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imboredofthisplace · 7 years

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The Red Door

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The Red Door

In Bretonnia, word has gone out about a terrifying and dangerous criminal named Siam that’s been causing destruction throughout the land. Jacques, a knight errant adventuring through the lands of Bretonnia, discovers this bounty on the corpse of a peasant woman who had invited him into her home and tried to murder him. Drawn by the massive gold reward of the bounty, he set off at once to Siam’s last known location, Marienburg. Accompanied by a wandering wood elf he had befriended while tracking down an orc war party named Farendor, and his cousin from Bretonnia, Monsemarde, they crossed the massive swamps surrounding the city.

Not long after they arrive, however, bombs begin going off in buildings throughout the city, spreading massive fires. Running through the crowded streets, the party and an investigating Bright magister find Siam dispatching guards on a bridge running over a canal. He turns to meet them, a strange metal mask on his face, and charges, attempting to cut through them.

Out of nowhere, a red door appears on the bridge. A golden etching snaking up the door flashes brightly, and the door opens. The force pulls the party in. The group crash onto a wooden floor and gather their wits. At the end of a long hall lined with ornate wooden pillars and hanging torches sits a worn-out looking man, grizzled with blonde and brown hair and a short beard. “Welcome!” He says, “Welcome to the Longhouse.”

After introducing himself as Castor, he asks the group to sign a contract, simply a blank scroll with a line at the bottom. Castor pins the signed contracts on the wall, and explains. His master, the Master of the Longhouse, has lost a few precious artifacts in their world. Promising a great reward, and reminding them of their signed contracts, he asks them to retrieve a spear, offering them an amulet that he promises will be needed. He directs them out a side door, where they find themselves in a massive white expanse. The ground forms beneath them, and they are dropped in mid air into a forest, landing in a heap.

“What the hell?!” The massive man charges up, screaming. Jacques looks up as he screams in his face. “WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?!” to which Jacques replies “WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?!” while Monsemarde yells Bretonnian curses on the ground. They settle down enough for Prince Thark, of Thark’s Principality, to introduce himself and his band of four citizens. He decides to make them honorary citizens, and warns them about the mountain that seemingly appeared out of nowhere. The party notices that the amulet glows golden when pointed towards the mountain, and so decide to head that way in the morning.

As they approached the mountain through a forest, Farendor notes how many of the smaller creatures seem to be fleeing from the mountain. The sound of tearing flesh and battle is heard through the trees. A horribly disfigured, bloody ogre crashes through the treeline, and berserk charges at the group. Monsemarde took its dick as a trophy, but dropped it when it started attracting large, horrifying flies after a few hours.

They reached the mountain in time to witness several bloody man-sized bird creatures carrying out cave goblins into the sunlight, disorienting them. After sneaking their way and killing one, the group is assaulted by small cave goblins, who are promptly thrown into a magical bonfire created by Alphonse. The party fights their way up the mountain, slaughtering these bird men called Bloodkrows. They also met Ghibli, a merchant dwarf who they almost murdered before showing pity.

Upon reaching the peak, they met Hakkan, a giant distorted vulture the Bloodkrows worshiped as a god. When Alphonse attempted to remove the black spear from Hakkan’s side, Hakkan dragged him into a portal. When Hakkan reappeared, the group was horrified realizing that Alphonse had been left behind. A massive battle took place, and Monsemarde managed to remove the spear, but was dragged into a portal with Hakkan, and disappeared.

Jacques and Farendor were rescued from the collapsing mountain by the Red Door, landing back in the Longhouse. This time, Siam had appeared. To him, it was as though no time had passed at all. Castor seemed to have trouble getting Siam to sign the contract, and after a few encouraging words of gratitude and a reminder to keep going to Jacques and Farendor, he sent them them on their way. They landed in a dirt covered plane, the place where the mountain had been before, now a desolate wasteland dotted with holes to the deep. They spot a horde of goblins attempting to bring down a dwarf, but instead are chopped to bits and flee before him. This was Drothilgon, an adventuring dwarf who agrees to travel with them. Not long after, Siam is dropped from a portal overhead, and after warning the party of Castor’s machinations, starts heading south.

Noticing that the amulet pointed towards Siam, and knowing that Castor intends to make use of him, the party tried to get Siam to travel with them. After a brief but brutal skirmish, Siam defeated the party and dictated they head south, towards the border prince town of Brovska. Beaten and weary, the party agrees. Upon arrival, Jacques was met by his Bretonnian comrades and the Bretton-friendly Lord Beauchamp. He asked Jacques to aid them in an upcoming scourge of the northern forests that have been infested by massing beastmen. Jacques agreed.

The following day, Lord Beauchamp requested of Jacques that he travel with his group east, to the town of Ultvosk, to investigate a series of beast-like attacks on caravans. What met them there was a quiet peasant village. After failing to enlist fat Ed the peasant to use as bait, they instead investigated a rumor Farendor heard from an aged witch hunter that the priest of the village had shut himself inside the chapel. They broke down the door and investigated the basement, where the priest had constructed a blasphemous altar where he attempted magic. Using a strange artifact clock, the priest distorted time.

The group awoke at the entrance of the town, now devestated and horrifyingly decrepit. They were attacked by terrible zombie-like villagers, and took shelter in the abandoned tavern, where witch hunter Maxwell had created a barricade. They rested there for the night.

In the morning, the group was awakened by the screams of Maxwell as he was dragged off into a secret hole in the back of the tavern. Chasing after, the party was attacked by shadowy men shaped like the priest. They discovered a chest full of crimson cloaks, that later proved useful, when skeletons that reanimated recognized the cloaks and knelt before them, before the party ordered them to fall to their deaths down a pit. They rescued Maxwell from a brutal iron maiden trap with seconds to spare, and were then chased down into a dark cavern.

As they explored the tunnels, a shrill voice echoed in their minds. “Would you like to play?” it screeched. “Who are you?” “I am Groth. Who are you?” He peered at Jacques first. “Boring.” he whined. Then he looked at Drothilgon and Farendor. “You… You have seen suffering. Yes… Yes, good.” The party was then forced into a dream.

They awoke on a platform amid massive trees, surrounded by goblins and orcs. Farendor reeled, then flew into a rage as he recognized the scene. His friends and family from his village were slaughtered before him once again, and he saw the moment the massive Orc threw him down into the firey hell below. Awakening, Groth attempted to murder them. Farendor scaled a boulder that had a strange dagger stuck into it, and pulled it out. As he did, the cavern began to collapse around them, crushing Groth with boulders which forced him to flee. The party moved on.

Finally reaching the end of the tunnels, they returned to the altar that the priest, Iosef, was attempting to work magic with to revive his dead wife. After an explosive battle with Iosef and a summoned electric monster, the group prevailed, and destroyed the artifact clock, setting Ultvosk back to normal.

On the way back to Brovska, the party was tricked and ambushed by bandits, only to be rescued by Thark and his men. Brought back to Thark’s expanding camp, they learned that Thark had set his eyes on the bandits keep, held by King Harv. They agreed to help. The following day, after a night of feasting and drinking, with Drothilgon telling rousing stories of war and victory, the party snuck into the side of the keep while Thark and his men distracted Harv’s main force.

Slaying their way through the keep, and releasing a Dark Elf warrior from imprisonment, the party opened the gates and used catapults to destroy Harv’s main forces, allowing Thark to enter the keep. After defeating two powerful ogres that were locked up, Thark and the party took on Harv in his throne room. Drothilgon used a powerful fireball scroll to devestate his forces, and personally challenged the captain of Harv’s forces to a duel amidst burning flames. The party prevailed, and Thark personally crushed Harv’s head with his hands. Grateful, Thark promised his aid against the beastmen, and the party returned to Brovska.

Upon returning, the party set out with Beauchamp and his soldiers, along with Thark and his men, to the northern forests. They convened with the Border Princes, and after seeing the chief beastman use magic to intimidate and attack the army, pushed north into the forest. Groth attacked during the night, attempting to get the dagger back from Farendor, but was driven away.

After breaching the beastmens ranks, the party and Thark and his men were pulled into a strange and massive tree by magical tentacles. Jacques, Farendor and Drothilgon were brought to an odd fortress, created by Groth using illusions. They battled their way past a massive and powerful suit of armor, and met Castor again, who granted them rest and platinum coins that could be broken for his assistance. After another hallucinatory encounter with Groth, the party charged into the main room, and defeated a beastman sorcerer that had summoned a manticore to join the army in battle.

Pushing through, the party found Thark and his men trapped underneath a still lake. Dispatching beast men that surrounded it, the lake rose up and took form around a glowing red stone in its center. Jacques, after taking a devestating blow that left his face permanantly scarred, dived from a tree into the water elemental, and destroyed the stone. Having rescued Thark, they continued up the hill, engaging a large group of beast men in an abandoned village. Several of Thark’s men fell, and Drothilgon was swarmed and murdered by beast men, destroying the morale of the group.

Burying their fallen comrade, a platinum coin rose from the grave. It snapped itself, and a portal opened. Alphonse, now transformed into a girl, dropped out, confused and disoriented. A few warriors had broken through the beast mens lines and arrived as well, among them Hjalmar, a devestating warrior.

Together with Thark’s men, they climbed to the hills peak, where the beast mens chief begged the Dark God’s for more power. It was granted in the form of a terrifying mutation, and using powerful magic, it destroyed a vast part of the forest, along with much of the allied armies. The group prevailed in the end, but in its dying moments, the mutated monster inflicted a vision upon them. A massive eye, glowing purple and swirling with energy, stared at them from a black abyss. Rows of massive teeth stretching for miles on each end grinned at them, and the abomination reached out at them with writhing tentacles.

Suddenly a golden hue appeared, and before them stood a robed figure with the head of a wyrm and radiated energy unlike anything they had ever seen. He outstretched his hand and commanded “BEGONE VILE TRICKSTER. I AM BEYOND YOU. THESE ARE NOT YOUR PAWNS. THEY ARE /MINE/.”

The abyss faded. Jacques approached the carcass of the monster, and received another vision. This time, it was the darkness and the terrifying face, but it was alone. After a puzzled moment of silence, Jacques heard something laughing hysterically, damaging his psyche. During the aftermath, as the rest of the party prepared to return to Brovska, Jacques sat by Drothilgon’s grave, and spoke with his dead friend.

After returning to Brovska to rest, Farendor sensed Groth’s presence, and decided to end the menace once and for all. After laying a trap for Groth in a field north of Brovska, and narrowly escaping death, Farendor and Jacques slew Groth.

While they rested and deliberated on what to do next, Hjalmar approached the Brovska blacksmith about purchasing better armor. The cunning blacksmith charged a huge sum, but offered Hjalmar a deal in exchange; find and return his missing daughter and he’ll craft Hjalmar his armor. Hjalmar agreed.

Farendor, meanwhile, returned to the hag who created the poison extract and explosive vials before the battle. He was just in time to prevent two dark elves from cutting her throat. After a quick and brutal skirmish, Farendor searched their bodies and uncovered a note, calling for all brigands capturing women to bring them to a fort north of the Dwarf port city of Barak Varr. Bidding farewell to Thark and Brovska, they set out through the hills to the south.

Along the way, they met a familiar face; Ghibli, the merchant dwarf rescued from the Bloodkrow mountains. Ghibli told them of the crippled state of Barak Barr. Three factions had risen to power and were driving outsiders out of business; the Grimsteels, the military faction that dominated weapon manufacturing; the Vulgrum, the exorbitantly wealthy upper class, who dictated trade and suffered no outside interference; and the Skargolds, two sailing brothers who rose to command the Ironclads and other vessels of the port.

Traveling into the valley surrounding Barak Varr, clearly all was not well. The party encountered a savage looking group of Ork pillagers who were returning from a battle. Wordlessly the Ork’s and party passed each other, neither interested in an open battle. The party arrived in a small village of humans by the shore, sitting in the shadow of what seemed to be an abandoned fort.

The villagers were hesitant to speak to them, but after Jacques threatened to burn their village to the ground the elder among them spoke out, and informed them of the Dark Elves holding their village hostage who resided in the fort. Told of a secret passage through an outhouse in the back of town, they party waited until nightfall and snuck into the tunnels. They were greeted by a lone Dark Elf, who questioned them. Farendor thought quickly, and convinced the Dark Elf with the note he found earlier that he had brought Alphonsa as a slave to sell. Shown through the fort to the main room, they met Orikas, the head of the slavers here.

It wasn’t long before negotiations fell through, and after an explosive and destructive battle, the party emerged victorious, and Jacques took Orikas’ head. Chasing down stragglers who failed to make it to Barak Varr before the party could catch them, they learned through torture that the center of the slave trade in Barak Varr was a place named “The Black Tavern”. Finally the party arrived at the gates of the port city.

Inside, it didn’t take long before they had multiple eyes on them. A hooded figure captured Alphonsa and dragged her into the alleyways, and turned out to be Siam. He warned against such carelessness in the city, and explained to them that there was an underground movement to overthrow the oppressive Dwarfs being manipulated by Dark Elves. He directed them to an inn and told them to keep their heads down.

In their downtime, the party prepped for their next move. After a brief encounter with Sirocco the engraver and Skeramin Idjit, the Master Pump Operator and Operator of the Pumps, Hjalmar replaced his great axe with two smaller axes and had his golden knuckles, his “Knuckies”, fashioned into gauntlets that could retract spikes from the front. The group approached the Grimsteels and requested to meet the Skargolds.

Surrounded in an empty flooded street, the captain of the Grimsteels, Urist, challenged them to a test. After Hjalmar threw a fully armored dwarf at him, however, he changed his tune and took them to the Vulgrum’s gated community, where the richest dwarf’s resided. Taken underground to the council spire, Jacques threw Orikas’ head on the table and said “We wish to take over their jobs. Clearly we are more powerful than they.” To which the council grudgingly acknowledged.

The council offered them a test; descend into the ruins deep in the Barak Barr mountains and bring back the head of a dissenter, proving their loyalty and removing a potential threat to their shady operations with the Dark Elves. The party agreed.

It didn’t take long before the party arrived at the ruins, and after investigating what seemed to be an abandoned camp site, found a secret passage into a hidden spire hanging high above an open cavern of rushing water. Evading traps as they descended, Hjalmar came face to face with the burned, ragged and insane dwarf they were hunting. Hjalmar could not evade the dwarf firing a cannon at him, and was blasted through a stone wall down onto a bridge. Alphonsa leapt and tackled the dwarf through the hole, knocking herself unconscious in the process. Jacques descended down, and while the dwarf was dazed, cut off his head.

Now faced with no other option but to travel through a ruined ancient dwarf town to escape the tunnels, the party met fierce resistance from kobolds and tentacled horrors. Barely escaping with their lives, and sustaining serious wounds, the group gathered themselves on the shores of an underground lake, which they decided to cross by swimming.

Halfway across, a small boat piloted by a dwarf in tatters plucked them out of the water and took them to the far side, where there were several makeshift stone huts housing hungry, ragged dwarfs. After holding an axe to Alphonsa’s neck and demanding to know their intentions, he was appeased enough to allow them to rest their wounds on the shore. A dwarf woman brought them food, and explained to them how they were forced into the caverns because they opposed the growing Dark Elf control of the city. Slaughtered and driven into exile, they lived out pathetic lives, unable to escape as one exit lead to the city, and the other into a Dark Elf controlled town.

Jacques suggested slaughtering these last dwarfs to prove their loyalty, but Farendor convinced him that killing the Dark Elves would be more beneficial. They ascended to the surface, and ambushed the Dark Elves in the town above as they picked through houses to find women to sell. Capturing one of the female Dark Elves alive and taking her back to the city, the Dwarfs of the council were amazed at their ruthlessness, and offered to arrange a meeting with the Skargold’s the following day at the Black Tavern.

During the night, a message arrived for Farendor. Outside the gates of Barak Varr, a Wood Elf sat waiting for him. He embraced Farendor, and spoke of his long search to find him. He said that the queen in Athel Loren weeps for the lost souls of Farendor’s destroyed village, including Farendor himself, and wishes for him to return to the forests. As a gift and a bid to return home, he granted Farendor a custom bow, retractable and sharpened on the sides to act as a powerful double blade. Farendor accepted, and told the Wood Elf to await his eventual return.

In the morning, a sleepy Alphonsa exited her tavern bedroom only to bump into the hooded rogue Siam outside her door. He commented on the efficiency of their work, how they managed to win the trust of the rich elites of the city through sheer brutality and power. While Hjalmar was starting his morning bar fight before breakfast downstairs, Alphonsa and Jacques questioned Siam of his motives. He described a green stone that emitted a glow that rendered anyone nearby ill, and how the elites kept it in a vault inside their walled half of the city. He needed it.

Siam proposed an idea; he would pose as Farendor and join the party as they went to the Black Tavern. The party agreed, and after being escorted inside the walls by Grimsteel captain Urist, he disappeared.

The group arrived at the base of a large spire, with stairs of gold lined with silver leading up to a large ornate steel door. “Mind yourselves, you lot.” Urist told them. “This is the real deal; any wrong moves and we won’t hesitate to cut you down.” With that the party went into the Black Tavern. What they saw was likely one of the rarest sights in the old world; a raucous party of Dwarf’s and Dark Elves, with chained human slave women dancing and being forced to fight in pits for their amusement. The place was unreasonably lavish and rich, its denizens indulging in the basest of desires and sport.

Lead to the back rooms, the group was ambushed in a narrow hallway by Dark Elf assassins, a last ditch effort to kill them and take revenge for Orikas and the dead slavers. This attempt failed, and the group came to the VIP rooms of the Black Tavern. In one of the booths, Barechested and drinking heavily, with multiple human slaves surrounding him, was the Dark Elf warrior the group had freed from Harv’s Keep. He locked eyes with Jacques and Farendor as they passed, and the group came to the end of the room.

Sitting in the center of a half moon ornate table of gold was Gin, the younger Skargold brother. He commended them on making it to him, noting that he wanted to test their worth one last time, and gave the Dark Elves a chance to kill them as appeasement. He spit as he spoke of them, saying that although this evil alliance has been greatly profitable, neither the Dwarf’s or Elves liked the other, and were always on the verge of breaking down in violence. Brushing that aside, he heard their request to retrieve Samantha, the Brovska Blacksmith’s daughter. He offered them a solution.

Samantha was currently on a large Ironclad headed out to sea, loaded with female slaves and captained by Bolgin, the eldest Skargold. It was to meet with one of the Black Arks of the Dark Elves to trade. Gin Skargold told them he would give them a skeleton crew on a small vessel, and send them after the slave ship. Should the girls be taken aboard the Black Ark, they would be irretrievable, so it was important to save her quickly. They could explain their situation and the deal made with Gin and retrieve Samantha. He also proposed another deal; if they could kill Bolgin, Gin would not only hire them as slavers, he would make them wealthy beyond reckoning. The party agreed.

Heading out to the vessel, they were stopped by the Dark Elf warrior, who introduced himself as Vin. He would be going along with them as well. They boarded the small ironclad and took off down the Black Gulf to the sea. Their plan was this: Jacques and the Dwarf’s would stay aboard their vessel and be ready for anything. Hjalmar, Farendor, Alphonsa and Vin would go below decks to retrieve Samantha, and figure out their plan from there.

When they were escorted to the slave holds, they found Samantha and released her from the prison, and then turned on their escorts. Slaughtering the Grimsteel guards quickly, but not before Vin took a nasty blow to the head from a hammer, Farendor snuck out of the holds to explore the rest of the ship. He quickly found the labyrinth-esque engine room, silencing an engineer who noticed him and sneaking through. He discovered a room full of powder and fuel, and began preparing an explosive exit.

Meanwhile, Hjalmar, Alphonsa and Vin took Samantha back to the top deck. Alphonsa used magic to disguise herself as a Grimsteel, and raised the alarm that one of the party had gone mad and was killing Dwarf’s below deck. As Grimsteel swarmed to go down, Farendor ignited the fuel, and the entire ship was blown in half, killing anyone below deck and leaving only the front quarter of the ship still in one piece, although sinking rapidly. Farendor dived out of the stairwell onto the deck at the last moment, flames chasing behind him.

Even in the chaos, the party was soon overwhelmed by the Grimsteel Dwarf’s. Alphonsa took Samantha and threw her to Jacques aboard the smaller vessel, and Hjalmar, Farendor and Vin engaged in a desperate battle. Farendor was overpowered, and just before a Grimsteel landed a fatal blow, he remembered the platinum coin Castor had given him. He took it between his teeth and snapped it in half.

The sinking front of the ship lurched violently for a moment, and the action paused. Suddenly, the wreckage shot straight into the air at incredible speed, flying high above the clouds until the ocean wasn’t visible. It turned, launching the Grimsteels into a free fall. Hjalmar, Farendor and Vin stood on the last stable platform, with Alphonsa hanging on for dear life over the edge of a railing farther away. “Jump to me!” Farendor screamed, extending an arm out. “Just go! I’ll be okay, just go!” Alphonsa replied. Behind Farendor and Hjalmar the Red Door appeared and opened. Taking one last look as the wreckage began plummeting back down, they leapt in.

Farendor awoke face down in snow. He pushed himself up to realize he was in some snowy tundra, a blizzard obscuring his view and freezing him to the bone. Atop a snowy dune stood the Golden Wyrm, extending a glowing light that filled Farendor with just enough energy to push through the snow. The Wyrm guided him, leading him through the blizzard with his light. As he moved, Farendor spotted a large herd of what might have been mammoths, but with dozens of massive tusks protruding from where its face would be. They marched past him silently.

Finally he spotted a cave dug into the snow. As he approached, however, he felt the wind strangely change direction and shift. He looked over to where massive figure stood. Tall as a mountain, a titanous figure loomed in the distance. Red eyes pierced the blizzard, staring directly at him, following his movements, not moving at all. Farendor stared at this monster for a moment, then pushed into the cave.

Inside was a perfectly smoothed circular room of stone. At its center, a strange box with a mirror of black at its center sat, fused into the stone below it, as if it was natural. Strange runes etched into small stones near its base protruded out, and as he approached, it flickered to life in a strange glow. On the black glass, in runes unintelligible to Farendor, read the following. “I AM SEIRYUU.” Farendor tapped on one of the strange runed stones. “H”. The black glass flickered again, and in the same unreadable language came “WHO ARE YOU?”

Behind the box, Farendor became aware that the Golden Wyrm was there in humanoid form.

“Who are you?” Farendor called out.

“I am the Master of the Longhouse. You are one who has signed the contract and entered the weave of time.” He replied.

“Why are we doing this? What is the purpose of the artifacts?” Farendor asked.

“I am a God of this world. I am unwhole, scattered. It is you who will gather my pieces, and restore me at the center of the ocean.”

“Why us?” Farendor said after a moment.

“Time waits for no one. Will you complete your contract?”

“If I refuse?”

Farendor felt a massive power, like a grip around his throat, able to crush his being in an instant. It released, and the Wyrm said,

“Do you understand?”

“…Yes. Alright.”

Hjalmar awoke, staring down into a body of water. He pushed himself to a stand on what seemed to be air, hovering a few inches over the vast ocean, pale moonlight shining around him. A few feet away stood the Golden Wyrm, staring down at him.

“Do you know recognize this place?” The Wyrm asked.

“No…” Hjalmar replied.

“This is where I once reigned. This was once an island, where I stood atop the highest peak and observed this world. It is where you are from, my child. In you is the smallest drop of my blood, placing you high above the greatest mortals of this world.”

“It is no coincidence you signed my contract. You will be the one to gather my pieces, for I am unwhole, and must be reformed. You will reclaim this land, and I will once again rule as a God. This is your purpose, my child. Do you understand?”

“…I do. Is there anything you can give me so that I may accomplish this goal?” Hjalmar asked.

“Yes. Return to your world, and I will send something to you. But you will have to take it for yourself.”

The Red Door appeared, and after a moment, Hjalmar stepped through.

On the deck of the small vessel stood Jacques and Samantha, staring up at the meteor shower of debris and flaming wreckage that was crashing around them, the sky illuminated bright red as the remains of the Ironclad sank. Alphonsa threw herself from the falling wreckage and created a sustained burst of explosions, slowing her fall as she crashed onto the deck in front of Jacques. The falling wreckage crashed into the water beside them, nearly flipping their vessel. Behind Jacques, the Red Door appeared, and Vin shot out face first onto the iron floor. “WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!” He yelled as he stared around in bewilderment. “Did you do that, witch?!” He said to Alphonsa. “No. It’s a long story, it would be best if you don’t ask questions.” She replied.

Not long after, Hjalmar and Farendor exited the Red Door onto the deck, and the Door disappeared. They explained what they saw and heard to the others. As they spoke, Vin was heard panicking from the back of the ship. “This is bad, this is really bad!”

The Black Ark was approaching from the horizon. The Dwarf’s of the vessel turned the boat back towards Barak Varr, and it seemed that they might be able to outrun it. However, from the deck of the vessel shot out into the sky a black figure, that spread strange wings and flew at great speed towards them. Crashing onto their deck was a massive and powerful Dark Elf woman wielding large hooks attached to chains that wrapped around her arms, with a hood in the figure of a black Raven and accompanied by two monstrous bird-like creatures. “I am Kor. You will not escape from us!”

The battle that ensued damaged the small Ironclad heavily, and Vin turned on the party in an attempt to save his own life from the pursuing Dark Elves, but in the end Kor, Vin and the monsters were defeated. Jacques strung the two up onto the exhaust pipes on the back of the ship, in full view of the Black Ark in defiance, their skin melting off as they screamed in pain from the heat. Kor’s hood changed shape into a bandanna, and floated on the wind into Hjalmar’s hands. It radiated a golden light briefly, and Hjalmar donned it, transforming it into the visage of a ferocious wolf. They raced back to Barak Barr with the Black Ark following behind.

As they approached the port gates of Barak Varr, however, cannon fire rings out ahead of them. Cannonballs rip through the Ironclad, tearing it apart in moments. The party is swept into the current. They are pulled up onto the rock crags on the side of the bay by Siam.

“Hoy chummers. What happened out there?” He asks. The party explains what happened to Bolgin’s Ironclad, and Siam nods grimly. “Makes sense… That was the Dwarven flagship. On top of that, while I was sneaking into their vaults I met a bit of resistance, and they had an accident. Now the Dwarf’s want us all dead. Sorry ‘bout that. But it was worth it.”

He removes a small lead-lined container from his pocket. Opening it up, he removes a green glowing chip and holds it up. “Don’t want to stand around this for long, it’ll give you cancer.” He says. Taking his mask, he opens up a slot and inserts the chip. Putting it on, the round eyes of the mask light up a pale silver. “We have to get out of the city. Dark Elves are coming, and the whole place is going crazy right now.”

Heading down the path to the Barak Varr port, they’re surrounded by Grimsteels armed with hammers and rifles. Gin stands at their center.

“Siam! You bastard, you’re the cause of all this aren’t you?!”

“Ah, Gin. I hear you’re mommy’s favorite now, congratulations.” Siam replies. “Surely you’ve heard by now of the state of the Border Princes military? No one’s coming to save you, Gin. The Dark Elves are coming in thousands, and Barak Varr will fall.”

“We’ll hang you up and hand you over to them, this is your fault!”

“You think that will work? Have you seen what Dark Elves do to Dwarfs, Gin? They’ll kill you, but not before they torture you and worse. You invited monsters into your home, and now you’ll pay the price.”

“Enough! Rifles, ready!”

Siam turned towards the party, looking through the silver glow of his mask. “We have to push through. Fight if you have to, but they won’t stop. We need to get to the exit.”

With that, the battle through Barak Varr began. Using Siam’s metal orbs to smoke their advance, they push through the hordes of Grimsteels trying to stop them. Hjalmar took vicious wounds from rifles, but returned the favor by chopping heads and beards off of the Dwarf’s. They battled across the city, avoiding cannon and rifle fire, until at last they came to the southern gates. There Gin met them for a final battle.

“This is the end for you Siam!” Gin called out, surrounded by Grimsteel warriors.

“You’re a fool Gin Skargold. How long do you think this city can hold? A few days? A week? You’ve doomed an entire city with your greed. I won’t kill you now; I’ll let you live, so that I can come back and find out exactly what the Elves did to you, and find what’s left of your corpse hanging from the pipes.”

The battle was fierce, and Siam fought Gin personally. He was at first overpowered, but with the use of his mask and smoke he bested Gin, and stood over him with his sword at Gin’s throat. “Look, you fools!” He called out to the remaining Dwarf’s. “Elves are at your door, is this where you wish to throw your lives away?! Following this one, who let them into your city?!”

This was enough to discourage the Dwarfs, and the party passed through the southern gates. On the cliffs they could overlook the bay, where many black Elven ships were sailing into the ports. In the distance, the Black Ark loomed ominously. The party ran, heading into the wilderness.

Considering their options, Hjalmar decided to use the new wolf helm he took from Kor. Within minutes, a pack of smaller wolves surrounded them in the trees, and much larger wolves stepped out to meet them, including the pack leader, a massive grey-furred wolf with a long straight scar running along its side. “You must take us north.” Hjalmar commanded, and the party mounted the large wolves, riding into the forests with the pack following, leaving Barak Varr behind.

As they crested the hills overlooking Brovska, they spotted the Red Door sitting among the trees nearby. Inside, they found Castor in his usual laid back style, leaning up against the counter at the end of the hall. They immediately noticed a large group of sleeping, ragged young women near the wall, the ones presumed dead after the explosion on the large Ironclad. “A gift. I thought it best if you returned as heroes, right Jacques?”

Jacques lead the women down the hills to Brovska, where they were met with stunned silence and awe. Cheers rang out throughout the town, and dozens of families were reunited with their missing daughters. The ones from other villages were taken in by Beauchamp to be sent back to their homes. Jacques stood triumphantly atop some crates and declared himself their savior, and the city praised his name; the party were true heroes to them now.

While Jacques was enjoying the jubilant adulation, Hjalmar and Alphonsa had found another reason to celebrate; apparently, a festival was being held a little ways north, called the “Gob Lobbing Tournament”. A huge array of festival games and tournaments were being held, with the biggest prize reserved for the one who could throw a goblin the farthest. The two were besides themselves, and while Jacques was being highly praised by Lord Beauchamp, they stormed into the room and demanded they head immediately to the festival. Lord Beauchamp offered to pay their entry fees, and after the trials of Barak Varr, they happily went off to enjoy themselves for a change.

To their surprise, the festival was being held on the hole-riddled open plains where once stood Hakkan’s Mountain. Apparently, Mr. Gigabitz, an eccentric festival owner, had stumbled upon these fields and saw opportunity. After a month of pain-staking goblin snatching, he had gather enough small pale goblins to use for sport. The crowds gathered, and the field was lined with games and tents, and everyone was in high spirits. The party ran into Thark, who wrapped his massive arms around them and welcomed them happily.

The day was filled with festival games, including archery (which surprisingly, Farendor did not win), a dueling tournament that saw Jacques defeating Siam in the final round that awarded him a beautiful maidens hand (actually a small pale goblin in makeup and a dress), drinking (which small Alphonsa amazingly won over Hjalmar and Thark), and of course, Gob Lobbing. Hjalmar found a worthy opponent in a massive, powerful Orc named Monty, but to everyones surprise, Farendor used his amazing sense of aim to score bonus points every round, winning him first place. Alphonsa also played a game of dagger roulette with a man, who chose poorly on his first turn and stabbed himself in the stomach. She won a small assortment of goods including a very strange small stone statue, thats appearance could never be described after looking away from it.

After the games, Farendor was awarded his prize for Gob Lobbing; one request from the Border Princes. After traveling back to Brovska and deliberating with his group, while Hjalmar began drinking heavily in despair over losing Gob Lobbing to an elf, Farendor told Lord Beauchamp that they wanted a ship with which they could sail to Brettonia, along with a crew. Jacques had quietly brought the “Fair Maiden” goblin with him in a sack, and let it loose in the town to cause havok for his amusement. He recaptured it and kept it in his room, beating it and pacifying it to serve as his pet.

In two weeks, this request was fulfilled, and the party met on a foggy morning in a port town with their new crew. Sakyo, a short, grizzled black bearded man with an eye patch introduced himself harshly as their first mate, and showed them around the Caravel ship the Border Princes had provided. It was old and in disrepair, but it was sea worthy, and a dozen men were gathered to be its crew. Before they boarded, Ghibli and a Grimsteel dwarf Jacques had befriended came up and requested to go with them, and waiting for nightfall, they set sail.

It was a misty night when the Caravel left port. They had hoped to keep along the shore and avoid Dark Elf ships, but two Dark Elf scouts caught up to them, and a rough naval battle occurred. They disabled one by destroying its sails, and Farendor used his remarkable sense of aim to blast a cannonball directly through the others helm, turning their pilot into red mist. They took some damage, and a crewman had a piece of wood stuck through his leg, but they managed to perform surgery and save his life.

Time passed relatively peacefully. Sakyo told them the story of his father, who had heard of a mysterious island that could only be reached by sailing into the roughest storm, that held priceless treasure. It was his dream to find that island one day. Jacques and Farendor began teaching Gobbo, Jacques’ pet goblin, how to speak basic words and be stealthy, with varying success. They also solved their ships rat problem, keeping Gobbo fed on Dire Rats.

Hjalmar awoke one morning out of his month-long blackout. He felt a strange pawing at his feet, and something crawled up onto his bed, climbing on top of him. He looked up and saw a pale goblin in a pirates costume staring at him, and yelled, and Gobbo yelled, and Hjalmar punched it across the room. Farendor and Jacques stormed in and calmed him down enough to explain that while Hjalmar had been passed out drunk for an entire month, they were now sailing on a ship to Bretonnia. The ship rocked back and forth violently, and Farendor and Siam went up to figure out what was happening.

They found Sakyo alone at the helm, standing in a torrential downpour as he sailed the ship directly into a terribly violent storm, singing and holding a large flask of liquor. Farendor booted him off the helm and tried to turn back, but it was too late. One by one the party was swept off the deck and into the seas, and all went black.

They awoke on a beach. Looking around, they saw they were on a massive tropical island with no ship or crew in sight. Siam and Gobbo were nowhere to be seen either. They found their equipment scattered around them, and decided to trek into the jungle to find a way out. Having never seen a tropical island before, Jacques panicked and fell into a depression at the prospect of not being able to go home, miserable as giant mosquitos buzzed around him. He found that insects lit up in flames as they approached Alphonsa, and carried her on his back, using her as insect repellent.

Eventually they came to a large marshland, dotted by deep watery swamps. As they carefully tracked through it, they were ambushed by giant frogs. When they thought they had defeated them, a massive Froghemoth rose from the swamps, and swallowed Jacques. Hjalmar cut a hole in its stomach freeing him, and surprisingly enough, Siam flew out with him, having been stuck in there for who knows how long. They defeated the beast, and Alphonsa used an advanced and unique magic to send their camp to the “safety” of the warp, where they wouldn’t be interrupted or ambushed. All around them was pitch black, with subtle movement in the darkness that made them all, especially Hjalmar, uneasy. They slept in discomfort, but at least they were safe.

The next morning the party and Siam pushed through the rest of the marshland and came out on the other side. In the distance they spotted the smoke from a fire, and when they went down to investigate, they found a strange, disfigured tribe who had tied their crew, along with Sakyo and Gobbo, to logs around a massive bonfire. They decided to try and avoid fighting, and so had the idea to put Alphonsa on Jacques’ shoulders and wear a very long cloak, and try and convince the tribe that Alphonsa was a God. To everyone’s disbelief, this actually worked, and the tribe let them free the prisoners and fed them strange meat and fruits.

As they prepared to leave, the chief of the tribe ran up and yelled in his strange foreign language, pointing into the jungle. The party decided to investigate, and standing atop a hill, looked down upon a massive pyramid temple hidden among the trees. With nothing better to go on, they investigate.

Descending into the temple with Siam and Sakyo in tow, the party reluctantly searched for clues about Sakyo’s father. They braved traps and fought off vicious ghouls, making slow progress. During one harrowing encounter, Alphonsa was dragged off into the depths by a massive spider. She slammed onto the ground of a platform surrounded by lava, and looked up to spot a young woman sitting on the center of the stone floor.

The young woman offered Alphonsa power, which she mockingly refused. Above them, she heard a voice humming “itsy bitsy spider”. A pale man was bound in a spiders web, looking unperturbed. The young woman began morphing into a monstrous massive spider beast as the rest of the party struggled to fight their way to Alphonsa’s rescue. Alphonsa burned the pale man out of the webs and the two of them waged an explosive and dangerous battle against the monster, nearly costing them their lives, but they miraculously prevailed against it, sending it falling into the lava below.

The man introduced himself as Bernard, who had come with an adventuring party that had been picked off and killed the monsters of the temple. The party allowed him to aid them in their search, and after a few more dangerous ordeals, including pitting two floating eyeball tentacle monsters against each other, they made their way to the inner chambers. Here, Sakyo discovered the skeleton of his father, who was clutching a large diamond in his hands. They discovered a passage into a hidden room, where to their surprise, a decomposing corpse was chained to the wall. It was massive, similar to Hjalmar, with glowing golden eyes. It still moved, and when Hjalmar approached, it spoke. “…You…Must…Take It Back…”

It passed on power to Hjalmar, and satisfied, the party retreated from the temple. Climbing aboard their ship, they left the island behind. They sailed for some time, until they spotted the shores of Bretonnia at long last. Before they could celebrate, however, they noticed that the shores were dotted with dark elf ships, and several small villages along the coast had been razed and pillaged. A group of dark elf ships engaged them, and their cannons ripped the parties ship to pieces, killing Sakyo and the rest of the crew. The party were forced to swim to shore, being assaulted by a giant squid, which Farendor dispatched by using a potion he had received to transform it into an elf.

Collecting themselves in a hidden cove, the party climbed their way out into the light of day and followed the paths towards a village. They saw dark elves slaughtering Bretonnian peasants. They intervened, and reclaimed the town. However, they were surrounded by a large force of elves, who unleashed a hydra against them. The battle was long and hard fought, with Jacques’ arm being broken by a flying crossbow bolt, and Alphonsa and Farendor being seperated in the confusion, but in the end, Hjalmar stood against the beast and slew it himself. Before the other elves could surround the party and kill them, war horns blew from the hills, and Bretonnian knights charged down and slaughtered a mass of dark elf forces. A knight under Jacques father named Eckhard slaughtered the surrounded elves, and rescued the party.

Eckhard offered to escort to escort Jacques back to his fathers keep, informing them of the dire state of their country. Dark elves were assaulting from the shores, and something had driven Orks from the southern mountains down into their lands. Jacques cared little, and was mostly concerned with nursing his broken arm and going back home. Meanwhile, Farendor and Alphonsa struggled through a dark cave they had fled to, and fell far into the depths. While taking a leak, Hjalmar was sucked into a sinkhole, and they met each other briefly before engaging a deep-dwelling monstrous bug creature. Eventually they fought their way to the surface, just in time to see Jacques, accompanied by Bernard and Siam, entering his fathers keep.

Jacques was greeted by the knights of his fathers realm and lead to meet his father in the courtyard of his keep. There he was training young soldiers in the art of swordsmanship. Francois d’ausserre was a shrewd and competent leader, and was surprised to see his son had returned. He challenged his son to a brief sword fight, and after the skirmish, allowed him to return to his room to rest. Meanwhile, Hjalmar had intimidated his way past the guards and had been surrounded by soldiers and knights in the town square. Jacques yelled out a window to allow Hjalmar to pass, but Hjalmar insisted in provoking a knight, who challenged him to a fight. Hjalmar stopped such nonsense by using his newfound power to punch a hole directly through the town walls, and passed into the keep, leaving behind the dumbfounded knights.

Time passed calmly for forty days. Bernard helped himself to the keeps library and passed among the peasants of the local land. Alphonsa turned herself invisible to cause mischief. Hjalmar had found a potential student in the knight Eckhard who was fascinated by Hjalmar’s strength, and spent his time training in the courtyard. Farendor camped outside the walls by himself, and Jacques recuperated his arm. Finally, Jacques was summoned to the lord’s hall, and was granted the full title of Knight of the Realm by his father, and granted a small village as fiefdom. Eckhard offered to escort Jacques to the village, and he and Bernard departed early in the morning.

Disappointment is a major understatement of what Jacques felt when they reached the village. It was extremely small, and many of its building were in complete disrepair. They met Hojo, the weak and unintelligent “chief” of the village, who introduced them to the villages blacksmith, Fyodor. Fyodor was surprisingly the only competent man in the village, despite being extremely old and frail. He explained to them the dire state of the village, from their lack of able bodied men who had been sent off to war, to the awful monster that had come from the forests at night to destroy buildings and wreck their farms.

Jacques and Bernard agreed that the monster should be dealt with first, and during the night, caught a glimpse of a large, monstrous ork-like beast dragging its knuckles along the farm, seemingly searching for something. They followed it back to a cave, where it stood entranced, and Bernard guessed it was being controlled by something. They returned to the village and dug through the fields, discovering an old stone slab with markings of Chaos upon it. Under the destroyed inn, they found a passage leading into an old temple, lined with strange etchings. Bernard warned against the presence of the Ruinous Powers, and Jacques sent Eckhard back to his fathers keep to gather able bodied warriors. When Eckhard returned with three errant knights, the group set off into the forest to slay the beast and discover the cause of these troubles.

To make a painfully long story short, the group slayed the beast, and discovered that the town was being harassed by a group of hag sisters. After some near-fatal encounters, the town was secure once more. The party stayed in the village for some time, until a prompt from Castor sent them towards the location of the second artifact.

Their journey was not to be a painless one. In one field of Bretonnia, Hjalmar spotted two looming figures in the distance. Charging alone to meet them, Hjalmar was shocked to learn that the bigger of the pair, a Khornite champion named Lorstus, easily overpowered him. After a futile struggle, Lorstus unleashed a beam of energy that ripped Hjalmar’s arm off, and taking him by the hair, dragged his body in the Warp. The party was distraught, until Castor forced them to keep moving.

The western coasts of Bretonnia had only worsened in time, with Dark Elves building large war camps and black ships looming in the horizon. Here the party met Tiberius Moors, a sixty~ year old grizzled man with a raspy voice, who carried a rifle almost as long as himself. He had lost his family to raiding Dark Elves in Estalia, and now travelled the land, killing Elves wherever he met them. The party took him in, and after a few harrowing adventures to pass through the Dark Elven defenses, arrived at the Bretonnian port city of Bordeleaux.

While travelling outside the city, a massive force blew through the forest, ripping up trees and destroying everything in its path. No one knew what could cause such a powerful force. What met them at the city was devestation; the city was burning, corpses and destruction everywhere.In the fields outside, they came across a disturbing sight; a burned out massive circle, covered in piles of Dark Elf corpses. At its center was a large man, dead, covering a young boys, only fourteen, body. To the parties surprise, the boy yet lived, shaken and confused.

“Did you do this boy?” Monsemarde grabbed him by the scruff. Terrified, he told him that he was Jonathan, and that the large man was a blacksmith he was apprentice to, who died protecting him from the Dark Elves. Bernard noted the oddity of the massive force from before, and decided to bring Jonathan with him on their journey. At this moment, the Red Door appeared in the field.

Castor was there to meet the party when they arrived. He had Moors and Jonathan sign new contracts, much to Bernard’s chagrin, and assured them that now that all was properly in place, it was time to send them to their next objective.

After stepping through the room into the white expanse, they found themselves dropped on a hill overlooking a beautiful, large city along a coastline. However, this city was being harassed and blockaded by Dark Elf ships. Turning around, they spotted a large black obelisk jutting out of a stone circle in a clearing. They decided to trek down to the city first.

————————————————————-

Hjalmar and Castor

Hjalmar could only see stars. He felt pain, and as the vague notion of defeat passed through his weary mind he saw that he was flying, soaring through some black space being dragged along by the huge Khornite Lorstus. It was as if he was in a tunnel, and at the far end of it, he could see a portal. He felt a wave of burning air, and his vision blurred.

He felt his face slam on warm stone and his body tumbled, crashing into a cliff face. Lorstus groaned and stood, the ten foot giant Khornite champion was confused. In the far horizon stood the Brass Citadel, their intended destination. Hjalmar’s eyes opened slightly in time to see a rift open beside Lorstus, and a golden light streamed out. In an instant Castor clad in a golden aura appeared, and placing a hand on Lorstus’ chest, blasted him miles away until he crashed into a mountain, shattering its side. He turned immediately to Hjalmar’s body and regenerated his lost arm, the golden aura drained away as his body was fully healed.

“….W…Wha?…” Hjalmar stood as Castor dropped the ground, panting. “Who are you? Where are we?!” He exclaimed. The horizon was a hellscape; they stood atop a small cliff on the very edge of the Blood God’s domain. Floating islands seperated their path to the mainland, connected by old bridges, and the smell of sulfur and blood was ever present. He collected himself enough to help Castor to his feet. “What is going on?”

“Have you forgotten?” Castor said quietly, his face pale. “You were beaten by a Champion of Khorne. I am here to guide you back.” Indeed it seemed Hjalmar had lost his memory. What little he did know pertained to combat; his chain axes, wrapped among his gauntlet knuckles, were finely tuned battle weapons, and he stood as a giant among men. Castor counted on this. “My Master… Has commanded me to bring you back to your world. The journey will be an evil one, and we will have to fight our way to Tzeentch’s realm before we can return. Look.” He pointed in the sky. Among shooting beams of fire and flashing colors that would make anyone nauseous, what seemed like entire continents floated in erratic circles in space. They watched as one such island continent came down, and for a brief moment slammed edges into the Blood God’s domain, creating a momentary bridge before drifting off again. Castor sighed and turned.

They travelled among the Shattered Causeway, and were quickly beset by small, bird/insect like demons that swarmed and swung down at them as they tried to cross the bridges. By now they could see the Brass Citadel looming ever present in the distance, and as they reached the mainland, the sound of metal clashing in battle could be heard too, over in the plains at the Citadel’s feet. They instead travelled down, through the Forge of the Eight, until they came across the Tree of Souls.

The Tree was grotesque, its trunk made up of writhing still living corpses, its branches covered in screaming bodies climbing over each other, desperate to escape but ever unable to. Castor eagerly wished to go around it, but Hjalmar felt something calling to him from the Tree. As he approached, a voice said to him, “You have our blood! Free our souls, please, and we will guide you!” The Tree fought them, Castor shooting waves of fire and lightning and Hjalmar slashing away at the branches that grabbed and slammed at them. The battle was long and brutal, and Hjalmar with great effort and pain cut the tree in half, the corpses dissolving into the red stone. Three spectral figures appeared.

“Hjalmar. You have forgotten… You have a drop of the Golden God’s blood, as all of our race do. Long ago, our race prospered on a grand island. However, a great struggle fractured our people, and the power of our battles ruptured our island, casting it and us into the sea. You survived this cataclysm Hjalmar. Your destiny is yet unknown, but we will be with you to guide you. Your power is greater than you know.”

Spitting, Castor wiped the blood from his mouth. “Can we carry on?”

Hjalmar was given the choice to pass through the Great Bulwark or the Hunting Fields, both infested with horrors. They chose the Fields, and their journey was stopped by a great sand worm. The battle raged for an hour, until Castor climbed upon it and froze it with a glacial burst of ice.

When finally they came to the Blazing Rampart, where Tzeentch’s realm was currently hurtling through space on a collision course, a great sentry stood in their path. Massive, clad in heavy armor and wielding a sword longer than Hjalmar and Castor combined, it charged up the hill they stood on in fury, and the battle was horrific. In the Blood God’s realm, death is only temporary; Castor was struck down, and Hjalmar stood covered in blood and wounds. This terrible foe brought his blade down, but Hjalmar’s ancestors would not tolerate failure here. With a brief burst of superhuman power Hjalmar dehanded the monster, and cut him down. Castor and Hjalmar lay dead on the hill briefly, until the Blood God’s curse brought them back. They sat upon the hill for a time.

“Look there.” He pointed in the sky. The Island of Endless Gore, a floating skull that spat an endless river of blood from its mouth, turning the fields below a swamp of crimson ichor. “My Master, when we first came, wished to see how well his servant would fare against the petty God’s of this realm. He placed me there, and I learned that His powers wouldn’t reach me in this hell.”

“How long were you here?” - “I don’t know.”

When Tzeentch’s realm slammed into the Blood God’s domain, they jumped. Crashing onto an ice bridge, they crossed into the frozen realm and quickly entered the Heavenward Halls. Beasts and worse dotted the skies, and a fearful uneasiness filled them both. Inside was a cathedral-like room, and they hid behind a pillar observing its inhabitant. A large Medusa, with long and vicious snakes hanging from her hair, pruned and envied over herself at an altar. Hjalmar and Castor stepped out to meet her.

The battle was mercifully short. Castor in his weakened state could not withstand the Medusa’s curse, and Hjalmar had to fight blindly against her, trusting only his rage to kill the beast. He found a cure among the altar, and restored Castor, who gasped for breath and collapsed among the stone floor for a moment. He stood and the two shared a tired look, before climbing the tower.

The path up was something of a black organic material, that formed spiderweb like patterns as they climbed. A large winged beast attempted to attack them here, but having no more patience, Hjalmar picked it from the air and tossed it to the stone floor hundreds of feet below. Castor chuckled for the first time in the time they had been here.

At the top of the tower, they saw a horrific abomination. It was pure black, and no light seemed to illuminate it. Its body was constantly morphing, standing like a man but spikes constantly jutted out from it, shifting and changing in shape. It turned to ‘look’ at them, with no face, as though it had been here waiting for them. A laugh quietly rang out from high up above them, echoing down the entire tower. The battle was long.

When finally it ended, the creature exploded, and Castor and Hjalmar were wounded beyond the limitations of mortal men. Castor strode slowly to the top of a pedestal, and the entirety of Tzeentch’s realm stretched out before him. He called out, in a chant.

“Bernard, open the portal! Bernard! Bernard!”

Hjalmar saw that nothing happened, and they stayed like this for a long time.

——————————————————————

– Barboza –

The city of Barboza was idyllically situated on the coast of Estalia, a wealthy merchant bastion of immense size that rose up in a spire-like way. Grand were its walls and gates, manned heavily by armored soldiers. Marring this sight from atop the hills was the fleet of Dark Elf warships in the distance, periodically firing a cannonball or two into the city.

After explaining their business and passing through the southern entrance, they rested the night at a modest inn, stuck between old wooden buildings in the third ring of the city. Barboza was separated into three rings that also indicated class, and entrance was harder and harder to obtain as you passed the up the rings. In the third ring was small merchants, poor folk, craftsmen, and a maze of back alleys one could get lost in for hours. In the second, rich and relatively powerful merchants, as well as the various well-to-do citizenry, made their homes, with an extensive array of exotic shops and entertainment.

In the first ring rose the Dukes Keep surrounded in its small circle by Noblemen’s mansions built against the wall, where Duke Eli Artemis reigned. Bernard morphed his body and clothing to mimic Jacques, and strode confidently in to the first ring and announced himself to the guards of the Keep. After demonstrating his nobility, he was eventually accepted into an audience with the Duke. Bernard offered his service, wishing as Jacques to aid Barboza against the Elves. With his silver tongue Bernard convinced the Duke to trust and accept him, and the Duke offered Bernard’s party the finest rooms in a very tall luxury hotel in the second ring.

– Monsemarde and Jonathan –

Monsemarde stared at Jonathan across the tavern table. His cousin and his other companions were exhausted, and showing obvious wear from their constant adventures. It was only this boy and Bernard who remained active, and this boy…

“Boy.”

“Y-Yes?!” Jonathan’s posture shot up. This boy… His body was firm, honed after years of metalworking. But his eyes, they were weak and cowardly. Intolerable. “Can you fight, boy?” Monsemarde growled. “I… I never have.” The boy meekly replied. This was the last straw.

Monsemarde rose and grabbed him by the back of the neck. “I am too tired to deal with your nonsense tonight, boy. But if you will be following us, you will learn to fight. I will wake you before dawn. Eat.” He ordered several plates of meaty foods and forced Jonathan to eat it all. Disoriented, Jonathan was sent to bed early, and Monsemarde stared out the tavern window. Foolish.

– Barboza –

As he exited the Dukes audience chambers, he passed a robed, bald man, in the onset of old age. Bernard’s heart pounded involuntarily as the mans eyes passed over him; he could sense the old man could see things other couldn’t. As they passed each other, however, he said nothing. “Lord Jacques, meet Barcillius, my Magister.” Bernard smiled fakely, and quickly exited.

Bernard returned with good news; better lodgings. The hotel was lavish, with a restaurant on the first floor and a strange mechanical device called an elevator that lifted people to the highest floors. That evening, Bernard, Monsemarde, Jonathan and Siam ventured out to the stone circle with the pillar in its center. Engraved on it was the outline of a hand. Monsemarde gestured down to Jonathan. “Go, boy. Put your hand on it.”

“But why would that work?” Monsemarde smacked him over the head and shoved him forward. Jonathan placed a hand on the pillar and it began cracking, one side of it sliding down into the sand, revealing a narrow staircase leading down. “Explain, boy.” Monsemarde grabbed him by the neck, but Jonathan claimed he knew nothing. Bernard sighed and gestured for the party to descend, but not before turning and sending Jonathan back to the city.

At its base they saw that they were in some sort of cave system. They could hearing chittering noises. As they explored, they had to defend themselves against disgusting, venomous huge insects that stabbed at them with huge horns and pincers. Of note was one room that contained a demon bound by magical chains. Bernard examined the poor thing; it was weak and beaten, clearly a beast of Nurgle, resembling a deformed gorilla. “How did you come to be here?” He asked. It explained it had been trapped here ever since humans sealed this pillar years ago. He begged to be let free; and Bernard let him go. It crawled up the stairway and out of sight.

The path forward was blocked by another hand symbol, this time with a huge black abyss stretching before them with the path on the far side. They turned back, wounded and tired. After returning to the hotel, they ate, meals at the restaurant provided by the Duke in respect of Bretonnian Nobility. Then they rested.

– Bernard and Rene –

Bernard stood on the balcony of the 18th floor suite. His mind wandered; the Duke seemed easily trusting. However, the lines under his eyes suggested dark secrets. He knew earning his favor would be key to the plans he had for this city. The Dark Elves must be dealt with as well; even now from his hotel room as he stared out into the ocean, he could see their purple and blue torches sitting upon their black ships. It was curious; while Barboza’s military was formidable, the Dark Elves did not besiege it in any great earnest. Indeed, they only fired two or three shots an hour, destroying warehouses upon the docks and an occasional house that the cities builders union reconstructed quickly.

While he mused, he sensed movement. Above him, to the right. What an impressive feat; to scale up to the 18th floor of a building such as this. As he felt the presences body tense, he passed a thought to his would-be assassin.

When Rene next realized, she was sitting on a posh sofa in a red and purple tinted hotel room. On the coffee table in front of her sat two cups of steaming tea. She could hear running water in the next room. She broke into a cold sweat, and her pulse slowly increased until she felt she might scream.

Bernard stepped out of the bathroom in robes, sitting across from her. He offered her tea. A beauty. Dark black hair that shone purple in the light; Athletic, strong, yet slender and womanlike. And, a Dark Elf. “Are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Who…Who are you?” She replied softly, her eyes scanning the man. Pale, weak… But his eyes flashed purple. Was that her imagination? They were green again instantly. She felt she could lunge across the table and slit his throat then; but she couldn’t dare it. Something had happened.

“I am Bernard Terrington, at your service. What could have possessed you to attack me?” He spoke in calm, almost amused tones. It enraged her. But she responded. “You’ve only arrived, but you’ve earned the Dukes favor already. There is rumor the Duke is working the with the Dark Elves, buying peace with money or promises. You’re a traitor. Aren’t you?” She accused, and gripped the daggers on her belt firmly.

“No, no, on the contrary my dear. I am here to help. I merely convinced the Duke I was on his side and he trusted me. It would do me no good if this city were to fall to Elves. And aren’t you a Dark Elf yourself?”

She cast her face down. “I am not like them. I was raised here, in Barboza. Most people treated me poorly, but some didn’t, and I owe them my entire life. I will stop the invasion, at any cost. You say you are not on their side? Prove it. The Duke is hiding something. If you can get this close to him, find out the truth! You must do this!” She snapped up, looking into his eyes to prove her sincerity.

Bernard smiled softly in his head. Look at those eyes. She must be truly desperate. He wondered what one woman could do against an army. Her cause was truly lost. And yet, she had found her way to him. Was this part of the plan? It mattered not. Make use of the useful.

“Yes… Very well. I will look into the matter for you. Let us work together on this. While I uncover the truth, do your best to investigate matters yourself. If you wish to meet you may merely leave a note in my letterbox on the first floor. Is this acceptable?”

Rene nodded and moved to stand. She hated this man already. So miserly, with a mocking smile. But she could not convince herself that he was not capable of the task. Something about his demeanor told her to flee. Perhaps leave the city, if it was attracting… Things, such as this. She turned towards the balcony.

“Do not try such foolish things again, please.” His voiced chimed. She did not turn, instead standing on the edge of the balcony before letting herself fall. Bernard watched her go.

Impressive.

– Monsemarde and Jonathan –

“Again, boy.” Monsemarde had been pushing the boy hard. In the early morning, before the sun rose, he would rouse him. When they had moved to the hotel, he made Jonathan share his room so as to expedite the process. He had bought him an iron blade, fitting for one so inexperienced yet strong. When Jonathan swung at him clumsily, he would correct him, painfully, each time. Each morning they would go in the courtyard beside the hotel where there was quiet, although occasionally Moors or Siam would follow, watching Monsemarde torture a child with amusement.

“You are fourteen, yes, boy?” “Y-Yes.” Monsemarde hit him over the knee with the flat of his blade. “If you stutter again while speaking to me I will remove a finger.” “Yes!”

“When I was fourteen I was slaying orks and beastmen with my cousin. I had already mastered the blade and was enjoying the crushing blows of the mace upon my enemies. I had already bathed in the blood of my foes countless times. You, are weak.”

Jonathan collapsed, panting. Every day was harder. Monsemarde did not yield, ever. He pitied himself only momentarily, lamenting the sudden turn of events. The blacksmith, his master, dead… Taken to some foreign country, now training to fight under this demonic man. Monsemarde allowed him only the moment. He was standing before he knew it, desperately defending himself against a flurry of blows that cut into his skin and stole his breath.

Each morning continued like this, and Jonathan slowly grew stronger.

– Barboza –

In the morning, the Duke requested the party’s presence. Bernard decided to use this occasion to properly introduce himself, and Monsemarde accompanied him. Monsemarde also decided to drag Jonathan along, citing a need to “observe how nobilities act amongst themselves.”

In the round table room of the Keep were several military nobles from the first ring, the Duke himself, and his advisor and Magister, Barcillius. As the party entered, Bernard and Barcillius’s eyes met. Bernard smiled fakely before addressing the chamber. He and Monsemarde would represent the party, Monsemarde producing the documents and signets to prove his heritage.

The meeting dragged on. The Duke and his generals fretted over different matters. Of the most pressing was the invasion fleet; although it had continued for almost a week, it showed no signs of abating, and no one had ideas on how to break it. Barcillius spoke up with intent, looking at the three of them. He proposed the new blood could be sent as a fast-acting force, sneaking aboard the lead warship and disabling it. Such an act would certainly demoralize and break the siege.

Bernard smirked grimly. Barcillius was interesting. Such a thing meant slow and torturous death with no hope of salvation. For anyone besides him, of course. Still, he would never agree to such a plan. Barcillius meant to be rid of his party. Why?

As they stared each other down, no one else in the room aware of their silent understanding, a general mentioned an Ork band approaching the city. It was a day out at least, but it was steadily approaching the southern gates, where many refugees from surrounded cities and villages had gathered, not being permitted to enter but allowed to form small huts and shacks along its walls.

Monsemarde spoke up beside Bernard. “I can deal with this problem. Look closely at this map.” He explained at length, examining the terrain for but a moment before gesturing to a small valley between two hills to the south. “This is where they will pass. We will ambush them here.” They questioned him. He only stared them down. “I am certain of this. I will take volunteers and what supplies you can give, and I will deal with this problem myself.”

The Duke was impressed. Barcillius merely turned and gave order to spread the word. Those who would defend Barboza would serve under Monsemarde.

– Mephisto –

Bernard needed new clothing. The stint on the island, as well as the resulting crash and treading through the mud and grime of Bretonnia had left him thoroughly unclean. He did not trust or like the merchants of the second ring, finding more comfort in the winding mazes of the third. As he passed through he found at last a small tailors shop, nestled in a tight alley with a staircase leading down to its door.

As he opened the door, a satisfied married noble couple strode out, grins upon their faces. Bernard slipped by. Inside was a man measuring a Barboza military officer. He was tall and thin, clearly not a fighter. His hair tied back with a string that stretched down to his shoulders, streaks of pink dyed into his flowing hair. His eyes were sharp and calm, and a smile sat upon his lips. When the officer was finished and had departed, he turned to Bernard. “Oh, darling. What happened to you?”

“Ah, you see, I agree with you. I am in need of something new. Are you up to the task?” “I would be delighted.” Mephisto responded.

The finished product was a sturdy, flattering vest and tunic of leather, with reinforced pants. Across the chest streaked purple, as if Mephisto had splashed a paintbrush across it. Bernard eyed him a bit warily as he saw this. Mephisto only smiled. Bernard could not help but smile genuinely in return. “It’s perfect.”

“Of course. Bernard Terrington? You are always welcome at Mephisto’s. I hope you come again real soon, love.”

– Mungo –

Bernard gathered men for the coming battle. Monsemarde had impressed him; the smell of blood wafted off him almost constantly, and his eyes were pretty as a corpses, but under the gruff exterior was an intelligent mind. He wondered if Monsemarde sensed the rising tension in the room and defused it himself. He would be cautious.

He heard boisterous laughter coming from a tavern as he passed through the third ring. He entered in curiosity. A massive ball of a man sat in the center of the room, disrupting the other patrons with his yells and drinking. Beside him sat a massive iron ball on a staff, clearly his weapon.

Bernard approached him and offered him coin for his service.

– Barboza –

The next morning, it was time to depart. Monsemarde met the volunteers at the southern gates at dawn. Barcillius, being something of an alchemist, donated several barrels of a magical substance that burned on contact and exploded easily. In front of Monsemarde were all of these barrels loaded into two carts on his orders. The captain of the gate guard, Ray, made it clear that many of the low-ranking guardsmen of the city were eager to drive off the Orks, feeling restless during this siege.

Bernard roused Alphonsa, who had spent the last several days in a near-catatonic state in her bed. He realized that such a rabble as had been put together would be insufficient, and decided to bring a secret weapon. Reluctantly, she joined him.

As the preparations were completed, Monsemarde spotted Jonathan among the crowd, with the iron blade at his side. He gripped him by the shoulder. “And where do you think you are going, boy?” Jonathan in a flash of anger replied, “I will fight too. Why train me if you’re always going to leave me behind?” Monsemarde shot back, “You are not ready.”

Bernard interceded as Jonathan’s face grew red. “Come now, Monsemarde, he’s quite right. If you’re going to punish him every morning, at least let him prove himself.” Monsemarde growled, but turned away. Jonathan quickly bowed in thanks to Bernard before falling in line. In this way, some twenty soldiers from Barboza, lead by Monsemarde, Bernard, Alphonsa, and Jonathan at their side, set out to lay an ambush.

When at last the Ork band came into view, Monsemarde cursed silently under his breath. These were typical Orks, but their leaders were not. Three Orks of warboss size dragged massive weaponry with them. One wielded a mess of a giant shield scrapped together from randoms parts. Another wielded a sword twice as tall as Monsemarde. The last, the leader, was unarmed, but he was indeed massive. He was the largest Ork Monsemarde had laid eyes on. He dwarfed his Boyz in every way, and could crush a man in his fist.

As the Ork band passed the valley, Monsemarde expertly concealed his troops. A cart of barrels were hidden on each side. When the main body of the Orks, some fifty in all, came into the crossfire, he let out a war cry that thundered through the valley. The carts were let loose, and Alphonsa and Bernard in tandem exploded the barrels with magic, sending the Ork force into disarray and burning many to death.

As the valley burned, Ray the Captain lead the initial charge down the hills. Before the Orks could reorganize, the volunteers cut through many. The attack was successful, it seemed. Until, the Warboss in his guttural tones began barking commands. The surviving Orks rallied around him, while the Shield-Ork defended him from Alphonsa’s exploding fireballs. The Orks then mounted a counter-attack, scattering in each direction up the hills.

Monsemarde gripped his mace. This was what he had been waiting for. As the Orks scattered, he nodded to Bernard and Alphonsa, taking off down the hill. Bernard and Alphonsa cleared the way for him from above as he charged the Warboss. However, it didn’t take long for the Orks to converge on them. Bernard gripped Jonathan by the shoulder as they were surrounded. Jonathan nodded tensely, gripping his blade.

The battle raged for some time. As Monsemarde battled the Warboss, striking at what openings he could, Bernard and Alphonsa devastated the remaining Orks. Jonathan struggled to defend himself against the raw force of an Ork’s attacks, and had to be rescued by Alphonsa, scorching and melting any Ork that dared approach her. On the other end of the valley, Ray fought desperately against the Shield-Ork, being slammed into the ground by the great blunt weapon. Jonathan could not bear to witness his death; nearby a fallen volunteer had dropped his bow. Jonathan dived forward, picking up a bow and a single arrow. He took aim.

It was by pure luck that the Shield-Ork turned to look back at him. The arrow penetrated the massive Ork’s eye socket, digging into his brain. The Ork fell immediately, crashing in a heap into the dirt. Monsemarde could not take the time to fully appreciate such an act of heroism, as the Warboss began pinning him against the ground. The Ork’s eyes rolled back in his head, however, as Bernard penetrated his mind and destroyed it, sending it into a frothing madness. Monsemarde climbed upon the Ork’s arms and shoulders, and with a crushing bow, pulped its skull.

When the battle had ended, several of the cities volunteers had fallen. But the battle was not lost; each and every one of the Ork’s had been slaughtered, none had been spared.

For a moment the valley was silent. Then the cities defenders erupted into ecstatic cheers. Ray raised Jonathan up on his shoulders, and they enjoyed the rush of victory. Monsemarde surveyed the scene as the others celebrated. Estalia was a brutal land, but its men were hardy and heroic. Nothing was wasted in this battle.

They returned to the gates to the cheers of the refugees outside. Welcomed as heroes, the gates were flung open, and the Duke and Barcillius, along with many of the citizens, were there to meet them. Duke Eli clasped Monsemarde by the hand and praised him heavily for such a decisive and clean victory. He ordered a feast and celebration in their honor, and named Monsemarde the cities champion.

– Bernard and Barcillius –

The night dragged on. Jonathan had vanished among the streets, having made numerous friends amongst the youth of the city, who now admired him as a hero. Monsemarde disliked the crowds and adulation, and sunk back to the hotel after being publicly recognized in the large town square situated near the docks. Bernard sipped expensive wine and gazed out into the ocean. He had found Mungo, the fat man he had bought to fight, sleeping behind a hill after the battle. He would have to retrieve his money from him later. It was only when he noticed his hair standing on end that he turned to see Barcillius nearby, doing the same.

“Quite a show,” The old man spoke. “The Duke is very happy with you.”

“Then why do you not seem so happy?” Bernard quipped. Before him was clearly a dangerous man, and yet Bernard needed to mock him in some way. The battle had greatly increased his standing in the city, and he no longer needed to fear Barcillius’s slander should he resort to it.

“You would have been wiser to take my offer to attack the Elves. There is a way to things in this city. Convincing the Duke you are a nobleman seemed quite easy, no doubt. He enjoys his shows of nobility. Despite the obvious failings in your etiquette.”

Bernard’s smile did not slip. “Perhaps you are jealous?” Barcillius drank from his cup. “I have no need to be jealous. I have been shown clearly what to do about ones such as you. It seems you have lost our Masters favor.”

Bernard twitched involuntarily. “Well, well. That IS surprising. Our master? I did not expect that. You mean to say you have heard something?” Barcillius nodded. “Indeed. He has shown me that another one would be coming to my city. I am to do away with them; such is my power, and his faith in me. I am his favorite among the men of this country, and all who challenge me have failed. You will be no different, despite your ‘success’ tonight.”

Bernard turned to him, grinning. “You seem to have had a misunderstanding. I am Tzeentch’s Golden Egg. It is I who will carry out his plan. I will see the future, and you will be left to rot and die as an old man. It seems you’ve been quite lied to.”

As Bernard spoke, he could see he was twisting a knife in Barcillius’s soul. The old man looked at him with disdain. “You are nothing compared to me. I will allow you one chance to leave the city and never return.” Bernard closed the distance, looking into his eyes. “Foolish old man. I give you that same chance. Flee. This city is now mine.”

Waves crashed against the shores as they stared at each other. Bernard sensed a wave of magical energy emit from BarcillIus momentarily before the old man simply smiled and turned. “I see. So be it. Your night is not quite over, I’m afraid. Defender of Barboza, can you defend yourself?” He laughed.

Bernard turned to the sound of distant screams along the docks. Massive tentacles rose up from the depths, slamming into the warehouses and stone buildings. Quickly the area was wrecked. Bernard turned back, but Barcillius had gone. He cursed under his breath and ran into the battle.

Monsemarde joined him once he had been alerted of the beast, and the two of them fought the Kraken. Cannons thundered from the battlements into the beasts hide, and Bernard was forced to used magic. The desperate struggle was brief, the overwhelming firepower of Bernard and the cannons running the Kraken back into the sea. There was no celebration this time, however, as several citizens had been killed in the attack, and the docks laid in waste.

Monsemarde and Bernard spoke quietly to each other. “This was no random attack.” Monsemarde told him. “No, you are quite right. It was Barcillius. He is a Tzeentch worshipper, and is likely the one who is colluding with the Elves. He seems to think I am here to kill him.” Monsemarde looked at him strangely. “Are you?” He asked.

“If I was not before, I am now.” Bernard simply replied.

– Barboza –

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