Session #11.8 – Mt. Goldforge and Rurik’s Quest
For three days the griffon riders rode their mounts hard to reach the foothills of the Iron Cap Mountains, to the vicinity of the entrance to Mt. Goldforge as marked on Trevor’s old trade route maps. Rurik remained unconscious, kept alive by forcing water down his throat. The riders landed on a small level area about halfway up one of the smaller mountains where they set up the night’s camp.
“How much farther to the entrance?” Zalman asked of Trevor Aberdeen, concerned about how much longer Rurik could last in his deteriorating condition.
“In the old days when I worked this trade route,” Trevor said, “we never actually went into their stronghold. The dwarves always met us down in the foothills. Frankly, the aerial view is so much different from the land approach, I have no idea how close we are.”
The group started up a small fire with what little fuel they could gather off the rocky surroundings…both for warmth against the cool, thin air and in hopes that any dwarves out and about might catch a glimpse and come for a look-see. They got both of their wishes.
Not long before midnight, Nigel and a couple of the griffon riders were on watch and all heard the approach of several figures. They hastily woke the others and the riders drew out their crossbows. Zalman, hoping it was dwarves, decided to step forward toward the intruders. He wore his new Darkvision Goggles so he could see where he was stepping on the precarious slope.
“Name yourselves before you approach further,” Zalman called out, in dwarven. He couldn’t quite see those approaching, but he could definitely hear them.
“Name yourself,” called back a gruff voice, also in dwarven. “You be intruding upon our territory.”
“My name is Zalman,” the wizard replied. “With me are a number of comrades from New Selmar and a contingent of riders from Water Break.”
“That’s just dandy, there,” the dwarf replied sarcastically. “You’d best be having a real good reason for being up in these parts. And kindly tell them elves to put down their crossbows before we have to demonstrate the use of our own.” Zalman could just now make out some of the dwarves. Many carried heavy crossbows and looked perfectly willing to use them if need be.
“I think an introduction would be fair first,” Zalman called back, in common now.
“Like I said before,” the dwarf called back, “you’re in our territory. State yer business quickly and we’ll see if yer worth giving my name to.”
“One of my companions and friends from New Selmar is a dwarf,” Zalman said. “He is also a cleric of Moradin. During our trip from Water Break to New Selmar, he fell ill and has been unconscious for nearly four days now. We seek help.”
The dwarves muttered among themselves for a bit and then the leader called back. “Tell the elves to lower their weapons and we’ll agree to come take a look at yer dwarven friend.”
The elvish riders and the rest of the group had already heard the exchange and lowered their weapons. A minute later, a pair of dwarves walked into the camp. Zalman knew that at least a dozen other waited behind.
The oldest of the dwarves, a powerfully built one with a black beard streaked with gray, spoke up. “I’m Roderall Hammerstrong, the patrol leader. This is Father Bibbin Stonewall.” The younger dwarf nodded slightly. Rurik’s companions recognized the holy symbol of Moradin about his neck.
The dwarves were led over to where Rurik was wrapped in a heavy wool blanket near the fire. Father Stonewall inspected him and offered a prayer of healing to Moradin. When Rurik failed to respond, the priest grilled the others for more information about his condition and symptoms. They had little useful information to offer, though.
“We must take this Rurik back to the temple,” Father Stonewall said.
“Fine,” Roderall said. “The rest of you can stay here at yer camp, but don’t go wandering about. This is dangerous terrain and some dwarves may shoot ya first before botherin’ to find out who ya are.”
“Whoa,” Nigel said. “You’re not taking Rurik anywhere without us.”
“Impossible,” Roderall said. “We’re not allowing outsiders into the mountain. Especially not elves.”
“Perhaps I should explain the rest of our purpose, then,” Zalman said. “We were intent upon coming here even before our friend fell ill.”
“Eh? What for?”
“Two reasons, actually,” Zalman said. “First, we have come to be in possession of an ancient book that we believe was stolen from Mt. Goldforge.”
Father Stonewall’s eyes bulged and Roderall nearly drew his battleaxe. “What’s that?” Father Stonewall demanded. “What do you know of that book?”
“It’s a bit of a story,” Zalman replied. The elvish riders and Trevor were listening as intently as the dwarves. This was the first any of them had heard of any stolen book. “We would be happy to recount it to the proper keepers of the book.”
“And you have the book with you now?” Father Stonewall asked.
“Yes.”
“I insist on seeing it at once,” Stonewall said. “In fact, I insist that you give it to me now. It belongs to my order.”
“When we get Rurik safely to the temple, then the book will be returned,” Zalman said adamantly. “Now, the second bit of business deals with Mr. Aberdeen here of Water Break.” Trevor bowed slightly.
“He intends to start up trade again between Water Break and New Selmar,” Zalman explained. “Apparently, long ago his company used to trade with Mt. Goldforge. He is interested in re-opening trade.”
The patrol leader and cleric looked at each other for a moment and came to a silent consensus. “Very well,” Roderall said. “You may accompany Rurik into Mt. Goldforge and return the book to the priests. Mr. Aberdeen may come along to discuss matters of trade. However, we are going to be absolutely adamant about no elves coming along.”
The griffon riders clearly had no interest in leaving their mounts. Nigel shared their sentiment after the dwaves’ derogatory remarks and declared that such arrangements were fine with him.
When the group began to be led off into the darkness, Roderall turned back and gave a sour look at the pair of halflings tagging along – Kisty and Bommer. “And no halflings, either.”
“Uh,” Zalman began. “One of those halflings would be the one who recovered your book from the thief in the first place.”
“And I intend to see it’s proper return through to the end,” Kisty added in as serious a tone she could manage. Roderall grunted and then continued to lead them on to their stronghold.
Mt. Goldforge’s entrance was well concealed. Even when standing before it, the gates appeared to be nearly identical to the surrounding cliff-face. A full dozen dwarves led them through a winding maze of hallways in the underground complex. Zalman, though not familiar with dwarven architecture, got the distinct impression that they were being led to their destination via the least-used passageways possible.
Finally, they arrived at the temple of Moradin. It was spectacular in its craftsmanship and attention to detail. Metal, stone, and gems blended together in a spectacular mosaic of design and function. Several commented on how much they hoped Rurik would get a chance to marvel at the temple during their visit. At this point, Father Stonewall sent Trevor off to meet up with some trade representatives while the others continued through the temple with him.
Rurik was brought to a small room that appeared to be used primarily for study and writing. He was laid upon a table and an acolyte was sent to fetch some of the senior clerics from their sleep. Rurik’s companions were all glad that the dwarves had found them so quickly after their arrival in the mountains as their friend looked to be near death.
The door opened and a pair of dwarves walked in. One was old, yet still had the strong frame of a dwarven warrior. His hair and beard were gray streaked with black and the resemblance between he and Father Stonewall was unmistakable. The other dwarf was ancient beyond human comprehension. He walked with a pronounced limp and his back was stooped. His hair was thin and white, but his eyes were still sharp and alert.
Father Bibbin Stonewall introduced the two newcomers as the Most Holy Father Glodain Stonewall, his father, and Father Bockers Blindin, head healer of the church. Bibbin then introduced the others to the old clerics and summarized the account of Rurik’s condition and the group’s mission to return the lost book.
The older dwarves didn’t bother with pleasantries, but neither were they rude. Both inspected Rurik and began a series of complex prayers. After several minutes, the older cleric spoke up.
“It was good of you to bring young Rurik to us given his current condition,” Father Blindin said. “Unfortunately, there may be little we can do to help him. Have you ever heard of a Quest or Geas spell?” Zalman admitted that he had, though knew little of their exact nature. “Well, it seems as if Rurik is under some manner of Quest spell. The longer he remains from completing it, the worse his condition becomes. Do you know how this Quest may have been placed upon him, or by whom?”
Rurik’s companions looked at one another. There were few times when they had not all been together, and no one recalled anyone casting a spell upon their friend. “No,” Zalman answered. “Can you counter the enchantment?”
“Quest spells can be broken,” the Most Holy Father said. “And it would ordinarily be within our capacity to do so. In Rurik’s case, however, I’m not so sure that we would want to, if even we could.”
Zalman gave a perplexed look. “What do you mean by that?”
“Well,” the senior cleric said, “this particular Quest was placed on Rurik by a servant of Moradin.”
Next session: The mysteries of the book and the Quest becomes clear.
