The Menhir Mines

Cydd descended slowly down the stairs, the light from his torch flickering against the earthen walls ahead of him. The room he now stood in was obviously made by intelligent hands, cut roughly in a fifteen foot square, thick, ancient wooden beams supported the ceiling ten feet above his head. A small hallway ran to the south, ending at a rusted iron door. A fine soot like substance covered everything, giving off a very faint purple glow. In the southeast corner one of the ceiling beams was partially collapsed, resting on top of an old wooden crate.

“It's like an old mine of some sort,” Poeas said, surveying the room. “Fascinating.”

Cydd walked carefully towards the crate in the corner. Badly smashed by the fallen beam he could not find any identifying marker on it. Whatever was once inside had long since rotted away, though Cydd did spot something white amidst the dirt and soot. He knelt down, brushing away some of the grim he started to make out the bleached form of a jaw, followed by nose slits and an eye socket, it was a humanoid skull. Something buried further under the shattered timbered gleamed red against his torchlight, but he could not see what.

“What have we here?” Cydd said, mostly to himself.

Brenton and Maormo stood behind the two explorers, Brenton wearily watching the iron door and Maormo keeping his attention on the stairs they just descended.

“Did you find something?” Poeas knelt next to Cydd. “A skull? Perhaps of one who once used this mine?”

“I don't know, it's smaller then a human skull though,” Cydd replied.

“Could it be... one of the children?” Brenton cautiously asked, hoping to not be right.

“No, this is been here for a quite a bit,” Poeas answered, “the bone is much too clean and much too faded in color, if it were one of the boys it would still have bits of flesh or if boiled at least be...”

“Well that's good news,” Brenton cut him off, not wishing for him to continue.

“What is that gleaming?” Poeas asked, noticing the same red sparkle Cydd saw.

“I don't know, whatever it is, it's buried in there pretty deep, you're welcome to try to get it out,” Cydd said getting back to his feet.

Poeas began to dig underneath the skull, clearing out small pieces of broken wood until he could wrap his hands firmly around the skull. He pulled, and after some effort, the skull dislodged from it's resting place, though it's sudden absence and large hole dug around it caused the rest of the crate to collapse under the weight of the fallen beam. Suddenly there was a loud groan and the rest of the ceiling beam snapped above them.

“Look out!” Cydd cried out as part of the ceiling came down around them and he and Poeas both leaped for cover. The room filled with dust and purple soot, making it impossible to see more then a few feet in front of them.

“Is everyone alright?” Brenton called out. He had stepped into the hallway, avoiding both the collapse and most of the dust.

“Fine,” he heard Maormo call out from the steps and, as the dust began to settle, he could make out his silhouette against the sunlight.

“Nothing hurt but my pride,” Poeas said from the northwest corner of the room, coughing as he pulled himself to his feet.

“I'm okay,” Cydd answered, still in the center of the room, he tried to brush the dust off himself in vain.

As the dust cleared they could finally see what had happened and Cydd whispered a quick thanks to Myna that his torch did not go out during the collapse. The corner of the room was now buried beneath a pile of dirt, but most curious was the two piles of bones that rested on top of it. Before their eyes, the companions watched as the bones began to move, and two complete skeletons slowly got to their feet. They were humanoid in appearance, the porcine features of their skulls identifying them as orcs during their life. Each carried a rusted, but still functional battleaxe and tatters of old leather armor hung from their collar bones.

“Brenton!” Cydd called out, stepping backwards as the animated skeletons silently moved towards him.

Before Brenton could react, the elf had already loosed an arrow from his bow. The arrow struck its target true, but only managed to chip off half a rib bone on one of the creatures, which didn't even slow it down. Brenton swiftly moved towards the center of the room, putting himself between the skeletons and the rest of the group. Tossing his mace to the ground he clutched the holy symbol around his neck and bowed his head.

“By the holy word of Aristemis, I beseech thee to begone from here,” the air around Brenton began to ripple, like distant heat on a hot day and it appeared as if he was glowing from within, “the unholy magics that sustain you beyond life and animate your bodies is anathema upon the god's order.”

The skeletons continued to move ponderously closer to Brenton, one lifted its axe above its head.

Brenton lifted his head to stare at the skeletons, “you do not belong here.”

Suddenly the light glowing within him radiated outward in a flash, the skeletons recoiled back several steps and disengaged from their attack. They turned towards the hall and immediately began to move down it.

Maormo lifted his sword, “Whatever you just did got them on the run, now let's finish them!”

Maormo began to charge behind them, but, just as the skeletons reached the old iron door, something unusual happened. The floor beneath them gave way and the two plummeted down into darkness. Maormo halted at the edge of the newly formed pit and heard two distinct splashes below him.

“Well,” he stated plainly, “that was unexpected.”

Cydd sheathed a dagger and began walking down the hall, “And I thought I had a knack for finding traps, good work Brenton.”

“Suffer not the undead to exist,” Brenton recovered his mace and joined the other two at the pit's edge. “How far down does it go?”

“I have an idea,” Cydd said, “Maormo, give me your lantern.”

Maormo dug out his lantern, filling it with a flask of oil before handing it to Cydd. Cydd lit the lantern and removed a coil of rope tied to the side of his backpack. Tying the lantern to the end of the rope he carefully placed it over the edge of the pit and began to lower it into the darkness.

While the three occupied their time with the pit, Poeas examined the skull he had pulled from the rubble. It was smaller then the head of an average adult human or elf, yet it was too wide to belong to a child.

Mostly likely it once belonged to a dwarf, Poeas thought. Most intriguing was the small cut red gem lodged in its left eye socket. He plucked it out with one of his arrows and held it up against the sunlight streaming down from the steps. He could see no flaws within it and it glistened magnificently. Placing the two objects in his backpack, he went about exploring the rest of the room.

Cydd managed to lower the lantern to nearly the entire length of the fifty foot rope, the pit widened as it got deeper and the distant light now swayed back and forth. From above, the three of them could barely make out the reflective glisten of a pool of water and the passing shadows of the two skeletons.

“Looks like we're not going down this way,” Cydd stated as he began to reel in the lantern.

“We need to get to that door somehow, assuming the boys went that way,” Brenton added.

“How did they avoid this pit though?” Cydd asked.

“Maybe they did not weigh enough to set it off,” Brenton suggested.

“Still doesn't help us any,” Cydd untied the lantern and handed it back to Maormo.

Poeas studied the area where the ceiling collapsed, looking up at the large gap above him. He scrambled up the piles of dirt at his feet and stuck his head up into the area where the ceiling once was.

There is more space here then what lies at my feet, he thought. He climbed off the dirt piles and examined the wooden support beams. Where they had failed, the break was much too clean to have occurred just from the weight of earth above them.

These were already cut, Poeas ran his hand along the edge of the beam, this was all set up to collapse the moment I touched that skull.

Cydd had attached a small grappling hook to the end of his rope and, after several unsuccessful attempts, managed to hook it onto a metal ring that served as the doors handle. He tugged on the rope, but the door did not budge.

“Hey, give me a hand here.”

Maormo and Brenton took up the rope behind Cydd.

“One... Two... Pull!”

The three pulled with all their strength, leaning back into the rope. The iron ring snapped parallel to the ground but the door did not budge. With a small groan, the hinge holding the handle snapped and the ring freed itself from the door. The three humans stumbled backwards as the grappling hook and ring landed by Cydd's feet.

“Well, that didn't work,” Cydd said, recovering both the hook and ring and putting them into his backpack.

“This place was trapped,” Poeas called out to his companions.

“Yes, we know, we're trying to get around that now,” Cydd called back to him, studying the door intently.

“No, I mean the ceiling collapse, the skeletons, it was all rigged to happen. something intelligent lives down here.”

“Well thank you elf, your observations on the obvious are uncanny. However, if you don't have any ideas relating to getting through the door, could you please keep them to yourself? I'm trying to think."

“Hey, leave her alone!” Maormo cried out. Both Cydd and Poeas ignored him.

Poeas began investigating the rest of the room, carefully looking for any small details with his elven eyes. Along the eastern wall he noticed two small gaps, spaced as wide as a man, running from floor to nearly the ceiling. Near the right gap, a small hole, disguised to look like a natural imperfection in the rock, was visible. Poeas placed his hand in the hole and pulled and a portion of the wall swung towards him, revealing another room in the darkness.

“Guys?” Poeas tried getting the attention of the others.

“It could swing in, instead of pull towards us you realize,” Brenton said, looking at the door.

“Then maybe we could take a broken ceiling beam and have Maormo ran into it,” Cydd suggested.

“Oh? And then have it give way and send Maormo tumbling down into the pit?” Brenton replied.

“It would be entertaining, if nothing else,” Cydd grinned.

“I don't think I like that idea,” Maormo chimed in.

“Hey guys?” Poeas raised his voice.

“We could build a small bridge like, there's some room on the other side of the gap, you could hold it secure, and I could run across,” Cydd scrambled for another idea.

“Possible, doesn't sound that safe,” Brenton mused.

“Hey! Humans!” Poeas finally shouted. The three turned back around to see Poeas at the end of the hall, “I think I found something.”

The three stepped back into the room, staring down a narrow corridor that opened beyond the hidden door.

“That is, of course, unless you want to go back to the door and I'll keep this observation to myself,” Poeas said with a grin.

“Good work,” Cydd said stepping to the edge of the doorway.

“Yeah, sexy and smart,” Maormo added.

The light from Maormo's lantern filled the room beyond them, revealing it much the same as the first. Here, too, everything was coated in a fine purple soot, however in the center of this room a large cast iron cooking pot sat atop a still burning fire. Beyond it, another iron door rested in the eastern wall and to the south, the room trailed out of view. Cydd carefully unsheathed a dagger, holding his torch out at arm's length as he slowly walked into the corridor. Behind him, he could hear the distinctive strain of a pulled bowstring as Poeas nocked an arrow. The hall only ran a few feet before opening into the room and Cydd quickly turned the corner to the south, dagger at the ready. He was greeted only by darkness, as yet another hall disappeared beyond the torch's light.

“Looks like no one's here,” Cydd called back softly.

“Looks can be deceiving,” Poeas added, “I can see things you cannot, let me take a look.”

Both the fire and the torch burned bright red to Poeas's eyes as would anything that generated heat, living being included. However the southern hall was as dark to him as it was to Cydd.

“You're right, nothing that lives is here.”

“Yeah, well those skeletons weren't alive,” Maormo said, entering the room.

“Very good point,” Poeas said surprised.

“But skeletons don't have to eat,” Brenton added, walking towards the cauldron, “somebody was just about to sit down to dinner and left in a hurry.”

Without warning a small sack near the edge of the fire lurched to one side, causing Brenton to jump back with a small yell. The other three rushed to the cauldron, weapons ready. The sack was made of burlap, no bigger then the backpacks on their backs and once again it jumped to one side. Poeas slowly stepped around the cooking pot and gently poked the bag with the tip of his bow. Whatever was in the bag let out a shrill squeak and lurched back away from the bow.

“Rats, I'm guessing,” Poeas said.

“I'd think so,” Cydd stated, looking into the cauldron. A thick green liquid boiled inside it and whole rats, fur and all floated on top, “anyone hungry?”

“Now that you mention it,” Maormo stepped forward.

“We're not eating the rat stew,” Brenton put a hand on Maormo's shoulder, stopping him, “what we need to do is keep moving.”

“But which way?” Cydd asked, looking towards the door.

Maormo, disappointed by there not being a break to eat, walked to the edge of the southern hall, holding his lantern aloft. At the end of the hall the light reflected off several large metallic objects, though even squinting, Maormo could not make out what they were.

“You should see this,” Maormo called to the others.

Cydd walked up behind him, eyes straining against the darkness.

“There's something different down there alright, keep an eye on that door, I'll go check it out.”

Cydd moved down the hall alone, behind him Maormo stood at the ready, while Poeas and Brenton kept watch at the door to the east. Eventually the hall opened into a round room, the walls and floor were a maze of gears, cogs, chains, and ropes, many disappearing into the ceiling above. Several of the gears were as large as Cydd and while many appeared to have started to rust, everything looked in solid working order, no rope was snapped, no chain hung loose.

“What in the name of Daenthar...” as Cydd reached the end of the hall he felt a slight pressure against his ankle and heard the subtle snap of a thin metal wire breaking. He immediately knew he was in trouble. Before he could react a large rope swung down from the ceiling, at the end an old and very heavy pulley was attached. The pulley struck him square in the face and he instantly felt the sickening crunch of his nose and jaw breaking. A flash of brilliant light appeared in front of his eyes and his vision narrowed like a darkened tunnel from the force of the blow. He stumbled backwards, falling on his back, his mouth awash with the thick coppery taste of blood. He spit it out and watched several teeth go with it.

With a groan and whine of unoiled metal the circular room came to life. Gears and cogs slowly began to turn, rope and chain traveled up into the ceiling and a low rumbling was heard from somewhere deeper into the mines.

Maormo and Brenton rushed down the hall, Poeas stayed several feet back, keeping his bow ready. Cydd remained on his back, staring up at the ceiling, desperately trying to make his eyes focus.

“Cydd!” Maormo cried out, rushing to his friend's side. Cydd looked up at him, blood pouring from his crushed nose and mouth. For a moment there was no recognition in his eyes.

“Get him up, back to the other room,” Brenton ordered, bending down to help Cydd to his feet. Maormo got underneath Cydd's other shoulder and the two dragged him back into the room with the cauldron. Poeas's eyes got wide as he saw his companion being brought back, face horribly smashed.

The three set him down gently next to the fire, propping him up against a wall.

“Cydd, hey, buddy, look at me,” Maormo tried unsuccessfully to snap, then reverted to waving his hand in front of Cydd's face. Cydd's eyes were glossed over, his mouth agape, still bleeding.

“Stop that, it's not helping,” Poeas slapped Maormo's hand away.

Brenton had set down his weapons, kneeling in front of Cydd and was whispering softly to himself, clutching his holy symbol in both hands. Once again he glowed with an internal light, but this was much softer then what they had seen previously. Gently Brenton placed a hand on Cydd's face and the light drained through Brenton's hand and into Cydd. Before their eyes they watched as Cydd's face began to heal, his nose realigning, his jaw reforming. Cydd groaned, clutching his head,

“I have such a headache,” he looked up at his companions, the familiar sparkle back in his eyes. Brenton took a small rag and poured some water from his wineskin onto it, handing it to Cydd.

“You know healing magics take a day off your life,” Maormo stated.

“I'm okay with that,” Cydd said, wiping the blood from his mouth and nose. He ran his tongue along the inside of his mouth and was shocked to find a small gap on the bottom, “I'm missing a tooth!”

“Regrettably my magic is not yet that strong, Aristemis willing it someday will be,” Brenton informed him.

“Well thank you and her nonetheless, atleast I can still breath and talk,” Cydd tried to hand the now bloodsoaked rag back to Brenton.

Brenton gently pushed Cydd's hand back, “you keep it.”

Cydd pushed the rag into a belt pouch and tried to get to stand. Maormo offered out a hand, which Cydd gladly took as he regained his feet.

“I'm going to add that to my list of things never to do again,” Cydd said.

“You would have been better off adding that to a list of things never to do in the first place,” Poeas smiled.

“Well played elf,” Cydd returned the smile. Maormo glared at the two, jealous.

“At least you got the room working,” Brenton said, returning his attention to the room down the hall, “though I don't know if that's a good thing.”

The other three also looked back towards the room and Poeas quickly reached for his bow, two humanoid shapes of heat catching his attention, “There's someone in there!”

Maormo rushed to the start of the hall, sword in one hand, lantern in the other, holding it outstretched. In the center of the room, two small curious creatures were trying to pull on the rope and pulley that had struck Cydd, now hanging in the center of the room. They were unlike anything the companions had ever seen before. They stood barely three feet tall and were lanky, gangly creatures. Their skin was an almost translucent blue and a few wisps of white stringy hair hung from their heads. They had large, white, bulbous eyes and a distended jaw with wicked yellow fangs. Their hands ended in thick padded fingers, with their toes of similar shape. Each one wore a rusted and tattered byrnie of chain mail and a hooksword was attached to the mail at their waist.

The creatures stopped their work on the rope and turned to face the adventurers, the light of the lantern reflecting off their huge eyes. One letting out a clicking hiss as they slowly moved towards the hall. Maormo set the lantern at his feet and readied his shield, Brenton moved to stand beside the hulking warrior, his own weapon and shield at the ready. The creatures would have to get through the two of them first. Behind them Poeas fired his bow with lightening speed. The arrow struck one creature in the chest, punching through the ancient chain mail and causing it to screech in pain. The creature broke off it's attack and disappeared down a hall to the east of the circular room. The other one pulled a crudely made wooden spear from a bundle on his back and launched it towards the group, but the throw was weak and Maormo easily deflected it away with his shield. The wicked thing reached behind itself for a second spear, but was stopped short when another of Poeas's arrows lodged itself into the creature's head. It took a slow half step forward and then collapsed onto the ground.

“Well thanks for taking all the fun,” Maormo said, relaxing his stance.

“The other one is still alive, he could be going to get help, we should pursue it,” Poeas suggested, “then maybe you'll have your chance for fun.”

“Yes, let's not linger here,” Brenton said moving down the hall, Maormo following behind him. Cydd and Poeas began to fall in line behind them when the door to the room violently swung open. Through the doorway the creature charged, hook sword in hand, blood streaming from the arrow sticking out of its chest. Cydd and Poeas shuffled backwards, Cydd throwing a dagger as he did, that barely missed the creature's head. Brenton and Maormo moved to cut the creature off before it could attack, but it had pinned Poeas between the cauldron and itself. Just as Brenton was within striking distance the foul thing swung its sword at Poeas. The elf instinctively leaped back, avoiding the swing and trying to catch the cauldron's edge. The pot was slick with its foul liquid however and Poeas lost his footing, causing the cauldron, and himself to tumble. The fire beneath the pot gave way, showering sparks everywhere and the cauldron fell to the side, dumping both its contents and Poeas onto Brenton. Both the cleric and elf cried out in pain as the boiling liquid doused them and they fell to the ground. The accident, however, distracted everyone, even the creature and Maormo used that opportunity to move in.

He bashed the stunned being with his shield, lifting it off its feet and against the earthen wall behind it. Maormo moved forward with the creature, embedding his sword into its stomach. It let out a shrill wail, fumbling at the blade that just pierced its organs. It let out a weak gurgle and then slumped against the wall, dead.

Poeas slowly got back to his feet, offering a hand to Brenton, “sorry.”

“Don't touch me,” Brenton said, getting up under his own power. The skin on both of them was bright red and even starting to blister in some places, “and don't ever do that again.”

Most of Brenton's tabard was stained green and he forcefully kicked the cooking pot against the wall so he could recover his shield which was trapped beneath it.

“Are you two alright?” Cydd asked.

“I've been better,” Brenton said, looking down at his stained and still dripped tabard.

“I really do apologize for that,” Poeas offered.

“Why would you think that could have worked?” Brenton asked sternly, looking Poeas in the eyes.

“I didn't think, I just reacted, you try having some... some thing coming at you and see how you react.”

“I don't think jumping into a pot of boiling muck and rats would be my first
choice!”

“Guys!” Maormo called out, wiping the blood off his blade, “enough! Think of the children.”

“You know, when Maormo starts making the valid points, we really should pay attention,” Cydd said, standing between the bickering men and placing a hand gently on each of their shoulders.

“Thank you Cydd,” Maormo said, pleased with himself.

“Don't mention it,” Cydd moved past Maormo to look at the creature lying dead against the wall, “now what do we have here?”

“I've certainly never seen anything like it,” Poeas said, moving next to Cydd.

“Ugh, please step back, you smell like wet rat,” Cydd gently nudged the elf away from him. Cydd lifted the creature's head, the muscles in its jaw still twitching, causing it to rapidly bite up and down, he quickly let the head go.

“If these are the things that have the boys I fear for what they have done to them,” Brenton said ringing out his tabard.

“Then we should keep moving, are you two in a condition to fight?” Cydd asked.

“It only mostly hurts when I move, but I will endure,” Brenton answered, shooting a harsh glance at Poeas.

“I, too, will fight on,” the elf added, not meeting the cleric's gaze.

“Then let's go,” Cydd suggested, gathering his thrown dagger from the ground.

“I'm assuming this hall meets up with the one in the room below and does so quickly, given how fast that little thing was upon us,” Brenton moved towards the door, “Cydd and I will go this way, Maormo, take Poeas and check out the hall I the machinery room.”

“With pleasure,” Maormo grinned, “let's go!”

Maormo slapped Poeas on the back as he passed him. The elf tensed his back, letting out a sharp groan.

“Oh, sorry,” Maormo said sheepishly. Poeas sighed and begrudgingly followed the human back into the room with the gears as Cydd and Brenton disappeared through the doorway.

Both halls were crafted much like the other before them, a little more then five feet wide and supported with wooden braces every few feet. After a short walk both halls turned towards each other, the lowed run turning north to meet the upper one as it sharply cut to the south. Maormo waved happily at Brenton and Cydd as he turned the corner. And both groups saw the hall head east in the middle, the dull sounds of machinery could be heard throughout the walls. They met up where the hall changed direction, this time a set of wooden stairs greeted them, heading downwards before turning south with another set of stairs.

Maormo and Poeas went first, carefully looking out for anymore loose beams, trip wires, or pressure plates that could set off another deadly trap. As the descended the air got colder, the walls began to be dotted with thick stone that was slick with moisture. The sound of moving gears could still be heard, but this was soon accompanied by a dull roar as they turned south and continued lower. Flanked by Brenton and Cydd the two finally stepped out into a cavernous room.

They stood on the edge of a wooden platform and across a small gap another platform waited, behind it a doorway was chocked with collapsed rock and dirt. The ceiling tapered twenty feet overhead and below them the cave widened into an inky darkness far below. Between the platforms a thick chain dangled, disappearing into the ceiling above and being swallowed by the darkness below. The sounds of machinery were louder here and below them the roar of a waterfall could be distinguished over the moving of gears and chain.

“Well now what?” Maormo asked, his voice echoing in the chamber.

“Doesn't look like we'll be traveling through there,” Cydd pointed to the collapsed tunnel across from them. “So I guess, we go down.”

“But how far does it go? I'm not climbing down some chain for hundreds of miles!” Maormo said.

“I can't imagine it's that bad,” Cydd said, “hand me your lantern, we'll find out.”

Once again Cydd tied off the lantern to his rope and lowered it down, everyone huddled over the edge to see what awaited them. After about forty feet and light revealed a large wooden platform attached to the chain, swaying softly in the darkness.

“Ah-ha!” Cydd proclaimed, “now how do we get that, to us?”

“There has to be a crank or a switch somewhere around here,” Brenton said, looking at the walls around him, but finding nothing.

“Maybe that's what the room with the gears is for,” Maormo said.

“It's probably what makes it run, yes,” Brenton said, “but I don't think you'd control it from there. Wouldn't make any sense, it's too far from the platform.”

“The other side perhaps?” Poeas suggested. He swiftly leaped across the gap to the other side.

“Sure, couldn't do that with the cooking pot could you?” Brenton said with disdain.

“I was nervous then, okay?” the elf studied the walls on the other side, running his hand against the uneven surface, “nothing here either, unless it's buried beneath the collapse.”

“Well, we could always climb down the chain,” Cydd said.

“I'm not going to climb down some old wet chain,” Maormo shook his head.

“Well I can at least climb down, see if there's anyway to control it from there or at the very least how much further down it is below that.”

“I like that idea much better.”

Poeas joined the others back on the same side of the cave. Brenton began to secure the rope around Cydd's waist.

“Well hold on to you, just in case,” Brenton said, tying off a knot. Cydd nodded with a smile then reached out for the chain. Each link was massive and thick, large enough that he could easily slip a hand or foot between them. He cautiously placed one foot between a link and pulled himself onto the chain. The chain barely swayed with his weight, so heavy it was, and Cydd slowly began to climb down it. Halfway down one foot slipped from the link and he scrambled to try to catch himself, but the moisture on the chain offered no gripped and he slipped off into the darkness with a yell. Brenton and Maormo dug their heels into the ground, holding the rope taught, it held, swaying back and forth against the platform.

“Just checking,” Cydd said with a nervous chuckle, swinging his body back towards the chain. Once he grabbed hold again he much more cautiously finished his descent.

The chain ended in a large hook, to which four smaller chains were attached, each connecting to one corner of the wooden platform below. Wrapping one arm securely around the large chain, he fumbled with his other to pull a torch out from his backpack. Gripping it in his teeth he lit it carefully with his flint and steel before taking it back in his hand. The cave was much wider down here, so much so that the edges could barely be seen, glistening with moisture, against the torchlight. The platform appeared sturdy, the wood thick with no signs of rot.

“I'm going to jump onto the platform now,” Cydd called up to his companions, “hold on tight!”

With that, Cydd dropped the torch down onto the platform first, before leaping onto it himself. The platform held his weight, swaying back and forth, but holding steady. He recovered his torch and walked across the platform, slamming his foot against it in places to make sure it was sturdy. The wood was thick, and though old, showed no signs of rot, he wondered what kind it was. He was dismayed, however, to see no means of controlling the platform. He walked to its edge, lowering himself to his knees and, with torch held out, peering below. He could not see the bottom, even the waterfall, who's sound was much louder down there, could not be seen.

“Bad news guys,” Cydd called up again, moving back to the center of the platform, “doesn't seem to be any way to move this thing and it's still a long way down.”

“Well, there goes that option,” Brenton sighed, “guess it couldn't have been that easy.”

“So we need a new plan,” Maormo said, “but what?”

Poeas let his eyes wander as the two humans debated on what to do next when he spotted a small hole dug into the wall, a few feet beside it, was another. Curious, Poeas pulled an arrow from his quiver and carefully stuck it into the hole. About halfway in the, the arrowhead struck the hard rock of the wall and Poeas removed the arrow, small flakes of rotted wood coming with it. He examined the wall more closely, and above the two holes, were two more, of equal spacing apart, following them upwards he saw yet another two. Then, about ten feet above his head the holes stopped, and he saw three wooden levers sticking out from the wall.

“Well that's interesting,” Poeas said to himself. Brenton and Maormo turned to face him, following his eyes line.

“Cydd!” Brenton called out triumphantly, “I think we found it!”

“Really?” Cydd called back, “you couldn't have found that before I climbed all the way down here?”

After he got no reply, Cydd let out a frustrated groan, reaching for one of the smaller chains to pull himself back up, “No, that's fine, I'll come back up.”

Once Cydd reached the top of the chain again, Maormo offered him a hand, helping him back onto the ledge. Maormo pointed at the levers above them.

“Just need to figure out how to get up there,” Maormo said.

“Looks like there was a ladder or something here, long since rotted away,” Brenton motioned to the holes dug into the wall. Cydd immediately began digging in his backpack, and produced four iron spikes. He wedged one into one of the holes, hammering it secure with the pommel of his dagger before doing the same thing to the hole next to it. He pulled himself up and onto the spikes, testing his weight against them before securing two more spikes into the holes above him. Once again he lifted himself up, standing precariously on the makeshift ledges and was standing even to the levers.

The three of them were side by side, placed in recessed slots in the wall, each made of similar wood to the platform below, their edges wrapped in cloth and twine that was starting to fray. Behind them, Cydd could hear the sound of the gears moving. The middle lever was switched down, parallel to the ground, and the other two were up at a forty five degree angle. Cydd grabbed the center switch and with little effort pushed it up, he looked back over his shoulder, but nothing happened. He pulled the center switch back down again, this time lowering the switch to his right as well. He heard the strain of gears echo above him, grinding and whining against one another, but still the chain remained unmoved. He flicked both switches up again, the sound of the machinery softened. He grabbed the left switch and pulled it, and behind him he heard the sound of metal moving and a triumphant cheer from Maormo.

“You got it to descend,” Brenton called up to him.

Cydd smiled, having figured out the controls. He raised the left switch and then dropped the right one, slowly the chain pulled back into the ceiling. He watched over his shoulder as the platform appeared even with the ledge.

“Get on and I'll lower you down,” he said down at the others. “I'll climb down after you”

Brenton stepped out onto the platform, Poeas swiftly behind him. Maormo held his ground.

“What are you waiting for Maormo?” Brenton asked him.

“No way, you realize how much I weigh with all this stuff on, I'm not getting on that thing.” Maormo told him, crossing his arms.

“It's not going to collapse,” Brenton thumped his heel against the platform, “it's safe.”

“No thank you.”

“It's either that or we leave you here, look, if you get nervous, I'll let you hold on to Poeas.”

“What?!” Poeas said in alarm.

“Relax,” Brenton whispered to the elf.

Maormo stepped to the end of the ledge, cautiously placing a foot out onto the platform. Maormo took a deep breath and stepped onto the platform, it swayed slightly, and he grabbed a chain to steady himself.

“There, you see, just fine,” Brenton assured him.

“Well if this thing breaks and we all fall to our deaths I want it to be known that it was not my fault.” Maormo told him.

“Duly noted.”

“Ready? See you at the bottom!” Cydd called out, pulling the right switch up and dropping the left. The lift slowly disappeared into the darkness, until all Cydd could see was the light from Maormo's lantern.

The Farmer's Dilemma

The sun shone brightly as the companions traveled along the Old Trade Road, the spring air was crisp and full of the sounds of song birds. Days ago, the rolling plains and dark forests had given away to vast swaths of farmlands and they had passed many more travelers and caravans since then. They were nearly upon their destination, once the sun passed slightly beyond mid-sky, they would reach Cillimar. They were mostly quiet now, weary from days of travel and eager to reach their destination, they reserved their pleasantries for passing caravans who seemed to look upon them with fear and suspicion of banditry more often then not.

The dirt road beneath their horse's feet began to curve east and as they came around the bend they saw a small gathering of people in the middle of the road. With skin tanned by the sun and simple commoner's garb, these men appeared to be farmers. They were chatting quite excitedly amongst themselves when on spotted the four adventurers on horseback. He pushed past the others, a smile on his face, and walked up to the group.

“Gods be praised, adventurers!” The man was tall and lanky, his balding head having but a few wisps of brown hair, “Myna smiles upon us to send you in our time of need.”

The other farmers began to gather around the man, all looking up to the companions with hope.

“Slow down now,” Cydd said, “what's going on?”

“Forgive me, my excitement has made a fool of me,” the farmer bowed his head slightly in shame, “My name is Darand, I am a farmer in these parts, as are all of us here.”

“What is this need you have Darand?” Brenton asked.

“Two days ago, two of our boys disappeared, Roland, who has seen ten summers, and Timothy, who has seen half that. They were off playing in the old ruins up upon the hills there,” Darand pointed to the rising hills to the east, “they did not return home, a few of us went looking in the area, but alas, we found nothing.”

“Old ruins?” Cydd asked, interest peaked.

“Yes, old foundations and the like, been here longer then probably these farmlands, most curious are the standing stones, carved with weird lettering.”

“You often let your children play among ancient and unknown standing stones?” Brenton asked.

“Not at all Father, in fact it is forbidden” Darand stammered, “but you know how curious children can be, not all are so mindful of their parent's teachings. Our search for them has yielded nothing, and we sent someone to inform the Cillimar guard but they have not yet returned. We were planning another search ourselves today, but perhaps you can find it in your hearts to help us? We are not nearly as resourceful nor skilled as you, you may succeed where we have failed.”

“And will there be some reward for our service?” Cydd asked almost before Darand could finish talking.

“These are farmers Cydd, are we truly going to take what little they have for attempting to save their children?” Brenton's disdain was obvious.

“Just looking for a little compensation is all, not asking for much,” Cydd explained.

“We should be able to get something together for you, more importantly, we'll send word to Cillimar of your deeds, there are places there that will pay well for adventurers of good repute,” Darand told them.

“See? Doesn't always have to be monetary gain, you really need to stop being so greedy Brenton,” Cydd smiled.

“We have no time for this,” Eyrnod stated softly yet firmly, the first he had spoken in what seemed like days.

“Why not?” Maormo countered, “Not only will we get to help these weaklings here, we might get the chance to slaughter something.”

“It is a waste of our time,” Eyrnod's face was obscured by his hood, but the apathy in his voice made his emotions obviously, “we should continue on to Cillimar, we can reach it before nightfall if we leave now.”

“We are not going to let innocents suffer out in the wilds,” Brenton retorted.

“You are not, perhaps, when you finish with such trivial matters, seek me out in Cillimar,” with that, Eyrnod spurned his horse forward, riding off past everyone without looking back.

“Never did understand that man,” Cydd shrugged.

“It's what the magic will do to your head,” Maormo tapped the side of his head with his finger confidently.

“Our friend does not speak for us all,” Brenton turned his attention back to Darand, “we will find your sons and bring them back.”

“Thank you brave adventurers, blessings of Gorhan be upon you,” Darand proclaimed.

“Save your blessings for after we return,” Cydd said.

“Yeah and make sure dinner's ready when we get back too,” Maormo added.

“Good idea, I like how you think sometimes,” Cydd smiled.

“Of course, we shall hold a feast in your honor,” Darand said proudly.

“Well we're not going to find them staying here, let's go,” Brenton tugged the reins of his horse, guiding it towards the hills to the east, the other two followed. Darand and the other farmers watched as they disappeared beyond a small hill, smiled upon their faces.

The hills they traveled were mostly empty, a scattering of brush and rocks dotted the uneven terrain, the sudden change in gradients keeping the lands from being cultivated. It was nearly an hour into their journey that the lands became too steep and rocky for their mounts to move about safely and the group dismounted near a small copse of trees.

“Now Thorn, I want you to keep an eyes on these horses while we're away, okay? They cost us quite a bit of gold and it's coming out of your food funds if they disappear,” Cydd explained, kneeling in front of his dog. Thorn barked happily back to his master and Cydd scratched him behind the ears, “Good boy, I swear he listens better then Maormo.”

“I do what?” Maormo turned around to face Cydd, looking at him blankly.

“Thanks for proving my point,” Cydd patted Maormo on the back, smiling.

Thorn trotted off back towards the trees, passing Brenton, who gave him a few reassuring pats on his side. The dog stopped in front of the horses, laying down in the soft grass but keeping his head up and alert.

“Looks like we'll be proceeding on foot then, hopefully the ruins are not much further,” Brenton said scanning the steep hillside.

“Only one way to find out,” Cydd added, turning towards the hill and beginning his ascent, the other two following behind.

The climb was not an easy one for Brenton or Maormo. Though the rock outcroppings held firm in the ground and the hill not too steep, their heavy armor and large weapons slowed their progress considerably. Cydd was having a much easier time of it, swiftly hauling himself up between rocks and constantly looking back down to shout words of encouragement to his much slower companions. After a few hundred feet the hill began to even out and as Cydd crested the surface he could see the towering peaks of the Ul-Dominor Mountains. Cydd dusted some errant grass off his armor and looked around, noticing the crumbling ruins of old stone foundations covered in knee-high grass.

“I suppose these would be the ruins then,” Cydd stated, walking along the foundation edge.

“And these would be the standing stones,” Brenton said from behind him.

Cydd turned around, the Brenton and Maormo had reached the top as well and were standing in front of a large menhir. Seemingly carved from a single piece of stone, it towered over all of them, Cydd guessed about ten to fifteen feet high. It was made from a dark gray stone and was as big around as a large oak. Crudely round in shape, it's most striking feature was a series of runes carved into it, the were graceful and curved and unlike any rune Cydd had seen before. Brenton was slowly tracing his finger along one of them.

“What's it say?” Maormo asked, leaning in to get a better look.

“I don't know, I don't recognize it,” Brenton answered.

“But I thought you could read,” Maormo looked at the carvings with the same confusion he did for any other written word.

“Well yes, but not this, this isn't a script I'm familiar with,” Brenton stopped tracing the runes.

“Lot of good you are then,” Maormo crossed his arms in front of his chest and looked away. “Hey, there's more!”

Maormo pointed to another standing stone further north along the hilltop, several hundred yards away. Beyond that they could see another before a scattering of trees broke their view.

“Indeed there are, do you think the boys followed them?” Cydd asked, scanning the horizon.

“Perhaps,” Brenton said, “I see no evidence of them being here, and they're certainly commanding enough to capture someone's attention. It's as good a lead as any right now.”

The sun rose higher in the sky as they followed the stones, warming the air around them. A gentle breeze rustling nearly by trees and a myriad of bird calls were the only sounds to be heard beyond their own footsteps. Each stone was similar to the first, rising to the same lofty heights and covered in the same runes. Beyond the second, they spotted a third and fourth and continued to follow them, the mountain peaks rising high above them to the right and seemingly endless farmlands sprawled out in the distance to their left. There was no evidence of the children and the group was beginning to grow dismayed as they passed the fourth stone. As they worked through some heavy brush towards the fifth stone their luck finally changed.

This stone was different then the others, though it's size and shape were the same, the runes here were glowing a soft blue light. The stone looked as though it had been moved, the grass around it was trampled flat and to it's right there was a hole dug into the ground, a set of earthen steps leading into the darkness.

Of more import though, was the person standing in front of stone. He was nearly as tall as Maormo but was of a much more slender and lithe build. His hair was long, brown, and straight, gathered up in a ponytail that ran down to the middle of his back. He wore a suit of splinted mail, a quiver hung from his back, full of arrow, and a short sword sat in it's scabbard on his side. On the ground at his feet sat a backpack and leaning against it was an intricately carved bow. The bow was made from two pieces of wood, joined in the center. Half appeared to be like a vine, brown bark with small decorative leaves carved into it, the other half, like the sky, blue at the tips and fading through the colors of the sunset until the center was a star speckled black. The bow's handle was carved to look like a crescent moon.

Cydd placed his index finger to his lip and carefully pulled a dagger from it's sheath. Maormo, sensing the potential for battle, likewise did pulled his bastard sword form it's scabbard, though not nearly as quietly. The man swiftly turned around, dropping a piece of parchment and pen he held in his hand. With a quick flick from his foot, he kicked his bow up into his hand, the other hand already pulling and arrow from it's quiver and nocking the arrow before anyone could react. It was then the group saw the man for what he truly was, his angular face, piercing green eyes, and tall pointed ears betrayed his heritage, he was an elf.

“Alright, I think we should just all calm down,” Cydd said, raising his hands slightly, but not letting go of his dagger. Brenton reached for his mace, but did not draw it. Maormo, dropping his guard, stood in awe.

“What brings you here?” the elf asked, his voice was soft, yet stern.

“I could ask you the same question,” Cydd replied, “these are mostly human lands.”

“And since when has the lands around Cillimar been outlawed to elves?”

“That's not what I'm saying, rather, we don't often see many of your kind outside your homelands.”

Maormo leaned over towards Brenton, “she's beautiful,” he whispered.

“That's not a female,” Brenton whispered back, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“What are you talking about? Everyone knows all elves are female. You really need to get your mind off your girly god and pay attention to the real world,” Maormo told him, never taking his eyes off the elf.

“If you must know,” the elf began, “I was following these stones, they're quite remarkable, unlike any I've ever seen.”

“You haven't seen two young human boys while you were exploring have you?” Brenton asked, stepping forward to join Cydd, keeping his hands out away from his mace.

“No, I have not,” the elf lowered his bow, but kept the arrow nocked.

“How did you get that stone to glow?” Cydd asked, nodding towards the menhir behind them.

“I didn't, it was like this when I came upon it, I was trying to copy the runes down when you so graciously interrupted me.”

“Then perhaps the kids did it, somehow,” Cydd said to Brenton, “or something from below did when they noticed them.”

“I'm afraid you're right,” Brenton agreed, “if that's the case, we're going to have to investigate where those stairs lead.”

Brenton looked back to the elf, “we meant no quarrel with you elf, but finding these children is important to us and has left us on edge. Forgive the way our introductions began and let us try a different approach. My name is Brenton, I am a cleric in service of the goddess Aristemis.”

“You may call me Poeas, I am in service only to myself and my own curiosity. And apologies are not necessary, after all, it was I who drew on your first.”

“Only because you were slightly quicker then us, this time,” Cydd smiled, sheathing his dagger, “I'm Cydd.”

“And I'm Maormo darling, and it is indeed a real pleasure to meet you” Maormo blurted out, stepping up to stand with his companions. Cydd stared at Maormo, his mouth open as if he was going to say something.

“Uh, yes, a pleasure,” Poeas replied, the sternness in his voice fading to confusion.

“And not to once again be abrupt, but we need to find these kids, and I do not wish to waste any more time then necessary,” Brenton said.

“And this search will take you down there?” Poeas asked, pointing to the passageway into the hill.

“I believe so, I fear that is where they now are,” Brenton answered.

“Then, if I may, allow me to accompany you. Not only to help these innocent human children, but also because I am curious to this place's connection to the stones and who put it all together.”

“You are welcome to tag along, but know this, the children are our priority, not digging up old history, we will not be standing around waiting for you to perform research.”

“Understandable, I only need some time to explore and perhaps copy a few notes, my abilities will more then make up for any time seemingly wasted.”

“Then welcome aboard,” Cydd said with a grin.

“Yes!” Maormo shouted, triumphantly throwing a fist into the air.

Poeas gathered his notes from the ground, placing them in his backpack, which he slung over one shoulder. Cydd moved slowly towards the edge of the steps, the sunlight barely illuminating the passage beneath him. He could barely see an earthen floor some twenty feet below ground. Cydd pulled a torch from his backpack, lighting it with flint and steel he pulled from pouch on his belt. Poeas walked up behind him, his bow at the ready. Cydd, putting back the flint and steel, unsheathed a dagger.

“Don't worry elf, I'll gladly watch your back,” Maormo said with a smile, approaching behind the other two. Brenton sighed, readying his shield and mace.

“Let's find these kids,” Cydd said, stepping down into the darkness.

The Dream

Cydd stood alone in the damp chamber, the smell of decay assaulting his nostrils. A low, green mist curled around him at the knees, lighting the area with a soft green glow. He couldn't see more then a few feet in front of him, but he knew from the cold and emptiness he felt that the area was massive in size. The mist flowed lazily around him, sometimes forming soft tendrils that would travel up along his thigh, feeling cool and soft, like a lover's caress. His right hand tightened around his silver dagger as he tentatively he took a step forward.

Suddenly, the mist's glowed flared, revealing the sheer vastness of the cave he found himself in. The walls and ceiling were beyond his view and as far as his eyes could see the ground was covered in thick fields of black sickly mushrooms, many of which towered several feet above him. So thick was the fungal growth that Cydd could not see the floor in which they grew. From under their caps, the mists came, swirling over, under, and through the mushroom forest.

It was on the very edge of the darkness that something caught Cydd's eye, an amorphous shape slowly rose up, hundreds of feet tall and twice again as wide. Though Cydd could make out no details of the thing, he could sense it's overwhelming presence. In the darkness, he could hear a wet, rhythmic sound and make out the subtle undulations of the silhouette. It was breathing, it was alive. At once Cydd was gripped with insatiable curiosity and sheer terror.

At that moment, Cydd's mind was assaulted by two distinct, yet wholly the same, voices. One was deep, sounding sickly and wet, the other soft, soothing, and feminine.

“Power...” the voice whispered into Cydd's brain, “such power could be yours, join me, become one with me.”

From beyond the darkness, a massive tentacle shot towards Cydd, the sickly mass glistened against the glow of the mist. Nearly as big around as Cydd was tall, it moved with impossible speed and wrapped itself around him before he could react.

Cydd jumped up from his bedroll with a start, sweating. A DESCRIPTIVE dog at his side lifted it's head with alarm, before nuzzling it into Cydd's face.

“It's okay Thorn,” Cydd said softly, scratching the dog behind the ears, “just bad dreams.”

The group has set-up camp in a small clearing, about a mile into the woods that followed along the Old Trade Road. The spring night was cool and clear, and the moon, nearly full, shown brightly in the sky. They had elected to sleep under the stars, and their four bedrolls were laid out around a large fire, now burned down to only glowing embers.

Cydd rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he looked around. far to his left, he could hear the horses snorting amongst one another and, much closer to his right, he could hear another, louder snorting, as Maormo laid on his side, facing Cydd, snoring. Behind the large mercenary, Eyrnod lay so still and quiet that Cydd could be convinced he was dead, though he dare not disturbed the mage to find out.

Brenton's bedroll was empty, as it was his turn to sit watch, on the lookout for whatever horrors stalked the untamed woods. He sat on a fallen tree at the edge of the clearing, a torch wedged into the split trunk provided some vision into the woods, but mostly only made the shadows dance about ominously. His mace leaned against the tree within arm's reach and he polished his shield as he peered out into the darkness.

Cydd slowly got to his feet, gently patting Thorn on his side. He approached Brenton, stretching his arms with a yawn.

“Dark dreams?” Brenton asked, without even turning around.

“Indeed,” Cydd replied, “but, with what we've seen, is that of any surprise?”

Cydd walked around fallen log and sat beside Brenton and the two fell to silence for a moment, lost in their own thoughts.

“And that's only the beginning,” Cydd finally broke the silence, “who knows what else is out there?”

“All manner of vile beast,” Brenton answered, setting down his shield, “But even more good people that need our help. Why else would we do what we do?”

“Having a crisis of faith Father?” Cydd said with a grin.

“Not at all, my path is clear, but it is through Aristemis that the road is laid out before me. However, what about you? Why is it you travel the lands, staring death in the face amongst the company of people you hardly know, risking everything to help those you may never see again?”

Cydd thought about it for a moment, taking in a deep breath, “Adventure, excitement, riches, the chance to make a name for myself. There's a part of me that was born into this and another that is searching for something very important.”

“Well then my friend,” Brenton smiled warmly, placing a hand on Cydd's shoulder, “You and I have quite a bit in common.”

Brenton got to his feet, gathering his mace and shield, and began to walk back towards his bedroll, “I suppose now is as good a time as any for me to retire and you to take over watch.”

“Suppose so,” Cydd stood as well, returning to his side of camp to don his armor, Thorn got up, excitably wagging his tail at his master's return.

“A Cydd, don't dismiss your dream so easily,” Brenton pulled his tabard over his head, carefully and meticulously folding it so that the icon of Aristemis was visible on top, “Many gods use Ôæ's realm to communicate with us, as do many less savory beings.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” Cydd said, securely fastening his leather cuisses to his upper thigh, he grabbed his cuirass and looked down as his canine companion, “Okay Thorn, let's earn our keep.”

Prologue

“Cillamar,” the aging priest stated, “about a week's ride on horseback to the east, along the Old Trade Road.”

The four men seated across from him exchanged glances with one another.

“I've been told they are in need of capable heroes, and after what you have done for us, I could think of none more capable then yourselves,” Father Alnwick said, wiping some sweat from his brow.

He was not sweating from nervousness, the efforts of the adventurers that now sat facing him to halt the horrors that had befallen his town had made him feel quite relived. Instead, he was sweating from the closeness he felt. Seated at a table in the tavern's low light, flanked by two of Beton's finest hunters and across from four heavily armed and armored adventures was much more restricting then the open aired temple dedicated to Denithae, in which he oversaw both the secular and political duties of Beton. Alnwick reached beneath his simple brown robes and produced a cotton handkerchief, wiping some more sweat from his bald head.

“Sounds like a lead on some work, what do you think?” It was the cleric of Aristemis that spoke up first, as he often did. He wasn't too remarkable to look upon, many would say rather plain, but his soft hazel eyes, speckled with an uncanny fire showed his mix of kindness and resolve. He was dressed head to toe in banded mail, and though it was obvious that it had seen use, it seemed to maintain it's luster. Over the armor was a white tabard, an image of an arrow wrapped loosely with a scroll was sewn into it at chest level, the icon of his goddess.

“I want to know how much we'll get paid,” a low voice voice said beneath long flowing robes. Seated to the cleric's right, the man beneath the robes was scarcely visible, nothing but the edge of a pointed chin and wisps of dark hair that peeked out from beneath the hood.

“They didn't mention a specific payment or even job for that matter,” the Father explained, “just that you were to meet with a Lady Chauntessa at the Inn of the Slumbering Drake. Supposedly she sponsors types such as your self and provides work.”

“Well, it'll give us something to do,” a DESCRIPTIVE clad in studded leather chimed in.

“And give us something to kill,” added the final member of the group, and certainly the biggest. Wearing banded mail unfit for his frame, even seated, the large tanned skinned warrior towered above him companions. A mop of unkempt black hair covered dull brown eyes and when he spoke, one couldn't help but notice a distinct lack of most of his front teeth.

“Then it's decided then, thank you for the information Father,” the cleric nodded his head with respect to Alnwick.

“And how do we plan on getting there, since I'm the only one with adequate transportation,” the robed man asked the others, his head still lowered and obscured.

“Eyrnod brings up a good point, Father is there anywhere we can get horses?” asked the cleric.

“There is a breeder on the outskirts of town, he raises horses for our farmers, but, with your new found wealth,” the priest motioned toward ten large gold bars that rested in the center of the table, payment for the adventurers services, “I'm sure you can convince them.”

“Speaking of which,” CYDD DESCRIPTIVE leaned across the table, wrapping his arms around the pyramid of bars and dragging them toward the group, “we'll take these, thank you.”

“Cydd?” The cleric called to him almost paternally.

“Yes Brenton?” Cydd replied, still dragging the gold bars towards him.

“We're dividing those evenly you know.”

“I know, I just wanted to get a feel for them, all together,” Cydd awkwardly hugged the pyramid of bars and then sat back down.

Father Alnwick stood, the hunters on his either side did as well, recapturing the attention of the party.

“I once again wish to thank you for your help,” the priest began, “though I know I cannot say it nearly enough. You saved this town from a danger we would not have been able to handle. Had you not shown up, in a week's time, we may have very well been razed to the ground with no one left to say what had happened here. This town is forever in your debt and I offer more gratitude then I could ever express. You are destined for great things in this life and the one beyond, but always remember that you have friends here. The gods shall always watch over you and blessings of Denithae be upon you.”

“Father! Before you go,” Cydd quickly jumped to his feet, Eyrnod's eyes focused on the pile of gold bars in front of him, making sure none of them disappeared during the quick maneuver. They all remained, for now.

Cydd threw his arms out wide, “How about a hug?”

Father Alnwick stood perplexed for a moment, the eyebrows on his wrinkled face furrowed. Cydd held his ground, a roguish smile on his lips. The priest slowly stepped forward and Cydd swiftly moved around the table, throwing his arms around Alnwick. He gave him a strong hug, patting his back several times. The Father hesitantly hugged him back for a moment until Cydd stepped back, letting him go.

The priest let out an awkward chuckle and Brenton noticed the two hunters at his side relaxing their grip on their hunting knives. The three of them walked towards the door, Alnwick giving a friendly nod to Bayard, the tavern's halfling proprietor.

“Fare thee well friends, Olidyra willing, we shall meet again,” The father bowed slightly in respect and turned and walked out the door.

“Good guy,” Cydd nodded to himself and sat back down

“Well, I suppose we should divvy up our reward, get any supplies we need and make for Cillamar as soon as we can.”

“Agreed,” Eyrnod stated plainly.

“Absolutely,” Cydd smiles, his eyes wandering back to the bars of gold on the table.

“Maormo?” Brenton glanced over at the hulking man, “Agreed?”

Maormo, who had long since become fascinated with a small bug that was crawling across the table, had stopped paying attention several minutes ago.

“What?” Maormo looked up to see his three companions staring at him, fearful that they'd catch on to the fact he had no idea what was going on, he swiftly nodded, “of course?”

“Then it is agreed,” Brenton stated rising to his feet, “we're off to Cillamar.”

Welcome!

Originally I had intended to do recaps of our gaming sessions over at the portal, but Zach ended up with some very cool in character journals that I felt should stand alone.
So instead, I present a slightly different approach to chronicling our session, story sessions.

Story sessions will be recaps written out in a story/novella format, rather then a dry account of the events. While the actual actions will mirror what happens in the sessions, I'm taking a few liberties with dialogue and back story, adding elements that make for a more compelling read.

Since our actual campaign kicks off this session, I'm using the events of Beton as background, the events did happen, and will probably be brought up, but not actually chronicled, atleast, not yet. The story itself is going to begin with you just finishing up in Beton and collecting your reward.

Hopefully you guys like it, if anything, it's a good exercise for me in terms of wanting to write more in my life.