It was a two day ride from Dor Dür to where the Army of the North was encamped near Noneth Bridge. They spent the first night at the great castle of Vinkara, seat of Lord Clarin, the Earl Kinen, where they were graciously welcomed by Earl’s lady wife, who was only recently returned from her convalescence at Rivona Abbey. She expressed her gratitude to the role the Hand had played not only in her own recovery, but in the rescue of her daughter, the Maid Carissa during that unfortunate incident in Shalara. She was disappointed that Ser Draik was not with the group, as she especially wanted to thank him for the marvelous elixir that had restored her shattered health, and continued to help with her on-going recovery.

Mariala was disappointed herself, as she had hoped to catch up with her one-time charge, Carissa. But the Lady Lania revealed that her daughter had joined the Alean healers behind the front lines, as a lay acolyte caring for wounded soldiers. And much to her father’s chagrin! The Earl had resisted the idea at first, but when his beloved and newly-restored to him wife had sided with the girl, he had eventually yielded. But now, with these mysterious disappearances from the army, Lady Lania was having second thoughts herself.

When the Hand departed Vinkara the next morning, she pressed a small packet into Mariala’s hands.

“A letter to my daughter,” she explained. “And a small amulet I purchased from the temple, to help keep her from harm.”

Mariala assured her that she would personally deliver it into the girl’s hands. And that evening, as the group settled into the pavilion assigned to them outside Dor Endol, the fortified keep a few miles south of Noneth Bridge where the Prince and Earl had established their headquarters, she did just that. Carissa was thrilled to see her, and Mariala was impressed with the changes that aiding the wounded had made in the – no longer a girl, but a young woman. They had only a few minutes to catch up before Mariala had to join the others for their meeting with the Earl and Prince Maldan, but they promised to find more time once the current crisis was resolved.

“I’m sure if anyone can figure out what’s going on, it’s you and your friends,” Carissa said as she hugged her friend goodbye. “It’s very frightening… just yesterday one of our cantors vanished during his night rounds, and there is no way a healer of Alea would abandon his charges willingly!”

♦ ♦ ♦

And that was the sentiment expressed by the Prince and the Earl about many of the men who had gone missing in the last tenday.

“Some of my best men,” the Prince said angrily. “Loyal men, many of whom have been with me for years and been well found in battle. Not men to dessert, not in the face of battle and certainly not after a great victory!”

A solid, well-muscled man of middle years, with silver just beginning to frost his chestnut brown hair at the temples, his hazel eyes were clear and penetrating. During the initial introductions he had clearly been sizing up what seemed to him a rather unimpressive group – except perhaps for that short red-haired fellow, obviously a fighting man, and a hard one. The others…

“I understand you met my father, last year,” he went on after a moment. “He was impressed enough to mention you to me… but the King is a rather, um, cerebral, man, and his basis for judging men… and women… differs from my own. But he is no fool, to be sure, while Lord Clarin also makes great claims for your abilities… and he is a more worldly man, like myself.

“So, we will take a throw of the dice, and see if you can live up to your reputation!” He nodded decisively and pulled several maps to the center of the table they were gathered around. “This is where the trouble has been most acute…”

Half an hour later it had been decided that the Hand of Fortune would leave the next morning for the tiny hamlet of Riven’s Forge, on the edge of the Kotaran Marsh. It was from this base where the Prince’s best mounted scouting unit, led by a veteran fighter named Gastar Loban, had vanished the day of the battle – six men and their horses gone without a trace. If an attack through the wetlands had followed it could be chalked up to an ambush and the fortunes of war, but no such attack had come. The barbarians came straight on, trying to force the fords of the Noneth River as well as the bridge, with no flank attack from the west, and been slaughtered.

And there was the fact that, both before and after the battle, more than 40 other soldiers, camp followers and civilians had likewise disappeared without a trace.

So it was into the little settlement of Riven’s Forge the group rode late in the morning the next day, the first of Metisto. The hamlet was a collection of about a dozen buildings huddled together in a large clearing in the eastern fringes of the Forest of Valdrun, centered around a large stone well and two trees – a cherry tree just coming into bloom, and a great oak, tree itself newly spring green. The three largest buildings were the rustic Eldaran church, the blacksmith’s home/workshop/stable, and the local petty lord’s manor house.

The tiny fief was the sole possession of Ser Lendel Khordon, a petty lord indeed. Portly, red faced and rather pompous, a widower of late middle years, the man was clearly a knight (and gentleman) by title only. He had the martial air of a panicked rabbit, and did not seem glad to see more newcomers invading his sleepy domain. When he made it clear, amidst his loud assurances that he had had nothing to do with the soldiers disappearance, that he would be “unable” to put up the group in his own home, the blacksmith stepped forward and offered his own home to the gentle visitors.

Hardol Rhevan was a large man, with fiery red hair and arms like – well, like a blacksmith’s. Perhaps because of their shared hair color, or maybe because they were both powerful, strong men, Devrik and Hardol hit it off immediately. The blacksmith was also a widower, with two sons aged 13 and 8, an apprentice of 17 years, as well as an elderly father. The latter’s domain was apparently the attached stable, which housed the hamlet’s two horses. It was a much larger stable than the needs of Riven’s Forge called for, apparently a folly of a previous generation who had harbored dreams of an inn in this unlikely spot, so there was room for the group’s mounts, as well as a loft for Cris to sleep in.

The bulk of the day was spent questioning the denizens if the tiny settlement and scouring the forest around them for any sign of the lost patrol. Neither endeavor yielded any significant result, nor did Korwin’s attempts to psychically “read” the few personal possessions left behind by the missing men. Mariala attempted a reading of the cards, which produced an ambiguous result at best – a sense of a duality, of something or someone who was both one thing and another. Suspicion fell quickly on the hapless Ser Lendel, but a quick truth sense readung by both Vulk and Mariala proved him to be exactly hwat he appeared to be… maybe less.

Devrik was somewhat more successful in casting his Flames of Xydona spell – gazing into the fireplace in the late afternoon, he eventually tuned in on what he believed to be the missing scout captain, Gastar Loban. Unfortunately, what he heard via the flames was the sound of a man screaming in extreme pain. The flames transmitted the sounds with great fidelity through whatever source of fire was near to the man, and from the echoes it sounded as if he was in a stone chamber of some sort. Given the horrible cries, Devrik’s mind had no trouble filling in the lurid details, but in truth he could not say if the room was above ground or below ground, or even really a room… it might be a stone cave or grotto…

The day ended in a bust, leaving the group frustrated and tired. After a quiet meal with the blacksmith and his household, and, at Mariala’s insistence, a drink to celebrate the Shalaran holiday the Féte of Wisdom, they retired for the evening, uncertain what course to pursue next. Perhaps a foray into the marsh itself, a couple of miles to the northwest…

♦ ♦ ♦

Mariala woke with a start from a vivid dream of shimmering, esoteric lights and patterns of pure thought, a dream of the sort she often had after a dose of Lyrin oil. She’d slipped the dose into her wine for the toast to Shala, earlier… now, as her mind cleared, she realized the screams that had awoken her weren’t part of her dream, but cries of terror coming from outside…

The rest of the household had also been roused by the commotion, and Hardol had to restrain his sons and apprentice, who were anxious to rush out and see what was happening. But with his noble guests in residence, he saw no need to allow them into danger… and indeed, Devrik and Vulk rushed past him, weapons drawn, and into the night, followed almost immediately by Korwin and Mariala.

Both moons were full and only just beginning to sink into the west, and by their light the friends could see that the hamlet was under attack. At first it seemed that it was small band of gülvini attempting to batter down doors and claw their way in windows, but the nearest creature turned at the arrival of easier victims and it was instantly obvious this was no ordinary gül. It shambled forward, rotting fur and flesh hanging on its bones, eyes milky white and unseeing, fingers scraped down to boney claws… an undead monstrosity, a mindless puppet of the Shadow, zamora!

Vulk felt his blood run cold as he realized what they faced. He had been touched by the Shadow once, felt his soul being drained away, and he never wanted to face that horror again. It was why he had recently consecrated his Herald’s Baton, the symbol of his goddess and a bulwark against such abominations – a shield that now lay under his pillow, upstairs in the house he had just foolishly run out of!

While all this was flashing through the cantor’s mind and he was considering the virtues of panic, Devrik was facing three zamori, and feeling nothing but the rush of excitement that battle always brought. True, he’d rather not be fighting in his night clothes, sans any armor at all, but against these shambling brutes he doubted he’d need it. But to be on the safe side, he summoned Renik’s Shield to provide some forward protection. Which saved him from physical harm as the nearest zamora lunged forward, with surprising speed, to claw at him. But it did nothing to ward off the freezing black emptiness of the Shadow that tried to engulf him… his mind instantly threw up a shield of fiery mental resistance, and the shadow was deflected.

He drew his battle sword clean through the side of the second undead beast, and had a sudden thought. As he recalled, fire was a most effective weapon against the undead… he smiled a very toothy smile, and if they had had eyes to see with, or a brain to think with, the remaining zamora might have turned back then.

Vulk, however, was much less confident of his friend’s ability to survive this fight in his pajamas, and it was that fear for his friend that momentarily squelched the panic… he had to do something, and he knew just what! Stepping up behind his friend, he reached out to touch Devrik’s shoulder and murmur the ritual words that would summon the holy armor of the goddess. Even as the undead closed in, a shimmering golden glow flared around Devrik before fading into an almost invisible flicker.

There, Vulk thought, now let him start whipping that sword around, and pretty quick I won’t have to worry about getting my soul sucked out of me again. Or Devrik’s out of him, of course.

Which would no doubt have been the course of events if the fire mage had not decided to try a newish spell, his first opportunity to really use Arkel’s Fiery Ribbons in battle. Sword in his left hand, he raised his right and called out the incantation to summons the fiery ribbons of colored flame that would turn these undead bastards into ash – but magic is a tricky thing. Whether it was the adrenaline rush from being awakened suddenly, residual fogginess from sleep, or just random luck, as he released the energy into the mental Form he sensed the flaw in that form, too late to stop it!

The flames that leapt form his hand twisted like manic, demented snakes, and managing to avoid his targets completely, instead blasted into the roof of the blacksmith’s house… and the house next to it… and the old oak tree near the well…

All three burst into multi-hued flames with a tremendous whoosh! As the combustible materials caught, the flames turned to a more normal reddish-orange…

For a moment Devrik could only stare in horror as the nightmare of his youth came flooding back to him. The Mad God might have cured his crippling fear of using fire magic, but this was the root of that fear, grounded in the reality that his power had almost killed his stepmother and infant half-brother. Now it was happening again – but he had saved them then, and he would do it now, too… without a further thought he whirled around and rushed past Vulk and into the blacksmith’s burning house.

“Wait!” Vulk cried in horror. “What the fuck –?!”

The zamora shambled forward, oblivious to everything but the living auras before them…

♦ ♦ ♦

Meanwhile, Toran was ambling on through the night on his sturdy mountain pony, in an effort to catch up to his friends. He had returned from his debriefing in Dürkon the day after the Hand had left for the northern frontier, and had been playing catch-up ever since. He would have caught up with them earlier today, he thought grumpily, in the obscure little bump in the road they were headed for, Ribbon’s Ford or something, if he hadn’t taken that wrong turn off the main road this morning. Perhaps he should have paid more attention to the details when the Prince’s major domo was explaining the route…

It had taken him half a day to realize his mistake, and it was only his native Khundari stubbornness that kept him riding now. But the light of the two full moons was more than enough for his dark-adapted eyes to keep the track underfoot, and he was determined to rejoin his companions before they got into the thick of whatever was going down in this rustic backwater…

It was at that point that a sudden reddish glow lit the sky behind the black silhouette of the trees before him. It was as if someone had just lit a huge bonfire… riding forward at a gallop, in less than a minute the young Shadow Warrior burst into a large clearing and onto the most surreal scene of his life so far.

It seemed that half the tiny hamlet that filled the clearing was in flames, the nearest building a large stone and wood structure to his left. And in front of that building were his friends, in various states of undress, battling a number of lurching, clawing undead gülvini by the light of the flames. Just at that moment Cris dashed out of what appeared to be a stable, a torch in one hand and sword in the other.

“Cris,” Toran called as he leapt from the back of his rearing, panicked pony and drew his battle axe from it’s holder. “What the Void is going on here?!”

“Master Toran?” the youth replied, his bewildered stare torn between the battle and the new arrival. “What are you doing here? I don’t know what’s happening – I heard screams, and then fighting –”

Realizing the lad was at least as confused as himself, and seeing that Mariala was being menaced by two zamora, Toran whirled into action. In two bounds he was beside his friend, and his flashing axe had taken one of the hideous creatures in the chest, cleaving it almost in half. With a high-pitched howl, the thing crumbled instantly into dust, and the Khundari warrior turned to block the crasping claws of the second creature, which Mariala had just Moted… it suddenly turned and wandered off towards Cris. Toran sighed and went after it, slicing its legs clean off.

Mariala was surprised to see their Khundari compatriot suddenly appear out of the dark, but not at all displeased. She had been at somewhat of a loss in the first confusing moments of this unexpected fight. She had cast a spell of Resistence on herself, but her usual combat spells that set nerves aflame or caused confusion in her enemies where singularly useless against the undead, who possessed neither a working nervous system to feel pain nor a brain to be confused with. And her dagger, however finely crafted, seemed scant protection against those boney claws, to which scraps of flesh clung…

As Toran dispatched the immediate threat, Mariala was able to look around and try to access the situation. More zamora seemed to be staggering from the shadows into the light of the burning houses and tree, coming from the other buildings of the hamlet… why? she wondered, since they had no senses in the usual meaning of the word – and then it hit her. The undead were attracted to the aura of living beings, and in this little backwater, it was unlikely that anyone had stronger auras than the Hand! Certainly not stronger than her own, Korwin’s and Devrik’s… which would make them the preferred targets, she suddenly realized.

It was at that moment she caught sight of something in the shadows of a cottage off to her right – a larger figure than the undead gülvini, one that stood tall and seemed intent on watching the battle. Watching with living eyes – she was sure it was one of the Great Güls, the hovguvai! The creature suddenly seemed to become aware of the human’s scrutiny, and in an instant it had melted back into the shadows.

♦ ♦ ♦

Korwin had started to summon the Breath of Arandu as soon as he had realized what was happening, even as he dodged the grasping claws of one of the zamora. But the shock of Devrik’s spell gone so badly awry caused him to abort the spell. Instead, as the shingles of the blacksmith’s house began to burn, Korwin focused his esoteric energies on summoning as much ethereal water as he was capable of… within seconds a torrent of water gushed forth into being from his hands, and cascaded over the charring wooden roof, extinguishing the flames with a hiss. The top of the house disappeared in a swirling cloud of white steam, even as two zamora lunged for the water mage.

Fortunately Vulk was there, and the glittering light of his holy armor encased Korwin, giving him time to draw his cutlass. With his first blow he managed to sever the arm of one of the monstrosities, although that barely slowed it down.

OK, no more time before we leave on vacation; but here’s the final section and a hint at how the next session will begin (and Davey’s always amusing notes follow, for those who want the blow-by-blow):

♦ ♦ ♦

Meanwhile, Erol and Jeb were following close behind their friends, Erol using his newly acquired tracking skills to spot the subtle clues the group had left behind, once they exited the crude tunnel…

They had arrived back at Dor Dür just a day after Toran had departed, having been successfully rescued a childhood friend from bandits in the mountains. Unfortunately, his friend had been wounded in the escape, and it was only by luck (and the ferocity of Grover the war ferret) that a band of Ethmoniri tribesmen had taken them in.  It had taken a long time for his friend to heal enough to travel again, and Erol ws forced to abandon his journey to learn what was going on in the Republic. But he had not returned to Dor Dür empty handed of news of the Vortex…

Now, leaving his friend in the care of Ser Alakor, Erol and Jeb had set off to catch up with the rest of the Hand as soon as they heard what was afoot, and had arrived at Dor Endol just six hours after Toran had departed. They once again wasted no time before setting off in pursuit, but had become somewhat turned around on the road to this hole-in-the-wall hamlet, Robin’s Barge or some such. In the end they had been forced to take shelter for the night in the cottage of a humble forester, who pointed them in the right direction early the next morning. Perhaps, Erol thought, he should have paid more attention to the details when the Prince’s major domo was explaining the route…

Arriving in the hamlet by mid-morning, it was obvious, at least to Jeb, that the Hand had been there – several buildings were singed and still smoking, one was a gutted, smouldering ruin, and an old oak tree near a well had been charred to a skeleton. There were also a great many piles of fetid, greasy ash and bone scattered about the settlement, and several new graves being dug. The residents were quick to explain what had happened the night before, and to speed these latest visitors on their way after their friends, with loud assurances of respect and amity for those brave adventurers…

Leaving their horses with the others, in the care of the blacksmith’s father, they were now afoot as they entered into the swamp proper. Ahead, visible through and over the moss-draped scrub trees, loomed a large fern and lichen covered stone structure. It was set on a patch of slightly drier land that rose a few feet above the marshy water, and appeared to be quite old. An ancient temple, no doubt, or perhaps a palace?

“I suspect that THAT is were we will find the others,” Erol said with a grin, but before Jeb could reply there came the faint sound of battle cries and the ring of steel on steel.

“Not even noon, and they’re at it already,” Jeb sighed, as Erol hefted his trident and dashed toward the sound of fighting. Wondering, and not for the first time, if he should have stuck to farming, Jeb nocked an arrow to his bow and followed after…

To be continued…

 

We’re going to need a bigger boat.

Northern barbarians are restless but repellent

Dark undertones

Northern forests have bad reputation

Ardunne gone 600 years

Soldiers gone missing at night

Headed north to army camps

Met with Prince

40 men disapeered

Loyal unit gone missing at Ribbon forge by marsh

Vulk uses his golden tongue to “good” effect

We go to Ribbon’s Edge

 

The Village Idiots

We all try to find out stuff

Mariala Tarrots reveals a “duality” effect

Korwin Psycometry left objects to no effect

Devrik Fire whispers and gets an impression of a active torture chamber

Sleep interrupted by screams

Zombie Guls

Grapple at Devrik he wrestles with shadow

Mariala attempts resistance

Devrik casts Rennik’s shield

Korwin starts Breath or Arandu

Vulk gropes Devrik giving him armor then whimpers away like a scared girl

Korwin attacked he dodges

Zombie attacks Devrik gets counterstruck

Devrik attacks a second Zombie for a grievous wound

Mariala Motes a zombie who confused shuffles toward Cris

Devrik unveils Fiery Ribbons

Critical Failure !!!

 

Destroy the Village to Save the Village

Devrik lights the village on fire

Korwin Breath fails

Toran arrives to save the day

He delegs the zombie headed toward to Cris

Vulk cast armor no surprise

Zombie attacks Devrik and loses an arm to a counterstrike

Mariala sees a big Gul

Devrik runs away

Toran kills another zombie

Korwin casts effluvium dosing the flames on the blacksmiths house

Devrik runs out the blacksmith house and heads the wrong way

Vulk armors Mariala

Zombies come after Korwin he dodges both

Vulk gets attack a wash

 

Zombies, Zombies, Zombies

Toran attack, a wash

Mariala motes another zombie

Devrik watches a dear little old lady’s house go up in flames

Korwin doesn’t have an epileptic fit, he cutlasses a zombie killing it

Vulk Armors Korwin

Toran kills a zombie

Mariala mote fails

Devrik attacks

Korwin cutlasses no effect, Resists two encounters with the Shadow barely saving

Vulk whimpers and hides after blessing Toran

Zombies attack Devrik Shadow him for 2 aura

Korwin attacked, counterstrikes takes out one

Korwin beats shadow again

 

It’s good to be Zombie

Toran takes out another zombie

Mariala motes

Devrik takes out a zombie but loses another Aura point

Korwin disembowels a zombie but it keeps crawling

Vulk waffles then runs away after Mariala’s “gul”

Zombie attacks Devrik, Devrik counterstrikes to victory

Korwin takes out crawling zombie with a counterstrike

Toaran evades a soul suck

Toran tripped over self and dropped battleaxe

Mariala runs after Vulk

Devrik slays a zombie

Korwin casts Azure hand, frostbiting a zombie

Vulk searches for his dignity

 

Won’t these undead bastards ever die! 

Korwin avoids shadow again

Devrik returns to battle area

Toran dodges and retrieves his axe

Mariala runs after Vulk

Devrik takes out a zombie

Korwin attacks, no effect

Zombies attack

Toran counters and destroys

Devrik counters and destroyed

Korwin evades and fails

Mariala motes the the zombie that wandered toward Vulk

Toran attacks takes out confused zombie

Devrik takes out last zombie

 

Now we can start the Adventure

Next morning we find a tunnel in the root cellar

Into the tunnel and out to the swamp and an ancient temple

Korwin Klordia Shadows Devrik

Toran and Devrik sneaks into temple, More Zombies?!?!

Devrik and Toran take on zombies

Devrik downs one

Toran takes out a zombie

Big gul comes out of shadows

The rest of us come into temple

Devrik takes out gul and Toran takes out a zombie but takes a wound to face

Vulk attempts to heal Toran’s face

Korwin searches gul and finds a ring, an amulet and a brazier

Mariala determines amulet has magical properties

She covets it

We have a discussion on profit sharing and and why does Mariala get everything