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...