The Hin Reckoning (FAN FICTION)

[djspectre]

Before I begin, let me start by saying that many of the events and people described in this fictionalization may be askew. I am writing mostly from memory but trying to create a dramatic narrative at the same time.

I have taken liberties with some of the events, time lines, places and characters/NPC's that I've encountered though gameplay. These changes are not to insult or diminish the creative talents of the DM staff or the player-base in any form. Many times I simply can't remember details about certain things so I used creativity to fill in the gaps or embellish things that I found interesting.

What follows is simply a collection of day dreaming, real events, and pure imagination compiled all in the hope's of telling, what I hope will be an interesting narrative for all to hopefully enjoy!

[djspectre]

THE HIN RECKONING
by Tony Machin (aka, djspectre)

Prologue, Pt. 1


The Underdark. While self-described as far as location, it's a realm nearly inexplicable in concept to those not familiar with it's legendary reputation. It is here, in these endless caverns, tunnels, subteranean mountains and vast black seas, that the most fearsome and dangerous of all of Toril's sentient races reside. From the violent Drow elves to the hideous anti-magic Beholders, from the Duergar to the all-powerful Mind Flayers, from simple wolves to the virutally unknown creatures known as Aboleths.

It is here that adventurers often test their mettle, usually never to return to the surface, caught by the Underdark's ever changing terrain, slain by an unimaginablely powerful beast, or forced into slavery.

For the Underdark is an unforgiveable underground realm, one that should not be underestimated and should often be feared. There are few places of safety and even fewer allies to be found here.

Despite this seemingly inhospitable world of endless peril, there is a bastion of hope - a city known as Sanctuary.

Long ago, a reclusive race of deep gnomes known as the Svirfeblin, built a great and wondrous city. The ingenuity of the Svirfeblin led to advances in magic and technology that rival even the greatest kingdoms of the surface world. It was these advances that allowed the gnomes to live in peace and safety, repelling even the strongest of assailants against the city.

Though with time, and secluded in mystery, the gnomes slowly left the city. Then without warning a mass exodus occurred and the city was abandoned. The powerful automatons of the city continued carrying out their duties without gnome presence. Cleaning, defense, maintenance all continued in mechanical fashion.

For centuries the city remained uninhabited. That is until, in typical racial fashion, a wayward group of humans discovered it. On the run from their Drow captors, exhausted, lost and without hope, they took up refuge in safety of the walls.

Using it as a refugee camp for escaped slaves searching for a way home, they quickly laid claim to the town, it's machines, and unwittingly, inheriting it's dark mysteries.

[djspectre]

Prologue, Pt. 2

The fledgling community survived an astounding century and a half, One hundred and fifty-three years to be precise. It had flourished, if that is even an appropriate word considering the locale of such a town, as many inhabitants still had not found a reliable way back to the sun-warmed surface lands. Transformed into a motley conglomeration of unlikely alliances. Elegant Elves, grumpy  dwarves, gregarious hin, emotional humans, gem hungry gnomes and socially awkward half-orc's all lived shoulder to shoulder, good times or bad. Even kobolds had a political presence.

On first consideration, any sane and intelligent person would assume that this group of uncoordinated social cross-breeds would have failed long ago. Easily preyed upon by highly organized and vastly more powerful races. Yet not even the gods could have foreseen how such a completely backward fashioned society would form a radically unorthodox and, ultimately, supreme force in an unseen war of wills.

Somehow the human-led political groups held the city together and it's enemies at bay. The city council ruled over all other groups. Governing the Watch in matters of defense and civil order, the Spellguard in matters of the arcane, the Seekers in their quest to find safe passage to the surface among other groups, both pious and practical.

But as one could imagine, yes....oh yes. This city was ripe for story. For there was more to this little town than would appear. Deception, treachery and despair collided with hope, righteousness and honesty.

Fueled by an uneasy self-unity and seemingly unbreakable spirit of it's people, the city of Sanctuary is a city that has been forever etched into the history of the world. Of all the great cities across time, the Nethril's, the Saloh's, Sanctuary has been called the greatest city ever by more than just the ambitious and colorful performers and poets of the world, but rather the gods themselves even have a special place in their hearts for 'The Forgotten City' as they have come to call it.

Who I am is not important. What is, is that I can safely say that in the 300 years after it's return to the surface, that Sanctuary, even in it's demise, did more in 3 years than any single society has ever done in the history of the immortal gods.

And Toril, will forever be a better place for it.

All because of the Hin Reckoning.

[djspectre]

Prologue, Pt. 3

So where do we begin. Yes, a proper start is needed to a tale so grand for a people often called so small. Small in stature but often overlooked in their size of the hearts, minds and even...well..lets just say not all hin's are proportional. Ale and celebration is what I describe of course! What else could you be thinking, hmmm? Naughty little mind you have!

Rambunctious and usually jovial hins love nothing more than to enjoy the company of good friends and family. Even annoying in-laws. We enjoy our fields and plains. Hills with tall grass and a few decent animals to hunt occasionally with a cool crisp stream to enjoy our catch over a crackling fire with the stars over-head is all we need to truly be happy. Fine, I'll concede having a pint of lager also helps too!

But I digress now it seems.
So with all this talk of hins, its only appropriate to begin our story with what else? A human. Sadly, humans have inserted themselves into just about every aspect of life both above ground and below. So it is not surprise that they are part of this tale as well.

Humans where do I start with them. They are an unpredictable race. They seem to, oddly, embrace and exhibit signs of just about every other race known. They can be wondrous tale tellers, pious and wise as elves, stout and stubborn as dwarves, unpredictable and uneducated as orcs, greedy, ambitious, lazy, annoying, mutable and ever changing, yet all this change has to happen in the very short lives they lead.

Now, as all good tale tellers must do, I must relinquish my own embellishment and allow the story to tell itself, just as all eternally crafted legends and myth's do.

[djspectre]

Chapter 1

The Dark Lake. Quite a foreboding place if not properly prepared for it. For even the most stout heart of sailors would tremble at the thought of the creatures lurking in these depths. Eyeless fish, long evolved to the lightless waters, are only the tip of the vast differences between this lake and those along the surface. Below its ebbing and cresting tides, along it's black shores and above in the frigid still air are things not spoken of, out of fear and superstition of bringing death to your deck.

Though despite an infinite source of terror, these waters have been disturbed by the dauntless spirit of humanity this night. For the the blanket of darkness is broken on the horizon, a ship adorned with countless torches, resounds with the sound of battle!

The ship, grand in size and inspiringly adorned with dark elf carvings including a wicked and intimidating sculpture of Llolth, the vile spider goddess of the cruel Drow, at the fore, dwarfs a much smaller, seemingly insignificant svirfneblin ship along side it.

On the deck, below the massive black sails that are eclipsed in color only by the void-like shade of the many dead Drow laying on the deck, their stark white hair stained in their own blood as it runs off the wooden planks and into the dark waters below.

Standing over their bodies, weary and battered, some clinging to life with barely more than a breath, are the victors in what was a truly difficult battle. A human woman, slight in build, a twinkle in her eye and ruby red hair flowing from under her helm and down her blue and black embroidered cloak and leathers, surveys result of the carnage.

A nimble halfling swiftly climbs the main mast into the crows nest, while below at the helmsman's station, a wounded dwarf clad in yellow and silver armor, lay quietly as another fellow dwarf dressed in similarly colored armor performs several incantations, invoking one of the many beloved Mordinsmen gods names, healing his wounds one at a time.

Several elves gather themselves at the rear, battered, but still radiant in appearance as elves always seem to be, holding pendants to the noble god of Eilistraee while giving thanks.

To the ruby haired woman's left is an exhausted half-orc male, he slumps to the deck, a Drow sailor still impaled on the end of his double-bladed sword. With a tired grunt, he lifts his massive boot and shoves the elf off the weapon, landing with a wooden thud.

To her immediate right is an open hatch leading down to the lower levels of the ship, whereupon a scraggly looking hin suddenly pop's his head out from.

"Ruby! Ruby!" the hin shouts between exasperated breaths, either from fatigue or the perpetual excitement that has often defined his race for eons.

The red haired woman glances down at the hin, "And?" she says with anticipation in her voice.

"You simply won't believe the amount of gold I found down here! Granted, I had to slit the throats of the two Drow guards and then deal w--", his chatter is cut off, by Ruby's insistence.

"But what about--"she in turn is cut off by a huge grin on the hin's face as he springs up from the hatch onto the deck.

"We've got, literally, an entire boatload of 'em. An' we got the ship ta boot now." He grins again, quickly wiping down his short sword and tucking it into his waist. "We saved 'em all this time, Ms. Cannonball."

Ruby's face lights up with huge smile, showing off her nearly perfectly white teeth

She quickly turns to address the others aboard the ship, resting her hand in a tiny satchel at her side.

"Comrades, friends and more importantly, victors, we have done more today than simply defeat a group of Drow, we have given ourselves even more freedom. Freedom that even our founder would be proud of. With the capture of this ship, we give ourselves the ability to search for a way home in way's we previously could not. More importantly, we have given freedom to the hundreds of slaves who lay in chains below this very deck."

She suddenly yanks a fist-sized stone from the tiny satchel and holds it up in the air.

With a rousing boost in the tone of her voice, she raises the stone above her head, the torchlight reflecting off the glittering inscription engraved on its surface.

"We are from Sanctuary! We will not go quietly into the night! I Ruby Cannonball will FOSTER FREEDOM!"

And with that she gives a victory cheer that all on board join in. Each raising their stones in the air as well revealing that each inscription is actually the owners name, declaring their citizenship of the town of Sanctuary.

The wounded dwarf raises his stone in his bloody hand, spitting on a dead drow to his side, "Aye, an' Rollo Stoneshield shall raise me stone ta that missy!"

The dwarf tending to Rollo's wounds raises his stone, "Where me kinfolk kin do da most help, we shall, and I Akevitt Anvilsmasher shall bring the fury of the Mordinsmen with us!"

The tired half-orc raises his stone in his huge hand, "Zumbak like what little woman say!" accompanied with a bestial roar his enthusiasm adds to the din of the crowd, each holding their stone in hand.

The sound of the joyous occasion reverberated across the still waters eventually swallowed up by the dank air.

[djspectre]

Chapter 2

 
  The Rock Bottom. That's what the sign outside the door says. A tongue-in-cheek name, for certain. for this inn, built in the center of Sanctuary, an island as it would be, with bridges spanning the surrounding chasm. Sharing space with the much larger town hall structure and a massive stairway leading to an upper cavern where the main gates to the city lie.

  The lanterns hanging outside the inn seem to have their light almost swallowed whole by the absence of light in the caves this city is carved out of. Though, beyond the bridges and island, other similarly lit buildings can be seen dimly. Torches, magically lit crystals and a myriad of other illuminating odds and ends dot the bleak landscape of the city. Casting shadows over the rocky terrain and soot-covered, bedraggled patrons, proved that while this town was able to survive, it was not a beacon of higher civilization.

  The dancing flames of the lantern's outside the inn, flickered over the chips, cuts and dings that the exterior of the inn had suffered, likely from raids or attacks from the Underdark's more vicious sentient beings. The inn had stood like a rock as its name implied, but it was still at the bottom of the world, quite literally.

  Inside was not much more jovial. Despite a fairly large number of people spread through it's expansive main level pub, the mood is morose and sobering, even if the patrons are not even on the same continent as sobriety.

  A middle-aged and battle worn man with a peg leg wipes down the bar surface calmly as a scrawny and unshaven patron simply stares into the bottom of an empty tankard, drooling slightly.

  "C'mon Rak, juuuuusst one more! It'sss been a hard day, ya know" the patron pleads with the bartender through dilated eyes and slurred speech.

  "Every day in the Underdark's hard, you'll get no sympathy from me about that part." Rak quickly retorts, itching the seam where his thigh meets it's wooden extension. "Besides, you ain't been able to pay full price for an ale in weeks. This is an inn and pub, no charity from here." He swipes the empty tankard and motions for the patron to head out.

  The patron grabs the edge of the bar and pushes off of it, trying to steady himself as he stands. He turns around and before he takes a single step, his eyes close drunkenly and he collapses to the floor.

  With a dull thud, his body lands in front of a boot and armor-clad pair of small feet.

  The owner of the armored feet lets out a disappointed sigh. "I don't think I will ever understand the constant compulsion to drink one's self into oblivion."

  Attached to the feet is a sturdy looking hin with plate armor adorned with Dunwarren runes, a sturdy looking hand axe at his waist and a grey and blue shield strapped to his arm. The halfling carries a stern look on his face with his blond hair pulled back in a ponytail and a pendant with two crossed swords hangs around his neck.

  "And I'm sure no one will ever understand your religious devotion either, mister Drin." The bartender grins in jest at the halfling as Drin comfortably takes a seat on the far end of the bar.

  Rak motions to a armored man standing in what appears to be some sort of uniform near the entrance to the inn. "Private Durris, could you get this man outside. People are gonna trip over him."

  The private grumbles and scowls slightly before slowly walking over, grabbing the patron by the arms and dragging him out of the pub.

  Drin withdraws a few coins from a pouch tucked under a dark grey cloak and sets them before Rak.

  "What'll you be having today? An Ale? Maybe some Azure wine?" The bartender laughs heartily at his own joke.

  "A bottle of Rothes Milk, if you have it. I'll pass on the illegal, hallucinogenic Drow wine for now." He smirks humorously as Rak takes his coins, reaches under the counter and produces a bottle of milk.

  Drin nods thankfully and takes a large gulp before letting out a satisfying sigh and glancing around the pub as its patron’s basque in the glow of the faint blue light provided by glowing crystals ensconced in makeshift chandeliers.

  Private Durris returns to his post inside and closes the door behind him. Several people descend a large stairwell in the middle of the rear wall from the inn's rooms upstairs.

  A Halfling woman with bright pink hair and a green cloak sits at a small table reading a book quietly by light of a single candle.

  In a distant corner a pale, black haired woman with a black cloak gently runs a smoothing stone over an impressive bastard blade, while sitting with her feet propped up on the table amid many empty tankards.

  A mixed group of humans and elves sit around a large table talking calmly about the days events.

  Finally, a thin and wry halfling walks weakly down the steps of the central staircase, his over sized robes are riddled with holes and the colors faded far from the glorious purple and gold they once were. Obviously, they must have been found in some back alley, discarded by someone less fortunate than even this sad soul.

  Still despite his condition, he tries to maintain some semblance of dignity as he sits in the seat of the formerly drunk patron.

  The Halfling then draws a single coin from under his ragged clothing and gently lays it on the bar surface.

  “What will that get me?” He raises his bloodshot eyes towards Rak who simply reaches behind the bar and produces a jar of spring water.

  “Not much else I can offer for that, little lad.” Rak takes the coin and opens the jar for the Halfling who, with shaking hands, lifts the jar to his dry lips and drinks contently.
  Drin peers at the Halfling a moment, his eyes twittering slightly. After a few seconds, a small smile appears on his face and he stands up and changes seats, sitting next to the ragged hin.

  Drin reaches into his coin pouch and produces a small handful of coins and lays them on the bar.

  “Rak, please fetch this hin a hot meal and some stew if you could.”

  “Sure thing,” Rak says as he hobbles over and collects the coins and then disappears through a doorway at the opposite end of the bar.

  The ragged Halfling glances up and offers a courteous nod and a thin smile.

  “I thank you greatly, sir” He returns to sipping his jar of water.

  Drin takes a brief sip of his milk, “What is your name, hin?”

  The Halfling takes a brief moment to swallow his drink, straighten his posture and clear his throat and with seemingly great effort, utters, “I am Frubo Hill, master arcanist and explorer.”

  His posture slumps somewhat and his brief moment of pride fades as quickly as it appears. “Or at least I was. Now, look at me.”

  Rak appears through the doorway again with a  steaming leg of beef and a bowl of barrelstalk stew. He sits the dishes in front of Frubo who eagerly takes a huge bite from the leg of beef and begins sucking down the stew.

  Drin smiles slightly at the obvious delight in the meal Frubo is having and takes a sip of his own drink.

  “Is it safe to assume that you’ve recently arrived here?”

  Frubo glances over at Drin, a bit of meat hanging from his chin. He quickly pushes the dangling bit into his mouth and swallows. “Recent, yes, but I…I cannot be certain specifically how long I have been here….”

  Rak then chimes in, “Near as I figure, he’s been here less than a week. Came in a couple of days ago with barely enough coin for a bed.”

  Within moments, Frubo has picked the bone clean of any edible bits and licked the last of the broth from the stew bowl. He finally washes it all down with the vast majority of the water in the jar.

  With a satisfied exhale, he wipes his mouth looks back to Drin. He glances down at the pendant of the two crossed swords hanging from his neck. “The holy symbol of The Wary Sword. You are a servant of Arvoreen, are you not?”

  Drin runs his hands over the pendant briefly before tucking the pendant away under his breastplate. “It is and yes, I am a Shieldarm of The Wary Sword.”

  Frubo straightens his posture slightly, again wiping his mouth. “I was not aware that hinfolk held such holy orders among them.”

  Drin finishes his milk, nodding to Rak that he can reclaim the empty bottle. “You would be only partially correct in your statement. But at the moment, let’s just be concerned about getting you proper clothing. I doubt that wearing such tattered rags will lend much credibility to a ‘master arcanist’.”

  Frubo glances at the poor condition of his clothing and concedes a nod. “Yes, these do seem to have lost whatever little charm they had before.” He sighs slightly, “though I have no coin or items to barter for proper apparel.”

  Drin stands and offers him a small pouch of coins. “Don’t worry about that. Come, I’ll show you.”

[djspectre]

Chapter 3

 Drin leads Frubo over one of the stone bridges to a small market to the south of the inn. While compact with few vendors, a steady stream of patrons conduct business buying and selling items.
 
  An elderly woman easily in her 50’s tends to her booth with gentle care, hanging leathers, small weapons and archery supplies from the roof of her store. Beyond her is a garishly dressed gnome with a huge sweeping mustache that he can’t seem to stop twirling as he sorts dozens of vials according to the color of the liquids they contain on his tables.
 
  “So, have you been here long? What can you tell me about this…town?” Frubo asks, his eyes darting around the people as they walk past them.
 
  “I’ve been here only a few months myself, but this town is called Sanctuary. Near as I can tell it’s got four main levels, all split into several wards. The section we’re in now is known as Upper Sanctuary. The section above us has the Main gate and several paths out into the Underdark wilderness. Below us is Lower Sanctuary and the Canal Ward. There’s an old deep gnome drainage system below even that, but its not some place you really want to go alone.” Drin guides them through the throng of tallfolk until they reach yet another bridge at the south end of the market.
 
  Frubo peers over the edge into the dark chasm below, the faint outline of buildings of Lower Sanctuary can be seen against the feeble torches that light them.
 
  “So then precisely why are there so many people here? The Underdark, from what I understand isn’t really a place for hin, or elf or man.”
 
  Drin leads Frubo across the bridge, turning left at the end of it and following along a row of buildings that span into the darkness as far as the eye can see.
 
  “Most are people who’ve somehow escaped slavery and captivity by the other races that live in the Underdark. Others were born here, whole generations of human families have lived and died here. And yet others still seem to have been fated here, either by their lust for adventure or unfortunate circumstances.”
 
  “So if they have escaped captivity, why have they not gone home to the surface?”
 
  Drin chuckles slightly at the mention of getting home, “Because no one knows how for sure. The Underdark suffers from tremors and large magical distortions. The caverns shift endlessly, making mapping of certain regions nearly impossible. Local legend holds that one of the city’s founders, a Frederick Bresley, found a way out, but his logs and journals were lost as were the whereabouts of Bresley himself. A group known as the Seekers, continues pursuing clues he supposedly left behind. Many consider the Seekers fanatics, but they do also actively pursue the task of freeing captive slaves they come across, which makes them heroes to many here. Ah, here we are!”
 
  Drin stops before a building with an ornate sign that says Brem Blazon Tailoring. He pushes open the equally ornate and dark wooden door and motions for Frubo to enter.
 
  The interior is draped with every color of cloth imaginable, though the vast majority of the clothing is in earth tones of tan, brown, green, slate, gray, cream and black. Racks and racks of tailoring materials line the walls and even hang from the low ceiling. Along the walls are small alcoves of pristinely maintained mirrors next to which a mannequin stood.
 
  Frubo and Drin both approach pair of sewing benches near the center of the room where a middle aged man works intently on a wolf skin garment with his back to them.
 
  “Pardon me, sir.” Drin states politely tapping on the front of the sewing bench, his head and Frubo’s barely visible above the tabletop.
 
  The tailor turns around, squinting slightly before spotting their faces at the edge of the table. With a half-hearted smile, “Ah hello there. Decided that Ghail’s prices are a bit out of touch and so now you come to ol’ Brem for something ‘cheap’?” He folds his arms in a sort of sad irritation at their presence.
 
  “No, that is not the case. I simply wish for fine clothes worthy of my friends arcane talents is all.” Drin then gestures to Frubo’s poor clothing.
 
  The look at Brem’s face changes to that of disgust. “I do not make clothes that look as if they have been chewed on by rats and insects! Get out this instant!” He stomps his foot angrily and points towards the door.
 
  Frubo looks at Drin with concern, as Drin furrows his blond brow slightly raising his hands to calm the obviously discontent human tailor.
 
  “Friend, I did not say, nor was I attempting to imply, in any manner that your craftsmanship was in anyway poor. I was simply asking to purchase a –new- set of clothing for my friend. I have seen your wares worn by other fine folk of this ward and wished to outfit him in equal luxury.” His tone was calming and sincere and his expressive eyes confirmed the Halflings true intent.
 
  At this Brem, could not ignore and he slowly relaxes his stance and expression. “My apologies, it has been a rough year, what with the shortage of Rothe and proper dyes and all. Of course, I have many samples made for folks of your stature in the next room, please feel free to browse at your convenience.” He begins to bow slightly but then stops abruptly and looks squarely at Frubo. “Provided you have ample coin.”
 
  “I will cover his needs,” Drin then motions for Frubo to head through a doorway off to the side. “Just pick out something that suits you.”

[djspectre]

Chapter 4

   Moments later the pair of hins exit the tailor. Frubo, smiling from ear to ear, runs his hands over his freshly purchased robes. The royal purple color linen is accented with gray fur trim and silvery cuff’s along the sleeves. His hairy feet are now covered in gray slippers and a gray rope is tied around his waist to keep the robes closed.
 
  The two cross back over the bridge and back into the market place where people are shuffling about and talking quickly
 
  Frubo turns to Drin with a look of confusion, “What’s going on?”
 
  “I’m not sure.” He responds, glancing up at people rush past him, all heading in the same direction.
 
  The pale woman with the black hair and cloak from the inn rushes past them. “Watch it, shorties!” she barks out, nearly tripping over them in her rush.
 
  “Where is everyone heading?” Drin calls out to the pale woman, she glances back briefly. “They made it back. They got the ship!” she calls out before continuing on.
 
  Drin’s eyes widen somewhat, as he lets out a sigh of surprise. “Oh my, they did it. Come!”
 
  He grabs Frubo’s arm and drags him alongside while they follow the crowd.
 
  The Canal Ward. A bustling area with sea merchants, farmers and various traders. The few docks that are present are fashioned from not wood, but stones that have been piled up all the way from the depths of the canal body that flows into the center of the ward. And while few ships are ever docked here, usually out of fear of an invasion from more hostile societies, they are functional nonetheless.
 
  The extremely moist air gives life to the many varieties of moss and fungus growing along the stony pathways and buildings. In one quadrant of the ward, where the foliage is thickest, a group of druids have taken up residence, using the abundant plant life to make a quiet and serene home. In steep contrast, and on the opposing quadrant, a large cave opening can be seen with several hearty dwarven figures enjoying ale and singing dwarven songs outside the entrance.
 
  Perched on top of a hill not far from the druid camp is a watch house, overlooking the canal waters and providing space for the dockworkers to rest and relax. The structure itself having been there for centuries under svirfneblin control still serves its purpose as control tower of the canal. On a hill on the opposite side of the ward, stands a towering storage depot with large chains and numerous warnings posted not to enter.
 
  [FONT="]But it is not these buildings that have gathered the attention of the townsfolk, it is the Drow ship under the command of Ruby Cannonball that has docked and is distributing the Drow booty found board the ship that has all the citizens captivated.
[/FONT]
 
Ruby leaps from a rope ladder on the side, landing on the dock with a gentle clatter of her gear and is instantly greeted by well-wishers and other people cheering.
  “My gift to the city of Sanctuary!” She smiles and gestures to the boat as its new crew off-load crates and chests to the waiting hands of the dock hands. The crowd shouts its approval, chanting praise to the Seeker organization.
 
  Standing calmly amid the throng of people is a human man with long white hair contrasted against an otherwise youthful face. He has a slender frame about him and his features and robes seem precisely placed, obviously a great deal of thought is taken with all he does. His blue eyes seem to be gleaming with joy, though his expression is more subdued, refraining from joining the celebration at hand, instead simply observing.
 
  Beside him stands a portly gnome with a single eyepiece wedged in one eye socket. He seems preoccupied with examining a small fragment of metal in his hands at the moment, oblivious to the crowd and noise around him.
 
  Ruby makes her way to the pair pulling off her helm, letting the full length of her bright red hair smiling at the pair.
 
  “Grey.” She says warmly. The white haired man extends his hand to her, shaking it in a congratulatory fashion. “You finally did it. I honestly can say I am impressed. And a drow Intrepid-class as well. I don’t imagine that it was an easy task.”  A genuine smile breaks the surface as he speaks to his obvious friend.
 
  Her joyous demeanor fades somewhat. “We lost the paladin Dell as well as Seeker Quadra.”
 
  Grey’s smile fades somewhat. “I suppose that is a small price to pay for the freedom of so many. They knew the risks.”
 
  Ruby nods solemnly swatting her hair from her face and glances down at the gnome who’s still examining the bit of metal.
 
  “You’re not even going to say hi?” Ruby states sarcastically, her hands resting on her hips, glaring at the gnome. When he doesn’t respond, she finally shouts, “Denten!”
 
  “Oh!” jarred out of his near trance he looks up at Ruby “Nothing but fools gold, completely worthless.” He tosses the chunk of metal haphazardly and pockets the examiners eyeglass.
 
  Ruby tilts her head to him expectantly. “Oh and yes, hello, welcome back Ruby. I see you got the ship,” he quips.
 
  “Glad to see you’re so excited to know about all the slaves that were also aboard,” she snaps back sarcastically.
 
  “Well it was logical to assume that you would have mentioned those up front, but seeing as you are often quite illogical, such as likely was your plan of attack to procure this ship, I will assume that your lack of statement of the presence of slaves was simply an oversight.” He waddles up to the side of the ship on the dock examining it.
 
  Grey sighs slightly, “Denten, that was a bit harsh don’t you think?”
 
  The gnome ignores him and continues inspecting the craft occasionally.
 
  “Look out below!” shouts Rollo Stoneshield from the aft of the ship as part of the side of the ship is lowered, exposing the slave quarters below the main deck, and slamming down with a thunderous slap on the dock.
 
  Hundreds of frightened and poorly fed slaves shield their eyes from the light of the torches and light crystals surrounding the ship. Still huddled together, it’s a motley group and disparaged group, so many spirits and minds broken here. Most have little more than the rags on their backs to keep them warm as they are ushered off the boat by Akevitt and Zumbak.
 
  “Come. Safe here. No ugly elvies here.” Zumbak states plainly, his deep, deep half-orc voice resonating even above the din of the excited crowd. He grins at each of them with a fang filled grin. Several children cling to their mothers upon such a display, staying as far from him as they can as they leave the ships bowels.
 
  “E’eryone ‘ead down tha docks an’ follow the Seeker folk in tha blue cloaks. They’ll get yer names an’ help ya get settled ‘ere. Nothin’ ta fear here folks.” Akevitt assures the scared slaves as he guides each one further down the dock, his helmet now removed showing off his graying hair and beard and the aged face of this noble looking dwarf. Slung across his back is a large double edged axe and a finely forged shield of silver and gold, with a heart-shaped insignia emblazoned on it to match the one also etched into his chest plate.
 
  As Akevitt scans the lines of freed slaves, he narrows his eyes slightly and then suddenly grabs his head in agony.
 
  “Argggh!” he grunts loudly. Ruby, Grey and Rollo all quickly turn in response.
 
  “Faenor!” Rollo shouts and leaps from the boat onto the dock without hesitation and rushes to his kin’s side!
 
  Just then Drin, who apparently has just arrived with Frubo, also grabs his temples in pain, dropping to one knee, nearly unable to stand.
 
  “Drin!” Frubo grabs his arm, trying to steady him.
 
  Ruby and Grey spin around to see Drin’s face contort into an expression of determination as he draws his hand axe from his waist and pushes it against the stone dock using it to force himself upright again.
 
  “There be somethin’ vile ‘ere, somethin’ o’ pure evil,” Akevitt growls as he continues to rub his head.
 
  “I feel it too,” Drin utters between painful gasps.
 
  Ruby’s hand instinctively goes for her rapier as she quickly scans the crowd. “Where? Who is it?”
 
  “I cannae tell, lassy. Its nearby, but its nearly overwhelmin’ me divine sight. Cannae see nothin’, blindin’ me.” Akevitt shakes his head trying to clear the effects of whatever is causing his pain.
 
  One of the slaves, his head and face concealed by a rotting hood, looks back at Drin and then Akevitt as they writhe in pain. For a brief moment, torchlight strikes his face, revealing a tiny, vicious smirk across his lips. From under his clothes he extends a frail, black skinned hand with fingernails that appear to have been sharpened into points, pulls his hood close to his face and silently disappears into the crowd of people.

[djspectre]

Chapter 5

     After a short time, Drin relaxes his facial expression and Akevitt opens his eyes letting out a sigh of relief.
 
  “Are you alright Faenor?” Rollo quietly asks. “Aye, I be just fine kin, though a might disturbed.” Akevitt responds slowly, gathering his composure again. “Lets get these ‘ere new arrivals some place safe.”
 
  The Seekers, the dwarves and Zumbak finish getting the passengers off the boat and seal up the cargo hold.
 
  Drin stows his handaxe and stands up, Frubo looks at him curiously. “What was that all about?” he asks quietly.
 
  “Akevitt and I have a kind of divine sight. We can sense the effects of a person’s decision on their soul. If a person has made wicked choices we sense one thing, if they have made virtuous choices we sense another.” Drin scans the new arrivals as they are gathered together and their shackles unlocked by Grey and Ruby.
 
  “The more vile or virtuous a person is, the stronger the sensation. If caught off guard, a powerful presence can overwhelm us, effectively blinding us. Someone or something that was on that boat has a heart of coal, which can only mean bad things for the city.” He looks Frubo square in the eye with all seriousness.
 
  Drin approaches Ruby and taps on her hip. “Hello Ruby.” He asks politely. She finishes unshackling the last of the slaves and turns to him, smiling.
  “Well hello Drin. How are the Greycloaks these days?” she asks, tucking the shackles key away in one of a number of pouches around her waist.
 
  “They’re quite well. Lem has the majority of us helping the Society at the moment, but other than that things are quiet at the moment. I do have a question about these new arrivals thoughâ€"“ He’s cut off by her placing her hand on his shoulder, her expression turning somber.
 
  “We didn’t find them. I’m sorry. We even asked if anyone had seen them while they were in Drow city.” She shakes her head sadly and lets out a sympathetic sigh. She bends over, meeting him eye to eye, “We’ll find them. Eventually, I promise.”
 
  “Yes, perhaps. Another day, another chance.” He lowers his eyes to the ground slightly.
 
  Drin shoulders sink slowly in subtle sorrow as he thanks her and leaves. After a few steps he straightens his posture and regains his composure.
 
  Ruby’s pulls her red hair back behind her ear as she stands up. Grey joins her in her gaze watching Frubo follow Drin as they walk towards the edge of the district.
 
  “Not to sound pessimistic, but you realize that they are likely long dead.” Grey states plainly. Ruby gives him a slight sideways glance before returning her gaze to the Halflings.
 
  “He’s not giving up hope and neither should we.” Ruby lets her voice trail off as she turns back and begins giving instructions to the new arrivals about the city and what they have as far as options available to them.

[djspectre]

Chapter 6 (part 1)

       Nighttime in the Canal Ward. With the bustle of the days events behind it, the ward settles into a more serene state as the majority of the residents have fallen into deep slumbers in their homes. The businesses and dock maintenance buildings all locked up, inspected occasionally, by the local militia acting as guards, known as the Civil Defense League, a training group for cadets hoping to earn favor and eventually become full fledged members of the Watch.
 
  The sounds of insects, mutated bullfrogs and the gentle sound of the canal waters lapping against the shores create a peaceful, if not somewhat depressing, setting.
 
  Few if any torches remain lit; the majority of the light coming from the Druid camp where their fire pit cooks a boar on a rotisserie.
 
  Amid the shadows, though, something lurked. A Halfling adorned in dark leathers and draped in a black woolen cloak silently moves between the buildings, dodging the glow of the few lanterns hung along the street.
 
  Every footstep carefully placed, every movement precise. The sound of footsteps across gravel alert him to a guard with a torch drawing near. Quickly, he dips below a pair of crates. His breathing now silent, he moves in opposition with the guard rolling from one crate to the next as the guard passes so that the shadow cast by the crates keeps him concealed.
 
  Peaking his head out, his hood and a mask covering his lower face, the light from the torch briefly illuminates his face. Along his left cheek and rising up to his nose are a pair of small scars.
 
  He adjusts his hood and turns and scurries away behind the back of the guard.
 
  The captured Drow ship sways gently in the soft tide, its dark artistic magnificence moored to the dock with heavy ropes, providing our stealthy Halfling the perfect method aboard.
 
  He nimbly scurries up the mooring ropes and leaps over to a rope ladder that has been partially retracted, and would typically be used to board the vessel while it was at sea.
 
  His footing slips and he grunts slightly, a sound that, faint as it was, managed to draw the attention of a passing guard. But the Halfling was quick as can be and managed to get up the ladder and out of sight before the guard was able to spot him.
 
  Aboard the ship now, the Halfling lets out a quiet sigh of relief. The ship, towering over the harbor bears witness to the entire district. For a moment the Halfling, takes it all in, admiring the landscape a moment.
 
  “What a view.” He mutters under his breath before moving towards a door leading to the captain’s cabin.
 
  The door is cast of solid wood with no windows or cutouts, just a single keyhole. The Halfling cocks his head and snorts. “You would think the Drow could come up with a better lock than a simple hook-and-latch style.” He inserts one of his tiny fingers into the keyhole and flicks his wrists in rotating motion. With a click the door opens slightly and he withdraws his finger, and enters.
 
  Down below, at the base of the hill where the harbormaster’s building resides, a light skinned elf with dark gray leathers, a longsword slung across his back, a hunting knife at his side and a long bow in his hand glances down at several footprints in the dust and soot. He glances up, the small amount of light from the distant torches reflecting off his cornea’s like a cat. His gaze follows the footsteps along the edge of the district and nimbly takes off following them.
  Moments later the elf arrives at the edge of several buildings where the Halfling was sneaking along earlier. He kneels down close to the ground, taking note of the various footprints.
 
  His eyes flit between the various tracks and, in an astoundingly efficient method, his mind sorts the ones of the constant guard patrols from the ones of the Halfling. After a few more moments he leaves and follows the path the Halfling took along the fringe of the district.
 
  Aboard the ship, the Halfling, quietly closes the door behind him and twists a ring on his finger.
 
  A gem in the center of the metal band glows faintly, but more than enough light to see by. He scours the room looking for something seemingly of great importance, opening cabinets, cupboards and small wooden boxes littered around the various shelves.
 
  Not finding what he wanted, he turns to leave when he spots a keg strapped into a far corner on a shelf. Several moments pass as he ponders the wooden barrel.
 
  With slightly exasperated sigh he mutters to himself, “Why not.”
 
  He snatches a goblet from one of the shelves and walks to the keg. Gently he turns the top of the spigot. At first nothing comes out, but when he reaches up and tilts the barrel forward slightly, a steady, albeit small, stream of ale flows into his waiting goblet.
 
  The cup filled, he tilts the keg back the way it was and stands straight up, pulling his mask down and sniffing the goblets contents.
 
  After a few seconds he takes a large drink of it. Instantly his face contorts into one of shock as he recoils slightly, swallowing hard. “Gods above…….this is fantastic!” His look of agony quickly changes to that of delight as he finishes off the goblets contents with another agonizing expression.
 
  As he leans down to refill his goblet, the light from his ring glints off something under the shelf the keg is resting on. He sets the goblet aside and gets down on his hands and knees. Slowly he extends his hand, illuminating the dark corner with his ring.
 
  Crumpled in the corner, stained by ale and dried sea water and half buried under dust and woodchips, lies a small piece of parchment, adorned with a broken silvery seal.
 
  With care, he pulls the parchment from under the debris and crawls out from under the shelf. Standing once more, he flips the parchment over, reading the short, but neatly inked message.
 
  “ ‘I have arranged for the Duergar to escort you to our settlement once you reach their dock. Upon arrival, leave word at an inn known as the Pissing Crone in the Lower ward for M and I will see that you are given what you require to carry out the details that we spoke of.’ “
 
  Slightly taken back by the letter, he flips the parchment over and folds the letter closed, placing the two halves of the seal next to each other.
 
  [FONT="]“I knew it,” he mutters to himself as he stares at the seal with the ornately sculpted letter “M” adorned upon it. [/FONT]

[djspectre]

Chapter 6 (part 2)

         From one of the tiny windows in the cabin, the Halfling catches a glimpse of the guard’s torch as he approaches the dock. The Halfling quickly stuffs the letter into his leather armor, grabs the goblet, downs the last of the ale and stuffs the goblet into a small pouch at his waist.  
 
  He twists is ring again and its light immediately dims as he quickly exits the cabin onto the main deck, closing the door quietly behind him. He once again sticks his tiny fingers back into the keyhole and flicks his wrist. Giving the door a test tug to ensure it’s once again locked, he moves to the edge of the deck.
 
  Carefully, he watches the guard approach and predicts his path based on the worn set of foot prints in the dust on the ground and following them around the ship to the side where he boarded.
 
  He takes a moment to think and then rushes to the fore of the ship where a single mooring line extends from the drow sculpture to land.
 
  After waiting for the guard to pass under mooring line, he swings himself onto the rope and, hand over hand, begins his quiet descent.
 
  Just then, the guard stops abruptly and turns around and makes his way back to the fore of the ship, stopping beneath the intimidating sculpture of Lloth extending over the dock.
 
  Suspended, directly above him hangs the Halfling staring down at him, the visor on the guard helmet blocking view of his face.
 
  The guard holds the torch towards the wooden figure. Even with the torch light, the dark surface of the figure seemed to retreat into darkness, it’s sinister chiseled edges along the face casting a shadow over its eye sockets.
 
  The smoke from the torch wafts up towards the Halfling. He tries to turn his head away from the smoke, but it seems to find his nostrils and fill his lungs anyway.
 
 
  The guard stares deeply at the statue, seemingly captivated by the wicked craftsmanship of the six long and highly detailed arachnid legs that wrap around the fore of the ship as if the ship has been ensnared by the spider queen herself.
 
  Unable to now breathe properly, the halfling lets go with one hand and reaches for his cloak to cover his face, but in doing so the goblet stashed in his leathers tumbles out.
 
  Time, it seemed for this Halfling, stood still. His eyes widened in horror as the corroded silver cup falls. It’s tiny hilt and simple base tumbling end over end on a collision course with the guard’s helm. And for a moment, he couldn’t help but stare. For in this instant it would all go wrong, his theft would be known and he would be inevitably arrested.
 
  Then, as if by instinct, he grabs the edge of his cloak and yanks it upwards towards his waist. At the same time he releases his other hands grip on the rope, his torso flopping into an inverted position. The goblet tumbles into the woolen fibers of his cloak which now has formed a makeshift satchel being held in place at his waist with his first hand.
 
  The goblet despite its descent being seemingly averted, rolls off the cloak. His other hand in motion, he nimbly snatches the goblet up with a tiny ‘clink’ as his ring makes contact with the metal stem.
 
  The guard suddenly turns his head upon hearing the sound. He looks across the area around the boat intently.
 
  From the vantage point of several nearby crates, the elf tracker watches intrigued.
 
  “By Corellon, what are you trying to do?” he mutters under his breath, chewing a small leaf before leaving his hiding spot and heading towards the two.
 
  After several long moments, the guard shakes his head and adjusts his helm.
 
  “Bloody Drow ship. Tis’ll be the end of us.” He grumbles as shudders and then lowers his torch and continues his patrol to the far side of the boat.
 
  The Halfling relaxes his posture significantly, obviously relieved he wasn’t detected. He tucks the goblet into his belt and does a back flip from the mooring rope to the ground.
 
  He quickly glances once more in the direction he last saw the guard. With a smug grin on his face, he straightens his clothing, secures the goblet and turns to walk away.
 
  Suddenly before him stood the elf tracker his bow now slung over his shoulder while he calmly eats another leaf. The Halfling leaps back, startled, drawing a small dagger instantly from his waist.
 
  The elf simply stands calmly chewing his snack peering down at the little man.
 
  “What in the nine hells is wrong with you Darkblade!” he exasperates at the elf. “Can’t you just approach someone like a normal person? Why do you have to go sneaking around all the time?”
 
  The elf runs his fingers over a small bundle of leaves that he holds in one hand, his expression remaining calm and unemotional.
 
  “Tarnis, I would appreciate it if you didn’t use my family name. It’s not something I’m entirely proud of. Besides, I prefer the simplicity of my first name.” he states simply as the Halfling recovers from his shock and stows his dagger in his belt.
 
  “But Kain is such an idiotic name for an elf.” Tarnis retorts.
 
  “When you are raised primarily by humans, you tend to have little choice in the matter.” He folds up the bundle of leaves and places them neatly in a small pouch attached to his belt.
 
  “You still haven’t answered my question, why are you sneaking up on me?” Tarnis snaps at him.
 
  “I could ask you the same, friend. After all it was you I watched dangling mere inches from being arrested…..yet again.” His eyes shift to the goblet briefly, “And for what, a Drow cup?”
 
  Tarnis glances down at the cup and then pulls his cloak around him, hiding it before burping slightly.
 
  “….and some Drow ale, from the smell.” Kain quirks a brow and folds his arms slightly. “I only followed you because I knew you would find it impossible to resist coming here. And I wanted to try and keep you out of trouble. As trouble tends to follow you everywhere you go.”
 
  “Look, I didn’t ask for your help and I wasn’t in trouble. You know as well as I do that this ship being here can’t be good.” He takes a quick look back at the vessel; it sways gently in the subtle tide of the canal. “So I came to check it out. And besides, I found something aboard it. Something big.”

[djspectre]

Chapter 6 (part 3)

         Kain looks down at Tarnis, letting out a slight sigh.

"You always have 'big' news. What makes this so different?"

Tarnis crinkles his scarred brow in obvious irritation, "Well, when I prove this one, you'll be singing a different song wont you!"

He pulls down his mask angrily, glares at the elf for a second and then turns his back on him, walking away.

Kain rolls his eyes, "Tarnis! I didn't mean it that way!" he says in a rather annoyed, yet apologetic, way as if this isn't the first time they've had this conversation.

Tarnis stops, refusing to turn around and look at the elf, "Then what did you mean?" he snaps.

Kain lowers his head slightly, tilting it to the side. He opens his mouth and sucks in a breath of air and is about to speak when he stops himself.

"Mmmhmm" Tarnis just stands there shaking his head to himself.

After a long pause, Kain eventually continues, "Consider the history you have here. How many times have you presented what you thought was evidence that would unravel one of your many conspiracies, only to have it shot down by proof to the contrary? Or worse yet, you lose your proof somehow. I want to believe you, I know you're heart is in the right place, but it's hard to fight the truth."

He pauses a moment before continuing, carefully thinking of what to say next.

"It's also hard for a lot of people to swallow....you're personality. You haven't been the same since your enthrallment," he says calmly shifting his eyes to the ground for a moment.

Tarnis whips around, "I'm still the same Hin, nothing has changed."

Kain tilts his head back to being upright, "What the Illithid do to people changes them, they mess with the very memories we have. And that's the least cruel thing they do. No one's mind can survive them."

Suddenly rage fills Tarnis' eyes as he approaches the elf, "Have you ever been held captive by them? Have you?!"

Kain looks down at him, calmly crossing his arms and blinking slowly, "No, I have n--"

The halfling stares at him straight in the eye, raising his voice, "Then don't even -try- to pretend that you know what it's like to be an experiment to them!! You didn't have to watch, with your eyes forced wide open, as they did--" he shudders in angry recollection of some dark distasteful memory, "--to her."

Tarnis inches closer to Kain, forcing  himself to stare nearly straight up. His face contorted with resentment.

"But they can break one's mind so easily. No one ever comes back from their city without permanent, irreparable damage." Kain states plainly.

"I am just a hin, a smart one, I've got a strong mind. Smarter than anyone else I've ever met. I survived them. I beat them! I watched as even members of your vaunted race, 'the mighty elves' fall to their tricks. But not me! Not me!" Tarnis' lips begin to quiver with anger as he literally spits his words out.

Kain takes a step back, Tarnis' hateful gaze still locked on him.

"Friend, I have no doubt that you are smart. I've seen the things you've built. I'm sure you could, in time, build wondrous machines that even the gnomes that once lived on these lands would be proud of."

He unfolds his arms and approaches the hin calmly, a note of sincerity to what he says carries along his soft and soothing voice.

"I trust that you are doing what you feel is right and by bringing these theories of yours to light, you keep everyone here on their toes. You're a good halfling, that much I gather. And its why I am your friend. Its just that, there are others here in Sanctuary, who are leery of any former slave of the Illithids. Especially considering the history of 'sleeper' spies that we've had. All of which were found with Illithid implants."

Tarnis lip stops quivering as he slowly calms himself, though his gaze persists.

Kain continues, "If I didn't believe that you were doing your best, I'd never have accepted your request to instruct you as a tracker. Its something my family kept very close to them. I trust you enough to let you know those secrets. If there is something to whatever you found, I'll help you get to the bottom of it."

He gently places a hand on Tarnis' shoulder, as a smile slowly appears on his face.

Tarnis' hardened gaze gradually softens and his shoulders relax, " I'm sorry. It's just I miss her a lot and I can't seem to do anything meaningful here except run for my life from whatever Ninesforsaken beast is trying to eat me at the moment." Tarnis pulls his hood back and runs his hands through his hair. Near the top of his skull, Kain notices a circular scar that Tarnis itches quickly and is once again obscured when he pulls his hood back on.

"Lets go to the Crone. Cyrus should have his new stock of ale ready by now," Kain suggests.

"Sounds good to me. Besides, I can use my new found goblet for it!" He grins producing the stolen goblet and giving it a loving look.

Behind them, at the dock, several pair of amphibious eyes poke through the waters surface. A few seconds later a webbed hand reaches up silently and clasps the edge of the dock. In one swift and graceful motion, the waters surface is breached as a slimy frogman sails through the air, over the dock and onto dry ground with a gentle thud.

"What was that?" Kain says as both he and Tarnis turn around just in time to see the frogman rushing them at incredible speed.

The frogman makes a lightening quick leap with it's powerful legs, landing on Kain, pinning him to the ground. Tarnis quickly drops his goblet and draws a small sword and a dagger from opposite sides of his belt.

"Grag Gree oo Go!" The frogman mutters in a gargly tone as it leans in, it's fang lined jaws dripping slime over Kains leathers, preparing to take a bite of his face.

Instantly, Tarnis leaps into the air with his poised for attack. The frogman's eyes, poised on each side of its head sees Tarnis' motion and strikes outwards with one of its muscular legs.

For a second, time froze again for the halfling. His eyes fixed on his target, he twists his body to the side as the slimy leg comes hurtling at him. The webbed foot, only grazing this torso.

Then with a rush, Tarnis lands on the ground, rolling in a ball avoiding a second kick, and positioning himself behind the creature. In one agile motion, Tarnis stands, his short blade finding it's mark in the inner thigh of the beast.

It howls its gargled anguish as he twists the blade, spinning backwards with his dagger in motion, burying it in the creatures opposite thigh. The creature drops to its knees, unable to support it's weight any longer in a crouched position and releasing it's grip on Kain.

Tarnis withdraws his blade and ducks as Kain raises both his legs and kicks off the torso of the frog man, sending himself sliding backwards through the gravel and the creature toppling over the halfling.

Tarnis stands and takes several steps back, readying his weapons again. Kain, nimbly kicks his legs in the air and flips upwards to his feet. In less than a blink of an eye, he has his bow, drawn, an arrow in flight and another knocked.

Tarnis barely has enough time to turn his head to see the first arrow sink into the frogman's chest before two more pierce it's skull.

The creature oozes blue-green blood from the wounds, before it staggers forward on it's knees and finally drops to the gravel with a thwump.

Tarnis turns, his blades still coated in frogman blood, "Where did -that- thing come from?"

Kain lowers his bow for a second as he begins to answer. His eyes suddenly go wide and he raises his bow in Tarnis' direction. "LOOK OUT!!" he yells, as four more frogmen, in sequence leap from the waters and land on the gravel, surrounding Tarnis.

All at once they converge on him, their talon-laden webbed hands reaching for him.

Kain quickly lets fly an arrow into the arm of the one closest to his friend. It gargles and turts to Kain, yanking the arrow from its arm then makes a powerful leap into the air, disappearing into the darkness of the caverns near endlessly tall ceiling.  

Tarnis grunts as he nimbly dodges the swipes and swings of the frogmen, each swing coming closer than the last.

In a near blur, Kain knocks and fires a half dozen more arrows into the darkness above him. He knocks one more when the frogman, riddled with arrows, falls dead at his feet with a thunderous thud that kicks up a cloud of dust upon impact.

Tarnis arcs his back acrobatically narrowly missing his face being taken off by a frogman hand full of talons. However, his luck runs out when he gets slashed in the side by one of the other frogmen. He tumbles away from the blow, blood oozing through his leathers.

Kain rushes through the dust cloud just as he spots Tarnis' wound.

"Tarnis!! Duck!" He calls out.

Tarnis glances up, but as he does he catches a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye.

That something would be, a huge, webbed, and monstrously strong pair of legs, extending towards him from a backwards crouched frogman.

It was then that Tarnis could feel his heart being pushed into his lungs and the rest of his organs slammed against his spine. The sound of his ribs being crushed from the force, reverberated deafeningly through his entire body. His little body crumpled over the impact spot on his torso, his weapons being torn from his hands as his body exponentially accelerated in speed, away from them.

And all Kain could do was watch in horror as his halfling friend sailed up through the air, over the dock and the mooring ropes, slamming into an undeployed sail mast and crumpling lifelessly, to the ships deck and out of view.  

[djspectre]

Chapter 6 (part 4)

         "NOOO!!!" Kain's yell, pained and loud, drew the remaining frogmen's attention.

His face contorts with rage as he knocks a pair of arrows and fires them at the nearest frogman. But they were even quicker, swatting his arrows with their webbed hands.

He backpedals and reaches for his quiver, but finds no more arrows. The realization distracted him long enough for one of the beasts to leap at him. At the last second he catches sight of the flying amphibian and quickly leaps out of the way, withdrawing the longsword at his hip from its scabbard.

"Vengence is my way!" Kain shouts as he lunges in with his sword. The frogman pivots slightly, the blade only glancing its side. With a powerful swing, the beast connects with Kain's face.

Reeling, he takes a blind swing with his sword, connecting with the frogmans hand, slicing the webbing between its fingers.

Though it’s snout and amphibious face are designed and formed for sea travel, and otherwise emotionless, Kain straightens, and narrows his eyes, noticing what he thinks is a grin on its face.

At a distance, the watchman guard patrolling the region, rounds the fore of boat once more, torch in hand. His jaw drops upon the sight of the elf battling the amphibians, whereupon he draws his sword and taps a small rod at his side with the hilt.

“Halt beasts!” He shouts as he charges towards the fray, waving his torch in their direction.

Kain spots the incoming assistance and quickly takes a defensive stance swatting at the charging creature as it fearsomely swats at his weapon.

The watchman drops his torch and grips his sword with two hands, the fear in his eyes obvious as his eyes flit wildly through his helm’s visor.

The four remaining frogmen leap into the air landing on all sides of the two heroes.

“Oh no!” the watchmen spits terrified from under his helm. “Focus!” Kain retorts, but it’s too late, the watchman takes several futile, wild swings with his sword at the nearest foe, missing, only to be slashed by not one, but two frogmen, his feeble chainmail shredded, helm knocked to the ground and finally a chunk bitten from his shoulder as one of the slimy beasts heaves his body lifeless at least a dozen yards from where he was once making his stand.

The dead watchman’s body slides limply through the dust, coming to rest at the base of a nearby ridge that hosts a pedestrian pathway.

Along the ridge pathway, walks the pale, darkly clad woman that Drin encountered earlier. Her sunken eyes shrouded by half closed eyelids, gaze blearily down into the docks area just as the dead watchman settles for good. Her black hair hangs along her sharply chiseled jaw line, acting as a simple accent against her otherwise well built frame of a body. Meet Corrine.

“What in the….?” She mutters shifting her view to further out where she sees the frogmen surround Kain.

Kain poises himself for another strike when his elven ears perk up suddenly. In the same instant that he turns to gaze at what has drawn his keen senses, he finds himself on the heel end of a squatted frogman.

It’s legs lash out at him with blinding speed. His reflexes take over, but they are a mere second too late.

He yanks his arms down to protect his torso, just as the strong heels of the creature pound into his chest. His body sails through the air, nearly to eye level of the darkly clad woman. She watches in amazement as he makes inadvertent eye contact with her as his head snaps backwards in the momentum of the blow.

Before Kain’s body lands, the other frogmen are already in motion, leaping towards his anticipated landing point.

Kain’s body slides through the dirt, but in a swift motion he is back on his feet, sword drawn.

The first of the hungering beasts lands before him, where he quickly thrusts with his sword, finding it’s mark in the beasts heart. It gurgles as it swats at him in desperation, but he easily avoids being struck.

The creature slumps to the ground dead.

His eyes glance to the cavern ceiling and furrows his brow when nothing appears.

A trio of thuds surround him once more.

He closes his eyes briefly as he knows his fate by now. In silence he lashes out with his weapon, missing. It is now that the remaining trio of creatures lunge in, each taking its turn slashing away at the elf.

He tries to defend himself, but their combined agility is far too great for him and he is finally brought to his knees, his leathers shredded, his body broken, his spirit crushed.

Finally, with one final blow, he is kicked in the chest. His body skitters through the gravel and dirt, until it stops at the base of the ridge.

Corrine sucks takes in a deep breath and tilts her head to the side where several loud cracking sounds sound as her upper spine pops in sequence down her back.

Through soot and blood, Kain raises his eyelids and glances at his hand, still gripping his sword.

“By….corellon….you shall…fall….” His words broke and forced, he tries to lift himself, but his strength fails him as one of the frogmen lunge in at him.

With heavy grunt Corrine backs up several steps and rushes forward.

Through blood streaming down his face, Kain glances up just in time to see Corrine's darkly clad and muscular figure come flying into view as she sails through the air from the ridge above.

With a loud slimly slap, she lands on the back of the frog man, quickly grabbing it by the neck, pulling it backwards as she slides down it's back.

The beast gurgles for breath, grabbing at her hands briefly and teetering backwards before flapping its gills open breathing through them instead.

Corrine just smirks, "I aint tryin' ta choke ya, ya slimy sod." She touches her feet to the ground, pivots her hips, and using her powerful arms pulls the beasts head around her side and across her chest, taking it down into the dust. Her obsidian eyes gaze into the beady eyes of the frog man for a second "I'm just gonna end your rothin' life." She smirks again and then violently twists its head all the way around.

"ROO GRA GICK GOO!" sounds off one of the beasts companions in Corrine's direction. She whips her head around, her slightly slimed hair swinging around, sticking to her lips. She angrily spits the hair out as she grunts and grabs the dead watchmans sword. "Your next" she snarls just before it leaps up into the darkness, allowing its companion rush at her. The frogman on the ground quickly runs towards her. Calmly, she adjusts her grip on the sword and stands up, running a slimy hand through her ebony hair, making an unfeminine-like guttural sound before spitting disgustingly.

Just then the Frogman who lept into the air, lands with a resounding thud behind her. Without hesitation, she spins around and with barbaric force slams the blade through it's chest up to the hilt and bursting out it's back. She takes her free hand and tries to grab its arm, but its slippery skin makes it impossible to grip.

She twists the blade and the creature howls in pain and instinctively lashes out with its taloned hands, cutting her across her face, chest and arms. Unflinchingly, she yanks the blade from the creature, spins and lops one of its hands, spins back and shoves her free hand into its gaping chest wound up to her bicep.

"You're uglier than I am!" she yells at it as she inhumanly twists her hand inside the beast, the veins on her arm bulging to capacity.

Kains swollen eyes go wide in total shock as he watches Corrine lift the creature off it's feet, turn and heave it into the other, advancing frogman. The wounded creature slaps against the other, pushing both of them back several feet.

"And I hate ugly things!" she yells, yanking her hand from within its chest cavity, innards strewn all over it. She grips the hilt of the sword with both hands, and rams the weapon towards the wounded one with freakish power.

The sword tears into it's snout, slices through the brain cavity, tearing the back of the skull off, crushing the snout of the one holding it, and finally impaling the skull of the second one on the weapon.



And all is silent. For good.



Kain, now splattered in frogman blood, flops his head back, eyes fixed on Corrine, the hilt of her borrowed sword buried in the face of the creature.

Blood gushes down her arm as the beast in the rear makes one final, pathetic gurgle, before slumping, dead.

She lets out a deep, heavy and guttural breath and yanks the sword backwards. The two frogmen, topple opposite directions at Kains feet.

She looks around briefly, her blood mixing with the amphibians which now engulfs both arms and most of her lower torso. Sensing no additional threats in the immediate area, she haphazardly tosses the sword into the dirt and approaches Kain.

She swats before him, resting her guts-covered hands on her knees and cocking her head to the side, spitting again before looking at him.

"You alive?" Her voice raspy and harsh, glancing over his wounds.

Kain adjusts his head position slightly, wincing in pain as he does, "I still draw breath madame, though it is painful."

He winces again, "But I am thankful for your help."

She cocks her head to the side, spitting, glancing at the dead watchman over the many frogmen corpses. "Yeah, I ain't keen fer watchin' folks git their guts spilt fer no reason other than walkin' about. I feel bad enough fer that fella." She jerks her head in the direction of the watchman, "But that aint ta say ya don't like rotheshit yerself."

Despite the harsh sound of her voice, there rings a sense of geniune concern, maybe even a twinkle in her eye that she is a sensitive type, but with a blink, it vanishes when she offers her hand. "Names Corrine."

Kain tries to lift his bloody and crushed hand to shake hers, but he winces severely. "My apologies if I simply state that I am known as Kain, madame Corrine. Though I fear my friend may not be as lucky as myself."

He motions weakly with his head in the direction of the ship and her gaze follows. "I thought I saw a short fella with ya. Frogmen git him too?"

Kain nods painfully. Corrine inhales to say something when there is a large cry from the ridge above, "By the Triad what happened?"

Corrine looks towards the ridge where several armed watchmen, a thin unattractive woman dressed in the traditional red and black Spellguard robes, and the source of the call; a tall mildly handsome man wearing a light colored cloak, polished breastplate with the holy symbol of Illmater, a pair of hands bound by red cord, emblazoned upon its surface.

Her eyes narrow in contempt upon seeing the Spellguard agent, shaking her head subtly before speaking.

"Lucius Westmore. This elf 'ere an' his likely bleedin'ta death friend on the boat deck, were attacked by these rothin' fishmen 'ere. Watchmen was dead 'fore I got 'ere. Poor sod."

Lucius' gazes down to the battered Kain. "I will tend to them, are you alright, madame?”

She swats her now gooey hair from her face irritatedly, “Nah, I’m fine, just take care o’ them, eh?”

The watchmen and Spellguard woman, quickly secure the area, by spreading out and clearing away the darkness left by the absence of the dead guard’s torch.

“Private Durris, search the other side of the boat, call out if you find anything” orders one of the female watchmen to the one that once guarded the Rock Bottom.

Through the visor of his helm, Private Durris scowls briefly, “Yes, sir” as he walks off into the distance. “But if I get lynched, I’m blaming you, Sergeant Marshal”

A previously unnoticed Halfling sized watchman snorts under his helm. His armor barely fitting him and his appropriately sized blade at his hip, “Trouble follows you, Durris, I’m sure this is somehow your fault anyway.” He chuckles slightly under his helm.

Durris snaps his head back towards the Halfling, “This coming from a Halfling where historically, any and all kinds of shit follows you from where ever your kind crawls out from under?  Piss off, Bungo.”

Durris turns back and continues following his orders, disappearing on the far side of the drow docked boat.

From the distance, a small ruddy looking Halfling with a crown of leaves and several clubs tied to a snakeskin belt, quickly lowers himself from a low hanging cave algae.

His eyes flit between the frogmen, the dead watchmen and finally the water.

“Something smells fishy, yes, yes, it does.” He states, running his hands over the slimy flesh of the dead fish men.

Corrine glances away from Lucius performing divine rites to patch the battered elf, to look at the Halfling.

“Well if it isn’t a Halfling mushroom humper of the obvious.” Her gaze hardens to one of annoyance, wiping off the fish guts from her hands.

The Halfling, turns his head upwards towards her and the Halfling watchman, Bungo.

“What are you getting at, druid?” Bungo asks, flipping up his visor and resting his small hands on his oversized belt around his waist.

“Gruff knows rats, rats come for food. Frogs are the same. Smell food in the water, yes, yes, blood in the water.” He nods several times quickly, glancing back at the water, standing upright on the ruptured chest of the gutted frogman.

“Well Gruff, only blood I see here is from the rothin’ elf an’ myself. The blue goo is theirs.  Aint sure how that makes them after us, since they caused the blood in tha first place.”

Gruff turns his near spectral eyes towards the boat, then to the water. He skitters over to the dock where he finds the wet footprints of where they first landed. He runs his hands through the puddles there, and then dips his hand in the water, tasting it, again his eyes flitting up to the boat.

“I aint got nothin’ against nature lovers an’ all, butâ€"“ Corrine complains before Bungo places a staying hand on her thigh.

“Gruff’s not your typical Hin, let him sort this out. Frogmen just don’t show up for no reason, this even - I - know.” Bungo states simply, effectively silencing Corrine.

Gruff, takes another taste of the water, muttering quietly to himself as he walks awkwardly down the dock, taking tastes of water as he goes.

Eventually he reaches the very edge of the dock, he reaches down to take a taste of the water, when he stops and stands up plainly.

“And Gruff knew the blood came from somewhere. No, not the woman of black, no, no. But the man in White, yes, yes.”

His eyes fixate on the rear of the ship, his head cocking to the side, a quick grin flashes as he nods and walks away as if nothing happened.

“Man in White?” Bungo mutters as he walks to where Gruff stopped walking, Corrine following.

The two of them reach the end of the dock and peer at the end of the boat. Corrine snorts, “Guess you got bigger problems now, watchman shorty”

“LUCIUS!” Bungo shouts, getting the attention of the priest, “We have a dead Councilor here!”

Brutally impaled with several long rusted metal spikes against the rear hull of the drow ship is the body of a portly man dressed in off-white robes, with a book titled “Laws of Sanctuary” pinned to his chest with a wicked looking dagger.

Bungo slams his visor shut and taps a rune on it’s side. The slit in the helm instantly lights up as he scans across the ward intently.

Off in the far distance, the dark skinned slave from the ship, ducks behind a rock high up on the ridge pathway and out of sight.

A small, satisfying smile forms on his lips.

“If only you fools knew the fate you face…..” his foreboding voice trails off as he calmly stands and walks off into the darkness of the caverns of the ward.

Meanwhile, on the deck of the Drow ship, Tarnis’s wounds continue to seep blood as he lays unmoving.

The thick red blood, gathers in a large pool. Eventually the pool grows large enough, that it dribbles along the seams in the boards until it reaches a knot in the wood where it again gathers slowly.

The knot, while a natural occurance in wood, has a small hole where the blood drains to the level below.

The blood drips from the hole onto the floor underneath it, where it again gathers and rolls, thick as can be to yet another gap in the floorboards.

Down it continues, layer after layer, board after board until it reaches the very lowest bowels of the ship, far below the slave hold and the kegs of ale and rum into a dark room, where it seems the very existence of light is forbidden on some cosmic level.

Therein Tarnis’ Halfling blood, thick in nature and drawn in the heat of combat, drips upon a dusty tome, long forgotten by even the Drow sailors of this vessel.

With a splatter, the blood clears the dust in tiny plume after tiny plume, revealing a corroded and ancient looking medallion embedded in the tightly drawn leather cover of the massive book.

Without warning, the book seems to absorb the blood as it drips on it, the medallion slowly changes color from gold to crimson where it begins to emit an eerie glow from under its cover.

After several more drops are ingested by the tome, it suddenly snaps open on it’s own to a page about one third of the way through. Then, with the very blood it absorbed, its pages mysteriously fill with an indiscernible writing.

[derfo]

smell

[djspectre]

Chapter 7

New Dunwarren.[FONT="Times New Roman"]
A sacred place in an otherwise unholy land. Carved out of the stone and perched upon a series of hills overlooking the residential district of Sanctuary that was excavated and restored only months prior.

Here, monks, priests, knights and followers of the holy human Triad consisting of Tyr, Torm and Illmater roam freely and peacefully. At the hills highest point, a pair of celestial like gates guard entrance to the sub-settlement, both flanked by city watchmen.

A myriad of buildings, both small and tiny, functional or not, dot this hill. But all dwarfed by two larger structures: The Temple of Tyr and the Society of the Ordered Mind's chapterhouse.

From the towering doors of ivory on the temple of Tyr, strides Drin, his grey and blue shield dutifully strapped to his left arm. Approaching, through the second gate, a trio of visitors. The first a brightly clad halfling. His clothing obnoxiously colorful in gold, orange and white, while his skin has an unusual coppery glow to it, both figuratively and somewhat literally, complimenting his perpetual smile and similarly colored eyes. Meet Drago "Copper" Copperskin

The second, another halfling, this one female. She wears the uniform of the city watch's cadet academy, the Civil Defense League. Her near black leathers hug her figure curvaceously, but the heavily enchanted short bow slung over her back and her wickedly notched short sword at her hip, take away any fun-filled ideas lesser males might have. This would be Meriam Mayna.

Lastly, a tall, balding human. Over his back is slung a truly massive sword with an equally large axe crossed over it, both at least three halflings tall and nearly as wide. What's left of his wispy hair, rings his head, trailing down his sideburns where it thickens, eventually forming a full, bushy mustache and beard. His arms bulge with solid muscle, but his clothing hangs on him loose and comfortably. He goes by Kyle Fox.

Upon spotting Drin, Meriam quickens her pace to a near run.

"I heard about Tarnis! Is...is he...?" her voice trails off as she reaches Drin, her lip slightly trembling.

Drin places a reassuring hand on her shoulder, smiling slightly. "No need to worry, Ms. Mayna, the Hin is as lucky as he is brave to face those frogmen in the docks. Arvoreen spared him.  Father Lucius Westmore found him and is tending to his wounds in the Illmateri wing if you wished to see him.

She quickly darts past him through the temple doors.

Kyle and Copper approach Drin, Copper still rambling on from some obviously ongoing conversation.

"..no reason to do that to people. I mean that really stung. I will have to talk to the Council about those gates," Copper finishes his sentence just as they reach Drin who furrows his brow slightly at Copper.

"The gates are warded for the safety of the worshipers and residents here from those who don't adhere to the policies here, Copper" Drin states simply.

"Yes, yes, but do they really have to sting so? It takes me days to fully regain feeling in my hands again, and as you may know, I do have to play musical instruments to keep up my livelihood." Copper rubs his hands together trying to regain feeling to them.

"It is a necessary inconvenience. I'm sorry. Your voice is unaffected, and as a Hin of many arts, I'm sure the wounded could use a song while they recover." Drin grins dryly, motioning him inside.

"Hrmph. Well, yes, that certainly sounds like a good idea. Though I must admit that I rarely hear many of those from such uptight folks. Nothing personal, Master Drin." Copper folds his arms slightly, presenting a cordial smile to him.

Drin just rolls his eyes slightly, glancing up to Kyle offering a gauntlet covered hand.

"Good to see you again, Drin" Kyle smiles and shakes the halflings hand firmly. "I was hoping to see you here. I've been meaning to ask you something."

Drin's pleasant expression slowly fades to one of disappointment.

"I'm really sorry Kyle, but your application to join the ranks of the Greycloak Order was refused."

Kyle’s smile slowly fades as well, but he maintains his composure.

Drin continues, "There were some questions raised about your temper and how it seems to flare up at....inopportune times. However, the general consensus was positive. We've heard many tales of heroism and bravery, if sometimes ill-conceived in plan, and the saving of many lives."

Copper taps his foot impatiently and acting fidgety, "Can we go yet?"

Drin glances at him with a slight annoyance, reaching into a pouch at his side, continuing to address Kyle.

"In lieu of this, while we cannot admit you to the Greycloaks, we do recognize your valiance and your solidarity of faith in your generally noble beliefs. So I'd like to offer you this token of friendship between my order and yourself."

Drin pulls from the pouch, a small silver ring, engraved with elven etchings both inside and outside of the band.

Coppers stops fidgeting as his eyes fixate on the shiny band. "Ooooh, shiny! Lemme see, lemme see!"

"This ring was created by Stainslaw Lem of the Temple here to be given to friends of the church. So long as you have virtue in your heart, the band can hide you or someone you are touching once a day from those that would cause you harm. However, if said virtue is missing from your heart, it will do the reverse." Drin ceremoniously offers him the ring.

For a moment Kyle is somewhat speechless, unconsciously his disappointment turns to reverence. After a few seconds, he kneels down to be at eye level with Drin and accepts the ring.

"I don't know what to say other than thank you." Kyle finally utters as he stuffs the ring over his thick pinky finger.

"Your heart and actions say much of what needs to be said." Drin smiles as Kyle stands once more, admiring the ring, and running his other hand over the runes.

"So, you got another one of those for me, huh?" Copper excitedly blurts out.

"No. But the wounded could use a cheerful song or spot of prose." Drin states plainly, glancing at Copper with little more than slight agitation.

Again distracted, Copper smiles excitedly, giving his hands a clap, "Yes, quite right, nothing better than a captive audience!" The brightly clad Hin scurries off into the temple.

Drin turns, watching the Hin rush off. He shakes his head slightly and turns back to Kyle, inhaling as if to say something.

Kyle just smiles, "I'll keep him out of trouble."

Drin gives a grin of his own, "Thank you, Kyle. If something happens, send a message, I think I'm going for a walk outside."

"I will," Kyle says warmly. "Be well."

"The Wary Sword keep you safe." Drin nods once, adjusts the shield on his arm and makes his way down the hill.

For a moment, Kyle stands watching him go, occasionally scratching his rust colored beard. The torchlight reflects of the bottom gate as the armor-clad halfling closes the gate with reverence, finally disappearing into the darkness beyond the gate's torchlight.






----------------------------------------
ELSEWHERE ON THE SHORES OF THE DARK LAKE......
----------------------------------------

"no, no, run, keep your feet moving...don't stop, don’t....stop"

Hairy, discolored feet feverishly rush along a pitch black beach. The sand nearly as dark as the waters slapping against it.

A panic stricken set of eyes flit every direction, searching the darkness. Their line of sight occasionally blocked by blood soaked hair flopping in front of them as the owner sprints through the darkness.

Suddenly the person plants its feet, sliding and grinding into the sand they come to a halt.

Feminine hands reach up and part the bloodied hair revealing a badly bruised, yet striking halfling woman. Her eyes dart feverishly along the rocky cliffside as a slight breeze blows through her ragged, nearly insufficient clothing.

"hiding...its hiding...where..." she mutters to herself almost inaudibly.

Pebbles tumble down the cliffside behind her and she whips her head around spotting a massive figure, cloaked in shadow approaching quickly.

"...run.....RUN!" She shouts to herself as she takes off sprinting once more.

The shadowy figures hoofed feet scatter sand in all directions with each heavy step in its pursuit.

The halfling woman glances over her shoulder briefly before tripping over a stone on the shore and tumbling down a slight embankment, eventually rolling to a stop at the entrance to some kind of excavation site. Inside the site, the slight glow of torchlight flickers.

In the distance, the thumping foot falls of her pursuer get grow louder. She turns quickly and rushes into the cavern.

Inside, the cavern walls are supported large wooden and stone-forged braces with the tracks of a cart wheels down the center, giving the impression that this is a mine.

She quickly rounds the first turn in tunnel to find the source of the light....an abandoned torch laying next to a tiny shield and the hilt of a broken sword, both drenched in a pool of blood.

For a second the halfling stops, horrified, and presses herself against the cavern wall, unable to stare elsewhere. Finally a drop of blood drips from the ceiling into the pool below.

Slowly, she raises her gaze to the ceiling, her lips quivering and her hands trembling with fear.

Gaze of her two eyes fixate on the body of another halfling being rolled into a silken ball. The torchlight then refracts off the dozens upon dozens of eyes of the spider preparing the dead and bleeding halfling for its meal.

She lets out a screech that reverberates through the mines but is countered by a massive thud as the shadowy figures feet slam to the ground inside the mine.

Again the female halfling, takes off sprinting through the tunnels, twisting and turning randomly and without direction, using only the tracks as a guide. All the while unware that above her on the cave ceiling, trailed several spiders, each hoping her to be their next meal.

Behind her, the shadowy figure sniffs the air and resumes it's heavy footed pursuit eventually crossing over the fallen torch. The bronze torchlight, refracts over the creatures muscular surface and horse like hind legs. Long it's torso, its muscles rippled ferrally as it carried a massive battle axe in one of its two humanoid-like hands. Finally, its head, that of a bull and it's septum pierced crudely with an ring of rusting metal: A minotaur.

Ahead of the beast, the halfling woman scrambles through the dark. “papa always said run.....run....run.." she breathlessly utters as she finally reaches the end of the tunnel, which opens into a much, much larger cavern.

Before her stands a massive excavation site, in the center of which, where tracks from various side caverns lead, stands a massive smelting station. The large vat in the center propped up on wooden scaffolding with several crude conveyor belts leading up to its brim. Around it, a series of work stations all built to obviously mold whatever ore was melted as it moved down the line. And surrounding even that, a small protective wall with several places to mount torches, only a few of which actually have torches, and even fewer are lit, casting an eerie glow over the rather abandoned equipment.

Carefully, she descends a slight decline into the mining core, ever watchful of her silent surroundings. As she approaches the smelter, the sound of saliva drips behind her. She whips around to find one of the spiders dangling in front of her. She screams and tumbles backwards into silken webbing that extends down the smelter to the ground.

In the spider severs its silken support cord and drops to the ground and slowly approaches it's prey. The girl thrashes violently against the webbing, but it will does not release her. Instead her movements yank free several bricks in the mortar below one of the few lit torch holders, sending the metal torch holder crashing down along with the wall. The torch hits the ground with a shower of red hot cinders between her and the arachnid.

The spider shrieks and recoils from the torch which sets the webbing on fire. The girl thrashes even harder, and with the webbing weakened by the flames finally breaks free and takes off running only to be cut off by another spider. She darts side ways to go around it, but its far too quick and lashes out with one of its octet of horned legs.

Yelping, she falls face first into the dirt, the wound covered in venom. Violently she tries to claw her away from the spiders, but yet another and another land, surrounding her. Unable to stand, she crawls towards a small pile of rocks and hurls one awkwardly. It strikes spider squarely in the face and it backs off, but is replaced by two more descending from the ceiling. Fear grips her as she talks to herself hurling rocks to no avail as the spiders close in on her, occasionally snapping at one another.

".....papa......if I was in trouble....you said to always run....I...I can't run now......" Tears well up in her eyes. Her lips tremble as her strength is sapped away by the poison, barely able to grip another rock.

Her swollen and bloodshot eyes glance upward towards the heavens

"....papa help me....", she utters before squeezing her eyes tightly and tosses the stone feebly into the dirt.

"....I'm sorry I couldn't run...I...miss you...." Her head flops back and her venom-affected vision blurs as the spiders greedily close in.

The last thing she sees before succumbing to the paralyzing poison, is a flash of gray, blue and shining silver figure leaping over her.




Drin, the armor-clad halfling, materializes from the effects of an invisibility potion, his ornate hand axe smashing into the mouth of the attacking spider as he lands. It lashes out with one of its legs, but it harmlessly glances off his shield as he raises it in defense. With a quick spin, he yanks the axe from its mouth and leaps into the air, driving his axe down through the spine of its carapace, shattering it's outer covering cleaving it in two.

Another spider lunges in for the girl, but Drin dives towards it, jamming his shield between its pincers. The spider gets it's pincers stuck in the wood grain of his shield. It tries to back up, dragging Drin slightly before he springs to his feet. The spider continues to jerk it's fangs back, but to no avail.

Through the t-shaped slot on his visor, he grits his teeth. With unusual power for a halfling, he grunts and flexes his shield arm, drawing his shield towards him, and in doing so, dragging the spider through the dirt along with it.

He stares at the creature for a second before bringing his axe down through the dozens of eyes, through its primitive brain and into the floor and drops dead instantly.

Yanking the pincers from his shield, positions himself over the girl. With his axe dripping from its last kill, he lowers his stance and places his shield in front of him as the remaining spiders rush him.

Suddenly, a thunderous bellowing battle call sounds. The spiders instantly scatter leaving a clear view of the Minotaur charging right at Drin.

Before Drin can react its towering form is in motion, swinging its massive battleaxe and letting out another battle cry. The Minotaur hauls back with his axe. With its incredible strength, combined with his momentum, it lands a powerful blow upon Drin's shield. The force of the impact sends him flying backwards through the air, landing several yards away.

Drin slowly gets up on to one knee and shakes his head, recoiling from the blow. He glances over the top of his shield to see the Minotaur walking up to slowly.

"I am the hunter, you are prey, tiny one!" The minotaur's infinitely deep voice resounds through the cavern.

Drin clasps the small pendant of the two crossed swords around his neck as he glances at the unconscious and vulnerable girl

"Wary Sword, I ask thee to grace thineself with the power of an ox, for a Hin is in grave danger this day", he closes his eyes for a brief second. When he opens them they flash silver for a brief second before nearly every muscle suddenly grows in size, his mass increasing significantly beyond his already impressive density.

"You shall be denied your catch this day!" Drin snarls, getting to his feet.

The minotaur simply snorts his response. Drin mocks him by snorting back.

The minotaur uses it's powerful hind legs to launch itself into the air, drawing it's battleaxe over his head and driving it down towards the halfling.

Drin raises his shield in the air as the axe comes down on him with unbelievable force. He buckles to one knee, his shield absorbing the impact. Then with a small smirk on his face visible through the T-slot of his helm, he stands up slowly against the force of the beast.

With one final push, he shoves the weapon on his shield and slashes out Minotaur’s midsection, landing a solid blow and blood gushes from the wound.

The beast howls in pain and drives a knee into Drin's face. His head snaps back and blood bursts from his mouth. Both combatants recoil, recover and lunge at one another. With a metallic clang their weapons meet mid-swing sending sparks flying.

Drin and the Minotaur fight furiously neither gaining the upper hand. For each blow, a counter, for each move an equal one.

Drin blocks a blow. And another. And another, utterly infuriating the Minotaur. Finally, Drin locks weapons with the beast once more, each flexes it's considerable muscle in the contest. The sheer size of the Minotaur, in it's angry rage, grabs Drin by his shield and flings him across the smelter area, sliding through the dirt crashing into the heavy tables on the other end.

The Minotaur looks down in his hand where he holds Drin's shield. His deep laugh reverberates off the cavern walls as he stares into the cloud of dust and tosses Drin's shield aside.

He steps over the wall encircling the smelter and approaches a table Drin slid under, swatting at the dust cloud surrounding it.

"You will not stand between me and my prize, tiny one. You will die," the beast taunts.

He violently grabs the table and tosses it aside, however all that remains is Drin's helm, covered in blood. Beyond it, a small trail of blood. The beast follows the trail of blood along the table next to it and down the edge of the smelter.

Just then, from behind, Drin leaps from the smelter scaffolding, sails through the through dust cloud, his axe raised above his head with both hands. With a barbaric yell, he smashes the edge of the axe into the base of the minotaur’s skull. Suddenly the minotaur freezes in place, and begins twitching slightly, unable to move.

Drin releases his grip on the axe and drops to the ground, his face covered in blood and sweat.

The minotaur drops to its knees, its hands twitching, and its eyes fixed on the halfling as he appears before it. "....a worthy foe so small." It utters gutturally.

"The hunt is over. I am sorry." Drin says sincerely as he nimbly draws a short sword from a sheath at his hip and rams it through the soft spot under the creatures jaw and up through its skull.

He yanks the blade out and steps back. With a resounding thud, the beast falls dead at the halflings feet in a giant plume of dust.

"Forgive me for slaying a sentient creature, but this one left me no choice." Drin whispers to himself, making a religious gesture before giving his pendant a quick kiss and tucking it under his armor. With one swift jerk, he retrieves his axe and hooks it on his belt and then sheathes the short sword and collects his battered helm.

The ambient breeze that occasionally wafts through caverns such as this, has spread the dust cloud to consume most of the cavern. Holding his side, he slowly makes his way through the settling dust cloud back to the female halfling who lays motionless. He places his ear to her chest and after a few seconds, sits her upright against the wall surrounding the smelter. He glances over her body and notices the venomous wound in her leg. He closes his eyes for a brief moment, murmuring to himself and removing his gauntlets. He places his hands over the wound and for a brief moment, they glow with a warm amber hue.

He removes his hands and opens his eyes revealing that the wound has been healed.

"I must say, we are duly impressed, Master Halfling," a voice behind him states calmly.

Drin whips around spotting four slender elves standing behind him. Each of them dressed identically with dark beige and grey leathers, small rat hide pouches tied to their waist and soft matching dark gray leather boots on their feet. Three of them, one of which is female, wear matching helms of dark gray with streaks of beige in natural flowing patterns. And each holds a long bow with an arrow knocked, though aimed at the ground. The fourth holds his helm at his hip and his bow stowed across his back, looking down at the two halflings. His features are fair and seem to slightly radiate in the dim torchlight of the smelter.

"We are not here to harm you. You can relax a bit." The elf relays in a quiet, level tone.

"Who are you?" Drin asks quickly, not removing his hand from the hilt of either of his weapons, his eyes narrowing briefly as he gazes upon each of them intensely.

"We are known as the Sentinel. We are benevolent hunters. We have been tracking that Minotaur for quite some time. He caught the scent of the female there and their chase across the terrain stirred up the local wildlife quite a bit. That slowed our tracking of it considerably. Though we are quite glad to see that the beast has been slain. You have our thanks for that." The elf regards Drin warmly, glancing over his shoulder at the female.

"Does she still live?." He asks kindly.

After eyeing the last of the elves, Drin relaxes his grip on his weapons and lightens his gaze.

"She's been poisoned, but she's alive. She needs to be brought to the settlement to rest." Drin turns back and scoops her up into his arms.

The lead elf places his helmet back on his head and pulls his bow off his back. His bow, a true work of art. Beautifully crafted and carved from Zuhrkwood, a tree-like plant common in the Underdark. Etched in it's handle, a number of runes that seem to glow as he touches them.

One of the other elves leans in closely to the leader.

"I sense something remarkable about this pair." The light feminine voice softly states.

The leader nods subtly as Drin slings the girl over his shoulder and reclaims his shield from where the minotaur threw it.

"Yes. I sense it as well. But we need confirmation before speaking to the Circle. For now, we wait." the leader states plainly as Drin heads for a small tunnel near the main entrance to the smelter.

The leader motions for the other three elves to follow him as they accompany the two halflings out of mine.





Behind them, hidden in the shadow of the smelter cast by the feeble torchlight, stands a middle-aged man. His tan colored robes tattered, but whole, and covered in the dust of the battle. A light cough escapes his lips as he watches the last of the elves vanish into the tunnel behind the halflings. Slowly he creeps out from his hiding place. The torchlight strikes his dark beady eyes and reveals his pale craggy human face.

From his hood, he cocks his head to the side slightly, checking for any more immediate dangers before carefully approaching the dead minotaur. He kneels down to it, examining it carefully before heading towards it's posterior. He grabs one of its massive hoofed feet and pulls on it, spreading it's legs apart.

He reaches back into his robes and with draws a serrated dagger which he uses to cut the testicles from the beast. Blood gushes from its loin and quickly soaks into the soot around it. The man inspects the large, bloodied sack now hanging from his grip. He smiles thinly as he places them carefully into a leather-bound satchel attached at his hip.

He sheaths his tool and walks somberly towards the dead spiders. His expression shifts from that of joy to one of pained sadness when he kneels down to the first one slain. He runs a hand gently over it's hardened carapace, in a nearly loving manner. He mutters softly to himself as if speaking to a recently deceased relative, and a small tear forms beneath one of his eyes. It rolls down his face which is quickly wiped away by his hand.

After several long moments of silence, the saddened look twists into a subtle visage of anger, as his gaze fixates on the direction the halflings and elves took from the cave.  


"Fear not my fallen child, I will avenge you. And all of you shall be reborn anew." His lips quiver with enjoyment as the words roll of his dusty breath.[/FONT]