The Chronicles of Essenon-Vengeance!

[Tsillanabor]

This is a campaign that has gone on for awhile now. We are missing some adventures, so that is why advancement may seem fast.

In the interests of full disclosure, I play Brock and Wiglaf (his cohort). The DM does not play a character. This game is what we play when not playing the game I run, which will be posted another time.

We have several house rules. We give out a feat every level (to both PCs and monsters) and an ability increase every three levels. Everyone has a Major Bloodline-either from Unearthed Arcana or created from scratch.

We don't give out much in the way of magic items.

Now, onto it...

The Setting

Extract from From Angelheim to Scar Peak-the Travelling Journals of Tokin the Purple Wanderer

Kyrlund

Its inhabitants know Kyrlund as the Land atop the World. The realm is situated higher than its surrounding realms, forcing a traveler to undertake an arduous journey whether entering the realm or leaving it. The land itself is incredibly rugged. Jagged cliffs and steep mountains abound. Cold, clear lakes are fed by mountain rivers and a salt sea takes up the center of the realm. Most of the inhabitants live in fertile valleys between the mountains. The lower slopes of the mountains are covered in pine.

Winter is long and harsh. Due to some oddity, the days shorten in the winter until for a time the sun never shines. During the summer the opposite occurs, and for a time in midsummer a phenomenon known as the ‘midnight sun’ is seen where the sun does not dim. Even in the height of summer the land is not particularly hot, and winters are lethal to the unprotected. The weather is volatile, and often during my stay clear skies would become thunderstorms in a matter of hours.

There are three races that make up most of the inhabitants of Kyrlund-Frost Giants, Humans, and Dwarves.

When the world began the mighty Frost Giants, known locally as the Sons of Ymir, dominated the realm. The Frost Giants of Kyrlund are different from most. They are even more ill tempered and unpredictable. They are also tougher, stronger, and more bestial than typical Frost Giants. Men bred faster than their masters, however, and eventually threw off the yoke of slavery. Now wherever a giant clan makes its home it will enslave the surrounding populace. As a whole, the human tribes are too fractured to ever truly destroy the giant threat, but the giants know that if they ever tried to enslave them all again the humans would band together. They try to keep the tribes at each other’s throats, and often make war against any human leader who is growing too powerful.

The humans farm the fertile valleys, trade with the dwarves, and conduct raiding missions against anyone they can. They are a hard people with a passion for life unmatched in more civilized lands. They drink hard and fight harder. They worship a pantheon of warrior gods and wish to die in battle so that they may fight for eternity in the afterlife. They have a complex system of laws based on the concept of the wergild, the blood debt.

The dwarves are newcomers to Kyrlund. The mountains of the realm are incredibly rich in gold, and so the dwarves brave the dangers of Kyrlund to mine their wealth. Their holdings are incredibly fortified to try and stop raids from both humans and the giants.

 

[Tsillanabor]

The Cast

Listen! For I speak of Brock, last son of Magnus
That great lord who slew other kings, enslaved their sons,
Made their warriors tremble, and made them pay tribute.
Who built his mighty hall at the Mount of Geatmon.
By his own hand was it built, a mighty fortress.
Take heed as I tell of the fall of great Magnus-
The Son of Ymir Snorgat feared Magnus’ growing might,
Swiftly gathered his horde together and attacked.
Mighty Sons of Ymir, more powerful than ten men,
Dimwitted ogres, fearsome winter wolves, foul trolls
All gathered together to attack Magnus’ Hall.
The great king sent messengers, as swift as Sleipnir,
To the nine princes pledged to send him assistance.
O treacherous ones! Your livers were weak that day!
Like weak women you wailed and remained by your hearths.
Your names are known and by Thor, vengeance shall be sought.
On that woeful day Brock and I were too distant
Like Valkyries to bloodstained battlefields we rode
But arrived too late to do ought but mourn the dead.
Great Geatmon was burnt, proud warriors now carrion
Magnus’ riches were gone, only his axe remained.
Proud Brock asserted his claim over his vassals
But that cowardly lot refused to pay homage
Laughed at his rightful claim, and dared threaten his life.
Boldly Brock strode from that place to the Lands Below
And I, Wiglaf the Skald, followed him as I should.
Sullen-eyed and broad-shouldered came Brock the Mighty,
Seeking his fortune, increasing his great power,
Brightening his fame with every adventure.

Brock Magnusson is a Barbarian/Frenzied Berserker. He is the typical large strong barbarian built for power attacking. He wields a weapon of legacy known as the Thor’s Thunder, which is a large sized great axe that he can use because at his Titan bloodline. He is driven mostly by vengeance and is willing to do nearly anything to attain it.

Wiglaf is a bard/rogue/druid building towards Fochlucan Lyricist. He is Brock’s cohort and constant companion. while he is mostly geared towards diplomacy, he is also good with two short swords.

Like-minded heroes joined Brock in his many quests.
Cruel Caeden, slayer of men, born of Aelfin blood,
Silently she moves in shadow, quicker than thought
Twin blades dealing death faster than Ymir’s breath.
She dances through battle untouchable by men.
Though she is more ancient than my father’s father
She appears but a maid-but beware her cruel glance
For her only true love is the shedding of blood.

Caeden is an elven rogue/swordsage/dervish. She uses two scimitars to great effect. She has a rather dark past. She witnessed her father kill her mother, and responded by killing him and taking his sword. Rynn is her twin brother. Much to our surprise, she is as dangerous as Brock. She has an interesting habit of seducing men and leaving them dead.

Hawk-eyed and swift as Ymir’s breath is Rynn the ranger
He is as light as his sibling Caeden is dark
Inflicting death with a hail of killing arrows
The greatest archer of our time, it has been said
That he can kill a wasp in flight at eighty feet
Or an entire flock of birds before they fly past
A shadowy past haunts him and his twin sister
While Caeden kills, Rynn dreams about dark memories

Rynn is an elven Ranger/Wizard/Arcane Archer and Caeden’s twin. His weapon of choice is a composite longbow, though he also uses twin elven thinblades. While not murderous like his twin, he has almost no empathy whatsoever for ‘lesser’ (non-elven) races. He spends much of his time drunk.

Garusha the Fiendbinder serves a dark goddess
Makara the War-Wizard, Abyssal Princess.
Like her dark liege she summons the demons of Hell
With unholy power binding them to service
Controlling their might through the knowledge of their names
Bird-demons fight for her, but do not think her weak
For the mighty blood of dragons flows through her veins
When she flies through the night sky the bravest tremble.

Garusha is a half-dragon Cleric/Fiendbinder. She has bought off part of the half-dragon LA using the rules in Unearthed Arcana. She has bound two Vrocks to her service. Though she usually stays out of hand-to-hand combat, she has a good armor class, a Flametongue greatsword, and is the strongest member of the party. Probably the most stereotypically evil member of the group, she wishes to emulate her goddess by overthrowing Makara as Makara usurped her own predecessor.

Rigor Mallus strode boldly from a distant land
To seek his missing kinsman he came to Kyrlund
A mighty warrior with an unholy weapon
He brings misfortune to all who would oppose him
Striking them down with magical and martial might

Rigor is a human hexblade. He is unpredictable and malicious, known primarily for using excessive force and a twisted sense of humor. His brother disappeared from their homeland while fighting a sorcerer, and Rigor wishes to find him.

Artesia Frereshant is a strange woman
In battle she uses the power of her mind
As cold as Kyrlund’s mountains she watches the world
Her violet eyes harboring infinite malice
Without warning she cruelly breaks the minds of men

Artesia is Rigor’s cohort. She is a human Psychokineticist (Psion). Wiglaf is somewhat scared of her ability to kill with a thought, and most of the group is uncomfortable around her.

Now Brock has returned to the Land atop the World
Noble Geatmon begins to rise from its ashes
Soon the nine princes will cower in their terror
Those who wronged him shall pay dearly for their mistake
He shall take their heads and slaughter their household guards
Their lands shall be his; their people swear him fealty
The white snow shall be reddened with their noble blood

Next: The Adventure Begins!

 

[Tsillanabor]

Trolls and Treachery

There are things even fouler than the Sons of Ymir
Some of Kyrlund’s rivers are home to foul creatures
Trolls that lie underwater and wait for the weak
One such creature grew, massive and bloated in form
Mating with a Son of Ymir a child was produced
He grew mighty, a slayer of men and women
He was called Grendel, for he ground the bones of men.

Miles from great Geatmon lies Heorot, Hrothgar’s proud hall
Each night Grendel would kill his warriors as they slept
Or attack his village, killing those who serve him
They tried what they could, but Grendel was far too strong
Each time they fought, Hrothgar’s warriors were massacred
Hrothgar had heard of the return of mighty Brock
He sent a swift messenger to summon our aid.

Brock relaxed upon his seat before the fire. The solid walls of Geatmon comforted him. The ancient home of his family was the one place he felt he could relax.

After their adventures in the mountain home of the self-styled King of the Mountain, he and his companions had returned to Geatmon. They had dined this night upon dire boar. After dinner, they had retired to one of Magnus’ many trophy rooms.

Brock looked at his companions. We’re certainly an odd group, he thought to himself.

Wiglaf sat before the fire, tuning his lyre. Looking at the two of them, one couldn’t imagine that they would get along. Brock knew that he was blunt and direct as well as easily angered. He was not a very likeable person. He was a massive person yet incredibly quick, seemingly designed as a human weapon. Wiglaf was well-liked by nearly everyone. He was quick-witted and cultured. He was slow to anger and nearly always very diplomatic. His blond hair and beard were always neatly trimmed in contrast to Brock’s unruly reddish-blond mane. He was about 8 inches shorter than Brock and slimmer by far. Yet somehow, he and Brock were the best of friends. Wiglaf had accompanied him on his long exile and proven to be an invaluable companion, often defusing situations inadvertently started by Brock.

Rigor drew his eye next. This was not unusual-Rigor tended to attract attention. His hair was dyed (Brock guessed-he’d never asked) a bright blue and his eyes were a crimson red. This was not a shade normally found in humans and Brock had wondered about his ancestry. He had only recently joined the group, hailing from a distant land with many strange customs. Having seen him in combat, Brock knew that he was as capable with a sword as he was with his axe. Rigor was quiet and self-assured. He was sitting in a corner polishing his black armor.

Rigor’s companion Artesia was having a discussion with her rock. She really bothered Brock-she was twitchy and unpredictable. These were not qualities he preferred to have around, but she also possessed powerful abilities that he didn’t quite understand. She could affect objects and people with her mind.

Garusha was dozing off in a chair. Of all of his companions, she was the closest to Brock in temperament. Brash, direct, and often rude, she had a quick temper and even quicker wit. Brock often wondered if these characteristics were a defense mechanism. Her appearance was certainly….unsettling. Her fingers and toes were tipped with razor-sharp claws and her smile was that of a carnivore. Portions of her skin were protected by hard black scales and large black wings grew from her shoulders. Her father was a black dragon, and her lineage was certainly shown in her appearance. People feared her even when not accompanied by her summoned demons. Luckily for Brock, her faith wasn’t one of the more proselytizing ones.

Finally, there was Caeden. Even here she was alert and watchful. She never relaxed-merely waited. Although she and her brother Rynn-who was out getting drunk most likely-had been his companions the longest, he wasn’t actually sure what exactly she thought of him. Although he respected her prodigious fighting abilities and honored her as an equal, she didn’t exactly engender affection. She was undeniably attractive-petite and athletic, with a dancer’s build. Her eyes were dark and mysterious and her hair was short and black. There was a quiet dignity about her that many found compelling. Brock, however, knew that those she took to her bed were never seen alive again. She was the perfect weapon that he strived to be-cold, merciless, and utterly without remorse.

Next: An Offer They Can't Refuse!

 

[Tsillanabor]

Wael entered the room. He was an elderly man-he had been a servant of the house since before Brock was born. After the fall of Magnus, he had waited faithfully for the many years for Brock’s return. Many had not.

He walked up to Brock, “A messenger has arrived from Hrothgar of Heorot.”

At one time Hrothgar had been an occasional ally of Magnus. They had raided together and seen each other as equals. Hrothgar was one of the few lords within his reach that Magnus had not subjugated as he rose in stature. Since that time the House of Heorot had fallen somewhat as Hrothgar aged. He should have long since abdicated and allowed his son Heorc to rule, but he had not.

“Show him in,” Brock told his servant.

Wael showed the messenger into the room. Brock adopted a regal bearing. His companions eyed the newcomer with interest-except Garusha, who snored loudly. Wiglaf elbowed her awake. The messenger’s clothes were filthy with dust from the road. His hair was wind-swept and his forehead was dotted with sweat. He had obviously ridden hard to get to Geatmon.

“A great beast has besieged noble Heorot,” the messenger told the group, “he slays our villagers and our warriors, and none can stand against him.”

“So why come to us?” Rigor asked.

The messenger was taken aback by this. “We have heard of your exploits in the lands below,” he replied, “and we were hoping to ask for your aid in combating Grendel.”

“What’s in it for us?” Garusha taunted.

“Hrothgar knows that his days will be short and full of misery if Grendel’s rampage is not stopped. He will reward you handsomely from his treasury,” the man offered.

Brock stood, “I will go. Who is with me?”

The others agreed to travel to Heorot the next day. After the messenger left Brock told them that bold actions would help their reputations immensely in Kyrlund.

“Maybe I’ll write a song about our exploits,” Wiglaf offered with a wry grin.

The souls of the slain cried out for bloody vengeance
Their spirits finding no rest from ignoble deaths
Hearing their anguish, Brock was willing to answer
A true son of Kyrlund riding to face his wyrd

The group rode for most of the day, for Heorot was distant. They rode through the snowy wilderness and Brock pointed out the sites of his father’s battles. They arrived at the village late in the afternoon. Brock saw the vacant stares of people who have lost hope everywhere he looked. Makeshift barriers were fastened over most of the windows, but Brock doubted that the barriers would hold up to even a blow from his axe.

Most ominously, a number of homes were nearly destroyed. The straw roofs had been torn through and the walls smashed in.

“This thing is huge,” Garusha commented, “He reaches down through the roofs.”

“Aye,” Brock answers, “perhaps it is a Son of Ymir.”

They ride on to Hrothgar’s fortified hall. It was a fine hall, richly ornamented with strong stone walls. Heavy wooden shutters covered the windows and the wooden doors were massive and iron-bound. The group noticed several places that had been hastily repaired.

“Look at this,” Rigor said as they approached the doors. Four deep gouges were rent into the iron. “Claws,” Rigor continued, “this thing is incredibly strong as well as huge.”

Next: Hrothgar!

 

[Tsillanabor]

“Halt!” Two guards was posted before the doors. Their armor seemed somewhat large on them, and they held their spears awkwardly. Brock could see that they were young and nervous. Garusha snickered at them.

“We are here at Lord Hrothgar’s request,” Brock stated. One of the guards entered the hall, presumably to confirm this.

“Good thing you’re here to stop Grendel,” Garusha taunted. The remaining guard blanched before her toothy grin.

“Can you actually hit anything holding your spear like that?” Rigor added.

Brock felt for the lad. Stepping up to the guard, he placed the boy’s hands properly on the spear’s haft. “That should help,” he said as he stepped back. The young warrior gave a weak smile.

After a few minutes they were shown into Hrothgar’s hall. Like the exterior, the interior was richly adorned. Banners won in the heat of battle and trophies taken from varied dangerous Kyrlund creatures told the tale of Hrothgar’s glorious past.

The present was not quite as glorious. Hrothgar sagged upon his throne like a defeated man. He still wore his finery, but Brock thought he hardly looked the part of a king. Muscle had softened into fat. The once firm jaw was now buried beneath fatty jowls. His hair was white with age and his hand trembled upon the arm of his seat.

“I welcome the son of my old friend,” the old man said, “thank you for aiding me in these troubled times.”

Wiglaf introduced everyone in the group. Hrothgar nodded to each in turn. He then gestured a young man forward.

“This is my son Heorc,” he told them. Heorc looked the part of a Kyrlund prince. Disdaining the display of finery, he wore armor in a manner that showed he knew how to wear it. Tall and strong, his red hair was tied in a warrior’s braid. Brock could see the tell-tale signs of an old anger in the determined set of his face.

“We shall do what we can,” Brock states, “now tell us of this creature.”

Lord Hrothgar, ancient ring-giver, spoke of Grendel
“We know not from what Abyss the savage beast came
Its reign of terror began a fortnight ago
It began by attacking the helpless village
Each night one of my serfs disappeared down his throat
My bold son set out to ambush the foul creature
We know one of the lakes is its watery lair
Four times I sent my household guard against Grendel
Four times were they repulsed by the beast’s hellish strength
For the strength of men is but that of a newborn
Compared to the awesome might of Grendel’s power
The stout spears of my thanes broke against his tough hide
And any wound they dealt him healed before their eyes
Vicious claws pierced armor as though it were but wool
Each time they set out, fewer returned to Heorot
Now the beast grows bold, and attacks this very hall
And I have been imprisoned within my own walls
The bones of the dead litter the ground like fall’s leaves
If Grendel is not slain, Heorot will surely fall
The fierce flame of my people shall be extinguished
And no one shall know to where our bones are scattered
Who will mourn the line of Hrothgar when all are slain?”

Brock was not impressed by this sorrow for the dead
For the deeds of men are worth more than any words
And bloody vengeance is far better than mourning
The shield of his people seemed made of rotten wood
The Son of Magnus spoke his intentions boldly
“The very Sons of Ymir tremble at my approach
My wrath is like a thunderstorm ready to strike
Upon the head of this foul beast-and it shall fall
By the strong axe of Brock of the House of Magnus!”

Next: A Challenge!

 

[Tsillanabor]

“Strong words,” Heorc said, “will you be able to fulfill them?”

Brock knew that Heorc was a proud man, and Garusha and Rigor’s sarcastic comments had stung him deeply. He was trying to think of how to defuse the situation when Garusha opened her mouth.

“Are you kidding me?” she asked as Brock tried to gesture for her to be silent, “we are the slayers of the infamous King of the Mountain. A large-sized troll will hardly be a problem for us.”

“I will not be mocked!” Heorc yelled at the group, “I have done the best I can against this creature!”

“Heorc! Be silent!” Hrothgar cried.

Garusha raised an eyebrow. She knew that Brock was rather short-tempered, but she didn’t know that it was a cultural trait.

“You have no right to be here!” Heorc continued, “I issue a Challenge!”

Now the entire room became still. The Challenge was an ancient custom designed to remove incompetent leadership. Brock considered. If he refused, it would undermine his authority. If he accepted, he could easily end up killing Hrothgar’s son. He would phrase his acceptance in a way that would allow Heorc to choose someone else to fight. He locked eyes with Heorc.

“We accept,” Brock said quietly, “Name your champion-I grant you the right to pick terms.”

The onlookers murmured at Brock’s generosity in giving up the right of the challenged to name terms. They saw it as it was-a direct insult. Brock hoped that his gamble would pay off and Heorc would not choose himself as champion.

Heorc was silent for a moment, then looked away from Brock. Finally he spoke, “I choose Herctheow as my champion.”

Brock turned to the group with relief, though he did not actually know who Heorc’s champion was. “I probably shouldn’t be our champion,” Brock said quietly to his companions, “I’m our sole link to these people.”

“Do any of us have anything to fear here?” Garusha asked, “I think any one of us could take anyone here.”

“I agree,” Brock said, “but to forestall further challenges I think we need an absolutely overwhelming victory. Fortunately we have an incredibly skilled killer who happens to appear to be a slim young woman.”

They all looked at Caeden. A wicked smile slowly spread across her face.

Brock turned to Heorc, “My companion Caeden will be my champion.”

Heorc looked at the tiny woman with shock. She nodded her head at him with her smile still in place.

The sun was near setting as everyone involved met before the walls of Heorot. Herctheow was a large man. Brock was somewhat surprised to find himself looking up at him. The man unsung a large battleaxe from his back and grinned at the petite woman standing before him. She pulled out her scimitars and smiled back.

“Have you decided on terms?” Brock asked.

Heorc looked at his champion, who gave a slight nod.

“Death!” he cried. The onlookers cheered-the Challenge had become a bloodsport. Caeden was still smiling.

Brock explained the terms to the combatants. It was pretty straightforward in this case. Stepping clear, he asked if they were ready. They both nodded.

“Very well-at Heorc’s call you may begin,” Brock said.

“Begin!” cried Heorc. The crowd roared.

Seconds later Caeden was pulling her twin swords from the carcass of her opponent. Her smile had never faded.

“I thought it would NEVER be over,” Wiglaf jokes.

Next: Waiting for the Beast

 

[Tsillanabor]

The villagers seemed reassured by Caeden’s overwhelming skill with a blade. The group dispersed through the crowd, trying to glean any useful information about Grendel. Garusha found herself trying to persuade the villagers that Grendel was most likely not a demon. It didn’t seem to be working.

They found that the night before Grendel had struck the village, so they believed that he would strike at the Hall. The group decided to bed down on the floor with Hrothgar’s guards in hopes of catching the creature.

In darkness they waited through the night. Not knowing where Grendel would strike, they had positioned themselves strategically around the room. They lay quietly amongst the sleeping soldiers, senses alert and weapons readied.

Wiglaf lay close to Brock. “Do you think the villagers are right?” he whispered.

“They rarely are in my experience,” Brock replied, “but what exactly are you referring too?”

“Is it possible that the creature could be demonic?” said Wiglaf.

“Yes,” Brock answered.

Wiglaf waited for extrapolation, but none seemed forthcoming.

“Ummm…so do you think it is?” he asked.

“No,” Brock said.

“Then why did you say it was possible?”

“Many things are possible.”

“Then why do you think it isn’t demonic?”

Brock thought for a moment before replying. “I suppose it is because the attacks seem more like the attacks of a wild beast than the attacks of a demon.”

“Have you ever fought a demon?” Wiglaf asked upon failing to recall any such encounters in their travels together.

“No,” Brock answered.

Wiglaf pondered continuing the discussion, but decided against it.

Caeden was bored. Her active mind detested being still and her muscles ached for the dance of combat. She hoped that Grendel would be a greater challenge than the barbarian she had slain earlier that evening.

Garusha prayed to her dark goddess. Her Vrocks were hidden under a blanket, commanded to be silent. She had laughed earlier as Hrothgar’s men repositioned themselves well away from her and her unruly flock.

Artesia centered herself. She was well aware that most of her companions were better warriors than she was, but considered the power of their blades insignificant next to the power of her mind.

Rigor thought about his family and how he would…

BAM!!!

An enormous arm suddenly tore through one of the windows. The clawed and hairy appendage grabbed the leg of the nearest soldier, pulling him bodily through the heavy wooden shutters. The man’s terrified screams broke the silence of the night until they were silenced with a horrid crunching noise.

“There you are,“ Brock growled, “time to die!“ He was the closest to where the beast had struck. Grabbing his axe, he immediately leapt through the shattered window. Wiglaf followed him, hoping he wasn’t making a huge mistake.

Hrothgar’s men had awakened to the screams of their comrade. Milling about in confusion, they were impeding movement for the rest of the group-leaving Brock and Wiglaf to face Grendel alone.

Next: Grendel!

 

[Tsillanabor]

Boldly did Brock face Grendel in the dark of night
His wrath burned hot at the sight of the foul creature
Grendel quickly swallowed his still-screaming dinner
And rushed to slake his savage hunger upon Brock
But Brock would prove to be a difficult mouthful

Brock was face to face with the creature known as Grendel. It stood nearly fifteen feet tall, and was massively muscled. It had less hair than one of the Sons of Ymir, but a more bestial appearance otherwise. Huge, tusk like teeth protruded from its mouth and wicked claws tipped each of the thick fingers. The fingers and toes were both webbed. The skin was pale, and the beast’s wet hair was dark upon it. It gave a deafening roar upon seeing Brock and Wiglaf.

“Ugh,” said Wiglaf, wiping spittle from his face.

On noticing that they were alone Brock raged and frenzied. Moving faster than his huge adversary, he landed a solid blow upon the beast’s shoulder. Grendel responded by slamming him into the side of the building. A tiny moment of worry was drowned out by his ever-increasing wrath…

“Get down you bastards!” Garusha screamed, half-running and half-flying towards the doors. At the sight of her inhuman form (and the demons flanking her) the panicking warriors scattered. Unfortunately, this made it even more difficult for the others to make their way through the crowd. Outside, she saw Grendel and Brock raining blows upon each other. Brock was reeling from Grendel’s attacks, but in his enraged state he continued to attack as ferociously as the giant creature. Wiglaf moved to heal his master. To Garusha’s trained eye, Grendel seemed to have certain qualities commonly possessed by trolls. As she sent her demonic minions into battle, she noticed that the creature’s wounds seemed to be healing as it fought. She considered which of her spells to use.

Caeden was having trouble making her way through the panicked guards. Finally she drew her scimitars. A path quickly cleared and she jumped through the shattered window shutter. She raced towards the battle, wincing in sympathy as Grendel landed several successive blows on Brock.

Rigor and Artesia moved through the crowd towards the doors. Shoving his way through, they finally reached them. Unfortunately, the fight was on the other side of the building. Rigor eagerly drew his blade and rushed towards the battle while Artesia prepared to unleash her favorite power.

Brock returned Grendel’s flurry of blows with a mighty blow of his own, putting a huge gash into Grendel’s leg.

Wiglaf prepared to heal Brock with the last of his healing magic. Grendel was doing far too much damage to Brock-if the others did not arrive soon he worried that Brock might fall.

Just then Garusha’s Vrocks entered the fray, slashing at Grendel with their talons. The beast turned its attention to them, trying to knock them from the air and granting Brock a reprieve.

Wiglaf called out to Garusha, “Brock needs healing badly!”

“On my way,” she called out, pulling out her wand of healing and flying to Brock. He barely noticed her ministrations.

Brock was still caught in the grip of his fury. Seeing Caeden rushing to join him, he attacked Grendel with renewed vigor. Grendel turned his attention back to Brock, allowing Caeden to attack the creature from behind. Her swords bit deep and the monster bellowed in pain.

The monster charged through Wiglaf, sending him flying into a tree. Everyone attempted to follow, but Grendel was far too fast. Garusha hit him with a blast of her acidic breath, but realized that Brock needed her aid so she could not fly after him. She sent her Vrocks to follow him, hoping to discover where he fled to.

Brock collapsed from pain and exhaustion when his frenzy left him. Garusha used powerful healing magics to help his injuries.

Rigor and Artesia arrived just in time to see Grendel disappear. “We got here as swiftly as we could,” Rigor says.

“I know-Hrothgar’s guard were but a hindrance,” Brock said darkly.

Garusha’s Vrocks returned. Unfortunately, they had lost Grendel due to the dense foliage.

“Tomorrow,” an exhausted Brock said to Caeden, “when your brother arrives we shall track this beast to its den and destroy it.”

Caeden merely nodded, feeling robbed of the thrill of the kill.

Next: A New Arrival!

 

[Tsillanabor]

Having read some of the other story hours I've come to a realization-my writing sucks.

I'll try harder. I think I'm going to drop the faux-poetry from all but the introduction.

 

[Tal Rasha]

Oh, but I beg to differ. I just read what you posted so far, listening to Within Temptation's "The Howling" in the background. Let me tell you, that introduction kicks ass. I find that the poetry in the introduction is a bit better than the one in the rest of the posts, but IMO, a story-hour that had some nicely done norse-style poetry would RULE.

Tal Rasha