The Heroes of Winterhaven - updated 8th June - Ryam Plays Dice

[Mathew_Freeman]

Meanwhile

Locked away in cramped quarters above the inn at Winterhaven, the thin frame of the reclusive warlock Sabbat Fau is hunched over a pile of star charts, bony hands plotting arcane intercepts with a pair of jade callipers. Although physically present, his meditations took him far, far away.

“Believe nothing, think nothing, feel nothing.”

Note: Yes, crater missed this session also. However, I am allowing all players to score xp equally for the moment.

Next update: A celebration, and plans are made to end the kobold threat.

 

[Mathew_Freeman]

Journey To The Kobold Lair

Returning to Winterhaven with Agrid in tow, blindfolded and with his hands tied behind his back, leads to some interesting questions from the guards. In short order, Rond Kelfem the militia captain is summoned, and he agrees to take Agrid to the village jail whilst he awaits further questions. He grimly promises that if Agrid tries to escape, he will be shown no mercy.

Both Sabbat Fau and Theron are delighted that Douven Staul has been rescued, and Douven books himself a room at the Inn, but not before asking with some urgency when the next caravan back to Fallcrest is due, explaining "Frankly, I just want to see my wife again." He retires early to get some real rest, but makes sure that Salvana has a round of drinks waiting for the heroes at the bar.

An evening's drinking ensues in celebration, with Aran asking Salvana for a full bottle of the delicious drink he obtained before. Unfortunately, he'll have to wait for another order to come in, but as he has no plans to leave Winterhaven until the map of the Keep is complete it's all fine for him. The villagers are also treated to some full-throated singing from Elwanen as he attempts to translate and then teach them some Eladrin drinking songs. The experiment has a mixed reaction, at best, especially when it turns out that what sounds beautiful in Elven turns out to be a little more mundane in Common. Plus, Elwanen really isn't that great a singer.

The following morning Des is up first, seeking out Valthrun in his tower. Valthrun sticks his head out of an upper-story window and shouts "These things take time! Kindly leave me alone to do this research and I'll let you know when I find something I can tell you!"[1] Somewhat dismayed at Valthrun's demeanour, Des instead speaks to Sister Lindros at the Temple, asking if she has any information on any cult activity in the area. Again getting no serious help, he racks his brains for any scrap of information about the Keep that his teachers may have mentioned. The only thing that he can come up with on this occasion is that a force from the Kaius Dynasty came this way around a hundred years or so ago, before the Keep fell, but he can recall no further details. Suddenly, he remembers the name of the last Lord of the Keep – Sir Creegan.

Meeting up, the group decide that the way to go is to take Lord Parrag's offer of payment to remove the kobold threat from the area, and head out west following the map that Delphina was able to make for them. Whilst the Death Cultists are a concern, with little in the way of hard evidence of their workings it's almost impossible to judge if or when their plans will be completed. The kobolds, on the other hand, are a problem now.

The map guides them safely to the right location – a small set of caves guarded by a waterfall. Aran spots a number of kobolds outside acting as guards, but whilst some members of the group delay and plan, Theron launches a solo attack with a bolt of black energy that zips through the trees and crunches into the chest of one kobold. All hell breaks loose![2]

[1] Des' player had missed the previous session where the players asked about various bits and pieces of information, so I let Valthrun show my irritation that we looked like we were going to have to go through it all again. This was a mistake on my part as DM, and it's something I've got to keep an eye on with a group this size.
[2] This took everyone by surprise! Sean, who plays Theron, simply took it into his head to launch the attack, and since I ruled they still had the element of surprise I let it stand. Hopefully, setting a good example of saying 'Yes' to players.

Next update: The party arrive at the kobold lair, and Theron makes an impulsive decision.

 

[Mathew_Freeman]

Outside The Waterfall

The kobold slinger eye's widened as the magical black bolt of force smacked into his chest, forcing him a pace backwards. Before he could do so much as raise his sling to respond, Aran darted forwards and sunk two arrows into him as well, and his last thought was that he had been killed by someone no bigger than he was…

Elwanen was not as quick off the mark as Aran and Theron, but nevertheless the Eladrin followed up their attack as quick as he could. Runing through the trees, Elwanen swung at the kobold dragonshield standing in the centre of a magical circle. The two began to duel as Rangrim joined him, other kobolds flocking around them. The two Paladins worked together, guarding each other's flanks and targetting each foe in turn.

Elwanen could feel the magical energy of the circle driving his attacks forwards - ancient images of Eladrin warriors coming to his mind, inspiring his hand. Rangrim, similarly, felt as though the circle was channeling the power of the earth and guiding his hammer forwards with each strike.

Theron and Des, however, were slightly surprised to see another small group of koblds emerge from the trees further down and charge up towards them. Despite taking a few blows, a swift Thunderwave from Theron sent them staggering backwards and out.

Within a few short minutes, and despite some smart tactical work from the kobolds as they worked to flank the Paladins and try to mob them to death, the guards were all dead and the clearing was again silent, save for the ceaseless sound of churning water.

DM note: Despite the large number of minions, this all happened pretty quickly. The group did a really good job of splitting the minions up by attack from several directions, with the two defenders grinding the Dragonshield down in the centre. Smart tactical play, and I take my hat off to them.

Next update: The battle with Irontooth!

 

[Khynal]

[2] This took everyone by surprise! Sean, who plays Theron, simply took it into his head to launch the attack, and since I ruled they still had the element of surprise I let it stand. Hopefully, setting a good example of saying 'Yes' to players.[/color]

I'm sure if the kobold knew we were there, he would have wanted us to get going.

 

[Mathew_Freeman]

The Battle With Irontooth

"So now what?" asked Rangrim, cleaning the head of the Kaius Thunderhammer with a small cloth. He held it up against the sun for a moment, checking for kobold remnants.

Aran looked over at the waterfall. "Well," he started. "I can see a cave entrance behind the waterfall - and two more caves, one either side."

"Ah! Attacking on multiple fronts. Always a good plan," added Elwanen. "I suggest we attack from the left-hand cave. We can sweep in, hold a good position and let them come to us."

"I've got an even better plan!" piped up Aran again, still scanning the hillside in front of them. "See there, and there," his finger jabbed at the various entrances. "I reckon if I went in through the main entrance, I could cause a diversion and let you lot get a bit of an advantage!"

"You're on!" cried Theron. "Let's do it - enough talk, time for action!"

Aran swiftly started to move forwards to the main entrance, straining to see if he could spot anything going on inside. The rest of the group went left, moving quietly through the trees and ready for an ambush. A quick glance between Aran & Theron, and the attack was on!

Pouring in through the entrance, the party (supported by Des acting as rear-guard) fell upon three kobolds. Two were quickly eliminated but the third proved to be of stronger stuff, ducking around the thrust of Elwanen's attack and shouting for aid.

Aran was shocked to find 10 kobolds waiting for him as he burst through the waterfall, and he quickly abandoned the 'diversion' plan and join the main group through a side opening, chased by fearsome kobolds who quickly started to attack the party from both sides.

"Tactically," Elwanen called out as he dodged and spun between kobold spear thrusts, "This is not the best plan we've ever had."

"I've only known you a few weeks!" called back Rangrim as a enthusiastic kobold was sent flying across the cavern to crash into the fall wall. "I'm sure we'll improve in time!"

Theron again showed remarkable bravery, moving in close to use his Thunderwave spell to his best advantage and blast kobolds back agains the walls of the cave. The small humanoids were falling back when a loud horn sounded further into the cave system.

The horn marked the arrival of Irontooth - a fearsome goblin who was clearly the leader of the marauders. His face was covered in a skeletal ram's head tatoo, and he clutched a battleaxe in both hands, his mouth pulled back in a snarl. Charging into Rangrim and Elwanen, he struck quickly, his axe biting into the fine Eladrin armour of his opponent. Grunting in pain, Elwanen quickly shifted his focus and began to duel him. Expecting to find a slow moving brute, he instead found this goblin to be an adept and powerful foe.

Joining the goblin from the south were two more of the ever-present Dragonshields flanking a kobold priest wearing another one of the dragon-masks. The priest stepped out of the shadows and, with an overarm throw, hurled a ball of fire at Rangrim. At the same time, he was also charged by the Dragonshields and overcome by the sheer numbers of foes pressing upon him, the proud Dwarf was sent crashing, bleeding, to the floor[1].

Des finally stepped forwards and cast a healing prayer, restoring Rangrim to consciousness. As Theron continued his magical assault on the kobolds still surrounding them, continuing to send small bodies flying, Aran ran through to tackle the kobold priest, Elwanen and Rangrim (taking a second to catch his breath) started to duel the mean-faced goblin. Their weapons, and the conviction of their holy purpose, began to bite into him, blood pooling on the floor.

Aran engaged the priest directly, and at close quarters the expertise of the halfling overcame the priests power, Aran's blade finding his throat. Immediately, he turned back towards the others, in time to see Irontooth launch into a frenzied series of attacks against his foes!

"My Lord Orcus will take your souls when I cleave them from your bodies!" yelled the goblin. However, the luck of the gods was truly on the side of the Paladin pair, and they blocked, ducked and avoided every strike.[2]

As the other kobolds fell to spell, sword and prayer, it became clear to Irontooth that the battle was lost. Entering a battle frenzy, he strove to bring his opponents down, but with a final strike his guts spilled across the floor as he was defeated.

Catching their breath and checking around them for signs of any further foes, Rangrim offered this thought. "Teamwork is something we still need to be working on."

[1] First time any character in the campaign had gone under 0hp!

[2] Irontooth blew his action point on this attack. He was able to use a power to attack both, with +1d10 damage if he hit as he was blooded. Despite this, my usually lucky dice came up with a series of sub-par rolls, and not one attack hit. This absolutely changed the battle - he could easily have downed both Paladin's if he'd done better!

Next update: The treasure is located, identified and split!

 

[Mathew_Freeman]

Treasure!

Searching the caves for loot, the group discover the following in a chest in Irontooth's quarters:

- The Chainmail of Fili Stonehelm. Rangrim recognised the insignia of Fili Stonehelm – a Dwarf warrior from approximately fifty of sixty years ago. Fili's final fate was unknown – but now it appears that Irontooth was perhaps the one who slew him. (This is a set of +1 Dwarven Chainmail).
- The Broken Axe. It is a well-made two-bladed Battleaxe, with one blade sundered into three pieces. Fire sigils adorn the blade, but in it's current state it is unusable. However, a skilled blacksmith, working perhaps with a mage or other ritual caster, could repair it given time. Theron recalls that Thair Coalstriker is a blacksmith of some ability, and lives back in Winterhaven.
- and a significant amount of money.

They also discover a letter:

"My spy in Winterhaven suggests we keep an eye out for visitors to the area. It probably does not matter; in just a few more days, I'll have completely opened the rift. Then Winterhaven's people will serve as food for those Lord Orcus sends to do my bidding.

In His name,

K."

A spy in Winterhaven is worrying news indeed. The group head back to the town, and upon their return they are going to have some talking to do with Agrid the gnome about several things. Who is the spy? What is going on? And can it be stopped in time?

Next update: A short tale on a lighter note, concerning an interesting encounter once enjoyed (?) by Aran Thule.

 

[Mathew_Freeman]

A Tale From Aran's Past

In response to asking my players to supply some background details, I got the following from Aran's player. I present it as written for your amusement.

----------------

"Oh my Head!" Aran muttered to himself as he woke up. Given the heavy thumping in his head that he recognised as the start of a monster hangover he took a deep breath before opening his eyes.

His vision blurred but he could make out the fact that the ceiling above him was natural stone, from its shape and the detail that light was coming from one side he guessed he was in a cave, he started feeling a bit dizzy and sick so decided to close his eyes and try to gather his scattered memories before choosing his next move.

Instead of sight he chose to work out his situation from what he could feel, he was lying against a fur blanket and was still fully clothed, a lump pressing against his side meant that he had his weapons still.

Slowly he started to piece together the events from the previous night, he had returned to the village triumphant after retrieving a herd of cows that had escaped following a freak storm that had damaged their holding pen and allowed them to run off into the woods.

After lots of tracking and travelling he had rescued all except one unfortunate cow that had been killed by a pack of wolves but the farmers were relieved, as they had been too scared to venture into the woods themselves.

Given that the villagers did not have plentiful bags of money Aran had agreed to try to help them if exchange for a drink, which turned into many as each farmer seemed to bring him a bottle of something they liked themselves.

So after several glasses of ale, whiskey, cider, moonshine and an assortment of colourful cocktails Aran had wished them good night and stumbled out into the woods with a large flagon of honey mead for company.

That would explain the killer hangover he thought as he lay against the warm fur, but how had he ended up here…

He remembered singing badly as he made his way through the trees towards a stream that he had seen earlier, the stream had several side pools of slow moving water which he had noted contained fish just waiting to be caught.

There had been another fisher there Aran realised as he put two and two together, this must be the fishers home, they had got on quite well even if the other fisher didn't talk much.

That's the problem with living out in the wilds, you loose contact with other people. More memories returned, the fisher had seemed upset at being disturbed but Aran had offered him some of the mead and then the pair had started trout hunting.

The thing about hunting trout without a line and bait is to find one resting in a shallow pool then slowly move your hands under it and then scoop it out, not the easiest thing to do but even drunk Aran's reflexes were lightning
fast.

A short while later the mead had been finished and several large fish had been caught, the fisher preferred to eat them raw which was something that the strange Orientals from the Far East had introduced.

Each to their own he had thought as he had followed the fisher back to his cave and then swiftly cooked. The fisher tried some but then went back to eating it raw, then as the fire died out and the cold had set in, he had laid down in the cave to rest.

Aran smiled with the memory as he sifted through his foggy memory, most of the images were blurred and confusing but he thought he had placed it all together although there was a niggling issue that he was sure would be important.

"ARHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" said the fur he was lying on and Aran came to the sudden realisation that the one thing that might be worse then meeting an angry bear would be to meet one that had a hangover.

----------

Aran's player also wrote 4th Ed D&D In London » Wiki » Tale Two Tale Two of Aran's Tavern Tales, detailing the events thus far.

Next Update: The Flame Harvest, a short story from the history of Sabbat Fau.

 

[Mathew_Freeman]

The Flame Harvest

It was neither night nor day but another time when death and disease are burned from the earth and become black smoke where otherwise would be seen sun or stars. They castrated the bull calf amidst a field of corn on fire, it kicked and grunted as blood spattered the stubble at the epicenter of the geometrically perfect corn circles.

When the old men finally released their grip on the beasts hind legs it kicked so fiercely that the bamboo trap bent and split. The young bull stumbled to its feet and ran panic stricken into the blackened corn field, disappearing into billowing smoke and the deafening roar of the flames, whereupon the scrawny child prophet raised a dripping knife skyward and lowered his head.

"Shavod, we curse you. We call your seed nameless and utter the words of your enemies. Shavod, look upon this ruined land and turn away, for your seed is this day killed by the fires of man and emptiness awaits you once more. Shavod, fade into the night. Let thirst take you. Let hunger waste you. Let loneliness unface you, and look not upon this world again."

Only the broad concentric circles cut from the blanket of corn kept the fire from them, and, as the wind cast this way and that, black smoke engulfed the huddled figures momentarily. There they waited for 3 days and nights, lying without sleep on the corn stalks until each one was blackened with smoke such that not even a fleeing crow could distinguish the men from the land around.

When finally they arose, the child led the old men staggering back to the river where they washed. There he saw that he had a deep gash on his thumb, having cut himself with the knife while inside the beast. This, the people of the paper village later said, made him and the bull blood brothers, naming him 'Sacred Bull' in their language.

When the Witchhunter General one day rode into the village wearing a demon mask atop his painted wooden armour the farmers and the skywatchers were slaughtered. All except the wretched child prophet, who was now a youth, as the soldiers feared the disease that had frosted his eyes would depart his fallen body in spirit form and possess them. Bound in captivity, the time of the time of the Flame Harvest came and went without notice. The corn came high across the meadows, a glorious golden graveyard that grew over the bones of a forgotten people.

When eventually the soldiers no longer brought food or water, the boy grew so thin he could step between the poles of his bamboo cage. The Eternal City was quiet and still but for the swarming clouds of flies that made dusk of the noonday sun. The youth made his way barefoot through the corpse-littered wooden avenues and out of the city, where, on the Westward Road, he watched the stars appear again one by one in the evening sky.

Note: This is a tale from Sabbat Fau's past, written after I requested additional background information on the PC's. The events of this story may yet end up influencing how things go in the future.

Next update: A Dwarven Birth - we discover the identity of Rangrim's parents. We'll be returning to the adventure logs in due course - hang in there!

 

[Mathew_Freeman]

A Dwarven Birth

Another in our series of background posts:

It was almost midnight when there came a frantic knocking at the door of the dining hall of the dwarfish lord, Gandric Stoneborn. Mid-quaff, Lord Stoneborn waved a bejewelled hand in the direction of the door and a servant hurried to open it. In stumbled a sweat-drenched and panting servant, leaning against the door frame and breathing hard as he struggled to speak. "Milord, your wife has just given birth! To a son!"

Lord Gandric gulped down a mouthful of wine, his eyes bulging in gleeful surprise. "Hurrah! Well done, that woman. So, which wife was it?"

"Er, Lady Hrangisha, milord. You know, the one who's been, er, pregnant lately. She's the father of four of your other children."

"Capital, capital! Bring her in here for a drink, there's a sport."

"Er, I rather think Lady Hrangisha was expecting you to come to her, milord. To see the baby."

"Oh. Righto. Everyone, to the infirmary!" With that, Lord Gandric's entire court, including eight former comrades-in-arms, two heralds, a bard and seven serving girls hurried forth out of the dining hall towards the infirmary.

Lady Hrangisha looked up as a cacophany of bellowing and general drunken howling came from the hallway outside her birthing room. She shared a look of tired resignation with the doctor, then nodded towards another attendant. The timid dwarfish girl opened the door and was promptly bowled over by the rampaging, revelling Lord Gandric. "Where's this son of mine? Someone bring me a glass of wine, it's time for his first drink!"

The doctor, a worn-looking old dwarf with a frizzy red beard named Fanbir, rushed forwards and slammed the door behind Lord Gandric before any of his followers could enter the room.

Lady Hrangisha blinked and tried to look away as her husband's next words were preceeded by a fine mist of spittle and wine. "By the gods, but he's a rough-looking little chap, isn't he? Got a face like a boiled fist."

Doctor Fanbir leaned forwards and said "He's healthy as they come though, sire. I've never felt a grip like his from a newborn. Look, my nail's starting to go black."

"So it is, by Moradin. Have you weighed him yet?"

Doctor Finbar respectfully plucked the newborn dwarfling from his mother's arms and raced over to the giant set of brass scales by the wall. One of the scales was weighed down by a large polished stone, the other was empty save for a pillow upon which he placed the baby dwarf. The two scales balanced out briefly, then the baby rose slightly. Lord Gandric exclaimed "Look! He's lighter than the stone! He'll rise above the rocks of his home, there'll be no stopping him when it's his time. He'll leave the mines and the city and be a traveller, that's for sure."

Lady Hrangisha spoke up finally. "Well, I won't have my boy trapsing about up there like some vagabond. It wouldn't do to have a Stoneborn wandering around aimlessly. Wouldn't look right to the other clans."

"By Moradin's great grey knotted beard full of holy gravy and bits of divine grissle, she's right. The lad needs a trade, a profession. Tell me, doctor, were there any mysterious goings on around here at the time of his birth? You know, whaddayacallit, omens, sigils, that sort of thing?"

Doctor Fanbir took a heavy scroll from a pocket in his apron and pushed his spectacles back on his nose as he consulted it. "Says here the boy's born under the sign of the Crook, that being a shephard's herding implement rather than some miscellaneous felon. That generally means he'll have religious leanings."

"Really?" interrupted Lord Gandric, "I'd have thought it'd mean he'd be a shephard."

"Well, no, sire. These things tend to be a little more oblique than that. You know, eldritch. Arcane, even."

"Ahhh," said Gandric, knowingly, "arcane. Indeed. Rather. What's his birth stone then?"

Fanbir looked further down the scroll, his stubby finger drawing across the heavy, yellowed parchment. "Erm, says here, seeing as he's born right on the cusp, he's favoured by two stones. Let me see… gold, very auspcious of course. Although he is a dwarf, and gold is pretty important to all of us, to own the truth. The other is lapis lazuli."

"By Moradin's divine, hairy – "

"Gandric, don't you dare use that kind of language in front of our boy!"

"Sorry, Hrangisha. It's the excitement of the moment, you know. Gold and blue, the very colours of Moradin the Maker himself! We'll call him 'Moradin!'"

"Isn't that a bit, whaddayacallit, blasphemious?" Finbar said uncertainly.

"What, naming a dwarf after the patron god of dwarves? How is that blasphemious?"

Hrangisha piped up. "What about a nice human name, like George, or Donald?"

Lord Gandric rebuked her condescendingly: "Well, George and Donald are fine names for humans," he said the last with the expression one wears when cleaning up after the family dog, "but they lack that classic dwarfish grandeur, don't they? You never hear of 'Donald the Gut-Gargling Demon-Mauler', do you? Or 'The Wyvern Strangler, Alan.'"

"Well, I agree with the doctor, I don't think it's right to go naming the boy Moradin. What if he turns out to be a real prick? That's definitely blasphemious."

"Alright, alright," Lord Gandric relented, "What was your old great uncle's name, you know, the one who slew all those elfish chieftans?"

"Oh, you mean great uncle Rangrim."

Fanbir nodded sagely "Rangrim, yes, very portentous!"

Next update: A tale from the youth of Elwanen, Eladrin Paladin of Pelor.

 

[Mathew_Freeman]

Things From The Far Realm

Another in our series of background information, dealing with something that happened not long before the start of the campaign, and featuring Elwanen.
____________

"Attend me, novices. Continuing the cosmological theories we have been studying this year, this month we discuss the realms outside the Orrery of Worlds, those realms sometimes know as the Far Realm."

Huh? Whats that? Have I fallen into a trance from fatigue again? The Eladrin ruefully surveyed the wreckage of his study table, papers strewn on the floor, the candles burnt-out stumps, ink-stained fingers stretching after hours of activity. Very well.. if the demands of the body dictate that this dissertation wait until the morrow, such is Corellons will. Shifting slowly, he assumed a meditation pose, closed his eyes and…. That sound? A scream?

"Known by many names, the Madness Realm, Xoriat, the World beyond the World, the Bleed, the Far Realm is a place beyond our mortal comprehension – perhaps even beyond the understanding of the Gods themselves."

An accident? No other sounds disturbed the night, no alarms, just a single cry and then, silence. Hurrying out of his study into the hall, he could see nothing amiss… again that scream! Coming from further inside the mansion, perhaps the contemplation chamber? Quickly, he moved down the hall, the last vestiges of the trance falling away. Why have no servants, or others of his family come to help? Surely no-one could not hear that scream?

Walking up to the ornate doors of the chamber, a portion of his mind admired the ornate carvings around the door – carved by a great-great-grandfather, hundreds of years ago.. Frowning, he could see discolouration amongst the carvings, reddish, like… Never mind such obsessions – someone needs help – now is not the time to rebuke a servant for their poor cleaning! Pulling the door open, he could see the scene within…

And was engulfed by madness.

"The 'inhabitants'- and I use this term loosely – are extraordinarily alien to us, and even those creatures who make their way from that plane to ours are nigh-incomprehensible. While few verifyable accounts exist, it is clear from thse accounts of scholars of antiquity that those alien creatures – aboleths and ithillidi – do not share the basics of mutual understanding such as the concept of 'I'."

HecouldhearthesmellofbloodandinnardsHecouldseethescreamsofthosecreaturesthatmight
oncehavebeenhisNopleaseLordnotthemHecouldtastethevisionofthetwistedmockeriesoflife
JoinUsJoinUsJoinUsHecouldsmellthefeelofhisfeetsteppinginsidethedoorMovingBecomingOne
ButNotOne – NO!

Stumbling back, senses whirling… Corellon… Help me…

"There are a variety of theories as to the nature of these 'Abberations', whether they are simply extensions of other entities from the Far Realm, with no real free will of their own, or creatures created by the horrific waking dreams of those entities. Others theorise are that these creatures are footsoldiers in a metaphysical sense – the greater their sway in our material world, the closer our world comes to theirs….. ending in our world being subsumed by the Far Realm."

Running, pursued by Things his mind quailed at even categorising, through empty rooms and corridors. Have they taken everyone? Whay was he left? Did they need someone to bear witness?

Crashing through a door brings his wild thoughts to a halt. A dead end, the room was full of servants and children. They had been seeking some sort of shelter from the madness without – and he had led that madness to them.

Turning, he saw the hallway fill with the stuff of nightmares. He looked down at the sword in his hand, with no recollection of drawing it. How could this piece of steel guard these people from the horrors outside?

Corellon, have you forsaken me? All of us?

The creatures advance, their almost inaudible keening promising the most horrific of death-in-life. Surely this is the end. For all of us here. At least we can make it quick, reduce their suffering…. perhaps….

No.

Not like this.

I will not die here to these things.

I will not let them feast on these innocents like they have the others, my….

I refuse.

He steps forward.

Next update: Back to the adventure. A bounty delivered, a reward collected.