Alone by the Well

Arcanus awoke from a deep sleep. Frustrated by his body's need to relieve itself he rolled around for a moment before heading to the outhouse. The early morning air was cool and light had not yet graced the horizon. He called forth light with a word in the ancient tongue and hurriedly tiptoed toward the outhouse. As he finished he could hear a quiet voice talking in a hasty tone. He left the outhouse and sought the voice out. By the well he spied Carrabus gesturing and speaking.

Carrabus spoke quietly,"I have done what you said but the ring hides it's secrets from me! How then should I take my father's place if I cannot use even the lowliest of his treasures."
A lighter voice spoke spoke from the gloom about Carrabus. "It is simple my master. You are not yet of sufficient power to use it. Its power will open to you as you learn. We sent you because others crave its power and..."
A deeper voice interjected loudly. "Do not use their names! Their names are powerful. We may draw their attention."
"I was going to say," said the other voice in an annoyed whisper," they will not move directly against you. So long as you seek your fathers treasures they cannot move directly against you, such is the pact."
A third burbling voice spoke,"Now that we have answered this question you may ask two more."
Carrabus bit his lip, "Where will I find the Stone? It was said he could know his enemy's weaknesses by looking at them while he wore it."
The deep voice answered exhaling loudly, "The Stone is on the Isle you now seek. It sits around the neck of one of the lieutenants who dwells there. He knows what it can do and uses it secretly to move up the ladder of command."
"Also be wary," said the lighter voice "An enemy can be made of the Ancient Guardians that care for the Isle. They respected your Father's place and power they may not do the same for you."
"Your last question please, time grows short." Spoke the burbling voice.
"Will you show me more of the Storm Lord's ways?" Carrabus said with a touch excitement in his voice.
"Yes,my master it is the least we can do", replied the lighter voice. "Think of a bolt of lightning. Imagine its moment, visualize the dance it takes as it crosses from sky to earth. Hear the cracking sound of air burning and energy released. Just as fire comes from a spark so too can lightning. Build the spark in your mind, become it then move as you see the dance of lightning from sky to earth. All who you touch you will feel your wrath!
"Yes! I can feel it!" He said.
In that moment he was lightning with thought. His only thought to burn. I the blink of an eye he had moved from the well through a tree about 30 feet away leaving a burning mark in that line. His hair stood on end and he laughed softly to himself.
"Thank you my friends!" he called out. He turned back to the inn with a powerful bearing. He felt as if he could walk on air. "Air... yes I think flying with be next on the list to learn."

Arcanus watched the spectacle that his companion had done. To his knowledge not many can use magic just as Carrabus did though it is possible. The air smelled burned and salty. Arcanus walked to the well and discovered nothing that would be useful in a ritual. The water of the well held no lingering magics. He had hear every word Carrabus had said and thought, "Perhaps his claims are true. There are many being that can choose not to be seen and heard if they want to. Though the evidence suggests otherwise. If it is madness then I hope to not become a victim of it." Arcanus let the arcane light diminish as the horizon became alight. He turned and walked back to the Inn. Unclear of what to do decided he would deal with it after breakfast.

The Words of Lady Saharel

Hey dudes,

Here are the answers to your questions that Lady Saharel the Oracle provided.

-The Planestones: “Demons wait impatiently in the Abyss for Ammon Jerro, the Dark-eyed Pact-Monger who lurks in the Towers of apathetic Leitbur, to clear a path for them to flood into this world. Already a Nexus forms in the Island to the North and the Hands of Doom begin to strangle that nearly-forsaken land. The stones are the keys to the doorways that even now become the gates upon which the Hordes of the Elements pound their chaotic fists, screaming curses at those who sit terrified on the other side. All the while a dragon with many mouths whispers infernal bargains into the ears of many weak souls, hastening their demise in exchange for favours promised her by those who she knows cannot make good on them. But all hope is not lost and the people of this world move to counter even such terrible threats as these. Seek help in places of strength AND places of secrets.”

-One-Eyed Jack: “The child with one eye plays games in the basement of a great fortress with the bones of a god. Xul Jarak returns to the height of its dark power after falling from once-great heights. Lift up the black patch that covers the child’s eye and you will lift the dark curtain that covers the mystery of Xul Jarak’s new power.”

-Jeff’s Dad: “Devil-Pirates with the aspect of twisted and foul dragonlings plunder the bounty of an astral merchantman belonging to a wealthy Githyanki, slaughtering all aboard. Yet they hold him still at their infernal base, lounging in their fiery lair, neither slaying nor selling him. They wait for a word from above on how to proceed.”

Of Durin and the Speckled Trout

Durin had been walking for days on the dusty road.  It had been less than a week since he had accepted a self-imposed exile from his mountain home.  Leaving in haste Durin had managed to scrape together little else than his maul, holy symbol, chainmail shirt, a back pack full of salted pork and most importantly, a tankard of ale.  He was not fearful of what waited ahead, as he knew in his heart that Moradin had designs on his path.

 

He was however getting a wee bit peckish, as he had polished off the salted pork earlier that morning by a lovely waterfall in the foothills of Baro-Karak.  The trail he followed ran beside a stream coming from that same waterfall.  Durin was thankful for that stream as it sated his thirst, something which his long finished ale was no longer able to do.  Durin reminded himself that next time he travelled to bring more ale!

 

Glancing into the stream, Durin though he saw something jump.  Durin raised an eyebrow and said to himself,

 

“While it’s no salted pork, I will hardly refuse a nice juicy speckled trout!”

 

Durin looked around for something to help him fetch this tasty trout.  Being of noble birth, Durin had never actually attempted to catch a fish, but he said to himself,

 

“How hard could it be?  It’s a little wee fish.  I’ve felled orcs 20 times its size in a single blow with my trusty maul!”

 

Unfortunately for Durin there was little in the way of items that proved useful.  He found some stones, but found his aim with them was not nearly good enough hit such a small target.  There were no trees in the foot hills, just some shrubs, and their branches were shorter than his maul.  Grumbling Durin took off his pack, boots and armour and jumped into the stream with his maul,

 

“For Moradin!!!”

 

Splash! 

 

He waited for the water to settle and with a grin on his face expected to see the lovely white belly of the trout floating.  Instead he saw nothing… then he saw the trout jump again.

 

“I cannot believe my eyes.  This must be some sort of devilish fey fish to have evaded that well aimed blow!  No matter, Moradin guides my hand, die trout!”

 

Durin assaulted the water, in a way that it had never been attacked before.  The banks were flooded by his onslaught.  In the height of his fury he tripped and face planted into the river bank.  As he extracted himself, covered in mud he pleaded,

 

“Moradin, show me a sign of how I am to defeat this evil fish!!”

 

As he whipped his face clean he saw the imprint of his body in the river bank, and in it he saw the shape of his holy symbol, the Anvil of Moradin.  He glanced down at it hanging about his stout neck and raised an eyebrow.

 

 

Journal Entry 6

 

Blessed be Moradin

 

The journey into the world is most enlightening.  Today I discovered two new things.  The first was a new use for Anvil of Moradin, and the second was that I quite enjoy speckled trout, especially when lightly seared!

 

Your faithful servant,

-Durin Foehammer

In a case of Duplicity remember to hold on to your trousers as they say, What goes around comes around.

Faragone lounged by the fireside smoking a pipe. "A good days work" he thought to himself, "all I need now is finish breakfast and be on my way. Those chumps will be none the wiser." After finishing his meal he couldn't resist secretly rubbing their faces one more time. It was after all an art form perfected among his kind. Faragone gathered his things and went after the adventurers that had gone to check out the merchant who had finished setting up shop outside the Monastery. "Curious" he thought, "I didn't receive any warning of travelers from Clewsoro. I guess his men must be sleeping on the job again."

The mid day light washed over Faragone as he left the Monastery. He could hear the Adventures as they looked over items brought by the merchant. "And you say it can penetrate even the thickest armour made by dwarfs. That's preposterous!" He heard Durin say. Valaris piped in "Well Durin perhaps if we use that when talking to you some of the words we speak may make it in the that skull of yours."
"I don't know about that. Durin's head is pretty thick", said Rothgar.
The merchant spoke up before elf blood could be shed, " Why don't you look at this master Foehammer I think it will be more to your liking."
Faragone's blood went cold he recognized the Merchant's voice. "On second thought I shall take my leave of this place." He moved behind a tree and started rummaging through his bag.
"Faragone! How lovely to see you again after all of these years," shouted the Merchant. "Why don't you come out from behind that tree and where we can see you. First though put the bag down and remove your ring, you know the one I speak of." his voice sounding of barely contained composure.
Faragone knew that if he tried anything at that moment he would likely not live to try again. He removed the ring and came out from behind the tree. "Machellose," he said greeting the merchant by name "I thought you didn't like mingling with the rifraf of this world."
Mechellose looked at Faragone with daggers in his eyes. "I only come here when I need supplies you know that better than anyone else. Also times are not as good as good as they could be thanks to you and you friends. Hand me the ring and you may go with your skin intact."
"Something was wrong here", thought Faragone. "How unlike him to make such an offer." Faragone moved toward the Adventures and Machellose with caution "You know I never discovered why you were so upset about never getting this ring in the first place. It not even magical or an artifact. Its curious isn't it. Perhaps is some sort of memento" he smiled slyly. "Now just before I give this to you I need your word that you won't harm me in anyway nor pursue me after I am gone. That also goes for these gentlemen just in case you get some ideas about hiring them Machellose. What do you say?" Faragone then extended his hand forward with the ring in his palm looking into the eyes of the Adventures and then Machellose. The Adventures looked at each other feeling a out place in this confrontation and silently agreed with nods. Machellose relaxed and his head drooped just a bit looking defeated. "I agree Faragone", he said "Clasp my hand and it will be as you say."
Faragone grinned "Then we have a deal", and took Machellose hand. There was an almost prickly feeling in the air and then a pulse of light from their hands. "It is done" said Machellose. Just then Machellose clamped down with all of his strength on Faragone's hand and spoke an ancient phrase. there was a flash of light and Faragone was enveloped in blue nimbus. Faragone shouted "You swore, you swore how dare you attack me!" Machelloes replied as he let go "I did not harm you, I'm just showing your your true form."

The nimbus grew into a blinding flash and where the halfling Faragone had stood now stood a humanoid of 7 feet tall dressed in fine noble garb. Its face was that of a tigers head and its body was covered in short fur with tiger stripes. It had clawed toes and its hands were like wise with one exception. Its hands were Backwards. A new and fearsome voice issued from the Creature that was Faragone. "Machelloes! I will get you for this insult!" The Creature that was Faragone then leaped back with feline grace and moved toward his backpack. He reached within hastily and spilled some of its contents on to the ground. Grabbing a rod in his hand he waved it in the air and a portal appeared shimmering just above the ground. "If you though times were tough now just you wait. I'm Shar'Kah would love to here that your still alive and within his grasp." With that said he stepped through the portal and in a flash the portal was gone.

The Adventures stood in silence for a moment. "Moridan's beard what was that!" said Durin. Kethevan calmly replied "Well that was a portal that likely went to the Astral Sea however there is a chance it went to Sigil." Arcus piped in "And that was a Rakshasa Noble they are very dangerous. Are you sure it was the Astral Sea? It looked to me like the Elemental Chaos." Kethevan snorted "Well to the untrained eye one might think that. The tell tale swooshing sound as the portal appeared accompanied by the dancing of colors as it opened and closed is the clear evidence that the portal goes to the Astral Sea."
"I disagree with your assessment" said Arcus "Clearly the swooshing noise you heard was in fact more of a crackling noise indicative of the energies that emanate from the Elemental Chaos."
"Well my friends" said Machellose "clearly you deserve an apology with regards to being involved in my affairs. Would you take a discount of say 15% in our transactions today as a way to make up for that bit of trouble I have caused you?"
"Friends" said Nadrash "observe the ground from where Faragone left by portal. What do you see?"
On the ground was the casement that the book was in along with a small pouch containing a bit of money and gems.
"Well his loss is our gain I say we have a drink on Faragone tonight" said Rothgar.

Machellose took the ring and put it on his finger there was an unmistakable sense of completeness he now felt. "Your back" he said to himself "and now we can get our work started again. I have missed you my love"

"Machellose how much is this scale?" said Valaris. Machellose came back to his senses and smiled "Oh that suit is quite pricey perhaps a bit out of your price range here how about this Drakescale?"

"Say do you mind if I ask you fine people some questions about the area? I'm looking a place rumored to be around here...."

Skeletons in the closet

You open the double doors and a harrowing site greets you. Skeletons of many men and other creatures litter the floor locked in eternal combat. It looks like a great battle was fought in the room. Against the far wall you can clearly see the leader of the defending forces and his personal guard fighting to their last. Some of the Skeletons appear to be frozen as if time has stopped for them in motion. Others are scattered in piles on the floor and some are bent over as if the weight and length of battle has been upon them for all this time. Clearly lingering magics have aided in keeping this battle in pose for such a long time.
While the air is dry you find hints of mold reaching your nostrils. The faint sound of water can be heard beyond the next door where the leader and his band stand. While nothing useful could have survived for this long your curiosity drives you to explore this forgotten sepulcher.
As you move through the mass of bones the sounds of snapping and crunching fill the air. While not scary it is certainly disconcerting as you make your way looking for anything of value. Your torches light the way as shadows play off of the bodies making seem like they could be moving but your sure they are not. As you come to the other side of the room you can now see the leader in his regalia. Tattered cloth clings to the fragile skeletal frame. Its head bearers a small circlet of copper long tarnished and yet not corroded. The spears of his guard bristle outward making it difficult to approach and the area around them is surprisingly free of debris. You notice, in the skeletal leader's hands, a rod of about 30 inches in length lacquered in red with silver bands that encircle it every 5 inches. At its top is a gem that seems to shine in the darkness, while not generating light itself you can see it clearly. As you get closer the gem begins to pulse as if sensing life. A chilling breeze whips through the room and you can hear the creak of the double doors closing behind you slowly. You steal yourselves for you know now there is little chance of escaping through the door in time. A voice sounds in the darkness, "To the last my brothers.... make them pay with their lives!". The gem on the rod flares to life and you can see the shadows playing off of the skeletons but this time you are sure that they are moving. Skeletons burst up from the plies of bones on the ground while other groups of standing skeletons turn to face you in a formation. You take in the site of a mass of skeletons all around you and it is clear that you have but one course of action. Fight!

Second Floor: Dank Stairs, Ruined Walls and Unholy Monstrosities.... Expired Ghouls Half-off

After a brief rest you descend the stair case. The air seems to chill the bone and vapors of icy breath give you pause. "Is it just me or did things just get ass biting cold?" said Durin. Arctikus replied "Feels alright to me small one. Perhaps you had better grow more hairy mass to protect your posterior." Your torches seem to dim just a bit as you come to an archway and look in to the floor beyond. It is very cold and your sure it is not natural.

On this floor you can see the the southern wall is broken revealing sunlight through the opening. A beam of it cuts accross a 20 foot space of floor lighting the southern half of this floor. On the eastern half of the floor a rectangular wall comes out and encloses part of the area from your sight. You can see that a bit of ice has formed in patched areas on the tiled floor. In a heap on the floor is the form of a humanoid who appears to frozen in place. Weather its alive or dead you cannot tell. Part of the room is obscured in darkness however by the archway there is enough light to see the remains of the ghoul that had escaped to this floor. It appears as though something crushed it up against the wall. Just as you take your first steps on to the second floor you can now see the being that is the cause of such display of power. The armored figure stands almost 8 feet in height with a blue glow that seems to permeate the openings where armor plates overlap. The blue light seems to brighten as the being moves toward you. A hissing echo of a voice escapes the armored helmet "More Seekers? Ah Saharel you only seek to add to your guilt. Now more will die by my hand and you will still not be rid of me." You feel your fear rise like a massive wave inside you its all you can do to just stand there waiting for the wave to crash upon you. Where did this fear come from? How long has it waited for this moment to bear down on you?

Durin's voice sounds in your ears as you feel the fear recede. "Moradin steel us, Moradin steel us, Moradin steel us." Durin chanted repeatedly. Kethevan shouts "It is a Pale Lord, divine power and light weaken it. It is formed of the stuff that makes up the Shadowfell. Beware its touch for it can freeze your very soul!" Hrothgar smirked "Guess that won't be an issue for you eh Arctikus. Alright ladies lets get paid!"

The Pale Lord moves into the sunlight its armor sizzling under its caress. It salutes you with its halberd and hisses from its helmet, "May your blades chip and shatter. May your magics fail you in times of need. Your lady cannot protect you."

New Party, New Foes

Arctikus, Hrothgar, Gell (Sorry if I got that wrong, Jeff) and Durin engaged the orcs of the Black Fist mercenary tribe just as they were about to fell Valaris and Gaav.

During rushed in to save Gaav, who was bleeding out at the start of the battle, while Arctikus threw up a defensive storm of ice and Gell moved to the chokepoint where the orcs were sure to pass.

Three Dire wolves circled the group, threatening to flank.

Numerous orcs fell to the twin axes of Hrothgar, who fleansed the orc chieftain into retreating.

While Hrothgar and Gell slew the line of orcs to the party's front, the Dire Wolves circled around behind the party. They faced a choice: Charge into the rear of the party through the dual clouds of ice daggers that Arctikus had thrown up to kill a pair of orc minions or double-team Gaav, who was - as usual - far away from the rest of the party. The choice was easy - Gaav was tripped up and knocked unconscious once again. Durin sighed and muttered a quick prayer to Moradin for patience.

At this point Hrothgar and Gell were pounding the orc leader, who luckily signaled the two wolves who were about to eat Gaav to cover his retreat. The party suffered no losses and were satisfied with the combat. They were starting to feel like a unit again.

Back at the Monastery of the Precipice the party pondered their next move. Gell and Arctikus bonded over the fact that they were both outsiders in this realm. Durin, meanwhile, had found fresh work for the party in the form of travelling to the ruined tower to the southwest of the Scepter tower on an errand.

The party is now working for a Halfling antique collector who is searching for an ancient tome thought to lie in the haunted tower. There are supposedly magic items of considerable power to be found in this tower, and the party thought it wise to gather some more strength before setting off into the catacombs after the Darano wererat patriarch.

Moving into the tower, the party discovered the slaughtered remnants of the halfling's previous hirelings. Dismembered adventurers lay sprawled in the first two chambers of the tower, striking horror and pity into the hearts of the party. Just as they were preparing to burn the corpses in usual fashion, the group was suddenly ambushed by a posse of 4 ghouls.

Arctikus was hit immediately and immobilized by the gruesome poisonous slime that coated the ghouls' claws. Just as oone of the abominations was about to feast on the vulnerable mage, Hrothgar let out a cry and struck with the two-pronged precision of a thundertusk boar, pushing the ghoul across the room until it thudded into a wall. Arctikus shook off the effects of the poison just in time to see Durin hold up his holy symbol and radiant light pulse outwards, searing the flesh of the ghouls and sending them cowering into the corner - easy targets for a fiery bolt from Gaav. Arc added his own fury to the mix and laid down a shimmering cloud of razor-sharp daggers on top of the ghouls, which Gell skillfully made use of. Whipping his sword around his head, the githyanki flung an arc of lightning at the last remaining ghoul, catching it and pulling it straight into the could of daggers and smiling and it was cut to pieces.

Down the stairs the party went, their blood up from such a decisive victory. But soon did they stop, cold in their tracks, for before them stood what could only be an armoured vampire knight, feasing on the remains of one of the ghouls - its blood-soaked gauntlets caught in the sunlight and burning with an unnatural odor...

Can you smell what the orcs are cookin'

Your Journey back to the ruins of Spellgard is full of reflection. What happened and why were you chosen? Was it truly destiny that brought you there just as Embram had been told or could it have been his longing was answered by some god who put you there for its own purposes? As you come upon the ruins the surroundings bring up a sense of deja-vu. The sounds of fighting reach your ears and a sense of urgency builds within you. Your steps become quicker and the breathing laboured as you run toward the melee not yet in sight. You know they capable, you know they are stalwart and you know that they will fall if you do not reach them in time. A shout in giant and a cry in the elven tongue reach your ears. As you come into view from behind a ruined wall you see a band of orcs dressed in black leathers one of them stands out among the rest directing the flow of the carnage before you. You see and Elf in reddish scale at his side lie other fallen comrades. Standing off to one side is a Dragonborn cloaked in shadows obscuring his features. Just then the Elf lets out a shout and attacks his sword raised high he appears to be pushing past his foes but the orc stands his ground and levels a powerful blow bringing the Elf low. The Dragonborn puffs up his chest and belches a torrent of flame upon the orcs, the flames lick the body of the elf yet do not appear to leave any marks. The orcs fall back, some dropping to the ground dead. One of the orcs steps upon the elf with an expression of feral delight and reaches for a hand axe. Faster than the eye can see the orc throws the hand axe at the Dragonborn and buries it into his chest. The shadows dissipate and the body of the Dragonborn falls to the ground.

These are the orcs and the the adventures from your dreams. You know that in a minute the adventures will succumb to their wounds unless you do something they will die. The orc leader looks in your direction and lets out a throaty chuckle and says "Looks like like meat is back on the menu boys!" You hear a pack of wolves from behind the rubble stir as three large dark shapes come into view. The large size and riding gear can only mean Dire Wolves. It seems you could have slept a little longer, maybe you would have found out who is going to win... wouldn't that have been nice.

Have Axe, Will Travel.

A dark shadow fell over Rothgar obscuring the hot summer sun.  Sitting on a tree stump by a narrow country road, the dwarf did not move to acknowledge a large man and his two companions.   

 “We’re the Magranze boys and this road, dwarf, is ours.  Keepin’ it all repaired and smooth-like takes  gold, don’t it boys”, said the man.  Their outfits and armour were common to these parts, but the filth set them apart as outsiders.  His companions, standing a short distance behind him nodded and chuckled.  One of them had a crossbow trained on the dwarf and the other, a short sword.

“Yessir, it takes coins.  You be wantin’ to go forwards, or go backwards, you’s got to pay a toll”.

Grasshoppers sung their summer song as a faint breeze caressed the tall grass around the motionless group.  The lightly armoured dwarf chewed on an apple, still not acknowledging the men.  A pair of large, finely crafted battleaxes crossed behind his back, their handles sticking up over his shoulders. A series of smaller throwing axes hung from his belt and bandolier.  The dwarf’s loud bite of the apple carried over the wind.

“Hey, lice-beard, I’m talkn’ to ya.  You better be gettin’ that stumpy gold you’ve got in yer boots or ye’ll be join yer ancestors one piece at a time!” said the lead thug, kicking the dwarf’s boot. 

After a moment’s silence, the tall leader turned his head to his crossbowman companion and started to say something.  At the moment the man’s eyes left him, the dwarf exploded forward, tucking-in his broad shoulder and slamming his considerable bulk into the bandit’s mid section, bringing both of them crashing to the ground.  A crossbow bolt thudded harmlessly into the now empty tree stump.  Continuing his movement, Rothgar rolled over the thug, then smoothly drew and hurled a throwing axe at the stunned swordsman to his left.  The spinning axe head cratered the man’s face and he toppled backwards, lifeless.  Moving like striking snake, Rothgar continued his tight spin.  His other hand drew a battleaxe over the shoulder and he lopped off the leader’s head just as the man started to get up.

“No no no no,” stammered the lanky crossbowman as his elder brother’s head rolled by his feet.  His hands shook, letting the crossbow slip and fall to the ground.  He stumbled backwards, then turned around and ran.  Rothgar slowly raised himself from the crouch, his single thick beard-braid swinging slightly.  Sweat beaded down his shaved and tattooed head.  The fleeing man took a handful of steps before pitching forward with a thrown axe cleaving the back of his skull.

Rothgar, the apple still in his mouth, looked around.  The good thing about hunting bandits is that they find you.  It saves all kinds of time.  These small time thugs would not make him rich, but a job done is a job done right. 

A shadow fell on the dwarf as a cloud obscured the sun.  It was a lazy summer day.

A Darkness Falls (final)

Into my enemy's bones I will cut my anger
And bring down his house
With Courage will I face him
For Companions I will break him
Though they rest in Death's embrace
They be awake in my heart... A Darkness Falls

So Steel yourself Gaav, against his cunning claws
And Durin will pray for Victory
With Zackar's Fire he dies
For Theodrik's Faith he dies
By Mirimar's Shadow he Dies!
Should it be that our eyes cannot find him
Perhaps with Lady Saharel we will bind him.... A Darkness Falls

(Spoken in elven at the graves of his companions by moonlight at the The Monastery of the Precipice.)

endings.....

"For Pelor!" Theodoruk shouted as he kicked down the door. The dimly lit room which confronted them was not inviting at all, filled as it was with filthy were-rats. Zackar and Miramar quickly dispatched two of them as the warriors entered the room. Valaris, Theodoruk and Gaav moved forward to establish a bulwark against their foes, but their hasty plan fell apart almost instantly as the were-rats exploded into activity, turning over furniture as they raced to flank the party. From behind the bonfire, a pulsing orb of energy streaked across the room and smashed into Miramar with a thunderous boom, knocking him and Zackar against the corridor walls, dazed. The ratmen swarmed over all of them clawing and biting, Miramar was borne down slashing and cursing. Zackar disappeared into the Feywild and appeared suddenly in the middle of the room. Following after him was a terrible forest of flickering green flames, burning the ratmen, showering them in scorching foliage. More Lycanthropes entered the room from behind trapdoors and tattered tapestries and Zackar was overwhelmed, even as Valaris, Theodoruk, and Gaav slashed and blasted wildly about, leaving corpses in their wake. Ephram's beady eyes narrowed and he bolted from the room with the remaining heroes in hot pursuit. The WereRat captain escaped under the cover of a deadly trap filled room occupied by a goblin hexer and his mechanical guardians. "For our fallen comrades, Where is EPHRAM!!" shouted Theodoruk as he charged forward, only to be slashed to pieces by swinging pendulum blades and devoured by animated dogs. The creatures lasted a few minutes against the rage of Valaris and Gaav but the outcome was never truly in doubt. Valaris gazed in confusion at the remains of the Paladin, "How.... how did this happen? What will we tell Durin?" "We must honour them as warriors" replied Gaav, as he licked his lips at the thought of the magical bounty his "comrades" carried. He chuckled to himself as he considered a few "Ancient Dragonborn Rituals" he would perform, all under Valaris's naive attention. Gaav loved fresh halfling and his patron would be pleased.

A Darkness Falls part 1

Woe be to my enemy for he has wrought his doom
His dagger has struck a mighty blow
With valor and bravery we did fight
For sport and wealth we did fight
Though the Battle won
The War yet to come... A Darkness Falls

Mercy

Dark goblin blood crept towards Theodoruk’s heavy boots.  His expression was hard to read, but his eyes were like stone as he crouched over the wounded goblin shaman.  The creature wheezed, drawing shallow breaths.  Its bony hands were clutching at a large pendant with the symbol of the evil god Tiamat.

“I am the Hand of Pelor”, said Theodoruk softly as he took off his metal gauntlet and extended his hand to the goblin.  “Your past sins will be forgiven, but you must embrace Pelor.  Will you renounce Tiamat and all her evil ways?”

The goblin grimaced in pain at the name of Pelor.  He gazed into the Paladin’s eyes and after a pause shrieked “Never!”  Blood sprayed onto Theodoruk.  “Tiamat will feast on your soul, human!”  The shaman collapsed back, all strength spent by this last act of defiance.

 “I am the Fist of Pelor”, said Theodoruk standing up.  With a single swift motion he lifted his heavy Maul high above his head and then brought it down onto the goblin.  “May Tiamat’s reward to you be merciless.”

Dark goblin blood filled cracks in the stone floor, spreading away from the shaman’s lifeless body.

 

Before the Storm

“Here they come!” yelled Theodoruk, running down a stone corridor.  His heavy metal armour was making more noise than a Dwarven battalion on the march as he pumped his legs furiously.  Holding onto Pelor’s Fist, his heavy hammer, Theodoruk jumped around a corner where the rest of the group waited.  Two crossbow bolts slammed into the wall behind him.  He doubled over, breathing heavily.  His layered plate armour saved his life many times, but it was not made for sprinting. 

“Got… their… attention.  Get… ready”, he stammered out, bent over, trying to catch his breath.  Sweat dripped down his bald head.

“Next time you get the bright idea to go scouting, better let me go instead.” Miramar, the Halfling Rogue said dismissively.  He pulled out a short sword and looked down its razor like blade with a trained eye.  Once again, he’d have to clean up the mess these clumsy oafs made.

“Wasn’t scouting… The plan was… to draw them out.” Theodoruk was speaking more freely now.  He straightened out and hefted his massive hammer into a ready position.  “If only your memory wasn’t as short as you are.”

Miramar shot him an angry glance.  His memory was not short.  He was just busy rummaging through the Zackar’s personal possessions while the group was prattling on about tactics, plans or some other such nonsense.  The conversation was boring enough to put down a rampaging boar and the Wizard always had the most interesting things in his packs.  No matter, that self-righteous bald oaf would pay with good coin for his insults.  “Never insult a thief,” Miramar’s aunt Morena always said.  “That’s rule number 3,” or was it rule number 4?

“Enough.  Get ready” Valaris, the elven fighter said evenly.  He settled into a low stance, with his shield in front of him and his slender long sword raised.  Theodoruk glanced at the elf.  To his human eyes, the elf fighter was fluid like water when he moved and still like a stone when he stood still.  Valaris was the only person Theodoruk knew who could form a one man shield-wall.  Nothing would get by him.  And if anything tried, Theodoruk would be there to deliver Pelor’s retribution.

Zackar lazily extinguished the arcane flame that has been crawling around his hands.  Nothing was quite as beautiful and interesting as flames he thought, but now there was work to do.  He smiled.  The good news was that his work also involved flames.  A fire burst right at the passage corner would be perfect for the job.  Zackar estimated that Valaris stood far back enough to avoid the blast, but then again he has been wrong before.  Practice makes perfect.

“Alright lads, Pelor’s watchin’ so no slackin’,” said Durin.  Then the Dwarven cleric started a low rumbling prayer to Pelor.  His deep chant continued as he readied an immense Dwarven maul that stood as tall as he was.  “Come on ye dogs.  Come get some Pelor” he murmured quietly.

Dark arcane energy cascaded down Gaav’s scaly arms as he pulled out his wand and held it above his draconic head.  Jaws slightly parted, he looked like he could taste the air.  The Warlock never looked more like a dragon than right before a battle, appearing reptilian, with a cold dark glint in his eye.

The thundering footsteps down the hall grew louder.  They could now make out individual voices.  Any second now it would start.

“Here they come,” thought Theodoruk.