The Forty Four Nights of Amn

Uktar, 1371

It was with great relief that the return of the treasure fleet was noted this month. The Olinar, Barths Fist and Chevé were all in sound condition while of the smaller ships only the Amarth was lost and the Colister severely damaged. None of the gold was lost and consequently there was great rejoicing on the harbour front.

The Athkatla Harbourmaster’s Log, Uktar 1371

It is a sad generation that has two champions.

A Purskul folk saying

Week One – The Return of the Bard

The Unchanging Plain

In the mysterious canyon, far from home where Dak’kon, Oriva and Karok found themselves marooned a plan was forming. Although the silver and blood-veined sky had not altered its hue in the slightest all of the group were fatigued and Oriva slept in the shade of a large boulder. Karok and Dak’kon struggled hopelessly to start a fire, the grey dust that covered everything apart from the wind-swept rock seemed to smother any flame. Any flame started on the rocks soon succumbed to the infrequent gusts of wind. As they worked they discussed their ideas for over-coming the lizard. Dak’kon talked about attempting to climb the creature using his mountain gear. Karok quickly dissuaded him, should the beast awake the worst place to be would be on its back. In turn Karok talked about using his god-given skills of stone shaping to raise the beast from the floor of the canyon. Dak’kon replied that it would not work due to something he had noticed earlier, he swiftly dug into the floor of the gap with his hand, scooping handful after handful of the sand like dust. After a few minutes the hole was deep enough to sleeve Dak’kon’s forearm and still there was no sign of any bedrock.

“It is as if the dust has been slowly filling this cut for years, I suppose in a few more seasons this place may be no more than a slight dip in the plain.” He gathered up one last handful of dust and impulsively placed it into one of the pockets into his tunic. “A souvenir” he thought to himself.

“Well that in turn gives me an idea,” said Karok “if the ground is less than solid then perhaps that creature might count as solid ground. Marthammor Duin displayed miracles that allowed him to cross rivers in flood and marshes that could suck dwarves under. I could grant us the same ability and see if we could float over the thing!”

“Of course I would have to go last and I can only grant the ability once per day.”

“A day!” replied Dak’kon “This place hasn’t changed since we arrived. Time may have stopped for all we know.”

“Then you should be the first to go, if anyone needs to get past on with the quest its you.”

Dak’kon nodded, he felt sorry having to risk losing his companions but when he thought of his fellow brothers rushing back to their imperilled monastery he could not bear to think of the idea of being trapped here any longer.

Karok crossed his legs and began praying to his god. A white aura of energy began to build around him. After a few minutes he rose and touched Dak’kon lightly on the arm. As he did so the monk rose unsteadily into the air leaving vortices of dust around his vacant footprints.

“Amazing!” Dak’kon cried. “Hurry! The miracle will not last long, make speed!”

Dak’kon needed no second telling. He started to run through the air, marvelling at the simultaneous lightness and resistance of the air. Behind him the dwarf continued to shout.

“Imagine climbing a hill! Run right over the creature!”

Dak’kon pictured himself climbing the long dwarven staircase they had discovered in the mountains and to his amazement found himself rising with each imaginary step, the massive bulk of the sleeping lizard rose before him but as it did Dak’kon rose with it.

From the lieu of the boulder Oriva opened one eye laconically, watching the monk madly pumping his legs in mid-air he called out: “Tell me if you see your house!” and then rolled back to sleep. As Karok watched he tugged on his beard as his heartbeat counted away the seconds, “C’mon quickly!” he yelled.

High above him Dak’kon had reached the height of the spines that ran along the creatures back. He could barely hear the shouts below him, before him ran the canyon while below the grotesquely obese body of the lizard slumbered. He now envisioned jumping down a slope and in irregular jolts he started to lower himself down to the floor of the canyon. Behind him the voices of his friends began to dwindle.

All things begin at the Rackal

The frosty atmosphere in the Rackal was broken by the sudden appearance of a half-orc dressed in a fine white silk robe. Gorflem triumphantly crossed his arms.

“Which one of you lot is looking for a bard?”

Gorflem twitched and switched his gaze to Solomon who was busy pushing out his chest in triumph. “That would be me.” said the half-elf. “Excellent,” replied the newcomer shooting straight past the out-stretched hand “if anyone comes asking for Amir bin Dair, which is my good self – strong of voice, with a tongue of stabbing quicksilver – please be so kind as to say I am not here.” With that the half-orc made a beeline for a table under the staircase and hid himself from view. Both Gorflem and Solomon shared puzzled glances before staring at doorway. Sure enough a few seconds later a slow jangling sound was heard outside, it came ominously closer until finally a dimunitive shape stood in the light streaming through the doorway.

“Gorflem!” when Amir heard the high-pitched, almost screeching voice he deflated with relieve like a bladder, he began to climb out of his hiding place, the voice continued “I heard you would be set forth once more to adventure! I knew at once that you would once again be needing the aid of the fearsome, the terrible TENDONSLASHER!”

The voice had all the tonal quality of a drunken man grinding his broken teeth on a blackboard decided Amir and as he emerged fully from under the table he had chosen as his hiding place he took good stock of speaker.

The “Tendonslasher” was a gnome of average height with brown blonde hair that had the dubious merit of simultaneously being dry and greasy with a final effect that mostly resembled horse bedding the morning after. The gnomes eyes were wretched, reddened in the whites and bruised black in the sockets, a dull madness flicked across them. He wore a red shirt covered with dark stains that suggested that he had been sick over himself in the recent past. Finally in his right hand he clutched a blade, no larger perhaps than that of a human’s knife but appearing massive in the gnome’s small fist. The blade glowed with a purple swirling aura, a miasma of energy that seemed to transfix the fellow. Amir stood up and joined the line staring in some mix of horror and awe at the figure before them. Finally Blackurn broke the silence with a whispered aside to Solomon: “Is it just me or does he seem crazier than last time?” Solomon simply nodded mutely.

At this the gnome snapped back to life and in a lurch swiftly snapped the sword into a hidden scabbard on his back (for a horrid moment Amir thought the madman had stabbed himself in the back). A broken smile came over his face and the gnome lurched forward “Tendonslasher, yessss.” he slurred as he headed to the bar.

“Well chaps sorry for the abruptness earlier but I mistook the little feller for someone else. Obviously one man who is badly in need of sinking the shaft of his other weapon.”

Solomon turned to him “Uh yes, but I wouldn’t tell him that if I were you.” Solomon quickly filled Amir in on the situation about his quest and a somewhat accurate portrayal of Gorflem’s quest. At the mention of Riatavin Amir’s eyes lit up, “Well strange as it may sound Solomon old son, you’re in luck I know just the fellow to fix you up there.”

A few days later

After helping Dak’kon to cross the massive lizard Karok had wondered whether his divine power would return to him at all in this never changing place. He asked of his god a meal for the day and then meditated on the ways and knowledge of Marthammor Duin. Oriva watched him silently for a while and then rose and searched the canyon floor again for anything of interest. There was nothing, apart from the choking dust that seemed to invade every part of the body and every niche of pouch or pack. Oriva had noticed that things did change slightly in this realm, he was guessing it was some pocket plane or astral manifestation, the sky, while mostly blue occasionally took on hues of green and purple in long ribbons laid across the sky. Occasionally massive creatures looking like islands in the sky slid silently over the canyon walls. Their only distinguishable feature were their huge purple tentacles which writhed beneath their bloated grey bodies like living roots seeking the sanctuary of the soil. Once again the hazy feeling of fatigue overcame Oriva and he let his head rest against the boulder.

Minutes later, or so it seemed, he was roused by the dwarf shaking him.

“Its your turn now Oriva.” he said.

Karok had felt the divine favour return to him with great relief, he loved to travel but had always felt the presence with Marthammor Duin with him wherever he went, to suddenly but cut off from it felt like madness. He again summoned the miracle that would carry Oriva over the lizard. The half-elf shuddered slightly as the magic took effect and then with a simple glance towards the sky he started to rise up out of the dust, swiftly rising away and over the beast. Karok shook his head, the wizard was too familiar with magic, to be so at ease with something that required a firm moral grasp to control was dangerous.

Oriva stopped in mid-air and looked back down at Karok.

“I can’t see Dak’kon!” he yelled.

Karok felt a small stab of nerves.

“Hurry down and try and find him or you’ll fall from the sky. I’ll join you as soon as I can!”

As Oriva came to rest in the dust behind the lizard (the canyon he noted was the same except that the silver trail ran out from under the beast and continued down the canyon) he quickly surveyed the ground. He fancied that he saw the faintest trace of tracks continuing along the trail. He wondered whether he should follow but realised that he should wait for the dwarf so at least they would each know where the other was.

My brother’s house

Amir took Solomon to a nondescript square house not far from the market.

“My brother belongs to the Krimmevol family. They run caravans north, south, west and east. If there is one man who can tell you what you want to know its him.”

Amir pushed open the door and walked into a dark room, in the centre of the room a skylight illuminated a large desk behind which a figure sat. The harsh Amnian winter light was muted with a piece of blue cloth that gave an exotic colour to the room. The figure at the desk wore some of the most opulent clothing Solomon had seen since he had come to Amn, the robe was of purple silk embroidered with gold thread woven into the shapes of roses, caravels and great temple bells. Like Amir the man at the desk was a half-orc who’s skin had the distinct yellowish tinge of the Purskul tribes, like Amir though his features were distinctly softened and human-like. His head was close shaved and he wore a skull cap that seemed to be made of some jet black metal that was engraved with entwined vines of silver. He was using a stick of thin charcoal to annotate a parchment before him.

“Brother,” the man intoned, his voice possessing a slight Purskul croak, “what brings you back to my door?”

“I do.” replied to Solomon “Commander Solomon, formerly of the Amnian Marines”

The figure behind the desk shifted easily in his chair.

“Ah, Commander Solomon, of course.” a smile danced upon his face and he gestured to the back of the room “Heuva, bring some refreshments for my guests.” A servant seemed to materialise from some back room with a silver tray loaded with a kettle of coffee and various small honey and coconut cakes. Amir helped himself greedily, he hadn’t had anything to eat all day. Solomon must have been important for his brother to lay on the hospitality like this.

“I imagine your visit must be in regards as to your forthcoming trip to Riatavin.” the merchant tapped his ear with his right hand “Please don’t be alarmed, secrecy is impossible in a city such as Athkatla. However fortune has been kind for you to find my brother and my brother has shown rare wisdom to bring to my door. My name is Asul bin Dair and I am a caravan master for the Krimmevol family. A family that has extensive interests in Riatavin.”

“Then you can tell me what the place is like then?” asked Solomon

“But of course, assuming of course that you are hear to obtain your supplies.”

“A suitable contract is available to the correct family.” replied Solomon “Of course I need to be able to trust a great deal in however supplies me with the goods I need.”

“I understand Commander and I assure you that there are few others who could handle your needs as well as the Krimmevol.”

“Then tell me about the town and then tell me about your involvement with it.”

“Certainly, Riatavin is a small place with an importance that is out of all proportion with its goods, the number people within its walls and other factor that normally marks one place from another.

“Riatavin marks the south-eastern tip of the Amnian lands, the actual border runs beyond it but anyone can claim a wilderness, Riatavin is as far as the Council’s power runs. It lies on an important crossroads of trade: to the north lies the Snowflake Mountains, rich with ore, gems and dwarven and gnomish crafts. South lies the fellow kingdom of Tethyr, east the trade routes run right across the land until they reach the coast of the Sea of Fallen Stars.

“As you imagine then the walls of Riatavin are packed with fellows going hither and thither. The Krimmevols keep an extensive caravan depot there.”

“But you said that the town had importance that far exceeds its mere physical properties.” interrupted Solomon.

“That’s true yes, this part of the story is harder to convey. Where to start?”

Amir’s brother flexed his arms and placed his hands behind his head, obviously whatever he had to say was either not easy or not easily put.

“A small while past a minority of the town’s citizens felt that perhaps their future lay under different stars. They attempt to depose the town council and install instead a group who would guide the town towards an arrangement with the Tethyrian crown.

“They were, well, very successful and only a last minute show of force by a group of Amnian cavalry prevent the complete cessation of the area. In fact I believe the Queen of Tethyr had even appointed a Baron of Riatavin.”

The half-orc chuckled to himself before continuing.

“Needless to say that having rescued the situation at the last moment the Council then proceeded to act like nothing had happened. A few ringleaders were executed – that was it. The causes of the separatist feeling were never addressed and therefore the town remains a powder keg. This is very serious as without Riatavin Amn cannot hope to hold it south-eastern lands.”

“So what does give that rise to the desire to join Tethyr?” asked Solomon

“I am not so sure it is a desire to be part of the Tethyrian system as a desire to simply not be part of the Amnian one. For the real answers though I think that you will have to ask a native Riatavina. And before you ask I am not aware of one on my staff.

“We have maintained a strict neutrality in the affairs of Riatavin and thus we have maintained our position in the town. Our office there would be able to tell you more, assuming of course that you are happy to let us help you.”

“Tell me,” asked Solomon “are there many temples in Riatavin?”

“You want to know about the competition you mean? Well there are a few but most are simply glorified way shrines. The temple of Waukeen is large and a handsome building, it has a large disc of gold, inscribed with the goddess and her symbol, floating high about its main tower.

“We could supply you better of course but for a price.”

Solomon nodded: “You will of course give me some time to consider, there are other people to consider…”

“Not in Riatavin, Commander, not in Riatavin.” the merchant interrupted a smile playing on his face.

“Well, if that’s true then I am sure we can come to some terms.” replied Solomon. He finished the last of his wine.

Outside Amir confirmed what his brother had said: “Really Solomon I don’t think there is another family who would be able to supply you with the amount of material you need.”

“And I suppose if I choose someone else to supply the expedition that there would be all manner of problems in the town.”

“Bureaucrats! Solomon I hate them as well but this is Amn we are talking about!”

Solomon bit his cheek, the bin Dair brothers were getting dangerously close to having done him too.

“Look Solomon, I can see that you need a bit of time to think things over and I need to try and have a look for that fella Gorflem was talking about. Why don’t we part ways for the moment and I’ll come by the inn two nights hence?”

Not waiting for a reply Amir smiled, slapped Solomon on the back and disappeared back into the crowd with a friendly shout of “Great!”, with Solomon out of sight he quickly retraced their steps back to his brother’s office. He carefully made his way round to the rear of the building and knocked on the gate at the back. A hunched half-orc with grey hair answered.

“Ah Gumshee!” called Amir “Great to see you again”

“It’s been some time young sir.”

“I suppose so, look I can’t just stand round an jaw, my brother has me on a mission see. I’m looking after a very important client of my brothers.”

“The soldier you were just with?”

“Quite so, but as I was leaving Asul told me to smarten up my act, necessary to maintain a good impression and so on.”

“I’m not sure I fully understand young sir.”

“Clothes, man! Clothes! I can’t escort a captain of arms around the city in these rags can I?”

“Oh, I understand now, well I suppose you can’t – no. Are you sure your brother told you to pick up some clothes from here?”

“Quite, actually Gumshee, and I am running against the sand here.”

“Well its just that the clothes we’ve had, they are very rare sir, just arrived from Calimshan and threaded with silver and gold.”

“Well ours not to question the chief man Gumshee, he must know what he was doing. If he sent me back here he must have meant those very same threads, he’s not some who forgets his meaning easily is he now?”

“Well, no, you’re right there, he must have bought with such a purpose already in mind I suppose. Well wait here and I’ll get something as close to your size as I can muster.”

“Oh don’t worry about the fit, I have a man who handles such things, just make sure it is as fine as can be.”


That evening when darkness had crept over Athkatla and the only light in the streets came from the guttering torches driven into the walls of the town houses Gorflem finally tracked down where Ribcrusher and his retinue were staying. He knew that a flashy guy like Ribcrusher would need a little space to spread out. It turned out that his rival had put down roots in a hostelry by the name of The Barn. The place had a large courtyard on which the inn itself, its stables and some outbuildings faced.

A gold piece to the stable boy confirmed that Ribcrusher was resident but currently drinking at the Copper Coronet with no reason to be returning home soon. Gorflem told the boy to go off and spend his tip and to enjoy it until the morning if he was wise. The boy didn’t need telling twice.

With him out the way Gorflem peered carefully over the gate to courtyard. The bounding wall was pretty high but the courtyard was poorly lit. The stable boy had told him that Ribcrusher and company had one of the outbuildings to themselves. He guessed it was the one with the hard-faced men standing outside it. Trust Ribcrusher to hire humans to do a half-orc’s job. The men were armed with short curved swords, they looked like nomads, either from the Cloud Peaks or further north.

Having a good sneak around was going to be tricky. He’d arranged to meet the Tendonslasher here, despite the gnome’s obvious lunacy he was hard to spot when not raving. Almost on cue Gorflem spotted the gnome strolling with no apparent concern straight for the inn.

Gorflem hissed at him and jerked his head over to a secluded corner of the wall where a lime tree created a pool of shadow.

“What’s up now Gorflem?” asked the gnome “What’s with the ‘hsst, hsst’?”

Gorflem allowed himself a grimace, the gnome could be useful if properly motivated.

“Well see we’re next to a stables, right and I reckon it’s full of fine Purskul horses who are renowned for their sense of smell.”

“Acute senses eh? Well good thing you have an expert on the job. Silence it’ll have to be.”

“Oh that’s smart.” said Gorflem cupping his hands to boost the gnome onto the top of the wall. The gnome was lighter than a handful of stones.

“Gorflem?” the gnome paused midway across the wall, one foot resting on Gorflem’s head. “If the horses can smell really well why are we being silent.”

“’Cause of the nomad guards on the other side of the courtyard.” Gorflem gently pushed the gnome over the wall.

“Right.” hissed the gnome from the other side. A rope appeared over the wall, giving Gorflem enough traction to make it over the wall, landing swiftly next to the tree trunk. The stables were to his left, the nomads to the right, the gold glow from the inns common rooms fell in pools on the courtyard cobbles.

“Right pal, you cut right under the shadow of the walls and I’ll take a look at these horses.” The gnome looked relatively calm or possibly confused, his left eyelid flicked rapidly. “And don’t start a fight till we meet back here, right?”

The gnome bit his lip and nodded, he then disappeared into the shadow at the foot of the wall. When he had gone Gorflem watched the nomad sentries for a few minutes and then when he was certain their attention was elsewhere he scuttled forward and let himself into the stables.

The stable was built in a Purskul style square with the horses facing into the open centre of the room. The barn was tall and large rafters crossed the ceiling. About half the stalls were occupied. The barn was dark and Gorflem didn’t dare risk lighting the lamp nailed to one of the wooden pillars.

It didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for. Purskul horses were the finest in Amn and stood high above their northern counterparts. There were six mares, which meant that the strange nomads must have been hired in the city or else were the swiftest runners known to man. So Ribcrusher’s group was probably made up of about four or five bodies. His childhood friend Grainwhisper the shaman was guaranteed to be one of those. He wondered who else might make up the group.

Then he heard a distinctive snort behind him followed by the shaking of a distinctive mane. Unbelieving he turned round. There across the room with one set of stalls to herself stood Mareahcroosh, the evil twin. The horse was magnificent tall, graceful and with a grey dappled coat that looked like silver in the half-life. Her eyes seemed to burn with an inner fire and her nostrils flared seeming to capture Gorflem’s sense and then to suck at his spirit.

Mareahcroosh and her twin Buseacroosh had been born at Gorflem’s clan stud. Legend had it that when Mareahcroosh was brought from her mother’s womb she kicked the horseman who had delivered her and despite being just a new-born foal the kick had turned the half-orc’s insides to jelly. He had died in agony within hours. No-one had managed to tame or ride Mareahcroosh, the wise clansmen saw that she bore within her a spirit of immense power too valuable to return to the other world, too strong to be tamed. He thought that she was still in the clan’s farm with her opposite twin Buseacroosh, the only other creature she would share a field with.

Could Ribcrusher have broken and tamed her now? He must have for her to be here but how could he have done it?

The Copper Coronet

Amir stepped up the dark entrance of the Copper Coronet. The place was a legend, a sprawling maze of interconnected buildings that stretched across the district it was located in and under it too. It was said in Athkatla that you could spend a lifetime drinking in the Coronet and still never realise that you'd never left the snug.

The inn was not located in the best area of Athkatla and Amir felt conscious of the fine clothes he had tricked his brother out of. Charm couldn't save you from a dagger in the back. Drawing his cloak tighter around him he hoped that Gumshee wouldn't get in trouble for giving him the clothes. Still at least they ensured that he would make a big impression on the party that Blackurn had mentioned.

He stepped inside and over the beggars who crouched in the porch, pushing open the big double doors a wave of noise crashed over him and rinsed out onto the street. The entrance looked down onto the hall of the Coronet's largest bar. Whole carcasses roasted in the hall's pit while singers and jugglers entertained the crowd. Cosmopolitian didn't do justice to the Coronet, everyone in Athkatla ended up there sooner or later. There were merchants looking for the low life, dock hands looking for the high life, whores looking for lovers, lovers looking for something else. Adventurers came to the Coronet looking for information and scoundrels and frauds were all too willing to sell it to them. All of it happened under the stern attention of the numerous armed guards in their distinctive helmets. The Coronet had hit upon its own solution to ensure the harmonious mixing of so many diverse elements – force.

A guard was posted outside the door to Ribcrusher’s party. It turned out that this Ribcrusher had enough gold to hire an entire room deep within the Coronet. Not only that but once inside food and drink was free. Obviously someone how had no shortage of coin. The guard then leant over to Amir: “One last rule, go in whenever but the management isn’t letting anyone out until their sober. Got that?” Amir nodded and gestured with his hand for the guard to open the door. With a mock bow the guard slid back the bolt on the door. The noise within the room seemed to be at least as twice as loud as that in the hall. The stench of closely packed and drink sodden bodies made Amir feel as if he was forcing his way through a swamp rather than entering a room.

As he heard the bolt slide shut on the other side of the door he realised he had made a terrible, terrible mistake. The party looked like the animal market, all across them room the rudest, crudest peasants in their yokel smocks clung firmly onto one another and their flagons of ale harder still. The scene was hideous, as if someone had been trying to create a barndance in hell. The party was exclusively half-orc, completely Purskul and worst of all, entirely male. That last part hit Amir the hardest.

The half-orcs sang off-colour ditties, arm wrestled, drank or for the early starters simple lay slumped on the tables.

“Whatever I can paid for this” thought Amir “Will never be enough.”

The Silver Sky

Karock and Oriva did not so much walk as push themselves through the plain of sand that extended all around them. The canyon and its lizard lay many hours behind them and the silver path now ran across this vast plain with its own enigmatic logic. The diffuse light seemed to ignite when it hit the sand throwing dazzling light like the burst of a violent spell. The pair had wound torn strips, taken from their clothing, around their heads in an attempt to shield themselves from the light’s radiance. The cloth proved to be a feeble barrier and the pair were nearly blind now as they stumbled onwards. The dust rose above their shins and the abrasive powder seemed to seep into every niche and sag of their clothes. They had seen no sign of Dak’kon, though in fact he had past the same way many days earlier. He had closed his eyes and trusted to the gods as he made his way to the huge spinning disk of light he knew rather than saw at the end of the trail. His hunger and self-imposed blindness reminded him of the arduous training he had submitted to the monastery, submitted to and mastered as he now proved. He let his mind wander, what would be left of the training rooms now?

For now though the two later wanderers found that the firm footing under the sand seemed to falling away while the silver path ran mockingly over the dusty surface.

“Much deeper and I’ll be drowning in dust!” growled Karock. The pair halted and Karock dribbled some of the water that Marthammar Duin had restored to his canteen into his and the elf’s mouths. The elf seemed to revive slightly and started croakily to recite a spell quietly, he moved his fingers in intricate patterns as if testing the warp and weft of some invisible tapestry.

“We’re close now, to the portal. I can feel it – very close.” he said, his mouth already seeming to dry and his lips seal in the arid dusty atmosphere. “And as much as I know you will protest I think it would be better if you climbed onto my back. The dust does get indeed get higher and… I don’t think I can see anything much now.”

Karok lifted the flap of cloth covering Oriva’s face and saw that the elf’s watery eyes and turned very pale, as if his eyes were covered with pale blue cataracts. Oriva had been trained in water magic and it was obvious that this dust desert was sapping his strength. Karok’s own vision had been drained of colour, he saw now only dark against the brilliant white of the sand sea. His vision though, no matter how muted was all they had left, it had to be eyes enough for both of them.

He accepted the indignity of the situation and clambered onto the elf’s back and guided him, rather like a mule, with kicks to the left and right. Uncovering his eyes periodically he would grope for the sight of the path amongst the glare and correct their path if necessary. The sand began to rise ominously to Oriva’s chest.

Then, though his vision threatened to fail, Karok saw the ribbon widen into a bolt, the bolt widen into a path and then a road and then again some kind of tunnel. The silver guide was widening with every step and beginning to encompass them much as the portal had opened so many days ago in the Athkatla temple.

“Keeping going!” he urged the elf “We’re almost there!”

He watched all around him as the path split itself into countless streams of light and the streams began to widen and brighten and weave ever more complex patterns around them. As the patterns became ever more complex and he felt what must have been a wind rising his sight suddenly began to fade, the barely differentiated shapes began to merge into one white monochromatic world. “Faster!” he tried to call but the call became a cry as his sight faded into an unchanging snow bright sheet across his eyes.


Ribcrusher’s Party, The Copper Coronet, Athkatla, 50 XP


?, Iriaebor, 500 XP


Stables, The Barn Inn, 60 XP, -2 GP


?, Iriaebor, 500 XP


?, Iriaebor, 500 XP


The Rakal, Athkatla, 50 XP