The next morning, the party departed at first light, continuing their journey east to the city of Daerlun. It wasn’t long after they settled into a steady pace that Naivara raised a question.
“Does anyone else want to talk about what happened in the temple back there? When Torvald allowed his rage to take over and kill someone, making our task that much more difficult?”
Torvald, barely taking time to compose himself, said, “My whole village was killed!! Delnyn deserved to die. We can’t trust anyone not to be corrupt.”
“That doesn’t mean we needed to *kill* him, Torvald,” Naivara replied. “Can we agree that we will not take such drastic action in the future, unless we are in immediate danger?” The group voiced their assent, and Torvald, outnumbered, grudgingly accepted their terms.
The rest of the journey to Dreamer’s Rock passed uneventfully, and after spending a night in the sleepy sheep town, they continued to Monksblade. After perusing the town for goods (Torvald made it known that he wanted to learn more about deadly ingested poison), they came to the tavern of Hunting the Knight, which was said to be frequented by legendary traveler and storyteller Volthamp Geddarm. After making arrangements for rooms, they took seats at a table in the crowded tavern. Not long into their meal, they noticed a shifty group of five individuals that kept staring at them.
Ember, curiosity piqued, waved a hand at them, but this went ignored. Torvald, preferring a more direct approach, began to rise from the table. Naivara didn’t miss a beat.
“I’m just going to go talk to them and ask why they’re staring at us,” he replied, but Naivara could see his fists were clenched and doubted any interaction he began would be peaceful.
Agril, also noticing Torvald’s confrontational demeanor, volunteered to approach the strangers with him to mitigate any potential disasters. Ember joined as well. Determined to assert his dominance over these strangers, Torvald took a seat at their table without an invitation and asked, “What is going on with you folks?”
One of the men replied, “What do you want?”
“We saw you staring at us.”
“Are we not allowed to look?” A smirk crossed the man’s face.
“Not unless you tell me why,” Torvald said, becoming more agitated by the second.
“Why not? We can do as we please, and we’re not doing anything wrong.”
Ember tried a different approach. “We’ve been traveling around - what have you all been doing recently?”
“Drinking,” he said.
“May we drink with you?” Ember ventured.
“No.” His face remained unmoved.
The man’s rudeness pushed Torvald closer to losing his temper. He said, “Maybe just focus on your table from now on.”
“Why don’t you focus on *your* table?”
Scoffing, Torvald leaned in to the man’s face and thrust a finger at his nose. “You keep to your own.” He turned on his heel and the others followed him back to their table. As the barkeep came to clear away their plates, Ember asked if he knew anyone in the group, and if they came to the tavern often. He said that unfortunately he couldn’t help them, as he had never seen the group before. Frustrated, the party retired to their rooms for the night, half expecting an unfriendly visit. The night passed uneventfully though, and they made their way down to the tavern to eat the next morning. They encountered the strange group again but chose to leave them alone, eager to be on their way to Battlerise.
The second day into their journey, Ember couldn’t quite say what it was that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up, but she felt that something was off. She looked up and noticed that there was a slight shimmering in the air above them.
“Someone is watching us!” she said, pointing upwards, and shot some spells towards the shimmer with no effect. With no other course of action to try and rid them of their unwanted observer, the group pressed onward. The shimmer disappeared several minutes after Ember first noticed it, perhaps now that it knew it had been spotted. None of them knew how long it had been watching them, and what they may have inadvertently revealed during that time. They arrived in Battlerise with no further sign of foul play and spent the night in meager accommodations.
The next day took them across the Darkflow River, aptly named for its vast, deep waters hiding untold dangers beneath its swift current. A masterful bridge made of stone carried them safely over, and they decided to make camp for the night as the sun was beginning to set. Torvald and Ember offered to take the first watch, the thought of the shimmer not far from their minds.
Not long after Naivara and Agril fell asleep, Torvald sensed that something was amiss. Rising, he peered into the dark, and suddenly a creature hurtled towards him, longsword raised. It was a terrifying sight to behold: a shriveled body covered in dark, spiked armor, and wild eyes glared from a sunken face, head covered in scraggly white hair. It was a wight! The creature attacked Torvald twice while another sprang from the undergrowth towards Ember. Torvald, furiously trying to defend himself, turned his head and yelled for Naivara and Agril to awaken. A blow aimed for one of the creatures missed as a result. Naivara and Agril jolted awake and made ready to join the fray. Ember was able to retreat to safety and cast a Firebolt spell that landed on a creature’s chest. It shuddered a moment but refused to fall.
Without warning, a third creature skulked from the forest. A white dragonborn wearing plate mail and holding a longsword swung at Torvald, who dodged nimbly out of the way only to meet a short sword in the creature’s other claw. His arm slashed, he cried out in fury. To his surprise, the creature spoke. It hissed, “Varzand said you were tough - he was mistaken.” This only served to enrage Torvald further and he let out a great howl, head tilted back towards the inky night sky.
One of the wights struck a blow to Torvald’s middle and he doubled over in agony. Another took aim towards Agril with his longbow and thankfully the arrow whizzed by his head and stuck in a nearby tree. Torvald, desperately fighting through his pain, struck a great blow in the chest of one of the wights. Staggering, it took a deep raspy breath, but still stood.
While the fight went on, Naivara deftly affixed her armor and slipped into the darkness, hoping her cover would aid in the monster's defeat. Ember threw a star from her robe at one of the wights. It found its target and the creature’s legs nearly buckled, but it stubbornly refused to succumb. The dragon creature reared back and let forth an icy breath of cold onto Torvald. This proved to be too great for Torvald’s battered body to handle and he crumpled to the ground.
Agril’s face set in determination as their situation in this battle grew increasingly desperate. He drew his longbow and cast a spell, but the arrow failed to find its target. A wight attempted to return the attack but fortunately Agril was spared. Ember was not so lucky, as a wight landed a glancing blow on her as she tried to move out of the way. Naivara fired an arrow from her shortbow at the wight that struck Ember. Wounded, the creature moaned but still stood. Naivara retreated back into the shadows until she could try again. Before she could, Ember thrust another star from her robe at the creature and it struck in the center of its chest. Emitting a strangled gasp, it crumbled into dust, as if the magic holding it together was now gone.
Relief was fleeting as the dragon creature closed into combat with Agril, set upon laying him to waste as he did Torvald. With two powerful blows he carved into Agril with the short and long swords, and Agril cried out in anguish. He could still fight but he feared not for much longer. Gritting his teeth in resolution, he thrust his rapier into the side of the dragon between its armor. The creature snapped its head back and let out a roar that reverberated through all of the forest. The wight attempted to finish Agril but narrowly missed. While its back was turned Naivara loosed another arrow, which struck in a spot between its armor, releasing black, wispy smoke. Not wasting any time, Ember threw another star from her robe, and as it sailed through the air it split into two. One piece struck the wight, which screeched then disintegrated like the other. The second piece struck the dragon creature in the chest and it staggered in place, looking dumbfounded, but still it stood. In response they saw its chest inflate as it took a massive breath, which he aimed at Agril. A blast of icy air struck Agril head on and he fell, only a whisper away from death.
Torvald, also felled by the dragon’s breath, groaned where he lay. He was too weak to fight but he clung to life with all the force he could muster. Naivara darted from her hiding place once more and shot an arrow at the creature - its armor clanged as the arrow bounced off, leaving him uninjured. Ember, knowing that she must end this creature once and for all, threw another star from her robe. It struck true, wedging itself into a gap in his armor at the neck. The creature’s eyes widened in shock as it grasped its neck, but then at long last it fell.
Pausing only a moment to make sure the creature would not rise again, Ember and Naivara went to the aid of Torvald and Agril, both unconscious but still breathing. Ember used her healer’s kit to mend Agril and Naivara a healing potion for Torvald. Their eyes fluttered as they awakened - they were saved from death but certainly needed more time to fully recover from the fight. They moved slowly towards their horses and mounted with some trouble, but they knew they needed to reach the safety of Daerlun before Varzand could send more creatures to finish them off. The first light of the sun peeked over the trees as the party made their way down the path, eager to put the night’s events behind them.
They caught up to a traveling caravan as they drew near the city, and the company of other friendly souls put them at ease. As they drew closer to the city, a 500-foot wall loomed over them, a remnant of the Netherese empire from a time long past. They made their way through the crowded streets to the inn of the Mighty Mace on the west side. Barely managing to murmur their thanks, the weary travelers retired to their rooms for a long and peaceful rest.
Torvald rode in a fevered state, drifting in and out of consciousness. His horse did most of the work, and followed the other horses. He saw many things while unconscious; his home in flames, the face of his mother unmoving and covered in blood, the purple sunbust of the group that destroyed his villag. These images agitated Torald, but he did not wake. He then found himself surrounded by the flames again.
"Learn," the voice said
It was cutoff mid sentence by another voice. "You always had a penchant for the dramatic. Begone, I claim this one for myself." The flames disappeared along with the original voice. A head faced Torvald. The left eye was missing, and the head was bald with old skin pulled across it. "I know your secrets and desires boy. I can help you, if you will let me."
