Information about that long past time shall find its way here…
Into the reeking sulfuric air of the land outside the Volcano seven worn fools emerge.
blinking red rimmed eyes against the harsh but welcome afternoon sunlight, trying in vain to reconcile their internal clocks with the actual time they have stepped out into.
Less than a week ago the seven met in the halls of the Steward of Cydionia and the Northern Reaches.
less than a week ago they set out together an unruly group of strangers. Their goal, amongst others, to stop the eruption of white plume mountain. To confirm the death of the mountains wizard ruler, Kereptus. To retrieve holy artifacts sacred to some amongst them and their faiths. To recue or confirm the death of a brother and a friend.
In less than a week they courageously stormed the mountain and became embroiled in the madness within, gaining a powerful friend and loosing an0other. From the mad ramblings of magical plagues gnomes to the calm calculating pedantry of a fiery efreet. misguided gnomes ogres and fungus people falling before their might. In chaos and semi confusion they pushed ever onward murky goals in bare concealment ahead.
So it was that on the third day within the mountain(as best time can be reckoned) did these magnificent seven, retrieved the ancient artifacts, rescued the missing and spell dominated Warden of Cydonia, they did battle with the corrupt spirit at the heart of the volcano, rescue the child Kereptus who will be king, and tune the ancient druidic device to calm the volatile volcano for another cycle.
Standing on the baking slopes of the volcano looking west over the bog woods past the yellow flow to the spires of the capitol, they are unanimously united, for once, in the single thought of “now what?”
A brooding Hrothgard with the Kingsword in hand, looks towards his forgotten homeland and is at a loss, he is a warrior not a politician. The weight of the kingsword grows heavier with every step towards the capitol and the ultimate resolution of his duties.
A grim Grognak, shares the weight of his friend burden, knowing that the path ahead will be rough for him. Secretly Grognak is relived, the spell plague stopped and two very precious scrolls lay in his pack.
An insufferably proud Tealia strides off towards the capitol, secure in her choices and satisfied with her work within the mountains but as the high of victory wears off she cannot help but wonder what is next for her and Ameatheon.
The grace of her goddess infusing her soul Caris knows she must return the ancient relic to a sanctuary of her faith, though the well being of her companions weighs upon her.
The tension between Brother Stern and Hrothgard a palpable thing. Stern knows he did the right thing saving the warrior against an ignoble death, better to save him now to die on the field of battle a yard of steel in his gut and the song of battle in his heart. The grim duty of mass burial rites for his fallen brothers in the pass leading to the mountain, their condition after three days in the hot cydionian sun…..
The task at hand accomplished, the quiet ranger leads his friends forward to the capitol.
Grey, the last of the ragtag group looks not forward to the road ahead and their capitol but around him at the courageous fledgling heroes he finds himself blessed to be in the midst of, and smiles…….