D&D Campaign Session for December 15th, 2001

Played with 3rd Edition Rules

The Swords of Sunndi Player Characters:

Kespin eth Lunar, Male Human Bard (Josh)
Kobort, Male Half-Orc Cleric/Paladin of Heironeous (Bart)
Mike Steel, Male Human Fighter (Patty)
Westwind, Halfling Male Fighter (Andrew)
Wrye Leagallow, Male Halfling Ranger (Chris)

Non-Player Characters:

Sir Lleranon Golant, Knight Protector of the Great Kingdom
Orin Stoutbeard, Cleric of Heironeous and follower of Kobort

Within the Hollow Hills

Reaping 15th, 574 CY -- Dwarven Mine in the Hollow Highlands

We left the bugbear corpses where they lay for the scavengers. Because we still had Kulg and Voldus as prisoners, our first task was instead to keep moving toward Menoch. We checked their bonds after the battle and they seemed secure enough, but none of us are experts.

It was our luck to happen upon a dwarven mine, here in the Hollow Highlands. Although several of them are also from Silvermere, they have an ancestral claim to the land. Although they have been mining gems, they have agreed to pause long enough to make us two sets of manacles. Until they are finished, we are watching our prisoners carefully.

I have news of home for the first time in several months, and although it is not good in itself, it is at least something. There are blue dragons in the Glorioles, as there have been for some time. Nothing has changed: it would be surprising if anything really had. The dwarves of Silvermere are a deliberate folk.

Wrye brought down a large doe for a hearty dinner with the miners, and after that they shut themselves into the mine for the night. Their main defense is a large rock that they lever into place each night and roll away again in the morning as proof against the wildlife of the Highlands. Of course they did not invite us to shelter in the mine with them, for dwarves are not a trusting people. I cannot count the times I have been chastised for being too gullible when I lived among them.

Reaping 16th, Menoch.

Early last evening Voldus escaped from us. We nearly had him, but in the end the night was too dark and he was too fast.

Kulg took the opportunity of Voldus' flight to struggle free of his own bonds, bursting them with sheer strength. I was awakened by Wrye's warning shout and the twang of his bowstring as he put an arrow into the half-orc. Fatigued as he was from captivity, he was unable to dodge and immediately fell.

Kobort jumped to his feet and tended to Kulg while Kespin charged off into the darkness. I paused only long enough to grab a brand from the fire for light and Golant ran for the horses.

"This way!" I heard Wrye's call from the woods and saw a light spring up beyond the campfire glow. Golant and I mounted and followed, our torches giving only scant light in the wooded night. The moons had not yet risen and only starlight served for tracking our quarry, yet Wrye pulled signs of Voldus' passage from the bracken.

When we found Wrye pointing the way, there was no sign of Kespin or Westwind. In moments, the halfling warrior jogged up and we saw in the distance a bobbing light that very quickly resolved itself into Kespin's sword. The bard dashed up, having gone well past Voldus' track.

Together we made progress, but as good as Wrye has gotten at tracking, Voldus was always gaining on us. We decided in the end to return to camp and make sure to at least get Kulg to justice.

We were back to camp before the first moon had risen. Shortly, the stone was rolled away from the mine entrance and a couple of dwarves emerged.

"We thought we heard a scuffle." They glanced around the camp where we were just settling back down.

We told them in brief of Voldus' escape. One of them glanced down at the two pairs of finished manacles.

"Still want both of these?"

We took both sets and paid the agreed price, and now Kulg is bound both hand and foot. We are taking no chances with him.

In the morning we shared a breakfast of grits with the miners. My companions did not seem to enjoy dwarven food -- I think it was Kespin who remarked on finding stones in his cereal. I tried to explain that it is part of the cereal, but he still did his best to pick them out. Westwind, meanwhile, made inquiries about purchasing supplies.

They did not have any supplies to spare, but they did offer gems for sale. I was particularly interested to see what they might bring out, but their mention of the ten percent fee threw Westwind into fits.

"Usurers!" he accused. "Everyone knows the fee is five percent!"

They took offense, as any dwarf would. Kespin and I tried to mollify them after that, but they do not get over such insults easily and I am afraid that we left them in a poor humor. All we could do was thank them for their hospitality and depart as they rolled the stone back over the mine.

Kulg was still out cold, so we hoisted him up onto one of the sturdier beasts and set off. It was a clear day and the breeze was fresh, and we passed nobody all morning. Aside from the fact that we were on horseback, it was a pleasant trip.

Just before noon we came upon a cheerful pack of halflings dining under a tree. Wrye was ahead scouting, so was first to introduce himself and was deep in conversation with them in the scant moments it took for the rest of us to catch up to him. I believe he was saying something about that Halfling Prince of his again, although as they spoke in their own tongue it was difficult to make out. It sounds to me like so much gibberish, but I imagine our halfling friends would not be pleased to hear me say so.

They were one family, the Bolgers, and seemed happy enough to share their tree with us for our noon meal. I am not sure that I would trust them further than that, as they seemed a tricky bunch and well satisfied with themselves.

The afternoon ride was uneventful, thank the gods. I think I am finally beginning to get accustomed to my horse, and although I am more comfortable on my own two feet, it and I are coming to an understanding. It carries me, and I am carried. Sir Golant has been teaching me some of the finer points of control and the trick of convincing an animal to do as you want, and I think it is helping.

The walled town of Menoch came into view as we topped a long, gradual rise in the late afternoon. The sun picked out the roofs of scattered farms dotting the fields surrounding the walls; some hidden in the rolling valleys and others commanding the hilltops. Kulg still had not awoken, or if he had he gave no sign and was still secure although the horse that carried him was tiring.

"I'll race you!" Kespin's laughing challenge rang out suddenly as he spurred his beast into first a loping canter and then, with a whoop, a headlong run. My own mount seemed uninclined to follow, and the bard had more than enough competition in Wrye's pony.

When he began to announce our arrival as they charged the town, I was just as glad I had not joined his merry chase. Men on the walls scurried to swing shut the gates and bar them against the assault. They brought crossbows to bear on Wrye (as the winner of the race, he was the closest to the walls) and called down a challenge.

It is a lucky thing for us that Kespin is as good as talking his way out of hot water as he is at getting into it; I suppose it comes from living with halflings for too long. It was only a few minutes before they unbarred the gates and allowed us in, although I think the Constable remained wary when we chose to pay the free swords tax rather than bonding our weapons.

Westwind pulled out his scroll abruptly and showed it then to the Constable.

"Look!" he declared. "We're Heroes of Sunndi!" He puffed up slightly as he smiled and handed it to the man.

The look that crossed the Constable's face was a mixture of disbelief and shock, but his demeanor changed once he read the scroll and saw Count Hazendel's own seal at the bottom of it.

"Well, I am, and he is, and he is." Westwind amended, pointing to Kobort and myself.

"Truly? Then you are the town's honored guests," the Constable told us, not a bit grudgingly. He introduced himself as Aric Ateen, then listened to our business and suggested that we speak with the Town Council about turning Kulg over to Menoch; the Head Priestess of Berei is on the Council, so we shall find her there and present Seblingham's case to her at the same time.

In the meantime, Constable Aric has shown us to the Home of the Cup, a fine tavern here in Menoch. The whole of the inn's clientele is enjoying a cup of wine bought by our friend Kespin, and he has begun spreading our fame as the Swords of Sunndi with his song. The food here is nearly as good as the ale, but the ale is excellent, as the proprietor is a dwarf and a brewmaster. I could not want for a better place to relax and get a sense of the town before the Council meeting.

Several rumors are floating around the tavern here, and Kespin has been doing his best to hear each and every one while Wrye and Westwind and I concentrate on a good meal. Certainly there is news of the plague in Pawford. There has been no mention of our previous companions except that they passed through Menoch before word came of the plague. There are also several rumors of trouble in Seblingham, rumors which we have been quashing at every opportunity. In their place we spread news of our own about Brewfest, so if good news travels as well as bad news does, we should fill up all of Seblingham.

There are local rumors here about attacks on outlying farms. Whole barns have been ripped apart and men and livestock shredded or altogether gone. As if this weren't enough to send the town into a nervous fit, their wise woman has started having nightmares.

We have secured a room for the night and will have a half a keg of ale waiting for us when we return from the Council meeting tonight. We have enjoyed the company of the innkeeper during the first half of the keg, and I think Wrye is well to the rock for it. Hopefully his hiccups will stop before we arrive at the meeting.

Reaping 17th, Menoch

We were welcomed at the Council meeting last evening and were introduced to the members. Beside Aric sat the merchant Gren Therodin, and beside him was the blacksmith, Bromel Adain. The Trade Guild Representative was Loranor Langoran, and beside her was the town's wise woman, Asara Gul. Finally, the Priestess of Berei was a young woman, introduced as Gidden Quell. Kespin spoke for us, as he is by far the most fair-spoken among the Swords and, I must add, more likely to be trusted as a man than Kobort for all that the half-orc is a Paladin.

The first order of business was the trouble with the outlying farms. Morel Laurie spoke, describing a flying creature heading in the direction of one of the farms that was then attacked. It was large and flew as high as an eagle, perhaps higher; as it crossed the moon it was clear that it had batlike wings and a tail. Westwind was allowed to ask a few questions of her as well, and we had a clear notion of the creature by the time she had finished. Her farm is considered one of two likely targets for tonight.

The council made no immediate decision on the matter, but instead moved on to a discussion of Kulg. Sir Golant stepped up to present his case, and I was surprised to see him greeted with suspicion and mistrust when he identified himself as a Knight Protector. Loranor was at least respectful, but the others were at best neutral toward the man. He spoke of his trials as Kulg's prisoner and of the state of the Knights Protector in the Great Kingdom, and when he had finished the Council was divided in their intent. Giddon would have Kulg put to death, while Asara agreed with Wrye to keep him alive. I myself am undecided, and am glad enough to put the question to other authority. Left to myself I would cut the evil warrior down without a qualm, but I know that Kobort wishes him alive for whatever reasons he has and I would keep Kulg with us until Kobort has discovered whatever he can from his twisted duplicate.

They determined in the end to send Kulg under our guard to Pitchfield. I am not displeased to accompany Sir Golant that much farther though he has assured us that he would gladly escort our prisoner on his own. However, I do not think we have seen the last of Voldus.

We were able finally to approach the Priestess with Seblingham's need of the Temple of Berei. She was greatly saddened to hear of Abramo's death, and we did not tell of his corruption in front of the Council. She will learn of it later, I am sure.

Because of Menoch's crisis, she could not spare anyone from the temple. However, once it is resolved she herself may go to Seblingham to reestablish the temple there. It was once an important place for their faith, and it is our hope that it will be again.

At the last, the discussion returned to the attacks. It was decided that the families in the farms closest to the ones which had suffered already should be advised to spend the night in town. Many of the farmers were against the idea, wanting to protect their land and livelihood, but they were convinced when we offered to go out to the farms most likely to be attacked.

Constable Aric gathered some of the town militia and rode with us out to the Naewell farm. Olweras Naewell was stubborn at first, but finally agreed to at least send his wife and some of his children into town. He and his older sons armed themselves and made ready to stay on guard with the militia.

We Swords and Sir Golant with us were just starting out for the Laurie farm when Wrye picked out a form moving in the twilight sky.

"To horse, to horse!" he cried, and we leapt to our steeds. "It's attacking the Laurie farm!" In barely a breath, we thundered down the rutted track that was the road between the Naewell and Laurie holdings, our horses' hooves pounding the summer-dry dirt.

We raced time, though we did not know how little we had. Kespin and I rode as fast as we have ever ridden, with Kobort and Golant not far behind on their heavier mounts. The ponies struggled to keep up at all, and Wrye kept an eye on the clouds for any more sign of the creature.

It was already gone when we galloped into what was left of the barnyard. Kespin and I took a quick look around and let our horses catch a breath or two while we waited for the others to catch up.

The house and barn had been ransacked so thoroughly that almost nothing remained. The roofs had been violently ripped away and discarded in great piles of timber and thatching. The stone walls were tumbled in places and straw and chewed, dead livestock were strewn haphazardly over the dusty yard.

The horrifying thought occurred that the thing might be headed to the Naewell farm. It had not yet attacked two in a night, but on the chance that it was still hungry Kespin and I grabbed our horses again and set off the way we had come at a gallop. Kobort and Golant were with us by then and we waved Wrye and Westwind along as we passed them coming.

Wrye protested loudly, as usual, but he pulled his pony around and again we raced down the lane.

Thankfully, the creature did not attack the Naewell farm, and in the morning there were no other reports. We returned at first light to the Laurie place for a better look at the scene and to put Wrye to work on the tracks it had left and the teeth marks on the livestock.

We found a number of disturbing things, not the least of which is that Wrye can speak with chickens. Perhaps he can also speak with other barnyard fowl, but the chickens were the only creatures left that had not been stepped on or otherwise killed. More frightening still was that he actually got some useful information out of them -- either that or he has lost his mind, and we would rather think the former. Kespin entertained us all by mimicking the halfling's clucking and chattering quite convincingly.

The tracks we found were quite large and taloned, and where the thing had stepped on hay, the hay was scorched black. Where it had ripped flesh from its prey the bites were large and the teeth had left sharp scrapes on the uncovered bone. Our suspicions formed themselves into something closer to a certainty: we were dealing with a dragon, possibly a red dragon.

Oddly enough, the chickens told Wrye that there had been a white owl with the dragon when it attacked. Wrye had seen the owl winging toward the town at night, and we did not know what it might signify.

Kobort and Golant and I remained at the Laurie farm to clean up as best we could while Kespin, Westwind and Wrye went back to town with Constable Aric to report to the council. Before long the Lauries arrived.

They were dismayed at the sight of the place, as any would be. It was a difficult thing to explain that we had not arrived in time; we had promised to stand guard at the farm and we had not been there. Instead, we helped in cleaning and rebuilding.

As we worked, Kobort queried Golant again about his sword Valor. There is some rite of bonding that happens amid great ceremony, but as none of Valor's sibling blades have been in the hands of the Knights Protector for some years the details of it have gone from memory. Golant suggested finding a sage, or the Order Library near Rel Astra or to seek out other knightly orders. It is possible that what one order has forgotten others still know.

The topic turned to Nyrond, a powerful ally of the Iron League and a place to find such orders of knights. Without its backing, the Iron League would fall to the Great Kingdom as a grain of sand is washed away by a river. The Great Kingdom remains torn by warring factions within itself, but should it ever unite and turn outward there are not many who could stop it. Even now we have word of armies of orcs attacking in the Rieuwood, mere elements of the forces of the Great Kingdom. Yet we are not without hope or allies of good, for the Knights Protector have been gathering in secret and continue to fight the corruption that is rampant in their lands.

Kespin, Westwind and Wrye did not return until nearly noon. When they had gotten to town they had learned that Asara has a white owl. They were immediately suspicious, especially our halfling duo, that Asara might be in league with the attacker, and they approached her with caution. They were somewhat mollified when she readily told them that she would be reporting the owl's information to the Council. At least she is not also speaking to chickens.

Kespin spent some time with Asara discussing magic while the others resupplied themselves. It seems that Asara has taken a liking to our bard, for he came out with tomatoes from her garden.

We all returned to town for the council meeting. Wrye seemed nervous to have us all in the same place at once, and I had the feeling that he did not fully trust Asara despite the Constable's reassurances.

The Council meeting was solemn as Asara described what her owl had seen. A red-scaled creature with lizard wings, horny ridges, claws and a long tail: indeed, a red dragon. The good news is that it is still young, although we do not know how young.

The owl has discovered the dragon's lair in an old mine complex in the Hollow Highlands. Something else was there too, possibly goblins.

It was agreed that the town should raise its own defense while we go to the dragon's lair.

Westwind was pleased with the loan of a heavy crossbow and more bolts than he could hope to shoot; Wrye convinced the Council that we should have use of a wand of healing that Asara had made. She also offered a scroll, and we have obtained other useful supplies on loan from the town as well.

Of course, this was all because we are going to fight the dragon for Menoch.

We prepare and rest now in the temple of Berei. Kobort is praying even more fervently than usual and Westwind is thoughtfully composing a will. We have scribed a letter to Odlits to invite him to the Inn for Brewfest, and if all goes well we will send it off when we return. We have decided to leave anything nonessential here in the temple where it will not weigh us down and we will take in its place extra ammunition.

Kobort continues to pray in a low orcish growl to Heironeous, and I have given my own prayers to St. Cuthbert just as Wrye has entreated his halfling goddess. Sir Golant meditates in solitude, and there is a hardness to it that is uncommon.

Reaping 17th, continued.

A company of dwarves arrived at the temple as we were preparing. Kobort was still meditating and I was yet again tending to my weapons when they came into the temple.

They were dressed in the colors of Heironeous and bore his symbol. One was a sturdy cleric; he was well armed and armored and each step he took was solid progress. The rest of his company were four younger acolytes who followed him as happily as I have seen a dwarf do anything.

The cleric scanned the room until his gaze fell on Kobort, kneeling before his sword. His face brightened, dusty and ruddy as it was from travel, and he bade the others wait as he approached the paladin with surety.

Orin Stoutbeard quickly became part of our company by dint of his own insistence. He and his group were on their way to Seblingham to seek out Kobort and help with the new temple. They were surprised but very pleased to find him all the sooner. I think Kobort was not sure how to react at first, for Orin is a very enthusiastic priest; but as he is equally enthusiastic to do battle with the dragon, he is all the more welcome. He insisted that he would go wherever Kobort went, and I am not sure we could stop him if we tried.

We have had a fortifying dinner and have begun our final inventory. The plan is to have the owl guide us as far as the entrance to the dragon's lair. We will wait until the dragon goes out to hunt and lay a trap for it when it returns. We expect to fight goblins, certainly, and we do not know what else may be lurking in the old mine. However, we have plenty of sturdy rope and seven has long been known as a lucky number.

***

They traveled overland for several hours. The hills rolled beneath their horses' hooves while they watched the sky for the white owl that served as their guide. Clouds covered the sky and hung low overhead, pouring great gouts of cooling rain down upon them. Huge gusts of wind kicked up, flattening the tall field grasses and bending the trees with their pull.

As the Swords of Sunndi drew close to their destination they paused to prepare themselves with a few well-placed spells.

"Hold still, lad," scolded Orin. Mike was tugging on his horse's sodden reins to little effect, and the mare was skittering sideways. It took a few moments longer and several muttered curses before she stood still enough for the cleric to complete the rite of strength on her rider. A few paces away Kobort and Kespin cast the same magicks on themselves -- the same effect but very different to cast. While the paladin prayed to Heironeous as Orin did, the bard instead sang a snatch of a song.

Suddenly, the white owl Ayfa startled, dipped in her flight and turned back the way they had come. At the same moment, Westwind held up a hand.

"Voices. Goblins," he murmured to the others. Through the driving rain, they were just barely audible, but Wrye's keen eyes picked out the band of goblins as they approached. The party rode into a sheltering grove of trees to let the humanoids pass them by.

Wrye pointed skyward. A dark shape moved low overhead, then ascended: the dragon. The adventurers glanced at each other once, then in silent accord continued on toward the mine entrance. The dragon was gone, and the humanoids were on the move toward Menoch.

They dismounted at the foot of the hill and secured the horses. Kobort spoke low to his fractious mount to quiet him, and the party gathered their weapons and gear.

"I hope Menoch can handle it." Kespin finally voiced the group's concern.

"They'd better." Mike loosened his sword in its sheath and hefted his shield.

"There is nothing we can do about that," Golant spoke low. "If we chase the humanoids now, we risk our chance at the dragon. Menoch has prepared as best it can."

Kespin and Wrye moved ahead noiselessly, dark shapes amid the rain and night-shadowed trees. Kespin's cloak shifted and changed to conceal his movements until he was nearly invisible even to Wrye.

The small ranger slowed, moving cautiously on the rocky slope by the ancient dwarven portal. The original paving stones were either long gone or had been hidden under long ages of soil which dripping water had turned to mud. Tracks were clear: humanoids, goblins and hobgoblins by the look and size. Then Wrye noticed the distinct print of a large cat, and realized that something paced within the entrance.

He ducked out of sight of the doorway and signaled to Kespin, and they retreated back to the rest of the group.

In moments Wrye was in position with his bow and Westwind had readied the heavy crossbow. The halfling warrior crouched to steady his aim and braced himself for the shot as the other five arrayed themselves about the slope.

The ranger nocked an arrow and drew and let fly in the instant the cat-creature showed itself. It leaped to the side in time for Westwind's bolt to sail wide and howled in pain and alarm. It crouched menacingly and growled, and its lips peeled back to reveal first sharp, bloodied teeth and then the muscles and bone of jaw, cheek and rolling eyes. Its roar was deep and full and thunderous against the constant murmur of rain. It stood its ground.

"Hah!" Kespin cried out as he leapt to his feet. "You think that's frightening, wait until you taste the point of my blade in your gizzard!" Beside him, Mike muttered a command word and the sword in his hands burst into bright flame, sizzling away the rainwater that flowed along its length. Pace for pace, they charged up the rocky slope.

Behind the guardian krenshar, goblins and hobgoblins clattered into the mine corridor. Shouted commands in guttural goblinish speech were muffled by the pounding rain and ranks formed in the shadows.

Kespin kept up a quick monologue as he dodged the beast's claws and Mike's fiery blade singed its flesh. From the brush, Wrye took steady aim and shot into the fight with a well-placed arrow; the krenshar staggered. It roared in pain and crouched, gathering itself for a final, desperate attack. An arrow abruptly sprouted from its chest: it writhed and fell. Westwind gave a rough cheer, and Wrye adjusted his aim into the entrance.

A volley of javelins flew between Mike and Kespin toward the halfling archer. He yelped as one cut a long, shallow scrape across his bow hand, then reached into his pack to withdraw a round, corked bottle. He tossed it overhand, and it flew easily into the entrance and smashed in an explosion of liquid flame across the face of one of the hobgoblins.

"Arggh!" The ranks were obliterated in smoke and light for just a moment and wild shapes gyrated, burning and screaming until the cries faded and the flames died down. More than one hobgoblin lay still and smoldering on the smooth stone floor, but the rest bared snarling teeth. Javelins and armor were scorched and the stench of burning flesh stung the nostrils. One of them had just enough time to loose his smoldering javelin at the halfling before the men rushed them.

Kespin gave a yell and launched himself over the front ranks, somersaulting through the air to land in a fighting crouch over the roasted body of a goblin, rapier at the ready. He laughed at the sneer of the hobgoblin beside him, counting another dead in his ringing baritone as his blade slid between its ribs. Mike raised his sword and charged straight in, sweeping the first rank aside in one broad swing of steel and flame. Once more the men faced the goblins side by side, and there was a sudden moment of silence in the mine.

In a single instant of understanding, the goblins turned tail and ran. They scattered at the intersection of passages, their footsteps echoing long down the tunnels. Kespin and Mike started after them, leaving the two remaining goblins to face Sir Golant and Kobort. They did not last long: Golant's steady pace became a loping charge and he clove through the both of them in one strike.

An eerie quiet fell over the mine as the adventurers paused to catch their breath and examine the bodies of the hill's inhabitants. It had been a mixed group of goblins and hobgoblins, with the larger humanoids in charge. The hobgoblins wore chain armor, of poor quality but patched with red enamel-like plates: the discarded scales of a red dragon.

"Well done, Kobort!" Orin enthused, sheathing his axe and overlooking the scene from his dwarvish perspective. "Well done indeed."

The glow of flame approached around the bend: Kespin and Mike returned by the light of the warrior's magic sword.

"They were too quick," Mike shook his head, dissatisfied. "We'll have to find them again."

"Damn!" Westwind swore suddenly from where he searched the pockets of one of the largest of the hobgoblins. "Don't these guys have any cash?"

"I bet the dragon keeps it all in the treasure hoard," Kespin reassured him. "We'll just have to kill him and take it." The offhand tone drew several odd looks from others in the party, but Westwind grinned.

"Fine, but if we're done sneaking around, I'll be putting my chainmail on," Wrye announced. "I'll go get it from Smiler."

"Not alone," Mike stepped over a scorched goblin. "Last time we let a man go alone, he nearly got killed. " Of course, he'd been killed only a few days later in heroic sacrifice anyway, but Mike didn't mention that small fact. Wrye regarded him appraisingly.

"If I go alone," the halfling ranger considered aloud, "nobody even knows I'm there. Send the guy encased in metal with me, and the whole Highlands will hear us." Westwind snickered.

"Hngh." Mike grunted. "Not good enough. You won't be so quiet yourself on the way back."

"He's right, ye know," Orin chimed in helpfully, pausing in his examination of one of the red scales. "An' ye'll have to get all t'way back 'ere for anyone t' heal ye up if ye run into any bad luck out there."

"Good point. Make sure you bring your sword," Wrye advised Mike with a peremptory air. The tall young man gave a long sigh, then followed the halfling out into the rain.

The darkness of the tunnel was nearly complete once the sword's light retreated down the hillside, but not for long. Kespin hummed a phrase and the area was lit by a bright light from the tip of his rapier.

"That's better." He held it up while he watched Orin check the last of the bodies. "Faugh," he exhaled in wonder at a sudden odor. "These things smell worse and ..." he stopped. The sound of footsteps thumped in the distance of the corridor, accompanied by the chattering of goblins. "And I think we're about to have company," he finished. Westwind was at the corner, already nocking an arrow.

The troll lumbered around the corner before they could prepare, building up speed as it charged directly for halfling. He loosed an arrow into it and dodged the swipe of its huge claws, rolling out of the way. The goblins urged the troll forward, hiding behind its bulk as small, wicked spectators.

Kespin and Golant took a side passage, a shortcut into the hallway behind the troll. He dashed around the corner and was brought up short by two snarling krenshar. They let out an unnatural roar of alarm and pulled back the skin from their faces until all Kespin saw was two pair of shining eyes in a mess of bloody muscle and toothy skull. For a heartbeat, he was rooted to the spot. Then he ran, taking the light with him.

Golant called to him, but panic had set in. The Knight Protector could hear the cats closing in on him, growling low. He steeled himself, and then in the blackness of the underground chamber the krenshar set upon him from both sides.

"In Heironeous' name, you will die!" Kobort stepped into the troll's path. It grinned at him, teeth half-rotted but still sharp and long. It took a step forward, then halted in surprise and annoyance. Westwind was at its ankle, trying to trip it. It swatted him backhanded and tossed him aside as easily as a halfling might consume a sweetroll. Then it opened its jaws too wide and reached for Kobort with claws outstretched.

"Ach, Kobort!" Orin cried in horror, rushing forward. "Back, ye creature of evil! Back!" The troll hooked its claws into the half-orc's shoulder and side and blood ran freely, leaking from his armor. Kobort let out an anguished roar that began as an orcish curse as it tore through muscle and sinew and pulled joints from their sockets. The paladin lost consciousness two heartbeats before the troll dropped his limp body to the bloody stone. Next, it turned its gaze to Westwind.

Kespin's lighted sword bobbed down the hillside toward the horses just as Wrye finally finished donning his chainmail. He had stopped yelling only because he had run out of breath, and now he simply babbled incoherently about cats with no faces.

Mike didn't stop to ask him details. "Hurry up, Wrye!" He waited only long enough to be sure the halfling was following before he sprinted up the hill.

Sir Lleranon Golant whirled and struck at the growling darkness, and felt his sword slice into wiry muscle. He was rewarded with a pained snarl. The second krenshar's claws clicked against the smooth floor, and he swung at it. The tip caught, and the huge cats drew back, wary. The knight smelled their blood and felt their growing fear, and instead of retreating into the light, he pressed forward against them.

The dwarf was already praying before he even reached Kobort's side. "By the grace of Heironeous and to serve as His sword arm, let flesh and bone and spirit mend; let breath fill his lungs and blood course through his veins and let him serve Heironeous with every step and every strike..." Westwind lost track of the heavily accented syllables as it sunk in that the half orc was likely dead, and he himself was now the primary target of the troll. The goblins behind it took up a chant, standing back lest they become targets of their own greatest weapon.

"Mash him! Mince him! Munch him!" they cheered it on in their guttural tongue. Westwind took a deep breath and concentrated all his effort on fending the thing off until he found a chance to retreat.

"Ow!" It grabbed his arm and bit hard, and he whacked it away and withdrew another few wary steps. Orin droned on behind him over Kobort's form, and with a sudden cry Kobort sat up.

"Welcome back, Kobort sir," Orin pleasantly held out a hand to help the half-orc to his feet. "Ye had us wee bit worried there."

"A little help!" Westwind interrupted urgently as he was forced backward by the looming troll. "Glad you're not dead," he added, "because that sword's more your size." He ducked, and the troll's blackened claws missed his head. "But if you're not gonna use it, I will!" His voice rose in pitch as he slipped under the troll's arm and barely avoided the creature's overlarge teeth.

Kobort grimaced at the exercise of newly-healed muscles, but was already on his feet and swinging Valor. It opened a huge gash in the troll's side and it turned from Westwind with rage in its monstrous eyes.

Wrye was still scrambling up the slope when Mike entered the mine. The light of Kobort's sword Valor lit the scene.

"Cuthbert's Beard!" the man swore in dwarvish under his breath. Blood slicked the stone and he nearly slipped on it as he caught up with his companions. "Damnit, Kobort, can't you wait to get into battle?"

Golant heard the krenshar coming and stepped aside from its charge, catching it midair with the keen edge of his blade. He felt the warmth of its blood on his face and the breath went from it, and it thudded to the ground beside him and lay still. The other paced around him, panting with the pain of the wounds he had given it. He quieted his breaths, listening for the opponent he could not see; he swung at it to judge the distance and heard it dodge the blow. Guessing its direction, he changed his, turning away to bring the blade around to meet it full on. It ran at him and he knew it, and he caught it full in the chest. It impaled itself on his blade and nearly bore him over with the sudden weight.

He dislodged his longsword from the corpse and stood and listened. He had long since lost track of direction in the pitch blackness. He heard running footsteps, and a faint light outlined a doorway for just an instant as it passed by the corridor. The sounds of battle echoed strangely from the hallway and he moved toward it.

Kespin had reached the horses before the panic left him. For a long moment, all he could do was stand and catch his breath; even with the worst of the fear gone he still could not make himself start back up the hill.

Logically, he knew that the effect was more than simple cowardice. The krenshar were unnaturally frightening to begin with, for certain, but there was the unmistakable feel of magic about the creatures. He had his own magic which was not insignificant and understood the effects; now he understood them in a far more personal manner. The cats had not simply frightened him, they had tapped into the deeply buried instinct for flight and triggered it. His heart still pounded from it, and he shook with the intensity of the experience.

"Enough." He told himself sharply. "I'll have to leave this part out of the ballad, won't I?" He shook off the last of his uneasiness and started back up the hill.

The goblins' cheers turned to panicked yelps as they pushed past each other away from the adventurers. The troll lay, still twitching, at Kobort's feet and Valor glowed through the deep red of the monster's blood. The halls were quiet. Mike and Westwind watched the creature warily while Kobort turned to Orin.

"Would you like to take its head?" the half-orc offered almost ceremonially.

"Och, Kobort, I'd be honored." Orin gave the paladin a half-bow, stepped forward and hefted his axe to separate the head from the body.

Golant and Wrye each rejoined them as they they worked to chop up the remains. Until burned, they knew, the troll could easily heal even wounds that seemed fatal. In a few minutes, it could attack them again with the same ferocity as before. Orin and Mike traded troll-slaying stories as they used the flameblade to ensure that the thing would not rise again.

"Two goblins got away," Kobort was telling the Knight Protector as Kespin strolled up the hallway. "But not for long."

"Feeling better?" Sir Golant, disheveled but unhurt, queried of the bard. Kespin looked briefly guilty.

The goblins did not return, and the adventurers explored the mine. The first chamber was a large hall with a broken-down wooden dais in the center of it. It was well-used, with clear signs of occupation by goblins. The went through the room carefully, picking through the soiled bedding on the dais for any information about their ultimate quarry: the red dragon.

"Hey, I found something!" Westwind emerged from under the dais. "There's some coins and a scroll. Oh," he added as an afterthought, "and a really big gem."

"What kind?" Mike and Kespin asked at the same time, each referring to a different item.

They overturned the rotting wooden structure and revealed a small cache; Kespin reached for the scroll tube while Mike reached for the gem. He held it up to the light of his sword and whistled appreciatively.

"A star ruby," he breathed. "I've never seen anything like it." Westwind hovered at his side, looking up at it.

"Worth a lot, huh," he suggested knowingly.

"A lot."

"Huh," the halfling considered suddenly. "What's five percent of a lot?"

Kespin tucked the scroll case in his pack. "Could come in handy," he commented.

They gathered up the coins and carefully stowed the gem before they looked further. A door at the end of the room was locked, rusted, and dusty enough that it hadn't been opened in years, according to Wrye's educated opinion. Dirt and scuff marks instead led out into the hallway.

They proceeded cautiously through the empty halls by following faint paths in the dust of ages. A library had been abandoned, a few books still left on the shelves. At the center of the room was a pedestal inscribed with runes; Mike and Orin quickly recognized them as a gemcutter's prayer.

Although someone had carelessly rummaged through the remaining books, one lay untouched on a high shelf hidden beneath something so rotted that it was nearly unrecognizable. Kespin brought it down to the pedestal, carefully dusting it off. What he uncovered was an aging book with a cover of beaten gold and steel edges, but what had truly caught his attention was the image on the cover of a warrior battling a red dragon.

Other things had been left or lost in the library, but the bard slowly opened the cover and began to read. It was written in the common tongue although the language was archaic, and it described Sir Galath Farviance, a Knight Protector, in his quest to slay an ancient red wyrm.

By the time the group was finished searching through the corners of the library, Kespin had skimmed the story for hints on dragonslaying. Sir Farviance had several advantages, not the least of which was the sword Justice, known as one of the great dragonslaying swords.

The bard had to be pried from the book in order to complete the exploration of the entrance level. Reluctantly he closed the tome, carefully wrapping it in a spare shirt to protect it in his pack.

"Do you have any idea what we can learn from this?" Kespin demanded excitedly of his companions. "Just think of it. This Knight slew an ancient red dragon!"

"Do you have any idea what mischief a pair of loose goblins can do us?" Wrye countered impatiently, tapping a hairy foot.

In the end, the goblin tracks led directly into a blank wall.

"Ah, here it is, Kobort sir." Orin's thick fingers traced along an invisible seam at the same time as Westwind touched a stone in the wall that was greasy from countless goblin fingers. Dust puffed away from the seam as the door unlocked, and the dwarf pushed it lightly aside. The panel slid weightily into the wall, revealing two very surprised goblins in a closet.

"Hah! There you are." Kespin stepped forward, putting on a menacing air. He towered above the diminutive goblins. "We've been looking for you." Slowly and deliberately, he drew his rapier and in one smooth motion pointed it at the throat of the larger one. Its eyes widened, and it trembled as it shook its head and gibbered in disconnected, guttural syllables.

"Lemme at 'em!" Westwind pulled out his hand axe and brandished it, shouldering past at Kespin's waist level. "This'll be fun." The smaller one squeaked and tried to slip behind its companion, but there was no room. The halfling grinned toothily at them and advanced.

Wrye interposed. "Hold on, friend," he advised Westwind. "Let's see what we can get out of them." He switched to goblin speech, learned by hunting the creatures in the wilds of the Hollow Highlands.

"Let's make a deal," he began. He modulated his tone to something almost friendly, but the undercurrent of violence was accented by Westwind's impatience and Kespin's nonchalance as they hovered over the last two goblins. "You tell us what we want to know and I keep him from beating the tar out of you. Got it?" Westwind pushed forward against Wrye's restraining arm, baring his teeth at the goblins. A small puddle began to form under one of them, and they both nodded quick agreement.

"Okay," considered Wrye as he supervised the binding of the two goblins after the questioning was complete. "According to them, we cleared out everyone on this level. The ones below us went with the dragons, and there aren't any more trolls, thank Yondalla. Then there's another floor of goblins, and then the dragon's lair. Do we really have to get through three more levels?" They secured them, then backed away and closed the hidden door again to shut the goblins inside.

"Do we have a choice?" Mike shrugged.

"Maybe." Wrye fingered his chin thoughtfully despite the fact that he had no beard.

They methodically worked their way back out to the main chamber, then paused in front of the locked door.

"Hasn't been opened in centuries by the look of it." Wrye observed. "Lock's rusted shut."

"So we open it." With typical directness, Kobort motioned the group aside.

He bounced off the sturdy door once, then twice. Mike and Kespin and Golant braced against it to no avail. Finally, as Kobort lined up to charge it yet again, Kespin held up his hands.

"Enough of this!" the bard protested, rubbing the developing bruise on his shoulder. "I've got an opening spell."

"Just let me get out of the way." Mike moved aside in time for Kobort to slam into the door again with no better result than the first five times.

Kespin unrolled an aging scroll and held it before him as he intoned the magical rite. The script flashed once, then faded, and the door clicked open.

The hinges squealed in protest as Kobort pushed it wide. A short hallway greeted them, at the end of which was another door. It was identical to the first in almost every way, including the rusted lock.

Kespin groaned. "That was the only opening spell I had."

"So we open by hand." Kobort grinned and gave himself a good running start. He bounced off the second door even better than he had bounced from the first. Mike was lining up to lend his weight when Kespin noticed a significant fact.

"Uh, guys, this one opens in." He braced against the side wall and pulled with all his might, and the lock crumbled into orange dust. The door swung open to reveal complete blackness.

Mike lit the dark shaft with the light of his sword. An ancient block and tackle was mounted on the arched ceiling, bits of rotted rope dangling from the rusted wheels. It was five times the height of a man across to the far side, and the floor was shrouded in darkness many lengths below.

"By the Forge," he swore under his breath. "It's a good thing that door didn't give way to you, Kobort."

The half orc was smiling. "I think we found the back way down."

Here endeth the session.

... [ next session ]