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Dark Sun 3E Story Hour: Sands of Blood (updated 9/20)
- Thread starter Spatula
- Start date
Hey, thanks for stopping by, Dave. That sounds great. I've started a rogues gallery thread here:
http://www.enworld.org/forums/showthread.php?p=1699229
http://www.enworld.org/forums/showthread.php?p=1699229
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Prism
Explorer
Very nice story. I'm also DMing a Dark Sun campaign. I started the party at Tenpugs band and they also accompanied a trade caravan through the Blackspine region before eventually ending up in Balic. Safest way to travel at low levels I reckon. I look forward to seeing what happens next
Session 2, Chapter 7: Outpost Three
Laalresh and Gorgoreth relocated to the outpost’s central building for a private discussion while the outpost guards greeted their caravan compatriots. Kanyth moved effortlessly through the crowd, exchanging greetings and backslaps as he went, and soon he knew the layout of the fort and its recent history.
The outpost sat atop a well, which was protected by the two-storied building that lay at its center. The wellhouse was guarded at all times and only senior House agents were allowed inside. The second story was an observation deck, open to the elements, with a trapdoor that was barred from the inside.
The five large structures built around the wellhouse were warehouses; the stables were for the kanks and crodlu that accompanied visiting caravans, and the big tent was the infirmary. There were smaller tents scattered around the outpost’s courtyard that served as quarters for the men and women stationed here. What a dump, was all that Kanyth could think as he surveyed his new home. The outpost displayed a typical frontier asthethic: crude, bare, functional. Perhaps the elves just want to wipe this blight from the landscape…
Why were the elves laying siege to the outpost? There were a few different theories offered up by the guards, from the ridiculous (the outpost was an offense to the elves because it was built over an elven burial ground – Kanyth knew that elves did not bury their dead), to the implausible (the elves are on a psychotic killing spree, determined to kill the humans regardless of the cost to themselves), to the intriguing (the elves wanted the well, or the wellhouse, either for themselves or for a rival merchant house). The wellhouse was a source of great mystery and speculation to the inhabitants of the fort. None of the rank-and-file had ever been inside, and some felt that a king’s ransom was hidden within its walls.
What the guards did know for certain is that the attacks started three evenings ago. When night came, the elves appeared out of the twilight and attacked from the shadows. With their superior vision and their longbows, they were able to strike at range without putting themselves in great danger. If the defenders retreated from the walls to avoid the arrows, the elves charged. They would inflict casualties, taking some of their own in the process, and retreat back into the deepening night. Then they returned at dawn and attacked with the rising sun at their backs. In this manner they managed to whittle the garrison down to half its normal strength.
Well, that explains why they were so set on stopping us from getting here. Another few days and the fort would have been theirs for the taking.
Gorgoreth had told the guards that there is a relief column on the way, but it wasn’t due to arrive for another two or three days. “We didn’t pass any messengers on the road. How did the House know to send troops? How does Gorgoreth know when they’re coming?” Kanyth asked.
“Oh. Gorgoreth, he’s a mind-bender. And a far-seer. A dangerous one, too – I seen him kill with a look. Believe me when I say you don’t want to piss him off.”
Kanyth raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Is that so?” The bard had been thinking of how he could sneak or charm his way into the wellhouse, but now… Maybe I’m better off not getting into trouble around here. I prefer my brain to be in one piece, and it’s a long walk back to civilization. Bah, there’s probably nothing special in there anyway. He laughed aloud at the thought of a frontier trading post holding a horde of gold and jewels.
“What’s so funny, friend?”
“Oh, I was just reminded of a story. Did you ever hear of Angry Gaeton? He was a mind-bender, not unlike your boss Gorgoreth…”
_________________________________________________________________
Krik watched the gathered humans from a distance. The fort’s defenders were not of his tek, and in truth neither were those that he had arrived with. If the thri-kreen was lonely he did not know it; his existance was as it always had been, for as far back as he could remember. Any feeling of yearning to belong could not be distinguished from his normal state of being.
What could be distinguished was the pain that ran throughout his body. His attempts to protect the caravan and the kanks from the elves’ hit and run attacks had left the thri-kreen with a number of potential new scars. The ikthok had spent all of her prayers keeping the kanks alive, so Krik asked one of the men if there was a healer at the outpost, and was directed to the infirmary tent. There will be more combat, and soon. I will need to be at full strength.
The thri-kreen passed under the tent’s entrance flap. Inside, heavily-scented smoke hung in the dim light, and close to a dozen men and women bearing various wounds lay on the bare ground. Discarded armor and weapons were scattered about. Those humans that noticed Krik looked surprised to see him there, and shuffled themselves a few feet further away from his presence.
Moving amongst the injured warriors was a plain-looking human woman wearing an ill-fitting chitin breastplate. As Krik watched, she knelt by one the men and laid her hands upon him. He had a bloody hole in his left bicep; Krik guessed that an arrow had been sunk deeply into the flesh, and then pushed out the other side. The wound suddenly took on a silvery sheen and then a sound was heard, as if a number of humans had all sighed at the same moment. The hole on the man’s arm slowly closed up, and fresh blood began to seep into the woman’s upper left sleeve. She grimaced in pain as she pulled her hands back.
The woman sat back on her heels and closed her eyes. The chorus of sighs was heard once more, and the expanding blot on her sleeve stopped growing. Her lids fluttered open as if she were waking from a heavy sleep, and with a start she noticed the large insectoid standing at the opening of her tent.
“Chakak, I require healing.”
The woman recovered from her shock and snorted as she rose to her feet. She walked over to the thri-kreen and began to probe his injuries with her hands.
“You arrived with the caravan, didn’t you? Well, these don’t look too bad to me. I’m surprised a tough bug like yourself is even worried about them.”
“I – but...” Krik looked to the other patients, but their eyes were suddenly focused on the dirt floor. Some appeared to be smirking, although Krik was not sure what was so humorous about the ground. Perhaps Basal would know. “I was not worried.”
“Good. Now, I have more severe injuries to tend to, so if you don’t mind...”
When the bewildered thri-kreen exited the tent with his hurts untended, a nearby guard saw him and gave a short bark of laughter.
“So you met Amanya, did you? She don’t care much for folks that are just passing through. You’ve got to be posted here a while, or nearly kill yourself defending this damn place before she’ll even look at you.”
“But I fought many elf on the journey here.”
“Yeah, but that’s out there. She cares about what goes on in here.” The man made jabbing motions with his finger to emphasize the point. “Understand?”
“I understand that you have a healer that does not heal.”
“Heh, don’t worry about it. The way things are going, you’ll have plenty of opportunities to prove yourself to her.”
_________________________________________________________________
The night passed without incident, and though a general cry of alarm was raised along with the sun, there was no attack. Were the elves regrouping, exchanging knowledge of the caravan defenders, considering how to deal with this setback? No one knew for certain.
As the camp came to life, Basal clambered out from under the wagon under which she had been sleeping and packed up her bedroll. She then found a relatively quiet corner of the courtyard and sank to her knees. Kneeling on the hard-packed dirt with her eyes shut, she dug her hands into the ground and began to pray to the earthen powers that had spoken to her since she was a young girl. Their strength flowed up from the dirt, through her fingers and into her soul, filling her completely. The half-elf exulted in the sensation – she rarely felt more alive than during her morning communion.
When she was done, she opened her eyes and found a man standing over her. He had shaggy white hair with a long beard and was clothed in poorly-tanned hides. His skin was worn and leathery, and his hands looked to be covered in soot.
“You speak with the spirits in the ground, yes? As I talk to the flames.”
“That’s right. My name is Basal. You are a fire priest?”
The man grinned. “Yes! I am called Halaak.”
“You don’t look like you live here at the outpost.”
“No, I came from over there,” he said, pointing a blackened finger towards the Blackspine Mountains. “For many years I lived alone in the hills and mountains, praying to the flames, asking them to burn all that stone and rock down to its roots. But I was not strong enough and the spirits wouldn't listen to my commands.”
“Why… yeah, okay…” Basal glanced around, but there was no one to help her out. “ So… uhm… why did you leave?”
“It was not my choice. Some nights ago, a group of elves came to my fire. I thought that maybe they wished to enjoy its warmth, but instead they were rude to me and threw dirt on it. So I fed them to the fire spirits. Their screams called their friends out, too many for me to burn them all, and I ran. They gave chase.
“I knew this place, I would come here at times to trade my fire for food or goods, and I thought the elves would give up once I was inside. Instead they surrounded us, and now they attack every night to get their revenge on me. I have apologized to Gorgoreth for bringing this problem to his home, although he says that it is not my fault.”
The priestess furrowed her brow. “But if they’re here because of you, they’re going to a lot of trouble just to avenge a few deaths. You don’t think that they’re attacking us some other reason?”
Halaak shrugged. “Who can say? All I know is what I’ve seen.”
“I suppose it’s a good reason as any other that I’ve heard so far.” Halaak shrugged again but said nothing. An uncomfortable silence followed. Does he want something from me? “Well, uh, Halaak, you understand that I can’t help you with that whole ‘burning down the mountain’ thing. With me being who I am, and you being who you are…” Basal desperately hoped that this crazy man wouldn’t take her refusal personally and feed her to his spirits, like he did with the elves. She got the feeling that he made sure his fire spirits were well-fed.
Halaak chuckled. “No, I do understand. I’d hoped you might see things differently, but I am not surprised. May you always prove as unbreakable as the mountains.”
Basal nodded. These sorts of exchanges were common when followers of different elements met. “May your fires burn as hot as the sun.”
With a smile and a gesture of farewell, Halaak turned and walked away. Basal sat there for a moment longer and then breathed a sigh of relief. Trapped in a siege with an insane fire priest. Wonderful. He’s probably handy when the elves attack, at least. And he hasn’t burned down the outpost. Basal stood and headed for the kank stables. Not yet, anyway.
Laalresh and Gorgoreth relocated to the outpost’s central building for a private discussion while the outpost guards greeted their caravan compatriots. Kanyth moved effortlessly through the crowd, exchanging greetings and backslaps as he went, and soon he knew the layout of the fort and its recent history.
The outpost sat atop a well, which was protected by the two-storied building that lay at its center. The wellhouse was guarded at all times and only senior House agents were allowed inside. The second story was an observation deck, open to the elements, with a trapdoor that was barred from the inside.
The five large structures built around the wellhouse were warehouses; the stables were for the kanks and crodlu that accompanied visiting caravans, and the big tent was the infirmary. There were smaller tents scattered around the outpost’s courtyard that served as quarters for the men and women stationed here. What a dump, was all that Kanyth could think as he surveyed his new home. The outpost displayed a typical frontier asthethic: crude, bare, functional. Perhaps the elves just want to wipe this blight from the landscape…
Why were the elves laying siege to the outpost? There were a few different theories offered up by the guards, from the ridiculous (the outpost was an offense to the elves because it was built over an elven burial ground – Kanyth knew that elves did not bury their dead), to the implausible (the elves are on a psychotic killing spree, determined to kill the humans regardless of the cost to themselves), to the intriguing (the elves wanted the well, or the wellhouse, either for themselves or for a rival merchant house). The wellhouse was a source of great mystery and speculation to the inhabitants of the fort. None of the rank-and-file had ever been inside, and some felt that a king’s ransom was hidden within its walls.
What the guards did know for certain is that the attacks started three evenings ago. When night came, the elves appeared out of the twilight and attacked from the shadows. With their superior vision and their longbows, they were able to strike at range without putting themselves in great danger. If the defenders retreated from the walls to avoid the arrows, the elves charged. They would inflict casualties, taking some of their own in the process, and retreat back into the deepening night. Then they returned at dawn and attacked with the rising sun at their backs. In this manner they managed to whittle the garrison down to half its normal strength.
Well, that explains why they were so set on stopping us from getting here. Another few days and the fort would have been theirs for the taking.
Gorgoreth had told the guards that there is a relief column on the way, but it wasn’t due to arrive for another two or three days. “We didn’t pass any messengers on the road. How did the House know to send troops? How does Gorgoreth know when they’re coming?” Kanyth asked.
“Oh. Gorgoreth, he’s a mind-bender. And a far-seer. A dangerous one, too – I seen him kill with a look. Believe me when I say you don’t want to piss him off.”
Kanyth raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Is that so?” The bard had been thinking of how he could sneak or charm his way into the wellhouse, but now… Maybe I’m better off not getting into trouble around here. I prefer my brain to be in one piece, and it’s a long walk back to civilization. Bah, there’s probably nothing special in there anyway. He laughed aloud at the thought of a frontier trading post holding a horde of gold and jewels.
“What’s so funny, friend?”
“Oh, I was just reminded of a story. Did you ever hear of Angry Gaeton? He was a mind-bender, not unlike your boss Gorgoreth…”
_________________________________________________________________
Krik watched the gathered humans from a distance. The fort’s defenders were not of his tek, and in truth neither were those that he had arrived with. If the thri-kreen was lonely he did not know it; his existance was as it always had been, for as far back as he could remember. Any feeling of yearning to belong could not be distinguished from his normal state of being.
What could be distinguished was the pain that ran throughout his body. His attempts to protect the caravan and the kanks from the elves’ hit and run attacks had left the thri-kreen with a number of potential new scars. The ikthok had spent all of her prayers keeping the kanks alive, so Krik asked one of the men if there was a healer at the outpost, and was directed to the infirmary tent. There will be more combat, and soon. I will need to be at full strength.
The thri-kreen passed under the tent’s entrance flap. Inside, heavily-scented smoke hung in the dim light, and close to a dozen men and women bearing various wounds lay on the bare ground. Discarded armor and weapons were scattered about. Those humans that noticed Krik looked surprised to see him there, and shuffled themselves a few feet further away from his presence.
Moving amongst the injured warriors was a plain-looking human woman wearing an ill-fitting chitin breastplate. As Krik watched, she knelt by one the men and laid her hands upon him. He had a bloody hole in his left bicep; Krik guessed that an arrow had been sunk deeply into the flesh, and then pushed out the other side. The wound suddenly took on a silvery sheen and then a sound was heard, as if a number of humans had all sighed at the same moment. The hole on the man’s arm slowly closed up, and fresh blood began to seep into the woman’s upper left sleeve. She grimaced in pain as she pulled her hands back.
The woman sat back on her heels and closed her eyes. The chorus of sighs was heard once more, and the expanding blot on her sleeve stopped growing. Her lids fluttered open as if she were waking from a heavy sleep, and with a start she noticed the large insectoid standing at the opening of her tent.
“Chakak, I require healing.”
The woman recovered from her shock and snorted as she rose to her feet. She walked over to the thri-kreen and began to probe his injuries with her hands.
“You arrived with the caravan, didn’t you? Well, these don’t look too bad to me. I’m surprised a tough bug like yourself is even worried about them.”
“I – but...” Krik looked to the other patients, but their eyes were suddenly focused on the dirt floor. Some appeared to be smirking, although Krik was not sure what was so humorous about the ground. Perhaps Basal would know. “I was not worried.”
“Good. Now, I have more severe injuries to tend to, so if you don’t mind...”
When the bewildered thri-kreen exited the tent with his hurts untended, a nearby guard saw him and gave a short bark of laughter.
“So you met Amanya, did you? She don’t care much for folks that are just passing through. You’ve got to be posted here a while, or nearly kill yourself defending this damn place before she’ll even look at you.”
“But I fought many elf on the journey here.”
“Yeah, but that’s out there. She cares about what goes on in here.” The man made jabbing motions with his finger to emphasize the point. “Understand?”
“I understand that you have a healer that does not heal.”
“Heh, don’t worry about it. The way things are going, you’ll have plenty of opportunities to prove yourself to her.”
_________________________________________________________________
The night passed without incident, and though a general cry of alarm was raised along with the sun, there was no attack. Were the elves regrouping, exchanging knowledge of the caravan defenders, considering how to deal with this setback? No one knew for certain.
As the camp came to life, Basal clambered out from under the wagon under which she had been sleeping and packed up her bedroll. She then found a relatively quiet corner of the courtyard and sank to her knees. Kneeling on the hard-packed dirt with her eyes shut, she dug her hands into the ground and began to pray to the earthen powers that had spoken to her since she was a young girl. Their strength flowed up from the dirt, through her fingers and into her soul, filling her completely. The half-elf exulted in the sensation – she rarely felt more alive than during her morning communion.
When she was done, she opened her eyes and found a man standing over her. He had shaggy white hair with a long beard and was clothed in poorly-tanned hides. His skin was worn and leathery, and his hands looked to be covered in soot.
“You speak with the spirits in the ground, yes? As I talk to the flames.”
“That’s right. My name is Basal. You are a fire priest?”
The man grinned. “Yes! I am called Halaak.”
“You don’t look like you live here at the outpost.”
“No, I came from over there,” he said, pointing a blackened finger towards the Blackspine Mountains. “For many years I lived alone in the hills and mountains, praying to the flames, asking them to burn all that stone and rock down to its roots. But I was not strong enough and the spirits wouldn't listen to my commands.”
“Why… yeah, okay…” Basal glanced around, but there was no one to help her out. “ So… uhm… why did you leave?”
“It was not my choice. Some nights ago, a group of elves came to my fire. I thought that maybe they wished to enjoy its warmth, but instead they were rude to me and threw dirt on it. So I fed them to the fire spirits. Their screams called their friends out, too many for me to burn them all, and I ran. They gave chase.
“I knew this place, I would come here at times to trade my fire for food or goods, and I thought the elves would give up once I was inside. Instead they surrounded us, and now they attack every night to get their revenge on me. I have apologized to Gorgoreth for bringing this problem to his home, although he says that it is not my fault.”
The priestess furrowed her brow. “But if they’re here because of you, they’re going to a lot of trouble just to avenge a few deaths. You don’t think that they’re attacking us some other reason?”
Halaak shrugged. “Who can say? All I know is what I’ve seen.”
“I suppose it’s a good reason as any other that I’ve heard so far.” Halaak shrugged again but said nothing. An uncomfortable silence followed. Does he want something from me? “Well, uh, Halaak, you understand that I can’t help you with that whole ‘burning down the mountain’ thing. With me being who I am, and you being who you are…” Basal desperately hoped that this crazy man wouldn’t take her refusal personally and feed her to his spirits, like he did with the elves. She got the feeling that he made sure his fire spirits were well-fed.
Halaak chuckled. “No, I do understand. I’d hoped you might see things differently, but I am not surprised. May you always prove as unbreakable as the mountains.”
Basal nodded. These sorts of exchanges were common when followers of different elements met. “May your fires burn as hot as the sun.”
With a smile and a gesture of farewell, Halaak turned and walked away. Basal sat there for a moment longer and then breathed a sigh of relief. Trapped in a siege with an insane fire priest. Wonderful. He’s probably handy when the elves attack, at least. And he hasn’t burned down the outpost. Basal stood and headed for the kank stables. Not yet, anyway.
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Session 2, Chapter 8: Before Sunset
Time passed slowly for the fort’s defenders. There was talk of sending out scouts, but Gorgoreth advised against it – previous patrols had left sight of the fort and were not seen again. In any case, there were no spare mounts and no one was willing to leave on foot. So, in their separate camps, the elves and the humans both waited out the days’s light.
Krik made several circuits around the wall, looking for signs of attack. When none appeared, he made a thorough headcount of the guards, to make sure no one had wandered off or been killed by a stealthy assassin. When no one went missing, the thri-kreen began to roam the hard earth beyond the walls, collecting arrows and looking for some sort of sign in the dust. Eventually he returned to the walls, but he could not remain still.
Kanyth retrieved his prized possession from his kit, a lute crafted in the tradition of the Tyrian master Arkaanion, and chose an Urikite song of war and triumph for the men and women clustered in the shade of the buildings. The bard’s fingers breathed life through the catgut strings and into the wooden body, and the instrument exhaled pure tones of joy in response. The music drifted throughout the compound on the slight breeze, drawing people out of the shade and towards the sound’s source.
Aral Karef sat in the shadow of the wagons, and meditated in silence.
When he opened his eyes, the shadow had moved to the other side of the cart and his body complained for want of sustenance. The sun cast dim rays over the camp from its position, low on the western wall. The psionicist got to his feet and headed over to a crowd surrounding a cook-fire in the courtyard.
Many of the outpost’s inhabitants and visitors were here, eating stew from wooden bowls. There was a small crowd with Kanyth at its center next to the fire; nearby, Basal and Krik were talking about food; off to one side, Laalresh, Gravik, Gorgoreth, and Karick spoke of the proclivities of elves; and in the back, Haalak ate alone, with a wide clearing around him. The man tending the stewpot handed Aral a half-full bowl and a heel of crusty bread. He sat and began to eat. Not bad. I wonder if I would think differently if I knew what was in it.
With a wary eye, Aral watched as Gorgoreth deteched himself his conversation with Karick and made his way over to Aral’s side. The imposing figure of the fort’s commander lowered himself to the ground next to the psionicist and gave him a thoughtful look.
“So you’re Karef’s boy. I can see him in your face, especially with that nose. How is the old man?”
“Y-you knew my father?” Ack, that was a stupid question. How many times must father have come here with the caravans? “He… uh, he’s in charge of security for Klethira back in Nibenay.”
Gorgoreth grunted. “He’s done well for himself. I knew he was headed for more than just guard duty. He was smart, you could see it in his eyes… and in your eyes, as well. So... they tell me that you’re an energy manipulator. That you just about single-handedly struck down all your attackers on the way here.”
“Well, uhm, me and Karick. He’s a kineticist too.”
“Yes, I’ve talked with him. He strikes me as a wastelander, or perhaps someone who’s taken on wastelander ways. He wouldn’t speak of his master or where he trained. What about you?”
“Academy of the Seven Stars, in Nibenay.” Now Aral was on more familiar ground.
“Ahhh… Now that’s a fine school. I didn’t realize we were paying your father that well.” Gorgoreth offered Aral a smile, seemingly the first that had passed over the commander’s face since the caravan arrived. “Tell me, is Chandrassa still teaching there? In my time, she was regarded as a walking nightmare, literally, by the stu-”
A ringing bell cut short the conversation. It was followed by shouts from the lookout tower.
“Elves! The elves are coming! Everyone to the wall!”
Time passed slowly for the fort’s defenders. There was talk of sending out scouts, but Gorgoreth advised against it – previous patrols had left sight of the fort and were not seen again. In any case, there were no spare mounts and no one was willing to leave on foot. So, in their separate camps, the elves and the humans both waited out the days’s light.
Krik made several circuits around the wall, looking for signs of attack. When none appeared, he made a thorough headcount of the guards, to make sure no one had wandered off or been killed by a stealthy assassin. When no one went missing, the thri-kreen began to roam the hard earth beyond the walls, collecting arrows and looking for some sort of sign in the dust. Eventually he returned to the walls, but he could not remain still.
Kanyth retrieved his prized possession from his kit, a lute crafted in the tradition of the Tyrian master Arkaanion, and chose an Urikite song of war and triumph for the men and women clustered in the shade of the buildings. The bard’s fingers breathed life through the catgut strings and into the wooden body, and the instrument exhaled pure tones of joy in response. The music drifted throughout the compound on the slight breeze, drawing people out of the shade and towards the sound’s source.
Aral Karef sat in the shadow of the wagons, and meditated in silence.
When he opened his eyes, the shadow had moved to the other side of the cart and his body complained for want of sustenance. The sun cast dim rays over the camp from its position, low on the western wall. The psionicist got to his feet and headed over to a crowd surrounding a cook-fire in the courtyard.
Many of the outpost’s inhabitants and visitors were here, eating stew from wooden bowls. There was a small crowd with Kanyth at its center next to the fire; nearby, Basal and Krik were talking about food; off to one side, Laalresh, Gravik, Gorgoreth, and Karick spoke of the proclivities of elves; and in the back, Haalak ate alone, with a wide clearing around him. The man tending the stewpot handed Aral a half-full bowl and a heel of crusty bread. He sat and began to eat. Not bad. I wonder if I would think differently if I knew what was in it.
With a wary eye, Aral watched as Gorgoreth deteched himself his conversation with Karick and made his way over to Aral’s side. The imposing figure of the fort’s commander lowered himself to the ground next to the psionicist and gave him a thoughtful look.
“So you’re Karef’s boy. I can see him in your face, especially with that nose. How is the old man?”
“Y-you knew my father?” Ack, that was a stupid question. How many times must father have come here with the caravans? “He… uh, he’s in charge of security for Klethira back in Nibenay.”
Gorgoreth grunted. “He’s done well for himself. I knew he was headed for more than just guard duty. He was smart, you could see it in his eyes… and in your eyes, as well. So... they tell me that you’re an energy manipulator. That you just about single-handedly struck down all your attackers on the way here.”
“Well, uhm, me and Karick. He’s a kineticist too.”
“Yes, I’ve talked with him. He strikes me as a wastelander, or perhaps someone who’s taken on wastelander ways. He wouldn’t speak of his master or where he trained. What about you?”
“Academy of the Seven Stars, in Nibenay.” Now Aral was on more familiar ground.
“Ahhh… Now that’s a fine school. I didn’t realize we were paying your father that well.” Gorgoreth offered Aral a smile, seemingly the first that had passed over the commander’s face since the caravan arrived. “Tell me, is Chandrassa still teaching there? In my time, she was regarded as a walking nightmare, literally, by the stu-”
A ringing bell cut short the conversation. It was followed by shouts from the lookout tower.
“Elves! The elves are coming! Everyone to the wall!”
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