Dusk in the land of Fading Stars - Femerus' Story hour (updated 2-20-03)

[Femerus the Gnecro]

The temple itself is ancient and dry… the stale air tastes like a cross between dead grass and dust. Kerim enters first, torch in hand, and makes a survey of what he can see. Off to the left there are a number of small rooms, an altar and what appear to be sarcophagi. To the right…

Kerim gives a start, surprised as what he sees. “Wow. That was easy. I think I may have found it!”

To the right is a pedestal upon which sits a massive, ancient tome. Arranged around the pedestal are half disintegrated sitting cushions that fall to dust when Kerim attempts to pick them up.

The book itself is enormous… easily three feet tall and two feet wide, and about four inches thick. It is covered in heavy, ornate gilding, and the pages appear to have been made of vellum.

Hearing Kerim’s exclamation, the others enter the ancient temple and begin to choke on the foul air. Lucien and Merileene move to examine the book… Lucien can barely make out the title: “The Teachings of the True Father.” After careful consideration, the dialect is judged to be nearly half a millennia old… though the temple itself defies categorization.

As the others discuss the importance of the book and the information contained therein, Kerim goes off and wanders the rest of the rooms. There are myriad statues and tombs, some of which sport intricate statues of important men and women, whom Kerim immediately decides are ancient kings and priests. Beyond that, the temple is rather unremarkable.

A brief glance at the book, which is nearly impossible to decipher, yields little other than some interesting pictures and an odd pictograph of a crescent tipped sword, with the proclamation that “One twice not man shall come.” Any insightful speculation as to its meaning is subsequently squashed by a cascade of clueless looks and shrugged shoulders, though Kerim suggests that the book is referring to Man’s second cousin, or perhaps Man’s first cousin once removed.

Some time later, having secured the book securely to Saryna’s back, the group returns to the surface, unaware that it is nearly dusk.

After nearly a day’s worth of toil, their task has been accomplished. They are dirty and exhausted, some still slightly wounded despite Meri’s best efforts. It hasn’t been a particularly empowering day.

Lucien can feel Pin approaching from the beach… and a feeling of contentment begins to replace his previous aire of resigned irritation. Pin’s clarion call shines in his mind.

“I’m back, and I’ve brought dinner!” The hawk lands on the crooked end of Lucien’s staff and begins to tear into the still wriggling fish he brought with him, spraying fish guts over many of the party.

That moment, as if in sympathy of Kerim’s growling stomach, a peal of thunder roars overhead, and a single drop of rain splatters down onto the ground.

The collective sigh is overwhelming.

Before the book is ruined by the rain, shelter is found and the party gratefully passes out for the night, eager to return to Darumont in the morning.

***

 

[Femerus the Gnecro]

By nightfall the next day, Darumont again looms before the party, looking much the same as it has in days past. But darker.

Having walked for most of the day, everyone is rather weary of traveling, more than ready to curl up by a warm fire and enjoy some well earned dinner (or, in Kerim’s case, dinner(s)).

As they approach the Seven Stars Tavern, the wind begins to pick up, sending a fine sheet of dust up into the air. Covering their eyes reflexively, the party tromps into the common room of the inn, and straight into Dagron, who has obviously been waiting for their arrival.

“Ah… I see you found the tome. Excellent.”

Merileene looks at Dagron for a moment, and summoning up her courage, speaks to him directly. “Before we give it to you, may I have an evening to study it? It is full of such interesting knowledge… I would greatly appreciate having more time to look at it.”

As Meri speaks, Dagron’s eyes seem to flash warningly, the cheerful light of the fire reflecting angrily off of the golden flecks in his eyes that betray a life lived near the Spire. “If you wish to know its contents… I will pay you half what I intended. I am buying information from you… if I believe you have read anything of consequence, I will pay you accordingly.”

Even Saryna’s mocking grin seems to waver under his scrutiny, but still she speaks. “What exactly prevented us from staying on the road an extra evening… and learning the books contents?” Dagron seems to stiffen for a moment, and then relax. His fierce stare darts from Saryna, whom he has met, to Lucien, who is sitting at the bar non-chalantly, listening intently while attempting to appear focused upon his dinner.

“I would think carefully about the choices she is making, Wizard. You are all treading on dangerous ground.”

Lucien swivels in his stool and stares defiantly in to Dagron’s cold, metallic eyes. “If this information is as valuable as you claim, then why should we not simply read the tome and find another buyer? One who is willing to pay as much, or more, than you?” Lucien grins slightly, looking momentarily like Saryna. “Hypothetically, of course.”

Dagron stands furiously… and an aura of menace washes over the party like a wave breaking upon a dangerously eroded beach. “Because, if you were to betray me… but no. There is no need for this. The Book.” Dagron holds out his hand to Saryna. With a nearly imperceptible glance to Lucien for approval, Saryna slides the massive tome within reach of Dagron’s gold-tinged hand. Meri involuntarily shudders as a crooked smile splits Dagron’s otherwise implacable face. It does not touch his eyes.

“Excellent.” Dagron snaps his fingers, and two previously unnoticed men move from one of the nearby tables to their master. “Take the book… I will join you shortly.” With a dismissive nod, Dagron turns back to the party, taking them all in with one steely glance. “I appreciate your desire for leverage in such situations, but know clearly that nothing you *ever* gain from crossing me will be worth it. Understand?”

Muttered replies and nods seem to bubble forth from the mouths of the party, except for Lucien, who seems even more defiant than before.

“Unless you’re paying double rates for threats, dispense with them.”

The only answer Lucien receives is a total lack of acknowledgement as Dagron produces a small box from a pocket in his cloak. “Here… is your payment. I hope you find it satisfactory.” Dagron places the box on the table in front of Saryna.

Saryna glares at the box as though she expects it to grow fangs, or explode into a massive ball of flame. “I… don’t be offended if I don’t rush to open it.”

In any other setting, Dagron’s shocked expression would be comical. Kerim almost laughs despite himself, but cannot choke out the laughter, such is Dagron’s presence among them. “Why… I am offended. You are assets to me. I do not harm assets.”

After determining that the box is not magical, both for Saryna’s peace of mind as well as his own, Lucien opens the box.

Inside is a fairly large gem, about the size of a chicken’s egg… a perfectly faceted corundum stone. Deep within its shining crimson depths is a six pointed white star.

“I hope you see that working in my best interests is working in your best interests as well. I shall contact you again soon.” With that, Dagron walks out the door and into the night.

As the party discusses what to do with the gem, Lucien sends his mind once again to Pin.

Pin… which way is Dagron heading?

Who?

The man who just walked outside. Tall, kind of creepy feel about him.

Oh… he’s going along the eastern path. His men are towing a big book. Hey… is that our book?

Yes… listen. If you can keep it discreet, follow him for a bit, but don’t get out of range. And be careful… he seems dangerous.

I will.

After dinner, the party retires to their rooms for the night, but discussion of the gem does not cease until the small hours of the morning. Pin returns after about half an hour, reporting that Dagron and his men never left the eastern path. With little else to do, the party resolves to contact the Sweeps again the next morning and continue along their current path as novice freelance ‘problem solvers.’

End of Chapter 3

Next chapter! Events are set in motions that will greatly effect the world, and the future of the party. Now's where it starts getting good.

 

[Femerus the Gnecro]

Looking forward to seeing more of your story.

Wow. I just realized that you unlurked and made your first post to these boards to comment on *my* story hour.

Thanks! I'm actually very flattered. I hope you're still reading

-Femerus

 

[Femerus the Gnecro]

Chapter 4, Part 1: Tobias

Days pass, and Darumont continues along its daily routine. Still in search of steady income, the team takes another freelance job from the Sweeps. According to the sweeps, orc raiding parties have been sending into the area around Darumont for some time, though the city itself is too easily defended to be in any real danger. Incongruously, the party chooses to police a local carnival rather than eliminating this orcish threat.

Of course, as the saying goes… luck favors fools and small children.

The carnival is unremarkable, sporting a normal variety of typical carnival-ish accoutrements.

For two or three days the party acts as guards: breaking up fights, preventing cheats from gambling, chasing down pickpockets and making sure drunks are sent home without disrupting the festivities. Everything progresses smoothly up until the last evening of the carnival, during the closing-time roundup.

***

There is very little light left… the torches are sputtering and the moon has barely risen above the treetops. The carnival has ended, taking with it an inordinate amount of alcohol and worthless trinkets… the one helping to enhance the ‘value’ of the other. Towards the southeastern corner of the fairgrounds, the party gratefully rests their tired feet, indulging in a late dinner after having spent an entire day involved in what Saryna refers to as “worthless, menial boredom.”

It doesn’t take long, however, for their relatively peaceful dinner to be interrupted by one of the carnival supervisors.

“Whatta ya sittin’ around for? There’s still a drunk takin’ up space over by the bar. Get him outta here… then you can sit on your worthless butts and eat!”

Instead of merely clocking the offensive man, Saryna decides to work off her bad mood on the drunk, whom she expects to provide as satisfying a crunch as the smelly, fat supervisor. The rest of the party decides to let her handle the situation herself, expecting some free entertainment from Saryna’s lack of tact. They are not disappointed.

The first thing Saryna notices as she approaches the drunk man is that he’s armed . Though she doesn’t expect much resistance, she loosens her longsword in its sheath just in case he decides to try and attack her. As she moves closer, she begins to hear mumbling, as though the man is talking to himself.

“*mumble*.. reporting for duty! Life is… the empire. MY life IS… the empire. *mumble* no… FOR the empire. My life… for the empire. Reporting… give me my duty.”

Saryna approaches cautiously. “Excuse me, but the carnival is closed. You have to leave now.”

The man gives Saryna a blank stare, and takes another chug from his empty mug before shouting at Saryna. “No… I am… a solder… soldier! A sssolider never leafs… his post. I will offend my posht with my last *belch* breath… even if that means fffighting… all tree of you! Now begone, bench!”

Uproarious laughter from her companions serves only to deepen Saryna’s dour mood, and her hand darts to her sword, though she does not draw it. Lucien, seeing that Saryna is quickly losing her cool, forces the others to stop eating and assist her. After all, a dead drunk might well keep them from getting paid.

As Lucien approaches with the others in tow, Saryna attempts to reason with the man.

“You can’t stay here. If you don’t leave, I’ll be forced to remove you, and I don’t relish doing that… erm… much.” The drunk growls at her.

“You… are not shupposed to be here. Now go, and let me fulfill my doodie! An offisher never leavsh his poscht!” With that, the man slams his mug down on the table, sending up a fair amount of splinters. Then, sitting up straight, he salutes, and almost falls backwards off of his bench.

Kerim, suppressing a giggle, walks up to the man. “Excuse me… did you say that you were on duty? Wouldn’t your post be back in the empire?”

“No! My poast is right here! I WILL NOT dessert it.” As he speaks, the man points to a post at the edge of the fairgrounds. “See? My phost!” The man settles back into his bench, quite pleased with himself.

Finally, Saryna’s temper bursts. “I’ve had enough of this loon. I say we lay him flat and carry him to the nearest inn. Let him sleep it off in a barn.” Without waiting for a consensus, Saryna draws he sword and approaches the man, intent on smacking him upside the head with the flat of the blade. The man seems unaware.

As Saryna swings downwards, however, a short sword somehow intercepts the path of her blade, and a deft maneuver sends her longsword spinning off into the night. The drunk man glares at Saryna, sword drawn. Despite his stupor, the sword does not waver an inch.

“You schouldn’t have done that.”

 

[Killashan]

Yes, I am still reading and am anxiously awaiting more

 

[clark411]

Why schouldn't she have done that?
Who is this crazed loon and why is he guarding a posht at a carnival?
Will Damek and Saryna hit it off?

Roarrrrrrrrr Must know!

 

[Femerus the Gnecro]

The two warriors circle each other warily, each seeking to probe the other’s weaknesses and gain an advantage. After experimentally crossing swords two or three more times, Saryna begins to attack in earnest, intent on dropping this man for the indignity of disarming her while *drunk* of all things.

Expertly, he blocks nearly all of her furious attacks, pausing only for a small moment to wipe blood from a small cut on his hand. Then, approaching Saryna confidently yet wobbly, he begins his counterattack. Some seconds later, Saryna is driven to her knees, her vaunted skill with a sword only serving to keep her head attached to her body. Blood streams freely from several wounds, including one brutally deep gash across her stomach. Her left hand keeps her guts from spilling out while her right hand holds up the shortsword in a defensive posture. The drunk however, seems content to let her bleed to death, making no move to kill his obviously outmatched foe.

As Merileene rushes to Saryna’s aid, Damek angrily steps forward and begins to chant. Burning seeds of energy shoot forth from his fingers, striking the drunk man squarely in the chest. Surprised, he turns and for the first time sees Saryna’s companions, save for Kerim, who has taken the opportunity to sneak around behind the scene of battle, close to Saryna’s discarded sword.

For a moment, the drunk man locks eyes with Lucien, who returns the stare. Then, surprisingly, Lucien begins to cast as well.

“Sleep.”

To Lucien’s shock, the man simply stares blankly at him, turning his attention back to Damek, who has begun calling to mind another spell. Meanwhile, Merileene, with Saryna’s battered body cradled in her arms, pours the healing powers of the father into her wounded friend, closing the mortal wound and lessening the severity of several others.

As Saryna stands unsteadily to her feet, the drunk turns to her again, ready to defend himself. His action leaves him unprepared for the attack that comes at him from behind however, and Kerim quite expertly plunges a dagger into his unarmored leg. The stealthy halfling twists the knife brutally as he withdraws it, freeing copious amounts of blood from its corporal prison.

Lucien and Damek take the opportunity to advance further, bringing Damek within range of another spell. A few arcane gestures later, the drunk finds himself beset upon by dazzling lights that threaten to overcome his senses.

They fail.

The drunk, ignoring the mages for the moment, turns his attention to Kerim, but finds the small halfling too fast to hit. Kerim, on the other hand knows exactly how close the man came to splitting his skull open. In a flash of insight, he begins to realize exactly how outclassed they are by this pathetic, drunk man.

Beset from all sides, the drunk man whirls around, eager to find a challenging opponent. At this precise moment, Lucien steps forward and touches his hand to the man’s chest, sending violent arcs of electricity throughout his body. The man’s anguished scream is echoed by Lucien, who suddenly finds a sword where his right lung used to be. Wheezing and bleeding, Lucien slumps to the ground, unconscious.

Saryna, eager for an opening, attacks again, this time scoring a vicious hit along the man’s back. Snarling, the man turns to her and bats her sword away with a deft maneuver before plunging his shortsword into her bowels. Merileene gasps in horror as the sword point exits Saryna’s back. The drunk man ignores the sword, and Saryna’s limp body falls to the ground like a sack of grain. Drawing his longsword, the drunk stands motionless, awaiting another attack. Using all her skill, Merileene rushes to keep her friends from death’s door, even going so far as to pull the sword *out* of Saryna’s body in the midst of a healing spell. Lucien, after drinking a potion of healing, turns to confront the drunk man again. However, before the battle can begin anew, a powerful voice rings out in the night, causing all present to flinch in recognition.

“Stop this nonsense at once! Leel, drop your sword!”

Dagron’s commanding tone cannot be ignored even by the drunk man, who drops his sword as if magically compelled to do so. Seeming to regain some composure, the drunk man approaches Dagron, his head hung low in shame.

“Leel, I thought better of you than this. I never want to see you drinking again, for any reason. Do you understand?” Leel’s reply is soft, but clearly heard.

“Yes, Dagron.” After retrieving his swords, Leel staggers off, eager to pass out in the comfort of his own bed.

With incredulous looks on their faces, the conscious members of the party approach Dagron, whose ingratiating smile stings almost as much as Leel’s sword. Unsurprisingly, Lucien speaks first.

“What are you doing here, Dagron? Who was that man?”

Dagron chuckles softly and regards the party. “You are always so full of questions… it surprises me almost as much as finding you guarding a petty carnival when there are reports of orcs about. As for Leel… well, he is a complicated man. Let’s just say that though he once served the Imperial Legions with dignity and honor, his current ‘assignment’ is more… taxing.”

To the surprise of everyone, Damek is the next to speak. “Why are the orcs important? From what I’ve heard, they’ve been attacking the city on and off for as long as anyone can remember. What makes these new rumors any different? For that matter, why do they keep bothering to attack a city that seems to be able to defend against them?”

Dagron regards Damek carefully, as though taking the elf’s measure. Finally, he begins to speak. “You ask searching questions, elf. Continue to question with such insight and you’ll go far indeed. As for the answers… yes. The orcs have been attacking the city for many years, so it stands to reason that they’re seeking something. Not even orcs are stupid enough to stage suicide attacks for years at a time. However, if you seek to know more, I can think of no more direct route than by asking the orcs themselves. I believe you can find them somewhere in the southern hills. For now, however, I will be going. I did not come here to subject myself to your inquiries. In fact, I merely came for a drink with a friend. Good evening to you all.”

The incredulity with which the party regards Dagron as he walks past them to the closed bar is almost tangible. Torchlight flashes in their unblinking eyes for another few minutes until the carnival caretakers extinguish even those last remnants of illumination.

 

[Femerus the Gnecro]

Chapter 4 part 2: The Barikbaree

Despite their total exhaustion, the party still finds it difficult to rest, never before having been so soundly beaten. The next morning finds them somber and withdrawn, each of them dealing with their own individual demons.

After several breakfasts (courtesy of Kerim) and a long debate, a decision is finally made. Instead of simply taking Dagron at his word, the party instead decides to avail themselves of what limited resources the town can provide in terms of research, hoping to find out for themselves exactly what it is that the Orcs find so fascinating about Darumont.

Saryna, still dangerously close to death’s door, remains behind with Merileene, who is unwilling to leave her friend’s side until the danger has passed. In the meantime, Lucien and Damek, to whom research is second nature, search out the few libraries and record suppositories located in the city. Kerim, on the other hand, having little patience for books, decides to wander the streets of Darumont in the hopes that he will magically run into the ‘wise, all-knowing old person’ of Halfling myth, who wanders the world dispensing advice and knowledge on those who most desperately need it.

What he finds instead is a dilapidated shack in the southern slums of town with a sign above the door that spells, in flaking paint, “Madame Fizree’s Fortunes.” Grinning from ear to ear ( and quite certain that he has stumbled upon his destiny), Kerim enters the shop with a song in his heart. Inside are all manner of cheap trinkets: snake heads, beads, bottles of viscous liquid, rugs, rotting tapestries and a small table covered in black cloth, upon which perches a small silver bell. Kerim rings the bell and waits. A large crash sounds from the back of the shop… moments later a woman appears who could only be Madame Fizz. Her massive fake eyelashes flutter excitedly at the prospect of new sucker… er… business. In her hands is a large crystal ball, smeared with makeup. As she sits she readjusts her hastily-donned wig.

“What may Madam Fizz, seer of seers, do for you today, my child?”

Kerim chuckles despite himself, having quickly realized that he won’t be seeing into his own future as easily as he thought. “Actually, I was hoping to find someone old… someone who knows the town well and could tell me about the Orc attacks.”

Madame Fizz’s eyes burn for a moment at being called ‘old,’ but she quickly calms down as she sees the bulging purse on Kerim’s belt. “I have lived here since I was a child, my child. All that I know is yours. The Orcs have been attacking for over a century now… I do not know why. Would you care to know your fortune?”

Kerim laughs. “Sure, why not? Good for a laugh if nothing else.” Madame Fizz’s eyes dart quickly to a sign on the wall: “Fortunes – 3 gold.” Kerim pulls out three shiny gold coins and places them on the table before her. Before the moisture from Kerim’s hand has even evaporated, Madame Fizz has the coins off the table and into a small pouch.

“Let us begin.”

 

[Femerus the Gnecro]

Meanwhile, Damek and Lucien sit in the town library, such as it is, poring over as many books as they can scrounge on the history of Darumont. Thus far, their findings have been of a more general nature. It is only after several hours of dedicated searching that Lucien finally begins to learn about the Orcs.

“Originally, the people settled here because of its good position at the end of a great river, where the fishing was plentiful. Though the original settlers had to fend off Orcs in great numbers, the attacks lessened in intensity after a certain period. Until, that is about fifty years ago. Apparently a group of adventurers actually penetrated Orc territory and stole something from them, after slaying the Orc Chieftain in single combat. The attacks have been steadily intensifying ever since.”

“What did they steal?”

After flipping for another few pages, Lucien responds to Damek’s inquiry. “Apparently it was something called the ‘Barikbaree.’ The group’s leader, Diaro L. claimed it for his own after slaying the Orc chieftain. They then returned to Darumont with it, despite being hounted by the clan’s best hunters for several days. Oh, and here’s a description of the item. ‘it was decorated with black feathers, and had a sharp spike on the end of it that was cold to the touch even on a summer's day.’” Damek is suitably impressed.

***

Madame Fizz’s crystal ball begins to glow faintly with a flickering light as she waves her hand over it. As it grows brighter and brighter, her eyes roll up into the back of her head and she begins to chant.

“muh-muhhhmuhumhhmmmmhmhjmm OooooH muhmhumumum mumhmummmmmm!!”

Kerim bites his lip to keep from laughing aloud. He’s quite impressed by the eye trick though, and sits back to enjoy the rest of the show.

“Youuu... will be a child.. of change. Conflict will follow in your path- and your path will decide where conflict goes... I see.. the north.. and I see before that- the southern orcs. You wish to join them? Kill them?”

Kerim gives a start, not having expected a question and answer session. “Uh… neither at the moment. I’m just curious about their motives.” Madame Fizz turns towards Kerim, her rolled up eyes shining whitely from the crystal ball’s flickering light. Despite her lack of pupils, she still seems to be staring right into Kerim’s soul.

“I can see into *their* future if you wish.” Kerim nods, and for the briefest second Madame Fizz’s eyes unroll, just long enough to dart towards the sign on the wall before rolling back up into her head. Kerim’s gold again disappears as soon as it hits the table.

“The orcs... hm.. *she waves her hands across the ball* I see them leaving our town in safety... you are there.. and others too. I see humans and orcs standing side by side in brotherhood: united. The orc chief is raising his hand aloft - in it is a spear tipped in iron as black as a raven's wings... and that is all I know… it branches from there in many ways.” With that, the light in Madame Fizz’s crystal ball winks out, and her eyes return to their normal position. After a few more questions, Kerim exits the shop out onto the cold street, and begins to search for the library.

Hours later, after having compared notes with each other, Kerim, Lucien and Damek come up with two possible scenarios:

1. find the orcs and ask them pointedly why they’ve been attacking like raving madmen for the last half century
2. seek out the Orc spear and try to determine its importance to the Orcs

It is also suggested that perhaps finding the spear and returning it to the Orcs might lessen their ferocity towards them town, or convince them to, as Kerim put it, “piss off.” However, given that they have absolutely *no* information regarding the spear and that Darumont is hardly a nexus of arcane might, their only viable option is to seek out the Orcs and confront them in a manner which hopefully will not get everyone involve killed.

Proof, once again, that being intelligent does not make you smart.

So the group (minus Saryna and Merileene) heads South, towards the Southern hills (imagine that). However, while leaving Southgate, they manage to overhear a conversation between a man and what appears to be a rather sturdy dwarf with a massive axe slung over his shoulder. He is speaking to one of the guardsmen.

“So, let me get this right. You pay fifty gold, and I go kill that orc patrol wot's out there?”

The guardsman nods. “Aye- simple as that.”

Smiling, the Dwarf grins. “Done. I go.” As the dwarf swivels and starts plodding southwards, Lucien looks expectantly at Kerim.

“A fighter might be useful, in case the Orcs decide to reject our parley.” Kerim just looks at Lucien, uncomprehendingly.

“Well, go on, Kerim! Friendliness is your thing!” Kerim simply sighs and runs to catch up with the dwarf, where he falls into step with the thick man. The dwarf continues walking.

“Wot do you want?”

Kerim turns on the charm and begins his pitch. “Well... I overheard that you were going out after the orcs… and it just so happens that we're heading in more or less the same direction. Though we're not exactly bent on slaughter... but at any rate, if they DO try to kill us, my friend, the tall one over there, thought that someone of your obvious skills might come in handy in case we get into a pickle. Us and the orcs that is, not you and me. Also... since we're probably going to find them before you do anyways, it'd be easier for you if you were to stick with us rather than going off solo.”

The last sentence stops the Dwarf’s steady plod. He turns to glare at Kerim. “Have you been hired to kill the orc patrols too eh?” Kerim quickly nods his head, much to the Dwarf’s confusion.

”Actually we were kind of hoping to talk to them… well, at least damek was going to talk to them. None of the rest of us speak Orc. Oh! My name's Kerim by the way... pleasedtameetcha.”

The Dwarf’s eyes widen as he begins to consider the possibility that he is being followed by three dangerously insane inviduals. “Talk to orcs? Why? Wait, nevermind, I don’t rightly care to hear it. You’re not allied with the damned things, are you?”

Kerim’s deep intake of breath is the only warning the Dwarf gets before he is subjected to the Halfling’s rapid-fire recounting of the last two days.

“Actually we’re trying to determine why they've been attacking the town. You see, we've recently discovered that their attacks have increased a great deal over the last fifty years, right after a group of adventurers stole a spear from the Orcs called the oochei bootchie or something like that and the spear, which was probably very important to the Orcs, was taken to the town and since that time the Orcs have been attacking the town more and we figure that if we can find the spear the Orcs might stop attacking the town but before we do that we'd like to make sure that the Orcs are after the spear and not virgins or stuff like that.” As Kerim pauses for breath, the Dwarf takes the opportunity to start walking south again, at a faster pace than before. After about twenty feet, he pauses.

“The guards said they'd pay 300 gold to any who could stop the Orcs from attacking.. do think talking would do it? Getting the spear or whatever?”

Kerim clears his throat. “Well… it might. And it’s certainly more practical than trying to wipe out an entire nation of Orcs a half dozen at a time.” Lucien and Damek arrive in time to clearly hear the last exchange. Lucien takes advantage of the Dwarf’s momentary pause.

“What it boils down to is this... the orcs will likely never stop attacking totally. This was originally their land and it was stolen from them by the people of Darumont. However, the frequency and ferocity of attacks might very well be greatly diminished if our theories prove correct.”

Suddenly, the Dwarf turns and faces Lucien, with a glimmer in his eye. “At least long enough palm the reward!” With that, the Dwarf turns and begins plodding southward again, this time accompanied by three new companions.

 

[Femerus the Gnecro]

The trip to the Southern Hills is largely uneventful, taking only about five or six hours by foot.

More then enough time for Kerim to get on the Dwarf’s nerves.

It began with the question of names… namely the Dwarf’s lack of one. Just ‘Dwarf’ didn’t sit well with Kerim, so he decided to pester the Dwarf until a name was forthcoming.

“So… what’s your name?” Kerim’s question seemed innocent enough, except for the fact that it had already been asked about forty times. The Dwarf’s only reply was a succinct ‘sniff.’

“Wow... I've never heard a name like that. Is that Dwarven for something neat? Like Hammer Fist Smash Smash or something?” The continued silence on the Dwarf’s part was only punctuated by the steady plodding of his iron-shod boots, and the clanking of his axe against a shoulder pad. Kerim, however, was unfazed.

“Oh come on. I know you can talk. I’ve heard you! Here, I’ll get you started. ‘Hi, my name is Kerim, this is Damek, and the other guy is Lucien. And your name is…”

The Dwarf’s icy glare bounces right off of Kerim’s cheerful grin, only serving to irritate the Dwarf even more than before.

The Dwarf’s sigh was profound: “*Sigh*… Halflings.”

After several more minutes of the conversation, in which Kerim, thrilled at the Dwarf’s name, ‘Halflings’ (We’re practically cousins!) prattled on, two things became readily apparent. First… the Dwarf was not about to give out his name, regardless of Kerim’s new nicknames (Sniffgrunt, Snafgrat and Snefgrot to name a few). Secondly, the Dwarf was becoming at *least* as dangerous to the party as the Orcs, having been driven nearly to the point of ritual suicide by Kerim’s constant prattatattatatta. Perhaps it was this need for violence that inspired the Dwarf’s rather original plan to find the Orcs.

With dusk approaching, the party finds themselves on a hilltop in the middle of undisputed Orc-controlled territory. Countless unseen dangers doubtlessly lurk in the darkness, waiting to pounce upon any perceived weakness. Following the Dwarf’s lead, the party takes advantage of the situation in the most logical manner imaginable.

They build a bonfire atop the hill and wait for the Orcs to come to them.