Session 6: Deck the arena with gladiators! Rah rah rah Rah Raah Rahh Raaah.

Walking thru the dust choked, sweat-drenched tunnels beneath the arena Vognar followed Barven Freth to his office, flanked by a pair of tough burly looking guards, most likely former gladiators, carrying torches down the dark lit passages.

The office was not gaudy, an air of opulence was obvious; nice chairs, richly colored rugs on the floor and tapestries on the walls, depicting great battles of the arena, the symbol of Gorum found all about. Vognar felt at home for the first time in a long while, although tempted by the Fight Masters offer to sit and relax, he did not wish to appear weak with this shrewd negotiator.

The Ulfen stood defiantly to which Barven shrugged, sat comfortably in his high back leather chair, propping his boots on his elegant walnut desk and regarded the blond warrior, calculating his value like a butcher does with cattle.

Vognar did not like waiting, beginning the negotiations, starting in too high, soon finding himself out matched by the cunning and wizened human arena master. Before long he and his friends where haggled into fighting four fights for killing Barvens’ three worgs, freeing the wolf, Tyl, to Lythars custody.

***

Halgrin Smine laughed aloud at the Ulfen getting taken by the arena’s fight master after Vognar recounted the tale with Barven. Taking pity on the group he outfitted them all with the best equipment he could hoping to ensure their survival so they could complete the trials of the arena and his mission to Absolom.

Meanwhile Thistle and Tazjh leave oppressive city gates to commune with nature in the surrounding area. The raptor hunting squirrels and druid gathering plants for his alchemical needs, enjoying the break before they are called to fight.

Lythar takes Tyl out of Tymon as well, frolicking, hunting and strengthening the bond between the two new companions. The skittish wolf amazingly taking down a dear on it’s own, however the pair almost lose track of time enjoying each other’s company in the wild and don’t make it back till well after midday.

After purchasing mounts for their trip to Absolom, a representative of Barven, arrives later in the day, at the Prancing Palamino, as the group gathers to eat, informing them that they will fight two of their four bouts this evening.

***

Deciding to leave behind Kyle, Conri and Tyl, the heroes arrive at the coliseum to await their fate. Tazjh, Thistle, Lythar and Vognar peer out the large doors out to the arena floor spying ten gibbering goblins with crude bows spread out as to not cluster. Calling upon the natural powers of Golarian the ranger and druid increase harden their skin and strengthen Tajzh for the battle to come.

The large wood and iron doors creak and groan open revealing large roaring crowd as the heroes’ enter the battlefield. Thistles’ raptor loses no time and bolts for the first goblin she sees scraping and clawing at the startled green creature.

Lythar and Thistle move into the light and loose missiles towards goblins opposite of ends of the areana drawing ooo’s from the throngs of spectators as goblins are wounded. Several of the vile greenskins reply with arrows of their own several finding their mark on Thistle.

Vognar soundlessly roars, launching himself into a charge towards Tazjh and four goblins to the east, unable to reach them he throws a hand axe pining a lifeless goblin to the arena wall, bringing approving roars from the crowd.

The fight lasts twenty-four seconds in all, a whole sale slaughter of the goblins, which are torn to shreds by Tajzh, pinned to the walls by Lythar, bludgeoned by Thistles sling bullets and carved in half by Vognars’ great sword, all amidst cheers of the crowd and roars of Vognar to Gorum echoed exuberantly by the spectators. With only Thistle is injured with several tiny arrows’ protruding from his small frame the group accepts the throngs praise.

Flowers, food and gold rain down on the arena floor, from which the Lythar takes a single orchid smells it and tucks it behind his ear, while the rest of the group gathers their winnings from screaming fans as they return to the tunnels below.

Clergy of Gorum remove the arrows from Thistle and heal his wounds; Vognar kneeling before the priests touching his friends now mended holes in revered fascination of his gods divine power, drawing disturbed looks from his companions and Thistle in particular.

Drunk with their first success, Barven promised to make the heroes next fight more ‘challenging’.

***

Standing on the bloodied sand of the oval shaped coliseum the heroes watch as three other gates open and from the darkness four monstrous humanoid shapes, strong furry legs ending in hooves crush the dirt beneath as they stride on the field, their heads are that of a snarling bull with sharpened horns, the leader Minotaur and his pack, release a braying roar challenging the heroes.

Vognar debates going for the largest of the minotaur’s but charges for the two closest, praying to Gorum for strength, hoping to tie up as many dangerous foes and sparing his companions, at the end of his charge, he tosses his throwing axe striking one of beasts in the chest drawing first blood, Vognar makes a mental note to thank Halgrim for his fine balance of the weapon.

Tazjh looks to Thistle who gives his blessing for her to charge the northern most of the Minotaur, skittering across the arena floor, leaping claws extend as she draws grooves of blood and a roar of rage from the large tawny colored beast. The monstrous creature replies in kind with a great axe nearly spilling the loyal raptors intestines on the floor.

Thistle whirls a sling bullet at Tazjh’s opponent and calls for her to return concerned with the grievous wound she recieved. Meanwhile Lythar moves to guard his small companion, his keen aim loosing arrows into the largest of the Minotaur to the south, the beast grunting angrily with each strike.

Vognars’ greatsword waving about defensively, as the two beasts attempt to circle and flank him, a Minotaur attempts to move by the quick Ulfen warrior who spins on him cleaving opening the monstrous humanoids ribcage spilling its warm red watery contents onto the ground.

“GORUM”, the big man roars echoed by the crowd invigorated by the gory death.

The other opponent charges the human horns forward axe swinging, the blond haired Ulfen ducking and dodging the blows his new armor protecting his vitals.

Vognar reversing the sweeping arch of his blade drives three feet of steel thru the heart of the second beast twisting it for effect killing the large creature its eyes wide in disbelief. Seeing the largest Minotaur attempting to close with Lythar the Ulfen intercepts the leader stopping him short to deal with him.

Lythar realizing Tajzh and Thistle will be unable to take the Minotaur on their own drops his bow and charges his large bull faced opponent taking a bloody groove for his kindness.

Thistle attempts to unsuccessfully bandage Tazjh who is restless and carefully slips behind Lythars Minotaur leaping on the great beasts back rending flesh with her hind claws, hissing with glee.

Lythar catches the Minotaur’s torn ear in his mouth, after the creature accidentally caught its weapon lopping its own ear off. The crowd goes wild with blood lust, women screaming Lythars name and promising to bear his offspring as his gleaming elvish blade cuts deeply into the midsection of the beast.


Vognar breathing through this mouth could feel the red haze beginning to take control of him, in time for the Minotaur alpha to gore him with his horns and slash him with his oversized greataxe. The fury of the north overtaking the Ulfen barbarian, his body swelling with beastial rage, smiting the monstrous creature with a bloody feral grin contorting his face Vognar roared at the heavens. The crowd leaps to their feet cheering and shouting Gorums name in exuberance and the display.

Lythar finishes the last Minotaur with a deft use of his curved elven sword standing over the Minotaur’s ruined corpse dropping the orchid behind his ear with a sarcastic flourish. The display bringing a deafening roars of approval from the crowds who shower the heroes with food, gold even articles of clothing, as the heroes retreat inside the bowels of the arena to be healed.

Vognar kneeling before a priest of Gorum praises his name and falls unconscious from wounds that had he not been enraged might have killed him. After being healed and praised by Barven, they return to the in for drinks … to celebrate the events of the evening.

To be continued…

The Eighth Witch

Lost among the shifting dunes of central Osirion, tucked away in a hidden oasis, lay the ruins of an ancient temple older than the oldest wyrm, possibly older than some of the gods themselves. Walls composed of blocks of limestone, pitted and scourged by the blowing sands until their surfaces resembled the bones of some fallen colossal creature, lay exposed at the whim of the wind. In eons past, it had once been a thriving place, stone walls adorned with murals of brightly colored paints depicting heroic deeds of long dead kings and queens and the benevolence of long forgotten deities. Statues to these gods and heroes had proudly lined its streets. Now they stood broken and defiled, smeared with blood and excrement. Few people ever came here. And fewer still left alive.

Framed by swaying palm trees, Alashra stood gazing down a long corridor of walls that lead to a shadowed archway to part of the now buried structure. A loose robe of linen dyed a deep blue billowed about her humanoid form, and a matching cowl wrapped over and about her head. She strode boldly forward, pulling the cowl from her face when she reached the protection of the walls and got out of the wind, the gnoll guards near the entrance relaxing...somewhat.

For Alashra, too, was a gnoll, the powerful female consort to their clan's leader, the albino, Nathrek the Pale, Devourer of Virgins. Grinning as she reached the sentries, Alashra gestured behind her, chuckling in the maddeningly chilling laughter gnolls shared with their not so distant kin, hyenas.

"All praise to Lamashtu, Our Mother! We are successful yet again! Soon many will be sacrificed to her glory! After they have served our clan, of course," she cackled.

"All praise to Our Bloodthirsty Mother!" one of the guards growled in reply. "Will we be allowed to join in the revels?" His companion pricked his rounded ears forward in anticipation.

Alashra grinned. "Of course! I will see to it females are sent to relieve you. All males will be wanted for this offering."

Both sentries grinned maliciously, looking to the procession of figures that trailed along behind their leader's mate. Several human and half elf females stumbled along in chains, prodded roughly forward by their gnoll captors. Many balked at entering the black gullet leading below the ruins, and the gnolls lashed them forward with whips and curses.

Alashra watched them go, her eyes bright with malice, giggling viciously, enjoying their pitiful cries and screams, relishing their helplessness and fear like an appetizer before the feast of rape and death that was soon to come.

Cursed - Part 1

Sharalae stared in shock at Zirvaliel Sha'nul. "I thought we were allies!" she cried. "Do not be deceived, Akorbreena (First Matriarch)!" She pointed an accusing finger at the dark skinned elf standing beside the drow matron. "Sinafae seeks your downfall and the destruction of your goddess with the aid of your other daughter, Raelona!"

Zirvaliel laughed. "As befits a strong daughter, fool! And besides, I hate you," she smiled, "more than I hate her."

She turned to Sinafae. "I have other business. See to this Micararra (lost queen)," she ordered, gesturing to Sharalae with contempt as she strode away.

Sinafae turned her crimson eyes to gaze upon a stricken Sharalae. "You know what happens to failures," she purred. A wicked smile parted the priestess's face and she gestured, murmuring words of power to her demon goddess.

Sharalae's body warped and twisted. She screamed in agony.

Waking with a gasp, sweat coating her black skin with an ebony sheen, Sharalae looked about wildly, for a moment forgetting where she was. Regaining her wits, she allowed her torso to sag against the wall of the small cave in which she hid. The cool stone chilled her bare flesh and she cursed Sinafae to the Seven Hells for not sparing her at least some clothes, but mercy and compassion were not in her people's makeup.

As she considered her plight, Sharalae felt tears of bitterness and rage fill her eyes, but she gritted her teeth, refusing to let them fall. That is, until she reached up to touch her roughly shorn hair. She had always prided herself in that particular physical feature, her long, luxuriant locks white as an albino cave rat's fur and softer than...what was that material used to stuff pillows and mattresses that came from the World Above? Oh, yes, down, they had called it.

She narrowed her scarlet eyes, brushing the tears from her face. Fool! she cursed herself. Get your wits about you! If you're going to sit about in this pathetic state, you deserve what has been done to you!

She considered what to do, deciding she would be a fool to remain in the Underworld. She didn't trust Zirvaliel to leave her punishment to this. Sinafae certainly wouldn't! That traitorous little bitch would try to kill her if she could find her. It would be most unwise to stay.

Yet, Sharalae hesitated. She had never been to the World Above, but she had heard many stories about it--and the terrors it held in store for those foolish enough to trespass in it! Blinding light that would burn your eyes from their very sockets, a multitude of dangerous creatures, and enemies abounding everywhere, not the least of which were the drow's distant kin, the Siavaedi. She would not be welcome in that world to be sure, but she was no longer welcome here either. And if she was doomed to die, then she would make her death count for something against those who had betrayed her, if nothing else.

She smiled grimly. She may be cursed, exiled, forsaken by her people and the demon goddess she had worshipped, but she was far from helpless. And she knew of House Sha'nul's plans. Perhaps she would just have to see what she could do to disrupt them.

First things first, though, she cautioned herself. She would have to find her way to the surface. Then she would have to somehow find the books Sinafae and her little sister Raelona Sha'nul so desperately sought.

Feeling more confident now that she had decided upon a plan of action, Sharalae crept cautiously toward the entrance to her hiding place and peered out before scuttling into the tunnel, still awkward moving the eight slim black legs of her arachnid lower body.

To be continued...

Interlude - Moraes Shyr (Sister Wolf)

The loud roar of the crowd accompanied by the tang of blood and voided bodily fluids assaulted Lythar’s senses as he cleared the breezeway into the giant arena. The long benches curving around the ovoid depression were filled with cheering spectators from every class in Tymon, from blooded to commoner.

A sharp yip in concert with a chorus of very low growls emanated from the arena floor, immediately drawing Lythar’s angrily flashing eyes.

“Worgs.” Lythar’s thoughts raged. “The fools are using worgs for entertainment.”

Lythar barely noticed the similar look of anger clouding Thistle’s face as he took in a new detail. A young wolf was facing the trio of foul worgs, and it wouldn’t be long before the larger animals killed her.

Fresh pine and loamy scents filled Lythar’s nose as he growled low in his chest at the wolf puppies who were working together to surround him, their rumps held high, tails wagging, and giving excited high pitched yips that were filling the forest glade. Older wolves lay around the edges of the clearing, noses and ears attuned for danger, while simultaneously watching the young elf that wandered by from time to time and their pups as they tussled and roughhoused in the dappled sunlight.....

Giving his head a quick shake to clear the strong memories, Lythar unconsciously lapsed into Sylvan, growling “My sister, you’ll not fight them alone.”

Looking to his left at Vognar, Lythar had just enough sense left in him to switch his thoughts and tongue back to Elven. “Are you ready?” he quipped with a half mad smirk, before acrobatically flipping backwards over the rail at the arena’s edge, drawing his sword as he landed gracefully on the blood stained dirt of the arena floor. Roaring a wordless challenge, Lythar charged at the foul worgs.

The arena’s raucous atmosphere fell momentarily to shocked silence as the crowd caught sight of the charging elf, exotic blade held high. The crazed look in his eyes and the grim set of his jaw led many sitting in the first row of the stands to contemplate wanting to be somewhere else if they ever came upon him in a dark alley.

Vognar had but a moment to puzzle through what had come over his companion (he really wasn’t sure, Elves surely must have a deep streak of madness in them...) before quickly realizing that Lythar had possibly bitten off more than he could chew. Skillfully vaulting the rail, Vognar dropped to the arena floor and set off after Lythar, followed quickly by Thistle.

Lythar finished his headlong charge with a stiff hip-check into the larger of the three worgs, who had moved to surround the smaller wolf. The startled worg was pushed back five feet, however, he quickly regained the upper hand by biting deeply into Lythar’s leg and unceremoniously dumping the surprised elf to the ground. At the same time, a second worg darted in and bit the wolf, who yelped with pain as she quickly twisted free of the sharp teeth, even as the third worg’s jaws snapped behind her, just inches from her haunches.

As if on cue, the crowd went absolutely wild, rising to their feet while cheering and throwing partially eaten bread and other foods into the arena. This boring animal on animal show had just gotten far more interesting. Imagine, dressing gladiators as adventurers and staging them to jump into the fight!

Keeping a wary eye on the odd two-legs who had just occupied one of her tormentors, the wolf whirled and caught the third worg’s shoulder in her jaws. Keeping her jaws clamped shut and enjoying the feel of the tendons and muscles pulsing and working between her teeth, she quickly flipped her body up and over it’s back, causing the worg to be upended and born down to the ground. Springing to her feet, she then turned to face her other tormentor, giving it a bloody-fanged smile.

Lythar lay on the ground stunned for a quick moment, however, training took over and he sprung back up to his feet, limping slightly as his gashed leg took his weight. He almost fell again as the worg that had tripped him snapped once more at his injured leg. Seeing a slight bit of movement behind him, Lythar saw an opportunity and swung low to high, nearly decapitating the worg in front of him, then as his sword reached an apex over his head, twisted and bent sideways at the waist to finish the stroke by slamming the point of the blade through the chest of the worg behind him as it struggled to rise. Feeling a brief rush of air, Lythar noticed Thistle’s Velociraptor, Tajzh, go flying through the space his torso had occupied a moment earlier.

“Must have been going for that worg behind me.” Lythar thought, as Vognar ducked into the scrum and nearly cut the last worg in twain with his greatsword.

The crowd’s roar was nearly deafening, however, Lythar could just make out Thistle booming words of power across the arena floor. The wolf, who had been showing hackles and teeth at the trio of adventurers, seemed instantly to calm, her eyes sparkling with curiosity rather than the killing light they’d held a moment earlier.

Holding his leg to staunch the flow of blood, Lythar nodded his thanks to Vognar, as the scarred warrior handed him a potion to ameliorate the damage. Quickly downing the potion, Lythar rushed over and gave first aid to the wounds the wolf had suffered at the jaws of her evil brethren, soothing her quietly in Sylvan as Thistle looked on curiously.

Almost unnoticed by Lythar, a gate opened in the arena wall, disgorging a dozen large, armored guards, who quickly formed into ranks to either side of the gate. As Vognar began discussions, Lythar fished one of his two coinpurses from within his armor and tossed it to him. “Pay for it out of this if you must, and there may be more if that’s what it takes.” he said absentmindedly in Elven, in between various calming words spoken in Sylvan to the wolf.

After a moment, the wolf came out of her passive state, and Lythar began to see the beginnings of a wolfy tantrum (the kind of tantrum where throats starting getting torn out and hamstrings cut) as she glared and growled at the various two-legs standing around her. The presence of the guards, which had mistreated her sorely since she was captured, wasn’t doing any good and she began to chuff menacingly while baring her teeth.

A movement in the corner of his eye drew Lythar’s attention, and he noticed two of the guards approaching the wolf. One had a chain in his hand and a wicked sneer on his face as he said “We’ll take care of the wolf for you.”

In one fluid movement, Lythar stood, moving between the wolf and the guards, baring his blade as he did so. Assuming a stance with his hands up and the blade tip down, he rasped in accented Common “You’ll not be touching the wolf, I’ll handle her.”

Both guards paused in shock as their compatriots’ hands went to sword hilts. They certainly weren’t used to being spoken to in that manner, and Vognar noticed a debate begin in the way they held themselves as to whether they were going to take umbrage in a very physical manner.

One of the guards finally spoke up, saying “We’re on a schedule, the executions are supposed to begin!”

“I care not,” Lythar responded, “you can go inside with Vognar there and discuss terms, I’ll remain here with the wolf and you can have your executions.”

“Handle the wolf then!” the Guard snapped, wondering how the Elf could possibly get the vicious animal to do anything without proper reinforcement.

Seeing that the guards weren’t going to attack, or otherwise bypass him, Lythar turned back to the snarling, angry wolf, squatted down to her level, and tried to project a sense of calm as he again began his interrupted conversation in Sylvan.

“Good day little one. I mean you no harm. I am known to your kind as TreeWalker, for in the forest that is my home, I spend more time up in the tops of the trees than I do on the ground.

When I was a pup, I was part of a pack in the Forest of Pools and Shadows, led by StagFeller, a long way from here. As I grew older, my time was much taken up by other two-legs, and I lost contact with my pack. I have been lonely for the company of the Wa’ya for many cycles of the moon. Imagine my surprise when I came across you here in this arena, facing Ne’Wa’ya, the evil ones. I came to help you, to release you from this prison you find yourself in, and to restore to you your right to run free under the Moon.

If you would come with me, I would offer you the security of a new pack, good hunting, and a territory larger than we can walk. You would have safe and free passage away from this foul den of two-legs, and would have to fight in this place to survive no more. I would also offer you the freedom of choice, just as with any other Wa’ya pack. You may run with me, or run away to face the Moon on your own, as you wish.”

As Lythar spoke, the wolf’s hackles slowly subsided, her ears came up, and her tongue lolled out as she finally relaxed enough to pant and dissipate some of the heat she had built up in the fight. Images of the Mierani Forest, an Elfling frolicking and hunting with wolf pups and adults alike, gentle still pools under towering forest canopies, and the overarching shadow of evil that drifted through parts of the forest played murkily in her head. She began to recognize some of the places his images described from the Wa’ya stories that drifted over the breeze on bright, moonlit nights.

He was far from true Wa’ya, and the images were somewhat crude, lacking the sound and smell fidelity that her kind excelled at, but she found that with a little effort, she could actually understand this two-legs. The shock of it caused her ears to perk straight forward, nose scanning his scent with maximum effort, and she regarded him very intently with her light golden eyes.

Seeing that he was finally not about to have his throat torn out, Lythar relaxed slightly and offered the wolf some dried alligator. It took a few tries before she’d trust him enough to take it from his hand, but Lythar was gratified to see the level of trust increasing.

“This is poor fare I know, but there will be plenty of good hunting and fresh meat once we’re free of this killing ground. As we have now shared kill, may I ask how you are known little one?”

At his request, Lythar’s brain rang with the soft bite of cold dew on paw-pads, accompanied by the feeling of fur being ruffled by a brisk fall wind, and his vision was filled by a wolfess frolicking about under a full harvest moon. He was momentarily struck dumbfounded by the strength of her imagery.

“If it serves you, I would call you Tylalaes (Moon Dancer)?”

In response, the wolfess gave an enigmatic toothy smile and a low bark, startling the remaining pair of Guards, who had been staring in fascination at the crazy Elf who spoke gibberish to dangerous predators.

“I see it serves. Would you come with me? We still have some effort ahead of us to get away from this horrid place.”

At that, Lythar stood up, pausing a moment to glare at the Guards, and then walked towards the open gate in the arena wall, the wolf following behind him. Her eyes and head swiveled around, glaring and growling softly at any creature that dared get too close as the two passed into the breezeway.

Lythar Kille'eplith and Tylalaes

Born in the town of Crying Leaf in the Mierani Forest, Lythar spent his childhood roaming the woods near his hometown. As a child he learned he had a certain affinity for the various animals in the forest, including a pack of wolves who accepted him as a pack-mate.

As he grew up, Lythar's woodland activities allowed him to pick up a love of the wilds and the woods, and when he came of age, he decided he could best serve his people by assisting in the defense of the town and the forest.

Lythar is currently a Valaes (a non-commissioned rank similar to Sergeant) in the Thysaer Kasol (Crying Leaf Militia), and has aspirations towards joining the elite Shin Rakorath.

A run-in with Drow and a wayward human named Vognar showed Lythar that the xenophobia of his people may actually be causing them more harm than good in a tactical sense, and he left the forest to escort Vognar back to his people. Subsequent events caused Vognar to flee an unjust sentence with Lythar's assistance, and the two have been traveling ever since.

Lythar had a fairly insular life, restricted to the Mierani Forest. As such, human ways and customs often mystify him, and he struggles to understand their motives at times. Lythar's wanderlust keeps him on the move, and he is fascinated by the world at large.

Lythar found Tylalaes fighting worgs in the Gladiatorial Arena of Tymon. Risking the ire of the town's aristocracy, Lythar intervened in the fight with help from Vognar and Thistle to save Tylalaes from certain death. Tyl reminds Lythar of his youth in the forest, and Lythar thinks of Tyl as a trusted sibling. The two will hopefully enjoy many adventures together.

Session 5: Tymon with Darkness on their heels

Lythar and Thistle had noticed that dawns had come later and evenings earlier each day on their trip, yet it was spring and the days should have grown longer. Their unease only accentuated by the Cleric of Cayden's intensifying night terrors of a dog headed demon rising from the shadows and calling him by name.

Vognar foolishly dismissed such portents as drunkenness or mental instability yet the group dallies to investigate the terrified young half-elfs’ dreams, much to the frustration of Vognar who wished to reach the town of Tymon and unload their dangerous package.

Upon investigation of the battle where they killed the drow, Thistle, Lythar and Kyle found a hungry female griffon gorging herself on the dead forgotten horse, a favorite meal, for the huge half lion half-hawk creature. Although a magical beast Thistle, to the astonishment of Vognar, spoke to the griffon and it seemed it understood and talked back.

"Gorum's beard"!

The ulfen swore, queitly to himself, from a distance, 'the little runt wasn't lying! He really could talk to animals, a powerful skill". The large warrior stood amazed an a bit humbled by his companions growing powers.

Upon returning from his conversation with the griffon the group decides there are no clues to be found, and decide with the growing darkness to head with haste to the river crossing and straight to Tymon.

***

The following night Kyle's nightmares returned waking in a cold sweat, sheer panic on his face, Vognar's calm began to melt insisting the, "crazy old drunk is having delusions". Secretly, his own fears surfaced and he now longed to be rid of the book and be safely in the walls of Tymon.

Lythar and Thistle understood the cleric's dreams as something more important decide that they should keep an increased pace but not at the risk of fatigue should they be caught unawares.

During the days travels, each hero finds himself looking back behind them, at the dark clouds, seemingly looming over them, like sinister claws reaching for each of them.

***

Dusk of the second day they all breath easier with the site of Tymons' walls in the distance. Their spirits renewed by civilization they quickly make their way to the city gates.

Tymon:

The city-state of Tymon lies southwest of Daggermark on the very western borders of the River Kingdoms, next to the kingdom of Razmiran. It is renowned for its gladiators, as Tymon boasts both a huge arena and many prestigious gladiator colleges. Ullorth Ungin the cities leader has to contemplate turning his valuable gladiators lose on the field of battle, against their covetous neighbor nation Razimr, supported by the bloodthirsty priests of Gorum. Each year Ullorth asks that any on the Outlaw Council who value freedom step forth to help him, and each year one or two petty lordlings offer their help, postponing Razmir's invasion for another year.

Learning the local laws and customs at the gate the group goes straight to Halgarin Smene a Master smith, dwarf and pathfinder. Vognar blurting out he has a book for him, quickly clams up after receiving a stare from Lythar, the others however, cautiously approach the dwarf and after some talking find that this book is extremely important to the Pathfinder society and to the cause of light against Nocticula and her dog headed demon lord consort.

Eventually agreeing to give Halgrin the book he, congratulates the heroes on completing their quest, rewarding their bravery with gold and information, asking if they would be willing to take the book to its final destination... Absolom. Nearly a thousand leagues away the headquarters of the Pathfinder society could easily protect the book and the dwarven pathfinder promises great payment in return for their efforts.

The group, realizing the gravity of the situation and importance of this book, agrees to this new journey. During the conversations Kyle gets pissed drunk on dwarven stout, and beings to sing loudly and out of tune, Vognar having reached his limit snaps punching the cleric. Not to miss a brawl Kyle calls upon the power of Cayden to strengthen him for what he hopes is a good fight.

Vognar noting the clerics drunken orison of strength acquiesces to Lythar and Halgarin's request for the two of them to 'take it out side'. Vognar motions for Kyle to lead the way out, to which the cleric stomps outside and where Vognar does not follow instead shuts locking it behind him to finish the conversation minus the annoying drunken cleric.

Kyle forgetting that he came outside to fight, begins to sing and drink again, badly, unfortunately other dwarven smiths, decide the cleric is too, drunk, tone deaf and loud to be conscious. A crowd gathers to take bets on the outcome of the fight; surrounding the Cayden acolyte with saps and clubs several men strike him. In reply to his wounds, Kyle miraculously recovers from the blows with calls to his god. Further he calms the crowd with the power of Cayden and his gods’ mighty will.

Eventually a well-placed sock breaks the carousing, preventing anyone but Vognar from hurting the cleric. Carrying his overly drunk companion to an in to be tended by a cute and amorous bar wench.

***

Among the calls of the crowds in the early evening, Lythar and Thistle can hear a set of wolf howls and go to seek out the sounds origin, eventually Vognar, who senses trouble, joins them.

The trio arrives at the gladiatorial arena of Tymon whose current participants are three worgs against a lone wolf.

Lythar and Thistle are incensed at the spectacle for different reasons. Looking toVognar the elf shrugs as if there is no choice and leaps over the railing to aid the outmatched wolf.

The crowds roar, a renewed excited frenzy of howls and bets ripples across the stadium. Thistle also leaps over the side with Tazjh in tow hoping to intervene in a less confrontational way where no creature need be killed.

Wounded the wolf fights on; Lythar hastily approaches a worg, snarling the evil canine bites deeply into the elf warriors leg pulling him to the ground.

Visibly sighing Vognar will not let his elven companion die. Leaping over the rail and to the ground in one motion with amazing ease, the big man covers ground quickly.

Thistle attempts to pin the irate Lythar with Tazjh who over shoots his mark and misses the elf.

The elven warrior dispatches two of the three worgs with blinding fast archs of his deadly weapon. Thistle is no happy.

Vognar uncaring of the religious machinations of druids finishes off the last worg, accentuated by the crowds’ elated roar of being entertained.

***

Several guards come out to greet the heroes who interrupted the fight to save a single wolf. Lythar protectively bandages his canine brother and drinks a curative potion handed to him by Vognar.

Thistle stands and accesses the dead worgs sad at there loss as well. Infuriated that no one understands.

The arena manager calls out to the heroes, praises, greets and thanks them for the unexpected and excited outcome of the fight. Sending his men to retrieve the wolf, Lythar stands protectively in front of the growling wolf. Seeing his battle brother in danger of dying for a wounded animal, Vognar negotiates with the lead of manager to let him pay for the damages and talk business.

Nodding deviously at the large warrior, “Let the executions commence”, the area leader shouts and leads Vognar off to his office to discuss price.

To be continued…

Session 4: Skirting the Shrouded Wood

Dangers of the previous nights attack left the group with unsettled feelings, pressing hard ahead on the road, they arrive in the town of Artume.

A warm and metropolitan flare filled the small town. In no time Kyle slips into familiar city surrounds and talking up the local folk while, Vognar, Lythar and Thistle do a bit of buying, selling and trading.

That night Kyle finds a feast hall to buy a round of drinks for all, in Caydens name. Vognar buys the priest of Cayden a flask of fine whiskey in thanks for the clerics valiant orisons and healing.

The following day, Lythar, Thistle and Kyle do some investigating about a man on horseback from Uringen passing through Artume. A couple of good days and nights sleep and warm food turn up information that the courier from Uringen did indeed pass by not more than two days before they had arrived.

Grateful that he is alive but concerned that he was traveling so fast alone the heroes decided to head back on the road to catch up and escort the messenger the rest of way to Tymon.

***

Pressing hard west, down the busy road, skirting the Shrouded Wood, the groups only persistent pursuer is the dark clouds that have seemed to be following the group since their first day out of Uringen.

Dusk on the second day from Artume the heroes stumble upon a group of Dark Elves standing over a man pinned behead a downed mount.

Thistle and Lythar are the first to see them, and the elven warrior hisses to his large ulfen warrior "drow".

Vognar sprints down the road drawing his large weapon as Thistle calls upon the primal powers of Golarian tangling drow in grasping fora. Kyle, Tajzh and Lythar all notice four more drow covering the road from the trees north of the road.

The tell tale of clicks followed by the whizzing of bolts flying bye, heard and ignored by the irate warrior, who longed to atone for his failure to kill the drow in Uringen.

Seeing his mens bolts ineffectual to the charging human, the male drow second in command, a sorcerer, sensing his impending doom, calls upon the arcane powers, to release three missiles of light which unerringly pierce the barbarians armor doing great harm to him.

Barely acknowledging the wounds, with a bestial roar, Vognar swung his greatsword bringing his rage to bear on the drow sorcerer carving a great gouge in the dark elves chest, blood running freely, the painful wound causing him to blanch ashen grey.

Kyle calling out to Cayden to hinder his enemies curses the archer drow with inaccuracy, while Lythar looses deadly shot after shot into drow skirmishers felling them. Tajzh not to be outdone eventual finds the chinks in the finely crafted drow armor felling and gorging on one of the foul elven warriors.

The female, drow priestess of Nocticula seethed with anger at these orodae, and their male surface elf constant interfering with her dark Lady in Shadows' plans. Calling upon her Demon gods Abyssal powers, she smugly attempted to cause the large smelly human to run in fear, as she had mentally overpowered him in Uringen.

Something was very different about this Vognar orodae, he was angry and shaken but did not stop pressing his attack against the sorcerer and cut him down with an resounding roar and wild look at his drow priestess.

Cursing at the loss of her valuable asset, Raelona Sha'nul drew upon Nocticula's power again, with zealots fervor pointing at Vognar's weapon she commanded him to 'drop it' and was rewarded with him fumbling with the weapon and it falling to the ground. She mockingly laughed at her triumph.

A confused and frustrated look splayed across his face, replaced with outrage and anger. Pulling his throwing axe from his belt Vognar threw the missile with all his strength embedding the blade into Sha'nuls' shoulder.

Blanching in incredulous pain, at the wound she realized the battle was at a loss, quickly drinking a potion and removing the axe from her she slipped away as the battle raged and the last of her troupe was dispatched by the heroes.

Seething with Anger she retreated swearing Nocticulas' vengeance against them all.

***

Soon most of the drow had been killed and Kyle had charmed one, using his considerable skills in gathering information he found out the name of the Priestess, her deity, and why or what they where after...

A book of light, a powerful artifact for good that can literally banish darkness upon being held and those not of pure heart attempting to read the tome.

Vognar found the book bravely buried as a last act by the courier, Theadon Ammon, who died bravely to protect the book as a last sacrificial act. Killing the remaining drow who had shaken off Kyles enchantments Lythar and the others examined the man and realized his great sacrifice.

The group buried the man and held a memorial with Kyle saying words for the unsung hero, moved by his bravery the group skirts the Shrouded Wood hoping to honor Theadon's sacrifice and deliver the book safely to Tymon.