Monthly Archives: January 2009

Defenders of the Riverboat

Miklos folded his arms and smiled. Somewhat nonchalantly he turned to his clerical comrade and his jaw dropped. An arrow had sprouted from his shoulder. “Err Maruc, you’ve been shot.” he said helpfully.

The cleric was ignoring him. Miklos looked beyond him at the melee on the boat. “Oh.” He considered the last of his arsenal of spells. Web was a spell he had not tried in anger and was a little indiscrimenate. Levitate? No.

It didn’t matter, Maruc was already on the problem. He reached down into the pile of equipment at his feet and free’d his staff. He watched the cleric’s back in case any of the ambushers chose to board their end of the boat.

Maruc gritted his teeth biting back the throbbing pain. He started at the cry of one of the other passengers. It took a second to realize that the man pulling his sword out of the collapsing victim wasn’t wet. He was a crewman. Treason! Maruc barked a word of power as the man launched himself at the exposed back of the dwarf. “Sleep!”

The attacker turned to the cleric with a visage of total derangement. Shaking off any lingering effects of the spell, the man recklessly shot straight for the cleric, charging forth like a rabid animal.

Feldard had his attention on the attackers boarding, so did not notice when the human Roklov was felled from behind. Nor was he aware of his own peril. The dwarf hefted his battle-axe and swung it in a large arc towards the boarding ambushers.

“Beloc!”, Stephan barked, cursing in Traladaran, seeing the futility of enlisting the oarsmen. Using the long oar in hand one last time, he lunged to use it to trip one of the robbers coming up on Roklov’s back.

Too late! Roklov suffered a grievous blow but the oar did help the dwarf. By luck, Stephan somehow wedged the wooden shaft at shin height. It was enough to trip one robber, another to stumble and a third to pause to look down…a fatal mistake. The dwarf’s axe swung true, making quick work of those tripped or delayed.

Only two of the group of boarders successfully made it on board, leaving the defenders of the riverboat with only three combatants to subdue. Yet, their opponents fought with no hesitation—fanatics ready to fight until the end.

* * * * *

Hasan summoned his magic missile and released it at the remaining archer, the man who now was meticulously destroying his erstwhile companions. While he had little sympathy for the now-slumbering attackers, Hasan knew he had to stop this loathsome action.

The man was more heavily armored than the others. The missile raced into him and its shock sent the man back a few paces, but he recovered. He was of sturdy stock, this one. Faced with an elf, he dropped his bow, then grabbed a shield that lay nearby and ran toward Hasan, drawing his sword.

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Ruckus on the River

Feldard worked away at reloading his heavy crossbow. He could hear the repeated twang of a bow nearby and noted a fellow passenger picking off bowmen on shore with the ease of an wood elf. The dwarf grumbled to himself ‘.. be just as fast if I had bloody short bow’. Finally, the cord was set and the bolt in place. Feldard raised his crossbow and turning towards the shore, fired off his second shot towards yet another of the bowmen. Success! The archer dropped, as the stout warrior grunted proudly, laying claim to the kill in case anyone had missed it.

The priest spat curses as he sat helpless watching men fall about him. Yet, he could not move for fear of exposing Miklos. He released one hand and fumbled blindly behind him for the handle of his flail. It took precious moments before he felt its familiar grip. He yanked it free from the pile being careful not to drop his guard as more arrows thudded into the deck and ricocheted off his metal shield. He shook it out and prepared to launch himself to his feet if the boat started to tip.

Feldard could see several of the swimmers almost at the edge of the boat. He grinned. “I’ll deal with those trying to board. Take out those bowmen.” Feldard exchanged crossbow for axe and waited at the ready.

Stephan looked with an approving nod at the actions of the four adventurers. “Blessed Havlav, that these folk be here.” The splatter of blood and gurgling choke from his henchman did not register with Stephan given the urgency of the situation. Once he realized his arrows were ineffective against the tree-covered bowmen on shore, and as the swimmers made their final approach, Stephan grabbed one of the long oars, making his way to the far side of the boat and as the assailants made their desperate scramble to mount the boat, he began us of the make-shift pole arm to bash foreheads as the appeared. Looking to the befuddled oarsmen, he shouted, “Use your oars men! Bash ‘em back to the depths from which these maggots issue!”

Many of the crew had been felled by arrows—they were not trained for conflict, and what remained of their number, along with Kalanos, the riverboat captain, fled to safety below the deck. Only one remained, and he was armed with a short sword. He made no move to join the fight, and was instead grabbing what cover he could find—in his eyes, a wild-eyed look. Not of fear so much, something else…

There was no time to dwell upon it—it appeared that he and this strange group of travelers were on their own. So, he thrust the paddle end of the oar squarely into the forehead of the fist swarthy, wet pate to show itself. He hoped that the weight of the himself and the other oarsmen balanced the tipping craft, minimizing the array of targets for the bowmen on shore.

To himself he muttered, “Pray that magician send more to slumber!” And again he thrust with the oar….

Crew and friends diving this way and that across the boat had spoilt Miklos’s line of fire to the boarders. ‘Let the crew deal with them’ he thought and gauged the distance to the bowmen.

As the mage was incanting, Maruc was doing his best to protect him. He saw two arrows flying directly for his friend. Knowing that their very survival might depend on the spell the mage was preparing, the priest made a grim determination. He stretched his body with the shield, deflecting one of the arrows with metal, and the other with his back. The pain was instant and intense, but well worth it for despite the distraction, Miklos was able to complete his intonations.

Reaching with the full extent of his magic Miklos shrouded the bowmen in a enchantment of slumber. All fell, save one, who looked about in dismay. Yet, the battle was not over, the boarders swam on and finally reached the hull, and attempted to board. Feldard, Roklov and Stephan engaged them.

“GARRR!!!” cried Roklov. The sole oarmen who had remained on the deck had stabbed him clean through his back. The man hastily drew back his sword and charged the dwarf.

* * * * *

Hasan found the water and lack of light more than adequate protection for the short swim to shore. Hasan immediately melted into the woods and began making a lengthy circle around the bandits’ point of departure, looking for the path or road their opponents took to the river’s edge. It took no time at all—the humans were ridiculously easy to track for one such as he.

He stealthily hurried through the forest and approached the spot from which the ambush had been launched. He saw that all of the bowmen had been rendered unconscious—no doubt victims to Miklos’ magecraft. Not much of a surprise really, but what he saw next was quite shocking. The sole remaining archer was quickly and systematically slitting the throats of all his men.

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Take Cover!

“Blessed Halav….”, Stephan muttered as he readied his bow. He took the best cover he could find, and quickly nocked an arrow while keeping his head down. Gauging the position of the trees to be sure the boat has not rotated, he raises just enough to spy one of the bowmen on shore and let his arrow fly at him. With a quick glance, he assessed the number of attackers on shore and in the water. There were eight bowmen, and a dozen men swam toward them.

“Arrows! Take cover!” The dwarf dropped behind the dubious protection of the boat railing and scrambled to load his crossbow. “We are ambushed!”

Hasan knelt behind the boat’s gunwhales. A curious thing, to find humans setting upon their own kind, he thought. Still, perhaps there can be an explanation. This river’s idle current would present no challenge to swimming skills honed in the bubbling brooks of Radlebb, Hasan reasoned, and he leaped into the water. He aimed for a point a bit to the east of the attackers launch. He hoped his forest skills and infravision would leave him well equipped, despite the lack of more than his sword, to bring at least one of their would be ambushers to heel.

As he loaded the bolt into place, he looked over towards his companions. The majority of the party was unarmoured for the journey by boat, which left them with little in the way of protection against the missile attack.

Feldard glanced over towards Miklos and saw that the mage was already concentrating on his magicks. Hopefully, it would be something that would take out a good number of their foes.

With his crossbow finally loaded, the dwarf turned and fired on one of the bowmen on shore. A hit, he thought, but no time to admire his bowmanship—he quickly ducked down again to reload. An arrow lodged itself into the neck of one of the crew standing next to him. He let out a cry of agony as he fell overboard.

Galvanized by the dwarf’s command Maruc yanked his shield from the pile and placed himself between the flight of arrows and Miklos—it would do no good to have the missiles disrupt the mage’s spellcasting. He braced the shield on the gunnel and crouched behind it as much as possible.

Seeing the danger lay not with the crew Miklos directed his attention to the flight of arrows. Quickly assessing that the attackers would not shoot their own friends, he guessed that they would stop shooting as soon as they boarded. The immediate threat then were the diving bandits. Then Maruc leapt into his line of sight with his shield. He was about to curse when an arrow pinged off it’s edge and missed him by an inch. He lent around the edge as much as he dared and released the pent up magic at the swimmers. Over half of the lot stopped swimming, and disappeared under the water. The others kept up their pace, seemingly unconcerned about the fate of their comrades.

An arrow sliced the side of Stephan’s arm—a slight flesh wound. He lowered again, and nocked another arrow. If this mage had any more spells in his arsenal, they might just make it out of this alive.

Seeing that the remaining swimmers were almost upon them, Stephan barked to his henchmen, “Boris! Roklov! Get ready to bash any fingers you see coming over. But keep your noggins down!”

Before his eyes, an arrow pierced the skull of Roklov, killing him instantly. His body collapsed, as the panicked crewmembers of the boat stepped over him in a race to hide in the bottom of the boat.

He let another arrow fly at a bowman on the shore and quickly looked around to see if whatever these robbers have caught the boat on can be cut or otherwise destroyed. His thoughts race, “Can I grab that oar and use it to free the boat?”

Realizing that when the attackers try to board the boat will tip exposing them to more arrow attack, Stephan determined to let as many arrows fly at the bowmen as possible.

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Ambush!

As the boat lurched to a sudden stop, the dwarf who had been sullenly quiet the entire boat trip thus far, finally found his voice as he pitched forward into some stranger. “Of all the addle-brained, lack-witted ways to travels.. ooph! Maruc this is your fault! You suggested by river.”

Maruc tried to regain his balance. “Well it was this or miles of wandering through unfamiliar countryside,” he grinned rakishly.

Miklos had remained seated. You don’t stand in boats. Also he hadn’t stowed his gear in the bilges. They get wet. He was also thankful for the oilskin bag his spellbook was bound in. He wasn’t so impressed with the ‘experienced’ rivermen who had managed to apparently beach the boat. This raised an uncomfortable thought though.

These men didn’t look like rookies. There where twelve of them they were in the middle of the wilderness and they have an ‘accident’ on a river they travel for a living. Miklos didn’t like it at all. He began, as unobtrusively as possible, to prepare his sleep enchantment.

Upon the lurching of the boat, Stephan had found one hand gripping his neck pouch—instinctively checking its security around his neck. His other hand gripped the hilt of his blade. He looked quickly to the boatman, reading his face for an explanation of the thump. Clearly, it was unexpected not only by the passengers, but also by the crew.

Being a horseman and farmer at his root, Stephan was not accustomed to riverways, but did know that groundings and snags are common place. It was with this hope that he drew a measured breath. He was comforted by the presence of the four vagabonds—adventurers, and their obvious experience with unknown surprises. These folk had seen a bit of the world and knew the ambiguity of enemy territory. After steadying himself, he kept low, readying himself for action, taking into account the whereabouts of his henchmen and other belongings. His eyes checked the cardinal points, including directly above, for signs of danger. The encroaching forested banks did not lend comfort and Stephan scanned the surrounding foliage for any sign of movement—and it was there he saw trouble.

Feldard, lay half-sprawled at his side. He joined Stephan in glancing upwards, and his eyes widened. Arrows!

From the wooded right bank of the river, a squad of attackers had emerged. Bowmen stood in the brush reloading, while another group of men dove into the river and started to swim towards the boat.

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A New Journey

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The priest had his long traveler’s cloak covering his reburnished Halavist armour. He stalked through the streets stopping only briefly to drop a few coins into a beggar’s bowl. He smiled from beneath his cowl as the beggar blessed him. “Blessed Halav is closer than you think my son.” he replied. He quickly moved on.

The odour of incense cut through the city air and brought back memories of the cloister. It was curious how the Abbott had shown him such deference when he’d first arrived in the church. The old man was careworn and gratefully received the tithe Maruc supplied him. He’s spent much of his time there in meditation but he’d helped in two funerals and three weddings to give the old Abbot a rest. Nicolai had been laid in the cryptorium and bound in linen and a proper bier and pony was arranged for his final journey.

As he left the Abbot took him to one side. “Brother Maruc, your journey to Threshold will wind much, but a friend will seek to pass through Highforge. This is important to him. Halav’s son Nicolai will be safe in His arms until he reaches there. May the Eyes of Halav Re-Incarnate watch over you.”

“And you too, Father Abbott.”

* * * * *

As he approached the others at the Duke’s Road Gate, Miklos fumbled with the new oilskin sleeve he’d had made up for his treasured spellbook. The weighty tome was the work of a week of diligent copying. The idea had come from his lecturer Nerissa Acrision during a treatise on ‘the Traveling Mage’. The original was kept in a vault in the guildhouse itself. Possibly one of the safest places in the Duchy. He’d also spent some time in the Great Library looking up any references in connection with the Sisters and their relationship in connection with the Dread Night and the ‘Sons’.

Something troubled him. It was the Dread Prophecy. The very first line said, “The Breach of the Lost Temple”. He had first thought that this referred to the elven Temple on Gray Mountain. However, that temple wasn’t lost—the elves new exactly where it was. Lost Tower or Temple on Ruins would have been a more accurate description. He had hoped that by preventing the Sisters from obtaining the Black Opal Eye that they had stopped this dark chain of events from occurring. With no mention of either in the prophesy, Miklos wondered if the Sisters Three were merely minor players in this ominous affair. He shuddered at the thought.

His research of the Blackstick came up empty, but he was able to learn something of the Elvenstar. Apparently, it was a powerful artifact belonging to the elves of Wendar, an isolated land beyond the mountain ranges of the far north. According to legend, it was created to defeat the forces of darkness in a great war of long ago. It now safeguards the peace between the humans and elves that live in its borders, and protects the land from invaders. Was it merely a coincidence that they were to be traveling in that direction?

Eventually, it approached the agreed-upon rendezvous time, and so Miklos tore himself away from the countless tomes of the Karameikan School of Magecraft and made his way to the city gate. The mage now sported new, more robust, traveling clothes and kept his fine set on his horse. He’d invested in a spare flint, tinder and replenished his feed, food and drinking water.

“Well met my friend!” he said as he approached the dwarf.

Feldard had been first among the group, waiting packed and ready to leave, at the city gates. This wasn’t uncommon for the dwarf, who had little patience for milling around doing nothing, but today he seemed even more agitated and impatient than usual.

The dwarf greeted Miklos with his usual brusque nod. Soon after, Hasan joined them.

Tired of waiting for the priest, Feldard informed them of his side journey. “When we reach Kelvin, we are going to take a detour over Highforge for a day or two. I have business there I must see to.” He said little more about the issue but would not be dissuaded from going.

After the great babble, confusion and dealing with the endless, braying youngling humans of the city, Hasan was glad to his time in the city was coming to an end.

“Highforge you say?” replied Miklos to Feldard’s statement. “Of course I have no issue with a side journey. Any particular reason?”

“None that’d be any concern of yours.” snapped the dwarf, but seeing he wasn’t going to get away with no explanation by the look on the humans faces he added, “I’m looking for a friend. As I said, it will not take long.”

Miklos shrugged, it didn’t bother him. but Nicolai wasn’t going anywhere fast so he guessed an extra day or two wouldn’t matter.

“High Forge, then,” said Hasan. “Very well.”

Meanwhile, Maruc lead his pony up to the Duke’s Road Gate. A column of Church officials bustled down the road toward him, Church soldiery pushing commoners out of their path. A soldier shoved at Maruc as he withdrew, his hand brushing open the traveler’s cloak exposing Maruc’s shield. Recognizing the emblem a sneer crept across his face, and he turned to call to his brethren. Maruc quietly downed the man with a word of power and in the press of the crowd the soldier slipped down into unconsciousness. He quickly recovered his shield and continued on to the Gate. When the soldier eventually woke up, he’d found himself on a charge on dereliction of duty.

Maruc recognized his friends as he approached. “I’ll be glad to leave this city. Threshold via Highforge then?” he said, astounding the dwarf. “I will be glad to leave this place. Its stuffed with pompous and self righteous.”

The group waited for the last of their companions. It was no surprise that Saeth was late, but as the time ticked on, it became clear that she wasn’t coming. It was not a complete shock to the group. She had expressed unhappiness at how the conclusion of their last adventure had played out. With an independence streak a mile wide, she sought to strike out on her own once again—resuming her search for fame and glory, and, of course, epic poetry.

Unable to wait any longer, the group left the overcrowded city into the fresh air beyond the walls.

* * * * *

The riverboat made its way upstream along the Volaga. It was the fastest way to get to High Forge from Kelven—the roads in this wilderness were meandering, and not well maintained. For most of the journey, the river was flanked by rolling downs on both sides, but a few miles from Kelven the forest closed in on the southern bank. Though the river narrowed, the boat still made fine progress.

Stephan was uneasy. Reports of increased goblin activity in the Dymrak had him on edge. The incursions were bringing them closer to his family’s homestead. His family was well off, thanks to a business catching and breaking horses from the nearby moors. They just had the great fortune to capture a small herd of pure white horses. The Calaari would pay a high price for them. He hired a couple of strong hands to help him guard the horses on the journey. These two were quite young and green—good help was hard to find these days. It seemed like such a long time since he was that age.

Stephan himself was no stranger to battle—as clearly evidenced by the scars upon his arms and arms. He thumbed his neckpouch, which held two keepsakes sacred to him: a bit of soil from his family’s homestead and a tiny statue that he had found on the occasion of his Shearing. Like all Traladaran youths, Stephan left his family for a time on the occasion of his passage of adulthood. He thought about the day he discovered the small relic. Many days and nights after he had set off at the witching hour with only a hand knife and the clothes on his back, he had finally reached his goal. Stephan stood atop Mt’a Ihkhara, shivering in the wind. After two and half years and a route that took him in no way directly to the mountains, he finally could see the Grand Duchy of Karameikos from its highest point. After drinking in the saga of mountain, steam and wood laid out before him, he looked at his own boots marveling at the path they’d tread. And there next to his right boot lay a strange little statue carved out of rock. Intricately carved, it depicted a tall, slender humanoid creature with a jackal-like head dressed in robes. It appeared to be quite old—an ancient relic of some long-forgotten time, perhaps.

Stephan’s turned back to the present. He regarded the others on the boat. There was Kalanos, the old Traladaran boatman, and his crew of eight rowmen. There was Boris and Roklov, his two fledgling henchmen. And then there were the other four—a priest of Halav, another human in robes (most likely a mage), an elf who seemed fascinated by all around him and a dwarf, who seemed none too comfortable about floating on a river. Adventurers of some sort by the looks of them. They hadn’t spoken to him, and Stephan was not one to stick his nose into the business of others. Still, he supposed they must have an interesting tale to tell. A pity he would not get a chance to hear it though, for they were getting near to his stop—Misha’s ferry, the halfway point between Kelven and High Forge. His family’s homestead, Sukiskyn, was a short journey on foot from there.

Suddenly—a thud! The boat lurched to a halt, momentarily throwing everyone off balance.

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Feldard’s Missing Bride

Maruc nursed his glass of spring water. He closed his eyes and listened to the Elvin minstrels play, a rare treat for him. This sort of thing was usually reserved for the high ecclesiastics. It was haunting, ancient yet paradoxically timeless. And totally alien.

He had almost forgotten how uncomfortable his armour was. To be free of it was a blessing, but to be free of the need of it was a greater blessing. The village was homely and secure its great shadow passed. In the dark confusing tunnels he’d lost track of time and when they’d first arrived back at the village with the Elf maids, all he’d wanted to do was sleep. Now in his ceremonial vestment (which was the only clothing that he hadn’t worn that was smart, and more importantly clean), he reclined in an odd looking but marvelously comfortable beach wood chair. He waved away the offer of wine again and took a sip from his water. Before he had retired for the night last night he had performed his rites and the rites for Nicolai’s body which lay on a bier outside the village shrine.

The feast began with a thanksgiving ceremony performed by Siswa survivors. At the end of the ceremony, the group was rewarded with gold and gemstones. It was not an overly extravagant gift—the Elyan would need there treasures for their recovery from the recent tragedy and for their ongoing sustenance. It would provide the companions with enough wealth to re-equip and travel to Threshold. After the presentation of the gifts, the village maidens brought out a great assortment of food and drink.

“Here’s to you Nicolai.” He proffered his glass and drained the glass. “We shall take you home my friend. With honour.”

Feldard, seated nearby, was seeking the bottom of his tankard ale. The music of the elves, he found to be more annoying than enjoyable… but they were his hosts so he had enough good grace not to comment on it. He glanced over to the cleric hearing his toast and the dwarf was quick to raise his own drink in salute. The others joined in raised their glasses and joined him in solemn remembrance of their companion.

He hadn’t had much time to reflect on what he was doing and where they were going. He’d have to talk to Miklos about his theories on the Sons of Night and perhaps see if the Black Book offered further clues. As for his experiences under the Grey Temple, well were to start?

Halav, blessed be His name, had helped him with his fear of enclosed spaces. To be honest after the past few weeks if he had not travelled with Miklos his opinion of Magi and their craft would be severely dented. Almost all of their foes had been Thaumaturists of some type or other. Well overlooking the Rahib of course. Miklos had been badgering him earlier about wanting the return to the Temple to study. Maruc had admonished him for been so insensitive, but that was part of his nature and without his help the whole venture would have been in vain so he couldn’t be too harsh.

All had their part to play; Feldard; full of brash courage, Nicolai; escaping his past and proving his nobility with his life, Hasan; brave, faithful, noble, selfless and driven. He’d even intimated that he wished to join us in our quest to quash the Sons of Night. Blessed Halav giveth at need.

“…miles away.” said Miklos slightly unsteady on his feet. He’d spilt some wine down his tunic.

“Sorry?” Maruc replied.

“I said you seem miles away, old chap.” Miklos repeated.

“Oh, I was just thinking ‘what wonderful music’.”

“Liar.” laughed Miklos, “You were thinking what we were going to do after we’ve delivered Nicolai to Marta.”

“Is it that obvious? Or is that a new trick you’ve learnt?”

Miklos winked slowly. “Now that would be telling. Still, I’ve had no joy in convincing these excellent hosts to part with any elven mage-secrets so I’m thinking we’ll need to depart soon. Can’t have old Nic whiffing the place out you know.”

“Very thoughtful.” Maruc said ruefully. “You are right though. We’ll organize some supplies and head out tomorrow. Maybe we could borrow the bier until then? I’m sure they won’t mind.”

Feldard nodded his agreement to the cleric suggestion of leaving on the ’morrow. “I’ll be ready to leave.”

* * * * *

As the party left his village, Hasan watched the road ahead stonily. He thought back to Rahasia’s parting words, “I will wait for you.” Fingering the gold-filigreed wooden bracelet she gave him, a bracelet made from Radlebb maple by her father, a bracelet she had worn since they were just young elves of 35, Hasan wondered what the wait would require, from him and her. Even the company of the dwarf, Feldard, whose cheeriness was usually a comfort, was unwelcome.

It would be a long journey, for they would have to travel back to Specularum, and then follow the Duke’s Road into eastern Karameikos, and up to the north, where Threshold sat at the foot of the Black Peak Mountains. In Specularum, the group split up to re-supply and pursue their own interests. Miklos to study at the Mage’s Guild; Hasan to take in the overwhelming sights and sounds of the large human city; Maruc to pray at his church; and Feldard, to inquire about his missing bride-to-be.

It had seemed so long ago, even to a dwarf, since he had been distracted from his primary mission of finding Hernane. He seemed to be trapped in an endless cycle of adventure. Trouble seemed to find him at every turn.

He had just about given up hope of finding news of his bride, when by chance encounter at a tavern, he at last obtained some clue as to her whereabouts. Like most dwarves, Feldard did his best thinking when imbibing the finest ale. He located a suitable tavern, popular with dwarves for their importing of authentic Rockhome brews. As the drinks continued to flow, the dwarf opened up about his tale of woe to his brethren. A group of dwarven craftsmen hailing from the gnomish settlement of Highforge recognized the description of Feldard’s missing bride Hernane.

They were certain that a young, breathless dwarf by that name came into the town. They recalled that she had an adventuresome streak running through her, and that she was quite inquisitive about any rumors of excitement and intrigue in the area. When they had left, she seemed to have settled upon Highforge as a homebase for her activities.

“A dwarf like that doesn’t stay put in one place for very long though, so you best hurry there if you hope to find her” said one of the craftsmen. “A wanderer’s spirit is a very uncommon thing in a dwarf, but when one has it, there is usually little that can suppress it for very long.”

Feldard smiled at his good fortune. Highforge was along the route to Threshold—it would only a day’s trip from Kelvin. While telling Marta of her son Nicolai’s passing was certainly a priority, surely the group could spare some time to make the side journey.

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