Lazybones's Keep on the Shadowfell/Thunderspire Labyrinth

Still here, still lovin' it

Is that character development I sense for Beetle?

delurklurklurk..okay now I actually know what my password is.
Looking good LB!

As always thoroughly enjoyed the RA story thread.

I haven't got the 4e edition, nor really have any intention yet as the PC games are my usual angle. But being an old D&D red box kid where you could only be a cleric, fighter or crazy multiclass elf or whatnot; all sounds pretty funky.

Looking forward to the new thread.

Heh, I recently started reading Dr. Midnight's take on Shadowfell, and saw that he had the kobold slinger burn a wagon as well! Great minds think alike, I suppose...

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Chapter 6


Outside of the walls of Winterhaven, the deep of night clung like a heavy cloak over the rugged landscape of Nentir Vale. Those folk who lived on the scattered homesteads that scattered the hills and dales around the town remained protected by thick walls of wood or stone, and they always barred their doors and shuttered their windows. Shadows crept through the night, and domesticated animals lowed within their pens, wary of the darkness and the things it hid.

Within the town, most of the buildings were likewise dark and quiet, but Wrafton’s Inn was an oasis of light and noise within the darkness. There were maybe thirty or forty people in the inn’s common room all told, gathered in knots around the bar or at the dozen tables scattered around the room. A space had been cleared against one wall, where several men were playing darts, and a dense fog of tobacco smoke hung above another table, where a group of dicers were engaged in a frenzied flurry of activity, surrounded by onlookers that shouted encouragement with every toss.

Jaron felt almost overwhelmed by all of the noises, sights, and smells. Fortunately for him and Beetle, the inn’s single table sized for halflings was in the corner near the stairs up to the second floor, slid in cleverly under the angled steps. It made for a distraction whenever someone used the stairs, but Jaron felt that the frequent thumping directly over his head a small price to pay for relief from the din closer to the bar. He tried to catch sight of a server through the crowd, but given his vantage it seemed a hopeless endeavor.

“Say here,” he said to Beetle. “I’ll go and order us some food.”

“And ale,” Beetle interjected. He’d taken a hand-carved piece of wood shaped sort of like a top out of his pocket, and was playing with it on the table surface. It was hard to tell which was more lopsided, the toy or the table, but the halfing’s fingers were nimble, and the top danced across and back at his command.

“I’ll share one with you, if you’re good,” Jaron promised. Hesitating for one more look across the room, he finally decided to venture toward the bar, where Salvana Wrafton held court.

He had to dodge a few humans who would have inadvertently trampled him underfoot, but finally came to a clear space near the end of the bar. He glanced back to try to check on Beetle, but there were too many people between there and here. But his eyes lingered on a tall figure standing in the shadows near the foot of the stairs.

He was a big man, clad all in black, with a raised cowl that obscured most of his face. A neatly-trimmed beard covered his jaw. Jaron couldn’t see his eyes, shrouded by the cowl, but for a moment it felt like the other man’s stare had locked onto his, and he felt a sudden chill.

Someone jostled him, and he looked up to see a waitress burdened with a tray of—fortunately empty—mugs. She was already moving on, shouting an apology back at him without breaking stride. She vanished into the kitchen before Jaron could think to ask her for something.

The halfling looked back at the stairs, but the man in black was gone.

He wavered, considering going back to their table, getting Beetle and going back to their room, empty belly be damned. Inwardly he berated himself for the cowardly thought; he’d been out here in the world of the big folk before, but he’d spent too many years alone in Fairhollow since then, it seemed.

“You’re going to get trampled if you stay there,” a familiar voice said to him.

He looked up and saw Mara sitting on a high stool near the end of the bar. The space next to hers had just come vacant, and she gestured to it, holding the place until he could get to her. Climbing up onto the tall seat was a bit of a challenge, but Jaron was used to such adaptations.

“Something to drink?” she asked him. He realized that she was offering to get the innkeeper’s attention for him; the subtle suggestion that he couldn’t manage that himself rankled a bit, and helped the indecision he’d felt earlier fade into the background of his mind.

“I was hoping to get a meal,” actually. “For Beetle and myself. I didn’t expect the inn to be this busy.”

“Not much else to do, in this town,” Mara said. She was wearing her swords, Jaron noted, although she’d left her heavy scale armor back in her room. There was no sign of her companion, the eladrin.

“Did you find out about your friend?” Jaron asked, as Mara sipped from her stein of ale.

The woman fighter nodded. “Some of the locals confirmed the story about him hunting dragon bones near here. Elevaren was able to put together a map, of sorts. We’re going to go investigate tomorrow.”

Jaron nodded to himself. He took a deep breath, then asked, “Would you be willing to make a trade, help each other? Since I’ve been in town, I’ve heard a few things about these bandit attacks, and I intend to investigate. You and Elevaren can clearly handle yourselves. In exchange, I can help you find your friend. I haven’t spent as much time around Winterhaven as Jay—as my brother had, but I’m a good tracker, and I know the region and its hazards better than most.”

Her hesitation told him all he needed to know, but he waited for her to speak. “I’m sure you do,” she finally said. “Look, I’m sympathetic, but I’m not really much for causes, even good ones. I just want to find my friend, and be on my way.”

Jaron nodded. “I understand.”

“What about your... cousin?” she asked.

“Oh, he’s all right. He can take care of himself.”

“Are you sure?”

He realized she was looking to the far side of the bar, and he followed her gaze at the same time that he heard a woman’s voice loudly exclaim, “Get your grubby paws off me, you filthy little halfling!”

Jaron groaned and jumped down from the bar, running toward what he hoped wouldn’t be too bad of a mess.

Chapter 7


The noise from below was thankfully muted as Jaron turned from the landing and made his way down the narrow upstairs corridor of the inn. His stomach still grumbled a bit, but at least he’d been able to secure half a loaf of bread, a wedge of white cheese, and an end of bacon, the whole wrapped in a towel he’d borrowed from their room. He was tempted to make a dent in the food right now, but he didn’t want to leave Beetle unattended, even in their small private room close under the eaves of the inn. It was little more than a closet, really, but he was glad for it, especially since it was pretty far from the common room.

He shook his head wryly. He’d been able to extricate himself and Beetle from the awkwardness with the elf woman; he’d had no idea what Beetle had done, but he’d been able to make a few guesses. The woman—dressed as a forest scout, in the deep greens and browns favored by her race—had shot daggers at both of them with her eyes as he’d hastily apologized and all but dragged Beetle away, but at least she hadn’t pressed the issue with the innkeeper. Through it all Beetle’s expression hadn’t changed, a slightly bemused, innocent look that Jaron knew could be infuriating to those who felt affronted by his cousin’s casual disregard for personal boundaries.

He got to their room and opened the door. Beetle was sitting on the floor, playing with several objects spread out on the bedspread. Jaron groaned as he recognized, in addition to his cousin’s top and some other assorted junk, a pair of silver coins, some flints, a fork, and a glove sized for a human.

And something else, which he grabbed before his cousin could snatch it back up. It was a small carving made out of black rock, crudely fashioned into a human shape. Or something close to human, maybe. Tieflings had horns like that. It felt a bit slimy to the touch, but Jaron’s dismay was from recognizing the material from which the thing was made.

“This is obsidian, Beetle! This has to be worth gold, good gold! Gods, someone is going to miss this... you may have gotten us into big trouble here, Beetle!”

He sat down on the end of the bed. Beetle took his bundle and started digging through it, pausing only to jam half of the end of bacon into his mouth. “No ale,” he said through the meat, reproach in his voice.

“Where did you get this?” Jaron asked, holding up the obsidian carving. He felt like he wanted to wash his hands, but he persisted, thrusting it between his cousin and the food.

“Found it, Jayse.”

“Found it.” Jaron felt a headache coming on. Damn it, if he was going to investigate Jayse’s death, he was going to need at least the tacit good-will, if not the active assistance of the townsfolk. And while he’d never seen a case here in Winterhaven, he had a good idea of how thieves were dealt with in these frontier towns. “Who had it before you found it?” he asked. “Beetle, answer me. Who had it when you found it?”

“Nobody. It's Beetle’s. Give back.” He reached for the carving, but Jaron drew it out of his reach.

“Did you get it from the dark stranger? The man in black, by the stairs.”

Beetle shook his head, but Jaron thought he saw recognition there. “Stay away from that man,” he said. “There was something... wrong about him,” he added, almost to himself.

“Okay, Jayse. Give now?” he asked, holding out his hand.

Jaron didn’t want to give it back, but there was nothing to be done for it now; if someone came forward looking for the carving, he had to hope that they hadn’t seen his cousin filch it. If in fact he had; he’d just assumed that Beetle had stolen it, but his cousin hadn’t admitted any theft. With a sigh, he handed it back; it vanished along with the rest of Beetle’s “treasures” into one of the pockets of his coat.

“’ungry?” Beetle said, holding out a piece of cheese, all that was left of the wedge. The bacon, he saw, was gone.

“Yeah, I’m hungry,” Jaron said. He took the cheese and tore off a slab of bread, but for all his hunger, the food tasted like ashes in his mouth.

Having just finished my RA story, I had a burst of productivity and am currently on chapter 26 of this one. Thus next week I'll be moving to my usual daily updates.

LB

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Chapter 8


It was a bright autumn morning, one of those days where the sky was so blue that it almost hurt to look at it. The town of Winterhaven was already well awake, and as he stepped out of the side door of Wrafton’s Inn, Jaron could hear the familiar noises of people at work. Noises not all that different from Fairhollow, when it came down to it.

Mara and Elevaren were right where the note had said they would be, standing in the deep shadow cast by the wall around the town’s main gate. Beetle had found it first, of course, and if he hadn’t left it carelessly on the side table near the water basin, then he probably never would have known that the pair had apparently changed their minds about helping them. He found that he was of mixed feelings on that; the impulse that had led him to make his offer to the woman fighter had seemed less sound once he’d had time to sleep on it. Or not sleep, as the case had been. Jaron hadn’t had a really good night’s sleep since Yarine had brought word of Jayse’s death, and tossed the quiet little world he’d made for himself into tumult.

“Good, you’re up,” Mara said, when he and Beetle approached the pair. Both were dressed for traveling. She tossed a small leather purse at him. “Your cut.”

“From what?”

The loot from those dead kobolds, of course. There wasn’t much to be had; apparently brigandage isn’t paying well this season. And the merchants ‘round here are damned stingy with their coin, as though they won’t turn around and sell the blasted weapons I offered at five times what I got for them.”

“Thanks,” Jaron said. He quickly put the purse away, aware that Beetle’s eyes lingered on it. He thought about Callen, and wondered if there was a way to leave some of the money for him. He hadn’t seen the trader since their arrival yesterday, and he didn’t appear to be staying at the inn.

Mara misinterpreted his hesitation. “Do you need time to get some supplies? We’ll wait, but don’t linger, I want to be back within these walls by nightfall.”

“No, we’re okay,” Jaron said. The old pack he’d bought on their way back from the temple last night had been too big and overly dear, but at least the innkeeper had been willing to fill it with leftovers from the night before for a relatively fair price. Jaron had spent nearly all of the money he’d brought with him from Fairhollow, and he felt reassured by the familiar weight of the purse against his thigh.

“What made you change your mind?” he asked them, as they headed through the gate and down the hill to the King’s Road. They would follow it a short ways east, and then strike south cross-country to follow Elevaren’s map.

“There is strength in numbers,” Elevaren said. Jaron looked up the eladrin; there was something just slightly off about the man, as though he didn’t fully belong here in the real world with everyone else. His long golden hair was tied back into a neat braid that ran down the center of his back, and his clothes had been neatly cleaned and repaired, as though he hadn’t fought in a desperate battle for his life the day before.

“So after we help you find your friend, you’ll help us track down those bandits?” Jaron asked.

“We gave our word,” Mara said, a bit testily. Jaron started to apologize, but got distracted as Beetle almost got trampled by a rider heading up toward the town. The nimble halfling was never in real danger, but the rider cursed back at them, only turning back when Mara let her hands drop to the hilt of her swords.

Jaron’s gaze lingered, and for a moment, he thought he saw something dark move in the shadow of the gate. He lifted a hand to shade his eyes, but whatever it had been, if it had been anything at all, it was gone now. It could have been the dark stranger...

“Anything wrong?” Mara asked.

“No... no, nothing.”

“Better keep your eyes on the road ahead. This whole area’s wild lands, and there are more than bandits in these woods.”

Jaron knew that, but he felt that Mara had a point; he’d allowed himself to get distracted. He would do what he could to look out for his cousin, but he couldn’t do that without looking out for himself as well.

“I’ll take point,” he offered. “Do you know the standard patrol signals?” he asked Mara.

The fighter nodded, giving up a grudging acknowledgement. It wasn’t respect; both knew that had to be earned.

They moved on, the cultivated ground near the town giving wall to untamed wilds with a suddenness that would have been surprising to anyone not familiar with life on the frontier. For the first hour they moved east along the King’s Road, then struck out south, leaving behind the last reminder of civilization and heading fully into the hazardous country beyond. All four of the adventurers, even Beetle, grew more serious, knowing that dark things lurked in the territory beyond the tentative sites established by civilized folk. All knew that if they simply vanished into these lands, there would be no one to come looking for them.

Chapter 9


“I think we’ve moved a bit too far to the east,” Jaron said, pointing to the map that Elevaren held out for him. The eladrin had knelt to come down to the halfling level, careless of the dirt and crushed weeds underfoot. Jaron suspected that the warlock’s robe would be as spotless when he rose as before; the dirt of the trail seemed to avoid him. Likewise, the eladrin seemed utterly unfazed by their long trek, which was now almost four hours old.

Jaron took out a rag and wiped his face and neck. No such luck for him; the rag was streaked with sweat and dust. They were in a copse of trees which offered shade from the afternoon sun. It wasn’t really hot, not with winter so close, but they’d spent the last hour navigating rows of low, scraggly hills, with little in the way of tree cover to shelter them from the sun high above. It would have been a pleasant hike, had they not been in hostile country, and had they not been burdened with the weight of armor and weapons.

Jaron felt a tinge of guilt as he looked across the copse at Mara. His leathers might be sweat-soaked, but the human woman wore what had to be thirty or forty pounds of metal on her body. She was in good shape, that much was obvious, but she drank deeply of her waterskin, and Jaron could see that she was a little winded.

Beetle had consumed his lunch in the first twenty seconds of their rest break, and was now chasing a butterfly around the copse.

Jaron handed the map back to Elevaren and walked over to Mara. “I’ve known a few rangers who used the two-swords style,” he said. “Had you always wanted to train to be a soldier?”

Mara stoppered her waterskin and wiped her mouth. “We head out again in two minutes. Tell your cousin.” She walked across the clearing, past Jaron, who opened his mouth but didn’t know what to say. She went a bit deeper into the copse, clearly looking for a little privacy.

“She doesn’t like to talk about her past,” Elevaren said quietly from behind him.

“I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It was an innocent question,” the eladrin said. “Our fighter is... complicated.”

“And you, Elevaren? I have to admit, I mistook you for an elf, at first.”

“It is a common mistake. My people dwell with the Feywild, and are rare in the lands of mortal men.”

Jaron’s face betrayed his surprise. “You are immortal?”

Elevaren shook his head. “A turn of phrase. No, we eladrin live, and die, much as you do. In the Feywild... it is just... different.”

“What are you doing here, then?”

Something subtle changed in the warlock’s face, and he turned aside. “I wish I had an easy answer. Have you ever been drawn to something that you didn’t fully understand, only to find yourself caught up in events beyond your control?”

“Yeah, I suppose I have.”

“Ah, Mara is returning. Perhaps you had best gather in your cousin.”

Jaron nodded, thinking that Elevaren had evaded his question almost as thoroughly as Mara had. The halfling’s doubts returned, and he hoped that his new companions would prove trustworthy, when it came time for the test that he now believed was inevitable.

Chapter 10


A horse made its way up the winding mountain path. The air was cold, almost bracingly so, for all that the first snowfalls were still at least a month off. Pine trees stuck up out of the stony soil at irregular intervals, like sentinels warding the route up into the mountains.

The horse bore two riders, a gray-haired woman and a girl, easy to miss as she clung to the woman’s back. The girl’s golden hair was swallowed inside a fur-lined cowl somewhat too big for her, and her cheeks were rosy from the cold. Every now and again she would lean over to try to get a look at the trail ahead, which caused the horse to shift and inevitably drew a rebuke from the woman.

“Are we almost there?”

“I don’t know.”

The finality in those words silenced the girl for several minutes. The horse’s hooves clattered on the trail, and a wind blew up, tugging at the riders’ cloaks.

“I don’t want to go,” the girl finally said.

“You have to,” the woman replied. She clucked her tongue in annoyance. “There is naught to fear. He is your kin, and your mother wrote him, ere she war carried off.”

“Can’t I go home with you?” the girl persisted.

“No. What use would I have for a little child? Now that your parents are dead, there is no coin to keep food in your mouth; I’ve barely enough to support meself.” After a moment’s silence, the woman added, “Nay, you’ll go to your uncle, that I promised your mother. And that is the end of that. Now be silent, Mara, lest some mountain cat hear your chatter and come seeking to make a meal out of both of us.”

The girl desisted, although it was clear from the way she looked around that the woman’s words had not eased her fears. After a time, however, she grew weary, and leaned her head against the back of the old woman’s cloak. She fell into a sort of doze, and shook awake only when the horse came to a halt.

“What...” the girl asked, rubbing her face with a gloved hand.

“We’re here,” the woman announced. She reached back and pulled the girl out of the saddle, jouncing her arm as she lowered her to the ground. She did not herself dismount.

Mara looked around, blinking against the wind. There was a cabin here, a rough construct of heavy logs that was perched in the lee of a stony ridge that ran back as far as she could see. A curl of smoke rose from the chimney, and a faint hint of cooked meat floated on the air that caused her empty stomach to grumble.

“Well, here she is,” the old woman said.

“Aye, so it be,” a voice rumbled.

She hadn’t noticed the man at first, and even after he spoke she couldn’t clearly see him until he stepped out from the shadows under the cabin’s covered porch. He was huge, covered in furs and leathers from head to toe. He had a dense beard, and bore both a long knife in his belt and a bigger weapon, maybe a sword or axe, slung across his back. His eyes were as blue and cold as mountain lakes, and they fixed her with an intensity that made her feel like she wanted to sit down.

“Well? Say hello to your uncle Torvan, girl.”

Mara could not have spoken then if her life had depended on it. Fortunately, the giant didn’t seem to take offense. The old woman recovered a bundle from the horse’s saddlebags and handed it down to Mara; she had to shake it at her several times before the girl recovered enough to take it. Clucking her tongue again, she turned the horse and headed back down the path without so much as a goodbye.

Mara barely noticed her leaving; she was still held captive by her uncle’s big eyes. He seemed to weigh her with a look that felt like the scales she’d seen at the mercantile exchange, back when her father used to take her to his place of business. But now all that was gone. She felt a tremble, and clung desperately to the control that she felt slipping away.

“So, you’re Mara, eh?” the big man said, shaking her out of her reverie. She tried to speak, but her voice still betrayed her. Her uncle rubbed his head and muttered something to himself.

“Well, best come inside, then,” he said.

She followed, reluctantly, but ultimately cold, hunger, and curiosity prevailed. The cabin was roomier than it looked out the outside, and most of it seemed to be taken up by a single large room. It was fairly dark, with only a single small window of thick glass set into an iron frame. A low fire burned on the hearth, adding a cheery warmth to the room. The smells she’d detected earlier seemed to be coming from a black iron pot suspended over the flames. She could see a bed through the single door in the far wall that was slightly ajar.

“You’ll sleep there,” her uncle said, and Mara noticed the narrow pallet set up in the corner, behind the hearth. It would be warm there, at least. “Leave your things there. See that bucket? Get that. There’s a stream up the trail a bit, behind the cabin and up along the ridge. Bring water for supper.”

“Outside?” Mara asked, stupidly, she thought once the words were out of her mouth.

Her uncle looked at her as if wondering if she were feeble-minded. “Aye. It’s not far, within sight of the cabin, and the sooner you go, the sooner we can eat.”

He seemed to forget about her at that point, so there was nothing she could do but pick up the bucket and head for the door. Before she could leave, however, he stopped her.

“Hold, girl. I suppose you’re going to need this, sooner or later, might as well give it to you now.”

He gave her a stick that he took off one of the shelves built into the cabin’s walls. Or at least it looked like a stick at first glance; as she took it she realized that it was a sword, only made of wood rather than metal. It was about as long as her leg, and she took it a bit awkwardly, having difficulty with the bucket in her other hand.

“Try putting it through your belt,” her uncle suggested. “But keep it in reach at all times. You must always be ready to defend yourself. I will teach you to use it later, for now you need to learn how to carry it.”

Again he didn’t give her a chance to respond or protest, turning and heading into the back room before she could muster enough courage to ask a question. So she had to do as he said, tucking the wooden sword through her belt, and then taking up the bucket in both hands. She found the trail that her uncle had indicated, and followed it up into a cleft in the ridge. She could hear the noise of the stream before she saw it, a faint trickle that emerged from the rocks. She hurried forward, all too aware of her own growing hunger.

That was when she saw the monster.

She was out of breath when she reached the cabin again. Her uncle was sitting in the big chair by the fire; he looked up from a book as she burst through the door.

“Where is the water, girl? For that matter, where is my bucket?”

“Monster... stream...” she managed. She almost fell, but the wooden sword caught on the floorboards, twisting her legs awkwardly.

“Some creature has taken up residence at my stream, is that what you’re saying, girl? Take a breath, the news will keep.”

She gulped down a breath of air. “Yes... big... monster.”

“And this creature attacked you?”

Mara opened her mouth, but realized that technically, the monster had just laid there, looking at her. But it had been big, that much she hadn’t missed.

Her uncle nodded to himself at her hesitation. “Can you describe this monster? A scout is of little use if it cannot provide specific information to her superiors that is of help in drawing up a plan of action.”

“It was big, and gray... furry... it had four legs, and big teeth, and big yellow eyes. It was...” she screwed up her face in concentration. “It was sitting on a big rock by the stream.”

Torvan nodded. “Well, we can’t have a big gray monster blocking our water supply. You’ll have to go scare it off. And don’t forget the bucket, and the water, when you come back.”

Mara looked at him incredulously. “But I’m just a little girl!”

Her uncle raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“I can’t frighten off a big monster!”

Torvan leaned forward in his chair, and looked intently at her. “Listen to me, girl. If you are going to live here, you are going to have to contribute to the operation of this household. I don’t think that fetching water is too much to ask. As for this monster, you’ll learn that most of our neighbors are just as scared of us as we are of them. Some aren’t, but you’ll learn how to deal with those as well. You have a weapon. If the creature is too much for you to handle, gather what information you can, report back, and we’ll devise our plan of action from there.”

He leaned back and picked up his book. Seeing her still standing there, he said, “Well? Was there something else?”

Mara wanted nothing more than to crawl into a corner and cry, but there was something in those blue eyes that would not let her. So she went back outside.

Standing there alone in front of the cabin, she felt more alone than she ever had in her life. She looked back at the door to the cabin, turned toward it, hesitated, and then headed—slowly—back down the path.

She drew out the wooden sword. It felt heavy and cumbersome, even held in both hands.

She tried to be as quiet as she could as she made her way back to the stream. At one point she paused to pick up some rocks; she couldn’t easily carry them and the sword at the same time, but she felt better with a few of them in her pocket.

Thinking invisible, I’m invisible, she pushed her way slowly through the bushes that flanked the stream.

The monster was still there. But as she watched it, she realized that it was really a big dog, a mastiff. It was bigger than any dog she’d ever seen in her life, but as she stared at it, she realized that it was old, as well. There were patches along its flanks where its fur was almost gone, and two old scars were visible along its right shoulder, one running up its neck almost to its ear.

The dog lifted its head, and barked at her, not loudly, but enough to let her know that it knew she was there.

Moving very slowly, she stepped forward into view.

The dog lifted its head, and looked at her. One of its eyes was milky, and Mara guessed it was blind in that eye. But the other eye was sharp, and the mastiff’s growl was no less menacing as it looked at her. She realized that it was looking at her sword.

She quickly lowered the weapon. “Nice doggy,” she said. Slowly she moved to the side, toward the bucket she’d dropped before. The dog watched her. It barked again. “I’m not going to hurt you,” she said. “I just want to get some water, okay?”

The dog didn’t respond, but kept watching her. She realized that she was going to have to put down the sword to manage the bucket. Keeping her back to the cliff wall, she slid the sword back through her belt, and then took up the bucket. She shoved it under the stream where it trickled down through the rocks, letting it fill to the point where she could still carry it.

The dog stirred itself, and jumped down from the rock where it had been lying. Mara’s heart thumped in her chest as it came over to her, but she held onto the bucket, trying to look stern. The dog sniffed at her for a moment, and then walked over to the trail. She waited until it was gone, then took a breath and followed it.

It took her longer getting back to the cabin, and she sloshed some of the water onto her leggings and boots. But she made it back, and pushed the door open with her back.

Her uncle was still sitting in his chair, and he looked up as she came in. The big gray dog was there as well, lying on the floor at Torvan’s feet.

“I see you’ve met Growl,” he said.

Chapter 11


The halfling’s question during their lunch break had affected Mara more than she’d let on. Distracted by thoughts of her youth, and her first encounter with her uncle Torvan, she let her mind wander, and so didn’t see Jaron’s signal until she was almost on top of him.

They’d emerged from a sparse woodlands a few hours after their break into more gently rolling hill country. They were heading more west than south now, trying to find the site indicated on the map that Elevaren had drafted from the comments provided by the townsfolk in Winterhaven. The eladrin’s designs were simple but elegant, evoking variations in the terrain with just a few strokes of ink on the parchment. Mara hadn’t really doubted that they’d find the site that Douven Staul had sought, but she did wonder whether they’d find her friend and former mentor alive.

Still, she reproached herself angrily for letting her attention drift from their task. They’d been heading up a soft rise when Jaron had suddenly stopped, his right hand extended in the signal that she should have caught instantly. She hurried forward just as a familiar lowing sound indicated possible trouble, and her hands reflexively fell to the hilts of her swords, loosening the blades in their scabbards. Elevaren and Beetle hastened to keep up.

They joined Jaron at the lip of a depression that was partly natural, party deliberate excavation. Steep cliffs bordered off the area, save for three rocky, difficult slopes that provided a more reliable route down to the floor of the pit below. A roughly square area had been set off in the middle of the area with small white stones; a few pale bones jutted from the dirt in this separate zone, confirming that this was the burial site that Douven Staul had been seeking.

But she didn’t recognize any of the people that were there now.

The noise she’d heard came from a pair of guard drakes, compact bundles of scales and violence that stood on the side of the excavation facing them, a mere thirty feet or so distant. Beyond them around the edges of the dig were four rough men, the sort of rabble that Mara knew well enough from past encounters. They wore ragged leather tunics and had wooden billets stuck through their belts. They certainly looked menacing enough, but Mara’s eyes were drawn to the last member of the company, a gnome whose face split into a wide smile as he saw them.

“Ah, guests have come to join our dig! Welcome, friends. You can’t fully appreciate what we’ve uncovered from up there. Come down toward the dragon bones, and see what the workers have discovered.”

None of those in the pit had made any threatening moves, but Mara was definitely not interested in moving down into the depression. She deferred slightly to Elevaren, knowing him to be a better speaker. She saw that Jaron had moved slightly to the side, behind a low rampart of tangled roots, and nodded inwardly at his caution. “We come seeking a friend of ours,” the eladrin said. “We do not intend to disturb your activities here.”

“Well, we have not seen anyone else all day,” the gnome said pleasantly. “Your friend, what is his name?” The drakes shifted, hissing softly, but did not change their position.

“His name is Douven Staul,” Elevaren replied. The drakes shifted, hissing softly, but did not change their position.

The gnome’s expression shifted slightly. “Why, we know old Douven quite well! In fact, he has been assisting us with our dig! He went off with another of his team just a short while ago, but we expect him back shortly. In the meantime, why don’t you come down and take your rest. I’ll have a tarp set up to give us some shade from this damnable sun.”

Mara looked at Elevaren; the eladrin shook his head slightly. Jaron held an arrow against his bowstring, but seemed willing to defer to them.

“Kraven, help them with their things,” the gnome said. One of the human men started toward them, but he’d barely made it around the edge of the dig site when Beetle, standing in Elevaren’s shadow, made a quick motion with his hand. There was a flash in the air, and then Kraven screamed and crumpled. Mara caught a quick look at the hilt of the knife jutting from his left eye before he fell to the ground and rolled over.

For a moment, everyone just stood there in shocked surprise.

“Kill them! Kill them all!” the gnome finally yelled, and everything went bad in a big hurry.

All caught up! Great characters, and since I have no interest in 4e, this will be all about the characters and story for me. I do appreciate the way you keep to the ruleset, and it is fun to recognize a spell or flashy feat, I'll be quite satisfied watching these folk develop.
*settles in*
To Battle!

Welcome to the new story, Richard!

* * * * *

Chapter 12


At the gnome’s command, the two guard drakes surged forward. They moved quickly, and only the uneven, stony slope separating the pit from the adventurers kept them from tearing into them in a heartbeat.

The three surviving toughs weren’t far behind. Jaron lifted his bow and fired off his readied arrow in a quick shot that narrowly missed, slicing through the air over the first man’s left shoulder. The man zagged to his left, heading up another of the slopes that led up to the rim of the depression. That angle gave him some modicum of cover from the ranger’s bow, so for his second shot Jaron targeted another of the rabble, a bearded man who’d drawn out his club and held it menacingly above his head while charging straight for them. This time the halfling ranger didn’t miss, and the man went down with an arrow jutting from his chest. He landed almost on top of his dead companion.

“Beetle, here!” Mara yelled, pulling her handaxe out of her belt and tossing it in the general direction of the halfling. With her other hand she drew her longsword, and she stepped forward into a warding stance directly in the path of the onrushing drakes. Elevaren was smart enough to fall back behind her, but she saw that he’d already taken a hit, a small crossbow bolt sticking through a tear in the robe over his right bicep. She could see blood seeping through his robe; it had been a grazing hit, but that was no guarantee that the next one wouldn’t be much worse.

The drakes had negotiated the difficult slope and came at her together, forcing her to split her attention between them. She didn’t have time to draw her second sword, thrusting her long blade before her in an effort to ward off the creatures’ rush. It was a feeble effort, and the tip of the sword glanced off the first drake’s thick scales as it surged forward, snapping at her torso. Her armor gave it no place to find purchase, but it rammed its blunt snout into her gut with enough force to knock the breath out of her. Something popped in her, a rib giving way, maybe.

She tried to shift and recover, but the second drake did not give her a chance. Taking full advantage of the opportunity offered by its comrade, it lunged in and seized Mara’s swordarm in its jaws, crushing the limb in an iron grip. The other one snapped at her again, and got a mouthful of her cloak in its jaws. Between them the drakes thrashed and pulled, drawing the embattled fighter off balance, and threatening to draw her down to the ground, where they could tear her apart at their leisure. Mara cried out, but she couldn’t free herself, and it looked as though her battle, at least, would be over very soon indeed.