Keridwynne went to the library and did some research on the Dwarves. She came back and relates to you the events of the Dwarven nation.
The Pennine mountain range due west of Eburacum is where the largest contingent of Dwarves live. There is another section of Dwarves that live in the Cambrian mountains. Once a large nation of Dwarves the two factions of Dwarves started to have conflicts of interest. Four hundred years ago, a civil war erupted. Nothing was really accomplished, except a lot of dead Dwarves. By the time it was over, the Dwarves became two separate nations. The reason for the civil war is a bit unclear. The Cambrian mountain range produces far more wealth than the Pennines and the Cambrian Dwarves grew restless about giving all the minerals to the Pennine Dwarves. Both sets of Dwarves closed their borders to outsiders. The only contact with Dwarves have been through the adventurers who have left their cities. No government has had any contact officially with the Dwarven government for 400 years. (This of course has changed in the last two months because Eburacum has an ambassador from the Dwarven nation of the Pennine mountains.)
This sparked some curiosity in Keridwynne and she went to talk to King Barant. He didn’t have a great deal to say about the Dwarven ambassador, Arkose. Just that he didn’t really want to discuss politics and a possible trade agreement with him. The only thing of any real interest that he seemed to be doing was visiting religious temples. His specific interest seems to lie in the Celtic God of Healing, Dianchecht. He has also been asking around about a Lady of the Lake Temple, which Barant told him that the Lady doesn’t have temples because her clerics are wanderers. When told this, Arkose, seemed to become somewhat angered by this and left. That was the last time that Barant talked to him, which was just before you arrived in Eburacum.
December 6, 522, 1 pm
Arkose has summoned you to the north castle. He has chosen a small den with a fireplace. There is no table except for a coffee table that sits in front of a large couch. A few very comfortable easy chairs sit in a semicircle around the couch. The walls decorated with tapestries of battles fought long ago. Some of them so old that the names of the battles aren’t recognizable.
Arkose is a short, very stocky dwarf, not more than four foot tall. He has dark brown eyes and a black beard and hair. His beard is close cropped to his face unlike other dwarves that you have seen with beards so long that they have to tuck them into their pants. His nose is smallish for a dwarf but still quite large. His clothing is plain, a leather vest over a white shirt with bell sleeves, leather pants and boots round out the ensemble. He seems troubled and agitated pacing the room as you all file in. He waits for you to sit and the servants of Barant to serve drinks. The servants depart from the room. Neither King Barant or any of his advisors are present at this meeting.
“I am Arkose. I have heard that you wished to speak to me of the Sword of Ashler and its possible destruction in the Pennine Volcano. Know this, it can’t be done. The volcano in which it was forged will not destroy it. We tried to destroy it years ago but it floated to the top and was washed along the lava flow only to be found later and used by Ashler. It is possible that our Dwarven sages could help you destroy it. To do this you would have to travel to Pennine and no outsider has done that in 400 years. Strange times make strange bedfellows they say though. I have need of you, more specifically of you Keridwynne.”
Keridwynne looks at Arkose, “I have heard that you have been searching for some healing from the Celtic god Dianchecht and that you were searching for one of my order. Are you in need of healing Arkose?”
“I wish it were that easy Keridwynne. My king lies dying of the plague. Dalor the 12th will not last the month out unless a cure can be found. Our own clerics are dumbfounded. They worship Berronar Truesilver, the goddess of healing, but this plague stumps even them. “
Nightshade steps in, “You keep saying a plague, Arkose. How many others are affected?”
“I don't know exactly. More than one thousand when I left, almost all warriors and nobility. Two hundred were dead before I left, with them the son of Dalor, leaving no direct heir to the throne.”
“What are the symptoms of this plague?” Keridwynne asks.
“High fever, delusions, and just before death a purplish cast takes over the skin. They are killed by the high fever. We can prolong life by dipping them is ice water but sooner or later they die. They just give up.” Arkose says pacing the room.
Keridwynne looks down at her hands and then says in a low voice, “I know this plague. It is the same one that killed my husband over a year ago. When we met with Sir William, he said that Ashler’s clerics were the cause of the plague that killed my husband. I would bet that the same can be said with your King Dalor.”
Tieron asks, “What would Ashler gain if Dalor was out of the way?”
“I have thought long and hard on that. I have a couple of answers, either of which could be the answer or both. King Dalor is not an easy man to sway from his opinions. If he could be eliminated from the structure, it might be possible to place a dwarf on the throne that would be more susceptible to suggestions. Hence they could gain a foot in court and possibly shape Dwarven politics in the future. Dalor was about to open the doors to the other races. If he did that, we could be shown the problems that Ashlers people cause and then he would have the dwarves as enemies on the battlefield. If we stayed isolationists, then we would never come to the rescue if the rest of races got in trouble. He would be free to conquer without fear of us and when he got done he could then turn his attention to us or maybe he thinks that we will join him. A long shot but still a reason. I believe the second explanation to be the correct one. The warrior caste is the hardest hit of all the population. If they are gone the dwarves are ripe for the taking. We have been tracking a lot of Gnomish activity in the Pennines. We have even seen one army move out of the mountains and attack Catterick. They then turned east into the swamps of Yorkshire. To my knowledge they haven’t come out yet. I hope they never do. If the Gnomes are so bold as to attempt this then they wouldn’t hesitate to attack a weakly defended Pennine. Once conquered, they would make slaves of the rest of us to work the mines for them. With all that iron and steel that we can produce. They could forge an army like none have ever seen before.”
“Why do you think that a cleric to the Lady of the Lake could be any help to you? No offense Keridwynne but why could she save your people and not your own Clerics?” Talorc inquires.
“I am grasping at straws with that one. This is going to sound ridiculous but I had felt compelled to come here to Eburacum. No one knows that I even came here and I certainly didn’t come with the Dwarves approval. All I can tell you is that I kept seeing a symbol of an upstretched hand and when I got here I found that is the symbol of clerics to the Lady of the Lake. I was hoping that Berronar Truesilver was guiding me, but she is not prone to visions. So I could be here because of a spicy Dwarven stew that caused nightmares. I am hoping to convince you to come with me and see if you can help. This could be advantageous to you as well if you are going to try to destroy that sword.”
“I think that we can try don’t you?” Keridwynne states looking at her companions.
The rest of the party seems to nod in agreement.
(Should you have more questions that you wish to ask about go for it. They can be taken here or on the road to Pennine.)
Plans are set for a departure in the morning.
Talorc, Keridwynne, Nightshade and Arkose are here when you are ready to depart. Tieron and Shateera come sauntering up. Tieron looks a bit uncomfortable.
“Shateera wants to go with if the rest of you approve. She doesn’t want to leave me.” Tieron blushes some at that last comment.
(Party decision time. Leave Tieron’s girl behind or take her with and be forced to witness them taking showers together. :) )
Either way you leave, setting course for the Pennine Mountains and the city of Pennine. The trip is long but generally unexciting. You pass into the mountains on the second day of the trip. The trail leads deep into the mountains. It could be difficult for you to get out of here for the snow is getting deep and soon Arkose says some of these passes will be completely blocked with snow. You press on. The third day of the trip, it snows all day and into the Night. Tieron is curiously not bothered by the cold. Letting his cloak fly open and the wind whip around him. Could be the flames of passion are keeping him all toasty warm.
December 11 early morning.
You pass through a tunnel cut into a mountain. As you emerge, you are stunned by the site of a Dwarven city, it is located in a valley completely surrounded by mountains. The size of the city is enormous. It is double the size of Eburacum and could rival that of London itself. Its building feats of engineering cut directly into mountains. Towering spires adorn these buildings, designed to look like small mountain peaks from the air.
Talorc is the first to recover, “This has to be the best kept secret in all of England. A Dwarven city of this size and totally unknown to the outside world. I thought that Dwarves lived underground mostly though.”
“Some do and some don’t. Obviously we don’t.” Arkose smiles, “I ask that when you leave that you don’t reveal this secret to the world until the Dwarves decide to rejoin the other races.”
You make your way down the path that spirals down into the city. The Dwarves passing you on the street stare in awe and curiosity. For some of them have never seen anyone of another race before. Arkose leads you steadily on. He takes you to his home. A nice place with many of the comforts of home. His decorating style is a bit in the mining theme with picks and tools adorning the walls. He must have some wealth for he has your own rooms for all of you.
“It has been a long trip for you. Feel free to rest and relax. I am going to the Palace to check on the King. I might be gone for a time, because I am going to have to explain my actions of bringing you to Pennine. You can explore the city if you wish, but be prepared for some stares. Some may be rude but I don't think you should be in any danger if you keep to the well traveled areas. I will try to make an appointment for you to see the King in the morning.”
(One Dwarven city for the taking people. What you doing and where you going. You have the most of this day to explore.)
December 11, 522 Late evening.
Nightshade, Talorc and Keridwynne have all decided to take a look around this fair town of Pennine. Tieron and Shateera have declined the revelry for the night instead planning a long night of sword play. Talorc thinks about it and then holds his tongue. They depart into the night, searching for a likely bar and restaurant. The night is cold but clear. You pull your cloaks around for added warmth. For as cold as it seems to be out here, the nightlife is very active. Almost every street is lined with dwarves dancing, singing and drinking far to much dwarven ale. You would think a town that was cursed by a plague would be a bit more subdued but then again since you have never been here this may very well be subdued. The three of you travel down several streets searching for just the right place to rest. Talorc notices a few Dwarves with weapons walking into a bar known as the Straight March. He was looking for the warrior caste to get to know and seems to have found them. You approach the doors, made of stone. Talorc grabs the handle and pulls a bit more than needed. The door is well balanced and moves with the slightest touch. A fine feat of engineering for it must weigh a good 500 pounds. The bar you enter is large. Its cavernous interior echoing the cacophony of the crowd. The bar is an island in the middle of the room. Six bartenders are scurrying about back there. Booths line the walls and tables are scattered about the middle of the room. Most people have their backs to the door as they are watching the stage that covers the back wall of this place. On stage is a single female dwarf (No the females do not have beards) playing a guitar. She is being backed up by a band. One guy on the some big steel drums, the other playing a sax. They are pretty good really. She is singing a ballad. You take a seat at an empty booth. The booth have coat racks attached to the sides of them. You remove your cloaks and sit down. Soon a dwarven waitress appears at your table. She slaps down some napkins for drinks and then takes her first look at you. She steps back a bit and then regains her composure.
“Neejahe Adal?” she says, “Kedan atche meto al et zu?”
Nightshade translates, “What can I get you? Menus or some good dwarven ale?”
Talorc looks up and smiles that huge grin of his and says. “Menus and a round of ale for us, please.”
Nightshade translates that to dwarven, it is interesting to hear such guttural speech uttering from her elven throat. (From here on, Nightshade is doing all the translating. She is doing it word for word for you. Nightshade can’t read much but she does speak just about everything.)
She nods and scurries away quickly. You see her over to the bar and pointing in your general direction. The bartenders move around to the end of the bar closest to you and trying not to make it look like they are staring, proceed to stare at you. The waitress returns with the ale and menus. She distributes everything and mutters she’ll be back in a minute to get your order. The menu is written in Dwarven and Nightshade can’t translate it for you so you point to stuff and hope for the best. By the time the first ale is done, she has returned with your food and finding it very good you wolf it down. Been awhile since real food. Dry rations just don’t cut it. Another round of ale is ordered by Talorc. The bard on stage is singing another ballad. She concludes this one and starts to speak.
“In honor of the ancient mystery that lends this bar its name. I will sing to you the ballad of the Straight March. “ she says.
Straight March
Over the mountains you call to me
Shadow of a dream, an ancient mystery
Oh how I long for your emptiness
Oh how I long for you to take me to my rest
Torn between this world and another land
Nights when I’ve ached for a dwarven hand
I’ll come to you while the moon shines bright
But I must go free with the first streak of light
Over the mountains you call to me
Shadow of a dream, an ancient mystery
Oh how I long for your emptiness
Oh how I long for you to take me to my rest
The whole room was quiet for the entire song. As she finishes it, the crowd bursts into its chaos again with renewed vigor. The Dwaves that Talorc followed in, are pounding their fists on the table. They get into some sort of head butting contest that leaves them all rubbing their foreheads in pain. One of them gets up and moves over toward you. He lumbers his way across the floor and stands next to your table.
“As I live and breathe, Elves. We don’t have foreigners in this town and the first ones we get are Elves. Damn good sight for sore eyes, I’d say. May I?” he says setting himself down.
“I am Captain Klank of the Dwarven Imperial Guard, currently assigned to the City watch of Pennine and who might you be.?”
Nightshade makes the round of introductions.
(OK if you have questions for him fire away, you too Doug I am going to assume that your party members would think of the things that you suggest.)
"So what does a tourist do for fun around here?" Talorc asks in Elven engaging Klank with a winning smile.
Klank looks at Talorc, puzzled.
Nightshade sensing that Klank has no idea what Talorc is saying says "So, have there been any other clerics passing through recently?"
“Oh yes many over the weeks. All have come and failed to cure the plague that haunts us. They of course were all Dwarves.”
“What is the Significance of the song that the bar quieted down for?” Keridwynne queries.
“The Straight March is a legend but it gives our people hope. It is a tunnel between this world and the next. It is said that weapons and items of great power reside there for eternity. When a great hero dies, the Straight March appears before them and they are taken to their resting place. But first they are deposited in a waiting area to strip themselves of all earthly possessions. Here these items lie, never to be used again. The first Dwarven King of these Mountains, Caltor, is rumored to have traveled the Straight March into the afterlife. It would be there that Caltor’s shield lays. The hearsay on that shield was that it could restore life to the dead and cure the sick and wounded. If it could be found, this plague would be over. But finding the Straight March is a difficult assignment, recovering Caltor’s shield and returning would be the real trick.” Klank says.
There is a moment of silence as you are all lost in thought. You look up to see Arkose crossing the floor with Tieron and Shateera in tow. Arkose pulls up a chair and sits down. Tieron and Shateera hovering just behind him.
“I went to check in on King Dalor. He lives for now but the clerics that attend him think that he will die soon. He is still trying to due the duties of the King even in his condition. He wanted to hear my report, so I told him about you. I feared he may have been angry but he insists that you should come to the castle immediately hence the reason I dragged the two lovebirds out of their seclusion.” Arkose states.
Arkose turns to Klank, “Captain, I am glad that you are here as well. General Mordon died a few hours ago, victim of the plague. You, Captain, are now the highest ranking officer in all of Pennine. You are now in command of the forces that are left standing, General.”
Arkose stands up, and sweeps his hand in an After you type gesture. The party rises and leaves the bar. General Klank returns to his table and hustles his men out into the night. It is a brisk,cold walk to the castle. The air is still as if nature was holding its breath to see what happens next. The castle is on a scale so grand that is hard to imagine. Its sculpted towers reach for the sky disguised as mountain peaks. Its main central structure on the inside of those towers is at least seven stories in height and when looked at resembles nothing more than a worn down mountain top. You pass through the stone doors. There are very few guards here, most of them taken down by the plague. Arkose leads you up a several flights of stairs and then twists through the corridors to stand before the bed chambers of the King. Arkose knocks politely and a cleric of Berronar Truesilver opens the door. She is a beautiful dwarf by any standard. Short cropped black framing a round face. Her eyes are a bright green but they look tired.
Arkose says “Kiputytto, these are the people that King Dalor asked to see. Everybody this is Kiputytto, cleric to Berronar Truesilver and cousin to the king.”
Kiputytto bows and says “It is good to meet you, I wish it could be in better circumstances.”
Talorc steps back a bit and shudders just slightly.
Kiputytto steps forward and looks at Talorc.
“Are you feeling ok?” she queries.
Talorc looks at her and says, “I think so, just a moment of dizziness. Too much ale I would guess.”
“Well I don’t want you to become sick. The King is awaiting you at his bedside. I will be just outside these doors as Dalor has requested. I don’t really wish to but it is the Kings orders. Though, even if his condition did worsen, I am not sure that I can do much to stop it.”
Kiputytto steps forward toward the doors parting the party and out the door she heads. She closes the doors behind her.
“Please excuse her, she is just tired and frustrated.” Arkose says.
You approach King Dalor. He is resting in his bed. He is a young king but now the ravages of the disease have taken its toll. He is very pale in color. His beard has been kept up, but even it can not hide the pain that he is in. Dalor sits up as best he can.
“I needed to speak with you.” Dalor pauses and coughs, “Arkose told me that you bear the sword of Ashler. Good.”
More coughing with a little blood that he wipes away.
“There is no hope for me now. I know very little about any of you except that you bear Ashlers sword away from him, that you wish to dispose of it. On that is all I can judge you but I judge you to be good people or at least you try.”
A truly horrid bout of coughing, in which he settles back down into a prone position.
“I can not trust a Dwarf to lead this nation. For it is a Dwarf who caused this plague. I am a cleric to Moradin the creator of the Dwarves. In the time that I have had resting here, I have had long conversations with Moradin. This plague is not natural and caused by a spell. It can not be cured by another spell or by dispelling the magic that created it. It can only be stopped by finding out who or what is transmitting it from person to person. Moradin tells me that they are trying to weak us from within first and then when we are ripe for the taking. We will be overrun by enemies. “ Dalor coughs some more.
“Therefore I have established an order for succession. It is: Keridwynne, Nightshade, Talorc, Tieron and Shateera. The names were drawn randomly. I hope that one of you survives the plague long enough for you to cure the plague of the Dwarves. The Dwarves will follow the rules of the previous king, no matter what. It is all written down in my will. Rule wisely and justly.”
Dalor closes his eyes, shudders once and dies.
(Any questions?)
As soon as the King dies, Keridwynne drops to her knees, then her hands and knees. For a moment you think maybe she is just paying reverence to the passing of the King, then you notice she has the far away look in her eyes (again!?) :) She is out of it for a few minutes, when she rouses she shares with you her vision:
"Dalor has just died. In the stunned silence that followed, I felt myself falling. It is but a short fall. I was standing in a garden in wintertime. Snow is blowing in the wind. It was night. The moon hung over the spires of this very castle. Its fullness glowing down at me, innocent and knowing. A sudden gust of wind trembled a leaf still left on the vine. A scent overwhelms my senses. The scent of growth. It is humid feeling and musky. A deep rich earth smell. Promises of winter's end and a presence I hadn't felt in a long time, I sensed my (now dead) husband was near, though I did not hear or see him. The moonlight brushed against me and flowed onto the symbol of the Lady. It appeared for just a second... a portal to a jungle. Trees covered in vines. Fruit smells that were unrecognizable. In the distance I saw a pyramid but its tip has been sheared off leaving a platform. The stone was black and slick. Vines have long overgrown it, taking it back into the jungle from whence it came. Then the portal closed and only the scent of the jungle lingered. The wind picked up and blew the snow past, with its passing so to went the smell. The full moon is 2 days from now, I suggest that we be ready, this may be our only hope of saving the dwarves, and ourselves: The Straight March"
Keridwynne shakes herself free of the dreamy pallor that always engulfs her during and after visions. Okay, we have not much time and a lot to accomplish. She sits down at the desk next to the king's bed and picks up the pen and parchment that have probably been left by the scribe who was there, making out the kings wishes. She hurriedly writes this speech:
King Dalor, has gone to join Moradin. You all knew this was coming, and we will all miss this wise and productive ruler. In his final day, he happened upon a plan, to try to save the dwarven nation. He realized that whoever he appointed to succeed him as king would be the next target of the plague, a plague of magickal origins, which has, at least seemingly, a traitor dwarf for an ally. Even if this person is magically impersonating an honorable dwarf, the horrible effect is the same, destruction. He therefore named us, the outsiders as Ruler's of the dwarven nation. At first when he told us this, I thought him mad with fever, until I saw the crystal clarity of his wisdom. By so doing, he was not placing any further of the dwarven leaders in danger, and was striking out for the hope that we could stop the plague, find the traitor or infiltrator, and then, knowing that we are not of this culture, and would probably long for those of our own race, that we would then seek out the most noble, wise and honor bound dwarves to be the King in our stead, once the crisis is over. This is indeed our plan. This is a temporary, emergency measure to try to save the magnificent culture and society, and every precious dwaven life we can. I will first be your Queen, as Dalor has decreed, and if I die before I can find the answer, my companions will in turn take their chance with fate, and try to change the tragic history unfolding here.
First I will turn to NS, and start to ask her to read the speech, then I remember that she can't read "damn, we are really going to have to work on that, since you are the most well spoken of us all, you understand everything the others say, but nothing in writing. Then she turns to Arkose, and asks him to stand beside her on the royal balcony and deliver the speech. I order pages to go out and announce a royal proclamation is coming. I then ask, a servant to "find me something more ... resplendent will you? I wasn't dressing to be Queen of the Dwarves when I got up this morning."
Hmm, I could get used to this regal stuff.
As the scout you are, it is just normal for you to notice things that are out of the ordinary. On the table next to Dalor's bed is a pitcher of water and three glasses. All have been used. Looking at them, one is very obviously Dalor's his little beard hairs are floating in what is left in the bottom of the cup. Another is likely to be Kiputytto's as the scent of lipstick and perfume hang about it. The third is cracked just slightly at the base of it. The little bit of water that was left in it has leaked out of it and on to the table. The water has soaked into the table leaving behind a ring. The color of the oaken table in that ring is now tinged with green. The smell coming from that third glass is herbal. That smell is familiar to you. It is the smell of an herbal tea given to you by your mother when you were sick.
Now more interested you look down at the floor, it has a puddle of water on it. A rather large puddle of snow and dirt. It is melting slowly and expanding into the puddle left by your feet. But the track is still easy to follow. It leads over to a great bay window. The curtains are closed and can be opened by a simple tug on the cords that hold it. But why are there three cords? The wall next to the bay window shows imperfections in the wall. A well concealed door, but who just left by it?
Kiputytto bows and says "It is good to meet you, I wish it could be in better circumstances."
Talorc steps back a bit and shudders just slightly.
Kiputytto steps forward and looks at Talorc.
"Are you feeling ok?" she queries.
Talorc looks at her and says, "I think so, just a moment of dizziness. Too much ale I would guess.
"Derek, This is part of turn 26, I send it to refresh your memory. This piece occurs in between the above and just before Dalor dies.
You hear Altira's voice speak. "Talorc, you have just been attacked by hostile magic. The shudder that traveled through you was my attempt to banish it from your body. It failed. You are now infected by the plague that is infecting the dwarves. I'm sorry. It was a definate magical attack though not a natural disease. I can sense the spell now that I have felt it against me. Only Keridwynne is unaffected. Why, I do not know."
Dalor has just died. You stand looking down at his bed, contemplating the words he left behind. A fold in the bed covers draws your attention. A small piece of wood juts out a bit from within that fold. You reach down and grasp it. It pulls free. It is the a piece of a staff long broken. A broken staff piece. You gasp but not quite audibly. You scramble to look inside your coat and cloak pockets and pull forth another staff piece. With haste you turn the two pieces end to end and find that they fit together. A slight hum emits from them and you can feel the power building from within. You spin it around to look at it. The wood has knitted itself back together to form about 1/2 of a normal sized staff. The seam it once had is now undetectable. Carefully etched in gold along the side of the staff is the word Heather.
Shateera and Nightshade move over to the secret door. Nightshade points out the door to Shateera. After some searching, the release switch is found. The door swings open with great ease. It is a dark staircase, the smell of mold and wetness creeps up from below. The stairs are steep and damp. The stairs were constructed long after the castle was built and are not of dwarven make. They are too uneven and crooked. Each step downward is risk to your own life. Traversing it in the dark is also making this much harder that it need be. Nightshade pulls out a lantern from her pack and carefully lights it. Life is much easier with the light on. In a few seconds you have traveled to the bottom of the staircase. There is little of interest in here except a discarded piece of paper. Uncrumpling it, Shateera reads.
Spread the dust around and leave a trail into the hallway. Talorc will follow standard procedure and scan the room for the spell of disease and when he does he will discover the trail. When he does he will be a like a bird following crumbs and then he and they will die in the well laid trap. Our "friend" will be there as well. But remember his life depends on the morning sun.
Talorc stepped out the door alone, none of his companions wishing to come with him in the search for Kiputytto. He follows the trail seeing it with his magically enhanced eyes. It leads down a flight of stairs to the ground level of the castle, here it winds down many a corridor, twisting and turning at every intersection. On the final turn, the trail ends in a dead end corridor. The magic that led Talorc here, now expires. With the image of it still burned into his mind, Talorc starts down the corridor. He passes down three doors on either side of him, coming to the fourth and final doors. Ahead of him is stone wall, a portrait of some dwarven official hangs there. Obviously not an important one, to be hanging in this dead end corridor. Without warning, a jet of flame pours forth from the mouth of the portrait, consuming it and Talorc in fire. Talorc attempts to duck and cover himself, but there really is no where to go. Hoping for the best, Talorc lies prone on the floor. He can feel the heat on his back but it doesn’t sear or even seem to be causing pain. Either he died already or...
Altira speaks, “Fire protection engaged.”
That’s what Talorc thought. His sword, Altira, protected him. The flames wash over him for a few seconds more. Just enough time to stand and walk forward a bit. A wry smile flashes across Talorc’s face. If somebody were to happen upon this scene, he might be hailed as a religious icon. A man walking unscathed from flame is a rather impressive sight to behold. Another thought crosses the mind of Talorc, apparently the trail was a trap to lead him here. But is the flame the only part of the trap or just the beginning.
The flame jet sputters a bit and then goes out with a loud pop. The corridor is blackened almost all the way down this hall. The doors that Talorc passed are wooden and the fire is licking away at them. Talorc turns to the door that the trail led him to. After coming all this way it would be impolite not to knock on the door. Talorc raps gently on the fire engulfed door in front of him. No one answers, very impolite of Kiputytto. Talorc braces himself on one leg and kicks with the other. The door splinters and bounces on its hinges. His draws Altira and his ceremonial dagger in the other hand. Looking through the door reveals a bare room. Nothing at all inside. If Kiputytto came here she is now gone. Talorc turns around and scans down the hallway. Nobody. Talorc feels the bone jarring impact of something striking his nose. The slam of it knocks him back several feet and he slams into the wall behind him. Quickly rolling up to his feet, he looks back at the now forming figure of an Elven male. His appearance was sudden as if his invisibility spell was just broken.
“Kivutar or should I call you Kiputytto,” he shouts, “There is only one, here. Keridwynne is not with him. They must think very little of you to only send one individual.”
The elf is a full head shorter than Talorc. He is unarmed and with no visible weapons on him. He is dressed very casually with large poofy type sleeves and baggy leggings. His boots are knee high laced up the front. He has short cropped black hair that doesn’t cover the tips of his ears. It is his smile that is the most alarming feature about him. His upper incisors are elongated and quite pointed.
Kiputytto/Kivutar steps out from one of the other doors.
“This is not what we expected, but it will have to do. One dead is one less that we have to kill later. Destroy him, quickly, you do not have much time left.”
The vampire looks at Talorc making sure that eye contact is made.
“Lay down your weapons.”
Talorc starts to lower his defenses and then snaps back and sprints forward. Altira’s strike is smooth and flowing. It catches the vampire across the chest drawing a line of blood from it. The blood splatters against the wall. The dagger come around and plunges deep into the side of the elf. Talorc has to pull back hard to retrieve it. This wound doesn’t bleed and seals just about the same time that the dagger exits. Realizing that only the magic of Altira will harm him, Talorc drops the dagger on the ground. The vampire looks down at his chest and then lifts one arched eyebrow.
“A more formidable opponent than I had first anticipated.”
The vampire swings viciously at Talorc’s head. Talorc ducks in time to avoid it but the second swing connects hard into Talorc’s midsection, leaving him sucking for air.
(Note to those with Keridwynne and coming to Talorc’s rescue. You have time to cast prep spells in the 5 minutes that it will take to find Talorc.)
Meanwhile Keridwynne and company is rushing down the stairs following the trail that was meant to catch the whole party.
Talorc whirls Altira above his head and brings it down hard on his opponents collarbone. The force of the blow is sufficient to bust the collarbone and travel into the chest area. (Natural 20) The vampire shudders from the blow, but doesn’t fall. His left arm rendered useless for the time being. An evil grin passes over the face of the vampire. His eyes shining with their own internal light. He rushes Talorc and bowls him over. He brings his good hand down onto Talorc’s throat and rips. His hand leaving long streaks of crimson on Talorcs flesh. Talorc wrenches his head around and tries to break free of the vampire’s grip. He thrusts Altira up and into the stomach of the vampire. It’s force piercing through the stomach and emerging from its back. The vampire still atop Talorc reaches his fist way back and plunges Talorc into eternal blackness.
The vampire stands up and pulls Altira from his stomach, “It may have been a good thing that there was only one of them. Thank you so much for the help Kivutar.”
Kivutar steps forward, “I didn’t think someone of your caliber would need any help.”
The elven vampire turns around to see the approaching party.
The wall behind Talorc turns to a swirling blue color and then disappears, revealing a jungle at night.
Kivutar shouts, “The Straight March has opened to take Talorc.”
Kivutar jumps into the portal, followed closely by the elven vampire.
Keridwynne rushes to Talorc. Kneeling over him she feels for a pulse and finds none.
“He is dead.”
Talorc’s body starts to fade and then vanishes. His image reappears on the other side of the portal. He looks at you, waves for you to come with, turns and follows after Kivutar.
(I stopped here, just in case, someone is not going after Talorc. Obviously there is a side note for you.)
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