Preparations for the dwarven festival seem to be heating up. As I walk down the paths that lead to the forest, I nod at the groups setting up booths. They return the slight greeting but continue their labors. So it is with dwarves, always working until they pay off their life debt and go on "vacation." As the town falls behind me I quicken my pace letting the cool winter air carry my thoughts back.
As I speak with the commander, my compatriots speak with a prisoner. It seems that the squad that resides in the keep captured a barbarian prince. I mean how bad could the repercussions be right? That question is answered in a surprisingly short amount of time. I watch with the local archers as what starts as a distant cloud becomes a frothing barbarian horde. Without preamble the battle begins. Warriors that foam at the mouth charge the keep. Hurling oaken logs at the walls they fall under a blanket of arrows. The archers laugh at the log throwers until the following warriors begin to use those self same logs to run up the walls. I get lost in the battle cutting down man after man. Sustaining a few injuries but not really feeling them in the heat of battle. It takes a while but even the enraged savages realize that they are outmatched. Slowly at first the rage is replaced with fear. Then with increasing swiftness the barbarians begin to withdraw. Before the pleasure of success can dawn, there is once again a flicker and a rushing wind. We stand before soldiers very surprised to see us. With much chagrin I remember that mental swiftness is not something I am good at. I stand silently as the others begin to speak. Our young thief tries to appear smart and comments on the prince that is locked away. With a cry of "Spies!" the soldiers attack.
During the resulting fight Tordek, our dwarf warrior sustains a horrible blow. As he slashes at the man in front of him he is hit from behind. Even the battle hardened dwarf lets out a roar of agony as his legs give out. Unable to feel anything below his stomach, he does what any dwarf would do. Sitting in a pool of his own blood he fights on.The soldier that caught a glimpse of Tordek's spine smirks just long enough to feel stupid at the sight of the ax sweeping up and slicing through his innards. Panting with strain Jax (a fellow ranger) cuts down the last of the soldiers.
The lights is sucked out of the keep along with the air. Startled and still severely wounded we find the keep returned to its former state of decay. Looking around doesn't ease the mind, as rising up from the floor a creature of blood and ooze appears. Swimming inside are bits and pieces of what seems to be the missing squad. The fight seems to last days. We are tired and wounded. But we fight and we win. Using nearly all of his energy our healer manages to fix Tordek's spine. So it is quite a ragged group that stumbles out into the light of day.
Luckily the horses still wait outside. Limping back to the Cardinal is almost a relief. Orrick talks about pie the whole way back. He speaks about it like it's a little slice of heaven.
The cool winter air is taking on a bitter coldness as the hours wane into night. Bringing my thoughts back to the present. I've decided to speak with the elves again about their role in the festival. Maybe I can help them.