Sir Kendrik's The Misty Isle Chronicles.

[Sir Kendrik]

Hello everyone.

Here is a chronicle of all the excitement and intrigue of the game I play in. It has been going for nearly 4 years now and at first this was just a recap of what happened soon it became a fully fledged epic story. I have decided to post for as close to the start as I thought suitable.

I rewrote part of the first adventure and will post that first. The quality drops back for a bit but bear with it it does get better

How you like it and I look forward to any feedback.

The Price of Love

Chapter One

Pushing through his tiredness, Sir Kendrik knew that he would be finally back home in Axbridge, and much sooner than expected. Though glad to be home again, he knew he didn’t have much time to tarry. Throughout his entire journey, Kendrik ran through his mind the horrifying image of his beloved Lady Elanor, her throat cut by the monster Caligulus, and her feebly struggling form being flung to his feet.

“That bastard will pay,” muttered Kendrik under his breath, so that the others couldn’t hear. “I will not rest till she is safe in my arms.”

The thought of his beloved once more in Caligulus’ clutches clouded Kendrik’s mind with outrage, and he spurred Valiant on all the harder, his heart full of both hate and despair. “I love her! I should never have left her alone.” Kendrik shook his head at the stupidity he exhibited in allowing Caligulus to goad him away for the woman he loved, allowing the bastard’s accomplices to spirit Lady Elanor away. “How could I have let her down so badly?”. His torment threatened to consume him, and the knight drove his spurs again into the flanks of his warhorse, causing the beast to grunt in pain before it lowered its head and charged ever faster into the night.

Arton and Callin had never seen Kendrik so single-mindedly focused on an objective, and they struggled to keep their mounts as close to Kendrik as possible. The knight had barely said anything to the others, apart from the occasional barked order to break the hurried camp he allowed them to eat some trial rations, or rest the dangerously tired horses. The young knight’s companions could barely keep up the pace he was setting. “Maybe Kendrik really does love this one?” thought Callin, coaxing his steed Shadow to keep close to Valiant hindquarters. Even Harper Halbaen’s protestations at the breakneck pace were acknowledged by a mere grunt of disgust from Kendrik as he spurred his warhorse on.

It was midday, and the welcoming sight of Axbridge came into view as the heroes crested Teagan’s Hill on the outskirts of the village. Though he was glad to see his childhood home for the first time in about a year, Kendrik would have much preferred that his return was by the cover of darkness. At least that way his arrival would have gone unnoticed, and he could quickly prepare for the final part of his journey to the Caves of Chaos. Fortunately, Brother Arton had had the foresight to request that Pelor reveal the location of the holy relic Perdita Mortua to him, which had also been stolen at the same time that Elanor was spirited away. Kendrik just hoped that Elanor was at the same place that the holy mace had been taken too. If not, he would leave a bloody trail behind him until the curs responsible revealed to him his beloved’s whereabouts. They would all pay dearly for the pain they had wrought both him, and the woman he loves.

Those villagers working in the fields looked up from their drudgery as the galloping warhorse, and its helmeted rider, charged across the ancient stone bridge and up Manor Tor, heading for the modest manor that the hillock was named for. The villagers’ expressions changed from surprise to concern when they recognised the faces of Callin and Brother Arton astride horse of their own, struggling to keep up with the knight. Always hungry for gossip, the villagers discussed between themselves who the knight could be that rode so recklessly into the village with the two well-known freemen. With a loud yell and a stream of curses, the beadle quickly ended the loose talk, and had the villages return to work. Satisfied that the fields were again being tended too, the beadle allowed himself a glance at the Tor, watching as the horses galloped out of sight behind the manors wall.

Kendrik rode unabated into the courtyard of the village manor, reigning Valiant to a sudden stop just before the steps leading the manor’s door. The huge warhorse reared and whinnied his protest as such harsh treatment, but settled to angrily pawing the cobblestones when Kendrik did not dismount. The manor had been without a lord for as long as Kendrik could remember, even Sir Beorn, when he had been granted Axbridge as part of his estate was rarely present. Now that Sir Beorn had been forced to steward Bloodfang Keep for his suspected involvement in the assassination attempt on Baron Aldred, he was unlikely to be seen here again.

Notker Donnellson, the hereditary Bailiff of the village, made his way to the manor doorway to see what the commotion in the courtyard was. A short, podgy, middle-aged man, Notker had served well all the lords that had been allocated to Axbridge over the years, although the rest of the village saw the aging village elder as little better than a lick-spittle. Wringing his hands for a moment, Notker looked briefly over his shoulder back into the manor before returning his gaze to the mounted knight with slightly more confidence. Joining him was Kendrik’s social climbing brother, Froderik. Bearing little resemblance to his younger brother, Froderik took more after their fair East Airelish mother rather than their broad and muscular Penlysh father. Slightly taller than Kendrik, yet not anywhere near as broad, Froderik was still lithely muscular, as would be expected from one with his level of skill with a sword. With his long black hair pulled back into a ponytail, and a trim neat goatee framing his mouth, Kendrik’s older brother would have caste a hamdsome figure, if not for his ugly nature, which shone through the man’s expression. Not partial to manual labour of any kind, Froderik showed little ability in the trade of his father, and had instead toadied his way into the graces of Notker. Betrothed to the bailiff’s eldest daughter, Froderik had to but bide his time until Notker died to inherit all that the wealthy villager owned.

“Assist the good knight, Froderik,” ordered Notker from the top stair. Froderik grunted his acknowledgement as he walked down the short flight of stairs and grasped the Valiant’s bridle.

Kendrik looked down at his older brother for a moment before reaching up and removing his helmet.

“Kendrik ?” began Notker before rapidly correcting himself. “My apologies my lord, but you bear a strong resemblance to a freeman of my acquaintance.”

“It is I Bailiff Notker,” answered Kendrik, looking down at his gob smacked older brother. Brother Arton, who had finally arrived with the others, joined Kendrik and couldn’t help but smile at the Froderik’s rather stupid expression. Froderik had been the tormentor of his younger brother for as long as the cleric could remember, belittling Kendrik at every opportunity.

“Excuse my surprise my lord,” apologised Notker. “Your father did not pass on the news regarding your knighthood.”

“He doesn’t as yet know,” admitted Kendrik with an absentminded smile, still looking down at his brother as his expression changed from surprise to one of pure envy. “My life since Sir Beorn exiled us has been so eventful, I have been most lax in sending word home. How is father and Betaine, Froderik?”

“They are well Ken…my lord,” responded Froderik, the honorific sticking in his throat.

“Excellent. I will pay them a visit as soon as I can,” stated Kendrik, allowing himself a hearty laugh at his brother’s obvious discomfort, but the laugh became a jaw cracking yawn. “Don’t worry Froderik, I am not even used to this myself. I have only recently been knighted, but I have been a bondsmen of the Baron ever since we arrived at Heron Keep.”

“You look like you have ridden all night my lord,” declared Notker at Kendrik’s yawn. “Allow me to have a bath drawn. You can get the rest you need in the lord’s quarters.”

“I have no time to stop and rest Bailiff,” dismissed Kendrik insistently, not wanting to waste any more time than was necessary.

“What may I ask my lord in such a hurry?” asked Notker politely.

“My beloved, the Baron’s ward Lady Elanor, has been kidnapped by a cowardly cur named Caligulus,” growled Kendrik, the disgust obvious in his tone. “The bastard has taken her to the Caves of Chaos. I will not rest till she is returned to my arms, safe and sound!”

“My lord, may I suggest that your horse is tired, and you and your companions would benefit from refreshing yourselves before you leave,” suggested Notker diplomatically.

“Hmmph” grunted Kendrik in resignation. Valiant was breathed deeply, his head hanging low, a far cry from the proud and arrogant steed he normally was. The horse would need at least a days rest before continuing, lest he be ridden into the ground. “If you believe it to be prudent I will accept your offer of hospitality bailiff,” acquiesced Kendrik. “Come, show me to the great hall!”

With Froderik holding the Valiant’s reigns, Kendrik quickly dismounted and strode toward Notker. Arton, Callin, Jon, and Halbaen quickly followed the knight’s lead, glad to be finally out of the saddle. Froderik motioned for a stable boy to attend the steeds.

“Froderik, see to the stabling of the horses,” ordered the bailiff before turning on his heels and escorting Kendrik into the manor. Froderik glared at Notker’s retreating back, and once he had disappeared from sight, gestured for the stable boy to approach. With the young boy seeing to the horses, Froderik remained in courtyard, mulling ruefully over the good fortune that had befallen his younger brother.

to be continued

 

[Roman]

Great story Sir Kendrik!

And nice to see you here!

 

[Despaxas]

hey Kendrik, I thought you were lost to the deeps of the ethersea forever and suddenly you pop back up in a new port. Welcome

 

[Sir Kendrik]

With the grime and aches of his hurried journey soaked away in the tub and a quick bite to ease the grumbling of his stomach, Sir Kendrik changed from his armour into a comfortable tunic, the knight decided it was time to visit the smithy that he had called home for the first twenty two years of his life. “I hope this goes well,” thought Kendrik, remembering the harsh words he had with his father Lars when he and the others hurriedly departed Axbridge on that fateful errand for the unscrupulous Sir Beorn. “I hope father is in a good mood. I’m in no mood for another argument. It will be great to see Betaine again though. I miss her.” The knight strode confidently down the road that led from Manor Hill toward the village green and on to the smithy. Wearing a white long-sleeved tunic, his newly gained personal tabard bearing his heraldry of a sword and hammer crossed, his good trews and boots, Kendrik nodded and smiled at the surprised reactions of the villagers he passed. When he had lived in Axbridge, the former blacksmith’s son was never too worried about his appearance, and allowed his beard to grow wild and bushy, while his clothes where a sea of patches. The young knight that now strode down the road was so neatly groomed and well dressed, the villagers could barely believe it was the same blacksmith’s son.

Suddenly Kendrik herd the sweet sound of a familiar voice carried on a breeze from the village green. Looking toward the direction of the voice, Kendrik saw his little sister Betaine sitting on a log, singing in front of a group of village children. Beside her sat the elderly village harper, Lucan, accompanying the dulcet tones with his harp. The sight of his beloved sister immediately lifted Kendrik’s mood, and he found himself quietly humming the teaching ballad she was singing to himself as he quickly cut across the green, eager to reunite with her.

“Betaine!” called out Kendrik in his deep baritone, as his patience thinned and he stride broke into a slow run.

Betaine’s voice faltered as she looked with some concern and the sound of her voice. Immediately her frown become a teary smile of joy as she saw her stocky brother lumber towards her.

“Excuse me master,” said Betaine, as she gained her feet at a run, not waiting for Harper Lucan’s approval.

“Of course my child,” said Lucan to himself humorously. “And greet the new lord for me.”

Betaine leapt into Kendrik waiting embrace, the two hugging and laughing for a moment until Kendrik grabbed Betaine gently by the shoulders and pulled her from him.

“And what are these?” asked a slightly embarrassed Kendrik, looking at the developing form of his sister. Betaine had always been tall, but now that beanpole frame of hers had begun to blossom into womanhood, giving promise the beautiful creature she would become. Like their mother, Betaine had long black hair that she let fall freely down her shoulders, and her milky fair skin allowed her brilliant blue eyes to shine all the more brightly from her delicately chiselled face.

“It has been some time Sir Kendrik since you left,” stated Betaine. “Am I not allowed to grow up?”

“No, well yes, of course you are,” replied Kendrik with a hearty laugh. “I just can’t believe how beautiful you have become.”

“Well thanks brother,” with a mocking pout. “Things have changed greatly with you too. I approve of this,” said Betaine grabbing at the neatly trimmed goatee. Since when did you start looking like this?”

“I wish I could have been able to tell you earlier,” admitted Kendrik. “Things have been so busy, and my liege relies on me to do his bidding, which I do gladly. I just hope you can understand.”

“Yes I do my lord,” replied Betaine taking Kendrik’s hand. “You have always needed to do what you felt was right. I always knew you would return one day. Have you been appointed lord? Is that why you are here? I am surprised that Master Lucan hasn’t been informed.”

“No Betaine. I wish it was as simple as that,” stated Kendrik, his voice becoming serious.

“What’s wrong?” queried Betaine, anxious to hear the reason.

“We are going to the Caves of Chaos to retrieve a holy relic, and to rescue my beloved,” explained Kendrik

“Your beloved?” asked Betaine curiously. “Rescue?”

“The cur Caligulus reared his ugly head a couple days ago in Clyster, and he has spirited Lady Elanor to those accursed caves. We are but awaiting for our horses to revive before riding out again.”

“Kendrik! You never said anything in that brief missive you sent that you were courting,” accused Betaine. “And a lady no less! I am impressed. That would explain the new look too. I hope she is not harmed.”

“She means the world to me Betaine,” said Kendrik earnestly. “Just to see her radiant face makes my heart sing like the birdsong that you were singing to those children. Is there something you should be telling me?”

“Yes my lord,” stated Betaine formerly. “Master Harper Lucan, in his wisdom, has Chosen me to be his apprentice. He hopes that I may be ready to be sponsored to the Harpercraft Hall within the year.”

“I am most pleased for you,” acknowledged Kendrik, pulling his sister in for another hug. “I had best not be keeping you from the children’s lessons. I will continue to the smithy, and I hope to see you at the Manor for the meal tonight.”

“I look forward to then my lord,” replied Betaine, hugging Kendrik for a moment longer before breaking free. “Oh, and don’t worry about Father, regardless of how things were before, he will be pleased to see you.”

“I hope you are right,” said Kendrik with a smile as his sister returned to her class.

The knight walked the short distance from the green to the family smithy where he had grown from a small boy to the tall, impressively muscular man he was today, thanks to the countless hours he spent assisting his father, either working the bellows or hammering away at the forge. As he approached his childhood home, Kendrik couldn’t help but feel a tinge of guilt that his new life in Clyster had caused him to turn his back on his father and his craft. It was his father’s hope that Kendrik continue the family tradition of smithcraft when he was too old to work the forge. Kendrik still loved working the forge, but his elevation to nobility would forever dash Lars’ plan for his second and youngest son. Lars was always a harsh taskmaster with Kendrik, and the young knight had grown to believe that there was very little love in his father’s heart for him. Lars had always been hard on Kendrik, something that Froderick took advantage off, framing his younger brother and then belittling him at every opportunity for being punished for deeds he had not committed. When hobgoblin raiders killed Kendrik’s mother some seven years earlier, Lars spared no time in blaming his youngest son for not protecting his mother while he was away.

Kendrik was certain that the welcome would not be a warm one as he reached the entrance to the smithy. Stopping for a moment as he listened to the sound of a hammer ringing against an anvil. “Whether I gain his approval or not, he is my father. I will do the right thing.” Stepped into the smithy, Kendrik rang the brass bell used to alert his father that someone was in the shop.

“Who in the Abyss could this be now?” bellowed Lars in his deep voice, refusing to divert his attention from the forge as the stocky blacksmith hammered out a sword blade. “Can’t you see I am busy? Come back later!”

Kendrik didn’t answer immediately, instead watching his father work for a moment. The man was still impressively built, and his skin was leathery and brown from working with the forge fires day in day out. The great drooping moustahe his father had wron for as long as Kendrik could remember had grown even more gray, while his bald pate glistened with sweat. “Father, it’s me, your son Kendrik,” answered the knight loudly, as his father was a little hard of hearing from years at the forge.

“Kendrik?” queried Lars as he placed the blade into a barrel of water. Dropping the hammer and tongs, the smith turned to face his son. Lars’ expression grew surprised, as it dawned on him that his son was now a knight. “And what makes you think I want to see you Kend…my lord? A year passes with no word, and you just swan in here a knight and expect me to be happy.”

“I came here to see my father,” answered Kendrik, holding out his forearm and hoping that his father would shake it. “I have missed you dearly, but unfortunately Baron Aldred has kept me more than busy since I left. I wanted to return, if but to clear the air.”

“Nonsense! What’s to clear my lord,” dismissed Lars gruffly.

“Father, I’m still your son,” pleaded Kendrik, feeling uncomfortable that his hand was not accepted. “I just want to see you again. I am pleased to be home.”

“Aye son, it is good to see you again,” huffed Lars. Looking at Kendrik’s proffered arm, the smith grasped it briefly before he pulled his son in for a bearhug. Lars’ strength still surprised Kendrik, and the brief contact brought back fleeting memories of his childhood, and the none too frequent instances that his father showed any emotion towards him. “I missed you too,” admitted Lars before the stocky blacksmith with the walrus-like moustache pushed his son back. Looking Kendrik up and down, the smith gutted his chin at the knight’s noble attire. “When did his happen?”

“About a month or so ago father,” replied Kendrik proudly. “I wanted you and Betaine there, but time was of the essence for the Baron to have all ready squires knighted.”

“And who were you squired to?” asked Lars.

“The Baron’s champion, Sir Brand,” replied Kendrik. “I have been blessed by the grace of Pelor to have this opportunity. Not many commoners like us get knighted.”

“Aye, that is true,” replied Lars. “Though I was angry that you left me in the lurch like that Kendrik. I guess your destiny lies beyond little Axbridge. You have done well my boy.”

“I can’t think of higher praise than that,” said Kendrik with a smile, and he hugged his father again.

“I was under the impression that the Baron’s knights were the epitome of manhood. What’s with the girlish behaviour?” stated Lars distastfully, pushing himself aways from his son’s embrace. “Not even Betaine would act like this.”

“Can a son not be happy to be home?” asked Kendrik, annoyed at his father’s comment. “But you are right. How have you been anyway?”

“The smith is busy, and that makes me happy,” replied Lars. “Young Jakob seems quite capable, and will make a fine smith.”

“Jacob? The widow’s son?” asked Kendrik.

“Aye,” replied Lars. “And without a father, it be best that he learn a trade to support his mother and make him an attractive catch.”

“I can see that, and from making weapons I see,” stated an observant Kendrik. “I am pleased.”

“What has brought you home?” asked Lars brusquely. “Surely not to come play family reunion?”

“You are right father,” explained Kendrik. “Though it has been good to see you all again. My companions and I hunt the kidnappers of my beloved, the Baron’s ward Lady Elanor. She appears to have been taken to the Caves.”

“Your beloved?” queried Lars. “This just gets better and better. Has she been betrothed to you?”

“No not yet father,” replied Kendrik. “I have been given permission by Baron Aldred to court Lady Elanor, but I fear that the bastard Caligulus will kill her before I can rescue her.”

“And what of Elaine?”

“Elaine and I were betrothed long before I became a knight, father,” replied Kendrik hesitantly. “I am in love with another now.”

“I see,” noted Lars. “The girl not good enough for you?”

“Father please,” pleaded Kendrik. “I didn’t fall in love with another to spite you. Elaine was not happy to be betrothed to me. She now has the chance to find another.”

“Once I compensate her father for your abandonment,” added Lars.

Kendrik looked at his feet, not quite sure what to say. “I can see this isn’t getting anywhere…”

“Tell me about her.”

“What?”

“Tell me about her,” repeated Lars.

“Father, where do I start?” asked Kendrik rhetorically, his face coming alive as Elanor’s face drifted before his mind’s eye. “She is not unlike mother. Her beauty is beyond words, and she is kind and good like no other person I have seen. I hope to be able to rescue her at first light and bring her back. You can see her then.”

“This talk is all well and good, but that sword needs to be finished today,” stated Lars. “I would very much like to meet the woman that has taken your heart, but until then I will be working that forge.” Turning his back on Kendrik, Lars picked up his tongs and fished about in the barrel of water for the sword blade he had dropped within it.

“I understand. I should leave you be,” replied Kendrik, disappointed that the longest discussion he had had with his father in years was over. Lars turned to go back to the forge, but glanced over his shoulder andlooked at Kendrik in the eyes.

“Jakob is good, but not as good as you were lad. If it isn’t beneath you, help me finish this.”

“Aye father, I would love to,” replied Kendrick, unable to stop a smile spreading across his face.

“Lad, I never said this before, it isn’t my way,” admitted Lars. “But you were a good son, and a fine smith. Put into your new role the same spirit, and you’ll go far.”

“Thank you father,” replied Kendrik as he grasped the handle of the bellows and turned his thoughts, if somewhat briefly, to a more simple matters.

 

[monboesen]

I would like to make two comments.

The first one are for anyone who happens to stumble on this story.

Stick with it!

It does get very good. The writing itself is fine, its not done with the skill of Destan or Sepulchavre (no slight intended Sir Kendrik), but better than most stories written here. What sets it apart is its gallery of pc's and npc's, all coming across as very real persons, and the brilliant, consistent story and world conceived by their dm.




The other comment is for Sir Kendrik.

Stick with it!

It may take weeks to months before the community here begins to show appreciation of your and your groups efforts, but with persistence praise will come. If you keep posting (and god knows that you have material enough) people will read it, and sooner or later they will start commenting, questioning and applauding.





And if anyone wonders, no i'm not blessed with foresight. But Sir Kendrik has already posted years of this story on Wotc's boards. Sadly it only reaches a small community there.

 

[Roman]

What sets it apart is its gallery of pc's and npc's, all coming across as very real persons, and the brilliant, consistent story and world conceived by their dm.

I have to second this - character development in this story is probably the best I have seen yet.

Kendrik, thanks for the new update - it is nice to start this epic at the beginning again!

 

[monboesen]

Bump

 

[monboesen]

BUMP

(and Sir Kendrik you need to post more often. Becuase your story is good and because you won't catch on here unless you post often. At least at first. It should be easy for you as the story is already written, just post a chapter a day and see what happens)

 

[Sir Kendrik]

After the what i hoped was a treat of the partly re-written first adventure I hope I don't disappoint too much with this recap of what occured next. I was going to re-write the rest of it but monboesen is right that I should post this regularly.

The following chapter is the original format way I used to post this story so it is quite brief. Eventually I started expanding on it and eventually it became the story it is now.

Hope you like

Kendrik

After returning to the manor Kendrik and his companions headed off to the woods where the Ranger, Jon and the Rogue, Callin had met with a member of the Border Watch, A ranger force that act as lookouts and guards in the forests. She had informed the group that there was strange goings on where the Evil clerics of Varakus we had brought to justice had been buried in the woods. The village elders had decided not to bury them in the graveyard, as they didn’t want them buried on consecrated land. So they bury them in the woods so they could rise again, go figure! We dig up the graves and surprise the clerics bodies aren’t in there.

Returning for the evening meal the local Harper filled us in with the latest goings on in Axbridge and after retiring to the local inn for a meeting with the village elders. Kendrik visited his mother and younger brother’s grave vowing to his dead brother that tomorrow he will avenge his death by slaying his murderer. Neeko was actually a foster brother who was a member of the Border Watch and joined Serena and Kendrik when they need help when they started adventuring. Neeko was slain by Caligulus when he escaped from the party's clutches.

They headed off to the caves there were two entrances to the caves Kendrik had decided to head for the cave that would give the best element of surprise. Unfortunately as is always the way, it had caved in so we had to use the hard way to get in an entrance with a secret mechanism to open it. The hard part is there wasn’t a mechanism on the other end to get out.

We lost the element of surprise when we came across a shreiker fungus. That alerted a Chimera that attacked us, Kendrik slew it with a critical hit which sliced off all 3 of its heads with his trusty, and very sharp longsword. We discovered its lair was full of booty and there was a girl chained to the wall. Kendrik instantly thought it was Elanor but it was one of the village girls who had been kidnapped over a year ago. We unchained her Kendrik gave her a drink from his waterskin as she was really dehydrated and the bard carried her.

We heard some female screams and Kendrik pushes the party to hurry to save his beloved. We try to leave the girl in a safe room but she wouldn’t as Elanor screamed again. Kendrik instantly took off regardless with the others in hot pursuit. They all get to the main altar room. When we got there we found Elanor in a circular depression chained with Caligulus behind her pulling her head back with a blade in his hand. Caligulus in his bravado told the party “Ah you are just in time to see me sacrifice her to my father” Behind him was a necromancer. We then had to make a spot roll, which Kendrik and the cleric Arton failed. The others moved in time before the necromancer yelled the command to an undead ooze to drop from the ceiling on Kendrik and Arton. This left the others to fight Caligulus and the necromancer. Kendrik and Arton struggle to free themselves from the ooze, Arton broke out first then Kendrik, Caligulus was doing serious damage to Kendriks best friend Callin', a rogue, when Kendrik took over fighting him, ready to avenge Neeko. Caligulus used a feat called the cruelest cut which did massive damage to Kendrik but fortunately he did not drop. Kendrik determined to slay the murderer of his brother Neeko continued to attack through gritted teeth. Callin also with vengeance in his mind for friends death flanks him and lands the telling blow. Caligulus dropped and as Kendrik prepared to coup de grace him says to Caligulus “ With Pelors will return to the abyss where you belong” and drives his sword into the ravagers chest. Caligulus opens his eyes and screams as blood flew from his mouth and he twitched and died.

The Necromancer then opens a portal and escapes with his Stirge familiar who was attacking the other rogue, Cain. Kendrik then ran over to his love Lady Elanor to remove the chains but with his big hands and weakened state, he was so seriously wounded he couldn’t open the locks. He got Cain to open them and Lady elanor leapt into Kendrik’s arms and hugs him tight. This leaping into Kendrik’s arms was too much for him to handle and they toppled backwards. At this point a huge statue of Virakus , 30 feet tall, that was behind the altar comes to life and says ”You may have slain my son but now you have to deal with me. Your meddling will be tolerated no longer!” The statue moved towards the party with Kendrik and Cain its first intended victims. Kendrik places Lady Elanor behind him saying "Stay behind me my lady, I will protect you" and he stands his ground. The statue takes a swipe at Kendrik and connects and by the grace of Pelor and Kendrik digging in his heals he doesn’t fall but takes more damage. Kendrik then attacks the statue with his trusty keen longsword. And with a timely critical hit Kendrik slices through the stone legs and the Statue slides off the legs and topples backwards. Everyone breathes a sigh of relief. Gravely wounded himself, Callin left the room to look for the stolen holy mace and investigates what appears to be Caligulus’ sleeping chamber. Suddenly an inkbottle pops open and was we assumed to be an imp appears laughing maniacally.

 

[Roman]

Aha, bring back the memories of the beginning of this saga.