The Owlbear and The Trap

Maormo lead the group slowly up the stair case, sword at the ready. Despite the smell of rotting vegetation beneath them, a stronger odor begin to descend down the stairs. It was like a mixture of offal and rotting flesh, and each step they took, the smell got stronger. About halfway up, Maormo noticed a shattered skeleton at his feet, ribs badly smashed, skull cracked, and limbs scattered on the stairs. Despite its condition, the tell tale orcish features and rusted battleaxe were visible and very familiar.

Maormo gently nudged Poeas behind him. “Looks like we found an old friend.”

Poeas looked down at the battered bones. “But just one, stay alert.”

Maormo continued up the stairs until it opened into a worked chamber. Nearly fifteen foot square, the chamber resembled much of the other rooms in the mine, braced by large wooden beams and covered in a fine purple soot. Across from the stairs a small path lead to a natural chamber, filled with a pool of water. The smell here was almost unbearable and its source was scattered about the room, large bloody feathers and animal waste covered the floor and in one corner stood the creature that owned both.

It stood nearly six feet tall and was half as wide, standing on two massive hind legs with forearms ending in large yellow claws. It had the shape of a bear, but it was covered in large feathers and its head was that of an owl. It was an owlbear, a creature born of magical experimentation in ages long past that had spread throughout the wilds. This one was not fully mature and was covered in painful bloody sores, each sprouting a large purple crystal. It looked at Maormo and Poeas at the top of the stairs and let out a screeching roar as it charged them.

Maormo moved forward to meet him, and Poeas moved into the opposite corner of the room.

“Owlbear,” He shouted to the others down the stairs and Brenton and Cydd, upon hearing this, quickened their pace.

The creature swatted at Maormo with it's deadly claws and he barely raised his shield to deflect the blow. The sickening sound of the nails digging into the shield's steel was grating and the force of the impact slide Maormo back several inches. The fighter held his ground, however, and retaliated, bringing his sword across the owlbear's chest. The blade cut deep, causing the beast to howl in pain and reel backwards. Just then Poeas loosed and arrow, however the owlbear's flinching from the wound Maormo gave it caused the arrow to narrowly miss its mark.

Brenton and Cydd topped the stairs as the wounded animal screeched in rage. Brenton charged forwards, moving beside Maormo, mace held high. The creature's attentions were solely focused on the warrior and it again swiped at Maormo, this time knocking his shield from his grip and sending in a few feet to his right. Brenton quickly brought his mace down into the owlbear's arm, but the enraged creature barely seemed to notice. It swing again at Maormo and he ducked, razor sharp talons just sailing over his head. He quickly readjusted his sword, gripping it in two hands and driving it into the owlbear's stomach. With all his might he drove the blade upward, hearing the crack of bone before the blade finally became lodged in the beast's sternum. The owlbear howled, as warm thick blood dripped down the blade and coated Maormo's hands. Brenton drove his shoulder into the creature, knocking it back and off of Maormo's sword. It fell onto it's back, letting out a few ragged breaths as it bled out before finally falling silent.

“Are you okay?” Brenton asked.

“Fine, not even a scratch,” Maormo said, wiping blood off his blade.

Poeas quickly moved towards the fallen owlbear, kneeling next to it. His finger lightly traced one of the crystals growing from the creature's body. He quickly began scribbling notes on his parchment. He reached for one of the crystals, trying to pull it off. With but the slightest pressure the crystal broke, a brief flash of purple light came from its center before it turned into a fine powdery soot.

“Something is up with these crystals,” he said, mostly to himself.

“Obviously,” Cydd said, “and now we know what took care of our skeleton friend.”

Maormo walked over to his shield, picking it up. He frowned, examining the long scratches now marring its surface.

“The question is, where is the other one?” Brenton asked as he walked over toward Poeas, the elf was carefully cutting away the flesh around another crystal that grew out of the owlbear. Brenton watched as Poeas pulled the fragile crystal away from the beast's body, so light and thin it seemed like it wasn't even real. Poeas carefully wrapped the crystal and placed it in a pocket on his backpack.

“Maybe that thing ate it” Cydd said as he slowly walked around the room, examining the waste on the ground. He saw a peculiar bone sticking out of one pile closest to the water filled cavern. It was larger then the rest, like the rib bone of a creature twice the size of a man, but it was the glint of reflective light that drew his attention. No sooner had he begun to approach it, however, then did he see the second skeleton, slowly coming out of the water, drawn by the noise of battle.

“Guys, I think I found him!” Cydd said, taking a step back. He reached for one of his daggers, but, thinking on how ineffective the small blade would be on animated bones, he opted to step back behind Maormo. The warrior had already taken his fighting stance, shield at the ready, waiting for the undead bones to come to him. Brenton and Poeas quickly got to their feet, the elf backed himself up with Cydd, while the cleric moved forward, hand reaching for his holy symbol.

Maormo looked at Breton. “No need for your holy speeches this time, I've got him.”

The skeleton silently moved forward, raising his battleaxe over his head. Maormo took a half step forward, lowering his shoulder into his shield and thrusting it forward. It caught the skeleton square in the head and chest. The ancient bones cracked under the pressure, ribs snapping and splintering, its bottom job snapping off and clattering to the floor. The skeleton continued its attack, unmoved, bringing its axe down. Maormo raised his shield and the rusted weapon smashed against it, the impact did little damage to the shield, but rattled the already battered skeleton, causing its arm to snap off at the shoulder and fall to the ground. Brenton raised his mace, ready to strike, when from behind a large rock hit the skeleton right between the eye sockets, knocking the skull clean off. The bones crumbled to the ground.

“Well that worked better then arrows,” Poeas said with a grin, tossing another rock in the air and catching it.

“That was my kill, but I suppose I can let the elf have it,” Maormo winked at Poeas, sheathing his sword.

“Let's leave the elf alone and help me check out this next chamber,” Brenton said, “Both your lantern and sword arm could be useful.”

Brenton moved towards the chamber where the skeleton emerged, Maormo behind him. Cydd, meanwhile, went back to retrieve the bone he saw earlier, carefully reaching for the end sticking out of the owlbear's waste so not to get any one his hands. It was indeed a large rib bone, nearly a foot and a half long. On one end was a small blue gem, tied securely with a thing strip of leather.

“Poeas, what do you make of this?” Cydd asked, holding up his find.

Poeas stepped forward, looking carefully at the rib. “Looks like a wand of some sort, might I hold it?”

Cydd handed it to Poeas who immediately felt the magic resonating from it. “It is indeed a wand.”

“A wand of what?” Cydd asked.

“Well, I don't know, I've not the magical training to figure that out, not without trying to use it.”

“Then try to use it.”

“No! We have no idea what it could do, it could summon a dragon or light the wielder on fire.”

“So we're just going to bury it our packs somewhere and never know?”

“Of course not, I am quite tempted to try it out, just not now, in time.”

“As long as you let me know when, so I'm no where near you.”

Poeas smiled and tucked the wand away into his backpack. Maormo and Brenton returned from the cavern, wet up to their knees.

“Nothing there but water,” Maormo reported.

“Well that, and we saw where to floor gave way in the room above. This is where that pit trap would have its victims end up it seems.”

“So, dead end, I guess we'll have to figure out that door after all.” Cydd said.

“There has to be some way to get this open,” Brenton said, standing in front of the door. They were back in the room with the mushrooms, having made no forward progress in the room above.

“There is, you just have to stick your hand in there,” Poeas said, studying the walls around the stairway, “I think.”

“That's very reassuring.”

Poeas spotted something then in the wall, a similar gap in the stonework like the hidden door in the rooms above him. Once again, someone had attempted to disguise a passageway behind false stonework, but imperfections caught by elven eyes gave it away.

Poeas slide the false wall to one side, revealing a chamber coated in dust. The air was thick and musty, as if no one had disturbed it in many years. It was not covered in any of the soot they had seen elsewhere and seemed to be much more exactly measured then any of the other mining chambers. It was almost perfectly rectangular in shape, about fifteen feet long and twenty feet wide, a small alcove was cut against the far wall and in it stood a wooden table. Atop the table were two silver coffers, each resplendent in a variety of runes and reliefs.

“Maybe we won't have to stick our hands in there after all,” Poeas called out, getting the rest of the companions attention. They gathered around him in front of the room as he cautiously stepped inside. Maormo unsheathed his sword and followed behind him, kicking up dust which each step. As Poeas approached the table, he could see the coffers in more detail. Each one had several runes on them that appeared identical to the ones on the menhirs outside. Each had a dwarven face relief around its keyhole, similar to the door they had seen.

Poeas took a step in front of the table, and the floor beneath shifted slightly with a low click.

“Run!” Cydd called out, hearing the pressure plate. Maormo turned and headed back through the doorway, but Poeas, caught off guard by the warning hesitated. In front of him a small portcullis slammed down in front of the table and as he turned towards the doorway he saw another descend, cutting off his escape. The group heard a slow groaning coming from somewhere behind the walls, like some ancient beast coming to life. The walls one either side of Poeas shook, dust falling off them and kicking up as clouds all around him. Slowly they began to move inward, creeping towards him.

“We have to get him out of there,” Brenton called out in alarm.

Poeas ran back towards the table, trying to find a way to shut off the insidious trap. The bars blocking it were barely spaced enough to get his arms through and he tried to feel underneath the tabletop for a switch, but his search was in vain.

“Brenton, give me a hand” Maormo quickly sheathed his sword and grasped the portcullis in the doorway at its base. Brenton stood beside him, grabbing onto the thick iron bars as well, “Ready? Lift!”

They each pulled up with all their might, groaning in effort. The two strained, bodies shaking, the muscles in their arms screaming in protest. But soon the portcullis began to raise and with one last push they managed to lift it above their heads.

“Poeas, get out of there, now!” Brenton called out.

Poeas turned, seeing the two straining to keep the portcullis up. “But, the coffers! We may lose them.”

“This isn't the time to argue elf!” Maormo grunted, “Move!”

Poeas looked back at the coffers one more time, then at the walls, still closing in. He paused for a moment, then turned and ran towards the doorway. He squeezed between Breton and Maormo and the two were about to release the portcullis when they say Cydd dart between and back into the room.

“Cydd what are you doing?” Poeas yelled.

“You're right, we can't let these coffers go to waste,” Cydd said running towards the pressure plate. He pulled several small tools out of one of his belt pouches as he slid to his knees in front of it. Brenton buckled slightly under the weight, nearly losing his grip, he wedged his shoulder under the portcullis with a groan.

“We can't hold this open forever, get out of there,” Brenton shouted.

“Neshti be with me,” Cydd murmured to himself. He began working at the pressure plate with his tools, trying to wedge them underneath it and lift it back into place. The walls loomed closer as Cydd worked, growing frustrated at his lack of progress, “I need more time!”

“The door!” Poeas called out, running back towards the silver door. He examined the plates inside the dwarf's mouth and saw that one had shifted to one side. Without hesitation he reached into the mouth, pushing the plate back to its original position. The mouth did not come crushing down on his hand, nor did the walls stop moving, he silently cursed Ireth's name. The door did, however, expel a coating of fine brown fungus into Poeas's face. The elf retched, coughing loudly as the fungus seared his mouth, nose, and lungs.

“Cydd, now, you have no more time!” Brenton yelled as the walls reached the edges of the doorway. Cydd punched the ground with frustration and ran back for the door, having to turn his body sideways to squeeze through. With a sigh of relief, Brenton and Maormo released the portcullis and it slammed to the ground with a reverberating thud. Both men leaned against the walls, taking deep breaths.

“Damnit!” Cydd cried out as the walls inside the chamber slammed together. Behind him, Poaes was doubled over, coughing loudly. He stood upright, wiping some spittle from his mouth.

“It seems Myna was not with us here,” Brenton said, “But we are all still alive, so there is blessing in that.”

“Yeah, well blessings don't get us whatever were in those coffers.” Cydd said, pushing his way past the group. He returned to the door, studying the plates once more.

“I wouldn't suggest touching them without a plan,” Poeas said, “It doesn't seem to like that.”

“Well we can't stand around in this room all day waiting for something to happen,” Cydd said, agitated. Behind the group, they once again heard the sound of low rumbling and, slowly turning around, they watched as the walls began to retract to their original position.

“Looks like we can,” Maormo smiled.

Once the walls fully retracted the portcullis on both sides of the room slowly pulled themselves back into the ceiling.

“You two can go this time,” Maormo said to Brenton and Cydd.

The two made their way into the room. “See, have faith in all things,” Brenton told Cydd. Cydd walked toward the table, stopping before he stepped on the pressure plate, seeing that it had moved back into place.

“Now how do we get those without setting off the trap again?” Cydd asked, “maybe we can set up a small pulley system, run it from the ceiling to pull the coffers off. Or we could make something to lay across the ground without setting it off, if I had some wood I could...”

Brenton leaned over the plate, grabbing one of the coffers and dragging it off the table. He set it behind him and did the same to the second.

“Or, we could do that,” Cydd commented as he grabbed one of the coffers, following Brenton back out of the room. They returned to the others and Cydd immediately began work on opening both coffers, manipulating the tumblers inside with a variety of small tools. After a few minutes of work, Cydd heard a satisfying click as the lock opened, he set it aside and began work on the second one.

Poeas took the first chest and opened it carefully. Inside rested a single handed warhammer, two large pearls, and some gold bars. Both the hammer and the gold bars had runes carved into them, similar to the ones they had seen elsewhere in the mine. Poeas lifted the hammer and could feel the soft warmth of magic flowing in it.

“Brenton, you could probably make good use of this,” Poeas held out the hammer. Brenton took the hammer in his hand, swinging it in short arcs.

“Its very well balanced and light,” He said, running his hand over the runes carved into its head.

“And there's a hint of magic to it, it will come in handy.”

“Then I will put it to good use.”

“Have anything in there for me?” Maormo asked.

“Yeah, you can hold onto the heavy stuff,” Poeas handed the coffer to him. Maormo retrieved the gold bars and pearls and, after studying them for a moment, began to stuff them into his pack. He casually tossed the coffer onto the ground.

“What are you doing?” Poeas called out, “the coffer itself would be priceless to a collector of dwarven culture.”

“If it's not worth anything then why do you want it?”

Poeas sighed and retrieved the coffer, brushing off some rotting vegetation and putting it in his pack.

“I can't get this one open,” Cydd said, still working with his lockpicks, “Might have to resort to an old trick.”

Cydd retrieved a crowbar from his backpack and wedged it between the top and base of the coffer. “Maormo, care to do the honors?”

“Gladly,” Maormo stepped forward and gripped the crowbar. Cydd held the coffer firm on the ground as Maormo wrenched back on it. The lid of the coffer began to curl back, but the lock resisted at first, until, with a scream of protest, the lock snapped. Poeas flinched as the marred lid swung open. Inside the second coffer rested a fine cloak, spun of a soft purple thread with gold trim. Along the trim, in silvery thread, matching runes were sewn down the sides. As Cydd lifted the cloak, a large emerald feel from one of the folds, which he caught in his hand. Beneath the cloak a hauberk of chainmail rested, as Cydd pulled it out of the coffer he could see the telltale runes they had grown accustomed to adorning the bottom of the suit. Beneath the suit rested an ornate wooden box, no thicker then Cydd's index finger, it too had a variety of curved runes across the top and was hinged, but not locked. Opening it, Cydd found five crossbow bolt heads resting on velvet. He carefully shut the case and tucked it away in his pack.

“These are magical too,” Poeas said, holding both the cloak and mail, “But they may be small for us.” Holding the mail out at arm's length, the companions could see it was made for someone smaller then they were. It was about half their size, cut for someone with a broad chest and shoulders.

“Probably dwarven,” Brenton said, “If both the size and everything around us is any clue.”

“Doesn't mean we can't try it,” Cydd snatched the robe from Poeas and put it on. Though loose around the shoulders and only coming to his midback, it still fit and he immediately could feel a reassuring warmth emanating from the cloak.

“Suppose it can't hurt,” Poeas said, undoing the straps that held his spintmail cuirass in place. He awkwardly stuffed the cuirass into his backpack and then pulled the chainmail hauberk over his head. It sat loose on his thin frame and like Cydd's cloak, came to an end near the middle of his stomach.

“That doesn't seem very safe,” Cydd suggested.

“I like it,” Maormo said, grinning, “though I would be worried about being gutted.”

Poeas looked down at the mail, “but, it's magic.”

“Well keep it on then, just, watch your stomach.” Cydd said.

“Don't worry, I certainly will be watching,” Maormo added.

Poeas frowned slightly at that suggestion and retrieved the second coffer. His frown deepened when he saw the broken lock and peeled lid. He carefully added it to his rapidly filling pack.

“Now can we get this door open?” Brenton returned the group's attention to the silver door, “I think I have an idea on how it works.”

Brenton carefully placed his hand inside the carved mouth and began manipulating the plates. Some slide upwards, others to the side, some back. Finally, after the last plate locked, he took a step back. Nothing happened. Brenton pushed on the door, it didn't budge.

“That was thrilling,” Cydd said.

“Let me give it a try,” Poeas said as Brenton moved out of his way. He began resetting the plates and moving them in another pattern, listening carefully to the sounds each plate made as it clicked into place. Finally satisfied with his choices he pushed on the door, it still didn't move.

“I've got it,” Maormo stepped forward and Poeas and Brenton looked at him skeptically. He reached into the mouth and began moving each plate, biting his bottom lip with concentration. After he pushed the last plate back, they heard the sound of gears moving and a loud click from within the door.
Maormo stood up, pushing the door and it swung open freely into a large corridor.

“Don't see what all the trouble was about,” Maormo said.

“That was pure dumb luck,” Cydd said, smiling, “but it worked.”

Brenton held his newly acquired hammer at the ready, “whatever the reason, let's see where it leads.”

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.