NOW LIVE! Today's the day you meet your new best friend. You don’t have to leave Wolfy behind... In 'Pets & Sidekicks' your companions level up with you!

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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Haraash Saan" data-source="post: 5101686" data-attributes="member: 46615">We spent several hours searching the cave system. It was not brigands lair as we had guessed. Within what was the Forest Trolls adobe we found several crumbling pillars that were etched with strange runes and words. Argonne surprised us all when he translated it for us. He could not explain how he could read the ancient texts but he was positive that he read them correctly and they identified this place as a place of worship for Foeld.    Whilst that was a curious discovery in itself, more interesting was the contents of the troll’s larder. Other than various mauled animals, birds hanging from hooks, fish that had been strung up and barrels of vinegared wine, we found a man. More amazingly we was still alive, and given that one of his legs and been literally torn off.    There were more surprises to come. The prisoner was none other than the Foeldian leader, Hermaeon. After tending to his severe wound, including more blessings from Todesmagie, and removing the unusual poultice that was in place on it, we managed to hear his tale.    Several weeks before, during the middle of the night he was woken from his cot in the bandits’ caves by a gag being shoved into his mouth. He fought his assailants back but his resistance was short lived. A whack to the back of his head was the last thing he felt before walking in bright sunlight by the edge of the pool, now bound and trussed like a pig.    From there he had been taken by the Forest Troll and kept, starving, in the larder until this very morning the troll had decided to tear his leg from its socket and devour it. He regained consciousness when he heard our fight with the troll and its minions.    Even though Hermaeon had been so grievously injured he was more than willing to answer all our questions regarding the his old home.    The route to get there was quite simple. The map we had followed had deliberately set a false trail that would lead us to this cave, however it also contained information that would lead us to the bandits.    In the centre of the map was a circle marked with the word ‘Menhir’. That marking indicated a large rock that stuck out from the earth and was used by the Foeldians as a landmark to guide their way home. For their own home, more caves, were located only three hours due east from the menhir.    He even sketched a map of the cave system of the bandits on the dirt floor of the larder. It showed the main entrance, trees that were used as sentinel posts and even, perhaps most importantly, a hidden entrance to the caves.    We quickly formulated a plan of attack on the bandit lair. Under cover of darkness we would avoid the guards in the sentinel trees and use the hidden entrance to gain quick and unnoticed access to the caves.     Once inside we would murder, for there is not other word for it, the brigands that slept in the main chamber of the ground floor, for there was a lower level where most kept their quarters. Once that foul work was done we would reassess our next course of action.     We reasoned that twenty bandits that were asleep on the upper level could be nullified quickly and quietly by the Hydra, but for the others perhaps another plan would be required.     That evening, for it had taken the rest of the day to search the troll’s home, question Hermaeon and slowly gather our possessions and carry them up the ridiculously narrow track I had found earlier, we freed Ty and Ob from their bonds and reintroduced them to their former leader.    Their joy was quickly replaced by anger at the betrayal that had been suspected but was now confirmed. The Hydra had just managed to recruit two more willing bodies in our fight against the brigands.    There was one cavern in the cave complex that seemed to have been unoccupied, so it was there that we bedded down for the night.    When we woke Strav had his own tale to tell. His watch during the previous evening had been somewhat exciting, well for him in any case. The large orange and black cat had appeared at the edge of the pool, and after lapping some water (whilst Strav was fumbling for his crossbow and a quarrel), it sat down and watched the entrance to the cave.    Strav had felt it too good to be true, so when he finally and loaded the bolt he took careful aim and let it fly. The satisfying, to Strav in any case, howl of pain signalled that his aim was true. And with that the cat bounded off back into the forest.    The morning had also revealed that a storm was once again pelting the forest with rain, so we felt no great urgency to move on from the dry cave.     A few hours into the day Morgan returned to our cavern, he had been on watch at the cave mouth, and said “The cat’s back.” And with a glare at Strav he added, “And it is limping.”    What did this cat want with us? Why was it watching us?     Even as these thoughts crept into my head I saw Strav scrambling once more for his bow.    “Stop him!” I cried, “He will do more harm than good.”    But it was too late, Strav had already dashed to the cave mouth, bow and quiver in hands.    We arrived moments later, just as he was once again loading his mighty crossbow, only to see the cat give us one last look before hobbling into the forest.    “Damn!” cried Strav as he snapped a bolt in his hands, such was his frustration that he had not been able to loose another shaft and the defenceless feline.    His anger made me happy. I saw no reason behind his actions. The cat had done nothing to us, and if anything it was a curiosity that was worth investigating further.    As we turned to head back into the cave the rain stopped and the sun burst through the clouds. We could finally continue our journey, this time heading toward the menhir.     Hermaeon would not be left behind so Argonne quickly fashioned a stretcher and Ty and Ob acted as its bearers.     Several hours after departing the Forest Trolls cave, Morgan called out, “There!” and pointed, “The menhir.”         And there it was, no more than one hundred feet off to our left. A giant rock, fifteen feet high, protruding out of the ground. We saw that it was in the centre of a clearing and was covered by vines that also radiated out from its base. Underneath the vines that enshrouded it there were glimpses of bright silver. Like metal reflecting in the sunlight.     We all had moved into the clearing and Argonne had decided to take a closer look at this unusual monolith. As he stepped onto the vines, he cried out in surprise. The vine on which he had trodden on had whipped around and grappled his leg. Even as he tried to free himself he was suddenly lifted high into the air, almost directly above the menhir!        </blockquote>

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