Here the Mountains Whisper

Feb 7 2013

From the journal of Darren Swift

…reaching our destination of the ruined Dwarven garrison our party cautiously descended in to the gloom. A heavy door that had been blown inwards in to a connecting hallway indicated our quarry’s trail led in that direction. Shackles upon the wall indicate that slaves may have been kept here in ages past. Venturing further in to the garrison we encountered a large number of orc troops led by a berserker. Our half-breed mage attempted to quell the orcs with an enchantment of some sort which proved largely ineffective compared to a hail of bolts and arrows. Marshall and I thinned their ranks while our “leader”, Elric, directed the mute drow and the priest of Pelor to dispatch the remaining orcs in melee. Berserkers may dominate a foe in melee combat, though their reckless attacks leave them defenseless against a hunter of cunning. The bolts in that idiot’s body can attest to that fact.

The enthusiastic members then began exploring at once while Marshall and I searched the remains of the orcs and recovered ammunition (…this must have been the cause of my crossbow jam…) . The sound of collapsing rock and shouts for assistance alerted Marshall; eager to subdue our quarry, we entered a new room with nothing of note to be seen. It seems as if Elric’s Steele is not as tempered as I was led to believe.

Our jesting was then forgotten as undead creatures began to approach. As Elric led the drow and Pelor-ite to battle further down a hallway, he soon returned with a look of absolute terror as the hallway exploded with radiance behind him. The blinding light subsided and a Wight was sent flying out as well. The half-breed decided to unleash magical fire upon the flesh of the undead, turning many corpses in to nothing more than ash. The Wights proved more troublesome as their unholy power allowed them to re-animate the fallen. Well placed attacks from myself, Marshall, and Elric sent the foul creatures back to the hells. There is very little sport in hunting undead; they are merely shambling, moaning, practice dummies.

Our fearless leader now thoroughly humbled, we continued through the passageways. Soon, we were alerted to taunts and jeers coming from another room. Marshall and I took to the shadows and saw that three human bandits had wounded and pinned an orc behind a pillar. Interestingly enough, they did not pursue their quarry. Marshall and I assisted the bandits off of the ledge with some well placed motivation resulting in both broken moral and legs. My crossbow suffered several misfires during the combat (…damned scavenged bolts snapped…). Magical fire dispatched the bandit reinforcements; the half-breed added insult to injury by throwing dirt in their eyes.

The foes slain, Elric began the “interrogation” of our prisoner. The orc did not offer up any useful information, nor would any being with half a wit given the farce of intimidation performed by half-breed and “Steele”. The mute drow spoke, only to be laughed at. A bolt from my crossbow put an end to the comedy; the orc extended its usefulness. Our attention is better focused on our quarry and not the ramblings of a delirious monster.

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