Steel Dragon's "Tales of Orea"

Karg the goblin stared at the ceiling of his large canvas tent that he shared with a half dozen other goblins from various tribes. He was alone. All but one of Karg's tent-mates had gone off with the Master for the night's assault on the elves.

Karg had been assigned to clean up the worg droppings being left all over camp. As appealing as his detail was, Karg couldn't help feeling slighted. He was, after all, a warrior of the Bloody Talon. He'd finished in no time and returned to his tent a few minutes before all the hells had opened around the camp.

The other goblin who was in the tent had gone running off at the sounding of the alarm and all of the chaos of the wolves and zarx and shouting hobgoblins. Not being a member of Karg's Bloody Talon tribe, he really could care less what happened to the other goblin...damned no good "Rancid Meat" tribe or some such.

Damned no good Rancid Meat goblins.

This caused the goblins small mind to wander...it had been several weeks since he'd seen any other Bloody Talon goblins around camp. When they'd first arrived, they were the always at the Bulgruch's side...his trusted soldiers. The Bulgruch had led them out from their hunting grounds. The Bloody Talon was the FIRST goblins to heed the Bulgruch's cry to war.

But since the damned no good "hobo's" showed up...and after them the black-robed humans with their skull masks, Karg and his fellows had been pushed further and further from the Bulgruch.

Maybe he was the last warrior of the Bloody Talon left? He could return to their territory in the south and claim all of the females for himself! When had he last seen another Bloody Talon goblin...?

The thought did not have time to run through the goblin's memory before a hairfoot with a crimson shirt and blue-grey cloak trailing behind came rushing into his tent.

The daelvar raced through the length of the tent without even looking at Karg. He slashed an "X" in the opposite wall of the tent before diving through.

Karg was similarly unmoved, though did raise an eyebrow as a brown bearded dwarf burst through the tent flaps, close on the hairfoot's heels shouting, "Hurry! Hurry!" before he, too, dove through the small opening the first demi-human had just carved into his tent.

Even as the boots of the dwarf disappeared out of view, a worg's huge head, snapping massive fang-filled jaws, and shoulders bounded into the tent. The beast barreled right into the central pole holding up the tent. It easily tore the tent from its stakes and the whole canvas domicile was ripped up from the ground, entirely entrapping the great lumbering monster-wolf which fell in a writhing mass of fabric and ropes and wooden stakes. Howling and growling and barking in fury to disentangle itself.

Before it had a chance, the hairfoot and the dwarf were upon the creature, stabbing wildly through the canvas with daggers...one of which, the dwarf's, glowed a smoky eerie green energy.

As the blood stains began to soak the remains of the tent and seep out from under it, the two stoutfolk raced off into the night.

"Uh...hunh." Karg murmured blankly.

Karg's eyes followed them and then, dumbly, looked around the camp from his now-exposed bedding.

Disarray was everywhere. There were shouting hobo's and Black Fang goblins arguing. Damned no good Black Fang goblins but 'least they were better than the damned no good hobo's.

Zarx and worgs knocked over water barrels and crashed into other tents as they did battle to determine who would be eating whom. Karg didn't really care not being one of the zarx-riders, himself, just a simple infantry-goblin. Damned no good worgs.

Then a great muscled human with huge feathered wings flew over his head.

Karg's lip twitched to the side a bit. He exhaled a soft "Mm'hm." and then nodded to himself.

The goblin soldier calmly got off the tattered elvin cloaks and tunics that had formed his bedding.

Karg pulled a lump of moldy bread and the maggot-infested remains of an elf's forearm he had been hording out from under his sleeping place.

He collected the "food", a half full skin of bloodwine, and two sacks of elf trinkets he'd buried beneath his sleeping place, accumulated from the battlefield over his almost two months on the front.

Karg tied all of it in a blood-stained elvin cloth at the end of his spear.

He shouldered the weapon, placed his ill-fitted helmet on his mottled green head and silently began the long trudge into the night, south and east, toward his tribe's ancestral territory.

Nope, Karg realized. He had not seen a Bloody Talon goblin in almost two weeks. Maybe they'd all left already and not told Karg. Damned no good Bloody Talon goblins.

Yay, new post, at long last. And a nice one, too, as I think this is the first time you've written something from an enemy's point of view.

Between Erilyn's magical assault and Fen's quick stab with his mystically enhanced leaftip spear, the shadow snake had not gotten to the smoke vent in the top of the pavilion, as seemed to be its intention. The creature hissed out of existence, back to the shadow realm from which it was summoned.

The bursts of magical energies, however, had attracted the attention of the bugbear guards at the grand tent's entrance. Both of the seven foot tall hairy goblins poked in their curious heads and then roared and charged to see the green-cloaked half-elf. THe elfin lady, Fen realized was suspiciously absent from view.

"I've gotta get me one of those cloaks." Fen thought to himself as he set his spear against the side of his foot and braced for the first bugbear's attack.

As intended, the beast's great size and mass did the work for Fen, thoroughly impaling itself on the spear. Unfortunately, the bugbear's reach was more than enough to hammer Fen with his great spiked morningstar.

The druid went flying nearly across the whole tent, bouncing and sliding over the large table, sending maps and papers flying everywhere, as he landed hard on the opposite side of the table.

Fen shook his head and look up in time to see the two blurry bugbears trudging toward him turn into one not blurry one. The creature raised its club banded with iron studs over its head with both hands.

Fen wished the ringing in his ears would subside so he could conentrate enough to think of a spell...but in his daze, "This is gonna hurt." was all Fen's mind could come up with.

The bellow of the bugbear turned into a bloody gurgled *urk.*

Fen managed to roll, putting himself further from the table, as the second bugbear fell where the druid had previously been scrambling on hands and knees.

The lady Erilyn stood on the bugbear's back and yanked two slender and elegantly crafted dirks from teh goblinoid's broad back.

She smirked at the half-elf nd Fen managed to get out a "My thanks, la..." before the first bugbear roared up, the spear still sticking from its chest and began to force its way passed the table between it and the druid.

It did not get two steps before a slender elegantly crafted dagger was sticking out of its right eye.

The head fell very near to Fen. He pulled, with some disgust, the dirk from the goblinoid's face.

"I believe this belongs to you." he grinned his charming crooked grin and offered the weapon to the elf sorceress. As she nimbly jumped from the back of the second bugbear, onto the table, and then onto the back of the first bugbear to pull the leaftip spear out...from the back side.

"And this, I believe, is yours good druid." Erilyn retorted. She handed the gore covered spear to the half-elf.

Fen grimaced at the condition of his sacred weapon.

"Come on..." the elf lady said somewhat coolly. "We're going to have more visitors sooner than later, now, I suspect." she wandered into the adjacent chamber, separated from the main tent with hanging fabrics of apparent worth and various pelts and furs.

There was a brazier in this chamber also, though smaller than the main. A bed draped in more fabrics and furs. There was a large chest next to the bed. It was obviously locked and the elf lady immediately pulled small picks from somewhere on her person and began to fiddle with the lock.

A smaller table was piled with various bowls, vials, decanters, goblets and more than a few scrolls, animal parts, multiple candles...wizard's stuff, Fen knew without Erilyn saying a thing. The half-elf began looking through what he could, doing his best not to accidentally touch or activate anything magical as he did so.

One scroll in particular caught the druid's attention...not so much because of what it said, but because of what he couldn't tell. It was written in what looked similar to elvin script, yet most of the words did were not elvin words, to Fen's knowledge. It just looked like a bit of nonsense. But the words "Nor Tyrilith" and "Desaarthal" stuck out to Fen's eyes like they were written across the sky.

Erilyn easily bypassed the magical and mechanical traps and lock of the chest to find it contain nothing but some items of gold and valuable furs, a bag of gemstones...monetary stuff. Erilyn was not interested in monetary stuff...at this time. If this was the Black Drake's chamber, then were was his spellbook?

She grabbed the pouch of gems and joined Fen rifling through the table's contents.

He showed her the message he had found to see if she could make sense of the elf-like letters and words. The rogue-wizardess admitted she could not, and this thoroughly piqued her curiosity.

They rifled a bit more and removed a silk handkerchief to reveal a shallow dish of unknown dark grey metal that appeared to have an inky black liquid in it.

"Now this is something I'd expect a dark wizard to have." Erilyn said more to herself than Fen.

"What is it?" the druid asked, sensing something cold and evil begin to lay upon the ether of the room.

"I don't know!" Erilyn said with a surprising, though very lovely, smile. "Isn't that great!?"

"Uhhh..." Fen replied, unsure what to make of her response.

"Well, it's magic. I'd stake my cloak on that. Possibly some sort of scrying device...or communicative..." Erilyn continued, again more to herself than the half-elf who was right beside her.

Without another thought or word for the druid, the elf magess spoke a simple magical term quite familiar to the druid, "Arkanavis."

"Yup...magic. I knew it...but what..." the lady's turquoise glowing eyes narrowed as she peered hard at the device, trying to discern the various types of enchantment upon it...it was, Erilyn thought to herself, "muddled" fir lack of a more precise term.

Fen watched the elf woman with some concern. He watched as the surface of the inky liquid began to ripple of its own accord. He listened as a ghostly disembodied voice rose up in the chamber...it spoke words which sounded cold and almost seemed to manifest darkness even as they sounded.

Erilyn didn't seem phased by this spooky occurrance but peered even closer into the dish. "What...is it?"

Whether she spoke to him or the ghostly voice, Fen could not tell.

Fen was almost positive that he saw the image of narrow violet glowing eyes staring up out of the ink as the ripples went from radiating out from the center to shifting one side to another...then it was top to bottom...and then the ripples returned to radiating from the center.

In a flash a dark grey arm ending with a hand of long narrow fingers tipped in lengthy nails reached up out of the black fluid in the dish and grasped Erilyn's throat with apparent force.

Neither the elf lady nor the half-elf druid could dislodge the vice-like grip. Erilyn was being thoroughly choked, her own hands gripping the wrist of the glossy grey arm reaching from the dish.

Without any other ideas, Fen swiped at the dish, knocking it off of the table.

The arm seemed to fall from Erilyn's throat, like liquid, though nothing actually touched the floor.

The black inky liquid in the dish, however, did not splatter from the shallow dish. Fen flipped the dish over with his spear tip to find the black inky fluid still within the shallow depression, seemingly undisturbed by being flung or upside down or anything else.

"Seems we're even, master druid. The thanks are now mine to offer." Erilyn said, after a few coughs, massaging her throat.

"So, what is it?" Fen asked hesitantly.

"That, my good Fen, will have to wait and require a bit more...shall we say 'cautious' research." Erilyn smiled weakly as she carefully picked up the dish and placed it, gently, in a leather satchel that she wore beneath her enchanted cloak that Fen had not, until then, noticed.

The druid and rogue-magess gave the chamber another once over, searching under the multiple furs and fabrics, the bedframe, under the ornate rugs that were scattered around the floor.

Erilyn was thoroughly disheartened by their failure to find the wizard's spellbook. She suggested to Fen in defeat that the wizard must keep it on his person...as many mages were want to do.

They did, however, find a few more parchments and letters, mostly in languages Fen didn't understand, but Erilyn was able to determine a few of them were in Draconic. A cursory glance of those told them that Tresahd was in communications with someone named "Galtin", another reoccurring name was "Braneuil" <"bran-WEE-il"> and, the one Fen knew full well, "Rach'sha."

The messages seemed to mostly be giving orders, some responded to unknown queries. They would all require more time for a thorough examination, the elvin sorceress admitted. "My dragon-tongue isn't really what it should be."

"That seems like proof to me." Fen said. "Let's find Pyrnion and the small ones and get out of here."

Erilyn nodded her agreement and the two cautiously slipped out of the pavillion tent.

Ah, update! I like that goblin. Clever guy.

I wish our game would go more quick so I could keep updating, too.

The bastard sword called Kandu veritably sang in Braddok's hand as it cleaved and sliced, chopped and cut its way through the ranks of the undead. The blue glow from the sapphires in its hilt ensconced the blade in a flame-like light. More than once, Braddok felt like he was not even the one directing the blade, just his arm being pulled along behind it.

It didn't much matter to the simple fighting man, a destroyed zombie was a destroyed zombie, whether it was his hand or the sword itself mattered rather little. But the ringing in Braddok's brain of the sword's utter glee and exuberance, hoops and hollers, battle cries in some ancient tongue or actual guffaws at returning to its forged purpose after so long neglected was starting to annoy him.

The sword easily dispatched a bugbear skeleton before Braddok felt a chilling rake in his side where a trio of ghouls lunged forward for a fresh meal.

The blue light that surrounded the blade flared slightly and the paralytic cold of the foul creature seemed to course through the fighter's body, away from the wound, focus up to his sword arm and down its length, out his palm into the handle of the sword, fully leaving his body.

"Hey, thanks!" Braddok said with some mild surprise before decapitating the first ghoul.

"Kandu's promise...no effect of the Unholy will again effect your body or soul so long as my jeweled scabbard is upon you." said the sword's voice into Braddok's mind.

"Well, whatever it is, unh!" Braddok paused to hack the arm off of one of the other ghouls, "it's appreciated."

The sudden scent of honey and pine trees assaulted the warrior's nose and he knew that somewhere nearby Haelan was again invoking his goddess's might to hinder the various undead swirling around them. How many more times could the poor little halfling manage such a dramatic feat, Braddok found himself wondering.

His gaze lifted for a moment in the fighting, after slaying the third ghoul, to take in his surroundings and find Alaria.

A large swathe of the Shi'Aiiniri was coated in an almost day-bright light, (one of Haelan's first invocations when the battle was joined) helping to keep some of the undead shadows away from the elvin infantry, as well as hindering the living goblin troops. Braddok had a moment of relief to notice that the number of undead about the field seemed greatly reduced and un-zombified goblins and hobgoblins were beginning to move in.

It would be a great help for the real morning to come, but Braddok knew that was still hours away. Kandu, essential yanked his arm up to stab through a zombie-bear that came shambling up on his left. With a simple yank and jerk, the unfortunate creature was sliced in twain.

But where was Alaria?!

A streak of lightning followed by a low rumble of thunder. Looked at least 50' away from somewhere near the elvin captain atop the stag. She was too far. He needed to get closer.

The elf raised his slender curved sword and shouted a command Braddok did not understand. Lowering his sword toward the enemy a veritable rainbow of colored shards and bolts of energy sailed up and over the closest foes to land in the living ranks now entering the fray. Braddok smirked to himself, believing a few violet-blue bolts he saw were Alaria's own.

He blocked an attack from the swiping claws of a skeletal puma on his shield before dispatching it and charged in the direction of the magess, striking at anything that wasn't an elf as he went.

*Bump* (is it inappropriate to bump oneself?)

Sorry for the false alarm. But saw I was rather near the bottom and will be posting later today. So just didn't want to "lose" it.

I'll take the time to make apologies here for the lack of posts in the passed few months.

Some life stuff. Holidays. And I've been working on getting an Orea campaign setting book together for publication...which then spun off into a "game system" to go along with it...which spun off into so many other multiple things. Need to just get back to the actual SETTING stuff. lol.

So, figured I'd return here with the Stormriders and get re-focused (is that a word?) on the world of Orea (not to mention you lovely patient readers are more than overdue!).

More later. Hope everyone's having a nice December thus far.
--SD

Haelan ducked from the swiping skeletal goblin. A solid smash with his mace put an end to that. He looked out before him at the wave of undead before him.

"Was this the third one? The fourth?" the daelvar wondered with some exhaustion, to himself.

Haelan jolted in surprise as a shower of small bone shard sprayed over him like rain from his right. He turned to see an elf in midnight blue robes and silvery stars and crescent moons all along the trim. The silvery white haired elf gave Haelan a momentary grin before whirling his staff around him to decimate another skeleton on his flank.

The top of the staff held the up-turned crescent moon and trio of stars that, as Healan recalled form his teachings, symbolized the greater moon goddess, Arinane. She was much revered by the elves, Haelan knew. The daelvar was equally impressed that the relatively thin silver, decorative looking top of the staff seemed capable of cleaving through the undead like butter left out at a summer picnic too long.

"Keep your wits, my Hill-tending friend. We shall not let these affronts to the gods take you from us this night!" the elf smiled.

Haelan smiled back, more out of the similarity the full-blooded elf's words sounded like his half-blooded elf friend's.

Almost before Haelan could react, the odor wafted over the field across the two priests. Haelan gagged and grabbed his holy pinecome symbol...again! He knew that smell all too well and wasn't about to let any ghouls lay a paralyzing talon on himself or his new friend.

The scents of honey and pine filled the area and dismissed the "ghoul stank" as Duor liked to say. It also gave the Arinanish priest and the Hilltender a wide diameter of breathing room, as skeleton and zombie goblinoids shattered and turned to dust in the honey colored glory that was Faerantha's might. Those that did not, as well as the, as yet unseen, ghouls beat a hasty retreat.

"I don't think I'll ever tire of that." smiled the elf moon-priest. "You really must tell me how that's done when this is all over."

Then Haelan noticed that between his toes was a literal layer of this undead "dust." Had they truly been fighting THAT many creatures! "Ew gross, " Haelan complained, "I'm stepping in zombie!"

It was only moments after the "turning" corona faded from the very tired daelvar priest that it seemed a breeze whipped up...yet there was no breeze. All across the field before him, and through his very toes, the undead grey dust and bone shards seemed to "blow" and roll and sweep up together...Another few moments and a brand new force of undead creatures was again facing the elvin troops.

Haelan exhaled a rather defeated sounding exhale. "We can't keep doing this." he muttered.

The elf priest, little more than an acolyte of a mere century in age, named Cyrillian (Haelan was pretty sure that was what it was), looked down at the daelvar in some confusion. "You tire?" he said perplexed. Then understanding crossed his chiseled face. "You tire!" Cyrillian realized. The invocations the daelvar used must take a toll. Cyrillian also recalled, he had heard, the bodies of mortal races were more fragile, prone to disease and exhaustion.

Cyrillian stepped between the new under and the Hilltender, who sank to his knee for a moment. The elf threw out his arms and uttered the odd tongue of the lost human empire of Seluria to invoke the Bright Lady's blessings upon them. A momentary flash of silver light ringed the two priests. Secure that his prayer was answered, the elf turned and knelt down to the Hilltender.

"Take a moment, now, my friend. The night is far from ended." he said in a kindly tone.

There was a flash of blue light nearby and the low rumble of thunder to their other side. Haelan's eyes lifted to where the pale blue light flashed and slashed through the crowded battlefield. He'd been very impressed by Braddok's new weapon when the thing had burst into flame before the battle had been joined.

"Braddok!" Haelan called through the crowd, seeing the warrior attempting to make his way toward their general direction. "Braddok, help!"

The warrior was there in a moment. His face was awash in concern to see the daelvar priest on the ground with an elf kneelying over him. "Haelan! Are you..."

"I'm fine, for the moment." Haelan began. The warrior was able to near the two priests (as he was not intending them harm or attacking) and helped Haelan back to his feet. "But we need to stop them!" he used his mace to point toward the surrounding undead. "Every time we take them down, they just come back together. We'll never beat them. They must be being controlled from somewhere! Endore's putrid hand is all over this. I can feel it. We need to find those priests and stop them!"

*Kandu...can help.* came the curious voice into Braddok's head.

"Then do it!" Braddok said out loud in some aggrevation.

Haelan looked up at the warrior with the eyes of a kicked puppy.

"I WILL! But I need your help! Alaria's too, probably. We don't know where they are." He was cold. It was dark. He was soooo tired. Up to his toe-hairs in zombie dust...and now Braddok was yelling at him! Healan's bottom lip quivered.

"Not you, Haelan. The sword. I'm sorry. The sword was talking to me." the warrior apologized.

*Gaze into my crystals.* Kandu's voice echoed through the swordsman's thoughts again.

Braddok did as bidden.

Within the two sapphires in the hilt, a light flickered and blue and white color swirled together. Then there they were, in Braddok's mind's eye. Three priests near the tree line at the far end of the field. Sharp bony elbows and shoulders poked out at inhuman angles from beneath black tattered looking robes. They circled and twirled around each other. Sometimes throwing their arms here and there in what looked as much like fits as dancing. Sometimes reaching high then bending low. All the while, drawn and cracked pale lips moved unknown sounds from beneath the off-white skull-masks that covered the top of their faces.

With a shutter, the image was sharply gone from Braddok's mind, but the knowledge of their location was clear to him.

"I know where they are. Let's get Alaria and put an end to this." Braddok said.

*You're welcome.* Kandu's voice said to Braddok.

Braddok rolled his eyes as he ushered the daelvar and elf priests before him back into the ranks to get to where he was confident Alaria had stationed herself.

"ALAAARIA!" Haelan shouted over the bustle of the battle.

The magess turned to see the cleric and Braddok with some silver-haired dark robed elf heading her way.

"CASTERS READY!" <translated from elvin> the soraryn captain shouted again from atop his stag, not far from her.

What did they want? She needed to prepare another battery of energy to take out the goblins nad hobgoblins slinking around behind the lines of undead. She could always just use her staff again, but if she wasn't careful she'd burn out the freshly recharged weapon in a single night!

"What is it?" she shouted back.

"We need to go get th-..." Braddok began to say and then just...stopped? In mid stride he stopped. Haelan, near the Grinlian swordsman's knees was similarly froen, seemingly in mid-run. The elf with them. No trace of the moon-priest's robes or silvery tresses moved at all.

Alaria immediately feared the worst. She turned in alarm to see the captain, his stag frozen, like a golden statue, rearing. The elf's voice wide open in the midst of some command. The elves around the stag and herself, all, just...stuck in whatever pose they had been in a heartbeat before.

The undead, the wounded, the wounding, arrows from both sides just sitting perfectly still in mid-air.

What could she do?! Whoever cast this holding had covered a HUGE amount of area. How...she didn't even know if was possible...Then she felt a breeze behind her and a familiar slightly gravelly voice of the elderly sounded very near her, but soft.

She whireld around again to see...a cloud, or was it a mist, sweep up and take form. White then pale lavender. Then darker. A bit of gold, some brown...the purple deepened as the humanoid form literally "stepped" into solidity.

"Celerion?!" Alaria exclaimed. "What...how...what are you doing?"

"And greetings to you, Magess Alaria. I do as I have done these passed centuries....Carrying out my lordmage's will." the wrinkled elderly elf stepped slowly toward her. His gnarled staff seeming like it ought not be strong enough to keep the bent old elf on his feet beneath the heavy violet velvet and heavily inscribed gold-trimmed robes.

"The Lordmage Arganor has seen fit to grant your request." Celerion said and reached into the billowing sleeves behind the knotted hand holding the twisted staff.

"My request? He...really?!" Alaria was somewhat surprised.

"Of course, the matter of your compensation can be dealt with at some later time." the elf said calmly and looked around at the utter chaos of battle surrounding them. "Seems you might continue to need the Staff of Aanna for the moment, eh?"

The elvin chamberlain grinned a thin-lipped grin and winked at the magess as he withdrew the crystal orb, the Ihs Repahl. Almost immediately air seemed to flow around the two wizards and the swirling white clouds of light within churned as it was placed into Alaria's palm.

"Use it wisely, magess...and do not lose it!" Celerion said with a shake of a bony finger, as one might to a naughty child.

"Lord Chamberlain..." Alaria started, unsure of what to say or who to thank first. "My most humbled thanks to the Lordmage...and yourself for transporting it here. If I may, what is the magic you've worked here? I've never seen the like. With might such as yours we could win this battle easily."

"No, I imagine you've not seen the like." Celerion chuckled. When it seemed to Alaria he had no intention of responding to Alaria's second comment, he said, almost absentmindedly, in a soft "far off" sounding voice, "Winning the battle means nothing if the war is lost."

"But..." he said, looking at the amassed evil in the broad field. He took a few steps from Alaria, toward the reaching and silently shrieking undead. Celerion reached forward and tapped his staff just before between the elf forces. A light, silent, unassuming tap. Alaria didn't even think the old elf had the strength to leave a mark on the ground.

"Take care, Alaria Stormrider. There is much yet to do." Celerion said and as suddenly as he'd stepped into solid form, he seemed to fade from view and step away into nothingness.

Alaria looked at the orb within her palm and a slightly unnerving wicked smirk formed on her face. She looked up and around and all was still...still and silent. One pulse...two.

SHHHHHHEEEEEERRRRKOOOOOOMMMMMMM!!!!!!!

Everything began to move again, just as it had been, but instead of the hustle and bustle and cries and roars and clangs, the whole of the battlefield cringed at the immense thunderous boom that left visible waves in the air before her. Undead, goblins and hobgoblins as far as the length of the field, back to the treeline high above and several hundreds of yards from her position, either shattered or exploded where they stood or fell to the ground clutching their ears before the shockwave.

Haelan, Braddok and the elf whose name she did not know stopped immediately. After the cringe, they looked at the nearly half-cleared battlefield. Then turned their stunned open-mouthed faces to Alaria.

"I got the orb back." Alaria smiled broadly and lifted the crystal toward her friends. "See!"

Please sir...may we have some more?

Alaria, Braddok, Haelan and the elfin moon-priest, Cyrillian, sped through the battlefield, nothing more than vague outlines of mist. Meesh flapped his smalllish wings besides Alaria and remarked how much better the "sssolihhhdsss look likuhhh thisss. Remindsss Meeessh ovvv hhhome."

A moment later, at Braddok's direction, they came to the three Endoren bone-masked priests engaged in their ceremony of animation and control of all the dead and undead across the battlefield.

"Ready?" Alaria asked.

"Let's do this." Braddok said, even as Kandu remarked a similar sentiment in the warrior's head. He gripped the sapphire studded bastard sword more tightly and readied himself to "become solid" again.

With a thought from Alaria toward the Ihs Repahl, the four companions did just that. Even as their toes touched the ground, outlines became filled in, misty colors darkened and the whole of their bodies and beings again took on the solidity of their normal form.

It was a curious sensation, Alaria remarked to herself. The weightless airy feeling suddenly becoming heavy again. The magess wondered for a moment if she were actually as heavy as she now felt all of the time? An examination for another time. Right now, there was dark magic to concern oneself with.

The three clerics of Endore were caught by complete surprise as a broadly-muscled dark-haired human warrior suddenly appeared before them. The first cleric fell to Kandu's bluish gleam in a single stroke.

Haelan and the elf priest came into visible being behind the clerics and the daelvar lunged forward, catching the center cleric in the back of his knees. The Endoren buckled and fell, whatever wicked trance he had been maintaining utterly ruined.

Alaria stayed behind Braddok, readying her most potent spell to cancel their foes' incantations should the need arise.

A battle cry from the third cleric caught her attention as he shouted toward the heroes in some language the magess did not know. A moment later, 4 hobgoblin soldiers were racing for the melee's location from the dark shadows of the treeline.

The priest Haelan had knocked down turned with toward the daelvar as he raised his mace for another blow. The plague-priest's mouth twisted in obvious contempt and fury (the top half of his face and eyes obscured behind the bone skull-mask Endore's faithful wear). His brassy voice twisted the tainted tongue of unholy magics and reached out for the halfling's bushy-haired foot.

Haelan cried out as pain shot up through his limbs, assaulted his innards. It was only for a second, but very nerve of his being shrieked in burning pain. The Hilltender dropped to the ground, fighting to retain his consciousness, from the intense pain.

The other standing cleric also intoned the hissing dark language of evil, “Essressstim Endore, Surevvv miclon etne aetuuundshaaaa!” <cleric spell, Spiritual Weapon. “Mistress Endore, attack your enemies with your [un]holy weapon!”>

A putrid green skull ensconced in purple flames appeared in the air beside the Endoren and with a wave of his arm, flew through the air to strike Braddok, hard, as the warrior turned to face the oncoming hobgoblins.

There's too much going on, thought Alaria. "Meeessh! Can you make your mist wall between us and those hobgoblins?"

The steam mephit, who was flitting in his usual place beside (and slightly behind) the R'Hathi wizard let loose with the hiss-teapot-squeal that Alaria had come to recognize as his laugh and wrung his steaming and dripping long fingered hands together. "Meeessh hhhhappy to hhhhehhhlp mihhhssstrisss."

The mephit flew up over the immediate battle and lowered himself directly in the hobgoblins path. The reddish-orange heavily armored goblinoids did not slow their advance as the mephit threw up his arms. A wall of steam, like a geyser, burst from the ground between the small elemental imp and the soldiers. That halted their advance, abruptly. Meeessh grinned to himself at the horrified scream that came from (the mephit could see perfectly well through the steam) the lead hobgoblin who'd gotten caught in the blast of superheated water and air, being half-boiled half-baked in his metal armor.

The central priest had risen and from beneath the robes flowing around his skeletal waist, withdrew a mace with a skull-shaped head. He raised the mace, fully prepared to have it crush the insolent little hairfoot. His blow was stayed, however, by a sudden gleam of silvery light as his mace was stopped by a crescent moon and star tipped staff. The elf, Cyrillian, stood over/before the Hilltender. "Your evil shall not have the night of my lady." the elf almost growled to the surprised Endoren.

The flaming skull flew around the field, striking both Braddok and Alaria before returning to the side of the cleric who had invoked it. A twisted smirk formed on the cleric's mouth, revealing a mouth missing at least half of its teeth. The gaunt figure threw his arm forward again and the skull surged forward toward the warrior once again.

This time, the spiritual weapon did not land, as the blue light of Kandu's blade rose to block the attack. Braddok raced forward in an attempt to strike before the cleric could redirect his spell. His attack struck true and the cleric shrieked and fell to the ground, still alive but sorely wounded. Even as it was coming around the purple flames and green skull burned away into nothingness.

Meeessh's wall of steam had dissipated as well and the hobgoblins began their advance again, including the scalded "leader".

Alaria exhaled, she had hoped not to have to expend too much of her higher tiered spells, should they have the misfortune of encountering Tresahd, again, directly. There seems little choice but to use some.

As the magess began to call to mind the secret words of arkanic she was shocked to see a small dart lodge itself in the lead hobgoblin's neck.

"RAAAAAAAHHHHH! EAT CROSSBOW BOLTS GOBLIN SCUM!" came an all too familiar voice.

Alaria whirled around to see Duor...and Fen...flying?

The zepharim, Pirnyon, diving toward their position, the dwarf hanging from one arm and the druid, his great cloak flailing out behind him, hanging from the other. The winged man lowered the two within 10 feet of the ground and droped them before immeidately taking to the air again, ripping out his broad bladed hand axe.

Fen hit the ground and rolled to a kneeling position to bring the butt of his sacred spear slamming to the ground. The streak of green lightning shot across the ground to beneath the approaching hobgoblins and seemed to seep into the ground.

Alaria smirked to herself, knowing what came next. Shouts and holler erupted form the goblinoids as the vines and roots and blades of trampled grass burst up all around them, like vegetative tentacles, firmly halting and holding the soldiers where they stood.

Duor, similarly, hit the ground in a roll and came to his feet, just beside Alaria, a fresh dart somehow reloaded into his signature hand crossbow as he came to his feet and fired this one into the back of the black-robed cleric that seemed to be locked in battle with some robed elf.

"Hail Pirnyon!" Braddok shouted to the air, even as the Grinlian brought his blade around to swing at the toppled cleric, hoping to finish him off. Somehow, that strike missed and the warrior found himself off balance and unable to recover enough to back away when the cleric reached forward to grip his leg, another line of the tainted speech hissing across his cracked thin lips.

Braddok was seized with immediate panic as everything before his eyes went black. He made a wide circling swipe with his blade to try to give himself some room.

"Alaria! What's happened?! I cant' see!" the warrior called out.

Alaria turned to the swordsman with great concern to see the panic across his face. There was no evident issue about his head or eyes. He had been blinded by some curse of the wicked cleric, who was scrambling to get out of the warrior's reach.

"Do not worry, Braddok, Haelan will help you. Stay calm. Meeessh, watch Braddok!" the wizardess shouted across the field to where the daelvar had risen to his feet, though still sorely hurt and was preparing to aid the elf-priest against the chief cleric.

"Everx zaar!" the magess let loose with two of her violet-blue energy shards slammed into the wounded crawling cleric. He ceased to crawl.

The winged Pirnyon had made short work of two of the hobgoblins trapped in Fen's entanglement spell, easily hacking away at them from aloft, above the twining vegetation's grip.

The druid, himself had gone to engage the Endoren cleric with the other two priests. His spear's leaftip caught the Endoren in the side for a solid blow, but the half-elf, then, did not avoid the whirling response of the skull-headed mace and caught a solid clock against the head, himself.

Haelan had now retaken his place in front of the not-very-battle-hardened Cyrillien. As the cleric was distracted by Fen's sudden inclusion in their fight, Haelan was able to connect with a solid crack to the priests ribs.

There was another trade of blows before the high-priest finally fell and the remaining hobgoblins were plant food.

The group formed up around the warrior. Alaria gently took Braddok by the shoulders and tried to calm him.

"But I can't SEE!" the swordsman protested.

"You will. You will." Alaria soothed.

"Yeah, Braddok, I should be able to cure that...I just need a bit of time to rest and pray first." Haelan tried to explain.

"We don't have time! We're in the middle of a battle!" Braddok ranted.

"Not quite. Looks almost done." Fen said absently as he looked out over the sloping field below them. With the elimination fo the necromantic priests, the undead were being quickly eliminated and the newly dead were staying that way. The elves had nearly carved their way all the way up the sloping field to the party's position near the tree line of the broad open glade.

"Hail and well met Stormriders!" came the friendly cry from the stag-mounted Soraryn captain. He waved his curved scimitar-like blade over his head even as the first pale blue of morning was forming over the treetops in the east. "The field is ours! The Bulgruch..."

"Is here." a growling boom rumbled around the party like thunder.

The soraryn and a few foot soliders around him turned to the tree line, some 50 yards from where the party had just concluded their fight. Their handsome chiseled elvin faces took on the serious concentration of decades (if not centuries) of training and battle-readiness.

A massively tall and broadly shouldered bugbear0ish goblinoid looking creature crashed through the brush into the open field. As they all watched, the creature's 10 foot tall frame seemed to arch back and hunch forward, the coarse black and grey hair that flowed frm just about everywhere on his body grew longer before their eyes, as did the goblinish noise, turning into a great wolf-ish snout, and its ears struck back, against its head, pointed and sharp and longer than any normal canine animal. Its arms ended in huge long fingered hands that eneded in longer still claws of gleaming black. The arms, which also seemed to function as forelegs, were significantly longer than its legs which snapped and cracked to reform from normal "knees front" humanoid legs to canine-like hind legs.

The transformation comlplete, the creature opened its large fang filled mouth and...kept opening it...and further...til, impossibly, the jaw was nearly touching the ground! Visible waves of heat rippled through the air as the Bulgruch expelled a thunderous roar across the battlefield.

Indeed, Alaira thought to herself as the whole party covered their ears, the whole of Miralosta must have shuddered from the bellow.

"Th-th-that's the Bulgruch!?" Haelan quaked near Braddok's knees.

Before any of the party could say or do anything, the demon-wolf-goblin-warlord-thing they'd only heard of as "the Bulgruch" lunged forward toward the soraryn and elves before him. There was little more than a blur as one, two and three of the foot soldiers were clawed into multiple sprays of blood from various sized pieces before they could even lift their blades.

The soraryn, maintained control on his rearing stag enough to get in a single attack before the Bulgruch, literally, tore the stag in half. The elf captain stood his ground, with determination until the beast again opened its maw, the jaw nearly touching the goround before him.

Alaria could not recall if she had ever seen absolute undiluted horror on an elf's face before. That was what was on the soraryn's face. Eyes wide. Mouth agape. His scimitar blade lowered as if suddenly much to much weight for the elf to wield.

The party watched as the rippling waves of heat usheered forth with another roar. Fen was almost certain he saw an orange-yellow flickering light licking forth from the creatures mouth as well.

The elf shrieked...actually shrieked a blood-curddling scream of unadulterated fear as the great monster's opened mouth literally came straight down over/upon him.

The Bulgruch clamped its mouth shut, threw its head back and reared up in a baying howl of triumph.

As his arms/forelegs slammed back into the ground, the wolflike head with glowing red eyes turned slowly to face the party. Saliva or bile dripped form the sides ofthe creature's mouth, a slight yellowish light to them, as if it were lava or acid.

"And now..." an orange glow evident from somewhere back in the monster's throat when it opened its mouth, "You are the Storm Riders I've heard so much about?" the Bulgruch said with mild questioning amusement.

Next time...Battle of the Bulgruch.