Torn between worlds

With Ghanash’s limp and dead body draped over his horses back, Vogir leads the trudging animal back toward town.
Death. He feels its touch even now. He’d not gone gently into that night. He’d raged against it and fought to return.
Yet…
He feels the darkness and loss still cold within his breast.
Suddenly the grey light around him grows darker and a chill closes in.
‘You can use this connection you know.’
Spinning around, Vogir sees the ethereal shade of Daelagor walking behind him. As usual, his other companions seem frozen in time.
‘What do you mean, my dead Fey friend?’
‘What I mean, you unappreciative human, is that you’ve breached the Fey veil and have taken an infinitesimal fragment of it back with you. What I mean, when I say you can use that connection, is simple: If you concentrate, you can let yourself sink back into it.’
Vogir stares at the dead Eladrin.
‘I allowed that to happen once, but death must have addled your brain if you imagine I’d let that happen again?’
The ghost of Daelagor smiles and raises his translucent hands in mock defence.
‘I said allow yourself to sink back into the veil, not through it. Trust me and just relax your grip of this reality. Just a little.’
Vogir steadies his breathing, lets his eyelids droop and tries. A feeling of stillness creeps over him. He imagines himself in both places at once and he feels his physical form slipping away.
Opening his eyes and looking down, he’s surprised to see his body still there, if perhaps a little wispy.
‘Just walk forward’ urges Daelagor.
Obeying the Eladrin’s request, Vogir gasps as his body seems to melt into shadows and mist.

Vogir’s 14th level feat: Walker in the gloom.
:)

No-vice is a good thing

Watching the demoness: Niema, Vogir chews his bottom lip.
A whispered voice behind suddenly speaks; ‘There’s no need to be afraid you know.’
Vogir spins around but sees nothing.
‘Daelagor? Is that you?’
‘The Tiefling whore is nothing, but you… You are destined for greatness.’
Vogir’s face settles back into its usual grimace.
‘I hadn’t realised that my change of pact would involve your constant nagging.’
‘Don’t be like that Human. I come baring gifts. My superiors think you’re ready for another boon.’
Vogir doesn’t get a chance to respond before he feels a rush of power flowing into him.
‘Use it well Human. but don’t lose track of your purpose.’

Cheating the Devil

While standing in the darkness, Vogir hears a voice whisper his name.
Concentrating, he sees a ghostly image appear before him…
“Daelagor?” Asks Vogir incredulously, “Is that you?”.
The fey ghost smiles, but a look of sadness washes over his translucent features.
“Only now that I am dead, can I see why you’re the way you are. Fate is conspiring against you as it did you Grandfather before you.”
Vogir looks around him, but his companions seem frozen in time.
“I’m here to offer you salvation. Sever the ties that bind you to the dark demon whose fingers already twist around your soul and instead take an oath to the lords of my realm. They will protect you from hellish reprisals and allow you to strike back against both the Dragon AND the Devil!”
With nodded agreement, Vogir feels the darkness torn from within him and the void replaced with something otherworldly but uplifting.
With the veil of darkness pulled from his eyes, Vogir realises that, not only has he been freed from the doomed path he’d found himself on, but that he owed a debt to the very Eladrin he’d let fall.

While working out Vogir’s 5th level changes, I noticed that I’d accidentally cheated.
Apparently you have to have a 13 Charisma to multi-class into Warlock.
I’ve corrected it but it buggered up my chosen pact and my HPs.
:(

Arrows of outrageous fortune

The uninjured Vogir stands still for a moment as he suppresses a shudder of revulsion.
The giant spider lies dead at his feet.
He was lucky. It was killed before he'd even had a chance to defend himself from its freakish leap.
One of his companions was responsible for the help, and although he hopes it was Bayern, he somehow knows it was the Eladrin.
Being indebted to a ‘Tourist’ makes it that much harder to hate them.
Especially when that 'Tourist' is obviously mourning his dead cousin.
After making sure everyone else is safe, Vogir checks his supply of arrows.
Only two encounters in and he’s already burned through nearly half of his original three quivers worth.
It’s obvious now, that his Grandfather was right. A Longbow and enough distance will make for an easy battle.
The only problem is, that you have to be able to carry an infinite supply of arrows.
Muttering to himself, Vogir scans the gloomy tunnels, looking for any of the arrows that missed their target.
Some of them may still be usable.

(Vogir recovers 3 arrows.)

Death of a tourist/Death of a hero

Vogir leans forward, his hands gripping his own thighs for support. His heavy panting sounding loud in the silence after the battle.
Despite using his corpse as a counter weight while riding down the rope, it’s only now that Vogir actually realises that Daelagor is dead.
He had been so angry at his own failure to support the Eladrin, that he literally lowered himself into death’s maw.
He had been wounded by the two opportunist skeletal creatures even before he’d managed to reach the bloody ground.
Unsurprisingly, it had been the noble Egil that was the first to follow him down.
Equally unsurprising the Paladin had been the next to die.
Mostly everyone had joined in the melee by then but the enemy were too powerful.
Kalarel seemed impossible to hurt and his undead minions unnervingly strong.
It was only Vogir’s own magical armour that kept him alive through blast after blast of necrotic energy.
Egil had managed to keep the evil priest occupied while the rest of the Party concentrated on his followers. By the time that Egil was lost, only three men, a dwarf and Daelagor's failed bodyguard: Velorian stood between Kalarel completing his rituals and freeing the thing writhing within the portal.
Egil lost to the tentacles of the monstrous creature itself!
Bayern, Zahig, Velorian and Rudha-an turned their attention to Kalarel, enabling Vogir to dispatch the last of his underlings. Then the battle became five against one.
Good odds it would seem, but the cursed Priest refused to concede defeat.
Spell after spell battered the Party and all seemed lost when a sudden sword thrust found its target.
In the confusion, it was hard to tell who’s hand had been on the hilt of the killing thrust, but Vogir allowed himself the tight-lipped smile of revenge.
With a screech of rage, the portal collapsed and Winterhaven was saved.

Back to the begining

With Redford and the remains of his family far behind him, Vogir eventually found his way to the faraway district of Highmarsh.
Still within the realm of the evil Blue Dragon, but only just.
The people here were the ones driven by a fierce need for independence and a thirst for freedom.
It’s a mostly Human frontier town, but the occasional Dwarf, Halfling or Elf aren’t that uncommon.
Vogir quickly found his place within the town. He was quick with a sword and had the strange confidence of someone who knew he had an ace up his sleeve.
Strong-arming and smuggling seemed natural to him.
Baron Redcloak was the minor noble in ‘charge’ of keeping order and collecting the taxes.
Typical of his type, he is money hungry, power hungry and without a shred of compassion for the people he’s meant to represent.
Still he isn’t as corrupt as some and he manages to keep the agents of the Blue dragon away from them.
Vogir had been there over a year before his reclusive life was so rudely interrupted by an Eladrin tourist and an over protective Dragonborn.
Other adventurers soon joined them and after successfully saving the children of the town, Vogir’s life took a turn toward danger and perhaps revenge…

Fiery exit

Rushing toward the closing door, Vogir grabs at the handle. Unfortunately the Hobgoblin on the other side proves to be too strong.
It takes several heavy blows from Egil’s sword to smash it down but before he can charge in, Zahig steps into the breach and summons up a floating ball of fire.
With nowhere to run, Hobgoblin after hobgoblin are horribly burned.
Seeing his cause lost, the War chief tries to dispatch Daelagor but he’s stymied by the heroic efforts of Bayern and Egil.
After a few healing words are uttered by the Dwarven cleric, Daelagor wakes in the dim light to the smell of burning flesh.

Bars of frustration

Firing arrow after arrow at the Hobgoblin slavers from behind the safety of the portcullis, Vogir shouts for the others to advance.
The Hobgoblins are clever though and (dragging Daelagor behind them) flee from Vogir's line of fire towards a side room.
Running up as quickly as they're able, Egil and Bayern struggle with the metal portcullis until Vogir drops his bow to aid them.
Slowly the bars bend apart until even the Dwarf can slip through.
It’s too late however.
The Hobgoblins have made it to the next chamber.

Portcullis of separation

Slinking along after the cat-like Daelagor, Vogir waits patiently as the Eladrin signals where the trap is.
It’s a simple pressure pad that releases the portcullis slightly ahead.
Deftly jumping over it, Daelagor enters the empty room.
Vogir is halfway down the corridor when the ambush is sprung.
The Eladrin is rushed from three directions by at least a dozen hidden Hobgoblins.
He tries to slip back past them but is cut down before Vogir can even release an arrow in his defence!
The Hobgoblin War chief looks up towards Vogir and signals his ‘men’ to press the attack.
Instinctively Vogir stamps down on the pressure pad at his feet.
The portcullis slides into place with a clang, separating Vogir and the rest of the Party from the Hobgoblins and the heavily bleeding Daelagor.

Stairway to heaven

He cursed a quick elven curse for not spotting the small hidden peek hole in the door at the other end of the room. By the time he realised his mistake, the group of hobgoblins was already in full sprint towards him. Calm as always he considered his options in the split-second it took him to ready the dagger and unsheathe his longsword: He thought about the trap mechanism just a few feet behind him which would trigger the portcullis and separate the group from his companions giving them enough time to organise a defense by the time the hobgoblins could open it again.
The slavers only had covered a few feet when Daelagor started to turn and head for the mechanism when he saw the weapon coming towards him from the left. Unable to dodge it, he could feel it penetrating his shoulder just a second later and now noticed also the other three opponents, storming out the door to his left. He tried to parry the next two attacks but - with the first sword still constricting his movement - failed. Now that his body had a chance to catch up with the recent chain of events, the pain started and darkness started to take over.

He could feel the rays of warm sunlight on his face and opened his eyes. Lying in soft, mossy grass he looked up where the rays broke through a canopy of white leaves far above him, bathing the forest around him in soft light. It was reflected from the silvery bark of massive trees. Never had he seen such majestic trees! Even the most beautiful white trees of Senaliesse, the home of the summer queen Tiandra, seem pale in comparison to them. His hands felt the warm grass around him and with his eyes now getting accustomed to the bright light he could make out the chrystal-like buildings and hanging bridges in the tree tops. While trying to lift his upper body, unbearable pain suddenly started to cloud his mind......

Pain! He again opened his eyes in the midst of a raging fight. Directly above him he could make out the dwarf Bayern standing over his chest and being surrounded and attacked by three opponents, fiercely defending his position. Just when Daelagor tried to make sense of the scene his eyes could see, it blurred and the darkness came back.

Walking on the soft grass he reached out for the silver bark of the tree in front of him. How did he get here? The bark was sleek and flawless and he looked up the tree which was at least 10 feet wide with branches only starting in the far distance. He could feel the power of nature radiating from the tree up his arm and through all the cells of his body. He turned around and for the first time noticed the silky white robe he was wearing. It was of outstanding quality and he only had seen comparable fabric at the court of the Eladrin queen. Still feeling the fabric with his hands, he noticed the woman standing near the next tree, watching him. She was also wearing a perfect white robe which seemed to play with the sunlight hitting its surface and Daelagor could make out the bottom of a staircase behind her. He started to walk slowly towards her and opened his mouth to speak....

The loud noise of metal hitting metal next to him made him open his eyes and the face of Egil occupied almost his whole field of vision. He could feel the paladin's hand on his chest and felt a warmth emanating from it as if life was streaming back into his body, attenuating the pain. Within seconds his head was clear again and his trained senses took over. The hobgoblin warchief was standing between Egil and the dwarf and despite their attacks the slaver seemed to try to attack Daelagor. The hobgoblin's sword scratched along Daelagor's arm while he was getting up and before leaping out of the danger zone Daelagor's dagger just missed the open spot within the armour of his opponent. Just seconds later Daelagor could see the hobgoblin going down and the noise of battle dying down. Daelagor looked at Egil and Bayern who were standing over the now dead body of the leader and piecing together the few memories of this battle he realised, that without these two companions he would be dead by now. A debt that he won't take lightly! He could also feel a image of majestic trees and a woman slowly fading away. Before he could make sense of it and it was gone.

Letters from Winterhaven (1)

I extend my greetings to you from Winterhaven, and hope this missive finds you well, if it finds you at all. The humans operating the local mail system do not show the proper level of dedication required for such an important profession. But then, they seem to fail on so many levels. Their guards are ineffective in times of trouble, absolutely oblivious to a death cult basically sitting outside their city, and their idea for survival is to run towards the next ragtag band of adventures and ask for help. But I digress ….

Daelagor, whom I have found, is well and set in his way as usual. He is still insisting to fulfill his oath, but at the same time gets distracted by random encounters on all sides. Just talking to his recently acquired entourage (I shall talk about them later, and there is much to say) has given me the impression that he has fought many battles in the last month, none of them leading any closer to the destructions of the band of our hated “cousins” responsible for the death of his mentor’s family. So, this might take a while.

As you have insisted, I shall now stay at his side, and I will do my best to usher matters towards a speedy resolution. It is my hope that we might then embark to find the foul killers, deal with them and return to our blessed homeland.

On the positive side, Daelagor’s skills seem to have improved. Especially his ability to lurk in the shadows and quickly stick blades into people was impressive. Unfortunately his knowledge of the arcane and his manners are as were, which lead to me experiencing his other abilities firsthand.

Velorien Faronion

A convergence of paths

During the next day Velorien returned. Cunningly, he had woven a spell that should have woken him if one of his family had left the city walls. He slept safe and sound, undisturbed by the noises of nature. But as he neared the tree he saw that the message was gone.

“How can this be,” he thought. “The message is gone, but Dealagor did not leave the city?”

He wondered if this was one of those acts of human vandalism, taking a message meant for someone else. But who would do such a thing, it seemed deeply uncivilized.

“Maybe Dealagor evaded my spell, and took the message nonetheless. But why not leave an answer? On the other hand, this would be very much like him. Careless; and his spelling was always less than perfect.”

Resigning to the fact that further contemplation might not yield additional insight Velorien decided to take action and to follow the footsteps. One of them might be Eladrin; but then his tracking was worse than Dealagors spelling.

You've got (Tre)e-mail!

While his companions quietly examine the opposite wall with the peephole within the secret wall, Daelagors thoughts come back to the note he had found that morning.
Early last night, he had watched the stranger fix the note to the tree. In the twilight he had only been able to see a tall shape moving near the city gate and then move over to the tree about a hundred feet from Daelagors position on the other side of the path. The creature had vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
Only later in the night did Daelagor climb off the tree and give away his location to check the area and find the note affixed to the tree. Intrigued, he had taken down the note and had gone back into hiding. He recognised the script and language immediately as the one used around Mithrendain where he was raised.

"We shall meet soon, my brother"

He had waited for the stranger to reappear but the next people he saw were his companions in the morning. Could it be his brother? Daelagor hadn't seen his brother since they'd split up to follow the different groups of drow. Did Corellon finally bring them back together?
But his brother wouldn't leave notes. He would just find him and surprise him as they always did when they were younger. Daelagor starts smiling when the memories returned. He had almost killed him once when his brother had jumped out of a tree to take him down and Daelagor had reacted instinctively. But if not his brother, who else could it be?

His companions started moving closer to the hole in the wall. The answer to that question would have to wait, but as soon as the current problem here is solved he has to go back to search for the stranger......

Getting closer ...

After several weeks of travel Velorien knew he was getting closer. Rumours of a shady Eladrin had led him towards the town of Winterhaven, a bastion of filth and disease. As he circled the city he came upon the body of a dead goblin. Turning the body around his mood lightened, a clear cut through both the jugular vein and the cartoid artery, the signature move of his lost cousin.

As he pressed on he came upon a battlefield; the stench of burned bodies lingered in the air. As he walked up to the pyre he was sure that something big must have died here, a huge lump of a body was still slowly charring on a bigger pile of small bodies. He looked around, but could not make out what happened here. None of the bodies appeared to be his cousin, and the site seemed to have been quite hastily abandoned after the battle, the tracks leading back to the city.

Unwilling to enter the city just yet, he pinned a note to a tree in the vicinity of the city gates and went back into the forest for a rest. Daelagor would eventually come out of this city, and he would be waiting.

The wrong sound

Daelagor was just on his way back through the curtain, holding the wand he found in the chest in his left hand and dragging the chest with the gold in his right when he noticed something about the wall to his left.
Almost too fast for the eye to spot, his right hand let go of the chest and the longsword was pointing at the wall. After a closer look, it looked like the wall wasn't stone as it first appeared. He poked it with his longsword and got a wooden sound out of it.

The noises from behind him told him that Rudha-an and Vogir approached the curtain cautiously. "In here. I might have found a secret door!". The curtain is pulled back and the two companions enter. He shows Vogir the wand "You've got any use for that? And have a look at this wall! Looks like a secret passage. Better get the others!".
He turns round to Rudha-an and looks at the hide armour. "Fit's you well! What are you doing with your old leather? Mine is pretty worn by now and yours looks like it's magic?"

As Vogir looks at the chest Daelagor follows his gaze "Ah, yes, the fat goblin also left some gold for us. After a quick look I would say it's about 560 gold coins in there. Help yourself to your share!"

Safety in Numbers

Vogir sits in the tavern with his three surviving comrades. Food and ale cover the table as they plan their next move.
“Iron Tooth and his Kobolds were more vicious than I’d imagined. Without Egil or Ghanash to stand behind, we were barely a match for them. I suspect it’ll be much worse if we face Kalarel’s forces in the keep without a suitable replacement for Argent.”
Daelagor and Bayern say nothing but Zahig interrupts.
“What happened to Egil? He seemed keen to help us; perhaps he will again?”
Bayern leans in, “He was a useful shield true, but we could still use a couple more.”
It’s Daelagor who finishes the conversation.
“Do they need to be warriors?”

In the Shadow of the Keep

As Daelagor heads out of the kobold lair he hands the chain mail over to Bayern. Obviously of Dwarven origin, though not limited for use by such, the cleric would be best placed to identify it. Daelagor continues on to Irontooth's body.

Bayern carefully turns the mail over through his hands. It is of outstanding quality - any fighter would be proud to wear it. The beautiful finish is more than skin deep, however. Bayern recognises that the armour would grant perpetual bonuses to AC (+1) and Endurance (+1) and would also allow the wearer to regain health once per day (spend a healing surge as a free action).

As Daelagor stoops to search Irontooth, Zahig's young voice peals out from behind him "I've already done that." In deference to this interruption, Daelagor continues anyway but finds nothing of interest. "Told you." jokes Zahig "Aside from his axe and armour all he had were this silver key and letter. Have you any idea what a goblin could possibly want to have kept locked?!" he adds, insightfully.

"Most likely the treasure chest I managed to pick - the key looks to be of appropriate shape and size. Be assured that all it contained was the armour, now in the hands of our dwarven companion. Let us rejoin the others and then you can tell us what is on this letter..."

The group reconvene near Argent's body. Bayern performs what he considers to be the appropriate rites for a fallen warrior, and a funeral pyre is lit. Vogir breaks the silence: "He had this bottle of wine in his pack. It's a good one; carefully wrapped. I guess he was saving it for something. Let us drink it in his honour."

As the bottle is emptied and the fire burns low, Daelagor turns to Zahig. "Tell us about the letter you found on Irontooth."

Zahig unfurls the curl of paper and reads "My spy in Winterhaven suggests we keep an eye out for visitors to the area. It probably does not matter; in just a few more days, I'll completely open the rift. Then Winterhaven's people will serve as food for all those Lord Orcus sends to do my bidding. It's signed 'Kalarel'."

The party decide to return to Winterhaven, now certain that this Kalarel - whoever, or whatever it is - must reside in the Keep. It seems obvious that unless they act soon Winterhaven will be overrun with unspeakable horrors from the Shadowfell.

*You are all back in Winterhaven and it is mid-evening on the same day that you attacked the kobold lair. What would you like to do?*

Some time ago, in a forest far, far away ...

Velorien ran his hand over the bark of the old mothertree while he ascended the spiral staircase that would take him high into the foliage. Those trees contained the soul of his people, and hic acute senses felt the slight tingle of arcane energy that passed into him. If he wanted, he could tap into that energy and use it to fuel his magic, but his concentration was fleeing, distracted by the summons into the hall of the elders. ‘Why would he be summoned to meet the lady of their clan?’ he wondered as he entered, only to find the hall empty but for his aunt. She had her back turned to him, looking towards the city ruins at the edge of their forest.

‘My Lady’ Velorien bowed.

‘Don’t be silly, nephew’ she turned around and looked at him. ‘Do you remember your cousin, Dealagor, my oldest son?’

‘Yes, my lady’

‘I want you to take a message to him. Tell him that his mother longs for him to come home. Tell him that every day, at noon, I walk to the city ruins and climb the highest tower, and look over the land in the hope of seeing my child return.

Velorien looked up and frowned, ‘Surely, if his father ordered him to return, there would …’

‘His father is busy, and on his way to the council,’ she interrupted him. ‘He believes that good leadership is to never give a command that will not be obeyed, but he will not reign our house forever. Dealagor needs to start behaving like his position commands him to do, and with your understanding of duty, you are just the person to remind him of this.’

Velorien bowed his head, to indicate the acknowledgement of the compliment, and a rare smile crept on his face. What honour.

‘Oh, and if Dealagor decides not to come back, just yet, I would be pleased to see it that you take care of his safety. There is no need to come back without him!’

‘As you command, my Lady’ Velorien was stunned, this could mean exile for many years. He just hoped that Dealagor would see reason, soon. As he looked up he saw that the lady was already walking towards the door, readying herself to depart.

‘I regret that we have to end this here, but the sun nears its zenith, and its time for me to walk to the ruins.’ She looked straight into his eyes, and her face was empty of all the warmth and light she used to radiate. Her stone cold face of duty looked at him, and there was no doubt that she would keep her promise, just as he would keep his. Before she left she turned just once more, and remarked with a smile,

‘Velorien, do not let yourself be ordered around by Dealagor, he is not your lord, yet.’

When Kobolds Die

The last shuriken had just left his hand towards Irontooth when Daelagor already started to move towards the cave entrance again. He takes his eyes off Irontooth as he can see him going down. The boy should be capable to finish him off completely in case he is still alive.
Shuriken and longsword ready Daelagor stepped back into the cave ready for the next attack. Looking around the empty entrance area he slowed down and started to listen. Kobolds are shady characters and some might still be hiding, waiting for the right moment to strike. Daelagors senses worked overtime. Only the sound of Zahig outside who tried to revive Vogir and the dwarf! Judging by the number of blows the body of the Dragonborn took Daelagor would guess it would take more than a few healing words to get him back.

He started to move towards the opening on the right. Using all shadows Daelagor moved through the chambers always ready to attack whatever might still be lurking there. He could not hear the others behind him. He shook his head. Mourning the dead within a battle was a character flaw that had cost many good people their life. Normally by the hand of Daelagor who considered an enemy's glance towards a fallen friend a perfect opportunity to strike.

He had reached the last chamber in the north eastern corner in the back of the cave without encountering a single creature or threat. Also this last chamber was empty except for a pile of gold coins in one corner with a wooden chest on top. Daelagor relaxed a bit and sheathed his sword after poking the pile of gold to make sure there is nothing hidden underneath. He looked at the chest: It was a sturdy wooden chest with a standard metal lock. He hunkered down next to the chest and after searching for traps around the chest took out a few small metal items. He wasn't proud that it took him 30 seconds until he heard the click he was waiting for. Still cautious he opened the lid and looked inside. Opening the lid fully and taking out the content, he looked at the chainmail. It was of exceptional quality and from the looks of it it was of Dwarfen origin.

Within a split second he was on his feet next to the wall and had the shuriken in his hand. The footsteps came closer and Daelagor relaxed again. He could clearly make out the different walking patterns of his three companions. He stored the shuriken again under his cloak, took the chainmail and started walking. He met the others in the small corridor.
"The area is save, no more Kobolds left. I've already checked the caves. And Mr. Dwarf consider yourself lucky, your god seems to be in a giving mood today".
He tosses the chainmail towards Beyern who catches it. Passing the others on his way out he points towards the chamber behind him.
"The Kobolds also left us some money to cover our expenses..."
With these words Daelagor walks towards the cave entrance.

[OFF GAME]
You can see 420gp of gold coins in the pile with an empty chest on top. Right now you are standing in the corridor towards that chamber and Daelagor was inside the cave for 2mins before you caught up. What are you doing? Please say what you are doing in the comments to continue with the story. Daelagor already is on his way out of the cave with all weapons sheathed.
[/OFF GAME]

Death of a Racist

Vogir blinks up at Zahig. “I’m alive?”
Zahig’s blanched face reflects his own surprise regarding the situation.
Struggling to his feet, Vogir feels the tightness of the field dressing binding his stomach…
The iron-toothed leader of the Kobolds had opened him up.
His memories are jumbled but he can still see the moments when Argent and Bayern fell.
Can it be that he owes his life to the child Wizard and the Eladrin tourist?
The Kobolds lie dead or dying all around him. Bayern is saying a prayer to his God and Daelagor is heading into the undefended caves.
Of his group, only the blue-scaled Argent lies dead.
They were lucky to only lose one member of this group of adventurers…
This group of friends…
His group of friends.
Vogir stands with the cold realisation that he’d stood back to back with the Dragon born. That he’d refused to leave him undefended. When the Dwarven War priest had fallen, Vogir had stood over his prone body rather than flee and save his own life.
With a sinking feeling, Vogir realises that somehow, somewhere along the line, these ‘monsters’ have become his friends.