EQ9 - 2007 - Wine and Glory (Era : Dragons of Norrath)

9. Wine and Glory (Era : Dragons of Norrath)

Roztov sat on a wide bench outside his front door and watched the trees sway gently in the autumn
breeze. Winter was not far away, but today it had been warm and the gentle east wind had done no
more that rustle a few fallen leaves.
Lately he had been doing a lot of this, sitting around that was. The last harvest was in and the
wine was all bottled up. There was nothing left to do.

Still, it was a pleasant view here, a very well hidden nook in the Nektulos Forest. Those of his
friends that new about this place thought he was crazy to set up home in such a dangerous part
of Antonica. Neriak, the city of the Dark Elves, was only three days ride away and the outer
patrols of the Dreadguards passed on the trail just four miles from his door.

The house itself was large, having twelve bedrooms, servant quarters and stables at the back. It
had fallen into a sorry state of disrepair and Roztov had not opened up all the rooms yet. In fact
there were several rooms down in the cellars, past where the wine was stored, that he suspected
where haunted.

Regardless of what his friends thought though, he had been accepted here. It had taken a lot of work,
mainly though giving away vast quantities of his home brewed red wine to the cities guards and the
wizards of Neriak and through his connections in the Desert of Ro that he had made in his youth.
Maybe some of the people in Neriak wondered where all the excellent red wine was coming from but
he found he rarely had visitors and the Dreadguard discouraged people snooping about this arm of
the forest. He had given away plenty of wine and coin to ensure that.

Only a druid could make the forest give up so much of its bounty in this rugged region. When he had
first arrived, four years ago (had it really been so long?) it had been a bramble choked ravine.
Now it was a well tended garden. The mouth of the valley was as blocked as ever, but beyond that
there was acres of vineyards, orchards and vegetable patches.

The house had always been here, it had been a country retreat of some ancient Neriak noble from
before the Age of Enlightenment. Long abandoned he had simply moved on, banking on the fact that
an estate agent was unlikely to come all the way up from the Third Gate to evict him.

The days of the cottage and tower in Butcherblock where long gone, but the Heroes of Kaladim still
lived on and sometimes he would get a visitor who would come and stay for a few days and reminisce
with him over a glass of wine.

Just then, as he looked out across the tree covered valley he spotted someone on the trail. A hooded
figure, dressed in black was travelling along the track, but in the shadows. Even from such a great
distance he could see that the figure had the dark blue skin of a Dark Elf.

'Oh great', he muttered to himself, 'Not another young fool from Neriak.'

It was unlikely to be a friend, so late in the year, but sometimes foolhardy youths from Neriak
would make there way up into the more secluded parts of the forest in search of adventure.

The dark elf seemed to sense Roztov's eyes on him, even though the druid was well hidden in the shadows
of his house and no normal person could have noticed him. Still, the figure pulled their cloak tighter
and in the blink of an eye was gone!

'Ro's Fiery arsehole! A rogue.' , he muttered to himself.

Out of all the unwanted guests he could have had a rogue was the worst. They would sneak about for
days and would rarely allow themselves to be caught. A warrior he could simply send packing, running
back down the valley with his britches on fire from a well placed 'Immolation of Ro' spell.
A rogue though was a different matter. Druids were not really equipped to deal with sneaky thieves.

He continued to look everywhere, but could see nothing. There was as rustling in the orchard, but
he suspected that was just his pet bear, Goner, waking up from his afternoon nap.

Just as he was about to get up and take a walk down the track, a female voice from behind him said,

'Hello Roztov.'

With a groan he turned and said, 'Hello Dewflower, I should have guessed it was you!'

It was his old friend, Dewflower the rogue. She looked like a dark elf at the moment, and he supposed
that was to help her pass through these lands. But she used magical ways and artifacts to alter her
appearance. She was a wood elf, or perhaps a half elf, he was never quiet sure what she really looked
like.

They embraced warmly in greeting before the druid said,

'Come in, come in! I was about to start making dinner.'

They did not start to talk about anything of great report until after the meal had been cooked and
the table laid. There was rabbit, fish, various vegetables in cheese sauce, sweetmeats and pies
all spread out on Roztov's large kitchen table.

As they ate Roztov uncorked a bottle of his home brewed red wine and poured his friend a glass.
'Oh! Try this,' said Dewflower as she reached into her bag.
She pulled out a large jug and poured some of the contents into Roztov's glass. He sipped the
pale green liquid and said,
'I do believe that is Kaladim Constitutional! And a well made brew at that!'
'I made it myself.', declared the elf modestly.
'Very tasty, but if you don't mind I will stick with the wine. I used to brew this stuff myself
and it doesn't always agree with me. I have a few barrels of it in the cellar in actual fact..'
'Suit your self'
Dewflower forked another mouthful of meat into her mouth.
Roztov took a swig from his glass and said,
'So tell me all your news! I do see people from time to time but I am not terribly up to date. I
know you and Leedory are in charge of the Heroes now, but I don't know much more than that.'
Dewflower washed down her food with a big swallow of wine,
'Hmm, good stuff. Yes, the guild has changed a lot. You know Xomano retired. Being married to Assynt
must suit her. She's tucked away in Rivervale, in a house next door to her parents.'
'That will make Assynt happy I'm sure!', grinned the druid.
'They are trying to raise a family last I heard.' said the elf with a raise eyebrow.
Roztov nearly choked on the wine he was drinking.
'Can halflings and humans.. you know...breed?'
'I do not know, but I expect they will have fun trying!' was Dewflower's tart reply.
'The guild though?' probed Roztov.
'Well, we are much smaller, more of an elite cadre now. Some of the old faces are still around, some
have moved on. Some are .. dead. In part, guild business is why I am here. I am on my way to the
Lavastorm Mountains. Bands of adventurers are flocking back to Antonica seeking treasure in the newly
opened up Broodlands and other areas. It seems funny that after Teolosia and Kua, such exotic places,
that everyone is heading back to the old lands.'
'Hmm, I bet you Lord Nagafen is delighted about that.'
'He is maintaining a very low profile at the moment and who can blame him. All the people that used
to kick his scaly backside years ago are back, but more experienced and loaded with powerful weapons
and artifacts from the dark continents.'
'So, you are going north then?'
'Of course, but not alone.'

The next morning, as they ate breakfast on the bench at the front door of the house they spotted
four more strange figures coming up the trail.
Two were more or less of normal size, one was tiny and the last was huge.
'I think I recognise some of these.', said Roztov happily.
'Yes, I hope you don't mind but we thought we might use your house as a meeting point. I left a secret
symbol on the main road for them to follow.'

Roztov walked down the trail to meet his new quests and quickly identified them. One was Misti, the
Vah Shar beast lady. He had not seen her since he had taken the ship back to the Landing from Natimbi.
Behind her was the small gnomish figure of Mort, Roztov new him from way back. Next, resplendent in
her polished plate armour came Taldaanja, a high elf maiden of great beauty. He was surprised to see
her here. He had a vague feeling that she had married and he had expected her to have settled down.
In any event they were old friends since.. his memory struggled..how many years.. Luclin maybe?
And finally, the huge frame of Beolvaar brought up the rear. With a little sadness Roztov dwelled on
the fact that Beolvaar was probably the last Barbarian friend he had. Jalamu was long dead and Edihag
had gone god's knew where. Roztov knew Beolvaar from back on Luclin too, but had seen him many more
times more recently than that.

Another meal was prepared, this time a feast. The druid kept no servants, but together they all helped
prepare and cook the food. The best dish by far was the fish that Beolvaar had made. The other human
food was too spicy for the elves though, Roztov grew chillies in his garden and Mort had added it to
almost every dish as gnomes loved them.

After dinner they settle down by the hearth to smoke pipes and drink red wine and flagons of the
dwarven mushroom beer Dewflower had brought.
Dewflower stood by the fire, warming her rear and addressing the others. Misti reclined her feline
form on a divan while Beolvaar had sunk into the biggest armchair he could find. Roztov sat close
to the fire so he could tend it and Taldaanja perched on the arm of Beolvaar's chair. Mort lurked in
the shadows somewhere behind the divan.

The conversation had turned to their up coming journey into the Lavastorm Mountains.

'It won't be a bad journey. The Nektulos isn't dangerous to us.' began Dewflower.

Taldaanja nodded, 'Still, it is a long way. The entrance to the brood lands are right across the
mountains and over Solusek's Eye. It will take at least a month on that terrain, even on horse back.'
Solusek's Eye was the huge volcano that brooded in the centre of the mountains like a huge plague
sore on the face of Antonica.

Beolvaar moved as if to say something and everyone looked across at him, but in the end he remained
silent.

'Hmm', mused Roztov with a knowing smile, 'I wonder what could be on Beolvaar's mind?'

Dewflower pretended ignorance , 'I have no idea at all!'

'Don't worry,' laughed Roztov ,'I think I know very well why you dropped in to visit your old friend!
There is after all a druids ring in Lavastorm Mountains and this very moment I could take you all
there and cut your journey in half!'

'Now Roztov dear, the thought never crossed our minds', gasped Taldaanja, but she had the decency to
laugh at this, as clearly she was fooling no one.

'No need to try and persuade me! I will gladly take you. But on one condition.'

'Name it', said Dewflower earnestly.

'You allow me to accompany you of course! I enjoy my life here, but.. well winter is setting in and
things do get a little dull when snow closes this place up. I could easily lock up until spring.
Word has been reaching me for months about the doings of the north and I feel that old urge once
again for adventure and glory!'

They all laughed and Dewflower raised her glass,

'You are welcome to join us of course!', then she winked, 'And your company will make the return
journey much easier too!'

The next day they set off, and thanks to Roztov's magic arrived in the mountains in the merest blink
of an eye. From there they travelled to the gypsy camp and gained passage further north. The region
had changed greatly since they had last come this way. It was like a gold rush. New camps had grown
up everywhere, and goblins and drakes had come down into the valleys to pick off what they could.

After a weeks travel they arrived at the largest camp so far, at the entrance to the dragons brood
lands, a great skeletal dragon head guarding the tunnel entrance. Here people of all race and colour
met to trade and prepare for their expeditions into the dangerous north. An uneasy truce operated
in this region. Humans, elves and dwarves rubbed shoulders with ogres, trolls and dark elves, all
united by a common cause and a lust for adventure and wealth.

As they walked through the bustling camp, more like a busy frontier town Dewflower commented,
'From here it will get interesting'.

Deeper and deeper they traveled into this new uncharted region and following stories and rumours
they finally came to a great underground ruined temple known as Tirranun's Delve.

Together and with much trepidation they traveled deep underground, the distant sound of goblin
drums growing ever louder.

Dewflower motioned to the others to be still and said, 'Wait here, I see a huge cavern opening up
ahead. I will go scout it.'

The others hunkered down behind a large rock pile of fallen boulders and waited.

Some time passed then they heard Dewflower as she ran back to them jumping from rock to rock.

'They spotted me, but no matter!' , she panted, 'Here is a good a place as any to face the
first wave!'

'Wave?', cried Roztov, 'How many are coming?'

'How many do you want?' , laughed Dewflower.

Roztov climbed to the top of the rocks and looked down into the cavern that opened up below them.
At first he thought the cavern floor itself was moving, until he realised that it was such a huge
horde of goblins that they covered the ground like a carpet. A snarling, heaving angry mass that was
rushing towards them. Drums were beating, horns were sounding, the blood was starting
to rush in his veins, as the forthcoming battle approached.

'You didn't even give us time to buff,' grumbled the barbarian as he started to prepare his shaman
magic.

Death or glory awaited, and Roztov realised how much he had missed this.

EQ8 - 2005 - Creature Feature

Missy watched as the rest of them came up the canyon. What a creature-feature she thought.

First up the hill was Splaff, her great sword slung across her scaly back. Next came Misti, the Kerran and her warder. Missy mentally corrected herself, no, she shouldn't call her that, she wasn't a Kerran, she was a Vah Shir, better to get it right. If the girls back at the Arcane Academy in Erudin could see her now.

She wondered what they would say if they new she travelled not only with a member of a race that was at one time considered little better than vermin back on Odus, but an Iksar as well!

More loss to them, she acknowledged silently, the cat-woman was an excellent travelling companion and the iksar was quick witted and had an intelligent sense of humour that was always sadly lacking in the lecturers Missy remembered from the academy.

Aye, miles from anywhere, on some mad cap adventure.

Infact, it couldn't even be measured in miles, where they were. They had arrived in this bleak desert landscape via magical means. The only way back to Erudin and the rest of Norrath was through a portal made by one of those mad priests.

Here came Roztov, the sullen druid, tromping up the hill with his sword and shield slung over his back.

Missy reflected on how the druid came to be here. For several years he had shunned the adventuring life, living on a farm somewhere in Butcherblock with one of Missy's old classmates, Soora. Missy always giggled when she remembered the nickname that Soora had been given there. She was so stiff and prim and proper, the name always tormented her. That was also where Missy got her name, it had been so long since she had been addressed as anything other than 'Missy' that she often wondered how much longer it would take her to forget the name her parents had given her. Well, she wasn't in contact with Soora any longer. She still saw Azzamanya, and some of the others, but Soora had always been a lot of effort.

Well, she suspected Soora would not want to see her anyway. Here she was, in the company of Roztov. They had obviously argued and their love affair had ended, because here he was now, a rare smile on his face as he reached the summit of the hill and looked back down into the drab brown valley.

'She's in there somewhere.'

'Huh?', replied Missy to his sudden comment.

'Dewflower.' he nodded, 'I lost her coming up, but she's playing tricks. I think she followed me up.'

Missy looked around and then back down the trail. All she could see was Misti and Splaff standing nearby.

'I'm right beside you!', hissed a voice inexplicable behind them making both the druid and the wizard jump.

'How many more times?!', gasped Roztov as he regained his composure, 'Don't do that!'

Dewflower, an expert in hiding and creeping about, laughed and patted him on the back. Right now she had dark skin, ideal for hiding in the craggy shadows here. She was a dark elf. No wait a minute, she’s a wood elf, thought Missy, definitely a wood elf, but if not, then a half elf for certain. Definitely an elf of some description anyway! Almost certainly.

It was so confusing, the wily rogue seemed to change her skin and appearance all the time, as if on a whim mostly, by some mystic means that Missy had yet to decipher.

Later that day, they found a suitable place to camp for the night, in a cleft in the rock under an ancient black iron bridge. One of many bridges that they had found in this area of complex canyons and gulleys. Roztov had informed them that the area was free of murkglider tracks and that it was probably safe. They were so sheltered from the rain that they lit a fire and crowded round it to keep out the evening chill and to eat their food. It was all fare that they had brought all the way from Norrath with them – the good honest vegetables and conney meat was long gone and they were down to the iron rations. They local stuff was very strange and unpalatable to their tongues. Strange frogs and rats, that seemed to possess the powers of a chameleon, purple mushrooms and all manner of twisted bitter roots was about the only forage around here.

The talk drifted onto discuss one of the favourite topics of their evening chats, namely, the fate of their guild, the Heroes of Kaladim, and their new leader, the halfing Xomano. Things were very different now that the dwarves were no longer in charge. They still owned the tower in Butcherblock, but it was rarely used, and the guild coffers paid good Mrs Propamal to look after it and keep the bed rooms aired. Xomano had even let some of the rooms be used as an unofficial orphanage for some of the local children. What with all the trouble in Mistmoore, there seemed to be more parentless children around than usual. The conversation then moved onto fallen comrades, as it so often did.

‘Gosh yes.’, mused Missy, ‘So many gone. So many dead.’

‘Rosssstov’, said Misti, her feline tongue rolling out the esses’, ‘Whatever happened to Suran’s warder after he died?’

Roztov nodded and threw another stick onto the fire. There had never been any love lost between Misti and Suran, sometimes cats were like that, but her concern for Suran’s companion was touching.

‘Funny you should say that’, replied the human, ‘I was meaning to mention it. It was amazing that his warder survived, considering what happened. Well, I took her in for a while, but I’m not very good with tigers I think. I get on much better with ravens and rats. Still, she was friendly enough, and now she is happy to live in Surefall Glade. As an Elder I have rooms assigned to me in one of the lodges and she just sleeps there. Tore up one of the bedspreads I brought back from Natimbi as well, the besom.

Still, she keeps herself well exercised by chasing the gnolls in Blackburrow.’

Splaff snorted, ‘A cat chasing dogss? There isss a joke in there sssomewhere. . .’, another that had long esses, but these were more of a hiss.

‘Yes!’, laughed Roztov, ‘I know the Vah Shir consider it bad karma to name their warders, but I thought she deserved one after what she had been through. I called her Lucky! Ha! Corin and the other old druids at the guild don’t know what to make of her! But as long as she leaves the bears alone they don’t mind too much.’

They sat in silence for a moment as they all digested this news.

‘Hey so, I never asked’, said Dewflower who was close enough to pat the big tiger that sat between her and Misti, ‘Doesn’t your warder have a name?’

‘Maybe’, replied the vah shir, ‘Try a name and see what she does.’

Dewflower turned to the massive tiger, ‘Hey fur face!’

The others laughed as the rogue playfully teased the placid creature,

‘No that didn’t do it – hey ginger! – hey fluffy! – hey hairy britches! Hey fluffy-boo-boo-kitty-fluff!’

With that, the creature leaned over and deftly licked the elf right in the face!

‘Bleh!’, she groaned, wiping the drool off, ‘That must be her name then! Ye gods, her tongue is like sandpaper!’

Once they settled down again, they drifted back to their original discussion,

‘So what happened to Beolvaar?’, asked Missy.

‘Oh, I saw him not so long ago.’, replied Roztov, ‘He went back to Halas. Last thing I heard he had opened a fish shop.’

‘Huh’, nodded Misti, ‘Well, I too, saw an old face recently. I met Brond. He and Kindariel have a house just outside of Kaladim. It was a compromise they told me. A wood elf would never live underground!’

As they laughed, Missy noticed that Roztov had stood up, as if sniffing the air,

‘Roz?’, she asked.

‘Pack up’, he said, ‘And put out the fire, we’ve got trouble.’

Once they were ready to leave, Roztov lead them to a rocky outcrop beside the bridge and pointed down the valley.

‘Murkgliders.’

‘I see them.’, nodded Misti, who had the sharpest eyes, ‘Far too many to fight. They are moving down the valley. Grazing.’

They had been here for months, hunting the big purple gas bags among other things. They more like giant jelly fish than any creature you might reasonably expect to see moving around on land.

‘We better move on then.’

‘Hmm,’ put in the rogue, ‘It’s very nearly total night now. I better scout ahead.’

An hour later they were waiting in the lee of an overhang for Dewflower. They had moved on down the valley but had reached a convenient place to stop.

Misti and her warder sat on a rock while Splaff simply stood in the dark, her sword held in her claws. Roztov crouched by the trail and Missy, lacking any decent place to make herself comfortable had put down her spell book and sat on it. It made a change from burying her nose in it, she thought wryly to herself.

The druid looked up and said, ‘I think. . . .’

But he never finished the sentence, as suddenly the night sky was illuminated by magic, as if a flare had gone off and dragorn warriors charged at them from all directions.

Misti’s warder leapt up and tore the throat of the first tall dragon man that came near, giving them enough time to gather together into a defensive circle.

One took a swipe at Missy, who ducked and yelped. Splaff stepped in front of her to take the next blow on her sword. Missy had time to see Roztov knocked flying as a dragorn landed a blow on him before she too was knocked down by an unseen attacker. For a second all she could see was stars, but then again she was saved by the iksar warrior as she fought of a whole circle of foes, a whirlwind of claws and steel. The druid was up again, and using his magic to try and aid the fight. Missy realised she better do some good and managed to wipe the smile off a nearby warriors face with a massive burst of flame aimed from her finger tips.

But they were going to lose, she could see that, there were too many of them.

‘Where is that rogue?’, hissed Roztov in exasperation.

Fighting and casting spells they lost ground up the slope. Sometimes Splaff or the tiger would kill a dragorn, only for another vicious, snarling yellow skinned dragon man to take his place.

Suddenly there was a cry from behind them,

‘Leg it!’, and in a blue streak, Dewflower ran right through them, and then right through the stunned dragorns.

Missy hazarded a glance over her shoulder. More dragorns!

No wait, she realised, and she was never so glad to be wrong, loyalists!

‘Roztov, are we friends with the loyalists or not, I can never remember?’

‘What are you asking me for? Just run!’, and with that he grabbed her arm and ran off with the others, as the two opposing dragorn factions suddenly met each other, one at a full charge. There was a massive clash of arms as near a hundred dragons rushed to attack each other, most at a full run.

The adventurers fled, but any hope of escaping the fray was soon cut short by yet another company of dragorn coming up the valley. They grouped into a circle to defend themselves, but the dragron were just too large and numerous, as they pressed right in.

Missy again started aiming spells and she saw that Roztov, by her side, was doing the same. The fighters held there ground for a moment, but then suddenly Splaff went down in hale of blows, and then Dewflower was caught up by a huge snarling dragorn, like a man wrestling with a vicious hissing blue cat. The rogue aimed a throwing knife directly at the dragorns eye and scored a direct hit. It hurled her to the rocky ground with a cry of pain. The rogue landed in a crumpled heap.

Misti and her warder were giving ground and as Missy ducked a dragorn spear, she looked at Roztov and said,

‘Do something!’

‘Right,’, cried the druid and raised his arms, ‘EVAC INC!’

Missy woke up to the sounds of distant monkey calls, and the croaking of frogs. Where on Norrath was she? Then it slowly dawned on her. She was indeed back on Norrath. The emerald jungle of Kunark to be precise. Why in Solosek Ro’s name did he always take them here?

‘Don’t worry Missy,’, said a soothing voice. It was Misti, ‘You received a blow to the head just before the evacuation spell landed. But Roztov has seen to your wounds. You will be fine.’

Missy leant up onto her shoulders. She was lying on blankets on a cleared bit of the jungle floor. The forest canopy was so dense and high up that there was hardly any light. Someone had lit a fire though.

‘Where are the others?’

‘Um, Splaff is right here. Roztov is in the jungle foraging some food and well. . Dewflower hasn’t turned up yet.’

‘We are a little worried.’, hissed the voice of Splaff who was sat behind her.

Missy shook her head groggily and said, ‘Don’t be. Don’t ask me to explain it, but whenever we use magic to come here, Dewflower always lags behind by a few hours.’

‘But. . .,’ stuttered the iksar, ‘Where is she then?’

‘I don’t know , in the ether somewhere maybe. Ask her when she gets here.’

Just then Roztov returned to the camp, his arms loaded down with fruit.

‘At last,’ he beamed, ‘No more three month old rations, or strange half-poisonous mushrooms and rat-burgers!’

The others gathered round him to grab at grapes and berries.

‘Hey!’, he cried, ‘There’s plenty for all!’

Just then, there was a loud pop above them and the druid had just enough time to look up as Dewflower suddenly appeared and dropped right in his lap!

They landed in a crumpled splat, berries and grapes scattering and bursting everywhere.

‘Phew! At last’, exclaimed the rogue, as she stood up and surveyed her surroundings.

‘Roztov! Emerald Jungle! Why always here? You know I have a thing about this place!’, and she aimed a kick at his behind.

‘Ow!’, he cried as he stood up to defend himself, ‘Be thankful you are still alive!’

As the fight continued, Missy spied that there was one unsquashed Emerald Orange left. Quickly she grabbed it, and pealing it, began to cram it into her mouth. As always the fruit was delicious.

‘I’m having all of this!’, she declared from behind a juicy grin.

She settled down to watch the pushing match that was developing between the druid and the rogue. Misti’s warder dolefully put its head in her lap. Aye, she thought again, if the girls back at the Academy could only see me now!

(G166 17/05/2013 Fri via Roll20 - JF(GM) , AP)

(G166 17/05/2013 Fri via Roll20 - JF(GM) , AP)

DAY 199 (27 Eleint)(September) cont...

Fenrir killed the first orc to come round the corner with a long distance eldritch blast.
Then more orcs, barbarians and a hill giant arrived. Veddic blocked the street pretty effectively with a briar web though which discouraged all but the giant from moving forward.

The orcs and barbarian warrior's started shooting at the people on the barricade with long bows, keeping up quite a hail of missiles, but most hit the woodwork and only a few struck home.

Fenrir, Veddic, Corum and the two watchmen concentrated their fire on the Hill Giant as it tore its way through the briars. As the arrows flew all around though it was felled just as it reached the barricade with one final deadly blast from Fenrir crouched on the side of a nearby roof.

After that the other attackers could see that this side street was too well defended and made a run for it, looking for easier options. Once the briars cleared they went forward and looted the corpses.

They waited but no more attacks came and at six in the morning they were dismissed.

DAY 200 (28 Elient)(September)

So, with the cries going around the city that 'Waterdeep still stands!' they wearily returned to the OJB. Veddic returned to Warm Beds where a letter awaited him.

It read :

''
If Aderbrent has Ellis and Anya we need to convince him to take the next step.
What that is we don't know at this time. Do you have Vinet alive, or any of the
Blood Drinkers? It would be useful to question then to learn their intentions.
Come to the villa when you have information.
''

Veddic replied:

''
1. ok...
2. V dead, BDs alive, but not inclined to help
3. Information on what?
''

In the afternoon Fenrir and Corum went to sell all the loot they had acquired yesterday from the Blood Drinker's hideout and the orcs.

They then went to find Alduin who was resting in the Singing Sword, he too had been on duty last night. They had last seen him during the dungeon raid under the OJB when they took on the giant statue and hobgoblins.

He was doing well though, but had been badly injured (DAY 190) during a combat patrol outside the city and had been on lighter duties since then. Two nights ago (DAY 198) he had been on wall duty and while it had not been attacked he had helped reinforce other sections twice and last night he had been on the wall and involved in a lot of fighting.

Fenrir asked if he was available for more adventures if required. Alduin shrugged and said, 'Yes, why not?'

In the evening it was the 'Thank You Ball'. Corum was invited and since Fenrir had to follow him wherever he went or break his parole he went along too, but in the guise of 'Bob Smith' a wonky-toothed chinless toff!

This ball was being put on a the 'Smiling Siren Festhall' in Castle Ward and was the nobles from outside the city thanking the nobles inside the city for looking after them so well while they were sheltering from the barbarian horde. It was a large and lavish affair.

Fenrir observed three things of note this evening.

1. Royus Aderbrent was there. 'Bob' talked to him a bit about Corum's guild business and when questioned said that his family was from the Moonsea.

2. A nobleman called Bandar Redraven came over and talked to Corum initially and when Corum told  'Bob' that he'd been asking about Fenrir, 'Bob' went over to talk to him. They talked for a while and he seemed a pleasant man. He said he was interested in the goings-on of demonists and devilists and 'Bob' warned him that that was a dangerous thing to be interested in these days. Redraven agreed but was fascinated to have heard recently that Fenrir was alive and would be willing to pay for information regarding this.
'Bob' replied that he had known Fenrir when they were young, but was certain that he was dead. They talked further for a while and later 'Bob' checked Redraven over from a distance and detected many magical auras.

3. Erktos Thann II was attacked by an assassin, but the attempt failed. After a brief kaffuffle the party continued.
  

DAY 201 (29 Elient)(September)

At two o'clock in the morning they returned to the OJB and went to their rooms.

Fenrir awoke at ten o'clock in the morning.

Meanwhile, back at Warm Beds, Veddic had received a reply from Deverreck:

''
It has been discovered that what they wanted Ellis to do involves his tools in the HS. Either take these tools yourself, or convince Ellis to do so. Then contact me again for further instructions.
''
Veddic then sent an urchin to Ellis with this note:

''
Can I meet you ASAP. Fellow follower of Kossuth.
''

Then to Deverreck he sent:

''
Should I have the tools, or should Ellis?
''

To which he received the reply:

''
Ellis will use tools, but you hold them until we know what we want him to do.
''

Around noon Corum was summoned to the Palace. Fenrir, as always, followed him, but in the disguise of 'Bob Smith from the Moonsea'.

They stood in a court yard for a while before a cart and four horses were brought up. Then more people arrived.

They were :

Lord Dinshadder Phylund - Diplomat. Acting on behalf of Waterdeep.
Lord Moedt Belabranta   - Leader of the Gryphon Cavalry
General Obryn Ironfist  - Leader of the Waterdeep Guards. A dwarf.

Civilar Wishan Trembler   - Watchman in charge of the big wagon of treasure
Special Amar Corum Lavius - Wagon guard (with the addition of 'Bob Smith'!)
Special Amar Celia Varres - Wagon guard, a woman

So, this was the cities solution to the problem of the orc horde outside the walls, a great big wagon full of treasure!

Perhaps Lord Belabranta had remembered Corum as a tough looking sort and had suggested him as a guard or perhaps he didn't want to risk any of his own men. Either way he didn't say and although he recognised 'Bob' for who he really was he gave no sign of it.
General Ironfist grumbled about it but Belabranta replied,
'He might come in handy.' and the dwarf acquiesced.

A larger guard of twenty men on horses accompanied them to the city gate and then with all the others on horses and Corum, Celia and 'Bob' on the cart they left the city and under the white flag of truce made their way to the orc camp.

The word 'camp' hardly did it justice though. I'd flown over it several times in the shape of an eagle and I'd seen that it covered a good square mile of land and was separated into tribal areas. The tents of the giants were huge and the horde had chopped down every tree for miles around to build shelters and fuel their fires. They'd also dug up every rock they could find to hurl over the city wall so the vast camp was a muddy, dirty, blackened hole in the landscape.

The wagon picked its way through the crowds of curious and hungry looking orcish and human barbarians and past the threatening tall shadows of the giants to the centre of the camp where the large round campaign tent of their leader, 'King Obould Many-Arrows', lay.

They were ushered in and the cart was unloaded. The King was an imposing, tall and scarred orc, a veteran of many battles. Dinshadder went forward to talk to him while Obould's captains opened the chests and examined the treasure.

Obould and Dinshadder conversed for a while and it appeared not to go well, because suddenly the orc drew his mighty battleaxe and buried it deeply into the diplomat's body, slaying him instantly!

'Bob' stepped forward without hesitation, bravely trying to calm the situation. General Ironfist raised his axe crying,
'Grarr! Deceivers! Oath-breakers!' but was quickly knocked senseless by the king's guards.

'Bob' frantically tried to talk everyone down from an immediate blood bath and managed to get Obould's attention. None of his strategies really hit home as such, but his demon charm and way with flattering words saved his neck from getting an axe in it, and every one else's.

King Obould dreamed of an Orc Empire that would one day stretch all the way down the Sword Coast from the Spine of the World Mountains. Treasure was needed to pay his troops though and taking this offering seemed like the best option when Waterdeep was proving so difficult to take by force.

Obould was far from an idiot, but in the end he let them all go, reasoning that if he killed them then other cities would be less likely to parlay in the future.

With great relief Corum and Celia heaved the General's unconscious body onto the cart and they headed back to the city as quickly as they could.

As the got to the gates, Belabranta rode up to the wagon and said to 'Bob', 'You saved us all back there. As far as I'm concerned you are now a free man.' Fenrir was delighted.

A crowd was waiting for them and to ask 'How it had gone', but Corum and 'Bob' took the earliest opportunity to leave and headed back to the OJB.

As they ate lunch and talked over their eventful morning, Corum revealed to Fenrir that while he had been thought dead, Raya had come to him and told him about the gold buried in the City of the Dead.

They'd bribed a couple of graveyard officials and dug up the coffin. Corum and Raya had split the 5000 gold, but he thought it fair to give Fenrir some and gave him 500.

In the afternoon Fenrir or 'Bob' and Corum went to Aunt Bitty's house once more and asked for Giselle again.

Corum was let in alone and half an hour later he came out. He told Fenrir,
'She probably still loves you, but you'll need to do a lot of smoothing over. She's mainly upset about loosing all her clothes. Being arrested wasn't a high point either. Bitty is under instructions from Gnesher not to let you anywhere near her. I don't think you can change her mind about that.'

Fenrir and Corum left Bitty's house at three o'clock.

Meanwhile, Veddic had employed Raya to watch the Horizon's Sails magic map shop. She'd already told him she would charge 1000 gold to rob the place so he was having her watch it first. She would report back the following morning.

EQ7 - 2004 - Misty Thicket

Bards, as a rule, travel quickly. A stout walking song from a good bard can keep people moving all day, and still happy and refreshed at the end of it. But now Rokon had slung his lute over his shoulder and moved on silent feet. He did not want to alert the people he was watching to his presence, and he quietly moved a
low branch from his field of vision to view the pastoral scene before him. Sunlight glinted into his eyes as he looked down, his leather booted foot stuck out to balance on a rock.

Two figures were moving about in a small field about twenty yards from him, in a woodland clearing. Beyond the field was a cottage made from stout logs. He allowed himself a small smile as he saw the woman scold the man before returning to the house. The man continued planting seeds into the ground, pausing once to remove his straw hat and mop the sweat from his brow before continuing.

Rokon continued to watch for a while and listened to the sound of the man moving around and the chirping of the birds in the trees. He was surprised he had gone unobserved for so long, it's not many people who could sneak up on a druid in his own garden, he reflected. But then, quick as a flash, a raven landed on the branch beside his head and ruffled its feathers.
Rokon new had been spotted and stepping over the rock, walked out from under the trees and across the field towards the other man.

Roztov watched as the bard approached and called to him,
'Step in the ruts! I just planted those beans!'
Rokon did a little dance which made them both smile until he found his footing on safe ground. He soon reached the dirt-covered druid and said,
'Hello friend, it has been a while, I see you are communing with nature.'
The druid nodded and removed his wide straw hat again,
'Aye, it makes a change, I was never very good with plants, more of an animal sort of druid I suppose. But Tunare is just as happy with broad beans as she is with dire wolves.'
There was a pregnant pause as the usually talkative bard was suddenly at a loss for words.
'Well', continued Roztov, 'It must be something important, we did not part on the best of terms last time we were together. Still, come inside, a drink on a hot day is just what we need. You will find my brewing skills have improved
as well as my farming.'

The two men sat on chairs outside the cottage and Soora, the dark skinned erudite woman who owned this house and land brought them both flagons of ale. As she passed she gave Rokon a reproachful look. The bard noticed her expression and thought to himself, she doesn't want me here, but she cannot help but be a good host. She would probably serve beer to Innoruuk himself if he happened to be a guest in her house, and offer him a sandwich as well!

As she left Roztov lent over to him and whispered, 'For the love of Tunare don't call her Frontbottom like you did last time. Her name is Soora, as well you know.'
Rokon suppressed a laugh and nodded. He remembered the time Azzamanya had told him of Soora’s unflattering nickname at the Arcane Academy in Erudin, which they had both been pupils at. It had always been a jest worth sharing, in the bards estimation and he had also considered making a lewd song about the names origin, but had so far held back for fear of Soora’s wrath
.
'So how is life treating you Roz?', he asked to change the subject.
'Fine', nodded the druid, 'Everything is growing, the soil around here is good. Soora will have plenty of provisions for the winter and enough to sell as well.'
'To sell?', snorted the bard into his ale, 'You can hardly lack for money? The amount we all brought back from Velious?'
'Ah yes, well, Soora considers that money plunder and wants nothing to do with it, so in the bank it stays, and we live ..'
'.. the simple life?', interrupted the bard.
'Yes'
Rokon leant back on his chair and stretched out his legs.
'I almost envy you.'
'Ha!', laughed the druid, 'You like the life of adventure too much! As for me? Well, I have seen too many friends die in battle. I had to stop.'
'Listen, about Jalamu.. I couldn't stop him, those giants...'
Roztov raised his hands in the air,
'It's not just Jalamu. If you must know, I have ceased to blame you for his death. Your songs lead us into battle and made all our hearts race, it's what bards do. It's not just the death of my best friend, there were so many more.. Naramira, Adoya, kind-hearted Dentist and the ones that are just.. missing .. Hfestos.. Farek.. it's just all too much, seeing your friends die, and for what? When it all boils down to it, we are just chasing platinum. And all you really need is...'
Again Roztov’s voice trailed off and Rokon finished his sentence.
'Cold beer on a warm day and a good woman in the kitchen?'
The druid laughed, 'Don't let her here you say that!', and jerked his thumb behind him to the house.

After a short silence, Rokon said, 'We hunted for him. You know, after you left. There are places to look, dark and mysterious places. Magical grave yards that you can get to. A place known only as Shadowrest..'
'Aye', nodded his companion, 'I have heard these tales as well. But it is over now. Jal is a long time dead.'
The bard let that sentence hang in the air for a while before he continued,
'In any event, that's not why I am here. I just thought someone should tell you that Xomano has gone back to Rivervale, and taken Assynt with her. The Heroes are fine, going from strength to strength, but well, there are not many of the old guard left and I thought you should know.'
'Right', said Roztov as he took this information in. His halfling druid friend had always sworn she would never go back to the halfling city. Here parents had been mortified to hear about her interracial marriage. He wondered what this could mean.
'I think', said the bard, 'maybe we should go see her. If your... beans ... can be trusted alone for a while that is.'

And so the next day they were ready to go. Roztov took his chainmail from the box under the bed and Soora helped him to strap it all on. It had been a while since he had worn it. Rokon was surprised that the woman was so happy to
see her field-hand leave, but he didn't ask why that might be, it just made taking him away easier.

A short walk out past the garden and down towards the lake and then after turning to wave goodbye to Soora, Roztov cast the spell that would take them to Misty Thicket.

Rokon gasped in a few breaths. The sun had been shining in Butcherblock, but the sky was overcast in the Thicket and it was as misty as you could have hoped for.
'I never get used to that.', Rokon whispered as he drew in gulps of air. It was something about the change of climate that made him queasy he thought. That and feeling you had just been picked up and moved by a giant hand.
The druid slapped him on the back cheerfully and started to walk down the hill from the ring of stones where they had just arrived.
'How fast can you walk, song-boy? I have made Rivervale in four days before you know!'
Rokon jogged to catch up with his friend
'Huh! Four days? I can do it in three!'
'You better pick up the pace then!'

As the day wore on, the weather cleared a little, but the mist was still thick and water droplets formed all over them. They kept up a gentle jogging pace all day, neither willing to slow down, despite the armour they wore and bags they carried. The air was hot and humid despite the mist and the jog was hot sweaty work.
'Look at you!', panted the bard, 'You love this!'
'Aye, I was a wanderer once. I have walked every continent, and Misty Thicket a hundred times.'
'Once adventure is in your blood you know, it never leaves.'
'I don't deny it. Although the hedgerows and ruins of the thicket are not much of an adventure when you have fought in the Ring Wars of Velious.'
After a while the conversation stopped but the pace did not, and they reached their first stop as the sun set.

The wayside inns of the thicket, while not designed for people of human stature, are very well provisioned and you can always be sure of good food and good company. Neither of the men were strangers to this region, but Roztov, who had spent years in the thicket in his younger days and even done a couple of tours on the wall, was the most well known. The landlord of the inn they had arrived at, 'The Friendly Firebeetle', knew his face well and was delighted to see them both. They spent a comfortable night here in one of the larger rooms set aside for human visitors.

The next day the rose before dawn and were dressed and ready to leave as the sun began to rise. Halflings by their nature are slug-a-beds and not many people were around to see them off. The weather was a little clearer and as the sun moved through the sky the mist evaporated and the day turned into a bright and sunny one.
The going along these smaller path ways was not suited to jogging so they kept a quick walking pace, single file on the trail through the hedgerows and tangled thorn forests.

Rokon sang a halfling walking song that they both knew well, and Roztov even joined in on the choruses;

As I travelled to the wall, I did meet,
A sweet wee maid with bells on her feet,
She greeted me fair and I cried halloo,
I was bound for the watch til I met you,

My hat and mask I soon forgot,
To Rivervale with the lass I cast my lot,
The runners would wonder where I could be,
But my new love was all that I could see,

And so...

To Rivervale, the smallest city I go,
With your homes above and smailes below,
With your maidens fair, big and small - o,
I will leave the watch to defend the wall - a wall o!

The songs and the company brought back day dreams of his youth to the druid, and they walked all day long, even eating on the go. But Rokon had also learned new songs, from his adventures in far of lands and after his third rendition of 'The Saga of Frostreaver' he had to stop when Roztov threatened to make him 'wear
that dam lute.'

They made such good time they past right by the inn that was Roztov’s usual stopover ‘The Crunchy Spiderling’ and it was very nearly totally dark by the time they reached the next inn five miles down the road called 'The Hungry Bixie'. Although the food was not as good here, it was closer to Rivervale and they would reach the city the next day at the pace they had set. They were both dog tired but neither would admit it to the other.

They entered the common room and threw down their packs. Suddenly they were greeted from calls and cheers from across the room. Rokon gasped in pleasant surprise to see the three figures by the bar. A dwarf, an elf and a barbarian.
The dwarf was tall for the bar but not overly so. The female elf beside him as sitting but if she had stood her head would have hit the ceiling. The barbarian, however, was huge, even by the standards of his race, and even sitting on
the floor his head was close to the ceiling. He must have got inside like a dog going down a rabbit hole, thought the bard.
'Edihag! Tal and Saven!' he cried as he shook hands with his friends, 'What are you doing here?'
'Same as you I think,' said Saven, 'Let me buy you a drink, I will even get one for Scruffy!'
Roztov smiled and joined them.
'Is something wrong?' asked Taldaanja as he sat beside her on the low bench.
Rokon laughed slapped the druid on the shoulder, 'He has just calculated in his head how quickly such a mixed bag as us will travel and has realised we will never reach the vale in three days! We won't get their in five let alone four old chap! My record is secure!'
'I was thinking nothing of the kind, ' grumbled the other man, 'I am glad to see you all, it's just when I saw Edi, he reminded me of Jal..'
A lump formed in Roztov’s throat as he remembered his dead friend. Edihag was bigger, but Jalamu would always be the best.

The next day, the pace was much slower, now that there were five of them. Edihag had the hardest time and slowed then down the most, as he would have to either stoop or press his way through the tangle thorn trees of the thicket, along paths made for people no more than four feet tall. Still, there was no rush now and the company was good.

It was indeed the fifth day since they had set off from the druids ring, in the early evening, when they arrived at the ‘Fool's Gold’ Inn, in the heart of Rivervale. They established themselves on some benches outside the inn and sat down to some food and drinks. A pot boy was sent over to Xomano’s families house, Taldaanja had forbidden them to all turn up at once, unannounced, and half an hour later Xomano herself and Assynt came down the lane, waving to their friends as they arrived.

Now that there were seven people at the table outside the inn, the landlord saw fit to bring them out a real feast. Roast fouls, pork lions, jumjum pies, minted vegetables and all manner of pastry dishes arrived at the table and soon filled the people around it as much as the table itself.

The conversation flowed and everyone was soon talking with everyone else in a loud hubbub of past adventures and future plans. Food was consumed, and more drink was sent for.

As the evening wore on, Roztov and Xomano separated off from the others for a little while and stood with their drinks in their hands, at the gate in conversation.

'Aye, I know how you feel anyway Xomano, the life of adventure is all well and good, but sometimes you have to go home and rest.'
The little halfling woman nodded, 'Being married has changed things for me. Assynt and I didn't think it would at first, but it has. It's hard to be husband and wife when you are trekking across the frozen tundra or delving deep into some forgotten dungeon.'
'Everyone needs a break.', agreed the human draining his glass, 'How is he settling into halfling society?'
'Oh mum and dad were utterly against him at first, but he is so unassuming they have taken to him. They treat him like some poor hunted creature that needs looking after and feeding up.'
'A hunted creature.' snorted Roztov, 'That is a good description of a raid enchanter!'

They walked over to the others to get more drinks from the table. All the jugs were empty though and Roztov picked one up from the table and said,
'I will go get more ale.'
'No no!', cried Assynt holding down his friends arm, 'Rokon is buying the drinks all night, don't worry!'
'Really?', asked the druid in confusion, 'Usually you need a greased crowbar to make that man part with his money.'
Assynt wiggled his fingers in a mock mystical gesture.
'I have helped make him a bit more... generous.'
Roztov laughed but said, 'That's unlike you Assynt, to use magic on your friends.'
The enchanter shrugged and said, 'He tried the same thing on me the last time we met. A bard try to mesmerise a 'chanter? Pff, in his dreams maybe.'
Just as he said this, Rokon himself arrived carrying a tray of jugs.
'On the table is fine.' said Assynt and the bard mumbled, 'Yes master.' in reply.

Xomano and Roztov laughed and helped themselves to more of the sweet halfling ale.
'The future isn't written though. It is so nice to see you all again. But I will be here in Rivervale for a while longer I think.'
'Hmmm', replied the druid, 'I think I might have had enough of rest myself. The walk through Misty Thicket got me thinking about things again. Dragons that need slaying...'
'Oh yes!', laughed the halfling, 'There are always dragons that need slaying!'
Edihag, who was drinking from the only decent sized container he could find, one of the small Rivervale half-gallon barrels, thought that Xomano had just made a toast.
With a laugh he raised the barrel and cried,
'To the slaying of dragons!'
Everyone else raised their glasses and repeated the toast, so no one heard Roztov say under his breath,
'And Tunare save us from the dragons slaying us...'

EQ6 - 2004 - The Holy Harbringer

The bars of Thurgadin were always crowded. All along the high street, each of them would always have a full
compliment of moderately drunk dwarves within, whatever time of day it was.

Tonight was a little special however, in the Holy Harbringer, tonight there was a real celebration going on.

Allies of the Coldain had broken into the evil sorcerer, Velkators Laboratory, deep in the caverns of the Great
Divide and put the insane giant to the sword!

Tonight the drink was on the house, courtesy of the Dain himself and everyone was drinking themselves into a
stupor, with toast after toast in honour of the brave outlander heroes who had dared such a dangerous mission.

Some of the clerics from the nearby temple were also here, and they reflected on the various outlander races
that were gathered here tonight.

'Arr these are strange times.' said the first cleric after he had drained is flagon

'Aye, you could take your pick of any corner of Norrath tonight Daragor.' came the reply.

The third and final priest sagely nodded and said,

'Aye, Yori, here we have long-shanks from Qeynos and Freeport,' and he gestured to the to men by the bar, one dressed
in green-grey mail, the other in a suit of red field plate armour. They were having an animated discussion of the
battle the night before.

'And elves and even ... wimmins.', and with this he gestured to the slim elvin figures talking to the tall woman
dressed in leather. The dwarves didn't know what to make of a long-shanks woman who looked like she could chop
bricks in half with a single calculated strike.

'And the darkies..', said Daragor, 'There are some over there.' He raised his mug to the Erudins that had caught
his gaze across the room. Three tall dark figures dressed in robes, dangerous fire dancing behind their eyes.

'Aye,', said the first finally, 'And Butcherblock dwarves, halfpins, ... and whatever that robed creature is,..
quite a collection.'

There was suddenly a ruckus from the other room and coming through the door, on their knees because of thier
height, came three laughing and very drunk barbarians.
As they came through the door each one seemed to be bigger than the next, making the eyebrows of the dwarves
creep further and further up their brows.

'Some of them are nearly giants themselves!', exclaimed Yori.

The three barbarians were greeted by the rest of the company with cries of 'Well met!' and someone caused a huge
burst of mirth and laughter by addressing the biggest of the barbarians by saying innocently
'Ah! Just a coffee for you then Edihag?'

The dwarves looked on in utter confusion as the huge barbarian playfully cast around in search of the offender until
he slammed his fist down on the table by which the group of Erudins were sat.
'If you were a man I would beat you Azzamanya!'
The pretty Erudin woman performed a small sweeping bow on behalf of her friends, causing another round of laughter.

Someone handed Edihag a huge flagon of ale and he drained it off in three gigantic gulps getting another round of
cheers and applause from the audience.

The dwarves didn't understand the joke, but they did understand drinking and slammed their fists on the table and
cheered in appreciation of the heroic portion that had just been imbibed.

The dwarven clerics, who were meant to be at the temple for a mass in another half hour silently agreed between
themselves that they could maybe stay a little longer, After all, half the congregation were in here tonight anyway.

As the night wore on, the bar was drunk dry and the pot boys were sent out to get more ale and fine spirits sent from
the royal supplies. A brewers cart arrived, pulled by wolves, and the laughing drunks helped unload the barrels and
swiftly had them open.

The night grew louder and the sound of revelry could be heard all the way to the city gates. A troop of guardsmen were
sent to check up on things, but it was such a good natured event, and seemed to include a good many of what might
be considered coldain high society, that nothing was done.
The guardsmen scratched their heads and moved on, they would have gladly have joined the drinking, but they would be
on shift until the next day.

The three dwarven clerics however, had not had such a good time in years, and had not drunk so much either.
They were soon the best of friends with the rest of the company, drink breaking down the social barriers as it so
often does. Toasts were drunk, dances were danced and songs were sung well into the morning.
Half of the revellers were local dwarves, males and maidens, while the other half were the band of heroes. The
differences in height made some of the larger reels much more entertaining. A man could easily sweep a dwarven maid
off her feet in a dance of the 'Dashing White Gnoll Commander' and a dwarven lad would sometimes have a hard time
keeping up with his chosen, more longer legged companion, in a dance of the 'Gay Gorgons'.
The most fun was when groups of eight would dance 'Drops of Kalish' which would inevitably end in carnage and
broken furniture as people were reeled every which way.

One by one people began to either slip into a drunken stupor or have to go round the back to be violently ill and
the inn began to thin out a bit. As dawn arrived only the hardened drinkers, and dwarves of course, remained.

Breakfast was served of thick sausage and potato soup, with hard crusty bread and wolves butter. Those that could
keep it down gained a second wind and continued drinking.


..

At some point later that evening, as he came off his watch the guards captain decided to pop his head in the door of
the Holy Harbringer to see how things were going.

Opening the door he let out a small gasp at the scenes of devastation. Not a single table remained upright and many
of the chairs were broken. In fact one lay in flinders, smashed to smithereens by the figure of a barbarian that
had fallen on it and lay there still.
The barman was passed out on the counter, and strewn across the floor and lying atop each other in many cases were
the slumbering bodies of humans, dwarves, erudites, elves and many other races. Not all of them were fully
clothed.

Looking up, the guardsman could see the snoring body of Daragor, a well respected figure in the church, asleep in the
chandelier. Most likely he had been tossed up there.

'There will be some tough hangovers today I expect.', the guard muttered to himself has he gently closed the door
and walked away. He had a home to go to now, besides if a smashed up bar was all that it required to get rid of
such a scourge as the evil Sorcerer Velkator then it was a small price to pay.

...

Roztov woke up with a grunt then propping himself up from the floor he looked around in bemusement for a second.
Suddenly his body caught up with him and a flood of sensation washed arrived in an unwelcome surge.
'Tunare! My head!'
He struggled to get up, then kicking, he cried,
'Get off me Brond!'

The slumbering dwarf seemed dead to the world. Roztov stood up and clutching his head walked to the bar, seemingly
the only bit of furniture left standing.
The barman's wife smiled at him as he approached and handed him a hot mug,
'Here, drink this, ' she said, 'Its a cure for too much drink.'
'Ye gods!', cried the druid as he drank it back, 'What's in it?'
'You don't want to know'
'I am sorry we ruined your bar, we will pay for the damage of course.'
'No need, the Dain will pay for it, or so I was told.'

Roztov looked around and said,
'Well, they all look mostly alive, no resurrection spells will be needed....'
His eyes rested on the robed figure of Assynt, who was lying prone under a bench, with only one shoe on his foot.
'...probably.'

Roztov hadn't noticed the slim figure of Azzamanya had crept slowly over to the bar and accepting a mug from the
barman's wife she said,
'If anyone was going to drink themselves to death last night it was him. Drinking all that rum from a boot can't
be good for you.'
'I don't remember that. I thought Assynt didn't drink?'
Azzamanya drank some of the hot toddy and shuddered. Looking at Roztov with bleary eyes she said,
'Flrugblizzlle..gah!.. I mean.. I dunno...'

Roztov smiled and looked at her, the cheeky smile she always wore was still there on her face although her eyes
were blood shot and barely open.
'I never asked, forgot about it. I know you have been away, but do you know an Erudin called Soora? I think she was
a wizard as well at some point?'
'No. Maybe she wasn't there when I was. What does she look like?'
'Like you, but taller, and her hair is wavy, not straight like yours. Er.. she is missing part of her left ear.'
'Oh yeah...', mumbled Azzamanya into her mug, 'There was a girl like that in my Advanced Thaumatic Studies class,
but she was called Bottom.. um, might have been a nickname I suppose.'
'Bottom?'
'Something like that.. bottom...frontside... summuthin...', Azzamanya was mumbling, obviously tired out from thinking
too much and slowly slumping on the bar.
Roztov patted her gently on the shoulder in thanks and looked around at the devastation again in wry amusement,
'So she was a wizard then. Perhaps I will pay her another visit sometime.'

EQ5 - 2004 - Umbril Plains

They were a long way from home.

The air felt differently up here, even breathing felt odd, a little more labour some. You got used to it after a while
but it was always there in the background. A sense of difference. A sense of wrongness.

There were whole continents here totally overrun with the undead, where nothing living dared set foot. Great evil lurked
in every cave, in every burnt out village and every valley. Nowhere was safe, tribes of huge red monsters camped
out in the open plains and dark chanting could often be heard drifting across the hillsides.
There was no night time here either, the landscape was perpetually bathed in harsh sunlight. Somehow it made the feelings
of disquiet worse. The full horror of this terrible land was in very plain view.

The valley they were now in they had reached via a long underground tunnel, constructed by some long forgotten
ancient civilisation. Tall and vaulted ceiling provided a welcome cool shelter from the harsh heat of the open
terrain beyond.
When they had arrived they had set up a simple barricade built from trees chopped down from the nearby forest,
at the tunnel entrance. It would provide them with a good defendable point. There was a sally port at one corner
to allow egress and a raised step for people to look over the parapet.

Despite the preparations they had lost a scout in the very first hour of getting here. It hadn't been a good start.

Roztov nervously bit his thumbnail. The next attack wave would hit soon. We are a long way from home, he thought again.
They had arrived in the Umbral Plains two days ago, by his reckoning, it was difficult to tell here, and no one had
slept a wink since they had first stepped out, blinking into the sunlight.

Roztov reflected on what had led them to this place. Great evil lurked here, that was for sure.
Lurk was probably wasn't the right word. Parading around in the cold light of day was more apt.
What dared only to skulk around the forests of Jagged Pine and hide in the hills of the Karanas, was triumphantly
free to wander in these lands.
It was evil, but a very distant evil. Mother Tunare would approve of their actions here, but what about the guild
masters back at Surefall? To say that they didn't get out much was a gross understatement and would they really
understand why a war was being fought in a land so far away that it could not even be reached by any mundane means?

He doubted it. But a thirst for adventure and glory had lead them here. And a desire to see good triumph in the world
seemingly over run with wickedness and wrong-doing was what was making them stay.

'Incoming!', came the cry from Shlolien, their advanced scout, breaking Roztovs concentration.
Everyone looked up from their hastily erected barricade.
The ranger held up his fingers. Fifty. Then a fist. Redskins.

Like a machine, the small army that Roztov had called together leapt into life. Mantos, decked head to foot in his
famous red armour gave the druid a wink and leapt over the barricade, closely followed by the other warriors and
paladins. There went Edihag. There went Brond.

Roztov stepped up to the parapet, signalling to the other healers. Druids like himself were by his side, Xomano and
Hfestos among them. And clerics, dressed in platemail, hammers in hand were here, Illandria and Leedory.
Roztov had fought side by side with these people many times and trusted them with his life.

The huge savage red skinned warriors in single combat could easily defeat any of the dwarven and human warriors. But
they were too dumb to realise the help being provided from the healers behind them. Wave after wave of healing magic
were keeping the warriors alive as they slashed and hacked at their foes.

Roztov, as well as using his healing powers, was keeping an eye on the entire battlefield. When he judged it to be
the right time he held up his staff and cried,

'Now! Unleash hell!'

This was his signal to the others in the band to attack. Wizards lead by Ellerina and Farek. Mages lead by Gabob.
Assynt, the only enchanter had already been involved in battle, his magic causing confusion in the enemy ranks as
one redskin would suddenly turn on another for no reason.

The wizards and mages leapt up to the parapet and began to use their magic. Great gouts of flame rocked the enemy
ranks and those that had not already fallen to the blades of the warriors turned to flee.
But it was too late for them. One was sent hurtling through the air, by a well placed fireball to land near
Roztovs feet in a crumpled heap. The others were shot in the back with arrows.

No sooner than it had began the battle was over. The bodies of their foes littering the area in front of their battlement.
Blood and singed body parts were strewn everywhere, results of the fierce carnage.
Brond trotted up to the line and called to Roztov.
'We are all fine down here!'
Roztov nodded, although he could only take his friends word for it as the dwarves beard was matted with blood and his
armour was splashed with red.

The unmistakable smell of the aftermath of a battle wafted up to his nostrils. Blood, sweat, fear and the sweet but
terrible smell of roasting flesh. His traitorous stomach grumbled with hunger.
They dragged the bodies over to a charnel pit that had been dug a hundred or so yard away. These certainly were not the
first bone harvest they had made since their arrival. The pit was stinking but it was better than leaving the bodies
to rot right beside the camp.

Later. No night time, but it felt like night. Roztov was exhausted. The evil that had befallen this land seemed to be
drawn to them like a moth to a flame. They were hated and the inhabitants wanted them dead. Wave after wave had hit
them, he felt as if sleep would be forever denied to them.

'Incoming!' came the cry again. Shlolien came trotting back to the line from his outpost on an out of sight hill
behind the nearby woods. He held up his hand. Roztov squinted to see. Fingers, then a flat palm.
Dark assassins, maybe two dozen.

No one had any real idea what these creatures where. Some sort of ghost or ghast was the best guess of the clerics,
but who knew? They could kill the boldest warrior in seconds with their deadly touch. Dressed in long dark robes
with deep hoods they seemed to be made from nothingness. Hard to fight, but it had been discovered that they could
be killed and this wouldn't be the first time they had faced them.

Two dozen was a lot, they were powerful foes thought Roztov as he wearily stood up to the parapet. Taciturn as ever,
Mantos nodded to the druid as he lead the warriors into the front line positions. Brond gave him a pat on the back as
he went forward, but as Edihag and a couple of warriors were about to go past Roztov signalled them to wait.

The battle began again as it had before. The heavily armoured warriors and paladins holding off the charge while the
druids, clerics and shaman provided support from behind.

But the dark assassins were proving too powerful. Mantos was being, well not defeated, but harried by two foes at once
and two other warriors had fallen. Three undead creatures surged forward and quickly scaled the parapet. Xomano let
out a yelp as one reached for her. Illandria valiantly swung her hammer at it, but a cleric was no match for one of these
terribly powerful undeads in combat and she was quickly knocked aside.

'Edihag! Fill that gap!' Roztov cried.

Without a word the huge barbarian warrior leapt forward with his squad close behind him. Roztov had to wrench his eyes
away from the troubles on the battlement and look across at the main battle. Brond had rallied the warriors there
but without more help they would all surely perish.

Roztov new that the assassins had more intelligence than the redskins and that they would be drawn to the magic of
the wizards if they were called in to support the front line too soon. But it was now or never, everything could
be lost on a moments indecision.

'Now Ellerina, for all love!', he yelled.

Needing no encouragement at all to help her friends on the field Ellerina held her staff aloft and called down the first
of her ice comet spells. It landed in the middle of the enemies ranks with an almighty crash, showering shards of broken
ice everywhere. More robed figures stepped up and Roztov watched as the fire-wizard Farek unleashed a devastating
salvo of fire balls towards the enemy.

But these dastardly creatures were so powerful! Six had fallen already, but there were still more left standing.
And they were so quick that some could slip past the front lines and get in amongst the weaker supporting troops.

It was utter carnage. Smoke was everywhere from the spell casting. Lighting was flashing and sheets of flame were
lighting up everything every few seconds blinding him. Roztov was beginning to wonder if he hadn't just made a
decision which had cost them their lives when suddenly a dark robed figure lunged at him through the smoke.

Again and again it hit him, knocking aside his staff like a twig. Before he knew it the lights all went out and he
knew no more.




He could smell something nice. Lillies. He was sure that meant something. Slowly he opened his eyes.
'Welcome back to the land of the living', he heard Illandria say as she leant down over him. A halo of light
seemed to surround her elven features.
'Wha..!?', was all he could manage.

Seeing he was awake, Brond trotted over to the prone druid, signalling the ranger, Shlolien to follow him.
'No time for lazing around now Roztov!', exclaimed the paladin, 'While we recovered from the battle I sent Shil
right out into the plains much deeper than before. He thinks he may have seen the source, or at least a source of
the evil here. That's right Shil?'
The silent ranger only nodded.
'Shil thinks that this .. thing .. can be tricked away from its guards and attacked.'
'But..', said Roztov, slowly gathering his wits, 'Out there in the open we would be sitting ducks.'
'Yes, but Shil thinks that he could provoke it into attacking us here. Then we could fight it on ground of our
own choosing.'
'That's right Shlolien?' asked Roztov
The elven ranger shrugged and nodded, then standing he adjusted his bow over his shoulder and looked out across the
plain, his incredible elven vision pinpointing something miles beyond normal human sight.
'We will have to be quick. It is on the move.'

Roztov felt his back twinge as he stood up and he grunted in pain. Thinking quickly and taking in everything around him
the druid started to formulate a plan.
'Go now friend Shlolien, we will be ready when you get back. Goddess speed and good luck.'

The ranger nodded and took off at a very quick jog. Roztov watched as he disappeared into the tree line in the distance.
Between then Roztov and Brond gathered there army back together again. With so many druids and clerics around, the
warriors could be brought back to battle readiness very quickly. No one could do anything about the fact that they had
not slept in days however.

Quickly they were ready, everyone at battle stations, waiting for the next attack. Time passed and Roztov began to
wonder if Shlolien had met with a bitter end. As he considered the wisdom of sending out a third scout he saw a
slight figure burst through the trees.

'He arrives!', gasped someone by his side.

Shlolien ran towards the barricade and paused at about the halfway mark and turning, fired three arrows into the tree line
in quick succession.
Roztov wondered what he had been firing at as the ranger ran the rest of the way to join them.
Just then he noticed Mantos, stood at his side, rocking back and forth on his heals, like an athlete waiting for
the starters whistle, but his attention turned again to the forest as a distant crash emanated from within.

The woods began to move and rustle and with a sudden burst a huge black form burst from the trees, knocking several
over like twigs. Bigger than a troll, bigger than an ogre this huge creature stood at least twenty feet tall. Clad in
dark robes from head to foot and wielding a sword the size of a man it crashed towards the barricade at alarming speed.

Without waiting to be told, or to see if anyone was following him, Mantos charged towards the creature to meet it head
on. Once again Roztov nodded to his fellow healers to ready their magics. As he stepped up to the parapet he heard
Xomano mutter to him
'Doomshade..'
'What?' he answered as he looked down at her.
'Doomshade, I have heard of this creature. They talk about it in whispers in the taverns of Shadowhaven.'

Before he could reply, the battle had started, Mantos meeting the huge ghast in a terrible clash of metal.
Fear trembling in each of them, they still knew what to do. Mantos was taking a terrible beating from the dread monster,
but each of them must use there magic to keep him alive.
They all started to chant as one, a line of magical prayers behind the red-clad warrior to keep him strong enough to
fight this terrible being.
Not far behind him, the other fighters arrived at full charge, to harrie the creature at its flanks. Brond and Edihag
literally hurling themselves at the huge ghast, mindless of the danger they were in.

Chanting along with the other healers, their magical powers all aiding the fight, Roztov was mindful of everything
that could go wrong. Mantos was being healed in wave after wave of magic. If one of the spells was to fail then
he would be dead in seconds. Using his shield as best he could to ward the blows and even getting in a blow of his
own occasionally he was valiantly holding off the terrible horror from getting any further. If he went down nothing
would hold it back.
Gradually Roztov could feel himself weakening. The others were exhausted as well. Using so much magic power at once
could knock you out cold on your feet. But still they kept chanting, it was all or nothing now.

'Now!' cried Brond from the front line, 'Hit it with everything!'

Ellerina and her squad of wizards again leapt forward to unleash ruin on the huge ghast. Spell after spell landed on it,
fire and ice, often knocking the fighters at their front to their feet in the blast.

And then suddenly Roztov was spent. He had nothing left to give. The last of his magical powers had gone from him. He
needed rest so badly he could hardly keep his eyes open.
Letting out a gasp he slumped to one knee, nearly falling over.
Nervously Xomano, now at eye level with him, shot him a glance, but she kept right on chanting, the sturdy little
halfling never missing a beat.

To come so far and to be lost now! Roztov almost cried out. But as he watched the battle, trying to stand up with the
aid of his staff, his cry of sorrow turned to one of joy.
Hit by a broadside of wizardly attacks Doomshade had been knocked to his knees. Struggling to rise it was buffeted
left and right by the fighters pressing in on him.
It was trying to rise, but with the weight of bodies pressing in on it, it stood no chance. Letting out one last
dreadful groan it swung its sword for a final time and then disappeared from view under a hail of blows.

A great cry of victory went up, they had done it!


Later, they even managed to sleep, as the attacks on the camp seemed to dry up once the greater menace had been killed.
Everyone was recovering from the battle. Wounds were healed and bandaged, hunger and thirst attended to.

Shlolien approached Roztov and said 'There was someone else in the woods.'
Oh Tunare no! he thought, not another battle.
But the elf seemed to have a smile on his face when he said , 'Brond and some others are bringing him in now.'

Roztov walked over to the sally port in the barricade and then down onto the field to see what was going on.
Born on a litter born by some of the larger fighters was the huge green body of a troll, a crocodile slithering
around in agitation behind them.

'Is he dead?' asked Roztov as the stretchered form arrived.
'No, just a bit beaten up.' replied Edihag who held one of the litters corners, 'Trolls are very tough .. and heavy!'

A grumble came from the body that might have been 'I heard that.'

Roztov noticed Brond had just arrived at his side.
'When we sent Spine out as a scout he got cornered by dark assassins in the woods. But he still managed to
hold them off long enough for is to battle the shade of doom by itself. Things could have gone very differently.'

'Badly probably.. oop!' Roztov stepped out the way as the crocodile walked past him, its snout held up high in
indignation at the treatment of his master.

Roztov wondered if he would tell Soora about what happened here. He probably wouldn't tell Mrs Propamall.
Someone would tell Jord undoubtedly, as beer loosened tongues and a tavern was were tales were told after all.
But he also wondered if they would know what it was they were doing here in the first place, in this goddess forsaken
land far, far away.
Sometimes he wondered that himself.

'Well that's everyone accounted for.', he said to his dwarven friend, 'Lets go home.'

(G165 26/04/2013 Fri via Roll20 - JF(GM) , AP)

 Game 165 (!) in the very long running D+D game I am in.
As always, the entire thing can be found here :

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8641303/1/Forgotten-Realms


(G165 26/04/2013 Fri via Roll20 - JF(GM) , AP)

DAY 199 (27 Eleint)(September) cont...

What they saw was a ruined tavern cellar that was inhabited by a group of people playing
cards at a table in one corner, lit by a lantern overhead, and some guard dogs.

The dogs leapt to attack them as the came down the stairs but were easily slain.

Fenrir then called, 'Ho! I am seeking the Blood Drinkers!'

The folk at the table looked nervous and one went down a corridor to raise the alarm
and the others waited.

As Fenrir, Veddic, Corum and Raya came all the way down the stairs too, the others fled
and more dogs came charging in. They too were slain, not being much of a challenge to
experienced adventurers.

They carefully went down the corridor and encountered a teenage human female who zapped
Corum and Veddic with a wand. Corum took pity on her though and knocked her out with the
flat of his sword.

A door, which Raya checked and unlocked, lead to another long corridor. From the other
end Vinet attacked, for it was him, and another Blood Drinker summoned a Flaming Sphere.
Vinet's eldritch blasts very nearly killed Raya, but she managed to scuttle back up the
corridor to be eventually healed by Veddic.

Meanwhile Corum, seeing no front line fighters to block him, charged headlong at Vinet
and cut him down with a few fatal strikes of his long sword. Now dead, it seemed unlikely
he would be able to learn the lesson of keeping a man with a shield between yourself and the
enemy to be an effective warlock.
He wouldn't be telling anyone what he had been up to also, come to that.

After this brief and bloody battle Fenrir flew around the corner and into the large room
Vinet had been using as a study, while invisible.
There were some of the Blood Drinker's inside as well as a young lady tied up and locked
in a large cage.

He then returned and talked to them from around the corner, trying to bluff them into
believing that Vinet was a mere illusionist and charlatan and that he, Fenrir, was the
real deal when it came to demons.

They were frightened of making a decision or leaving the room because Yarrowroot, their
leader, was not there. They also said that they had a knife to Anya's throat - revealing
that their captive was the one Fenrir and Veddic were after.

Fenrir went invisible and flew quietly in to check and saw that this was true.

They then went back to another, as yet, unopened door and knocked on it, asking to talk
to Yarrowroot. He refused to open up.

Fenrir returned to the study and eventually persuaded one of the women, called Dedra, to
come up and talk to Yarrowroot.
'What have you done to Vensa!' she cried when she saw the girl on the floor.
'She's only knocked out', growled Corum.

Dedra then talked to Yarrowroot and confirmed that Vinet was dead and that a Blood Drinker
called Shemrack had a knife to Anya's throat.
Yarrowroot then accepted the reality and said,
'Take the girl and go.'

This they did, taking Anya from the Blood Drinker's in the study once Dedra had relayed
their leader's orders.

So they to returned to the surface, but someone was one step ahead of them and they
were met by a squad of twenty or so sell-swords led by a tough looking dwarf.
He introduced himself as Boris Himmelhammer and then said 'Hand over the pretty lady.'

Fenrir said he would talk to him alone and being, apparently, in no hurry the dwarf
accepted.
'Who do you work for?' asked Fenrir.
The dwarf laughed.
'Is Anya safe with you?'
'I can guarantee you she will not be harmed' was the reply.
Fenrir didn't know what that was worth but talked to Anya and asked,
'Do you know Ellis Aderbrent?'.
She had not.

In the end they had no choice. Taking on such a large band of tough sell swords would
have been suicide so Anya was handed over.

They decided to go back down and finish looting the cellars and opening doors that were
still locked.

In one cell they found a Half-fiend Durzagon called Cavefoot who seemed quiet friendly
so they let him go.
Another cell had big scratch marks on the door so they decided to leave it alone.

They then went for the Barrack's door where Yarrowroot was.
'You oath breakers!' he cried as Veddic cast Briar Web on him and his minions once
Raya had opened the door.

One of the Blood Drinker's died and the rest surrendered. They had to wait seven
minutes for the spell to wear off, then once Fenrir had looted them, they went up to
the surface and ran away.

The Gang found more loot in the Barrack's and a couple more scared teenage Blood
Drinker's who they shook down and kicked out.

Returning to the study, along with assorted potions, scrolls and other treasure they
found Vinet's diary, an extract of which I present below :

''
Waterdeep Players

B - has given me 1000gp. Must get Ellis and Anya, then summon him.
- update - have Anya. Need Ellis. Not at shop any longer. Spy saw him go into villa with a guy
in clerical vestments. Need to find out who this guy is and what his agenda is.
Need to come up with a plan to extract Ellis.
- update - see page for Veddic

FT - Nincompoop. Now probably dead, leaving me in charge of the demon forces of WD, such as they are
update - been told by B he's alive, just not playing ball. Memo - send assassins at some point

Corum and OJB - bunch of fools that sweep dung. But don't provoke them .some of them
are tough. Will not get involved unless provoked i wager

Grey Hands - Maliantor was an ally of FT, but now mainly fighting the orc horde

GDR - loc? I think in city. No idea where. Problem for later

YP - useful tool. will do anything in the name of evil and chaos. Good

HB - powerful wizard that probably killed FT. Need to stay away from him

Maaril - Dragon-idiot. Think he is up north somewhere. Should send spies to locate
update - Neverwinter woods. Has a guardgoyle army. Scratch that - its Gargoyle, not GUARDgoyles.
update - B says if GDR becomes and issue, then visit M with 'proposition X'

Cavefoot - lucky find, captured him lurking around outside the FT villa. He's a
Half-fiend Durzagon. Agent of GDR. Won't talk, but a stretch on the wrack might do it

Binky - What a find! One of YP's idiots parents had this in a private menagerie so we stole it.
     This incredible beast is a Nethersight Mastiff - very useful guard dog against
     ethereal attacks. I need to tame it somehow, it has already bitten me twice.

Veddic - who the hell is this?? Cleric of Kossuth. What do they want? Send spies to HG villa
One problem - running out of spies! Note : take spies from TSV and put on HGV
update : located in Warm Beds with crew of Sea Wyvern. - what's the connection???
update : Spy followed Veddic to OJB. Are Fenrir and Veddic connected some how? Still don't see it.
update : spy following Veddic killed! memo - recruit more spies

Current Spy Locations :

1 squad watching OJB
1 squad watching Ad Villa
1 squad watching TSV (move to HGV)
''

With bags full of loot they returned to the OJB. On the way Fenrir checked the Splintering
Stair for messages but there were none.

At noon Veddic sent a copy of Vinet's diary to Deverreck and suggested that Anya had most
likely been taken to the Aderbrent Villa.

At two o'clock Fenrir and Corum went to Aunt Bitty's (Giselle's chaperone) house which took
a while to find as Fenrir couldn't remember where it was. The door man told them that no
one in the house wanted to see him though.

They then returned to the OJB and had a sleep before Corum's nightshift was due to start.
At nine o'clock they headed out to the muster point. At ten o'clock they were eventually
allocated a section of wall and wandered down to it.

On the way a civilar on horseback spotted them.
'You men! Blockade this street! Whatever comes down it, you must hold them back
at any cost! If we give them time to reinforce the breach then Waterdeep is
ruined!'

He then galloped off.

Fenrir, Corum and the other watchmen they were with then used carts and barrels to block
the street as well as they could.

Then a slow shuddering ominous tread sounded the approach of giants.

EQ4 - 2004 - The Axe

The barman, or more accurately, the bar-dwarf of the Old Goat Inn, of Stonebridge arrived later than he usually did.

He had been down to Blackforge to speak to the brewery. The non business talk he had heard had all been about the
wayfarers camp further west. Dark talk of vampires and dark elves and worse in Lesser Faydark. Well, according to the
talk in the village there was no end to the amount of adventurers willing to risk life and limb for the rewards that
were offered at the camp.
Once upon a time, he might even have been interested, he had wielded an axe once instead of an ale jug. He had been
as far as Velious and had fallen in love with a young coldian lass. Those days were long gone now, and his current
wife was, he was sure, more a harpy in disguise than a she-dwarf.

'Thank Brell, you lazy old sot!', she cursed him as he entered the inn, 'Here!'
She removed her apron and threw it at him.
'Where have you been all this time Jord? Never mind! I am going over to Leylas'

Jord grumbled something incoherent as his grumpy wife shut the door and walked up the road to her friends. Looking
round he could see that the place was neither busy or quiet. There was a group of locals by the fire talking over village
gossip. There was the two travellers that had come in this morning from the Faydark. And over at a table in one
of the gloomy corners were some of the people from the tower.

As he served one of the locals, he looked them over. The old wandering spirit that still lurked somewhere inside him
felt a feint twinge. They were all much younger than himself of course, and not many of them were dwarves, but he
had grown to like and admire this set of people that had moved into the old tower the year before. He had got to know
quiet a lot of them by name, although they mostly kept themselves to themselves.

His customer served, he started cleaning out flagons at the bar and his eyes wandered back to people from the tower.
The first one he could see was a tall erudite, dressed in yellow robes. He knew him to be a wizard called Farek, and
he seemed to be deep in conversation with a wood elf, his hands waving as if describing something.
Jord knew this man was a fire worshipper, but didn't hold that against him. The only other wizard he knew was
another erudite called Tuppence, a notorious book worm who would sometimes come to the inn to study if the tower
got too busy. He wasn't in evidence at the moment though.

The wood elf Farek was talking to, he knew was Kindariel, the wife of the tower-folks leader. Their leader was a dwarf
and although mixed race unions were not completely unheard of, in a small place like Stonebridge it would have caused
quiet a stir had it been generally known. Jord knew, but he had seen stranger things than this in his long life,
and he hadn't told a soul, especially not his nosey, gossiping wife.

He had, just to prove that it was a small world, heard of Kindariel by reputation, years before she had arrived
in the village. It was hard to visualise this slight figure, currently dressed in forest green travelling clothes
had earned the name of 'The Butcher of Crushbone' due to the amount of orcs she had killed after the death of
her parents. She had used the darker nature of her magics, or so it was said in the east, to slaughter countless
orcs, young and old, in her thirst for revenge.

Jord let out a little gasp as he noticed the person sat next to her. The elf, a high elf from Felwithe this time,
was talking to the bearded human druid that Jord could never remember the name of, was none other than Ambrielle Aphaedra
a wizard of such distinction the rumours and stories were simply incredible, if they were to be believed.
It was said that the most powerful wizards and heroes of the day were now banging on the very gates of the gods
in search of adventure and glory.
Jord didn't have many people to talk with about such matters these days, but what stories he had heard from Tuppence
and the hairy druid had made his days in the Eastern Wastes and Kael Drakkal seem like a stroll around the Misty
Thicket by comparison.

Sat with their backs to him, Jord could see more of the party. Dressed in warm winter robes he recognised the
figure of the human Assynt. Escaped from his wife for tonight Jord mused. There was another interesting match he
thought, but the dealings of humans and halfling were of less interest to dwarves than their own business.

And there was young Karbonil, a Stumblefoot. Jord had sometimes wondered if he and the young dwarf might share
some kinship somewhere down the line. Didn't he remember his grandmother saying that somewhere in the murky past
her side of the family had been Stumblefoots? It wasn't that common a name and they were both worshippers of
Brell. Still, he had not exchanged more than a few words with him as he didn't frequent the inn much.

Jord served another customer and when he looked back up he saw that a small hooded figure had entered the inn and
walked over to were the others were sitting. She was followed, in a servile way, by another robed and hooded figure.
She counted out some coins into he servants hand and sat with her friends.
Her servant came across, ah thought Jord, I know this skinny manservant.
The one that seems to find everything funny.
'Hehehehe ... two ales for my mistress Diacarrea and I...', he cackled.
'Certainly sir,', replied Jord, he always felt uneasy about this fellow, Goner, or whatever his name is.
Jord drew off two large flagons of ale and handed them to the man in exchange for the silver.
As an after thought he handed the man a bag of pork scratchings.
'Here you are friend, on the house, looks like you could do with feeding up a bit.'
'Hehehehhehe .. thanks!'

Jord shuddered at an unexplainable chill in the air and walked over to the fire to put more fuel on it.
As he we crossed the room back to his chair by the bar, a large man ducked in through the short dwarven doorway.
His head ducked down to avoid the beams in the ceiling and snow dropping from his shoulders, he hailed Jord and said
'Bring me jug of ael Jord!'
'A jug of eels?', Jord laughed in reply. He recognised the big man as Jalamu, a friendly barbarian from the north
and probably the one person from this set of people he liked the most. He couldn't resist a making a little fun
with his accent.
'No, aael!', came the reply as he sat down by his friends, jostling the bearded human, making him spill some
of his drink.
'Watch it you big galloot!', the human cried.
'I am no galtoot! I just want aaaaeeeellll!'

Jord smiled to himself as he drew off a heroic portion of ale from the barrel into the biggest jar he could find.
These northerners had powerful thirsts. He sat it down in front of the barbarian who swiped it up and took several
huge tugs from it, speaking into his drink,
'Tis snwoing otuside.'
'I can see that,', said the bearded human, wiping away the beer and snow that had landed in his lap at his
friends arrival.

Jord sighed and sat down again at the bar. There were more pots to clean, but with his wife away he had no real desire
to make work for himself.
The night was starting to draw in, and he could see the snow was starting in earnest now, flopping against the windows
in big lazy dollops.
He was about to call the pot-boy to light more candles before he remembered the boy was at home with his head in a
poultice after catching a nasty cold a few days ago. For the second time he sighed and went to get a match to stick
into the fire.

As he approached the table with the adventurers at it, the hooded and robed lady said
'No candles here thanks, we prefer the gloom.'
The others nodded in agreement at this and went back to their conversation. As he want back to the bar
he heard two snippets of the talk.
'...the Vindicator....'
'... he is too heavily guarded...'

It was a second or two before it registered with Jord what they were talking about. Kael Drakkal! With a flood
all his memories of those times in his youth came back to him. Crossing the Eastern Wastes and the journey through
the Great Divide. The mighty wurms that lived in the caverns there. The Coldian, and Lissa, the beautiful wench he
had met in the town beneath the Crystal Caverns. And the fights with the frost giants. Those endless wars with the
giants of Kael Drakkal, an age past, or so it seemed, but apparently the wars continued if what he had just overheard
was true.

Now that he came to think of it, he couldn't remember when the last time those horse brasses by the door had
been polished. Getting a cloth and some spirit from behind the bar he went over to inspect them. If he happened to
be a lot closer to the adventurers and happened to be in hearing range...
Well, that had nothing to do with anything.

He sat down in the corner of the room close to a lit candle and started to polish the brasses, gleefully eavesdropping.

He heard probably more than he would have wished to hear. As they talked, he heard of how strong the giants were. The
band of heroes had penetrated right into the heart of the city and had fought and killed dozens of the fierce city
militia and the protectors of zek. They had even challenged the Vindicator himself, but had been forced to retreat
when more guards had arrived. This was certainly more than anything Jord had done in his day!

He spied something metallic in the corner, behind the old chair that sat here.
'Brell!', he muttered under his breath, gathering dust behind the ancient wooden chair was his old war axe!
He had wondered where that relic had gone, his wife must have hidden it there. Probably knowing I would never come over
here for fear she would get me to polish all these brasses, curse her, he thought.

Well now, the brasses are done and while I have the polish... he reached behind the chair and pulled it out and up
onto his knee. He applied some polish to the rag he was using and began to rub the tarnish from the blade.
Under it all, the axe was still in good condition.
The conversation of giant slaying and the smell of polish on metal took the old dwarf right back to somewhere he
had not been in a long time. Tracking the eastern wastes, with his coldian comrades, fighting bitter battles, were
crimson blood would fall onto the pure white snow. His blade biting into the knees of his enemies ...

'What are you doing you old fool!'

He cried out in alarm as his wife prodded him with an accusing finger.

'I was...'

'Thinking silly old dwarf thoughts by the look of it!', she chastised, 'And a mountain of dirty pots on the bar!'

'Yes..', he sighed and putting the axe down he stood up.

'And you can put that thing in the shed. Chopping wood it's all its good for!'

With his wife buzzing around his head like an angry hornets nest he lifted up the axe and went to the door.
He caught the eye of the bearded druid who gave him a knowing smile. The barbarian raised his jar in salute.

When he reached the shed he found a sack to wrap the axe in and stowed it away behind the woodpile.

Rest their for now my friend, he thought, but there was a time when more than wood feared your edge, and the knees
of giants knocked together at the very mention of Old Shinbiter!

Shrugging his shoulders up against the driving snow, he headed back to his inn.