Lantern Wharf, Windlings &Pirates

The day of our departure comes and we opt to head west towards a place called Lantern Wharf. Cyrellion our new friend and companion tell us that Lantern Wharf is basically a hiding & trading place for pirates. There we were to face whores, fighting, smugglers and what have you. I did not picture it nice however I have gone through worse.

Later in the evening we arrive about a mile off from Lantern Wharf and that is where our escort leaves us. We kept close to the river and with the directions given to us together with the aid of Cyrellion we see lights at the horizon. We approach closer and closer still until a vision of the now closer city can be seen. A number of large vessels are seen crashed on the shoreline; some of the wrecks are converted into housing, whilst others lay abandoned. From the distance it just seems a shimmering light as the thick mist hides the city.

The city is a lively one. Almost immediately we started looking for an inn. Cyrellion having already been here names five taverns out of which we pick the one with the most “lively” name the ‘Foul Flask Inn’. A sign with the name carved on it dangled at the front door. Laughing, singing, cursing and shouting is hared easily from a couple of meters outside the door. The place is packed full with people of all races from Windlings to Obsidiman. As soon I went in immediately I recognized that the place was once a hold now converted in an inn. An Obsidiman in one corner hit hard on a rock drum, whilst some windings stood flying playing some tunes on their flutes. Wenches are heavily groped. A large troll stood behind the bar what we came to know as the inn keeper.

Cyrellion headed straight to the bar and ordered some ale however he was served milk, Ahmok and Jarl both downed it immediately whilst Cyrellion after giving it a funny look sipped it quietly.

I went over to a fairly big ork and told him that Ahmok could have beaten him at arm wrestling with one arm against his back. Hearing so he pushed me aside and headed straight towards him. Ahmok accepted to wrestle not knowing what I had done. Immediately a table cleared out for the wrestle. The ork downed the ale he was drinking in one breath and smashed the mug on his head, roaring loudly for intimidation. The ork was way to powerful in arm wrestling and immediately brought down Ahmok’s hand on the table. Ahmok Had just offended his grand mother and immediately the ork lunged at Ahmok. A brawl between the two started off. People were inciting the ork whilst I on top of a table was inciting the crowd.

Elessar’s keen sight was scouring the place, when he saw a windling cutting loose a pouch from a pirate without noticing. Seeing so Elessar moved over to the windling and tried to hold him. The windling with one swift movement swung his sword and gashed Elessar’s hand causing him to loosen the grasp, thus allowing the windling to fly off. Cyrellion seeing the commotion and the windling flying away promptly got hold of a dagger and threw it at the windling hitting it bluntly and causing the windling to crash down on the pavement, behind the crowd watching the brawl.

Cyrellion catches the windling and starts questioning him in order t get some answers or maybe some clues. But soon enough noticed that surely the windling wasn’t who we were after.

Meanwhile the brawl ended with Ahmok knocking the ork with a stool leg. As soon as the brawl had finished, Cyrellion entered the inn again and went up to the pirae who had his purse stolen and handed him his pouch back. The man was very happy to recover his pouch and so to thank us offered us a drink. I downed the dark intruil which sent me also KO immediately it burnt al the way to the stomach leaving just a trail of fire burning in my throat.

This pirate went by the name of Karim. We sat there around a table talking and asking questions whilst drinking the dark intruil named Byle. Jarl overheard that a certain guy named Rasmussen had a big load of Mescal that was going to be auctioned soon, whilst Elessar heard of a bounty hunter looking for a one eyed elf, possibly carrying a large book.

We ask about what we had taught was a large sinkhole on the map and Karim tells us that once a friend of his had seen one, with that he stands up and goes call him. An elf approached the table and presented himself as Nami. After some chatting we arrive at the conclusion that he will give us information in return for other information or else for money. We agree to meet up in a near by wreck within two hours and so we do.

The now famous for haggle Jarl tried to get a special price for a room but fortunately enough the price did not increase other than it was first asked. The two hours pass quickly and we head towards the meeting place. We get to know that we needed to head north of were we where and that the spiral sign might be a true earth mine, also the lines next to the symbol of the mine are possibly rivers. The possible ways to arrive there are either a slaves heading to the mines or on board of the ship or else steal a boat or ask a ship to give us a lift in return for payment.

The Reunion at the Forge

My name is Cyrellion D'Aesh B'Aernon.

Two months ago I was approached by a dwarf by the name of Belwindier. I was somewhat surprised when he told me that he had heard of my previous deeds fighting against slavers, and on occasion the Hand. For many years I wondered why I was actually doing this. A lone elf with a rag-tag band of like-minded adventurers fighting the dissent that is sweeping through our land?

My last encounter with the slavers did not go so well. Everything was going according to plan - for two months we tracked the slavers, made contact with the slaves and convinced them that this wasn't right for them. Little did we know that some of them were agents. It seems our reputation preceeded us and a trap lay in wait. On our escape, they turned on us, stabbing my comrades in their back, and chasing the rest of us through the dense marshes. I have not heard from my comrades, but I fear the worst. I barely managed to escape, hounded for days, travelling by night and hiding by day. At last I came to a settlement on the borders of the marshes.

I was approached by the dwarf that same evening. Belwindier revealed little about how he found me, only chuckling heartily. A strange race they are.

I was told about the Wardens of Barsaive. How a handful of adventurers secretly grouped together, forming a spy network to fight the scourge of the Hand, and are now gathering at the Forge. I thought I was alone in all this, and now, here was a chance for me to drive an arrow through the heart of this dissent!

-----

Wanting to remain anonymous as long as possible, I took my horse that same night and rode out hard toward the south, to the Forge. I had heard about the desert, but could never imagine how hot and dry it could become. Using all my knowledge I managed to survive those months under the searing sun. A few airships flew overhead, but I made no move to hail them.

One morning I arrived at the Forge. A forge they call it! The immense complex is staggering. I remember the underground havens of the mountains, but this, in the middle of the desert was more than i imagined. Training halls, sleeping quarters, chambers with skilled workers crafting weapons, and then the forge itself!

I rested for a couple of days to recover my strength. Still wounded from my encounter with the slavers, and dehydrated from the desert I was given potions to recover. When I was fit enough I was taken to a large amphitheatre where others gathered for the initiation. We were all presented with the Wardens Keatta, a beautifully crafted knife which we each named in turn to bind it to us. After the initiation the others in the chamber mingled to talk, but still a little overwhelmed by the whole experience and still weak, I retreated back to my room to rest.

In the morning, feeling much better, Merrox - the head of the Wardens took me to meet with a a select group of adventurers reknown for their deeds whom I saw . First there was Jarl Skålder , an Dwarf Elementalist, a T'Skrang Swordmaster by the name of Ahmok Silanaas, a human weaponsmith called Ivor son of Gunthar, and also an fellow elf called Elessar Sirfalas - a Nethermancer he claimed to be - I have never heard of a Nethermancer before, but when I had time to look this up I was a little disturbed. Still, if the Wardens trusted and accepted him, then he must be just as worthy as the rest of these heroes.

Merrox informed us of rumours of a city that might have reappeared within the marshes. From the little information that they deciphered from the Books. We were to go into the marshes in search of this city before the Hand got there. The Wardens would provide us with transport close to the marshes - which came as a relief to me after my journey through the desert - and from there we would be on our own.

We palavered for a while, discussion the best way to get ourselves a boat to travel through the dangerous waters - infested with deadly creatures other things rather not named. From my experience these waters, meeting with lava undercurrents could reach boiling points. The mists themselves are sometimes steam rising from the waters, creating a dense wall that blocks visibility completely and distorts sound so utterly that an unwary traveller could get lost within minutes. Not to mention the slavers that abound there. This would also be my chance to get back at them!!

I was greatly and pleasantly surprised with the Forge's training facilities. Using illusions and magic, an ambush scenario was created for us, where we got the chance to fight against an illusionary foe - though the pain was very real at the time!!! My new companions know well their skills, and I have confidence that together we'll be able to accomplish great deeds.

Perhaps we'll be able to create our own dissent within the ranks of the Hand!!

The Hand of Corruption

I still remember Merrox’s words from that night as if they were spoken now: “I have sent your friends into harm’s way, on great searches, on great perils. Each one of them with a task that would burden a giant. But all of them together still will have a lighter load than the one I am going to place on you. For your mission Elessar is to truly look into what our enemy is capable of. You will see its face, learn what it is, what it craves, it’s innermost secret desire. Elessar, you are going to join the Hand of Corruption.”

Throalic agents had intercepted a would-be recruit nethermancer and I was to take his place and become initiated in the dark cult. The meeting would be in a north-eastern border town called Marrek. I was given what signs and symbols to look for, and what to say at what moment.

On the way to Marrek I bought training from a dwarf in Horst, thus reaching the third circle. All along I took my time going up the trek, I did not want to arrive there early and idle for the remaining time. Besides I kept off the beaten path as much as possible, not wanting to be recognized – one way or another. To pass the days I tried to condition my mind to the fact that I would have to do horrible things. I figured that at times I’d have to do them without being told, just to show that I’m loyal to the Hand. Looking back it’s a wonder I’ve retained a shred of sanity – I was so unprepared for what was in store.

Marrek was a typical border town – lawless and with two main institutions: inns and mining. Walking through its streets I spotted a familiar face from the past which I was not too pleased to see – Vistum, the dwarf disgraced trader. I couldn’t risk him recognizing me as anybody other than Nafzel, the up and coming nethermancer, but before I could do anything about it he walked into the same inn as I was headed, where the meeting was going to take place.

Inside I ordered a drink, exchanged the code words with the barkeep, who told me the missing details. The meeting was to be held in the cellar of this same inn at dusk. I left and when I returned Vistum was still seated at the bar nursing a drink. I waited at a corner table, then to my horror saw him walk down towards the cellar. Other people were going down, one at a time, non-chalantly. I waited for some more then went down the stairs.

It was pitch black at the bottom, but a man’s voice greeted me and asked for credentials. Satisfied with my answer he guided me through stacks of miscellaneous supplies to a fairly large, dimly lit room. At the far end there was a small makeshift stage, and the room was already almost full. All sorts of people were present, seated on upturned boxes, crates or barrels. I located Vistum and found a seat opposite and as far away from him as possible.

After a short while a young blonde-haired human came on the stage. She introduced herself as Laira, and thanked us all for coming. She started talking about the future, children, about how a clean world will be waiting. I thought she was quite the rambling speaker, but tried to glean anything useful from it. She was going on about how the world was not ready to be reborn, how the kaers were opened too early and the settlements were an infection on the land. This was the general gist and it dragged on for a while. The meeting then came to a stop and people started milling out slowly. I positioned myself to exit before Vistum, but as I went through the door I was intercepted by the same man who greeted me at the bottom of the stairs. He took me aside and told me that this was just the prelude for things to come. In order to join the ranks of the Hand I had to prove myself, prove that my loyalties and capabilities matched the requirements of the cult. Without further ado he turned round and, with a high to low motion he tore open the fabric of reality that was the wall, took my hand and stepped through the crack that he made. We were clearly walking, but apart from my guide I everything else was shadows of grey and indiscernible. After a few minutes we stepped out into a countryside scene. It was still night and we were on the side of a hill, next to a tree.

He turned to me and said, “On the other side of this hill, down the valley, is the small town of Greenfields. It is populated by elves, led by the Thorali family, and dwarves, led by the Honormail clan. They’ve been living there peacefully for quite some time now, and have forged a very good relationship with each other. Your task is to pit the two races against each other in violent, murderous intent. You have two days. Meet me here when the job is done, or don’t come at all.”

It had started.

I will not go into the finer details of what I did during those two days. I was ashamed of my actions then, and I’m still ashamed now. I found out that there was a prohibited love between two members of the respective families. I took the life of one, pointed the blame on the father of the other. From there I followed events and stoked the fire, always hidden, unseen, until by the end of the second day the main thoroughfare of the town was bloodied by elven and dwarven blood.

I met my “guide” as planned. He must have been watching the proceedings in some way, because he seemed impressed with the outcome. Without further ado, he said, “Welcome to the Hand.”

Inside the folds of the Hand I was assigned to be mentored by a human nethermancer called Gareth, who was also a Questor of Raggok. During the first few weeks I learned of the internal structure of the hand. There are the:

Nihilists, who plan, think, philosophise and guide the Hand. Traditionally the leader of the Hand was a nihilist.

Brokers, to whom I was assigned, were the do-ers of the Hand. Lately they gained a lot of power internally because they advocated less philosophizing and more action. The current leader of the Hand is a Broker. I later found out that Aubrin was killed by the leader of the Brokers, a woman called Postrich.

Then there are the Assassins, when more direct action was required.

After two months I was formally inducted by means of a ritual. I was among a dozen others. During the ritual we poured our blood collectively into a cup and drank in turn. As I drank a brief and intense vision came to me: all of Barsaive spread out in front of me, as if I was watching it from a huge clifftop. The blood I was drinking reached out in a flash to form a jagged web, like interwoven lightning bolts, across all the land. That was when I saw first hand the extent of the Hand’s infiltration in all of society.

Following another month of learning the ropes I was assigned to a cluster working along the Serpent River. There was tension rising among t’skrang houses, and our job was to help it rise further. During this time we learnt that there was an old t’skrang swordmaster hiding in ruins somewhere, who some were calling the greatest swordmaster that ever lived. We (the Hand) tried to find him and kill him, but never succeeded. One of my suggestions was to try and mislead others who were looking for him, but I never got any feedback as to this endeavour’s success or failure.

Six more months passed. I was responsible for and party to many deeds of which I am not proud. Parents disowned their children, honest officials turned corrupt, violence was incited, famine was brought about through sabotage of trade. I also learned many things: the Hand is very old. The Therans do not seem to take it seriously, as they consider it a small cult. Throal, as we know, does not make this mistake. They are still years from reaching their ultimate goal (what this was I did not know at the time). Not all members of the Hand share the same goal, indeed, not all are aware of it. Some just enjoy the power. As we suspected, the Hand is responsible for the production of Mescal. What we did not know is that this process has something to do with horrors. I did not manage to find out more details, or the location of the production camp. The missing caravans of Daiche are the Hand’s doing too. The cult has allied itself with different heirs of the Bloodlores trolls – helping them continue fight each other so that the raids never stop.

I also found out that the head of the questors of Jaspree in Trosk is an infiltrator of the Hand. They were not privy as to his modus operandi, just that crops were failing, and that furthered the Hand’s cause. This was a particularly strategic situation because Trosk is the grain provider for much of the surrounding areas. Later news reached me that this agent died as a result of his ego, but I never managed to learn more.

It is at this time that I learn that the Hand’s main priority is to find and retrieve all the Books of Harrow. The seven books were written by a very powerful mage, who, in foreseeing the first Scourge, created pocket dimensions where he could experiment with Horrors – thus returning with information on how to defend ourselves from them. What the Hand want is to create such a pocket dimension, step into it while bringing another Scourge down on Barsaive, to then reclaim the world as their own.

The Hand have managed to find three Books of Harrow so far. When Aubrin mentioned that they were looking for a lost kaer he was a bit wrong – they were actually looking for the said mage’s lab where they hoped to find clues to help them decode the books (apart from whatever interesting items it may contain). In their search the Hand came across a term: Quellank, which they think is a reference to some place, person or landmark in the Misty Swamps, which may lead to another Book.

After a year and a half the t’skrang houses K’tenghin and Vistrimon are now at war. Internal shuffles see me promoted and reassigned to the Nihilists to work with Ianthe, a female wizard studying one of the books in the Hand’s possession.

Writing it, now, makes it look like a stroll in the park. Internal shuffle, indeed. All the time I spent in the Hand I was watching my back, constantly. At one point I discovered that my right hand agent was scheming to usurp me, thus taking my position. She was never seen again. Likewise I had to resort to less orthodox methods to rise in the ranks. It was the accepted way, best your elder and you deserve his position. The whole ordeal was doubly difficult in that I had a real secret to hide, and once a month I had to find a time and place to report back to Merrox.

Meanwhile I have been taught dark talents to carry out the Hand’s mission, among them the ability to create a rift in shadows to bridge to another place of my knowledge – as was done to me in Marrek. My spellbook has grown during this period too, the only tangible good thing to have happened. I also learn that the magical brand we share is some sort of thread, but nothing more. Information was distributed on a very need to know basis, and I did not. I did find out that Vistum is dead, caught in some treacherous act and summarily executed.

It was at this time that news reached me that the Hand were tracking some member of the Five Flames, as the Flames knew where one of the Books was. Two separate attempts to intercept were made, but the trail went cold. The Hand just found out that he was looking for someone, but not who this someone was. All I know is that in anger and retaliation Silas sent Absolution, an Assassin, to Laibayden to make an example. All are slain, their hands severed and tied to a pole in the centre of town.

During one of my monthly conversations with Merrox, he is agitated and orders me to flee as soon as possible. He wants me to steal the Book of Harrow that Ianthe was studying and take it to an address in Travar. The timing was right, as Ianthe and other high ranking Hand members had gone away for some business, leaving me practically alone with the Book.

I didn’t want to lose time. Without going to my chambers to collect any belongings, I created a rift in the lab’s shadows. Before stepping in I set fire to the room, making sure to douse the shelves and notes well. Grabbing the heavy tome, I stepped in the rift. Minutes later I emerged at a crossroads near Scavia. I headed towards town, seeking a mount.

A group of orc scorcher horses was tied outside an inn, with a lonely, seemingly junior, orc guarding them. I hid the book at the back of the inn and went inside. Quickly assessing the scene I found material for a fight, and using newly acquired talents pitched the scorchers and locals against each other. I stepped outside and told the guard that he was missing out. Not wanting to be left out he rushed in, weapon in hand. Not losing any more time I retrieved the book, hamstrung all horses but one and took off on it as fast as the beast would take me. Ever conscious of my (lack of) riding skills, I secured my body tightly around the horse and possessed it. With full control I could ride even faster, my only challenge being not to drop my body. I was sure that the scorchers would try and follow me, so I crossed a river, left the horse to graze and created another rift to a relatively short distance away, thus losing my trail. It was dangerous business stepping into shadows like that, and the more distance sought the higher the chance of getting lost in them.

After pushing on through night and day, begging or paying for passage on barges, avoiding main towns and almost starving, I arrived at the gates of Travar at nght. I took a circuitous route to the address given, feeling paranoid that I’d be caught at this penultimate stage of my mission. Finding the door, I knock, not too hard. As it swings open a mighty blow catches the back of my head, and I pass out.

When I come too I’m tied to a chair in the middle of a large room. Bright lights are arranged in a circular fashion all around me, pointing towards me. Arranged so they eliminated all chances of there being a shadow.

A hooded dwarf steps in the circle of light. Looking up, I see it’s Wolf. I ask him to untie him, I brought the book as instructed. He doesn’t budge. He starts questioning me. He says Merrox was an agent of the Hand, seeking to get more power internally by grabbing hold of a Book of Harrow. Was I working for him? I refute all his hypotheses, my intentions were always good. Evidently he doubts me, as he starts beating me and kicking me to the ground still tied to the chair, telling me I’m lying. He’s not satisfied until he’s cut off a finger, and, screaming in agony, I tell him to kill me there and then if he does not believe that I work for Throal. More must have been said and done, but the mind often chooses not to keep note of all that goes on when in such pain. What I do remember though, is that at one point he stopped, stood up straight with a grunt, and said, alright, it seems you are not working for the Hand.

He walks off and returns with a miniature chest. It looks like a remnant of a bygone age, beautifully crafted and ancient. It opens without a creak, and from it he produces a stained, dusty vial. The liquid inside seems to glow and swirl of its own accord. Here, he says, drink this. He helps it to my lips and I swallow without second thoughts. A burning sensation formed in my throat as I sent it down, settled in my stomach and grew. When it became almost unbearable it immediately stopped, replaced by an overwhelming sense of healing and well being. I looked at myself and could see that feeling go out to every limb, renewing my body as it went. My finger grew back, my scars disappeared, my skin looked fresh. Given a mirror I would have seen myself as the young man I was, rather than a travel-weary hardened adventurer. Given a mirror I would have seen myself with two eyes, instead of the solitary one I had grown accustomed to. I was a cauldron of emotions at that moment – joy, annoyance, anger, relief. At least he apologized, he had to make sure that I was not playing the two sides.

From the darkness Lau Ben stepped out. He must have witnessed the whole show. He greeted me warmly, and said that the forces of Throal are gathering strength in a secret location, we would be going to meet them. We left Travar and met up with Vin Namek, freelance troll pirate. His crystal raider ship took us with great haste back into the Blasted Lands, and stopped outside Black Rock Forge. I should have known.

And so it ended. I made myself some very powerful enemies, and I will not rest easy until the Hand is destroyed. It could have been easy for me to back out before any of this happened, but in doing so I would have turned away from the one chance we had to save all of Barsaive, and beyond, from the second Scourge being planned by the Hand.

To Vivaine & Back an Ivor adventure

That same night I grabbed my horse and rode off to the harbor hoping to find someone heading to Scavia and willing to take a passenger on board. Luckily, asking some bar owners and inn keepers, they direct me to “The Avatar”, a ship who will be passing from Scavia. I bargain for a safe passage both for me and the steed.

Once there I went around trying to acquaint myself and try to figure out how to reach Vivaine. Whilst asking around a merchant by the name of Sibaris offered me a map of how to reach a guard post situated close to Vivaine. I accepted and bought the map, however I had difficulty in orienting my self and so opted to search for a guide so as to lead me there.

I quickly understood that it was a dangerous road I was after, as everyone refused to lead me there, not even for a hefty some of money. I thought about who could be brave enough to lead me there, and thought that maybe hunters would! Being a nomadic village there were many hunters. I asked the first two that I found, but they did not know my language. Using the map and some money, as well as gestures we managed to agree for them to take me almost all the way to the borders of Vivaine, where there was a guard post. These two went by the name of Hack and Slash.

After two solid days of marching I slept heavily, totally exhausted by the travel. During the night Hack & Slash stole 100 Silver pieces from my pouch and vanished in the night. I woke up as the first rays of sun struck upon me like a spear piercing through the thick forestation. I promptly knew what had happened was furious with my self for being so negligent. Luckily I had hidden half my money in my boots.

The fact that they had stolen my money was not the major problem though; it was way much worse the fact that I was lost somewhere between Scavia and Vivaine. I picked up my stuff packed them on my steed and headed the possible way I was heading. After five days of roaming maybe in circles I finally see peaks. I open the map I had bought and on it I see the name Twilight Peaks written close to Vivaine. Fortunately I had been going in the right direction.

On the way there I meet a tribe of ork scorchers all painted blue. I stop by and ask for rations and directions. I am greeted and asked what I could give in return as payment, so I offer to use my forging skills as a weaponsmith and they accepted. They ask me to forge the blade of a large pole arm. I astonished by the appearance of such a large weapon step back but they reassure me and I get promptly on to my job. In the week I pass there I understand that not all ork scorchers are all out for violence killing and pillaging. This tribe named Naqut’taer is just a nomadic tribe that is mainly concerned towards surviving although they still are combat oriented their way of living displaced totally what had I thought of the orks.

For the service of forging and embellishing the pole arm Thul Nar a charmed adept offered to lead me as far as a river situated near Vivaine. Whilst with the tribe of the orks they also made me understand the art of riding and the handling of animals. They ride their steeds extraordinarily well some even without saddles. They see it as imperative for a being to learn how to ride, and so I opt to learn.

Thul Nar guides me to the river and shows me how to reach Vivaine. Four days pass and finally I reach Vivaine. This was where Oaki was last seen, with some luck he was still there and would welcome my arrival. Whilst going in to Vivaine I am stopped and questioned not knowing Theran I could understand nothing of what they wanted. The Theran guards called out for a guy waiting behind me to translate and so he does. They order for almost all my possessions to be confiscated. I try to offer money as compensation and instead leave me my hammer and the cockerel sword. All was futile as they took both the weapons and the money. Learning from the past I did not complain and handed over my possessions. Two nights in jail were more than enough for my likes.

I started roaming through the streets of Vivaine in search for this dwarf going with the name of Oaki. But since my mission had to remain secret I did not voice that name I opted to observe first to see who can and who cannot be trusted. Whilst roaming I stop at a smith and offer my skills in return for a meal and bedding. He accepts as it is what he can give me nothing else. He goes by the name of Thera-Thur but the people call him Thur. The Therans had forced his mother to call him that way. I spend a month doing odd jobs and acquainting myself with the surroundings as well as with the Barsavian people.

On one fine day I ask Thur about the dwarf named Oaki. He avoided the argument and quickly changed the subject. After some further two weeks I tried again but again he avoided the argument. I also did notice that Thur and the other “elders” did not go to the bar we on certain days. Clearly there was something odd about this. The day after I pressed Thur to tell me what was happening, but again it was all futile I had no success. That same night there was a knock on the door.

I opened to see who might he be and found Durustili a textile merchant there. He entered and asked me if I wanted to regain the stuff the Therans had confiscated me at the gates. I promptly nod in acceptance as revenge is best served cold. Durustili and I walk out in the shadow making as little noise as possible and avoiding the guards so as not to be spotted as we were clearly out after the curfew We arrive close to were the bastard Theran was staying. Durustili makes a gesture for me to stop and wait for his sign. I do as said and after a short while a small whistle is heard I run to him and arrive next to the door were the Theran guard was staying. Durustili dampened a piece of cloth in oil and brushed the pivots with it so as to avoid squeaking. He then took out some lock picks and opened the door.

He instructs me to walk up to the guard and kill him. So I do, with one decisive strike I bring the hammer down on his head cracking it open. We search in a chest for my stuff and find it there together with other pilfered stuff. I take my possessions and Durustili takes the rest of what is left.

We head out and go back to forge. A couple of days pass and I hear nothing about that night. So one day I opt to ask Thur, he bursts out when he hears me talk about the fact, he tells me to leave Vivaine and forget all about it. I insist and looking in my eyes he notices that he would not let this pass with out me getting on top of the matter.

Later that same day I am invited for dinner at Durustili’s home. I go and when there they take me through a tunnel that leads to what may be named as the resistance. I come to know that Oaki is held prisoner and he was the one to start this resistance.

We start off devising a plan so as to liberate him. The idea was to dress up as Theran enter the cells and liberate him whilst some kind of distraction is made on the outside so as to give us enough time to escape. We opt for a day which is a holiday for all Therans.

I start training their posture and attitude and go to the taverns they attended dressed as one of them so as to learn their accent and to make my face known. Some weeks pass by and the day comes. A fire was to be started about 15 minutes after we went in. I held Durustili as a prisoner, and started heading down towards were Oaki might have been. I went down with no problems at first until they asked me for the papers. There I was stunned I did not know what to do. But then I had an idea, I told him that I was new and that I would have gotten him the papers after I head thrown the prisoner to jail and questioned him.

Fortunately he gave me the keys and told me to go and be quick. I continued to move downwards whilst searching for Oaki. Going down to the last floor I come up to a door at the end of a corridor. I knock and ask to see Oaki. An ork guarding the door flinches when I mention the name. He asked me what business I had with Oaki, and I told him that I needed to question him. He didn’t want to let me in unless I had the papers. Then I told him that I had gotten them some good alcohol to celebrate such a great feast. As soon as he just opened the door Durustili slid in and gave me way to enter. We fought fiercely three orks and I got nearly killed. Durustili took out some potions from his vests and handed me some so as to recover some of my wounds, whilst others were held for Oaki. We rushed in, searching for him. We found him immediately he was badly ridden but with a potion he regained some footing and we started rushing back up. Whilst going up we heard some commotion denoting that the fire had started. We ran as fast as we could towards the roof. When finally there I created a bridge towards a nearby building and we crossed through. Allies were in the building adjacent waiting for us, ready to rumble.

We headed back to the sewers where the meeting place of the resistance was. When there Oaki questioned me to tell him who had asked for him to be released and why was he released. After trying to avoid it as much as possible I had to reveal both the name of Merrox and the purpose why he was freed. He chose to come with m. That same night we left the town of Vivaine and headed towards the forge he had to man.

Jarl!!!! downtime - Merrox's mission

Jarl Downtime - Merrox's mission
by Jarl Skalder of the cursed Skalders

The road from Travar to Trosk was thankfully bandit free though I admit I had occasional pangs of loneliness. Other than a few odd nights, my companions have always been around and I could sleep reassuringly knowing someone is watching my back - this is no longer the case.

Nearing Trosk, the signs of the curse Merrox mentioned where apparent as soon as I reached the outlying farms, with the occasional stretches of lands parched and desolate. Arriving to the centre of Trosk, the farming community seemed quiet enough - for now. My plan was to mingle around as a dwarven geologist and adventurer of sorts - discovering Barsaive - under the assumes named of Skol.

I went around the few landmarks, stopping at the Temple of Jaspree, where I met quite a few questors - including their leader Norge. Norge immediately befriended me as a fellow Elementalist and set forth to find me decent lodging.

As the days passed into weeks, I continued my investigations - it was pretty obvious that there was no direct clue leading to what was making the land so arid. No recent strange happenings, no pattern in what farms are hit and which aren't, no historical references of this having happened before. I was at a loss. In the meantime Norge was kind enough to help me get to Circle 3, in exchange for helping the community recover as best they could from the effects of the curse afflicting the land. While I did not expect to solve the mission quickly, I must admit that my usual rash adventuring style as well as lack of progress on this mission was slowly getting to my nerves. Eventually I decided to try my luck at the Library.

The first few times at the Library where not fruitful either, and to make matters worse I was rather relying on getting a lead the next time a farm goes cursed. This was not happening though, seemed like my presence here had somehow stopped the curse from spreading... Also at one point, the head questor Norge approached me one night with a very strange personal-crisis problem. He admitted exasperation because of not being able to solve the curse, and also that he believed that the world was not ready to re-accept the Namegiver races on its surface. Worryingly he admitted that sometimes he felt it would be better to go back to the time when the lands had no Namegivers in it. I was shocked to hear of this, and would have taken more serious action, had it not been for the fact that he was always nothing but of great help to me, and he worked in such a stressed atmosphere, and because he quickly went back from his argument when I told him it was folly. During these months I had also moved into an abandoned farmstead to settle down for the long run.

More weeks passed, exasperated I decided to head off for a week of proper adventuring and headed towards the misty swamps to meditate and test my newly acquired skills and talents. This seemed to be quite a good idea, as, on my return, I learned that another farm had been cursed. I decided to check the Library records for clues, and a second clue cropped up - someone was definitely taking books from the Library - not such a difficult task considering the Librarian was a rather simple and neurotic dwarf. I decided to get to the bottom of this while the trail was hot, and headed off towards Travar, following the family that had vacated the cursed farmstead. Arriving in disguise, I quickly found Balrur and the farmer's family and he divulged a name - Anderson. With this new info I headed towards the Travar Library, enlisted a young apprentice to help me in my research and scoured the tomes for Trosk land deeds. What came up, knocked me off my feet.

There, in ink on parchment laid out on a large table in the library was the undeniable proof. Three men where buying up the land, in the name of some little known livery - owned by a certain Norge Skalder. Someone of my own flesh and blood was a Jaspree questor bent on nihilistic destruction and aiding The Hand. Looking back I know realise his intentions in recruiting me in his schemes and all the spying on myself. What a fool I was not to have noticed...

I head back - on double time - to Trosk and went straight to the Library. I decided to try and bluff my way into not knowing of Norge's plans - and at the same time prepare for the worst in case he does not buy it. Norge is not around but he was very anxious to meet me, my cover is definitely blown. I headed off to my homestead and prepared for battle. Sure enough Norge knocked at the door. I open and after beating around the bush for a while he reveals what I had discovered. He is my brother, born from some bastard liaison my father had, and was using the Skalder curse to taint the lands once they pass onto his name. Battle commences. It was a long harsh and brutal fight between elementalists - Norge was of a higher level then I, but I was battle worn and cunning. Flamestrikes, fireballs and ice chains where summoned against each others as each tried to take the upper hand. Finally, after I used my wisp in a jar as a diversion, I gained advantage and knocked him out. But villagers where quickly coming to investigate the burning farm so I made a dash for it, carrying Norge's unconscious body. When I finally reached a secluded place I waited till him to come to and gave him one last chance to redemption. He refused. I had no way out but to kill him, my brother, the same day I learned of his existence.

With blood on my hands I buried Norge hastily, took his possessions and headed secretly towards his living quarters to gather more clues. What came up was distinct proof of all I had suspected in Norge's journals, his involvement with the Hand, his targeting of easy victims so as to buy them off and his using the Skalder curse to his advantage. With Norge dead I finally realise that I managed to at least stop the Curse from spreading, though I cant reverse it as it is still in some Skalder's possession - quite possibly my dad's. Before the situation got any hotter I decided to leg it - Norge was a well standing man of society here and my word against his, after I had killed him, would not have went down well with the Troskians. Also in the journals was a little gem that could help me unravel my own families' curse... Norge had done a lot of research on the Skalder curse matter (for his nefarious plans). Seems like while written notes on the curse do not lead anywhere, up North lives a famous Troubadour by the named of Sharma, who has in her repertoire ballads and songs about the Skalder curse. So once again, I hit the road - on foot this time.

On the road I passed through the village of Lybaden - where a grim vision confronted me. The village was razed to the ground, very recently, literally wiped off the map. In the village centre a pole and attached to the pole the hands of villagers nailed to it. I somehow feel guilt and great anger, this is obviously because they offered us aid in the incident a few months back when we managed to get the 2nd Book of Harrow from the nearby Temple of Twelve. I moved on, North bound. While I was unsure of my next move, my first thought was to go back to my family to confront my father about the origin of Norge and somehow break the curse. The rest of my trip up to Daiche was uneventful, so emboldened I decided to head into Daiche (even though we had been sternly reminded not to), check out the city and meet a female troll questor we had encountered missions ago. During our last adventure, we now had direct proof she was going to be assassinated - better if I told her. The city has descended into even more anarchy and I quickly made my way around, found her and told her everything I knew. She thanked me and bade me farewell. I headed out of Daiche and went towards the Tylons, stopping at small farming communities on the way. It was in one of these stops that my life had to be changed so abruptly.

A year and a few months later...

It was like a small crack in the dam, the water flowing out in a trickle, so the same my memories. The crack widens and the water gushes out with more strength, then the dam breaks.

A year of my life spent with the Sky Raider clan of The Ironmongers.

As the antidote courses through my brain, my memories return, a confused jumble. The door that had been locked was now ajar, and my previous lifetime as Jarl - Elementalist adventurer came back. Slowly and agonizingly the memories overlap and rearrange, as two lifetimes (one long, one just a year's worth) try to fit into a single comprehensible timeline. I am not sure how long I was delirious in this state of duality but once I regained my memories I was now a merger of both, Jarl the Elementalist and Loks the Sky Raider. But let me write this in proper fashion...

As I rested in the stable (payment from of a friendly farmer I had helped with some crops) and an ominous noise made me wake up - a cold shiver running down my spine. No sooner had I stood up and walking slowly towards the door that I heard the first shouts... Without looking I recognize the shadow growing larger and coming swiftly towards the village - the unmistakable print of a huge Sky Raider ship. My body, propelled by the previous experiences with the Raiders, immediately went for the backpack and then out the back door - as soon as I went round a corner I cast Earth Blend, praying the trolls don't see through it. As expected the raiders descending from the Drakkar found little resistance and just took everything they wanted from the village, taking those that could not run fast enough as prisoners. I was expecting a lot more bloodshed, these trolls seemed to be a lot more organized and less blood thirsty than usual. Even more oddly an Elf descends from the ship once the area is secured, followed by a young looking troll, who strangely seemed to be the leader. My knowledge of troll came in handy as I could understand their military-style orders, and the calm discussion the elf and the young Leader where having. The Elf's name - Fadlan and the young troll - Tyrak where definitely the ones in control here. As I stood listening to all this, the trolls where doing final searches and as luck had it the Elf spotted me through my magical shroud...

Stripped of all my valuables and everything else, I find myself hogtied in the bowels of a sky raider ship. A prisoner. When I am dragged back up I am deep in the Tylon mountains in a large sky raider village, there is no mistaking the air and the mountain peaks... how shameful to leave my birth mountains an adventurer and return a prisoner.

To say the truth, I should consider myself lucky. The Ironmongers Sky Raider clan was different from the legends I had heard of Sky Raiders in general. I expected torture and endless toil to the death in some crystal mine. Instead I was treated with relative indifference. There where no barriers around the sky raider village - the biting cold and mountain terrain would take care of any fugitives. I managed to fake my indifference towards the troll language, but Fadlan recognised my elementalist background - this proved to be very unfortunate, as I was now shackled with magical thumb rings that prevented my casting of magic... Distraught my first instinct after not being able to take them off was to chop my thumbs off - luckily I regained my composure as this would have definitely ended my spellcasting days permanently. Broken and distraught my only plan was now to escape.

During the next few weeks I got to learn a lot about the Ironmongers and their hierarchy of power - Tyrak was the son of the chieftain and was being groomed towards leadership. Tyrak's wife - Freyda, and Tyrak's entourage of fierce warriors. After a few weeks (aided by my hidden skill of understanding Troll) I managed to gain some favor and was then given an 'easy' job in the kitchens. Nonetheless my spirit was caged, every time I looked to the horizon, I dreamt of freedom. Within a week working in the kitchens I had planned my first escape. I managed to be on the run for a few days but was recaptured - the sky raiders knew every path out of the mountains, and I had nothing to help me survive, neither proper equipment, nor my magic.

My escape was obviously frowned upon and I was stripped of even the basic privileges of a Newot (what the called the indentured servants like myself are called in the harsh language of this tribe). Undeterred by the beatings, my second escape happened as soon as I regained some strength. This time I was captured even before, and the escape and recapture cycles continued - my bids for freedom where more an anguished flight than a calculated escape. After my third and fourth failed escape and subsequent beatings, I was rendered practically useless and Tyrak would have made a final example of me, had he not seen my hunger for freedom - something the sky raiders valued above all things. Instead, the following night I was forced to drink a concoction Fadlan had made...

That's when Jarl stopped to exist, the memories locked behind an impenetrable door - Jarl only existed in disturbing dreams now. Instead I was now Loks - a recently captured Neuuot who was involved in a horrifying accident in which he lost his memory.

The instinct to escape now gone, I lived a confusing few weeks in the sky raider village, surprising everyone when I could understand them. No longer fettered by my determination to escape and with the useful knowledge of troll, I slowly gained favor with Tyrak. Weeks turned to months, slowly my new life with the sky raiders was the only life I knew... Eventually the day came when Tyrak took me on board his ship, to get a proper taste of Sky Raiding, if I ever was to join his entourage I was to be good on the ship as well obviously. My adventuring instincts soon kicked in, and I made myself useful on the ship - the great ship Karrash-, going on numerous raiding expeditions. Whilst my fighting skills where obviously limited, and my spellcasting skills locked behind the door of my previous life, I still managed somehow to stay alive.

After almost a year of this life, I was still technically a Neuuot but had also became a regular member of Tyrak's household, I was now free to move around and do as I pleased - I even had command over other Newots. I went raiding often and lived through the bad times (like loosing a comrade) and the good times (after some good haul from a raid). My identity as Loks fitted in the rough, honorable and adventurous lifestyle of the raiders. And it would have stayed that way, but the day came when another event would careen me back into my Jarl self. It happened during a usual raid, the weather was unfavorable but the sky raiders laughed as the ship buffeted in the storm, I myself was not feeling too well - some presentment of what was about to happen made my mood foul. Clear of the storm, a dreadful sight before us - a Drakkar of the Bloodlores - the fiercest sky raider tribe in the North - had clearly spotted us and the huge vessels swung round to board us. Their faster and more powerful ship soon reaching the Karrash and we were boarded. Outnumbered, the fight was brutal and deadly. The battle went back and forth as heroic combat changed the ebb and flow of battle. Trolls died bashed or thrown overboard, falling thousands of feet to their death on the craggy mountains. Soon the attackers were pushing us back and I found myself behind the last remaining of the clan - Tyrak and a few of his fiercest warriors, fending off blows as the attackers pressed on. At one point Tyrak, lost in combat frenzy, failed to recognise imminent danger from a side attack - without thinking I threw myself forward and deflected the blow - and was knocked unconscious and almost killed in the process.

When I woke up, my head was bandaged and I was in a bed. I breathed I sigh of relief as i recognised the familiar surroundings of Tyrak's manor. When i managed to fully come to, Tyrak visited me, together with the remaining of the entourage. In brief I was told that my heroic action had somehow been the turning point in the battle, having been spared the deadly blow Tyrak managed to kill the opposing ship chieftain and soon the battle turned to the Ironmongers favor and consequent victory and capture of the Bloodlores ship - the Skagerrak. In a quite touching ceremony, Tyrak spoke of my bravery and he offered me my freedom back. I was now a Sky Raider true and true and with my new found freedom, I was now told the story of how my memory was erased. This obviously tarnished the celebration of my officially becoming a Sky Raider as now I longed to find out what kind of dwarf I was... When I was told of my thirst for freedom, and my past life as elementalist and where I was captured - I asked that my memory be given back to me. Tyrak consented. Fadlan started the complicated process of brewing the dispelling potion - during which time I was asked a few times to rethink my decision and continue with my new life as a free Sky Raider, a life which I had to admit, I had learnt to love and enjoy. But there was no going back in my mind, when the potion was finally brewed, I retired to my room and drank it.

The memories came flooding back and as I said before, it took a few more days for everything to finally make sense. I was immediately assaulted by a huge sense of urgency to return to Black Rock, doubtlessly Merrox had tried in vain to contact Jarl over the months. I packed my bags, and the wonderful gifts I was awarded as loot and as Sky Raider (Circle 1) and hitched my last ride on the ship and bade my final farewells to my new found allies. Encumbered by my Crystal Ringlet mail armor and Crystal raider shield and my Crystal threaded throwing axe as well as all my previous gear - including my precious wisp and Norge's magical staff, spellbook and journal. I traveled as quickly as I could back to Black Rock, so much so I barely remember the journey from the Tylon's to the Desert. I even had to stop my quest to find Sharma the Troubadour, or finish my mission for that matter. When I finally arrived I was in for a huge surprise...

Inside Ivor had definitely gotten to work, the Forge was a hive of activity and Ivor and allies had diligently built a great training and armoring centre. I told them my story...
~

The Exploits of Ahmok Silannas

(or what a T’Skrang Swordmaster does to kill time)

The night was still and the cool breeze sent shivers down the T’Skrang’s spine. He was leaving Travar in a haste to go to Ktenshin. His reasons were known only to on person except himself, his mission a very delicate and dangerous one, his life in peril. The ferry was already moored down at the river docks like a huge beast awaiting release and freedom. Boarding the ferry was easy and the journey proved to be surprisingly uneventful.

Ktenshin proved to be a very busy community. The Ktenshin house is notable for being the only major T’Skrang house to ally with the hated Therans. It seemed that the Ktenshin were preparing for large scale action as there was an influx of new recruits flooding the streets to join the Ktenshin navy and army. Mercenaries abounded and filled the taverns and inns around the town; it was clear that the Ktenshin were up to something in big scale, perhaps an invasion or expansion of territory.

Ahmok, now under the name of Nahual K’Santiss, enrolled in the navy to try to divert any unwanted attention from any agent of ‘The Hand’. For three long months the navy proved to be a challenging but rewarding experience. New friends and rivals were made and new skills acquired. After three months Nahual decided it was time to start looking for his first quarry, K’Eregem the swordmaster.

Travelling along the K’Tenshin River many rumors were acquired. Some told of the whereabouts of the tomb of K’Eregem, others that he was still alive and others still that he was recently seen in a nearby village. Some particularly interesting ones told of K’Eregem’s scales changing colors during the time of the day and other tales that he was dropped off a ship in the Servos Jungle near a tribe who knew where he was headed. Nahual followed this trail as his own sources indicated that he was to be found in the jungle. During his hunt for a guide he met another T’Skrang named Rithik who was also looking for K’Eregem to learn from him. Together they hired an orc guide by the name of Baathus. He was covered in animal skins and had a pet lion named Pussy.

Rithik had discovered that K’Eregem might be headed into the jungle looking for a temple hidden there dedicated to Floraanus and Thystonius. This rumor related well with Nahual’s and they decided to follow that route.

The ship dropped them off at the furthest possible stop up the river in the middle of the jungle. The jungle was humid and the going was tough but the trio finally managed to find a the tribesmen they were looking for. It was an ambush actually where all three were captured. After some convincing the three and the tribesmen made friends through gifts and difficult methods of sign language. The tribes people indicated the way to Baathus towards the temples K’Eregem was rumoured to have gone to. True enough, the temple was found after some days of difficult and labouring travel. It was a huge ziggurat which must have sat there for millennia. A search for entrances proved useless as the ziggurat revealed no entrances whatsoever.

Then form nowhere an old T’Skrang holding a stick appeared. He walked nonchalantly towards the two alert T’Skrang and asked them what was their business. After introductions and after giving their reasons it was still unclear whether this old frail looking T’Skrang was indeed the legendary K’Eregem.

All of a sudden while Nahual was speaking with the old T’Skrang, Rithik gave him a sudden blow to the head which failed to knock him unconscious. Swords were drawn and fighting ensued. The two fighters were evenly matched, trading blow after blow and cut after cut. Meanwhile the old T’Skrang watched, impassive. Nahual started gaining the upper hand before Rithik surrendered when he was on the brink of unconsciousness. He claimed to be K’Eregem himself and asked for Nahual to show him his sword while he was telling the whole story to him. Healing potions were used and the two warriors were almost fully healed for their cuts and bruises. That was when Rithik turned Nahual’s own sword against him. Now swordless, Nahual dived for Rithik’s own weapon and used it against its former master. The two fought again but this time Rithik was better prepared and managed to wound Nahual before almost succumbing to his own wounds. As a response to this he opened a portal and attempted to go through it. Realizing that should Rithik make it through the portal all his cover and mission would be blown so he desperately tried to hamstring Rithik before he escaped. The ploy worked and Rithik fell dead at Nahual’s feet. Nahual threw Rithik’s sword inside the portal before it managed to close. He was still surprised at how the agent of ‘The Hand’ managed to fool him. It was only then that the old T’Skrang spoke again. He introduced himself as K”Eregem. After some debating K’Eregem accepted Nahual’s mission but not before allowing Nahual to train with him. He took the sword off Nahual and never gave it back before four months. During this time Nahual learnt the virtue of patience, something that would come extremely useful in a few weeks time. It was agreed that K’Eregem would travel to Bartertown and meet Nahual there.

With one target off the list Nahual decided to head to Kratas where his quarry was a troll by the name of Vin Namek. The fact that this particular troll was wanted all over Barsaive didn’t help much. Asking a bartender in an inn about Vin Namek yielded no results but Nahual was directed to a man sitting alone on a bench who might have information on Vin. After taking money off from Nahual he directed him to the table opposite his and introduced Vin Namek to him. Nahual ordered a drink for the two of them and started relating his story to Vin. The troll, who was a mix between crazy and nonchalance, readilt accepted the mission on one condition; that Nahual help free his imprisoned crewmen, on death row, in Travar. Having no other choice, the T’Skrang accepted.

The journey to Travar was quiet but what followed was a rapid chain of events which led to the trolls being freed from the guardhouse dungeons. Vin’s plan was simple and risky, create a diversion to empty the guardhouse to then enter and free the ‘innocent’ prisoners. Creating the diversion proved to be quite easy; Vin and Nahual entered a tavern close to the target guardhouse and created a ruckus which ended up in a bar brawl. Some patrons fled the scene and others joined in the fight. Unsurprisingly the troll’s might and the T’Skrang’s agility were prevailing against the untrained patrons and the few off duty guards present. Then the rest of the guards from the guardhouse joined in. What resulted was a mind-boggling display of finesse and brute force that landed all the city guards, including the bar tender who was trying to shoot a crossbow hidden under the counter, unconscious and with a bruised ego.

Adrenalin pumping the two then ran towards the now depleted guardhouse where they proceeded to neutralise the few guards left there and free Vin Namek’s crew. It was not over yet as to Nahual’s utter disbelief the trolls headed for the airships moored in the city. They commandeered their own air ship, which was impounded there, and fled pursued by another military airship from the Travar navy. The crew of the latter proved inexperienced compared to the veteran crew of Vin Namek and the troll’s ship soon outdistanced the other. As agreed beforehand, Vin landed Nahual a few days away from Urupa and pledged to meet him in Bartertown when the time came.

Finding Ioakbu, the Obsidiman wizard, proved to be a tougher nut to crack. The notorious Obsidiman propensity to take their time doing anything would come into play. Nahual travelled to the Obsidiman district in Urupa, where he asked for Ioakbu. The attendant there told him that he would be contacted when Ioakbu , or his whereabouts, were found. Meanwhile the T’Skrang met another Obsidiman wizard by the name of Imazu who was also a wizard. Imazu told Nahual that Ioakbu was not in Urupa and probably was up north near his life rock. He also explained that it would be difficult for Iaokbu to tag along.

A week after Imazu offered to meet Nahual in an inn. The wizard told him that he had arranged a meeting with the obsidiman Omeyra in a week’s time. The following morning Nahual was awakened by loud bangs on the door. Two Obsidimen entered his room threatening to arrest him. Nahual knew there was no hope of beating two Obsidimen in a small room like that and thinking them agents of ‘The Hand’ he smashed through the window and landing deftly on the ground one storey below him. Alas, there were more guards waiting downstairs. He got arrested and charged of murdering Imazu the night before. Clearly this was no coincidence and the work of ‘the Hand’ was evident.

That very night Nahual was brought in front of Omeyra and a council of obsidiman to answer for his charges. Under a truth spell Nahual simply related recent happenings in Barsaive regarding ‘The Hand’ and their activities to unsettle the status quo in the region. He also related his delicate mission to them and his employer, Merrox and that he needed to find Ioakbu very urgently. The council, not after a short deliberation, accepted Ahmok’s explanation and cleared him of all charges. He was directed to travel north to the Throalic Mountains and seek a village called Greenvale. Greenvale was the closest settlement to Ioakbu’s life rock and that is where he would be found.

Nahual decided to travel up river by ship and while boarding he thought he glimpsed a familiar face amongst the crowd boarding the vessel but the face soon disappeared in the chaos and confusion. Thinking none of it at first Nahual boarded but a few ports of call later he disembarked and decided to walk the rest of the way to Greenvale following the river itself. He soon realised that he was being followed by someone.

The stealthy dwarf soon realised that his prey understood that he was following him. He was shocked himself when the T’Skrang jumped him from the branches of a tree. He was still reeling from the first blow and thinking how that happened, how an untrained T’Skrang could beat him at his own game. The two soon recognized each other, Ahmok and Ged; old acquaintances with a grudge. The sword fight ensued and both combatants slashed and wounded each other, feinted and dodged each other’s blows and moves until Ged fell unconscious, overwhelmed by his many wounds. The T’Skrang wasn’t too much for wear, he tied up the dwarf and nursed his wounds and quaffed a healing potion. What the lizard man did not realize was that Ged was a master thief and knew how to make knots better than most. He waited for the right moment and made good his escape leaving Ahmok dumbfounded and unable to track him.

Ahmok, his cover now blown, decided to carry on to Greenvale. He had to beat Ged there for he knew that he would try to kill Ioakbu.

After four gruelling days of forced marches and bad weather Ahmok finally made it to the village of Greenvale and was soon directed to the obsidiman’s life rock.

There he was ‘greeted’ by Ioakbu himself. There were other obsidimen besides Ioakbu. Most of them, as Ioakbu explained, were wizards of the different elements. Ahmok warned the obsidiman that there might be trouble and proceeded to relate, again, his version of events. The obsidimen listened intently without interrupting, taking in every detail as described by the T’Skrang. By the time Ahmok was ready it was almost night. A voice was then heard from the darkness, it was Ged again. He and his now visible numerous followers had tracked Ahmok to the obsidimen’s life rock and they were clearly ready for a fight. What they didn’t realize was that obsidimen protect their life rock fiercely, fanatically and to the death and that there were at least eight master wizards covering all the elements there against them.

The followers of ‘The Hand’ were slain to the last man. Alas two of the obsidimen wizards died defending their most sacred of places. Ged was lying in a pool of blood under Ahmok’s feet, who was wounded himself, but alive. Ahmok held his bloody sword and Ged’s in both hands. He breathed heavily as his numerous cuts bled and some blood dripped over Ged’s lifeless body. He leant down and disrespectfully started sifting through the belongings of the dwarf taking his sword and the Espagra cloak he was wearing. He then went to help tend to the wounded obsidimen and to get rid of the bodies of the followers of ‘The Hand’ that were fouling this sacred place.

Later the next morning Ioakbu informed Ahmok that he could not come to Bartertown and help him in his mission as his place was here, next to his life rock. Ahmok was about to protest when Ioakbu informed him that another of his comrades, a wizard called Olki would travel with him to Bartertown and help him in his endeavour.

Ten days later the two were meeting Omaron in Bartertown where they were greeted and treated as welcome guests. There they also met Vin Namek and K’Eregem.

Their next call was at Dolcral’s forge in the badlands. The voyage was made much easier with Vin Namek’s airship.

Upon entering the forge it was evident that it ad changed. The activity was frenetic to say the least. Numerous blacksmiths were forging weapons, armor and shields and the whole complex was a bustle of activity. To Ahmok’s dismay, of his four friends, there was only Ivor. The fate of the other three, namely Ajisha, Elessar and Jarl was still unknown. A heavy cloud fell upon the two as they greeted each other, happy to see that at least one of their friends and comrade in arms was still alive and with renewed hope that ‘The Hand’ could be still be defeated.