You are also aware that science and technology are advancing at a rapid rate, and that man is discovering much about the present that sheds new light onto the past. Some of these discoveries are made public, yet you are sure many are hidden away from the common man – though for what purpose you are unsure.
At the start of this adventure, you are living somewhere in Great Britain, not too far from a main-line railway. To discover your recent past, you must first decide upon your occupation. Are you an honest doctor, put upon and sickened by the war? Or are you a Detective, always on the lookout for some easy money? Or will you choose to be a Gangster, who, having already made your money, is intrigued by what is happening around you? Think carefully, for your choice of occupation will determine much about what happens during the course of this adventure.
Your job is to guard a troupe of caravans that stop off at every north-man settlement along the several-hundred mile trade route. It is an uncomfortable journey, particularly since you have to travel ahead of the convoy, eyes peeled for traps, ambushes or impassable roads. The tundra, the name given to the land terrain that you are travelling through, is barren and desolate, covered in frost and snow for nine months of the year. According to Khris, the owner of the caravan company, in the late spring and summer it is awash with brightly coloured flowers, and many creatures come out from hibernation to bask in the warm sunshine. Unfortunately, it is the third month since yuletide, and spring has yet to come to this vast, icy desert.
It is late one night, as you are settling down to rest, that the sound of a horn breaks the silence, echoing off rocks and the few diseased trees for miles around. You quickly rise and find Khris, who tells you that in these northlands, the sound of a horn almost always means distress; it is a request for assistance. Another trader rushes over to you, telling you that the sound came from the next settlement along the route, a small village of about fifty north-men. Khris turns to you and asks you to scout ahead. Reluctantly you agree and saddle the horse provided, making a prompt start.
You pick your way carefully through the ice and snow; a lantern held aloft in your right hand, the bridle held in your left. It is just after midnight that you arrive at the settlement, but none of your adventuring exploits could have prepared you for the bloody scene of carnage that waited there for you.
The wooden doors of the wooden barricade encircling the village have been completely ripped from their hinges. One lies in the snow about twenty-five paces away. You quietly dismount and tie up your horse. Entering through the remains of the gates, you are struck by the bloodbath inside. No one has survived the onslaught; the horn and all around is silent now, and eve more shall be so. The bodies of the men have been butchered in unspeakable ways, and most are covered in the claw-marks of what seems to be a huge creature with inhuman strength. Many or the bodies have bite-marks on them, and some are missing limbs. Shocked and repulsed, and more than a little worried about whether the beast that did this is still here, you carefully pick your way back over the wreckage of what was once a thriving community and leave.
You remount your horse without delay and, heedless of the potentially dangerous terrain, you gallop as fast as you dare back along the trail towards the encampment of traders. As you speedily return, snow begins to fall from the dark sky, gently settling on the ground, covering all in a blanket of white oblivion.
For the last four days you have had people showering you with their affections. At first it was pleasant, then you wished for privacy. Now, it’s just downright annoying. But such is the price of notoriety. And the lure of this year’s prize was too much to turn down. The Baron Sukumvit, lord of Fang, lost much face after last year, when his evil brother’s champion defeated the dungeon. Still, the brave man won his freedom from slavery and was granted the chance to fight his once captor. And following Carnuss’ death at the warrior’s hands, the prize for defeating the new dungeon was a prize indeed- 10,000 gold pieces and the title for Blood Island, Carnuss’ private stronghold. Serving guard on caravans for merchants has always bored you, and you ached for a challenge. This year you are determined to enter the dungeon and win. You take a long pull from the tankard, and then stand to leave. People quickly scurry out of your way as you leave for your room. A clear head is needed for the next day and the challenges that lie ahead. You fall onto the bed and lie in a deep, dreamless sleep.
The next morning, the city guards escort you to the dungeon entrance, overlooked by hundreds of onlookers. Your fellow contestants are already waiting. A huge Northman with an axe, his red armour gleaming dully, a thin, robed man, bearing the mark of the Yore wizards, a deadly Man-Orc Assassin, a Dwarf, clad in fine chain, a huge man with full plate armour and a massive two handed sword and of course yourself. You are to enter last. Before you is the man in plate armour, who turns to face you before he goes. You can feel his baleful stare through the visor of his helmet. Then he is gone and it is your turn. Breathing deep from the fresh air outside, you take one last look at the baying crowds and enter the dungeon.
However, various things have been happening to the castle during Vornthrave's reign. The barracks have been extended and people are being press-ganged into his armies. An unnatural peace has been made between Ildior and the nearby Orc settlement. People have been disappearing in the valley without trace.
At this time, however, you were may hundreds of miles away in Salamonis, where you were enjoying the hospitality of a local inn. One evening, you were slipped a note. It was from the Grand Wizard Yaztromo. He wanted to see you in his tower. You jumped on your mount and sped there.
"So there we have it," he says after having explained the situation. "Fortress Ildior has been taken over by some black power which - most disturbingly - manifests itself in the Overlord Vornthrave. I do not have any idea what this power could be, but we're looking at a Greater Demon of some description - possibly even a Night Demon. I also see a - a horde of undead sweeping across the land! They are flying the Fortress Ildior banner!" He sits down exhausted.
"You must get into the fortress!" says Yaztromo. "Infiltrate it and destroy the dark being within! Use whatever it takes!"
You stand there dumbfounded.
"Now! Quickly!" shouts Yaztromo. "Before the hordes of the Fortress of Evil can ruin the entire land!".
Throughout this humiliating life, you have longed to return to Darkwood Forest- to its safety and security. You have dreamed of escape from these dwarfs, and their leader Rancibrawn, but even more, you have longed for revenge. Although you could have escaped from your cage many times over the years, you have waited for a chance to get even with the dwarfs. Living in such close proximity to the dwarfs, you have a rough idea of the world outside of Mirewater (see map, below). For the last few weeks, Mirewater has been at war with their enemies- the Dwarfs of Stonebridge. The village has been a buzz of activity as soldiers have donned their armour, polished their shields and helmets, and practised with their weapons. Children have been waging excited mock wars against each other in the shadows, and the womenfolk have been busy preparing food and clothing for their men.
You care little for their wars, however, and are merely thankful that it has diverted attention from you. Using the respite to recover your energy- the dwarfs' demands on you can be very draining- you are now physically and mentally fitter than you have been for some time. One night, you allow yourself to relax, and to stretch your mind out to those of the dwarfs surrounding you. You receive vague impressions at first. The king at the front line with his warriors. The next meal. A great eagle. A battle. A hammer. The war has clearly been going well for Mirewater, as the Dwarfs are showing great expectations, and you can almost touch the sense of imminent victory. Disappointed, you begin to withdraw from their minds. Whilst this is clearly of great importance to the dwarfs, it isn't of any use to you. Then, unusually sharply, you learn something of great interest. One of Rancibrawn’ s advisors is concerned for his king. In four days time, the king will be meeting with the leader of his enemies- Gillibran- within Darkwood Forest. There, they will negotiate terms for Stonebridge’ surrender. Although both parties will bring soldiers into the forest, the two kings and their first advisors will make the final discussions alone. The location of the meeting has been kept secret- for obvious reasons.
Gillibran is incapable of treachery of any sort, but one of his warriors might take the matter into his own hands. There is nothing more that the advisor can now do. All precautions have been taken; all foreseeable dangers have been assessed. Any conceivable threat has been neutralised or countered, and yet still the advisor is worried. What if there is something that has been overlooked, or some factor that has not been considered? If Rancibrawn were killed, it would be a disaster for Mirewater. You recognize that this is your chance. If you can escape to Darkwood Forest, you may be able to learn where this meeting is to take place. Without his guards, you will have a chance of killing Rancibrawn, gaining both revenge against their King, and against the dwarfs of Mirewater. The irony of the situation hits you- to cause pain to the man inside Darkwood- the place where your own pain began, such a long time ago. Determined to make the best use as possible of this opportunity that has presented itself to you, you start to lay your plans. Darkwood Forest offers itself to you as the means for your vengeance, and of a refuge afterwards, should you need it. You long to live a freer life, in the Forest of Dreams.
You are not interested in the legends, the powers, or the strengths promised, in fact you, of yourself, have no interest in the tournament at all. Instead you are here at the behest of your masters. The Monks of Chi Dis Tra, deep in the Island mountains of Nippol, have watched the tried to defeat the forces of the Demon lord, evil Bakemono that wander the lands of the main continent. It is there hope that you, mightiest of their number, and well versed either in their battle arts, or their mystic magic, will be able to win this and end the dire rule this demon holds below.
In this tournament entrants from all over arrive to become the gladiators participating in the dangers of Shogamasu's ring. Only the fiercest will last beyond the first round, and only one will survive to win. Will it be you? Only time will tell.
Six weeks ago:
You awake to the familiar sight of yet another stormy day and remark to yourself, 'Who ever heard of a storm lasting for days on end?' who indeed. People in your home town of Calah had begun to talk of curses and damnation, some had already left and others were saying they had the right idea. You get up and dress in your normal work-clothes, and after a light breakfast of bread, water and eggs, you leave your little house and head off for another hard days work at the blacksmiths, made harder still because of the bitterly cold winter weather. All around you lay misery and fear, not a single smile to be seen. Then It happened: it started to rain blood. People ran, screaming and crying, but this was just the beginning ...
The dead came back, the seas boiled, reality turned upside-down and people disappeared all over the place. But it wasn't just happening to Calah; it was now happening all over your country of Khul - He was becoming stronger. Then you began to dream about a man ... he's older than you, fatherly, and he needed your help, 'Please save us from hell.', he would beg you every night. He even looked a bit like your own long-dead father ...
You had to do something. Work was no good - who needed a Blacksmith at a time like this? Everyone was too afraid to even leave their homes, including your employer. So you trained alone in a nearby forest; for long hours on end you would practice your swordmanship, honing your already impressive skills to near-perfection. Till at last you felt ready ...
You gathered your equipment together: sword, shield, chainmail armour and backpack. These, together with 12 Healing Potions and a bottle of special magical elixer, would be your only defence against the Wastes of Chaos, and him ...
Six weeks after the first incident you decide to leave one night, under cover of darkness, should anyone try to stop you. It is a cold, windy night and raining heavily, but if you don't leave now, you may not get the chance tomorrow. So you head away from your town and out into the night, cold and alone ...
A few hours later, in the dead of night, you meet a thin man who greets you sarcastically, 'Well! What have we here? Some other foolish warrior attempting to deal with my master?' You look at him, astonished, and reply, 'Your master ... you mean the Trinitour?' 'Indeed I do Law-follower, he has many servants such as myself, in fact, he is far from alone.' 'Why do you serve him?' you ask. 'Because he promised me wealth if you must know.' replies the thin man arrogantly. 'And you actually believe him?' you ask surprised. 'Of course I do!' he shouts back, 'and why, may I ask, shouldn’t I?' he adds. 'Because he's a demon!' you yell in his face. 'A greater demon if you don't mind!' retorts the thin man haughtily. He then laughs at you and says, 'The time for idle chitter-chatter is over my foolish friend, and now we'll both teleport back to my master's lair.' Then you feel very strange ...
You are now at the entrance of an underground dungeon! A river of blood separates you and the thin man, who stands in front of his “Master’s lair”. He treats you to a wicked sneer and says, 'Impressed?' to which you reply, 'No.' At which point the thin man snarls at you, 'You, my friend, are a coward. You do not have what it takes to best my master, but if you must try [he points at the entrance] he's in there.' You look at the place he points to and ask with a smile, 'Why doesn't he just come out and face me?' to which he replies laughingly, 'Where's the sport in that? Anyway, you couldn't possibly beat him - why not at least have one last adventure before you die?' He then steps away from the dungeon's threatening entrance. You have little choice but to comply. You wade through the sickening gore and walk in, you then turn around to see the thin man magically sealing the rocks of the entranceway, but before they're fully closed he says, 'Before you die adventurer you may as well know one more thing about my master; he admires bravery, but detests foolhardiness.' Then he whispers hatefully, 'Good luck.' The rocks slam shut with a deafening 'Crash!'. Leaving you in the dungeon, which is gloomily lit with a few torches dotted here and there. You walk on, alone once more ...
Although you have been training for battle all your life, you haven't yet gained any real battle experience. Because of this, your village elders are unwilling to let you join the contingent from the village sent to join with those from Willow. Although eager to prove yourself, you are going to be denied this once -in -a -lifetime opportunity. So that night, you gathered together what possessions you could - a sword and backpack, a few provisions and a health potion - and set off for the Vale of Willow.
So far, the journey has been hard, but uneventful. By avoiding the villages en route, you have managed to pass across the country unchallenged. Now, the Vale of Willow is only a day's walk to the north. Beyond Willow, again a day's walk or so, is Craggen Rock. And beyond that, the Black Tower itself! Reaching the top of a low hill, you look into the distance and see the town that you are heading for in the valley. Since you have never seen this place before, you pause for a moment to cherish the view. Who could have believed that such a peaceful looking place could be under such great threat?
At the base of the hill, between you and the town, is a great lake. You will have to go around the lake in order to reach Willow, as you have no means of crossing the water. On the east side is the edge of a forest. This may offer some protection, in case you are threatened, but it may also hide thieves or wild animals who would attack you. The west side of the lake is barren and rocky, and could mean slow progress.
The source of the blood is obvious - Tybald lies in the snow, bleeding, cut in a dozen places. Behind him, the hut is on fire - your home for years being eaten by flames. Tears spring to your eyes as, ignoring the burning building, you drop to your knees by your mentor's side. You reach for his wounds to tend them, but even your untrained eyes can tell the cuts are beyond the help of even a skilled doctor, let alone your own clumsy attempts to bind them.
"Leave me, child!" Even near death Tybald's voice is as sharp as ever, although his eyes are misty and dulling. "You cannot do anything for me. My life is gone, and my sword is stolen. All that is left of me is you, my student. I only hope I have taught you enough"
Your body wracked with emotion, you try to ease Tybald into a more comfortable position. He gives a groan of pain, but seems more comfortable even as you speak to him. "Who was it? Who did this?"
"Tiemuraz" His answer is clear and imbued with menace. " Tiemuraz, damn his black soul"
Your heart skips a beat. Even when you were a child in Kelbakna, tales were told of Tiemuraz, the warlord of the Plain of Bones to the West. Tiemuraz's bands of soldiers prey endlessly on the people of the Green March, raiding and plundering, but what are he and his men doing so far East?
"He took my blade..." Tybald grimaces in pain, whether at his wounds or the memory, you cannot tell. "My blade... you must retrieve... gone to Kelbakna..." Tybald grimaces again, then gives a sigh. His life leaves his body with his breath.
For almost an hour, you kneel by your teacher's side. Then, your arms strong with cold purpose, you haul his body onto the hut, and watch as his funeral pyre burns.
When the hut has burnt to embers, the sun is high in the sky. You take assessment of your situation and equipment, one purpose in mind - to avenge your teacher's death on Tiemuraz, and to fulfill his last wish - to retrieve the blade.
You have the sword Tybald used for your practices. Your lunch for the day is packed - enough for two provisions. Mark the Sword and Provisions on your Adventure sheet. Finally, you have your savings from over the years - a paltry 5 Gold Pieces.
Your course is clear. Tiemuraz has gone to Kelbakna - the town where you were born, to the West of the Blackleaf Forest. How you will defeat such a mighty warlord, you do not know - but you know that you must try.
With the sun beginning to creep lower in the sky, you set out.
"Owa spyz av fownd owt dat da Skulfangz ar plan'en on atakin us in na nambush."
Yeu kurss, dem bludy Skullfengs are yor tribes m ost 'ated orc enamiez. Yer tribe an dares av been fiyten all yer lyfe. De only fing bedda dan bashin `umies is bashin a Skulfang "Weez not gunna let em ambush us, weez gunna fite em fase ta fase. Yeu and Grubod are me best fyterz, da tribe's champeonz, yew to must leed da attack."
In da next cuple ov awerz, da free ov yeu draw up da planz for da big fyte ahed.
Now tern da payg.
Throughout your life it's been the same. In your earliest memories of other children, they have gone out of their way to attack and hurt you. You are bullied unmercifully throughout your schooldays, beaten almost beyond endurance. Why?
Your mother was a witch. She was burned alive.
Late one night in the peaceful Old World village of Ratzielburg, the townspeople came upon your mother's house with torches. Though she had told fortunes for the goodwives of the town, perhaps she had said something that sat ill in someone's stomach. Though she had sold information, plucked from men's minds, perhaps she had plucked something that should've stayed unplucked. Though she had defended the town from humanoid incursion with her movement of the mind, perhaps she'd let one too many Orcish arrows through…
And then again, she was no angel. Hadn't Mrs Regardie broken her spine after she'd spat at the witch? Hadn't some very odd men been seen entering and leaving her house at all hours?
And hadn't she spanked Mrs Mathers' little son just a little too hard for punching her own boy in play?
And so they burned your mother. They tied her to the stake and piled around it pitched kindling. It went up like a torch, and so did her blonde hair. You cried your eyes out as her sharp but beautiful features melted like wax in the flames. She shrieked out curses on the townsfolk with her last breath as the superheated air scorched her lungs…
…but the Burgomaster held you back firmly.
A stern and very pious man, he took you into his own home, preaching to the townsfolk that any sin could be cleansed by faith. However, it was clear that he considered you irredeemably tainted by sin. He would do nothing as his own children beat you senseless every single night. At school, it was the same, as the schoolmasters would grudgingly teach you, but not defend you.
And yet, you learned to fight.
As the number of your assailants ever redoubled itself - for you were never left alone - so did your prowess with fists and feet, teeth and nails. Time and again were you beaten to a pulp, but time and again did you have your revenge upon your captors. Until one day there were none who could stand against you, and you stood victorious at the centre of the schoolyard, while your assailants could only sneer and murmur from the edge, afraid to face you.
Yet you were alone.
You grew up with your eyes possessed by a hardness and coldness unimaginable. As a man, there was only one profession for one with your anger and hate - assassin. You became one of the deadliest in your field, fighting with sword and dagger. An extra edge was provided by the powers you've inherited from your mother, which appeared at puberty, long since no other child even dared approach you. And yet, you remain alone. Nothing ever touches the cold black void of your heart. You leave a corpse in every city, mountains in the badlands. You become fabulously wealthy. But nothing fills the hole.
Until one day, you meet someone named Eddora.
She's an assassin too - though of the Dark Elf species -- and you meet up by chance as you approach the same contact in a bar one night. You find yourself talking to her as you have talked to no-one for years. Despite yourselves, you exchange life stories. She's been exiled for years, and her heart holds the same rage and hatred as yours at her treatment.
But in each other, you find respite.
You become lovers, the first companionship either of you has ever known, and every day for you is a holiday from the cold. Together, you leave the assassination business for a while, and journey far away. You spend your time in an impromptu honeymoon living in the lap of luxury, spending your considerable resources. Happiness is an emotion you find almost strange in its novelty.
But one day, you wake up alone, finding only a hastily scribbled note. Eddora says she's sorry, but she needs to find herself again. Alone.
Initially, you feel rage that you should have been treated this way. Secondly, you feel desolation, and abandonment. Then, you miss her desperately.
Then… nothing.
But you feel something more, something within yourself. With some surprise, you find that your old anger and rage at humanity has finally faded. No longer do you feel such hatred of mankind as to kill them for pleasure. You're likely to still do it for profit, but to you, the difference is subtle.
Sitting there in your luxurious hotel room, something else finally occurs to you. All your life, you felt there was something missing. You've never realised what it was before now, but suddenly, you know; you never knew the identity of your father. You've never before wondered, but it comes to you now.
Though you've never made the connection, you have virtually memorised your mother's diaries, from reading them over and over; they're your last link to her. It seems, from people mentioned in those diaries, that there are three it could have been. A necromancer, a count, and a crusader. Perhaps your mother foresaw her fate, and wanted to spare them (at least, the more noble ones) the stigma of associating with a witch. For none of them are named.
It comes to your mind that you will try to seek out your father, if for no other reason than to ascertain his identity. For now, though, you will have to return to the business of murder, as the money is running dry. But you will keep your purpose to mind…
It all started when you were passing through the pleasant country village of Oakbridge, a week's walk west of the great castellated city of Neuberg. At first you put the villagers' strange, distrust of outsiders and guarded behaviour down to local banditry, but a conversation with the local Landlord of the White Horse Inn changed your mind.
Over ale, cheese and bread, you learn of a fearsome giant called Grimbald who's been terrorising the villagers of Oakbridge. This huge monster of chaos lives in an underground dungeon at the bottom of a deep gorge in the hills, a day's walk north from here. For the last year, he's been using violence and threats to extort wealth from the good folk of Oakbridge!
At first the villagers tried to buy Grimbald off with their meagre tributes of gold. But, when this was exhausted, Grimbald returned to spread terror with fire and the sword. Sorry looking villagers begin to crowd around your table, telling you mournful stories of their possessions, livestock and crops being stolen to feed Grimbald's insatiable greed for loot. The villagers have now been reduced to abject poverty by his depredations.
Many brave young men have tried to confront and slay Grimbald in his subterranean lair, but all have failed completely, meeting grisly deaths at Grimbald's hands as a result. Village boys and farmhands are no match for a cruel tormentor like Grimbald, only a professional soldier and adventurer like you would stand a chance against him. The villagers implore you to help them in their plight against this foul beast!
Moved by their cries for help, you resolve to free them from their slavery once and for all. The villagers are relieved and overjoyed, offering you more drink in celebration. The Landlord promises you food and lodging in his Inn if you kill the giant for them. It's not much of a reward for your skills, but as they're poor you accept wholeheartedly and shake his hand on it.
Next day, a village shepherd called Morri leads you out of Oakbridge to begin your quest. You soon leave the hopeful villagers behind as the two of you travel for a whole day along muddy, country paths. Up ahead, the land begins to rise up into stony hills covered sparsely with vegetation. Your guide takes you to a ridge and sits down behind some bushes. Pointing down to the landscape below, he draws your attention to a deep, rocky, gorge that ends at a huge natural cavern. Vines and roots hang down from the roof, partially obscuring the entrance like a curtain. Beyond this you can see an immense iron portcullis.
In a quiet voice, Morri tells you that this is the main entrance to Grimbald's dungeon complex. Every night, he leaves through this portcullis to do his terrible work against the peaceful villagers on the plains below. However, with a wry smile, he says that the giant is asleep during the day and only comes out at night. Picking yourselves up, you both continue up the narrow track, higher and higher into the hills.
As the light begins to fade at the end of the day, you reach a small, circular hole in the ground beside a dead tree stump on a lonely path. Morri tells you that the hole is a secret way into Grimbald's underground home deep below the earth. Looking down the shaft, you see that it descends quickly into total darkness.
Tying your rope to the tree stump, you throw it down the shaft. You check your equipment one more time and light your lantern. As twilight descends, you thank Morri, promising to rid him of this Grimbald tyrant, and shake his hand. You begin your descent into the gloomy, dank, darkness below. By lantern light alone, you slowly climb down the rope a few feet at a time. You'll need all you wits about you if you're going to succeed in your perilous mission. Good luck and begin your quest now…
The day began with a humid dawn. High above, the sun shone bright in a blue, cloudless sky. 'Sea sprite' glided across the waves of a turquoise ocean, foam sprayed at the gunwales, and a mighty wind filled the sails. Her captain was making for the coastal fortress of Shark Helm, at the western shores of Merpesia, his duty was to transport a hundred soldiers of the Imperial Guard to help strengthen this stronghold's defences. There are fears that the neighbouring kingdom of Soldragar is planning an invasion of your beloved homeland. As you prayed to the many God's for peace between both nations, a deep sense of foreboding gripped your troubled mind. Something terrible was about to happen.
The officer of your company was a nervous, newly promoted captain Runn. The men never took to him, neither did you. Most of those who served under him were twice as old at least. A hopeful and ambitious young gentleman, yet a hot headed one who often acted without thinking but he seemed bold enough. Upon sight of that accursed pirate galleon a freebooter in Soldragar's service he immediately alerted the troops to arms. The large vessel lay in anchor a little way off the tiny island's beachy coast. Three rowing boats had been landed. Captain Runn ascertained tracks led into the jungle scrubland.
"Three dozen or so, I reckon," he said, snapping the telescope shut. "Sergeant Begra! Prepare half the men. We're going ashore for supplies and a little fun!"
"Sir," he barked. Sergeant Begra was a huge bear of a man, with one scar running the length of his face. He'd earned his rank after saving a Major from certain death, killed four lancers single handed. A useful man to have in battle indeed. He set about readying the men, they obeyed enthusiastically. His grizzled voice was heard above the crashing waves and buffeting canvas, as he organised them into four lines.
"Captain?" Runn asked the Sea sprite's master. "Would you be so kind as to take us in closer?"
"Are you sure about this, Captain Runn, sir? I mean, our main concern is "
"Of course! May I remind you that our general orders are to engage the enemy wherever we find them. Shark Helm can afford to wait a little longer. A matter of one hour two at most."
He frowned, about to protest further, but then nodded his reluctant agreement. "Very well, sir. But what of your other half company?"
"Well," he smiled, "you'll require them to board that scum pirate ship. Once you've blasted her crew to pieces, of course." He turned on his heel. "Sergeant! Are the men ready?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Excellent. Lower the boats!"
By some devious work of the Gods, you were chosen to lead one of the landing parties. In ten groups of five, you kept close together and vigilant, gripping the haft of your pike, as your advance into the foliage began. It was slow progress: hampered by leather armour and weapons, you all made enough noise to wake the dead. Before long, you heard the shouts and ring of steel upon steel coming from a little to your left. Instinctively, you turned towards the east, began to head in direction of the battle. Behind you, the dull thud of culverin meant the duel between clipper and galleon continued. Your heartbeat quickened, your eyes were stung with sweat which dripped from your forehead, your uniform became unbearably heavy and suffocating in the intense heat. Fear didn't help your condition. Yet, somehow, you kept alert.
A sudden snarling cry shattered the still air. At least ten of the pirates had descended upon your small group. Unprepared and off guard, they stood little chance. Two were instantly cut down before you knew what was happening, recovered your wits, and faced off the enemy. You ducked beneath a cutlass swipe, drove your pike deep into a man's belly. Even as he was falling backwards, you had drawn your sword and lunged at another enemy. Where before you had cursed the uncomfortable armour, you now blessed it as several stabs and slashes met stubborn resistance. Their attacks wasted, you took the advantage and stabbed with lethal force, speed and accuracy. A trained guardsman, you are tough and cool in the face of overwhelming odds. Bravely, you stood your ground, moving swiftly: ducking, hopping aside, parrying, slashing, stabbing, and lunging again and again. Outnumbered, yet your superbly skilled swordsmanship and co ordination soon proved too much for the rag tag band of pirates who had little military drilling. The remainder fled before your prestige.
One of them, a tall fellow with an eye patch, had broke through the lush green leaves. With the adrenalin that still pumped through your veins, you gave chase with a determined intent to capture him alive. However, the pirate easily gave you the slip. Suddenly, you realised you had become separated from the others and hopelessly lost. Despite this, you never once hailed for a friendly voice for fear of arousing more Soldragar pirates. One loud sound could have brought more pirates down upon you. With caution and vigilance in mind, you proceeded onwards and soon emerged into a swampy area clear of trees and foliage. Your need for fresh water was too great to resist when you found a sizable water hole that slaked your dry throat.
As you stripped off your helmet, breastplate, and surcoat to bathe the sweat from you, a sudden movement flitted through the dense mist. Curious, you stood and walked casually towards the mysterious figure. You clutched your sword tight, expecting another pirate ambush. But this humanoid was starkly different: it was more an apparition, as if part of the surrounding mist, but a shade or so darker in contrast. You could easily discern its blood red eyes that narrowed as you approached. It beckoned with one grey, gnarled finger for you to come closer. You hesitated, then dared another couple of paces and fell suddenly into the quicksand!
...And so, here you are, now up to the armpits in treacherous muck. With the grim prospect of being drowned and buried forever, or a pirate running you through whilst you're disarmed and helpless you curse ever laying eyes on that malevolent phantom! Your third and only option to survive this messy affair is to cling on to something solid. If there were something to hold on to! You curse. Is there nothing that grows near this wretched trap? you despair.
"Here!" a voice yells out. "Grab a hold of that line."
The frayed end of a thick rope splashes across the sand. Desperately, and without argument, you do as the gruff voice instructs. It could be the pirates, perhaps they have defeated your comrades in battle, perhaps not but you'd rather take your chances with the offer of any help at hand. You grip tight as the rope is pulled and you along with it. Your limbs are shivering with the cold of being half submerged for so long, and lack any real strength, but somehow you clamber on to firmer ground with the help of your rescuers. Exhausted, you collapse to the sodden earth.
When you regain consciousness, you find yourself upon the deck of the Sea sprite. Two men are watching over you; one hands you a flagon of mulled ale, the other goes to inform Captain Runn of your recovery. You are propped on a stool and a blanket placed around your naked shoulders. Despite the warm climate, you shudder, and sup the ale gratefully. It helps return a little of your strength.
"Well, he seems alive enough," remarks Runn, "although he's in a disgraceful state. What in Titan happened to him? Where's his tunic?"
"Here, sir."
One of the men hands him the garment along with your breastplate and helmet. "Where did you find them?"
"Near the quicksand, sir."
"Near it?" he gasps. "If you'd said they were lost in it, I would have understood. Why in name of all that's holy were they abandoned?" He then frowns, deep in thought. Suspicion narrows his eyes, lends a darkness to his handsome looks. "Come to that: what were you doing there?"
"P pirate..." you stammer, "one...with eye patch."
"Are all the enemy accounted for?" he asks.
"Difficult to say, sir, since we never knew their exact number."
"Quite," he nods, still staring at you. "Quite. Yet I fail to grasp what this man was doing there. I told everybody to keep in their allotted groups, did I not? And yet you found him a good distance from the fighting? To the west, in fact!" He returns his black, almost threatening gaze to you. "Well, speak up, man!"
"Sir, I feel that he is too weak " Sergeant Begra begins.
"Nonsense! He's feigning exhaustion. Trying to gain our sympathies. Come on, you," he snarls, "out with it! What were you doing that far from the fighting?"
"That " you shake you head, "that...pirate I was chasing...l lost him...in the the scrub "
"Lies!" he snaps. "He can't fool me with this delirium act. I'll tell you the awful truth instead. This man, this cowardly upstart, found those weakling cut throats too much and fled! He decided to strip his uniform whilst heading for the coast."
"Sir?"
"To join up with the enemy, Sergeant! Don't you see, all of you, that this man is a deserter!"
"Forgive me, sir, but we searched the swamps and found no sign of the enemy there."
"Yes, so?" he rounds on the guardsmen. "The pirates knew to avoid the place, but this cowardly fool fell foul of the quicksand. You see how it all happened now? He was panicked and running at the time. Not thinking straight, you see?"
"No!" you groan a protest. "There there was something ...else too. A a...Will the Wisp!"
This causes an amount of muttering from the soldiers now crowded around you. "Silence!" Runn shouts above the noise. "Will the Wisp? Pah!"
"They do exist, sir," suggests Begra, "as do other, more strange and terrible monsters in this uncertain world "
"Yes, thank you, sergeant, that will do. When I desire your deep philosophy, I'll ask for it. But perhaps it only existed in his mind? Remember, he was running, wasn't he?"
"Yes," you growl, losing all patience. "R running after ...that pirate...I lost h him...got l lost...myself."
"Yes! Whilst trying to desert, right?"
"No, s sir! I I was not...fleeing!"
"Then how can you explain your uniform dropped upon the ground and forgotten, eh? Oh, yes, I suppose the quicksand pit can vouch for the lost sword, but what of your pike, eh?"
One of the guardsmen, much to your dismay, nods at this. "It wasn't found with the abandoned uniform, sir."
"Of course it wasn't!" he confirms triumphantly. "He threw it down when fleeing the battle scene. Deserted it along with his comrades, didn't he?"
"N no..." you shake you head, it pounds achingly. "Buried it...into a a pirate...with it."
"Well, if we were to return to the said place of your heroic stand, then you might be able to prove it, eh?"
You slump against ship's boards, suddenly dizzy, and sup from the flagon but to have it torn from your unsteady hands instead. Captain Runn glowers at you.
"Sergeant Begra! This man is not to be given any soldier's vittles. He is to be chained up as a common criminal. You are under arrest for cowardice in the face of the enemy!" he spits, then throws the dregs of ale at you. "And, when we reach Sharks Helm, you shall be treated as all deserters. Take the vermin below!"
Before you can begin to protest, rough hands grab you and throw you into the brig. You go without food and water for two long days, the sun beats down, and you feel near dead upon your arrival at Sharks Helm...
A military court is soon convened. Your side of the story is heard, yet all pleas and protests can prove nothing; Runn's convictions strengthen the case against you. Slowly, but surely, his twisted facts turn the judges' decision. Normally, deserters are garrotted until their neck breaks. But for the lack of proper evidence, and in light of your otherwise excellent record of service and decent conduct, the death penalty is commuted and instead you are sentenced to five years in the Vanquaz Fortress reserved for military prisoners. It is a court martial where you are wrongfully found guilty. With bowed head, you vow to avenge your broken honour upon the treacherous Captain Runn, and somehow prove your innocence.
"You have only been training in swordplay for the last two months, not brilliantly but adequately. You are not exactly the first person I would consider entrusting a matter like this to but I have little choice. I must trust this matter, a matter in which our only chance between total victory and defeat rests, to you. And to you alone." All of a sudden time seems to have stopped still. Did you hear the king correctly? A quest? You? How? Your thoughts are broken as the sound of an army bugle is blown and reaches the ears of everyone in the caves. Followed as always by the sound of battle cries and swords in the distance but not too far from the caves. You are well acquainted with such noises. In the last year your father's armies have been fighting a losing battle against the screaming hordes of fanatics who are determined to see the royal family Longsilver dethroned. You do not even quite know why. All you know is that you used to live in a nice palace and now all your people are trapped in these emergency caves and the hordes get a little bit closer every day.
You are young, but you are not unwise. The king is only asking the youngest of his three children to perform a mission vital to the survival of your people because your older brother and sister were either killed or captured by the legions who have been swarming around your homelands for nearly a year. Your brutal father and his armies would once upon a time have stopped these fiends in their tracks in less than a fortnight but these foul monsters, goblins, rodent-folk, Orcs, trolls and worse, aren't alone, they are led by the Elected Four, the group of wizards who once served your father as magical advisers until they had an argument with him. You never heard the details of their falling out but you do know that they are determined to get their revenge on your father. Ever since then the only world you have ever known has been torn apart by war. At first the creatures only started to appear in the woods on the outskirts of your towns, but then a whole army marched towards your castle and in less than a day your family had lost what it had owned for two hundred years and taken refuge in his Glowtooth Caves, the long-abandoned dwarf-operated gold mines behind the kingdom, with anyone else who had survived the murderous attack. Now everyone is hiding in these caves in the mountains.
Your father continues, "You are old enough now to know how things stand. My guards outside are nearly at the end of their tethers. We cannot win this war. Our only hope is you."
Your father ignores your shocked expression and asks; "Do you know of your great-great-great-grandfather King Longsilver LIII?"
You nod, although there are so many former kings and ancestors you have no idea who your father is referring to.
"When my ancestor became king he had a brother." continues your father "whose name was Tallarm, and he was a traitor to the royal house of Longsilver. He was jealous because his older brother had the throne and Tallarm would spend day and night plotting ways to take the king's place.
"Well he almost succeeded. By using magic he stole. He forged a rod, which was designed to render the user invincible. He then marched towards his monarch's chambers, easily defeated anyone who tried to stop him and stood before the throne. Tallarm demanded the king give up his throne or he would kill him where he stood. Nothing could stop Tallarm. He was immune to any swords or spears they threw at him. But his pride was his downfall. The King challenged him to a duel without any magical aid and Tallarm accepted. Tallarm was never a very good swordsman but his success with his magical rod had made him proud and vain and he died at his brother's sword. Having narrowly lost his throne, our ancestor ordered the rod to be taken away as far as possible. No one would use it against him again."
You ask, "Why did the king let other people touch it? They could use it to get the throne from him just like Tall..."
"No," snaps your father "He, Tallarm, had crafted the token so only he could use it, or someone related to him anyway. Which is where you come in. So the rod was hidden in the Elkslayer Mountains a days' journey to the west of here. You must go there and bring the Rod of Tallarm back. I need you, my child."
You still cannot believe your ears. Now you can recall the legend of the Rod of Tallarm but you never quite believed it. Now your father is sending you to find it!
The kind explains, "When you reach the mountain you will find steps leading up to a cave. That a locked door, which will open if you place your hand on it, protects cave - it was long ago magically locked to anyone except for members of the royal family. On the other side a guardian of some kind may guard it but it should allow a descendant of King Longsilver to pass and take the rod. Once you have the rod, return here and give it to me. As I am also a descendant of Tallarm I will be able to use it to defeat the enemy!" Now you understand what you have to do.
"It is up to you," finishes your father "Only one of our bloodline may touch it and your mother and I cannot leave here. Not while we are at war. Not only are we needed to direct the war effort but we could be easily recognized by anyone."
You waste no time and leave. The foul armies are attacking the caves due south but the Elkslayer Mountains are due north so you have little trouble sneaking out the back of the caves and riding your horse towards the last hope for the Empire of Monoland. You cannot help marvel at a strange change, which has come over you. All your life you thought you would remain useless and despised by everyone around you. Suddenly however, all that has changed. You are a different person now. A stronger individual that you never thought you would be. You will save your people! Or die trying.
However, this all ended on a day you will never forget. Your simple home village was descended upon by an horde of Xokusai orcs and goblins, led by one of Orghuz's foul Khuddam servants. Your village was totally unprepared for the attack and the resistance against the invaders was pathetic. You fought well that day, taking out three Xokusai orcs and another four goblins. But the numbers were too great, and eventually even your defences weakened. A morning star collected you on the forehead and you were knocked unconscious.
When you awoke you found yourself chained up in the back of a cart in an underground cavern. All around was near darkness, and the cart was driven by three of your orc captors. You notice also that fellow dwarfs from you village filled the rest of the cart. Bardon, an old friend, explained that he overheard the orcs say they were in the dark chasms below Gorak, and being taken to be fitted with collars. All the faces in the cart all looked grim.
Suddenly a battle cry echoed through the cavern. Hope filled your eyes as you squinted into the near darkness to see a band of dwarfs led by a human female lay siege upon the cart. The orcs were cut to pieces in seconds and you were set free. Your rescuers claimed they were a resistance group and you were free to either join them or try to escape by yourself. You approached their female leader, introduced yourself and vowed to her your life. She was flattered and introduced herself as Aspra Smoothcheek.
Since then you have worked with Aspra and her rebel group. Over the weeks you gained a close friendship with Aspra, and she declared you as her second in command. Then one day she came up with a very risky plan to raid a Xokusai citadel. You had your doubts, but went ahead with the plan anyway. You led a diversionary force while Aspra led a second group to break in the citadel walls. Your diversion was successful, attracting a large number of orcs, but your group suffered heavy casualties. When you arrived back at camp, Aspra's group had not returned. Fearing the worst, you sent out scouts to find out what had happened. They returned with the grim news that Aspra's group had also encountered a large Xokusai force, led by a Khuddam. Aspra herself was taken prisoner in the citadel itself, while the rest of the group was mercilessly slaughtered.
Taking duty upon yourself, you have decided to set off alone and attempt to rescue Aspra from the evil Xokusai because she is your dear friend and you already owe her your own life. Putting Sallak in charge of things at the camp, you make your preparations and leave.
You yourself feel equally out of place, here in what the guards called the 'stateroom'. Only in town for a few days already, you hadn't dreamt that your hopes of finding employment would be realized so soon, let alone by royalty, even if one of dubious origins. Your beaten and, to be fair, quite smelly attire is ill fitting with the exotic carpentry and numerous ceramic furnishings that cover every available surface. Not to mention the fact that you're still not quite sure how to address a king.
Getricult soon solves that problem, being the first to speak from his throne. 'I understand it, sir, that you are one of these adventurers, willing to perform dangerous missions and such in return for small amounts of money?' He doesn't wait for a reply before continuing with his somewhat high voice. 'Well, I have just such a mission for you.
'My only daughter, Anemone, has been stolen from me by a foul practitioner of the Black Arts. I'm sure that you've dealt with many such cases in the past, and I have complete faith in your abilities. This wizard lives on the other side of the Langarroc Forest, and absolutely refuses to talk with any of the envoys I have dispatched to reason with him. The only thing he'll understand is three feet of good steel through him, which is where you come in. All you have to do is go through the forest to wherever it is that this... wizard lives and kill him. Bring my daughter back and I will reward you handsomely. To prove my good faith, I think I can afford to give you some up front.' You follow the king's gaze over your shoulder and turn to see one of his crimson courtiers approaching, bearing a small casket, which he hands to you, before scurrying backwards away from you.
'You'll find two hundred in gold in there.' Getricult tells you. 'It's the least I can do to ensure the safe return of my Anemone, and I see that you are in serious need of some new clothes. And, whatever equipment you require for your task, I'm sure there are people here in Langarroc who can accommodate you.
'Now,' he says, clasping his hands together, 'I'm sure you're full of questions about the task ahead of you, but here's very little I can tell you. I am so very busy with affairs of state you see, I don't even know this villain's name. But one of my envoys has met and conversed with him, although he has yet to actually show his worthless face back here yet. I believe he's staying in some tavern outside of town, I forget what it's called. His name is Gerwyn, he shouldn't be too hard to find.
'But I'm sure that I'm taking up too much of your valuable time, so I'll leave you to your job.'
He waves a hand dismissively, a sign for you to bow and withdraw from his illustrious presence. Instead, you are escorted out by a pair of resplendently uniformed guards who never-the-less carry their weapons with a knowing air. It's not long before you're back in the stinking square outside the royal residence, wondering if all kings are so naturally rude. Now you open the casket, and find the king to be telling the truth, at least. You run the coins through your hands for a while, reacquainting yourself with the feel of the money, something you haven't felt in a good long while. And more to come...
Unfortunately, you'll have to spend most of this to outfit yourself for the troubles you're sure you'll be facing on what feels like a trivial journey. You can't actually remember rescuing a princess from an evil wizard yourself, but you've heard so many stories of it being done in the past that you're sure it should present few problems to a hardened adventurer like yourself.
There are few places in this town that you can think of as worth visiting. You'll need supplies, so you'll probably need to stop off at the provision merchant to get some. Then there's the so called Royal Armory where you might be able to pick up some better weaponry and armour, and a curious little knick knack shop that you, in your vast experience, know is bound to contain some useful bargains. The various businesses of Langarroc have the following items for sale, which you may use your money to purchase. Cross off the relevant amount of money and add your new equipment to your Adventure Sheet. If you want, you may sell your Sword for 50 gold pieces.
Rope 20 GP
Who knows when you may need to scale something? You get several metres of rope for your money, as well as a grapnel.
Mirror 50 GP
Not just of use for vain reasons, it may come in useful when facing creatures with a petrifying gaze.
'Blessed' Cross 50 GP
Although you doubt its authenticity, holy symbols are useful when facing Undead and other Evil and Chaotic creatures.
Lantern 3 GP
With this you will be able to explore dark and dangerous areas where normally you would be blind.
Potion of Strength 100 GP
You may drink this potion at any time to restore your STAMINA score to its Initial level.
Potion of Fortune 100 GP
You may drink this potion at any time to increase your Initial LUCK by 1 point and then restore your Current LUCK score to this new value.
Potion of Skill 100 GP
You may drink this potion at any time to restore your SKILL score to its Initial value.
Leather Gloves 5 GP
They will, of course, keep your hands warm.
Poison Antidote (universal) 30 GP
This will negate the effects of any venom when drunk.
Axe 50 GP
Any enemy you attack with an axe suffers -1 to their ARMOUR while in battle. However, you must lower your Attack Strength by 1 while fighting with it.
Morning Star 50 GP
When you hit with a morning star, roll a d3 to see how many points of STAMINA damage it does. While wielding it, should you ever roll the same Attack Strength as your enemy, they will hit you for normal damage as if they had won the round.
Spear 8 GP
With a spear, should an enemy win the first Attack Round of a battle, you will take no damage. However, you can't use a shield since the weapon requires both hands to use.
Halberd 60 GP
A halberd is a two handed weapon, so you can't use a shield, but it does have a -1 ARMOUR modifier on the enemy and cause 3 points of damage with a successful hit.
Knife 1 GP
Wielding a knife you gain +1 to your Attack Strength, but you will only cause 1 point of damage in combat, and all enemies will have +1 ARMOUR. Enemies with no ARMOUR count as having ARMOUR 1.
Mace 40 GP
A mace has a -1 ARMOUR modifier but causes 1 point of damage in battle.
Hammer 30 GP
A hammer is just a regular weapon, but you never know when it might come in handy...
Shield 15 GP
A shield adds +1 to your ARMOUR.
Helm 30 GP
A helm is useful for protecting your head from say, the sky falling.
Leather Armour 20 GP
Leather armour gives you an ARMOUR value of 1.
Metal Breastplate 80 GP
A metal breastplate gives you ARMOUR 2.
Provisions 2 GP per meal
See above for details on provisions.
Jar of salt 5 GP
Aside from its excellent qualities as a condiment, the salt may be thrown into the eyes of your enemies. Unless mentioned otherwise, you may do this once for each jar you buy, reducing one foe's SKILL by 1 point for the first Attack Round. You may only use one jar per battle
Clove of garlic 5 GP
The garlic would obviously be useful if you ever happened to meet a vampire, and while you've never heard of one in these parts it couldn't hurt to be careful.
(Supposedly) Elven cake 50 GP
The Elven cake, whether it is in fact elf made or not, is actually quite tasty and may be eaten instead of provisions to restore 10 points of STAMINA.
Water flask 2 GP
The water flask will of course contain water, or any other liquid you may come across. It is full when you buy it, and you may empty it immediately after a battle to restore STAMINA equal to the roll of one die. It must then be re-filled at any lake or stream that you manage to come across.
Once you have made any purchases that you require, turn to 1 to set out and begin your adventure!
You have returned to the bustling harbour of Kaynlesh Ma, capital city of Arantis. The merchantman departed Fang not long after the Deathtrap Dungeon celebrations. The competitor had battled his way through numerous opponents, evaded various traps, and received his prize of 20,000 Gold Pieces. You wish you could have shook the champion's hand, as a fellow warrior, but time pressed you to prepare for the journey home.
Living in Arantis is your brother the two of you are the only members of your family to have survived a lethal plague that swept through Kaynlesh Ma and ravaged the city's streets, which had caused misery and terror. You plan to visit him, the first time in eight years. Just as you are strolling down Falcon Avenue a busy thoroughfare flanked by palm trees a sudden thought invades your mind: it is customary for brothers to exchange gifts, intended as a gesture of consideration and gratitude for each other. Included in the many laws encouraged by the High Priest of the city, it is one of the few you observe with reverence. You also realize that you are virtually penniless. Reluctantly, you head for Crayfish Wharf; it is the most busiest part of the canal that runs through Kaynlesh Ma, so you have no trouble in finding temporary work as a bargee.
The short, unkempt owner of this long navigational boat promises to pay you ten gold pieces, but on condition that you accompany him to the estuary town of Dabaros.
"No hagglin'!" he says in a hoarse voice. "I'll only pay yer more on t' way back, if you so wishes it."
You've little choice in the matter other than to accept this sailor's offer but a pleasant trip up the Eltus River should compensate for further demand of your strength. Before the barge casts off, you are to unload crates of delicious fruits from the eastern jungles, and curious, myriad coloured minerals, stones that nobles pay handsomely for. The craft emptied of its cargo pushes its way through the towering arch, Kaynlesh Ma's northern gate. After about an hour, you reach the River Eltus, turning eastwards downriver for Dabaros. The first river village you pass straight through, but at the second you are required to stop and acquire several bright yellow parrots, caged entertaining livestock bound for the Dabaros bazaar. By the time you reach the third village of Perdosia, situated halfway along the river, you remain moored to the dock, sleeping aboard with the noisy, irritating birds. Dawn sees you already up and directed by the merchant barge owner to make ready in your departure of Perdosia.
Dabaros is in sight by the time late evening sets in. A settlement that sits just before the divided river, the town has more bridges than any other place you've known. Its small towers and simple white washed walls have long been bleached by the burning sun; but the townsfolk are happy enough in trade and have prospered for countless years since their ancestors resisted the marauding southern barbarian rulers that were defeated in a rebellion. Here, those cumbersome parrots are swiftly conveyed to the market albeit gladly! and more valuable goods are brought on board.
"This way, strong'un!"
You follow your employer into The Morning Star Inn, where your rooms are reserved and ready for use. It should make a change to all the hardships living aboard ship! After a strong ale at the bar to soothe your throat, he hands you a small pouch of 10 Gold Pieces.
"Yer wages," he smiles, "and try not t' throw it away on t' bad grub they 'ave 'ere!"
His deep laugh makes a pleasant change to the grim, serious mood he's been in since you left the city. If you wish to return with him to Kaynlesh Ma, the barge will be leaving at dawn tomorrow. You nod in understanding, before he retires upstairs to bed. Before you can do the same, your full attention is caught by an old, coarse faced man, dressed in simple, thick robes of white and brown cloth. He leans on a long staff, which is inlaid with arcane runes, while his piercing gaze searches for somebody in particular. You turn back to the serving girl behind the bar, and are about to order another flagon of ale to take to your room, before you feel a sudden tap upon your shoulder. You are taken aback it is the old man who entered.
"D do I know of you?" you stammer out.
He ignores your question and asks: "Are you the famous 'Scorpion'?"
"Who wants to know?"
"I cannot tell you here; Dabaros has eyes and ears that do not appeal to me. I am no regular customer, friend, but a mage of some importance, dare I flatter myself. Please, I implore you to listen to my discoveries. Allow me to offer you the hospitality of my abode, for the sake of Goodness."
You shrug in reply. With nothing to lose, you agree to this mystic's plea for assistance. You traverse the dark, shadowy streets of Dabaros, expecting trouble at every turn. However, none presents itself. The mage's home is a two storey house, not much bigger than those surrounding it. But exterior appearances can prove deceptive; within, the rooms are lavish with rich silk and satin drapes, and decorated with ancient ornaments and priceless relics. A sharp, sweet smell of spices and scented candles hangs in the air. A small crystal chandelier is
suspended from the centre of the suite. Your mysterious host invites you to be seated; he claps his gold trinketed hands once and two small cups of herbal tea appear from out of no where!
"Drink." He smiles.
Tentatively, you lift it up to your mouth, apprehensive of the possibility of it being poisoned. Closing your eyes, you tip back the steaming liquid, cursing only at forgetting its hotness when it scorches your throat.
"Back at the inn," the mage continues, "I must confess that panic gripped my senses; I'm no regular to that public place, but I am interested in your valued services, mercenary."
You nod: "Very well...er,"
"...Terrenul, known to the townsfolk as the 'Healer of Dabaros'. In truth, my powers exceed such a position to probably that of Grand Wizard. But I can trust you to keep such a secret." He lacks in modesty, you notice. He pauses to take a sip from his cup. "I've never been so relieved in all my life. When I witnessed your arrival at the harbour, instinct alone told me that you were a reputed fighter, an adventurer of great prestige and success, but obviously a man down on his luck. Then, I recognised you from my travels to Kaynlesh Ma, my brain clicked to the situation. It is as if the Gods of Good have sent you!"
"What business have you for me that is so urgent to complete?"
His mood becomes grim. "Tell me, how much do you know of Voloidon Carsak?"
"The merchant who was said to have crossed the Desert of Skulls alive, with barely enough provisions to reach Warpstone? Yes, my schooling tutor used that man's example of strength to discipline us in determination. He told us of Carsak's tale, so far as I recall, in our history studies of the Snake People."
"The trouble is, even we magicians know so little of the Caarth." This last word he has difficulty to utter; it is emphasized with both fear and vehemence in his elderly voice. "But one thing I have discovered, Scorpion, with such necessary pain and effort for me to gain such knowledge, is very grave indeed. Should my worst fears come true, then all of Arantis is lost!"
"What's going to happen?"
"The High Priest of S'turrak, one of the three Snake People cities, is plotting our downfall at this very moment. This herb," he produces into view a large glass jar of a dark green, coarse grained powder, "known as Thwern, is very rare; but its sacred and spiritual powers are beyond belief. I dare to only use them in the extreme of a crisis; in my trance induced by the Thwern, my consciousness travelled from my body to a dark, echoing throne room. At first, I thought I was in the Temple of Kaynlesh Ma, or the Royal Palace of Salamonis, but about me was evidence of a strangely designed building, fashioned mostly of hard red sandstone, yielding alien glyphs and other arcane writings. When the effects of this herb wear off, I am granted flashes of certain visions that I hold as important. I drifted from this throne room, glimpsed the wicked, scaly features of different types of Snake Man, lastly one of which was a High Priest, before I viewed the fortress my mind had invaded: the exterior view of the City of S'turrak! A prophecy which has stuck in my mind since that Thwern experiment the Caarth, Jestrali, their Mutant minions, even hired Lizard Men, were on the march, battle standards raised high. There is a possibility that my fears are premature, and the future would not be thus for some time. But I hope my worst fears will not be fulfilled by your decision to dismiss such warnings of war and destruction." His face has become direly serious. "Scorpion, will you infiltrate the nest of cobras and, if so, is your sting powerful enough to end such a terrible threat?"
By the Gods, but this is of some concern to you; Arantis is your home, your beloved land, where you were born and bred to be laid waste and occupied by the evil, ambitious Snake People? Upon your honour, as a mercenary of Good, you'll be damned to stand by and await such a calamity! You bring up your falchion, slap the hilt to your heart, holding it tightly.
"Aye," you assure Terrenul, "I shall challenge these skulking, slithering snakes in their nest. I shall champion the High Priest of S'turrak before his own throne, so that it shall witness the downfall of his dastardly and treacherous plans!"
Unlikely, but not impossible. Fierce though the tomb was, man's greed was tougher, and less than three years after Allibor's death a brave party of adventurers infiltrated the tomb, looting its contents, and tossing the cruel magician's skeletal carcass to the townsfolk. The skull of Allibor was ensconced in a crystal cube and placed on display for all to see. Thus the people had their revenge.
But Allibor's vengeance soon came as well. Not long after the tomb had been looted, and Allibor's head forever displayed in the crystal case, strange noises began emanating from within the tomb. Shrieks and moans and horrid cries all filtered through the night air. And all who investigated these noises were never seen again. Furthermore, Allibor's desecrated body, which had been dropped down a dried well near the centre of town, was reported to be gone from the well, and several townsfolk even made the horrible and ridiculous claims that they had seen the decapitated body pull itself from the well and march back inside the tomb. These claims were dismissed until a dark summer solstice when the circumstances of the tomb were laid plain.
Townsfolk sprang from their beds and hustled outside at the sound of the most horrible shrieking arising from the centre of the village. Only when all of the town had gathered there did the shrieking stop, and by then Allibor had everyone's full attention. It had been Allibor shrieking - Allibor's head, at least - screaming from within the crystal cube where it had been imprisoned. And now that the townsfolk had arrived, the head began to speak.
"You who were my subjects in life, hear now my demands and answer them, or join me in death," the skull hissed. "My resting place has been desecrated, and I have awakened. My rule shall be as iron once more, unless you appease me. At the first of every month you will send into my halls a sacrifice, who shall wander my corridors until killed within. You who have dared to disturb me will now realize that Allibor is your ruler eternal. I shall not rest until one of your number can best me."
With that, the head of Allibor fell silent.
So began the tradition of The Trial. In the mountains of Abir, near the small town of Antir, volunteers have gathered at the first of every month since that time to enter Allibor's tomb and try to best him. In times when volunteers have been found lacking, prisoners have been forced into the tomb at spear point, or unwilling townsfolk have been drawn by lottery to enter. None have yet survived the strange game that Allibor has set up within his tomb, and Antir's infamy, as a place of death and challenge, have grown.
Near to the first of the month you made your way to the town of Antir. Despite the macabre circumstances, there is an air of festivity about the town. The Trial, as the challenge has come to be known, attracts many visitors and spectators each year, and Antir has grown in size and commerce.
Arriving early at your inn on the last night of the month, you decide to go to a nearby tavern. After ordering the cheapest ale available (you are rather low on funds) you seat yourself at a table near the bar. You sit for hours, talking with others, exchanging goblin jokes and reciting tales of adventure. As the alcohol and late hours begin to take effect, your eyes begin drifting shut, and your chin rests upon your palm.
You are startled from your dozing, however, when you hear a struggle behind you. Spinning on your stool you see a foppish and over-dressed man, obviously drunk, wrestling with one of the barmaids. Pawing at her, gripping her hair, he tries to draw her to him.
"Who is that?" you demand of a young man at your side.
The young man shakes his head scornfully and tells you, "That's Owen Wayford, the mayor. Can you believe such a lout runs things around here?"
"Why doesn't somebody help the girl?" you ask.
The man shrugs. "He's the mayor. The richest man in town." With that he turns back to his drink.
Owen Wayford has still been assaulting the girl all this time, and when one of his hooked fingers tears a large gape in the front of the girl's blouse and you see the tears forming in the girl's eyes, you are no longer able to control yourself. You leap to your feet and, knocking the man's questing hands aside, interpose yourself between Antir's mayor and the young barmaid. "Leave the girl alone," you instruct.
"Mind your own affairs," Mayor Wayford states haughtily, and reaches over your shoulder for the girl once more.
This time you grasp his hand, pulling back forcefully, holding it in a vice-like grip. "Leave the girl alone," you repeat.
Owen smiles weakly. He seems to relax momentarily, so you release him, whereupon he draws back a deep breath of air and lets a wad of spit fly into your face. Taking advantage of your moment of surprise, Owen gives you a heavy shove, knocking you back into a table behind you. As you are still getting to your feet he lunges for the girl.
Wiping his spittle from your face, you leap at Owen, grasping him around the neck and throwing him to the ground. When he stands again you draw back and swing your hardest punch which connects with his eye. Owen staggers back from the force, knocking over a table in the process.
The room has fallen silent and all eyes are on the two of you as Owen gets slowly back to his feet. He weaves slightly as he does so and you realize that the man is impossibly drunk. You wonder if you might have taken things too far. Putting one hand out to steady himself along one wall, Owen walks haltingly back to stand in front of you.
"I didn't want this to end in bloodshed," he tells you in a shaky voice, and the scent of whiskey on his breath is heavy and unmistakable. His eyes leave your face and wander over the faces of the others in the tavern. A moment of grave dismay passes briefly through his features, but it is soon replaced by a look of drunken certainty. He looks back to you, a sneer just beginning to form. "You leave me no choice," he tells you.
Owen tears a leather gauntlet from his arm and throws it at your feet. "I challenge you, stranger," he intones. "I challenge you to The Trial. The maze stands ready, chum. Be there at dawn... unless that sword at your side is only to impress the ladies." He lets out a single chuckle then storms past you, his face mixing with a red of rage and embarrassment, knowing that all the eyes in the room are following him as he leaves.
You begin to bend to retrieve the glove, but the barmaid, one hand clutching at the tear in her blouse, stops you with an urgent hand. "Don't," she whispers. "He is drunk. And I would not have you die on my behalf."
"I have to," you tell the girl. "It is why I came." Slowly, you bend and pick up the gauntlet. You accept Owen's challenge. Clutching it close to your chest you walk back to the bar and resume your seat.
"You've got guts," the young man you spoke with earlier tells you. "No one's ever lived through that thing, you know."
"Maybe this time it will be different," you answer calmly.
"No. It won't be," he responds. "And you've got the added burden of Owen's challenge."
"What does that mean?" you ask.
"You don't know? The Trial is tough enough. Like I said, no one has ever survived. A long time ago someone came up with a crazy idea to make it even tougher, though. Two men were having a heated dispute about property. Things were getting really out of hand, murdered livestock, that sort of thing. The magistrate decided to settle the dispute for them. He ordered them both into the labyrinth, and decreed that the first one to make it out alive would win. Sort of a race, you see. And inside the labyrinth, there would be no holds barred. Cheating was not an issue."
"Who won?" you ask.
"The magistrate," the young man chuckles. "Both men died inside, as the magistrate knew they would. Then the magistrate claimed both their land." He looks at you soberly, and shakes his head. "Drink up, my friend," he tells you. "Because this is your last night alive."
You finish your ale, then retire to the inn. You try to sleep, but The Trial is weighing so heavily on your mind that you cannot. You toss and turn fitfully, and dawn comes too soon.
You pick yourself up out of bed and ready your equipment before leaving the inn. Outside, a soft mist has arisen, muting the landscape and lending a surreal quality to all around you. Even the voices of the gawkers who have come to see a walking dead man seem distant, and you hardly notice as the leering crowd, some shouting luck, guide you to the mouth of the labyrinth.
There you see Owen Wayford, standing in the mist, staring at the ground. An advisor whispers to him at your approach and his head lifts in a surprised jerk. He obviously did not expect you to follow through, and now that you have, the dread and fear on his face are apparent. His challenge was made to you in a moment of drunken bravado, and were it not for his status in the town, and the crowd of townfolk gathered around, you are sure that he would suggest you both renege on the challenge. As it is, though, he only nods pompously toward you. A great bruise has arisen on his right eye where you hit him.
A man dressed in heavy robes and the white wig of a magistrate climbs to a small pulpit and addresses you and the crowd. "These two brave souls have made agreement to the challenge of Allibor's labyrinth. The first to exit shall be vindicated in this matter of honour. We wish them both well, for the future of our town rests in their hands, and through their bravery, may the curse of Allibor's Tomb finally be lifted." He raises his hands and a cheer goes through the crowd. You find yourself wondering how many of the townsfolk would honestly be happy to have Allibor's tomb beaten, and what loss to business and tradition this would really mean.
"After you," Owen says, with mocking politeness. He gestures to the gaping cave entrance of Allibor's Tomb.