Storm-Peace . . . w/Illustrations! (Updated Dec 16th)

This is an adaptation of the module “A Dark and Stormy Knight” by Owen C.K. Stephens. The characters are still original creations, but the plot and setting are not.

For any of you not familiar with the module, it is only 8 pages long, so this will be a short story. It should only take a few installments to complete. I’ll upload scribbles or illustrations as the mood strikes me.

Storm-Peace


“Another hit like that will break yer damn fingers, elf,” said Thelkur. A cold wind was blowing in from the north, but he tried to ignore that far off danger and focus on the present.

He swung his hammer hard into the skinny rapier of his opponent, nearly tearing it free. “Get back to yer damned trees!” Thelkur growled in frustration. He had been fighting the elusive creature for too long. If this elf continued to evade his attacks, it might get lucky and put that blade through Thelkur’s ribs.

The elf did not reply, and Thelkur was starting to suspect that the elf had no choice in the matter. Squinting for a better view, Thelkur bashed away a rapier thrust with one of his bucklers as he eyed the dark cloth wrapped around the elf’s mouth and jaw.

A black raven circled overhead, flapping frantically. “Child of Moradin, there is no need to fight,” said the Raven in a raspy voice. “Return home to your dwarven kin. A storm brews.”

“Damn bird is giving me the willies,” said Thelkur. “Shut the blasted thing up!” The bird had been doing most of the talking since Thelkur had arrived, and talking beasts meant magic. As Thelkur glanced at the raven, he did take note of the darkening sky. If this fight did not end soon, they would all be dead.

Thelkur swung wildly to back the elf away while he grabbed a second hammer from his belt. It was time to be done with this. He ran wide of his opponent and flung both his hammers.



Quick and agile, the elf seemed to float out of the way. Thelkur found the show of unnatural grace to be more than a bit creepy. He preferred enemies that stood still and took their licks. As Thelkur readied another hammer, he noticed too late a crackle of multicolored lights forming in the elf’s free hand.

Rainbows of dazzling radiance exploded in Thelkur’s face, staggering him. Immediately the elf was on him, thrusting his rapier in quick jabbing motions and dancing circles as Thelkur struggled to remain facing his opponent.

“Damn fool! My fat, bushy eyebrows blind me already.” Thelkur tried to sound confident, but his feeble old eyes were stinging sorely. He could barely see what was happening. The elf sensed his weakness and pressed the advantage furiously with alternating high and low strikes.

“Yield,” cried the raven overhead. “My master, Galador will allow you to leave unharmed.”

Roaring his outrage, Thelkur barreled forward. His helmet had a fat horn mounted on the front, carved from hard bone, and he intended to make use of it. The old dwarf covered his face with his bucklers and ignored the fire in his gut as Galador’s rapier slipped between the scales of his armor. When the horn caught Galador in the face, it deflected off harmlessly instead of disfiguring his angled features as it should.

“Enough with the magic!” cried Thelkur. Even though the horn failed to gore Galador, it still snapped the elf’s head back and Thelkur never slowed down, slamming his hard body into his frail adversary.

Galador went into a backwards roll and came lightly to his feet, but his rapier was still firmly planted in Thelkur’s gut. With a grunt, the surly dwarf pulled the sword loose. That sight distracted Galador enough for Thelkur to throw another hammer. With quickness that rivaled a cat, Galador split his legs and fell flat, allow the hammer to flip harmlessly overhead.

Only then did Galador realize that he had not been the target. The talking raven was coming around behind Galador as it circled, and the hammer clipped the bird soundly. Galador dove for the falling bird, knowing that the dwarf would be close behind. He caught Ezra the raven and threw himself into a sidelong roll to get out of the dwarf’s way.

Thelkur thundered past Galador, his horn lowered in a charge. “You’ve lost yer weapon and yer bird. Surrender already!”

Ezra was alive in Galador’s hands, but in sorry shape. Thelkur noticed that the bird was moving its beak open and shut. Must be in a lot of pain, he thought. Then flecks of ice and snow formed in the palm of Galador’s hand amid a pale blue glow. Ezra shrieked and Galador thrust his hand at Thelkur, shooting forth a ray of freezing air and ice. It caught Thelkur on the arm, immediately numbing it and building a layer of frost on his exposed skin.

Galador’s rapier fell from Thelkur’s numb fingers.



“So that’s it then,” said Thelkur. He wanted no more of this fight. The wound to his belly was bleeding freely. If they kept fighting like this, it would be too late by the time Thelkur was able to treat the injury.

The world went white as a bolt of lightning hit a tree only a few yards away. Thelkur and Galador both flew back from the force of the blast, sending them sprawling in the grass. Water hit Thelkur’s face, and by the time he looked up it was pouring rain. Flames engulfed the ruined tree and the patter of distant hail rippled over the hills.

“Storm-peace?” asked Thelkur.

“Storm-peace,” said Ezra weakly. All reasoning beings abided by the Storm-peace. The weather in those lands was violent in the extreme. Thelkur had often wondered if some ancient wizard had caused the problems with the devastating storms. Wizards like Galador. Whatever the cause, the storms were dangerous enough to call a universal end to all hostilities.

Galador pointed to a tor rising up only a few hundred yards away. It was the reason they had both come, but now it might save their lives. At the peak of the stony tor, a crumbling tower rose high, its outline illuminated by a sudden flash of lightning.

Thelkur nodded and quickly ran to retrieve his thrown hammers. Galador scooped up his rapier and sprinted for the tor. The nimble elf quickly outdistanced the dwarf, and Thelkur lost sight of Galador in the darkening gloom and swirl of rain. Booms of thunder sounded about Thelkur like the blows of some vengeful giant. He could actually feel the sound hitting him in the chest.

A wave of dizziness dropped Thelkur to his knees. The blood loss was too much.

“Moradin. I need your help.”

Thelkur placed his hands over the gash and prayed. He felt the wound close over; it was far from healed, but at the least the bleeding had stopped. Thelkur kissed the anvil and hammer design on his buckler, the holy symbol of Moradin’s faithful.

“My thanks, as always.”

Ringing, like tiny hammers on Thelkur’s helmet, reminded him to keep moving. The hail was coming down hard. He hopped to his feet and dashed for the tor, its darkness looming up before him. It was too high to climb in the foul weather, but maybe he could find shelter somewhere around its base. A massive, arched entryway slowly emerged from the rain, set into the side of the hill. The hail intensified, stinging Thelkur’s skin until he was able to dash underneath the archway.

“Howdy,” said Thelkur to Galador, who was crouching on the far side, closely inspecting Ezra.

Galador looked up at Thelkur and scowled.

Ezra’s wing lay broken, and the raven’s shoulder was hopelessly shattered. Galador gently stroked the bird, wondering how he could help his friend. Those injuries would not properly heal.

Hail fell only inches away from Galador, barely blocked by the ruined entryway he huddled beneath. The chunks of hail had swelled to the size of a fist and were ricocheting against his thighs painfully.

Across the way, the dwarf was squinting at Ezra. “That bird of yers going to fly again?”

Galador shook his head.

Frowning, the dwarf stood and walked toward Galador. Dwarves were known for keeping their vows, but this old warrior had proven to be unpredictable. Galador slipped his hand to the hilt of his rapier and hoped the dwarf intended to honor his word in maintaining the storm-peace.

“Easy now,” said the dwarf. A flash of lightning cast twisted shadows across the dwarf’s features. “I’m a priest of Moradin. A cleric of his order. Yer little friend there needs my help.” Thunder peeled out over the hills and boomed into the archway, shaking the stones.

Galador’s gaze flickered over the holy symbol of Moradin etched onto the dwarf’s bucklers. He remembered Ezra calling this dwarf a child of Moradin.

“We called a storm-peace,” said the dwarf. “My name is Thelkur Hornhelm. Moradin saw fit to mend the hurt you put into my belly, so he might see fit to mend yer little bird friend too.”

“My name is Ezra,” said the raven. His voice was nearly drowned out by the battering noise of the hail and rain.

“Talking birds. A sure sign that this storm is the end o’ everything.”

There was no point in hesitating. If the dwarf meant to attack, then he would do so regardless. Galador dipped his head in acceptance, then held Ezra before him.

“Now wait a moment,” said Ezra.

Thelkur reached out and took hold of Ezra’s wing while muttering under his breath. Ezra shuttered violently and his feathers puffed out as far as they would go, but when Thelkur pulled back his hand, Ezra’s wing and shoulder were whole again.



“Th-Thank you,” gasped Ezra. Galador had a magical link to the raven, so he felt the stinks of pain that the healing caused as Ezra’s body was forced to mend itself unnaturally, leaving Ezra disoriented.

Thelkur seemed not to hear the offered thanks. He was inspecting the archway sheltering them. Another outburst of thunder shook the stones.

“I was looking over this construction while you were minding yer bird,” said Thelkur. “It looks solid enough. The storm won’t bring down the tor.” Thelkur reached down and picked up one of many pieces of large debris that littered the floor. “A stone was blocking the way in, but it looks like one of the storms blasted it apart recently.”

“Then it isn’t safe outside,” said Ezra.

“Exactly. We need to go in.” Thelkur kicked away more rocks and brushed at the dirt and roots on the wall beyond, revealing a heavy wooden door, cracked and peeling with age.

Galador inched over to the door and drew his weapon, prompting Thelkur to do the same. In the distance, Galador could see the tree still burning from the lightning strike. However, even that was only a flicker of smeared light against the onslaught of the storm.

The roots snapped as Thelkur pushed on the heavy door. Stale air blew into their faces, so Galador was grateful that his nose and mouth were covered.

“Dark inside,” said Thelkur.

Galador pulled a torch from his pack and used a striking stone to light it. As the torch flared to life, he tossed it into the room.

Paint and scrollwork were cracking off the walls, but the large room was empty except for a thick sheet of dust. Galador slipped inside, scanning the room for enemies. Everything seemed quiet, so he waved for Thelkur to enter as well. The old dwarf squeezed his way inside, then quickly shut the door as a trio of lightning bolts struck the grass outside. Thundercracks shook the room, dropping dirt from the ceiling and sending them both to their knees.

“That trembling noise,” said Thelkur. “Those are doors rattling on their hinges.”

Galador picked up the torch and lifted it high. Each wall had a heavy stone door with engravings. At one time they might have been quite exquisite, but now the markings were barely visible. Thelkur busied himself tugging on one of the doors. When he could not force it open, he gave it a few swift kicks.

“Locked! Whoever heard of locking doors inside a building?”

“This isn’t a building,” said Ezra. “It was a defensive structure. I would suggest discretion. Noise could rouse unwanted attention.”

“In this storm? Yer daft!” Thelkur moved on to the next door, and then the next with no more luck opening them than the first. “So elf, can you magic open these doors?”

Galador glared at the dwarf. Most of his magic aided him in combat. He had never studied arcane techniques for petty purposes such as breaking into locked rooms.

“Whatever,” said Thelkur as he plopped down on the floor with a puff of dust. That sent the dwarf into a fit of coughing.

Ezra hopped off Galador’s shoulder and bounced over to Thelkur. “These are not your lands, child of Moradin. The forests near this place are controlled by the elves. Why are you here?”

“I told ya already. I’m here for Hightower.”

“Indeed. And here we are. But why?”

“Why am I talking to a bird? Is anyone else bothered by this?”

Galador just crouched down to a resting position and listed to the conversation. Ezra puffed up in indignation. “You are evading my question.”

“Moradin sent me a dream. There’s something in here that is a threat to me people.”

“Why did you attack us?”

“You attacked me!” Thelkur clenched and unclenched his fists in anger. “You told me to leave! You wouldn’t have let me approach the tor!”

“Galador is tasked with protecting these lands. Outsiders are neither welcomed, nor needed.”

“You had no right!” Thelkur leaned over the bird ominously.

Galador snapped to his feet, his rapier suddenly in his hand. Thelkur sized him up, then settled back to the floor in a huff. Another cloud of dust shot out around him, sending both the dwarf and the raven into fits of hacking.

When Thelkur was able to stop coughing, he pointed a grubby finger at Galador’s hand. “What’s that?”

Glancing down, Galador quickly pulled his sleeve over the edge of a tattoo that was showing at his wrist. He sheathed his sword and considered the matter closed. Once he was settled back on the stone floor, Galador closed his eyes for quiet meditation.

“What’re you about?” said Thelkur.

“Galador is resting,” said Ezra.

“We should do something!”

“For now we are trapped, so we wait.”

“Trapped!” Thelkur snorted and crossed his arms.