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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Joshua Randall" data-source="post: 952242" data-attributes="member: 7737">The Road to HammerdalAs he could not pursue whatever had just attacked him, Brogun returned to the forest clearing. The horse was nowhere to be found; it must’ve fled deeper into the forest. However, a search of the area did turn up something of note: the body of a Knight of the White Mountain, his neck broken, lay partially obscured in the undergrowth.Brogun tried to recall what he knew of the knightly order. Certainly, they were recognizable by their distinctive garb: clothing and armor of the purest white, the latter specially treated to resist discoloration. Their device was the Seal of Hammerdal, a majestic snow-capped peak graced by twin silver stars. Followers of Saint Haleón, the Knights were dedicated to truth, honor, and goodness.Why was one of them traveling alone? How had he died – in a fall from his horse, as the broken neck suggested, or in battle? Had it been the Knight’s spear that had impaled the creature Brogun had fought? And what was that thing, anyway?The dwarf sighed to himself. "I grow frustrated with these unanswerable questions," he said petulantly, staring at the heavens. "Enlighten me, Father," Brogun implored. But there was no response.DM’s note: possibly because the PC didn’t actually cast a spell. This would’ve been a great time for an augury to determine a course of action, for example.Shrugging at his recalcitrant god, Brogun set to work digging a grave for the fallen Knight. After some hours of work, he stood over the mounded earth."I don’t know your customs. Or your name," Brogun began, awkwardly. "Whomever you are – were – I hope that you find peace on the great Mountain of Heaven." After a suitable few minutes with bowed head, the dwarven cleric departed. Death comes to every warrior eventually, he mused, for none can defeat the final enemy. He shuddered uncomfortably and trudged onwards.= = =Behind him, the spear lay where Brogun had dropped it in alarm after being attacked. The carvings upon it seemed to writhe and dance along the haft, though that could have been a trick of the light filtering through the branches above.Time passed. Toward dusk, several sets of eyes stared at the spear in widened wonder. The eyes’ owners spoke to each other in their barely audible language. Only after they had encouraged each other sufficiently did they quickly dart from the trees into the clearing to snatch up the spear and return, hearts pounding in alarm, to the protective embrace of the forest.= = =Something is wrong here. There should be a steady flow of traffic into the Tunnel of Tarnalin, but you see no one. Peering into the tunnel, you see the trails of several carts, but no people. Listening intently, you hear no sounds.You step cautiously into the tunnel entrance and begin walking. The road is level and well-graded, the walls ramrod strait, the vaulted ceiling showing no signs of wear despite its age. Your chest swells with pride at the craftsmanship of your ancestors. Human kingdoms may come and go, but the work of the dwarves endures.Up ahead, you spot a cart by the side of the tunnel. It must have been abandoned just recently, for there are fresh cuts to the leather straps that would have connected it to a team of horses. Your breath sounds loud in the quiet as you advance, axe at the ready.Movement – an apple, dislodged from its pile, rolls off the cart and lands with a plunk on the roadbed. You freeze, vision locked upon the pile of apples.There! Something behind them! It’s a – what is it?A creature, no more than a foot-and-a-half in height, pokes it whiskered snout into the air. Its face is that of a common rat, but its eyes glitter with intelligence, and it stands upright. From what you can see of its body, it is covered with soft, light-brown fur, thought it is far from naked. No, the creature wears a pair of tiny woolen breeches, as well as a vest and loose-fitting jacket. In its left hand is clutched a makeshift spear: a stick with a nail bound to its tip with twine. In its right hand, the creature holds a half-eaten apple.It is just about to take another bite when it spots you staring at it and squeaks in alarm, dropping its prize and disappearing around the side of the cart. Moments later, it returns, tiny spear leveled at your knees."YouzanottaDureneezman-man,eh? YouzanotaBlackscreemerz,izyouz?"You can barely keep up with the little thing’s incredibly rapid speech. Even a comprehend languages has no effect; the creature is already speaking Durenese, after a fashion."I am Brogun Rhumenheim, Priest of Kirabá. I mean you no harm," you state, slowly and clearly, hoping your interlocutor will reciprocate.The creature sniffs the air, its whiskers dancing. Very deliberately, it speaks to you with exaggerated care, as one would to a child or a pet."Youza not a Blackscreamerz, thatza for sure." It pauses, then plants its spear on the ground in front of it and proclaims proudly, "Iza Twitchwhiskers. Youza wantza follow mee, yez?"After a brief discussion, you determine that Twitchwhiskers is willing to guide you throw a network of passages that run beside, under, and above the main tunnel. That way, you won’t fall afoul of the "Blackscreemerz," one of which apparently entered some time ago and caused quite a panic. Twitchwhiskers, who says he is of a race called the Noodnic, had bravely ventured forth to lay claim to the cart full of apples when you two spotted each other. He says he will take you to "ze beeg bozza" who will in turn decide what is to be done.You follow the furry creature as it hurries along a narrow, twisting passage for nearly ten minutes and are about to call for a halt when the passage opens out into a huge torchlit cavern. A stunning sight greets your eyes. The cavern houses an entire colony of these strange creatures, all busy sorting through and examining a vast pile of miscellaneous objects littering the center of the hall.A large Noodnic, wearing a brightly colored cloak of patchwork silks, addresses you, saying he is the leader of this colony. His name is Gashgiss and he welcomes you and invites you to join him on top of a raised platform in the center of the chamber. Gashgiss draws himself up to his full two-foot height and you politely bend a knee before him."Iza show yooze z'way past ze Blackscreemerz, eh?" he offers. You nod your agreement and follow him down the steps of the platform, to the hall below, where Gashgiss leads the way along one of the many passages leading out of the cavern. After an hour of trekking through the dark, he stops and points towards a shaft of light that is pouring through a crevice in the far distance. "Yooze goez left, yooze be zafe," he says.You thank Gashgiss for his help before bowing and departing. You squeeze through a fissure in the rock wall and drop three feet to the pathway below. You are thinking how kind the Noodnics were when you put your hand to your pouch and discover it is missing half its gold. Shaking your head, but unable to suppress a smile, you walk out of the Tunnel of Tarnalin and into the outskirts of Hammerdal.Hooves thunder on the road as a column of mounted men approaches. They are clad in burnished armor and bear heavy lances. From the center of the column comes a commanding, haughty voice."State your name and your purpose here, or face our steel!"Edit: I lifted some of the dialogue and description from the Lone Wolf book Fire on the Water; my player hasn't read the books, so I can plagiarize with impunity. Also, here are a couple of pictures, courtesy of Project Aon:<a href="http://www.projectaon.org/xhtml/lw/02fotw/ill7.htm" target="_blank">Twitchwhiskers</a><a href="http://www.projectaon.org/xhtml/lw/02fotw/ill9.htm" target="_blank">Gashgiss</a> (player comment: "He's a pimp!")</blockquote>

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