Steel Dragon's "Tales of Orea"
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Alaria followed the captain’s manservant through the crowded corridors. What was his name again? Tohmas, Tumnes, Tihmos, something like that but the name escaped Alaria as she wove through the halls.
Messengers and officers of Bridgetower’s constantly increasing compliment of soldiers moved to and fro. The entire keep bustled all day while the clanging and smoke billowing from the smithy continued all night.
Coerraine had shared at one of their meals, one of the few calm casual moments they’d had in the past week, the ‘Tower’s barracks were full to bursting with over 200 guardsmen having arrived over the past several days.
They came to the office of Captain Rynthis and the servant knocked on the oaken door.
“Come.” Came the gravely baritone voice from beyond the door.
The servant opened the door for the magess, but did not enter and closed the door as soon as she had entered.
“Ah, good. Thank you for coming so promptly, Alaria. I have something for you, but first things first.” The Captain remarked, barely acknowledging the wizard before moving over to the side table that held the array of bottles and goblets and decanters of liquors.
With a wave of his hand, the sideboard swung out into the room. Rynthis stepped up to the stone wall behind the table and tapped lightly three times as he spoke.
“Venta norx.” <mage spell: Knock>
Alaria felt a warming pride within her as she recognized the incantation she’d only completed adding to her spellbook a couple of days earlier.
There was a momentary flicker of a rune upon the area of stone wall. Alaria recognized the sigil also as a protective trap. As the symbol faded from view, the stones of the wall sank back into the wall, one by one, and turned aside until a doorway was completely formed.
“This way please.” Rynthis said casually. He extended an arm and stood aside, obviously intended to let Alaria enter first.
The chamber she found herself in was not overly large, perhaps twenty by twenty feet. A series of braziers lining the chamber burst into flame as she entered lighting the room with a flickering golden light. The only other item in the room was a mirror, the largest Alaria had ever seen, easily ten feet across.
As Rynthis entered and passed Alaria to near the mirror, the surface shifted from reflecting the magical firelight to a swirling fog of grey and blue.
“We’re here, my lady.” Rynthis said to the mirror.
In a moment, the swirling fog parted to reveal the very clear image of Rhea in all of her shimmering emerald glory. The room Rhea was in was still somewhat foggy.
Images coalesced and then became hazy and other areas of the image beyond Rhea reformed. There was a table. Then a bookshelf...a high backed chair. Nothing except Rhea remained clear for very long, but there was the definite sense of a “room” she was standing in which Alaria could definitely tell was not her cottage in Welford.
“Thank you, Captain. Greetings, again, Magess Alaria. It does my heart good to see you well. News of your battle and subsequent ailment found its way even to the Vale. I trust you are fully recouped?” Rhea spoke.
“I am, Rhea. You honor me with your concern. It is good to see you again, as well.” Alaria responded.
“I am afraid there is little time for pleasantries but I have some news that is most important for you to have.” Rhea began seriously.
“As to your dark wizard…I have conferred with members of my order, my contacts in R’Hath, the Alkari Fellowship, and even a friend at the Sanctemus Nekri <autho/DMr note: the Sanctemus Nekri=the Academy of Necromancy in R’Hath>…none have ever heard of this ‘Tresahd’. Now, again, that is not to say it is not his name. But my intuition is that it may be a cover…a pseudonym.
“That said, my own attempts at scrying and divining the wizard’s whereabouts have met with almost complete failure. He is, no doubt, very powerful, Alaria. You must take care.” Rhea’s tone shifted to one of concern.
“I understand, Rhea. I thank you for your efforts and counsel.” Alaria managed to reply before the seeress continued.
“Now, regarding the Ihs Repahl. My associates and I have reason to believe it holds a power much greater than the mystic gifts we uncovered at the tolarium.” Rhea said.
“’Much greater’ in what way, Rhea?” Alaria’s brow furrowed at this rather ominous sounding news.
“That is not important as of now. I apologize for being cryptic, Alaria. But we believe it is better, for your own safety, that I not share that with you at this time. The less you know, the less others seeking the orb may find out through you.” Rhea apologized.
Alaria did not like this answer at all, but she nodded a reluctant understanding.
“It is imperative, Magess Alaria, that you do not allow the orb to fall out of your possession.” Rhea’s shift in tone became entirely serious. Almost dire, Alaria thought.
“If the evil forces moving through the land, this ‘Tresahd’ or anyone else, get their hands on the Ihs Repahl the consequences could spell disaster for the realms. I would counsel you to bring it to the security of the Vale with all speed.”
Alaria did not like the sound of that at all. “My apologies, Rhea, but we have an errand of great urgency that must be undertaken first. But I swear, by Manat’s star, that we will bring you the orb..er…Ihs Repahl at my first opportunity.”
Rhea nodded as if in understanding. “That is all I ask.” The green-gowned woman replied.
“Take this.” Rhea tossed a small glittering item.
In a flash, a gem flew through the mirror into the chamber where she and Rynthis stood.
The captain caught it and handed it to Alaria. It was a perfectly smooth emerald in the shaped of a teardrop.
“Keep it with you at all times. My companions and I are soon to be heading west and I am not certain when I shall be able to converse with you again. But that gem will allow me to find you telepathically over great distances and contact you thus. I wish you safe journeys and continued good health on your quest. May the gods grant we meet again soon.
“Thank you, Captain. I leave you to return to your business.” Rhea concluded.
Before Alaria could make any reply, the swirls of blue-grey fog seemed to pour in from the gilded frame, obscuring the mirror’s surface. A moment later, the mirror dimmed and again only reflected the golden flickers of the braziers.
Alaria placed the emerald teardrop into one of her side pouches and followed Rynthis back into the office.
“You have friends in higher places than I knew, Magess. I had no idea you were acquainted with the Steel Dragons.” Rynthis said amicably.
“The Steel Dragons, captain?” Alaria asked.
“They are the Dragonmage-apparent’s inner circle. They are a highly-skilled and diverse company of heroes led by the Lordmage’s two sons. If the Steel Dragons are indeed to ride again, then we are facing a darker tide than I suspected.”
“You confuse me, Captain Rynthis. Forgive my ignorance. I thought the Lordmage was the Dragonmage?” Alaria questioned.
“Of course. Forgive me.” Rynthis smiled. “You’ve become such fixtures in your short time here, I forget you are not actually from Daenfrii, yourself.
“Our illustrious Lordmage, Arganor, has ruled Daefrii these…fifteen years past, now. Make no mistake, he is a wizard of surpassing talent and a just and beneficent ruler…but he is not of the Dragonwing line. Arganor is widower of the last Dragonmagess.
“The princes were only very young when their mother met her unfortunate end.” Rynthis sadly added, almost as if to himself moreso than Alaria. His focus returned to the magess as he continued.
“It is their son, Montor, who is next to inherit the mantle and become our next true ‘Dragonmage’…though, he has yet to take on that title and fulfill his destiny. So, Arganor continues to rule until such time as Prince Montor takes up the Staff of Wyr and claims the throne.” Rynthis explained.
Alaria thanked the captain before adding, “You said you had something for me, Captain Rynthis?”
“Ah, yes.” Rynthis said as he shuffled through the immense stacks of papers littering his desk. “I understand you and your company have decided to undertake the raising of your fallen warrior.”
“That is correct. By your leave, we will be parting from Bridgetower on the morrow to seek out some necessary…um…necessities for the ritual.”
The captain nodded in understanding as he continued to shuffle. “I believe I may have something that will help. I have a mission for you…Ah! Here it is.” He pulled a closed scroll from the other parchments. It was sealed with a large golden wax seal and bright blue ribbon.
“A mission, my lord?” Alaria was concerned. They did not have time to waste on errands for the captain. The time limit for raising Braddok was now only seventeen days away. She was immediately conflicted with thoughts of duty and fairness for all of the assistance and hospitality Bridgetower had showed them.
“Yes. There’s been a disturbance in Shafton. It’s a small mining village just north and east of here, well within Daefrii’s borders so travel should be swift and safe.” Seeing no interruption or disagreement from Alaria, Rynthis continued.
“A message came from the village elders, almost two weeks ago, that the mine had been suddenly overrun with kobolds. Kobolds in the South March! Can you imagine?” Rynthis asked in the rhetorical way Alaria had found common among the people of Bridgetower.
“I sent a small squad to go handle it, but they have not returned. Nor has there been any word from Shafton since they were dispatched. With all of the chaos around and the increasing forces arriving every day, I doubt anyone else has noticed, but I do not like the feel of it.”
“My lord, we really must…” Alaria attempted to interject politely. She was not successful.
“There have not been kobolds in the eastern hills in over a decade. I’ve also received reports that the barbarians are haranguing the northern borders…Plus this goblin army in the south.” The captain began to sound somewhat defeated. “It just doesn’t feel right.” Rynthis repeated distractedly.
He continued undeterred. “With everything going on, I do not have men to spare to follow up, but my duty as Captain of the South March is quite clear and with war looming around us, I cannot allow the mine’s production to be stifled. We have only perhaps a month or two more before the snows move in from the north and we will be wintered.
“I will offer 200 gold to each of your company toward your cause upon your successful routing of the vermin and, gods’ willing, your safe return. Can I count on your company? Shafton is only a day’s ride. You will, of course, be entitled to any other riches you find along the way…barring the actual mine’s ore which belong to his lordship, you understand.”
“Yes, certainly, my lord.” Alaria paused a moment to think, 200 gold each would certainly be a nice beginning to their quest. “I am afraid though, we have no mounts. How long would it take on foot?” Alaria offered tentatively. She hoped the captain’s generosity would not fall short of a few horses.
“I have already dispatched Festus to secure you mounts. The stables of Bridgetower are needed for our troops. But he is resourceful and will be awaiting your arrival at the Wyern’s Wing tomorrow. I have assigned him to be your guide and aid you in anyway possible.”
Alaria was not so pleased at the captain’s presumption that they would accept his offer, but was more concerned by his ending news.
“Festus, my lord? The satyr?” Alaria said displeased, somewhat obviously.
“Indeed. You will find him a capable ranger and willing warrior, if needs be. His knowledge and skill of the South March will be most helpful and ensure you the most direct route with all speed.”
Alaria did not respond.
“So we are agreed?” the captain finally said.
Alaria, somewhat snapped out of her own mental mechanizations, “Oh, yes! Yes, I’m sorry. We will meet him tomorrow and take care of your kobold troubles.”
“Excellent. Then you will need this.” He finally handed her the rolled and sealed parchment.
“My lord?” Alaria asked as she took the scroll. She noted the dragon holding a diamond seal of Daenfrii pressed into the golden wax.
“It is within my power, as well as my privilege and honor, to offer your company an official charter. It carries the weight of the seneschal of Bridgetower as vested by the authority of the Lordmage himself. It will permit you the baring of arms and use of magic in our just cause. Any official within Daenfrii who does not honor this charter should be brought to my immediate attention.”
“Captain Rynthis, your generosity truly knows no bounds. I do not know what to say.” Alaria gushed.
“Of course, any company charter requires the band and leader be named. I do hope you will not mind the presumption, but the Hilltender seemed to indicate you had all decided on “the Stormriders” as your group’s name. I took the liberty of using your name as the charter’s official leader.” Rynthis grinned.
“The Stormriders’ will be fine, my lord. Though I will have a talk with Haelan as to just how officially decided that was. You have my, all of our, thanks.” She grinned back.
“Very good. I look forward to your return and report. Hopefully within the week. You have my, and indeed all of Bridgetower’s thanks as well, Magess Alaria Staver.” Rynthis said as he resumed shuffling about the papers on his desk.
“Timothy?” Rynthis called loudly. The door opened almost immediately and the young manservant poked his head in. Without looking up from his desk, Rynthis commanded, “Find me Lieutenant Goren.”
“Good day to you then, Captain.” Alaria nodded a goodbye that the captain did not see and took her leave.
So, Alaria thought, Goren’s been made lieutenant. Good for him. She smiled despite herself shifting through the crowded corridors on her way back to the library to see what the wizard, Stenthil, had turned up about her or-….the Ihs Repahl.
Messengers and officers of Bridgetower’s constantly increasing compliment of soldiers moved to and fro. The entire keep bustled all day while the clanging and smoke billowing from the smithy continued all night.
Coerraine had shared at one of their meals, one of the few calm casual moments they’d had in the past week, the ‘Tower’s barracks were full to bursting with over 200 guardsmen having arrived over the past several days.
They came to the office of Captain Rynthis and the servant knocked on the oaken door.
“Come.” Came the gravely baritone voice from beyond the door.
The servant opened the door for the magess, but did not enter and closed the door as soon as she had entered.
“Ah, good. Thank you for coming so promptly, Alaria. I have something for you, but first things first.” The Captain remarked, barely acknowledging the wizard before moving over to the side table that held the array of bottles and goblets and decanters of liquors.
With a wave of his hand, the sideboard swung out into the room. Rynthis stepped up to the stone wall behind the table and tapped lightly three times as he spoke.
“Venta norx.” <mage spell: Knock>
Alaria felt a warming pride within her as she recognized the incantation she’d only completed adding to her spellbook a couple of days earlier.
There was a momentary flicker of a rune upon the area of stone wall. Alaria recognized the sigil also as a protective trap. As the symbol faded from view, the stones of the wall sank back into the wall, one by one, and turned aside until a doorway was completely formed.
“This way please.” Rynthis said casually. He extended an arm and stood aside, obviously intended to let Alaria enter first.
The chamber she found herself in was not overly large, perhaps twenty by twenty feet. A series of braziers lining the chamber burst into flame as she entered lighting the room with a flickering golden light. The only other item in the room was a mirror, the largest Alaria had ever seen, easily ten feet across.
As Rynthis entered and passed Alaria to near the mirror, the surface shifted from reflecting the magical firelight to a swirling fog of grey and blue.
“We’re here, my lady.” Rynthis said to the mirror.
In a moment, the swirling fog parted to reveal the very clear image of Rhea in all of her shimmering emerald glory. The room Rhea was in was still somewhat foggy.
Images coalesced and then became hazy and other areas of the image beyond Rhea reformed. There was a table. Then a bookshelf...a high backed chair. Nothing except Rhea remained clear for very long, but there was the definite sense of a “room” she was standing in which Alaria could definitely tell was not her cottage in Welford.
“Thank you, Captain. Greetings, again, Magess Alaria. It does my heart good to see you well. News of your battle and subsequent ailment found its way even to the Vale. I trust you are fully recouped?” Rhea spoke.
“I am, Rhea. You honor me with your concern. It is good to see you again, as well.” Alaria responded.
“I am afraid there is little time for pleasantries but I have some news that is most important for you to have.” Rhea began seriously.
“As to your dark wizard…I have conferred with members of my order, my contacts in R’Hath, the Alkari Fellowship, and even a friend at the Sanctemus Nekri <autho/DMr note: the Sanctemus Nekri=the Academy of Necromancy in R’Hath>…none have ever heard of this ‘Tresahd’. Now, again, that is not to say it is not his name. But my intuition is that it may be a cover…a pseudonym.
“That said, my own attempts at scrying and divining the wizard’s whereabouts have met with almost complete failure. He is, no doubt, very powerful, Alaria. You must take care.” Rhea’s tone shifted to one of concern.
“I understand, Rhea. I thank you for your efforts and counsel.” Alaria managed to reply before the seeress continued.
“Now, regarding the Ihs Repahl. My associates and I have reason to believe it holds a power much greater than the mystic gifts we uncovered at the tolarium.” Rhea said.
“’Much greater’ in what way, Rhea?” Alaria’s brow furrowed at this rather ominous sounding news.
“That is not important as of now. I apologize for being cryptic, Alaria. But we believe it is better, for your own safety, that I not share that with you at this time. The less you know, the less others seeking the orb may find out through you.” Rhea apologized.
Alaria did not like this answer at all, but she nodded a reluctant understanding.
“It is imperative, Magess Alaria, that you do not allow the orb to fall out of your possession.” Rhea’s shift in tone became entirely serious. Almost dire, Alaria thought.
“If the evil forces moving through the land, this ‘Tresahd’ or anyone else, get their hands on the Ihs Repahl the consequences could spell disaster for the realms. I would counsel you to bring it to the security of the Vale with all speed.”
Alaria did not like the sound of that at all. “My apologies, Rhea, but we have an errand of great urgency that must be undertaken first. But I swear, by Manat’s star, that we will bring you the orb..er…Ihs Repahl at my first opportunity.”
Rhea nodded as if in understanding. “That is all I ask.” The green-gowned woman replied.
“Take this.” Rhea tossed a small glittering item.
In a flash, a gem flew through the mirror into the chamber where she and Rynthis stood.
The captain caught it and handed it to Alaria. It was a perfectly smooth emerald in the shaped of a teardrop.
“Keep it with you at all times. My companions and I are soon to be heading west and I am not certain when I shall be able to converse with you again. But that gem will allow me to find you telepathically over great distances and contact you thus. I wish you safe journeys and continued good health on your quest. May the gods grant we meet again soon.
“Thank you, Captain. I leave you to return to your business.” Rhea concluded.
Before Alaria could make any reply, the swirls of blue-grey fog seemed to pour in from the gilded frame, obscuring the mirror’s surface. A moment later, the mirror dimmed and again only reflected the golden flickers of the braziers.
Alaria placed the emerald teardrop into one of her side pouches and followed Rynthis back into the office.
“You have friends in higher places than I knew, Magess. I had no idea you were acquainted with the Steel Dragons.” Rynthis said amicably.
“The Steel Dragons, captain?” Alaria asked.
“They are the Dragonmage-apparent’s inner circle. They are a highly-skilled and diverse company of heroes led by the Lordmage’s two sons. If the Steel Dragons are indeed to ride again, then we are facing a darker tide than I suspected.”
“You confuse me, Captain Rynthis. Forgive my ignorance. I thought the Lordmage was the Dragonmage?” Alaria questioned.
“Of course. Forgive me.” Rynthis smiled. “You’ve become such fixtures in your short time here, I forget you are not actually from Daenfrii, yourself.
“Our illustrious Lordmage, Arganor, has ruled Daefrii these…fifteen years past, now. Make no mistake, he is a wizard of surpassing talent and a just and beneficent ruler…but he is not of the Dragonwing line. Arganor is widower of the last Dragonmagess.
“The princes were only very young when their mother met her unfortunate end.” Rynthis sadly added, almost as if to himself moreso than Alaria. His focus returned to the magess as he continued.
“It is their son, Montor, who is next to inherit the mantle and become our next true ‘Dragonmage’…though, he has yet to take on that title and fulfill his destiny. So, Arganor continues to rule until such time as Prince Montor takes up the Staff of Wyr and claims the throne.” Rynthis explained.
Alaria thanked the captain before adding, “You said you had something for me, Captain Rynthis?”
“Ah, yes.” Rynthis said as he shuffled through the immense stacks of papers littering his desk. “I understand you and your company have decided to undertake the raising of your fallen warrior.”
“That is correct. By your leave, we will be parting from Bridgetower on the morrow to seek out some necessary…um…necessities for the ritual.”
The captain nodded in understanding as he continued to shuffle. “I believe I may have something that will help. I have a mission for you…Ah! Here it is.” He pulled a closed scroll from the other parchments. It was sealed with a large golden wax seal and bright blue ribbon.
“A mission, my lord?” Alaria was concerned. They did not have time to waste on errands for the captain. The time limit for raising Braddok was now only seventeen days away. She was immediately conflicted with thoughts of duty and fairness for all of the assistance and hospitality Bridgetower had showed them.
“Yes. There’s been a disturbance in Shafton. It’s a small mining village just north and east of here, well within Daefrii’s borders so travel should be swift and safe.” Seeing no interruption or disagreement from Alaria, Rynthis continued.
“A message came from the village elders, almost two weeks ago, that the mine had been suddenly overrun with kobolds. Kobolds in the South March! Can you imagine?” Rynthis asked in the rhetorical way Alaria had found common among the people of Bridgetower.
“I sent a small squad to go handle it, but they have not returned. Nor has there been any word from Shafton since they were dispatched. With all of the chaos around and the increasing forces arriving every day, I doubt anyone else has noticed, but I do not like the feel of it.”
“My lord, we really must…” Alaria attempted to interject politely. She was not successful.
“There have not been kobolds in the eastern hills in over a decade. I’ve also received reports that the barbarians are haranguing the northern borders…Plus this goblin army in the south.” The captain began to sound somewhat defeated. “It just doesn’t feel right.” Rynthis repeated distractedly.
He continued undeterred. “With everything going on, I do not have men to spare to follow up, but my duty as Captain of the South March is quite clear and with war looming around us, I cannot allow the mine’s production to be stifled. We have only perhaps a month or two more before the snows move in from the north and we will be wintered.
“I will offer 200 gold to each of your company toward your cause upon your successful routing of the vermin and, gods’ willing, your safe return. Can I count on your company? Shafton is only a day’s ride. You will, of course, be entitled to any other riches you find along the way…barring the actual mine’s ore which belong to his lordship, you understand.”
“Yes, certainly, my lord.” Alaria paused a moment to think, 200 gold each would certainly be a nice beginning to their quest. “I am afraid though, we have no mounts. How long would it take on foot?” Alaria offered tentatively. She hoped the captain’s generosity would not fall short of a few horses.
“I have already dispatched Festus to secure you mounts. The stables of Bridgetower are needed for our troops. But he is resourceful and will be awaiting your arrival at the Wyern’s Wing tomorrow. I have assigned him to be your guide and aid you in anyway possible.”
Alaria was not so pleased at the captain’s presumption that they would accept his offer, but was more concerned by his ending news.
“Festus, my lord? The satyr?” Alaria said displeased, somewhat obviously.
“Indeed. You will find him a capable ranger and willing warrior, if needs be. His knowledge and skill of the South March will be most helpful and ensure you the most direct route with all speed.”
Alaria did not respond.
“So we are agreed?” the captain finally said.
Alaria, somewhat snapped out of her own mental mechanizations, “Oh, yes! Yes, I’m sorry. We will meet him tomorrow and take care of your kobold troubles.”
“Excellent. Then you will need this.” He finally handed her the rolled and sealed parchment.
“My lord?” Alaria asked as she took the scroll. She noted the dragon holding a diamond seal of Daenfrii pressed into the golden wax.
“It is within my power, as well as my privilege and honor, to offer your company an official charter. It carries the weight of the seneschal of Bridgetower as vested by the authority of the Lordmage himself. It will permit you the baring of arms and use of magic in our just cause. Any official within Daenfrii who does not honor this charter should be brought to my immediate attention.”
“Captain Rynthis, your generosity truly knows no bounds. I do not know what to say.” Alaria gushed.
“Of course, any company charter requires the band and leader be named. I do hope you will not mind the presumption, but the Hilltender seemed to indicate you had all decided on “the Stormriders” as your group’s name. I took the liberty of using your name as the charter’s official leader.” Rynthis grinned.
“The Stormriders’ will be fine, my lord. Though I will have a talk with Haelan as to just how officially decided that was. You have my, all of our, thanks.” She grinned back.
“Very good. I look forward to your return and report. Hopefully within the week. You have my, and indeed all of Bridgetower’s thanks as well, Magess Alaria Staver.” Rynthis said as he resumed shuffling about the papers on his desk.
“Timothy?” Rynthis called loudly. The door opened almost immediately and the young manservant poked his head in. Without looking up from his desk, Rynthis commanded, “Find me Lieutenant Goren.”
“Good day to you then, Captain.” Alaria nodded a goodbye that the captain did not see and took her leave.
So, Alaria thought, Goren’s been made lieutenant. Good for him. She smiled despite herself shifting through the crowded corridors on her way back to the library to see what the wizard, Stenthil, had turned up about her or-….the Ihs Repahl.
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Alaria entered the parchment-scented library and made her way to the center table. She noted Erevan at one of the solitary writing desks that were placed sporadically around the library’s perimeter. If the elf noticed her entry, he made no indication of it. The elf’s quill carefully transcribed letters from the stack of books and scrolls atop the desk.
As she entered the central opening with the large table, the puffballs of light atop the chandelier bathing the table in their even glow, Alaria was surprised to see Amarys lounging casually in the center of the table. There were no other books or scrolls out and Stenthil was nowhere to be seen. The wizardess supposed the magician was lost somewhere in the stacks and presumed to wait for him. If the lap-drake was here, surely her master was not far.
“Hello Amarys.” Alaria said softly. “Where is your master, this evening?”
The lap-drake’s head popped up at Alaria’s address and cooed at her. The creature’s metallic teal scales rippled for a moment before taking on a golden sheen that was remarkably similar to the harvest gold traveling robe Alaria was wearing that day.
Amarys stretched out its clawed fronnt legs and and arched its back. Its dragon-like snout opened in a long exaggerated yawn. Then Amarys stretched out her small wings and lunged into the air, flapping casually to keep herself bopping above the table. She warbled a purring noise at Alaria and fluttered to one of the aisles that led further back into the library and turned a serpentine neck to look at Alaria again.
“Ah, I see. Thank you, Amarys.” Alaria repliedand followed the lap-drake back through the aisle, around a bend, down another aisle to a smaller opening against what she presumed to be the back wall of the library. There was another smaller table and chairs. This study area was lit with multiple candles instead of the magical light-balls even as the evening sky sent a sliver of rosy colored light through one of the narrow windows.
There, at the table which was cluttered with stacks of tomes and scrolls, ledgers and books of all sizes, sat Stenthil thoroughly engrossed in what he was reading. The crystal orb sat next to the book the magician was studying.
Amarys landed smack in the middle of the pages Stenthil was reading and warbled at the mage. Her scales, again rippling from nose to tail, shifted back from gold to bright blue-green.
“Amarys, I told you to…OH! Magess Alaria. Excellent, excellent. Is it time already? Forgive me. I do lose track of the hours when I’m in study. You understand, of course. I’m sure. Do sit down. Sit.” The old mage rambled on for a bit, shooing Amarys from what he’d been reading and attempting to gather up books and papers to make room for the magess at the table.
“Devrim?” the wizard called out. It was really only a convensational tone, but in the serenity of the library, the sound seemed to boom through the stacks.
“Thank you, Master Stenthil.” Alaria sat in the chair the wizard had pulled up beside him.
As she did so, the blue robed Devrim entered the alcove from some place hidden behind the stacks. He smiled at Alaria and the two exchanged pleasantries. He seemed much more happy than when the two had first met.
“Yes. Yes. Very good, my boy. We’ll take the tea now, if you please. The Magess and I have much to discuss.”
Devrim nodded and left with an almost cheery “Yes, Master.”
Stenthil handed Alaria the orb as he began. “Your intuitions about this crystal were quite astute, Magess. It is, indeed, more than it appears.”
“What did you find? Were you able to discern any connection between the orb and Sharzaak?” Alaria questioned. Her inate magical curiosity was immediately piqued. Perhaps Stenthil was able to find something about the crystal that Rhea had been reluctant to share.
“Well, yes and not exactly. It is a most intriguing object. If I am correct, it has quite a history. Far more ancient than one would think. It is referred to…” the mage shuffled through one of the stacks and retrieved a small book with a marked page. “…according to this little treasure trove of information, as the Ihs Repahl, ‘the Wind’s Soul’ as you already knew. Which, naturally, led me to look into the legends of the Repahlentim...with which, I am sure, you are acquainted.”
Stenthil smiled broadly, his bushy grey brows risen in an expectation of agreement. The excitement of whatever he’d discovered in his research all but bubbled out of him.
“I am afraid, Master Stenthil, that I am not.” Alaria begrudgingly admitted.
“Ah, well. Tis to be a history lesson as well then, eh?” the wizard chuckled. “You do know of the creation of the world, I should hope.” Stenthil began, again seeming hopeful of a positive response.
“Of course.” Alaria replied, trying not to sound too indignant. The creation of the world, Alaria thought, Manat’s star how long a history lesson is this going to be?
“Well, then you know that long before the Selurians or Tanku Empires rose, before the Five Tribes of Men ever set foot on Orean soil, the world belonged to the ShiStaliiri. And before that…?”Stenthil paused as a teacher searching for an answer.
“Before the elves?” Alaria was shocked. Her mind raced to recall her studies in ancient history. “Before the elves, there were only the Children of Zho and Ahl. <author/DM’s note: the dragons and titans, respectively>
“Just so.” Stenthil replied with the pride of a teacher who had received a correct answer. “There were the dragons and the titans…and their magic. The fundamental elemental energies of the Elder Gods and the birth of the world. You, ehm, you are familiar with the Elder Gods, are you not?”
Alaria had a vague recollection. There were only eight original Elder Gods of Orea. Pairs of male and female, each tied to…or was it created from?…the elemental forces of existence. Gods, Alaria chastised herself, she should have paid more attention to Magess Feranga’s ancient religion courses at the academy. She recited what she recalled for Stenthil.
“Just so.” The mage said again. “Now, only the rarest of remnants of those primordial forces remain to us, only threw legend and myth, from those treasured items created by the Children of Ahl and Zho. Like the fabled Gifts of Doron and the Treasures of Wyr….or the Repahlentim.
“Six stones of surpassing power over the elemental forces of the world…and beyond, some say. But we’ll get to that…”
Just then, Devrim returned with a tray containing a tea pot and matching cups and saucers. All beautifully crafted of delicate white porcelain, glazed in bright blue with scenes of twining dragons and eagles and other aerial creatures Alaria could not readily identify.
Devrim began to pour and passed the first cup and saucer to Alaria. The spicy aroma was very familiar to the magess. She could hardly believe her nose.
“Is that…?” Alaria began.
“Indeed, R’Hathi Black Ginger. My favorite…and the captain’s. I acquired a bit of his personal store for this meeting. I do hope you will like it.” The kindly wizard explained as he took a cup and saucer from Devrim. “Pour yourself a cup also, my boy. This will be a good lesson for you as well.”
Devrim smiled unabashedly. He had hoped beyond hope he might spend time with his new master and the magess learning about this intense research Stenthil had had him running raggard for the passed week.
“Now…ehm…Where was I?” the wizard asked as he took a noisy slurp from his cup.
“The Repahlentim, Magus.” Alaria replied. With the addition of Devrim to the conversation, she felt the need to apply ‘official’ titles, as was customary in R’Hath when among those of lesser training.
“Ah yes. Six stones of surpassing power…crafted by a titan. There is some disagreement as to whom…multiple names appear…” The wizard began rifling through scrolls again. “Ampheron seems the most commonly accepted…but there was another…”
“If you please, Magus Stenthil, the what about the Repahlentim? Is this orb one of them?” Alaria could hardly conain her impulse to hear what else the wizard had to say.
“Indeed, I believe it very well may be, my dear. There were six stones in all. Each for the primal forces of the universe!” the wizard laughed in the revery of his excitement.
Seeing Alaria did not yet share his elation, Stenthil continued. “Ehem, yes. Well, they have subsequently named and categorized by the elves and later, the Selurians which are the names we have for them today. One for ‘Ihnt’, or Earth, ‘Fehs’, Fire, ‘Vort’, that Water,” the mage said in an instructive tone towards Devrim, “and ‘Ihs’ or Air. There was also a Repahl for Life and one for Death though I could not find reference for their Selurian, or indeed any other, names.
“The combination of such are said to give utter command over the world…and all life and even death itself.”
Alaria looked at the orb in her hands with utter amazement. Did she truly hold one of the most ancient, most powerful treasures in all of legend? She immediately thought of the visions she’d seen while in the spell sleep.
“What do these other stones…or…the Repahlentim look like? Are they all orbs like this one?”
Stenthil was pleased with the obvious excitement in Alaria’s voice. The girl was catching on. “Well, there is really no way to tell. They are so old that there is really no way to tell, you see? Ages and ages of time have passed. But…I did find reference to some of them…well, only two, actually.”
The wizard again rifled through the stacks of books and withdrew a rather large thick tome and flipped through multiple markers within the pages, finally settling on one. “According to the Natorum Chronicles as written by the sage, Olion…”
Alaira did know that name. Olion was the one of the sons of one of the Founding Five archmagi of R’Hath, Serion the Green. Olion was renowned for his knowledge and collected histories of the earliest days of the Principalities.
“It is purported by Olion, that the Archmage Nator used the Fehs Repahl as the heart when creating his Staff of Fire. And here…” he switched to another page, “describes the Repahl as, quote, ‘a jewel of unmatched quality and beauty, the brightest red any mortal eye had ever laid eyes upon.’
If that is true, and I’ve never known in all my years of study for Olion’s work to be anything but,” he added as an aside with a knowing wink at Alaria, “then the Fire Staff of Nator holds one of the Repahlentim. Alas, of course, it is long lost from the grasp of the ruling mages of Ablidon and no doubt lost forever from the realms of men.”
“And the other account, Stenthil?” Alaria forgot to use the proper title in her exuberance. So, Alaria quickly realized, Rhea and the Steel Dragons were seeking the Fire Staff because it held one of the Repahlentim! But what were they for, she wondered…other than immense cosmic power, of course. She smiled at her own foolishness and returned her mind to Stenthil’s discourse.
“The other…” Stenthil all but threw the large tome aside and waved his hand over in a simple gesture over the arrayed chaos on the desk. A very old-looking scroll rose from the pile and unfurled itself before Stenthil. He leaned in closely to look at the ancient writing on the parchment that looked like it might crumble into dust right before their eyes.
“Can’t be too careful when dealing with fragile documents, young Devrim. Prestidigitation is often required. Now, let’s see…
“The other, my dear Magess, it says here in this copy of a page from the Staliirim Verstes, may very well be known to us, these days, as…” Stenthil paused for dramatic effect before bursting in childlike excitement. “…the Eye of Arinane. Can you believe it?!”
The Staliirim Verstes, Alaria knew, were the Treasures of ShiStaliir, the Star Elves first among the races brought into being. They were reputed to be a variety of items of great magical power that were gifted to the highest families of the ancient elvin nation of ShiStaliir.
One such item, known through myth and history, was the Eye of Arinane which belonged or, Alaria presumed, ‘belongs still’ to the ruler of the House of the Moon…the king of the Miralostae elves…Originally, this was the sorceress who led the elves who would become known as the Miralostae out of ShiStaliir. She was the same sorceress who slew the dread wyrm Sharzaak and whose progeny established the Miralostae nation.
The R’Hathi magess’ mind raced while Stenthil explained all of this to Devrim.
“The goblin army is after the Eye of Arinane!” Alaria blurted.
Stenthil and Devrim looked at her in surprise.
“Perhaps. Perhaps.” Stenthil mused, scratching his grey beard and furrowing his brow. “If this account is correct and the Eye of Arinane is, indeed, one of the Repahlentim…but what would goblins want with an artifact of such power? They couldn’t possibly understand or use its magics.” Stenthil posed. “Of course, it is ridiculous to think for a moment that any army would stand a chance of penetrating so far into Miralosta.”
Sharzaak, Alaria thought. It has to have something to do with Sharzaak…and Tresahd. “It is not the goblins that worry me, Stenthil, but whomever their master might be capable of doing with it. Was that the connection to Sharzaak you found?”
“Huh?” Stenthil murmured roused from his own musing on the possibilities. “Oh. No. No. Here…”
The wizard flicked his wrist and the aged scroll rolled itself up and gently placed itself back among the other documents. “Devrim, more tea for me, please. Alaria?” He searched through the stack of tomes.
Alaria sipped the last of her cup and nodded thanks to Devrim for a refill as well. She did enjoy, and did not realize how much she had missed, Black Ginger tea.
“Here we are.” Stenthil began opening yet another lage book and finding the marked page. “I confess, I must give credit to Prius for finding this tidbit. Have you met Prius, my dear? Lovely man.”
Alaria explained that she had met the Bridgetower scribe and archiver at the feast earlier that week.
“Well, Prius has been quite a help these passed days…as has young Devrim, here…he found this account in the archives regarding the Battle of Thornfeld and the Feldmere. I suppose you do not know military history any better than myself.” Stenthil chuckled. “Sorilorr’s blessing on Prius for not being as narrow minded as we, eh?”
“Magus…” Alaria interjected. Seemed keeping the wizard ontrack was going to be repeated necessity.
Stenthil noisily sipped his tea again and placed the cup and saucer on the table. “Indeed. Well, this account of the Battle of Thornfeld explains how it was a very necessary and decisive win for the forces of good in these parts against the demon-godson. It even credits the battle with turning the tide. You know the Scourge Wars ended not two years after? I was surprised myself to find that out.
“In any event,” the wizard continued, perusing the pages of the historic work, “the Battle of Thornfeld was waged between the forces of the high-king Elibon…of course, he wasn’t high-king yet…and the forces of the Scourge who were held up in one of their greatest strongholds.
“The stronghold was said to have been a citadel leftover from the Selurian Empire and twisted by the Scourge’s insidious evils. The accounts of the day name it Nor Gorthok…which would indicate, obviously, it was a dwarf made construction, just as Nor Tyrilith or the elvin city of Nor Evand. ‘Nor’, of course indicating ‘rock’ and ‘Gorth-…”
“Master Stenthil, please…” Alaria interjected again.
“Yes. Yes. The commander of this stronghold and the army of evil within was a dragon of surpassing evil and ferocity named Desaarthal <’dez-AY-arth-ahl’>.
“Desaarthal, my good Magess, was reputed to be one of the elder wyrm Sharzaak’s many broods.”
Alaria’s brow furrowed. She did not understand the connection. Stenthil continued.
“The dragon threw all of its evil and magics from its hoard at the forces of Grinlia. There is a passage telling of an orb used by the dark servants of the citadel which roused the winds and brought storms down upong the Grinlin forces.
“But in the end, goodness prevailed and the dragon fled the field, wounded…and returned to the depths of Nor Gorthok, cursing the lands and creatures as it fled, defiling them with evil and corrupting all in its path. The surrounding lands befouled and swallowed the citadel in their festering depths.
“Those are the lands we now know as the Feldmere. The ancient stronghold of evil, the dragon and its hoard may yet exist beneath the reeds and mud of the swamp.” A bushy eyebrow rose in speculation.
“But you said the dragon was defeated!” Devrim piped up, somewhat surprising himself. “There could be a dragon’s treasure just a day away somewhwere in that troll0infested swamp?”
“Trolls are not the only dangers of the Feldmere, young Devrim. Far from it. However, I said the dragon fled the field. It was wounded, yes. Defeated, yes. But I found no indication that the wyrm was slain.”
“You honestly believe the dragon might yet live…it’s been centuries.” Alaria questioned.
Stenthil chuckled to himself. “My dear, you are unlearned in the ways of the wyrms it seems. Centuries to an ancient dragon could be a mere nap…or perhaps, the creature did die from its wounds in the bowels of the citadel. The accounts have no way of knowing.”
“You believe the Ihs Repahl was that magic orb? That it, somehow, in these passed centuries since the Scourges Wars, rose to the world of men again?” Alaria questioned.
“Rose? Was brought? Maybe even sent forth by whatever evil still haunts the mists of the Feldmere today. I could not find any other accounts of magical orbs which could control air in such a manner.
“You said you claimed it from a dark wizard’s lair. Perhaps this wizard found Nor Gorthok and ventured into the lost stronghold. Perhaps it had been brought forth centuries ago to be claimed by the wizard elsewhere? Maybe a Grinlian soldier all those years ago found and kept it as a spoil of the battle….Who can say?
“But you have it now, Magess Alaria, and I suggest you not let it go.” Stenthil finished.
Alaria finished her tea and set down the cup. Her mind was swimming with all she’d heard.
“My thanks, Magus Stenthil, for the excellent tea and the research. You surpassed my expectations. But I regret I must retire, I have an early day. Good morrow to you both.” With that, Alaria rose and exited the library. There was so much to discuss with the others.
As she entered the central opening with the large table, the puffballs of light atop the chandelier bathing the table in their even glow, Alaria was surprised to see Amarys lounging casually in the center of the table. There were no other books or scrolls out and Stenthil was nowhere to be seen. The wizardess supposed the magician was lost somewhere in the stacks and presumed to wait for him. If the lap-drake was here, surely her master was not far.
“Hello Amarys.” Alaria said softly. “Where is your master, this evening?”
The lap-drake’s head popped up at Alaria’s address and cooed at her. The creature’s metallic teal scales rippled for a moment before taking on a golden sheen that was remarkably similar to the harvest gold traveling robe Alaria was wearing that day.
Amarys stretched out its clawed fronnt legs and and arched its back. Its dragon-like snout opened in a long exaggerated yawn. Then Amarys stretched out her small wings and lunged into the air, flapping casually to keep herself bopping above the table. She warbled a purring noise at Alaria and fluttered to one of the aisles that led further back into the library and turned a serpentine neck to look at Alaria again.
“Ah, I see. Thank you, Amarys.” Alaria repliedand followed the lap-drake back through the aisle, around a bend, down another aisle to a smaller opening against what she presumed to be the back wall of the library. There was another smaller table and chairs. This study area was lit with multiple candles instead of the magical light-balls even as the evening sky sent a sliver of rosy colored light through one of the narrow windows.
There, at the table which was cluttered with stacks of tomes and scrolls, ledgers and books of all sizes, sat Stenthil thoroughly engrossed in what he was reading. The crystal orb sat next to the book the magician was studying.
Amarys landed smack in the middle of the pages Stenthil was reading and warbled at the mage. Her scales, again rippling from nose to tail, shifted back from gold to bright blue-green.
“Amarys, I told you to…OH! Magess Alaria. Excellent, excellent. Is it time already? Forgive me. I do lose track of the hours when I’m in study. You understand, of course. I’m sure. Do sit down. Sit.” The old mage rambled on for a bit, shooing Amarys from what he’d been reading and attempting to gather up books and papers to make room for the magess at the table.
“Devrim?” the wizard called out. It was really only a convensational tone, but in the serenity of the library, the sound seemed to boom through the stacks.
“Thank you, Master Stenthil.” Alaria sat in the chair the wizard had pulled up beside him.
As she did so, the blue robed Devrim entered the alcove from some place hidden behind the stacks. He smiled at Alaria and the two exchanged pleasantries. He seemed much more happy than when the two had first met.
“Yes. Yes. Very good, my boy. We’ll take the tea now, if you please. The Magess and I have much to discuss.”
Devrim nodded and left with an almost cheery “Yes, Master.”
Stenthil handed Alaria the orb as he began. “Your intuitions about this crystal were quite astute, Magess. It is, indeed, more than it appears.”
“What did you find? Were you able to discern any connection between the orb and Sharzaak?” Alaria questioned. Her inate magical curiosity was immediately piqued. Perhaps Stenthil was able to find something about the crystal that Rhea had been reluctant to share.
“Well, yes and not exactly. It is a most intriguing object. If I am correct, it has quite a history. Far more ancient than one would think. It is referred to…” the mage shuffled through one of the stacks and retrieved a small book with a marked page. “…according to this little treasure trove of information, as the Ihs Repahl, ‘the Wind’s Soul’ as you already knew. Which, naturally, led me to look into the legends of the Repahlentim...with which, I am sure, you are acquainted.”
Stenthil smiled broadly, his bushy grey brows risen in an expectation of agreement. The excitement of whatever he’d discovered in his research all but bubbled out of him.
“I am afraid, Master Stenthil, that I am not.” Alaria begrudgingly admitted.
“Ah, well. Tis to be a history lesson as well then, eh?” the wizard chuckled. “You do know of the creation of the world, I should hope.” Stenthil began, again seeming hopeful of a positive response.
“Of course.” Alaria replied, trying not to sound too indignant. The creation of the world, Alaria thought, Manat’s star how long a history lesson is this going to be?
“Well, then you know that long before the Selurians or Tanku Empires rose, before the Five Tribes of Men ever set foot on Orean soil, the world belonged to the ShiStaliiri. And before that…?”Stenthil paused as a teacher searching for an answer.
“Before the elves?” Alaria was shocked. Her mind raced to recall her studies in ancient history. “Before the elves, there were only the Children of Zho and Ahl. <author/DM’s note: the dragons and titans, respectively>
“Just so.” Stenthil replied with the pride of a teacher who had received a correct answer. “There were the dragons and the titans…and their magic. The fundamental elemental energies of the Elder Gods and the birth of the world. You, ehm, you are familiar with the Elder Gods, are you not?”
Alaria had a vague recollection. There were only eight original Elder Gods of Orea. Pairs of male and female, each tied to…or was it created from?…the elemental forces of existence. Gods, Alaria chastised herself, she should have paid more attention to Magess Feranga’s ancient religion courses at the academy. She recited what she recalled for Stenthil.
“Just so.” The mage said again. “Now, only the rarest of remnants of those primordial forces remain to us, only threw legend and myth, from those treasured items created by the Children of Ahl and Zho. Like the fabled Gifts of Doron and the Treasures of Wyr….or the Repahlentim.
“Six stones of surpassing power over the elemental forces of the world…and beyond, some say. But we’ll get to that…”
Just then, Devrim returned with a tray containing a tea pot and matching cups and saucers. All beautifully crafted of delicate white porcelain, glazed in bright blue with scenes of twining dragons and eagles and other aerial creatures Alaria could not readily identify.
Devrim began to pour and passed the first cup and saucer to Alaria. The spicy aroma was very familiar to the magess. She could hardly believe her nose.
“Is that…?” Alaria began.
“Indeed, R’Hathi Black Ginger. My favorite…and the captain’s. I acquired a bit of his personal store for this meeting. I do hope you will like it.” The kindly wizard explained as he took a cup and saucer from Devrim. “Pour yourself a cup also, my boy. This will be a good lesson for you as well.”
Devrim smiled unabashedly. He had hoped beyond hope he might spend time with his new master and the magess learning about this intense research Stenthil had had him running raggard for the passed week.
“Now…ehm…Where was I?” the wizard asked as he took a noisy slurp from his cup.
“The Repahlentim, Magus.” Alaria replied. With the addition of Devrim to the conversation, she felt the need to apply ‘official’ titles, as was customary in R’Hath when among those of lesser training.
“Ah yes. Six stones of surpassing power…crafted by a titan. There is some disagreement as to whom…multiple names appear…” The wizard began rifling through scrolls again. “Ampheron seems the most commonly accepted…but there was another…”
“If you please, Magus Stenthil, the what about the Repahlentim? Is this orb one of them?” Alaria could hardly conain her impulse to hear what else the wizard had to say.
“Indeed, I believe it very well may be, my dear. There were six stones in all. Each for the primal forces of the universe!” the wizard laughed in the revery of his excitement.
Seeing Alaria did not yet share his elation, Stenthil continued. “Ehem, yes. Well, they have subsequently named and categorized by the elves and later, the Selurians which are the names we have for them today. One for ‘Ihnt’, or Earth, ‘Fehs’, Fire, ‘Vort’, that Water,” the mage said in an instructive tone towards Devrim, “and ‘Ihs’ or Air. There was also a Repahl for Life and one for Death though I could not find reference for their Selurian, or indeed any other, names.
“The combination of such are said to give utter command over the world…and all life and even death itself.”
Alaria looked at the orb in her hands with utter amazement. Did she truly hold one of the most ancient, most powerful treasures in all of legend? She immediately thought of the visions she’d seen while in the spell sleep.
“What do these other stones…or…the Repahlentim look like? Are they all orbs like this one?”
Stenthil was pleased with the obvious excitement in Alaria’s voice. The girl was catching on. “Well, there is really no way to tell. They are so old that there is really no way to tell, you see? Ages and ages of time have passed. But…I did find reference to some of them…well, only two, actually.”
The wizard again rifled through the stacks of books and withdrew a rather large thick tome and flipped through multiple markers within the pages, finally settling on one. “According to the Natorum Chronicles as written by the sage, Olion…”
Alaira did know that name. Olion was the one of the sons of one of the Founding Five archmagi of R’Hath, Serion the Green. Olion was renowned for his knowledge and collected histories of the earliest days of the Principalities.
“It is purported by Olion, that the Archmage Nator used the Fehs Repahl as the heart when creating his Staff of Fire. And here…” he switched to another page, “describes the Repahl as, quote, ‘a jewel of unmatched quality and beauty, the brightest red any mortal eye had ever laid eyes upon.’
If that is true, and I’ve never known in all my years of study for Olion’s work to be anything but,” he added as an aside with a knowing wink at Alaria, “then the Fire Staff of Nator holds one of the Repahlentim. Alas, of course, it is long lost from the grasp of the ruling mages of Ablidon and no doubt lost forever from the realms of men.”
“And the other account, Stenthil?” Alaria forgot to use the proper title in her exuberance. So, Alaria quickly realized, Rhea and the Steel Dragons were seeking the Fire Staff because it held one of the Repahlentim! But what were they for, she wondered…other than immense cosmic power, of course. She smiled at her own foolishness and returned her mind to Stenthil’s discourse.
“The other…” Stenthil all but threw the large tome aside and waved his hand over in a simple gesture over the arrayed chaos on the desk. A very old-looking scroll rose from the pile and unfurled itself before Stenthil. He leaned in closely to look at the ancient writing on the parchment that looked like it might crumble into dust right before their eyes.
“Can’t be too careful when dealing with fragile documents, young Devrim. Prestidigitation is often required. Now, let’s see…
“The other, my dear Magess, it says here in this copy of a page from the Staliirim Verstes, may very well be known to us, these days, as…” Stenthil paused for dramatic effect before bursting in childlike excitement. “…the Eye of Arinane. Can you believe it?!”
The Staliirim Verstes, Alaria knew, were the Treasures of ShiStaliir, the Star Elves first among the races brought into being. They were reputed to be a variety of items of great magical power that were gifted to the highest families of the ancient elvin nation of ShiStaliir.
One such item, known through myth and history, was the Eye of Arinane which belonged or, Alaria presumed, ‘belongs still’ to the ruler of the House of the Moon…the king of the Miralostae elves…Originally, this was the sorceress who led the elves who would become known as the Miralostae out of ShiStaliir. She was the same sorceress who slew the dread wyrm Sharzaak and whose progeny established the Miralostae nation.
The R’Hathi magess’ mind raced while Stenthil explained all of this to Devrim.
“The goblin army is after the Eye of Arinane!” Alaria blurted.
Stenthil and Devrim looked at her in surprise.
“Perhaps. Perhaps.” Stenthil mused, scratching his grey beard and furrowing his brow. “If this account is correct and the Eye of Arinane is, indeed, one of the Repahlentim…but what would goblins want with an artifact of such power? They couldn’t possibly understand or use its magics.” Stenthil posed. “Of course, it is ridiculous to think for a moment that any army would stand a chance of penetrating so far into Miralosta.”
Sharzaak, Alaria thought. It has to have something to do with Sharzaak…and Tresahd. “It is not the goblins that worry me, Stenthil, but whomever their master might be capable of doing with it. Was that the connection to Sharzaak you found?”
“Huh?” Stenthil murmured roused from his own musing on the possibilities. “Oh. No. No. Here…”
The wizard flicked his wrist and the aged scroll rolled itself up and gently placed itself back among the other documents. “Devrim, more tea for me, please. Alaria?” He searched through the stack of tomes.
Alaria sipped the last of her cup and nodded thanks to Devrim for a refill as well. She did enjoy, and did not realize how much she had missed, Black Ginger tea.
“Here we are.” Stenthil began opening yet another lage book and finding the marked page. “I confess, I must give credit to Prius for finding this tidbit. Have you met Prius, my dear? Lovely man.”
Alaria explained that she had met the Bridgetower scribe and archiver at the feast earlier that week.
“Well, Prius has been quite a help these passed days…as has young Devrim, here…he found this account in the archives regarding the Battle of Thornfeld and the Feldmere. I suppose you do not know military history any better than myself.” Stenthil chuckled. “Sorilorr’s blessing on Prius for not being as narrow minded as we, eh?”
“Magus…” Alaria interjected. Seemed keeping the wizard ontrack was going to be repeated necessity.
Stenthil noisily sipped his tea again and placed the cup and saucer on the table. “Indeed. Well, this account of the Battle of Thornfeld explains how it was a very necessary and decisive win for the forces of good in these parts against the demon-godson. It even credits the battle with turning the tide. You know the Scourge Wars ended not two years after? I was surprised myself to find that out.
“In any event,” the wizard continued, perusing the pages of the historic work, “the Battle of Thornfeld was waged between the forces of the high-king Elibon…of course, he wasn’t high-king yet…and the forces of the Scourge who were held up in one of their greatest strongholds.
“The stronghold was said to have been a citadel leftover from the Selurian Empire and twisted by the Scourge’s insidious evils. The accounts of the day name it Nor Gorthok…which would indicate, obviously, it was a dwarf made construction, just as Nor Tyrilith or the elvin city of Nor Evand. ‘Nor’, of course indicating ‘rock’ and ‘Gorth-…”
“Master Stenthil, please…” Alaria interjected again.
“Yes. Yes. The commander of this stronghold and the army of evil within was a dragon of surpassing evil and ferocity named Desaarthal <’dez-AY-arth-ahl’>.
“Desaarthal, my good Magess, was reputed to be one of the elder wyrm Sharzaak’s many broods.”
Alaria’s brow furrowed. She did not understand the connection. Stenthil continued.
“The dragon threw all of its evil and magics from its hoard at the forces of Grinlia. There is a passage telling of an orb used by the dark servants of the citadel which roused the winds and brought storms down upong the Grinlin forces.
“But in the end, goodness prevailed and the dragon fled the field, wounded…and returned to the depths of Nor Gorthok, cursing the lands and creatures as it fled, defiling them with evil and corrupting all in its path. The surrounding lands befouled and swallowed the citadel in their festering depths.
“Those are the lands we now know as the Feldmere. The ancient stronghold of evil, the dragon and its hoard may yet exist beneath the reeds and mud of the swamp.” A bushy eyebrow rose in speculation.
“But you said the dragon was defeated!” Devrim piped up, somewhat surprising himself. “There could be a dragon’s treasure just a day away somewhwere in that troll0infested swamp?”
“Trolls are not the only dangers of the Feldmere, young Devrim. Far from it. However, I said the dragon fled the field. It was wounded, yes. Defeated, yes. But I found no indication that the wyrm was slain.”
“You honestly believe the dragon might yet live…it’s been centuries.” Alaria questioned.
Stenthil chuckled to himself. “My dear, you are unlearned in the ways of the wyrms it seems. Centuries to an ancient dragon could be a mere nap…or perhaps, the creature did die from its wounds in the bowels of the citadel. The accounts have no way of knowing.”
“You believe the Ihs Repahl was that magic orb? That it, somehow, in these passed centuries since the Scourges Wars, rose to the world of men again?” Alaria questioned.
“Rose? Was brought? Maybe even sent forth by whatever evil still haunts the mists of the Feldmere today. I could not find any other accounts of magical orbs which could control air in such a manner.
“You said you claimed it from a dark wizard’s lair. Perhaps this wizard found Nor Gorthok and ventured into the lost stronghold. Perhaps it had been brought forth centuries ago to be claimed by the wizard elsewhere? Maybe a Grinlian soldier all those years ago found and kept it as a spoil of the battle….Who can say?
“But you have it now, Magess Alaria, and I suggest you not let it go.” Stenthil finished.
Alaria finished her tea and set down the cup. Her mind was swimming with all she’d heard.
“My thanks, Magus Stenthil, for the excellent tea and the research. You surpassed my expectations. But I regret I must retire, I have an early day. Good morrow to you both.” With that, Alaria rose and exited the library. There was so much to discuss with the others.
It was just after eight bells in the keep courtyard, behind the great tower of Bridgetower, when Alaria arrived at the north gate. She had packed up what things she could carry herself, her orb and spell components in the pouches and pockets around her waist. Following her week of study and transcribing, there was only a single scroll left in her scrollcase. Alaria had said her farewells to Midge, Stenthil and Devrim, Captain Rynthis and the Lady Elhianne. She took up her staff securely in her grip, made her way to the courtyard and waited for the rest of the party.
Haelan, Erevan and Fen arrived shortly, suitably supplied and ready, even eager, to get moving on their quest.
Coerraine stood a short distance away saying his goodbyes to the other Goldshields and priests of Celradorn.
Duor marched directly through the circle of armored men in crimson tabbards on his way to the north gate.
“Get the spear outta yer arse, Goldilocks. We’ve got treasure to hunt.” The dwarf barked as he passed Coerraine.
The blond paladin looked at his fellows who met Coerraine’s gaze with raised eyebrows and questioning glances.
“New charge.” Coerraine said in simple explanation.
This received several smiles and “ahhh” looks. “Celradorn keep you, Goldshield. May the Red Star guide your path.” One of the other paladins offered.
Coerraine clasped arms with his fellows and met the rest of the group where they set off down the dirt road leading north from outpost of Bridgetower.
The band discussed their mission on the road, along with what Stenthil had uncovered and Alaria’s own suspicions about the dark wizard and his motives.
“Kobolds! There’s a dragon’s hoard in the swamp and we’re going after yappers?!” Duor said incredulously. “I say we turn around right now!”
“There might be a dragon’s hoard in the swamp, Duor.” Alaria calmly explained. “We have only sixteen days to collect what we need and get to the Desriite temple in the Vale to raise Braddok. We don’t have time to be wandering about a swamp with nothing but hopes to find some centuries old ruin that could possibly have some treasure.”
Duor conceded but put in his two coppers that once Braddok had been returned to them, they go hunting for the dragon’s lost lair. “The old boy would be rather peeved if we went dragon hunting without him, I suppose.”
“What concerns me,” said Coerraine, “is the missing squad from the tower. Bridgetower, while a relatively small fortification, has well-oiled greaves. The men are disciplined and exacting. I concur with the Captain’s sense of foreboding that they have not, at least, sent word back to the tower in almost two weeks.”
“I do hope they’re alright.” Haelan said offhandedly as he patted Buttercream as she hopped along beside the daelvar.
The morning was bright and lovely, if a bit cool with the thoroughly entrenched autumn. They passed a couple of homesteads, small but nicely-maintained single story thatch-roofed cottages with low “fences” of piled stone, here and there, delineating property lines and separating animal pens from gardens and fields.
The “diverse” group caught a few curious glances from wives sweeping their walks or tending their roadside gardens. A couple of small children peeked over one low stone wall, pointing and giggling with each other.
Haelan waved and smiled at anyone. The others gave subdued but good-natured “Good morrow’s” to the few people that stared a bit too long.
Alaria had to admit, they must be quite the sight, even for the lands of the Dragonmage. A Redstar Knight, a druid, a magess of R’Hath, an elf, a dwarf and a daelvar hilltender with a giant ferret. Alaria smiled despite herself. Yes, she thought, they must appear curious indeed.
The Wyvern’s Wing inn and tavern was just a mile up well-worn dirt road. It was a popular hang out for the local farmers as well as off-duty keep guards and travelers moving through Bridgetower who were not offered the honor of chambers within the keep. It was a solid looking two-storied building of wood and stucco with multiple chimenies and a roof of shale shingles instead of the thatching atop the other country dwellings. A wooden sign in the shape of a serpentine dragon-like creature with a long tail and outstretched wings hung perpendicular from the building.
A long single-story structure that did have a thatched roof ran along the side of the inn. From the smell and lanky peasant lad that was toting an armful of leather straps and buckles, it was clear the structure was the inn’s stable.
The party entered the almost entirely empty tavern common-room (it was only nearing mid-morning). Sitting at the bar, the satyr Festus shared a cheery guffaw with the buxom young woman behind the bar and took a long draw from his flagon.
“Ah! Well met, Defenders.” Festus burst at their arrival. “You see, Amber, I told you I was on a quest with the heroes of the Tower.” The satyr set down his large mug and smiled brightly at the party. “She didn’t believe me. Some nonsense about trusting a satyr. So how ‘bout that kiss fer luck now, my beauty?” The small horned goat-man leaned over the bar with a leering wink.
Amber laughed openly. “How ‘bout a victory kiss upon your safe return, instead?” the red-headed barmaid suggested. “He speaks the truth, though.” Amber directed at the party. “I didn’t believe him. Well met, heroes. Can I get you anything before you start your journey?”
“I’ll take one of those ‘luck kisses.’” Duor said lustily making his way to a stool beside Festus.
“No, thank you, Amber. We really must be getting on the road.” Alaria interjected.
“How ‘bout a whiskey then?” Duor said, more to Alaria than the barmaid.
Amber gave Alaria a knowing nod, obviously understanding that the magess, near-legendary to the simple barmaid's mind, was the reasonable one in this group. “I’ll get your provisions then.”
“Provisions?” Coerraine said.
“Aye. The good captain told me to make arrangement for our journey with all speed. I took the liberty of ordering us a lunch and full wineskins. Shafton is not a full day’s journey, but no reason we should deprive ourselves of Amber’s mutton pasties. Best in the land.” The satyr concluded with another hopeful leer at the barmaid’s back.
“Now, now, Festus. They ain’t mine, you know that.” Amber said returning with two full satchels. “Father’s the cook.” She said as an aside to Alaria and Coerraine.
“Em, well, many thanks, to you and your father…and you, Festus.” Alaria offered to the cloven ranger. “But my understanding, from Captain Rynthis, was that you would be securing us mounts to speed our errand.” Alaria concluded, emphasizing the “official” nature of their mission.
“Indeed. Indeed, mistress magess.” The satyr said as he took his mug back from Duor who had gulped down its contents. “They’re in the stable. Ready to go in a moment’s notice…One more for the road, beautiful.” Festus said.
Haelan sniffed deeply at the contents of one of the satchels. “These smell divine! My compliments to your father, Amber.”
“Wait’ll yeh taste’m. Best in the land. I'm tellin' yeh.” Festus said distacted by his refilled mug.
“Ranger Hornshod,” Alaria began, attempting to assert some control over the situation though she had only a week ago willingly shed her role as group leader, “we really must be on our way. Time is of the essence.”
“Now, now, Alaria. We’re not at your beck n’ call anymore, remember?” Duor offered. “That whiskey, please, my dear.” The dwarf asserted.
Amber gave Alaria a cautious glance and then pulled the bottle out from behind the bar, pouring a shot into a small thick glass tumbler.
“Fine.” Alaria said. “One for the road, then. Coerraine, Erevan and I will get the horses and await you outside.” The mages did not wait for a response but turned abruptly, causing her golden traveling robe and dark blue hooded cloak (an indulgence purchase from the keep before leaving) to twirl with a flourish.
Erevan followed without a word. Coerraine hesitated a moment waiting for some derogatory comment from Duor. He was not disappointed.
“Indeed.” The dwarf said with intended affectation. “Prepare our mount, pally. I’ll be out in two swigs.”
Ten swigs later, the dwarf and satyr exited the inn to find the rest of the company waiting. Alaria, in particular, was obviously impatient.
There was a horse for Alaria, one for Coerraine which Duor was hoisted up on, one atop which Erevan sat, with Fen seated behind him and a pony for Haelan.
“What about Buttercream?” Haelan said.
“She will keep up, friend daelvar.” Fen offered. “And you, master satyr? What will you ride upon?”
“Pah!” Festus snorted. “I’ve hooves of my own.” The satyr ranger chuckled. “I’ll keep up. Don’t yeh worry ‘bout me. Shall we, then? We’ll make Shafton in two shakes o’ my tail.” He turned his back to the party and pulled aside the coarse patchwork cloak of browns and greens that he wore (as opposed to the fine blue and grey cloak of the Tower guard Alaria had seen him in before). The satyr bor his shaggy haired behind and flicked his stumpy goat-like tail twice.
“Onward to adventure and glory!”
With that the ranger began cantering up the road for a distance before breaking from the dirt road across a field to the north and east. The rest fell into a speedy trot easily keeping up with the satyr.
It was only a couple of hours later, the party halted their mounts at the top of one of the low hills they’d entered after clearing some miles of harvested farmlands and yellowed fields.
The ferret, Buttercreamshadowfeet, sat with them nonchalantly chewing at some itch on her hindquarters.
They all watched as the satyr tramped his way, slowly, up the slope to the top of the hill. Finally, Festus met them and leaned against one of the sparsely spaced trees. The ranger huffed and puffed, gasping for air.
Alaria looked down at the satyr imperiously.
Festus offered a broad smile in between gasps for air. “No worries, magess. *huff* No worries. Only *gasp for air* a few leagues to go.”
“Which way?” Erevan said. His smooth voice betrayed no hint of humor or condemnation.
The ranger simply pointed, adjusting his gear and taking a single deep breath. The company again took off.
Buttercream merely twitched her whiskers as the satyr began after them. The ferret overtook the ranger within a few strides.
Festus fell behind almost immediately. He called after the group, “There’ll be a road over the next ridge through the trees.”
The band found the road without incident before noon and slowed their pace for the ranger to catch up.
At this rate, Alaria supposed, they would make the town by mid-afternoon and suggested they break for lunch. She directed her horse off the road to a clear patch of browned grasses not far from a copse of trees. She eyed the copse cautiously as her mind immediately went to the night, only a few weeks before, when the companions had almost fallen to the rampaging troll and the cursed were-rat. Unbidden, her mind went to Braddok being flung by the troll into the grasses...and then the image of the ogre slamming its club into the field. Alaria physically shook off the unwanted images.
Erevan, as if reading the wizard’s thoughts, said he would go scout the trees. Fen accompanied him as the rest dismounted and stretched their legs. Haelan, immediately, dove into the satchel holding the pasties and began doling out the patry wrapped meat and potatoes. Festus, naturally, pulled out his own full wineskin and gulped thirstily before offering it to Duor, who did the same.
The company had settled into a relaxed meal of the meat pies and fruits when they heard Erevan’s signature birdcall “alert.”
Festus was a bit confused why the others leapt to their feet and made for the trees over the call of a warbler until Duor explained it was the elf and there might be trouble. Without a moment’s hesitation, the ranger withdrew the shortbow that hung from his waist and nocked an arrow.
“Stay here with the horses, Goldilocks.” Duor commanded.
“Duor,” Coerraine said without any hint of deference, “if you go, I go. I am duty-bound to your protection. You have my spear and my shield, not my will or servitude.” The young paladin had indulged his new “charge” while they were in the secure confines of Bridgetower, but now they were in unknown territory. He’d had enough of the dwarvish rogue treating him like a squire. He was a Redstar Knight. Doing his duty, not only to Duor but to himself and his true lord and god demanded he be able to act as he thought best.
Duor furrowed his brow before nodding a reluctant acceptance of this fact. “But yer arse is still mine. Haelan! Watch the horses.” The dwarf commanded again.
The Hilltender, not one to make waves, consented. “But you’ll call me if you need me, won’t you?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Said the dwarf over his shoulder, trotting after the mage, paladin and ranger.
It was evident that there was no immediate threat. The elf and half-elf stood over a heap of…something…in the road. As they neared, Alaria had to cover her nose and mouth at the repulsive odor that clung to the area.
“By the forge” Duor proclaimed, similarly covering his nose, when he neared. “What is it?”
The heap was, in fact, a carcass. Primarily bones with few remnants of bloody muscle and sinew left on them. The remains were humanoid.
Fen, Erevan and Festus quickly confirmed them to be, in fact, human. Remnants of whatever the person had been wearing were shredded and flung about the area, a few scraps of fabric still wrapped about torn limbs. A pack laid a few feet distant, its contents strewn about around it.
Alaria set to examine the contents of the pack while Festus and Erevan nosed about the area to try and discern what had happened to this poor traveler.
Fen inspected the carcass.
Alaria wondered how the druid was able to get so near the carnage without losing his stomach.
After some time, the druid proclaimed the killing was not the work of any “natural creature.”
“The teeth marks are like no wolf, cat or bear I’ve ever seen.” The druid explained. “And here,” the druid lifted one of the arm bones, “the teeth have even gnawed into the bone, but…whatever it was did not eat them.” The druid attempted to point out the specific wound. The others took his word for it, not daring or desiring to get any nearer to remains.
The contents of the backpack proved entirely mundane travel items. There was a pouch holding nineteen silver pieces (minted with the dragon symbol of Daenfrii on one side and a diamond shape on the other), a tinder box, two pouches of oil, a hooded lantern (its glass lens shattered in the brawl, no doubt), some ink, blank papers, a sack that had been torn open with some rotting fruits.
Among them, Alaria found a single parchment, wrapped and sealed with a blue wax and the symbol of Daenfrii. She broke it open and read the distressing contents. Seeing the severity on her face, Duor asked what it said.
Alaria read:
“To Captain Rynthis Thesunder,
We have arrived in Shafton. Kobolds hold the mine. There is a curse over the whole of the area. The village has lost nearly half of its populace to the creatures that emerge from the mines at night. Guardsman Felorn has already fallen. We request and await reinforcements to retake the mine and fight the cursed vermin back to their depths. A sickening afflicts any who have enganged the creatures. Healers are sorely needed among the reinforcement of arms.
Long live the Dragonmage.
Signed, Sergeant Hepbert Balthas.”
“Well, seems the soldiers did send word back to the tower.” Duor remarked before turning to the carcass. “Sorry for you, mate, that the message didn’t make it.”
“How long has the body been here, Duor? Fen?” Coerraine posed.
The dwarf took silent affront, grumbling something about “not being a physician” under his beard as he neared the remains.
Fen was silently leaning casually on his leaf-tip spear and staring blankly into the surrounding trees. He seemed not to hear the paladin’s query.
“These are not kobolds.” Festus stated plainly. He pointed out a couple of tracks he’d discovered among the disarray of dirt on the road. Erevan concurred. The prints were almost human-like, but elongated with clawed toes.
“A large goblin, perhaps? Or small troll?” Festus posed to the elf tracker.
Erevan solemnly shook his head. “No goblin or troll I’ve ever seen.” The elf disagreed.
“No.” said Fen simply. “Do you sense it?” the druid said cryptically.
“Couldn’t not smell it, half-blood.” Duor said, hand over his nose. “Surprised we didn’t smell it back at the Wyvern. I’d say the body’s ‘bout a week old. Though I can’t be entirely sure.”
“Not ‘smell’, my dwarven friend. ‘Sense.’ There is no motion or noise in the trees. No scavengers. If the body has, in fact, been here a week wolves, ravens, bears, foxes, even raccoons should have picked this entirely clean. Especially with the winter approaching. The bones would be scattered through the woods. There shouldn’t be anything left here for us to find.”
None liked the sound of that.
“Why wouldn’t scavengers be taking these remains, Fen?” Alaria asked tentatively.
“Abomination.” Fen said matter-of-factly. When that roused no response, the druid explained further. “Something unnatural lingers here. Do you not feel it? The animals will not come near it.” The druid did not meet any gaze but scowled at the surrounding wilds, as if he might discern some further insight from the air or the trees. None was forthcoming.
“Only thing lingering here is this gods-awful smell.” Duor said as he backed away from the scattered bones. “Ruined a perfectly good lunch. Let’s get out of here.”
“Should we not dispose of the poor soul?” Coerraine offered. “Perhaps have Haelan lay a blessing over the body?”
“No blessing is going to help him now.” Fen said morbidly. “Let us return to camp.”
The others conceded. Alaria stated that they would have Haelan say a last rite for the poor courier and they would dispose of the remains when they got back on the road.
The group returned to the halfling, casually snacking on his second mutton pasty. Happy to see his companions returning unscathed, Haelan inquired through a mouth full of pastery and potato, “Wuh wuv it? Ev’yfin ok?”
The daelvar priest’s eyes widened to the point they seemed they might fall out of his head by the time they had finished.
Haelan did not like the sound of any of it, "not one bit."…and something in the back of his mind itched at him…something about the lingering odor he couldn’t quite recall.
Haelan, Erevan and Fen arrived shortly, suitably supplied and ready, even eager, to get moving on their quest.
Coerraine stood a short distance away saying his goodbyes to the other Goldshields and priests of Celradorn.
Duor marched directly through the circle of armored men in crimson tabbards on his way to the north gate.
“Get the spear outta yer arse, Goldilocks. We’ve got treasure to hunt.” The dwarf barked as he passed Coerraine.
The blond paladin looked at his fellows who met Coerraine’s gaze with raised eyebrows and questioning glances.
“New charge.” Coerraine said in simple explanation.
This received several smiles and “ahhh” looks. “Celradorn keep you, Goldshield. May the Red Star guide your path.” One of the other paladins offered.
Coerraine clasped arms with his fellows and met the rest of the group where they set off down the dirt road leading north from outpost of Bridgetower.
The band discussed their mission on the road, along with what Stenthil had uncovered and Alaria’s own suspicions about the dark wizard and his motives.
“Kobolds! There’s a dragon’s hoard in the swamp and we’re going after yappers?!” Duor said incredulously. “I say we turn around right now!”
“There might be a dragon’s hoard in the swamp, Duor.” Alaria calmly explained. “We have only sixteen days to collect what we need and get to the Desriite temple in the Vale to raise Braddok. We don’t have time to be wandering about a swamp with nothing but hopes to find some centuries old ruin that could possibly have some treasure.”
Duor conceded but put in his two coppers that once Braddok had been returned to them, they go hunting for the dragon’s lost lair. “The old boy would be rather peeved if we went dragon hunting without him, I suppose.”
“What concerns me,” said Coerraine, “is the missing squad from the tower. Bridgetower, while a relatively small fortification, has well-oiled greaves. The men are disciplined and exacting. I concur with the Captain’s sense of foreboding that they have not, at least, sent word back to the tower in almost two weeks.”
“I do hope they’re alright.” Haelan said offhandedly as he patted Buttercream as she hopped along beside the daelvar.
The morning was bright and lovely, if a bit cool with the thoroughly entrenched autumn. They passed a couple of homesteads, small but nicely-maintained single story thatch-roofed cottages with low “fences” of piled stone, here and there, delineating property lines and separating animal pens from gardens and fields.
The “diverse” group caught a few curious glances from wives sweeping their walks or tending their roadside gardens. A couple of small children peeked over one low stone wall, pointing and giggling with each other.
Haelan waved and smiled at anyone. The others gave subdued but good-natured “Good morrow’s” to the few people that stared a bit too long.
Alaria had to admit, they must be quite the sight, even for the lands of the Dragonmage. A Redstar Knight, a druid, a magess of R’Hath, an elf, a dwarf and a daelvar hilltender with a giant ferret. Alaria smiled despite herself. Yes, she thought, they must appear curious indeed.
The Wyvern’s Wing inn and tavern was just a mile up well-worn dirt road. It was a popular hang out for the local farmers as well as off-duty keep guards and travelers moving through Bridgetower who were not offered the honor of chambers within the keep. It was a solid looking two-storied building of wood and stucco with multiple chimenies and a roof of shale shingles instead of the thatching atop the other country dwellings. A wooden sign in the shape of a serpentine dragon-like creature with a long tail and outstretched wings hung perpendicular from the building.
A long single-story structure that did have a thatched roof ran along the side of the inn. From the smell and lanky peasant lad that was toting an armful of leather straps and buckles, it was clear the structure was the inn’s stable.
The party entered the almost entirely empty tavern common-room (it was only nearing mid-morning). Sitting at the bar, the satyr Festus shared a cheery guffaw with the buxom young woman behind the bar and took a long draw from his flagon.
“Ah! Well met, Defenders.” Festus burst at their arrival. “You see, Amber, I told you I was on a quest with the heroes of the Tower.” The satyr set down his large mug and smiled brightly at the party. “She didn’t believe me. Some nonsense about trusting a satyr. So how ‘bout that kiss fer luck now, my beauty?” The small horned goat-man leaned over the bar with a leering wink.
Amber laughed openly. “How ‘bout a victory kiss upon your safe return, instead?” the red-headed barmaid suggested. “He speaks the truth, though.” Amber directed at the party. “I didn’t believe him. Well met, heroes. Can I get you anything before you start your journey?”
“I’ll take one of those ‘luck kisses.’” Duor said lustily making his way to a stool beside Festus.
“No, thank you, Amber. We really must be getting on the road.” Alaria interjected.
“How ‘bout a whiskey then?” Duor said, more to Alaria than the barmaid.
Amber gave Alaria a knowing nod, obviously understanding that the magess, near-legendary to the simple barmaid's mind, was the reasonable one in this group. “I’ll get your provisions then.”
“Provisions?” Coerraine said.
“Aye. The good captain told me to make arrangement for our journey with all speed. I took the liberty of ordering us a lunch and full wineskins. Shafton is not a full day’s journey, but no reason we should deprive ourselves of Amber’s mutton pasties. Best in the land.” The satyr concluded with another hopeful leer at the barmaid’s back.
“Now, now, Festus. They ain’t mine, you know that.” Amber said returning with two full satchels. “Father’s the cook.” She said as an aside to Alaria and Coerraine.
“Em, well, many thanks, to you and your father…and you, Festus.” Alaria offered to the cloven ranger. “But my understanding, from Captain Rynthis, was that you would be securing us mounts to speed our errand.” Alaria concluded, emphasizing the “official” nature of their mission.
“Indeed. Indeed, mistress magess.” The satyr said as he took his mug back from Duor who had gulped down its contents. “They’re in the stable. Ready to go in a moment’s notice…One more for the road, beautiful.” Festus said.
Haelan sniffed deeply at the contents of one of the satchels. “These smell divine! My compliments to your father, Amber.”
“Wait’ll yeh taste’m. Best in the land. I'm tellin' yeh.” Festus said distacted by his refilled mug.
“Ranger Hornshod,” Alaria began, attempting to assert some control over the situation though she had only a week ago willingly shed her role as group leader, “we really must be on our way. Time is of the essence.”
“Now, now, Alaria. We’re not at your beck n’ call anymore, remember?” Duor offered. “That whiskey, please, my dear.” The dwarf asserted.
Amber gave Alaria a cautious glance and then pulled the bottle out from behind the bar, pouring a shot into a small thick glass tumbler.
“Fine.” Alaria said. “One for the road, then. Coerraine, Erevan and I will get the horses and await you outside.” The mages did not wait for a response but turned abruptly, causing her golden traveling robe and dark blue hooded cloak (an indulgence purchase from the keep before leaving) to twirl with a flourish.
Erevan followed without a word. Coerraine hesitated a moment waiting for some derogatory comment from Duor. He was not disappointed.
“Indeed.” The dwarf said with intended affectation. “Prepare our mount, pally. I’ll be out in two swigs.”
Ten swigs later, the dwarf and satyr exited the inn to find the rest of the company waiting. Alaria, in particular, was obviously impatient.
There was a horse for Alaria, one for Coerraine which Duor was hoisted up on, one atop which Erevan sat, with Fen seated behind him and a pony for Haelan.
“What about Buttercream?” Haelan said.
“She will keep up, friend daelvar.” Fen offered. “And you, master satyr? What will you ride upon?”
“Pah!” Festus snorted. “I’ve hooves of my own.” The satyr ranger chuckled. “I’ll keep up. Don’t yeh worry ‘bout me. Shall we, then? We’ll make Shafton in two shakes o’ my tail.” He turned his back to the party and pulled aside the coarse patchwork cloak of browns and greens that he wore (as opposed to the fine blue and grey cloak of the Tower guard Alaria had seen him in before). The satyr bor his shaggy haired behind and flicked his stumpy goat-like tail twice.
“Onward to adventure and glory!”
With that the ranger began cantering up the road for a distance before breaking from the dirt road across a field to the north and east. The rest fell into a speedy trot easily keeping up with the satyr.
It was only a couple of hours later, the party halted their mounts at the top of one of the low hills they’d entered after clearing some miles of harvested farmlands and yellowed fields.
The ferret, Buttercreamshadowfeet, sat with them nonchalantly chewing at some itch on her hindquarters.
They all watched as the satyr tramped his way, slowly, up the slope to the top of the hill. Finally, Festus met them and leaned against one of the sparsely spaced trees. The ranger huffed and puffed, gasping for air.
Alaria looked down at the satyr imperiously.
Festus offered a broad smile in between gasps for air. “No worries, magess. *huff* No worries. Only *gasp for air* a few leagues to go.”
“Which way?” Erevan said. His smooth voice betrayed no hint of humor or condemnation.
The ranger simply pointed, adjusting his gear and taking a single deep breath. The company again took off.
Buttercream merely twitched her whiskers as the satyr began after them. The ferret overtook the ranger within a few strides.
Festus fell behind almost immediately. He called after the group, “There’ll be a road over the next ridge through the trees.”
The band found the road without incident before noon and slowed their pace for the ranger to catch up.
At this rate, Alaria supposed, they would make the town by mid-afternoon and suggested they break for lunch. She directed her horse off the road to a clear patch of browned grasses not far from a copse of trees. She eyed the copse cautiously as her mind immediately went to the night, only a few weeks before, when the companions had almost fallen to the rampaging troll and the cursed were-rat. Unbidden, her mind went to Braddok being flung by the troll into the grasses...and then the image of the ogre slamming its club into the field. Alaria physically shook off the unwanted images.
Erevan, as if reading the wizard’s thoughts, said he would go scout the trees. Fen accompanied him as the rest dismounted and stretched their legs. Haelan, immediately, dove into the satchel holding the pasties and began doling out the patry wrapped meat and potatoes. Festus, naturally, pulled out his own full wineskin and gulped thirstily before offering it to Duor, who did the same.
The company had settled into a relaxed meal of the meat pies and fruits when they heard Erevan’s signature birdcall “alert.”
Festus was a bit confused why the others leapt to their feet and made for the trees over the call of a warbler until Duor explained it was the elf and there might be trouble. Without a moment’s hesitation, the ranger withdrew the shortbow that hung from his waist and nocked an arrow.
“Stay here with the horses, Goldilocks.” Duor commanded.
“Duor,” Coerraine said without any hint of deference, “if you go, I go. I am duty-bound to your protection. You have my spear and my shield, not my will or servitude.” The young paladin had indulged his new “charge” while they were in the secure confines of Bridgetower, but now they were in unknown territory. He’d had enough of the dwarvish rogue treating him like a squire. He was a Redstar Knight. Doing his duty, not only to Duor but to himself and his true lord and god demanded he be able to act as he thought best.
Duor furrowed his brow before nodding a reluctant acceptance of this fact. “But yer arse is still mine. Haelan! Watch the horses.” The dwarf commanded again.
The Hilltender, not one to make waves, consented. “But you’ll call me if you need me, won’t you?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Said the dwarf over his shoulder, trotting after the mage, paladin and ranger.
It was evident that there was no immediate threat. The elf and half-elf stood over a heap of…something…in the road. As they neared, Alaria had to cover her nose and mouth at the repulsive odor that clung to the area.
“By the forge” Duor proclaimed, similarly covering his nose, when he neared. “What is it?”
The heap was, in fact, a carcass. Primarily bones with few remnants of bloody muscle and sinew left on them. The remains were humanoid.
Fen, Erevan and Festus quickly confirmed them to be, in fact, human. Remnants of whatever the person had been wearing were shredded and flung about the area, a few scraps of fabric still wrapped about torn limbs. A pack laid a few feet distant, its contents strewn about around it.
Alaria set to examine the contents of the pack while Festus and Erevan nosed about the area to try and discern what had happened to this poor traveler.
Fen inspected the carcass.
Alaria wondered how the druid was able to get so near the carnage without losing his stomach.
After some time, the druid proclaimed the killing was not the work of any “natural creature.”
“The teeth marks are like no wolf, cat or bear I’ve ever seen.” The druid explained. “And here,” the druid lifted one of the arm bones, “the teeth have even gnawed into the bone, but…whatever it was did not eat them.” The druid attempted to point out the specific wound. The others took his word for it, not daring or desiring to get any nearer to remains.
The contents of the backpack proved entirely mundane travel items. There was a pouch holding nineteen silver pieces (minted with the dragon symbol of Daenfrii on one side and a diamond shape on the other), a tinder box, two pouches of oil, a hooded lantern (its glass lens shattered in the brawl, no doubt), some ink, blank papers, a sack that had been torn open with some rotting fruits.
Among them, Alaria found a single parchment, wrapped and sealed with a blue wax and the symbol of Daenfrii. She broke it open and read the distressing contents. Seeing the severity on her face, Duor asked what it said.
Alaria read:
“To Captain Rynthis Thesunder,
We have arrived in Shafton. Kobolds hold the mine. There is a curse over the whole of the area. The village has lost nearly half of its populace to the creatures that emerge from the mines at night. Guardsman Felorn has already fallen. We request and await reinforcements to retake the mine and fight the cursed vermin back to their depths. A sickening afflicts any who have enganged the creatures. Healers are sorely needed among the reinforcement of arms.
Long live the Dragonmage.
Signed, Sergeant Hepbert Balthas.”
“Well, seems the soldiers did send word back to the tower.” Duor remarked before turning to the carcass. “Sorry for you, mate, that the message didn’t make it.”
“How long has the body been here, Duor? Fen?” Coerraine posed.
The dwarf took silent affront, grumbling something about “not being a physician” under his beard as he neared the remains.
Fen was silently leaning casually on his leaf-tip spear and staring blankly into the surrounding trees. He seemed not to hear the paladin’s query.
“These are not kobolds.” Festus stated plainly. He pointed out a couple of tracks he’d discovered among the disarray of dirt on the road. Erevan concurred. The prints were almost human-like, but elongated with clawed toes.
“A large goblin, perhaps? Or small troll?” Festus posed to the elf tracker.
Erevan solemnly shook his head. “No goblin or troll I’ve ever seen.” The elf disagreed.
“No.” said Fen simply. “Do you sense it?” the druid said cryptically.
“Couldn’t not smell it, half-blood.” Duor said, hand over his nose. “Surprised we didn’t smell it back at the Wyvern. I’d say the body’s ‘bout a week old. Though I can’t be entirely sure.”
“Not ‘smell’, my dwarven friend. ‘Sense.’ There is no motion or noise in the trees. No scavengers. If the body has, in fact, been here a week wolves, ravens, bears, foxes, even raccoons should have picked this entirely clean. Especially with the winter approaching. The bones would be scattered through the woods. There shouldn’t be anything left here for us to find.”
None liked the sound of that.
“Why wouldn’t scavengers be taking these remains, Fen?” Alaria asked tentatively.
“Abomination.” Fen said matter-of-factly. When that roused no response, the druid explained further. “Something unnatural lingers here. Do you not feel it? The animals will not come near it.” The druid did not meet any gaze but scowled at the surrounding wilds, as if he might discern some further insight from the air or the trees. None was forthcoming.
“Only thing lingering here is this gods-awful smell.” Duor said as he backed away from the scattered bones. “Ruined a perfectly good lunch. Let’s get out of here.”
“Should we not dispose of the poor soul?” Coerraine offered. “Perhaps have Haelan lay a blessing over the body?”
“No blessing is going to help him now.” Fen said morbidly. “Let us return to camp.”
The others conceded. Alaria stated that they would have Haelan say a last rite for the poor courier and they would dispose of the remains when they got back on the road.
The group returned to the halfling, casually snacking on his second mutton pasty. Happy to see his companions returning unscathed, Haelan inquired through a mouth full of pastery and potato, “Wuh wuv it? Ev’yfin ok?”
The daelvar priest’s eyes widened to the point they seemed they might fall out of his head by the time they had finished.
Haelan did not like the sound of any of it, "not one bit."…and something in the back of his mind itched at him…something about the lingering odor he couldn’t quite recall.
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The company paused over the tainted remains for a bit while Haelan said some kind words for the poor man. Alaria placed a handful of the silver coins upon the body (his tribute to the death goddess in the afterlife) before they used the oil from the courier’s pack to douse the remains.
With a casual flick of her finger, Alaria ignited the collected remains with a simple sliver of magical flame.
Feeling their duty done, the group carried on to Shafton.
It was not an hour later before they came to the outlying farms of the mining community. They passed three homesteads. Two had obviously been torched, little more than charred beams and heaps blackened material.
The third had its windows and doorway boarded up. A quick inspection revealed no one about. The interior of the place was in utter disarray. The normal household tools and simple furnishings were strewn about, broken and tattered.
“We’d best get to the inn and find out what’s actually going on.” Festus offered. “The Silver Platter is just up here.”
They entered the town proper. Buildings on both sides were built of solid stacked stones with thick beams exposed here and there. Most of the roofs were shingles of shale. Every possible window and doorway was shut, shutters closed. Several buildings had planks of wood barring the shutters, from the outside and/or across the doorways. A few people were seen peering through shutters or planks across the windows.
Two men rushed up to meet them as they neared the town’s square. One was armored in a shirt of chainmail under the blue tabard of the Bridgetower guard, the other in simple peasant garb. Both wielding swords.
“Thank the gods you’ve come. Festus? The captain sent you? A Redstar too! Praise Celradorn. I’m afraid we are sorely in need of your lord’s protection, good paladin.” Said the tower guardsman.
“Not just a Redstar, soldier. These are the Defenders of the Tower who defeated the attempted goblin incursion.” Festus said proudly.
“We’re called the Stormriders now, actually.” Haelan added with a smile.
The guard looked at the Hilltender somewhat blankly. “Um. Sure, ok. Stormriders or Defenders, Shafton is in dire need. Come. Come, let’s get inside. We’re mostly holed up in the Platter. This way.”
The companions all looked at each other and followed the men.
“Is the Sergeant there?” Festus offered.
“I’m Sergeant now.” Said the guard, somewhat forelorn. “Sergeant Hepbert fell two nights ago.”
“I am sorry to hear it, sergeant, and your name?” Alaria offered even as she noted the speed of the man’s gait. The helmeted soldier couldn’t be any older than twenty summers.
“Borsem, milady.” The sergeant answered without turning back. “It’s all right. They’re here to help.” The man called out to the prying eyes in one of the multi-storied building’s shuttered windows.
With that, one shutter, then another and another opened slightly. Exhausted sounds of “Praise Dunric.” and “Thank, the gods” and “Save us, heroes!” rose from various sides of the street.
The group entered the Silver Platter. True to its name, a large oval platter of beaten silver hung over the door. The door was cautiously opened after Sergeant Borsem knocked on it in a specific series with the rounded butt of his sword.
Inside, there was a room that looked more like a general’s tent than an inn’s common room. Maps were laid out across one table. A group of bedraggled and tense looking men hovered in clumps. All bore some weapon, a few swords, spears, axes. There were two youths who reached for longbows even as the party entered. A few large tables had been laid on their sides and pressed up against the large window that faced the street. Several of the window panes were broken out with boards sloppily nailed up over them.
Introductions were made. The crowd visibly relaxed with the arrival of the “heroes” from Bridgetower. Explanations, by the sergeant, began.
“We arrived two weeks passed. The mine is, indeed overrun with kobolds. We were able to route them several times away from the entrance shaft. But they have obviously had time built up traps throughout the primary shafts. We lost one of our men in an ambush by the things. But they are loathe to enter the sunlight and are firmly entrenched within the mine’s second and third levels. Here and here.” Sergeant Borsem pointed to two places on a map, obviously, of the mine’s shafts. “And with their being there for nearly a month, according to the local miners, there’s no telling what adjustments to the tunnels they’ve had time to make.”
Duor shook his head knowingly. “Yeah. Yappers can dig almost as effectively as dwarves. If they weren’t such bloody cowards, not to mention idiots, they’d be dangerous.”
“Excuse me,” one of the middle-aged raggard looking locals interjected softly, “but did Afran stay in Bridgetower? I thought he’d be returning with you.”
Borsem looked at the companions, seemingly as curious for an answer. “This is Afran’s father, Garen.”
“Who’s Afran?” Haelan questioned innocently.
Alaria wanted to smack the halfling. She turned to Erevan with a pleading look.
Borsem looked at the raggard looking man with worry but held his chin firm.
“The messenger!” said Garen. “The one who brought you word of our plight. He is alright isn’t he?”
“I’m afraid, goodman, your son did not reach Bridgetower.” Fen said cooly. “We are here at the behest of the good Captain Rynthis to find the reason for his squads lack of communication or return.”
Alaria shot Fen a disapproving look.
The man, Garen, who it turned out was one of the farmers, broke down in sorrow. Haelan did his best to console the man and others of the assembled rabble offered their condolences and kind words.
Another older gentleman, the innkeeper Berfle apparently, brought the distraught father a large silver cup of some strong liquor and sat with the man.
“Well, that explains why it took the Tower so long to send help.” Borsem said solemnly. “Are there more coming?”
“Sergeant,” Coerraine piped in, “how have kobolds been able to create such a panic here…even in the daytime? What are their numbers?”
Borsem nodded and paused a moment. He had to wrap his mind around the fact that the messenger had not made it through to the Tower and these would-be reinforcements really knew nothing of what was going on.
“It’s not the kobolds.” The sergeant began. “We, the initial squad and these brave townsfolk, ventured into the mine to discern the precise nature of the threat…not even the day after we arrived.
“The kobolds are, indeed, there as I noted.” He pointed at the mine map again. “We engaged a few small groups of them. They were stalwart but easily enough routed. As the night drew over the town, a large force of kobolds we were about to engage retreated without apparent reason. We pursued them, believing our victory assured. Then, they came out. Up from one of the tunnels. We had to fight for our lives to get back to the town. Many lives were lost in our retreat.
“Since then, we’ve not dared to venture back into the mines. But every night, at sundown, they now venture further and further out of the mine.” The sergeant paused a moment, lost in his own thoughts.
“It’s our fault Afran’s dead.” He said quietly. “It was near sundown when we sent him out, but we were assured he was the fastest young man in the village. I thought…well, Sergeant Hepbert was still in command at the time…but we thought that he’d be far enough away from the village before night fell to get back to Bridgetower.”
“What are ‘they’, sergeant?” Erevan asked what all of the party was thinking with his usual emotionless candor.
“Monstrous cannibals? Ghouls? Demons? We don’t know what they are.” Borsem admitted. “They reak of death. A fearsome odor that makes all but the most stalwart fall ill. They attack with raking talons. Their touch immobilizes any they touch. There’s a whole pack of them…at least a dozen from what we can tell. They fall upon those immobilized and tear them to shreds in moments. They are…inhuman. Unnatural creatures.”
Fen’s earlier assertion echoed in all of the party’s minds.
“Every nightfall, they move further and further into the town. Seeking out any unfortunate enough to be caught unawares. We instituted a curfew on the third day.
“The sergeant decreed that only those willing to volunteer to engage them need leave the security of their homes. But two nights of that and we were sorely losing men. When there were none to engage them out of doors, they began assaulting the homes and businesses themselves.
“The clerics of Dunric at the shrine near the mine entrance were entirely massacred. We’ve only a single acolyte left who fled to the square for our aid. He’s near useless. In battle-shock, I suppose. We keep him in the cellars with the women and children who have come here for protection.
“Any who are wounded by the creatures fall into a hideous fever which we’ve learned rouses them the following night as one of the creatures. So…” the sergeant paused, unsure how to share the information.
“It was not long before we realized that any wounded had to be...disposed of regardless of how slight the injury.”
Alaria gave an audible gasp at the news.
“It has been…a difficult week since Sergeant Hepbert instituted that policy. It is why I am sergeant now.” Borsem finished, not able to meet the gaze of any of the companions.
“Yer in luck then,” piped up Festus in as cheery a tone as he could muster. “Cuz now yeh’ve got not just a Hilltender of Faerantha, but a paladin of Celradorn, one of the Ancient Order, and the Stormrider, herself! Ghouls or demons, yeh’ve got the full force of a proper R’Hathi magess at yer defense now.” Festus smiled broadly, obviously believing every word he said, at Alaria.
Alaria was horrified at the vote of confidence. A full Magess I might be, Alaria thought, but I’ve no ritual for dealing with demons…or ghouls for that matter!
Haelan just stood agape, also in horror. “I…I…I’m not…ghouls? Hillmother forfend…I don’t…” the cleric’s stammering wiped any look of hope or welcome from the assembled haggard survivors.
Coerraine came to the rescue of his companions, and his, reputation. “Of course we will do everything we can to protect the village and rid it of this evil.”
Surprisingly, Fen strode with purpose to stand beside the paladin. He spoke with all seriousness, “These unnatural abominations will be cleansed from the world. The Balance will be restored.”
Coerraine found himself inwardly admiring the “heathen’s” certitude.
“Well, count me out. I’m stayin’ here.” said Duor casually before taking a gulp of a mug of ale he’d helped himself to while the others had been gabbering.
“If you’ll excuse us, Sergeant Borsem, is there some place my companions and I might conference privately.” Alaria interjected.
Bosrem directed them to one of the rooms upstairs that he knew was vacant. The companions took their leave of the first floor.
Duor brought the mug of ale with him. “Send one of these up in a few, will you? I’ve a feelin’ it’s gonna be a good day to drink.” the dwarf said offhandedly to the innkeeper who was consoling the bereft Garen.
"Make that two!" called Festus, already ascending the stairs.
Both requests were met with a scowl neither the dwarf nor satyr noticed.
With a casual flick of her finger, Alaria ignited the collected remains with a simple sliver of magical flame.
Feeling their duty done, the group carried on to Shafton.
It was not an hour later before they came to the outlying farms of the mining community. They passed three homesteads. Two had obviously been torched, little more than charred beams and heaps blackened material.
The third had its windows and doorway boarded up. A quick inspection revealed no one about. The interior of the place was in utter disarray. The normal household tools and simple furnishings were strewn about, broken and tattered.
“We’d best get to the inn and find out what’s actually going on.” Festus offered. “The Silver Platter is just up here.”
They entered the town proper. Buildings on both sides were built of solid stacked stones with thick beams exposed here and there. Most of the roofs were shingles of shale. Every possible window and doorway was shut, shutters closed. Several buildings had planks of wood barring the shutters, from the outside and/or across the doorways. A few people were seen peering through shutters or planks across the windows.
Two men rushed up to meet them as they neared the town’s square. One was armored in a shirt of chainmail under the blue tabard of the Bridgetower guard, the other in simple peasant garb. Both wielding swords.
“Thank the gods you’ve come. Festus? The captain sent you? A Redstar too! Praise Celradorn. I’m afraid we are sorely in need of your lord’s protection, good paladin.” Said the tower guardsman.
“Not just a Redstar, soldier. These are the Defenders of the Tower who defeated the attempted goblin incursion.” Festus said proudly.
“We’re called the Stormriders now, actually.” Haelan added with a smile.
The guard looked at the Hilltender somewhat blankly. “Um. Sure, ok. Stormriders or Defenders, Shafton is in dire need. Come. Come, let’s get inside. We’re mostly holed up in the Platter. This way.”
The companions all looked at each other and followed the men.
“Is the Sergeant there?” Festus offered.
“I’m Sergeant now.” Said the guard, somewhat forelorn. “Sergeant Hepbert fell two nights ago.”
“I am sorry to hear it, sergeant, and your name?” Alaria offered even as she noted the speed of the man’s gait. The helmeted soldier couldn’t be any older than twenty summers.
“Borsem, milady.” The sergeant answered without turning back. “It’s all right. They’re here to help.” The man called out to the prying eyes in one of the multi-storied building’s shuttered windows.
With that, one shutter, then another and another opened slightly. Exhausted sounds of “Praise Dunric.” and “Thank, the gods” and “Save us, heroes!” rose from various sides of the street.
The group entered the Silver Platter. True to its name, a large oval platter of beaten silver hung over the door. The door was cautiously opened after Sergeant Borsem knocked on it in a specific series with the rounded butt of his sword.
Inside, there was a room that looked more like a general’s tent than an inn’s common room. Maps were laid out across one table. A group of bedraggled and tense looking men hovered in clumps. All bore some weapon, a few swords, spears, axes. There were two youths who reached for longbows even as the party entered. A few large tables had been laid on their sides and pressed up against the large window that faced the street. Several of the window panes were broken out with boards sloppily nailed up over them.
Introductions were made. The crowd visibly relaxed with the arrival of the “heroes” from Bridgetower. Explanations, by the sergeant, began.
“We arrived two weeks passed. The mine is, indeed overrun with kobolds. We were able to route them several times away from the entrance shaft. But they have obviously had time built up traps throughout the primary shafts. We lost one of our men in an ambush by the things. But they are loathe to enter the sunlight and are firmly entrenched within the mine’s second and third levels. Here and here.” Sergeant Borsem pointed to two places on a map, obviously, of the mine’s shafts. “And with their being there for nearly a month, according to the local miners, there’s no telling what adjustments to the tunnels they’ve had time to make.”
Duor shook his head knowingly. “Yeah. Yappers can dig almost as effectively as dwarves. If they weren’t such bloody cowards, not to mention idiots, they’d be dangerous.”
“Excuse me,” one of the middle-aged raggard looking locals interjected softly, “but did Afran stay in Bridgetower? I thought he’d be returning with you.”
Borsem looked at the companions, seemingly as curious for an answer. “This is Afran’s father, Garen.”
“Who’s Afran?” Haelan questioned innocently.
Alaria wanted to smack the halfling. She turned to Erevan with a pleading look.
Borsem looked at the raggard looking man with worry but held his chin firm.
“The messenger!” said Garen. “The one who brought you word of our plight. He is alright isn’t he?”
“I’m afraid, goodman, your son did not reach Bridgetower.” Fen said cooly. “We are here at the behest of the good Captain Rynthis to find the reason for his squads lack of communication or return.”
Alaria shot Fen a disapproving look.
The man, Garen, who it turned out was one of the farmers, broke down in sorrow. Haelan did his best to console the man and others of the assembled rabble offered their condolences and kind words.
Another older gentleman, the innkeeper Berfle apparently, brought the distraught father a large silver cup of some strong liquor and sat with the man.
“Well, that explains why it took the Tower so long to send help.” Borsem said solemnly. “Are there more coming?”
“Sergeant,” Coerraine piped in, “how have kobolds been able to create such a panic here…even in the daytime? What are their numbers?”
Borsem nodded and paused a moment. He had to wrap his mind around the fact that the messenger had not made it through to the Tower and these would-be reinforcements really knew nothing of what was going on.
“It’s not the kobolds.” The sergeant began. “We, the initial squad and these brave townsfolk, ventured into the mine to discern the precise nature of the threat…not even the day after we arrived.
“The kobolds are, indeed, there as I noted.” He pointed at the mine map again. “We engaged a few small groups of them. They were stalwart but easily enough routed. As the night drew over the town, a large force of kobolds we were about to engage retreated without apparent reason. We pursued them, believing our victory assured. Then, they came out. Up from one of the tunnels. We had to fight for our lives to get back to the town. Many lives were lost in our retreat.
“Since then, we’ve not dared to venture back into the mines. But every night, at sundown, they now venture further and further out of the mine.” The sergeant paused a moment, lost in his own thoughts.
“It’s our fault Afran’s dead.” He said quietly. “It was near sundown when we sent him out, but we were assured he was the fastest young man in the village. I thought…well, Sergeant Hepbert was still in command at the time…but we thought that he’d be far enough away from the village before night fell to get back to Bridgetower.”
“What are ‘they’, sergeant?” Erevan asked what all of the party was thinking with his usual emotionless candor.
“Monstrous cannibals? Ghouls? Demons? We don’t know what they are.” Borsem admitted. “They reak of death. A fearsome odor that makes all but the most stalwart fall ill. They attack with raking talons. Their touch immobilizes any they touch. There’s a whole pack of them…at least a dozen from what we can tell. They fall upon those immobilized and tear them to shreds in moments. They are…inhuman. Unnatural creatures.”
Fen’s earlier assertion echoed in all of the party’s minds.
“Every nightfall, they move further and further into the town. Seeking out any unfortunate enough to be caught unawares. We instituted a curfew on the third day.
“The sergeant decreed that only those willing to volunteer to engage them need leave the security of their homes. But two nights of that and we were sorely losing men. When there were none to engage them out of doors, they began assaulting the homes and businesses themselves.
“The clerics of Dunric at the shrine near the mine entrance were entirely massacred. We’ve only a single acolyte left who fled to the square for our aid. He’s near useless. In battle-shock, I suppose. We keep him in the cellars with the women and children who have come here for protection.
“Any who are wounded by the creatures fall into a hideous fever which we’ve learned rouses them the following night as one of the creatures. So…” the sergeant paused, unsure how to share the information.
“It was not long before we realized that any wounded had to be...disposed of regardless of how slight the injury.”
Alaria gave an audible gasp at the news.
“It has been…a difficult week since Sergeant Hepbert instituted that policy. It is why I am sergeant now.” Borsem finished, not able to meet the gaze of any of the companions.
“Yer in luck then,” piped up Festus in as cheery a tone as he could muster. “Cuz now yeh’ve got not just a Hilltender of Faerantha, but a paladin of Celradorn, one of the Ancient Order, and the Stormrider, herself! Ghouls or demons, yeh’ve got the full force of a proper R’Hathi magess at yer defense now.” Festus smiled broadly, obviously believing every word he said, at Alaria.
Alaria was horrified at the vote of confidence. A full Magess I might be, Alaria thought, but I’ve no ritual for dealing with demons…or ghouls for that matter!
Haelan just stood agape, also in horror. “I…I…I’m not…ghouls? Hillmother forfend…I don’t…” the cleric’s stammering wiped any look of hope or welcome from the assembled haggard survivors.
Coerraine came to the rescue of his companions, and his, reputation. “Of course we will do everything we can to protect the village and rid it of this evil.”
Surprisingly, Fen strode with purpose to stand beside the paladin. He spoke with all seriousness, “These unnatural abominations will be cleansed from the world. The Balance will be restored.”
Coerraine found himself inwardly admiring the “heathen’s” certitude.
“Well, count me out. I’m stayin’ here.” said Duor casually before taking a gulp of a mug of ale he’d helped himself to while the others had been gabbering.
“If you’ll excuse us, Sergeant Borsem, is there some place my companions and I might conference privately.” Alaria interjected.
Bosrem directed them to one of the rooms upstairs that he knew was vacant. The companions took their leave of the first floor.
Duor brought the mug of ale with him. “Send one of these up in a few, will you? I’ve a feelin’ it’s gonna be a good day to drink.” the dwarf said offhandedly to the innkeeper who was consoling the bereft Garen.
"Make that two!" called Festus, already ascending the stairs.
Both requests were met with a scowl neither the dwarf nor satyr noticed.
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The companions entered the small guest room. Slivers of sunlight streamed through the narrow partings of the boards hammered over the single window.
Alaria had forgotten, with all of the dark news and mood of the lower floor, that it really was only mid-afternoon.
She seated herself upon the lumpy bed. Still, she thought, better than a saddle. Her mind raced with the options before them.
Haelan plopped himself next to the magess. He stared at the floor.
Duor casually flopped into the one crudely fashioned wooden chair and slurped on his mug of ale.
Erevan moved to stand near the window, arms folded, letting the slivers of sunlight play across his face and the form-fitting violet leather jerkin he’d been wearing since his return from his elvin homeland.
Fen took a quiet position near the elf.
Festus stood near the chair with Duor, and “borrowed” a gulp of his mug.
Coerraine stood near the door, resting his spear and shield down against the wall. The paladin folded his arms and seemed deep in thought. He took a deep breath before attempting to speak.
The silence of the room was abruptly shattered.
“I CAN’T DO IT! Not undead! I just…I can’t! Please don’t make me! I don’t have to, do I Alaria? I’m a Hilltender! We tend the crops and the animals and the goodly folk. I’m not…I can’t…I…don’t make me…please.” The halfling burst in panic and concluded in a ball of tears.
“Well, ain’t that just grand.” Duor commented softly. “Got a cleric who is afraid of ghouls. Some goddess you got there, hairfoot.”
“You would have to be a fool not to fear the undead, Duor.” Erevan interjected. Alaria was surprised to hear the tint of recrimination and anger in the elf’s voice. “But then, we already knew you to be a fool, didn’t we?” The elf’s violet eyes looked to pierce the dwarf’s skull.
Duor guffawed and shook a finger at the elf in a toying manner. “That we did, point-ear. That we did.” Duor knew he needed to lighten the mood. This “mission” was nowhere near the casual “mine-sweep of yappers” he’d expected.
The company settled into talks of strategy...along with trying to calm and bolster their cleric.
“Erevan,” Alaria took the lead, “what spells have you memorized for this day?”
“I’ve only the disc spell and the evocation of energy darts.” The elf replied without his gaze faltering from the dwarf. Finally blinking, he turned to Alaria and continued, “I did not expect we would venture the mine until the morrow.”
“That is well done.” Alaria answered, seeming to add that information to her unspoken equations.
“And you, ‘boss lady?’ What does our resident magess have to combat ghouls and demons?” Duor said with more than a polite amount of snark.
“Well, she is the boss, isn’t she?” Festus interrupted innocently. “Captain Rynthis said the charter named you leader.”
“That is correct, but I do not make summary judgements or decrees, Ranger Hornshod.” Alaria said distractedly. She did not want the satyr feeling them on “familiar” terms. There was more than enough to deal with without unwanted advances from a satyr.
“To answer your question, Duor, I have more than enough magics to deal with the undead.” Alaria replied with assurance…though she knew that to be false. Her limited teachings regarding the undead told her that the sleep spell would have no effect on the creatures…they would also, likely, not be fooled by the new illusion she’d learned from the fallen elf mage’s spellbook. “And we have the orb.”
That seemed to lift Haelan’s spirits quite a bit. “YES! The orb! You can blow them all away, right Alaria? We won’t even have to engage them, you can just blow them back into the mine.”
“Haelan, that…” Alaria began.
“That won’t be enough.” It was now Fen who interrupted. “These creatures can not simply be ‘blown away.’” The half-elf’s face was more serious than any had seen him before. “They must be destroyed. Expunged from our reality. The Balance must be preserved.”
“Well then, ‘Master Expunge’, what weird tree-magic do you have to stop these creatures…If, indeed, they are undead…Gonna talk to the animals that won't even come near them? What if they are demons?” Duor said in accusation.
“I say,” the dwarf hopped out of the chair, “we cut n’ run. We could hold up here fer the night and hightail it out of here at dawn. Two hundred gold ain’t worth this.” The dwarf crossed his arms in an attempt to seem imposing.
“But…but these poor people.” Haelan said. “And we have a paladin of Celradorn. Surely that counts for something.” The daelvar looked pleadingly hopeful at Coerraine.
“We also have a Hilltender of Faerantha.” Coerraine countered as kindly as he could. “Who, I am certain, can do more good here than I.”
Haelan again began to stutter, “But I…I mean…You and the spear…and I am…but…”
It was Alaria’s turn to try to calm the daelvar. “Haelan, you have the blessings of your goddess. They are formidable. I’ve seen them save and protect and heal me, all of us, more times than I can muster. You have your blessings and the invocation of Sanctuary that cannot be pierced. Even a spell to stave evil will effect the undead. Surely we will prevail here.” The wizardess rubbed the halfling’s back in an attempt to be comforting.
She glowered at Duor. “And we will prevail here. These people need us. Braddok needs us. And we need the payment of the Tower. Let alone I gave my word to Captain Rynthis and the hopes of those people downstairs. Besides, Duor, the captain gave us free reign to claim any treasure we find in the mine.”
“We’re going IN the mine?!?!” Haelan, who had begun to relax, said in panic.
“Not now. Not today.” Coerraine said in all seriousness.
The rest of the company turned to the usually understated Redstar Knight. Coerraine continued.
“There are only a few hours til nightfall. I say, we remain here. Do what we can to protect the town through the night. We will assault the mine in the morning,” Coerraine paused and continued before Alaria could object, “after we are suitably rested, of course. In the day neither the kobolds nor these unknown creatures would be venturing forth. But I doubt there is time now to do anything but defend the village…and you cannot argue, by the looks of those poor souls downstairs, they need some help and a decisive victory to have hope again.”
The company agreed as a knock came at the door. It was one of the younger men from downstairs with two mugs of ale. As he was leaving he turned and looked at Coerraine, “You are going to save us, aren’t you Redstar?”
“Save you? No. We are going to rid you of these troubles.” Coerraine said flatly.
Alaria was amazed and allured by the young paladin’s charismatic assertion. She felt bolstered, bathed in his confidence. They would succeed…They would restore hope to these people…she just knew it.
The youth grinned wearily at the paladin. “Gods bless you, sir. All of you.”
When the young man had left, Alaria rose from the bed. It was her turn to be assured and commanding. “Alright. You all must leave me now. I must rest and prepare my own energies for the coming battle. Do what you can to comfort and bolster the men below. I’ll be down before nightfall. There is much to do.”
The company nodded and took their leave.
“’Nuther round, friend Duor? Good day to drink, indeed.” Festus said cheerily.
“’Nuther round, friend Festus.” Duor replied. He added after Alaria had closed the door, as they moved down the hall, “The Forge grant it not be our last.”
Alaria had forgotten, with all of the dark news and mood of the lower floor, that it really was only mid-afternoon.
She seated herself upon the lumpy bed. Still, she thought, better than a saddle. Her mind raced with the options before them.
Haelan plopped himself next to the magess. He stared at the floor.
Duor casually flopped into the one crudely fashioned wooden chair and slurped on his mug of ale.
Erevan moved to stand near the window, arms folded, letting the slivers of sunlight play across his face and the form-fitting violet leather jerkin he’d been wearing since his return from his elvin homeland.
Fen took a quiet position near the elf.
Festus stood near the chair with Duor, and “borrowed” a gulp of his mug.
Coerraine stood near the door, resting his spear and shield down against the wall. The paladin folded his arms and seemed deep in thought. He took a deep breath before attempting to speak.
The silence of the room was abruptly shattered.
“I CAN’T DO IT! Not undead! I just…I can’t! Please don’t make me! I don’t have to, do I Alaria? I’m a Hilltender! We tend the crops and the animals and the goodly folk. I’m not…I can’t…I…don’t make me…please.” The halfling burst in panic and concluded in a ball of tears.
“Well, ain’t that just grand.” Duor commented softly. “Got a cleric who is afraid of ghouls. Some goddess you got there, hairfoot.”
“You would have to be a fool not to fear the undead, Duor.” Erevan interjected. Alaria was surprised to hear the tint of recrimination and anger in the elf’s voice. “But then, we already knew you to be a fool, didn’t we?” The elf’s violet eyes looked to pierce the dwarf’s skull.
Duor guffawed and shook a finger at the elf in a toying manner. “That we did, point-ear. That we did.” Duor knew he needed to lighten the mood. This “mission” was nowhere near the casual “mine-sweep of yappers” he’d expected.
The company settled into talks of strategy...along with trying to calm and bolster their cleric.
“Erevan,” Alaria took the lead, “what spells have you memorized for this day?”
“I’ve only the disc spell and the evocation of energy darts.” The elf replied without his gaze faltering from the dwarf. Finally blinking, he turned to Alaria and continued, “I did not expect we would venture the mine until the morrow.”
“That is well done.” Alaria answered, seeming to add that information to her unspoken equations.
“And you, ‘boss lady?’ What does our resident magess have to combat ghouls and demons?” Duor said with more than a polite amount of snark.
“Well, she is the boss, isn’t she?” Festus interrupted innocently. “Captain Rynthis said the charter named you leader.”
“That is correct, but I do not make summary judgements or decrees, Ranger Hornshod.” Alaria said distractedly. She did not want the satyr feeling them on “familiar” terms. There was more than enough to deal with without unwanted advances from a satyr.
“To answer your question, Duor, I have more than enough magics to deal with the undead.” Alaria replied with assurance…though she knew that to be false. Her limited teachings regarding the undead told her that the sleep spell would have no effect on the creatures…they would also, likely, not be fooled by the new illusion she’d learned from the fallen elf mage’s spellbook. “And we have the orb.”
That seemed to lift Haelan’s spirits quite a bit. “YES! The orb! You can blow them all away, right Alaria? We won’t even have to engage them, you can just blow them back into the mine.”
“Haelan, that…” Alaria began.
“That won’t be enough.” It was now Fen who interrupted. “These creatures can not simply be ‘blown away.’” The half-elf’s face was more serious than any had seen him before. “They must be destroyed. Expunged from our reality. The Balance must be preserved.”
“Well then, ‘Master Expunge’, what weird tree-magic do you have to stop these creatures…If, indeed, they are undead…Gonna talk to the animals that won't even come near them? What if they are demons?” Duor said in accusation.
“I say,” the dwarf hopped out of the chair, “we cut n’ run. We could hold up here fer the night and hightail it out of here at dawn. Two hundred gold ain’t worth this.” The dwarf crossed his arms in an attempt to seem imposing.
“But…but these poor people.” Haelan said. “And we have a paladin of Celradorn. Surely that counts for something.” The daelvar looked pleadingly hopeful at Coerraine.
“We also have a Hilltender of Faerantha.” Coerraine countered as kindly as he could. “Who, I am certain, can do more good here than I.”
Haelan again began to stutter, “But I…I mean…You and the spear…and I am…but…”
It was Alaria’s turn to try to calm the daelvar. “Haelan, you have the blessings of your goddess. They are formidable. I’ve seen them save and protect and heal me, all of us, more times than I can muster. You have your blessings and the invocation of Sanctuary that cannot be pierced. Even a spell to stave evil will effect the undead. Surely we will prevail here.” The wizardess rubbed the halfling’s back in an attempt to be comforting.
She glowered at Duor. “And we will prevail here. These people need us. Braddok needs us. And we need the payment of the Tower. Let alone I gave my word to Captain Rynthis and the hopes of those people downstairs. Besides, Duor, the captain gave us free reign to claim any treasure we find in the mine.”
“We’re going IN the mine?!?!” Haelan, who had begun to relax, said in panic.
“Not now. Not today.” Coerraine said in all seriousness.
The rest of the company turned to the usually understated Redstar Knight. Coerraine continued.
“There are only a few hours til nightfall. I say, we remain here. Do what we can to protect the town through the night. We will assault the mine in the morning,” Coerraine paused and continued before Alaria could object, “after we are suitably rested, of course. In the day neither the kobolds nor these unknown creatures would be venturing forth. But I doubt there is time now to do anything but defend the village…and you cannot argue, by the looks of those poor souls downstairs, they need some help and a decisive victory to have hope again.”
The company agreed as a knock came at the door. It was one of the younger men from downstairs with two mugs of ale. As he was leaving he turned and looked at Coerraine, “You are going to save us, aren’t you Redstar?”
“Save you? No. We are going to rid you of these troubles.” Coerraine said flatly.
Alaria was amazed and allured by the young paladin’s charismatic assertion. She felt bolstered, bathed in his confidence. They would succeed…They would restore hope to these people…she just knew it.
The youth grinned wearily at the paladin. “Gods bless you, sir. All of you.”
When the young man had left, Alaria rose from the bed. It was her turn to be assured and commanding. “Alright. You all must leave me now. I must rest and prepare my own energies for the coming battle. Do what you can to comfort and bolster the men below. I’ll be down before nightfall. There is much to do.”
The company nodded and took their leave.
“’Nuther round, friend Duor? Good day to drink, indeed.” Festus said cheerily.
“’Nuther round, friend Festus.” Duor replied. He added after Alaria had closed the door, as they moved down the hall, “The Forge grant it not be our last.”
So is Festus a particularly vocal NPC or are we seeing a temporary replacement character for our fallen friend?
And I love that they're calling Alaria the "Stormrider". That's a wicked name to live up to...
*Emphasis/bold applied by me*
Haha. Nuthin gets passed you, does it Wolff?
As to how "temporary" it is remains to be seen. But I'm really liking the character thus far.
Cool. Glad you like it. That was entirely not my idea. Just something I mentioned in the "feast scene" as the song sung by the Bridgetower minstrel/bard. They totally ran with it.
Again, "remains to be seen" just how much she can live up to it now that the wand of lightning is defunct/used up (at this point of the story, she's still only 3rd level).
Thanks, as always, for reading.
Thanks to all for reading...I noted that we slipped passed 4,000 and 4,100, and 4,200 (!) views without my notice. Thanks very much. Hope y'all are enjoying.
PS: There's battle scenes coming up soon, I prooooomise.
--SD
Alaria had rested but her what short sleep she had gathered had been troubled and fitful. Resolving herself to their upcoming battle, Alaria released a couple of the spells she had memorized that morning back into the arcane either and took out her much bolstered spellbook.
Still thin, by any magical account, the book was nonetheless much more full than it had been a week or two ago. Another spell, maybe two, and she would need to begin a second one.
She had shared the contents of book received from the dying elf sorcerer, Lethyllis, with Erevan. The elf had not been able to transcribe three of the spells (the more powerful) from the book. Alaria pulled that small book from her pack and studied it as well.
She descended into the common room of the Silver Platter Inn and Tavern before the evening was fully realized. Several of the men who had been there earlier were gone. The few that remained grumbled quietly among themselves. One or two muttered a “Good morrow” to the magess.
The innkeeper, one Rulphus Bullnose, approached the woman and asked if she required any food or drink. “I apologize, Stormrider, that we have little of our usual fare. You’ll have to return to visit us after the curse has been lifted.” He attempted a half-hearted smile. The aging man had never expected his inn to be used as a barracks or refuge for nearly a quarter of Shafton’s remaining population.
Alaria thanked the man and ordered a modest repast and elfvine.
The innkeeper looked thoughtful and then quietly informed Alaria that he thought he might have a bottle left, “for emergencies” somewhere in the kitchen. He winked and smiled warmly at the wizard.
Inquiring of some of the remaining men as to the whereabouts of her companions, Alaria was informed that Coerraine, Duor and Festus had gone with Borsem to survey the “defenses” in the “upper town.”
Haelan had been in the basement attempting to soothe the non-combatants and see if he could glean anything further from the “useless Dunric priest.” He’d then emerged and gone outside “to pray, he said. Fer all the good that’ll d’us” one of the bowmen muttered.
The “elf and half-blood,” one particularly grizzled looked man informed her, had gone to the cemetery, “around the north side of the slope fer…wuh’d they call it?...‘Evidence of undead activity.’ W’ever that means.” A large hammer hung at his side and Alaria later discovered the grizzled veteran was named Drunac. He was Shafton’s preeminent blacksmith.
Of Shafton, she learned, the mines were primarily iron and silver with the occasional discovery of a cache of “firestones” <author/dm’s note: an uncommon Orean crystal commonly ground down to a gravely power. Used as an explosive for mining purposes and a component for several fire-evoking spells.>
The mines had been dwarven made, in the age before the original Dragonmage had ever taken up residence in the Vale nearly four centuries ago. The apparent wealth of the mine gave way to human prospectors and for a time dwarves and men had lived and worked in Shafton together before the ever-grumbling clan of the town’s founder, one Gorn Deepshaft, left Daenfrii for other lands and riches they could call their own.
There had been, at the beginning of the kobold invasion, only ten dwarves still in residence in Shafton. Now, after two weeks of fighting (and subsequent fleeing of many of Shafton’s residents) only two remained. The “Deepshaft brothers”, Kordun and Kurn, were the last remaining relatives of Gorn’s original clan.
Kordun worked as a miner and had proven a warrior of no small skill. Kurn, Alaria was told, had all the valor and “toughness” attributed to dwarves, and had proven most skilled in the various skirmishes they’d fought, but before “the invasion” worked as one of Shafton’s several silversmiths.
Alaria ate the simple broth flavored with a few chunks of root vegetables (which, the R’Hathi felt, lacked any kind of seasoning) and the crust of bread served with it. She sipped calmly on the golden elfvine that the innkeeper had surreptitiously served in an ale mug.
What little light filtered passed the barricades against the front window of the inn were deepening from an orange glow to the rosy pink of later evening before any of her company had returned.
Erevan and Fen came back first.
“The cemetery shows no signs of disruption.” The elf tracker reported.
“Thank the gods for that.” Alaria remarked.
“It is odd, however, Magess.” Fen started.
Alaria was taken aback, somewhat, by the druid’s formality. Since encountering the remains on the road to Shafton, the druid had become more serious than Alaria had ever seen the carrot-topped half-elf…almost ‘dark’ in his determination.
“The Abominations, what you call ‘the undead’, do not commonly arise from nothing. They must be called, dark souls summoned back into this world against all of the wishes of the Balance and the wills of the gods of Men. Save those which are spontaneously generated from some wellspring of evil or their own depravity.” Fen concluded.
“That is not entirely true, Fen.” Alaria said calmly.
The half-elf looked at the mage with questioning surprise.
“For good or ill, and I take it as ‘ill’ believe me, the goddess Endore is one of the ‘gods of Men’, as you put it. Disease and Undeath are her dominion. Her servants, while vile and depraved individuals by any definition of civility, are said to be most potent and dangerous.”
“Also, while I am loath to admit it, the practice of Necromancy is not an entirely ‘evil’ pursuit. Not in R’Hath, in any event. There are necromancers who call forth servants of bone or mindless husks to do their bidding. Such beings, to my limited understanding of that school of study, are not actually inhabited by an evil intelligence, but simply ‘animate’ the unused physical remains through arcane energy.”
Fen scoffed at the suggestion. “The philosophical nonsense used by arcanists to justify their own assault of the Balance with impunity.”
Erevan begrudgingly agreed with the wizard but added, “You must admit, Alaria, that the accounts we’ve heard from the good sergeant do not make these creatures sound like skeletons or zombies.”
Alaria nodded her silent agreement before taking another long sip of her elfvine.
“Unfortunately not.” She admitted. The presence of a necromancer who would assault this town in such a manner was not a possibility Alaria wished to give any credence. Of course, she thought, the possibility of a priest of the Plague Mistress was equally unwelcome.
Haelan returned shortly thereafter. He was quiet, pensive. Significantly more subdued than Alaria had ever seen him. Even fear or sorrow would be more welcome, the wizard admitted, but the daelvar seemed singularly distracted in his thoughts. He politely asked for some ale and a received a mug along with a small bowl of the vegetable laden broth and another hunk of crusty bread.
Fen raised an eyebrow at Erevan. The full-blooded elf did the same to Alaria. She shook her head, determining to let the daelvar priest have his meal in peace.
The peace did not last long as the door to the inn began banging loudly. Just about everyone in the common room jumped at the sudden disruption.
Erevan was pleased to see the halfling did not dive under the table.
After a cursory glance out the front window, the door was opened to reveal the satyr, Festus. The ranger goat-man came bounding into the inn’s common room rubbing his hands together and smiling broadly. “Ok. Ah, wonderful! You’re up already, Stormrider. We ready to go?”
Collecting their things, the “Defenders of the Tower” readied to leave. Several of the common folk with their weapons prepared to join them before Festus spoke up.
“Not you all. Borsem says you should remain here to defend the inn. The Stormrider’s company and those already at their posts will be meeting the enemy tonight. Be ready should we have to retreat. The square will be our fallback position. If you hear battle outside, don’t come running. We’ll use the Platter [dm’s note: which sat along the perimeter of the town square] as a last fallback if the battle goes badly. Until then, the sergeant requests you all get as much rest as plausible.”
Erevan, Fen, Alaria and Haelan trailing behind, still silent, left with the satyr and made their way along the sloping switchback road up to the town’s defense perimeter in the “upper town.”
Sergeant Borsem waited for them there. Two dwarves with lengthy beards, one blond and one russet, and another two townsfolk clad in studded leather awaited them.
Introductions were made as the sun sank below the western horizon. The deep purple and blue of night fell over the companions.
The upper town, Alaria noticed, was a curious construction. The buildings were all built along the steep hill/small mountain’s slope. The buildings were the stone construction of the lower town, tall and wide but not deep. Their upper windows and several of the doorways had been boarded up.
At the edge of the buildings a makeshift barricade of overturned tables, shelves and other furniture was ‘fortified’ by some stones and hastily sharpened branches and trunks pointing further up the road.
The road ran along in front of the buildings, only blocked from the steep incline down to what she presumed was ‘the lower town’, but a few small trees, scrubby undergrowth and a short stone ‘curb’ that didn’t even come up to Haelan’s waist.
“Going to want to watch that.” Alaria said to no one in particular.
Haelan and Duor peered over the curb. “That’d be a good call, boss ‘Stormrider’ lady.” The dwarf mentioned with his usual sarcastic humor.
Duor was in a particularly good mood, having found others of his kind to relay his own, somewhat altered, tales of heroism and valor. The warrior-looking blond one, decked out in platemail and wielding a finely crafted broad sword, was Kordun. He and Kurn, who wore only a chainmail jacket and had a curious-looking crossbow nocked seemed adequately impressed and relayed their own tales of bravery from the passed two weeks. The four, Festus was sure to be a part of their conversation though he understood little of dwarves or their ways, shared a skin of ale the satyr had brought with him. The skin, Fen noted, was already half empty.
The company sat in wait. Haelan remained silent. Whether he was praying or meditating or fearing for his life, none knew. The only interaction he’d had was with Coerraine who explained his god-granted field of protection should extended the entire width of the broad roadway. The halfling had nodded his understanding at the paladin but said nothing.
Borsem and Coerraine conferred with Alaria as to their ‘plan.’ Alaria nodded her understanding and agreed with the course of action. They would do what damage they could. ‘If’ the battle went badly, they would retreat with all speed to the square to regroup. In the event all looked lost, they were to get into the Silver Platter and defend it.
Alaria was told to act as she felt appropriate. Alaria took more than a little umbrage at the presumption of the sergeant to tell her what to do…even though it was to do what she felt best. She said nothing for fear of upsetting Haelan and then chastised herself for her own hubris.
Duor clapped the daelvar on the shoulder. “Not to worry Hilltender. Dwarven ingenuity will prevail this night. We’ve got a bit of a surprise in store for any nasties that come this way.” The dwarf then took a position in one of the building’s un-obscured doorways with Kurn. Both dwarves had their respective crossbows nocked and ready, a pail of burning pitch between them.
Coerraine had assured the dwarf that he would remain close enough for his field of protection to encompass the dwarf. The paladin quietly apologized to Alaria that he must make Duor a priority in the coming battle.
The magess nodded her understanding and assured Coerraine he had no reason to apologize. She had every intention of remaining close enough to the paladin to be within his blessed field.
Erevan took up a position up on one of the roofs of a building near the barricade. He had a small metal pail of burning pitch precariously placed next to him. The elf swirled an arrowhead in the bucket from time to time to keep the dark substance flaming. He’d pull the shaft from the pail and blow out the flames on the tip of his arrow. Well assured in his prowess with the bow, the elf sank into mental repetitions of the spells he had prepared. A magical assault was sure to be their first, and he hoped most effective, offense.
Fen had positioned himself beside a clutch of thin birch trees and bushes. The magic of his sacred cloak swathed him. It masked him from practically all view unless one was staring directly at him.
Even then, Alaria noted, the druid’s form was ‘sketchy.’
Alaria whispered the detection incantation and took a moment to shift her vision.
The air about the druid, a priest of Orea itself, was again charged with the strangely mysterious energies of his ‘Ancient Holy Order.’ The intricacies of the energies lost to her sight and understanding. She stood behind Borsem, Coerraine, and the two human townfolk in the middle of the road.
Haelan stood silently at her side.
The wizardess found herself praying to the Blue Star that the daelvar would find security and strength in his faith in the coming hours…and use it to great effect.
To Alaria’s horror, she noted the coiled mass of shadow near the druid. Its two red eyes glistened in her magical sight.
The shadow snake seemed no larger than the one they had encountered at Rhea’s glade in Welford. One for observation, according to Rhea, the wizard recalled. She also realized that they had neither the time nor resources to deal with the creature. Hope your master enjoys the show. Bastard!
The night crept on, painfully slow. The green lesser moon, Sorilorr, was again nearing its fullness. The smaller satellite was nearly at its zenith despite the fact that it had only risen two hours prior. The silver greater moon, Arinane, was little more than a sliver. It lumbered its slow course, still low in the eastern sky. The mix of green and white light shone down upon the group, save the dwarves bathed in shadow of the recessed doorway.
The sound of something bounding down the road, as well as the odor, assailed the assembled ‘heroes’ before any creature was seen. The sound was one of claws scraping and scurrying along the stone-paved road which turned abruptly, almost one hundred and eighty degrees, a short distance ahead of the barricade. The road continued to slope further up the mountain. It was obscured by the buildings of the upper town and trees and undergrowth that rose up behind the buildings.
“Here they come.” Said Borsem not too loudly.
Fool, thought Fen, the creatures would know they were there by their scent for living flesh long before they would hear the young soldier.
Not two heartbeats later, one of the creatures rounded the switchback into view of the company. It was bent, hunched over, charging along on all fours. Its feet and hands were oversized with long digits ending in obvious claws. Its head had no hair. Greyish dead-looking skin seemed to cling to the impossibly thin frame. Its maw was also oversized for its head/face with sported two bulging eyes, the whites or which were almost entirely bloodshot. A pointed unnaturally long tongue hung out of its fang-filled mouth.
The creature paused a moment to look at the assembled treats before it. The swollen lengthy pukish purple tongue licked, not just its thin lips, but encompassed its entire face. The thing roared an inhume sound.
Another appeared. Then another appeared. Another. There were five in total on the road. They began crawling slowly toward the barricade. They made sounds that sound like maniacal laughter and bounded one over the other, scrambling in a mass of grey skeletal horror toward the barricade. None, however, presumed to leap ahead of the first creature which had rounded the bend in the road.
Haelan, next to Alaria, made a small sound and gripped, shakily, his pinecone-headed mace in both hands. His magical small round shield was strapped securely to his forearm.
Enough of this, Alaria thought before raising her hands high and shouting the syllables in the language of magic. The energies flowed freely around her, her hair and golden robe swirled in the shifting ionized air.
“Everx imberil rex!” <mage spell: Burning hands>
As her lips closed, flames of violet and bright red surrounded her hands for only a moment before bursting forth and arching over her allies and the barricade to crash down on the closely clustered creatures.
Howling, hoots and snarls burst from the collected ghouls as the fire rained down on them. The ‘leader’ shot forward and missed the the entirety of the arcane assault. Another leapt to the left and clamped onto the stone wall of one of the buildings immediately before the barricade. The other three were caught in the burning magical fire.
All of the creatures charged forward three of them trailing violet and red flames as they came. The licks of magical fire passed off of them, though scorching black patches of flesh were evident on them. One in particular seemed heavily damaged but came up behind the others.
“Everx zaar!” <mage spell: Magic Missle > was shouted from somewhere over the heroes and a bolt of blue-green energy flew down to strike the lead ghoul.
The elf cursed that the creature was shunted to the side in mid-charge, a small sorch burst evident on its shoulder, but did not slow and in two bounds was leaping over the barricade toward the soldiers.
There was a dull thud as Coerraine slammed the butt of his spear into the ground in front of him before raising both shield and spear for the expected attack. Immediately, a circle of golden light burst forth from the paladin’s position. The sliver of light passed by Alaria and Haelan to fade somewhere behind them. It washed to the left and right, lighting up for an instant, the two dwarves in the doorway and the cluster of birch trees where, Alaria assumed, Fen still hid. The light spread forward and seemed to fade as it washed over the barricade.
The ghoul who had avoided Alaria’s burning hands by jumping onto the wall now leapt after its ‘leader’ and easily cleared the barricade toward the dwarf, Kordun. As the creature cleared the barricade, it was awash in golden light and shrieked in what all assumed to be pain as wisps of smoke began to trail off of it in midair.
The lead ghoul, similarly, began to smoke and hiss as it passed into the paladin’s protection field. Its arms seemed to extend from its body, like taffy, to reach for the Redstar Knight, while its body stayed well beyond the reach of his spear tip which gleamed with golden righteous power.
The odor was already overwhelming. The mental bolstering from Coerraine’s circle of protection was all that kept Haelan from wretching and fleeing for his life. But he stood his ground, unsteadily, grasping his mace and watching in horror as the entire group of creatures continued to advance, regardless of whatever it was the paladin’s field was doing to them.
One of the townsfolk did, in fact, become ill and incapacitated by the noxious fumes emanating from the creatures. His fellow townsman took a defensive position in front of the striken man as the remainder of the creatures leapt over the barricade and began to sizzle and smoke within the paladin’s protection.
A bolt of green lightning flared across the road and stopped in front of the two normal men and Sergeant Borsem. In an instant, vines and roots leapt from the ground and ensnared two of the ghouls. They were bound tightly within the living coils and the creatures shrieked in defiance.
Not wasting a moment of the opportunity, Borsem and the standing townsman began hacking into the trapped creatures, though their swords seemed to do very little to the greasy looking unnatural grey flesh.
Fen raced forward, his spear tip seemed to glisten solely with the green light of the lesser moon and he stabbed vigorously into the creatures within the field of writhing entangling flora.
Bolts tipped with flames from the pails of burning pitch shot out from the building doorway as the dwarves and satyr let loose with their weapon. Two more rained down from Erevan’s position on the nearby rooftop. Several made their marks but none of the creatures fell.
The one ghoul, heavily burned from Alaria’s attack, made a swipe at the druid. Its arms also stretching, seemingly impossibly far from its body.
Fen deftly twisted and turned to avoid both elongated hands of claws. The half-elf twirled his spear above his head like a propeller, incanting as he did so a bit too loudly.
While Alaria did not feel an assault from the primordial words, just far enough away, but Borsem and the townsman did seem effected and distracted by the cryptic forbidden tongue of othe druids.
Fen could not be concerned, the abominations must be eliminated. The Balance must be defended, it was the prime directive of his order.
At the completion of his spell, the spear’s leaf-shaped blade was ensconced in a ball of fire and the druid struck, getting uncomfortably close to the undead creature. The full force of the druid’s attack, coupled with magical flame caused the creature to shriek in defiance and then go limp. It smoldered as it slid off of the end of the druid’s spear.
Without waiting a breath to savor his victory, Fen whirled about to renew his stabbing attacks on the entangled ghouls. He knew the enchantment would not last much longer.
Borsem and the townsmen (the one who had been made ill had regained his feet) joined the druid in his assault. Again, their weapons seemed unable to pierce the undead skin.
Another round of fire-tipped arrows and crossbow bolts flew at the creatures from Erevan, Festus, Duor and the Shafton dwarf, Kurn.
Haelan still stood shaking.
“Haelan, the men’s weapons! Call up Faerantha’s blessing! All of our weapons!” Alaria commanded. The mages assumed the silver end of her staff might have some effect, but a bit of divine “juice” couldn’t hurt.
Snapped from his fear-striken inaction, the Hilltender nodded and bumbled. “Yes. Yes, Faerantha’s blessing. Yes. Of course. Um…Dei…Deisa Fuh-Fuh-F’rantha…um…” The halfling’s large brown eyes scanned the scene before him.
Coerraine jabbed and dodged at the lead creature. He smacked away raking claws with his shield and no attack had managed to pierce his defense though he was still unable to get in a solid strike on the ghoul.
The dwarf, Kordun, was similarly going-for-tat with the other ghoul which had leapt from the building wall. His broadsword, despite the dominating everpresent green light of Sorilorr seemed to gleam with a white glow, as if only the light of the silver moon were touching the blade.
The two ghouls entrapped by the vines began to snap the green cords, slowly freeing themselves as the potency of the druid’s spell began to wane.
“Haelan! NOW!” Alaria shouted. Her own mind was reeling through the spells she’d prepared and looked for an opening in the various battles occurring before her where her magicks might prove useful.
The first of the entangled ghouls broke clear of the vegetation and made a swipe with its claws that raked out at one of the townsmen still trying to keep the creature’s contained in the enchanted plants.
The strike tore through cloth and armor, completely disemboweling the man and he dropped with barely a sound in a great spray of blood.
“Ferdrik!” shouted the other man in panic. His friend was dead before he could even hear the cry.
Bollux, thought Alaria. Waiting for the “right moments” would only get them all killed.
“Everx zaar!” the wizardess exploded. The speed with which the energy raced around and through her surprised Alaria, herself. A corner of her mind smiled at her apparent increasing aptitude with the power.
Two shards of violet-blue energy darted forth from her outstretched arm. Each flew up and around her companions, one to land on the lead ghoul embattled by Coerraine, the other streaked up and over the plate-clad dwarf to strike his foe. Both struck true, barely faltering the creatures but disorienting them enough to allow both the paladin and dwarven warrior to get close enough to land solid blows.
Another volley of flaming bolts flew at the creatures. Two struck. Three missed, bouncing and skidding harmlessly on the cobblestones.
“Deisa Faerantha, dicteus beneficia spiritos y tiem paras .” <cleric spell: Bless> The divine invocation seemed to echo through the battle area. A honey-colored glow burst into view surrounding all of the weapons present except for the druid’s spear (which maintained its greenish sheen) and Kurden’s broadsword, awash in white light of its own.
Erevan was surprised to see that even his bow flared with the momentary divine light. The halfling was obviously increasing in power, the elf thought as he nocked another arrow from the pail of flaming pitch.
A momentary breeze flew across the companions. It dispelled the rancorous odor of the undead, filling their senses, instead, with the scent of summer rain and pine trees. In the wake of the cleared air, Haelan was washed of his fear and filled with the divine peace of his goddess’ favor. A look of fervent determination came over the Hilltender.
“’Bout bloody time, hairfoot!” Duor shouted across the field of battle.
With their newly empowered weapons, Borsem and the remaining townsman (with assistance by Fen) were able to destroy the two ghouls.
Coerraine and Kordun, with another peppering of flaming arrows, dispatched the leader and final ghoul.
For a moment, all stood tense and waiting, half-expecting the creatures to leap up again. Instead, the gaunt grey frames remained fallen, hissing quietly as they unnatural bodies continued to give off wisps of smoke within Coerraine’s protection field.
A moment later, the smoking stopped as Coerraine relaxed and released the defensive power.
“That…was…LOCKHORNS!” raved the satyr from the doorway. He pranced and clip-clopped out onto the cobblestone road. “My first battle with the Stormriders did not disappoint. HOOHOO!” Festus skipped around the other heroes on the street with a broad smile on his face. “Imagine the songs that will be sung of the ‘Heroes of Shafton’!”
Alaria and Coerraine scowled disapprovingly at the satyr’s exuberance in the face of the dead townsman.
The satyr, not losing his smile, looked at the mage and paladin. “C’mon…That was lockhorns.”
Borsem, who consoled the remaining man (the fallen’s brother), Bret. “The threat is not over, Festus. But it is a good start.”
The bodies of the ghouls were dragged over to the barricade. A couple were tossed over the sharpened spikes as a warning, though Coerraine seriously doubted that other ghouls would care.
Erevan readied to descend from his vantage point when his ears twitched at a sound.
The elf sniffed the air.
Still thin, by any magical account, the book was nonetheless much more full than it had been a week or two ago. Another spell, maybe two, and she would need to begin a second one.
She had shared the contents of book received from the dying elf sorcerer, Lethyllis, with Erevan. The elf had not been able to transcribe three of the spells (the more powerful) from the book. Alaria pulled that small book from her pack and studied it as well.
She descended into the common room of the Silver Platter Inn and Tavern before the evening was fully realized. Several of the men who had been there earlier were gone. The few that remained grumbled quietly among themselves. One or two muttered a “Good morrow” to the magess.
The innkeeper, one Rulphus Bullnose, approached the woman and asked if she required any food or drink. “I apologize, Stormrider, that we have little of our usual fare. You’ll have to return to visit us after the curse has been lifted.” He attempted a half-hearted smile. The aging man had never expected his inn to be used as a barracks or refuge for nearly a quarter of Shafton’s remaining population.
Alaria thanked the man and ordered a modest repast and elfvine.
The innkeeper looked thoughtful and then quietly informed Alaria that he thought he might have a bottle left, “for emergencies” somewhere in the kitchen. He winked and smiled warmly at the wizard.
Inquiring of some of the remaining men as to the whereabouts of her companions, Alaria was informed that Coerraine, Duor and Festus had gone with Borsem to survey the “defenses” in the “upper town.”
Haelan had been in the basement attempting to soothe the non-combatants and see if he could glean anything further from the “useless Dunric priest.” He’d then emerged and gone outside “to pray, he said. Fer all the good that’ll d’us” one of the bowmen muttered.
The “elf and half-blood,” one particularly grizzled looked man informed her, had gone to the cemetery, “around the north side of the slope fer…wuh’d they call it?...‘Evidence of undead activity.’ W’ever that means.” A large hammer hung at his side and Alaria later discovered the grizzled veteran was named Drunac. He was Shafton’s preeminent blacksmith.
Of Shafton, she learned, the mines were primarily iron and silver with the occasional discovery of a cache of “firestones” <author/dm’s note: an uncommon Orean crystal commonly ground down to a gravely power. Used as an explosive for mining purposes and a component for several fire-evoking spells.>
The mines had been dwarven made, in the age before the original Dragonmage had ever taken up residence in the Vale nearly four centuries ago. The apparent wealth of the mine gave way to human prospectors and for a time dwarves and men had lived and worked in Shafton together before the ever-grumbling clan of the town’s founder, one Gorn Deepshaft, left Daenfrii for other lands and riches they could call their own.
There had been, at the beginning of the kobold invasion, only ten dwarves still in residence in Shafton. Now, after two weeks of fighting (and subsequent fleeing of many of Shafton’s residents) only two remained. The “Deepshaft brothers”, Kordun and Kurn, were the last remaining relatives of Gorn’s original clan.
Kordun worked as a miner and had proven a warrior of no small skill. Kurn, Alaria was told, had all the valor and “toughness” attributed to dwarves, and had proven most skilled in the various skirmishes they’d fought, but before “the invasion” worked as one of Shafton’s several silversmiths.
Alaria ate the simple broth flavored with a few chunks of root vegetables (which, the R’Hathi felt, lacked any kind of seasoning) and the crust of bread served with it. She sipped calmly on the golden elfvine that the innkeeper had surreptitiously served in an ale mug.
What little light filtered passed the barricades against the front window of the inn were deepening from an orange glow to the rosy pink of later evening before any of her company had returned.
Erevan and Fen came back first.
“The cemetery shows no signs of disruption.” The elf tracker reported.
“Thank the gods for that.” Alaria remarked.
“It is odd, however, Magess.” Fen started.
Alaria was taken aback, somewhat, by the druid’s formality. Since encountering the remains on the road to Shafton, the druid had become more serious than Alaria had ever seen the carrot-topped half-elf…almost ‘dark’ in his determination.
“The Abominations, what you call ‘the undead’, do not commonly arise from nothing. They must be called, dark souls summoned back into this world against all of the wishes of the Balance and the wills of the gods of Men. Save those which are spontaneously generated from some wellspring of evil or their own depravity.” Fen concluded.
“That is not entirely true, Fen.” Alaria said calmly.
The half-elf looked at the mage with questioning surprise.
“For good or ill, and I take it as ‘ill’ believe me, the goddess Endore is one of the ‘gods of Men’, as you put it. Disease and Undeath are her dominion. Her servants, while vile and depraved individuals by any definition of civility, are said to be most potent and dangerous.”
“Also, while I am loath to admit it, the practice of Necromancy is not an entirely ‘evil’ pursuit. Not in R’Hath, in any event. There are necromancers who call forth servants of bone or mindless husks to do their bidding. Such beings, to my limited understanding of that school of study, are not actually inhabited by an evil intelligence, but simply ‘animate’ the unused physical remains through arcane energy.”
Fen scoffed at the suggestion. “The philosophical nonsense used by arcanists to justify their own assault of the Balance with impunity.”
Erevan begrudgingly agreed with the wizard but added, “You must admit, Alaria, that the accounts we’ve heard from the good sergeant do not make these creatures sound like skeletons or zombies.”
Alaria nodded her silent agreement before taking another long sip of her elfvine.
“Unfortunately not.” She admitted. The presence of a necromancer who would assault this town in such a manner was not a possibility Alaria wished to give any credence. Of course, she thought, the possibility of a priest of the Plague Mistress was equally unwelcome.
Haelan returned shortly thereafter. He was quiet, pensive. Significantly more subdued than Alaria had ever seen him. Even fear or sorrow would be more welcome, the wizard admitted, but the daelvar seemed singularly distracted in his thoughts. He politely asked for some ale and a received a mug along with a small bowl of the vegetable laden broth and another hunk of crusty bread.
Fen raised an eyebrow at Erevan. The full-blooded elf did the same to Alaria. She shook her head, determining to let the daelvar priest have his meal in peace.
The peace did not last long as the door to the inn began banging loudly. Just about everyone in the common room jumped at the sudden disruption.
Erevan was pleased to see the halfling did not dive under the table.
After a cursory glance out the front window, the door was opened to reveal the satyr, Festus. The ranger goat-man came bounding into the inn’s common room rubbing his hands together and smiling broadly. “Ok. Ah, wonderful! You’re up already, Stormrider. We ready to go?”
Collecting their things, the “Defenders of the Tower” readied to leave. Several of the common folk with their weapons prepared to join them before Festus spoke up.
“Not you all. Borsem says you should remain here to defend the inn. The Stormrider’s company and those already at their posts will be meeting the enemy tonight. Be ready should we have to retreat. The square will be our fallback position. If you hear battle outside, don’t come running. We’ll use the Platter [dm’s note: which sat along the perimeter of the town square] as a last fallback if the battle goes badly. Until then, the sergeant requests you all get as much rest as plausible.”
Erevan, Fen, Alaria and Haelan trailing behind, still silent, left with the satyr and made their way along the sloping switchback road up to the town’s defense perimeter in the “upper town.”
Sergeant Borsem waited for them there. Two dwarves with lengthy beards, one blond and one russet, and another two townsfolk clad in studded leather awaited them.
Introductions were made as the sun sank below the western horizon. The deep purple and blue of night fell over the companions.
The upper town, Alaria noticed, was a curious construction. The buildings were all built along the steep hill/small mountain’s slope. The buildings were the stone construction of the lower town, tall and wide but not deep. Their upper windows and several of the doorways had been boarded up.
At the edge of the buildings a makeshift barricade of overturned tables, shelves and other furniture was ‘fortified’ by some stones and hastily sharpened branches and trunks pointing further up the road.
The road ran along in front of the buildings, only blocked from the steep incline down to what she presumed was ‘the lower town’, but a few small trees, scrubby undergrowth and a short stone ‘curb’ that didn’t even come up to Haelan’s waist.
“Going to want to watch that.” Alaria said to no one in particular.
Haelan and Duor peered over the curb. “That’d be a good call, boss ‘Stormrider’ lady.” The dwarf mentioned with his usual sarcastic humor.
Duor was in a particularly good mood, having found others of his kind to relay his own, somewhat altered, tales of heroism and valor. The warrior-looking blond one, decked out in platemail and wielding a finely crafted broad sword, was Kordun. He and Kurn, who wore only a chainmail jacket and had a curious-looking crossbow nocked seemed adequately impressed and relayed their own tales of bravery from the passed two weeks. The four, Festus was sure to be a part of their conversation though he understood little of dwarves or their ways, shared a skin of ale the satyr had brought with him. The skin, Fen noted, was already half empty.
The company sat in wait. Haelan remained silent. Whether he was praying or meditating or fearing for his life, none knew. The only interaction he’d had was with Coerraine who explained his god-granted field of protection should extended the entire width of the broad roadway. The halfling had nodded his understanding at the paladin but said nothing.
Borsem and Coerraine conferred with Alaria as to their ‘plan.’ Alaria nodded her understanding and agreed with the course of action. They would do what damage they could. ‘If’ the battle went badly, they would retreat with all speed to the square to regroup. In the event all looked lost, they were to get into the Silver Platter and defend it.
Alaria was told to act as she felt appropriate. Alaria took more than a little umbrage at the presumption of the sergeant to tell her what to do…even though it was to do what she felt best. She said nothing for fear of upsetting Haelan and then chastised herself for her own hubris.
Duor clapped the daelvar on the shoulder. “Not to worry Hilltender. Dwarven ingenuity will prevail this night. We’ve got a bit of a surprise in store for any nasties that come this way.” The dwarf then took a position in one of the building’s un-obscured doorways with Kurn. Both dwarves had their respective crossbows nocked and ready, a pail of burning pitch between them.
Coerraine had assured the dwarf that he would remain close enough for his field of protection to encompass the dwarf. The paladin quietly apologized to Alaria that he must make Duor a priority in the coming battle.
The magess nodded her understanding and assured Coerraine he had no reason to apologize. She had every intention of remaining close enough to the paladin to be within his blessed field.
Erevan took up a position up on one of the roofs of a building near the barricade. He had a small metal pail of burning pitch precariously placed next to him. The elf swirled an arrowhead in the bucket from time to time to keep the dark substance flaming. He’d pull the shaft from the pail and blow out the flames on the tip of his arrow. Well assured in his prowess with the bow, the elf sank into mental repetitions of the spells he had prepared. A magical assault was sure to be their first, and he hoped most effective, offense.
Fen had positioned himself beside a clutch of thin birch trees and bushes. The magic of his sacred cloak swathed him. It masked him from practically all view unless one was staring directly at him.
Even then, Alaria noted, the druid’s form was ‘sketchy.’
Alaria whispered the detection incantation and took a moment to shift her vision.
The air about the druid, a priest of Orea itself, was again charged with the strangely mysterious energies of his ‘Ancient Holy Order.’ The intricacies of the energies lost to her sight and understanding. She stood behind Borsem, Coerraine, and the two human townfolk in the middle of the road.
Haelan stood silently at her side.
The wizardess found herself praying to the Blue Star that the daelvar would find security and strength in his faith in the coming hours…and use it to great effect.
To Alaria’s horror, she noted the coiled mass of shadow near the druid. Its two red eyes glistened in her magical sight.
The shadow snake seemed no larger than the one they had encountered at Rhea’s glade in Welford. One for observation, according to Rhea, the wizard recalled. She also realized that they had neither the time nor resources to deal with the creature. Hope your master enjoys the show. Bastard!
The night crept on, painfully slow. The green lesser moon, Sorilorr, was again nearing its fullness. The smaller satellite was nearly at its zenith despite the fact that it had only risen two hours prior. The silver greater moon, Arinane, was little more than a sliver. It lumbered its slow course, still low in the eastern sky. The mix of green and white light shone down upon the group, save the dwarves bathed in shadow of the recessed doorway.
The sound of something bounding down the road, as well as the odor, assailed the assembled ‘heroes’ before any creature was seen. The sound was one of claws scraping and scurrying along the stone-paved road which turned abruptly, almost one hundred and eighty degrees, a short distance ahead of the barricade. The road continued to slope further up the mountain. It was obscured by the buildings of the upper town and trees and undergrowth that rose up behind the buildings.
“Here they come.” Said Borsem not too loudly.
Fool, thought Fen, the creatures would know they were there by their scent for living flesh long before they would hear the young soldier.
Not two heartbeats later, one of the creatures rounded the switchback into view of the company. It was bent, hunched over, charging along on all fours. Its feet and hands were oversized with long digits ending in obvious claws. Its head had no hair. Greyish dead-looking skin seemed to cling to the impossibly thin frame. Its maw was also oversized for its head/face with sported two bulging eyes, the whites or which were almost entirely bloodshot. A pointed unnaturally long tongue hung out of its fang-filled mouth.
The creature paused a moment to look at the assembled treats before it. The swollen lengthy pukish purple tongue licked, not just its thin lips, but encompassed its entire face. The thing roared an inhume sound.
Another appeared. Then another appeared. Another. There were five in total on the road. They began crawling slowly toward the barricade. They made sounds that sound like maniacal laughter and bounded one over the other, scrambling in a mass of grey skeletal horror toward the barricade. None, however, presumed to leap ahead of the first creature which had rounded the bend in the road.
Haelan, next to Alaria, made a small sound and gripped, shakily, his pinecone-headed mace in both hands. His magical small round shield was strapped securely to his forearm.
Enough of this, Alaria thought before raising her hands high and shouting the syllables in the language of magic. The energies flowed freely around her, her hair and golden robe swirled in the shifting ionized air.
“Everx imberil rex!” <mage spell: Burning hands>
As her lips closed, flames of violet and bright red surrounded her hands for only a moment before bursting forth and arching over her allies and the barricade to crash down on the closely clustered creatures.
Howling, hoots and snarls burst from the collected ghouls as the fire rained down on them. The ‘leader’ shot forward and missed the the entirety of the arcane assault. Another leapt to the left and clamped onto the stone wall of one of the buildings immediately before the barricade. The other three were caught in the burning magical fire.
All of the creatures charged forward three of them trailing violet and red flames as they came. The licks of magical fire passed off of them, though scorching black patches of flesh were evident on them. One in particular seemed heavily damaged but came up behind the others.
“Everx zaar!” <mage spell: Magic Missle > was shouted from somewhere over the heroes and a bolt of blue-green energy flew down to strike the lead ghoul.
The elf cursed that the creature was shunted to the side in mid-charge, a small sorch burst evident on its shoulder, but did not slow and in two bounds was leaping over the barricade toward the soldiers.
There was a dull thud as Coerraine slammed the butt of his spear into the ground in front of him before raising both shield and spear for the expected attack. Immediately, a circle of golden light burst forth from the paladin’s position. The sliver of light passed by Alaria and Haelan to fade somewhere behind them. It washed to the left and right, lighting up for an instant, the two dwarves in the doorway and the cluster of birch trees where, Alaria assumed, Fen still hid. The light spread forward and seemed to fade as it washed over the barricade.
The ghoul who had avoided Alaria’s burning hands by jumping onto the wall now leapt after its ‘leader’ and easily cleared the barricade toward the dwarf, Kordun. As the creature cleared the barricade, it was awash in golden light and shrieked in what all assumed to be pain as wisps of smoke began to trail off of it in midair.
The lead ghoul, similarly, began to smoke and hiss as it passed into the paladin’s protection field. Its arms seemed to extend from its body, like taffy, to reach for the Redstar Knight, while its body stayed well beyond the reach of his spear tip which gleamed with golden righteous power.
The odor was already overwhelming. The mental bolstering from Coerraine’s circle of protection was all that kept Haelan from wretching and fleeing for his life. But he stood his ground, unsteadily, grasping his mace and watching in horror as the entire group of creatures continued to advance, regardless of whatever it was the paladin’s field was doing to them.
One of the townsfolk did, in fact, become ill and incapacitated by the noxious fumes emanating from the creatures. His fellow townsman took a defensive position in front of the striken man as the remainder of the creatures leapt over the barricade and began to sizzle and smoke within the paladin’s protection.
A bolt of green lightning flared across the road and stopped in front of the two normal men and Sergeant Borsem. In an instant, vines and roots leapt from the ground and ensnared two of the ghouls. They were bound tightly within the living coils and the creatures shrieked in defiance.
Not wasting a moment of the opportunity, Borsem and the standing townsman began hacking into the trapped creatures, though their swords seemed to do very little to the greasy looking unnatural grey flesh.
Fen raced forward, his spear tip seemed to glisten solely with the green light of the lesser moon and he stabbed vigorously into the creatures within the field of writhing entangling flora.
Bolts tipped with flames from the pails of burning pitch shot out from the building doorway as the dwarves and satyr let loose with their weapon. Two more rained down from Erevan’s position on the nearby rooftop. Several made their marks but none of the creatures fell.
The one ghoul, heavily burned from Alaria’s attack, made a swipe at the druid. Its arms also stretching, seemingly impossibly far from its body.
Fen deftly twisted and turned to avoid both elongated hands of claws. The half-elf twirled his spear above his head like a propeller, incanting as he did so a bit too loudly.
While Alaria did not feel an assault from the primordial words, just far enough away, but Borsem and the townsman did seem effected and distracted by the cryptic forbidden tongue of othe druids.
Fen could not be concerned, the abominations must be eliminated. The Balance must be defended, it was the prime directive of his order.
At the completion of his spell, the spear’s leaf-shaped blade was ensconced in a ball of fire and the druid struck, getting uncomfortably close to the undead creature. The full force of the druid’s attack, coupled with magical flame caused the creature to shriek in defiance and then go limp. It smoldered as it slid off of the end of the druid’s spear.
Without waiting a breath to savor his victory, Fen whirled about to renew his stabbing attacks on the entangled ghouls. He knew the enchantment would not last much longer.
Borsem and the townsmen (the one who had been made ill had regained his feet) joined the druid in his assault. Again, their weapons seemed unable to pierce the undead skin.
Another round of fire-tipped arrows and crossbow bolts flew at the creatures from Erevan, Festus, Duor and the Shafton dwarf, Kurn.
Haelan still stood shaking.
“Haelan, the men’s weapons! Call up Faerantha’s blessing! All of our weapons!” Alaria commanded. The mages assumed the silver end of her staff might have some effect, but a bit of divine “juice” couldn’t hurt.
Snapped from his fear-striken inaction, the Hilltender nodded and bumbled. “Yes. Yes, Faerantha’s blessing. Yes. Of course. Um…Dei…Deisa Fuh-Fuh-F’rantha…um…” The halfling’s large brown eyes scanned the scene before him.
Coerraine jabbed and dodged at the lead creature. He smacked away raking claws with his shield and no attack had managed to pierce his defense though he was still unable to get in a solid strike on the ghoul.
The dwarf, Kordun, was similarly going
-for-tat with the other ghoul which had leapt from the building wall. His broadsword, despite the dominating everpresent green light of Sorilorr seemed to gleam with a white glow, as if only the light of the silver moon were touching the blade. The two ghouls entrapped by the vines began to snap the green cords, slowly freeing themselves as the potency of the druid’s spell began to wane.
“Haelan! NOW!” Alaria shouted. Her own mind was reeling through the spells she’d prepared and looked for an opening in the various battles occurring before her where her magicks might prove useful.
The first of the entangled ghouls broke clear of the vegetation and made a swipe with its claws that raked out at one of the townsmen still trying to keep the creature’s contained in the enchanted plants.
The strike tore through cloth and armor, completely disemboweling the man and he dropped with barely a sound in a great spray of blood.
“Ferdrik!” shouted the other man in panic. His friend was dead before he could even hear the cry.
Bollux, thought Alaria. Waiting for the “right moments” would only get them all killed.
“Everx zaar!” the wizardess exploded. The speed with which the energy raced around and through her surprised Alaria, herself. A corner of her mind smiled at her apparent increasing aptitude with the power.
Two shards of violet-blue energy darted forth from her outstretched arm. Each flew up and around her companions, one to land on the lead ghoul embattled by Coerraine, the other streaked up and over the plate-clad dwarf to strike his foe. Both struck true, barely faltering the creatures but disorienting them enough to allow both the paladin and dwarven warrior to get close enough to land solid blows.
Another volley of flaming bolts flew at the creatures. Two struck. Three missed, bouncing and skidding harmlessly on the cobblestones.
“Deisa Faerantha, dicteus beneficia spiritos y tiem paras .” <cleric spell: Bless> The divine invocation seemed to echo through the battle area. A honey-colored glow burst into view surrounding all of the weapons present except for the druid’s spear (which maintained its greenish sheen) and Kurden’s broadsword, awash in white light of its own.
Erevan was surprised to see that even his bow flared with the momentary divine light. The halfling was obviously increasing in power, the elf thought as he nocked another arrow from the pail of flaming pitch.
A momentary breeze flew across the companions. It dispelled the rancorous odor of the undead, filling their senses, instead, with the scent of summer rain and pine trees. In the wake of the cleared air, Haelan was washed of his fear and filled with the divine peace of his goddess’ favor. A look of fervent determination came over the Hilltender.
“’Bout bloody time, hairfoot!” Duor shouted across the field of battle.
With their newly empowered weapons, Borsem and the remaining townsman (with assistance by Fen) were able to destroy the two ghouls.
Coerraine and Kordun, with another peppering of flaming arrows, dispatched the leader and final ghoul.
For a moment, all stood tense and waiting, half-expecting the creatures to leap up again. Instead, the gaunt grey frames remained fallen, hissing quietly as they unnatural bodies continued to give off wisps of smoke within Coerraine’s protection field.
A moment later, the smoking stopped as Coerraine relaxed and released the defensive power.
“That…was…LOCKHORNS!” raved the satyr from the doorway. He pranced and clip-clopped out onto the cobblestone road. “My first battle with the Stormriders did not disappoint. HOOHOO!” Festus skipped around the other heroes on the street with a broad smile on his face. “Imagine the songs that will be sung of the ‘Heroes of Shafton’!”
Alaria and Coerraine scowled disapprovingly at the satyr’s exuberance in the face of the dead townsman.
The satyr, not losing his smile, looked at the mage and paladin. “C’mon…That was lockhorns.”
Borsem, who consoled the remaining man (the fallen’s brother), Bret. “The threat is not over, Festus. But it is a good start.”
The bodies of the ghouls were dragged over to the barricade. A couple were tossed over the sharpened spikes as a warning, though Coerraine seriously doubted that other ghouls would care.
Erevan readied to descend from his vantage point when his ears twitched at a sound.
The elf sniffed the air.
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A band of clouds moving between the high peaks shrouded the green moon, the slender curve of the silver moon provided only the most minimal light. The white light glimmered across Erevan’s pale grey tresses, giving the elf’s hair the otherworldly appearance of liquid silver.
“Make ready! More of the creatures are coming.” Erevan called down to his companions and turned to see three more ghouls clambering up onto the slate roof of the neighboring building. The elf’s almond shaped eyes widened in horror and he drew arrows with fluid speed.
Even to the elf’s enhanced vision, the unnatural creatures barely appeared as outlines of dark space marginally cooler than the night air. His first arrow flew harmlessly between and passed the blurry images. I need more light, Erevan thought.
“Liet!”<mage cantrip: Light> shouted the elf as he made a throwing motion with his arm. The elf felt the energy of the simple enchantment rise through his arm and fly from his fingertips. In a moment, a ball of yellowish white light burst at the roof’s edge.
Erevan cursed that it had not landed upon the face of one of the creatures as was his intention. But the sudden burst of light did give the creatures pause and the halted their advance for a moment as the harsh new light ignited in their darkvision.
“Orcass.” Duor muttered staring up at the rooftop where the light shone.
“Erevan get away from there!” called Alaria. Her hand went to the crystal orb in her pouch.
“Yaix ar Yomarus, benfica Faerantha urmu”. <cleric spell: Light> Haelan chanted near her and the área of the héroes was encompassed by a soft golden glow, like the coming light of dawn.
The dwarf Kurn was running to the barricade and sprinkling it with the powdery contents of a large pouch. “Hurry! Hurry! Make ready, friend Duor!” the russet bearded dwarf called.
Duor returned to the doorway where the all but spent pail of burning pitch laid. Only enough to light one more bolt, Duor noticed with disappointment. This had better work, he thought.
“Back away, make for the square!” commanded Sergeant Borsem. He and the townsman, Bret, began making their way back to the switchback to the lower town.
Festus followed, backing away with a knocked arrow, awaiting the other companions’ retreat before he would fully flee.
The dwarf fighter, Kordun waited for his brother to throw the remains of the pouch’s contents on the barricade and then the two of them raced back down the road, pausing some thirty feet behind the daelvar priest and mage.
Coerraine cursed himself for dispelling his protective field. The paladin would not be able to summon Celradorn’s grace in such a manner til the following day. The Redstar Knight waited until the dwarf had nocked a smoldering dart into his hand crossbow and then they too moved away from the barricade.
The odor fell upon them again. Thankfully, the residual effects of Haelan’s blessing kept the smell from overpowering any of them.
Then, to the horror of all present, more ghouls began to crawl around the bend up the road from the barricade. Two. Then Four. Ten? More!
“Yeh said there were twelve!” Duor protested loudly to Borsem. The Bridgetower guard made no reply.
They moved slowly. They snarled and howled and ‘laughed’ in that maniacal sound. Some climbed over each other as they came. Some jumped up onto the wall of the building next to them and slowly crawled along the wall itself. All had the sickly grey flesh and long purple tongues licked fang-filled maws. Some were still in the tatters of villager clothing.
Alaria noticed, with disgust, that two still have the shredded remains of brown cowls around and small stone amulets on chains around their necks…the poor “survivors” of the smith god Dunric’s shrine further up the mountain, no doubt.
“Haelan, come on. We need to regroup.” Alaria said calmly. It was all she could do not to bolt in panic herself at the increasing numbers of undead that rounded the bend and made their way toward the barricade. With expert training, she steadied her mind in preparation to conjure the powers of the Ihs Repahl.
The Hilltender stood, now resolute in his goddess’ power, all trace of insecurity and fear had left him. He seemed to be concentrating and refused to take a step back.
“C’mon yeh idiot hairfoot!” said Duor. “Dwarven ingenuity will win the night. Save yer prayers fer later. Lest yeh wanna be a bushy-toed candle.” The dwarf gripped the halfling by the shoulder and shook him from his place.
Haelan looked annoyed but did begin moving back.
Erevan had taken Alaria’s advice and was bounding along the rooftops back toward the switchback. The rooftop ghouls were given chase at full speed. Thankfully, the fleet-footed elf maintained his perfect balance while the creatures scrambled and slipped, knocking slate tiles free that crashed loudly to the ground below. He was well ahead before turning to face them on the last building before the road curved back and down to the lower village.
Two arrows left his bow.
One bolt stuck with enough force to send one of the scrambling ghouls near the edge of the roof down upon the sharpened stakes of the barricade below. It was not dead…or, well, destroyed (it was already ‘dead’, technically speaking)…but it thrashed and howled unable to free itself from the impalement.
The other struck the leading ghoul in the shoulder but did not deter its advance.
With the howls and thrashing of the impaled ghoul, the rest of the now quite large group of carnivorous undead surged forward. Several fell upon the still living creature, others tore with claw and fang into the recently defeated ghouls. Two landed upon the corpse of the townsman Ferdrik and ate hungrily, fending other would-be feeders away angrily. The bulk of the creatures bounded, climbed and clamored over the barricade with their bulging bloodshot eyes firmly fixed on the still living flesh on the road before them.
“Now, Duor! Now!” Kurn cried.
“A little magical fire would help too. If you would, boss lady.” Duor said offhandedly to Alaria.
The magess caught his meaning, though she expected the wooden furniture that comprised most of the humble fortification would take some time to catch. With a casual thought and flick of her finger a single dart of flame shot toward the barricade.
Duor, who had been puffing patiently on the smoldering bolt on his crossbow, took aim and fired the flame-tipped bolt.
The dart and the flicker of magic fire struck the barricade simultaneously and the entire wall of stakes and furniture and bodies erupted into a veritable wall of fire!
Alaria, indeed all of the companions, reflexively jolted at the (unexpected for several of them) burst of flames and heat.
Ghouls shrieked and flared around. Even the ones on the body of Ferdrik ignited in the rush of fire. They whirled and capered and rolled around on the ground as the cursed fire ate into their undead bodies.
A few of the creatures attempted to leap over the flames, arriving scorched and smoking on the companions’ side. The bulk of the creatures were writhing in the cleansing fire. A total of four of the creatures were crawling slowly toward the heroes. Their advance was halted as their twisted minds attempted to gage if the living flesh before them was assailable or if they needed to lick their burning wounds.
“HOOHOO! Let’s hear it for ‘dwarven ingenuity’!” laughed Festus.
Alaria, again, found the satyr ranger’s apparent delight to be distasteful. They were, quite obviously to the R'Hathi, far from safe.
“Not so fast, satyr.” Kordun said solemnly.
As if in response to the dwarf’s comment, the flames subsided. Much of the barricade was still on fire, but the “wall” of fire had diminished greatly to show a half dozen ghouls still waiting on the other side, halted before the flames.
“Firestone powder burns bright and hot, but very quickly.” The dwarf explained.
“Which is why…” Kurn said. “we have a back-up. If you would, friend Festus…when the rest of the creatures begin to approach.”
Four ghouls before the barricade, six behind. The ones in front of the companions howled down the road in defiance and began to bound forward.
“Ehm. Ya think they’re close enough to the flames?” the satyr said, now sounding nervous.
“That would seem to be my part.” Said Haelan self-assuredly.
The halfling took a single step forward to stand between all of his friends and the rapidly approaching four ghouls. He did not raise his mace, nor his shield, but instead grabbed the silver chain that hung around his neck and withdrew the amulet engraved with the pinecone symbol of Faerantha that normally hung beneath his short green tabard. He held it aloft and the amulet and halfling himself seemed to pulse with holy power.
“Begone ye foul boils upon the Hill. Affronts to the Harvest Mother, all. Ye cannot assail Her power. BEGONE!” the daelvar intoned.
The whole area around the companions again filled with the scent of pine trees and honey, summer rain and fresh wheat bread. A golden glow glimmered in an instant about the cleric, his raised amulet, indeed the very air. The glimmer became a flare and Haelan stood in defiance of these atrocious creatures, a three-and-a-half foot tall ball of golden sun.
The charging ghouls skidded to a halt, cowering from the divine energies swirling before them. The holy light burned. The celestial odors assailed their deviant senses. It was pain. It was an inner fire that assaulted their darkened souls. It was HOLY!
All four of the ghouls raced with all speed back toward the significantly less painful fires of the barricade. There they cowered, trapped between the scorching flames and this divine honey-colored sun.
Haelan stood immobile. The blazing grace of the Hill Mother flowed through him. He was enwrapt in Her divine bosum. Haelan knew, beyond knowing, that he would never falter in the face of the undead again.
“Um. Now would be good, goat-butt.” Duor said in quiet awe to the satyr who stood beside him with a small clutch of red gemstones in the pocket of his sling.
The satyr, broken from his own awe, “Huh? Oh right. Right!” The satyr swung his sling several times, the simple leather thong whirling into a blur before he released one of the straps and a handful of small red crystals flew with exacting purpose onto the dwindling flames of the barricade.
There was a moment for doubt that the crystals had made their mark as they clattered down among the burning wood. But, only a moment.
The entire barricade, the trapped ghouls ‘turned’ by Haelan and the ghouls who’d yet to dare the fiery mound exploded into a ball of fire. The likes of which Alaria could recall seeing only once, in a demonstration spell by her master, some time ago.
Burned and burning, scorched and blackened wood and limbs of grey flesh flew in all directions. The force of the blast knocked in the boarding on the two buildings closest the barricade. Hair and tabards, beards and cloaks blew behind the companions.
Haelan was sent flying back from his hairy feet. The daelvar priest was halted, or more accurately ‘caught’, against the stalwart thighs of the paladin.
Alaria was knocked back to be caught by the dwarf, Kordun, who smiled broadly.
“And that, friend Festus, is dwarven ingenuity.” Said the russet-bearded Kurn with a smile to rival his brother’s.
For a moment the companions stood, staring spellbound at the remains of their assailants. Then, a melodic if somewhat strained voice came down to them.
“Ehm. That is indeed impressive, but…A LITTLE HELP UP HERE!?” Erevan called.
“Make ready! More of the creatures are coming.” Erevan called down to his companions and turned to see three more ghouls clambering up onto the slate roof of the neighboring building. The elf’s almond shaped eyes widened in horror and he drew arrows with fluid speed.
Even to the elf’s enhanced vision, the unnatural creatures barely appeared as outlines of dark space marginally cooler than the night air. His first arrow flew harmlessly between and passed the blurry images. I need more light, Erevan thought.
“Liet!”<mage cantrip: Light> shouted the elf as he made a throwing motion with his arm. The elf felt the energy of the simple enchantment rise through his arm and fly from his fingertips. In a moment, a ball of yellowish white light burst at the roof’s edge.
Erevan cursed that it had not landed upon the face of one of the creatures as was his intention. But the sudden burst of light did give the creatures pause and the halted their advance for a moment as the harsh new light ignited in their darkvision.
“Orcass.” Duor muttered staring up at the rooftop where the light shone.
“Erevan get away from there!” called Alaria. Her hand went to the crystal orb in her pouch.
“Yaix ar Yomarus, benfica Faerantha urmu”. <cleric spell: Light> Haelan chanted near her and the área of the héroes was encompassed by a soft golden glow, like the coming light of dawn.
The dwarf Kurn was running to the barricade and sprinkling it with the powdery contents of a large pouch. “Hurry! Hurry! Make ready, friend Duor!” the russet bearded dwarf called.
Duor returned to the doorway where the all but spent pail of burning pitch laid. Only enough to light one more bolt, Duor noticed with disappointment. This had better work, he thought.
“Back away, make for the square!” commanded Sergeant Borsem. He and the townsman, Bret, began making their way back to the switchback to the lower town.
Festus followed, backing away with a knocked arrow, awaiting the other companions’ retreat before he would fully flee.
The dwarf fighter, Kordun waited for his brother to throw the remains of the pouch’s contents on the barricade and then the two of them raced back down the road, pausing some thirty feet behind the daelvar priest and mage.
Coerraine cursed himself for dispelling his protective field. The paladin would not be able to summon Celradorn’s grace in such a manner til the following day. The Redstar Knight waited until the dwarf had nocked a smoldering dart into his hand crossbow and then they too moved away from the barricade.
The odor fell upon them again. Thankfully, the residual effects of Haelan’s blessing kept the smell from overpowering any of them.
Then, to the horror of all present, more ghouls began to crawl around the bend up the road from the barricade. Two. Then Four. Ten? More!
“Yeh said there were twelve!” Duor protested loudly to Borsem. The Bridgetower guard made no reply.
They moved slowly. They snarled and howled and ‘laughed’ in that maniacal sound. Some climbed over each other as they came. Some jumped up onto the wall of the building next to them and slowly crawled along the wall itself. All had the sickly grey flesh and long purple tongues licked fang-filled maws. Some were still in the tatters of villager clothing.
Alaria noticed, with disgust, that two still have the shredded remains of brown cowls around and small stone amulets on chains around their necks…the poor “survivors” of the smith god Dunric’s shrine further up the mountain, no doubt.
“Haelan, come on. We need to regroup.” Alaria said calmly. It was all she could do not to bolt in panic herself at the increasing numbers of undead that rounded the bend and made their way toward the barricade. With expert training, she steadied her mind in preparation to conjure the powers of the Ihs Repahl.
The Hilltender stood, now resolute in his goddess’ power, all trace of insecurity and fear had left him. He seemed to be concentrating and refused to take a step back.
“C’mon yeh idiot hairfoot!” said Duor. “Dwarven ingenuity will win the night. Save yer prayers fer later. Lest yeh wanna be a bushy-toed candle.” The dwarf gripped the halfling by the shoulder and shook him from his place.
Haelan looked annoyed but did begin moving back.
Erevan had taken Alaria’s advice and was bounding along the rooftops back toward the switchback. The rooftop ghouls were given chase at full speed. Thankfully, the fleet-footed elf maintained his perfect balance while the creatures scrambled and slipped, knocking slate tiles free that crashed loudly to the ground below. He was well ahead before turning to face them on the last building before the road curved back and down to the lower village.
Two arrows left his bow.
One bolt stuck with enough force to send one of the scrambling ghouls near the edge of the roof down upon the sharpened stakes of the barricade below. It was not dead…or, well, destroyed (it was already ‘dead’, technically speaking)…but it thrashed and howled unable to free itself from the impalement.
The other struck the leading ghoul in the shoulder but did not deter its advance.
With the howls and thrashing of the impaled ghoul, the rest of the now quite large group of carnivorous undead surged forward. Several fell upon the still living creature, others tore with claw and fang into the recently defeated ghouls. Two landed upon the corpse of the townsman Ferdrik and ate hungrily, fending other would-be feeders away angrily. The bulk of the creatures bounded, climbed and clamored over the barricade with their bulging bloodshot eyes firmly fixed on the still living flesh on the road before them.
“Now, Duor! Now!” Kurn cried.
“A little magical fire would help too. If you would, boss lady.” Duor said offhandedly to Alaria.
The magess caught his meaning, though she expected the wooden furniture that comprised most of the humble fortification would take some time to catch. With a casual thought and flick of her finger a single dart of flame shot toward the barricade.
Duor, who had been puffing patiently on the smoldering bolt on his crossbow, took aim and fired the flame-tipped bolt.
The dart and the flicker of magic fire struck the barricade simultaneously and the entire wall of stakes and furniture and bodies erupted into a veritable wall of fire!
Alaria, indeed all of the companions, reflexively jolted at the (unexpected for several of them) burst of flames and heat.
Ghouls shrieked and flared around. Even the ones on the body of Ferdrik ignited in the rush of fire. They whirled and capered and rolled around on the ground as the cursed fire ate into their undead bodies.
A few of the creatures attempted to leap over the flames, arriving scorched and smoking on the companions’ side. The bulk of the creatures were writhing in the cleansing fire. A total of four of the creatures were crawling slowly toward the heroes. Their advance was halted as their twisted minds attempted to gage if the living flesh before them was assailable or if they needed to lick their burning wounds.
“HOOHOO! Let’s hear it for ‘dwarven ingenuity’!” laughed Festus.
Alaria, again, found the satyr ranger’s apparent delight to be distasteful. They were, quite obviously to the R'Hathi, far from safe.
“Not so fast, satyr.” Kordun said solemnly.
As if in response to the dwarf’s comment, the flames subsided. Much of the barricade was still on fire, but the “wall” of fire had diminished greatly to show a half dozen ghouls still waiting on the other side, halted before the flames.
“Firestone powder burns bright and hot, but very quickly.” The dwarf explained.
“Which is why…” Kurn said. “we have a back-up. If you would, friend Festus…when the rest of the creatures begin to approach.”
Four ghouls before the barricade, six behind. The ones in front of the companions howled down the road in defiance and began to bound forward.
“Ehm. Ya think they’re close enough to the flames?” the satyr said, now sounding nervous.
“That would seem to be my part.” Said Haelan self-assuredly.
The halfling took a single step forward to stand between all of his friends and the rapidly approaching four ghouls. He did not raise his mace, nor his shield, but instead grabbed the silver chain that hung around his neck and withdrew the amulet engraved with the pinecone symbol of Faerantha that normally hung beneath his short green tabard. He held it aloft and the amulet and halfling himself seemed to pulse with holy power.
“Begone ye foul boils upon the Hill. Affronts to the Harvest Mother, all. Ye cannot assail Her power. BEGONE!” the daelvar intoned.
The whole area around the companions again filled with the scent of pine trees and honey, summer rain and fresh wheat bread. A golden glow glimmered in an instant about the cleric, his raised amulet, indeed the very air. The glimmer became a flare and Haelan stood in defiance of these atrocious creatures, a three-and-a-half foot tall ball of golden sun.
The charging ghouls skidded to a halt, cowering from the divine energies swirling before them. The holy light burned. The celestial odors assailed their deviant senses. It was pain. It was an inner fire that assaulted their darkened souls. It was HOLY!
All four of the ghouls raced with all speed back toward the significantly less painful fires of the barricade. There they cowered, trapped between the scorching flames and this divine honey-colored sun.
Haelan stood immobile. The blazing grace of the Hill Mother flowed through him. He was enwrapt in Her divine bosum. Haelan knew, beyond knowing, that he would never falter in the face of the undead again.
“Um. Now would be good, goat-butt.” Duor said in quiet awe to the satyr who stood beside him with a small clutch of red gemstones in the pocket of his sling.
The satyr, broken from his own awe, “Huh? Oh right. Right!” The satyr swung his sling several times, the simple leather thong whirling into a blur before he released one of the straps and a handful of small red crystals flew with exacting purpose onto the dwindling flames of the barricade.
There was a moment for doubt that the crystals had made their mark as they clattered down among the burning wood. But, only a moment.
The entire barricade, the trapped ghouls ‘turned’ by Haelan and the ghouls who’d yet to dare the fiery mound exploded into a ball of fire. The likes of which Alaria could recall seeing only once, in a demonstration spell by her master, some time ago.
Burned and burning, scorched and blackened wood and limbs of grey flesh flew in all directions. The force of the blast knocked in the boarding on the two buildings closest the barricade. Hair and tabards, beards and cloaks blew behind the companions.
Haelan was sent flying back from his hairy feet. The daelvar priest was halted, or more accurately ‘caught’, against the stalwart thighs of the paladin.
Alaria was knocked back to be caught by the dwarf, Kordun, who smiled broadly.
“And that, friend Festus, is dwarven ingenuity.” Said the russet-bearded Kurn with a smile to rival his brother’s.
For a moment the companions stood, staring spellbound at the remains of their assailants. Then, a melodic if somewhat strained voice came down to them.
“Ehm. That is indeed impressive, but…A LITTLE HELP UP HERE!?” Erevan called.
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