Steel Dragon's "Tales of Orea"

Just a bump.

Sorry for the delays. Apparently my definition of "vacation" and reality have something of a disagreement.

But new installments coming very soon.

Thanks, as always for your continued support and interest (and patience).
--SD

“ALLHANKOWSH!” Alaria called out. The mighty mystic phrase thundered over the noise of the battlefield and howling winds that held Alaria aloft.

Around the tip of the ever so slender and delicate looking white wand, the air crackled and sparked before a devastating bolt of lightning streaked through the melee. The wand itself crackled and snapped. Alaria watched as veins of light appeared along the wand’s length. With a final snap and static discharge, the wand splintered into a thousand shards and fell from the mage’s hand.

The final use of her mentor’s gift was far from in vain. Goblins and zarx that did not simply fall in blackened charred lumps flew in various directions. Some were lifted and thrown farther from the gale that had engulfed the fighting. Her primary target, a wounded but still savage ogre, also fell from the blast.

In the wake of the bolt, the battle fell silent. No foes remained moving. No survivors to retreat.

The gale that surrounded Alaria, and indeed the whole battlefield, subsided quickly. The R’Hathi mage gently returned to earth as the winds calmed. When her feet touched ground her knees buckled and she simply crumpled into a heap.

The crystal orb rolled from her other hand, her fingers gone as limp as the rest of her. Its swirling cloudy inner light faded from view.

Exhaustion claimed her clouded mind as tears flowed down her cheeks freely. Somewhere some piece of her thought how pathetic her lack of self-control and unseemly her emotional outburst must seem to the remaining onlookers.

She didn’t care.

Alaria lifted her eyes to the body-strewn field. They came to rest on the sundered shield. Her vision blurred and there was a dull awareness of her head hitting the ground before darkness claimed her.

3 Days Earlier

Leaving the Inn at the Lake and getting out of Welford took a bit longer than the group anticipated. With the influx of refugees from South Imer and Lakesdown, the town of Welford was close to swelling.


Mayor Brethel made an announcement in efforts to calm the population. He relayed to the people Rhea’s vision that Welford would not be attacked and that staying in the hamlet was everyone’s safest option. Despite these “official” proclamations, there were several refugees and some locals who wanted to get away from Lake Imerlis.

One of those insistent on leaving Welford was a merchant from the desert empire of Thelitia named Kudjik.

Kudjik was a slight man in both stature and girth. He had darkly tanned skin with large dark eyes that glinted when he smiled. He sported, as many Thelitian men, a full black beard and was swathed in a off-white linen robe and roomy (some might say “poofy”) pants of similar cooling fabric with calf-high boots whose tips had a slight curve to them, reminiscent of gnomish style shoes and boots. His abdomen was wrapped in a wide sash/belt striped in bright colors and covered his head in the traditional Thelitian head-wrapping (turban) of blue fabric.

Kudjik had managed to get to a ship and flee South Imer with his two wagons of goods and four guardsmen before the goblin army arrived there and was hells-bent on moving to a safe place (preferably where they could be traded so as not to make his entire venture a waste). Believing, and likely correct, that no army of any kind would be fool enough to challenge the lands of the Dragonmage, Kudjik decided to move his wares into Daenfrii. The prosperity and generosity of the realm of Daenfrii was well known, though Kudjik himself had never had reason or opportunity to travel that far from his desert homeland.

Being observant and shrewd, as Thelitian traders were (among other things) known to be, the merchant was most complimentary to Alaria and her companions, but mostly Alaria. He showered the wizardess with blatant and transparent compliments about her looks, her dress, her “obvious magical prowess” as a R’Hathi, etc. etc..

Alaria ignored most of these, which were sprinkled throughout their brief negotiations. She gave the tan desert man (who was really no taller than she herself) a quaint smile here and acknowledging head-nod there. It was quickly agreed they would travel with the caravan (in exchange for provisions and rides) as far as the crossing at Bridgetower (the nearest way across the D'Evand river into Daenfrii), three days.

Kujik tried to get Alaria to ride on the first wagon with him, but the mage politely, even coyly, refused. Much to all of the party's surprise (especially Braddok), she opted instead to share one of the two horses Kudjik offered with the swordsman from Denil.


Coerraine found the merchant’s manner toward Alaria to be somewhat insulting and scowled at him regularly. It was common knowledge in the paladin’s southern homeland that Thelitians, in addition to being shrewd, were not an overly trustworthy people.

The young Redstar Knight’s attempt show of warning received a similar glare from the largest of Kujik’s guards.

Gnobert very much liked the bright elaborate fabrics the Thelitians used for belts and was interested in seeing Kujik’s wares. Kudjik, in an interest to secure their safety before business (something most merchants of the desert lands would not be wise enough to do), assured the gnome he could see all of the fabric he’d like when the train reached Daenfrii.

As the group moved out through the hamlet’s farmlands and took the northwesterly road, they picked up additional wanderers who wanted to seek out some safety. Most of the local Welford men were content with what the mayor had said about the Green Witch’s assurance. But there were some who were too cautious or cowardly to stay.

Within their first few hours on the road, the caravan had grown to about 50 people, mostly on foot. In addition to Kudjik’s two wagons or wares, another 3 carts joined them, piled with supplies and goods, some with cages of chickens and hogs. One had two goats hitched up to the back.

In addition to Alaria and the others, there were Kudjik’s four men. They wore the pants and boots similar to the merchant’s own, but with leather breastplates and shin guards instead of robes. They each also had sashes of varying bright colors and patterns wrapped around their middles.

Two wore simple wraps on their heads and two wore the Thelitian-styled helmets which sloped towards the back. They all carried shields and weapons with broad “C-shaped” blades which Braddok identified as “khopeshes.”


Two of the guards also carried short bows. One had a spear. The largest, who Kudjik called Jarood, had a second curved scimitar much larger than the khopesh strapped across his back.

There were also, Braddok estimated, about 10 other men among the refugees who could be useful in a fight, if need be. A few carried staves or pitchforks. He did note one man who actually wore a chainmail vest and had a scabbard slung at his hip. Least it'll be something, Braddok figured, if we found ourselves in dire straits.

Also among those vacating Welford was the young owner of the apothecary, Devrim. Alaria told Braddok the bookish wiry youth had some experience on the road of his own.

While Alaria was not pleased at the decidedly slower prospect of moving with a wagon train, the concept of “safety in numbers” could not be denied. She also figured, once they crossed into Daenfrii and parted ways with the caravan, the security of that realm would make the remainder of their journey that much safer and quicker.

So as the train's first day came to an end and Kudjik called for camp to be made, everyone felt fairly secure in their roles as “caravan guards” and looked forward to an uneventful three day journey to the lands of the Dragonmage and then onward (and equally uneventful) to the fabled realm of the elves.

[FONT=&quot]Since it's been a bit more than a while, here's where we are at the beginning of the party's journey out of Welford:
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot][/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Alaria Staver: Human/Female, 2nd level/Magic-user (Mage, Wizard, whatever you want to call her). No armor. Weapon: staff. Spells: 4 0 lvl (cantrips), 3 1st lvl/day. (I give bonus spells for high Int. MUs like Clerics get for high Wisdom).[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Magic Items: Wand of Lightning (2 charges left); "Orb of Air Control" (for lack of a convenient name); Ring of Protection +1, +3 vs. Earth Elementals; Scroll: Magic Missile, Hold Portal; Scroll: Detect Thoughts, Whispering Wind ; Potion of Water Breathing; found spellbook containing: Alarm, Hold Portal, Identify, Protection from Evil, Blur, Levitate, Mirror Image[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Braddok Kar Barforth: Human/Male, 2nd lvl/Fighter. Chainmail and Shield. Wpns: Longsword, short bow, Morningstar (spiked mace, no chain), dagger.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Magic Items: Potion of Water Breathing[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot][/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Coerraine: Human/Male, 2nd lvl/Paladin (a “Goldshield” of the “Redstar Knights”, patron deity: Celradorn). Partial plate and shield. Wpns: Spear, broad sword, dagger.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Paladin Abilities: Dt. (“See”) Evil 2/day; Protection from Evil 10’ rad. 2/day; “Smite Evil” 1/day.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Magic Items: Potion of Water Breathing[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Haelan Spurthistle: Halfling (“Daelvar”)/Male, 2nd lvl/Cleric (“Hilltender”, patron deity: Faerantha). Chainmail and shield +1. Wpn: mace. Spells: 4 1st lvl. (clerics and druids need not “memorize” 1st or 2nd lvl spells at start of day)[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Magic Items: Shield of Returning +1, Potion of Healing (1 draught left), Potion of Neutralize Poison (2 draughts left)[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot] [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Fen: Half-elf/Male, 2nd lvl/Druid. Leather armor. Wpns: Spear, sickle (for ritual use only), dagger. Spells: 4 1st lvl.[FONT=&quot] (clerics and druids need not “memorize” 1st or 2nd lvl spells at start of day)[/FONT][/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Magic Items: “Druid’s Cloak” (blending powers in natural surroundings)[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot] [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Duor Darksmythe: Dwarf/Male, 2nd lvl/Thief. Leather armor. Wpns: short sword, hand crossbow, dagger, dagger +1 (ethereal).[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot] Magic Items: Dagger +1, +3 vs. Ethereal/Intangible creatures, Potion of Water Breathing.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot] [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Gnobert “Gnobby”: Gnome/Male, 1-1st lvl/ Illusionist-Thief. Leather armor. Wpn: dagger. Spells: 3 0lvl, 2 1st lvl. and his animal friend (familiar?) Buttercreamshadowfeet: a female giant ferret.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot] Magic Items: None (Gnobert is fond of changing the color of his clothing periodically by means of the Prestidigitation cantrip)
[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot][/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]At this point, Erevan the elf has "gone on ahead" to warn his people of the coming goblin army.
[/FONT]

2 Days Earlier

The night went by quietly. Not surprising since the group was still within the lands considered to be part of the Laklans. By mid-morning, the neatly ordered fields and orchards became more natural looking and unkempt. They crossed several brooks and tributaries, some leading to Lake Imerlis and some finding their way to the D’Evand.

One such crossing, a humped wooden bridge sported a wooden post with simple pointed signs. One said “Mill Road” and pointed to little more than a path that led upstream. Another said “the Downs” and pointed back the way they’d come. A third slab of wood said “Dragons” and pointed down the road in the direction they wanted to go.

This was more than a bit disconcerting for Haelan, but he was assured by one of the locals traveling with them that it really meant “the Dragonmage.” This put the Halfling priest at some ease, trusting the simple farmer until he added, “Cuz, ya know the Dragonmage has a buncha them.” Again, Haelan’s stomach twisted into knots.

Shortly after crossing a very old looking stone bridge, the wagon train came to a “namestone.” It was common in the days of the Selurian Empire to place these six foot pillars of white rock at the borders between regions or at particularly important or well-traveled crossroads.

Grasses and weeds grew up to conceal the bottom two feet of the pillar. In the centuries since the Godswar, the white marble had been weathered to a point that none of the original writing could be seen though a bit of ornamentation, twining vines and leaves mostly, could still be gleaned around the borders where writing would have been.

The pillar had been painted at some point in the decades since with place names in the Common tongue. Near the top, it said “You are leaving the Lake Lands. The gods keep you.” Below that was the word, “Thornfeld” and “the Feldmere” beneath which an arrow pointed to the southwest.

At eye level for Duor, on the opposite side of the namestone, the pillar sported the word “Daenfrii” with an arrow pointing them north and then “Welford” with an arrow indicating one to continue along the road and “Feldmere” with an arrow pointing south.

“Nice to see someone’s keepin’ up on these things.” Duor remarked.

Coerraine agreed. “But what is the Feldmere?”

Again, one of the refugees enlightened the party, the middling-aged man with the chainmail vest. “The Feldmere is a cursed swamp filled with all manner of evil. It’s said there was a great battle at Thornfeld in the time of the Scourge Wars and somehow the swamp is connected that way. But I don’t really know ‘bout all o’ that. Lotsa ghost stories for the campfire ‘bout the Feldmere, though.”

Braddok and Coerraine looked at one another uneasily.

The man continued, “It extends for miles to the south and west before the Orean Plains. If’n I’m not mistaken, this path leads us close to its edge before we turn north to Daenfrii.” He leaned in towards the obviously rattled Haelan, who sat tucked in front of Braddok astride one of Kudjik’s horses. “Daaaangerously close.” Then he chuckled.

“You seem to know these parts pretty well. Comfortable with a sword too.” Braddok observed and gave a nod at the scabbard on the man’s belt.

The man smiled half-heartedly. “Well, I weren’t a farmer all my life…if that’s what you’re getting’ at. But that’ll be a story for another time.” At that, he slowed his pace to drop back to the cart coming up behind them (the one that had the goats tied to the back). He stared warmly up at the woman and young girl in the driver’s seat of the cart then absently turned and peered towards the north.

Braddok nudged his mount forward to catch up with Alaria on the lead wagon (she had honored the merchant’s invitation to ride with him that morning. The wizard did not at all miss time in a saddle.)

Coerraine, who had Duor on the back of the horse he rode (the paladin was taking his assignment of watching the dwarf rogue quite seriously, to Duor’s displeasure), also came forward and the companions looked out to the south and west.

Kudjik brought the wagon to a halt at the crest of a low hill and whistled. They all looked out toward the south at the expanse of marshlands that extended before them. A gloomy mist hovered above the whole swamp, even in the height of midday. Some clumps of twisted trees spotted the terrain here and there, but on the whole the vegetation and mist produced a wide flat stretch of dull greys and murky greens.

“Huh. So that’s the Feldmere.” Said Fen offhandedly. The druid had been happy to travel on foot and broke from his easy-going banter with the various refugees to join his companions.

Gnobert, astride Buttercream snaked their way to the front of the train to find out why they’d stopped. He also whistled a long tone that dropped off.

“Good thing we’re not going there, eh my friends?” Kudjik smiled broadly in an attempt at humor.

Braddok noted the farmer with the chainmail vest had been correct as the road did wind down through the ever-flatter landscape and seemed to pass not far from the edge of the fog that covered the Feldmere.

“We’re going close enough.” Answered Haelan with no humor in his voice at all.


It was nearly five hours since the caravan had passed the namestone. The foggy wetlands had been silent and forboding to their south for more than two of those hours. As the sun began dipping towards the west, and late afternoon slipped into evening, the swamp seemed to take on a darker more ominous presence.

North of the road, small rolling hills and clumps of thick woods still dotted the landscape, but the woods and hills were getting fewer and farther between, filled in with stretches of high grasses.

Kudjik very much wanted to get the caravan passed view of the swamp before stopping for the night and no one in the caravan had an argument with that.

The light of the sun had turned the evening sky to its hues of orange and gold and purple clouds as it sank and the evening shadows extended further and deepened. Kudjik breathed a sigh of relief and smiled at Alaria as they came around a section of trees to see the road before them veer sharply to the north. “You see, Miss Mage. We will camp safely tonight after all. Just a bit more.”

Alaria smiled politely back at the dark-tan merchant. Then her smile sharply inverted at the sound of shrieking that came from behind and to their right.

The lumbering shapes spewing from the darkening fog were hunched as they charged and seemed to have very long arms and large clawed hands. Their noses, Alaria also noted, seemed unnaturally large for their form. But from her distance, she could not make out much more about them. They snarled and shouted garbled cries as they charged toward the middle and rear of the caravan.

Coerraine expertly swung his mount around at a gallop to place himself between the hulking figures that seemed to appear out of the very dark gloom of the swamp.

Alaria heard Duor’s voice boom clearly above the frightened screams of refugees and the snarling shouts of their attackers.

“Trolls!” he said.

Kudjik shouted something to his men in his native tongue and the Thelitian guards moved to intercept the creatures while Kudjik and the other wagon driver snapped their reigns and called to their animals to move the wagons as quickly as possible.

Alaria jumped down from the driver seat, none too gracefully, and muttered a curse to the merchant’s cowardice. But after all, she reminded herself, we are supposed to be the caravan’s protectors.

Braddok had lowered Haelan to the ground and kicked his mount into a gallop to catch up with Coerraine, his sword singing from its sheathe as he went.

Alaria saw no sign of the gnome or Fen, but there was really no time to worry about that now.

“Go! Go!” she yelled at the refugees to snap them out of their frozen daze of fear. Then she heard Fen doing the same and saw the druid a dozen or so people behind her.

Trolls…trolls….Alaria’s mind raced through her studies. Strong. Savagely hungry. Nearly mindless, compared to other humanoids. Resistant to harm? But why? What was it? What was their weakness? Everything has a weakness...What could she do to them…and maybe more importantly, what could they do to her?

As if to answer her mind, Alaria heard Fen’s voice calling her above the charging trolls, the fleeing people, the frightened animals, she even thought she heard Haelan’s voice rising in prayer somewhere in the cacophony.

But Fen was closer and his voice was clear, “Fire! Alaria, trolls are highly susceptible to fire!”

At that, the carrot-topped half-elf spun his sacred spear over his head as his lips began forming the words of the secret tongue of the druids.

As he finished his conjuring, a small ball of orange flame burst into being at the tip of his spear. Fen brought the twirling spear to an abrupt halt and pointed the tip toward their attackers. The ball of flame flew forward and caught one of the trolls in the arm.

The creature howled in pain but kept advancing, waving his burning arm (which served to fan the flames) as he ran.

Another howl rose further back in the line and Alaria saw the tell-tale silver sparks as troll fists and claws pounded and scratched at the barrier of Haelan’s spell of Sanctuary. The Halfling priest had surrounded himself and two children in the protective field, but Alaria new from experience, the spell would not last long.

Coerraine was doing considerable damage with his spear from horseback to the heinous creatures. The paladin did not even mind when Duor, after placing a bolt from his handcrossbow into one of the troll’s eyes, leapt from the back of their horse to backstab another of them.

Braddok moved through the creatures with practiced skill, despite their grasping claws. He swung his blade and turned his mount to continue to try to keep the creatures from getting too near the actual caravan. The swordsman noted, however, that for ever hack and slash he made that seemed to be heavy, the creatures simply did not seem to falter.

Kudjik’s guards stood poised between the caravan and the trolls but did not move to engage. Jarood did, however, instruct the archers to fire. Alaria thought this a bad idea, but found herself both shocked and impressed when the desert men’s arrows found their targets with ease.

Alaria also noted the man in the chainmail vest who Braddok had mentioned was joining the fight with a longsword that gleamed in the evening sun, despite the deepening shadows and gloom of the swamp. He had taken to occupy the troll pounding at Haelan’s barrier to allow the halfling to get the children off and away (cancelling his spell) with the last of the fleeing refugees.

Halean thanked the fighting-man profusely as he swung his pineconed-headed mace into the great sickly green creature’s shins. Whether he heard the thanks of not, Haelan did not know as the troll’s next swipe with black stone-hard claws struck the man squarely across the chest and sent him flying to land on his back with a thud.

Coerraine was grabbed from his horse and thrown to the ground by one troll while the other sank its teeth into his mount. Coerraine was on his feet in an instant, spear raised, and summoned up the might of faith and devotion. The Redstar Knight’s blond hair seemed to shine with a golden halo as he bellowed his invocation to Celradorn to guide his hand and smite the evil before him. The spear, indeed, shone with a golden light of its own and sank deep into the troll’s chest.

The troll howled in rage or pain and grasped Coerraine by the neck.

Alaria was at a loss. She had to do something before Coerraine’s head popped off like a squashed grape, but she had not studied anything to summon fire in her arcane arsenal that day.

She closed her eyes as she gathered her mind and power. The R'Hathi wizardess raised her hands toward the Mostralian paladin and began one of her other incantations. The air swirled around her causing her robe and hair to flutter in an unfelt wind.

“Cirenbyr Beliviara”<mage spell: Enlarge> Alaria’s eyes snapped open, directly on Coerraine, as if there was nothing else in her line of sight. As Coerraine’s image began to get larger, Alaria concentrated until she knew she could not force the power of the spell any further. Her arms lowered to her sides and the rest of the scene, around Coerraine, came into focus for her once again. Coerraine now stood a full head taller than the troll who had been gripping his neck.

The troll took a surprised step back from the giantish paladin who simply smiled broadly as he jabbed his, also giant, spear into the widemouthed creature again. With a heave of his spear, he hoisted the skewered troll up and threw it into the troll that was dining on his (now very dead) horse. Then he skewered them together. Both creatures shrieked in pain and alarm. But even as it seemed the first troll perished, the wounds began closing.

“Imberil nossos REX!” <mage/illusionist spell: Chromatic Orb - Fire> Gnobert’s small voice proclaimed from somewhere out of Alaria’s vision and an orb of bright red flew into the two trolls-on-a-stick being held down by Coerraine. When the ball struck it burst into flames and after a few moments, the two trolls stopped writhing.

“Coerraine! Braddok! A little aid, please!” Haelan called through the din. He was doing his best to damage his troll and his stature was of great help in evading the troll’s sweeping claws. But he was landing very few blows and what damage he thought he’d done seemed to not bother the troll at all after a moment or two.

By now, Braddok had also been unhorsed but was holding his own against two more of the creatures. On hearing Haelan’s plea, the swordsman took a final swing at the more wounded of the two and dropped it before breaking off from the second to move to Haelan’s position.

Fen moved into position behind the troll Braddok had left and with a stab of his spear and near-silent cryptic phrase, another ball of flame burst upon the wounded but still standing creature.

Duor appeared next to Fen, gliding seamlessly from the shadows of the evening to sink his green glowing dagger into the slimey green hide of the troll Fen had struck, which brought it down. Then he made a few stabs at the one Braddok had just dropped.

“He’s already dead, Duor. Is that really necessary?” Fen said.

“Thought yeh already knew this a bit o’ ancient dwarven wisdom, half-blood?” Duor pulled a flask of lamp oil from his pack and quickly doused it all over both trolls' bodies.

“The only dead troll…” Duor pulled out his striking flint and steel and lit the oil which immediately swathed the trolls' carcasses in fire, “…is a burnt troll.”

Coerraine also heard Haelan’s cry for help and as the enlarging spell was tapering off, he made the final blow against the creature, knocking it off its grotesque large feet. Duor trotted over with a torch lit from his oil-bathed trolls and set the unconscious creature on fire even as its wounds began to seal.

Where the sixth troll was, the one Fen had first set ablaze, Alaria neither knew nor cared. The fight was over. The caravan had all made it passed them and around the bend to the north. No doubt they were still flying as fast as they could.

Alaria turned and leaned on her staff to stare at Jarood and his men. “Thanks a lot.” she said with all intended sarcasm.

Jarood just looked down at her (he was quite tall) with a dispassionate scowl and snorted. With a short command in his native tongue, he and the other Thelitian guards began to follow the caravan at a trot.

Haelan healed the man in the chainmail vest (who they finally discover is named “Maracus”) and Braddok and Coerraine who both sustained a substantial pounding from troll fists.

With everyone feeling more or less healthy, the party (much more slowly than the Thelitians as Braddok was the only one with a mount at this point) also continue up the road, happy to leave any view of the Feldmere behind.

Woot, update.

Considering that everyone is the same level, I'm guessing you do experience points a bit differently than the original method? I seem to recall 2nd-level MUs in parties with 5th-level thieves.

It's great to see this SH updated again! Thank you.

I've been enjoying every story i read in this thread...

Great stories.

wolff96 said:

Woot, update.

Considering that everyone is the same level, I'm guessing you do experience points a bit differently than the original method? I seem to recall 2nd-level MUs in parties with 5th-level thieves.

Click to expand...

I really don't do XP any differently (still count treasure/gp towards XP as well as monsters).

You may be correct. I was going off of memory (it's not a policy of mine to hold onto character sheets) and simply recall pretty much everyone being 2nd level. Duor very well might be 3rd (even close to 4th) at this stage of the story. Braddok might have been 3rd here too.

It should also be noted (since I just looked through what I had written again), that Coerraine's paladinic Dt. Evil power is "at will" not 2/day. As an added incidental aside, at 4th level, Coerraine will surpass the ranks of Goldshield and become a "Lightlance"...provided, of course, he gets that far and ever sees a temple of Celradorn/base of his order again. We shall see.

As always, thanks for the interest folks. Glad you're enjoying it.

And woot woot to breaking 3500 views. Pretty cool. Many thanks.
--Steel Dragons

It was some time before the party reached where the caravan had halted. Jarood and his men reached them long before the companions and so camp was being set, with multiple cooking fires and cautious relief from the group's narrow escape from the trolls. As the companions returned, they were greeted by many with hearty handshakes and soft spoken cheers and thanks.

Fen decided to take a watch position about halfway up the low slop atop which the caravan was making camp. The young druid knew hungry trolls could forage for miles with their heightened sense of smell. They would seek fresh meat throughout the night, only to return to their lairs at dawn to cower form the daylight. Following their first encounter, Fen’s own resources (and he suspected most of the company’s) were limited. If they were pursued, flight would be their only hope for survival.

So he found himself a comfortable dry patch beneath a lone silverleaf tree and wrapped himself in his deep-hooded cloak against the chill of the night. Fen knew his own sight was no match for Erevan’s but given the absence of the full-blooded elf, it would have to do. A cool breeze rustled some leaves that still clung to their branches. Fen hugged the cloak closer and thought of the silver-haired elf as he scanned the roadway and sloping countryside below him.

Sortly after arriving at camp, Kudjik and one of his drivers came to the party’s campfire with wooden bowls laden with piping hot food and large smiles. The dish was a specialty of his homeland, explained Kudjik. The rice was a bright yellow color from some spice he called saffron and contained chunks of meat (chicken, as far as Braddok could tell) that had a sweet and smoky spice. All of the companions ate heartily after their very long day.

Alaria, in particular, enjoyed the meal thoroughly, reminding her more of the exotic tastes of her homeland than any other dish she had encountered since leaving R’Hath.

Duor complained as he shoveled large spoonfuls into his mouth. “I don’t know ‘bout yeh all. But I’m gettin’ a lil’ tired of riskin’ beard n’ limb fer free.”

Kudjik, still smiling broadly, “Ah, but my friend. This dish is saved for only the most happy of occasions. The spice is very delicate. Very rare. It is, by no means, ‘free.’” The man’s smile momentarily disappeared, “and neither are my horses.” The smile returned as if it had always been there. With that, the Thelitian trader rose from his seat near Alaria and bid the companions enjoy their meal and a well-deserved night of good dreams.

When he’d left, Alaria frowned at the dwarf (who was actually licking out the bottom of his bowl). “Really, Duor. We are in this caravan serving as guards for a ride and our meals. That is the deal. Kudjik is upholding his side of the bargain admirably, I would say. You would do well to do the same…without complaint.”

At this Coerraine nodded. The paladin had to admit his respect for a man who upheld their word, especially a Thelitian.

Duor grumbled something under his beard before all of the companions were surprised to see Haelan come up the fire (it was startling sometimes, Alaria noted, how the daelvar were so easily overlooked. No one had noticed the hairfoot missing. For that matter, Alaria now noticed, the gnome was nowhere in sight either.). The Hilltender walked with a small wooden wagon in tow. The wagon carried a woven basket in which sat a round black and white speckled hen, nearly half the size of the halfing. Haelan sat on the log beside Duor, picked up the waiting bowl of rice and meat and began eating hungrily.

“Mmmm. This is delightful! What is it?” Haelan said in characteristic good cheer. Haelan took another heaping mouthful. He halted mid-chew to look around the fire from person to person. All of the companions stared at him. “Wuh? Iv dere sumpfin on muh faish?” He wiped a cheek with his gloved hand.

“No yeh idiot hairfoot!” Duor burst. “What’s with the chicken?”

Haelan politely finished his mouthful and swallowed loudly before answering. “Oh! My apologies. This is Elsie. Elsie, this is Duor and Braddok and…”

Coerraine planted his palm over his face. Braddok’s eyes looked skyward in exasperation. Duor looked fit to rip the hilltender’s hair out.

Alaria couldn’t help but giggle softly. “No, Haelan. Where did you get it? Why is it here?”


“Oh! Well, Burt and Erna Steadfast were so grateful that I protected their young ones, Burt Junior and Elna, from the trolls that they wanted to shower me with thanks. They were gonna give me their best egg-layer, Betsy. But I told them, ‘With four mouths to feed, you’d best keep Besty for yourselves.’ Wouldn’ta been right to take Betsy from’m, you know? So they gave me Elsie, here, instead and promised to make tribute to Faerantha along with their goddess, Sylari, at planting and harvesttime. Was very sweet of them, really. Don’t you think?” the halfling cleric paused a moment for another mouthful.

Alaria just smiled and nodded. Haelan continued before anyone else could think of anything to say.

“And the little one, Burt Junior, he says he wants to grow up to be a Hilltender. And I just laughed and laughed. Who ever heard of a human Hilltender? I don’t know that Faerantha ever had a human follower before. But I don’t see how she’d mind. You know about godly things, Coerraine. You don’t think she’d mind, do you?”

Elsie clucked.

The blond Redstar Knight just shook his head wearily and gave Alaria a look that said “how should I know” before responding. “No Haelan, I don’t see why she would. But mine is not to know the will of your goddess. Only follow that of my own Lord and God to the best of my limited ability.”

“The Forge forgive me. I’d rather be wrestling with those trolls.” Duor said. He shook his head looking from the hen to the halfling and back. “Well,” the dwarf shrugged, “guess we’ll never be at a loss for eggs.”

Haelan took another spoon of rice and said, in all sincerity, “Don’t be silly, Duor. We have no cock.”

At this Duor and Braddok fell over backwards from their seats in waves of guffaws. Even Coerraine found he could not contain an outward chuckle. Alaria blushed and covered her mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

“What?” Haelan said perplexed. “You can’t make eggs with just a hen. Everyone knows that!”

The group continued to laugh for some time. Whether it was the length of their journey, the stress of the combat or the lack of sleep, everyone felt better from the outburst. Even Haelan, though mortified, found himself chuckling as he defended his statement, “That’s not what I meant!”

Shortly thereafter, as the companions bed down for the night, wrapping themselves tightly in cloaks and blankets against the encroaching chill as the fire dwindled, a slight shadowy form neared their circle. Coerraine and Braddok rose and hands went to hilts until the firelight revealed the apothecary (and alleged mage), Devrim. He softly requested a talk with Alaria.

The magess, though fatigued, accepted and rose from her bedroll. She declined Coerraine’s unspoken wish to accompany them, simply saying to the armored man, “I’ll be fine. Be right back.”

As the small framed wiry little man led Alaria away from the camp toward a copse of trees, the Redstar Knight turned to the dwarf, who was doing his best to appear to slumber. Unfortunately for Duor, his best sleeping pantomime was not very good.

“How can I help you, Master Devrim?” Alaria said with a yawn.

“You already have, of course, Magess.” Devrim answered with a smile. “You’ve helped us all.”

They trod casually through the tall grass across the field toward the trees. Their way was softly lit by the slim crescent of the great moon, Arinane. The green moon, Sorilorr, had already begun its descent into the west. The smaller moon’s green light already overtaken my Arinane’s soft silver.

“I’m afraid I can not take credit for that, Master Devrim.” Alaria admitted. “Were it not for my companions, I doubt we would be having this conversation.”

“Yes. Your band of champions is most impressive.” Devrim agreed. “But I am wracked with guilt that I was unable to aid with my own powers.”

Alaria looked at the thin man’s small face. She plainly saw his sincerity. “There is no shame in that. Again, my magics would never have staved off the trolls’ attack.” She did not like admitting her own weakness nor did she wish to belay the fear or near helplessness she firmly felt during the encounter. “I am certain your magics will provide other opportunities to help others…if that is your wish.”

Just then, a breeze blew across the hill top, rustling the grasses and quickly drying leaves of the copse not far ahead of them. The wind brought with is a line of clouds that shrouded the moonlight most completely.

Alaria stopped moving in the complete darkness of the night. She heard Devrim mutter a something, a single syllable, under his breath and a puffball of powdery blue light, no larger than an orange, appeared before them. With their way lit, Devrim continued walking forward. Alaria joined him.

“You see? Your magic is helping others already?” Alaria said with a smile. She did not mention to the young mage from Welford that the cantrip would be capable by any first year apprentii at any of academy in R’Hath.

“A small thing.” Devrim replied, not seeing her smile. “Nothing like you are capable of.”

“How do you mean?”

“The farmer, Maracus I think is his name, was telling the tale of the battle around his campfire. He said you transformed the Redstar into a giant. That is real magic.”

Alaria could make no reply. It was a taxing spell, to be sure. But hardly what she would consider “real magic.”

“Well,” began Alaria, “if you like, I’m sure you could return to your master to learn that spell.”

“My master is dead.” Devrim said.

“I’m very sorry, Devrim.” Alaria said with sadness in her voice.

The bond between mentor and apprentice, at least as far as she knew growing up in R’Hath, was a very strong one. For most it was akin to a bond of blood and family. Alaria found she could not imagine the pain of loosing one’s master. But, as she had always been taught, it was a fact of life. One mourned the passing of one’s parents and one’s mentor nearly the same, moreso for some.

“Would…,” Devrim began. His voice was filled with nerves. “Would I be able to copy the Enlarging spell from you?” He looked at her like a kicked puppy. Hope and longing filled his face.

Alaria’s fingertips rose to the base of her neck, as if the very question had exposed her somehow. Her mind was a flurry of indignation. In R’Hath, the sharing of magics was something done only among family, one’s master or very well-known and trusted friends…and even then only in exchange for some comparable spell or other magic. Asking to peruse one’s spellbook was akin to asking for a piece of one’s soul.

“Devrim…We’ve really only just met.” Alaria began. Her mind raced as to how to let the pitiful looking man down easy. She reminded herself that the ways of the Mysteries in R’Hath were not necessarily the ways for outlander wizards.

“Yes. Of course.I understand.” Devrim said with knowing and defeat.

Alaria thought for a moment. “If you wish to increase your abilities, I’m sure you could find a new mentor who could teach it to you. The Green Witch, perhaps?”

Devrim shook his head as they neared the treeline of the copse. “The Lady Rhea takes no apprentices. The ways of the Initiates of the Emerald Tear are not the ways of our Mysteries.”

“Of course.” Alaria replied though she was rather unfamiliar with anything about the Order of the Emerald Tear other than their reputation as mentalists.

“But, you are correct.” His tone changed almost to one of joviality. “And I have found a new mentor. Just yesterday as we traveled.”

This surprised Alaria greatly. “Really? I did not know there is another mage in the caravan.”

“Oh yes.” Devrim said cheerily. “He has a magic wand and everything. I heard your halfling telling a tale that you had a wand, too. You blew a hole in the side of boat with lightning? Is that true?”

Another mage with a magic wand? Alaria thought. Something about it did not sound right. “Well, yes, but Haelan is prone to exaggeration.” Alaria was suddenly aware that they had traversed the whole field and stood just at the trees and undergrowth of the copse. The camp was nothing but a spots of orange glows from the various dying fires. “Perhaps we should go back to the camp now.” She said, trying to make it sound as relaxed as she could.

“Oh, not yet! I brought you here to meet my new friend. He’s a wonderful man and very much desired to meet you. I think you will like him.”

“Why here? Why is he not at camp?” Alaria did not expect an answer, nor did she want one. She simply wanted to return to camp and her champions. Her strength for magic was all but spent and she needed her rest. “Come, Devrim,” Alaria said not asking, “let us return to camp.”

The wiry man’s hand grasped her arm. “No! Not yet.” The man’s eyes were again pleading and desperate. “You have to meet him. He said he would not take me as apprentice unless I brought you here to meet him.”

That, thought Alaria, was it. Something was definitely not right here. She tried to pull her arm free of the blue-robed mage but his grip was firm. “Devrim, unhand me!”

“Ah, Magess Alaria, so good of you to come.” The voice came behind them from the woods.

Alaria’s heart leapt into her throat at the start. She whirled around fully expecting to see a bearded man in cascading black robes with a dragon skull atop his head. She exhaled audibly to see a slight man, no taller than she or Devrim, in simple peasant garb beneath a hooded cloak of coarsely woven grey wool. Was he one of Kudjik's drivers? He had a large pointed nose and a thin pointed moustache rested on his thin upper lip.

Alaria relaxed her arm and Devrim removed his hand. He smiled kindly at the man and then Alaria. “You see? Alaria, this is my new mentor. He’s my friend.”

“Yes, I see.” Alaria smiled nervously. She whispered, “Arkanivis.” She turned her magical sight to Devrim. Sure enough, the wiry man was surrounded by a thin pale yellow aura.

“This man is not your friend, Devrim. Come with me. This is not right.” Alaria said forcefully.

The young mage just looked at her with a confused grin. He practically chuckled. “Of course he is my friend, Alaria. He’s going to teach me real magic like you have.”

“Indeed I am, Devrim. You’ve done very well.” The man replied as he reached into his belt. “And, my dear, I hope you will also call me…” he withdrew a slender length of dark wood.

“…friend.” In a single motion the wand was pointed at Alaria and she heard, “M’rahk!”

Alaria’s vision seemed to cloud for a moment into a soft yellow blur before coming back into focus. The plainly dressed man smiled at her and she thought…for a moment…he did seem rather nice…

Then Alaria didn’t have time to know what she thought as a thickly fingered gloved hand grabbed her forearm and pulled her roughly away from the woods.

She blinked and saw Duor pulling her back into the field. “That’ll be enough o’ that, I think. Run!”

Alaria heard the words but her mind didn’t seem to want to tell her legs what to do. Should she leave? But Devrim…this ‘friend’ with the wand…

The dwarf tugged harder. He put his other hand to his mouth and let out a shrill high whistle with his thumb and forefinger.

Then, all at once, she felt herself again. Devrim!

As she thought it, the man with the wand called also “Devrim, stop them! We must all be friends here.”

Devrim nodded in complete agreement. “I’m sorry Alaria, but you’ll see he is a very good friend.” He reached into one of his many belt pouches and flung a handful of pink sand in the direction of the magess and dwarf.

Now Alaria was running with Duor. They were still quite far from camp. She could plainly hear Devrim begin casting and she knew the spell well.

“Contro es amberall buul…”

Alaria faltered and fell into the tall grass. She was so tired from the combat with the trolls. So tired from the days travel and the night was more than half gone. She was so tired.

Duor thumped into the grass beside her, snoring loudly.

Alaria again mustered her mind to herself. Devrim had cast a spell on them. This strange man was controlling him somehow. Duor was incapacitated. What was that clanking sound? She did not know where the others were. Someone was shouting. “No!” she commanded herself from hands and knees on the ground. She clutched handfuls of grass. She would not sleep!

She shook her head to clear it and looked up to see Coerraine racing passed she and Duor. Haelan was close behind charging along awkwardly with shield on one arm and her staff (much to large for the halfling to easily carry) tucked under his other arm.

“Are you ok?!” Haelan asked hastily. “What’s going on?”

“I am fine.” Alaria said curtly. “Rouse Duor.” She said as she took her staff and rose from the ground. “But Devrim…” Devrim! Coerraine! Alaria whirled about to call after the paladin. “Coerraine, don’t harm Devrim he is under a magic charm!”

Whether the Redstar Knight heard her or not she could not say as the armored man did not falter in his charge for the two small men near the trees’ edge.

Coerraine had heard her and did not alter his course as the other man holding the wand was obviously, to the paladin’s mind, to blame for this attack. His eyes glowed golden light and he saw, quite plainly the tainted aura of evil surrounding the wand-man.

“Huh? Wuh…?” Duor murmured confused as Haelan shook him vigorously. “Yeh idiot hairfoot! Can’t a dwarf get an honest night’s…” Duor sat up and pushed the halfling away to gaze at the soon to be met battle at the treeline.

“…Oh right. Look’s like it’s a party then.” He said and leapt to his feet, drawing his hand crossbow and took off after the paladin.

“You’re welcome.” Haelan called after the dwarf.

He drew his pinecone headed mace and took a position in front of the wizardess from R’Hath.

“I’m hope this does not go badly, Alaria. I am not sure Faerantha will hear my prayer but we need more light here…Yaix ar Yomarus, benfica Faerantha urmu”.” <cleric spell: Light. “Light the darkness, beneficent mother, Faerantha”>

As the Hilltender’s invocation finished, sparkles of what appeared to be starlight brought the area along copse’s edge into passable vision despite the cloud cover.

Alaria nodded. “That was well done, Haelan. I, too, am all but spent from the day. Let us hope the gods are kind to us in the coming moments.”

Braddok now raced passed them. The swordsman had removed his chainmail shirt in an attempt for a more restful sleep, but had taken up his shield. His blade, of course, was already drawn. He looked at Alaria with concern, barely stopping to receive an assured glance and nod that she was alright.

The man with the wand had fear plainly on his face as Coerraine approached. He practically hissed as he shouted, “Protect your master, Devrim!”

“But…but that’s a Redstar Knight.” The mage said in confusion. “Good paladin, this is all a mistake. He is my friend. We mean no harm.”

Coerraine pushed passed the mage from Welford without breaking stride. “Apologies friend. But you are not yourself. Stay down.”

Devrim flew roughly to the ground. He glanced up in alarm as the paladin’s spear shot forward to narrowly miss his ‘friend.’ He continued to look on, his mind racing for anything he might do to help his new master.

“I’d listen to him, boy.” Said the dwarf as he came up and stood over the mage.

Devrim had never had a crossbow pointed at his face before. But he was not inclined to disagree with it. He made feeble attempts to make the dwarf understand. “Don’t let him hurt my friend. He’s my master now. He’s going to teach me magic. He doesn’t mean any harm.”

“Sure he doesn’t. Just do me a favor and stay down for now.” Duor replied.

The man with the wand squealed in agony as Coerraine’s next strike sank into his upper arm. The man whirled around and hunched over. The squealing continued as his figure shuddered and his back arched unnaturally.

“Face me, villain!” Coerraine shouted. “I will not stab a creature in the back.” Righteous fury flared in the paladin’s soul. He would like nothing more than to skewer the man where he stood. But that was the way of cowards and thieves, not a Redstar Knight.

When the man turned again to face the paladin, Coerraine took a step back in surprise. The man’s face, no, his whole head was that of a dirty brown rat. With pointed teeth and red beady eyes the man-rat-thing hissed at Coerraine before putting his wand practically on Coerraine’s face and shouting “M’rahk!”

Coerraine’s vision was blurred with a hazy yellow light for the briefest of moments. When it cleared, he saw the man with the thin moustache smiling at him. His friend. Coerraine could not, for his life, remember why he had wanted to harm him.

“My friend. I am so sorry! By the Red Star, I do not what came over me. Please forgive me.” The paladin said.

“Oh boy.” Duor grumbled. He turned to look as menacing as he could at Devrim, “Stay here!”

“My dear Goldshield. Thank the gods! You must help me. Defend me from these murderous bandits who would do me harm.” The 'man' said.

Coerraine whirled around, his duty filling him with clarity. It was his honor, his life’s calling to defend the weak…and his friends doubly so. He saw Duor coming toward them. “You!” Coerraine growled.

Duor had only a moment to dodge the spear tip. He tumbled to the right and recovered to his feet.

“Easy there, Goldilocks. It’s me. Yer pal, pally.”

He dove again as the spear again jabbed in his direction, sinking effortlessly into the ground. “Blasted mages.” He grumbled. “Yer under a spell, Coerraine. Snap outtuv it!”

“You thief! You’re probably a murderer too.” Coerraine seethed as he attacked again and again, unrelenting.

“Coerraine, NO! It’s the were-rat!” Alaria called. She knew the power of a charming spell was not easily broken, especially after one had sucumbed to its effect. The hold of a charm from a wand or other item would no doubt be even harder to break. Alaria raced for the melee even as Braddok adjusted his own charge from the were-rat to try to intercept the paladin from reaching Duor.

Were-rat? Coerraine wondered to himself. There is no were-rat here…only my friend. But Alaria is my charge also, she would not lie to me. What was she talking about? But, of course, she would defend the dwarf. Afterall, she got him out of jail instead of letting him be served his justice. Murderous thieving dwarf.

Coerraine struck again.

This time Duor could not avoid the blow. The spear sank deeply into his shoulder, all but pinning him to the ground. The dwarf cried out in pain and returned the paladin’s strike with a crossbow bolt into Ceorraine’s thigh.

“Coerraine NO!” Alaria cried.

“Coerraine, HOLD!” Braddok’s voice came to his mind. The swordsman was almost upon them.

The paladin’s anger did not subside. Coerraine withdrew his spear and the dwarf sank to the ground. Blood readily poured from the wound.

This slovenly lying vermin she’d rescued from the gutter. What did she see in him? She was, no doubt, under the influence of his filthy lies.

The paladin raised his spear for the final blow. He could see plainly. The dwarf would not evade his justice this time.

“It’s the were-rat…” Duor said weakly.

There was no were-rat, Coerraine knew. He knew!

“A liar and thief to the end, is it then? Have you no honor? You steal from us. You terrorize my friend. And still she would protect you! I’ll tear your beard from your face. You deserve to rot in the fires of…”

***KLLLLANNNNNNGGGGG***

Coerraine faltered from a hard blow to his head. His spear fell harmlessly into the ground beside Duor. He held the back of his neck where the blow had struck. His mind swirled and his vision doubled for a moment.

Dimly, in the back of his mind he heard Haelan’s small voice from afar “Soooorrrrry, Coerraaaaaine.”

The small round shield flew back to Haelan’s waiting hand. The Hilltender raced toward the treeline as fast as his little legs would let him.

“Haelan? What?” Coerraine said weakly. He looked, but his vision was still a bit blurry. Why was Duor slumped on the ground…and bleeding profusely? His mind felt like five pounds of lead.

He saw Braddok give him a grimacing nod before turning to charge….a…a man with a rat’s head? Alaria raced up to Duor side and crouched down. She hastily began using the dwarf’s own cloak to attempt to staunch the bleeding. That frail looking wizard from Welford was rising from the ground, his back against a tree. Horror plain all over his face.

The dwarf moaned and winced.

The Redstar Knight’s mind cleared in an instant…the were-rat! The wand! Holy Celradorn, what had he done?!

Braddok made a telling blow on the creature holding a wand.

It swiped with its free clawed hand, under Braddok’s shield, and ripped into Braddok’s abdomen.

The swordsman barely felt the scratch and knocked the were-rat from his feet with his shield.

“Bonespit! Defend me!” cried the creature.

As Braddok raised his sword for a final blow on the were-rat the wood shuddered and cracked as a troll smashed through the undergrowth into the starlit area. The swordsman nearly fell back over himself to avoid a swipe of black claws.

Alaria was desperately trying to get Duor to his feet and back away from the fray. As she did so, she noted the area of charred blackened skin along the troll’s arm. The sixth troll! The one Fen had burned at the start of battle. Where was Fen?...or that bloody gnome…or his weasel, for that matter?

As if to answer Alaria’s thoughts, the “calvary” arrived…such as it was. Fen appeared seemingly from the very trees, as usual, and helped her get Duor to his feet. With his help, they began half-dragging the dwarf back toward camp.

“Gettim, BC!” came the gnome’s voice from behind the druid.

The giant ferret, Buttercreamshadowfeet, burst from the undergrowth making a beeline for the wounded were-rat.

“Eeeee!” squealed the rat-man as the ferret’s jaws clamped onto his forearm. The frightened creature still had the wherewithal to give orders, “Bonespit, Devrim, get the magess! Bring me the orb!”

Coerraine recovered his spear and moved to stand with Braddok. The warriors’ concern was now clear, cover Alaria’s retreat with the wounded rogue. The paladin put his mind to the duty at hand. Apologies and penance for his transgression against the dwarf would have to wait.

The troll, apparently named Bonespit, easily barreled passed the two warriors with a few swipes of its huge clawed hands.

Suddenly, Gnobert leapt up from the grasses between the troll and retreating party members.

“Ah ah ah, Ugly. Theer’s far eenoo fer now.” The gnome began throwing his hands up, as if tossing confetti and called out, "Shahiir imber yexi” <mage/illusionist spell (and inate gnome ability): Dancing Lights>

Sparks of brightly colored light, like fireworks, shot up from his hands to began snapping, popping and crackling before the troll’s field of vision.

The nocturnal savage roared and began swatting at the painfully bright lights.

Gnobert giggled and waved his hands about. He skipped and danced among the tall grass around the huge monster. (Could he really be enjoying this? Alaria wondered.) The bursts of colored light continued to weave and bob about the monster’s head as it futilely attempted to free itself from the frightful luminance.

“Can you take him?” Alaria asked Fen. The druid nodded in reply. “Get him back to camp and rouse Kudjik. Get the people out of here.” The wizardess from R’Hath let the dwarf go and it seemed, for a moment, the half-elf might drop him. But he held on and continued toward the camp. Alaria gripped her staff defensively and stayed her ground, preparing herself to expend the last of her power.

She knew it would be the last she could muster and, in all honesty, feared what good it might do. Perhaps something from her scrolls? There wasn't time. ‘Real magic’, indeed, she thought as Devrim’s words echoed in her head. It had been only moments earlier that seemed a lifetime ago.

Braddok hacked and slashed at the hulking mottled green hide of the creature’s back. Coerraine jabbed and stabbed at its front, futilely trying to get its attention off of Alaria. "Face me, creature! Face your defeat!".

The whizzing and popping colored lights soon flickered and dimmed to nothingness and, Alaria noted, the gnome was again nowhere to be seen.

As before, the wounds inflicted by the fighter and paladin seemed to shrink and close even before they could make another blow.

Without the frightful lights, the troll again bowled through the warriors’ defense and continued with some speed to where Alaria stood, waiting and defiant in the midst of the field.

Thankfully, the clouds continued their journey to the south and west, blissfully ignorant of the life and death situation going on beneath them. The field was again aglow with Arinane’s sliver of white light.

Alaria centered her mind and could feel what power she had left bending to her will. Another breeze swirled around her, fluttering her hair and shirts, as she felt the air charge with power.

With a raging roar, the troll was upon her.

“Beriz theran” <mage spell: Shield> she cried into the night with her taught outstretched free hand. A circle of solid hazy blue light formed in front of her hand just in time to meet the troll’s downward strike.

The monster’s blow pushed Alaria back two steps. But the shield held.

It turned to take a swipe at Braddok who had landed a solid blow to the back of its thigh.

Braddok went flying. Shield and sword and swordsman landed with thuds and clangs, scattered among the tall grass.

A stabbing spear missed the creature as Bonespit hurled a fist upon the circular field of blue light.

The blow knocked Alaria to her knees. The force of the attack pounded in her mind but she held onto the manifestation. The magess’ eyes grew wide as she noted “cracks” in the blue light. She knew she would not be able to maintain the shield through another attack like that.

Alaria was also suddenly very aware that they had no fire! Without fire the creature would not, could not, be defeated. This would all be for naught and she and her companions would be troll food. At least, Alaria thought, Duor and Fen might get away.

Coerraine desperately stabbed again as he called to Celradorn to protect his honorable servants from the evil upon them. Much to his momentary relief, a circle of golden light arose surrounding himself and encompassing Alaria’s position. The Redstar Knights strike was true, but the creature seemed hardly more wounded than when they’d begun.

With an overhead swing, the troll’s two fists came down upon the circular shield of blue light. Alaria’s mind didn’t stand a chance and the shield of light shattered into a thousand shards as the magess, herself, was thrown several feet back, rolling heavily along the ground.

Her mind felt like yesterday’s porridge. She was so tired. So weak. The puffball of blue light Devrim had conjured, that any first-year apprentii could call with a whim, was beyond her. She gripped her staff, her only remaining weapon, and tried to rouse herself but her body was simply spent. Then she heard…Haelan? His voice small and far away.

“Hey! Bonespit! Back off the nice lady! We’re all friends here.” Devrim called from the treeline.

Instantly, the troll stopped and turned to face the trees.

The Hilltender stood, with Devrim, beneath the star-glittered area at the tree’s edge. He held the wand.

“Now be a nice troll to our friends and go back to the…what was it?” the halfling cleric said to the Welford mage at his side. Devrim answered inaudibly. “Go back to the Feldmere…and don’t trouble any other travelers on the road ever again.”

Bonespit’s shoulder’s slumped. He groaned an acknowledgement and began trudging back down the hill slope to the south.

Coerraine stood dumbstruck. Magic, he thought. By the Golden Defender, he would never understand magic. He thought, for a moment, that it was his duty to smite to evil beast. Then, Coerraine thought of Duor. He had done enough damage this night.

A groan came from the grass as Braddok roused himself, hand at his head. He looked in confusion at the back of the troll, tromping off into the night. Then to Alaria and followed her gaze back to the copse.

Alaria grinned an exhausted grin at Haelan. The daelvar priest’s face was alight with his bright smile.

“Couldn’ta done it without him.” Haelan nodded to his left and a satisfied looking Devrim.

“Or her.” The Hilltender moved aside to reveal a very proud Buttercreamshadowfeet, perched upon a body, casually chomping on a dismemebered arm.

Gnobert was beside the ferret, smiling as brightly as the halfling and rubbing the ferret behind her ear.

Alaria forced herself to get up and brushed off her robe as Fen and Kudjik’s guardsmen came racing into the field to assist the battered companions.

“It’s over.” She said weakly to the concerned druid. Then, more to herself than anyone else, “Manat's star, I need to sleep.”