The Adventures of Olgar Shiverstone (Angelsboi: In memorium)

[Olgar Shiverstone]

Edit 6/17/2004: Angelsboi was the DM for this little series of adventures. In memory of his passing, I thought I'd share some of the fun he shared with others.

PROLOGUE – CLAN SHIVERSTONE

Clan Shiverstone was gone. As the earth ceased rumbling and the massive dust cloud that emanated from the mouth of the mine began to settle, Olgar Shiverstone, until moments ago assistant chaplain to Clan Shiverstone, realized two things: he was an orphan and clanless, and he was free.

Olgar proceeded cautiously back to the mouth of the mine, aware that the collapse could continue for hours, potentially. In the distance, echoing through the caverns beneath the giant citadel, he could hear mocking, gleeful laughter. So it was true, he thought, Duergar. The giants had hired a company of the dark dwarves. Unusually intelligent for giants. And Clan Shiverstone had just been countermined.

Clan Shiverstone had wandered the continent of Rysil for generations, hiring out their skills to the highest bidder. Like many dwarven clans, they were professional warriors. Unlike many clans, they did not stay at home and defend a citadel where they mined metals and created fine-wrought weapons and armor. The Shiverstones were expert miners and stonemasons, true. But they were also mercenaries, and specialists to boot. The clan hired themselves out as engineers, and their specialty was mining – digging tunnels into a fortification to either collapse the walls, or breach them to kill the defenders.

As sappers, the Shiverstones were in a class all their own. They were in constant demand, and had very rarely been forced to resort to mining metal to make end meet between contracts. If there wasn’t some noble who wanted to get into his neighbor’s castle, someone always needed a dungeon reinforced with a few special additions. It was enough to keep the clan both busy and profitable.

The dwarves had been employed in Figaro for nearly a generation. The desolate mountains and harsh desert ensured that those hardy enough to survive there were under constant pressure to protect their holdings – or take that of their neighbors. Ulfgar, the leader of the clan and Olgar’s father, had been satisfied to keep the profits rolling in. The Shiverstones did have an ancestral home somewhere, Olgar was sure, but it was a secret Ulfgar had never revealed. Just as secret was the reason the clan had left their homeland in the first place, never to return.

Guess I’ll never know now, Olgar thought, as he sifted through the rubble of Shiverstone’s last sap. Me da’s taken that secret with him to the grave. He’d found a few dwarven corpses, and more body parts, but no one alive. Curse da’ for me work wi’ the chaplain! Damn Kraig – I shoulda been here!

 

[Olgar Shiverstone]

PROLOGUE, cont.

Since the clan moved around so much, young dwarves were expected to start earning their keep as soon as they could walk. Most learned stonework, digging, or fighting, which kept them on the front lines, or down in the sap, during a fight. Ulfgar was shrewder than most. He apprenticed his son to the clan’s chaplain, Gher. Gher was a war priest of Kraig. He called Kraig’s blessings down upon the clan before each battle, so that they might dig well, fight better, and destroy their enemy’s hold. The chaplain himself fought with the clan leader, using his divine skills to increase the destruction at the point of the fight.

A clan leader who was also a war priest would be more effective, and a greater leader, than a mere stonemason, as Ulfgar had explained to his son. Ulfgar had ulterior motives, however. As an apprentice, Olgar would be expected to remain behind at the clan’s casualty point and care for the injured. This would ensure that he survived to be clan chief. Olgar’s older brother Wulfgar had perished leading a melee with a tribe of bugbears, and Ulfgar had decided that one of his sons would survive to be clan chief.

Women’s work, Olgar thought. Not that the Shiverstone women didn’t do their share of the fighting. The entire clan was on the front line when it fought. The place for the clan chief’s son is next to the chief, learning leadership! Or at least usin’ the power o’ Kraig to smite the chief’s enemies, not hidin’ in the rear wipin’ noses! Olgar had long suffered under the chaplain’s whip, wanting to take the fight to the enemy, rather than tend to the wounded. He also wanted to strike out on his own, and make his own fortune. Plundering tombs and causing havoc were more proper tribute to Kraig, in his mind. He chafed under the strict rules and military discipline of the clan. Kraig preached rage and destruction. Sapping was precise work, requiring knowledge, discipline, and its own brand of savagery. It was a contradiction Olgar had never quite resolved.

Guess I’ll gets me chance to make me name, Olgar thought as he dug, fighting back the tears building, and trying to focus his rage against the enemies that destroyed his clan. Don’t think o’ me da’. Destroy! Fight! Kill!

The clan had last hired out to some human noble who wanted to stop a series of giant raids on his territory. Olgar had never paid much attention to the details. The noble’s scouts had located one of the giant’s strongholds – a cave complex in the mountains, guarded by reinforced walls at the entrance. The giants, mostly stone giants with a smattering of other types, had fought far more intelligently that most giants, hinting at perhaps some other allies that hadn’t yet been discovered. Not that that mattered much – the Shiverstones were hired to tunnel into the complex, collapse the walls guarding the front gate, and open a second route of attack for the assault force. The dwarves would also be allowed to partake in the giant killing and loot gathering, a prospect that had ensured every member of the clan was deep into the sap, digging for all they were worth, to get at looting before the humans had the chance. Only Olgar had remained behind – under orders, and more from fear of the beating Gher would administer than any orders.

There had been a rumor that the giants had hired a company of deep dwarves. Ulfgar had dismissed this. No self-respecting dwarf, even the vile duergar, would stoop to working for giants, or so he thought. The evidence around Olgar was pretty clear. A second sapper company had dug a counter-mine – another tunnel that intersected and ran below the Shiverstone sap, and had collapsed it, causing the Shiverstone’s sap to collapse as well. The entire clan had died as the floor collapsed from under them and violent, magical energies rubbled the walls.

Death to all giants, Olgar swore, and death to them stinkin duergar! I’ll be avenged fer me da’!

His digging slowed as grief and rage consumed the last of his energies. As he despaired of finding any survivors, he noticed a gleam from the rocks below. Digging furiously, he unearthed the shining blade of a greatsword.

By Kraig! Olgar thought, it’s Stonecleaver! His father’s Claymore – the big, heavy broad-bladed sword that was the symbol of Kraig and the standard around which the clan rallied – was slowly lifted from the rubble. Many of the dwarves carried similar swords, though the big swords were less effective than smaller weapons in the confines of a mine. Olgar had not yet earned his – bestowed as a holy symbol of Kraig’s might by Gher when Olgar completed his apprenticeship. Stonecleaver had been the finest of the clan’s weapons. It was rumored to be magical, and possess powers that enabled the clan leader to sap straight and true, and always bring victory.

It hadn’t worked this time. Olgar found no other trace of his father. Eventually tiring, and afraid of being discovered alone by giants or their allies, he gathered his belongings and slipped out into night, to seek his own fame and eventually avenge his clan.

 

[Olgar Shiverstone]

Chapter 1 - Aurora Falls

CHAPTER ONE: AURORA FALLS

“Whoa,” the teamster shouted to his horses, bringing the wagon, with the long line of the caravan behind it, to a stop. “We’re here.” He motioned to the short figure off to the flank and rear of the wagon, waving it forward.

Olgar Shiverstone stumped forward to meet the carter at the lead wagon. “Aye, we’re here. But by Kraig, I ha’nt a clue where here be!” He looked up at the carter, who was still seated on the wagon bench. Olgar was footsore from miles of stumping along at his best pace behind the wagon, and his shoulders ached from the weight of his armor, weapons, and pack.

“We’ve reached Aurora Falls, safely I might add,” the carter said looking down at the dwarf. “Here’s your pay. We’ll be returning to the capital in a week’s time, if you want to sign on again.” The man tossed a small pouch to Olgar, clicked to his team, and the caravan moved slowly into the small town.

“Not bloody likely,” Olgar shouted back. “A pox on yer stinkin’ caravan! I’ll be wantin’ more fightin’ and less walkin’ next time.” The wagon was disappearing around a corner. “Aye,” the dwarf said to himself, “might be sumat better offers here, I hopes. Safe caravan, my bloomin’ arse! No danger pay, an’ nary a good fight th’ whole trip.”

He shook the dust out of his kilt and brushed off his scale mail. No sense waitin’ around here, might as well explore and see what this hole offers. Kraig’ll be getting’ testy. Olgar shifted his shoulders, settling Stonecleaver in the sheath slung across his back, and walked into the outskirts of Aurora Falls.

It was a small town, located in the flats of eastern Zodicia. The houses were small, snug, and flat roofed. A great many were set up on short stilts. There was no plan to the town, mostly just a couple of houses sprung up about a crossroads.

There was a tang of fetid, rank water in the air. A bloody swamp! Olgar thought. I shipped to a bloody swamp! Da’ would be a mite disappointed. This’s no place fer any self-respectin’ Shiverstone lad to be. Not likely much masonry or stonecuttin’ here.

In fact, most of the buildings in the town were timbered. Olgar noted one or two built of stone, resting on stone foundations. Shoddy work, that. he thought. He was just about to examine some of the work more closely when the ring of a hammer on anvil caught his ear.

Well, tha’s more like it! A’ least where there be a smithy, there be weapons, a perhaps a bit o’ work t’ be found!

Following the sounds of hammer falls, Olgar soon arrived at the town square. A large, multi-storied building fronted one side of the square – the town hall, obviously. Another large structure, from which the smell of food and ale gentle wafted sat opposite the town hall. A small fountain sat under some trees in the center of the square. The tapping sound was coming from a bit further on. Olgar stumped on across the square.

A group of old men, dressed in worn smocks and dirtied boots, milled about the entrance to the town hall. Something had obviously agitated them.

“Crickey, a dwarf in a dress!” one of the men guffawed, pointing Olgar out to his fellows.

Olgar had to respond. “Wha’s yer problem, never seen a dwarf before?”

“Not one as ugly as you!” came the reply.

“Well, I ain’t near so ugly as wha sired you!” Olgar responded. Bunch a’ ignorant ha’seeds! Shocked, the man turned to his fellows, muttering. Olgar returned to stumping across the square.

He noticed movement out of the corner of his eye, and turned. A small figure – a halfling, dressed in darkly dyed leather, and a dark cloak, with a small bow slung over one shoulder, was scampering up to the old men.

Bloody runt, Olgar thought, this’ll be interestin’. The halfling was out of earshot, but talked, waved, and gestured to the old men, who were at first animated, then shook their heads. The halfling looked about, crestfallen.

Then the largest human Olgar had ever seen walked up to the group of old men and the halfling. He was half again and more Olgar’s height, dressed in green and brown leathers. The man had a short beard, and wild, long hair tied back in a ponytail. A few small pouches were tied about his mid section with bits of leather thong and braided grasses. What caught Olgar’s attention the most, though, was the largest axe he had ever seen, double bladed and long hafted, which was strapped to the man’s back.

Barbarian tribesman, he thought, likely good in a fight. Axe’ll be dwarven craftsmanship, ‘er I’m a bloody peck.

The tall man bargained with the old men for a bit, motioning to himself and the halfling. The old men looked dubious, but finally one of them nodded and went back into the town hall, returning with a small sack that he handed to the barbarian. The barbarian and halfling shook hands with the men, who seemed much calmed, and then walked away to stand by the fountain.

The bag looked to have a familiar weight and shaped to it. Olgar’s suspicions were confirmed when the barbarian opened it and began handing coin to the halfling.

Gold, Olgar’s eyes gleamed greedily. I’ve got t’ get me some o’ tha’ action! He walked up to the barbarian and his midget sidekick.

 

[Olgar Shiverstone]

Chpt 1, cont.

“Aye, I donna wha’ sort a’ deal ya’ cut with them ha’seeds, yer tallness,” Olgar began respectfully, “but if ye hired on fer a job wi’ them, an’ there’s fightin’ involved, ye’ll do a durn sight better wi’ me than wi’ tha’ runt there. Wha’ ye say, hire a real fighter, one’ll do Kraig glory an all?”

“Who you calling a runt?” the halfling squeaked.

“You, peck, “ Olgar retorted. “Now get b’for ye gets stepped on by yer betters. Wha’ ye say, tall man?”

“The deal was for the short one and I,” the tall man replied. “Don’t need any help, thanks, shorty.”

The halfling smirked. It was all Olgar could do to keep from wiping the smirk off his face with a swipe of Stonecleaver. If’n there’s more where that came from – no fool pays in advance! – we may just ha’ a better deal. An’ no peck is getting’ the better o’ a dwarf!

Olgar put on his best wheedlin’ look. “Since I bet’s there’s more gold a’ coming, I’ll make ye a special offer. Ye can have me services, bargain rate, fer a share o’ the loot gained, an’ the second payment.”

The tall man considered. “For a share of loot gained, we can take on some additional help.” He waved away the halfling’s indignation. “Provided you prove your worth.”

“Worry not about me worth,” Olgar replied, “all glory to Kraig for the damaged I ‘kin do. Ain’t ye never heard o’ th’ Shiverstone clan? Ye’ll get more from me than th’ runt here!”

“Expert-treasure hunter!” the runt insisted, “And my name’s Belarn!”

“Yer name’s runt,” Olgar replied, “an’ will be until ye proves yerself worthy o’ a name. Let’s see ye filch this ‘ere sword off me back, expert treasure-hunter!”

The halfling stepped back. “On second thought, I’ll stick to finding some gold and gems. You’ll see.”

Olgar turned back to the barbarian. “I’m Olgar Shiverstone, sword-swinger fer the greater glory o’ Kraig. So wha’s the job, now?”

“I’m Wodyn Bearclaw,” the tall man replied. “Those were the village elders. Seems one of their fellow farmers has gone missing, a month or more now, and they’ve hired us to go find him.”

“An’ did they tells ye anything else about him? Or where is home is, or family?” Olgar asked. I ain’ a missin’ person locater.

“No.” the tall man responded. Bloody idiot, Olgar thought. All brawn, no brains.

“I’ve got the answer to that,” came a voice from behind them, “but I’ll want a piece of the pay to give it to you. And I’m coming along!”

Olgar turned. Standing behind him was a second dwarf, bareheaded and –handed, robed, but with a crossbow slung at one side. Ah, tha’s more like it! A kinsman, ‘n not a runt. A bit tall, though. The dwarf towered over Olgar by three whole inches.

“Olgar Shiverstone’s me name.” Olgar offered. “Clan Shiverstone, of late of northe’n Figaro. Wha’ d’ ye know ‘bout th’ missin’ ha’seed?”

“I’m Alton Stonemarrow. Stonemarrow clan, southern Figaro,” the newcomer replied. “I was just in talking to the mayor. The farmer has been missing about a month, as has his family. His house is about a mile out of town. I’ve got directions.”

“Ah, Stonemarrow. I heard o’ ye. Good family ‘n all. I says yer in.” Olgar looked at Wodyn, then glared at the runt. “Le’s be off. Fin’ th’ farmer ‘n be back fer th’ reward by supper.”

Wodyn and Belarn picked up their assorted bundles, and the group began walking toward the outskirts of town. As they walked, Olgar chatted with Alton, until he noticed movement inside Alton’s tunic.

“Wha’s tha’, man! Ye’ve got vermin!” Olgar yelled, stopping and preparing to tackle the other dwarf.

“Oh, these’re just my friends, “Alton smiled. A ferret poked its head up out of Alton’s cloak hood, followed by three more. “Say hi.”

“Yer daft, man, keepin’ w’ bloody ferrets!” Olgar shook his head. Some kin’ o’ bloody animal lovin’ pansy. Wha’s the world comin’ t’? This jobs onna cash ‘n carry basis, now. Praise Kraig, an’ I’ll be spittin’ me some ferret if’n the opportunity presents itself.

Olgar put a little distance between himself and Alton, and the group walked onward, with Belarn and Wodyn trailing. Just outside of town, Wodyn gave a shrill whistle. A giant stag, with at least nine-pointed antlers, burst from the woods.

“Stan’ back, we’ll be eatin’ well tonight!” Olgar shouted, grabbing for his crossbow and hastily loading a quarrel. Wodyn slapped the crossbow down, and before Olgar could protest he noticed the saddle and bags on the creature’s back.

Wodyn pulled himself up on the stag’s back, and kicked the creature into motion, waving at the others to follow. Another bloomin’ critter lover. Kraig, ye better be lookin’ the other way a’ the moment. Yer servant ain’ coverin’ himself in glory wi’ this bunch.

“I ain’ ridin’ no bloody deer!” Olgar protested. “Them’s fer eatin, not ridin’!”

“Walk, then,” Wodyn replied with a grin,”but don’t think of harming my friend here, or you’ll answer to me.” The steel in his tone was unmistakable.

“Aye, have it yer way,” Olgar replied, “like as t’ give me indigestion.”

The group walked onward, over a slight rise, though some trees, and out of sight of the town. They came to a farmstead. From the edge of the fields, they could see rows of unharvested pumpkins, a rag-tag scarecrow standing in the middle of them.

“This is it,” Alton said, waving at the path that led up to the farmhouse door.

“A bloody pumpkin farmer? The reward ha’ better be worth it, barbarian. Ye don’ sen’ a Shiverstone t’ fin’ a bloody pumpkin farmer!” Olgar spit in disgust. Kraig, if’n ye sees fit t’ smite yer humble servant, I’s a’ not be blamin’ ye. “Aye, then, le’s get it o’er with.”

Olgar and Alton led the way up to the farmhouse door. The halfling trailed them, and Wodyn tarried behind to send his wild steed back off into the woods. Olgar was trying to figure out how to turn the ignominy of the situation to his benefit when the ground dropped out from under him.

 

[Olgar Shiverstone]

Chpt 1, Cont.

He landed with a thud, with Alton beside him. “Farmer’s bloody paranoid, what?” Olgar said with a grimace. He had twisted his ankle upon landing. Alton was dusting himself off, also a bit worse for the wear. Ten feet, give or take. Not bad work, Olgar admired, looking around at the pit, but the amateur should ha’ put some spikes in!

“Are you alright?” The halfling’s faced poked over the edge of the pit.

“Get a bloody rope, runt” Olgar growled. “ An’ get tha lolly-gaggin’ Wodyn to haul us out!”

A few moments later, a length of rope dropped over into the pit, and the barbarian hauled the two dwarves to safety. After recovering their breath, Alton pulled a thin sliver of twig out of his pack, waved it at his scratches, and watched as they closed over. “Need some?” he asked Olgar.

“Handle it me self,” Olgar replied grumpily. Kraig, bless yer humble servant, fer he was an idjit an’ should’ha made the peck walk first. Take th’ power ye gave me to doom me’ enemies, ‘n heal yer servant. Olgar sighed as he felt the power to curse his enemy slip from him, replaced by a lessening of the pain in his ankles. They weren’t completely healed, but they could bear his weight well enough. He’d hurt himself worse playing games as a child. “Well, off wi’ ye then, runt, an’ earn yer pay. Farmer’s a bit worried about his guests, an’ that’s want expert treasure hunters’re for. Go on!”

He motioned to the halfling, who looked apprehensively at the house, then more apprehensively at the heavy crossbow Olgar was fitting a bolt to. The halfling opted for the better part of valor, and scampered up to the house.

The house was a single story, stone, with wooden doors and boarded-over windows. Belarn swiftly looked them all over, circled the house, and returned, shrugging. “Looks safe,” he said. “There’s a small graveyard out back. It’s not too old.”

“Better not go in by the door,” Wodyn said, “Might be trapped too. I knock out a window, and we’ll go in that way.” The tall man unlimbered his axe, and stepped up to one of the windows. Alton followed, while Olgar and Belarn remained below, watching and covering with their missile weapons.

Two swings later and the boarded-over window burst open. The splinters had barely fallen when a spear hurtled out, just nicking Wodyn. The barbarian swung at a small figure just visible through the shadowed window. There was a wet thunk as the creature’s head separated from its body and bounced off the far wall. A second figure was visible just behind the first. Bows and crossbows twanged, and Olgar’s bolt found a resting place between the creature’s eyes.

Wodyn dived into the window, rolling out of sight. Olgar patiently reloaded his crossbow. Wodyn came to the window an moment later. “Kobolds,” he said. “That explains the pit. Probably for early warning. Come on in, there aren’t any others here.”

The stench hit them as they climbed in the window. It was nauseating, overpowering, the stink of decay and death. I could not be explained by the two kobold corpses lying by the broken window, nor by the still perfectly set but covered in a month’s growth of mold meal that sat on the dining room table. The stench was more pervasive, sharper, and more evil.

“Bet we’ll fin’ th’ farmer in th’ cellar,” Olgar choked, trying not to gag, ”dead a month ‘n all. Mystery solved. Betcha th’ kobolds killed em’, ‘r moved in after ‘em. Figger th’ family’s gone too.” He waved his hands around at the seven molded-over table settings, and a roughly-done portrait on one wall that showed a man, woman, and five children.

“Here, put this under your nose, “ Wodyn offered, smearing a bit of minty gunk under each of the party member’s noses. “Belarn, check the house; look for a cellar.”

The halfling nodded and snuck into the house, with Alton following. Olgar puttered about the dining room, leaving kobold-blood footprints, then stepped out into the hallway and Belarn announced “I found a stairwell.”

“That’s bloody useful, runt, “ Olgar said, walking up behind the halfling, who was looking down a flight of wooden stairs that led down into a stone-walled celler. “Especially since the stairs weren’t hidden. Here, I’ll lead th’ way.”

Olgar pulled out Stonecleaver, and used the sword to check the steps below him for rotted boards as he walked down into the cellar. As he reached the bottom and began to look about in the dim light, he heard a hiss from the far corner of the room.

 

[Olgar Shiverstone]

Chpt 1, cont.

Two kobolds stood in the far corner. The nearer one was the largest specimen Olgar had ever seen, a full three-and-a-half feet tall. It was well muscled, wearing only a loincloth, and carried a battle-axe that looked ridiculously large for the tiny creature. Behind it was a second kobold, dressed in long robes, and holding a short bit of staff. What little light there was glinted off of an amulet and earrings that the creature wore.

Scratch two kobolds, Olgar thought to himself, as he hefted his sword and prepared to charge. A hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Greetings, we mean you no harm!” Alton called from behind Olgar, rapidly moving in front of the other seething dwarf. As he passed, he whispered to Olgar “Try negotiations.”

“I was,” Olgar whispered back, “aggressive negotiations.” He kept an eye on the kobolds, but decided to let the pansy-diplomat do his bit.

“We’re looking for the farmer who lived here,” Alton continued, speaking to the kobolds. “he has disappeared, and we’ve been hired by the town to find him. Can you help us?”

“Farmer no longer live here,” the robed kobold hissed in accented Common. “Go ‘way, kobold live here now!”

“Na’ longer live here ‘cause ye killed ‘em?” Olgar asked from behind Alton. A likely story.

“Stupid human,” the kobold replied, and a bolt of magical energy flew from its hand, striking Alton in the solar plexus and knocking him to the floor.

“No’ne messes wi’ me kin!” Olgar shouted in fury, and charged the axe wielding kobold. His first swing would have gutted the creature, had the kobold not dodged at the last second. Fast little bugger. Knows how to use that axe, too.

A battle cry sounded behind Olgar as Wodyn tumbled into the room, pulling out his greataxe as he did so. He bounded up next to Olgar, and with one swing swatted the kobold into next week.

There was scratching behind them. Belarn was guarding the top of the stairs.

“Stop, me surrender!” the remaining kobold cried, falling to its knees. “Me tell you what you want to know!”

“All I want to know is how much blood you have in you,” Olgar replied, stepping forward to spit the foul creature, but Wodyn stepped between his sword and its intended victim.

“I accept,” Wodyn said, “you have my protection.” He sheathed his axe, and knelt to speak to the kobold.

“No creature like tha’ canna be trusted,” Olgar argued, “It probably killed the farmer an’ his family. Like to ate them, too. Let’s spit ‘er an be done with it!” A divine rage still consumed him, and he was ready to spill the creature’s blood in the name of Kraig.

“What guarantees do we have that we can trust you?” Alton asked from the bottom of the stairs. His wand had worked its wonders again.

“Me sorceress!” the creature replied. “Me give you familiar. See? Rat!” She pointed to a rat hiding under the stairs. “Me do something you no like, you kill rat, that hurt me!”

Olgar whirled on Alton. “Ahr, spit th’ bloody rat an’ cook th’ bloody kobold! I’ll na’ trust ‘er!”

Alton gathered up the rat, stuffing it head down into a scroll case. “We just killed your fellows,” he said to the kobold, “even with your familiar, why should we trust you.”

Olgar heard a spitting and smacking sound behind him, and turned to see Wodyn shaking hands with the kobold.

“We can trust her. She’s under my protection now,” the barbarian said. “Anyone who wishes to harm her must deal with me first.” The kobold skittered to hide behind the big man’s legs.

“Gruunge weak. Killed by human. Serve human now,” the kobold explained. “You no trust, kill familiar, that me hurt.”

Alton nodded agreement. “Killing a familiar causes terrible harm to a sorcerer, that I know. Fine. Wodyn, you deal with her.”

The kobold nodded. “You good human too. Just one bad human.”

“I’m a dwarf,” Olgar growled, “you bloody git of a kobold. Dinna be insultin’ me by callin’ me a human. Alton, gimme that rat!”

Alton shook his head. “Tell us about the farmer.” He told the kobold.

“Farmer not here. Just kobold. Our farm now” she replied.

“Twist th’ rat’s neck, Alton,” Olgar growled. “Then sh’ll co-op’rate!”

There was an audible click, and then, more distantly, the sound of a door latching. Olgar looked sharply at the kobold, then toward the left-hand wall, where the sound had come from. “Runt!” he shouted, “Get yer arse down here. We’ve got a s’cret door to find!” He began searching the walls as Belarn came down the stairs to assist.

 

[Olgar Shiverstone]

Chpt 1, cont.

“What’s here, Yuusdrail?” Wodyn asked the kobold.

Fear clearly evident on her face, the kobold shook her head. “Nothing!”

“Talk!” Wodyn demanded, balling a fist.

“Naked man! Through wall! He run! No dangly bits! All I know!” the kobold blurted in a rush.

“There’s a door here,” Belarn squeaked. “It’s got an inscription on it. Also, a dial with three holes. I think its trapped, but I’m not sure how.”

Olgar and Alton crowded over to look at the inscrption. Olgar shook his head, but Alton said, “I can read it. It’s a riddle. It says:

“Blessed and cursed, three times three,
Round and round, comes back to thee.”

Alton reflected for a minute, and then put a finger in the dial and turned it three times. Nothing happened, but a wave of revulsion passed through Olgar. Kraig, give me guidance. I am na’ touchin’ tha’ thing!

“Wait a sec,” Belarn said after the others had stared at each other for a few minutes. “I’ve got it.” He put his fingers into the holes, pulled the dial out, rotated it three times, then pushed the dial in, and repeated the motion. There was a click, and a stone door swung open in the wall, revealing a narrow corridor behind.

“Aye, runt, ye’ve almos’ earned yer pay,” Olgar said, thumping the halfling on the shoulder. “Can we kill the kobold now?”

“No.” Wodyn replied. “As I said, she’d under my protection. Yuusdrail, what’s down there?”

The kobold shook her head. “Not know, but bad, very bad, Me no go.”

“Oh, yer goin’ wi’ us!” Olgar said. “Peck, lead the way. Tall one, if’n I gets me hands on’ the kobold, I’ma gonna eat ‘er, so she’s yer responsibility!”

Belarn led the way down the corridor, followed by the kobold, Wodyn, Olgar, and Alton. After thirty feet of travel, the corridor started descending slowly, and got brighter ahead. After eighty feet, it turned a sharp right, and red, glowing torches could be seen on sconces high in the walls. Twenty feet from the bend in the corridor was a stone double door, adorned with a number of strange runes. They hurt Olgar’s eyes to look at them – if he stared at them, they seemed to move, writhing before his eyes.

“Well?” Belarn asked, looking back at the others, “what now?”

“Scout the bloody room, runt!” Olgar growled. Kraig, save me from such bloody idjits! Olgar prayed. It’s only to spread yer glory through war ‘n slaughter that I assosciates wi’ such dunces. Spare yer humble servant from the idjitness of pecks!

Belarn’s eyes bugged, but with wodyns insitence, he gradually opened the door a crack, and looked in.

“Big room, like a temple,” the halfling whispered back. “Nasty altar, pews on left and right side. Seven skeletons, moving! One’s by the altar, waving his hands around! Door on the far side of the room from us!” He gently closed the door and backed away.

“Battle plan,” Wodyn said, motioning the group around the corner. They backed up into the darkened hallway. “We’ll use fire. Belarn, take these two oil flasks.” He pulled two stoppered containers out of his pouch and handed them to the halfling. “You sneak in, and pour the flasks in the aisle, then hide. “One of us will make a noise, and get them to walk into the oil. Then, I’ll throw a torch into the mix. We’ll only have to fight the ones that survive the flames!”

“Me help,” the kobold piped up. “me make noise!”

Spiffy, Olgar thought, the kobold’ll help. Probably alert ‘er master ‘n fry us all. “I’m nae an’ expert, but I can try an’ scare some of ‘em away,” Olgar added, “after they’re on fire!”

Wodyn nodded. “the fire will burn quick, so once it’s down, we’ll rush in and finish the rest. Got it? Go!”

 

[Olgar Shiverstone]

Chpt 1, cont.

Belarn crept back and opened the door softly, stealing into the room like a cat. He gently tipped the flasks of oil onto the ground, forming a puddle in the aisleway. Olgar could just make out the rows of pews on either side of the aisle, and the skeleton gesticulating in from of an altar.

There was a noise behind them, like pots and pans rattling. The skeleton stopped gesticulating, and pointed back toward the doorway. Wodyn kicked the door open the rest of the way, and the group could see six more skeletons rising from the pews and moving slowly into the aisle – into the puddle of oil.

Belarn backed away from the aisle toward the far wall, the puddle of oil preventing him from rejoining the party. Two of the skeletons turned to follow him. The other four moved toward the open doorway, where Wodyn stood, torch in hand.

Wodyn dropped the torch into the oil and stepped back, pulling another small flask from his pouch. The oil exploded in a ball of fire, causing the four advancing skeletons to burst into flame. They disregarded their now burning bones and continued to advance.

“By the power of Kraig, I banish thee!” Olgar shouted, holding up his upraised fist, making the holy symbol of Kraig’s power. Nothing. Guess ol’ Kraig expects us to do it the hard way, he thought, pulling out his crossbow.

Olgar and Alton attempted to fire their crossbows past Wodyn into the temple, but the bolts ricocheted away, useless. Yuusdrail the kobold gripped he staff and waited. As the first two burning skeletons reached the door way, Wodyn threw the second flask at them. Water turned to acid as it his the undead creatures, causing them to melt, buckle, and finally fall to the floor, inert. The remaining two burning skeletons continued to advance, but were incinerated by the time they reached the doorway.

Belarn meanwhile was tumbling for his life, trying to stay out of the way of the two skeletons chasing him. He rolled this way and that, barely managing to avoid their grasp.

As the flames gradually died down, Wodyn charged into the room, followed closely by Yussdrail. Wodyn closed with the skeleton on the altar, swinging his axe wildly and knocking chips from its bones. The skeleton responded by raking him with its skeletal claws.

Alton bounded past Olgar into the temple, jumping over pews, and landing a one-two punch-kick combination on one of the skeletons threatening Belarn, dropping it. Olgar, burdened down by his armor, followed, sword raised, but the remaining skeletons were being herded into a corner, out of his reach. Aided by a couple of whacks of the kobold’s staff, Wodyn finished them.

“Well, that was easy,” Belarn said, as he crawled from under a temple pew.

“Aye, thanks t’ th’ barbarian’s big axe!” Olgar muttered, looking around. The old temple was dusty, musty, and felt oppressive. Torches lit the walls – magical ones, probably, since they gave off only light, not heat or smoke. The pews were dry rotted. The altar was covered in more of those writhing symbols, and there were tools of some sort of top of it. Behind the altar was a window that looked in on a calm pool of dank water.

“This place is evil,” Wodyn said, “when we get a chance we should come back and consecrate it.”

“Consecrate my arse!” Olgar retorted, “I’ll consecrate it in th’ name o’ Kraig! Kraig ha’ been victorious here!” He smashed the objects on the altar with his sword, scratching a symbol of an upraised fist into its surface.

As he did so, the room seemed to go strangely silent. His vision swam as if he were under water, and he felt a brief vertigo. His head hurt like it were being stretched, and his mind felt as if it were expanding. The feeling passed, and he found the others staring at him.

“Stupid dwarf,” the kobold said, “kobold know better that to defile altar.”

“Yeah, you’re head’s bigger!” Belarn mocked. “Not that it wasn’t huge to begin with!”

“At ease, runt!” Olgar barked. He felt his head with his hand. It was swollen-feeling, and the wrinkles on his forehead seemed more pronounced. By Kraig, what manner o’ curse is this! All I ha’ done were fer yer glory! Protect yer humble servant! Nothing. Bloody Kraig, likely off on a bender again. “Bloody kobold wench!”

“That was strange,” Wodyn said. “are you alright?”

“Nae tha’ I canna atone fer, me boy,” Olgar muttered, “Runt, try th’ door.”

Belarn looked over the rear exit to the temple while Alton attended to Wodyn’s wounds. He looked at the others and shrugged, then opened the door. Beyond was a short hallway, with two widely spaced doors along the right-hand side.

 

[Olgar Shiverstone]

Chpt 1, cont.

“Check the first door,” Wodyn told him, as the group formed up behind the halfling.

“Nothing,” Belarn replied, opening the door on a small, empty room with another door beyond. He slinked forward and crouched at the second door. “I hear splashing and sloshing,” he whispered.

The group looked at each other and shrugged. No idea. Then Olgar noticed that the kobold was slipping toward the back of the group, on hand hidden behind her back. He pulled up his crossbow, whirled, and leveled it at her.

“Spill it, kobold,” Olgar hissed.

“No help stupid dwarf,” the kobold replied.

Wodyn reached over Olgar and picked up the kobold. “We’ll trade, little one.” He handed her a couple of gold pieces. She grinned a toothy grin, and produced a scroll. Unrolling it, she glanced at it, then handed it to Wodyn.

“Can’t read anyway,” she said.

Wodyn handed the scroll to Olgar. To his surprise, he could read it – a few divine spells that might come in handy later one, especially one that would make a sword of flame. “Owe ye one, tall man,” Olgar said with thanks.

“Stupid dwarf,” the kobold said from three feet over his head, sticking her tongue out at him.

“Bloody kobold wench,” he retorted. “Alton, gimme that rat.”

The kobold giggled in glee. “Rat joke, not familiar. Fooled you. Stupid dwarf!”

Alton silently handed the rat to Olgar. Olgar took the rat, bit its head off, and dropped the carcass on the floor, smiling a bloody smile up at the kobold, who went strangely silent. Wodyn set her on the ground, where she gobbled the rat carcass, then ran and hid at the back of the group.

“I’ll take this one,” Alton volunteered, once Olgar and the kobold had settled down. He stepped forward to the door and opened it.

Olgar recognized the small room beyond as a baptismal. The dank water was shallow, and the glints of coins could be seen coming from its shallow depths. Alton stepped forward to retrieve the coins, just as Belarn let out a small shriek.

A viscid glob of water rose up out of the pool, writhing and whirling around. It extended two pseudopods, which lashed out at the surprised Alton. Both struck him, pulling him into the center of the thing. His crossbow fell from his hands, and Olgar could see the bubbles trickle from Alton’s mouth as Alton screamed in silent terror.

Olgar’s first instinct was to slam the door and depart. I dinna sign on to do savin’ from th’ like o’ that. Ah, but he’s a bloody dwarf ‘n all. Kraig’d prolly take I’ none to kind iff’n I abandoned me mate. He readied his crossbow.

The creature’s pseudopods continued to lash about. Wodyn jumped into the pool, which was knee deep, and slashed at the creature with his axe. Belarn loosed an arrow into the center of the thing, but the arrow only floated in the center of the creature. Olgar fired a bolt, missed, and stepped forward, drawing his sword to see if there was a way to free Alton. Alton continues to struggle in the center of the thing, but it was clear that if he was not freed soon, he would drown.

The creature struck back at Wodyn, hitting with both pseudopods. Wodyn managed to fight the creature’s pull, but he was battered and bruised, and would clearly not last much longer.

Kraig forgive me, Olgar thought, I swore I’d na’er be a walkin’ first aid kit, but if’n Wodyn goes down, we all do. Stepping around the lashing creature and ducking below its pseudopods, he touched a hand to Wodyn, channeling energy into the man. Wodyn roared with renewed strength, then retreated from the room.

“Bloody traitorous bastard!” Olgar screamed as Wodyn abandoned him. “Ye’ll na’er get help from me agin! “ He slashed at the creature with his sword, hitting with great force and just missing Alton, but the creature continued to lash about.

From the open doorway came another arrow, which splashed ineffectually into the water creature. A bolt of magical energy followed. That staggered the creature, and it visibly lost some of its strength. It focused on Olgar now, lashing out at him, but he was thus far able to dodge its ponderous blows.

“Come back ye traitorous bastard!” Olgar shouted again. The kobold appeared in the doorway, looking tired and bedraggled. She launched another mystical bolt into the creature, then staggered, and fell into the pool.

“Magic gone,” she said, and passed out.

Olgar landed another slashing blow on the creature, but it was becoming clear to him that even Stonecleaver was having no effect on it. The only thing that could stop it was the kobold’s sorcery, and the kobold was down for the count. He considered diving in to grab Alton and go, but reasoned that the creature would just swallow him up, too.

Just then, Wodyn dived through the doorway, splashing into the center of the creature, and knocking Alton into the clear. Alton sputtered at the far wall of the pool, but remained barely conscious. Wodyn was now trapped inside the creature, waving at Olgar to help him out.

Damn fool, Olgar thought. No choice, first aid kit time. Kraig, forgive th’ idiocy about t’ be performed by yer servant. He stepped to the right, grabbed the little kobold, and channeled his remaining divine energy into her.

Yuusdrail came back awake, hunched, and launched two more fiery bolts of energy into the creature, then lapsed back into unconsciousness. It was enough, With a watery gurgle, the creature dissipated, and the pool was still.

Belarn entered the room, pulling his friends back into the dry room, and taking time to police up the gold from the bottom of the pool.

“We’re spent,” Alton said, “time to head back up and rest.”

There was no argument. Spiking the secret door closed behind them, the group located Wodyn’s camp in the woods, and settled down to rest and re-prepare their spells before resuming the assault on the underground complex.

 

[Olgar Shiverstone]

Chpt 1, cont.

The next morning, the group rested briefly to prepare their spells and equipment for the next assault. Wodyn hunted, and brought down enough game for a decent breakfast, with some leftovers that he donated to Yuusdrail’s kobold tribe. Surprisingly, Yuusdrail had stayed with them through the night, and was present the next morning, along with her real familiar, a crow.

Olgar decided it was time to eat a little crow.

He walked over to Yuusdrail and sat down. Just get it over with, he thought, Kraig’ll spit on ye later. “Aye, wench, ye done real good yesterday, savin ‘r lives ‘n all. Just want t’ say tha’ ol’ Olgar don’ hold no grudges. Good?” He held out his hand.

“Good.” She replied, and licked his hand, holding out her paw for him to do likewise. “Stupid dwarf.”

“Bloody kobold wench.” He replied. He touched his tongue to her paw, and bolted. Moving over to where Wodyn sat, sharpening his axe.

“Ye, big man, ha’ got more provin’ to do. I dinna like tha’ disappearin’ trick, but I’ll counts the scroll agin’ the healin’ as fair. I’ll be keepin’ me eye on ye.” Olgar nodded once, and watched the man.

“Fair enough,” Wodyn replied, “consider the debt paid. Let’s head out.”

The group packed up and headed back into the cellar of the farm house. To all appearances, no one had passed through the secret door since the night before. They opened the door and passed back through the temple, which looked similarly untouched. They ignored the door to the baptismal, and instead headed for the second door in the corridor.

It opened onto a long, dank passage with a series of six evenly spaced doors running down the right hand side.

“Looks like a crypt ‘r penitent’s chambers,” Olgar said, as they moved cautiously forward.

Belarn listened at the first door. “Footsteps. Not clear, sort of shambling.”

Wodyn turned to Olgar. “Got anything ready for undead?” Olgar shook his head. “We’re exploring a temple to who know what evil god, have already found undead, and you didn’t prepare? Fool!”

“Aye, Kraig smite me fer a fool, but he be not granting any undead smashin’ stuff. ‘e prefers the sword,” Olgar explained. “I gots summat special when th’ time comes.”

Wodyn just shook his head. Belarn checked each door, and all had similar noises but the last. That door they opened, and found another short corridor that ended with a door to the right.

“I go. You stay,” Yuusdrail said, motioning for them to stay put. She moved out ahead, opening the door and entering.

“Aye, ye gets the feelin’ she knows more than she’s a tellin’?” Olgar observed. The others could only nod. They crept forward, weapons at the ready.

From the room ahead, voices could be heard.

“Ah, Yuusdrail,” they heard a cold, soft voice murmur. “So nice of you to return. Have you found anything? Any luck with the book?”

“No, master,” the kobold’s voice replied, though without the accent and broken syllables they were used to. “The search has turned up nothing thus far. We will expand our search, and perhaps find what you are looking for.”

Olgar gave Alton an “I told you so” look. Bloody kobold’s been working for th’ other side th’ whole time!

The cold voice returned. “No, Yuusdrail, I no longer need your services. I know what you have been up to, TRAITOR! Have your friends step in so they might witness what happens to one who betrays!”

Wodyn charged into the small room. Alton, Olgar, and Belarn followed, stopping at the doorway. The small cell was empty save for the splinters of furniture that had only recently been dismantled. A man stood against the far wall, holding a sickle in one hand and the kobold in the other. At first glance, he appeared naked, though without the “dangle bits,” as Yuusdrail put it. On closer inspection, his skin appeared to have additional eyes and mouths all over it. Human skin armor, Olgar observed, how revoltin’!

The man had the kobold by the throat. Wodyn was threatening him with his greataxe.

“Before you strike, let me make an offer,” the man smoothly continued. “What we search for is one and the same. I am a priest of Moloch. He did not make this temple, nor did any of the gods you worship. It is much older.”

Olgar rolled his eyes. Evil villain speech ™, how long do we ha’ ta’ listen? Smack ‘im, Wodyn, ‘n I’ll kill th’ kobold.

The priest continued. “I am looking for an object hidden here in the temple. I hired these kobolds,” he glared at Yuusdrail, ‘to assist me and ensure I was not disturbed. Obviously, they failed. And the penalty for failure is death. Since I’m out the kobolds, I’ll extend the same offer to you. The knowledge can do you little good, and I’m not interested in the local area, so you have nothing to lose. In fact, in a manner of trade, I’ll offer you this weapon,” he waved the sickle about, “plus a useful potion, for the life of this kobold.”

Not a bad offer, Olgar thought, prolly bust as many heads fer him as wi’ thi’ bunch.

“What about the farmer and his family?” Alton countered.

“The farmer was gone and his family murdered when I arrived,” the priest replied. “I just put them to use.” He gestured at his armor.

“I don’t believe you,” Wodyn replied.

“My dear barbarian,” the priest responded, “I don’t care if you believe me or not. Certainly my offer is better that whatever this – creature – can offer you.”

Olgar made up his mind. The priest had a good deal, and this one was even better. “Aye, then, sir, we’ll takes ye’ up on yer offer,” – Alton looked shocked – “an’ we’ll takes the magic items – from your dead body!”

Olgar and Alton began casting spells, as did the snarling priest. A glowing badger appeared next to the man, which bit at his heels and disappeared. A glowing nimbus of blue armor surrounded Alton. Belarn fired an arrow harmlessly at the man. Yuusdrail smacked at him with her quarterstaff, ineffectually.

Wodyn just flexed his muscles, and beheaded him with his axe.

“Kind o’ anti-clima’tic, would’n ye say? “ Olgar asked the big man, once the priest’s body dropped. Wodyn just shrugged.