# A Crumbling Trail (Chapter 2 up now, upd. 2/27)



## jayaint (Feb 8, 2004)

Two adventurers on a lengthy mission stop to rest at a riverside inn. Their world (and their mission) is about to get a whole lot more complicated. The party grows.

_*Introduction:*_

The two figures opened the door to the inn and looked around wearily. The front room seemed to yawn with the light from the setting sun weaving its way through uneven glass windows. Empty. They could hear papers being shuffled in the next room through a small ledge and window in the wall. The shorter of the two let  the door close behind him and removed his heavy, tightly wrapped pack. The other walked slowly up to the counter and cleared his throat. 

Bhannimann Bhartif was hunched deeply over his ledger when the stranger cleared his throat. He nearly spilled his bottle of ink as he jumped up in surprise. He reset his pen and ink nervously as he rose to greet the visitors. 

“Hello there, travelers,” he intoned cheerfully. It was a rehearsed practiced cheer, as the one thing Bhannimann was not, was cheery. Especially these days, with no business. He eyed his inkwell of red ink ruefully. 

“Greetings.” The man standing at the counter was tired, it was easy to see, but there was something deep within him that shone outward, some kind of power or presence that unnerved the innkeeper. Tall and thin would suffice to describe him if not for the tarnished aura that peeked out. His shock-white hair seemed out of place on so young a face. His voice was soothing, with no accent tripping his words. 
“We are looking for a room for the night,” he said. 

“Well,” replied Bhannimann sourly, forgetting his cheer, “if you were looking for twelve rooms, that would be better, but one is a fine place to start.”
The tall stranger laughed, as did his shorter companion. 

“Business is that slow?” the lanky one asked.

“Look around you, traveler. The seats at the tables are empty, and the tables are well polished and clean. Even the floor is cleaned to a shine. There used to be days where I forgot what color the floor was it became so trampled with boot scuffs and mud. But no longer.” Bhannimann sighed heavily and leaned on the counter. 

With a flourish, the tall one replied, “Well, then, innkeeper; we shall buy your twelve rooms tonight. I cannot say the same for tomorrow night or the night after. But for now, let the two of us rent your inn.” 

Bhannimann was stunned. He tried to roughly calculate how much money that was, realizing it was more than he had made since the last full-moon. He stammered out the total, and the men opened up a small pouch and set down the exact amount in gold coins. 

The innkeeper nervously scooped up the gold, and plunked it behind the counter, in a dark desk drawer. He went around and opened the door to the Great Room, and beckoned the travelers to follow him up the stairs. Upon reaching the third story, Bhannimann told the men that it contained only two rooms, both large and spacious with pitched and vaulted ceilings. Since they were so kind, and the place was empty, he offered the rooms to them. They asked for hot water for cleaning, and promised that they would be down in time for a late supper. 

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It was little more than an hour after Bhannimann had delivered the hot water up the stairs to the companions that they arrived back downstairs looking refreshed, and hungry. One of the large round tables in the Great Room had been laid with what amounted to a feast. Bhannimann stood proudly before it, and gestured with gold-induced cheer towards it as the two travelers entered the room. 

They ate in silence, enjoying the meal that had been prepared. The innkeeper hovered over them, attempting to indulge their every beck and call, though there were few needs left unattended to. 

The taller man with the bright head of hair drained the last of his goblet and placed it on the table. He slid his chair back, allowing his body to drape loosely over the arms, relaxing. He gestured for Bhannimann to sit down and relax himself. Nervously, the host let himself sit upon a chair, seeming as though it could give way at any moment. 

“Would you be so kind,” asked the innkeeper, “to tell me a bit about yourselves? You are quite a curiosity to me.”

The shorter fellow, still devouring the last piece of meat on his plate, looked up quickly at his companion. He had dark skin, and smoldering dark eyes that were hidden deeply under ragged black eyebrows. His beard was coal black and hung below the level of the table. An astonished Bhannimann thought, “It can’t be. He looks as though he is a dwarf, but he’s at least my height.” He had not paid him any close attention earlier. 

The taller traveler gave the bearded man an easy sideways look and assured their host that he would do just that. 
“My name is Onya. It is short for something much longer and harder for our common tongues to pronounce. I travel with my friend Thyr, which is short for Thyrryn, which is short for something much longer and harder for any tongue to pronounce.” With a meat filled mouth, the other traveler snorted with laughter.

“What would you like to know?”

Bhannimann absently rubbed his jowl-heavy face while he considered what questions to ask. He finally sniffed loudly and asked, “Where are you all from?”

Onya smiled and answered again for the both of them, “We are both lost souls. Outcasts, if you will. I was separated from my inland family during the Expansion War, while I was just a boy. I have yet to stop moving since, always going from place to place and king to king, without ever really living anywhere. I have been lucky to see more of the world than most men.”

He trailed off for a moment, obviously revisiting some part of his past that was his alone. Then he continued, “Thyr travels with me out of the kindness of his heart and the hardness of others, both of which are in abundance. You see, he is a half-breed. You will never see a taller dwarf nor an uglier human.” 

Thyr laughed again, this time with a mouth full of ale, splattering the table with its spray. Sheepishly, he wiped down his section of the table with his glove. Onya chuckled in response. Bhannimann stared at the two of them in a daze, confounded by the story being told. 

He finally spoke up after a moment when he realized Onya had finished. “So an orphan and a half-breed with enough gold to rent out an inn. One doesn’t often hear a tale such as this. Well, not often from the mouth of the orphan or the half-breed, anyways.”

“Oh, I am not an orphan, innkeeper,” Onya said with a smile, “I know exactly where my parents live and how their lives revolve. They have, since my separation from them, relocated and I keep very close tabs on them.”

Bhannimann replied quickly, thinking of the gold his quick tongue could cost him, “They must have been relieved to know you were still alive. Please understand, I meant no offense.”

The lanky man picked up the last piece of meat from his plate and chewed it thoughtfully, before responding. “No offense taken, Mr. Bhartif. None at all. But they do not know I am alive. You would be surprised, innkeeper, at how easy it is to keep tabs on someone without them knowing.”

There was a short period of silence between the three at that point. Thyr finished his plate and tankard, and gave a low vow of thanks to some barely audible deity. Onya watched Bhannimann sit restlessly, the urge to clean the table apparently getting the best of his nervousness. He rose and began picking up serving dishes, trays and pitchers. 

Onya spoke again, “Mr. Bhartif, we are glad to be here. Your inn is a comfortable and safe place for us to rest and regain our strength. We are adventurers, Bhannimann. Probably the first this part of the world has seen in some time. And, mind you, hopefully the last. We are making our way back to your port city, following the trail of the river outside your door that sustains your livelihood.”

Bhannimann had gently replaced all the things he picked up, and sat back down in his chair, mouth open. 

Onya spoke on, his voice even and steady, “Innkeeper, we have seen and done great things. Though I am human, I am less like you than you might imagine. I am a mage of high standing with the overseas Imperial throne. I am also a cleric of the god of magic. His divine power flows through me, even now, as we speak.” 

“Thyr is a warrior of his tribe, though an outcast as well. He has stood alone against foes more powerful than you might possibly imagine. I rescued him from certain death, and though I did not ask it of him, that is why he travels with me to this day. You have nothing to fear from us, Bhannimann Bhartif. But I wanted you to know who sleeps under your roof this night, lest you wonder and come up with your own stories.”

Bhannimann looked back and forth between the two men. He was obviously speechless. He had heard tales come from upriver about a group of travelers engaged in the “doing-of-great-deeds”, but these two hardly seemed to fit the part. He nodded slowly, and rose again, beginning to clear the table for a second time.

“Dessert, gentlemen?” he asked.


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## the Jester (Feb 8, 2004)

Nice start!


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## jayaint (Feb 23, 2004)

*Chapter One*

Rain had begun to fall outside the inn. Quietly at first, while the diners were still eating and talking. Now, though, as Bhannimann had all but the last dish or two cleared from the table, the rain was falling steadily harder. 

“Looks as though we chose a good time to stop and rest, Thyr,” Onya mentioned uneasily to Thyr across the table. . 

Thyr didn’t move his eyes from the thick windows awash with rainwater, but grumbled something and tossed his head. Though Innkeeper Bhartif might have been upset had he noticed, Thyr’s hand was wrapped tightly around the hilt of the warhammer at his side. Onya noticed. He stood and quickly walked to the window to peer outside. Nighttime had settled in with the storm clouds, making the view murky and inky. With the first flash of lightning, Onya’s eyes saw only the swelling river, and the trees of the far side. Thunder rattled the plates in the kitchen. 

Bhannimann waddled back into the Great Room, oblivious to the tension, with keys jangling in his fist. “I guess I should be locking up now. Not that I was going to have any business anyways, but no one else is going to be out in this weather.” He fiddled with the key ring for a second, locating the correct key. 

“Even if you did, Innkeeper, you’d have no vacancies, remember,” Onya spoke into the pane of glass, eyes still searching. 

“Very true, traveler, very true.” Bhartif started blindly towards the door, his small pouch of gold on his mind. His hand was extended with the key at the ready when the door seemed to explode inwards, hinges straining so as to not send the door flying across the room. A woman stood silhouetted in the doorway by more lightning, and as the thunder pounded overhead she slumped against the frame. 

Onya’s head echoed with a distant scream, but was sure that his ears had not heard anything over the commotion at the door. He rushed forward to grab the woman and pull her inside. Thyr stepped around them and was guarding the door, peering out. His warhammer, now in plain sight, glistened with rain drops, steady in his thick hands. 

The woman was still for a moment, unmoving, though she appeared unhurt. Then her breath caught her, and her chest expanded raggedly and her eyes flew open. Her mouth went to speak, but before her lips could move, Onya imagined her running through the night, a dark form at her side, felt the rain pelting her, and knew that she had been chased here. She tried to speak, but could only manage a sob. Her eyes opened and met Onya’s. His mind buzzed. He shook his head, and he focused his concentration. A faint blue-white aura swirled around him slowly and then with a small flash disappeared into her. Her rigid body relaxed and her panting and sobbing stilled. 

Thyr looked back over his shoulder in to the room behind him. Onya knelt over the young woman. Bhannimann was sprawled on his back on the floor. He looked around his inn with a dazed expression, his eyes were in a kind of glazed over shock. As Thyr turned his head back to the river, the familiar hiss of an incoming arrow whistled in his ear. He ducked just in time as the projectile ripped into and splintered the doorframe.

Several more arrows thudded into the side of the building and one passed through the open doorway and struck the floor mere inches from Bhannimann’s head. His eyes rolled back and he fainted, his head hitting the floor with a hollow thud. 

Thyr jumped up and grasped the unsteady door to close it and gain some protection. Something stopped him, if only for a split second. During that second, illuminated in an electric flash of lightning, he saw a strange shadow on the ground outside the door and it was growing larger. 

A jumbled mass of dark figures slammed deafeningly into the ground on the doorstep of the inn. The timbers and beams of the building shook from the impact. Lanterns swung crazily from the ceiling, causing a dizzy dance of shadows in the room. The young woman’s eyes flew open and she struggled to sit up. Onya turned to see. 

A thin whine rang out and then tapered off in pain. Scaly wings and sharp talons flashed in the soft light spilling out of the inn. Then, with an abrupt thrust, a blade pierced through one of the writhing bodies. A figure, central to the melee, found its feet and arose from the chaos. It raised a head covered in matted fur and blood to the cloudy night sky and let loose a howl. 

“Kantanar,” cried the young woman, stretching out her hand to him. 

The half-wolf’s eyes flashed into the inn. He looped his sword in a tight, compact arc, with one scaly body still impaled upon it, and it sliced into and through another. Thyr sprang to life suddenly, gripping his warhammer with both hands and attacking the closest winged creature. The half-wolf used his other hand to provide the resistance to extract his sword from the two bleeding bodies. They fell with a splash into the mud at his feet. 

Inside the inn, Onya stood and moved nearer to the door, raising his hands above his head and speaking an archaic language. A gossamer thin sheet of energy draped over Thyr and the half-wolf as they fought. The young woman’s eyes widened to see one of the creature’s talons seemingly deflect off the delicate aura surrounding the half-wolf. 

Onya then moved outside carefully, speaking again in hushed tones. His eyes erupted in a flash of soft yellow light, and he began to peer out into the darkness. 

Thyr raised his hammer to block a taloned claw from landing its blow, and then used his thick arms and gravity to turn the creature’s leg into pulp with a precise swing. The half-wolf’s sword made a jagged tear in a dark wing, and then landed thickly in a scaly shoulder. 

The last two remaining winged lizards crouched and jumped into the rainy night, flapping their wings in retreat. They disappeared into the darkness quickly. 

Onya’s glowing eyes had found what they searched for. Across the river, four reptilian figures crouched in the tall reeds on the bank. They held bows at the ready and were preparing to launch another volley, though even the sharpest of eyes would have been unable to see them in the darkness. To Onya’s eyes whch were flowing with magic, however, they stood out as plain as day. 

His eyes narrowed, he clenched his fist and the far side of the river exploded in fire. Screams and whines echoed over the rain. 

He turned back to re-enter the inn. He stopped. The half-wolf and Thyr were both standing still, mouths agape, looking upwards. The young woman was leaning against the doorframe, one hand on the arrow shaft embedded in the wood. Her gaze was directed upwards, though she could not see what had enthralled the two warriors. 

On the roof of the building now stood a large deformed figure. He was hunched over, and had a cloak pulled over his angled form. The only part of him they could see has a gnarled and curled up hand, sticking out at an odd angle from his cloak. 

“It shouldn’t have to be like this,” he barked out. 

The group stood in silence. 

“It ends here, you know. You all will not stand in my way.” 

His hand began to sway, his fingertips leaving trails of light in the air. The rain began to swirl around the group and the ground seemed to suck in its breath. It became quiet and still. Lightning flashed silently with no thunder to follow. Thyr bowed his head as he felt a great power begin to crush him. Onya’s breath leapt from his body under the pressure. The half-wolf tried to howl but could not. 

Without warning, the man’s hand splayed out rigidly. His other hand went to his head under his cloak. He groaned and wobbled on the pitched roof. The rain once again fell straight down, and the wind twisted through the night air.

He screamed and toppled, falling into space. Something flashed under his cloak and his figure disappeared before it hit the ground. 

The group gasped for breath and looked around. The young woman was crumpled on the ground, with blood streaming from her nose and mouth. Her eyes were slow and dull, and yet as they met Onya’s, he saw in his mind the blast of energy she had released that had caused the figure on the roof so much pain. He guessed there was much more to her than just her beauty. 

Bhannimann sat up groggily, and looked around. 

“What did I miss?”


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## the Jester (Feb 24, 2004)

Nice combat... sounds like you have some psionics in there, eh?


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## jayaint (Feb 24, 2004)

Jester, thanks for the comment first of all.  And, yes, a little telepathy/etc going on. I have been dreading getting a rogue's gallery call for characters because one of my players and I came up with these characters without so much as rolling one die or picking one feat. They are just characters in the fictional and broadest sense of the word. We both brainstorm plot ideas and then "act out" with our characters in mind how each scene would happen. Its really not a campagin log at all, but truly a "story" hour. 

I hope that my writing is engaging enough to keep people reading with only "hints" of classes, races, feats and skills shining through. Everything is based out of DnD 3.5e OGL "stuff", however, there is absolutely nothing specific on a character sheet or campagin setting written down anywhere. 

So, thats my story and I'm sticking to it.


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## jayaint (Feb 27, 2004)

*Chapter Two*

Onya and Thyr sat in the inn’s Great Room with concerned faces. Bhannimann had quickly been appraised of the situation and had found some blankets for the soaking arrivals. Onya tended and cured their wounds with another small flash of magical light. The two sat on low wooden chairs near the fireplace trying to keep warm. The four of them stared blankly ahead, not returning each other’s glances. Bhannimann kept trying to refill mugs or offer something from the larder. 

Finally, the innkeeper pulled up a chair himself and sat, nervously looking from one face to the next. 

The girl spoke out, stumbling over her words, speaking too quickly.

“I am very, very sorry. I never wanted this to happen. I didn’t know what those things were, or who was controlling them. I just didn’t know. I have endangered each of you, and I’m sorry.”

Onya cut her short, “Its okay. I promise it’ll be okay.”

She looked at him solemnly. 

Onya spoke again, “Can you tell us who you are?”

The half-wolf, still short of breath with heaving flanks, stood up suddenly. Thyr leaped up in an instant also, though Onya’s hand was a calming presence on his arm. The half-wolf grunted uncomfortably and winced as though he was feeling intense pain. His body began to twitch and blur, like wax melting in the sun. Bhannimann felt ill watching muscles slide under skin of their own accord. Slowly the form settled and stilled, and a mild mannered elf of moderate height and sleight build stood peering back at them. Thyr’s mouth, though hidden under an unkempt moustache, was open in astonishment. 

Onya smiled to himself, and patted Thyr’s muscular arm to have him retake his seat. His companion eased himself back down upon the chair. 

“Well, that is quite an introduction, my friend,” Onya put forth, speaking in Elvish tongue. 

The elf looked at Onya curiously and replied, “There are not many speakers of my tongue left in this world. And my name is Kantan’ner…”

“Which means ‘shapeless’,” Onya finished for him, “And it pains me to feel the growing absence of your language. My name is Onyanaa Qunataen'val” He switched to common and asked, “Tell us your story?”

The young girl looked up at Onya and inhaled. 

“My name is Seren. I met Kantanar soon after running away from home. He was hiding in the woods around my hometown, stealing bits of food, and living in the wild because he was unable to control the beast inside of him. He threatened me, but I stood up to him. I was not going to allow my running away to end within sight of my home, within hours of leaving. I,” and she stopped here momentarily, “could sense his strife and confusion. He had good days and bad days. There would be times where I would not see him for days. But he would always come back and find me. We traveled a great distance away from my homeland.”

Kantanar spoke up, “I didn’t know where we were headed, and I don’t think Seren knew, either. But as we traveled, with her help, I was able to find ways to control this malady that plagues me.”

“Kantanar and I found this river about three weeks ago. We had come through a very rough and overgrown section of forest, and down through the rocky mountain passes. Upon reaching the river, we decided to camp for a day or so to rest. The first night, last night, we were set upon by a collection of creatures like none we had ever seen.”

The elf shivered at the thought, “They were gross distortions of humans or elves or something. Misbred, or pieced together, I could not tell. They seemed bent to their task as though under an invisible whip. We fended them off, but were unable to kill or drop one of them to get a better look. We packed our things this morning and set out along the river.”

Onya and Thyr looked nervously at each other. Uneasy, they remained silent and listened to Seren resume the tale. 

“This evening, we could tell we were getting close to this settlement and our day seemed normal. There had been no signs of any disturbances near us. And as the rain clouds swept in over us, so did the sound of flapping wings. Those black reptilian creatures swarmed us just outside of town. I ran, thinking Kantanar was right behind me. But as I came into sight of this inn, I looked and he was not there, nor were the creatures. I, I… thought I had left my only friend in the world to die.” Her eyes welled with tears. 

Kantanar looked at his companion with soft eyes. “I had chosen to lag behind. For survival’s sake, my body is able to do some things that it should not. I closed my eyes and concentrated intensely. I could feel the wings ripping out of my back and unfurling in the first drops of rain. I crouched and took to the air, taunting those scaly beasts. I flew just barely in front of them, tossed and turned by the growing storm. I landed on your roof, innkeeper.” His eyes were no longer soft and out of focus. They bored straight ahead into the floor as he spoke. Bhannimann and his two guests from earlier looked on in suspense. 

“They surrounded me, however, keeping their distance from my shapechange, I believe. I found my body unable to hold its form any longer and my skin rippled and I crumpled up as I returned to my true self. They attacked.”

Seren wiped her cheeks and bit her lip, remembering. “I saw Kantanar on the corner of the roof and ran towards the inn. When I saw the creatures pounce upon him, I kind of blacked out. I felt a great surge of fear or excitement pass through me, and then I came to on this floor. Kantanar crashed to the ground just outside the door. You al know the rest.” Her tears began to fall again. Bhannimann leaned over and offered her a cloth napkin to dry her eyes. 

The elf spoke up, “I guess that the stress from Seren’s mind had some effect upon my body, as did the surge of adrenaline from fighting. I was unaware that I had taken my wolfen form until the creatures flew away, and that… that thing tried to kill us.”

Onya stood and paced along the grain of the floorboards. Thyr sat back and exhaled loudly in amazement. Bhannimann, most likely in shock, just sat there silently, fidgeting with a loose thread on his trousers. 

Seren and Kantanar finally seemed to catch their breath fully. Seren ran her hands through her tangled hair, shaking out some more rainwater. 

Onya stopped pacing and looked at the other four in the room. His friend, the half-dwarf was fidgeting with his trusty warhammer, itching for another chance to fight. The elf was still looking at the floor, obviously carrying a larger burden than this nights fight and the pack on the ground next to him. Seren was trying to keep the blanket wrapped around her for warmth. 

He knew there was much more to her than met the eye. His mind had opened up to hers in that moment of stress with astounding clarity. And as the pressure caved in on them, and the mysterious figure above them threatened to end their life, it was some kind of projection from her mind that caused him so much pain. 

They all looked up at Onya when he spoke. He told them to all get some rest, and that they would be heading out together in the morning. As Bhannimann led the two newcomers up the stairs to their rooms, Thyr stood next to Onya and looked out into the storm that was still raging outside. 

“What are we going to do,” asked Thyr. 

“I don’t know,” Onya replied, “I don’t know.” He paused. “I guess we continue on. I wasn’t expecting to come face to face like that so suddenly.”

“I know,” Thyr said. 

Onya spoke with a grim look in his eyes, “All I can say, right now, is that we are in so much more danger than any of us can fathom. I don’t know which way to turn.” 

A silence hung between them for a long time. Thyr turned and trudged up the stairs. This was going to get a whole lot worse before it got any better.


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## the Jester (Feb 28, 2004)

One of the fun ways to approach a rogues gallery kina thing might be to post 'speculative' stats for the characters after a while... rathering than saying that Thyr is a 6th level ranger, you can posit that Thyr _looks like_ a 6th level ranger with these stats...   Just a thought.

As to readers, I suspect the best way to approach a SH is to write it for yourself.  Readers will come, but they'll take forever to do it.   One of the best ways to get readers is to link it in your sig.  Another is to comment in other SHs- a lot of the readers like to read tons of different stories.


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## jayaint (Feb 28, 2004)

As always, Jester, you make my day with the occaisional comment. Thanks. I took your advice and added the link in my sig. I have read several other SH's, and unfortunately have yet to comment, so I will remedy that as well. To the other 47 odd folks who have come to take a look and read, I hope you have enjoyed. Chapter 3 is on its way!


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