Dunwyn, Bowen,a dn whoever wished to follow them head out into the Nhokkon woods. Dunwyn acts as guide.

"Prophetic Bencowan lives in the ruins of an ancient place of worship. It was used to worship the first set of gods, and the second lot ruined it when they took power. Much of it still stands, it is often used as a place of recreation, when Bencowan is inside. His dwelling in a place of the old gods, while he himself was raised in the time of the new, cause him to have a wider view of the world, and enable him to know more. Some say he is in touch with the smallest essence remaining of one of the old set of dieties, but no-one knows for sure, except himself, and, if its true, the spirit of that god."

They approach the ruined building.

(Suddenly, a group of rough men in spiked leather armor storm into the common room of the tavern. They grin and unsheathe filthy but sharp battle-axes. The leader belches, then shouts to the assembled patrons.)

Where's Felnar?

(The customers nervously look around, but Felnar is nowhere to be seen. The marauder looks angry, then gleeful.)

Har har! If you won't give him up, we'll kill all of yas. Nobody is going to squeal on us today!

Unfortunately, everyone in the tavern dies, as our intrepid heroes are out in the Nhokkon Woods.

No, Keeran and the Monk are in the tavern, the others are in the Nhokkon Woods.

Please remember to post in blue text when talking amongst yourselves when you're not actually writing the story, ok? That way we can differentiate between the two.

Sorry, I realised people might ignore blue text, so if I wrote in blue then everyone might go with "Narrator"'s version of events, which is wrong (read the most recent posts here and on the last board carefully and you'll see.)

Noman, who was also in the tavern, but not invisible -- bards pick up more info when they can be seen -- stops playing his lute for a moment. His silver hand gleams in the light.

Neighbor, why don't you put down your weapons? We're all friends here.

Noman begins to play again, but it's a different tune... rather foolish and silly sounding. Many people in the tavern being to laugh and seem to be having a very good time.

Most of the brigands put their weapons down and enjoy the fun. Unfortunately, the leader of the group doesn't seem to be affected by Noman's song...

.....but suddenly, while everyone is paying attention to Noman's wonderful performance, a glass bottle flies through the air and smashes into the leader's head, breaking and leaving a nasty cut. The leader swings around to see who through the bottle. A man with a horrified look on his face is giving the leader the finger.

(That's because the Staggering Monk has his hands clamped over the man's mouth so he cannot speak, and told him to do it or be hurt)....}

Author's Note: The Staggering Monk is bluffing; he would not really hurt and innocent person.

Author's Note: Noman was using Bardic Charm.

Noman gently puts his lute down. He holds up his silver hand, which distracts from the fact that his other hand is near his hilt...

Come come, friends. Surely we can resolve this amicably?

I don't think so, jongleur. We have our orders.

(The leader wipes the blood off his face.)

Now, KILL THEM ALL! I get the bottle-thrower!

Noman whips out his sword, and quicker than a flash, the point is at the mercenary leader's throat. The sword gleams coldly, as if it were made of ice...

Are you sure, friend? Perhaps you'd like to reconsider.

(The leader, oddly enough for a man with a sword at his throat, grins. His voice becomes strangely raspy, and he loses his colloquial accent.)

Ya have no idea who you are dealing with, minstrel. My master has gone to great lengths to make sure no one will discover his plans!

(The leader shimmers, turning into an extremely tall being. A coal-black bull-headed creature, resembling a minotaur. The crimson tips of his yellow horns glimmer as if dipped in blood, and he carries a huge shimmering battle-axe. He bellows at the mercenary band, and they charge forward. The minotaur raises his axe, and swings at blinding speed, ready to split Noman in two!)

(The minotaur's hand stops just before the axe touches Noman's head.)

What trickery is this???

The usual kind.

(The invisible Keeran grabs Orgnak by the breastplate and hurls him into an empty table.)

Noman, do you have some means of calling our friends? I think we may be outnumber...whoops!

(Orgnak the Minotaur swings his massive battleaxe from his sitting position, apparently just missing Keeran's head. A few brown hairs, now visible, drift to the floor.)

Oooo! I am so tempted to sic Bellepherus on this dude! But, perhaps I should wait...

Noman has his dagger in his silver hand, as well as his sword in his normal hand. With the sword, he slices at Orgnak's arm, attempting to disarm him -- pun intended.

I'm afraid I don't have any long distance calling spells... Sorry, Keeran. Thanks for the save, by the way.

Author's Note: I will be out of town on business for the next week. Assume I fight/sing/whatever as usual. This board seems to go in spurts anyways.

Dunwyn, Bowen and Dhalric look around the building. It looks like a castle, or rather, like a former castle, now a ruin.
"Do you know where he is?" Bowen asks.
"Somewhere in here, I know," Dunwyn replies. They walk into a dark tower, where it is difficult to make anything out. They follow a passageway down some stairs, and into a sort of cellar, or possibly dungeon. Dhalric begins to summon his Orb, but Dunwyn stops him.
"No need for incantations. Use of any spiritual guidance will distract the soothsayer when he makes his prophecies."
Dhalric explains about his Everglowing Orb.
"I suppose it isn't, but still, Bencowan doesn't approve of magickal use too nearby."
A voice can be heard. "Salutations, travelers. You have come to seek the words of Prophetic Bencowan. What is it you wish to know?"
Bowen takes up the question. "We are on a quest to recover the Heart of Power. It was last seen in Argle Bargle many centuries ago, but we have heard recently that it was until a short time ago in possession of the gods, before it was stolen from them. Who has taken it, and will we recover it before all people in or near Hart's Hope suffer?"
There is a short pause before the reply.
"A long question. The affairs of the gods are mysterious. As you may know, I have more knowledge on the first set of gods, deposed by the current one. Let's see, what do I know about the Heart of Power..."
It is unseen what the agurer is doing, but there are long deep breaths to be heard, almost as if he is asleep, but unlike any other sleep known. Eventually he comes out of his trance, and speaks once more.
"The Heart of Power was an object of evil, created before the days even of the original gods. Once, 400 years ago, in the reign of King Bargov the Wise, the High Priest of the evil Demon King took it from a farmer who had discovered the so-called Heart by chance. He fled to the trading post Argle Bargle, and managed to hide himself in the Nhokkon Woods. A benevolent god managed to recover the Heart from him, and he was "touched by a shadow"... I'm sorry... I get more cryptic the sooner I reach the present day... just ask anyone who's heard me tell the future!"
Sir Bowen remembers something. "Touched by a Shadow! Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
"That the High Priest encountered them? I say we need to talk more to Shadow victims!"
"But first... do we recover the Heart of Power in time?"

We can find out what we need to know from these scalawags! Knock them out, don't kill them!

(Keeran dissolves his invisibility spell, and charges the mercenaries.)

As the invisibility spell starts to dissolve, a flurry of bottles fly at the mercenaries, who barely have time to react. As he becomes visible, the Staggering Monk downs the contents of one last bottle, then throws it at the minotaur.

Fine, Keeran. (He looks at the tiger, which is at his side.) Bellepherus, take out the minotaur...but don't kill it!

The remaining patrons of the bar scream in horror and flee, as the tiger roars and leaps at
Orgnak.

You will achieve your goal, though not without cost. You will have to face much wrath and turmoil, for something like this. Remember, all you know about the Heart is from before the gods took it.

Bencowan is pronounced "Ben Cohen" like but despite the name Bencowan has nothing to do with Judaism. It's a reference to fellow nitpicker Ben Cohen, since he for a time called himself "Pathertic ben Cohen", and the things this character says are "prophetic"... Prophetic Bencowan!

Dunwyn, Bowen and Dhalric leave the building.
"Yes," Bowen reminisces, "We know that in Hart's Hope someone stole the Heart of Power from the gods, but we don't know who or why. We should ask Shanlir, he was Baron there!"
"If he knew he'd have told you before," Dunwyn points out.
"He might know something we can put together with what we already know. He hasn't been around for much of our mission."
"Then let's go and ask him! He might be able to help in where the thief went after he stole it!"
They run back through the wood to the small town, to meet up with Baron Shanlir and hopefully continue solving their mystery...

Just then the people in the tavern are surprised by the door being thrown open by a person who dispite being in a squire outfit has long black hair. She carries a spear

Don't worry! I've come to help you, Keeran and Co.!

Bowen and Dunwyn return to the town and enter the inn, where they can see the throes of the fight. Sir Bowen draws his sword, and prepares to join the combat. Dunwyn scurries off.

Noman lands a 1-2 combination on Orgnak, knocking him back. Orgnak looks very surprised... Noman is much stronger than he looks.

Ouch. Good thing that wasn't my fingering hand!

Fingering hand? Hmmmmm.....nah. I could say something, but I'll let it slide!

Dhalric draws his double-swords.

You look like you could use some help!

i{He charges into the fray and hits three of the thugs with a furry of blows, being careful to only strike at non-vital areas. He also slices the major portion of one of Orgnak's horns off!}

Surrender, Minotaur! You cannot withstand the power of these swords!

heh! heh! heh! Someone forgot to format properly.

Yes, surrender!

Baron, I have a matter I wish to talk to you about. It's about the Heart of Power.

The Baron does not look happy. He walks over to Sir Bowen. He has a noticable limp from his injuries. Not even the tiger's magical drool could prevent that.

Come with me. Its best if we discuss this in private. (He walks into another room. Sir Bowen follows, and the Baron closes the door and sits down at a table.) Now, what is it exactly that you need to talk about involving the Heart?

Baron, if we are to find this so-called Heart of Power we have to put together all the information we have. We know that it was created by an evil force, and discovered 400 years ago by an unpriestly priest, who ran away to Argle Bargle. I have found out this priest ran into the Nhokkon wood and encountered the Shadow People. Now, you say the Heart was supposedly stolen by someone in Hart's Hope from the gods? Is there anyone there who has a possible connection to the Demon King, who the unpriestly priest was a follower of?

The Baron sighs.

I doubt it. Most of the Demon King's followers were slain by the forces of Aztorth and Mynara after the Great War twenty-two years ago.

He pauses.

Although....there is a rumor of a cult of the Demon King rising somewhere to the north of Silvercliff. I believe a scholar in ancient studies, Lady Nxalea d'Vashquiel, who lives in Silvercliff might be able to help you. She lives on Copperspike Lane in the eastern part of the city. You can't miss her place. Its the only three story building on that street, other than an inn nearby. Is there anything else, Sir Knight?

Encyclopedia of the gods:

Aztorth: Chaotic (good) god of Thunder and lightning. Aztorth appears as a man wearing bluish-silver plate mail armor covering his entire body, except for his arms and head. The shoulder-plates are covered with silver studs. His head appears to be made of blue lightning, with white eyes and a mouth te only visible features. Aztorth wields a double-bladed battle-axe or a bastard sword in battle.

(Yes, that is the god that TH's physical appearance was stolen from.)

Mynara: No clue. I just came up with the name. I'm going to let one of the writers come up with this one, but it should be a female deity.

The god of thunder, head of the gods?

Well, I'd like to know if you have any idea why the Gods thought someone from Hart's Hope had taken the object from them.

Lady Nxalea can tell you better than I, but it seems that a priest of Aztorth survived the fight and recognized the person who took the Heart. She has access to copies of the records from that period. The only other copy known to have survived are at the Great Library, over in Theoria, and since Theoria is more than 10,000 miles away.....(He pauses.) I suggest you interrogate the Minotaur and see what he knows. I suspect he may know more than he appears to. If Keeran knows any Mind-Wipe spells, I suggest he uses them on the Minotaur and the other thugs when you have finished. Either that, or kill them! They are far too dangerous to be allowed to live knowing you and the others have been here.

No, Aztorth isn't the head of the gods. He's probably the most powerful, but he's actually third in command.

In the other room, the Staggering Monk has used a technique known as "The Stinging Blow" to cause intense, debilitating pain to Orgnak. Dhalric stands in front of the Minotaur, one double-sword held against the man-beast's throat.

Now, Minotaur, I suggest you tell us who sent you here, and why! Otherwise, he can make that pain you are now feeling feel MUCH worse! It will feel like a minor itch, compared to what he CAN do to you! Speak up!

(Orgnak looks shrewdly at Dhalric, smiles, and speaks.)

Very well, I shall tell ye.

(Dhalric doesn't draw his sword one inch from Orgnak's throat. Orgnak sighs.)

Ye have beaten me. But thou shalt DIE before YE FIND MY MASTER!

(Orgnak slams his one whole horn into Dhalric's chest, puncturing his armor. The fighter instinctively beheads the monster even as the minotaur wounds him in the chest. The decapitated Orgnak falls to the floor. The body and detached head of the monster abruptly dissolve into dark shadows, which race, wailing around the room, before flying out the windows and disappearing.)

Dhalric is a Ranger, not a Fighter! (A Ranger\Rogue, if you want to get technical about it....)

I should have just killed him. But, no! You just had to try and interrogate him!

Dhalric looks down at his chest and sees the bloody wound.

That's going to leave a nasty scar!

Or a Ranger\Thief, if you're going by 1st or second edition AD&D.

The Staggering Monk looks at Dhalric's wounds. He pulls a bottle of blue-black liquid out from under his robes and hands it to Dhalric.

Staggering Monk: Here.

Dhalric: No thanks. I'm not thirsty, and that doesn't look like a healing potion.

Staggering Monk (smiling): Ah, but it is! (He pulls the stopper from the bottle and pours the liquid over Dhalric's wound. Dhalric winces in pain for a second, then looks stunned as the wound begins to close and heal over!) HealAle. My order's brewery is the only place that knows how to make it to maximum effectiveness.

Dhalric: Thanks. (He pauses.) Next time I help interrogate someone, remind me to stand a good distance away with my bow and arrow aimed straight at their forehead! (He looks at the rest of the thugs left alive, a grim visage on his face.) So, are you going to dissolve away when I slice your heads from your necks? Hmmm? I suggest yout talk, before I get....creative. (He smiles sinisterly.)

An old, fat man appears out of nowhere. He has a long beard reaching his feet and he wears a long deep blue robe and hat with gold stars on them and a gold belt. He carries a gold staff and after appearing he slips something into his pocket.
Greetings Questers! I am Meyrill, a magician as you probably guessed by my attire. I come from another...searches for the right word realm.
I was the head of a wizarding academy there until one of my pupils turned on me and...the place, um, suddenly went up in flames I ran away but I fear my ward was lost in the fire. I have nothing better to occupy myself with so I offer my assistance.

Bellepherus, ever cautious of strangers, especially those bearing good tidings and offering their help, growls low in his throat and stares with tightly squinted eyes, then slowly sniffs the wizard from head to toe, not quite sure what to make of him, which can mean a very terrible thing for whom he...inspects.

However, the wizard is lucky this day, for Bellepherus finds nothing wrong with him. At least not yet. But the colorful behemoth has been fooled before and learns quickly from his mistakes, thus is he ever cautious of strangers...

Well, folks, it looks like I'm back in the game, but perhaps only sporadically.

Thank Rrestni THAT'S over. Well met, Meyrill! Now, what shall we do with these miscreants?

(Keeran grins at the now-fearful mercenaries)

I don't think we can get any information out of them. I say we make for Silvercliff.

Greetings, Meyrill. You might be of help.

Ni!

No! No! No! We are now the Knights Who Say "Neener! Neener!"

I have an idea!

I know of several men of great wisdom, who watch all that happens in the inhabited lands. They are highly exalted because of their wisdom, and own many lands. They will surely have heard of these strange attackers.

(Keeran is asked for more information)

They are known as the Sultans of Ss'wieeinng. But the way there is dangerous. We shall have to pass through the Dire Straits of Nopflrr to reach their land.

Indeed? I have heard of some famous bards of Ss'wieeing, also from the Dire Straits! I am not fully conversant with that area, though. Is it anywhere near the Spring of Steen?

It better be on the way to Silvercliff. After what the Baron said, I don't think we can afford to go too far out of the way. This Lady Nxalea sounds like someone we really should talk to!

I concur with Mr Blacksilver. These attackers are not important to the task at hand.

A very wise decision, young knight.

Anytime anyone tries to kill me, I take it seriously.

(Keeran smiles and pulls a worn, yellowing parchment from one of his pockets)

A map of the overland. Yes, one of the routes to Silvercliff is straight through the Straits. The land of the Sultans is a sixth of a day's march from the road. We shouldn't be too inconvenienced.

Yes, Noman, Steen's Spring is just past the Dire Straits of Nopflrr. Perhaps we can refresh ourselves and listen to the excellent bards who play at the Spring.

Geez, this is getting to be almost as bad a Piers Anthony Xanth book! (I'm about four behind, I think. Maybe five)

Hmmmm....well, if its not that far out of the way from Silvercliff, maybe we should go see these wise men. I just hope there are more than three of them!

Fare thee well, Questers! Brother, Noman, Keeran, «Grins, with eyes flashing» Melissa, and the rest.

So long, Dunwyn, I hope our paths cross again soon.

The Questers, along with Meyrill, begin to set off.

At that point a lone wayfarer approaches Keeran and his remaining party, obviously wishing to join them on their short side journey to Steen's Spring. He speaks in a soft, almost poetic voice.

Greetings, strangers. I am Bic Penh Tamyttr. My friends call me Bic, as you may. I couldn't help but overhear as to your destination. I know very well of Steen's Spring. It's a gathering place for artists of all trades: song, music, poetry, sculpture, craftwork. You name it, you'll find it there. If it's art of any sort you desire that's the best place to look first.

I've just been itching to try that one for about a week now.

Suddenly, in the distance a voice yells....

ARCHERS READY! (pause) AIM! (slightly longer pause) FIRE!

Suddenly, everyone hears the sound of dozens of arrows shooting through the air at once, followed a few seconds later by the sound of arrows hitting something. A few seconds later, there is a great and terrifying roar!

RRRRRRRRHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAARRRRRRHHHHHH!!

A bloody and dirty knight dressed in chainmail, his black and gold surcoat ripped in two places, runs toward the group and stops. He is breathing hard, as if he had been running for quite a while. He rests his shield against a tree and takes off his helmet, revealing shoulder-length blond hair, soaked with sweat.

Thank the gods! We need reinforcements immediately! The Demon-Dragon has returned, and will surely destroy everything and everyone for miles around if it is not stopped! Can you help?

Well met, Bic Penh.

I like that one too.

A Demon-Dragon, eh? I hope it's between us and Silvercliff.

The knight looks at Keeran, happily surprised (but still breathing hard. After all, he's been running for miles!

Silvercliff?! You are on your way to Silvercliff? Then you will surely want to help us defeat the Demon-Dragon, for we believe that Silvercliff is the abomination's intended destination!

He pauses.

My lord, King Dihl Pickhl, has sent several of us to find reinforcements. Our archers have had almost no effect on the beast, and all who have engaged it in up-close combat have fallen to tooth, claw, or flame. Two whole units even deserted rather than confront the monster! For three days, we've managed to slow its movements. It would surely have reached Silvercliff by now, if not for the noble sacrfices made by my fellow knights!

He pauses, then takes a canteen from his waist and drinks, closes it, and rubs the sweat from his brow.

Pardon me for not introducing myself. My name is Oskyr Myor, the Duke of Ehrl!

Thank you, Keeran. I was hoping someone would...besides me, of course. heh heh

Ah, yes, Duke. They have a cute song about you and how much in love you are with your lovely wife. Would you like to hear it? It goes something like this (sings alternately in deep tones and high):

Duke, Duke, Duke, Duke of Ehrl
Duke, Duke, Duke of Ehrl
Duke, Duke, Duke of Ehrl
Duke, Duke, Duke of Ehrl

Duke, Duke, Duke, Duke of Ehrl
Duke, Duke, Duke of Ehrl
Duke, Duke, Duke of Ehrl
Duke, Duke, Duke of Ehrl

As I walk through this world
Nothing can stop the Duke of Ehrl
And-a you, you are my girl
And no one can hurt you, oh no

Yes-a, I, oh I'm gonna love you, oh oh
Come on let me hold you darlin'
'Cause I'm the Duke of Ehrl
So hey yea yea yeah

And when I hold you
You'll be my Duchess, Duchess of Ehrl
We'll walk through my dukedom
And a paradise we will share

Yes-a, I, oh I'm gonna love you, oh oh
Nothing can stop me now
'Cause I'm the Duke of Ehrl
So hey yeah yeah yeah

Well, I, oh I'm gonna love you, oh oh
Nothing can stop me now
'Cause I'm the Duke of Ehrl
So hey yeah yeah yeah

I hope that sounded fine to you. Modesty forbids me to agree with the statement heard in many lands that I have the most beautiful voice ever to emanate from a man's throat. (blushes deeply, then turns away)

Go over to the little-used TKOS Discussion board after reading this....

Dhalric (whispering in Sir Bowen's ear): Probably because Noman has a better singing voice!

The knight looks at Bic, smiling.

Actually, I wrote the lyrics for that particular tune. Wonderful rendition, by the way. (He pauses.) We know for a fact that the Demon-Dragon can be stopped by a IceFrost Crystal. Unfortunately, the nearest one is in Silvercliff. Can you please find it, and bring it to us? Countless lives are at stake!

Dhalric steps forward.

We will bring the IceFrost Crystal to you. All you have to do is tell us where in Silvercliff it is!

Oskyr hands Dhalric a note, and smiles.

Thank you! The IceFrost Crystal is currently being kept at the home of Silvercliff's mayor, Thorbin Greyspike. All you have to do is give him this note, and he will give you a magical amulet that lets you control the crystal. Bring it to us immediately!

Dhalric: No problem. One of us will come to you on my Gryphon, Greatwing. Tell your forces that they will have nothing to fear from him. He's.....unique.

(whispering to Dhalric) As does Dunywn.

(The team presses onward, past the ruin in which Bencowan resides, and towards the Dire Straits of Nopflrr. They approach with caution.)

We must have our wits about us...

(The party travels through a deep, dark forest very near the Dire Straits. For quite a few nights, they have been hearing howling at night. The sounds seem to have been coming closer, but this night, the only thing to be heard is the hooting of owls. Keeran pulls alongside Dhalric, and talks quietly to him.)

I don't mind telling you that this is very exciting. It almost seems like something is going to happen, doesn't it?

(Just then, something does. A huge pack of furred predators leaps out of the forest, descending on the party at full speed. In the flickering light of the torches, some of the animals appear glossy black, some silvery, and some orange-red.)

War-wilves! Don't let them touch you!

(Keeran whips his massive sword out of its sheath and gets into a defensive posture.)

As it is night time, Noman quickly rubs a couple of holly leaves across his eyes, and mutters a spell. When he draws his sword and dagger, the rest of the party can see his eyes gleaming like a wolf's in the darkness...

War-wilves, huh? Are they related to the Wilv-urys who were last seen travelling in a pack?

No, they're actually a sub-species of War-Wohnts!

Dhalric reaches behind his cloak and pulls out a black and silver composite longbow with mother of pearl and platinum inlays. He readies it, then reaches behind his back again and draws a single, blue and silver arrow. He nocks the arrow, takes aim, and fires. Just as a War-wilve leaps into the air, the arrow hits it smack in the face. The arrow explodes and so does the War-wilve!

Noman, forget the knives, unless they have silver in them! You'd be better off smacking them around with that interesting hand of yours!

He draws another arrow from behind his cloak....

Where's a cleric who can cast Holy Fire when you need one?

Does magicked steel affect them?

Looks up and notices clouds.

Clouds...

Thinks a minute

Stay well away from these beasts, friend Dhalric.

Noman sheaths his weapons and starts to mumble and wave his hands. He is obviously casting a spell. Suddenly, out of the few clouds above, a bold of lightning comes down and strikes the pack, killing about half of them! Noman staggers for a moment, and then recovers. He puts his weapons back in his hands.

I hope that helps some.

Dhalric smiles.

Impressive!

He watches as a War-wilve leaps toward Noman from behind. Dhalric fires the arrow, which hits it in the chest. The beast burst into flames, and falls to the ground, screaming in agony as it burns to death.

I hate these things almost as much as I hate undead!

He draws another arrow, nocks it, and fires it at several War-wilves standing together and growling. The arrow hits the ground right in front of them and the arrowhead explodes, releasing a gas that covers the beasts. When it dissipates, the beasts are sneezing their heads off.

Pepper-Gas Arrow. My own design. I suggest we either finish them off, or run like the devil before they stop sneezing!

He places his bow back behind his cloak, and draws his double-swords.

At times like this, I wish I had a Heaven's Charge scroll!

Holy Fire - A clerical spell (6th level) that causes 1+casters' level number of targets to be covered in white flames. Evil beings take 2d4+caster's level points of damage from the flames, which last a number of rounds equal to half the caster's level. Undead, demons and lycanthropes take double damage. Evil clerics have a version of this spell called Unholy Fire that affects Good beings.

Heaven's Charge - A clerical spell {7th level} that summons 2d6 worth of beings who appear to be angelic knights on horseback, armed with heavy lances, shields and broadswords. The knights fight as 10th level fighters with weapon specialization in heavy lances, and their weapons are considered magical (+5) for determining who they can affect. The knights fight for a number of rounds equal to the level of the spell's caster +1, and can only be commanded by the caster. They will not dismount under any circumstances.
Heaven's Charge can be cast from a scroll by any good-aligned being, regardless of class. However, if the being is Chaotic, rather than Lawful or Neutral good, the duration of the spell is halved, regardless of the level of the scroll scriber. There is NOT an evil or neutral version of this spell.

Unfortunately, this sword isn't made of silver. I don't know exactly what it's made of, but it's not silver. However, this is the next best thing.

(Keeran chants, and his sword seems to crackle with blue energy. He slashes at a War-Wilf, and as soon as the glowing blade touches the animal, it explodes in a blast of magickal power. He quickly weaves his way through the battle, destroying one animal after another. It seems pointless, as more and more Wilves join the pack from the dark woods.)

We've got to scare them away, somehow!

Unless someone here can conjour up a Fire Elemental or a Silver Golem, I can only think of one alternative.....FIRE! We've got to set a fire big enough to scare the bejeezus out of them, but small enough for us to control. We don't want to end up burning down the whole forest!

During that brief melee, the tall, extremely muscular fighter idly sat upon a log, langorously drinking mead from a large magical flask that never needs refilling. He had not a worry in the world about the War-wilves because in fact he was rather bored with them, having fought so many in his travels. He figured why not let someone else slaughter the dumb beasts for a change.

I really don't know why you men were so worried about those godsdamned animals. They're not so hard to kill that a good piece of cold, hard steel wouldn't take care of them in no time. I should know. I've killed many such beasts in my time, and many other breeds, as well.

Bic is a pretty good fighter, but not as good as he'd like others to believe. He's a braggart, and very selfish most of the time but sometimes he does have his weak moments, especially if an attractive female catches his fancy. He drinks seemingly constantly from his magical flask, given to him by a kindly old sorcerer for whom Bic once did a very big favor. Knowing how much Bic loves his spirits, the wizard put a spell on the flask to always provide its owner with a ceaseless flow of the drink of his choice, but without the high alcohol content. Bic loves the flask mostly for the fact that he's cheap and will never have to pay for anymore drinks ever again, and he never pays for anyone else's. He can be a fair companion to travel with but watch your belongings. He's a bit of a kleptomaniac, most often with gold, jewelery and gems. He's not a theif, really. It's just a compulsion that's gotten him in trouble more than a few times.

Well, that's two magical never-empty flasks we have on hand, then. The Staggering Monk's flask is always full; when it is half-empty, it automatically teleports wine from his order's winery inside of itself to refill! (His other flasks, like the HealAle one, are normal, though; they can run out!)

Cold steel, eh? You must have the War-wilves confused with another creature. The War-wilves are a crossbreed between Dire Wolves and Werewolves; all of their nasty power, combined with a werewolf's resistance to all but fire and silver! My order's monastary was plagued by a pack of these beasts a few months ago, so I should know!

Hmmff! Well, please forgive me then, kind sir, because after killing countless scores of various creatures for many, many years one breed can start looking like the others, even werewolves. No hard feelings on not participating in the fight there, I should hope? Fighting wolves in any form gets very boring to me after awhile, but I won't let it stop me again. I'm always up for a good fight.

I'd forgotten about the monk's flask. These things must be pretty popular, huh?

Suddenly, a giant fireball falls from the sky and incinerates several of the War-wilves!

I hate those beasts. I really do.

Suddenly, a woman floats down to the ground from out of a tree. She is wearing a copper-colored helm with noseguard and a copper chestplate. The rest of her outfit is made up of black leather armor, except for her boots, which are grey fur trim on top of copper armor. She is holding a longbow that appears to be made of crystal, with flames inside of it.

I've killed at least thirty of those abberations in the last two days! My name is Azriin Copperfire. I was resting in that tree when I heard the sounds of combat, and saw what was going on.

(The rest of the Wilves scatter at the sight of the fireball. Keeran looks around for any more possible danger, then flicks his wrist, shutting off the magical effect on his sword. He sheathes the inexplicably clean weapon, then sits down and begins munching on a crust of bread he pulls out of his rucksack. He waves merrily at the newcomer.)

Azriin! How are you doing? The last time I saw you was near Lothar's Rest, the business with those scoundrels and the false gold. Did you ever track down that thug Reder?

Noman sticks his longsword into the few spot fires where trees are burning. They go out instantly. He then taps his sword against a rock, and all the blood and cruft (yes, that's how it's spelled) drops off, leaving the sword shining clean. He sheathes his sword and dagger.

Well met Azriin. Noman Gilinde Celebrimbor am I, an itinerant bard of the harp.

Azriin smiles at Keeran.

Keeran, old friend! I had no idea you were in this area! As for Reder.....he'll never bother anyone again. He fell into one of his own traps, and it cost him both legs right below the knee, and his right eye. A cleric of Bezatha cast a healing spell that restored his eye, but no cleric of any faith is willing to restore his legs, out of fear that he might decide to return to his old ways! He's working as a carpenter in Lothar's Rest now, if you can believe that!

She folds her bow and places it in her quiver, opens a canteen and takes a long drink, then puts the cap back on the canteen and looks around.

Noman Gilinde Celebrimbor? You're not by any chance related to Halse Celebrimbor, the famous Paladin who slew the Arch-Lich Queen of Darstok Hold thirty-three years ago, are you? My uncle Frastagg was Halse's squire!

I'm afraid not, milady. I am so called because of this {holds up silver left hand}.

However, I am the Noman who was involved in the matter of the Dark Wizard of Uli'en many years ago. I make my home (when I'm not wandering about) at my manor house Darkwood, within the barony of Vincible.

I am not too familiar with Vincible. I did stop there briefly once, about a year ago, while on my way to Pearlholme. However, I know of the Dark Wizard of Uli'en. A foul wretch, indeed. Is it true that those so-called "Shadow Demons" he commanded were actually a race of black-skinned Gargoyles that he somehow created? At least, that was the rumor I heard....

Dhalric steps forward.

No, milady, they were true demons, summoned from the Netherrealm. But they did resemble black Gargoyles. I know, because some of the Shadow Demons escaped when the wizard was slain. Two of my friends showed me a Shadow Demon's horn and told me a tale of how they and a band of Barbarian warriors slew three of them in a cavern under Uli'en a few months after the wizard's death. Nasty beasts. Took a great deal of magic to destroy them. Many people still refuse to this day to go anywhere near Uli'en, for fear that some might still exist!

No, Azriin isn't going to be a regular character; I plan on having her travel with the group for a bit, then leave. They may run into her again, however.


The Staggering Monk steps forward, shocked.

Frastagg Copperfire was your uncle?! He is revered as a great hero by my order, The Order Of The Frozen Cup! Frastagg saved our noble and most revered leader from an attack by the Kn'll'lin, and even received hand-to-hand combat training at our monastary! I even met him briefly a few years ago. (He pauses, and solemnly bows his head.) I was sorry to hear of his death.

But before Azriin can respond, a distraught man that looks somewhere in his 50's appears to them, and asks:

Pardon me, sirs and madam, but have any of you seen my wife? She's been gone for days now and I have no idea where she is!

Well, why don't you tell us something about yourself and her and maybe we can help you, alright, old man?

Well, all right. Um, my name is Ennerii. She... (giggles a bit sadly) she calles me "Ennerii the Eighth" because she's married seven other men also named Ennerii. She just refuses to marry a man with any other name. When we met she was my next door neighbor and a widow, once for each husband, but when we married I was determined not to die for quite some time. I still am, in fact, but now I can't find her anywhere. It's like she's just vanished into thin air! Can you kind people help me?

Has a sudden moment of inspiration and breaks out in song...

I'm Ennerii the Eighth, I am.
Ennerii the Eighth, I am, I am.
I got married to the widow next door.
She's been married seven times before.

And every one was an Ennerii. (Ennerii!)
She wouldn't have a Willi or a Samh. (no Samh!)
I'm her eighth old man now, I'm Ennerii.
Ennerii the Eighth I am, I am.
Ennerii the Eighth I am.

Second verse, same as the first!
I'm...

NO! Young man, I am appalled at you for your gross indiscretion at my predicament! I come seeking help in finding my wife and you make a mockery of her and I both?!? How dare you! I have never been so unjustly insulted in all my life!

points accusing finger at Bic

You should be ashamed of yourself! And don't bother apologizing. I don't want to hear it! Good day to you all.

looks contempously at Bic
Except for you!

walks off

Looks around at the rest of his party, catching the angered stares in their eyes.

What? I was just trying to help. By the gods, when someone's in distress then for some strange reason I feel compelled by a strong, undeniable inspiration to create a song and then sing to try to make them feel better. What's so wrong with that?

mutters to himself

By the gods, this be a confusing world.