chille-tid-universe

[chille-tid-universe]

Down One Mountain, Up Another

The following hours were spent in too-toasty respite. Heat from the Hidden Forge still roiled from the intricately carved archway, but it was less malign, more contented, than it had been before. Although the lair above had been unoccupied, the group was unwilling to return without being prepared for a potential fight, and so, they regained their strength.

While the hours passed, Pock pulled sheafs of paper from his pack and began filling out forms, detailing how a search party could locate the Hidden Forge and making sure to copy in triplicate. Meanwhile, Wun Way lightly blew prospective notes on her pan flute, beginning to compose a dramatic song to immortalize the recent fight at the Forge, and the works of wonder that melted the molten heart.

After a refreshing rest, the party gathered their packs and prepared for the long trek up the wooden staircase. Eventually, they arrived at the carved door and the vestibule beyond. Just as before, the room was chilled and abandoned, with the notable exception being the pile of automatons slain the day before.

As they approached the sliding exit to the lair, the group ceased all talking and stepped lightly. After a few whispered words, Nissa stepped forward, turning the ring on her finger and vanishing from view. A moment later, the panel before them rose a few feet, a light rumble causing each person’s heart to catch in their chest. Half a minute later, it slowly shut, and Nissa reappeared before them, face flushed, eyes wide. “Dragon,” she breathed, “Black. Big. Sleeping.”

~~

The group had quietly pulled back from the exit and began planning their escape. Early on they dismissed the idea of fighting the dragon head-on. (Nissa was interested in seeing how much she could do to the dragon before it had a chance to fight back, but even she saw the futility in that plan.)

Ultimately, they decided to slip out of the cave-like lair as silently as possible - perhaps more silently. Pock offered to focus a silence spell over the party, but then realized that the cave mouth was much further away than the area of the spell. A minute later, the group realized they could simply place the blanket of silence over the dragon’s head. Beyond that, the group decided it would be safer to have a second layer of protection, by way of Wun Way’s invisibility spell.

And so, the group planned to break into pairs, which Wun Way would turn invisible and then cast a longstrider spell upon, and thus exit the lair while Pock’s silence spell deafened the world to the dragon. In the event that it somehow woke, at least they would still be invisible.

Nissa went first, as her ring allowed her to move invisibly without the need of another spell. Wordlessly, the two gnomes slipped back into the lair. Nissa nodded to Pock as she activated the ring, and Pock whispered a silent word, gesturing at the massive head of the dragon. The air shimmered, almost imperceptibly, and then Pock gestured to the empty air beside him. As he turned back to the sliding panel, he heard the faint pattering of Nissa’s feet as she snuck across the lair.

A minute passed, at which point Wun Way drew her open hands across Ravain and Ciri. The two faded from view, and Wun Way nodded in their direction. As the two began to creep along the frosty stone, Ciri’s cloak caught on an icy stalagmite, and, with a loud crack, the ice shattered on the floor. Each person froze, but a heartbeat later the huge form of the dragon continued to rise and fall with steady breathing, and the two quickly made their way to the entrance.

Wun Way gave an extra couple seconds to ensure Ravain and Ciri could duck out of the cave before dropping the spell, turning to focus on Melpomene and Brienne. She repeated her previous gesture, and the two invisible women stepped into the lair. As Brienne reached the cave entrance, however, her foot slipped, and she tumbled to the icy floor. A loud clang filled the cavern, reverberating along the curved walls, and once more each person was frozen in place. Still, though, the dragon slumbered.

Finally, Wun Way turned to Pock and drew the veil of invisibility over herself and the gnome. From the cave entrance, the now-visible group could hear their footsteps as the two came closer. After the longest minute of any of their lives, Wun Way and Pock reappeared before them. As one, the group turned to peer at the dim outline of the dragon within the lair. It did not rise or otherwise move.

Relieved faces turned to smile at each other, and Pock threw his arms into the air, mouth opening. Wun Way’s eyes widened as she threw a hand over his mouth, and the cheer died in his chest. When her hand was removed, Pock smiled sheepishly. Without further ado, the party removed themselves from the mountainside of Xanderos’s lair.

~~

The group eventually made their way into the foothills of the mountain and found themselves standing outside a familiar inn. Melpomene glanced to the nearby treeline, beyond which a pair of cutpurses had recently been killed, less than gently. After hesitating for a moment, the aasimar shrugged and followed her companions through the inn’s doors, drawing her hood down over her face.

Within, the inn was less filled than it had been previously, and a low murmur of conversation covered the patrons like a comfortable coat. As the group walked up to the bar, a wake of silence spread behind them. When they reached the barkeep, a cold but professional look on his face, the inn had grown silent.

Nissa cleared her throat. The barkeep scanned the faces of the taller members of the party before Nissa said, “Down here.” When the man met her eyes, she continued. “We’d like a large room or two.”

The barkeep’s too-polite smile returned to his face. “Four gold per room.” Nissa’s eyes narrowed. It was vastly more expensive than when they had been through this area only days ago. The gnome sighed and fished a few coins from her purse, sliding them onto the bar.

When the man did not move to pick up the gold, Nissa asked, “Are you all ok?” Silence met her question. Nissa pulled another pair of gold coins and placed them on the bar. “A round for the lovely patrons.” Low murmur of comments flitted about the room, curiosity and thirst breaking through the veneer of chilly xenophobia. Nissa smiled as she reached for more coins. “Make it two rounds.”

Wun Way gestured at the quiet room as she unslung her lute. “Seems you could use a performer.” The barkeep looked as if he might rebuke her, then the bluster left him like the air from a deflated bubble, and he nodded. The half-elf brought a stool to a corner of the inn - not the corner where the cutpurse had been dealing cups previously - and began to play.

Nissa and Brienne began to smile as they heard the opening lines to the tale of Phileus and Nicodemus, the clandestine lovers they had helped rescue and reunite what felt like a lifetime ago. One the son of nobility, the other a houndmaster without any hounds, their connection had proven stronger than kidnapping, stronger than miles of separation, stronger than the schemes of foul orcs. It was the tale of the adventure that had first crossed their paths with that of the shaman who had so nearly brought the three to doom, with their new companions beside them, but none of the three would have undone the rescue if given the chance.

There was something strange about the performance, and after a few moments they were able to place their fingers on it - they had never heard Wun Way perform in such a silent space before. Regardless, before long feet began to tap against the wooden planks, and there was the occasional slap on a leg. Halfway through the song, the patrons had begun to forget their fear and started to genuinely enjoy themselves. Slowly, a few people made their way up to the bar to claim their two free drinks. As he drew mugs of ale for his regulars, the barkeep began to look visibly relieved.

After Wun Way finished the ballad, calls of “Encore!” rang out, and after her second song, the inn seemed to return to normal. For her singing, the bard earned a pair of silver coins and a pile of copper. She made her way up to the bar amid patrons singing the new ballad they had learned and pressed the money to the polished bar. “Orlane Special,” she said, smiling at the barkeep. When he began to look at her with a blank gaze, she adjusted her request, “I’ll take your best wine.” The barkeep shook his head slightly, then brought out a dusty red bottle, an unbroken wax seal covering the top. It was a deep red, not as good as Orlane Special, but certainly better than what the rest of the bar goers were drinking that night.

Down the bar, Nissa and Pock were nursing tankards taller than their heads. Nissa’s narrowed eyes followed the loud people as the bumbled around the inn. “Do you ever get annoyed being surrounded by tall folk?”

Pock took a deep swallow and seemed to fall into deep thought for a few seconds before smiling faintly at his gnomish companion. “I don’t mind.”

~~

The night followed without comment. The next morning, a few travelers sat eating breakfast as the group came down from their rooms. They took a table, and the barkeep came over immediately, wiping his hands on a clean rag and smiling. He offered them breakfast, and brushed away their coin, claiming the cost of the rooms had included meals.

“You might be able to help us with something else,” Brienne said as the man began to turn away. “We’re in the area searching for some hardy monsters, protected from blade and hammer. Would you happen to know where we might find something matching this description?”

The barkeep shook his head. “You’ll be looking for a local ranger, someone with knowledge of the surrounding area. You can try Ren, if you’d like. He passes through here every two ten-days.” He shrugged apologetically. “But last he was here was three nights ago. He was headed east; you might be able to catch up with him if you make good time.”

~~

The road from the inn headed south of the Lurkwood, curving to the north of the Evermoors, and led to the mountain range of Silverymoon. It was at this mountain range that they found Ren. A mountain road led up into the foothills of Silverymoon, and at its base was the Hunting Post, a prosperous inn. It served as the central pillar for a meager shanty town, existing mainly to cater to the needs of adventurers planning to head up the mountains.

The Hunting Post was crowded with a mix of individuals, varied as the corners of the world, and after asking around they quickly found Ren, a ranger with an easy smile and flame-red hair that waved in the wind. When asked about the creatures they sought, he nodded thoughtfully. “Aye, I might know of some beasties you could have an interest in,” he began, “but not on this side of the pass. Y’d need to cross, and Bolga’s been holding back parties.” He gestured to a stolid woman arguing with a pair of dragonborns.

The ranger explained that the Post regularly sent wagons across the pass, bringing goods and adventurers to the towns beyond. However, the last three wagons had gone missing, and no groups who had been sent to investigate had returned. Now, Bolga was cautiously preventing others from crossing.

As the dragonborns departed from Bolga’s side grumbling, Brienne led the others to the woman. “Bolga?” she asked, drawing her attention and a nod. “We’d like to cross the pass, and heard you’ve been having some difficulties. Do you think it could be bandits?”

Bolga shook her head, wiping her hands on her leather apron. “Ain’t had bandits in this area for years. We get the occasional manticore, but they rarely give us any trouble. Can’t imagine they’ve waylaid three caravans, not to mention the adventuring party who offered to go investigate.” She looked pointedly at the group, letting her eyes roam over the assortment of weapons. “I imagine you have a similar proposition?”

Nods were shared, all around. “We should be able to handle your problem,” Wun Way said.

As it turned out, there were a handful of adventurers who were tired of waiting, and eager to assist in clearing the pass. Among them was Ren, the fiery ranger. They brought with them one of the last remaining wagons, loaded up with equipment, food, and news. As they all made their way up the stony path, a cry of “Wait!” came from behind.

As they turned, they saw Bolga huffing up from the Post, chainmail glinting beneath her leather apron, a wide wall shield resting across her back and a bronze mace swinging easily from her belt.

~~

The trek was long, and the air grew colder as they made their way up the pass. After several hours, Ravain turned to the others, quietly saying, “I’m going to see if I can detect what we’re up against, give us a heads up.” The others nodded, and the ranger closed his eyes, allowing his awareness to spread out into the world around him. Like a bright beacon, he felt the presence of an elemental - and nearby. Ravain’s eyes snapped open, and the others reached for their weapons as he glanced from side to side. “Elemental. Close.” The group glanced up at the peaks surrounding them, but there was nothing to see. Realization flitted across Ravain’s face, and he addressed the walking adventurers. “Which one of you is it?”

Sheepishly, Ren removed his cloak, and his flame-red hair flicked back and forth in the wind - only it wasn’t hair, it was actual flame. “Sorry. Fire genasi. Didn’t realize I would spook you.” Ravain mumbled what might have been an apology and looked away.

“So there aren’t any other elementals in the area, or celestials, or infernals, or dragons,” Melpomene ticked off on her fingers. “What else could it be?”

Bolga interrupted the gathered party. “The pass gets narrower up ahead. Harder to tell what’s coming.” She looked to Ravain and Nissa. “Figure you could do a bit of scouting, see what’s waiting for us?”

Ren stepped up to the group, hood back over his head. They now noticed a light steam rising from the leather. “I’d be happy to help look ahead.”

So the two rangers and the rogue crept ahead while the rest of the caravan watered and rested the donkeys. Nissa raised her hood and twisted the ring on her finger, fading from view as Ravain picked his way up the steep rocky cliffs. There were a few short pips from an ocarina behind them, and then a swallow flitted past the ranger’s head into the sky. When Ravain looked back to the path below, Ren was gone.

~~

Half an hour later, the three returned to the waiting wagon. “Seems like there are more manticores in the area than you thought,” Ravain said to Bolga. “I heard a few mating calls, and there’s evidence of a handful of them roaming these parts. Still probably not enough to account for what’s happened here, but more than I’d expect.”

“The road is blocked up ahead,” Nissa chimed in. “At a narrowing of the path, between two cliffs. Couple of boulders, just lying in the middle of the road.”

Bolga shrugged. “It’s a mountain pass, these things happen.”

But the gnome was shaking her head in disagreement. “The boulders weren’t the same as the cliffs above them. Totally different composition. These boulders were moved there, on purpose, or not there at all.”

“Illusions?” Bolga’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

Brienne shrugged. “Could be a group of bandits found some way to lure in the manticores and get them to sabotage the wagons.”

Bolga looked uneasy. “I told you, we don’t have bandit problems here.” Her voice seemed less sure than it had earlier that day. She glanced back over the waiting adventurers and the single wagon. “Of course, I can handle myself against a group of manticores, but my business interests would be better served making sure my customers are kept safe.” She jerked her head back down the pass, then pointed ahead. “At the peak of the pass, you’ll find a flag tower. Set it to the all-clear, and I’ll know to lead them back over.” Her lips set into a grim line. “If you make it up there.”

~~

Before long, the group, along with Ren, reached the point of which Nissa had spoken. As she said, the pathway narrowed until two couldn’t cross abreast, and the cliffs on either side rose quickly, though in a pinch one could scramble their way up the slopes. Large boulders sat, sunk into the surrounding rock of the cliffs, while a pair of boulders sat in the middle of the road, blocking the way forward. Upon closer inspection, the surface of the boulders differed, and it was possible those on the road and those in the cliffs were of different origins.

The group waited at the bend in the road before the blockage, speaking quietly. After conferring, Pock stepped forward and gestured at the boulders, attempting to dispel any magical effects on them. However, there was no change.

“Not illusions, then,” Nissa murmured. Just then, a manticore called out, sounding very near.

Brienne glanced between the two cliffs. “Well, let’s see what we can do.” She gestured the rest of the group forward, and they walked up to the blockade, with Brienne bringing up the rear. Just as they reached the boulders, a rumble echoed off the rocks, and behind them a matching boulder rose up from the ground, sealing off their exit. Rasping laughter complemented the rumbling as four large bodies peered out from behind the cliffside boulders; their rough grey hides had provided perfect cover against the stone. Atop each torso were a pair of heads, ugly and mean.

“Ettins,” Ravain growled. There was a larger rumble, and a large shape emerged from the cliffside itself, a segmented and dusty torso seemingly made up of rocks. The stone giant had silvery tattoos, more like carvings in its arms and torso, that glowed as it finished calling forth the boulders. There was a moment’s hesitation, then weapons were drawn from sheaths and battle was joined.

Most of the ettins lifted rocks from their feet and began launching them into the midst of the cornered party, but the nearest monster leapt down from its hiding spot and began swinging its fists in the air. Ciri and Nissa returned fire at the ettins while Brienne, Ravain, and Ren stood in the path of the approaching ettin. Pock turned to the giant, feeling his resolve hardening against his foe. He reached deep for the crux of his magic and spoke a powerful word. In an endless second, wills were tested, and then the stone giant blinked out of existence, banished from this plane entirely - for the time being. Pock clenched his teeth as he focused on maintaining the spell, then turned to raise his hammer against the ettins.

At this point, a trio of manticores had perched atop the cliffs, and had begun flinging their barbed tail spikes at the party. One had landed close to an ettin, however, and Wun Way concentrated, setting off a shattering blast between the two. As Ravain’s blades brought down the first ettin, Melpomene shouted at the remainders, mocking their accuracy and questioning their skills. In response, a flurry of thrown stones landed, several striking Melpomene and Pock. The gnome shook off the glancing blow, maintaining concentration on the stone giant’s absence.

Pock tossed a glowing bolt at the nearest ettin, his strike leaving a glowing imprint around the monster. Brienne leapt up the cliff face and brought Mjolnir down on the glowing ettin, knocking it to its knees while the others brought down another. With the assistance of Ren, that ettin was soon dispatched, and only one ettin remained. The manticores seemed to suspect how this was playing out, and took to the skies. Wun Way saw them off with several magical missiles which singed their feathers as they flew off.

The final ettin looked around at its fallen friends and turned to scramble off the side of the cliff. In a second Brienne was darting after it, tossing Mjolnir as she reached for handholds. The hammer’s strike was enough to delay the ettin, and Ravain leapt upon the monster, striking it down. Their enemies vanquished, the party clustered around the empty spot where the giant had vanished. Weapons were hefted, spells were prepared, and, with a final glance around the group, Pock released the spell.

The stone giant reappeared, dazed and off-balance. As soon as it materialized, a flurry of blows struck it. Shattering spells, hammer blows, smiting strikes, a volley of bolts and arrows, and several sword slices hit the giant in the span of a breath, bringing the gargantuan to its knees. As the giant brought up its heavy arms, for defense, or to attack, Ravain slipped inside its reach and jumped, planting his swords deeply in the giant’s chest. With the sound of an avalanche, the giant fell backwards, and the boulders it had summoned sank back into the earth.

Banter and congratulations were traded back and forth as the group cleared the road of ettin corpses and rocks. Ravain reclaimed his swords, and the party made its way up to the peak of the pass. There, the flag tower stood tall, though it more resembled a rickety shack. It held sturdy, though, as Nissa climbed to the top and raised the bright red flag, signalling against the blue skies that the way was clear.

Still laughing and conversing amiably, the group began the winding trek down the other side of the mountains.

[chille-tid-universe]

Heart of the Hidden Forge

As the murals along the wall slid upwards, three creatures stepped into the lair. Two appeared to be mechanical canines with enlarged jaws. The third was a humanoid, armed and armored,  whose abrupt motions betrayed it as another automaton. The walls began to slide back down. As they stepped toward Nissa, the gnome jumped back to the rest of the group. The animated suit of armor covered half the distance to the cave’s entrance and readied its sword, visored face sweeping back and forth as it searched for enemies. The slower direwolf-shaped machines lumbered behind it, vestigial tongues lolling comically between jagged steel teeth.

Brienne slipped Mjolnir from her belt and ran further into the room, tossing the hammer mid stride for it to collide with one of the canines before zooming back to her outstretched hand. In her next step, she tossed it again, a heavy metal clangor sounding as the canine was struck again. Brienne stopped before the armored automaton, Mjolnir ready in her hand once more, shielding the way to her allies. Two dents in the canine’s exterior sparked slightly with errant electricity.

“Guess we can call you Sparky!” Melpomene cried out, layering her voice with spellwork. The hound continued to pad forward, seemingly unfazed by the spell. The aasimar tsked. “Deaf as a dog.” At this point, the hounds had drawn even with the armored automaton. With the three in a neat line, Wun Way gestured, muttering an incantation, and the air around them filled with rapidly flashing patterns. The two hounds’ heads jerked back and forth, caught off guard by the influx of sensory data, but the dented one managed to refocus on the foreign intruders. The other hound, however, simply sat back on its haunches and, head tilted to the side, stared off at the afterimage of the blinking lights. The armored automaton had not so much as glanced at the glowing display, and stood perfectly still, sword still poised to strike.

The unstunned hound jumped back into a run, its razor claws scrabbling for purchase against the slick stone, and it darted past Brienne, marbled eyes fixed on Nissa. Brienne swung her warhammer out as it passed, clipping the side of its head. Unrelenting, the hound snapped at the fighter as it continued, skidding to a halt before the cluster of adventurers. Its large jaws parted, and a moment later a cone of frosty breath burst out from the construct’s mouth. The moment had been enough, though - no one was caught in the worst of the stream. The adventurers, shaking off sudden chills, settled around the hound and laid into it, with Pock summoning a glowing, spectral warhammer to swing into the beast’s side. Wun Way had lost concentration on her hypnotic pattern spell, and the other hound was shaking its head, looking around the crowded chamber.

The automaton had broken its guarded stance, striking out at Brienne. She knocked aside the first two blows, but the third found its mark beneath her shield. The automaton then straightened and raised a gauntleted hand toward a hound. A sound of whirring gears filled the air around it, and frosty breath began to spill from its mouth once more. “Watch out!” Brienne cried out, turning to address the mechanical canine. The automaton stepped quickly, interposing itself between Brienne and her friends. Grimacing in annoyance, the fighter turned her warhammer on the bronze chestplate.

The adventurers began spreading out from the chilled machine, wary of its breath attack. Wun Way turned her attention on the suit of armor, pulling forth magical energy to fuel a powerful spell. She unleashed a barrage of pure light, almost a half dozen missiles flying through the air and honing in on the clockwork foe. As they struck, however, the energy seemed to fade against the bronze metal, and the automaton failed to even acknowledge the attack. “Oh for two,” the bard mumbled.

The newly unenchanted hound turned its attention on Brienne and ran up to the automaton’s side. As it stepped in range, Brienne could hear the clockwork machinations within it ticking faster, could practically hear the pistons and enhanced machinery pumping harder. The automaton was having some sort of effect on the hound. Emboldened, the metal canine bit ferociously at the heroine, metal jaws clanging as they hit her magical armor.

Pock had extricated himself, and his floating warhammer, from the other hound, and was circling around the animated armor’s other side. He attempted to strike at it, but his blows were deflected with miniscule parries, the automaton’s blade never moving more than it needed to in order to intercept an attack. Taking advantage of Pock’s diversion, Brienne hammered away at the side of the automaton, and in a flurry of ticking gears the construct whirled around and struck back.

Melpomene threw herself at the other hound, blades dripping with psychic venom as she dragged them along its armored shell. Though it might not be able to hear her, it certainly had enough sentience to suffer from the aasimar’s blow. “Ah, a message you can understand!” she called out.

Wun Way’s eyes grew wide as the hounds and automaton paused for a moment, and in her mind’s eye she saw the perfect placement for a shattering spell. She made a few gestures and pulled up her magic, triggering a concussive blast across the room. The mechanical hounds appeared particularly shaken, with one of them literally falling to pieces as the blast reverberated in its carefully built body. The other still stood, but its jaw seemed partially unhinged, and a springy coil was all that was left of its tail. Like before, however, the automaton was unaffected, its bronze form seemingly impervious to magical tampering.

The remaining hound opened its askew jaws, and a torrent of lightning poured forth, falling in cascades over Brienne and Pock. The two were able to keep their footing, however, and a well placed shot from Nissa brought the canine down, a feathered bolt impaling its metal plated cranium.

With just the armored automaton remaining, Brienne pushed it forward with her shield, knocking it off guard as she struck with a flurry of blows. As the last hit, the helmeted head flew off its shoulders, revealing a bundle of sparking cables. The rest of the body stood for a moment before Pock gingerly tapped it with his own hammer, sending it toppling to the ground.

Finally getting a chance to look around, the group realized that one of the hidden door murals had not closed properly. Brienne was able to pull it back open, revealing a large room beyond it. Murals decorated the walls, depicting scenes of Moradin and the creation of the world according to dwarvish tradition. Around each mural were the sturdy letters of dwarven script.

Most of the room was taken up by bellows and a forge, along with an anvil and hammer beside them. The room appeared untouched for countless years; a thick layer of dust covered every available surface. Pock squinted at the anvil, then turned to the forge, a frown growing on his face. Meanwhile, Brienne walked the length of the wall, glancing at the script around each mural.

“What’s it say?” Melpomene asked, strumming on a lyre quietly as she settled into a comfortable position.

“Captions, mostly,” Brienne said, without turning, “descriptions of the murals. Some have prayers, giving thanks to Moradin, asking for his blessing, you know the like.” She paused at one of the murals. “There’s a proper noun that keeps coming up.” She turned to Pock. “A clan name, perhaps?”

Pock looked up from the bellows, which he had been testing, causing a puff of dust to explode out into the air. “Yes, most likely,” he coughed. “Signature, maybe?”

Brienne ran her finger along a series of runes. “If it’s a signature, then why is it misspelled here?” she mused, almost to herself.

There was a loud clang, making everyone jump, as Pock brought the hammer down on the anvil. The others stared as he moved the hammer, examining the fresh mark. “It’s never been used,” he said, then repeated himself louder. “It’s never been used. I don’t think anything here has been used to smith, or forge, or temper anything.” He indicated the tools and structures around him. Though dust covered all, the hammer was sturdy. Its edges were sharp, while a well-used forge hammer grew rounded around the corners. Likewise, the anvil was, underneath the veneer of dust, immaculate, save the one marring from Pock’s strike. “Anvils should be pitted and dented,” Pock muttered, tenderness in his voice, “Not sitting gathering dust, never knowing the heat of slag.” He gestured at the forge. “And there’s not a single sign of soot or charcoal.” He looked up at the others, finally noticing their stares. “It’s never been used,” he finished quietly.

Brienne turned back to the misspelled segment of wall, and noticed a faint scuff mark by the bottom corner of the mural. To either side of the carving, the wall was flush, and she could see no sign of doorway or other entrance, but the clue caused her to pour over the mural once more. After a few minutes, she cried out in triumph. There was a small sigil of an anvil halfway up the mural with the barest hint of an outline around it. It could have been just a few extra deep chisel marks, but Brienne felt around the anvil and finally pressed on the carving with her finger.

There was a clicking sound as the button depressed followed by a deep shudder in the floor, and then the mural spun on its center, pushing Brienne to the other side of the wall. “Hey!” Brienne heard from the other side of the wall, and a few seconds later the wall spun back. Brienne was back in the forge room, but Melpomene and Nissa were on the other side.

“Stand back!” Brienne shouted through the rock as she motioned for the others to join her at the mural. A few seconds later, they were all gathered on the other side of the hidden door.

Beyond, a natural cavern descended. As the floor sloped more, a steep wooden staircase began, covered in cobwebs and dust. Their descent was filled with creaks and cracks as the long disused stairs protested the sudden weight. Their journey brought them deeper into the heart of the mountains, and the air grew warmer further down. Minutes passed, until suddenly the stairs ended, and the cavern appeared to level out. Though a few torches were held among the party, a dull red glow could be seen from up ahead.

The remainder of the tunnel ended in a large portal, around which was carved runes praising Moradin for his skill, and thanking him for whatever this place was. The red glow came from within the wide passageway. Beyond was a perfectly round chamber, sixty feet across, carved seamlessly from the surrounding rock. A lattice of canals and qanats textured the smooth floor, with regular walking bridges crossing over the larger indentations. These met to form troughs and channels that fed into a central structure.

About the room, small wells were dotted, covered with odd bronze plates, presumably to keep in the moisture in this sweltering room. Sluice gates were placed regularly along the walls, and the air around them seemed to shimmer with heat.

At the center was an enormous structure, unlike anything anyone gathered had ever seen. There was a large anvil at its base, and Pock could tell from the entrance that this anvil bore the marks of fervent craftsmanship on its surface. Behind it stood a monstrous furnace, sitting atop the largest of the channels and smoldering with unquenchable heat, though there was no visible flame. The omnipresent red glow radiated from the grated opening of the furnace.

The most remarkable aspect of it all hung overhead, though. From a central spire hung dozens of mechanical arms, equipped with all manner of smithing tools and dextrous appendages. Laid bare from any sort of casing or cover, the intricate inner workings were visible and gleamed in the furnace’s eerie glow. The group was amazed to see the arms, so still in totality, humming with the whizzing of gears and ticking of other, more complicated parts. Gyroscopes spun ceaselessly at hinged corners, rotating propellers sat snugly against wires and cables, machines that they could only begin to guess at clicked and whirred and thrummed. 

For all this miniscule motion, though, the monstrous and foreign forge lay dormant.

Holding back at the wide entry, the group began discussing how to proceed. Without meaning to, they pitched their voices low, muting their arguments and moving as little as possible. Somehow, the aura of magnitude exuding from the machinery was almost tangible, and it weighed on them.

A few moments into the discussion, they looked around and realized Nissa was nowhere to be seen. As one, they turned to the glowing furnace room.

~~

Nissa, wearing her ring of invisibility, ducked under a low-hanging bifurcated arm, careful not to let her cloak catch on the delicate appendages that jutted out from it. She made her way across a series of short bridges and came before the central contraption. She let her eyes pass over the mind numbing array of wires woven into the central spire, over the solid metal shell of the furnace, over the large block of the anvil. There did not appear to be anything stealable, much to the gnome’s dismay. One portion caught her attention, though. There was a small table attached to the main anvil, slanted and with a sunken panel. 

A stack of thick papers in an attached leather pouch told her this was some sort of schematics table, which on normal forges would allow a smith to visualize the completed piece as they worked. Strange pulsing gems in the corners of this schematics table indicated this one probably worked differently.

On a whim, the gnome reached into her satchel and removed one of the gems she had secreted away. She placed it in the middle of the schematics table, then, when nothing happened, she added a crowbar from her bag. Still, the forge remained silent.

Thinking there might be some verbal command to start the whole thing, Nissa deactivated her ring of invisibility. As soon as her form blinked into view, she felt a tendril of foreign thought tentatively pressing on her mind. The gentle prod manifested as a voice in her head, rumbling and deep, clearly asking a question, though Nissa did not understand the words. Unless she missed her guess, it was speaking to her - rather, thinking to her - in dwarvish.

Nissa fumbled mentally to try and recall something - anything - she had learned in dwarvish from her companions, but nothing came to mind. She opened her mouth to ask the sentience to wait for her to go grab her friends, but apparently her delay was as good as a wrong answer. There was a metallic scraping noise from around the room as the sluice gates, long unused, began to open. Slowly, the lava they had held back began to pour into the channels along the floor. The dull red glow in the room grew brighter as the molten streams spread out.

While the lava was beginning to fill into the room, the many mechanical arms hanging over Nissa began to animate. With much clicking and whirring, many-segmented arms swung into action, pincers and hammers and all sorts of tools flying through the air, affixed to the now mobile appendages. They struck out at Nissa, clearly unimpressed with her lack of mastery of the dwarvish tongue, and the gnome was forced to retreat, hands over her head, back to the entryway.

As Nissa passed her, Brienne stepped into the active room and called out in dwarvish, “Is this the fire that forged my armor?” She held a hand to her breastplate, keeping her other hand on Mjolnir’s handle.

At her question, the room shuddered, and the lava seemed to glow brighter. The tendril of thought swept over the party, and everyone who could understand dwarvish heard in their minds, “Lord Dornlan, deceiver, you will die here.” The party leapt aside as the lava in the troughs around them became agitated, spilling parts of itself up onto the ground.

Wun Way pressed a hand to the coatl egg, tucked safely in its sling, and reached out with her mind, asking if it had any ideas. She felt the feathery presence of the unhatched coatl, and it replied, “This is a place of great anger. A temper this hot will never cool.”

While Brienne was shouting at the room, and Nissa was ducking beneath Ravain and Melpomene, and Wun Way was clutching her magic stone again, Pock peered around Brienne to take in the room. In the brighter lighting, he was able to make out a series of panels, each depicting one of eight murals around the room. Below each was signed in large runes the clan name from the previous room, spelled properly each time. The murals captured the discovery of the Hidden Forge, as well as several singular works of smithing, from helms and greataxes to intricate machinery and a brilliant crown.

The final panel had a carving of Brienne’s armor. There was no mistaking it - Pock could pick out those intricate silvered etchings in a room full of enchanted armor. The carving on the wall matched the piece Brienne was wearing exactly. Whoever had carved this last panel either knew the armor by heart - or had the piece with them as the panel was carved.

He turned to Brienne, pointing at the last panel, but the fighter was preoccupied dodging the globs of lava that were being thrown from the channels at her. When she proved too agile for the random sprays, the channels around her began to fill with more and more lava as a deep bubbling filled the air. Heat began to roll off the channels, and everyone began to sweat a marked amount more. Except for Pock, who had grown up around forges, and was only now starting to find the temperature a bit much.

The voice from before echoed in their minds once more, a deep tone filled with burning anger: “Lord Dornlan, your malice will never be welcome here.” The searing heat rose from the filling channels, and the group split up into different quadrants of the room, where the lava was lower and temperatures cooler (but certainly not cool). Nissa fired a bolt at the central mechanism of the forge, but the bolt clanged against a panel of wires and into a lava trough. There was a slight sparking, and a pair of bronze plates began to close off the entryway. Nissa’s eyes darted from the passage behind her to her friends, jumping over streams of lava. The gnome shrugged and sighed, then jumped back into the room as the thick doors clanged shut.

Melpomene crouched atop one of the foot bridges, ducking under one of the swinging arms that were rotating around the room. She had cast a spell of tongues on herself as soon as she felt the foreign thought, and was now crying out in dwarvish, trying to convince the forge that they were not associated with this Lord Dornlan. Wun Way echoed her sentiments, interceding on Brienne’s behalf. “This is Brienne of Tarth, God-Grappler, wielder of Mjolnir, savior of-” She was cut off as a pair of pliers whizzed by her ear. Checking around herself before continuing, she said, “Savior of Orlane! We do not know this Dornlan, but you are mistaken!”

As the chaos continued, Pock fended off a blow from a forge hammer with his shield as he muttered a prayer to Moradin. The lava ebbed from the area around the door and flowed to fill the channels around Brienne again. She batted a grabbing hand aside with her hammer and remembered the spell Elminster had cast for them:

Deep within a mountain spine

Where fire and stone become entwined

Dwelled a skilled but vengeful smith

Who made armor to mete justice with.

And for that act, who must atone?

The Hidden Forge, left all alone.

Find Xanderos and search his lair.

Your journey will begin there.

She cried out, “I am truly not Dornlan! But I know you atone for the injustice your works have caused. How can we help?”

“Lies!” the voice echoed, though it was not as indignant as it had been. There was a tinge of doubt around the corners of its tone, as if it could almost be heard as a question.

Sensing its will wavering, Melpomene cast a zone of truth around Brienne, motioning for her to repeat herself. This time, there was an audible ring of truth to her words, and she added, “How can we help you pay for the sins of your creations?” Lava bubbled up from the channels near Melpomene, but she stood firm, concentrating on maintaining the glowing white circle around Brienne.

Gradually, the spinning arms began to slow, and the lava started to seep back into the crevices in the floor. It was still very hot in the room, but perhaps it was growing cooler. After a long minute, the voice returned, this time tinged with regret, an old mind driven to wistfulness: “I suffer from lack of use.”

Pock hopped over a few steaming rivers of lava to the central contraption, heedless of the shimmering heat in the air. “As a forge cleric, it pains me to see such a good forge go to waste.” He placed a hand on the forge hammer, resting on the great anvil. “I would be honored if you would allow me to work upon you.”

There was a momentary pause, then the menacing red glow seemed to shift imperceptibly into the cheery red of a long-burning fire. Flames licked up in the belly of the furnace. The voice rumbled in their minds, and Nissa recognized the initial query she had failed: “What would you create?”

Pock thought for a brief second, head tilting to the side. Then, he said, “How about a badass sword?”

“A fine choice,” came the answer, and then the arms shifted back into sudden and purposeful motion. No longer twirling around the room, the arms began the intricate dance of maintaining the massive furnace, feeding it and operating the bellows, pulling chunks of ore from hidden areas around the room and heating them in the great fire. As the movements began, the door of the entryway slid back open, and the rest of the group happily left the sweltering room for the still-warm-but-not-overwhelmingly-so passageway beyond.

It was the most efficient and pleasing time Pock had ever spent with a forge, and he had spent countless hours before a wide variety of setups. The forge seemed to be in flow with him, from start to finish, which might have been partially explained by the constant caress of its consciousness on Pock’s. In any event, the forge was completely in sync with his actions and needs throughout the process, adding heat before the gnome could even think to ask, pre-forming the molten clump of slag as it left the furnace, offering tools Pock did not recognize but whose purpose and usage was instantly clear to him. Pock always enjoyed his time before a forge, but this was easily the most enjoyment he had pulled from his craft in a long time.

All too soon (though possibly not for those waiting in the heat of the middle of the mountain), the metal arms slowed to a halt, and Pock felt a tinge of pride from the forge’s consciousness. He held aloft a flawless longsword, shaped from sudden inspiration and sharp as a razor. It’s odd form was beautiful and efficient, and it cut through the air with a slight whistle as Pock gave it a swing.

“I have misjudged you…” the voice said to Pock; no one else was in the room to hear. Suddenly, the gnome’s vision went dark, and he felt the presence of the forge’s sentience grow stronger as memories flooded his awareness.

~~

A dwarf was laboring at the Hidden Forge, day in and day out. Though he smiled at the ring of his hammer on the great anvil, there was bitterness in his eyes, and it was clear this was the only thing that brought him joy. He finished the sword he had been working on, quenching it and laying it atop a growing pile of weaponry. The dwarf looked to the exit of the Forge and sighed, clearly dreading his return to the company of others, and one in particular. Outside of this forge, the dwarf was sad and angry, a blight on the otherwise well-knit community.

The dwarf returned to the forge, a cold, hard glint in his eye. Over a span of time, hours, days, weeks, it was impossible to tell, he crafted a wonderful suit of armor, etched with intricate silvered patterns. Into this armor the dwarf poured his malice, hatred, and vengeance. The dark thoughts of the dwarf seeped into the mind of the forge, which grew increasingly saddened as the scene continued.

Finally, the piece was done; the dwarf could finally add his own panel to the murals that surrounded the forge. It took all night and the next day to carve his magnum opus into the wall, beside those works of his predecessors. With the exact image of the armor immortalized in the walls of the forge, the dwarf scribbled upon the back of a schematic and wrapped his masterpiece in an oilskin. Without so much as a final glance, the heavy hearted dwarf left the forge for the last time…

~~

As Pock felt his own senses returning to him, he heard a gentle whirring. Above him, a spindly arm draped down, a sealed scroll case clipped to it. The arm stopped before the gnome, clearly offering the scroll. Pock removed the case and broke the seal, pulling out a rolled schematic for a sluice gate. On the back side was a note, scribbled in dwarvish runes.

“I have smithed my last piece. I will no longer tolerate the injustices of Lorn Dornlan. I will present my piece to him as a gift on Shieldmeet. As ‘thanks’ for all he does for me. Then I will leave the Forge forever and run as far as I can, for his vengeance will be swift and implacable.”

The note was unsigned.

Pock nodded humbly toward the central contraption, then repeated the nod in various directions around the room. He wasn’t quite sure where the forge’s mind lived. “Thank you for sharing this knowledge with me. May you slumber in peace.”

As he turned to bring the letter to Brienne and the others, the Forge’s voice echoed in his mind one last time, “Do not let me be forgotten again…”

[chille-tid-universe]

Bridges, Taverns, and Caves

Later that morning, after at least some amount of rest, the party reconvened to discuss the next leg of their journey. To catch up those who had other errands to run the previous day, they recited the lore Elminster had gleaned from Brienne’s armor:

“Deep within a mountain spine

Where fire and stone become entwined

Dwelled a skilled but vengeful smith

Who made armor to mete justice with.

And for that act, who must atone?

The Hidden Forge, left all alone.

Find Xanderos and search his lair.

Your journey will begin there.”

Over breakfast, they argued about the significance of the lore. They were able to easily glean that their path must take them to the Spine of the World, far to the north but not impossibly out of the way. Presumably, they were searching for the location the armor had been created, some “Hidden Forge,” where they could discover some further clues. The location of the forge seemed tied to this Xanderos, of whom Elmister had admitted to having no knowledge.

The name sounded draconic, though it was short for a dragon. Elminster had explained that, as dragons grew and their renown increased, they would affix syllables to their names; the longer a dragon’s name, the more pride and history they would have. For such a short name, they might be looking for a particularly young dragon (or, as Elminster cautioned, a particularly secretive dragon who preferred anonymity to haughtiness - a foreboding sign, if it were the case).

Now, they debated over what kind of dragon it could be. Unable to come to a consensus, they asked Durnan for directions to the nearest library. As they left the Yawning Portal, there was a rumbling from the pit, and cries of “TROLL!” could be heard as the door shut. In the library, they spent an hour or two researching. They were unable to find any mention of Xanderos, but gathered what information on dragons they could find.

If it was a young dragon, it was possible it could be any kind - its short life would explain the length of its name. If it were a fully grown adult, then it was likely it could be a green or copper dragon, as they were cunning and placed more emphasis on intelligence than their brethren. It was possible a copper or green dragon might forgo adding to their name to remain innocuous. Likewise, it was unlikely to be a red, white, or gold dragon, as those appeared to be the most proud or territorial, and would not fail to improve their name as a testament to their own prowess or to cement their hold on their corner of the world.

It wasn’t much, but some preparation was better than none, and the party decided to head north for the Spine. Leaving the city of Waterdeep behind, they began their journey up the Long Road. Along the way, they fought bandits, assisted small hamlets, rescued cats, but at this point in their heroic careers these deeds were commonplace. The first item of interest on their journey occurred at a bridge.

~~

The party came upon a sturdy bridge spanning a crevasse. As they made to cross it, a booming voice rang out: “To cross bridge, must pay toll.” They glanced around, but could find no one. Nissa picked up a pebble from the ground and tossed it onto the bridge. “Try again,” the voice rumbled. Nissa shrugged.

She called out, “What’s the toll?”

A moment later, the voice replied, “Shinies - big shinies!”

The others began quietly discussing among themselves, but Nissa pulled one of her golden buttons from her pouch and tossed it next to the pebble. As it rolled to a stop, an enormous, hairy hand reached up from beneath the planks and slapped down on the button. It dragged it - and the pebble - over the side of the bridge. There was an appreciative “ooh!” followed by, “Good shiny, need more.”

“How many?” Nissa called out as Brienne and Ravain tried to shush her.

“Lotses!” the voice said. There was a pause, in which Ravain tilted his head, concentrating.

“There’s another voice,” he murmured, describing a light, high pitched voice whispering to the booming creature. As he finished, an open palm came up from the crevasse.

“This many bundreds!” There was a moment’s pause before the voice corrected itself, presumably at the quieter voice’s insistence.  “Hundreds! Don’t be tricks-isy!”

“How ‘bout you talk to us face to face?” Nissa offered, trying to find a rock from which she could peer down into the crevasse safely.

“Face to face good. Come down under the bridge. It’s nice down here,” the voice said eagerly.

“Oh, do you have accommodations down there?” Melpomene asked, rolling her eyes.

“Many accolations,” the voice promised. The party glanced at each other exasperatedly. “Five hundred gold!” the voice demanded, proud of itself for stringing the words together properly.

“What if we don’t have gold?” Pock asked, hefting his hammer.

“Don’t have gold?” A smacking sound echoed from the crevasse as the beast presumably licked its lips.

“Hypothetically,” Pock clarified nervously.

Melpomene shook her head and wove a simple spell to create an auditory illusion of smacking lips back at the monster. At this, a crest of lichen began to rise from the depths of the crevasse atop a balding head, and the giant peeked up from behind the bridge. Melpomene responded by illusioning huge lips onto her face. The giant’s bush-like eyebrows rose as it cried, “Magic tricksies! Sneaky! I eat sneaky!”

Pock was ready. He held up his hammer, calling down a pillar of heavenly flame to collide with the creature’s wide head. It glanced off its brow, and the gnome darted forward, hefting his shield. Nissa had found her rock, and aimed around the edge of it to shoot at the huge form. Wun Way gestured at the large head and spoke a spell, creating a concussive blast at its temple.

The giant blinked away the debris that fell from its eyebrows and dropped its tree trunk of a club on Pock. The gnome jumped away at the last second, but the giant swept the tree into his body, knocking him down. It then reached out with its other hand and grasped Pock between its stubby fingers.

As it began to pull Pock towards itself, there was movement by its ear. A winged fairy fluttered into view and flew in circles as it squeaked a chant. A violet haze settled over Wun Way and Brienne, and their limbs grew slack, weapons falling to their sides. Stupefied gazes drifted over the battlefield. The fairy giggled and began to fly away.

Brienne’s glazed eyes began to focus, though it was a few seconds before she shook her head and gripped Mjolnir more tightly. In the meantime, Melpomene gathered her magic and shouted out, “Your lips look a bit chapped, love!” The words cut through the giant’s mind, and it raised its club-wielding hand to cover its mouth, clearly hurt. As it did so, Pock freed an arm and smashed his warhammer down on the giant’s thumb, drawing a grunt of pain from the giant as it swatted at Nissa’s bolts.

Wun Way shook off the haze of confusion almost immediately and focused her attention on the fleeing fairy. She drew power from her well of magic and spoke words of power in a singsong voice. Five bolts of magic curved out of her outstretched hand and honed in on the winged beast. As the first struck, though, the fairy fell from the sky, dead.

The giant was too preoccupied by the smashing treat in its hand to notice. Pock was still bashing on its thumb as the giant lifted him to its mouth, and the party let out a collective exclamation as it opened wide and popped the gnome between its teeth. As it tried to crunch down on the squirmy and tough shelled morsel, it leaned out from the crevasse to grab at Wun Way.

Unwilling to see another friend eaten, Brienne gripped her warhammer and dashed for the giant, pulling the thunderous might of Thor into her strike. A loud clap boomed and echoed in the crevasse as she hit the giant, but it stood its ground. As everyone regained their hearing, Melpomene called out to the giant again, this time with persuasive magic layered in her voice.

“That pixie mentioned a pile of golden buttons-” She pointed down along the length of the crevasse. “-down that-a-way! She said she was hiding it from you!” The giant became visibly angry and tried to talk with a mouth full of Pock. “But if you want to catch up to her, you’ll need to drop our friends! They’ll only slow you down.” The giant’s eyes were glazed over from the power of the suggestion spell, and he thought for a long moment before spitting the gnome onto his hand and dropping both people onto the ground. He spared the lost meals a final glance before turning and stomping off in the direction of Melpomene’s pointing finger.

Wun Way was a little bruised, but otherwise fine. Pock, however, was coated with giant spit and struggling not to retch. As they grabbed rags from their packs to help clean him off, Nissa grinned and came as close as her nose would allow. “What was it like in there?”

Pock stopped mid retch and calmly recalled, “Dark. And smelly.”

~~

The next few days passed much as the days before had, though it was some time before the stench left Pock’s skin, and the first chance he got he bought a new set of clothing from a passing caravan. 

One evening, the group was searching for a dry spot to camp (it had rained during the day) when they came upon a modest tavern. It touted itself as the Lusty Pixie, and seemed well funded and well visited, given how far it was from any major city or town. Within, a group of patrons ate and drank and relaxed after a long day of working the rocky soil of their farms. The largest concentration of people was in one corner, where some sort of a street performer had drawn the attention of a third of the patrons. The party ordered meals and drinks and settled in to watch.

The performer appeared to be playing a shell game with his audience. He would sweet talk one person into playing, then hide a pebble beneath one of three overturned cups. Some fancy sleight of hand later, the audience member would pick one of the cups, usually with much input from the rest of the audience. Occasionally one of the audience members would win, but the performer was definitely benefitting from the game.

As the most recent patron walked away, smiling and cupping a handful of coins, the man called out to the tavern, “Step up and play! Four gold maximum, and I’ll double your bet!” Melpomene glanced around, downed the last of her ale, and sauntered over to the gathered crowd. As she pressed her way to the front, the man caught her eye. “Would you like to play, sir? Er, ma’am?”

Melpomene grinned and prestidigitated a mustache. “Gladly. I’ll put down four gold.” The man graciously accepted her coin and, after showing her the pebble, began shifting the cups on his table. A few seconds later, he presented the trio in a new order and gestured for Melpomene to pick. She stared hard at each cup, then pointed at the middle one. The man shrugged apologetically and lifted each cup - the pebble was to the left. Melpomene groaned with the rest of the crowd.

“Chance to win back your gold?” he suggested, laying out a dozen coins to add to Melpomene’s lost bet. Melpomene grinned and nodded. As the man began shuffling the cups once more, Wun Way wandered over to the crowd. As Melpomene pointed to a cup, Wun Way smirked and muttered under her breath.

The man grimaced good-naturedly as he lifted the cup - only to reveal two pebbles. There was a moment of silence, in which Wun Way’s eyes grew wide as saucers, and then the crowd erupted with noise. Melpomene, looking just as surprised as the performer, prestidigitated a magnifying glass and bent to examine the pebbles. As she looked, she muttered under her breath to the performer, “This wasn’t me, but if you’d like I can help rope in a few from the crowd.” The man’s stunned face morphed into a smile and he gave a slight nod. Melpomene straightened up and raised her voice.

“That pebble wasn’t my doing! But you need to give me a chance to win back my gold!” She turned to the crowd. “Does anyone else want to get in on this? I can wager eight, no, twelve gold!” She managed to pull up an older man, who looked as surprised as the rest of the crowd as he slammed a dozen golden coins on the table. He could barely remember the last time he had this much wealth, and his nervous grin became a look of terror as the cups were shuffled. His relief was palpable as the cup was lifted, and a dozen pebbles spilled out onto the table.

As the lucky farmer walked away, fingers overflowing with coin, the street performer, shot Melpomene a worried look. She placated him with a wink and shouted, “It’s a sign! Who else wants to benefit from this?” At this point, nervous patrons began to avert their gazes and return to their suppers, but Melpomene was still able to bring up a handful of watchers who began digging in their purses, hoping to walk away rich. After a pile of coins was placed in front of the cups, the performer began shuffling. His hands were a blur over the table, and after a minute of furious motion, the cups sat still.

A hush passed over the crowd as Melpomene examined the cups with her magnifying glass. The dozen patrons whose money was on the line bunched up behind the aasimar, some of them clutching her coat in excited nervousness. As she pointed to a cup, Wun Way made a motion with her hand. The man braced himself as he lifted the cup, then saw that it was somehow empty. There was an exclamation from what remained of the crowd, followed by loud complaining from the people who had just lost their livelihood. The performer managed to sweep the contents of the table into a satchel, quick as a flash, hurriedly talking as he did so. “Oh, quite a shame, better luck next time, folks! A reminder that all purchases are indeed final. Tip your waiters! I’ll be back around these parts in the next, well, never. Good bye!”

With that, he was out the front door. Nissa was chuckling while Brienne frowned slightly at Wun Way. As they made their way back over, Pock tugged on Brienne’s sleeve. “Where’s the bag of holding?” Brienne’s heart leapt into her throat as she reached for the spot on her belt where the bag normally hung. The rope had been cut - the bag was gone. Nissa’s chuckling became an open laugh, until she realized her purse was also gone. Wun Way and Pock’s purses had disappeared as well, and they turned to the door to see a halfling running outside. The four jumped from their seats and darted for the door. Melpomene followed, laughing.

In the gathering dark, the group could make out the two figures running down the road. The party broke into a run. Wun Way tossed a spell ahead, and a series of hypnotic runes flashed around the pair. The halfling stumbled to a halt, seemingly enthralled by the patterns. The human continued to run, arm raised to cover his face. This slowed him down slightly, though, and Nissa pulled out her crossbow, crying “Give it back, you little shit!” Brienne had been sprinting after the two, and was only a few feet behind the man when the crossbow bolt whizzed past her head and thudded into the man’s back. He was dead before he hit the ground.

Brienne skidded to a halt over the man’s body, chest heaving as she caught her breath. A moment later, Melpomene arrived, preceded by her laughter. Brienne caught a devilish look in her eyes as the aasimar reached a hand out. A spectral shade tore itself from the corpse, flying out to Melpomene’s hand, where it washed over her body like a dark suit. Before Brienne’s eyes, the aasimar began to shift, and a few seconds later, the living body of the thief was standing before her. Melpomene smiled with the man’s lips and began walking to the stupefied halfling. Brienne shot her a dark look and followed her.

Nissa was gently removing the purses from the halfling’s limp grasp. She tossed the bag of holding to Brienne as she approached. “What should we do with him?” Pock asked as he accepted his purse from Nissa.

Brienne opened her mouth to speak, but she was interrupted. “We have some fun,” Melpomene said, a hunger in the deeper voice.

Brienne looked disgusted, and merely shook her head. She turned to Pock, a question in her eyes, but the gnome shook his head. “Someone should stand witness to the retribution of his crimes.” Brienne looked strangely at the gnome, but then turned and began to walk back to the tavern. At the door, she glanced back. She couldn’t make out more than a handful of shadowy figures standing in the middle of the road. She heaved a heavy sigh and walked back into the light.

Wun Way walked around the halfling, concentrating on maintaining the spell. “So, what did you have in mind?” she asked.

~~

The halfling came to and was very surprised to find he was bound to a tree. He struggled for a moment, but was unable to free himself. He glanced around nervously, heart rate rising. In the early dark, he made out a hunched over form against the tree in front of him. “Gibbs! Is that you? Wake up!” There was a grunt, and then his partner’s voice burst out, a hissing whisper.

“Chaff! What happened?”

Chaff shook his head, then realized Gibbs wouldn’t be able to see it. “We were running the grift, smooth as ever, then that angel lady started helping you. I was able to lift a bunch of purses, then we made it out.” He paused as his scrambled memories fell into place. “We were running… Then there were shouts from behind us.” He stopped. “Then I woke up here.” He glanced around the darkened forest uneasily. “Should we call for help?”

“Who would help us?” Gibbs snapped, and Chaff was taken aback by the coldness in his voice. “We just swindled the whole tavern!”

“How did we get here?” Chaff lamented, struggling uselessly against the restraints. “Could it have been that angel lady? I thought she seemed a little suspicious. What happened to the knife you keep on you?”

“They obviously took it, you idiot,” Gibbs said. “I have half a mind to punish you myself.”

Chaff strained to see his partner in the dark. “What?”

“You were supposed to get us away safe!” Gibbs’s voice was filled with venom.”

Chaff’s lower lip wobbled. “We were on the road! I lifted the purses and we got away clean!” He pulled against the knots again. “Well, not exactly clean…”

A dark laugh burst from the shadowy figure. “Not exactly clean indeed.” The figure stood, obviously not bound by anything. “Do you know what happened to the last guy who crossed me?” An unearthly light seemed to be coming from Gibbs’s body; Chaff could see him now, but he looked different, somehow. Maybe it was just the bloodthirsty glint in his eye.

Chaff tried to swallow in a dry throat. “Ah, you n-never told me,” he stuttered.

Gibbs walked right up to his bound partner and leaned down. When he spoke, barely a whisper, a trill of fear slithered down the halfling’s spine. “Would you like to find out?”

Chaff began hyperventilating. “You, you wouldn’t do, do that to me! We’ve been through so much together!”

Gibbs seemed to consider this, tilting his eerily glowing head to the side. “You’re right.” Chaff’s heart skipped a beat. “I wouldn’t get my hands dirty.”

It was too much for Chaff. “Help!” he cried, once, before he felt a strangling sensation in his throat. Against his will, a laughing fit took him, and his exclamations were buried in frantic laughter.

“What’s so funny, dearest?” Gibbs’s eyes glowed as he placed a hand against the tree beside the halfling’s head. “Ha. Ha. Ha.”

There was the sound of a snapping twig, and then a gnome emerged from the nearby bushes, wielding a crossbow and glancing between the two thieves.

Gibbs jerked his head at the approaching woman. “Oh, look at the halfling girl. Would you like her to help you?”

Nissa bristled. “I’m a gnome, Melpomene!”

Gibbs wasn’t listening, however. He drew himself up to his full height - Chaff didn’t remember Gibbs being quite so tall - and then he began to change. His eyes sunk into his skull, and the eerie light around his body solidified into a shattered halo. Skeletal wings shimmered into view, piercing his horrific body. As he reached out with a clawed hand for the halfling, Chaff gave a mangled yelp, then his eyes rolled back into his head.

~~

Wun Way dropped from the tree she had been watching from. She hurried over to the halfling as Melpomene shed the shadow like a snake’s skin. The aasimar looked pleased with herself. Wun Way felt the halfling’s neck to confirm what she assumed. “Dead,” she said, voice deadpan. “Heart attack, looks like.”

Nissa was frozen, crossbow pointed to the halfling’s head. She had been unable to fire, unable to stop the madness and end the poor thing’s misery. Melpomene was rifling through Chaff’s purse, and raised a small ring, examining it before tossing it to the gnome woman. “Catch. Looks like a ring of invisibility. Silly dear should have kept it a little handier.”

Nissa caught it on pure instinct, blinking at it for a few seconds before she wordlessly began walking back to the tavern. Wun Way, seeing herself left with Melpomene and Pock, cleared her throat. “You ok, Pock?”

The gnome glanced up, as if confused by the question. When the half-elf nodded to the dead halfling, realization reached the gnome’s eyes. “He had it coming,” he said simply.

~~

In the tavern, Brienne was finishing the last of her drink - a strong wine in a tall pewter mug. She nodded to Nissa as the gnome hopped up onto the stool beside her. Nissa waved down the barkeep and pointed at Brienne’s mug. Brienne raised an eyebrow as a new mug was placed before the gnome. Nissa drank long and deep before she spoke. “That wasn’t as funny as I thought it would be,” she said finally, as the mug thudded to the polished bartop, half empty.

Suddenly, the door banged open, and Melpomene and Pock strutted into the tavern. Melpomene walked straight to the bar and laid down a handful of coins. “A round on me!” she called, to cheers from the remainder of the patrons at the bar. Nissa frowned at the coins, and Brienne excused herself and made arrangements for a room.

~~

The energy about the group was slightly different in the morning.

As they set out from the tavern, Wun Way was saying, “...and maybe next time we’re shaking someone down, we don’t kill them?”

“Or we kill them quickly,” Nissa offered.

“They stole over three hundred gold,” Pock stated. “That’s several death sentences right there.” Nissa stepped to the other side of Brienne to place the fighter between her and the other gnome.

Melpomene yawned and rubbed at her eye. She had bought several rounds for the patrons of the Lusty Pixie last night - “Returning their gold to them,” she had explained to Pock. “That’s the last time I help a con artist,” she mumbled, squinting at the weak sunlight filtering through the clouds.

“Well, I’m glad someone learned something from this,” Brienne said, frowning at the aasimar. 

~~

In the following days, the party passed through the Evermoor and the Lurking Wood with little to no incidents - certainly no more interacting with performers at taverns. Before long, they reached the foothills of the Spine of the World.The atmosphere about the group slowly changed, if not back to normal, then at least to be less antagonistic.

One day, Ravain hastily led the group under a copse of trees and pointed skyward. They were able to make out the small figure of a black dragon flying amongst the clouds. “So tiny! Looks like it’s a youngling,” Pock said cheerfully. Ravain scowled at the gnome and shook his head.

“Looks to be a full grown adult. At least it seems likely we’re searching for a dragon’s lair.” When the dragon had passed beyond their sight, the ranger allowed them to continue up the road.

It had been many miles since they had passed any sort of settlements. Ravain explained that any people who lived this far north would likely be living underground. “I’ve heard there are dwarven communities in the Spine.”

They made their way to the base of the Spine without further sightings of the dragon. It was slow going, but Ravain was able to track their way to the dragon’s lair. Getting there was not quite so easy. Ascending mountainous terrain was never simple, and was even less so here. It was cold, wet, slippery, and monotonously uncomfortable, but it was in one piece that the group arrived at the mouth of the dragon’s lair. Ravain regarded the party and nodded appreciatively. “You’ve all gotten better at this.”

They stood before a large mountain cave. Wind howled across the entrance, filling the air with a foreboding whine. Although it was quite cold outside, they lingered at the entrance, peering inside. Within, the mouth of the cave appeared to have been formed by melting the rock around it; rivulets of molten rock were frozen in time as they had dribbled down to the cavern’s floor. Further along, the walls of the cave were pockmarked.

Deeper in, those of the party with darkvision could see a makeshift nest of hay bales, straw, down feathers, and blankets. Ravain explained that black dragons generally preferred swampy, humid climates; this one apparently had adopted to the frigid weather.

“Well,” Pock said, leaning into the cave, “the good news is, no one is home. Oh, look!” Pock directed their attention to the cave walls beyond the nest. As their eyes adjusted to the dark, they could make out carvings all along the wall. There were lines of runes and several murals that appeared to be dwarven in origin.

After a quick discussion, it was decided that Nissa would examine the cave and see what the writing on the wall said. So the gnome donned her newly acquired ring of invisibility and vanished from view. Nissa walked along slowly, checking for traps in the piles of hay and keeping an eye on the shadowy corners of the cavern. Finally, she arrived at an important looking segment of wall with a line of shimmering text. The runes were not in common, however.

The rest of the group watched nothing happen, until a scrap of paper and a pen appeared out of thin air. The pen scribbled on the paper for a minute before they both disappeared again. A few seconds later, Nissa reappeared in front of them and pocketed her ring. She held out the scrap of paper where she had transcribed the dwarvish runes. Her handwriting was not particularly well suited for dwarvish, but Brienne was able to translate:

“What can run but not walk

Has a mouth but never talks

Has a head but never weeps

Has a bed but never sleeps?”

“A shoelace?” Pock offered, receiving glares from Ciri and Nissa.

“A river,” the rest of the party said at once. Nissa nodded and added, “And what is ‘river’ in dwarvish?”

After they had taught her the dwarvish word for river, she slipped her ring back on (just to be safe) and made her way back to the gently pulsating riddle. The gnome spoke the word, causing those who spoke dwarvish to wince at her pronunciation and accent, but the words began to glow. A low pulse of energy filled the cavern, and the script shone more brightly in a harsh orange-red color. Nissa yelped in surprise as the murals to either side of her shifted and began to rise, revealing a space behind them.

“Those aren’t rivers,” Melpomene stated as the group ran in to defend the gnome.

[chille-tid-universe]

Errands in the City and Flowers in Her Hair

The party awoke the following day well-rested and optimistic. Partially healed bruises served as reminders of the scuffle the previous night, and the group descended to the ground floor grinning and chatting about the monsters they had fought. As they stepped off the stairs, they noticed the plaque holding a row of smashed vials had two additional chiseled tallies, and Durnan was in deep conversation with a man by the bar. The man kept a hand on a large trunk laying on the bartop, and it was clear the two were haggling. 

As the party pulled chairs up to a low table Nissa had chosen and placed orders with a passing waiter (like last night, just about everything was on the menu), the two men shook hands. Gold was exchanged, and the stranger took out a dozen flasks of acid from the trunk. Chilled smoke poured from the top as the flasks were lined up on the counter, and a minute later the man was tipping his hat and walking through the front door.

As Durnan walked by their table, bundle of bubbling vials in his arms, Ravain waved him over. “I was wondering if you had an idea of whom we could approach about a magical scroll,” the ranger asked as he cut through his hydra sausage.

Durnan placed the vials down on the table and stroked his mustache. “Sure, I can think of several people who’d be capable, but I’m not certain you’d be afforded an audience.” He glanced around the table apologetically. “You’re not exactly the prim and proper sort.”

Brienne shrugged. “Nevertheless, Waterdeep is likely to be the last real center of civilization we pass through for a while, and we’d rather try while we’re here.”

Durnan nodded and counted on his fingers, “There’s the Black Staff and Halaster, but I wouldn’t recommend either one. There’s also Mordenkainen, but I’m not sure if he’d make himself useful for you.” The barkeep tapped his chin thoughtfully. “It’s possible the Black Staff has an apprentice, she’s always taking on new students as she loses them. There’s also Volothamp, but I don’t really know if he’s around at the moment. Elminster might decide to help you, and I think he’s moved back to Waterdeep recently.”

Brienne smiled at Durnan. “My thanks. Anyone else you can think of?”

Durnan screwed up his face as he sifted through his thoughts. “None at the moment, milady. I’d start your search at the Hall of the Masked Lords, you should be able to find a representative from the Black Staff’s office there.”

Ravain clapped Durnan on the shoulder as he bent to pick up his vials. “This is plenty to keep us occupied. Thank you, friend.”

Durnan returned a smile. “My pleasure. Don’t be strangers!” As the barkeep walked away, swaddling the acid tenderly in a cloth, the party returned to their meal and prepared for the day. Melpomene decided to continue catching up with the gaggle of adventurers who had come down from their rooms, and so Ravain, Ciri, Brienne, Pock, and Nissa headed out.

~~

Before the group began searching for mages, they decided to unload the last of Explictica Defilus’s hoard. They had been able to sell the majority of the loot they had carried out of the subterranean depths of the Snake God’s lair, and were left now with a bundle of oddments - a silvered mirror, an intricate locket with portrait inside, a set of candlesticks, among other things.

After a few minutes’ search and a couple of questioned locals, they arrived at a curio shop. Inside, they were greeted with a wide smile by a well dressed human. He wrung his hands over the pile of items as they were laid out on his countertop, and consulted an abacus as he tallied values. He offered a hundred gold pieces, even. The group knew this was a quarter too stingy, but Brienne was eager to be rid of the bloody treasure, and so accepted the offer. “Thank you for your generosity,” Pock mumbled. The shopkeeper turned his wide smile on the gnome, either unable to detect the sarcasm or choosing to ignore it.

As Brienne stashed the coins into the bag of holding, Nissa turned to the man. “Would you happen to know a jeweler nearby?”

“If you have an interest in gems, I suggest you look here.” The man swept a hand over a nearby glass case. Within, a meager collection of gems sparkled. Nissa cast a skeptical glance over the stones.

“I’m not certain you’ll be able to, eh, find room for my gems,” Nissa said, feeling in her bag the gems that were easily twice the size of the largest rock in the case.

The shopkeeper bristled. “Is my establishment not good enough for you?” he asked haughtily, smoothing back his greased hair.

Nissa backed away from the counter as the others prepared to leave. “Tell you what. I’ll take a look around town, and if I can’t find anything, I’ll be back in a few hours.” As the door swung shut behind her, she snorted. “As if.”

~~

The streets of Waterdeep were filled with diversity. Vendors, passersby, even the uniformed guards all hailed from multiple races, and myriad dialects could be heard as they passed through the crowds. High above, the group could see several of the gigantic statues that kept watch over the various districts of the city. Between and above them, chunks of land and buildings floated in the air on magical energies, the pent houses and playgrounds of the obscenely rich, content to recline as high above the rabble as they could afford.

Many cultures were present, as well; sizzling smells suffused in the air drifted out from a hundred different pots along the sides of alleyways; garb was as varied as Waterdeep’s population, from multicolored shawls to muted robes to intricate dresses and tight suits; temples and shrines were scattered among the districts as if a giant had tossed them out on a whim, with acolytes and temple scriers calling out the glories of their deities and denouncing blasphemers. It was at one of these altars that Wun Way lingered, causing the rest of the group to double back for her. There, a pretty woman in crimson robes was handing out roses to passersby. 

Wun Way grinned as she said, “Blessings of Sune upon you.” The acolyte’s smile turned into a beam, and she returned the greeting. “Is there a temple near here?” she asked, accepting the proffered rose. The acolyte nodded and pointed down a nearby crossroads, giving the half-elf directions down a couple blocks. When she had finished, Wun Way turned to the rest of the group. “I need to go. Sune helped us escape from those monsters, and this is the first chance I’ve had to properly thank her.”

Ravain began to object to splitting the party, but Brienne cut him off. “I understand. We’ll be at the Hall for a while, but just meet us back at the Yawning Portal if you stay longer.” Wun Way nodded and skipped off down the road.

~~

Not long after, the group arrived at the Hall of the Masked Lords. Within, they inquired after a representative of the Black Staff, and, after a doubtful glance by the page, were told to wait in the entrance hall. The room was tall and long, with a seemingly endless stream of people, going from door to door or entering and leaving from the street entrance. Brienne picked up a pamphlet and idly passed her eyes over it while Ravain stared down each courier who passed too close. Pock picked up a pamphlet from the same table and nodded at it studiously, and Ciri struck up a conversation with the halfling sitting next to her, who was awaiting an audience with some secretary of a dignitary of one of the lesser councils.

Nissa, however, was not content to wait. After fidgeting in her cushioned seat for half an hour, she told her friends that she was going to get some air and darted through the front doors. Outside, the crowded street felt more relaxing than the muted hallway had. The gnome took a deep breath and began to weave her way through the masses of pedestrians easily, keeping a sharp eye out.

Minutes later, she found what she was looking for. Approaching from a busy side street was a tall elf with fairly symmetrical and pointed features. He wore extravagant robes of reds and purples, and strands of blue were dyed into his long hair. His nose was upturned, even on this cleaner street, and his lips were pulled back in a perpetual sneer. His pace was a mixture of leisurely and rushed, as if he had somewhere important to be, but he would do so as luxuriously as possible.

As soon as Nissa spotted the elf, she practically began salivating at the thought of the riches he must be carrying. She sized up the road between them and plotted a deliberate path. A few seconds later, she stepped out from behind a large dragonborn and walked right into the elf’s legs. The elf gave a shrill screech as he tumbled over his coat into a pile of mud by the side of the road. Nissa was at his elbow immediately, reaching to help him up and feeling surreptitiously for his purse.

“Get your hands off me,” the elf cried loudly, pushing Nissa’s arms away as he gingerly extracted himself from the pile of detritus. “Damned drow gnome, tripping your superiors, can’t watch where you’re going…”

As he stood, Nissa appeared frozen. Her eyes narrowed. “I’m a svirfneblin. The drow are elves. You wouldn’t-”

“I don’t care,” the elf sniffed, straightening up and inspecting his robes. “You’re all the same to me. Now get out of my way. I have somewhere to be.”

Nissa felt the blood pounding in her ears, but her voice was cool as she spat, “I hope the mud doesn’t come out of your disgusting clothes.” The elf pretended not to hear her, and continued wiping mud off his cloak until she shouldered into his side as she passed, mumbling “Oops” as he toppled back into the mud.

~~

Several hours later, a mousy gnome stepped out of a door in the entrance hallway and peered down at a slip of paper. “Brienne of Tarth?” he called out hesitantly, squinting as he looked around the sitting individuals. As Brienne stood with Ravain, Pock, and Ciri following close behind, the gnome retreated further into his frilled finery. “Yes, yes, that’s close enough.” He coughed daintily into a handkerchief and referred to the paper again. “You have a request for the Black Staff herself?”

“Or her apprentice, or anyone who can help, really,” Brienne clarified, looking dubiously down at the clerk. It was obvious he had never held a weapon in his life. “We have a magic scroll we need read.”

The gnome snorted, somehow sounding like a scrap of parchment being torn. “Yes, the uninitiated always need something cast by those with real power. What is it, an identify spell? A scroll of magic missile, perhaps?”

Ravain stepped forward, glaring down at the gnome, whose laughter died in his throat. “A little bit more than a magic missile. We need someone to remove a curse.”

The gnome took a step back, both from surprise and from Ravain’s proximity. “Ah. Well, yes, that would be a tricky bit of magic.” An eyebrow rose as his gaze darted between the party members. “You have a cursed item, I presume?”

Brienne glanced around the hallway, but no one appeared to be paying them any extra attention. “Yes,” she replied, placing a hand over her chest. “This is a set of armor of vulnerability.”

The gnome nodded appreciatively, eyeing the group with a new perspective. “Well. Certainly something to have looked at.” He shook his hands as Brienne’s face brightened. “By someone else, that is. I’m afraid the office of the Black Staff is terribly busy, what with the security of Waterdeep to ensure and all. However,” he continued, cowering under Ravain’s glare, “there’s sure to be a wizard or two who can help you. I’d recommend Elminster, this should be right up his alley.” The gnome then proceeded to recite directions. After the first minute, Pock scrambled for a quill and scrap of paper from his pack, but after another minute of furious scribbling he gave up. Brienne’s eyes widened as the gnome continued to drone on, but as he finished she nodded her thanks and led the others back to the street.

~~

Several blocks away, Wun Way was marveling at the intricate decorations within the shrine to Sune. Elaborate tapestries hung from the ceiling depicting the many quests and feats their goddess had accomplished, as well as the most famous of her followers. Vine-like filigree crept along marble columns, and the large central chamber was surrounded by alcoves where polished silver discs hung between burning incense, windows to inner beauty before which Sune’s followers could meditate.

There were more communal activities, as well. A handful of clusters moved slowly along the tiled floors, traveling from a relic along one wall to a particular tapestry hanging by the center of the room to a fount described as “Sune’s tears.” As one of the groups began to dissipate, Wun Way stepped up to the guide who had been leading the prayer. She was a female human of middling height with hair that shone from yellow to gold to blonde, and she wore the crimson robes of an acolyte of Sune. As Wun Way approached her, a brilliant smile lit up her face.

“Welcome,” the woman began, spreading her arms to encompass the whole temple. “I noticed you as the prayer group was traversing the halls. You’ve been in prayer for a while.”

Wun Way shrugged with a wry smile. “I was thanking Sune for all she’s done for me recently.”

The woman nodded sagely, clasping her hands together. “I know exactly what you mean. I have been quite blessed in my social circles. Everyone says how jealous they are of my looks, and I’ve even met a nice young man.” Wun Way had to cough to disguise the rolling of her eyes. “And how did you find our goddess?”

“Quite the tale, actually,” Wun Way responded, reaching for her pan flute and blowing a few muted tones. She then launched into a ballad she had been piecing together since Orlane, telling of the kidnapping of the prince Nicodemus and the efforts of his lover, Phileus the hound keeper, to save him, of the epic showdown in the basement of an abandoned church for the fate of the prince, and the vanquishing of the orcish kidnappers. She described the hidden shrine to Sune in the church, and how a ghostly Knight of the Ruby Rose had charged her to uphold the ideals of beauty and love.

By the end of her tale, Wun Way had gathered a small crowd, who were clapping politely. The acolyte was wiping a tear from her eye. “Ah, young love,” she sighed. As the crowd went back to their personal worship, Wun Way stored her pan flute away.

“You know, I did have another reason for coming here today,” Wun Way confided. “I’ve been happy to work for the glory of Sune, but I want to make my membership in the Order of the Ruby Rose official.”

The acolyte’s countenance changed immediately. She glanced around the room, as if to make sure they weren’t being overheard. Other petitioners, worshippers, and acolytes milled about the room, so she put on a hesitant smile. With a wary final glance at a passing group of acolytes, she finally spoke. “To join the Order is quite the… commitment.”

Wun Way appeared not to have noticed the change. “I’m willing to do anything for Sune,” she replied readily.

The acolyte sighed gently. “Very well. We do have a chapter here in Waterdeep, but it isn’t located at this shrine.” She then described a straightforward path to the barracks of the Order of the Ruby Rose, less than two blocks from the shrine. “Is there anything else I can help you with?” Wun Way grinned, but shook her head. “Then the blessings of Sune be upon you.”

~~

The gnome’s directions were not particularly complicated, but they were confounding. The group began their trek with a series of left turns that led them back to the entrance of the Hall of the Masked Lords. Ciri stopped at the gilded double doors and peered around at the familiar street, but the other three continued, and so she ran to catch up.

The series of instructions lead them gradually away from the hall, with many switchbacks and U-turns. After their third time crossing the same bridge, they began to draw some odd looks, but eventually they stopped at a townhouse with “Elminster’s” etched in shimmering golden letters above the door. Ciri glanced down the street, an odd feeling in her gut, and saw the Hall of the Masked Lords halfway down the block. Her stream of expletives was cut short by Brienne knocking on the door. Above, the chimney of the house had been replaced by a teetering wizard’s tower, easily recognizable by the way it tilted too far to one side but remained standing.

As Brienne knocked, the door swung open slowly. Within, a pleasant looking foyer awaited, dim after the midday sun outside. There was no one in sight. “Hello?” Brienne called, her voice echoing oddly in the entry room. When no one responded, Brienne began to move forward. Ravain reached out to grip her shoulder, shaking his head slightly, but Brienne shrugged and stepped across the threshold. 

There was a flapping sound, followed by a blur of movement swooping past Brienne’s head. She ducked, reaching for the hilt of her warhammer, but the pseudodragon simply flew up the nearby stairs, calling down, “Good-bye” in a voice indistinguishable from Brienne’s. A moment later, a tall, elderly man came rushing down those same stairs, waving about a curved pipe still gently smoking.

“So sorry to keep you waiting,” he exclaimed, peering down a hawk-like nose at the visitors. He reached an arm into thin air, and pulled a piping kettle along with a stack of porcelain cups. “Hope you weren’t waiting long.” As he began to pour the tea, the cups floated into the falling stream, filling before drifting over to the party. “Is there something I can do for you?” As the last cup halted before Pock, who eagerly grabbed it and began drinking, the wizard let go of the pot, causing it to disappear with a slight pop, and began puffing on his pipe.

Ciri began drinking from her cup, as well, despite Ravain’s stern glance. Brienne politely took a sip before addressing the wizard. “We were told we could find a wizard here; Elminster.”

The wizard nodded and waved his hand through the growing cloud of purple smoke. “At your service.”

“We have a scroll we need some assistance utilizing,” Brienne began, pulling the tightly wound length of paper from the bag of holding. “A scroll of destroy curse.” At this, Elminster seemed to perk up, rubbing his hands together as he peered at the scroll with sharp eyes. His pipe continued to smoke, suspended in the air a foot away from his face where he had left it.

“Ah, lovely, a cursed item! Where is it? Where did you find it?”

Brienne lightly tapped her breastplate. “Armor of vulnerability. We recovered it from the lair of a would-be snake god, outside of the village of Orlane.”

Elminster’s bushy eyebrows pulled together like magnetic caterpillars. “Orlane, you say? In Faerun? That can’t be right… could have sworn it was in Greyhawk…” Suddenly, the wizard smiled and swept his arms aside, dispelling the smoke. “Ah well, it can be hard to keep up with everything. Do you have everything you need?”

Ravain groaned, and Brienne glanced down at the scroll, unease filling her. “We have the scroll…”

Elminster smiled, not unkindly, and extended a hand for the scroll. As Brienne placed it in his upturned palm, he spoke. “The scroll provides the structure for the spell, yes, but you’ll need a little something to activate it. It’ll need to be something to compensate for the curse, to nullify it, one might say. The spell does not exactly ‘destroy’ the curse,” he chuckled, peering at the scroll as if he could read what was written inside. “Whatever penalty the curse provides, I’d suggest using a component from a being to counteract it.”

Brienne frowned as she absently traced the intricate dwarvish runes lining the collarpiece. She felt the curse looming beneath the surface of the ensorcelled steel, could almost hear it begging to be invoked. “Something resistant to bludgeoning and slashing attacks, then…” she mumbled, almost to herself. She glanced up. “Would a stone golem work?”

Elminster seemed pleasantly surprised. “It would need to be from something naturally occuring, but you have the right idea.” His eyes darted to the diadem perched on Brienne’s brow. Gesturing towards it, he asked, “Do you mind if I…?” and a moment later, he tapped a finger to the silver metal. A string of indecipherable symbols trailed from the finger as he pulled it away, at which he stared and muttered imperiously. “Impressive…”

Slightly perturbed, Brienne froze until the wizard had retreated. Ravain filled the silence, asking, “Is there anything you know of in Waterdeep which would do the trick?”

“Hm?” Elminster glanced up from the few lingering runes on his finger, and they dissipated into the air. “Ah. Well, no, not so much. You’ll need to find somewhere else to track down your quarry. I imagine you’d be able to find a creature of the suitable qualities up north, in the Spine.” Brienne and Ravain shared a worried look - the Spine wasn’t exactly in the opposite direction of their final goal, but it was plenty out of the way. “Get a component from there, and then you’ll just need to wait for the right time.”

Ravain raised an eyebrow. “Wait for what now?”

Elminster gave an apologetic smile. “Ah, yes, last bit. This scroll is powerful, but it needs to be incanted during a time of significance for the item in question. Could be the date it was created, possibly the first time it was activated. Those are usually good bets.”

“And how -” Ciri began to ask, but Elminster was already pulling a small book from his sleeve. He held up a finger to interrupt the girl while he flipped through the wafer thin pages.

Satisfied, he nodded to himself and closed the book with a sharp snap, stowing it away in his sleeve before turning to Brienne. “May I?” he asked, motioning to the armor. As Brienne opened her mouth, Elminster was already beginning his spell. He muttered under his breath, gesturing at the armor as his eyes closed. Pock’s ears perked up as he made out a few key phrases from a Legend Lore spell.

Elminster’s eyes glazed over and his voice deepened as he spoke:

“Deep within a mountain spine

Where fire and stone become entwined

Dwelled a skilled but vengeful smith

Who made armor to mete justice with.

And for that act, who must atone?

The Hidden Forge, left all alone.

Find Xanderos and search his lair.

Your journey will begin there.”

~~

Wun Way stopped outside a strange building. It seemed most like a fortified hotel, with a flowering garden visible through the front gate, beyond which was a courtyard filled with many statues of armored women. Inside the courtyard, half a dozen men and women sparred with shining poles and gilded training axes. At the gate, two guards stood watch, barring her entrance. “Why do you wish to enter the barracks of the Ruby Rose?” the older guard asked, yawning behind a silvered gauntlet.

“I’ve come to officially join the Order,” Wun Way declared, smiling at her soon-to-be fellow knights.

The first guard snorted and rolled his eyes at his partner. “We take applications every fortnight.”

Wun Way blinked. “But I’m already a Knight of the Ruby Rose, I’m just here to, you know, get the paperwork done.”

The guard nodded at the half-elf. “Alright then, just tell me the chapter you belong to, your rank, and the name of your superior officer.”

Wun Way cleared her throat. “Listen, I was inducted by an ancient ghost in a rundown temple. He didn’t quite mention all those details.”

The younger guard grunted. “Well, haven’t heard that one before, I’ll give you that much.” As the other guard chuckled, Wun Way felt a rush of hot anger flushing her face. She had dealt with disdain and dismissal years before, in her youth, and had gotten used to the adoration and appreciation she usually enjoyed. She was not ready to suffer this kind of treatment again.

She whipped her pan flute from her belt and blew the opening notes for the ballad she had performed less than an hour ago. She felt a familiar lightening in her chest, and inspiration from Sune flooded her mind. She deviated from her previous ballad, creating a shorter song filled with details and phrases she somehow knew were crucial to the Order.

As she finished, both guards’ mouths hung open. She smiled pleasantly and asked, “Could I speak with your manager?” Venom dripped from her tongue, and the guards exchanged worried glances as they hastily unlocked the gate.

~~

Nissa stepped into the fourth jeweler's shop. She had had little success at any of the first three stores, and she had decided to blame her earlier altercation with the blasted blue-haired elf. Each doorway she entered, shopkeepers seemed to peer suspiciously at her, and they never offered sufficient prices for her perfectly good (not necessarily legally obtained) gems.

This latest jeweler was an elf in a fancy coat that seemed hardly practical. His wares were more plentiful than any shop she had visited yet, which made sense, as she had been traveling steadily into the more wealthy parts of Waterdeep. He was speaking with a client as Nissa entered the shop, but he glanced over as the bell above the door frame tinkled. Nissa saw his eyes narrow, and her heart sank. She weighed whether it was worth getting offered another pittance, but her stubbornness won out.

She pretended to browse a selection of sparkling rings, careful not to let her fingers get too close to the merchandise. She wasn’t particularly tempted to pinch something (anymore than usual, at least) but she didn’t want to give the elf another reason to slight her. Finally, the affluent dwarf he had been helping exited with a case full of coin, and the jeweler practically glided over the polished floor to hover over Nissa’s shoulder. “May we help you?” he intoned, glancing down a pointed nose upon which tiny spectacles perched.

Nissa suppressed a shiver. When she turned, a wide smile split her face. “Why, yes! I’ve a lovely collection of gems I know you’d be interested in.”

The elf made no effort to hide the sweeping glance he cast over her diminutive form, and his lips sneered as if he had caught the scent of something unsightly. “We’ll be the judge of that,” he breathed, motioning with a graceful wave to the counter.

A minute later, Nissa had neatly laid out the dozen or so gems from her pack. She waited patiently while the elf delicately lifted each jewel and peered deep into each facet. Finally, he put down the last one and sighed. “Five hundred gold pieces for the lot,” he said, voice totally devoid of emotion. Nissa fought down a surge of anger. That barely broke half of what these gems were worth! Seeming to sense her frustration, the shadow of a smirk touched the elf’s mouth. “Take it or leave it.”

Nissa composed her face before responding. “Seven hundred.”

The elf swept the gems into her pouch in a clean motion. “Sounds like you’re leaving.”

~~

Wun Way was escorted to an antechamber directly, and asked to await the arrival of the Knight Commander. The room was beautifully furnished, with a low cushioned seat set before a gently bubbling fountain. A mirror hung on the wall behind the fountain, and a narrow shelf below held an assortment of perfumes and ointments. Wun Way took the opportunity to adjust her flower crown, sampling a few of the scents and finding a pleasant blend which she spritzed around her head like a halo.

Suddenly, the door to the hallway burst open, causing the half-elf to gasp and inhale a lungful of perfume. She coughed, eyes watering, and she could just make out a tall elven woman with long brown hair barge through the antechamber into the office beyond. She was clad in magnificent armor etched with gilded roses and trimmed with crimson velvet.

Wun Way had just recomposed herself when the door to the office opened again, and the elf’s head stuck out. Wun Way immediately appreciated the delicate angles in her face, and the way her green eyes glittered like forest pools in sunlight. “Can I help you?”

Wun Way stood, hand drifting to her pan flute. “I was directed to you by the guards.”

The woman looked Wun Way up and down, though she gave a sense of curiosity rather than judgment. “Well, then come in.”

The elf closed the door as Wun Way stepped into the office and offered her one of the two chairs in the room. It was cushioned with leather and sat before a bureau laden with half unfurled scrolls and endless parchment. “I am Vladriel, Knight Commander of the Waterdeep chapter of the Knights of the Ruby Rose.” She gave Wun Way a sturdy handshake.

“I am known as Wun Way, though my father named me Qinerri Tivelzo Virris,” she responded, returning the handshake.

Vladriel pulled out her seat, and Wun Way sat. “I heard about your altercation,” the commander began as she circled her desk. Wun Way winced. “Members of our order are usually immune to charms.” She graced the half-elf with a faint smile. “So, if I understand this correctly, you underwent the rites with a ghost ... in an underground temple?”

Wun Way shifted in her chair. “Some parts were above ground.”

Vladriel pursed her lips. “You wouldn’t happen to have any substantive evidence?”

Wun Way reached up and touched the pendant that hung on a chain around her neck. The blood-red strands of Sune’s hair caught the lamplight. The commander reached a hand out, too far away to touch it but obviously sensing the pendant. “Hmm. A powerful talisman, and certainly attuned to Sune.” She frowned slightly, seemingly lost in thought. At once she glanced up to look Wun Way in the eye. “Alright. You’ve had a makeshift, battlefield induction. Let’s make it official.”

As she reached for a stack of papers, there was a faint slamming sound, and then the distinct clicking of heeled boots on tile. The door to the office swung open, and an elvish man stood in the doorway, azure streaks through his blond hair and sporting rumpled and dirtied clothes. He shot a hesitant glance at Wun Way, then directed his attention to Vladriel. “I assumed you would be alone.”

Vladriel seemed to accept this interruption. She motioned to the seated half-elf. “This is Wun Way. She’ll be joining us.”

The intruder rounded on Wun Way, still addressing Vladriel. “Outside of the recruitment phase? Has she done the rites? Paid the requisite membership fees?”

Vladriel shifted her weight from foot to foot, glancing at the paperwork and quill in her hand. “There were rites… of a sort, with a ghostly knight…”

The elf turned to frown at the Knight Commander. “She must, at the very least, be put through the initiation with the proper witnesses and paperwork.” Vladriel gestured weakly at the sheafs of paper in her hand.

Wun Way was done being talked around, however. She stood. “Is Sune not witness enough for you?”

The elf sneered, “We cannot just allow any…” He glanced down at her road-dusted cloak. “...street rat  to come in and profess their love for Sune, expecting us to house and arm them.”

Anger flared in Wun Way’s heart. “And how much must you profess your love to come to work dressed so improperly?” She stared pointedly at the dried mud he had dragged onto the rug.

The elf’s eyes narrowed, and his sneer became a grimace. “Mind your tongue, insect.” His voice seemed layered with powerful incantations, just outside Wun Way’s range of hearing. All at once, the elf seemed to get larger. Then, she realized the rest of the room was expanding, as well, and that she had six legs. She discovered her “sight” was more an amalgam of smell and tactile stimuli, and that a deep thrumming passed through the floor all around her.

Minutes or hours might have passed, but eventually Wun Way blinked and the myriad parallel facets of her vision converged to one. She was standing once more in the Knight Commander’s office. Vladriel was seated behind her desk, and looked up as Wun Way regained her normal size.

“Welcome back,” she muttered, scribbling a signature on a lengthy missive. “Sorry about Aelar, you really shouldn’t have challenged him. We haven’t had a better enchanter in generations, and his temper is infamous. If you truly wish to join us, tolerance is sorely necessary.” She sighed as she pushed herself back from the pile of papers. “Unfortunately, Aelar did raise some valid points. Our bylaws do require you to complete initiation.” Wun Way began to object, but Vladriel held up a hand. “We are bound by Sune’s law. In truth, you will likely find the rites quite simple. I have even called for emergency rites to be held this evening. It will just be an all night vigil, ending with Sune’s blessing.” She lifted her quill once more. “Return ere sundown.”

~~

Wun Way decided to spend the rest of the afternoon in the barracks’ shrine, praising Sune and asking for her assistance with the coming tribulations. As the sun began to set, she exited the shrine and found her way back to the courtyard in the center of the compound. There, Vladriel waited for her, dressed in a set of armor even nicer than the one she had been wearing before. Without a word, she led the inductee deep into the barracks.

They arrived after a few minutes at a large mirror which swung out to reveal a dimly lit stairway leading down. Below, a large chamber opened, a gilded altar at its heart and clever slats in the ceiling allowing the occasional moonbeam to add light to the muted lamps. A raised walkway looked down upon the main floor, and two witnesses in crimson regalia waited by the entrance. With a start, Wun Way realized this room was almost identical to the chamber in which they had fought for Nicodemus’s fate, what seemed a lifetime ago.

Her next surprise came as she glanced between the witnesses. One wore a familiar sneer - it was Aelar, blue-streaked hair flowing from his rose-bud helm. He looked like he had something nasty to say, but he glanced at the Knight Commander and thought better of it.

Vladriel led Wun Way to the altar below and motioned for her to stand watch. Wun Way nodded and took a deep breath. The altar held a single vase with a single rose, and petals were scattered across the floor. The witnesses took their places along the walkway above, and the Knight Commander retreated to the stairs.

Wun Way began her vigil.

~~

Much of the night passed without comment. After midnight, the clouds must have cleared from the skies, as moonlight fell in broken shafts throughout the chamber, bringing with it a light breeze which set the countless petals dancing.

A little while later, the wind died down. Wun Way had just finished her thousandth circuit around the altar when something struck her twice in the gut. She had been fighting off exhaustion, but now her eyes snapped open as she searched for the assailant. Struggling to catch her breath, she was unable to see anything - then she noticed an area of the floor where the petals twirled agitatedly.

The half-elf staggered back and threw a hand out, gasping an incantation and summoning a series of hypnotic sigils which flashed around the disturbed air. The petals slowed, and Wun Way focused on keeping whatever had attacked her entranced while she summoned another spell. She spoke a word of power and unleashed the pent up incantation, shattering above the ground, right at the center of the pattern (careful not to damage the chamber floor).

The air within the shatter spell shimmered, emitting a low, achy, whistling wind. Shaken from the enchantment, it began to circle around the bard. Wun Way was able to follow its approach by the petals it disturbed. As it drew near, she struck out with her Rapier of Elemental Slaying. The thing was apparently some sort of elemental, as it shrieked at the blade’s touch, a sound like a hurricane wind blowing through a crevice. Wun Way breathed a healing spell, feeling it crawl through her system and lessen the bruises which were already forming. 

Rose petals began to swirl around Wun Way, and she felt a buffeting of air, like a whirlwind trying to wrap itself around her. She struggled to push out her arms and managed to swipe with her rapier, earning a moment’s respite in which she pulled back and stabbed again. She exclaimed in triumph as the winds began to die down, but then they whipped up again, and she was lifted bodily and thrown against the chamber wall. Wun Way sprang to her feet and aimed another shatter spell where she had last seen the twirling air, but this time there was no shimmer in the affected area, and then the being was upon her, colliding into her side and wrapping wispy tendrils around her.

Although Wun Way felt the air being drawn from her lungs and was becoming woozy, she finally knew where the creature was. Instead of breaking the grapple, she began slashing constantly at it, willing herself to remain conscious as she felt the writhing of the insubstantial body against her own. A half minute later, the being pulled back, its odd limbs weakly withdrawing as it sought respite. Wun Way gulped down a breath and leapt in the direction of the retreating wind, feeling the barest hint of resistance as she found purchase.

There was no reaction, no sound or suddenly appearing body, but the wind stopped, and rose petals settled onto the floor, pushed about in the wake of the fight. The moonlight grew brighter, and an errant beam reflected upon Wun Way’s pendant. A ruby beam shone from the pendant, and an illusory rose bounced around the room.

“I think we’ve seen enough,” Vladriel said, stepping out from the shadows along the walkway. Panting, Wun Way glanced about the room. The Knight Commander stood at attention by the stairs, while the two witnesses were leaning over the handrails of the walkway. Aelar appeared visibly frustrated. “Welcome to the Knights of the Ruby Rose. We defend beauty in all lifeforms, and vow to destroy evil beings of all kinds, especially those who commit ugly and heinous crimes.”

Wun Way took a deep breath and repeated the words as she was instructed, and then followed Vladriel as she brought her to the armory. Along the way, the Knight Commander explained that any of Sune’s places of worship would accept her, and that she could call upon available members of the Order in times of need. Finally, she opened the door to the armory and helped her select an appropriate set of leather armor, studded with metal rose buds and resembling an upside-down rose. Vladriel clasped her arm and smiled warmly, welcoming her once more into the fold.

~~

The sun was an hour from rising as Wun Way walked numbly into the Yawning Portal’s main room. Brienne and Ravain were leaning over the bar and discussing something with Durnan, voices low, when they noticed the bard approaching them. Ravain’s worried face melted into a weary smile. “You’re back,” he called, shoulders visibly relaxing. “We were trying to formulate a plan to find you.”

“Sorry,” Wun Way mumbled, rubbing her arm, “time sort of got away from me.” She then explained how she had found the Knights of the Ruby Rose, and how she had made her membership official. As she finished describing the eventful vigil, Ravain shook his head.

“Sounds like an invisible stalker to me. Looks like we aren’t as welcome in Waterdeep as we thought.” He shot a glance to Durnan, who looked worried.

“That,” Brienne muttered, “or someone else has caught up with us.”

[chille-tid-universe]

Dinner and a Show

The seven adventurers set out from Daggerford. The past few months had been a whirlwind of adventure and terror, but the time had finally come to move on. Robyn and her crew had decided to help Pel and Loran reach Red Larch safely, and so the two groups had parted, thankful for all they had shared and hopeful that fate might one day entwine their paths again.

Brienne, Wun Way, Nissa, and Pock had laid out their plans to Melpomene and Ravain before setting out. There was an old, abandoned castle far to the north in the vicinity of the Ice Mountains that was rumored to have dug too deep into its mines, opening a portal to the Underdark. Nissa had persuaded the others to pursue this locale as their intended base of operations, though there had been interruptions to their initial journey. They had been planning on skirting the edge of the High Forest to eventually reach the northern reaches of the world, but after their misadventures, thought that the direct route through the woods might be more attractive. Ravain put an end to that thought immediately, citing the opposition from the elves of the High Forest they would need to get past. He urged them to continue along their initial route.

There was not much of a straight path to the Forest from Daggerford, however. The larger city of Waterdeep would be the best next stop, Ravain and Melpomene assured the others. From there, they could take any number of roads to traverse the edge of the High Forest.

And so they set their sights on Waterdeep. It was a two day journey up the High Road, where regular travelers and caravans kept the roads worn, but well-tended. Initially, Wun Way cast a Longstrider spell on the two gnomes, but soon the party came to enjoy the leisurely walk along the road, with no impending doom or urgent matters clouding their minds. The first day of travel passed without comment, and as the sun set Ravain led the group to a secluded hill off the side of the road, shielded by saplings and with a good view of the surrounding areas. Watches were drawn, and after a pleasant supper of leftovers from Robyn, the group slept.

~~

An hour or so after midnight, the group was awakened to a gruff “Get up” followed by sharp kicks to their sides and blades to their throats. Ravain, Wun Way, Nissa, and Brienne were jolted awake to find a group of around a dozen bandits brandishing shoddy weapons. Ciri, Melpomene, and Pock had been taken unawares and were now bound to a nearby tree. As their eyes adjusted to the moonlight, Nissa scoffed.

“I was hoping to never see you again.” She addressed the apparent leader of the band, a tiefling in slightly less shabby clothing than his followers, wielding a shortsword and a sharp smile.

He turned the smile to Nissa and sneered, “Like my union?” Brienne groaned aloud, remembering the last days of freedom before their capture, and the questionable “tax collectors” they had come upon, one of whom Nissa had relieved of his life before berating the survivor for the quality of their work. Her parting thought had been to consider unionization.

“Walk away and we won’t need to kill you,” Brienne offered, slowly reaching her arm from under her blanket to where Mjolnir lay, innocuous on the ground.

“Wouldn’t want to end up like Rory, would you?” Nissa taunted.

One of the bandits glanced back and forth between Nissa and Brienne. “These are spicy ones, sir.” The man’s voice cracked slightly.

Nissa honed in on the man, who stood over her. “Listen here - what’s your name?”

The bandit removed the sword at her neck to adjust the mask over his face. “Geoff,” he said, voice muffled by the fabric.

“John?” Nissa asked.

“Geoff,” Geoff corrected, his mask secured again.

Nissa hoisted herself up on her elbows. “So how long have you been doing this, Geoff?”

Geoff scratched his chin beneath the facemask. “A couple ten days.”

Nissa nodded encouragingly. “And what did you do before?”

Geoff shuffled his feet. “I was a shepherd.”

“Alright,” Nissa said, “so you think to yourself, I could use a bit of quick cash, I think I’ll join this gang-”

“He prefers we call it a union,” Geoff interrupted, eyes darting to his tiefling leader.

“Is anyone else here a damn shepherd?” Ravain asked, voice level but loud.

The bandits all stole glances at each other, and after a moment’s pause, a hand raised timidly into the night air, followed by many more, along with muttered, “Aye”s and nods.

Nissa shook her head and tsk’d. “Listen, Geoff,” she began slowly, gingerly pushing the blade at her throat with a finger, pointing it to the ground, “contrary to what my friends may think, I don’t want to kill you.” She gestured out into the night. “Go back to your sheep. Lovely things, sheep. We didn’t have any in the Underdark.”

Wun Way spoke up. “I’ve heard there’s been a lot of gnoll activity lately, and it’s taken out a lot of field workers. There’ll be a large need for shepherds.”

Muttering filled the night air. All of a sudden, Geoff’s back straightened, and his sword arm relaxed. “Boss, I’m leaving.”

The tiefling snarled as the shepherd-turned-bandit-turned-shepherd turned his back, and raised a clawlike fist. Three spheres of flame burst into life there, and with a growl he tossed the burning balls.

Brienne saw the approaching flames and reached out to grasp Geoff’s leg. With a swift jerk, the man’s body lurched sideways just as one scorching ray passed where his torso had been, and the other two flew harmlessly overhead. Brienne gave him a shove and shouted, “Run!”

The tiefling roared, “No, you may not go, you’re in the union for life!”

Ravain had heard enough. Before the bandit guarding him could react, the ranger had slid his two blades from beneath his pillow and was hurtling toward the tiefling. A flurry of slices later, he was short a head, and his body tumbled to the grassy hill. Slowly, Ravain turned around to address the remaining bandits. “Anyone else want to die?” A stunned moment later, the reformed bandits were running down the side of the hill, rusty blades and pitchforks left behind in their haste.

As they dug a grave for the tiefling, Ravain stalked up to Ciri. “What did you learn?” he asked, eyes drilling into his ward’s.

Ciri shifted on her feet, staring at the ground. “Don’t fall asleep on watch…”

~~

The next morning, the group broke their fast in silence. They had been traveling along the road for minutes before Ravain turned to Nissa. “Who the hell did I kill?” Nissa was happy to recount the events of their journey to Dragonspear Castle.

As the day passed, the group found themselves keeping pace with a young woman. She wore a floppy wizard’s hat atop an unruly bushel of fiercely orange hair and a large crystal on a string necklace. She greeted the party with a bright smile that made her freckled cheeks glow. After a few minutes of walking together, the girl introduced herself as Pinnah, a traveling hedge mage.

“How many hedges have you made?” Pock asked before Wun Way shushed him.

Pinnah smiled at the gnome and regarded the rest of the group. “I have a few wares for sale, but first, would you like to try a riddle?”

Wun Way’s eyes narrowed. “Something bad is going to happen if we answer incorrectly, isn’t it?” she asked, hand creeping toward her sword.

Pinnah waved her hands hurried and pulled open a large, leatherbound book from a chain hanging at her waist. “No, no, my master gave me a list of riddles, but that was a while ago. No, I’m just looking for good answers.” She looked from Nissa to Brienne to Ravain to Ciri, who all nodded.

“As a stone inside a tree,

I’ll help your words outlive thee.

But if you push me as I stand,

The more I move, the less I am.”

They walked along the road in silence for a few moments before Pock spoke up, “It’s a riddle!”

Nissa scowled, “No, silly, it’s a pencil.”

Pinnah looked thoughtful and pulled a quill from inside her coat. “Yes, yes, that’s a good one.” She scribbled on a page inside her tome and closed it with a clap. “Alright! I have a few potions for sale, but they’re not quite finished.” She looked up from the pouch at her side. “But that just means you get them at a really good price! They each need one more ingredient to be done. Let’s see…”

She pulled out a bottle filled with a wispy, flowing liquid. “Here we have a potion of fly, all you need to do is drop it one thousand feet and it’ll be ready to use!” She replaced the bottle with another, this one filled with a flickering white light. “I’m about done with this potion of dragonbreath, just needs to be exposed to some form of, well, dragonbreath.” She shook the bottle, and the white light refracted into a multitude of colors, from blue to red to yellow to many more. “The potion will take on the properties of the dragonbreath it’s exposed to, but seek out sources at your own risk!”

She chuckled to herself as she pulled out another bottle. “Next up, an unfinished potion of polymorph. Just add a component from whatever beast you’d like to become.” She brandished a thick, sludge-like potion that turned from brown to brilliant green as she spoke. As they watched, it changed again to an agitated orange color and began shaking around inside the bottle, before reverting back to an inert brown sludge. She tucked it back into her pouch and removed a seemingly empty bottle. “And this here is a potion of greater invisibility,” she announced proudly. As she began to tilt the bottle, the light through it distorted slightly, the only indication it held more than air. “Tricky little concoction to make, though you’ll need to defeat an invisible specter near the potion for it to catalyze.” She rattled off the prices as she tucked the final bottle away, then smiled at the group. “Anything interest you?”

The group spoke among themselves for a few seconds, during which Pinnah’s gaze roamed across the landscape unobtrusively, and then Brienne cleared her throat. When the young woman turned back, the large fighter was pulling a fistful of coins from a small bag. “We’ll take the dragonfire and polymorph potions, please.” Pinnah’s eyes widened as she grinned.

“Right away!”

~~

As they continued along the road, the group shared more riddles, from folk fables Ciri recalled from her former life in Orlane, to strange situational questions from the gnomes, to riddles that amounted more to wildlife trivia from Ravain. Pinnah laughed and gasped and nodded, a perfect audience, and scribbled away furiously into her book, beaming brightly with each answer.

As the sun began to set and the city walls of Waterdeep rose ahead, Pinnah looked to the group. “I’m not sure if you all had a preferred establishment in Waterdeep, but your sort would fit right into the Yawning Portal, if you’d like to join me.”

Most of the party nodded and glanced at each other, not wanting to voice that ‘Yawning Portal’ was an odd name for an inn. Behind them, Ravain actually smiled. Controlling his face, he said, “Thank you, Pinnah, we’d be happy to join you.”

~~

In the large city of Waterdeep, most of the group felt they would have been hopelessly lost if not for Pinnah’s guidance. As the sun reached the city walls, however, the young woman marched proudly up to a gigantic building which took up much of a city block. An antique but well tended sign declared this to be the Yawning Portal, and within a loud ruckus could be heard, even through the thick oaken doors. As Pinnah drew back the doors with a flourish, quite the sight met the adventurers.

The Yawning Portal gave a strong first impression of comfort. Though clearly built centuries past, firelight and alcohol-induced camaraderie filled the incredibly wide room with a welcoming glow. Along one wall was a well-stocked bar dotted with patrons swapping stories and downing brews. A multitude of wooden tables filled much of the floor, around half of which were occupied. The patrons of the Yawning Portal were as varied as they were numerous; races of all kinds hailed here, from halflings and gnomes to more civilized orcs and tabaxi. In one raucous corner, a goliath was downing a barrel of ale, cheered on by a gaggle of dwarves.

The drinking and eating was not restricted to the ground floor, however. The ceiling was dozens of feet high - at least forty - and along the upper walls a walkway had been built, which held more tables. Even more patrons gathered there, dining and talking loudly over the din below. Some held miniature telescopes, and although they talked among themselves, their attention returned often to the lower floor.

Attention was drawn with good reason, as the middle of the ground floor was taken up by a large well - almost fifty feet across - which opened up to an abyss below. A relatively small lip of mortared stone offered a safeguard, but that didn’t stop many patrons from using the low wall as a seat, and some particularly daring individuals dangled their legs over the inky blackness. Across the pit from the entrance, a wood and iron cage swung from the end of a sturdy looking winch system.

Upon closer inspection, it appeared that the floorboards had been built around the well, spiraling out and centered on the monumental landmark. In places the wood floor had given way to more durable stone, and everywhere could be seen various signs of damage: claw marks along the floorboards, scorch marks blasted into stone, gouged chunks missing from tables and thick tree trunk-like columns.

The evident source of the destruction was immediately apparent; the pit was emitting a steady stream of distant grunts, howls, roars, and other sinister sounds. As the group looked around, they noticed several (other) odd items around the room. A slate board hanging behind the bar read "Days since last monster emergence: 8". Along the opposite wall, a heavy plaque was embedded with a large glass vial of bubbling acid labeled "Break in case of troll” with a set of tally marks chiseled below it.

As the doors swung shut behind the group, a table nearby called out, “Melpomene!” and a group of men and women swarmed the aasimar, barraging her with questions and tales and drinking challenges. Melpomene looked back apologetically as she was ushered away, but was soon laughing as her former acquaintances poured her a tall glass of something fizzing.

Ravain led the rest of the group into the unique room, an uncharacteristic pep to his step. He picked his way easily through the haphazard arrangement of the tables and leaned against the ancient bar. An older gentleman with a thick mustache looked up from the mug he was wiping clean to beam at the approaching party. “Welcome to the Yawning Portal, lad and lassies! And welcome back,” he winked at Ravain, who returned a smile.

The ranger jerked a thumb back towards the pit. “When was the last time someone fell in?” he asked, a tinge of excitement coloring his voice and causing every other person in the party to glance at him in surprise.

The barkeep peered over Ravain’s shoulder. “Just missed one. Should be coming up about now.” As if on cue, a tall dragonborn wizard in starry robes rose melodramatically over the lip of the wall, bearing in his arms the unconscious body of a patron wearing several spilled drinks to compliment his dirty jacket. The wizard floated over to a nearby table, depositing the passed out man over drink and plate to a chorus of good-natured exclamations. 

As the group directed their attention back to the barkeep, he introduced himself. “Name’s Durnan, and I own the Yawning Portal, just as my fathers did before me. Will you be needing rooms?” he asked, glancing from Ravain to the rest of the group as if he doubted they could be traveling together.

Brienne nodded. “We’ll need the largest room you’ve got, something in which we can fit all seven of us. We’ve had some ill luck with taverns in the past, and have built up a habit of caution,” she added apologetically.

Durnan nodded, waving away the explanation. “You won’t be needing our larger suites for such a small party,” he explained, stroking his bushy mustache. “We’ve plenty of rooms up above which would suit your needs.”

Nissa climbed onto a stool, mostly to reach a height appropriate for conversation. “Wow, most places aren’t able to accomodate us like that.”

The barkeep peered over the bar, eyeing the gnome up and down before smiling warmly. “Most places aren’t the Yawning Portal, love.” Nissa opened her mouth to respond, but Durnan was already addressing the rest of the party. “What’ll you be drinking, then?”

Wun Way stepped forward immediately. “I don’t suppose you would happen to have any Orlane Special?” she asked, flashing a smile. Before she had finished her sentence, Durnan was turning away from the group and reaching for a bottle near the top of his shelves.

“A little costly at six gold a bottle,” he said with a sigh, “but I need to import it.” He held out the bottle to the half-elf. “A lady of your taste understands, of course.” Wun Way did understand, and eagerly pulled out the coin and pressed it to the polished bartop, graciously accepting the bottle. Durnan then returned his attention to Nissa, who seemed to be annoyed about not being able to retort. “Some drow wine, perhaps?” he asked, a faint smile on his lips.

Nissa turned up her nose, previous annoyance forgotten. “I’d prefer something gnommish,” she sniffed.

Durnan raised an eyebrow. “There’s not many with a taste for the brews of gnomes,” he rumbled, “even among the gnomes!” He reached under the bar and pulled a dusty bottle of masterful glasswork, a sparkling geode stoppered in the neck. Inside, a deep, dark purple vintage sloshed.

Nissa eyed the bottle, and its contents, greedily. “The drow are slavers and cowards. That looks much better than their swill.”

“What did you say?” A voice called out from a nearby table, and a relative hush fell on the room (at least, the small corner of the room they were standing in) as a male drow elf stood from his drink.

Nissa turned to see the lithe figure of the drow stalking up to her, a sly smile on his lips. The gnome stood up on her stool to stare the elf-man in the eyes. “The drow are slavers and cowards. That looks much better than their swill,” she repeated, enunciating each syllable clearly.

There was a tense second where Brienne held her breath and Wun Way reached for her sword, but then the drow’s smirk became a wide smile, and he turned to Durnan. “I’ll buy the lady a drink.”

Durnan chuckled as he pocketed the gold from the drow, and he turned back to the remainder of the group. “Unless I am amiss,” he said as he reached below the bar again, “your accent is of the Isle of Tarth, is it not?” He looked expectantly at Brienne as he placed a sapphire-blue bottle on the bartop, a familiar crest upon the cork and sparkling waves etched into the label. Taken aback, the fighter merely nodded. They were hundreds of miles from her home. “I don’t get much opportunity to prepare one, but I’ve always stood by my Tarthian Daiquiri.” In a flurry of motion, the barkeep pulled a coldbox from a shelf and deposited a handful of frozen fruits into a waiting glass before splashing half a dozen liquors, ending with a long pour of the Tarthian vintage. “I’d be honored if I could offer one to a daughter of Tarth.” Brienne felt herself smiling and nodded at the well-traveled man, accepting the stirred drink.

Pock was reaching for an empty mug, Nissa’s bottle in his other hand, while Wun Way poured Ciri a generous glass of the Orlane Special. Satisfied, Durnan turned finally to Ravain. “Dark Amber, I believe?” he asked, reaching to the highest shelf behind him.

Ravain actually chuckled. “Seems like it’s been a hundred years,” the grizzled ranger reminisced, tone almost wistful.

“Just about, old friend!” the barkeep boomed, laughing and clapping Ravain on the shoulder as he poured from an orange bottle.

Pinnah paid for a mug and bid the group a hasty farewell. “I’m meeting some friends up in the viewing ring,” she explained before ducking under a group of loudly dancing patrons.

“You’ll be wanting something to eat,” Durnan stated, wiping his hands on his apron.

“Yes, do you have a menu?” Brienne asked, peering along the wall but not finding the customary plank with scribbled meals and prices.

Durnan spread his arms. “No menu, you can have whatever you like here.”

Ravain looked thoughtful. “I’m feeling like a steak.”

Durnan grinned as he asked, “Cow? Or minotaur?”

“I could go for some minotaur.”

“Coming right up, sir,” Durnan said, nodding to a waiter standing by. He then turned to Nissa. “For the gnomes, an Underdark salad?”

Nissa shrugged. “Sure, tastes of home.”

Pock murmured, “Your home, maybe.”

“For the lass,” Durnan said, turning to Ciri, “a shepherd’s pie, chock full of locally raised vegetables and lamb.” Ciri nodded enthusiastically as Wun Way spoke up.

“I don’t suppose you could do some sort of fusion cuisine?” she asked hopefully.

Durnan snapped his fingers. “I’ve got just the thing.” He gestured at the pair of waiters who had brought the just-ordered meals, and they returned a moment later with what looked like another shepherd’s pie, though this one steamed loudly and featured sprinkled spices which sparked against the open air. As the others tucked into their meals, Durnan looked to Brienne.

Without saying a word, he pulled a tall glass from a passing tray and laid it on the bar. Within was a nondescript tan liquid, slightly thick, which clung to the edges of the glass. As Brienne downed it, there wasn’t a taste so much as a feel. It felt cozy and pleasant, reminding the woman of cold nights in firelit chambers, cuddled beneath covers while the shore winds blew outside her windows. With the glass drained, Brienne felt satisfied, and noted a distinctly electric aftertaste. She raised her eyebrows at the barkeep, who would only wink.

~~

Several minutes of cheerful discussion followed, in which Durnan caught Ravain up to the happenings at the Portal and Nissa plied the drow elf for news from the Underdark (who hadn’t been back in the ten years since his escape). All of a sudden, the sounds from the portal grew louder. There was a roar, followed by a series of creaking and clanking, and then the room was shaking, with mugs and glasses falling off tables. The patrons became louder, as well, cheering and pushing tables back from the low wall in the middle of the room. A halfling reached up to the chalkboard and began to erase the number eight.

Clumps of adventurers seemed to instinctively come together, shouting orders and issuing challenges or curses. One patron drew a long line in chalk along the floor, calling out, “This is our monster! Stay on your side!”

“Sounds like more than one!” Durnan bellowed in response while pulling a gilded crossbow from behind the bar. Nissa eyed the well-built hunk of gold appreciatively.

More than a dozen people crowded around the plaque, calling out, “Can you see it yet? Is it a troll?” while they eagerly danced around the vial of acid.

One daring gnome was perched on the low wall long after weapons had been drawn and clanged together. He kept a steady eye on the void below, until he suddenly cried out “Incoming!” as he darted back to the waiting lines of adventurers.

Three monsters crawled out of the portal.

The first was met with a mighty cheer of “TROLL!” and the sound of breaking glass, followed by a nasally voice shouting, “Add one to the tally!” and Durnan groaning, “Now I need to find another replacement vial.” A paladin across the room from the Brienne and her company lifted a shining blade and cast a Compel Duel spell. With a deep bellow, the troll lumbered off to that side of the room.

Next, a huge club rose above the wall, wielded by a thick green hand. Grunting, the ogre pulled itself over the ledge. The party had fought ogres before, but this specimen was much larger than any they had seen before, with thick mucus dripping from a wide jaw and hatred burning in its small eyes. Continuing to grunt, it took loping strides towards the nearest crew, swinging forward on too-long arms.

From within the well came a crushing, rumbling, clanging, and then a stone fist appeared over the lip. A stone golem shambled its way up into the inn, a dozen feet high or more, swinging its eyeless head back and forth as it stood on the groaning floorboards. Ravain gripped Brienne and Wun Way and darted forward, calling, “Let’s go!” The two shrugged at each other and ran after the enthusiastic ranger, followed a moment later by Nissa. Ciri was still seated at the bar, a spoon halfway to her gaping mouth, the food fallen off. Pock sat on his stool, swinging his legs, munching on dark leaves while he viewed the coming battle with nonchalance. 

Ravain darted ahead of the others and raked his swords along the length of the golem’s arm, sending a shower of sparks raining onto the floor but causing no other visible damage. He did, however, draw a loud cheer from the spectators in the seats up above. Ravain could barely make out Pinnah’s voice yelling, “Those are my friends!” Ravain smiled, looking happier than the others had ever seen him. He took a deep breath and focused, and the others saw his body fade into a cloud of ash. The fuzzy mist floated away from the golem and solidified a safe distance away.

At the bar, Ciri’s eyes opened almost as wide as her mouth as she muttered, “What the f-”

A loud noise grated from the floor, and segments of wood and stone cracked, revealing long spikes which burst forth around the advancing defenders. Nissa nimbly leapt atop a rising spike and fired off a series of bolts which embedded themselves in the golem’s carapace.

The golem let off a rumbling roar and stomped its way over to the reconstituted Ravain. It brought its huge boulder of an arm down on the ranger, who narrowly dodged, then dragged it across the floor to knock Ravain off his feet. It then gripped his torso with pillar-like fingers.

Wun Way cried out a spell, and an explosive force erupted right at the golem’s peak. Brienne roared a battlecry and darted through the protruding spikes, right for the golem. As she approached, however, the golem leapt back in an unusual display of speed. As it slid back, he dragged poor Ravain over countless razor sharp spikes. “Not so fast,” Brienne snarled, hurling Mjolnir at the golem, then recalling the hammer and tossing it again.

As the golem raised its arm to ward off the magical hammer, Ravain squirmed out of its grasp and ducked beneath its legs, clearing the spike-covered ground. As he darted between the spikes, Nissa fired off more bolts, which dug deeper and deeper into the rocky shell. A deep rumble issued from the golem, and it lumbered after Ravain. As it stomped forward, pebbles skidded along its skin, collecting into a handful of rocky deposits which then burst out from the golem. Four buckshot projectiles flew into the air, falling among the party. As they struck the ground, they jittered to life, and two of the scuttling pebble-formed amalgams crawled onto Brienne and Nissa.

The golem had caught up with the retreating ranger and raised its heavy arms to smash down. As it started the deadly swing, Wun Way chanted again, and a second concussive blast went off right where the being’s face would be. A deep groan filled the air as cracks began to spread along the golem’s body. None of this could stop the downward swing of the large arms, however, and they clipped Ravain’s side, knocking him out. The ranger narrowly missed a pointed rock spike as he fell.

Brienne called out, “Ravain!” but he was just outside her reach. She began to move to his unconscious form, but the spindly legs of the pebble-beast were wrapped tight around her, and the pile of rocks was heavier than it looked. With a frustrated grunt, she brought Mjolnir down on the crawler, knocking it clear to the ground. As it struck one of the spikes, it exploded in a large ball of fire, unfortunately catching the body of Ravain in its radius. Brienne called out to Wun Way as she burst through the flames, “Heal him!”

The fighter dashed past her fallen comrade and gripped her warhammer tight. As she reached the golem, she brought Mjolnir up in a wide swing, knocking a series of loose shale slates from the monster’s frame. As the smoke cleared around Ravain, Wun Way sent a healing spell hurtling through the air towards him. As it struck, Ravain gasped and lurched to a sitting position, smiling as he nodded his thanks to the half-elf.

As he turned and began to stand, though, Brienne hoisted the hammer high, letting out a battlecry as dark clouds gathered in the high ceiling ahead. A brilliant bolt of lightning reached down to frame Mjolnir in blinding light, and Brienne brought the crackling hammer’s head down on the center of the golem’s chest. A deafening BOOM filled the inn, and the golem’s carapace crumpled inward for a moment before it erupted out in a giant explosion. Ravain had just gotten to his feet when the blast knocked him back onto the floor. As his ears stopped ringing, the sounds of cheering filled the inn. The ranger groaned and muttered, “That was great.”

Around the room, the other adventurers were finishing up with the ogre and troll. The patrons gathered along the mezzanine were cheering wildly, saluting the brave adventurers and discussing the fights with their fellows. Pinnah had run down the stairs to the ground floor and was congratulating the party when Ravain asked her if she still had the potion of fly. He jerked his head to the winch, waving over the pit, and Nissa began to cackle.

A few minutes later, a hush had fallen over the combined patronage of the Yawning Portal. Ravain and Nissa stood in the wood and iron cage, and were being swung out over the middle of the pit. Ravain had used the last of his sovereign glue to affix the recently purchased potion to the end of a length of rope (at which the dragonborn wizard looked on in horror) and had then measured out more than a thousand feet of rope. Now, the rope was slung over the winch, and Ravain shared a glance at Nissa, who nodded in encouragement. “This is the most fun I’ve had in years,” the ranger said as he let go of the bottle over the edge of the cage.

Nissa kept an eye on the falling line of rope, peering into the depths of darkness while Ravain kept close watch of the winch, waiting for the flagged section of rope to indicate they should halt the descent. After what felt like many long minutes, Ravain reached out for the uncoiling lengths of rope and gripped tight. The rope slid through his gloved hand for several more feet before the friction slowed the fall, and then he and Nissa began heaving the rope back up. Immediately, they realized it was heavier than it should be.

The crowd caught on soon after, and nervous chatter built up from the upper levels of the spectators. Around the pit, though, there was silence. As the rope was pulled up, Nissa peered down and grunted to Ravain, “Looks like we caught something big.” Wun Way stepped up to the wall and focused in the middle of the pit. A moment and a breathed word later, red and purple patterns lit up below the winch, dazzling lights that made all who watched lean forward.

On the rope, the giant crocodile was no less affected. The great beast had its powerful jaws snapped tightly on the end of the rope, and its short legs waved uselessly as it spun along its journey. When the hypnotic lights burst into being, however, its eyes began to roll, and even after the pinpricks of sparkles dissipated the crocodile hung slack on the line.

“Winch it over the ground!” Nissa called out, straining as she helped pull the crocodile the last few feet. A moment later, the whole of the winch began to swing back over the wooden floor, and with paired grunts Nissa and Ravain let go of the rope. As its thick body smacked meatily against the floorboards, it remained helpless against the spell. Muted, excited murmuring began on the ground floor as Nissa and Ravain exited the cage to stand over the helpless monster. The two nodded to each other and brought out their weapons. Ravain held up three fingers and counted down. As the last finger dropped, so, too, did Ravain’s two blades, cutting deep into the crocodile’s neck as Nissa fired a bolt into the croc’s cranium at point blank range. The beast spasmed at the initial strikes, but Ravain followed up with a flurry of slashes to the neck, and a few seconds later he reached into its mouth from its throat and, with a shout of triumph, pulled out the now finished potion, complete with a bit of glued-on rope, spattered in mucus and blood.

The waiting patrons surged forward, lifting up Nissa and Ravain on their shoulders and passing up fresh mugs of ale to the two. Wun Way clapped along with the cheering and danced over to where Melpomene was laughing, and the two began composing a ballad of the night’s events. Brienne chuckled as the two were carried away, then hefted the crocodile’s tail in her arms and began dragging the beast back to the edge of the pit.

The remainder of the night passed in a cheery haze, and late into the night the party retired to a comfortable room and drew straws for watches (as Wun Way insisted). Although Ciri drew the final watch, when the morning sun peered in through their window, she woke with the rest.

[chille-tid-universe]

Obligatory Beach Episode

The quiet night pulsed with evaporated tension, like blood rushing to the ears after a great exertion. Piles of dead orcs and devils offered an odd juxtaposition to the rejoicing and merriment around the clearing.The handful of villagers who had survived the ordeal seemed simply relieved, though perhaps shock offered a barrier to the gruesome scene around them. In the middle of the ritual site, the charred remains of family members, loved ones, and strangers still smoked.

Removed from the huddling villagers, heroes and adventurers were being introduced. Brienne accepted her heavy plate mail from Robyn and clasped her arm, nodding appreciatively as she slipped her ornate silver diadem over her temples. As the metal band settled onto her head, her eyes closed, and after a deep breath, her lids parted to reveal sharper eyes that peered into the world around her. “It’s good to be back,” the fighter mumbled, smiling at the half-elf. As the two leaders began pointing out their team members, the others mingled.

Nissa was dragging Pock over to Oskar, looking the dwarf up and down before commenting, “That’s a lot of big-folk you got with you. How do you stand them all?” Oskar guffawed good-naturedly and leaned in to confide, “Plenty of mead.” Pock merely nodded sagely, glancing about at the other newcomers. Isolde rode by on Icthuarrux, sniffing and saying something about the end times.

Nula and Uzza were being cornered by Wun Way. The bard had found a scrap of paper from somewhere in the pile of clothes returned to her, and was grilling the half-orc and tiefling for details on all the heroic adventures which had led them to this clearing. Her questions were interspersed with sly smiles at the tiefling cleric.

Idu and Charlot, the youngest of Robyn’s crew, were chatting with Ciri, discussing home, adventure, and basically anything to avoid bringing up the carnage surrounding them. They had each been through much in their journeys, but tonight was more than they could bear to think of, at least for now. Ciri was explaining to Charlot that, no, she didn’t have servants growing up, and, no, that didn’t mean she had been poor. The cleric was trying to wrap his head around this concept as Idu laughed by his side.

Before long, Pel’s curiosity overcame her shock, and she took hesitant steps toward the wonderfully clad individuals who had saved her. Nissa noticed her first, and hurried over to the young girl, taking her hands and gently guiding her away from the battleground. Though Pel was a small child, she was only barely shorter than the gnome. As Pel’s eyes continued to be drawn to the burning ritual circle behind her, Nissa reached into her pockets and pulled out the first thing she found. “Here, kid, would you like a…” She glanced at her palm. “... a gold button?” Pel’s eyes lit up at the sparkling item, how it twinkled in the firelight, and reached for it, mumbling her thanks.

Melpomene sauntered up to Brienne, interrupting Robyn mid-sentence. “So who’s the ranger?” the aasimar asked, head tilting to where Ravain was inspecting the fallen devils.

Brienne followed her gesture. “Who, Ravain? We must have mentioned him before. He helped us out immensely during our time in Orlane. I doubt we’d have been able to-”

Ravain appeared suddenly on the other side of Brienne, interrupting her. “Who is this?” he asked in gravelly tones, his cold eyes drilling into Melpomene’s laughing ones.

Brienne sighed. “This is Melpomene, an aasimar who we’ve been working with since we got to Daggerford.”

“And she can be trusted?” Ravain asked, eyes narrowing, seeming to peer through the beautiful veil around the woman.

Melpomene cut Brienne off. “Sugar, I can be whatever you want me to be.” Shadow solidified behind the aasimar, and faint outlines of skeletal wings flickered against the darkness. The fallen angel’s eyes became pools of dried blood, and her pale complexion darkened to an ashen grey. Ravain’s hand dropped to his pommels.

Brienne stepped between the two, placing a hand on either’s shoulder. “Melpomene, he’s with us. Don’t antagonize him.” She looked over to the scowling ranger. “I can vouch for her. She has risked her life for us several times.” Ravain made a face, but removed his hand from his sword as Melpomene returned to her still-enchanting but less-menacing form.

Robyn coughed, and winced as the ranger and bard shot her intense looks. “It’s been an incorrigible night, and I’m sure we could all use a good meal.” As their expressions softened, Robyn clapped her hands together. “Unfortunately, all you have is me! I do make a mean gestapo, though.”

Melpomene raised an eyebrow at Brienne, who started to ask something before Ravain lightly pressed his hand to her shoulder, barely shaking his head.

Just then, Isolde rode up to the four and asked, “So who owns the talking rock?”

Wun Way’s voice called out from behind, “It’s an egg!”

~~

Ravain suggested the group of adventurers and survivors head back to the now-abandoned orc camp. There, Robyn made generous portions of stew using the more palatable ingredients from the orcish stores. With full bellies, even the shaken villagers began to converse, and before the group collapsed from exhaustion, color had returned to each ashen face.

Ravain returned from his stalking surveillance of the surrounding woods shortly after the survivors had taken to bed, reassuring the assembled adventurers that there were no threats left alive in the area. Brienne insisted that a watch be kept, and Robyn quickly echoed the sentiment. The previously imprisoned members of the group reluctantly admitted that a full rest would be quite beneficial, and several of the newcomers were assigned watches covering the remainder of the night. As the five settled onto beds of blankets (the more acceptable sleeping kits had been allocated for the villagers) Oskar could be heard grumbling about needing to keep watch, after missing the totality of the fighting.

~~

The following morning, Brienne and her group were surprised to learn the orcs had brought them back in the direction of Daggerford; the camp they had awoken in was no more than a half-day’s journey from the city. As they ate a slow breakfast in the late morning, plans were discussed. Melpomene was certain the guard force of Daggerford would be willing to help escort the surviving members of the orcs’ prisoners back to their hamlets and villages. The rest of the group agreed, more for the simplicity of the plan than any other reason. Hell had been quite literally visited upon each person gathered there; some other do-gooders could stand to help see the end of the villagers’ stories.

Though breakfast ended before noon, the sun had reached its zenith before the group headed into the Misty Forest. After a night of rest and a morning of rediscovering their wounds, several of the survivors required assistance in the trek to civilization; splints and crutches were fashioned from fences and tents, and the worst off of the survivors needed a sled constructed, which Icthuarrux graciously pulled. Finally, as the sun began its descent, the group set their feet on the path to Daggerford.

The remainder of the day passed slowly. For Robyn’s crew, the march seemed slow; injured survivors of a massacre the previous night do not move briskly as bruises and fractures make themselves known. For those who had been taken by the orcs, however, the sights of the sunlit forest and the open plains beyond were wonderful. After weeks or months of confinement, the simple pleasure of birdsong and a gentle breeze lifted many heavy hearts.

Along the road, discussions arose, experiences shared, and the band walked into the open gates of Daggerford closer for the journey. After a quick trip to the constable of the city, the survivors were entrusted into the care of the city guards, and at long last, Brienne, Pock, Nissa, Wun Way, and Melpomene returned to the castle of Daggerford. After a brief delay, the castle guards brought the large party to the wizard of Daggerford.

Ondabarl was pleasantly surprised to see the return of the band of adventurers, and spent only a moment’s glance on the extra members with whom they had returned. Brienne reached into the bag of holding and, with no little flourish, produced the spellbook of Haesten and the famed Yellowknife. As she handed the items over to the wizard, Nissa spoke up. “You wouldn’t believe what we’ve been through to bring you these.”

Ondabarl stopped, his hand stretched out over the dagger and book. “Well, that’s what you do, isn’t it? I send out group after group of adventurers until one of you finally completes the job.” Wun Way shot a look at Nissa to silence her response. “Now that I take a closer look, though,” the wizard said, stroking his beard, “you do look a little worse for wear. Tell you what, there’s something that is sure to help revitalize your weary companions. In two days’ time, a wondrous event shall happen on the nearby shore.” He paused for a moment, grinning at the party. “The annual dance of the aquatic flumphs!”

Isolde clapped her hands together. “Beach episode!”

~~

In the end, Pel refused to separate from the strange gnome who had befriended her. Unwilling to leave the last person she knew, Loran had no choice but to follow along with her rescuers on their well-earned vacation. As the group left Daggerford, Nissa walked beside the child. “Have you ever been to the beach, Pel?” she asked.

“What’s a beach?” the girl responded, tilting her head.

The gnome paused a moment before responding, “It’s like a big lake, I think.”

Pel’s eyes lit up. “Gran taught me how to swim!”

Two days later, the gang arrived at the beach of the aquatic flumphs. They had made good time, however, and reached the shore just after noon. With not much to do before the flumphs appeared, the group decided to prepare for the night. After minimal arguing, they separated into three teams: Oskar, Nissa, Pel, Brienne, and Robyn would work together to prepare a fire; they would need to set up camp for after the dance of the flumphs, which Pock, Charlot, Idu, Melpomene, and Loran would take care of; and, of course, they would need dinner, which Uzza, Wun Way, Nula, and Isolde offered to fetch. As Nissa and Pel walked down the beach to gather stones to line a fire pit, Nissa said, “Alright, Pel, we want some rocks about that size,” pointing to the coatl egg in Wun Way’s sling. The half-elf bard clutched the sling tighter and glared at the gnome.

As the groups headed off, Ravain and Ciri were left standing on the beach. The young girl knelt down and began scooping handfuls of sand. “I think Pel would like a sand castle to return to, Ravain.”

The grizzled monster hunter stared at his ward with dead eyes.

Ciri returned the look.

“Alright, alright,” Ravain sighed as he sat on the sand.

~~

Down the shore, Oskar was huddled over a clump of beach grasses, pulling up fistfuls of stalks and grunting in approval at how brittle and dry it was - perfect for kindling. An illuminated arrow whizzed by the dwarf’s head, drawing a long string of curses from him. He glanced back and saw Robyn smiling and pointing beyond him - a dozen paces away, the arrow had imbedded itself near a larger bed of grasses.

Oskar shook his head and turned to Pel to ask her for help pulling the grasses, but she was down by the water chasing a crab. Nissa glanced toward the young child from the small pile of rocks she had gathered and ran after her, calling, “Pel, wait up! Be careful near the waves!”

Further down, Brienne walked along the lapping waves. Growing up on the shores of Tarth, she had enjoyed combing the wave-abandoned detritus from the sea for slabs of driftwood with which to play at swords and shields. Now, she put her childhood searching skills to work in the pursuit of firewood.

Having collected an armful of grasses, Oskar returned to the area of the beach where Ciri and Ravain were building a tall sandcastle. He raised an eyebrow at the stoic ranger, who distinctly avoided his gaze as he began chiseling faux-brickwork into the towers with a twig. The dwarf muttered something about surface dwellers and building abilities before he began shoveling a shallow pit in the dry sand.

As Oskar began digging with his bare hands, Robyn walked up behind him. “That’s not how you acquire fire. Have you ever seen me dig for my cooking?”

Without looking back, Oskar replied, “Have you ever built a fire in the sand?”

“Point taken,” Robyn said, squatting down to help.

Down by the water, a brief shriek pierced the air. Pel was clutching her finger, where a tiny crab hung by its pincer. As Nissa ran up to the girl, she stiffened her pouty lower lip and hastily threw her hand behind her back. Unsure of how to address the injured child, Nissa put on a smile. “Good job, Pel, you really almost caught that crab!”

The girl frowned and mumbled, “It got me instead.”

Glancing around at the beach around them, Nissa asked, “Wanna find some more rocks? Sometimes, there are sparkly bits inside.” At this, Pel’s tear streaked cheeks lit up, and she crouched over the lapping waves, fumbling through the sliding sand.

A second later, Nissa held up a spiral-etched stone triumphantly - oddly, it was slightly squishy on the underside. Immediately, a seagull swooped down with a ferocious screech, right at her upraised hand. In her surprise, Nissa popped the odd stone into her mouth, immediately regretting her decision as it began squelching along her tongue. Barely suppressing her urge to retch, Nissa spat the snail back onto her hand and, shuddering, threw it at the seagull. “Ugh… Pel, don’t put these rocks into your mouth.”

Brienne walked back with a bundle of driftwood strapped across her back just as Nissa and Pel were placing the last of their stones around the firepit. Nissa was trying to crack open a clam, for some reason, as Robyn doused the kindling generously from her flask. Brienne raised an eyebrow as Robyn downed the remaining contents, and Oskar muttered a phrase, sending a lick of flame from his outstretched finger to the prepared bonfire.

~~

Back at the campsite, Charlot gathered the other four around him as he unraveled his lavish tent. “Alright, listen up, all. My tent is the most complicated to set up, and there are a few steps that need to be followed…” Over the next five minutes, he laid out how each part of the fabric and wooden poles needed to be arranged.

At first, Melpomene and Loran snickered behind their hands, but Idu rolled his eyes and began setting up another tent. After the first minute, however, Melpomene whispered to Loran, “Wait, is he serious?” When Charlot took a breath, Melpomene stepped forward to cut him off. Loran had already retreated to help Idu with another tent.

“Quite a laundry list of steps you got there, kid,” Melpomene said.

“I’ve found that others follow my instructions best when they know exactly what is required of them,” Charlot responded, brow furrowing as he noticed that Idu and Loran had stepped away to work on other tents. Pock was poking at the Charlot’s laid out construction with interest.

Melpomene wrapped an arm across the boy’s shoulder, pulling him closer. “I’ll bet I can get your friend over there to take care of this tent for you,” she said, nodding in Idu’s direction. “Watch and learn.”

The aasimar sauntered over to the youth, drawing her enchanting magic from the core of her being into her vocal chords. Idu looked up from the partially-constructed tent as she stepped closer. “Greetings, Idu,” she said in Celestial. She had heard the boy talking to his pet snake in Celestial along the journey to the beach. “I saw you working over here and thought I’d check in on you. Wouldn’t want to exclude anyone.” Melpomene gave Idu a knowing wink.

“So you struck up a conversation in a language that only two people speak?” Idu asked, raising an eyebrow.

Melpomene smiled and continued as if she hadn’t heard him. “How’s your snake, Idu?”

“Around my arm,” Idu replied with a deadpan expression - as deadpan as was possible while speaking Celestial, at least. Melpomene’s smile faltered a fraction.

“Why do you both sound like you have windchimes in your mouths?” asked Loran, who had been listening with interest to the strange dialect.

Without missing a beat, Melpomene cried, “Because we do!” and turned around, executing some skillful illusion magic to conjure a windchime dangling from her open mouth. As she waggled her tongue, dainty chimes filled the air. Loran snorted as she held back a laugh, and turned to the next unfinished tent.

Melpomene turned back to Idu. “Where did you learn Celestial?” Each word was layered with complimenting chiming sounds, as she had left the illusory windchime in her mouth.

Idu absently reached for the snake around his upper arm and stroked its head. “You pick up a lot of things on the street.”

Melpomene threw a hand over her mouth in horror. “The street is no place for a young man.”

Idu shrugged. “Didn’t have much of a choice.”

The aasimar placed a hand on his shoulder and fixed him with a patronizing half-smile. “We always have a choice.”

Idu stared up into her luminescent eyes. “I didn’t really have one when my parents died.”

The luminescent eyes grew wider, and the windchime fell out of Melpomene’s open mouth. “Ah. I, uh, one second.” She turned her head away and opened her mouth, creating discordant windchime sounds.

Charlot, who had been trying to follow the foreign conversation through body language alone and wasn’t certain whether Melpomene was propositioning the boy or trying to convince him to get a windchime piercing on his tongue, looked around to find that Pock had been silently constructing the large tent while he had been distracted. It looked better than it ever had when Charlot built it himself. “Tent’s done,” Pock said simply, snapping the last piece into place.

Across the circle of tents, Loran noticed the gnome’s handiwork and called out, “Hey, Pock, if you’re done over there, do you want to come help me with these?”

~~

Isolde had discovered a small delta where seaweed and kelp washed up, and was humming to herself as she gathered bundles into her arms. She gave a gasp as she lifted a strand of seaweed to reveal a green tuberous object in the shallow waters. “A sea cucumber!” she cried triumphantly in her singsong voice.

Nula looked up from the makeshift fishing rod she had been carving. “You really don’t want to eat that,” she warned, knowing she would not be heeded. As the paladin tucked the sea cucumber into her satchel and carried on along her hunt for vegan alternatives, Nula sighed and affixed one of the ubiquitous snails to the end of her line. A few minutes later, Nula was walking back to camp with a pair of large fish hanging from a line.

Uzza and Wun Way walked along the shore together, keeping an eye out for anything edible. “It would be nice to catch some small game,” Uzza remarked, peering into the grasses by the sand.

“You think so?” Wun Way asked, peering up into the sky just in time to see a seagull get hit by a flying snail. A split second later, her hand crossbow was out, and Wun Way’s bolt found its mark. As the seagull fell, Uzza and Wun Way heard a scream from Pel.

Isolde walked by with a pile of kelp and seaweed in her arms and complained, “The bird was only minding its business.”

~~

Back at camp, an elaborate sand castle had been built, which Pel loved. The adventurers milled about and talked, and easy laughter filled the air. For some reason, there were two Idu’s walking around, and whenever one of them opened its mouth, chiming sounds filled the air.

As everyone relaxed, Nissa huddled near where the bags had been deposited. Checking one last time that Brienne was engrossed in one of Robyn’s stories, the gnome reached for a bag and gently opened it. Within, countless plants and plant-parts were stored, from leaves and flowers to roots and stalks, some dried, some still wet, all odorous. Beneath a pile of vines, Nissa finally found a small purse with a handful of coins. After helping herself to a majority of those coins, she gingerly replaced the purse and closed the bag.

The various discussions were interrupted by a call from down the beach. As everyone turned to look, Nula ran up over a dune, carrying an inflated pig’s bladder. The half-orc waved over the rest of the party, and they found an area of relatively flat beach with a rectangle marked in the sand, separated by a net of kelp held up by two long pieces of driftwood.

“I’ve got a pirate game we can play,” she announced proudly. “Volleybladder!”

Most of the group agreed enthusiastically - Ravain sat out the game, looking sullen in the hot sun, while Loran helped Pel build her own sand castle down by the water. Ciri joined Robyn’s crew on one side of the net, while the heroes of Orlane gathered on the other side with the chime-sounding Idu.

Thus began the game. Nissa made an early point, jumping higher than Robyn’s crew would have thought possible to spike the ball down past Robyn. Wun Way followed up with a gentle bump over the net, causing the ball to fall just in front of Robyn’s outstretched arms. Brienne then served into the corner of the court, but it was returned by a quick dive from Isolde. As the ball flew through the air, Nissa jumped as if to spike again, angling her body instead for a longer strike. Idu (on Robyn’s side) noticed the change, however, and was perfectly positioned to return the hit when it came.

As the ball fell to the sand Wun Way sang out a little ditty about large hands and ungainly feet, causing several of her opponents to become disheartened. While they glanced uneasily at their limbs, the offending bard easily slammed the ball into the sand on the other side. In the next play, Nissa fell awkwardly on her ankle, twisting it. The others called to Ravain to relieve her, but the ranger simply shook his head. Instead, Pock knelt beside his fellow gnome and laid his hand on her leg, pressing healing magic into the limb. A moment later, Nissa was hopping up and returning a quick serve.

After a scuffle for the ball as it bounced off the top of the kelp net, both of the Idu’s ended up on Robyn’s side of the court. They locked eyes, and one of them pointed and accused, “Melpomene, get back on your side of the court!”

The other Idu looked bewildered and shook his head. “But I’m Idu! You’re Melpomene!” A short yelling match later, one of the Idu’s stormed back to Brienne’s side, still fuming that he was the real Idu. Teams reformed, the ball was served again.

As the ball fell to Wun Way, she grinned at Nissa and called for her to set up a bump. Charlot, however, noticed the half-elf’s stance and prepared to answer the duplicitous spike. Sure enough, the bard jumped at the last second and hammered the ball down to the beach. Charlot shouted triumphantly as he tensed to dive, when a sickening dread filled his body.

In the middle of the court, Idu was changing. He grew taller, taller even than Brienne, and his scruffy hair flowed out to whip about in the non-existent wind. His skin lightened, then turned a horrible ashen color, and his clothing faded into star-dotted robes. Skeletal wings brightened in a darkening aura around the revealed aasimar, and every one of Robyn’s team dove away from her. With Charlot cowering by the driftwood post, the ball smacked into the sand.

The silence that followed was broken by Nissa shouting, “We won!” as the Idu next to her grumbled, “Told you I was the real Idu.”

As Melpomene ducked under the kelp netting to rejoin her team, she winked at Idu. “I learned some things on the streets, too.”

~~

After the game, the group enjoyed a hearty meal of fish and fowl (Isolde quietly ate her salad of boiled kelp and even ate the sea cucumber as the rest of the group looked on in horror) and then prepared to relax and observe the fabled dance of the aquatic flumphs. In the distance, all along the shore, they saw other groups arriving to the shore and setting up portable seats.

Finally, the indicated hour came, but nothing happened.

“They should be coming out of the sea, right?” Pock asked, glancing behind to the distant trees but still not finding any flumphs.

“I’m gonna kill that Ondabarl!” Nissa erupted, gripping a piece of driftwood. “Making us trek out here for nothing!”

“Let’s go check with the locals,” Brienne offered, nodding to the nearest collection of observers, “see if this is unusual.”

They spoke with a handful of groups, from gatherings of a dozen people to small families of three or four. Everyone they talked to gave the same answer: The flumphs always rose on the last full moon in the season, and they had never known them to be this late. A self-proclaimed flumph expert bent their ears for an extra ten minutes, pontificating on the common theories on why the flumphs rose, to where they drifted off, and for what purpose. When they finally broke free from his lecture, they walked closer to the water, hoping perhaps that they might stumble upon the flumphs waiting somewhere in the waves.

The moon was high and full, and shone brilliantly upon the beach, draping everything in an azure veil. As they searched, they saw a handful of children around Pel’s age shrieking and splashing in the water, the disappointment of the missing flumphs forgotten in the opportunity for late-night fun. Pel began tugging on Loran’s hand and dragging her to the playing children. “I suppose we’ll cover more ground in two groups,” Brienne conceded, and the group split; Robyn’s crew, along with Pel, Loran, Ciri, and Ravain heading further down the beach to the playing children, while Brienne and her team headed back to where rocky outcroppings broke the skyline.

An hour of investigation later, as the damp rocks grew larger, the group heard a child’s cry. Down by the water, a small girl was sobbing, calling for help, crying that her sisters were trapped in the sea caves where they had been playing. There was no time to go back for the others. Brienne asked the little girl to show where this cave was, even as Nissa tried to caution her, and minutes later they arrived to a shallow sea cave, a wide mouthlike opening in the craggy face of an ocean cliff. Within, as their vision adjusted, they could make out a pile of kelp by the entrance and several large rocks strewn throughout the cave.

An older girl, presumably the young girl’s sister, stood by one of those rocks, and her face lit up as she took note of their arrival. “You brought us help!” she cried, clapping her hands together.

“Delicious help!” the pile of kelp replied. It rose on mottled green legs and straightened its horrifying body. The green hag reached out a kelp-wrapped arm, and tendrils of emerald magic drifted across the five adventurers. Each of them stiffened in fear of her terrifying ugliness, and flashbacks of their imprisonment in that awful ritual circle gripped them.

As their hearts began to hammer, the two girls shed off their mortal forms and revealed themselves to be a sea hag and night hag. The sea hag by the rock cackled and cried out, “Swim, my pretties!” Water rose to fill a foot of the cavern, and a trio of giant octopuses swam out from behind the rocks to accost the frightened adventurers.

Wun Way jabbed at the approaching octopuses and concentrated on sending a shockwave of force right in the middle of the group, but as she spoke the incantation, the night hag in their midst let out a piercing laugh, and the words died on the half-elf’s lips.

“Time for a taste of your own medicine,” Melpomene shouted at the green hag, and began muttering silent whispers, which wound their way into the ear of the kelp-clad witch. The hag looked upon the aasimar as she truly was, and gave an angry growl as she began to back away unwillingly.

In her place, the sea hag and her octopuses ran at the group. As tentacles flailed, the sea hag stared into Brienne’s eyes. The fighter felt a repulsion toward the hideous creature, but other than that, nothing happened, and the hag’s hair began roiling in agitation. Pock ran away from the frightening hag, trying to make a break for the rocks, but tentacles wrapped themselves around his short frame and held him fast. 

The sea hag pulled away from the occupied heroes and pointed a finger at Wun Way, chanting a lilting spell. As the last syllable faded, the bard disappeared, and a newt crawled quickly out of the water where she had been standing. As the newt scampered away, the night hag cursed at her sister for “turning the pretty one,” and then lashed out at Melpomene.

With curling tentacles around her, Brienne found no easy way to get at the hags. Instead, she gripped Mjolnir by the base of its handle and spun it once around her head, letting loose at the sea hag. The hammer struck true, and then immediately flew back into Brienne’s waiting hand, where she spun it once more and struck again. Grimacing, the hag continued to keep her eyes on the crawling newt as Nissa’s bolts struck her.

The green hag, from across the room, called out, “Sisters! This will be our greatest feast yet!” There was a pulse in the water, felt against each leg, and then the three hags became invisible. The adventurers continued to scuffle with the many limbs of the octopuses, and all of a sudden Nissa fell to the ground. Brienne called out her name, and the sea hag reappeared near the adventurers, cackling madly. Brienne began to move towards the sea hag when the green witch appeared in the pile of kelp once more and pointed a crooked finger. A bolt of lightning lanced from the finger and struck from Melpomene to Brienne to Pock.

The last hag reappeared by the rocks and opened a palm, sending half a dozen missiles of light arcing through the air towards Brienne. As they shattered against her body, Brienne turned to the nearest octopus and brought her hammer down on its body, sending a violent shiver through its many legs before they settled on the floor of the cave. She then turned to the sea hag and smacked her with a backhand blow, sending her reeling and finally breaking her concentration on the spell. With a popping sound, Wun Way reappeared halfway up the cave wall, and with a swallowed yelp she fell, splashing into the water. She quickly climbed to her feet and dove for Nissa’ body, showering it with healing spells while she whipped out her rapier and skewered one of the octopuses. Melpomene slashed out with her sword and split the final octopus in two.

Pock shrugged off the limp octopus tentacles and darted for the sea hag, bringing his weapon down on the monster. The green hag raised her hand to lay an enchantment on Brienne, but the fighter took the moment of preparation and slammed hard, pulling from the might of the hammer to cast a lightning-wreathed spell around the weapon. As it struck, a loud CLAP reverberated inside the small cave, and shards of rock fell from the ceiling even as the hag fell backwards into the water, dead.

Nissa coughed up seawater as she pulled herself up, but gathered herself quickly and fired off quick shots, one, two, into the torso of the night hag. Pock slammed his weapon into the sea hag’s side as he shouted, “What did you do to the flumphs?!” He did not receive an answer, though, as the witch crumpled under his blow and sank beneath the choppy waters.

The party moved to surround the final hag, but she grinned an awful, pointy smile and lifted a stone in the shape of a heart. As they watched, taken aback, the stone heart appeared to beat once, and then the night hag disappeared.

The cave began to drain, revealing the broken forms of the two hags and three octopuses, and suddenly a popping sound filled the air. Dozens of flumphs materialized, spectral jellyfish-like beings with long eyestalks gently waving above their cores. They floated through the air, crowding around their saviors and passing their eyestalks over them inquisitively. As each second passed, more and more flumphs popped into existence, and soon they were pushed out of the cave and drifted across the lapping waves. As they drifted away, an aura of intense gratitude settled over the party.

Back on the beach, locals and foreigners alike turned awe-filled eyes to the sea, where, inexplicably, the flumphs had returned - later than any year in living memory, but with such an energetic enthusiasm that even the flumph expert was not disappointed. Fathers and mothers brought their children in close, whispering fables and legends of the flumphs or prompting the young ones to wish on the rising flumphs, while others simply sat back, alone or with loved ones, and watched with a viral joy as the undulating flumphs spun and danced around each other, rising ever higher into the moon filled sky. Finally, the highest flumphs reached the apex of their ascent, and in a series of multicolored flashes, they vanished. Over the next half hour, the multitudinous beings continued to rise, bursting out of existence with colorful displays, following each other into whatever realm awaited them, and the night settled into an easy peace.

[chille-tid-universe]

The Trails Converge

Segments of the following story are taken with permission from the prepared scripts of our Dungeon Master.

~~

Fires burned around the ruined encampment as the two humans walked up to the group. The man observed the wreckage around him as if he had seen all this world had to offer, and was definitely over it. Beside him, the girl seemed an afterthought, though she bore her longbow with steady suredness, and kept a watchful eye on their surroundings.

“What happened here?” Robyn repeated, directing her question at the newcomers.

“We were not a part of the battle,” the man responded, staring down at Robyn. “We were busy watching you.”

Isolde stepped forward, crossing her arms. “So you didn’t help anyone? You know, apathy brings about the end times.”

The man grimaced and glanced at his companion, an unseen message passing between the two. He then stepped away from the group, turning to face the shattered hill in the distance.

“Not so fast,” Isolde called out, raising a hand and speaking a spell. At once, wild vines erupted from the ground at the man’s feet, twirling up his legs. The man paused, turning to raise an eyebrow at her, before stepping through the vines. Icthuarrux had trotted to block his path, lowering her white head to stare steadily into the man’s eye.

The man turned back to stare at the paladin. “Get out of my way, so I can find out what happened.”

Flustered at how easily he had broken the plant bonds, Isolde gaped at him for a moment before the young girl spoke up, seemingly surprised at herself for talking at all, “Please just let him do his work.”

With a gesture, Isolde dispelled the ensorcelled vines. “Next time, my vines will have you,” she promised.

“Doubtful,” the man muttered as he stalked off.

The girl seemed to realize she had been left alone with people who were not overly fond of herself or her companion. Attempting to rectify this, she stuck her hand out towards Robyn, identifying her as the group’s leader. “Sorry we didn’t introduce ourselves sooner. My name is Ciri, and my mentor is called Revain.” After names had been exchanged, Ciri continued. “We came to this place to investigate the army of gnolls. They aren’t supposed to be gathering like this. Revain thought there must be something going on. Only…” She glanced around the countless dead. “We didn’t expect anything like this.”

“Just to clarify,” Isolde said, “my horse died, and you both were just watching?”

Ciri shifted her weight from foot to foot, looking like she’d rather be facing down an army of gnolls than this irate paladin. “We had to be sure you were fighting the gnolls for the right reasons. Revain says there are too many adventurers who prioritize glory or wealth over doing the right thing.”

“And how do we know you’re doing this for the right reasons?” Charlot asked.

Ciri seemed to be struggling for an answer, so Isolde interrupted, “Maybe they’re not vegans.”

Ciri shot a look at Isolde, asking, “What’s a vegan?”

Robyn stepped forward, cutting through the air with a hand. “There isn’t time for this. We need to be helping the survivors.” The group set about combing the wreckage, locating survivors by their cries or movement in the otherwise still piles of bodies. Though the dead greatly outnumbered them, there were a handful of survivors, each of them spared by some kind of protection during the attack; one man had been entangled in a tent; a small child’s mother had thrown herself over him, shielding him with her body. 

As the remaining prisoners were gathered, stories began to align. A band of orcs had appeared, slaughtering huge swathes of gnolls and prisoners alike, but that had not been all. Handfuls of prisoners had been kidnapped yet again, pulled away from the slaughter grounds amid shrieks and dying.

By this time, Revain had returned from his investigation. He gathered the adventurers and Ciri. “It’s as we suspected,” he began, looking to Ciri. “The damage to the hilltop can only have been done by magical means. It appears that someone - or something - blasted through the hill to make an entrance to the valley. There are tracks leading into the valley, and back out.” He turned to Robyn. “Do you have a map of the area?”

The adventurers all exchanged glances. Isolde piped up, “Maps bring about the end times.” Revain suppressed an eye roll and turned back to Robyn.

“We mostly use Archimicarus - that’s Idu’s falcon familiar. He gives us the bird’s eye view of wherever we go.”

Revain looked thoughtful for a second, then nodded. “That should do fine.” He then strode to a group of the survivors, and returned a few seconds later. “No one appears to know much about what’s in that direction.” He nodded beyond the shattered hill. “From the passage, I could see a band of orcs as they reached the plains below, heading south. We’ll need to follow them.” With a last nod to Ciri, he departed, walking swiftly to the hill.

The adventurers all looked to Ciri. Oskar finally asked, “Does he often leave people behind?”

Ciri bit her lip, looking in the direction Revain had left and back to the group around her. “He tracks best alone. He’ll leave markers for us to follow.” She turned to see Robyn squatting over an improvised fire, her cooking pot out and a broth of herbal soup already being stirred. “Um… We should probably leave. Now.”

Robyn gave a heavy sigh and glanced to the nearest survivor, waving her over. “Once this comes to a boil, take it off the heat, and you’ll be fine.”  Taking another look at the tear-stained face, she added, “Oh, and, my consolidances.”

Ciri opened her mouth as if to speak, but Idu placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “It’s not worth it.”

~~

Above the field of slaughter, the group found the passage through the hillside, with Ciri pointing the way as she noticed Revain’s markers. Up close, the damage was even more incredible; it was as if a giant had thrown his fist through the hill, knocking it clear through to the other side. The resulting collapse of the hole had sealed most of the tunnel, but upon closer inspection there was a clear, almost deliberate way through to the other side of the hill.

Unfortunately, the tunnel was barely large enough for Isolde, and Icthuarrux was many times larger. With teary eyes, Isolde took the magnificent horse aside, stroking her long head and murmuring for her to watch after Loran. The great beast tossed her head, whinnying as she trotted back down the hill. After wiping at her eyes, Isolde returned to the group as they picked their way through the rubble.

On the far side of the newly excavated crevasse, there was a small plateau. A series of crude but apparently sturdy ropes and rope bridges lead along a circuitous route from the plateau down to the plains below. The path had pitons and guide ropes in places, but many more showed signs of hasty disassembly. It was clear that Revain had taken the time to reassemble key parts of the path, and the group spotted the ranger as he reached the plains, jumping lithely from the final ledge to the grassy field below.

From this height, the group could spy the Delimber River glistening off to the south, as well as the forests surrounding the hills reaching into the plains. As the group made their careful way down the side of the plateau, Revain continued further, no longer visible. Ciri took a moment as they reached the plains to find a clump of tied together grasses, and nodded in the direction Revain must have tracked.

~~

Eventually, the markers lead them right to the Delimber River, where they discovered Revain, standing still by the banks and looking dumbfounded and more frustrated than usual. “The track ends here. I haven’t been able to find whether they went up or downstream.”

Nula noticed a set of markings in the mud by the river, long shallow lines that might otherwise have been overlooked. “Those look like beach marks from barges,” she said, pointing. “I reckon there were three, four barges beached here for a short time, not too long ago.”

For once, Revain looked almost impressed. “Good catch. That would explain how they got so far ahead. Now we just need to figure out where they went.” He turned to Idu. “Think your falcon can find anything?”

Idu nodded, closing his eyes as a falcon’s screech was heard overhead. A minute later, though, Idu shook his head and opened his eyes. “They must be moving fast. Archimicarus couldn’t find them on the river.”

“They might have just traveled downriver,” Nula suggested. “Current would be working with them.”

“We need to know for sure,” Revain said, pacing the bank for any other clues he might have missed.

Isolde straightened up from where she had been bending over one of the lines in the mud. “This isn’t from around here,” she announced triumphantly, holding aloft a twig of pine needles. She tilted her head, recalling the surrounding woodlands. “Nearest forest with pine trees would be… the Misty Forest, to the south of here.”

Revain almost smiled. “Guess we’re traveling downriver.”

As the group began to walk down the riverbank, Isolde called out, “Wait!” Half a minute passed, and then the rest of the group could hear the steady gallop coming from across the plains. Isolde let out a laugh as Icthuarrux neighed, and then the majestic horse was before them, bearing Loran on her back.

“She seemed to want me to ride,” Loran explained, clearly disheveled from the wild run. “She took off, and I couldn’t do anything but hold on.”

Isolde walked up, helping Loran down to her shaky feet, then gave Icthuarrux a warm hug. “Guess she couldn’t bear to be without me, and brought you along to look after you. Good girl.”

Loran straightened up after a deep breath. “If I’m already here, I want to help get Pel back.”

“Come or don’t come,” Revain growled, staring up at the sun. “The longer we wait, the further those orcs get.”

As they began walking, Isolde whispered loudly to Robyn, “I think Revain needs to get a horse. I believe it would improve his disposition.”

~~

It was decided that Idu would ride Icthuarrux as they traveled along the Delimber River, borrowing Archimicarus’s sight to try and spot any sign of the orcish band. This was only slightly complicated by Icthuarrux’s aversion to Idu’s pet snake, Abu, and it took a few minutes for Charlot to finally offer to carry the serpent while Idu was riding. (The snake immediately slithered into Charlot’s armor, sending shivers down his spine the whole length of the march.)

There was still no sign of the orcs by the time they reached a suitable crossing. The Misty Forest bordered the south of the Delimber River, so they took the opportunity to cross over and continue the march from the southern bank. Not long after that, the group came upon four barges beached further ahead, and Revain was able to pick up the trail once more.

The trail lead them, as expected, into the Misty Forest, where their pace was arrested. Cold tendrils of the eponymous mist trailed along the forest floor, and visibility was greatly hindered. Icthuarrux’s coat seemed almost to gleam in the filtered light, and the group huddled around the large horse, lest they find themselves suddenly astray. The only person who seemed unperturbed by the gloom and dank was Revain, who nevertheless stayed much closer to the others as he continued to follow the tracks of the orcs.

Eventually, something broke the muted quiet of the forest. A roar, as if from a savage beast, pierced the air, followed by a string of orcish swearing. Revain signaled for the group to quietly move forward.

They came to a clearing in the ubiquitous trees and found the source of the noise. A pair of owlbears were loudly attacking a group of orcs. Isolde quietly observed that the two appeared to be a mated pair, eliciting a shush from Revain. The ranger turned to the rest of the group, beginning to outline how they could quietly snatch one of the orcs on the periphery and extract the location of the other orcs from him, when Isolde cried out, “For nature!” and galloped past the others, swinging her lance as she raced towards the fray.

“We need one alive!” Revain yelled, teeth clenched in irritation.

The owlbears were fighting side to side, swiping at the orcs as they darted in to poke with spears and swords. There were half a dozen orcs arranged in an arc around the beasts, laughing and taunting as they attacked. They barely noticed as Isolde rode up behind them, swiping at their backs as she passed.

This distraction seemed to be just what the owlbears needed, however, as they ferociously clawed and bit at the turned backs of the orcs, taking half of them down in a frenzy of limbs. The remaining orcs seemed to think better of their initial attack, and turned to run off into the woods.

Ciri stepped from behind a tree and loosed a crossbow bolt at one of the runners, smiling to herself at the thud of its body hitting the forest floor. Nula and Isolde ran after the final two. Barely fifty feet later, Nula had knocked out one orc, and Isolde ran through the final monster, turning to see the owlbears retreating warily. They kept an eye on the strange newcomers until they were well into the wood, at which point they turned tail and loped off between the trees.

A few minutes later, the final orc was tied up and propped against a tree. Revain nodded to Nula, who slapped him awake. As the orc blinked in the dim light, Nula hit him again. “Where are the other orcs?” she bellowed in orcish.

The orc straightened, eyes squinted as he stared up at the half-orc. He spat at her and growled, “Traitor to your kind.”

“Do you speak Common?” Revain asked, laying a hand on Nula’s shoulder. The orc gave a curt nod.

Nula shook off the hand. “Listen here, pretty boy, you’re going to talk. Or else.”

The orc gave a guttural laugh, more a croak than anything else. “I do not fear death,” he mumbled in Common.

Charlot held up a hand, ghostly light flickering around it. “Let’s see how true that is.”

Nula nodded. “I wonder how many times you’ll die before you give us what we want.”

The orc adjusted himself in his bonds, glancing from Charlot to Nula, then to Revain. “What do you want to know?” he asked, voice low.

“Where are the other orcs?” Revain asked, before Nula could respond. The orc seemed to think a moment before responding.

“What if I answer?”

Revain stared into the orc’s eyes. “It’ll be quick and painless.”

The orc nodded, addressing Revain. “East side of the forest.”

“How many are there?” Revain asked, hand lightly resting on his sword’s pommel.

“Scores,” came the reluctant answer.

Revain’s hand tightened. “Exact number.”

“Scores.”

Isolde pushed past Revain. “Can’t you count?” She held up a gauntleted hand. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

The orc’s expression hardened, and he did not respond.

Revain sighed deeply, then strode forward and sliced neatly beneath the orc’s chin. As life seeped out from him, the orc’s eyes seemed to cloud over, and then a horrid noise burst forth from his mouth, impossible with such a wound.

Uzza gasped, and the others turned to her. “That was Infernal.”

“What did he say?” Robyn asked.

“Be back soon.”

~~

It took a few minutes to gather the bodies of the orcs and pile them on a makeshift pyre. Revain had dealt with enough demons to know that leaving corpses around was a surefire way to shoot oneself in the foot.

As acrid smoke climbed and mixed into the forest’s misty air, two figures stepped out from the trees. Hands went to weapons, but the elf and wolf did not appear to be tensed for battle. Revain called out, “Who goes there?”

The elf halted, the wolf stopping at the same time. “I am a ranger of the Misty Forest.” He gave a slight head bow. “The proper question, is who trespasses?”

Revain held out his hand as Robyn began to step forward. “We are following the trail of a band of orcs who are hiding here. They have kidnapped many and slaughtered more, and we intend to bring justice to them.”

The elf seemed to relax at this answer, and he nodded. “We know of the orcs’ presence here.”

Robyn stepped past Revain, drawing a scowl from him. “Then help us,” she said in Elvish.

The forest ranger seemed taken aback for a moment as he considered the half-elf. A moment later, he shook his head, and responded in Common, “The elders will not allow us to risk our forces against such a host.”

Charlot scoffed. “Then we’ll do it without you.”

The elf’s eyes narrowed as he focused on the youth. “What makes you think you can handle them alone?”

“We must,” Charlot replied simply.

The elf nodded, as if it had been the expected response. He then turned to the growing flame in the middle of the clearing. “Why are you burning bodies in our forest?”

Uzza explained the infernal warning, and Revain explained how corpses that were ash could not be possessed.

The elf nodded, again seemingly satisfied with their responses, and turned to leave. As he passed the nearest tree, he turned back. “Make sure you do not destroy our forest, travelers. We may lack the strength to oppose the fouler visitors here, but we shall exact a price for any negligence.”

As the elf left earshot, Revain shook his head. “Damned elves.”

~~

The group watched over the pyre as Revain tracked ahead. It was almost an hour past when the ranger ran into the clearing, catching his breath as he pointed the way he had come. “We need to go. Now.” He was then off again. Ciri seemed taken aback; in all her time with Revain, she had not seen him this agitated. As the others began complaining that the elf had threatened them over the fire, she cut them short.

“Loran, Idu, and Oskar, you can stay here and watch over the flames, alright? The rest of us, let’s follow Revain. He must have found them.”

~~

Minutes later, the group had caught up with Revain. He had located the orcish camp; a wall of forest timber stood in a clearing, and within rose many tendrils of smoke. There was a small guard posted at the only entrance, which the group handily dispatched. Within the walls was a sprawling war camp. Visible were tents, cooking pits, and crudely constructed pens, some of which were empty while others housed livestock. Adjacent to a nearby stream were five stakes across from one of the empty pens.

The group stood in the shadow of the wall for a moment, starting to discuss their plan, when Revain straightened up, as if responding to some unheard call, and sprinted toward one of the tents. The others called in whispers after him, but it was no use. Shrugging to themselves, they followed him into one of the larger tents.

Within the tent, piled high in one corner, was the greatest amount of wealth any of the group, save Revain, had ever seen. Coins of copper, silver, gold, even platinum, all twinkling in the torchlight. This amount of gold would have allowed for each person present to live comfortably for the remainder of their lives, and set up their descendents quite handsomely, as well.

But those riches were still dwarfed by the sheer number of magical items carefully stacked on the far side of the tent. Although the adventurers had only come across a handful of magical items in their time together, they were fairly certain the assembled menagerie of oddities were in fact magical - perhaps it was the undefinable aura of majesty, perhaps the slight glint on what should be well-worn components. With so many items of power in one place, it was easy to guess that at least a few powerful artifacts lay in rest among them.

There was a fine cloak that shimmered almost imperceptibly; countless weapons, armor, shields, and general tools for adventuring. Among the rest were an eerie doll, eyes sparkling with intelligence, surrounded by at least four different instruments. Atop a gloriously worked set dwarven plate armor was an impeccably delicate silver diadem inset with sapphires. Whirring and clicking sounds emanated from a copper amulet on a chain necklace.

Laying on the ground by itself was an extraordinary warhammer, emblazoned with runic ropes that seemed to writhe before the adventurers’ very eyes. Each person’s gaze was drawn to the warhammer within seconds of entering the tent, and after a moment Isolde stepped forward, shrugging to the others as she reached for the smooth, iron bound haft. With a surprised grunt, Isolde stumbled; the hammer seemed attached to the floor. She grinned back at the others sheepishly before redoubling her efforts, gripping the hammer tight with both hands, planting her feet to either side, and pulling. A string of curses later, Isolde gave up; the hammer had not budged in the slightest.

Charlot and Nula were exchanging snickers when the humorous spectacle was interrupted by the violent sound of cracking wood. Revain was bent over to the side, crowbar in hand, prying open a chest. As the lock finally gave, Revain gingerly reached in and removed a large oval of granite. He cradled the stone in his arms and, almost as an afterthought, reached into the chest once more to remove a delicate bolt of cloth.

Revain straightened up and paused, as if in thought. All at once, his face blanched a deathly white. He gravely spoke to the others, “Grab what you can now. We have very little time.”

He handed a pouch to Robyn, who exclaimed as the inside opened many times larger than the outer fabric. At the ranger’s instruction, they began shoveling as much as they could into the wondrous bag. As Uzza began to fit an impossibly large set of armor into the pouch, Revain stopped her. He grabbed five sets of gear (weapons, armor, and a few of the magical items) and set them off to the side. “They’ll need these,” was the only explanation he gave.

~~

~~~

~~

She couldn’t be sure how long it had been. Not too long, by the stars. But long enough. She couldn’t remember everything, which was probably a blessing. If she ever made it out of this, she made a point to thank some deity or other for that.

She remembered Melpomene falling, remembered the tears in her eyes at the end of her fall, the scroll fluttering from her fingers in the rush of air. She remembered Nissa viciously defending Pock’s fallen form. She remembered Wun Way calling out in desperation. She remembered valiantly fighting on, bound in fiendish chains, shielding her companions as the shaman beared down on her with scorching sorcery.

And she remembered the strangest thing by far from that day; it was not the fake wizard, it was not the accursed altar, no. It was when the devils, wrapped in writhing chains, turned to protect her and her companions from that bloodthirsty she-orc.

“This is not the agreement,” one devil had said.

“We are to take them to Guthrum,” the other had added.

Yes, that was certainly the strangest thing that day.

~~

Brienne woke up later.

Gravity was not what she remembered, and she quickly learned why. She was bound to, and hanging from, a strong sapling recently plucked from the ground. Slung beneath it, hanging from only hands and feet, she swung like captured game. She slowly passed over the ground, ferried by two orcs, who rested the sapling on their shoulders as they walked. Peering around, she saw each of her companions similarly bound.

And that was how they came to the Misty Forest, bound and gagged, unarmed and unarmored. All their wondrous items confiscated. Although clothed, they each felt naked.

The Misty Forest was properly named; heavy mist coated the forest floor, and seemed to cling to Brienne’s clothing as she was carried, leaving her feeling soaked and unpleasant. Slung down near the ground, what she remembered most were ferns and weeds, but she could have sworn she saw something, or perhaps someone, in the canopy of the forest, silently hidden, looking down on her and her companions. She was so exhausted she couldn’t call out for help.

Eventually they stopped. They appeared to have taken the group to some sort of camp; and a big one, at that. Brienne couldn’t see much of it, though. She was bound upright to a stake near a pen where human slaves were kept like livestock.

Once upright, feeling returned to her hands, feet, and other extremities. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling, more of a searing and violent pain. Judging by the muffled cries around her, Brienne’s four companions were feeling the same.

They stayed there for a long time. They weren’t fed, and were only given enough water to survive. It rained at one point; Brienne remembered, because she felt cold from the downpour, but also because she managed to catch some rainwater in her mouth; after the stagnant water of the previous days, it was delicious.

Brienne had more time than she cared for. This was the first long period she had been without her magical circlet, which had enhanced her mental ability, and losing it was almost as much pain as she physically felt. Almost. The world seemed to drag by, and she felt her mind stuck moving in slow motion, as if entrenched in a quagmire while stars spun overhead. Frantically, with each moment of each day, Brienne tried to think of a way to get out, to free her companions, but without her circlet, it was hopeless.

She could almost feel an answer showing itself to her, waving right in her face, but she could not work out how to solve it. At first, she grew frustrated, her mind unaccustomed to the slowness it had been unburdened from for so long, but soon after she became despondent, and thoughts of failure plagued her too long waking hours.

Then, one morning, she was loosed from her stake, bound, and marched through camp directly to the largest tent.

He wasn’t what she remembered. She had only seen a few glimpses back then, and she had been focused on other things. But this orc was not what he had been. He was bigger, and stronger. He emanated a presence of fury and rage. He sneered when he saw her.

Inside the tent Brienne was strapped into a chair. The shaman was there, as well, almost gleeful as she peered down on the defeated fighter. Brienne smelled burning charcoal.

After she came to again, the first thing she felt was pain: white-hot and humiliating. Brienne had been branded.

She was loosed from the chair and escorted out of the tent, across the camp, and given to a guard. She saw her companions standing there, as well, all similarly branded.

Guthrum appeared soon after. He looked over the party with grim satisfaction. As he stood there, someone, no, something, approached him. It stunk of rot. It looked like an orc, a dead orc, with a long tail and pointed horns. When it opened its mouth, it sounded like Common spoken by an insect, filled with clicks and buzzing.

“Guthrum, servant of Baalzebul,” it said, “I have returned from the northern hills with your warriors. The spawn on Yeenoghu have been smote down. Baalzebul thanks you for your cooperation and will reward you in Maladomini. I will now continue to serve you as my lord has directed, until the fulfilment of your contract.”

“Then it won’t be much longer,” Guthrum replied stoically.

And now, Brienne was atop a pile of wood and pitch. Bound to a stake, branded, awaiting her hellish fate. She saw her companions. Together, they formed five points along a large circle. At the center of the circle she saw slaves. Some she recognized from before, but others were new. Brienne’s eyes fell on a little girl. She was crying.

Guthrum stepped forward and began to speak.

~~

~~~

~~

After grabbing what they could, the six rushed after Revain, racing through the forest. Before too long the trees began to thin, and they spied a large crowd of turned backs ahead. Their approach had not gone unnoticed, but somehow the magnitude of the moment delayed any confrontation.

Beyond the crowd were five people,a large human warrior, a half-elf, an aasimar, and two gnomes. They were bound to stakes in a circle around a group of prisoners, kindling and logs stacked at the base of each stake. About a dozen prisoners cowered in the center of the circle, all horrified. Some continued to cry out, pleading with their captors, while others looked resigned to their fate. Inside the group, they spied Pel, crying and clutching the rags of an unknown woman. Before they could do anything, the biggest, nastiest orc any of them had ever seen or could even imagine stepped forward and began to speak.

“Let the sacrifice of these wretched souls fulfill my contract with Baalzebul! Soon we shall all join the eternal battle on the banks of the River Styx!”

A wave of malevolent energy emanated from the orc-corpse lieutenant, and the fuel beneath the five prisoners burst into flames. The fire slowly began to burn through the grass, carving straight lines from each prisoner to the others, and before they’ve proceeded half the distance it was clear the flames were burning a pentagram into the ritual site. In the center, the prisoners began to wail in fear and rage.

The adventurers gazed on, stupefied by the sheer horror of what they were witnessing, unable to move. Perhaps it was the shock of everything, perhaps some subtle will from a being beyond themselves. Perhaps both. Regardless, the seven onlookers felt rooted in place, watching in horror, willing themselves to do something, anything, but unable to act.

From behind them, the adventurers heard a faint clanging sound, then another, louder this time, followed by an enormous creaking and a monumental crack. A blurred piece of metal whizzed over their heads, straight into the pentagram, headed right for the human warrior. Tension and anxiety swept like a wave over each member of the group, save Revain, who actually smiled.

Right before the projectile slammed into her, storm clouds coalesced instantaneously in the skies above, and thunder echoed across the High Moor. A great lightning bolt crashed down to earth - right on top of the woman.

In the pentagram, Brienne heard a loud voice echo in her head. “My hammer chose you, now show me you’re worthy.”

~~

Wun Way, Pock, Nissa, and Melpomene heard Guthrum’s words, they saw the fire leap to life beneath them, they felt the blistering heat. They didn’t want it to end this way, and certainly not this soon. But a feeling of hopelessness washed over them, and they felt like the only thing left to do was wait for the end. A small spark of resistance screamed out in each of their minds, but it was overpowered by lethargy.

This didn’t make sense, they were fighters, why weren’t they fighting? The four began to panic, but soon even that was suppressed by the overwhelming force of will sweeping over them.

Suddenly, a thunderous roar rang out above them, and Brienne was bathed in blinding light. Their lethargy was washed away. Brienne stepped out of the light, electricity crackling about her, wielding her magnificent hammer. Hope sprang forth within them. As one, they resolved to fight their way out of this.

Or die trying.

As Brienne stepped forward off her pyre, Guthrum reached to his belt and hefted the axe he had taken from her side. In his meaty hands, the Battleaxe of Goblin Slaying looked more a toy than a weapon, but its wicked edge still seemed sharp. To either side of him the demon-possessed corpse and shaman stood, clad in Melpomene’s Cloak of Protection and wielding Nissa’s Rapier of Life Stealing.

Brienne looked at the three orcs, then turned to face the nearest stake to her own, Pock’s. At the same time, the bystanders at the edge of the crowd seemed to have had their spell broken. Revain was already dashing through the assembled crowd of orcs and devils, heading for the closest stake, Melpomene’s. As he sliced through her bonds, he gave a curt greeting. “Whoever you are, the egg told me you’d need these.” As the ropes fell into the fire, he unloaded the armor the coatl egg had instructed him to bring, along with a dagger and sword.

Despite the madness around them, Melpomene flashed a dazzling smile. “Charmed, I’m sure.”

Across the circle, Wun Way felt her optimism returning with Brienne’s incredible escape. Suddenly, the world around her began to dim, and a single moonbeam pierced the otherwise cloudy sky to fall on the half-elf. A voice like a laughing lyre breathed into her ear, “Accept the aid of Sune.” The bard felt a warmth spreading through her chest, and a second later her bonds lay on the pyre, and as the moonlight faded, it lingered on her hair, where a blood-red rose had suddenly appeared, entwined in a braid that had not been there before. Grinning from ear to ear, Wun Way ran across the burning field, calling, “Revain! Fancy meeting you here!” as she reached the ranger and accepted her gear.

They were joined a second later by Nissa, grumbling about stakes built for “giant folk” but otherwise grinning from ear to ear, especially as Revain revealed her armor and crossbows from under his cloak. “Payback time,” she growled, kissing the arm of a crossbow as she surveyed the surrounding orcs and devils, who were starting to react to the amazing turn of events.

The demon inhabiting the orc corpse was the first to respond. With a shout that sounded like nothing earthly, it hefted an icy blue spear and slammed the haft of it into the ground. With a rumble, a wall of ice materialized, breaking the outer ring of the pentagram and separating Melpomene, Wun Way, Revain, and Nissa from the newcomers who were fighting their way through the assembled orcs.

The shaman then lifted her fetish-covered arms and spoke a phrase of power, then hurled a ball of fire over the newly made wall of ice. The ball expanded as it flew, and impacted the ground in the midst of the group of adventurers, sending them diving to the ground and incinerating several of the orcs they had been fighting. The only person unscathed was Isolde, who had rode faster on Icthuarrux’s back, and was bearing down on the pentagram as Brienne reached Pock’s stake.

“Nice armor,” the gnome commented as his friend tore the ropes apart. “Mind if I try it on later?” Brienne glanced down at the chainmail woven from lightning and smiled.

“I don’t know if that will work, Pock.” The gnome shrugged, rubbing feeling back into his hands and turning at the sound of approaching hoofbeats.

“You there,” Isolde called, hefting a suit of gnome-sized armor and a sparkling shield. “These belong to you?”

Pock looked back at Brienne, who nodded before hefting her warhammer and sprinting for the middle of the pentagram. “I think so,” Pock called, jumping down from the pyre. “Does the armor have my name written on the inside?”

Isolde paused to read the inscription on the backside of the plate. “Namfoodle Scheppenberen?”

Pock nodded to himself as he reached Icthuarrux’s flank, and craned his neck back to see the paladin. “Probably mine, then. Not too many people with that name.” He accepted the armor and paused a moment. “Would you mind helping me into it? It’s a bit of a hassle, and I think we don’t have much time.” While the paladin dismounted and began buckling the plate armor to the gnome’s frame, Pock raised a hand and spoke an intricate incantantation. A glowing warhammer, not too dissimilar from the one Brienne was now wielding, appeared before a group of approaching orcs and whacked one of them to the ground.

Guthrum had finally roused himself, and was now running into the thick of the minions swarming the group at the icy wall. The great orc let loose a wild battlecry, filled with sentiments of rage and bloodlust, and tossed a spear at Revain even as the orcs around him rallied themselves and hooted in excitement.

Behind the wall, the adventurers had recovered from the fireball, and were now under assault by a pack of orcs and a bearded devil. Charlot threw up his hands as the devil pulled back to strike, and unleashed a spell. The devil’s eyes widened as his limbs grew stiff, and within moments he was completely immobilized. Charlot hastily stepped back, nursing a bruised shoulder and glancing about at the rest of the attacking orcs. Uzza called out to him, and strands of golden light arced from the tiefling to her battered allies, rejuvenating them and filling them with hope. The two clerics nodded at each other and focused on the frozen devil, sending necrotic bolts and heavenly infernos to obliterate the fiend.

Meanwhile, Isolde had placed herself between Pock and an approaching band of orcs, headed by another bearded devil. Isolde tried to keep them at bay with her lance, but they marched steadily forward. Suddenly, Isolde heard a quiet “Excuse me” from down below, and as she glanced down she saw the now armored gnome walking through Icthuarrux’s legs, head still inches away from her belly, his sparkling shield levitating around him. As Pock advanced to the savage orcs, he raised a hand, and the air around him burst into a frenzy of activity. Spectral images flickered in a sphere around the gnome, startling Isolde before she realized that they were passing through her harmlessly. Not so for the orcs, however, and two of the four fell to the ground immediately, clutching their heads and gibbering. Impressed, the paladin guided Icthuarrux around the remaining orcs as they batted ineffectually at the ghostly figures tormenting them.

Near the ice wall, the orcs had closed in around Wun Way, Revain, and Melpomene. Nissa had slipped through the press of bodies and was now halfway to a nearby hill, at which point she turned and began firing into the crowd of enemies. Taking advantage of this distraction, Wun Way spent a moment in preparation and then flung out her arms, singing a word of power as half a dozen shining darts flew in arcs to burrow through the chests of as many orcs, each of which toppled to the ground. As his forces were thinned, Guthrum let out a furious howl and began to run for the ritual circle. Hearing their master’s displeasure, the remaining forces redoubled their efforts, lashing out at the heroes and adventurers.

At this point, Brienne had made her way through the rising flames of the pentagram to reach the prisoners in the center. There, the prisoners were bound hand and foot, with their ropes leading to a stake dug into the ground. Brienne easily ripped the stake up, and motioned for the prisoners to leave the ritual circle. As they began moving, Guthrum reached Brienne, and pointed a finger at one of his underlings, calling out, “Beelzebul compels you.” The lesser orc let out a strangled cry as its flesh began to dessicate. Life force burst from its chest, to flow into Guthrum’s outstretched hand. Invigorated, he slashed at Brienne with her own battleaxe. At the last second, she raised the warhammer and absorbed part of the blow. As the axehead struck her lightning-crafted armor, though, several fingers of crackling electricity arced out to lick at Guthrum’s arm, sending him back a step, what little hair he had standing on end.

As Isolde passed the group of orcs, she glanced to the side and saw Guthrum bearing down on Brienne. Thinking fast, she yanked her oak medallion from its chain around her neck and, taking quick aim, lobbed it into the air. Her shot was true, and as Guthrum recoiled at the shocking feedback, he was struck in the forehead by a curious wooden amulet. More surprised than harmed, he reflexively took another step back, which was probably all for the best, as a moment later the medallion fell to the burning soil and, in the blink of an eye, a proud oak tree sprouted where Guthrum had just stood, breaking a junction point of the pentagram. Isolde let out a triumphant cry as Guthrum raged.

Sensing its master’s anger, a nearby orc ran into the pentagram, seemingly unfazed by the growing flames, and dashed at Brienne, brandishing a crude blade. As its edge hit the fighter’s brilliant armor, however, the chainmail became tendrils of lightning that incinerated the unlucky orc. Brienne glanced at the charred corpse and grinned, hope rising within her chest. That grin froze, however, as she noticed the fire burning through the trunk of the oak, and a second later, the flames turned an ugly crimson as the ritual was completed.

As the flames finally connected the five points of the pentagram, fire filled the ritual circle. While Guthrum seemed unaffected, Brienne felt searing pain the likes of which she had never experienced before. As her vision returned, she saw a horrific sight. Of the dozen prisoners, half had fallen to the ground, writhing disturbingly as the other six screamed, from pain and fear and horror. The corpses, consumed by hellfire, were not a pretty sight, and the remaining survivors stumbled with great effort away from the bubbling, bloating bodies. Brienne’s heart caught in her throat as she scanned the dead, but the little girl she had noticed was being carried by one of the other prisoners, crying as she batted at her smoldering smock. Relief washing over her, the warrior turned to the cackling shaman, who was practically dancing with glee as the hellfire rose higher into the night.

As the hellfire erupted in the clearing, part of the icy wall sloshed away as harmless water which sizzled and turned to steam immediately. The steamy air concealed the fighting as Revain pulled his sword free from the corpse of a strangely barbed devil, and the ranger turned to face the possessed corpse. Though its limbs seemed only connected by a few strands of sinew and sorcery, it was fast, and as Revain tried to parry, the frozen spear cut a shallow wound across his arm. The burning cold that followed left Revain reeling, and he felt his movements slow as the world around him blur. He shook his head and batted away another attack, glancing at his allies.

He was just in time to see Wun Way fall to the last of the bearded devils; the bard felt the caustic burning of its poisoned tentacles as she slipped from consciousness, dozens of shallow cuts painting her torso red to match her hair. As the devil roared to the sky in triumph, Melpomene slashed at its exposed throat, sending its head toppling to the ground. Spying her friend on the ground, Nissa called out to the adventurers who were cleaning up the remaining orcs. “Can one of you heal? We have a woman down over here!” Uzza began running.

The prisoners finally broke free from the inferno and threw themselves at a group of bushes nearby, hiding inside as the battle continued. Seeing them run to safety, Brienne began pushing through the heat to the shaman who was now focusing on Revain. A grey aura cloaked her gnarled hand as she made intricate gestures, and a moment later, the ranger disappeared in a quirk of light. Seeing this, Brienne felt hot anger flowing into her. The aura remained around the shaman’s hand, and her eyes were partially closed as if focusing on keeping Revain wherever she had sent him. Brienne intended to make it harder to keep that up.

As she began running to the orc, a thrill ran up her arms. The warhammer seemed to shiver in anticipation, and Brienne tried to think of the last time she had gone this long in a fight without hitting something. “Mjolnir is impatient.” The unbidden thought came into her head, and she recognized the voice from before. In spite of the dead and destruction around her, in spite of the lives that hung in the balance, in spite of the demonic forces against which she fought, Brienne smiled. This was what she was meant to be.

With a mighty roar, she hefted Mjolnir with both hands and lobbed the warhammer at the shaman. With unnatural balance, the hammer spun, striking the shaman just at the right point in its rotation, hitting with a metallic CLANG that echoed in the clearing. The shaman faltered for a moment, the aura around its hand weakening. As if she had been doing this her whole life, Brienne felt the tug of Mjolnir, and pulled on empty air. As she closed her fist, the warhammer materialized in her grasp. By this time, she had reached the shaman, and with an arcing two-handed swing knocked the shaman from her feet, sending her bodily through the air. As she hit the dirt, the aura faded, and Brienne saw Revain reappear where he had been a minute ago from the corner of her eye, disheveled but in general still on guard.

Finally recovered from having a tree thrown at him, Guthrum stalked through the harmless hellfire to where Brienne stood over his shaman. “Not so fast,” he growled, unleashing a flurry of blows at the shining fighter. Brienne raised Mjolnir, wishing she had her shield, and deflected the blows she could, but still taking several heavy hits. With each blow, bolts of lightning connected the pair, and electricity crackled along the lengths of the stolen battleaxe.

As the monstrous orc’s assault let up, Brienne spat out some blood and tightened her grip on the wondrous warhammer. “I can do this all day.”

Elsewhere on the battlefield, Nula struck the final blow on the last remaining orc, knocking him over onto a pile of his fallen comrades. Behind her, Uzza rounded the corner of the icy wall and darted for Wun Way’s fallen form, pressing her hands to the bard’s bloody temples and chanting under her breath, feeling her divine powers seep into the unconscious half-elf. Wun Way’s breathing stabilized, and she felt the infernal burning cease as her eyes shot open. The first thing she saw was the tiefling’s face, lit on one side by hellfire, the icy blue wall behind her. “Pretty,” Wun Way mumbled, before shaking herself and jumping to her feet. She glanced around and reached inside for her magic, sending a wave of healing to dance between her nearby allies before tossing a dagger at the horned corpse attacking Revain.

Nissa darted past the demonic corpse and dove behind a boulder, peeking around to fire a series of bolts at the shaman as she got to her feet. The other adventurers turned from the corpses to converge on the remaining three orcs and orc-corpse.

The corpse glanced about, displeasure clear on its rotting face, and barked a phrase in a guttural language. Guthrum roared back, “I am in command here!” but the corpse was already running back to where he and the shaman flanked Brienne. As the demon approached, the shaman pulled out a bloodstained scroll that looked familiar to Brienne. The orc began chanting, and Guthrum let out a howl of irritation as, in a flash of crimson, he, the shaman, and the possessed corpse disappeared.

Melpomene wiped her sword on a fallen orc’s tunic. “Of course, now the scroll works,” she grumbled.

The air hung heavy as the assembled group stood, tensed, wanting to believe it was over, but not trusting the world to be so kind. After a few seconds, though, Robyn ran across the clearing, calling out Pel’s name as she rifled through the wrong brush, trying to find the survivors. 

As the adventurers and heroes began to formally introduce themselves, clumps and pairs formed. Isolde trotted up to Nissa and peered down at her diminutive form, asking if she was also against the end times. Nula let out a low whistle as she walked over to Pock, asking if his captain was normally this bad ass, to which Pock simply replied, “Always.”

A moment of panic occurred as the bushes beyond the clearing rustled, but then Idu, Oskar, and Loran stepped through, bringing about a loud welcome from the adventurers. A few seconds into Nula’s explanation of what happened, Oskar roared, “I missed it?!”

Brienne felt her heartbeat returning to normal levels, and in her hands Mjolnir seemed to almost purr with satisfaction. Slowly at first, her lightning-wrought chainmail began to unravel, individual chains separating into errant sparks that flew off into the air, then all at once the remaining electricity jumped straight up into the sky like a reverse lightning bolt. Thought she couldn’t be sure, she thought she heard laughter echoing in the clouds. Perhaps it was only thunder.

[chille-tid-universe]

Pursuit

The remainder of the day, the group made themselves useful however they could in beginning the long process of Red Larch’s recovery. An air of despondence filled the town; children chased after parents silently, carrying bundles of cloth or wood; shop owners spoke amongst themselves quietly, and the brittle veil of anxiety remained unbroken. Families from the outskirts flooded the streets, coordinating with their less fortunate neighbors to make sure every person had a roof to sleep under that night.

The mangled bodies left in the wake of the gnolls’ attack had been moved from the dirt road as the sun began to set; All Faiths’ Shrine had been overwhelmed by the sheer number of bodies, and in accordance with older beliefs, vast funeral pyres had been constructed in a nearby abandoned field. Though tears were spilled, the hushed tone of the day extended into the twilight hour as broken families and heart-torn friends mourned those lost.

As the sun fully set, the group prepared to rest for the night, offering to help augment the watch that had been thrown together on the off-chance that some opportunistic gnolls return to the devastated town. Thankfully, the night passed without event, and a bloodred sun rose after a night of restless sleep over the smoldering buildings of Red Larch.

As the party wordlessly gathered their things, life began to seep into the streets of the town. Still stunned by the attack, individuals meandered about the ruins, trying to make sense of the destruction before more level-headed leaders arrived to continue directing the cleanup. After a light breakfast, the seven adventurers set off down the Cairn Road, following the clear path of destruction left in the gnolls’ wake.

Isolde swung up on Icthuarrux’s saddle, testing the weight of the lance she had received the previous day. A grizzled old half-orc by the name of Ironhead had been in charge of Ironhead Arms before the attack; now, his shop was missing a wall, and most of his equipment lay in piles outside the building. As Isolde and Uzza had been helping him relocate his goods, Isolde had eyed the lance, clearly the most usable item left by the foraging gnolls, and asked how much it was worth to him.

Ironhead had shaken his head and murmured, “Couldn’t let it go for less than fifteen gold pieces. Got to get this place back in one piece somehow…”

Uzza had come up from behind him, patting his shoulder amicably. “Come now, surely you would want to help outfit the heroes who are going to bring justice to those terrible beasts.”

The dejected half-orc looked like he would protest, but then Caelessa had walked by, glancing meaningfully at the exchange. Ironhead’s head sunk to his chest. “Aye. Take it. Bring death to the lot of ‘em.”

Isolde had to admit, it was a well-made weapon, and from Icthuarrux’s back, it was sure to bring swift death to any who stood in her path. I hope we find those kidnapping beasts soon, she thought, gauntleted fingers tightening around the shaft.

~~

They would not, however, come across the gnolls for some time. Though it was impossible to lose the signs of the gnolls’ passage, they seemed to be traveling quite quickly. They spent the whole first day marching through fallow grasslands, following the pitted dirt road as it meandered up occasional hills and gawking at the carnage that surrounded them. The surrounding fields appeared to be a warzone, and it was as if a hurricane of fire and blood had passed. The unfortunate homesteads along the Cairn Road were as a whole abandoned and still burning as they passed them.

It wasn’t until the middle of the next morning that the group came upon a sign of activity.

Archimicarus had been flying around the party, keeping an eye on the surroundings, when Idu warned the others that he had seen a group of gnolls up ahead. Robyn practically punched the air and said they must be gaining on them.

A few minutes later, a homestead was visible up ahead. It was a modest cottage, barely fifteen feet to a side, attached to an outdoor pen. Within the pen was a grisly sight. A dozen gnolls meandered in the enclosed space, seemingly without greater purpose. Perhaps they had gotten lost from the larger host, or maybe they were a foraging party that decided to spend some extra time among the flock of sheep they had found.

The flock was thoroughly decimated at this point. Gnolls were toying with their food, slaughtering the poor sheep even as they watched. A few more intelligent gnolls were attempting to shepherd the survivors, but the majority of the sheep had been killed and were in the process of being eaten.

As Idu came out of his familiar-trance, the group began to plan their attack. Robyn and Nula prepared to sneak forward ahead of the others to pick off a few gnolls as the fighting began. As they drew closer, however, a particularly perceptive gnoll happened to glance toward the road, and raised a howling alarm. A second later, the small pack had fanned out and began charging towards the group.

Four of the gnolls wielded longbows, and stayed within the pen as they reached for serrated arrows. The other eight brandished crude javelins above their heads as they loped down the lawn of the cottage, hooting and hollering in their cackling voices.

Uzza, Idu, and Charlot each picked the same gnoll at which to fire their magical bolts, and it almost dropped its longbow under the barrage. The rest of the two groups hurtled towards each other, and within seconds Nula, Isolde, and Oskar had each downed a gnoll.

At this point, the opposing bowmen had focused on the imposing figure of Isolde on her warhorse, and with cackling cries they fired several shots at the large beast. Icthuarrux was agile, though, and darted through the hail of arrows to bring Isolde to the nearest clump of gnolls.

One particularly clever gnoll had been hiding behind the small walls of the cottage, taking potshots from around the corner every few seconds, until Uzza focused on him, calling down a sacred flame to smite him from the heavens. Though they couldn’t see him, they heard a mangled cry, and then a longbow flopped to the ground from behind the cottage.

At this point, only a pair of the bowmen remained, and they quickly turned tail and began their loping retreat. Unfortunately for them, Icthuarrux was able to easily match them, and Isolde ran down one of the two while Robyn took careful aim and fired an arrow high into the sky, only for it to arc beautifully back down to bury itself in the final gnoll’s back.

As they sorted through the bloody field, it was difficult to distinguish the separate bodies of the sheep, so mangled were they, but there was a single human male corpse buried beneath a pile of sheep viscera. Within the small cottage, they recovered a bundle of sheep skin worth salvaging; the remainder of the goods were either soiled, burned, or carried away already.

They traveled for the rest of the day through the devastated lands, continuing to follow the Cairn Road. As sundown approached, the group made camp to the side of the road, along a patch of less burnt field. Few words were spoken as they settled down for a few hours’ rest before continuing their pursuit.

~~

The next morning, the group woke to find that Nula’s bedroll was empty. Before they could organize a search, the half-orc strode from the nearby treeline. Isolde welcomed her back, saying, “I, too, like to talk to trees in the mornings.”

Nula glanced back at the bushes where she had done her business. “Maybe don’t talk to that one over there.”

~~

The next few days were a blur of hard marching punctuated by scuffles with the laggards of the gnoll march. As time went on, the slower bands of gnolls became more frequent; they were getting closer. Five days after the encounter at the cottage, the group arrived at what had been Ironford. Its locals had once referred to it as “Womford,” but that was before the gnolls had passed through, slaughtering or driving away the entirety of its population. Ironford was smaller than Red Larch, but the devastation that remained was the same. Buildings were still burning, the central well had been smashed in, and every road in the village was filled with the dead.

The group respectfully made their way through the carnage, eyes peeled for any survivors, though they knew they would find none. They were surprised, then, when two loud voices called out, about two blocks from their current position, speaking in Common.

The group ran to the commotion, and as they approached there was a loud shattering noise, followed by a string of curses. They passed a fallen wall to see four people standing over a dropped rack of wine; dark liquid the color of blood seeped into the dusty road.

A man and woman were shouting, blaming each other for the lost wine, when Robyn cleared her throat. “That’s not good for the wine.” The four strangers broke off their discussion suddenly, turning to face the larger group. They stood defensively, as if they were guarding the wreckage of a tavern they had recovered the wine from.

The woman spoke first, jutting out her chin as she growled, “Keep moving, chumps, we got this side of the street.” The man she had been shouting at pulled at her elbow, his eyes traveling from adventurer to adventurer, taking in the quality of their weaponry.

“They look like they can handle themselves.”

Robyn took a step forward. “And you look like you can’t handle your wine. This is what you should be looking for.” She removed a short flagon from her pack, a red glass with painted grapes along the bottle and the word “Orlane” chiseled at the base.

The woman took a step back, motioning for the other three to head back inside, probably to drag out more loot. “There’s another tavern on the other side of town. You lot can have that. We don’t want no trouble here. Been enough already.”

“On that, we agree,” Charlot responded, stepping forward. “Have you any news of how far off the gnolls have gotten?”

“Gnolls?” the woman asked, scratching beneath a wide hat. “We hadn’t seen anything. Heard the commotion a day or two ago, came to see if we could find any - eh - survivors. See if we could help, right?” She indicated the brutalized corpses that lined the wall of the ruined inn. “Obviously, we were a little late.”

Uzza took a step forward, but Robyn held out her hand. “We don’t have time for this. We need to be off.”

As they turned and continued through the town, the woman called after them, “Oh yeah? That’s fine, more for us.”

~~

The sign outside of Ironford was miraculously still standing, and marked the point at which the Cairn Road became the Iron Road. Ahead, the path continued along the northern edge of the foothills, where it met a tributary. It was another day’s travel to reach the base of the foothills, and just after noon of that day, another homestead could be seen around the next hill.

From this distance, the homestead had obviously not been spared the gnolls’ passage, but it appeared more intact than every other civilized area they had come across so far. Further along, they spied activity around the main building, a series of shorter figures busting about. As they approached, the figures disappeared into the main building, but three of them came out as they reached the edge of their fields.

Two halfling men and one woman strode out to meet them, calling out once they got in earshot, “Hullo! Thought you might be some following party of whatever did this, but you haven’t the look about you.”

The two groups convened, and handshakes were exchanged. “Gnolls,” Robyn explained, after the pleasantries were through, “coming from Red Larch, as we are. They took a few villagers, and we intend to bring them home.”

The woman, who seemed to speak for the others, looked the adventurers up and down, as if appraising a workhorse. “Lucky thing. We were off on holiday when they must have come through; weren’t even planning on taking the whole clan with us originally, though now I’m thankful we did.”

“If you don’t have news on when they passed, we best be getting along,” Robyn explained. “We think we’ve been catching up to them, and don’t need for them to pull ahead again.”

“There’s a lot to do here,” the halfling woman said quickly, as her two family members exchanged glances. “We normally keep to our own, but it will be months before the farm is good as new. I reckon you lot would cut that down immensely.” She raised her hands defensively as Robyn began to refuse. “I know you must be on your way, but it’s already approaching mid-afternoon, and I reckon you’ve not had a proper rest in days. If you help us for the rest of the day, we’d be happy to feed and bed you, and we might just have an item or two might assist on your journey.”

The group exchanged glances and spoke in whispered tones for a minute while the three halflings waited. Before long, Robyn turned back with a smile. “These gnolls have caused a lot of damage. We would be happy to help ease some of that suffering. They’ll not be much further by morning than they are now, and you’re right, we’ve had a rough go of it since Red Larch. We’ll take up that offer.”

“Splendid,” the halfling woman exclaimed, then sharply clapped her hands. “There’s lots to do. You three can help with the walls. Does your horse mind a little had labor? He seems more likely to win a prize at a fair than pull a plow.”

“He’ll work,” Isolde guaranteed, patting Icthuarrux’s neck as he tossed his head, eye almost rolling back.

The afternoon passed in a frenzy of activity; talents and spells were put to good use as the halfling residence was returned to some semblance of what it must have looked like before the gnolls arrived. Though there was still much to be done by the time the sun set, the halfling matron thanked them heartily, treating them to a wonderful dinner and offering to prepare warm beds from a chest of dozens of fluffy sheets.

In the morning, she approached Robyn before the group left, holding two leather belts gently in her arms. “In my youth, Pa and I did a bit of traveling. These were ours, but I think they’ll do you all more good than my young ones. There’s a potion left in each, as well. May they treat you well.”

The belts, or rather, bandoliers, were clever contraptions, each with two pouches of intricate make that could be resized to fit any manner of useful item. Each currently held a common potion which could be swiftly removed in the heat of combat. Robyn recognized that these heirlooms were quite the gift, and thanked the halfling profusely.

“Just get the beasts what done this,” she grunted, turning to look at the homestead, already writhing with activity. “We’ll be recovering for a while, but recover we shall. They won’t have the last word.”

~~

Over the next week, the path of the gnolls stayed strong, and the groups of foragers and slower gnolls became more concentrated. Finally, Idu relayed to the others that Archimicarus had spied a large camp up ahead.

Right before the last of the foothills, there was a valley surrounded on three sides by hills, in which hundreds of gnolls could have fit. The area was off the main road, with only a small trail through the heavy woods by which to reach it. From his vantage point, Archimicarus spied dozens upon dozens of gnolls; there appeared to be temporary housing for just under a hundred gnolls, in addition to the myriad prisoners they had taken.

The adventurers decided to take a day to investigate the area. They split up, sending some people to try and find a better way in than the narrow forest path, while others hid and kept watch for any gnolls coming or going. Any gnoll groups small enough and close enough were dealt with as they passed, but the alarm was not raised, and they needed to assume that their presence went unnoticed.

The following day, they reconvened to pool what they had learned.

There did appear to be a recognizable pattern to the comings and goings of the gnolls; raiding parties would leave the camp and return with pillaged goods and prisoners with some regularity; there was a time a little after noon when there appeared to be the fewest gnolls actually in the camp. The collected prisoners were not kept in any sort of centralized area; instead, each band of gnolls had its own cluster of tents where they stayed. These bands did not appear to be particularly cooperative. There seemed to be a singular figure leading the different groups of gnolls and somehow eliciting their combined efforts, who reigned over some sort of effigy in the middle of the camp.

There was not a better way into the valley than the forest path, which was guarded at all times by a sizeable guard. If the group wanted to get in to the camp, they would need to deal with the guard. Their plan partially formulated, the adventurers decided to wait for the lull in gnolls after noon to strike.

~~

The flind, a larger gnoll with a terrible flail, sat on his haunches, panting noisily in the noon heat. He had watched other packs leave throughout the day, to run through the hills, to chase down sheep, to slaughter man and steal prisoners for the leader. But not him. He was stuck guarding the entrance to the temporary camp, and he wasn’t happy about it.

The six gnolls he had been given as underlings were not the weakest he had seen, but he knew of stronger warriors in the tribes that had bequeathed them. Each of them stood in a little clump, gibbering at each other and puffing out their chests, trying to intimidate each other, or impress their new commander. The flind had known of his effect on the younger gnolls for a long time, and while during raids it was useful to fuel the bloodlust of those around you, at other times the attention was rarely desired, and decidedly not gnoll-like. One of the younger gnolls stole a glance at him, and snapped her jaws playfully in his direction. He responded with a sharp crack of his flail, sending the younglings scurrying to the positions they knew they should be keeping.

The flind felt a growl grow at the base of his throat. He would demand a raiding party of his own - soon. Perhaps tomorrow. His thoughts were frozen, though, as the scent of manflesh and horseflesh filled his nose. Looking around, he saw the other gnolls reacting similarly. He barked an order to stay alert, and loped back to the path, coming down from the nearby trees.

Down the dirt path, a huge white horse was barreling towards him, with two riders on its back. They appeared to be humanoid females, but the flind had trouble differentiating between the humanoids’ genders - they were all just so hideous. What was more interesting to him was the elaborate bow the second humanoid was leveling at him, and the power with which the arrow flew through the air. That bow would certainly be a weapon that a raid leader would use.

He was only slightly inconvenienced by the arrow hitting his matted fur, and once the horse reared on its hind legs, turned back the way it came, and sprinted away, the flind let out a cackling howl, calling his guardsmen to follow.

~~

Isolde rode Icthuarrux hard down the dirt path. From behind her, Robyn fired the occasional arrow, though she was finding it much harder to fire from horseback than she had expected. A minute of riding brought them to the stream where the other five were waiting in ambush, along with a pair of giant weasels, courtesy of the tan bag of tricks. As Icthuarrux splashed through the stream, the others tightened their grips on weapons, and a moment later the gnolls came into view.

Their leader was a large specimen, sporting chainmail and swinging a three-tailed flail with spiked skulls on its ends. The other half dozen were hooting and waving spears and longbows and wearing studded leather armor. As the great warhorse slowed, the gnolls followed suit, and all at once the ambushers attacked.

Daggers and spells flew through the air at the gnolls, who scrambled and dashed for the attackers. Both Charlot and Uzza focused their powers on the flind, trying to still his raging form with magic, but he shrugged off both attempts, seeming to pant with exertion as the spells washed off him. Robyn jumped down from Icthuarrux and let loose with her bow, striking one of the smaller gnolls as the weasels swarmed another. Nula and Oskar darted into the fray, swiping at the gnolls as they gnashed their teeth, while Idu peppered them with magical bolts.

All of a sudden, an explosion was heard from the direction of the camp. All heads turned to look as smoke began to fill the sky in the distance, but the temporary pause in the fighting was broken as the flind struck out at Nula. Charlot focused on the flind once more, and this time he felt the spell take hold as the flind’s limbs hardened as if made of stone. The large gnoll’s mouth was stuck open, its tongue lolling from its mouth as its crazed eyes darted around. Sensing weakness, the rest of the adventurers directed their efforts on the paralyzed foe.

Both weasels slipped around other gnolls to tear at the flind, while Robyn and Idu launched their attacks. The lesser gnolls, who had been firing at Icthuarrux to some success, turned and began defending their commander, firing at the giant weasels. Another pair of gnolls darted in the confusion to the warhorse, throwing themselves at him and, with wicked glee, pulling him to the ground. Isolde let out a cry of anguish as the white horse burst into motes of light.

At this point, one of the weasels had been killed, and Robyn shouted for Nula to strike at the flind as she fired her arrow. With a devastating blow, Nula nearly severed an arm, which hung from the flind’s torso by mere sinew, held in place by the spell. The flind’s eyes were rolling in pain, and a sudden wave of bloodfury passed through the remaining gnolls, which launched a new attack on the adventurers.

Charlot took aim and let loose a final bolt of energy, feeling satisfaction as it burrowed through the flind’s chest. No longer alive, the body slackened, and Charlot felt the spell dissipate. A few seconds later, Isolde had slaughtered the remaining gnoll, vengeance for Icthuarrux hot in her eyes, and then the only sound was the babbling of the stream.

In the sky above, Charlot noticed a handful of large shadows, drifting through the smoke, though he was unable to see anything clearly. By now, the sound of conflict was drifting through the air from the camp; something large was happening.

Already injured, the group decided to rest for a short bit while Isolde resummoned Icthuarrux. A dozen minutes later, the proud warhorse galloped up the road, bending to accept Isolde’s tearful embrace, and then the group began the wary trek to the camp.

~~

By the time they reached the hollow, the fighting was done. An awful sight greeted the adventurers. It was as if the carnage the gnolls had brought on Red Larch had been visited upon them. The adventurers looked around the scene in shock. One of the hills that surrounded the valley had been blown clear off, by either sorcery or intense power. The destruction in the valley did not appear to have discriminated between gnoll and prisoner; there were human corpses strewn about the gnolls. Here and there, humanoids stumbled, crying pitifully and congregating with other survivors, while in the distance a couple gnolls could be seen dashing madly up the other hills, eager to escape whatever had happened. Charlot had the strangest feeling that they were being watched.

Nula was the first to recover, and as she found her voice, she called for Loran. Almost to her surprise, she heard an answering cry, from off to the side.

They discovered Loran in a crevasse. A wide tree trunk had saved her from the carnage, hiding her from view, but it had then trapped her. With a little effort, she was freed, and she sobbed uncontrollably, clinging to Isolde as the shock passed.

Robyn stepped up to her gently, asking in a quiet voice if Loran knew where Pel was.

“Taken,” Loran finally managed, choking back tears. “We were separated when those, those, those terrible orcs attacked.”

“Orcs? Orcs attacked the gnolls here?” Nula asked, glancing around. They had not seen a single orc corpse among the dead. Charlot felt the sensation of being watched grow stronger, and he looked back toward the trees. Up ahead, the smoke was thick; he could not make out any of the forms he had seen before.

Loran merely nodded. Finally, she burst, “They took Pel!” and she broke down, falling into Isolde’s arms, finally expressing the trauma of the past few weeks.

Robyn brought the other five away from Isolde and Loran, speaking softly once they were a few feet away. “We need to find what happened here. It doesn’t make sense for orcs to raid an army of gnolls, and to have not taken any casualties? Why did they take Pel? Could there have been others? We need to find them.”

“Robyn,” Charlot interrupted urgently, pointing to the nearby trees, where two humanoids had emerged and were walking right for the group. Hands went to weapons, but the two raised their own in universal gesture of no-ill-will, a tall man with grizzled features and a young girl beside him, both armed and clothed to survive in the wilds.

“We might be able to help you with that,” rumbled Revain.

[chille-tid-universe]

Plague at Lance Rock

Isolde awoke the next morning feeling invigorated. A new awareness had seeped into her mind, like the warmth of spring spreading across frosty moss, and she felt the spark of a new spell, granted to her by the goodness of nature. With a spring in her step, the paladin bounded down the stairs of the Swinging Sword Inn, passed a meager crowd of villagers starting their day with a hot meal, and stepped into the crisp morning air.

Isolde took a deep breath and tasted the scent of the woods around them; the pine sap, fragrant flowers, and near imperceptible whiffs of a rare herb growing somewhere nearby. Birds sang their cheery songs as they darted through the air, and golden beams of sun pierced the trees along the periphery of the surrounding forest.

Glancing around, she decided this spot would do. She stepped off the main street and sat cross-legged in the grass by the Inn. Closing her eyes, she felt her awareness spreading like tendrils of ivy, touching upon the essences of all around her, from the industrious ants beneath her to the chittering squirrels in the tree behind her. As she felt nature coalescing around her, like infinite vines entwined around the single strand of her consciousness, Isolde spoke the words of the spell and sent the magic along that chain of vines.

Immediately, she felt an answering awareness, somewhere down that natural chain; a noble, historied soul brimming with wisdom and patience. Isolde was content to sit, her spiritual self awash in the shared communion, as several minutes passed. Eventually, she heard a might whinny with her physical senses, and opened her eyes. Down the road, emerging from the forest, was a tall, proud warhorse, whose shoulders stood well above her own, of blinding white coat and with garlands of berries and ivy woven intricately through its mane. 

The regal warhorse trotted down the road, somehow avoiding kicking up any dirt, and stopped before Isolde, tossing its proud head gently. The paladin beamed and sprang to her feet, approaching the beast slowly and with reverence, just the way she had been taught all those years ago. The horse nuzzled her outstretched hand, staring at her with eyes that seemed infinitely deep. As Isolde began to pat down the warhorse’s neck, Loran walked up from a side road, a wide tray of steaming buns perched on her hip.

“And who is this magnificent creature?” the baker asked, cheeks rosy, bangs plastered to her brow with sweat.

Isolde glanced over, smiling at the woman, and replied, “He’ll tell me his name later.”

Loran looked a little confused, but recovered quickly as she reached the paladin. “I’m glad to have run into you, Isolde. I have something for you.” Isolde’s eyes snapped to the woman, but she was offering the tray of fresh buns, eyes sparkling hopefully.

Isolde gingerly picked up a bun from the tray, careful not to burn her fingers, and smiled wide. “Thank you, Loran, these look as delicious as ever.” As she bit into the vegetarian bun and gave an appreciative moan, Loran blushed.

“Would you like another?” the baker asked, offering the tray once more. Isolde smiled graciously and plucked another steaming bun from the tray, this time offering it on her palm to the mighty warhorse. The beast snuffled at the treat and, quick as a wink, the broad tongue lapped over Isolde’s hand, snatching the bun. A moment later, the horse neighed thankfully.

With six buns left on her tray, Loran sauntered up to the Swinging Sword’s entrance, then stopped, calling over her shoulder, “Aren’t you coming inside?”

Isolde had returned to petting the horse, pressing her forehead against its snout. “I was going to spend some time with my new friend.” She glanced over at the baker and saw sad eyes cast downward. Isolde felt a burning on her ears and quickly added, “But I can come inside.”

~~

In the rooms above, there was motion. The aroma of Loran’s buns had wafted through the air and into Robyn’s bedroom. Her eyes snapped open, and a moment later, her covers had been thrown back, she was halfway off the mattress, and she glanced around the room to recover her discarded clothing. An impossibly short amount of time later, the half-elf was heading downstairs.

Below, Isolde was announcing to the rest of the assembled group that she had a new horse, though this news was largely secondary to the arrival of breakfast in the form of Loran’s buns. As they munched on the steamy, cheesy meal, Isolde regaled them with a slightly exaggerated account of the ritual that had taken place not ten minutes ago.

As she reached the end, Loran and the innkeeper Caelessa approached the band. Together, they thanked the adventurers for agreeing to look into the claims of plague out at Lance Rock, and gave cursory directions for the area. Having completed their meal, the group collected their gear and headed for the door.

On the way out, Isolde waved at Loran and thanked her once more for the buns, which earned her another blush and a downward glance. As she stepped through the doorway, she spun around and asked, “Loran, would you like me to get you a souvenir?”

Loran and Caelessa exchanged puzzled glances, and the innkeeper replied, “You want to get Loran a souvenir from a plague ridden rock?” Isolde just smiled back at the pair, sweetly and painfully oblivious. “Uh, sure, get her something.”

Outside, the group was marveling at the grand warhorse. Isolde stepped up to her steed and wrapped her arms around his neck, which he allowed with a dipping of his regal head. As she pressed her forehead against his snout, each member of the group heard in their heads a proud voice, which declared, “I am called Icthuarrax.”

~~

On their journey to Lance Rock, the group came across a stream crossing the road. As they waded through the shallow water, Isolde perked up. From atop Icthuarrax, she had noticed a blur of motion to the left, further up the stream. As she looked closer, she saw a band of gnolls, attempting to quietly approach. Isolde called the alarm and grabbed her glaive.

The gnolls, realizing their ruse had failed, broke into a loping run. There were a pair of crossbowmen, three smaller gnolls wielding spears, and a larger specimen with bloodlust in his eyes and a large, crude sword.

The adventurers sprinted to meet them, Nula leading the charge up the stream bank with Charlot on her heels. Icthuarrux easily outpaced them all, though, and the warhorse raced up to the large gnoll as Isolde swiped down at it with her glaive, allowing the horse to dance away safely afterwards. Enraged, the group of gnolls collapsed on the remaining adventurers, and one hit too many struck Nula. With a strangled cry, she fell, clutching her chest as her wounds fed the bubbling stream.

Seconds later, the slaughter was over. Isolde’s glaive had felled the large gnoll, and the combination of ranged attacks from the rest of the group picked off most of the other gnolls. The last survivor had turned to flee, but was unable to escape the pounding hoofbeats of Icthuarrux.

Back at the stream, Robyn knelt beside her lieutenant. “Don’t you worry,” she muttered, reaching into her pack. “We’ve got just the fix for you.” Pulling a pack of salt from her kit, she wafted the bag beneath the unconscious half-orc’s nose, agitating the salt when nothing happened. The rest of the group exchanged glances, and Charlot gave a quiet sigh, subtly focusing his magic into a rope that would latch Nula’s soul back into her body. With a whispered word, he pointed at the bruised and bleeding body, and Nula gave a start, gasping as she winced in pain.

“It worked!” Robyn exclaimed, managing to seem confident that she had anticipated it. The others rolled their eyes, and a moment later Isolde returned, wiping gnoll blood from her glaive. A minute later, Isolde had placed her hands on Nula’s wounds and called upon the natural essence of the woods, pulling life force into her friend. As the two straightened up, Robyn asked, “Shall we continue?”

~~

Within minutes, the formidable form of Lance Rock could be seen rising above the trees. It was still almost an hour, however, before they arrived at the rock. The road stopped at a wooden sign, crudely built and bearing a message: “Come no closer, lest you catch the disfiguring plague which afflicts me.”

At the base of the menhir, an opening sloped gently downwards into an expansive cave system. The faint odor of death wafted from within. Just inside the entrance, a humanoid corpse lay on its back, its skin covered in crisscrossed scars and sutures. The group glanced among themselves, then Oskar shrugged and hefted his battleaxe. As he brought it down, however, it hit resistance a few inches from the corpse. The dwarf grunted in surprise, then applied more force, and the blade sunk into flesh.

The corpse began to squirm, and lashed out as Oskar jumped back. The group leapt at the reanimated body, and a lucky shot from Robyn threw the zombie into a rage. In its berserk state, it struck Nula, who crumpled to the floor. Another arrow knocked the loose head from its undead shoulders. Isolde pressed her hands over Nula’s forehead, pressing her magic in to stitch up her wounds, and they continued down the passage.

In the next room, a large skeleton was laid out on a boulder, with wicked horns curling from its skull. As Oskar entered the room, a shower of loose rocks rained down on him. Three zombies carrying a now-empty crate jumped down from a ledge, shambling forward.

The group crowded into the room, readying for an attack, when the skeleton jumped down from the boulder, turning to the group, and lowered its horned head to charge straight forward. One zombie was unfortunate enough to be in its path, and was torn apart as the former minotaur slammed into Oskar, knocking him down.

Isolde and Robyn struck one of the zombies, sending it flying, while Uzza’s spiritual weapon took care of the last zombie. The rest of the group turned to the skeleton, knocking it apart, but the skeleton shuddered and pulled itself back together. It took another two hits before the bones lay quiet on the cave floor.

~~

Further along, a grisly scene awaited the adventurers. In a room with jagged walls, three undead forms shambled about in a crude approximation of a dance. A goblin corpse was decked in jester’s motley; a hobgoblin looked horrendous in a flowery dress and powdered makeup; and a massive bugbear was wearing an actual bear pelt, prancing about.

As the fight began, Nula’s blades struck through the hobgoblin’s dress to find chainmail waiting beneath, and as the bugbear struck down on Charlot with furry hands, cold steel gauntlets beneath dented his shield. In the span of a minute, all three were returned to death.

~~

It appeared they had gone as deep as the cave system could go. They emerged in a large cavern, forty feet high, lined along the walls with sputtering torches, illuminating the nauseating sight of half a dozen tables, stacked high with human corpses and severed body parts. Baskets overflowing with more body parts sat near the heads of each table. At the far end of the room, four skeletons armed with bows appeared to stand guard at the entrance to another room, while a rickety staircase was winding up the wall.

Between two tables, a hooded figure stood, turned away from the group, holding a bone needle and dark thread. Robyn lifted her bow and fired at the hooded figure, who toppled over, loosely affixed limbs rolling across the floor.

As the decoy fell, a disembodied voice rang out in the cavern. “You dare pit yourself against the lord of Lance Rock? Tremble in fear before me!”

A terror gripped at the hearts of the heroes, but most shook themselves and pushed through it. Uzza and Isolde, however, felt a heavy shadow fall upon their minds. They began glancing at the shadows in the corners of the room, nervously handling their weapons as the sewn together corpses on the tables began to stand.

Even with their fright, the two helped the rest of the group take out the zombies, and a dozen limbs that leapt from the baskets to cling at the adventurers. As the last reanimated body part shuddered and lay still, the voice returned, this time sounding slightly flustered: “Uh, you are clearly capable. If you go without disturbing any more of my work,I will give you an item from my treasury.”

Idu stepped forward and cried out, “Prepare to die!”

“Guess not.” The voice was now coming from another robed figure who had suddenly appeared near the back of the room. He quickly ran up the stairs to his left, and began mumbling a spell. Five more zombies pulled themselves up from the piles of corpses along the wall and began to walk towards the group while the skeletons began loosing volleys.

While the group met the zombies head on, Idu focused and spoke a word of power. Instantly, a thick sticky substance flew from his outstretched hand and coated the stairs where the necromancer was climbing. The webbing coated the walls and stairs, clinging to the necromancer’s clothing.

Oskar darted through the tangle of bodies, closer to the struggling necromancer. He pulled out his handaxe, hefted it, and tossed it through the air, to have it hit with a meaty thwak on the necromancer’s side. He muttered a word, and the axe disappeared, only to reappear a moment later in his hand, which he drew back and tossed the axe a second time. The necromancer had just fought free of his robe, however, and the axe missed as he stumbled down the webbed stairs.

In his path, though, was a roiling sphere of fire, and as Idu motioned with his hand, the sphere pressed forward, immolating the necromancer. As his screeching filled the chamber, the remaining zombies stiffened and began to fall, one by one, their stitched together limbs separating.

As the group glanced around the room, Nula was on the floor again. “Stand back,” Robyn instructed, pulling out a random assortment of herbs and pepper to wave beneath the half-orc’s nose. Charlot rolled his eyes and muttered a spell, bringing Nula back to consciousness.

~~

In the final room, dark tapestries adorned the walls, and a pile of coins and random assorted goods stood in the middle of the room. Rising over the rest was a gruesome pedestal, constructed of countless severed arms sewn together. The highest hand was clutched in a claw, over which a glowing sphere floated, barely the size of a fist. Idu rushed over to the pile, touching the sphere delicately as he focused.

Over the next ten minutes, the group rounded up and tallied the loot, finding stores of food and clothing, some of which wasn’t tattered. There was also a long staff, which they set aside for Idu, who straightened up and announced the sphere was a Driftglobe, which would come in handy in the dark caves they seemed to find themselves in often. The staff, he later told them, was a Staff of Birdcalls, which would imitate a variety of birds.

Outside the cave, Icthuarrux neighed daintily as Isolde walked up to him, sending calming thoughts as she asked if he was ok. Minutes later, they were on their way back to Red Larch.

~~

As they walked down the Long Road, several odd items made themselves apparent. As they drew about an hour from the village, billowing smoke could be seen in the skies toward the town. Once they got closer, the brush along the side of the road was trampled flat. As the scent of burning wood filled the air, the group broke into a run. Atop Icthuarrux, Isolde outpaced them all, and nearly fell from the saddle as she was met with the sight of a razed Red Larch.

The next handful of minutes were a blur of confusion as the remaining villagers swarmed around the returning adventurers. Sooty and tear-stained faces all clamoured to be heard, some indignant with anger that their heroes had abandoned them, others hysterical and begging for assistance, while many seemed unable to even speak for the shock of the day.

The story that eventually emerged was that a large pack of gnolls lead by a bloodthirsty leader had invaded the town, burning and pillaging, tearing families apart with their wicked blades and manic howls.

Caelessa and Mini soon came to the front of the group. Mini looked distraught, while a mask of fierce determination covered Caelessa’s features. “Pel… They took my Pel…” Mini was mumbling, wild eyes staring from face to face, as if one of them would suddenly change into her granddaughter’s.

Caelessa guided Mini to the assembled adventurers. “They came after you left,” she explained, looking around at the wreckage. “Looted, killed, tore down what they could.” She stared into the heroes’ eyes. “And they took Pel and Loran.”

Isolde’s hands tightened on Icthuarrux’s reins. “Tell us where they went.”

[chille-tid-universe]

In Search of Treasure

As Robyn, Isolde, and Nula returned from the constable, they found that several members of the group had chosen to rest and recover their energy following the morning’s adventures. Isolde, still feeling slightly faint following the amount of blood she had lost at the claws of the werewolf and dire bear, decided to join them.

The next few hours were spent in quiet repose, resting and relaxing as they pondered how to proceed. In the meantime, Robyn decided to visit Loran for some tips to recreating her bun recipe, which did not go over very well. Perhaps there was something about a campfire that brought out Robyn’s cooking ability.

As soon as Robyn decided her bun cooking skills would be better left unexamined, she returned to the inn to find her companions waiting in the common room and enjoying a late lunch. Though her buns had been less than edible, she declined Nula offer of half her pie, and brought the gang together to discuss the rest of the day.

Oskar strongly suggested they attempt to reclaim the treasure of Trickle Rock Cavern, and Nula leapt at the chance to recover riches. It didn’t take much for the rest of the party to be convinced, and within a dozen minutes the band was back on the road, heading for the Larch Path to find Trickle Rock Cavern.

In his fright, Tarnlar had not been particularly forthcoming when it came to Trickle Rock Cavern’s exact location. So the party began their search of the surrounding areas. Using gossip and information gleaned from patrons of the Swinging Sword Inn and the Helm at High Sun, they narrowed their search down to a stretch of road a couple miles from Red Larch. They soon located a hilly area in the distance that Oskar claimed would possibly hold cavernous formations, and started off the road.

They had been marching for a few minutes when, all of a sudden, they came through the trees and into the camp of six gnolls. There was a half moment where each party simply stared at each other, and then the tension was broken as Nula dashed forward, tossing a dagger at one of the hyena-like creatures. Two bowmen retaliated by ducking behind the plentiful rocky outcroppings and taking shots at the half-orc.

Isolde and Oskar dashed forward, tossing javelins that fell just short, while Uzza sent golden words of healing to her ailing friend. As the spear-wielding gnolls moved forward, the ranged members of the party let loose a volley of magical bolts and arrows, and one of the gnolls fell to the ground clutching a smoking chunk of its chest.

Nula ran around the corner of the outcropping, slamming the battleaxe down on the furry form before darting back away. The gnoll fired a shot from its crossbow and followed her, and its jaws closed on her neck as she fell to the ground. The other bowman hooted and howled as it shot at Isolde and Oskar from behind its rock. The dwarf answered with a savage blow to one of the spearmen, almost cleaving it in two.

As Uzza found her way forward to lay a healing hand on the fallen half-orc, Idu found an opportune point between three of the gnolls and let loose a magical explosion, sending them reeling for Robyn to pick off. One more gnoll hit the ground, an arrow deep in its throat.

The remaining gnolls glanced at their fallen comrades and began to retreat, gibbering madly as they tried to skirt around the savage interlopers. Oskar swept the legs out from one of them, following up with a thrust through its chest as the others escaped.

Robyn was preparing to gather her band to follow when Idu spoke up. “Archimicarus says he’s spotted a cave nearby, could be what we’re looking for,” he said, eyes glazing over as he communicated with the familiar. Robyn glanced after the gnolls, then back at the rest of her group, several members of which were still recovering from earlier wounds. Robyn gave the signal for the team to start their journey back to Red Larch.

“We don’t want to face whatever vampire is waiting in Trickle Rock Cavern like this. We’ll regroup and follow the falcon tomorrow morning.”

~~

The sun had begun to dip beneath the surrounding trees as they made their way back into Red Larch, and they made their way back to the center of town. There, Robyn set up her cooking pot beside the road, between the Swinging Sword Inn and All Faiths’ Shrine.

As they discussed the area they suspected the Cavern to be, childish giggling filled the air, and then little Pel came around the corner, quickly spying the group who had promised to look into her ghost. She ran ahead of her grandmother and started tugging on Robyn’s cloak. “Whatcha doing?” she asked sweetly.

“Making dinner,” Robyn explained. “You need to be resourceful.” She grabbed a handful of leaves she had picked on their way back and tossed them into the simmering liquid.

After a few moments of watching the half-elf stir, the child piped up again, “Have you talked to the ghost yet?” 

Charlot coughed and began, “Well,” before being cut off.

“Yes!” Robyn exclaimed, nudging the girl gently. “And he’s friendly! Not scary after all.” She shot a glare at Charlot, who was looking on with disbelief. “But you can’t go back up there,” she quickly added, realizing what idea she had just planted. “It wouldn’t be safe.”

It was too late. Pel was grinning from ear to ear, and she shouted out, “I’m gonna talk to it!”

The spoon clattered in the pot as Robyn raised her hands to emplore, “No, that’s a really bad idea, sweetie, please stay away.”

The child would not be reasoned with. “But I wanna do it!” By this time, Mini had caught up to her granddaughter, and was looking with a stern questioning glance on the conversation.

“Mini,” Robyn said, turning her attention to the guardian, “you cannot allow Pel to go back to those barrows.”

Mini’s eyes narrowed at the demanding tone. “I think I can handle my granddaughter well enough, thank you very much.”

Robyn thought back to how Pel had managed to, without supervision, trek all the way up to the barrows in the first place. “Of course you can, but might I interest you in this newfangled concept nobles in all the biggest cities are getting into? It’s a leash that goes on your child!”

With a harumph, Mini gathered Pel’s hand and led her away, leaving Robyn calling out her warnings and entreaties by the side of the road.

“That went well,” Isolde commented, drawing a stern stare from Robyn. At this point, a figure emerged from the Shrine’s front doors, drawn by the commotion.

His eyes glanced from the retreating backs of Mini and Pel to the slightly burned pot of stew (he assumed) to Robyn’s frantic expression. “Is there… something you all need?” he asked, smiling in as accommodating a way as he was able.

Robyn darted forward, clutching the robes of the man. “Yes, we need to learn about the barrows to the north,” she burst out. “A girl’s life hangs in the balance. It is indomitable that you help us.”

The man extricated himself from her grip and chuckled uneasily. “Well, our records are open to the public. We are closed now, but in the morning, I am sure someone will be able to help you.” He paused a beat. “Not me though, I’m just an acolyte.” Appeased for the moment, Robyn settled back before her cooking pot, wondering how she would salvage it, while Isolde seemed like she would erupt.

“Did you just say,” she asked calmly, totally at odds with her pained expression, “that the records were free to use?” The acolyte was already halfway inside, however, and quickly closed the door when he turned and saw the look on Isolde’s face.

“Come back tomorrow!” came the muffled voice from behind the door.

With the excitement dying down, Robyn tasted a spoonful of the stew and asked how much everyone wanted. “About that,” Charlot said slowly, backing up toward the Inn. “I was thinking of grabbing a bite inside. It isn’t your food,” he lied quickly. “I just think there might be more we can glean from Caelessa.”

Nula snorted, “I’ll bet there’s a lot more you can glean.” But he had already begun walking inside. Within a minute, Idu and Isolde had followed him inside, leaving Nula, Uzza, and Oskar to join Robyn for her meal. As they began to tuck in, Uzza offered her pet mouse some of the concoction. Little Despacito went running away into the brush in search of more appealing food.

As they finished up the meal and cleaned out the dishes, Uzza decided to spend the night indoors. “Think I’ll stay outside,” Oskar grunted, reaching for his pack.

“Me too!” Nula responded, too quickly. “We don’t need no indoors, right captain?” She turned to see Robyn walking inside with Uzza. Only slightly perturbed, she set up her bedroll and began to sleep.

~~

As the moon shone bright on Red Larch, something jolted Nula from her sleep. Yards away, something rustled in the brush. “Despacito, is that you?” she called out in a half-whisper. A gibbering laughter answered, eerily reminiscent of the hooting calls of the gnolls they had attacked that day. Instantly alert, Nula crawled over to the snoring lump that was Oskar and shook him awake.

“I heard something in the brush!” she whispered, pointing.

Blinking sleep from his eyes, Oskar spared the silent bushes a glance and rolled over. “We’re in the middle of the town, lass. There’s nothing there. Go back to sleep.”

Nula shook her head. Of course, this was closer to civilization than any gnoll had a right to be. It must have been her imagination. Still, she swapped the battleaxe by her pillow for her trusty swords. After all, it was a new day, wasn’t it? She could go back to slicing and hacking the way she knew best.

With dreams of spurting blood and cowering enemies, Nula drifted back off to sleep.

~~

The sun brought with it the rest of the group, rested and refreshed, into the morning air. As they spied Nula and Oskar breaking down their mini camp, Charlot called out with a smile, “How was your night?”

Nula made a face at the youth, but Oskar replied, “Inexpensive.” A minute later, the group was walking into the Shrine. There, Isolde ran up to the nearest priest and spun him around. It was the same man she had sparred with verbally the previous day.

“I hear your records are free!” she exclaimed, as the group glanced around awkwardly. Acolytes and priests paused in their daily chores to watch.

The accosted priest smiled painfully as his eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, madam.”

Isolde did not back down. “Extortion is what I’m talking about.” She took a step closer, hand straying to her glaive. “I’m certain your god doesn’t look to kindly on extortioners, and I’ll bet he’s even less fond of extortioners without kneecaps.”

The priest’s eyes dropped to the impressive weapon, then to the paladin’s murderous look, and decided to change his tune. “I’m not sure what you’re referring to, but please do come inside! If it’s records you need, I’d be more than happy to assist.”

The suddenly helpful priest led them to a winding staircase which spiraled down to a low-ceilinged basement. As they spread out across the shelf-filled room, Robyn grabbed the priest’s arm. “If we don’t learn more about the barrows to the north, the consequences could be fetal. We need more info.”

The priest paused midstep. “I’m sorry, did you say… Erm, yes, of course, allow me to help you search. We should have those records on that shelf over there.” He nodded to a corner of the room. “I wish I could be more specific, but it has been a while since we’ve reorganized our records.” He shot a glance at Isolde. “Lack of funds.”

For the next hour or so, the eight searched, until Idu cried out victoriously and held a dusty scroll aloft. It was what appeared to be an almanac of obituary information for significant figures from centuries ago.

Robyn scanned the document, muttered aloud for the group to hear. “Ogdin Durga, served in the Troll Wars… fought in defense of Waterdeep… There isn’t too much about him personally, but it paints him as a brave but capricious soldier. Says here he was a gambler… And he had a faithful servant.”

“Probably Sir Loras,” Charlot commented, refurling a scroll on haberdashery he had been perusing. 

Armed with the knowledge, the gang prepared to leave the basement. As they trudged up the steps, the priest called up to them, “Feel free to come back… during the afternoons.”

~~

Little more than an hour later, the group was back before the barrows, waiting along the road and wondering what to do. As they bickered, Idu interrupted, “Archimicarus sees Pel. She’s coming up the road. We only have a couple minutes.”

In the crunch of procrastinated thought power, the group tossed together a bunch of spare clothes and bedrolls, making a loose approximation of a ghost. Robyn then used her bow to light up a handful of arrows with spectral light, and fashioned the shafts into a frame over which the ghost-puppet was thrown. With a muttered word, Idu waved his hand and a thick fog began to billow through the trees. With a rope from Nula’s pack, they hoisted the makeshift ghost up in the branches hanging over the path and retreated to the bushes.

A minute later, Pel came skipping up the road, slowing down as she reached the strangely sudden wall of fog, then gasping as she spied the floating image before her. On cue, Uzza began intoning in Infernal, guttural sounds curling from her lip and sending muffled echoes through the foggy air. The evil voice was met with a high-pitched scream, as, in indignation, Pel cried out, “I thought you were friendly!”

As Pel's traumatized screams diminished in the distance, Robyn peaked out from behind her bush and gave a thumbs up. "Good job, guys!"

~~

The group discussed delving into the barrow while they were in the vicinity, but Oskar was insistent that they continue hunting down the treasure of Trickle Rock Cavern. And so, they hiked back down to Red Larch and beyond to the Latch Path, and the promising location Archimicarus had spotted the day before.

They arrived at a gulley, carved between a pair of hills by a strong stream which seemed to end at a cliff face. As they drew closer, however, it was clear the stream had not been halted by the cliff, and instead had pried apart a tight opening, barely wide enough for the most encumbered of their party to squeeze into.

Uzza led the way, peering into the near-blackness as she reveled in the confined quarters. Growing up on the streets, she had rarely felt safe, but when she crawled into spaces others couldn't even find, she could pretend she had escaped. Years later, she had found other ways to protect herself, but the comfort of pushing away the wide world in a snug corridor or warm crevice remained.

Within the narrow passage, the trickling of the stream grew louder, but there was an odd fluttering sound as well that was difficult to place.

After a couple feet, the passage opened up to a roughly spherical room, where the stream fed into a wide, shallow pool. Several large rocks lay about the quasi-room, and in the middle of the pool, beneath a wide log, a flash of white - a skeleton.

Adequately cautious, the group lingered near the entrance. Charlot murmured a word, and his hand began to glow, shedding a warm light over the darkest corners of the chamber. The light brought into view another crevice, hidden along the back of the wall, into which a smaller stream of water fed by the pool flowed. Intrigued in another space to crawl through, Uzza made her way around the lip of the pool to the maw of the passage.

As she passed one of the larger rocks, it reached out and struck her.

There was a moment of stunned silence, as Uzza cried out, a rocky appendage clutching her arm, while the other large rock in the room seemed to take advantage of the surprise to slide across the rocky floor and slap a part of itself on Nula. Drawn to action, Robyn and Idu attacked the nearer threat, the rock that appeared to be sliding its suddenly malleable body over Nula’s arm. Arrow and magical bolt dug deep into the gelatinous core of the being, freeing Nula’s arm to make a vicious attack against the viscous foe.

As her blades slid through the ooze, it fell from her arm and began to disintegrate. The sizzling was not just from the dissipating beast, however. Small flecks of oxidized iron began to flake from Nula’s blades, and within seconds they were pockmarked with holes that looked like a horde of metal-eating moths had been at them.

While Nula cried out in alarm, Isolde moved to assist Uzza. However, the quickest route took her through the middle of the pool. As she passed the log, it reared up out of the shallow water and a gnarled tongue spat out to whack the paladin on the side of the head. As it moved, the skeleton was more fully revealed, and a soft golden glow glittered along the floor of the pool.

A few seconds later, the mimics let out rumbling deathwails, and the water began to still. Isolde poked at the squishy rock and pliant log to ensure they were dead, and Oskar began scooping handfuls of golden coins from the pool. Idu picked one up and studied it for a long minute, finally announcing that they were not gold pieces, they were pyrite, fools’ gold. Oskar asked if he was sure, and then grumbled as he tossed the gold back into the pool.

Charlot drew everyone’s attention back to the other exit from the chamber, and Uzza stepped forward, more cautiously this time. As she stepped through the narrow opening in the wall, she called back, “It looks like it begins to slope downward. There’s a turn here, if I could just… Ahhh!” Her cry echoed into the chamber, and the group rushed forward. Just around a bend in the passage, the ground sloped down sharply, the seemingly miniscule trickle of water quickening into a slippery slide that Uzza had fallen down.

The group waited with bated breath for a moment, before they heard a distant splash, and Uzza calling back up claiming she was only slightly injured. Exchanging several glances, they stepped into the opening one by one, and descended.

Below, there was a larger room, roughly hewn from the surrounding rock. Rivulets of water rolled down the imperceptibly slanted floor to a trough spanning the middle of the room, where a deeper pool of water agitated slightly. A questionable bridge, battered by ages, crossed the span, and on the other side of the room, the walls seemed more handily crafted, but in worse shape. The fluttering noise from before was even louder, and as they searched for the source, they noticed dozens of holes pockmarking the ceiling. As they glanced up, a chunk of the ceiling fell inches from Oskar with a plopping sound. The room’s integrity seemed to be deteriorating, and quickly.

Robyn drew her glowing bow and allowed the blessing to flow into a handful of arrows, pulling one back to her jaw and letting loose. It skittered across the floor on the opposite side of the room, shedding light on various reliefs depicting dwarves (which Oskar noted enthusiastically) and a statue of a stout armored dwarf. Before the statue was a pedestal which held a book, a small bag, and an untarnished blade. In the arrow’s light, it was clear the sword had not accumulated any dust, though it looked as though it had not been touched for decades. Along one wall, a rickety wooden door was shut.

The group approached the stone bridge, muttering about how they planned to cross. Somehow, the fluttering in the air felt oppressive, almost threatening. With a start, Robyn noticed that Idu had stepped closer and closer to the trough of water. When she called his name, he didn’t turn but simply replied, “Knowledge is power.” She followed his stare to the book across the room.

“We need to get over there,” she said, and just as the words left her mouth, an errant piece of ceiling fell and clipped Isolde on the side of her forehead. She took a sharp breath, muttering about sharp corners, and reached up to her hairline. Her fingers came away streaking a line of blood down her face.

A moment later, the fluttering noise intensified, and with a screech, half a dozen large bats swooped down from the ceiling. As they began to circle, the water in the trough erupted, as two large schools of fish began to breach the surface, sensing bloodshed. 

The next few minutes were filled with endless waves of the bloated bats. The group attempted to leap across the trough, not trusting the bridge, and all but Uzza made it across. As she fell into the trough, a pair of bats latched onto her, only to be knocked loose by the impact of the water. The beasts immediately detached and attempted to paddle out of the water, but the schools of fish darted for them and the bats were instantly devoured. Horrified, the tiefling swam hard for the other side, joining her companions on dry land.

Idu deftly leapt the chasm and dashed for the book, carelessly swatting away the bats circling his head as he clutched the tattered tome to his chest. He was followed by Charlot, who scooped up the bag and directed his spellslinging to the bats around the young boy. Nula was next, picking up the sword, which was lighter than she expected, and turning it immediately upon the swarm surrounding them.

With the book in his arms, Idu appeared to snap out of the strange trance, and seemed surprised to notice the dozen bats now assaulting the party. He patted his own spellbook for comfort and spoke a power word, sending a burst of sound centered around a cluster of bats. Robyn waved the group through the door on the side of the chamber, which Nula had just finished smashing through.

The last person to exit the chamber was Idu, who dove with surprising alacrity through the open portal, turning in midair to cast another shattering spell just above the door. As he fell into Robyn’s arms, the ceiling above the door collapsed, shutting in most of the bats. Oskar deftly smashed the flat of his axe against the final bat, which was sucking on Idu’s shoulder.

The threat averted for the time being, the group noticed a dwarven skeleton in the corner of the smaller antechamber, adorned with simple armor. There was a simple engraving around the now-ruined door, warning: “Faithless beware: mausoleum of the greats.” As Oskar translated, Nula snorted, “Not so great anymore.”

They noticed a rope hanging from the ceiling, and as Robyn shot an arrow upwards, a hole in the high roof forty feet up became clear. As the group began to climb up, Charlot opened the tan colored bag they had recovered. Inside, three white balls of fuzz sat. He could swear he heard a purr. “What do you have there?” Robyn asked, reaching in for one. As she pulled it out, it grew a nose, then a paw sprouted from the ball, and a moment later a giant hyena sat before them, head quirked as it gazed at Robyn.

Idu took a second to Identify the bag. “Ah, I’ve read about these. The orbs will appear each morning, and they will summon an animal companion for whoever removes one. Quite handy.” Charlot tucked it away as his turn to climb came.

Above, Idu was paging through the folio he had found. “Magic Missile… Grease… Arcane Lock… and Knock.” The boy shrugged. “Not too bad. A nice addition to my collection.” In the area above the antechamber, there were the remains of a firepit, long unused. The exit for the cave was covered with a layer of bushes, and after the group returned outside, the entrance appeared to disappear in the wall of the cliff.

They were in the midst of a series of hills, a few minutes from the stream they had started at. They quickly found their way to the Larch Path, and as the sun began to set, they returned to Red Larch.

Deciding to take advantage of the meals at the Swinging Sword Inn this night, the whole party trudged into the building, hailing Caelessa with warm smiles and asking what was in the pot tonight. With a wink at Charlot, the barkeep said she’d heard about the bandits they no longer needed to worry about, and offered a simple supper on the house.

As they dug into the meal, she lingered at their table. She casually mentioned that it was being said there was an evil presence out at Lance Rock, and that she wasn’t sure the constable would be up to the challenge. Charlot nodded in agreement. Caelessa turned to Robyn and offered fifty gold pieces if the band would investigate the claims.

Nula and Oskar were more than eager to accept, but Isolde quieted them with a wave and asked how she had come by the information. Caelessa smiled at the paladin openly and stated that Theylorn’s children claimed to have met a dwarf, who had warned them to stay away due to plague. No one else had seen the dwarf, but in such a small community, plague was a threat that needed to be taken seriously.

“We happily accept,” Robyn said, wiping her mouth and settling back from her bowl, “on the condition that you tell me what this delicious recipe is.”

The barkeep easily recited the ingredients and instructions for the roast venison with wild parsnips. Behind Robyn’s back, Uzza mouthed “Thank you” to Caelessa.

[chille-tid-universe]

Making a Name

Rosy sunlight peeked into Nula’s room at the Swinging Sword, deftly making its way to her bloodshot eyes. In a flash, the half-orc was up, brandishing a dagger from beneath her pillow, but she slumped back onto the sheets as her eyes swept the empty room. With a groan and muttered gripes about her splitting headache, she prepared herself for the day, but as she opened the door to the corridor, she was all grins and bravada, determined to show the world she was made of tougher stuff. By her door, a chipped battleaxe was propped up against the wall. Nula chuckled and undid her sword belt, leaving it in the room as she strapped the battleaxe across her back.

Below, in the common room, the rest of the party was digging into hearty meals. Uzza fed morsels to Despacito while she glared at Abu, but the snake was coiled lazily around Idu’s limbs, seeming to the world like an exotic scarf. As Nula stepped into the room, Robyn waved her over, and caught her up to speed.

“Rise and shine, Nula. We’ve got a few errands to run today, and we were just deciding how to handle them all. It appears we have three leads in town, and I think we should be able to speak to them all before deciding our next plans here in Red Larch.”

Robyn explained how she had spoken to the constable the night before about some trouble the village was having, and how he had invited them to his house the next day. Afterwards, a visibly drunk clothier had introduced himself as Helver Tarnlar and mentioned a trove of treasure at Trickle Rock Cavern. Both deserved follow-up, and the other party members had wanted to check in on the ghost they had met the day before. He had mentioned priceless artifacts, after all, and if the soul the ghost was guarding had been less than virtuous in life, well, then wouldn’t it be better to put those dusty artifacts to constructive use? Robyn recalled that All Faith’s Shrine held records, and while they were not particularly exhaustive, they were worth searching for answers.

As they set out from the inn, the smithee from the day before was approaching. In his arms, he held a bundle packaged in homemade paper. As he spotted Nula, he called out, “I was just looking for you! Got your studded leather armor ready, just like I said I would.”

Nula thanked the man, then glanced into her purse, meekly looking up at Oskar. “I’ll hold onto that battleaxe another day if you’ll help me out with this.”

The dwarf chuckled and pulled out a handful of coins. “Don’t worry about it, lass.”

As Nula ripped open the paper, Isolde sniffed and turned to Uzza, claiming in a loud voice, “I was told using leather armor would bring about the end times.” Uzza nodded, hiding a smile behind her hand, while Idu stuck his nose in the air and made a crude face, drawing a guffaw from Oskar.

After Nula had slipped on the armor, the group split into three teams and headed across the village; Isolde and Oskar headed to All Faith’s Shrine to research the ghost, Uzza and Nula set off to inquire after the village clothier, and Charlot, Robyn, and Idu followed Caelessa’s directions to the side street known as “The Butchers” to find the constable.

~~

Within the Shrine, Isolde and Oskar caught the attention of a priest of Oghma. Isolde explained that they were looking for information regarding those buried in the barrows to the north, and the priest began to stroke his beard, humming as he thought. Isolde found this grating, and several moments passed before the priest turned back to the pair and mentioned that, yes, they did keep records of the like, but that times had been hard for the Shrine, and that record management could be a costly enterprise. Isolde stared blank-faced at him for a second before the priest coughed and extended a hand, rubbing thumb and fingers together in a universal gesture.

Isolde’s eyes narrowed immediately, then grimaced as she reached into her purse, removing one of her handful of gold pieces. “As I’m sure you are aware, followers of any number of faiths do not carry many earthly goods, and this is all I can spare.” She held the piece of gold aloft.

The priest raised an eyebrow. “I’m afraid the records have not been cared for in quite some time.”

Isolde nudged Oskar, who patted himself down and mumbled, “Oh, yes, of course, I am so faithful. Um… Here.” He pulled out a pair of silver pieces, then, when the priest sighed in exasperation, extracted another three silver pieces from a pouch behind his beard.

When the priest refused to move, Isolde dropped her arm and asked, “Could I speak to your manager?” One by one, Oskar pulled out individuals coppers and placed them on his palm.

~~

Across town, Robyn stepped off the main road to a dirt path where four buildings stood, each boasting a porch from which various meats hung. A stout woman with thick arms was on the first porch, wiping her brow and eyeing the visitors.

“I am Robyn,” Robyn ventured, taking a step forward to offer her hand then thinking better of it as the stench hit. “We’ve come to see the constable. Do you know if he is presentitious?”

The woman grunted and responded, “Jilessa Ornrah. You’ll find Toothmarralar in the last house.”

Robyn nodded and thanked the woman, then nodded for Idu and Charlot to make their way. There was a single guard outside the constable’s house, though he didn’t seem like the type Robyn would have put in charge of anything that needed thorough security. The man was barely more than a youth, his armor was leather pads sewn onto a woolen shirt, and the lad kept yawning. Robyn smiled thinly as they walked unopposed up to the last door and rapped sharply on the frame.

A minute later, the familiar face of the constable appeared as the door was cracked open. Robyn smiled wider. “Harberk, we spoke last night. Here at your request.”

The man smiled back, welcoming them into his foyer. Beyond, a small office held three chairs and a crude desk. He apologized, but Idu offered to stand. As Harberk settled into the only cushioned seat, he gathered his thoughts. “Yes, Robyn, was it? I do indeed have a problem. We have been receiving reports of bandits causing trouble to the South, along the Cairn. I would be most delighted if you and your merry band could rid us of these pests.”

Robyn smiled graciously at the constable. “That sounds squarely in our roundabout-house of abilities. What were you thinking, in terms of price?”

Harberk pulled at his collar, glancing between the adventurers in turn. “Well, that’s the thing. I haven’t exactly… Done much of this. So I’m not quite sure… How much to pay you?”

Robyn put on a winning smile. “Now don’t you worry about that. I’m sure we’ll be able to come to a photosynthetic agreement.”

~~

Elsewhere, Nula and Uzza were knocking on the door of a house. To either side of them, mannequins sported finery, silent watchers for the dwelling. After a minute of waiting, the door was flung open wide, and a flamboyantly attired man stood welcoming them inside, arms wide. His smile faltered a second as he laid eyes on the half-orc and tiefling that had come calling, but he gathered himself an instant later and swept them inside. "Hello! I am Helver Tarnlar, esteemed clothier of Red Larch. Please, please, come inside."

As the pair was bustled into the door, the man began barraging them with suggestions, claiming to have just the hat to go with Nula’s outfit, (“The ragged rogue, I love it!”) while showing Uzza several high-necked dresses of robin’s egg blue. (“The color will simply make your complexion pop.”)

The two glanced at each other, hiding snickers as coughs as the man finally turned around and asked, “Was there something in particular you two lovely ladies were searching for?”

“You,” Nula responded as she glanced about the room filled with foppery. This many fancy clothes would fetch half a fortune in any port. “We heard you were squawking about a hoard of treasure in Trickle Rock Cavern, and we’ve come to follow up on that claim.”

As soon as Nula mentioned the cavern, Helver's demeanor shifted. His wide smile became a grimace; his jovial eyes widened and sank into his skull; even his body slumped forward. Without a word, the man darted behind the women and latched the door, spinning a sign in his window from "Open" to "Closed".

When the curtains had been drawn closed, he returned to the middle of the room. He glared at the two with a mix of fear and annoyance. "Where did you hear that?" he demanded, his pleasant tone replaced with urgent anxiety.

"From you," Uzza responded, laying a hand on Nula's arm before she could snap back. "You were speaking with our leader last night, a half-elf woman. You mentioned the Cavern and it's riches."

The man passed fingers through perfect hair, leaving strands jutting out all over his head. "Must have been drinking more than I thought…" he murmured before addressing the two. "Yes, I've heard rumors of treasure there, but you don't want to go there."

Nula and Uzza shared a glance. "And why wouldn't we want to do that?" Uzza asked.

"Folk say there's a monster that guards the treasure," Tarnlar muttered, then began to say something else before he pulled back, eyes darting around the room. 

After a moment's pause, Nula prompted, "And you've seen this monster, have you?"

Tarnlar appeared to miss her cutting tone, and simply shook his head, saying, "The stories, they claim it's a vampire that keeps watch over the Cavern." The two glanced at each other. Neither had faced a vampire before, and tales of their cunning and viciousness were well known. No wonder this soft villager was so shaken.

“Alright, well could you point us in the direction of Trickle Rock Cavern?” Uzza asked, the first to recover.

“Down the Larch Path,” Tarnlar answered automatically, before shaking himself and beginning to shoo the pair out the door. “Now, please, I’m very, very busy today, and I cannot afford this… distraction.” As they stepped into the morning light, he held the door open a moment longer. “And if you find yourselves in need of a clothier, you can find one somewhere else!” With that, the door slammed shut.

~~

After a few minutes of haggling, Robyn and Harberk agreed on a payment of five gold per head, or fifty gold total, whichever was smaller. Robyn felt a tiny bit guilty about taking advantage of the constable’s lack of familiarity, but he would learn in time to be more stringent with the village’s funds. Besides, her friends needed to eat, and travel could turn out to be expensive. If they hoped to make it to the big leagues, making the most of their early years would be important.

Harberk didn’t even ask for a means of confirming their kill count, so Robyn gently suggested they agree upon one. When asked for suggestions, Charlot chimed in that pairs of ears usually worked; small, easy to carry, and not too difficult to… collect. The constable nearly fainted at the idea, and asked in a strangled voice if people usually asked for ears, but soon recovered what composure he had and agreed to the suggestion.

As they began discussing specifics, Robyn mused that it would be easiest to attract these bandits by posing as a caravan of their own, at which point Harberk mentioned that there were two suitable shops in the village: Wheelver’s Wagon Works, for caravan runners looking to pinch coppers, and Theylorn’s Safe Journeys, a much more respected establishment which held the patronage of veteran journeymen. Robyn asked if there was anything Harberk would be willing to do to circumvent the cost to the party, and he offered to pen a writ which confirmed that the group was about official business. He could not promise it would amount to a free wagon, but said it should at least help.

~~

Back at the shrine, Isolde had reached her wits’ end. The priest had continued to make snide comments as they slowly added to the meagre pile of coins in Isolde’s palm, and finally Isolde broke first. “Fine!” she cried, clutching the coins to her chest. “You get none of it.”

The priest’s smile was a bit too wide as he responded, “We are open any time for the properly faithful.” With a final smirk at Isolde’s outrage, he spun on his heel and walked out of the main hall.

After his robe swished around the corner, Isolde found her tongue and blurted out, “I think you mean the properly wealthy.”

Oskar chuckled and muttered, “Good one.”

As they exited the Shrine, the rest of the party was walking up the street towards them. Within a couple minutes, everyone was caught up.

“Sounds like he was a swindler,” Nula grunted, staring daggers at the Shrine. “Probably didn’t even have any information about the barrows.”

Charlot disagreed. “Why didn’t you just pay him? Bribery is just part of how the world works; it’s naive to think otherwise.” Isolde respectfully declined to respond.

After quieting down the group, Robyn laid out their options. “We can always send someone else after the information at a later time,” she began, eyeing Charlot. “For now, that leaves us with the vampire and the bandits. While the prospect of riches is tempting-” Oskar nodded fervently “-we need to consider that the village will be quite pleased to be rid of the bandit menace. And making a name for ourselves should be the first priority. Any objections?”

Oskar grumbled, but agreed to go after the bandits. Theylorn was more than happy to sell them a wagon for their quest, and offered to buy it back at full price after seeing the writ from Harberk. Once their horse was hitched to the wagon and Isolde had taken up the reins, the gang set out. Charlot hopped into the interior, pulling along Idu as he gaped at the extravagance. “You’re going to love this,” Charlot promised, easing into the familiarity of cushioned seats. 

~~

Edmund had always thought his life would turn out differently. Sure, the life of a brigand was exciting, and he had more wealth at his fingertips than he ever would have guessed while he had been living at his mother’s farmhouse, but there were certainly dangers to the job. The boss was always in a bad mood, the other bandits picked on him as the newest recruit, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t customary for the new guy to spend all his time scouting for caravans.

Regardless, he was happy. The forest all around him, a crossbow at his side, not answering to any authority (other than the chief); this was what life was. No more chores and feeding the pigs; Edmund was his own man now. 

Edmund’s internal monologue was interrupted as he heard the creak of a wagon on the road nearby. He was pacing quietly along the hidden paths with the careful steps he had been shown, and edged a little closer to take a look. It was a nice wagon, freshly painted, with a motley crew of guards surrounding it. Edmund rubbed his hands together. He counted four guards, and one driver. A sizeable defense, and added to the quality of the wagon, this was sure to be quite the haul. Maybe he would even get a larger share for finding them.

Hiding a gleeful chuckle, Edmund stepped cautiously back into the trees, making his way parallel to the wagon and then darting off for the hideout nearby. The boss might even smile when he was told the news.

~~

Uzza marched forward, angling herself to step closer to Robyn. “Movement, off to the left. In the trees.” Without turning to look at her, Robyn nodded and slowed, allowing the wagon’s window to pull level with her. She knocked on the paneled wood and Idu’s head popped out.

“Think Archimicarus can have a look to the left?” she asked, still looking straight forward. Idu nodded and quickly pulled his head back into the heavy curtains. A second later, the falcon screeched high above.

Idu’s voice was muffled through the curtain. “A scout, on a path near the road. Just one.”

“Follow him,” Robyn ordered, allowing her gaze to wander along the trees that lined the Cairn Road. She could not see any movement anymore.

A minute later Idu’s head popped back out from the wagon. “There’s a cave a couple hundred feet down the road. The scout when in there, but it didn’t look like there was another exit.”

Robyn nodded, as if she had expected this. “Must be some sort of central hub.” She motioned up to Isolde. “Might as well stop for an early bit of lunch,” she called loudly to the group. Isolde reared in the horse, and in a manner of minutes the wagon was safely to the right side of the road, with the horse tied off to the nearest tree.

~~

The five bandits slowly crept up on the unsuspecting caravaners, drawing bows and steadying crossbows as the lieutenant whistled, then cried out, “This is a robbery!” Before the five could fire, however, a whirlwind of green came careening towards them from down the road, and a fearsome half-orc was suddenly slicing Edmund with a chipped battleaxe.

The unsuspecting caravaners turned out to be armed, as well, and possibly more prepared for the conflict. Uzza raised a glowing hand, and the clouds over one of the bandits opened up to rain down fiery justice from above. Robyn deftly fired and arrow at the same bandit, felling him as the arrow quivered in his chest.

As a volley of arrows answered, Idu and Charlot focused on another bandit, sending chilling blasts of magic to strike him down. The remaining three bandits glanced at each other, then as one turned and hastily made their way through the undergrowth.

With a band of evidently skilled individuals behind them, the ruffians had more than enough incentive to sprint the entire distance back to their cavernous hideout, though the party was able to keep pace, and seconds after their dark cloaks disappeared into the cave, the seven were darting from the trees. After a moment’s study, Robyn urged the group to follow.

Within, a tunnel lead a dozen or so feet before turning. Around the bend, the three runaway bandits were waiting, along with a much larger, more heavily armed man; clearly, their leader. In the back corner of the cavern, a large cage held an enormous bear. At the sight of it, Uzza gasped and muttered, “Dire bear.”

A second after recognizing each other, the two groups leapt into action. Isolde and Oskar made a beeline for the chief, with Oskar running right up to his shaggy armor and slashing at it with his battleaxe. Behind him, Isolde brandished her glaive. As the two blades scratched at his form, the leader grunted, and with sickening crunches, his body began to change. Moments later, a shaggy werewolf stood before them, claws flexing as they darted out at the dwarf.

At the same time, the dire bear, incited by the scent of spilled blood, began to rock against its cage. Thud, thud, the bars rattled in their sockets, and on the third impact, they flew apart, battering the backs of the bandits as the bear burst free. Leaping with unexpected agility, the dire bear landed in the midst of the party, and, with bloodlust in its eyes, it thrashed about, claws and teeth raking against several of the party, and bringing Isolde to her knees.

Uzza, seeing this, reached out a bloodied hand and gripped Isolde’s fallen form, breathing life into her limbs. With a gasp, Isolde’s head snapped up, but then the werewolf brought his paws down with a howl, and the poor eco-friendly paladin was out again.

In a rage, Oskar beat his battleaxe across the werewolf’s broad shoulders, and with a whine, the fanged form fell, body shifting in death back to its human origins. Even as the werewolf’s death throes echoed in the chamber, Oskar raised a finger and directed dark energies towards the dire bear, as heavy spirits settled on its limbs, encumbering it.

While this was happening, Charlot, Idu, and Nula had been directing their attention at the remaining bandits, who were taking their leader’s true identity very poorly, and fell easily to the rain of eldritch magic, flames, and axe blades that fell upon them. Soon, the only remaining foe was the dire bear.

Charlot glanced at Robyn, who nodded, and the fashionable youth reached out with a pale hand to the bear. As his fingers tightened, invisible chains seemed to wrap around the bear’s neck, pulling its body tight as it froze. Robyn called to Isolde, who was just getting up, and shouted an order. Enflamed with her leader’s directive, Isolde hefted her weapon and brought it down on the immobilized bear, striking it just at the base of the skull. There was a meaty THWAK, and the lifeless body collapsed on the rocky floor.

After a quick tour of the remainder of the cave to ensure there were no stragglers, the group set to the task of gathering the bandits’ loot and collecting their ears. All in all, they ended up with six sets of human ears and a very large pair of bear ears, a pile of coins, and several bags of trade goods that would be sure to fetch a reasonable price back in town.

Isolde was very vocal about all the bites from the werewolf she had taken, and although Uzza examined her and determined she had not contracted lycanthropy, she continued to bemoan her future existence as a meat eater. (“This will surely bring about the end times.”)

~~

It was just before noon as the party made their way to the limits of Red Larch. Theylorn happily took back the lavish wagon, refunding the group’s entire investment, though not without comment. As he inquired about the beat-up state of much of the group, Oskar spat a glob of blood and phlegm to the ground and growled, “You should see the other guys.” Idu rattled the bag of ears helpfully, but the shopkeeper declined.

While the group moved the bags of goods to their chest at the inn, Robyn, Nula, and Isolde headed to the constable. He seemed quite surprised to see them so soon, and had to excuse himself after they dropped the bloody bag of ears on his desk. As he returned, wiping his mouth with a rag, Robyn mentioned the dire bear. As Harberk’s eyes widened, Robyn continued, “I don’t recall you mentioning a dire bear, and a werewolf. We feel we are owed more than we agreed upon.”

“Well,” the man stammered, patting his brow with the soiled rag, “I expect this is the kind of thing you’d be used to, you know, in your profession.” He quailed under the rock-hard stares of Isolde and Nula, and pulled a heavy safebox from a cupboard. “However, I can see how this might have been a little more than I, eh heh, mentioned. How does an extra fifty percent sound?”

It sounded very nice indeed, and so the constable counted out forty-five gold pieces worth of coin into a hefty sack (there appeared to only be silver and copper pieces in the safebox).

As the three women turned to leave, he called out to them. “And what do you call yourselves? In case any others come looking for heroes?”

“Isolde’s Vegan Eco Warriors,” the paladin blurted, before Nula could shove her in the side.

The constable blinked and looked to Robyn. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”

Robyn laughed nervously. “Well, that’s interesting, because, you see, we don’t exactly have-”

Nula stepped forward with a flourish. “We are Robyn’s Crew.”

[chille-tid-universe]

To Red Larch

The cool morning air was pierced by a hiss. Abu reared its head over the helpless Despacito, then recoiled as Uzza’s bare foot struck out at it. The snake directed its ire to the tiefling cleric, instead, before slithering back to the bedroll where Idu lay chuckling. Uzza felt her groggy annoyance bristle at the scrawny boy’s amusement. “Put a leash on that thing!” she warned, gathering the pet mouse in a hand as she began to break down her resting space.

Isolde looked up from her own packing, a serene look on her face, eyes not quite focusing on anything present. “Where would you put a leash? As Mielikki has said, snakes are all neck!” she intoned, nodded gently as if her misremembered scripture shone some amount of understanding on the conflict. Nearby, Oskar chuckled as he rose from his resting place.

Uzza shook her head and returned to folding her sheets, grumbling as she gathered her belongings, “He’s a wizard! Should be able to figure something out…”

Her bedroll tucked tightly, Isolde finished the buckles on her armor and lightly stepped through the camp to Robyn’s sleeping form. The paladin suppressed an exasperated sigh at the uncapped flask dangling from their leader’s grip, and gently nudged the half-elf in her ribs. To her credit, Robyn only blinked groggily for a second before her other hand whipped from under her pillow, dagger brandished at the intrusion, but still in its sheath. “Wha - oh, Isolde, didn’t realize it was you. Why are you up so early? And why are those leaves so loud?”

Isolde pursed her lips, tilting her head to listen to the symphony of the early day around them: the susurration of oak leaves up above them, the sweet melodies of songbirds already flitting about, the lapping voice of the nearby brook as it splashed over current-smoothed stones. Nothing loud, not to her. Everything was as it should - “Idu!” followed by the young boy’s open laughter. Except for the voices of their companions, somehow still unable to get along after their months together. Isolde sighed, wondering why they couldn’t learn from the synchronized harmony that surrounded them.

“It’s not early, Robyn, and I’ve already woken you once this morning.” Robyn gave a muffled response.

Across the camp, Charlot poked his head from the flap of a fine tent. “Could you all keep it down before breakfast is prepared? Some of us require our beauty sleep.”

Isolde smiled amicably at the cleric. “Beauty comes from nature, not from sleep.”

At this, Charlot looked the paladin up and down, glance lingering on the twigs entwined in her hair. “Well, that doesn’t mean we should all give up,” he sniffed, retreating within the tent. A second later, he cried out, “And don’t forget the mushrooms for breakfast!”

Nula and Robyn had walked to the nearby brook, planning to bring back fish to prepare for the group. Robyn unslung her bow from her back, knocking back a swig from her flask before nocking an arrow. The half-elf locked her gaze on a silvery shadow beneath the rippling surface before steadying her arm and pulling back, holding the feathering by the corner of her mouth for a heartbeat before loosing the arrow. There was a loud gulp from the water, and a split second later the fish floated to the surface - or rather, what was left of the fish. The arrow was caught in the exploded carcass of a fish, guts already being carried away by the current, bits of scale and fin spread out across the surface of the water. “Hm.”

“No luck, captain?” Nula called from upstream, splashing her way in bare feet to Robyn. The half-elf sighed and eyed her flask before glancing back at the half-orc. She was grinning from ear to ear and held one of her boots in her hands. It was dripping wet and appeared to be shaking, and as she approached Robyn realized there were two fish in the boot. Robyn grinned back.

As the two walked back into camp, pretending the two fish hooked on Nula’s fingers were the only ones they caught, Idu’s falcon familiar screeched and swooped over the busy bodies, dropping a dead rabbit at its owner’s feet. The youth beamed as he lifted it towards Robyn. “See? Archimicarus wanted to help, too!”

Isolde sniffed down her nose at the bloody corpse. “A falcon with a rabbit is worth two with a salad,” she intoned, turning on her heel and beginning a search for edible leaves. Idu’s eyes narrowed as his mind churned. Had he heard that one before? It didn’t sound quite right…

As Robyn lit their campfire and pulled her iron pot from her pack, Charlot’s head poked back out of his tent. “Mushrooms?” he asked hopefully, sniffing the air as the sizzling fish began to cook.

“Rabbit,” Robyn replied, nodding to where Nula sat skinning the beast. Charlot’s mouth tightened as his eyes rolled in their eyelined sockets, but a moment later he was out of the tent and offering Robyn some spices from his personal stash for the breakfast.

After the gang had begun to break their fast (Isolde having returned with a plate full of berries and roots) Robyn called for their attention. They were only a day’s journey from a little settlement called Red Larch, where Robyn had passed through before, and she felt it would be a good place to look for their next job. Without objections, the party finished their meal.

As they gathered their belongings, Isolde wandered to a nearby tree and wrapped her gauntleted arms around it, breathing in deeply and opening her mind to the nature around her. At the same time, Uzza and Charlot sat across from each other, legs crossed, eyes closed, Uzza clutching her holy symbol to her chest, Charlot toying with the shrunken skull he kept with him as he muttered beneath his breath. Their connections with their deities restored, the three grabbed their packs and followed after the group as it headed through the woods.

~~

They had only been traveling for an hour when Nula stopped them. Oskar began to ask what was wrong, but Robyn silenced him with a signal. Nula tilted her head for a moment, then pointed off the path to the right. “Footsteps. Hundred feet away,” she murmured, just loud enough for her voice to carry through the group. “Big.”

Robyn nodded and turned to Idu. “See what we’ve got. Let’s approach this ontomolaly.”

Idu was on the verge of asking what exactly she meant before he thought better of it and reached out with his mind to the circling form of Archimicarus high above. He took a deep breath, and then his eyes rolled up into his head. The falcon gave a shrill shriek and winged off to the right of the path. A couple moments later, Idu’s grunted and spoke, eyes still showing white, “Two ogres. Hundred feet off. Not expecting anything.” Robyn clapped him on the back and nodded to the rest of the group.

“Let’s go.”

~~

A few minutes of cautious travel later, Idu signaled a halt as they approached a rocky outcropping surrounding a clearing. Within, a pair of ogres sat, one trying to stack a pile of rocks, the other sifting through a small assortment of shoddily constructed weaponry. Robyn nodded to the rest, holding up three fingers, and counted down.

As their leader dropped her hand and pulled back an arrow, Charlot stepped forward and released his focused spell. A glowing bolt flew from outstretched fingers, soaring through the intervening air and grazing the tin bucket atop an ogre’s head. Charlot’s eyes narrowed in annoyance and the ogres looked up.

As the bolt burst upon the boulder behind the ogre, Oskar and Isolde darted forward, drawing within reach of the ogre before it could respond. Oskar held up his axe and brought it down on the ogre while Isolde stood behind the dwarf, reaching out easily with her halberd to rake at the ogre’s flesh.

As the two accosted the ogre, Robyn and Idu steadied themselves and unleashed a barrage of fire and arrows. Nula dashed forward for the second ogre, laughing heartily as her swords painted the ogre’s hide in a red mist. For her troubles, the ogre bellowed and dropped its heavy club on her head, sending the half-orc reeling. Uzza called out her name and chanted a few words, and lifeforce surged back into Nula, straightening her shoulders and restarting her laugh.

As Nula renewed her assault on the second ogre, Charlot widened his stance and flung a hand towards the first beast, mimicking the ringing of a bell. Immediately, a harsh clangor filled the clearing, and the ogre’s hands flew to its ears, its own howl adding to the din. Taking advantage of this, Oskar redoubled his attack, with Isolde sending a flurry of strikes to the ogre’s exposed front. Seeing an opening, Robyn steadied an arrow and loosed, breathing slowly as the shaft of wood found its mark, and a heavy thud filled the area as the ogre’s body fell, lifeless, to the rocky ground.

Meanwhile, Nula was darting in and out of reach of the second ogre’s tree trunk of a club. The half-orc cried out withering taunts as her blades left signature swirls in the thick hide, and as the ogre’s temper began to rise, Nula nimbly stepped back, dodging the blows as they fell. With a frustrated roar, the ogre overextended, stumbling a half-step in its wild attempt at retribution. Seeing her opportunity, Nula grinned and ducked beneath the thick arms, laughing garishly as she drove the point of her sword into the eye socket of the ogre, jumping back just in time as it crumpled around her.

As the group shared congratulations and Oskar parsed through the mostly-useless pile of weapons to find serviceable axes, Robyn caught her breath. “Alright, gang, short rest before we continue. Got a fair bit of ground to cover before we reach Red Larch. Don’t want to need to stop due to exhaustimication.”

~~

A little over an hour later, the band marched into the quaint village of Red Larch. The surrounding forest having been beaten back a couple hundred feet, the dozen or so buildings sat in quiet repose, as if saving energy for the eventual return of the encroaching wilderness.

Among the first few buildings they came upon was one attached to a small fenced-in yard, with a coop that seemed half the size of the house. A sign of admirable quality, but in need of a fresh coat of paint, proclaimed the establishment “Mandaver’s Poultry”. Robyn stepped up to the door and knocked politely, but it did not appear that Minthra was home. A few minutes later, a man in a leather apron from across the way approached them, watching with guarded eyes as he explained that Mini was not in at the moment.

Immediately alert to the scent of tannery fluids, Isolde cleared her throat. “Beware the road of the depraved,” she intoned, “for it is paved with the leathery skins of poor little animals.” The neighbor’s mouth drew taut as he eyed the branch-crown and flower-adorned armor of the paladin.

“Well, some of us need to make a living,” he replied tersely, turning to Robyn, who looked the most leaderly. “You can try for her at either the bars or the All Faith’s Shrine.” With a final look of annoyance in Isolde’s direction, the tanner turned on his heel and headed back to his home, behind which several racks of drying leather could be seen.

“Repent!” the paladin called out to his retreating back. “Repent, for nature will have its day in the sun!” Several members of the party hid snickering behind their hands, and the others withheld sighs.

~~

The gang decided to try the inns first. The Swinging Sword was the larger of the two, as one of the tallest buildings in the village, and much nicer. The Helm at High Sun was a dingy hall, with no upper levels for rooms, where frequently repaired stools and tables spoke of many a tumultuous night. Neither establishment could boast very many patrons at this hour, and Robyn was able to quickly determine that Mini was not at either location.

As they stepped outside of the Swinging Sword, a mouthwatering aroma wafted toward the group. Her memory triggered by the fresh scent, Robyn exclaimed, “Oh, that must be Loran’s bakery! She has the best buns. Positively the best odiferocity.” Stomachs rumbling, the band decided to take a short break from their search for lunch.

The source of the heavenly scent was a stout house with many windows, each opened wide and holding plates of steaming buns. Inside, the smell of fresh bread was almost overwhelming. Robyn called out, and a moment later a flour-coated woman with stoutness to match her house came bustling out of the kitchen into the foyer, reimagined as a storefront with wide tables holding multitiered displays, upon which sat earthen platters bearing smooth buns the color of tanned hide.

“Hello, dearies,” the kindly lady greeted them, flashing a smile as she patted down her apron, futilely attempting to wipe off some of the flour and succeeding in coating the table behind which she stood. “It’ll be two coppers a bun, if you’ve a hankering.”

“What is that lovely scent?” Uzza asked, her nose practically lifting from her face to move closer to the displays. Loran treated her with a smile.

“My specialty, dear,” she replied, taking the tiefling’s appearance in stride, “cheese topped buns, stuffed with mushrooms.” Charlot’s ears perked up, and he joined most of the others as they laid copper pieces upon the countertop.

Isolde asked if there were any buns without cheese, with only the barest sniff of disapproval, and Loran returned a second later with fresh from the oven buns, handing her a bun on a plate before paddling cheese onto the rest of the buns. Isolde reached into her pack for a few fresh leaves, which she crumpled and sprinkled over the hot bun. “A good plant is the best plant,” she casually explained in singsong tones.

Nula snorted and asked, “What exactly is a bad plant?”

The paladin paused in her sprinkling for a moment and looked thoughtful before responding, “A chicken.”

As they began to eat, satisfied groans and heavenly whimpers filled the small house, as they so often did, and as several of the group reaching for seconds, Robyn swallowed a delicious mouthful and inquired after Mini.

Loran sighed lightly. “Terrible trouble lately, Mini with her poor granddaughter, Pel. Poor girl claims to have seen a ghost, hasn’t quieted about it in weeks.”

The group’s interest was piqued, and they huddled around the woman. “A ghost?” Charlot asked, fingers straying to the fetish hidden in his coat pocket. “Where? In town?”

Loran laughed, a breezy chuckle. “Heavens, no, this was out by the barrows to the north. Ol’ Mini took the girl there to show her there was nothing to fear, but then the pair came back claiming they had seen goblins. Goblins! This close to Red Larch! Can you imagine?”

The group exchanged significant glances. In their journeys, the things that went bump in the night always ended up closer than the innocent liked to believe. Robyn thanked Loran for the buns and the information, Isolde picked up an extra bun for later, and the band exited.

~~

The group decided to check in at the Swinging Sword, hoping to find word of Mini and Pel. As they made their way, however, Nula and Oskar’s notice was drawn by a smithee down the road, and they promised to head to the inn as soon as possible. Nula’s eyes lit up as she entered the shop, glancing at the smith’s wares.

It was mostly simple farming tools, as a community like Red Larch had little need for weapons of war, but Ulhro Luruth, the smith, offered to stud her leather armor for a small fee, after being convinced this imposing green woman was not here to rob him. Oskar hefted the pair of salvageable battleaxes from the ogres earlier in the day and asked what the smith could offer for them. The stout man pondered this a while, testing the edges of the blades and supposing that they could easily be converted to lumber axes. After a price was agreed upon, the two headed back to the Swinging Sword.

Meanwhile, Charlot was sweet-talking Caelessa, the barkeep and owner of the Swinging Sword, between bites of a fancy meal. (It was so much better than the buns from down the lane, he assured her. Having tasted Loran’s wares herself, Caelessa was not convinced, but she appreciated the lad’s manners.) As there were still few other patrons in the tavern’s common room, she leaned against the bar and answered the boy’s questions, informing him that Mini and Pel spent most of their free time in All Faith’s Shrine following the deaths of the little girl’s parents, and that he should be able to find the pair there most any time of day, especially if Mini wasn’t tending her chickens.

After a sideways glance at the amount of weaponry the strangers bore, Caelessa cleared her throat and tossed her rag on the bartop. “Listen, folks such as yourselves wouldn’t know it, but there’s been trouble lately. And not just little girls and old ladies scared of what isn’t there. I’m not one to talk of such things, least not while the sun is up, but you should seek out the constable, man by the name of Harberk Toothmarralar. Comes by my place most nights, if you care to return.”

Charlot winked a long eyelash. “Oh, I do believe you can expect to see me again, darling.” He delicately popped a final morsel of stew into his mouth, smiling widely. “And I expect to have more of your delicious stew.” The party left Caelessa blushing, and made their way through town to All Faith’s Shrine.

~~

All Faith’s Shrine was a grand temple, as far as the village of Red Larch was concerned. It boasted two flags of thick wool hanging from the eaves of its front, richly dyed and showing regular upkeep. One depicted an upright flaming sword; the other, a blank scroll.

As they stepped within the temple doors, they could hear a girl’s voice echoing from down the hall, clamoring about ghosts. “I did too see a ghost! You weren’t there, you can’t say I didn’t!”

In a chamber off the main hall, Robyn recognized Mini, whom she had helped a couple years ago with a troublesome troupe of hooligans scaring away customers. She had her hands on her hips and appeared to be at her wits’ end. Hanging onto the old woman’s skirt was a young girl, no more than eight, glaring petulantly at a robed figure. “My dear, there’s no need to worry,” the man said in gentle tones. “You must not have seen what you think you saw. You’re safe here.”

As the group stepped into the room, Charlot spoke up. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about, love. There are certainly dead things that are worth fearing. Better to know than be taken unawares.” The priest glowered at the youth, while Pel seemed unable to decide between looking victorious and disturbed.

“Do not encourage her,” Mini warned, though there was little bite in her words. The woman seemed tired, more than anything, and as Pel began to bounce around her grandmother, it was little wonder why.

“I knew it! I did see a ghost! I told you, I told you, I told you…”

Robyn stepped up beside Charlot. “Hello again, Minthra. Could you tell us where your granddaughter saw this, erm, ghost?”

Mini squinted in unfamiliarity and caught her granddaughter as she circled around again. “Have we met before?”

Robyn laughed heartily. “Oh, Mini, a kidder as always, so splendrified.” Mini chuckled uneasily and clutched Pel closer.

In the main hall, acolytes approached Isolde as she sat by an altar, arms wrapped around it. At their inquisitive stares, she simply shrugged and responded, “It’s how I was taught.” As the rest of the group re-entered the hall, Robyn looked aghast at the acolytes telling off the paladin.

“She has as much a right to worship as any of you! It is All Faith’s Shrine, after all!” When the priest attempted to interrupt her, she raised a hand. “Sir, it is descornable!”

Before the group could be evicted from the premises, Robyn offered to cook a meal for Mini and Pel. “And then, perhaps you can tell us more about this ghost,” she suggested to the young girl, much to Mini’s annoyance.

As they walked back to Mini’s house, they discussed the encounter. “She’d been talking non-stop about it for days,” Mini bemoaned, while Charlot walked beside the girl. “I didn’t think much of it, but when she wouldn’t stop, I had to teach her there was nothing to be afraid of. Only…”

“Only you saw something out there,” Oskar grunted, drawing a sigh of acceptance from the woman.

“I don’t know what I saw. Green flesh, bulbous eyes, I couldn’t have Pel around anything like that. I hightailed it back to Red Larch as fast as I could.”

“And this was where, exactly?” Isolde asked.

“Up by the barrows, three miles to the north and to the east a bit.”

Isolde nearly stopped in her tracks. “And Pel had traveled that far by herself?” Mini just shrugged. “I guess it’s not like she’s a chicken,” Isolde muttered under her breath. “She doesn’t need that much attention.”

As they walked, Charlot let Pel hold the shrunken goblin skull he channeled his spells through. The little girl was fascinated. “And where did you see this ghost?” Charlot asked again. The girl was finding it hard to concentrate.

“Across from the barrow, there are planks over the door, but I saw the ghost floating inside! It was incorp… incoper… see through!”

“Incarcerated,” Robyn offered.

Once they returned to Mini’s home, Robyn fulfilled her promise and cooked up a respectable meal, which Mini and Pel thanked her for (though they still asked for payment for the chicken). After that, the gang headed up the north road to the barrows.

The road was relatively well kept, but they did not come across a single soul. After a couple miles, a crude sign pointed down a less-traveled path to the right, indicating the resting spot of figures from the past, perhaps some ancestors of a family from Red Larch. The way from there was more tedious, as brambles and fallen branches seemed less controlled, but before long they spied a raised earthen mound in the distance. As they drew near, a possum darted out from the underbrush. Isolde flung her arms out to halt the party and dropped to the ground. After reaching out, with spirit and arms, to the forest around them, she began chittering at the possum.

After a minute of frantic chatter, Isolde pulled out the remains of her bun and dropped the crumbs before the creature. It dipped its head up and down, shoveled the bread into its mouth, and scampered off. Isolde straightened up and took a deep breath, then turned and saw everyone staring at her, waiting.

“Oh! This little fellow doesn’t know much about the barrows, but he did say that there have been a couple ‘two-legs’ nearby in the last few days. He said there was a smaller being and a larger one.”

Robyn thought for a moment. The barrow was not going anywhere, and if Pel could make it up here alone, so could other villagers. These creatures could be serious danger for them. “Did your furry friend tell you where it last saw them?” Isolde indicated an area in the woods, several minutes walk away. Robyn nodded to Idu. “Archimicarus ready for some reconnoisseurance?”

Idu scratched his head. “I think you mean… Yeah, we’re ready.” Right on cue, the falcon dove from the heights where he had been circling, swooping over the party’s heads before winging his way in the direction Isolde pointed. Idu’s eyes glazed over, and he began dictating the flight.

“Seems like there’s a clearing a couple hundred feet away… I can see a camp, and three heads… One of them is an ettin, the other’s a goblin.”

“Can you see how they’re armed?” Oskar asked, hefting his battleaxe.

“Let me get a little closer,” Idu mumbled, then the boy yelled and fell backwards, clutching at some unseen wound on his chest. “Well, they have a bow, at least.”

A few minutes later, the group approached the campsite as quietly as they could. They could hear the rumbling of the ettin’s heads conversing, and the quiet squeaking of the goblin. Idu motioned to Robyn, indicating they had arrived, and she held up a hand. As she brought it down, the gang leapt into action.

Fearless as always, Nula tossed herself into the fray first, ignoring the goblin and dashing to the large ettin. Its four eyes widened with surprise as Nula’s swords began to sing, darting through the air as they peppered its hide with slashes. At the same time, Charlot and Uzza stood shoulder to shoulder and raised their respective symbols, chanting as a necrotic beam and divine fire rained down on the ettin at the same time.

Robyn pulled an arrow from her quiver and focused on it, lacing the shaft with her will as she drew the bowstring. As it released, it flew toward the goblin, who immediately let out a wild cry and began cowering on the ground, helpless against Robyn’s iron will.

The ettin finally gathered its wits and hefted a cruel looking battleaxe, which it immediately swung in wide arcs at Nula. A moment later, the half-orc’s jarring laughter was cut short, and her body fell to the ground. Charlot felt her lifeforce shudder, and crooked a finger in Nula’s direction. “Not so fast,” he muttered, and Nula felt her soul slip back into her body. She was still heavily wounded, but she felt her heart-rate stabilize.

Charlot was not through, yet, though. With his other hand, he reached for the hulking frame of the ettin, calling upon the powers of the grave as he murmured an incantation. The ettin’s eyes widened in surprise yet again, as it found itself unable to move a muscle. Beads of sweat glistened on Charlot’s forehead as he held the spell. “Now!” he cried through gritted teeth.

Isolde and Oskar dashed into the fray, taking easy shots at the immobilized ettin, pulling muffled roars from its frozen mouths. Robyn readied another arrow and took aim, firing at the statuesque figure. Her arrow found its mark and then some, entering through one ear and out the other, then back into the third ear and out the fourth. Charlot felt the resistance fade, and as he released the spell, the gargantuan form toppled to the ground.

Having received a pick-me-up from Uzza, Nula leapt to her feet and turned on the remaining goblin. What followed is hardly fit to be depicted here, other than to say the goblin was completely eviscerated, and most would be hard pressed to say what the remaining shreds of flesh had previously been.

The threat contained, the party searched the remains of the campsite, coming up with a smallish purse filled mostly with coppers, and a pile of adventuring gear, most of which was stained with the blood of recent owners. Apart from a couple longswords and shields and a set of leather armor, most of the pile was too damaged for any vigorous use. Still, Oskar strapped the weapons and armor to his pack, content to offload them when able. The site having been picked clean, the group returned to the barrow.

~~

The planks covering the entrance to the barrow were easily enough removed, and beyond stretched a square corridor, 10 feet high, that stretched into darkness. Uzza and Oskar informed them it seemed to be about 30 feet long, and beyond lay a room with what appeared to be a large stone tablet in the middle.

Just before they ventured in, Isolde cast a spell to detect any undead presence. Sure enough, there was a being about thirty feet into the barrow. Armed and prepared, the group made their way down the corridor and into the chamber beyond.

A stone table sat in the middle of the room, and to the right a rusted iron door led deeper into the barrow. Before they could discuss proceeding further, a spectral knight suddenly appeared.

The group hefted weapons, drew arrows, and readied spells, but something stopped them. Perhaps it was the guarded manner of the apparition, perhaps it was the deathly stillness in the barrow. After an uneasy second, the spirit’s mouth began to move, though the voice seemed to emanate from the entirety of the room.

“I am Sir Loras the Vigilant, guardian of this tomb. What is your purpose here?”

The group shared glances, but it was Isolde who stepped forward to speak. “We are travelers here to investigate the claims of a young girl, who insists she saw a ghost here.” She stared pointedly as the ghost hovered over the ground.

“The child has no need to fear so long as she does not disturb my master’s tomb,” Loras’s voice echoed. “He rests here with priceless artifacts, the remnants of a life well lived.”

Nula’s eyes began to glitter at the prospect of buried booty, but Robyn nodded and motioned for the party to regroup outside. With a final longing glance at the iron door, Nula followed the others.

~~

It was decided that the threat from the ghostly guardian was minimal, and that the denizens of Red Larch simply needed to stay away from the barrows. Together, the band made their way back to the village. The bars were now in full swing, as farmers tried to drown out a busy day of husbandry in drink and good company. The crowd at the Swinging Sword was considerably less rowdy than that at the Helm at High Sun, and so Charlot, Uzza, Isolde, and Idu opted to settle in for a nice meal and then straight off to bed. It had been an eventful day, after all.

While they ate, Oskar nudged Nula. “Care to see how the beer in this town holds up?”

Nula smiled, smelling a challenge. “Better than you, Oskar, that’s for sure.” The dwarf chuckled as he led the way, with Robyn tagging along, having heard the promise of alcohol. As they got up to leave, Isolde tutted.

“One shall not poison one’s body with the disgustingness of alcohol.”

Inside the bustling Helm at High Sun, farmers rubbed shoulders with acolytes from the temple. Laughter and arguments filled the air, but Nula’s imposing form parted the masses as the three made their way to the bar. Glancing at the prices, Oskar tossed six coppers onto the polished wood. Nula threw down seven. Robyn snorted and called for a bottle of wine.

Three tankards in, Oskar wiped his mustache and turned to his drinking partner. “Care to make this interesting?” he asked, voice still clear.

Nula drained her drink and nodded. “What did you have in mind?”

Oskar appeared pensieve for a moment, then rumbled, “Loser wields the other’s weapon tomorrow.”

Nula grinned, reaching for another tankard. “Hope you’re as handy with a sword as you are with your axes, then!”

While the two fought for the barkeep’s attention, Robyn glanced over the crowd, eyes lighting on a tall figure with a prominent badge on his collar. Lifting her goblet, Robyn picked her way through the crushing crowd to the constable’s side.

“Hear you have trouble,” she insinuated after introducing herself. “We happen to be the perfectomonius people to handle it.” She took a swig of wine. “Whatever it is.”

Harberk glanced over to the bar, where a sizeable crowd was gathering around the dwarf and half-orc as they slammed down tankards. “Well, if the rest of you can handle yourselves as well as those two can handle their drink, you just might be right.”

A moment later, a great cheer rose to the rafters of the bar, and a large amount of money changed many hands, as Nula slumped over, mumbling into her tankard. Oskar, stoic as ever, finished the rest of his drink, then hefted the woman’s body, twice as tall as his own, over his shoulders and turned for the door.

Harberk’s eyebrows raised. “See me tomorrow about Trickle Rock Cavern. I suspect your group will need to recover from the night’s… festivities.”

“Some more than others,” Robyn laughed, and minutes later Oskar returned to the bar, placing three more coppers on the bar steadily.

[chille-tid-universe]

Grassroots Heroes for Hire

The mayor looked up from the writ. “And you are the subject of this voucher?” He glanced from the half-elf with her supple cloak and curious longbow slung across her back at the head of the group to its other members; a young woman with twigs in her hair, armor that seemed too big, and an assortment of large weapons; a stocky dwarf with a dour expression and an axe that glowed with unnatural light; a youth with chestnut-brown skin, barely more than a boy, holding a large book that looked like it belonged in a museum, in a robe that he might have stolen from someone with fuller shoulders; a foppy young man with a bored look and impeccable eyeliner, carrying a shield and some foreign fetish; a terrifying young tiefling whose snow-white robes and holy symbol were completely at odds with her horns and ashen skin; and most startling of all, a damned half-orc (a half-orc, in his town!) with a wide hat, salt-stained overcoat, and two sharp blades swinging from her hips. This last one stood in the corner, leaning against the wall, as if she at least had the courtesy to recognize exactly how poor in taste this meeting was.

Robyn cleared her throat and swept her eyes over her little band of misfits, glaring at Charlot to straighten up and at Nula to join the rest of the party. “Yes, your mayor-ly-ness. The duke of Hartfordshire was quite satisfied with our assistance rescuing his daughter. We even saved most of her caravan, as well. Well, most of them who weren’t killed by the time we found them, that is.”

“Indeed.” The mayor’s eyes lowered to the parchment again. Everything certainly appeared to be in place, at the very least. He had never met this duke, but he knew from several books in his meager library that Hartfordshire was indeed a neighboring town to the east of his own, as much as “neighboring” could be used to describe any locations in these lands. Still - he glanced back up at the assortment before him - this lot hardly had the look of heroes. Some of them looked to be barely old enough to be on their own! He couldn’t begin to guess at the half-orc’s or dwarf’s ages, but the rest looked like they should be helping out on their parents’ farms right now. The only people who stood with any sort of authority were their half-elf leader, who at least seemed old enough to marry, and the strange boy with the dark symbol, who reminded the mayor of the pouty prince who had rolled through the town when he himself was just a boy. This young man exuded that same air of boredom, as if the surrounding world existed to entertain him and it was doing quite a poor job of it. That prince had been quite a pest, from what the mayor recalled.

It was the odd girl wearing a tree on her head that stepped forward, smoothly admitting, “We know we don’t look like much, sir, but we’ve heard from your citizens that there have been other adventurers sent after your problem, to no avail. Surely it couldn’t hurt to send a few more?” The mayor found himself nodding to Isolde’s suggestion. His citizens, he liked the sound of that. What could it hurt, indeed?

The mayor nodded more deliberately. “Very well, I suppose the voucher says what it says, and we’d be happy to have your assistance. The mine is a couple hours’ travel to the south.” He made to return to the papers scattered about his desk, but a slim hand quickly poked into his line of sight.

Robyn cleared her throat again. “There’s just the matter of payment…”

~~

The band traveled down the southern road with a spring in their step. The mayor had not been keen on paying half upfront, and Nula had needed to lean over his pretty wooden desk and begin cleaning her nails with her dagger before he would reconsider and offer them twenty-five percent before and the rest when they returned with proof the mines had been cleared. Twenty-five percent! Robyn could almost sing. They were certainly on their way; before long, their reputation would precede them up and down the Sword Coast, and perhaps they would even start being recognized in the cities they visited!

Not that Robyn would allow them to venture into a city quite yet; Nula’s bar-fueled argument in their last city had been quite eventful, and Charlot had warned the group that the guards were sure to spread word of the temperamental half-orc pirate-ess and her strange companions to every city on the continent. Robyn felt certain he had been joking, but was unwilling to test it, not before the gang had worked up a level of professionalism that would help to offset the looks of confusion and distrust that greeted them wherever they went.

And this sleepy little hamlet with its classic woes of kobold infested mines were a perfect step along that path. Robyn hummed a little tune as they marched, her left hand upon the flank of their trusty pony. She had taken to calling him Eye-gak, after she overheard Oskar murmuring it to the beast in a town months back. It was a quirky sort of name, but she felt it fit well with what the team had going on. Across Eye-gak’s saddle was a handy portable chest, nothing too ostentatious, just a locked box for them to store their meager riches and the documents they managed to weasel out of their previous employers, vouching for their reliability to their future hopefuls.

Ahead of her, Charlot and Uzza were arguing again. For clerics of the grave and life domains, Robyn supposed she should be happy their discussions were rarely confrontational. At the moment, however, Charlot was trying to convince Uzza that he could render her more palatable in the loftier company they would surely find themselves in before long.

“I’m not saying that tieflings are unheard of in the proper ranks of society, dear, I’m simply saying that you present an odd blend of ideas, and it can be better to go along with what people expect of you than force them to face their own bigotry.”

Uzza bristled as she turned to the boy. “I’m not interested in how your nobles see me, Charlot. I spent my childhood begging for scraps. I won’t demean myself again, not to be subjected to the worldviews of those who think themselves above me. Especially not to appease the normalcy of people with more gold than I’ve ever seen!”

Charlot raised his hands in defense. “Not everyone with wealth is the enemy, Uzza.” He smiled wide and wrapped an arm around her. “Fear not, Charlot will guide you through the scary halls of the rich. Perhaps just a light foundation to even out your skin tone, maybe a nice flowery headband to cover those horns…” Uzza groaned, but Robyn saw her mouth quirk in a smile.

Behind her, Robyn heard Idu going on about his many misadventures as a youth on the streets of Amn (truth be told, Robyn felt Idu still qualified as a youth, but she would never say as much to his face). As always, Oskar clung to every word from the younger boy; Oskar had spent most of his life in the mines of his home, and often found the workings of “above-ground” civilization fascinating. Idu clearly picked up on this an embellished from time to time. Robyn suspected he had run out of factual stories early on, but she had to admit the boy had imagination. As he described a flight from a particularly nasty street-guard, using nothing but the friendship of a wild monkey, his free arm swept in wild arcs. Idu always clutched that fancy book close to his chest, as if he were afraid his wonderful life of traveling would disappear if he let it slip for a single moment. Robyn could sympathize; she oftentimes had to remind herself that all this was real, and that she had indeed managed to bring together such an amazing group with whom to spend her days.

Beside Oskar, Isolde nodded along to the story, gasping at all the right moments and asking the questions Idu was clearly fishing for. Isolde had explained to Robyn when she first joined the gang that they were a lovely example of the balance the paladin wished to instill in the world around her; Robyn sometimes questioned the balance of the team, but was thankful for the comparison. The girl’s hint of a smile and perpetual far-gazing eyes lead many to assume she was none too bright, but Isolde always managed to ask precisely the right question in the most flattering tone to further the party’s interests. She had been quite instrumental in obtaining several of their recent jobs.

As Idu reached the end of his story (with a flourish had Oskar nodding and Isolde politely clapping) Nula snorted and sauntered over to the three, sliding a blade along a whetstone as she grumbled, “Nice story, Books, must’a been real hard running from a fat old man. Ever run… from a kraken?” Idu’s eyes brightened visibly. If Oskar enjoyed Idu’s tales, Idu lived for the yarns the half-orc would spin. “There I was, lookout in the middle o’ the night, naught but a sliver of moon to light the frosty waters o’ the Sword Coast. The crew lay a’bed below decks, a senile ol’ lubber tending the wheel, when I hear a deep rumblin’, like a thousand bellies cryin’ for gruel…”

Robyn chuckled as she listened. She knew Nula was not much older than her companions, but her size and confidence made that easy to forget. Like Idu, Robyn suspected that many of Nula’s tales were far from the truth, but it was much harder to pick fact from fiction with the half-orc.

Nula was just getting to the part where a writhing tentacle, cut from the monster, knocks the captain overboard when Charlot stopped in his tracks, head tilted to the side. It took a moment for the storytellers to notice, and then they slowed to a stop, as well. “Hear that?” the boy asked, eyes scanning the skies above them. Robyn strained her ears a moment, and was about to ask “What?” when Isolde pointed to the east. As Robyn followed her finger and saw a cluster of specks growing larger, she heard an unearthly melody fill the trees around them.

“Harpies,” Nula growled, tucking her whetstone into her belt and drawing her other sword. “Looks like a small group, three, four.”

Robyn nodded, deftly sliding her longbow from her shoulder and reaching for an arrow. “Ready yourselves,” she called, nocking and drawing the arrow. The party fell into position easily, with a familiarity that would have had Robyn smiling under other circumstances. Uzza, Isolde, and Oskar gathered between the others and the approaching shapes, donning shields and reaching for weapons. Oskar flexed his hand, and his trusty battleaxe winked from its holster to his grip.

Charlot and Idu stepped up beside Robyn, with Nula stalking the area around three, leaving herself plenty of room for what she referred to as her “dance o’ death”. Charlot tossed back his hair and fingered his dark talisman, cold power seeping from his fingers as he breathed words of power. Idu flipped open his spellbook deftly, long fingers easily finding the proper worn pages, by earmark or familiar wear, and he held two or three fingers in different places in the book, keeping his place should he need certain spells. Satisfied, the young boy nodded and turned his eyes to the approaching beasts, an excited curiosity tinged with cautious fear twinking there.

Robyn slowed her breathing as the harpies gained definition. Before long, they had entered the range of her longbow, and with a practiced focus the half-elf let fly her first arrow. Before it had struck its target Robyn had fitted another into the nock, and as she pulled the string back to the corner of her mouth, she saw with satisfaction that one of the three shapes had fallen significantly below its friends. She aimed at the lower harpy and fired again, and by the time she had fitted her third arrow, the harpies had arrived.

As they swooped down past the trees, their tempting melody reached a crescendo, and Robyn found herself screwing her fingers into her ears. A moment passed, and then she looked around to see the harpies landing among the group. She noted that Oskar and Nula were the only people who appeared to be affected by the siren’s song of the harpies, and the rest of her band were already reacting.

Uzza gripped her holy symbol and gestured at herself, Oskar, and Nula, chanting in a strange tongue until a faint aura began to glow around the three. Oskar and Nula both grunted a moment later, shaking their heads and jumping upon the nearest harpy.

Isolde’s twig-crown glowed a verdant green, and she struck at the harpy approaching her, thick vines erupting from the ground at the beast’s claws to grip her tightly. Idu took this as a cue, and pointed ominously at the trapped harpy, summoning a skeletal claw that gently passed through the beast’s ribcage, causing part of the melody to turn to shrieks of pain.

Nula directed her twirling blades at the harpy that had snared her attention. With a cry of “Avast, ye!” the half-orc darted around the harpy, slicing this way and that before pulling away with a grin, deftly avoiding a slicing talon as she stepped outside the harpy’s range. Charlot took a breath and held his hand out at the harpy, pantomiming swinging something large, and a second later a deep, ominous DOOM DOOM DOOM filled the air around the wounded harpy. The bell’s tolling almost drowned out the creature’s death wail, and Nula cried out with a loud laugh as the harpy fell still.

Robyn turned her attention to the last harpy, sliding her arm through the longbow while in the same motion she pulled the whip from her belt. She whistled, a piercing sound that had the intended effect of the harpy swiveling its head on an owl-like neck to the half-elf. Robyn smirked and flicked the whip, slashing the side of the harpy’s wing and causing the whip to CRACK as it struck. The beast’s eyes widened at the sound, and Oskar took the opportunity to flourish his glowing battleaxe at the startled harpy, sending a flaming bolt at it to crash between its wings. He then yelled a dwarvish battle cry and darted toward the harpy, swinging his blade down between its shoulder blades and sending it to the ground.

That left one harpy, tangled in vines, with Isolde and Uzza standing on either side of it. Isolde continued to strike from afar with her glaive, her serene face set in grim determination. Uzza closed her eyes and called out, lifting her holy symbol skyward. In response, a pillar of holy flame fell from the heavens, engulfing the screeching harpy and the vines that bound it. As the group gathered around, the charred harpy body crumbled to ash.

Robyn nodded at the group, watching as grins spread across their faces. “Good job, team. Uzza, would you mind seeing to Oskar and Nula? I think the harpies got a few scratches in. Isolde, nice work with the vines. Idu and Charlot, try focusing on the same target next time. But excellent work, everyone!” The party began chatting and laughing, and Robyn went to recover trusty Eye-gak, who had begun grazing at the roots of a nearby tree. She glanced at the sun’s position and looked to the south, seeing the mountains rising there. Still an hour or so to go; still plenty of time. She nodded to herself and began to shepherd the excited comrades, urging them to continue their march.

~~

The group quietly made their way down the dark corridors of the mine. Their talk had diminished as they stepped into the mouth of the cave system, their voices echoing along the walls before Robyn hushed them. Now, they marched down the main passage, torches scattered among the group, while Uzza kept a sharp eye out ahead. Robyn held her longbow aloft as they walked, elegant silver runes flickering across the arms in the near-darkness of the mine. They had been traveling down the mines for less than an hour when Uzza stalked back to them, her snowy robes luminescent in the torchlight.

“Kobolds,” she hissed when she got closer. “Off to the left, a hundred feet further.” Robyn motioned for the group to prepare themselves. A minute later, they had doused their torches and gripped arms, walking as quietly as they could manage with Oskar and Uzza leading the way. A minute later, a series of squeezed palms indicated they were approaching the entrance that Uzza had spied, and the blinded members of the party saw a faint glow up ahead. They waited outside the branched passage, barely able to see each others’ faces, until Robyn whispered, “Now!”

All at once, Oskar and Charlot jumped into the opening, raising their hands as blips of light sparked into life around the cavernous room. Idu stepped out from behind them and took quick assessment of the situation, then gripped a small bag from his cloak and muttered a few words. A miniature sun burst into existence among the thickest concentration of kobolds, who screeched and scrabbled at the rocky ground to pull themselves away. Idu swept his hand in front of him, and the burning sphere began to ominously cross the room, incinerating the scaly hides it collided with.

Now fully able to see, the rest of the party darted into the room, whip, glaive, and swords eager for purchase as the frenzied kobolds attempted to avoid the flaming death-ball and the new enemies. A group of braver kobolds began to swarm the party, some waving their arms and gibbering while the rest darted in and out, poking with makeshift weaponry.

Isolde kept the kobolds at bay with her glaive, waving it back and forth as they tried to approach her, and soon the frustrated kobolds turned to the half-orc who was laughing as her blades left crimson afterimages in the magical light. Robyn used her whip to discourage the kobolds who were attempting to flank the party, forcing them to choose between approaching the heavily armored frontline or the slow advance of Idu’s flaming sphere.

The slaughter lasted barely a minute, and as the sounds of dying kobolds quieted, Uzza saw a flicker of movement across the room. A small cluster of kobolds were fidgeting with a pile of rocks in a corner before one of them seemingly disappeared. Uzza called out to the group and raised her holy symbol, causing an illuminated gout of flame to crash down on the spot of the remaining kobolds. One fell over, dying noisily, while the other yelped and dove headfirst into the rocks, scorched backside trailing smoke. The rushed escape dislodged the larger rocks, and part of the wall sunk in on itself, revealing a tight passage out of the room.

The group turned to Nula, who grunted, “Figures,” as she removed her hat and rolled it carefully. “Alright, let’s follow the scallywags.”

~~

Luckily for the half-orc, the secret tunnel widened to more spacious dimensions several feet in. The kobold had scurried on ahead, and Robyn reminded everyone as they walked on in the dim light of a weakened light spell that they should expect a fight when they reached the end of the passage.

When the tunnel began to widen enough for them to adjust their order, Oskar took the lead. There was a sharp turn, and then the party found itself face to face with a group of orc warriors. Oskar raised his shield and chanted for a moment, a golden aegis illuminating the air around him as arrows flew through the air. Most were deflected, and Uzza was quick to press her hands to the resulting wounds and murmur words of healing. By that time, Nula and Isolde had jumped out of the tunnel and rushed the orcs.

Idu and Charlot stuck behind Oskar, nodding to each other and directing their spells at the furthest orc archer. Robyn stepped to the side and steadied her longbow, focusing on its innate power as she fitted her arrow. Silvery runes flowed across the surface of the bow and into the arrow, lighting it with traces of moonbeams. The shining arrow flew across the chamber to the orcs, a brilliant afterimage tracing its path. As battle was joined, a rumbling came from another entrance to the room, and Charlot’s head snapped around, calling out, “Undead!” seconds before a mangled group of dead kobolds shambled into view. Some were missing limbs, others had crushed skulls, but all moved steadily toward the party. At their rear, a larger orc strode, eyes aglow with dark power, hands reaching out to the zombified minions.

Charlot and Uzza caught each other’s eyes and both ran to the approaching horde, Charlot lifting his dark talisman while Uzza clutched her holy symbol. Both began a similar chant with vastly different inflections, and as one their voices rose in volume. The combination of holy and unholy power swept forward over the marching corpses, and a majority of the bodies shuddered and began to fall back, mouths vocalizing frightened grunts if they worked at all. The orcish shaman growled with displeasure, cuffing one of her turned minions across its collapsed face as it ran by, sending it crumpling to the floor. The shaman turned to the clerics and narrowed her eyes, lifting a gnarled finger to the tiefling. As Uzza’s back arched in pain, an arrow went soaring past the two and embedded itself squarely in the shaman’s chest. Sensing the seepage of the orc’s life force, Charlot smiled and swung his hand out, an echo of bells filling the room as the shaman fell to her knees. Uzza smiled at the boy in thanks, then grimaced as she turned to the foul necromancer. She felt divine might pass through her as she lifted her symbol aloft, and a moment later the orc was engulfed in holy fire.

In the resulting frenzy, wizards and clerics alike picked off the scrambling zombies, while fighters and paladins and pirates took out the remaining orcs. When there was one orc left standing (apart from Nula), the pirate held her blades to his throat. “What were you after down here, ya lubber?” she growled. The orc spat at her feet.

“I answer to no traitor,” he grunted in broken Common. “Found holy site for shaman, born again soon! You pay then!”

He then threw himself at Nula, but simply fell upon her swords. She cleaned them on his shirt and turned to shrug at Robyn. “Worth a shot.” The half-elf nodded in understanding and motioned to Oskar and Uzza. The two headed down the passage the shaman had emerged from.

As they walked down the dark corridor, they heard the grave-moans of the undead that had escaped the slaughter in the previous room. As they came upon the aimless bodies, the two dispatched of them with mystical flame and ensorcelled axe. After a few twists and turns, the passage ended with a foul chamber littered with skeletons, and a sickly slab of granite posing as an altar. It was there that they found cruel instruments and implements of torture, along with crudely written notes and several chalices of liquid that resembled blood. In one corner, a pile of clothes and trinkets were tossed unceremoniously.

Once the rest of the party had been summoned to the final chamber, Idu glanced around and immediately came to a conclusion. “Looks like this is where that shaman was raising her dead,” he remarked, gingerly leafing through the notes, which appeared to have been written on dried, leathery skin. “The rest of the tools here seem a bit superfluous, though the altar does appear to be some sort of locus for necromantic power.”

“Any way you can shut it off?” Robyn asked, not particularly hopefully. When Idu shook his head after a moment’s thought, she continued, “I suppose that was a bit optimistic. Oskar, reckon you can cave in this room?”

While the dwarf silently paced the length of the room, pressing his hand against the wall in certain spots and mumbling to himself, the party did its own search of the room. As Isolde was digging through what were assumedly the miners’ belongings, she let out a gasp and held up a wooden medallion. “An oak medallion! My mentor told me about these. Woodland elves are known to carry these with them as they travel, to always have a piece of their home with them.”

Nula bent down to examine the talisman. “It’s made from the wood of their homes?” she asked, squinting at the carved insignia of a wide tree.

Isolde snatched the medallion away from the half-orc. “No, it summons a tree.” Nula back away, wary of the narrow walls surrounding them.

After Oskar had finished his circuit, he grunted in affirmation and turned to Idu. “Could you shatter these two points?” He pointed to an area of the ceiling and a section of wall that appeared to already be crumbling.

Idu glanced down at his spellbook and nodded. The party retreated further down the passage and waited as Idu sat cross-legged on the damp rock floor and opened his spellbook in front of him. Several minutes of preparation and chanting later, Idu jabbed from the spellbook to the chamber, uttering a binding word and releasing the spells. Two loud cracks rang out from the chamber, and a torrent of boulders fell from above, splitting the altar and filling in the skeleton-strewn room. As Oskar had intended, there was no spillage into the corridor.

~~

Spirits were high as the party emerged from the dank caves into the setting sunlight. It would be full dark by the time the party made it back to the village, but Robyn was eager to return and report their success to that doubting mayor. The gold was certainly welcome, but Robyn thrived off of the looks of astonishment her team invariably earned as they proved their worth. Today the mayors and innkeepers of the realm learned to expect great things from them, but perhaps tomorrow it would be kings and queens who granted them vast boons for completing daring quests. Robyn knew it was only a matter of time.

[chille-tid-universe]

Status Report

Archivist Report 1305-47.b

Archivist: Just for the record, you are assigned item… 16-dash-T-point-four?

Vigilant: Yes, yes, that is correct, as you already know. I don’t see why you felt the need to draw me from the feast for this. That castle had been dormant for months, and the item hasn’t been disturbed since before I began my watch.

A: True enough, but there is talk from upstairs that the travelers from your last report might be capable of discovering the item’s resting place.

V: *snorts* That fancy scatterbrain with the dagger couldn’t find it, and he made himself right at home. Sure, the big one lines up with the basic description of the spell, but she’s a stickler for the law. No way it picks her!

A: *sniffs* Yes, your report concludes as much. Still… we do prefer thorough documentation of each contact, even potential contacts. At least… *glances at horn of ale dripping on table* … in my office that’s how we do things.

V: By the beard of… Fine, fine, let me pull up the scrying sphere. Your blasted quill is recording? Good, let’s see where they got off to…

~~

Melpomene walked briskly down the southern road from Daggerford. Of course, the blasted barkeep had found a replacement mere hours after the rest of the party had left the tavern. They only had a half a day’s lead on her, and the gnomes had such short legs, but Melpomene could not seem to catch up.

Unbidden, chords and lyrics flowed like water through the aasimar’s mind. As the miles marched past, Melpomene hummed a new song or two, mentally noting those tunes with the greatest potential. Yes, this strange party seemed to attract stories like flies to sugar. The devilish svirfneblin, the hapless gnome, the noble she-warrior, and the charming half-elven bard. If they could be believed, they had accomplished much already, and if Melpomene knew anything of folk-heroes, there were many more tales this group was waiting to spin. And Melpomene was in the business of good tales.

Halfway through her second day from Daggerford, Melpomene came upon a crudely constructed barricade stretching the width of the road, with a ramshackle hut to one side. Upon closer inspection, it appeared hastily vacated, and the gate through the meager wall was hanging on one hinge. 

Obviously there had been some sort of toll collection going on here, legitimate or not, but the proprietor appeared to have packed up in a hurry. Upon closer inspection, there was a bolt imbedded in the windowsill of the shack that looked quite familiar, and as Melpomene headed on she was chuckling. 

The next day brought with it a frightful wall of mist, stretching to either side of the road as far as her eyes could see. There had been no tracks leading off the main path, however, so Melpomene shrugged and carried on. As soon as she stepped foot into the murky fog, she could sense a dark presence, looming just ahead but never getting any closer. It was a persistent paranoia that quickly set her nerves on edge, and as she saw the darkened silhouette of a castle wall fade into view, Melpomene’s mood had tangibly soured. Her mood only slightly improved as the forms of her new companions became clear in the mist, standing over the mangled bodies of several orcs and fiends.

“Yoohoo!” she called out, jogging the last hundred feet to the castle walls. Nissa’s hand went to her crossbows before she recognized Melpomene’s voice, and Wun Way called out jovially, “How nice of you to join us! Don’t worry, we’ve only taken care of the welcoming committee. I’m sure there’s plenty left for you to help with!”

As the reunited party walked into the less-foggy courtyard, they relayed the events of the last few days to Melpomene, from the specifics of the information they had gathered from Trista/Vitalius, to the brigands they had dealt with a day past (“They weren’t even unionized!” Nissa scoffed), to the waiting party they had just dispatched.

As they walked about the courtyard, several things became clear immediately. The so-called Dragonspear “Castle” barely deserved the name anymore; almost the entirety of its construction had fallen into disrepair, with most of the walls crumbling or already fallen, limited reminders of where most of the previous buildings had stood, and the stale taste of inaction upon the air itself. There were merely two points of interest in the whole courtyard, they concluded, as they finished their rounds. 

The western tower, which sat adjacent to what, in another time, might have been a barracks, was almost completely whole. As Pock and Nissa explained, it appeared that there were stones of different ages, from a variety of quarries, that had been used to reconstruct the areas of decay on both the tower and barracks (Nissa was quick to dissuade Pock’s initial hypothesis that time travelers had built the structures).

The only other building worthy of that designation was a simple, stout stone structure, barely more than a large room, which Brienne quickly identified as a chapel. It was not immune to the many long years it had spent exposed to the elements, but somehow it still stood. As they finished walking along the inner wall of crumbling stone, Melpomene recalled all she had heard regarding this foul place during her time in Daggerford, and shared with the others.

Years and years ago, the stories went, this castle had been the staging ground for an invasion from the nine hells. There had been a portal opened, then, though tales told of an effort by the forces of Daggerford to seal it. There had been little told of this area since then, until around a year ago, just about the time of Morwen’s rise to power, when this strange mist had descended upon the land, and fiends began roaming the area.

Unsure of which area to investigate, the party placed their Immovable Rod against the door to the west tower and settled in across the courtyard to catch their breath from the previous engagement. 

As the party rested, both Brienne and Nissa’s heads suddenly jerked up. Nissa turned to the chapel, and Brienne asked, “Did you guys hear that?”

“Did we hear what?” Melpomene asked.

“Someone called for help… Said they were trapped… It sounded like it was coming from the chapel…” Brienne tapered off, glancing at Nissa and following her gaze to the chapel. “Did you hear it, too?”

Nissa seemed to think for a second, then nodded, “Yeah, someone was asking for help. Definitely coming from the chapel.”

The other three glanced among themselves. Pock shrugged and started walking toward the chapel before Brienne stuck out an arm to stop him. “Well, we didn’t hear anything,” Wun Way said with a hint of questioning in her voice.

Nissa just narrowed her eyes and sneered at the bulge in Wun Way’s backpack. “And none of us ever hear your ‘egg’ either, but we don’t call you completely crazy,” she shot back, fully aware she had called Wun Way completely crazy before.

The party moved toward the chapel.

~~

Archivist Report 1305-47.b (cont.)

Vigilant: What in the realms are they doing?! The she-warrior’s file said she possessed a potent Circlet of Intellect! How can they even contemplate this?!

A: Keep in mind the mist surrounding the premises. We theorize it could have a deadening effect on victims’ sense of morality, and certain members of the group have already shown preference for dubious decisions. *reference to file Svirfneblin-143.16598*

V: *takes a long draught of ale* Still don’t think there’s going to be anything here worth reporting on, but if you insist…

A: I do.

~~

The party stood beyond the door to the chapel. Nissa had glanced in through the windows and had recognized the trappings of Tempus, a deity of war. They had decided that Wun Way and Pock would stand guard outside, ready to intervene if anything malevolent occurred, but as Brienne walked in the gnome trotted after her.

As soon as the four stepped beyond the threshold of the door, the voice became audible, and Pock and Melpomene glanced around. “Help me… They trapped me here…” the feminine voice called, whimpering as if in pain. Outside, Wun Way could hear nothing.

“Who trapped you? When?” Brienne asked, looking around the room.

“It was those terrible priests of Tempus,” the voice seemed to pout, and it was clear now that it was coming from the solid granite altar at the end of the room. As the four stepped forward, they noticed that the area around the altar seemed better preserved than the remainder of the chapel; while piles of broken pews were pressed up against the walls, there was still reddish paint coating most of the floor in an area surrounding the altar. However, there were spots where it seemed the paint had been clawed away.

A sense of dread filled the four, and Brienne motioned to Pock, and then the altar. He nodded and closed his eyes briefly, then confirmed, “Yep, abjuration magic, pretty strong. Spells of binding, protection, sealing.”

“What do you need from us to be freed?” Nissa asked, glancing around the sparsely decorated room. “And what would you offer us for our services?”

The voice took on a cloying, pleading tone. “In the early times, it would have taken the blood of a follower of Tempus, but their bonds have weakened. Now, all it would take is a drop of lifeforce from a devout individual. As to rewards…” The voice went quiet for a moment, then seemed to focus directly onto Nissa. “I can offer a means for your people to defend themselves, Nissandra.” Nissa’s eyes glazed over, as if she could see some long-chased-after goal within reach.

Brienne moved herself between the two gnomes, knowing Pock was the closest to devout among them. “Why did they trap you here?” she asked, directing her question at the altar.

“They did not agree with my world views,” the voice explained coyly, “that anything worth having should be taken by, strength or by guile.” Wun Way, tired of hearing this one-sided conversation, inched a little closer to the doorway, but still could hear only her friends.

“And what of the settlements around here? Your intentions do not involve ill-will toward them?”

They felt the voice recede a little, as if it spoke across a great distance. “I have no aspirations towards them.” The four glanced among themselves. Nissa’s eyes clearly pleaded that they try something. What was the worst that could happen? And this was clearly a being of power. Their comeuppance would certainly be worth the effort.

Brienne’s jaw set like stone as she glared at Nissa. There was no way to know what this thing was, and to take it at its word would be foolishness. Pock simply glanced between the two women, tapping his warhammer against his thigh. “I could offer you and your loved ones protection,” the voice offered, tone as sweet as honey. “No harm would befall you or your families.” Nissa gestured toward the altar in triumph, while Brienne simply shook her head.

Melpomene shook out her long hair and sighed. She knew the traps and pitfalls that words hid. They needed assurance that this voice spoke plainly. Her eyes began to close, and she reached out with her mind, immediately detecting a nexus of thought centered on the altar. On the surface, Melpomene’s mind skimmed thoughts of freedom, decades of thirst for the outside world, a longing that went bone deep. Unsatisfied, the aasimar frowned and pushed a little deeper.

Immediately, she heard a deep, rumbling chuckle in her mind, and the four felt a wrenching pain as the ground beneath them tremored. Melpomene fell back, the mental link severed, and the voice called out, demanding, “Free me!” Wun Way felt the brush of the coatl’s mind against her consciousness, and she gasped.

“We need to get out of here!” the half-elf cried. Brienne looked back at Wun Way, and nodded, ushering Pock out and helping Melpomene to her feet. She turned and almost dragged Nissa away from the altar.

Outside, it was still misty, but it seemed that diffuse rays of sunlight filtered down a little brighter than they had seemed minutes before. The five caught their breath on the sparse lawn while Wun Way explained. “The coatl egg, it told me it was protecting me from… whatever that thing was. It couldn’t hold her off much longer.” The four glanced at the bulge in her backpack, then back at the now-silent chapel. Brienne turned to Nissa, who shrugged.

“Alright, so we don’t do anything for now. Maybe once we check out the tower and you’re sure there’s no other big, bad evil here we can hear her out, see if we can trust her.” It was the closest to a compromise Nissa was likely to offer, so Brienne nodded, and they turned to the west tower.

The door appeared to be normal, apart from intricate text that sprawled across the top of the wood in golden lettering. It read thus:

“A farmer wishes to plant 9 trees to form 10 straight lines, with 3 trees in each row.”

Brienne and Melpomene immediately began discussing how they could solve the riddle while Wun Way began sketching in the dirt. Pock asked if they could plant some of the trees in the air, to which Nissa replied with a punch to his shoulder. After a minute of discussion, Nissa threw up her hands and stalked to the door. She punched her finger into the wood below the engraving, and a yellow dot was left behind. Encouraged, she quickly punched in eight more dots in a grid pattern. As she jabbed for the ninth time, however, there was a flash, and an acrid smell filled the air. Nissa was thrown backwards and landed in a heap. Her nine dots flashed red for a moment, before fading like breath on a window into the wood. Below the puzzle, three green circles appeared, and the first turned red.

Brienne and Melpomene glanced at Nissa, nursing her lightly smoking finger, then back at the door. “Maybe we need to enter the answer thee times,” Pock suggested, and stepped over Nissa’s leg toward the door. Brienne grabbed him by the shoulder.

“I do not think so, Pock,” she stated. He shrugged and began searching the masonry for clues. Melpomene raised her eyebrows at Brienne, who responded under her breath, “He means well.”

There was a low growl from Nissa before she whipped out her crossbows and fired off two bolts at the door. They quivered slightly after they struck, deep into the wood, but there was no other change. The svirfneblin then reached into her cloak and removed a vial of green liquid, whose contents she tossed across the door. Where the acid hit wood, it ate away slowly, but the gilded lettering seemed unaffected. Nissa peered closely at the damage, but was careful not to let her skin touch the cursed wood.

Brienne returned to the etchings Wun Way had scribbled in the dirt. “No… it has to be symmetrical. But no matter how we move the saplings…” She crossed several lines through the etchings. “I can’t get more than eight lines!”

Melpomene thought for a second, then grabbed the stick from Brienne. “You’re focused on rotational symmetry. What if…” She placed five dots in a cross, then placed the remaining four above and below the cross. “Ha! Take that, you leafy little bitches!” Brienne stood back and nodded.

“...Seven, eight, nine, ten! That does it, well done, Melpomene!” Brienne glanced to the door. “Who wants to do the honors?”

Nissa shook her head. “No way, one shock from that stupid door is enough for me.”

Brienne shrugged and stepped up to the door, placing her finger lightly onto the grainy wood in nine different spots. Brienne winced as the last impression was made, but the door merely hummed a moment before the yellow dots turned flashing green before fading back into the wood. She gingerly gripped the metal handle and twisted it.

The wall separating the tower and barracks appeared to have been removed, creating a single long room with a curved wall at one end. For all the ruin of the castle, the inside of the building seemed quite well kept. A winding staircase along the inside of the tower wall lead up to a second story, and beneath the stairs was a cellar door to some sort of basement. There were several pieces of mismatched furniture strewn across the floor, with tables and stools crowding what appeared to be a full bar along the side wall. Shelves were stocked with a multitude of bottles behind this bar, and below the shelves stood a man.

The party immediately recognized the bushy red hair and mustache and the scar beneath one eye as belonging to Haesten, and there was a glint of a golden hilt by his belt. Weapons were gripped as their quarry came into view. With a blink, the wizard smiled and waved. “Hullo! Splendid, you opened the door! Was beginning to think I’d rot here, and that’s the truth! Come in, come in, won’t you have a drink?”

Nissa’s eyes darted to the shelves of alcohol, immediately marking which were the most expensive. “Don’t mind if I do,” she responded with a smile, darting past Brienne and climbing up onto the bar. She ignored the offered cup from Haesten and instead began examining the hefty bottles near the top. “Got anything gnommish?”

The wizard’s smile wavered for a moment before returning. “Er… Yes, I do believe there should be something around there.” His interest piqued, Pock also stepped around Brienne and clambered up onto a stool, tugging on Nissa’s cloak and beckoning for a bottle.

“Haesten, I presume?” Brienne accused, a cold chill creeping into her voice. This man held the dagger, and surely had some sort of defense set up in this place.

“A pleasure to meet your acquaintance… sir?” Haesten bowed, tilting his head in a question. “I presume you’ll have been sent here by Delphin. Oh, how silly he’ll think I am!”

“Did you steal his dagger and flee from Daggerford?” Brienne asked, gripping her battleaxe and sensing Melpomene reaching into her cloak for her blade. Nissa still perused the collection, and Pock was pulling out a magnifying glass to read the miniscule text on a bottle.

The wizard sighed. “Yes, I did indeed. Oh, it all began as one big joke, but…” He pulled the dagger from its sheath, and it glittered in the light of the lamps dispersed through the room. “...it really is a wonderful item. I’m sad to say I was tempted, and my greed got the best of me.”

“No need to apologize for that,” Nissa exclaimed, trying to shove several bottles into her cloak.

“Yes, well, I headed south with the dagger and found myself at this curious place. Did you know there’s a portal to hell sealed nearby? The power I could siphon from that source is immense! But I had learned from Ol’ Ondabarl how to set up a wizard’s tower, so I set to preparing the defenses. Unfortunately,” he mumbled, speaking into his drink, “I started with that door, and didn’t quite leave myself with a way to unlock it from the inside… But now you’re here, and we’re free!” Haesten threw his arms open, his drink sloshing over the rim, before his eyes darted from Brienne and Melpomene to the dagger he had laid on the bartop. “I do suppose Delphin has asked for his dagger, back, eh?” He picked up the dagger and held it out to Brienne. “I suppose I owe him that much, after the trouble I’ve caused.”

Brienne narrowed her eyes, but strode forward into the room and reached for the dagger. Melpomene shook her head as Brienne walked away. Something wasn’t right… “Wait. He said we!” As Brienne grabbed the offered hilt, Haesten gripped her forearm with his other hand, and grinned hideously. 

All at once, there was a pressure behind Brienne’s eyes, like a drill was digging out her brain, and then there was blankness, emptiness that spanned the last three days. Brienne could not recall where she was, or how she got here, but she recognized Haesten as if he had just been described to her. She glanced down and saw the dagger, and his hand on her arm, and assumed the worst. She let the dagger fall to the floor and pulled away, shaking her head to free it from a ringing sensation. She felt drained, as if she had run many miles, and there was a deep pain throbbing behind her eyes.

Nissa had been watching the discussion from the corner of her eye, and when Brienne had seized up at Haesten’s touch, the svirfneblin knew something was wrong. Bottles forgotten (for the moment) she whirled around and leveled her crossbow at the wizard, letting loose a bolt aimed for his shoulder. The bolt flew through the air and struck its target, and from her position mere inches away, Brienne saw the shaft of wood thud into Haesten’s body. There was no blood, and only a slight squelching sound as the bolt pierced what should have been flesh. “He isn’t human!” Brienne cried out as she reached for her battleaxe and shield.

“Oh, is he an elf?” Pock asked with curiosity, then turned to see the bolt sticking from Haesten’s chest. “Ah.”

There was a clang, and the cellar door opened to reveal a female adventurer, climbing from the basement below. Melpomene cried out to alert the others, then her blade darted from beneath her cloak. Across the room, Pock had advanced upon the wizard with hammer in hand. Nissa had darted behind the bar and was taking shots from her hidden position while Brienne brought her battleaxe down upon his arm with a sickening squelch, as if she had struck a boggy marsh. Haesten’s mouth split in a rictus grin, and his eyes turned towards Wun Way. The half-elf’s eyes glazed over for a moment, then she turned to see Nissa aiming at the wizard. “STOP!” she yelled, and pointed a finger at the gnome. Nissa’s eyes widened as she felt her muscles freeze, then she turned her gaze to Wun Way. There was murder in her eyes.

The adventurer had jumped at Melpomene, who took a deep breath and let her earthly guise fall away. All her heavenly, corrupted splendor shone forth upon the adventurer - and seemed to have no effect. She instead adjusted her leap and darted past the aasimar’s terrible visage.

A moment later, Brienne slammed the flat of her axe against Haesten’s face, and Wun Way slumped forward. Nissa was freed, and quickly turned her crossbow on the half-elf. She might have fired, had Wun Way not managed to quickly explain between breaths, “Mind… control…” This seemed to upset Nissa even more, and she renewed her attack on the wizard. Or would have, if the adventurer did not jump behind the bar and strike Nissa down with a heavy blow. The gnome fell unconscious, slumped over the bar. Pock turned around and placed his hand on his fallen friend, breathing words of life as he felt her body stir, but was then struck by the adventurer and sent reeling.

Brienne gathered her strength and unleashed a flurry of strikes against the wizard. As her last blow struck, it sliced clean through his torso. With that terrible grin plastered onto his face, Haesten’s body began to melt, becoming viscous and an ugly crimson. At the same time, the adventurer’s body underwent the same change, and within seconds there were two piles of sludge where they had stood a moment before.

Wun Way turned to the fallen companions and began administering aid. Melpomene composed herself and her beautiful and slightly less imposing form returned. Brienne took a deep breath and asked, “Does anyone want to fill me in as to what’s going on here?”

~~

Archivist Report 1305-47.b (cont.)

Vigilant: I see what you mean. She definitely fits the parameters. Still, will it have any effect? It’s been centuries, and still no indication that - 

Archivist: These discussions have already been exhausted elsewhere. *reference to open forum 928346.8*

V: Well, none of this will be worth a raven’s caw if they can’t find the blasted casket. Generations have passed by it without noticing anything.

~~

There was something strange about the wall beyond the bar. As Melpomene reviewed the events of the past few days for the three who had been injured by the wizard and his accomplice, Nissa’s eyes kept getting drawn back to a section of wall, much like any other in the long room, except for an unmistakable gut feeling that Nissa was getting from it. She recognized it as her treasure-sense, and had learned to follow it over the years. Cutting Melpomene off mid-sentence, the svirfneblin strode across the floor (avoiding the still bubbling mass that had been Haesten) to the odd wall.

The others eyed her, but knew better than to get between Nissa and potential wealth (unless that wealth belonged to someone else, in which case Brienne usually intervened). After a few seconds, Nissa let out a satisfied exclamation and, with a click, the false wall swung open. Within, there was a shallow wooden box, and as Pock helped Nissa remove it, an emblazoned warhammer crossed with a lightning bolt became clear on top, in stunning color as if it had been painted yesterday. Beneath, shimmering text, was written in Common:

“Used to threaten / Used to defeat

Sometimes it grows / Sometimes it shrinks

Used to conquer / Used to protect

It marks your downfall / It marks your success”

For the next few minutes, the party threw out possible solutions as Brienne lugged the half-casket around the tower (there was something about it that just felt… right to her), and they checked the second story, where they found a fledgling wizard’s study, complete with agents and reagents, globes and tomes, a fancy leather-bound tome they took to be Haesten’s spellbook and safely stored away in the bag of holding, several potions, and even an exquisitely ciphered scroll of teleportation, which Melpomene slid into her coat.

The second floor being for all intents and purposes looted, the party ventured a search into the cellar below the tower. Upon close examination, there appeared to be a thin trail of the crimson substance that Haesten and his adventurer had been diminished to, leading from behind the bar and down the stairs to the cellar. As they cautiously descended the cold stone steps, a hideous sight met their eyes. A bulbous red mass of oozing pustules was in the process of decay in what appeared to be a cell, strands of slime already seeping through the bars.

Wun Way leaned a little closer and announced that, given the circumstances, this was most likely an oblex, and an elder one at that. She explained that they had been known to incorporate the personalities and likenesses of those they fed upon, and one of this size could easily maintain several bodies-facsimiles at the same time. Pock asked in a hushed whisper if the elder oblex had fed upon a pile of red goo, and Nissa sighed and informed him that this was most likely its actual form.

As the party returned to the first floor, they resumed the discussion of the casket’s puzzle. “Government?” “Money?” “Citizens?” “An army?” On and on they threw out answers as they finished scouring the first floor. As they finished up and started towards the curving staircase, Melpomene pursed her lips and thought a second before offering, “Power?” There was a sound like a thunderclap, and the insignia on the casket glowed bright white for a split second. As the party’s sight and hearing returned to them, the lid had shifted off the casket, revealing its contents.

Within the casket, there lay a neatly folded bundle of cloth. There was an emblem stitched into the cloth, matching the symbol on the casket; a warhammer crossed with a lightning bolt. As Melpomene removed the cloth, it unfurled to show a handsome standard. Beneath the cloth was a metal rod, to be affixed to a pole or other weapon, to hand the standard from, and next to the rod was a warhammer matching the emblem.

Brienne felt a sudden need to hold that warhammer. She slowly reached in with her hand, and as her fingers slid around the cool metal of the handle, she felt the mental fatigue and heavy paranoia she had been suffering from since they had come to this place disperse. She braced herself to lift the heavy weapon, but was surprised to find it much lighter than it had seemed in the casket. There was a carving along the side of the hammer, an intricate lightning bolt woven in strange knots that seemed to shift from the corner or Brienne’s eye. She turned to face the rest of the party. “Neat,” Pock commented.

~~

Archivist Report 1305-47.b (cont.)

Vigilant: *cheers and bangs horn on table, endangering records with spilled ale* She’s done it! The crazy she-devil’s done it!

Archivist: *adjusting papers to avoid spillage* Technically she is a fallen angel, not a devil.

V: No, the warrioress! Do you know what this means? My watch it ended! That blasted hiding spot is finished!

A: Yes, it appears your position is no longer required. The paperwork will be distributed within a week. Please await your new orders. You may return to your… feast. *gathers files*

V: Not on your life, archivist. I’ve waited damned centuries for this moment. I want to see who we’ve been waiting for. At least until they’re out of range.

A: *reopens ledger* Very well…

~~

“Incredible,” Brienne breathed, feeling her moral ambiguities evaporate like morning dew under the intensity of the hammer’s influence. “You need to feel this.” She waved the hammer around easily, passing it to Wun Way, in whose hand the hammer dropped like a boulder, clanging loudly on the wooden floor and leaving a dent.

“Stars, Brienne, I know I’m not that much weaker than you!” she complained, straining as she attempted to lift the hammer. Brinne frowned, brow furrowing, as Nissa and Pock both approached the hammer and attempted, unsuccessfully, to lift it together.

“Curious,” the human muttered, reaching down and plucking the hammer from the floor to the chagrin of the others. “Well, there doesn’t appear to be anything left to find here. Let’s go.”

The party decided it wanted nothing to do with what was obviously a portal to the Nine Hells, and decided to head back for Daggerford immediately, hoping to escape the oppressive mists before the end of the day. So, still wounded and wearied, the group left the tower and headed for the gates of Dragonspear Castle.

Seldom has an oversight had such drastic ramifications.

The group walked with easy gait across the courtyard, but stopped as they reached the gate. Beyond, a semicircle of orcs were arrayed with a pair of hellhounds, and a large orc decked in intricate furs and skins in the center. As she began speaking, Brienne, Nissa, and Wun Way recognized her as the shaman from their journeys before Orlane. “We’ve finally tracked you down. Guthran will be most pleased to know those who slaughtered his tribe have been dealt with.” She waved her hand at Melpomene and Pock. “We have no business with you. Leave the others, and you will be spared.” The gnome and aasimar grabbed their weapons and stepped closer to the other three. “Very well,” the gravelly voice rumbled. “You have chosen.”

Lifting high the wondrous hammer, Brienne ran forward to face the old foe. As she passed between the towers, however, the shaman lifted a gnarled hand, and a torrent of flames shot up from the ground, creating a wall of fire between the structures. Caught in the midst of the inferno, Brienne cried out and pushed through, emerging singed but whole in the midst of the orcs and their hellhounds. With a grin, the shaman raised her other hand and two tears in reality opened before her, and two tall devils stepped through to the plane wielding long chains barbed with hooks.

As the foul enemies collapsed on Brienne, the other four dashed to the ladders that would take them to the top of the towers; Wun Way to the right tower, and the other three to the left. From their lofty vantage points, they saw Brienne dash in among the orcs and, swinging the warhammer about easily, knock one orc’s head clean off with a single blow, then spin and crush the ribs of another foe. In a flash, two other orcs had been felled, and the human woman was left grinning as the other orcs approached more skittishly. This, this was right. Mind clear, morality restored, and fell enemies to remove from existence. Though her body screamed for respite from the battles of the day, Brienne yelled a challenge to those before her.

Nissa called out as a trio of the strange spiked birds swooped down from the misty skies, flinging their barbed tail feathers at the party. Ducking from the assault, Nissa pulled out her crossbow and leveled it at the shaman. “This time you won’t get away,” she growled, loosing a bolt. Atop the other tower, Wun Way grabbed her own hand crossbow and aimed at the devils, calling out for Brienne to watch herself.

The devils approached, twirling their wicked chains as the orcs swarmed Brienne. She held her ground, throwing her shield between herself and her attackers, until the devils whipped out their hooks. One was knocked aside by the hammer, but the other struck, and Brienne grunted as the scythe-like hook dug into her arm. Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, the hellhounds circled around her, breathing torrents of fire that engulfed Brienne and a few of the remaining orcs. 

Melpomene narrowed her eyes at the devil that had ensnared her comrade, and breathed words of power beneath her breath, feeling her divine magic flow through her body. She raised her voice, and in mocking tones directed threats at the fiend. It turned to look at the source of the calls, and its eyes went wide as a horrible vision appeared before it. With a strangled yelp, it dropped its chain and fell back, almost colliding with the shaman. Brienne took the opportunity to smash another pair of orcs.

The party continued to fire from above, attempting to pick off the devils while the birds continued to swoop across the battlefield, emptying their deadly plumage toward the adventurers. Pock glanced down at the fray and called upon Rill Cleverthrush to shield his friend. A golden aura surrounded Brienne which sparkled in the eyes of her foes, causing them to squint through the brilliance.

Unfortunately, the devils were still able to find purchase with their swirling chains, and two hooks pierced Brienne, holding her fast. She gave a mighty roar and flung the bonds aside, panting with the exertion.

By this time, the birds’ feathers had pinned Wun Way and Pock, who were both beginning to gasp with the effort of staying conscious. Glancing over at Pock and the others, Wun Way called out to Brienne, “We can’t take much more!”

Herself beginning to feel the extent of her exhaustion, Brienne set herself in a defensive pose and called out, “Melpomene! The scroll!” Just then, another bolt from Nissa went sailing through the air and struck the shaman in her flank. With a deep grunt, the orc’s concentration slipped, and the wall of fire flickered into nothingness. Nissa cried out in triumph right before a pair of feathered barbs sank deep into her chest, sending her sprawling across the floor. Pock cried out and dove to assist her, but was struck as well, and toppled to her side. Wun Way saw the motion from the corner of her eye and sang out a desperate healing spell, not daring to breathe until she saw her friends stir and clamber back to their feet.

“The scroll, Melpomene!” Brienne repeated, fighting off another assault by the devils. “It’s the only way!” The aasimar nodded to herself and feverishly searched her cloak, locating the crisp roll of parchment they had taken from the wizard’s study what seemed a lifetime ago. The spell was beyond anything Melpomene had attempted before, but she could just begin to make out the general shape of the mental components necessary. The words swam before her eyes as if she had had too much to drink, but she knew she needed to read them if they were to survive this.

“Ready!” she cried out.

“To Melpomene!” Brienne roared, readying herself to break from the fray. Atop the other tower, Wun Way fired a last shot at the deadly birds before launching herself at the ladder. Pock peeked over the edge of the parapet and concentrated, creating his divine weapon next to the chain-devil and sending it careening into its leathery flesh. The gnome cried out happily, even as a firebolt from the shaman’s fingers punched him squarely in the chest. Pock’s smile stayed on his face as he fell backwards, eyes rolled back.

Nissa watched her fellow gnome fall back, and glanced down at Brienne, thick in the middle of the orcs and devils, then to Wun Way, just now reaching the bottom of her ladder. “No time,” she muttered, then turned to Melpomene. “I need to drop him,” she blurted, hoping Melpomene would catch on. “No time to climb.” With that, she dove for Pock’s unconscious form, grunting as she hauled his armor-laden body to the edge of the tower. “Sorry,” she mumbled as she tilted him into the open air. She did not spare him a second glance as he tumbled to the earth below; for this to work, she needed to get down, herself. She jumped for the ladder and half-climbed, half-fell down the rungs.

Brienne chanced a backwards glance, and her heart nearly stopped as she saw Pock’s body hit the earth. She checked another blow, then extracted herself from the brawl, charging for the fallen gnome. She arrived at his body just as Wun Way did, and she saw his chest rise slightly with his breath just as Nissa jumped the last few feet off her ladder. Brienne glanced up into the misty sky and saw Melpomene unfurling the scroll fully and taking a deep breath. The fiends and orcs had started their charge to the damaged group as the fallen angel plummeted earthward again.

~~

Archivist Report 1305-47.b (cont.)

Archivist: *does not notice ale flowing over report* Is the work of a vigilant always this enthralling?

Vigilant: *does not seem to have heard* No no no no no no no no no no…

~~

Brienne found herself holding her breath as she watched the beautiful form of Melpomene fall like a comet. She placed a hand on the body of Pock, bracing herself for the teleportation spell.

Nissa held her leg, sucking in deep breaths as she assessed the damage. She didn’t think it was broken; most likely just sprained. Once they returned to Daggerford, she would need to find a professional healer to be sure.

Wun Way’s breath caught in her throat as she stared up. The sight of the imposing aasimar hurtling toward her, flowing hair buffeted by the wind, glowing face scrunched up as she deciphered the scroll, would be with her ‘til the day she died.

Melpomene felt the intense pressure of this moment. As air rushed by her face, she smiled. All spotlights were on her, and this was her time to shine. If she could only make out that last part of the spell… She didn’t dare look away from the scroll. She knew the ground was fast approaching, and that she couldn’t spare a split second to stare at the oncoming earth. Her usual performance bravada cracked, and her smile faltered. This last line was not making sense! Melpomene’s eyes grew wide as she scanned the scroll again, thinking a full reading might jog her intuition and help her complete the spell.

She was on the last word when she hit the ground.

~~

The shaman grunted in a close approximation of a laugh. “How nice of them to bundle themselves up for us.” She called out to her underlings, “Strip them of their weapons and bind them! A quick death is too good for these monsters. We take them to Guthran!”

~~

Archivist Report 1305-47.b (cont.)

*span of several seconds without sound or motion*

Archivist: What the f-

*Report terminated*

[chille-tid-universe]

Classic Search and Rescue

I found myself contemplating our encounter with the young ruffians as we made our way back to the River Shining Tavern. My thoughts were uneasy; the children had willingly broken the law, had likely endangered others before they came upon us, but they were victims of a system that left them no other choice. My ever-sturdy sense of right could not cut through the fog of uncertainty. I knew it was right to spare them, to allow them the opportunity to make something of themselves; after all, hadn’t my weaponmaster given me that same gift when he agreed to train me? As much as I had faith that the children could put their energies toward doing good, however, the staggering odds that faced them threw the surrounding city in a harsher light, each crumbling wall revealing where a poor family might have taken shelter, each haughty nobleman that passed flaunting more wealth than those children could ever hope to see in their lifetimes. I wracked my brains to try and remember my own childhood, to uncover some forgotten memory of similarly destitute individuals around the castle of Tarth, but I was unable to recall. Surely, there must have been; poverty is the shadow of civilization. Yet everything from my childhood home seemed brighter, more solid than these ramshackle alleyways of Daggerford.

I was still deep in reverie when the party returned to the River Shining Tavern. As we stepped into the familiar murmur of a midday crowd, the barkeep looked up from the mug she was polishing and waved for us, calling Melpomene’s name. “That lousy dwarven singer canceled on us. Would you be a love and play us a tune?” she asked. The aasimar shrugged at us and asked if we’d be alright the rest of the day without her.

Wun Way smiled ruefully and said, “Yes, we should be fine, though I’m loathe to miss another of your performances.” Melpomene grinned in return and winked over her shoulder as she sauntered over to the stage. As we ascended the steps to our room, I distinctly heard Wun Way sigh.

Back in our room, it appeared that Nissa was fully recovered from whatever had ailed her earlier in the day (though she seemed out of breath, and I could have swore her purse seemed to bulge more than it had the day before). After a quick retelling by Wun Way of the day’s events, we gathered our party member and headed back into the city.

It was a quick trek through the city to the clearing where Ondabarl’s tower stood. There was a large space with stables and stablehands tending horses, with two buildings capping either end. To our right, there was a modest temple that Wun Way recognized as belonging to Lathander, the Morninglord. Across the grassy yard stood the wizard’s tower.

We waited a minute after we knocked on the large doors, and were greeted by a frail woman with a broom. We introduced ourselves and explained we had been invited by Ondabarl, at which point she nodded and asked that we wait while she fetched him. Within minutes the old man swept down the stairs, and upon noticing us, chanted under his breath before smiling and welcoming us inside.

The room inside was cluttered but clean, and as we passed the door frame we sensed dimming glyphs in the wood. Instruments and tomes of various shapes and sizes were strewn across tables in seemingly random fashion, but the greater whole spoke to some deeper pattern, and I felt sure that Ondabarl could locate any item in the scattered piles within seconds.

Ondabarl ushered us up the stairs he had appeared from, beckoning us up into a welcoming room that was dominated by a larger-than-life portrait of someone who looked exactly like the wizard, but which was clearly an aged piece. As he waved us through the door on the other side of the room, I caught a glimpse of a handsome sheath at his belt, and the gilded hilt of a dagger.

My thoughts on the glinting dagger were pushed from my mind, however, as we entered into a wonder - a solarium whose dimensions surely did not match those of the surrounding tower. Sunlight glinted impossibly through glass ceilings, though there had been no such structure from the outside, and I was reminded of the quarters of my father’s court wizard, which I had always felt were a little too spacious for their location in the castle. This, however, was something else entirely, and I gaped with clear awe at the variety of thriving plants filling the wide space. In the midst of the verdant greenery, a luxurious fountain spewed crystal clear water, with nearby fronds waving gently as if to catch the stray droplets as they fell.

As I looked wide-eyed around, I caught the glances of Wun Way and Poc, both clearly as enchanted as I, and of Nissa, who seemed to be casting furtive glances at the intricate garden tools dispersed around the solarium. As she noticed me, she gave a wide, innocent grin. I pursed my lips and shook my head lightly, and was met with an easy shrug.

With a wry smile, as if he had gotten the exact reaction from us as he intended, Ondabarl lead us along the winding path through the plants to a wooden door. Through it, we entered a spacious study. As we entered, he asked us to be seated. I glanced at the single armchair in the room and the wizard waved a hand. An ottoman materialized behind each of us.

Ondabarl walked to his armchair as we sat, then waved at the sweeper, declaring, “Thank you, Eunice, that will be all.” I glanced back to see the woman standing in the doorway with the broom, an inscrutable expression on her face. At Ondabarl’s dismissal, she bowed her head and turned, shutting the door behind her.

We sat in silence for a moment, before I cleared my throat and Wun Way asked, “Was there something you wished to discuss?”

“Ah, yes, of course,” Ondabarl exclaimed, sitting up in his chair. “I would very much like to ask for your help with a certain… matter…” The wizard’s gaze seemed drawn to a spot above the door, and we waited another few moments, at which point Nissa began audibly drumming her fingers along the arm of her chair. “Ah, yes, I’d like to enlist your help in discovering the fate of my late-apprentice, Haesten.”

“When was the last time you saw him?” Poc asked.

“Oh, must be more than a year by now,” Ondabarl muttered, frowning as he spoke. “Headed out quite suddenly, and in possession of  something quite personal.” He glanced between us and motioned conspiratorially to his sheath. With the flick of a hand, a shining dagger rose from the sheath, and floated above his desk. “He absconded with my dagger.” He reached out and passed his hand through the image. “Quite a good dagger, too, a relic from my… heh… journeys. Delphin Yellowknife, that’s what they used to call me, and they heard tell all down the coasts of - well, you wouldn’t quite know where it was.” With a sigh, Ondabarl motioned and the holographic knife blinked out of existence, reappearing in his empty sheath. “I fear something has happened to Haesten. If you should discover what has befallen him, be sure to recover my knife, and his spellbook, if you are able.”

“Have you tried, you know, scrying for him?” Nissa asked, diverting her attention from the baubles on the tables around her.

“Yes, of course I’ve tried that,” the wizard grumbled, “but it’s no use. Each time I’ve tried, there’s been this odd… mist… to the south that clouds my sight.”

“Are there any other people who might have known where Haesten might go? Friends, family?” I asked, trying to imagine what kind of dangers a rogue wizard could cause.

“No, Haesten was always a loner, never really seemed to fit in among the others. But… there is one other former apprentice who might have some idea. Vitalius, he might be able to point you in the right direction. I suspect you should find him in the Lady Luck Tavern, over in the Caravan Quarter.”

As I nodded, remembering a map from the River Shining Tavern, Wun Way leaned forward. “We would be happy to help you, of course, Ondabarl. And it sounds like this dagger and Haesten’s spellbook are quite highly valued by you.” She let her voice trail off in a question, and after a few blinks Ondabarl cleared his throat.

“Well, yes, of course I would be willing to pay you handsomely for completion of this task. I have gold, jewels, information…”

I sat forward in my chair. “Have you dealt with curses before?” Encouraged by the wizard’s raised eyebrow, I explained to him how we had discovered the set of cursed platemail in the lair of Explictica Defilus. As I finished my explanation, Ondabarl sat back and mused quietly for a moment before telling us that, during the wars long ago, dwarves used to give cursed items as gifts to their enemies, in order to more easily defeat them.

At Ondabarl’s suggestion, I removed the armor and he inspected it more closely, finding a small stamp on the inside that marked it as the work of the Iron-Eater Clan. Ondabarl recalled that there was a smith in town of the Iron-Eaters, and that he might know how the armor might have initially been cursed. The wizard warned us that we would need to replicate the curse’s initial method in order to remove the negative effects of the curse. He hinted he might have a scroll of destroy curse that could come in handy, and offered that he would consider it part of our reward upon our return, though we most likely would lack the skill to use it for quite some time.

As we left the tower, Ondabarl gave us a physical description of Haesten, from his rusty red mustache and long hair to the scar beneath his right eye and the way he dressed. We thanked him for his time and headed to the Lady Luck Tavern in search of Vitalius.

As we stepped into the Caravan Quarter, I was struck by how loud it was. There were fewer people during the fall season searching for caravans, and thus fewer caravans to offer their services, but the remaining inhabitants seemed to be making up for their disappearance. We quickly were pointed in the direction of the Lady Luck Tavern, a comfortable inn, but not quite as nice as the River Shining Tavern.

The common room was half full, with layabouts and early arrivals for the evening meal, but the defining feature of the room was a thick stone pillar, reaching from the middle of the floor to the ceiling, upon which were enumerable scribbles; signatures or declarations of existence, probably, some quiet statement against the unending forgetfulness of Time. Along one wall was a shrine to Tymora, the goddess of luck, patroness of the inn; coppers were scattered over the wide stone table upon which the goddess’s bust was kept (most likely not actually gilded, though the image was compelling).

The conversation lulled a moment as we entered, but picked back up again almost immediately; in the Caravan Quarter, you must tend to see all kinds, I suppose. We walked up to the bar and asked for a drink, and some information. The barkeep was familiar with Vitalius, and confirmed that he frequented the tavern every few days or so, but did not socialize much. He had been here the night before, though, so he was unlikely to be in attendance this night. The barkeep did tell us that Vitalius kept a hermitage on the banks of the Delimbiyr, though, hidden in the forest to the east.

After biting her lip a bit, the barkeep asked if we were also on a quest for Ondabarl. When I confirmed we were, she warned us that there had been a number of groups the old wizard had sent after his apprentice over the last year, and that none had been heard from again. To this, Wun Way finished her drink and stated airily, “Well, we’re not like most groups.” The barkeep agreed easily, though her response had been too quick, her approving glance too practiced. I suspect each of the other groups had been similarly appraised. We thanked the barkeep and took our leave. As the door swung shut behind us, I could hear a toast within: “To those who died before us.”

We made it back to the River Shining Tavern not long after, and were greeted by the luscious voice of Melpomene. Wun Way eagerly joined the crowd, calling for food as she settled in to enjoy the performance. Poc followed after her, calling for his own meal, as well, in a voice that barely rose above the surrounding noise. I looked for Nissa, but she had slipped away between the crush of bodies. I spared her a moment’s worry, but I reasoned that I could not prevent every bad idea she had; the world would survive Nissa. I sighed once and headed for the bar. There, I inquired after this Iron-Eater smith, and was pleased to hear that there was a dwarven smith named Dervin who was of Iron-Eater ancestry, and who owned a smithy in the River Quarter. I thanked her for the information and finished my dinner, only half listening to Melpomene’s songs. The next few days will be a challenge; I can feel it.

I made my way to our room early to jot down my thoughts, to try to make sense of the coming dangers. This wizard Haesten must have stolen quite the powerful weapon to force Ondabarl to send so many groups after him; it was clearly more significant than the court wizard let on. Time will tell, however, how this all ends up.

~~

We left the tavern early in the morning, with Melpomene assuring us that she would follow after us if she was able, taking the vacated streets out of Daggerford by the Eastern Gate and crossing the bridge over the River Shining.

As we left the reach of the city, the whole party was struck with the uneasy feeling of being watched. Minutes later, Nissa casually motioned upwards, and we each saw a grouping of odd birds in the sky, several hundred feet up. The svirfneblin tilted her head in a question, and I jerked my head down in the affirmative. Over the next few minutes, Nissa slowly pulled out her crossbow and threaded a bolt into it. Suddenly, she aimed it skyward and fired. The bolt went wide, and the birds seemed to shrink as they rose higher, out of range, and headed north off the road. We shared concerned glances, but carried on.

As we headed into the forest that neighbored the city of Daggerford, Wun Way and Poc suddenly stopped. As I asked them if they had heard something, they shook their heads. “It was some powerful magic,” Poc said, turning back the way we had come. “That way, and getting closer.” Wun Way agreed, and suggested we prepare ourselves. I nodded and turned to Nissa, who had already begun trekking off the path to hide behind a nearby bush. I motioned the other two off the road to the other side, then slung my shield from my back and hefted my battleaxe.

We were not kept waiting for long. In less than a minute, a slight tremor began, which soon differentiated into distinct footsteps from nearby. Shortly afterward, there was a hellish roar, and an ugly fiend leapt from the trail behind us. As it noticed us, it bared pointy teeth and bellowed a challenge, waving its long pitchfork and spreading its leathery wings. I bellowed back and darted forward.

The fiend fought ferociously, its reach amplified by the wicked pitchfork, and its tail leaving a stinging wound as it rasped across my arm. It leapt across the road, flapping its wings, placing itself before Wun Way and Poc as Nissa fired at it. It poked with the sharp pitchfork at Wun Way, but I kept it busy with my battleaxe, distracting it and causing the attacks to go wide. With a screech, the fiend jumped skyward, flapping its wings desperately as its blood spattered the ground below. I grabbed a handaxe and hefted it, tossing with deadly aim as the fiend rose. The axe met its target, and with a great wooshing sound, the fiend immolated, and ashes rained down on us as the handaxe thudded into the earth between us.

After a moment collecting ourselves, we continued down the beaten path, and soon arrived at a daub and wattle hut. Assuming this must be the hermitage, I held out my arm, stopping the group. I called out that we had come in peace and were seeking Vitalius, and within a few minutes the front door creaked open, and a wizened form peered out into the sun. I introduced the group, and asked if we could pose a few questions regarding Haesten. The old man nearly turned us away, but relented as Wun Way pleaded with him. As we made to step closer, the old man shouted out that he would speak only with Wun Way. We conferred for a moment before allowing Wun Way to proceed. “We’ll be right out here if you need us. Just call,” I promised, nodding after her as she stepped into the hut.

The door slammed shut behind her on its own accord, and a brilliant light burst forth from the frame and windows, and I called out as my vision returned to me. “I’m alright!” Wun Way responded, and so we waited.

Several minutes later, there was another flash of white light, and the door creaked open once more. Wun Way strode back to us, and with her we turned back to Daggerford. Behind us, Vitalius pet a large raven on his shoulder.

As we walked, Wun Way explained what had happened. Vitalius, it turned out, was not a man at all, but a glamorous woman, seemingly younger than her many years, named Trista. She had alluded that she had not been Ondabarl’s apprentice, exactly, but had indeed conspired with Haesten to steal the old wizard’s dagger. She had assumed it was merely a practical joke, but afterwards the apprentice had scampered off with it, down to Dragonspear Castle to the south, where her raven familiar Thaddeus had followed him. When she heard Ondabarl was asking for the spellbook, as well as the dagger, she expressed an interest in it, as well, and Wun Way had been forced to gently offer that perhaps they could discuss prices once they returned.

We made our way back to Ondabarl to share the information Wun Way had gleaned, and inform him of the fiend that had accosted us. As we mentioned the horned beast, he stopped us, and asked to confirm that we had stopped a group of fiends only a few nights before at the Happy Cow Inn. Not only had we done so, we had faced a pair of beaded devils only a few days out from Daggerford, and we said as much. At this Ondabarl became concerned, and wondered aloud at what hellish happenings must be seething beneath the surface of this area.

The old man revealed that, around the time of Morwen’s rise to power, there had been a commotion about Dragonspear Castle, and it was rumored that a portal to the Nine Hells had been opened there. Perhaps this portal explains the amount of devils we’ve come up against recently?

After speaking with Ondabarl, there was still time left in the day, so we decided to track down the Iron-Eater dwarf in the River Quarter. We found his smithy easily; Dervin’s Brightblade was large and well frequented, and we were met with the sight (and smells) of several large forges all ablaze in the expansive yard in front of the shop. We flagged down the shopkeeper and were informed that Dervin was upstairs.

Within, there were exquisite pieces hung up along the walls, with a smaller spread of gems behind reinforced glass. Up the stairs and behind a handsome wooden door, a stout dwarf was measuring currency on a set of antique scales. As we were announced, the dwarf introduced himself jovially as Dervin, and inquired as to our business in his shop. It was with great interest that he inspected my armor after we had explained our purpose, and he positively leapt with joy as he was shown the stamp of his ancestors within the platemail. He unfortunately was not aware of the exact rituals that had been used in the wars of old, but told us of an elder from his clan that might know of the history behind such items, an old dwarf high up in the Spine to the north.

As we thanked him for the information, he made it clear that he would be quite interested in my armor, and made several offers that were, if not generous, definitely driven by more emotion than business sense. As I kindly thanked him for the offers, but stated the armor had been instrumental in keeping our party safe, he offered to pay for the platemail and replace it with some mail from his shop, and when I rebuffed that suggestion he said he might be able to track down another set of magical plate. I smiled gently at him and informed that, if he could find a replacement for the wondrous qualities of the armor, I would consider.

We headed back to the Tavern after that, and now I write up in our room again. I cannot deny that this armor has special meaning to the dwarf, and that he has some claim to it by birthright. However, I know the plate would sit enshrined in his shop if I parted with it, and it has been undeniably useful so far on our adventures, and will be even more so if we can ever get this blasted curse removed. For now, let Dervin search for an equal to this armor. I feel he will be hard-pressed to succeed.

~~

The last two days have been largely uneventful. We set out from Daggerford without Melpomene, who continued to be called upon for her beautiful singing.

As we headed south from Daggerford, there were a few groups and individuals we passed along the road, but as we got further and further from the city, we encountered fewer and fewer people. Today, we haven’t run into anyone. Well, anyone except for those two…

A little past noon, we saw a crude wooden barricade across the road in the distance. As we approached, we made out a ramshackle hut to one side of the road, and two figures lounging against a poorly constructed gate. The two wore dark clothes and waved for us to stop as we approached.

“Toll to cross, fifteen gold a head,” the taller one grunted, and the smaller one piped up, “Yeah, fifteen gold!”

I looked to the others with a raised eyebrow. “For whom do you collect tolls?” I asked, lacing my voice with skepticism.

The shorter man darted his eyes to his partner, starting to visibly perspire, as the taller man smiled ingratiatingly and exclaimed, “Why, for Daggerford, of course!”

Wun Way stepped forward. “We are on official business for the Wizard of Daggerford.” I winced slightly. A half-lie, but I supposed it could do little harm.

The smaller man began wringing his hands. “Sorry, miss, toll’s the same for all who pass this way. Fifteen gold,” he squeaked, glancing at his partner.

“Got any badges? Something official?” Nissa asked, fingering the crossbow at her side.

The taller fellow’s smile faltered a second before he nodded fervently. “Yes, yes, course, got some badges in the hut, course we do.” He eyed his accomplice and walked into the hut. There were a few terse moments before the unmistakable click of a crossbow being loaded filled the stagnant air, and then Nissa drew her crossbow and fired before I could see what had happened.

Her first bolt imbedded itself in the window frame, but her second found its mark. There was a strangled cry from the wooden hut, and then a slump as a body hit the floor.

Nissa then turned her crossbows to the remaining brigand, and I made to interpose myself between the two. Nissa, however, merely began talking, berating the remaining bandit for how poorly this operation had been run. Between his friend’s untimely demise and the harsh words from this diminutive rogue, the man broke into tears, exclaiming, “Rory! You killed Rory!”

“Yeah, well Rory was a piece of shit, and he didn’t know how to run a simple highway bandit setup. You were both embarrassments.” My eyes narrowed at the pointedness of Nissa’s criticism.

“Listen,” I interrupted, cutting off the sobbing of the bandit, “we’ll be coming back this way in a couple of days. I want to see this barricade removed. Understand?” The bandit could only nod feebly.

As we passed through the gate, Nissa muttered under her breath, “Pathetic.”

As we settled down for the night, Wun Way brought out her granite “egg” again, but no matter what I said, it was like talking to a stone. Wun Way eventually tucked the oval back into her sling, disappointment clear in her eyes. 

~~

This has been a strange day. I sit atop the battlements of Dragonspear Castle, bodies of orcs and devils scattered below, and I cannot feel the rush of victory as I normally do. It’s as if the mist that covers this area blocks out more than the sun; in my heart, I cannot feel the righteousness that usually guides me. Let me begin at the beginning.

We started out the day walking south. Within an hour, a wall of mist rose from the distance, with the dark outline of a castle obscured beyond. There was a moment of discussion as we decided whether to continue or wait to plan. We ended up marching forward, the sounds of our footsteps muffled by the thick mist as we made our way.

Before too long, I could feel the oppressive weight of the surrounding moisture, pressing down as if to halt my passage. I kept wondering what kind of person could choose to remain in such an area, and the further we walked, the more I was certain something must be wrong with Haesten. He must be influenced by this portal to the Nine Hells, some unholy fiend corrupting the natural order with an individual with unidentified power. As we walked on, I set myself for what must be done. Even if we found Haesten among the living, he must be too far gone. We would need to destroy him. The survival of the surrounding area would demand it.

As I glanced around, it was clear that Wun Way was similarly affected by the strange mist, though Poc and Nissa continued on unencumbered, heads held high (as high as they could) peering through the thick atmosphere. As we continued walking, I found my hand on my battleaxe, sensing a grim anticipation in the eerily silent air.

All at once, the dark shape of a castle wall loomed over us, and we each glanced around, painfully aware of our surprise. As I called for us to be ready for anything, arrows rained down from the parapets.

The ensuing battle past in a blur, with bearded devils and orcs pouring out from the castle to challenge us, and orcs wielding longbows firing down upon us from the tops of the castle walls. As the devils struck at us, the strange birds from a few days ago swooped down from the misty skies, throwing wicked spines from their tails at us as they passed. Nissa took down several, but one managed to get away, flying north, back the way we had come. The remaining enemies on the ground were slaughtered, and I ran to the castle gate to find a way up to the archers.

As I passed through the gate, there was a crimson flash, and a glyph ignited, sending a wall of fire erupting from the ground. Smoldering, I pressed through, and as I shook my head to clear my vision, I saw a ladder up the wall. As I climbed, I heard the death-howls of the orcs on the walls, and emerged on the castle wall to see two still firing at the party below. I ran and struck down one, but as I raised my axe toward the final orc, a crossbow bolt soared through the air, and the form crumpled at my feet.

Now, I await the party to join me, and struggle to push down this despair that has only grown as the mists closed in. The goodness and righteousness that helped lay low the Snake God, has pushed me beyond my limits in defense of my friends, seems out of reach, and I can only feel disgust at the foul beings that have infiltrated this place. I can almost feel their taint, seeping like a wound deep in the castle, an affront to the laws of this land. Their wanton chaos will not be tolerated, and once this Haesten is dealt with, I will find the source of this lawlessness, and put an end to it, as well.

[chille-tid-universe]

Dear Diary - from Daggerford

I figured it would be worthwhile to document what happens on our journeys, for tactical reasons and so that, if I ever lose this circlet, I’ll have some reminder of this wonderful time.

Last night’s fiasco at the halfling inn have apparently not gone unnoticed. Early this morning, there was an attendant sent to our new lodgings for us, and the four of us (Nissa was feeling a bit under the weather) followed him to the common room. There, we met up with a guard and halfling woman that Wun Way appeared to recognize from somewhere, though she tried not to let it show. The attendant, Burnell, read a summons from a small scroll, and said we were requested by Morwen Daggerford, the Duchess of Daggerford herself. We were unwilling to make such a powerful enemy in a new town, so we decided to be lead to the keep.

Less than an hour later, we had made our way through the city to its center, the Dwarven keep of Daggerford. Inside, Burnell lead us to a waiting room, after which he, the guard, and the halfling woman took their leave. It was over 2 hours before anyone returned for us, during which time Melpomene shared some of the word on the street regarding this newer ruler to Daggerford. Morwen is a respected ruler, apparently effective. When she first took the throne, there had been some disquiet regarding her gender, but which had died down as she came into her position. Evidently, her younger brother had been Duke before her, and had embroiled himself with a courtesan, Netissa, and had taken her as a lover. After this, rumor has it he had become uncharacteristically erratic, and a band of adventurers investigated. They deemed he had been possessed by fiends and had killed him, leaving Morwen to take his place. Seems convenient to me, but these things do happen. We’ll need to keep an eye on this woman.

A new guard finally came for us, who introduced herself as Retta. She brought us into a much larger room, where Morwen was clearly visible atop a throne, with a scattering of courtiers vying for positions near her dias. She was flanked by guards in heavy armor, and at her right hand was the old man from the night before, the wizard Ondabarl. To her right, a small group of well-dressed halflings stood agitatedly (I later learned that these were the Hard Cheeses, the wealthy family that owned and operated the Happy Cow Inn). I recognized Nendy, the barkeep from the Happy Cow Inn, looking around the room nervously, but never glancing in our direction.

As Retta closed the wide doors behind us, Morwen hailed us, welcoming us to her city and asking us to explain what had happened the previous night regarding the Happy Cow Inn. I glanced to Wun Way, knowing her silver tongue would be more useful than my stumbling words, and she stated the inn had been recommended to us. Morwen informed us that we had been accused of causing the fire that night. As a way to prove our innocence, Melpomene offered to use a Zone of Truth spell to verify our story, which seemed to intrigue Ondabarl.

Morwen had the Zone tested by questioning the poor guard, Retta, who her last lover had been (evidently it was Burnell, though I do not support such rumor mongering). After this, Morwen had us state our names and repeat our story. Apparently, Wun Way’s true name is actually Qineri Tivelzo-Virris. I’m sure there’s a reason she’s been traveling under a pseudonym, but I must remember to ask her if there’s something from her past that she needs help dealing with.

As we brought up the invisible imps, Ondabarl asked if we could produce the instrument that had allowed us to see them. I brought out the Lantern of Revealing, and he offered to test it. With a few murmured words, he vanished from sight, and after I lit the wick of the lantern, he slowly reappeared. At this, Morwen had seen enough, and denied the Hard Cheeses’ claim for damages. In a huff, they stormed out, but Melpomene ran after them. Ondabarl held us back and said we had interested him, and asked if we could meet him at his study this afternoon. I graciously accepted, and we went after Melpomene.

By the time we had caught up with her, she was speaking quietly with one of the halflings, and as we approached he turned abruptly and ran into the crowd, looking back with terror as he ran. I’m not sure what this Aasimar had said to him, but he seemed much relieved to go. I am glad that Melpomene’s intentions appear to be good; I am getting the feeling she has the potential to be quite a worthy foe.

We are back at our lodgings now, and while we ready our things, I recount what has happened thus far today. Nissa is still unwell, and though we offered to bring her some brunch, our suggestions were met with muffled retching. I do hope she feels better before too long.

~~~

After leaving our inn, we made our way through the city, seeking to unload our prodigious number of gems. We were moderately successful, although there was a small incident where Poc was a little too eager over some well-crafted jewels, and an enchanted suit of armor nearly took his head off. He took this in stride, though, and instead became focused on the animated object, asking the shopkeeper enough questions to make him seem quite relieved as we left his shop, having exchanged a good chunk of the gems for a reasonable sum. At the same shop, Poc picked up some diamonds for his spellcasting, and the shopkeep offered to gild Melpomene’s lyre.

After this, our luck took a turn for the worse. There was a cry for help from a nearby alleyway, which I tell you I understood must likely be some sort of trap. It is not, however, in my nature to stand idly by while others might be at risk, so I called back to the other three and ran into the narrow passage. As I had feared, we were set upon by a gang of miscreants as we entered a small enclave. They were naught but children, though their weapons were deadly enough. I knocked a few unconscious, and turned just in time to call for Poc to halt his fatal blow. A minute later, several of the children had scrambled, and we called an armistice with an older girl, who introduced herself as Lilith. The other older boys, Adrian and Gareth, had been hurt, and we spoke for several minutes with them regarding their choice of occupation.

It really broke my heart. I have of course known of poverty, seeing it in my travels, and I know it existed in Tarth, though it was well hidden from sight of our castle. These were mere children, though, forced to lives of common brigandry through no fault of their own, simply by accident of lowly birth. For all my strength, I felt helpless. For all my newfound intelligence, I could think of no solution. The sunken looks of hunger and fear on those children’s faces haunts me, even now. I know intellectually that these people exist, that there is likely no society free from the squalor of poverty and the apparent necessity of crime, but today it hit closer to me than it has before. Even as the Snake God struck me down, I did not feel as defeated as I did, knowing there was little I could do for these children.

Wun Way and Melpomene continued to speak with the ruffians, warning them of life on the streets (as though they were unaware!) and threatening them over attacking passersby. I could only attempt a smile and offer some words of encouragement. I know they were not sufficient, but what else could I do?

[chille-tid-universe]

Welcome to Daggerford

As the party continued down the dusty road, a light breeze drifted through the air. They had come across an increasing number of travelers, from obvious adventurers to merchants to small regiments of guards, and thus they knew they were reaching the next stop in their trek: Daggerford.

As the sun started to fall, the four spied the rising walls of the city. It was larger than any settlement they had seen since Orlane, but the walls showed signs of neglect, and wary guardsmen and women stood stationed atop the parapets, bows strung and with arrows in easy reach. There was a short queue of travelers ahead of the group, each person answering to a gatekeeper before being admitted. Brienne took all this in, eyes sweeping from crumbling stone to fidgety archers to stern gatekeeper, taking in the terse atmosphere around their fellow travelers. Wun Way softly teased a few notes from her pan flute, while Poc stood as far from Nissa as he could.

The gnomes had been frosty since the incident a few days past which had ended with Nissa’s crossbows pointed directly at Poc. The poor cleric had made sure to keep Brienne and Wun Way between himself and Nissa since then, but he still flinched whenever Nissa glanced his way. For her part, Nissa seemed to have moved past the whole ordeal, but during his night watch Poc could have sworn that he caught her eyes staring at him as he paced their campfire. He told himself that he was being silly, that being a member of the group meant they both had buried the hatchet, but she was a Svirfneblin, after all…

Poc was brought back from his musings as the merchant ahead of them was waved through the wooden gates. The gatekeeper raised his free hand as they approached, a tall halberd in his other. “What is your business?” he asked in a gruff tone, only the barest hint of inflection indicating a question. Wun Way stepped forward and flashed a smile to the guard, stating that they were a group of travelers passing through. The guard eyed her, but seemed otherwise unimpressed. When he pressed for how long they intended to stay in Daggerford, Wun Way smiled again and assured him they would be no more than a week. He grunted and raised his hand again, signalling for them to enter.

Before they did, Brienne asked if there was an inn or tavern the gatekeeper might recommend. He gave an almost mechanical answer, as if he had anticipated the question. “River Shining Tavern’s the oldest you’ll find in the city, and better run than most others. They’ll have room for ya.” Brienne thanked him, then lead the party into the city.

As they passed under the wall, Poc noticed that its ramshackle state extended to the buildings it hid. The city was busy, but not particularly well kept, with rotted timber and crumbling arches, especially out in the extremities of the city. As they continued on, however, Castle Daggerford rose before them, and Poc instantly recognized the solid craftsmanship of dwarves in its regal buttresses, in the sure blocks of stone that seemed to proudly stand above these lesser constructions as if to attest to its makers’ long-lasting accomplishment. Poc made a mental note to seek some information as to the construction of the castle.

As they continued down crowded roads, Nissa shook her head. “Last time you were recommended an inn, we almost ended up snake food.”

Brienne glanced at the cityfolk passing by, at the bustle of street vendors and hagglers. “Orlane is a long way off, and these folk seem much more… human.” Nissa shrugged, eyes darting from face to face, and Brienne sighed. “If you can find another suitable location, we can stay there, instead.”

Nissa only nodded, then shot off from the group. Brienne and Wun Way pushed through the throng of people, with Poc hanging from their cloaks, to find Nissa conversing with a halfling by the side of the road. As the group finally made their way to Nissa, the halfling walked away, and a gnomish grin spread on Nissa’s face. “I found a new place to stay!” she exclaimed. “The Happy Cow Inn!”

Brienne frowned. “And you trust this new place over the River Shining Tavern because..?” Nissa jerked a thumb at the receding halfling.

“He’s the size a normal person should be. More trustworthy.” Poc had the grace to look embarrassed for Nissa as Wun Way giggled. Brienne just shrugged and gestured for the svirfneblin to lead the way.

As they made their way in an arc around the central Castle Daggerford, they wound their way through many streets. Some were in better repair than others, and in one out-of-the-way alley, a shabbily cloaked beggar stumbled into their path. “Spare a coin?” the pitiful voice rasped. Though the other three made to skirt around the beggar, Brienne paused. She glanced around the alley, aware of potential threats, before reaching into the bag of holding and pulling out a couple of coppers. She placed them in the scabrous, outstretched hands, and was rewarded with a brilliant, toothy smile. Brienne smiled back, and caught up with the group. A few minutes later, however, there were two more beggars almost waiting for them around a turn. The other three rolled their eyes and stepped around the ragged forms while Brienne counted out the last few coppers, splitting them between the beggars. As Nissa sneered back at the generosity, Brienne simply shrugged.

Minutes later, the gang ended up before a spacious inn. As they stepped inside, however, Brienne rolled her eyes. “A halfling inn?” she asked Nissa incredulously.

Nissa couldn’t, or wouldn’t, hear Brienne’s tone, however. She nodded excitedly, gesturing at all the “normal sized” fixings of the inn. There was also an area of the room with larger tables, hosting a handful of humans and elves, and one strange figure playing, but the majority of the inn was miniature tables and a crowd of halflings.

Wun Way looked around doubtingly, but Nissa practically hopped to the bar and motioned to the halfling barkeep, a stout halfling woman who introduced herself as Nendy. Her first reaction to Nissa’s ashen features was slight surprise, as if she hadn’t been expecting Nissa, but that soon gave way to an easy joviality that seemed prevalent in the room. Nendy described prices that seemed fair and even offered a “tall folk” room for the two “giants.” While Brienne settled the tab, however, Wun Way had eyes only for the strange being playing in the corner of the “tall folk” section.

She was a brilliantly beautiful asimar, as Wun Way recognized her from tales of her father. With a voice like flowing honey, the woman’s song filled the room, a subtle undertone to the boisterous conversations. Like a moth to flame, Wun Way drifted over to the stage and sat enthralled.

Through her song, the asimar identified herself as Melpomene, an enchanting musician whom Wun Way took a shining to immediately. As Wun Way listened, Poc and Nissa were pulled into the boisterous crowd of halflings. Brienne called for Nendy and inquired about the happenings in the surrounding area. The halfling woman simply shrugged and said that things had been pretty normal around the city recently, other than a few bands of orcs and their “helpers” in the surrounding area. When Brienne pushed, Nendy suggested reaching out to the militia to see how they were faring. Satisfied, Brienne thanked her and settled in to enjoy the music.

The night wore on, and before too long the halflings had tired themselves out. As one, they seemed to decide the day had held enough excitement, and there was an exodus, both to the doors of the inn and to the stairs for those staying the night. Warm farewells were bandied across the room, and in a manner of minutes, the group of four was alone in the inn, apart from Nendy and the exotic Melpomene.

Nendy continued tending to the countless mugs that littered the bar while the party regrouped, and Wun Way began to approach the asimar. As she passed by a table, however, the light from its single candle flickered, then burst into a large flame that rose a foot off the table. With a start, hands went to weapons, and more flames erupted on the other tables. As maniacal cackling began to echo in the room, Nendy threw her hands into the air and retreated with a scream to the side door in the room. Nissa attempted to follow her, but seemed to collide with something in the open door frame. Wide-eyed, she backed into the room, and began brandishing her crossbows in various directions at the air.

Frowning, Brienne quickly reached into the bag of holding to remove the lantern of revealing. “Ready yourselves!” she cried, as she fiddled with the wick, borrowing from a jug of lantern oil behind the bar. As the lantern’s seemingly redundant flame sputtered into life, the winged forms of imps flickered into view, their invisibility dispeled. As the imps realized they could see their comrades, the cackling became shrieks of annoyance, and they swarmed the remaining patrons of the inn.

Wun Way raised her rapier, but the imps were too quick. With a series of opportune strikes, they felled the half-elf, gleeful jabbering filling the air as their tails pierced her. In a heap, she fell to the floor. Brienne, seeing this, cried out and struck at the swarming imps around her, the fell battleaxe cutting easily through a pair of imps in a single blow, the backswing taking another two. The remaining imp near her cackled, but it glanced warily at the fallen bodies on the floor.

Nissa ducked beneath the stinging tails and fired at the cretins, reaching her blade up to strike at the winged menaces while Melponene revealed a blade from the folds of her cloak and struck out with a beautiful war-cry. Poc, seeing Wun Way fall, darted between the flitting enemies and reached for her fallen form, chanting to his god as life flowed from his fingers into her unconscious body. With a gasp, Wun Way sat up, sheepishly grinning thanks at the gnome.

With Wun Way revived, the party was reinvigorated, and in short order they had regrouped and cut down most of the imps. As they fought, however, the devilish fires spread, and soon tables and chairs joined the conflagration. In less than a minute, the last three imps glanced about the room and flew up to a high window, smashing it. “Oh no you don’t,” Wun Way grunted, then prestidigitated the appearance of the unbroken window back into its frame. This flabbergasted the imps for another second, in which time Brienne’s thrown axe cleaved one of them in two, but when an imp attempted to break the window again, it comically fell through the illusion, sending it drifting like a cloud. With a shriek, the last imp fled after its fellow.

The imps gone, the party’s attention turned to the room. The fire was spreading, and smoke was beginning to gather at the ceiling. Melpomene shouted over the roar, “There’s a barrel of water in the back room, where Nendy ran!”

Brienne nodded and pointed to the door. “Go bring it in here! We need to get everyone out!” At this point, confused patrons from the sleeping quarters had begun peering down the stairs. Wun Way motioned for Nissa and Poc to stand back, then shattered the wall near the burning entrance, leaving a gaping hole to the chilled outside air. With a gesture from Brienne, the halflings began picking their way through the burning tables to the outside, but not before Nissa could dash through the rubble. Brienne darted up the stairs around the halflings and began banging on doors, making sure each room was vacated.

Poc and Wun Way began using the heavy curtains to beat out the flames as Brienne ran back down the stairs. Noticing that Melpomene still had not returned, she darted into the back room. There, she found Nendy curled up in a corner, rocking herself back and forth, while the asimar struggled with a large barrel of water. “Let me help,” Brienne offered, gripping the wide barrel and hefting it over her shoulder. As the two carried it back to the burning room, Wun Way motioned for them to lay the barrel on a table near the middle of the room. With concentration, the half-elf centered another shatter spell in the middle of the barrel, sending bits of wood and gouts of water spreading across half the room.

By this time, a bucket brigade had formed outside the inn, passing buckets of water into the room. Poc placed a protection spell on himself and went to the front of the line, taking the buckets and tossing their contents over the remaining flames before passing them back. The flames were beginning to recede, though it didn’t seem like it would be fast enough, until a lone figure walked out of the night’s darkness, in cowled robe and holding a tattered scroll. He spoke a powerful word and unfurled the scroll, and a sphere of floating water materialized within the room. He gestured and uttered another word, and the water spread, coating the room in a manner of moments. After that, only a few smoldering spots remained, which were contained easily by the volunteers. As the old man turned and walked away without another word, Brienne asked one of the halflings about him. He explained it had been Ol’ Man Ondanbarl, the Wizard of Daggerford.

After the party had found Nissa again, they stood and stared at the scorched inn. “Guess we’ll be going to the River Shining Tavern, after all,” Poc commented, drawing a sharp glance from Nissa. Wun Way glanced over at Melpomene, instrument slung over her shoulder, staring furtively at the blackened husk of an inn. The half-elf walked up and cleared her throat, drawing the asimar’s attention.

“You know… If you’re looking for a new place to stay, we were going to head to the River Shining Tavern. In case you wanted to join us.” The asimar grinned slyly, remembering her last interaction with the Tavern’s owner.

“I suppose I’ll be needing a new hall to play in,” she mused, voice like crystal in the night air. She nodded at the other bard and followed her back to the party. As she approached, Brienne nodded a greeting.

“You fought well, and I appreciate your help with the flames,” the human said. “We’d be honored to travel to the Tavern with you.”

There were thankfully no more burning buildings as the augmented party made their way around the city to the River Shining Tavern, and although the hour was late the innkeeper had been roused by the commotion nearby. They were welcomed to their rooms and tiredly set up watch, the long night catching up to them. As most of the party sunk into sleep, mad cackling could be heard over the rooftops, far across the city.