Forum roleplay: Red Larch

My name is Uhtred son of Uhtred the 6th of that name tho that was not always my name. The tradition of my clan, Inn Ulfrhǫfuð meaning the clan of the wolfhead, dictates that clan chieftain's the eldest son son should bear his father's name and when I was born my elder brother already bore the name Uhtred and I was named Aerdwolf but my people have a saying in the old tongue "Wyrd bið ful ā ræd." fate in unavoidable. The spine of the world mountains where my clans village was located is a harsh and unforgiving land, orcs, giants and dragons roam the mountains and death is ever present. I was just 12 summers old when the Orc hoard destroyed my village and killed my people, my father and brother were amongst the dead but my mother and grandfather, a cleric of Tempus, managed to lead the survivors down into the low lands. It was my grandfather who insisted that I changed my name name to Uhtred to keep his name alive, reputation is everything. 'Reputation is everything' those words have followed me my whole life. My clan had been a tribe of warriors a mans worth was measured by his skill with a blade and the reputation he left in his wake but now, after the terrible losses we had suffered, we were just another small, landless clan roaming the tundra. It was on that lifeless frozen wasteland that I first tasted battle and it was intoxicating! It was 2 tendays since we had descended from the spine of the world and our small group of survivors had been wondering the frozen plains scratching out an existence on roots scraped from the icy ground and the scant game that could be found on the tundra. Our party consisted of women and children mainly with a few old men and crippled warriors who had not fought in the downfall of our village. We were cold, hungry and at the mercy of the Gods. The day had started as any other but at around midday one of our scouts reported riders on the horizon. The news caused a panic amongst our people but my grandfather took charge of the the situation. The women and children huddled together surrounded by a shield wall of elderly or crippled warriors, and I was amongst those warriors. I had not fought the Orc hoard tho it was not unheard of for young men of 12 or 13 summers to stand in a shield wall but I had been recovering from a sickness and my father had forbid me from joining the battle. Now I stood next to my grandfather my shield overlapping his and my shortsword gripped in one clammy hand. As the riders approached there numbers were swelled by more riders joining them until the force amassed against us out numbered our small force ten to one. The riders dismounted and formed a shield wall opposite our position, there wall was far longer and deeper than ours and even if our wall had been filled with young fit warriors the enemy would have easily encircled us and sent is on our journey to the Halls of Tempus. As I stared at the warriors before us a huge man stepped from there ranks and walked towards us. He was a 'ófriðr herra' a Lord of War. He stood a head taller than most men and had golden rings woven into his long golden hair and thick blond beard that fell loose around his heavily muscled shoulders, his face was a mask of blue inked tribal tattoos and he wore a polished steel breastplate under an enormous bear skin cloak. Gold sparkled at his wrists and throat and when he spoke it was the voice of man who was used to getting his own way. "I am Hastig son of Horlan leader of the tribe of the Snow Leapoard and you," He paused and ran his gaze along our shield wall finally comin to rest on the spot occupied by my grandfather and myself before continuing "you are trespassing on my land! Throw down your weapons and surrender or die like the sheep you are!" His final words came out as a roar and a great cheer went up from his men who began rhythmically banging there weapons on there shields in anticipation of the slaughter to come. My grandfather said nothing, he seemed to be waiting for something tho what I didn't know. Then it came. Later I learnt that when clans war with each other often the battles are fought between just two men one from either tribe with the winner taking all this proved to serve two purposes the first being it saved many men from dying needlessly and secondly it helped to bolster men's reputations and reputation is everything! "I Halstig son of Horlan challenge any of you filthy dogs to meet me in combat" Halstig's voice travelled easily across the 30 or so paces between the two shield walls "If any one of you can defeat me then your clan may go free but if you die your women will become our whores, your children our slaves and those of you who do not flee our lands will be put to death! If none will fight me then my men will wipe you miserable scum from this earth" I looked to my grandfather and saw the set of his proud jaw and a determined look in his eye but before he could answer I spoke. "I will fight you!" There was a pause then Halstig's men let out peels of laughter I was 12 years old and tho talk for my age and broad of shoulder my voice had not yet broken and my words had come out high pitched as a girls, I coughed to clear my throat and repeated my self. Halstig gave me a mocking smile. "I will fight you!" I said a third time "but when I win your men will swear loyalty to me!" This time I managed to keep my voice steady and I felt my grandfather's hand on my shoulder. "Very well whelp!" Boomed Halstig with an amused grin, stepping forward he dropped his shield and longsword at his feet and drew the largest greatsword I had ever seen. I looked up at my grandfather and he smiled at me his face beamed with pride, he knew I could not back down now to do so would be to be branded a coward and reputation is everything! As I stepped out of our shield wall my grandfather caught my arm. "Uhtred" his voice was barely a whisper "take 'inn Prestr'." Inn Prestr in the old tongue meant the priest and was the name of my grandfather's great axe. He waited until I had dropped my shield and shortsword and then handed me the huge weapon. As I have said I was talk for my age, broad of shoulder and had been training with weapons from being a small child but even so the axe seemed impossibly heavy and I wondered if I could even lift it never mind swing it. My grandfather embraced me and gave me one last bitter smile "Die well my boy" he muttered through clenched teeth. Reputation is everything! I moved out into the space between the two shield walls Inn Prestr in hand and faced off against the hulking warrior with his giant greatsword. I stood staring at the man for a second and then I screamed. I don't remember screaming I don't remember much of the fight at all my grandfather later insisted that I had been touched by Tempus that day because it was the war God's name I screamed as I charged across the frozen ground that separated me and Hastig. The battle joy I felt that day will stay with me for the rest of my life. I cut, I slashed, I parried and all of it was a blur to me as if I watched the fight from a distance, my opponents move seemed slow and sluggish where as I was lightning quick. That is the joy of battle frenzy. In my forty years I have met but two other true Berserkers, I have met many men who claim to be berserkers but usually they are just fools with big swords who chew certain herbs or drink potions that boosts there aggression and lowers there intelligence but a true berserker needs no such trickery. I slew Hastig cleaving his breast plate and opening his chest from shoulder to hip. His men took more convincing than Hastig had led us to believe and I killed 4 other men that day all in single combat, but eventually the remaining men bent the knee and swore loyalty to me. The following years came and went I expanded the Snow Leopards territory defeating and absorbing other clans bringing them under my wolfs head banner. I married, and my wife gave me a son and two daughters, she died birthing my youngest daughter. The years rolled on and my reputation grew. Reputation is everything. Five years ago I started to have strange dreams in which Tempus the war father came to me he granted me powers above and beyond those of my already prestigious martial skills. He left me with a clear image of a land in need of heroes and who was I to defy a god? I left my lands in the capable hands of my son and traveled south. It was here I met a fellowship of companions that peeked my interest 'The Order of the Gauntlet' I joined the Order not I must confess to fight evil in all its forms as many of my companions did, tho I was not opposed to fighting evil, but rather to test myself against all the monstrosities that this land could throw at me now I find myself in Red Larch sent here by the Order to join the Dessarin Alliance and find my destiny and further my reputation. Reputation is everything!

(Some of my fantastic MS Paint skills for your enjoyment:)

Kragen awoke to the smell of burned wool. He groaned as he rubbed his eyes and slowly sat up. All he had wanted was a little afternoon nap, as he had taken to do a decade or two ago. However, more recently, those naps proved to be a little troublesome. "Damn fire-cult", he muttered as he stood up to inspect the damage his nap had done. A large burnmark covered almost the entire wall opposite of his bed, on the floor what was left of a tapestry smoldered peacefully. He groaned again as he walked over and to extinguish the few embers with his feet, but thought better of it in an instant and decided to put on some clothes first - including boots. Besides, if someone caught a whiff of this little fire, Kragen was not gonna subject them to the sight of a butt-naked old man trying to suck on his big toe because he gut burned there. All the while mumbling about and cursing the cultist under his breath, he put on his clothes. "I just got this damn thing a week ago", he grumbled while spreading and inspecting the tapestry after making sure it posed no more threat of going up in flames again. Well, apart from him setting it on fire again. Staring at the new burn mark on the wall, he came to the conclusion that, at this rate, the local sheperds would not be able to provide enough wool to cover up all his accidents if this became a regular thing. Walking along the battlements atop the spire, Kragen tried to think. Clear his mind in the fresh air. And his nose from the stench of burned wool. It had started a while ago, after clashing with the fire-cult for the first time. All their fire magic... it must have changed something about Kragen. True, he could use fire through magic before. He had trained to learn that, because it was a good distraction, if you happened to need one. A burning barn to turn some eyes, a candle's flame "accidentally" spreading onto some important documents, that kind of little stuff.  But now... now he felt like everytime he woke up a new spell, new magic, had crept its way into his head. All of them eager to be used, desperate to burn and destroy. He pondered there, sometimes pausing, sitting down on the battlements. For some reason, that was drawing the attention of the guards up here, like they worried he was about to fall off the edge. Kragen felt a little insulted, he was not thaaat old. Almost, but not quite. As he sat there once more, he took out his focus and stared at it. Idly spinning it in his hand, he watched the crystal's colours play. The bottom-half a calm blue, with faint motion. Once the top-half was the same, a strong red, deep and only in faint motion. These days it churned with motion, the colours changed, and spun.. red, orange, yellow... like a fire it whirled. Top and bottom never mixed though... a sharp line between blue and red. It still fascinated Kragen that there was never even a hint of purple in his crystal. He must have sat there for quite some time, as one of the guards approached him in the end. "You better get downstairs pops.", he said as he casually pointed over his shoulder. "Tervin over there, he was stabbed in the hip once. Ever since, that hip of him tells him when there's a storm about to pass. Right now he says it feels like someone stuck a knife back in and wiggles like a madman." Standing up, Kragen shot a glance at the other guard, with a worried expression on his face and a hand rubbing on his armor above his hip. "Doesn't seem like the weather for-" he began and then stopped. A faint howling in the distance. Like wind, yes... But wind usually did not raise his hackles like this sound did. This... it didn't feel right. He pocketed the crystal, faintly noticing how the bottom part was filled with motion. Not good. Grabbing the guard by the shoulder he locked eyes with him. "Tell Tervin over there, to make sure noone actually sticks a knife back in his hip. And make sure you don't get blown of the tower. That storm of his, I don't think it is natural." With that, Kragen dashed for the stairs. And something about an old man running like hell put the guard more on alarm than any words of warning that could be spoken. "Tervin, I have a feeling this is going to be ugly." 10/10 painting, Ben

(I wish I could paint! That picture is out of the book; all I did was add a tornado in the background with MS Paint. Thanks for all the contributions so far this week everybody!)

The alarm bells rang out as rain pattered against the temple walkway. Céastúnach looked up at the temple he once served, rivulets of blood streaming down his armor, red droplets forming small crimson puddles where he stood. “Ozvious!” he yelled, cutting through the sound of the rain and the dull ringing of the alarms. Céastúnach ran forward through the gates of the temple toward the raised portcullis of the temple’s entrance. Two High Elves stepped forward to stop Céastúnach only to be met with the edge of his blade. Before, the elves could fall to the ground, he was already through and into the temple where a dozen or more High Elven guards were waiting. “Where is my brother?” he shouted into the crowd. An Elf guard stepped forward,“Your brother is a heathen, a traitor, and a blasphemer. He took our ancient traditions and sullied them. He is where he should be. Exactly where you will be soon.” An aura of unbridled hatred sprang forth from Céastúnach. “Give me my brother or you will find yourself at the end of my blade.” “Come get him then.” Céastúnach rushed forward unfurling his wings from underneath their protective armoring. In mere seconds he dispatched all of the guards and made his way into the Temple Sanctum, his pale white skin glistening red from the Elven blood. There, his former Priest, the head of the temple, stood with a knife at the throat of another Tiefling who was grimacing. His teeth were sharpened and his horns were much smaller than Céastúnach remembered. “Is this who you are looking for Céastúnach? Not another step further or I slice his unholy throat and spill his devil blood on the ground of this Sanctum.” The high priest said as pressed the cold iron knife into the Tiefling’s throat. “How dare you!” screamed Céastúnach as his aura of hatred turned into that of dread and fear. He stepped forward as the Priest dropped the knife, horrified of his fate to come. Céastúnach launched forward grabbing the Priest by the neck and flying up towards the gauche vaulted ceiling of the sanctum. The paintings of cherubs and fairies watched as Céastúnach glared into the very soul of the High Priest. “For years, TEN YEARS, I’ve followed your order blindly, done everything you’ve asked of me, in the hopes of one day, I would find my brother. All this time, you’ve kept him locked away because of your pansy Elf traditions!?” Céastúnach’s aura grew stronger as he spoke, the High Priest gasping for air as the grip on his throat grew tighter and tighter. “Give me a gods damned reason not to kill you now.” The Priest opened his mouth to speak but was met with a blade straight through the front of his skull, his lifeless body falling limp in the grasp of Céastúnach. He threw the body to the ground, when, he heard his brother speak for the first time in years. “We need to go brother, there are guards coming very quickly,” said Ozvious as more town and temple guards poured into the Sanctum. Céastúnach swooped down to grab his brother while Ozvious recited an incantation. As soon as Céastúnach touched the shoulder of the other tiefling they were transported outside of the town. “We need to get moving, Hellgate Dell isn’t far, just on the north end of the High Forest. Can you fly us there Céastúnach? I know the way.” “Of course brother,” Céastúnach said as he picked up Ozvious and started making his way towards the ruins of Hellgate. After studying Ozvious for a while, Céastúnach spoke up. “What did they do to you Oz?” Ozvious sighed. “After we were separated, and went on our own paths, I was taken in by a kind, elderly Wood Elf gentleman, by the name of Fornir. He taught me the ways of the bladesong since we both know I had a natural aptitude for the arcane. In exchange for his teachings I helped him around his estate and also taught him a thing or two about the ancient history of the world. He seemed to enjoy my time, and I, his. That is, until these High-Elves showed up and killed him. The Bladesong is not meant to be taught to anyone outside of the Elven race,” Ozvious looked up at his brother with pain in his eyes. “Instead of killing me, everyday, they would sharpen a tooth and shave off a bit of my horn, to mark me. I think that they knew we were brothers. They wanted to make me an example. They were waiting for you to mess up Céastúnach. They were going to show me to you, that this is what happens when you defy them. I was in agony. High-Elves are all vile, disturbing creatures. They found joy in torturing me, I could see it in their eyes. I hate them.” “So do I, brother, I’m sorry.” “Don’t apologize,” Ozvious scanned the treeline as they flew closer to their destination, he pointed. Céastúnach could see the scarring of hot rings placed down his fingers. “The ruins are right there. Land us in the center.” Hellgate Keep was a shadow of its former self. Formerly known as Ascalhorn the ancient Elven architecture was no more than a ruin now. It was called a Dell for a reason. The location was almost completely consumed by nature and the arcane energy could be felt flowing from every stone and blade of grass. A piece of old fountain still stood in the middle of what used to be the town center. “Will this be an alright spot?” inquired Céastúnach as he started unpacking his belongings. “Well, since you’re getting comfortable I guess we don’t have much of a choice.” Ozvious scanned his surroundings, “Defensible positions and very out of the way of anybody. Treants haven’t been seen around these parts, since I was captured… Looks like not much has changed.” The two bedded down for the night and Céastúnach caught his brother up on his exploits over the past ten years. As they were about to drift off, a noise in the darkness startled them awake. Céastúnach jumped up quickly and brandished his sword towards the sound, as a womanly figure slowly made its way into their vision. A sinister male voice, cut through the darkness as the form stepped even closer. “You two don’t recognize me? I’m hurt.” The brothers could see it now. A tall, voluptuous devil woman with snow white hair and large inky, black horns stood before them. “Who are you? What are doing here?” demanded Céastúnach as the grip on his sword grew tighter, color returning to the knuckles of the white Tiefling. “Oh my dear, sweet boys, think for a moment. Who could I possibly be?” Ozvious studied the naked creature standing before him. “Asmodeus.” “There you go!” Asmodeus said excitedly, his eyes burning a firey red grew in intensity, “You haven’t forgotten your heritage. Splendid!” “What do you want with us.” asked Céastúnach, his sword arm relaxing a bit. “Well that’s quite unlike you Céastúnach, you’re supposed to be the polite one. I’m here to make you an offer. These,” Asmodeus grimaced as he spoke, “Elemental Cultists have decided they want this Plane for themselves. They are making a mockery of my Millenia of work infiltrating this Plane and trying to take it for my own.” He sighed, “So, you will understand when I tell you that I don’t want them to exist any longer. So,” Asmodeus gestured at the brothers, “I am appointing you two as the Ambassadors of the Nine Hells, you will ensure that the cultists do not make anymore progress towards their goals here on this Plane. If you fail me, your souls will be forfeit. And no, you do not have a choice in this matter.” Ozvious stepped forward past his brother, “What’s in it for us?” “Well I’d assume you would be able to keep anything of value that you find in their temples. Is that not enough?” Céastúnach spoke up from behind Ozvious, “How do you expect just the two of us to do this?” “My little Céastúnach, you act like I don’t think of these things. There is a motley crew of mercenaries called the Dessarin Alliance who have made great strides towards wiping these insolent cultists from the face of this Plane. You two, will accompany them and ensure that they succeed. Zita, your contact, has been informed of your arrival. You figure the rest out from here. I grow tired of this Plane. Remind me, why do I want it again? Ah well.” The brothers stood, dumbfounded by what just happened, as the devil woman turned and vanished before their eyes.

(( I've thought about this a lot and I've come to a decision. I can't DM for evil characters. It's going to cause too much friction in the party and it's not something I enjoy. I don't even play evil characters in single player games! I'm fine with the characters if they aren't evil; maybe trying to recover from a sordid past and/or overcome a broken oath. But devils working for devils is too much of a stretch for me. Sorry guys :( ))

Seawolf Rattlebones is 5'10", Wood Elf, short black hair and a respectable beard. He dresses in ragged and torn clothing but carries a fine and ornate set of daggers and a bow. You also notice he doesn't wear shoes, his feet are very black. He smells bit and you can see that his teeth are in a bad way. As Seawolf enters the tavern he sees some of his fellow adventurers look at him with a weary eye. With a grin he hops up on the bar and shouts, "Greetings to all ye land lovers! My name is Seawolf Rattlebones and if you laugh at me name I'll cut yer tongue out.  Not much ter tell bout me, been a sailor most me life and usually on the wrong side of the law. Me mother is a smelly pirate hooker and me father is a nameless dirty cock. I have spent my life taking what I want and helping or hurting whom I wish. Tis better to be me ally then me enemy but it's up to you! If you want to know more, well, you can shove it cause we aint friends and I don't owe you any explanations, but still a pleasure to meet ye!" With that he hops down, tips back the nearest drink and drains it to the bottom, and turns around and says, "By the by, if any of ye should like any assistance or need a traveling companion come and find me, I won't be far from this here tavern!"

Jake K. said: Lucien's Description: A younger (25 year old) half-elf with brown hair. It is hard to say what's more noticeable, his gold, elven eyes, or his radiant smile. Behind his looks, however, seems to be turning gears in his head, as though he is always looking for something, perhaps the upper hand in combat, or perhaps the right words to charm a friend . Lucien Duskwalker Orphaned at a young age, Lucien had spent most of his life on the streets of Waterdeep, where he quickly learned that money is power. Despite harsh conditions, Lucien's cunning and guile helped him make a name for himself, and the local factions seemed to take notice as well. As he grew older, his skills in swordplay and deception were honed, he was rising up in his faction. Eventually, he was sent to Red Larch on orders to make some coin, which seemed absolutely copacetic to Lucien. Some would say he is greedy, but in truth he wishes to even out the growing disparity between the rich and poor, but making some coin for himself certainly wouldn't hurt. Instead of "hoity-toity" galas and events, Lucien finds his joy in good drink and good company. He can be found drinking at the Helm at Highsun, and can be found sleeping at Mama Yal's, who is quickly becoming tired of his antics. That's not young boy, tis but a we little child!

Rand eyed the new comer with a mixture of interest and suspicion from his seat on the far side of the tavern. Sipping his ale he considered the possibilities, while he conceded that having another member of the Alliance whose concise was not governed such menial things as right or wrong may prove to be profitable he could not dismiss the nagging thought that the elf may be one of Jalianna's assassins. Something about the way the elf moved always in perfect balance and the way the shadows seemed to deepen around him reminded him of some of the other assassins his former lover had sent to kill him. At the very least something was amiss for elves did not grow beards so either the pirate was either wearing a disguise or some sort of illusion or he was lying about his heritage. Rand decided that he would need to do a little detective work to see what he could discover regarding the newest addition to the alliance, but that could wait until morning. He rose from his stool draining the last of his ale as he did so and dropping a few silver pieces onto the table by way of a tip he adjusted his dagger belt and strode out into the night.

Dibble catches the scent of Mr. Rattlebones before the door opens and looks in that direction as he enters the room. Listening to his introduction he catches himself mid chuckle at his name. Because it screams for a list of jokes to be made at his expense. Patiently waiting for him to finish decides that Mr. Rattlebones is far to wound up and needs to relax. So Dibble skips over to Mr. Rattlebones whispering a cantrip under his breath as he approaches then introduces himself. Welcome my odorous friend my name is Dibble de Bibble. Friends call me Dibble, others call me Bibble as he extends a hand to shake his. Giving Dibble a suspicious glance he shifts in his seat whether to better grip his coin purse or a weapon we don't know. However, with every move a loud rattling sound is made. Dibble says I see your namesake rings or rather rattles true my friend. As he lets out a giggle as not to over step his bounds with this newcomer. Then he says lighten up friend this is a place of relaxation and revelry, have a drink on me. As he plucks 4 silvers on the table and calls for a couple flagons of ale. He asks the suspicious elf so do you play cards as he starts to deal him in.

Seawolf leans in and says in a more serious tone "Pleasure to meet you Dibble. My Harper contacts said I might run into you here. It's good to have an ally in this place." With that Seawolf sits back in his chair and grabs the cards being dealt to him placing a few copper on the table and says loudly, "Come stranger, let's make this card game interesting".

After training some more with Turd and spending quality time with Lorelei, Dibble sneaks off to the northwestern part of Red Larch. Thinking to himself Tymora has truly blessed him but as luck would have it not all luck is good. He has lost some dear friends along the way during his adventures and so has found himself sneaking off to the grave yard in Red Larch from time to time. There some of his friends lost in battle reside. Once confident and unaffected by the evils he has confronted he is now a bit more bitter but still fairly upbeat he comes here as a reminder of better times. Like the time he and Zamp planed on releasing all of the constables livestock. Or the times in the bar dancing and playing cards. Speaking of which he casts "Speak with the dead" and says hello again Zamp it is your play as he wipes the dirt off of the cards laid out at his tombstone.

((Terry Pratchett says that inspiration comes in the form of a particle, and that these particles of inspiration constantly fall from the heavens. It's purely a matter of happenstance that a person is in the right place at the right time for a particle of inspiration to smack them on top of the head and become an idea. So it is here. An upcoming adventure (which was already a part of the module) just happened to fit like a puzzle piece with Lucia Scarlett's back story. So I'm taking some creative license with Anthony's character in the hopes he doesn't mind that a couple of short stories have formed as a backdrop to the adventure.)) Vyncent Wolda grew up on the streets of Baldur’s Gate. He was the son of a wealthy merchant from the lower quarter, and enjoyed all the privileges that entailed. That is until the siege of Baldur’s Gate when the Ferrite Federation attacked and sacked the lower quarter. Vyncent managed to escape to the upper quarter but the rest of his family was not so lucky. He fought with the Flaming Fist mercenary company in the liberation of his home city. Having no other means he joined up when the Company of Thorn and Coin was born in the aftermath of the siege. He had proved his competence as a leader, with a sharp eye for situational awareness in battle, as well as a sharp mind for the logistics of a days-long march. He was instrumental in the reclamation of the area around Baldur’s Gate, liberating what was left of the Friendly Arm Inn, then Beregost, and on to Nashkel. He quickly rose through the ranks within the Company and finally became an agent for the Lords’ Alliance. He was not only trusted by the higher-ups, but was well respected by the soldiers under his command. He was not the greatest fighter on the Sword Coast by any means. He did not lead the charge from the front. But he did fight alongside his comrades and many of his soldiers raised an ale after a close scrape, crediting his quick-thinking for their survival. Vyncent Wolda was easily recognized by his gleaming shield, which bore the symbol of the Lords’ Alliance and served as his badge of station.

"Orders changed, Scarlett, grab your gear and shift your ass! We're headed to Longsaddle," called Tholan, her commanding officer, from the doorway. Lucia Scarlett was sitting at a desk in her quarters at the Stag-Horned Flagon. She had been writing a letter to send home to her parents in Neverwinter. Any soldier who has campaigned for more than a year knows to send letters home regularly. The pessimists would say you never know what your last assignment will be, and it's good that those you leave behind have some idea of your last known whereabouts. The optimists simply want their loved-ones to know where to send their next letter. She ended the letter quickly, adding her next destination, and headed out the door. It was a last-minute change of plans. Her platoon had been rounding up bandits in the Ardeep Forest, keeping the roads safe for honest tax-payers. They had delivered the surviving bandits, along with the head of the bandit leader, to the Lord Warder of Amphail. They were supposed to be headed to Waterdeep for some R&R. But Lucia had learned in her time working security for The Lords' Alliance that the only constant is change. She went outside to find a large group of warriors, heavily armed and armored, making ready a small group of three wagons. Lucia found Tholan, the platoon leader, in the confusion and he explained the situation. Vyncent Wolda had come into town with a VIP caravan bound for Longsaddle. And their small platoon was going to attach to the already substantial guard and travel with them. The first day out Lucia remembered why she didn't like traveling with so many people. Too much anonymity and opportunity for troublemakers. Already a group of soldiers had taken to calling her "Little Lucia" and whistling and cat-calling as she did her job. They were the usual loud-mouthed do-nothings that she despised. But she endured it; sticks and stones, after all. When they stopped to make camp the first night out, Lucia learned that the group of loud-mouths were mostly cronies to an Illuskan man called Heder. He was tall and fair-haired, but ugly as a troll with a stench to match. She knew what was going on. Her platoon comprised the 'new guys' and these men had chosen her for hazing. They were trying to see how far they could push her until she pushed back. But she learned something else: what the VIP was they were escorting. 'There are no secrets among soldiers' was a common adage and it held true here. Whispered word at camp that night held that the wagons didn't contain people, but tax money. A lot of it. Lucia had been put on cargo maintenance for the pack animals. The morning of the second day out she was checking the tie-downs on a donkey when Heder came up behind her. He ran a hand lightly over her rump and gave it a smack, and she felt his ale-and-chew breath next to her ear. Lucia decided it was time to push back. She could tell his nose had been broken several times, so she didn't bother with that. She had also noticed that he only had a few teeth left, and they were mostly on his left side. So she flung and elbow up and back, catching him in the jaw. He fell into the dust with an "oof!" and as he shook the stars from his eyes his remaining teeth slapped from his jowls and into the dirt. "Hope you like soup," Lucia said to Heder, watching to see what his cronies would do. They stood stunned for only a moment then they fell about, guffawing at Heder's misfortune. Lucia didn't have any more trouble from them. On the second day out the caravan was passing near a known trouble-spot on the Long Road: Rundreth Manor. There were a lot of rumors about the place, mostly surrounding a mysterious figure called The Dark Lady. Everyone was on guard but the day passed uneventfully. At twilight is when it finally happened. It started with an unnatural darkness descending. A wall of pure black so dense she couldn't see her hand in front of her face. Shouts of alarm went up all around her, but these were seasoned veterans, and the sound of swords leaving scabbards erupted everywhere. Lieutenants kept the soldiers calm and in formation, even without being able to see, and then all went quiet. It was like the hush before the storm. The next thing Lucia heard was a heavy creak, like old boiled leather, but huge. Then a whoosh of wind nearly knocked her off her feet. With the wind came a sickening feeling, and she would have vomited if her heart hadn't stopped. All around her she heard wails and screams that she wouldn't have expected from such well-trained warriors. But it wasn't an attack on the mind, it was an attack on the heart. She heard swords falling from numb fingers, and her own taut stomach muscles had turned to cold water. From the smell Lucia could tell that several soldiers nearby had loosed their bladders and bowels. Then a low voice called from somewhere ahead and above. It sounded like pieces of old dry parchment paper being rubbed together, "Flee, mortals, or stay and leave your flesh!" But Lucia's legs were frozen. She was like a fawn whose mother had just been shot by a hunter, too scared to do anything at all. Chaos erupted around her as the soldiers screamed and fled. But then a clear voice rose up like a clarion call. It was Vyncent Wolda, calling for his soldiers to stand fast. Screams of fear turned to shouts, and finally to war cries, as at least half of the soldiers shook free of the heart-clenching fear. Lucia heard the ring of metal on metal and the twang of bowstrings. Then she heard the unmistakable sound of armor-covered flesh being rent, the slop of innards being spilled. Then something heavy hit her and sent her sprawling to the ground, and she realized she could see. A hand was grabbing her by the belt and hoisting her to her feet. She saw it was Vyncent, and he locked eyes with her for only a moment. "On your feet, soldier! Run while you can! You must report to Red Larch! Go!" Vyncent shouted, giving her a shove. That's when instinct finally took over. Lucia had been a soldier her whole life. And she had just been given a direct order from an officer so many ranks above her it made her head spin. She stopped thinking and her training took over. She sprinted from the road and toward the tree line, making for cover. The last thing she saw before she turned was Vyncent Wolda, his back to her, facing the globe of blackness. He held his shield up and banged his sword against it, shouting for the attack he knew was coming. Then she saw long, black talons begin to emerge from the darkness.

Kambei sits on a rock on the edge of town, contemplating his journey. His thoughts wander to his home and concern for the danger he has put Kenji, Dasuke, and Aiko in these past few months. Their loyalty to him and his family is expected and humbling to him. Dasuke approaches with his head down which signifies permission to speak please. Kambei says "Speak." in a quick and sharp tone that Dasuke has grown accustom too. Dasuke, "Master Samurai, Aiko has gone missing. Kenji found this letter with your fathers seal opened on Aiko's effects. We do not know why she would open it master. We dare not read it and brought it to you immediately. I have sent Kenji to try and find out where she could be going." Kambei takes the letter and reads it. "Kambei my son, I send you a request to come home. Your sister has gone missing for some time now. I fear that a rival clan the Lin Kuei may have her although they deny it. You shouldn't have left for those foreign land seeking honor that they can not provide. Now our enemies seek to exploit this and force our hand. If you truly want to bring honor to our house, to our family name, then return immediately so we can regain our honor. Your father,  Takuhara Shimada"  Kambei looks up from the letter with stoic veil over a face of desperate concern. With a wave of his hand Dasuke backs away from his presents. The two have a nearly symbiotic relationship. Dasuke can tell without a word being said what he wants and goes to prepare for the journey home. Although Kambei's thoughts weight heavy on where his sister could be, he can't help but wonder what would cause Aiko to be so brash? In any case he figures she can't get too far and they should catch up to her soon enough. Most likely Kenji as well so his concern for his retainers is far less than that of his sister. Aiko has about a weeks head start as the letter arrived just after Kambei left for the Fain of the eye. Making up time with a forced march they come across a mutilated body off of the road. Dasuke dismounts his horse to investigate. A broken mask lie in the pressed damp grass a few feet away. He goes to the body and rolls it over to see his face drenched in blood the face appears to have been caved in. He then recognized Kenji's clothes. "Could have been brigands or wild animals" Dasuke says.  Kambei says we can not leave him like this we must bury him and hope we find Aiko alive. They quickly bury Kenji and push forward. Weeks pass buy and no sign of Aiko how could she have gotten so far ahead of us Kambei asks. Finally arriving home Takuhara halfheartedly welcomes him "Well son it is good to see you have some sense of what is truly important." Kambei, "I have come to help find my sister that is all. Not further you agenda." While they bicker one of the masked concubines gives a sigh of relief as she adjusts her mask. She slips into a connecting hallway removing the mask it is Aiko aka Keiko Shimada. Who now plans on how to explain her disappearance. Meanwhile, just outside of the town of Red Larch by the cemetery under the soft moonlight two hooded figures quietly approach one another. "You have done well keeping Kambei occupied although we couldn't find Keiko to exploit his absence it doesn't matter. Now this Dessarin Alliance has much to benefit our efforts in the region. Remember, Kaze Kage, you serve the Lin Kuei and in turn the Zhentrium. You have been hand picked to do our will, or your loved ones will suffer for your failure." Kenji says, "I understand and obey." Shadowy figure, "Good." As they part ways Kenji thinks they are fools if they think I will help them. That is why I hid Keiko right under their noses. I have seen this Alliance do great and noble deeds but I don't know if I can fully trust them yet. I don't know what the Lin Kuei want with them as they are masters of manipulation. But I have learned well how to manipulate my so called masters. One day I will find my family and free them from their grasp. But for know I must bide my time until the time is right and then strike back at the heart of evil.

Trent feels swollen with pride at the part he played in the destruction of the Air Node. He knows that his short life has accomplished something and that his name will be remembered among his people. For the first time in many years Trent has decided to let himself have a treat, so instead of his regular training regime he goes to the tavern. On his way he invites all those who accompanied him in the destruction of the Air Node, saying "I'll open a tab, you guys deserve it." With that the group head to the tavern and a good time his had by all, finally seeing Trent loosen up and show a different side of himself.