Dragons of the Elven Nights

[neveryours]

The journey begans.

The party were dwarfed before a pair of great bronze doors. Their attention was caught the life-like motifs panelled upon the doors, detailing the life of Goldmoon on the left and the teachings of Mishakal on the right. Karavas’ eyes shone with a profound reverence. He could barely bring himself to draw a breath.

Slowly, silently, as if not to disturb the aura of peace, the doors swung open.

The hall was enormous. The windows on both sides started from the floors and rose to meet the ceilings. They were separated only by pillars of pure white marble. Daylight streamed it in through them and filled the hall, blessing it with warmth that was not stifling. The white marble floors reflected the light onto the tall ceilings, casting a seemingly divine light throughout the room.

At the very end of the long hallway stood a small table upon which was laid the contents of a simple breakfast. A group dressed in white robes stood beside, seemingly engaged in a discussion.

Seeing the party, a tall balding man beckoned to them.

The party approached the group and saw a kender, two men and a beautiful brunette.

Stepping forward, the tall man bowed. “Ah, the adventurers that Lady Camillia had mentioned. It is my pleasure to meet you. I am Caleb Whind. Let me introduce you to the Mistress of the Citadel.”

The kender bowed and smiled beatifically at them. She was aged, but her eyes spoke of a serenity, and compassion that did not seem to come naturally to kenders. “I am Blister Nimblefingers, the current Mistress of Light. But let us dispense with such formalities and do tell me of your selves.” Her gaze seemed to linger on Karavas. The kender did not have the ways usual of kender and her solemn nature soon revealed her to be one of the afflicted.


At this point, the doors swung open to admit Lady Camillia along with four other ranking Knights of Solomnia. A conference was begun on ways to assist the party.

Wind walk would be cast upon the party with the prayers of Brudder Noul, a cleric of Habakkuk. They would be dressed in white robes to help disguise themselves as clouds. Nondescript brown travelling robes would be provided to them so that they might blend in.

Blister turned to Karavas. “I see the mark upon you. All who are Mystics of the Citadel would too see the mark upon your forehead. In your heart you are one of us. The Citadel has chosen you. Would you stay to learn here?”

Karavas bowed reverently. “I do thank you deeply for the offer. But my place is with these people, and they will need my help.”
She smiled up at him. “Yes, learning and helping others may be done outside these grounds.” Wistfully, she added, “I wish that I could join you as well. We each must serve our place. May the Gods watch over you.”

The tall balding figure of Brudder Noul interrupted. “We should proceed to the pond in the Hedge Maze, There I will call upon the blessings of Habakkuk to see you swiftly and safely to your destination.”

And so the party followed him out.

 

[neveryours]

The party was led to a pond in the middle of the Maze. Brother Noul drew a breath and then started to pray to his deity for the power he would need to send the party on their way.

The party was transformed into insubstantial cloud-like figures that could speed across the landscape. Soon, they sighted the town of Pashin.

Pashin was situated in the nation of Khur and was nominally under Khurish rule. It lay close to the ogre nation of Blode and the foul swamp of Onysablet. However, a legion of Dark Knights under General Dogah had now become the de-facto rulers. The Mayor of Pashin had been trying to send messengers to the Khurish monarchy; all of whom have been intercepted and slain by the Dark Knights.

The party decided to be inconspicuous in their approach. Drawing the hoods of their travelling robes up, they attempted to disguise themselves as travel-worn sell swords for merchant caravans. Stark even smeared mud on her face in an attempt to hide her elven features, which would mark her for death in a town of Dark Knights.

The sun was setting as the party arrived upon the outskirts of Pashin. They navigated the slums and found their way to the town’s gates. It was manned by the Knights. The adventurers elected to circumvent the gates, and enter the town through stealthier means, not wanting to test the effectiveness of their disguises against the detective abilities of the sentries at the gates.

The wall seemed to be ill-maintained and even crumbling in some places. As they walked, they noticed a dark shadow observing them from the shanty town outside the walls. The party affected a brief chase only to lose the person in the cluttered shadows of the slum.

Giving up, they returned to the walls, and saw a crack that appeared large enough for a person to squeeze through. As, the approached the cracks, three men stepped out of the shadows, leering and brandishing shortswords.

The one in the middle, apparently their leader, stepped forward and snarled, “Hand over your belongings or else…” And he waved his sword menacingly.

Stark’s hands began to instinctively reach for her bow. However, she restrained them. “I’ll so get them if this goes badly, in any other situation, they’d be dead by now.”
Muttering darkly, she spotted 4 crossbows silhouetted in the dying light.

Durgan had also noted the snipers on the roof the squalid house beside them. He strode forward and grinned. “Here, we want no trouble. Take this and have yourselves a good time.” He tossed them a bag clinking with steel pieces.

The man went forward to pick up the bag, opening it, he squinted. “This ain’t even enough to cover our troubles. Now, I’m sure that you have more where that came from.” The men advanced on him. Out of the corner of his eyes, Durgan noticed the crossbows pointed his way.

Grinning disarmingly, Durgan motioned for Debra to approach. “I’ll need that bag of steel that you have.” The dwarf grudgingly handed the bag over, scowling all the while. “That’s fifty steel pieces in there.” She grumbled audibly, stomping her feet in indignation.

Durgan tossed the bag to the men. “That’s all we have.”

The greed apparent in their eyes, the thugs grabbed the bag. “Come on! You must have more.”

Stark narrowed her eyes and surreptitiously moved right hand to the quiver. Durgan shook his head. “That is all we have, truly. Now can we pass? You can go to your merry-making and we can be on our way. The only things we have left are our weapons.” Debra grinned wickedly and shrugged her shoulders, emphasising the dwarven waraxe upon her back.

The hint was not lost upon the thugs who by all standards already had done a good night’s work. The leader bowed extravagantly. “We thank you for your gift and bid you a good time in Pashin.”

Stark bristled. If they were not worried about alerting the town guards and thus the Dark Knights, the party would’ve killed the lot of those thugs. As they squeezed through the crack, Stark reminded herself that the restoration of the elven home came first and foremost.

Karavas, who had remained quiet all this time, let out a sigh. "I'm glad we avoided any bloodshed."

 

[neveryours]

Making their way through the maze of alleyways, they again spotted the shadowy figure tailing them. Attempts to chase down the figure came up futile as it somehow always managed to keep out of their sight and disappear into the shadows.

Giving up the chase, the party walked towards the main streets, catching their breaths back. They had just caught sight of the main thoroughfare when a pretty half-elf with a slim figure approached Durgan. “Hey there, pretty boy. Need any company tonight?”

Durgan couldn’t help but smile at the svelte figure of the courtesan as she sashayed to his side. Stark and Karavas levelled pitying glances at the young woman. Stark somewhat more discreetly, and Karavas somewhat more openly.

She smiled at Durgan with beguiling sincerity. “My name is Dove, and it’s my pleasure to meet you.”

At this moment, three brutish characters descended upon the alleyway. The one leading them had a scar upon the left side of his face, giving him a sinister look.

Shouting and readying their clubs, the goons advanced. “Hey Dove, you’ve been tarrying with Blackbird’s payment long enough. Hand over the steel now or you be sure you gonna get it from us!” They began batting their clubs against the palms of their hands.

The half-elf fell to her knees. “It’s been a poor week for me sirs. I haven’t been able to earn anything to feed myself, much less pay Blackbird. Please, just give me a little more time.”

The scarred man stepped forward, grinning menacingly. “Oh you can go crawling to Blackbird and ask him for time yourself. After, we’ve broken both your kness.”

Durgan stepped forward boldly. “How much does she owe you?”

Scar-face leered in his attempt at a beguiling smile. “Only all of 25 steel, my good sir,”

Sighing heavily, Durgan pulled out his already much-lightened pouch. “It’s as if a kender was following us about.” Emptying the contents of the pouch into Scar face’s hands, Durgan bemoaned within his heart that the party was now truly broke.

After paying off the collectors, Durgan asked Dove about the going-ons in Pashin. Dove revealed that the elves have gone underground, waging a guerrilla war with the Dark Knights and rescuing any elves caught by them. She also informed them that the Knights have been sending out regular patrols through the city to keep an eye out for Khurish nomads and potential minotaur incursions, as well as elven insurgents. She also told them of Blackbird, a half ogre who runs a tavern known as “The Wounded Crow”. Less well known, is the fact that he runs the local thieves guild.

Batting her eyes at Durgan, Dove smiled sweetly. “That was really nice of you to help me like that. A girl, that you hardly even knew. I could chat with you the whole night, if you’d like that.”

Sighing regretfully, Durgan shook his head as he noted Stark’s disapproving glare. “I’m sorry, Dove. It’s just that I’m a little busy tonight. Perhaps, another time?”

And with that, the party left hurriedly, pausing only long enough to say brief farewells to Dove.

 

[neveryours]

Having found out Dove about the location of The Wounded Crow, the part decided to make some inquiries there.

Walking through streets sprinkled with the occasional merchant and street performer, they arrive at what seem to 3 separate buildings on the edge of a square. The two smaller buildings flanking a larger central one, and all painted in black. The windows were shuttered but the noise of rowdy merrymaking still filtered through the wide double doors of the central building. A large stone statue of a crow with wings outspread, an arrow piercing its left wing, leered forward like a gargoyle.

Otherwise the buildings appear nondescript, and simply seems to be a sprawling premise that enjoys good business.

“I suppose this must be it.” Durgan remarked.

Stark frowned. “I don’t like this at all, but let us get it over and done with. We need to more about the elves in Pashin.”

As the party passes through the doors into the interior, they enter what seems to be a waiting room lined with stools. A woman dressed in a low cut blouse and skirt slit clear up to her sides approaches the party. Her painted lips curled, brown eyes wide and disingenuous, her blond hair arrayed around her exposed creamy shoulders, she gazes at Durgan invitingly. “Well, hello there. Welcome to the Wounded Crow, how may I help you?”

Durgan attempted to put on his most winning smile. “Well met. My name is Durgan Snake and I am here to seek a meeting with Blackbird.”

The woman continued to smile easily. “Well, I’ll bring you to the tavern where you can have some drinks first. I’ll inform Blackbird and come down for you as soon as he can see you.”

The woman led them through a short passage to the main dining hall where all the noise the heard outside seem to have originated from. Leaving the party there, the woman hurried away.

Durgan spotted the group of thugs that had originally accosted the party outside the city walls. They were seemingly intent on drinking themselves into a stupor and not being shy about it. Hooting and trying to grab the serving wenches, they were oblivious to the four large bouncers, armed with clubs, which were watching them, ready to step in if things got too far. Deciding to keep a low profile and stay out of the way of trouble, the party shifted to a quieter corner.

After a while, during which Debra drank down copious amounts of dwarf spirits, the woman returned. “Blackbird will see you now.”

The party was escorted through a maze of passageways, where grisly trophies had been put up on the walls. Ranging from the head of wyverns to the ubiquitous stags, the trophies seemed to serve no more purpose than serving as aids for identifying locations; since, they definitely did not seem to serve any aesthetic value.

They were ushered into a room dominated by a large oaken table that seemed to have seen much wear and use. Behind it sat a large half ogre, on a stout wooden chair. He had the loathsome look common to ogre-kind. His eyes glinted with the cunning and his face was twisted into a shrewd smile. No doubt, his human half had granted him the ambition and deviousness required to climb to his present position. A flicker of interest flared in his eyes as he studied the party on their entrance.

Blackbird leaned back into the chair, as it creaked with the weight. “What is it that you wish of me, good sirs?”

Durgan bowed slightly. “We require information; more specifically, of the sewers under Pashin.”

“And how may I help you in this?”

Grinning disarmingly, Durgan shrugged in a nonchalant manner. “The word on the street is that you’re the person to go to for anything that needs doing or knowing in Pashin.”

Blackbird’s demeanour suddenly lost its friendly and charming manner. “You seem to know a lot, aye? Why does an elf, a dwarf, and your half-elven friend here want to know about the sewers?”

“That is none of your concern. We will pay you for it.” Stark stated flatly.

Eyes narrowing greedily, Blackbird smirked. “I do not know the sewers well myself, but I know someone who does. He’s been down there to explore before.”

“Well, who is he then?” Durgan prodded.

“His name is Skelterfoot. A half-elf who scavenges for lost items beneath, in the sewers,” Blackbird breezed, polishing his claws on the front of his shirt, then examining them.

“How much will it cost us to procure his services as a guide?”

Tilting his head, Blackbird waved his large clawed hands airily. Well, nothing too exorbitant… Let us agree on fifty steel pieces – upfront - for the service of my introduction. And another hundred steel for each day of employment.

Durgan blanched slightly at the sums being thrown about. He made an eye at Karavas, who simply nodded gravely.

Shoulders slumping, Durgan said, with a sigh, “Alright, we agree to your terms.”

Karavas’ face was devoid of emotion, save the usual solemn “oh-what-a-burden-rests-upon-my-shoulders” look as he drew forth a bag and tossed it onto the sprawling desk before him.

Blackbird grinned and reached for the bag, an eyebrow arched as he hefted it for a moment. “That feels about right. Well now, be back here at eight in the morn. I will introduce you then, to Skelterfoot. And he will show you the rest of the way. If that is all, I must ask you to leave now, for I have other matters to attend to.”

The party, eager to leave Blackbird, all but slammed the door in their wake.

Hurrying through the maze of passages, they retraced their footsteps and emerged into the stifling evening air of Pashin.

Still wrapped in thought, Durgan murmured audibly, “And now, to find out more about this Five Dragons Inn.”

 

[neveryours]

Soft music plays as the interlude begins...

The Five Dragons Inn was located at the central square of Pashin. Five dragons were carved into the double doors, each painted in the colour of a chromatic dragon (red, blue, green, black & white). A closer inspection reveals different colours beneath the flaking exterior paints. The carvings seemed to have been painted originally in the colours of the metallic dragons (gold, silver, bronze, copper and brass).

Entering the tavern, the party was greeted by Emeline Yaseth, the innkeeper. The party sat down for their first real meal of the day and took rooms for the night. The expenses were all borne by Karavas, due to the relative poverty of the rest of the party. Durgan had developed an interest in art of the dances and spent the evening watching the streetside performers. The rest of the party retired and cloistered themselves in their rooms, each left to their own thoughts.

Morning arrives and the party ready themselves for the journey into the sewers.