Well hello to you too!

“…..Yes… she has some issues, did try to kill us after all. But hey! Who hasn’t?!

Im just saying guys, she cant be all that bad! I mean, sure, she did summon an infernal monster to rip us to shreds in a horribly violent rage, but come on, she didnt mean it! Did she? All Im saying is just give me a chance! Look, let me talk to her first, move on in all nice and smooth druid like (chicks dig the outside adventurer type) get her to give up all this ‘evil’ nonsense. It will be fine! Trust me.

Whats the worst that could happen? …Ya, that, I guess. Hmm.. forgot about her poison crossbow… Ok… that too. Look we can talk about how many brutal ways she could kill me later. Point is, Im a half-elf, she’s a… well., elf-ish… High Elf?…… Maybe? Whatever, look guys…

…I got this!"

Hunting the Hunter

The half-elf took the right side, the forest thicker there, and yet he moves unimpeded. He is part of the forest already, quickly darting here.. there.. he sees everything.
The half-orc took the left side, bow in hand he tracks the beast. Ready to pull the string, ready to let fly the arrow.

The fog was getting thicker, they slowed their pace, they were close. The hunter was afoot. The half-elf motioned to stop, the half-orc backed against a tree, arrow fitted to his bow. “What do you see Ruven?”

‘Movement, up ahead, at least three.’

“Hold here, let the others catch up.” The half-orc growled.

Not needing further encouragement the half-elf crouched down, eyes still ahead, he could make out the shapes, see the movement, but they were a ways off still. Ruven edged back, finding a tree opposite the ranger, he sat down looking back from where they came. The others approached, four figures in the fog, slight sounds of armor could just be heard. ‘Tsokin, our brothers kept up better than I thought.’

Tsokin turned to look back, “Yes, good thing too, will be nice to have some real warriors for this fight, not some puny elf!” he said quietly.

The puny elf couldn’t help but smile, ‘Come now my half-orc bastard brother. Leave this poor druid be, we cant all be mighty sword swinging brutes, fire throwing wizards, or bow welding rangers. Mine is the way of the winds and the stars.’

“Yaaaa you just best keep all that wind talking and star gazing to yourself elf boy.” Tsokin grunted, rolling his eyes. “Why dont you go somewhere else and practice changing into a cat or something? Make yourself useful?”

‘Ya, good idea rat-boy.’

The old man.

His name is Jacob Morten, but they call him “Old Mort”. Morten is a carpenter and brick layer by trade. It is said that not a public building in town lacks his help in building or repairing. Foundations, walls, roofs, woodwork, even stained glass windows, Old Mort has done it all. Well… almost it all, Old Mort will not work in the sewers anymore. No,no, he’s not above getting dirty, he’s been down there, seen more than most, but he wont go back.

He wont talk about it, it happened years ago, five men went down, only Morten came up. Some say Morten killed them himself, but that’s foolishness, those who know him know better than that. No one knows what attacked them, not even Old Mort himself, but the screams still haunt his dreams.

Now days Old Mort walks the town in his free time, smoking his pipe, inspecting the city’s workings. His men working thanklessly, maintaining the city. One day, on one of his walks, he met them.

The gate was ajar, sewer entrance 16b, he knew it by heart. “Must-a-been….” He muttered as he took out his personnel log, “I don’t remember sewer work today.” Morten flipped through the pages, something he rarely had to do anymore, but found nothing. With a heavy sigh Old Mort approached the gate, someone’s not doing their job he thought. But Old Mort didn’t get far, not forty paces from the gate he saw it open wide. Six men came out, they looked like hell.

Old Mort stopped dead in his tracks, old horrid memories rising to the front of his thoughts. He stood there, watching them, they were still talking amongst themselves, he couldn’t hear about what. A few left, still tracking filth as they walked away, two stepped back down into the underground, one was left. Old Mort regained his senses, old memories still plaguing his mind, but he started walking again.

The one that was left was a skinny fellow, gaunt and pale, he sat down cross legged against the wall, his clothes were torn and stained, red or brown. Morten approached, “You….You there, what are you all doing down there? Your not one of mine, who let you in?”

The sickly figure looked up gazing at the old man, “Morning! Or evening! Which ever one it is.” A smile forming of his face. “You’ll have to have to pardon me, Id shake your hand but but it wouldn’t be advised as it were. I am Ruven. What can I do for ya?”

Old Mort paused again, who was this man? His accent was bizarre, his mannerisms almost savage, who were the others? “I.. I am Jacob Morten, I help run the maintenance in the city, now boy you tell me who you are and who let you down there! Its dangerous down there!”

Ruven laughed softly to himself, shaking his head. “You dont say old man? Forgive me! I should explain myself, me and my friends were just taking care of a little rodent problem.”

Old Mort started to look cross, who is this half-wit joker? Ruven noticed and smiled again. “Calm down, calm down!” Ruven wiped the muck off his explorers sash. “Church sent us down there to take care a something. We got the key from the city officials as you call them.”

“Oh.” Old Mort muttered. “I see, well that seems to be in order…, boy your not from around here, just where are you from?”

Ruven looked up at the old man, smile fading to a smirk. “We are from the islands that are no more, of the people who are but few, we are outsiders.” The smile returning to the young half-elf’s face. “And its nice to meet you Jacob Morten. Nice city you got yourselves.”

Traps, rats, and crap.

The brave adventurers boldly went into the sewers, and a few boldly took a bath in sewage. After surviving otyughs, traps, wererats, and gelatinous creatures, the adventurers discovered the enterance to the wererats base. Beaten down and smelling like the sewers, the heroes have decided to regroup and devise a plan of attack set at a later date. What dangers await the heroes in the wererats base?

Let's talk to the rats in the underground!

The “chosen” have only been home one day, and it seems it’s business as usual. Following a request from the church, the heroes are chancing a dangerous trip to the sewers to investigate the recent rise in wererat attacks. Hopefully they get a good bath afterwards because they have also been invited to a feast hosted by the trade houses. Busy busy busy.

"And they have the same job as us?!"
Williams plopped down in the chair, unceremoniously dropped his pack to the floor and sighed. Edder passed a mug to him from across the table, Williams scooped it up and took a long drink. He sat the mug down and gazed across the barracks, he found a few faces he didnt know on the others side of the room.

Leaning over to Edder, Williams asked. “Is that them?”

Edder smiled and took a shot of his ale, “That would be them. Arrived a little over two weeks ago, while you were away. Few days later they were transferred to the Expedition and sent out the next morning. Only been back for a day or so.”

“Are the rumors true? About the saltflats?” Williams questioned.

Edder chuckled, popped the cork off another bottle and leaned back in his chair. “Oh you missed quite a show when they got back yesterday. Take a look up there” Edder pointed with his mug to the far wall. Mounted on the wall with a fresh backing was a claw. A giant black claw.

“No….NO! You got to be kidding me! Thats not what we do!”

“Well seems that no one told that to them, damn fools!” Edder pored himself another drink then filled Williams’ mug again. “You should have seen Sarg, he didnt know what to say, hell I heard he promoted them.”

Williams took a drink of his refilled ale, “After two weeks?! Ive been here ten years!”

“Ya but you aint killed no dragon, besides you should be happy, we got an easy thing going here”

“OH you say that now Edder, soon they will expect us all to be slaying dragons and such!”

Williams and Edder both looked down as if deep in thought, a cold sweat on their brow, at almost the same time each scrambled for his drink and downed the rest.

“I think Ill have me another bottle of ale Edder.”

“And I think you’ll share it Williams.”

We who killed a dragon.

Ruven was sitting against a wall, bolts of energy still coarsening through his body. His finger tips still charged, they were burned, but he couldn’t feel it yet. Over head the sky was still dark, it would clear soon, the overwhelming heat would return. As Ruven stood up he felt the last of his spell subside, this would hurt soon.

Walking over to the middle of the courtyard he could see the carnage again. Broken bodies, charred bodies, sliced bodies, punctured bodies…. exploded bodies. But they were just lizard men. Just lizard men? The dragon lay dead by the well, things have changed, again.

“Its still just a piece of magic parchment.” Ruven thought. “However…, it would seem my brothers are more than even I thought. We will have to be careful now, we will bring more attention to ourselves. HA! Careful? We six idiots just took on a dragon! And we lived. I had hoped we could find a place to live with whats left of our people, find a new life and be happy. It would seem the winds and the stars have another path for us. Will we choose to take it?”

“We who killed a dragon.”


“Ya know…” He said as they made their way through the endless shallow sea of salt such. “I hope that the bloody magic tap, tapsty, magic wall does not show me turning into a bloody lycan or that I almost get killed every time multiple times. . .I think they have some magic stalker that just records all we do, and puts it all on that thing, you know if they can make such boats and such mystics why not? I would like to put an arrow through some of their heart the way they treat us. . .” He mumbled on a bit about similar things. “Least we get to get back at something, it feels good to blame something anything for our islands…”

Much later after shrieking spiders and killing off the enemy lizard scout. “I can not even hit a spider thing 5 feet in front of me, but i nail the big one in the throat, bet it shows that, or that the paladin might die not from the battle but the elements. You best take good damn care of your feet, Here I got some extra boiled leather boots for ya, I think ya got time before we kill the rest of these retched beast. . .”

“Stupid magic wall. . .”

A wayfarers thought.

“Somehow I doubt we will be normal members of the Expeditionary Force, magic parchment aside. Normal?… What is normal here? Two weeks ago I was on my island, gathering herbs to make potions for my people. Today I am ankle deep in bloody saltwater killing lizard-men, wondering if the heat will kill me before their blades do. Ha! What will the winds bring tomorrow?

No matter, our path would seem clear, forward. What else can we do, what else would we want to do? We are free, more than we know we are. And I aim to keep it that way."

~Ruven Winterborn

A warrior's purpose

The blade bit into the lizard creature’s neck and almost immediately my day had gotten a whole lot better. The thought of bloody and most visceral death from a group of murderous humanoids is far more appealing than just sitting around doing fuck all; the meal at the inn wasn’t so bad though, although the wait staff could have been friendlier. Anyway, this lizard bastard thought he could face down a half-orc with a long sword…you should have brought twenty more javelins with you my scaly friend. Damn it, Tsokin went down, I better introduce my steel friend to the insides of that piece of dirt. The priest is earning his stripes in this fight, Tsokin is up for another round, and another scaly man-thing just got a round trip ticket to the resurrection provided by yours truly. My friends seem to be holding their own in the fight, Bryce is making use of his purple electricity for once, though I shouldn’t give him too much grief since his father died a violent death; damn it, Tsokin just went down again. That rat bastard is a tough fucker. I’ve never thought I was this good at fighting; the blood on the blade gives me the idea that I have purpose in this new world. Say good-bye to your head! I’m sorry, I’m digressing here…I really could use something to eat.


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