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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Helfdan" data-source="post: 887026" data-attributes="member: 11732">The Age of Blood Continues...Hi!  I play another of the characters in Njorgard's Age of Blood campaign (Kalten Hawkshand).  Because Eloy has been unable to post further chronicles due to real-life concerns, our DM has asked me to start posting mine.  I will start with my second entry, so as not to be redundant.  You will quickly notice the format is slightly different: less literary, and more epistolar, as my character is writing letters to his father half-way across the world, though he knows he is unlikely to recieve them.  Without further ado, here is chapter 2------------------------------------------------------------------------------Part 2:  Hunt for a Traitor    My father, I again find a brief moment to write you of my travails in these strange lands, the war-ravaged border between Hintai and Kundria.  As always, I hope the Keeper’s blessing lies with you and our family.  I pray that at least some of these missives reach your hands, so that you know your son still lives, and keeps his faith and honor.  And should you chance to see…  no, it is best I do not even think of her, as I will probably never again meet her outside of Terferos’s domain.     I believe I already wrote of how my companions and I undertook the dangerous journey to the township of Tabat, to carry an urgent request for reinforcements in the upcoming attack on the Kundrian forces entrenched at the fork of the mighty Antarius River.  During this short but fateful trip, we were attacked by giant wasps, and ambushed by the traitorous Tobias, who we drove off after a bloody struggle.  We succeeded in delivering our message, and for a night accepted the hospitality of Eltross, commander and constable of Tabat.  Early the next morning, we proceeded to the temple of Tilsman, hoping that the high priest (or Sen, as they are titled here) Beldazar could rid Landotharan of the lingering effects of the wasp poison.      As I wrote previously, a mendicant on the streets pronounced us cursed, and the Keeper’s priests told us he was part of an old cult that had been previously driven out from an abandoned priory at the edge of the city.  The saintly Beldazar gave us some grim news: he could feel an evil taint in us all, an insidious one he could not easily remove.  He assured us it did not seem to be harming us at present, and that he felt he could divine its source after a few days of prayer.  He also aided Lando, but to our disappointment told us the half-elven sworder would need to rest for a few days before he could travel.  As we stated our intention to hunt Tobias before the trail grew cold, the Sen suggested that we seek additional help from the militia, as he wisely deduced Lando was our strongest fighter.      Segnarus led us through Tabat, heading for an ‘irregular’ unit commanded by an old friend of his.  (Apparently an irregular unit is one composed of mercenaries and ne’er-do-wells of differing capabilities – how this differs from an ‘elite’ unit such as ours is not yet clear to me).  The thief-catcher from Tromos seemed to have friends throughout the war-zone.  As we rode down the streets of Tabat, Girion was on the alert for our doom-speaking mendicant, but saw no sign of him.  I was again impressed by how sad the people of this town appeared.  I pray Lurian can protect them from Draugord’s assaults.      I was also struck by the frequency of branded foreheads I saw in the streets.  You see, father, these Hintaneese call themselves civilized, and consider our customs quaint, but they are at times as barbaric as the Kundrians they so hate.  By their law, many crimes such as adultery, theft, and tax evasion are punished initially by applying a red-hot iron to the criminal’s forehead.  Repeat offenses are punished with increasing harshness.  Though this is very common across southern Hintai, I had never seen so many branded folk before reaching Tabat.      We promptly reached one of the many stone and mortar barracks scattered across the town.  The men hanging about the camp were obviously mercenaries and conscripts – sloppy and undisciplined.  Segnarus warmly greeted their commanding officer, a lieutenant.  On hearing our request, he promptly, and even eagerly, announced he had an ideal candidate.  He spoke of a dwarf who apparently was skilled in both military and sorcerous arts.  Even Segnarus was surprised that his friend would part with such a soldier.  The lieutenant, whose name I do not remember, admitted that his men found the dwarf odd, as he had strange powers, kept to himself, and was rumored to be mad.  But, he said, “He will nonetheless make a powerful addition to your party.”      I had to laugh at his sincerity, for when I asked if he meant he wished to be rid of the dwarf, he promptly admitted as much.  We agreed, and he disappeared into the barracks.  After a few moments, he returned with our new companion.  He proved to be typical of the folk of Belakduum: barely over four feet in height, but stocky and strong.  He was clad in leather armor, and bore twin steel axes of fine craftsmanship, balanced for both fighting and throwing.  His brown hair and beard were shorter than usual for dwarves, and on his cheek was tattoed a strange sigil of an axe, a torch, and a pickaxe.  He introduced himself as Baruk (which according to Segnarus, is the dwarvish word for ‘axe’) as he loaded his scant belongings onto a mule, and we made ready to depart.      The thief-catcher decided to see if he could find any information about Tobias in town.  After the better part of four hours, he returned with little in the way of news.  He did learn that the traitor was selling information to both Hintaneese and Kundrian forces.  But the townsfolk seemed consumed with their own problems – the reappearance of strange folk around the abandoned priory, and the unexplained disappearance of several people.  Thus it was difficult for Segnarus to get them to talk about our prey.  It was not until noon that we rode out of Tabat, following the south-westerly road along the perilous Calemd forest.      It was late afternoon by the time we reached our old campsite.  To our surprise, the corpses of our attackers were gone!  Segnarus opined that the slain ambushers appeared to have stood and walked into the forest.  Baruk could scarcely suppress his scorn, as he was sure our foes had fooled us into thinking they were dead.  But by my troth, they were cold as ice the morning we set for Tabat.  We looked to Girion to confirm or deny this, as the ranger’s keen eyes seldom missed a sign.  He could only confirm that the corpses had not been dragged away, but could not tell for certain whether they had been carried.  But the huntsman from Roedran was more interested in our quarry, and promptly found a cunningly hidden trail leading northwards into the forest – surely the path Tobias had used to ambush us!      The path was narrow, but horsemen could follow it in single file.  As we remounted to enter the mysterious Calemd forest, we heard hoof beats rapidly approaching from the northeast.  I saw my comrades readying various weapons, as I lifted my lance and whirled Stepper to face the new arrival.  Our concern was foundless, as the horseman was none other than Lando.  The half-elf was distraught at being left behind, and the moment none of the priests were ministering to him, he ran out of the temple, seized the closest horse, and rode after us.  We were happy to see him, but also amused – for in his haste, he had once again chosen his steed poorly, and was mounted on a broken-down nag, unfit for combat.  He’ll never learn, I fear…      Girion led the way into the forest, followed by Segnarus, Baruk, Lando, and Solemund.  I brought up the rear, alert for ambuscades.  As the overcast skies grew darker, the ranger called a halt, for he spied a small clearing about 50 feet ahead.  Segnarus and Girion went forward on foot to scout, quickly vanishing into the underbrush, their light mail shirts making no noise.  The dwarf, priest, and half-elf dismounted, but I stayed in the saddle in case quick assistance was needed – a wise precaution, as it turned out.  After seemingly long, tense moments, Solemund announced he heard the sounds of combat ahead.  On instinct, I rode forward, as my allies scattered to make room.      As often happens in battle, time seemed to slow as I burst into the clearing.  Directly to the north was a small shed, with three saddled horses lashed to a post in front.  To my left, a half-orc crossbowman was trying to pull an arrow from his arm.  To my right, two others were firing crossbows into the forest.  Two swordsmen stood in front of the shed’s door, shocked at my sudden appearance.  I leveled my lance, and Stepper’s momentum drove it through one of the men before he could as much as cry out.  The point went deeply into the wooden door, and the lance bent almost double before my snorting destrier could come to a complete stop.  I heard my comrades charging behind me on foot, shouting battle cries.  I was set upon by a swordsman and a gigantic orog warrior, wielding a massive axe.  I drew sword, and dodged or parried their fierce attacks as Stepper reared in fury.      The door to the shed opened, and two more men joined the fray.  The fight was fast and furious.  I heard Solemund’s voice calling on Barlam’s power, and as Baruk chanted, a fiery bolt slammed into the orog’s armored form.  I lay to with my sword, repeatedly wounding the massive orc, who riposted fiercely and almost broke my arm, even through my shield.  As I fought, so did Stepper, his mighty hooves crushing skulls and ribcages as though they were paper.  Once the orog and one of the swordsmen fell, my last foe darted northeast into the forest.      I heard an inarticulate roar, and turned to see a savage orog, foaming at the mouth, surrounded by Baruk, Lando, and Solemund.  The huge orc attacked the dwarf, grievously wounding him.  But before he could recover from his swing, Lando’s greatsword split his skull to the teeth.  By this time the battle was over, as none of our foes were left standing – except for the man who was still impaled by my lance to the shed’s door.   Six more souls sent for Terferos’s judgment, may the gods forgive us.  Girion and Segnarus were nowhere to be seen, but they shortly returned.  They had chased the swordsman who escaped me, and lost him before finding a narrow game trail leading deeper into the forest.          We quickly took stock of the situation.  Solemund used his prayers to heal both the dwarf and the half-elf, who had been sorely wounded by orcish axes.  Segnarus reported the corpses all bore Tobias’s odd tattoo.  The shed was a small affair, with a few cots and crude benches.  We decided to continue the hunt, as the escaped foe would likely give warning to the traitor.  The game trail was too narrow for horses, thus we tethered our beasts to the hitching post and set off quickly along the game trail.  Night fell, and Segnarus produced a torch which burnt with a cold, eldritch flame.  Girion lit a conventional brand and led the way.      The Calemd forest seemed as mysterious as it was reputed to be, for its heavy foliage kept both starlight and moonlight at bay.  Though the ranger moved confidently, only the half-elf seemed comfortable, as his elvensight allowed him to see far by torchlight.  Baruk’s eyes could also penetrate the darkness, but the dwarf kept looking at the gnarled, low hanging branches with distrust, muttering to himself as he rubbed his axe-hafts.  We had followed this narrow, winding trail for less than half an hour, when we were startled by a blood-curdling scream from the darkness ahead.  Girion handed his torch to Segnarus, and slowly made his way forward to scout our opposition.      It was then that I heard something moving through the woods to our right.  I called out a warning, and saw three figures shuffling into the torchlight.  They were none other than the men we slew two nights past, during Tobias’s ill-fated night raid!  But they were not alive.  Their skin was pale, as if drained of blood.  They had no expression on their faces.  And their eyes burned with an unholy light.  The nearest one attacked a surprised Landotharan, wrapping its claw-like hands around his neck in an attempt to strangle him.  At this I was overcome with what I can only describe to you, father, as righteous wrath.  These un-living creatures were blasphemous in their very existence.  I felt the power of my faith throughout my veins, and on instinct, ordered them to begone.  But it seems my faith is not enough, as, though the closest one cowered, the atrocities renewed their assault.      Baruk spoke eldritch words, and a crimson beam shot from his hand, burning one of the creatures.  It recoiled in pain, but pounced upon Segnarus, who was encumbered by the twin torches.  Before the ranger could come to his aid, the walking corpse throttled the thief-catcher, and threw him motionless to the ground.  Lando was still standing, and struggling to break free of his tormentor.  But even the half-elf’s great strength was no match for unliving flesh.  I drew sword in desperation.  The silvery runes along its length seemed to glow in the darkness, and the monstrosity shied away from me, while still strangling Lando.  It was at this time that Solemund, who had been struggling with the third monster, dropped his iron-shod club and lifted his holy symbol.  “In the name of the Strong God, BEGONE, vile things!!”  His command carried Barlam’s power, for the monsters fled in terror from the hulking, shaven-headed priest.      The Barlamite ran to Segnarus, who was still breathing.  His windpipe was all but crushed.  But faith can overcome all hurts, father, for Solemund’s prayers quickly restored the thief-catcher.  I used my own prayers to heal Lando’s wounded neck, as Girion again went forward to scout, for we were sure this battle had ruined any pretense at stealth.  He returned after a few minutes, telling us he had found the traitor’s fortress.  We quickly followed him to the trail’s end.  The trail widened into a clearing much larger than the last one.  At its center stood a tower, forty feet high.  Its only entrance was a heavy wooden gate, banded with iron, set into its south wall.  Four torches, set on poles around the tower, provided light.  Thus it seemed we had found our prey.  But all vegetation had been cleared in a radius of eighty feet around the tower, giving the sentries at the top a clear view in all directions.  Baruk reported he saw movement atop the tower, likely archers waiting for us to enter the torch-lit area.  Four ravaged corpses lay in front of the door – obviously some of Tobias’s men, slain by the un-dead things before reaching safety.       After a brief discussion, we decided to head back to the shed to pass the night.  Some of us were eager to assault the tower in cover of darkness, but Solemund informed us that the undead monsters would soon be back, and we could be caught between two foes.  By Tilsman’s grace we reached the shed without incident.  I was glad to see our horses were safe, as Stepper neighed in welcome.  Almost as if echoing my unspoken fears, Girion made a surprising suggestion: that we bring my destrier into the shed with us.  Solemund’s disbelieving expression was almost comical.  Girion hushed all protests saying that a trained charger was difficult to replace, and helped make room for the horse at the back of the shed.  I quietly thanked him, and led the massive bay stallion into our meager accommodations.  Belatedly, we noticed our six fallen foes were gone – but this time we glumly thought we knew how.         The ranger took first watch, and after midnight woke me for my turn.  I had barely finished donning my plate-and-mail armor, when the screams of frightened horses filled the night.  Simultaneously, loud thumps were heard as the door shook on its leathern hinges.  As my friends awoke, the door shattered, and two of the undead things tried to crowd into the shed.  I moved to block the door while drawing my sword.  Girion called upon Syllisia, lady of the forests, and we were surprised to see all manner of grasses, weeds, and branches reach for the undead things to restrain and entangle them.  The horses again screamed in fear, as they were also grabbed by the plants.  I lifted my shield to block the first monster’s claws.  Landotharan leapt to my side and attacked, but his greatsword bounced from the dead flesh as if from stone.  Baruk spoke words of power, and his crimson beam burned the creature’s flesh.  Solemund again called upon Barlam, and the monsters turned to flee – but were slowed by the grasping, strangling plant life the ranger had awakened. I was about to close the door when Segnarus cried: “No, Kalten! We must slay them now, or they will return!”  His words seemed wise, but it appeared only Baruk possessed the means to harm such creatures.       But by Tilsman, we had to try.  Girion and I ventured into the mass of wriggling vegetation he had summoned, avoiding entanglement as best we could.  We could see three of the monsters struggling through the plants.  I reached the nearest, and attacked – and miraculously, my sword bit deeply into its unholy flesh.  Girion bravely assailed it, but his blade proved as ineffective as Lando’s.  The dwarf spoke again, and a fiery bolt struck our retreating foe.  Before he could move, I struck again, this time cutting deeply through its shoulder and into its chest.  The creature screamed as it was consumed by an eerie fire, and reduced to a pile of ash.  As we watched, this was scattered into the night by an unnatural wind.  Before we could recover, the other two creatures managed to force their way past the entangling plants, and fled into the woods.          By Tilsman’s and Barlam’s good graces we had survived unscathed.  Girion checked on our mounts, and found that we had lost our pack-horses and Landotharan’s borrowed nag.  But these were easily replaced with the beasts we had captured from the brigands.  We returned to the shed, hoping to survive the rest of the night.  My comrades settled down to rest, but could not yet sleep due to the typical exultation in the aftermath of battle.  I was sleepless for a different reason.  I was cleaning my sword, which I now saw in a new light.  Aerbrand, the Winter’s Blessing.  Truly, it was blessed, but I had seen no glimmer of such power before that night.                  It seemed a plain enough sword, if of excellent craftsmanship.  “Know your weapons,” was arms-master Turin’s first instruction.  The blade is exactly 36 inches in length, and gradually tapers to a point from its broad base.  Silvery runes are lightly etched along both fullers – usually these are invisible against the sheen of the steel, but they seemed to glow as I fought those demons.  The pommel and straight crossguard are made of plain brass, and seem unscored despite years of heavy use.  The hilt is wrapped in plain leather, worn smooth.  How could this blade hurt such creatures?      “It’s enchanted.”  Either I spoke out loud, or Solemund read my thoughts.  “It is obvious to all those schooled in magic.”  At this the normally dour Landotharan showed interest.  It is easy to forget he was originally raised to be an enchanter, rather than a killer.  “May I see it, friend Kalten?”  He asked.  The half-elf hefted Aerbrand, testing its edge and balance with the mien of a practiced warrior.      “Beautiful work!”  I was surprised by Baruk’s interjection.  He also examined the sword, but with a craftsman’s eye.  The dwarf had been less than forthcoming when questioned about his past, but it was now clear to all he had fired a forge at some time in his life.  “It is obviously old, though of remarkable quality.  Where did you get this blade?”      “It is an heirloom of my house,” I answered.  Truth be told, father, I had not thought about its history for a long time, even though it kept me alive during my travels.  But I could not refuse my friend’s questions.  “It is said to have been forged by Talorn, the greatest of Falconian smiths, almost four hundred years past.  But I thought this was only a legend.”      “Sometimes legends are true, my friend.”  As he said this, the dwarf had a wistful look in his eyes.  “At any rate, we are all awake and anxious, thus a tale may raise our spirits.”  I acquiesced, and spoke of Talorn’s gift to his son.  I told them of Kendrick Hawk’s-hand, founder of our house and slayer of dragons.   They seemed to like the story, commenting on how after almost four centuries, Aerbrand once more became a parting gift from father to son.  Things became quiet after that, and they drifted off to sleep one by one.  I stayed awake long enough to say a prayer of thanks to Tilsman for deeming me worthy of such a sword – and such a father.      We woke with the dawn the next morning, eager to finish our self-imposed quest.  Breakfast was a quiet, rapid affair.  We tethered our horses securely and readied weapons and armor.  As we navigated the narrow game trail (which was much easier by daylight), we discussed our options for storming the tower.  The iron-bound wooden doors were surely barred from inside, and Girion had seen no other entrances.  Scaling the walls unnoticed in broad daylight would not be easy.  When we were within forty feet of the clearing, Girion and Segnarus went forward to scout.  As we waited, Solemund voiced a problem that we had all been pondering: the fact that all who died in this forest arose as undead horrors.      These abominations were a threat to both the brigands and us, which meant that striking a bargain was a possibility.  Our scouts returned with valuable information.  As we feared, the corpses which last night we had seen in the clearing were now gone.  Great gouges marred the tower door, as if the walking corpses had assailed it.  They also saw several men hiding behind the parapets on top of the tower, but they could not tell how many.  Discussing our options, we felt it was best to bargain with the men in the tower, and see if they would surrender their traitorous leader in exchange for our help in escaping this dangerous forest.      While my friends hid in the forest with bows and crossbows at the ready, I strode to the edge of the clearing, calling for parley.  The sentries cautiously listened as our explained our common plight, and offered to help them escape these haunted woods, if they would surrender Tobias.  But soon the traitor himself made an appearance on the parapet.  His complete disregard for truth was an affront to Savitas himself.  He claimed that his actions were meant to bring the war to an end!  I gave him a chance to surrender, but he refused.  Ignoring him, I once again appealed to his men, but they were daunted by the traitor’s cruelty, and did not respond except for an arrow fired at my feet.  And a promise by the traitor that in five minutes, his men would hunt us down.      When this grace period lapsed, an eerie whistling sounded through the clearing.  The doors opened, and the traitor’s men emerged.  Four half-orc crossbowmen charged down the center, flanked at each side by two swordsmen.  Two gigantic orogs, armed with their huge axes, stayed behind to guard the door.  But we were prepared.  Solemund and I stood at the entrance to the clearing, presenting an obvious target.  The shaven-headed priest looked even burlier than usual, thanks to the magic of the Strong God.  Our allies were concealed in the foliage to the sides of the tower.  The priest and I whistood a volley of quarrels, but were protected by our armor and our gods.      As one of the swordsmen in the left flank fell with an arrow through his leg, the hulking priest and I charged into the center of their lines.  Aerbrand drew first blood as the half-breeds dropped bows and hefted axes.  I saw Segnarus dart in from the right, avoiding swords and axes, to slip into the tower.  Baruk intended to back him up, but his shorter stride made him fall behind, and he was intercepted by an orog.  The dwarf drew twin axes and charged, shouting eldritch words.      At this time I lost track of all my friends save Solemund, who fought by my side.  We were set upon by half-a-dozen foes.   The melee was sharp, brutal, and seemingly endless.  The huge priest called Barlam’s name as his great iron-shod club rose and fell, caving in skulls, bellies, and chests with supernatural strength.  Aerbrand shone in the morning light as I fought for my life, and no less than three foes lay dead at my feet before I could stop and assess the field.      There was still heavy fighting at the tower door, where Lando, Girion, and Baruk fought the last of the orogs and swordsmen, as well as reinforcements who had come from the tower.  The priest and I charged into the melee, and thanks be to Iolanthes, we were again victorious.  But as he ran his greatsword through the final foe, Landotharan informed us of grievous news: Tobias himself had vanquished Segnarus, and taken him into the tower.  Girion sprang forth like a deer, followed by the dwarf and half-elf (who would not wait for Solemund to heal his severe wounds).      I followed them though the door, across a bare stone room, and down a set of narrow stairs.  I was met by a grim tableau: A sorely wounded and hastily bandaged Segnarus Mank lay unconscious on the floor of a cramped storeroom.  Over him stood the traitor Tobias, holding a long sword at his throat.  The betrayer was slightly taller than the thief-catcher, with dark hair and fastidiously-trimmed mustache and goatee.  He was slim as a serpent, and just as dangerous.  By his side was his last surviving henchman, a crossbow held tightly in his shaking hands.      “I will give you his life for mine,” he announced smugly.  It tore at my heart, father.  I could not bear to see Segnarus cut down in cold blood, but I knew he would not want us to release the traitor for his sake.  Such was his dedication to the rule of law.  I could not betray this.  But then I remembered: the thief-catcher and the former lieutenant had met before the latter’s desertion.      “Did you meet Segnarus Mank, before your crimes?”  He seemed surprised at my query, but answered affirmatively.  “Then you know what he would do, where he in my place,” I concluded, with great pain.  The traitor blustered, stating the choice was mine and no other’s, but he knew he would never leave alive should he kill Segnarus.  And what faithless man feels ready to meet Terferos?  They promptly surrendered, and our friend was saved, thanks be to the Judge of Judges.      After binding our captives, we searched his tower, taking what valuables we could find.  Baruk claimed the traitor’s own leather armor, which he claimed was magically hardened.  Of particular interest were the various letters and journals we found.  A quick examination showed that the names Leven, Woreth, and Irwillinor were oft mentioned in these documents, but Tobias would not give any clue to their identity.  As we bandaged our wounds, we contemplated the next stage of our journey: we still had to leave the Calemd Forest alive.</blockquote>

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