No Idol threat

Mutiny! As the ship sailed out past the reef, Draven felt like weeping. After so much difficulty in arranging the fragile alliance of thri-kreen, dwarves, and humans, the one last thing that was required seemed to be slipping from grasp.

"Damn that statuette," Draven muttered to himself, "Damn and blast it!"

"I can go after them," Teuvdar suggested, "but will they listen to me?"

The vessel's captain held up a hand.

"I'll write a note," he said, "If you can deliver it to my first mate, I'm sure he'll turn back."

After brief wrangling about whether Teuvdar could turn into a dolphin and carry the captain out to the boat, it was decided that the best chance of success would be if Teuvdar flew instead. Turning into a sea-eagle, the druid set off, clutching a quickly penned note from the captain in his claws.

In hope, the group awaited the outcome. As first the druid, and then the ship passed out of sight, something seemed to go out of their hearts, and they wandered off to await developments. Draven and the captain waited at the shore, hoping still to see the sail of the ship reappear on the horizon.

"Why would they betray me?" the captain asked, "I have always treated them fairly... surely they trust me not to accept a job that would put their lives at risk?"

"They would not have turned against you," replied Draven, "if not for that accursed statuette! Ever since we found it, it's been nothing but trouble. I regret that we did not warn you of it, but we had no other way to get it here."

"Yes, well..." muttered the captain, "Perhaps if we recapture the temple, the gratitude of the island barbarians will prove sufficient compensation... and of course, the plunder."

Draven could see the captain's eyes light up at the thought of plunder, and in truth he felt a similar stirring in his dwarven heart. After that, nothing more was said, and the two waited in hope for the ship to come back.

They did not wait in vain. Through Teuvdar's swift flight, and swifter magics, the mutiny was quelled, and the ship returned. As suspected, a foolish misunderstanding, almost certainly caused by the Idol's malign influence, was responsible for the trouble. In normal circumstances, the crew would have trusted in their captain, and not been scared off by the prospect of transporting thri-kreen.

But worse was to come, as the Idol's curse started to work on the members of Redemption, turning them against each other. Shadowfoot's distaste and worry over the inclusion of the thri-kreen in the hasty alliance led to bitter arguments as the ship travelled to pick up the insectoid creatures. Most of Redemption shared Shadowfoot's unease, but the residents of the islands assured them that the tribe of thri-kreen had made and honoured various agreements in the past, and could generally be trusted. Knowing that the mantis men could make the difference between success and disaster, the group decided to take the risk.

When the thri-kreen were picked up, Shadowfoot stayed on board, with bow drawn and an arrow at the ready. Doing his best to be diplomatic, Draven went ashore to speak to the thri-kreen, warning them that an elf was on board, and choosing the path of honesty over attemped deception - as was his usual habit. Luckily, the thri-kreen were not upset at Shadowfoot's presence, once they had been assured he was not from the wild elven tribes of that island.

Shadowfoot, on the other hand, was in a different mood. As the thri-kreen came aboard, he fired an arrow at their feet, meaning to warn them that he was not to be trifled with. Misunderstanding the gesture, and furious with a rage not entirely natural, Draven charged towards the elf, meaning to throw him to the deck and pummel him as necessary. The nimble elf avoided his charge, however, leaping down from the sterncastle, and rolling away as other members of Redemption attempted to pen him in. Eventually, cornered at the prow of the boat, Shadowfoot turned to face the group, with no apparent remorse for his actions.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing!" thundered Draven, somewhat surprised to find his axe in his hand.

"Showing them that they should not mess with me," Shadowfoot replied, unrepentant.

"We're having enough trouble holding this alliance together as it is!" Draven shouted, "And you now decide to make it worse?"

"Now now," Teuvdar interupted, somehow maintaining his composure, "Let cooler heads prevail... we do not need to fight."

"I don't trust them," Shadowfoot said, "I am not happy about this decision to let them on board, when they could turn on us at any moment!"

"And you aim to reduce the chance of them turning on us by shooting arrows at them?!" Draven roared, brushing aside Teuvdar's attempts to calm him, "What the bloody hell kind of stupid idea is that?!"

Losing the ability to speak any further, Draven roared in wordless rage, but still clung to a vestige of honour, and instead of Shadowfoot, it was a deck railing that felt his axe's bite. The rest of the group drew back, shocked, as Draven swung a second blow at the deck. Leaving the weapon wedged in the solid oak, the dwarf turned to Shadowfoot.

"You've done some damn foolish things since we left home, but this... it defies belief. If you make this task harder for us one more time, we'll dump you on an island out here, and..." Draven paused, a look of confusion on his face, and looked down at the axe he had buried in the deck "What am I saying? It... it must be the idol! It's turning us against each other... we must be rid of this accursed thing!"

No-one could disagree, and yet there still stood one last obstacle in the way of freedom from the curse... a temple full of ferocious Sahuagin!

Deals with Devils on the Eve of Battle

An ancient poem from the Druid scrolls of High Oak

Teuvdar studied the face of the young bard carefully. The newest member of their adventuring party, Logan was fresh-faced and excitable. And, like any Bard worthy of their stripes, he loved to tell exciting tales. But this time there was no exaggeration in his words, the fear was real and quite palpable. Even as Logan recounts recent events to the party, Dwarf Cleric Draven and stoic half-orc barbarian, Thokk, nod in agreement with his every word. The Bard may be prone to embellishment, but these other two were not.

Earlier that day, the party had split in two, each tasked with securing allies in the coming fight against the Sahaugin at their island temple. During their recent meeting with the village shaman witch, she suggested that two inhabitants from the island may be willing to help. Logan, Draven and Thokk went into the deep jungle in search of a race of insectoid creatures, while Teuvdar, Shadowfoot and Torrig would seek out the Dwarves of Torrig's home clan.

The Dwarf expedition was successful, but the request came at a high price. His clan would willingly assist them, but Torrig must never return to claim his rightful place as leader of the people. Without hesitation, Torrig agreed to the demand, perhaps because he sensed that without the help of the Dwarves, there was no hope for their mission to succeed. In renouncing his throne, Torrig had made a huge personal sacrifice.

Meanwhile, the second party found the insects, or rather it would be more accurate to say the bugs had found them. Before they knew what had happened, they found themselves surrounded by 6-foot spear-carrying mantid warriors. After considerable confusion and a struggle on the language front, the three were then escorted to the lair of the bugmen for a meeting with their leader.

Somehow, Logan had convinced them to give them an audience. No fools, the creatures demanded that the Bard go before the leader alone, and Thokk and Draven were held back. In what was both a feat of bravery and insanity, Logan climbed to the top of the treehouse and faced the hive leader. He spent the next ten minutes bartering for his life in a conversation that mainly concerned why the insects should not just eat them and be done with it. Much of Logan's gear and gold were handed over to the hive leader in exchange for not becoming their dinner. In the end, a deal was struck. The bugs would help, but it they demanded certain favours in return. Their own island to rule, the meat of the Sahaugin, and half of the treasure collected from the war. A steep price which seemed like a bargain at that moment--anything to get away without being skinned alive. Reluctantly, the hivelord then allowed the three to leave, and declared his warriors would await them on the beachhead on the day of battle.

Hiveleader of the Thri-Kreen

As their friends describe these creatures, Torrig nods in recognition, for his people had a name for them: Thri-Kreen. The revelation hits Teuvdar like a load of bricks. Thri-Kreen...of course! The hunter-harvesters. They were little more than a legend to his people, a boogeyman thing to frighten children. Teuvdar recalls a poem from his childhood, a tale that his brother Tenveren often tormented him with. Legends said in ages past these creatures came out of the deep desert, invading the forests and hills of the Midlands before being driven back. The ancient stories claimed that any and all humanoids were considered a source of food by the Thri-Kreen, and that Sylvan flesh was prized above all. They were alien to most humanoid sensibilities. Tenacious, compelled to hunt and feed with no evidence of compassion or remorse. A formidable ally, if they could be controlled, but a terrifying enemy to those who showed any sign of weakness. And their party had made a deal with them.

A pit formed in Teuvdar's gut, for he felt terrible at allowing his friends to approach the bugs alone without considering the dangers. They had made a tactical mistake that could have ended very badly, and may yet come back to haunt them. Thank the Gods they had not sent Shadowfoot with his tasty Elven flesh to meet with these creatures! (Teuvdar's skin crawls as he remembers his own Elven ancestry, and makes a mental note to wear a hood around the Thri-Kreen!) Had the party come all together as one, and shown strength, the Thri-Kreen may have perceived them differently. Now, Teuvdar was convinced they would be dealing with them from the perspective of inferiority, a deadly vantage point for contending with this race of beings.

They had been making many mistakes as of late, ones they could not afford. As the hour of battle drew close, they found themselves surrounded on all sides by allies that ranged from apathetic, to unwilling, to potentially hostile.

And then there were the true enemies, the Sahaugin, against whose vile cruelty all of the other's actions would pale in comparison...

Run for our lives and Damn you father.

The Gates of Zamora, closed to Redemption for at least one year...
or until we grow strong enough to oust King Ozerick, the Usurper.

I should have known that the plot to eliminate the Yuan Ti temple would end in disaster, as it came from shadowfoots conections with Ma Baker. Oh how a hate to run, my legs will only carry me so fast and am sure that Elf knows this and has us running from trouble so he can laugh at myself and Draven as we lag behind. He must still be smarting because i shot that manticore in the heart from over 300 feet away (with a normal short bow) its not my fault that I am a better with a bow. Anyway we must have looked like a right bunch of Thieves, running for the sewers carrying all those sets of armour, most made of steel, that huge Glaive, a bunch of scimitars and such.

Back in the relative safty of the strong house outside the city Zhed brings us the news that I just knew was coming, we had been spotted and now we are being hunted. We now have to decide to what to do and its is finally decided that we should go south and try and find this Shaman, to tell us what this statue thingy is that we have and nobody bloody wants. The journey downriver is uneventfull until myself and that great lump of an orc Thokk go to pay our respects to Kord. Here we learn that they are moving the temple to Shade as a messanger has said that the weather will be unusually cold this year?

We arrive at the coast in a town whos name i cant recall, and Teuvdar shows us one of his new tricks, how cool it must be to be able to lick your own balls. He turns himself into a dog and goes searching around. Teuvdar comes back all excited but I am not sure if it was because he could lick his balls or that he had found this mysterious crate with some sea creature in it, anyway that Elf goes off and does some sneaking around and finds out it is an evil creature whos race have overtaken the temple of umberlee on one of the islands, by this time I am getting a bit apprehensive and excited as we will be heading in the direction of my Clan. My father always side tracked the issue when i asked him about our homeland and our clan, and mother told me bluntly to shut up and dont ask about it.

So we find passage on board a ship that will take us most of the way to where we need to go, we stop at a couple of islands to trade some goods that Shadowfoot thought might help us get information and grudgingly I must admit that it is working. Now I dont like boats if Kord wanted us to be in the water then he would have given us gills. but this passing between islands was not that bad until one day we hear this huge splash nere the boat, Then I hear Draven shout something like "you could not hit my arse with that rock if i was 10ft away from you, your mother was so ugly that she wanted you to be an ogre or a troll you are not fit to be a tall kin." But it is hard to translate the talk of Giants back into the common tongue, the insult was a grand one and I would have been proud to shout it myself. That seemed to incite the Giant and 3 more of those big ugly beasts started to throw rocks at us.

Stone Giants of the Craggy Rock Isles attempt to sink our transportation by
tossing a few friendly stones. In response, we gave these ugly buggers
a volley of arrows, which (frankly) did not amuse them. Truth be told,
the dwarven insults hurled from the boat probably hurt them
more than the arrows.

"Quick, quick get all those tower shields ready to deflect the rocks" the captain shouts, and Draven,Teuvdar, Thokk and a couple of crewmen react. I string my fine new bow and take aim from a good 600 feet away my arrow flys true and hits one of the Giants, "Grrrrrrr not hurt" he shouts and launches a huge rock in our direction, Splash, missed by 40 feet, another mighty insult from Draven and more rocks come in our direction. "Cant you stop insulting them" wimpers Logan the bard as he takes aim with his xbow missing by 50 feet or more " are you joking " says Draven "I have not had the chance to insult a giant for years this is so much fun" I had to agree. Shadowfoot strings his bow and lets fly an arrow that sails wide of the target, "Ha once again a dwarf is shooting better than you friend Shadowfoot" as another of my arrows finds its mark. "Grrrrrrr still not hurt" shouts the giant " Thats only because you are too stupid to feel the pain, you ugly son of a trolls dinner that my your mother would not even eat" I shout back. Then the rocks start to get close to the boat and Thokk deflects one safely away and Draven does the same, more rocks appear and Draven manages to take it full on the sheild which shatters and the rock ends up in Dravens lap "See you are that bad a shot your mother gave you a slap because you could not hit a boat or a dwarf no matter how stupid you are, and so i can catch your puny rocks who are you anyway a midget" Draven calls as the barage continues, Shadowfoot takes another shot misses again by a long way and unstrings his bow muttering something about saving ammo. The next volly of rocks come our way and Draven is muttering a spell, just as the huge rock is about to hit him full in the chest it suddenly turns to clay and splatters the deck "See you cant hurt me you pathetic piece of crap" Calls Draven. Shadowfoot reacts by pulling this funny looking fan out of his pocket, "what you going to bash them away with that?" Thokk asks "no watch" says the Elf as he activates it and a huge gust of wind takes the boat out of the reach of the giants.

The Shaman Witch's hut, deep in the island jungle...

The Shaman has some troubleing news for us, the statue we hold is bringing unwanted foes against us and tells us we need to retake the temple and place it in a room that faces the sea. She also tells me that my grandfather was the chief of the dwarven clan and that my father had been banished because he was in love with the thief that is my mother. You have a lot of explaining to do next time i see you father no changing the subject this time. We dicide to ask the insectoid creatures and the dwarves for help in retaking the temple. Logan comes close to being eaten by the insects but manages to convince them that we can find them a new home. I travel to my homeland and look upon the great gates for the 1st time, now this is no Foxton or Hammerhome but it is my clan home, i walk up to the gates and introduce myself as a Thunderaxe and the guards look baffled and angry but they go fetch the chief of the clan. He gives me a huge embrace and then asks what i want, some of your finest warriors and clerics to help my ride the temple of umberlee from the evil that lurks there i reply. Well you can take 16 of my men as long as you tell me that you will never again set foot in these moutains. What can i do? damn you father for not telling me of my heritage, my group of friends are relying on me to get help so i grudgingly agree.

It would have been nice to one day come home and challenge for my right to be chief of the clan but I guess that Kord has other things planned for me.

Now wheres that flask of fine dwarven spirits i got from hammerhome ah there you are, "i am going to spend some time with myself and any of you try to follow me or talk to me and you will feel the sharpness of my axe"

Flight from Zamora

I. Marshal the City Guard!

All over the Great Crossroads, on every street and in every tavern, rumours were brewing of trouble in the city, and the appearance of reward posters only confirmed what many already suspected. The King's guard was in a lockdown mode, searching buildings all over town, and interrogating people left and right.

Just yesterday, the King had announced that a treacherous attack had been committed on one of the city's temples, and that many innocent members of the congregation had been murdered. The perpetrators were still at large, and known to be armed and dangerous. During the investigations, the King further revealed, it had been discovered that dozens of townsfolk had gone missing in the days prior to the incident, almost certainly the work of these diabolical criminals. Fear was creeping into the minds of the townsfolk, and many had taken to hiding out in their homes until the troubles blew over.

But the King soothed their fears, assuring them that matters were well in hand, for one of the victims had survived the attack and had identified the attackers: Six men, known by many in the region as Redemption...

A Yuan-ti warrior on the prowl...

II. A Clandestine Farewell

Just a few miles from Zamora, the hunted party and their Guildmaster, Zhed, sit in quiet conversation in a corner of a local safehouse pub. The Nightwatch leader appears weary and a bit aggravated.

"When I heard about the attack, I suspected Ma Baker was involved. Her grudge with the snake cult is well known. I did not expect to find you in the middle of this," a smile appears at the corner of his lips, "but I am pleasantly surprised to discover you survived. The Yuan-ti are not something to tamper with at your young age...you are quite lucky to be alive. While I admire your bravery, it will come at a cost. A reward has been posted for your capture, and the city militia pursues you."

"You must leave the area immediately, and not return to Zamora for some time...I cannot say how long...perhaps a few months, perhaps a year. The King has some personal connection to this cult you have insulted, and he is the type to hold a grudge. And, my spies report that Yuan-ti agents are even now expanding their search beyond the borders of the city. You must flee, and there is no time to waste."

He unrolls the crude map and motions in several directions.

"You could go North to High Oak, but Ozrick knows there are elves among you and may suspect you will head that direction. He will not expect you to take the road south. It is less well known, and more lawless. There are a few settlements of note in that direction, and I should be able to contact if need be. I will send news when I can. Until then, stay clear of Zamora."

With that, he grabs his pack and weapons, then stands to depart, turning once more to deliver a final warning, "Be on your guard in the Southlands. There are pockets of civilisation, but much of the region is primitive and shrouded in mystery and superstition. Pockets of Shadowlands are known to be soutwest of Timora. And, if you hit the coast, you are at the edges of the world...go any further and I cannot help you."

From a dusty scroll in the library of Zamorra

The dwarven order of the Sunsworn is not unlike those of the legendary Paladins of old. Like them, the Sunsworn warrior-priests work to do good for their race, and indeed all the civilised races. And also like them, the Sunsworn are ecouraged to turn their backs on comfort and monetary rewards, focusing instead on what can be done for others. The Sunsworn priests leave behind the underworld where most dwarves live, and venture out into the world above, doing such deeds as are required.

Philosophy

The Sunsworn see the rightful place of the dwarves as being underground, but know that there are some evils that lurk in the land above. They believe that by placing themselves in the way of such evils, they preserve the dwarven way of life for those that they have left behind, even though they can no longer enjoy that way of life themselves. This kind of self-sacrifice is rare in all races, but more understandable in dwarves, as they tend to have a stronger sense of community than humans.

Choosing

Most of the Sunsworn priests come to the order from the clergy of Moradin, Him being the most martially inclined of the dwarven gods. The rest come from mixed sources - some may never have been in any other clergy before joining. The choice to join the Sunsworn is not made by divine inspiration in most cases, simply by realising the desire to do good, and the need to do so in the surface world where dwarves do not by nature belong.

Training

All Sunsworn priests learn to use the various weapons favoured by the dwarven race, and most are comfortable in heavy armour. They often find the laws of Zamorra quite difficult to work with, given the ancient prohibitions against such equipment. They are also often taught the languages of various surface dwelling tribal monsters, such as goblins or orcs. The main focus of their training, however, is on the priestly arts of healing and battle-magic.

Rites

Upon joining the order, the initiate undergoes two days and two nights of fasting, to focus the mind. Fasting is not uncommon in religious orders, but the dwarven fast tends to be longer than most (c.f. Waukeem's initiation ritual, and that of the priests of the Trinity, both of which last one night). This can be ascribed to the fact that dwarves like few things better than showing how hardy they are, and often try to go one step further just to prove that they can. At the dawn of the third day, the initiate leaves the temple of the Sunsworn, and steps into the light of the rising sun, and speaks the following prayer.

"Forgive me, my ancestors, for turning my back on you.
I do as I must.
No longer will I dwell in your hallowed halls.
The deep darkness shall not comfort me, nor the silence sooth my heart.
Into the light of the Sun I step, to face what evils may be found.
Harsh and unforgiving...
The Sun shines on us all!"

Many of the Sunsworn never return to the caves of their people again, except in death, to be buried there. Others view their exile as more of a practical matter, and if evil arises beneath the ground, then they will return there to fight it.

The Sunsworn make their daily prayers at midday, with head bowed but uncovered. On cloudy days, the ritual must still be performed, though it is considered a bad omen if there is not at least a glimpse of the sun.

In the writings of the Sunsworn, the word "sun" always has a capital S, being treated linguistically as the name of a god, even though they do not worship it as such. This has caused some confusion among scholars, some writers believing that the Sun was their god. For this reason, many have assumed that the Sunsworn are always allied with the priests of Lathander. The truth is, the Sunsworn may be allied with the priests of any of the goodly gods, as and when such alliances suit their purpose.

Relationships with other dwarves

Most dwarven institutions recognise the usefulness of the Sunsworn order, and will work with them when their goals coincide. However, dwarven society is very internally cohesive, and views with great suspicion a group that is devoted to leaving their homes, no matter how good the goal or purpose. Since they rarely return to dwarven society to raise children, they are seen in some ways to be running away from their responsibilities. The most extreme anti-Sunsworn views see them as childish, in a sense - abandoning their duty to future generations to chase around the world having adventures and seeking glory. An obscure song, "Mama's don't let your babies grow up to be Sunsworn", about a dwarven woman losing her only son to the Sunsworn order illustrates the sense of bewildered pride combined with loss that the Sunsworn inspire in those they leave behind.

Calm Before the Storm

A shadow moves through the catacombs of Zamora

Teuvdar feels the sharp edge of his new scimitar with satisfaction, then looks over to his friend Torrig sheepishly. "I thank you, Master Dwarf. Now the blade might actually manage to cut an adversary."

Putting away his sharpening tools, the dwarf grumbles slightly under his breath, then looks up at the Druid. "Hrrmmph...You should have come to me to begin with to have a weapon crafted. What do you know about working with steel, eh? Nothing, I venture. Lucky you didn't completely ruin the blade with that pitiable attempt at sharpening! Why would ya want to muck up a beautiful masterwork weapon like that, after you had paid all that money to have it made? For that matter, why do you need a silver weapon anyway? Expecting werewolves?"

With his last sentence, Torrig looks around and into the dim woods beyond the village, then eyes the Druid's new wolf companion suspiciously. Zephyr remains motionless, seemingly asleep. Closer examination, however, would reveal one eye slightly open and watching every move of her humanoid companions.

"No werewolves," Teuvdar laughs,"at least not the I am aware of." He holds the blade up, pointing at the moon. "It is a custom of my people that when the time comes, we must bless a silver blade under the light of the New Moon. The weapon may be crafted by another, but the initial rites of consecration must be done by none other the the wielder. This is more than a weapon, Master Dwarf. It will become a part of me. It is also representative of our order--the tasting of life and death each in turn. For this same blade that severs the regenerating mistletoe and tastes the sap of the Alder can and will draw the life blood from living creatures. For that is what it is to be a servant of nature, always riding the razor's edge."

"But why silver?" asks Thokk, who had been sitting to the side in silence up until now. The half-orc barbarian , normally someone of few words, suddenly appeared interested in the conversation.

"Ah, yes...well, the choice of the material is tied to age-old rituals and tradition, designed to bolster the defences of the world against dangers that other faiths have all but forgotten. It is a symbol of purity. And, in my family, silversheen has always been an integral part of our weapons. The reason is beyond my knowledge, for that tale is older than the ancient forests. Perhaps in some distant age, my ancestors did indeed meet shapeshifters with silver in hand. In time, I may come to understand it better. You see, my weapon is not yet complete. There is much to do, but for the next stage I will need the help of an Elder. With their guidance, I will be able to draw power from the cycles of the seasons. At the next solstice, if the rites are performed correctly, the weapon will grow more magical. It will be tied to the ebb and flow of the moon. Approaching a New Moon, it will gain in power, and with each waning, it returns to normal. Just as it draws strength from luna, it will also transfer that potency to my earthly magicks. I have seen such weapons in the arsenals of Elder Druids. They are both beautiful and deadly to behold."

Torrig looks profoundly unhappy, "Well, it sounds like a bunch of Druid nonsense to me, but I'll take any advantage we can get.' he gestures towards Zamora," If that snake cult doesn't spell the end of us, then these premonitions we've all been having are next in line. I say bring 'em on and let's be done with it! I prefer a straight fight to all this sneakin' and waitin'. Ahhh....but tonight, I'm tired. Wake me if Shadowfoot or Draven return."

With a yawn and a stretch, the Dwarf stalks off towards the nearby inn, leaving Druid and Barbarian to ponder their situation. It had been over a week since Shadowfoot had gone undercover, in search of information about about the mysterious serpent sect that had sprung up in the city. No news had come from him so far, and everyone was starting to wonder if he had met an ill fate. And meanwhile, their Cleric had become more and more concerned with the recent visions they all shared. Signs and portents were everywhere, and Draven spent large amounts of time consulting his fellow priests of Moradin in an effort to decode the meanings.

A series of events had been set in motion, and it was unclear where they were being led. What was certain was that they were no longer entirely in control...

Battle in the Skies

The Manticore swings about, a bit unsteady from one too many wounds. He growls in rage, slashing claws flailing about to strike at the approaching Hippogriff. His attack misses, instead passing through a harmless cloud of vapour as the horse-bird disappears into thin air. The summoned animal cannot help them any longer, he thinks. It’s time had come to an end.

The presence of the Hippogriff had been unexpected, and had nearly cost the Manticore the battle. The Druid will be the first to die the next time, I will make certain of it. I will rip his flesh, and those of his friends. I will feed on their bodies for days to come. I will chew on the guts of the Dwarves, and tear the arms from the Orc-man. And the Elf…the Elf I will keep alive as long as possible to relish the delicious and savoury Sylvan blood. Then, I will slaughter the people of Bingley who dared send these interlopers to hunt me.

But first he must escape, to lick his wounds and regrow his tail spikes, the same ones that would pierce the hearts of these foul man-things. He swings about, aiming to slip through the narrow gorge and make his way to safety. He glances at the adventurers, cheering and shouting from the edge of the cliff. Enjoy your brief moment, you pathetic worms. I will be back, and I will strike at you from the darkness of night. Your bodies will be picked from the cliff face, and dashed to the rocks below. He marvels at the arrogance of the man-things, who seem to be dancing in victory. Their celebrations are premature at best, for this beast is not dead yet.

Abruptly, the Manticore is slammed from above by something massive—another Hippogriff! The meddling Druid had called another one! He spins out of control, barely maintaining his flight as the horse-bird veers away. Blood flows freely from a deep wound on his back. Fear and alarm enter the mind of the Manticore, for he is now the hunted. He must escape to fight another day. His only hope is to outrun the winged adversary, for the man-things could not follow him and this summoned helper cannot last long. With a final resolve, he spreads his wings and heads for the open sky. In moments he would be clear of the gorge and away from the scene. I will come back and kill all of you...

On the cliff edge below, Torrig pulls back his bowstring, grimacing as he stretches the weapon to it's limit. At this range, a hit would be a miracle. The arrow launches through the sky and high into the air, sailing across the void towards his chosen target. Like a death knell straight from the heavens, the projectile pierces the heart of the Manticore! The scourge of the forest gives one final howl of pain and defeat, then falls in a tailspin to the valley floor below.

Sleeper awakes

An inky and impenetrable darkness begins to fade, the light of the outside world streams in to ignite the fire behind a pair of golden coloured eyes. The cold subsides, bringing a tingling sensation to the body and awakening muscles that have lain dormant for many years. The sound of cracking crystal and smashing glass carries through the frozen air to ears that have waited ever patient for the tiniest sound. The taste of bile in the mouth and the smell of fear are reminders of what has gone before. Change has come to the world again.

I have listened for hundreds of years. Waited for the time when I can be free, a time when I can bring all of them back. Someone has broken my prison and now I can see. The darkness lifts and a new age will begin. The hammer has been found and the land must be ready for another war, for I am certain they have not finished with their petty disagreements yet.

What is my farther up to?

During my time in HammerHome, the magnificent city of the finest race in the Heartlands, I have heard some mutterings about my farther from Stonefist the councilman, whose parents happen to know my parents and have spent time together recently. I knew my farther was a trader but just what kind of trader is he? I always thought that mother was the shady one, with her nimble hands and quick mind she would relieve unsuspecting people of their possessions, go off into the night and come home with some shinny gem or some coins before morning.

But what is my farther up to? Did he sell his long spear to the shady character I bought the stolen throwing axes off? or was it stolen? then there was the note I recieved from the bard that is now traveling with us, who's name I don't recall, umm did he tell us his name? anyway the note was a commission to make a magical long spear with cold and holy enchantments on it. This would be a very powerful weapon indeed--no wonder he just gave me the family Dwarven War Axe when i left for the ritual of aging, he had a new magical spear to weild, I wonder if mother knows about it? and how did he pay for it that spear would have cost more money than a normal trader could afford in two lifetimes. Once we are done with this flying beast and are back in Zamora, I think I need to ask Zhed and maybe some others just what they might know about my farther.

As too my time in Hammerhome we went out to see the parents of stonefist to talk about there time together with our parents/grandparents on the journey from the slave wagon. When we got to the house it was in flames and there 2 dwarves were dead outside the main doors, as we approached a hideous beast emerged from the building smiling and laughing at us. We attacked it but seem to be partly immune to our attacks and every time a weapon hit it, the weapon would hiss with acid damage. Stonefist went down after a barage of blows and we all thought he was a gonner but the trusty Draven cast a healing spell on him to stabilize him. We all fought valiantly but it just kept laughing at us, when Thokk did get his big axe out which was way too late for my liking what was he he doing trying to hit the beast with a torch for? anyway after a couple of mighty blows from Thokk and some more superficial ones from the rest of us the beast was staggering and just as we were about to kill the bugger it vanished PUFF just like that.

Shadowfoot went into the building to look for survivors (yeh right) ...anyway he came flying out of a first story window with a flower vase in one hand and some documents in the other, the fall almost killed him. Draven to the rescue again.

We took the bodies of the dwarves back to Hammerhome where Stonefist was revived and the other 2 dwarves were given an emotional funeral. We all decided to chip in and buy Thokk a nice new magical axe, he kept on talking about those damn cursed swords everytime there was a combat, so we had to change his mind.

We eventually left the wonderful city of the dwarves on a boat heading down river to somewhere near Bingly. During one of the frequent stops we picked up a person who looked human but had glowing gold eyes. He was armed to the teeth with armour and weapons that just appeared on his person when trouble reared it head. Before this we passed what looked like a giant with blueish skin as we sailed down stream I shouted to him but got no reply, anyway when this so called troubled appeared the strange human started casting spells, and jumped over board but there was no splash? Shadowfoot the very flighty elf hopped over after him tied to a rope, and he says he met this blue giant who turned out to be some sort of god. Then he said the new age was upon us.

We get to Bingly, go to the tower and pay our rspects to the dead dwarves and low and behold the portal is working again? lots of guards this time. For some reason i have this feeling i will be going through that portal one day. After this we head up the trail to try and kill this evil Manticore, it attacks at night and its tail barbs are very damaging, we did manage to get a few arrows and bolts into it but it flew of like a coward to lick its wounds, we will have to come up with some foolish plan to either track it or bring it out of the sky, I am sure Shadowfoot will have some hairbrained plan that just might possibly work.

Once this is done we are heading to Zamora where I plan to fnd out about more of my farther.

Silver Moon

Hazelclaw the Owl

In the bright glow of the full moon, Teuvdar unwraps a scimitar of silver. It shines as it reflects the radiant white light. The Druid smiles briefly, appreciating the craftsmanship, then remembers both what he had paid to get it and the source of the masterwork weapon. His smile disappears.

Shivers run down his spine as he thinks of the strange smithy. There was little doubt that he was a Returned, and the Druid could not help but wonder at the dark paths the man had seen and traveled. Seeing one who has returned from the shadows always causes a sense of unease. And yet, he had created the weapon exactly as Teuvdar requested: solid silver, unsharpened, with no inscriptions, and no binding on the hilt. These things the Druid must handle on his own, in the light of the next lunar phase, an ancient rite that all forest wardens observed. Once done, he would have a suitable weapon with which not only to defend himself, but also to harvest optimal spell components.

He sighs to himself, remembering again how much it had cost to purchase the blade. A few coppers were all that remained in his bag, not even enough to pay a town entry tariff. Fortunately Hammerhome had hailed them as heroes on return from their recent adventures, which opened many gates that had previously been closed. The giant hammer they had returned to the Dwarf city now sat safely guarded in Temple, a relic of the titan age that had been considered lost to antiquity. If not for the daring (and foolish) determination of Shadowfoot to tamper with things, the hammer would still be lost. Teuvdar was more convinced than ever that his friend would get them all killed sooner or later, yet could not deny their stock had gone up since their adventuring days began. Was that a Bard song he could hear from the city? Tales of redemption and glory to the sounds of a lute, no doubt.

Setting aside the blade, Teuvdar turns to his pack and withdraws piles of assorted junk. Collected on their many travels thus far, he's certain that he can make some use from these materials if given time to experiment. Herbs, berries, thorns, leaves, bone, claws and stone could all be combined to craft infusions, powerful focus items and even weapons, but he had much to learn. A trip home to High Oak was tempting, for he knew of Druids there who could teach him. But returning home so soon would be frowned upon, especially by Tenveren. He could imagine the glowering face of his older brother scowling upon his return after only a few weeks. No, there was no going home until he had uncovered his chosen path, whether by his choice or not.

Unfortunately, the dwarf lands had proven relatively devoid of other Druids, though ranger types were about. The mountains were overrun with dwarfs, armed with pickaxes and shovels, their hearts greedy for the spoils of the earth. These were the desires that had brought them face to face with the planar beast known as a Ravid, along with his animated mud men. For weeks, the mud men had plagued the iron fields stealing supplies and booting dwarves about, until the heroes (he liked the sound of that) had arrived to sort it out. The Ravid, though hardly charitable, really seemed to mean no harm. It simply wanted to return to it's plane of existence, it's home. And it had succeeded, almost taking all of them with it!


Monstrous and odd, the mud men nonetheless represented a sort of fascination for Teuvdar. The Ravid had animated them from the earth itself, held together with bits of wood and metal. What power the creature must have been capable of! He wished there had been time to learn more about the beast and from where it drew it's strength. Elder Druids of Teuvdar's land were said to have such abilities, capable of harnessing elementals to do their bidding. This was a power that he was eager to develop himself. All in due time.

But first, there were other duties to attend to, not the least of which was finding another animal companion. For such a small creature, Hazelclaw had fought valiantly, and come close to death on many occasions in their fights. Teuvdar could not ask it to take these risks again, particularly now when their party was considering much larger (and more dangerous) prey. No, Hazelclaw must go free and another more robust companion must be found. The owl had refused at first, but eventually accepted his order, along with his heartfelt thanks.

Against the moon, Teuvdar imagined he could see the faint outline of the bird. No doubt Hazelclaw had already spotted with his keen yellow eyes another fresh young Druid who needs a companion, and moved to descend upon them.

Incoherent ramblings of a slightly drunken Thokk

Our adventures huh? Don’t remember much of the early adventures, might have hit my head too often. You guys should build bigger doorways. Where’s my beer?

We were at this gnome tower. Got attacked by ants. Giant ants. I don’t know what they fed them. Dangerous too. Hard to hit and one was poisonous. At the top of the tower I smashed a diamond with my greataxe…lost something precious that day…damn I miss that weapon. This one’s better though. Why’d I smash a diamond? There was a door opening, and we can’t have doors opening (inn door opens, Thokk puts his hand on his axe).

Yeah I had one that got away. It was this big (gestures with hands). Where’s my beer? ‘It’s in your hand, Thokk’ Right, so I went up to one…two of them. The big one started to move, so I whacked it. Then the little one tried to get away. I chased it, but then I couldn’t see it any more. (mutter, mutter) stupid shaman. So anyway once we were fighting goblins, and this bugbear… why are they called bugbears? They’re not bugs...this bugbear looks around and sees this guy with no armour and no weapons. So he moves up to hit him. Meanwhile I’ve circled round and whacked it in the side with my bastard sword. Then Breyen finishes it off with his bare hands. Best fight we ever had. Did I tell you about his cat? He had an invisible cat, not that we ever saw much of it. (trails off to incoherent ramblings…)

From the Holy Book of Moradin

(a scholarly note at the start of the scroll mentions several conflicts between this dwarven creation myth, and the teachings of the human priests in the libraries at Zamorra)

-1-

In the beginning was Ao, known to Dwarves also as the Lonely God. Who can understand the effects of the solitude and silence that must have afflicted Ao, alone since time began? In need of company, Ao conceived of new creatures to share the multiverse with him. And thus the gods were made, as Ao divided His essence among them. Gods in great number, and of many aspects.

But none were content to remain children of Ao, they demanded realms of their own, and for this they would need something as far beneath them as they were beneath their Creator. They met and schemed, and laid plans to create a world and people it. But since no two could agree on how the world would be, or who would people it, they acheived nothing.

Only the dwarven gods stood apart from their squabbles and plotting, being too wise for that kind of foolishness. They watched, and waited, and kept their own counsels, in unity of purpose then as they are now. Thus did our gods give us the first great lesson - unity is strength, and woe to the Dwarf that forgets it.

The other gods learned nothing from our gods, and argued for so long that Ao himself could take their babbling no longer. Seeing that the Dwarven gods stood aside from the conflict, Ao came to Moradin, in his holy forge.

"Why, Moradin, do you not join your brothers in their bickering, why do you instead toil in solitary labour?" He said.

"I am not alone, my Father," Moradin replied, "My family are all around me. And I do not bicker with the rest of the gods, for I have the solution to their problem, and I will show them when they have run out of breath."

And Ao looked into Moradin's forge, and Ao saw what Moradin and made, and Ao smiled.

-2-

With their power spread wide and far, the many gods could not create a world, so they followed their Father's example and sacrificed of their essence to give life to something new. They created nine titans, creatures more powerful than them, who would do the true work of creating a world. The heavens were split asunder, letting the sky flow in. The sea was dug out, and the rocks piled up in rough mountains. Great hammers beat at the ground, shaping rudimentary rivers and lakes. An abundance of life was spilled forth from the Titan who came to be known as the Earth Mother, covering the land with green.

The gods were pleased with what they beheld, as they watched the labours of the Titans, and they made peoples of their own to live on the new land. But when Moradin saw the Titans at work, He wept.

"My brethren," Moradin said "What have you done?"

"What is wrong?" asked one of the other gods.

"These Titans will bring you no end of grief," Moradin replied, "But even gods must face the results of their actions."

And thus Moradin taught us the second great lesson - none can avoid the consequence of their actions. Alas, its import was lost on the gods of the orcs and the goblins, who cackled and laughed at Moradin. With great anger he stood before them, and as cowardly as the creatures they had made, they became silent.

"Behold," Moradin said, "Here is what I would have brought to you, when you were ready."

-3-

Moradin opened a sack and sprinkled the land with Dwarves. The rough shapes of the Titans' work was smoothed out as the Dwarven mastercrafters went to work, bringing order to the haphazard work of the Titans.

Where the seas met the land, the Dwarves carved cliffs and promontories, and with the dust and rubble they laid out gleaming beaches.

Where the footprints of the Titans had fallen, the Dwarves made gentle valleys to shelter the new made peoples from the howling winds.

Where water puddled inland, the Dwarves dug rivers and streams, to let it flow to the sea in an orderly fashion, and to bring water to farms and plants.

Lastly, the Dwarves turned to the broken piles of rock thrown up when the seas were dug. These were chiselled into proper mountains, while the gathered gods looked on. The elven gods, like their minions, prefered the greener areas of the world, but even they were forced to acknowledge the beauty of the mountains the Dwarves made.

Moradin looked at the work of the Dwarves and was pleased, and blessed us.

"These mountains are yours now," Moradin said, "For you have worked well this day, and it is right that you should have a reward."

And thus we were given the third great lesson - all labour will be rewarded. And to this day, we Dwarves continue to labour, building, forging, and crafting, as is our purpose.

-4-

In jealousy of our work, the Titans grew angry, and in pride they refused to give up the world they had laboured to create. Though our gods had taken no part in the creation of the Titans, they joined in the eventual war against them.

Through aeons as we measure time, the gods and the Titans struggled, and great was the damage done to the world. The Titans and the gods were of such a close match
that no side could gain a final victory.

We Dwarves watched from our mountains as the great war went on, safe from the chaos that was unleashed, and the other peoples of the world took refuge in such safe places as they could find. It was during this time that the Giants first warred upon us, wanting our mountains for their own hiding place. That enmity persists to this very day.

The gods' victory was eventually acheived through treachery - unwilling to see the destruction of her children go on any more, the Earth Mother turned against the other Titans. With her aid, the gods were finally able to defeat and imprison the Titans. Deep beneath the earth they were chained, and still the Earth Mother holds them.

But we must continue to be wary, even as we Dwarves continue our work. The Titans are not dead, only gone, and if the Earth Mother ever fails, they may be released once more.

From Draven's Journal

For some reason, the lands around that cesspool of a town Zamorra seem filled with weapons and artifacts of the cursed, evil, and just plain foul variety! Is it merely my sheltered upbringing? Or is it the teachings of Moradin that cause me to take offense where many turn a blind eye? First the corrupt bastard swords - oh how appropriate that name now seems... then the life draining axe wielded by the goblin chief, and the pit of slime that changed him so. That a wretched goblin would turn to such foul magic to make up for his weakness and stupidity, is not so surprising, I suppose. But what madness came over the gnomes to craft those bastard swords, I may never know...

But as Moradin gives me strength, I will fix their mistake. Shadowfoot and Thokk must be released from the curse that has bound them, although as yet Thokk's blade has shown no need to drink the blood of the fallen. Instead, his peculiar obsession with breaking weapons instead of killing his enemies. Fair enough when fighting an honourable foe, perhaps, but I'd rather face an armed goblin than one that's trying to get up close and personal with me! His curse can wait, I think, as he has not turned to dark gods, but Shadowfoot must be persuaded to end this madness. Or forced.

I should have taken the blade from him as he lay passed out, after the first time I saw it feed on the blood of a fallen goblin. Instead I waited, and when my prayers revealed no evil I dropped my guard. Drinking blood is no more evil than spilling it, I suppose... but worshipping Malar... this must stop.

-starts fresh page-
Many a long year I've known you, and I call you friend. Because of that I cannot let you turn to evil ways. Making sacrifices to a god like Malar cannot lead to anything but evil, and I must make you see this. I regret forcibly confining you like this, but I feel I have no choice because of the magical compulsion that has been laid upon you. I also feel guilty that I stood by and let you take up that accursed blade in the first place, so I will do what I can to right that wrong.

There are many gods both good and evil, we all know this, and it is well to avoid offending any of them. But devoting any kind of ritual to any one of them is dangerous indeed, especially to one so wild and depraved as Malar. Not for nothing is this animal god known as the Ravener - it's favour is as likely to be fatal as it is helpful. And that's when you actually do worship it, rather than pretending to as you do now, or so I hope at least. If you have in fact decided to worship this foul god, then can only hope that this too is a result of the curse under which you labour, and that it shall pass when we have destroyed the blade.

For destroy it we must. Thokk's too, though he will no doubt be harder to wrestle into submission than you. On the other hand, I doubt he'll be picking the locks or wriggling free of any ropes we tie around him. But I ramble...

I'm sorry, my friend, but I do what I feel I must, as do we all. I can only hope that if a similar madness ever befalls me, you will act to prevent it.

-starts fresh page-
And now I must persuade the rest of my friends that we should ambush Shadowfoot, and take the cursed blade from him. I wonder how well that will go... If we confine him with the note I have just written, and manage to find a way to dispose of the sword, perhaps then he will be freed. If it works, then we try the same plan on Thokk, if not, I will have to ask the priests at Hammerhome for assistance.

Thoughts of a troubled Dwarf

As i sit here in a tavern drinking fine Dwarven ale, my mind wanders back to resent happenings. Firstly there was the coming of age ceremony. The dwarf Zhed running the ceremony seemed rather troubled by some of the young people he was to initiate. When it was our time to stand before him things started to happen very fast, humans changing into shadow shapes and attacked the crowd, this sent shivers down my spine. The stange fungi creature we encountered after falling through the stage, brought all the training my father had given me to life, the axe i was given found its mark with ease, and the secret training i recieved from my mother in how to find unusual things like traps and secret places with hidden treasure became usfull too.

Then there was the Gnomish tower, the absolute evil that was used to destroy the Gnomes troubled me greatly, the sickening sights i saw of the slaughtered Gnomes made my blood boil and vengence was on my mind, this vengance was granted but at the cost of destroying the great portal that my friends the Gnomes had built, some of my friends thought this was for the good of all but i am not so sure. The dream i had a few days after haunts me still, the evil i felt inside had subsided but the dream was truely dreadfull.

In Bingly the dwarves i met in the tavern were looking at me strangly for not following in the rituals of Moradin, although i hope i have shortened the rift between us with some carefully placed marked arrows they gave me to slay the goblins. The woman who's husband had been captured by the goblins was obviously versed in the use of weapons but some of my group did not realize this, i suppose you have to use a weapon to spot these things.

Then there is the group i travel with to think about, we were raised in the same place, our parents new each other and wanted us to be friends and take the coming of age ceremony together, but do i truely know these people i am not so sure. Draven being dwarven i am close to in some ways, but his desire not to plunder the spoils of battle and adventure annoy me somewhat, but his skill with his axe, and his prayers of healing have become very usefull to us all. Then there is Thokk the half bread as a child i did not like him much, but his speed and stealth have proved usefull and his strength and courage in battle have surely save at least one us from dieing i now fell regrete for not likeing him as he is a true warrior. Breyen being human is still young and his desire to fight with his hands seems somewhat odd to a dwarf like me, give me a stout axe i can swing and i am happy, but to go into combat with bare hands that is surely death waiting to happen. But saying that i have witnessed him deliver some mighty blows with his bare hands, i my not have been able to deliver with my axe, he may yet become usefull although he suffers from blows in battle more than the rest. Teuvdar another half breed is a very usefull compainion his trusty owl gives us all added chances in battle as it destracts the foe, his spells are also usefull but his desire to be amongest the trees and not undergound is alien to me. Then finally the flightly Elf Shadowfoot his skills in steath supass mine and i feel a little envy in this regard, he is good with his bow but a little week in hand to hand combat, the sight of him trying to weild that cumbersome sword with two hands is funny to see, although when he did use it one handed he had some success.

So we come to the ambush and mines our last great adventure, oh how i hate goblins and love to kill them but some of these goblins were deformed and had strength greater than most goblins, they oozed puss, bleed for longer than was natural, inflicted acid like wounds with their touch, goblins should be easier to kill than these were although they did not count on the mighty Thokk and the courage of us all.

Teuvdar made the plant growth around the cave to come to life and entangle some of the goblins, which made it easier for us to kill the ones who could fight, how the lust of battle grabs you and gives you inner strength, we took many wounds but slew 45 goblins and one huge bugbear as well, i scalped them all for the bounty i knew i could collect in foxton. But the evil in the cave almost killed me, that pool of green slim radiated evil and nearly overpowered me but my will was strong and i survived as did we all to tell the tale to the priests of Moradin in Foxton.

So now i sit amongsts Dwarfs drinking there fine ale and wonder what we are to do next, will Zhed send word of another errend he wants us to do? will the Dwarves have some news? what i do know is this, i am hungry for adventure and the treasure that comes with it, the group i travel with all have proven themselves to be sturdy, good company and resourcefull so i raise my flagon in silence too Kord.

Another one of your finest ales please barman.

"The Mines of Ichor"

Part 1: In the town of Bingley

We join our party as they enter a tavern in the town of Bingley, having just traveled from the Gnome tower. Immediately on entering, they are aware of some sort of commotion. A hysterical woman is wailing to the patrons of the bar, begging them to help her. It seems her husband was captured by goblins while traveling on the road from their home city. She managed to escape, and made her way to Bingley. Sadly, her pleas are falling on deaf ears in the bar. Even the local soldiers cannot be bothered to look up from their drinks. Our adventurers fan out around the room, some of them approaching the woman and attempting to calm her down, while others move to various circles in an effort to gather information.

Breyen manages to calm her down a bit, the party learns that the woman's name is Ling Talresh, and she comes from rather wealthy stock. She offers a string of pearls to the party, the only valuable she has left, in exchange for their assistance. In between hysterics, it is further learned that the ambush occurred on the road between Bingley and Foxton, about 2 weeks ago. As far as she knows, the husband was taken alive, along with several of their guardsmen.

Meanwhile, the shorter members of the party locate their fellow Dwarves and make enquiries of a different kind. The party's reward and loot, acquired in relation to the Tower incident, needs to be exchanged for proper currency. Bingley is too small to accomodate this need, but it seems that the Dwarvish city of Foxton has banking facilities that can exchange gold bars. Foxton is also known for being a city that deals in another unusual commodity: scalps! Bounties are paid for scalps of all kinds of creatures. The more dangerous the creature, the greater the reward.

Fortunately for Ling, no reward is necessary to attract Dwarves to hunt goblins. The decision is made to assist her, and the party makes plans to leave in the morning.

Part 2: Ambush on the Path

Early the next day, our heroes suit up and prepare for the rescue operation. The plan is to have Ling drive the cart along the road, with some of the group on horseback along each side, while the remainder ride in the back concealed under blankets. Ling is determined to go along, and her request is honored. She is armed with armor and weapons from the loot stash, but warned to be careful. Little do they know, she is well trained in combat and will prove to be an asset before the day is through.

They depart early, and drive for quite some time. The road is silent. Too silent. Suddenly, a wicked goblin squeal echoes from the roadside. A tiny goblin runt calls out from the side of the road, shouting to his hidden companions. Without delay, Hazelclaw the owl launches herself from Teuvdar's shoulder and gives chase to the creature. Horrified, the goblin races away into the wilderness, the owl hot on his trail. Believing an attack is imminent, Draven leaps out from under the covers and announces his readiness for battle! He feels rather silly for a moment, however, since nothing seems to be happening. But they know it is coming.

The silence is broken by the sound of arrows whizzing past, and the clank and clamor of goblin armor as they emerge from their roadside hiding spot. And with that, twenty goblins race towards the party! They are large and small, and it is clear that many of these goblins are not 'normal'. Some appear grotesquely deformed, their limbs out of proportion and strangely shaped. The largest goblin is fierce indeed, with a single massive arm that wields an equally enormous mace-like weapon. Thokk faces off against him and is nearly bested, but manages to bring him down. Meanwhile, Shadowfoot wields his newly acquired magical blade, which seems to sing to him in satisfaction each time he takes a life. Teuvdar notes with both approval and concern the way the blade behaves. Even Ling gets into the action, her lust for revenge most apparent with each sweep of her sword. In the end, the ambushing goblins fall, and not a single one survives the onslaught. Torrig takes great pleasure in collecting the scalps, and also fulfills an unspoken favor for the dwarves he met in Bingley.

Silence returns to the road, broken only by the soft whisper of bird's wings as Hazelclaw returns to the scene. Teuvdar senses that the bird failed to get her prey, and warns his friends of the escapee. In the distance, the sound of howling goblins can be heard, revealing their nearby camp. The adventurers stow the wagon well off the path, camouflaging it carefully. There is some discussion of Ling's further participation, but it is short lived. And with that, they head into the woods to finish the job they started...

Forest Recovery

In the shadowy light of the evening sun, Teuvdar sits quietly at the edge of the forest. In the distance, he can see the edge of the enormous tower, site of recent adventuring by his party. From this distance, he spies movement on the ground outside the tower, and imagines it’s his Dwarvish companions, stacking gear and loot on the back of the cart. The protesting huffs of Torrig’s mule can be heard even here. Teuvdar smiles to himself, the first time in a week that he has done so, for his thoughts have been much troubled since emerging from the darkness of the keep.

The mood around camp had grown lighter in the last few days, particularly since the memories of what they had seen in the tower were beginning to fade. It would take some time for them to recede completely, and they would never be forgotten altogether. They had buried the bodies of some 40 gnomes, all of them found murdered in the tower. No one was spared, not even the women and children.

Teuvdar reflects on those recent events, wondering about his prospects as an adventurer under Zhed’s guild. During their inspection of the tower, it had taken all of his training to restrain himself from fleeing the scene. As if the grisly deaths were not enough, he was equally appalled by the abominations that had crossed their path. Golems, plane portals and Teiflings were each and all revolting to his senses. They had dispatched the Tieflings with some effort, but the party suffered wounds in the process. These villains were bad enough, but the tower was also filled with all manner of monstrous gnome-designed contraptions. They really did not know when to leave things well enough alone, did they? He felt a bit guilty for criticising a group of beings that were now slain, but his opinions on this were not easily subdued. At least, he thought with some relief, that hideous golem had stayed inanimate! (A mental reminder to check Shadowfoot's things when the opportunity arises...he is almost certain to have stolen some golem eyes...)

He could expect to see more carnage along these lines so long as he stayed in this line of work, that much he knew. Was this to be worth the cost to his soul? Perhaps. The acquisition of knowledge was at the very core of a Druid’s existence, seconded only by his desire to see Nature protected at all costs. Teuvdar thought about his brother, Tenveren, and how he had proudly seen him off on his journey to Zamora.

“Many strange lands and amazing experiences await you, Teuvdar. Approach them all with resolve and integrity, and you will come away from each experience with even more wisdom. And never forget your Druidic training. It can restore your spirit at times when you will most need it.” And with that, Teuvdar had said goodbye to the Grove. His masters and friends said that he would find his mission and calling out here in the world. So far, this mission had not revealed itself in obvious form to him.

This was one of those times when being close to the woods was critical to his well-being, and he had retreated to the forest for exactly that reason. His friends had warned him against straying too far, citing the possibility of attack by a Dire Wolf who had been seen in the area. Even this danger was not enough to keep him away from the woods. If nothing else, he needed to prepare for the next adventure, and there were certain things that could only be found among the trees. He had managed to craft a handful of Adder’s Balm (4 quantity- 1d4+1 HP heal, 25% hp recovery, +2 Heal Check) for his companions to use, particularly thinking of those who had a tendency to be on the receiving end of abuse. Although not perfect, the moon was nearly full and it made for an excellent harvesting of mistletoe, the Druid’s necessary spell agent.

He had seen no evidence of the Dire Wolf in the woods, or of any of the other foul beasts for that matter. Perhaps, he mused, these tales of woodland monsters were something the Gnomes concocted to scare away trespassers? The existence of such creatures was almost without doubt, but their intentions and purpose were what was of interest to this Druid. Teuvdar wished that the young Ranger from Bingley was here so that his tracking skills could be put to finding the creatures, and their motivations determined. Whether Evil of Good, if the creatures were here to harm the woods, then Teuvdar would have to come to the defense of Nature. He surmised that his allies might be willing to go along with this, but only if there were material loot to be had. When the time came, would Teuvdar be willing to lie to his friends to gain their assistance? He grimaced at the notion, considering his thoughts carefully while continuing to wrap herbal bundles. His thoughts had grown more mercenary, even more predatory, since leaving home. While this troubled him, it was necessary if he were to learn to survive. Perhaps he would grow to become an adventurer after all.

Nearby, his companion Hazelclaw the owl hoots in anticipation. The sun was almost hidden, and it would soon be time for the bird to hunt. The half-elf nods to his feathered friend, acknowledging the excitement. He sheaths his scimitar, freshly cleaned of Tiefling blood, and nods towards the owl. Back to the hunt for both of them...

Gnomish Tower - the aftermath, or Musings of an addled dwarf

Bright were our blades and bright were our eyes
But dark was the ancient tower
Stout were our arms and stout were our hearts
But the demons there wielded much power

Harken ye to the tale of our battles that day
Learn of our mixed boldness and dismay
For glory we found, and even some loot
But the gnomes had been crushed 'neath a devil's boot
Ambushed it seems, struck down while they slept
Sneakily around the tower the devils crept
And when we arrived, we found the gnomes slain
Not one was alive, only butchered remains

Bright were our blades and bright were our eyes
But dark was the gloom that awaited
Stout were our arms and stout were our hearts
But the fall of the gnomes had been fated

We avenged the gnomes' deaths in a glorious fight
Though the Tiefling leader brought magical night
His minions were weak, one of them fled
The rest were cut down, the crows shall be fed
In desperation he tried to open a gate
But it was not quick enough to escape his fate
Brought low by his wounds and exploded as well
His spirit shall suffer the torments of hell

Bright were our blades and bright were our eyes
But dark was the tower of terror
Stout were our arms and stout were our hearts
But our thoughts we could help were in error
-- Draven Sunsworn

As I lie recovering from the poison of the ant-like creatures we slew on our way into the Gnome's tower, I ponder the bitter twist of fate that left me here. I now believe these giant ants to have been the hirelings the gnomish journal spoke of, Formians they were called. I cannot help but feel guilty for the way in which we slew them, but then, they approached as if for battle, so I cannot see what else we could have done. Still, if they had not weakened us so badly, perhaps we would have been able to slay the Tieflings at the top of the tower in time to prevent the destruction of the arcane device we found there.

Of course, since the device was the most likely source of both sets of Outsiders, perhaps it is for the best that it was destroyed. In a way, the device could be blamed for its own destruction, a symetry that pleases my poison-addled mind. I expect that when I recover, this insight will seem trite and foolish, but for now it entertains me. A similar description might fit my attempt at making a Saga of our deeds.

In any case, the mission is done, Zhed cannot be pleased with what we found, but nor can he be dissatisfied with the service we have done him. The gnomes could not be saved, but at least the half-fiends we found here will slay no-one else, and at least this dangerous Gate machine will not put anyone else at risk.