THE LORDS OF DREAD
Six months had come and gone since the Legion’s foray into the Temple of Celestial Winds. Amella Venkalie had returned aboard the Blue Nixie, the ship laden with much-needed supplies and personnel. The colony was growing rapidly and flourishing, and life had settled into what passed for normal for the six companions. Tower Cleaver had finally found his niche among the populace, hiring himself out as a stevedore on the docks, or as a day laborer for the farmers. He had even managed to befriend young Tavey Nesk, who had been adopted by and older farm couple. Mandi kept largely to herself, absorbed as she was in her magical research. She was seen only sporadically, usually joining her adventuring partners for weekly dinners at the Vanderboren manor. Likewise, Samson was not often seen. He spent much of his time in the surrounding wilds of the island, usually in the company of Tehrik Arrelion, the tanner. The dragon shaman was in search of any sign of true dragons, particularly the forest-loving Greens, from whence his power came. Tehrik assured him that he had never seen such evidence in all his years on the island, but Samson was determined. All he had encountered, however, where flocks of the wild, animalistic wyverns that seemed ubiquitous in the area. Marius was often seen with Jeran, helping the old Seeker to catalogue the treasure-trove of obah history the group had discovered, while Daelric spent his time regaling anyone who would listen about his exploits with the Legion, usually for the cost of a drink. Though Catherly had prevailed upon him to assist Bombur with the day-to-day running of the church, the young priest could not be bothered. Sepoto had settled into a sort of domestic partnership with Ruby the Weaver, the young woman he had rescued from the Rat’s End pirates, yet his other urges continued to gnaw at him, and it had become status quo for the local shopkeepers to turn a blind eye to his minor pilfering, though some, fueled by Lord Meravanchi’s rhetoric, saw it as more proof that Lavinia cared little for her electorate, and allowed her hired swords to do as they pleased. Daelric’s posturing did not help matters any.
As the months passed, these rumors and mutterings began to grown louder. Soon some of the folk were questioning Lavinia’s right to lead the colony, and whispers of a hidden, fiendish taint in her soul and ties to the Kraken Society grew louder. Finally, the Lady Mayor summoned her regulators to her manor for breakfast one morning. The Vanderboren home was one of the largest and most lavishly appointed in Farshore, rivaled only by Lord Meravanchi’s estate. The white-washed, two-story building was crowned by a small dome set with stained-glass windows that depicted sailing ships and fair seas. Within, however, much of the house remained unused, dusty gray sheets covering fine furniture and artwork in all the rooms except the kitchen, dining hall, Lavinia’s quarters and those rooms she had invited the Legionnaires to guest in whenever they took a liking. Since taking up the reins as Farshore’s leader Lavinia had spent little time seeing to her personal affairs. When her guests arrived, they were served a simple meal of toast, coffee and boiled turtle eggs. As the companions began their meal, the young noble folded her hands on the table in front of her, and spoke in solemn tones.
“In the past weeks I’ve discovered that Farshore wasn’t the only victim of the pirates’ attack. It seems that my personal reputation also took a bit of fire. The people of Farshore have seen too much panic and death under my leadership, and the appearance of the pirates and Van…”
Lavinia choked on the name, and took a moment to steady herself before continuing.
“…the pirates and my brother startled them. Now some of the colonists claim that my family is cursed, while others whisper that I somehow orchestrated the attack.”
“Yes, and we know who started those whispers,” Sepoto growled.
Lavinia took a sip of her tea and nodded. “Be that as it may, and though it aggravates me after all we’ve been through, I won’t allow a few rumors to discourage me from my work here. Part of me even understands the peoples’ concerns, and I’d like to do what I can to dissuade their fears. This would be where you come in. Along the north coast of the island, a dragon turtle of gigantic proportions makes his home. The beast calls himself Emraag, but the locals know him as ‘The Glutton.’ If we’re to believe the rumors, it’s a miracle that any of us are sitting here now, as the Glutton supposedly has a taste for ships and sailors. Yet apparently the thing’s vices aren’t limited to swallowing down whole crews. The Kraken Society made a deal with the creature, bribing it to leave their ships intact on their visits to Gallivant Cove. Lord Meravanchi, however, has refused to ‘negotiate with monsters,’ apparently preferring that our supply ships be eaten and our people go hungry. Therefore, my thought to ease the concerns of the colonists is to appease the beast that’s already caused them so much hardship. I’d like you to sail to the isle’s northern shores and seek out Emraag the Glutton. I’ll provide you with a cache of treasures to bribe the brute…a down payment on Farshore’s ‘tribute’ to him, offered for the assurance that he leaves vessels flying my family’s colors be. If an agreement can be met, excellent. If not…well, I trust in your ability to conquer in that arena as well. More to the point, there’s the matter of the Kraken Society’s interest in Gallivant Cove. According to the logs and papers we’ve recovered from my brother’s ship, the Brine Harlot, they’ve made several visits to a beach on the southern shore of the cove to meet with a group they call the ‘Lords of Dread.’”
At this point Lavinia slid a sheaf of papers across the table to Mandi.
“According to these notes,” she continued, “they’ve been purchasing large quantities of what they’re calling ‘shadow pearls.’ I believe some of you’ve had some experience with these things before, as one of them was apparently the cause of the trouble at Kraken’s Cove some months ago. The thought of dozens of shadow pearls in the possession of the Kraken Society is chilling.”
Putting her cup down, Lavinia looked at each of the Legionnaires in turn. “I know it’s dangerous dealing with such a beast, but if you can convince Emraag to accept our offer, you might even be able to learn a few things from him. In any event, securing the dragon turtle’s goodwill should allow free access to the Lords of Dread. And it would be a huge step in turning this colony from an isolated backwater into a destination for merchants from the world over. Therefore, I ask you this not just for myself, but on behalf of all the people of Farshore.”
Mandi had been perusing the papers Lavinia had given her, and at that point, she read aloud from one of them.
“ ‘We reached Gallivant Cove with no incident, although the Seventh Coil yuan-ti renewed their demands for shore leave. I denied them again, promising them all the leave they could want once my sister’s little project is mine. Payment to the Glutton went smoothly (that beast’s teeth would make fine trophies!), and I personally led a group of five to the caves. The trogs looked worse than they stank. Some sort of malady afflicts them for certain. Lords of Dread? Hardly. Yet they took our payments and slaves readily enough. There was only one shadow pearl ready for us. I made clear my displeasure, but the simpering lepers convinced me that they were being truthful, and promised several more in a few months’ time. I’ve tried to avoid staring at the pearl overmuch. It’s depths are hypnotic. After seeing the number one of these little beauties did on Kraken’s Cove, I make sure to keep it in a padded container at all times. It’s too bad we can’t just toss the thing into Farshore with a catapult and let them kill each other off, but I’ll not be the one to tell command we broke another of their toys!’”
“Interesting,” Sepoto said at length. “Well, of course you have our full support, Lavinia, but how will we go about making contact with this dragon turtle once we reach the cove. Won’t he just attack our ship on sight?”
“I have already thought of that possibility,” the noblewoman answered. “Therefore, I procured a native instrument called a ‘sea skirl.’ It is used by the Mazticans to attract sea creatures, but also produces a strange kind of drowned music if played underwater. Emraag should hear and respond to these pipes being played.”
“Let’s just hope he responds favorably,” Daelric muttered.
“Well,” Mandi interjected, “as Sepoto said, we are at your disposal. When shall we depart?”
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The Sea Wyvern was ready to leave port by the following morning. Four large wooden chests were loaded into its hold, along with an impressive, eight-foot tall statue of Ventrue Vanderboren, a famed explorer and privateer. The sea skirl was also loaded, and Lavinia presented Sepoto with a set of brass keys to the chests. Several townsfolk were gathered on the pier to watch the ship’s departure, including the Jade Ravens and Lord Meravanchi himself. The latter had made his opinion widely known that the venture was folly, and would only bring further disaster to the town. The majority of those assembled, however, cheered as the Sea Wyvern weighed anchor, and called their well-wishes to their local heroes.
The voyage around the isle’s western edge took five days, and was blissfully uneventful. Gallivant Cove itself was immense, at least thirty miles at its widest and longest points. Its borders were sheer cliffs, and searching the entire perimeter for the beach of the Lords of Dread would be a daunting task indeed. The Sea Wyvern dropped anchor in the middle of the cove, and Tower Cleaver quickly assisted the crew in bringing Lavinia’s tribute up on deck. Meanwhile, Daelric was lowered into one of the jolly boats along with the skirl. Though the priest had never played such an instrument before, nor any other instrument for that matter, a brief prayer to Shaundekal allowed him to focus his will to the point where there was nothing but him and the skirl. He lowered one end of it into the water and began to play. The music was haunting, reminiscent of whale song, but none of those watching, nor Daelric himself knew if that was the way the instrument was supposed to sound. All that was left was to wait.
For ten minutes Daelric continued his tune, until finally the water off the port side of the ship began to roil and churn. Something huge breached the surface. To all appearances it was a turtle of gargantuan proportions, but its head bore a more tapered shape than its conventional cousins. Had the thing risen beneath the Sea Wyvern it might easily have capsized the ship. As it was, its wake caused the vessel to rock violently, while Daelric’s small craft was thrown roughly against the hull.
“Who dares disturb my waters with such a cacophony?” the creature roared, its hot breath rolling over those gathered on the deck.
“Your Eminence, Emraag, we bid you greetings!” Daelric shouted, struggling to be heard above the lapping waves. “We are emissaries of Lady Lavinia Vanderboren, mayor of Farshore! We have come bearing tribute, in honor of your illustrious reputation! My Lady asks in return only that you allow ships bearing her colors to ply your waters!”
“Hmmm…” the turtle growled. “Show me this…tribute.”
Daelric hurriedly motioned to Tower Cleaver, and the minotaur opened each of the chests, showing their contents of jewels, coins and artwork. He then pushed the large statue to the edge of the railing.
“A fitting offer,” Emraag rumbled.
“And only a beginning!” Daelric ad-libbed. “If you accept my Lady’s friendship, her gratitude would be far reaching indeed!”
Emraag seemed to consider this for a moment before answering. “Agreed. I accept your tribute. Push it into the deep. I grant your lady access to my domain for the span of one year. If I find further tribute suitable, I might extend my offer.”
“Your generosity is indeed boundless!” Daelric gushed as Tower Cleaver heaved the chests and statue overboard. “If your Eminence would favor us with his presence for just a moment longer, we would be deeply in your debt.”
“Speak,” Emraag growled, “and be swift about it.”
“Of course!” Daelric nodded. “It’s just that we have enemies who also sail your waters. Their ships bear the colors of the Kraken Society, and they have been here a number of times to meet with a group called the Lords of Dread. Would you know of any of this?”
Emraag nodded, his great head splashing water over the gunwales of Daelric’s boat. “I do. Those you speak of have paid me a fortune in gold and exotic goods. I know nothing of these Lords of Dread, but the pirates frequently meet with a tribe of degenerate troglodytes living near the southernmost shores of my cove. Come, I will lead you there.”
Daelric could not believe their good fortune. Hurriedly, he was returned to the deck of the Wyvern, and the ship hoisted its anchor and set off after the mighty dragon turtle.
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Seemingly held together by brine and urchins, a rickety pier of rotted wood and gigantic bones jutted out into the cove, looking as much a scavenger-picked corpse as a derelict berth. Twin rows of skulls impaled upon spears lined the pier, their eyes sockets flickering with otherworldly green flames and venting sickly vapors. This unnatural light illuminated an eerie path into the darkness of a yawning cave entrance fifteen feet above the surf below. This was the point to which the Glutton had led the Sea Wyvern before returning to his watery demesne. Mandi instructed the navigator of the ship to take it back into open water after they had disembarked, and await further instructions there.
Cautiously, the group ascended the treacherous-looking walkway. The soggy planks climbed to the stone floor of a salt-encrusted grotto. Refuse and broken crustacean shells littered several shallow pools near the walls, making easy meals for a small flock of sickly gulls that roosted in the cracked walls. A ten-foot wide opening in the southern wall was closed off by a rusty iron gate. Crouched before the gate was as short-snouted, fifteen-foot long lizard, its back topped by an eight-foot tall sail-like fin. Its flesh was thick and crusty, and large shingles of excess growth hung from its sail. As Sepoto and Tower Cleaver stepped to the cave entrance, the dinosaur immediately began barking and roaring, but did not advance from its position before the portcullis.
“Why are you just standing there?” Mandi asked as she approached. “Kill it.”
“Not attacking,” Cleaver said, stating the obvious. “Just barking…like guard dog.”
Mandi sighed. “Exactly! And what do you think its guarding, or whom it might be alerting with all that racket?”
Cleaver’s brow creased in thought before his mouth formed and ‘O’ of understanding.
“Come on,” Sepoto said, cuffing the minotaur on the shoulder and advancing, unlimbering his chain as he went. The dinosaur continued to snarl and growl but did not move to intercept the goliath. The crusader felt almost guilty as he swung his weapon about in a lazy arc, winding up before letting its tip fly with deadly accuracy. The creature had no way of knowing what it was facing. Sepoto felt like he might as well be killing someone’s pet. Cleaver appeared at his shoulder a moment later. The beast never had a chance. With three more quick strikes, the two warriors cut it to pieces.
“Did you hear that?” Samson asked once the grotto was quiet again. “Something moved there, beyond the gate.”
The dragon shaman walked over to the portcullis and peered through the bars. The stench of waste and decay lingered in the briny air wafting through the bars. Two alcoves formed the claustrophobic cave that he could see. To the north, three piles of matted and moldering palm fronds clustered around a mound of ash and dying embers. Opposite them rested several misshapen clay jars, a rack on which hung dead octopi and cave lizards, and a rickety cart filled with large black rocks that glistened wetly. A low passage in the western wall descended steeply into darkness. Cringing in the shadows to either side of the gate were four reptilian humanoids, troglodytes, as best Samson could tell, but something was wrong with them. Their flesh was covered with hard tumors and thickened layers of dry skin, just like the dinosaur’s had been. Wrapped about their bodies were layers of bandages, soaked through with a black, tarry liquid.
“Hello,” the goblin called in the Draconic tongue. “We’re sorry about your guardian, but we didn’t know if it meant to attack or not. We mean you no harm. We only wish to speak with you.”
In answer, the four wretched creatures began weaving their hands in the familiar motions of spell-casting, hissing guttural prayers to their depraved god, Laogzed.
“Don’t waste your time!” Mandi called to Samson. “Step aside! Tower Cleaver, get that gate open now!”
The minotaur stepped to the portcullis, gripped its bars and heaved, his muscles rippling beneath his fur. It didn’t budge. At that moment, a wave of divine power washed over him, and for the briefest of instances, the barbarian felt blind panic grip him, but just as quickly it passed, much to his relief.
“Keep trying!” Mandi commanded. “I’ll give them something else to worry about.” Stepping to where she could see the room beyond the bars, she drew a slim, basalt wand from her belt and spoke a word of command. Instantly the room exploded into flames and the troglodytes shrieked in pain, leaping from their concealment as they beat at the fire scorching them. One darted to the far side of the room and seized one of the jars there. Hefting it, he hurled it at the portcullis, where it shattered spilling some sort of viscid, green slime over Tower Cleaver. The minotaur immediately began howling in pain as the substance ate into his skin, leaving smoking craters of exposed flesh and bone beneath.
“Bastards!” Mandi hissed. She recognized the goo as parasitic algae often found in the Underdark. It had to be destroyed quickly or it would dissolve Cleaver to bones in a matter of seconds…and there was only one sure way to destroy it. Speaking the command to her wand again, she loosed a second ball of flame into the adjoining room, but this time it detonated much closer to the gate, the flames engulfing Tower Cleaver. The barbarian roared again in agony, collapsing to the floor and curling into a fetal position.
“I’ve had about enough of this,” Sepoto growled, and he stepped towards the gate, dissolving into mist and shadows as he did, only to reappear on the other side, solid once more. Quickly, the four trogs moved to surround him, but the crusader was faster, and deadlier. Like a coiled viper, his chain struck again and again, snapping necks or disemboweling his enemies as they approached. The battle was over before it had truly begun. When the last trog fell, he moved over to a lever protruding from the wall and lowered it, raising the portcullis at the same time.
“These must be the lepers Vanthus spoke of in his log,” Mandi said, stepping over the bodies and grimacing in disgust at the disfigured corpses. “Lords of Dread? Hardly. In this case I would have to agree with our poor, dead Lemorian. Daelric, tend to Cleaver and get him on his feet. We need to keep moving.”
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Beyond the second grotto, the company found themselves in a sloping passage, the walls of which were covered in foul-smelling dyes and flaking pigments. Decaying organs, perhaps the morbid palettes of the walls’ brutish artists, lay in reeking heaps on the ground. Between the primitive markings and bloody claw-prints, a lengthy series of crude pictograms extended down the hall. While many were faded and obscured, three stood out clearly. In the first, spear-bearing reptiles wandered a maze of ever-descending tunnels. In the next, a large lizard-like creature exalted amid columned ruins, holding a black circle above its head as smaller creatures bowed and were stricken dead. In the final section, a reptilian skull surrounded by a smoky mass of spiraling tentacles rained black spheres upon a cracking, smoking island.
“That’s Laogzed’s symbol,” Sepoto said, indicating the last picture. “Do you think this means that he gave the trogs the shadow pearls?”
“Doubtful,” Mandi answered. “But I do think it means that perhaps the troglodytes are not aware of the true source of the pearls. We shall find out.”
The painted passage soon gave way to a natural stone tunnel which continued down deeper, and deeper into the earth. No side corridors gave onto it, and no light pierced the darkness, not even that of the phosphorescent fungi common to such Underdark passageways. The Legionnaires walked for what seemed like miles, but time had little meaning in such a place. Finally, after what might have been hours or days, the sloping tunnel came to an end…at another iron gate. Beyond this one, however, was a much larger cavern, the far side of which could only be made out dimly by those of the company who were able to see in the darkness. Scattered around the area were cobbled domes of rock and mud, dwellings of some sort that were entered through holes in the roofs. Near the middle of the cavern was a large pit, the stench from which reached the Legionnaires even from fifty or more feet away. A pair of large cages with wooden bars sat precariously on its edge. There seemed to be humanoid figures lying on the floor of each cage, but it was difficult to make out their details, or whether they were living or dead. The pit’s edges were rimmed by wooden stakes, and disturbing fetishes and bits of bone hung from the rotting lengths of wood. A second, smaller crevice yawned in the stone further into the cavern, and a rickety, wooden lift hung there, suspended by a primitive pulley system of frayed ropes. Finally, an immense statue of a rearing lizard-like beast crouched against the furthest wall. A second visage, that of a crudely carved fanged toad, jutted from its exposed stomach, its maw partially open before a bloodstained altar.
At Mandi’s command, Tower Cleaver gripped the bars of the gate, looking around cautiously beforehand to make sure there were no slime-wielding trogs nearby. Straining mightily, he hoisted the massive barrier above its head, sending an ear-splitting squeal of rusty gears reverberating throughout the cavern.
“So much for our surprise entrance,” Marius muttered.
“Since when has that ever mattered?” Sepoto chuckled as he, Samson and Cleaver began advancing into the area. Sure enough, within moments the company saw movement from the far side of the hall. Several bandage-wrapped trogs were scrabbling from the dome hole of one large hut, while a half-dozen more appeared from behind the large idol. All told, there seemed to be at least twelve, and they came lurching and shuffling, like living mummies, across the stone floor, guttural prayers on their lips.
Samson leapt nimbly atop another of the nearby dwellings, peering down into the hole to see if any more trogs would emerge, for there were twelve such huts throughout the cavern, and six had emerged from a single one. If each of the others held a like number, then he and his friends might have their hands full. Looking in, he saw a shallow pit in the floor below. The smell wafting up reeked of rotting meat, reptile and pungent herbs. Crude paintings on the walls depicted all manner of reptilian creatures feasting on humanoid shapes, and many of these creatures had reptilian heads. Lying about the floor of the hut were four troglodytes, wrapped in poultices like their kin, but sporting many more of the horrible tumors on their skin. Their eyes were open and staring, but they did not move, nor respond to Samson’s presence.
“We’ve got more lepers in the huts,” the dragon shaman warned his companions as he hopped down, “but they don’t seem like an imminent threat. Watch your backs just the same.”
Tower Cleaver was circling the far side of the larger pit when one of the figures in one of the cages suddenly jumped to its feet, momentarily startling the minotaur. It was another troglodyte, bandage-wrapped, but sporting none of the skin lesions that the others had. It gripped the cage bars, pressing its face between them and began jabbering in its native tongue. Cleaver looked questioningly at Mandi. The wizardess understood the Draconic language and knew that the creature was begging to be released, promising the treasure of the tribe if they would do so. Impatiently, she waved Cleaver forward.
“Ignore him,” she said. “We have bigger fish to worry about.” Even as she spoke, she was raising her wand, lobbing two fireballs into the oncoming horde of trogs. The explosion scattered the throng, but none went down. On they came, and Sepoto was ready to meet them. One badly burned leper fell quickly to his chain, but four more quickly surrounded him. A second later, there were only three as the goliath wielded his chain like an extension of himself.
Tower Cleaver gripped his axe and waded into the middle of the mass of troglodytes. Several of them reached out to touch him as he passed, their claws just brushing against his hide, but as they did, cold, burning pain shot through him. He roared, foam slinging from his jaws as he brought his axe to bear with brutal efficiency. Trog after trog fell before him, like saplings before a hurricane until four of them lay stacked about him like cordwood. Sepoto was not as savage, but just as effective. Three of the trogs managed to touch him as well with their deathly cold claws, but two of them died for their efforts. Samson leaped about like a dervish, slashing low at knees as he passed with his morningstar, and catching a pair of trogs with his acidic breath, melting one into a gelid mass of flesh and charred bones. The final stragglers were systematically picked off by pinpoint accurate rays of scorching fire by Marius and Mandi.
When the field was clear, Samson sheathed his weapon and walked over to the cage holding the now-silent troglodyte. The creature stared with wide-eyed terror at what he’d just witnessed.
“So what’s your story?” the goblin asked in the trog’s native tongue.
The troglodyte opened his mouth to speak, then paused to lick his lips and clear his throat.
“I am Irgzid Uzeye,” he said, “and I am considered a heretic by my brothers.”
“Why?” Samson pressed. By this time the others had gathered round as well, and Mandi gave a running translation to them.
“Because I do not have the Vile Rigidity, the wasting disease that you see upon the others. My kinsmen feel it is because Laogzed is displeased with me. They have locked me in here with infected corpses, hoping that I become infected, and thus redeemed.”
“And what do you hope for?” Mandi asked.
“Freedom,” Irgzid answered. “I do not wish to die, and I am uncertain this disease is Laogzed’s will.”
“Is that what’s wrong with the others in the huts?” Samson asked.
“Yes,” Irgzid replied. “They are more severely afflicted. The other priests tend to their needs. They are all but helpless. I beg you to spare them.”
“Why should we spare them or you?” Mandi snapped.
“You are strangers here,” the troglodyte observed. “If you plan to stay here for long, you will need a guide. I can show you many things.”
“What do you know of the shadow pearls your people supply the pirates?” Mandi asked pointedly.
Irgzid’s eyes widened, and he began nodding excitedly. “Yes! I know of them! I know where to find them, and I’ll take you to them! Just free me!”
“Why don’t you just tell us what you know, then you can go your way and we can go ours?” Mandi asked innocently. Igrzid’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“I may be beneath someone of your stature,” he said acidly, “but I’m no fool. I know my only use to you is the information I have. If I give you that, my life is forfeit.”
Mandi smiled. “You also know a lot of big words for a troglodyte. Be careful. Your wit may just get you in trouble.”
“Mandi, we’ve got another live one!” Daelric said suddenly from where he’d been examining the bodies in the second cage. The elf moved to where he stood and saw that there was a clearly dead trog in the cell, but lying beneath it was a human. A Maztican by his features. Mandi herself could not tell whether he was alive or not. His eyes were open, but if he was breathing, his respirations were shallow. Also, he bore several of the large tumors that infected the lepers.
“Can you help him?” she asked the priest.
Daelric nodded and asked Cleaver to open the door, which the minotaur did by tearing it off its hinges. The young priest then knelt next to the man and began praying, passing his hands over the Maztican’s body. Soon both the priest’s hands and the native’s body began glowing brilliant white. Before the eyes of the onlookers, his lesions began to shrink and then disappear entirely. Then, with a sudden gasp, he opened his eyes, and stared about him in confusion.
“Easy,” Mandi said in Maztican. “You’re among friends.”
“Friends?” the man answered, staring suspiciously at the minotaur, goblin and troglodyte staring back at him.
“Yes,” Daelric answered, also in Maztican. “We are from Farshore. Please do not take my companions at face value. They are honorable men. We have come here seeking the source of a foul magic, black pearls that drive men homicidally insane. We seek to end the source of their threat. This troglodyte was also a captive of those that held you. He has offered to be our guide through these caverns, but we are weighing his offer carefully.”
“Farshore?” the man asked. “I have heard of Farshore. I am Jakara of the Tiger Clan. I met a missionary from Farshore, a man named Noltus Innersol. He was impressed with the fighting skills of my clan and our devotion to the slaying of demons. He asked that I travel to Farshore to show a priest there named Vesserin Catherly my methods and gifts. Unfortunately, I was attacked not long after I left Noltus by a group of skinwalkers, feral half-demons that dwell on the high plateau. I defeated them, but not before one of their sorcerers enspelled me, leaving my wits dull and my mind empty. That’s the last I remember.”
“The trogs must have found you wandering,” Mandi said. “We have heard of Noltus Innersol. Catherly asked us to find any information we could regarding his whereabouts. When did you see him last, and where?”
“It was on the plateau,” Jakara said, “but as to when, I could not say. I do not know how long I have been captive here, or for how long I wandered before.”
“What will you do now?” Daelric asked. “We could use your help in our quest.”
“I am sorry, but I cannot,” Jakara said. “I promised Catherly. Perhaps when you return to Farshore…if you do, then we may speak more. For now you have my thanks and my prayers.”
Jakara said his goodbyes and then left via the tunnel the company had traveled down, leaving them alone with Irgzid and a decision to make.
