Session 1:
Characters Introduced:
Dove Fenshire – Sentinel Paladin 6 (Female Qualinesti Half-Elf)
· Shortly after the funeral of her mother, Dove Fenshire came across a journal entry that indicated her father might still be alive in this world. Newly determined, this paladin, who held an affinity for music, and was fueled by the passion born of loosing her homeland, ventured to the city of Pashin where rumors told that the famed bard, The Herald, would be performing. If this man knew all stories, he must know something about Dove’s father.
Paros Calostin – Mystic 4 / Barbarian 2 (Male Silvanesti Half-Elf)
· A devoted worshiper of E’li, Paros spent his days after the Second Cataclysm preaching to the Silvanesti elves of the Gods inevitable return. His faith unbroken, his spirit unwavering, Paros stood as a symbol to his people as they struggled to survive under the dome, and through the conquest of their lands. As Paladine returned to the world, Paros grew more hopeful for the future, and when his chosen deity cast himself into mortality, Paros turned from the clergy to the arts of Mysticism, for if Paladine could find such faith within himself so could Paros.
Xorg – Ogre 5 (Male Ogre)
· Xorg has sold his sword out to the highest bidder in the past, what would be different this time? Heading out into the world with his charge, Xorg wandered the land as a sellsword. His travels brought him to the city of Pashin, where Xorg had decided that he would take a path that would take him to a better land. Having chosen to make something positive of himself, Xorg met with his friends on the road and headed into the oppressed Khur city.
Wydesh – Kapak 4 / Rogue 2 / Bard 1 (Female Kapak Draconian)
· Accused of a crime that she would never have committed, Wydesh was cast out of her home, forced to wander the land. Sworn to prove her innocence, Wydesh set out in search of the truth, knowing that the person that framed her was still wondering free in the world. The laws of the land were just, and Wydesh would see to it that justice was found!
The group headed into the city of Pashin, all with their own reasons for wandering the lands of Krynn, however all of them had chosen to come to Pashin with hopes of hearing The Herald spin one of his many tales. Wherever their futures lied, they knew that the beginning was in this city. Upon their arrival they saw that the city was struggling against the oppression of the Dark Knights, the lawless elements of the city fighting back against those very knights who wished the city “conquered.” People sifted through the thick blanket of snow that had fallen the night before, the city teeming with life under the hopes and prayers that the sun brought with it new hopes.
Listening to the voice of the city, our small band of adventurers found themselves at the doors to the Wounded Crow, and interesting establishment that resembled more of a hunters lodge than a tavern. With windows sealed shut and the black statue of a crow, an arrow protruding from its left wing, this place gave the travelers an ominous feeling. However, the fame of this place did not escape it either, and so they entered in hopes of finding the answers they came in search of. Met from the moment they entered the Wounded Crow, the building was full of the common folk of Pashin, the crowd noise almost deafening to those caught unawares. In one corner, sitting at the edge of the long bench with his back against the wall, a simple man in his sixties sat, surrounded by people who watched him eat with eager anticipation.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” Dove stopped the waitress after she had deposited mugs of ale for the group, “but whom is that man sitting there?”
“Oye’, that be The Herald. He promised us a story if’ns we fixed im’ some food,” the woman responded, her thick accent making it seem as though she was confused by the words coming from her own mouth.
Dove turned back, excited to see what stories The Herald held for them this night, and for her chance to ask those questions she had been longing to ask. With a scrape, The Herald pushed away his plate, and washed it down with a swift pull on his mug of ale. Standing slowly, with all the effort of a dramatic entrance, The Herald walked to a wooden box on which he stood, giving him the vantage of seeing over his audience’s heads. The introduction to the story was well spun, drawing in the crowd and fixing them there as a spider would the fly. Though people begged for tales of Huma, the Heroes of the Lance, and mighty Raistlin and his battle with the Dark Queen, The Herald instead told the story of the Age of Mortals. His words, at first enticing and inviting soon turned sour as he placed the Dark Knights in a bad light, making them seem the goons of the war and little more than bullies. Mud found its way across the room as it was flung as the bard, tomatoes and other objects were soon to follow. When the story reached its end the crowd was enraged and split, those that supported the Dark Knights rose from their seats and began to fight those that felt The Herald was just in his words.
Caught in the middle, the adventures sought to end the riot and protect the bard who was being beaten senseless. Dove lept from her seat and moved to the bards’ aid, while Xorg grabbed the very bench that they had been sitting on and bull rushed commoners out of his way. Paros looked to let loose those that did not wish to be a part of this battle, and the draconian Wydesh lept onto a table ready to fight all those that challenged her friends. As the battle ensued, emotions got the better of Xorg, who succumbed to his former self, smashing a commoner in the face with the end of the bench, cracking the mans skull open like a melon. The Dark Knights that had been working crowd control now focused on the Ogre, intent on the beasts arrest, however the silver tongue of Paros stopped those knights where they stood, convincing them that his actions where not the fault of the Ogre, but instead the fault of the commoner who found his way into the wrong end of the bench. Convinced of this, the Knights aided to end the barroom brawl, and our heroes escorted The Herald into the streets of Pashin. Now was their chance to ask the questions that the held within them.
Looking up groggily, The Herald opened his eyes wide with unexpected recognition, “It was my dream of you that has led me here,” His eyes met with Dove’s, “The sylvan key that is meant for you has fallen into the hands of the enemy!”
These words were unexpected, how could this man have known that these four simple adventurers would be coming to this city? As the conversation continued some answers came, the sylvan key was not a key at all, at least not by the definition of a key, but what it was the bard did not know. Apparently a former Dark Knight by the name of Pegrin had taken this key without knowing what it was, for he looked at it as nothing more than simple loot. Dove also took this chance to ask her questions, but the answers were not there. The only answer The Herald could give was that her father, Hauk Fenshire, was no more alive than he was dead, but what that meant she could not tell. With some research through the town the group was able to piece together the location of Pegrin’s camp, located roughly one mile to the east of the city. They headed out immediately in search of more answers.
Though the trek took longer through the thick snow on the ground, they managed to find the camp with relative ease. Working their way around the camp the small band sought to simply come out and barter a trade for the sylvan key. Dove and Paros, the two most gifted with words, stepped boldly into the camp, hailing the guards for conversation, “Good day friends, we seek an audience with Pegrin!”
Their actions were not met with as favorable a response as Paros and Dove had hoped, and the horns sounded an alert which brought the camp to life. Instantly these two brave souls were left on an island as their companions sat in hiding out in the woods. Though they had escaped the eyes of most of the camp, one man dressed in black leather pointed his sword to the tree line and shouted, “Come friends, join you allies in their deaths!”
The battle raged on, fierce and bloody as Dove split the bodies of her enemies in twain. But not all blows were dealt by the forces of good for Pegrin and his men where well trained. Several sword strikes nearly felled Dove, with Paros dancing about behind her attempting to keep the stalwart paladin on her feet. North of her venerable battle, Xorg met Pegrin’s blade with the thick wood of his great club. The two battled feverishly until Pegrin was able to land a clean stroke across the mighty ogre’s chest, dropping the beast to the ground. However, death found its way from the woods as Wydesh sat behind the snow bank and fired shots that would prove most deadly. Each of her bolts found their targets, dropping the enemy one after the other until only two stood in the field, a simple guard and a sniveling boy who could only cry about how he wished to return home to his mother.
With this victory under their belt, Wydesh looted the camp, finding many steel pieces and a most wondrous music box. The four sat around the fire pit as Wydesh opened the box and a hauntingly beautiful song played softly in the winter air, the notes seeming to hang on the gentle breeze. Having what they confidently felt was their objective, the group prepared to make the journey back to the city of Pashin, hopefully The Herald could answer some questions with about what they had found.
As they cross the center of the city from the Mayors home they saw where they would next lay their heads though this choice was one that would not come easily. As Dove looked upon the figures of the five dragons of evil, a symbol that represents the former Queen of Darkness, Dove made it clear that this place would not be where she would stay. The darkness that must be held within the doors of the inn must be beyond comprehension, but yet as Dove looked harder she noticed a glint of Gold emit from beneath the Red, Copper from behind the Black, Brass from the Blue, and so the pattern continued. Evil does not sleep here for good stays in secret, thought Dove, as she was now certain now that this was no home for those that wished to dwell in the Abyss. The inn was quaint with all that it held, though slightly cramped on the main floor. This would not do, they needed space to discuss the day’s adventures, and to evaluate the treasure, most especially the music box they found. Requesting a private table, the waitress brought the four adventures upstairs where three empty round tables sat and could look down on the common room below.
Salted pork, chicken breast, and spiced potatoes littered the plates that were placed before them, and the ale poured like water into their tankards. The four discussed the treasures that they had acquired from Pegrin and his men, weapons that the villains had equipped themselves with, armor that they had used for protection from the forces of good, and many trinkets that they had stolen from the Silvanesti lands. With honor and respect in her heart, and compassion in her voice, Dove passed three small statues, a cat, a raven, and a snake, all made from jade. These were items that had once called Silvanost their home but now they belonged to no one. With simple words, “These belonged to your people once, I think you should have them,” she slide the three statues to Paros.
“There is no time to live in the past, my friend, but I thank you all the same,” the pride was clear in the young mystics voice as he returned the statues to the pot.
All things put into a proper place, the four discussed matters more pressing, gently opening the small music box that they had found in Pegrin’s personal footlocker. The haunting sounds played once more, as Dove sat with her lute and traced the melody with her fingers. Though she was unable to play the song as she heard it, but she made all the attempts one could before surrendering to the difficulty of the song. As she played, Xorg gazed down over the railing at the common room below them and saw the robed figure that had followed them into the city standing by one of the common long tables. As before, when the figure noticed that she was spotted it departed the room into the cold of the night. Uneasy of the figure following them, the group chose to work their ways to the Bazaar outside the south gate of Pashin, constantly watching the roads and crevasses for the figure that wanted to know so much about them.
The Bazaar had lost its will to carry on for the night, most shops having already closed for the night and more shutting themselves off to the outside world as the group entered the gathering of colorful tents. A simple goal in mind, the band sought after a person that would still be open and held an interest in their items that they held. This man would be Blackaxe the Weaponsmith, a gruff and dour hill dwarf who chose to make Pashin the home of his metalwork. Gathering in the cramped spaces of his shop, the party caught Blackaxe shortly before the he closed the flaps for the night. Bartering and conversing, the items quickly left their possession though not at the prices they had thought they would receive. Finally the special requests came out, from Xorg a dwarven made Ogre Fullblade with the aid of the blade that he traveled with from his past, and from Dove, a desire to restore the blade that was carried by her father. The rust that had covered a majority of the blade would make this task difficult but not impossible. Having heard tales of Dove’s father and mother, Blackaxe accepted gladly though he never let on to Dove that he knew of her family. With profuse thanks, Dove, Xorg, and the rest turned to leave the Weaponsmith to his work, and in this moment they noticed the figure that had been following them rapidly departing the tent across from them.
Rapidly Xorg gave chase, assuming that his bounding figure could close the gap as would normally be the case, but the fast and shifty figure was able to put distance between them. Returning with his breath heavy from the run, Xorg told the others that he was unable to stick to the figure for the figure knew the area to well. However they were left with another clue to the purpose of the figure, so they thought. Across from Gargain Blackaxe’s tent stood the ten for Halthorne the Wise, the mad gnome that held a deep faith to Reorx. They approached the tent, intent on obtaining the answers they sought only to be met by the mad gnome, the cataracts that struck the sage blind did not stop him from meeting the gaze of those that stood before him, his words cold and cryptic.
“Welcome, I have been expecting you. You are seeking answers, I see. Unfortunately, the answers you seek will only lead you to hunt for yet more answers. Your path is a long one and only you can find the final answer,” The old gnome smiled widely, “Seek the elves, they will provide the first answers and your next question.”
With these final words the gnome turned back in on his tent, shutting the flap behind him with a gentle whoosh. These answers were not good enough, the gnome would tell them more, and so the adventurers entered the tent after the sage to be greeted once more by the gnome but this time in a way more true to the rich history of the gnomes. His fast talking gibberish was spat out in response to each question that they asked, but none of those answers even remotely pertained to the questions that the companions asked. This gnome would provide them with no more information to their quest, and so they departed the tent intent on returning to the inn. They would rest their heads this night and seek more information in the morning. They had a lead, but how would they find the elves that had sunk into the underground of Pashin. Rest came quickly, the day had brought much excitement and the bodies were weary from the day’s travels and battles.
With a new storm looming over head, the Five Dragons chose to close their doors early this night, sending all those within off to their homes or the rooms above. During the night Dove was visited by a dream of dark meaning. The figure that stood before her was dressed completely in black robes, their face unseen from the hood the covered the face, “Ah, dear Dove, fly as high as you can but you will never soar as high as your father. I have given Hauk a new set of wings and you will never be able to reach him.” As the room in her dream grew cold and Dove snapped up in a rush, the cold sweat drenching her body. The figure she had seen in her dream clearly resembles the mysterious person that stole the soul of her father, Hauk Fenshire. The message meant something but exactly what she was not fully clear, though she had a strong idea of it.
With the dawning of the new day’s light the group was greeted by the snow that freshly spread itself across the streets and rooftops of the city. Splitting off into two groups, Dove, Xorg and Wydesh head off to the Bazaar to conduct more business with Blackaxe, for the grand Weaponsmith declared that he would have the blade of Hauk Fenshire ready for Dove in the morning and would begin to prepare the weapon of Xorg the Ogre. Paros, however, sought answers about the elves of the underground movement. In his searches of the streets and alleys of the city, Paros happened across an unexpected clue. Bursting from a building, stumbling and rushing through the crowd, a plainly dressed peasant charge down the road towards Paros. Barely visible underneath the winter cloak of the peasant, Paros spotted the Longsword and a flash from the chain shirt underneath the cloak. The peasant rushes down the city street toward Paros with a blind fury in his steps, mere seconds after the peasant departed the building it burst into a ball of flame and debris. Thrown forward, the peasant crashes to the ground at the feet of Paros, dazed slightly from the blast.
Looking up from where he landed, the Peasant gazes into Paros’s eyes, “Help me! The blast was a trap intended to kill any rebels that were foolish enough to fall for their bait. I was able to discover this in time and fled,” the sounds of Dark Knight patrols approaching the area could distinctly be heard over the roar of the crowd, “You must hide me!”
With Paros’s strong desire to find out more about the Legionnaires and the elves who had ventured underground he took this opportunity to learn more about them. Scooping the man up, Paros ran off into the alleyways of the city. He would hide this rebel, and would find all the information that he could. Their trek to avoid the Dark Knights found them rushing through the streets for nearly an hour. The Peasant rushed them into a dead end alleyway, planting himself against the wall to rest his tired body. From the entrance of the alleyway two young boys enter, raising their hands to Paros, indicating they come to them with no intent of harm.
“We are sons of this man, we come in peace,” their gaze turned to the peasant man, “Father, mother has sent us to bring you home. She wishes that you stop playing with these Legionnaires and come home.”
With a smirk, the man looked to Paros, “I am Joseph the ‘Peasant,’ a loyal member of the Legion of Steel. With today’s excitement I trust that my wife is right and that my final days as an agent in the fields of Pashin are over. Take this pendant to Old Omar’s Oddities, search out the woman name Klaudia and she will answer your questions about the legion.”
Nodding gently to Joseph, Paros took the pendant and set out on his task. He would gather all the information he could in hopes to bring freedom back to this city. Heading off into the city, Joseph shouts one last thanks as he and his sons disappear into the streets. All this occurred as the others encountered their own problems in the streets of this city. Beside herself with joy, Dove carried the reforged sword of her father. The dwarven Weaponsmith was a master at his work, and the sword she carried showed that fact down to the last detail. As the three walked the streets on their return to the Five Dragon they heard the strangled scream of a man dying. Being heroes as they are, Dove, Xorg, and Wydesh rushed down the alleyway only to find a man dressed all in black standing over a fallen elf. The curved knife held in the man’s hand was stained with the blood of the figure at his feet.
As he turned and saw the three standing in the alleyway, weapons at the ready, he whispered one simple word, “Damn . . .”
The battle began as swift as it would end, the dark figure tossing the tangle foot bag to the feet of Xorg, trapping him in his place. Pulling a potion from his robes he prepared to quaff the potion and make haste his escape. Wanting answers, Dove made a swing for the potion, missing the vial by but a hairs length. Wydesh made her attempt at this, but the bolt missed the vial and struck the body of the man, the wound deep and nearly fatal. In a fit of rage, Xorg shattered the binds that hold him, his strength clearly too much for such a simple trap. Xorg moved sluggishly toward the elf, seeking to put a blow across the dark robed man’s chin that would remove the consciousness of the man. The blow was true, snapping the murderers head back but not removing the life from his body. As the figure spilled back to the ground Dove snapped out and grabbed the uncorked vial from his fingers before the magic contained within spilled onto the ground.
Wydesh snapped to attention, spinning to face the new threat that only she had heard approach, three figures dressed in gray and black stood before them, longswords in hand as they looked on in shock.
Stepping forward slowly, creeping to the sight where the body lay one spoke, his elven voice gentle and soothing to the ears, “He has killed him, Aranol has slayed Josefin . . ,” The elven figure rose his gaze the those that stood before him, “and you have prevented the murderer from escaping his punishment. We thank you, but the Dark Knights patrols approach and we must flee this place.”
“Who are you? Are you from the underground?” Dove’s questions chased the elves before they could flee the alleyway with their fallen brethren and his killer.
Turning back, the figure spoke in a hushed voice, “We are a simple family who waits for news from others that may have escaped Silvanost. I am sorry, I can tell you no more.”
“Then let me help you return to your family,” Xorg grunted, tossing his money pouch to Dove as he rushed out into the streets, pushing and shoving past people to create a diversion.
Calling for him to stop, the Dark Knights approached the Ogre with weapons drawn, “Halt, Ogre! What are you doing in the streets, rushing about half mad?!”
“My money pouch, stolen from me by a small man, most likely a damned Kender. I simple search for the bastard as most any Ogre would.” Xorg spoke as he watched the elves slink off toward the sewers, Dove and Wydesh providing them cover until they disappeared from sight. The Knights dismissed the Ogre, warning him of the repercussions of his chosen way to find his lost goods. With a smirk on his lips, Xorg nodded and returned to his friends. Information had been obtained this day, and more was gained as they returned to the Five Dragons, passing silver and steel freely in trade for whatever knowledge the people had. The patrons of the city spoke of the Elven underground movement and how they disguised themselves as lepers to hide from the Dark Knights. Some mentioned word that the Legion of Steel had dwindled in their presence here in Pashin, but still they fought against the Dark Knights. Few knew that the mayor had chosen to lock himself into his home, while General Dogah of the Knights of Neraka took control over Pashin slowly.
Another night in the Five Dragons was spent as the adventurers prepared for the morning and no incident would occur this night, with no cryptic dreams or messages from long dead lands. The morning brought more questions, as the band of adventurers returned from the Bazaar one last time where Xorg retrieved his newly crafted blade, they encountered a strange figure in the alleyway, a beggar so haggard and disheveled that it was impossible to discern a sex. The figure clamored forward and climbed the body of Xorg, standing before the group with her gaze meeting the eyes of all that were in the group.
Lips parted as though parched, the beggar spoke with words as cold as the winter air, “The stars are set into motion, a plan both cunning and divine; beware of specters in the night, beware of unseen designs; they key you hold, others desire; protect yourself from obsession’s FIRE!”
The beggars final word was belched forth with a scream as the figure was tossed backwards, their body bursting into a blue-white flame that enveloped not only the beggar but all those that stood near. The damage to their bodies was inconsequential, the damage to their reputations was paramount, as the patrons of the city cried foul from the sight of the beggar’s death. Screaming for the guard to take away the villainous band of murderers, fears having shot through the crowd like an arrow. In a blind rush, the group ran to one of the sewer entrances that line the streets, but they found another surprise waiting for them there. With a harsh whisper they discovered a black-cowled figure waiting in the sewers for them. Off in the distance a sharp snap of an explosion shook the buildings around them. With rushed words they found themselves in the sewers, the dark robbed figure crouched before them. “You have been afforded an opportunity not given to many . . . you’ve been summoned to see Shaylin. Let us not keep her waiting.”
Hurriedly they gathered into the small space of the sewers where the figure drew a symbol into the ground, giving time to commit the shape into memory. Instructing them to travel south until they found the hidden realm of the underground elves, the figure darted back out into the street, closing the sewer entrance behind him. With little choice in their eyes, the band of brothers ventured forward, the sewers unfriendly but not impassable. Their first distraction would prove the most devastating, however, as they found a passage blocked by rubble. Deciding that to turn back would not provide them progress, the instead climbed through the narrow pass at the crest of the rubble where they encountered the gathering of Dire Rats that had come to investigate the noise. A broken battle began, the two halves of the party separated by the mass of broken stone that blocked the tunnel, as Dove battled the rats for she had braved the climb first. As the beasts gnawed at her ankles, piercing her flesh, she slashed at the animals in hopes to weaken their numbers. Xorg landed onto the other side of the tunnel as he brought his Fullblade across the neck of one of the many creatures. With Xorg’s appearance, Paros followed shortly after and landed hard into the sewage waters of the tunnel, the water seeping into his mouth as it splashed up and around him. Reflexively he swallowed the water and ingested the diseased water, though he would not know that he had gained the disease until the morning. All the while Wydesh struggled, her wings stuck on the ceiling of the sewers making it impossible for the draconian to pass through the small hole. The three brave soles that battled the rats made quick work of them once they all gathered their wits, for rats may be able to bite, but they hold little defense against the might of the sword.
Though there were other battles in the sewers none were so difficult that they held the group up for long. Xorg’s Fullblade proving to strong for some, Paros able to turn away others, Wydesh showing that she is an experienced archer with her Crossbow, and Dove guiding those that stood in the way to their deaths with her strikes. The four made quick work of the tunnels and found their entranceway, finding the hidden tent city of the elven lepers. Greeted by Lady Shaylin Moonborn of the House Mystic, our adventurers were shown what hospitalities the lepers could afford, providing them a comfortable tent and food for the night. Paros wandered the camp, speaking with the elder mystic of the refugees who went by the name Angelyn Starsinger. Through her, Paros discovered that the elven people had contracted some disease, but just what the cause was and the cure were beyond all that they had been able to research. Pouring over notes and speaking with those that had not contracted the disease, Paros could find no answers. Again, though in secret, Paros’s body failed him as he to was racked with the poison that infected those around him. In her attempts to aid these people, Dove played the music from the music box they had recovered from Pegrin and his men, though to no avail. Shaylin would see the group one last time before they would part for their rest. She swept her gaze over the group and spoke in a sing-song pattern, as though she was possessed, “There is a pattern, you cannot see. Instead you must set your spirit free. Take the key to the shattered ruins, through the sands of time, search your souls and find the sign.”
Shaylin shuddered as she finished the words, drawing in a single breath and holding the air inside her lungs as though she would have it stolen from her if she was to breath out. A sharp cough forced her to exhale, and she rose to her feet as she regained herself from the attack on her system. Quietly she would dismiss herself, the unexpected words and violent cough causing her to wish for nothing more than rest. Dejected, the four gathered in their tent and rested for the night, preparing their minds for the questions the morning would bring.
Shaylin would return with the dawning of a new light, though in these dark tunnels one would never have know the sun even rose. As she sat with the others she answered what questions she could, though the answers she had were not all that complete. All she truly knew was that they would have to travel to the Shattered Ruins to find their next answer. With little more to offer, Shaylin agreed to gather horses for the band and send them on their way, across the desert of Khur to Hurim and the Shattered Temple. The journey would be difficult, and even on horseback it would not be a short trek. With a final piece of advice to seek the Mikku tribe, a roving band of entertainers who are open to all travelers, Shaylin had her trusted friend Naelathan escort the four from the elven tent city. As they left the city of Pashin through the underground tunnels that were once used to smuggle in items under the nose of the Green Dragon Army, the group wondered what perils lay ahead, and what answers they would find in a long abandoned temple.
The morning brought the dangers that the night was free of. Off in the distance the small specs that made a desert patrol could be seen, the horns jutting from their heads making it clear that the riders were Minotaurs. Though they had not seen the party, the Minotaur riders headed straight for where the four adventurers laid their heads the night before. The pace of the riders was steady though not rushed, as though they were in search of something but what that was remained unclear. Saddling their horses the party hurried to ride off in hopes of remaining undetected by the patrol, though this action was their downfall as the sand kicked up by the hoofs of the horses revealed their position to the Minotaurs. Drawing arrows in preparation to eliminate the four riders the horned attackers took aim firing two arrows that struck true to the target. Grimacing in pain, Dove reached back to discover the point had pierced her between the shoulder blades, while the other shot landed into the bulk of Wydesh’s right wing. Battle was engaged, and anger roared through the blood of the four heroes. Taking action, Xorg dismounted his animal and charged back to the Minotaurs on foot his Fullblade reflecting the desert sun brightly. Paros rode forward, placing a hand on Dove’s shoulder as he bestowed blessing and the protection of the sun unto the young Paladin. As Wydesh prepared her crossbow in retaliation, Dove charged the band of Minotaurs horse to horse. With a strong war cry she entered the ranks of the enemy, bringing her sword down across the first of the enemies she had encountered, the life fluids pouring out of the creature as it died in its saddle.
Dismounting his horse, the leader of the band pulled his double-bladed sword in preparation to strike, standing back to let his other men take the charge before he would bring his own blows onto these four brigands wandering the sands. More swords were drawn, as two of the Minotaurs bring greatswords forth and strike out at Dove, landing one solid blow after the other. It was clear that this patrol was well trained in their tactics, and their strategy was well placed as the formed ranks around Dove and her horse. Two of the four mounted Minotaurs eased their horses back raising their bows and firing at the distant heroes who had yet to enter the fray. Taking this chance Wydesh did just that, her bolt racing across the sands and landing squarely into the shoulder of one of the bowmen. With a smirk on his face, Xorg had reached the battle unleashing the anger that fills the hearts of most Ogres. With the full weight of the blade, Xorg landed a solid strike unto the leader of the Minotaur band nearly felling him before the creature had a chance to maneuver. His dismount proved his downfall as Dove stepped in and attacked the leader of the patrol, her sword coming down from her mount and finding a soft spot between the neck and shoulder. Sinking the blade into the creatures flesh to the hilt it was clear the beast was dead, with no chance to attack. New found vigor was sent through the Minotaurs as they saw their leader fall, slashing and poking at Dove causing her lifeblood to ebb freely from her body as she lay unconscious in her saddle.
Paros watched in horror as his friend was taken down and so he charged into the fray, making his attempts to fell more of the attackers. His spear was true, though not fatal, as the Minotaur howled in rage and struck back at the Mystic with a heart blow. A bolt followed the attack from afar as Wydesh proved once more why she is the marksman of the group, felling the beast with a bolt that landed between the nostrils of the Minotaur. Now only three stood before them, though their fight had not reduced any. Turning their attention onto the mystic, the Minotaurs lashed out in rage and struck Paros down. Things had begun to look grim for the adventurers, the Minotaurs skills in battle were overwhelming them, but it was Xorg’s rage that would even those odds. In a flash of brilliance, Xorg brought his blade into the chest of another patrolmen, dropping the limp body from the horse. As the Minotaurs attempted to strike down the Ogre, who was proving to adept in the ways of defense, Wydesh loosed a bolt that would drop yet another of their attackers from his horse. Reacting with an unspeakable clarity, Xorg brought his sword across the legs of the horse the final attacker sat on, severing the limbs from the beast’s body and spilling its rider onto the crimson stained sands at Xorg’s feet. Offering surrender, Xorg showed the final rider mercy, though the offer was not accepted as the Minotaur took one final action in his life, attempting to strike the Ogre from beneath the horse he was pinned under. With a sigh, Xorg put an end to the life of the Minotaur as Wydesh licked the wounds of Paros, restoring consciousness into the body of the man.
With a sharp inhalation, Paros took in the situation and acted quickly, stabilizing Dove and healing the wounds that she had suffered and calming Doves horse with the aid of Paros’s Mystical powers. Rummaging through the belongings of the Minotaurs the band of adventurers took what food and water they could find. Mounting their horses once more the band rode hard forward and into the night, now protected from the sun by the clothing that was aiding the Minotaurs. The day passed without incident, though a sandstorm delayed their travels and fatigued them from their struggle within the whipping winds and blustering sands. As the storm cleared they spotted two large birds, Eagles to be specific, circling over their heads. The birds came to the earth, landing in a way that they would flank the party and prevent the adventurers from gaining an advantage in battle if it came to that. As the party came to a halt, reining their horses and coming in tight into a circle the four looked to the massive birds, the female Eagle looking to the four with calm as she spoke.
“We seek two draconians that roam this desert,” her tone fierce and yet calming as she turned her gaze to Wydesh, “Though not of your kind, beast. Baaz are what we seek, for their have taken our eggs, intent on retreating north to Ak-Khurman in order to sell our eggs. Have you seen these foul creatures?”
Though they had not spotted such villains in the desert sands, the four agreed to aid the eagles and hunt the draconians down for their crime against nature. With what little information the eagles could provide they set off to the south in search of the cavern where the Baaz had last been seen. If they were acting as Baaz normally do, they will be in their cavern waiting for the morning before they lug their treasures across the desert. Being several days away from the city of Ak-Khurman there was a good chance the draconians would not have left in any hurry as it was. Closing in an a small outcropping of sandstone, forming jagged teeth in the desert landscape, the four spotted a small cavern entrance where the eagles had said it would be. As the sun fell beneath the horizon Dove lead the pursuit into the cavern, cautiously advancing with her sword at the ready. Though the Baaz made an attempt to use dirty tactics and take advantage of the narrow opening, Dove and Paros were both two observant for those plans to run smoothly.
“Drop your weapons and hand over the eggs,” Dove bellowed into the cavern as she entered slowly.
Deftly blocking a strike at her head the represented the answer given to her by the draconian, Dove retaliated and began to exchange strikes with one of the two opponents, pushing the draconian back into the cavern. Slipping past Dove, the other Baaz moved into the entrance and attacked, lashing out at an unsuspecting Wydesh, though his tail proved a more venerable opponent as the Baaz tripped out into the moonlit rock yard. Taking advantage, Paros stepped forward and inserted the blade of his sickle into the head of the attacker, though his reflexes were not nearly strong enough to pull the blade from the creatures body as it turned to stone, the sickle trapped in the newly formed statue. The clashing of swords from inside the cavern ceased abruptly as Dove laid a killing strike on her opponent as well, ending the short but fierce battle.
The eggs were hidden though still kept warm underneath fresh ash. Though their intent was to sell the eggs, it was clear that the draconians had the smarts to know that they needed those eggs alive for the price would plummet if they had been dead. Various other treasures littered the cavern, filling the pockets of the adventurers as they gathered their spoils of battle. Stepping from the cavern entrance Dove placed a feather whistle to her lips and called the eagles to their location. Thrilled that the adventurers were successful in their mission, the female retrieved an additional two feather whistles for the group, explaining the way to use such an item and indicating that it shows their bond to the party in good faith. Mounting their horses once more, the young adventurers set out for their destination once again. Traveling through the night with the intent of recovering the ground the lost while rescuing the eggs.
As the sun rose from over the far hills the winds brought the sounds of joy and merriment from ahead. Cresting the nearest sand dune they brought their horses short, noting the gathering of colors crafted by several tents in the area, a Bonfire set in the center of the tents burning low from the previous night. Carefully they approached for they remained cautious of the gathering ahead though the area seemed inviting. Reaching the edge of the encampment the four were greeted by the guards as they spotted the riders, grand smiles crossing the lips of the greeters from the excitement of new friends to add to their gathering.
“Come friends, join us as we celebrate life and all things beautiful!” the guards booming voices greeted the adventurers from afar, “We can care for your horses, give you a place to rest, give you food. Come and join us!”
As they brought them into the camp the tribe fell hushed though not due to any suspicions of the tribe. The Mikku were a very friendly tribe and the opened their homes for all peoples they met, at least, all those that do not intend to bring harm onto them. Reaching the center of the camp the guards stepped aside and introduced the party to Alakar the Silent whose boisterous smiles and booming voice threw welcomes and pleasantries at the party.
“Welcome to our celebration! Please, join us! Eat, drink, be merry, for on the morrow we all may die!”
A look of shock and confusion passed over the faces of the group, but the morbid greeting was not meant to scare or threaten, but merely a greeting that Alakar gave to all newcomers into his camp. Though tired from travel, the four chose to sit and partake in the morning foods and dance. As the food was placed before them, salt was offered. To most this action would be a normal routine, but for the Mikku tribe this action signifies that as long as the guest remains with the tribe, any member of the tribe shall not harm them. The food was warm, and amongst the best ever consumed by the small band, the drink intoxicating and enticing, and the song and dance inviting. With the meal finished Alakar rejoined the party, a hearty clap on the back of each member in greeting and appreciation.
“Come, join me, I have some one that is looking forward to meeting you,” his tone somber but yet still welcoming.
Rising from their breakfast they followed after Alakar to a tent that was mildly different than the rest. The colors, though still vibrant, were consistent of colors that differed from the rest of the camp, the swirls of purple and blue resembling the night sky. Pushing back the tent flap, Alakar ushered the band into the chamber and indicated the woman that sat before them. Rising to her feet, the woman was pushing the age of sixty, her graying hair tied back into a ponytail and her robes gathered around her loosely. With a gentle smile she looked to each of the four that stood before her, her eyes seemed to show clear recognition of each person that stood before her. Rising from her seat she stepped forward, her hands outstretched as she clasped her hands on their shoulders one by one, speaking gently to each as she searched their souls.
To Dove she whispered, “The dead are restless. Spirits, driven by ancient jealousies and conflicts, fight in a graveyard over the soul of one believed forever beyond reach . . .”
Stepping from Dove, she moved to Xorg with a smile, “And one shall stand upon the back of nature’s builders, walk across a floor that lives, and speak to a voice that is one above many . . .”
“A figure of fire and damnation, forged from dragon’s blood but seeming Abyss born, stands guard over a weapon of light long thought lost . . .” her words held heavy in the heart of Paros as she spoke to him.
Smiling at Wydesh the woman spoke her last words, “On the wings of guilty ones, truth passes through the eyes of the innocent . . .”
Taking a step back to the center of the room, her hands clasped together before her, the woman smiled and looked to Alakar. With those words, Asmara, sage of the Mikku tribe, had given the prophecies that she had been granted in her sleep. The four that sat before her somber as they contemplated the words that were spoken to them. What could these things mean? The answers were hidden within the words, and only those that had heard them had the key to find those answers. Tension hanging over their heads, lingering like a lover after a passionate night, its intensity felt deep in the hearts of all gathered. Though this tension was broken quickly as Alakar lifted his voice and stated he would be returning to the festivities. Returning to the reality of the moment, all rose again and stepped out of the tent in search of more light hearted activities.
Entering the center of the camp where the Mikku were making merriment, Dove sought audience with Alakar for she had questions to ask the boisterous leader. The others departed as well, spreading throughout the camp in search of their own entertainment, which was not hard to find. The scantly clad figures danced about like flames on a candle. Their movements were inviting and the group felt compelled to enter into the dance. Xorg met the first of the more extravagant men in the group, a man who called himself “The Minotaur.” Clearly the strongest of all the nomads, this man enjoyed stirring up the stronger members of those that would visit the encampment. With joking harassment, the Minotaur teased Xorg and tried to pick a fight with the Ogre, all while smiling from ear to ear.
Riveting were the movements of the scarcely dressed woman that danced now with Alakar, Dove had impressed the nomadic leader with her poetic form in the dance. The two talked quietly as they glided along the sandy floor, speaking of the past and those that Alakar knew as his days went by. Dove mostly asked about her lost father, a man that Alakar both knew and admired. The reputation of Dove’s infamous father was something that had reached across the lands of Ansalon and she would be hard pressed to find a place that had not heard of him. She asked what this nomad may know of her father’s location and who imprisoned him, but these were things above Alakar’s head. The only answer she was able to obtain was that the man that took her father was known as the Soul Stealer, and he had not been seen since shortly after the attacks of Malystrix the Red in the lands now known as the Desolation.
Before her next question could be asked a man came to request that he partake in the beauty of the Half-Elven woman, and so Alakar stepped aside for the Minotaur. Dancing about more brutish and clumsy than Alakar, Dove worked twice as hard to make the man look good as she continued to move flawlessly about. With a crooked smile, the brutish figure made several attempts to place his hands were only the invited would dare to roam, but each attempt deflected by Dove’s swift hands as she blended those defenses into the dance to make his actions less noticeable.
“Women can’t resist me, and I know that you are struggling under my strong masculinity,” Dove recoiled slightly from the man’s breath as she chuckled slightly. It was clear to those watching, but no the man she was with, that she was covering her true feelings about the situation.
“Its only a matter of time before you ask to join me in my tent for a little . . . one on one time,” his smile cracked his face in such a way that it looked as though the top half would fall off if a strong wind blew, “So lets just cut to the chase and head off there, shall we?”
Noticing these actions, Xorg and company stepped in to save their friend, interrupting their dance. Taking this as a challenge, the Minotaur turned to the creature that stood before him and laughed. The gauntlet was thrown and the two would fight for the love of the woman, Dove, in a true test of strength, arm wrestling. A stout figure rushed from the crowd and placed a rather well crafted table before the fire pit. The table was complete with two benches attached, small pads wrapped in leather, and handles for the wrestlers other hand to hold as they fought.
Sitting heartily, as the Ogre stood in disbelief of how he would be fighting this man, the Minotaur grabbed his support handle and cackled, “I am undefeated, Ogre, can you be the first to end the streak of Malat the Minotaur!?”
Cracking his knuckles, Xorg sat at the table, for he was not one to turn away from a challenge no matter how pathetic the challenge actually was. The two men clasped hands and began their struggle, the battle going in favor of both, each side nearly loosing, as the other would gain ground on their opponent. Finally, looking inside himself for the strength to better this man, Xorg slammed the Minotaurs hands down onto the pad with a resounding thump, a smile creasing Xorg’s face, his tusks jutting from his lips in victory.
Bounding forward, Dove threw her arms around Xorg, pressing her face against the victorious Ogre’s check and smirked at the Minotaur, “It seems I will be spending the night in my tent with someone that can really show me a good time.”
Shocked from his defeat, horrified that Dove would spite him for an Ogre, and a hint frustrated that his mug of Ale was dry, the Minotaur rose his voice to the heavens, “NOOOOOOOOO!!!”
With the sound of boisterous laughter following after them as they departed, Dove patted Xorg on the back, thanking him for his actions and for playing along with her ploy to get away from the brute. The day had certainly proven entertaining for the band that had seen nothing but turmoil and hardship since they found the music box in Pegrin’s camp, this was a most welcome change from those previous days. However, now the band had to find rest for they had been awake straight through the night and most of the morning, they would sleep well and would wake deep into the next morning before they headed off into the desert once more.
At the time of Early Watch Wydesh and Paros stirred from the sounds of their tent flap rustling. Lifting their heads in curiosity they watched as a small girl entered their tent, her deep blue eyes seemingly glowing in the darkness surrounding them. The words the girl spoke woke the others from their sleep as gently as a father would wake his sleeping daughter, though her words were nothing but a mere whisper.
“You must hurry . . . the winds carry the voices of many spirits, and they are crying for help. You must keep the key safe, otherwise all will be lost,” the young girls voice swept across in a soft monotone, almost as though she were chanting, “In the temple of the betrayed, you must find the shard of light. It shall lead you on the path you have been chosen to walk.”
Turning before they could raise their voices in question, the girl turned and ran from their tent. Mere moments after her departure, two air elementals replaced her, bursting into the tent as two isolated whirlwinds they gathered up Xorg and Paros, swirling the heroes about within their windy forms. Desperately the four battled the creatures, though they were seemingly unable to harm the creatures, their weapons being swept into the strong winds or passing through their forms with little effect. Much like the girl, the elementals abruptly dissipated from the tent, leaving the group tossed about and confused. It was clear that some one was trying to distract them, but from what they did not know. The camp around them had sprung to life, as the barely dressed figures gathered around the tent with weapons in hand. Alakar pushed his way to the front and approached the group, concern on his face as he questioned the four on what had just happened.
Hearing the words the adventurers spoke, Asmara stepped forward as she questioned the group. Turning to Alakar she spoke hushed words confirming what the leader of the nomad tribe had feared. The girl that the adventurers had seen was, in fact, the dead daughter of the tribe leader, Uleena. The girl had died in an accident during the earthquake that reopened the entrance to the Ruins of Hurim. It was clear that the Mikku tribe had a part to play in all this, though they would not aid the adventurers within the cliffs of the valley. Alakar commanded the adventurers to return to their rest, the Mikku would guard them for the remainder of the night and take them to the valley in the morning. Who ever had sent these four individuals to the footsteps of the Mikku tribe was beyond the scope of Alakar, but he wished not to deny the will of the gods.
Arriving at the entrance of the valley, the four heroes gazed at the symbols that warned of the curse and the unfinished carvings of the statues to the gods that lined the entranceway. A mile back they had left the Mikku tribe with somber words and a promise to gather with them once more. Alakar left behind supplies that the adventurers could gather when they finished with the temple, and a map that would lead them to the oasis that the caravan would be settling at. Alone the four stepping towards the entrance to the valley, the sights before them daunting and frightful, the silvery gray fog that poured out from the valley entrance, enhanced by the cascading moonlight from above, provided a strange feeling of darkness within the souls of those that approached. Before they could enter the valley, however, they were attacked by two starving and crazed Mountain Lions, bounding down from above, desperate to have themselves a meal and crazed by their proximity to the valley. The beasts attacked with ferocity unknown to their kind, but they were felled quickly for they stood little chance to the tactics used by the clear-headed adventurers. With the only opposition disposed of, they stepped into the valley, greeted by a supernatural breeze that stirred their souls. Before them stood a mesa pillar, a dark watchtower perched atop the mesa, providing those that died within a chance to look out on newcomers to the valley.
As they pressed forward, working across the massive range of the valley, intent on the temple before them, they stopped in their tracks as a small figure stood before them with a skull in hand. The figure was clearly a kender and from his conversation it was clear that this kender was a Nightstalker, one that was “blessed” with the gift to commune with the dead. Looking to the four, the kender took note of his new visitors with excited fervor. Stuffing the skull into one of his many pouches, the kender walked forward with hand outstretched, “Names Shroud, my friend Scuttles and I have been talking for a while but I can stop that to talk to real people, they are so much more interesting.”
Swiftly each member of the party stepped back, rudely refusing the hand that was offered to them, and passing confused looks between one another. This smallish kender was deep within a land that was most certainly not a safe place to be, yet he seemed unharmed in any way. Surrendering to the fact that no one else in this are would be able to surrender answers, the four questioned the kender before them about the valley and what he knew. Though Shroud’s answers were nothing the party had not already learned, there was some information that they had not obtained as of yet. Excitedly Shroud told them about the crazed dryad that ruled the grove, and the restless spirit of the guard captain that stayed at the top of the tower. Practically leaping from the ground, the kender ushered the group toward the mesa as he urged them to check out the tower for it was a, “really neat place.”
After their climb from the valley floor and their slow journey across the land bridge, the four looked onto the tower with fear. All, that is, except Dove and Shroud, who both felt no fear. Their confidences spread throughout the group as they entered the building quietly, noticing the rooms several arrow slits throughout the room. As they ventured back towards the rear of the building a shadowy hand lashed out at Wydesh though it did not make contact. Paros turned and lifted his symbol of the sun towards the creature, asking for the blessings of the golden orb to turn away this creature. His prays answered as the shadow sank into the floor below, but it was clear that something in the valley kept Paros from the full strength of turning away the undead form. With the time that Paros had bought them, Shroud rushed them to one of the trap doors that would lead them up toward the ceiling of the tower.
Greeted by a weakened floor the five looked for their next exit. Before them stood a doorway, the door long since crushed from the ogre attacks. Leaping across the floor, Paros landed softly and looked about to gather his bearings, noting that above him was yet another of the trap doors that would lead them further into the tower. From behind Paros, Xorg lept across but was less agile as the mystic that had lead the charge. Looking to the corners, Xorg gulped heavily as the Stirges burst from their cocoons and attacked the two, swarming them and latching onto their bodies in preparation to feed. As Xorg crushed one of the monsters underneath his palm, Dove lept over the weak spot in the floor and engaged in battle, striking out at yet another and piercing the fat body of the creature. The Stirges had begun their feeding and the stingers were taking their toll on those unlucky enough to have them attached to their bodies, but they fought bravely on. As Shroud crossed over and joined the battle, there was only one that had not crossed. Wydesh did not have enough room to use her wings to safely glide over, so she would be forced to leap, as were the others. Unlike her friends, however, Wydesh felt the ground beneath her feat crackle and shatter as it spilled her onto the ground below, though she was able to avoid injury because of those same wings that she could not use to jump safely.
Fear coursed through Wydesh, she was now alone with the shadow that attacked them earlier. Unwilling to die this day, she rushed to the nearby wall and crawled her way to the second floor just as the last of the Stirges found its death at the end of a sword point. Making a ladder from the friend Xorg, the four found themselves on the third floor and looking at a sealed door, long since petrified, that was barring their path. In their combined efforts, Dove and Xorg burst through the door where a single skeletal body sat before them. A faint glow infused the skeleton as the spiritual guardian came to its feet – a swarthy human warrior, clad in translucent armor reminiscent of an ancient Istarian warrior. With sword at the ready, the guardian stepped forward with only one question on its lips, “What brings you here?”
The answer came as easily as the question, explaining the quest to free the souls of the damned and the find the shard of light as both Shaylin and the spirit of the Mikku girl, Uleena, sent them here. The guardian explained the events that lead to the his binding to this place, telling the adventurers about his dying wish to live until the day that the spirits of his men found peace. The guardian asked those that stood before him to send the spirits of his men to their resting place, for there were two that remained in this place that would not allow their souls to find rest. In somber agreement, the heroes ventured to the basement of the tower, intent on disrupting the undead energies that bound these shadows to the tower and freeing the guardian of his duty.
With little hesitation the group found themselves attacked once more by the creatures as they entered the basement. With a mighty swing of his Fullblade Xorg smiled as he sliced one of the undead forms in half, but his face sank quickly as he noticed that his weapon had done nothing but pass through the body of the figure and left no mark. Backing together in a corner of the room, they prepared to battle the creatures as best they could. Wydesh swung her crossbow from one to the other as she tried to keep track on the two shadows, their forms constantly slipping into the floor, drifting through the walls, or hiding in the pillars that were present in the room. As one appeared next to Dove and attacked Xorg, sapping some of the strength from the Ogre, Dove called for the might of her god to be passed through her blade as she struck to smite the beast. Though she had placed all of her strength into the strike, even this was not enough to fell the creature as it simply sank into the floor and out of sight. From behind them all, Paros’s voice rose as he read from a scroll, asking the gods for their blessings in this battle, for they truly needed the aid.
This would turn the tide of the battle, as their strikes seemed to find substance now, and the Shadows coiled back in fear of the blades that could now harm them. With a grand strike, one shadow fell to the spear of Paros as Dove and Xorg felled the other creature. The spirits were now at rest and the Guardian could leave this place, but the gathering of heroes had to return to the guardian one last time for he had promised them a reward for their actions.
True to his word, the spiritual guardian appeared once more and spoke, “Thank you. Truly you have been sent by the gods to answer a prayer long ago uttered in desperation.”
The guardian told them were they would find their treasure, making sure they new this included all that was on the guardian’s body as well. His ghostly form dissipated in a bright light, as his spirit was swept away into the afterlife, a smile brought about only by those that reach their final rest could be seen on his lips. As they rummaged through the treasure, and passed about that which they had found, the group reflected on the events of the last few days. Ahead of them stood the Shattered Temple, and the futures of this rag tag band of heroes.
A Bio of Paros Calostin:
Paros Calostin was born the Son of Tavilous Calostin (NE Male Silvanesti Expert 5 / Sorcerer 8) and Freyas Calostin (N Female Human Commoner 3). After years of adventure, Tavilous had chosen to settle down and wed Freyas. The two returned to Silvanesti hoping to be greeted with a hero's welcome, but instead Tavilous received the opposite, as the elves were all too quick to show their disgust in Tavilous's choice of mate. The elven reaction worsened still will the birth of Paros.
Paros, growing up in a land that viewed him as an abomination, quickly honed his skills as a diplomat and found his only peace in the temple of E'li. As Freyas took young Paros to the temple everyday for his training, Tavilous slipped further from the light using his power to try to find a way to make his wife and son more elven. Tavilous would capture lone elves in an attempt to remove their essence and bottle it into a potion which, if successful, Tavilous could transform his family to full elves. The process not only killed most of his volunteers but, as an after effect, produced strange diseases (possible cause of sun blight). Freyas was horrified by what she uncovered in her husbands experiments and what Tavilous had become. Hurriedly, Freyas turned him in to the elven council who performed the ceremony of darkness on Tavilous and cast him out as a dark elf.
Swearing vengeance on all who he believed wronged him, Tavilous went to the dark knights and made a deal. If the Knights of Neraka would kill Freyas and return her body to him he would aid them in their conquest of Silvanesti, after all if she wouldn't serve him in life she would in undeath. At this time Paros had just returned from Thoradin, as he was better with dealing with the dwarves than most elves and he had met and ogre by the name of Xorg, who had helped him several times in crossing Blode. Though he returned, Paros arrived too late as the dark knights had slain his mother, Freyas. However, Paros had prevented the knights from recovering her body. Knowing what Tavilous planed to do, he turned to his friend Xorg who took him deep into Blode to bury her in the one place Tavilous would never look. Returning to Silvanesti, Paros found that the Minotaurs had invaded and his beloved god had become mortal. Most notable of all was that Paros lost no power, for it was then that he realized the power was within him along.
Paros heard rumor of the Herald coming to Pashin and knew deep in his soul he needed to be in Pashin. He went to his trusted friend Xorg once more and the two headed to Pashin. Along the way he met a draconian, Wydesh, who saw the world in light different to most draconians. The two became friends, after all if a hero of light could turn evil then these creatures of darkness can be brought to the light, so Paros thought. It was just before reaching the city of Pashin that Paros would meet a woman named Dove, whom Xorg knew as a friend from his past. Xorg and Dove appeared to have the same taste for killing, though Dove said she killed only those that were marked as evil. Paros had a feeling that Dove was keeping something from him, but most hold their secrets in this world after all. In Pashin Paros would learn of a group of underground vigilantes called the Legion of Steel, who share similar beliefs to Paros. Protecting the common man was their objective, and this interested Paros. Also during his time in the city of Pashin he would meet a gathering of underground Silvanesti, diseased by a strange light sickness of which Paros feels compelled to cure, for Paros’s fate may be tied to those elves. This disease seemed similar to the work of Paros’s father, Tavilous, but this was not certain and Paros would hold this secret from the his new friends. As time passes, Paros now finds himself heading to the ruins of a shattered temple in search of answers and more questions.
A slight clearing presented itself ahead, surrounded by hot springs at each point of the clearing. As they entered the clearing they saw her, the Dryad stepped out of one of the many trees along the edge of the clearing and looked at the four intruders to her land. Speaking under her voice she summoned the assassin vines to her will, the natural enemy slithering across the orchard floor behind the four unsuspecting people that stood before the Dryad. Taking a few cautious steps forward, though still rather far from those that threatened her, she spoke in hushed but warning tones, “Leave my orchard, return to where it was that you came and never return.”
This land must be protected, Dove knew this was not as it should be, and so she moved forward with the intent of responding but this would not be as Xorg and Paros were enveloped in the grasp of the assassin vines shortly after Dove took those fateful steps. The vines ripped and tore the flesh of Xorg, though Paros was able to nimbly move away from their grasping leaves and roots. The battle had been joined, and the reason, Dove and her companions had not simply turned and left. Springing to action, Dove slashed at the vines that held Xorg tight, intent on preventing the Ogre from falling victim to such a heinous enemy, while Paros maneuvered around and toward the back where he could better support the group. Seeing their quick actions and knowing what a threat they were, the Dryad brought forth the roots and underbelly of the forest to entangle those that stood before her, enveloping Wydesh and adding to the problems of Xorg. With a smirk, the Dryad maneuvered herself to better position her next action, while Dove and Paros stumbled out of the entanglement, intent on reasoning with the Dryad. With their combined efforts, and silver tongues, the two managed to bring the Dryad to her senses, though only for a brief moment. The information gathered was invaluable as they learned that they must find her tree, though what they should do with that tree once it was discovered was beyond them.
Though she made no attempts to strike at the heroes, the dryad worked to stopped them in her own ways, constantly working to control their minds with her powerful ways of suggestion and charm. As the battle raged, with leaves and swords flying the Dryad continued to frustrate and annoy the intruders. Though it would seem that, on more than one occasion, Xorg had cut down the Dryad it would turn out not to be true, as she would resurface moments later from the bark of another tree, her wounds healed and her desire to stop these attackers increased. Finally, the Dryad was able to gain an advantage as she took the Ogres mind and convinced him of the innate evil that rested in the bodies of all those he was with. The urge to kill all those he once called friend had swept through Xorg, and now that rage was displayed as his Fullblade came down in full force onto Paros. The lifeblood spread across the orchard floor, Paros nearly felled in one blow, but the mighty mystic would not be fooled by the magical trickery of the Dryad, and though it may cost him his life, Xorg would not fall in this battle. Placing his hands onto the angered ogre, Paros injected the healing essence of the Sun totem into the ogres body, healing some of the massive wounds the hulking beast had suffered from the vines that he had struggled with earlier. Though Paros was working to heal his friend, Xorg, Wydesh was not as convinced of the intentions of the animal and fired her crossbow with a shot that landed true, striking Xorg in the shoulder. Still in a frenzied state and enraged at the new attacker, Xorg rushed Wydesh with much the same result as before, nearly bringing his new target to their end with one swing of his mighty Fullblade.
Standing strong, Dove looked about the grove and saw what they had been looking for this entire time, the tree that the Dryad was linked to, at least, Dove hoped this was the tree. Paros rushed over, taking advantage of the distraction that Xorg had found in Wydesh, and inspected the tree confirming what Dove had thought, this was in fact the tree that allowed the Dryad to live. With a flash of steel and a whirl of action, Dove brought her sword across the Dryad so as to break her enchantment on Xorg, the forest creature melting into the nearby tree in defense and lowering her control over the ogre so as to concentrate on avoiding the sword. With the momentum of the swing, Dove came around with her holy symbol to Branchala and channeled the energies of her lord into the tree, consecrating the cursed home of the Dryad. The orchard around them seemed to brighten almost immediately, the colors more vibrant than when they had first entered. The Oak before them also seemed to brighten, its ashen and sickly brown colors faded, replaced by the solid brown and greens of a tree that was healthy in its prime. Cautiously the Dryad stepped out from the tree once more, a faint smile on her lips as she looked at the four that now stood before her tree. With thanks she told them about her plight and how the passage of time, time that had not been friendly to the world around her, had caused her to slip into madness. Offering peace, the Dryad gave those before her all that she had collected in her forest during the passing of the ages, and sealed the wounds that they had suffered from her minions of the wood.
Laden with the gifts of the Dryad, Dove lead her companions across the valley, intent on learning more about the lake bed that resided here as well. With little concern for her well being, Dove strode forward to investigate, her sights set on a strange mist, green in color that ebbed from the center of the lake. Unknown to Dove what would cause such a mist, she stood before the hole from which the mist rose, the hair line crack in the earth leading to a dried underground river that once roared below this place. Something told her that it was related to the dead, but she could not place her finger on the source, but her theories led her to a conclusion and so she uncorked the healing potion that she had been carrying with her, pouring the contents into the hole and prayed that it would deal with whatever creature lurked in this area. No effect, the mist still boiled from the hole, not slowed one bit from the strange tactic.
From a distance behind Paros shouted to Dove, “The mist is linked to a Wraith, it wont show itself until night, so its best you not waist any more of our supplies on the hole.”
Looking back at Paros, Dove smirked, “Then we wait until night, this valley must be cleansed of its evil.”
And so they waited, their camp set at the lake edge as they watched the mist grow until it filled the lake with a sickly green color. The Wraith burst from the hole into the center of the lake, the sent of mortals fueling the rage that the ghostly figure felt. Its death was most unfortunate, but the death of these fools would be equally unfortunate as the wraith sought to bring them into the afterlife. Each stood from where they sat and drew their weapons, stepping forward into the lake, prepared to cleanse the valley from the evils that lay before them. Stepping forward, Xorg took the first strike against the Wraith, his position being the best to strike the creature, and his blow was well targeted for the wraith’s midsection, but the result was not that which Xorg desired. The sword passed through the Wraith as though Xorg had been attacking the air around him, panic stretched across the Ogres face as he realized his attacks would be useless against this creature. Before he could retreat, however, the wraith reached forth and sapped a portion of the Ogres strength, seeking to pull the soul from within the mortal body. Though this was a deadly tactic for the undead figure, it would prove to be the only action he would have against the well-prepared adventurers. Stepping forward with her newly acquired Shocking Blade, with a whisper of thanks to the Guardian that had rewarded her with the weapon, Dove brought the magical weapon across the wraith, tearing the creature apart like paper. As the blow passed through the body of the Wraith, Xorg coated his blade in an oil of Daylight, brining illumination to the area of epic proportions. All could clearly see that the strike allowed the wraith to finally reach its sanctuary where the dead go to rest, and Dove relished in her victory over the forces of darkness. With a final word, Paros passed the final rights of the lakebed, for the bodies of those that had been drowned during the Night of Betrayal had never received the treatment they deserved.
All that stood before them now was the temple itself and the daunting task of finding the Shard of Light. With no idea of what this shard was, the bold adventurers ventured their way up the Path of the Gods, where statues of epic nature once flanked this path. The statues were now nothing more than rubble, but the peace and serenity they had brought to the area remained even in these dark times. The pathway lead to a plateau, hundreds of feet across, with the temple a mere fifty feet away from the path that lead them here. On both sides of the temple two enormous statues have fallen to the ground leaving behind only the white rock that they had been carved from. The temple itself stood more than 30 feet high, its base stretching to a length of 60 feet, as the ziggurat stood before them, a mere shadow of its former glory. As they stood and took in the temple there was a sound, gently but requiring attention nonetheless. The sound originated from the peak of the temple, where two water mephits sat, crouched at the edge of the top stone as they watched the people that stood below. Xorg stepped forward in an attempt to indicate that he wished to communicate with the little creatures, but this proved only to intimidate as they rushed to the backside of the temple and out of view. These little creatures provided no threat, and so they continued on their quest, stomping up the steps that would lead them into the mouth of the temple.
Stepping through the doorway, they found themselves crammed into the entrance where a small landing did this duty for the temple. Further ahead they saw the antechamber that ended with a set of stairs leading into the belly of the beast, two crumbled statues flanked the doorway leading into the antechamber. With Dove in the lead the four strode forward, weapons at the ready, for the danger was escalating rapidly. From behind they suddenly heard a loud shout that made each jump from surprise. An alarm was sound, but not by the living, as they stood in the chamber and watched ghostly figures reenact the fateful day of the temple.
“Ogres!” the shout rose on the air, piercing the calm night with the alarm.
Suddenly the sound of heavy booted feet, followed by the echoing roar of blood thirsty warriors, drowns out the sound of the alarm as a horde of ogres begin to tear their way up the temple steps. One burly ogre, his tusks gleaming wetly with crimson blood, leads the pack, pausing long enough at the temple entrance to swing his massive club and shatter the statue of the smiling goddess of healing with a single, might blow. Xorg stepped forward as the ghostly figure made its strike, swinging his own weapon in an attempt to prevent the spirit from destroying the ghostly statue, though his weapon found no target where it had passed. The ghostly ogre bent over, lifting the cracked marble head of the goddess from the ground and hefts it over his head, releasing a booming warcry that is quickly picked up by the other ogres, creating a thunderous roar in the valley. Ignoring the adventurers that stood in the entrance, the ogres rushed down the steps and into the temple.
Unexpected was the vision, and the party stood in silence a moment, looking to each other for answers as the what had just happened. Confidently Dove stepped forward, her quiet leadership providing the only answers they would receive, they must continue forward for their task was not completed yet. As Dove set her foot down at the base of the stairs a torch burst to life in blue white light, several others following suite to provide the light needed to navigate this hallway. Before them where several rooms, each missing the door, which had been destroyed that fateful night many centuries ago, all except one it seemed. Systematically they swept through, looking into each room that now housed the long dead corpses of the locutories that where slaughtered by the Ogres. Now they stood before the one door that had remained, this door bared no damage from the Ogres or the passage of time apparently. Dove grabbed hold of the knob to the door and was greeted with a surprise she had never encountered nor even knew existed, as the door grew arms and slashed out at her. Leaping back in surprise her companion’s lept in to attack the living door, each slash and cut brought more surprise as the door yelped and shouted for them to stop their attacks.
“Would you stop hitting me?! Just go away and stop trying to get through me, damn it!” the door bellowed as Wydesh fired a bolt into the bulk of the door.
“It talks . . ?” responded a befuddled Dove, who gathered her wits about her quickly, “What are you?”
“My dear girl, I am a mimic, I pretend to be other things, and right now I am acting as a door to protect this room . . . Wait, I never said that . . . Oh, just go away,” The door balked as it had realized its error and made an attempt to cover it up.
Peering at the door, Paros made his inquiry, “What are you protecting in that room?”
With a chuckle in its voice the mimic responded to the question with sarcasm dripping from its words, “Sure, I would be happy to tell you what is behind me, that’s exactly why I am here.”
Silver tongue dancing, Paros spoke once more, “Then tell me how you got here, fair enough?”
Pulling its arms back into the body of the door, the mimic responded to this new question more favorably, “Very fair question. That would be Anasana, my master, who would most likely be in the library below us. I would suggest you go to here, ask her if you could gain entrance and then we might be able to strike a deal.”
With this new information the group was confident they had a new source of answers about this temple. They would seek Anasana and grill her for answers, hopefully she would know more about the Key of Quinari and the Shard of Light as well. Turning toward the stairs before them the four entered the floor below. As they reached the bottom of the stairs they encountered more of the ghostly images they had seen above. A young human, Khurish by the looks of him, dressed in loose white robes stands in the hallway, his right hand held out before him while his left hand grasps the silver medallion of Paladine around his neck.
“Paladine, hear my words, grant me use of your holy sword!”
A glowing blade of silvery light springs into being in the young priest’s hand, which he holds before him with determination, if not skill. An ogre turns the corner from the stairs and the young priest leaps forward, the silvery blade leaving a glowing trail of light in an arch as he shouts, “In Paladine’s name!”
The Ogre cruelly laughs as he brings up a booted foot, kicking the young man in the stomach. The young man gasps, his breath ripped from his body as he falls backward. The ogre follows the young man’s gall, however, planting his foot squarely in the center of the priest’s chest and bringing his massive weight to bear the ogre slowly crushes the life out of the young priest. The ogre leans forward, his eyes glowing crimson even in the flickering blue light of the illuminated torches. Mockingly, he places the tip of his spiked club on the young man’s outspread arm, preventing the thrashing priest from bringing his spiritual weapon to bear.
“Kiss you ****ing god goodbye, little man,” the ogre growls before raising his club overhead and brining it down swiftly toward the priest’s head, the images fading before the strike would land.
This chamber was larger than the one they were in before, rooms lining each wall with a central chamber before them. Again, in much the same way as before, they systematically explored the temple, going from one room to another. First they inspected the Brewery where brown mold had made the room dangerous to enter, the next room was where those of the temple made their butters and creams, the room filled with congealed and solidified butter and bread with the substance of stone. Most of the other rooms where nothing more than servants quarters and priestly chambers, each filled with destruction and decay. One room was the store house of meats and other perishable goods, the room chilled with metal rods that had a permanent chill metal effect on them, now they housed the dead bodies of tortured victims, the bodies suspended from the hooks the hung from the ceiling. Two options remained, as they looked at the map they had found in the journal the Guardian had given them, the central chamber here, and the stairs down into the heart of the temple, where their map did not show. In search of a library the four went to the central chamber with their resolve telling them that the large chamber was the best choice to be such a room.
The room they entered was clearly once a place where the clergy gathered for their meals. However, on the Night of Betrayal, the Ogres tossed to long tables against the two walls in the back of the room, a small, fist-sized hole in the stone column between the two doors. Yellowish residue cleared some of the dust on the floor as the trail lead to the left door, disappearing underneath the unscathed wood of the door. It seemed that an Ochre Jelly had made its way into the temple, most likely from the orchard outside, though this had slipped past the normally observant four. In its attempt to hunt rodents the jelly had slid through the debris and under the kitchen doors. Paros moved toward the central column, intent on peering inside the room as the Refectory filled with more of the ghostly images from before.
A group of Ogres barge into the dining hall, bursting through the open doors in a small group. Tossing aside the long tables they rush the back doors with axes raised. A particularly brutal looking Ogre swings his axe with a mighty grunt, but as the axe meets the doors he’s suddenly thrown back by a loud explosion of flame. The flame licks hungrily from a sigil that blazes to life upon the door, leaving the Ogre smoking and groaning on the floor.
As his comrades laugh cruelly at his pain, another Ogre tentatively approaches the door, gently prodding at it with his barbed club. When he doesn’t get blasted, he begins to try and batter down the door himself, but each blow of his club seems to be repelled before it even strikes the door. Others push him aside, each trying to batter down one or the other door, but each meets a similar lack of success.
Suddenly, another Ogre enters the room, but this one seems very different from the others. With deep blue skin and a thick mane of white hair, and gleaming eyes of pale indigo, his entrance causes the other Ogres to stand aside. Instead of heading for one of the doors, the blue-skinned Ogre strides toward the wall between the doors. A guttural growl escapes his lips as one of his hands begins to crackle with a black nimbus of dark flames. With a single, mighty punch, he knocks a hole into the wall. A loud cry comes from within the other room, the sound of a surprised shout, but the Ogre just smirks. Weaving his hands in the air, he points a finger toward the opened hole and utters another deep, guttural phrase in the language of magic.
From the tip of the ogre’s clawed finger, a serpentine tendril of sickly yellow mist streaks forward into the other room. Moments later, more shouts come from within, followed by the sound of coughing and choking as the tendril thickens into a thick, poisonous mist. Gesturing to the other Ogres, the blue-skinned Ogre barks orders at them in the harsh Ogre language. Instantly, the Ogres scramble, breaking apart furniture to pile it against the doorways, trapping the hapless victims inside . . . victims who are now screaming with the hollow rattle of death in their shrill cries, cries that echo in the chamber as the image fades.
With the vision faded, Paros made another move to peer into the hole, inspecting the destruction of the fateful event the vision had presented. With his face mere inches from the gap in the wall, Paros became the first target of the Jelly that they had not noticed before. With the speed of a rock rolling up hill in winter, the Jelly sprung out and attacked the Mystic, though Paros proved to be to dexterous for the odd creature. Taken weapon in hand, the gathering of adventurers struck forth, first Dove with her blade of magical energy, slashing through the liquid body of the Jelly, the lightning bursting from the sword and coursing through the creature as well. Both effect proved worse than intended, as the Jelly split, and now three jellies oozed towards them. With quick thinking, Wydesh launched a bolt toward another of the jelly, the bolt jamming into the floor, and causing the jelly to spilt once more. With a growing force of enemies, the party scrambled for answers to the threat. Xorg came forth with that answer, pulling out his great club and splattering one of the various puddles along the wall behind it. Clearly the blunt end of the weapon would be the best answer here, and so Paros turned and rushed from the room to one of the nearby slave chambers in search of a piece of a degenerate cot. Dove stepped forward and swung forth with a mace that she kept on her for just such an occasion, repeating the results of Xorg, as Wydesh moved forward to strike with her only blunt weapon, bringing her scaled fist down into the center of a puddle of jelly. In reaching to flesh having been introduced into the jelly, the creature clung to her and swarmed over her body as it began to devour her flesh, for the Ochre Jelly had finally found fresh food.
Paros burst into the room at this moment and saw what was going on, just in time to see Dove cross the room and swing her mace with all her might at the jelly that was wrapped around Wydesh’s legs. The blow struck true and splattered the goo across the floor, leaving significant bruises on the legs of Wydesh as the Draconian yelp in pain from the strike. With the last of the creatures dead, the four looked about the room and found that there was little left here that would provide them answers to their objectives. With a collective sigh, the four turned and headed for the stairs that would lead them down to the fourth floor of the temple, into the dark and unknown areas of the Ziggurat. This level was the first that did not great them with the bright blue-white light of the ever burning torches. Taking in the hall around them, noting the blue-green powder that lay on the floor before each door, they debated where the path would lead next. It seemed a simple choice, left or right, but this choice could mean the end of them in such a dangerous place.
With careful thought they turned to the left, heading for a nearby doorway, and a sealed chamber that seems that the Ogres had not touched. After looking over the infirmary, where scattered bodies lay and broken cots are tossed about, the party moved to the sealed door with interest. Written on the door was a symbol in the Ogre language, translated by Xorg, which simply states protected by the Dark Gods. Xorg explained to his companions that this is a symbol used by the Ogres to determine places that are not to be touched. Whatever was behind this door was considered so important to the invaders and the one that had betrayed the temple that it was sworn to protection. Reaching forward and turning the handle, Xorg took a deep breath and threw the door open. As he thrust the door open, a brilliant flash of crimson radiance blinded him as a strange symbol came to life on the far wall. Waves of magical energy shot forth from the symbol, waves that seeped deep into Xorg’s body causing his blood to boil and his muscles to ache. With the wisdom of Paros, the symbol was identified as that of a Symbol of Pain, the curse would course through and cause ailment to Xorg for quite sometime, but it would pass with time.
Finishing the walk into the long empty room, Xorg looked about at the space, noting the mosaic painted across the ceiling, depicting the lady of healing, though it seemed to be off as the woman that was in the picture was thin, her hair the color of dried bone and her face much like a skeleton grinning back at him. The remainder of the room was predominantly void of belongings for the cot and desk had disintegrated from the passage of time, though the footlocker was still in tact thanks to the petrified wood that made up the box. Stepping forward to take a peek inside the footlocker, Xorg stopped in his tracks as he was greeted by yet another vision.
A rather distinguished, coldly handsome middle-aged man, with pale skin, piercing black eyes, and white-blonde hair, stands in the center of the room, apparently lost in thought. His body is lean, almost to the point of gauntness, and the pointed goatee on his chin gives him an almost sinister air, particularly when combined with the intent expression upon his features. He’s dressed in pitch-black robes, trimmed in sickly yellow, with small ivory skulls decorating the hem. His hand is wrapped around the medallion at his neck as he gazes off into the distance. Suddenly, he nods his head and speaks, his voice a low, whispery tone.
“Yes, Chief Korblak, tonight is the night,” he says aloud, although his words are not directed to anyone present. “I shall take care of the high priest and the temple’s defenses. All you and your horde need worry about are the guardians.”
The figure falls silent once again, apparently listening to the response from the Chief Korblak he’s speaking with. He abruptly shakes his head, “No, you need not allow any to survive. You may take as many prisoners as you want from the valley, but all within the temple must perish. My master demands it and your Queen has agreed with his demands, as your Shamans have told you.”
Tilting his head to the side, the figure . . . the Betrayer . . . once more listens to the ogre chieftain’s response, a small smirk twisting his lips.
“You may keep whatever treasure you find. Such things do not matter to my master of myself. Now, I must go and prepare for the evenings . . . events. When you have cleared the temple above, meet me in the Shrine of Darkness on the lowest level. There you will receive the reward promised you.”
The figure releases the medallion from his grip, revealing a silver medallion emblazoned with a grinning skull. Glancing down at himself, the priest smirks once more, “Time to put on my last disguise.”
Spitting out a guttural chant, the black and copper robes begin to bleed their color away until the figure is wearing robes of pristine white, trimmed with royal blue emblazoned with the symbol of Mishakal in silver thread. Waving his hand over his medallion, the skull seems to melt, reforming itself until it creates the Light-Bringer’s infinity symbol.
Moving over to the chest at the foot of his bead, the spits out another guttural phrase as he opens the chest. Leaning over, he pulls out a black-bladed dagger. The blade seems to twist and writhe like a snake; the hilt is an ivory mask resembling a grinning skull. Tucking them among the folds of his robes, the priest stands and turns toward the door, walking toward Xorg and his companions with purposeful strides as the image fades away.
Shaking his head from the vision, Xorg moved forward to looking the chest the Betrayer gone into. Speaking the same words that the cleric had spoken, Xorg lifted the lid to the petrified box and looked through the mundane and useless items inside. Old robes, a small ivory figurine of Mishakal, yellowed with age, a set of silver bracers inlaid with symbols of Mishakal, and a scroll tube with a single scroll inside. Standing back a moment, Xorg looked at the now empty box for something did not feel quite right about the box itself. Shrugging, Xorg grabbed the box and dragged it out into the hall for the others to rummage through and find what the ogre might have missed. With a scrutinizing look, Wydesh combed the box with her eyes, and noted that the floor to the box was in fact a false floor. Jamming a clawed finger through the floor she yanked the board out with little trouble and reveled more secrets the Betrayer held from those he once loved. A black skull-shaped candle, a block of sickly-sweet smelling amber incense, three ceramic casks, sealed with wax, and a tome, bound in human skin with vellum pages. With disgust, Dove and Paros identified the book in unison, a tome of Chemosh.
A slapping noise from south of them snapped the party to life, their gazes lifted as the strange cube shape of a Gelatinous Cube slithered toward them, the light cast from Xorg’s blade dipped in the potion of daylight illuminating the cube with an bizarre radiance. Acting quickly, Xorg snatched the book of Chemosh from the hands of Paros, and rushed to the mouth of the hallway, hurtling the book at the creature. It was clear the intent was not to harm the creature with this attack, but to destroy the book for the cube would devour the flesh covered book and destroy it for all eternity. As the books disintegrated before them the temple rang with a deep boom, as the light grew dark for a brief moment, clearly Chemosh felt the severing of the connection and it angered him. Though all had felt this cryptic message, there was still the matter of the slowly approaching ooze that blocked the passage ahead. Drawing weapons, they waited for the creature to arrive in the small opening. As it approached Xorg, the cube lunged forward in an attempt to grab its meal, but only succeeded in pushing its objective further away from it. With this each of the adventurers took their chances and pummeled the cube, though their beating was not enough to disperse the creature before it had another chance to attack. And this time it was successful in its goal as it enveloped a stunned Paros, but he was not stunned by the attack, or the pain of the acid, but by the fact that he could move within the body of the beast with little effort at all. You see, Paros had been wearing a Ring that magically provided him freedom of movement in all substances, but he had forgotten that what the ring was capable of. However, his stunned reaction was enough to panic Dove, who thought he friend would die in a matter of moments if unable to free himself, and she struck the cube with her blade, the lightning bursting forth once more, electrocuting Paros and dispersing the Gelatinous Cube all in one deft blow.
With but a few marks of acid burn, Paros gathered his wits about him and smirked as he noted to function of the ring and how it would be very useful to him in the future. Taking a good look around them after their encounter with the living goo, they noticed another door down the hall that seems to have been repaired from the destruction that was once brought onto it. Where this door lead was unsure, but the adventurers felt confident that this would lead them to the library, unlike the chamber above. Stepping lightly to the door, Wydesh tested the knob and verified that the door was locked. On the hopes that the person they looked for, Anasana, was at least a passive individual, Dove made a her move for entry.
“Anasana!? We seek an audience with you,” Dove shouted loud enough to be heard through the planks of the wooden door that barred their path.
A stressful pause lingered in the air after Dove spoke, then a gentle response, “And who would be seeking an audience with me in this place?”
Good, Dove thought, we peaked her interest, now to get inside, “We have come here seeking the Shard of Light, and your door told us that you might have some answers to its location.”
With an abbreviated version of the pause that came before, Anasana slid the bolt open and cracked the door to see the four that made the motley crew. Her head cocked to the side she paused long enough to take each of them in with scrutiny and opened the door wide to invite them into the chamber. The room was a disheveled mess, the ogres were not kind to this room when they initially passed through here, and Anasana had done little to restore the room, though there was one table that was in good condition and a stack of repaired books and scrolls scattered across the surface. Clearly this woman was doing some research, she was looking for something but what it was they had no idea. As they spoke Anasana explained to the four that she had felt a calling, something told her the valley had reopened and she came to see if the curse had been lifted, though she had discovered that it had not. She found the library and began to repair the documents as best she could, having decided that she would not venture any further into the structure than the fourth floor. When pressed for her reasons, her only response was that the temple was protecting itself.
More things accompanied the questions, as Paros asked if she knew of the Sun Blight disease that plagued the elves of Pashin, and if the woman had any answers on how to cure such a disease. Anasana had heard of the disease, and had theory on how to cure a person of the disease as well, though she was apprehensive the relate her theory to those that sat before her, claiming that it was to horrid to imagine. Paros was insistent, for he desired nothing more than to cure the elves of their sickness, and secretly himself as well. Under this new pressure, Anasana cracked and explained that there are two ways they may cure the disease, and one of the two may also lift the curse of the valley. The first way was to find the Tears of Mishakal, though it was not likely that these truly existed in the world, since they are items of legend and only told in stories that mothers use to put children to bed. The second cure was the reason she did not want to tell Paros, for the cure was to take the life essence of a Half-Elf, in other words trap their soul and have a person drink that. The life essence of the Half-Elf would, in theory, heal a person of the disease, but the being they drained must be of a good heart, else the essence would corrupt the person that ingested them and darken the disease they already had within.
Neither answer was productive, for Paros found himself no closer to solving the puzzle that was Sun Blight. This did not dampen his spirits on the matter, however, though Paros and the rest changed the questions to deal with matters at hand. They were interested in what was behind the door upstairs, and only the woman before them knew. With such skill in the use of their silver tongues, Dove and Paros (mostly Paros) convinced Anasana to make a trade for all that she hid in the room. Anasana knew a collector in a nearby city that would gladly take the Ishtarian coins they had found in the Guardians tower, and she gladly traded all the items in her room for the small pile of coin. The only catch was that Anasana would not allow them access to the room, and so she set forth to retrieve the items, gathered in three sacks, and she gave the items to the four that remained in the library. Anasana set the sacks before the adventurers and declared that she would guard the halls as the four slept, and they would be able to sleep in complete safety. Turning about, she left the room and locked the door behind her, and stayed true to her word, for the party slept in silence and safety, with not even a creak of wood to disturb them. When they awoke the next morning their host had left them in the night, and the scent of incense lingered from the incense of meditation that Paros had burned for the benefit of Dove and himself.
Though the fact that Anasana had departed rather suddenly on them, the objective ahead was the star of light and not some random treasure hunter. Approaching the stairs that would lead them deeper into the temple the four stopped, gazing down a dark path that was covered with spider webs from ceiling to floor and wall-to-wall. This path would be a difficult one to pass, and the swarm of spiders that clung to the webs made things more dangerous. Brining her medallion of faith to her lips, Dove began to whisper a prayer when she was ripped from it with a gasp from Wydesh. The webs had parted to the sight of the medallion, and provided them a clear pathway down. Forming their line, Dove took the lead down the dark stairwell with Paros following in the rear, both with their medallions held high to prevent the tunnel from closing about them. As they reached the floor below two guardians of the temple immediately greeted them. The constructs charged to attack, but pulled short when they spotted the medallions, for to the guardians it was clear these four beings belonged in this temple. Passing the guardians in their tight formation they reached a set of cast iron doors. Here the adventurers encountered another of the visions that had been stalking them throughout the temple.
The hall suddenly filled with the sound of clashing weapons, as the valiant priests of the Temple form a living wall against the ogres pouring into the hall. Over the din of steel striking steel, you can hear numerous voices rise in prater as the priests call upon their gods for help.
“Lady of the Blue light, fill us with your holy might!” cries out one young priestess, whose body suddenly begins to glow with brilliant blue light as she slams her quarterstaff across an ogre’s chin.
“Kiri-Jolith, I beg you to listen as you fill your enemies with fear!” an elderly priest in golden chainmail points his medallion toward another ogre, who suddenly drops his club as he runs shrieking for the stairs.
“Our Lord of the Blazing Sun, Paladine the Platinum One,” begins an earnest chant by another priest, but a vicious blow from an ogre’s club slams into the priest’s shoulder, sending him crashing into a column, where he slumps to the ground lifeless.
Suddenly, the statues along the walls of the hall burst into movement, joining the fray as they are imbued with divine energy. The priests of the temple cheer as the ogres begin to fall back, but just as suddenly as the statues move forward, the doors of the main shrine burst open . . . and out of those doors comes something torn from a world of nightmares.
A swarm of skeletal insects streaks out, carried on a powerful burst of wind. As the insects swarm over the priests and ogres, the air fills with shrieks and cries as the unholy insects strike with a relentless fury. Into the chaos, two figures emerge from between the temple’s doors. Walking side-by-side and unaffected by the powerful gust of wind coming from behind them. The two figures appear to be humans but they are wrapped almost entirely in a shroud of wickedly barbed chains that coil and writhe about their bodies. An aura of absolute evil surrounds the two, an aura so strong that even the heartiest ogres seem to shrivel in their presence.
The two unholy creatures suddenly spring into action, their chains lashing out around them like striking cobras tearing through flesh, bone, and the animated stone statues. As the carnage escalates, a last figure walks out of the shrine, a gaunt human man wearing the sickly-yellow trimmed black robes and skull mask of a priest of Chemosh. He turns to quietly close the doors of the shrine behind him, turning his back on the carnage as he heads for the room to the northwest . . .
As the vision ended the four charge through the door, finding it easy to pass through, it was the ensuing and sudden blast of wind that caught Xorg and Wydesh off guard and knocked both the ogre and draconian backwards while Paros and Dove stood still in the buffeting winds. Once again they lifted their medallions high into the air, which brought the winds to a halt. Clearly the medallions were a key to this chamber, and so Dove reached into a pouch that Anasana had given them and retrieved yet another medallion of faith, handing the object to Wydesh so she may be protected as well. Before them stood a single holy alter, the corpse of man dressed in the tattered remains of priestly regalia, the back of the robe torn neatly in a straight line, beneath its body a dark stain remains on the floor. Behind the altar, bathed in a ghostly light stands a peaceful statue, recessed into the wall. The bearded man stands watch over the body of the fallen priest, the platinum triangle on the chest of the statue glinting faintly in the light. As the four adventurers stand at the altar there are once more greeted by the ghostly visage of the Betrayer, as yet another piece of the puzzle that is the Night of Betrayal is reveled.
Two figures walked down the center of the shrine, heading toward the altar. One of them is an elderly man, his sandy brown hair long since turned to gray. His flowing robes are purest white, with a cowl thrown back to reveal a face worn with care, but also filled with peace. Around his neck is proudly displayed a circular medallion with a platinum triangle formed by three dragons. The other is a familiar face: that of the Betrayer, wearing the ivory and blue robes of a priest of Mishakal. Although he hides it well, there is a sense of discomfort about his features, a certain tightness that betrays his unease at treading upon holy ground.
“What is it you wanted to speak with me about, Caeldor? How can I ease the burden that I see you carrying upon your shoulder?” the High Priest inquires softly as he mount the dais and turns to face his companion.
The Betrayer, Caeldor, glances up at the High Priest, his expression schooled to one of humble piety. “I apologize, Revered Father Kennoth, for taking you away from your evening devotions, but I felt that there was something important that you needed to know.” Caeldor hangs his head, casting his eyes downward as his expression twists into one of sorrowful regret, “I am afraid that I have found a traitor in our midst.”
A look of pain crosses Kennoth’s face, although he turns away from Caeldor to look up at the statue of Paladine behind he altar, as if he were searching for answers from the divine. Not finding any forthcoming there, Kennoth asks softly, “Who?”
Caeldor glances back up, his expression evening out as he reaches into the folds of his robes and removes a wicked looking curve-bladed dagger. Stepping up onto the dais, laying his hand companionably upon Kennoth’s shoulder, he leans forward and whispers into the old man’s ears, “Me . . .”
Kennoth’s eyes fly open in shock, but before he can turn to confront Caeldor, his body jerks spasmodically as Caeldor shoves the black blade into the High Priest’s back. Caeldor’s robes are stained red by the blood flowing from the high Priest’s body, but the stain is lost as the robes darken until they no longer resemble the robes of one of Mishakal’s faithful, but the black robes of a worshipper of Chemosh.
Almost delicately, Caeldor lays Kennoth upon the floor before he steps back, the dagger falling from his hand. Pulling his skull mask from within his robe, he places it on his face as he chants in a dry, whispery voice, “As blood spills upon the floor, I devote myself to the Lord of Death. As I pass through death’s door, I take my final breath. And in this place where Death now reigns, the Light shall not shine again!”
A wave of darkness pulses out from the Betrayer’s body as shadows begin to gather in the room. But the Betrayer does not notice the High Priest moving feebly, his hand reaching up to clutch the altar cloth and pulling himself up, muttering a quiet prayer himself, “I call upon the Gods of Light, fill this temple with your might . . .protect us, great Paladine, from traitors in our midst!” As the last word slips from the high Priest’s lips, he collapses forward, his energy spent.
Suddenly, a powerful gust of wind swirls to life, howling angrily as it streaks forward from the statue of Paladine, toward the Betrayer. With a hoarse shout, the Betrayer manages to throw himself aside, allowing the wind to slam against the iron doors of the shrine. Outside, the ogres have already begun their attack, cries of the priests already filtering down as the Betrayer drags himself to his feet.
Glaring down at the dead High Priest, the Betrayer spits out, “Foolish old man. You are as week as your feebleminded god.” Turning around to face the doorway, the Betrayer pulls a black crystal skull from within his robes and holds it high overhead. Chanting once again, the betrayer unleashes the magic stored within the skull, magic that opens a portal to the realm of the Lord of Death and unleashes a swarm of skeletal insects escorted by two chain-shrouded devils.
Neither the Betrayer not his summoned creatures take no notice of a young man wearing the simple robes of an acolyte staring in white-faced shock from the doorway of the room to the west, as they move out of the desecrated shrine. Once the Betrayer closes the doors behind him, sealing in the wind and murdered High Priest, only then does the acolyte stumble out of the room and run for the altar.
“Revered Father! Please don’t die!” the young man cries out, as he attempts to call upon a minor curing spell to heal Kennoth – to no avail.
Over the gusting wind, over the sound of the young boy’s tears, even over the sound of the carnage occurring outside the doors of the shrine, a soft chiming sound dances in the air. The sound jerks the young man out of his tears, causing him to look up and around, trying to find the source of the sound. Almost against his will, the young man rises to his feet, his body suddenly glowing as if he was bathed in brilliant sunlight. Slowly, as if in a dream, he walks away from the altar, heading toward the middle of the room. Untouched by the wind howling around him, he kneels down and touches the floor as this image fades as all the others before it.
Wydesh and Xorg raced forward to the altar as Dove and Paros knelt where they watched the young man in the vision take the same action. Before the two holy defenders stood yet another stairway, again lined with spider webs that parted with the prescience of the medallions, and so the two prepared to head forth, unawares they were separated from the remainder of their friends. Xorg and Wydesh scrounged through the belongings of the High Priest, Xorg in search of another medallion to protect the ogre, and Wydesh in search of anything that seemed useful in their quest. Both objectives were successful as they pilfered the medallion and a ring that the High Priest wore, while cautiously avoiding the dagger that lay beneath the body.
Noting that Paros and Dove had begun to head down the stairs, Xorg shouted down the stairwell after the two, “You’ve been giving everyone else their final rights, don’t you want to extend that blessing the High Priest as well!?”
The young acolyte trips down the stairs, falling heavily onto the hard stone floor, yet he does not cry out. Pushing himself to his feet, his eyes seek out those of the tall statue at the end of the room, a statue that seems to be watching him. The acolyte steps forward until he is standing in front of Paladine, looking up at the edifice of his deity as tears run unchecked down his face.
“Father, darkness has come,” the acolyte whispers softly, choking back a sob as he reaches up to rub the tears from his eyes. “The Revered Father has been murdered and the other priests are being killed . . . the High master has betrayed us all.”
The young man collapses to his knees, his head bowing before him as his grief and fear spill over into harsh racking sobs that shudder through his body. “What can I do? I am just a novitiate . . . his power is to great!” he cries to the empty room.
A soft, soothing light begins to fill the room, as if the sun was rising over the horizon, causing the acolyte to glance up in surprise. His eyes widen, his lips part in shock, as his startled gaze falls upon the source of the light – a short sword whose crystalline blade seem to contain a golden ray of sunlight within its depths – cradled in the outspread palms of Paladine. Swallowing, the young man looks up into the eyes of Paladine once more, into a stone face that seems to reflect some sorrow.
“Thank you, Paladine . . . I understand what I must do,” he whispers softly before he turns and begins to walk toward the stairs, heading for his destiny . . .
Watching this vision, the four see first hand the bravery and disparity that those of the temple felt on that night, the actions of this one acolyte ringing true for all that fought for the temple. Gathering their wits about them, the four headed down the stairs into the final floor of the building, and were instantly enveloped by a thick fog that filled the floor. The halls of this floor were easy to follow, though their twisting nature made them a small bit confusing. Medallions stretched out before them, the traps that had been triggered on this floor held the adventurers back none at all. The only obstacle they encountered where two shadows that guarded the door from outside intruders that would disrupt the dark ritual the Betrayer had conducted. Not knowing that so much time had passed, the two tortured souls continued their duty as they now bared the path from the adventurers. Paros lead the charge, in his attempt to drive the creatures away with the might of his divine powers, but his courage failed him and he was unable to send back the undead specters.
These shadows proved to be no match for the blade of Dove, however, as she tore through one with grace and ease, taking the beast to its final resting place. Dove was not able to prevent the other shadow from striking out and sapping much of Paros’s life energy as both Xorg and Wydesh were widely unable to assist in the battle. Calling once more to his faith, Paros fell to one knee under the strain of his own weight, for his strength had been so severely depleted. With all the power of his heart, the young mystic was able to unleash a tidal wave of holy energy that not only drove back the spirit of the Shadow, but destroyed the creature as well. Reacting quickly, Paros read from a scroll that he held, and restored some of his lost strength, but the Half-Elf was still weak from the attacks of the spectral warriors. Breathing heavily, Paros turned and faced the far wall of the room, where the four were blasted with yet another vision.
The Betrayer strides forward through the fog, his black robes flapping like the wings of a vulture as he moves through the hall with purpose. As the fog closes behind him, mere heartbeats later the young acolyte who witnessed the high Priest’s murder comes down the stairway. In his hand, he is holding a short sword with a crystal blade that flows with the soft golden radiance of sunlight. Before him, the fog melts away as the medallion of Paladine on his chest reflects the light from the blade and sends it forward.
As the acolyte turns a corner, he is suddenly faced by two shadowy figures who glide toward him silently, bringing with them the chill of death. Undeterred, the acolyte holds forth the blade and with a soft prayer, he holds it over his head. The blade bursts into glorious illumination, sending glorious rays of sunlight in every direction to fill the hallway with light. The two shadows shriek as if in pain, seemingly melting into the floor as they flee from the brightly glowing blade.
In a daze, the young man continues forward, entering a small foyer where the hall opens up into a small crypt. He turns to face the wall, lowering the blade before him as he steps forward and holds up his hand, speaking softly, hesitantly, “Paladine, light my way, reveal what is hidden from the light of day.”
In the center of the wall, a section of the crypt shimmers like a mirage in the desert before melting away to reveal a doorway. Quietly, the acolyte steps to the door and slowly pushes it open, slipping silently into the room beyond . . .
Stepping forward, they adventurers stepped through the magically disguised door thanks to the words the acolyte had spoken. As in the vision, the image metled with a brilliant light, and the doors that stood before them parted to reveal the room beyond. As they passed through the archway of the room, the familiar torches that had been lighting their way before now flaired to life once more. Before them they saw the flagstone that made the floor, and stone sarcophagi, some showing scaring as though someone had attempted to destroy them. A single sarcophagus rested upon a dais at the far side of the room, a skeleton dressed in tattered black robes pinned to the surface of the sarcophagus by a short sword that flickered with an inner light. The tattered white robes of another skelton lay against the southeastern wall, a silver medallion clutched in the dead figures hand.
As the last body passes the arch, a booming scream is heard in the chamber, as a skeletal creature bursts from within one sarcophagi, spraying stone, dust, and bone fragments across the room. With uncanny speed, the figure charges forward, clutching an enourmous glaive in one hand as it is clearly intent on exiting the chamber. Sickly yellow flames appear, and the creatures snake-like beard writhes about from its bony jaw.
"Free me!" the creature howls as it rushes the four heroes, his eyes fixed on the open door that will lead him out to his freedom.
Closing with deadly swiftness, the creature brings his weapon to bear and strikes out at Wydesh, for she blocks the exit to the chamber. His weapon rips through the scaled flesh of the draconian, the wound gushing the life blood of the Draconian at an alarming rate. The holy aura of this place helped to quell the fear that had crept into the souls of the four, and aided in the spiritual guidance of both Dove and Paros as they fought the beast. Xorg stepped nimbly into the path of the demon, blocking him from attacking Wydesh further, the ogres blade slashing clean into the creatures flesh and rendering the demons arm useless. With a clattering noise the beast lost his grip on the weapon, and resorted to more brutish tactics, taking a wide swing for Xorg with his clawed hands, the momentum of his body bringing aid to him so as to use the arm that the Ogre had made useless. As the claws ripped the flesh of the ogre, the demon took the chance to inflict the disease that was the deadliest of its abilities.
Dove moved quickly, having realised that her turning abilities were not having much effect on the beast, she took her position. As dust fell from the ceiling and the room shook mysteriously, Dove lashed out with the power of Branchala behind her, the blow landing true, piercing the demons heart. Staggering back a step, the beast clutched the wound, gasping for breath. Slowly he sank to his knees, a look of bizarre piece on the creatures face as the freedom it so desired had finally come, and the demon could now rest. Moving forward into the crypt, their bodies tired from the battle, the heroes saw the last of the visions.
The Betrayer stood before the large sarcophagus, his hands held high as he gazed up, his voice echoed through the chamber as he offered a prayer to Chemosh.
“Dark God of Immortality, He Who Stops Death, I devote myself to you, in body, in mind, in heart, and in soul…”
As the Betrayer repeated his prayer, he did not notice the door open or the young acolyte who entered with the glowing short sword in his hand. In the same vein, the young acolyte did not seem to notice the large skeletal creature lurking in the shadows of the crypt.
“Halt, Betrayer!” the acolyte cries out.
Startled out of his prayer, the Betrayer turned around, his eyes gleamed from behind his skull mask as he stared at the young man. Suddenly, the Betrayer began to laugh, a cruel, mocking sound that causes the acolyte to tremble. “Ahhhh, so you are the one who would face me, Neran? You have not even put on the white robes of Paladine what makes you think you can stop me from completing my ritual?”
The Betrayer shook his head, clucking his tongue.
“Ye…yes, Betrayer. I shall be the one who will bring you before the gods for Justice,” Neran replied softly, clenching his jaw as he took a step forward, raising the short blade before him. The Betrayer’s eyes glittered as he rose a hand to point at the acolyte. Hissing something low under his breath in a strange, disturbing language that caused Neran to flinch back in anticipation of being struck by magic.
Once more, the Betrayer laughs as he shook his head, “Ahhh, Neran… I shouldn’t waste my power on you, not when I have something else that can do it for me. Krevok! Vagarolinathor!”
From the shadows came the skeletal figure wreathed in the unholy yellow flames of Chemosh. Clutching a massive glaive in its hands, it stalked toward the boy as the Betrayer once more raised his hands overhead and continued his chant.
“A barbazu!” Neran gasped, clutching his own weapon in white-knuckled hands. Closing his eyes, he whispered a prayer as he held his blade forward. Once more, the blade erupted in brilliant sunlight, sending it cascading throughout the room. The fiend roared as the holy light blinded it. Before the fiend, or the Betrayer, could respond, Neran rushed forward at a dead run, the blade held forth as he moved around the fiend toward the evil priest.
Time seemed to dilate, the moments stretching out as Neran lunged forward with his sword……
as the Betrayer yelled out a final, desperate phrase……
as the fiend turned and swung his glaive toward the boy’s unprotected back……
the Betrayer’s body jerked as the glowing sword pierced his chest with enough force that the blade embeds itself into the stone sarcophagus beneath him……
Neran screamed in pain as the fiend’s weapon sliced through his spine, tossing him to the side where he collapsed in a faint……
the fiend roared in victory as he turns and swings his weapon once more toward the injured boy……
Neran closed his eyes, clutching his medallion with a bloody fist and whispered something that only his god could hear……
a brilliant explosion of light burst out from the acolyte’s body, throwing the fiend across the room as a golden radiance infuses the walls. As the blinding light fades, the Betrayer lay lifeless upon the sarcophagus, his body pierced by the holy blade. Neran lay on the floor, a peaceful look upon his features, his spirit already carried away to join with his god. And a fiend summoned by the Betrayer howled in rage as it finds itself trapped in a crypt by the last words of a hero who would remain unknown in history for many, many centuries…
From this moment, Paros stepped forward to the body of the Betrayer and took hold of the Shard of Light. With all the might he could muster, the young mystic pulled forth the blade with a flash of light, and the skeletal body of the Betrayer crumbled into dust at Paros's feet. The item had been recovered, though there were not many answers for them here, all that was left for them was the dangerous climb out of the temple and their journey to rejoin the Mikku tribe.
Returning to the chamber above them, where they had left the dagger that had killed the High Priest, the four were intent on destroying the artifact before it could harm any persons that may come looking for it. Boldly Dove walked forward, sword in hand and determination in her face, Dove brought her weapon down on the dagger in a sweeping arch as she looked to smite the weapon. Abruptly she pulled short from striking the weapon, something was preventing her from doing so. Dove staggered back from the weapon, Dove looked to the others in shock. There was nothing she could do about this and she knew it. But the four were strong if not determined, and Paros took the point as he attacked the weapon using the shard of light, and again the weapon defied him, preventing the strike from landing true. Xorg stepped up this time, figuring that brawn would be the only way to win the day, and struck down with his Fullblade, and his results where no different than the rest. In anger Xorg lashed out once more, attacking the weapon repeatedly in an attempt to destroy the evil, but instead found himself compelled to pick up the weapon.
“Lift me, wield me, use me . . .” the ghostly voice crept inside of Xorg’s mind.
Bending down, Xorg lifted the weapon, looking dazedly into the black blade of the dagger, Xorg sheathed his Fullblade and hefted the evil weapon. Looking to the others, Xorg shrugged, “Looks like we solved the problem of moving the weapon.”
Curiously Dove moved off to another room in the chamber, heading off the northeastern chamber. She was determined to ride this place of evil, Dove sought a way to destroy the weapon and to cleanse all the rooms. Dove cautiously entered the small room in search of a way to destroy the dagger that Xorg now carried. The chamber was surprisingly warm, much like the sun of a spring day accompanied by a faint light that filled the chamber. Wydesh looked about, there was more to this small chamber than a place to sit and a light. Running her hand across the altar that was in the chamber she found a small switch. Flipping the switch revealed the chamber beyond, a chamber that was used by the priests of the temple to commune with their gods. Moving forward, the four filled the small chamber and were instantly bathed in the holly energy that was held within. As the energy flushed through Xorg he felt the weapon in his hand scream in agony, causing Xorg to hurtle the blade to the ground.
With the aid of his magic, Paros placed the dagger onto the altar in hopes that he and Dove could concentrate their divine energies into the weapon and destroy the item. Even with all the divine energy they could muster the weapon only smoked with no other effect. With this, the four decided that it would be best to seal the chamber and leave the weapon in the hallowed chamber in hopes that no one would find the weapon. Before departing the chamber, Dove and Paros placed their hands on the communal statue that was inside the room, knowing that the item would allow them to ask their gods a single question. Dove, devoted to Branchala, asked how they could cleanse the valley of the curse that had been placed unto it. The answer came to her, clear and precise, as Branchala told her that she would need the Tears of Mishakal to cleanse the valley. Paros approached the statue, his god had turned to a mortal elf, which left Paros searching for another god to speak with, and in so he found Mishakal. In wonder, Paros asked the goddess about the Shard of Light, to which he learned that the weapon of the gods was a powerful tool against the forces of evil. Mishakal also informed Paros of all the magical abilities the sword carried within. Finally, Xorg stepped forward, placing his hands on the statue and asking Mishakal a final question, how to destroy the corrupted Blade of Betrayal, to which Mishakal told him that they would need to toss the blade into the heart of evil. As they all departed the chamber with their answers, Wydesh worked feverishly to dismantle the switch, removing each functional part until there was nothing left that would reveal the chamber beyond. With this task completed the four departed the shattered temple, returning to the surface once more, the bright sunlight stinging as their eyes adjusted to the light that surrounded them.
“You’ve found it,” a soft voice from behind the four greeted them, a voice they had heard before. As they turned around they saw before them Uleena, the girl who had come to them in the Mikku camp, her strange blue eyes seeing all there was to see and more.
“You must hurry, for the sands of time are slipping away swiftly . . . the shard of light is a key, a key that will allow you to find what you seek in the ruins of a city that once felt no fear, but now lies beneath a shadow of fire and death . . .”
Without waiting for the heroes to reply, she turned and headed into the temple, leaving behind only a faint sent of lilac that seemed to linger with the adventurers. Heading out of the valley the four moved with swiftness unmatched, heading for the supplies that Alakar had left them before they had entered the temple. They conversed on what Uleena meant by a city that once felt no fear. Could this mean Istar, Palanthas, or many other cities in the world. Wydesh paused, and looked to the others, to her the answer was obvious, the city was Kendermore and that would be their next destination. For now they needed rest and would head north for the Mikku encampment, the map Alakar had left them lead them on a direct path that was easy enough for even a Gully Dwarf to follow. Before them was a mighty citrus grove that surrounded a massive oasis. The tribe had set their camp here and laid in wait for the heroes, and they spilled out from their tents as the call was sent that the heroes had returned. It was a rare thing indeed for people to survive the valley, and so it was cause for celebration. Meeting them a few yards from the camp, Alakar gave each a clapping hug and begged them to retell their tails of the temple. Paros cheerfully responded to the offer by speaking of the “Little Ogre Who Could,” a tale of Xorg and his coming to the light.
As Paros told his tale to the camp, the one known as “The Minotaur” approached Dove with a faint smile, his hands held behind his back. Quietly he asked to speak with the noble warrior alone, for there was much that had been weighing on the mind of The Minotaur since the day he had met Dove. Malat told Dove about his feelings for her, and how he had grown as a person after watching the bravery that Dove had portrayed. The Minotaur also spoke that he wished to find such honor in life and all things he did. In his search for such honor he had submitted a petition for a sponsor into the Knights of Solamnia in hopes that he could aspire to be like the woman he so idolized. But his heart would not be filled by these actions, for there was one piece that was missing from his life, and that was the love and devotion of Dove Fenshire. As he confessed this love to her, Malat lowered himself to one knee and presented a shining band of Platinum, asking the young paladin for her hand in marriage.
Flattered, Dove smiled at the man, her face flush from the shock and embarrassment of the moment, “I cannot accept this, Malat. There are things in my life yet unfinished and I must complete them before I could ever consider marriage.”
With sadness in his voice, Malat rose to his feet as he placed the ring in Doves hand, “Take the ring as a token of my love, then. I will always wait for you, even if it means waiting until the afterlife. Be strong in all you do, my love.”
With that, Malat and Dove rejoined the party, taking seats near Alakar and Asmara. As they sat, Alakar spoke candidly to Paros and indirectly to all the heroes, “Tell me Paros, who is your father?”
“My father is no longer with us,” the mystic’s response was cold.
“Then tell me why there were Dark Knights here looking for you, in your fathers name,” Alakar retorted quickly, his words came with a cautious and protective tone, “In fact, there was a different person looking for all of you. Dove, a man dressed in black robes who would not show his face, he called himself the Soul Stealer. For Xorg there was a small band of Ogre’s that were very interested in you and your present activities, and Wydesh, an Aurak who mentioned needing to ‘silence a mouth.”
This perked the interest of the four heroes who each had a checkered past in some way or another. For Dove, the Soul Stealer was rumored to be the man that had taken her father from her. Paros’s father was a sorcerer who went mad when his homeland shunned him for marrying a human and fathering a Half-Elf child. The Ogre’s who were in pursuit of Xorg who wished to slay him for defying the leader of their tribe. And finally Wydesh, who was being hunted by the Aurak, a draconian who needed to tie all the loose ends to the crime that Wydesh was framed for. These parts of their past had come to close to them, things were going to become more dangerous for them in the near future, but the threats of the past could not divert them from their goals of the future.
The morning brought a new days light, and Alakar along with the guides the Mikku would provide for the heroes, as they would be crossing the burning lands that day. Qatar and Kalid were seasoned rangers, both experts in desert survival and well versed in crossing the lands of the salt flats. Paros was first to great the men, surprised by the nude mystic that poked his head out from the tent flap. Shortly after the surprise greeting, Paros and the others emerged from the tent fully prepared to travel through the hostile lands as they approached the city of Ak-Khurman. With magical preparation, the heat proved not to be a factor as the four casually rode across the salt flats on the horses they Mikku tribe had held for them.
The heat was intense, though scarcely felt with the magical protection, any lesser man would have cracked, but our heroes were not ordinary people. With the aid of Qatar and Kalid, the going was rather easy on their journey. Half way to their destination the six came across a lost and weary elven family from Silvanesti. The family was at deaths door, the heat and dehydration had ravaged their bodies. As the mother cradled her son, the boy the nearest to death, the father hailed the adventurers as he spotted them. There was no need to decide if these people needed help, it was all to clear, and so Wydesh, Dove, Xorg, and Paros dismounted and helped the desolate people. Water found its way down the throats of all members of the family, with pieces of bread and rations following shortly after. Paros and Dove provided divine healing, closing the open soars and legions that came from the blistering sun. Within a matter of hours the adventurers had brought hope and life back into the bodies of this pour family. In thanks the father of the elven family offered a reward to each of their rescuers, as long as the family was granted safe passage into the city of Ak-Khurman. Offering her horse to the mother and son, Wydesh agreed in the blink of an eye, and the others where not far behind her in the decision.
Even with the added number of people to their party, much did not slow the trip across the burning sands. By mid morning the next day the four had arrived at the gates of the city, thankful for the sea breezes that had plummeted the temperature of the area in comparison to the heat of the salt flats. Before them stood the ever-present buildings in the style of the Khur people, the onion domes on certain buildings, and sandstone used to craft all made this a very exotic place. As they approached the gates to the city, the family of elves pulled Legionaries medallions from underneath their clothing, indicating them in alliance with the Legion of Steel. Seeing this, Paros was quick to act as he too pulled the medallion he had been given by his sponsor, Klaudia from Old Omar’s Oddities back in Pashin. As the legion guards saw the medallions they allowed those wearing to pass uninspected, and spent a few moments in deliberation with the others over what weapons must be checked with the Legion of Steel at the main gates. Once the moment had passed, the four found themselves in the city where they immediately sought to return the elven family to those that they had come to meet.
So happy was the family that they had granted each a bag with five hundred steel pieces each, of which Dove turned in search of a temple to Branchala where she would donate her portion of the reward, while her companions went to the headquarters of the Legion of Steel. Gaining entrance to the warehouse like building, Paros notified the guard that greeted him of his interest in joining with the Legion of Steel. The young guard led the ambitious mystic and his friends into a waiting room inside the headquarters, where a Legion Officer, Lionel uth Dartan, greeted them shortly after. Uth Dartan wasted little time in telling Paros how he could become a Legionnaire, first explaining that the mystic needed to find himself a sponsor, but Paros was prepared for that and present the medallion and informed the Officer that he was sponsored by Klaudia of the city of Pashin. The next step was more a matter of opportunity than requirement, as Uth Dartan sent Paros and his companions on a quest in the city, sending the three to find and capture a group of unruly sailors that had been kidnapping citizens for use as slave labor on their sailing vessels.
Without much to go one, Paros, Wydesh and Xorg went hunting for the thugs in the market area, known as the Plaza of Death. At the least they could be prepared to take on the group without harming them. As they entered the plaza they ran across Dove, fresh from her temple where she had rededicated herself through prayer and devotion, not that her faith had ever been lacking in its intensity. Shortly after gathering the supplies they would need to take in these pirates without harm, the four spotted a gathering of the criminals harassing a group of citizens. Obvious to all that watched, the six thugs were intent on “recruiting” new bodies to their ship, and the pour people where the recruits. Drawing her blade, Dove led the march across the road, intent of putting an end to such disreputable actions. Turning to face the new arrivals, the leader of the press gang smiled a broad, glistening smile filled with disgusting intent.
With a snarl, the thug spoke, “Oh good! New recruits, and the pretty lady here would be a perfect way to pass time in the crew quarters.”
Reacting on instinct of the words, the four heroes rushed forward and attacked, with each strike they were greeted by comments from the gang. As Xorg sent an unconscious body flying through a fruit tent, another spoke out, “We have been in need of muscle on the ship and an ogre will do us good. Can you use a rope?”
Taking matters into his hands, Paros maneuvered himself to a point where he could strike, his blow landing well against the temple of a gang member, but the defender merely chuckled, “You are weak, that will be fine since you can swab the deck.”
Dove smashed the man that spoke back to Paros solidly with the cross piece of her sword, breaking the man’s nose and dropping him to the ground unconscious. Turning to another of the thugs Dove smirked, “Looks like you guys are not all the tough!”
“A sassy one, this makes her all the more entertaining when she is working below,” retorted another as he stepped in to attack the paladin.
Xorg growled in anger, and brought about his enormous sap, sending yet another of the attackers hurtling back as the momentum of the swing launched the unconscious victim into the air. Scrambling back, another that sought to take down the marauding beast rushed into the tent and grabbed a wooden box, filled to the brim with oranges. Putting all his might into the throw the thug landed the strike with accuracy unknown to him, as the corner of the box caught the ogre clean between the eyes. As the crate shattered against the solid skull of the ogre, and the juices from several smashed oranges blinded the howling beast, Wydesh took up an orange and tossed the impromptu weapon like a rock. The orange bullet landed with impeccable aim, proving the draconian was not only talented with crossbows, the blow even carried enough momentum and force behind it that the thug dropped in his tracks, unconscious and covered in citric juices.
The others in the gang stood little chance as Dove and Paros came down onto them. Deftly knocking aside yet another improvised box of fruit, Dove rushed forward and dropped her opponent with a single blow to the temple. Almost in unison, Paros stepped in under the attacks of the final conscious gang member and placed his sap in a spot that would matter the most, taking the man down and leaving the four heroes alone with six prisoners. This should be more than enough for Lionel uth Dartan thought Paros and they tied the six men together. Leaving the destruction of their battle behind, the four did not know or realize that the town’s people had begun to celebrate the four heroes that had helped to put an end to such a threat in the city of Ak-Khurman.
Indeed Lionel uth Dartan was quite pleased, so pleased that he extended the hand of the Legion to each of the four heroes that stood before him. Paros was the first to accept, trading in his old medallion for a new symbol of the Legion of Steel that was his only, then Xorg surprisingly accepted, and finally Wydesh. Though Dove was honored by the offer, she followed a higher power and her dedication was set in its place. With respect to this decision, Uth Dartan offered to pay passage for the four heroes onboard a vessel of which he was rather familiar with the captain. The Swift Arrow was the self-proclaimed fastest ship in Khurman Sea, its captain, Lothar Cleas once captained the Narwhal but left the boat ages ago to start anew with this ship. The others in port respected Lothar immensely, his skill was evident and the other captains knew they could not compete with him when it came to the seas, the fact that Lothar had the backing of the Legion of Steel did not hurt his trade either. Dove was left to fend for herself, though she had no concerns from this. She marched down to the docks and found the pier that held the ship her companions would be aboard the next day, worked her way through the line and promptly paid the first mate the agreed rate. A cryptic warning was all she received as she moved on, if they were late, the boat left with or without them. Dove was not going to be late, she would make sure of that.
As sure as Dove was that she would not be late, Xorg was not quite so prepared as he scrambled to gather his gear the next morning. Oversleeping by even ten minutes did not matter to the crew of the Swift Arrow, as they had begun to pull in the ropes and retrieve the gangplank as the remaining three rushed towards the boat. The first mate spotted them and held the plank, letting them know that had the plank made it all the way aboard the boat they would have had to find another ship. Huffing and puffing, the three joined Dove who had been aboard the boat almost a half of an hour prior to the ship setting sail. They stored their gear below decks and found their cots mixed in with the rest of the crew and passengers, and began to prepare themselves for the journey ahead, for the seas of the Bay of Balifor are rough seas to say the least, and the waters infested with vicious beast and animals of prey. Thankfully the only trouble they encountered was the return of their breakfast as they donated the foods and drink they had ingested in the morning to the seas they now traveled. All four fell victim to the waters, though Dove recovered fast and composed herself as the color returned to her checks.
While most harbors are open to the air and the elements, Port Balifor’s harbor is not. The remnants of jetties and dockyards from a previous age lie rotting in the bay covered in what looked like lean-tos and slums. The Swift Arrow moved past these and into what can only be described as a large sea cave set into the side of the cliff. Here the new wharves and freshly painted warehouses line a short but densely packed waterfront. Lanterns hung along the boardwalk, casting light into the gloom and throwing odd shadows over the few other ships anchored in the cave-harbor. As they disembarked the ship, Paros and Xorg both spotted an odd figure standing off the pier, watching the passengers as they left the boat. The smallish figure resembled a Kender, though Xorg and Paros could not be completely sure about this, the figure seemed battle tested as he made eye contact with Paros. Looking the mystic up and down, the kender fingered the hilt of a falchion, on odd weapon for a kender to carry.
Reaching the end of the gangplank, Paros and Xorg looked about the crowd to point out their newfound friend to the others in the party, but to no avail, the kender had blended into the crowd and vanished. Dragging along Dove and Wydesh, the four darted into the city, rushing amongst the shattered buildings and long forgotten areas of town. It was clear to the most casual of observers that this city had not faired well under the rule of Malystrix and had not made much in an attempt to recover from the destruction. The Desolation as their neighbor to the west left the city of Port Balifor with little to offer in trade unless you need something stolen, or wanted to purchase something that had already been stolen. As they raced through the streets they ended their pursuit in front of an inn where the sounds of out of tune singing and loud voices that have had a few drinks to many. Before them stood the Hope’s End, a building that has long been a staple in the city of Port Balifor and one of the few places that a person could guarantee themselves to be safe as they spent their money and passed time. With shoulders hung low, the adventurers decided to enter the bar for they had lost the trail of their mysterious friend from the pier, and they might as well attempt to gather what little information they could about their coming journey across the desolation.
As they sat at the bar, slowly sipping at their drinks, the sound of booted footsteps heavily striking the floor rang out from behind them. A rough voice rang out as the visitor spoke to the four, “What be your business ere’ in my town?”
Turning about, they saw the figure that had spotted them in the port who was, in fact, a kender. A series of jagged scars covered the kender’s face, resembling a child that had been beaten as they aged, a sight that would haunt the dreams of even the coldest of hearts. The light glistened off of the sheriff’s badge that was hung over the kender’s left pectoral, the brass blending nicely with the hint of steel from his chain shirt beneath. The weapon the kender had carried before, a falchion that seemed out of place, had been changed for his patrol as he now carried a well-crafted longsword, the blade neatly tucked into a sheath of fine leather with gold inlay. With his piercing gaze he waited patiently for the answer he desired, why had four well-armed and experienced adventurers entered his town, what could they possibly want in the armpit of the world?
“We are on our way to Kendermore, and a man named Elijayess, nothing more,” Chimed in Xorg, watching the kender and clutching his money pouch in a reflexive nature.
Snorting in disgust at the gesture, the Sheriff retorted, “I won’t take your money, ogre. But I will help you find Kendermore. Head to Gloom Town, you will find your help there, but don’t be staying here. We’re fine as we are and don’t need your type muddying the waters.”
Turning on his heal, the Sheriff clomped off to the door, tossing a silent word for only the heroes to hear as he left, “I will even keep those knights out of your business.”
Finishing off their rounds, the four rose from the bar and headed into the streets of Port Balifor. Gloom Town was not a difficult area to find, it was the part of the city that had not faired to well during the attacks of Malystrix and the inhabitants had made no effort to repair this portion of the city. Entering the desolation of the neighborhood, the four were instantly set on alert as the ground opened beneath them and revealed a pit fall that all but Wydesh had fallen victim to. Climbing from the hole the four moved further in, the roads providing no direction due to the destruction and forcing the four to move at the whim of the buildings around them. Mere moments after they pulled themselves from the hole they came across another trap, as a swinging log came from nowhere and struck the four, tossing them through a flimsy wall and leaving them disheveled and battered. Before even standing from this new trap, Wydesh noted yet another trap in their new location, and the four looked about bewildered. The traps had done what they were designed to do, protect the area by beating them senseless and leaving them lost in the rubble.
As Wydesh disabled the trap that would have struck them if they had moved, the others noted that they were now surrounded by short, hooded figures, some of whom had short swords drawn, other merely standing on nearby barrels with hands on their hips. These visitors seemed like gray ghosts in the darkness, their arrival silent as the wind, as they watched the four struggled to stand in the destruction. A single figure stepped forward, his robes hanging loose around his body as he observed the heroes, pulling his hood back to reveal a kender whose face was covered with tattoos that seemed to cover scars of the past.
“You’re in danger,” the figure spoke, his voice youthful like a child, though traces of the rough past ebbed through, “There are Dark Knights everywhere.”
The other kender around him lifted their gazes to the horizon, as though listening for some distant sound as the speaker continued, “My name is Blight Thistleknot. You should come with us.”
Without a single word more, Blight Thistleknot and his fellow kender’s turned and headed further into the rubble leaving little time for the adventurers to gather themselves and scramble after the kender. Moving through all the burnt out husks of homes and ships that had been tossed from the original docks into the city, the four found themselves approaching the upside down hull of a massive sailing ship with a gapping hole in the side. The vessel stood propped on crates and stone blocks, the name of the ship, Peryton, was repainted on the side to be legible for the original name plate had been broken in half and hung upside down. As they passed through the hole in the side of the ship they were greeted by a series of lanterns and hanging sheets of canvas which formed a sort of warren of dimly lit rooms and offices, each of these rooms were filled with kender sleeping, throwing dice, carving scrimshaw, and conversing over maps and charts. They were lead into the largest of the four rooms which boasted a magnificent view of the bay through a series of portholes, and before them sat a desk made from a brightly painted wooden door supported by barrels. A grizzled, serious-looking kender with iron gray hair looked up from his various maps and charts, beside him a well-muscled Wilder Elf watched the four enter as well.
With a grin, the Kender removed a cigar from his mouth and spoke, “So, are ya here to join the cause?”
They conversed into the night, talking about how the kender, Kronn Thistleknot, planned on saving the Desolation and making it fit for his fellow kender to return home. Kronn introduced Elijayess to the four as well, indicating that the wilder elf would be the escort across the desert that made up the desolation. Their travels would be harsh and they were warned that most unprotected and unprepared would not survive, but the expertise of Elijayess was the Desolation. Little was said by the elf, who took in each of the adventurers before him, packing away the knowledge that his observations gave him, noting what each was capable of through the way they carried themselves, the weapons on their persons, and their dress. Elijayess was a master tracker, but he was also well versed in judging people based on their appearance, since initial appearances did not always lie. It was settled, the four would leave in the morning, and Elijayess would guide them across the Goodlund Mountains where they would find Kendermore and hopefully the answers they have been seeking since the day they left Pashin.
“Greetings one eye,” Paros spoke as the tender returned to the table.
With a glare, the bartender flipped the eye patch up to reveal a second, perfectly fine eye beneath, “Watch your tongue, not all of us are what we appear to be.”
“Why would you wear the patch if you did not need it?” Dove pondered as she watched the tender cautiously.
A laugh that seemed to creep out of the shadows came from the man as he looked to the young woman that had asked the question, “Women find it dark and mysterious so I use it to get me the ladies.”
The conversation only went downhill from there, as the four learned that this man had sent his children off into the city to fend for themselves, and that his wife had left him because of his ill treatment towards her. It was also discovered that the bartender was in close cohorts with the slavers of the Kern Ogres, and his threats to sell his family to keep his tavern open reaffirmed that belief. This man was not the type that the heroes wished to deal with, though the information obtained from him was rather useful to the heroes as they hunted all evils in their search to put an end to such crimes. In disgust the four left the bar at the disgruntled request of the owner. Paros made his disgust clear as he “returned the bar as they had found it,” tossing the table they had sat at back into the corner and lofting a mug at the bartender. With a crash the mug fell through the mans hands and shattered against the wooden counter top, flipping his eye patch down once more the man watched the four with a hidden smile, there was something sinister behind that smile.
The morning came for the four of them, same as it had every day, but with this new day it brought more travel through some of the roughest terrain they would pass through yet, the Desolation. Elijayess was standing in wait where they had agreed, four packs accompanying him that carried all the supplies that Kronn Thistleknot had agreed to provide. As the Kagonesti looked over the approaching four heroes his eyes narrowed, these men that Elijayess would have much to overcome in the next week and he wanted to be sure they were ready to endure such hardships. After all, most that entered the Desolation never came out alive from their travels.
“Ready to go?” the Kagonesti inquires, his deep voice filling the hearts and ears of the four heroes, “Make sure you have everything that you need. There are no towns between here and Kendermore.”
Lifting up one of the packs, Elijayess turned and began to lead his new companions along the path that would take them to the Goodlund Mountains. With a snort, Xorg hefted the remaining three packs, the weight causing the Ogre little trouble though the bulk was a different matter. Seeing the difficulty, Wydesh stepped forward and took one of the sacks from the hulking brute, her hands oddly gentle for a Draconian. In their travels to the foot of the mountains they encountered little trouble as Elijayess explained about the heat and damage that had occurred in the desolation. He assured the four that, if magical aid happened to fail them, he knew of plants that would be able to sustain their lives as they traveled, for the hardened Elf had traveled the pathways across the Desolation several times in the past few years as he fought at Kronn’s side in their attempts to save Kendermore and give the Kender’s a home once more. After a relatively eventless eight hours the four gazed up the foot of the Goodlund Mountains at the peaks they would now have to cross.
Elijayess gathered dried brush and stones, setting the items into a circle where he would strike a fire. Striking his flint and tinder, Elijayess spoke softly to the heroes, his face illuminated by the growing flames of the fire, “Everything that you may have heard about the Desolation is true. As a matter of fact, you probably have not heard the worst. Even with the Red Marauder dead these last six months, the Desolation has not changed. The mountains still spew their bile, the earth still shakes in pain . . . it’s a tortured land.”
Lifting his gaze to the four that sat across from him, a sigh escaped the Kagonesti’s lungs as he looks beyond the adventurers and into the past, “In a way, it is worse than when the Silvanesti Forest was caught in the grips of Lorac’s Nightmare. There was something to fight against, some hope to hold on to . . . here in the Desolation, however, there is nothing.”
“But that is neither here nor there,” Elijayess spoke as he focused his eyes on the four heroes, “We have a long journey ahead of us. Get some rest; we shall leave before dawn. Luckily, it is still winter, so we shall only travel for a few hours before the heat gets too bad and we have to find shelter. After the heat has passed, we will then travel some more until nightfall. Unfortunately, it is too dark to traverse the mountains at night. Once we get to the desert, however, we will travel only at night. Although more creatures come out at night, they are less dangerous than the desert heat.”
Questions followed the last of Elijayess’s words, curiosities about the condition of the Desolation and what creatures they should expect. Paros was confident in his abilities to protect those he traveled with, while Dove and Xorg prepared their weapons for what battles they would fight in the future. Elijayess spoke of the people of the Desolation, alluding to tribes that roam the land, the occasional Dark Knight patrols that roam free, and the violent nocturnal creatures that spent their nights hunting. Words would do little to full prepare them for what they would experience as they traveled across this scared land, but those words provided them with information they did not posses before and that was a benefit they could not do without. When the conversation ran low the five laid their heads down and slept through the night without incident, their only protection the light cast down from the moons hanging in the sky.
An hour before dawn, Elijayess walked through the camp and woke the heroes, “Prepare yourselves as swiftly as possible. We do not want to spend too much longer tarrying here.”
As they gathered their belongings, Elijayess delt with the fire pit, sweeping sand over the flame, and scattering the rocks that formed the ring. Within minutes Elijayess had destroyed any evidence that the fire had ever existed. Pointing to a trail ahead that was barely visible in the moonlight, Elijayess headed into the mountains with his companions in tow. The journey ahead would have many perils, not just from the sky and the creatures of the land, but from the earth itself as the land would seemingly have its way with those that wished to cross its surface. As they approached their third hour on the road, Wydesh noticed a groaning noise, low and inaudible at first, this noise rose in intensity abruptly and caught the party off guard. The ground began to buck and pitch, tossing Paros off of his feet and swallowing him whole as a fissure forty feet in depth tore open the ground at the young mystics feet. Before the others could react to help the young man the mountains showed its rage was not complete, as rock poured down upon them from above.
The avalanche only added insult to injury as the strong rush of land threw Xorg into the fissure as well, adding forty feet of dirt and rock on top of both Paros and the Ogre. The struggle for life increased dramatically as Dove and Wydesh lept forward and clawed at the dirt from above, unsure if they were even digging in the right place to save their friends. Meaty fingers poked their way through the dirt, wiggling and twitching to gain purchase. Leaping at those very fingers, Dove pushed the dirt away and pulled on the hand she had revealed. With the aid of Dove and Wydesh, Xorg burst through the rock and found himself gasping for precious, life-giving air. As Xorg ripped and pulled himself upward slowly, Paros moved with ease thanks to the magic of his ring. However, the ring that Paros wore did not provide him the pocket of air that he needed to keep himself conscious, and his eyes closed gently as his breathing slowed to a near halt, the rock and dirt forcing their way into his body through the nose and mouth. After freeing the Ogre, Dove and Wydesh returned to their task, digging frantically as they hunted for Paros. After several minutes of digging they had found what they had feared, the cold and lifeless hand stretched outward, its last action was an attempt to pull its owner up towards the surface and freedom from the burial. Gingerly Wydesh, Dove, Xorg, and Elijayess pulled the body from the pit and rested the mystic on the ground.
Heads hung low, Dove looked to Elijayess for answers, “Do you know of a place where we can have him returned to us?”
“The city is to far behind us, and the end of the Desolation is days away, there is nothing between us . . . except . . .” the Kagonesti looked towards the Desolation, the black and crimson desert that blocked them from their destination, “The ladies of the lake, they may aid us. We must travel from here to the other side of the Desolation, but if we can make it there alive then we will be able to help your friend.”
It was clear what they had to do now and so they prepared for their journey. With a vial of the Unguent of Timelessness Dove preserved Paros’s body, ensuring that the desert heat and time of travel would have no ill effects on him. Xorg gave the burden of the packs to the others, and bore Paros on his back, carrying the half-elf gently as he would a newborn child. And so the four traveled on through the mountains, the path lined with many more dangers as the land would make its attempt to throw them from the mountain once more, though the heroes were able to defeat the violent motions of the land and keep their feet beneath them. As they rounded a bend Elijayess spotted two figures blocking the road ahead. The figures, both male, held spears in their hands and swords at their sides, their hair was a fire red and their features strangely similar to one another. They blocked the path with crossed spears and stood fast as the heroes approached them. From behind the adventurers a new group of three similar figures stepped out from the shadows, their appearance similar to the two they had initially encountered.
Out of those that blocked their path approached one that stood head and shoulders above the rest, his body well toned, resembling a statue carved from stone, “What business do you have here in the Desolation, travelers?”
Dove looked at the man, taking in all of his features as though he was evaluating the man for battle, “We cross to help our friend, and because our quest takes us across the Desolation.”
“Many quests take people across the Desolation, both good and evil, tell me the intent of your quest,” the man spoke, his voice calm and unassuming as he searched for the specific answer he wanted.
“We are crossing the Desolation in search of the Peak of Malystrix for the cause of good,” the suspicion seemed to clear the man’s face as Dove voiced the true intent of their quest, “And to return life to our friend, who these blasted mountains claimed as their first victim.”
Nodding in understanding the mysterious figure looked to the four that stood before him, his eyes lingering on Elijayess in recognition, “We will help you cross the mountains, and show you were the goblin tunnels are. From there you will be able to make the trip across the desert without having to battle the sun, simply the creatures that block the path. Follow us, for there is not much light left and still plenty of mountain to cover.”
The five new figures flanked the party, lead by the two that had blocked their path and followed by the five that had come up from behind. Though it was safe now, it was an uncomfortable safety brought on by their traveling companions. There was something odd about how they look, and they carried themselves with unsettling calm. Each of the five bore the body one would expect when dealing with the hardships of the Desolation, muscular though thin from a lack of proper food. This did not seem to deter their spirits as they pressed onward through the hours, nor did the unexpected visitor that burst onto the scene ahead of them in a fit of rage. The Desolation giant was just that, a giant born of the destruction that created the Desolation itself, the gray and white skin and fur that covered its body gave it an intimidating appearance of animated snow, the long claws that marked the end of the beast’s fingers indicated its ability to rend flesh. With an ear splitting shriek the beast attacked all those that stood before it, charging down the path at its first enemy, one of the strange men that had joined them earlier. Leaping out of the way of the beast, the two lead men sprout wings of flame and took to the air, sending their spears raining down onto the giant’s hard flesh, though the points of the spears barely wounded the giant.
Belching a war cry, Dove stepped forward, bringing the Kiss of the Desert Sky across the creatures chest, tearing the flesh and spraying blood across the rock face of the mountain. With a roar that would make most run in fear, the creature brought its clawed hands down across Dove’s chest, tearing at her clothing, through her armor, and mangling her flesh, the wound was a deep one and the blood flowed freely from the marks on her chest. Seeing this, Xorg rushed forward and swung his blade in a horizontal arch, the edge merely grazing the beasts chest, and unable to penetrate through the hard flesh of the creature. With a thud, a bolt from Wydesh struck the creature in the chest, the bolt barely piercing the flesh and being no more than a nuisance to the giant. Seeing the ineffectiveness of the others, the leader of the strangers stepped forward and slammed a closed fist into the creature’s stomach, knocking the wind out of the beast, and leaving a satisfying mark on the creatures flesh.
Not to be outdone, Elijayess stepped in with his blade and placed a wound across the creature’s thigh, the wound not much more than a flesh wound. The remaining strangers hung back, unable to attack due to the narrow pathway and an unwillingness to take flight like their companions. Dove attacked once more, her blade again finding purchase as she gouged the flesh of the beast once more, nearly felling the giant. In retort, the giant again went for the paladin, his claws finding purchase in her flesh once more, the blood from her body now coating the claws of the creatures hands as Dove fell to the ground unconscious. Would it be the mountain would claim two of the heroes? If Xorg had anything to say about it then the answer would be no, as his blade found the creatures heart and sank the giant to its knees. The dead hulk slumped to the side and slide from the pathway, bouncing off the rocks below as it fell. Dropping to his knees the chiseled stranger inspected the wounds that laced themselves across Doves chest. She would live, he would see to that, though the scars that covered her would be a reminder of the dangers that lurked through the Desolation.
Taking the advantage of the giants cave, the group huddled inside the rock face of the mountain, their strange companions watching over them through the night. As they sat in their semi-circle and stared out into the night sky of the Desolation, the leader of the Desolation natives approached, “Friends, you must understand that I had not given a name before due to a lack of trust, but now I feel that has begun to change. Please, call me Saragan, Saragan Windflame of the Desolation.”
Taking the man’s hand in greeting, each of the four looked to Elijayess for the explanation of the being that stood before them. Phaethons were what they were called, creations of the Desolation, beings that seemed to bond unlike most others with the magical powers that created the land, though the power was unable to corrupt their hearts. The night passed with little more conversation, the exhaustion had passed over them and there was little else they could do but sleep. The night would go by without incident thanks to their guardians, and the remaining trip through the mountains passed with little more than a highflying bird over their heads. Reassured by these signs, the heroes bore down on the goblin tunnels with a new vigor, and a simple reminder of the dangers that would be lurking within. Many dangers would, in fact, block them from their goal as the heroes encountered Gnolls, steam pockets, lava flows, dire boars, and many more hazards through the seven-day journey. Exiting the caverns they were greeted by the true landscape of the Desolation, a landscape they had avoided seeing for several days, as they had been underground. Spread before them were the black and crimson sands of the Desolation, the lava slowly maneuvering across the land and the various peaks belched the hot liquid from the core of the planet.
“We have not far to travel to the oasis, the Oracles will help us there,” Elijayess spoke with an almost shaken air to his words.
Turning to the western sun the Kagonesti lead on into the crags, the now destroyed and displaced ruins of what once was Kenderwood. As he had hoped, the gods were with them for there were no enemies or natural hazards to be dealt with, and the crossing was the safest they had been for quite some time. After a long night traveling through the crags the air began to cool, and the metallic sent of water found its way into the nostrils of the adventurers.
“We’re here,” Elijayess quietly spoke. Pointing to a rise about a half mile ahead, “Over that rise lies the spring. We’ll be able to rest up there, and bring your friend back to the living.”
Without a moments pause, the solemn Kagonesti moved toward the rise, shouldering his longbow, “Keep your weapons put away. The spring is considered neutral territory. Drawing blood, except in self-defense, will bring down the wrath of the Oracles.”
Rough terrain was all that stood between them and the oasis in this hellish desert. As they crossed the rise they looked down at a lush oasis surrounded by black, bleak hills. A crystal clear pond sat in a rough crescent shape, surrounding three sides of a small hill. A small cave in the hill overlooked the spring, with a beach of black sand at the mouth of the cavern. There, a bluish-green bonfire sent hungry tongues of flame toward the dawn-streaked sky. Black haw trees surrounded the spring, with dragon claw and eyebright growing near the base of the trees. The spring seemed filled with a silent calm, a hush born of peace.
Elijayess paused at the crest of the rise before heading down into the small valley. As he maneuvered down the slope, three figures emerged from the cavern, watching the elf and the heroes, with dark eyes as they approached.
“Greetings Strangers . . .” the one in the center spoke in a low, sultry tone. Dressed in a loose caftan of nearly translucent white silk, her pale skin contrasts against the flowing raven locks that cloak her shoulders.
“Welcome to our spring . . .” the one to the left picks up, her voice a soft whisper. A delicate hand reaching up, brushing silvery white hairs back from an equally delicate elven face. A caftan of sheer crimson silk, that matched the stain of her lips, hung loose from her body.
“We have been waiting for your arrival.” The last one completes the sentence in a deep, rich voice. Her hair, a brilliant shade of scarlet, and her skin a rich shade of ebony that marked her of Ergothian heritage. The flowing black silk caftan molded itself to her strong body as she held out her hands in welcome.
The heroes gathered in a circle, a small fire pit there and ready for them. Gently they settled Paros down onto the ground, pleading with the three women with their looks, for they could only pray that these strange women could help him. In unison the Oracles explained that they would raise the fallen mystic at a price, one of the adventurers must bear a burden for them, but to Dove there was no considering the price, and she agreed with little thought to the burden she would have to bear. Looking at the fallen mystic, the three oracles kneeled at the mans side and laid their hands on his chest, chanting slowly in words undecipherable to all those that are untrained in the ways of the arcane. Slowly Paros’s chest heaved, air rushing into his lungs and returning the color of life through his body. His eyes fluttered as he looked up and saw the three women in all their beauty standing above him, along with Dove rushing in and embracing the mystic with tear filled eyes.
Coughing slightly, and with a smirk in his voice, Paros looked to Dove as she held him tight, “Wait your turn, Dove, all of you can have a turn with me.”
It was a happy evening indeed, the first they had endured since entering the Desolation. As they sat and spoke amongst themselves, the Oracles offered to answer three questions, but at a price for each question as they had done with the resurrection of Paros. Curious about what they could want, Wydesh agreed to ask a question at the price they offered, and so the heroes learned the reason why there pasts had been searching for them at the camp back in the Burning Lands. Paros’s father searched for his son, intent on experimenting on the half-elven blood within his son. The man who had captured her father had come in search of the rest of the souls, and so the Soul Stealer searched for Dove. An Ogre Titan had regained control of Xorg’s old tribe and now he wanted to destroy all those that could threaten his seat of power. And an Aurak who had been told to tie all loose ends related to the crime Wydesh was falsely committed of pursued the rogue. As they had said, this question had come at a price, and so the ladies of the lake charged Wydesh with retrieving a staff wielded by Grigolthan, an ogre mage said to be lurking in the Peak of Malys.
There was little more conversation that evening, again the travels across the desert had tired the heroes, and sleep was the only cure for them. With the coming of the new dawn’s light Elijayess roused the group and aided them in preparing to march the final leg to Kendermore.
The Oracles left the heroes with yet one last visage before they would set off to their destiny, “Be brave, for in your hands you hold the Fates of many,” the voice floated across the waters.
Before the melodic tones of the voice faded, another whisper joined the first, “Your steps will lead you far from the desolate realm to places you cannot imagine.”
The final voice joined in much as the second had before it, “You will see things very few have been graced to see.”
“There shall be many triumphs, but there shall also be many losses that you suffer,” the second voice floated across the waters, the owner of the voice lowering her eyes to the ground.
“In the end, know this: Fate has chosen you, but it is you who must choose your Destiny,” the women’s voice was almost harsh as she finished her sister’s words.
Once the women had disappeared into the cave, Elijayess moved up, a bit uncomfortable though it was he who had guided the heroes to this place.
“We should go. We have much ground to cover. We’ll reach the ruins in a few hours,” with these words he shouldered his pack and removed his bow from his shoulder. Turning towards the ruins of Kendermore, Elijayess walked out of the Oasis and lead the heroes toward their destiny.
Reacting quickly Wydesh and Elijayess launched attacks of their own, striking their targets solidly and felling them. Xorg rushed forward, taking the full brunt of the enemy’s attacks as he closed for melee combat. The nomads retaliated to the charging Ogre, intent on dropping the rampaging beast before he could cause harm, their arrows tearing and ripping the flesh of Xorg, puncturing in many ginger spots on his body. Paros summoned the shinning hammer of the sun and struck at the man who looked like the leader, a man that stood head and shoulders above the rest of the nomads and who wore a well-crafted chain shirt. The hammer struck with all its holy might, though not enough might to end the leader from giving his orders and crafting his plan against the heroes. Dove closed the gap now, intent on adding her blade to the battle that was quickly going against the heroes. As she approached her enemies, Xorg had finally reached them, his vicious Fullblade coming about as he bore down on the man before him, the saliva spraying forth as Xorg unleashed a savage battle cry and brought the sword down onto the mans neck, slaying him in a single strike.
Paros, Elijayess, and Wydesh again attacked from afar, their weapons striking true and reducing the enemies’ forces. The playing field had now leveled, as Dove moved in and thrust her blade into the leaders stomach, his entrails following his blood as they spilled the ground beneath his feet. Xorg, with a smirk born of a warrior, brought his blade around in a sweeping arch, decapitating the last of their attackers. Quietly Dove and Xorg went about the gruesome task of looting the bodies for that which they could make use of. Paros stepped forward, his eyes fixed on Elijayess as the Mystic proposed his question, “Who were these men?”
“Nomads,” Elijayess sighed the word from his lips, “Good people turned bad thanks the corruption of this place. The red devils magic affected all in many different ways.”
Shaking her head, Dove passed a final word to the corpses, for they had not the time to take care of the bodies as would be noble to their souls. They had kender to save, and questions to be answered, and neither of those things would be here with the dead. They pressed forth, the final portion of the trip passing rather quickly as they finally arrived at Kendermore. From the zenith of a hill they looked out at the destruction, the buildings charred black, their walls shattered and blown out of the buildings. Rubble littered the streets, and even in some places the buildings seemed to still be smoldering. Elijayess took the opportunity of the high ground to point out the locations that they might need to search for a way into the Peak of Malys. His finger swept over the city, indicating the Library, an inn known as The Palace, City Hall, and Amen Corner. Informing the group of other spots, such as the Shady Glenn and the Catacombs, Elijayess made certain that his companions knew how difficult it would be to gain entrance. There was not much life left in this city, and the life that did exist ranged from unfriendly to hostile, and all things were deadly.
Accepting the dangerous road ahead, the heroes moved down the hillside and approached the gate to the city. The western gate, known as the Sunset Gate, once held off the ogre hoards as the beasts tried to sack Kendermore. Even now, standing before the gates, the heroes could see the scars from the weapons that gouged the thick wood. The doors now hang limp, barely held onto the hinges with much of the wood either burned or rotten. A gently breeze rocks the door back and forth, accompanied by a soft creek as the door moves like one working an old tooth. Pushing the door aside, Xorg lead the group through the gate an into the town, the city streets were covered with more debris than initially thought, their vantage on the hillside was not enough to show them the extent of the damage. What buildings did still stand only did so with fewer walls than originally built, or gapping holes set in the sides of the buildings. The scorched earth and sent of brimstone indicated that much of the city had been set ablaze either by the ogres, or Malystrix herself.
They walked slowly along Tornado Alley, the main street of Kendermore and apply named for the natural occurrence that formed the street. Apparently the Tornado was the only craftsmen of this old world city that new what a straight line truly was, for Tornado Alley was the straightest road in all of Kendermore. Dove looked about, fascinated by the destruction and chaos that had ravaged this small city, her heart sinking as it shared the pain that the residents had felt the day that Malystrix had decided to destroy this city. So occupied in her grief that she never heard the roar, or the shattering of the mason wall as the Manticore burst from the building to their left. The beast was not so lucky with the others, who immediately prepared weapons and attacked the creature. Taking flight, the Manticore lashed out with its spiked tail, launching a volley of the deadly black spikes, the force behind the spikes enough to even pierce the rock walls of the buildings as many were able to dart and dodge away from the spikes. However, Dove was not so lucky, as she turned her gaze back to the beast in shock, the spike embedded itself in her shoulder and drove the paladin back quite a few steps.
Now it was time to even the playing field, thought the paladin, as she drew her sword from its sheath. Working to force the creature to the ground, Wydesh and Elijayess sent a volley of aerial weapons after the creature, as Paros once more summoned his magical hammer of the sun and attacked the creature. Dove lept forward as the beast came to the ground, her sword ripping into the hide of the beast, an action shared by Xorg as the two worked in tandem to wound the creature. In raged by this, the Manticore tore at Xorg, slicing through the armor the Ogre wore with little trouble and spilling the his blood on the ground. It was not fated for the Manticore to last much longer as the group traded blows once more but in the end the Manticore was no match for the heroes.
Working their way down Tornado Alley once more, passing City Hall and moving forward to the Library where they hopped to find clues to gain entrance to the peak. However they were not destined to find the information they had hoped to discover, instead they found many angry Cockatrice in the building that had long ago been sacked of all its treasures, and the books within burned in the courtyard in front of the building. With crass shouts, and harsh battle cries, the party easily dispatched the Cockatrice, not short of many humorous jokes at the pour creature’s expense. There was a small stash of fresh eggs that sat in the back of the library, and the threat they potentially presented resulted in their swift destruction.
Moving off again, Dove lead the heroes south the Amen Alley where she hoped she would be able to find some clues through her god, Branchala. There was little to be found here as well for the temples had mostly been destroyed, but two temples still remained in this part of the city. One for Branchala, and one for Habakkuk, each provided them with the safety and security they had not felt since they stood before the statue of Paladin in the Shattered Temple. Somberly they entered the building, Elijayess placing himself by a window to watch the street, as all within sat and rested, for this was the best place of any that would be able to provide a safe location.
Confusion and frustration began to set in, how would they reach the peak without the Ogre’s and Dragonspawn seeing them? Where was this supposed alternate entrance the Elijayess put out there in a theory? If they made it into the mountain, how were they supposed to defeat the creatures within to free the Kender inside? Their task ahead was daunting and overwhelming to say the least, but they were heroes for a reason and they would find their way through these hard times and triumph. The four heroes, caked in the dirt of their travels and weary from the heat of the desolation, sat in a circle and talked into the night about what lie ahead, and what they had seen in the past. Settling on a location, the five packed up once more and ventured up Strawberry Boulevard intent on finding the inn known as The Palace.
As the approached Tornado Alley once more they heard an unsuspected noise from the opposite side of the building to their left. Shouts of surprise, and the distinct whirring sound of a hoopak come from the alleyway adjacent to them. Curious of this sound, the heroes stepped out into the alleyway and saw before them five Ogre’s dragging a string of chained kender behind them. A single kender stood atop a wall and slung stones at the oncoming Ogre’s along with a flurry of taunts.
“You scum-lickin’, toenail-eatin’, wart-pickin’, puppy-beatin’, ugly sonnava bit . . . oops!” The kender’s arms flail as one of the Ogre’s slam a fist into the wall, causing the battered structure to shudder and almost dislodge the youngster from his perch.
Get that little bastard!” another roar echoes down the alleyway, this time from farther to the west. A large, motley Ogre dress in an assortment of various armors stormed down the road, uncoiling a whip from around his waist.
“Who you calling a bastard?” shouted the kender as he scrambles to a safety, just as one of the ogres make a grab for him.
Sending a stone from his hoopak, the kender smacked an ogre in the head as he shouted, “least my mother didn’t sleep with a goatsucker bird!”
Roaring in rage, the Ogre takes a few strides forward, his arm reaching back before he cracks the whip forward, the spiked leather slashes through the air and wraps around the kender’s leg. Before the kender could give a startled cry, the ogre pulled back and yanked the kender from atop the wall to fall to the ground with an audible, “Thump.”
Pulling weapons from their sheaths the heroes charged forward to confront the slavers and free the captives. Their awareness was not up to par, however, as the Ogre’s were able to strike first, their greatclubs sweeping through the air with great lethality. Xorg and Dove both were introduced to the business ends of the clubs, as the battle was joined, and Elijayess and Wydesh launched their aerial assault in response to the oncoming horde. Moving to the corner of the burnt out building, Paros launched a spell at the Ogre that was intent on crushing the taunt filled kender. The metal armor of the two Ogres in the alley began to glow a soft red, rising in temperature rapidly, all while Paros smirked from the safety of the corner. Xorg reacted fluidly in retaliation to the blow struck the mighty warrior, his Fullblade glistening in the falling sun as it met with the meat of the Ogre that had attacked him. Blood sprayed across the street, splattering against the wall and leaving a grim reminder of the true power any Ogre could posses. Xorg’s opponent now lay at his feet, the blood stained blade of the Fullblade leaving little question as to whether or not the attacker was still alive.
Dove stepped in and lashed out with grace and articulation as she split the flesh at one of the attackers thigh, the wound bursting open and rushing the red fluid of life down to the beasts shin. But this was not to be Dove’s day, and the Ogre she had so grievously wounded attacked back with a vengeance. The club shattered the paladin’s skull, and the momentum of the blow sent her body back in a perfect arch, the lifeless body of Dove landing harshly at the feet of Wydesh. Shock and horror filled the eyes of the Draconian, death had become a reality once more, and the knowledge that there would be no returning from it for Dove brought screams of anger to the voices of the heroes. Elijayess lowered his bow and drew forth his mighty longsword, his deftly placed attack enough to fell the creature that had slain Dove before their eyes. Turning to look back, Paros saw the commotion, but not the club that raced to meet him as an Ogre had slipped up on the mystic. Again, things looked bleak for the heroes, as the mystic crumpled to the ground unconscious, with a fresh ogre coming around the corner and standing over his prize.
“There is no way we can win this battle, we should pull back,” Xorg shouted as he stepped into his thrust and dropped yet another of the foul smelling attackers.
With an acrobatic maneuver, Wydesh lept to a more advantageous position and fired off a bolt, striking the leader of the Ogres as she responded to Xorg, “The numbers are great, but we cannot leave Dove unavenged!”
Elijayess worked forth, attacking with great speed, though the ogre he fought had twice the agility as the Kagonesti’s strikes passed harmlessly through the air. Again, the club’s of their enemies brought pain as the wood smashed against Xorg’s body, squeezing the air from his lungs with the impact of the blow. Stalking towards Wydesh, the leader lashed out with his whip as he barked orders to the last of the living Ogre’s, for it was the leaders desire to kill Xorg before the others since he imposed the greatest threat. With a toothy grin the remaining Ogre walked toward Xorg, patting his club into the open palm of his hand, but Xorg was not one to wait for death to come as he moved forward and lashed out with his blade, removing the head of the Ogre that was approaching, and leaving only the leader remaining. Wydesh launched another bolt as she shouted a warning to Xorg, for the leader of the attackers had changed focus and now moved toward Xorg.
Struggling under the intense heat of his armor, the final Ogre spoke through gritted teeth, “You are a disgrace to all ogre’s, and I shall remove you from the race!”
With a wicked scimitar lifted high into the air, the leader slashed into the shoulder of Xorg, and the momentum of the blow brought the razor sharp blade through to Xorg’s waistline. A look of shock passed across Xorg’s face, a trickle of blood coming from his eyes as he slumped forward, the leader of the Ogre’s dying at the same moment from his excursion with the armor, both bodies leaned against each other like a tee-pee. Stepping from her hiding spot, Wydesh moved to the gruesome sight with great sadness in each step, Elijayess tended to the one that could be saved, bandaging the wounds of Paros. Stepping from around the corner, the kender that had been tossing about the insults dashed up with his newly freed kender companions.
“Wow! That was amazing!” He paused briefly as he noticed the bodies of the two heroes and the sharp gaze from Wydesh, “Thanks for helpin’ us, I’m Parrick Whitslewalk.”
Introductions were short, for there were more grave matters at hand now. Through their brief conversation the heroes discovered that there was a plume to the eastern side of the Peak of Malys that would be able to grant them entrance. The traffic in through this plum was non-existent and should be relatively safe for the heroes to enter. Thanking the kender for this information, the heroes employed the freed slaves as they carried Xorg and Dove back to Amen Alley. Elijayess told the remaining two heroes that he would have to leave them in the morning, for his mission was to aide the kender, now that he had completed that he would have to find them safe passage home. Promising to meet the heroes at the spring outside of Kendermore, Elijayess went to spend the time with the kender in the temple of Branchala, giving Paros and Wydesh time alone to deal with their emotions and the bodies of their lost friends. Night would bring little rest for them, but they would try nonetheless, for this would be the only time they would have to grieve.
_________________________________________________________________
The group arrived back at the temples and worked to arrange the fallen so they lay as if in sleep. Paros set about the practical matter of trying to salvage what he could from their companion’s packs to help them survive. Wydesh sat distractedly staring into the darkening corner of the ruined temple. Fear, sorrow, love, hatred, anger, all feelings she had not known before, feelings she did not know she had, boiled about within her unquiet spirit. Suddenly she whirled around her arms out flung, standing her full height, wings spread out to their full span she bellowed,
“Branchala!” The name echoing throughout the destroyed city.
“Branchala!”
Tears streaming down her hard scaly face,
“BRANCHALA! Where were you? Are you so weak? Are you so cold? You call yourself a good god.” She spat out the last words with such force her whole frame shook. Almost instantly she found herself sprawled face first on the ground with a throbbing pain in her right shoulder. Gathering herself up she saw a young man with a kind smile, but the rest did not look so kind, he stood rapier at the ready, sliver flute hanging from his belt.
“You! You killed them. She dedicated her life to you, she gave you everything! He, he was GOOD. An ogre, he was good and you did absolutely nothing!”
He laughed lightly infuriating Wydesh, “Do you really challenge a god draconian?” his eyes gleamed.
With a low growl Wydesh charged fangs bared, claws ready.
“Wydesh, I…” Peros started to say to the motionless back of his companion, but Elijayess put a hand on his shoulder and quietly shook his head, “Let her be with her thoughts, for now. She is not ready yet.” He said.
The draconian hit the wall, battered, exhausted, she battled the god. She was half blind from blood, tears and anger.
“You display your power now,” she roared, “yet you did nothing when they needed you.”
“My power? Do you know nothing of gods draconian? That you think this is my power? How can you claim to understand my motives if you know nothing of me?” He laughed lightly and did a small dance.
“Do you mock me god?” Wydesh spat as she rose unsteadily and charged again. Deftly as before he dodged and landed another powerful blow. Stumbling Wydesh turned
“No I don’t understand. I don’t understand how a good god could let evil win!” She snapped barely missing his right side with her teeth as his elbow came down from above on to her head.
“Did evil win?” he asked jumping over her lashing tail and landing a blow on her back.
“Are you not still alive; are the kender not now free?”
Wydesh collapsed onto the ground slipping on her own blood.
Paros looked at her sleeping in the corner and turned toward the sky. He wondered at how she could be so uncaring. Dove and Xorg had died and she slept as she always did. He wondered what he was to do now that he was alone with this creature. Elijayess was not going to be with them much longer; he had other things to accomplish. That means, soon, it will be just the two of them and who knows what they will be facing. He was not certain that he wanted her behind his back.
Wydesh pulled herself to her feet, barely able to stand and breathing heavily.
“They’re dead” she screamed, “They are gone.” Choking on the last words, she leaned heavily on the wall, anger and confusion muddled her tired brain.
“Wydesh.” Dove said softly. The draconian quickly wiped the blood and tears from her eyes, Dove stood whole and well at the side of her god, peace and joy resting on her beautiful features.
“Wydesh, life is not over for you, or for any of us. Xorg and I still have eternity.” As she said his name Wydesh suddenly became aware of the ogre standing behind Dove. He looked now ten times the warrior he had been, his ogre Fullblade, glowing with a holy light, was strapped to his back, a calm confidence on his face.
“You and I share a common bond,” Xorg said “both born of an evil race yet we fought side by side to defend the good and the weak. Do not let this sorrow corrupt or twist your soul.”
“Rather,” Dove continued, “let it soften your spirit and quicken your heart to hear the sorrow of others, commiserate with them and help to relive their pain if you can.” As she spoke she approached the battered rogue, her gown flowing with an unfelt spiritual wind. She laid her hands on Wydesh and without looking at her god she spoke, rather prayed for healing. Her hand which were glowing faintly began to take on a much more intense light and Wydesh felt warmth spread through out her body and the pain dissipate.
“We left you with some unfinished business I’m afraid,” Xorg spoke, “Please do not abandon the quest, Paros needs you more than ever now. And do not be afraid to look for help you may find it where you least expect.” He put his large hand on her head, “Good luck my friend, and our paths will cross again but hopefully not for a good long time.”
“May the luck of Branchala be with you always.” Dove said, and they both took a step back.
“Good bye” Wydesh finally managed to whisper as they faded from her sight. She was now left alone with the god and a little more understanding. He was still smiling, but this time it did not bring anger but a strange sense of hope. Carefully but purposefully she moved toward him. Reaching his feet she bowed, her wings spread out behind her like a cloak. She heard him laugh and he was gone.
Elijayess jumped to his feet, started from sleep, a practiced hand on his weapon. He looked round, certain he had heard a voice, but the draconian and the mystic still slept, nothing seemed out of place. Then in mild wonder he watched as a single tear made its way down the rogue’s snout. “So she does morn,” he thought, as he settled back down to sleep.
Wow! What a brutal encounter with the ogres, Kalanth. Still, very compelling. Are the players' of the deceased characters going to introduce new PC's to the group?
Yep, we have two new, and very interesting replacements. One is Kyris, the Minotaur Fighter who was a part of the group of Minotaurs that conquered Silvanesti, and the other is Senian, a Human Chosen (from Unorthadox Clerics, available on http://www.rpgnow.com), both are dedicated worshipers of Kiri-Jolith, which might mean a Solamnic Knight in the making.
BTW, Kai Lord, I hope I did justice to Elijayess, we all found him to be a very cool character.
BTW, Kai Lord, I hope I did justice to Elijayess, we all found him to be a very cool character.
As long as you made him your own and had fun, you sure did!
Even aside from that I'm impressed with how you played him. Its quite rewarding to see Elijayess adding enjoyment to people's campaigns. As DM you're free to do whatever you want with him, I'd like to think he can still be a valuable character to insert at any future stage of a campaign wherever the DM sees fit. I'd be more than happy to answer any questions about that.That being said, I look forward to reading future installments of your campaign journal. Quite the yarn.
Characters Introduced:
Kyris de Teskos – Fighter 6 (Male Kothian Minotaur)
· For most of his adult life, Kyris worked for the Kothian Guard in all their endeavors throughout Krynn. Much to his dismay, this included being amongst the first surge of Minotaurs to invade Silvanesti and conquer the elven nation. This never sat well with Kyris, though he held his tongue. A vision came to him, however, and his decision to abandon the Kothian guard came quickly and without warning. Originally thought of as a vision from Sargonnas, Kyris soon realized that it was Kiri-Jolith who had wished the Minotaur to seek out three individuals in need of aid.
Senian Corij – Chosen of Kiri-Jolith 6 (Male Guntharian Human)
· All his life Senian held the virtues of Kiri-Jolith above all things. His devotion to his god was unparalleled, and respected amongst all those that knew him, and respected amongst the Solamnic Knights of the Sword that knew of the young man. As he was preparing for his daily rituals, Senian received a vision of three individuals in need of aid. With such a vision coming to him from his god, who he held dear, it was no test of mind for Senian to head out into the world in search of these individuals.
Morning came and with it the sadness returned for the deaths of Xorg and Dove were not a dream, as was hoped for by Paros and Wydesh. Elijayess worked in the corner, packing his gear and preparing the kender for the ten-hour trip to the spring outside of Kendermore. Looking back over his shoulder he looked Wydesh up and down, the night before he witnessed a Draconian show emotion for the first time, and the Kagonesti was beginning to change his opinion about the creatures. Preparation seemed to be long in the tooth as it was a more laborious than at any time in the past. Kendermore would now be the permanent burial home for Dove and Xorg but there would be no more time for mourning of the dead, the mission ahead loomed over them.
Elijayess crossed the temple with hand outstretched as he walked to Paros, his face fallen with the reality of what he was about to say, “I must leave now friends. I wish I could scale the mountain with you, but my obligation to Kronn was to aid the kender’s that still remained in Kendermore.”
“We understand, Elijayess,” Paros spoke as he shook the hand of the Kagonesti, “And we will meet you at the spring as we had agreed.”
Slouching slightly as she approached the ranger, “We appreciate all that you have done for us, Elijayess thank you for taking us this far.”
Moving his gaze from one to another, Elijayess passed the salute of the Legion of Steel and turned to face the Kender refugees. With arms open, the Kagonesti Ranger gathered the kender and ushered them out the door of the temple much like a Sheppard and his flock. Paros looked back to Wydesh with a soft smile, all his intent held within his gaze, it was time to head toward the mountain. As they gathered their belongings they were brought to an abrupt halt for outside the door of the temple they heard the sounds of heavy booted footsteps. Sliding back and taking advantage of the darkness, Paros and Wydesh prepared their weapons, bow and crossbow aimed at the door of the temple as the gauntleted hand slowly pushed the door open.
“Hold where you are and identify yourself!” Wydesh shouted to the encroaching figure, he weapon aimed precisely at the only extremity that had entered the room.
Releasing the door, the gauntleted hand was joined by another as they figured let out his voice to identify himself, “I am Senian of the church of Kiri-Jolith, and you must be Wydesh.”
Flashing a look to Paros, who returned her look, she spoke to the figure once behind the door, “We have the advantage of the darkness, step forward and keep your weapons away. Tell me how you know my name?”
The human figure moved into the room, his entire figure encased in darkness from the temple. His hair was a bit dirty, making the color difficult to discern and his skin was coated with the ash and sand of the Desolation, but his full plate armor was pristine in its condition, the symbol of Kiri-Jolith made clearly visible on his tunic, a wicked longsword draped at his side. It was clear that this man took his faith in Kiri-Jolith, the patron of courage and just battle, quite seriously. Though suspicious of the unexpected presence, Wydesh and Paros lowered their guard slightly, their weapons at the ready but no longer aimed at the man who had just entered the temple.
In a confident and commanding voice, the kind of voice that demands attention and gets it, the man spoke, “I am Senian, chosen of Kiri-Jolith and defender of the just. I was granted a vision that I would find two lost in the Desolation in need of aid, and so I have come. For Kiri-Jolith wishes that I aid and protect Paros and Wydesh in all their endeavors.”
Wydesh lit up as best a draconian can, putting away her crossbow and approaching the man with outstretched hands, “It is a sign that the gods do favor us, praise Branchala.”
“Hmph,” Paros muttered, “Those same gods let our friends die,” Paros’s words brought a stern look from both Senian and Wydesh, though the draconian knew the struggle that Paros was going through at this time.
The conversation stretched on into the evening, Wydesh and Senian discussing the ways of the gods, and many aspects of religion itself all the while Paros prepared for the trek up the slopes of the Peak of Malys. This task would not be easy, but the unexpected aid of the cleric was a blessing to be sure, even if the Mystics faith in the gods, and in some respects himself, had begun to falter. Pausing momentarily as he placed his belongings into his pack, Paros lifted his head, his gaze joined by his companions as the sounds of Ogre voices and three footsteps moved down the street before the building. Again, caution shot through Paros and Wydesh, and froze the cleric in his spot for fear of making a sound. Caution was not on their side this time, as Paros kicked a stone that bounced against the wall of the temple, and was loud enough that those passing before them overheard.
On the other side of that wall the two ogre’s passed by the temple, engaged in discussion, as the escorted their prisoner to the Peak of Malys. Their prisoner was a rather large Minotaur, the creatures horns extending well beyond his head making him resemble Sargonnas with great majesty, the black fur of the Minotaur glistening in the nights moonlight. Chains bind his hands together connected to a single chain that one of the ogre’s carried in hand, leading the minotaur behind them.
In the rough language of the Ogre, the two spoke to one another with great joy, “I can’t believe it was so easy to capture the cow! We will be rewarded handsomely for this prize, won’t we, Ailoth?”
“Oh yes, Belid, Grigolthan will certainly offer us a promotion for this. Minotaurs provide outstanding slave labor,” Ailoth spoke with a chuckle, his gaze drifted back to the prisoner behind him, “And maybe even sport, should Grigolthan put him in the ring.”
“Yes! Bet you ten steel the minotaur beats Feligh in the ring!” Excitedly Belid chimed in at the idea of watching their prisoner in gladiatorial combat.
Stopping short, Ailoth lifted a hand in silence, “Feligh the furious may have to wait, I think I heard something coming from that temple,” his finger pointed to the temple of Branchala.
Curious about the supposed sound, Belid moved toward the building, his club at the ready and eyes darting around the landscape of the building. If there was something here, Belid would not be allowing it to catch him off guard. As he slid the door open, neither he nor Ailoth noticed or heard the sound of the minotaur easily slipping the chains and manacles from his hands, for the minotaur had freed himself a long time past, but hid the truth until the most opportune time. Belid opened the door and was greeted by the sight of Senian standing on the other side of the door, weapon at the ready. In surprised anger the ogre swung his club, missing the head of the cleric that stood before him, and smashing the wooden door that the ogre had just opened. Out in the street the minotaur took advantage of the distract to gore his opponent, his horns piercing cleanly into the bulk of the ogre’s body and leaving the former escort of the minotaur bleeding his life into the streets of Kendermore.
Rising to his full height, the minotaur stood over the body and wiped his horns clean of the blood and gore from the ogre’s body. Cleric, mystic, and rogue stood in the door of the temple and stared out at the minotaur in wonderment. They watched as the former captive arched his back in a stretch, his body glad to be free of the ruse that he was still in captivity. Ogre’s not being the most naturally intelligent, never noticed that the minotaur freed himself sometime before they even arrived in Kendermore. Turning his gaze to the three that stood before him, watching his every move, the minotaur smiled a devious smile and tossed the rag to the side.
“Greetings, I am Kyris and I have been sent to find the three of you,” the words came from the minotaur’s mouth like silk, the corners of his mouth reaching their zenith as he looked at the shocked faces before him, “Kiri-Jolith told me that there would be those in need of my aid, and so I am here.”
Senian stepped forward, his tabard blowing slightly in the gentle breeze that had begun to blow through Kendermore, the clerics eyes fixed on the minotaur before him. Kyris wore nothing more than a kilt and a chest belt, his weapons all kept by the ogre’s that had, supposedly, held him captive. Retrieving his greatsword from the ogre that lay dead in the entrance to the temple, Kyris chuckled at the stares that he was receiving. It was a hard pill to swallow that a god would send someone out to help these three, though Kyris did not know that they had just heard the same speech from Senian mere moments before. Either divine intervention was to blame, or Paros and Wydesh were being duped by a much greater plan than they could have imagined. Suspicion, however, was not their forte and so Paros and Wydesh listened as the two new members of their party discussed the visions that they had shared. If Kiri-Jolith was on there side, as well as Branchala, then things were most certainly looking up for them, thought Wydesh, while Paros continued to dismiss the possibility that the gods cared, for his faith had been left with the dead that lay inside the temple.
Wishing to move on to their objective, Paros walked into the street and spoke his first words since seeing the minotaur, ushering the group to the rocky mountain side and on to their destiny. They knew their trip up the rocky surface would be anything but easy, and the things they would encounter would be stronger than anything they had faced before, even the ogre’s that had slain Xorg and Dove. But there would never be a better time than now for going up, the sun hung low in the sky and the air was as cool as one could hope for being in the Desolation at the foot of a still active volcano. The slope was not so steep that they could not walk up the mountainside, though the volcanic rock and obsidian cut at their palms when they did loose footing. The hours passed as they climbed, their encounters being few and far between, their first against wraiths composed entirely of living magma, and the crossing of a rive, but it was the dark shadow that followed them from overhead that worried them the most.
Those concerns were most valid, as the young red dragon, Soulburn circled them from above. He would protect his investment, the time he had spent waiting for the red ***** to die, for no one would take the Peak of Malys away from him now. Taking one last lazy circle the dragon dove down and attacked the four that climbed the mountain, his jowls opening and the flames licking at the corners of his mouth. With a soft chuckle, Soulburn belched forth the flame and scoured the ground worse than it had already been and engulfing those within his path. Paros had managed to move aside and save himself the pain of the flames, but the others were not so lucky as the heat scorched their skin and left blisters on their bodies. Preparing for the inevitable fight, weapons were drawn, but how were they supposed to strike a dragon that was hovering above the ground, lashing at them from out of reach. Senian had no choice but to wait, for the extremist path he had taken to follow in worship would have his Kiri-Jolith turn his back on the cleric if he were to wield a weapon other than the chosen blade of Kiri-Jolith. However, the other three had options to them, as Kyris drew back the string on his bow, and Wydesh launched a bolt that bounced limply off the hide of the beast. Using his inner strength, Paros brought forth the hammer of the sun, smashing the divine weapon into the beast’s skull. A smile creased Paros’s face for he had always loved the fact that he did not have to be near the weapon to use it as he watched the dragon wince in pain.
Such an action is sure to anger a dragon, however, and so it did as Soulburn raced through the skies and captured Wydesh into his maw, clamping his teeth down on the leathery hide of the draconian, and spitting the beast out at a low enough altitude to prevent the rogue from spreading her wings to stop her fall. The impact with Paros knocked the wind from both of their sails, leaving them laying on the ground panting for the time being as the dragon came around and landed between Senian and Kyris. A risky move to be certain, the dragon wanted the two warriors within immediate range of the flames it would spit out once more. With opportunity having made itself present, Senian and Kyris lept at the beast, Kyris drawing his blade and slashing the dragon’s hind legs while Senian pierced the chest of the creature.
In a booming voice that shivered the very fabric of ones being, the dragon spoke, “You will never take what’s mine. This peak is my home, my hoard, and you will never take that from me!”
Lifeblood spilling onto the ground now, Soulburn took action now that the warriors had entered to exactly where he had wanted them. Lifting straight into the air and inhaling deeply, the dragon blasted the ground beneath him with the white-hot fire that he had held within him. Again the searing heat ripped through the heroes, the pain almost to much to bear as the crumpled under the heat of the flames. Paros acted fast to bring an end to this pain, his hammer slamming down and crushing the skull of the dragon, all the inner might of the heart that Paros could muster behind the blow. The impact sent shockwaves of light cascading through the mountainside, illuminating areas that had not seen the light of day in years. With such powerful emotion packed behind the blow, the dragon was never able to defend itself and came crashing to the ground, its dead body landing solidly on Senian as it slammed into the volcanoes side, a black cloud of ash filling the air from the impact.
While they worked to free Senian the heroes did as most would, their minds drifting to what the dragon had said. A hoard? That much wealth in one spot, they would be destined for greatness with all they could find there. The thoughts were fleeting, for the priority was the peak, and the Kender that were trapped inside, treasure would have to come at a latter time. Again they moved themselves to higher ground, there was no time to stop, no time to rest from the previous battle for they must get inside before the mountain, the desolation, or any more curious creatures decided to act against them. Several more hours passed by, and they had finally reached the plume that would allow them entrance to the peak, and the climb began up the steep slope surface of the plume. The going was difficult, the rocks slipped from their hands and cut into their clothes, but they moved up the plume and lowered themselves into the mountain, resting against the rock wall for a brief moment as they brought light to the area around them.
As the moved along the tunnel they found that the temperature seemed to be dropping, though there was no obvious reason for such a shift. Moving along the gentle slope of the tunnel, the heroes moved several hundred feet before coming to the end of the tunnel. They stood in the mouth of the tunnel, overlooking a massive chamber, apparently made from solid obsidian that glistened oddly from their torchlight, casting flickering shadows along the stalactite-studded ceiling. Spread through the chamber were several obsidian bridges crossing each crevice on the floor, each connecting numerous tunnels along the edges of the cavern. Many ladders of the same craftsmanship were placed to allow easy access from tunnels to the floor, including the tunnel that the heroes currently occupied.
Small patches of glowing phosphorus moss grew along the cavern walls and ceiling, casting a soft, diffuse blue-violet light over the entire cavern. Blinking rapidly as they looked down into the cavern before them, they noticed the light seems to make the floors undulate. The motion unnatural to say the least, though they could not determine the cause for such movement until they took a harder look, for the floors, ladders, and bridges that filled the room were made up entirely of living, moving ants, each the size of a large dog. The ants scurried along the walkways that were formed by these ants, slightly larger ants were busy with various unknown tasks, and while ants the size of small ponies seemed to be carrying food to various sections of the floor. The heroes watched as they passed the food down where it would disappear into the floor, apparently to be distributed among the small ants that formed the architecture of the colony. From behind they heard a skittering sound, spinning to great the noise they saw four large ants scurrying along the walls of the tunnel, each carrying a gruesome catch in their mandibles. Ignoring the heroes, the ants moved into the chamber where they disappeared into the mass of other creatures below.
Before they could even think, another sound came from behind, this time a strange, high-pitched chittering voice, “Greetings . . . the Queen wishes to speak with you.”
Turning around they saw a rather diminutive ant, a little smaller than a kender, gazing at them with its odd, multi-faceted eyes. The twin antennae move independently from one another as the ant takes in the heroes.
The ant looked at the heroes with its head twisted to the right, “You will come with us,” it spoke once more, it voice spine shivering. Abruptly the ant turned and scurried down the ladder that leads from the tunnel to the floor of the cavern, expecting the heroes to silently follow after.
With silent shrugs they followed after the worker ant, climbing down the ladder and out into the chamber. The ants that made up each and every part of the chamber swayed slightly underneath their weight, and from up close they could see the twitching of their antennae and the movement of their mandibles as their delicate arms somehow managed to easily bear the weight of the heroes. Climbing up yet another ladder, this one leading to a cliff fifty feet off the cavern floor, the heroes emerged onto a small landing where the small, talking ant awaited patiently.
“She waits for you in her lair,” a brief nod of the ant’s head indicates the cave that stood before the heroes.
Curiously and cautiously they entered the cavern and were greeted by the strange image before them. Small cairns of stone lined the walls of the cavern, which seemed much smaller than after seeing the cavern below. Numerous small ants scurried around the chamber, crawling along the walls, the floor, and the ceiling of the cave, while standing perfectly still between each of the cairns along the wall were the larger ants with the barbed stingers and wicked-looking mandibles. Yet even their presence did nothing to take away from the ant that must be the queen, and the host of the heroes.
She sat, resting atop of a large cairn of stones, easily the size of a knight’s warhorse this was the largest of the ant’s they had seen. Her body was designed more like that of a wasp, with a narrow thorax that flared out to a large abdomen. The abdomen ended in a long, obsidian stinger, while the ant’s torso was covered by strange sigils that glowed with a subtle blue radiance. The same blue radiance shone in the pair of enormous eyes that swiveled in the direction of the adventurers.
A soft, decidedly feminine voice filled the cave, “Greetings, adventurers. What brings you to our colony?”
With careful deliberation over what words they would use, Paros stepped forward to address the queen, “We have come to rid the peak of its evils.”
“And to save the kender prisoners,” Kyris spoke with a respectful nod, “With your permission, of course, your majesty.”
Impressed by the minotaur’s respect for her position, the queen ant returned the gesture silently. The queen had long desired to rid the peak of the ogre’s and dragonspawn that declared this place home as well. Opportunity was a fickle creature, and if she were not to take its hand now, as it presented itself, she may never have such a chance again. The words that were spoken to her were of the utmost sincerity as well, and so she felt inspired to provide aid to these adventurers.
Kyris spoke the first question, for he wished to know the location of the ogre’s and dragonspawn, and the queen responded, “We do not truly know their location. They live deep within the peak, and hold the little ones there with them. We do know that the little ones are being killed and we believe it has something to do with the strange smelling ogre that appeared in the Peak one turning of the silver moon ago.”
Curiosity was peaked at this, and the heroes asked who the leaders might be, and again the queen spoke in her gentle voice, “With Malystrix gone, most of the colony has also fractured into smaller colonies. The strongest of these colonies are the dragon’s soldiers, the dragon men. A strong queen leads them, although she now has apparently taken the strange smelling ogre as a mate. None of the others in the peak have a strong queen, yet.”
“If we resolve this problem, how do we escape the peak?” Senian spoke up, worried that they may be trapped with such a dangerous course of action.
“There are many ways out of the peak,” the queen spoke as she gazed into the clerics eyes, “but they are not all easy ways. We can show you one of our tunnels leading out of the peak.”
Many moments passed and the conversation concluded itself, the queen happily providing the weary heroes a place to lick their wounds and plot a strategy. It was clear that they would not be able to rid the entire mountain of the ogre problem, but to eliminate the leaders of the tribes would benefit them immensely. With her quest in mind, Wydesh thought about the ogre that carried the staff of bones. Her mind had drifted from this quest for a day thanks to the emotions brought onto her by the death of Xorg and Dove, but here now it was once more staring her in the face and she would hold up to her end of the deal. Things may have changed in her past, but she still held her virtues to be true. The plan was in place, they would sneak in through these kender pens, thanks to the ant’s, and from there they would hunt down the leaders of the two tribes and recover the staff. But now, now brought sleep, and a much-needed sleep at that. This night they rested the most safely and soundly than they had since entering the desolation, even more comfortably than in the temple of Branchala.
With the morning they woke with a sense of purpose and gathered their belongings with determination. They were clearly focused on the goal ahead of them, so much so they never noticed the worker ant that had entered their chamber and watched them gather their things.
“Are you prepared? We shall show you to the tunnel that will lead you to the little ones,” the ant spoke in the high-pitched voice the heroes had begun to grow accustomed to.
Patiently waiting for them to follow, the worker ant turned and led the heroes back toward the main cavern of the colony. There, waiting quietly for them, the queen watched the cavern where the heroes emerged. She was surrounded by her escort of soldiers and workers, it was clear that she was expecting the heroes to arrive.
“Our tunnels were built for our use, but I believe that you will be able to navigate them with ease. The first tunnel shall lead you directly to the little ones. Do not take any of the side tunnels; stick to the primary, otherwise you will get lost. Once you have the little ones, take the tunnel back until you come to the second tunnel to your right. That will lead to the surface near the city of little ones.”
As the queen spoke to the heroes’ part of the ground began to swell. The ants were shifting the structure by crawling over one another to reveal a honeycomb of tunnels beneath them. Apparently the ants had been extremely busy with building their tunnels. One of the queen’s escorts scuttled forward toward one of the tunnel entrances as the queen spoke once more, “You will follow my worker. He will guide you to where you need to go. May your hunt prove fruitful.”
The queen leaned up, unfurling a pair of gossamer wings that buzzed dizzily as they blurred in and out of motion, lifting her off the ground. Her escort scurried back toward the queen’s lair as the stately insect flew away. Turning they headed into the tunnel that would lead them to the heart of the peak, the worker ant leading the way, and a few more ant’s providing temporary mounts for the adventurers so as to traverse the cavern easier. After a few, brief moments in the tunnel the distinct sound of rocks crashing in on themselves could be heard as the ants from behind sealed the tunnel. The workers assured the heroes that this was only for the safety of the colony, and in no way an action against the heroes.
After an indeterminable amount of time spent traversing the phalanx tunnel, the adventurers heard the voice of the worker any speak up, the darkness of the tunnel making it difficult for all to see even with their advanced vision, “We are here.”
Looking about, the adventurers saw nothing to indicate where here was. The tunnel looked like any previous stretch of the tunnel that they had already passed. What was there to make this section different?
The worker ant touched an antenna against the right side wall of the tunnel, “Through this wall, you will find the little ones. The wall here is weak; you should be able to burrow through it easily.”
Backing away from the wall, the worker ant turned toward the adventurers once more, “I must return, along with my fellow workers, to the colony and the queen. May your hunt prove fruitful.”
Once the last word was spoke, the ant seemingly bowed its head slightly before crawling back the way it had come, leaving the heroes alone in the darkness of the strange tunnel. Wasting little precious time, Kyris and Senian prepared to bring the weak wall down and burst into the chamber beyond. With a mighty thump their first blow landed and sent splinters throughout the rock face of the tunnel wall. It was clear that the ant was correct for this wall was rather weak and should collapse with only one last strike against the surface. Hammering into the surface of the wall with the hilts of their weapons, they had managed to burst through the wall into the chamber beyond. As the wall crumbled before them, the sight of the tunnel opening up into a small cave greeted them.
The center of the cave was marked with a large pit that had been dug into the ground and covered with an iron grate. The reek of unwashed bodies filled their nostrils just as the sound of the undulating battle cry, resembling that of a dragon’s roar, greeted their ears. Hurtling across the room at what was the massive humanoid figure, easily at least seven feet tall with outspread wings flaring behind him. The figure looked like a man, although his bared flesh was covered with small, crimson scales. A long mane of black hair flowed behind him, two long, white horns stretch back as he bared his fanged mouth in a snarl of rage. Tongues of flame flickered within his mouth as he roared another battle cry, swinging his massive greatsword over his head in preparation for the battle at hand.
Rapidly the heroes responded to the sound of battle, as Senian and Kyris charged out from the tunnel, making a line for the opposition. Silently Wydesh prepared her crossbow as Paros used the powers of his divine might to prepare himself for the challenge at hand. Blades crossed as Kyris arrived at the target first, the dragon man knocking aside the attack of the minotaur and greeting it with his own painful intentions. The flames that filled the lungs and licked the dragonspawn’s lips belched forth, engulfing the heroes all. Though not nearly as dangerous as the dragon they had fought on the peak, it was clear this was an opponent that meant business. Senian, dragging a gauntleted hand across his stinging eyes, slashed for the enemy and struck true, his blade biting into the armored flesh and meeting bone. A fresh bolt from Wydesh and the celestial hammer of Paros greeted this attack as the beast felt the wrath of the heroes. Snarling in disgust with the beating, the dragon man stepped forward and brought his sword around, lashing with great skill at the body of the minotaur and finding many week points in the armor the beast wore. For even though the dragon man had only seen the loincloth and chest belt, this was an illusion and Kyris actually bore the weight of full plate that protected him from what could have been a deadly attack.
With a smirk creeping across the minotaur’s jowls, Kyris struck back with his might greatsword, the weapon ripping into the flesh of the beast once more. Rage fueled the tactics of the dragon man, not sense, for if he had used his mind he would have noticed that he was destined to fail in his attempts to prevent the heroes from freeing the kender. This thought passed through his mind as Paros and Senian once more battered the dragon man’s body with their strikes. But the dragonspawn was not finished just yet, for he had more strength within him. In preparation the beast inhaled sharply, and lashed out with his blade, separating the flesh of Kyris at his shoulder, the wound bleeding freely down the warriors chest. Shouting a holy cry, Senian stepped into his thrust and ended the dragonspawn’s life, though unprepared for what would come next. Light burst from beneath the scales of the beast, spewing from its mouth, nose, and ears. With a devilish smile, the dragon man stepped forward into the blade and laughed to himself, and with that exploded into a ball of orange flame that spread throughout the room and engulfed all within. Each hero fell to the floor from the shockwave of the blast and the sheer surprise of the explosion that caught them off guard and spilled them out like water from a cup.
Gathering themselves from the floor they worked their way to the grate that blocked them from the kender below, Wydesh kneeling to get a better look at the lock that prevented access to the prisoners. It was little work for the skilled rogue, even if this was the first lock she had ever popped in the field, the time she had spent practicing had paid off in the end, and they were one step closer to saving the kender. Tossing a rope down to the kender, the heroes slowly brought each and every last one of the twenty-one surviving little ones to the surface of the cave. As the last of the kender clamored out of the pit and her feet settled upon the ground, she looked up at the four heroes that stood before her and offered a surprisingly cheerful grin, despite her grimy appearance.
“Wow, that was one of the most boring places I’ve ever been, lemme tell you! One time, I was trapped with my foot down a rabbit hole and couldn’t move, but least there I got to look around and see stuff! Here, all I got to see was a bunch of other trapped kender, most of who didn’t wanna talk! Imagine that!” the kender leaned forward, her voice raising slightly above a whisper with excitement, “I betcha they’re those afflicking kender hear people talkin’ ‘bout!” Suppressing a somewhat delightedly horrified shudder as she turned to stare at the huddled, dirty kender clustered around the hole in the wall.
Suddenly, the kender drew herself upright, a faint blush visible beneath the dirt on her face as se turned back to the heroes, “My manners, I’m sorry! I’m Kerra, Kerra Whistlewalk of Hylo. Thanks for rescuin’ us. I was afraid we were all gonna end up staked and spitted and bled dry for that ritual I heard ‘em talkin’ ‘bout. Wish I could see that! They was talkin’ ‘bout this big magic spell they was gonna cast, said that it took the blood of the afflicking kender ‘cuz it was filled with Malys magic or somethin’. They also said somethin’ ‘bout perverting some big ol’ magic thingy they found in Malys’s lair . . . perverting . . . you think they were gonna peek at each other wearin’ only their knickers?!?”
Kerra wrinkled her nose as she paused to take a breath and contemplated the ‘perverted’ actions of the mysterious ‘they’ she keeps rambling on about. Clucking her tongue, she shook her head and continued, “Tsk, tsk . . . you know someone’s a bad apple if they’re perverting, ya know? My momma always told me that . . .” suddenly abashed once more, Kerra rubbed her throat and offered a small smile, “My momma always told me I could talk the ears offa gnome. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have rambled like that. Oh? Did you drop this?”
Kerra held a single feather in her hand, as the group stared at her in slight disbelief and stifled chuckles from Wydesh. This little kender, regardless of all the torment and pain, was still her usual self and willing to help to bring an end to all that had happened here. Looking back to the doors that lead to the next room, Kerra moaned and complained about her missing heirlooms, and how she must have them back. Stopping the kender short, Kyris assured her that they would retrieve anything that lay beyond those doors and that the kender was now responsible for the safety of the others. Giving her the instructions on how to exit the peak, the four heroes gathered themselves and strode forward, pushing the door open and boldly walking into the hallway beyond. As they reached the end of the hall they could see the immense chamber stretch out before them. A large pentagram of silver was inlaid into the floor, creating bridges over a large pool of dark, viscous liquid. At the tip of each arm of the pentagram lay a dragon skull each facing toward the center of the pentagram where an altar of yellowed bones rises prominently. Suspended from the ceiling, over each opening in the arms of the pentagram was an empty pair of shackles. On the far side of the room from where the heroes stood was yet another hallway leading farther into the mountain. The entire grisly scene was illuminated by a sickly pale luminescence provided by small hovering spheres of light that danced near the smooth, polished ceiling. The same sickly light seemed to reflect in the gaping eye sockets of the dragon skulls, for within those dark holes danced small sparks of flame.
Within the chamber the blood began to churn as the heroes prepared themselves, spells cast, potions quaffed and weapons readied. As they stepped into the chamber they were greeted by the ghastly sight of dead kender climbing from the pool of blood in the center of the room. Twenty-one in total shambled toward the heroes, the lifeless bodies wrenching the heart, the sight of kender who resembled little more than children, their flesh hanging from bone and eyes lifeless. Wasting little time Kyris and Senian took action, charging forward with weapons held high, slashing at and severing many a limb from the lifeless bodies. Wydesh launched bolt after bolt as they evened the numbers, though something else roamed in this chamber as the chilling touch of death was laid onto Kyris. The spell was brought about by the fallen titan, Grigolthan, who had made himself invisible through a potion, the blue fur of the ogre and distinct stench emanating from his body enough to give away his location to Kyris. The mighty minotaur warrior brought his weapon around to attack the ogre but was unable to connect with the flesh of the mage.
Thinking instinctively, Senian called to his lord Kiri-Jolith and summoned the divine might to send the kender to a restful end and send their spirits along the river of souls. With the numbers dramatically decreased, Grigolthan had to act quickly as he summoned more magical energies. The cone of cold that spread across the cavern caused great pain throughout the party of heroes, and destroyed the last of the kender zombies that the mage had summoned to his aid. Smiling wide the ogre maneuvered himself onto the bridges of the pentagram and moved into the center of the shape. With his next spell the ogre intended to strike fear through the hearts of the heroes, though his plan failed miserably. His body popped and shifted, sinew ripping and reforming, skin stretching and changing color as the ogre rapidly transformed into a powerful black dragon with the aid of his arcane might. Even with his new form he was unable to bring the terror he desired into the heroes as Kyris and Senian combined their efforts to cut down the polymorphed ogre. Barely resembling the ogre that it once was, the reverted form of Grigolthan tumbled into the pool of blood, causing the viscous liquid to boil and bubble violently.
“What have you done?” Shrieked a deep, feminine voice from the edge of the room.
Turning their gazes toward the source of shriek in surprise, the heroes saw a strange figure silhouetted in the doorway. At least a hand’s span over six feet in height, this woman was powerfully built, wearing a black breastplate over her upper torso with a long, flowing loincloth secured around her waist by a wide leather belt. But what truly set her apart from others of her ilk was her clearly inhuman heritage, visible in the fine, glistening crimson scales that covered her entire body, giving her an almost demonic look. Slowly she narrowed her glowing amber eyes, the figure stepped forward, uncoiling a whip from her belt as she spread her leathery wings behind her.
“You will pay for what you have ruined,” the woman spat out, tiny flames beginning to lick about the edge of her mouth. Holding up her free hand, pointing a black-taloned finger towards the heroes, “I will burn the flesh from your bones and you will Buuuurrrrnnnn!” She screamed the last word once more, but this time her shriek was accompanied by tongues of flame that hungrily blaze forth, thirsting for the taste of the adventurers flesh.
From behind her two additional dragonspawn rush into the room, their wings spread and bodies lifted into flight as the three glided across the room. Landing softly in a position that would do the most harm, the two dragon men belched the flames from their mouths, charring the flesh from bone and bringing the great minotaur to his knees. Lashing out in anger, Kyris felled one of the dragonspawn but this only made the minotaur’s situation worse off than before. The explosive burst of flame left the minotaur a burnt husk on the floor of the chamber, barely enough life left in his body to watch the last seconds of his life pass before him. Determined not to loose another friend, Paros charged forth into the chamber, pulling a glass vial from his pouches as Senian and Wydesh defended the mystic from harm. The female dragonspawn rushed forward, intent on destroying the survivors as quickly as possible, her attacks focused on Senian who was in the worst shape of them all. Battered from her whip and burnt from the flames of the dragon men, Senian was forced to retreat into the hallway where Wydesh cared for his wounds with her healing saliva.
Paros poured the contents of the potion into the mouth of the minotaur at the expense of his own health, the whip of the female ripping his flesh, and the sword of the dragon man tearing threw his body. In agony the mystic rose to his feet and retreated, barely able to return to the tunnel where he dropped a wand for Senian to use to heal the clerics wounds. Paying little heed to the felled minotaur, the dragonspawn moved to the cavern entrance and blasted another shot of his fire breath into the chamber, the pain nearly to much to bear as the heroes within screamed in agony. From behind the dragonspawn Kyris rose to his feet, his greatsword at the ready as he pointed the blade at the female in rage. The challenge had been sent, and accepted, his friends would have to deal with the other spawn as the minotaur locked horns with the female.
Sucking in a deep breath from the pain of the fire, Senian rushed forward and slashed at the dragonspawn, while Paros summoned his internal rage and charged. With the combined might of the two men the creature fell to their blades, and exploded into flame thanks to the powers of the Shard of Light. As the flame burst from the body of the dragonspawn the two were ready to face their deaths, but mysteriously lived through the blast. A cackle from the female snapped them from their euphoria, for the woman was slashing and burning Kyris as the two traded blow after blow. Patches of the fur on the minotaur’s body had been singed clean from the flame strikes of the female, and the whip had torn chunks of the flesh from his bone, but Kyris had one last thing up his sleeve when it came to this battle. As blood flowed freely across his body, and bile rose in his throat, foam grazing the corners of his mouth, Kyris stepped forward planting the tip of his sword into the heart of the female spawn. Though the point of the blade would have been enough to kill her, Kyris was filled with the rage of Kiri-Jolith, and the minotaur rushed forward putting the entire weight of all his pain into the blow, burring the sword to the hilt in the woman’s chest. With an evil grin, the minotaur leaned forward and kissed the cheek of the dragon spawn, whispering his final good byes to a true *****. With little concern of the path of the blade, Kyris ripped the weapon from the chest of the woman and stepped back as she died.
The female dragon spawn stumbled back, a look of shock contorting her face as her hand flew to her chest. Shuddering, she looked up at Kyris, her amber eyes flared wide as suddenly she unleashed a torrent of wild, almost insane, laughter.
“I can see it,” she howled, raising a hand to point at Kyris and the heroes, “I can see the hand pulling your strings . . . for me, death is the end, but for you . . . you will find that death offers no peace!”
As the wild laughter ripped through her once more, her entire body began to jerk and contort, a sullen glow suddenly spilling from beneath her scales as she bent over. With a last, cruel shriek of laughter, the dragonspawn threw her head back and suddenly exploded in a whirlwind of hungry flame that reached out to devour anything within reach! Kyris took the brunt of the pain, with the others only experiencing faint warmth from the explosion. With his body ravaged from the wounds suffered onto it before, one would have thought the explosion would spell the end of Kyris, but the potion that Paros had slipped to the minotaur was one that was slipped to the mystic from Elijayess. A farewell present to the heroes for a time of great need, a potion of heal that proved most useful in this final battle in the peak.
Gathering their wits about them, and as they wiped the blood from their weapons, a glimmer of light begins to pulse from the hallway opposite of the chamber. Paros lifted the Shard of Light and gazed at the blade in amazement, for the light trapped within the blade began to pulse as though it was responding to something that was calling it. The heroes rapidly moved down the hallway, consciously noting the echo of their footsteps as they ran the thirty feet or so where the hallway mad a sharp left-hand turn, and ended in a large steel door. Quietly Wydesh went to work, removing the trap that was set on the door and popping the lock to grant them all access to the room beyond. As the door swung open, it revealed a small, neat chamber. Apparently an armory of some sort, if the weapon racks and armor stands that lined the walls were any indication, although most of these were now empty and covered with cobwebs.
However it was not those empty racks that brought them here. No, it was the sudden burst of brilliant illumination from the shard of light that streaked forward like a shaft of sunlight striking the far wall and chasing away the shadows. There, hanging on the wall was a beautiful lance of purest, burnished silver, still bright despite the dust that had collected upon it. The haft of the lance was intricately shaped to resemble a roaring dragon’s head, the details picked out in the purest gold that seemed to catch and refract the ray of radiance emitted from the shard of light.
A glowing nimbus of blue light hovered before the lance, caught between it and the glowing sword. Slowly, the nimbus began to expand, misty tendrils that reformed themselves to form the spectral image of a beautiful elven woman whose serene features are schooled into a small smile. Dressed in flowing white robes, the woman spread her arms wide in benediction, raising a voice that seemed to chime like pure crystal, “Finally, you have overcome great hardships to release us from the darkness! Come, heroes . . .take up the lance and embrace your destines!” As the last word rang out, the spectral image faded away, as did the light from the shard of light, until within heartbeats, the heroes were caught in dim shadows once more.
No wizards or sorcerers in the group?
Not a one, the Mystic takes the primary spell caster roll, while the Chosen gets clerical powers but never seems to use them. They certainly have not suffered so far, but may in the future. The Mystic has lost his faith in the gods completely and has somewhat turned away from the mystical arts, and the chosen, as I said, just does not use his spells. The Kapak has some 0 level spells, but that is not why she took bard.
As it is, I will not continue into Specter of Sorrows on the WoTC boards because the much respected Cam Banks asked us fans not to delve into the details of the new module. However, once I get off my lazy butt and write out session 9 I will be placing it on this website. Any that wish to continue on the journey with us, feel free to, otherwise please, feel free to ask questions or 'philosophise' on the success of the heroes through the Key of Destiny.