Session 12.14 – Rurik’s Return
Rurik drained away another mug of the finest dwarven ale he'd ever tasted. Along dozens of long tables heavily laden with aromatic meats, breads, and cheese, sat hundreds of other dwarves. All were merrily eating, drinking, and sharing stories. These were his friends, his family, and his clan.
Rurik had been in this great hall for a while. He couldn't be quite certain when he'd arrived, but time no longer seemed to matter. He was at peace, among good company and with good drink. Nothing else mattered.
He pondered his mug, seemingly full again of its own accord. It was made of a rich, dark wood, handcrafted by a master. Something about it tugged at old memories. He'd been given this mug as a gift...by a stranger...a traveler. They'd spoken and drank all through the night. There was something else about that stranger...he'd told Rurik something important.
"That's right, Rurik," an old dwarf said as he settled onto the bench next to Rurik. The senior dwarf was grizzled and weather-beaten, but his eyes were energetic and friendly. Rurik instantly recognized him as the one who'd given him the mug. "I asked something of you."
The memory of that night came back to Rurik in crystalline clarity. "My quest," Rurik said. "I was trying to help some followers of Moradin. Was my quest to rescue the dwarves trapped in Kladish?"
The old dwarf paused a moment, as if trying to determine how best to respond. "Yes, Rurik," he said. "Those trapped in Kladish are the faithful of Moradin of whom I spoke to you about."
Rurik started to take in his surroundings in a different light, as a cleric of Moradin. "I failed, didn't I?" Rurik said. "I must have died."
"Well, you did die," the old dwarf said as he set his own mug on the table. "It was quite a battle, and your bravery ultimately led to the survival of several of your friends." That bit of news lifted Rurik's heavy heart just a bit.
"Will someone else rescue the dwarves?" Rurik asked.
"I'm not sure," the old dwarf said. "The faithful of Moradin are certainly in a tight spot. You were their best hope."
"And I failed them," Rurik said. "The biggest test of my faith and I failed to survive a simple confrontation of arms."
"That giant was no simple confrontation," the dwarf said. "Besides, you're being given another chance to complete your quest."
Rurik's mug paused halfway to his mouth. "What do you mean?"
"Someone is calling you back this very moment," the old dwarf said. "If you listen carefully, you'll hear them. Answer the call and you'll have another chance to complete your quest. If you deny it, you will remain here for eternity. Not that this place doesn't have a lot going for it, but there's something to be said for the realm of mortals, too."
Rurik pondered long and hard. Because of dabbling in unknown magics, he had shamed his uncle and given up his clan name. The months following that had been hard and dangerous. His soul was weary, even if his body felt refreshed in this paradise. On the other hand, his friends had been left behind in a very dangerous place. He also had a quest to complete - one possibly given to him by Moradin himself. Part of being a cleric involved exploring of the depths of one's own soul - to find the limits of his strength and faith, to learn how to endure, and to defend those in need.
"I'll go back," Rurik said. "I need to see this quest through to completion."
The old dwarf nodded and finished his ale in one mighty gulp.
"So," Rurik said. "How exactly to I answer the call to return?"
"Just listen to the voice and follow it," the old dwarf said. Rurik focused on the ephemeral voice that cut through the boisterous gathering and felt his soul channel through it.
"He's coming back," an unfamiliar voice said. "His body is completely restored and his soul should be in place any moment."
Rurik could feel the harshness of the Material Plane through his back – his bare back on cold, hard stone. Before opening his eyes, he let his mind gather itself. Physically, he felt fine. He could tell that he was naked, lying on cut stone. The air had the ancient musty scent of Kladish.
He finally opened his eyes and found a human man, pushing his twilight years, looking back at him. A nearby lantern lit his face in the otherwise dark chamber. Rurik noted that the man was slipping something back under his cloak, and he caught just a glimpse of an embroidered symbol – an offset circle within a circle. The man who’d just resurrected him was a member of the Church of the Small, he realized. That couldn’t be good.
Standing a short distance away was another young human, almost an adult, and a half-elf dressed in expensive robes. “Welcome back, Father,” the half-elf said to Rurik. “I wonder, should we do this the easy way or the hard way?”
Rurik didn’t quite know what to make of these people. If someone had bothered to have him resurrected, he half expected that at least someone he personally knew would have been there. He sat up and looked around the rest of the room. Indeed, as he guessed, he was still in Kladish, not far from the living quarters they’d explored.
In addition to the half-elf and pair of humans, two other figures stood a short distance off. One was a massive figure that wore heavy armor with disturbing styling. The other was an elf. No, he realized with a start, it was a dark elf – one that he was all too familiar with. Naked or not, Rurik leapt to his feet and made to charge the grinning Shadow.
“I guess that means the easy way,” the half-elf said. He cast a quick spell on Rurik before the dwarf closed half the distance to his nemesis.
“Stop!” the half-elf said. Rurik, much to his own surprise, obeyed instantly. Wizards, he silently cursed.
“Come stand before me,” the half-elf said. Rurik walked up before the wizard and waited patiently under his scrutiny. The priest from the Church of the Small offered Rurik a worn pair of leggings to wear.
“Your name?” the half-elf said.
“Rurik,” the dwarf replied.
“Just Rurik?” the half-elf said, raising an eyebrow at the absence of the typical dwarvish recitation of full name and clan.
“That’s right,” Rurik said, offering no explanation.
“And Rurik, you are a cleric of Moradin?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” the half-elf said. “Let me be brief here, Rurik. My name is Mr. North. I have need of your services. Or, rather, I need the services of a cleric of Moradin. You were the only one conveniently in the area. I’ve enchanted you only to make sure you’re cooperative. I’ve known too many dwarves and their notorious stubborn bull-headedness to waste my time negotiating with you.
“There is an item within the ruins of Kladish that I need to use. You hold the key to making use of that item. Once you’ve performed that service for me, I’ll release you. Consider this fair and reasonable compensation for your resurrection.”
Rurik was extremely displeased with this situation. However, magically dominated as he was, there was little he could do to fight it off. The half-elf almost seemed friendly and rational, if in a somewhat wizardly arrogant fashion. The presence of the Shadow, a priest of the Church of the Small, and a freaky looking guy in demonic armor, however, cancelled out any charm the wizard might have had.
Putting the pieces of the last couple months together, Rurik felt it likely that this wizard was the one who’d hired Kisty’s sister Misty to find certain information on the lost city of Kladish. Misty, in turn, had hired the Shadow to infiltrate the dwarven stronghold of Mt. Goldforge, where he killed a librarian while stealing some relevant information. It also wasn’t much of a stretch to believe that the wizards who had attacked them at Lohna’s and who had been tracking and scrying them while hunting griffon eggs could also be linked back to this Mr. North. How the Church of the Small fit into all this, he still didn’t know. He felt vindicated in having distrusted them from the beginning, though.
“Okay everyone,” Mr. North said. “Let’s go find the dragon.”
Next session: Embertongue and the Adonix
