Vendetta
First Post
Rogues Gallery
OOC Thread
Liam Wester approached the open gate leading to the small town of Tev’El Rhoe. Though he had only been here twice more than ten years ago, it was just as he remembered it, even down to the sleeping guard. The eight foot wall surrounding the city was covered in ivy and the wooden gate was open wide, almost welcoming him. Striding forward, Liam noticed oddities about the wall… broken bits of wood, sporadic bits of ivy cut away, scorch marks… Was this really Tev’El Rhoe? But yes, it had to be… for only a town such as Tev’El Rhoe would garner what amounted to be a pitiful attempt at a siege.
A siege? Children could siege Tev’El Rhoe! Laughing to himself, Liam strode through the gate, past the sleeping guard who did nothing more than snort loudly while lost in his dreams. Inside the walls, people busied themselves with their daily chores, going to and fro, from shop to shop, laughing and greeting each other fondly as if they had not seen each other just the day before and the day before that.
Suddenly, a young dwarf appeared from around a building pulling a small cart with two large barrels the cart’s hollow. “OY YE! COMIN’ THROUGH, AYE! WHAT’CHER SE’F. ME CAIN’T STOP THIS OLE CART ONNA COPPER, YE KNOWED!” The dwarf bellowed as he lugged the cart down the street. His shouting worked as pedestrians gave the cart and dwarf a wide berth and watched as he passed them by wondering what it was he was pulling. As if on cue, the dwarf continued his shouting, “GOTTA GIT THIS NEW SHIPMONT O’ CIN’MON ALE TA BRADOR!”
“Elven Cinnamon ale?” Liam thought to himself. “An exotic drink for a backwoods town.” Then turned on his heals and followed the dwarf.
Sonrik Velrys stood outside of the local tavern, The West End Inn, and watched the townsfolk busying themselves in the streets. It was the end of the week and many of the area’s farmers were coming into town to sell their overstocks or buy provisions for the coming week. Often, this preceded a nip into the bar where said farmers would drown out a weeks worth of labors. Sometimes, things got rowdy… but just sometimes. Sonrik wasn’t officially any kind of city authority, but his devotion to his god pretty much put him in high esteem of everyone in the town. Things tended to go more smoothly when he was there. Not so much because people were afraid of him, but simply because people looked up to his position as a holy warrior.
The truth was, many of these farmers were fair fighters considering the slew of Kobold raiding parties that ran through the area from time to time, most especially this last year. There were several of the town’s men that Sonrik didn’t think he could take in a fight, fair or not. But they were essentially good people and they respected the gods.
“GOTTA GIT THIS NEW SHIPMONT O’ CIN’MON ALE TA BRADOR!” shouted Draeron, Brador’s son, as he came whipping around the Tev’El Rhoe Exchange toward the Inn. Draeron was an excitable young lad… young… funny that. The boy was three times Sonrik’s age yet, if he were human, would only in his mid teens, a few years younger than Sonrik himself. The Paladin smiled to himself as the young dwarf swept past him toward the back of the inn and the service entrances. “Be ye wantin’ a fine ale, m’lord?” The dwarf asked as he approached.
“I’ve not much of a taste for your Cinnamon Ale, Draeron.” Sonrik replied.
“NAE! This be new stuff, good stuff! Me father shipped et straight from Tel’Loren itself!” The young dwarf grinned broadly.
“From Thel’Lorean, eh?” The Paladin mused. “Perhaps I shall have a taste. I’ve not tasted real Elven Cinnamon Ale before.”
“That be a good chap, aye!” The dwarf called over his shoulder as he turned the corner, heading to the back.
Sonrik laughed to himself as his gaze followed Draeron. When he turned back, his eyes met the gaze of a traveler… someone he’d not seen in these parts before. He was thin but tall, brown eyes and brown shoulder length hair… not remarkable in anyway except for his piercing gaze. Immediately Sonrik reached out with his gifts to see if he could sense any evil from this newcomer, but he did not. Still… those eyes… this man had power and knew it. The man nodded and stepped into the Inn. Sometimes travelers meant trouble. Sonrik decided to follow him and keep an eye out, just in case.
Gemble Longbottom, a Halfling of… less than perfect character, He’Rak, a Half Elf sorcerer and Sel’Tarien, an Elf, stood at the corner shop watching the people walking around the streets and wondering what they should do for the day. Well… at least the two elven folk were… Gemble was entertaining himself by attempting to get a good look up the dresses of the ladies walking around.
It was the third time Gemble had “falled” directly under the feet of a young woman and the muffled snicker told the elf and half-elf that the suspect Halfling’s antics had paid off yet again.
“Oh dear!” The young lady, Analee, exclaimed, kneeling down quickly to help the 2’10” Halfling back to his feet. “Are you OK?”
“OH! Oh my! I twisted my ankle a little, I think… I’m not sure I can walk.” Gemble said in his most painstricken voice.
“Don’t put weight on it, test it out.” Analee said, staying close to the Halfling so that he could put his hand around her for support. He stepped gingerly around in a circle, moaning and groaning in “pain” the whole time. The elves saw Gemble’s hand at “just the right height” placed on the woman’s rear. And, as if he knew what they just saw, Gemble turned and grinned at them; a grin that said “Look where my hand is.”
He’Rak wanted to push Gemble over but knew better. The time Sel’Tarien did that earlier today only incurred a nasty chewing out by the young and fondled young lass about how insensitive he was. Nothing had delighted Gemble more and he seemed to be trying to egg one of them into repeating the act. After a couple of minutes, Gemble thanked Analee and “shook off his injury” and returned to Sel’Tarien and He’Rak with a huge grin crossing his face.
“You’re terrible.” He’Rak chided the Halfling.
Before Gemble could say anything, they heard the cry of the young dwarf, advertising the Cinnamon ale.
“Come on, let’s grab a pint.” He’Rak said.
“It is terrible ale that Brador gets.” Sel’Tarien replied quickly.
“He gets it for you.” Gemble jumped in.
“You and the other elves of Tev’El Rhoe.” He’Rak added.
“I know…” Sel’Tarien groaned and turned toward the West End Inn followed by his two companions. A couple of minutes later, the trio saddled up to the bar to a beaming Brador, a rotund dwarf who had enormous features. Hands the size of a large Human’s, a nose that didn’t end and a beard so thick, some thought it was a weaved rug hanging from his face.
Brador smiled widely, showing all 8 of his teeth. The old dwarf had spent most of his life pitfighting and had lost most of his teeth. In was something of a mystery how he could get most of his teeth knocked out and never once get his nose broken. It was unreal to even imagine that no one had ever hit that gargantuan bologna loaf that the dwarf used to smell things. A further mystery was why Brador never opened up his own pitfighting club to go along with his bar. Every evening, he lost most of his business to the Fist and Blood Pub and Pit where locals indulged in the sport of pit fighting; an extremely popular sport around the towns of Enber.
Brador pushed a mug of ale toward Sel’Tarien, grinning widely and nodding approvingly. Sel’Tarien thanked the dwarf and, like a good sport, took a sip of the swill… only… it wasn’t swill!
“This is… great!” Sel’Tarien said in surprise then taking a healthy draught from the mug.
“GOOD! HA! Et cost me a purty coin ta impert this stuff, aye. Me didnae knowed ye effs be nae likin’ tha ale me been gettin’ so me brings this in from Tel’Lora eeself. Et’ll cost a wee more than the crud me been gettin’ fer ye.”
“Tis worth it, good dwarf.” Sel’Tarien replied with a smile, reaching for his coin purse. “Tastes as though it hails from the Wild Cedar stock.”
“AYE! That be the place me bought et from!” The dwarf practically shouted. Then, seeing Sel’Tarien going for his coinpurse, added, “Nae, ye! Me’ll nae havin’ ye pay fer this one. Me owes yer kind a round fer buyin’ tha swill me been gettin’ fer ya all this time.”
“Thank you, Brador.” Sel’Tarien replied with a nod.
“Great!” The Halfling interjected. “I’ll take mine then, good sir!”
“Ye’ll do nae such thing, Longbottom! Ye’ll pay double!” The dwarf growled at the Halfling who promptly fell off of his stool in shock.
Erlik throw a roundhouse punch that Korbin barely dodged as the crowed at the Fist and Blood Pub and Pit roared with excitement. Sweat glistened off of their shirtless bodies as the two young men circled around each other looking for an opening. This had been the best bout of the evening and the crowd let them know how appreciative they were for their effort. Korbin threw a few quick jabs hoping for an opening but Erlik wasn’t that tired yet to fall for his ploy.
Suddenly, a cry broke out in the pub above the noise of the cheering fans. The cry that none wanted to hear… Kobolds were raiding again.
Quickly the two combatants ran for their clothes and weapons as everyone ran out of the pub. The militia was assembling quickly and small groups were moving to the walls were the tops of ladders could be seen peeking over and the small but quick forms of Kobolds running along the wall, looking for a place to drop down into the town.
Young and old alike filled the streets to defend the town from the kobolds. Erlik, Korbin, Sel’Tarien, He’Rak, Sonrik and even a surprised Liam joined the others in formations where they were told by Old Ironhead, a 300 year old dwarven war veteran who no one in the town dared to stand against, where to set up the town’s defenses. Sonrik paused for just a moment by the door leading out of the Pub and Pit, reached down behind a barrel and pulled up a grinning Gemble.
“I… ah… dropped my sword back there.” The Halfling told the Paladin pulling out his short, Halfling sword.
“Then we are lucky that you have already found it.” Sonrik replied, pushing the Halfling forward and into the formation. Gemble grumbled but didn’t say anything as he took his place in the line. Old Ironhead pointed at the group of young militia and shouted, “Ye group wit me!” The group followed the burly old dwarf to the south wall where they engaged the kobolds one more time.
“We must do something!” Elder Sonders shouted at the rest of the elders who ruled over the city of Tev’El Rhoe. “We cannot sit back and fend off wave after wave of kobold every other night.” The crowd of townsfolk watching the meeting echoed his sentiment.
“And what can we do?” The cooler head of Elder Weaver asked.
“The Kobolds have never attacked us this way before. Every day their attacks get bolder and grow larger in numbers. Even just a year ago, there were never more than one or two attacks a season and now, three or four a week. Something is going on to gather these beasts against us.” Elder Williams put in.
“Last night, 5 good men died. This is unacceptable. We cannot continue to accept these kinds of losses without being overrun!” Elder Tommbadal growled. It was rare that anyone died in the kobold raids. Several would get wounded, but rarely killed. Kobolds were not known for their bravery and generally ran with what ever they had their hands on once the much larger humans, elves and even dwarves showed up to confront them.
“Again, I ask you, what can we do?” Elder Weaver asked. To this, there was no answer as the Elders bickered back and forth for several minutes.
Finally, a call came from the back of the room. Silence. None ever interrupted the elders as they debated a decision… but as every head turned, the grim image of Old Ironhead stood unflinching.
“We send a crew ta Enberton and the human king ta ask fer troops. Tha numbers we faced last night is nothing short of a rising army o’ the critters an’ they be gettin’ bolder by tha day. Somptin be goin’ on here an’ yer human king needs ta know ‘bout et. We’ve no army ta fend off troops here!” The dwarf said in a clear, demanding voice that was used to giving out orders.
“That is a good idea, Ironhead.” Elder Sonders said before anyone could debate it.
“But, who should we send?” Elder Graves asked.
“Them boys me took inta battle last night at tha south wall. Me watched ‘em fight ta see if’n they could do this fer us and they can.” Old Ironhead replied.
“Boys? We’ll trust this to boys?” Elder Sonders growled.
“Men will need to tend their farms, their businesses. We’ll also need our most experienced warriors here to protect our families and possessions.” Elder Hedly said, thinking out loud.
“Young men… strong of arm, sharp of wit and…” Elder Weaver grinned, “ready to see the rest of the world.”
“Sendin’ these lads won’t hurt our defensin’ o’ the city much and they be capable o’ protectin’ theyseffs.” Ironhead stated as a matter of fact.
“Who are they?” Elder Graves asked.
Erlik, Sonrik, Korbin, He’Rak, Sel’Tarien, Gemble, Jaeden, Liam, Krueger and the Priest of Thorus Odara stood at the gate surrounded by the townsfolk and the Elders. It was early in the morning three days after the decision had been made to send the young men, elves, dwarves and Halfling to Enberton. The Elders had given a sealed scroll for the king to Sonrik with the request written in their own hands. Krueger held the polls of a small cart that was packed with the parties supplies, which included two large wheels of cheese, several pounds of dried fish and pork, roots (to be boiled like potatoes) and half a dozen loaves of wey bread, and two five gallon barrels of clean water; enough to last nearly a week for the whole group. Even Brador donated the first half cask of Cinnamon ale to the party.
But before the party could leave, a young runner was seen coming up the road toward Tev’El Rhoe. All watched the young man as he ran and something deep inside of them sank, knowing this could not bring good news.
A few minutes later, the young man ran up to the open gate and shouted for all to hear, “The Great Kendrian and Tandra’var are dead!”
The words hung in the air like the smell of rotten eggs, and elicited a similar response as tears fell down the cheeks of several there. Sel’Tarien couldn’t believe what he had heard. Kendrian could not be dead! He fell to his knees in stunned silence.
The boy continued, “There is a dragon in Enber. It fell upon Thel’Lorean, burning the once great elven capital to the ground. It did fell the mighty Kendrian, slayer of Rox’Voroth and took away Tandra’var upon its own back. But worse still, the dragon confessed to an unholy union between itself and the dreaded Rox’Voroth which did begat a pair of twin children, half dragon abominations sworn to the will of the Dark Lord himself! King Promus himself bids ye send emissaries forth to Enberton to discuss the matter and what must be done!”
The boy turned over the letter to Elder Weaver who stepped forward toward him. Weaver was a young elf 300 years ago when Rox’Voroth ravaged Enber. He was the only person in Tev’El Rhoe that had been alive to remember those dark days. His face blanched as he read the letter and handed it to Elder Sonders who came up to stand beside him. Elder Weaver bid a young lady to take the boy to the inn on his account for a bite to eat, a bath and a bit of rest then turned to the group of young men.
“This changes little for this mission. Give the king our letter and find out what will be done about these bastard children of the Dark Lord. Tev’El Rhoe will do what little we can. Send us word as soon as you can and return to us, safe.” Elder Weaver said then bowed his head and practically ran from the gate toward his home. A somber din fell over those crowded around.
Old Ironhead came up to the group, placed his hand on the shoulder of Krueger and said, “Today, ye be men of Enber. Do wot ye can… for little else can Tev’El Rhoe offer. But know this lads, Me cannae be prouder o’ that which we can offer. Ye men can be a light, and by Oberon’s great beard, ye will be, me reckons.”
After another round of goodbyes, the group of young adventurers steps out onto the road leading away from Tev’El Rhoe.
OOC Thread
Liam Wester approached the open gate leading to the small town of Tev’El Rhoe. Though he had only been here twice more than ten years ago, it was just as he remembered it, even down to the sleeping guard. The eight foot wall surrounding the city was covered in ivy and the wooden gate was open wide, almost welcoming him. Striding forward, Liam noticed oddities about the wall… broken bits of wood, sporadic bits of ivy cut away, scorch marks… Was this really Tev’El Rhoe? But yes, it had to be… for only a town such as Tev’El Rhoe would garner what amounted to be a pitiful attempt at a siege.
A siege? Children could siege Tev’El Rhoe! Laughing to himself, Liam strode through the gate, past the sleeping guard who did nothing more than snort loudly while lost in his dreams. Inside the walls, people busied themselves with their daily chores, going to and fro, from shop to shop, laughing and greeting each other fondly as if they had not seen each other just the day before and the day before that.
Suddenly, a young dwarf appeared from around a building pulling a small cart with two large barrels the cart’s hollow. “OY YE! COMIN’ THROUGH, AYE! WHAT’CHER SE’F. ME CAIN’T STOP THIS OLE CART ONNA COPPER, YE KNOWED!” The dwarf bellowed as he lugged the cart down the street. His shouting worked as pedestrians gave the cart and dwarf a wide berth and watched as he passed them by wondering what it was he was pulling. As if on cue, the dwarf continued his shouting, “GOTTA GIT THIS NEW SHIPMONT O’ CIN’MON ALE TA BRADOR!”
“Elven Cinnamon ale?” Liam thought to himself. “An exotic drink for a backwoods town.” Then turned on his heals and followed the dwarf.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Sonrik Velrys stood outside of the local tavern, The West End Inn, and watched the townsfolk busying themselves in the streets. It was the end of the week and many of the area’s farmers were coming into town to sell their overstocks or buy provisions for the coming week. Often, this preceded a nip into the bar where said farmers would drown out a weeks worth of labors. Sometimes, things got rowdy… but just sometimes. Sonrik wasn’t officially any kind of city authority, but his devotion to his god pretty much put him in high esteem of everyone in the town. Things tended to go more smoothly when he was there. Not so much because people were afraid of him, but simply because people looked up to his position as a holy warrior.
The truth was, many of these farmers were fair fighters considering the slew of Kobold raiding parties that ran through the area from time to time, most especially this last year. There were several of the town’s men that Sonrik didn’t think he could take in a fight, fair or not. But they were essentially good people and they respected the gods.
“GOTTA GIT THIS NEW SHIPMONT O’ CIN’MON ALE TA BRADOR!” shouted Draeron, Brador’s son, as he came whipping around the Tev’El Rhoe Exchange toward the Inn. Draeron was an excitable young lad… young… funny that. The boy was three times Sonrik’s age yet, if he were human, would only in his mid teens, a few years younger than Sonrik himself. The Paladin smiled to himself as the young dwarf swept past him toward the back of the inn and the service entrances. “Be ye wantin’ a fine ale, m’lord?” The dwarf asked as he approached.
“I’ve not much of a taste for your Cinnamon Ale, Draeron.” Sonrik replied.
“NAE! This be new stuff, good stuff! Me father shipped et straight from Tel’Loren itself!” The young dwarf grinned broadly.
“From Thel’Lorean, eh?” The Paladin mused. “Perhaps I shall have a taste. I’ve not tasted real Elven Cinnamon Ale before.”
“That be a good chap, aye!” The dwarf called over his shoulder as he turned the corner, heading to the back.
Sonrik laughed to himself as his gaze followed Draeron. When he turned back, his eyes met the gaze of a traveler… someone he’d not seen in these parts before. He was thin but tall, brown eyes and brown shoulder length hair… not remarkable in anyway except for his piercing gaze. Immediately Sonrik reached out with his gifts to see if he could sense any evil from this newcomer, but he did not. Still… those eyes… this man had power and knew it. The man nodded and stepped into the Inn. Sometimes travelers meant trouble. Sonrik decided to follow him and keep an eye out, just in case.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Gemble Longbottom, a Halfling of… less than perfect character, He’Rak, a Half Elf sorcerer and Sel’Tarien, an Elf, stood at the corner shop watching the people walking around the streets and wondering what they should do for the day. Well… at least the two elven folk were… Gemble was entertaining himself by attempting to get a good look up the dresses of the ladies walking around.
It was the third time Gemble had “falled” directly under the feet of a young woman and the muffled snicker told the elf and half-elf that the suspect Halfling’s antics had paid off yet again.
“Oh dear!” The young lady, Analee, exclaimed, kneeling down quickly to help the 2’10” Halfling back to his feet. “Are you OK?”
“OH! Oh my! I twisted my ankle a little, I think… I’m not sure I can walk.” Gemble said in his most painstricken voice.
“Don’t put weight on it, test it out.” Analee said, staying close to the Halfling so that he could put his hand around her for support. He stepped gingerly around in a circle, moaning and groaning in “pain” the whole time. The elves saw Gemble’s hand at “just the right height” placed on the woman’s rear. And, as if he knew what they just saw, Gemble turned and grinned at them; a grin that said “Look where my hand is.”
He’Rak wanted to push Gemble over but knew better. The time Sel’Tarien did that earlier today only incurred a nasty chewing out by the young and fondled young lass about how insensitive he was. Nothing had delighted Gemble more and he seemed to be trying to egg one of them into repeating the act. After a couple of minutes, Gemble thanked Analee and “shook off his injury” and returned to Sel’Tarien and He’Rak with a huge grin crossing his face.
“You’re terrible.” He’Rak chided the Halfling.
Before Gemble could say anything, they heard the cry of the young dwarf, advertising the Cinnamon ale.
“Come on, let’s grab a pint.” He’Rak said.
“It is terrible ale that Brador gets.” Sel’Tarien replied quickly.
“He gets it for you.” Gemble jumped in.
“You and the other elves of Tev’El Rhoe.” He’Rak added.
“I know…” Sel’Tarien groaned and turned toward the West End Inn followed by his two companions. A couple of minutes later, the trio saddled up to the bar to a beaming Brador, a rotund dwarf who had enormous features. Hands the size of a large Human’s, a nose that didn’t end and a beard so thick, some thought it was a weaved rug hanging from his face.
Brador smiled widely, showing all 8 of his teeth. The old dwarf had spent most of his life pitfighting and had lost most of his teeth. In was something of a mystery how he could get most of his teeth knocked out and never once get his nose broken. It was unreal to even imagine that no one had ever hit that gargantuan bologna loaf that the dwarf used to smell things. A further mystery was why Brador never opened up his own pitfighting club to go along with his bar. Every evening, he lost most of his business to the Fist and Blood Pub and Pit where locals indulged in the sport of pit fighting; an extremely popular sport around the towns of Enber.
Brador pushed a mug of ale toward Sel’Tarien, grinning widely and nodding approvingly. Sel’Tarien thanked the dwarf and, like a good sport, took a sip of the swill… only… it wasn’t swill!
“This is… great!” Sel’Tarien said in surprise then taking a healthy draught from the mug.
“GOOD! HA! Et cost me a purty coin ta impert this stuff, aye. Me didnae knowed ye effs be nae likin’ tha ale me been gettin’ so me brings this in from Tel’Lora eeself. Et’ll cost a wee more than the crud me been gettin’ fer ye.”
“Tis worth it, good dwarf.” Sel’Tarien replied with a smile, reaching for his coin purse. “Tastes as though it hails from the Wild Cedar stock.”
“AYE! That be the place me bought et from!” The dwarf practically shouted. Then, seeing Sel’Tarien going for his coinpurse, added, “Nae, ye! Me’ll nae havin’ ye pay fer this one. Me owes yer kind a round fer buyin’ tha swill me been gettin’ fer ya all this time.”
“Thank you, Brador.” Sel’Tarien replied with a nod.
“Great!” The Halfling interjected. “I’ll take mine then, good sir!”
“Ye’ll do nae such thing, Longbottom! Ye’ll pay double!” The dwarf growled at the Halfling who promptly fell off of his stool in shock.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Erlik throw a roundhouse punch that Korbin barely dodged as the crowed at the Fist and Blood Pub and Pit roared with excitement. Sweat glistened off of their shirtless bodies as the two young men circled around each other looking for an opening. This had been the best bout of the evening and the crowd let them know how appreciative they were for their effort. Korbin threw a few quick jabs hoping for an opening but Erlik wasn’t that tired yet to fall for his ploy.
Suddenly, a cry broke out in the pub above the noise of the cheering fans. The cry that none wanted to hear… Kobolds were raiding again.
Quickly the two combatants ran for their clothes and weapons as everyone ran out of the pub. The militia was assembling quickly and small groups were moving to the walls were the tops of ladders could be seen peeking over and the small but quick forms of Kobolds running along the wall, looking for a place to drop down into the town.
Young and old alike filled the streets to defend the town from the kobolds. Erlik, Korbin, Sel’Tarien, He’Rak, Sonrik and even a surprised Liam joined the others in formations where they were told by Old Ironhead, a 300 year old dwarven war veteran who no one in the town dared to stand against, where to set up the town’s defenses. Sonrik paused for just a moment by the door leading out of the Pub and Pit, reached down behind a barrel and pulled up a grinning Gemble.
“I… ah… dropped my sword back there.” The Halfling told the Paladin pulling out his short, Halfling sword.
“Then we are lucky that you have already found it.” Sonrik replied, pushing the Halfling forward and into the formation. Gemble grumbled but didn’t say anything as he took his place in the line. Old Ironhead pointed at the group of young militia and shouted, “Ye group wit me!” The group followed the burly old dwarf to the south wall where they engaged the kobolds one more time.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“We must do something!” Elder Sonders shouted at the rest of the elders who ruled over the city of Tev’El Rhoe. “We cannot sit back and fend off wave after wave of kobold every other night.” The crowd of townsfolk watching the meeting echoed his sentiment.
“And what can we do?” The cooler head of Elder Weaver asked.
“The Kobolds have never attacked us this way before. Every day their attacks get bolder and grow larger in numbers. Even just a year ago, there were never more than one or two attacks a season and now, three or four a week. Something is going on to gather these beasts against us.” Elder Williams put in.
“Last night, 5 good men died. This is unacceptable. We cannot continue to accept these kinds of losses without being overrun!” Elder Tommbadal growled. It was rare that anyone died in the kobold raids. Several would get wounded, but rarely killed. Kobolds were not known for their bravery and generally ran with what ever they had their hands on once the much larger humans, elves and even dwarves showed up to confront them.
“Again, I ask you, what can we do?” Elder Weaver asked. To this, there was no answer as the Elders bickered back and forth for several minutes.
Finally, a call came from the back of the room. Silence. None ever interrupted the elders as they debated a decision… but as every head turned, the grim image of Old Ironhead stood unflinching.
“We send a crew ta Enberton and the human king ta ask fer troops. Tha numbers we faced last night is nothing short of a rising army o’ the critters an’ they be gettin’ bolder by tha day. Somptin be goin’ on here an’ yer human king needs ta know ‘bout et. We’ve no army ta fend off troops here!” The dwarf said in a clear, demanding voice that was used to giving out orders.
“That is a good idea, Ironhead.” Elder Sonders said before anyone could debate it.
“But, who should we send?” Elder Graves asked.
“Them boys me took inta battle last night at tha south wall. Me watched ‘em fight ta see if’n they could do this fer us and they can.” Old Ironhead replied.
“Boys? We’ll trust this to boys?” Elder Sonders growled.
“Men will need to tend their farms, their businesses. We’ll also need our most experienced warriors here to protect our families and possessions.” Elder Hedly said, thinking out loud.
“Young men… strong of arm, sharp of wit and…” Elder Weaver grinned, “ready to see the rest of the world.”
“Sendin’ these lads won’t hurt our defensin’ o’ the city much and they be capable o’ protectin’ theyseffs.” Ironhead stated as a matter of fact.
“Who are they?” Elder Graves asked.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Erlik, Sonrik, Korbin, He’Rak, Sel’Tarien, Gemble, Jaeden, Liam, Krueger and the Priest of Thorus Odara stood at the gate surrounded by the townsfolk and the Elders. It was early in the morning three days after the decision had been made to send the young men, elves, dwarves and Halfling to Enberton. The Elders had given a sealed scroll for the king to Sonrik with the request written in their own hands. Krueger held the polls of a small cart that was packed with the parties supplies, which included two large wheels of cheese, several pounds of dried fish and pork, roots (to be boiled like potatoes) and half a dozen loaves of wey bread, and two five gallon barrels of clean water; enough to last nearly a week for the whole group. Even Brador donated the first half cask of Cinnamon ale to the party.
But before the party could leave, a young runner was seen coming up the road toward Tev’El Rhoe. All watched the young man as he ran and something deep inside of them sank, knowing this could not bring good news.
A few minutes later, the young man ran up to the open gate and shouted for all to hear, “The Great Kendrian and Tandra’var are dead!”
The words hung in the air like the smell of rotten eggs, and elicited a similar response as tears fell down the cheeks of several there. Sel’Tarien couldn’t believe what he had heard. Kendrian could not be dead! He fell to his knees in stunned silence.
The boy continued, “There is a dragon in Enber. It fell upon Thel’Lorean, burning the once great elven capital to the ground. It did fell the mighty Kendrian, slayer of Rox’Voroth and took away Tandra’var upon its own back. But worse still, the dragon confessed to an unholy union between itself and the dreaded Rox’Voroth which did begat a pair of twin children, half dragon abominations sworn to the will of the Dark Lord himself! King Promus himself bids ye send emissaries forth to Enberton to discuss the matter and what must be done!”
The boy turned over the letter to Elder Weaver who stepped forward toward him. Weaver was a young elf 300 years ago when Rox’Voroth ravaged Enber. He was the only person in Tev’El Rhoe that had been alive to remember those dark days. His face blanched as he read the letter and handed it to Elder Sonders who came up to stand beside him. Elder Weaver bid a young lady to take the boy to the inn on his account for a bite to eat, a bath and a bit of rest then turned to the group of young men.
“This changes little for this mission. Give the king our letter and find out what will be done about these bastard children of the Dark Lord. Tev’El Rhoe will do what little we can. Send us word as soon as you can and return to us, safe.” Elder Weaver said then bowed his head and practically ran from the gate toward his home. A somber din fell over those crowded around.
Old Ironhead came up to the group, placed his hand on the shoulder of Krueger and said, “Today, ye be men of Enber. Do wot ye can… for little else can Tev’El Rhoe offer. But know this lads, Me cannae be prouder o’ that which we can offer. Ye men can be a light, and by Oberon’s great beard, ye will be, me reckons.”
After another round of goodbyes, the group of young adventurers steps out onto the road leading away from Tev’El Rhoe.
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