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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Rel" data-source="post: 891726" data-attributes="member: 99">I'd just like to say that for those of you who waited so long to get my next installment, I am very sorry to have made you wait.  All I can say is that there came a point late last year when I was just burned out on writing the Story Hour.  I couldn't bear the thought of slogging through the last few updates.  Part of that was because there was some truly spectacular moments of gaming in those last sessions and I just couldn't do them justice in my frame of mind back then.But as I was writing up this one, the words seemed to rush out of my fingers as I types.  It was very nearly effortless and I am stoked about writing the next installment.  It feels really great to write when you're "in the groove", so expect a new update soon.  Probably before the end of the week.  Hopefully on Wednesday.Thanks again to anybody who is still reading this and I hope it was worth the wait. East on a Cold WindThe clanging was incessant.  Literally all day and all night (as though those times could be differentiated in the underground halls of Durgeddin's Forge) hammers rang on steel and mithral.  The forges had been too long out from the control of their rightful owners and they intended to make up for lost time.For Raven, the ringing was as soothing as a mother's song.  He had long been away from his home far in the eastern mountains where the sounds of the forges of Mithrak Ghul had rung with hammer blows as he became a servant of Moradin.  And like the forges of his homeland, those within the Stone Tooth imparted the metals worked on them with strength and magic.  His own hammer moved to his will and the magic flowed from his voice as he annealed his armor with a new enchantment.  For a priest of Moradin a hammer was of utmost importance.  But a hammer in your hand without steel across your back was a quick road to a glorious death.  Raven had been caught without the protection of his armor once too often and this enchantment would assure that when it was time to fight, his armor could be Called to him with but a thought.***Thought was becoming difficult for Speaks With Stone.  Urgency was tightening its grip on him and each passing day he felt as though the stone of the mountain above him was pressing on him, trying to squeeze him out and send him where he knew he must go.  Now that the Journal of Macer was in the hands of the dwarven Record Keepers, he could commit himself to a dangerous task.  Its danger and the dread he felt about it did nothing to shake his resolve in completing it.  The elven Dark Druids must be dealt with.Any moral ambivalence that he had felt upon learning about his predecessors among the Druidic Order being involved with the Temple of Bane was gone.  His purpose and the power that he served were now clear.  His allegience was to Nature, represented by Great Root, not some organization of other druids who huddled in their parks and preserves across the Crescent Sea in Emor.  His task was to destroy the Dark Druids and the undead minions that they were amassing.  And that was a task that was better done soon, before their evil corruption could spread through the Darkwood destroying he and his friends.***Friends was not a word that Scar would ever come to call the Dwarves of the Stone Tooth.  The fact that Raven (or whatever his many-sylabled dwarven name was) had vouched for him as well as Speaks, who had been instrumental in liberating the Stone Tooth from the Orcs and the Dragon, did little to change the fact that he was an Orc, living among Dwarves.  At best, he was regarded with pity, a poor half-breed whose mother had been so badly used by the orc tribe that had captured her.  At worst, he was accused of being a spy, lying in wait to strike at the Dwarves when their backs were turned.But their backs were never turned when Scar was around.  His presence in any room assured that he would be the focus of unwanted attention.  It was time to go.  The sooner the Dark Druids were dealt with, the sooner he could get back among the peoples of the Northern Wilds.   There, he was still viewed with some distrust by those who didn't know him well.  But he could take care of himself, and, when the situation demanded it, could take care of others too.  Independance and the willingness to aid the less able were traits that were valued in the harsh lands of the north.  Scar might never have what could truly be called a home.  But if one could be found, it was to the east.  Away from the dwarven mountain.***By sheer luck, dawn was breaking as the trio of heroes gathered on the rocky path descending from atop the Stone Tooth.  Raven was the only one to look back.  He stared at the stout doors that the dwarves had repaired and could almost feel the heat of the forge through them.  He could have spent years back at the forge, his hands and hammer bringing use to useless ingots.  But that would have to wait."It's time." spoke Speaks.  His throat formed a chant and his hands wove patterns as a force of animism swirled among and then gripped the three companions.  In the blink of an eye, three birds took flight into the summer sky and headed east.But though it was summer, the Stone Tooth stood high and it stood in the far north of the Western Wilds.  Though the sun shone brightly on the friends as they set out on their task, it was a cold wind that bore them to the east.Next Time (hopefully Wednesday <img src="https://cdn.jsdelivr.net/joypixels/assets/8.0/png/unicode/64/1f609.png" class="smilie smilie--emoji" loading="lazy" width="64" height="64" alt=";)" title="Wink    ;)"  data-smilie="2"data-shortname=";)" />):  Impossible Odds - Again!</blockquote>

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