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Tales of the Darkened Land
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<blockquote data-quote="Nathan P. Mahney" data-source="post: 3954167" data-attributes="member: 29748"><p><strong><span style="font-size: 12px"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER VIII</p></span></strong></p><p style="text-align: center"><strong><span style="font-size: 12px"></p></span></strong></p><p style="text-align: center"><strong><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-size: 15px">THE TOMB OF ALDORIOUS</span></p></span></strong></p><p style="text-align: center"><strong><span style="font-size: 12px"></p></span></strong></p><p style="text-align: center"><strong><span style="font-size: 12px">PART I</p><p></span></strong></p><p>Gather around my friends, seekers of knowledge, historians, and lovers of a good tale alike, for I have a story for you like none other. It is a tale of battle in the depths of the very earth, of baleful elves and things that should not be, of rotting flesh that yet lives in the service of the Light; but also of valor and persistance, the very qualities that give us all hope in this Darkened Land. And also a tale of great import, a tale on which may rest the very doom of the land.</p><p></p><p>And who am I to tell this story? Ask not my name, for it matters little. It is enough that I have heard all the tales that were, and see all the tales that are. These are not my adventures, but those of others, though who knows if I may yet play my part in the future? Nevertheless, the players are varied, and I needs must introduce them.</p><p></p><p>See Kael the dwarf, barbarian of the plains! His axe is ever red and hungry. He seeks the weapon of his father, though to his rage it yet eludes him.</p><p></p><p>See Gordred, fell ranger! Mort and Death he calls his twin blades, and aptly named they are. All the animals of forest and field are his enemies, though none know why. Who knows what thoughts dwell beneath his furrowed brow?</p><p></p><p>See Elrohir, elven mystic of the shadows! He is new to this band, though his blood-soaked mace and mastery of the arts arcane have helped him prove his worth. Yet it is not his readiness for battle that is in question, but his sinister nature. Who can trust this elf, who makes all ill at ease?</p><p></p><p>Together these three, and many others, have had adventures and perils. There have been dangers, and riches, and they have discovered secrets of the ancient world. And yes, there has been death. Comrades have fallen, and others stepped in to take their place. But those tales are past, and need not be dwelled upon now.</p><p></p><p>These are our players in this drama, and for them it is a dark time indeed. Bastion is their home, a haven in the skies. But for how long? A ravening army approaches, a horde of orcs and worgs and worse abominations, and it seems that Bastion is their target. The caverns below Bastion were a weak point in the defenses, and so Elrohir ventured below with a band of loyal stalwarts. And alas, none but Elrohir returned, whispering of orcs in the depths – and worse, pale-skinned elves of a sly and evil manner. It mattered little that the orcs and elves were locked in battle, for the orcs soon turned their attention to Elrohir's group. Many were the deaths that day, and saddest of all was that of Vandelle, a longtime friend and brother in battle, who proved no match for a savage ogre. Also among the slain were Bu and Han, doughty guards of Bastion, and their deaths would prove of some importance despite their humble natures.</p><p></p><p>And so we join the tale, with Elrohir delivering the tidings to his comrades. Wroth and ill-content were the people of Bastion, for Bu and Han had been well-loved, and these were not the first to die in company with Kael, Gordred and the rest. One man especially took delight in seeing the party out of favour – this was Elmyr, proud and haughty, jealous Elmyr who hated them so. Only gruff Corwyn took their side, and this was well, for he was Bastion's leader and could stay the hands of his people for a time.</p><p></p><p>There was much debate about the caves, and what should be done. Elmyr's plan was to block the entrance with stones and rocks, to seal them against incursion. But the adventurers liked this not, for they were certain that in the caves they would find the tomb of the paladin Aldorious for which they had long searched, and the treasure lying within. Corwyn gave them his solemn word to stop Elmyr from sealing the entrance, though he could promise no other aid – the people of Bastion were full of righteous anger and the fear of death, and Corwyn himself feared to go should Elmyr usurp his leadership. But two there were who did not fear, whose desire for blood and gold outstripped their dread of death's embrace. Two who were new to Bastion, who had arrived among the many refugees fleeing the orcish army. Two who stepped forth to take up arms!</p><p></p><p>See Qwan of the twin greataxes! His mighty thews are such that he may wield with one hand that which takes a lesser man two. He lives for battle, and then for the next, and the crimson spray in his mouth and eyes as his blades tear flesh and bone.</p><p></p><p>See Jah the cautious! Ever is he ready for battle with his glaive, though rarely in the front lines where things rage at their hottest. For why should he risk his neck when others are there to shield him?</p><p></p><p>Yes, I hear your words my friends, a tale of heroes this is not. Not the manner of heroes you are used too, I wager. But who knows what this world needs now with the Light dead and scattered, and all thrown over to the darkness? Mayhap it is the ruthless and the bloodthirsty who will provide our deliverance. Yes, mayhap it is.</p><p></p><p>This was the motley group that set out, through the secret door and down the deep shaft into the caves far below Bastion, citadel in the sky. The caves were silent now, not ringing with the sounds of battle as they had been earlier. By torchlight the group explored – Qwan and Kael taking point, Jah and Gordred next, with Elrohir as rearguard.</p><p></p><p>The first room they explored held naught but a rope, stretching from a hole in the ceiling to a hole in the floor. This was the rope-and-bucket that went to Bastion's water supply, and most adventurers of heroic sort would have left it be. But Gordred saw naught but opportunity, and furtively dropped something into the water – a poisoned mushroom! Hated Elmyr was his target, for ever had those two been at odds, and little was Gordred to know the ramifications of his actions.</p><p></p><p>Their next task was to retrace Elrohir's steps, to the place where the previous expedition had met with its ill fate. Soon they reached it, a massive cavern of bubbling mud pits and flat-topped pillars. There were no signs of the battle, besides a few broken weapons and stains of blood, though presumably Bu and Han's remains still rested at the bottom of a mud pit where the orcs had dragged them. But that was unimportant, for as soon as they entered the cavern a volley of crossbow bolts greeted them, screaming in the hot and sluggish air. Drow elves, with their pale skin and red-lit eyes, skulking in the darkness!</p><p></p><p>One of the bolts struck true, and the glistening poison on its tip worked its way into Kael's blood. But tough as mountain roots are the dwarves, and he did not succumb! With bristling beard he raged into battle, and his compatriots followed. The drow elves did not quail, but fought on in eerie silence with their tiny crossbows and wicked rapiers. For they had another among their number, elven in form but with skin as black as the Deceiver's heart, and wings like those of the bat. The blood of demons was in his veins, and eldritch powers were his to command.</p><p></p><p>The drow wizard called forth his magic, a focused beam of heat that singed Kael's beard and flesh. Elrohir saw the danger, and with his bow and arrow struck true. The wizard retreated with a feathered shaft in his thigh, cursing them all as 'filthy sun-dwellers'. How long had these elves lived below the earth, that they knew nothing of our eternal darkness? For 500 years and more has the long night lasted, ever to our despair.</p><p></p><p>The four drow that remained fought on, but their uncanny speed and deft blows could not match the savagery of Kael's axe, of Qwan's twin greataxes, of Mort and Death, and of Jah's glaive. Three were slain, and the last chose death before dishonour, impaling himself on his own blade. The first battle was over, and Gordred marked it in his own way, with a drow head impaled upon a rapier.</p><p></p><p>The adventurers were keen to pursue their quarry, the bat-winged wizard who had burned Kael with his magic. But what they found was something else entirely.</p><p></p><p>The cavern was adorned with a wall-hanging that showed the symbol of the Deceiver, an open hand with a dagger on the palm. Seated in an opulent chair was an old woman, her black skin wrinkled like a dry husk. Thousands of tiny spiders swarmed over her, though she paid them little heed. It was the adventurers that she fixed with her mordant gaze, and addressed with her voice as cold as death.</p><p></p><p>"Leave these caves now, pustulent worms, or you will serve Lolth as naught but food for her servants."</p><p></p><p>Jah saw these 'servants' now, for he chanced to look up and spy two spiders hanging from the ceiling, spiders the size of dogs with bloated bodies and fangs green with venom.</p><p></p><p>Negotiations were strained, and made worse by Kael's fears that they faced a drow matron, nightmare of his dwarven ancestors. Things grew worse when Gordred's mouth got the best of him – he called the drow a whore, an insult not even the most depraved of beings will sit idly for. The priestess rose and flourished her wicked scourge as the tiny spiders on her body buzzed angrily.</p><p></p><p>Even so, Elrohir was faster. With words of power he called forth a jet of flame from his palms that engulfed the drow. The flames rolled over her without effect, but her pets did not share the same arcane resistance – the tiny spiders fell from her body, shrivelled and blackened.</p><p></p><p>The larger spiders dropped from the ceiling, and from a side-passage stepped the drow wizard, his bat-wings wrapped about him like a cloak, spewing deadly gouts of flame from his mouth. Gordred raced to attack him, Mort and Death whirring. But glory was not to be his this day. The priestess drew forth a small, straight piece of iron, gripped it firmly, and called forth the power of Lolth. Numbing cold seeped into Gordred's bones, freezing him in place, helpless.</p><p></p><p>Kael, Qwan, Jah and Elrohir made short work of the spiders, but there were deadlier foes to be fought. The drow wizard plucked a small piece of spider web from his robes even as he intoned the magic phrases. Then he blew on the web and it gusted forth, growing and spreading, engulfing the adventurers in its sticky strands. Kael suffered the worst, unable to escape entanglement with his bulky dwarven frame. Though he could not move he still let loose his rage, shouting to his ancestors and chopping wildly with his axe. The others were able to move still, hacking and forcing their way slowly to freedom, even as the priestess set about Kael with her enchanted scourge. Elrohir was the first to gain freedom, only to be laid low straight away – a blow from the drow's scourge wracked him with crippling pain that let him do naught but writhe and twist on the floor.</p><p></p><p>But theirs was not the gravest danger, for Gordred still lay gripped in the paralysing strands of Lolth's power, with a blood-hungry drow before him. The wizard drew forth his rapier with dreadful deliberation before neatly running Gordred through the chest. It ought to have been death for the fell ranger in that moment, but by a miracle the blade missed every vital point, did not sever artery or organ. Who knows what divine providence saved him in that moment? Not I, my friends. Mayhap it was just luck, mayhap it was the fickle will of the gods, or mayhap the Void was forgetful of his duties that night. Whatever the reason, Gordred lived, and he shook off the dread magic that held him immobile. And there he stood with Mort and Death, bleeding from the chest, eyes red with the lust for vengeance. Down came Mort, and down came Death, and when both came up again they ran red with the wizard's blood, and Gordred the fell ranger was satisfied.</p><p></p><p>Thus the tide was turned, as Kael, Qwan and Jah broke free of the web and took the fight to the priestess. Her life ended on the point of Jah's glaive, and this battle was over.</p><p></p><p>Though battered and weary, there was still booty to be had. The wizard wore a spider-shaped brooch of silvery metal, a ward against the magic missile spell, and this item was taken by Jah. Also possessed by the wizard was a spellbook, bound in a chitinous black hide and festooned with cobwebs that grew back instantly when brushed away. Elrohir took this, eager to plumb its mysteries. There were also two deep blue potions, imbued with the power of healing. Lastly was the drow priestess's scourge, a dreadful thing tipped with the claws of a ghoul. Jah took this also, though it seemed that none had much desire to wield the evil weapon.</p><p></p><p>Elrohir's keen elven senses alerted him to a concealed passage behind the tapestry. It spiralled down into darkness, but the adventurers decided that it was best left for another time.</p><p></p><p>And so the adventurers decided that it was time for them to rest, and they returned to Bastion, their bodies heavier with treasure and their souls lighter with victory. Corwyn was eager learn of their exploits, and just as eager to tell them that Elmyr, among others, had come down with some kind of malady. Dire Gut Fever is what Corwyn called it, but Gordred knew the truth – his poison had reached its target. But little did he know that as Elmyr lay doubled up in his chamber, vomiting and shitting on the floor, his hated foe was placing the blame in the correct place. For such as Elmyr must always lay blame to others for their misfortunes, and who more deserving of his blame than Gordred, who had so plagued him in the past?</p><p></p><p>The adventurers had paid the price of victory in a heavy toll of blood, especially Kael, Gordred and Elrohir. Without a cleric of their own they were forced to seek the aid of Chanis, Bastion's zealous priest of The Flame. But Chanis was ever mindful of his flock, and the deaths of Bu and Han, not to mention Bastion's former leader Thorvin, had stoked his wrath to life.</p><p></p><p>"Aid I will give you without charge, for you work for the good of Bastion," he said. "Yet too many have died in your company. Take this oath of blood, and I will call on the power of The Flame to heal your wounds. Swear that you will not cause more deaths among my people. But know this! If you break your oath, I will wreak holy vengeance upon you with fire and steel and the power of the Burning God. Do you accept?"</p><p></p><p>Gordred scorned this offer, preferring to rely on the recently-discovered healing potions. Kael and Elrohir accepted, and they were gifted with The Flame's succor, their wounds completely healed.</p><p></p><p>The rest of the darktime they spent resting while Berrick studied their newfound magical objects. The hateful scourge, trusted by none, was gifted by Jah to Corwyn. The mysterious Collectors would be arriving soon, as they did every year, providing grain in exchange for items of arcane power. And mayhap the scourge could be used in Bastion's defense, for what use is grain when all are dead? For this Corwyn was most grateful, and assured the adventurers that they would be always welcome so long as he remained leader.</p><p></p><p><strong><em>TO BE CONTINUED...</em></strong></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Nathan P. Mahney, post: 3954167, member: 29748"] [B][SIZE=3][CENTER]CHAPTER VIII [SIZE=4]THE TOMB OF ALDORIOUS[/SIZE] PART I[/CENTER][/SIZE][/B] Gather around my friends, seekers of knowledge, historians, and lovers of a good tale alike, for I have a story for you like none other. It is a tale of battle in the depths of the very earth, of baleful elves and things that should not be, of rotting flesh that yet lives in the service of the Light; but also of valor and persistance, the very qualities that give us all hope in this Darkened Land. And also a tale of great import, a tale on which may rest the very doom of the land. And who am I to tell this story? Ask not my name, for it matters little. It is enough that I have heard all the tales that were, and see all the tales that are. These are not my adventures, but those of others, though who knows if I may yet play my part in the future? Nevertheless, the players are varied, and I needs must introduce them. See Kael the dwarf, barbarian of the plains! His axe is ever red and hungry. He seeks the weapon of his father, though to his rage it yet eludes him. See Gordred, fell ranger! Mort and Death he calls his twin blades, and aptly named they are. All the animals of forest and field are his enemies, though none know why. Who knows what thoughts dwell beneath his furrowed brow? See Elrohir, elven mystic of the shadows! He is new to this band, though his blood-soaked mace and mastery of the arts arcane have helped him prove his worth. Yet it is not his readiness for battle that is in question, but his sinister nature. Who can trust this elf, who makes all ill at ease? Together these three, and many others, have had adventures and perils. There have been dangers, and riches, and they have discovered secrets of the ancient world. And yes, there has been death. Comrades have fallen, and others stepped in to take their place. But those tales are past, and need not be dwelled upon now. These are our players in this drama, and for them it is a dark time indeed. Bastion is their home, a haven in the skies. But for how long? A ravening army approaches, a horde of orcs and worgs and worse abominations, and it seems that Bastion is their target. The caverns below Bastion were a weak point in the defenses, and so Elrohir ventured below with a band of loyal stalwarts. And alas, none but Elrohir returned, whispering of orcs in the depths – and worse, pale-skinned elves of a sly and evil manner. It mattered little that the orcs and elves were locked in battle, for the orcs soon turned their attention to Elrohir's group. Many were the deaths that day, and saddest of all was that of Vandelle, a longtime friend and brother in battle, who proved no match for a savage ogre. Also among the slain were Bu and Han, doughty guards of Bastion, and their deaths would prove of some importance despite their humble natures. And so we join the tale, with Elrohir delivering the tidings to his comrades. Wroth and ill-content were the people of Bastion, for Bu and Han had been well-loved, and these were not the first to die in company with Kael, Gordred and the rest. One man especially took delight in seeing the party out of favour – this was Elmyr, proud and haughty, jealous Elmyr who hated them so. Only gruff Corwyn took their side, and this was well, for he was Bastion's leader and could stay the hands of his people for a time. There was much debate about the caves, and what should be done. Elmyr's plan was to block the entrance with stones and rocks, to seal them against incursion. But the adventurers liked this not, for they were certain that in the caves they would find the tomb of the paladin Aldorious for which they had long searched, and the treasure lying within. Corwyn gave them his solemn word to stop Elmyr from sealing the entrance, though he could promise no other aid – the people of Bastion were full of righteous anger and the fear of death, and Corwyn himself feared to go should Elmyr usurp his leadership. But two there were who did not fear, whose desire for blood and gold outstripped their dread of death's embrace. Two who were new to Bastion, who had arrived among the many refugees fleeing the orcish army. Two who stepped forth to take up arms! See Qwan of the twin greataxes! His mighty thews are such that he may wield with one hand that which takes a lesser man two. He lives for battle, and then for the next, and the crimson spray in his mouth and eyes as his blades tear flesh and bone. See Jah the cautious! Ever is he ready for battle with his glaive, though rarely in the front lines where things rage at their hottest. For why should he risk his neck when others are there to shield him? Yes, I hear your words my friends, a tale of heroes this is not. Not the manner of heroes you are used too, I wager. But who knows what this world needs now with the Light dead and scattered, and all thrown over to the darkness? Mayhap it is the ruthless and the bloodthirsty who will provide our deliverance. Yes, mayhap it is. This was the motley group that set out, through the secret door and down the deep shaft into the caves far below Bastion, citadel in the sky. The caves were silent now, not ringing with the sounds of battle as they had been earlier. By torchlight the group explored – Qwan and Kael taking point, Jah and Gordred next, with Elrohir as rearguard. The first room they explored held naught but a rope, stretching from a hole in the ceiling to a hole in the floor. This was the rope-and-bucket that went to Bastion's water supply, and most adventurers of heroic sort would have left it be. But Gordred saw naught but opportunity, and furtively dropped something into the water – a poisoned mushroom! Hated Elmyr was his target, for ever had those two been at odds, and little was Gordred to know the ramifications of his actions. Their next task was to retrace Elrohir's steps, to the place where the previous expedition had met with its ill fate. Soon they reached it, a massive cavern of bubbling mud pits and flat-topped pillars. There were no signs of the battle, besides a few broken weapons and stains of blood, though presumably Bu and Han's remains still rested at the bottom of a mud pit where the orcs had dragged them. But that was unimportant, for as soon as they entered the cavern a volley of crossbow bolts greeted them, screaming in the hot and sluggish air. Drow elves, with their pale skin and red-lit eyes, skulking in the darkness! One of the bolts struck true, and the glistening poison on its tip worked its way into Kael's blood. But tough as mountain roots are the dwarves, and he did not succumb! With bristling beard he raged into battle, and his compatriots followed. The drow elves did not quail, but fought on in eerie silence with their tiny crossbows and wicked rapiers. For they had another among their number, elven in form but with skin as black as the Deceiver's heart, and wings like those of the bat. The blood of demons was in his veins, and eldritch powers were his to command. The drow wizard called forth his magic, a focused beam of heat that singed Kael's beard and flesh. Elrohir saw the danger, and with his bow and arrow struck true. The wizard retreated with a feathered shaft in his thigh, cursing them all as 'filthy sun-dwellers'. How long had these elves lived below the earth, that they knew nothing of our eternal darkness? For 500 years and more has the long night lasted, ever to our despair. The four drow that remained fought on, but their uncanny speed and deft blows could not match the savagery of Kael's axe, of Qwan's twin greataxes, of Mort and Death, and of Jah's glaive. Three were slain, and the last chose death before dishonour, impaling himself on his own blade. The first battle was over, and Gordred marked it in his own way, with a drow head impaled upon a rapier. The adventurers were keen to pursue their quarry, the bat-winged wizard who had burned Kael with his magic. But what they found was something else entirely. The cavern was adorned with a wall-hanging that showed the symbol of the Deceiver, an open hand with a dagger on the palm. Seated in an opulent chair was an old woman, her black skin wrinkled like a dry husk. Thousands of tiny spiders swarmed over her, though she paid them little heed. It was the adventurers that she fixed with her mordant gaze, and addressed with her voice as cold as death. "Leave these caves now, pustulent worms, or you will serve Lolth as naught but food for her servants." Jah saw these 'servants' now, for he chanced to look up and spy two spiders hanging from the ceiling, spiders the size of dogs with bloated bodies and fangs green with venom. Negotiations were strained, and made worse by Kael's fears that they faced a drow matron, nightmare of his dwarven ancestors. Things grew worse when Gordred's mouth got the best of him – he called the drow a whore, an insult not even the most depraved of beings will sit idly for. The priestess rose and flourished her wicked scourge as the tiny spiders on her body buzzed angrily. Even so, Elrohir was faster. With words of power he called forth a jet of flame from his palms that engulfed the drow. The flames rolled over her without effect, but her pets did not share the same arcane resistance – the tiny spiders fell from her body, shrivelled and blackened. The larger spiders dropped from the ceiling, and from a side-passage stepped the drow wizard, his bat-wings wrapped about him like a cloak, spewing deadly gouts of flame from his mouth. Gordred raced to attack him, Mort and Death whirring. But glory was not to be his this day. The priestess drew forth a small, straight piece of iron, gripped it firmly, and called forth the power of Lolth. Numbing cold seeped into Gordred's bones, freezing him in place, helpless. Kael, Qwan, Jah and Elrohir made short work of the spiders, but there were deadlier foes to be fought. The drow wizard plucked a small piece of spider web from his robes even as he intoned the magic phrases. Then he blew on the web and it gusted forth, growing and spreading, engulfing the adventurers in its sticky strands. Kael suffered the worst, unable to escape entanglement with his bulky dwarven frame. Though he could not move he still let loose his rage, shouting to his ancestors and chopping wildly with his axe. The others were able to move still, hacking and forcing their way slowly to freedom, even as the priestess set about Kael with her enchanted scourge. Elrohir was the first to gain freedom, only to be laid low straight away – a blow from the drow's scourge wracked him with crippling pain that let him do naught but writhe and twist on the floor. But theirs was not the gravest danger, for Gordred still lay gripped in the paralysing strands of Lolth's power, with a blood-hungry drow before him. The wizard drew forth his rapier with dreadful deliberation before neatly running Gordred through the chest. It ought to have been death for the fell ranger in that moment, but by a miracle the blade missed every vital point, did not sever artery or organ. Who knows what divine providence saved him in that moment? Not I, my friends. Mayhap it was just luck, mayhap it was the fickle will of the gods, or mayhap the Void was forgetful of his duties that night. Whatever the reason, Gordred lived, and he shook off the dread magic that held him immobile. And there he stood with Mort and Death, bleeding from the chest, eyes red with the lust for vengeance. Down came Mort, and down came Death, and when both came up again they ran red with the wizard's blood, and Gordred the fell ranger was satisfied. Thus the tide was turned, as Kael, Qwan and Jah broke free of the web and took the fight to the priestess. Her life ended on the point of Jah's glaive, and this battle was over. Though battered and weary, there was still booty to be had. The wizard wore a spider-shaped brooch of silvery metal, a ward against the magic missile spell, and this item was taken by Jah. Also possessed by the wizard was a spellbook, bound in a chitinous black hide and festooned with cobwebs that grew back instantly when brushed away. Elrohir took this, eager to plumb its mysteries. There were also two deep blue potions, imbued with the power of healing. Lastly was the drow priestess's scourge, a dreadful thing tipped with the claws of a ghoul. Jah took this also, though it seemed that none had much desire to wield the evil weapon. Elrohir's keen elven senses alerted him to a concealed passage behind the tapestry. It spiralled down into darkness, but the adventurers decided that it was best left for another time. And so the adventurers decided that it was time for them to rest, and they returned to Bastion, their bodies heavier with treasure and their souls lighter with victory. Corwyn was eager learn of their exploits, and just as eager to tell them that Elmyr, among others, had come down with some kind of malady. Dire Gut Fever is what Corwyn called it, but Gordred knew the truth – his poison had reached its target. But little did he know that as Elmyr lay doubled up in his chamber, vomiting and shitting on the floor, his hated foe was placing the blame in the correct place. For such as Elmyr must always lay blame to others for their misfortunes, and who more deserving of his blame than Gordred, who had so plagued him in the past? The adventurers had paid the price of victory in a heavy toll of blood, especially Kael, Gordred and Elrohir. Without a cleric of their own they were forced to seek the aid of Chanis, Bastion's zealous priest of The Flame. But Chanis was ever mindful of his flock, and the deaths of Bu and Han, not to mention Bastion's former leader Thorvin, had stoked his wrath to life. "Aid I will give you without charge, for you work for the good of Bastion," he said. "Yet too many have died in your company. Take this oath of blood, and I will call on the power of The Flame to heal your wounds. Swear that you will not cause more deaths among my people. But know this! If you break your oath, I will wreak holy vengeance upon you with fire and steel and the power of the Burning God. Do you accept?" Gordred scorned this offer, preferring to rely on the recently-discovered healing potions. Kael and Elrohir accepted, and they were gifted with The Flame's succor, their wounds completely healed. The rest of the darktime they spent resting while Berrick studied their newfound magical objects. The hateful scourge, trusted by none, was gifted by Jah to Corwyn. The mysterious Collectors would be arriving soon, as they did every year, providing grain in exchange for items of arcane power. And mayhap the scourge could be used in Bastion's defense, for what use is grain when all are dead? For this Corwyn was most grateful, and assured the adventurers that they would be always welcome so long as he remained leader. [B][I]TO BE CONTINUED...[/I][/B] [/QUOTE]
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