PROLOGUE TO SESSION 36
Dartan the Godless stood at the center of an orc village. Around him lay forty-three orc corpses. His breath came in and went out furiously as he let the battlerage fade within him. He wiped his sword and slung it into its scabbard. He looked around. The other orcs must have run… cowardly things.
He’d come a long, hard way- alone- to find the orc priest called Guearwar. It was told that Guearwar just may have had useful information. When Dartan arrived, he was told that Guearwar had died several years ago, thus ending any established treaties with the eastern settlements. He was then ambushed by dozens of screaming orcs.
Dartan the Godless lost himself in a haze of swordlust that was one part hard-earned skill and two parts fury with having wasted his time. He wasn’t finding what he wanted to know… not here, not anywhere. He’d spent the better part of a year traveling all over Greyhawk, asking questions, learning nothing. It had become his obsession.
Now, he was knee-deep in dead orc. He’d spent three weeks tracking Guearwar down, and all he had to show for it was another group of slaughtered creatures that were too stupid to keep from attacking him. No point in dallying any longer… best to keep moving. There was still that lead out to the southwest that he hadn’t yet investigated. He picked his feet up and began to put one in front of the other.
Then, he stopped. What was that sound? It sounded like…
He turned his head to the sky and saw Serene the owl gliding down towards him. He knew Serene from long ago- he used to adventure with Serene when she was a familiar to a sorceress. He remembered it all quite clearly.
He held out his arm and Serene landed on it. “Hello, Drumstick,” he said to the bird. It cooed in reply. Dartan had made regular jokes of impaling Serene on a spit and roasting her over a campfire back when he’d adventured with the sorceress. She’d always cried out and slapped his shoulder when he said these things, doing her best to conceal her own smile. Her name had been Hannah. She was dead now.
He unwrapped a small note that was tied around the owl’s leg. The owl squawked and flew up into the sky, over the treetops. He watched it go. “Shoulda roasted you just now, when I had the chance,” he said to himself. “Coulda got a decent meal.” He chuckled and opened the note.
First he was struck by the note itself- a watercolor image of a draconic goblet with magically floating letters arranged in sentences. The words appeared to float over the paper. He then read it. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered.
