Sir Gerard d'Montfort - In his own words (a tale of Anka Seth)- Updated Nov 11th

[Haraash Saan]

The Book of Ruftameon was emblazed with beautifully intricate gold script on its cover. Ruftameon, as Mortec informed me (he too was sick of the squabbling and had started reading over my shoulder, so to speak), was the head librarian of the Tower of Todesmagie, a very significant and powerful member of his religion. How his book came into the possession of Grisha was a mystery.

The book itself was very unusual. I opened it at a random page upon which was an illustration of a tall beautiful man. He held an arrogant pose, arms crossed and head held high demonstrating his pride. His garments were gorgeous. He wore a long emerald green silken coat that was open, revealing a muscular chest. His matching trousers, wrapped with thick white scarf fell to his exposed feet. However, it was his face with its narrow nose, thin lipped smile and piercing red eyes that I was enamoured with. Such a beautiful face I had never seen before. It was though he was perfect, except for the reddish tinge to his skin.

I shook my head to clear it and asked Mortec, “Who is he?”

“Who? The page is blank you fool!” he snapped, agitated and impatient to get his own hands on the tomb.

“No, no. It is you that is mistaken. I can see him here as clear as I see you.” I said.

Our debate shifted the focus of our companions from themselves to the topic of our conversation. I described the man in the book as I showed them the picture. Each responded that they could not see anything other than a vacant page.

“Here then.” I said somewhat huffily. “You take it and see what you see.”

I handed the book to Mortec. As soon as it left my hand it snapped shut of it’s own volition. Mortec opened it to a random page and described the picture he saw. A room, similar to a study, with a bag full of coins in it and a picture frame on the wall that had no painting within it.

It was my turn to be sceptical. I could see no such drawing on the page he had opened. After some experimentation we managed to discover that every person saw a different image and no other person could see it, and every time the same person opened the book, the same image was shown. It was indeed a very unusual book. We mused over it for some time but drew no intelligent conclusions. Eventually we decided that we should ponder it no longer and continue our journey.

Finally after many more hours we saw the cliffs of Yorathton and landed on the very beach that the pirates had stormed.

Upon climbing the stairs from the beach we were confronted by a page boy. , “The Baron wishes you to join him in the library immediately.” He said with as much self importance as his breaking voice could muster.

Collectively we sighed wearily and trudged to our cottages to stow our gear

I quickly washed the sea salt from my hands and face, threw my travel clothes onto the floor and attired myself in something more suitable. It simply was not appropriate to answer the summons of the Baron in weathered and worn clothing!

The Baron sat behind his immense desk. He looked haggard, as if a great many things had occurred, or been occurring in the few days we had been on Sorcerer’s Isle. His look suited his current demeanour.

“About time you were back. Fill us in with what you have found.” he barked.

The ‘us’ he was spoke of were himself and another man seated in the study. The wrinkles upon his face and the grey beard that attempted to mask them betrayed his age.

“Forgive the Baron.” said the old man in a kindly tone, “Recent events have taken their toll.”

“My name is Ruftameon,” he paused, his eyes twinkling as Mortec and I exhaled sharply. Ruftameon was the author of the mysterious book we had found and opened that very day. That seemed a strange coincidence to me.

He continued, “a scribe from Riverglenn.”

“Yes, yes.” Interrupted the Baron impatiently. “Hurry and tell your tale!” he directed to us.

I am free to admit that I was flustered by meeting Ruftameon, so I quickly blurted out our tale instead of giving it the artistic license it was due. The pair listened intently, the Baron shaking his head in disapproval at some of our actions, but remaining silent.

Ruftameon smiled smugly when we mentioned his book, “I thought it was down this way somewhere. You see I loaned it to someone, and, well, they, misplaced it. But I shall be glad to have it back.” Of course we obliged and returned it to him, but not without some queries.

We discovered that the book answered questions both thought and asked, if the reader was clear of mind and purpose. The random fashion we had read it suggested that we were clear on neither, and hence the responses the book gave were answers to questions and unasked and unknown . The book had simply shown us pictures that related to our past, present and future. Ruftameon told us that each of the images we had seen reflected some sort of relationship that we had or could have with the people or groups illustrated. In some way we were tied to great events that were taking place. When queried further Ruftameon proclaimed that without further study he could not tell us more other than to be aware and perhaps even wary of any encounters with the aspects from the book. The Baron made it clear that we had no such time, as further training, especially group tactics, was required before the games.

It was obvious that we had been dismissed, but Moxadder, once again demonstrating that he had no social etiquette blurted out, “I also found some tatts. Tattoos that is. Found ‘em on the plague boys necks I did.”

Moxadder’s disregard of the Baron’s dismissal did yield some interesting answers. The scribe Ruftameon perked up at Moxadder’s news, and explained that the symbol described was one used by an organisation called Orsa Terminus whose existence he had suspected for some time, despite having found little proof. The rumours that he had gathered over time suggested that the group seemed to have its hand in many different and apparently unrelated events.

“Although they would never actually attempt something so bold, or so open.” said Ruftameon thoughtfully to himself. “No, they use others to do their work. What you have found is that someone, most likely the Dominion, was attempting to place blame for the Duchesses assassination, thwarted or successful, on Orsa Terminus. Why they would do that I cannot quite fathom. I must ponder this news. Well done.”

More questions without answers! It was obvious to me that the Dominion did not wish to be linked to the Duchesses assassination attempt, but why? And for that matter why would the Dominion bother with trying to cast suspicion on a secret organisation like Orsa Terminus, that hardly anyone even knew existed?

 

[Haraash Saan]

Over the next ten days we sparred and trained, relearning tactics and honing skills that the Baron deemed necessary.

It was the second day of the month of Burn when we once again set off from Yorathton, although this time we had thousands of Silver Sickles in our packs to pay for our entry in the Gladatorial Games of Halfast.

I sat astride my newly purchased horse caressing its neck and reassuring it. I too had sunk to talking to animals; amazing what a few experiences will do. Morgan had also bought a mount. The others stood in the mud milling about waiting for Moxadder. An unseasonal drizzle fell steadily. Through its haze he finally arrived, boots splashing through the mud, spattering it in all directions. He ran up puffing, “Sorry. Just had to get me some supplies.”

“Yes. You couldn’t do without them could you?” spat Morgan sarcastically.

That was the scene as we left Yorathton. Heads bowed against the drizzle instead of held high and proud as entrants to the games should look. Foeld, the nature God, had no sense of occasion. He could have at least provided us with fine weather.

The rain cleared by late morning, making our midday meal that little bit more enjoyable. As we travelled on into the afternoon it became apparent to all that we were being watched. From under bushes and in the long grass by the road way we passed pairs of rodent eyes peering at us. Every now and again we saw a rat scamper across the trail.

Sometime near late afternoon we saw a column of smoke away to the south. Soon after spotting it we crossed a branch in the road that headed in that direction, so being the dutiful representatives of the Baron that we were we decided to investigate.

We wandered down the road perhaps a mile before coming to a blazing homestead. By the look of it there was nothing we could do to save the building, and as we came closer, probably nothing we could do for the owners either. Goat carcases lay with massive bite wounds in a pen near the road. Argonne and Moxadder were quick to find evidence of Rat Trolls and rats. A gasp and a pointed finger from Argonne confirmed it. A small scaly face peered at us from the scrub not one hundred yards away. Some huge rats appeared from within the house, they also eyed us intently. There was nothing to be gained by staying so we hurried back to the main road to continue to Halfast.

A wary bunch we were when it came to settle for the night. We chose to establish watches to ensure that nothing crept up on us. My vigil was uneventful and it was only in the morning as we were woken by the rays of the sun breaking through the clouds left from the previous day that we learnt that Morgan and Mortec had seen ghosts walk straight through our camp.

The rest of us laughed heartily and scoffed at their silliness, but they would not be dissuaded. They claimed to have seen shimmering semi-transparent figures, adorned in white Gerechian robes and tabards marching down the road, then through our camp and off again. When hailed the spectres did not respond, they just continued on their way. So adamant were the pair that I almost started to believe their ridiculous tale.

That day, just after we had passed the temple of Srcan where we had attempted to shelter from the rain all those days ago on our original journey from Halfast to Yorathton, we found more rats.

Several of the large ones, perhaps a dozen, were feasting on something that lay in the middle of our path. Strav and Argonne ventured closer to identify the dead thing. Two rats looked up at them in annoyance, disturbed from their meal. “Blimey! It’s a Squatter Troll! There ‘aint no way these blighters could have taken it down.” Argonne called back, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Come on! They’re only rats.” said Strav, “Let’s just kill them and be on our way.”

His little speech seemed to have sparked interest in the rats. They started squeaking excitedly as they forgot their meal and began to leap about as if in great anticipation of something.

“Do you hear that?” asked Mortec softly.

“What?” was the general reply.

A low rumbling cut short any response Mortec considered. It was as if thunder was rolling in across the ground. Little stones started to shake on the road. I could feel the vibrations accompanying the deep, booming and loudening sound.

Then we heard the squeaking. As if a thousand rats were charging our way. I was wrong. It was more like a million! And with no less than a Squatter Troll fleeing before them. each massive step bringing the ominous booming sound closer to us.

“Run!” I screamed. No time for decorum. I grabbed Mortec by the scruff of the neck and hoisted him up to my mount, no mean feat for a man of my strength, but it has been said that fear enables a man to achieve more than he normally could. Even so, I thank Srcan that Mortec was a Gnome. I doubt I could have lifted anyone else. I spurred my horse off the road, angling away from the rat horde that threatened to swamp us. The others followed, Morgan riding at my heels, the others running as fast as they could.

A glance over my shoulder allowed me to see the mighty troll fall, finally overcome by numbers. He was swamped instantly but the plague continued its ferocious journey toward us.

My horse galloped through long tussocky grass, a few minutes later we crested a hillock and saw a remarkable scene, as if the one behind us was not enough. Several peasants toiled in a field to the side of a large hill. That in itself was not odd, but the fact that there were a few rats about gnawing on them as they worked was. I swear, as the farmers swung their hoes into the earth, or what was left of their broken and rotted tools, rats ate their fill of them. The people did not even seem to notice the rodent feast that they had become.

I turned my mount to see whether the rats had stopped pursuit. Morgan and I seemed to have out distanced them, but then came the rest of the company. Strav was leading the way, his feet barely touching the earth before they launched another long stride. Moxadder was next, moving very quickly although puffing hard. Finally came Argonne and Kuruul. The lanky woodsman was holding his newly repaired axe in one hand as he ran. Kuruul loped easily beside him, as if acting the guardian.

Behind my friends stormed the rats, screaming their shrill shrieks and quite simply intent on devouring us. I wheeled my horse around, almost losing Mortec in the process but his stubby fingers gripped firmly into my waist, saving him from a tumble, and headed for the peasants.

“No!” bellowed Strav urgently, “The hill! Open the doors!”

What doors? And then I saw them. Two massive bronze doors set in the hill. I urged my mare forwards as Morgan did the same with his mount.

I leapt off my horse and began to pull at the handle. It was no good. The massive doors must have stood fifteen feet high. Morgan and Mortec were trying to tug open the other door and with similar lack of success. In frustration I stepped back and looked up at the immovable barriers and noticed for the first time the crudely drawn crossed stakes painted in dry blood. A temple of Geduld, the death God, was not a place that anyone, especially uninvited, wanted to enter.

Strav arrived and threw his weight into aiding Morgan and Mortec with the door. Soon after came an exhausted Moxadder. He immediately bent, hand on knees and gasped in huge breaths. By the time Argonne arrive the door had still not moved. He rushed to aid the others, hurling the Gnome aside and taking his place.

There was no room for me to help so I stood back. I had never envisaged dying to a rat plague, gnawed to death. It did not seem a particularly noble way to die.

“Gerard! Look there! Behind the symbol.” said Mortec excitedly bringing my thoughts back to our immediate situation.

I looked. Mortec had spied a symbol behind Geduld’s mark. I brushed off the blood with a gloved hand and revealed a hub with twelve arrows radiating from it. This was marvellous. Not only was I going to be eaten alive, it was going to be in front of a Gerechian temple. Perhaps Gerech himself was free of the Lightstone and was delivering his justice upon to me after I had spoke ill of him and taunted his followers.

The rats appeared on the crest where I had turned to observe their progress. Their cries became more excited. Their prey had stopped.

A large creak to my side signalled that the trio had made progress. The bronze studded door had opened a crack. Morgan, Argonne and Strav were frantically pulling it open. Moxadder, Mortec and I ran to assist by bracing against the closed door and pushing the opened one. The crack widened. Mortec slipped through, pushing from within. It inched open some more and Moxadder, Kuruul and I followed suit.

The vermin were very close now. Perhaps only seconds from their meal. Another moment saw the others dive through the opening dragging the horses with them. All of the sudden we were pulling madly.

The screeches of joy were upon us!

Boom! The door slammed shut. Darkness engulfed us. Only our ragged breathing could be heard.

 

[Haraash Saan]

To those that had been following the tales of Sir Gerard d'Montfort I apologize for my lengthy absence. I hope to be back to posting twice a week from here on.

 

[Haraash Saan]

Chapter 7 – In Gerech We Trust

I started a low chant that Zmrat had taught me and opened my palm. A small, dim ball of light appeared in my hand. Slowly but surely the sphere grew in size and strength until it provided enough illumination for us to see where we stood.

It was a large chamber, we could barely make out the stone walls on either side of us and could see neither ceiling nor an end to the room.

We moved forward warily, our boots scuffing dust from the cobbled floor.

“Wait” whispered Strav, “I hear, singing”

I strained my ears but could not hear the voices that Strav’s keen elf ears had heard.

Once more we moved forward, this time even more slowly, listening for the song that Strav had heard.

“Persecute the pagans and bring us joy
Create a world we can all enjoy
Praise be to Gerech, Lord of Light,
Bringer of Law, and the just fight”

I sighed, Gerechians. Damn them all. Whilst I am the first to appreciate that we were in a temple of Gerech, one would have thought that the bloodied crosses on the door would have signified the end to any Gerechian presence here, but no. Instead, my poor ears were tortured with damnable Gerechian chanting.

At the end of the chamber we could now see six white robed figures facing another who had his back to us. These curious people began to sing yet another Gerechian hymn.

For my own sake I interrupted, “Hello my good man.” I felt it necessary to be polite so that we could get some assistance, although the last thing I wanted to do was be nice to a Gerechian.

The leader turned slowly, a frown crept across his very pale face. His skin was so white that it seemed he had not seen daylight in many years. “Shh.” He said putting his finger to his thin lips. “We are practicing our praise to the Lord.”

I hate these self righteous bastards! Trying to keep calm I persisted. “I am most sorry to disturb your beautiful songs, but we need sanctuary. You see we have just been forced upon your hospitality by a plague of rats.”

His frowned deepened. At least I was annoying him. I took some pleasure in that. “You must seek the temple,” he said gesturing to two doors on either wall. With that the choir leader turned and struck up another hymn. That was enough of a sign that it was time for me to exit.

“Well if you do not mind, can you please watch after my horse.” I concluded as I dropped the reins and headed to the wooden door on my left.

As I reached for the dull brass knob I heard a muffled gasp and an accompanying thud. My hand went to the hilt of Eldritch Light as I spun. A few feet away from me Morgan lay on the ground, hands clawing at his face whilst his body writhed on the cobbles.

The thing he was clawing at was a strange mask depicting a stern-faced man. It had been bought on a whim by Argonne at a market on Sorcerer’s Isle and the woodsman had gifted it to the warrior.

“Get it off!” Morgan whimpered in pain. He was tearing at it, trying to pry it loose but his efforts were in vane. The mask would not budge. The Fastendian warrior moaned in pain, “It hurts,” he sobbed. “Please get it off me.” His voice was muffled and sounded weary, as though he had undergone some massive struggle.

Argonne stooped over our fallen comrade and tried to pull the mask off, but he had no luck. The mask would not be shifted. Mortec closed his eyes in concentration and began to mumble an incantation of under his breath. The gnome slowly probed forward with his hands spread however as soon as he touched the mask he leapt back, crying “’Tis a foul artefact of Gerech that has imprisoned our friend!”

Morgan roughly pushed Mortec away as he struggled to his feet. He was staggered momentarily but then shook his head and steadied. “That’s better,” he said, his voice no longer muffled, but strangely deeper than the norm. “It doesn’t hurt any more.”

The mask itself appeared different. Its surface looked fluid, like water moving under a thin sheet of ice. It no longer had the same stern face upon it either. Rather it was now more of a hybrid of Morgan’s face and that of visage on the mask.

“It’s speaking to me!” rumbled Morgan in surprise. “Can you hear it?”

None of us had heard a word, other than his own.

First speaking dogs, now silent speaking masks, does everything possess the power of speech? I stared at the brass knob in front of me, waiting for it to say something.

“It claims it is Valintin’s mask and that this was once a mighty Gerechian Grand temple run by the head priest Constintine Seth.” He continued, the timbre of his voice was somewhat disconcerting.

Perhaps that is why Morgan had felt compelled to put it on, maybe the artefact had felt the presence of the temple

The word Seth was an Old Gerechian honorific meaning great father. It was a title given to the most significant and powerful priests of Gerech in times before the Connvocation were overthrown. Valintin, however, was not a name that I was familiar with. Whoever he had been he certainly had owned an interesting mask.

Morgan continued to question the mask, but he relayed no further answers to us.

Glancing to my comrades, all shared similar expressions of doubt and wariness. My general curiosity was somewhat curbed by a sense of foreboding. One of our group was now directly in contact, or so it seemed, with ancient Gerchian power. I could not see how this was a good thing. At least this time I felt confident that I would not be alone in watching our friend.

Stranger still the choir of Gerchians had not dropped a single note and their hymns continued uninterrupted.

The left door opened into a long corridor lined with lit torches. My ball of light was no longer required, so I clenched my fist over it and watched it blink out with audible crackle.

The torch light revealed that we stood in the presence of six bejewelled stone statues. Each held an arrogant standing pose holding some object of significance. I brushed my gloved hand over the dust that had settled on a golden name plate, “Artyom Seth, Eight Lord of Light” it read. In his hand he carried an ornately carved sceptre. There was something unusual about the statue, his face was blank, impassive, unlike the statues on either side of him. They were looked pleased and satisfied with themselves.

The name sounded familiar when I mumbled it to myself. Then it struck me! Artyom was one of the Lords of Light that lead his legion from Godsheim to challenge the Dominion’s forces. They were wiped out, never to be seen again.

I voiced this knowledge to my companions hoping that it might spark their memories of the other Gerechian Lords, but to no avail. They knew nothing of them.

It was at this point that I noticed Argonne and Moxadder speaking softly between themselves. “How much do ya reckon they’re worth?” asked Argonne as he nodded to the jewels on the carved forms.

“It does not matter how much they are worth.” I interjected. “We are not taking them. We are not here to loot a temple that is still used! Even if it is a Gerechian one.” I added

“But,“ began Argonne.

“No. Let us move on.” I said.

They never cease to amaze me. Common thieves and plunderers they were, the pair of them. Now they wished to desecrate a holy site. There was no way I would allow it. It does not pay to upset the Gods.

We left the statues, intact, and found another door at the end of the passageway. This door led to another long corridor, however, this one was occupied. Several pallid, robed people stood some way away on either side of what looked like a pit.

“Hail good people.” I sang out, “We seek sanctuary. Can you help us?”

They turned to face us and slowly plodded along the cobbles towards us. The white circle of Gerech that each wore around their necks swayed in time with each step.

 

[Haraash Saan]

One approached me, a concerned look upon his face. “Do you know the way to the chapel?” he asked.

“Um, no.” I replied slightly taken aback. One would think that a worshipper in his own temple would know where the chapel was.

“We seek sanctuary good sir. We have just escaped a plague of rats and seek to recuperate in your temple.” I continued, recovering myself.

He looked confused for a moment before asking once again, “Do you know the way to the chapel?”

Now it was I that was confused. The man seemed to ignore everything that I had said. “Excuse me?” I queried gently, “I do not know where your chapel is, but we would appreciate any help you could give.”

“Do you know the way to the chapel?” he responded.

I HATE GERECHIANS! How much more annoying and unhelpful could a person be. My patience was wearing thin. “No.” I said sharply as I pushed past him.

There were two doors along the wall on either side of the pit. I hoped they would lead us to someone more intelligible than the chapel obsessed Gerechians. Alas, the first was a weapons room that had been looted, although Morgan did spy some spears and halberds that had not been taken.

The second was much more interesting. It was empty other than a set of breast plate that lay of the floor. Emblazoned upon it was a stylised Gerechian symbol; a small white circle with the straight arrows radiating from it.

As Morgan walked toward it, no doubt to examine it further, Strav caught him on the shoulder.

“Stay your feet friend.” He said pointing at the wall.

The word ‘Mine’ had been written on it in blood. Even though it had dried an age ago it still sent an eerie shiver down my spine.

“Perhaps that is for the best, Morgan.” I said, supporting the Elf.

Morgan hesitated, then shrugged Stravarious’s hand off his shoulder and strode purposefully forward. He knelt and lifted the armour, turning as he did so. “No, I think I’ll be fine.” He said with a sly smile and with that removed his own armour and donned the other.

I wonder if that mask had told him to take it. He cut the figure of a fine Gerechian crusader in that armour and the mask of Valentin. Interesting, perhaps the young Fastendian was turning away from his beloved Thuus and being converted by Gerech. It was bad enough being polite to Gerechians, but calling one comrade was surely going too far.

One thing had become clear to us. This temple was not one that was practicing. Words written in blood were not the work of Gerechians, that was much more styling of Geduld’s followers. So why on earth were there Gerechians still here? Why had they not been killed by the followers of the God of Death? It was they that had marked the doors of this temple and apparently looted and defiled it. Why had the Gerechians made no effort to clean and cleanse their holy site?

We turned our attention to the pit, an obvious obstacle to the other doors and the exit to this corridor. Gerechian corpses, old and new almost filled it. Their white robes stained red with blood from where massive spikes that rose from the pit had punctured them. I looked away with a grimace of distaste. Whilst I did not like Gerech or his followers and I did not feel any sense of loss for them, I did feel rather nauseous at the sight of their rotting bodies.

A decision was quickly made to avoid attempting to cross that foul pit and go back to the entrance chamber and try the other door.

With the live Gerechians in tow (Argonne the intelligent had told them we were looking for the chapel), we headed back. That boy does not think sometimes. I cannot fathom why he would want those cretins following us about and I was even less pleased when the choir decided to join us as well.

Our swollen party passed through the other door and were greeted with a very familiar sight. Six more statues lined one wall. One wore the same vacant look that Artyom had, but three, including one Valentin, the apparent owner of Morgan’s mask, wore expressions of anger and frustration.

“Why is the statue angry?” asked Morgan.

“How would we know?” said Mortec sharply, less than impressed at Morgan’s Gerechian attire.

“I was asking the mask.” Morgan responded gruffly and chose to keep any further discussions with his mask to himself.

Just as with the first statue-lined corridor there was a door at the end of this one. It opened into yet another passageway also containing four doors along the wall. Gerechian architecture seemed to be based on a principle of order. The similarities we saw in front of us when compared to the previous corridor were disturbing enough for Argonne to order the Gerechians following us to lead us forward. I arched an eyebrow in his direction. He touched his finger to his nose conspiratorially. I got the distinct feeling that a wink accompanied the gesture but due to the mesh cloth that covered his face I could not see for certain (with Morgan joining Argonne and Stravarious in wearing something that obscured their features I was beginning to feel that I was associating with bandits!). Then it dawned on me; the concealed pit!

“Oi you lot! The chapel is way down this corridor, behind that door yonder.” He said pointing vaguely to the door at the very far end of the corridor. He had recognised the similarities and decided to use expendable Gerechians to test his theory.

Callus it may be, but they were only Gerechians. It was not as if Argonne was sending useful people to their doom. In any case the deed was done. They plodded forward in their catatonic state. Fortunately, depending on your point of view, they traversed the cobbled floor without incident.

Our confidence reinforced by our new and willing explorers we undertook a quick search of the four rooms. I was quick to snatch the only things of interest; a map of the city of Godsheim, the original home of the Gods, now deep within the Dominion, and a book entitled Crime and Punishment, Laws of Gerech. I was not sure who was more excited by the find of the book, Mortec or I.

The others urged us to hurry along, impatient swine. I conceded that now was probably not the best time to advance my knowledge and stashed the book and map in my pack. Mortec was aghast, as if a little boy had had a brand new toy taken from him.

Argonne’s zealots milled about in front of the door at the end of the corridor, apparently unable to open it. Strav pushed them aside making a path for the rest of us and opened the door. Joy of joys, more Gerechians. I almost damned Geduld for not doing the job right, but bit back my words. No point bringing yourself to the attention of the God of Death, probably no point damning the God of the damned either for that matter.

Several more of the white robed Gerchians stumbled about the large room slowly. Upon seeing us they asked the same question that their brethren had, “Do you know the way to the chapel?”

I ignored them and took in the surrounds. The walls of the room had once been beautifully painted, I could still make out vibrant colours in some places, but now they were mostly covered in blood and symbols of the death God. Wooden benches and tables lay in ruin and torn paper was strewn all over the floor. The people we found in this room all clutched torn pages and appeared to be reading them. It was as if they did not realise that the books that had once held the paper were long gone.

The poor blighters were not only cursed by worshipping the loathed one, but they also seemed to be in some trance, perhaps cast upon them by the Geduldian priests and doomsayers.

 

[Haraash Saan]

A door and an archway allowed exit from the room. The door was stuck, so Argonne felt it necessary to apply a little force to open it; he kicked it in. Timber and splinters exploded inwards revealing an empty display room. Cabinets, cases and the pedestals on which they had sat had been violently scattered about the place.

The archway led to another passageway. I followed my companions, all bar Moxadder who was in the ‘reading room’ lighting some rolled devil weed. The bald one obviously felt he needed to settle his nerves.

There were several brass fountains that ran down the middle of the corridor. The sight of them repulsed me. Thick, yellow viscous fluid sat in the first one I came across. A faint odour of mould and decay emanated from it. I blanched, and reached for my kerchief to cover my nose and mouth. Thankfully not one jet of that foul liquid was being shot into the air. Or so I had thought.

Just as my hand entered the pocket of my trousers to retrieve my kerchief the vile stuff launched at me. I lurched back attempting to avoid it but my reflexes were not quite quick enough. It splattered all over my chest and its spray sent droplets on my face!

“GET IT OFF!” I screamed wildly clawing at it with my gloved hands. I managed to scrape it off my clothing and face before I retreated to the ‘reading room’ to better inspect myself.

Someone chortled from the corridor. The ingrates have no appreciation for ones appearance or for fine clothing! I had purchased my shirt from Lasoon himself, the finest tailor in Mendus, and now it was ruined. To add further to my woe my spare clothing was on my horse. I sighed, for now a thorough inspection would have to do.

“Watch out!” I heard Argonne cry, closely followed by the clang of forcibly steel on stone.

“Behind you!” yelled Morgan in warning.

What was it that they were fighting? With a final brush I grabbed the hilt of my rapier and began to move to the slimed passage. Moxadder joined me, dagger in one hand and in the other was his precious weed, smoke curling from its lit end.

Something brushed my calf. I stepped away and looked down. A strange rodent with two feathered antennae was flitting about my feet. Glancing about I saw that Moxadder also had two of the vermin pestering him. Mine lunged at me suddenly. I dodged its desperate attack, whipped out Eldritch Light and ran it through but the resilient little bugger did not die. No, instead I swear it tried to bite the blade that had impaled it. With a flick of my wrist I sent it sailing across the room. It slammed solidly into a wall and lay still.

Moxadder had also dispatched one of the rodents challenging him and the other decided that fleeing was its best option. It managed to escape under a hail of Moxadder’s curses and daggers. A long a final draw on his weed and he was calm again.

Turning our attention once more to the corridor with our friends, we saw a flare of bright light come from within.

“Well that’s that.” I heard Argonne say, “We’ll have no more trouble from that stuff.”

As we entered the corridor we saw a strange sight. Both Morgan and Argonne had splotches of the yellow fluid on them, but they also sported burn wounds of some sort. Mortec was trying to tend them as best he could. An area further down the passageway had been charred. The stone walls that edged a pair of strong iron bound double doors had been blackened by some sort of blaze.

Mortec quickly filled Moxadder and I in on what had happened in the passage. Whilst Moxadder and I had dispatched the annoying rodents the others had been attacked by slime. Apparently the fluid had been some sort of creature intent on taking us as its prey.

Keen to be away from the fountains Strav pushed open the heavy doors. They creaked loudly as they resisted him, but Strav won the battle and the doors finally gave. Stairs spiralling down into darkness were the reward for Strav’s effort. We decided to leave them unexplored and seek our exit on this level of the temple.

We passed the last of the muck filled fountains warily, although none lashed out at us, and stepped through an opening at the end of the corridor. I was trailing the group, stepping cautiously and attempting to avoid any further filth on my clothes and boots. When I arrived at the chamber I was greeted with a thousand images of the others. A hundred Mortec’s gazed about in curiosity, and an infinite number of Argonne’s displayed their horrendous visage. The room was filled with wall to wall mirrors. Only two doors, one closed and one shattered broke the reflective magnificence. An opportunity like this did not come along often; I found a free mirror and thoroughly examined my clothing, boots and face for any mark of that repulsive muck that had assailed me.

“Take a look at this!” yelled Moxadder. There was no need to yell as we were all well within earshot, but that is Moxadder for you; never really aware of his surroundings.

His request penetrated my intense inspection. Satisfied that I had cleansed myself of that horrid slime I joined the others who now milled around Moxadder. He stood just inside the bashed in doorway. What was left of the door hung on the one hinge still attached to the wall. Before him was a massive pile of furniture; benches, tables, ornaments, weapons, general furniture, all thrown together to make a mountain of debris.

Mortec threw himself at the pile with gusto. His little hands and feet began scrambling up the stack. He offered a shrill commentary of the various things that he found, but none were of any real interest. Moxadder too decide to better inspect the pile. The gangly Fastendian looked like some sort of spider as he climbed quickly to the top to join the Gnome.

“Hey! What’s this ‘ere?” Moxadder said to no-one in particular.

I could see Moxadder standing on the peak of the mountain stabbing into the ceiling with a dagger. Then suddenly it collapsed, showering him with dust and stone that continued to tumble down the pile and threatened to dislodge furniture. The place where Moxadder had been vigorously prodding was now a small opening.

He hoisted himself into the dark space. I heard him make some gurgling noises of satisfaction followed by, “Mortec grab this.”

Moxadder passed down several objects to Mortec, who in turn pocketed those he could and set the others down carefully on the pile. Shortly afterwards the pair had scampered down with their booty.

Moxadder’s cache contained several strange objects, each marked with the sign of one of the Gods. There were three glass cubes that had the tome of Todesmagie etched into them. Mortec snatched them hurriedly and sat himself in a corner to ponder them and perhaps to commune with his God. There was a small shrine to Gerech that Morgan looked over with curiosity. His actions provided further evidence that he was somehow being converted by his mask. His desire for the breastplate we found earlier did not help my perception. A sudden burst of light from behind him! I saw him for what he was becoming, a crusader of Gerech. Then the light went out. Mortec had discovered that the cubes, when aligned, gave off light. It was that light that provided the holy-like aura that had basked Morgan. Just as well.

The third religious artefact was a beautifully polished dark wooden box that held a pair of platinum eye lenses with the towers and stars of Thuus etched into them. A net, similar to the fishing nets we had seen in Ravenswood although this one had small serrated blades lining its edge, bore the mark of Srcan. Finally there was a small copper censer that was filled with an earthy coloured powder. It was adorned with blue crystals which marked it as an artefact of Uramei, God of healing and health.

None of these divine objects interested me so I let the others squabble over them. In the meantime I explored the corridor through the intact door in the chamber of mirrors.

My initial reservations at looting an occupied temple had disappeared. We had encountered nothing but strange catatonic people, feral slime, and the sign of Geduld was everywhere. There was no doubt that some Gerechians remained, but they seemed unable to fend for themselves. This temple was somehow cursed, and not just by Gerech.

The door led back to the original corridor with the spiked pit and, unfortunately two more Gerechians.

“Do you know the way to the chapel?” they asked.

I ignored them. The first door on this side of the pit led to a room full of destroyed tapestries. On occasional piece I could make out fragments of great Gerechian moments and battles, but the prize was an entire tapestry that I found secreted under some of the ruined ones. It was worn and well faded, but I could just make out a scene of a robed man, one Cardinal Holton, or so the tapestry claimed, leading a band of people from a temple. Holton’s most remarkable feature was his breastplate. If it was not the very one Morgan now wore it was its perfect partner. And written faintly across it was the word ‘mine’.

The second room had been cleared to make space for a circle of ash that had had blood spilt all over it. Four stakes with decayed leather straps were pegged in the cracks of the cobbles. Some poor wretched had been held here, and no doubt tortured. An involuntary shiver ran down my spine. The whole room felt unnatural. I muttered a quick prayer to Laster, and hurriedly closed the door. Once I closed it I felt as if a weight had lifted from me.. Maybe Laster had made good on my hasty prayer.

Having discovered that we had explored the temples’ top floor and had still found no alternate exit we decided that we would gather our rations from the horses and rest. We had had a long and arduous day. No doubt we would feel refreshed on the morrow.

After we retrieved our rations, and a clean set of clothes for me, Argonne led the Gerechians from the ‘reading room’ to the entrance hall with promises of taking them to their chapel. At least it cleared the room.

This place seemed to have a strange effect on all of us. There was little discussion of the day’s discoveries, each of us choosing to spend time in solitude with only our thoughts for company.

 

[Haraash Saan]

Thankfully the night passed uneventfully, unless of course you include Moxadder’s raking coughs.

Argonne gave me a cheery greeting when he saw me awaken. I just growled at him. How had I gone from my goose down pillows to stone cobbled floors? This is not at all what I had envisaged as life for a successful swordsman.

Within the hour we stood at the top of the spiralling stairs staring down into the dark. Silently, perhaps all of us bar Argonne felt as uncommunicative as I did, we began the descent. The only noise that accompanied us was the constant dripping of water from cracks in the ceiling. We followed the trickle that it made down to the base of the stairs.

The staircase opened to a wide antechamber. Like all the previous rooms this one too had been ransacked and vandalised. The tapestries that hung on the walls were torn, burnt or bloodied. Not a single piece of furniture was left in the room. I let out a heavy sigh when I saw five Gerechians waiting outside another set of solid double doors. This temple was really grating on me. Filthy, wet, slimy, uncomfortable, dark and worst of all full of Gerechians; at least they were not preaching to us or trying to kill us for being non-believers.

Strav was obviously fed up with them too. He pushed passed them impatiently provoking several glares and grunts of annoyance. That at least was an improvement from the ones upstairs, they would not have reacted at all.

The elf dramatically pushed open the two doors and stood confidently in the centre of the doorway as if issuing a challenge. A massive hall supported by columns was revealed. Openings lined both the left and right walls of the room but the feature of the room was a large rectangular pool of fetid water. Repulsive as it seemed, several Gerechian bathers were swimming through the ooze. One sat on the edge idly dangling his legs in the viscous yellow liquid causing slight ripples to radiate from his gentle kicks. More people huddled together in groups near the pool. It looked as though they were discussing some conspiracy in hushed tones.

I watched the pool closely, fearing, that like the fountains on the floor above, the ooze may spurt and ruin another garment. Suddenly a bather that had been slowly paddling disappeared under the water as though sucked down my some massive force.

Strav, who had not noticed the disappearing bather, stepped down from the doorway and strolled boldly into the room. Before I could alert them, the others followed his lead. I trailed them somewhat more cautiously.

Upon entering the chamber a Gerchian wearing a more ornate robe than those we had already encountered, turned to face us, glaring at us with chilling expressionless eyes. A low chant began to issue from his cracked lips.

“Urum, tonum, barum.” He repeated rhythmically.

A thick black fog began to form, twisting and writhing around our ankles in rhythm with the incantation. Then everything seemed to happen at once.

The Gerechians turned and began to nimbly ran at us baring vicious clawed hands that slashed at us menacingly, low growls emitting from their throats.

I leapt aside to remove myself from the unnatural mist. Without thought my rapier was in my hand and I was thrusting, parrying, dodging and ducking. I saw an opening and pranced forward, my rapier piercing the Gerechian’s heart. To my surprise he did not even notice! What manner of beings did we fight?

So furious was the assault that I had no idea how the others were faring, then suddenly Mortec, who had been beside me, stepped away from the melee. I turned to chastise his cowardly behaviour only to see him holding up his arms, and call out in Gnomish, “Nachtigal! I call upon you to cower these creatures of the dead!”

It struck me in that instant that it was very odd that the little priest of Todesmagie was calling upon the God of Magic and Death. Surely the gods would not look favourably on their priests calling upon other powers? I was wrong.

Such was the power of his prayer that even I lowered my guard in awe. The Gerechians ceased their onslaught and turned fearfully to face Mortec.

“Quickly now, “urged Mortec, “they are people no longer. They are in a state between life and death. Dispatch them before the divinity turns his attention elsewhere.”

I was not one to argue with someone with such a close ear of a god. I thrust and slashed with my blade until I had felled four of our foes. Not once whilst under the gaze of Nachtigal did they raise a claw in defence or attack whilst they were slaughtered.

I slumped in exhaustion. My attack at Mortec’s insistence had been frenzied and tiring. My sword arm ached. Unfortunately I could not sit on the ground or lean upon a wall, they were far too wet and grimy.

Morgan and Argonne had not fared well. Both lay sprawled and unmoving beside the corpse of the Gerechian priest that had conjured up the black fog. They had succumbed to the many gashes inflicted by our foes. Even Argonne’s axe had suffered. It lay once again headless beside him. Mortec and Moxadder bandaged them as best they could and managed to staunch the bleeding. Whatever it is was that Mortec did to Morgan, the Fastednian suddenly erupted from his unconscious state and started screaming Thuusian war cries. At least he had shown he was not possessed by Gerech, he still could cry out to his own God. The enraged man began hacking into the corpses of our former opponents with great gusto. I had not seen him like this since the trials at Yorathton where he had been bitten by a fish. He was savage and uncontrollable. I moved back to the doorway wary of attracting his attention. I did not want to be responsible for slaying a comrade, but I would if he came against me.

With his mayhem completed his screaming also ceased and instead he started prowling the edge of the pool, glaring at the water. I sheathed my sword and loaded my crossbow. I feared Morgan was going to disturb whatever it was that had taken the swimmer so quickly. I was right.

 

[Haraash Saan]

The water exploded outwards! A massive shape shot up, splashing the yellow mucous-like water over the edge of the pool. I was glad I had moved away from it as I doubt I could ever have cleaned that substance from my boots.

Several tentacles flailed about wildly, groping for something, anything, to grapple. In fluid motion Morgan ducked as one passed over his head, then thrust at it with his sword, sinking it deep. The creature let loose a pain filled roar and directed all its energy at squashing the cause of its grief. One violent swing crashed down beside Morgan, and he just managed to leap aside from another as it smashed into the recently vacated space. The tiles where he had stood shattered and shards went flying. I let loose my bolt just as a tile spun towards my throat. My reactions saved me as I swayed to my left but the movement was enough to cause my bolt to clatter against the wall behind the monster.

Suddenly the horror shuddered as a green beam of light struck it. The light surrounded and encased the beast, causing it to shudder and convulse. The light faded causing one the creature one last spasm before it again focused its energy on Morgan. I spun around to see the cause of the strange green light and saw Stravarious, standing well back from the pool with his right arm and index finger outstretched. My companions continued to surprise me.

I concentrated on helping Morgan as best as I could. As I loaded my crossbow I glanced up to see it lash out at Morgan once more, this time with its injured appendage. It thundered down on to the tiles but this time they did not give, the tentacle did. Brown blood gushed from the wound, saturating Morgan as the limb swung wildly and the creature screamed in agony. The detached tip writhed uselessly on the mucky floor.

Strav threw his arm forward and more green light streamed from his index finger. As it slammed into the beast I noticed its muscles seemed to decay. The remaining tentacles seemed to shrink in diameter and then the monster toppled into the fetid pool to sink beneath the surface. The only trace of its passing were the radiating ripples of the water where it had fallen, and the twitching tentacle tip beside Morgan.

Strav had demonstrated an awesome display of power against the creature. If I had never shown him respect before, I would not make that mistake again.

Through luck and quick reflexes Morgan had avoided injury, our foes could not say the same. The bodies of our Gerechian assailants still lay strewn about the floor and the pool was now still, the horror within would not worry us again.

We spent most of the day investigating the room and a dozen or so small chambers that opened into it. They had nothing of interest, so we turned our attention to the massive chamber itself.

After some investigation Strav called out that he had found something and he began scraping muck and mould from the wall opposite the entrance we had come in. “Methinks I’ve found a door.”

Morgan and Mortec rushed over to aid him in his repulsive endeavour. I watched with interest, peering over the book of Gerech that we had found the day before. I had been pouring over it hoping to find some sort of clue as to how to leave the temple. It was a faint hope, as it was a book concerning crime and punishment, but it was a damn sight better than immersing myself in filth!

“Hey!” called Argonne from a corner where he and Moxadder where searching, “We’ve found ourselves a tunnel.”

Well this was interesting. First we have nothing, now we have two places to explore. Argonne the impulsive and Moxadder who was probably beginning to feel at home in a grimy hole, were quick to wander into the tunnel despite our immediate protests. Reluctantly we followed the pair, knowing full well that we would be best served by staying together.

The tunnel that they had found looked to be a natural corridor in the rock. Its entrance had been hidden behind coloured tiles that depicted some Gerechian conquest. Moxadder had noticed it when examining the fresco.

We could see Argonne’s torch bobbing in the distance. It stopped and we heard Argonne curse loudly and complain of stubbing his toe against the uneven tunnel floor. Rocks jutted out from the floor and walls of the tunnel, but if one was careful it could be traversed without difficulty.

We caught the intrepid pair soon enough and after a few chastising words we continued on.

Eventually the corridor branched. We chose the right fork as the left, no more than a fissure, seemed to head further down into the depths of the earth. Perhaps five minutes had passed since moving off along the right fork when we heard a strange chittering ahead of us.

“Shh!” Moxadder said abruptly, putting a finger to his lips.

The lanky man cocked his head and listened intently. Another few moments and the cause for his concern became clear.

“! Rat Trolls!” He said as he pushed passed us and ran as best as he could back down the passage.

“Best leave now.” Argonne urged, concern evident in his expression.

We had encountered Rat Trolls once before, in the burning farm house, but then they were only eyes peering at us from within it. Now they seemed to be a real threat. The chittering was getting louder. As they say, discretion is the better part of valour. We used our discretion and fled.

The clattering of claws upon the rock could now be heard, and it was increasing in speed. They had heard us. We reached the branch. Moxadder was waiting there, leaning against a rock. He looked like I felt, exhausted from our flight. I puffed and panted, hands upon knees. I looked back down the dark corridor praying first to Srcan that the Rat Trolls had ceased their pursuit, and then, as I heard their chittering getting louder, to Thuus, a God I rarely invoke, for courage. I could not out run them, I had to make a stand. We had all come to the same silent decision, time to stand and fight. I loosened my rapier in its sheath and loaded my crossbow.

 

[Haraash Saan]

Their screeches sounded in the darkness, louder and louder as the creatures came closer to us. Strav shouted a word and suddenly there was flare and three horrid beasts were illuminated, their terrible forms lit with bright green auras. They were no more than fifty feet away from us. One bounded along the ground, another scrambled along the ceiling and the third leapt across the tunnel from wall to wall. The uneven surfaces were no obstacle, rocks just provided foot holds for the trolls.

I loosed a bolt from my crossbow. It struck home with such force that it sent the ceiling climber to the ground in a heap. Jubilation coursed through my body but it was short lived. The beast was on its feet and trailing its friends as though it had only slipped.

I heard and felt other missiles whiz past my head, including a bolt of energy that Strav had conjured. Several of the missiles found their targets, but still the Rat Trolls came on. My crossbow clattered at my feet as I whipped out my rapier and prepared for the inevitable onslaught.

In an instant ferocious jaws were snapping an inch from my face, the rat troll’s rancid hot breath engulfing me. Bile crept into my throat and as if that was not enough, it clawed at me with its forepaws. I managed to twist away from them and thrust Eldritch Light into its muscular shoulder. Screaming in pain it renewed its frenzied attack.

A dagger flew over my shoulder and buried itself to its hilt in its chest; Moxadder was near. Beside me Morgan was trying to hold another at bay. Kuruul, the enigmatic dog, now in humanoid form, flashed at my opponent with his rapier. It took yet another blow, but did not look to weaken.

The third troll, the one that I had struck with my bolt now joined the fray. It leapt over the front rank of battle to take on those providing support from the rear. Mortec was knocked away and sent sprawling behind me by the trolls’ gashing claws. The one that faced me turned its attention to Kuruul but before it could gouge or bite him it shuddered as vibrant green light crackled over its body. Kuruul and I seized the moment to simultaneously deliver telling blows. It fell at our feet, green energy still licking around its corpse before that too expired.

A scream of agony erupted behind me. I spun to see Mortec with both hands upon the third troll, chanting to his god. It too slumped, shrivelled just as Grisha the dwarf had been.

The remaining troll took its cue from our earlier actions and turned tail and fled. Morgan struck it as it turned, staggering it momentarily. I dropped my rapier and retrieved my crossbow, quickly fumbling a bolt into it. I took quick aim and loosed the bolt. It thudded home, striking the foul beast in its back. It crashed to the ground and tumbled to a halt.

A quick survey of the party found us all alive although several with new injuries. Argonne, however was nowhere to be seen. It turned out that his fear of the Rat Trolls was so great it had prompted him to continued to run. We found him later cowering behind a massage table in one of the rooms that led off from the pool chamber.

Moxadder quickly instructed us to burn the Trolls, “They don’t stay dead unless the fire gets,‘em,” he said. I had learnt to pay heed to Moxadder’s intimate knowledge of Rat Trolls, so we burnt the bodies as best we could.

Warily we continued down our original path, and perhaps ten minutes after the point from which we had fled we found a cavern. It, like everything else we had found in the temple complex was filthy. Rubbish and refuse lay scattered everywhere, piles upon piles of it. The others kicked their way through the junk and filth but I could not bring myself to do it. I was almost retching just being in the place. The stink was terrible. Several half gnawed corpses were revealed lying beneath rags.

Our rummaging caused a stirring in one of the piles. We readied our weapons in an instant but they were not needed. A thin and starved man emerged into view. He wore the white, well they were once white, robes of a Gerechian. The symbol around his neck confirmed it.

“Thank you, thank you, brothers!” he cried, “I feared all was lost.”

At least he was coherent, as opposed to all of the other Gerechians we had found in the temple.

“Who are you and how did you come here?” I asked unsympathetically.

“Ah,” he looked worried, “I am Sneefal the Pius, acolyte of the Great One. Who are you?” he added nervously.

“Adventures seeking refuge.” was my curt response.

“Ah, I see, you do not follow the Great one?” he said. Our blank response gave him his reply. “Well you’ll find refuge here in Artyom Seth’s ancient temple. It has been unoccupied for centuries.”

“You are mistaken.” I said, “This is Constatine Seth’s temple in the Barony of Yorath.”

“What? How?” he exclaimed in surprise.

Further questioning, by both parties, revealed that he had been in the mountains north of Riverglenn looking for Artyom Seth’s lost temple, when he finally stumbled upon it. He worked his way through the levels, until he finally encountered some demonic black robed figure with piercing red eyes. He fled in terror and then encountered the Rat Trolls. He had been imprisoned here ever since, some ten days he guessed. Strangely his greatest concern was for a baton that had been in his possession. He would not explain to us its significance, but I knew it was of some great import, at least to the young priest.

Out of pity we allowed Sneefal to accompany us.

With nothing further to explore along the corridor we re-traced our steps back to the fork and headed down the unexplored passage.

 

[Haraash Saan]

Dark and dank, it wound downwards. It was cruder than the other passage and at points it narrowed so that only one of us could squeeze through at a time. Eventually it lead to another Rat Troll lair, thankfully with none of the monsters lurking there. It did, however, have something even more remarkable, dwarfs.

Unconscious, pale and near death, four of the cave dwellers lay in an unceremonious pile, trussed and gagged. In short time they were free of their bonds and with the aid of Mortec’s god (I am not sure which one), they were brought to consciousness.

Whilst they were wary to begin with, they were certainly less aggressive than Grisha, the dwarf wizard from Sorcerer’s Isle. Three of their party were escorts to the one female, Rokana Silverseeker. They had been travelling in the Spine (the great mountain range that split the north and south of Anka Seth) when they were ambushed by Dark Elves. I glanced at Stravarious and saw him pull the wrap covering his face a little higher. Some of their party were slain, but the four had managed to find reprieve from pursuit by entering a ruin. They ventured down further into the ruin and it became evident that it was a temple to Gerech that they entered. Eventually they found a circular chamber with twelve doors. One door was open. It was at that point that they heard their pursuers clambering down the stairs. With little choice left to them they scrambled through the door. Momentarily free of the Dark Elves they caught their breath and walked for sometime before eventually appearing in a similar chamber.

At that point their story began to corroborate Steefal’s. They too encountered, battled and fled from a red eyed demon and worked their way upwards before, exhausted, they succumbed to the Rat Trolls.

It was an astounding tale. How could they have travelled so quickly under ground from the Gerchian temple in the Spine to the one here in the Barony of Yorath? Not only did a sea separate them but so did thousands of miles!

Whilst they spoke Moxadder rooted about in the refuse of the Rat Trolls lair, turning up the dwarfs gear; various hardy yet dented and worn armours, shields, weapons and one amulet of a scythe, the symbol of Muhbelung, God of Toil. Seeing this last item the eldest of the dwarfs, Togale, snatched it with glee, looped it over his bald pate and began to murmur some prayers.

The day had been a long one. We had fought feral Gerechians, a terrible beast, and finally Rat Trolls. We all agreed that it would be best to take rest. We fortified the one of the rooms on the top level as best we could and rested uneasily, trying to sleep as best we could.

My rest was dreadful. The stone floor had wracked my back, causing it to ache and lancing my shoulder with pain. The ever cheerful Argonne did not make the new morning any better.

“Wakey, wakey your highness.” He said as he leered over me. “Plenty more exploring to do today.”

Insufferable bloody peasant! However, he was right. We had to get moving, no-one knew how long it may be before we find another exit to this damned temple. It was that or brave the rodents outside the front gate.

Our new companions looked refreshed and recuperated. Obviously we could not offer them comfortable beds and quilts but for the first time in days they had been able to rest without the fear of rat troll fangs.

We suited up for war. Armour and weapons were prepared and checked. The dwarfs were fearsome in their specially crafted gear. They looked more like boulders of steel with sharp protrusions than the stout and stocky men, and woman, that they were.

I felt much more the warrior with my small buckler strapped to my arm. Usually I held shields in disdain as they were cumbersome and more importantly inelegant, but on this occasion the sombre mood of my companions inspired me to be more cautious.

Clanking and clattering echoed through the vacant corridors and halls as we moved through them until we stood once more in the bathing room facing the double doors

Stravarious assumed the lead, as had become his wont of late, and pulled the large tarnished ring on the door. The door groaned with strain as it opened. Before us was yet another hall, this one furnished for dining. There were several Gerechians seated at long tables. Each looked to be enjoying its meal of brambles and thistles, no doubt farmed by the peasants that we had seen outside the temple. I saw several rat trolls lurking in the shadows of the room staring at us intently. Suddenly a troll’s arm shot out and dragged a Gerechian off his place on the benches and then the pack was upon him! The rat trolls piled on top, screeching in pleasure as they tore him to shreds. I looked away from the gruesome sight. Not even half-live Gerechians deserved such brutal treatment. I think the worst thing was the man had not made a sound; no scream of terror, no cry for help. It was as if he had accepted his fate, although having seen these men and women before, I wondered if they even knew what was happening to them.

“Close the door!” Argonne shouted, wisely fearing that we were next on the menu. He shouldered the door closed with such force that the boom resounded about the room.

“Why did you do that? We could have strolled right passed them. They have enough food to last a while.” huffed Strav.

“They’re bloody rat trolls ya idiot!” exclaimed Moxadder, “They’ll save ya up for later. Just like they did with the little dwarfs and the scrawny priest.”

Then the bickering really broke out. I let them be. I had no wish to enter into a petty argument, and in their mood they would not listen to my thinking in any case.

The result of the angry tirade was a plan. Who would have thought that they would actually concoct a plan to deal with a problem? I cannot recall them ever having managed it before without my significant input.

The plan was simple. Lure the rat trolls out only a few at a time so that we could more easily dispense with them (our confidence was high after the previous day’s victory). Then do it again until we had killed all of the rat trolls. As each troll was downed they would be tossed onto a fire that Moxadder had made from the broken furniture we had found earlier. He assured us that fire was the only way to destroy them.

Kuruul, deemed to be the fastest was to run in, get their attention and lead them out the door. The dwarfs were to slam the door shut and hold it firm against the other rat trolls whilst we eliminated the ones that got through.

Simple. Well I thought it was. I should have known better.

We took our designated positions. Mine was beside Mortec and Strav, some thirty feet from the door, directly in front. The second door had been wedged so that it would not open.

Seeking to inspire my friends I began to recount the famous tale of the fifth siege of Avinal. Where the hero, Guideon, held the wall and routed the hordes from Buramas. He had launched an arrow blessed by Thuus himself into the oncoming masses and struck down the Dominion General, Balrus. His act had saved Avinal that day. Morgan inclined his head in appreciation, and the others all seemed to stand a little taller as they heard Guideon’s story.

My final words echoed in now silent room and suddenly the unspiked door was yanked open by the dwarves. Kuruul, in his goblin like form, vanished. Literally. I am tempted to say “with a puff of smoke” but there was not even that. There was some commotion from within the room, and then just as suddenly Kuruul had returned.

“There are twelve trolls.” He responded nonchalantly as he inspected his finger nails for dirt.

We waited. Through the opening we saw the vacant Gerechians eating their mock meal. Mortec raised his arms and cried out in the language of the Gnomes, “Nachtigal! Vanquish my foes!”

His call to his second god did not have the desired effect. Whilst it certainly attracted their attention, it failed to vanquish them as it did the day before. Even from this distance I could see that their once blank expressions had turned to hatred. And it was with that demeanour that they now began to advance, discarding their meals to try and claim our souls.

“Brilliant, Mortec!” bellowed Argonne, “they were ignoring us until…”

The rest of his exclamation was drowned out by the excited screams of the trolls as they burst through the open door. Arrows, including my own, slammed into the leading troll. Unimpeded it leapt over to Morgan and Moxadder, who had taken cover behind an upturned table. Several more trolls followed by the angered Gerechians entered the room. For some reason the door had not been closed. The dwarfs had not closed the door!

Instead Strav ran from my flank, hurdled a rat troll that desperately clutched at his long legs and slammed his shoulder hard into the door. It swung violently shut, smashing a Gerechian in the face in the process. I saw no more as I had my own troubles.

One of the trolls charged at me. I dropped my crossbow, unshouldered my buckler, drew my trusty rapier and slashed. It was a clumsy attempt, missing the beast’s head by a clear foot. In a flurry of claws and teeth it flailed at me. I dodged its claws and managed to ram my buckler into its face as it sought to bite my mine with its huge canines.

It was momentarily staggered and on the back foot. I saw my opening and lunged forward.

Unfortunately, my strike did not meet flesh, something grabbed me around the throat and pulled me backwards!

Long talons dug into my neck sending piercing pain throughout me. Then an instant later cold, calloused fingers began to crush my windpipe.

I tried to scream out and pry the steel-like grip loose but it was to no avail. In my mind I could hear my words sound clear and strong, but my ears could only hear my strangled gurgling.

My chest heaved quickly, repeatedly, as I tried to breath, but again the grip firmed. All I could see now were thousands of white spots floating in a sea of pitch black. I gave one last effort, twisting my body and prying with my fingers, and somehow I was free!

I staggered forward, bumping a stone column and almost falling. “’Ware lurkers in the dark!” I shouted huskily.

I turned quickly and thrust into the gloom with my rapier. I had somehow managed to keep hold of it in the struggle. My strike bit nothing but air. I almost toppled as I had not expected to miss and I had overbalanced, I was sure that my assailant had been right there. In an instant its gnarled digits once again grasped my throat.

This time I was not hauled backward as before, this time I was dragged upwards! The grip of the clawed hand was stronger this time, and I could feel my own weight drag on neck as I was pulled upwards.

“Where is he?” I heard a frantic Mortec say, and then it was dark.