Company of the Red Kestrel (1/8/2004 - Confrontations)

[(contact)]

(thinking) . . . was I just praised, or insulted?

DOGFOOD?! DOGFOOD!!!!!!

[Picture Cardinal Richelieu as portrayed by Charlton Heston’s in The Three Musketeers: a scarily intense religious leader with vast personal and political power.]

Check this guy out:
Diego Velazquez' Innocent X. Look how eeevil and hostile he looks. It makes me wonder whether Velazquez and Innocent X got along personally or not.

So what's next for the stout dwarf-- getting righteously pissed at the high-handed authorities and going after the Malteese Falcon/Shard, or hunting down the undead assassin?

 

[Joshua Randall]

Diego Velazquez' Innocent X

That's definitely the look that I was thinking of. Except that Eluchir wasn't wearing a fez.

So what's next for the stout dwarf-- getting righteously pissed at the high-handed authorities and going after the Malteese Falcon/Shard, or hunting down the undead assassin?

Would you believe - none of the above?

 

[Joshua Randall]

Getting There is Half the Fun

Brogun still did not own any means of transportation other than his feet, so he walked out of Hammerdal, through the Tunnel of Tarnalin (its normal traffic restored), and into the forests of western Durenor. He tried to locate the spot where he had fought the Helghast, but to a dwarf, all the trees looked the same.

A little ways further along the road, Brogun was shocked to discover four arrows bolts streaking towards him. As one of them sunk into his arm, he was further shocked to discover that the arrowhead was coated with a clear, sticky substance that burned as it penetrated his flesh. Fortunately, his inherent dwarven resistance to poison spared Brogun the ill effects of the gnadurn sap that had entered his bloodstream.

The ambushers were garbed strangely, in green robes of a sickly hue, and wore glassy but flexible masks of the same color. They attacked Brogun efficiently, coordinating their attacks so that two struck at him with shortspears while the other two continued loosing poisoned arrows.

Brogun dropped one foe, then another, but the repeated poisonings had taken their toll. As he sank to the ground in a swoon, one of his enemies approached. “Where is the Shard of Gareth?” the man insisted, his voice strangely accented.

Thinking quickly, the dwarf feigned ignorance. “The Shard of Gareth? I don’t know what you’re” – but even as Brogun spoke these words, he felt a hideous pain contort his body, and he sank into unconsciousness.

DM’s note: it’s not a good idea to trigger the quest penalty when you are already badly beaten up and poisoned.

Brogun awoke several hours later. He had been dragged off the road into the trees, stripped of his equipment and gold (although his gaudy, crocaryx-made periapt of wisdom remained around his neck), and presumably left for dead. Searching the area, Brogun found the bodies of the two ambushers. Under their masks, they were normal men. One of them carried a vial half-full of gnadurn sap, which Brogun pocketed warily. Then, with a sigh, he set off again.

A few days later, the cleric reached Ragadorn, the only city in the Wildlands. There he managed to sell the gnadurn sap to an unsavory-looking fellow who asked no questions about its origins and paid in cash. Brogun felt somewhat bad about selling the poison, but with true dwarven practicality decided that his need for money made such an act acceptable.

Newly re-equipped, Brogun continued on towards Sommerlund. Another few days of travel brought him to the eastern border of that nation, and he climbed the hills and low mountains that divide Sommerlund from the Wildlands. It was in these mountains that Brogun made a curious discovery: a small, overgrown graveyard, apparently abandoned for years if not decades.

The dwarf quickly discovered a cave network underneath one a mausoleum and half-climbed, half-slid down the gnarled roots of a decrepit tree that had grown up around the tomb. Evoking a spell of light, Brogun explored.

The entry room held a stone coffin; within rested an unimaginably old skeleton bearing a gold crown upon its head. Brogun wisely decided not to disinter this buried monarch and instead pressed onwards. He discovered another room with a series of skulls resting on plinths on either side of the room. As the dwarf passed them, the skulls rotated to face him; and as he reached the end of the room, from within each skull burst a disgusting creature, like a flying brain with filmy wings. A quick application of turn undead sent the swarm of Crypt Spawn to cower in one corner of the room, allowing Brogun to exit unmolested.

Beyond, another room contained a stone throne, bedecked in cobwebs and dust. Facing it upon yet another plinth was a statue of a serpent, its forked tongue outstretched. Upon the top of the throne’s high back rested a stone bowl which emitted an eerie green light.

Of course Brogun had to sit in this frightening seat. As he did so, the stone serpent animated, stuck its tongue into the bowl, and emerged with a gold key, which it dropped in the surprised dwarf’s lap. Leaping to his feet, Brogun made his way to the next room; this one contained nothing but an ornately stone door. Carvéd figured twined around each other in a macabre dance, and in the very center of the door was a large keyhole. Brogun inserted the key.

The several-ton stone block which fell from the ceiling directly in front of the door struck Brogun a glancing blow, one that nevertheless grievously injured him. “What kind of depraved architect built this place?” Brogun fumed as he expended several healing spells. At last he was able to push through the rubble of the broken stone block and open the door beyond.

The final chamber bore another stone coffin, this one in the process of being robbed by a figure wearing familiar-looking sickly green robes and mask. Brogun reacted quickly, casting a soundburst centered directly on the interloper. The noise was deafening in the enclosed room, knocking both Brogun and his target to the ground. By the time Brogun got to his feet, the would-be graverobber had faded from existence and disappeared.

Brogun cursed and raced back through the tomb towards the entrance. He began clumsily climbing up the same roots he had previously descended, when he felt said roots writhe and tighten about his limbs, holding him fast.

A heavily accented voice spoke from above. “This you shall suffer for meddling in the affairs of the Cener!” the voice continued. “I, Caligraf, shall squeeze the life from your body.” The figure Brogun had seen robbing the tomb stood above him, sneering down at him… and then yelping in surprise as other loud voices could be heard nearby.

“We shall meet again, dwarf!” Caligraf spat before slinking away into the brush.

Brogun struggled in the tangled roots but could not free himself. Soon, however, another, kindlier face stared down at him. “You appear to require some help, my friend,” spoke the man above. “I am Larto, of the Sommlending Border Rangers.”

Brogun sighed with relief. For the first time in weeks he had met someone who didn’t want to kill him.

 

[Joshua Randall]

An Entire Post With No Violence

Larto freed Brogun from the entangled roots and agreed to guide him the rest of the way into Sommerlund. The Border Ranger expressed his concern and trepidation over the mysterious Caligraf. Why was a Cener druid plundering a tomb in the mountains of Sommerlund? What did he find there? Would he return to make further mischief? Neither Brogun nor Larto could come up with anything plausible.

As the two journeyed, Larto explained to Brogun some of the history of Sommerlund: how its people had come over the sea thousands of years ago; how they had forced the Darkland forces back beyond the Durncrag mountains; and how the Sommlending had vowed to stand against the Darklords, forever. Their mettle had been tested time and again by the minions of Naar, but each time, the forces of light had prevailed. The Sommlending were a proud people, confident in their ability to defend their homeland, defiant in the face of repeated attacks.

Eventually the two travelers had reached the outskirts of Holmgard, the capitol, where Larto bid Brogun farewell. The dwarf entered the bustling city, swelled to bursting with people who had flocked there for the Feast of Fehmarn, the holiest day of the Sommlending calendar. Brogun forced his way through the crowds to the local guildhall and there made contact with what was left of the Company of the Red Kestrel.

Dellarocca informed him that Leta had refused resurrection, but Gunther and Kednor had been returned to life. Unfortunately, restoring their two companions had nearly drained the Kestrel’s coffers, so that hardly any gold was left for future operations. Dellarocca vowed to rectify this situation immediately through the application of his personal magnetism in convincing his "fellow nobility" to fund a return to greatness for "Northern Magnamund’s most prestigious adventuring company." Brogun rolled his eyes but wisely kept silent.

Over a pleasant meal, Brogun, Dellarocca, and Sara discussed their adventures since their time in Lof. Brogun was able to refer obliquely to the quest that had been placed upon him and that prevented him from speaking of the Shard of Gareth. Dellarocca though that perhaps some of his erstwhile colleagues at the Magician’s Guild of Toran might be able to remove or circumvent the magical compulsion, and suggested that they journey to that city.

First, however, Sara strongly urged Brogun to repair to the Inn of the White Sail, a fine establishment near the royal quarter, with a good view of the balcony where King Ulnar would perform his religious devotions during the Feast of Fehmarn. The priestess of Ishir also intimated that Brogun might find a pleasant surprise in store at the Inn.

His curiosity piqued, the dwarf set off. He retrieved a key from the innkeeper (his rooms pre-paid by spendthrift Dellarocca) and wearily climbed the stairs to his room. Brogun was looking forward to a long soak in the bath, and had already begun unslinging his pack as he opened the door. Thus, he was surprised to find another dwaf kneeling in the center of the room, head bowed in prayer, reciting psalms to the Father of Battle.

Although flabbergasted, Brogun did not forget his manners. "My apologies, sir. I did not mean to interrupt your meditation."

The other dwarf rose and turned around. His face was somber, the dark black hair of his carefully combed beard and eyebrows framing the lines of worry that already etched his still-young features. The dwarf’s eyes bore a sense of inner sadness and regret, even as his build and bearing bespoke years of military training.

"I am Kednor," he announced in a pleasing baritone voice. "I wish to serve you, and learn from you the teachings of Kirabá."

 

[Joshua Randall]

The Ministry of Winds

Kednor explained that, after his death at the hands of the ciquali, he found himself in the presence of the divine: Kirabá had called Kednor’s soul to account. That soul was judged lacking, its edge not yet honed enough to serve as heavenly blade, so it was made to await the resurrection of its mortal body. Fortunately, Kednor’s body was at last recovered and returned to life. It was then that Kednor decided he must walk the true path of the Father of Battle, rather than continue to follow his formerly godless ways. He gained a touch of the divine essence and would use those powers to advance the causes of good.

DM’s note: Prior to his death, Kednor was a Fighter 6. After he died, I ruled that he could return to life as a Fighter 4 / Paladin 1. This would also allow me to begin qualifying Kednor for the Paragon prestige class, from BadAxe’s Heroes of High Favor: Dwarves.

After trading their background stories, Brogun and Kednor observed the Feast of Fehmarn from the comfort of their balcony. King Ulnar of Sommerlund gave a rousing speech, reminding his subjects of their glorious history and their continued duty to hold back the forces of darkness. The king singled out the Kai Lords, warrior-monks dedicated to the God of the Sun, as exemplars of the best traits of the Sommlending. Finally, King Ulnar ceremonially reiterated his vows to protect his people in return for their continued fealty.

And with that, the city erupted into celebration. It took three days for the revelry to die down enough to allow travel through the streets. On the fourth day, the two devotees of Kirabá along with their friend and patron, Dellarocca, journeyed northwest towards Toran, site of the famed Magician’s Guild. Brogun hoped one of the mages could free him from the quest compelling silence regarding the Shard of Gareth. As for Dellarocca, he sought an audience with Guildmaster Loi-Kymar himself. Though he wasn’t very forthcoming about what the discussion would be about, Brogun judged it had something to do with wheedling spell formulae out of Loi-Kymar’s tightfisted grasp.

At the Guild, Brogun encountered a wizard named Nedín, who promised he would do his best to help with the quest if the two dwarves agreed to investigate the mysterious Tower of the Winds in a run-down corner of the city. Never ones to pass up an adventure, Brogun and Kednor set off for this tower, which was indeed surrounded by magical winds of high velocity. They fruitlessly tried to enter the tower but were rebuffed by its lack of any openings. Finally, after hours of searching had given way to hours of despondent waiting, the winds died down enough to reveal a magically concealed door in the base of the tower. Quickly dashing through it, the companions found themselves inside a featureless expanse of grey stone.

Some eighty feet above their heads they could just make out an opening in the wall. It was only with considerable difficulty and numerous falls that two dwarves in heavy armor were able to climb upwards. There, they entered a room built into the side of the tower, a room whose outer wall appeared completely transparent! What was more remarkable was the strange creature therein, a barrel-shaped monstrosity with three arms, three eyes, and a toothy maw on the top of its body. What was even more bizarre was that the creature was furiously writing down notes of everything it observed outside its magical window. The reams of paper scattered around the room suggested that the xorn had been at its task for quite some time.

Brogun cleared his throat, and the xorn reacted by using a bull rush to encourage Brogun to make the eighty foot journey to the bottom of the tower in a few seconds of free fall rather than several minutes of hard climbing. The priest of Kirabá and his cohort reacted badly to this suggestion, and proceeded to slash and pound their ill-mannered host into rocky fragments, though not without themselves suffering various painful wounds.

The dwarves gathered up the papers for later delivery to Nedín, then climbed back down the tower and searched the bottom floor. They found a hidden entrance heading into the ground. Exploring, Brogun and Kednor battled zombies in a corridor filled with powerfully rushing winds that made forward movement nearly impossible. They then discovered a kind of living quarter consisting of various bedrooms. Unfortunately, three of these were occupied, and the dwarves were set upon by the self-styled Ministry of the Winds: Varen the sorcerer, Justina the cleric, and Traan the minotaur.

Brogun slew a slavering wolf that turned out to be Justina’s animal companion, but Varen repaid this insult by unleashing a lightning bolt at point-blank range, rending Brogun unconscious and horribly wounding Kednor. The cohort managed to stabilize his master, but he was then grappled and pinned by the size-L Traan.

Justina wanted to slay the dwarves on the spot in revenge for the fallen Wolfie. Fortunately, Kednor was able to negotiate a sort of trial-by-combat with the somewhat demented Varen. The minotaur Traan would represent the Ministry of Winds, while Brogun and Kednor chose to represent themselves as they lacked the funds to hire an expensive combat lawyer. Each side would be given 12 hours to prepare itself. With that, Varen locked the dwarven suspects into a room.

The next morning, Brogun and Kednor were led by a seemingly despondent Justina into a large, open hall. Traan stood at the opposite end of the room, but Varen was nowhere in sight. At a shout from Justina, the battle commenced, with Brogun’s sound burst stunning the minotaur and buying time for a few preparatory spells. Traan eventually recovered and charged, head lowered, intending to gore the priest of Kirabá. But Brogun called on his god to strike the infidel blind, while Kednor repeatedly attempted to sunder Traan’s huge axe.

The blinded minotaur was no match for the two dwarves, and soon fell. But no sooner had his body hit the ground than the deranged Justina set upon Wolfie’s killers with an insane fury. Unfortunately, she had neglected to take into account the advantages her two opponents had in BAB, Strength modifiers, and flanking bonuses, so she soon joined her deceased pet in the afterlife.

Kednor and Brogun hadn’t time to catch their breath before Varen faded into view by blasting them with another lightning bolt. This time the brunt of the attack hit Brogun full-on, stopping his heart! Kednor twisted out of the way of most of the attack, and as Varen began to cast again, the fighter/paladin introduced him to the partial-charge-and-attack-at-plus-two concept, displaying the superiority of that tactic over Concentration-check-DC 10-plus-spell-level-plus-damage-taken, not to mention the fact that sorcerers have poor hit points.

Kednor, lone survivor of the raucous trial, stood sadly over the body of his fallen master. Perhaps the wizards would know what to do. In the mean time, he would need money to fund Brogun’s revivification. He knelt and began examining the bodies of the strange inhabitants of the tower.

 

[(contact)]

Justina wanted to slay the dwarves on the spot in revenge for the fallen Wolfie. Fortunately, Kednor was able to negotiate a sort of trial-by-combat with the somewhat demented Varen. The minotaur Traan would represent the Ministry of Winds, while Brogun and Kednor chose to represent themselves as they lacked the funds to hire an expensive combat lawyer.

That is awesome. A trial-by-combat lawyer! I'm so stealing this.

 

[Joshua Randall]

Friends in High Places

Kednor thoroughly looted the bodies of the ex-Ministry of Winds. He was most impressed with the huge axe borne by Traan the minotaur, its haft of dark oak, gnarled and knotted; its blade an enormous slab of pitted iron. The axe had resisted Kednor’s most strenuous efforts at sundering it, and even now it resisted his efforts to wield it. While he could lift the weapon (barely), Kednor could not effectively swing it without overbalancing himself. He shook his head in wonder at the great strength Traan must have possessed.

Justina the priestess had also carried a notable weapon: a finely wrought mace in some unknown silvery-grey metal, covered with stylized designs representing the rushing winds. In contrast to Traan’s axe, Justina’s mace was extraordinarily light. Kednor tucked it into his belt.

Finally, on the body of the fallen sorcerer Varen, Kednor found a key to the adjoining room. He carefully unlocked the door and stepped inside. “Oooh!” the dwarf could not help exclaiming aloud, for he looked upon a pile of valuable looking objects.

= = =

Later, Kednor and Dellarocca conferred over how to handle the problem of Brogun’s untimely demise. Dellarocca remained as optimistic as always. “I am certain that Guildmaster Loi Kymar has the wherewithal to return Brogun to life,” he said, “but the problem will be convincing him to do it. I can’t even get an audience with him.”

The mage furrowed his brows in thought for a while, then snapped his fingers in excitement. “I have it! This tower you two explored – the Tower of the Winds – with its transparent upper story and connection to the sewers – it must be worth something to the Guild itself. Yes. Yes! Loi Kymar cannot afford to let that Tower go unoccupied.

“We shall trade the Tower for Brogun’s life. What do you think of that, Kednor? Pretty clever, eh?” Dellarocca chortled to himself. “And maybe I can finally convince that bull-headed old man to share the secrets of transportation with me….”

= = =

Word of what had happened at the Tower spread quickly, and Dellarocca was finally able to secure an audience with Loi Kymar. He strode grandly into the Guildmaster’s chamber, followed by Kednor. Behind them trailed some porters Dellarocca had hired to carry both Brogun’s body, and the assorted loot from the Tower.

(a picture of Loi Kymar)

[Background note: Loi Kymar is the only known wizard in Northern Magnamund capable of casting transportation spells such as dimension door and teleport. He uses his spells and the power of his Guildstaff to transport throughout the world on errands for the Kind as well as his own secretive missions.]

Dellarocca proved a shrewd negotiator (it helps to have Cha 17). He convinced Loi Kymar to accept the Tower of the Winds as a gift to the Magician’s Guild. In return, Loi Kymar would not only raise Brogun (via limited wish), he would agree to provide Dellarocca with a copies of the transportation spells.

= = =

Brogun took a few days to recover from his ordeal at the Tower of the Winds and then decided he had had enough of Toran and of magicians. Everywhere he looked, robed wizards were conferring in hushed tones that dropped to an uncomfortable silence when Brogun passed nearby, as if he were a diseased wretch rather than a priest of Kirabá. Disgusted with this treatment, Brogun sought out his cohort (who was dutifully contemplating the tactical tenets of the Father of Battle) and bid his farewell to Dellarocca, thanking the mage once again for intervening on his behalf.

“Pshaw! It was nothing. I would do the same for any of my Kestrels,” Dellarocca magnanimously declared. “Carry on, but try not to die again – it’s bad for our reputation.”

And with that, the two dwarves set off to the south. Brogun had been asked to follow up on the proselytizing efforts of another priest of Kirabá, by the name of Thrommel Redstone, who was overdue to report on his efforts to gain converts in the obscure Sommlending town of Bellhold. (And by overdue, the dwarven church meant almost 50 years overdue – dwarves having a different concept of time.)

= = =

Meanwhile, Kell (the Herbalish scout last seen in Lof) was on his way to Bellhold to discover why the citizens of the town were seeking aid from the druids.

After his adventures in Lof, Kell had received a message from an awakened animal telling him to meet with a representative of the Herbalish druidic order in the forests of western Durenor. Journeying there, Kell was ushered before the local druid.

"Kell, I tell you this in secrecy and confidence. Several days ago, we requested that the Kingdom of Durenor deliver up to us the Shard of Gareth, a holy relic which had been in their safe keeping. As you know, the Shard is a fragment of the Great Tree which is sacred to all Herbalish.

"Unfortunately, the bearer of the Shard was waylayed and slain upon his journey. We do not know by whom. We also do not know the present whereabouts of the Shard of Gareth, for it was lost.

"We must discover the location of the Shard, but we must do so quietly, without letting on that it is lost. Keep your eyes and ears open. I do not charge you with directly searching for the Shard – we already have numerous agents doing that - but I do charge you with reporting anything you learn to the nearest druidic representative.

"As goes without saying, you should speak of this to no one but your most trusted companions. We cannot let our enemies the Cener know that we have misplaced this holy relic."

The druid paused to let this sink in, his deep green eyes boring into Kell's. Once he was satisfied that Kell understood the gravity of the situation, he continued.

"I do have a mission for you, Kell. The town of Bellhold, in southern Sommerlund, has requested aid from the Herbalish. I do not have full details on what it is they require, but the citizens of that town seem to believe that we can be of assistance.

"Go to Bellhold and determine what is required. Do whatever is within your power to do."

With that, the druid blessed Kell and bid him farewell.

= = =

So it was that the former companions ran into each other in the province of Ruanon, in southern Sommerlund. Brogun introduced Kednor to Kell [provoking a groan of dismay as the DM realized he had inadvertently given the cohort a name confusingly similar to that of a PC], and the three adventurers spent some time getting acquainted with their surroundings.

Ruanon was a mining province whose output was essential to the military strength and financial wealth of the Sommlending. It was a heavily forested and mountainous region, rich in all sorts of ores and precious metals. For that reason, Ruanon drew more than its fair share of bandit attacks or Giak raids. The Border Rangers usually handled these threats, occasionally calling on assistance from the Kai Lords.

The capitol city of Ruanon was ruled by Baron Oren Vanalund, fifth in line to the throne of Sommerlund. He was an immensely fat man, red-cheeked and puffing, who spendt much of his time drinking large quantities of wine and consuming huge amounts of red meat. Baron Vanalund had his hands full overseeing the province as well as sorting through the numerous suitors bidding for the hand of his daughter, Madelon. In contrast to her piggish father, Madelon was a great beauty, with pale skin, silky golden hair, and sky-blue eyes. She was a shy girl, only 15 or 16, who seemed nonplussed by the dozens of men attempting to court her – many of them twice or three times her age.

Asking around, Kell discovered that Bellhold was a few days’ journey to the west, in a valley nestled in the Durncrag Mountains. Bellhold was locally famous for the purity of the copper that was mined there, as well as the high quality of the church bells that it crafted.

Without further ado, the Company of the Red Kestrel set off, little knowing the strangeness that awaited them.

 

[Joshua Randall]

In Which the Kestrels Alight in Bellhold

[Warning: spoilers ahead for Of Sound Mind, a module by EN World’s own Kevin “Piratecat” Kulp.]

The adventuring company known as the Red Kestrels arrived in Bellhold by way of the single road that led there from Ruanon. That is to say, the Kestrels arrived in Bellhold after passing by the outlying farms; which is to explain that they stopped to assist the elderly farmer Othic with some recalcitrant horses.

The keen-eyed Kell, in corralling the horses, noticed that each animal bore a kind of scar or sore on its forehead, just between the eyes, as though some thorn had pricked them there. However, he could discern nothing further so this little mystery went unsolved for the nonce.

In gratitude for the Kestrels’ assistance, farmer Othic provided them with a hearty meal of lamb stew and as they ate, explained the history of Bellhold: how it had, some 49 years ago, been enslaved by Choth, a Nadziran sorcerer fond of shapechanging into the form of a dragon. The townsfolk had nicknamed him Copperdeath in reference to his fondness for that metal and his propensity for random slaughter.

But, praise be to Kai, the town was freed from its enslavement thanks to the efforts of those famed adventurers Ahlissa Songsword, Thrommel Redstone, and their other less well known companions. Brogun’s ears perked up at the mention of Thrommel’s name, for it was that same dwarf who had been sent by the church of Kirabá to proselytize the region. Alas, Othic informed them that Thrommel had died during the final battle with Copperdeath – indeed, all the adventurers were now dead, Ahlissa having passed away some ten years previously. Though, of course, her son Tokket still maintained the Bell and Clapper, Bellhold’s finest inn and alehouse.

Thanking Othic for the information, the Kestrels determined to head for this Bell and Clapper, as it came with such a good recommendation. Othic himself declined their invitation to join them for evening drinks, instead promising to meet the adventurers on the morrow for breakfast, at which time he admitted he would not be reluctant to indulge in a morning tipple.

With that, Brogun, Kednor, and Kell walked the remainder of the way into Bellhold. It was a pleasant journey in the early summer evening, the temperature a bit brisk this close to the mountains but far from unpleasantly so. Through the clear air the travelers could hear the sound of bells being tested at their foundries and see the smoke from two forges near the river. (This provoked a scowl from Kell, whose concern for the pristineness of nature was well known.) Towards the center of town could be made out a church to Kai, its whitewashed walls and steeple shining warmly in the setting sun. Atop the steeple was fitted a mighty copper bell that locals called the Wyrmcall in mocking reference to the deceased Copperdeath.

As the party was determined to take a room for a night, it was decided to head immediately for the Bell and Clapper before further exploring the town. Brogun and Kednor ventured inside, but Kell’s attention was taken by an unkempt man standing on a crate near the church, gesticulating wildly and haranguing the crowd. The Herbalish scout headed over to hear what this fellow had to say.

“He’s waiting for us! Waiting to devour us all!” raved the lunatic, whom Kell learned (from the curious onlookers) was named Erwin. “But I won’t go back, you see. Never never never never never!” The man subsided into titters and furious whispering.

As the crowd dispersed, Kell approached Erwin and greeted him. On the pretense that he was a traveler from distant Bautar, Kell convinced the madman that the customary greeting in that country was to grab an interlocutor’s head firmly and rub one’s hands across it while searching for healed-over scabs. [ It’s amazing what you can accomplish with the Bluff skill when you roll a natural 20.] However, Kell discovered nothing physically wrong with Erwin, so he decided to escort the poor man into the nearby church.

Meanwhile, the two dwarves had negotiated lodging for themselves and their companion, and had fallen into conversation with Tokket Songsword, descendent of the legendary Ahlissa. The garrulous fellow rambled on and on about Bellhold – its history as well as its current goings on – and in between the bits of irrelevant gossip (including a comment on the fact that Lady Philippa was wearing much fuller skirts this season, which had caused a imitative change in the local fashion; a dissertation on the strange prophesies of the local wise-woman, Utrish; and a proud observation that the Wyrmcall bell in the church tower was so loud it had stopped the heart and shattered the bottle carried by an unfortunate drunk who fell asleep underneath it) Tokket conveyed two pieces of useful information.

The first was that everyone in the town was suffering strange nightmares and sleeplessness. This had been going on for weeks, and had gotten so bad that most of the merchants, well-to-do, and those in the divine service of Kai had decamped for Ruanon, which in this single instance was more somnambulant than Bellhold. Kednor arched an eyebrow upon hearing this and glanced at his master, but Brogun was too intrigued by the second piece of information he had received from Tokket.

For it turned out that the innkeeper was the possessor of several artifacts from the battle against Copperdeath: weapons, armor, some teeth and claws, and most interesting of all, a diary kept by the belated Thrommel Redstone. In most diplomatic fashion, Brogun convinced Tokket that as a fellow dwarf and servant of the Father of Battle, it should be his right to peruse the tome, which might, after all, be of use in the church’s current investigation into whether Thrommel was worthy of sainthood.

Kednor began to explain that the dwarven religion did not ascribe to saints, as they believed that to do so would needlessly dilute the faith into tiny factions, but his ecumenical observation was cut short by Kell’s entrance. This in turn sparked a renewed round of questioning on the part of Tokket, answering on the part of Kell, and then additional questioning on the part of Kell (addressing Brogun and Kednor) and answering (to questions put to him by same), as well as further questioning and answering of, by, and for each one to the other.

Brogun revealed what he had learned from Thrommel’s diary. Apparently something had happened to the ill-fated adventurers of yesteryear: their minds were somehow affected by Choth, and they were forced to work in the mines alongside the rest of the enslaved populace. At last, Thrommel, Ahlissa, and the others threw off the enchantment and went to confront Copperdeath – where, as an addendum to the diary written by Ms. Songsword made clear, the dwarven warrior-priest died in battle.

It was now Kell’s turn to report his findings, which he did, explaining what Erwin had been ranting about in the town square. Mere moments later, the insightful Kestrels deduced that some similar mental effect was taking hold of the town, although by all accounts the original perpetrator of said effect was well and truly dead. Before any grisly speculation could begin on the nature and powers of undead Nadziranim, however, the shouts of a town crier from outside drew the adventurers into the plaza.

There, upon a hastily raised platform, stood three personages of import: the town’s mayor, Hob Waterman, a short, balding man who was constantly wiping the sweat from his brow; the owner of the main mine and foundry, Lucius Krekket, a tall, dark man with a constant scowl on his face, who would occasionally whisper something to the mayor; and Lady Philippa Krekket, whose exact relation to Sommlending nobility was a matter of some confusion (and hence whose right to the title “Lady” was in some doubt) but whose homespun beauty and trend-setting fashion consciousness endeared her to the rustic citizens of quaint Bellhold.

As things transpired, the mayor was reassuring the assembled populace that despite the nagging headaches and unpleasant dreams, there was nothing to be worried about. After all, Utrish the wise woman (a few cries of “witch!” were drowned out by the exasperated crowd) had foreseen that within a week, the nightmares would cease. What was most important until then was for production at Krekket’s mine and foundry to continue unabated, for Bellhold’s livelihood depended upon its reliable quotas of copper ore, copper bells, copper jewelry, copper flatware, and assorted copper sundries.

“But what of the missing children?” someone in the crowd demanded. Mayor Waterman assured the concerned citizen that the local Heroes of the Bell were at that very moment no doubt searching for the wayward urchins. And of course no one had seen the Heroes of the Bell in a few days – did the townsfolk really expect the missing children to be hiding in Tokket’s pantry?

Have successfully defused and deflected this question, the mayor once again urged the folk of Bellhold to remain calm and continue their work to supply the Lastlands with high-value copper-wrought manufactured goods. With that, the sullen but mostly satisfied crowd began to disperse. The mayor moved off down the street and engaged himself in quiet conversation with Lucius Krekket.

Kell slipped into the shadows and eavesdropped upon the conversation.

“… should have told people our production is down twenty percent this week alone…”

“… the best I could, Lucius. These people are voters–er, citizens–not indentured servants. Besides, we’re still…”

“… afford any more slowdowns, and — What? Yes, Philippa, the moon is looking particularly lovely tonight. — I may need to go to triple shifts, as long as no one is getting any sleep anyway, so that…”

“… however you see fit, Lucius, and leave running the town to me.”

By this time the two men (and one distracted and bored woman) were outside the mayor’s office and home (which were one and the same), so they bid each other good night. Kell waited until the Krekkets were safely out of sight, and Mayor Waterman was safely indoors, before circling back to the Bell and Clapper to report on what he heard. Which, upon further examination, was not much, nor was it in any way sinister.

Brogun, ever a dwarf of action, desired to visit Utrish the wise woman at once, despite the lateness of the hour. He assured a dubious Kell that witches were known to keep strange hours anyway and, ordering Kednor to accompany them in order to ascertain Utrish’s moral proclivities, led the way out of town. Upon being questioned as to how he knew where to go, Brogun responded that the talkative Tokket had kindly sketched a quite detailed map of the town, conveniently enough marked with numbered indicators corresponding to a list of salient features thereabouts.

[DM’s note: A moment of hilarity ensued when Kell’s player stated that after visiting Utrish, the party should next visit Tom Church, who must be someone important. After staring at him blankly for a full twenty seconds (while he stammered out the name “Tom Church” twice more) I realized that my sloppy handwriting was to blame: I had marked on the map the Town Church, in case the characters wanted to know where it stood in relation to the Bell and Clapper.]

The Company of the Red Kestrel soon found itself outside a rude cottage in the woods east of town. The trees, branches, and bushes nearby were a veritable sea of fetishes, arcane insignia, and crude wards against dark powers. The cottage’s door stood ajar, and Kell thought he made out a banging from behind the building, as of a window shutter hastily closed.

Brogun pushed open the door of the cottage with his toe and rushed inside, where he was set upon by a snarling, biting, clawing mass of furred fury that almost confirmed a critical hit to his eyes. Kednor stepped up and pulled the angry housecat off his master’s face, then placated the feline with a saucer of milk (the bottle having been left carelessly on the table alongside a still-warm mug of Jala). Kell gave the cottage a cursory inspection and pronounced it empty of other inhabitants. However, throwing open the rear window shutter, he pointed at the robed form of an aged crone attempting to hurry away into the woods, her progress hampered by her age, the darkness, and the thick underbrush.

Double-moving each round allowed the adventurers to overtake and surround their target, who could not move without provoking a conversation of opportunity. “Leave me alone, you cretins,” she spat, “or I shall place a hex upon you all!”

Several failed Diplomacy checks later, Utrish was in a nasty mood. She harrumphed that yes, she could sometimes see the future and that no, she wouldn’t show the Kestrels her oracular powers now. Yes, the nightmares would end in a week. And if they really must know, the nightmares would end because there would be no one left in town to dream, so there. Utrish then withdrew some small vials from inside her tattered garments and flung them to the ground, saying, “Take my potions and leave me alone. I’ve had enough of this gods-forsaken town.”

None of the adventurers noticed the terror in Utrish’s eyes as she hobbled away from Bellhold as fast as her arthritic legs could carry her.

 

[Joshua Randall]

"Something is seriously wrong with this town." - Brogun the Insightful

After returning to the inn of the Bell and Clapper, the Kestrels reflected upon what they had learned from Utrish. The more they thought about it, the more worried they became, until they reached the conclusion that “no one in Bellhold would be left to dream” meant “everyone in Bellhold would be dead.” As heroic adventurers, they could not allow this to happen, and resolved to continue their investigations on the morrow.

That night, each of the adventurers had a horrible nightmare.

They awoke with dull background headaches and a terrible sense of foreboding. Staggering down to the common room of the inn, the Kestrels stared into each other’s ashen faces. Each silently resolved not to speak of their dreams, so upsetting were the memories.

They had waited over an hour for Othic to meet them for breakfast when one of his stableboys burst into the Bell and Clapper. “Help! Help! Othic is dead!”

Springing to their feet, the Kestrels rushed out of town to examine this unexpected development. They found Othic’s body inside his own stable, face down in a pool of rapidly congealing blood. The only tracks Kell could locate were those of several horses that had apparently panicked and rushed outside.

Gingerly turning over Othic’s body with his foot, Kell suppressed a gag at what he found. The old man had been nearly bitten in half by something with an extremely large and toothy mouth. That in itself was troubling enough. What moved the scene from “typical grisly murder” to “surreal grisly murder” was the fact that Othic had a bit shoved deeply into his mouth and bridle strapped tightly to his face.

Kell knelt and examine the tracks more closely. Something was not right here. Instead of several different horses each leaving one set of tracks, there were one or two horses each leaving multiple sets of tracks. Indeed, it looked like Othic had died not so much from the bite (mortal though that wound may have eventually proven) as from being repeatedly trampled.

Upon the conveyance of this information, Brogun quickly deduced that Othic’s horses Blaze and Broadsword, whom the adventurers had met the previous day, must be the murderers. Kednor raised an eyebrow at this deduction and made a mental note to make sure Brogun stopped drinking before bedtime.

Dubious thought this assertion seemed, Brogun was determined not only to prove its truth, but to exact justice upon the perpetrators of the crime. He marched out of the stable and into the fields, where most of the horses could be seen grazing in a group nearby. Most, that is, save for two that were standing head-to-tail at the far end of the field in the shade of scraggly tree.

“There are the culprits!” Brogun pointed. “Kell – approach them and use your skill at handling animals to convince them to come quietly.”

Kell began to object, citing the extremely large bite taken out of Othic, but Brogun pointed out that the horses lacked the enormous, toothy maws necessary to inflict such a wound. In that case, wondered Kell, why was the dwarf so sure they were the murderers? Brogun had no answer for that, but his foot to Kell’s backside convinced the latter to approach the horses.

Apparently, however, Blaze and Broadsword were not in the mood for company. As Kell approached, the former attempted to dominate his mind and force him to dance, while the latter’s eyes rolled back in its head and its muzzle distorted into an enormous, toothy maw, very much like the one that had bitten Othic. Identical, in fact.

Kell fought off the imposition on his will, but had little time to reflect on what was happening before Broadsword tore a medium-sized chunk out of his side; the tearing of a larger chunk only being averted by Kell’s quick reflexes.

Brogun and Kednor came clanking across the field as fast as they could, and soon a furious melee was joined, man and dwarf against horse. The equines fought like savages. Broadsword ripped painful bites out of all the combatants while Blaze, frustrated that his mental commands were ineffective, resorted to aiming hoof-kicks at his enemies’ heads. At last, however, the Kestrels were victorious.

An examination of over the bloody and broken bodies of the murderous horses once again revealed the scabbed over wounds on each one’s forehead. Kell dug inwards with his sharp poniard, finding that each horse had a three inch long sliver of bluish crystal embedded in its head. Minor divinations revealed no auras upon these slivers, however, so the baffled adventurers shrugged and chalked it up to yet another mystery to be solved at a later date.

= = =

After burying the horses and Othic, the Kestrels spent the remainder of the day conducting further investigations into the strange happenings in Bellhold.

Mayor Waterman was informed of Othic’s death and Utrish’s departure. The politician was aghast at both developments, and admitted that the brave face he had put on for the local voters – er, citizens – was mostly a façade. He strongly urged the Kestrels to undertake whatever searches they thought best.

Kell made a quick circumnavigation of the outlying farms, looking for any more animals or people with crystal slivers in their foreheads. However, despite convincing everyone he met to submit to the supposed Bautarian head-grabbing-and-rubbing greeting, Kell did not discover anything out of the ordinary. He did speak to the parents of the missing children and learned that the kids had last been seen playing in the woods near the river.

Meanwhile, Brogun and Kednor bullied their way into Lucius Krekket’s mine. The owner was not pleased to see the two, and ungraciously declined their offer to use their dwarven stonecunning to inspect his mine for unsafe passages. And, despite probing and less than polite questioning, Krekket proved to be neither evil nor dishonest. Frustrated, the dwarves departed.

Reuniting in town, the Kestrels next set off for the spot where the missing children had last been seen. Keel had little difficultly locating the children’s tracks, as well as the tracks of some other type of humanoid. It appeared that the children had been taken unawares as they frolicked in youthful innocence, carried up the mountain and towards [cue ominous music] the abandoned mine of Copperdeath.

With all signs pointing to a foray into the conveniently located dungeon – that is, the nexus of so many of Bellhold’s problems – the Kestrels set off. Kell discovered yet another set of tracks, this one made a few days ago by about four people wearing hiking boots: probably the aforementioned Heroes of the Bell, the local adventuring troop that was also searching for the missing children. It was resolved to join up with this other group and combine resources, so Kell pursued their spoor. Their tracks led around the back of Steeple Mountain where it joined an old game trail that wound its way upwards.

Near the mountain’s peak, the trail ended outside a sealed off entrance into the abandoned mine – where a knotted rope dangling downwards testified to the recent passage of the Heroes of the Bell. Traversing this rope proved surprisingly difficult until Brogun and Kednor agreed to remove their armor, after which time it became remarkably easy.

Inside the mineshaft, the air was cold and damp. All around, water glistened on the walls and dripped in the distance. Standing still, the adventurers could hear quiet scrabbling noises as of hundreds of tiny creatures moving across the stones – but as soon as they moved, the noises stopped. The hair rose on the backs of their necks as Brogun invoked a light spell and led the way into the mine.

An outer room held only broken mining equipment and puddles of blue-green water. Up ahead, the mining tunnel proceed through an archway with a curious carving of a draconic face upon the lintel. Underneath the archway could be made out a pile of humanoid heads that seemed to move slightly of their own accord. Swallowing loudly, Brogun stepped up to examine—

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeoooooooooooooooo!”

The dwarven priest leaped two feet in the air. Each of the heads opened its decaying mouth and screamed, an ear-splitting wail. Frantically, Brogun swatted at the heads with his axe until he silenced them. Large beetles, their snacking disturbed, scurried across the floor and disappeared in cracks near the walls.

Brogun stood, panting, the blood pounding loudly in his ears. He motioned his cowering friends forward (Kednor, shame-faced, promised not to cover his eyes next time) and examined the heads.

All but one of them were badly decayed and nearly unrecognizable – clearly not human (or dwarf), but of some indeterminate creature. The last head, however, clearly was human; it was that of a youngish woman with blonde hair, and was only a few days old. One of the Heroes of the Bell? Brogun shivered.

Onwards. A room to the left held several pools of water as well as a less pleasant pool of that notorious adventurers’ bane, green slime. A carved message on a rock near the slime bore a note indicating that this particular patch was the final resting place of one of the Heroes of the Bell.

The Company of the Red Kestrel burned the slime in belated revenge.

They also discovered an old mining office; inside it, a desk held crumbling papers and copper knick-knacks (including a tarnished mirror). All items were pocketed for possible later use.

Next, to the right: an abandoned barracks for the miners. Outside this room the Kestrels could smell a horrific stench, as of a charnel-house, while inside it a veritable swarm of beetles crawled and munched on the sack-like mounds of flesh heaped on each bed. The beetles scattered away from Brogun’s light, allowing further examination – not that anyone was anxious to make it – of the de-boned corpses. They appeared to be the deliquescing bodies of troglodytes.

Kednor and Brogun exchanged glances: in his diary, Thrommel Redstone had written of being forced to work alongside trogs during his mental enslavement by Copperdeath.

“If these are their skins,” wondered Kell, “then what happened to their bones?”

Brogun said nothing, but he clenched the haft of his waraxe more tightly.

Suspecting undead, the Kestrels were not surprised when a series of side tunnels held six troglodyte zombies. Brogun turned some, and the others fell to axe, hammer, and sword. Further into the mine, a closed door barred the way. From beyond it came a horrible smell, so bad that it left Kell weakened.

As the Herbalish scout shakily examined the door, a whispery voice from the other side hissed a warning. “Have you come to slay me as you slew the rest of my warriors? Then open the door and meet your doom!”

That was all the inducement Brogun needed to put his shoulder to the door, and the Kestrels began a running pursuit of the green-skinned figure that eluded them through the winding mining tunnels. The adventurers took a few wrong turns before Kell’s sense of direction was able to guide them to the northeast.

It was a large chamber, obviously of great importance. Across the eastern wall, a huge carven stone dragon reared up, its eyes a pair of glowing gemstones that stared at the massive copper offering bowl set upon a stone dais in front of it. Several stone benches were arrayed throughout the room facing the idol, as in a temple, except that instead of live worshippers, each bench held an intact troglodyte skeleton.

The Kestrels gaped about them, but their reverie was interrupted by the same whispery voice they had pursued. “Come, then. See how you like my Bonetangle!”

From a corner to their right, many bones clattered upon the floor, and the shape of something wrong heaved its bulk into view.

 

[Joshua Randall]

Bonetangles, Bimbos, and Bad Guys

The Bonetangle lurched towards the Company of the Red Kestrel. Its four skeletal heads swiveled in unison to take in its prey, while its six legs made clicking noises as it clattered across the floor. The thing appears to be hunched over, its forearms low to the ground, ready to grab anyone within reach and shove them inside its freakishly distended ribcage where sharp bony shards could grind them to bits.

Brogun and Kednor smashed the painstakingly crafted construct to bits with one blow apiece.

Meanwhile, Tamalruk the troglodyte shaman was in the middle of casting a spell when two perfectly round holes appeared in his torso, the exit wounds of the magic missiles that had struck him in the back. Kell grunted in surprise as his own mundane arrows struck Tamalruk’s lifeless corpse.

“Who’s there?” the Herbalish scout demanded, quickly knocking another arrow and aiming down the passage whence the magic missiles had come.

A figure emerged into the light: a human, Vassagonian by the looks of him, in filthy clothing. His face was smudged with dirt, his hands and arms covered in grime.

“I am Otieno,” the man said simply. “I journeyed many miles through these mines before stumbling upon this fight.” He glanced down at Tamalruk. “I trust I didn’t slay the wrong person?”

Kell was suspicious. How was it that Otieno had conveniently arrived just as the fight had started? And why hadn’t the Kestrels come across Otieno in Bellhold prior to his entrance into the mines? For that matter, how had Otieno emerged from a portion of the mines which, to Kell’s knowledge, went nowhere?

In the end, it was decided that these were mysteries not meant to be solved. It was enough that Otieno had arrived when he had and joined the adventure. The Kestrels were glad to have an arcanist join them (for Otieno was, indeed, a sorcerer), and filled him in as best they could about recent events.

“Now…” mused Brogun, “about the gemstones in that carving….”

Without waiting to consult his fellows regarding his intentions, Brogun quaffed a potion of levitation, ascended to a spot directly opposite the carved stone dragon’s head, unsheathed a dagger, and began prying at one of the eyes.

In the everyone-saw-this-coming category, the dragon idol animated (amidst much scraping of stone upon stone) and swatted at Brogun with one huge claw. The Kestrels sprang into action, Brogun and Kednor hewing at the construct with axe and hammer, while Kell and Otieno circled the edge of the room and rained missile fire upon it.

Unfortunately, however, the bulk of the blows that met the dragon’s stony hide were harmlessly turned aside or, at the best, chipped out tiny fragments, and Kell’s arrows proved entirely ineffective. Otieno fared better with his magic missiles and acid arrows – until, that is, the enraged dragon charged the sorcerer and ground him underfoot. But by that time the thing was sufficiently weakened that repeated blows from Brogun and Kednor were enough to smash it into inert rock.

After an application of healing magic, Otieno was back on his feet. Brogun completed his extraction of the gemstone eyes, and the Kestrels examined the opening revealed when the dragon had stepped away from its perch. Beyond, another large room held an enormous copper tub of some sort, its bottom scraped raw by the repeated motions of a giant draconic tongue. Perhaps this had been the lair of Copperdeath himself? In which case there must be a great pile of treasure about – but lengthy searching turned up nothing.

“Where is Kell?” someone asked, looking around. The party’s scout was missing.

He was, in fact, scouting ahead. Kell had taken the other exit from the room, a tunnel that quickly turned vertical, requiring him to make use of his climbing skills to reach its top. It opened onto a natural cave with a pleasant lake of water fed by a roaring waterfall that crashed down from high overhead. Kell craned his head back to take in this sight: for the waterfall was magicked so that it appeared in a shifting spectrum of colors, cycling through the rainbow.

It was then that Kell heard the beautiful singing, barely audible above the roaring of the cataract. Peering around for the source of the song, he located the singer standing amidst the water’s spray. She was breathtakingly gorgeous, her skin the finest alabaster, her eyes as sapphires, her only garments the foaming water and her hair that shone like black silk.

“I am Velea,” she spoke, looking deeply into Kell’s eyes. “Long have I waited for a champion to come and free me from my imprisonment.”

= = =

When Kell returned to his companions, he could hardly wait to tell them of the beautiful maiden whom it was their obligation to rescue. Now it was Otieno’s turn to be suspicious: Who had imprisoned this Velea, and for what reason? Where did the waterfall and its magical effects originate? And most importantly from a purely hypothetical point of view, would the Kestrels be invited to join her garment-less frolics?

Kell assured his friends that all their questions would be answered in time, if only they would journey with him up the tunnel. Though Otieno seemed dubious, the two dwarves were eager to make Velea’s acquaintance, so it was decided that they would rig up a system of ropes to enable passage upwards, while keeping a close watch on their starry-eyed scout.

As soon as the Kestrels emerged from their climb, they heard the sounds of a beautiful song. Of course Kell had been right about Velea: she truly was stunning, and the adventurers would be glad to do anything for her.

All, that is, save for Kednor, who, acting on a hunch, studied the woman with his moral compass. He was horrified to find that she radiated a strong aura of evil (pointing due south), a fact that the paladin tried to convey to his friends. They ignored him.

“What troubles you, my dwarven champion?” crooned Velea as she approached the edge of the pool where Kednor stood, brooding.

“Nothing any longer,” he replied after crushing her skull with a well-placed hammer-blow.

The enchantment broken, Kell, Otieno, and Brogun shook the cobwebs out of their heads in time to assist Kednor in his fight against Velea’s fiendish dire rat pets. They quickly dispatched these creatures and searched the pool, discovering the remains of the missing Heroes of the Bell and their equipment, to which they helped themselves.

Then began the long journey upwards along the winding passageway that circled the waterfall. The noise made discussion problematic while the spray that coated everything made forward progress nearly impossible. Twice, one of the dwarves slipped off the walkway, dragging the party with him over the side. It was finally decided that the less graceful members of the group should remove their armor before proceeding. That did the trick, and the Kestrels were able to progress.

At irregular intervals, huge spiderwebs were strung across the falls, built to catch any fish (or other unfortunate creatures) that tumbled into them. But the adventurers wisely avoided the spiders that had built these webs, preferring to save their strength for whatever awaited them at the top.

After an exhausting climb, the Kestrels reached a sort of observation room where they rested for the night. As they slept, a whispering voice plagued their dreams. It sounded like Tamalruk – no, it was Mayor Waterman – no, it was each dreamer’s father, and he was coming to punish them —

All awakened with a start, sweating and shaking. Brogun could barely quiet the voice in his head long enough to prepare his mind for spells, while Otieno kept staring off into the distance. It was clear to everyone that they must find the source of this mental assault before they succumbed.

They walked, trancelike, through the rest of their explorations: the passageway lined with lifelike copper statues in poses of horror; the dust-covered laboratory with giant, dragon-sized dissection equipment; the strange stone house with what could only be a handle on its roof; and finally the ramp leading up to a blank wall, behind which rough voices could be heard.

Kell practically sleepwalked up the ramp and put his ear to the wall – or would have, had his head not passed through space where the wall should have been. He arrested his near-fall with a start and looked in surprise at what lay beyond the illusion.

A huge cave lay spread below him, its floor twenty feet beneath where Kell was perched. In the corner to his right was a cage made of copper, two children enclosed within it: a girl, whimpering, pressed against the back part of the prison, and a boy, his hands tightly gripping the bars and his eyes locked on a scene taking place at the center of the room. Kell followed the boy’s gaze and saw, some sixty feet away, a stone altar upon which another boy lay spread-eagled, his arms and legs held by squat creatures with greyish skin; another creature of the same type, but wearing a golden circlet upon its brow, stood nearby.

Looking down on the boy was a figure clad in the sickly green robes and glassy mask of the Cener druids: he held a hammer in one hand and in his other could just be made out a sliver of blue crystal.

“Now, boy,” the druid rasped, “your suffering is at an end. Either you will gain The Power, or you will die. Either way, boy, your miserable life will be better.”

The Cener carefully positioned the crystal sliver. “Hold him still, you oafs!” he snapped at the creatures beside him. They looked uncertainly at their leader, who scowled and said, “Do as Caligraf commands.”

The boy on the altar struggled feebly while the one in the cage nearby began jumping up and down in fear and excitement. Caligraf raised the hammer in one arm even as Kell raised his arm to withdraw an arrow from his quiver, his other hand snatching at his bow. The druid’s arm reached the apex of its preparatory arc at the very instant Kell’s fingers released the straining bowstring....