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Message: <blockquote data-quote="arwink" data-source="post: 1393561" data-attributes="member: 2292">Winter in Bor is a harsh and dangerous time, a season where night hangs over the land for sixteen hours of the day and humanoid creatures ravage the countryside under the light of a blood-red moon that drives the goblins and beast-men mad.  In the outlying towns, fierce battles a fought in the darkness as villager and farmer alike try to drive off the crazed bands of warriors that throw themselves against the town walls.  Goblin arrows and spears cause almost as many deaths as the cold, and the only thing that allows the battered population of the fledgling nation to survive is the stout heart, muscled sword arms and deep pockets of their leaders.  Especially those that have had the foresight to hire dwarven mercenaries from Thorbeck to keep their people safe.Of course, none of this is of great concern to the various members of the Copperheads, who spend the cold months among the blissful heat of Thorbeck and its volcanic core.  They join the various merchants who have made the same decision and make the cold trek to the dwarven gates, and are delighted to find that they are still considered guests of the Thane when they arrive.  With little ceremony, but a great deal of warmth, they are returned to their quarters that have a view of the city and are quickly drawn into the daily life of the city.  Geoffrey spends more time in the dwarven courts, Blarth and Yip spend their time drinking and brawling throughout the city, Amarin spends some quality time with the stronghold’s sages and Halgo hones his skills at the forge as well as learning more secrets relating to the craft of arcane items.  As the months wear by he rapidly creates many marvels for his companions, crafting boots that allow the wearer to cling to the walls for Yip and Geoffrey as well as embedding defensive magic into the clerics armour.  Amarin returns from the market one day with a strange staff, crafted from petrified wood and garnished with small crystals.  His psi-crystal sits in a crook at the tip of the strange device, and he gleefully demonstrates the staff’s ability to focus his control over the strange crystalline familiar, sending it scurrying around the apartment on thin, ectoplasmic legs.Months pass idly; the cold winter snows raging outside while the Copperheads rest in the lap of dwarven luxury.  Battle-weary muscles slowly start to relax, old wounds no longer have the slight ache that they normally do, and everyone slowly becomes well rested and exceptionally bored.Then in the late hours of one evening a dwarf wearing brown robes suddenly appears on their balcony, wearing the holy symbol of Durkannan the Forger around his neck.  A pair of armed dwarven warriors suddenly appears behind him, their ornate ceremonial hook-hammers glowing with arcane energy.“You will come with us,” the first dwarf intones, his voice leaving no room for argument.  “A grave crime has been committed, and you five are all that stands between us and utter destruction.  Gather your equipment – I will take you to Yurgar Forgeson, and he will explain all.”Everyone looks at the dwarf lazily.“What?” Geoffrey asks.  The robed dwarf sighs in exasperation.“You’re needed,” he says, this time with less grandeur.  “A great evil, end of the world, great secrecy, you’re our only hope.  There’s probably a lot of money in it, if that helps.”The Copperheads are ready within minutes.“How exactly are we getting there?” Halgo asks.  “Step off the edge of the balcony,” the robed dwarf explains.  “The skiff is cloaked from sight.”“Uh-huh,” Halgo says carefully, looking dubiously at the empty space.  “And if we step in the wrong place?”Amarin has clambered over the lip of the balcony before the dwarf can answer.“Wow,” he says, his voice coming from empty space.  “I can see you all, and there’s a metal flying thing here, and more dwarves.  I should take notes…”Soon the entire group is loaded onto the dwarves flying skiff, the stealth and secrecy of their passage marred only by the wailing of Blarth as he clings to the centre of the strange metal barge, letting every waking dwarf in Thorbeck know exactly how much he hates to fly…</blockquote>

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