Droid101's Story Hour, "Of Gods and Devils" Updated 10/12!

High fantasy, high adventure! Magic, monsters, and mayhem! Interesting story, recurring characters, and fun! Strange classes, races, NPCs and villians! Join in for the ride of your life! Read the latest post to see if you'll like it! Start from the beginning for a full story! And above all, have fun!

Edit: Any questions about a class, an NPC, a villian, or anything are welcome! Please ask away!

Here are the main characters.

Eltharion Ulthuan - Elf Ranger / Druid / Ancestral Avenger.

Ogrim Oakenshield - Dwarf Fighter / Cleric of Moradin / Dwarven Defender / Templar.

Bink the Sorcerer - Human Sorcerer / Wizard / Eldritch Master.

Grog of Grumbar - Goblin Barbarian.

Bloodthorne - Curst Human Rogue / Urostifter.

Blaze Brague - Human Cleric / Mighty Contender of Tempus.

The Necromancer - Human Wizard (Necromancer).

Viknen Shadowdweller - Gnoll Adept / Hexer.

Balophan - Centaur Ranger.

Damaré - Human Fighter.

Senman - Human Fighter.

Jezda - Orc Fighter.

Trek-Donal - Human Monk / Zerth Cenobite.

Misani - Yuan-ti Tainted Human Psion (Egoist).


Some quick pronunciation help!

Eltharion Ulthuan - ell-thar-ee-uhn ool-thoo-wan
Ogrim - oh-grim
Seive - sehv
Zhentil - zen-teel
Damaré - dah-mah-ray
Trek-Donal - trek doh-nahl
Gryrtag - greer-tag
Brague - brayg

Attached is a quick sketch of my continent map of Aldor-Valencia, along with any landmarks of the characters' journies.

Of Gods and Devils…
The Exploits of the Invincible Heroes

The continent of Aldor-Valencia runs the gamut on races, climates, and terrain. The southeast holds the Cape of Blades, south is the Baron Peninsula. Southwest is the Tormyr Forest. Northwest is the Tralig Desert. North, the trade region of Four Towns.

On the western seaboard of Baron, Drelk held strong trade ties to the elven forest kingdom across the western ocean. Eltharion Ulthuan and Ogrim Oakenshield grew up here. Eltharion was an extremely lithe, but unearthly quick elf. Pale skin, hair the color of the wooded forest in winter. Ogrim was a stout dwarf. He longed for the life of his people; ale, meat and dwarvish chants. But his duty was to be here, and so he was. Eltharion, however, was naïve about the world, thinking that nobody could do wrong, and the world was open for those who wish to act.

Eltharion’s parents lived here as the elven trade liaisons. Ogrim was sent also to bolster trade ties, but with the dwarves in the northern mountain ranges. They spent most of their free time training with a local adventuring party. Arelion, the party’s ranger, and Eltharion’s inspiration to follow the path of nature, had died recently. A small funeral was held, the other members of the party along with Ogrim, Eltharion, and Johnathan; one of their friends, were present. Ulgrim Stonehammer, the huge dwarf, Trisha Torvanna, cleric of Kelemvor, God of Death, Krin Selmer, creator of melodies, and White, the stark white haired warrior, and leader of the group, all paid their respects to the fallen.

It wasn’t but a week later, that White fell ill. Constantly feverish, slipping in and out of unconsciousness, babbling madness, and pale as his own white hair. His servant, Mannquelin, sent a summons for his master’s apprentices…

Eltharion, Ogrim, and Johnathan arrived.

“Hey man, what’s up?” Eltharion spoke.

“It’s Mannquelin, sir.”

“Whatever…”

“Right, anyway. I have summoned you here to ask you a favor. As you know, White has been sick for over a week now. None of the pharmacists who have looked at him know what it is. I had a shaman come from the Isle of the Barbarians off the east coast, and he gave me the recipe for the cure. Moonleaf and Thrulk tusk are the ones we don’t have. Ulgrim, Trisha and Krin are going to find the Thrulk in the northern swamplands. However, they need you to retrieve the Moonleaf from the great Tormyr Forest, the only place it is known to grow. We need it in 3 weeks… we’re counting on you.” Mannquelin seems out of breath, but his stature holds firm.

“For White, we shall disembark immediately.” Ogrim states matter-of-factly.

And so they did. They headed straight to the port to see if there was a ship setting out in the next few days. Their search proved futile, however, as the only trade ships setting out weren’t leaving for at least a week and a half. That would give them no time to search for this Moonleaf. They had to go on foot. The journey would bring them out of the Baronian peninsula, west along the beaches, and south into the Tormyr forest. By their estimates, it would be a good eight day travel, leaving them enough time to search for a couple of days and make it back just in time to make their deadline.

They set off immediately, stopping off briefly at home to grab their backpacks and other supplies. The kingdom of Baron is very friendly toward all races, so they never had any trouble traveling. One day north took them to the town of Froal, where they rested that night at a local inn. They looked around the next morning for a trade caravan or some other way to travel with a bit more safety and security. They found a group of about five traders with a horse-drawn carriage. Ogrim pulled Eltharion and John aside.

“I don’t trust them.” Ogrim piped up, his deep voice sensing mistrust.

“Don’t worry about it, we can handle ourselves.” Eltharion put in.

“I agree with Eltharion, we should be fine.” Johnathan ended the discussion at that. Two to one, they would travel with the wagon.

After a half day of travel, they reached the Great Wall of Baron; a wall that travels from ocean to ocean, almost 12 full miles across, totally closing off the peninsula that Baron sits on from the rest of the continent. The gate guards are polite as they let the wagon pass. The heroes keep to themselves, while trying to overhear any conversation they can. The wagon driver had been pushing at an almost alarming rate, and seemed very relieved when they got past the gate guards. Ogrim sensed that something wasn’t right.

He sensed correctly. Looking behind them toward the wall, they saw four horses ride out toward them at a blistering pace.

“Great, the jig is up.” The wagon’s driver was already pulling out a dagger and getting ready.

“I knew this was a bad idea…” Ogrim grumbles.

The horses quickly catch up, surrounding the wagon. Four armed guards point longswords at the wagon.

“Surrender now, you are charged with armed robbery and suspicion of murder!” Ogrim, Eltharion and Johnathan immediately put their hands up, as they know they are innocent. The four bandits do the same, and the driver drops his dagger. They are all deprived of their weapons, bound, and set on the wagon with one of the guards taking up the reigns as a driver. They start heading back towards the Wall.

Ogrim whispers to Eltharion, “We don’t have time for this…”

“Seriously, we need to get out of this and get going.” Eltharion nods in agreement.

As this conversation is going on, Ogrim feels something fiddling with his bonds. The bandit driver is cutting the rope with another concealed dagger he had! With the bandit’s and Ogrim’s bonds loose, they quickly burst into action. The bandit jumped on the back of the guard who was driving the wagon, and Ogrim picked up one of the crossbows that was near the back of the wagon and shot one of the horse-riding guards behind them. A resounding thud of the bolt knocked the guard from his mount onto the earth and into unconsciousness. The other two horse riders drew their blades and closed in on either side of the wagon. The bandit had successfully pushed the driver from the wagon, who rolled a few times before slowly staggering to his feet, already quite far behind the moving wagon. Ogrim cut Eltharion and Johnathan’s bonds, who both picked up crossbows and aimed at the guards. Eltharion’s shot glanced off the rider’s shoulder, causing no damage. Johnathan’s shot flew wide, missing entirely.

The other bandits had all freed themselves by now, and were similarly scrambling for a weapon. Too late for two of them, as the horse-riders came in from both sides and slashed them, each scoring a deep wound and taking the bandits out of the fight. Just the driver and one bandit were left. The driver veered the wagon to the left, attempting to hit the horse rider, but with no luck. In an unexpected move, Ogrim punched the other bandit, cleanly knocking him out with one hit. Johnathan and Eltharion both aimed a the same horse riding guard and both crossbow bolts connected; one in his upper leg, and the other in his shoulder. That was enough to send the man reeling into unconsciousness, although he was caught in the saddle as the horse slowed down.

Seeing the battle going as it was, the other guard quickly sped off toward the Wall, presumably for reinforcements. Ogrim turned to the bandit driving the wagon, and summarily pummeled him until his lights went out. Eltharion and Johnathan went and gathered the bodies of the guards and bandits alike. They bandaged their wounds and made sure to stop the bleeding. They gave the bandits a few more kicks for good measure; and to make sure that the guards woke up first. They also tied up the bandits very tightly. They took their newly acquired horses (from the bandit’s wagon, not the Baronian guards’), and set off along the road to the north.

“I told you something was amiss,” Ogrim stated flatly.

“Yeah, but look, we made it out all right, with basically no time lost, and we got free horses!” Eltharion was always looking at the bright side.

They continued to follow the dirt road north. The evening finally drew near, and they set up camp. Eltharion felt great sleeping outside. He didn’t get the chance to do that much in the bustling port town of Baron. The night seemed so perfect, that they didn’t even use their bedrolls.

The next day, early in the morning, a small wagon train was coming toward them, from the north. As it got near, one of the drivers waved and hopped down off his wagon. He was carrying a large battleaxe, but clearly didn’t know how to wield it, as he held it from the base of the handle, letting the blade dangle downward.

“Ho travelers, is there an ‘Ogrim’ with you?” said the man.

“That would be me,” Ogrim stepped toward the man.

“Some fancy adventurers down the road said to give this to you. Some big ol’ dwarf and two girls. He said his name was Ogrim also. Said that you should add some notches to this axe,” the man handed the fine axe to Ogrim.

The notches were many, filling up almost an entire side of the axe. The many times Ogrim had talked to Ulgrim they had spoken of his axe, the Orc-Killer. This must be it. It was finely crafted and Ogrim was honored to use it.

“Thank you stranger,” Ogrim gave him a silver for his troubles, and they began to travel north.

Once the wagon train was out of view, the northern road forked east and west, with a less traveled part going straight north. They knew that the Adventurer’s Guildhall was north, and they had all wanted to visit it, but they also knew they had no time for such things, so they turned west toward the beach, and their ultimate goal, the Tormyr forest.

The next five days were pretty uneventful. The beach to their left and the grasslands to their right, they continue to travel. On the sixth day they reach the town of Helian; the last town before the depths of the Tormyr forest. They go in and rest, leaving their horses there and setting out on foot into the forest.

The overgrowth is thick and travel is slow. The humidity is pretty bad, making it that much more uncomfortable to travel. An entire day is spend trekking through the forest. All they have to go on is a simple sketch of the tree on which the Moonleaf grows. Eltharion is in his element here, and is faring well. Ogrim doesn’t much like it, “too much stuff brushing up against me.” Johnathan is beginning to take a shine to it, however.

That night, they found a small clearing to set up camp. They elected against a fire, as they didn’t want to draw any unwanted attention to themselves. Attention was drawn, however, as in the middle of the night they were awoken. They dashed for weapons, but an attractive human male wearing skins and a horse quelled their fears with their words.

“Do not be alarmed, we mean you no harm,” the human spoke. The horse then slowly changed form into that of a slender elven female.

“You are in dangerous territory. Orcs run this area. Savages and primitive,” her voice soft. “My name is Seive. This is Helmar. We are a part of a druid conclave here in the woods.”

“We’re searching for something called Moonleaf; have you heard of it?” Eltharion asks.

“Why yes. But you had better turn around and leave now. You have no chance at retrieving it. The only tree of that kind left is in the middle of the orc encampment.” Seive states flatly.

“We aren’t turning back!” Ogrim adds.

“We can’t go back. We have to get this Moonleaf to help our friend,” Eltharion stated.

“If you are set in your course, then so be it. May the forest bless you. We will be one mile to the east of here if you need us. Go straight south for half a day; that is where the orcs reside.” Seive transforms into a horse once again and gallops out of view. Helmar follows swiftly after.

“Orcs…” Ogrim’s voice is full of both hatred and eagerness.

“We better try to sneak in at night, pick the leaf, and take off,” Eltharion says.

“Wow, those druids were amazing…” Johnathan’s mind was wandering.

They slept the rest of the night, and waited until the following evening before setting off to the south. They reached a fairly large clearing. It was obviously orc-made, as they could see many tree trunks in the midst of small tents in the moonlight. They spotted the tree.

“Oh no…” Eltharion’s confidence deflated. The sketch they had seen was not to scale. Not by a longshot. The tree, standing in the middle of the camp, was easily 80 feet high. With no branches. And from what they could see (which wasn’t much) only one leaf at the very top. There was a tent at the base of the tree, as well.

Eltharion burst into action. “You two wait here. If there’s trouble, come get me.” He began to climb the tallest tree around the camp. He found a good sized one (about 100 feet) and started up. He climbed slowly and methodically, making sure not to fall. He got near the top, took out his bow, attached his rope to an arrow, and fired toward the Moonleaf’s tree.

A hit! Oh glorious luck. The arrow stuck about five feet from the top. He tied the rope snugly around some branches of the tree he was in, and he began to cross it. Hanging over 80 feet in the air, hand over hand, he slowly made his way across the orc camp. Ogrim and Johnathan merely stared in horror.

A campfire was burning below, slightly. One orc could be seen sleeping next to it, but that was the only apparent guard. Eltharion neared his goal when a javelin flew past him. The orc by the fire was awake! The orc, not having anything left to throw, picked up a branch that was burning in the fire and flung it…

…and hit the Moonleaf, catching it on fire and sending it trailing down toward the camp. Eltharion quickly jumped onto the tree and started sliding down. The orc had pushed on another tent, with two more emerging, groggy-eyed. Ogrim and Johnanthan were on them. Ogrim’s axe came down with thundering force, cutting deep into the orc’s belly and sending it back to Gruumsh. The other fell quickly as well, as Johnathan swiped with his longsword and shortsword, both scoring deadly hits. Eltharion landed next to the big tent that was right next to the tree, and charged at the orc who had thrown the javelin. He quickly drew his warhammer and whip, and closed on the the orc. He whipped him once, the snap causing the orc to wince. His warhammer, however, swung wide as the orc jumped out of the way. Ogrim, on the other hand, didn’t miss. His axe sunk deep into the orc’s back, who fell into a heap.

Out of the large tent emerged an older orc wearing fur robes.

“Stop this, be quiet, come here,” the orc’s speech was slow and highly accented. “I see you want our Leaf. I have more. You will trade. Come in tent.”

With slightly puzzled glances toward eachother, the heroes entered. The tent was decorated with many dead-animal skins and parts, and the old orc went straight for a chest. He pulled out two dried leafs.

“Here is leaf. What do you have for trade?” the orc asked.

The three heroes immediately began to empty everything they owned, from extra rope, torches, grappling hooks. All the extra crossbows from the bandits. Ogrim had to give up his own crossbow, along with Eltharion giving up his longbow, quiver, and arrow. By the time they were finished, all they had was their clothes, armor, and weapons left. No supplies whatsoever. The orc looked over the pile and nodded slowly.

“This will do. Here are leafs.” He placed the two leafs into a small pouch and gave it to the heroes. “You go now, chief will awaken.”

They took off. Before they were even halfway towards the edge of the camp, a large horn was heard blowing from the old orc’s tent. Orcs began emptying from their tents. Luckily, only three were between them and escape into the dense woods. Weapons drawn, they charged in. The orcs weren’t so lucky, as they didn’t have their weapons on them. One tackled Ogrim, while Johnathan made fast work of another one. Eltharion just kept running, with the final orc running after him. Ogrim pushed the orc off the top of him, and Johnathan finished him with a cut across the throat.

Eltharion reached the woods. A horse was there? The druid! Eltharion hopped on, and the horse kicked the orc squarely in face, his nose splintering as he fell. The horse then bucked off Eltharion, his head motioning toward Ogrim, who climbed on. They all raced out into the forest, quickly getting lost in the brush and losing the orcs. An outrageously loud roar is heard from the camp as they retreat, something in orcish. They don’t pause long enough to think about it. Their run slows to a hustle, and their hustle slows to a walk as they feel they have put enough distance between the camp and themselves. The horse changes back to Seive the druid, and she leads them back to their conclave. Helmar is there, waiting in a nice clearing with a clear pond. They all rest and gather their thoughts.

The druids empart wisdom on the party. Eltharion and Johnathan are taken by the ways of the forest. The druids teach them some fundamentals, and both are on their way down the druidic path. Ogrim grumbles about the outdoors and takes a puff of his pipe. They sleep the rest of the night.

Will they reach White in time? Will the cure even work? Will everyone want to be a druid? This and more, next update…

The next morning, the party says their goodbyes to the druids and heads off to the northeast; back to the forest town Helian, and to the road that will lead them home. One day of travel through the woods and they reach Helian, where they get their horses back. Luckily, they had paid in advance for the stabling fees, or they would be in trouble (as they had traded all their money and gear for the Moonleafs).

The ride back home is quick and uneventful. The serene beach setting makes the travel easier, and talk is light. Both Eltharion and Johnathan become accustomed to their newly acquired druidic powers. They follow the road east, which then turns south as it meets the fork, and back down into the Baronian peninsula. The guards at the gate of the Wall grant them entry, and they head into Froal where they stay the night. The next morning they go to Drelk, and their journey is complete. In 20 days, one day shy of their time allotted, they have retrieved the Moonleaf. They head straight for White’s place…

…he’s gone. Mannquelin invites them in with a long face.

“It’s, it’s terrible… Master is gone. During the middle of the night a few nights ago he just, got up and stumbled off! I didn’t see this of course, but some bar-goers that night did. He scratched one of them on his way by. It seems that anyone who gets scratched, well… develops a similar illness. It’s similar in symptoms, but dissimilar in the sense that…” Mannquelin pauses, his face mortified.

“What!” Ogrim, Eltharion and Johnathan speak simultaneously.

“They all die! In two or three days from when they are scratched. All of them we’ve seen. At least six people have died already. He’s long gone. Headed north, they say. Have no idea where. You MUST find him, you must!” Mannquelin is exasperated.

“Where are Krin and the others?” asks Eltharion.

“They should be returning tomorrow. I hope.” Mannquelin reasons.

“Well, we aint waiting that long. We’re going now,” Ogrim seems determined. “By Moradin’s shield, we won’t let any more harm come to White!”

“Tell them to meet us at the Adventurer’s Guildhall. We’ll find him…” Eltharion states.

“Good luck to you all,” Mannquelin goes back inside.

“How could he have gotten past the gate at the Wall?” Johnathan asks the other two.

“Let’s go find out,” Eltharion and the others head back north to Froal, where they rest. They don’t get in until very late. Asking around a bit they hear of White passing through.

“Good, we’re on the right track,” Eltharion states.

They head north to the gate the next day, and by mid day they reach it.

“Hey, did you see anybody weird pass through the last few days?” Eltharion asks.

“No, what do you mean by weird?” the guard questions from atop the wall.

“Have you seen the adventurer White pass through?” Ogrim asks, shaking his head at Eltharion.

“Ah, yes, saw him a good four days ago I think. We saw him coming so we opened the gate. He seemed quiet, but that’s to be expected, his partner just died, right? He just kinda walked north. It was a little strange, he didn’t have anything packed up. No supplies or bags. Come to think of it, that is a little weird,” the guard muses.

“Thanks for the help.” The party presses forward. Eltharion has difficulty tracking White, as the road is often used by travelers and merchants. He thinks he gets a good read at the fork. One set of steps doesn’t follow the road, but kind of veers off west. And so they follow.

The party decides to walk alongside their mounts for the time being, as Eltharion needs to keep a close eye on the trail, making sure not to lose it. They continue to follow the trail, sleeping at nightfall, and continuing at daybreak. The trail leads them straight to… Canticus?

They’ve heard of the town. Small, basically a traders rest-stop that grew into a town. None of the party had ever been there. And from the look of it, nobody was there now. Nobody. The streets were empty. No lights were on. It was abandoned.

The rain clouds had been gathering for the past couple of days, and a light rain had begun to fall. The wind was blowing, making it an eerie scene of 3 heroes standing between some abandoned buildings in the rain. Sound? Something came from a nearby building. Goblins! Four of them charged out of a building, with three more coming out of a building from the other side. They were all brandishing some worn short swords, screaming for revenge.

Eltharion tripped one with his whip and slew another with his hammer. His strikes hitting exactly the right place to cause extra pain, as he was very versed with goblinoid creatures. Johnathan, using his newly acquired scimitars, sliced through a few of the goblins. Ogrim shield-bashed one, and cleaved through another. The winds were growing. A few unlucky seconds later, and the heroes were surrounded by a couple more emerging goblins. Using their new druidic powers, they were able to heal some of their wounds. The winds continued to grow, and just as the heroes were about to defeat the last few goblins, the winds grew to almost hurricane force. The heroes bolted for a big building, found a basement, and went down. The two goblins who were left standing were picked up by the wind and smashed against a nearby building.

After the sounds of the wind had subsided, the heroes ventured out. Several of the smaller buildings had collapsed. They went into one of the buildings where the goblins came from and found a few more, looking scared. Ogrim spoke Goblin.

“What’s going on here?” Ogrim asked in the simple language.

“Strange man give disease! Goblins hurt!” the sniveling goblin points to the two goblins laying down on the cots at the other end of the room. Their skin pale. They wouldn’t last the night.

“Great warrior go to find disease giver and kill!” the goblin pipes up.

“Hm, that’s not good. Let’s rest here until morning, take a look around, and get moving.” Eltharion says.

So they find another building, the rain dying down a bit, and camp out inside. The next morning they search around and find nothing, nobody, nowhere. The church is empty. The inn is empty. They run into a couple of adventurers in the tavern, however.

“Ho there, don’t be alarmed!” the Halfling, wearing the spiky studded leather speaks up. His hair unkempt and messy. His companion, a half-orc wearing similarly spiked armor, looks them over.

“What are you doing here?” Eltharion asks.

“We could ask you the same thing. But we’ll answer anyway. We’re just a couple of guys looking for adventure. I’m Flick, and this here is Grug.” Flick pats the big fellah on the back. “Saw another guy hiding in the back, go check it out.”

Eltharion gives them a final look; Ogrim doesn’t sense anything out of the ordinary, and they move to the back of the tavern. Two handles are on the back of the halfling’s armor. They wonder why.

In the back room, is a skinny man huddled in the corner. He has a little stockpile of dried food and ale sustaining him. He looks curiously at the party.

“I’m Drek. How’re you?” the man asks.

“Eltharion. This is Ogrim, and Johnathan. Do you know what happened here?” Eltharion asks.

“As a matter of fact I do. I lived here. Well, I still live here, as you can see. The town seemed normal enough. Until people started worshippin’ that bastard God, Iyachtu Xvim. Everybody seemed into it. Like a common interest. I wouldn’t have it though. One night, I seen everybody gathering at the church. The next morning, everyone was gone. Seemed strange to me. I looked around the church but didn’t find nothing. So here we are. And I want to get out of this damn place. Problem is, I’m scared of those goblins. I got scratched by one when I was trying to make my way out of here. I’ve been hiding out ever since.” Drek summarized.

“Come with us, we’re tracking our friend. We’ll take you to whatever town we pass by okay?” Eltharion offers.

“Sounds great!” Drek hops up, giving the party the food he has stashed. “I know where there’s some gold, too.” He pries up a stone in the corner, and there’s a large sack. It jingles when he lifts it. “Let’s go!”

Ogrim helps the man carry the gold sack, and they head out, bidding farewell to Grug and Flick. They follow the trail some more, as it almost backtracks entirely, heading directly east from the town of Canticus. It becomes increasingly difficult to follow due to the rain, but they make due. Drek rides the horse and they make pretty good time. They head into a lightly forested area, feeling that they’re catching up.

That night, by campfire, they share some stories with Drek, entertaining him immensely. Drek wants to be a servant, oddly enough. He says that he likes to do what he’s told, as long as he gets paid for it.

Suddenly, they hear something in the brush off to the side of their campfire…

To be continued…

Will the heroes find White in time? Who is in the bushes? Will Drek be their manservant for life? These and other important questions will be answered next time!

A savage looking goblin; his hair wild, his toothy maw frothing with rage, his eyes bloodshot red. Battleaxe leading, he charged from the brush. Two glowing green bolts flew from behind him, striking him in the back. Eltharion and Ogrim looked at each other in confusion.

The goblin stumbled toward the campfire, growling almost madly. Eltharion idly swung at it, not connecting, nor really wanting to. Ogrim shield-bashed the axe out of the goblin’s hands. It flew right into the campfire. The goblin’s eyes went wide as he tried to reach in to get it.

Ogrim and Eltharion chuckled to each other, sheathing their weapons. Johnathan was on the other side of the fire with Drek, making sure to keep him safe. Both were looking a bit pale…

As the goblin was kicking at his axe to get it free of the flames, another form emerged from the woods. Wild blonde hair, unmistakable good looks. “I’m Bink.”

“Eltharion Ulthuan. This is Ogrim Oakenshield. That’s Johnathan and Drek.” Eltharion spoke up.

“Yes, I know Drek. I’m here because I’ve been looking for him. I knew he was living in Canticus and I heard that it was abandoned. I needed to see what happened to my old friend. Drek, how have you been?” Bink asked.

“Fine…” Drek lets out a cough; deep and rough. “Been better.”

“You know, you guys don’t look so good. Do you think they…” Eltharion didn’t want to think about it.

“We better leave them here. Give them some extra blankets and rations. We need to make speed towards the nearest town to get them some help.” Ogrim reasoned.

“We have to find White…” Eltharion replied.

The goblin finally got his axe out and put out the fire that had started on the handle. He picked it up and looked at it, shaking his head.

“I’ll never kill the disease bringer now! Look what you’ve done!” the goblin spoke up in a slightly high-pitched common.

“Disease bringer… does he have white hair?” Eltharion asked.

“Yes, white haired stranger who staggers around. I must kill him to avenge my people!” the goblin states.

“Listen, the man isn’t bringing disease. We need to capture him alive, and we’ll free him from whatever is causing this. He is our friend.” Ogrim said.

“Hm…” the goblin looked over everybody, and nodded slowly. “I’m Grog. My wolf Trakker is in the woods. Let’s find this man.”

“Great… a goblin…” Eltharion said not so enthusiastically. “You two, take this horse and ride towards Brunswick castle. It should be half a day west of Canticus. Get help, and we’ll meet up with you there later. We need to find White.”

“Okay, let’s do it, Drek.” Johnathan said.

“I want to find out what gave Drek this disease. I’ll go with you to find this ‘White’ character.” Bink said.

“Sounds good, let’s get some rest,” Ogrim needed his sleep.

The next morning they said their goodbyes to Drek and Johnathan, who rode back west, while Bink, Grog, Eltharion and Ogrim continued to follow the tracks southeast. Grog and his dire wolf, Trakker, were a boon. Together, they were almost as good at tracking as Eltharion. Trakker used his natural sense of smell to help Grog follow the tracks, aiding Eltharion. They had a much easier time, and quickly caught up to white at the end of the lightly wooded forest, that same day.

About 100 feet ahead, they saw White, staggering. Far off to the east they saw what appeared to be a small building in the distance. Well, before they thought about it, they sprung into action. Planning ahead the night before, Eltharion and Ogrim grabbed a large blanket they had and swooped in from either side, bundling White’s arms against his body. Another blanket from Grog and Bink completed their trap, and they set it all in place with ample use of rope.

“Well, that was easy. What’s that building?” Eltharion asked.

“I think that’s the Adventurer’s Guildhall. It’s kind of a place of refuge for travelers, though their prices can be a bit stiff if you’re not a member.” Bink explained.

“That’s perfect. This is where we’re supposed to meet Ulgrim, Krin and Trisha when we find White. Let’s go!” Eltharion was excited, as was the norm.

They carried the wrapped body of White carefully, placing it on the back of a horse and riding it toward the building. It was a huge building at that! When they approached, it seemed to reach up into the sky, at least 100 feet high! Quite wide as well. They gave their horses and wolf to the stableman, and went inside.

The double doors were huge and magnificent. Inside was equally beautiful. Embroidered rugs, paintings, statues, and a huge skull of some reptilian creature hanging in the center of the large entryway. At a small table sat a young man, wearing what looked like a jester’s outfit, complete with jingling bells and foppish shoes.

“Welcome travelers, to the Adventurer’s Guildhall. Please sign in for completeness. Will you be staying the night?” the man asked.

“Yes, we would like two rooms please. And tell us about this place.” Eltharion was curious as always.

“The Adventurer’s Guildhall was founded by Donovan Grumoile, Blaine Brague, Diane DeVille, and Drake Elison. The current Council seats of the the Hall are held by Enzonito the Ancient, Wallace Brunswick, Gordon McDale, Grunge Hacker, Felix Stromdak, Adlai Stormseal, and Brolin Flystrigth. My name is Basil Evans, two year member.” The fop replies. “It is a place where the greatest adventurers and thrill seekers congregate to share stories, relics, and memorabilia from their exploits. If you strive for it, one day you may become a member!”

“How does one become a member?” Ogrim asks.

“Oh, years of adventuring. That, or you have to do something pretty great indeed.” Basil replies.

“Isn’t Brunswick the name of the castle town to the west?” Eltharion asks.

“Very astute of you. Wallace Brunswick is a great paladin who attained partial Godhood through his patron deity. He founded that city and is their king. The other members of the Hall’s council are his personal knight bodyguards. Quite the prestigious positions!”

“Interesting. Anyways, we’re going to be getting upstairs now. If you see a big dwarf named Ulgrim…” Eltharion started.

“Ulgrim Stonehammer. Joined the Hall on the same day, let’s see, six months ago, as Krin Selmer, White, Trisha Torvana, and Arelion Strefale, I belive.” Basil boasted.

“Uhm, yes. Summon us when they arrive, please.” Ogrim’s raised eyebrow told the story.

They went up three stories to their rooms. They set White in a corner where he didn’t really move. Grog and Bink eyed each other curiously pretty much the whole time. Grog had never met somebody so… interesting…

“When do we get the demons out of this thing?” Grog asked.

“It’s not demons. It’s an infection. We have part of the cure, and hopefully soon, the other part will arrive and we’ll free him of it.” Eltharion explained, Grog’s eyes wide, as though he were learning new and interesting facts.

They had someone stay awake to watch White’s body that night; Eltharion didn’t sleep much anyway. Early the next morning, they got a knock at the door…

…it was Trisha! Her dark plate armor, raven hair and teardrop tattoo on her face were unmistakable.

“Eltharion! Ogrim! Come, let’s get White downstairs so I can perform the ritual. Do you have the Moonleaf?” Trisha asked.

They handed it over. She took it, and helped carry the bundled up White downstairs. As they were coming down the last flight of stairs, they could see the counter with Basil, but standing on the other side, signing in, was Krin and Trisha! The Trisha at the bottom of the stairs looked up confusedly. Ogrim and the others looked around, equally confused. But it didn’t last. The Trisha holding the body of White dropped it, stepped back, chanted, pointed a finger and let loose a ray of writhing black negative energy which ripped at the form of White, sending it into convulsions. Bink’s eyes widened.

“She just killed him!” Bink exclaimed, his study of the magical arts helped him identify the spell being cast. A particularly potent one; Finger of Death.

The imposter Trisha then took flight and crashed through a nearby window, fleeing the scene. White’s body began to pulsate, as a claw ripped through the blankets. Blood quickly stained the entire form, and it was growing; fast…

See what happens next time!

What is coming out of White? Was Grog right (“When do we get the demons out of this thing?”)? Who is the imposter Trisha? Will the party ever be grand enough to join the Hall? This and more, next time.

Never understimate goblins !

It seems that Grog were right, it may be demon/devil/bad thing.
Anyway, quite funny ... and pleasant to read.

Rikandur Azebol said:

It seems that Grog were right, it may be demon/devil/bad thing.
Anyway, quite funny ... and pleasant to read.

Click to expand...

Whew... a response. I thought I was writing for myself.

Thanks for chiming in, means a lot to me!

The blankets burst in a spray of flesh and blood. The creature that emerged seemed to get taller and taller and taller. When it finally stood upright and spread its wings (!?), it bolted immediately for the door.

A full 15 feet tall, this monster had rough leathery red skin, two long twisted pointy horns and a mouth full of razor teeth, glistening with green liquid.

Krin and Trisha immediately drew their weapons and approached it, but it merely ducked out of the front door…

…where it ran into Ulgrim’s huge two-handed waraxe. Brackish blood sprayed out as the monster began to take flight straight up. Another well placed swing of the axe cut another wound in its leg. Thinking fast, Bink quickly cast Spider Climb and started up the wall of the Adventurer’s Guildhall. Ulgrim threw his axe at the creature, striking it once again just before it crested the roof and started flying away. Bink wasn’t going to let it off so easy. He got to the roof and saw a small ballista on top, obviously used for defense if need be. Already loaded, he aimed it at the monster, who was already over 100 feet away, flying at a blistering rate. Bink aimed and fired! (And after a critical hit!) The bolt sailed and sailed... and struck the beast in the back, sending it falling down into the forest below.

“I ROCK!” Bink exclaimed as he climbed back down to his party.

“What happened?” Eltharion asked.

“I hit the thing with the ballista at like, 300 yards! I’m amazing!” he swung his falchion around proudly.

“Sure…” Ogrim grumbled, as he started off toward the forest, in the direction that Bink had fired. “Let’s go see if he actually hit anything.”

They headed over, which took a few minutes of walking, but found the location of impact. An indention in the ground and the black blood coated some nearby trees, but the thing was gone. The party went back to the Hall to catch up with their mentors, and see what has become of White. They reached the Hall and saw the cleanup was well underway. The corpse of White was cleaned and taken away, Krin and Trisha were sitting down on the ground, shaking their heads and pondering their next move.

“Why… who could’ve done this? What is the reason?” Krin was asking herself more than anybody else.

“If you want answers,” Basil spoke up while scrubbing some blood off the wall, “Enzonito is your man. He lives out in the forest, in a little shack. He knows about all kinds of prophecies and magic and that sorta thing. You should go talk to him. I’m sure he’ll know something.”

“As good a bet as any,” Bink responds, and the party agrees. They head out into the forest immediately. After less than an hour of travel, they see a thin line of smoke in the air, and find the small shack without any trouble. They approach and Eltharion knocks.

“Who is it?” a muffled, but young sounding voice from within.

“I thought they said he was ‘Ancient’,” Bink reasoned. “We’re from the Adventurer’s Guildhall. We want to ask you some questions.”

“Come on in, it’s open,” the voice responds, and the party enters. “Is that thing yours?” Enzonito points at the goblin.

“Yes…” Eltharion states flatly.

Enzonito looks like a man in his twenties. His shack is small and simple, with a cot and a chest; two ornate blades hung on the wall. One far more ornate blade was strapped to his back. His dirty brown hair hardly hid his slightly pointed ears.

“What can I do for you?” he asked.

“We heard you are very wise about this world, and we have some questions about something that just happened.” Bink steps up, thinking himself the leader.

“Sure, go ahead,” Enzonito replies.

“Well, a friend of ours just got a disease. However, it was no normal disease. It caused him to get up, walk around and start infecting everyone around him. About an hour ago, we finally caught up with him. Some imposter killed him, and a big demon came out of him, and flew off. The imposter also flew off and got away. Any ideas?” Bink summarized, knowing fully well that he didn’t know White at all.

“Interesting. Can you describe the demon?” Enzo asked.

The party does, and this brings a frown to Enzonito’s face.

“That’s no demon, that’s a devil. A Pit Fiend. Pretty much the pinnacle of Hell’s society. And trust me, I’d know. I’ve been there. Let me see, I’ve heard of a man birthing a devil, and it worries me. It’s supposed to start a chain of ascension. Someone is trying to become a higher power. The question is, who?” Enzonito isn’t the only one with a troubled look on his face at this point.

“I may not be totally accurate, but you need a whole lot of magical energy to attain this level of power. After the devil has emerged, I think you need to gather all kinds of magic items to use for power. And I mean LOTS. You’ll need boatloads.” Enzo says.

“Great, a guy, with a devil on his team, has tons of powerful magic items. Sounds like we’re out of our league…” Eltharion says.

“Let’s go tell Ulgrim and the others,” Ogrim offers.

“Good idea. Thanks for the info, if we need you again, will you be here?” Bink asks.

“More than likely. Glad I could be of service.” The party leaves, heading back to the Hall. They arrive and let the other group know of what Enzonito has predicted.

“That aint good. We’re doin’ somethin’ about it!” Ulgrim says, matter of factly.

“I’ve got an idea. We’ll follow the devil. I think I can calculate the direction it was flying from when I saw it last. You guys try to collect all the magic items you can, to keep them from getting their hands on ‘em. Hopefully, the devil will lead us to whoever is doing this.” Bink adds.

Krin and Trisha look pessimistic. Eltharion looks ready. Ogrim looks grim. Grog looks confused. Ulgrim nods in agreement.

“You go, find the bastard. We’ll be investigating as well.” Ulgrim states.

“Great, let’s do it.” Bink says, and they all say their goodbyes and head out. Bink, Grog, Ogrim and Eltharion head west along the road to Brunswick castle. All of them want to visit the place, only Bink has been there. They figure it’s as good a place as any to start the investigation before turning north along the path the devil took.

They take the one and a half day journey on horseback. Lightly forested along the road, the trip is mostly uneventful. Grog seems more and more mystified about Bink. He also seems more and more angry about his burnt battleaxe. Oh well, it’ll have to do for now.

The castle-town of Brunswick can be seen from quite a distance; the walls very large and beautifully crafted; obviously the aesthetics were taken into account, not just defense. Several miles across, the city was in a circular shape, surrounded entirely by the huge wall, and the wall surrounded by a very large moat. A large, wide stone bridge is the only access to the wall’s gate. They cross it tentatively, Bink leading the way. Trakker, Grog’s dire wolf, almost the length of the horses, seems calm and at ease.

They reach the gate, and a guard calls down from atop a small guard tower adjacent to the wall.

“Business in Brunswick?”

“Travelers passing through!” Bink calls up at them, knowing that to be just about the best answer for getting them in quickly.

“Mind your business, enjoy your stay.” The iron portcullis begins to rise and the Heroes find themselves in the bustling and beautiful Brunswick. The architecture and stonemasonry are top notch. All the buildings are with a light colored stone, sometimes whitewashed to give everything an almost ethereal and divine quality. Long pointed tops seem to be the style.

“Impressive work. Dwarves must’ve pitched in,” Ogrim pipes up.

“No, look at the elegance of the minarets, it is obviously elven-inspired,” Eltharion counters.

Everyone looks at Grog to offer how it is similar to goblin construction, but then they shake their heads and leave their mounts at the stable. A few extra coins are needed to take in the wolf Trakker.

They head to a local bar. Ogrim needed some strong drink, and so he found it. Strong dwarvish ale filled the mugs, and soon the bar was filled with happy patrons. Grog seemed particularly pleased with this fine drink. Grog liked Ogrim.

A particular group of individuals was sitting at one table away from everyone else. A bunch of guys in black robes with a symbol over the left breast. The symbol was an open palm with an eye in it. Bink thought he should investigate further. He approached the table with a couple of extra drinks.

“How’s everybody tonight! Want some drinks?” he offered them to the robed individuals. They nodded and drank. He sat and chit-chatted away with them, drunkening them up.

“Hey, you’re all right Bank.”

“It’s Bink. Right anyway, so what’s with the robes?” Bink questioned.

“We just joined a cult. Meeting’s in 30 minutes. Wanna come? You’re all right!”

“You mentioned that. Sure, we’ll tag along, see how it is.” Bink went back to his allies. “We’re joining a cult.”

“What!” Ogrim spat out some ale; the disappointment in his eyes apparent at the wasted drink. “We aint joining no cult.”

“We’re not really joining, just going in undercover. I feel like investigating,” Bink reasons.

“Fine, but you better not get us in any trouble,” Ogrim states.

The robed gentlemen come over to Bink and motion him to follow. All four of the Heroes leave the bar and head into an alleyway. After a few more alleys, streets crossed, and backtracking, they arrive at what looks like an abandoned church. The windows and doors are boarded up, but one of the cultists easily lifts a board from the door and they shimmy on in. Behind the altar is a staircase, which they decent. They reach a doorway, with a coat rack next to it. It has a bunch of multi-sized robes on it.

“Take a robe, each of you. Can’t come in without proper attire,” they warily don the robes and enter a larger room, albeit disappointing. No raving lunatics. No eerie chanting. Just a bunch of chairs lined up, cultists listening to a normal looking guy give a speech behind a podium. They sit in the back and listen.

“We, at the church of Iyactu Xvim, are about chaos! Create disorder! If you have a rock, throw it at someone’s head. If you see a door, break it open! Run amok! This is how we can give our master time to ascend to true Godhood. Then, and only then, will we be granted true divine miracles that we will ALL be able to manifest! What say you!”

The group of about 18 to 20 people cheer; though not the most enthusiastic cheer ever.

“That’ll be it for this week. Next week, I’ll begin showing you the fundamentals of spellcasting, as we’ll all be granted with power soon, we should know how to use it.”

Everybody gets up and begins to leave. Bink and the others approach the speaker.

“So, when we attaining these powers?” Bink asks without hesitation.

“Oh, our time shall be soon. No more than a month, I can assure you.” The elderly man responds, his speech slowed slightly due to his advanced age.

“And how is our patron ascending, anyway?” Bink, once again, without hesitation.

“I see you have many questions, young man. Please, join me at my home later tonight, I would be glad to go over everything in detail with you. I live on the corner of Gold Dragon Street. Please. My name is Zhentil. And yours?”

“I’m Joey. These are my good friends Zack, Greg, and Jeremiah,” the last name said with a slight hesitation, when pointing at Grog.

“Good, I’ll be looking forward to meeting you.”

Zhentil makes his way out. The Heroes go out afterward, tracking down one of the other cultists that they talked to earlier.

“Hey, what else do you know about this cult?” Eltharion asks sternly.

“Our God is ascending, we’ll get power soon. What else do you want?” he responds.

A rock hits Ogrim in the back of the head. Spinning around to see the perpetrator, they see another Xvim cultist, who runs off down an alley. When they turn back to the one they were speaking to, they see he has run off also. Eltharion starts after him.

“Let him go…” Ogrim grabs Eltharion by the arm. “There’ll be another time.”

“Fine, but I’m not going to be pleasant the next time we meet.”

“Hey let’s go find Drek and Johnathan. I’m sure they made it by now.” Bink says. “Plus, we have some stuff to talk over. Do we want to go meet this Zhentil guy? Seems a little too convenient. Plus, seems like the mystery is solved. Xvim is ascending, and we just found out how, from our good friend Enzonito. I think we have enough information to go after the devil and find this guy and put a stop to him.”

“Hm…” Eltharion and Ogrim are in deep thought. “Let’s get some rest…” They retreat to the inn, and take the rest of the night off, thinking about the possibilities…

The Trisha imposter is still missing! Why are the cultists so easygoing? Can they stop Xvim before he ascends? Will they be hit by Magical Stones next time? All this, and more, next update.

“So, the supposedly strict and edict-following Xvim is encouraging chaos?” Eltharion asks comtemplatively.

“Doesn’t seem right. Maybe the cultists are just whacky.” Bink reasons. “But with that devil involved, I would have to assume that there is some kind of order…”

“Who cares. Go check on Johnathan and Drek, will you?” Ogrim motions to Grog, who furrows a brow and walks across the hall of the inn to Drek and Johnathan’s room, which they finally tracked down. Grog comes back with a slightly pale look.

“I think Drek is gone. Johnathan doesn’t seem to far behind,” Grog looks squeamish.

“Xvim will pay. Him, and his cultists. We’ll make them pay,” Ogrim’s statement brings a nod from all the others.

They rest for the remainder of the evening. In the morning, checking on Drek and Johnathan brings a new set of turned stomachs from the group. They find directions to the morgue and let them know of a couple of bodies that need to be picked up. They pick up some supplies and weapons. Bink picks up a falchion he had commissioned to be made before he met the others. The blade was made of crackling white energy. Eltharion got a new set of weapons; a scimitar and a sickle. The party passes through the walled-off richer area to get to the northern exit of the city. A light drizzle fills the air; one that hasn’t really stopped since they visited Canticus. And so they’ll visit it again, as the northern road leads directly through Canticus, and beyond to the smallish trade towns of Gelvain and Tomaru.

They pass through Canticus, more of the buildings have collapsed. This time they see no signs of anyone. They take refuge in one of the buildings and rest for the evening.

“If the town was full of Xvim cultists, why would they all vanish?” Eltharion asks.

“Good question. Zhentil didn’t mention anything about personal sacrifice. He didn’t mention having to do anything, really.” Bink responds.

“Time to sleep, chatterboxes,” Ogrim was always to the point. He took a last bite of salted pork, a swig of water and drifted to sleep; snoring loudly of course.

In the morning, it was still drizzling as they set out on the northern road out of town.

“Is this damn rain ever gonna stop?” Ogrim asked.

They continued north, and gradually the rain did die down a bit. It was merely overcast by mid day. Up ahead, they saw something strange. Two covered wagons stopped in the middle of the road, and four large hulking figures striking them. They all dismounted and ran forward, seeing the figures to be about 10 feet tall. Two of them had much of their flesh left, but clearly rotted and obviously undead. The other four were devoid of all flesh, skeletons only remaining. After a quick and dirty fight (Grog’s axe is clearly falling apart from the burns) they stood victorious. Seems like all the people who owned the wagons had already run off, and from Eltharion’s estimations, toward the town to the north, Gelvain. The horses were also gone.

The party wasted no time. Eltharion began to back track the steps of the large undead, leading to the east, off the road. They followed immediately on their mounts. After about an hour’s ride, they reached a small hill with a rocky outcropping. A bit of searching revealed a small cave. They dismounted and entered. A twenty foot wide passage smelled of death, decay, and rotting flesh.

“Pleasant,” Ogrim noted.

The passage turned and opened into a large chamber, almost 100 feet long. A hole in the ceiling provided some (but not too much) light to the chamber. Standing directly under the hole was a man, about six feet tall, pale with black dreadlocks. His robes were flowing and his staff had a skull atop it with two glowing rubies as eyes. Almost immediately, this man began to slowly chant and wave his staff, and looking back at the floor, the Heroes noted a few corpses slowly stirring. They burst into action.

“Ogrim, get the mage, he’s summoning something!” Bink exclaimed as he worded his own spell, granting him the ability to climb the walls like a spider. Eltharion charged toward a human-sized zombie that had gotten up near him, and sliced it with scimitar/sickle combination. The slashes were both deep hits, but the zombie didn’t fall. Ogrim charged the wizard, who was raised up on a 15 foot high edge in the cavern, which would need to be climbed. He started, but made slow progress, his heavy chain armor slowing him down considerably.

The spell was completed, and a blobby mass of flesh appeared right next to Bink, and it immediately lashed out with a fleshy appendage. The blow landed soundly, and Bink winced at the bruise.

A larger, much, much larger zombie began to get up. At least 18 feet tall, this thing was massive. Grog took that as his cue; his eyes glazed over red and bloodshot, his muscles bulged and a light froth began to stream from his mouth. He raised his battleaxe and charged the giant zombie. A solid hit landed on the thing’s knee, but not serious enough to fell it.

“You disgusting…” Bink finished his sentence with a slash from his falchion of pure energy. The blade cut easily into the blob, but it remained standing (blobbing?). The dreadlocked wizard began to cast the same spell, this time his eyes were settling over toward Eltharion. Ogrim continued up the small cliff. The giant zombie pummeled Grog, who hardly noticed, laying in hit after hit on the things legs, tearing the rotting flesh from the bones; and cracking those! The stout creature remained standing.

Another slash from Bink’s brilliant blade sent the fleshy creature out of existence. Almost simultaneously, a reddish human-torso, snake bodied creature appeared next to Eltharion, who had just finished off the zombie standing next to him. His gaze turned to the thing, which slashed violently and cut Eltharion on the arm.

Ogrim reached the top and charged. His axe blade was coming down at the wizard’s head, and a look of glee mounted on Ogrim’s lips. It passed right through, the image of the wizard shifting slightly.

“Damn wizards!”

“Damn you…” the spellcaster said, as he cast a new spell; his finger surrounded by dark, evil, necromantic energies. He touched Ogrim who felt as if his life force was being sucked from his body. The mage seemed to grow in strength. Not good.

Bink climbed a nearby wall and fired a few magic missiles into the salamander, and Eltharion finished it off with two expert cuts, one across the neck and one stab into the stomach. The creature vanished. Grog was bruised and battered all over, and the giant zombie’s legs were practically bare, when it finally stumbled and fell. Grog had to jump out of the way to avoid being smashed. His eyes had faded from their red color and he was panting heavily. He pushed on, however, climbing the wall and running toward the wizard.

After two green missiles slammed into him, an axe from the dwarf finally landing a hit on his displaced form, and an angry looking goblin with a burnt axe charging, the wizard felt as if he had enough. While still dodging, he cast yet another spell, and flew directly up out of the hole and out of the fight. The day was won…

Grog collapsed, dead tired. Ogrim tended to his own wounds while Eltharion used his nature-granted powers and healed Grog. Toward the back of the cavern, after a little inspection, was a pouch, an amulet, and a long wooden case. Under a bed in the corner were two books.

“Oh baby…” Bink picked up the books and leafed through them hastily. “Man, this is great. Now I can write some of my spells down.”

“I thought sorcerers manifested their powers without spellbooks,” Eltharion questioned.

“Yeah yeah. I’m keeping them anyway.” Bink responded. He wiggled his fingers and cast a spell. “Looks like the amulet is magical. Nice. I’ll carry it.”

“Now let’s not get carried away, none of this stuff has been given to anyone yet. Let’s just figure out…” Ogrim is stopped, mid-sentence.

“This is great…” Grog says slowly; he had already opened the wooden case. Inside was a beautifully crafted katana, with a silk laden hilt and tie, to keep attached to the wrist. Grog picked it up immediately and began to swing it, a bit clumsily due to his smaller size. “Perfect replacement.” He threw his axe down and attached the katana sheath to his back.

“I guess something has been claimed,” Eltharion observed. “Let’s get to Gelvain.”

The pouch had 100 platinum pieces, and they found two potions as well. They gathered everything, left the cave, mounted, and rode back to the trail. They followed it for the rest of the day, reaching the small town of Gelvain before nightfall. It was much smaller than Canticus; yet another stop for traders, it seemed. They headed for the inn/tavern, which was quite busy. “The Bruised Bullywug” was the name. They opted not to drink. They got rooms and went to sleep. A hard day’s night…

Was the dreadlock mage a Xvim member? Why did he forget his spellbooks? Will Grog learn the way of the samurai? This and more… next time!

I like it.
More, please.
J

threshel said:

I like it.
More, please.
J

Click to expand...

As you wish...

The next morning, the Heroes went downstairs for some breakfast. They felt they deserved a little indulgence, as their pocketbooks had swelled considerably. They ate well.

Sitting at another table was a group of Xvim cultists, wearing their trademark unhooded robes with the open hand symbol. Bink approached them.

“Good morning. What say you?” Bink pulled a corner of the Xvim robe he had kept in his backpack out, so they could see it.

“Ah, how are you? Where you from?”

“Brunswick. What’s the good word?” Bink responded.

“Oh, you must’ve passed through the homebase. Good. Hope things are well.”

“Right, yeah, things are going good.” Bink’s mind was racing at what they could have meant by ‘Home Base.’ “So anyway, anything going on around here? I’m kinda new.”

“Things are moving along! How new are you?” the man’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“I uh, joined two days ago. I met Zhentil.” Bink responded, hoping he wouldn’t get shut out.

“Wow, you met Xvim’s closest personal bodyguard! That’s amazing! You know what I’ve heard? I’ve heard that he’s in the process of…” he leans in closer, whispering. “…of becoming a lich! Outrageously powerful, I hear!”

“Wow, that is… wonderful,” Bink did great to hide his obvious horror. “Who else should I be on the lookout for?”

“Well,” the man continues, “there are four generals who are under Zhentil in the power chain. You should be respectful to any of them.”

“What do they look like, so I know to be prepared to offer my services?” Bink lied.

“Well, there’s Damaré; he has a shaved head and usually walks around with no shirt. He has tattoos of writing black lines over his torso and head, and carries a chain-weapon. He has a tattoo of the open hand symbol on his chest as well. Trek-Donal is medium height and build, with long spiky black hair. He wears a tank top and a sash most of the time. He carries no weapons. Senman has brown hair pulled back into a pony tail. He wears a vest with a bunch of small throwing knives. He’s a bullseye shot with ‘em! The Necromancer is a tall, thin fellow, sort of pale. He has dreadlocks and a dead drow skull on top of a staff he carries.” The man finishes, looking proud to his mates.

“His name is ‘The Necromancer?’,” Bink asks.

“Yes, he’s terribly mysterious,” the man answers.

“Well, thanks. I’m going to be heading into town now,” Bink replies, gives them a bow and wanders back to his table. “Let’s go.”

The Heroes exit the building and head to the market to freshen their supplies and see the small town.

“So, I guess we already met the Necromancer guy.” Bink says, after explaining what he had heard to his friends.

“That’s a pretty stupid name.” Eltharion reasons.

“Bastard got away…” Ogrim grumbles. “Moradin help us if we run into all four of them.”

Grog was content to swinging his newly-acquire katana around. Bink had to stop him as a few people nearby were getting nervous. They bought a pearl for Bink to identify the amulet, which turned out to be an amulet which bolstered attempts to turn the undead. It was given to Ogrim. They headed back to the Bruised Bullywug that evening to get some drinks and some rest. They got something else.

They were sitting at the bar when Damaré entered. His long spiked chain clanking against his finely crafted bracers as he walked. He approached the bar.

“I have been given an order to kill you. All four of you. Tomorrow, at noon, meet me in the street. I shall end your lives.” That is all he said, before turning to leave.

“What was that?” Eltharion and the others pretty much ignored him. They drank.

Two stout dwarves struck up a conversation with Ogrim. They were of the Silverhammer clan. One looked to be a grizzled warrior, the other wore robes, and had small hammers tattooed on the tops of his hands, the symbol of the house.

“How’d ye like tah help a fellow dwarf out?” one of them asked Ogrim.

“Sure thing.” Ogrim responded.

“Well, one of our wagons was stolen this mornin’. We aint too good at trackin’; you and yer friends seem pretty well off, maybe you’d have better luck than us?”

“We’ll give it our best, but wait til morning. Now, let’s have another round of drinks. On me!” Ogrim piped up, and the people sitting at the bar cheered. Drinks went around and the night was merry.

The next morning, they got the info from the Silverhammer dwarves as to where their wagon was last seen. Eltharion, with help from Grog and Trakker easily followed the trail of the wagon out into the woods to the west of town. About two hours of tracking in the drizzling rain, and ahead in the distance they could see it. A large covered wagon, sitting nestled behind some brush, but not nearly enough to keep it hidden.

“Let’s charge!” Grog said, readying his katana. A comical sight; the blade was obviously built for a human. His goblin form seemingly like a child who found his father’s weapon.

Bink placed a hand on his shoulder, his words always so calming. “Wait, we need a plan. We don’t even know who or what is in that wagon.”

“True enough. Eltharion, you sneak forward and give us a signal if you want us to charge.” Ogrim stated.

“Sounds good.” And Eltharion was off. He readied his scimitar and sickle, approaching slowly. He hopped silently behind the brush, behind a tree, approaching with caution. He got in a good position and peered into the wagon. He saw two men wearing Xvim robes (!), talking quietly. Eltharion gave the signal to charge. And so they did.

Eltharion was on the wagon almost instantly, stabbing from outside through the cloth material with his scimitar. He felt it sink into flesh. The two men emerged with two-handed flails, scowling and looking for the person who stabbed them. Bad timing. Grog, running faster and ahead of Ogrim and Bink, charged straight into one of them. His eyes bloodshot and the froth spraying as he sent his katana in an overhead arc, slicing down through the haft of the flail and into the man’s face and chest. He fell instantly. Grog let out a guttural roar, sending more spittle around.

Bink fired off a couple of greenish energy magic missiles, and Ogrim arrived, threatening the flailing cultist. The cultist swung and clanged his flail against Ogrim’s well-placed shield. Eltharion came in from behind and sliced him across the back. Grog closed in, but his swings of the katana don’t land as the man bats them away with his flail. Bink finally gets close enough, and draws his brilliant energy falchion. Ogrim chops low at the man’s leg with his Orc-Killer axe, grazing it slightly. Eltharion then finished him, with a one-two slash-stab with his scimitar-sickle. They cleaned their blades and started driving the wagon back to town. The drizzle was very light, and let up as they rode back. The sun almost poked through the clouds.

They got back around 11 o’clock, and headed to where the Silverhammer dwarves were staying.

“Nice work boys! Our wagon!” the robed dwarf jumped in and looked around. “Hey, some of this stuff aint ours. You can keep it as pay.”

“Thank you!” Ogrim said, as he took a couple of the small boxes and a medium sized case that the dwarves pointed out. They found some gold, silver, and a few gems. In the case was a sickle; finely crafted and spotless. Eltharion grabbed it, and when he did, he heard a whisper in his ear: “Polymorph…” Interesting.

They took their items and headed back to the Bruised Bullywug. As they were entering, they saw Damaré standing in the middle of the street with a blonde Xvim cultist standing next to him.

“So, you are ready to fight, then?” Damaré asked evenly.

They ignored him and walked into the inn, and put their stuff in their room. They came downstairs and sat at the bar, having a drink to their small victory over the flailing cult members. A yell can be heard from the street.

“Come out you cowards!”

“Ugh, won’t that loser give up?” Bink was shaking his head.

“Let’s just get going north. We gotta catch up to that devil.” Eltharion reasoned.

“Sounds good to me.” Grog responded. They got their things from their room and checked out. They walked out of the Bruised Bullywug and immediately turned toward the stable. Damaré was still in the middle of the road.

“Stop, I declare this fair fight started. Defend yourselves!” Damaré began a lethal dance. He flipped his chain around his neck, then down under his legs, jumping and moving fluidly around it. The Heroes looked at each other and rolled their eyes. With a flick of the wrist, Bink sent a few magic missiles sailing towards Damaré. They struck him and he immediately charged.

He swung the chain and tripped Eltharion, who landed flat on his back. The other end flipped over and sliced him across the arm in one swift motion. Ogrim drew his axe and shield, and charged forward, taking a whip of the chain across the shoulder for his efforts. His axe blade flew wide as Damaré deftly dodged. Bink backed off, firing another couple of missiles. Grog charged as well, taking the weight on the end of the chain to the face. Slightly dazed, he swung his katana wide. His brow furrowed and grip tightened. He was feeling a little enraged…

Eltharion hopped up and approached Damaré, his scimitar and new sickle ready. Damaré took a step backward, and his cultist follower took out a pouch and sprinkled some dust on him. Damaré faded from view, an evil sneer on his face as he did. An invisible chain then tripped and struck Grog and Eltharion, both fell prone and took a slash across the chest and leg respectively. Ogrim’s brow furrowed as he took a step and slashed down with his axe, practically chopping the still-visible cultist in half.

“I knew we should’ve gone for that guy first. The weakling is always the one who wins the fight,” Eltharion was struggling to his feet.

The slight drizzle made it extremely difficult to pinpoint the location of the invisible Damaré, but they tried anyway. Eltharion moved forward to where he last saw him, barely jumping as the invisible chain scratched the ground, going for the trip. Eltharion swung and connected with his scimitar! An injured grunt issued, and the chains again fell silent. Ogrim approached and was summarily tripped and struck upside the head with the chain. Grog hopped up and charged to a new location, as it seemed that Ogrim fell down at a strange angle. He got a chain around the arm bringing him to the ground face first, and scraping off the skin as it retracted for his efforts.

Bink drew his falchion and charged also, feeling the wind of the chain fly right next to and narrowly miss him. He slashed out with his blade, but connected with nothing.

“Damn this bastard!” Bink exclaimed.

Eltharion charged up next to Bink, also barely dodging an invisible chain whip to the leg. This time, he swung out with his sickle, and success! He felt it dig in, and mentally he said Turn him into a chair!. The blade obliged…

However, Damaré seemed to resist the effect, as they could hear his footsteps running away from them. They opted not to follow.

“What a… argh!” Eltharion kicked the corpse of the cultist. They searched his body but found nothing else other than a small flail. Grog collapsed from exhaustion, and Eltharion went around and healed everybody who needed it.

“Let’s get going north,” Ogrim stated.

They went to the stable to retrieve their mounts, and headed quickly north. The next town, Tomaru, would be reached in another day of riding. They got there late that night. Tomaru was a much larger town than the previous ones. Just on the outskirts of the heavy trade region of Four-Towns, the town was bustling. The Heroes didn’t know anything about it, however.

They stabled their mounts and headed for the closest tavern. They found one called the “Quiet Chimera.” Just outside, however, a group of ruffians was loitering.

“You’re new around here. Got any cash?” one of them asked the group.

“No. Get out of our way, or else,” Bink said, matter-of-factly. Odds were nine to four.

The thugs drew their blades; some of them had shortswords and some daggers. They began to slowly surround the Heroes. Bink quickly fired off an acid arrow and it began to burn off the face of the thug who had done the talking. He fell. Grog charged another one and struck him down with a stab directly into the lung. Two surrounded him, however, and with two excellently placed cuts, Grog was on one knee, blood spurting out of him at odd angles.

A form jumped off a nearby roof and flung several small throwing knives into the fray; several meaning nine (?!). Three thugs met three knives apiece, all of them striking the neck, face, chest or groin. They all fell, blood pouring out of their deep wounds. Eltharion took the cue and turned the tide of the battle by destroying another thug with a few cuts from his sickle and scimitar. The battle ended quickly after that.

The Heroes sheathed their weapons and looked to the man who had jumped off the roof. He had brown hair, pulled back into a pony tail. He was wearing a vest with small knives, along with a sash. It was Senman, the Xvim general they had heard about before!

“Er, thanks?” Bink sputtered.

Will Senman finish off the Heroes? Would Damaré be better off as a chair? Where is Xvim!? These and other pressing questions will be answered, next update!