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.

Danger at Zamora.

We pick up with our adventurers outside the city of Zamora, also known historically as the Crossroads. The group has travelled for many weeks as part of a caravan. Periodically, the caravan itself suffered attacks from monsters, bandits and shadowy things as it plodded along towards its destination. This served as good training for our young adventurers, many of whom wished to be warriors, and it also impressed the hired guards accompanying the caravan. Many smaller misadventures occurred as well, giving the characters opportunities to meet with (and sometimes steal from!) the regular townsfolk. Bonds are formed as the group gets to know each other better.

Ultimately, their friendships is expected to be short-lived, because each of these men is preparing to undergo the ceremony of aging. In this coming of age event, young unskilled (but promising) artisans, craftsmen and warriors are given the opportunity to be reviewed and selected by masters in their trade. These masters will take selected ones on as Apprentices, and they will go to live in their domains. This is a highly public ceremony, and people come from all over to attend and witness the event. It is a cause for celebration, and great anxiety for the young apprentices as they wait to learn their fate. The group plans to at least have a good time in the city the day before the ceremony. Some also choose to explore the professional guilds, priesthoods and monasteries located in Zamora. Breyen in particular questions his chosen path up to this point, and seeks advice from the Monks of the Northern section of the city. They offer him a place in the monastic order, should he wish it, and he decides to think upon it but attend the ceremony in honour of his friends in the meantime.

The adventurers awaken the next day for their ceremony and all are troubled. Their amulets are icy cold (a sign of danger) and yet, no one can spot an apparent problem. They make their way to the central square for the Ceremony of Aging. Things get progressively stranger as the party comes to realize that there is something odd about the dwarven headmaster, Zhed, who leading the ceremonies. He seems to be hiding something. And, strange, conspicuous people are seen to be moving through the crowd towards the stage area.

The next events happen in a blur. At the stage, Teuvdar the Druid confronts Zhed about his dubious behaviour, while the rest of the party begin discreetly releasing the peace bonding on their weapons. Breyen, sensing the approaching figures, moves into the masses to intercept one. He does not get far before screams erupt from the crowd all around. Shadowy creatures can be seen morphing from the bodies of their human disguises, attacking those around them. Magic users and guardsmen from the city enter the fray, and Zhed himself seems to be fighting the creatures with magical spells of his own. In between the casts, he screams to the party (now standing next to him) to prepare themselves for combat, and pulls a lever. With this, a huge section of the stage drops and takes the group with it, including Torrig’s mule, but with the exception of Breyen. He follows moments later, however.

The group lands in the bowels of a dark cavern network under the city. Dwarvish and human construction, from what the group can tell. Weapons and instructions are left, apparently by Zhed, that a rescue party will be sent to help as soon as possible. In the meantime, they are on their own. The group sets off into the dark caves, avoiding traps indicated in their map. The travel is uneventful, until midway they run into a nasty surprise in the form of a giant tentacled fungus beast (and it’s mate). The battle is fierce, but Torrig, Shadowfoot and Draven are well equipped to dispatch it. Wounds are minor and tended quickly, and they move on.

Not long after, they meet up with the Captain of the Guard who has been sent to retrieve the party. They are escorted back up to the city for a meeting with Zhed. (A search party is sent back into the caves to retrieve Torrig’s mule, now turned Dire and unhappy after falling into the pit with the group. He bites several people, and kicks one guy!) He congratulates them on their survival. The group is not impressed, and again confronts him about his motives. He explains at length that the shadow creatures were tracked entering the city around the same time as the party. It is unknown for certain exactly who they were after. They can take human form, and are hard to spot. So, he claims that this was the best they could do to bring them into the open. The lives of the villagers lost was regrettable, but unavoidable. He offers not further explanation.

He does, however, offer the group into his Adventurer’s Guild. He has some jobs that need done and figures they could handle it. Several in the group are not anxious to sign up, but figure their options are limited if they wish to uncover the plot. It will be useful to keep Zhed closer to them than to not be involved. Considering that the Ceremony of Aging is over, and their chances for apprenticeship are dashed for a while, they also have no other ready sources of income. Zhed offers them fame and fortune, and this rings desirable to many in the group.

Their first job involves an expedition to uncover trouble at a Gnome encampment in the North.

[Online Adventure Log]

I created this blog for several purposes. Firstly, it can act as an online journal of our adventures, making for handy & quick reference if you need a refresher on where things were left at the end of each session.

I will do my best to update this each week (within 24-48 hours of the session) but also want this site to be useful (and used) by all of the players and the DM. Also, I may need help on occasion in writing the entries if I get busy in the "Real World" so if anyone is willing and interested that is most welcome. You may even be able to talk our DM into giving you a wee bit of extra XP as a gift for your hard work, but that is up to you to negotiate! =)

Other contributions can include, but are not limited to, the following:

• Character-centric thoughts, artwork, stories...anything you want to put up about your avatar that you want the party to know (and assume that they would know, having talked with you). This might also include your character's interpretation of events. My party log entries will ATTEMPT to be as impartial as possible, and not from Teuvdar's point of view. However, there is nothing to say one cannot post something that is more specific to the character (and more opinionated!). You may even wish to create your own blog site for your character...
• Artwork in general...especially maps, come to mind. But also artistic representations of things we have seen or done, for those who are inclined.
• Please spellcheck me and correct errors. Also, if I leave out an important detail from the session, please comment.
• DM (Ian) is considered Master Editor on this stuff, so I look to him to correct any major errors in story continuity, NPC/setting appearance or motive descriptions. He will also be final authority on what other materials (such as maps) we can publish. Lastly, it is possible to restrict this blog to viewing only be invitation--at present it is public--but I can change it if we wish. The initial posts I put on the site were intended to give an idea of where things might go, but I may have interpreted the scenery wrong and if so please let me know. For instance, Tanimura may look NOTHING like that in Ian's mind.
  

You will need a blogger account (FREE) to post to this page, and you will need permissions from me to do it. Once you have your account set up, send me your login screenname and I will add you to the permissions for the site.

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Prologue

Note that since this was an ancestral flashback session, I have not included PC/NPC names but have rather attempted to generalize the nature of the event...I also seriously doubt that my logs will be this detailed in the future, but was enjoying writing it and will get better at condensing information as I move forward...



Ancestral Prologue
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The slaver caravan had traveled for nearly three months, and was now crossing into the Eastern Deserts. Over the course of weeks, an assortment from almost all the common races and nationalities had been captured. There were Elves, Humans, Dwarves, half-breeds, and even Bloodfist Orcs. Beaten into submission, and worse in some cases, they had been tossed into apartment block style cells which towered three stories high. Lines of these housing "units "had been strung together to form a sort of desert locomotive, pulled by massive beasts of burden that resembled giant armoured tortoises.

At each stop, another batch of prisoners was loaded into the bins and the train started moving along again. The last group consisted of what appeared to be Noble-born from the Old Regions, a rare sight in this part of the world. The fine adornments stripped from these fresh arrivals would add immensely to the profit made by the slavers. Newcomers often arrived wounded and requiring care, which they might or might not receive depending on the demeanor of their cell mates. Even if they were inclined, there was little they had to offer. If their wounds did not do the trick, the sweltering, oppressive heat often finished the job. Many had fallen and died already.

Within each cell, scenarios of life and death had been playing out. Limited rations of water and food, granted by the slavers, were doled out each day to the captives. In some cells, fast friendships and alliances of necessity were forming, while in others there was bickering and hostility. The more clever attempted to probe the limits of their prison, searching for weakness in structure or perhaps a lock to pick, but so far the attempt had been fruitless. The only comfort that they could take was that with the compartments nearly full, it seemed that they would be arriving at their destination sometime soon. Rumors circulated among the prisoners that they city of Kai was near, and even a slaver auction block seemed preferable to this.

Just when all hope seemed lost, however, something unexpected happened. The prisoners awaken one night to the sounds of crashing thunder and the flashes of magical lightning from outside. There are sounds of battle, and screams of death and agony. Those who sneak a peak outside through their tiny cell windows spy a battle, and risk being pierced by volleys of arrows coming from some unseen assailant. The war cries of an ancient language can be heard from outside. The raiders are Elves.

The battle is comparatively short, and in the end the prisoners themselves aid in the process from within, using the distraction to break from their cells and wreak havoc on the guards inside their trolleys. In the end, the slavers are utterly destroyed. The few surviving prisoners, numbering some forty or so, are gathered into a circle by the Raider Elves and told to stay put. Their lives are uncertain, for these Elves are not interested in them, and in fact seem inclined to put the captives out of their misery.

As they gather the loot from the caravan, the Captain of the raiders is meekly approached by one of the Elven prisoners who humbly inquires about their intentions. Surprisingly, the Raiders allow them to live, but they offer little assistance. They are granted the clothes on their back and whatever they can gather from the wreckage, and told to head West. And with that, the Elves load their booty and depart the scene, leaving the refugees to their own devices.

The group travels days through the desert, armed only with crude wooden tools and meager rations. The desert itself turns out to be a dangerous place, as one unlucky individual is attacked by a sand-dwelling creature. He is saved by his companions, though just barely, and the group trudges onwards. Thankfully, they reach a rocky outcrop at the edge of a canyon and make camp. The place resonates with ancient power, like the imprint of an important place. Many feel the place was a battle site of some kind, though no evidence of it exists now. The distraction is passing only, however, since survival issues are pressing. Edible plants are gathered, and one party discovers a group of strange spiny creatures, the size and shape of large melons, which they study and find to contain water. These, too, are collected for possible future consumption, and the ragtag group continues on into the canyon in the following days.

After a span of several days, and the resulting loss of a few more along the way (now at 37 people) , they enter a widening valley and discover an amazing sight. Ruins can be seen in the distance, an ancient temple structure of some sort, built into the very walls of the canyon. They rush for the building, hoping to find some other inhabitants, but quickly discover it to be abandoned. Although there are no people, the structure is dark, cool and inviting, especially considering the baking sun outside. A few brave souls enter the structure, and are immediately struck by how much better they feel! They happily report to their waiting friends outside that all is well (in fact, very well) and everyone clambers inside. A sense of well-being settles on the freed slaves, and everyone relaxes in the cool shade of the room.

The dwarves among the group find themselves to be happiest of all in the confines of the rocky interior. They begin to snoop around, sniffing for anything of import (or mineralogical value!). A few others take note, particularly two nervous Elves who eye their short counterparts with some interest. Normally they might advise caution, but a sense of safety and comfort pervades their behavior, and they find they are mainly amused by the dwarf antics as they continue to explore deeper and deeper into the darkness of the cavern.

A few Bloodfist orcs take notice, and stand to go with them, attracting the attention of a female human, a Noble-born from Rang' Shada. She is troubled, more so than any of the others, and moves to stop the orcs from following. Something is not right, she senses, and calls after the wanderers down the hall, but there is no answer. They either cannot hear, or are ignoring her. The lead male orc, being practical in his approach (and not wanting the dwarves and elves to get all the gold themselves) assigns a few of his companions to accompany them into the caverns, and they scurry off in pursuit. He then sits back and waits near the nervous woman, who now is feeling an amulet around her neck while making a most perplexed expression. He looks to his own personal amulet, and realizes it has grown cold to the touch.

Now deep in the cavern, the orcs catch up to the group. The cavern opens up to a room that is strangely lit, almost as if the glow of moonlight. Most astonishing, however, is the coldness of the cave which has gone from cool to freezing. Icy columns stand all around the room, and a thick layer of ice covers the floor. On closer inspection, the group realizes they are not alone. Within each ice block there is now apparent the form of a figure, fully armored and entombed in a combat pose. The largest ones stand several metres, and appear to be giants, but human-sized races are also apparent throughout. Two in the party, held in common by a knowledge of their respective priesthood back home, find that they are vaguely familiar with some of the frozen warriors. Eying the weapons stuck in their icy hands, some party members attempt to break them free without success. The magical nature of the ice resists blows, and is only somewhat susceptible to fire. A feeling of unease starts to permeate, and the party begins to suspect a trap. They turn to leave, but discover the way they came is no longer apparent. The only path to take is down a long hallway, lined with more of these frozen souls.

In the dim light, the demi-humans can see a giant door at the end of the hallway. The group rushes to the door, noting as they do that the ice encasing the warriors appears to be lessening as they near the portal, though they are no more alive or pliable than any of the others. A few manage to pry weapons loose from exposed areas without harming the bodies, and so armed they push open the doorway to peer inside. Some unseen force seems to draw them in against their will, pulling them into the room.

What they witness astonishes them! In the center of a swirling blackness stands a magnificent giant, perhaps a titan. His armor gleams and glistens, and though plate-like, it appears to flow and move with his body. He swings his weapons as a master would, and sidesteps an attack from some unseen foe. It is at this instant that the party first glimpses the abomination, a horrendous and vile thing that seems to pour from the darkness. It's tentacles writhe about and strike furiously at the warrior, who parries each blow with some effort. One tentacle lashes at him, and strikes his shoulder. The titan grimaces, suddenly realizing that the beast has taken note of the newly-arrived party. Lashing at the giant, it turns to gaze at them with the hungry eyes of a foul god. Urgently, he charges in to the creature, regaining it's full attention once more, and calls out to the party, "Run, you fools! RUN!"

As if suddenly shaken from slumber, the party dashes out of the room, scrambling about even as they can hear the frightening sound of the beast behind them. A foul wind seems to blow past them as they run down the hallway from which they came, the heavy whisper of the god-things name on their proverbial coat-tails.

As if from the darkness itself, the explorers suddenly burst forth and land again in the ruins cavern. Nearby, the startled human and her Orc companion jump up and run over to the party, asking after them about what had occurred. Frightened that they were still being followed, they move quickly to the sunlit entrance and recount their tales. Even moments later, as the entire group gathers its supplies and prepares to depart the mysterious temple, those who are wearing their Amulets of Aging are still frosty.

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Years later, in the domiciles of humans, elves, dwarves and orcs alike, this tale would be recounted and shared with several generations. It was a tale meant to frighten young children, and inspire older ones. And even all this time, across geographical distance, racial boundaries, and class differences, the families of these 37 have kept this story of bravery, adversity, and magic at the core of their family mythologies. For though they managed to find home again, none had chosen ever to return to the Temple in the desert and discover its true meaning. It was simply unnerving enough to know it existed.

Gathering in Zamora

Zamora City: The Great Crossroads

Our story begins in the city of Zamora, at the great crossroads. This is an enormous city, the largest known in the Third Age, grown fat off merchants and the taxes paid on passing through its gates. This is second to last stop before Tamarang.

Gates of Zamora

A band of young adventurers has gathered in this city in preparation to depart on an expedition that promises fame and fortune. Each carryies an amulet of youth. These tokens are simple wooden or brass amulets, and contain a record of the deeds that each has accomplished so far. For instance, it "knows" the craft or profession of the wearer, as well as ordinary deeds.

At present, the player’s tokens appear completely blank on the outside, which is normal because these youth have not applied themselves to their full potential. What the true extent of that potential refers to is a mystery, but the older races who wear such amulets can feel something greater within them, and know they must be allowed to bloom.

Blank on the surface, until touched by the hand of the confessor to the head of the youth. An arcane gesture, and within moments the adventurer is suddenly aware of the true nature of the amulet, and a word that holds special meaning for their future. Thus completes the Ritual of Aging.

Other Background:
The characters come from the town of Tanimura, a large coastal town situated on the banks of the Drun River. It sits between three nations: the Wilds, the Old World, and the Laws brought down by the Eastern noble houses. Tanimura is home to a great number of diverse cultures. Travelers may be of almost any race, class or religion here. Free thinking and hard work have made this town one of the last bastions before the Old World and the lands from across the sea. New ideas are encouraged and feelings of hatred are discouraged. This is no hippy town, however. A strict order is enforced, yet fighting can be a problem, mostly because there is a lot to go around.

What has come before...

The world is split into four. The island nations of the mud people to the south, the eastern lands a place of little or no magic, the midland a great power and home to mighty mage schools. And lastly, D’Hara to the west, filled with malice and death. D’Hara is the kingdom that started the last two great wars this World has known, and caused one of the magical Holocausts that ravaged.

Civilisation once covered the land with its cities and roads, but after many terrible wars and two great magical holocausts the people have not recovered. There is a strong feeling of hatred between D’Hara and Eastern lands mostly because of the last war where the east land was responsible for the death of D’Hara’s royal family.

There are no true royal families left, just a few public guilds and noble houses. Notably the guild of merchants otherwise known as the Temple of Wakeiem, and the noble house Hart, honour and custom always coming first with its members.

The boundary is the “underworld” (shadow plane) in every form and the walls of that boundary are a one way trip to insanity. Those that return from the boundary have no memory of who they were and always come hundreds of years after they left, these people are called the returned.

No one knows why they came back they just did and only those who leave there past behind ever discover anything about who they were.