carborundum
Adventurer
Wow, well done! Will you be publishing the novel after polishing?
Forgotten Lore (Updated M-W-F)
- Thread starter Lazybones
- Start date
SolitonMan
Explorer
I finished my novel! This year's my seventh time participating in NaNoWriMo. I have a quick writing pace normally, but NaNoWriMo requires an average of 1,666 words/day, which means no taking days off.
I've already resumed writing Forgotten Lore, and I'll have updates for you again starting Friday.
Great news! Congratulations, that's a lot of work!
And thanks! I'm looking forward to reading more Forgotten Lore!
Lazybones
Adventurer
That's the plan!
* * * * *
Book 5: OUT IN THE WILDERNESS
Chapter 94
The damage to Wildrush didn’t look as significant from the valley floor as it had from the rim.
The town was situated atop a stony rise that gave it a clear vantage for about a mile in all directions. The stream that gave the place its name passed within a bowshot of the stockade wall, close enough to provide an easy source of water without threatening the integrity of the defensive barrier. The stream was put to work as it continued beyond the town; a sawmill and tannery stood close enough to be under the protection of the walls without making a nuisance with their accompanying sounds and smells.
An assortment of dun-colored tents had also been erected near the stream on the approach to the town. Groups of rough-looking men and a smaller number of women were visible moving around the tents, but the overall sense was one of disarray. To a person they stopped and watched the small caravan as it rattled past, their expressions too vague to suggest either hope or despair at their arrival.
As the adventurers drew closer to the main gates—closed save for a narrow sally door—they could see more signs of whatever had happened here. The stockade looked more or less intact, save for some soot marks that might have been old, but it was much harder to ignore the burned-out remains of a tower that rose to blackened timbers about ten feet above the twelve-foot height of the log wall. When intact the tower would have commanded an impressive view of the entire area, but now it just seemed to highlight the vulnerability of the isolated town.
They were still well clear, not even at the base of the shallow ascent that culminated in the gates, when the heavy portals creaked open to reveal a small company of riders. The men, clad in a variety of garb but all obviously armed, galloped swiftly down to meet the approaching caravan. The lead wagon drew to a halt, and as the other two followed suit Bredan jumped down from his seat and walked forward to join his companions in awaiting the arrival of the welcoming committee.
The six riders reined in a good two hundred paces short of the lead wagon, giving Bredan enough time to reach the front of the column before they arrived. Only the leader wore any kind of insignia, a cast-iron badge bearing the King’s rearing-horse sigil. He was also the only one wearing armor, a shirt of mail links that looked like it could use some time in an armorer’s forge. His five companions remained on their horses as he dismounted and tossed his reins to one of them before approaching the wagons. Bredan joined Glori, Quellan, and Kosk in waiting for him.
“I’m Captain Lydon,” he said by way of greeting. He looked to be about fifty, the hair just visible under his broad cap a steel gray. But Bredan didn’t miss the way that he walked, or the well-worn hilt on the sword at his hip. “Which of you is Golver Haran?” His gaze drifted back to the wagons, as if doubtful that any of the four adventurers could have met the description of his contact.
“He didn’t make it,” Quellan said. Lydon hadn’t shown any alarm on first seeing the half-orc, but now his eyes widened just a bit as he noticed the symbol he wore around his neck. “We ran into some trouble on the way up,” the cleric explained.
“Giants attacked us,” Bredan said. “They destroyed one of the wagons and killed several of the guards, including Haran.”
“Don’t worry, we’re here on the behalf of the army,” Glori said, idly plucking a string of her lyre as she spoke.
Lydon grimaced and glanced back at his companions as if to check if they’d overheard. The other riders shared nervous looks, and one fidgeted with his reins, causing his horse to jerk its head from side to side. “You’d better come with me,” Lydon said. “The Governor will want to speak with you immediately, I’d reckon.”
“That would be fine,” Quellan said. He turned to signal to the wagon drivers.
“What happened here?” Glori asked Lydon as they stepped clear of the road. “Were you attacked?”
“I think… I think I’d better let the Governor tell that tale,” Lydon said. “Let’s get these wagons inside the walls before we lose the light.” Before Glori or any of the others could ask anything more he turned and hurried back to his friends. He issued orders as he mounted, and the small cluster of riders spread out to flank the wagons as they began the ascent toward the town.
Kosk and Quellan headed back to their wagons, but Bredan remained where he was, waiting for Harvin to come to him for once. Glori lingered with him instead of rejoining the lead wagon. “What do you think?” she asked.
Bredan’s expression was serious as he shifted his gaze between their escort and the town, his eyes lingering on the blackened outline of the ruined tower. “I think the Governor’s going to have some bad news for us,” he finally said.
Lazybones
Adventurer
I realize that the above post doesn't deliver a proper Friday cliffhanger, so here are the first few lines from Chapter 95 as a bonus. I'll resume posting on a Monday-Wednesday-Friday schedule from here forward.
* * *
Chapter 95
Within a minute of meeting the Governor, Bredan learned that he’d been right.
“Two days ago, Wildrush was attacked by a chimera,” Argost Brownwell said.
Bredan didn’t know immediately how bad it was, but one look at the faces of his companions was suggestive. Kosk grimaced and shook his head, while Quellan looked like he’d been punched in the stomach. Only Glori managed to recover her typically enthusiastic smile, though Bredan could see how her hand shook as she reached down to stroke her lyre. She glanced over at him, and on seeing his look of confusion explained.
“It’s a magical beast,” she told him. “A three-headed monstrosity that is part goat, part lion, and part dragon.”
“That doesn’t sound good,” Bredan said.
* * *
Chapter 95
Within a minute of meeting the Governor, Bredan learned that he’d been right.
“Two days ago, Wildrush was attacked by a chimera,” Argost Brownwell said.
Bredan didn’t know immediately how bad it was, but one look at the faces of his companions was suggestive. Kosk grimaced and shook his head, while Quellan looked like he’d been punched in the stomach. Only Glori managed to recover her typically enthusiastic smile, though Bredan could see how her hand shook as she reached down to stroke her lyre. She glanced over at him, and on seeing his look of confusion explained.
“It’s a magical beast,” she told him. “A three-headed monstrosity that is part goat, part lion, and part dragon.”
“That doesn’t sound good,” Bredan said.
carborundum
Adventurer
Aaand he's back.
Lazybones
Adventurer
Chapter 95
Within a minute of meeting the Governor, Bredan learned that he’d been right.
“Two days ago, Wildrush was attacked by a chimera,” Argost Brownwell said.
Bredan didn’t know immediately how bad it was, but one look at the faces of his companions was suggestive. Kosk grimaced and shook his head, while Quellan looked like he’d been punched in the stomach. Only Glori managed to recover her typically enthusiastic smile, though Bredan could see how her hand shook as she reached down to stroke her lyre. She glanced over at him, and on seeing his look of confusion explained.
“It’s a magical beast,” she told him. “A three-headed monstrosity that is part goat, part lion, and part dragon.”
“That doesn’t sound good,” Bredan said.
“That’s a bloody understatement,” Kosk said. “Haran never said anything about no bloody chimera.”
“The creature only appeared in the valley less than a week ago,” the only other man in the room chimed in. The middle-aged human who’d been introduced as “Coop” headed the local Manufacturers’ Association. He had the look of a man who would be equally at home in a sawmill or a shop that focused on detail-work. He was much like Brownwell in that; the Governor still had the gnarled, scarred hands of the mine foreman he’d been before he’d been chosen for his current position. Lydon hadn’t remained with them for longer than it had taken to show them to this room. “We drove the thing off, but two men were killed and over a dozen hurt, some badly. And you saw the damage it did ere it left.”
“My friend didn’t mean to impugn your efforts,” Quellan said. “From what Captain Haran told us, things like that are not uncommon in these mountains.”
“It’s a sad loss,” Brownwell said. “He was a good man. Killed by a giant, you said?”
“A hill giant, accompanied by four ogres,” Glori said. “They were camped out on the road, waiting in ambush.” After a quick glance at Quellan she added, “There might have been a spellcaster with them, we’re not certain. They had picked a good spot for their attack, and they destroyed the lead wagon, the one carrying the weapons for your garrison.”
“Organized, then,” Coop said with a knowing look at Brownwell.
“We’d wondered why we hadn’t heard anything from the south of late,” Brownwell said. “We don’t exactly get much traffic here in the Silverpeak, not since the last mining bust, but we get some, even if it’s just the carrier of the King’s post or the odd peddler or trader coming over to sell his wares.”
“But you know about the war, right?” Bredan asked.
“Aye, though I almost wish we hadn’t,” Brownwell said. “We have enough problems here in the best of times, leaving aside a goblinoid army.”
“They’d be there whether or not you’d heard,” Kosk pointed out.
“We haven’t seen hide nor hair of any of their kind in the valley,” Coop interjected. “Not that I’m complaining.”
“From what we’ve seen, it doesn’t look like you have regular patrols,” Kosk said.
Anger flashed on Coop’s face for a moment, but Brownwell restrained him with a raised hand. “It’s true, we haven’t had anything more than a token force stationed here since the silver ran out,” the Governor admitted. “Barely enough to keep the peace, with the sorts of folk who end up here. Some say it was worse during the boom, but thin times bring out their own kind of trouble.”
“Such as this monster that afflicts you,” Quellan said. “Have any other settlements been attacked?”
“There aren’t that many,” Brownwell said, “Not anymore. But I’ve sent riders to check on the few holdouts who still have claims along the east slope and along the outer edge of the woods. We still have one major mine that’s still running, the Crossed Picks. I’ve notified the miners, though to be honest they’re probably safer there than they are here.”
“Thing’s too big to go crawling into a deep shaft,” Coop explained.
“When I heard you’d arrived, I thought we might have found salvation,” Brownwell said. “We’d been told there would be significant reinforcements for our garrison with the next shipment of supplies.”
“That wasn’t true even before those giants hit us,” Kosk said. “Haran had just a handful of men.”
“I don’t know how significant we are, Governor, but we’re at your service,” Quellan said. “We have some, ah, experience with this sort of thing.”
“Too much experience, when it comes to volunteering,” Kosk muttered under his breath, but he subsided at a look from the cleric.
“Do you know where the creature went, after it attacked you?” Glori asked.
Brownwell was about to respond when they heard the sound of boots, a heavy tread, in the hallway outside. The Governor’s House was two stories, and bigger than most in Wildrush, but it was the same type of hasty wooden construction that was typical in the rest of the town, and even the Governor’s boards tended to creak.
“Ah,” Brownwell said. “If this is who I think it is, then he might have a better answer to your question.”
Within a minute of meeting the Governor, Bredan learned that he’d been right.
“Two days ago, Wildrush was attacked by a chimera,” Argost Brownwell said.
Bredan didn’t know immediately how bad it was, but one look at the faces of his companions was suggestive. Kosk grimaced and shook his head, while Quellan looked like he’d been punched in the stomach. Only Glori managed to recover her typically enthusiastic smile, though Bredan could see how her hand shook as she reached down to stroke her lyre. She glanced over at him, and on seeing his look of confusion explained.
“It’s a magical beast,” she told him. “A three-headed monstrosity that is part goat, part lion, and part dragon.”
“That doesn’t sound good,” Bredan said.
“That’s a bloody understatement,” Kosk said. “Haran never said anything about no bloody chimera.”
“The creature only appeared in the valley less than a week ago,” the only other man in the room chimed in. The middle-aged human who’d been introduced as “Coop” headed the local Manufacturers’ Association. He had the look of a man who would be equally at home in a sawmill or a shop that focused on detail-work. He was much like Brownwell in that; the Governor still had the gnarled, scarred hands of the mine foreman he’d been before he’d been chosen for his current position. Lydon hadn’t remained with them for longer than it had taken to show them to this room. “We drove the thing off, but two men were killed and over a dozen hurt, some badly. And you saw the damage it did ere it left.”
“My friend didn’t mean to impugn your efforts,” Quellan said. “From what Captain Haran told us, things like that are not uncommon in these mountains.”
“It’s a sad loss,” Brownwell said. “He was a good man. Killed by a giant, you said?”
“A hill giant, accompanied by four ogres,” Glori said. “They were camped out on the road, waiting in ambush.” After a quick glance at Quellan she added, “There might have been a spellcaster with them, we’re not certain. They had picked a good spot for their attack, and they destroyed the lead wagon, the one carrying the weapons for your garrison.”
“Organized, then,” Coop said with a knowing look at Brownwell.
“We’d wondered why we hadn’t heard anything from the south of late,” Brownwell said. “We don’t exactly get much traffic here in the Silverpeak, not since the last mining bust, but we get some, even if it’s just the carrier of the King’s post or the odd peddler or trader coming over to sell his wares.”
“But you know about the war, right?” Bredan asked.
“Aye, though I almost wish we hadn’t,” Brownwell said. “We have enough problems here in the best of times, leaving aside a goblinoid army.”
“They’d be there whether or not you’d heard,” Kosk pointed out.
“We haven’t seen hide nor hair of any of their kind in the valley,” Coop interjected. “Not that I’m complaining.”
“From what we’ve seen, it doesn’t look like you have regular patrols,” Kosk said.
Anger flashed on Coop’s face for a moment, but Brownwell restrained him with a raised hand. “It’s true, we haven’t had anything more than a token force stationed here since the silver ran out,” the Governor admitted. “Barely enough to keep the peace, with the sorts of folk who end up here. Some say it was worse during the boom, but thin times bring out their own kind of trouble.”
“Such as this monster that afflicts you,” Quellan said. “Have any other settlements been attacked?”
“There aren’t that many,” Brownwell said, “Not anymore. But I’ve sent riders to check on the few holdouts who still have claims along the east slope and along the outer edge of the woods. We still have one major mine that’s still running, the Crossed Picks. I’ve notified the miners, though to be honest they’re probably safer there than they are here.”
“Thing’s too big to go crawling into a deep shaft,” Coop explained.
“When I heard you’d arrived, I thought we might have found salvation,” Brownwell said. “We’d been told there would be significant reinforcements for our garrison with the next shipment of supplies.”
“That wasn’t true even before those giants hit us,” Kosk said. “Haran had just a handful of men.”
“I don’t know how significant we are, Governor, but we’re at your service,” Quellan said. “We have some, ah, experience with this sort of thing.”
“Too much experience, when it comes to volunteering,” Kosk muttered under his breath, but he subsided at a look from the cleric.
“Do you know where the creature went, after it attacked you?” Glori asked.
Brownwell was about to respond when they heard the sound of boots, a heavy tread, in the hallway outside. The Governor’s House was two stories, and bigger than most in Wildrush, but it was the same type of hasty wooden construction that was typical in the rest of the town, and even the Governor’s boards tended to creak.
“Ah,” Brownwell said. “If this is who I think it is, then he might have a better answer to your question.”
Lazybones
Adventurer
Chapter 96
Everyone turned to the door just as it opened and a man came in. The new arrival started a bit on seeing everyone looking at him. He was a rough if rakish-looking fellow, a human maybe thirty years old, skin deeply tanned with a soil-brown beard that looked like it hadn’t been trimmed in a few days. His clothes looked just as rumpled, functional leathers in dark shades that would blend into a forest or rocky terrain. But there wasn’t any rust on the sheaths of the two long knives tucked into his belt, or on the buckles on the straps that supported both a stuffed quiver and a small scout’s satchel slung across his back. His eyes were a bit bloodshot but intent as they took in the room, focusing for just a second on each of the unfamiliar outsiders.
“Rodan, your timing is perfect as always,” Brownwell said. “These are specialists sent from Adelar to help us with our… situation. Unfortunately, Golver Haran is dead, their caravan came under attack as well on the road through the mountains. Giants.”
Rodan took all that in with barely a blink, reaching up to rub his beard as Brownwell introduced each of the adventurers in turn. “Rodan is a ranger, he knows the western Silverpeak better than just about anyone,” Brownwell said.
“The Governor is too generous with his praise,” the man said. He had a slight accent that spoke of a distant ancestry. He shook each of their hands in turn, not batting an eye at either Quellan or Kosk, though when he came to Bredan he held his hand for just a beat longer, giving him an evaluative look before turning back to the others.
“What did you find out?” Coop asked.
Rodan glanced subtly at the adventurers, but at Brownwell’s nod he said, “There weren’t a lot of signs, but what little there was pointed to where we thought. It looks like the beast has chosen to make its lair in the High Hollows.”
“Is that far from the town?” Quellan asked.
“Not far enough,” the ranger said.
“Do you think it’ll come back?” Bredan asked.
“We didn’t hurt it that badly,” Rodan said.
“According to Petellian’s Bestiary, the first chimeras were created by a demon prince that was brought to our world through potent magic,” Quellan said. “They bear all of the worst traits of their constituent creatures: greed, pride, and viciousness. They enjoy the fear and suffering of lesser beings… it will savor the terror it has created.”
“I’ve heard a few tales of groups that took one of them on,” Glori said. “The one thing the stories all have in common the fact that chimeras are tough and deadly.”
“Let’s focus on what we know, strengths and weaknesses,” Kosk said. “They can fly, obviously. The dragon head breathes fire, I presume.”
“Aye,” Brownwell said.
“Though not endlessly,” Rodan said. “In the first attack, it would breathe and then fly around for a bit before coming around to offer another gout. In close quarters it can attack with multiple heads and its claws, all at once.”
“You were fortunate to only lose a few men, it sounds like,” Glori said.
“Only because no one was stupid enough to face it head-on,” Coop said. He shot a look at Kosk as if inviting him to say something, but the dwarf held his tongue.
“We’re not warriors here,” Brownwell said. “Even the few soldiers we have in our garrison are not equipped to face a threat like this. We’ll fight to defend our home, but if the creature comes back determined to burn Wildrush to the ground, I fear there’s little we can do to stop it.”
“We took an oath to fight for the King,” Bredan said. “Whether it’s against goblins or monsters, I reckon it applies either way.”
“Well said,” Rodan said. “You have magic?”
“We have some,” Glori said. “Unfortunately, our blasting mage isn’t with us any longer, but we can still do some damage.”
“We’ve been making what preparations we can for the creature’s return, but Wildrush is still vulnerable,” Brownwell said.
“If we’re going to do this, and it’s still a big ‘if’ in my mind, then we have to do it right,” Kosk said. “Hunt the beast down, face it in its lair and destroy it. No half-measures, just keep hitting it until its dead. If it flies off, pursue it to where it goes to ground and kill it there. Keep harrying it until it’s either dead or has left the valley.”
“It sounds like this isn’t your first hunt,” Rodan said. “The dwarf has the right of it, I suspect,” he added to Brownwell and Coop.
Brownwell nodded. “I won’t order you to do this, but if you agree to accept this mission we’ll give you whatever support we can.”
Quellan turned to Rodan. “Sir, if you’re willing to show us the way, we will confront the creature,” the cleric said.
“It would be even better if you’d send a dozen men with heavy crossbows with us,” Kosk said.
“I’m not sure you’ll find many eager for that duty,” Coop said.
“If they don’t fight it in its lair, they’ll have to fight it here,” Kosk pointed out.
“They’ll need men who can fight here,” Quellan said. “The thing can fly, remember; there’s no guarantee it won’t attack while we’re out seeking its lair.”
“And a small group can better escape detection,” Glori said. “Sneak up on it.”
“This is a monster that can fly and has three heads,” Kosk said. “I don’t think you can assume you’ll be able to sneak up on it.”
“I know a way to the Hollows that has good cover on the approaches,” Rodan said. “There’s a chance we’ll make it there undetected. But up on the heights, where the caves are, there’s a lot of open ground.”
“Maybe we can lure it into a trap,” Glori suggested.
“There’s a whole lot of maybes to figure out,” Kosk said. “But we’ve just finished a long and difficult climb over some mountains, and I for one could use a wash, a hot meal, and a drink, not necessarily in that order.”
“I know where you can get all three,” Coop said, rising to his feet. “If we’re done here for now…”
“Yes, of course,” Brownwell said. “We’ll talk later, once you had a chance to rest and recover from your journey.” He and Rodan watched until they had left, their eyes lingering on the departing adventurers with a mix of hope and careful evaluation until the door to the Governor’s office had swung closed behind them.
Everyone turned to the door just as it opened and a man came in. The new arrival started a bit on seeing everyone looking at him. He was a rough if rakish-looking fellow, a human maybe thirty years old, skin deeply tanned with a soil-brown beard that looked like it hadn’t been trimmed in a few days. His clothes looked just as rumpled, functional leathers in dark shades that would blend into a forest or rocky terrain. But there wasn’t any rust on the sheaths of the two long knives tucked into his belt, or on the buckles on the straps that supported both a stuffed quiver and a small scout’s satchel slung across his back. His eyes were a bit bloodshot but intent as they took in the room, focusing for just a second on each of the unfamiliar outsiders.
“Rodan, your timing is perfect as always,” Brownwell said. “These are specialists sent from Adelar to help us with our… situation. Unfortunately, Golver Haran is dead, their caravan came under attack as well on the road through the mountains. Giants.”
Rodan took all that in with barely a blink, reaching up to rub his beard as Brownwell introduced each of the adventurers in turn. “Rodan is a ranger, he knows the western Silverpeak better than just about anyone,” Brownwell said.
“The Governor is too generous with his praise,” the man said. He had a slight accent that spoke of a distant ancestry. He shook each of their hands in turn, not batting an eye at either Quellan or Kosk, though when he came to Bredan he held his hand for just a beat longer, giving him an evaluative look before turning back to the others.
“What did you find out?” Coop asked.
Rodan glanced subtly at the adventurers, but at Brownwell’s nod he said, “There weren’t a lot of signs, but what little there was pointed to where we thought. It looks like the beast has chosen to make its lair in the High Hollows.”
“Is that far from the town?” Quellan asked.
“Not far enough,” the ranger said.
“Do you think it’ll come back?” Bredan asked.
“We didn’t hurt it that badly,” Rodan said.
“According to Petellian’s Bestiary, the first chimeras were created by a demon prince that was brought to our world through potent magic,” Quellan said. “They bear all of the worst traits of their constituent creatures: greed, pride, and viciousness. They enjoy the fear and suffering of lesser beings… it will savor the terror it has created.”
“I’ve heard a few tales of groups that took one of them on,” Glori said. “The one thing the stories all have in common the fact that chimeras are tough and deadly.”
“Let’s focus on what we know, strengths and weaknesses,” Kosk said. “They can fly, obviously. The dragon head breathes fire, I presume.”
“Aye,” Brownwell said.
“Though not endlessly,” Rodan said. “In the first attack, it would breathe and then fly around for a bit before coming around to offer another gout. In close quarters it can attack with multiple heads and its claws, all at once.”
“You were fortunate to only lose a few men, it sounds like,” Glori said.
“Only because no one was stupid enough to face it head-on,” Coop said. He shot a look at Kosk as if inviting him to say something, but the dwarf held his tongue.
“We’re not warriors here,” Brownwell said. “Even the few soldiers we have in our garrison are not equipped to face a threat like this. We’ll fight to defend our home, but if the creature comes back determined to burn Wildrush to the ground, I fear there’s little we can do to stop it.”
“We took an oath to fight for the King,” Bredan said. “Whether it’s against goblins or monsters, I reckon it applies either way.”
“Well said,” Rodan said. “You have magic?”
“We have some,” Glori said. “Unfortunately, our blasting mage isn’t with us any longer, but we can still do some damage.”
“We’ve been making what preparations we can for the creature’s return, but Wildrush is still vulnerable,” Brownwell said.
“If we’re going to do this, and it’s still a big ‘if’ in my mind, then we have to do it right,” Kosk said. “Hunt the beast down, face it in its lair and destroy it. No half-measures, just keep hitting it until its dead. If it flies off, pursue it to where it goes to ground and kill it there. Keep harrying it until it’s either dead or has left the valley.”
“It sounds like this isn’t your first hunt,” Rodan said. “The dwarf has the right of it, I suspect,” he added to Brownwell and Coop.
Brownwell nodded. “I won’t order you to do this, but if you agree to accept this mission we’ll give you whatever support we can.”
Quellan turned to Rodan. “Sir, if you’re willing to show us the way, we will confront the creature,” the cleric said.
“It would be even better if you’d send a dozen men with heavy crossbows with us,” Kosk said.
“I’m not sure you’ll find many eager for that duty,” Coop said.
“If they don’t fight it in its lair, they’ll have to fight it here,” Kosk pointed out.
“They’ll need men who can fight here,” Quellan said. “The thing can fly, remember; there’s no guarantee it won’t attack while we’re out seeking its lair.”
“And a small group can better escape detection,” Glori said. “Sneak up on it.”
“This is a monster that can fly and has three heads,” Kosk said. “I don’t think you can assume you’ll be able to sneak up on it.”
“I know a way to the Hollows that has good cover on the approaches,” Rodan said. “There’s a chance we’ll make it there undetected. But up on the heights, where the caves are, there’s a lot of open ground.”
“Maybe we can lure it into a trap,” Glori suggested.
“There’s a whole lot of maybes to figure out,” Kosk said. “But we’ve just finished a long and difficult climb over some mountains, and I for one could use a wash, a hot meal, and a drink, not necessarily in that order.”
“I know where you can get all three,” Coop said, rising to his feet. “If we’re done here for now…”
“Yes, of course,” Brownwell said. “We’ll talk later, once you had a chance to rest and recover from your journey.” He and Rodan watched until they had left, their eyes lingering on the departing adventurers with a mix of hope and careful evaluation until the door to the Governor’s office had swung closed behind them.
Lazybones
Adventurer
Chapter 97
Quellan was as tired as his companions, his limbs feeling as though iron weights had been banded around each one, but he begged off from the group as they approached the inn where rooms had been reserved for the use of the new arrivals from Adelar. It was already late in the day and he wanted to visit the local temple before nightfall. He anticipated an early start to their chimera-hunt the next day, and while they still had some of the healing potions they’d purchased in Adelar with some of the surplus party funds he wanted to see if any other magical resources were available locally.
Glori offered to go with him, but he told her that wasn’t necessary. While he would have enjoyed her company in most instances, he felt the need for some time alone, to get his thoughts—and feelings—in order.
Finding the temple wasn’t hard at all. Wildrush was not a large town, and the building was distinctive. For one it was made entirely of stone, the large blocks offering a contrast in solidity and age that contrasted significantly with the wooden constructions that surrounded it. This was a place that looked like it might have stood when the rest of the town was just an idea on a map. From what he’d seen thus far Quellan would not have been surprised if most of Wildrush’s buildings had been rebuilt more than once in the place’s tumultuous history.
But when he finally reached the front of the temple he stopped in surprise. The design was fairly simple, consistent with the other rural churches he’d visited, but what caught him off-guard was the sigil etched into the lintel-stone above the door. It was the same sign he wore on the icon that hung on his chest. The markings that stood for the Eleven Precepts had faded away, leaving the open book blank, but it could only be the symbol of Hosrenu, his patron deity.
Blinking up at that familiar marking, he tried to remember what Haran had told him about Wildrush. He’d thought that the other man had said that the local temple was dedicated to Sorevas; wouldn’t he have remembered if the other man had mentioned his own god?
After a few moments Quellan shook his head and went inside. There was an easy way to learn the truth.
The interior was quiet and dark after the noise and bustle of the street. The foyer was only about five paces across, the stone floor bare and the walls decorated only by a few scraps of dyed linen that bore no markings. Arched exits stood to either side and ahead. To the left and right the rooms beyond were only slightly larger, their simple furnishings indicating that they were chapels for prayer services. Each could have only accommodated maybe a dozen worshippers, but both were empty at the moment. Behind the altar stones were additional linen hangings that bore the sigils of the gods Sorevas and Laesil. That could explain his earlier confusion, perhaps. Otherwise the two chapels appeared to be identical, though Quellan could hardly think of two gods more dissimilar than the Shining Father and the Lady of Fortune. Although thinking about it, maybe it made sense, considering the nature of this place.
But the broader mystery of the open book pushed him forward. The arch opposite the entry led down a narrow hall that quickly opened into another small chamber. This one both felt intimately familiar and strange at the same time. The shelves that divided the room into corridors were familiar, as were the small wooden study-desks tucked into niches in the walls. But the shelves were only sparsely populated, and both they and the desks were covered in a layer of dust that would have thrown the Head Librarian back at the monastery in Crosspath into fits to see it. The place also lacked the clean smell of books he remembered, instead filled with an earthy mustiness overlaid with the pungent tones of a barracks-hall.
Feeling uneasy at the sight of the temple, he headed deeper into the chamber. The altar-stone and the lectern behind it stood within a narrow beam of light that projected down from a slit window in the canted roof ten paces above. Motes of dust danced in the light, and Quellan shook his head in annoyance. There wasn’t even a copy the Principles of Knowledge on the lectern where it should be, a fundamental error that even a priest of another sect shouldn’t have made.
There were a few side-rooms that exited off of the back of the chamber, and the second of those that Quellan ducked his head into was occupied. A man in a priest’s robes lay sprawled upon a cot, snoring softly. He looked to be in his fifties, his thinning hair more gray than brown, what was left of it scattered about his scalp in disarray. A scattering of empty bottles on the floor around the cot suggested that more than simple exhaustion explained him being asleep hours still before nightfall. A small table in the corner held more bottles and the remains of more than one meal. One sniff was enough to confirm that this room and its occupant were the source of the stale odor he’d sensed earlier.
Quellan almost retreated, but then the old priest shifted in his sleep and groaned. The motion caused his robe to open slightly, revealing a sigil he wore on a leather cord around his neck. The symbol on the carved wooden disk was identical to the one Quellan wore, and matched the carving on the entrance to the temple.
Quellan leaned forward and gave the sleeping man a sharp nudge. The priest groaned and shifted again but didn’t wake. After a moment the half-orc tried again, then a third time. Finally he took a firm grip on the man’s shoulder and shook him until his eyes popped open. They widened as they fixed on Quellan. “Gaaah!” the priest cried, jerking back with enough force that he slid half off the cot. Bottles went skittering across the floor and caromed off the walls as his legs scrambled upon the bare stone. Quellan grabbed hold of him, mostly to keep him from hurting himself in his surprise.
“Calm yourself,” Quellan said. “I am looking for the Loremaster of this temple.”
The priest recovered fairly quickly from his confusion, though it took another few moments for him to be able to get his legs under him enough to stay on the cot unsupported. “Who are you? What do you want?” he asked.
“My name is Quellan Emberlane. I am looking for the Loremaster.”
The priest’s eyes sharpened. “You’re him. You’re the one.”
“The one what?” Quellan asked.
But the priest had already turned away, and as Quellan watched he bent down and started checking the survivors of the bottles scattered beneath the cot. The half-orc didn’t realize what he was doing until the priest went over to the table and began checking those as well. The old man’s expression soured as he failed to find any bottles that weren’t empty.
“I am looking for the Loremaster…” Quellan ventured again.
“I’m him,” the priest said. “Name’s Shenan.” He walked past Quellan into the main hall of the temple, turning to go into one of the other side-rooms. The half-orc started to follow, only to stop abruptly as he heard the sound of the priest using a chamber pot.
“Well, what do you want?” Shenan asked, before he was finished.
“I just arrived with some companions from Adelar,” Quellan said. “We heard about the attack on the town.”
“Dark business, that,” Shenan said, appearing in the doorway so suddenly that Quellan jumped slightly. The old priest pushed past him and made his way back to the room with the cot. He bent to pick up one of the bottles that had been knocked over by the entry, but only gave it a quick shake before adding it to the collection on the table. “Not sure what these yokels expected, living up here in this gods-forsaken place.”
“Um… what are you doing up here?” Quellan ventured.
“Serving a penance,” Shenan said. “What about you? Adelar’s a long way away.”
“There’s a war going on,” Quellan said. “My companions and I came up here to watch for any goblinoid incursions that might try to flank…”
“Even goblins aren’t stupid enough to want to come here,” Shenan said over him. “That chimera won’t be the worst of it, you mark me.”
“What do you mean?” Quellan asked.
“You’ll see, soon enough,” Shenan said. He sat back down on the cot, bending to grab the blanket that had fallen behind it when he’d be woken up.
“Perhaps we could talk more more over a meal,” Quellan suggested. “We’re staying at an inn not far from here…”
“You wouldn’t catch me in the Barrel,” Shenan said. “Place attracts an unsavory sort.” He gave Quellan a hard look then slumped back down onto the cot. “Don’t forget to close the door on your way out.”
“Hey,” Quellan said, stepping back into the room. “Hey!”
“No need to shout, boy,” Shenan said.
“I came here seeking help,” Quellan said. “My companions and I are going to seek the chimera’s lair tomorrow, and are in need of the god’s blessing. Healing potions, protectives, scrolls…”
Shenan waved a hand idly, then pulled the blanket up over him. “Downstairs,” he said. “In the nook behind the altar stone. If there is anything like that, it would be down there. Take whatever you need.”
Quellan supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised, but he couldn’t help but blurt, “You mean there isn’t an inventory?”
“Welcome to Wildrush,” muttered the priest as he yanked the blanket up further and turned to face the wall.
Resisting the urge to shake the man again, Quellan retreated back to the temple hall.
The place was small enough that it didn’t take him long to find the stairs the old priest had talked about, behind a door that took all of Quellan’s strength to pull open. It wasn’t locked, but the state of the hinges suggested that Shenan didn’t come this way very often. The stairs themselves were narrow enough that it took the big half-orc some care to make his way down, and even then his head was scraping the low ceiling. The stairs turned once and then deposited him into a vault that made the temple above look orderly by comparison.
The air here was thick and stale, and filled with dust by the time he’d taken three steps. The darkness gave him no difficulty, thanks to his orcish heritage, but he still took a moment to summon a light spell and fix it to one of the flanges on his mace.
What the spell revealed caused him to reassess his estimate of how frequently the Lorekeeper came down here; it looked like no one had entered the cellar in a hundred years. There were more of the freestanding shelves, these extending from the floor to the ceiling. There was at least enough clearance that he wouldn’t bump his head, though he could have reached up and touched the thick buttresses that supported it without straining. From near the stairs he couldn’t tell if there were any other exits, but it didn’t look like it.
Careful not to dislodge anything, Quellan began an examination of the closer shelves. There was still more open space than filled, but the books he saw surprised him. The library in the monastery in Crosspath had owned a decent collection of titles, some of which he saw copies of here, but there were also books on these shelves that would have caused the Head Librarian to turn green with envy. Most were in a sorry state, a fact that caused him more distress than anything he’d seen here thus far, even that drunk of a priest. He paused to look at a few of the books, being excruciatingly careful of their binding and the faded pages within, but the urgency of his mission quickly drove him onward.
The shelves extended across the breadth of the vault, but at their end he came to a small open space that abutted the back wall. He guessed he was almost directly below the foyer of the temple, which he suspected might have been a later addition to the building. This underground room did not look like an add-on. A horizontal shelf had been cut into the wall, upon which a small assortment of objects rested, universally covered in dust. Below them stood half a dozen chests, banded in iron that was crusted with rust. The last object of interest was another altar stone, this one with maybe half the dimensions of the ones in the temple above. It was carved with markings in the style of an older time, etched into the stone with a heavy chisel. Even in that simple style Quellan had no difficulty identifying the Twelve Runes of Lore. A reverent feeling came over him as he knelt to examine the altar more closely, but before he could touch it something else caught his eye.
It was one of the objects on the shelf; his light had glinted on it as he’d turned toward the altar. Careful of the chests, he leaned over and picked it up. It was a stone tablet, slightly larger than his outstretched hand, surrounded by a band of ancient bronze. There were markings on it, crude slashes that looked similar to the ones in the altar stone, only these looked like they had been done in haste. But when he lifted his mace to study the runes, he found that they were just barely readable. They were written in a dialect of Old Untan, a languge with which he had only a passing familiarity, but oddly enough he found that he could decipher the meaning.
“Sal nev ka tas. Te kaltas kev feuer,” he said. “By the ancient power, command the sacred flame.”
He didn’t expect a reaction, so when he felt a rush of heat accompanied by a low roar directly behind him he spun and nearly knocked over one of the bookshelves with his mace. As he stared in surprise he saw a gout of flames that splashed down onto the altar stone. For a moment Quellan felt a moment of panic—an uncontrolled fire would quickly consume this chamber, and likely destroy the temple above as well—but the fire did not spread. Instead they gathered together in the center of the altar, where they formed into a sphere of flame a few inches across. It continued to burn there, despite lacking any obvious source of fuel.
Quellan stared at it for a few moments, then looked down at his feet. In his surprise he had dropped the stone tablet. It had shattered on the floor, the runes now just meaningness marks on the fragments.
He was wary of unleashing another unexpected blast, but curiosity pulled him back to the burning sphere, curiosity and something else he could not clearly identify. It was that latter pull that had him reaching out his hand toward the flame. It felt hot, felt like a normal fire, yet he still thrust a fingertip toward it until it touched the edge of the sphere.
He felt a jolt, and reflexively jerked his hand back. But he was not burned. The flames flickered one last time and then died out. But he felt something, a lingering warmth that spread through his hand, tingling as it swept through his body before lodging in a faint knot in the back of his mind. He could feel its presence there, when he focused his thoughts upon it. Sharpening his concentration, he probed that spot much as he had probed at the sphere of fire.
Flames erupted in front of him, a cascade that once more struck the altar and burned. But this time, he knew their source, and he found that he could control them. Drawing back from the node of power that resided in his thoughts, the flames subsided and went out.
He knew instinctively that the flames hadn’t spread beyond the altar’s surface, but he still checked the area around it carefully. He spent a minute cleaning up the pieces of the stone tablet, carefully gathering them on the shelf where he had found it. Then he turned and made his way back up to the upper level of the temple, his thoughts preoccupied with the implications of what had just happened.
Quellan was as tired as his companions, his limbs feeling as though iron weights had been banded around each one, but he begged off from the group as they approached the inn where rooms had been reserved for the use of the new arrivals from Adelar. It was already late in the day and he wanted to visit the local temple before nightfall. He anticipated an early start to their chimera-hunt the next day, and while they still had some of the healing potions they’d purchased in Adelar with some of the surplus party funds he wanted to see if any other magical resources were available locally.
Glori offered to go with him, but he told her that wasn’t necessary. While he would have enjoyed her company in most instances, he felt the need for some time alone, to get his thoughts—and feelings—in order.
Finding the temple wasn’t hard at all. Wildrush was not a large town, and the building was distinctive. For one it was made entirely of stone, the large blocks offering a contrast in solidity and age that contrasted significantly with the wooden constructions that surrounded it. This was a place that looked like it might have stood when the rest of the town was just an idea on a map. From what he’d seen thus far Quellan would not have been surprised if most of Wildrush’s buildings had been rebuilt more than once in the place’s tumultuous history.
But when he finally reached the front of the temple he stopped in surprise. The design was fairly simple, consistent with the other rural churches he’d visited, but what caught him off-guard was the sigil etched into the lintel-stone above the door. It was the same sign he wore on the icon that hung on his chest. The markings that stood for the Eleven Precepts had faded away, leaving the open book blank, but it could only be the symbol of Hosrenu, his patron deity.
Blinking up at that familiar marking, he tried to remember what Haran had told him about Wildrush. He’d thought that the other man had said that the local temple was dedicated to Sorevas; wouldn’t he have remembered if the other man had mentioned his own god?
After a few moments Quellan shook his head and went inside. There was an easy way to learn the truth.
The interior was quiet and dark after the noise and bustle of the street. The foyer was only about five paces across, the stone floor bare and the walls decorated only by a few scraps of dyed linen that bore no markings. Arched exits stood to either side and ahead. To the left and right the rooms beyond were only slightly larger, their simple furnishings indicating that they were chapels for prayer services. Each could have only accommodated maybe a dozen worshippers, but both were empty at the moment. Behind the altar stones were additional linen hangings that bore the sigils of the gods Sorevas and Laesil. That could explain his earlier confusion, perhaps. Otherwise the two chapels appeared to be identical, though Quellan could hardly think of two gods more dissimilar than the Shining Father and the Lady of Fortune. Although thinking about it, maybe it made sense, considering the nature of this place.
But the broader mystery of the open book pushed him forward. The arch opposite the entry led down a narrow hall that quickly opened into another small chamber. This one both felt intimately familiar and strange at the same time. The shelves that divided the room into corridors were familiar, as were the small wooden study-desks tucked into niches in the walls. But the shelves were only sparsely populated, and both they and the desks were covered in a layer of dust that would have thrown the Head Librarian back at the monastery in Crosspath into fits to see it. The place also lacked the clean smell of books he remembered, instead filled with an earthy mustiness overlaid with the pungent tones of a barracks-hall.
Feeling uneasy at the sight of the temple, he headed deeper into the chamber. The altar-stone and the lectern behind it stood within a narrow beam of light that projected down from a slit window in the canted roof ten paces above. Motes of dust danced in the light, and Quellan shook his head in annoyance. There wasn’t even a copy the Principles of Knowledge on the lectern where it should be, a fundamental error that even a priest of another sect shouldn’t have made.
There were a few side-rooms that exited off of the back of the chamber, and the second of those that Quellan ducked his head into was occupied. A man in a priest’s robes lay sprawled upon a cot, snoring softly. He looked to be in his fifties, his thinning hair more gray than brown, what was left of it scattered about his scalp in disarray. A scattering of empty bottles on the floor around the cot suggested that more than simple exhaustion explained him being asleep hours still before nightfall. A small table in the corner held more bottles and the remains of more than one meal. One sniff was enough to confirm that this room and its occupant were the source of the stale odor he’d sensed earlier.
Quellan almost retreated, but then the old priest shifted in his sleep and groaned. The motion caused his robe to open slightly, revealing a sigil he wore on a leather cord around his neck. The symbol on the carved wooden disk was identical to the one Quellan wore, and matched the carving on the entrance to the temple.
Quellan leaned forward and gave the sleeping man a sharp nudge. The priest groaned and shifted again but didn’t wake. After a moment the half-orc tried again, then a third time. Finally he took a firm grip on the man’s shoulder and shook him until his eyes popped open. They widened as they fixed on Quellan. “Gaaah!” the priest cried, jerking back with enough force that he slid half off the cot. Bottles went skittering across the floor and caromed off the walls as his legs scrambled upon the bare stone. Quellan grabbed hold of him, mostly to keep him from hurting himself in his surprise.
“Calm yourself,” Quellan said. “I am looking for the Loremaster of this temple.”
The priest recovered fairly quickly from his confusion, though it took another few moments for him to be able to get his legs under him enough to stay on the cot unsupported. “Who are you? What do you want?” he asked.
“My name is Quellan Emberlane. I am looking for the Loremaster.”
The priest’s eyes sharpened. “You’re him. You’re the one.”
“The one what?” Quellan asked.
But the priest had already turned away, and as Quellan watched he bent down and started checking the survivors of the bottles scattered beneath the cot. The half-orc didn’t realize what he was doing until the priest went over to the table and began checking those as well. The old man’s expression soured as he failed to find any bottles that weren’t empty.
“I am looking for the Loremaster…” Quellan ventured again.
“I’m him,” the priest said. “Name’s Shenan.” He walked past Quellan into the main hall of the temple, turning to go into one of the other side-rooms. The half-orc started to follow, only to stop abruptly as he heard the sound of the priest using a chamber pot.
“Well, what do you want?” Shenan asked, before he was finished.
“I just arrived with some companions from Adelar,” Quellan said. “We heard about the attack on the town.”
“Dark business, that,” Shenan said, appearing in the doorway so suddenly that Quellan jumped slightly. The old priest pushed past him and made his way back to the room with the cot. He bent to pick up one of the bottles that had been knocked over by the entry, but only gave it a quick shake before adding it to the collection on the table. “Not sure what these yokels expected, living up here in this gods-forsaken place.”
“Um… what are you doing up here?” Quellan ventured.
“Serving a penance,” Shenan said. “What about you? Adelar’s a long way away.”
“There’s a war going on,” Quellan said. “My companions and I came up here to watch for any goblinoid incursions that might try to flank…”
“Even goblins aren’t stupid enough to want to come here,” Shenan said over him. “That chimera won’t be the worst of it, you mark me.”
“What do you mean?” Quellan asked.
“You’ll see, soon enough,” Shenan said. He sat back down on the cot, bending to grab the blanket that had fallen behind it when he’d be woken up.
“Perhaps we could talk more more over a meal,” Quellan suggested. “We’re staying at an inn not far from here…”
“You wouldn’t catch me in the Barrel,” Shenan said. “Place attracts an unsavory sort.” He gave Quellan a hard look then slumped back down onto the cot. “Don’t forget to close the door on your way out.”
“Hey,” Quellan said, stepping back into the room. “Hey!”
“No need to shout, boy,” Shenan said.
“I came here seeking help,” Quellan said. “My companions and I are going to seek the chimera’s lair tomorrow, and are in need of the god’s blessing. Healing potions, protectives, scrolls…”
Shenan waved a hand idly, then pulled the blanket up over him. “Downstairs,” he said. “In the nook behind the altar stone. If there is anything like that, it would be down there. Take whatever you need.”
Quellan supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised, but he couldn’t help but blurt, “You mean there isn’t an inventory?”
“Welcome to Wildrush,” muttered the priest as he yanked the blanket up further and turned to face the wall.
Resisting the urge to shake the man again, Quellan retreated back to the temple hall.
The place was small enough that it didn’t take him long to find the stairs the old priest had talked about, behind a door that took all of Quellan’s strength to pull open. It wasn’t locked, but the state of the hinges suggested that Shenan didn’t come this way very often. The stairs themselves were narrow enough that it took the big half-orc some care to make his way down, and even then his head was scraping the low ceiling. The stairs turned once and then deposited him into a vault that made the temple above look orderly by comparison.
The air here was thick and stale, and filled with dust by the time he’d taken three steps. The darkness gave him no difficulty, thanks to his orcish heritage, but he still took a moment to summon a light spell and fix it to one of the flanges on his mace.
What the spell revealed caused him to reassess his estimate of how frequently the Lorekeeper came down here; it looked like no one had entered the cellar in a hundred years. There were more of the freestanding shelves, these extending from the floor to the ceiling. There was at least enough clearance that he wouldn’t bump his head, though he could have reached up and touched the thick buttresses that supported it without straining. From near the stairs he couldn’t tell if there were any other exits, but it didn’t look like it.
Careful not to dislodge anything, Quellan began an examination of the closer shelves. There was still more open space than filled, but the books he saw surprised him. The library in the monastery in Crosspath had owned a decent collection of titles, some of which he saw copies of here, but there were also books on these shelves that would have caused the Head Librarian to turn green with envy. Most were in a sorry state, a fact that caused him more distress than anything he’d seen here thus far, even that drunk of a priest. He paused to look at a few of the books, being excruciatingly careful of their binding and the faded pages within, but the urgency of his mission quickly drove him onward.
The shelves extended across the breadth of the vault, but at their end he came to a small open space that abutted the back wall. He guessed he was almost directly below the foyer of the temple, which he suspected might have been a later addition to the building. This underground room did not look like an add-on. A horizontal shelf had been cut into the wall, upon which a small assortment of objects rested, universally covered in dust. Below them stood half a dozen chests, banded in iron that was crusted with rust. The last object of interest was another altar stone, this one with maybe half the dimensions of the ones in the temple above. It was carved with markings in the style of an older time, etched into the stone with a heavy chisel. Even in that simple style Quellan had no difficulty identifying the Twelve Runes of Lore. A reverent feeling came over him as he knelt to examine the altar more closely, but before he could touch it something else caught his eye.
It was one of the objects on the shelf; his light had glinted on it as he’d turned toward the altar. Careful of the chests, he leaned over and picked it up. It was a stone tablet, slightly larger than his outstretched hand, surrounded by a band of ancient bronze. There were markings on it, crude slashes that looked similar to the ones in the altar stone, only these looked like they had been done in haste. But when he lifted his mace to study the runes, he found that they were just barely readable. They were written in a dialect of Old Untan, a languge with which he had only a passing familiarity, but oddly enough he found that he could decipher the meaning.
“Sal nev ka tas. Te kaltas kev feuer,” he said. “By the ancient power, command the sacred flame.”
He didn’t expect a reaction, so when he felt a rush of heat accompanied by a low roar directly behind him he spun and nearly knocked over one of the bookshelves with his mace. As he stared in surprise he saw a gout of flames that splashed down onto the altar stone. For a moment Quellan felt a moment of panic—an uncontrolled fire would quickly consume this chamber, and likely destroy the temple above as well—but the fire did not spread. Instead they gathered together in the center of the altar, where they formed into a sphere of flame a few inches across. It continued to burn there, despite lacking any obvious source of fuel.
Quellan stared at it for a few moments, then looked down at his feet. In his surprise he had dropped the stone tablet. It had shattered on the floor, the runes now just meaningness marks on the fragments.
He was wary of unleashing another unexpected blast, but curiosity pulled him back to the burning sphere, curiosity and something else he could not clearly identify. It was that latter pull that had him reaching out his hand toward the flame. It felt hot, felt like a normal fire, yet he still thrust a fingertip toward it until it touched the edge of the sphere.
He felt a jolt, and reflexively jerked his hand back. But he was not burned. The flames flickered one last time and then died out. But he felt something, a lingering warmth that spread through his hand, tingling as it swept through his body before lodging in a faint knot in the back of his mind. He could feel its presence there, when he focused his thoughts upon it. Sharpening his concentration, he probed that spot much as he had probed at the sphere of fire.
Flames erupted in front of him, a cascade that once more struck the altar and burned. But this time, he knew their source, and he found that he could control them. Drawing back from the node of power that resided in his thoughts, the flames subsided and went out.
He knew instinctively that the flames hadn’t spread beyond the altar’s surface, but he still checked the area around it carefully. He spent a minute cleaning up the pieces of the stone tablet, carefully gathering them on the shelf where he had found it. Then he turned and made his way back up to the upper level of the temple, his thoughts preoccupied with the implications of what had just happened.
Lazybones
Adventurer
The party has leveled again, so here's another set of stat blocks.
Level 4
Shortly after arrival at the Silverpeak Valley
Bredan Karras, Human Male Fighter, Level 4
AC 16 (chain mail), hp 38, Str 17, Dex 11, Con 16, Int 9, Wis 14, Cha 13
Attacks Greatsword +5 melee (2d6+3 damage), Light Crossbow +2 ranged (1d8 damage)
Background: Folk Hero
Skills: Animal Handling +4, Athletics +5, Perception +4, Survival +4
Special Abilities: Fighting Style: Great Weapon Fighting, Second Wind, Action Surge, Martial Archetype (Eldritch Knight), Weapon Bond
Spells (DC 9, 3 1st level slots/day): 0/Blade Ward, 0/True Strike, 1/Jump, 1/Longstrider, 1/Protection from Evil and Good, 1/Shield
Equipment: Chain mail, greatsword, light crossbow and 20 bolts, light hammer
Glorianna (Glori) Leliades, Half-Elf Female Bard, Level 4
AC 15 (leather armor), hp 31, Str 10, Dex 16, Con 14, Int 12, Wis 8, Cha 18
Attacks Shortbow +5 ranged (1d6+3 damage), Dagger +5 melee (1d4+3 damage)
Background: Entertainer
Skills: Acrobatics +5, Deception +6, Sleight of Hand +5, History +3, Investigation +3, Performance +6, Persuasion +6
SA Darkvision, Bardic Inspiration, Jack of All Trades, Song of Rest (d6), Bard College (Valor), Combat Inspiration
Spells (DC 14, 4 1st level and 3 2nd level slots/day): 0/Dancing Lights, 0/Mending, 0/Minor Illusion, 1/Cure Wounds, 1/Heroism, 1/Sleep, 1/Thunderwave, 2/Enhance Ability, 2/Invisibility, 2/Suggestion
Equipment: Lyre, leather armor, shortbow and 20 arrows, dagger, brooch of antivenom (2 charges)
Kosk Stonefist, Hill Dwarf Male Monk, Level 4
AC 13 (no armor), hp 37, Str 16, Dex 13, Con 16, Int 10, Wis 14, Cha 8
Attacks Quarterstaff +5 melee (1d6+3) and Martial Arts +5 melee (1d4+3), or darts +3 ranged (1d4+1 damage)
Background: Criminal
Skills: Athletics +5, Deception +1, Insight +4, Stealth +3
SA: Dwarven Toughness, +10 movement, 4 Ki points (flurry of blows, patient defense, or step of the wind), Monastic Tradition (Open Hand), Deflect Missiles
Equipment: quarterstaff, 10 darts
Quellan Emberlane, Half-Orc Male Cleric, Level 4
AC 16 (half plate, shield), hp 31, Str 16, Dex 8, Con 14, Int 12, Wis 17, Cha 10
Attacks Mace +6 melee (1d6+4 damage)
Background: Acolyte
Skills: Arcana +3, Insight +5, Intimidation +2, History +5, Medicine +5, Persuasion +2, Religion +5
SA Darkvision, Relentless Endurance, Savage Attacks, Knowledge Domain, Channel Divinity (1/rest), Knowledge of the Ages (gain proficiency in a tool or skill for 10 minutes)
Spells (DC 13, 4 1st level and 3 2nd level slots/day): 0/Light, 0/Sacred Flame, 0/Spare the Dying, 0/Thaumaturgy, 1/Cure Wounds, 1/Detect Evil and Good, 1/Guiding Bolt, 1/Command, 1/Identify, 2/Hold Person, 2/Lesser Restoration, 2/Prayer of Healing, 2/Warding Bond, 2/Augury, 2/Suggestion
Equipment: Half Plate, +1 Mace, Shield
Level 4
Shortly after arrival at the Silverpeak Valley
Bredan Karras, Human Male Fighter, Level 4
AC 16 (chain mail), hp 38, Str 17, Dex 11, Con 16, Int 9, Wis 14, Cha 13
Attacks Greatsword +5 melee (2d6+3 damage), Light Crossbow +2 ranged (1d8 damage)
Background: Folk Hero
Skills: Animal Handling +4, Athletics +5, Perception +4, Survival +4
Special Abilities: Fighting Style: Great Weapon Fighting, Second Wind, Action Surge, Martial Archetype (Eldritch Knight), Weapon Bond
Spells (DC 9, 3 1st level slots/day): 0/Blade Ward, 0/True Strike, 1/Jump, 1/Longstrider, 1/Protection from Evil and Good, 1/Shield
Equipment: Chain mail, greatsword, light crossbow and 20 bolts, light hammer
Glorianna (Glori) Leliades, Half-Elf Female Bard, Level 4
AC 15 (leather armor), hp 31, Str 10, Dex 16, Con 14, Int 12, Wis 8, Cha 18
Attacks Shortbow +5 ranged (1d6+3 damage), Dagger +5 melee (1d4+3 damage)
Background: Entertainer
Skills: Acrobatics +5, Deception +6, Sleight of Hand +5, History +3, Investigation +3, Performance +6, Persuasion +6
SA Darkvision, Bardic Inspiration, Jack of All Trades, Song of Rest (d6), Bard College (Valor), Combat Inspiration
Spells (DC 14, 4 1st level and 3 2nd level slots/day): 0/Dancing Lights, 0/Mending, 0/Minor Illusion, 1/Cure Wounds, 1/Heroism, 1/Sleep, 1/Thunderwave, 2/Enhance Ability, 2/Invisibility, 2/Suggestion
Equipment: Lyre, leather armor, shortbow and 20 arrows, dagger, brooch of antivenom (2 charges)
Kosk Stonefist, Hill Dwarf Male Monk, Level 4
AC 13 (no armor), hp 37, Str 16, Dex 13, Con 16, Int 10, Wis 14, Cha 8
Attacks Quarterstaff +5 melee (1d6+3) and Martial Arts +5 melee (1d4+3), or darts +3 ranged (1d4+1 damage)
Background: Criminal
Skills: Athletics +5, Deception +1, Insight +4, Stealth +3
SA: Dwarven Toughness, +10 movement, 4 Ki points (flurry of blows, patient defense, or step of the wind), Monastic Tradition (Open Hand), Deflect Missiles
Equipment: quarterstaff, 10 darts
Quellan Emberlane, Half-Orc Male Cleric, Level 4
AC 16 (half plate, shield), hp 31, Str 16, Dex 8, Con 14, Int 12, Wis 17, Cha 10
Attacks Mace +6 melee (1d6+4 damage)
Background: Acolyte
Skills: Arcana +3, Insight +5, Intimidation +2, History +5, Medicine +5, Persuasion +2, Religion +5
SA Darkvision, Relentless Endurance, Savage Attacks, Knowledge Domain, Channel Divinity (1/rest), Knowledge of the Ages (gain proficiency in a tool or skill for 10 minutes)
Spells (DC 13, 4 1st level and 3 2nd level slots/day): 0/Light, 0/Sacred Flame, 0/Spare the Dying, 0/Thaumaturgy, 1/Cure Wounds, 1/Detect Evil and Good, 1/Guiding Bolt, 1/Command, 1/Identify, 2/Hold Person, 2/Lesser Restoration, 2/Prayer of Healing, 2/Warding Bond, 2/Augury, 2/Suggestion
Equipment: Half Plate, +1 Mace, Shield
Lazybones
Adventurer
Chapter 98
Kosk’s stomach gurgled unpleasantly as he stepped through the back door of the inn into the muddy courtyard behind it. There was a time when the greasy, fatty fare at a place like the Brown Barrel would not have fazed him in the least; he supposed that the years of eating the healthier cuisine available at the monastery had softened his stomach.
The jakes was housed in a small wooden structure adjacent to the stable that had a definite lean to it. As he approached, the door in the side swung open and a dwarf appeared, still fastening his belt as he stepped out into the yard. Kosk barely gave him a look—the population of Wildrush was roughly a quarter dwarvish, a relic of its history as a mining town—but as the two passed the other gave him an intense, squinting look. The monk was used to such scrutiny, especially from other dwarves, as his clean-shaven features and loose garments were quite atypical for his kind. He’d left his staff inside, but resisted the urge to finger one of the darts stuck through his bracers as he started inside.
“Kosk?”
The monk paused with his hand on the door and turned slowly. The other dwarf looked rather hard-worn. He was dressed in a leather tunic over a shirt that looked like it had seen better days, and there was a hole in one boot that showed a toenail encrusted with dirt. He was armed only with the short knife that seemed ubiquitous here, but there was something in his manner that sent a sudden spike of alarm through Kosk.
“It is you!” the other dwarf said. “What’s this, you don’t remember your old mate? It’s Kiefer!”
“Kiefer,” Kosk said.
“Aye. Almost didn’t recognize you without the beard! Whatja do, get it stuck in a rock crusher?” Kiefer chortled at his own jest. “And what’s with that outfit? Lose a bet?”
Kosk didn’t respond to either jibe. He did remember the other dwarf now. “I would have thought someone would have stretched your neck by now,” he said.
Kiefer snorted. “Not bloody likely! Hey, what are you doing here? You come in with that wagon train that just rolled into town? You got a job going?”
“Not a job,” Kosk said, still a bit off-balance. “Not that kind of job.”
“Gods above,” Kiefer said. “Old Bloody-Fist himself, right here in the back of the Brown Barrel. What are the chances, us meeting like this? Me, I’m just making an honest buck now… well, mostly honest. Always on the lookout for the chance to make a few extra coins. Man’s got to keep his ears and eyes open, I always say. Lots of chances in a place like this. But look at who I’m talking to! Kosk Stonefist, master of the main chance.”
“Yes, well,” Kosk said, nodding significantly toward the reeking interior of the jakes.
“Ha! Right! Don’t stand between a man and his dump, I always says. Say, we should catch up sometime, when you got less pressin’ matters to attend to. Ha! I’ll buy you a drink, eh?”
“Yeah, right,” Kosk said. “Later.” The other dwarf had already turned around and was headed back toward the inn. From the way he walked he’d already had more than his share of the sour ale that the place seemed to specialize in. Kosk’s eyes lingered on him until he’d gone inside. For a moment his hand tightened on the door handle until it seemed like it would snap off from the pressure.
Then he swung the door open and went in.
* * *
The sun made a spectacular display on the scattered clouds as it descended below the uneven line of the valley rim, but Bredan’s attention was focused on the closer surroundings of the town around him. From his vantage atop the second-story balcony that ran along the side of the inn that faced the main street he could see most of Wildrush. There were people out and about as the day faded, but it looked like most of them were hurrying to finish their errands and head indoors. Bredan saw a lot of them glancing up at the sky. From what he could tell of Wildrush the wooden buildings wouldn’t offer much protection against a creature that could fly and breathe fire, but he supposed even a dubious shelter was preferable to nothing at all.
The door creaked open and Bredan glanced back to see Glori stepping out onto the balcony. There were two empty chairs further down from Bredan, but she avoided them and instead settled onto the sill of one of the windows that opened into their suite of rooms. The lodgings at the Brown Barrel were hardly fancy, but it seemed likely that Wildrush had offered its best to the small band of adventurers. The wagon drivers and other surviving members of the expedition from Adelar had been offered quarters in the barracks near the main gate, but Glori had been too excited at the thought of her own room to accept that as an option.
Glori didn’t say anything, and for the moment the two of them just watched the night settle upon the town in silence. Finally, she said, “Okay, spill it.”
Bredan blinked and looked at her. He had to twist his head around to do it, which had probably been why she’d chosen her current seat. “What?” he asked.
“Something’s up with you,” she said. “I can tell that something’s been bothering you, so tell me what it is.”
“It’s nothing,” he said.
At that she did come around and took the chair next to him, turning it so she could look at him directly. “I’d like to think I know you better than anybody,” she said. “And that after all that’s happened, all that we’ve been through, you can tell me anything.”
He didn’t say anything at first, but she could tell that he was collecting his thoughts. He kept staring out at the town, although the deepening night made it increasingly difficult to see anything. Glori sometimes had to remind herself that he lacked the night vision that was a gift of her mixed heritage, but right now it didn’t matter. She knew that he wasn’t looking into the present.
“Something happened, back in the fight with those giants,” he finally said.
Glori shuddered. “We came pretty close to all getting killed,” she said.
“It’s not that,” he said. “I mean, yes, of course I’ve thought about that, but this… this isn’t that.”
“Okay,” she said.
“Something… magical.” He looked over at her as if to confirm that she was there, patient and waiting. It took him a while, since he still didn’t have a clear understanding of what had happened himself, but he explained the magical shield that had blocked the ogre’s killing blow, and the way his sword had gone over the cliff only to reappear in his hand.
When he was finished he waited for her to say something about how he must have been confused, or dazed from being knocked from his horse, but she only looked thoughtful. She tapped her chin with a finger and said, “So you cast a spell?”
“It’s not like that,” he said. “I don’t know the first thing about magic, what you and Quellan do. It was more… instinct. I’m not sure what I did.”
“That sounds more like the magic that Xeeta used,” Glori said. “Wild magic. Can you do it again?”
“I’ve tried,” he said. “I can’t make it work again.”
She got up, but only to grab the baldric that he’d hung on the back of his chair. The town was supposed to be safe, but with the chimera out there Bredan hadn’t wanted to be separated from his weapon for even a moment. She drew the blade out, with a bit of difficulty due to its size and weight. Then she went to the window and pulled it open before tossing the sword onto one of the beds inside the room.
“Go ahead and try to summon it,” she said.
“Like I said, I’ve tried…”
“You said it was like instinct,” she said. “So maybe the magic only works when you have a great need. Close your eyes and focus. Try to imagine that the chimera’s out there right now, circling in the sky. Pretend that the town is in danger, that we’re in danger, and you need the weapon right now, more than anything.”
He nodded and closed his eyes. He lifted his hands as if to grasp the hilt of the sword. His brow furrowed with concentration, but nothing happened, and after a moment he sagged back in his chair.
“I told you,” he said.
“Don’t give up just yet,” she said. “But first… do you have any idea about why this might have happened to you?”
Bredan’s face suggested he hadn’t been looking forward to the question. “I think it might have been that book,” he said.
“Book? What book?”
“The one in the ruin, where we fought that ghoul.”
“Ghast,” Glori corrected. She shuddered again; she remembered that particular battle quite well. “The one that Xeeta took, the one that crumbled to dust.”
“Yes. But when we found it, I looked inside it. It was covered in writing, all scrunched together.”
“But I thought the book was blank.”
“When Xeeta distracted me, I looked back and it was. But there was something there. I only saw it for a moment, but sometimes I still feel like I can still remember the words, if not the language.”
“Huh. And you don’t remember what it said?”
“No, it looked like complete gibberish.”
“That’s when you started getting those headaches, as I recall,” she said.
Bredan nodded.
“And how do you feel now?”
“Fine. Really. I mean, tired, and my back’s a bit sore…”
“Yeah, tell me about it. Next time we take a trip by wagon, I’m buying a cushion. Ten cushions.”
“Yeah.”
“Have you considered talking to Quellan?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. But right now, I’d prefer it if you kept this to between us.”
“Sure. Just promise you’ll tell me if the headaches come back, or if anything else happens, okay? We’ve come too far for you to leave me alone in this place with monsters and giants and the like, not to mention a whole army of goblins that might appear at any second.”
“You said you wanted adventure,” he said. But on seeing the look on her face he added, “I promise.”
She touched his shoulder. “It’s okay. We’ll figure this out.” She got up. “Want to come buy me a drink?”
“I’ll be there in a bit,” he said. She patted him again and then went back inside, leaving him alone in the deepening gloom, watching the town as the night enveloped it.
Kosk’s stomach gurgled unpleasantly as he stepped through the back door of the inn into the muddy courtyard behind it. There was a time when the greasy, fatty fare at a place like the Brown Barrel would not have fazed him in the least; he supposed that the years of eating the healthier cuisine available at the monastery had softened his stomach.
The jakes was housed in a small wooden structure adjacent to the stable that had a definite lean to it. As he approached, the door in the side swung open and a dwarf appeared, still fastening his belt as he stepped out into the yard. Kosk barely gave him a look—the population of Wildrush was roughly a quarter dwarvish, a relic of its history as a mining town—but as the two passed the other gave him an intense, squinting look. The monk was used to such scrutiny, especially from other dwarves, as his clean-shaven features and loose garments were quite atypical for his kind. He’d left his staff inside, but resisted the urge to finger one of the darts stuck through his bracers as he started inside.
“Kosk?”
The monk paused with his hand on the door and turned slowly. The other dwarf looked rather hard-worn. He was dressed in a leather tunic over a shirt that looked like it had seen better days, and there was a hole in one boot that showed a toenail encrusted with dirt. He was armed only with the short knife that seemed ubiquitous here, but there was something in his manner that sent a sudden spike of alarm through Kosk.
“It is you!” the other dwarf said. “What’s this, you don’t remember your old mate? It’s Kiefer!”
“Kiefer,” Kosk said.
“Aye. Almost didn’t recognize you without the beard! Whatja do, get it stuck in a rock crusher?” Kiefer chortled at his own jest. “And what’s with that outfit? Lose a bet?”
Kosk didn’t respond to either jibe. He did remember the other dwarf now. “I would have thought someone would have stretched your neck by now,” he said.
Kiefer snorted. “Not bloody likely! Hey, what are you doing here? You come in with that wagon train that just rolled into town? You got a job going?”
“Not a job,” Kosk said, still a bit off-balance. “Not that kind of job.”
“Gods above,” Kiefer said. “Old Bloody-Fist himself, right here in the back of the Brown Barrel. What are the chances, us meeting like this? Me, I’m just making an honest buck now… well, mostly honest. Always on the lookout for the chance to make a few extra coins. Man’s got to keep his ears and eyes open, I always say. Lots of chances in a place like this. But look at who I’m talking to! Kosk Stonefist, master of the main chance.”
“Yes, well,” Kosk said, nodding significantly toward the reeking interior of the jakes.
“Ha! Right! Don’t stand between a man and his dump, I always says. Say, we should catch up sometime, when you got less pressin’ matters to attend to. Ha! I’ll buy you a drink, eh?”
“Yeah, right,” Kosk said. “Later.” The other dwarf had already turned around and was headed back toward the inn. From the way he walked he’d already had more than his share of the sour ale that the place seemed to specialize in. Kosk’s eyes lingered on him until he’d gone inside. For a moment his hand tightened on the door handle until it seemed like it would snap off from the pressure.
Then he swung the door open and went in.
* * *
The sun made a spectacular display on the scattered clouds as it descended below the uneven line of the valley rim, but Bredan’s attention was focused on the closer surroundings of the town around him. From his vantage atop the second-story balcony that ran along the side of the inn that faced the main street he could see most of Wildrush. There were people out and about as the day faded, but it looked like most of them were hurrying to finish their errands and head indoors. Bredan saw a lot of them glancing up at the sky. From what he could tell of Wildrush the wooden buildings wouldn’t offer much protection against a creature that could fly and breathe fire, but he supposed even a dubious shelter was preferable to nothing at all.
The door creaked open and Bredan glanced back to see Glori stepping out onto the balcony. There were two empty chairs further down from Bredan, but she avoided them and instead settled onto the sill of one of the windows that opened into their suite of rooms. The lodgings at the Brown Barrel were hardly fancy, but it seemed likely that Wildrush had offered its best to the small band of adventurers. The wagon drivers and other surviving members of the expedition from Adelar had been offered quarters in the barracks near the main gate, but Glori had been too excited at the thought of her own room to accept that as an option.
Glori didn’t say anything, and for the moment the two of them just watched the night settle upon the town in silence. Finally, she said, “Okay, spill it.”
Bredan blinked and looked at her. He had to twist his head around to do it, which had probably been why she’d chosen her current seat. “What?” he asked.
“Something’s up with you,” she said. “I can tell that something’s been bothering you, so tell me what it is.”
“It’s nothing,” he said.
At that she did come around and took the chair next to him, turning it so she could look at him directly. “I’d like to think I know you better than anybody,” she said. “And that after all that’s happened, all that we’ve been through, you can tell me anything.”
He didn’t say anything at first, but she could tell that he was collecting his thoughts. He kept staring out at the town, although the deepening night made it increasingly difficult to see anything. Glori sometimes had to remind herself that he lacked the night vision that was a gift of her mixed heritage, but right now it didn’t matter. She knew that he wasn’t looking into the present.
“Something happened, back in the fight with those giants,” he finally said.
Glori shuddered. “We came pretty close to all getting killed,” she said.
“It’s not that,” he said. “I mean, yes, of course I’ve thought about that, but this… this isn’t that.”
“Okay,” she said.
“Something… magical.” He looked over at her as if to confirm that she was there, patient and waiting. It took him a while, since he still didn’t have a clear understanding of what had happened himself, but he explained the magical shield that had blocked the ogre’s killing blow, and the way his sword had gone over the cliff only to reappear in his hand.
When he was finished he waited for her to say something about how he must have been confused, or dazed from being knocked from his horse, but she only looked thoughtful. She tapped her chin with a finger and said, “So you cast a spell?”
“It’s not like that,” he said. “I don’t know the first thing about magic, what you and Quellan do. It was more… instinct. I’m not sure what I did.”
“That sounds more like the magic that Xeeta used,” Glori said. “Wild magic. Can you do it again?”
“I’ve tried,” he said. “I can’t make it work again.”
She got up, but only to grab the baldric that he’d hung on the back of his chair. The town was supposed to be safe, but with the chimera out there Bredan hadn’t wanted to be separated from his weapon for even a moment. She drew the blade out, with a bit of difficulty due to its size and weight. Then she went to the window and pulled it open before tossing the sword onto one of the beds inside the room.
“Go ahead and try to summon it,” she said.
“Like I said, I’ve tried…”
“You said it was like instinct,” she said. “So maybe the magic only works when you have a great need. Close your eyes and focus. Try to imagine that the chimera’s out there right now, circling in the sky. Pretend that the town is in danger, that we’re in danger, and you need the weapon right now, more than anything.”
He nodded and closed his eyes. He lifted his hands as if to grasp the hilt of the sword. His brow furrowed with concentration, but nothing happened, and after a moment he sagged back in his chair.
“I told you,” he said.
“Don’t give up just yet,” she said. “But first… do you have any idea about why this might have happened to you?”
Bredan’s face suggested he hadn’t been looking forward to the question. “I think it might have been that book,” he said.
“Book? What book?”
“The one in the ruin, where we fought that ghoul.”
“Ghast,” Glori corrected. She shuddered again; she remembered that particular battle quite well. “The one that Xeeta took, the one that crumbled to dust.”
“Yes. But when we found it, I looked inside it. It was covered in writing, all scrunched together.”
“But I thought the book was blank.”
“When Xeeta distracted me, I looked back and it was. But there was something there. I only saw it for a moment, but sometimes I still feel like I can still remember the words, if not the language.”
“Huh. And you don’t remember what it said?”
“No, it looked like complete gibberish.”
“That’s when you started getting those headaches, as I recall,” she said.
Bredan nodded.
“And how do you feel now?”
“Fine. Really. I mean, tired, and my back’s a bit sore…”
“Yeah, tell me about it. Next time we take a trip by wagon, I’m buying a cushion. Ten cushions.”
“Yeah.”
“Have you considered talking to Quellan?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. But right now, I’d prefer it if you kept this to between us.”
“Sure. Just promise you’ll tell me if the headaches come back, or if anything else happens, okay? We’ve come too far for you to leave me alone in this place with monsters and giants and the like, not to mention a whole army of goblins that might appear at any second.”
“You said you wanted adventure,” he said. But on seeing the look on her face he added, “I promise.”
She touched his shoulder. “It’s okay. We’ll figure this out.” She got up. “Want to come buy me a drink?”
“I’ll be there in a bit,” he said. She patted him again and then went back inside, leaving him alone in the deepening gloom, watching the town as the night enveloped it.
Similar Threads
AD6_gamerati_skyscraper
Upcoming Releases
-
April 16 2024 -
May 31 2024 -
June 3 2024 -
June 4 2024 -
June 18 2024 -
July 16 2024 -
September 17 2024 -
October 1 2024 -
November 12 2024 -
February 18 2025
