accept a job of his. My beholder won't be as "nice" as your though, but yours did convince me to change his attitudes about certain things.




Ahh... campaign cross-pollenation... It's a beautiful thing.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #402] A Day in New Mellorell*

The holy warrior considered the subtle change in Raphael's demeanor and what it could mean. Enchantments by themselves were not evil, necessarily, unless they were used to bend another to your will. The effect on Raphael seemed less sinister and more like a boon to the archer. Raf had always been a little fractious - moving from one thing to the next seemingly without care for the consequences. Now, he seemed focused... driven.

"Thats great Raphael. I am glad you have finally found your calling," Ayremac said, smiling affably. "Tell me more about your discovery. What is it that is moving you so?" Raphael grew thoughtful at that question, but the smile never drifted completely from his lips.

"I don't know that I'd call it a discovery, really. Certainly it's nothing new," the man replied. "You had it all along. I can't count the number of times you spoke about duty and higher purpose during our travels. But I do know that your musings fell on deaf ears at the time." He looked a little ashamed and cast his eyes momentarily to the ground. "I'm sorry for that, Ayremac. I should have listened. I see that now, thanks to Lord Hofralix."

"I have to admit, Raphael, I was very moved by Lord Hofralix myself," the Officer of Umba told him. Indicating the dwarf to his left, he added, "Karak was just saying that he thought Lord Hofralix was a remarkable being."

"He is that," the archer sighed. "Of course, I don't see much of him. Most of the day-to-day affairs are handled by the hierarchy without needing to burden the sovereign."

"Raphael, we have only been here the one night. What can you tell us?" Ayremac asked. "Anything to help us understand the mission of Lord Hofralix?" Raphael shrugged and there was something so familiar in the action - something so very 'Raf' about it - that it was easy to forget that the archer didn't always behave like this.

"I don't know that he has a mission, really," Raphael said. "He told me that his purpose was to bring order to the people. And that's what he's done here in New Mellorell. Did you know that only a few years ago the elves of the forest and the men of the steppe were near to open warfare with one another? Now, Lord Hofralix has us all working together to everyone's benefit. It's inspiring, really."

"Yes. He's quite something," Ayremac said. "But if there's no mission, then what do you do here?" Raphael smacked himself again on the forehead.

"I'm one of the archery instructors, Ayremac, and I'm going to be late for my lesson if I don't shake a leg," the man said, motioning for the human barbarians (who had been standing quietly nearby during the exchange) to move on toward the southeast.

"Rafael, I am sorry to take you away from your duties. I have my own to attend to as well," Ayremac said and clapped the smaller man on the shoulder. "I am sure we will see you later." Raphael turned and grinned, walking backward for a few steps before he turned and trotted off after the others.

"Count on it," he called.



Ayremac woke the others and everyone crowded into one small dwelling. It was claustrophobically small in the chamber when it was jammed tightly with six adventurers who hadn't bathed since taking a dip in the ocean of the Water Test. Even so, everyone listened attentively to the holy warrior's recounting of his meeting with Raphael.

"I am disturbed by what I just saw... Raphael is not himself," Ayremac finished. "I think... well, actually... I am sure he is being enchanted."

"By who?" Morier asked and Ayremac shrugged.

"I don't know," he admitted. "Lord Hofralix presumably."

"I have a _Dispel Magic_ available at your command, if you'd like it," Shamalin told the Officer of Umba and Ayremac smiled but shook his head.

"I don't think it is a good idea to dispel the magic of our, so far, benevolent host, who I might add is a very, very powerful being," he observed but Huzair seemed unimpressed.

"I could blink through the wall of the hut and do a little invisible spying," the mage suggested. "I can have a _Detect Thoughts_ spell ready to go in no time."

"Of course I could be wrong, but I think we ought to assume that you can't pull off any covert activity around here," Morier countered. "We're dealing with someone who could silence all of us and all of our magical items at once... you probably can't pick his pocket, Huzair." The wizard sighed and shook his head.

"I wasn't thinking of stealing anything, Morier," he scoffed. "Just finding out what I can."

"All I'm saying is I think we should try to maintain as much good-faith as we can, while we can," Morier asserted. There was a momentary pause into which Karak inserted a snort.

"Well, we've all 'eard o' Rhadcliffe before," the dwarf interjected. "That be where Andamacles' apprentice be."

"Yes!' Morier agreed, snapping his fingers. "Something, the Weaver, right?"

"Nicetas, the Weaver," Shamalin confirmed. "I was just going over the notes last night that your janissary left." A shadow seemed to move across Morier and Karak's faces at the mention of Ledare. And Huzair's tattooed bow furrowed as he scowled.

"And those 'fleshsculpted' things that the humie was goin' on about be transmogrified creatures, it sounds to me," Karak added, spitting a hissing gobbet of phlegm into the firepit. "And so we be faced with the same dilemma again of going off on side quests or stickin' to the main quest. It seems to me we made the choice long ago to free Dridana's heart, but I do agree that netting Andamacles' apprentice be a worthy goal."

"But is it one that we can pursue now?" Ayremac asked and the dwarf shrugged.

"I do nae know," Karak admitted. "The fact that Raf be ensorcelled bothers me. It be clear that Lord Hofralix serves his own end."

"Which is why I say we need to find out what we can... quietly," Huzair said with a smile and a wink. "It'd be pretty easy for me to-"

A knock at the door silenced the wizard and prompted a tense hush to fall over the group. All eyes turned toward the door as it opened revealing a figure in a loose-fitting jerkin and pants standing outside in the morning sunlight. The person bowed and they could all see as he did so that he had three flexible eyestalks writhing about atop his head. In his hands he carried an ornate cage and inside the cage was Huzair's familiar, Sparky.

"I am Premarch D'rach," the man said as he stood. "As a show of good faith, our glorious Sovereign, Lord Hofralix, has commanded me to bring to you this magical beast."

He opened the tiny door on the side of the tiny cage and immediately, Huzair's empathic connection to the bird resumed. The mage could tell at once that the hummingbird was unhurt, but Sparky's voice was urgent in his ears nonetheless, "Boss! Am I ever glad to see you!"

"It is also my duty to act as your guide during your stay in New Mellorell," Premarch D'rach informed them solemnly. "It is our Sovereign's command that all of the eyehold's resources be placed at your disposal and to that end I have arranged meetings with both the artificers in the smithy and the scribes at the library to accommodate requests that you have already made. If there is anything else that you require please let me know and I will do my utmost to meet your needs."

----------------------------------

Okay, the answer to the "Contest" from last week is: N1: Against the Cult of the Reptile God.

And... next week is it! Because Blarkon Dragonslayer (sort of) asked for it! The unexpected happens when our heroes shatter the peace of New Mellorell and find some strange foes to fight. Be here for [Realms #403] Battle in the Street!


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> A knock at the door silenced the wizard and prompted a tense hush to fall over the group. All eyes turned toward the door as it opened revealing a figure in a loose-fitting jerkin and pants standing outside in the morning sunlight. The person bowed and they could all see as he did so that he had three flexible eyestalks writhing about atop his head.




1/2 beholder template from Bastards & Bloodlines?


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## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> 1/2 beholder template from Bastards & Bloodlines?




Nope. This guy's an eyekin Beholder Cultist/Aberrant Warrior from Goodman Games' _Complete Guide to Beholders_.

But don't worry... the half-beholder gets his moment in the sun.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #403] Battle in the Street*

"Premarch D'rach, is there a blessing or gift that could be given to weapons or armor here?" Ayremac asked and the Premarch nodded serenely.

"There is a fully functioning smithy staffed by the best artisans in a hundred leagues not far from here," their guide replied. "At your dwarven colleague's request, it will be the first stop this morning."

A toothsome smile split Karak's beard at that news and his eyes gleamed with the prospect of visiting a runesmith.

"What other resources do you have to strengthen us against our enemies?" Ayremac added and Premarch D'rach opened his hands in a gesture that seemed to encompass many possibilities. Both Ixin and Ayremac noted the disturbing presence of an eye with a slit green pupil on the palm of his left hand.

"Even before Lord Hofralix ascended from the night below, the Mellorn elves were crafters of a great many things both magical and mundane that you might well find helpful," D'rach explained. "You need but ask and I will see to it that you are accommodated if it is within our ability to do so." Shamalin extricated herself from where she was wedged uncomfortably between Morier and Ixin, stood and wiped at a lock of reddish hair that was plastered to her forehead.

"I would like to bathe, get my armor tended, and visit the healing shrine," she huffed.

"We have a bathhouse that is connected to a hot spring. It is quite near the smithy," the Premarch explained. "In fact we will pass it on the way. You are free to make use of it as you wish."

"Sounds like fun," Huzair grinned lasciviously at Shamalin. "Maybe I'll join you there after I pick up some magic supplies." The Mercybringer shuddered distastefully at that prospect and Huzair feigned a hurt expression. "Shamalin, you wound me. I'll be a perfect gentleman, I assure you. But if you're worried about perhaps losing control of yourself and jumping-" Morier elbowed the wizard in the ribs hard enough to make Huzair's breath huff from his lungs.

"I'll need to get my hands on some healing potions if they're available," Morier said to the Premarch before Huzair could turn on him.

"Morier, I do nae know what you need that won't interrupt your spell casting, but ye need an armor upgrade, either bracers or a ring or jus' better armor," Karak interjected. "See to it. We can nae have our cleric be healin' ye all day, now can we? Ha!" Color came unnaturally to Morier's pale cheeks and he looked down at his feet, the muscles in his jaw clenching.

"We don't want to spend our whole lot on healing draughts, do we?I think we would do well to add a few spells to my book," Huzair added, rubbing his ribs. "_Web, Suggestion, Fly, Invisibility Sphere_..." Morier growled low in his throat and stood up.

"Adding snazzy new spells that might impress people here and there is all well and good, but survival is the key here," the albino hissed, only bothering to half-turn toward the wizard as he spoke. "Those of us that stand in harm's way and swing a sword against our enemies will need to be healed. Those that stand back and cast spells from a distance surely don't worry about it, but you would just as surely perish without us." He stepped toward the door and Premach D'rach stepped aside to let him pass. Morier paused, his body silhouetted in the sunlight from outside, and added, "Healing and strength should be our prime concern."

"Yeah, we all know who saves your ass every time and potions do not have a thing to do with it," Huzair said, getting to his own feet and clutching his cloak around himself against the chill wafting in from outside. The wizard stepped after Morier wagging a finger at his retreating back. "It is Shamalin's spirtual link with her diety that saves you every time. I would be sick of it by now. You had better buy some damned armor here, whitey!"

"And it's a damned good thing for you that someone is willing to do it, Huzair!" Morier snapped, looking down at Huzair, who now stood in the sunken hut's doorway. "Otherwise, you'd find yourself forced to actually lift a hand to defend yourself instead of standing aside in utter safety while everyone around you risks their lives so that you might hang out and polish your fingernails!" Walking away, Morier muttered in digust, "I often wonder how much easier our lives would be had your father actually sired a son."

The Eldritch Warrior made it another two steps before Huzair slammed into him from behind, his knee catching him squarely between the legs with enough force to drive Morier forward into the mud. Stifling back a scream, the elf managed to get to his hands and knees before Huzair was on him again, his wiry arms wrapping around Morier's own, forcing the albino's face back down into the mud. Huzair put his entire weight behind the maneuver and Morier heard his nose give beneath the strain. Blood exploded down his face, but the pain gave him the incentive he needed to break free of the mage's hold.

He threw Huzair off and scrambled to his feet just as the wizard was doing the same. He wiped blood off his mouth with the back of his fist, smearing crimson across his cheek as he grinned at his opponent. "Is this really what you want, Huzair?" Morier growled. "Because I can give a whole lot better than I get."

Huzair was unimpressed and he hurled into Morier's face a clot of mud that he'd scraped up while they'd been down. It slammed into the albino's eyes and stayed there, blocking his vision. Morier backed up a step, scraping at the splat of dirt, managing through pure chance the avoid the punch Huzair had aimed at his ear. As soon as his vision had cleared he drove his fist into the mage's belly with enough force to nearly bend him in half.

Huzair staggered back and spat blood at Morier. The eldritch warrior easily avoided the spittle, but in doing so, he also put himself off balance. Huzair stepped under the albino's next attack and swung his own elbow up as he went intending to catch Morier's arm at the wrist. The elf had seen that move before, however and he managed to avoid it without difficulty.

Morier felt a rage building in him and it began to cloud his judgment. Despite everything that he'd told Shamalin about the Eldritch Code, he felt his anger at Huzair getting the better of him. Fueled by all the strength his anger could muster, Morier's fist sailed harmlessly passed the wizard's face. If he'd put less power behind it, the attack would probably have connected instead of offering Huzair another opportunity to fake him out.

Morier drove his fist again into the wizard's gut, and then stepped back out of the man's reach. But before he could get away, Huzair's foot kicked out, catching Morier's left leg at the knee and driving the joint sideways. Something gave way in the limb, but Morier maintained his footing and began focusing his mind on the pain. He swung a fist warily at the wizard, keeping him momentarily at bay, but Huzair was a canny veteran of many a bar fight, and he knew well the value of a good feint. He darted to the right, but came at Morier with his left knee. Too late, the eldritch warrior saw what the wizard's plan was but he still managed to twist enough that he caught the force of the attack on the inside of his thigh rather than firmly in his crotch as Huzair had intended.

Huzair darted back before Morier could muster a counterattack and by the time he looked up to locate the wizard he had to duck his head again to avoid another clot of mud aimed for his eyes. Still, it was enough of a glance for him to spot Huzair and land a fist solidly on the man's chin. The mage reeled back from the impact, but kept his feet.

"Your tricks are getting old, Huzair," Morier chided and his opponent sneered back at him.

"Trouble for you is, I'm not out of tricks!" he spat, and activated his _Ring of Blinking_.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Anytime a wizard can go toe-to-toe with a fighter of comparible level and survive long enough to piss off the fighter, has already won the match.   

BTW where was Ayremac when internal strife hit the party, it seems he's letting the two "boys" hash out their personal differences physically.


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## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Anytime a wizard can go toe-to-toe with a fighter of comparible level and survive long enough to piss off the fighter, has already won the match.




Huzair's player felt pretty much the same way.

Remember, too, that Huzair has a level of Rogue. Those instances of mud-slinging, etc. were Feints, denying Morier his DEX bonus and making him Sneak Attack-able.



> BTW where was Ayremac when internal strife hit the party, it seems he's letting the two "boys" hash out their personal differences physically.




You'll have to wait for the next post, but you pretty much lifted the words right out of his mouth.


----------



## Burningspear

I have had a similar experience where one player was so annoying, and even disruptive in the story, that he managed to get our major ally (Kornugon, an Avengion) killed by 3 dragons.
(Dark Sun)

that made the whole party -1 idiotic half giant (he was "following as a dumbstronghand" the "culprit") go for a pc-kill.....

not fun when you are normally supposed to be working together as allies in a party


----------



## Jon Potter

Burningspear said:
			
		

> I have had a similar experience where one player was so annoying, and even disruptive in the story, that he managed to get our major ally (Kornugon, an Avengion) killed by 3 dragons.
> (Dark Sun)
> 
> that made the whole party -1 idiotic half giant (he was "following as a dumbstronghand" the "culprit") go for a pc-kill.....
> 
> not fun when you are normally supposed to be working together as allies in a party





Well, Huzair's intentions were not murderous. Attacking unarmed as he did, all the damage was non-lethal. But his outburst does not come without consequences.


----------



## Burningspear

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> Well, Huzair's intentions were not murderous. Attacking unarmed as he did, all the damage was non-lethal. But his outburst does not come without consequences.




my experience was "murderous", as we killed that character and had to hide from the dragons in question...
and the half giant got squished in the process..

good luck with managing that mess inparty


----------



## Jon Potter

Burningspear said:
			
		

> my experience was "murderous", as we killed that character and had to hide from the dragons in question...
> and the half giant got squished in the process..





Well, that certainly sounds memorable anyway!

And over the next several posts you'll get to see the fallout that Huzair's unrestrained action caused  both within the party and with Lord Hofralix.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #404] Aftermath*

Morier eyed the flickering mage then lowered his hands, offering himself up in a fully undefended position. The expression on his face did nothing to hide the contempt in which he held Huzair. 

"If this is the way you will have it, you honorless piece of crap, then have your best shot," he growled, his mouth wet and red in his paper-white face. Of course, to the _Blinking_ Huzair it sounded like: "If * is * way * will * it, * honorless * of *, then * your * shot."



Shamalin was the first to step out of the sunken hut at the sound of fighting and she watched the brawl unfold with utter disbelief. The insults she'd witnessed being exchanged between Huzair and Morier since she'd joined the party had become so commonplace that she found herself taken aback to find it had escalated to the next level. She stood for a long moment in stunned silence as her two companions traded blows, then as the action wound down and Morier stepped back from Huzair, she started up the steps, but a hand tightened on her bicep. She turned to see Ayremac shaking his head.

"There is a lot of tension between friends and sometimes men need to work it out with fists," he told her and she was surprised to see the beginnings of a smile touching the corners of the holy warrior's lips. "We won't let anyone get 'really' hurt." Scowling, she jerked her arm free of Ayremac's grip and stalked off down the street.

"I'm not wasting a healing spell over this!" she shouted at the combatants as she went.

Premarch D'rach stepped out into the sunshine, taking in the scene with a glance from his numerous eyes. "What is going on?" he asked, clearly shocked by the turn of events.

"Premarch, please excuse this outburst," Ayremac offered, angling his head slightly in the direction of the pugilists. "These two are schoolboy friends and I think they have a few things to settle. Shall we leave them be or do you enjoy a good fight?" The Premarch turned a shocked face to Ayremac.

"Fighting is not permitted in New Mellorell," he said simply then turned to look at Shamalin's retreating form. "And the priestess should not be wandering around without the proper escort. The Sovereign must be notified." He then moved lithely up the steps and moved after the cleric at a walk that bordered closely on a run.



Huzair deactivated his _Ring_ and grinned cruelly at Morier. "Would you mind repeating that, Whitey?" he snarled and Morier wiped his knuckles across his bloodied nose.

"You're quite fierce hiding safely behind the knowledge that your opponent won't kill you," the eldritch warrior hissed and Huzair waved the comment away.

"That's only because I know you do not have the balls to get into a death match with me," he retorted. "I would take you out so fast you would not know what hit you." Morier snorted at that.

"If you had half the balls to fight this hard against an opponent who didn't care if you lived or died, we wouldn't have to be having a discussion about any of this," the albino shot back and Huzair's expression became shocked.

"Are you saying I do not fight hard? Why do you think I study my spells so much? And I certainly carried my weight in the tests. I am as much a target as you against the spell using creatures," Huzair snapped, wiping blood from his lips. "You ought not to downplay the power of magic; it is what makes your thunderstrike attack so strong. If you actually worked at spell casting, your power would even be better than mine... No wonder ap-Llewellyn is so disappointed in you, ilhar-vith!"

At the last word - a vulgar bit of undercommon that was probably the only term Huzair knew in the language - Morier's eyes narrowed to crimson slits. He held the wizard's gaze for a second and then shook his head and turned his back. "I'm finished with you," he said.

"You cannot even take down a weak little wizard like me in a fight" Huzair went on, following Morier as he stepped away. "It scares me that you are our front line fighter. Karak would have broken me in half by now. You have finished nothing."

"Feel free to further prove your cowardice Huzair. You've accomplished nothing," Morier said, waving the wizard off. "I refuse to be a party to your particular form of idiocy any longer."

"I am not the one walking away, coward," the wizard pressed, keeping pace with the albino. "Your words started this, Morier. You wanted me to attack you and when you see I fight back... you quit. That is a coward."

That's when Karak exploded into their midst, an animalistic snarl ripping from his barrel chest.

The dwarf's thick left hand snatched a fistful of Morier's cloak arresting at once the albino's retreat even as his other hand latched onto Huzair's left forearm with enough force to cause Huzair to wince in pain. Kara's face was livid, his ears a scarlet nearly as bright as the blood smeared across Morier's face. Veins bulged like azure ropes across his forehead and spittle foamed at the corners of his snarling mouth. An anger as hot as any forge burned in his eyes.

"I grow tired o' this!" he bellowed, shaking Huzair so easily and fiercely that the wizard may as well have been made from sticks and straw for all the effort it required on the dwarf's part. With a finally violent thrust, he sent the mage onto his backside in the mud. "Chaos surrounds us, and you waste time attacking Morier. If you want to fight someone, go out in the woods and slay some transmogrified beasts. Slay the taint that encroaches this land."

Huzair started to say something, but Karak cut him off with a axe-like chop of his arm. "I don't know who raised you or where you come from, but in my clan, you do nae strike a fellow clansman!" the dwarf growled. "A strike upon such fellow is a strike upon the clan itself. May the very rocks that stand bear witness to this statement: fighting a fellow is met with the ultimate punishment, and if it happens again I will mete that punishment out upon you, Huzair, or die tryin'."

"And you..." the dwarf said, turning so suddenly that even the steely nerved albino twitched in surprise. Karak flexed his arm, tugging Morier off balance and sending him ultimately into the mud beside Huzair. "A fighter with a powerful sword ye be, but to allow a half-naked wizard whup ya in hand-to-hand combat is an' elf-kissin' crime! Why me baby nephew coulda done better!" He paused long enough to spit a thick glob of the phlegm he always seemed to have in such ready supply. He sliced his hand through the air with finality.

"An' that's it. I have laid low in the martial training o' this group until now. Ayremac has smartly asked about martial skill and I can see now you need more of it too," he squinted at Morier, his lip curling behind his mustache. "I will teach ye dwarven tunnel fightin' if ye have the courage and skill to learn it." He looked up at Ixin and Ayremac and added, "That goes to all of ye. Anyone wantin' to learn how to fight - I mean really fight - then I'll train ye!"

He didn't wait for an answer before he looked back at Morier, who remained on the ground, stunned by the dwarf's outburst. "The swordsmanship ye be trainin' Shamalin in I do nae agree with, but I'll admit it is a fightin'' style. It's just nae dwarven," he said shaking his head in disgust. "But this... getting yer arse kicked by a wizard who used no spell? I can barely stand to look at ye. Now get up and get ye some armor. Yer training begins later." 

Then Karak stamped the thirty feet back to where he'd buried his waraxe in the ground, picked it up and flicked the mud off of the blade with a single sharp motion of his arm. Then he stomped off in the direction that both Shamalin and Premarch D'rach had gone, a muttered litany of dwarven curses following in his wake.



After a few moments, Ayremac and Ixin moved toward the two former combatants. Ayremac offered a hand to Morier, but the eldritch warrior ignored it and clambered unceremonious to his feet. Without looking at any of the others he walked away, in a direction different from the one that the others had taken. Ayremac looked from the albino's back down to his own hand still extended uselessly. The hand curled into a tight first and a shadow clouded his inhumanly beautiful face for a moment before he spread his wings and took to the air.

Huzair watched him shoot skyward as Ixin hauled him to his feet, asking, "What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking if I got him from behind, I could knock him out quickly," the wizard replied, snidely. He gingerly touched his bloodied lip. "I should have focused more on the head shots." Ixin shook her head in disgust.

"You know what I mean, Huzair," she said, her forehead creased with consternation. "What could Morier have possibly said to make you attack a comrade?" Huzair looked away, toward where Morier had disappeared among the other huts.

"He insulted my father," the mage admitted. "I do not even know who my parents are. He knows that and was being cruel." Then the mage's face hardened and he looked back at Ixin. "He also knows that I do carry my weight in the party. Who was attacked first by the theives? Feln and I. Who did the octopus monster attack in the water test? Me. I am in danger as much as anyone. But if I were going to go hand-to-hand, I would wear some godsdamned armor!" This last he shouted in the direction that Morier had gone and Ixin sighed.

"How do you suppose it looks to our hosts that we attack our own?" the drakeling asked, gesturing around to the other huts. "How can we expect them to trust us when we can't trust each other?"

"Probably bad. But it was just a fight," Huzair said. "You are right, though; I do not trust Morier's judgement with regards to battle. He runs in like the dwarf, but does not even think to wear armor. If he wants to be a fighter, he needs to dress like one. Then, perhaps, he would not need to monopolize Shamalin's healing."

"And whom do you suppose will heal you now, my friend?" Ixin asked as Huzair looked at the wetness slicking his fingertips. He snorted and wiped his hand on his cloak.

"I will take care of myself," the mage told her. "I guess I better go stock up on potions. I could use some nice new clothes too, while I'm at it." Ixin wasn't ready to let Huzair change the subject so easily, however.

"I don't see how that display has solved anything between you and Morier," she said, crossing her muscular arms over her not inconsiderable chest. "Have you considered actually talking with one another?"

"Talk?" Huzair scoffed. "Bah! He is so full of himself - cannot see the trees from the forest." Ixin shrugged and laid a hand on the wizard's shoulder. 

"Sounds like you need to say some of these things to your old friend instead of to me in a language he can't understand," she said sagely. "Morier is a good man. He would listen if he knew how you really felt."


----------



## Burningspear

cool


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

I suspect Ayremac did more damage to Shamalin than Huzair and Morier did to each other. Ixin's getting more face time as well, is this a portend?


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Ixin's getting more face time as well, is this a portend?




As a matter of fact... A _Ring of Wordtwisting_ is in her futiure.


----------



## Burningspear

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> As a matter of fact... A _Ring of Wordtwisting_ is in her futiure.




Sounds like a version of a "translation device", but i am not sure if it is beneficiary or not


----------



## Jon Potter

Burningspear said:
			
		

> Sounds like a version of a "translation device", but i am not sure if it is beneficiary or not




Quite so. It's based on an item from Savage Species and functions almost exactly as her old sword did: Persistant Tongues effect. The Ring also has some minor bonuses to (I think) Bluff and Diplomacy... of maybe Intimidate.

I can't remember exactly without having my notes in front of me.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #405] Repercussions*

Morier had walked maybe ten or fifteen paces before he stopped and stared at the ground for a full minute before finally spinning on his heel and looking back toward the members of the group who seemed to have dispersed in every direction. The fog of anger and rage was wearing off and it began to sink in that Lord Hofralix would need to have his say on this rather ugly matter. And if they were lucky it would only mean that he and Huzair would be escorted to the edge of town and told not to return.

"Not the first time," he sighed to himself, "and probably not the last." 

And while he suspected that, given the nature of their host, the fact of their expulsion would probably be immutable, he hoped that a proper apology to Lord Hofralix would go some distance in maintaining whatever good faith the sovereign had toward the rest of the party. He looked in the direction that Shamalin had headed off, and saw Premarch D'rach scampering up the hill after her, followed by the almost whimsical figure of Karak stomping along after both of them.

"Huzair," he called out as he approached. "Come with me, and for the love of Kael, please don't talk. We need to go see if I can keep our hides out of a jail cell for the rest of our stay here." He hoped he was overstating the situation, but Hofralix was a diffcult read, and jail didn't seem an entirely-out-of-the-question penace in this quirky place.

Ixin, her eyes narrowed stepped protectively in front of Huzair, no doubt expecting Morier to attack the mage. The albino held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, and to show his good faith toward Huzair, he smiled a barely discernible smile and added; "I'd rather not have a repeat of the results of the weekend of the Third Moon Festival. What was her name again? Bellerica Something-or-Other?"

Huzair looked at him skeptically for a moment before returning the grin. "No way," he said as they started to walk. "Bellerica was at the harvest dance. You're thinking of Theophite. And I still say her father was over-reacting."

Morier nodded and elbowed Huzair in the ribs, grinning. "I love it when we make Karak foam at the mouth," he said and they both laughed.

Somewhat bewildered, Ixin watched the two men walk away acting as if nothing had happened.



The dwarves of Oerune were well-known for many things: metal-working, stonecraft, battle prowess and the ability to nurse a grudge for a long, long time. The enduring animosity between dwarves and elves was the result of an insult the elves had made to a dwarven ambassador eight generations earlier. A war had been fought over the sleight, and the fruits of that conflict continued to poison relations between the dwarves and elves to this day. But luckily for Morier and Huzair, Karak wasn't like many of his brethren in that regard and once his rage was vented it quickly dissipated.

By the time he'd caught up to Shamalin and Premarch D'rach outside of the the public bathhouse, he actually felt much better about the Order and his place in it. Once he started training them in martial tactics, he felt sure they would all benefit.

"You may find towels and collect your clothing on the way out," D'rach was explaining to Shamalin, indicating a door on the right hand face of the squat building. "Be warned that the tiles between the caldarium and the tepidarium are slick and the steam within limits visibility somewhat so be careful. And do not hesitate to ask one of the other bathers for assistance should you need it."

"Shamalin, before ye go minglin' with the locals I need ye to go with me to trade in our booty," Karak called as he stamped up to the pair. "I mean in a dwarven settlement, I can hold me own, but 'ere I do nae know how my charm will come across if ya know what I mean. You on the other hand have yer own charm and a magical item to boot." He indicated the silver circlet she wore in her hair.

"Must it be now?" the cleric asked, disgust evident on her face. "After that display from Morier and Huzair, I feel like I need a good washing." Karak nodded his agreement.

"I settled things between them after ye left," the dwarf told her and Premarch D'rach bowed deferentially.

"Be that as it may, the sovereign will wish to pass judgment on the pair," the Premarch explained. "They have violated the laws of New Mellorell and that cannot go unpunished. If you will excuse me." He hurried off while Karak and Shamalin regarded each other ruefully.

"Perhaps we should hurry," Shamalin suggested. "Things may not be friendly around here for us for too much longer."



"There is no possible vindication for our behavior, Lord Hofralix," Morier said to the sovereign under the baleful gaze of the beholder's anti-magic eye. "We are all very much on edge, the weight of our task is great, and we grow weary of the endless evil we confront at every turn, but I do not excuse these as compelling reasons to subject you and your people to the barbaric behavior my brother in arms and I have displayed. It is my hope that you will accept our apology and allow Huzair and I to depart New Mellorell of our own accord immediately, while the others in our party remain behind to outfit themselves for our journey."

Lord Hofralix rumbled contemplatively, his central eye narrowing as he considered. "The penalty for such an outburst by a citizen is hard labor for a first offense," the beholder said and Ixin saw Huzair stiffen although she did not, of course, understand Hofralix's words. "However, it is my hope that we can work together to defeat our common enemy, so, in the interest of diplomacy I will agree to your terms with one addendum: you two will be watched so long as your companions remain in New Mellorell. If you violate this sentence in any way, whether by attempting to reenter New Mellorell or by attempting to circumvent your monitors, you will be subject to the full extent of our laws and your companions will be exiled from the eyehold."

Morier nodded and Hofralix asked, "Do you have anything further to say before this sentence is executed?"

"No, sir," the albino told him, bowing his head.

Huzair started to speak then wisely reconsidered. "I have nothing to say in my defense," he said.

"Then so it shall be," the eye tyrant said with finality as armed guards came forward, laying hands on the compliant Morier and Huzair. "Morier Tulien and Huzair Blacksmoke you have been found guilty of creating a public disturbance. The sentence for said crime shall be banishment from New Mellorell for a period not less than one year and not to exceed ten years. You may petition for admittance to New Mellorell upon the anniversary of your conviction. Take them away."

The guards started to usher the two men out of Lord Hofralix's audience chamber and Ixin began to piece together at least a bit of what was going on. "Huzair, what is happening?" she asked in Draconic, clutching at his arm. He looked at her glumly.

"Looks like I am not going to be visiting any local wizard to get some new spells, that is what is happening," he groused. "Morier and I are being exiled."

"What!?" she shouted, stricken by the implication. "That was a selfish thing you did fighting Morier like that! How in the hells am I supposed to communicate with anyone now?"

Huzair shrugged, looking back over his shoulder. "I will have to make it up to you."

"Can you at least tell Shamalin and Karak that I need a communication device as quickly as possible?" Ixin shouted after him, but she could see it was futile. As he and Morier were shuffled away, the full weight of her isolation began to settle onto her heart.

"Perhaps you and I could speak for a time," Lord Hofralix said behind her in Draconic. She turned to see the beholder smiling genteelly at her. "If there is something that you need, I am sure we could come to an arrangement that does not hinge on the presence of your chaotic friend."


----------



## Burningspear

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> "Perhaps you and I could speak for a time," Lord Hofralix said behind her in Draconic. She turned to see the beholder smiling genteelly at her. "If there is something that you need, I am sure we could come to an arrangement that does not hinge on the presence of your chaotic friend."




Kewl, she finally has more ppl to speak to naturally


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Who approved your vacation mister? 

Looks like Lord Hofralix whimped out on the sentencing, I think Huzair could use some hard labor.


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Who approved your vacation mister?




Yeah... sorry. sorry. I just got back into town yesterday evening and it's taking life a little while to fall back into place.



> Looks like Lord Hofralix whimped out on the sentencing, I think Huzair could use some hard labor.




Yep. I agree. It was tough to strike a balance between realism and fun. I'm not sure if I got things just right on that one, but I tried.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #405a] Repercussions II*

"So... " Karak intoned, thunking his waraxe onto the Mellorn artificer's workbench and staring up into the man's eyes - of which he had three. "What'll it take to upgrade my baby, 'ere?" The artificer's hand stretched out to delicately touch the weapon's haft.

"That depends... " he began, and Karak cut him off.

"Right now she is a fine blade. Sharp as an axe and upon command she can brim with frost," the dwarf explained and the artificer arched an eyebrow, unsure of whether Karak was making a joke. "What I am looking for is for her to be extra sharp and not lose 'er edge and... well... umm... " Karak seemed embarrassed then and he looked guiltily at Shamalin as if he regretted asking her to join him on the outing.

"Yes?" the artificer prompted and Karak blurted out, "I need her to be Holy!" The three-eyed man's expression grew guarded and he drew his fingertips away from the weapon, his mouth pressing tight.

"Now I know you can nae make her holy, nae being a cleric, an' all, but I need you to inscribe the rune so after I do the appropriate thingie she becomes holy. Okay?" Karak went on, his cheeks flushed crimson. "And stop looking at me that way!" he snapped at Shamalin, causing the cleric to jump. She held up her hands in surrender.

"I'm not doing anything," she said, prompting a harrumph from the dwarf.

"I think you misunderstand the methods necessary to augment the enchantment on your weapon," the artificer explained once attention had returned to him. "It is within my power to give your axe a magically keen edge, but, as you surmise only a priest can imbue a weapon with holy power. And it is not a simple matter of inscribing a rune and sending you on your way. Any enchantments must be made during the crafting process, while the weapon is open to the magic. We have priests in New Mellorell, but I doubt that you will find one of them capable of invoking the necessary miracle."

Karak scowled, and stole a look at Shamalin from the corner of his eye. "Well, get to work on what ye can an' I'll see what I can do about findin' a priest."



Ayremac winged over New Mellorell, taking in what little he could from above. Most of the city was hidden by the trees, but he could see the archery range set apart in a clearing. He could make out Raf there giving a lesson to some adult humans and a few elf children but he avoided that area. He wasn't quite ready to talk more with his old friend. Instead he banked to the north where he spied the orderly rows of an orchard. A lone elvish figure moved amidst the trees, gathering deadwood into bundles. Ayremac swung around so that his shadow fell across the man as he descended, announcing his presence before he dropped down onto the turf nearby.

"Hello sir, my name is Ayremac," the holy warrior said in elvish as he folded his wings and approached. "I am a guest of your lord." The elf paused long enough to nod before bending to pick up another branch.

"We were told of your presence," the elf said without interest. 

"Would you speak with me a spell?" Ayremac asked hopefully and the elf looked up dully.

"I have work to do," he said. "But we were told to make your stay a comfortable one so much as we could. How may I help you?"

"We are here for a short stay before heading off to take the battle to Lord Hofralix's enemies and I am trying to figure how best to use my time," Ayremac explained and the man's face betrayed no interest. "Could you recommend an armorer? Or possibly a holy man who could wash me with some blessings?"

"I have little use for armorers, but there are several of them a ways south of here," the elf answered, gathering his bundle under one arm and pointing with his other. "Near the community stores in the center of town."

"And a holy man?" Ayremac prompted. The elf stooped to pick up another stick and then squinted at him.

"I don't have much use for them either," he replied blandly. "But you can find the temple to the Great Mother near the standing stones on top of Hag's End Bluff."

"Thank you, good sir-" the Officer of Umba paused, grinning sheepishly. "I'm sorry. I forgot to ask your name. Who are you, again?"

"My name is Clelildor Glilmalad Haar," he replied politely. Then politely bent to grab another stick for his bundle.

"How did you come to be here?" Ayremac pressed and the elf looked around, confused.

"Today it is my job to collect fallen branches for the community stores. I collect branches every Anarya." Ayremac smiled thinly.

"Interesting," he lied and the elf shrugged.

"If you say so," Clelildor replied. "It is my job on Anarya."

"Wow. That's... great," Ayremac feigned enthusiasm as Clelildor walked several paces away to gather another stick into his fagot. "So what have you learned under Lord Hofralix?"

Clelildor looked at Ayremac and thrust out his wan chin. "I have learned the value of working together. I have learned how my own selfish and petty desires ultimately undermine the collective desires of New Mellorell. How the works of one directed toward his own scattered purposes amounts to nothing, but the works of many directed toward a singular purpose can accomplish anything."



"Hey, lass remember when we were upgradin' me axe and I mentioned lookin' to make her holy?" Karak asked as they walked back in the direction of the bathhouse.

"Just now?" Shamalin asked, confused since they were only a few dozen paces removed from the smithy.

"Aye!" Karak nodded then asked, "Do you know exactly how to do that?" Before she could answer he pressed on and Shamalin sensed that he had a lot on his mind. She kept her face serene and let him work through it at his own pace. There was little chance of stopping him once he got started anyway.

"My sense is by making the axe holy I will be even better at smiting those that are evil or tainted by the chaos," he went on, his hands tightening into fists. "Now if Malak were 'ere he would know exactly what to do. He seemed always so connected to Shaharizod. But not me! I feel like a fish outta water. I mean, I just be a plain an' simple fighter. Yea it be true that sometimes I lose my cool in a fight, but that is often times to my advantage." He sighed looking down at his calloused and battle-scarred hands. "But these... I do nae know how to really lay hands on people. The few times I had ta, it was really Malak actin' through me, I just know it." He lowered his hands and shook his shaggy head, chortling a little at his admission. "I mean I 'hav 'eard from the Queen, but I really think she just be forgettin' I'm Karak, not Malak."

Shamalin stopped walking and smiled genuinely at the dwarf. For as long as she had known him, Karak's passion had been his axe. And, ironically, she took comfort in the purity of that devotion. But, it seemed, that there were other relationships at work in that as well. "Do you really believe that your queen mistakes your identity?" She spoke thoughtfully. "Could it be that you are uncomfortable following a path so similar to your chalak? Such a choice would not force you to measure yourself against Malak. Or anyone else."

"I do nae know. But alas, I know this, I be wantin' to upgrade me axe by makin' her holy and to do that I have to have something religious," he said. His lips twisted into a sour pucker as if he found the words distasteful. "So, since you be now our resident cleric - who I know Malak would have been proud to call friend - I come askin': what do I do?" Shamalin laid a gentle hand on the dwarf's shoulder.

"I wish I could help you, Karak, but what you request is far beyond my abilities. Once, long ago, I might have had the potential to grow in that direction, but I made different choices." The cleric smiled, remembering. But in a matter of seconds, the smile faded. "The consequences of which have been far different than I could have imagined. Yet it gladdens my heart that you believe me capable of such an act." Karak's shoulders sagged under her words and Shamalin felt painfully how much hope he'd placed on her assistance.

She sighed, glancing resolutely in the direction of their dwellings as a decision manifested in her heart. "Come, Karak. I know who can help you. And I think it will be good for you both."


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

This update reminds me of a part of Goblin Quest, have you read that book? 

In that a goblin wants to learn magic, well arcane requires studying so that's out, but divine just requires a belief. So the goblin has the bard tell him stories of forgotten and/or long lost gods and he picks one to put his belief/faith in and.... well I won't spoil it if you haven't read it. 

But Karak's "quest" here reminds me of that.


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> This update reminds me of a part of Goblin Quest, have you read that book?




Have not read it, but it sounds interesting.



> But Karak's "quest" here reminds me of that.




Well... Karak's "quest" is strictly RP on his player's part. Mechanically speaking, Karak _has_ a level of Cleric whether he wants to admit it or not.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #405b] Repercussions III*

Shamalin scanned the sky, shielding her eyes from the bright sun. "I'm sure he's up there somewhere... " After a moment the small dot which was Ayremac became visible, glinting silver against the blue sky. Feeling a little foolish, Shamalin waved her arms attempting to get his attention. The holy warrior, however, did not change his direction or indicate he was aware of their presence. Even Karak's booming voice had no effect. After several frustrating moments, Shamalin resorted to a _Sending_. "Ayremac, come down here!" As an afterthought she added, "Please?"

"What is it?" his voice spoke into her ear, words tinged with concern. "Are you in danger? I'm on my way."

Belatedly it occurred to her that she might have offered some explanation to the man in her initial contact. It was too late for that now and she couldn't give it to him without casting the spell again, something she couldn't do until the 'morrow. Able to do little else, the Officer of Umba began an immediate descent in their direction. Karak stood solidly and watched the approach with interest. Shamalin, however, had witnessed Ayremac's landings before. Not knowing what effect her spell would have on his relatively new skills, she stepped behind the dwarf and prepared to bolt out of the way if need be.

Her fears were unfounded, and Ayremac landed gracefully. Still, she was relieved to have Karak between them, however, as she noted the look of consternation on Ayremac's face at being summoned without explanation. Windblade was barely visible in the Officer's fist. 

"There's no cause for alarm," she assured him quickly. "Karak needs to speak with you about something." Ayremac's face softened and his sword disappeared into its scabbard as he looked expectantly to the dwarf.

"Nice landing," Karak said awkwardly. He turned to look up at Shamalin. 'Go on' she seemed to indicate with a smile.

"Umm... seeing those two numbskulls fightin' made me come to a conclusion" Karak said awkwardly, still looking at the Mercybringer as if the proper words might magically appear written across her forehead. "That I need to be bringin' the fight to Chaos more... and the way to do that I figure is to upgrade me axe."

"That seems like a sound conclusion," Ayremac agreed, his tone somewhat wary. "But what does that have to do with me?"

"Aye. That be the question," the dwarf grunted. "Now normally, I know, to um... ah... bring it to a Dwarven Runesmith or other Runesmith... which is what I done mind ya, but he tells me that... um... I need to bring it to a Cleric for... a religious ceremony or somethin'." Karak's face twisted awkwardly as he forced out the word 'religious' as if it tasted of goblin wine.

"That is true," the holy warrior nodded. "The Justiciars of Umba have made potent weapons to fight Chaos in the past. Some enchantments can only be accomplished through divine providence."

"So I brought her to Shamalin... um... you know... our Cleric," the dwarf indicated Shamalin with a nod of his head. "But she nae able to do it... So... I'm told you can make it holy."



It was quiet in the temple and the elven priest's eyes flickered to Shamalin momentarily as she entered the sanctuary, alerted to her arrival by her footfalls. There was something confrontational in the priest's eyes - hostile even. She had been given permission to observe the local healing rite while Karak attended to business at the smithy, but wasn't sure how she would be received by the actual religious members. And entering the sacred space, she was glad to have taken off her armor. The clanking steel shell seemed to have no place in the darkened interior of the temple. Even the swish of her plain white robes' hem on the stone floor seemed an intrusion to the pregnant hush that filled the place.

Ayremac stepped in behind her, also stripped of armor, looking a bit as Shamalin remembered him from olden days, in a white merchant's shirt and tailored pant. Every crinkle from the soles of his leather slippers made Shamalin wince but Ayremac did not seem as bothered. His order was not so keen on silence as some, and he did not even realize his disturbance.

As Shamalin advanced toward the array of benches, she made a point to push her strawberry blonde locks back behind pointed ears as if asserting her right to be in attendance. It was a curious sensation - accentuating that which Blackheart had sought to mar forever with his knife. With a shiver, she moved silently into place in the back and bowed her head respectfully. Ayremac sat down beside her and in a hushed whisper began, "The architecture is beau-" but Shamalin quickly put a finger to his lips and glared at him in that manner that only a woman ever truly masters. Ayremac closed his mouth and said nothing more, doing his best to retreat into the background.

"Iä! Iä! Shub-Niggurath, c'fhalma fhtagn syha'h-ebumnagl," the high priest cried, so suddenly that Shamalin jolted upright in her seat. His words were a shriek in the silent temple, a plea for divine attention, she assumed. The words made no sense whatever to the mercybringer. "Ya shtunggli!"

"Sll'ha-gn'wgn-ll'ah-sgn'wahl... " the other elves around the altar muttered, their own voices every bit as low and sibilant as the priest's words were strident. The intonations seemed only half-uttered, the suggestions of words rather than words themselves and the litany continued as the priest went on, underscoring whatever it was he was saying. "Sll'ha-gn'wgn-ll'ah-sgn'wahl... "

"Ya sil'ha! Ya stell'bsna sgn'wahl shaggoth! Ng-wk'hmr r'luheeh!" the priest continued his oration, anointing the broken body on the low altar before him. It looked to be that of a young male. The words weren't elvish, of that much Shamalin was certain, but beyond that she could make out nothing; they seemed to be bits of speech divorced from true language. She listened, very intrigued, as he began to place his hand above various places on the unmoving body - close, but never touching. It did not seem to be a spell that the priest evoked. It was as if he spoke an invitation addressing the energy surrounding him, something unseen that listened and watched.

"Hafh'drn uln! Ooboshuyar yagl hai! Ftaghu naflehye! Iä! Iä!" His words were strangely, incongruously melodious - a continuous stream of fragments and syllables that seemed ill-suited to humanoid lips but still managed to suggest a coming harmony. 

The air in the temple so dark and still mere moments before seemed alive now, and Shamalin curiously noted the hair on her arm prickling with anticipation. Responding to some cue within the ritual that she could not fathom those around the altar began to chant more loudly, their voices rising with fervor with each alien syllable.

"Sll'ha-gn'wgn-ll'ah-sgn'wahl! Sll'ha-gn'wgn-ll'ah-sgn'wahl!"

She felt an unexpected surge of emotion and realized that her voice was straining to add itself to the chanted mantra. But she knew that would be a terrible intrusion, and instead she clamped her jaw tightly shut and craned her neck to get a better view. There was something curious happening to the air around the altar. It seemed to be drawing back away from the priest as if the entirety of the temple apart from him were merely projected onto a sheet and a hand was tugging that sheet away from the priest. As it peeled away from him, it left him looking... harsher. To Shamalin it seemed that all of the subtleties in his appearance disappeared; every line and crease in his clothing was defined and emphasized, every curve become an angle, every color grown more vibrant, every shadow more impenetrable. He was sharp and clear and harsh and it made her eyes ache to dwell on him too long. All the while he chanted.

"C'fhalma fhtagn syha'h-ebumnagl!" The words of the priest (now just another string of slippery sounds amidst the cacophony) increased in intensity and, at the exact moment the attendant voices peaked in crescendo, he clapped his hands together over the body and the entire room fell silent. The air around the priest snapped back, softening the harsh planes of his form into more natural shapes. An expectant pause followed, and a moment later the figure on the dais stirred ever-so-slightly. Immediately, the robed attendants moved briskly to pick up the elf body, whisking him away through a side archway. The priest knelt in silent meditation, apparently spent by his efforts. There was something haggard and brittle about his face and shoulders and Shamalin realized just then that she was holding her breath.

She let it out quietly and took the opportunity to steal away, excited and mystified by what she had seen. Clearly these elves had healing powers she knew nothing about. And, in spite of the efforts she had made to forge a new bond with her goddess, Shamalin couldn't help but wonder: was there some level of elven magic capable of righting the broken pathways of her own soul? Ayremac followed her out, saying nothing. He sensed that Shamalin had been moved by the experience more then he had and - as he had ever done - gave her the space and time she needed to address whatever inner turmoil she held in her heart.



"Oi, Morier? Morier?" Karak shouted into the _Ring of Communication_ as he leaned against the firepit in the sunken hut he now shared with just Ayremac. He'd left his armor at the smithy and he was dressed in tunic and jerkin, the holy warrior was likewise unencumbered by his mail, but he wore some kind of robe that reminded Karak of something his brother might have worn. The Officer of Umba was kneeling in prayer before his portable altar, his back to the dwarf; he couldn't see the sneer twisting the fighter's lips.

"I'm here, Karak," the eldritch warrior's voice replied, sounding as if he was standing directly behind the dwarf rather than outside the bounds of New Mellorell. "How are you faring in town?"

"Listen, did you get your armor upgraded?" Karak asked, ignoring the question.

"Ah... no," Morier answered, his tone was surprised.

"No?" Karak barked, sitting up and shouting at his fist as if it were the elf's face.

"I was exiled, Karak," the albino said and the dwarf nodded.

"Oh... of course... " Karak shook his head in disgust. "I'd forgot ye wanted to roll around in the mud wi' your boy lover." He harrumphed and Morier sighed over the _Ring_.

"Look, Karak, was there a point to your contacting me or did you just want to give me another dressing down?" the elf asked. "There's not a lot to do out here, but I'm sure I can find something better than getting yelled at for something I didn't start." The note of annoyance n Morier's voice was plainly evident to Karak.

After a stubborn moment, the dwarf said, "Fine. So what did you decide you needed? Let me know an' I'll make sure to get it." There was a pause on Morier's end, then.

"I don't know," he said finally and the note of annoyance grew even more evident. "It's not like I can just get something off the rack! I've got to worry about spell failure... and if it's too heavy it'll slow me down... " Karak sighed again.

"Like the boy's elf-kissin' mother, I am," he muttered and scratched his beard. "I saw a nice mithril breastplate down there when I dropped off me axe. It'll nae be cheap, but would that suit ye?"

"Yes!" Morier said at once, annoyance turned suddenly to excitement. "Thank you, Karak. I-"

"Listen, I need to talk ta Huzair," the dwarf interrupted and he waited while Morier traded the _Ring of Communication_ with the wizard.

"This is Huzair," the mage's voice said.

"Huzair, it's Karak. I've been doin' an inventory of our magic loot and I noticed when I add it up that you have a nice haul. I think ye need to turn some items into the pot. Me axe is going to be expensive," Karak said bluntly into the _Ring_. 

"I cannot quite make out what you are saying," Huzair replied after only a moment's pause. "You want to buy a pot? What for? Are you going to cook?" Karak's teeth ground together loudly in the chamber, color reddening his cheeks.

"Do nae try them shards wi' me, wizard! I know ye can hear me!" the dwarf shouted into the Ring. "Now ye'll have to part wi' some o' the booty ye've squirreled away, an' that's all there is to it!"

"I did get the fire blade, but I earned it," Huzair said lightly. "I do not see much else. How about those gems? Except the pearls; we should keep those for _Identification_ purposes. Sound good?" Karak thought that it didn't sound very good at all.

"All I know is this: that magic dagger ye've got stuffed away is worth enough all by itself to nearly pay for me axe," Karak answered. He labored to keep his voice even. "I am nae sayin' don't keep it, but if ye're just holdin' onto it because it be magical, then I say throw it in the pot. That alone will buy a lot of supplies." A long pause followed. So long that Karak thought for a heartbeat that Huzair might have taken off the _Ring_ to escape the conversation, but at last the mage returned.

"Oh, all right" he relented. "But get me a less powerful magic dagger if you can."

"Aye!" Karak replied. "I'll see if I can get one of Hofralix's men to head out to ye in the mornin' to retrieve what we're wantin' to sell. Good night to ye!" Without waiting for a reply he took off the _Ring of Communication_ and got to his feet. His pallet of skins looked very inviting and he spared a bitter glance at Ayremac before settling onto them wearily. The holy warrior's devotion reminded Karak painfully of the day he and Malak had left Dwurheim. He remembered watching his brother hunched reverently over a shrine to Shaharizod while he lurked in the corridor feeling unwelcome in the Silver Queen's presence.

He pondered briefly the irony of what he now needed to improve his axe and how easily it would have been had his brother still been at his side.



The next day a Mellorn elf returned from Karak's errand with a sizable bundle of gear from Huzair and Morier. A note was affixed to the bundle that read simply: "You are a pain in my ass, dwarf."


----------



## Burningspear

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> "You are a pain in my ass, dwarf."





:ROFL:


----------



## Jon Potter

Burningspear said:
			
		

> :ROFL:




That was prety much my reaction, as well.

I hope that these little interludes aren't too boring for readers. There's at least one more before the group departs New Mellorell.


----------



## Burningspear

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> That was prety much my reaction, as well.
> 
> I hope that these little interludes aren't too boring for readers. There's at least one more before the group departs New Mellorell.




hehe, and no, 
your "interludes" are not boring in the least, it is realistic to me, we read the same "up-and-downs" regarding "action" in books as well, people need "days off" in order to reflect their experience and own life in order to continue being the person they are, 
even in real life....


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #405c] Repercussions IV*

Later, after reuniting with Shamalin and Ixin Karak and Ayremac moved easily along the darkening paths of the forest settlement. It was either that its inhabitants were fully aware of The Order's presence and Hofralix's invitation to avail themselves of the city's services or they simply did not care. The result was the same; the Mellorn were cool and polite but distant, behaving less like individuals than a hive directed towards some singular purpose. It was only when directly confronted that they seemed to manifest individual personalities, and even then it was clear that they preferred being left to their tasks. It was unsettling and served to pointedly drive home the fact that The Order was an outsider here.

The members of the party who remained in town were accomplishing much this day, it seemed. Karak had exchanged many of their excess magical items and a sizable portion of their ready wealth for favors from the craftsmen in town. In addition to securing someone to work on his precious axe, he'd left three suits of armor with the articifers in the smithy for tending - his own, Ayremac's and Shamalin's. Ixin had managed to speak directly to Lord Hofralix himself and extract from him the promise of an enchanted ring from his personal horde. Their next stop was the alchemist's.

"I really have no need of anything here," Shamalin insisted again, eyeing the shop with discomfort. "Perhaps I can meet up with you later... " 

Karak harruffed, "Now, now lassie. Do nae be so quick to dismiss the generosities of our host. Are you sure there be nothing you need to aid in the fight against chaos? Why don't ye just come in a bit and have a look around?" He was already forging forward eagerly. Ayremac touched her lightly on the back and leaned in to whisper, "At the very least you could help carry healing potions for Morier." He grinned wide, his teeth blazingly white and his eyes twinkling with mischief. Shamalin hesitated. 

She knew that such magics existed, of course, but had never actually purchased any herself. How would it be received by her goddess - that the divine connection which Shamalin had worked tirelessly in her heart to reconcile wasn't enough. That now blessings could be bought? She grappled with these ideas as Ayremac held the door for her. "It's ingenuity, Shamalin, resourcefulness - not lack of faith," he said gently, seeming to read her mind. She dropped her eyes and slid past, ashamed that once more the clarity of his faith had underscored her doubt.

Once inside, however, her mood shifted almost instantaneously. The room was ornate and beautiful, meticulously organized and dry with a slight pungent odor that, while undeniably strange wasn't entirely unpleasant. The walls were lined with beautifully carved wooden shelves arrayed with hundreds of glass vials of every color, each carefully organized so that as the eye moved about the place, the colors subtly shifted from one hue to the next rather than assaulting the eye with a hectic riot. Each flask was corked and arranged neatly with small placards depicting the resultant magic: _Cat's Grace_, _Fox's Cunning_, _Owl's Wisdom_, _Magic Fang_. She stared, amazed, as Karak's attempts to get the alchemist's attention by banging on the counter set all the little jars and beakers tinkling. She ran her finger along the edge of one shelf which contained dozens of _Resist Disease_ vials, thinking how paradoxical it was that such remedies existed to be purchased when whole towns were suffering from the blight of Ahpyx. It was an impressive collection of magical potential. 



After nearly an hour, they left the store under the cover of full darkness, each clutching their respective purchases wrapped in oilcloth.

"See, lass," Karak grunted at Shamalin. "That weren't so bad, now was it?" The air was chill enough to turn each word into a puff of steam. The priestess smiled and shook her head.

"It was actually quite... magical," she admitted as they headed off toward their quarters.



Ixin stood along the bluffside wall, leaning against one of the smooth wooden columns supporting the roof and smiling into the wind blowing off Crater Bay. It cooled the heat beneath her skin and drove away the scents of the city. Wood smoke from too many cooking fires competed with the stench of too many unwashed humans jammed into too tight a space in the streets below. But here, in the aptly named Rooftop Inn on the extreme edge of the Old City, the Western Ocean reigned supreme. With her eyes closed the hiss of wind and the roar of surf 500 feet below competed with the cries of gulls hovering above the fishing boats moored at Sordadon out on the bay. Standing thus, she could with little effort imagine herself back on one of the beaches on Blood Tide, far removed from Highgate and all her responsibilities to-

She paused, her eyes opening slowly as confusion began to tug at her features. She couldn't remember the name of the wyrm who held her here, running the Dragon's Claw from the shadows. That seemed foolish; she'd been forced to stand in front of him practically every day while he and his half-blood sons, Drakes-

Again she paused, but this time her brow knitted not in confusion so much as fear. The names of the three half-dragons weren't there. That part of her memory was blank as if someone had burned it away. She could picture the brothers and their lascivious expressions, smell the musk of oiled scales that choked their subterranean lair, but the names? They were just... gone.

She turned to stare at the empty tables of the tavern, panic bubbling up from her stomach. There were food-covered plates set at them, but it was untouched as if the servers had set the bounty in preparation for a feast that had yet to begin. She threaded her way amongst the tables, moving to the opposite rail and looking down the street toward the center of the district.

It was deserted. Or rather it was deserted of living things. Wagons and barrels and street-side food stands all choked the narrow lane as usual, but there were no drovers or teamsters or grocers to be seen. Everything stood ready for use, existing in a prolonged moment of expectation that clutched Ixin's heart like a glacier.

She stepped back, slamming into a table and upsetting its contents onto the slate floor. Earthenware plates shattered and dvergar ale frothed through the air. The sound of the table hitting the floor was shockingly loud in the empty tavern and the drakeling staggered as she fought to retain her feet, slamming into the seaward rail with almost enough force to send herself somersaulting over the side. Gulping desperately at the air, she clutched a wooden column and looked down at Sordadon. It too seemed lifeless. Ships were moored at the wharves that girded its circumference, but they looked deserted. Crates and barrels sat where they'd been left by whatever hands had touched them last.

And she realized that, while she could quite clearly hear the call of seabirds, her keen eyes could see none.

Turning back, her heart thudding hotly in her breast, she gasped. The Obsidian Tower, half the length of the valley away, stood out darkly against the mountains behind, sunlight catching gold on the minaret and it seemed to occupy all her vision. The accursed tower, near which none of sorcerous blood could stand without being struck down, grew closer and larger, pulling her into its glittering blackness as it came. She pushed back at its approach drawing away from the Tower and the nameless, mind-rending dread that filled her guts with ice water. 

She pushed back and over the rail, spinning for a moment in horror before she felt Rhontra's Pull and went plunging down, screaming into fire...


----------



## Burningspear

Nice update yet again, cool, me thinks she is having nightmares...hmmz... o well will see..

the future from the U.K. has touched down again


----------



## Jon Potter

Burningspear said:
			
		

> Nice update yet again, cool, me thinks she is having nightmares...hmmz... o well will see..




You're right. That was kind of a misleading place to break, but the rest seemed a little too slim to stand alone...

Let me just go ahead and post the rest.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #405d] Repercussions V*

The sound jolted Shamalin awake. It took several seconds to remember where she was; still in New Mellorell, as they had been for several days. Disappointed, she looked across the room to the origin of the sound. All was still now; the embers in the firepit and a feint gray radiance creeping in around the edge of the door provided the only light. But it was enough for her night vision to clearly reveal Ixin sitting upright amidst the drift of furs that formed the sorcerer's sleeping pallet, eyes wide open and staring. Ayremac and Karak were on watch; it was close to sun up. Knowing there was no returning to the refuge of her own dream, Shamalin sighed and propped herself upright. The coarse skins offered little comfort, but she gripped the hide tightly around her nonetheless.

"A dream?" she asked and Ixin regarded her silently, unsure of how to answer. Her eyes glowed in the darkness like tiny golden candles. "You've woken every night now the same way. What is it that haunts you?" Shamalin asked.

"Images... of something," the drakeling spoke, Lord Hofralix's _Ring of Word Twisting_ translating her speech into the Common Tongue. "It's all a blur."

She paused and Shamalin thought perhaps she would not continue.

"I think I was running from someone, or something... in another place," Ixin said after a few moments.

"Before?" Shamalin encouraged her gently, coaxing details from the woman.

"Before," Ixin admitted sullenly, quiet desperation coloring her voice. "But... why don't I remember more of the time before? More of my former life?" Shamalin drew her legs up and hugged her knees, resting her chin there.

"A lot's changed for you, Ixin. You died, for goodness' sake," the cleric said. "You should draw strength from your friends. We're here to help you. Morier and Karak both knew you before, didn't they?" Ixin snorted.

"I feel so mixed about Morier and Karak," she said, stretching her diminutive wings languidly as she ruminated. "On the one hand, they are a comfort to me because they do have some familiarity. On the other hand, the fact that they are not more familiar to me is very discomforting." She shook her head sadly and silence pressed in on the sunken hut for a drawn moment and finally Shamalin prompted with a question.

"What can you remember?" she asked in a soft voice and when Ixin responded, her own voice was barely above a whisper.

"I remember feeling incredibly scared, and now I can't even imagine feeling scared like that." She paused, her face screwing up in consternation. "And there was something else, but I can't put my finger on it. It's as if I used to be connected to other beings and now I am disconnected from everyone. Even myself."

Shamalin considered the words. She had not been very successful at bridging the language barrier that Draconic presented. In fact, she had very nearly given up and the cleric wondered what they would be doing right now had Lord Hofralix not given the sorcerer that orcish ring she now wore. Silently, Shamalin resolved to do better getting to know the new Ixin. 

"It must have been awful... " the Florian observed, "being only able to communicate with Huzair." A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth and from across the room Ixin returned the smile in full.

"Let's just say I sensed I was missing a certain... balanced perspective on our experiences," she laughed, a thin, brittle sound in the dark room. After the chuckle subsided she sighed before continuing. "I wonder, if you don't mind the personal question, do you too find that you have less of an... ability.. to be scared since your experience in the manor?"

Shamalin kept her expression void of emotion at the reference to her experience with Blackheart in Miller's Pond, but an icy chill ran through her just the same as her mind went unbidden back to that cold, tiled room. She rubbed unconsciously at her ankle feeling again the dull bite of the manacle that had held her to the foot of the brass tub in which Padgett had endured so horribly. Without effort she could again hear his cries for aid, pleas for the mercy that Shamalin represented but could not give. She remembered shamefully her own relief when he'd been taken finally away, his plaintive moans muted by the closing door. After a time she answered carefully, "To be scared implies that one cares about the outcome of living or dying. In that sense then perhaps there is less fear now." With an effort, she pulled herself back to the present and looked squarely at Ixin. "But that kind of thinking makes one reckless. And we have landed in a cause that cannot afford the luxury of indifference." Ixin nodded without enthusiasm.

"I have heard people say that hate is the opposite of love. But I disagree. It is apathy that is the opposite of love. And the opposite of fear as well perhaps," the drakeling hypothesized, her attention fixed on the _Ring of Word Twisting_. She worked it with her thumb, turning it around and around on her finger. "I have some feeling now. I am just not sure I know what it is. It sounds like you do not have much in the way of feeling left in you. You are clearly a survivor. That is a smart survival strategy."

Light and cold air flooded the hut suddenly as the door was drawn aside and Ayremac stepped in. "It's dawn," he said, directing his comment at Shamalin. The cleric, however, did not meet his gaze even as she got to her feet, casting the fur blankets aside.

"It's no strategy, Ixin." Shamalin sighed, suddenly uncomfortable with the conversation. "Perhaps you don't need to try so hard to make sense of what's been done. It could be that a new purpose has found you, Ixin. Give it time." And without waiting for a response, she shouldered her way past Ayremac and out of the hut, leaving the holy warrior blinking in confusion.

"Did I miss something?" he asked Ixin, baffled by Shamalin's brusque demeanor. The sorcerer glanced up at him and shook her head.

"No," she sighed and laid herself back onto her pallet. "But I did."




A dozen days had passed since the Order had entered New Mellorell and there was a heavy tension as the remaining party members were escorted to the city's limits to reunite with Morier and Huzair. The addition to their ranks of Lord Hofralix's agent, the elf maid Anania Caelrath, made them all ill-at-ease. She said little and seemed capable, but the fact that they had been given no choice but to have her in their midst chafed considerably.

"Of course, I give you a choice. You will take my trusted agent on your quest or you will leave behind the fruits of our partnership," the beholder had said. "She is a solid combatant, so you need not worry about her being a liability. And she will make certain that your actions serve the interests of The Dominion of the Final Forge."



Relief was palpable on both sides as the company parted ways with Premarch D'rach and his retinue. The steward stared at them strangely as the company dispersed their new belongings and prepared for travel. He had seen many things in his years of service to Lord Hofralix, and knew better than to question his sovereign's wisdom, but the idea that this unrefined band of ruffians stood together with the people of New Mellorell against The Dominian of Flesh Reborn was unsettling to say the least. With an expression of disappointment, Anania Caelrath raised her hand in farewell before turning to follow The Order on its way eastward. The Premarch's eyes narrowed and he watched until he felt certain they were well on their way. Then he straightened, adjusting his robes, and signaled the return home with considerably more ardor than was ordinarily his style.



As if by mutual consent, The Order pressed on farther than usual in an effort to put distance between themselves and recent events. None spoke, feeling as if they had a spy in their midst. When Karak finally called a halt to their march, it was nearly dark and they moved quickly to set up camp. Dinner was consumed in silence. For her part Anania seemed unperturbed by their behavior. She ate what food was offered and tended efficiently to her gear, paying particular attention to the exquisite and rune-encrusted longbow she carried with her. Ayremac was the first to break the tension.

"I don't know about you all, but I need a drink," he said. "Karak, how about breaking out that magic cup of yours?"


----------



## Burningspear

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> You're right. That was kind of a misleading place to break, but the rest seemed a little too slim to stand alone...
> 
> Let me just go ahead and post the rest.




No problemo, it does all fit, so thats no point either


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #406a] Origins I*

"Aye, lad," Karak said as he nodded and stomped off to his backpack. Ayremac got up to join him and after a moment's consideration, so did Huzair.

"Drinking is not going to go over well," the wizard hissed, glancing meaningfully at their newest traveling companion. "I am not always one to think things out, but since I got tossed from town for scrapping with Whitey, I am pretty sure that getting loaded with that elven honey around ain't going to fly." Karak harrumphed.

"This nae be Hofralix's city," the dwarf said, producing the _Goblet of Life_ from his pack. He polished the chalice on his sleeve and then handed it to Ayremac. "Fill 'er with water and say the word and it brims with whate'er you need or want." Huzair shook his head.

"Fine. But do not say I did not warn you," he told the two. As Ayremac filled the cup with water from his skin, Huzair glanced again at the elf maid. She seemed unaware of the conversation the three of them were having; her eyes fixed thoughtfully on the fire. "Maybe I can soften her up with some of my charms. I have been known to have a certain way with the ladies." Karak harrumphed again, his eyes rolling in his head as Huzair walked away. 

"So, how are you doing?" the wizard asked as he sidled up to Anania and sat down beside her. The elf blinked at him blandly and slid over enough so that the whole of Huzair's thigh was no longer pressed against her own.

"I am well, thank you," she said. "I trust that you are as well?" Huzair grinned.

"I am just great!" the wizard beamed. "Sitting beside a lovely lady such as yourself? How could I be otherwise?" Anania smiled wanly.

"You flatter me," she said simply. "Among my own people my appearance is merely average." Huzair reached into his Haversack and produced cigars.

"In your present company, you stand out like a flower amongst troll dung," Huzair smiled at her, bringing a cigar to his lips ands she smiled back. Karak stamped over then, his eyes fixed on the elf.

"I will be blunt lass, your Lord Horfralix gave us good company and provided us with the chance to buy wares. For that 'e has my thanks. But we did pay for 'em," he said, his voice just short of its normal full bellow. "I do nae consider meself to be in 'is pocket, nor do my companions. Things seemed a little too 'in order' in yer village there, if'n you get my meanin'. But I have never been no one's lap lizard an' I won' be yours nor your Lord's. Jus'n so we are clear."

"We are," Anania said. "I have no interest in bending you to serve me." Karak narrowed his eyes as he stared at her.

"So why then did your Lord send you with us?" he asked and the conversation around the campfire quieted at once. All eyes turned expectantly to Anania Caelrath and the elf looked back at each of them in turn.

"I am an agent for Lord Hofralix and nothing more," she told him. "The Sovereign desires the elimination of The Dominion of Flesh Reborn and he wishes you and me to accomplish this for him." She smiled sardonically then, fixing her eye on Karak and adding, "So it seems that despite your protests to the contrary you too are a catspaw in all this."

Huzair exhaled a puff of smoke in Karak's face and chuckled, "She's got you there, dwarf." Karak scowled.

"I was chosen because my skills fill a perceived void within your own group. And I harbor no love for the twisted mockeries of the natural order that serve as foot soldiers to the Dominion of Flesh Reborn," Anania went on. "As I said before, I have no interest in subverting you or your purpose. Were that my Lord's intent he would have sent someone amongst you possessed of greater wit and guile. I, however, appreciate bluntness and will strive to be as forthright with you as I am able."

"I will keep nothing from you. If there is something about me that you wish to know, you need but ask," the elf said finally, directing her words to the group as a whole. "I hope that you will extend to me the same courtesy."

Shamalin eyed the new elf warily through the fire. She might have turned down Karak's _Goblet of Life_ on account of this stranger, but it had been an extremely long week. And the liquid was warm in her throat and chest. So, instead, she welcomed the cup as it made its way around the circle. 

While The Order had always suffered from a steady amount of bickering, suddenly the dynamics had been altered. And Shamalin was forced to acknowledge the tinge of regret she was feeling. She yearned for the comfort and familiarity that was once their small troop - however dysfunctional. 

The fact was, she did care for this party - in spite of her effort to keep them all at arms' length. She glanced from one to the next. Karak, single-minded with his passion. Huzair, already having positioned himself next to Anania by the fire. Morier - always so serious. But perhaps a bit less sullen tonight, Shamalin noticed, as he too drank from the goblet. Ixin, relishing her newfound ability to communicate. And, of course, Ayremac. Different now, and yet so much as she remembered him.

It was a vulnerable feeling, to find oneself caring. Shamalin's hand twisted the fine chain around her neck where six rings flecked with obsidian were hidden. Not a good strategy, she chided herself, Ixin's words echoing in her head. And she drank again.

"No more secrets." Morier's voice cut suddenly through the campsite, snatching Shamalin's thoughts away from the past. "If we're going to fight alongside one another and put our lives in each other's hands, we should know the people who's hands our lives are in... I mean really know."

--------------------

OOC- Some origin stories prompted strictly by the players, so how could I argue?


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> OOC- Some origin stories prompted strictly by the players, so how could I argue?




exactly   , I give boons to my players when they come up with their own backgrounds. Makes writing them much easier as well.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #406b] Origins II*

"Aye, lad! Well spoken!" Karak heartily agreed. Taking the cup from Ayremac and passing it to Morier without himself taking a sip, he fixed Anania with an appraising eye. "I reckon that our newest elf be a good place ta start!" Morier took the Goblet and filled it with water.

"No, Karak. I've been as tight-lipped as anyone around here and since it was my idea, I'll tell my story first," the albino said and caused the cup to fill with spiced wine. He drank deeply from the _Goblet_ - one more brace of liquid courage to steel himself, "But if we're to do this, then here are the rules: no interrupting, no pity and no self-pity." He cracked a small smile adding, "And Karak... for the gods' sake, no crying."

Huzair laughed and blew smoke into the night sky. Karak just crossed his arms and scowled. Morier took a deep breath and began.

"It's probably not that hard to imagine from the very beginning that a newborn as pasty-white as I am isn't the most welcome addition to a drow household," he explained, holding his hand up toward the fire so that the shadow it cast fell across his face. "I don't know if they kept me around as long as they did out of denial or fear or just plain spite. But whatever the reason, it was too long." His eyes flickered briefly to Anania, but if the admission of his heritage troubled her in any way it didn't show on her face.

"The most vivid memories I have of being in that house are of my..." he paused, shifting uneasily for a moment or two before taking another gulp of wine and passing the cup to Ixin. "Well... my father, I suppose I have to call him that, as much as it makes my skin crawl to use the title on him. He was as viscious a being as I have ever encountered. I think he spent about as much time trying to beat the color into me as he did trying to beat it out of my mother. Every time it became too much for her to watch and she tried to stop him, he'd turn his fury on her... so finally she just stopped trying to protect me, at least while he was around."

"A very few times when he wasn't around, I can remember her coming into the room and tidying things up with an almost pleasant manner about her. Rarely ever saying a word, but trying in her own way to show me that the evil wasn't all her doing," he said, marveling at the bitter taste this tale left in his mouth. "I think she just wanted me to know that. Not that it mattered."

"I couldn't really tell you with any great deal of accuracy how old I am, because the time with them could have been 200 moons, it could have been 2000... it seemed like a lifetime," the eldritch warrior sighed. "I can remember the strange sense of relief I felt when I realized that they had decided to take me to the surface - to the edge of the Darkwood to leave me to be eaten by bugbears. It still rings in my mind how matter-of-factly my father explained it to her, right there in front of me." He shook his head and smiled sardonically.

"And I suppose that but for Angwyn ap-Llewellyn trolling about the edge of the Darkwood looking for who-knows-what, that's what would have happened. Thats' what they say happens to every Drow child that wanders too far from home," he explained. "Knowing him today, I still have no idea what made him decide to save me. Here's this hermit who wants nothing to do with anyone except Malcom the Druid-who-is-even-crazier-than-him, who suddenly decides he needs to raise an abandoned albino Drow. I know he brought me to an orphanage, and I know that they were prepared to keep me there, but then he came back the very same evening and was ready to bring me home."

"Sometimes I wonder if it was some sort of experiment, some wild idea that he and Malcolm cooked up to see what they could teach this "blank slate". But the both proved to be very kind people... the only real "parents" I've known," the albino mused. "Living with a couple of near-hermits doesn't make a guy a lot of friends, at least not many his own age, so I was always around adults there. MY father's adventurer friends and fellow semi-hermits." 

"There was a half-chagmat kid... Ledare would have known him... supposed to be some hideous freak. He wasn't as bad as everyone in town made him out to be but I suppose I'm not the greatest judge," Morier chuckled darkly. "He was more messed up than I was, so I thought he was great." 

"And of course," he nodded in Huzair's direction. "Trouble with a capital T over there... got me into more fights than any other twelve people I know. I think he used to do it just to entertain himself... knew he could get me to knock the snot out of someone on a moment's notice, or just as often get the snot knocked out of me as quickly. But those stories are for a different night..." His eyes widened as he smiled and his voice trailed off for a moment.

"Anyway, ap-Llewellyn didn't like that I tried to fight with everyone and everything I came across in those days, and figured that if he couldn't make a mage out of me, then maybe Looney Old Arwold Wyverneye could make me into a Ranger or something," he continued. "But he wasn't much older than I was, he was the most short-tempered teacher ever, and he was determined to make me an archer for some odd reason. Couldn't seem to understand that from the first moment I held one, I knew I was meant to have a blade in my hand. I don't think an Eldritch Warrior is something you can learn to be or learn not to be, I think it's something that you've always been... an extension of what you are inside, when battle is the only thing that makes everything clear. You just need someone to help you refine what's already there. In my case that was Leomarcus Darkeyes."

"He's the one who finally helped me control my constant search for a fight. Helped me understand that fighting and hatred are a bad combination for an Eldritch Warrior, that the more you hate your opponent in battle, the greater his advantage." He looked at Shamalin, reminding her with a glance of the conversation they had had when last they'd sparred. "'The lightning doesn't hate the tree,' he used to say 'it has no feeling for it whatsoever, that is the ultimate advantage.' "

"He made me understand that when you fight to destroy something you hate, that the clarity an Eldritch Warrior finds in battle becomes cloudy, and when you fight to protect something you love, the same holds true. I believe that that is the thing that helped me through the Grove of Renewal. It was me and the Grove, no emotions, no feelings... just a test," he said and snorted laughter at the memory. "I sat in the Walk of Air, arguing with Ledare and Feln, trying to convince Ledare to leave me there to die, and trying to talk Feln out of making me use his body as some sort of macabre sleeping bag, but knowing that if they would go and leave me on my own, that I could make it."

"And you did," Ixin said, breaking the 'no interruptions' rule that Morier had set down at the beginning. She seemed lost in memory, staring sullenly into the fire. Morier nodded, understanding that she meant: you did it while I died.

"I did. But it wasn't something that I could have done without the experiences that led me to the Grove," he said, patting Ixin's knee reassuringly. "I spent a lot of time wandering from adventure to adventure with no real vested interest in what I was fighting. But somehow I've ended up here, now, trying in vain to keep you all at arm's length. Trying with even less success not to hate Aphyx and the vile filth that do her bidding. Trying to sort out how I can continue to do this and not let my mind be clouded by the fact that you are all the greatest friends I've had in my lifetime."

He let the words settle, glad that he'd said them but no less unnerved by their significance. He broke the silence by adding, "Except for you Karak. I've never really liked you that much."

Karak mused a bit over that, his mouth making several aborted comments before he stopped, puzzled some more, then finally asked simply, "Why?"


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #406c] Origins III*

Huzair laughed heartily at the dwarf's comment with his cigar clenched in his teeth. Karak just scowled more deeply, confusion evident on his face.

"Heck, when I knew him, he did not much like anyone," the wizard laughed taking the cigar from his mouth and pointing it at Morier. "And you think it was me who got you into fights, is that it? I did enjoy it, but it was not all me. Yes, my sharp tongue is not meant for everyone, but it was the company we kept when you visited us in Farmin. That and your short fuse were more to blame. You are so sensitive, Whitey. Of course, a Lisorian altarboy could get into a fight at the Hungry Vulture." Huzair laughed again.

"And anyway you know you loved it. I have rarely seen such a fight as that time you mixed it up with Brakus, the half ogre, after you ticked him off by complaining about his body odor. He was tossing you around as only a drunken half-ogre in a bar fight can," Huzair recalled, his eyes smoldering with the memory and a white grin splitting his black face. "Then you duck, the brute's arm gets stuck in the wall somehow - who knows how that could happen - then you beat the poor giant nearly to death. I swear if there had not been a visiting healer in the bar poor Brakus would have died and not become the wonderful bouncer he is today. But Kossuth! He did smell! At least you taught him he needs to bathe more than once a year!" Huzair laughed and puffed thoughtfully on his cigar.

"Ah... those were good times," he mused.

"Lettin' someone else do yer fightin' back then too, eh?" Karak chortled before taking a long pull on the chalice. Huzair reached over and took the mug from the dwarf. Taking a swallow of the dark syrup within he made a bitter beer face.

"What the heck is this crap?" he sputtered. "It tastes like Bitchinbrau!"

"Aye! It is! Too strong for ye, lad?" Karak laughed.

"No, it just tastes like it was brewed through a cow, if you know what I mean," the wizard quipped favoring Karak with a wink. The dwarf harumphed and spat on the ground as Huzair refilled the cup with water. He then commanded, "Give me Elverquisst, 1179 vintage!" The Goblet filled with the iridescent beverage and he savored the bouquet.

"Here take a sip, love," Huzair said, thrusting the cup into Anania's slim hands. She started to protest but the wizard added, "I insist."

"I was lucky compared to Morier," Huzair began as he watched the elf maid take a tentative sip of the elven liqueur, smile, and then take a second, more indulgent swallow. He smiled. "I do not have a gods damned clue who my parents are. I was bought as an infant by Taarish to be his son, slave and thief all at once. Sure, I was abused some, but it made me tougher and it was only if I messed up. I hated being a slave to that stupid man, but it was not too bad until I was caught stealing by Garan-Zak." He crossed his legs and ashed into the fire.

"Morier's heard this story before, but I knew his, too and it didn't stop him from waxing on and on," he said, smirking at the albino. "Me and my "brothers" had heard that this old wizard had gone off on an adventure and came back very ill. We figured it was a good time to rob his home." Karak snorted derisively at that and Huzair shrugged.

"We were kids raised by a guild thief," he said by way of explanation before picking up the thread of his story. "So we watched him leave and he looked horrible - like the life had been scared out of him. We snuck into his house and riffled through his belongings, not finding much, truth be told, until we came across his workshop and found out where he had been spending his money. When I touched his book shelf, a stone golem came to life and I swear it was going to crush us! Not too hard for a golem fighting a group of kids, not one of whom was older than ten. But before it could squish us all I heard some words and then none of us could move; Garan-Zak had returned and he was not happy. You see, he had gone to see a healer regarding the energy drain he'd suffered at the hands of Acererak, the Devourer, and was none too pleased at having to cut the visit short to deal with us. It seemed someone had set off a magical alarm and we were damned lucky he teleported back or we would have been flattened by that golem, no question!" Huzair laughed at the memory, picked a spot of tobacco off his tongue and cast it into the fire. With some disappointment he saw that Anania had passed on the cup, and it had settled once more in Ayremac's hands. 

"Well, he wanted to know who we were, obviously, so he interrogated us separately." He grinned, practically glowing with pride as he told them, "The other boys cried like sissies and told him everything. But not me. I did not blink an eye when he held his flaming hand to my head. I knew he would not kill me or be cruel. I could see it in his eyes, so I said: go ahead, wizard, I can take your best!" He chuckled, surveying the group's reaction. He saw Morier cock a knowing eyebrow and felt some of the pride drain out of him.

"Oh... and... well... fire does not scare me all that much," he added, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. He puffed thoughtfully on his cigar for a few seconds and then exhaled a trio of smoke rings, watching them drift apart on the night breeze before continuing.

"Garan-Zak informed me that my friends had told him everything: that we worked for Taarish and that we were there to steal his loot. I was livid that my friends had told," he growled, the muscles in his jaw fluttering beneath the ebon flesh on his cheeks. His eyes seemed to magnify the firelight as he relived the moment. "We were sure to be severely beaten for betraying Taarish. I was half-hoping that the wizard might strike back at the man before he could lay hands on me again so I asked him if he was going to go after Taarish but he said, 'No, you are going to tell him what happened. And tell him if I ever catch him or any of his 'sons' around here again, I will take care of him personally.'" Huzair deepened his voice and wagged his finger, doing a pretty poor impersonation of Garan-Zak, in Morier's estimation.

"'Yeah and get beaten for my insolence!' I shot back at the old wizard. I knew I would be beaten severely by Taarish for failure and my brothers' squealing and it must have showed in my face. Garan-Zak brought out a stick and told me to point it at Taarish should he start beating me and say: _Pyros_. Then, he said, I would have nothing to worry about." He launched back into his Garan-Zak impression and Morier cringed although he was the only one who knew how bad it truly was. "Give the man fair warning before you use it,' he told me and I remember thinking that this was really neat especially after he told me that he recognized my heritage and thought I would make a fine wizard if given the proper guidance. 'Huzair, you seem like a bright young man who is wasting his time with petty thievery. You could be working for me as an apprentice. I will give you my best... as your master should you decide to leave the thieves guild and take up wizardry. My last adventure against the demi-lich made me realize that I am getting too old to be crawling through dungeons. I am retiring and starting a new role in my life as a teacher. It is how I will leave my legacy to help future generations'." Karak harrumphed at that.

"An' ye're wha' he ended up with?" the dwarf grumbled. "Nae much of a legacy, if'n ye ask me!" Huzair shot Karak a withering look and pitched the butt of his cigar into the campfire.

"I didn't," he deadpanned.

"Please continue, Huzair," Anania said at his side. She laid her hand on the wizard's forearm and Huzair grinned lasciviously at Karak before turning to face the elf.

"For you," he told her with utter conviction. "I thought at the time that thieves in Freeport do not usually have very long lives and Garan-Zak's offer might be the best solution for me to get out of the guild and Taarish's service. And I must confess that I loved the power going through me when I held that wand. It was intoxicating, even then, and I knew I was blessed with an opportunity."

"So I went back to Scurvytown and sure enough I was knocked around a bit with the brass knuckles for telling Taarish what Garan-Zak said and then trying to stop him from beating my brothers. So I pointed the wand, said _Pyros_ and after my master became a human torch, I was free," he explained and that sparkle had returned to his eyes. "My bothers just went to work for the guy who runs the Pair o' Dice and the Jolly Roger while I moved in with Garan-Zak and learned all about wizardry. We stayed in touch and socialized still, enjoying our new working arrangement. Morier met a few of them a couple of times when we could get out from under Garan-Zak's watchful eye. Of course, he is more bark than bite and I could pretty much get away with anything except having to hear a lecture, which, at times, made me pine for the old beatings. I studied hard, but he always seemed disappointed with my behavior. Always saying, 'Oh, I'm too old to be a father! Teenagers are for the young! If only I had a wife to help me with this!' I have heard that for almost ten years now. I think it would be easier for him to slay demons than to control an unruly lad."

It didn't take too much imagination for the other members of The Order to consider the possible shenanigans that an immature Huzair might have gotten into in a city with Farmin's reputation. More than a few of them secretly pitied the old mage.

"Garan-Zak tattooed me magically - identically to himself - so that anyone in town knew if they messed with me, they were messing with him. No wonder Whitey, here, occassionally got the ass kicking for my wit. Folks knew better than to tangle with me," he smiled, accepting the _Goblet_ from Karak and filling it with Saerloonian Topaz. He savored the nutty qualities and bold, fruity overtones for a moment before passing the chalice to Anania. "Here, have some more wine, my sweet flower."

She accepted the cup and sipped at the wine. Smiling, she asked, "But how did you end up here, with these people?" Huzair sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Garan-Zak always told me to achieve a noble purpose with my powers and then all his powers would be mine someday. I think that he wished the noble purpose part was a little easier for me than the wizardry. He had this strange love for the discipline that ap-Llewellyn was able to force on Morier. That is why he sent me here with Morier." Using a little sleight of hand he made another cigar appear in his hand as if by magic. He held it beneath his nose and inhaled the earthy fragrance for a moment before taking out a knife and neatly severing the end. "I got really tired of hearing about how noble you have become, Morier. You used to be a worse thug than I and he still thinks the world of you. I do not see why he holds such affection for someone who does not embrace his own magical nature." With a word a tiny flame appeared on Huzair's thumb and he lit his cigar.

"I have already achieved mastery of the Third Circle. Not bad for 18," he said before extinguishing the flame in his fist and blowing a column of smoke at the eldritch warrior. "How old are you again, Morier?"


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> "It tastes like Bitchinbrau!"




My wife makes this...   




			
				Jon Potter said:
			
		

> "I was lucky compared to Morier," Huzair began as he watched the elf maid take a tentative sip of the elven liqueur, smile, and then take a second, more indulgent swallow. He smiled. "I do not have a gods damned clue who my parents are. I was bought as an infant by Taarish to be his son, slave and thief all at once. Sure, I was abused some, but it made me tougher and it was only if I messed up. I hated being a slave to that stupid man, but it was not too bad until I was caught stealing by Garan-Zak." He *crossed his legs * and ashed into the fire.




Ah, ritual neutering.


----------



## Kristeneve

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Ah, ritual neutering.





Interesting, it seems I missed that little implication until now!  Hmmmmm....maybe that explains why Huzair is...you know, the way he is.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Kristeneve said:
			
		

> Interesting, it seems I missed that little implication until now!  Hmmmmm....maybe that explains why Huzair is...you know, the way he is.




Rage, rage against the dying of the light.


----------



## Burningspear

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> Huzair
> "I have already achieved mastery of the Third Circle. Not bad for 18," he said before extinguishing the flame in his fist and blowing a column of smoke at the eldritch warrior. "How old are you again, Morier?"




LOL, very nice, to put it into a contest between circle's


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #406d] Origins IV*

The albino waved the smoke away and shook his head. "Do you not listen to me at all?" he asked.

"There's only so much a guy can take before he has to step back for his own sanity's sake," Huzair smirked and Morier chuckled derisively.

"If only you'd thought to do that before it was too late," the eldritch warrior quipped and Shamalin could see that another verbal sparring match was brewing between the two of them. Fortunately, Ixin intervened.

"Is it my turn?" she asked, cutting off the confrontation before it could fully develop by taking the _Goblet of Life_ from Morier and draining the last swallow of Saerloonian Topaz. She took a long look around at all of her comrades and smiled.

"There is no way to express the relief and pleasure of being able to understand all of you," she told them, cradling the chalice in her hands and grinning. "How ironic! I can finally communicate with you but there is no word for this feeling!"

She filled the _Goblet_ with water, closed her eyes and said, "Firewater". The top of the _Goblet_ began to glow amber at once, bathing Ixin's features in gold. She smiled even more expansively, and took a long draught. "I have not drunk firewater in... a lifetime, I suppose. This was what I drank in Highgate with my only friend when I could escape the family that held me captive." The yellow glow from the _Goblet_ seemed to suffuse the sorcerer's face, painting her fangs in gold and spilling brightly from her eyes.

"Mmmm... firewater," Huzair said. "I would like to try that." Ixin opened her eyes and handed the cup to Morier who passed it back to the wizard.

"It's quite good, but it's fiendishly expensive in Castillia. I think that it's normally distilled only in Byzantium, but scarcity and cost were rarely an issue for me back then," she mused. "Funny that for all the time I could only communicate with you, Huzair, we never talked about the similarities in our histories."

"How's that?" the wizard asked, taking an experimental taste of the incandescent beverage. It tasted hot and buttery. He passed it on to Anania.

"I too was a captive of a thief," she explained. "I might just as well have been a statue for all the importance I had as an actual person. My role was as a deal sealer."

"How do you mean?" Anania asked, passing the cup back to Morier.

"My own house and the house that ran the thieves' guild in Highgate struck a bargain," she said, pleased that these details remained in her memory even if so many others seemed to evaporate like smoke when she considered them for too long. "We got influence on the continent and they got a voice on the Council of Wyrms. They sent one of theirs to live on the Dragon Isles and I got sent to live in Highgate... as a trophy. So when I could and when I had enough courage, I escaped that life and came quite by accident to this world." She accepted the _Goblet_ from Morier.

"I traveled with Karak and Morier until my demise..." Her voice trailed off and she took another long swallow of the firewater then sighed. "Somehow after that experience, swallowing firewater is not nearly as satisfying." She looked at the cup and passed it to Shamalin.

"Onward," Ixin said, clapping her hand onto her thigh. "What's done is done. Let us not look back." Shamalin choked out a small laugh and sent the chalice on its way around the circle.

"You all know my history..." the cleric said after a moment. "There is no escaping it. But I can tell you something of who I was before... before that." She felt her throat hitch for a moment and she thought that tears might come, but they did not. She glanced at Ayremac, but the holy warrior was intent on draining the _Goblet of Life_. She had never known him to take so enthusiastically to the cups, and she mused briefly that there was still much about her old friend that she no longer knew.

"My mother was renown throughout Pellham for her voice," the cleric said, turning her eyes to survey the others. "A song I never knew. She served in Duke Kesin's court until she was with child and banished from the city. The sisters of mercy at Floxen took her in and she died soon after birthing me." Ixin placed a comforting hand on Shamalin's back and the Mercybringer smiled wanly in thanks. "I don't know my father," she admitted, her fingers toying absently with the tip of her ear. "But Sister Benletta once let it slip that the Duke sent gold regularly but in secret to the temple. No matter. I was well cared for there."

"Ironically, I could not deny my own musical abilities and learned to entwine those with the healing practices I was taught." Her eyes became wistful. "Life was simple and wondrous and innocent then." She kept her gaze riveted in the fire, but Ixin - sensing what she had before - glanced at Ayremac. He, too, was staring into the fire, but his eyes seemed glassy, unfocused. Whatever emotion he was feeling was dulled considerably with drink.

The sorcerer accepted the chalice but passed it on to Shamalin without drinking from it. She took it and drew again from the _Goblet_. "Eventually it was decided that I had been sheltered long enough," she continued. "I was sent out into the world to practice my healing art, and found my place within a band of adventurers not unlike this one." She raised the goblet to her lips but did not drink as the familiar shadow of the past fell across her eyes.

"Sister Elza was near death last spring when we returned to Floxen at the beginning of Reaping. I sang as she passed." Shamalin chuckled humorlessly, adding "But they couldn't be still and went on without me to investigate a disturbance in Miller's Pond. That's the last time I saw them as they had been. When they did not return a few days after the funeral I went in search of... but..." Her voice trailed off, the words caught in a throat that felt strangled with memory. "They were brave. And strong," She said finally and drank deeply. When she spoke again, her voiced was colored with emotion. "And though it threatens the very nature of my teaching, I can't help but hate for that."

The _Goblet_ wobbled precariously as she handed it quickly off to Ayremac. The holy warrior accepted it eagerly, but his own hands were not appreciably steadier than the Mercybringer's as he did so.

"Allright... give me another swig of this drink, and I'll tell my tale," he said, his voice thick with the numerous swigs he had already consumed. He smacked his lips wetly and looked pointedly at the albino who had begun this exchange of backgrounds. "Morier... you want to REALLY know who you are fighting aside... alonghide... side..." He laughed at his own inability to speak and struggled to remain coherent.

"Well, this may be a bit discomforting, but I am a regional prefect in charge of resource distribution for the town of... holy smoke... I can't even remember.. Oh, yeah... Frothingham!" Ayremac raised his cup to the town, swaying a bit uneasily as he spoke. "Arland Penibel, Clerk of Fair Distribution, Advisor to Duke Brelton of Frothingham! That's me!" He drank a toast to himself, nearly draining the cup.

"That's right, I was a papyrus pushing, hose wearing poli-mi-tician," he laughed at what seemed now like an absurd vocation. "Of course, when some inter-governmental gang comes into town and you choose to serve your people instead of the black hearted, profit mongering bureaucrats working alongside you, then you run the risk of them assassinating your wife and stealing your young child..." His voice hitched in his throat and tears begin to well in his wine-addled eyes before he mastered himself and pressed on with renewed gusto.

"BUT... I have found peace and serenity in Umba!!! She has lead me to newfound hope, and I know that my family is in a better place and that those responsible will be judged in their due time." He raised the cup to the heavens and downed the remainder before tossing it to Karak. "So I fight on for you now, Morier, with this party of fine, somewhat upstanding patrons of a higher calling, and await my inevitable reunion with my loved ones!"


----------



## Burningspear

Melodrama is high and ripe, but moving non the less...


----------



## Jon Potter

Kristeneve said:
			
		

> Interesting, it seems I missed that little implication until now!  Hmmmmm....maybe that explains why Huzair is...you know, the way he is.




In all honesty, I've never discussed the possibility of castration with Huzair's player. Could be, but knowing him the way I do I doubt he'd be willing to go there with his character.

Only he can say for sure...


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> My wife makes this...




Ah... bitchenbrau...

This and most of the other beverages come from me doing a little Googling for fantasy beverages. There was a whole page of elven liquor, but all I could find for dwarves was bitchenbrau.  :\


----------



## Jon Potter

Burningspear said:
			
		

> Melodrama is high and ripe, but moving non the less...




I noticed a certain tendency with everyone's back stories as well.

You can look for my response to that with Anania's own orgiin tale in the next post.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #406e] Origins V*

"Ayremac, you lightweight!" Huzair snorted disgustedly. "How much have you had to drink?" The holy warrior glowered truculently through the fire at the wizard.

"What does it matter to you?" he challenged and Huzair rolled his eyes.

"Oh, I do not know," he shot back. "Maybe that you are getting too light-headed and who knows who will sneak up on us out here!" He spread his arms to indicate the dark forest all around.

"Don't worry, Huzair," Ayremac slurred. "I'll fight the bad guys off long enough for you to run away." Huzair snapped around quickly, but Karak held up his hands, one of which contained the empty _Goblet_.

"Enough!" he barked. "Ayremac, lad. Ye know I do nae side lightly with the wizard, but in this 'e be right! Ye've drank enough!"

"I'll decide when-" Ayremac began but the dwarf cut him off as he had done to Huzair.

"No! The _Goblet_ be mine! I'll decide!" Karak snapped. "An' I say ye've all had enough! Ye're all spillin' the gold right 'ere in front of-" He held his tongue, but favored the elf maid with an accusatory look that left nothing in doubt.

"We'll regret this, to be sure," he muttered, busying himself with stowing the _Goblet_ in his pack. Anania considered him for a few long moments before straightening herself and letting her gaze travel across the others.

"My own story is not as fraught with death and loss as yours have been," she began. "My parents are both still alive and living in New Mellorell and they have never raised their hands to me in anger. I have never been married nor do I have any children to lose to assassins."

"Sounds idyllic, sweet flower," Huzair observed, giving her hand a squeeze. She nodded.

"It is," she admitted freely. "But it was not always so. The coming of Lord Hofralix improved our lives immensely."

"How?" Karak asked, bluntly cutting her off before she could stray too far from the observation.

"Yes, Anania," Ixin pressed. "We heard the same thing from many other citizens of New Mellorell. But exactly how Lord Hofralix improved your lives was never explained to us." The elf maiden's eyes narrowed, her expression growing more guarded. Her hand went to her throat and touched lightly a green and brown scarf that she wore there.

"Not long ago by elven reckoning, New Mellorell was known simply as Mellorell," she said finally. She raised her eyes and looked directly at Ixin. "Our settlement was plagued every seven years by the predations of an evil creature born of dreams, a night hag named Malifustal. She would appear and send forth her army of grimlocks and vargouiles to carry off victims to sate her dark hungers."

"What are-" Shamalin started to ask and Karak snorted.

"Grimlocks be folk what live in the deep caves below," he explained. "They only come up from the dark to hunt fresh meat. They've nae eyes an' they hunt by hearin' an' smell. Nasty things!"

"And vargouilles are things from the lower planes," Morier added. "They look a bit like flying, bat-winged heads. Their kiss is infectious and causes a victim's body to whither away until only the head is left to fly off as another vargouille." Huzair looked impressed.

"Were you actually paying attention when Uncle Appie went over "The Monstrous Compendium" with us?" the wizard asked and Morier shook his head.

"No," he said. "But I did have to deal with a pair of the things near Nicilantria a couple of years ago. They're not too hard to kill, but the trouble is how quickly they can reproduce. One can turn easily into a dozen in a couple of days."

"And so you understand the dire situation in which we Mellorn found ourselves," Anania explained. "We did not passively accept our fate, of course. We sent parties of skilled warriors into the tunnels beneath the forest to find the source of the recurring evil. The warrens beneath were vast and though my people slew many grimlocks, the evil of the night hag continued unabated."

"We developed these antovar," she told them, tugging on the scarf she wore around her neck until it covered the entire lower half of her face. "Treated with special alchemical processes, they grant a small measure of resistance to the vargouilles' kiss. But it mattered not for the attacks continued."

"Eventually the wizard, Illinar Innoeth, came to believe that we would never be able to find and destroy the night hag so instead, he suggested an alternate plan," she went on, pulling her antovar down so that her nose and mouth were once more visible. "We charted the upper caverns extensively and with the help of some of our druids, sealed all the entrances with Walls of Stone. It did not help. Malifustal and her allies came as they always did and we began to despair of ever being free of her."

"Then Lord Hofralix came?" Huzair opined but Anania shook her head.

"If only that had been the case. The Mellorn would have been spared from disgrace," she told him. "No. Realizing that we could not stop Malifustal's terrible attacks, our Dorator, Aeleth, came up with a desperate way to save we elves. By hosting a large trading fair during the seven days of the night hag's traditional hunt, Malifustal would have access to hundreds of unsuspecting victims from the barbarian tribes. Few of the Mellorn, if any, would be taken."

"The arrangement between our Dorator and the night hag has become known as Aeleth's Pact and it is not spoken of amongst the Mellorn. No one in New Mellorell would willingly share our shame with an outsider," she said. "For 90 years, we held the Festival of Life, trading with the human tribes. And every time, many of the nomads would disappear during the Festival, victims of the night hag and her minions."

"Eventually, the barbarians became suspicious and conflicts between out people and them became bloody. A state of war developed," she said, looking embarrassed by her admission. "Then Lord Hofralix came. He slew Malifustal and her allies without aid and we welcomed him as our new leader. Dorator Aeleth abdicated her position without protest and we have lived in peace and security ever since."

"Only these antovar remain as a reminder of the depths to which we had sunk before Lord Hofralix came from the night below, to bring us hope and order," she looked from Ixin to Karak. "And that is how Lord Hofralix has improved the lives of the Mellorn."

---------------------------

OOC- And anyone familiar with Dungeon magazine may recognize the set-up with the night hag and grimlocks I described as one from an adventure found therein. I've hidden the name below under a spoiler tag.



Spoiler



Mellorn Hospitality.


----------



## Burningspear

ooooo what a goodytooshoes story about the elf, yuck 
how "convenient" that the beholder just happened to be there at that time, hmmz, sounds like a setup to me, but maybe i am just to paranoia


----------



## Jon Potter

Burningspear said:
			
		

> ooooo what a goodytooshoes story about the elf, yuck




Sheesh!!! There's just no pleasing some people! One week it's complaintys of melodrama and the next the story's too sacharine.  



> how "convenient" that the beholder just happened to be there at that time, hmmz, sounds like a setup to me, but maybe i am just to paranoia




I did say that he's not evil. But the Dominion of the Final Forge is far from above manipulating events to their own ends.


----------



## Kristeneve

Burningspear said:
			
		

> ooooo what a goodytooshoes story about the elf, yuck
> 
> Tread lightly there, Burningspear.  That's our DM playing out his feminine side via this NPC.   Wait until you see what happens a little later on...Anania's not in great standing with my character as a result.  Of course, Ledare and Grisham didn't get along very well either.   Does anyone detect a trend?


----------



## Burningspear

Kristeneve said:
			
		

> Tread lightly there, Burningspear.  That's our DM playing out his feminine side via this NPC.   Wait until you see what happens a little later on...Anania's not in great standing with my character as a result.  Of course, Ledare and Grisham didn't get along very well either.   Does anyone detect a trend?




hehe, the only trend i see atm, is you not liking any npc the dm gives the party?  lol/rofl.

I do think its difficult to push a character into a player group and not make the party feel like they have no choice in the matter 
or am i on the wrong track here? 

nice to see you reply anyway, i haven't seen you speak much if even at all, are you more the silent reader type? 

B.B.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Kristeneve said:
			
		

> Burningspear said:
> 
> 
> 
> 
> ooooo what a goodytooshoes story about the elf, yuck
> 
> Tread lightly there, Burningspear.  That's our DM playing out his feminine side via this NPC.   Wait until you see what happens a little later on...Anania's not in great standing with my character as a result.  Of course, Ledare and Grisham didn't get along very well either.   Does anyone detect a trend?
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> Could be worse, Jon could be playing out his feminine side as a succubus
Click to expand...


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Could be worse, Jon could be playing out his feminine side as a succubus




 

YOINK!!!


----------



## Burningspear

LOL, some impression you must have left with your players, Jon...


----------



## Jon Potter

Burningspear said:
			
		

> LOL, some impression you must have left with your players, Jon...





Well, I have that effect on anyone who's seen me play out my feminine side!


And I deny anything from anyone who's claimed to see that. Pictures can be photoshopped, you know! Where would I have ever found a Ver Wang in my size anyway?


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #407] Eastward Ho!*

"Thank you for sharing," Ixin said, readily. "Your honesty goes some way toward earning our trust." Karak harrumphed at that and eyes turned to regard his taciturn face.

"Do you want to talk about your chalak?" Shamalin encouraged and Karak's scowl deepened.

"No, I do not," he said flatly and got to his feet. "An' we've a long day ahead of us tomorrow, I reckon. Ye lot would do well to get ye some sleep while ye may." He started to step away from the fire and then half-turned to add, "I'll take first watch."

Silence hung over the campsite for a few moments, broken only by the crackle of their fire and the sound of wind in the treetops. At last Ixin got to her feet and picked up her scimitars. "I'll keep him company," she said. "If that's alright with you, Huzair." The wizard scoffed.

"You don't need me to translate for you anymore," he told her. "And besides I'd like to find out what skills the new girl brings to our little group. I'll sit watch with her." Ixin nodded and stepped into the shadows after Karak.

"Ayremac looks in no shape to stand guard," Morier said, the derisive tone in his voice completely lost on the drink-addled holy warrior. He turned to Shamalin. "So I guess that leaves you and me to take third watch?"

"That seems fine with me," the cleric said with a nod. "Are we sure of our path tomorrow or do I need to pray for some divinatory miracles?"

"Yeah, whitey," Huzair asked. "Where is your pull taking us?" Morier didn't hesitate to answer, but pointed confidently to his left.

"East," he said. "With the first Pull gone, this one is much more intense. There's no question." Anania looked confused, her almond eyes narrowing skeptically.

"Pull?" she asked. "What is that?" Huzair grinned broadly at her.

"We've got a lot to talk about while we get acquainted," he told her.



Ixin caught up with Karak about twenty paces from the fire. The dwarf stood in the shadow of a tree, his back to the camp and his axe held easily in his hands. He gave no acknowledgment of Ixin as she approached.

"You were certainly quiet tonight, my friend," the sorcerer said as she stepped up to stand beside him. "That's not like you." The dwarf harrumphed.

"I have my reasons," he grumbled and Ixin nodded. She had been hoping he would say more but after a few expectant moments it became obvious that that was not to be the case.

"Perhaps you like to speak your mind but not your history?" Ixin offered and the dwarf sighed turning to face her.

"Nothin' again' ye, lass, but I'll speak on't when the time be right," Karak said. "An' the time be nae right this eve. Now let it lie." Ixin stepped back and nodded again.

"As you wish," she said, coldly and drew her scimitars. "I'll start walking a perimeter."
And saying thus she stepped away, leaving Karak to his thoughts.



The evening passed uneventfully for the Order and in the morning, Anania disappeared into the forest to secure them something fresh for the morning meal. Huzair studied his spellbook while Ixin tended to their fire and Ayremac tended to his head. The holy warrior enjoyed a significant resistance to poisons, but that evidently didn't extend to self-induced poisonings from magic cups. Morier and Shamalin took some time to squeeze in a bit more sword practice. 

Karak sat off to the side, watching Morier spin and twirl his two-handed blade as another might a maiden girl around a may pole. He really was quite a warrior with that sword, Karak begrudgingly realized. He was quick on his feet and fought with the correct style for a lightly-armored fighter with a two- handed weapon, darting and spinning to advantage. What the poor lass did not seem to realize, however, was that she wore full plate, and that meant a different style of fighting was needed.

Like the good pupil Karak realized she was, Shamalin was mirroring Morier footwork with ever-increasing skill. But she was tiring quickly as a result, expending all her energy just to move about in full plate armor. She thought it was from her inexperience with fighting and part of it may well have been, but not the majority. She had no idea that if she were to exchange armor with Morier then he would move just a clumsily as a pregnant rothé and probably more clumsily than she.

He watched them and mused on that until Shamalin conceded that she'd had enough. The two combatants parted company with Morier heading over to help Anania with the spitting of the conies she'd caught and Shamalin sitting down on a log, panting. Karak approached her and she looked up at him, sweat plastering her strawberry-blonde hair across her eyes. She brushed locks away and smiled up at him.

"Hello, Karak," she said between gulps of air.

"Shamalin. Pardon me interruptin'," Karak said with an apologetic nod. "There be a problem with ye learnin' the ways of the sword from Morier .He be a fine swordsman, but what you do nae realize is, he be wearin' hardly any armor. You, lass, be clad in full plate. You can nae do all the hoppin' and jumpin' and sidesteppin' around like he can. Think on that and you'll tire less so." Then he nodded and ambled away toward the fire and smell of cooking meat.

"Giving my pupil a few pointers?" Morier asked good-naturedly. And Karak sputtered with embarrassment.

"Nae, lad," the dwarf said. "She sought you for trainin', nae me. I was just offerin' a word or two of advice." Morier shrugged.

"Don't worry, Karak," the eldritch warrior explained. "I think it's a good idea for us all to share knowledge. We've all got different skills and we'll make a better team if we strive to complement each other."

"Aye, lad," Karak nodded.

Ayremac got up then and came to the fireside. He'd looked better, but the greenish pallor had left his face and he seemed ready to confront the day.

"Karak, listen, I need to learn to fight, here," the holy warrior said. "Show me something I can do with Windblade!!"

"Okay, lad. You be wantin' to know how to fight? That's good. We've a few minutes before breakfast be ready. Come with me," he said and headed back over to the impromptu fighting circle that Morier and Shamalin had made at the edge of camp.

Karak had yet to strap on his armor and as he walked, he stripped off his tunic, baring his torso above the wide leather girdle he wore. Muscles bulged and snapped beneath his shaggy hide as he worked his shoulders to loosen them in their sockets. He stretched and it was clear that for all his bulk, the dwarf was limber as well as strong. He turned to face Ayremac and grinned, seeing that Ixin had followed them as well. Shamalin watched from the sidelines, still gathering her spent strength.

"Well at first, I kept me nose outta it," Karak said as he grabbed his knee and brought his leg to his chest. "I mean there are many, many different fightin' styles. Not all are good, mind ye, but they are out there. And who am I to say nae to 'em?" He looked over at Shamalin and gave her a wink. "But there be only one fightin' style that can make ya handle yourself in all manner of situations, and that's how dwarves be trained. It's not pretty, it's not flowery, and it certainly is nae fancy, But it works. So he we go. Here is the first lesson: stand still."

He walked toward Ayremac, his waraxe shouldered. Stooping to pick up a branch Karak drew a square around the Officer five feet on a side. As he drew he repeated, "Stand still. That be it. Pick yer footing and stick to it. A fighter who picks an' stands his ground will remain on his feet." He looked over at Ixin and Shamalin. "Ye ken me?"

Everyone nodded.

"Good. Now this is your area, lad," Karak explained, tapping the area within the square he'd just drawn. "The trick be to nae move outta this area. Too many fighters leap an' jump around, and in my opinion that just messes them up in the end." He glanced toward the fire where Morier sat, but the albino hadn't heard his comment. Satisfied, the dwarf threw his stick aside and gripped his waraxe with two hands. 

"Go ahead, lad. I'm in my "square" now. Try to hit me," he challenged. Ayremac hesitated, but the dwarf was having none of it. "Go on. Go on. You know I can take a punch. Watch my feet and try to hit me."

Ayremac swung, and very nearly connected with Karak's side, but the dwarf twisted away from the attack. His feet, never moved, however.

"See!" Karak beamed and Ixin stepped toward Ayremac's square from the side.

"May I have a try?" she asked eagerly.



The training was eventually cut short by the call for breakfast and when that was done, they set out eastward. Morier indicated the direction and Anania blazed the trail. She was extremely fleet of foot, moving easily amongst the boles of the ancient evergreens quicker than any of the Order would have been able to move along a straight road. Throughout the day, they would catch up to her and find that she'd taken the time to scrounge up some roots, nuts, or berries from the environment while she waited for them. Her fresh foods supplemented their diet of dried rations at their lunch break.

It was mid-afternoon when they caught up to her again and Morier scoffed, "We're not going east any longer." The elf maiden nodded.

"True," she said unapologetically. "Due east leads directly to World's Edge Gorge, a fissure in the earth that runs some twenty miles north to south. It marks the extreme eastern edge of my people's influence; beyond it the forest thins and the men of Erlacor rule.  The gorge is said to be so deep that sunlight never touches the bottom. We can try to cross by some means unknown to me or we can deviate from our course for half a day to cross at an old bridge that spans the gorge a bit to the south. The choice is yours."


----------



## Fimmtiu

All right! Crossing an old bridge over a gigantic gorge -- nothing can possibly go wrong with this plan!


----------



## Burningspear

Fimmtiu said:
			
		

> All right! Crossing an old bridge over a gigantic gorge -- nothing can possibly go wrong with this plan!





  nope, not in the slightest...


----------



## Jon Potter

Burningspear said:
			
		

> nope, not in the slightest...




Not the way they do it, no.

It involves flying, a rope, and an invitation to tea.

Oh yeah, and a critter from _Bastards & Bloodlines_.


----------



## Burningspear

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> Not the way they do it, no.
> 
> It involves flying, a rope, and an invitation to tea.
> 
> Oh yeah, and a critter from _Bastards & Bloodlines_.




my comment was based on a load of sarcasm, i am not familiar with that book though, so i cant understand the inclination you are giving about it


----------



## Jon Potter

Burningspear said:
			
		

> i am not familiar with that book though, so i cant understand the inclination you are giving about it




Hairy Minotaur asked me about the book upthread a ways. He and I have been bantering about it since way back in his Tharhack days (two or three story hour threads ago for him).


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> Hairy Minotaur asked me about the book upthread a ways. He and I have been bantering about it since way back in his Tharhack days (two or three story hour threads ago for him).





So is it a template or an actual race in it? If its a race I'm going to guess; a grendle, a morlock, or a watcher.


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> So is it a template or an actual race in it?




Template, actually. And given the place they just left it's not too hard to guess which one.



> If its a race I'm going to guess; a grendle, a morlock, or a watcher.




Oddly, you managed to pick out my favorite race from that book: Grendel. Did I mention that before? Or am I just that easy to figure out?


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> Template, actually. And given the place they just left it's not too hard to guess which one.
> 
> 
> 
> Oddly, you managed to pick out my favorite race from that book: Grendel. Did I mention that before? Or am I just that easy to figure out?




So will you be using the "monster" that's statted for that template? The 1/2 hill giant 1/2 YKW.   

I love the Grendle too, I like the Wendigo as well.


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> So will you be using the "monster" that's statted for that template? The 1/2 hill giant 1/2 YKW.




Yep. I'm all about "easy" when I can. And there's nothing easier than using the statted-out beastie in the book.   



> I love the Grendle too, I like the Wendigo as well.




Yeah. It's tough to find a bad race in there. Greenfolk, Watcher, Wendigo, Wretch...

Well, maybe the burrower, Spring Child and Woodwose I could do without, but other than that, it's all good.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #408] At World's Edge*

"A bridge... I remember the days that they were so very important to me," Ayremac mused and, smirking, flexed his wings enough to make plain the point of his joke.

"So you could fly across," Anania observed. "But what of us? Can you ferry us across as well?" Ayremac looked suddenly embarrassed.

"I... um... Some of you, I can," he stammered. "I was just thinking that if there is only one bridge, it seems a great place for an ambush."

"There are several bridges across the World's Edge," the elf maiden told him. "This just happens to be the closest."

"I suppose if Ixin and I flew across - and I could possibly carry Morier over as well - we could scout the other side and make sure the bridge is safe," the holy warrior suggested.

"What are you so afraid of, fly boy?" Huzair scoffed. "Do not worry. I will cross the bridge first if that will make you feel better." The wizard glanced sidelong at Anania to see how she was responding to his bravado.

"It isn't a question of being afraid, Huzair," Ayremac retorted. "It's a question of tactics!"

"Ayremac's right. It wouldn't be a bad idea for the folks with wings to scout out the situation from above when we get there and cover each other's backs while they're in the air," Morier said and began using a stick to scratch out a rough diagram of his proposal in the dirt. "For the crossing we should split into two groups with a flier and a _Ring of Communication_ in each. We'll have one group always covering one end of the bridge so those crossing have a means of escape if needed. I don't like the idea of fighting on the bridge, so if we can avoid it, let's." Karak looked at the sketch and harrumphed.

"Let's get to the obstacle before deciding how to tackle it," he grumbled and indicated to Anania that they were ready to move out.

"I don't get why we need a bridge," Ixin protested as the group began filing off after the scout. "Can't we just use Huzair's magic dust to float across?" The wizard looked at her and smirked.

"When you have known Morier as long as I have, you will learn that he always likes to do things the hardest way possible," he consoled her. "There is little point in trying to talk him out of it."



It was perhaps an hour until dusk when the group caught up with Anania again. She was waiting for them in a bower with a pair of white-furred rabbits on a length of rope. She'd expertly removed the feet, guts and head and suspended the carcasses from a low-hanging branch to drain.

"The bridge is this way," she said as she gathered up the rabbits. "We can follow this road directly there and reach it before nightfall." Looking down it became apparent with some scrutiny that the remains of ancient flagstones were buried beneath eons of encroaching vegetation. A road that predated anything any of the Order had ever seen lay forgotten under foot and stretched off eastward toward the bridge and westward into the unknown depths of Spiny Wood.



True to her word, the elf maid had them at the bridge before the last light of Orin's Shield had faded from the sky. It was a marvel to behold, composed of time-worn stone and spanning a gap of unknowable depth. Four sets of arched stone supports maintained the surface which was in startlingly good shape given its obvious age. Only Karak had seen similar marvels, and even he was impressed with the apparent craftsmanship. The near side of the span had been sealed by a gate at one time, but it had rusted into ruin long ago. A lone tower stood vigil on the opposite side; its uppermost walls and roof had collapsed in leaving the top of the tower broken and jagged. Creepers and moss had done their best to obscure both tower and bridge.

Anania took it all in with a glance. "No apparent enemies," she announced, but Shamalin was unconvinced.

"Even so. Stand ready," the priestess said. "Let us watch the area for a bit before crossing."

"It will be night soon," the elf observed, looking briefly skyward.

"We should observe the area first," Shamalin reiterated and the elf nodded deferentially.

"As you say," she told the cleric and stepped backward.

"Ayremac," Morier said, gesturing to the bridge. Ayremac nodded, spread his wings and took to the air.

He flew up and over the World's Edge Gorge, taking one loop down and under the bridge. It seemed to be what Anania said it was: an old bridge and nothing more. He saw no apparent signs of life around the tower or in the encroaching forest. At ground level, one side of the tower had crumbled around what was probably the entrance, but it was otherwise intact, pierced only by narrow windows at various points around it.

He landed on the far side and signaled for the second group to cross. Seeing her cue Shamalin invoked the power of Flor and cast _Wind Walk_ on herself and Ixin. The two began to grow insubstantial, transforming over the next thirty seconds into creatures of mist. While they did that, Ayremac approached the ruined tower, calling on his own goddess-granted power to _Detect_ the presence of _Evil_. He scrutinized the tower but saw nothing.

He was about to turn away to inspect the area of forest to the right of the tower when he sensed something vile moving in the hole broken in the structure's side. That was all the more he had time for before three brightly colored rays of light stabbed from the interior striking him in the head and right arm. All three knifed through his spell resistance, but he shrugged off the power of the first without effect.[1] He felt his muscles harden briefly as the second washed over him, but his fortitude was such that he shrugged off the attempt to transmute his _Flesh to Stone_. The third struck his head and he felt his world reel briefly.

He staggered, and when he'd righted himself he saw a giant squeezing itself out of the opening in the side of the tower. It was at least 18 feet tall - or it would have been if it weren't extricating itself from the tower - lanky and muscular with skin the color of sand or wax. Here and there plates of leathery hide protected its naked form. One enormous hand gripped a greatclub that looked like it was made from the trunk of an entire tree. But the most shocking thing was the fact that its head looked like nothing so much as a smaller version of Lord Hofralix himself. A crown of eyestalks ringed the top of the skull, a central malignant eye stared at the Officer of Umba, and a toothsome maw slavered below. It was as if someone had somehow grafted a beholder onto a giant's torso.

No, Ayremac decided, that wasn't the most shocking thing. What was more surprising to him was the fact that he knew at once this creature was his friend. At least as good a friend as any of those he'd been traveling with.

"Hi," he said, smiling and raising a hand to wave.

-------------------------

[1] That first ray was Charm Person, but the spell only effects Humanoids and as Ayremac is not technically a Humanoid but rather an Outsider, it had no effect on him. Fortunately the giant also has Charm Monster, which is much more useful against Outsiders.


----------



## Burningspear

UUpsie!


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #409] Eyebeams for Everyone!*



			
				Burningspear said:
			
		

> UUpsie!




It gets better! At least briefly so...

---------------------------------------------

The beholder-headed-giant looked down at the smiling Ayremac with something akin to confusion on his alien vissage.

"Giant, it is a great pleasure to see you!" the holy warrior grinned back. "I have been traveling many days with a group of... well, heroes, if I may say it plainly."

"Heroes," the giant rumbled, licking his lips. "I like heroes."

"And I'm quite certain that they'll like you," Ayremac told his old friend. "Let me tell them it is safe to pass." He raised the _Ring of Communication_ to his mouth and began speaking into it.



"Holy crap!" Huzair gasped, his eyes wide with surprise as he stared at the giant. "Look at that!"

Karak shaded his own eyes and squinted across to the other side. "I can nae tell fo' sure, but it seems that Flyboy is makin' nice with the giant! Hrmf, that be interestin'," the dwarf said. "Well he be no match for a beholder wearin' giant that be fo' sure. I mean I just be teachin' him how to fight and we had not gotten to methods o' fightin' monstrous creatures yet. Well my path seems clear."

"Me too," Huzair said and he muttered a few magic words as he hurled a ball of bat guano and sulfur at the giant. The tiny ball had just left the wizard's fingers, streaking away toward its explosive conclusion, when Ayremac's voice spoke from the _Ring of Communication_ that the mage wore.

"Huzair, Good news! The bridge is clear... you may pass straight away," the Officer of Umba said cheerily. "I have actually bumped into a good friend here... Come quickly!"

"Oops!" Huzair said.



The tiny bead that the wizard had thrown glowed with magic as it streaked across the gorge, struck the side of the tower behind the giant and exploded, engulfing the huge figure in an enormous _Fireball_. The giant roared, staggering forward with smoke and flames rising from his blackened hide.

The edge of the _Fireball_ licked the air a few inches from Ayremac's shoulder, but left the holy warrior unhurt.



Morier drew Stoneblade and darted forward, a look of grim determination on his face. Huzair called after him, "Hey Morier! Buff now, unless of course you want to wait until you are in hand-to-hand combat with cyclops over there." Scowling, Morier skidded to a stop after 30 feet and empowered his muscles with a _Bull's Strength_.

"Morier has got the plan! Go with it!" Karak shouted into the wind as he began hustling after the albino. "I'll be a distraction!"



Shamalin, meanwhile, had drifted insubstantially across the gorge, and once she and Ixin were across the gap the cleric dismissed the _Wind Walk_ spell, returning the two to their corporeal forms. Ixin was prepared and she inhaled deeply and then breathed on the giant. A cone of dragonfire enveloped the creature, but after being hit with Huzair's magic he seemed better prepared and was able to twist away, avoiding the full brunt of the attack as he did so.

He could not avoid the arrow that Anania sent into his left thigh just above the knee. The shaft buried itself in his flesh up to the fletchings, staggering the giant and ripping another shriek of pain from his unnatural maw.

Ayremac was stunned. Why were his allies attacking his friend? "Stop shooting!" he cried into the _Ring of Communication_. "For Lisori's sake! Stop shooting!" Then he called on Umba's _Sacred Healing_, hoping to ease his friend's suffering if he could.

His "friend", however, wasn't interested in the easing of any suffering. He was interested in inflicting some and Ayremac was struck broadside by a two-handed blow from the giant's greatclub. The impact stove in the side of the holy warrior's helmet and filled his vision with exploding stars. Rubber-legged, Ayremac dropped first to his knees and then to his side as darkness threatened from all sides. Instinctivally, he raised his shield as the club came around again and he managed to deflect the blow, sending it ineffectually into the dirt beside him.

His shield was no defense against the ray that stabbed at him, and he was so shaken by the bludgeoning that he could not resist the power of the eyebeam and he felt the world speed up around him as his own actions were _Slowed_.

Another ray struck Ixin, and although she tried to muster her willpower to resist, she felt an undeniable wave of force slam into her, knocking her down and onto her back.

Another pair of rays struck Shamalin, and she was able to overcome the power of the _Fear_ spell that washed over her, but could do nothing to resist the flesh rending _Inflict Wounds_ spell that cut a bloody swathe across her cheek. She cried out in pain.

"Ouch!" Huzair winced on the opposite side of the bridge. "Targeting the cleric? That's dirty pool!" He cast _Pyrotechnics_ on the tiny fires that continued to burn on the giant's back and shoulders and grinned as the fire exploded in flashes of dazzling light. It was the kind of spell that would have ended the fight right then and there... if it had worked. The giant was clearly annoyed by the flash of light, but not otherwise inconvenienced.

The pair of red-tailed _Magic Missiles_ that Ixin sent into its side irritated it, however. And the arrow that Anania planted in its neck made it roar in frustration and pain. Of course, the _Holy Smite_ Ayremac directed at it thereafter made it forget all about those minor injuries. Umba's power washed over the creature bringing pain with it and leaving only darkness in its wake.

Blinded, the giant stepped back, firing its eyebeams without direction and without effect. It bellowed in frustration, but that only lasted a moment before, Huzair dropped a _Snowball Swarm_ on it. It retained its feet for a few seconds before Morier charged up and buried Stoneblade up to the fuller in its exposed belly. Lightning exploded from the impact point, arcing momentarily between victim and attacker before the giant stiffened and collapsed backward awkwardly against the tower foundation.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

The group certainly flexed their collective might there, which begs the question; Does this put them on a roll or does it make them overconfident?


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> The group certainly flexed their collective might there, which begs the question; Does this put them on a roll or does it make them overconfident?




Are you kidding me? I could throw a bound and gagged kobold in an empty 10 x 10 room and they'd debate whether it was worth the risk to get involved.


Actually, with kobolds that might not be a bad thing.


----------



## Burningspear

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> Are you kidding me? I could throw a bound and gagged kobold in an empty 10 x 10 room and they'd debate whether it was worth the risk to get involved.
> 
> 
> Actually, with kobolds that might not be a bad thing.




rofl ... very funny, though i wonder how a giant can make it nigh impossible for decently build chars to fail will saves, hmmz...


----------



## Jon Potter

Burningspear said:
			
		

> i wonder how a giant can make it nigh impossible for decently build chars to fail will saves, hmmz...




That has more to do with my descriptions of events than to anything extraordinary about the DCs involved. They did fail a few saves, though not any of the really fun ones (ie, Stone to Flesh, etc.) and not really all that many considering the number of eye beams that were being thrown around each round.


----------



## Burningspear

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> That has more to do with my descriptions of events than to anything extraordinary about the DCs involved. They did fail a few saves, though not any of the really fun ones (ie, Stone to Flesh, etc.) and not really all that many considering the number of eye beams that were being thrown around each round.




ok..


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #409a] In the Tower*

Morier stood there for a moment with Stoneblade gripped tightly in his hands, surrounded by the smell of ozone and wisps of ephemeral smoke.

"WELL STRUCK!" the greatsword bellowed enthusiastically but the eldritch warrior ignored the weapon and turned instead toward the clanking sound that heralded Karak's late arrival. He grinned mischievously at the dwarf, and widened his eyes in mock surprise.

"Ahh, there you are," he said. "Stop for a pint along the way?" Karak narrowed his eyes at the elf and harrumphed before stalking over to examine the giant's corpse. 

"No worries, Karak," Morier finished. "We've got it all under control."

"Well, lads and lassies, there is your answer," the dwarf growled with an angry chop of his hand. "No need to learn fightin' from me. All you ya need is an elf an' an electric sword." Then he bent his full attention to the giant's corpse, muttering under his breath all the while in a voice too low for anyone to hear, "Blasted... faerie combat tactics. Lucky the giant did nae have a real giant head. It must have been near blind to not take them all out."



Awkwardly, Ayremac removed his helmet, carefully trying to avoid any further damage to himself from the bent armor. His head sang out with fresh pain as he did so and his vision swam momentarily. Blinking he studied the helmet critically.

"Not sure if I will be able to fix that..." he announced, turning the helmet in his hands, before shaking his head. Nearby Karak looked up from his examination.

"I'll break out me tools when we set camp," he told Ayremac. "It's not so far gone tha' a dwarf can nae fix it!" The holy warrior nodded his thanks and tried unsuccessfully to get to his feet.

"Karak, I know how you feel about healing during combat, but maybe you could spare a bit now that it's over? Just to clear the ache in my head?" Ayremac asked. His _Sacred Healing_ was still active, but it was a slow process and the insistent pain in his skull wasn't going anywhere in the meantime.

"You take a shot to the 'ead, lad?" the dwarf asked, despite the obvious fact that Ayremac's helmet was mangled beyond the point of usefullness. He clattered to the holy warrior's side and looked appraisingly at his lacerated scalp. Blood was matted in Ayremac's platinum hair and flowed around his ear and down beneath his armor's gorget.

"Your 'friend' did this?" Shamalin asked as she peered over Karak's shoulder. "Maybe you need fewer friends." Ayremac glanced up at her, abashed.

"I hate charm magic," he told her. "It's such an awful feeling to watch a friend, imagined or no, get torn to pieces by your other friends."

"You were a might friendly to that giant there," Karak snorted. "I guess it be a good tactic though, it seemed to disarm him." Nearby, Huzair slapped his bald head and rolled his eyes at Karak's comment.

"You see there, Huzair?" Morier needled. "Magic is great and all, don't get me wrong, but sometimes there's nothing like good old blade-on-flesh action to drop a big ugly bastard like this one."

"You are welcome" Huzair said with his usual confidence and Ayremac laughed mirthlessly.

"Blade-on-flesh action with a summoning of lightning," he told the albino. "Let's not discount magic too much." Morier did not reply, but instead shouldered Stoneblade and turned to look up at the tower.

"Like that, my little sunflower?" Huzair asked Anania. "First ever time I used fireball and it was glorious!" The elf nodded.

"Most impressive," she said and bent to check the ground for tracks.

"Magnificent shooting, by the way," he said with a smirk. "You are as deadly with that bow as you are beautiful." She looked up at that and smiled back at him.

"Thank you, Huzair," she said and then got to her feet. "There's the odd human-sized track here and there, but it's mostly just the one giant, I think. Still, I should scout the area hereabouts to be certain." She fitted an arrow in her bow and trotted off into the trees, disappearing like a shadow.

"Good idea," he called after her. "Let us make sure that there are no other big baddies hiding here. I will turn invisible and search inside."

"Hold up, Huzair," Ixin cautioned. "Let's set up camp here, now, and search very cautiously in the morning."

"No. Search first," Huzair said in a patronizing tone of voice one might use to explain high elvish geometry to an orc. "Let us not give the chance for anything hiding in the tower to get the jump on us, sweatheart."

"It's like a knife in my gut to say it, but Huzair's right," Morier admitted distastefully. "For all me know the tower's full of demons."

"It seems to me this be a guard tower for the bridge," Karak said as he headed back over to the ediface, leaving Ayremac in Shamalin's expert hands. "Hmm... I wonder why only this side be guarded. The stonework looks normal."

"If the tower's full of demons, as Morier fears, do we really want to stir them up now when our resources are depleted?" Ixin pressed. "Shamalin and Huzair have both used several of their spells. I've used my dragonfire for the day and I seem to recall that there are limits to how often Morier can use that lightning sword trick."

"I think your argument's pointless anyhow, Ixin," Morier told her, cocking a thumb toward the spot where Huzair had been standing. "Genius over there's taken the choice out of your hands."



There wasn't much to see inside the tower. All of the interior floors had collapsed, leaving it little more than an empty cylinder. Most of the rubble had been removed, however, to make room for a large, noisome sleeping pallet. An enormous wooden beam lay at an angle on the floor, and Huzair thought at first that it served the giant as a sort of low bench. Then he saw the bell and string and the large notches cut into the beam's length and he made some quick conclusions.



"The beam acts as a barricade for the trapdoor in the floor," he explained to the others, pointing out the corner of the hatch that extended beyond the massive timber. There was a hole drilled into the trapdoor and a bit of twine ran up from it to a bell hung on the wall. "This rope acts as a sort of doorbell, alerting the giant that he needs to move the beam and open the door." 

"But open the door for who," Shamalin asked. "Or what?"

"Humans," Anania announced from the opening in the tower wall. "There are numerous human-sized tracks moving along the road southeast. Far too many for an isolated area like this."

"And I think it's pretty clear what sort of humans we're talking about here," Ayremac said grimly. He called on his god-given ability to create a globe of _Daylight_ and pointed to the wall beside the bell. His golden radiance revealed that someone had drawn there in charcoal the rat-and-snake symbol of Ayphx.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Okay this was the "my way of killing/winning is better", which can only mean the "your way nearly got us killed" post is coming up soon.


----------



## Burningspear

'kewl' , more rats, yeay, (well, at least the story goes onwards)...nothing interesting about dirty chaos rats though


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Okay this was the "my way of killing/winning is better", which can only mean the "your way nearly got us killed" post is coming up soon.




You've spoken to the guys I see.   

There's some pretty real rivalry between the two characters over who's got the bigger weapon. I think Morier can do more damage on a more limited basis, but Karak's got the HP to keep on hittin' all day long.


----------



## Jon Potter

Burningspear said:
			
		

> 'kewl' , more rats, yeay




Noticed the theme, did you? Rats! I mean, Darn!

I hope that the story going onward is enough to make you overlook the flaws.  

And on that note, I'll hopefully have an announcement to make in the next coming week or two that may be of interest to you and my other reader(s).


----------



## Burningspear

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> Noticed the theme, did you? Rats! I mean, Darn!
> 
> I hope that the story going onward is enough to make you overlook the flaws.
> 
> And on that note, I'll hopefully have an announcement to make in the next coming week or two that may be of interest to you and my other reader(s).




question, is this an online session or a house , sit at the table kind of game?


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> And on that note, I'll hopefully have an announcement to make in the next coming week or two that may be of interest to you and my other reader(s).




Sorry Jon, I'm not selling my "crit" d20.


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Sorry Jon, I'm not selling my "crit" d20.




Your loss, HM. There's money to be made!

I have a feeling that my players and I would get in a bidding war over it.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> Your loss, HM. There's money to be made!
> 
> I have a feeling that my players and I would get in a bidding war over it.




I "critted" 5 times in a row (same die rolled the 20 I used a different one to confirm) against a PC (who's yet to be introduced in my SH) after the third 20 in a row on the same die the player bet I couldn't do it again. BAM! Then it was double or nothing and BAM! after that I tiold him the only thing he had left to bet was his character sheet (in the form of a dead PC). Ever since then the players have asked to "look" at the magic die, I of course am wise to their charrade and keep that one safe and secure. 

One of my players however has the opposite problem, he could roll 5 "1's" in a row on different dice even.


----------



## Burningspear

Burningspear said:
			
		

> question, is this an online session or a house , sit at the table kind of game?




John, you might have missed this bit, as u haven't answered it yet  thnx.


----------



## Jon Potter

Burningspear said:
			
		

> John, you might have missed this bit, as u haven't answered it yet  thnx.




Sorry. Not trying to overlook you, I just thought that you were speculating on what my announcement might be and I didn't want to prematurely squash any opining on the subject.

So... are you asking in general or about the "upcoming announcement"? If the former, then the answer is both, but 99-ish% e-mail. If your question refers to the latter, then the answer is neither.

I hope that clears it up for you, but I'm happy to discuss further if you have some specific issues to go over.


----------



## Burningspear

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> Sorry. Not trying to overlook you, I just thought that you were speculating on what my announcement might be and I didn't want to prematurely squash any opining on the subject.
> 
> So... are you asking in general or about the "upcoming announcement"? If the former, then the answer is both, but 99-ish% e-mail. If your question refers to the latter, then the answer is neither.
> 
> I hope that clears it up for you, but I'm happy to discuss further if you have some specific issues to go over.




I was trying to contact you privately, but this system did not allow that as i am not authorized????, hmmz...

can you have more ppl join your game if it is an 'online' game?


----------



## The Dark Elf

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> You've spoken to the guys I see.
> 
> There's some pretty real rivalry between the two characters over who's got the bigger weapon. I think Morier can do more damage on a more limited basis, but Karak's got the HP to keep on hittin' all day long.




Oh, I think we all know who really has the "bigger weapon"...


----------



## Jon Potter

Burningspear said:
			
		

> I was trying to contact you privately, but this system did not allow that as i am not authorized????, hmmz...




I've sent you an email.


----------



## Burningspear

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> I've sent you an email.




Yes, thnx, and i replied...


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Hmm. all this cloak & dagger stuff makes me think your taking your game into d20 Modern.   

What's the big secret? I think I know the Password: Tharhack

 Can I get in now?


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Hmm. all this cloak & dagger stuff makes me think your taking your game into d20 Modern.




Funny you should mention that. I did just order a copy of the Second World Sourcebook, so you may be right before too long...



> What's the big secret? I think I know the Password: Tharhack




D'oh! He's cracked the code! Run! Run!


----------



## Burningspear

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Hmm. all this cloak & dagger stuff makes me think your taking your game into d20 Modern.
> 
> What's the big secret? I think I know the Password: Tharhack
> 
> Can I get in now?



Think of the Serfs in Warcraft, 

M'lord? would you wish me to change the locks now?, yes M'Lord... as u wish..


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #410] In the Basement*

Huzair grimaced up at the roughly sketched image and then drew his cloak around himself and turned away from it. "We should remove that symbol," he said. "It is horrendous." Karak snorted and marched forward.

"On that we agree, wizard!" the dwarf said and shook water from his brother's holy water flask onto the drawing. At once the symbol began to melt down the wall in black streaks.

"What do you suppose is down there?" Ixin asked, turning her attention back to the trapdoor.

"I'd just as soon not find out," Morier said plainly. "You made a good point outside about our depleted resources." He looked the group over then and said in a louder voice. "Remember the bigger picture; we've got the keys to reunite Dridana's heart and body, it would be a shame to lose them while chasing rabbits down rabbit holes." Huzair rolled his eyes at that and started to speak, but Ayremac cut him off before he could start.

"Morier, I have reservations about going in there as well," he admitted. "And you're right, we need to accomplish our main goal. But I have a bad feeling about this place, and I don't think we should ignore it."

"Your loyalty to the fight against Aphyx is admirable," Shamalin told the holy warrior. "Had we time, it would be truly satisfying to pursue the kind of evil evidenced here. But Morier is right - we hold powerful keys which cannot be risked. I think our one purpose now is to deliver them quickly and safely. It is in doing so that we make significant strides to forward the cause." Ayremac nodded.

"The importance of the keys is not lost on me, Shamalin," the Officer of Umba replied. "But these followers of Aphyx seem well organized, smart enough to keep this place a secret, and powerful enough to morph a giant and a beholder into a massive guard dog. I would cast my vote for rooting out the evil in this place before moving on, if not for the fact that it is just evil, then because it is close to New Mellorell and we cannot risk the lives of the people there."

"We are chasing bees again when I thought we were in agreement that it's the hive that needs to be our focus," Morier sighed and Ixin looked confused.

"Bees?" she asked, looking to Huzair for clarification. The wizard dragged a hand wearily down his face.

"Don't tell me you have not yet had the opportunity to hear Sword Boy's famous Bee Speech?" the mage snipped as he lit up a cigar. "I think you are just not paying attention, my dear. He gives the damned thing at least once a week. Every time he does not want to fight some evil that is right in front of his face." Morier sighed, exasperated.

"I can see your eyes twinkling with the thought of the treasures that must be lying in wait for you below this door Huzair, but in the grand scheme of things it's a reward that just isn't worth the risk right now," the eldritch warrior said in a conversational tone. "We have these four keys; we should press on to put them to use as quickly as possible. I'm sure word that they are in our possession has not eluded Aphyx and the Dominion. We need to keep moving before they have the chance to marshall forces that will stop us." Huzair snorted.

"And leaving an infestation like this at our back is the smart way to go?" the wizard scoffed, his ire raising. "That worked real well in Relfren! Remember Constable Tannen-baum? Remember me almost getting my firking face melted off when he showed up in Floxen?"

"Huzair..." Morier started but the mage pressed on.

"It is real easy for you to dismiss what I suggest by assuming my motivation is always greed. It is not, I assure you! It's just convenient for you!" he snapped. "And I think that is the real issue here. What is convenient for you and your narrow focus of what is important." Huzair laughed sardonically. "Do you know what Lela said to me once? She said that it doesn't have to be a great battle that tips the balance toward the side of good. She said that we spread good by our every action, by the kindnesses we choose to extend or the evils that we choose to ignore." Ayremac raised his fist.

"Here! Here!" he shouted, but Huzair scowled and turned away, embarrassed.

"Do not get too excited, Fly Boy," the mage grumbled. "I am just a little sick of the hypocrisy around here. It's getting a little thick even for my tastes."

Karak planted his axe and scratched his beard thoughtfully. "Hrmphf... Well, this is how I sees this. I actually have to agree with Morier, even if he did steal my battle," the dwarf grumbled, glancing sidelong at the albino Morier. "The way I see it we have two choices: we can either chase down every rabbit hole for every rabbit or we have to find the mother den. As much as I want to explore that tunnel, I think we need to choose. Are we chopping off all the eye stalks of the beholder or are we going for the throat?" Huzair grimaced.

"Aren't you the same dwarf who said back in Floxen that you have to first deal with the medusa's snakes if you want to cut off its head without getting bit?" the wizard asked. "Or is that metaphor no good anymore? I admit it's getting a little crowded with all the bees and rabbits and-"

"I admit I do nae know what be the right answer!" Karak snapped. "It could be that down there we disrupt a vital branch of chaos or finds great tools of power in our quest. I do nae know. But I do know this: Chaos seeks to divide us, make us question ourselves. It's nae all transmogrified monsters and such. So it could be that we are meant to go down that hole or it could be that we need to make haste toward our ultimate goal. I do nae know what is right, but I choose we go. If I am out-voted, then I will gladly lean my back to removing the tower beam and get down inta that hole."

"You all know my vote," Morier said. "We press on."

"And mine," Ayremac countered. "We root out the evil."

"I want to explore the hole," Huzair said. "I'm willing to go alone if I have to."

"You'll not be alone," Ixin said, putting her hand on his shoulder. Shamalin sighed.

"She's right," the cleric said, stepping forward. "I will not let you search the hole without accompanying you."

"What?" Morier groaned, incredulous and Shamalin shrugged.

"My role is to protect the party as much as I am able, and that doesn't mean sitting on the sidelines even when they make foolish decisions," she told him. "But we'll go tomorrow when my miracles are replenished."



They camped within the tower, confident that, with the timber in place, nothing could assail them from below and liking the defensible position it afforded if attack came from the forest. Morier did his level best to persuade the party to his way of thinking  long after it became obvious that his cause was lost.

The night was chill but bright. Great Celune was nearly full in the heavens, sending her cold radiance to the ground below. To her right and low in the sky Merunna, the Handmaiden Moon, attended her, a silver crescent amid the stars. Anania stood watch outside the tower, well away from the firelight, alert for any danger. She heard Shamalin approaching before the cleric had even left the interior.

"Anania?" the half-elf called softly into the darkness.

"I am here," the scout replied, stepping into the moonlight with her bow held in one thin hand. Shamalin smiled at her but if she returned the expression, the cleric couldn't tell; the elf wore her scarf up over her face so that only her piercing eyes were visible above it.

"You heard us speak of many things today," Shamalin began and the elf nodded. "Past deeds and allies. Things we have not spoken of before."

"Yes," Anania replied. "There was much that I did not follow. But as my counsel was not sought I did not voice my questions. There was enough... disharmony without adding my uninformed voice to the melee." Shamalin nodded her agreement.

"Are you familiar with the tools of which we spoke?" the priestess asked. "The keys?" Anania's eyes probed Shamalin's for a moment before she answered.

"Only a little," she said. "Lord Hofralix told me that you went into the Tainted Cave seeking items of power to raise a goddess from the dead. He also told me that you, Ayremac, Morier and Huzair carried weapons of tremendous magical might. He supposed that these were the items you went in to find. Was that correct?"

"Yes," Shamalin said. Uncomfortable with how much the beholder had known about them without them being aware.

"Today, Morier said that you carried the keys to reunite Dridana's heart with her body," the elf went on. "Dridana is the name of the dead goddess, so it seems obvious that the items of power - your four weapons - are also these keys. I also know that you are afraid that your enemies will find you and take the keys. But beyond that I know nothing."

"You know much," the cleric said, notes of regret and uncertainty in her voice. "Have you made this information known to Lord Hofralix?"

"Not yet," the scout replied. "Once we move on from this place, I will make my first report to the Sovereign."

"How do you report back to Lord Hofralix and how often?" the Florian asked and Anania raised a hand to remove the antovar from around her neck. Beneath the scarf was a necklace of what Shamalin at first thought were finger bones. Peering closer she realized that the objects strung on the necklace were the same as the one they had discovered in their camp after the battle with rat elf mage.

"These are monitor eyes," Anania said, touching one of the short stalks so that the multi-facetted eye at its end caught the moonslight. "They see and hear everything that I do. When I remove one from the necklace it returns to Lord Hofralix and shares the knowledge with him."

"Oh," Shamalin said, a little bit of distaste creeping into her voice as she watched the eye stalks writhing gently in the dimness.

"And as for how often, the answer is whenever something of import to the Dominion of the Final Forge occurs," the elf said and began wrapping her scarf back around her neck. "There are a finite number of monitor eyes available to me, so I must act judiciously."



*Freeday, the 19th of Fireseek, 1270 AE​*​

It was no small task to lift the huge timber off of the trapdoor. It took the combined efforts of Karak, Ixin and Ayremac move it aside, and even then, they were sweating and out of breath when it was done. True to his word, Huzair volunteered to go down first, once he'd checked the door for traps and found none. Karak, however, took the lead instead - being significantly more durable than the wizard, and just as _Invisible_ once he'd secured Huzair's ring.

Throwing back the trapdoor revealed a shaft that went straight down as far as Karak's darkvision could see. There were handholds cut into the sides of the shaft, but the dwarf disdained them, relying on his _Ring of Feather Falling_ to bring him safely to the bottom. Once there he quickly swapped that ring for the _Ring of Communication_ as he looked around at an empty chamber with a pile of rubble in two corners and an opening to another room in one wall. A barely discernible, diffuse green glow outlined that doorway and Karak was pleased to be _Invisible_.

Quietly he stepped up to the door and peered in toward the glow. It emanated from a 10-foot wide by 10-foot tall archway filled completely with glowing green mist that Karak couldn't help but find familiar. Like the ones he'd seen twice before, the arch itself was composed of 29 stones. The two stones at the base were unadorned, but each of the other 27 was carved with a rune. The rune on the keystone was larger, inlaid with iron and corresponded to one of the other stones; its rune was the only one duplicated.

He raised the _Ring of Communication_ to his lips and whispered into it, "I think ye'll want to see this."


----------



## Burningspear

Woooooooooo...... (softly wispered),
look at my shiny glowing portal-door-trap... ;-)


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #412] The Perilous Portal*

"For what it's worth, these portals have not been our friends in the past," Morier said once the group had congregated in the chamber below. "Someone usually dies on the other end of them."

"Ruze," Ixin said as if in a dream. She stared unblinking at the bilious green vapor that filled the archway. "And Draelond." Of course, none of the others had ever met the two men of whom she spoke. Both had died battling a skaven-headed giant that had been guarding the portal in Spiderwood. Only Morier had an inkling of what the drakeling was talking about, but even he had joined the group in the wake of the men's deaths.

"Those were the two bodies that you and Vade burned in the caves outside Strenchburg Junction," the albino said and Ixin nodded. To emphasize his own point, he added, "They were killed by the portal's guardian."

"I assume the giant was this portal's guardian, but let us be on our toes just the same," Huzair suggested as he peered closer at the runes etched in each stone.

"We could have Morier use Stoneblade to wall up the portal," Shamalin suggested. "It might be an effecient way to deter the followers of Aphyx and then we can move quickly on." Once she had resigned herself to follow Huzair and indicated as much to the party, Shamalin expected her sense of uneasiness to diminish. But it hadn't. The giant with the beholder's head had been another apparition reminiscent of the gestalt monsters she had encountered in Rhadcliffe with the Speckled Band. And the memory of that skirmish carried its own weight. The past effected her far too strongly. And so she had allowed Ayremac's speech to sway her because she could not permit this party to confront such evils without her. Morier had been cool and even more detached since that decision, ignoring even Huzair's attempts to provoke him. Perhaps there would be time for further explanation. She hoped so at least.

"Now hold on, there!" Karak interrupted. "I want our mage and cleric to take a look at this thing before we go ruinin' things. Can either of you use your arcane or clerical knowledge to decipher if it will take us faster to our objective?"

"Has anyone taken the time to write down the symbols?" Huzair asked as he continued to study the symbols. They were simple in design, but did not seem to correspond to any language with which he was familiar. "Maybe we can figure out what they mean."

"What do you think it means?" Shamalin asked as she stepped up beside him. Huzair shrugged and grinned at her.

"I don't know," he admitted. "Do you?" She shook her head.

"Ixin, lass, do you know anything of these portals?" the dwarf asked, looking up at the sorcerer's face.

"Not really," Ixin admitted. "I entered your world through a portal, but it was not like this one and it was certainly not of my making. I think that I can activate this one if that is your wish."

"Bad idea," Morier said simply and Karak scratched, harrumphing once as he considered.

"Shamalin, now might be a good time for that divination spell, to see what awaits us on the other side," he said after a moment's thought. "Our past experiences with these portals have nae been good."

"I could do that," the cleric said. "But we'd have to narrow the scope of our question in order to get a meaningful reading. Perhaps we can choose a symbol and then see what the outcome might be if we chose to go through."

"Maybe Morier will feel a pull when we touch the symbols?" Huzair suggested and Morier shot him a scathing look.

"I definitely don't think I want to touch each rune to see how my head feels about it," he scoffed. "Too much could go wrong with that scenario."

"I say this, Morier, if ye can determine that our goal to bring the keys lies closer through that portal... well then I say we use it," Karak countered. "But this time we go through prepared. I go through invisible-like and scout out the area. You know, now that I think on it, we could use another invisibility ring so old Electric Sword can go through too."

"And I say this, there's no way I'm going to go through that portal," the albino stated. "I'll stay behind alone if it comes down to it."

"Is that a promise?" Huzair quipped, winking at the elf.

"Now, Huzair, I know you can get all prickly about lendin' out your magic stuff so if'n you want to go through first, well then go ahead an' be my guest. 'Cause I figure if you'n get stuck with a whole bunch o' arrows, well then our scoutin' be done and I'll just send ol' zappy sword flyin' through the portal on the opposite end of those arrows," Karak laughed to himself. "I crack me up sometimes."

"Are you not listening to me, Karak?" Morier snapped, scowling at the dwarf. "There's no way that you could convince me to step through that portal. Not even to get a better view at Huzair getting shot full of arrows!"

"Hey!" the wizard sneered.

"We at least need to activate the portal to find which runes lead to Spiderwood, Strenchburg Junction, and the Termlane Forest so we can put the runes on the map and start narrowing down the runes we don't know," Ixin offered. "If Morier can't feel a pull, I vote mark down what we know and get moving."

"Aye, if Morier's 'ead say this be nae the way, then let's up through this ladder, mark this on our map, an' be on our way," Karak agreed.

"Best idea I've heard today!" Morier said.



They decided to map the runes, and after a few moments' of trial and error, Ixin rekindled the knowledge of how to anchor to the power nexus and activate the runes. Almost half of them seemed not to function at all, as if the destination portal had been destroyed or the magic powering those runes had decayed too much. Another three looked in on areas choked completely with rubble. Another showed a scene underwater full of colorful fish and coral; a wrecked ship of some type dominated the middle distance, cloked in centuries of algae. All were impassable.

Five others they had examined before: one looked out on Spiderwood (and true to its name, several enormous spiders were crouching amidst some webs visible on the standing stones that Morier, Karak and Ixin all remembered); one was in a natural tunnel that was probably outside Strenchburg Junction; another showed the vine-choked ruins in the Termlane Forest; one showed a nondescript dungeon area in complete darkness; and the last looked out from a height on a vast coniferous forest.

The remaining six were more interesting.

The first showed a cramped cave of rough-worked stone dominated by a dark altar around which was clearly visible a coiled snake with a body bigger around than Karak's chest. That image kept flickering back into mist, unable to fully resolve itself.

The next showed an underground area lit by everburning torches set along the wall. A curved line of inlaid silver was set into the floor several dozen feet from the portal itself. The ceiling was lost in darkness above.

The next looked down from a mountainside again, but this time a cold, windswept sea was visible in the distance and between that point and the portal rose up an intricately-carved pillar of gray stone surrounded by a ring of large flat tables of similar material stained dark from blood-letting.

The next showed a scene similar to the ruins of the Termlane Forest with bleached and broken stonework. This ruin was given a sinister air by the presence of numerous humanoid bones heaped in clear view of the portal.

The next showed another ruin, but this one was canted at an angle as if the portal itself had settled greatly to the right. Steam and bubbling mud predominated and tendrils of green moss covered all the visible stonework.

The last showed an unremarkable dungeon room piled to the left and right with broken stone. A path had been cleared from the portal to a doorway that no longer held a door. A large chamber was visible beyond in which could be seen more rubble, but also some sleeping pallets and signs of current humanoid habitation, the whole lit by flickering firelight.


----------



## Burningspear

I like the details given with each of the Portal options... nice and varied, and some lively, even if no current activity.

(would be interesting to find out the lay of the network i guess (of the portals)


----------



## Jon Potter

Burningspear said:
			
		

> would be interesting to find out the lay of the network i guess (of the portals)




Well, the PCs disagree with you, as we'll see in the next update.


----------



## Burningspear

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> Well, the PCs disagree with you, as we'll see in the next update.




Weird not to want an overall bigger picture of what is going on, and where... so by that you can actually try to find out where the body of the Hydra is   
While using a 'elevator system' on a more serious note, you would like to know where it all leads to, don't you?, i know i would want to...


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #413] Following the Pull*

Keeping her hand on the final working rune so that they could all see into the dungeon beyond, Ixin asked, "Well Morier, Do you feel anything?" He shook his head.

"I don't feel anything except a strong desire to get out of here," the albino told her with a dismissive waive of his hand. "And even if I did feel something, it makes no sense to put ourselves purposefully in jeopardy. So let's be off." Ayremac sighed, looking critically at the eldritch warrior.

"I have never been a fan of being stone walled, Morier, but it must mean that you feel very strongly about it," he observed and Morier threw his arms into the air.

"Halleluiah!" he said sarcastically. "At last, somebody's listening to me." He headed for the outer chamber and Ixin withdrew her hand from the runestone, allowing the portal to fill once more with opaque green vapor.

"Then let us make a good start on the day and go where your head tells us to go," the drakeling suggested. "Does anyone have any objections?"

"I must admit, that since I have taken up the sword, so to speak, I have enjoyed the thrill of going into the darkness," Ayremac admitted with a glance at the dormant portal. He sounded a trifle disappointed as he added, "But this is probably not the right time." Karak harrumphed.

"It seems to me that these portals be used by the enemy," he said, tugging thoughtfully at his beard. "The whole time I be thinkin' we just nae usin' 'em right, but now that I think on it, they be guarded by the enemy forces. Ya know? All sorts of transmogrified beasts."

"One more reason not to jump around blindly," Shamalin told him and Huzair nodded his agreement.

"As much fun as we could have here," the mage added. "I think we should follow Whitey's pull."

"Hold on a moment," Ayremac interejected, gesturing to the room around them. "This might be a bit extreme, but what if I stayed behind with Sparky to watch this tower? If a small band comes through, I could attempt to dispatch them, or possibly dupe them into believing I am on their side. If they are more powerful, I can escape on my wings." Ixin shook her head

"I don't like the idea of splitting up," she countered. "Bad things have happened to our predecessors when they chose to do that."

"But If I keep the _Ring of Communication_ I should be able to stay in contact with you and Sparky can lead me back to you."

"There's no way that I'm leaving Sparky behind." Huzair snapped.

"Ayremac, it is my hope that by venturing into this tunnel and possibly by walling up the portal, we have appeased your desire to thwart the evils that are evidenced here," Shamalin said diplomatically, her well-chosen words reinforced by her magical _Circlet of Persuasion_. "And that now, with one purpose, we can all agree to climb out and follow the pull in Morier's head."

"Maybe Shamalin is right," Ixin considered. "Maybe we need to wall up this portal and any others we find as we go."

"Stoneblade could do that, right?" Huzair asked Morier. "It would slow them up and kind of say, 'Screw you! We know where you are hiding'. It may slow their spread a little bit too."  The albino eyed the group from the other room and then stepped back into the portal chamber, his hand on Stoneblade's sheathe.

"I could do that," Morier said. "If you all can agree to leave at once after I do." There were several nods of agreement, but Karak just scratched at his beard and scowled.

"I think that us shuttin' 'em down be a good idea. On t'a other hand what if'n there be a short cut through there?" He continued scratching and eyed Morier thoughtfully. The eldritch warrior began to get an uncomfortable feeling as, Karak's muscles began to bulge and ripple unconsicously as if he were laboring at moving boulders. He took a step toward Morier. The dwarf continued to speak, but his voice was low, as if he were speaking to himself and no one else.

"It might work," he muttered. "We could just poke 'is 'ead through and I betcha we would know right quick if'n there be a short cut through there. Of course, the white elf won't go through voluntarily. I probably could muscle 'im through, but may need some help. Those wiry fighters can be quite lithe when the want to be. 'Course he nae be a dwarf 'cause when a dwarf do nae want to be moved then he nae be moved. But then again, I don't want to hurt Morier just see if his head can tell us which way is shorter."

"Hmmmm... we're not doing that," Shamalin said flatly.

"I do not like the idea of just looking through," Huzair agreed. "There has been a guard at most of the places these portals lead". Karak harrumphed and stepped up to Morier.

"Say, White One, I be thinkin' why'n you just poke your head through the portel there and see if'n that way be quicker?" Karak said, putting a companionable arm around Morier's shoulders. "I mean it could save use days of travel. An' I do think that Chaos does have the jump on us a bit, don' ye?" The eldritch warrior looked at him skeptically and Karak added, "I'll put my head through too."

"It's a tool of evil and I think destroying it is the best thing we can do," Morier countered, peeling Karak's arm off him and drawing Stoneblade. "If we understood its use I would have no reservations about using it against them... but we really just don't know enough."

"THE SCION OF STONE AWAKES!" the sword thundered, its inhuman voice neatly deafening in the small area. "WHAT ENEMY MUST I SMITE?!"

"We need a wall," Morier said, reversing his grip and burying the sword point-first in the floor in front of the portal. There came a grating noise and a barrier of unworked stone rose up to the ceiling blocking the portal entirely.

Without another word, the eldritch warrior yanked Stoneblade free and resheathed the sword before stalking toward the outer room and the shaft leading up. Karak harrumphed and touched the new _Wall of Stone_.

"I guess the elf be good for something," he snorted. "That be a good stone wall in short order. That should hold 'em back or be a surprise at the least when someone goes to step through. Ha... BAM! inta a wall."

"Let's go," Shamalin said. "I don't relish the thought of someone closing the trapdoor above and us getting trapped down here."

"Obviously we'll need to be particularly sharp from now on as we are likely to be followed," Ixin observed. She tapped Huzair on the arm and asked, "What is it you like to say, 'stay buffed'?" The wizard chuckled.

"See if you can't talk that sense into Morier," he said as they filed toward the exit.

Lagging a bit behind, Karak eyed the sealed portal and patted the head of his waraxe. "Now do nae you aworry, Shelia," he whispered lovingly to the weapon. "Ye'll get to bite yer frosty edge inta something soon, I promise."



They made quick work of their campsite and as they set off eastward again, Anania paused to remove one of the eyes from the necklace she wore beneath her antovar. She whispered something to the eye stalk and tossed it into the air. It began at once to drift westward toward the trees on the far side of the gorge. Karak watched it go and then grinned at the scout.

"Yo, archer. Next time you be sending back one of yer eye stalk message thingie's, tell old Many Eye to send us back another _Invisibility Ring_," he chuckled. "He'll get a kick outta that, heh heh heh." Anania eyed him appraisingly and pulled her scarf back up over her mouth and nose.

"I doubt that," she said, taking her position in the vanguard. "But he will know, just the same. Whatever I see and hear the monitor eyes see and hear."



*Starday, the 20th - Earthday, the 25th of Fireseek, 1270 AE*​


Travel became no easier for the Order once they had left the forest and begun marching eastward across the tundra. The treeless plain made it easy enough to keep a steady heading, but the number of lakes, streams and bogs necessitated frequent and lengthy detours. And camping on the heath amidst sedge and rushes made the windy nights frigid and inhospitable. Anania did her best to keep the group comfortable and well-fed, but it was a difficult prospect in such a brutal environment. Still, they pressed on, drawing closer by degree to the Risilvar Escarpment and the Altan Tepe mountains beyond.

On the night of the 25th, with both Great Celune and her Handmaiden, Merruna grown full in the sky the enemy came.



Morier and Shamalin were on second watch, huddled around a meager campfire on the shore of another nameless lake. A number of large boulders served them as a windbreak, but it offered poor comfort on such a clear night when the stars twinkled like ice amidst the black vastness of Merikka's vault.

To Morier, it was uncomfortably akin to the frozen hell of the Air Walk, but Shamalin knew nothing of such things and was instead reminded of many a night campaigning with the Speckled Band. Thoughts of Amaury filled her mind such that when Morier shouted alarm, for a long moment, she couldn't understand what was happening.

"We're being _Scried_!" he shouted over the wind, pointing at something in the air above the camp. She couldn't see what he was seeing, but a heartbeat later, a tearing sound - like sailcloth being rent asunder by a hurricane's winds - filled her senses and something seemed to pour out of the air some twenty feet above the campsite. It dropped to the ground like a torrent of liquid obsidian, taking as it struck the earth an undulant ophidian form. An unholy stench filled the air at the thing's arrival, but Shamalin had no time to waste worrying about the odor for the light of two full moons outlined clearly the creature as it gathered itself to attack. The quicklsilver thing slithered forward with an unbelievable speed and celerity of motion, opening as it came a toothless mouth of horrifying capacity.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> "We're being _Scried_!" he shouted over the wind, pointing at something in the air above the camp. She couldn't see what he was seeing, but a heartbeat later, a tearing sound - like sailcloth being rent asunder by a hurricane's winds - filled her senses and something seemed to pour out of the air some twenty feet above the campsite. It dropped to the ground like a torrent of liquid obsidian, taking as it struck the earth an undulant ophidian form. An unholy stench filled the air at the thing's arrival, but Shamalin had no time to waste worrying about the odor for the light of two full moons outlined clearly the creature as it gathered itself to attack. The quicklsilver thing slithered forward with an unbelievable speed and celerity of motion, opening as it came a toothless mouth of horrifying capacity.




This reminds me of the scene in Poltergiest 2 where Craig T. Nelson coughs up that undead transformed Tequila worm onto the carpet.


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> This reminds me of the scene in Poltergiest 2 where Craig T. Nelson coughs up that undead transformed Tequila worm onto the carpet.




Well, that description is actually lifted almost verbatum from Clark Ashton Smith's "The Tale of Satampra Zeiros". I likes me some Cthulhu mythos.


----------



## Burningspear

I have no knowledge of Cthulhu, but is sounds yuckie  :\   , lets stamp it into the carpet...

*Squish!, *Splat!, *Stamp!, and no..., 'Nibble', u cannot eat that....sigh


----------



## Kristeneve

Burningspear said:
			
		

> I have no knowledge of Cthulhu, but is sounds yuckie  :\   , lets stamp it into the carpet...
> 
> *Squish!, *Splat!, *Stamp!, and no..., 'Nibble', u cannot eat that....sigh





I have a friend whose dog who actually ate the dried up, crusty remnant of her newborn daughter's umbilical cord after it fell off!  Sometimes you just can't top plain old reality.


----------



## Jon Potter

Kristeneve said:
			
		

> I have a friend whose dog who actually ate the dried up, crusty remnant of her newborn daughter's umbilical cord after it fell off!  Sometimes you just can't top plain old reality.




I _REALLY_ wish you hadn't told me that.

I'm going to quietly retch in the corner now.


----------



## Burningspear

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> I _REALLY_ wish you hadn't told me that.
> 
> I'm going to quietly retch in the corner now.





....Lol...


----------



## Kristeneve

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> I _REALLY_ wish you hadn't told me that.
> 
> I'm going to quietly retch in the corner now.





There has to be bonus experience points for that, right?  I mean, it's not often you can make the DM retch in a corner!


----------



## Burningspear

Kristeneve said:
			
		

> There has to be bonus experience points for that, right?  I mean, it's not often you can make the DM retch in a corner!




i sense a form of mutiny arising? 
or someones arm being twisted in a 'nice' way to gain something...?

hahahaha...sniksnotterboohooghegheghe....

(rolling on the floor while making the above noises)


----------



## Kristeneve

Burningspear said:
			
		

> i sense a form of mutiny arising?
> or someones arm being twisted in a 'nice' way to gain something...?
> 
> 
> We're always angling for experience points.  Most of the time he just ignores us.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Kristeneve said:
			
		

> We're always angling for experience points.  Most of the time he just ignores us.





That's when you need to take the plot wagon by the reigns and steer it to where you want to go. For exampe: you could've aligned yourselves with the beholder, then turned on it when it least expected, inserted Ayremac as the new leader (only because of the deep booming voice my head plays when I read his lines), and then taken your new clan to wipe the countryside's arse of any blemishes you saw fit to.   

That'll make any DM take notice.


----------



## Burningspear

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> That'll make any DM take notice.





And probably make him react with a Deus Ex Machina effect


----------



## Jon Potter

Burningspear said:
			
		

> And probably make him react with a Deus Ex Machina effect




Not me. That would have been fun. Everybody probably would have died, but it would have been fun.


----------



## Burningspear

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> Not me. That would have been fun. Everybody probably would have died, but it would have been fun.




Interesting to see glimpses of your mindset though, helps what to expect and what not to expect, though it does not yet help predict


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #414] Pulled Away*

Shamalin watched in horror as it bore down on Huzair. The wizard was, as always, sleeping near the fire and had only just begun to stir from Morier's shouted warning when the thing slithered toward him. The attack was hasty, and would have missed had the mage been on his feet, but lying prone and wrapped in a blanket, Huzair could do little to avoid the attack. With an obscene slurping sound, the wizard disappeared head first into the formless spawn.

Nearby, Anania rolled to her feet, bow in hand and an arrow at the ready. She hesitated for an instant as the mage was swallowed whole, afraid that she might transfix Huzair if she fired into the creature's mass. She needn't have worried, for as  she drew her sight further along the trailing length of the thing's oily black body - away from the engulfed wizard - she sent her shaft uselessly into the hard ground beside it.

"Oi, Shelia, time to brim with Frost!" Karak bellowed as he jumped lithely to his feet. "Now if'n I can only get there before that damned elf!" Only Morier and Ixin had seen Karak fight without his armor on, and it was easy to forget how fleet of foot the dwarf really was when so unencumbered. He was a blur of motion now as he charged. He leapt over the fire that separated him from the thing and brought his holy axe down in an mighty overhead chop that cut through the creature's gelatinous body and bit deep into the earth beneath. The thing let out a shriek that clawed madly at the senses.

Ixin winced momentarily at the sound and then she was getting to her feet. She felt dragon breath aching hotly to be freed from her chest, but there was no clear target. She would burn either Karak or Huzair if she used it, so instead she called on the Weave and solidified mana into a pair of crimson-tailed _Magic Missiles_ that strobed briefly in the darkness. They struck unerringly and then rebounded immediately on her, sizzling into her chest. She yelped and clutched at the smoking holes cut into her scales.

Ayremac rose to his feet with a single pull of his wings and Windblade was in his hand as if some sleight of hand trick. There was no way for him to reach the creature as Karak had done, so he called down a _Holy Smite_ on the ooze. Unlike Ixin's _Magic Missiles_ the spell was not turned back onto the Holy Warrior, and it burned along the blasphemous thing's unwholesome flesh like divine fire. Again it let out a wail of pain, but it still held fast in its gullet the wizard.

Shamalin protected herself with a _Magic Circle Against Evil_ and moved closer to the melee.

Morier started forward as well, but seeing that the shapeless mass was engaged with others for the moment, he paused to imbue himself with _Bull's Strength_.

The creature writhed about beside the fire, roiling about like a snake in its death throes. That horrendous tearing sound occurred again and the black mass seemed to drain away into the ground. Karak was the only one close enough to strike at it and he did so, but his axe passed harmlessly through its insubstantial form as it disappeared...

...taking Huzair with it.


----------



## Jon Potter

*What the? That's it?*

Gah! That was too short...

Let's try another, shall we?


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #415] Allegations and Recriminations*

"Oi! By Shaharizod's beard!" Karak scoffed as he yanked his waraxe from the semi-frozen earth. "It took the wizard! I do nae believe it." Anania moved forward quickly, squatting down over the ground where the mage and his attacker had disappeared.

"Perhaps it's taken him underground," she suggested, but the idea seemed foolish as soon as it had left her lips. Clearly the creature hadn't burrowed into the ground with the wizard in tow. It had just... vanished.

"That thing struck fast! I mean Shelia got a bite inta it for sure, but I could do nae more," the dwarf went on. His breath came in great silver clouds as he stood there talking, steam rising from his skin. "Morier, did you see my last strike go right through the beast?" Morier trotted up, his muscles swollen with the power of his _Bull's Strength_ spell, Stoneblade in his hands.

"I saw," the elf said. "I think the creature went incorporeal there at the very end. Just before it disappeared with Huzair."

"Hrmpf!" the dwarf replied, fingering his waraxe lovingly. "Well, that makes at least some action for ye, Shelia. You sure did brim with the frost that time."

"Could he be dead?" Ixin asked, hesitantly. She'd grabbed a blanket and drawn it about her broad shoulders as some protection against the chill. There was a silence for a moment but then Karak harrumphed.

"For reasons I do nae know, I do nae think the wizard was killed in that gulp," the dwarf told her. "But where he could be now, only Malak would know." 

Shamalin approached the place where Huzair and the monster had disappeared, despair showing plainly on her features. "Does anyone have any Knowledge of the Planes?" Her question was greeted by silence, and in the pit of her stomach a cold realization began to spread. She pushed it away and studied the ground where Huzair had been sleeping. Placing her hands flat upon on the earth, she closed her eyes in a desperate attempt to think of something that might help track the wizard. "Does Huzair still wear the communication ring?" 

"Yes!" Ayremac cheered and brought the _Ring_ he wore to his lips. "Huzair? Are you all right?" Nothing but silence replied.

"Mayhaps the blinkin' he always be doin' has attracted the notice of planar beasties. I jus do nae know. If Malak were 'ere, he would know," Karak grumbled into his beard. "Shamalin, do you have a way to commune with planar beasties?"

"It wouldn't do any good," Morier told him. "There'd be no way to tag along with a Summoned Monster when it returned to the planes."

"Is that what we think happened?" Ixin asked. "He was taken to another plane of existence?" Several of the others muttered their assent.

Shamalin's sense of fear and frustration was growing. She knew from her religious training that Flor could send creatures from other planes, but never had she tried to follow one in its return. Could it be done? Morier seemed to think not, but he practiced a different kind of magic than her own. "You're from from another plane originally, right?" She implored Ixin. "Do you remember that tearing sound? Can we make an opening?" Ixin looked uncomfortable and she shrugged.

"I really don't remember, Shamalin," the drakeling admitted. "I barely recall my journey to this world, and it certainly was not my choice to do so. There was a witch... a snake witch, I think... or a dragon witch..." Karak thumped the haft of his waraxe on a rock, drawing everyone's attention.

"Does anyone 'ere know how to track down the wizard?" the dwarf implored and was answered by silent stares. "Well, then, I will inspect the area where it disappeared. Morier and Ayremac I suggest you set up a perimeter an' maybe inpect around as well."

"I don't think that thing will return," Ayremac observered. "It has obviously not just gone underground for the time being."

"That does seem unlikely," Anania offered in a small voice.

"I do admit that it sure be a mite quieter aroun' 'ere, with the wizard gone, though," Karak joked without any humor. "Heh. Heh." 

"Damn!!" Ayremac cursed and hurled Windblade away into the night. The sword spun end over end with a metallic whickering sound before impaling the ground some distance away. The elemental blade swayed back and forth for a moment before vanishing and reappearing in Ayremac's hand. "Shamalin, you have nothing to aid in this situation?" the Officer of Umba blurted out, the tension of the moment overwhelming his normal sense of decorum. The priestess of Flor looked at him in shock.

"Excuse me?" she asked. "Why is this-" Ayremac held up a defeated hand to silence her, shaking his head.

"I am sorry. That was out of line," he told her and she could see the great sadness and anger that his impotence was causing him. "One would think with Celestial blood flowing through my veins I could do something to help... Dah! I hate feeling helpless!!" She nodded. That was a sentiment she could well understand.

"Perhaps a prayer to Umba will offer some guidance," she suggested. "I fear that this is out of our hands for this evening at least." He nodded and with a wan smile went to erect his portable altar.

"So that is it, then?" Anania asked, confused. "You just leave the wizard to his fate?" Shamalin turned to face the new elf with a visible effort to contain her anger.

"Do you realize what has happened here?" the Mercybringer asked through gritted teeth. "It's quite possible that your message has compromised this company and its mission." The elf drew back, confused.

"What do you mean?" the scout asked as she forced her expression back into one of passivity.

"I mean, what sort of protection does your 'eye' have as it flies back to Hofrilax?" Shamalin pressed.

"Protection?" the archer replied. "Against what? Birds?" She looked around to assess if the others shared Shamalin's feelings. Morier, Karak and Ixin watched with interest, their faces hard.

"We found one such eye in the forest near the tainted cave, intercepted!" the cleric went on. "And if that can happen, then you've pretty much just announced our every intention to the world!" The elf favored Shamalin with a patronizing smile then as understanding finally filled her eyes.

"I see," Anania said. "You fear that our enemies have intercepted the monitor eye and learned what was intended for Lord Hofralix. That is impossible. The eyestalk can only impart its knowledge to the monitor which gave up the eye and the Sovereign himself. It is possible that the eye might have been intercepted and destroyed, but the knowledge within is secure against anything but the most powerful magic."

"Like the kind of magic necessary to pull a wizard out of the Prime against his will?" Morier mused. "That kind of powerful?"


----------



## Burningspear

Okay..., wizard kebab and elf gets blamed!!.., Extra extra, last edition!!... read all about it..

and the first time i read it, i actuALLY MISSED THE SHORT BIT BEFORE IT...LOL.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> "Like the kind of magic necessary to pull a wizard out of the Prime against his will?" Morier mused. "That kind of powerful?"




Who said it was against his will? Just like Huzair to negociate a sympathy bargain with a morally questionable being to sway the group. Heck he's probably in the Far Realms mutating right now.   

This show of concern for Huzair from Morier is exactly what a manipulative control freak like Huzair likes to see.


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> This show of concern for Huzair from Morier is exactly what a manipulative control freak like Huzair likes to see.




Have you been talking to Huzair's player?


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #416] Asking Questions of the Gods*

"I suspect that the two are not-" Anania began, but, not letting the conversation drop, Shamalin pressed on. She did, however, take a measured breath in an effort to keep her voice from rising further with the emotion coursing through her.

"We were scried, Anania, just before the attack," the cleric said, her voice even but nevertheless strained. "No one but your messenger eye had any knowledge of the swords." The elf arched an eyebrow, cocking her head to the side.

"No one but the Dominion of Flesh Reborn, you mean?" she said. "They are allied with the Weavers and you yourself admit to an encounter with a wererat before finding one of our monitors' eyes. Is it not possible that the mage whom you allowed to escape brought word of your swords?"

"We did not use the swords in that battle," Ixin defended. She looked questioningly at the others and asked, "Did we?" Karak harrumphed.

"Ayremac did," the dwarf admitted and they glanced over at where the half-celestial was knelt in prayer. "But anyway, the wizard knew about the keys before then. He was there to take the Keys. Just like the rat pile knew about them before we left the cave."

"So clearly others apart from my messenger eye knew of the swords, Shamalin," Anania told her. She sighed and looked off into the dark night. "If you do not trust me, then there is nothing I can say to sway you; my actions will have to do that for me. If it is simply that you do not like me... well, that matters little to me. I am here because it is my Sovereign's wish, not because I seek new friends." She began walking away from camp, adding, "I will check our perimeter while you decide whether or not you will abandon Huzair."

There was silence for a moment until the scout had disappeared fully into the gloom. At last Shamalin spoke up. "We are not abandoning Huzair," she said. "That monster had a purpose, and six of us still remain. If it returns again, I can prepare a _Dimensional Anchor_ to prevent it from disappearing again. Or perhaps a _Planar Ally_ can aid us in the search. Or a _Command_ spell... But I can do nothing without time to prepare. Unless someone has a better idea?" She looked around, but no one did. Morier caught her eye and frowned.

"I hate to leave and just give up on Huzair... but we don't really have a lot to go on do we?" the albino said, hesitantly. "As cold and soulless as this sounds, I think we can only afford to wait it out just a little bit before we need to move forward... unless, as Shamalin says, someone has a better idea. We'll wait for long enough to scout the area really well and see if there's any sort of clue anywhere to be found... and then... we... move on."

Once again Shamalin found herself at odds with Morier. She hustled to him and sought his gaze in an effort to read in his face how he could give up on Huzair so easily. "Linger just long enough to scout the perimeter?! You're giving up!? What kind of a party does that?" She threw her arms wide as the weight of her words hung in the air. Then she turned and addressed the others. "Listen to me. I need long enough to prepare for what seems to be the only real attempt we have at tracking Huzair, or eliciting that monster's return." She took a deep breath and added quietly, "I have to try." 

Ixin laid a comforting hand on the cleric's shoulder. "How much time do you need?" she asked.

"I can pray for the spells at dawn," Shamalin said and Karak looked up at the sky.

"It be passed midnight now," the dwarf announced. "So we be talkin' about a few hours only." Ixin nodded and stared at Morier.

"I think it is time well-spent," she said. "Ayremac needs to pray to Umba for help and Shamalin needs to pray to Flor. Karak- you could pray too. It couldn't hurt and it may well allow us to retrieve Huzair. I have been on another plane and so has Morier. There is hope."



*Freeday, the 26th of Fireseek, 1270 AE*​


"Anania, if Hofralix was here, would he be able to retrieve our friend?" Ayremac asked the elf as she passed him a cup of strong tea. She looked at him impassively and shrugged.

"Lord Hofralix is capable of a great many things. I do not know the full extent of his power," she said. "I do know that I would feel better about the wizard's chances if the Sovereign were here."

"I ask, because I can fly back to New Mellorell and ask for his aid and then return to you," the holy warrior told her between sips of his cup.

"I don't know what Hofralix will do," Shamalin announced as she trudged back to the fire, her prayers complete. But if you fly back to New Mellorell, you may be at risk of being intercepted and attacked while you are alone."

"It may be a slim chance but I think I can do it!!" Ayremac said enthusiastically.

"You won't need to," Sahamlin reassured him. "My _Divination_ revealed that summoning an extra-_Planar Ally_ would allow us to find and retrieve Huzair."

"That's great!" Ixin said. "You are a valuable friend, Shamalin. Without you we'd be running around like fools half the time." Karak harrumphed at that and Morier got to his feet.

"So what is the delay?" the eldritch warrior asked and Shamalin looked pointedly at Ayremac.

"I wanted to enlist your assistance in this if I might," she said and the holy warrior's face brightened.



"What is it you would have of me, Mercybringer?" the Deva asked. She stared down at Shamalin with silver eyes that caught the flickering orange light from the flaming sword she carried in one slender hand. Her face was beautiful, serene and as pale as alabaster.

"We have lost an ally," she explained. "He was taken off this Plane by forces that seek to prevent our quest." The deva's eyes flicked to Ayremac and Shamalin felt a pang of jealousy as the attention drifted from her.

"Speak to me not of your quest," the celestial implored. "It is known to me, but the laws of Umba forbid me to interfere."

"Then you cannot help us?" Shamalin asked and the deva looked back at her and smiled warmly.

"I can help you," she said. "But I must act only on the task without and not linger long on the reasons of your quest."

"Thank you," Shamalin sighed and the deva nodded.

"I present you with a choice. I can act now and retrieve your wizard, but the price will be steep and non-negotiable, for it will not be without danger to me" she said. "Or I can give you the knowledge of how to retrieve him in a day or two yourself, for a lesser payment." She looked once more on Ayremac and, smiling, added, "Both will benefit those who defend the border between life and death."


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> "I hate to leave and just give up on Huzair... but we don't really have a lot to go on do we?" the albino said, hesitantly. "As cold and soulless as this sounds, I think we can only afford to wait it out just a little bit before we need to move forward... unless, as Shamalin says, someone has a better idea. We'll wait for long enough to scout the area really well and see if there's any sort of clue anywhere to be found... and then... we... move on."




translation = Loot the area for loose change then burn his memory from my mind.   



			
				Jon Potter said:
			
		

> "You won't need to," Sahamlin reassured him. "My Divination revealed that summoning an extra-_Planar Ally _ would allow us to find and retrieve Huzair."




Ok, I know you like dropping hints as much as I do, so I wonder does wording as written mean Shamalin is going to summon an _EXTRA_ planer-ally or does it mean she's going to summon an _extra-planer ally_ if it the former then I'd be really interested to know what exactly she's doing with a "spare" planer-ally who up to this point has done nothing proactive.


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Ok, I know you like dropping hints as much as I do, so I wonder does wording as written mean Shamalin is going to summon an _EXTRA_ planer-ally or does it mean she's going to summon an _extra-planer ally_ if it the former then I'd be really interested to know what exactly she's doing with a "spare" planer-ally who up to this point has done nothing proactive.




Nope. She's just got the one Planer Ally at this point. I was just trying to put the game terminology into a more "in-world" vernacular. There are no seraphim hiding around her biding their time.


----------



## Burningspear

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> Nope. She's just got the one Planer Ally at this point. I was just trying to put the game terminology into a more "in-world" vernacular. There are no seraphim hiding around her biding their time.




Maybe he was wishing for a playfull/ kinky side to shamalin? having a Seraphim as a playmate... , that she was hiding from even the party?, would make Huzair jealous to the bone


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #417] Decisions, decisions*

The holy warrior smiled at the deva and gave a slight bow. "My celestial kin, it has been a lifetime since I have seen one of my own kind," he said then his words faltered and he stared into her opalescent eyes.

"There is no number with which to count the host among the higher planes, my cousin," the deva said. "Seek us there and you may walk among family... friends... lovers..."

Shamalin studied carefully the Celestial's face and thought she caught a glimpse of something in her eye when the deva looked upon Ayremac. Desire, perhaps? Did higher beings such as this truly pine for the affection of mortals, she wondered. But then, Ayremac's very nature as both celestial and mortal gave ample evidence that they did. And this Ally Shamalin had summoned looked very much like Ayremac; they could truly be kin. Her eyes were pearlescent where Ayremac's glittered like cut emeralds and her skin was white as alabaster while Ayremac's was worn red from exposure to the cold and sun, but in all other ways they seemed a matched pair. Truly he resembled this winged Outsider more than he did any of them.

"I have spent hours meditating on my ancestral blood and have become attuned to that part of being," the Officer of Umba answered, clearly awed by this paragon of virtue. She smiled at him warmly.

"And in so doing you have shed the bonds of your earthbound kin," she said. "But there is still much of the mortal in you - something raw that chaffs against your higher nature." Ayremac seemed to deflate at her pronouncement and he looked briefly down at his feet. Shamalin stole the moment.

"You speak of non-negotiable payments. Can we ask the price beforehand?" she asked the deva. "How can we make an informed decision without knowing whether the price would be to dear for us to pay?"

"You are wise, Mercybringer. But you need not fear. Only fiends strike bargains meant to catch mortals unawares," she answered. "The price for me to act directly to retrieve your wizard is a quest upon your group that you find and bring to justice the person or persons responsible for the bloody murders of numerous Sanctifiers of Calaam. The price for the knowledge of how you might do it yourself is the _Rod of Withering_ you carry, cleric."

Shamalin saw the light of excitement return to Ayremac's face and she turned away to look over at Ixin, Morier and Karak who stood some distance away regarding the proceedings with reverent awe. "May I take a moment to discuss the decision with my companions?" the cleric asked.

"Of course," the deva told her gesturing for her to do as she would. "Act not with haste but with wisdom." Shamalin gave a little bow of her head and moved toward her companions. Once she was well away, Ayremac regained the deva's attention.

"Might I ask, if I could be so bold, what would you prefer?" the holy warrior said and the Celestial fixed him with a skeptical eye.

"Do you ask me to break your patron's injunction?" she asked playfully and Ayremac shook is head.

"No. No," he protested. "I'm just trying to act with the greatest good in mind. And this choice you have placed before us is a difficult one."

"It is the choices we make that define us, Officer of Umba," the deva said. "That is the nature of free will. That is why I give you choices to make. I am forbidden from setting your path for you, but even if Umba did not make that decree I would choose not to do so. That would deprive you of the chance to make of yourself the most that you can. Your choices have taken you to this place without my guidance; look in your own heart to find the next step on your journey." Ayremac smiled at her, nodding. 

"I, for one, have a distaste for traveling with that _Rod_ in our company. But I also cannot stand to see the blood of a holy warrior spilled without proper Justice being administered," he considered, righteous fire burning in his eyes. Then his face split into a wide smile. "Might we offer to do both? For your aid in this quest, bring Huzair back to us, we will find those responsible for the deaths of the Sanctifiers and if you will further share with us what you know of our Quest or our enemies, we will give you the _Rod of Withering_?" The deva chuckled at Ayremac's enthusiasm.

"You see, there, cousin," she mused. "There is that raw bit of mortality of which I spoke, scheming against your higher ideals."



"Is this really a matter we need to debate?" Morier snorted after Shamalin explained the choice the deva presented. "If we're going to have to fight our way through something, it might as well be directly related to our current mission at hand rather than some side quest that has no clear connection to Ayphx." Karak harrumphed.

"Well, I must say I am always up for a quest to save holy warriors, bein' that my brother was one an' all," the dwarf observed, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. "An' I do admit that the White One has a point; I do worry that all these side quests may pull us away from the main thread of our purpose. On th' other hand, savin' holy warriors be important work and may be intertwined with the mission at hand. Plus it sounds like a quicker way to get Huzair back."

"I think that the second option is preferable," Ixin admitted. "Though my reasoning is different. We need to rid ourselves the _Rod of Withering_ anyway. To my way of thinking, this presents a good means to that end."

"I can honestly say I am fine with either option," Karak said. "But if forced to a vote, I pick save the holy warriors."

"As do I," Ayremac said as he stepped up to the group. "We have a choice before us: get Huzair now, and quest against an injustice to my brothers in faith... or we can get information on how to quest for Huzair ourselves and ignore the murdered Sanctifiers. The way I see it, we quest either way. With one option we have Huzair to fight with us, with the other, we don't. This celestial being isn't telling us we must take this quest and forfeit all other struggles we are facing, so I vote to get Huzair back now, and use his magical strength to continue our own quest while working to bring this murderer to justice as well."

"That makes some sense," Ixin said, looking at Shamalin and Morier. The latter shook his head in disagreement.

"Consider, if you will, the costs associated with each option," the albino countered. "How frequently do we employ the _Rod of Withering_... and how would not having it change our general approach to battle and the way that we deal with enemies, if at all?"

"Agreed," Shamalin said with a tone of resolution in her voice. "And since I summoned the _Planar Ally_, the decision, ultimately, is mine."



"To the south on the shores of a lake not unlike this one lie the Moonsteps," the deva told Shamalin. "The steps lead down into the earth to a cave containing a pool of water. In the pool is an island, and the island is a portal to the Astral Plane. That is where you will find your missing wizard." Shamalin nodded her understanding.

"But how will we find him from there?" she asked and the deva smiled.

"Do not travel to the Astral yourself, Mercybringer That would gain you nothing at the present time," the Celestial said. "Cast a _Sending[i/i] to the mage beforehand telling him of your plan to rescue him. Once at the portal you can cast Portal Beacon and he will sense its pull. He can activate the portal from the other side and return to the Prime of his own accord. But be warned, the portal consumes an offering of magic to power the journey between planes."

"Thank you," Shamalin said, with a reverential nod. She held up the Rod of Withering to the deva and before the cleric had a chance to react the Celestial's flaming sword came up and cleaved the device in twain.

"Our bargain is fulfilled," the deva said. "The Moonsteps are visible only under the light of a full moon so do not tarry long for tomorrow is the last night that one of Shaharizod's Mirrors will be full for several weeks."

And then she was gone, leaving Shamalin holding up the smoking handle of the sundered Rod of Withering._


----------



## Burningspear

Jon, i am having trouble getting onto my google mail....so i am not sure if and when i can react... it started yesterday night a bit, now again, i hope it will solve soon....


----------



## Jon Potter

Burningspear said:
			
		

> Jon, i am having trouble getting onto my google mail....so i am not sure if and when i can react... it started yesterday night a bit, now again, i hope it will solve soon....




I hope that it starts working soon, but no worries.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #418] Getting There is Half the Fun*

Ayremac stared down at the smoking skeletal fist lying on the turf at Shamalin's feet and sighed. Emotions tugged the holy warrior in conflicting directions; pleasure at seeing the Rod destroyed at last and regret at the deva's departure.

He had met a celestial being ages past; he had been very young, but remembered a celestial that had appeared to his mother. He could not remember what it was that they had spoken on if he had ever known, or why the visit, but one could not easily forget glimpsing a being of such perfection, even if it was at a very young age. 

"That's that, I guess," Shamalin said, looking absently at the handle in her fist before tossing it to the frozen ground. She turned an eye on Ayremac and smirked. "Looks like you got your wish with the Rod after all," she said and turned toward the others.

He just blinked at her back, confused. Ayremac was so profoundly moved by his meeting today, it was hard to concentrate on the task at hand. How stupid he felt, suggesting that this being get involved in his mortal affairs, an obvious afront to Umba and all that Ayremac believed in. This being had seen it straight away, no hesitation... she had even chuckled at Ayremac's blunder. 

He had thought he had achieved an incredibly attuned state with his Celestial heritage, but now... after meeting the deva it seemed to lack depth. He had focused and prayed and meditated on the physical aspects, following the pull to achieve a greater peace and better understanding of his own natural abilities to disregard poison and other injuries. Even his wings, which had been a badge of great honor for him yesterday seemed now to be shams, held up as something for mere mortals to adore, where his true kin would see them as little more then flesh and bone and feather. 

Ayremac had more to realize, more to aspire to. It would take great amounts of prayer, and research into his heritage but he believed Umba wished this of him... and he would heed the call.

Kneeling he began to gather the pieces of his portable altar, readying it for travel.



Karak rubbed his moustache after listening again to Shamalin's recounting of the deva's words. "Hrmph... It sounds like Huzair will be need'n to cough up a magic item o' his." Morier snorted.

"That ought to make him real happy," the albino mused.

"I hope it nae be the sword," the dwarf added, dourly. "We'n all go through a mite bit o' trouble to get those keys, jus' ta have him lose the thing on us, now have we?"

"Hopefully Huzair carries enough magic stuff that his sword wouldn't get picked," Shamalin replied and Ixin nodded.

"Of us all, he's got the best chance at that game," she jested. "And besides, I don't see how we have much choice."

"Maybe we can send a message to 'im like the angel says, but so what?" the dwarf harrumphed, shrugging his shoulders. "Is he goin' to leave the key behind? I think nae."

"Gods! I hope not," Morier sputtered. "That would be..."

"Folly?" Shamalin finished and the albino nodded. 

"What if Huzair has magick that can help him hide it, then the message be worth sendin'," Karak went on still rubbing his beard. "Now do you think the portal will nae let him enter this realm without a magick offerin' or that Celestial guardians will pour forth if he enters without the magick sacrifice? If'n that be the case well then me and Shelia we be ready." He rapped his knuckles against the flat of the axe blade which brimmed with frost. Of course, the White Elf, why he can shock 'em all can't he?"

"Do we really want to fight a bunch of angels, Karak?" Ixin grimaced. "That seems to go against our purposes doesn't it?"

"And anyway, what little I know about portals makes me think that the magic item powers the portal, not that it's a sacrifice for some guardian," Morier added. What he didn't say was that he knew precious little about portals, truth be told. Karak shrugged again.

"I say send Huzair a message to let him know what is expected of him, an' we be ready for whatever may come from the other side," the dwarf told them. "After that, I say we move on to follow Morier's pull." 

Before anyone could say anything more, Anania trotted up, her face red from exertion and steam rising from her body. She was breathing heavily. "I saw no sign of Huzair or his assailant on my search," she told them. "But I did see something of note to the south. The earth was disturbed by some sort of large burrowing creature in several places a couple of miles in that direction. I think we may be on the extreme northern edge of a bulette's hunting ground."

"To the south, you say?" Ixin asked and Anania nodded.

"Well this just keeps getting better and better," Morier grimaced.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Huzair #1] Adrift in Forever*

Huzair could do nothing pinned within the fetid body of the thing. He was surprised that he felt no pain and that he was able to breath. But he couldn't move at all until, with a violent contraction of gelid muscles the thing expelled him. That was a strange sensation as was the sense of falling sideways in a gentle tumble.

He knew immediately that he was no longer on the Prime Material Plane as he found himself spinning in a great expanse of clear, silvery sky that seemed to go on forever in every direction. Enormous tube-shaped clouds coiled slowly into the distance, some appearing like thunderheads and others looking like immobile tornadoes of gray wind. Erratic whirlpools of color flickered in midair like spinning coins. There was no gravity nor any solid ground to be seen, and he felt like he could see a very, very long way.

"Oh, crap," Huzair said, looking around, nervously. His voice was barely above a whisper, but it seemed unnaturally loud in his ears. "What do you think? Astral?"

"Looks like, boss," Sparky answered. "It matches what you told me about it." Huzair snorted uncomfortably.

"Trouble is, everything I know about it came from books I last read half a decade ago," the mage admitted. "Shemeska's Planewalker's Guide, The Planar Handbook, Sigil for the Cagestruck..." He stopped counting on his fingers and sighed, shoulders slumping. "I never really expected to have to use the stuff."

"Don't worry, boss," Sparky chirped. "You'll sort it out." The wizard reached up and patted the tiny bird on the head with his index finger.

"I am glad that you have so much confidence in me," he said with a grin. Then he summoned his concentration and began casting a _Detect Magic_ spell. He'd barely begun the incantation when the spell went off, more quickly than he'd ever cast a spell in his life. Mana sizzled through his veins and the spell formed with scarcely any effort on his part. "Cool!" he mused, not that spontaneously _Quickened_ magic did anything to return him to the Prime. It was damned fun, however. His grin widened, but only for a moment before he realized that, apart from his own _Handy Haversack_ floating in weightless beside him, there was no magic nearby.

He tried the _Ring of Communication_ next, but it was dead on his finger. The _Ring of Blinking_ worked properly, but apart from temporarily transporting him again and again to a section of the Ethereal Plane that was just as empty as the Astral on which he'd started, it did nothing to change his situation.

"Crap!" he cursed again, deactivating the _Ring_ and looking around once more at the silvery expanse in which he found himself stranded. His brow furrowed as he struggled to remember what he'd learned about the Astral Plane (which was precious little, it seemed). The Astral was the space between everything else - where you were if you were nowhere else on the Great Wheel. And it touched everyplace else. If you knew how to use it properly.

"Well, that is all I have for ideas," Huzair admitted to Sparky. He grabbed his Haversack, dressed, and wondered what to do next. The vast expanse of the Astral stretched out in all directions as far as he could see. No particular way seemed more promising than another, and the sheer enormity of the plane momentarily paralyzed the wizard with indecision.

As he drifted, staring at the strange, twisting clouds at the extreme limit of his vision, he thought of how he might escape this situation. The most appealing idea of course was a color pool, assuming of course, that he could find one that led back to Orune. Hitching a ride on a planar conduit was another possibility, though it was much riskier than using a portal since he wouldn't know where the conduit led until he'd used it. He might find himself dropped suddenly into Hell or the Negative Material Plane or somewhere else much less pleasant than the Astral Plane. And it might well be a one-way trip.

Huzair was no fool, and he had long suspected that reuniting Dridana's heart with her body would entail an excursion to the Astral Plane; it was here after all that dead deities were said to drift - their bodies petrified by the loss of their divine sparks. But he hadn't expected to be making the trip on his own. And he'd certainly assumed that he'd be able to follow Morier's head toward their goal. Oh, he'd have a few snide remarks ready for ol' Whitey when he returned. If he returned.

With that rather depressing thought, he opened a potion bottle and downed one of his last two _Cure Light Wounds_ elixirs. In keeping with the way his luck had been running, the potion healed most - but not all - of the injuries he'd sustained while inside whatever the thing that had brought him here was.

"Figures," he grumbled and tossed the empty bottle over his shoulder. He took a preparatory breath and drew his familiar in close. "Come on, Sparky. Sitting around here is not getting us anywhere."

He offered a desperate prayer to Dridana - dead though she was - and with a thought, he shot off into the silvery vastness at a startling speed. As he went he swapped the _Ring of Blinking_ for the _Ring of Invisibility_ and disappeared from view.



He had no way of telling how long he'd been traveling when he spotted the ship. He felt no tiredness or hunger or thirst in this timeless place, and without any of his normal physical cues, the passage of time had little meaning. He knew that it was long enough for him to get over the thrill of flying at great speed and to become extremely bored with the unchanging void - but it might have been five hours or fifty since he'd begun his flight. He couldn't say; but he could say that he was thrilled to spy the swift-moving craft.

He saw the ship at a great distance. It looked like a common sailing ship, such as he'd seen countless times gliding about the harbor in Freeport. It lacked a rudder or mast, however, and sported a pair of batwing-shaped sails mounted on either side of its hull - although these latter seemed more decorative than anything as they didn't belly out with any wind. Six gaunt figures were stationed about the ship, watching keenly in all directions. They were uniformly tall and yellow-skinned, wearing fluted armor and having enormous swords at hand. There was a gaily-striped tent set up at the stern of the vessel - barely large enough for two men to stand side-by-side within, but rising some fifteen feet from the deck.

That was all he had time to discern before he realized that the ship was moving a lot faster than he was and at an oblique angle to his own trajectory. Invisibly, Huzair adjusted his flight to put him on an intercept course with the ship. As he went he drew out a scroll of _False Life_ and activated the spell. Thus fortified, he followed it up with a _Quickened Mage Armor_ a few seconds later and then he was upon them. He hurtled across the ship, over the fluttering tent and alighted on the strut supporting the starboard bat wing as the ship zoomed by. His _Slippers of Spider Climbing_ provided a firm grip and crouched there observing the crew.

The creatures on deck were not human - in fact they were of no race he had ever seen before, which was really no surprise given his current location. Four of them were male, but the other two (including the one nearest to Huzair's perch) were clearly female. But apart from the presence of wan breasts there was little to differentiate the two genders as far as the mage could tell.

They were uniformly tall and wiry with leathery yellow skin stretched taut over their lithe frames. Their ears were pointed and serrated along the back edge, much like the bat wings that decorated their ship. Their hair was worn long, with both the males and females sporting thick, ropey braids adorned with polished beads and cut gemstones that glittered in the omnipresent silvery light. Both sexes wore jewelry of filigreed armbands and glittering rings of precious stones.

They wore armor of a sort Huzair had never seen before although he likened it most closely to his own warcaster's armor - being light and non-restricting while still providing solid protection to the wearer's vital bits. It was worked into baroque, fluted designs that appeared different for each of the figures. If there was any significance to the decorations, it was lost on the wizard. Three of the humanoids carried massive greatswords with intricate hilts sheathed across their backs. Two others had glaives close at hand and the last bore a two-bladed sword that glittered dangerously as he moved. He was engaged in look-out duty like the rest, but something about the man's bearing made Huzair think him the leader, so the wizard payed particular attention to him as he watched and listened.

They spoke little, and in a language that Huzair had never heard before. It was full of clucked tongues and glottal stops, reminding the mage a bit of the harsh sound of gobbledy although he heard no words that he recognized in the conversations. And he'd heard plenty of gobbledy in Scurvytown.

Disappointed that his eavesdropping had yielded no results, the mage had begun to contemplate moving quietly onto the deck and sneaking a glance into the colorful tent when the flap was thrown back from inside and a giant stepped out. He was tall and thin to the point of looking emaciated as if someone had taken a normal man and stretched him until he was nine feet tall. Not that there was much of the normal man about him. His skin was a brilliant azure and his fingers were long and spidery with at least one extra joint on each finger. He was dressed in opulent robes of purple and crimson and cloth-of-gold that pooled around him on the deck. An elaborate hat adorned with beadwork and hanging wisps of silk covered his blue head and a hundred tiny bangles worn on wrists and neck and ears tinkled incessantly as he glided forward to tower over the figure with the two-bladed sword.

The two exchanged words in that strange clucking tongue and the yellow-skinned man pointed off into the distance ahead. The giant nodded his head slowly, smiled genteelly, and turned back toward the tent, his over-long fingers laced together in front of him. Huzair watched the blue-skinned giant retrace his languid path to the tent, but before he could re-enter a second giant stepped out and conferred with the first. The newcomer was dressed similarly to the first and sported a glittering chain of elaborately wrought metal connecting a diamond stud in his left ear to its twin in his left nostril. The two spoke in low tones for a moment before retiring to the tent's interior.

It was clear to Huzair that the tent contained an extra-dimensional space of some sort or else the giants were packed in there tighter than kobolds in a warren. His curiosity was piqued, but he resolved himself to sit tight and wait for a while longer.



The ship sped onward through the unchanging Astral. The six crewfolk milled about, talking little and remaining generally vigilant at the rail. The female nearest Huzair stood close enough for him to smell the strange, spicy odor that hung about her, but, though she peered repeatedly through his invisible form, she never gave any indication that she'd noticed anything out of the ordinary.

At one point there was a brief period of apparent unease among the jaundiced humanoids. The look-out on the opposite rail shouted a warning and pointed to the impossibly large clouds roiling slowly in the distance off to port. The crewman at the bow - the one that Huzair had mentally labeled as the leader - trotted into the tent and a moment later the ship lurched away from the clouds and traveled on the new heading for a while before correcting course.

The wizard studied the swirling cloud bank, but could not see the cause of their alarm. Taking advantage of the diversion, he crept off the wing and onto the deck while their attention was elsewhere. There was an open stairwell amidship that led below decks - presumably to the hold or crew quarters, but its position would place him precariously close to several of the crew and therefore in danger of discovery.

He chose to play it safe and peek instead into the tent housing the giants. He stuck his head through the open flap and let out an involuntary gasp.

As he had suspected, it was larger inside than it was outside, but he hadn't imagined the sheer magnitude of the place. It looked like a tent within, but a tent that could have held five or six of the astral ships without trouble. The walls of the pavilion curved away from the entrance, adorned with lush tapestries in numerous styles. The floor was entirely obscured by scattered rugs and quilted cushions in a riot of colors and designs. A central pole as big around as Huzair was tall supported the fabric ceiling 100 feet overhead. The air was hazy with the stange-smelling smoke emanating from a waterpipe around which lazed three of the giants. Two were the clearly the ones that he had already seen on the ship, and the last looked much the same although he had a cluster of dark tattoos circling his left eye.

As Huzair watched he brought the platinum mouthpiece to his lips, inhaled deeply and then exhaled a cloud of vapor languorously into the air above his turbaned head. The giant then held out the mouthpiece toward Huzair and smiled affably.

"Have you come to join us, traveler?" he asked in heavily-accented common, fixing his left eye intently on the mage, who apparently wasn't as invisible as he thought himself.


----------



## darkhall-nestor

Wow I am all caught up

I quite enjoyed reading it






Darn I’m all caught up


----------



## Jon Potter

darkhall-nestor said:
			
		

> Wow I am all caught up
> 
> I quite enjoyed reading it




Welcome aboard and I'm thrilled that you've enjoyed what you've read so far. There's much more to come.



> Darn I’m all caught up




Not to worry. I update at least once a week - sometimes more often than that.

You can look forward to:

1) Character deaths
2) Character disappearances
3) New characters
4) Old characters
5) And that special something that I promised a while back...


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #419] The Great White Worm*

The news of a land shark in the vicinity was not welcome. But there was nothing for it save to press on. The deva had warned that the Moonsteps were only visible under the light from a full moon, and tonight was the last for a fortnight that one of Shaharizod's Mirrors would be full. So on they pressed.

Anania ranged ahead, blazing a trail toward their goal that wove amidst strange hard-edged polygons of lichen-covered rock. Karak stopped briefly to puzzle over the formations, but could find the mark of a chisel nowhere upon them and decided that they must have been the result of some magic. Everywhere, they would spot stripes of disturbed earth that wove between the rock formations, testament to the burrowing horror that called this tundra home.



As evening approached, the elf scout returned once more from her vanguard position this time to announce that they had arrived at a lake - the shores of which held a fallen ruin. Toppled columns of stone split and re-split by constant exposure to ice and wind lay half-hidden in the rushes. Here and there along the shore, the group could spy time-worn stones buried in the frozen earth, a silent reminder of paved roads that were no more. A narrow wedge of dark stone that curved up from the scrub was all that remained of a shattered dome that had once dominated the center of the ruin.

They explored the place hastily, finding a circular stone beneath the ruined dome marked with the symbol of the double moons. All the while, they were mindful of the danger presented by the bulette should it happen upon them unawares.

Of course, the burrowing predator turned out not to be a bulette.



Merruna, the Handmaiden rose early into the night sky, her silver radiance striking the stone disk in the center of the ruin and causing it to first shimmer and then vanish entirely. A shaft was revealed with a set of narrow stone steps cut into its sides that corkscrewed down toward a glow far below. It was as if another moon's light answered Merruna's from the depths of the shaft, but it was a light reflected on a water's surface, that flickered and winked from the dark below.

"I guess this is it then," Ayremac said, peering into the shaft.

"Ya think?" Morier jibed, earning a scowl from the holy warrior.

Shamalin ignored the two and went to work casting her _Sending_, reaching out across the planes to seek Huzair's mind. She found it, brushing against his thoughts over what was undoubtedly a very long distance. "Huzair," the cleric said over the link. "Follow the pull you feel to the portal, then step through." She cleared her mind in preparation for casting _Portal Beacon_ when the wizard answered her.

"Shamalin, I think I have found a way to find Dridana's heart," Huzair's voice spoke straight into her skull. "Have everyone come through the portal to me. I've met some Mercane traders."

Then the link went dead and Anania shouted a warning. A moment later the others felt it as well, a subtle vibration in the frozen ground that intensified rapidly. A moment after that, the ground a dozen paces away exploded upward in a shower of ice and stone debris, propelled skyward by a huge, sinuous worm. The long, blue-white creature had huge mandibles and a strange nodule atop its head from which it generated a horrible trilling sound.

The sound, knifed through the group's heads like a blade of ice stabbed through the ear. All felt the urge to freeze in place, but only Ayremac and Morier succumbed to the compulsion, their muscles locking into rigor as the worm towered above them.

Anania had threaded an arrow into her bow and darted backward out of the worm's reach and now she brought up the weapon and sighted down. It was a single fluid motion; the bow cane up and the arrow went flying, stabbing deeply into the joint where the worm's left mandible met its head. It was a solid hit and well placed, but against the creature's enormous bulk it seemed like a splinter.

Karak spoke a word and his waraxe glittered eagerly with ice crystals. Roaring a battle cry in dwarfish he charged at the worm with murderous intent. Gripping the axe double handed, he hewed into the worm's pale flesh with abandon, hacking open a messy gash that was wider that Karak himself was tall. The worm shrieked as its lifeblood began pouring coldly to the frozen ground. It fixed its attention onto the dwarf below, abandoning its cacophonous trilling, intent on ridding itself of this metal-clad threat.

Shamalin clutched her holy symbol and spoke a brief prayer to Flor hoping that her magic would be enough to _Cause Fear_ in her enemy. Her spell, however, slid off the great beast, too weak to effect so powerful a creature.

If the worm noticed the cleric's spellcasting it gave no indication and darted its head in toward Karak, seizing the dwarf's left arm in a grip like frozen steel. He heard a squeal of metal as the thing's enormous teeth sought to crush his vambrace, and felt his flesh savaged by the teeth that managed to puncture the metal protection. A horrible cold accompanied the attack, a glacial chill that seemed to sink into Karak's very core. He managed through the magic of his _Ring of Freedom_ alone to pull his arm loose of the thing's grip before the worm could haul him skyward.

Ixin stepped forward while the worm was distracted and interposed herself between the creature and Ayremac. She sucked in a lung full of of cold air, feeling it stoke the fires of her draconis fundumentum. Leaning forward and smiling, she belched a cone of flame onto the worm. It seemed to sense the fire and managed to dodge away, but it still suffered badly from the antithetical element. It shrieked again as steam rose from its burned flesh into the polar air.

"Karak, grab Morier," the sorcerer screamed over the thing's wails of pain. "We need to get him and Ayremac to safety!"

An arrow from Anania's bow arched uselessly into the distance as the archer continued to circle the worm firing at it from various positions as she sought a weak spot where her missiles could do some real damage.

Karak, held his ground, undaunted by the creature's attack, and uninterested in Ixin's shouts to retreat. He was more cautious in his approach, however, putting somewhat less power behind his attack in favor of greater accuracy. His weapon struck again, opening another gash perpendicular to the first. The worm roared in protest, rearing up in time to get hit squarely in the head by a jet of water.

Shamalin held _Waveblade_ - which was currently only the size of a large dirk - pointed at the worm, directing onto the beast the geyser the weapon produced.  When the magical effect passed a moment later, the worm looked battered by the attack and diluted blood dripped from its head as it wheeled around to turn its maw toward the cleric.

A freezing vortex of ice and air vomited forth from the worm's mouth engulfing both Shamalin and the immobilized Morier in a cloud of frozen death. Shamalin tried to raise her shield to protect herself, but Morier was still immobilized by the worm's trilling and could do nothing but stand there as the breath weapon washed over them. When the cloud of ice and frost cleared, the eldritch warrior was covered with a thin patina of ice crystals. Shamalin had fallen onto her back and lay stiff and unmoving on the ground.

Ixin made to grab ahold of Ayremac, but the holy warrior brushed aside her hand. "I am fine," he told her as he shook the last vestiges of the stunning effect from his head. The drakeling needed no further encouragement and went to help Morier.

Anania sent a feathered shaft into the side of worm's head, burying it soundly into the soft flesh just  below the worm's sunken eye. It writhed in agony and reeled back, but a second arrow found a place in its throat, sinking with a spurt of blood into the meat there.

Ayremac took only a moment to survey the situation - Karak's left arm was slick with his own blood, Morier was turning blue from the cold, and Shamalin was down - then he touched the symbol of Umba worked into his breastplate and invoked _Sacred Healing_. At once, Karak felt the warmth of magical healing wash over him, distracting him just enough that with his next swing, he overbalanced himself and nearly fell flat on his face.

If the worm had been doing anything other than retreating at that moment, Karak would have made a prime target. As it was, however, the creature had had enough abuse. What it had thought would be a tasty meal had turned out to be much more bother than it was worth. The worm withdrew with all haste down into its hole, vanishing almost as abruptly as it had appeared.

Ixin grabbed Morier about the waist and slung him over her left shoulder. "Come on!" she shouted moving toward the Moonsteps. "Let's get to the portal before that thing comes back."


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Huzair #2] The Price of Doing Business*

"Well, that is the second time this week that my invisibility has been discovered," Huzair answered quickly. He touched his _Tattoo of Eagle's Splendor_, deactivated his _Ring_ and stepped forward with his hands at his sides. "I have got to learn how to keep that from happening." The giant on the left chuckled at this.

"Do not fret your abilities too much, little man," he said, indicating the giant with the tattooed eye. "Ashaaf bears the _Mark of True Sight._"

"I find it keeps transactions honest," Ashaaf grinned, proudly.

"I can see how it would," Huzair said, his voice dripping with charm. He bowed then with a flourish. "Peaceful Greetings. I am Huzair Blacksmoke."

"Welcome, Huzair Blacksmoke," the tattooed giant said. "I am Ashaaf and these are my partners, Kraal and Destaan." He indicated the other two giants each in turn and they nodded at Huzair.

"Please, come and join us for a bit," Destaan suggested, gesturing to an over-stuffed cushion that sat unoccupied near the waterpipe. Huzair smiled and ambled forward.

"What are you smoking, my friend?" the wizard asked as Kraal took another long pull on the mouthpiece, causing the belly of the pipe to gurgle and splash madly. The smell was unlike anything that Huzair had ever encountered before, a bit like hot steel with a hint of something citrus.

"It is a special blend, Huzair Blacksmoke," Destaan explained with a rubbery grin. "An alchemical mixture of possibility dust, angel down and crushed devil's eye."

"Ashaaf's own concoction," Kraal added. "Smoking it increases the efficacy of Abjuration and Divination spells for a time."

"A necessary precaution before conducting business, I'm afraid." Ashaaf said deferentially. "We've never had trouble at Akiv-tchai, but it never hurts to be prepared." Huzair nodded and produced a cigar that he'd been saving for a special occasion.

"Oh. After dinner try one of these," he said, offering the smoke to Ashaaf. "I love them, but I am afraid that I have but one." The tattooed giant's elongated fingers reached out and plucked the cigar from Huzair's fingers. He held it up and looked at it appraisingly with his left eye.

"What does it do?" Destaan asked and Ashaaf shook his head.

"Nothing, my friend," he said. "It is strictly recreational. Correct, Huzair Blacksmoke?" The wizard nodded.

"What brings you to our humble ship, Huzair Blacksmoke?" Kraal asked absently, gesturing around the pavilion with his over-long fingers. He passed the silvery mouthpiece to Huzair who eyed it nervously.

"I guess I should apologize for stowing away on your ship," he told them. "I am an unwilling visitor to the astral plane and I am was unsure how to proceed... and, quite frankly, your guards are kind of intimidating, so I figured just showing up to say, "Hi!" would be risky." The three giants chuckled copiously at the mage's comment and Huzair took the opportunity to pass the mouthpiece to Destaan.

"Another necessary precaution," Ashaaf laughed. "Few of a given plane's denizens would willingly attack a mercane trading mission, but it is still wise to be cautious. We always secure some local bodyguards well in advance of our arrival."

"I was actually afraid they were githyanki, but I think now I was obviously wrong," Huzair said and Destaan shook his head, handing the mouthpiece to Ashaaf.

"Oh, but they are githyanki," Destaan said. "As Ashaaf said we always employ local bodyguards."

"And who better than githyanki to serve as bodyguards on a trading mission to a githyanki outpost?" Kraal added. "It helps to put the locals at ease."

"And there is a distinct derth of sentient races on the astral," Destaan continued. "In fact if it weren't for the githyanki we likely wouldn't ply the astral at all. It's much too far to travel, otherwise."

"But githyanki arms and armor are in demand on Acheron... the Gray Wastes... Ysgard..." Ashaaf counted off on his spidery fingers. "Why the trade in driftmetal alone nearly makes up for our expense." Huzair shrugged.

"I never paid much attention to my master when learning about the planes," the mage admitted. "Now I think I may regret it."

"Indeed," Kraal said, exhaling smoke into the air. He held the mouthpiece out to Huzair. "Tell us how an admittedly crude fellow such as you finds himself aboard a mercane ship bound for a githyanki outpost?"

"Yes, Huzair Blacksoke," Destaan added excitedly. "What have you brought for trade?"

"Trade? What do you mean?" the mage responded, shifting uncomfortably. "As a fee for riding your ship, you mean?" Kraal shook his head, chuckling.

"No. What does it matter to us if one more rides or no?" he told Huzair. "It does nothing to slow the ship or change our course."

"And as I said before, there is a derth of sentient races on the Astral," Destaan added. "You are a welcome diversion." Huzair grinned. He'd been called a great many things over the years. Garan-Zak had used the term 'distraction' a time or two, but 'diversion' was new.

"Thank you much for your hospitality," he said.

"Your civil conversation is thanks enough, Huzair Blacksmoke," Kraal replied genteelly.

"The githyanki are not so accommodating, I'm afraid," Ashaaf put in. "They are a xenophobic people and will greet your arrival with skepticism unless you bring items to trade. And skepticism on their part will make our negotiations much more difficult and potentially less profitable." Ashaaf's thin lips twisted into a sour pucker at the prospect.

"That won't do," Kraal put in, shaking his head gravely. His expression did not change, but Huzair thought he sensed something sinister beneath the surface of his words. "That won't do at all."

"How should one deal with Githyanki?" the mage asked, suddenly uncertain of his presence among these three. He felt vulnerable and acutely aware of his precarious position so far from home.

"From a position of strength," Kraal offered.

"From behind a pair of maug bodyguards," Destaan quipped and the three giants laughed, spraying smoke in great roiling gouts. But, seeing the confusion on Huzair's face, Ashaaf promptly regained his composure and waved away the outburst dismissively.

"Nonsense, Destaan," Ashaaf said, wiping tears from his eyes with his thin fingertips. "The Githyanki are quite pleasant when treated with respect and honor. Their culture is very militaristic, but they are amenable to trade. In fact that very nature makes them dependent on it." "You do bring something to trade, do you not?" Destaan asked eagerly and Huzair grimaced slightly. He'd traded most everything with which he wished to part back in New Mellorell.

"Well, I am a wizard and have been working in the tattoo craft for all of three tattoos, but they are very effective so far," the mage said, showing off the two that remained and the empty spot where the third should have been. "I activated one before becoming visible... to help you be kind to me." He grinned up at them and Ashaaf returned the smile.

"A wise precaution before sitting down at the bargaining table," the giant said and the twinkle in his eye told Huzair that he admired the wizard's forethought. "The Githyanki do enjoy body adornment. Perhaps not as much as you, Huzair Blacksmoke, but I feel confident that your services will be in demand at Akiv-tchai."

"We will handle the negotiations for your services, of course," Kraal told him, matter-of-factly. "We have dealt with Gisir Okemocik many times before. It will go better for you if he and his mage-knights think you are in our employ."

"Well I do want to be of service to you," Huzair said quickly. "I can make profit for both of us hopefully and I will accept whatever you consider to be fair wage." Kraal nodded and Ashaaf spoke a few words of magic causing the air to his left to ripple and shimmer.

"Let us say a standard representational commitment," the giant said, waving his hand and causing the shimmer in the air to dilate, revealing an extra-dimensional space. He reached in and drew forth a palm-sized disk. This he carefully held out to Huzair, speaking the entire time in a flat voice that sounded well-rehearsed. "We will split any and all profit from your activities at Akiv-tchai 80/20. We will supply you with any necessary raw materials, with their cost coming out of your 80% share. Agreed?" Huzair blinked.

"As I said, whatever you consider a fair wage," the wizard nodded and reached for the disk that Ashaaf was holding delicately between two long fingers. As he took it, he discovered that its edge was sharpened as keenly as a razor's and he yelped as it drew blood from his fingertips. Ashaaf drew the disk back and squeezed it between his own fingers, breaking the skin and drawing his own blood.

"The bargain is made," the mercane smiled, revealing a mouth that was unsettlingly packed with teeth. The disk disappeared back inside the extra-dimensional space and Ashaaf produced a small tin of candies. He unscrewed the top and offered its contents to Huzair. "One of these will ease the pain in your fingers, Huzair Blacksmoke. They are infused with the power of divine healing."

Huzair took one skeptically. They looked like tiny chocolate drops such as he had regularly seen coming south from Haven on trade caravans. He selected one and popped it in his mouth where it promptly melted into a sugary syrup that ran down his throat, spreading warmth as it went. His fingers immediately healed.

"These are made by priests of Thellos," Ashaaf told the mage as the giant popped one in his own mouth and smiled. "They are disagreeable fellows, but they do make lovely candy." Destaan held up a cautioning finger to Huzair. "Best not to speak of Thellos or any other gods to the Githyanki, Huzair Blacksmoke," the giant suggested. earnestly. "As a race they recognize no deities or divine beings and are distrustful of folk who place their fates in a higher power's hands. It is a sign of weakness in their eyes."

"I will remain quiet when dealing with the Githyanki," Huzair said as he studied his fingertips. "I do not want to anger our hosts."

"Very wise of you, Huzair Blacksmoke," Ashaaf said. He made another gesture and the extra-dimensional shimmer closed, disappearing entirely. "If you aport yourself well at Akiv-tchai I can think of many other locales which might present lucrative markets for your talents. Perhaps you can travel with us for a time." Huzair smiled.

"I so appreciate the hospitality and conversation," the wizard said. "My comrades on Oerune are a bit rough around the edges or self-righteous... although there are some attractive females with us."

"We will have to take you to The Dreaming Gulf," Kraal said with a knowing grin. "They do not come cheaply, but the daughters of Xinivrae are the most beautiful and... talented... consorts money can buy."

"You will forget the females of your own world soon enough," Destaan agreed.

"Perhaps we can stop there after we unload on Sigil," Ashaaf said with a nod. "We three have been cooped up in here for too long. It would be nice to relax a bit." Huzair looked around at the comfortable opulence of the place and grinned.

"I really love your living quarters," he said as he found himself trying to imagine what they would consider relaxing given their working surroundings. He looked up at Kraal and touched his own face. "And your style of dress is quite dapper and sophisticated. I truly love the nose chain." The giant fingered the chain and smiled.

"Ahh..." Kraal said. "A gnomish purchase I made in Bytopia. The smallfolk there are quite the talented craftsmen. We are scheduled to return there in three cycles; perhaps we could arrange for you to get one."

"Perhaps," Huzair nodded. "What I would really love to have from you is advice about how to deal with my problem about getting back to my world." Kraal's face soured and Destaan looked hurt.

"You don't wish to travel with us, Huzair Blacksmoke?" He frowned. "I thought we were all getting on so well with one another."

"We are. But I am sure my friends miss me tremendously," the wizard soothed. "I would love to return richer than how I left and with more information." Ashaaf seemed to have cooled to Huzair, and the giant crossed his arms across his chest and stared down at the mage.

"It is possible that we can fulfill your needs in that regard, Huzair Blacksmoke. We mercane know a great deal about the planescape and its workings," he said, bringing the mouthpiece of the water pipe to his lips. The burner had gone out and Ashaaf scowled at the device irritably. "What do you offer as fair trade for our information?"

"Perhaps you would like to hear what is happening on my world?" Huzair opined as he got to his feet. He spoke a word and flame danced on his thumb; reaching up, he touched the flame to the waterpipe's bowl. Ashaaf, realizing the wizard's intent drew on the mouthpiece making the pipe's belly gurgle and splash. The mercane smiled and smoke curled languidly from the corners of his mouth.

"There may be a great deal of profit there if we can solve the problem I am working on," Huzair went on and sat once more upon the tufted cushion. "Do you know all about Oerune and the situation they face?"

"We do not concern ourselves with the Material Planes, Huzair Blacksmoke," Kraal told him. "The Astral is the closest we come to the Inner Planes."

"The Rot Queen plans to destroy it with her disease and fill it with her horrible minions. My companions and I wish to stop that," the wizard offered. "There will be a market for healing from that disease that has spread. There is most likely room for profit in a healing world."

"He has a point," Destaan confessed, but Ashaaf waved his hand with finality. "We do not concern ourselves with the Material Planes," the giant said, his tone commanding. "Would you have us poach in Sereen's territory, Destaan? Would you have him poach in ours?"

"No, Ashaaf, of course not," the other giant replied, properly chastised. He busied himself with the mouthpiece that Kraal offered him.

"Well, at any rate, I wish to return there to help sometime after our agreement is fulfilled," Huzair said, crestfallen. He had hoped to enlist their aid in his cause, but they seemed unwilling so he changed his tactics. "Any information I get about the astral plane would be helpful as I am looking for Dridana and I believe her body will be here."

"Dridana?" Kraal asked, looking nonplussed.

"A dead god," Ashaaf said simply and Kraal nodded sagely.

"Her body's location or even part of her body, perhaps, would be somewhat useful for us in the future, I believe," Huzair went on. "I wonder if you would be willing to help me find that body or return me to my friends."

"The location of a particular dead god is not known to us as we do not venture to the god islands," Ashaaf said. "But we could uncover this knowledge for a price."

"We could surely work out a good deal. I do have some items... although they are valuable and I hate to part with them, but I will do what I must," the mage said, patting his Handy Haversack. "As you said you have expertise in the planes and after our contract is fulfilled I am sure you could easily return me to my comrades."

"We could," Ashaaf agreed.

"After our contract is fulfilled," Huzair repeated. "And of course, I will not mention this at all to our hosts."

"Actually, the githyanki would be a valuable source of information about god isles," Destaan said.

"The buomman would be the ones to consult about that," Kraal corrected. "The githyanki will likely assume that you wish to jump their mining claim"

"The buomman?" Destaan scoffed. "Good luck getting anything out of them?" "Why?" Huzair asked. "Who are the buomman?"

"The buomman are a race that, like the githyanki, make their homes on several of these so-called god islands," Ashaaf explained. "Unlike the githyanki, however, they do not mine the islands for godstone. They truly believe that these are sleeping deities and not a resource to be exploited."

"They have also - as a race - taken a vow of silence," Destaan added. "Which makes dealing with them almost-"

Huzair didn't hear the rest, for at that moment, Shamalin's voice spoke directly into his head, drowning out all other sounds. "Huzair," the cleric said via _Sending_. "Follow the pull you feel to the portal, then step through."

"Ashaaf, my friends are contacting me," Huzair blurted, holding up his hands to stay the mercane; Destaan was still talking - presumably about the buomman. The wizard got excitedly to his feet. "They want me to come through the portal. If they come here to negotiate, will you send them back?"

Ashaaf's eyes flickered to the tent flap at the front of the pavilion and his lips pursed. After a pause, he nodded. "For a price," the giant said and Huzair nodded.

"Shamalin, I think I have found a way to find Dridana's heart," Huzair thought back across the mental link and he felt the spell fully discharge with his response. "Have everyone come through the portal to me. I've met some mercane traders." The connection between his own mind and Shamalin's went dead. Ashaaf appraised him with his tattooed eye.

"Well, are the terms agreeable to them?" the mercane asked, gesturing delicately with his long fingers. Huzair hesitated and then shrugged.

"I do not know," the mage admitted, his bald head cocked to the side as if listening. He'd expected to feel some kind of pull towards the portal - something akin to what he imagined Morier felt - but there was nothing. "I could go see them and perhaps one of you could allow all of us to come onto the astral plane and we could discuss business. I would not want to have this ship just pop out in front of them. I need to prepare them." Ashaaf was shaking his head before Huzair had finished.

"We cannot deviate from our course, Huzair Blacksmoke," Kraal told him. "The githyanki are expecting us, and while time holds little meaning on the astral, it is always best not to disappoint one's hosts."

"We have a reputation to maintain," Destaan added, nodding vigorously.

"And moreover abandoning our mission this close to a githyanki outpost might well be construed as a provocative action," Ashaaf observed. "We have traded successfully many times with the githyanki, but they are quick to take umbrage and even quicker to answer such a perceived slight with physical force."

"We would like to avoid that if we can," Kraal concluded. Huzair couldn't argue with that sentiment.

"Okay," the mage said, pondering the ramifications of his next statement. "How much money do you want to let me out of our contract?" Ashaaf raised an eyebrow and the other two giants looked at him for guidance.

"Nothing of value has yet changed hands, Huzair Blacksmoke," the lead mercane noted with a saccharine grin. "Why do you so readily seek to free yourself from your obligation?"

"I think that I know," Destaan chimed, looking accusingly at Huzair. "I think he wants to trade with the githyanki and keep all the profit for himself," agreed Kraal. "He seeks to violate our contract and wishes to avoid the penalty." There was a not-so-subtle undercurrent of menace in Kraal's voice that even Huzair couldn't help but sense. He took a step back and raised his hands.

"No. No. You are reading me all wrong," the wizard assured them. "I have no intention of trying to cheat you out of anything. I want to leave and seek my friends, not go to the githyanki." Ashaaf eyed him warily again and nodded after a moment's scrutiny.

"I believe you, Huzair Blacksmoke, but you will not buy yourself out of our contract," the mercane told him. "If you speak the truth and do not seek to cheat us then you have nothing to fear. If you are lying to us and seek to violate the terms of our contract then you will lose much, indeed!"

Huzair looked nervously at his fingertips and licked his lips. "Uh... What was that device called that we pinched our fingers on?" he asked and Ashaaf grinned.

"It is a binder's disk," he said. "A standard mercane contractual device, employed in any instance where services rather than goods are involved. It imparts a _Geas_ effect upon both you and me. If we do not violate the agreed-upon terms then we will enjoy a profitable relationship. But if either of us tries to cheat the other then we will suffer the debilitating effects of the spell." The mage let out a relieved sigh.

"I will tell you farewell then," Huzair said with a polite bow. "I do not hang out with any githyanki, so I am very safe."

"I think you misunderstand, Huzair Blacksmoke," Kraal said, raising a cautioning finger. "Our contract is not so far-ranging that it applies beyond the borders of Akiv-tchai. You are free to deal with githyanki elsewhere."

"Though I would advise caution if you do," Destaan added. "They are easily provoked." Huzair was only half-listening to the mercane. His concentration was on trying to sense the pull of which Shamalin had spoke. Still he felt nothing and was beginning to suspect that his hosts had snuffed out the pull somehow. He smiled at them, trusting in his _Earrings of Lies_ and his _Tattoo of Eagle's Splendor_ to cover his suspicions. "I will need to rejoin my friends now," he said cheerily. "May I leave?"

Ashaaf pointed at the tent flap with the mouthpiece he held in his hand and said, "Certainly, Huzair Blacksmoke. You are our guest, not our prisoner."

"It has been a pleasure speaking with you all. Is there a way I can contact you should I ever need your services?" Huzair asked. "It would be nice to go right from my world to your ship so I do not have to wander the entire astral plane to find you."

"You may use the same methods by which your friends contacted you," Ashaaf explained. "You know our names, and _Sending_ is a spell of only the Fifth Valance. That should pose no problem for a planewalking wizard such as yourself."

"You can tell us where you are and we can travel there," Kraal added. "Provided it is convenient for us, of course."

"And if you're ever in Sigil," Destaan chimed, "you can look us up i the Grand Bazaar."

"Thank you," Huzair smiled. "If I do require your services what would you like as payment? Do you trade gold or is there anything else more valueable that you desire from my world?"

"We mercane trade in most anything that others find to have value," Ashaaf said with a grin that showed far too many teeth. "Our bread-and-butter, you might say, is magical goods, but anything that we can trade to another would be of worth to us. Gold is nearly universal in its appeal."

"And what would the price be for you to bring my friends here then send them back?" the wizard asked.

"I can _Plane Shift_ myself and up to seven others with a single casting," Ashaaf said. "The cost would be a paltry 2,500 pieces of gold or the equivalent in gems or magical goods." Huzair filed that little fact away and stepped toward the exit.

"You have no worries about violation of our contract," he reassured them as he paused by the tent flap. "We are friends, right? And possibly future business partners?"

"Right, Huzair Blacksmoke," Ashaaf said. "It was agreeable to make your acquaintance."

"A pity you can't travel with us for a time," Kraal said with a disinterested tone which seemed to indicate that he couldn't be bothered to care one way or the other.

"May all your trades be profitable, Huzair Blacksmoke," Destaan smiled, gesturing with one hand it what might have been a wave good-bye.

Huzair activated the _Ring of Invisibility_ and stepped out of the pavilion and back onto the deck of the ship. The environment had changed somewhat during the time he'd been inside the extra-dimensional space. The view off the bow was now dominated by a strange floating rock from which jutted buttressed towers at all angles. Iron spikes and riveted metal plates gave the place a dangerous appearance. Huzair could see some figures moving about the various towers and while they were too small to make out any details, he was willing to bet his wand that they were githyanki.

He willed himself upward and was instantly airborne. The ship, moving faster than he, almost clipped his foot as he passed over the colorful tent. With only one last look back, Huzair pointed himself away from the githyanki outpost and flew as fast as he could in that direction.

It was at that point that he realized that he still felt nothing even hinting at a pull. What in the hells had Shamalin been talking about?


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

As I started reading, I wonderd if you were going to use _Dead Gods_ then as I went on and I was rewarded, I wondered how Huzair plans to get his prize mined. Or if even the Heart is physical thing to be mined, maybe it's merely a destination....... *ponders*


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> As I started reading, I wonderd if you were going to use _Dead Gods_ then as I went on and I was rewarded, I wondered how Huzair plans to get his prize mined. Or if even the Heart is physical thing to be mined, maybe it's merely a destination....... *ponders*




Well, this little jaunt is more of a teaser than anything. I'm laying some groundwork for later on. As much as Huzair would like to single-handedly solve all of the party's troubles (just for the bragging rights, mind you) that wouldn't be very fair to everyone else.


----------



## Rel

Hey Jon, just to completely hijack your Story Hour for a sec, would you happen to be free to play an ALL NEW Sky Galleons of Mars game on Saturday, January 5th?


----------



## Jon Potter

Rel said:
			
		

> Hey Jon, just to completely hijack your Story Hour for a sec, would you happen to be free to play an ALL NEW Sky Galleons of Mars game on Saturday, January 5th?




I believe I am.


----------



## Rel

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> I believe I am.




Well then you have brought me tidings of comfort and joy.  I'll PM you with details soon.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #420] The Portal*

Recovering from his stumble rolling forward on his feet like a boulder rolling down hill, Karak peered down the tunnel into which the worm had disappeared. There was no sight of the creature and he grinned.

"Now that be the way, Shelia. Did you see that baddie retreat?"He praised his axe, then rubbed his beard contemplatively. "Too bad you can nae do fire too. I wonder since that monster's breath weapon was cold if me frost rune really bit inta the beast like you should."

"Karak!" Ayremac called from nearby. "Give me a hand here!" The dwarf turned and spotted the holy warrior struggling without much success to lift Shamalin. The cleric was rigid as Ayremac heaved her to her feet. Karak hustled over and lent his considerable strength to the task and soon the two had Shamalin more or less upright and suspended between them. At once, he felt the warmth of Ayremac's healing aura knitting closed the wounds to his arm.

"Where be Morier?" Karak asked, glancing around at the empty battlefield.

"Ixin took him below," the Officer of Umba grunted, "to the portal."

They rushed down the narrow set of stone stairs that corkscrewed down into the bedrock and before they'd made it very far, Shamalin groaned herself back to consciousness thanks to the lingering effects of Ayremac's _Sacred Healing_. They kept supporting her until they'd reached the base of the stairs where it opened into a cramped cave two-thirds flooded by water. There they let her go, and she leaned, trembling against the wall of the cave.

"So... c-c-cold," she chattered, but neither Karak nor Ayremac replied. They were both awestruck by the sight before them.

A liquid pool dominated the chamber, whose walls were carved everywhere with tiny symbols in a script none could read. A small, flat outcropping rose up on the far side of the pool and the top surface of the rock was glowing with a bright, silvery light, looking as if someone had brought the full moon underground. The water reflected the light, rippling like quicksilver and sending waves of light dancing across the rune-covered walls.

"Karak!" Ixin bellowed and the dwarf turned toward her, dimly aware that she had been calling his name for several seconds. "Do you think that the worm can reach us here?"

"No. This be solid rock, twenty feet thick at its thinnest point," he replied, gearing himself up for a discourse on the strength of stone until he noticed Morier clutching to the drakeling's thick arm. "Oi, so that was why you were nae at my side battlin' the worm. You froze in your tracks did ye?" The albino's face was morbidly blue, and ice crystals winked in his hair. His eyes, like two pools of blood in his face, burned with life.

"Had to... let you do... something," Morier stammered through clenched teeth. "After... the giant." Karak harrumphed and stepped forward to lay hands on the eldritch warrior. He muttered a prayer and sent healing energy into his friend.

"There ye go, lad. No need to be ashamed o' yourself. Elves are not known for fightin' big monsters," Karak said with a wink. "Speakin' of elves. Nice work, Anania. Do nae think I forgot ye." The scout looked up from where she stood at the base of the stairs, transferring arrows from one quiver to another.

"You did nice work harrying the beast with your bow work," Karak went on. "I also noticed you did nae run." Anania's face flinched a little at that last comment.

"You can expect me to stand and fight alongside you," she said coolly. "It is, after all, my mission."

Karak nodded. Muttering to himself, he added, "Hrmpf. I'll have to be figurin' her inta the battle plans that be fer sure."

"What now?" Ixin asked, looking at the pool. "Do we just wait for Huzair to step through?"

"He responded to my _Sending_ - before the worm attacked - and said that we should all step through the portal to him," Shamalin said. "He mentioned finding a way to Dridana's heart and said that he'd met some Mercane traders. Does that mean anything to anyone?" There were muttered denials and the shaking of heads all around.

"I thought that the pull in Morier's head was leading us to Dridana's heart," Ixin observed.

"And the deva said that the portal requires the sacrifice of a magical object to activate it," Ayremac added. "I don't like the thought of losing one of the elemental blades to this thing."

"At the risk of sounding self-serving," Morier interrupted. "Let's get everyone healed and rested before we do a whole lot of anything."

"First, let me cast _Portal Beacon_ so that Huzair can find us, then I'll pray to Flor to heal our wounds," said Shamalin, as she clutched her holy symbol and began to cast her spell.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> "First, let me cast _Portal Beacon_ so that Huzair can find us, then I'll pray to Flor to heal our wounds," said Shamalin, as she clutched her holy symbol and began to cast her spell.




I would have thought Ayremac would've halted her and told her to rework her priorities there.


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## Jon Potter

I don't know, HM. None of the PCs were in a life-threatening condition, and without Shamalin's spell to guide him, Huzair is essentially stranded on the astral plane with no way to get back. Her priorities seem about right to me.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Huzair #3] Pull the Other One*

Huzair rocketed away from the githyanki outpost as fast as his thoughts could carry him. As he went, he unsheathed Flameblade and what he saw made him stop short. The short sword was just that... a sword. No flames wreathed the weapon, no voice like a crackling campfire spoke as the blade came free of its sheath. It was just a chunk of metal, unremarkable except for the single fire rune etched into the blade above the hand guard.

"Oh, this is not good," the wizard said and drew himself to a full stop. He looked back toward the outpost which seemed smaller now, but still commanded the view. He couldn't see the mercanes' ship anymore; it was blotted out against the bulk of Akiv-tchai. Maybe he could find them and pay the gold to send him back. Maybe-

Almost absently, Huzair noticed then that the short sword was twisting sluggishly in his hand. It was almost imperceptible, like a magnet tugging at the blade, making it twist weakly. On Oerune, he might not even have noticed it, but here, without gravity pulling at him, it was enough to draw his attention.

Experimentally, he released his grip on the handle and watched as the blade drifted for a moment, then gradually straightened out and began moving away from him at an angle. Before it got too far, he grabbed it again, arresting its forward motion.

Could this be Shamalin's pull, he wondered? It was subtle but insistent and he was just about ready to follow it when he let out a surprised yelp. It felt as if someone had suddenly reached into his head and begun to tug on his brain. He had a vision of a glittering swirl of color, like oiled mithril, set into the surface of a chunk of jagged rock floating in the astral void and knew with certainty that it was several hours of travel away. And while the sword's pull drew him back in the same general direction as the githyanki outpost, this was in nearly the opposite direction.

Clearly this latter was the pull about which Shamalin had spoken. Why it had been so long in coming, the wizard could only guess. Until he met up with them, of course. Then he could simply ask or better yet, just chide them for dragging their feet.

He smiled, sheathed his sword and set off like an arrow int he direction of the pull.



The journey took as long as it took. Huzair had little success in trying to gauge the passage of minutes or hours. In the unchanging void of the astral plane he felt neither hunger nor thirst. There was nothing to tire him, and the scenery changed little. But he could sense the distance to the portal shrinking incrementally as he traveled so he pressed on.

After a time, he spotted the silhouette of something dark and ovoid floating in the distance along his path and without knowing why, he could tell that it was his destination. He willed himself to go faster, but it seemed to have no effect; he traveled as fast as he traveled, approaching the dark shape purposefully.

As he drew nearer, he began to pick out details of the floating object. It was egg-shaped or rather half-an-egg-shaped - as if someone had split it lengthwise. The edge was rough and jagged, and subtle contours marked one side while the other seemed flat and smooth. Gradually the hills and valleys on the one side resolved themselves into the rough approximation of a bestial face as Huzair approached. Its subtleties were unclear, lacking in details of individuality, but it was clearly a humanoid visage of lupine character - a gnoll, perhaps, or a werewolf. Its mouth was open in a perpetual snarl as it stared off into the silver expanse of the astral.

Huzair was glad when he spotted the swirling metallic pool that marked the portal Shamalin had intended him to use. As he'd watched the slowly spinning face, he'd had the uncomfortable certainty that the portal would be inside that great stone maw. He was relieved as he swooped in toward the flat side of the stone head that his gut had been wrong.

As he approached he felt gravity of a sort assert itself on him, drawing him inexorably down to the drifting island. He landed easily, his feet scritching on bits of pulverized rock that covered the flat surface. He took a quick look around and guessed that the stone face was several hundred feet across at its narrowest point, and perhaps twice that in the other direction. Scattered here and there across the plain were bits of shattered bone and dozens of humanoid skulls. They all seemed fresh, but the timeless nature of this plane made it difficult to determine with any certainty - they could well have laid there for a hundred years for all Huzair knew.

The portal swirled on the ground nearby, and sparing another glance at the skeletal debris, the wizard approached the color pool, sucked in a deep breath and stepped into it.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #420a] The Doppleganger Effect*

The Mercybringer shared Flor's blessings among her wounded companions before attending to her own frost-bitten injuries, and soon had everyone fully healed. Only the nasty memories of the damage persisted, but there was little that her divine miracles could do to alleviate that. Only time could ease those pains.

While Shamalin cast her spells, Morier argued that the portal was some sort of trap with the message from Huzair serving as the bait. He was quite certain that Dridana's heart wasn't on another plane of existence; he could still feel the pull urging him eastward, after all.

"I admit that it does seem peculiar that the answer would lie beyond a portal that eats magic items when we need SPECIFIC magic items to get Dridana's heart," Ayremac observed. "But I can't believe that the deva lied to us."

"Who's to say she did?" Morier said. "I think Huzair's is the falsehood in this."

"The deva actually warned against going through the portal ourselves," Shamalin added. "She said that it wouldn't help our cause to go through the portal now."

"Which means that it may help in the future?" Ixin asked and Shamalin shrugged.

"We can't know the future with any certainty," Morier answered. "But her warning does make Huzair's assertion even more suspect." Karak harrumphed.

"Now that my head be a mite more clear, I'm beginin' ta think on what the white elf be sayin'. How do we know Huzair be himself or maybe he be ensorcelled with a spell?" the dwarf pondered, wringing his hands around his axe handle as he spoke. "Or just awestruck over bein' with Astrals or somethin'?"

"So we just leave him there?" Ayremac scoffed. "There's got to be a better answer than that."

"All's I be sayin' is maybe we need to rethink our plan," replied the dwarf. "I think we need ta decide which way we are going to do this and then take the risks as they may."

"I think that one person should load up on magical items and then step through with all four swords," Ayremac began and Ixin held up a hand.

"Three swords," she interrupted. "Huzair's got the fourth with him." Ayremac nodded.

"Right. Three swords," the holy warrior conceded. "Then the rest of us take one magic item that we're willing to sacrifice and step through afterward."

"I would sacrifice my _Ring of Breakfast_," Shamalin offered.

"Hold on," cautioned Morier. "So this trip will cost us six magic items to get to the Astral plane and another six to get back? Plus one more for Huzair on the return trip? That seems an awfully steep price to pay unless we absolutely have to."

"Just as I was sayin'," Karak grunted. "Do we all go to Huzair and find Dridana's heart? Or do we go in to find Huzair and take him back and follow it the old fashioned way an' follow the white one's head?" He indicated Morier with a sweep of his axe.

"I don't think we should blindly squander our resources if there's another way," Morier told him and Karak nodded.

"Agreed, lad. I think the safest thing is to go get Huzair, followin' Ayremac's plan. He goes in to get Huzair and brings him back. Then we can ask him all our questions - interrogate him to our hearts' content to determine if he be ensorcelled or not," the dwarf told them. "We can always go back through the portal right? It's not like it turns off after we use it? Or course, the price be high."

"I am willing to pay such a price," Ayremac announced.

"Then it's settled. I say get Huzair and then follow the pull in Morier's head," Karak said stamping his axe haft on the ground for emphasis. "At least we get to keep our stuff."



The process of preparing Ayremac for a trip through the portal was long and arduous. About half-way through the process, Morier began to think that perhaps Karak would be a better choice to go through and grab Huzair, prompting a debate that continued for nearly an hour before it was ultimately decided that Ayremac should be the one to go by virtue of his greater mobility and extraplanar nature. He was just getting ready to trudge across the pool and enter the glowing portal when it suddenly flared, growing brighter and brighter until it was painful to look upon, throwing the entire chamber into harsh contrast.

When they were able to blinkingly open their eyes, they saw Huzair standing tall and dark atop the flat outcropping of rock. He seemed surrounded by a corona of iridescent steam. He shook his head and hopped down into the pool, which was only little over a foot deep, and started toward the companions on the shore.

"Holy crap, that pull gave me a headache," he groused as he came, but his smile showed white and dangerous in his black face.

"Huzair..." Ayremac sputtered, casting a wary glance back at Shamalin and the others. "We... we were just preparing to come get you."

"Thanks, fly boy," the wizard smirked. "But I did not need saving." He spread his arms and headed for Shamalin. He grinned. "Of course, I did miss some of you." Ayremac stepped into the pool and forestalled the mage's advance with a gauntleted hand to the chest.

"Hold up, Huzair," the holy warrior cautioned. "Are you all right, first?" Huzair waved a hand dismissively.

"Oh, I am okay - just a little tired," the wizard said. "What time is it anyway? What day is it for that matter? Wow, the astral plane is neat. I cannot wait to go back."

"Tell us what you have seen?" the Officer of Umba pressed, ignoring the wizard's questions. "What happened?"

"I was sitting in the lap of luxury; that is what happened," he said with a mischievous grin. "I was doing some serious business on the astral plane - could have made some nice coin. I found some gentlemen who may help us... well for a price, of course. Damn, they had style. I may go back to work for them some day." 

"This nae be Huzair," Karak growled, raising his axe to chest height. "Talk o' work seems ill-suited to the wizard's mouth." Huzair looked at him archly, his mouth twisted into a disapproving pucker.

"Oh, put down your big axe, fuzz ball," the mage said. "Are you just mad I did not want to give you a hug too?" Karak harrumphed.

"I don't know," Ixin offered. "He sounds like Huzair to me."

"Me too," added Morier. "And I've known him longer than any of you."

"Do I need to prove myself?" the wizard said, planting a fist on his hip. His eyes glittered with delight. "Should I remind you all of how I found Morier, dancing around buck naked through the woods?"

"Nae," Karak scoffed. "Many folk know tha' story. Ye've spread tha' tale far an' wide."

"I do love to bring that up," the mage agreed. "It is a great story. Comedy gold!"

"Would you submit to a _Detect Thoughts_ spell?" Shamalin asked and Huzair studied her face.

"Are you sure you are ready for that, beautiful?" the mage grinned lasciviously. "I cannot be held responsible for what you see in there, but you can go ahead if it will ease your own mind." Shamalin nodded and began casting.

"So tell us what happened to you, Huzair," Morier prompted and the wizard turned to look at him. He sighed and nodded.

"I met some merchants called the Mercane," he began. "They may be able to help us find Dridana's body."

"You said 'Dridana's Heart' when you replied to Shamalin's _Sending_," Ayremac pointed out and Huzair's brow furrowed.

"Did I? Sorry," the wizard said, pressing his hand dramatically against his forehead. "Hard to work under such stress. Something about those Mercane being 12 feet tall and having lots of teeth made me nervous. But I think if they were properly compensated, they could be useful in the future. I will write down their names so if something ever happens to me you can contact them."

"It's Huzair," Shamalin said with a note of disgust in her voice. She looked away from him, blushing to the tips of her pointed ears. the wizard smirked at her embarrassment.

"Hey! I warned you," he said and stepped forward toward Morier. "And speaking of warning: nice job on the watch, by the way!" He punctuated the statement by giving the albino a shove in the chest. "Try to give me more warning next time, Whitey. Someone not as savvy as me would have wound up getting killed on the astral plane." He turned an unsubtle and meaningful eye on Karak as he said this.

"But anyway, do share what have you been up to the last... how many days was I gone?" The wizard asked.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

A good dwarf would've brought the argument up again, right when Ayremac was going to step through, that he should be the one to go instead of Ayremac and delayed the rescue attempt another hour. Karak is slipping I tell you!


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Just wanted to congratulate you on 35,000 views for this story hour, quite an accomplishment.


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Just wanted to congratulate you on 35,000 views for this story hour, quite an accomplishment.




Whoah... I wasn't at all paying attention to that particular milestone. My attention was fixated on the rising post-count.

A celebration is in order!

I'll just have to think about how to do that...


----------



## Burningspear

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> A celebration is in order!
> 
> I'll just have to think about how to do that...




Well...., you could always give the players some ingame presents... lol.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Better yet, you should collect the names of all of your fans (posters on this thread) and incorporate them into a post. Now that would be a post to remember. In fact.... that gives me an idea.


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Better yet, you should collect the names of all of your fans (posters on this thread) and incorporate them into a post.




Well, I've got something _a bit_ like that in the works.

Remember that "special thing" I announced a month or so ago? The one that I was going to unveil in about two weeks? Yeah... well... *that* has got something _a bit_ like you're suggesting.

If I can ever unveil it.  :\


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #422] Where Do We Stand?*

"A bit less than a day," Ixin told him and Huzair's expression grew surprised.

"Huh! It seemed a lot longer at the time, and I'm definitely bushed now." He stifled back a yawn. "Time works differently on the astral plane - like there is not any. I mean there is. Time passes but you do not feel it. It is very..."

"Weird?" the drakeling offered and Huzair nodded.

"That fits as well as any other word," he said with a grin.

"What did you learn?" Shamalin asked. She took a drink from her waterskin, doing her best to wash away the foul taste of Huzair's perverted thoughts, and failing. "Should we try to return to the astral plane with you now?" The wizard shook his head.

"I do not believe that it is time to go now, but we have a lead in the future," he told her and now it was Shamalin's turn to look surprised.

"But you said you knew something that can help us pursue Dridana's heart," she snapped.

"I believe I was in error," the mage admitted reluctantly. "Dridana's body may be on the astral plane. Dead gods float there. I sincerely misspoke about Dridana's heart being there, but are we not supposed to unite the heart with the body? We will have to go some time." Karak harrumphed.

"Well lads and lassie's, what do we do from 'ere? Do we need to rest and then head out towards the white one's famous pull?" the dwarf asked, hands resting easily on the handle of his axe. "If so I suggest the elf set up a perimeter with her bow and one o' us stand guard near the camp. Then Huzair switch with the elf in the perimeter since he has range spells and thief abilities. I will stand first guard." Huzair's face brightened at mention of the scout and he craned his neck around the cramped cave.

"I did not hear from my beauty, Anania. Where is she? Is she scouting? She must be hiding, knowing I was going to give her a big hug," saying that he looked at meaningfully at Shamalin. "By the look on your face you got more than a hug." He winked at her and the half-elf turned her head in disgust.

"I am here, Huzair," Anania spoke up from the cave entrance. She had been standing guard on the staircase while the others first argued amongst themselves who was best suited to pass through the portal, then over whether it was best for that person to be carrying many magic items or only one, and ultimately while they spoke with the returning wizard. She favored him now with a smile, saying,"I am glad that you are well. The mood toward me has soured since you left."

"Oh?" Huzair remarked, looking around at the others for explanation and looking particularly hard at Karak. "What did the mean dwarf say to you, sweet flower?"

"It wasn't Karak," Shamalin said quickly turning a challenging eye on Huzair. Then she too looked around at the others. "And is anyone going to back me up in insisting that Anania no longer send her eyeball messages? I think they are too risky, regardless of whether the last one was intercepted or not. I say save them for a time when we might need a call for help. No more updates for Hofrilax." With this last sentence she turned and met the wood elves gaze. Anania did not look away; a slight tightening of her almond-shaped eyes was the only betrayal of emotion she exhibited.

"You raise a good point, lass, about those eyeballs," Karak said, unmindful of the staring contest going on to his left. "Maybe this not be the time to be sendin' 'em anymore. But I do nae think the elf's a'gonna like that."

"I think Anania is smart enough to realize that - despite her allegiances to Hofrilax - she may be putting us in danger by sending the eye messages," Shamalin said evenly, her gaze never wavering from the scout's. Anania's eyes narrowed to slits.

"My being smart enough does not figure into this situation, Mercybringer," the elf maid said, her voice every bit as even and controlled as Shamalin's had been. "What does are Lord Hofralix's wishes. He gave you all much and asked little in return. But one thing he did demand is to be kept appraised of the situation as it develops. I will not disappoint him." Then she broke gaze with Shamalin and turned up the stairs. "As Karak has suggested, I will set up a perimeter."

For a moment there was silence except for the breathing of the six members of the Order in the small cave. At last Shamalin turned and in a low voice said, "We'll have to deal with that."

"What?!" Huzair scoffed. "I am gone for less than a day and the cleric grows a bigger pair than the dwarf? What has gotten into you?"

"Trust is in short supply," Morier informed him and Karak snorted his agreement.

"Aye, lass, e'en though you scried his mind, what if this just be an exact duplicate of the real Huzair who is still trapped on the astral plane?" Karak asked the cleric. "And how do we know he be nae ensorscelled or charmed to lure us inta a trap?!"

"The only thing I have done that should make you guys not trust me is that I did not tell you I could kick Whitey's ass. Your aggressive assertions that people are not trustworthy makes them not want to help you," the wizard explained. "I was always told to keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Got that one from the thieves guild. Letting people know you do not trust them only makes them sneakier."

"He's got a point there," Ixin chuckled and Morier scowled at the wizard, studying him carefully.

"Despite that fact, now that it has been said, I'll admit that I am also more than just a little skeptical about Huzair," the albino said. "I'd say it would be wise for us to keep a pretty constant eyeball on him for the immediate time being."

"Look, I am not trying to lure you anywhere," Huzair said, holding up his hands defensively. "Let us keep following Whitey's pull. Seriously, I am being agreeable."

"Yeah... and there's absolutely nothing suspicious about that," Morier countered.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #423] Hard Times in Erlacor*

Huzair waved off the eldritch warrior's comment and moved passed him with nonchalance. As he went he spared the albino a nudge to the ribs "Did you hear that, Morier? My little flower said she was glad I am well. A woman has not said something that nice about me since... ever."

Despite himself, Morier's face split into a smile and he stifled back some abortive laughter. He knew that the wizard's words most likely the absolute truth and the comment went some small way toward easing his concerns about Huzair.

Shamalin just sighed. "I need to pray," she said.



The cleric sought out the farthest corner of the cave for her meditation. Much had happened and she yearned to commune with her goddess to sort things through. Methodically she removed Blackheart's armor - it was still Blackheart's armor, though she viewed it as an extension of herself now. She knelt, steadied her breathing, and attempted to clear her mind. Several factors worked against her reflection, however.

Across the room, Huzair had drawn his elemental sword insisting to Ixin that its magic had been absent on the astral plane. Now Flameblade's voice was echoing its raucous challenge throughout the cave. Karak, though often respectful of her needs (perhaps a result of having experience with the religious ways of his brother), was at the moment engaged in a heated discussion with Morier. Every so often he would pound his axe handle on the stone floor for emphasis. Not far from her, Shamalin could discern the dark shape of Ayremac absorbed in his own prayers. She had become familiar enough with his practices, but the confines of the cave set him to flex and flutter his wings every few minutes, adding to her own agitation. A slow throbbing began to grow from behind her eyes, and Shamalin knew she would have to expend a minor healing miracle to ward off a splitting headache. It was going to be a long night. 



In the end, the guidance she sought was ephemeral and cryptic. But she had come to expect it this way, and so took what comfort she could in the words. "You walk a path of danger. Every action you take holds risk. And this is no different but that the danger comes without intent if it comes at all." She sighed as she voiced the White Lady's response to her query during morning rations, while Anania was momentarily away. 

"You should have asked if the eyes alerted anyone to our presence last time," Huzair chided. "I knew Anania was not intentionally doing anything." 

"Perhaps you're right. I never believed her to be purposefully endangering us either. Her skills are beneficial," she relented. "It's just that the attacks came so soon after her sending..." Her voice trailed off as Anania made her return known with some uncharacteristic shuffling on the stair. Shamalin stood to intercept her.

"Perhaps the eye messages were not the cause of our attack," the cleric admitted. "Your loyalty to your sovereign is commendable. We are fortunate to have you with us." Without waiting for a response, Shamalin clanked up the stairs to begin the day. Anania watched her go and then turned to the others.

"There's not sign that the frost worm has returned," she informed them. "It's likely been scared off by the resistance it encountered last time, but I see no reason to linger here if we needn't." She glanced over at the small island in the middle of the pool. Sometime during the night the portal that glowed there had disappeared, leaving the outcropping unremarkable.

"I agree, my little flower," Huzair said, walking toward her with a grin. "Let us follow Whitey's pull. How about you lead the way."



*Sunday, the 28th of Fireseek - Godsday, the 7th of Readying, 1270 AE*​


And so she did, leading them northeastward so that they quickly returned to the course set by Morier's head and maintained that path as the days passed and the weather worsened. Snow began to fall on their first day, but it didn't accumulate much at first; the steady wind kept it at bay, leaving the frozen ground bare save for a fine dusting of frozen powder that moved and eddied about them as they trudged miserably on. That first night the temperature began to plummet, dropping well below freezing and staying there for the long week they spent hiking toward the Risilvar Escarpment looming rosily at the horizon. Anania's skills at survival were put to the test as they travelled, but she managed to keep them fed and free of frostbite despite the conditions.

By the time they spotted the fortress on the afternoon of Godsday they were moving through shin-deep snow covered with a sheen of ice that crumbled beneath their every footfall. Only Karak and Anania seemed unperturbed by the terrain. Neither sank into the accumulation with each step. Karak's magical boots allowed him the luxury of walking atop the snow and Anania didn't even leave any footprints behind as she passed. For the others, however, the forced march was akin to torture, leaving them gasping and trembling with fatigue. The crumbling, lichen-covered walls of the fortress looked palatial to their eyes as they approached, the smoke rising from chimneys within promising a warm fire and a respite from sleeping beneath the stars on frozen ground.

The disappointment was palpable upon spotting a yellow swath of cloth indicating plague nailed to the closed gate. Anania raised a hand to forestall the group even as an arrow arched up from the keep into the twilight before thunking down into the permafrost near Karak's boots.

"Oi!" the dwarf bellowed in protest and a voice answered from atop the wall.

"Move off, outlanders!" someone shouted. "You'll find no succor here!"


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #424] Little Keep on the Borderlands*

"Watch who ye be shootin' at, ye bunyun-brained anvil-droppin' goblin spawn!" Karak shouted back, the paragon of dwarven diplomacy, and shook his axe in the air for emphasis. "We're nae yer enemies!"

"Perhaps it is best not to antagonize them," Anania suggested, estimating the distance between their current position and the archer behind the wall. It wasn't point blank range, but it was darned close. She notched an arrow into her bow and waited for the keep's reply.

"This is your last warning!" the voice shouted from within. "Come no closer or you'll find an arrow in your throat."

"Charming," Ixin said as she came up behind the dwarf and the elf.

"_Fireball_ is always an answer, regardless of the question," Huzair's voice spoke from the air amongst them. The mage had turned invisible, but the faint smell of smoke that always surrounded him betrayed his presence near them. "I also have a _Web_ spell if you want to have someone to interrogate afterwards."

"Huzair, let's away before we make even greater targets of ourselves. This situation is best left alone... the mark of Aphyx is clearly posted for all to see," Morier said as he stepped up behind Karak. He didn't bother looking for the wizard, but kept his eyes trained on the weather worn battlements for any sign of archers. "I see no valid reason to put ourselves in harm's way to disturb this place. Yes, we near exhaustion, I feel it too, but let's get away from here and find a suitable place with cover. I can't imagine what we've to gain inside."

"I like Morier's idea of falling back and watching to see what we can see," Shamalin huffed as she caught up to the others. She was breathing hard and sweating profusely under her heavy plate despite the cold. "If we make it a night, that also allows me to adjust my spell list to make it more specific to the current situation."

"Hang on," Ayremac protested. "Are we not heroes? Must we retreat from every obstacle?"

"Who said anything about retreating?" Huzair's voice asked. "I am suggesting a full frontal assault before they can poke us full of arrows." Morier sighed, pulling his eyes away from the keep and looking at the holy warrior.

"I understand yours and Huzair's feelings. And believe me, I don't want to overestimate my own importance... but the pull in my head is the only thing leading us toward our goal at this point," the albino explained, his tone sullen. "I don't feel like I have the freedom to take unnecessary risks. In many ways it's contrary to the ways of the Eldritch Warrior... I struggle with it every day, probably more than all of you know."

"Morier, you understand this is a clandestine mission," Ayremac argued. "We have been set upon this path by Higher Powers, and for all we know this fortress has been put before us for some reason we cannot even begin to comprehend."

"And for all we know it hasn't," the eldritch warrior countered. "It could just be chance that we stumbled upon it. And as a matter of fact I think it probably was."

"Trust me, Morier. You may not realize it, but I can feel Umba is leading us here," Ayremac said with utter confidence and Morier turned away with a resigned shake of his head.

"What did you have in mind?" Ixin asked the holy warrior.

"Let me try to convince them," Ayremac said to the group. "I can fly up there and persuade them to let us enter."

"There seems little harm in that," Ixin said with a nod. "We'll have lost nothing by trying the diplomatic approach." Anania nodded in agreement and Karak harrumphed but said nothing.

"Okay, fly boy. You go up there and do that. But do not get too close," Huzair's voice spoke from the air to their right. His feet scrunched the snow as he moved away from the group. The remains of a large bonfire thrust darkly up from the snow in that direction. "I will just hide behind this rubble over here. And oh, I have got your back." Being invisible did little to hide the sarcasm in his voice.

Shamalin doffed her helmet and took the golden _Circlet of Persuasion_ from its place amongst her sweaty locks.

"Here," the cleric said, offering the band to Ayremac. "This will help." Ayremac took it and wiped it fastidiously dry on his cloak before removing his own helmet and settling it amongst his platinum hair.

"Thank you," he said to Shamalin before turning toward the fortress with his helmet beneath one arm. He stepped in front of Anania and shouted, "People of the keep! I am an Officer of Umba, a trusted holy man of the town of Frothingham to the north. We are traveling the countryside trying to heal the sick and find a cure for a plague that is spreading throughout the region. Would you allow me to meet with your town leadership to see what help I can bring?" 

They waited for a reply, but all was quiet from within and Ayremac turned to look back at the others. He shrugged and replaced his helmet before taking to the air. Shamalin stepped quickly behind Karak and began casting _Detect Thoughts_ from the cover provided by the dwarf.

"I assure you that I am not at risk of infecting you or you infecting me," the holy warrior said as he rose gracefully upwards. "My Celestial blood grants me that advantage. If you cannot trust in me, a son of angels, who will you put your trust in?"

There was no reply to his honeyed words as he soared up above the battlements, but he got a good look at the keep's interior. He was not impressed. It was all mud and ramshackle buildings with sod roofs. There was an obvious stable but no visible horses and an equally obvious smithy in which no forge burned and the hammer and anvil were silent. He saw the bowman, however, a lanky man with cornsilk hair and beard dressed in ratty furs and clutching a bow that seemed pretty pathetic after seeing Anania's so much over the last weeks. The man stood in the open space beside the gate half in the shadows of a wooden catwalk that ran along the wall. He seemed stunned to see Ayremac hovering above him in the twilight and his jaw hung open revealing a mouthful of brown teeth.



Shamalin concentrated on her spell, listening to the cacophony of thoughts given voice in her head. Most were of a type that she should have expected.

"An angel! Brogine's Balls! A real angel!" and "Perhaps he'll deliver us!" and "We're saved! We must be saved! Surely!"

But a few others gave her pause.

"He'll kill us all!" and "Dear gods, why won't they just go!?" and "They follow me even here? How far must I run?"



"Truth be told, we need you as much if not more," Ayremac said, hovering above the parapet and flashing  a smile that seemed almost painfully white in the semi-darkness. "It is cold, and we crave a warm fire and the stories of your stronghold. Will you please open your doors to us?"

The bowman jerked his head away from Ayremac and looked into the dark beneath the walkway. The holy warrior could see another figure there, broad and thick-limbed, with whom the archer was conferring, but he could not hear their words. At last the bowman turned his face skyward once more and shouted up at Ayremac.

"T-tomorrow at sunrise!" he stammered, looking back at the shadowy figure for reassurance that he was doing the right thing. "We'll send an... an envoy to meet you then! If... if you are who you say... then we'll let you in. Tomorrow!"



Crouched in the snow beside the charred remains of the fire, Huzair couldn't hear most of the exchange, but he was really inclined to listen anyway. He had prepared both _Fireball_ and _Web_ that morning and either was ready to go at a moment's notice. Hells, BOTH were ready to go in succession if that seemed advisable, but he had a feeling that _Pyrotechnics_ would be most effective in the wake of his _Fireball_. He'd put it to good use the last time they'd been faced with archers.

As he crouched there, grinning invisibly, he absently looked at the blackened remains of the fire. It was getting hard to pick out fine detail in the rapidly darkening twilight, but there amidst the burned logs and charcoal he spotted some blackened bones. Many were large - too large to be human - a horse or cow perhaps. But then he saw staring out of the snow at the edge of the firepit a human skull, darkened by flames, but still displaying the gouge above the left eye socket that could only have been left by the killing blow of a slashing weapon.


----------



## Burningspear

darkhall-nestor said:
			
		

> Wow I am all caught up
> 
> I quite enjoyed reading it
> 
> Darn I’m all caught up




LOL, that makes me think of that freakishly good song...

"So caught up" by Usher


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #425] Just Another Night on the Tundra*

Ayremac soared back to the others and alighted between them and the keep. He shook his head and explained what he'd seen. "i think they're just scared," he said. "They said we could meet with someone tomorrow."

"Hrmf! Wait until tomorrow... Why? So they can have their arrows poisened even more?" Karak grumbled and Morier nodded.

"I say we slide out under cover of night," the albino said. "Ayremac saw that there's nothing to the place. No reason to waste our time here... Let's move out rather than give them time to plan their ambush."

"I disagree strongly," Huzair's voice spoke up. He quickly told them about the bones he'd found in the fire. "I want to find what happened here. You are one horrible detective, whitey."

"And anyway, I don't think we can just leave these people to their fates," Shamalin spoke up. "I have a duty to help them if I can. And if we wait until tomorrow, I can prepare a miracle that will let me speak with the dead skull in the fire pit to see what's been going on."

"Tomorrow?" Karak growled. "I say the time is now. Shelia do you agree? I thought so." And saying thus, he hefted the waraxe and started toward the keep. The others watched him go, slack jawed.

"Wait, you big hairy doofus! Sit your ass down and let us talk about this," Huzair hissed. "We need a plan, damn it." The dwarf hesitated, looking over his shoulder at the others.

"You plan," he said. "But if ye want in, I'll get ye in!"

"Should we help him?" Ixin asked, taking a hesitant step toward him. Anania shook her head.

"I fear that the dwarf has gone mad," she said.

"I can't come up with a valid reason to storm the castle here," Morier explained to the group. "Ayremac checked it out and saw nothing of interest and they've made it well known that they intend on attacking us if we approach. What's to be gained? 

"Listen not to the words, but to the message, oh white-one-track-minded-one," Huzair said with a grin that they all could hear but none of them could see. "Oh, I have been dying to use that since Garan-Zak used it on me."

"What are you talking about?" Morier snapped, his lip curled in disdain.

"The man inside is scared, Morier. He is bluffing," the mage explained. "Obviously the keep was recently under attack and he is afraid. There is lots of information to be gained here."

"Perhaps, Huzair," Anania offered. "But I am not sure that leading a lone warrior assault is the way to gain what knowledge is hidden here." Huzair looked at the dwarf who had paused to cast some sort of protective ward on himself.

"Good point, my sweet. I better follow Karak to make sure he does not hurt someone," Huzair said, crunching away invisibly after the dwarf. Just before he was out of earshot he added, "The hairy moron!"

"Like sprytes, I tell you, flitting about here and there with no direction at all!" Morier cursed. "If we stop to pick a fight with every bit of yellow cloth we see between here and our goal, perhaps our grandchildren can reunite Dridana's heart and body." He said this, but still he drew Stoneblade and made to follow after Karak and Huzair.

"A KEEP?!" the sword thundered. "STONE WALLS WILL NOT LONG KEEP ME OUT!" Ayremac's hand grabbed hold of Morier's bicep stopping his advance.

"I don't mind taking a risk here, but can't see that there is any benefit to getting right in these peoples' faces," the Holy Warrior said. Shamalin looked around the half-celestial's wing and her eyes were full of concern.

"What is the rationale for storming the keep, Morier?" she asked. "We don't have to go, you know."

"It does seem a little foolish," Ixin nodded. "We can meet with the townsfolk in the morning, gain the same knowledge, and have risked nothing."

"Tell that to Karak!" the albino snapped. "I agree with you; this is a bad idea!"
"COWARD!" Stoneblade protested.

"Shut up!" Ixin, Shamalin, and Morier shouted in unison.



"Ho! The keep!" Karak shouted, hammering the handle of his waraxe against the gate. "Open yer doors an' let us 'elp ye with yer little disease problem!" He heard voices within but could make out no words. A moment later, Ayremac landed beside him in a rush of air.

"Karak, stay your hand!" the Officer of Umba pleaded. "None of us has a desire to force our way inside. These people need out help, not an assault." Karak harrumphed.

"Ye lot were talkin' o' sneakin' about to gain entry," the dwarf countered. "My way be faster an' a far sight more honorable, ta boot. It be the dwarven way." Ayremac shook his head.

"No one's planning to sneak inside," the holy warrior assured him. "We're going to camp tonight and meet with the keep's representative in the morning."

"Oh." The dwarf's face softened and he turned away from the gate. "I be fine with that."



"I still say I could have used the Ring of Blinking to sneak inside and then used Web to stop any opposition before it started," Huzair groused as he huddled inside his blanket, inches away from the fire. "And if we ever get anywhere dry with... oh, I do not know... a table, maybe... and a chair... I have a scroll of _Leomund's Tiny Hut_ that I will scribe into my spell book. No more sleeping in a snow cave after that!"

"That sounds appealing," Ixin said, miserably. Anania scowled slightly, the barest downturn of her mouth.

"I apologize that I have been unable to keep you all in the manner to which you are accustomed," she said. "But trust me, I too have places I would rather be."

"I did not mean to insult you, my gentle flower," the wizard soothed. "Neodig knows what state we'd be in if it weren't for you. We'd have to rely on Morier to get us through. Tell us again how you did with Ledare and Feln during the Air Walk, pull boy."

"Are you taking first watch?" Morier asked in response. He noticed Ixin's mood darken visibly at mention of the trials of the Grove of Renewal. Trials she had failed. But no one else seemed to note the change in the drakeling's demeanor, least of all, Huzair.

"I am not going on any watch with that plane-sucking thing still around," the wizard scoffed. "It went straight for me last time. I do not want to chance it taking me again." Karak harrumphed and tugged off first his gauntlet and then the Ring of Freedom he wore on that hand. He tossed the band to Huzair.

"'Ere, ye big Sally," the dwarf grumbled. "This'll keep ye from bein' any beastie's lunch. An' I'll take first watch." Huzair looked at the _Ring_ and delight danced in his eyes.

"This does not mean we are married or anything does it, dwarf?" the wizard asked. Karak harrumphed once and left the shelter without saying anything more.

"I guess I'm with him," Ayremac said, moving to get up, but Ixin forestalled him.

"No," she said. "I'll go. I'm not really tired." But Morier caught her eye and knew that she was more bothered by Huzair's mention of the Grove of Renewal than she was letting on. And that, more than sleeplessness was what drove her to take first watch.

"Ixin," Huzair said, holding up the _Ring of Freedom_. "Take this... in case anything tries to whisk you away to another plane." She took it, with a wan smile.

"Thanks," she said, uttering the last word any of them would ever hear from her lips.



The night was brutal. The cold sapped strength and sensation. The roaring wind cut against exposed flesh like a dull razor and rendered their hearing nearly useless. It was, Karak knew, a night when both Great Celune and Merunna the Handmaiden were full in the sky, but the cloud cover rendered the night as dark as pitch. Driving snow made them almost blind despite their darkvision, and almost totally concealing the two watchers from each other unless they stood within ten feet of one another. And even then, they were reduced to dark shapes amidst the vortex of snow. 

It was little surprise that they didn't spot the scrying sensor. And little wonder that they did not see a dark serpentine shape making its way toward the sunken shelter until it was already in their midst. Karak reacted at once, swinging Shelia around in a mighty, double-handed chop that came down onto the thing's viscid back with finality. The thing let out a fierce trilling cry of pain and reared up on itself, towering over the dwarf like the mast of a ship half-glimpsed amidst the swirling snow.

Its cry, however was enough to draw Ixin's attention. She breathed and fire scoured the shapeless thing, momentarily lighting Karak's face in harsh relief as the determined dwarf stood his ground, drawing his axe back for another go. Ixin never saw whether that blow landed or not, for at that moment the amorphous thing fell on the dwarf like a foul wave, drawing Karak into its grasp. She lost sight of them then, and took a single step toward the melee when fire exploded in her chest.

She looked down to see two feet of steel protruding wetly from below her right breast. There was a harsh tugging sensation and the blade disappeared, withdrawing back into her body, and she couldn't for the life of her figure out how a sword - especially one of that size - could fit inside her torso. Then blood was running hotly down her body and the horrible burning in her chest was only growing worse. She fell to her knees, then forward onto one hand. She tried to cry out, but there was no air.

She was trying to figure out how that could be when a second lance of pain shot through her side and she fell into the snow. Its cold embrace felt very good against the fire that burned in her, but it was getting harder to see, she noticed and rolled awkwardly to one side. A man loomed over her, she could see. And in one hand he carried a massive sword. As she stared up, he bent down and seized her by the cloak, drawing her easily off the ground with his left hand.

"How many of you must I kill to be rid of-," he stopped, his eyes studying Ixin's face intently. She looked at his and took in what details there were: brown hair that had gone shaggy, a hard jaw that was covered by the makings of a beard, a hawkish nose that showed evidence of multiple breaks, gray eyes rimmed with crimson... eyes that swam with madness. Those eyes looked at her, confused, and then he blinked.

"Ixin?" the man asked. "Is that you?" She tried to say something approximating yes, but it came out as a wet gurgle. "Where is Ledare, Ixin? I must find Ledare. Where is she?"

"Dead," Ixin said, although she suspected that she only mouthed the word rather than actually speaking it. But the man got the message and it was clearly not a welcome one. He wailed in despair, like a wolf with its foot in a trap. then his face hardened and he dropped her back into the snow, gripped his bastard sword in two meaty hands then drove its point into the drakeling's chest. She felt the burning replaced by a numbing chill as the sword pierced her heart and the blade drank her soul.


----------



## darkhall-nestor

Someone roll a one?


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## Haunted

Absolutely wonderful stopping point, Jon.  Can't wait for what happens next!


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## Fimmtiu

And here I thought you were getting soft about being a PC meat grinder. That'll show me.


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## Jon Potter

Thanks for the kind words, guys. Fimmtiu, I _think_ your words were kind; let me know if I should take them another way.   

Anywho, there were no ones involved there, in fact that last little bit was the result of a crutucal hit, actually.

The story's about to side-trek into strangeness as the past comes back to haunt them.

Stay tuned...


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## Jon Potter

*And While You're Waiting...*

Here's the long-awaited special thing that I mentioned sometime before Christmas.

The collected Realms of Enlightenment adventures available as free downloads from lulu.com. I'm not making money from these, I just did it for fun, but the printed books do look nice on my book shelf.

Each Volume features some notable reader quotes culled from this Story Hour and most contain an introduction written by the players. This is the only place that you can read the definitive collection featuring painstakingly rewritten "lost segments" of the narrative that have never been seen before.

Collect them all...


 Volume One: The Grey Companions
 Volume Two: To Live and Die in Riverneck
 Volume Three: Something Rotten in Barnacus
 Volume Four: Against the Cult of Chaos
 Volume Five: The Problem with Portals
 Volume Six: A Tale of Two Forests

 Volume Seven: The Keys to Her Heart

----------

Okay, now to take off my marketting hat and say that I hope this brings some enjoyment to the readers here. It was fun to do and if anyone downloads a copy or buys a printed version (Hey!! It could happen!) I'd love to hear what you think of it.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #426] Comes the Dawn*

Huzair was awakened by an icy hand pressing down across his mouth. Opening his eyes, he saw Anania crouched over him in the darkness, a finger raised to her lips, her eyes wide with alarm. She leaned in close and the mage smelled damp earth and pine needles as her hair fell across his face.

"Something is wrong," she breathed into his ear. "The watch should have awakened us by now. Alert the others. I will investigate." And then she slipped away, moving deftly around the three sleeping forms without waking them. She began to excavate the door. While she worked, Huzair poked at the banked coals of their fire, bringing a hellish glow to the inside of the shelter.



It was nearly dawn, and the weather hadn't improved much. The snow had stopped falling, but the wind still kicked the accumulation into whorls of blinding white. As one-by-one they pulled themselves from the low opening of the snow shelter, they saw Anania crouched nearby.

"There was a battle," she said without looking up. She brushed aside some of the blowing snow, revealing a rusty patch of ice they all recognized as frozen blood - *a lot* of frozen blood. "But no bodies."

"Oh man, if that thing that got me got him... he is lost," Huzair said matter-of-factly. "He will get into so much trouble on the astral plane. And Nethlar knows he cannot talk his way out of anything. Ixin might be better off... she's pretty at least." Morier shoved the wizard as the albino stepped passed him to look at the ground where Anania was knelt. He couldn't tell anything by looking.

"Was it the same thing that took Huzair?" he asked in a low voice and Anania's eyes flicked up to regard him.

"Possibly," she said. "I can tell little from this scene. Too much snow has fallen between the event and now." Morier scowled.

That's what he was afraid she'd say.

"Should we search for them on the Astral Plane?" Shamalin asked although it was many days' hard travel back to the Moonsteps, their only immediate way of gaining access to the Astral. "Should I try a _Sending_ spell again?" Huzair eyed the ruddy snow and snorted.

"I fear whomever's blood this is," he paused, looking at Morier, Ayremac and Shamalin in turn. "Well, if it was Ixin's or Karak's then I am afraid they are dead." Shamalin blanched at the mage's assessment and Morier got to his feet.

"We don't know that, Huzair," the albino said and then squinted off in the direction of the keep. "But having had two party members disappear in the middle of the night makes me a little more inclined this morning to "storm the keep" than I was yesterday."

"Why?" Ayremac asked and the eldritch warrior turned his crimson eyes on him.

"I would think that the most obvious explaination for Ixin and Karak's disappearance would be that the culprit is within that keep," Morier said in a patronizing tone.

"Let's not be rash, Morier," the holy warrior replied with an equal measure of disdain in his own voice. "Aren't you the one always preaching caution? I'll get an aerial perspective." And saying thus he spread his wings and took to the sky. Morier watched him go, his teeth set.

"Gods," he cursed. "I miss Karak already."



Shamalin went about her morning prayers and called on Flor to grant her the miracle of _Speaking with the Dead_. She suited up and arranged before her the few charred bones that Huzair had pulled from the firepit - a skull and mandible, a few ribs, one scapula, and some long bones that belonged to either the arms or legs of the man. It was not much, really, but apart from the unpleasant option of digging through the remains of the fire to locate more bones, it was as good as they were likely to get. She hoped it would work as she brandished her holy symbol and spoke the necessary words.

After a while, it did.

The skull rolled from side to side and the jawbone clacked open and closed. A moment later, the rib bones snapped back into the approximation of a cage which swelled and shrank as if invisible lungs expanded and deflated within. The long bones rolled up to become stumpy upper arms. For a moment, the partial skeleton languished there and then it turned its empty eye sockets onto Shamalin and while there were no eyes to read, the cleric sensed a resigned patience as the spirit waited to answer her questions.

"What events have befallen this keep to result in so much death and fear?" she asked and the skull's jawbone shook violently for a moment before the voice spoke.

"The dead walked and we came to slay them," the skull said. Its voice was thin and brittle in the cold morning. "But he followed in our wake like a carrion bird."

"Who?" Shamalin stammered. Speaking to a murdered corpse was disconcerting. "Who should we be wary of?" Again the skull's jawbone rattled and clattered for a time before an answer came.

"He wore the garb of a Sanctifier," the skeleton said. "But he slew we few as no brother would." Shamalin swallowed down her anxiety and licked her lips.

"How best can we defeat this enemy?" she asked and watched as the skull jerked and twitched.

"For all his unnatural strength he is but a man," the skull told her. "And men, like all things must one day come to an end." With the last syllable, the bones collapsed into a ruinous pile once more.

"May Flor watch over you on your walk of 100 days," the cleric said in benediction and went to tell the others what little she'd learned.



Ayremac and Shamalin were doing a proper burial of the burned bones and Anania and Huzair were enjoying some hot tea while they crouched around their meager fire for warmth when they heard the scream. It sounded like a woman and came from not too far off. They rose and looked in the direction of the sound and saw Morier stalking forward with a writhing figure in tow. It was a boy, they saw, not yet old enough for his first beard to come in. He was properly terrified of the lithe albino with the grip of steel. The eldritch warrior hurled him roughly to the ground.

"I caught this one sneaking towards our camp," Morier growled, glowering down at the boy. He was blonde and wind-burned and hadn't eaten a decent meal in a while. It had been longer still since he'd bathed.

"Please! Please!" the youth protested, prostrating himself at Morier's feet. "I came because the others are afraid to! I came to beg your help!"


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #427] Bad Cope, Worse Cop*

"Of course you did," Morier sneered down at the youth. "Where are our friends?" The boy looked confusedly back at him and then turned a pleading eye to Shamalin and Ayremac.

"P-please! I don't know anything about your friends," he stammered and Morier's hand darted out, viper-quick and snatched another fist full of the boy's jerkin.

"We'll see about that," the albino growled and hauled the boy to his feet with one savage tug. As he man-handled him away from their camp, Morier glanced at Huzair, beckoning the wizard to join his interrogation. Then the eldritch warrior favored Shamalin with a reassuring wink that told her he was still in control of his faculties.

"Oh boy! This is where Morier acts tough, with a little kid," Huzair quipped to Anania as he went to follow the albino and his prisoner. "I gotta see this." 

Ayremac started forward as well, but Shamalin forestalled him. "Morier knows what he's doing," she explained when the holy warrior gave her a questioning look. "If it were Huzair alone, I'd be concerned, but Morier has a good heart. He won't do anything rash to the boy." Ayremac narrowed his eyes, fixing the half-elf with a flinty stare.

"If he does otherwise, Shamalin, the boy's blood will be on your hands as much as Morier's," he said before drawing back to stand gazing thoughtfully into the campfire.



Some thirty paces away, Morier shoved the youth again and the boy stumbled and fell onto his side in the snow. The eldritch warrior cast a glance back toward camp; blowing snow reduced the three figures there to hazy shadows. He fixed a feral grin on his face before turning to look down at the trembling boy at his feet.

"We needed to get him away from the goody-good crowd, Huzair," the albino said, his eyes remaining fixed on his prisoner. "I'm sure that they'd object to watching the torture of this little one. But then they've never been ones to get their hands wet doing the dirty work, have they? None of them has the fortitude to ram a sword through his heart if it means saving the rest of the party." The boy clutched at his chest and let out a small whine, but, to his credit, did not actually break down to tears.

"Why would you do such things, sir?" the youth pleaded. "I came to you for help! I am nothing to you!"

"Little bastard could just as well be a trained assassin as a stable sweeper, I say," Morier snapped.

"You are wrong, sir!" the boy protested. "I don't know what you're talking about! None of it!"

"Well, allow me to enlighten you," the albino sneered down at him imperiously. "It looks very much like someone snuck into our camp during the night and attacked, perhaps killed two of our party members... and now I find you skulking about the perimeter. Tell me very quickly why I shouldn't assume that it was you who did them in and kill you right now." And for emphasis, he drew his elemental greatsword.

"STONEBLADE AWAKES!" the sword thundered in his hands. "WHAT IS THIS? AN ENEMY LIES DEFEATED BEFORE MY POWER IS BROUGHT TO BEAR?!"

"He is our prisoner," Morier explained. "We were just about to coax some information from him."

"I HAVE FOUND THAT BURYING A FOE IN STONE UP TO THEIR NECK OFTEN MAKES THEM TALKATIVE," the sword roared eagerly and Morier grinned.

"And that's no problem for the Scion of Earth, right?" the albino asked the blade.

"QUITE RIGHT!" the sword answered and it twisted excitedly in Morier's grip. "SHALL I?"

"Hold up, there, stoney," Huzair interceded, crouching down to the boy's level. "What do you think happened to our comrades, boy? They were on watch when they disappeared, and there is not much left of them but a lot of frozen blood." The boy's blanched face began to take on a greenish tinge.

"Does not sound pretty does it? Now you see why Whitey here is so angry," the mage said, cocking a thumb in Morier's direction. "You had better tell us EXACTLY what happened." The boy's eyes flicked from one inquisitor to the other and back again.

"B-but, sirs, I do not know!" he protested. "I- We are not permitted to leave the fortress. He keeps us prisoner." Huzair and Morier shared a glance.

"Who keeps you prisoner?" the eldritch warrior asked and the boy shook his head.

"He calls himself 'Sir' Alechtus," the boy explained, but he spoke the title with utter disdain. "And he wears a fancy tabbard, but he behaves as no knight ever would. I came to you in the hopes that you might drive him away."



Morier and Huzair led the boy back into their camp with somewhat less rough handling than was used on the way out; this time, Morier kept a stout hold on the back of his jerkin, rather than the front. They explained to the others what he'd divulged so far. Shamalin offered the boy a cup of strong, hot tea, but he declined to drink it. She smiled, bemused.

"It is understandable that you are wary," she said and pointedly took a sip of the tea she had offered. "I have spoken with one of your dead. We know that you have suffered greatly and suffer still."

"You- you can speak with the dead?" the boy asked, astonished.

"The White Lady grants me many gifts," Shamalin told him. "Now what more can you tell us of this one who wears the cloth of a Sanctifier? There is reason to believe he may be responsible for the loss of two of our own."

"That's him! That's Sir Alechtus," the youth said, excitedly. "First the disease came, then those who got sick became undead. The Sanctifiers arrived a week ago, putting the ghouls to the sword. Then he came, wearing the same crest as they, but bearing a sword like his." He pointed then at Morier but did not look him in the eye. "One that talked and seemed as alive almost as a real person. With it he slew each of the Sanctifiers in turn and burned their bodies outside the gate. That was three days ago and he's been here ever since. Talking to his sword. Talking to himself. I think he's mad." Then he reached out a trembling hand to take the hot tea from the priestess of Flor.

They stepped away from the boy, leaving Anania to guard him - although, in truth, there seemed to be little reason to think he would flee. They mulled over the boy's story trying to decide whether or not they believed what he said.

"Well, I can only think of one way to find if they are telling the truth," Huzair began, holding up his two hands and waggling the fingers to emphasize both the _Ring of Blinking_ and the _Ring of Invisibility_. Before anyone could protest to the unvoiced suggestion, Anania cried out in alarm.

"Scrying sensor!" she said, pointing above the party's heads. Weapons were readied in an instant and the group assumed defensive postures.

A female voice spoke directly into Morier's head then via _Sending_: "This is Guide Madrieile Tharion of the Wayfarer's Union. I have a special delivery for Morier Tulien. Will you accept?"


----------



## Jon Potter

*Wow!*

36,000 page views!?!

Wasn't it just a month ago that Hairy Minotaur was congratulating me on 30,000?

There sure are a lot more people looking at this thing than there are commenting on it.

You all should know that when I reach the 1,000 post mark, I'll do another run of post-a-day. I've got a buffer of about 15 posts written up just itching to be dropped.


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## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> You all should know that when I reach the 1,000 post mark, I'll do another run of post-a-day. I've got a buffer of about 15 posts written up just itching to be dropped.




You taunt us with your tease of excitement.


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> You taunt us with your tease of excitement.




It wasn't meant to be a tease, HM. I like to keep a buffer between where I am and where I post. I used to post them as soon as I wrote them, but managed to buckled down and get a bunch of installments written up. So if I run out of time one week or otherwise can't get a turn written, I still have something to post for your enjoyment.

And speaking of which...


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #428] Unexpected Guests*

Morier hesitated, waiting for more of the message but there was none forthcoming. He could sense the spell effect still lingering in his mind, waiting. With a glance at the others he said, "I accept," and the spell snapped off at once.

"What?" Huzair snapped. "What are you-?"

"We're about to have company," Morier snapped, cutting the mage off in mid-sentence. "A Wayfarer." Huzair's jaw dropped open.

"A Wayfarer Guide? Way out here?" he sputtered but there was no time to discuss it further before the air some ten feet before them began to shimmer. It wavered and glittered, growing brighter and brighter until, in the space of three heartbeats it was a solid pane of brilliant white hanging in the air in the general size and shape of a humanoid. There was a clearly audible POP! and an elf stepped out of the light holding a sheaf of papers.

She was dressed in the traditional garb of the Wayfarer Guide - an unassuming brown jerkin worn over brown pants and high brown boots. Numerous bags and pouches depended from the wide girdle she wore about her slender hips; a gold compass rose, the traditional symbol of the Wayfarer's Union, clasped her cloak at her throat. The same symbol was painted in the center of her forehead. She wore a rosy monocle in her left eye and she fixed this eye on Morier before consulting her papers.

"Morier Tulien?" she asked with a polite smile. He nodded and she stepped forward with the papers outstretched. "I have a delivery for you and I'll need you to sign here, here, and here." He looked at the papers; they were written in elvish.

"Delivery from who?" he asked, arching one pale eyebrow at her. She was fiddling in a pouch at her hip and shrugged in response.

"You'd need to take that up with the Travel Board, sir," she told him before finally producing an elegant peacock feather quill from a pouch that was much to small to accommodate it. "All I know is what's on the contract, I'm afraid. Sign here." She held onto the papers, but thrust the quill into his hand.

"Well, what's on the contract?" the albino asked, annoyance creeping into his voice. She looked at him quizzically then turned the papers around and examined them indignantly.



While Morier and the Wayfarer Guide went over the papers, the remaining members of The Order saw the shining outline in the air darken briefly and then emit another POP! as a weary-looking human stepped through the temporary portal and scan around him. He looked briefly at each in turn, before his slippery gaze slid off them. He seemed more concerned with scouting around them and looking into the background of the area rather than at the people standing before them. The same could not be said for Ayremac, Huzair, and Shamalin. They studied the newcomer with a keen eye to danger.

He stood in stark contrast to their wintery surroundings, like an ashen shadow in the expanse of white. His armor and gear - even his skin looked bleak and parched, as if the color has been drained from him somehow. Only his cloak seemed vibrant; it fluttered behind him, a brilliant white trimmed with blood red. His hair was a dark, matte gray and his three-day growth of beard was the same although the lines around his eyes and mouth suggested that he wasn't beyond middle years for a human. There were two scratches on the left side of his face, one above and the other below his peering eye and those slight wounds seemed not fully-healed although there was no blood on his face. The dark fingers of a tattoo peaked out from his leather gorget, extending a few inches up his throat on the right side.

He wore armor cut in the style of platemail, although the individual pieces looked to be made of some durable brown leather held together with clasps of copper. He carried a saddle over his left shoulder and a saddlebag hung down across his body adorned with the same brass "Valiant Vessel" logo as was on Huzair's _Handy Haversack_. Under his other arm was held a traveler's purse that bulged with something alive. A rune-carved warhammer was in his hand and a finely-tooled dagger with a distinctly elven hilt was sheathed at his waist.

After scanning the vicinity and seeing no immediate danger, he turned to the Wayfarer Guide, addressing her in fluent elvish, and extended his thanks with all the customary attachments that go with the lengthy elven protocols. Of course, neither Morier nor Huzair spoke elvish so it was unclear what was being said until the Wayfarer Guide looked one last time at the papers Morier had signed and stepped toward the glowing portal.

After the elf vanished with another audible POP! the newcomer looked down at his bag at his little gray and fat companion whose head was now thrust out as his twitching nose sampled the air. He patted the rat on the head as if to assure it that he thought them safe.

"Morier?" Huzair shouted, breaking the quiet moment. "What in the nine hells is this?" The newcomer looked up at the outburst and turned his attention to the eldritch warrior. When his gaze met Morier's, his eyes briefly softened with memory and he smiled.

"Welcome back, my friend Morier. It has been too long," he said in thickly accented common before shrugging off both his saddle and the bag with the rat inside. He opened his arms to hug Morier in a friendly embrace. "I think we have much to retell around a decent campfire here, although I must say that your color now finally matches the surroundings. You finally learned to blend in!" He smirked and winked as he stepped up and crushed Morier in a hug.

Morier returned the embrace hesitantly and briefly before prying himself away and looking at the man queerly. "What are you doing here?" he asked but before the newcomer could answer, Huzair called again.

"What is going on?" the mage protested and this time his voice was joined by both Shamalin and Ayremac.

"Yes, what is this?" the cleric asked.

"Who is this man?" said Ayremac.

The man bowed and addressed the three saying, "I am 'Sadlar' Ahlear Marhaun of the elven house Marhaun. For those not familiar with the term sadlar, it is an honorary title in elvish defining someone who is easy with horses, most often a scout or ranger..." His voice trailed off then, as blinking he took in each of the members of The Order and the weapons they brandished. His rat, gray and fat and easily the size of a small dog, had wriggled free of his carrier and rubbed against Ahlear's feet. The man smiled.

"I think I have to introduce my companion as well," he said. "Here is Nibble, my loyal ratty friend and companion on my travels." Nibble stared at them with its beady brown eyes, sniffing intently in the air and holding some indefinable piece of food in one of its paws. After a moment it went back to contently scuffling against Ahlear's leg. Ahlear bowed again for the both of them and then looked up at Morier.

"So, what's with the drawn weapons and the paranoid looks?" he asked with a smile. "I thought I was the only one here who had any reasons for being so paranoid." Saying that the smile abruptly faded from his bleak face, replaced with a bitter scowl.

"We lost two of our own last night," Morier told him absently.

"Vanished entirely while on watch. And this boy-" The albino turned to indicate the spot by the fire where the boy had been seated but there was nothing left there but an overturned cup of tea. Anania, who had crept closer to meet their visitor, turned, saw the boy gone and raised her bow. Her expression was stricken as she scanned the distance.

"There!" she cried, moving toward the keep with an arrow drawn back to her ear. Ayremac saw what she had - a small, dark shape hustling through the blowing snow toward the crumbling fort. "I think I can still bring him down. What is your order?"


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #429] Showdown at the Gate*

"Non-lethal shot... if you can," Ayremac said, spread his wings, and shot skyward after the boy. Ayremac flew a lot faster than anyone could run through snow, but the youth had a big head start and it seemed unclear whether the boy would reach the keep or Ayemac would reach the boy first.

"Is that boy not part of the group?" Ahlear asked. "Why is he running?"

"Stop the boy from making it back to the keep, Anania," Shamalin said, ignoring the newcomer's confusion. "It's possible that he's taking information about our numbers and weapons back to buy favor from Sir Alechtus."

"No. Let him go, beautiful," Huzair countered. "I do not think he is a threat. He already gave us the info he had. I can find out the rest from Sparky." The elf maid ground her teeth.

"Morier?!" she said urgently. "What is your order?"

"Stand down!" the albino said at last. "He's scared. Let him be. He's provided us with enough information, and it sounds like whatever is inside there is far scarier than the lot of us." Anania nodded and lowered her bow.

"As you say," she muttered and returned to silently breaking down their camp. Huzair, however, regarded the eldritch warrior slack-jawed.

"Holy crap! You agree with me?!" the mage exclaimed. "I thought I was going to have to jump on Anania to stop her." Morier spared him a side-long glance before striding toward the keep, one hand shading his crimson eyes.

"Do not worry, love," Huzair purred to Anania, "I can jump on you later if you like."

"Morier, are you sure this is the right course of action?" Shamalin asked, hustling in her heavy armor to keep up with Morier's pace. "We don't really have surprise on our side altogether, but wouldn't it be better not to run the risk that the boy betrays us? I trust that Anania can make the right kind of shot. And I can heal-"

"He's just a boy, Shamalin," Morier growled as he pulled away from her with annoying ease.

"Perhaps she is right, Morier. If the boy is not part of your group, might he be a spy who, seeing what he thinks are reinforcements, runs off to snitch?" Ahlear offered. His own armor encumbered him far less than Shamalin's did her and he was able to keep pace with the albino without difficulty.

"Look, Ahlear, I mean this in the best possible way," the eldritch warrior snarled, "but you have no idea what's going on here. So save the advice."

"Morier, can you and your group give me a short rundown on the previous chain of events that led to this location and the effects of the Keep?" Ahlear asked, unperturbed by the albino's curt attitude. "Did you parlay with the ruler of the keep or something?"

"I'm not sure this is really the time to explain all that," the eldritch warrior said, peering ahead toward the keep. "Just follow my lead for now." 

"I am not trying to insert myself too easily into your group, Morier," Ahlear said in thickly accented common, "but seeing you just lost two members, I am a welcome addition, if for the rest of the group a little unknown?"

"Ahlear! Now is not he the time to-" Morier started to snap, but Huzair's call silenced him
.
"Hey, whitely!" he shouted. "Ayremac says we better hustle up there."



The holy warrior eyed the weapons that were trained on him and considered his odds. Three bows and a spear were aimed at his heart, and while he imagined that he could survive an attack to lay into these men with Windblade if it came to it, he wasn't sure that was the best course of action. His opponents seemed little more than armed peasants, frightened and ill-fed. Their superior numbers would not long stand against his superior skill and it seemed a trifle base for him to even try.

"Guys," he muttered into the _Ring of Communication_ again, "I've got a situation here."

"Let Gialf go, angel," the man with the spear said, his lips pulled into a snarl behind his full red mustache. "If angel you be. Such behavior seems ill-suiting a member of the heavenly host." Ayremac noticed that the large man's left arm ended not in a hand but in a grisly stump of scar tissue.

"Two of our number have been taken. Perhaps slain," the holy warrior said, releasing his hold on the youth as he spoke. Gialf immediately darted behind the assemblage of warriors and through the narrowly-opened gate.

"Not by us," the one-armed man said flatly. "We've had our fill of outlanders and would have you gone. It gains us nothing to attack you." The holy warrior noted that the spear the man held in his hand did not waver from Ayremac's heart. His eyes, however, flicked briefly over the Officer's shoulder at the sound of the others' approach.

"Stand where you are or by Brogine's teeth I swear we'll use yer angel here for target practice!" the one-armed man shouted.

"It is clear that you are in need of a healer," Shamalin said. "I have experience and can help you." Ayremac heard her take another step forward and saw the mustachioed man's arm tense in readiness.

"I said stay where you are!" he shouted. "The plague's run its course here and we don't want any outsiders bringing it back to our door!"

"Two of our own are missing," Morier said and the man snorted.

"Check the firepit!" he said, nodding his head toward the charred ruin where Huzair had found the burned remains of the Sanctifier. "That bastard Alechtus dumped another bundle there before taking off north again!"

"Sir Alechtus is gone?" Shamalin asked, while Morier and Huzair stepped away to check the firepit. The one-armed man nodded and spat once into the snow.

"He took the last of the horses and headed north some time before dawn," he said. "And good riddance, says I!"



"No one listens to the best plan ever made," Huzair groused to Morier as they walked the dozen paces to the firepit. "Why do I even try? Oh well, at least I will not waste the spell and-"

The mage's voice hitched in his throat as he looked down at the body of Ixin Chaririejir.

"Damn it," Huzair whispered and the mage thought that he could hear Morier's teeth grinding against each other as the albino's jaw clenched with emotion.

It looked as though Ixin's body had been stripped before it was wrapped in its makeshift funerary shroud. Of Karak, there was no sign.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Isn't that the 2nd recent (as far as the SH goes) death Ixin's player has had to contend with? 

So, was there a battle that's left to the imagination in the SH, or were these players tired of their current characters and needed a way out?


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Isn't that the 2nd recent (as far as the SH goes) death Ixin's player has had to contend with?




Well she had Ixin die and Lela die and Ixin die again.



> So, was there a battle that's left to the imagination in the SH, or were these players tired of their current characters and needed a way out?




Well, the part where she dies was back here. So it's not left entirely up to the imagination. But the second part is also true... sort of. She and Karak's player both realized at about the same time that they couldn't realistically devote the necessary time to the game. So I gave them an out.

But we haven't seen the last of either character... but you'll just have to wait to find out what I mean.


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## mdougherty331

Happy GM day.  It has been a pleasure playing over 10 years now.  I am dying for a face to face, but this will have to do for a while I am sure.


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## Kristeneve

Yes, Happy GM Day Jon!  Thanks for keeping us alive.


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## Jon Potter

Thanks for the GM's Day messages, guys. But please don't thank me for keeping your characters alive; I'm doing my best to kill them off, really.

(And I've got a reputation to maintain around here.)   

Now... on with the show!


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #430] Breaking Up is Easy, part 1*

"Shamalin, Fly boy," Huzair shouted over his shoulder. "Ixin's body is in the pit. It looks as if she was run through." Shamalin let out a small cry of alarm and clanked over to where the wizard stood. Morier turned aside, a grimace on his face as she slowed at the edge of the fire pit.

The cleric stared in silence at the body Huzair had discovered and waited for the rush of emotion to hit her. But the riveting sense of loss she had felt so poignantly after the events at Miller's Pond eluded her. She glanced around guiltily, reading anger and frustration in Huzair's dark face. And yet, she felt nothing.

The newcomer, Ahlear looked over Shamalin's shoulder and sighed. He mumbled something under his breath about nature seeming hungry this time of year but Shamalin's mind was focused too intently on the numbness in her heart for her to hear his words clearly. With a deep sigh, she bowed her head. Eerily, Ixin's words resounded suddenly in her mind: "It sounds like you do not have much in the way of feeling left in you. You are clearly a survivor. That is a smart survival strategy." Sick with her own lack of feeling, Shamalin reached her hand out to hover over Ixin's body and began to pray, both for Flor's
blessing and Ixin's forgiveness.

When she was done, she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned to see Ahlear's weathered face looking down on her. "Do not worry if you feel numb," he said and she jumped at the man's comment. He held up a hand to allay her fears of a telepathy. "I can see from your face that you are weary of the death that lies before you and the others, perhaps, in the past. But it is not up to you to shoulder the burden of guilt all by yourself. Life gives and takes. Even as Ixin and Karak move on, you have been blessed by receiving my presence. But with the loss of two we still have to burden up, all of us, because I cannot shoulder the effect of two by my own presence."

Shamalin looked at him blankly and he turned back toward the keep, pausing only to make a gesture over the drakeling's corpse, saying, "May the afterlife be as gentle for them, as life was harsh on them."

"Wait," the Mercybringer protested. "That gesture you made... Did the elves teach you spellcasting?" Ahlear nodded.

"My mother taught me the basics," he said. "But it was actually a human who helped me find my path through life." Shamalin looked for some sort of holy symbol on him, but apart from a torc around his neck he wore no jewelry that she could see.

"Which, if any, of the gods do you serve?" she asked and Ahlear turned more properly to face her.

"Shamalin, in priciple I do not - nor does any other druid - have to serve any of the gods," he told her. "But as it stands, I did vouch to one particular goddes, namely Akadi, mistress of Air, as I think air is one of the four key elements needed for continued life." He turned an envious eye on Ayremac standing some dozen paces away and added, "And I always had the wish to fly about with wings of my own."



"There, angel, it is as I said," the one-armed man growled, gripping his spear tightly. "Alechtus murdered your friends, now leave us in peace." Ayremac held up his hands in a calming gesture.

"Put your weapons down, please, " he said. "We will leave you, but we have questions first."

'Sir Alechtus,' Morier turned the name over and over in his mind as he made for the gate. It was familiar, but where had he heard it? He could even hear the same disdain the boy had spat out when using the title 'Sir', but somewhere in the blur of the last hundred moons, he couldn't recall where that familiarity had its seed and so he tried to force the thoughts from his mind.

"Yes," Morier said as he stepped up. "What of Karak? Did anyone see him?" The leader scowled at the eldritch warrior and shook his head. Neither he nor the men and women with him put down their weapons.

"We've seen nobody but you lot and that devil, Alechtus!" the red-haired warrior said.
"Sir Alechtus," Morier repeated, and it stopped his mind in its tracks. It was Arwold Wyverneye's voice he heard, as he said it, he was now sure of it.

"Aye!" the man at the gate said. "He did call himself 'Sir', though he were unlike any knight I've ever encountered."

It had been while Morier was explaining to Wyverneye about Ledare's death that he had spoken of this man. Alechtus had sought Ledare... something about a sword. Tiny shards of the story came rushing back to him: a half-crazed leader of a group called "The Order of Endings", a halfling named Harcourt... foggy at best. The sad truth was that he hadn't been paying close attention to Arwold when he recounted where he had been prior to taking over as the caretaker of the Manor, but now he wished he had.

"Tell us anything you can about Alechtus," Ayremac suggested. "I want to know every item you saw on his person. What did his weapons do or look like? And especially - and please try to remember clearly - what did he say he was going to do?" The man bared his teeth and glared at Ayremac.

The lone detail that stuck out now was Wyverneye's description of Alechtus' "otherworldly strength" when he went into one of the fits of rage to which he was apparently prone.

"There was little about his person that was remarkable apart from that damned sword! I've never seen its like and hope never to again," he explained, spitting on the ground in a way that reminded both Morier and Ayremac of Karak. "Called it a runesword, he did. And he was always talking to it like it was a living thing, which I suppose it may well have been. The damnable thing answered him often enough."

"But there was nothing else you can think of?" Ayremac pressed. "Did he use magic? What about his armor?"

"He wore light armor - a shirt of chain only. No shield. But his kit isn't what'll give you the trouble," he snorted. "The man - if man he be - was well and truly mad - going on half the time about running from the Sanctifiers after he'd already killed them all. He went completely berserk when he saw Lannet and crushed the little guy to death beneath Voril's anvil. He picked the thing up over his head and threw it at Lannet; and I'm talking about the big anvil. It was the most amazing and horrible thing I've ever seen." Ayremac glanced at Morier, but the albino seemed too consumed with his own thoughts to
glance back.

A chill traced its way up Morier's spine. They would have to act, he knew, and he turned without aother word and headed for their camp.

"What were his plans? Did he say?" the holy warrior asked, looking puzzled after the retreating eldritch warrior. The red-haired man shook his head.

"As I said, he spoke with Chag's tongue[1]. We did our best to stay out of his way, not sit and chat with him," he said. "And you'd do well to take the same stance. Nothing but ill can come from that madman." Ayremac sighed and nodded curtly.

"I thank you for your information. I have bound myself to a quest, but am also honor bound to offer help in the name of Umba," the Officer explained. "If you require any healing or aid, please... now is the time, as we need to continue our pursuit."

"No," the man said flatly, making a chopping motion with the stump of his left arm. "Just leave us be."

"Your men will need to be in full health to fight against Alechtus, should he return," Shamalin added as she approached once more. "Will you not allow us to help make you strong before we go?"

"Shandril could do nothing," the man replied. "And we trusted her a lot more than we trust any of you!"



"We have to make a decision here," Ayremac said once they'd retreated to their campsite, which was largely packed and ready for them to leave thanks to Anania's diligence. "Do we track this monster, or do we keep a direct march for our larger quest."

"We're chasing bees again..." Morier muttered and Huzair threw up his hands in disgust.

"Not the bee thing again," the wizard protested and Morier shot him a harsh look.

"I am packing up and heading out after Dirdana's heart," the albino said. "If anyone is left behind playing around chasing after Alechtus, so be it."

"Ixin was a friend to me, Whitey!" Huzair scowled. "And now she is dead and you want me to walk away like means nothing to me?" Morier did not turn to look at the mage, but his slim shoulders slumped with fatigue.

"I grow weary of loss, Huzair. I grow weary of evil. I grow weary of those that refuse to take seriously the magnitude of what we set out to do. Every day that we spend chasing another rabbit down another hole slows our progress at putting a stop to the bigger evil that washes over the entirety of the Realms," he said. "If you desire to play about running down Alechtus, then I bid you well and wish good luck to you... if you wish to come with me to finish the goal we set out to accomplish and have been outfitted to do, then I thank you for your allegiance and ask that you be ready to depart as soon as possible."

Nobody said anything immediately in response, but Anania shouldered her own small bag before kicking snow into the remains of their campfire. Ayremac sighed and stepped forward.

"I believe that Umba's judement is the greatest judgement of all, and it is impossible to escape by any mortal," the holy warrior explained.

"But the laws of Man are also important and we cannot just turn our back on this injustice and leave this man to wander to the next settlement and destroy them as well." Morier said nothing as he readied his pack.

"I say we move on this Alechtus and kill him," Ayremac suggested, looking about at the other faces around the campsite. "What say you? Will you honor our laws and our fallen comrades?"

"I am going to fry that bastard, Alechtus, if it is the last thing I do," Huzair snapped, shaking a fist for emphasis.

"Ayremac, this evil we fight knows no law... it cares nothing for the rules of Men," Morier said. "We're charged with much a more important task than assuring that this 'Sir Alechtus of Gudiberg' is brought to justice; we've a far greater purpose. If we continue to be stalled at every turn, the evil that awaits is infinitely worse than anything Alechtus can bring down upon us. We need to forge ahead and find Dridana's Heart."

Ayremac said nothing, seeming to consider the worth of Morier's words. Huzair, on the other hand barely seemed to be listening. "I really want to get this son of a bitch," he said. "I am sending Sparky after him, regardless of what you think is unimportant."

"I'll send Nibble after the track and with his keen nose ability, he'll shadow the rider," Ahlear offered. "I'll tell him to come back when he finds him." Huzair turned to look at the man.

"You can do that?" the wizard asked and before Ahlear could answer, Morier stood up and interposed himself between the newcomer and the remaining members of the Order.
"Give me a few moments with the rest of the group to talk to them about your presence," the albino suggested. "I think they will be receptive, but it is best if you allow me to break the ice." Ahlear looked at the others and nodded.

"I will prepare Nibble," he said and stepped a discreet distance away, clucking his tongue for his rat to follow.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #430] Breaking Up is Easy, part 2*

"I have fought alongside Ahlear before and in the time since I have been away, Malcom has spoken often to me of him. His word alone is enough to convince me that he is worthy of our fight," Morier said in a conversational tone. His voice was not deliberately muffled, but neither did he make an effort for Ahlear to hear him as he spoke.

"But, in truth, I think it's important that you know that Ahlear carries a darkness with him... although I assure you that that darkness is his own and you've nothing to fear from it. I want to be sure that you know and are prepared to ask him to be candid about it." All save Shamalin turned to look at their new companion as he knelt, feeding something to Nibble.

"We all carry darkness inside of ourselves," Shamalin said matter-of-factly. Then she favored Ayremac with a smile and added, "Well, except maybe Ayremac. But Huzair's got enough to go around." There was nothing left of her smile when she turned to the mage. He smirked at her.

"Forgive her, Anania. I think she has a crush on me," he said with an oily smile. "She is the type who likes the bad boy."

Ignoring the wizard's comment, Shamalin turned to Ahlear and raised her voice, calling, "Which darkness is yours, Ahlear?" The man stood and smiled, unfastening his cloak as he strode back toward the group.

"I have nothing to hide from friends," he said, and begins stripping off his armor. He looked to Morier to lend him a hand in speeding up the process. He stripped off his shirt and his winter clothes, and stood naked to the waist in the bitter cold. His torso sweated a little, steam rising of off him as he turned to each so that they could see the tattoo on his chest and said, "This is the physical emanation of it, and I know a little about it myself, but not enough to explain easily to you all what it signifies."

On the right side of his chest, starting on his lower neck and ending roughly below the nipple, there was a large tattoo. It was a grinning skeletal head, with blood drops running counter clockwise around the skull, and wavy flames spurting outward around the whole. The tattoo was completely pitch black, and in the bright white environment it seemed to suck light away from its surroundings.

"Me and the elves have found out that the Tattoo is a combination of variations on the symbols of Graath, the Black Sun, Myrkul, the Lady of the Dead, and Bhaal, god of pain, destruction, and murder, but the full why and how, is not known as yet," he explained, studying each of their faces as they looked on the symbol. "Only that when the elves found me, I already had this tattoo. With my parents slain gruesomely, the elves decided to take me for safekeeping, and two of the elves adopted me. Then when I went to train with Malcolm, I accidentally came across some of those gods' followers, and they seemed to recognize the tattoo and I had to run for the protection of Malcolm. We fended them off easily, and we were safe for a while, but the pressure has been mounting recently. There have been sighting's of members of all three churches in and near the village, although no attacks yet this time. That's when me and Malcolm both decided it was time for traveling, and we thought of Morier and his travels." His voice trailed off then and he started dressing again, looking at Morier to help him.

"I do no know how you do it, Whitey," Huzair groused. "You have got everybody thinking you are some great role-model. Malcolm, Wyverneye, Garan-zak... Pretty slick!"

"I'm assuming the elves tried everything," Shamalin said as Ahlear pulled on his jerkin.

"Yes, they have, and to no avail," the man said. "They class the magic as not removable. Although under a Detection spell it shines with magic no greater than an orison or a 1st circle spell, perhaps, nothing has been able to remove it." Shamalin nodded her understanding and looked down at her feet and pondered the ramifications of such a symbol. Unfortunately, she knew little of Graath and Bhaal, and what little she knew of Mykul led her to believe that Lady Death wouldn't ally with evil gods. It was all quite puzzling. While Morier helped the man into his armor again, Ahlear turned around to eye him squarely, and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Morier, I do not judge your motive nor your intentions," the druid said. "But what if separate enemies are doing things to whittle this group down to nothing, each evil doing its own thing but wearing the group down bit by bit so that it cannot function even in the bigger frame that you have as a goal? Think on this. I give you and your group's members advice only, as it is not my place here to judge or give my own ambitions." The albino sighed.

"Look, Ahlear, you don't know everything that's gone on with this group since we set out to stop Aphyx, so I don't fault you for not seeing the whole picture. I'll tell you the story while we travel if you'd like, but there are a few points which make me think that my goal is not A goal, it's THE goal," the albino explained. "I was lucky enough to survive the Grove of Renewal, which took two of our number from us and turned two others away. It has taken and turned back countless others throughout time. I have been given the gift that might allow us to reunite Dridana's heart and body in our lifetime. How often are mortals chosen for that opportunity? Add to that that we have managed to procure four of the most powerful weapons known to the Realms to assist us in doing so and, no matter what I want, I don't have the luxury of chasing Sir Alechtus right now. I feel so compelled to use the gifts I have been given to the ends which they were intended, that I am willing to leave here on my own with those that would follow me to attempt to follow this pull." He tapped his forehead and pointed off to the east. Ahlear followed his gesture but could see nothing but blowing snow.

"Morier, as I told you before, I have no qualms with your logic," the man explained. "But if you let Alechtus live, then he will come to take another, perhaps from the party." Morier waived off that assertion.

"It would appear that Alechtus had the opportunity to killl those of us that remain in our sleep last night and opted instead to leave us in perfect peace," he scoffed. "I fear him not."

"He is a cowardly villian who will pay with his life," Huzair snapped.

"I do not think that Ixin feared him either, but he slew her just the same. He could do it again. And by the time you get face-to-face with the actual evil that needs to be corrected, you find out you're lacking in power because of all those sustained losses," Ahlear explained as he slipped on the remainder of his clothing. "It's like a hydra: you might succeed in killing the main body in time for it to die without too many losses, but what if the Hydra gets 'lucky' and devours so many of us that we no longer have the strength to kill it? And all the heads might not even be of the original Hydra, anyway. There might be more then one, each doing its part to wear us down."

"Bees! Rabbits! Hydras!" Huzair grimaced, clutching his bald head as if it might explode.

"Well, I know little of hydras, Morier, but I do understand your commitment to this quest," Ayremac said, stepping forward. "Trust me - commitment, faith, duty - these are things I take very seriously. But it is because I can understand that I must take a different path." He turned to address the whole group then and said, "I will be tracking this Alechtus and I will kill him... or die trying. I invite you all to follow Morier, he leads an important quest, worthy of all your attention. But if you choose to follow me, know that I mean to dispense Justice on a criminal... I am not seeking his knowledge of the evils that plague this land."

"Damn it, fly boy! I may just start to like you!" Huzair said with a grin. "Let us work together on this one."

"I am with you two, if you want me," Ahlear offered with a nod. Shamalin listened to the debate silently. It was not until Ayremac's plea for the rest to continue on with Morier while he pursued Alecthus that fear began to well up within her. She could no more allow him to continue on alone than she could have let Huzair explore the pit alone days ago. Considerably less, in fact.

"Ayremac..." she began urgently. But when his eyes locked with hers, she was not certain if she had said the words aloud or not. He seemed almost to shimmer with the strength of this new purpose. And once more the clarity of his being seemed to accentuate her own uncertainties. Suddenly she did not know where to begin in an attempt to explain her reasons to stay - her duty to Morier. In the end it didn't matter. Huzair and Ahlear stepped quickly forward in offer to accompany Ayremac.

Shamalin looked emphatically at Morier, but his back was to her and he seemed absorbed in his own business. "Ayremac..." she began again. And once more he turned to her, sensing her struggle.

"Go with Morier. Keep him safe." He nodded in the albino's direction. "We will find you." Huzair scoffed at that.

"No. Morier needs to come with us. He is vulnerable all by himself," the wizard chuckled. "Stay back in the battle, Whitey. We will protect you."

"What about you, Anania?" Ayremac asked, catching the elf maiden's eye.

"My mission is the original one. My place is with Morier," she said.

"I have no interest in hunting this murderer although I do wish you luck in doing so."

"It is settled then," Huzair laughed. "Boys after Alechtus, girls following the pull."



While Ayremac, Ahlear and Huzair made their preparations to leave, Shamalin wondered if it had occurred to Morier that the two members of their party who were not carrying elemental blades were gone? What could that mean?

Intrigued by her own speculations, Shamalin removed Waveblade from the belt at her hip and studied it thoughtfully. The hilt was cool and smooth to the touch, and as always seemed coated in a layer of condensation that was unaffected by the cold weather. There was a single rune carved into the guard, and she ran her finger lightly over that symbol and along the wire-wrapped handle, keeping the blade fully sheathed to prevent the one characteristic of the sword she found hard to embrace - its incessant talking.

Waveblade was fully-sized now, and she marveled at its magic. There was a pattern to the changes - from dirk to long sword. She had her suspicions about its behavior, but had never spent any length of time near natural bodies of water to be certain. In fact, she remembered the first time she had ever laid eyes upon the ocean. How vividly she recalled standing knee-deep as the waters pooled around her, swirling her skirts about her legs with undercurrents she had never knew existed. That had been lifetimes ago, but somehow, holding the blade made the memory seem vivid and alive - as if it had happened only yesterday.

Her thoughts returned to the weapon in her hand - one of four elemental blades powerful enough to reunite a goddess' heart and body. And yet not powerful enough to stop the death and destruction that littered the path they followed toward that end? Would things have turned out differently if the keeper of an elemental sword had been on watch nights before with Ixin or Karak? She resolved to insist that Morier set a watch with at least one elemental blade with every shift from now on and so she trooped over to him and forced the albino to pay attention to her.

"What of the swords?" she demanded. "If something happens... what good does it do us to follow your pull if we arrive at the end with only two of the four keys?"

"I was just thinking that," Ayreamc said as he stepped up to the two of them with Windblade sheathed in his hands. He pulled the weapon from its scabbard and marveled at it. It was nearly invisible against the snowy background, a slight waver in the air the only clue of its presence. That and its howling voice.

"Free!" it shrieked. "Free to taste the snowflakes on my blade! Free to-" Ayremac re-sheathed the weapon and handed Windblade to Morier.

"I will come to collect this shortly," the holy warrior said and it was clear that he was having some difficulty in parting with the sword. "But it's more important they stay together." Then he turned and walked away, his hand resting on the morningstar at his hip.

"What about you, Huzair?" Shamalin called. "Are you giving up your sword before you go?" The mage barked laughter.

"Hells no, I am not going to give it up!" he called back, stuffing gear into his _Handy Haversack_.

"Why?" Shamalin asked wryly. "You never get close enough to use it anyway."

"Oh, I am sorry. I am not wearing Blackheart's armor to protect me," the wizard shot back with a keenness of wit that came from years of wisecracking his way into and out of trouble on the streets of Freeport. "You do not even know what this sword does for me, so make fun all you want. We may need it and I do not plan on dying."

"Huzair!" Ayremac shouted. "That was low even for you!" Shamalin bristled at Huzair's remark and turned away to make her own preparations.

Ahlear just watched the banter, looking in the face each person giving it, but keeping silent as he tried to judge how serious the remarks were intended and what the underlying meaning they were meant to have. But mostly he tried to judge the personalities of these new companions of his and hoped that much of the commentary might just be stress being vented.


----------------------------------------------------


[1] Which is to say that he was raving like a madman. Chag is the god of insanity as well as spiders.


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## Hairy Minotaur

So who did Ahlear replace? Ixin is my guess.


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## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> So who did Ahlear replace? Ixin is my guess.




Actually, it was two for one... or would that be one for two? Anyway, he's the only new character (for a little while anyway). And he comes with a new player, to boot!


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #430a] The Road North*

"I know that you don't intend on dying, Huzair, but neither did Ixin or Karak or Ledare or Feln," Morier argued, gesturing with the sheathed Waveblade to indicate the shortsword sheathed at the wizard's hip. "To ensure that they don't fall into the wrong hands, would you please leave the elemental weapon with us so that the four keys remain together?" 

"How many blades do you really need, sword boy," Huzair quipped, his hand resting protectively on Flameblade's pommel."Your father was right about your fixation with long pointy things. I wonder what that could mean?" He smiled devilishly as color rose unnaturally to Morier's cheeks. 

"Huzair, I understand that you are loathe to part with your weapon," Shamalin interceded. "But, I can assure you that the swords will be protected, at least from scrying, until your return." Huzair turned on the cleric, his teeth bared.

"Look!" he snapped. "I will use the damned sword if anyone casts a spell on me or attacks me. It provides great protection and not only for me, but for all of us in our group. So back off. You are not getting it!"

Morier sighed the long weary sigh of a man who finds himself facing the same argument again and again, and having his words each time fall upon deaf ears. He looked first at Huzair, then at Ayremac and Ahlear who were both readying their gear and sighed again.

"Before we divide this party for what I am telling you now will be the final time, I ask you three to once more consider what we're charged with doing," the albino said. "Ayremac, you speak of justice... but if you back away from it for a moment it echoes with the tenor of vengeance. Put aside your anger for just a moment and ask yourself, how often does an action taken to satisfy one man's vengeance benefit the greater good?" For a moment Ayremac's resolve seemed to waiver, but then he took a deep breath and squared off with the albino.

"Morier, your words are moving because they resonate your conviction," he said. "You are wrong about vengeance, but I understand why you would see it that way. I am truly concerned with justice, Morier. You know that about me. I want to complete this quest, help to conquer Aphyx and save our realm... but I cannot turn my back on justice to do it. Please do not ask me to do so." The eldritch warrior's face took on a biter expression as he looked away from the holy warrior to address the group as a whole.

"I know that not everyone here remembers every one of them, but Ledare, Vade, Feln, Lela, and now Ixin and Karak have given their lives so that we could stand here together, in possession of four elemental keys that might allow us to reunite the heart and body of one that can defeat Aphyx. Do you hear those words??? DEFEAT APHYX!" He paused in his speech to give his words time to sink in, but when he continued a moment later his voice had lost none of its passion. "The six of us that stand here... help trigger the events that DEFEAT APHYX!!! Can we afford to lose one of these keys while we chase those who have taken our friends from us unjustly?"

"Morier, together we are an unstoppable force. Cut us in half and we are only half as effective," Huzair said suddenly. "Seriously, stay back in battle, you cannot be killed. I get that. But we can take this Sir Alechtus out with a well planned attack if we work together. I can use my spells. We have missile weapons and may have suprise. We are fully loaded! Do not call me a coward either; call me smart."

"I'm not calling anyone a coward, Huzair. But I am asking whether we can afford to risk another of our group to kill one man. WE are the ones that remain. Those of us who carry these keys have not been taken. Whether that is coincidence or providence, I can't say," the eldritch warrior continued. "But I can ask that we not tempt the fates any more than necessary. If we go our separate ways, neither group of us stands a great chance of survival and who knows what hands the elemental keys fall to then?" He looked at the three who were intent on seeking Alechtus; Huzair and Ahlear seemed resolute, but Ayremac was pondering the ramifications of the decision and that gave the albino hope.

"Please... come with us," Morier pleaded one last time and the Officer of Umba looked up at him intently.

"I will make you this deal... give us three turns of the sun. If we cannot track and kill this madman in that time, I will follow you with out question to the completion of this quest." Pausing, allowing the words to settle he extended his hand to Morier. "Do we have a pact?"

Without hesitation, Morier grasped Ayremac's hand firmly, a light smile turning at the corners of his mouth as he countered, "Two days. And we take the trail immediately." Ayremac returned the grin and nodded.

"Agreed," he said and looked at the others. "Everyone else on board?"

"Whatever you like," Shamalin said, relieved that they'd reached an agreement.

"Lets get moving then," Ayremac suggested.

And they did.



"So, Sadlar, are you sure that your mouse can track a man on horseback?" Huzair asked as they moved north away from the keep. "I still think that Sparky could do it faster. Or fly boy here could-"

"Pardon me, Huzair, but where would your familiar or Ayremac look?" Ahlear countered. "Nibble can tell us where he went and then you can send fliers." Huzair snorted and went back to chewing on the spiced meat strip that Ahlear had offered around earlier.

"The creature's sense of smell is an asset here," Anania called back. "It is able to follow a trail which would be otherwise obscured by the snow."

"Nibble naa i'ro, ilnaa i'ta," Ahlear said in flawless elven and Anania looked back at him somewhat startled by his fluency. She nodded.

"Manka lle merna," she told him. "Detholalle." Then she went back to closely following the rat.

"I am sorry, not being too familiar with the ways of the elves," Ayremac began. "What is the name you prefer to be called? Sadlar? Ahlear Marhaun?"

"Being human in elven society does not change my attitude regarding either," the druid answered. "You may call me Ahlear. It is my first name and will suffice for all our communication. It's easier this way..."

"My name is Ayremac, I am a Holy Warrior of Umba from the town of Frothingham," the half-celestial offered with a smile. "I started this quest searching for the cause of a foul disease which wiped out half that town. But it has lead me to these people and this quest to try and restore the goddess Dridana, to fight the rising power of Aphyx."

"Interesting indeed," Ahlear relied with a thoughtful nod. He kept his eyes on Nibble as they walked, but clearly gave Ayremac the rest of his attention.

"We had been searching for the 'keys', which turned out to be these ancient, and powerful elemental weapons and not keys at all," the holy warrior went on and his hand dropped to his side where Windblade normally hung but which now held only his morningstar. He cast a longing glance at the saddle that Ahlear carried over one shoulder. "I carried Windblade, the sword of elemental air."

"It's safer in there," Shamalin assured him. "Even if Huzair won't give up his own blade, at least I can shield the other three from Divination."

"The blade sounds useful," the druid told him. "It is powered by air, and this is my favorite element. Use it well."

"Assuming he gets it back," Huzair laughed, his own hand holding snuggly to the sheathed grip of Flameblade. Morier reached out a hand and gave Huzair a reproachful shove.

"It was an amazing adventure to retrieve the swords," Ayremac continued, ignoring Huzair as best he could. "We journeyed into an infested cave of negative energy and dispicable evil, then fought in an alternate realm of wind, water, fire, and earth to conquer a mental, physical and spiritual challenge. We lost some of our numbers there, but the gods, in their infinate generosity and wisdom have always provided us with someone new." He clapped a hand on Ahlear's back when he said this and the man turned to regard him strangely.

"It seems you take these deaths as just something to be accepted. Strange," the druid said. "I do understand that nature takes its due, and so do gods. But still, it is not in my nature personally to be complacent about this topic." Ayremac looked as if he'd been slapped and he faltered momentarily in his walking pace before he regained his composure.

"Not so, Ahlear," he said. "If anything, I have a great appreciation for death, and the mark it leaves on the living. I was not always Ayremac, Holy Warrior of Umba, you know. But that former life... that is something I prefer to keep locked away. Maybe sometime over a nice pint, when the evils of this quest have been quelled, I will tell you of that man and his simple life." He looked meaningfully at Shamalin but did not catch her eye.

"All in your own time and due course," answered the druid. "It is not mine to tread where you don't wish to go. And neither, I would hope, vice versa. I will await till you feel ready to diverge into this topic again." Ahlear stopped and gestured ahead. "But for now it seems likely that our quarry stuck to this road. Nibble has not left this course in over ten minutes. Why don't you fly ahead and see what you can see?"

"Wish me luck," Ayremac said and launched himself into the sky. Ahlear shielded his eyes and watched enviously as the holy warrior soared effortlessly through the heavens.

"Dumb ass should have taken the Invisibility Ring," Huzair groused and kept walking.



It didn't take Ayremac long to spot the place where the man had briefly set up a camp before pressing on. He was no tracker, but it was clear to him that someone had recently paused along the roadside long enough to build a small fire. Its remains were clearly visible despite being cold and half-filled in with blowing snow.

"I found a campsite," he said into the _Ring of Communication_ and waited for the others to catch up.



"He slept here," Anania announced, indicating a spot on the snow that to the untrained eye looked exactly like everyplace else nearby. She reached into a snow drift and lifted up a gnawed ham bone. "He enjoyed a meal as well."

"The horses were hobbled over here," Ahlear said, nudging some spoor with the toe of one boot. "Two horses, just like the man said."

"Great," Huzair said impatiently. "What does your rat say?" Ahlear issued some commands in elvish and watched as Nibble snuffled around for a moment and then headed off down the snow choked road once more.

"He says that Alechtus continued on this way," the druid announced.

"You should call him back," Anania told him. She'd begun at once to follow the rat, but now stopped staring northward with her hand shielding her eyes from the sun setting to her left. "Someone's coming."

"Where?" Morier asked, hustling up to stand nearby. "I don't see anything."

"Me either," Huzair agreed, but Ayremac shook his head.

"I do," he said peering off into the distance. "She's right. It's a horse and an enclosed wagon. I make out a single driver." Huzair looked at him skeptically.

"You can see all that?" he doubted and again Ayremac nodded.

"I was trained  extensively to spot clues that criminals did not wish me to see," he said simply. Then smiling he added, "Having celestial blood doesn't hurt either."

"What is your order?" Anania asked, looking pointedly at Morier. She had an arrow notched in her bow.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #431] The Wagon*

"Anania, stay your bow," Ahlear protested at once. "Why are you so aggressive?" She did not reply, favoring him with a single appraising glance before looking back to Morier. The albino nodded.

"Anania, stand down," he said, stepping forward, and Anania lowered her bow at once and released the tension on the string. "Ayremac, can you scout this situation quickly from above?" The holy warrior nodded.

"Huzair, give me that _Invisibility Ring_," the Officer of Umba said, holding out one gauntleted hand to the mage. Surmising the plan, Huzair pulled the ring from his finger and placed it in Ayremac's palm.

"The driver may fear an ambush by brigands, so I do not think he will just give in to a demand to search his wagon," Huzair added as he lifted the flap on his Valiant Vessel traveller's purse and reached inside. "Ayremac, I do have some _Dust of Slumber_. Perhaps if you dropped it on his horse, it would prevent a chase." Ayremac's eyes twinkled like twin emeralds in the late afternoon light.

"Great idea, Huzair," he said, grinning. "Give me the bag of slumber dust, too."

"You've got one of the _Ring of Communication_, right?" Morier asked and Ayremac waggled the finger of his other hand. "Good. Fly over there and tell me what you see." Ahlear laid a hand on the albino's arm and spoke directly to him then.

"This man in the wagon might not appreciate the notched arrows and angels flying out; it will make him not amicable towards asking for information, specially if our dear target has already scared him before us," he asserted. "We need to be more subtle in our approach of him."

"Ahlear, maybe after a few of your friends have died in the blink of an eye you will see that subtley is better suited for politicians or horny school boys," Ayremac said as he stripped off his gauntlet and slipped on the _Ring of Invisibility_. Ahlear turned then, regarding him with a confused expression.

"In your eyes your paranoia may be justified, Ayremac, but in other people's eyes it comes across as unneeded aggressiveness... and will provoke that which you seek to avoid, in my opinion, namely unneeded conflict," the druid argued. He turned to Morier and added, "And if you let Anania go on with an arrow pointed like that, and have Ayremac dive in invisible with sleeping powder on the man's horses, what is he to think about us?" Morier looked at the man but said nothing.

"Anania... Huzair... stay ready," Ayremac said as he took the tiny packet of fairie dust from Huzair. He spread his wings in anticipation of flight. "Things could turn at any minute."

"I can cast _Magic Missile_ at a moment's notice," the mage assured him. "Just give the word."

Anania caught the holy warrior's eye and nodded her readiness. Ahlear shook his head in disbelief.

"I will have no part in this blatant and arrogant show of force," the druid said, stepping a half-dozen paces away from the group as Ayremac activated the Ring and vanished. Ahlear crossed his arms in a defensive posture, keeping his hands far from his weapons. He made a clicking noise with his tongue and Nibble waddled over to nuzzle his ankle.

"Everyone who can help to assess the situation before we find it on top of us should do so," Morier said. "The guy is probably just spooked, but let's see what he can tell us."

"Let us spread out so a spell attack can not affect us all," Huzair advised as he looked off in the direction of the approaching wagon which was now close enough for them all to see. Most everyone took his counsel, spreading out from one another, wary of what Ixin had referred to on more than one occasion as 'fireball formation'.

Ahlear looked bewildered at the others, and let them go on with their little world. He thought that safety in numbers was agreeable, but grumbled to himself. First they set a timetable which to his mind was far too presumptuous to make, especially with such dangers abroad. This situation was not such a danger, however. He presumed the man was driving so hard because he had an encounter with their culprit. And knowing their quarry babbled insane, Ahlear imagined, would not make anybody more comfortable with the villain's presence.



The wagon, Ayremac saw from above, wasn't all that large, but it was large enough to serve one man as home for a long while if he needed and was a clever packer. It was of the sort that the holy warrior had seen halflings and gnomes occasionally use for travel, having a wooden roof and small smoked glass windows set to allow light to enter. A metal chimney jutted from the rear corner of the wagon. The whole was, unlike halfling wagons, unpainted and unremarkable in most every way.

The man sitting in the narrow driver's seat was not, however. He was dressed in somber blacks and dark grays with a wide-brimmed hat shading his features. He was long-of-limb, Ayremac could see and thin beneath his voluminous wraps, but the holy warrior could discern little else before he man, seeing the assemblage in the road ahead, pulled mightily on the reins and forced the wagon to a stop.

"What deviltry is this?" the keen-eared Ayremac heard the man hiss in common. His hand slipped beneath his seat and pulled forth a staff of elaborate design and craftsmanship. Capped with a loop of what looked like polished brass, the staff fairly screamed "Magic!" as the man raised it.

"Stop!!" the holy warrior commanded from above and the man jerked in surprise, craning his eyes and the staff upward.

"Who's there?" the driver called menacingly and Ayremac could see a fierce energy in the man's features. He was middle-aged by human reckoning, but worn in such a way that the holy warrior did not doubt for an instant that there was still steel in the man. His face was gaunt and angular, with a pointed nose and a silver goatee that contrived to make his features seem longer still. There was white hair beneath that wide hat, that hung wild and unkempt about his face. A pair of spectacles were perched as if by magic on the hook of his long nose, and Ayremac thought that it might well be magic when the man raised the staff.

"Sir, I am not here to cause you harm," Ayremac said, shifting his position so that the man would not unexpectedly blast him. But instead of pointing the staff, the driver raised the brass loop to his eye and peered through it.

"Easy enough to say that when you're invisible, sir," the man spat back and began scanning the sky. "Are you in league with those folk ahead?"

"I am," Ayremac admitted. "And I must know why you are in such a hurry." The man snorted and continued searching the air above the wagon.

"What business is it of yours? This is a free road and I've paid my taxes," he said and suddenly shifted so that he peered through the loop directly at the spot where Ayremac hovered, invisible. The man's face suddenly split into a grin. "Ah, there you are! And using a spell to make yourself _Invisible_, I see." Ayremac hesitated, but then removed the _Ring_ and dropped the fifteen feet to the ground nearby.

"I am Ayremac," the holy warrior told the driver.  He proudly displayed the symbol of Umba worked into his breastplate. "I am a holy warrior in the service of Umba." The man lowered his staff and tugged thoughtfully at his goatee.

"An Officer of Umba, eh?" he grinned. "Well, perhaps we can be of some use to each other. My name is Doctor Julius Akerman and I'm pursuing a man who has cheated his way out of Umba's rightful judgment."

"Really?" Ayremac asked, intrigued.

"Indeed," Doctor Akerman said, placing his staff on the seat beside him. He leaned forward over the reins fixing Ayremac with an intense gaze. "Do you know of a man calling himself, Alechtus of Gudiberg?"


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> "I will have no part in this blatant and arrogant show of force," the druid said, stepping a half-dozen paces away from the group as Ayremac activated the Ring and vanished. Ahlear crossed his arms in a defensive posture, keeping his hands far from his weapons. He made a clicking noise with his tongue and Nibble waddled over to nuzzle his ankle.




So, safe to say he's not a card carrying member of "Shoot first, reincarnate later Druidic order"?


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> So, safe to say he's not a card carrying member of "Shoot first, reincarnate later Druidic order"?




Uhh... no. He's pretty far removed from that most savage of orders. He definitely brings a different voice to the group as you'll see in the upcoming posts.


----------



## Burningspear

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> Uhh... no. He's pretty far removed from that most savage of orders. He definitely brings a different voice to the group as you'll see in the upcoming posts.





LoL


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #431a] Memento Mori*

Ayremac smiled at Doctor Akerman and held up a finger. "Sir, please excuse me for a moment," he said and raised the _Ring of Communication_ to his lips. Into the _Ring_ he said, "Morier, come on up. I think we have stumbled onto a bit of luck for once." Akerman looked at the distant group and arched an eyebrow at Ayremac as the holy warrior lowered his hand.

"So you know of Alechtus of Gudiberg, do you?" he asked, removing his hat to fuss momentarily over its rumpled brim. Ayremac saw that the top of the man's head was bald and tattooed with geometric patterns.

"Dr. Akerman, we are tracking this man right now," the Officer of Umba answered. "He has just left a keep near here and has laid waste to it and, we believe, killed at least one if not two of our own." Akerman looked up, concerned.

"But you're coming from the south," he said and Ayremac nodded which prompted Akerman to hurl down his reins and clap the hat back on his head. "The bastard's doubled back on his own trail again! That's how he lost me outside Flavonshire." Ayremac had heard of Flavonshire from Morier and Karak and knew that it was over a moonsdance of hard travel away, north of the Altan Tepes.

"You've been after him for a long time then," he observed and Akerman nodded, but he seemed distracted now as if he were only half listening. "Why are you tracking Alechtus? And how do you know he has eluded Umba's judgement?"

"He has something I want and I am a wizard of no small skill," the man answered with a wave of his hand. "I have resources to draw upon that you would not understand."

"Try me!" Huzair remarked as he and the rest of the group approached.

"Dr. Akerman, please allow me a moment to introduce this party," Ayremac said. He indicated each member in turn, starting with the druid who stood off to the side with his arms crossed. "This man is Ahlear, he is new to our company as of this morning; this is Huzair and Morier and Shamalin, whom I have traveled with for some time. This less vocal member is Anania." Akerman looked appraisingly at each of them, as Ayremac made introductions. When it was done, Ahlear spoke up, his tone carefully neutral.

"Saying, I told you so would be appropriate, Ayremac, but I will not," the druid said. "I will, however, tell you that next time please try a less aggressive stance with anything neutrally unknown. It might actually do more good than you would expect."

"Ahlear, Ayremac's caution is-" Morier began but Ahlear cut him off.

"I intended my comment as a direct response to you, too," he said simply before slipping into elvish to direct a few words at Anania. "Elellalle seler'di'thang vithel." She regarded him with a rare expression of emotion for a moment and then turned away, her lips set in a tight line.

"My sweet flower is nobody's 'lackey'! Huzair protested. "Least of all Morier's!" Ahlear snorted at the mage's words and directed his attention to Doctor Akerman.

"How is it that you come opposite the trail we have been following Alechtus on and have not met him on his way towards us?" he asked. "It seems very unlikely"

"What are you insinuating, goodman?" Akerman countered. He shifted his weight, his hand drifting toward the staff on the seat beside him.

"I'm insinuating nothing," Ahlear replied. "Perhaps if you could please explain how you could miss the quarry you seem to know is around here, yet not intercept him when that same quarry should have been right between you and us."

"Ah... I see," Akerman said, drawing himself up to his full height so that he could glower down his pointy nose at Ahlear. "So I am either incompetent or a liar. Is that it?"

Ayremac intervened quickly, flexing his wings to break line of sight between the two men.

"I am sure that's not what he meant," the holy warrior said, stepping forward to ply the diplomatic skills honed a lifetime ago when he'd been a yeoman to Duke Brelton. "I am curious though, sir. Our tracking has led us directly to you, so I must think that Alechtus has either passed right by or possibly been hidden from you somehow... which seems a difficult task given how easily you discovered me."

"As I told you, he's undoubtedly doubled back on his trail, probably back in Colybury," he said, cocking a thumb over his shoulder in the direction he'd come. "Alechtus has been pursued by some of the most determined hunters in the Realms. He's a wily devil."

"So if you do not know where Alechtus is why were you driving so fast?" Huzair countered and Akerman scowled.

"Because, as I said, I did know where he was," the Doctor snapped. "I was following his divine energy trail from Colybury, but he doubled back-"

"Divine energy trail?" Morier interrupted. "Alechtus is a divine caster? We had not heard that." Doctor Akerman's expression grew guarded at that question and he shook his head.

"I did not say that," he muttered and his hand stole again to the staff on the seat beside him.

At the rear of the party and off to the side, Shamalin warily continued to concentrate on her _Detect Thoughts_ spell. She'd already determined that Akerman was inhumanly smart, possessed perhaps of the single greatest intellect she had ever encountered. But, as she tried to probe deeper and actually read his surface thoughts, she felt that intellect form itself into a bulwark against her, repelling her voyeuristic attempts and dissipating her spell at the same time.

"Who is casting against me?" Akerman roared, springing at once to his feet, his staff held in one hand and the other clutching at something in the folds of his clothes. Magical energy began to gather spectacularly in the air around him.

Shamalin stepped meekly forward, her hands held in a position of peace. "Forgive me, sir, for I meant no insult," she said and Akerman brought the brass loop on his staff to his eye, peering through it at her. "We have been beset by enemies often of late and I was only seeking to divine your intentions."

After a moment, the magic energy dissipated and Akerman lowered the staff snorting, "There are other ways to determine such, priestess. Less uncivilized ways." He pursed his lips and nodded before lowering himself back to his seat. "What knowledge do you seek?"

"What kind of Doctor are you?" Ayremac asked first and this made Akerman smirk.

"I received a Doctorate of Arcane Studies from Mageholme in Barnacus," he said. "It is an honorary title, but one I earned by virtue of my training as a Loremaster."

"Does Sir Alectus know you are after him?" Huzair asked next and Akerman shrugged.

"I doubt it. We crossed paths but briefly," he told them. "I was studying some rare texts at the Redhurst Academy at the same time he passed through Battle City. He is used to pursuit, however. The Sanctifiers have been seeking him with a fervor I have not seen before. And he, in his turn, has been hunting them."

"If an entire sect of holy warriors haven't been able to stop him, how do you hope to take on this Alechtus of Gudiberg alone?" Shamalin asked and Akerman looked at her with a merry twinkle in his eye.

"Why from a distance, of course," he said. "The Sanctifiers have all made the same mistake: they've tried to get close enough to use the Rite of Ending on him so that he cannot return from the dead again!"

"Again?" Morier asked. "He's undead?" The Doctor shook his head.

"Not in the truest sense, but the Sanctifiers see any magic that returns a departed soul to Oerune to be necromancy," he explained. "To them he is no better than undead."

"So he's returned from death," Ayremac stated and Akerman nodded. "How do you know he has eluded Umba's judgement?"

"Yes," Huzair suggested. "Perhaps you should tell us all you can about this man." Akerman considered this, tugging on his goatee as he ruminated.

"Perhaps you're right," he began. "Have any of you heard of an organization called Momento Mori? No? Well, I shouldn't be surprised, I suppose. Outside the Walk of a Hundred Days, there's precious few of us who devote any attention to the study of dead gods."



Sir Alechtus of Gudiberg was once a good man, a Sanctifier of some fame in the areas around Gessex, Restenford and Battle City. He'd defeated undead of every stripe and personally put to the sword a cabal of druids who were selling Reincarnation magic to noble families in Farmin. He then journeyed to the Freeport of Farmin to find and cleanse those aristocrats who had defied Calaam.

It was while in Freeport that Alechtus ran afoul of a group devoted to the trickster aspect Lukane. He stumbled quite unwittingly upon their plot to create something called a Faith Golem and handily disrupted the attempt, earning himself more glory and the undying ire of a halfling named Harcourt. Irritating these vindictive followers of a trickster god proved to be Alechtus' undoing.

While on the way back to Restenford, Harcourt and his band ambushed Alechtus, slew the man and smuggled his body into Battle City. There they Raised him from the Dead - a fate far worse than dying to one who worships Calaam. The process apparently drove Alechtus mad, for he never behaved the same again.

He spent some time wandering Battle City shunning friends and clashing with his former brothers-in-arms, the Sanctifiers of Calaam. After that, he cut a bloody swath eastwards to Barnacus. At this time, the capital city was suffering from plague, and it is unknown what Alechtus did within or what drove him there in the first place. But when he reappeared less than a week later in Strenchburg Junction, he had with him the samsara sword that he now carries at all times.

There were some deaths in Strenchburg Junction attributed to Alechtus, and then he vanished, resurfacing in Battle City where he crossed paths with Akerman for the first time. Akerman has often wondered if some divine hand was not guiding his own that day as he brought the staff of blood to his eye and looked upon Alechtus. For if he had not, he might never have realized the truth: the man housed within him the _Divine Spark_ of a dead deity, the goddess of freedom, Rhianne, who was slain centuries ago by Cretia, the Blood God of Hule.

With his staff it was a simple matter for Akerman to see the power that Alechtus housed, and with another object in his possession, a _Divinity Collector_, it would be just as simple to harvest the spark once Alechtus was dead.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> "How is it that you come opposite the trail we have been following Alechtus on and have not met him on his way towards us?" he asked. "It seems very unlikely"
> 
> "I'm insinuating nothing," Ahlear replied. "Perhaps if you could please explain how you could miss the quarry you seem to know is around here, yet not intercept him when that same quarry should have been right between you and us."




So he's paranoid? Which is actually how all of the True Neutral PCs I've ever had in my campaings work it. 



			
				Jon Potter said:
			
		

> "I doubt it. We crossed paths but briefly," he told them. "I was studying some rare texts at the Redhurst Academy at the same time he passed through Battle City. He is used to pursuit, however. The Sanctifiers have been seeking him with a fervor I have not seen before. And he, in his turn, has been hunting them."




Redhurst.... mmm... hopefully we'll get to know more of this as the campaign progresses, that's an awesome book. 



			
				Jon Potter said:
			
		

> While on the way back to Restenford, Harcourt and his band ambushed Alechtus, slew the man and smuggled his body into Battle City. There they Raised him from the Dead - a fate far worse than dying to one who worships Calaam. The process apparently drove Alechtus mad, for he never behaved the same again.




Kept demanding brains for dinner, smelled of rotten flesh and liked it, apparently became a dermatologist by commenting on my complextion and saying how he had a permanent fix for it, Stopped dating that cute girl and started hanging out in cemetaries looking for his perfect woman, nasty habit of burying holy symbols about his person that requuired a team of physicians to extract.   



			
				Jon Potter said:
			
		

> With his staff it was a simple matter for Akerman to see the power that Alechtus housed, and with another object in his possession, a _Divinity Collector_, it would be just as simple to harvest the spark once Alechtus was dead.




So after trapping him in the streams of ions, Dr. Akerman would step on the switch for the divinity collector and a bright line would erupt from underneath Alechtus and suck his soul into the collection device? Cool, I hope his got a proper permit for that, you know how bureaucracies love to interfere and shut things down.


----------



## Burningspear

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> So he's paranoid? Which is actually how all of the True Neutral PCs I've ever had in my campaings work it.





Not paranoid if u think the druid dude is such, but its your impression, fair due ,

Now i am more and more annoyed, but i cant spill the beans yet...read on i should say 

and enjoy


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #432] Clearing the Air*

Ahlear was the first to speak when the Doctor had concluded the tale of Sir Alechtus. "Does it have to be the same person who gets 'returned' into the body in order to live?" he asked the Doctor before looking around at the others to explain. "As he says, Alechtus did not treat friends and allies the way he used to do... I wonder, might there be someone else in the body of the former Alechtus?"

"If there is such magic, I am not privy to it," Doctor Akerman admitted. "Perhaps druidic magic, but as I said, there was no love between Alechtus and the Druids of Shrouded Lake. I can see no benefit for them to return life to a man who had slain the higher-ranking members of their order." Ahlear snorted at that.

"Who decides what is a rightly use of revivification magic and not?" he asked. "Who deems he has the right to do such, when no mortal can rightly judge another so simply?"

Morier suddenly found he could take no more and he whirled on the druid, his face livid with frustration and anger.

"Ahlear, enough!" he roared. "I have listened to your opinionated crap for too long today without speaking, and I cannot and will not hold my tongue any longer!" Ahlear blinked at that and looked neutrally into the albino's eyes.

"I am surprised that you let a stranger make accusations on my words and when I neutrally defend myself and my brother druids, you bark at that?" he scoffed, genuinely confused by Morier's outburst.

"Listen to me now, friend, and listen well. Some day very, very soon, you will be in a position where you will need to call on one or two, perhaps all of the people who stand before you, to save your life. It has been true of every one of us on many occasions," Morier went on, indicating the other members of the Order with a sweep of one arm. "The problem is, right now I cannot think of the slightest reason whatsoever to put myself in harm's way to save a hair on your mouthy, obnoxious, opinionated ass. In the very short time that you have been here, you have managed to alienate every single soul you will need to ensure your survival in the coming days. In truth, I think many of us have very quickly come to the conclusion that we would welcome the opportunity to see you devoured, in whole or in pieces, by something, simply to shut you up."

"Probably yes, but the way your group has been handling the interaction has not been what I would call exemplary. You insult each other and more without any cause and it wonders me why my simple statements of fact make you so annoyed," Ahlear observed, cocking his head, quizzically. "I am surprised, and I think you should all change your attitudes, not just to me, but also within your group and to outsiders. To me it seems the stress of being in this group has not done you any good. I knew a less easily agitated Morier when you were still living in the village." Morier's teeth clenched and sucked in a breath to master his emotions.

"You arrived here a mere minutes ago upon the premise of joining this party and already you presume to know far too much about us and about how we need to conduct ourselves," the eldritch warrior told him, his carefully controlled voice raising once more to a shout as he continued. "You know nothing! You have not experienced our loss! You have not seen the things we see every day! Until you have walked with us long enough to gain your bearings on what we are doing and how we do it, stand back, shut your mouth, and try not to piss everyone around you off!" Ahlear raised his hands in a gesture of concession and took a step backward.

"As you wish," he said. "I will stand back and watch your group insult itself and strangers. I will not lift a hand then, either to help out when you would need support in communications or knowledge... until you ask for it and you apologize for this needless outburst."

"Apologize?! I am ashamed to admit to these people that I know you Ahlear, and Malcolm should be ashamed to have sent you here with so little social grace," Morier pressed. "You can take my advice or not, but I assure you now that I haven't any intention of lifting a sword to protect you in any way unless you take a far different approach to the way you treat every one of these individuals you will rely on to keep you alive. And you're sure as hells not getting an apology!"

"I have treated the others no different then your group has treated itself," Ahlear said. "I am sad to see you take offense so easily at what I see merely as neutral observations, not designed at all to insult or denigrate any person." The druid then bowed with a blank face, and slowly walked away from the party commanding Nibble to join him. He dropped his saddle onto the frozen ground and sat down on it, gazing off into the gathering gloom of night.

"Gees, I thought you only felt that way about me," Huzair said to Morier, holding back laughter as the albino glowered at him. 

"Doctor, I apologize for this... As I said we have just met this man this morning," Ayremac intervened, smiling brightly. "I would really like to work with you and bring down this Alechtus. But I have only a day to do it. Would you be ready to move forward with us right now and try to take him down?" Doctor Akerman's eyebrows raised in surprise and he looked off to the west where Orin's Shield was settling into Da'har Su'revar's grip where it would remain until morning.

"The hour is late," he said and then cast his eyes on Ahlear who was chewing on a strip of spiced meat. "And you seem to have problems of your own to deal with."

"Come on, Doc," Huzair smiled, spreading his arms in a gracious gesture. "How can we work together to get this guy?"

"I care little for Alechtus, the man," Akerman corrected. "Whatever madness drives him is no concern of mine. I am sorry for your loss at his hands, but that sorrow is not enough to compel me into mindless confrontation with a known murderer. However, he has absorbed a Divinity Spark and it is only extractable upon his death, so I must seek him."

"So it is the Spark that you are looking to retrieve from Alechtus?" Shamalin asked. and Doctor Akerman nodded.

"Indeed," he confirmed. "I am not a bloodthirsty man by nature, but I will do what must be done to secure the Spark. If I am not there directly at the time of his death, the Spark will be bound to his spirit and go on to the afterlife with him, lost to me forever. I can't allow that!"

"What do you plan to do with it once you 'harvest' it?" the Mercybringer asked and Akerman's face lit up.

"Why study it, of course," he said. "Divinity Sparks represent power unlike anything that we mortals can muster. The secrets of life and death are held within them. They can be used to create magical objects, power certain spells, and increase a person's abilities to superhuman levels."

"Like Alechtus' strength," Morier observed and Akerman nodded.

"Exactly like that," he said. "It is the Divinity Spark that grants him it."

"Dr. Akerman, you seem to have knowledge of things that could be extremely beneficial, but I fear to share with you all that we have learned," Ayremac said and the Doctor pursed his lips disapprovingly.

"So you are of the same mind as your new friend over there?" he asked, gesturing at Ahlear. "I am an incompetent liar?"

"Do you have a suggestion on how we might be able to trust you, and in turn, you trust us... enough for us to pool our information?" Ayreamc asked and this time the Doctor barked laughter.

"What, holy warrior? All that I have shared thus far is not enough?" he chuckled, and waved Ayremac out of his path. "Let me move this thing to the side of the road and we'll talk more over some supper."

Akerman maneuvered the wagon to the shoulder and hopped down from the driver's seat with his staff in hand. He produced a bronze amulet from beneath his cloak and spoke a word of magic that caused his horse to first glow and then shimmer into golden light that promptly leapt into the amulet. Nodding to himself, the Doctor patted his jerkin pocket, producing a gold key on a long chain with which he headed toward the back of the wagon. He eschewed the obvious side doors in favor of a barely-visible panel in the rear. Into this he placed the key, turned it and opened the unassuming door. Golden light spilled out of the doorway, bathing Doctor Akerman with its radiance.

"Well, come on," he said, gesturing for the others to join him as he stepped into the open door. "I'm not going to eat my dinner sitting on a cold rock!" And then he was gone.

Ayremac went around to the rear of the wagon and gasped. The doorway looked in on the tiled courtyard of a palatial estate. Three fountains of varying sizes were arrayed in the center of the space with two story walls on all sides. Various doors and windows faced the courtyard, but there was no other living things visible apart from Doctor Akerman who was stooped over drinking water from the nearest fountain. There was no sky above, but the ceiling of the place was lit with a uniform glow that approximated sunlight. Heat came out to Ayremac in waves.

"Well, come on if you're coming," Doctor Akerman said, turning. "And have the last one in close the door behind them. There's a draft in here."


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Interesting read, my mind is swirling with possibilities.   

If "Alechtus" is indeed a returned foe which would be pretty nifty hook, it would have to be a really old foe for "Alechtus" to create a situation that would make the party seek him out. Plus at this point how many PCs would he even recognize? 1, maybe none?

I saw you referenced a Divinity Spark, do you have the Dead God's book by Malhavoc? Good stuff in there I used a Divinity Spark and a Divinity Well in my campaign (it's coming up, one of the PCs absorbs it)


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Interesting read, my mind is swirling with possibilities.




I'm glad you approve.    



> If "Alechtus" is indeed a returned foe which would be pretty nifty hook, it would have to be a really old foe for "Alechtus" to create a situation that would make the party seek him out. Plus at this point how many PCs would he even recognize? 1, maybe none?




Well that's the problem, isn't it? Ixin was the last PC to have actually met "Alechtus" and he killed her.



> I saw you referenced a Divinity Spark, do you have the Dead God's book by Malhavoc? Good stuff in there




Yep. That's the one. It's the best of the "event books", IMO.



> I used a Divinity Spark and a Divinity Well in my campaign (it's coming up, one of the PCs absorbs it)




I can hardly wait!


----------



## Kristeneve

I find it highly interesting, HM, that one of your PC's absorbed a divinity spark.  We had a rather lengthy out of character discussion about who would get to do just such a thing in this campaign.  The tension was pretty high at the time...of course it has been a lot these days.  I'd like to read how it turns out for your player.  Can someone point me in the right direction?


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Kristeneve said:
			
		

> I find it highly interesting, HM, that one of your PC's absorbed a divinity spark.  We had a rather lengthy out of character discussion about who would get to do just such a thing in this campaign.  The tension was pretty high at the time...of course it has been a lot these days.  I'd like to read how it turns out for your player.  Can someone point me in the right direction?




The story is here I can't give you an approximate number of posts until the absorbtion occurs, but it doesn't quite occur like your game.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #433] A Night Off*

"Cool!" Huzair remarked, his excitement showing through his world-weary facade as he shouldered his way passed Ayremac to climb inside the wagon. "An extra-dimensional space, just like on the Mercane vessel!" Dr. Akerman looked up at that, surprised.

"I purchased this _Manor Wagon_ from a Mercane just last year," he said, drying his hand on his cloak.

"Are you a wizard?" Huzair asked and the Doctor nodded, prompting a wide grin. "Do you have any scrolls or spell books to trade?"

Outside, Shamalin and Morier peered around Ayremac at the extra-dimensional space. "This could easily be a trap," the cleric mutterred softly, hesitating at the entry. Then she shrugged, shouldering past the others to follow Huzair. "I wonder if he has a bath in there?" she considered as she went.

Stepping into Doctor Akerman's estate took Shamalin's breath away. It was a place of beauty and peace, in stark contrast to the world they had just left. The soothing sounds of running water combined wondrously with the warm glow of light in the heavens. Shamalin felt suddenly invigorated, as if responsibility and experience could be lifted and blown away like leaves in the warm air. She found herself grinning childishly. Huzair smirked in return, but she could sense that even he was impressed. 

Morier looked at Ayremac. "She's right," he said. "This could be a trap set for us by any one of our many enemies." Ayremac grinned at Morier.

"Living life's about taking chances," he said, tucking his wings to enter the wagon. The albino grimaced after the holy warrior's retreating form.

"What about you two?" the eldritch warrior asked, turning to regard Anania and Ahlear.

"I believe that I will stay here," the elf maid replied, clutching her bow with both hands. "I will keep watch for a time. And I am more comfortable taking my rest in the natural world than I would be in such an unnatural one."

Ahlear got up and grabbed his saddle, negotiating it onto his shoulder before walking over to the wagon. His eyes were in perpetual motion, scanning the surroundings for any sign of trouble as he walked. He stepped up to the wagon and looked inside, treating the inner space to the same visual inspection, his pipe clenched firmly in his teeth. He reached down to lift Nibble into the space and then slowly and deliberately stepped in behind his animal companion. Looking around at the massive interior space he mumbled, "Show off."

Reluctantly, Morier climbed in after and closed the door, sealing out the harsh tundra with a final click of a closing latch.

Huzair immediately sniffed the air. "Who's smoking?" he asked before spotting Ahlear wreathed in a blue-grey cloud. "Oh. A pipe," he said, deflated as the druid walked toward him. Ahlear produced a big, fat cigar from the saddlebag hanging down across his torso and handed it to Huzair. The wizard's face split into a big grin at the sight and he accepted it greedily, raising it at once to his nose.

"OOOH... this is a nice one!" Huzair said, sniffing the cigar.

"Enjoy it," Ahlear replied, puffing on his pipe as he watched the mage's thrilled expression.

"Thanks," Huzair replied. "But this doesn't change the fact that Anania is still my little flower." Again, Ahlear snorted at the wizard's assertion.

"She is not your flower, Huzair. For as much as you would wish any woman on this earth to be yours, she is the least," Ahlear said, casting a glance at Morier. "She has taken fellowship blindly and I detest blind followers." Huzair sighed.

"Bahhh," he commented, favoring Ahlear with a playful wink. "Dr. Akerman, do you have a _Silence_ spell by chance? I would pay handsomely!" He grinned broadly, clenching the cigar in his teeth. Akerman arched an eyebrow at the two and spread his arms.

"Such could be arranged, I'm sure. But for now, I would suggest that you wait to light that. Dinner will be served within the hour," he said, his arms spread unnaturally. "Attend me!"

At the mage's utterance there was a strange movement in the air, and his cloak and hat lifted from him by some unseen means. They hovered beside him, the cloak neatly folding itself as he grinned at the group.

"How?" Shamalin started to ask but Huzair answered her quickly.

"_Unseen Servant_," he said confidently before looking to Akerman for confirmation. "Am I right?"

"_Servant Horde_, actually," the Doctor answered. "If you've mastered the Third Circle, I can probably arrange for you to scribe the spell. Meantime, I'll assign a _Servant_ to each of you. They'll show you to your quarters and where to find the garderobe, the bathhouse, and the dining hall when the meal is prepared."

"IF I have mastered the Third Circle?" Huzair groused under his breath. "What do I look like: Morier?!"

"I don't think that we need to waste any more of your-" Morier started, but the others were already availing themselves of Akerman's hospitality. As invisible hands lifted his cloak from his shoulders, he cursed this further delay.



When their meal was over and _Unseen Servants_ were bringing the after-dinner wine around, Ayremac wiped once more at his lips and stood. Doctor Akerman and Huzair had been discussing the esoteric minutia of arcane theory, but the conversation died as the holy warrior got to his feet.

"Sorry to interrupt," he said. "I think I am going to do some aerial scouting and see if I can find a camp fire or something where Alechtus may be hiding."

"Are you sure?" Akerman said. "It's cold out there and we'll have some fine dessert after the wine."

"I appreciate it, but the cold doesn't bother me that much," Ayremac admitted. Thanks to his Celestial blood the weather on the tundra didn't bother him at all. "Shamalin... Huzair... well, Dr. Akerman as well, I suppose... Would any of you have any spells that would help me? An _Eagle Eye_, or _Detect Supernatural, God-Carrying Bad Guy_ spells?" he smirked at his own joke.

"How about I send Sparky with you?" Huzair suggested. "You know, so you do not just find the guy and take all the glory for yourself." Ayremac scoffed at that suggestion.

"My intention is to go for an hour or so, starting quite high and looking for signs of a fire," he explained. "Nothing more."

"That's good, holy warrior," Dr. Akerman said, taking a small sip of his wine. "Alechtus is not someone to be confronted lightly... as the string of bodies he leaves in his wake can surely attest."

"Here is the _Ring of Invisibility_," Huzair said, placing the band in Sparky's feet. The hummingbird flew it over and dropped it into Ayremac's hand. "Do not let him see you," Huzair told the Officer of Umba meaningfully.

"Thank you," Ayremac said and turned to exit the dining hall. Ahlear raised a hand to forestall him.

"Ayremac, do be careful," the druid said in a soft, kind tone. "Although we might not agree, fly safe." Ayremac studied him skeptically, but sensing no hidden motive he nodded.

"Thank you," he said again and left the chamber.



With the wine flowing freely, it took only a short time for the conversation to resume, and after a little while, Shamalin found herself bold enough to mention the harp. It sat on a podium at the end of the hallway adjacent to the dining room. She had noticed it initially, but with Ayremac gone it suddenly seemed to glow more intensely in her eyes. In response to her query, Doctor Akerman pushed his chair back. Intrigued, Shamalin watched as he dotted his face one final time with his napkin before making his way toward the hallway. Morier cleared his throat trying to catch their attention, but Shamalin pointedly ignored him. A moment later Akerman returned and settled back in his chair with the harp in his lap. He plucked a few chords experimentally and the pure tones echoed throughout the room. Then he turned directly to Shamalin and asked, "Will you accompany me?"

It had been such a long time since she had been inclined to sing. Lifetimes. But given the warm bath, and dinner, and a break in the tension between them all - at least for the moment - she couldn't refuse. Perhaps it was time. And so she added her voice to the sweet and simple melody of Akerman's ballad. And like so many times in the past, as she sang, something changed within her. The magical art of healing bequeathed by the Goddess of Mercy, encouraged by this stranger, entwined with the music. And with each note it converged in the very core of her being, beginning in some small way to soothe that which was broken. 

She held the final note of the song until the echoing chords of the harp died away. The room was still. Taking a deep breath, she nodded slowly at the Doctor and whispered, "Thank you."

He inclined his head politely and acknowledged with a warm smile, "You're welcome. Now let's have dessert!"



"This reminds me of a poem," Shamalin said later after they had retired to Doctor Akerman's library. She pulled a rolled sheet of parchment from her robes where she'd hidden it after her bath, hoping to be able to ask Akerman about it at some point. Uncurling it she read:

_"As with plague the world becomes stained,
Slaying the righteous of Light slowly waned,
Seek then to free Her, a goddess unchained."

"To seal the fate of the Black Queen's doom, 
First free Beast's twin from Her cold prison tomb,
To spill salvation from Her fruitful womb."_​

Akerman grimaced. "Ah, cryptic poetry. Why does every bit of so-called prophecy have to be in cryptic poetry?" he mused. "I assume that you already have a theory about the interpretation of this bit of verse, so let me give you my opinion and we'll see how the two compare, eh?" He held out his hand and Shamalin gave him the scroll that Ledare had penned some moonsdances past. Akerman adjusted his spectacles and studied the parchment critically.

After a few moments he spoke.

"Well, this first bit about plague certainly seems current," he began. "There are several diseases ravaging settlements from here to Haven, unchecked by either mundane or divine healing. This line about Light slowly waning seems to refer not to illumination, but rather to an individual. See how it's capitalized, like a proper name. Perhaps it refers to Orin, the Lord of Light, or his consort, Shaharizod, who's Mirrors light the dark night. Of course, it could even refer to your own patron, as well, Mercybringer; she is known as the White Lady, after all."

"I thought that might be the case," Shamalin said with a nod. Akerman regarded her over the tops of his glasses.

"Yes. I thought you might," he agreed before returning to the parchment."The last line, tells us something about who wrote the prophecy, yes? See how the pronoun 'her' is capitalized? That sort of thing is typically reserved for when a believer is writing about his patron deity. So, we can assume that whoever wrote this was a druid."

"How do you come to that conclusion?" Huzair asked from across the room. He had a goblet of wine in one hand, a smoking cigar in the other and a massive tome spread across his lap. His face bore a languid grin that spoke volumes about his mental state at the moment.

"Who but one of the druidic faiths, would so revere Dridana as it capitalize a pronoun used to denote her?" Akerman explained and Shamalin leaned forward.

"Why do you mention Dridana?" she asked and the doctor shook the parchment a bit in response.

"Because of this," he said. "It mentions freeing Beast's twin. Who else could it be but the Animal Lord, Brogine's sister, Dridana? And I'd say that trapped as she is between existence and death certainly qualifies as both a prison and a tomb, wouldn't you?" Shamalin's expression brightened further.

"So, you're familiar with Dridana?" she asked and Akerman nodded.

"What sort of a scholar of dead gods would I be if I didn't know about Dridana?" Akerman asked and handed the parchment back to Shamalin. "The Memento Mori have an entire vault dedicated to She Who is All in the Sepulcher of Heaven. But the general consensus is that she's not really dead. At least not in the same way that Rhianne is. Her spirit has been separated from her body, but there's no loosed divinity."

"But her body is on the astral plane," Huzair observed. "Is that not what happens to gods who die?" Akerman raised an eyebrow at the wizard; his expression was impressed.

"Indeed it is," Akerman told them. "Though there are not many outside of Memento Mori who know of the God Islands' existence."

"Have you ever been there?" Huzair asked.

"I have," the doctor admitted. "We journey to the Astral from time to time in order to harvest godsblood or god flesh. It's difficult and dangerous business going there."

"The Buommans give you access to the God Islands?" Huzair asked and Doctor Akerman's face clouded over.

"No," he said flatly. "They and their whole Cabal of the Dirge are a constant thorn in Memento Mori's side, trying to keep others from accessing the dead gods on which they themselves have built their cities. As if that was somehow noble and we were desecrators." Doctor Akerman took a long pull off his wine glass, throat working as he drank deeply.

"What would happen if this spark were reunited with the dead body on the Astral?" Huzair asked and Akerman's face softened. He tugged at his goatee.

"An interesting question, young man, and one to which no one yet has a definitive answer" he said. A light had been kindled in the wizard's eyes. "But it's just because of questions like that that I pursue this subject matter. All existing theories tend to indicate that nothing would happen and I am inclined to agree." Morier frowned.

"So reuniting the Divine Spark in Alechtus with the body that spawned it wouldn't bring the goddess back to life?" the albino asked, entering the conversation for the first time. Akerman chuckled and turned in his chair to look at the eldritch warrior.

"Do you suppose that Alechtus is somehow housing the whole of Rhianne's spirit, elf?" he laughed. "That would make him her avatar, would it not? It would also likely burn out his body in short order. When a god is slain the corpus dei releases up to 40 of these Divinity Sparks. Alechtus houses one or perhaps two of the Sparks at the most."

"What happened to the rest of them?" Shamalin asked and Akerman shrugged.

"Who knows? Many Sparks simply disappear immediately onto the Astral Plane. Others are absorbed by creatures nearby. Others are harvested by collectors such as myself," he explained. "No one knows for certain how many Sparks Rhianne released upon her death, but it is known that the founder of Memento Mori, Brypur Vutha-isk, managed to harvest ten of them. He worked for a time with a dwarven weaponsmith, Brumar Marnakfarlan, to create a succession of magic weapons powered by Divinity Sparks until he eventually learned how to absorb multiple Sparks into himself. He attained near divine status as a result; he's a great role model for us all."

"Is that what you plan to do, Doctor?" Ayremac asked from the doorway. "Absorb the Spark in Alechtus and become some sort of demi-god?" Akerman stood and faced the doorway that led out onto the courtyard.

"Ah, you're back," he said. "I'm afraid that you missed dessert. Was there any sign of Alechtus?" Ayremac looked hard at the doctor, snow melting off his armor.

"No. Visibility was terrible," he said. "I saw no camp fires, but I did see a town a bit north along the road. He could easily be there."


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Where was Ahlear during the good Dr.'s speech on Dridana? I would think he'd have a poignant observation for the Dr. or at least a strong opinion on the matter.


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Where was Ahlear during the good Dr.'s speech on Dridana? I would think he'd have a poignant observation for the Dr. or at least a strong opinion on the matter.




Don't worry. Ahlear has no shortage of strong opinions.   

I think that at this point he was trying to "go with the flow" after his earlier dressing down by Morier.

And in re-reading what went on at this point in the campaign, I think this may well have been the best RPing the group did, especially Ayremac's player who really isn't a particularly religious guy. He stepped up to voice the holy warrior's complaints.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #434] Dogma*

"So, what do we do?" Ayremac asked, looking pointedly at Morier. The albino, who had been pacing like a caged tiger at the back of the library looked up and sighed.

"If the town where Alechtus is hiding out is more than a day's travel, then we need to get back on the trail to following the Pull," he said flatly, making a gesture with his hand that suggested he would accept no argument on the matter - not that that sort of thing ever stopped anyone from arguing.

"It's not that far, I don't think," Ayremac said, shaking off with a clatter the last of the snowmelt from his armor.

"You're correct, holy warrior," Doctor Akerman said, settling himself back into his chair. "Colybury's where I had just come from when I met you. It's undoubtedly where Alechtus doubled back on his trail. If we leave early - say, by dawn - we can be there before midday." Morier nodded at this.

"Well, then, if we can conceivably get there in half a day or less then let's go check it out," the eldritch warrior said, anxiously. "Let's press on!" Huzair raised his cigar in a salute.

"Let us do it!" he cheered. "We could get supplies too." Morier nodded in agreement at this.

"Wait. Don't we need a better plan than that?" Shamalin interjected. "If Alechtus is as powerful as Doctor Akerman tells us, then he's probably got a fairly substantial resistance to spells. How can we effectively counter that?"

"Attack from afar," Huzair said simply. "How about you stay back, Morier. You do not want to get hurt." The wizard smirked at this. "Try some spells. Show us what the heck Ap-Llewelyn has taught you all these years."

Ignoring the resumption of verbal sparring between Huzair and Morier, Shamalin turned to Doctor Akerman and said, "I think Alechtus has a magic sword powered by a Divinity Spark," Looking up at Ayremac she added, "That's what the boy back at the keep must have been referring to." Ayremac nodded, but Akerman shook his head.

"No, lass, but a good guess," the mage told her. "The samsara sword was anointed in godsblood. The aura is unmistakable." Ayremac scowled at that.

"Doctor Akerman, I mean no disrespect, but as a man with a spiritual foundation, I have to ask what your feelings are on the use of divine engery to 'fuel' weapons... or even people?" the holy warrior asked and Doctor Akerman nodded, sighing.

"I wondered how long it would be before you asked," the wizard admitted. "My feelings on the matter are based firmly within my own curiosity, but that is largely immaterial, isn't it? What matters is the knowledge that can be gained from taking, studying and using the corpus dei to the betterment of we mortals." Akerman stared at Ayremac, as if challenging him to disagree.

"Okay, I can see that there are benefits. I understand that. But just because it is beneficial does not make it right," Ayremac countered, but it was clear that he was unconvinced of his own argument. It seemed obvious to the Officer of Umba that Doctor Akerman had his own agenda. And as a seeker of knowledge, not a seeker of divinity, his own agenda would certainly be tainted with greed, the corruption of power, or even the fear of death. He did represent a valuable resource though, and had not shown himself to be evil. In fact the opposite was true; he had been nothing but hospitable, friendly, and giving of his own knowledge. Ayremac frowned and pressed on.

"I struggle with an appropriate example, but it seems in some ways, similar to cannabilism... don't you think?" the half-celestial suggested. "I mean, to feast on the power of gods. That has to strike you in some way as... wrong?"

Akerman sighed and crossed his arms. "Cannibalism," he harrumphed. "This is a common argument, holy warrior, but one which holds up poorly under more than casual scrutiny. Tell me, where do these deities get their power?"

"I am but a young pup in the study of divinity," Ayremac admitted. " I have always believed, or been lead to believe, that a God's power was absolute and eternal."

"A god's power absolute?" Akerman chuckled. "Surely not! Without question their power is tremendous and nearly limitless from our perspective. They are to us as we are to the humble ant, but even so they must abide by the laws of the multi-verse. And neither are they eternal in the strictest sense. Followers or a god - true believers such as yourself - are like wood to the fire of a deity's power," he explained as he rummaged through a pile of books on the table beside him. "And like a fire if you add more wood, the flames burn brighter and hotter, but if you deprive the fire of wood, it has no fuel and soon burns itself out." Shamalin leaned forward in her chair suddenly.

"Could this, then, be part of Aphyx's plan?" the Mercybringer put forth. "Hasn't she been targeting the followers of Flor?" The wizard shrugged. 

"If the Rot Queen is making a bid for greater power, then that would be a clever way to begin," Akerman nodded. "By weakening her enemies' follower base, she makes her enemies less powerful and less capable of opposing her. I seem to remember her using a similar ploy before the founding Pellham when the lands hereabout were claimed by the Witch King of Erlacor. I'm sure I've got a scroll around here somewhere. But first..." He drew forth a slim volume bound in blue leather. "It has not yet happened on Orune, but in my travels I have uncovered evidence of gods who have died because their base of followers has dwindled." He handed Ayremac the book, entitled 'Deities & Demigods'.

"Read this," he said, "It's a First Edition. It explains the relationship between a god's power and the numbers of that god's devotees." Ayremac looked at the cover which bore the image of a strange figure wrestling in the heavens with a winged serpent while two other, much smaller figures clashed on the ground below. He looked back up as the Doctor began speaking again.

"If then you can accept that gods get their power from mortals, is it so wrong for mortals to retrieve some of that power after the god's demise? I think not!" Akerman asserted and wove his fingers together to illustrate his point. "It is a symbiotic relationship with each side in its turn benefiting from the other." He then cocked a thumb in Ahlear's direction adding, "Ask the druid to explain the concept of interdependency to you and then see if you still think what I do to be cannibalism."

The Holy Warrior glanced over at Ahlear who drew his pipe from his lips long enough to mutter, "Cила к друидам."

"Maybe another time," the holy warrior replied, turning back to Akerman. "You have piqued my interest though. That is a very interesting concept. Are you suggesting that a God could then be created by belief alone? I mean... this seems like the dragon and egg debate." The Doctor nodded his understanding and Ayremac cracked open the book that he'd been given. It was filled with columns of text and strange formulae that made little sense to him.

"Belief in a power is not enough to grant that power divine rank, but surely it is a necessary part of the process. The Divinity Sparks are the other part," Akerman went on. "To continue my fire analogy, if faith - belief in the god's divinity - is the wood that keeps the fire going, Divinity Sparks are the flint and steel that starts the process. According to my research, even a god who has lost all of their followers releases Divinity Sparks upon their death. They seem to be the thing that separates true deities from the arch-demons who claim cults numbering in the thousands but lack godhood."

"So, let me ask: is there a way to identify a divinity spark, I mean, the God that it belonged to?" the Officer of Umba asked, tearing himself away from the arcane tome and the wizard shook his head.

"Not as such, no," Akerman admitted. "I have access to magic that can _Detect_ the presence of _Divinity Sparks_, but have never researched the means to determine from which deity a given Spark might originate. Of course, that's not really an issue since the Spark must come from Rhianne; there's simply no other source on Orune." He pondered for a moment, drawing into himself before continuing.

"Actually, certain members of Memento Mori have developed a process whereby they can create artificial Divinity Sparks from loosed divinity," he told them. "But the resulting Spark is weaker than the real thing by an order of magnitude, useful for little more than a spell focus. And it requires a trip to the astral plane and a confrontation with those damned Buommans!" He grimaced and wrapped his arms around himself in his chair, looking a bit like a petulant child as he glowered into the middle-distance of memory. "Artificial Sparks are easy to distinguish from the real thing, and I would be willing to bet my spellbook that Alechtus is infused with a true Spark."

"It sounds more like a kind of reincarnation - perpetuating divine essence," Shamalin breathed, her eyes unfocused as she pondered the ramifications of what Akerman was suggesting.

"Reincarnation. I like that word much better than cannibalism," the Doctor said with a chuckle. "And truly, there have been cases documented whereby a Divinity Spark was used to bring a mortal back from the dead, wholly and immediately merely by causing it to be absorbed into a corpse. They have truly miraculous powers." Shamalin nodded at this.

"Doctor Akerman, once the sparks are released, are they free to be found by anyone?" she asked. "What is to prevent them from falling into the wrong hands? 

"Yes, as you suppose, it is fully possible for anyone to discover a Divinity Spark's presence, given the proper knowledge," he said. "Fortunately, there are few on Orune who possess the knowledge of Divinity Sparks and fewer still with the knowledge of how to capture them. That is perhaps their greatest defense - that and their scarcity, of course."

Ayremac closed the blue book and handed it back to the mage. "Doctor Akerman, I can respect  what you're saying. It may take time for me to actually believe it... further still to accept it, but I do respect it. Would you be able tell me what you know of Celestials and their heritage?" He flexed his wings, ruffling their damp feathers. "It is, obviously, a topic I am interested to learn more about." 

"Well, lad, celestials are not my area of expertise," Akerman said, tugging at his goatee. "They are, even the most powerful among them, the end result of virtuous souls who have been judged well by Umba and passed through Myrkhul's realms and thence to the Upper Planes. They are not deities, nor do they seek to become such; humbly pointing mortals toward the worship of the true gods rather than accepting cults in their own honor."

"I have spent time meditating, praying really, on my heritage and trying to become more in tune with my Celestial blood and history," the Officer of Umba told him. "It's almost invigorating... or empowering... or something."

"I have an incomplete copy of 'The Book of Exalted Deeds' around here somewhere if you're interested," Akerman told him, scanning the nearby shelves. "There's a fair bit of information in there regarding the nature of Celestials and their place in the hierarchy of the the Upper Planes. It's pretty flowery stuff - all about Vows of Poverty, and such - but you might like it." He eyed Ayremac's wings over the tops of his spectacles as he said this and the holy warrior sensed that he was being teased a little by the man. He smiled at him nonetheless.

"I would love to look at it Doctor Akerman," he said, nodding his head. "I have to admit, my recent study and medition into my heritage has me more and more interested in learning all that I can... I feel I have only but begun to tap into the strengths and joys that are granted me by this Celestial blood." Akerman sighed and hoisted himself out of the chair.

"Why did I know you were going to say that?" he muttered as he started toward the rear of the chamber. "Give me a moment to find it for you." Huzair watched the man go and when he considered Akerman to be out of earshot, he beckoned Morier closer.

"Morier, I think it could really provide some great information if I tell him about my trip to the astral plane. Please, I think it is in our party's best interest to get all the info we can from the good doctor," the wizard said then he shook his head. "Wait! Why am I being cordial? Damn it, I want to tell him. I am wasting sweet talk on you when I could be using it on Anania." He grinned up at the albino. "Do you think I have made an impression on her yet?" The eldritch warrior pointedly ignored Huzair's question when he replied.

"At first thought, this guy seemed like he could be useful and that perhaps we should invite him to join us longterm," Morier admitted in a hushed voice, his eyes flashing to where the mage was on a ladder pulling down a book bound in goldleaf. "The more I think about what he has to say, I'm not so sure. This needs more thought."

"But he has so much I can learn from him and we could... Damn it! I hate it when you are right! Perhaps this is an unsavory practice," Huzair grumbled. "I do not think it would be wise to confront him too harshly on this issue since he is our host though. Keep Ayremac in quiet about this. We do not need a self-righteous speech. Oh yeah, can I still tell him about my trip to the astral plane? I so want to tell him.... if not I may have to tell him how I found you in the woods." Huzair punctuated that remark with an elbow to Morier's gut as the wizard chewed on his cigar and chuckled. The eldritch warrior scowled down at him.

"Not a word about the swords," he cautioned then stepped back as Doctor Akerman came back to the front of the library with a glittering tome in his hands. He offered it to Ayremac.

"Here you go, lad," the wizard said and sank back into his chair. "It's missing a section on divine poisons, but I trust that you'll find what information you're interested in without that bit of nonsense anyway." As the holy warrior reverently opened the golden book and began leafing through its illuminated pages, Huzair cleared his throat to attract Akerman's attention.

"Doctor, I would like to tell you about a journey I had a few weeks ago. I was abducted to the astral plane by a strange creature and spent a few days there," Huzair told him. "Any idea what those things are?"

"The planescape is filled with esoteric creatures," the Doctor said. "It could be any number of things."

"We have these things just show up on us sometimes. My comrades fear it is my _Ring of Blinking_," Huzair explained. "I insist it is not. Tell them it is not, because they never believe anything I tell them."

"It is unlikely," Akerman said, looking around at each of the others as he said this. Huzair smirked, vindicated - at least in his own mind.

"They think I am an idiot and just fell off the turnip cart. I think it is because Morier cannot believe I have already passed his skills with my magic," Huzair suggested. "I am almost at the 4th Circle. I am so close I can taste it."

"Huzair, you were talking about the astral plane," Morier interrupted, steering the mage unsubtly back on task.

"Right! I met up with a mercane vessel owned by Ashaaf with his partners, Kraal and Destaan. I entered into a deal with them to tattoo them at a Githyanki outpost... oh, the name will come to me... Akiv-tchai! I knew I'd remember it!" Huzair said, snapping his fingers. "But any way, they mentioned that they would be able to help, perhaps. They had a good relation it appeared with the Githyanki. They seemed willing to do anything for the right price. I think they treated me well because they thought I was more powerful than I was... or was able to provide a service for them."



*Earthday, the 9th of Readying, 1270 AE*​


The streets of Colybury were surprisingly empty for midday. It was bracingly cold, but the sun was shining brightly in the blue expanse above, shedding light and warmth on the thatched A-frame roofs of the buildings that lined the rutted street down which Doctor Akerman's wagon traveled. The drip-drip-drip of melting ice was everywhere, punctuated by the occasional muffled thump of snow sloughing off a building and into the street. They passed a row of three buildings that had been gutted by fire leaving little more than burnt-out shells, and several other buildings were stoutly boarded up - evidence that even this little village hadn't been untouched by the plague.

There were so few townsfolk to be seen that Doctor Akerman made open use of his staff, keeping the loupe pressed almost constantly to his eye. And so he was able to direct them through town, following a meandering trail that was invisible to everyone but him. After a time Huzair's voice spoke to Ayremac through the _Ring of Communication_, steering them to the Temple of Umba on the corner of King's Highway and Culedham Road. According to some folks that the mage had spoken to in a local establishment there'd been a disturbance at the chapel - the lock on the front door had been broken during the night. The sheriff and two of the town guard went inside to investigate a couple of hours ago, but they haven't come out yet.

-------------------------------

OOC - This and the last bit I posted rank among my favorites so far in the campaign. There's some deep RP-ing of philosophical issues that I find appealing. Of course, in the next post, philosophy takes a back seat when the swords start swinging.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> "So, what do we do?" Ayremac asked, looking pointedly at Morier. The albino, who had been pacing like a caged tiger at the back of the library looked up and sighed.
> 
> "If the town where Alechtus is hiding out is more than a day's travel, then we need to get back on the trail to following the Pull," he said flatly, making a gesture with his hand that suggested he would accept no argument on the matter - not that that sort of thing ever stopped anyone from arguing.
> 
> "It's not that far, I don't think," Ayremac said, shaking off with a clatter the last of the snowmelt from his armor.
> 
> "You're correct, holy warrior," Doctor Akerman said, settling himself back into his chair. "Colybury's where I had just come from when I met you. It's undoubtedly where Alechtus doubled back on his trail. If we leave early - say, by dawn - we can be there before midday." Morier nodded at this.
> 
> "Well, then, if we can conceivably get there in half a day or less then let's go check it out," the eldritch warrior said, anxiously. "Let's press on!" Huzair raised his cigar in a salute.
> 
> "Let us do it!" he cheered. "We could get supplies too." Morier nodded in agreement at this.
> 
> "Wait. Don't we need a better plan than that?" Shamalin interjected. "If Alechtus is as powerful as Doctor Akerman tells us, then he's probably got a fairly substantial resistance to spells. How can we effectively counter that?"
> 
> "Attack from afar," Huzair said simply. "How about you stay back, Morier. You do not want to get hurt." The wizard smirked at this. "Try some spells. Show us what the heck Ap-Llewelyn has taught you all these years."




What's gonna work?   

Sorry couldn't resist.




			
				Jon Potter said:
			
		

> "Doctor Akerman, I mean no disrespect, but as a man with a spiritual foundation, I have to ask what your feelings are on the use of divine engery to 'fuel' weapons... or even people?" the holy warrior asked and Doctor Akerman nodded, sighing.




Exactly the question I was expecting.

I'm still wondering where Alhear was during this exchange even more so. Given human nature I'm inclinded to believe he agrees with Ayremac, otherwise I'd expect him to "blow up" at the doctor.


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> What's gonna work?
> 
> Sorry couldn't resist.




I knew what I was going to see before I clicked the link. You have successfully used _Detect Parent_ on me and received a positive result.




> I'm still wondering where Alhear was during this exchange even more so. Given human nature I'm inclinded to believe he agrees with Ayremac, otherwise I'd expect him to "blow up" at the doctor.




What? Ahlear... agrees... with Ayremac...

I'm afraid that doesn't compute with me.

Ahlear... agrees...

Nope. I don't get it.   

Let's just say that the "good" Dr. gets a taste later on.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #435] Anticlimax*

"And I suggest you get over here right away," Huzair finished. "Or we're going to have a bloodbath on our hands."

Ayremac took wing at that, flying over the rooftops until he spied a crowd of people gathered around a large building several streets over from Doctor Akerman's wagon. They were commoners, all, dressed in warm furs and armed with little more than knives better-suited to the dinner table than to combat. They were gathered around a body lying face down in the snow before the building. He landed near the body and began trying to calm the crowd.



"We are tracking a killer," Ayremac was saying when the wagon arrived with the others. The Officer of Umba was squaring off against a winged elf dressed in furred finery. The avariel was standing above the crowd on one of the perches that extended from the front of nearly every building in Pellham.

"Your wings might make you a parody of the Winged Folk, but you have no authority here!" the elf cried haughtily, flexing his golden pinions and making a chopping motion with one bejeweled hand. "This village and everyone in it fall within my demesne! These people are mine to command and I demand that they enter this temple and discover who has murdered my sheriff!" He gestured nonchalantly at the body lying in the street.

"I am a holy warrior of Umba!" Ayremac boldly countered, displaying the symbol worked into his breastplate - a symbol that was mirrored on a large plaque set above the double doors behind him. "By helping us you show your true allegiance to justice!!" The elf narrowed his eyes at the Officer and glanced around at the crowd which in turn was looking expectantly up at the elf. He sniffed and turned his head with exaggerated disinterest.

"I need prove nothing regarding my allegiance," the avariel said, crossing his thin arms across his chest.  He shifted on his perch, wings spread to aid his balance. "But if you wish to enter in the stead of these stalwart folk, then so be it. I grant you my permission."

"Thank you," Ayremac said with a polite half-bow. It had been quite some time since he'd had to deal directly with the ruling winged folk aristocracy. He was good at it, but he didn't enjoy it. The avariel sniffed with feigned disinterest and made a 'get on with it' gesture.

And so they did.



Doctor Akerman began by drawing forth a handful of clear marbles from robes, he passed his hands over them in strange patterns while intoning "Oculus magicus. Oculus magicus," over and over again. After what seemed like a very long time - but was probably only a minute or so - the marbles chattered against one another briefly and ten of them rose upward to magically hover in front of the mage. Akerman pocketed the remaining marbles and instructed his _Prying Eyes_ to: "Enter that shrine and thoroughly examine the interior then report back to me with everything you see especially regarding Sir Alechtus." Dutifully, the _Eyes_ did as he asked, bobbing easily across the street and in through the dark doorway leading into the church.

"Their reconnaissance might take some time. Might I suggest we use that time to apply any of our longer-lasting magical enhancements?" Doctor Akerman suggested and immediately began casting Mage Armor on himself.

Morier cast Bull's Strength. Ahlear cast _Bear's Endurance_. Huzair buffed himself with _False Life_. Ayremac bestowed himself, Morier and Huzair with _Protection from Evil_ and then took the additional measure of _Bless_ing Morier as well. Shamalin invoked a _Magic Circle against Evil_ centered on herself. Doctor Akerman's spellcasting went on for a time after the others, and when he'd finished the air around him seemed almost to hum with the magic of his numerous layered wards.

Then they waited and after a minute or so more Doctor Akerman's _Prying Eyes_ returned from the chapel. They settled into his outstretched hand where they relayed what they had seen within and promptly popped like soap bubbles. Akerman then described the interior of the place to the others.

"There's another body inside. Dressed in robes," Akerman announced. "I'm sorry, holy warrior, but it sounds like the local Justiciar. Two others are bound to the altar near the back, dressed like this one." He indicated the body lying in the street. "They're either dead or unconscious. There's no sign of Alechtus."

"What?" Ayremac snapped. "He's eluded us again?" Akerman shook his head.

"I believe he's in there," the Doctor told him. "I sent ten _Eyes_ in and only eight came out."

"Let me sneak in and scout it out," Huzair offered. "I can _Blink_ through the walls invisibly so that no door would have to open to alert him to our presence." Ayremac shook his head.

"Our magic won't last forever, Huzair," he said. "And I don't mean to be insulting, but your powers of perception leave something to be desired. I suggest we go in directly." He loosened his morningstar and looked to Morier. The albino nodded.

"Ayremac and I in the front rank, followed by Ahlear and Shamalin," Morier said, drawing Ravager (a weapon he had not used at all since acquiring Stoneblade). "Huzair, Anania and Dr. Akerman offer ranged supprt, but be mindful of the tight confines."

"I could soften him up with a fireball," Huzair suggested but Ayremac balked.

"The others inside might well be alive," he said and Huzair rolled his eyes.

"Fine," he huffed, "but this does not constitute attacking from range."



They lined up as the eldritch warrior directed, marching straight into Alechtus' killing field.



Using his magically enhanced strength, Morier was able to easily wrench open the second of the double doors, allowing some of the bright midday sun to filter into the shrine, not that either he nor Ayremac needed any light since both possessed darkvision and viewed much of the interior easily enough despite the dimness. There were wide wooden columns supporting the roof and they marched in a double line from the doors to the altar at the rear of the place. Between the columns and the walls were rows of low wooden benches.  In the center of the room lay a figure dressed in the robes of a Justiciar, face down on the floor. Two others, a man and a woman dressed in the torn remains of splintmail, were bound to the farthest columns.

All this they took in in the split second before a grim-faced figure stepped from behind the column to Ayremac's left. He held a bastard sword like Morier's - one with a single, saw-toothed edge - and like Morier he held it in a two-handed grip. In one disturbingly fluid motion he stepped out and stabbed the blade between the plates of armor at Ayremac's armpit. Blood immediately flowed down his torso and left leg, spattering onto the floor. The holy warrior cried out in alarm and invoked a _Holy Smite_ centered on the ashen figure. It caught the swordsman, Ayremac, Morier, and Ahlear in its area of effect. The druid, however, was on the extreme edge of the effect and not evil in any case so he suffered little from the barrage.

The man flinched back as holy energy poured down all around him, but he took the punishment and retained his feet. "You'll need to do better than that, Sanctifier," the man growled, a cold, sepulchral sound that sent a worm of dread into Morier's heart. Ayremac, made of sterner stuff apparently, was unaffected.

Shaken, though he was, Morier stepped forward, Battlecasting _True Strike_ as he went and channeling spell energy into his elemental blade attack. The weapon came down and although the dark figure tried to step back beyond the weapon's reach, it still caught him on the shoulder. There was a tremendous crack as the lightning discharged in the enclosed space and the swordsman jerked under the onslaught. But he didn't fall.

"I like your sword," he hissed at Morier and stabbed the albino in the throat. "I'm going to enjoy taking it out of your cold, dead fingers, elf."

The eldritch warrior stared in shock at the bloody blade as it opened a horrifying wound along his jawline. Following the length of the weapon he saw the mad face of his own death leering at him and felt his fear creep up another notch, as, grinning, the madman took a step back and disappeared behind the column once more.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

It's a Nilbolg! Run!!!! 

If this was the guy with the divinity sparks, I'd have had his blood splatter act as a _Glitterdust_ spell. Talk about a PO'd party.


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> If this was the guy with the divinity sparks, I'd have had his blood splatter act as a _Glitterdust_ spell. Talk about a PO'd party.




Where were you when I was designing this encounter? That's a great idea that I wish I'd thought of!

FWIW, this guy's a barbarian/fighter/avenging executioner.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Ha you should see what I did to my players. 7 PCs vs. 6 kobolds.....

After the 7th round one of the players looks up from the battle and says "you know that's 21 hit points right?" after I acknowledged that he replied, "but they're just kobolds!"

 kobolds with warrior levels, their CR was only 2 and their build was 100% core.


BTW, whatever happened to Draelond? It's been 4 years, is he still "frozen in time"?


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> BTW, whatever happened to Draelond? It's been 4 years, is he still "frozen in time"?




Umm... No. Actually, he can be seen busily carving up Ayremac and Morier in the latest post.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> Umm... No. Actually, he can be seen busily carving up Ayremac and Morier in the latest post.





**applause** 

Whoa, you reached way back for that one. Did any of your players figure it out in game?


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Did any of your players figure it out in game?




Well, Morier's player was intimately familiar with Draelond's reincarnation as Alechtus (since he also played Draelond) so he knew what was happening. Actually, he suspected what was coming from the moment I dropped the hint through Shamalin's Planer Ally about someone killing Sanctifiers. His struggle was how to justify that knowledge in game and I don't think that he ever came up with a satisfactory solution.

And just so you don't think him *TOO* smart, I'll point out that he never once picked up on the hints I repeatedly dropped about his sword, Ravager. It was crafted by one of the founders of Memento Mori, and could have been sold to Akerman for a pretty hefty sum or traded to him for favors...

And he had no idea what was going on with the Divinity Spark thing. I had decided even before Draelond died that he had two inside him (hence his super-human strength) but his player knew nothing about it.

Ahh... good times.


----------



## Kristeneve

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> Well, Morier's player was intimately familiar with Draelond's reincarnation as Alechtus (since he also played Draelond) so he knew what was happening.
> 
> And just so you don't think him *TOO* smart...
> 
> Yes, well, there's no risk of that.  Right, Russ?
> 
> 
> It's always a thrill when Jon weaves in a connection to days gone by.   LONG gone by...


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #435a] He's Getting Away!*

Each beat of Morier's heart sent a jet of his lifeblood spraying out onto the floor, and he pressed a hand to the vicious wound trying ineffectually to staunch the flow. He turned on his heel, his hand covered with a wet crimson glove, and almost ran into Ahlear, who had just cleared the doorway. The druid took one look at the eldritch warrior and cast _Lesser Vigor_ on him.

"Where is he?" Ahlear asked as he readied the shortspear he'd borrowed from Huzair and looked about for any sign of Morier's attacker. He didn't see him, of course; Alechtus was quite adept at not being seen.

Shamalin stepped in behind him and assessing Morier's injuries at a glance fell easily back into the familiar role of putting the warrior back together. She cast _Cure Moderate Wounds_ and touched the albino's arm, channeling the magic into him. Huzair came next, invoking a _Greater Invisibility_ to cloak himself from view. Even as he disappeared, Anania darted in and ducked to the right, her eyes sweeping the dim interior of the shrine for a target.

Two heartbeats later, Doctor Akerman filled the front of the temple with _Mind Fog_. The cloying wisps of vapor affected friend and foe alike, and all save Ayremac and Huzair felt the magic deadening their willpower. Dulling their perception. Softening the edges. Rounding... the... not round... things...

Ayremac remained sharp, however, and he stepped back, out of Alechtus' reach, forcing his attacker to move out from cover if he chose to strike at him. Then he called on the power of his celestial blood to heal himself.

But Alechtus wasn't interested in attacking Ayremac. He darted around the far side of column, his shape a blur of motion as he made for the doors. He passed within five feet of the _Invisible_ Huzair without ever realizing it. Without a weapon in hand, Huzair could do little as the big man darted passed him and into the sunshine outside. A heartbeat later, there was an echoing crash as the front doors slammed shut, plunging the temple into near-darkness.

Morier, who had been retreating fearfully for the doors skidded to a halt and looked at the closed doors. Then he looked at his blood-slicked hand and breastplate, frozen momentarily with frightened indecision. So... much... blood...

Ahlear started to follow Alechtus, almost tripped over the _Invisible_ Huzair and threw his shoulder against the doors. They barely budged as the larger man was leaning against them from the other side. "What now?" the druid growled as he heaved against the doors. "He's getting away!"

"I can't figure why he would run out like that," Ayremac said as he invoked _Daylight_, filling the temple with brilliance, "but my gut says that I want out too!" He rushed forward, slamming his full weight, shield-first against the doors. They rattled open a hand's width or so before slamming shut again.

Shamalin clanked in the opposite direction, heading toward the two figures bound on either side of the altar. Anania, too, moved in that direction, but she ignored the captives and made for the doors at the rear of the place, moving lithely from bench-to-bench at a pace that was more than twice as fast as the heavily-encumbered Mercybringer.

Ayremac cried out in warning as more vapor suddenly began to leak through the doors. It was a sickly greenish color and smelled unspeakably foul. The holy warrior recognized the scent as a _Stinking Cloud_ and like the last time he'd been subjected to one, he felt his stomach bubble up and disgorge its contents unceremoniously all over the inside of the doors. He doubled over in pain, wracked by cramps, and beside him Ahlear did the same. There was a strange moment when vomit seemed to launch itself from empty air, but then he heard Huzair groan and realized that the wizard - though he remained invisible - had succumbed to the spell as well.

Ayremac heard a strange rushing, roaring sound coming from outside - a sound that he associated with Ixin. It sounded like dragonfire and was followed immediately by a shriek that sounded disturbingly like Doctor Akerman.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #436] And the Streets Ran Red*

Gagging back another wave of bile with his fist, Ayremac staggered back out of the _Stinking Cloud_. "Huzair," he choked, looking around fruitlessly for the wizard. "Can you _Blink_ through?"

"I was thinking the same thing," the Invisible mage said as he activated the _Ring of Blinking_. The stuttering effect did nothing for his stomach and he spewed a mouthful of his breakfast onto the ethereal plane.

"Keep your eye on him, but don't engage him!!" Ayremac commanded. Of course to Huzair it sounded like: "Keep * eye * him, * don't * him!!" Not that it would have made a difference to the wizard's strategy if he'd been able to hear the full message.

He already had a plan.

Which was more than could be said for most everyone else.

"We need to get out of here!" Ayremac groaned as his stomach spasmed again, causing his teeth to clench in anticipation. He swallowed it down, however and looked desperately around at the others. Ahlear was out of the _Cloud_, but he looked to be in little better shape that Ayremac. Morier seemed to be in shock; the albino was staring at his blood-slicked left hand with a kind of morbid fascination. Shamalin and Anania were at the rear of the place and seemed to have a door open - one that led outside judging by the amount of light coming in from that point.

"Shamalin?" Ayremac called, pressing his hand flat against the mail covering his belly. "Is there another way out?"

"Windows!" the cleric called back. "Very narrow windows!" The holy warrior grimaced at that knowing in his gut that, given the way he felt, there was no way...

"I don't think I will be able to escape out a window!" he grumbled bitterly even as the sound of breaking glass reached his ears from that direction.



Anania had picked up a heavy brass stamp from the narrow desk in the small chamber and used it to break out the pane of glass in one of the narrow windows. And they were very narrow indeed, Shamalin saw as she got closer. Without the heavy plate armor she felt sure that she'd be able to slip through without touching the frame, but her breastplate alone looked bigger than the patch of blue sky she could see over Anania's shoulder. Chill air flooded the chamber, whipping the elf maid's hair and washing the stink of foul magicks from Shamalin's nostrils, but it brought with it the screams of townsfolk from the front of the temple.

Anania jumped up - seeming to Shamalin to almost float to the windowsill where she perched momentarily, half-in and half-out of the building. She looked at the cleric calmly. "Your armor will make this a tight squeeze for you," she said. "Shall I stay and provide assistance?"

Shamalin felt heat color her cheeks despite the Readying breeze blowing in on her. "No," she said and began casting a spell. Anania was gone before the cleric had even said, "Monitum ex-"



"Morier..." Ayremac groaned, laying a hand on the albino's arm. "Open us a door with Stoneblade." Morier looked at the Officer and then down at the sword hanging forgotten in his own right hand.

"Stoneblade," Morier began. "This isn't Stoneblade." Ayremac shook his head in disgust then looked at Ahlear.

"We need the Elemental Swords," he said. "Can you get them?" Ahlear nodded and opened the clasp on his saddlebag.



Huzair _Blinked_ through the wall several feet from the door and fell _Invisibly_ into the street six feet below. He landed in some muddy snow beside the stairs up to the front doors and lay there sputtering and cursing to himself, before deactivating the _Ring of Blinking_. His vantage point did offer him a disturbingly clear view of the street in front of the temple. He could see a swath of charred and smoking earth sixty feet long and sixty feet wide at the far end that was peppered with the blackened husks of townsfolk. A pair of buildings on the far side of the street were on fire, and Doctor Akerman stood shakily before them, his own flesh and clothes smoldering despite the fact that he seemed to be both _Blurred_ and _Displaced_ and surrounded by a half-dozen _Mirror Images_ that were similarly _Blurred_ and _Displaced_.

As Huzair watched, Akerman dropped an _Evard's Black Tentacles_ on Alechtus and the two or three commoners who remained near the man. Instantly the ground erupted with long rubbery tendrils of solid magic that whipped the air and dragged the townsfolk into their clutches where they thrashed and wailed. It had absolutely no effect on Alechtus. He marched forward through the grasping tentacles as if through a field of tall grass, the black ropey things sliding off him as if he were greased. The effect this sight had on Doctor Akerman was not good.

"So the Sanctifiers have hired a wizard this time, huh?" Alecthus was saying as he stalked toward Akerman. He held up his bastard sword and shook it saying, "Well, I've got my own wizard, now! And she's taught me the secret of how to best you!" Then he was upon the older man, his sword describing an arc of death in the sun, but the attack was foiled by Akerman's _Displacement_ and the weapon connected with nothing save empty air.



All this Shamalin also saw through the magic of _Clairvoyance_, and she knew that despite Doctor Akerman's many impressive magic protections, it was only a matter of time before Alechtus' sword found its mark. Then she heard a familiar voice boom from the temple proper, "THE SCION OF STONE AWAKES!"

She hurried at once to rejoin the others.



"THIS IS NEITHER EARTH NOR STONE, FLESHLING!" Stoneblade was booming. "THERE IS CLAY HERE, TO BE SURE, BUT THE MAJORITY IS STICKS! IT IS BENEATH BY POWER!" Morier scowled at the gray blade, regaining by the moment his faculties.

"Beneath you or beyond you?" the eldritch warrior asked and the sword twisted angrily in his grasp.

"NO MERE STICK IS THE BETTER OF STONEBLADE!" the sword roared. "TURN YOUR BACK TO HACKING THROUGH THE WALL AND THROUGH THE WALL WE SHALL GO! MY MAGICAL MIGHT IS NOT FOR INFERIOR MATERIALS SUCH AS THESE!" Morier snorted and lowered the sword.

"What about you," Ayremac asked Windblade weakly. "Can you clear this cloud?" The nearly invisible longsword darted upward in Ayremac's grasp - despite of the hand on its grip rather than because of it.

"I am Windblade, Scion of Air," the sword sighed. "It shall be done!" And the blade of the weapon seemed then to twist and writhe as if it were the center of a violent maelstrom and they all felt a stirring in the temple as wind pressed at their backs urging the _Stinking Cloud_ out through the narrow cracks around the doors.

Ahlear held out his saddlebag to Shamalin as she came forward, cloak whipping suddenly to point her way toward the doors. She moved toward him and thrust her hand into the open mouth drawing forth a shortsword-sized Waveblade. "THE SCION OF WATER AWAKES!" the sword thundered, its voice like waves crashing against rocks.



Outside, Huzair got to his feet and, still _Invisible_, spared a glance back up at the front doors to the temple. He saw the _Stinking Cloud_ blown away by a fierce wind from within the building, a wind that whistled and shrieked around the door casing. He also saw what it was that was holding the door closed; Alechtus had rammed a pair of curved swords through the handles, their leather scabbard straps were tangled messily around the handles forming a crude but effective lock. But one that he could easily open from this side. Huzair recognized the lion's head design worked into the pommels of the swords; they'd belonged lately to Ixin. Alechtus had evidently taken them off the drakeling's body after he'd murdered her.

Seeing them now used for nothing more than a jury-rigged lock seemed very insulting to the sorceress' memory.


----------



## Jon Potter

*To the Beach!*

Since I am headed out for a vacation tomorrow and am unsure about having the opportunity to post at my usual time on Sunday, I decided to post this week's installment early.

Hope you like it.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #437] Death Comes to Colybury*

Huzair darted up the stairs, reaching the jury-rigged lock at the same time that Morier slammed himself ineffectually against the other side. The doors bucked in their frames and the leather straps on the two swordbelts  creaked under the strain, but they held. Inside Morier cursed.

"Let me help," Shamalin's voice said through the doors and Huzair rapped his knuckles on the wood.

"If you would stop pounding on the doors for a moment, I can get them open," he hissed in a sotto voice. There was a pause and then Morier spoke, his voice coming from very close to the door.

"Huzair?" he asked and the wizard paused to roll his eyes.

"Who else?" the mage asked as he worked at loosening the straps. "Now be ready. I almost have it."



"How much did they pay you, wizard?" Alechtus was taunting. His sword passed harmlessly through one  of Doctor Akerman's _Displaced_ images. "I'd warrant that it's not seeming enough right about now. Or perhaps you're a true believer! One of Calaam's faithful?" Alechtus' sword sliced through another of Akerman's images, and the _Mirror Image_ drifted apart like the figment it was.

The remaining Akermans drew themselves into defensive stances, stepped back, and conjured _Sonic Orbs_. Each hurled its scintillating sphere at Alechtus, but the big man was deceptively light on his feet. He ducked the missiles and the spell slammed into the mass of _Black Tentacles_ at his back detonating with an ear-splitting shriek of jarring sound.

"Is that all you have to say for yourself?" Alectus grinned and raised his sword. "I guess that means you're not a true believer. You're not nearly talkative enough to be one of them." He lunged with his sword and another of Akerman's _Mirror Images_ drifted apart beneath his blade. He spun and stabbed with the weapon again, but this time his attack was foiled by the wizard's _Blur_.

"You've bitten off more than you can chew this day, murderer!" Akerman countered, drawing a chuckle from the swordsman.

"I doubt that!" Alechtus grinned dangerously. "You've already given me the means to defeat you."

"ALECHTUS!!!" Ayremac's rich baritone voice thundered down on the battle. "Your crimes have finally caught up with you and will soon overwhelm you! I will make the judgement of Umba available to you!" Alechtus half-turned sneering up over his shoulder at the holy warrior as Ayremac soared overhead. At that same moment, Ayremac drew back Windblade and threw it with all his might. The weapon spun end over end, a near-invisible disk of death as it whickered downward.

It seemed much less deadly once it struck the mud at Alechtus' feet.

"Your friends are back, wizard! Time for you to serve me!" Alechtus growled reaching for one of the _Blurred_ Doctors. His hand passed through the first one and it vanished, but his second attempt prompted the wizard to yelp in surprise as Alechtus yanked hard on Akerman's arm, drawing him into a crushing embrace.

The swordsman turned in time to spot Morier stepping boldly forward and stabbing his greatsword into the ground beside the writhing _Black Tentacles_. The ground rippled in a straight line between the eldritch warrior and Alechtus. At once a _Wall of Stone_ began to rise up in a ring around the big man and the grappled mage. Seeing the danger, Alechtus released his hold on Akerman and jumped, rolling narrowly over the top of the growing wall. He landed in a crouch just outside the ring of rock and, trapped inside, Doctor Akerman howled.

Alechtus had little chance to get to his feet before an arrow slammed into his right leg, burying itself several inches into the meat of his thigh. The swordsman grunted and cursed and yanked the arrow free just as its twin embedded itself in the mud between his boots. Blood was soaking the leg of his pants and he grimaced in pain as he settled weight onto that foot.

He was momentarily distracted by the sensation of magic in the air around him as Huzair hit him with a targeted _Dispel Magic_. At once several of his magical items ceased functioning. "No!" he cried, looking at the samsara sword.

Which was when the crocodile attacked. It let out a croaking roar as it loped improbably through the snow and came at Alechtus' weak leg. Its jaws snapped shut like a trap, but the swordsman stepped lithely back and the crocodile missed his limb by a wide margin.

_"Homo Retine!"_ Shamalin commanded sending the strength of her faith against Allectus' will. She felt the _Hold Person_ spell take effect, but then it seemed to slip off him as if he were protected from such magics.

Full of righteous fury, Ayremac swooped down, Windblade having returned to his hand. "For justice!" he cried and smote Alechtus on the shoulder. The big man's chain shirt saved his arm, but he still staggered under the impact and very nearly dropped his bastard sword. Blood was now dripping off him in torrents, staining the snow crimson at his feet.

He looked up at Ayremac with wild eyes, foam-flecked lips pulled back from his teeth like some horrible cannibal. "I'll kill you later, god boy!" he spat, his voice thick with rage and then he was running. Quick as a jackrabbit, he took off down the street and veered left between two buildings, disappearing entirely from view.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Alechtus and Akerman seem to have a history, or at least Alechtus has a history of avoiding the doctor.

I bet the party was ticked at finally drawing blood only to see their quarry flee to "safety"


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> I bet the party was ticked at finally drawing blood only to see their quarry flee to "safety"




Oh, you have no idea!


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #438] And the Streets Ran Red*

Ayremac flexed his wings, shooting up in pursuit at once. Over his shoulder he barked, "We have to move!" and saw that the others were already on their way forward. Satisfied, he turned back toward his quarry and hurtled over the rooftop of the building separating pursuer and pursued.

Huzair watched him go and sneered, "Show off!"

Morier moved cautiously around the _Black Tentacles_, mindful of the spell's reach and trotted up to the newly formed tower of rock in the middle of King's Highway. He sliced once at the wall of the tower and the rock parted like flesh beneath Stoneblade. The narrow rent spread open until it was fully ten feet wide and looked in on the three remaining Doctor Akermans.

"Come on!" Morier shouted in at the wizard. "He's on the run!"

"We mustn't let him get away!" the mage replied and stepped outside the _Wall of Stone_ just as Ahlear and Huzair dashed passed and after Alechtus. A crocodile loped along after the pair.

"Don't worry," Morier told the mage. "We've come this far. We're not going to lose him now!"

Shamalin stepped up to Morier and, with a touch, closed the last of the eldritch warrior's wounds.



Ayremac coasted over the top of the nearest building - a family home, by the look of it - his wings brushing wet snow from the thatch as he careened up and over. There was another similar building behind it separated from an apothecary on the left by another secondary road that was chocked with mud and wet snow. An old woman, apparently scared away from the disturbance at Umba's Court cowered in the shadow of the further residence.

There was no sign of Alechtus.

Ayremac landed nearby, folding his wings. "Where is the criminal?" he asked the woman, gesturing with Waveblade. "Which way did he go?!"

"I'm right here!" came a voice from behind him and Ayremac turned in time to see the big man clinging to the underside of the first building's eaves like an oversized spider. Then he sprang forward, launching himself, swordfirst at the holy warrior. Somehow, Ayremac managed to raise his shield in time to deflect the bastard sword away from himself, and Alechtus spilled into the snow at his side.

Ayremac raised Windblade and spun to face his foe, but the man was gone. He outweighed Ayremac by at least 40 pounds and was nearly half-a-foot taller, but somehow he'd disappeared in an eyeblink. Only a spatter of red blood amidst the disturbed snow indicated where Alechtus had fallen. Ayremac stood there in stunned silence for a moment, surrounded by the dripping of icemelt.

"He went 'round the corner," the old woman offered, pointing toward the apothecary's shop. Ayremac nodded his thanks and set off after him, but again there was no sign of his target.

The front of the building faced the side road but its front door was stoutly closed. A rain barrel stood beside the door, its surface alive with ripples as water dripped off the eaves. Ayremac looked up at once, but Alechtus wasn't there.

"You're learning, god boy!" Alechtus growled as he stood up from behind the barrel, catching Ayremac flat-footed. "But you're still not very bright!" The man stabbed again with his bastard sword and the weapon slipped with precision between the Officer's tasset and the plate of the cuisse on his left leg. He cried out as the jagged edge of the blade chewed through his flesh and sawed mercilessly along his thighbone. Alechtus was grinning as he pulled the sword free and watched Ayremac fall backward into the snow with blood fountaining from his groin.

"Ixin told me that you'd all come after me," the big man said as he stared down at the barely conscious Ayremac; blood was spreading out amidst the snow beneath where he lay. "I wish you hadn't. I've no quarrel with you." Trembling on the edge of shock, the holy warrior grimaced up at the swordsman.

"Ixin's dead," he spat. "You killed her!" Alechtus sighed at that.

"And for what it's worth, I'm sorry I did. She was always nice to me," he said. "But sometimes I get carried away and do things that I don't mean to. Surely you can understand that, Arland?" Ayremac started to speak, but Alechtus roared in pain as an arrow slammed into his left leg - a match for the blood-soaked wound in his right. Growling ferally, he turned to look in the direction the shot had come and spotted Anania moving swiftly toward them, her hand already going to the quiver at her hip.

Ayremac did the only thing he could think to do: he activated his _Sacred Healing_ ability and promptly passed out.

Alechtus leveled his bloody blade at Anania and challenged, "You're next!" He started to move, but then a trio of _Magic Missiles_ struck him in the back. He growled and half-turned just as Ahlear charged into his flank. The druid's magical warhammer crunched into the swordsman's shoulder, the same one that Ayremac had already smote with Windblade. This time Alechtus' chain shirt didn't save the joint. There was an audible CRACK! as the man's limb lost its battle with magically-augmented steel and the arm jerked and fluttered unnaturally for a moment. The impact half-turned Alechtus around, and he teetered on his feet for a heartbeat as if he might manage to retain his footing and stay in the fight.

Then the samsara sword dropped from his nerveless fingers and he fell, sideways into the slurry of mud and snow which choked the street.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #439] The Spoils of War*

"Stand back, please! Stand back!" Doctor Akerman shrieked as he came forward, the loupe at the end of his staff plastered to his eye. He had evidently dismissed his protective wards, for there was only one of him and that one was clearly visible. His left hand was digging in the satchel he wore slung across his body as he rushed toward the focus of his long search, a sort of wild excitement in his countenance. "I mustn't miss it!"

As the mage trotted passed Ahlear turned and took the opportunity to extend his warhammer so that it blocked Akerman from the body. The wizard stopped short and turned a shocked face toward the druid.

"Wh-what are you doing?!" he exclaimed and at the same time produced a thick bronze disk from his bag.

"Akerman, will you now tell us what you really intend to do with this spark?" the druid asked, his expression unyielding. "I would like some answers before you dive onto this man who is going to die, not only because he deserves it, but also because you want something inside of him and have decided it is to be yours?" Akerman shot the man an indignant look and purposefully pushed the warhammer aside. Ahlear took no action to prevent him from approaching the body further.

"I intend to collect it! For study!" the wizard told him as he gave the bronze disk a half-twist. "Did we not go over this last night?" The disk sprang apart lengthwise as if it were on springs, revealing a complicated crystalline structure within.

"You have not yet given satisfactory explanation to your motives," Ahlear pressed. "Mind you, I am not saying you can't have him, I am merely stating I want to know your clear motive."

"My motive is academic!" the wizard snapped. "And I cannot be distracted now! Let me work!"

"He's right, the time for questioning has gone," Morier said as he trotted up to stand beside Ahlear. "We knew what the doctor intended before we engaged in this battle."

"Did we?" the druid questioned under his breath, but if the albino heard him he gave no answer.

"We got our justice," he said, kicking the samsara sword further away from Alechtus' body. "Now let's divvy up the spoils of this hard earned victory and be about the business we're intended to do."

"Here, here! He told us all this last night," Huzair muttered chomping on a victory cigar he was lighting with his thumb. "We can divvy up the booty once Doctor Ackerman harvests the spark for study. The Doc gets the Spark we get the rest. Right, Doc?" He paused, looking pointedly at Akerman, who was paying none of the conversation any mind as he carefully positioned his strange device on Alechtus' chest.

"See, he thinks that is fair," Huzair smiled. "Now let the man work, damn it! I am actually very interested in this and want to watch. Step aside." The wizard shouldered his way passed Morier and began casting _Detect Magic_.

Ahlear smirked at Huzair's comments and returned his warhammer to the loop on his belt. Taking two steps back, he struck a tindertwig and lit his pipe before kneeling down to scratch Nibble behind the ear. It was at this point that he jerked himself upright and looked around, saying, "Scripes! And where is my croc?"

"It disappeared," Shamalin said as she and Ayremac rejoined the group. The Mercybringer's magic seemed to have healed most of the holy warrior's injuries, but Ayremac's armor was slick with crimson and he had an unsettled look in his glittering eyes.

"You don't look so hot," Morier told him and sheathed Stoneblade across his back. The Officer of Umba looked at him coldly.

"Thanks for healing me," he muttered. "In the future, it might be nice to check if your friends are dead before checking on the enemies."

"I didn't want to step on Shamalin's toes," the eldritch warrior smirked. "Besides, you don't really want me trying to heal you. I'm only fit for the front line."

"Then why was I the one to strike the killing blow, Morier?" Ahlear asked as he puffed thoughtfully on his pipe. The albino shrugged.

"That shot I gave him back at the church must have brought him right to the edge for you," he suggested and Huzair snorted laughter.

"Sure, Morier. Whatever it takes to make you think you can play with the big boys," the mage said without turning to look at the albino. "Now, go let Shamalin heal you before you break." Morier cast a withering eye at Huzair's back and therefore missed the grin that played mischievously across Shamalin's face.

"There, now," Doctor Akerman said, straightening quickly and reaching inside his black jerkin. His strange bronze and crystalline device sat atop Alechtus' unmoving chest and he produced a small golden peg from within his clothing. This he fit into a small socket on the topmost bronze plate, and bracing the whole with one hand he began to crank the plate widdershins, the small peg providing him with a handle to do so. The crystalline structure within began to spin and a gradually increasing whirring noise arose from inside the device. As the sound reached the level of a dull roar, lighting seemed to arc up out of Alechtus' corpse only to be caught and drawn into the spinning crystal at the center of Akerman's device. The corpse shuddered and bowed up unnaturally off the ground as the device drew out the trapped divinity. The process took only a few moments and once the energy stopped arcing out of body, Akerman stopped cranking the device and the crystal slowly wound itself to a stop. It was glowing bright violet now and its light bathed the Doctor's awestruck features as he held it up.

"Neodig's Whisper!" he stammered. "TWO divinity sparks!"

Sure enough, there were two clear pinpoints of light drifting within the crystalline structure that was the center of Akerman's device.

"What does that mean, Doc?" Huzair asked, his voice hushed as he leaned in for a closer look.

"It means that Lauil and his entire team are wrong. Razortongue didn't absorb any of the sparks in his possession before he died," Akerman said, the beginnings of a smile touching his lips. "It means they've had Harvesters scouring Awad and the Thyatis Archipelago for the last twenty years for nothing. It means that I can't wait to get back to the Sepulcher with this knowledge."

"But your process has killed him?" Ayremac asked, sword in hand. The wizard made a dismissive gesture with his hand.

"Oh, yes. He's quite dead," Doctor Akerman said and the holy warrior nodded.

"Ah, our work is done, I guess," Ahlear said, pointing with the stem of his pipe at the horizon. "Which is good. I'd like to have a 'lope' around the countryside a bit - to experience the wildlife hereabouts. And it will do much good to have a few days retreat, in 'civilization', especially a village in the middle of nowhere with its rustic environs. It is a nice compromise between human life and wild life..." Morier saw the look in the man's eyes and he recognized it; before the eldritch warrior had left Byr for the adventurer's life he'd seen that far away look many times in Malcolm's eyes.

"I agree with the idea Ahlear, but unfortunately we don't have the luxury of a few days' retreat," Morier said. "We need to be away, immediately."

"Oh, yes, and the chicken without the head has spoken," the druid chuckled. "You are always on the move without pausing to consider what it is you're moving into." Morier's eyes flashed red and he set his jaw tight against itself.

"Speak as you will, Ahlear, but we're leaving. We agreed to a day-and-a-half of hunting down Alechtus, we've done so and now it's time to press forward," the albino said, gesturing with finality. "But please... I beg of you... go... go skip through the forest for as long as you'd like. Pick some flowers, frolic with the nymphs, frolic with the satyrs if that's your thing... Do whatever the hell you want to do... But we're leaving and there is not a fiber of my being that cares in the slightest whether you travel with us or not." Ahlear raised an eyebrow as he puffed on his pipe, regarding Morier cooly.

"Morier, possibly we can allow Ahlear the chance to frolic with the wildlife a bit while we enjoy a night in a nice inn. My coin, and I'll throw in a round for everyone?" Ayremac suggested diplomatically. Turning his back to Ahlear he leaned in and whispered to Morier, "Honestly, I think Huzair and Shamalin will need to restore their magical 'wells' and I think you and I can use a night of drinking to restore our... patience... What do you say? Head out at first light?"
Morier looked at the holy warrior then turned his gaze on Ahlear.

"At first light, then," he said, making it clear that he would not be swayed further. Ahlear nodded his agreement, but said nothing. Ayremac clapped the eldritch warrior on the shoulder and turned to regard Doctor Akerman.

"Now. Dr. Ackerman... I appreciate you are excited about this recent find... but I feel that some reparations for this town are in order," Ayremac said. "They will need to train new men, and fix their fine church. Do you have something to offer them?" Akerman's eyes shot up and he gave the two plates of his device an abrupt twist, causing the whole thing to snap shut into a single thick disk.

"Why would I offer them anything?" the wizard asked. "I believe we did them a service by slaying a murderer for them. What injury he caused to Colybury was of his own doing and had little - if anything - to do with me." He hastily slipped the bronze disk back into his satchel and then gestured at Alechtus' body. "Perhaps he has something of value on him."

"It's all mundane stuff accept for two rings, his chainmail shirt and the sword," Huzair said, disappointment plain in his voice. "Dibs on a ring!"

"Hold on a moment," Ahlear countered. "There are two rings, which might be of use to anyone... a magical chain shirt which I am not allowed to use and I imagine would be of little use to you, Huzair... And his sword. But does that not need to get back to the order the weapon came from?"

Ayremac stepped over and picked up the samsara sword. It was large and ungainly, but its saw-toothed edge and deep blood groove spoke of the damage it was intended to do to a foe. "If no one else claims it, I will take the sword and-"

"Speak our names and we will answer," the sword said aloud in a sudden chorus of voices. From out of the harmony of words, Ayremac thought he heard a familiar voice.

"Ixin?" he asked, incredulous.

"Yes," the sword answered. And this time there was only one voice and it clearly was Ixin's.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #439a] Speaking With the Dead*

Shamalin rushed to Ayremac's side, eyes wide. "Ixin?" she repeated, staring at the sword in his hands, but there was no response. Confused and disappointed, the Mercybringer's eyes looked from the sword to Ayremac. "It was Ixin, wasn't it?" He shrugged.

"It sounded like her," he admitted then looked more closely at the sword. "And I can still sense... a... presence. Maybe you need to hold the sword to talk to it." He handed the blade to the cleric and she nearly dropped it, it was so heavy.

"Speak our names and we will answer," the chorus of voices said in harmony. There were at least two other voices, both male, besides Ixin's.

"Ixin?" Shamalin tried, tentatively and the drakeling's voice answered.
"Yes," it said and Shamalin looked up quickly at the others before turning her attention to the blade in her hands.

"By what... magic... do you speak to us?" the cleric asked.

"By the magic of the samsara sword," Ixin answered. "It has the power to take souls... hold them... move them about... destroy them..."

"Who else is in there?" Huzair asked, but the sword didn't respond. The mage looked at Shamalin and made a prompting motion with his hands. "Ask her who else is in there," he told her and she did.

"We are three," Ixin answered. "Harcourt, Son of Froigrin, devoted of Azril, and Sir Dagemar of Guntisford, Inquisitor General of Calaam. All are held by the sword." There was something achingly melancholy about the way Ixin's voice answered that touched Shamalin's heart.

"The wielder of this sword is destroyed," she said, looking down at Alechtus. "What can be done to release you?"

"There are but two ways out of the sword: rebirth and consumption," the drakeling answered. "The sword can release a soul into a suitable body if the proper magics are wrought. Or the sword can devour the soul outright, sharing a bit of that power with its wielder. Such is the way of the samsara sword."

"What do you know of this?" Shamalin whispered urgently to Ayremac. "Can their souls be somehow trapped within this sword?" The holy warrior looked nervous, his lips set in a line as he pondered.

"It's possible," he said after a moment. "Wasn't that one of the abilities attributed to Sir Roland of Leer's sword?"

"You mean Blood-drinker?" Morier asked and Ayremac nodded. The Eldritch Warrior chuckled then, saying, "That sword was supposedly forged by the gods themselves at the dawn of time. It was an artifact of unprecedented power. This is just-"

"Patterned after that blade," Doctor Akerman finished for him. The mage had the loupe at the end of his staff against his eye as he looked at the sword. "I should have seen it before. The single-edged blade, saw-toothed... bone inlays complete with blood groove... It's got all the hallmarks of Brypur Vutha-isk's work. And it's clearly been anointed in godsblood."

"What?" Huzair asked and the Doctor looked up at him.

"It was enchanted by one of Memento Mori's founding members," he said. "So I suppose that a good claim could be made that it belongs to us. I've little doubt that Loremaster Starsoul would dearly like to have it in our archives."

--------------------

It's a little short this week, but the next one is lengthy and full of ultimatums, betrayals, and lasting ramifications.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> "It was enchanted by one of Memento Mori's founding members," he said. "So I suppose that a good claim could be made that it belongs to us. I've little doubt that Loremaster Starsoul would dearly like to have it in our archives."
> 
> --------------------
> 
> It's a little short this week, but the next one is lengthy and full of ultimatums, betrayals, and lasting ramifications.




_Memento Mori _ - another Dead Gods reference, will these prove to be the movers behind the antagonists, or the movers Huzair needs to find a dead god? Questions, questions..... and Ixin has a way back or at least a fade away instead of the finality of death.


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> _Memento Mori _ - another Dead Gods reference, will these prove to be the movers behind the antagonists, or the movers Huzair needs to find a dead god? Questions, questions.....




Memento Mori was intended mainly as an information source. They could serve as more if the party wants, but so far the group hasn't gone in that direction. MM occupies a gray area morally speaking, and the PCs aren't big on trust.



> Ixin has a way back or at least a fade away instead of the finality of death.




Let's not get ahead of ourselves shall we?


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Well, at least you didn't go Rat Bastard and turn the murdered party members into undead for the party to fight as they got close to Alechtus.


----------



## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Well, at least you didn't go Rat Bastard and turn the murdered party members into undead for the party to fight as they got close to Alechtus.




Yeah... my RBDM membership is up for renewal, so I'm not able to implement the truly evil plans. But, as we'll see in the next post, sometimes you don't need undead. Sometimes a simple moral dilemma is enough to break a party.


----------



## Burningspear

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Well, at least you didn't go Rat Bastard and turn the murdered party members into undead




Nope, Indeed he did not, bwahahaha, echem...just wait and see....lol.


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## Hairy Minotaur

Congratulations on 40,000 views!


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## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Congratulations on 40,000 views!




Wow, that's pretty cool! 

And, HM, you're a better thread monitor than I am my a long shot.

Want a job?


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> Wow, that's pretty cool!
> 
> And, HM, you're a better thread monitor than I am my a long shot.
> 
> Want a job?




Does it come with a superhero uniform and/or a license to kill? 8)


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## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Does it come with a superhero uniform and/or a license to kill? 8)




Nope, but it does offer all the fried-rat-on-a-stick that you can eat!


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #440] A Not So Fond Farewell*

"Oh, I dont think so!" Huzair objected and stepped in front of Akerman. "You got the divinity spark after we do all the work and we get caught in your wretched stench! That smelled like an ogre fart!" He'd used _Prestidigitation_ to clean his clothes, but the memory of the _Stinking Cloud_ was still all too fresh in Huzair's mind.

"My apologies for that," Doctor Akerman said. "I did not expect Alechtus to get so close to me so quickly. I... I panicked. I am no warmage. I spend most of my time in the archives and this sword-" He reached out a hand toward the weapon and Shamalin dragged it protectively away from him, an expression of warning on her face.

"You already got what you came for," she cautioned. "Our friend is in there and you're NOT putting her behind some glass case in your archives!"

"I could not have said better myself," Huzair added, crossing his arms and fixing an eye on the Doctor. for his part, the old man stepped back and shrugged his thin shoulders beneath his voluminous black great coat.

"I have no interest in your friend's soul, Mercybringer," Akerman said. "The sword has great historical value to the Memento Mori. The souls are... incidental." Ahlear bristled at that.

"Akerman! I have had enough of your disrespect for souls and all things divine!" he snapped, stabbing the stem of his pipe at the satchel the wizard wore to indicate the divinity sparks contained therein. "You have your 'lab rats', and there are two - not just the one you were expecting. You have no claim on this sword, as it is booty of 'war', rightfully claimed by this group of allies." Akerman raised an eyebrow.

"Oh really?" he asked, smugly. "I could consult with the town magistrate. He might have other ideas." The druid did not back down.

"I have stayed my thoughts on your behaviour because we were allies of convenience and we both needed each other," Ahlear pressed. "Now however, I will not be restrained by such, even if my hopes of aquiring magic from you will be thrown away by my stepping up to keep your grubby hands from aquiring more 'lab rats' for your doubtful research."

"Your fears about the trapped souls are unfounded," the wizard countered. "As I already said, neither I nor the other members of Memento Mori care one wit about the souls. Only the sword is important!" Ayremac turned to the mage at that.

"That's where you're wrong, Doctor," he said his face set and gaze flinty. "The three souls need to be released somehow, so that they can begin their journey to Umba's judgment and then this dispicable weapon needs to be destroyed."

"What?" Akerman exclaimed, aghast at the suggestion.

"Breaking the weapon is bound to release the souls but also render the weapon unusable," Ahlear observed, puffing thoughtfully on his pipe. "I am loath to do that, however." Ayremac turned his unyielding eyes on the druid.

"Sadly, I still believe the weapon needs to be destroyed," he said flatly. "Such an evil weapon... capable of ending your life and your existance in the afterlife with a single slash should not be trusted in anyone's hands. Not one among us could truly take on the responsibility and I can't as a man of faith allow one of you to make that mistake." 

The hair on Ahlear's neck practically stood on end at the holy warrior's proclamation but he held his tongue for the moment.

"I will hold the sword for now... Shamalin, would you pray on this?" he asked as he turned to the cleric. "I will do the same, I am just not sure what this means." He extended a hand to her but she turned as she had done with Doctor Akerman, keeping the weapon out of the man's reach. Ayremac looked both hurt and confused by the Mercybringer's refusal. He looked meaningfully into her eyes and said gravely, "This weapon is inherently evil, Shamalin. It swallows and destroys souls. By my definition, and the faith I believe in that is evil." The priestess tore her eyes away from Ayremac's gaze and shook her head fiercely.

"No," she said. "You trusted me with the _Rod of Withering_ and nothing ill came of it. As Ixin was my friend, I will hold this sword until we have decided the best course. I need some time to reflect." Ahlear nodded.

"I can live with that," he said. "I don't know that reference to the _Rod of Withering_ and what weight it carrries, but I don't think Shamalin is the impulsive kind of 'goody-two-shoes' who on sight wants to destroy any weapon that seems remotely dubious in the narrow view of said 'goody'." Ayremac ignored Ahlear and looked imploringly at the cleric.

"As you said, Shamalin, I bent on the _Rod of Withering_ and I expect that you will return the favor and respect my wishes in this," he told her but she did not relent. Looking around at the others he said, more loudly. "Let me be utterly clear... I will not tolerate this weapon to exist, nor can I turn my back and forget its existance. None of us has the right to gamble with another's soul and their right to an afterlife so that we can feel more powerful."

Ahlear scoffed, blowing smoke from his nostrils.

"If and when the weapon's current occupants get released and it is then empty of souls 'to misuse' as you say, Ayremac, then it is only a weapon to be used. When you actually make the killing blow, then you get to decide if you want to not only kill that person but capture his soul, and - for re-use - store it," the druid said, gesturing with the stem of his pipe. "It could even be used for good, that is, to store a soul we cannot raise as yet, and later when we can, give it a new body! Not a very efficient way of doing it, but possible anyway."

"I am a druid, if you forget my powers, Ayremac. I have to know a thing or two about balance and such. I am not a simple thug to misuse anything we might come across, just because it might suit me personally," Ahlear went on, bending down to scratch Nibble behind the rat's ear. "I am neither Good, nor Evil. That should say more than you are presuming..." Ayremac turned on the druid, his feathers - literally - ruffled.

"I had hope that you were not as dumb as you look, Ahlear... but in what circumstance would you kill someone to save their soul?? It's a stupid context," the Officer of Umba snapped. "The fact is you are not powerful enough to keep this from the hands of our enemies. If you were taking this weapon to a church or a stronghold... you would still have a weak argument, but at least it would be an argument. You plan to take this weapon into the heart of the enemy, and none of us know what will happen." The druid puffed thoughtfully on his pipe but said nothing.

"Further, I have just as much a right to veto anything I want as you do to tell me what will be done with this sword," Ayremac growled, glaring imperiously down at the man. His hand was on Windblade's pommel. "I will tell you one last time, Ahlear, insult me, my faith, or anything about me... including the state of my fingernails and I will cut you down where you stand for your insolence."

"STOP IT!" Huzair yelled, interposing himself bodily between the two opponents. "I will not tolerate fighting in the party." That was enough to diffuse the conflict momentarily and Ayremac took a step back from the wizard, but continued to glare at the druid who calmly scratched his dire rat's ear.

"I know I kicked Morier's ass, but this is different. Put the weapons down or I will take care of you both! Do not mess with a pissed off wizard boy," Huzair said cockily as he chomped on his cigar with hands at the ready to apparently cast spells. "Are you not both just dying to know how? Go at each other and you will find out. I will not allow either to hurt the other one."

Neither druid nor holy warrior said anything, but both now had their attention on Huzair.

"I say the party decides what to do with the sword. It is not Ayremac's decision alone. I for one say we empty the souls into a dead body. There sure are enough of them around... too many to worry about your damn righteous ideologies," the mage went on. "If you want to kill them after the souls are emptied, well that is your problem. But that is murder in my eyes. I may be a selfish bastard, but I never have killed anyone without good reason before. It would be a shame if I had to start now. Got better things to do than squabble around with you two girls... no offense Shamalin and Anania." Huzair flashed a winning smile at the two females and then held his hand out to Shamalin.

"I will hold on to it until we decide what to do," he said to the cleric. "You know I will not use it."

The Mercybringer didn't immediately hand over the sword, but neither did she pull it away as she had done twice before. Huzair reached out and for a moment, both their hands were on the sword. In that moment, she gave him a piercing stare trying to fathom his intent. Then she nodded and released it to him.

"Put it in your Haversack until we decide what to do." She instructed him before letting go. All eyes watched as Huzair opened his traveler's purse and slid the bastard sword into its extra-dimensional space. There was a pause in the dialog then into which Morier stepped diplomatically.

"It is important that we keep in mind that while we each bring our own individual beliefs with us, the most important thing is that we continue to function as a collective. Obviously there are times that our own personal beliefs clash with what is best for the entire group," the eldritch warrior said, laying a hand lightly on the Officer of Umba's shoulder guard. "Ayremac, I understand your position, but yours is not the only position represented among we six. As much as you expect your beliefs be upheld, I ask you to consider the beliefs of the five others around you to be valid as well. I won't try to convince you that the sword is good or bad or useful or not, I will only ask you to consider that there are others here who believe things as strongly as you do, and that we all must make concessions from time to time for a group as diverse as ours to survive."

"Yeah," Huzair chimed in, clapping the albino on the back in a rare show of unity between the two men. Ayremac, however, wasn't feeling it. His face was creased with conflicting emotions.

"Morier, as a man of faith, I do not have the freedom to make those decisions," the celestial said. "But if a member of our group believed in murdering children to get their parents to tell us their secrets... would you allow it from time to time 'to keep the peace'?" Morier scowled disapprovingly at the holy warrior.

"I really don't want this to become a contentious discussion, but please, Ayremac... your argument is far more dramatic than it is compelling. You speak in such black and white terms, as though you alone have the power to declare it a given that murdering children and the use of this weapon are one in the same. But the objective truth is that they bear little resemblance to one another, even under the greatest scrutiny," the eldritch warrior countered. "Yes, absolutely... I certainly see your point that this sword has the potential to be used for a purely evil purpose. That's clear, and the destiny of the souls currently held within it is not something I haven't thought about, especially considering that Ixin's is one of them. It may well be that when we consider every angle, we aren't able to reconcile oursleves with its use. But to dismiss something this powerful out of hand is foolish, particularly when you consider the enemies we encounter regularly." The Officer of Umba was unswayed.

"I understand you feel as if you are asking me to compromise on what is not a big issue but I feel you are being blind to the fact that this sword has gobbled up three souls, one of our own, and with a whim, it could have been erased from all eternity... to kill again," Ayremac said, his voice heavy with emotion as he looked around at the faces he'd thought he knew. "The fact that you all stand here debating its worth disgusts me. I will not be a part of it, nor will I turn on any of you. So I will depart."

He turned and started walking.

"I will be at the inn," he said before pausing to look once more into everybody's eyes - everybody's except for Ahlear, that is. "But I swear this to be true: if you bring that sword into my company again, I will travel no further with you." And then he started walking again, his head bowed by the weight of his own convictions.

"What?" Huzair hissed. "Is he serious?" Morier started after Ayremac.

"Let me talk to him," he said as he went. It didn't take him long to catch up to Ayremac; the holy warrior's heavy armor made him slower on foot than Morier.

"You've travelled with me long enough to know how cheaply life comes and goes in pursuing this task we've set out to accomplish," the albino said as soon as Ayremc looked up, acknowledging his presence. "Maybe I've become jaded by the death of so many companions who have traveled with me, but Ayremac, you must have considered by now that no matter how much it would hurt me to do so personally, walking away and leaving you at the inn wouldn't slow my need to progress toward the pull in my head in the slightest." Ayremac looked at him, but said nothing so Morier went on.

"Has there ever been a shortage of 'hired muscle' to fill the shoes of one of our departed in the past?" he asked, hooking his hand into Ayremac's elbow to stop the holy warrior. "At least allow us to see what we can learn about this weapon. If it is used to destroy evil, and the souls of that evil are destroyed to make us even stronger against an even greater evil... then what harm has come?"

"Morier, I don't expect you to walk my faith... but please don't think I would compromise my beliefs or that which I know is right for you or this quest," the Officer admitted. "You have not known me long, Morier, but if you think me such a fool, then it is best you find new company in any case."

He extricated his arm from Morier's grip and started to turn away when Shamalin's cries drew his attention.

"I HAVE A SOLUTION!" she yelled, waving her right arm frantically in the air.

Morier met Ayremac's gaze and he angled his head toward the cleric. "Come on," he suggested. "Let's hear what she has to say. How often does anyone have a solution for us?"

"Ayremac is free to part ways here if he chooses," Shamalin said as they got back within easy earshot. "But we can't let Windblade walk away. So we trade swords. Ayremac can have the new blade, to do with it as he sees fit, in exchange for Windblade. Which Ahlear should get." Ayremac looked at Shamalin with something akin to disbelief on his face.

"Not a bad idea," observed Huzair, exhaling smoke into the sky.

"I don't know how you guys divide spoils, but my interests mostly lie with the _Ring of Freedom_, nothing else," Ahlear said, rising to his feet. Nibble continued to huddle against his legs, but the druid seemed not to notice; he was deep in thought. Then he said, " I will forgo my claim on the samsara sword, so that Ayremac in his wisdom can leave with it, to go and destroy it as he pleases, and I will hope for the _Ring of Freedom_ instead. Regardless of where the airblade goes; that is not mine to decide. Freedom above all for me and the _Ring_ represents that moreso."

Ayremac said nothing, but stepped up to Huzair, unstrapping Windblade from his belt. With the elemental sword in his left hand he extended his right to the wizard. Huzair looked around for confirmation from the group before taking Windblade and handing over the samsara sword. As he attached the bastard sword to his belt, Ayremac looked at Shamalin.

"In the end, I am saddened that neither myself nor the sword over which we disagree are all that important to you," he told her. "My beliefs are strong, as is my loyalty to my convictions. I will give Ixin your goodbyes." He turned to leave but Shamalin called after him.

"Is that truly your regret, Ayremac? That you were not important enough to me?" she scoffed. "It's because of your convictions that I don't beg you to stay; I think your disappointment lies elsewhere."

Then she turned and stomped off down the street.

"Journey well," Ayremac said softly, spread his alabaster pinions and took to the air. After only a few heartbeats he disappeared over the rooftops across the street. Everyone just stood watching him go as if they expected him to turn and come back at any moment. He didn't.

"I am stunned Fly-Boy left us hanging," Huzair said when it became obvious that Ayremac had really left their company. Morier sighed and clapped the mage's shoulder.

"Come on," he said. "Let's find Shamalin and then we'll probably need to talk with whoever's in charge around here."



Several blocks away, Shamalin wandered in the direction of the temple with an argument careening back and forth within her mind. Had she pushed Ayremac into leaving by suggesting he trade Windblade for the samsara sword? There had been so many times when she had admired and even envied his convictions. She should have known he would choose this path.

"Of course you knew," one of the voices inside her head chided. "You gave him no choice. And in doing so, you removed the measure by which you were failing. It works out rather nicely, doesn't it?"

There were bodies in the dirt outside the temple. Ignoring them, she moved toward the large wooden doors and past their broken lock into the stillness of the temple. She had often considered Ayremac's faith in comparison to her own, yes. But that hadn't driven her to force the issue.

The look he had given her as they made the exchange haunted her. What had he wanted? Would it have made any sense for her to back him, going against the wishes of the party? He hadn't given her any time to think! 

"And he didn't ask you to go with him," the voice reminded her. Well, there was that, too. She would have said no, of course. Her duty was to protect the party. Those were her convictions; she thought Ayremac understood that. 

And suddenly it became clear. She sank to her knees, her armor clanging loudly against the stone floor. He had understood her - knew what bound her. Just as she had known in her heart he would act upon his principles - nothing less. 

A small sound escaped her, echoing from the temple around her. Without warning, a violent wave of grief welled up from within. It was ancient and deep and threatened to drag her into the despair she so vividly remembered. And this time, she let it come.



Several blocks in the other direction, Ayremac sat on the roof of a building with melting snow running inside his armor. He didn't notice it, however. He was intent on scanning the town, hard faced, looking for the right spot.

He found a place... hidden from the streets and void of any overlooking windows and he landed on it slowly, trying to be silent for anyone beneath - no easy task for a warrior in spiked plate armor. Once settled, he sat, removed his helm and stared down at the samsara sword, pondering.

Somehow, he felt as if he had lost a second family. A tear rolled slowly down his cheek as he felt again in his heart the bitter loss of his own family. The only thing that had ever eased his grief over them was knowing that mother and child had stood before Umba and that their souls had been judged. To risk a weapon as gross and malign as this in the world... it was a disrespect to himself... to Umba... to his late wife and child.

The tears flowed more heavily for a time, but at last he mastered himself.

"There is other work to be done," he said aloud, his voice swollen with righteousness. He slipped the sword into the scabbard at his hip, positioned his helm back in its proper place, and looked northwestward toward Frothingham and Justiciar Galmache.


----------



## Fimmtiu

Your group seems to have a remarkable amount of dissension and argument. Seems like hardly a session goes by without someone threatening to pack up and leave. Are your players that fractious in real life, or is it an excess of roleplaying zeal?


----------



## Jon Potter

Fimmtiu said:
			
		

> Your group seems to have a remarkable amount of dissension and argument.




Oh, I don't know. It's not that bad is it? There's a lot of debate, certainly, but I think it's only relatively recently that things have boiled over to outright argument.



> Seems like hardly a session goes by without someone threatening to pack up and leave.




Well, Ayremac didn't just threaten to leave. He actually left.



> Are your players that fractious in real life, or is it an excess of roleplaying zeal?




I'd say the latter, but I'll ask the players. Maybe they'll have a different response to your comments.


----------



## Kristeneve

Fimmtiu said:
			
		

> Your group seems to have a remarkable amount of dissension and argument. Seems like hardly a session goes by without someone threatening to pack up and leave. Are your players that fractious in real life, or is it an excess of roleplaying zeal?




Several of us have the advantage of knowing each other on a personal level.  We've been playing together via an internet campaign for ten years.  I don't think we would have lasted if we were, as you say, that fractious.

More recently our circumstances have changed and we've been assimilating new blood.  It's really served to accentuate, at least for me, how fortunate we were - able to read between the lines and take liberties with each other.  Our newest member brings a unique prespective to the game, not to mention facing cultural and continental divides.  It hasn't been easy.  

I'd be remiss if I didn't give credit to Ayremac's player for remaining true to the character he built...even though it drove Ayremac away and, at times, drove the rest of us nuts.  

Through it all, Jon continues to brilliantly write up the challenges we face as our characters, and their players, all just try to get along!  Your comment is duly noted...we can do better.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

I view it as a testament to your group's commitment to bring their PCs to life. Huzair isn't simply the mage, he's a force of personality with a name the drips with paranoia (Hu zair..... who's there) his name begs a question and his demeanor demands an answer.

Ixin suffered from classic race confusion syndrome, but we all got to see her twelve stepping her way through it, she had completed the hormonal replacement phase as was beginning the surgical reassignment phase. Anyone with the guts to go through that extensive of a cosmetic surgery program deserves a double shot of Bigby's Open Handed Strike spells cast on each other.

Then there's the ex-dwarf who's real dwarven name means the-sound-of-worked stone-surrendering-to-the-sculpter's hand, while he was never able to kill the witch himself, his lifetime membership in the Lollipop Guild means he would be buried tootsie pop style; soft squishy center wrapped in a hard shell (buried in full plate armor) on a stick.


----------



## mdougherty331

*Huzair*

In response to Harry Minotaur regarding Huzair.  I wanted him to sound foreign and exotic.  He is a fire genasi, which is unique since I usually have played typical races (Human and half elf and halfling) in the past.  

I am a pretty quiet and calm person and figured that an obnoxious character would be fun for me to play.  I love playing wizards and cant believe I even bothered with my previous characters as fighter and a thief.  Huzair gave a me a place to vent during a difficult time in my life and I could take out my anger in good fun at my comrades.  We have a good history together, so they know my outbursts are all in game.  Also I think I did it in a kind of cool way much of the time, but I could see it getting old and draining.  I do think that maybe he needs to grow up as all the bickering is getting really old.....I cant resist poking fun at Morier though.  That will never stop.

I see him as a free spirit bristing at authority, especially from his old friend Morier.  

It does seem like the characters are fighting more among themselves and I do not feel it is in a constructive manner as of late.  We have to have everyone get in step and find their role.  Hopefully all the conflicts are water under the bridge and we can move on.  Dont want to give any secrets away though.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

mdougherty331 said:
			
		

> In response to Harry Minotaur regarding Huzair.  I wanted him to sound foreign and exotic.  He is a fire genasi, which is unique since I usually have played typical races (Human and half elf and halfling) in the past.
> 
> I am a pretty quiet and calm person and figured that an obnoxious character would be fun for me to play.  I love playing wizards and cant believe I even bothered with my previous characters as fighter and a thief.  Huzair gave a me a place to vent during a difficult time in my life and I could take out my anger in good fun at my comrades.  We have a good history together, so they know my outbursts are all in game.  Also I think I did it in a kind of cool way much of the time, but I could see it getting old and draining.  I do think that maybe he needs to grow up as all the bickering is getting really old.....I cant resist poking fun at Morier though.  That will never stop.
> 
> I see him as a free spirit bristing at authority, especially from his old friend Morier.
> 
> It does seem like the characters are fighting more among themselves and I do not feel it is in a constructive manner as of late.  We have to have everyone get in step and find their role.  Hopefully all the conflicts are water under the bridge and we can move on.  Dont want to give any secrets away though.




I think Huzair's awesome. Direct to the point, doesn't mess around with _burning hands _ when a _fireball_ does the job on the first volley. 

My group fights all the time in game, out of game they laugh so hard we hardly get anywhere. I think as long as there's a distinct line between game and real life and you don't blur them then you've got pretty good balance. 

Plus it's easier to get to one's inner self when they're in an argument then when everything is hunky dory and no one's got any complaints. 

Keep up the fine work!


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## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Huzair isn't simply the mage, he's a force of personality with a name the drips with paranoia (Hu zair..... who's there) his name begs a question and his demeanor demands an answer.




Did I mention that he originally wanted to name his familiar Knock-knock? I told him it would have been great, but he changed his mind and went with Sparky.


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #441] The Risilvar Escarpment*

*Freeday, the 10th of Readying, 1270 AE*​


Morier woke Huzair early - or at least it seemed that way to the wizard. Huzair had stayed up late transferring _Leomund's Tiny Hut_ into his spellbook and so the light of morning seemed particularly offensive to his eyes.

Shamalin was up early as always, her so-called _Ring of Breakfast_ making in impossible for her sleep in. And she had a lot on her mind this morning anyway. She had been up and huddled in the inn's common room beside the banked coals of last night's fire when Ahlear had woken before dawn and headed out into the freezing darkness. She was still there, with a sheaf of Ledare's notes spread unread beside her when Anania woke some time later and headed out into the ashen light of predawn. She watched the elf go without a word and then turned her attention back to the bundle that Durbana the innkeeper had given her last night. Wrapped in a coarse blanket that the Mercybringer recognized from the trail was the _Ring of Communication_, seven loose potion bottles, and a _Wand of Cure Light Wounds_. Yesterday, all of them had been Ayremac's.

"He said you lot were expecting this and asked me to give it to you," Durbana had told her. Shamalin had looked inside the bundle then and felt a pang of regret touch her heart once more. There was no note.

"Did he say anything else?" the cleric had asked and after a few moments' thought the innkeeper nodded.

"Yep," she explained, turning away to attend another customer. "Said he'd be meeting up with you all later and expected everything to be in order when he did."

Shamalin was pondering that when one of the human serving girls from last night stumbled sleepily into the common room, one hand stifling an enormous yawn. She let out a little yelp when she saw the cleric.

"Gods, Mercybringer!" she said. "You gave me a start. You're up early on a Freeday!" She went to stoke the fire glancing absently at the items strewn around the priestess.

"I've a lot on my mind," Shamalin said curtly and gathered her things. She made her way up the stairs to her room sparing a backward glance at the maid as the girl tossed a cake of peat into the fireplace.



"Can you take us to anywhere colder, Morier?" Huzair cursed, drawing his cloak more tightly about his shoulders. "This pull of yours is heading us towards the south pole." Morier looked eastward shielding his eyes from the sun.

"Actually, we're headed east-northeast," Anania offered. "Or at least that has been our heading." Huzair smirked at the elf maid.

"I was only giving Morier a hard time, sweetheart," he told her. "But I am pretty deep, so I am not surprised that you did not get it right away." Morier rolled his eyes and Shamalin shook her head.

"Let's move out," Morier suggested and started to walk across the bridge separating the town from the rolling hills that led away toward the Altan Tepe mountains looming purple and majestic at the horizon.

"I'll send Sparky up to scout from above," Huzair said, drawing the bird into the cold. "I wish flyboy were here to do this job. I always relished the silence when he was not around. I am really concerned about that Kirnoth guy sneaking up on us again. He could do us in when we are bickering."

"Then perhaps we should stop bickering," Ahlear suggested with a wink and a grin as he took off after the others.



*Starday, the 11th - Godsday, the 15th of Readying, 1270 AE*​


The journey in the direction of Morier's pull was largely uneventful. They did not meet any resistance as they traveled, but Anania was ever wary as she led them on. On several occasions, she reported back that she'd found both tracks and spoor left by giants, and twice had them detour around an area that she suspected held a settlement of the creatures.

The land became progressively more hilly as the flatlands gave way to foothills, scrub grass became stunted bushes and eventually actual trees as they neared the mountains. And by the time they reached the Risilvar Escarpment they were fully in a woodland whose coniferous boughs left the ground beneath in near shadow even at midday. They trekked on in shadow, drawn to the sound of falling water in the distance until Anania came back to the main group.

"We've reached the cliff," she announced. "It'll be a pretty stiff climb."

"Wonderful," Shamalin huffed.



When they reached the cliff they saw that the scout was right. The escarpment rose up several hundred feet above them, towering above the modest trees that hugged its foot. Anania stood at the moss-covered edge of a pool whose waters frothed madly, stirred by the waterfall that dropped straight from the cliff above into the cataract below. A chill mist hung in the air and the roar of water was deafening.

"Let me guess," Huzair yelled into Morier's ear. "Your head says we need to go up?" The eldritch warrior looked up at the summit and nodded slowly. the mage cursed and turned away.

"I don't know that I can make such a climb," Shamalin shouted. "Not in this armor anyway." Morier acknowledged her concerns and beckoned Anania over.

"Is there an easy way up?" he asked her, hopefully and the elf shook her head.

"The climb will be challenging, but not impossible. Surely, I could make it, but I have my doubts about the priestess," Anania said plainly. She glanced over at Shamalin who was looking nervously up at the cliff. "But I did find something else."

"What?" Morier demanded.

"A tunnel of worked stone," she told him, pointing to a spot about thirty feet from the waterfall. "The mouth was concealed by some vines, but I think that might have been unplanned. The tunnel angles back behind the falls. There is a metal gate blocking the way, however. And I saw no means of bypassing it."


----------



## darkhall-nestor

Is someone carrying a really big pry bar


----------



## Jon Potter

darkhall-nestor said:
			
		

> Is someone carrying a really big pry bar




Shhh... We haven't met that character yet at this point.   

But they do have a Rogue. Sort of.


----------



## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:
			
		

> "Then perhaps we should stop bickering," Ahlear suggested with a wink and a grin as he took off after the others.




pfft.. what's the fun in that. 



			
				Jon Potter said:
			
		

> But they do have a Rogue. Sort of.




Yeah and his name? Huzair
Need a door opened = knock spell
Search for pit traps = Monster Summoning I
Search for secret doors = piss off the elf enough that he storms away to passively search for a secret door
Gather Information = open mouth, insert foot, cast ventriliquism, talk through foot
Pick pockets = fireball, sift through the ashes at your own speed
Use Rope = Rope Trick
Appraise = mercane
Escape Artist = check


----------



## Jon Potter

*[Realms #442] Over, Under or Through?*

"A dungeon crawl presents unknown dangers. The climb is the safest way to go," Anania offered. She glanced at Shamalin's armored form and added "Well, except for the priestess."

"You've made that clear," the Mercybringer muttered, scowling at the elf. "Huzair? Where are those _Slippers of Spider Climbing_?" The wizard opened his traveler's purse and drew forth the _Slippers_ as if they had been lying on top. He handed them to the cleric and looked up at the top of the cliff.

"Yeah, like I would climb that!" he scoffed. "I can use a pinch of the _Levitation Dust_... but we are running a little low." He looked meaningfully around at the others.

"I have a spell that gives me limited flight," Ahlear told them. "I could perhaps ferry some of you up to strategic points... just over the really difficult parts."

"Hold on," Morier said. "Before we start burning resources let's see what we can learn about the tunnel. I think the tunnel represents a better option than a cliff climb." Anania nodded.

"I will check the area for traps," she said and, with an arrow notched in her bow she headed for the concealed entrance. Huzair grinned and released his familiar into the sky. the hummingbird circled once and then flew rapidly upward.

"Sparky will scout above and I will help beautiful locate any traps," he said and followed the elf maid.

"I can try a _Divination_ spell to see which way would be best - climbing or the tunnel," Shamalin said. "It will take me a few minutes to cast." Morier nodded.

"Good," the eldritch warrior said. "Ahlear, you and I are on reconnaissance. Check out the immediate surroundings. You go north. I'll go south." And without waiting for a reply the albino ducked into the trees, one hand keeping his sheathed greatsword from tangling in his legs.



Huzair caught up with Anania as she squatted at the base of the cliff intently examining the dirt there. "What did you find, sweetheart?" he asked, peering over her shoulder and seeing nothing but dirt.

"Tracks," she said simply. "Dwarf tracks. More than one set. Going in and out of this tunnel."

"Huh," Huzair intoned, uncertain what to make of this revelation. "Were is Karak when you need him, right?"

Anania eyed him gravely and then pulled aside the tangle of dried vines that obscured the tunnel entrance. She paused then and studied the frame of the tunnel, tracing some cracks with her fingers. "There's carving here," she told him in a low voice that barely carried above the roar of the waterfall. "I don't recognize the script and it's too worn away to read in any case." The mage looked where she indicated, but saw nothing except weather worn stone.

"You have good eyes," he told her and she looked at him strangely for a moment. Then she looked away, peering into the darkened tunnel.

"It is my purpose," she told him and proceeded slowly into the tunnel. After creeping forward they reached a bend where the hall angled back in the direction of the falls. It was getting too dark for them to see much even with lowlight vision and the elf was obliged to shoulder her bow and light a torch. By its flickering glow, Huzair could clearly see the gate that Anania had mentioned earlier.

It was stoutly made and rust-free and it completely blocked the passage ahead. He could see no obvious locking mechanism. It actually looked as if the bars were set directly into the floor and ceiling. 

"I wonder if there is a lock on the gate?" he said aloud and started to move forward. "If there is I could pick it... or someone in the party could just smash it with his ham-"

"Stop!" Anania said, gripping Huzair roughly and dragging him back. She was stronger than she appeared. The mage looked at her annoyed.

"What?" he asked, straightening his clothes while she drew out a dagger. She hunkered down again and, holding the torch high in one hand, traced a line in the tunnel's floor.

"There's a seam here," she told him and as she worked with the dagger, it became obvious to the wizard that she was right. "It's probably a pressure plate. Or a trapdoor."

"Trapdoor," he told her after a moment's study. "Standard pit trap."

"Regardless. It is not something that you would want to step on," Anania said and stood. "There is a narrow path around the pit so we can avoid it." And as proof of her statement, she darted lithely along the wall until she reached the gate then turned back to Huzair. He followed in her footsteps with somewhat less aplomb until they were both pressed up against the bars.

"I see no lock," he said, annoyed. Anania sniffed.

"But there is a way passed this gate. It is used," she told him. "I smell mineral oil. The kind used to maintain mechanical parts."

"You had better watch that torch then," Huzair said, activated the _Ring of Blinking_ and stuttered his way passed the gate. He grinned at her through the bars and extended a hand between. "In fact, why don't you let me hold it."



Morier stepped back into the grotto and saw Shamalin gathering her still smoldering incense. The smell of it hung cloyingly in the air. Ahlear sat on a rock at the water's edge, one hand scratching his dire rat's fur. He met Morier's eyes and shook his head. The albino nodded once; he'd found nothing either.

Shamalin gathered the two men close enough for them both to hear her over the sound of falling water without undue shouting and then she related the results of her spell.

"Start at the end or end at the beginning, the middle remains unchanged," she said. "So I think that no matter which way we go the result will be the same. More or less."

"A reasonable interpretation," Morier said and looked up at the top of the cliff. "So that leaves us back where we started. Unless we can figure out some way around that gate, we-"

"I found a way to bypass the gate," Huzair beamed as he and Anania rejoined the group. "There was the nice, shiny lever a bit down the corridor on the other side of the bars that made them retract into the ceiling. It's all clear now."

"Well that makes the decision a little easier," the albino said, looking around at the others. "Is everyone agreed that we take the tunnel?"

"Thanks for opening the gate, Huzair. Nice work, Huzair," the mage groused under his breath.

"Nice work, boss," Sparky twittered into his ear. "Thanks for opening the gate." Smiling, Huzair gathered the bird into his hands to warm it and listened to what his familiar had to report.

"There's sort of a lake at the top of the cliff with an island in the middle of it," the bird explained. "There's a little sort of rocky hill on the island with a funny kind of shiny rock on the side of the hill. There's also a kind of fence or wall that runs across the whole island and some big rocks that are set up in a circle around a firepit on the far side. There are some giants and dog men there. More than us, boss. And they've got weapons. Big ones."

-----------------------------

OOC- I'm going to be out of town on Sunday, so I thought I'd post the weekly installment a little bit early this week. Hope you like it.


----------



## mdougherty331

That cracks me up.


----------



## mdougherty331

Hairy Minotaur said:


> pfft.. what's the fun in that.
> 
> 
> 
> Yeah and his name? Huzair
> Need a door opened = knock spell
> Search for pit traps = Monster Summoning I
> Search for secret doors = piss off the elf enough that he storms away to passively search for a secret door
> Gather Information = open mouth, insert foot, cast ventriliquism, talk through foot
> Pick pockets = fireball, sift through the ashes at your own speed
> Use Rope = Rope Trick
> Appraise = mercane
> Escape Artist = check




That is hysterical.


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## Jon Potter

mdougherty331 said:


> That is hysterical.




Laugh it up! You've earned it. Huzair seems to have the largest fan base in this Story Hour.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #442a] Round and Round*

Huzair shared with the others what Sparky had told him and Morier looked up at the cliff top again.

"Yaaaay...," he deadpanned, but the wizard was unperturbed.

"Okay, all. Here is a great plan. I have a scroll of _Invisibility Sphere_. Meaning I believe we all could be invisible. I could give Anania my _Ring of Invisibility_, the rest of us could use the _Levitation Dust_ and she could pull us all up to the top. She could use the _Slippers_," he said, indicated Shamalin's footwear and grinning. "This would avoid the tunnel entirely. We could wait and get into a good position. I could surprise attack with a _Fireball_, thus not hitting any of us - a drawback to that spell in my opinion. Then we quickly charge those left standing." The wizard brushed his hands together as if cleaning them of dust and then spread his hands wide. "And being frost giants, the _Fireball_ may injure them more." 

He crossed his arms and regarded Morier with a challenging eye, daring the albino to find fault with his brilliant plan. "Pretty smart, eh Whitey?" he smirked. "I did not read Zarnack the Magnificent's book on warcasting cover-to-cover twice and not pick up a few tricks."

"What are frost giants?" Shamalin asked and Huzair shrugged.

"They are elemental giants, of course," the mage bluffed. "They hate fire. They are made of snow or something, I think." Anania's smooth brow grew creased at that and she shook her head.

"Actually frost giants are flesh and bone, but they do have snow white skin... and blue or pale yellow hair," the elf offered. "They stand 15 feet tall and tend to live high in snow-choked mountain ranges."

"Well then who knows what they are?" Huzair said, waiving off Anania's remark. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "So who likes my plan? Man, I am one smart wizard"

"You sure are, boss" said Sparky into his ear and the wizard smiled.

"Giants are stupid," Huzair observed. "Killing the leader first is never a bad idea."

"Giants are also massively strong," Ahlear countered. "It's easy for the mage to suggest all the killing while he does not need to soak up the hits."

"My plan does not include getting hit," replied Huzair. "I am suggesting ranged attacks from a good vantage point."

"That's all well and good until they start throwing rocks back," said the druid, shaking his head. "Rocks the size of your torso and bigger. Real smart tactician our mage is." Huzair regarded Ahlear with a sour expression on his dark face.

"I could possibly stop that too," he assured the man. "I am amazing, but I want you to come up with a better plan. Go ahead. Let us hear it." Ahlear chuckled, still shaking his head.

"Right!" he scoffed. "And how do you propose to stop 10 tons of stone from coming at your face?" The mage looked confident, polishing his fingernails on his robe.

"Oh, by being invisible and not letting them know where I am," he said matter-of-factly. "As for you guys... Well, I guess you should have studied wizardry." He looked around and saw that the others weren't enjoying his comments as much as he thought they would.

"Stop being such an arrogant wisecrack and go suck on this," Ahlear said, throwing Huzair a cigar which the mage deftly caught, his face brightening as he drew the stogie along beneath his nose.

"Look, Ahlear. It is simple. Do not fight these creatures at their strength, fight them at their weakness," the mage said, trimming the cigar with his dagger. "Oh, Morier was right; you do have a lot to learn." The druid smiled at Huzair's ignorance and turned to the others.

"We should try to enlist the dwarves to our cause, if they are there to be had as allies," Ahlear suggested. "I vote for a good scouting of the tunnels to find out where they lead. Perhaps do it in a day so we can rememorize spells for tomorrow's encounter with the giants?" Morier shook his head.

"I think this is a conflict we need to avoid at all costs," he said gravely. "We're not equipped to do battle with giants of any kind."

"How many giants are we even talking about?" Ahlear wondered. He looked at Huzair and asked, "Your little parrot has not told us that has he?"

"Not yet," the wizard admitted. Then he drew the hummingbird close and whispered to him, "Find a place safe and warm, buddy, and watch those big, stupid giants." He released the bird, watching until he disappeared against the sky. Then he pulled some miscellaneous things from his _Haversack_ and hunkered down on a moss-covered rock. With his dagger, he began drawing a representation of the island and the cliff.

"While Sparky is doing his thing, let me explain my plan... slowly, so everyone can follow it," he said winking at Morier before strategically placing the various items he'd grabbed from his bag. Once he was done, he sat back and surveyed his handiwork.

"Here, my flower, you are the pearl," he explained, pointing out items on his improvised battlefield. "Shamalin is the diamond. I am the gold piece. Morier, you are the rock. And Ahlear, here is some bat guano; that is you." He laughed under his breath before turning his attention to the representation of the island.

"The giants and their weapons are over here. If we all are invisible and have suprise, that will be a huge advantage against a stronger physical threat. Web might be useful too; It could tie them up and prevent them from getting to their weapons," he hypothesized, puffing smoke. "Yes, I know a boulder in the skull would really hurt. I just want us to be positioned in a good spot and to get that vital first strike in. Maybe even get a good second attack before they know what hit them. Of course all of your dwarves will be helpful too. Where are they? Looks like they have not been here for a while, or so my little flower says." He nodded at Anania and watched Ahlear intently.

"Maybe the dwarves are enslaved or held prisoner," the druid suggested. "That's why we havent seen them actually?"

"So your plan involves first liberating the dwarves to ask for their help against the giants?" Huzair scoffed, baiting Ahlear.

"Enough," Morier intervened. "Let's make sure we have the most thorough recon possible of the layout up above. Then we'll check out the tunnel and see what there is to be seen there." Anania met Morier's eyes and nodded. She started for the tunnel when Huzair spoke up, forestalling her.

"I have a dark vison tattoo," he said, favoring the elf maid with a wink. "I could do it."

"But I can speak undercommon and the ability to move silently," Ahlear countered, "so cast your _Invisibility_ magic on me and I will accompany the lithe elf on the scouting." Huzair sniffed.

"Can you see in the dark? Are you sure you will not clank around too much in there?" he qurestioned. "Oh, I guess you are not a human then are you?" The druid gave Huzair a sarcastic smile.

"In a little while I won't be human if I really want it to be so, but for now, I am," he told him and Huzair looked him up and down.

"I do have the _Invisibility Ring_ I can let you BORROW," he emphasized that last word as he spoke and Ahlear nodded.

"Yes, please do let me borrow your _Ring of Invisibility_," he said holding out a hand to the mage. "Then I can sneak around without it costing you one of your dear spells So thoughtful of you to share your abilities."

""I am nothing if not a team player. And speaking of sharing, love," Huzair said, looking hungrily at  Shamalin. "I still love those slippers - just my color. I do well with pastels, but you can hold on to them. I can totally picture you in them." He grinned lasciviously and eyed her up and down, all the while emitting a vaguely feline growl. Shamalin, who'd suffered a glimpse into the workings of Huzair's oily mind, unintentionally recoiled from his scrutiny. Ahlear saw her reaction and swatted the wizard on the arm.

"Please do puff some more on that cigar i just gave you," the druid implored. "It will keep you silent a while." Huzair snorted at that, plucking the stogie from his teeth.

"You are counting on this to keep me quiet?" he chuckled. "At the Pair o' Dice, I once sang all twenty verses of "A Night at the Frothy Wench", drunk, and never took the cigar from my mouth. Ask Morier; he was there." Ahlear glanced at the albino and Morier shrugged.

"Nothing keeps him quiet for long," the eldritch warrior said sardonically earning him a glare from Huzair.



"I appreciate your offer to come along and help scout," Anania said as she lead Ahlear away toward the tunnel entrance. "But please stay a few paces behind me. I can scout for traps and advise you if anyone is coming." Ahlear nodded at the wisdom of her plan.

"You're the primary scout, I am the communicator-scout," he said, deferentially. "I will stay back far enough for you to work properly, and when needed I will advance or retreat." She nodded and then paused long enough to show him a few basic hand signals she would use while in the tunnel to minimize the need for speech. He picked up the signals quickly and they started had back for the dark opening in the cliffside when the elf stopped again.

"Ahlear, please know that I plan to protect Morier at any cost," she said flatly. "I thought it important to tell you as you appear to be a... free thinker... and if you choose to deviate from our established plan I won't risk my life to save yours. My life is reserved, at this point, for Morier." Ahlear looked at her, disconcerted.

"I am not the only 'free thinker' here in the group, and as much as I understand your logic, I do not expect anybody to sacrifice their lives so blindly," he told her. "It is your choice though, and I have my choice. I just wonder what specifically made you say this?" She blinked, her face a poised, expressionless mask.

"I thought you should know, in case you decide to step forward and speak, or charge in for the attack. You will not find me there to support you. I will return to the group," she said and looked back to where the other three party members were arguing over something. Their words were inaudible over the roar of the waterfalls. "I would feel badly doing so if I had not been honest with you up front. I don't think it will come to that... but again, I thought if we were going to work in concert, you should understand my motivations."

He nodded understanding and she returned the motion.

"Let's get back to the mission at hand," she said, and fixing an arrow in place on her bowstring, she ducked into the dungeon entrance.



Anania quickly retraced her earlier steps she'd taken with Huzair, pointed out the pit trap to Ahlear, and bypassed the gate and the lever which opened it. From there it was unexplored territory and she slowed their pace, checking carefully for anything that looked like a trap. She found nothing, however and after only a short distance, they came to a vertical shaft with a spiral stair that corkscrewed around a central column of stone set into its center. The stairs marched upward into darkness and they could each feel a cool dampness on their skin as the air circulated up the shaft to whatever was at the top.

Anania turned to look meaningfully at Ahlear and then made for the stair, paying close attention to the ground as she went. They ascended the stairs slowly, the scout ever mindful of traps, and after a time, Anania held out a clenched fist, the signal to stop. She then pointed first to her ear and then upward. Ahlear activated the _Ring of Invisibility_ and strained to hear what the elf had. At first he heard nothing, then it came to him: the sounds of combat, muffled either by distance or an intervening door or two. But the clash of steel and the grunts of effort and pain was unmistakable.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #443] The Vanishing Staircase*

Anania motioned for Ahlear to retreat a ways back down the staircase, which he did, removing the Ring of Invisibility as he went. Then the scout stepped in close to hiss into his ear, "Ahlear, everything seems clear to this point. Use the _Ring of Communication_, tell them to proceed to the spiral stairs and move up slowly. We will report every twenty heartbeats or they should advance cautiously as we may have encountered trouble." Ahlear nodded and did as the elf had bade him.

"We are advancing on," he told Huzair. "Move straight in to the spiral stair."

"Sure, try to grab all the glory for yourself, Ahlear,"the wizard's voice snapped back at him. Before the druid could respond, Huzair spoke again. "We're on our way," he said in a slightly less belligerent tone.



"Boss, one of these giants up here has got two heads," Sparky commented over Huzair's telepathic link. "Is that important?"

"Could be, little buddy," the mage thought back. "You stay safe and keep an eye out for little details like that. I'm going in to save Ahlear and Anania."

"You're so brave, boss," the familiar chirped into Huzair's mind. "They're so lucky to have you with 'em." The mage smiled at the sentiment.

"I don't ever get tired of hearing that," he said aloud, his voice all but swallowed by the waterfall.

"What?" Morier asked, cupping a hand to his ear and Huzair shook his head.

"Nothing," he replied. "Ahlear says it's all clear."

"Good. Let's get moving," the albino said and moved toward the tunnel where Shamalin was trying to decipher the words carved around the entrance.

"Any luck?" he asked her and she sighed, turning toward him to shake her head.

"I recognize some of the characters as being the same or similar to the gnomish alphabet, but they don't make any sense. And they're almost worn away; I'm not even sure that I'm seeing what I think I am," she confessed. "If we could wait here until morning I could pray for a miracle that might allow me to translate it tomorrow." Morier was already shaking his head.

"No," he said. "Anania and Ahlear have already said that the way's clear. We're going in now." She nodded and bent reluctantly to retrieve her shield and helmet.



Anania and Ahlear pressed on, creeping upwards toward the sound of fighting. Before too long Anania suddenly held out her fist again, signaling for the druid to stop. They froze, listening and all at once, Anania turned, her face pale in the torchlight.

"Run!" she shouted, and began bolting up the stairs.

At that moment, Ahlear heard it too: the CHUNK! CHUNK! CHUNK! sound of the stairs retracting into the central column. It was coming from below and he wasted no time with thought as the sound grew steadily - and swiftly - closer. He ran, but not fast enough and before he'd made it five steps, the stairs disappeared beneath him.

And he fell.

He dropped the torch, his fingers clutching at the wall for purchase - and miraculously finding it. He found a narrow ledge wide enough to grip with both hands and he did so, desperately. He glanced down and saw the elf maid plummeting into darkness with their torch following her down.



She fell in stoic silence, watching as the druid somehow managed to grab the wall and cling there with his dire rat clinging frantically to his boots. There was nothing for her to do but adjust her landing as best she could to mitigate the impact. She did what she could, but striking the ground still splintered the bones in her foot and dislocated her knee as she tumbled.

And then she did cry out as the pain threatened to overwhelm her consciousness entirely.



"What in the hells was that?" Morier cursed as he helped Shamalin navigate the narrow ledge around the pit trap that Anania and Huzair had discovered on their first foray into the tunnel.

"Sounded like somebody falling," the cleric offered and Morier nodded, drawing Stoneblade.

"THE SCION OF STONE AWAKES!" the weapon announced.



Ahlear hung as still as he could, allowing the panicked Nibble to climb up his body to the relative safety of his shoulder. The animal was trembling with fear and he frankly couldn't blame him. He was about to whisper some soothing words when he heard the sound of a door opening some distance above him in the utter dark.

"Somethin' triggered the stairs," a male voice observed in undercommon.

"Maybe them giants sent their gnolls 'round to the back door," a second voice grunted and then let out a low tittering laugh. "But they're paste now, I reckon."

"Maybe," the first voice said more cautiously. "But maybe not. We'll settle 'bout the prisoner later. Suit up and let's head down. There's bound to be some good eatin' if nothing else."

And then Ahlear heard the door click shut again.


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## Hairy Minotaur

Jon Potter said:


> "Could be, little buddy," the mage thought back. "You stay safe and keep an eye out for little details like that. I'm going in to save Ahlear and Anania."
> 
> "You're so brave, boss," the familiar chirped into Huzair's mind. "They're so lucky to have you with 'em." The mage smiled at the sentiment.
> 
> "I don't ever get tired of hearing that," he said aloud, his voice all but swallowed by the waterfall.




Huziar stood proudly, his rotund belly oozing with confidence that could be clearly seen through the bright blue fabric of his pullover shirt, his black captain's hat tilted to the left side like all those old salty sailors on the islands wear. He regarded his little buddy sparky with admiration, the skinny thing barely fit into his red shirt, it hung loosely off his scrawny form and his white sailor's hat engulfed his head like a bad toupe'. They were marrooned here but at least they had each other.


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## Jon Potter

As your emoticon suggested, I laughed out loud at this image, HM! Well done!



Hairy Minotaur said:


> Huziar stood proudly, his rotund belly oozing with confidence that could be clearly seen through the bright blue fabric of his pullover shirt, his black captain's hat tilted to the left side like all those old salty sailors on the islands wear. He regarded his little buddy sparky with admiration, the skinny thing barely fit into his red shirt, it hung loosely off his scrawny form and his white sailor's hat engulfed his head like a bad toupe'. They were marrooned here but at least they had each other.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #444] That's No Dwarf*

"My little flower!" Huzair cried upon entering the small chamber and spotting Anania struggling to remain conscious. A moment later, Morier darted into the room with Stoneblade naked in his fist. A rhythmic clanking signaled Shamalin's progress behind.

"What happened?" Morier asked Anania as he entered, taking in the surroundings as he came. She looked up at him with pain visible in every line of her face and in the sweat on her brow.

"A... trap," she managed to say around tightly clenched teeth. "There... was a... trap."

"Flor have mercy!" Shamalin exclaimed as she caught up to the others and saw the scout's broken state. Clutching her holy symbol in one hand she stepped forward with the words of a _Cure Serious Wounds_ spell on her lips.



"Uumphfff. Nibble, get off my head," Ahlear grunted as he struggled to hang on while activating the _Ring of Communication_. He heard voices below and glancing down could see flickering torchlight. But it was not enough for him to make out any details. He hoped it was Huzair.

"I am hanging here," the druid hissed into the _Ring_. "Hurry, or I will fall as well."

"Where are you?" the wizard's voice asked over the _Ring_.

"Above," was Ahlear's answer. "You need to get to Anania soon, as she will get company. I overheard a conversation. And it also seems we missed a secret door near the staircase."

"What staircase?" Huzair asked and without waiting for a response, added, "Hang on. We'll get you down." Ahlear snorted at that comment.

"There's not much else I can do," he muttered, grimacing as Nibble's claws dug into him looking for firm purchase.



"Give me the _Slippers_!" Huzair said to Shamalin. He pointed to the dark shaft overhead. "Ahlear is stuck up there." Grimacing with discomfort, Anania got to her feet; Flor's gifts had healed the damage to her foot, and gone some way toward easing the discomfort in her knee.

"I saw him grab for the wall when the trap went off. I believe he may have grasped the side for dear life and I have to guess he is up there," she said. Her expression grew embarrassed and she added, "I failed to see how the trap was triggered."

"Do not worry about it, beautiful," Huzair said, his words dripping with honey. "Things like that happen sometimes. Nobody expects you to be any more perfect than you are." She shook her head.

"It is my job," she said morosely. Morier laid a hand on her shoulder.

"We all do what we can," he told her and Huzair nodded.

"And right now what you both need to do is try to find a hidden door down here," he said, watching as Shamalin stripped off the _Slippers of Spider Climbing_. "The druid said that we missed one and we were about to have hostile company. So use that elfin magic of yours and spot that door!" He moved then toward the wall, half-hopping as he struggled into the _Slippers_.

"What about you?" Morier asked Shamalin and the cleric looked at him and shrugged apologetically.

"I'm not good at finding hidden doors," she smiled wistfully. "Amaury used to say I-" Her voice hitched and she turned away. "I think I would do better as a sort of decoy... an obvious target in the center of the room."

"That will be a very dangerous position should Ahlear be correct about an enemy advance," Anania cautioned and Shamalin waved her off.

"I will cast _Sanctuary_ at the first sign of conflict and will follow it up with a _Command_ spell," the cleric informed her. "Do not think me fragile or unprepared."

Anania nodded once and went to search for secret doors.

Huzair huffed and puffed as he went up the side of the shaft with as much haste as he could manage when walking up a sheer wall. He'd removed from his _Handy Haversack_ his _Everburning Torch_ and thrust it through his belt. It filled the shaft with a bubble of magical light as he ascended and he soon spotted Ahlear's dangling feet above.

"I see you," he whispered into the _Ring of Communication_. "I brought you something that will let you down safely."

"Just hurry," Ahlear hissed back. "I can't-" He stopped speaking as he heard some mechanism winding back up behind the stone, followed by the CHUNK! CHUNK! CHUNK! sound of the stairs resetting. They slipped out of the central pillar, and locked back into the outer wall in a cascade of stone that travelled down from the top faster than a man could run.

One moment, Huzair was looking at the druid's feet and the next there were two sets of stairs between himself and Ahlear. The sound proceeded swiftly downward and just as suddenly as it had begun, the trap was reset.

Ahlear dropped down onto the stair, quite pleased to have solid stone beneath his boots again. He lifted the still-trembling Nibble off his shoulder and scratched the animal reassuringly for a moment. Then he heard the door open above him again and the sound of several pairs of tramping boots moving down the stairs toward him.

Ahlear heard the sound of metal on metal above followed by a startled grunt.

"Konerk!" a gruff voice shouted in undercommon. "Are yer feet made of lead, boy?!"

"I don't think so," a second voice answered. "I never thought to check tho-" The voice was cut off by another clank of metal on metal.

"It's yer head what's full of lead, methinks!" The first voice grumbled. "Now pick up yer feet or so help me I'll feed ye to Dagga myself!"

"I doubt she'll be very hungry after she eats the giant," Konerk replied and metal struck metal again prompting another cry of pain.

"Keep Quiet!" the first voice shouted. "An ye nae see we're tryin' ta be sneaky 'ere?"

"Shh!!" someone hissed - someone closer than the other two, Ahlear thought.

He quickly gave Nibble a command and sent the rat scrambling down the stair. His animal companion's nails chittered over the stone as Ahlear activated the _Ring of Invisibility_ and pressed himself against the wall in the dark.

"Did ye hear that?" a voice asked - one he hadn't heard yet.

"I did," replied a fourth. Then, raising his voice he called, "Garkil, there's somethin' alive down here!"

"Well, then," the first voice shouted back down, "Let's see if we can't change that, shall we?" Ahlear could almost hear the smile spreading on Garkil's lips as weapons were readied above.

It didn't take them long to pass by the spot where Ahlear stood silently. He could not see them in the utter darkness, of course, but the stench of unwashed bodies hung about them like an almost tangible cloud. As someone used to spending long periods in the wilderness, he was no stranger to the smell of sweat, but this was a sour and unwholesome miasma that almost made him gag aloud. Their footsteps were nearly without sound as they tread upon the steps - even Konerk now was as light-footed as any guild thief. But at least one of them was mumbling under their breath, something about blood and death in a cadence that made Ahlear think it might be a song of some kind.

He listened as the sing-song babbling moved passed him in the darkness and was about to step away from the wall when something unseen brushed passed him, rough enough to send him against the central column. He sucked in his breath and hefted his hammer, ready for further assault, but it didn't come. Soon, he could no longer hear the mutterings and determined himself to be along in the immediate area.



Below, Huzair heard the hiss of air being sucked through wet lips and turned toward the sound. He'd dropped his _Everburning Torch on_ a stair a little bit below the spot where he clung invisible to the stairs overhead and it continued to shed bright, magical light over the entire area. It was enough for the mage to spot the figure at the edge of the shadowy illumination. He wasn't entirely sure what it was he was seeing, but he knew one thing: it was no dwarf.

The creature crouching in the shadows at the curve of the stair was dwarf-sized, but that's where the similarity ended. Its skin was devoid of pigment, being  the same blue-white as Morier's. Its hair and mustache were platinum-colored and matted with dried blood and filth. It held a boxy repeating crossbow awkwardly in one hand while it shielded its bulbous, milky-white eyes from the light of Huzair's everburning torch with the other. Its lips were pulled back from cracked, brown teeth in disgust.

"Don't just stand there, Garto, douse that light!" a voice hissed and Huzair saw that there was another of the creatures behind the first. Garto turned to its fellow and gnashed its teeth, then, spitting once on the stairs it cloaked itself in swirling tendrils of darkness and darted forward.

It was difficult to see exactly what it was doing - the veil of shadows obscured it somewhat - but it reached the _Everburning Torch_, scooped it up and then extinguished the light, plunging the stairwell into darkness. Huzair could hear the hushed tread of feet moving below him in the darkness and he risked touching his _Darkvision_ tattoo, activating its magic. At once, he could see again, albeit in black-and-white only. But he saw now that there were four of the dwarflike creatures moving stealthily down the stairs. They were dressed in ratty studded leather armor, and each carried a repeating crossbow. One of them had a strange hooked spear strapped across his back, but the others all bore shortswords at their hips.

Huzair grinned and, drawing out a prepared scroll from his traveler's purse, he dropped a _Web_ in their midst. Immediately the stairwell was filled floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall with thick sticky strands, and one of the dwarf things was utterly entombed within the mass. The other three, however, faired better; two of them were tangled up in the web but still looked mobile while the fourth, through some miracle of evasion managed to tumble free of the spell's area of effect. He landed on his back on the stairs, curses streaming nonsensically from his lips.

"We've been tricked, boys!" Garkil shouted as he struggled to his feet. "I'm goin' after Thorlum! Ye lot hold the stairs!" The others growled and gibbered in the webs as Garkil started back up toward the top, scrambling almost on all fours as he went.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #446] There's Just No Talking to Some People*

Above, Ahlear called on The Green, _Producing Flame_ in the palm of his left hand. The flickering light illuminated the stairwell enough for him to navigate it without fear of slipping to his death. He heard shouts and curses in undercommon from below and opted to move, warhammer in hand, further up the stairs.



At the bottom of the stairs, Shamalin and the others heard the shouting and cursing and the cleric started forward. Anania cast a glance at Morier and saw that he too was moving forward, abandoning the ambush. She sprinted for the stairs, reaching them a few paces before Shamalin and shot up them in a flash with a fresh torch blazing in her hand.



Huzair wasted no time. He drew forth a second scroll from his _Handy Haversack_ and pointed at the fleeing dwarf before it could disappear around the curve of the stairs, shouting, _"Homo retine!"_

The _Hold Person_ spell went off properly, the scroll crumbling to dust in his hand, but it had no effect on the dwarf apart from making it stop climbing the stairs and turn back to peer warily into the darkness. It said something that Huzair couldn't understand and chuckled to itself. Then, grinning, it raised a hand and snapped its fingers filling the stairwell with an explosion of sound.

The sonic energy slammed into Huzair like a fist to the temple. He staggered under the assault, stunned by the _Sound Burst_, and unable to orient himself. It took time for his head to clear, but when it did, he saw that the dwarf was still there, its repeating crossbow ready in its hands. It grinned at him like a lunatic - which was about the point that the mage realized his _Improved Invisibility_ had run its course. Quickly, he activated his _Ring of Blinking_ in time to avoid being shot in the throat with a crossbow bolt.

"That's it!" he snapped and _Blinked_ downward through the stairs.



Anania arrived at the near side of the _Web_ in time to see Huzair cast a handful of fairy dust at the creatures struggling within. Two of them spat at the mage and cursed in an unfamiliar tongue, but seemed otherwise unaffected by whatever he was trying to do. It was unclear whether the third was even exposed to the sprinkled dust; it was too well cocooned to even struggle.

"What are these things?" the elf maid asked once she got a look at the creatures in the light from her torch. Huzair glanced back at her and she saw that there was a bit of blood trickling from his ear.

"These, my sweet flower, are the dwarves with which Ahlear wants to make friends," he said. "They appear to be some nasty degenerate form of dwarf. And they are damned resistant to magic."

"Shall we see how resistant they are to arrows?" she asked, setting her torch on the stairs and drawing an arrow in a single fluid motion.

"Better not," Huzair cautioned. "I know that Ahlear wanted a chance to speak to-" He was cut off as one of the entangled dwarves snapped its fingers and another _Sound Burst_ erupted between Anania and him. This one seemed less potent and both of them were able to shrug it off without being stunned.

Grimacing, Huzair held a hand to the side of his head. "Damned, little-" he managed to hiss before another sonic went off on top of him.



Above, Ahlear found the open door from which he assumed the dwarves - if they were dwarves - had issued. It was also the only door he'd seen and was at the very top of the stairs. The area beyond was dark, but his flame shrouded hands revealed a rectangular room of finely-worked stone. The door through which he'd entered was in one corner and another, similar door was set in the opposite wall. A set of double doors was dimly visible on the far side of the room in the corner to his right. A large lever was set prominently in the wall to his left. That was all he had time to see before the door across the room opened and a female dwarf-thing dressed in ratty black robes stepped into the room.

"Stop," the druid said, holding up a flaming hand. "We have a mutual enemy: the giants. Let's kill them and then leave each other in peace." The dwarf-creature leered at him in response and lifted the chipped and gnarled horn of a ram as it came.

Before Ahlear could do anything he felt an invisible wedge of force slam into his midsection, doubling him over and threatening to drive him back toward the stairs. Grunting, he managed to set his heels against the bull rush, holding his ground. He looked up and spied two more of the female dwarfish things crowding the doorway behind the first.


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## Hairy Minotaur

Pech?
1/2 dwarf 1/2 snow pudding?
Artic dwarves?
Inuit?
Larval stage of Stone Golems?

It's the last one isn't it.


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## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:


> Pech?
> 1/2 dwarf 1/2 snow pudding?
> Artic dwarves?
> Inuit?
> Larval stage of Stone Golems?
> 
> It's the last one isn't it.




Nope. Nothing so exciting. Just my take on your run of the mill Derro.


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## Hairy Minotaur

This reminds me of when I ran my players through the 2e adventure _Ruins of Greyhawk _ a player had read you could befriend some of the derro in one of the towers, he spent several sessions looking for the "friendly" tribe only to end up getting nearly killed every time he tried to parlay, until he gave up and started killing every derro he met until the rest of the party had to pull him off of one that was begging for mercy.


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## Jon Potter

Hairy Minotaur said:


> This reminds me of when I ran my players through the 2e adventure _Ruins of Greyhawk _ a player had read you could befriend some of the derro in one of the towers, he spent several sessions looking for the "friendly" tribe only to end up getting nearly killed every time he tried to parlay, until he gave up and started killing every derro he met until the rest of the party had to pull him off of one that was begging for mercy.




Ha!!

I'm not sure why Ahlear had it in his head that parlay was the way to go here. I'm usually fairly receptive to the idea of parlay, but Derro are insane... as a race... I just couldn't see them stepping up to the bargaining table.


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## Burningspear

soon comes the nice bits, NOT..


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #447] Splitting the Party*

The druid charged, covering the distance between himself and the dwarf with the ram's horn in six steps. His warhammer dipped low swinging up into the belly of the robed dwarf with a solid thud that sent the creature reeling back into the arms of the two behind it.

"You should have talked instead of being dumb!" Ahlear admonished in undercommon. The female dwarf on his left raised her hand and snapped her fingers. An explosion of _Sound Burst_ at Ahlear's back making his teeth chatter painfully in his mouth. Dark spots floated in his field of vision, but he managed to blink them away until the dwarf on the right snapped her fingers.



"I knew this damned tunnel thing was a bad idea," Huzair groused,  dabbing at the blood trickling from his ear. "Should have followed my flying plan."

"Pardon?" the elf maid asked, keeping her drawn arrow aimed solidly at the two dwarf creatures. Huzair looked at Anania and sighed.

"You know what, my sweet flower," he said, "on second thought, fire away. I think that Ahlear was a fool to try talking to these guys but maybe I should go help him out up there." He handed Anania the sheathed Windblade.

"You should carry this in case the stairs fall again," he said as he passed her the sword. "Do not worry about hitting me, love. I know how to stay out of the way."

Then he cast his second _Improved Invisibility_ and activated his _Ring of Blinking. A moment later he vanished up through the stairs overhead, leaving Anania alone with some very easy targets.



This time the sonic attack pounded Ahlear mercilessly making his head swim and momentarily stunning him. He felt rather than saw one of the dwarves step to his right, but he was powerless to prevent them from moving to his flank. He felt magic touch his flesh and move through his body, stiffening his muscles and joints. An instant later the effect repeated, impeding his mobility further, and contributing to his inability to avoid the shortsword that stabbed into his back. The damage from the attack was minor, but he could tell that it was due to a quirk of fate rather than any lack of skill on his attacker's part. The blade had been aimed at his spine, intended to take him out of the fight in one stroke, and it was only by virtue of the fact that he recovered from the stunning Sound Burst a fraction sooner than expected that he managed to avoid death.



Huzair paused in the curve of the stairs above his Web and drew out another scroll, this one of Expeditious Retreat. He read the words scribed thereon and as the scroll crumbled to dust, felt the magic flow into his body. He Spider Climbed up the wall, Blinked through another set of stairs, and continued on, repeating the process six more times before the magic wore off and he settled into his normal pace.

He could hear the sound of magic being used above him now, fairly close and he paused, placing his hand on Flameblade's pommel.

"I know you cannot see me, Morier, but I am drawing my sword," the mage whispered, "and I am actually going to use it."

He drew Flameblade from its sheath, filling the tunnel with flickering light.

"The Scion of Fire-" the sword began, but Huzair silenced it with a hiss.



"What's this?" Morier asked as he finally reached the spot where Anania stood vigilantly covering the entangled dwarves with a drawn arrow. The elf tersely described what Huzair had related to her and what she'd seen first hand.

"And Ahlear's above?" the albino asked and Anania nodded. "And Huzair went up after him?" She nodded again. "And there's no way passed but through these webs?"

"None but Huzair's magic," the scout observed. "Perhaps we could ask these... dwarves." Morier shook his head.

"The time for talk has passed," the eldritch warrior countered. "These little bastards will kill us all if we stand here and try to reason with them." Anania looked at him and increased the pull on her bow meaningfully.

"So..." she queried and Morier stooped and picked up her torch from the stairs.

"Kill 'em," he replied grimly. "Kill 'em all."



Ahlear knew that he had to get away. And he withdrew to his left, hobbling back toward the door. He'd almost made it when he felt magic touch him again, making his joints stiffen even more and like before he felt the effect repeat a moment later.

But by that point, he couldn't feel much of anything. His limbs were completely outside of his control and he pitched forward onto the stone floor, his body little more than a slab of insensate meat to which his mind was unfortunately tethered. A shadow fell across him and he felt rancid breath hot on his neck.

"Perhaps," a voice tittered into his ear, "it is you who are dumb, no?"

"Take him," another voice commanded. "He too can feed the goddess!"



Huzair crept Invisibly along the wall and peered cautiously into the room. Ahlear was down, he saw being dragged out a door by two squat figures in robes. A third was supervising the procedure - if supervising consisted of bouncing up and down and muttering incoherently while blood dribbled from her pale lips, that is.

Suddenly she stopped bobbing and looked directly at him. Which, he knew should have been impossible; he was Invisible after all. And he was, but he was also holding a shortsword of flame that filled the landing where he skulked with firelight.



Morier stepped forward, touching the torch to the nearest portion of the Web. The strands caught immediately and spread, burning away a large section in an instant. The albino waited for the smoke to clear and then stepped into the gap, ready to do it again and clear himself a path to the other side.

At his side, Anania sighted through the smoke and sank an arrow into the nearer of the two struggling dwarves. It lodged in the creature's neck prompting a cry of pain followed by some gibbered mewling in a language that neither understood. Morier recognized it, although he hadn't heard it much since being cast out of Sheoloth. And hearing the language of his birth parents now hardened his heart.

"EVERY time we divide the party something goes wrong," the eldritch warrior grimaced. "Why will nobody EVER listen to me??"



Ahlear felt the hands on his boots relax for a moment, then the third dwarf - the one he had wounded - gave an angry hiss.

"Take him to the giant! And hurry, before the magic wears off!" she commanded in undercommon. "I'll take care of the will o' the wisp!" She grinned and turned toward a flickering light that seemed to be coming from the door to the stairs.

The grips on his legs tightened and he realized something: he could FEEL the hands on him. With a twitch of his finger, he dismissed his Produce Flame spell and suddenly there was only the stuttering light coming from the stairs. In the strobing illumination he saw the two dwarves at his feet pull back in alarm, fumbling for weapons.

He seized the opportunity then to activate the Ring of Invisibility and vanished just as the two shortswords stabbed downward. Both missed and the one on his right struck the stone floor with such force that it snapped the tip off its blade.



Huzair watched the nearest dwarf watching him - or rather she was watching the area where he was. She spoke a word and shadows seemed to ooze from her pores, cloaking her in a Veil of Darkness that obscured her body from the wizard's view.

"Resolvo veneficus!" Huzair intoned and dropped a Dispel Magic on the area around her. It did not have the intended effect on the dwarf's Veil of Shadows, but it did inadvertently eliminate one of the Clumsiness spells hampering Ahlear. The druid felt the barest bit of his physical dexterity return - just enough to make him feel as coordinated as if he'd been drinking dwarf spirits for the last several hours.

Which is to say: not very coordinated at all.

The Veiled dwarf raised a ram's horn she carried in her hand and muttered something that Huzair couldn't hear. He felt Flameblade devour an incoming spell, just as he'd hoped it would.



Anania aimed and sent another arrow stabbing into the wounded dwarf thing. It struck beside and below the first arrow, sinking into the flesh just above its studded leather armor. It made a gurgling sound and went limp in the Web. The other creature that was free to thrash about renewed its efforts to do so, without success. It cursed in its strange, ugly tongue and invoked a Veil of Shadows that obscured it somewhat.

Morier pressed forward with his torch, undaunted by the dwarf spitting and cursing to his left.

An approaching Clank. Clank. Clank. signaled Shamalin's arrival from below. Huffing and red-faced, she took in the scene at a glance, steadying herself against the wall with one hand. A Light spell glowed brightly on her black shield, filling the hallway with radiance.

"What... is this...," she panted and Morier glanced back over his slim shoulder.

"Huzair and Ahlear are up ahead," he said, "We need to get passed can you-?" He stopped himself as the cleric raised her holy symbol and spoke a few divine words.

At once, the Web unravelled, dropping to the stairs all three dwarves. The one that Anania had shot, not surprisingly, lay where it fell, but the other two scrambled immediately into action_


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## Jon Potter

*The Vanishing Staircase, part 2*

Ahlear tried to make himself small and quiet as the two dwarves stabbed at the empty air he had lately occupied. He got awkwardly to his feet and pressed himself against the wall in the darkened hallway, hoping that Huzair had some sort of "big boom" up his sleeve.



Huzair, of course, had no idea where Ahlear was, so rather than risk hurting his ally with a _Fireball_, he settled on hurting his enemies with a flash pellet. He produced a small ceramic bead from his pouch and hurled it behind the _Veiled_ dwarf nearest him, hoping to catch the two in the doorway as well.

It arced up and over the lead dwarf and struck the hard stone tiles behind her, shattering and flashing with dazzling brilliance once the alchemical mixture within contacted the air. Of course, Huzair didn't see that part as he was already turning away and shielding his eyes. But he heard three gratifying cries of startled pain.

"Ahlear, get out of there!" the wizard shouted in common as he slipped through the doorway and headed for the stairs.



The dwarf that had been completely entangled by Huzair's _Web_ spell was the first to recover and it cloaked itself in a _Veil of Shadows_ like its fellow. Then it scrambled backward, picking up its fallen crossbow as it went.

Anania stepped forward and struck at the creature with her bow. The weapon had been made using an ancient elvencrafting process and served equally well in ranged or melee combat. The dwarf, of course, did not know this and so it was confused by her attack, taking the blow squarely in the chest. It cried out in pain.

Morier dropped his torch and speaking the words of a spell brought Stoneblade to bear on the other dwarf. As he swung, his muscles swelled with the power of a _Bull's Strength_ spell, and the greatsword struck with enough force to split the hapless dwarf from skull to pelvis. It never even had a chance to cry out as it very nearly exploded beneath the power of the eldritch warrior's blow.

Shamalin was disturbed by the profusion of gore, but not disturbed enough that it kept her from invoking a _Magic Circle against Evil_. She centered it on herself, which put the last dwarf just within its area of effect.



Huzair had somehow managed to blind all three of the dwarf things, and Ahlear seized the opportunity to creep toward the exit as quietly as he could. It wasn't easy as clumsy as he was and with the only illumination from Huzair's rapidly retreating light source. But he made it to the landing of the stairwell before any of the dwarfs recovered enough to chase him.



Huzair, himself had made it two turns of the staircase before his second  _Improved Invisibility_ spell gave out, leaving him with only his _Ring of Blinking_ and his _False Life_ spell protecting him. There was still another of the dwarfs - the one he'd fought earlier after casting his _Web_ spell - somewhere on these stairs, and he didn't fancy meeting the thing with so few protections in place.

As it turned out, however, he needn't have worried about it. He had already run heedless passed the dwarf who was hiding in the shadows on the stairs above. Having seen the wizard's flickering light approaching from above the dwarf had hidden himself ready to attack with surprise. However, upon seeing that Huzair was _Blinking_ in and out of existence it realized that it would be difficult if not impossible to land a well placed blow on the mage and so it had let him run passed unmolested.

Huzair had never even looked twice at the dark shape crouched against the wall.



The dwarf that Anania had injured scuttled backwards up the stairs, working the crank on its crossbow. As soon as it was out of her reach it raised the weapon and fired, a curse on its lips. It managed to nick the elf maid's left thigh with the bolt, drawing blood but little more.

Anania stepped in close again and struck out with her bow, but as she swung she felt a searing burn in the wound on her leg and she stumbled, missing badly. As she staggered, her leg crumpled under her weight and she fell to one knee on the stairs.

The dwarf had one second to gloat before Morier stepped up and cut its right arm off close to its torso. The thing looked horrorstruck at the fountaining amputation and then fell dead, tumbling down the stairs.

"Are you alright?" Morier asked as he stopped to help Anania to her feet. She grimaced, her face dripping suddenly with sweat.

"Posion!" she hissed, gripping Morier's arm in pain. Shamalin stepped forward and offered her support on the other side.

"Let me have a look," she offered and Morier nodded.

"Look after Anania," he said turning to head up the stairs. "I'm going to find the others!"



Ahlear stepped quickly aside as another of the albino dwarf creatures came trotting up the stairs, its lips pulled back from its cracked yellow teeth in a lunatic rictus. It was actually giggling to itself as it ran and Ahlear once again smelled that rank unwashed stench that he had smelled before in the darkened stairwell.

He was glad to let the noxious thing passed... until he saw what it was going for: the lever!

It leapt up, seizing the device with both hands and lifted its feet off the floor so that its weight pulled the lever down. There was a CLICK! and then the stairs were disappearing back into the central column.

He tried for the landing, but it was too far and his reflexes had suffered too much from the other dwarves' magic. He wasn't even close.



Clinging to the side of the staircase, Huzair watched him shoot passed, his arms flailing in the dark. The wizard whipped out a hand and managed to snag the druid's wrist and hold it for a heartbeat before he _Blinked_ and Ahlear was falling again.



The stairs retracted beneath Morier's feet and he seemed to hang in space, mid-stride before he tipped and plummeted down, his hands swimming uselessly against the air.

Anania did actually hover for a moment as the stairs disappeared, buoyed up by the magic of Windblade.

Shamalin looked up and tried desperately to grab Anania's arm, but the elf jerked her hand away and reached instead for Morier. But she was too slow.

Both cleric and eldritch warrior shot downward toward the bottom of the staircase while Anania Feather Fell after them.



Shamalin struck first, clanging against the stone floor with a sound like a rung gong.

The three dead dwarves landed next, bursting horribly upon impact.

Then Morier hit the bottom, trying uselessly to land on his feet. The sound of breaking bones competed with his screams in the stone chamber.

An instant later, Ahlear hit the ground with a wet cracking sound. He did not cry out.


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## darkhall-nestor

ouch ouch ouch!!!!


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## Hairy Minotaur

Huzair needs Shamalin conscious or he's going to have to play the hero again and his kind of triage would get messy. 

Oh and only 4 more posts and then party time right? You all ready for the big event?

edit: only 3 more posts now.


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## Jon Potter

*Big event? Ummm...*



Hairy Minotaur said:


> Oh and only *3* more posts and then party time right? You all ready for the big event?




Actually... no. I'm not at all ready. 

I know that I talked about something special, but I haven't a clue what I that might be apart from the start of a new thread to keep the length manageable and accessible to newcomers.

Oh, and only 2 posts now.


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## Jon Potter

*[Realms #449] Dark Awakening*

Shamalin ached everywhere she could feel blood slicking her face, taste its metallic tang in her mouth. She pushed herself to her knees with one hand. Her shield arm hung loosely to the side, insensate, which, she was fairly certain wasn't good. Morier was trying to flip himself over off to her right, his teeth gritted in pain. His left shin had developed an extra joint in the fall, and she could see blood soaking through his clothing at that point. She clutched her holy symbol and prayed to Flor, welcoming the warmth of healing magic and the slow return of feeling to her left arm.

"Shamalin!" Morier hissed through clenched teeth. "Are you-"

"Hush!" she hissed back and got to her feet. "I'm fine and you will be too."

"What about Ahlear?" the albino asked and Shamalin looked over at the druid. His head had burst open on impact and he was clearly dead. She shook her head.

"He is beyond my help," she told him solemnly. and Morier scowled. How many allies had he lost on this quest? How many more would fall before this was done?

Anania landed lightly on the floor and rushed toward Morier. She and Shamalin shared a glance and the elf maid looked away, color rising in her cheeks.

"It happened so suddenly," she offered. "My reaction was to grab Morier... I am so sorry... I am so sorry!!"

Shamalin said nothing but cloaked herself in a _Sanctuary_ spell, not looking at the Scout.

"Can we heal Morier up?" Anania continued. "I know how important he is to this quest..."

Now Shamalin did look up, but she said nothing. She stalked over and, pushing passed the elf, knelt at Morier's side.

"Shamalin... I am so sorry. That is unlike me," Anania started, then she paused, shivering. "Is it getting colder in here?"

"Yes," the cleric answered, looking concerned. Her green eyes sparkled apprehensively in the dim light. She'd felt this sensation of unnatural cold before when they'd accidentally breached the Negative Material Plane inside the Tainted Cave. The glow from her _Light_ spell and from Anania's fallen torch seemed to dim as shadows pressed in menacingly from all sides.

"What is this?" Anania asked, but Shamalin had no answers apart from a startled cry of, "Look!" She pointed at Ahlear's corpse from which tendrils of purest black were leaking. like umbral smoke.

What happened next seemed to happen in an instant, but it also seemed to draw out for an age. Ahlear's corpse jerked once on the ground and his armor was wrenched from his body in an eyeblink, leaving him pale and naked on the cold stone floor. Apart from the billowing darkness that seemed first to be caressing him, now tugging him, now battering him. He flopped to his back, turning his ruined face to the ceiling, and ribbons of negative energy whipped up and out of the strange tattoo on his chest. The tendrils writhed about hungrily, something cold and predatory about their movements that instantly filled Shamalin, Morier and Anania with dread.

Then there was a wind in the room, expelled from the tunnel mouth that lead to the outside. It smelled cool and fresh and carried with it a verdant mist that moved unerringly toward the writhing tendrils of negative energy. The two energies, seemed to engage in some sort of battle over Ahlear's corpse, the blue-green mist trying to enter his mouth, the black tendrils seeking to prevent the same. Tendrils of darkness snaked down wrapping themselves around the fallen druid's body, sealing it from foot to head in ribbons of negative energy.

The clash of energies - divine energies, Shamalin noted without even registering it - roiled in the air above the body, at something of a stalemate although it was clearly the negative forces which had the upper hand, sleight though it was. The wind was howling now and the spectacle reached some sort of violent climax that made the onlookers turn away blinking, water streaming from their dazzled eyes.

Morier screamed then, clutching at his chest. He pulled at the neck of his armor, yanking it aside to expose his chalk-white throat and Shamalin could see the fingers of a dark tattoo like the one that marked Ahlear appear strangely there. It continued beneath his armor, but the bit that was visible was the same despite seeming less like a thing of shadow and more like an actual tattoo.

"Gods!" Anania choked out, springing to her feet. She dropped Windblade and drew her bow and an arrow in one motion. Shamalin looked where she was looking and gasped.

Ahlear was sitting up, or rather a thing that might have been Ahlear was sitting where the druid had fallen. It was wrapped head to toe in what looked like ancient gray bandages between which wisps of shadow leaked like smoke.

"Rhaaaaaah...." the mummified creature groaned, its voice a dry, sepulchral rasp. A harsh parody of Ahlear's living voice. "Ouch. That was not fun."


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## Burningspear

Bingo! ... anyway... its not as bad as it looks, but enjoy the short ride


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## Hairy Minotaur

*Congratulations!*

Well you made it Jon, 1000 posts and over 42,375 views. Even through the slow times when it seemed like you were writting for yourself, you kept on and look where you are today. 

Here's to 1000 more!


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## Neurotic

*Faithful lurkers*

Indeed, here is just to show you that even if you don't see us, we're here reading.

Keep on!


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## Jon Potter

*New thread*

Thanks for the kind words, HM. It feels good to have reached this milestone that seemed so far away not that long ago. It's strange to look back on the early posts and where the game was at that point compared to where it is now.

And Neurotic, it's nice to know that I've got some faithful lurkers out there. 

But we've reached 1KP (that's 1,000 Posts for those who do not share my perverse love for acronyms) and I think it's time to retire this thread. So I've started a new one over here entitled: "Realms of Enlightenment: The Grey Companions (reborn)". I'll be posting the story there from now on. I've also posted the details of the 1KP celebration in the first post there.

And to get you hooked right away, I'll be posting an update there each day this week. So hit the subscribe link and adjust your bookmarks, thread two is on the move!


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