The Realms of Enlightenment: The Grey Companions

[Jon Potter]

[Draelond #12] Where Madness Dwells

Ever since he awoke in the cold emptiness of Sir Alechtus's frame, Draelond's mind had been filled with darkness. The thoughts that had once brightened his spirit and made the world feel like a good place, were nowhere to be found. He remembered them, just as vividly as before in fact, but they no longer cast the same light. Instead of lifting him, they depressed him even further.

He thought of his adoptive parents, the kindest people he had known in his entire life... His sister Mithlin, the truest friend he had ever had.

The thoughts reverberated against the walls of the emptiness that grew inside him. He couldn't understand why they meant nothing to him now.

This was not the life he had envisioned. This was not even a life.

Visions haunted his every moment. The look of utter bliss on Ruze's face... contrasted with the vile smirk on the weather-worn face of the bounty hunter who had retrieved his soul... He knew now he had made the wrong decision. But what to do about it? Should he see through the mission he was so keen to return to this plane to complete? It seemed so much less urgent now. In the grand scheme of things, was it worth the price of his soul to do the King's bidding against an enemy so unknown?

Who was he supposed to be fighting anyway?

His body slumped harder against the railing and he made no effort to hold himself up. As he collapsed to the ground, he heard the sounds of a wailing voice, crying out in the deepest of despair. It took several seconds to realize that it was his own, or rather, Sir Alechtus's own voice that was sobbing. The voice grew louder and louder, it was the only thing that seemed right to do.

Slowly, Draelond began to feel... something. It was faint... but it was feeling. Draelond had not known feeling since he felt his body go limp in the hands of the giant creature outside the portal in Byr. Truly, a lifetime ago.

He recognized the emotion that had started to grow... in fact he knew it well. It was the one he had spent so long trying to squelch. It was the one that he had bottled, for the most part, all of his adult life. Only this time it felt good... and he allowed it to grow. He felt his heart pumping faster, forcing blood through his veins harder and harder. He grabbed the railing of the widows walk and pulled himself upright, the rage building with every heartbeat. His sobbing began to turn to a low growl, building on a slow crescendo into full fledged primal scream, ending in what anyone who heard it could only have described as maniacal laughter.

Suddenly Draelond wanted nothing more than to have Ravager once again in his hands, to feel her blade sink through flesh and bite on bone. He looked to the heavens once more and again let out a gutteral scream that lasted until his lungs ached for air.

He felt alive.

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DM's Note: Draelond's player has decided to abandon this storline where it is, so Draelond/Sir Alechtus will become an NPC from this point on. While we may well see him again (I haven't decided yet) this marks the last of Draelond's solo turns.

And I would be remiss if I did not mention that this post was written almost entirely by Draelond's player. Pretty darned good IMO.

 

[Hairy Minotaur]

Is this the final time he'll appear in the story as well? Or might you revisit this character in the future?

 

[Jon Potter]

Is this the final time he'll appear in the story as well? Or might you revisit this character in the future?

For right now, he's effectively frozen in time. We purposely kept the amount of time that had passed between his death and re-birth undefined so that we could segue him back into the main game at a convenient time without worrying about reconciling dates. Now that he's decided to stick with his "replacement character", Morier, the uncertain nature of Draelond's place in time makes it easy to slot him back in at a time of my choosing. <Cue diabolical laughter>

The bottom line is that we've left it open for his return, either as a full-fledged NPC or as a replacement should the worst happen to Morier. not that I'd do that, mind you.

 

[Jon Potter]

[Karak #1] A Death in the Family

This was written by Karak's player as a way of bringing the character up-to-date. As I mentioned before, this character was from an earlier game that ended prematurely. His exploits are detailed here .

As you'll see, there's been a bit of trouble since then.

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Karak held his brother’s head in his hands as he kneeled upon the hard flagstones of the busy market street. The knee bracers of his plate mail bit into the inner soft shell of his knees, but he cared not. The sounds or caterwaulers hawking their wares fell upon deaf ears. The cold of the flagstones began to creep up his legs, as his feet grew numb from supporting the small squat mass of his body. The dwarven war axe lay dormant by his side. The dwarven runes glittered, catching the light from nearby torches posted on the edges of the market tents. The press of bodies flowed around Karak like the stem of tide around a boulder in a stream. No one looked at the stoic dwarf, yet all saw the small frail body he held with the telltale signs of the pox. Muttering and making the sign of Flor and Shaharizod they offered their prayer to the sky, thankful they are not the ones lying cold and broken on the street.

Karak’s body slumped and his shoulders shook with grief. His twin braided beard tips caressing his dead brother’s face like moths kissing his cheeks. Finally Karak could take no more and he tilted his head backward and howled into the darkening sky. The throng of people scuttled away quickly from the huddled pair, looking to the sky as if lightening would strike them all dead. Karak's voice sounded like the crack of thunder in the dead of the night. A silence filled the square; even the merchants were silent with their catcalls of ham hocks, baskets, and cloth. The sound of the dwarf’s voice carried in the wind and wailed ceaselessly with remorse. The only sound that could be heard above the dwarf’s cry was the sound of marching feet as the town’s men-at-arms came to investigate the disturbance.

All were on edge due to the onset of the plague and the king's men were no less at edge, often dealing cruelly and wickedly with those that disturbed their watch. The sergeant at arms approached Karak, kneeling on the street, and poked him in the back with his pole arm. “Ye better be moving along now, stuntie. We cannot be having a disturbance in the merchant square. Take your dead now and move ye along.” Karak’s shoulders were still slumped in defeat as he cried silently upon his brother’s breast. The small squad of men at arms took a few steps back when the saw the sign of the pox on the dead dwarf’s face. The poleaxe poked again hard and rudely between the shoulder blades of the grieving dwarf. “I said, stuntie, be moving along now. Come, now go.” Karak sat like the boulder in the stream, cold, hard, and unmoving.

The sergeant's men moved another step back making the sign of Flor as they retreated hoping to the Gods that they would not catch the pox. The sergeant lost for the fact that his command went unheard. Gripping his pole arm with two hands, he shoved hard with the iron capped butt end into Karak’s back. The force of the blow pushed Karak forward over his dead brother’s body and his hands splayed out to the side to catch himself from falling onto his brother. His left hand slapped the flagstones, his right hand landed on the leather wrapped hilt of his war axe.

Quietly and quickly the merchant tents closest to Karak untied the straps that held the main flap in place and let them drop with a plop onto the flagstones. The merchants dipped inside and were not to be seen again that night. Suddenly where there had been a small throng of evening shoppers there were now none. All that remained in the square was a lone dwarf who stood planted with his feet square on the ground and a headless sergeant at arms with both his arms still gripping the offending pole axe. Lying next to the sergeant like petals of a flower were five of his men. Dead from grievous war axe wounds to the chest, head, back and arms. Steam rose from Karak’s body as his sweat cooled in the night air.

The rage burned itself out like it often did, and Karak snapped into the present with his ears ringing and his sight blurred into focus. His muscles ached with exertion and his breath shot in gouts of steam like a bull in the cold of the pre-dawn morning. Karak looked around him and saw the faces of the throng staring at him. Some with fear, some with disgust, and a few with admiration. No one approached him. The town was silent again. Karak looked at what he had done. He had killed before, but these men were butchered, disemboweled, and lay broken in heaps upon the street. The blood pooled in the valleys of the flagstones and the steam rose in wisps. How the dead were at his feet his did not know, that they were dead by his hand he did know. The cry of “Alarum, Alarum!” rose in the distance.

Karak stood still, unable to break from his stance. To leave his brother without deep interment in his mountainhold was as baseless and vile a thought as any mountain dwarf could have. And yet, Karak knew to stay meant instant death by the hand of the King’s men. Even through his grief he knew that would waste his brother’s death, Aye, waste his life. No, the plague would not take two dwarves this day. And, drawing from strength of will Karak did not know he had, he knelt by his brother’s side and kissed his forehead. “Chalak, me, Chalak. I will make this up to you,” and he stood grasping his war axe close by the haft near the head. Before he left, however, he knelt back down and pulled the silver crescent moon pendant from Malak’s tunic and with a swift tug set the necklace free from his brother’s neck. Grasping it by the chain, Karak, began to run in the slow steady run of the dwarf, the silver holy symbol flashing in the moonslight as it twisted in the wind.



The next morning the sun rose and burned the mist from the streets. The sounds of Barnacus waking filled the air as thin weedy boys played in the alleyways next to the market square and mothers swept out the last days dust. Gillik stood on the wooden threshold of his small inn that served the merchant square folk visiting from neighboring towns. He leaned back and stretched backward as he pressed the backs of his hands into the small of his back. Then reaching down he grasped the large water bucket left outside the inn’s door having been emptied into the street last night and left for this morning’s cleanup. Feeling the weight of the water still in the bucket, he swore an oath to himself “If’n I told that serving wench once I told her twice, to empty the bucket at night when she leaves.”

“Hilda!" he yelled inside. “Get outside here this moment. I am tired of telling you…” Hilda ran to the door with the morning’s sleep still in her eyes.

“Yes, Gillik, yes I forgot…” As her eyes drifted down to the water bucket and the full realization hit her, she let out a scream that was heard for blocks.

“Flor’s Behind, woman! How dares you make my heart race this early in the morning, why I have a mind to…” Gillik followed Hilda’s horrified stare to the water bucket that he grasped in his hand and was quite astonished to see that a decapitated head lie quite stuck inside his empty water bucket.

 

[Jon Potter]

[Karak #2] A Goddess Speaks

Here's the rest of Karak's backstory, as told by his player.

The Warehouse​

So the days blended into night and into days again. Karak made his escape from Banacus without a problem. All knew that no one would stop him from leaving the city, it was entering the city that was the problem. The plague that had befallen Banacus caused the city gates to be closed to outsiders for the first time in fifty years. Whether the plague left Banacus and spread no gave a care. So Karak left with only what he could carry on his back and the weight of his brother’s death on his heart. He had sworn to his King that he would see Malak safely through it all. He was his brother’s fighter. How can a miracle worker protect himself? He needs the might of axe, armor, and shield. He had heard Malak talk of Faith. Hmpfff! Where was his Faith now? What did his Faith give him? Nothing but death, that’s what. Where was his Goddess to save him from his plight?

These were the types of thoughts Karak thought whilst he sat upon the wooden crate in the warehouse. Three days forced march brought him to Vimore, about a week’s travel from Hillville Junction. The gates of the town were open and people were not wary of his presence. Karak promptly found a job and lodging as a warehouse guard for Hungrt the Cautious. Hungrt has made his fortune in flour and vinegar, which he stored, in his large wooden warehouse. Thieves had begun to steal the large wooden barrels that stored the vinegar and rat tracks tromped the flour sacks. What was strange however was the vinegar barrels were stolen empty! But Hungrt could not sell vinegar without barrels and so Karak was hired to guard the warehouse, and in the process search for the offending rats that were soiling the flour.

Night had fallen for the third night of the watch and not a crate had been stolen or a flour sack nibbled. As Karak made the rounds in the rectangular warehouse the vinegar arranged in neat rows stacked three barrels high and four rows deep; he could see the rat tracks in the straw of flooring. By the size of the imprints this warehouse was being hit by a large number of rats. A swarm was all that Karak could tell. Karak strolled to the south side of the warehouse where the twin moonsbeams fell through the window to the floor. Karak walked and stopped so each foot stepped in the white rectangle of moonsbeam on the floor and clasped his war axe behind him as he gazed out the window.

He remembered a half-elfin woman wearing the King’s armor. A Janissary was it. The king’s soldier was searching for him. Karak knew by now that his description would be posted throughout Banacus for killing the sergeant and his men. But how did Karak know about this Janissary? This one he knew from somewhere in his past. Shaking the image of the fairy face from his mind, Karak looked around him. Nothing stirred. Only the sound of wooden window shutters softly blown and hitting the outside of the warehouse could be heard. Karak watched the dust motes swirl in the moon light kicked alive by his metal shod feet. The dust moved and danced as if they were alive. Upon peering closer Karak could envision the dust coalescing were little people acting out their lives. Karak could see he and his brother following Arngrim in the snow. The dust swirled like the unnatural blizzard that struck them and claimed the life of Arngrim.

Next Karak saw the haunted human monastery filled with the undead that he and his brother defeated. Malak was glorious in the pursuit of his Queen. He glowed with her holy essence, much like the dust mites glowing in the moonsbeams now. Karak next saw meeting up with a caravan and he and his brother descended a mountain. Then the image shifted onto a small watchtower where he encountered more enemies to smite. The battle was played out in the dust. The next 'play' was peculiar indeed for he saw the elfin Janissary as fresh in his minds eye played out in front of him of a battle in the house of a manor in Banacus. It was the same house he and his brother delivered the message to. In this house he saw acts of spider climbing, miracles of Shaharizod, and pure out and out fighting. It seems the Janissary’s group defeated the attackers, and that seemed as it should be.

By this time, Karak was kneeling in the moonsbeams watching his past play out before him. He swept his hand through the dust mites disrupting their little play and watched them swirl around and around. Karak’s lids grew heavy from the hypnotic circling of the dust in the moonslight. Slowly as if on the edges of his eyesight, Karak watched as the swirl began to take on features. First the edges of a smile, then two round and blue eyes, then a nose, then a chin. A beautiful face of unknown heritage formed in front of his eyes, the mouth was moving but the sound was too silent. Karak leaned in closer. "Karak Kloskurmbur, son of Kignar, bother of Malak, hear me." Karak sat motionless enthralled by the face of beauty.

"You are wasting your life, and I am not pleased," the face spoke to him. "You did not cause your brother’s death. The forces of Aphyx move against me my son. They move to destroy my faithful servants like your brother… and… you."

Karak harrumphed at this.

"Yes, Karak, I have not only overseen your brother, but you as well. You too are a faithful servant to the Queen. I know that which lies within your heart and it was once pure. I ask of you to make it pure to me again. Do not blame me for your brother’s death, blame the followers and corrupt of Aphyx. They destroyed your brother as well as my clerics and Battleguards, and they seek to destroy me. If they succeed in their quest, the world as we know it will be destroyed. I need you Karak. Many have served and perished as my Battleguards, and I mourn them all. But the task I ask you is even greater. I know you have the mind and heart to follow me for I am your Queen now Karak. I am your Goddess as I always have been. Go, now Karak, with all the rights and responsibilities as my right hand. Leave this place forthwith and travel to Hillville Junction. Go, my son, my faithful, and my Battleguard. Travel knowing you are guided and protected by your Queen who loves you as she does her own skin."

And, with that Karak, stood up, blinked in the moonslight, and turned to exit the warehouse. Nothing stirred - not even a mouse. Karak knew not what his Goddess meant by being a Battleguard. Inside he still felt empty and alone at the death of his brother, and he was no more comforted with the knowledge his Goddess watching over him. He did not feel any more protected or safe. And if truth be told, he was still angry with her for allowing one of her faithful to die. And, now he was supposed to put his life in her hands.

"Hmpfff! Hardly," Karak thought.

* * *​

An outsider would have found it interesting to know the thoughts rolling inside Karak’s head with his angry thoughts of defiance to his Goddess, because Karak was making good speed, even for a dwarf, as he made for Hillville Junction.

 

[stonedogs]

Jon Potter's Realms of Enlightenment - The Grey Companians

Well, it has been a long time since I have posted on a web board, but the time is now. By the way I play Soriah Ilea Chaste, Battleguard of Shaharizod, Ruze Bloodbow Faith, another Battleguard, Windstryder, and now Karak Kloskurmbur. For DM appreciation week, I hereby express my appreciation to Jon for all his dedication and time to out PBEM campaign. It is definitely the highlight of my week and I think my fellow players feel the same. We all played round table D&D and Warhammer Role Play in college and have now found a way to play over state lines. I firmly believe it is Jon's dedication to the game that continues it. By "forcing" us to write each week by having a non-wavering deadline we keep the game going. So let me express all the reasons I like this game.

#1. Its open gaming content. By that I mean the map boundaries are endless. Jon has never said, "Well you can't go over there, because I have not scripted that out." That may not seem like much, but think about that players out there. A completely open world. I have role played in a kitchen for crying out loud, and it was fun! One truly can go wherever or develop one's charactor in any manner. I could have kept roll playing Windstryder into Barnicus but I chose not to, not because Jon did not want to. So I love this game because of the possibilites.

#2. Our actions have real consequences. Jon does not fudge the die rolls or our actions into what should happen or what he wants to happen or that he may not want to have a character die. Again think about that players. I believe it is no fun to have one's character be invincible due to DM intervention. What makes his campaign so fun, is the potential for success or failure by our characters. Every battle scene I read on the edge of my seat, I never know if we are going to make it or not. That leads me to #3 which I will post later.

Raef aka stonedogs

 

[Jon Potter]

The tournament was a simple elimination affair, and after five successive rounds of brawling, it came down - not unexpectedly - to four stalwarts: Feln, Black Dougal, Drogo Ravenot, and the newcomer, Karak. Both Feln and Ravenot had remained largely uninjured during their earlier bouts, and Karak seemed all but impervious to injury despite the fact that he was hit by most of the blows thrown at him during the contest. Black Dougal was not nearly so lucky, and his slow and ponderous fighting style had left him on the receiving end of a good many haymakers. By the final round of competition, he was bruised and bloodied and barely on his feet.

Feln made quick work of the warrior. The bout lasted less than twenty seconds and earned the half-orc a few jeers from the spectators who were eager to see a more lengthy exhibition. For a moment, Feln wondered if his idea to hold this competition had been a poor one. His time as a celebrated hero had been a short one, it seemed.

Karak faced-off with Ravenot in what was a longer match only because both fighter spent the first twenty seconds circling one another in the ring. It was Ravenot who acted first by throwing a handful of grit in the dwarf's face then darting in while Karak was blinded to deliver a fist to his face. The crowd roared disapprovingly at the display of poor sportsmanship, but it was nothing compared to the silence that followed.

Karak wiped the filth from his eyes and spit out a mouthful of blood as he glared at Ravenot. "So, humie. That's the way it's ta be, eh?" he growled, his voice dripping with malevolence. He beckoned the man closer and bared his blood-slicked teeth. "Come on over 'ere an' let ol' Karak show ye what we dwarves think o' cheaters!"

Ravenot ended the bout prematurely by stepping voluntarily out of the fighting circle. He double-timed it away from the village green as fast as his shaking knees would carry him. The crowd's laughter chased him the whole way.

Seeing the display, Vade decided that it just might have been a good thing that Gellir had refused to fight him in the contest. The halfling was content to sit on the sidelines and eat the delectables being offered by the townsfolk. And cheer Feln, of course! Ledare had joined him - wearing a gown, of all things - and sat in the stands cheering the half orc and hurling insults at his competitors. She seemed to be having a grand time watching the fighting, but Vade suspected from the way she kept looking around that she might just be trying to keep an eye on the halfling's nimble fingers.

So Feln and Karak faced off against one another. The wiry half orc was naked to the waist, his well-muscled torso slick with sweat, new piercings twinkling in the noonday sun. In contrast, the dwarf's body was as wide and as hairy as a bear and so thickly-muscled that his skin looked stuffed with boulders. Both fighters were barefoot since ap-Llewellyn's keen scrutiny had revealed before the first bout that each wore magical footwear and magical augmentation was strictly forbidden in such contests.

Unlike both of their previous bouts, this one wasn't over quickly.

Both combatants sized each other up for a moment and it seemed as if neither wanted to be the first to act, but Karak dispelled this thought by throwing a roundhouse punch at Feln. The half-orc had a considerable advantage in unarmed combat and was able to not only dodge the incoming blow, but also deliver an opportunistic punch to Karak's ribs in the process. He tried to follow it up with a kick to the dwarf's jaw, but Karak was too savvy for that and he ducked beneath the martial artist's foot, driving his fist up toward Feln's groin. The half orc blocked the blow, however, absorbing the impact with his forearm; just the same, it was like being hit with a steel hammer.

The dwarf had over-extended himself again, and Feln slammed his elbow into the back of Karak's head at the same time his knee thudded into his right thigh. The maneuver was intended to trip his opponent, but Karak was far too sturdy to go down so easily. He spun around, but his fist found only empty air. Feln seized the opportunity to send a heron kick at the dwarf's head, but Karak dodged the foot on the way up. He didn't expect it to come down on him again, however, and was only able to avoid taking the blow on top of his skull by the narrowest of margins. Feln's heel sank into the meat of Karak's left thigh eliciting a grunt of pain from the dwarf.

"Aye, lad, ye be a mighty one," Karak grunted, his lip quivering with restrained fury. "But I ain't losin' to an orcblood!"

What happened next took the martial artist completely by surprise. Karak exploded at him like a jack-in-the-box made entirely of fists. Feln saw the dwarf's eyes grow huge and wide, lit by a baleful rage that could no longer be contained and then the first blow landed against his right knee. He felt the joint give out momentarily from the force of the blow and he started to pitch forward. Then the dwarf's other fist was slamming into the half orc's sternum driving him back to a standing position.

Feln tried to bring his not-inconsiderable skill at unarmed combat to bear, but Karak was unrelenting. No sooner had the martial artist raised his right fist to deliver a viper strike then his opponent's fist slammed into his elbow, driving his blow out of alignment. Karak dodged the knee aimed for his throat and backhanded Feln across the kidneys. The half orc staggered forward half a step before sprawling face-first into the dirt.

He didn't get up and for a few moments, Karak turned in a circle as if looking for more opponents to pummel. But after the thudding roar of blood in his ears died away, he heard the awed roar of the spectators. They were on their feet, clapping and cheering. As the adrenalin wore off at last, Karak fell backward on his rump and sat, panting beside his fallen adversary.



"Dinna take it so bad, orcblood!" Karak boasted, his moustache foamy with ale. "I be a dwarf, afteralls! Ye were bound ta lose!"

Feln endured the dwarf's laughter in silence, staring at his own untouched mug and stewing. The contest hadn't gone at all the way he'd thought it would. He'd imagined it a foregone conclusion that at the end of the day it would be him being slapped on the back and lauded with free ale and well-earned praise. The joy he had felt at being honored with a hero's feast had turned bitter and poisonous. So he said nothing and went over the battle again and again in his mind, intent on figuring out what had gone wrong.

Ledare came over and laid a comforting hand on Feln's shoulder. "Well fought," she said and the half orc only grunted in reply. When she looked over at Karak, his gray eyes were studying her face with interest. She approached and offered her hand to Karak.

"You," the dwarf said as he examined her features. Ledare looked nonplussed.

"Do I know you?" she asked, withdrawing her hand.

"Oi, lassy! I do believe we met before," Karak told her. "Were ye not travelin' with a fat human, a couple o' half elves like yerself, an' a faarie wizard? Where be they now?"

Ledare looked as if she'd been burned for a moment and then her eyes narrowed. "There have been some troubles of late," she told him and Karak snorted laughter.

"Ya think ye got troubles, lassie?" he growled. "I take it ye have nae been to Barnacus lately?"

 

[Jon Potter]

[Realms #261] Heading Out

Karak gave the only first-hand account that they had yet heard of the state of things in Barnacus, and although it had been more than a fortnight since he'd fled the capital, the picture he painted with his words was very grave indeed. The trouble had began with a riot at the Festival of Ibrahil - some madness about cannibals and tainted food - and the next day people started to get sick. At first it was the weakest - children, the elderly, elves - but it quickly became apparent that Barnacus had a full-scale epidemic on its hands. By the time that even dwarves began to succumb to the disease a few days later, the city gates were sealed. But who knows how many sick people fled to the countryside carrying the plague with them?

The disease struck hard, its effects both powerful and disturbing. Horrible weeping sores were common as was bleeding from the eyes and mouth, but as terrible as the physical effects were, it was the mental effects that were the worst. Victims were quickly overcome with delirium and terrible hallucinations. Violent episodes were common in the first few days of the epidemic, but it didn't last long. Victims were stripped of their reason and became vegetables within a week usually.

"Ye might remember I had me a brother when I last saw ye," Karak told Ledare. His face twitched with emotion as he tried without success to contain the tears of loss. "Well, he is no more."

"I'm terribly sorry," the Janissary began but Karak brought his ale to his lips and stared off into the crowd.

"It seems he nae be protected by the Goddess Shaharizod as me and you," he cleared his throat and spit a sizeable gobbet of phlegm onto the ground. He wiped his nose and eyes on the sleeve of his tunic before looking up at Ledare once more. "What'n yer band be called again?"

Ledare looked a trifle embarrassed that she had let to come up with a name that captured both the spirit of the group as well as their purpose. 'Thrown-together-sorry-ass-miss-matched-aimless-do-gooders' just didn't have the proper tone. "We were once known as the Grey Company," she said lamely.

"Were ye not last in a manor in Barnacus?" the dwarf asked although from the sound of it he already knew the answer. Ledare nodded and Karak asked, " What brings you out here?"

"The trouble in Barnacus, actually," the Janissary began but then Vade staggered up to their table and thudded down two of the largest pewter steins that Ledare had ever seen. She was surprised that the halfling could manage them both.

"Hi!" Vade grinned, looking from the dour Karak to the sullen Feln. "I brought you guys a beer. Best in town, according to the brewer."

"Why thank ye, little one," the dwarf said and tipped back what was left of his own mug before reaching for the one that Vade had offered. He grinned. "Whippin' yer friend's arse be thirsty work."

Feln glowered at Karak and then started to get up, but Vade stopped him by grabbing onto his leg with both arms.

"Do not feel bad, Feln," Vade pleaded. "Karak sure was tough. In fact, he reminds me a little of my Uncle Bob, the Razorback. The way he fights that is. Bob did not have a beard... or huge muscles, but he was ferocious. Man! I would not have liked to have been hit by one of those blows. Ouch!"

"Aye, orcblood, the wee one's right," Karak said, taking a long pull on his new mug. "I'd say for an orcblood ye fight good. Who be teach ye all those fancy moves, eh?"

"I spent many years learning my fighting style," Feln growled. "And you, without any discipline, beat me."

"My Uncle Bob took out 3 gnolls once all by himself," Vade interjected. "Knocked out 6 of their teeth and ended up wearing them as a necklace. Not very pretty, but he was proud of it. He did not like it when I borrowed it from him for a while."

"Three gnolls?" Karak snorted. "Ye shoulda sent a dwarf. Woulda taken out the three gnolls an' the rest o' their tribe while he was at it. Remind me to tell ye o' the time me chalak an' me wiped out a whole tower full o' orcblood bandits someday, little one."

Vade was a little hurt that Karak thought so little of his uncle's accomplishments, but he let the insults roll off his back. He'd had nearly a week dealing with Gellir to understand the ways of dwarves. "You see, Feln," the halfling said with a smile. "He took out a whole tower of bad guys, so you did really well."

Feln didn't seem convinced.

"I agree! I was amazed how you'n bounced aroun' and all, but as you can see it does nae good against the might of a dwarf!" Karak said, thumping his broad chest with his fist. "It was a good show though. I think I might'n be watching you an' pickin' up a move or two."

Feln looked at him disgusted. "It takes years of dedicated training to learn to do what I do," he sneered.

Karak shrugged. "If'n you like, I'll teach ye how to stand still like a dwarf," he said and up-ended his tankard. "By the by, you be drinkin that ale?"

Feln shook his head in disgust. "You lack discipline and-" He stopped in mid-sentence for he could see that Karak was no longer listening. The dwarf's face had filled suddenly with wonder, his eyes growing wide as he looked off into the crowd. Following his gaze, Feln spied Ixin approaching their table with four foaming mugs gripped in her hands. She had on the new black leather clothes that Wulfric the Tanner had crafted for her - tight breeches that laced up the outside of each leg and a sleeveless bustier that laced up the front. Only she didn't have the laces done up on the top, revealing the scintillating chainmail bikini she wore underneath. As she moved toward their table, the crowd parted around her and all eyes turned to watch her sachet passed.

"S-s-succubus," Karak muttered, a thin line of ale trickling out of the corner of his mouth.

Ixin smiled as she got closer and offered the mugs to her friends. "I have never in my life seen two men fight so impressively!" she told Feln and Karak. "Clearly you two are kindred spirits!"

The dwarf blushed and raised the mug to his lips. Feln just scowled.

"I feel certain that any team on which the two of you fight can do nothing but win," Ixin went on. "Aphyx has no IDEA what she is in for!"

At mention of the name, Karak spewed beer from his nose. "Aphyx?!" he growled, teeth grinding together as he thudded to his feet. Ixin recoiled uncontrollably from his advance. "What do ye know about Aphyx, succubus?"

"Only that we're trying to stop her," the mage blurted out before Ledare interposed herself between drakeling and dwarf.

"Stand down, Karak," the Janissary commanded. "Ixin is with me." The dwarf settled somewhat at that and sat back down.

"So ye're aimin' to stop 'er are ye?" Karak mused. "Then we've got us some talkin' ta do, 'cause that's me own goal, as well."

Sunday the 17th - Moonsday the 18th of Wealsun, 1269 AE​

With some help from Karak, Gellir was able to finish Ledare's breastplate almost a full day early. She was surprised at how light and mobile she felt after shedding her suit of half-plate, and she decided that it was well worth the wait. Especially since it gave her the time she needed to finish reading through the Trials of Decay. On the evening of Moonsday, she filled the rest of the group in on everything she had learned.

"Angered by the unbalanced influence the Goddess of Decay held over the land, the gods of good and law began to martial their own followers and worked to create an army under the leadership of a charismatic young lord called Imruk of Pell. Imruk succeeded in uniting the independent lordships and city-states and establish the rule of law under the new kingdom of Pellham. He then led the combined forces in an effort to topple Zagaroth's evil empire. One detachment of Imruk's army was sent to lay siege to, and ultimately destroy, Deathshead while the remainder marched into Zagaroth's domain.

The war that followed, which became known as the War of Unity, was long and bloody but eventually Zagaroth's forces were broken, and the demons that served him banished back to the abyss. While there was no one, great, final battle which decided the outcome of the conflict, the turning point came when Melengar vanished, and the great Rod of Ruin was lost. Few people ever knew exactly what happened to the High Priest, and those that did, kept the information to themselves. But it was not until this mysterious disappearance of Melengar and the subsequent seige of Deathshead that Zagaroth's evil empire began to falter.

Deathshead had long been thought to be unassailable, but the mysterious disappearance of Melengar had upset many of the priesthood's plans. In their confusion and the subsequent internal power struggle to fill the void left by Melengar's loss, the Plaguebringers had allowed their defenses to weaken. Even so the inhabitants of Deathshead were still quite powerful and the siege was expected to be a long one. To the dismay of the evil goddess' followers however, several months into the siege, a small group of powerful Druids arrived to assist Imruk's army. These Druids summoned elementals of earth and fire and set them to the task of sundering the outer fortifications of the castle. While their elemental servants battered the walls, the Druids combined their power to cause massive earthquakes which shook the fortress and weakened its structure. Eventually, the walls were breached and the army was able to mount an attack against the forces within. Once begun, the battle was won in but a few days, although not without heavy losses. The Tapestry of Passage was recovered from the Defiler's stronghold and turned over to the priesthood of Flor for safekeeping.

Meanwhile, Imruk's armies finally breached the walls of Zagaroth's capital and began to raze the city, the avatar saw that the end was near and he called upon his goddess-mother for immortal aid. Aphyx however was embattled upon her own plane and did not hear, or could not respond to her son's pleas before the three great Avarial generals of Imruk's army came upon him. These three knew that killing Zagaroth upon this plane would simply free his evil soul to return to his mother and so instead they began to weave a great spell that would open a magical gate into the Void and cast him in, thus destroying his soul forever.

As the gate neared completion Aphyx finally heard her son's call and began to reverse the spell the winged-folk were attempting. The Avarial realized that even their combined power was no match for a that of a god and so rather than let the spell be undone, they caused it to be placed into a state of stasis thus trapping Zagaroth between the Void and the prime material plane - beyond the reach of man and immortal alike.

In the aftermath of the War of Unity, the cults dedicated to Aphyx were destroyed wherever they could be found and those priests who escaped were forced to go into hiding."​

For her part, Ixin used the extra time in town to consult with various authorities on the mysterious Myth Drannor. The bard, Geneviève the Fair, was by far the most helpful, spinning many tales of wonder about the doomed City of Song. So by the time Ledare's armor was ready and the group was prepared at last to leave Hillville Junction, Ixin was able to convince the others that Myth Drannor might be the next best choice for them to visit.

The others hadn't seen much of Morier during their time in town. The albino had deep ties to the folk of the village and spent his time renewing those bonds that mattered most to him. The others were somewhat surprised when he presented them each with some small medallions that he had crafted for them - with the help of Algar Strongarm - out of iron. They were each small and plain and each was etched with three initials: VQS.

"What's this?" Ledare asked when the eldritch warrior made his presentation.

"It stands for Vla'rinnyn Quarth Sila. It means 'Brotherhood of the Order Bringers'," he explained and then quickly added, "We don't have to keep that as our group's name or anything. I just thought that since we didn't have any other-"

Ixin smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I love the name, Morier."

The albino's face did its best to blush.

Godsday the 19th of Wealsun, 1269 AE​

The VQS retraced their steps back northward along the River Druitt into Spiderwood. The trip was uneventful although Ixin's familiar Martivir was excited to be back in the woods and spent the trip gleefully snatching mice and voles out of the underbrush. They hadn't taken any pains to cover their path when they'd made the trek toward town, so there were plenty of broken branches and obvious footprints along the way. Still they suffered from Windstryder's absence, and a trip that had taken half a day the first time, now took them three quarters. It was approaching dusk by the time they reached the clearing.

All looked to be as they'd left it - the noisome remains of the rat-headed giant still lay in a blackened pile beside one of the standing stones, its body swarming with fat white ants, the alter still squatted in the center of the barren clearing - but there was a sense that something had changed. Someone had been there since their last visit. Without discussion, the group spread out to investigate and it was Karak who first noticed the dark altarstone was wet. He reached out to touch its surface and his gloved fingers came away red.

"There's been death 'ere," he growled, hefting his axe. "An' recently, too, by the looks."

"There are tracks over here," Ledare said, indicating the ground near the portal. "But I can't make any sense of them."

"Uh, guys?" Vade said, his voice sounding very small and afraid. "I think we should get out of here."

"What is-" Feln started to ask, but the question quickly died on his lips as the source of Vade's concern became apparent.

The swarm of ants that were eagerly devouring the rat-giant's remains had gathered into a tight cluster of snapping mandibles and flailing legs. They were advancing on the group like a moving carpet of death.

 

[Jon Potter]

[Realms #262] Ants in Their Pants

"Yaaaaa!!!!" Vade squealed as he ran toward the portal of swirling green vapor just as fast as his tiny legs would allow. "Burn them! Burn them!" he urged and Morier pulled one of the wands from his wrist sheathe.

"My thoughts exactly, Vade!" the eldritch warrior smirked, pointing his wand and speaking the command word: "Irakulos!" A sheet of fire erupted from the wand and settled across the swarm's left flank, instantly crisping a dozen of the large white ants. Immediately, a dozen more swarmed over the charred remains to take their place.

"Not good..." Morier grimaced.

"Head for the portal!" Ledare commanded. Even as she drew Ravager and waved the blade overhead in a rallying gesture, the Janissary began moving toward the standing stone that bore the arched portal. "Ixin! We need you to activate it!"

"Right!" the mage responded and darted after her. Unencumbered by any armor, Ixin quickly overtook Ledare, reaching the portal a good five paces ahead of the half-elf. Vade was already there waiting for her and hopping nervously from one foot to the other like a child who needed to use the privy.

"Which one?" Ixin asked, pointing to the various runes that she had already tried and naming them each off in turn. "Caves, mountain, unicorn, or dungeon? Or one of these others?"

"Caves!" Vade shouted, but Ledare skidded to a stop behind him and shook her head.

"Wrong way!" she told him. "We're heading south, remember?"

"Unicorn?" Ixin asked, looking wide-eyed at the Janissary.

"Do it!" Ledare answered with a nod just as Morier cried out in alarm.

The ant swarm had reached him and their pincered mandibles quickly found their way beneath his mail. He felt dozens of painful stings as they ran wildly up his body, giving the impression from a distance of the albino melting into a mound of ants. That was all the more that Karak needed to see. He turned and clanked toward the portal.

"Oi! These little creatures look like they be havin' a mind to think we are their next meal!" the dwarf cursed as he neared the standing stone. "Lassie, what be ye doin' o'er by this 'ere stone gate?" Before Ixin could answer, however, Feln came bounding up, very nearly bowling the mage over in his haste.

"We should get out of here!" the half orc urged. He was visibly shaken by an opponent that he couldn't fight. "This is a fight that gains us nothing but more trouble."

"I'm trying!" Ixin said as she reached out a hand to anchor herself to the portal. Vade and Ledare readied themselves to jump through as soon as the mist cleared, signalling that Ixin had successfully activated the portal.

Morier, cursing and spitting ants from his mouth, ran as fast as he could toward the others, and quickly left the main body of the swarm behind. The ants that were still under his armor continued to bite him, however, and he could feel blood flowing beneath his mail. He reached portal seconds after the mists cleared, revealing crumbling stone walls overgrown with flowering vines beyond. He jumped through the portal right after Vade and Ledare, landing in the soft loam beyond.

Karak scowled at the magical doorway, delaying long enough for Feln to dart around him and through to the other side. "Are ye sure ye ken how this thing works, girl?"

"Just go!" Ixin urged, her voice, infused with the raw power of the nexus, sounded hollow and otherworldly. Karak paused again, glanced back at the swarm which was moving ever nearer, then harrumphing once, stepped through into a distant woodland.

Ixin moved to do the same, just as the ants reached her and began tearing eagerly into the flesh of her legs. She cried out in pain, lost control of the portal, and barely managed to fall through the gateway before the mists swirled closed over Spiderwood. The swarm was left on the far side of the portal except for the few dozen that continued to crawl angrily over Ixin and Morier's bodies. Vade and Karak darted forward to squash the remaining insects while Feln continued to back away from the things.

Only Ledare saw the figure on the far side of the clearing, standing beside one of the enormous standing stones, and she glimpsed it for only a moment before the portal clouded over, cutting off her view of Spiderwood. The figure was humanoid and robed in mustard yellow. It gestured with one arm as if it were directing the actions of the ant swarm, and that one visible arm was covered with filthy scabs and infected lesions.

Then the mists closed in, obscuring the view beyond completely.

"Morier's bleeding an awful lot!" Vade said loudly, and it was true. The albino's armor was dripping with blood from the many bites he'd taken.

"Help me get this off!" the eldritch warrior implored as his fingers worked at the straps of his custom fit scalemail.

"What about Ixin?" Ledare asked as she turned away from the portal and sheathed her sword.

Karak looked up from the mage with a huge white ant squeezed between his fingers. It flailed around and snapped its fiery orange mandibles for a moment before the dwarf crushed it to a pulpy mess. "Aye! She's bleedin' a wee bit more'n seems right for the wounds she took," Karak said grimly. "These ants be unnatural creatures."

"Can't we stop the bleeding?" Ixin pleaded, an edge of panic creeping into her contralto voice.

"We can try, lassie," Karak said. "But healin' ain't me be best skill. That was me chalak's strength, not mine."

"Let me try," Ledare said as she dropped down beside Ixin and began to work on the drakeling's many lacerations. Karak backed up and watched her work for a moment before turning to examine his surroundings.

They were in a forest, but it was quite unlike Spiderwood. Firstly, the trees were huge, towering taller than any trees the dwarf had ever seen. Many of them looked to be almost as tall as the bridge pylons connecting the twin delves of Zhufbar and Kadrin in the Thunder Mountains. Secondly, they were surrounded on three sides by the crumbling remains of a stone wall that had clearly been built by human hands, and had long ago succumbed to the ravages of time. It was pierced everywhere with gaps in the stonework and what remained seemed fairly held together by the flowering vines that grew over it. The portal was built into a single flat standing stone that faced in toward a shrine. The shrine itself was bathed in shadows, but Karak's darkvision clearly revealed the presence of a rectangular altar of some kind flanked by two elaborately carved, but weather-worn stone statues of snarling lizards.

"I can't stop the bleeding!" Vade cried out again. "We need to use one of your potions, Morier!"

"Not yet," the albino protested weakly. His words were slurring from blood loss, and his white hands looked startlingly red as he and Vade worked futilely to bind his wounds. He had a smear of blood on his forehead where he'd wiped away a drop of sweat. "With no cleric to heal us, we'll need them for emergencies."

"This is turning into an emergency!" Vade cried. He looked a little sick to his stomach from the sight of so much blood.

"Just keep at it, both of you," Ledare urged. "I'm almost through with Ixin."

Karak strode over to Vade and thumped down beside him. He looked at Morier and watched the elf work skill-lessly at his own wounds. The dwarf harrumphed and swatted away Morier's hands. "Ye be doin' it wrong!" Karak growled. "This be how Malak always did it." The dwarf laid his hands on Morier's head and chest, closed his eyes and muttered some words in dwarfish under his breath. The holy symbol of Shaharizod that Karak had taken off of his brother's corpse, slid free of his armor and hung free on its silver chain, winking in the twilight as it spun back and forth.

Morier felt something move through him, like a wave of sunlight or the heat from a forge and his wounds stopped bleeding. Karak harrumphed again and got to his feet. "That be the proper way ta heal," he grumbled and backed away from his patient.

No one was in a position to see the eyes on the rightmost statue flare with a cold, baleful light, but they all felt the sinister urgings of a Fear spell wash over them as they did so. Feln, Vade, Morier, and Ledare all dropped what they were doing and ran off screaming into the surrounding trees.

Karak and Ixin blinked at one another. "That's not good," the drakeling told her remaining companion.

 

[Hairy Minotaur]

Anyone having regrets that there's no cleric after that encounter?