Allaria- Side Quests

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Allaria: Side Quests

Here we will post side stories involving/set in the world of Allaria. RPers (Or Rilla if he gets in on this) can work in collaboration on our their own to write short stories (Of whatever size they wish) to help feed their addiction for the RP while fleshing out the world and their own characters. They can, of course, create new characters just for the side stories that could come into play later in the main quest. The side stories will be considered canon by the choice of the write and, more importantly, Rilla.

Format

Quote:

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Originally Posted by mbl

Title

Characters:
Important NPC/PCs (Characters in Deposit) in bold
Minor NPCs not bold

Settings:
Starting Setting bolded
Any Other settings unbolded

Summary: [Optional, especially if the story is very short]

Story: [Right here]

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Rules

1. In order for a story involving main quest PCs to be considered canon, it should take place before the beginning of the main quest. There could be special exceptions in the case of small misadventures during travel-time skips. You should also not overplay your character's abilities, we got messed up by a few herdbane right outside the gates... don't write your character slaughtering armies of them before this even took place.
2. You may split stories into parts if you do not wish to write the whole thing in one go; however, to prevent clutter the limit for these will be set at 5.
3. If your story is going to have a main character, that character should have a CS in the deposit.
4. If you involve someone else's character (Main quest or some character they created for a story in here) in your story you should get their permission first. If you involve some of the really major NPCs you might want to contact Rilla, especially if you want the story to be canon.
5. This thread should only contain stories, this post should be the only OOC post in here.
6. The format is for organizational purposes, follow it or I'll cut you.
7. Don't write nonsense stories, treat this thread with the respect you would the IC.
8. If your stories goes in detail enough with any sex, violence, or gore that it might upset any of the random twelve year olds on RPG that have no chance of ever happening upon this thread, put your post in spoilers and display a warning for it. Don't want to get us in trouble, also if it is not minotaur rape... Then it damn well should not be in allaria.

Organization

1: Baldun's Oath: Chapter 1 - MelonHead
2: Baldun's Oath: Chapter 2 - MelonHead
3: Baldun's Oath: Chapter 3 - MelonHead



Any here we go....

I'm going to post one of an early interlude between Veldrin and Chath. Nothing too heavy.

Baldun’s Oath: Chapter 1
The chance encounter
Belroot forest(TOT)

Characters:
Belrun the story teller
Glint
Forsoff
Belmund
Drin
Baldun
Dormal the Dwarf
Nerod the Bandit

“Now now, younglings.” The Dwarf had a youthful twinkle to an otherwise aged face, and he was tanned, mute evidence that he refused to spend as much time underground as most of his race. He pushed off two of his nephews who ferociously attacked him, in a playful manner, but with more force than any human would use with children. As he struggled forward into the house, closing the door behind him with one foot and shutting the blizzard outside, he nodded to his brother.

“I din’t expect ta see you again brother mine.” The homeowner said.

“Nor I you, Glint.” The traveller said, patting the three young dwarves on the head. “I see you’re doing well for yourself eh. Where’s that wife of yours?”

“She died last year Belrun.” The strong but sad father replied, tears bristling beneath a full bearded face.

“Ah.” Belrun sighed sadly. “I’m sorry brother.” He said finally, staring down at the distraught faces of his nephews. Obviously the wounds were still raw, and although they were both teens they were not yet men. “I only count two of my nephews here.” He changed the subject suddenly, looking around in confusion. Suddenly, with a ferocious battle cry, he was near knocked off his feet by a small ambusher. Forsoff, barely ten, launched himself at his uncle with reckless abandon.

“Woah there, little one. You’re not ready ta take on yer old uncle yet.” He grinned, catching the young Dwarves flailing fists. Forsoff gave up with a growl, and then smiled. “Haven’t seen you in ages uncle Belly!” the children laughed as the adventurer chased them off.

A few hours later, with food resting comfortably in their bellies and a warm fire at the hearth, the children surrounded their mysterious uncle as he rocked back and forth on a wooden rocking chair. They watched transfixed as his sizable paunch expanded and fell, as a great whoosh of air filled his lungs and a snore erupted from his wide nose. Suddenly, an eye flicked open and the children started in alarm. His laughter erupted from deep within his chest, seeming to the Dwarf children to be shaking the very house.

“Uncle.” Forsoff said finally, after his nerves had settled. “Tell us a story.”

“Story! Story!” The others replied enthusiastically. He shifted to a more comfortable position as they stared up at him from their places on the rug covering the cold stone floor of the living room.

“Alright then, if it be a story you want how about one of adventure? Have you ever heard from your pa the stories of our father?”

“Wha?” Drin asked, the eldest, he had heard of nothing about their father’s father, although they had of course assumed he had one they had never asked and he had never told.

“Close yer mouth Drin, you’ll be eatin’ flies with it wide open like that.” His uncle replied, to which the brothers laughed and then erupted into a minor brawl.

“Anyway, as I was sayin.” Belrun regained their attention quickly, apparently gifted with the strong yet enticing voice of a story teller. “My father was quite the hero of his time, so how about you hear a little something of your ancestors eh?”

“Yes!” Forsoff replied enthusiastically. The brothers agreed.

“Well then, I’ll tell you his story as he told it to me, with a few embellishments of course but don’t you worry none about that. Settle down, it’s a long tale I have to tell.”

“Our tale begins nigh on one hundred years ago, in what was then called Belroot green. The forest was young, ‘dwarfed’ by the greater forests on the outskirts of Allaria, but impressive in its own right. Bushes clung to a well-used, winding, path which cut its way from the northern edge to the very southern tips pushing into the mountains. It was a place where one would not be too surprised to find a Dwarf, walking up towards the north as he left the mountains of his homeland behind in search of greener pastures. This day was no exception, although at this point in the story the dark was drawing in and the adventurer was growing weary. Baldun was his name, tall for a Dwarf with flowing black hair and a healthy beard, barely old enough to be called a man either, only nineteen or so. Yet he was smart and he was strong and he had his leather armour and his trusty hammer to deal with any of the more ferocious beasts of the forest, and so it was that when the dark drew in he held no fears.

Now Baldun was not by nature a wanderer, nor was he some master of the wilds. Instead he was a hard working dwarf driven from his home by the poverty of the mines. Many dwarves left with him, although they did not travel together it’s said that settlers moved out to make their fortunes at this time and it’s them the dwarves have to thank for their riches. Whatever the reason, Baldun found himself walking at an easy pace down the beaten track pushing branches out of his way and listening to the sounds of the night.”

“What sort of sounds?” Forsoff asked suddenly, his eyes alight with curiosity. Belrun looked at him with a serious expression on his face. “Now, yer don’t go interruptin a story like that.” He told him sternly. “But if yer must know.” Suddenly he let out a brilliantly terrifying imitation of a wolves howl, shocking the children. They laughed as the story regained its natural flow.

“Wolves howled and creatures scuttled around him, and although he feared little Baldun was not foolish enough to keep walking the path through the night. Besides which, his legs were beginning to pain him and the weight of the supplies on his back were wearing him down, so he chose to rest beside the trunk of a great oak tree. He ate a tough meal there gnawing on the last of his stale bread and drinking the remaining drops from his flask, scratching his beard and staring at the stars visible between the leafless branches of the oak tree. He wasn’t sure when the howling began to take up an altogether different tone, but he soon became alarmed. It was the sound of the hunt, and it was drawing closer, he tried to remind himself that wolves wouldn’t eat a Dwarf, but doubts crept into his mind.

Now, normally no self-respecting wolf would eat a dwarf, but autumn was giving way to winter and times were hard. Not only that, but the beasts in question had patchy, matted black fur and glowing red eyes. They had been corrupted by dark magic residing in the land, which rumour had it came about after a long war. So it was that as Baldun stood with his back to the oak, hammer in hand, three of the great snarling beasts broke out from beneath brambles to close on him. Although they were a terrifying sight, the brave Dwarf’s knees only wobbled a little, and the hands holding his mallet remained rock steady. They came at him as a group, their eyes a terrible red and filled with madness and hunger, and he swung wildly with a mighty blow which caught the first full body and sent it flying back from the warrior. It’s ribs cracked and blood poured from its muzzle as it whimpered, and the others turned to stare at the crippled beast angrily snarling at Baldun.

The standoff went on long into the night, the two remaining wolves staring down the lone Dwarf as he made his stand, but his eyes were drooping and they slavered as they saw his weariness. Holding strong would not be enough, but had he moved the monstrous creatures would have quickly hamstringed the Dwarf. Instead, he looked up to the branches above him and saw the lowest was just in reach. No smaller dwarf would have had a chance of climbing the oak, but right then Baldun was out of options, and as many have found, when desperation strikes the impossible becomes frighteningly possible. To this day, Baldun has the record for the only Dwarf to ever climb an oak tree. He slung the hammer onto his back and dived, as the wolves did the same, only for their snapping jaws to bite at the air as he tugged himself full body up into the highest branches of the tree. They howled in anger as he settled down, humming to himself a hearty Dwarven song, and got some much needed rest.

The next morning dawned bright and early, with Baldun’s eyes flickering open and momentary confusion etched on his face. He slid from his perch and crashed through the branches, landing in a ceremonial heap right in the middle of a pile of fallen leaves. He laughed at his luck, staring at the wolf he had killed the previous night with a feeling of pride.

“Nasty beast.” He noted, nudging the beast with one foot before reclaiming his equipment and setting off once again down the worn path. With the sun glowing through the branches the forest no longer held any fear for him at least.

It was around dinner time and his belly began grumbling, when the berries began to look awful appetizing, that he heard the weak cries. Had it been anything else, he would have ignored it, but hearing the cries of what he believed was a Dwarf in peril he had no choice but to set off through the trees and off the path. It took him another half hour to locate the source of the cries, blood stained the floor of the small camp sight and leaning against the trunk of an old tree was a badly wounded old dwarf with reddish grey hair and a matted beard. Beldun quickly hurried to his side, mindful of the arrow protruding from his chest.

“Ah… son. I’m bloody… thirsty, would you pass me that flask.” The dying Dwarf asked of Baldun, who was reluctant to refuse the wishes of a dying man.

“Of course.” He replied, passing him the flask he indicated which was lying just out of reach at his feet. The Dwarf took a long draught and sighed, looking down at the arrow in his chest.

“My name's… Dormal. Dirty-“

“Dirty isn’t exactly the word he used boys, but we won’t go there eh?”

“Bandits shot me for naught but a map they can’t read…”

“I’m Baldun.”

“Well… Baldun. If you’d grant a dying Dwarf a final wish… I’d like ta see my life’s work come to something…” He coughed blood. “Have you heard of the ruins of Tisfal, and the treasure of King Ballak?”

“Of course, what Dwarf hasn’t?”

“I found it…” He rifled in his pocket and then sighed as he pulled out naught but a small wooden carving. “the bandits took the map… I forgot.” He shook his head.

I'm sure at this point Beldun likely had his doubts, the treasure was believed to be the greatest of all time, diamonds and gold bars, the treasure of ages past. However the words of a dying man were to be believed, so Beldun at least believed the dwarf believed he had found the treasure.

“I’ll get it for you, but why can’t they read it?”

“Don’t get it for me boy, I won’t be alive ta appreciate it. They can’t read it… because it’s written in ancient Dwarven. I was… you know maybe you can get it…”

The injured dwarf nodded his head. “I was on me way to the city, ter find my brother Grisfall, if you can find him he’ll translate the map but first you’ll need to find it. Here, take this.” He passed Baldun the wooden figure. “Give this to my brother and tell him Dormal wants to see you find the treasure, tell him it was my dying wish. If you can get my map back off the bandit living in the cave over there-“ Dormal nodded towards a barely visible hillside about a mile in the distance. “Then you can take the treasure for yourself, just knowing it didn’t all come to nothing is enough for me.”

Baldun thought long and hard about this, and then he considered what it meant to him, before finally taking the fallen adventurers hand with his own.

“I swear I’ll find your treasure Dormal, on my honour.” He told him.

“Thankyou kinsman.” The Dwarf replied, as with a final cough he sighed, and fell into an eternal sleep.

“Go to the stone.” Baldun told him sadly, placing his hand over his chest and looking around the camp as he pocketed the small wooden figure. Eventually he decided the adventurer had no further need of his supplies, and took what he needed, before setting out towards the hillside. Baldun was a dwarf of his word, and even if he were not the treasure was too much for any true Dwarf to pass up.

He arrived at the cave mouth half an hour later, after taking his time on the treacherous ground of the forest. He had barely taken a step before an arrow plunged into a tree trunk next to him, and a lanky human strode out with a curse. He covered up his mistake but questioning the Dwarf’s motives, probably to give him another chance to take Beldun by surprise.

“What brings a short-ass like you to the home of Nerod the great?” He asked suspiciously, while hastily readying another arrow. Baldun fixed him with a hateful stare.

“Dormal, you killed him. I’m ‘ere for justice.” Baldun told him coolly, examining the arrow piercing the tree trunk. The wood had come away slightly, the bark was tough and dead.

“Bah! That ‘is name eh? Couldn’t care less could I. All he had was some worthless parchment.” Nerod wasn’t the smartest, so he pulled it out as if to prove his point and threw it into the wind. Then, suddenly, he pulled the arrow back on his bow. Baldun suddenly yanked the bark from the tree and turned, charging towards him and causing him to start as he released his arrow without pulling the string back properly. It propelled itself forward and got stuck fast, half way through the bark shield as Baldun discarded it and lunged at the human shattering his knee cap with a well-placed hammer blow.

“Mercy master dwarf.” He cried in pain, falling to the floor.

“Mercy? I’ll be leaving you 'ere for the wolves.” Baldun told him, deciding it was fitting punishment as he took the bow away and picked up the pieces of parchment from the ground. He walked away from the cave, looking at the map curiously without the ability to decipher what any of it meant. Steadily he made his way back to the camp and began to dig, using the treasure hunter's own shovel and creating a grave for Dormal. It was the least he could do for giving him supplies and purpose.

But now it was time to go to the city. Where the next stage of his adventure would begin."

Baldun’s Oath: Chapter 2
Trouble city
Helena

Characters:
Belrun the story teller
Glint
Forsoff
Belmund
Drin
Baldun
Grisfal
Riala the slaver

“Now, long ago the city of Helena was not quite the magnificent city you’ve heard of today, but it was still large. Baldun was no fool, so he knew it was more than likely the city Dormal referred to was that one, it was the only one that lay at the end of the road he now walked at any rate. The forest had given him much to think about, but it had reached the point in his adventure where it was time to leave it behind and enter the big city. It was this thought which caused Baldun worry, because he had been born in a small, grimy Dwarven mining settlement where everyone knew everyone. He had no such illusions that the same could be said for the city he intended to enter. It was likely to be swamped with fast paced humans, running back and forth like bees in a hive.

As he strolled down the path at a lazy pace, he once again patted his pocket to check the map was still safely secured. Not for the last time either, as his journey would become pointless without it. The young Dwarf surveyed the sky, judging that the evening was drawing in once again. Then there came indecision, on the one hand he could camp for the night, but another encounter with the wolves was unpleasant. His other option was to hurry up, get to the city before the gates closed and he was stuck outside the impenetrable walls of the city. He knew of this trait from maps and stories he himself had heard as a child, but decided he could make it if he hurried. He broke into a jog; fit enough to maintain it for as long as necessary. Rabbits and small birds scattered in surprise as the Dwarf hurtled through the brush, cutting corners in his haste. This went on for a goodly while until he tripped on a root, falling full body into a rabbit warren and tasting the dirt. With a curse, he extracted himself from the furry creature’s home and spat soil outwards, his eyes resting on a magnificent sight.

He had reached the end of the forest… before him stood Helena.

The city was huge, even then, with smooth glistening stone which shone in the failing light. Circular in shape, it was still heavily populated and green sprang up from gardens and trees in the city. He summarised it might not be the worst place after all. How little he knew.

He reached the gates just as they were closing, the human guard staring at the travel weary Dwarf with undisguised suspicion as he lowered a polearm in Baldun’s direction. The Dwarf raised both hands innocently, nodding in greetings.

“State yet business, Dwarf.” The guard ordered, the blade inches from Baldun’s chest.

“I’ve got a message for Grisfal the merchant.” He mumbled, pulling the papers from his pocket. “From his brother” He added.

“Bah. Just in time mate, go in then.” The guard said, reserved to dropping his stony demeanour ready for his return to his family, now it was almost time to get off duty.

Baldun nodded his thanks before walking through the gates as they slammed shut. The dull rumble reminded him he was trapped until morning, but he thought little of this as the wonders of the city unfolded in front of his very eyes. Street hawkers called valiantly to the last as the final trickle of customers disappeared and the night drew close. He kept his valuables close as all manner of races rushed by, many returning to their homes and rooms. Only the sight of a wispy red beard allowed him to relax somewhat, as he picked out the familiar shape of a Dwarf packing up his market stall.

“Kinsman.” Baldun greeted the merchant cheerfully, or so he hoped, planting both his hands on the table.

“What yer want.” The brash older dwarf asked, brushing Baldun’s hands from the table and folding it in two.

“I’m looking for a Dwarf, deals in antiques and goes by the name Grisfal, have you ‘eard of him?”

“Course not. It’s a big city kid. I don’t know every damn Dwarf in this place.”

“Thanks for all your ‘elp.” Baldun thanked him sarcastically, turning around as the Dwarf went back to his work. It was only after another hour of fruitless searching that he decided it was time to find a place to stay for the night. He walked in the general direction one of the few remaining city-dwellers pointed him in, trying to make out signs in the dark. It was slow going, but eventually he found a place which looked like an inn. His hand strayed to his belongings again, and to his immense surprise met another’s. It was a small hand, feminine, and it had no place at his side. He felt his money pouch yanked away and turned to confront a small dark skinned child, she ran as he raised his hand to grab her.

“GET BACK ‘ERE THIEF!” Baldun roared, giving chase immediately. Quickly he realised he had no chance of catching the nimble girl; soon she would escape him as she darted around corners with confidence, jumping clear over obstructions. She must have been a city dweller all her life, the Dwarf thought grimly, as his breath came in ragged gasps. Suddenly, she was gone. The Dwarf looked around; breathing in deeply as he took note of the place he had found himself in. It seemed like some sort of slum, and the people he saw hidden in dingy doorways looked out at him hostilely.

He began to back away, and would have no doubt left empty handed had he not caught the faintest sound of a young girl’s voice. He hurried towards it, his back to the wall as he stealthily peered around a corner. There, two men flanked a cloaked figure; they looked like common thugs with knives visible. The small pickpocket was hugging the one Baldun assumed was the boss, her voice shrill with excitement.

“I did it… I did it mommy. I got money for you.”

The cloaked figure, who on closer inspection was a dark elf maiden with cruel eyes and a sharp face, patted the child awkwardly and then pushed her off. It was then that Baldun strode over, the hammer sliding into his hands as his eyes spoke of battle.

“Oi! What sorta person sends there kid out there stealin’?” The Dwarf asked indignantly, striding forward his intent clear.

“Everyone has to earn their keep.” A cruel feminine voice replied, steel flashing as she drew a cutlass and pointed it at the Dwarf. “As for who, I’m Riala, the slaver. You’ve probably heard of me.”

“Nope.”

“Well… I’ll change that then. Kill the short bastard!” She smiled evilly and the two thugs drew knives, running at Baldun. He roared in response, charging at a right angle and blocking one with the other as he swept upwards with the mallet, cracking it into the first man’s balls.”

“Arghhhh!” The man groaned, doubling over in terrible pain.”

“Arghhhh!” Groaned Forsoff and his brothers in sympathy, Belrun grinned in response. “You like that eh? It gets better.”

“The second man was noticeably more wary, and the two circled each other in the grimy street, Baldun waiting patiently for his prey to line up with the mossy brick wall behind him. When ready, he sprinted at him, the human backed up attempting to clear space from the less than nimble dwarf, but found his back to the wall. His hands touched the wall and realisation dawned on his face, but too late as the mallet cracked down on his chest and broke his ribs. He too fell with a startled exclamation, but his wounds were nowhere near as severe as the nut cracking attack earlier. He stood again, his body leaning to one side, and Baldun drove a boot into his knee, pulling himself away from the swiping knife just in time as it cut a superficial wound into his arm. As Baldun span, his hammer drove around, sweeping through the air hungrily. It slammed straight into the man’s forehead, smashing his skull against the wall and literally causing it to explode as the full force was compacted on his cranium.”

“Oooooh!” Forsoff laughed.

“Too right!” Baldun shouted, kicking the headless corpse to the ground and turning to face Riala. To her credit, if she was unsettled after watching the Dwarf crush one of her thug’s heads, she didn’t show it. Her brat was another story, hiding behind her mother’s cloak and peering out at Baldun.

“Now, you’ll be givin’ me back my money, or we’re gunna have ourselves a serious problem.” Baldun threatened, gesturing with the mallet to emphasise his point.

“Bah. You’ll regret the day you tested Riala, stupid Dwarf.” She twisted and allowed the cloak to fall, revealing tight leather armour clinging to her form and an assortment of knives on her person. The cutlass span threateningly as she closed on Baldun, and they met in the middle, both inflicting wounds.

He slammed his hammer into her hands as the cutlass swept across his wrists; both were superficial wounds and then pulled away.

“You want yer kid to see you die ‘ere?” Baldun asked in disbelief, swinging down as he jumped back to avoid her attack. The hammer swept the cutlass down but she quickly recovered, and they circled.

“She’ll see me kill a dwarven dog.” Riala snarled, teeth bared as she thrust towards him. He twisted his body away, slamming the hammer down again on her arms and this time feeling the smallest pressure. He knew this time he’d done some damage. She pulled away with a startled cry.

“So be it then.” He decreed grimly, taking note of the fallen bricks between the two of them. He kicked the dirt at his feet in her direction and bounded forward. She pulled away quickly, leading him towards a decrepit old building as he followed, determined to reclaim his money and put a stop to a vile criminal no matter the cost.

As he entered the dark shanty residence he heard the weak cries of slaves from the basement, and his eyes narrowed dangerously. Riala pounced on him, slicing downwards and cutting into his arm as he moved his hammer to block the majority of the force from the blow. Feeling she had the upper hand, she pushed forward, and Baldun took cover under his hammer.

Suddenly he was caught from behind, Riala’s young child pinning his legs so he was forced to grab her and pull her off him. She was thrown into the path of the advancing Riala, who seemed so determined to kill Baldun she thrust her sword forward regardless.

Time slowed down, as Baldun reached out with one hand to pull the frightened girl out the way and the blade shot past. It scraped his side, the armour taking the brunt, and as he pushed the girl away he caught the outstretched hand of his enemy and pulled downwards.

Thrown off balance, Riala could do nothing as Baldun hefted his hammer and slammed it down onto her spine, the crack audible from across the room. The girl screamed in terror and anguish.

“MOMMY!” She cried, running to the fallen Drow’s side as Baldun grabbed his money pouch, and as an afterthought, took the key he assumed would unlock the door. He followed the cries of slaves, unlocking the basement with the bronze key and stepping down into the dank darkness.

There he found a terrible sight, wasted slaves and scantily clad males and females alike, human’s mostly with the odd elf thrown into the mix. It almost made him sick, he opened the cage and let them free, but there eyes shone with fear.

“Go, yer free now.” He told them. They looked at him in disbelief as they slunk away, all but one, a Dwarven female with wide hips and strong feminine arms but a pretty young face. She had shoulder length black hair and pale skin.

“You’re a saint, getting us outta there.” She smiled, and he nodded to her, and then said almost as an afterthought.

“I’m sorry to trouble you love, but you wouldn’t ‘appen to know a dwarf by the name of Grisfal?” Baldun asked hopefully.

“Actually… I do at that. He lives south of the market, big house with lovely pink flowers… I was his maid.” She sniffed. “I’m leavin’ this city, dark place it is.” She said finally. Baldun looked at her sadly.

“Good luck miss.” Baldun said. “An’ thank you.”

“No. Thank you.” She kissed his cheek and turned, leaving the house after the others and disappearing into the night.

Baldun arrived at Grisfal’s home around an hour later; he would not have tried to enter the well-off home had there not been a light flickering in the study. He fingered the wooden figure nervously as he walked up the path, it was no easy thing to tell a family member of a relative’s death, and he was unsure of how he was to do it. He knocked on the door, and listened carefully as footsteps emanated from the staircase. A bulky dwarf with reddish hair and beard, his skin wrinkled with middle age, peered at him suspiciously.

“I was expectin’ my brother, what you want?” The Dwarf asked of Baldun, who stared at the ground sadly.

“Yes… Dormal sent me ‘ere.” He said finally, and Grisfal’s eyes softened with realisation, his mouth fixed in the manner of one steeling their resolve. “I guess you’d better come in.”

An hour later, Baldun and Grisfal sat across from each other at a table, the older dwarf’s eyes red rimmed. He had thrown himself straight into work.

“He died for this, an’ you avenged ‘im. You can stay ‘ere tonight while I translate this map.” Grisfal told him. Baldun sipped from his flask.

“Thank you. Will you be comin’ with me?”

“No, no. I’m too old for that and I have all the riches I need, just knowing a young’un like yourself is finishing what my brother started… it’s enough.”

The next morning dawned bright and clear, and at breakfast Grisfal broke the news.

“I did it, no easy task mind you. The map speaks of the fire’s path, but it doesn’t give no location to the treasure.” Baldun’s face fell, but he carried on.

“However, it does give mention of some kind of shrine… I reckon if you find that you’ll find what you’re looking for.”

And that, kids, is exactly what Baldun decided to do.”

Baldun’s Oath: Chapter 3
‘The Smith’
Mysterious shrine (Belroot forest)

Characters:
Belrun the story teller
Glint
Forsoff
Belmund
Drin
Baldun
‘The Smith’

“Now, children, before I can continue with my story I’ve got to tell another.” Belrun looked at the captivated Dwarves around him with an apologetic smile.

“You may have heard the stories, of those whose spirit take the form of animals, that everyone has a beast at their very heart which they can summon to the world. Us Dwarves have always been disconnected with such tales, magic being frivolous an art saved for weakling elves. I’ve travelled far and wide, and I know too well that this just aint true. You don’t know fear ‘till you’ve fled from a fire throwing mage, I’ll tell you that, and his vicious anaconda spirit.” The story teller visibly shuddered. “The truth is, we do have these spirits, it’s no easy task connecting with them though I’ll tell ya. Especially for us Dwarves, born of stone as we are, magic can’t quite pierce our souls… it’s just not part of who we are. Anywho, Baldun had one of these animal souls, and that’s the key to this part of the story, but you best listen well. His meeting with ‘The Smith’ at the shrine is something you’ll wanna hear.” Without further introduction, he began.

“Baldun had left the city at mid-day, re-entering the forest with little reluctance and leaving behind the bustle and chaos of Helena. It had convinced him that no matter what turns his life took, he would never truly be a city Dwarf. Luckily, that wasn’t the path he was to take, and although he returned a good deal later to pay his respects to Grisfal, he never lived in the city.

The forest enveloped him quickly as he struggled on, taking quick looks at the revised and now translated map he had been given by Grisfal. The shrine was now marked clearly, although landmarks had changed it had also obviously been created at least fairly recently. That struck him as odd, considering it was written in ancient Dwarvish. Regardless, he pressed on, only stopping to rest after a good three hours of travel. As he sat on a mossy boulder staring at the idyllic pond at his feet, he considered how he wouldn’t mind living in a place like this. Strange, for a Dwarf perhaps, but he almost found himself understanding the viewpoints of the elves. Sure, he would still like the cold stone underfoot and the familiar darkness of a cave once in a while, but the underground world lacked one thing. Life.

He slid off the rock, continuing on as he made his way steadily towards the lone wooded mountain just peeking out from the trees. The map quite clearly noted that it was there, at the base of the mountain where the woods and the rock met, that he would find the shrine he sought. Rushes flew overhead and a single skittish deer passed him on his travels, but except for that nothing more. He had come a long way since the skirmish with the wolves, and guessed he was further enough north to avoid such dark creatures.

Night fell quickly in the forest, but after a brief stop to eat Baldun decided to press on for a little while longer. Finding some form of cave seemed more reasonable to him, especially as the soft patter of rain on the leaves overhead was becoming stronger. Soon it would be a downpour, and the trees would provide insufficient cover against the uncomfortable deluge.

The wind picked up as he scoured the edge of the treeline of the mountain, feeling like giving up as his clothing quickly became thoroughly soaked. Water poured down his face and into his beard, collecting there and then dripping steadily from the very end. He looked pretty ridiculous, but any with the sense to note that fact also had the sense to be indoors, he summarised grimly. The mud became sloshy underfoot, draining more of his precious energy, and just as he considered giving up and finding a tree to hole up in, his eyes noticed a faint red aura. As he got closer his keen eyes picked out the ruddy glow of a fire of some sort, emanating from a cave mouth. He couldn’t check his map in the weather, but it looked about right. Regardless, he pulled his hammer out, he could have been about to walk into a bandit party after all.

Struggling up the hillside towards the entrance, his feet slipped and he splashed to the ground. Still he forced himself forward, literally falling into the cave entrance. Immediately a warm feeling infused him, and he felt better than he had in weeks, the sound of hammering steel drew his attention. As he pressed further into the cave and the light became stronger, he came face to face with another of his kind.

“Wha?” He asked in disbelief, as at the end of the cave was what seemed like a blacksmith’s forge. At it worked a Dwarf in armour of some unknown quality, and he was powerfully built, hammering at a blade as he honed its edges. The Dwarf stopped as Baldun spoke, turning to face him with a stern expression, causing Baldun to start. The hammer he had been using was at least thrice the size of Baldun’s own, and he held it easily in one hand. His eyes narrowed dangerously.

“And what brings you to the shrine of Abbathor lad?” He asked with a voice like thunder. Baldun suddenly felt incredibly guilty, if this was some holy place it was unlikely the Smith would be particularly sympathetic to the cause of treasure hunting.

“I din’t know this was the shrine of our god.” He said defensively. “I’m only seeking the treasure of king Ballak.” As the Smith’s expression became even sterner, he added hastily “I swore an oath to a dying Dwarf to finish his life’s work.”

“Ah. An oath, you’re lucky lad; had it just been selfish greed I’d have thrown you out to the storm.” Baldun didn’t doubt it. “But there’s no treasure ‘ere.”

“I was told by Grisfal that the map pointed ‘ere, that I’d find what I was lookin for in this place.”

“He did, eh?” The Smith said, scratching his beard with his free hand and then turning to plunge the blade he had forged into water. It sizzled loudly as the heat evaporated the liquid. “Well, I might happen to know what you seek.” He looked at the hammer in Baldun’s hands. “The weapon of a smith.” He grinned. “Perhaps if you’ll have a trifle contest with me I’d be tempted to tell you where this treasure is.” He turned to the forge, and then presented the blade he had just created.

“This blade is made from Dwarven mithril, I’d challenge you to forge your own weapon, but I can sense you’re not quite the smith I am.” Baldun shrugged, allowing his hammer to rest on one shoulder.

“No, but I’ll accept yer challenge anyway.” The Smith laughed.

“That’s what I wanted to ‘ear. I’ll tell you what, to make this more of a challenge I’ll teach you a little something about smithing eh? That’ll make things a little fairer.”

“Alright then.” Baldun agreed, his excitement evident, Dwarven mithril was incredibly difficult to forge with, and in many respects not at all like steel. It was incredibly durable, but also flexible when worked with correctly and with many qualities mostly unknown. Baldun stepped over to the anvil and cauldron, and listened to the smith intently.

“Now, you know the basics I reckon, mithril has a ‘eating time ‘bout half again that of steel on account of its qualities. I’ve got a batch set so that’s no problem; the trick see is something else. You’ve got to fill it with yer very soul, that’s the trick none of those master Dwarven smiths never mastered see.

“And the thing is children, when Baldun told me this story his eyes grew far away, and he wouldn’t tell me exactly what happened next. I never was ‘appy about that, being a curious lad, but I listened well and I can only ‘ope you lads will do the same.”

“Bah!” Drin cursed.

“Baldun worked on his weapon for hours it seemed, and truly when he was finished the day had dawned but he was incredibly weary. He had learned much in that short time, more than many Dwarves ever learned in a lifetime. Once the skills were there, he would steadily progress to a master smith in his time, as his own experiments took precedence. However his ‘weapon’ always remained his tool, for at the side of the shrine he had left behind the Dwarven mallet. Instead, he now hefted a mighty warhammer much like that the Smith himself had held, and he named it the Bear. Like I told you earlier the animal form of our souls had a major part in this story, and though I never found out for sure I can only assume he somehow infused the weapon with his soul. It became a weapon of great power, capable of breaking rocks with the easiest of blows, but also forging metal into armour and weapons. When Baldun presented his work to the Smith, he laughed with delight as he compared it with his own blade. Eventually he set one massive hand down on Baldun’s weary shoulder and smiled.

“You win lad. So I’ll tell you what you wanna know.” Baldun couldn’t believe it. “The treasure you seek lies in what is now the dark Goblin kingdom of Balgol. Ruins of one of the greatest dwarven empires, travel southwards into the deep mines, and the map will make sense to you.”

“I’ll do it, and thank you for what you’ve shown me master smith.”

“You earned it, Baldun.” He said, turning away and returning to his forge.

Baldun never considered how the Smith had learned his name when he had never told him; instead he left the cave and began the great journey he had ahead of him. Dimly he was aware that he probably should have rested, but considering he had to travel southwards waiting until the night had fallen to walk the woods seemed like foolishness. On top of this, he was now equipped with The Bear, the warhammer felt near weightless to him but when he experimented with it an easy swipe splintered an oak tree. It wouldn’t be too embellished to say he felt near invincible now, and the knowledge he had picked up made him feel elated. His travels were relatively uneventful until he reached the far south however, and although he met a few fellow travellers they passed him fearfully. The hammer he now carried was obviously a double edged sword in that respect, it was after all hard to see it as anything other than a tool for dealing death. Its flat edges were jet black, in stark conflict with the rest of the hammer’s head which shone with mithril sheen, and the handle which was reinforced with the same black mithril.

His first chance to test the hammer in battle came late that day, evening bringing a dark stench of death as his only warning of the conflict to come. Goblins poured from the forests, at least ten of them, spears waving in the air as they lunged in unison. Their skin had a dark tinge and their eyes spoke of madness, glowing red like the wolves he had encountered near the start of his journey.

Baldun didn’t hesitate, sweeping his mighty hammer forth with all his strength and literally battering a line of the small beasts away, splintering their spears into wooden fragments. He pushed his way forward through them like this, more joining the fray as he struggled forward. They dealt him a good deal of small wounds, but unlike their forest counterparts seemed to favour sheer force over sneaky poisons. He kept crushing through them, his hammer splintering skulls and breaking bones. It went on for at least an hour, until even the relatively light weapon grew heavy in his arms. It seemed all would be lost, and darkness would consume him, as the goblins poured from every treeline seemingly unstoppable. He judged at least sixty lay dead on the ground behind him, but double that still scuttled over rocks left and right, hardly kept at bay by his deadly hammer.

“You’ll never take this dwarf down foul beasts!” Baldun cried valiantly, raising his hammer, only for a massive boulder to crash into him and send him backwards. He crashed through an unseen hole in the ground, his body bruised and battered, he fell into the dark. The ground rushed to meet him, and then nothing.”

“That’s not the end is it? He died!” Belmund asked in a worried tone of voice.

“If he died how we ‘ere?” Forsoff asked him curiously.

“Exactly, and as you’ll find out Baldun was very much alive, and although he found what he sought in that cave he also found the source of the darkness.”

Rise of the Black Dawn
Act 1: The Tunnels

Characters:

Genzo Mallku
William Adolphe Homer
Borus Clay
Brothel Madam
Brothel Whores

Settings:

Balmourg: The Pink Corner

Summary:
After months of travelling across Allaria surveying the situation with the Apostheoses, Genzo and Homer decide that the best course of action is to start a rebellion in the dwarven lands underneath central Allaria. They made their way to Balmourg two days prior and have since been preparing for their journey through the treacherous underground tunnels to the city of Urbanon, where they hear tensions are rising between its dwarven inhabitants and the apostheoses force keeping them under control. They hire Borus Clay as their guide and have a dangerous encounter with the Black Dawn gang on their way to the city.
Story:

---Scene 1: The Pink Corner ------------------------------------------------------------------

Storm clouds loomed in the sky above the capital city of the dwarven race, Balmourg, signs of the storm that was soon to come. Many might think, upon first seeing Balmourg, that it could not take rainfall of any amount; it was, essentially an upside down pyramid built in to what used to be a high Plateau. It would appear to an unknowing visitor that any any water would simply run to the bottom and the lower levels would flood the moment the city had any rain; however, the complex dwarven sewer system that ran along the city drained off any rainwater deep underground into the massive dwarf-made lake that supplied most of their tunnel systems with water. For efficiency, the dwarves had built Balmourg in one of the rainiest regions in all of Allaria.

Genzo Mallku moved through the sidestreets of the pink corner, red-light district, of Balmourg, gaining a few confused looks in the process. Genzo was a tengu, a part of a humanoid bird race, and tengu were relatively rare in Allaria, especially around dwarven cities like Balmourg that were mostly underground. Along with that tengu were known to be very uptight and it was uncommon to see one in any entertainment district. Genzo was incredibly relaxed and fun-loving for a tengu but he was still not the type to be hanging around in this sort of place; his companion, however, was.

At birth, Genzo Mallku and William Adolphe Homer were marked to be servants of Yin and Yang, protectors of balance and harmony, and were sent to a hidden monestary where they were raised in a life of solitude and constant training. Homer quickly showed an incredible magical talent for affecting the dispositions of others and, through developing it, soon became one of the greatest manipulators in all of Allaria, while Genzo developed into a skilled tactician and strategist. Homer's leadership skills combined with Genzo's planning made the two an amazing pair. For this reason, when word spread to the monestary that a group called the apostheoses was weakening the gods and disrupting the balance of Allaria, the were sent out together to investigate and quell this threat. For months they traveled around the region before deciding that a large scale rebellion against the apostheoses was the best course of action; if worship of the gods was restored at least slightly, they might be able to take some action against the apostheoses. They also decided that the region controlled by the dwarves was the best place for the rebellion. The dwarves, with their complex infrastructure would have been a major force in resisting the initial apostheoses takeover had they not surrendered peacefully. Because of their surrender, the dwarves had been left with most of their numbers intact and large amounts of people still resistant to apostheoses rule.

Genzo continued moving through the streets until he reached a gaudy manor painted completely pink with a large garden surrounding it. It was one of the more respectable brothels in the pink corner and the one Homer had decided to spend most off his off time in the past few days the two had been there. As he approached, an aged dwarven woman dressed in fancy silk clothing, the brothel madam, burst through the entrance with a glare on her face centered directly on Genzo. He never used any of her girls and she had begun to treat his arrival as a sign of Homer's soon to be departing, which no one ever seemed to like. After bitter greetings the woman began leading Genzo through the brothel to Homer's room.

They eventually reached one of the upper suites and Genzo entered it to find Homer relaxing in an expensive bed with a naked dwarven woman in each arm. "Ahhh, Genzo, my friend, it took you long enough... girls, would you give us some privacy?" The girls let out disappointed sighs before getting out of bed, dressing in some silken robes, and exiting the room.

"You certainly do love your dwarves, don't you?" Genzo asked, watching the door as the girls left. "Of course, I'd never judge a friend for his taste."

"I do like them, they are much like humans only a bit more... sturdy and voluptuous? They certainly aren't as... wild a goblin, but not many things are."

"You still going on about that? We both know that thing drugged me."

"Although I must say I am still now sure how that work... you and that tiny little thing."

"Remember the wolfen, Homer?"

"*Cough* So what did you find a guide?"

"Yes, an old miner by the name of Borus Clay. He is a member of the "Order of Teramancers", apparently quite respected among the mining community. Although he said that we, as foreigners, in order to travel into the tunnels are going to need a---"

"A passport? Yes, not the easiest thing to get I was told. But my friends here have a few connections to the administrations of it and were able to get me one for two, our guide should be able to travel without one." Homer said, signalling to a slip of paper on a bedstand beside him. Genzo picked up the paper and began examining it.

"I see, well at least you weren't completely useless this time around. If only the whores in every other city we've been to had been so helpful."

"Yes, if only they had... when will we be leaving?"

"With this settled, within a few hours."

"Enough time for me to say goodbye to my 'friends' then."

"Of course..."

Baldun’s Oath: Chapter 4
‘Dark places’

Balgol

Characters:
Belrun the story teller
Glint
Forsoff
Belmund
Drin
Baldun
Gorlak

“Darkness enveloped him, and he drifted into a dreamless sleep. He rested there, hardy and strong it took only a short while for him to recover from the collision, but still if he had not woken then the situation would have been incredibly dire.

“Take to masta!” The dark skinned Goblin growled right in front of Baldun’s eyes, as he struggled to force it off his chest and reach for his hammer. He felt it still, despite it being hefted by an unusually large goblin a few feet away. It was then that his strong Dwarven eyes began to pick out the landmarks in the distance; he seemed to be in some massive cavern deep underground, could he have unwittingly happened upon the great ruin of king Ballak?

The Goblin pulled him to his feet, spears pointed at him from every direction and thoughts of escape were far from his mind at that point. Although primitive, he had picked out the word ‘master’ from the creatures speech, it was his intent to valiantly face down whatever beast commanded the goblins of the cave. Indeed, being taken to wherever they were based was probably in his best favour, it was unlikely they would be too far away from the treasure he sought. So, as the goblins pressed stone into his back he moved on quickly, stomping down well-crafted paths which had long since descended into disrepair. The city was a depressing sight, once the greatest feat of Dwarven architecture and ingenuity, great internal strife had cleaved its majesty in half. Now dark creatures lurked in every shadow, hiding underneath the rubble or watching warily with red eyes from within the hollow husks of old dwellings. Baldun averted his eyes darkly.

He was led towards the ruin of the great palace of Ballak, cliché and utterly predictable, he grunted as they shoved him across the threshold. Huge rotten wooden doors hung from their hinges and the walls and floor were made of a polished stone, the ceiling high above glistening with crystals sewn into natural rock. Their footsteps echoed through the building, the heavy stomps of the Dwarf and the malevolent patter of his three goblin escorts. In due time, he found the wide corridor narrowing as they approached the throne room, typical, whoever sought to make themselves king of a ruined kingdom certainly lacked imagination. These doors were iron, and had stood the test of time, ‘royal’ guards held position at the doors to the throne room, heavy pikes in hand, two more of the larger breed of Dark skinned goblin Baldun had noticed curiously. They growled at the party as it approached, but obviously understood their intent. It was at this point Baldun started to worry, what sort of creature had such command and power that its guards didn’t give a damn who came in to see it?

His hammer was still close, deposited at the entrance to the throne room no less and under guard, this might be his last chance of freedom before encountering the dark creature within. The goblins were distracted; it was in arms reach, just one burly one to push past.

He made his move, a powerful shoulder barge into the lower back of the goblin; it stumbled forward into the guard at the door, his hand clasped around the hammer. He turned, one mighty swing and a goblin was near broken in half by the force. The others pulled back stabbing at him with spears, two of them getting into a fight as they cut each other in their haste.

“Stupid beasts, fear the Bear!” He roared, swinging down at the one goblin still fighting him and smashing his skull to pulp. The others broke and ran at this point, leaving the way into the throne room completely clear. He smashed open the iron doors with an underarm strike, striding across the large empty expanse towards two burning braziers and an iron throne.

“You dare sit in the throne of a Dwarven king! Name yerself and know you be slain by the warrior Baldun!”

From within the complete darkness of the throne, a dull laugh layered with malice rang out, mocking the Dwarf for being so foolish in his approach. Green light illuminated the figure, taller than any goblin, with dark skin and red eyes. He would have called it a Dark Elf, but it was something more, something evil.

“Fools call me Gorlak, so you may address me as such.” The evil creature told Baldun, standing suddenly and allowing its black cloak to settle over its lithe body, green light still shining out from across its body and hands. “Know this, I am your death.”

“Bah!” Baldun roared in defiance, charging towards Gorlak with his hammer held high. The dark one waved his hands, and two suits of armour obviously designed as statues suddenly sprung to life, jumping in front of the approaching Dwarf and sparing their master a gruesome death. His hammer blow rang out with a dull metallic clang, still managing to crumple the living armour and drive it to the floor. Momentary surprise flickered on the wizard’s face, before a cruel sneer returned. Baldun found himself driven back by sword strikes launched in rapid succession by the armour, until an opening emerged and he took his chance, driving his hammer into its knee cap. It too fell to the ground, and he stomped on it as he closed on its wary master.

“Bastard Dwarf.” Gorlak snarled, turning his green hands to something behind the throne. He picked it up, a similar green crystal which leaked an evil black substance. It was at least as big as his head, but he lifted it skyward and faced Baldun. “Prepare to die fool.” He announced, energy drawn inwards by the evil artefact.

“Yeah, right.” Baldun laughed, charging him down with characteristic bravery, driving his hammer downwards so the head met the desperately raised crystal, the crack was audible across the underground city. The scream that followed was terrifying, energy pouring outwards and blasting the wizard into the wall leaving him a crumpled glowing heap. The Bear protected Baldun, sparing him a similar fate, as he looked towards an entrance in the wall where his Dwarven instincts were leading him.

“You died a coward’s death wizard.” Baldun noted. Turning away from the corpse as it took one feeble breath. He followed the glow of gold, and his eyes nearly bulged out of his head when he took in what could have possibly been every single piece of gold in the entire Dwarven kingdom, piled high. Gems and assorted finery was mismatched alongside the treasure, but he had eyes only for the gold as he stepped forward greedily, filling a small sack at first and promising himself to return for more when he hired some carriers. He was going to be rich indeed!

First though, he had to somehow escape the underground prison he had locked himself in. Going out the front door seemed like a bad idea, considering he had just gone and killed the evil creature’s leader. Perhaps they would disperse in time, but with little to no food the waiting game wasn’t much of an option. He instead decided to look for another exit, it occurred to him that if he had made the building, and most Dwarves had the ability to summarise smart building sense, he would have created a more convenient entrance into the cave system from the palace straight into the upper world. It wouldn’t be easy to find of course, they wouldn’t want any wanderer just happening upon the entrance, but possibly from within a room he wasn’t supposed to be in it would be easier to find.

His logic was actually relatively profound, but he was right, the treasury did have a secret entrance. He found it more by accident than anything else, after fruitless searching for near half an hour; he rested on a slightly more protruding stone and felt it give way under his weight. Suddenly he dropped into a dusty corridor filled with cobwebs, the faintest of breezes alerting him that he had found exactly what he sought. It seemed Baldun was indeed blessed by the gods, I’ve always wondered if that was actually the case.

He emerged from the darkness ironically as night was falling, pushing away the debris which covered the very subtle entrance beside a tall oak tree. He scouted the nearby area, feeling pretty good about his adventure so far; in fact he seemed to have gone around in a large circle. Only a day’s walk away was the massive mountain where the shrine to Abbathor was located, and right in front of him was what looked to be some form of settlement. It was only as a short stumpy figure walked about twenty feet in front of him towards the wooden walls did he realise his luck. Dwarves!

However, his luck couldn’t hold for the entire night, for just as he was about to venture over to the palisade something seized him from behind. Clubbing the back of his head and dropping him to the ground, stunned, voices rang out and he faintly heard the alarmed shout ‘GOBLINS!’

He awoke in a wooden hut of Dwarven style, his head throbbing; he immediately sought the hammer at his side. The bag of gold propped up next to it, the Dwarves here were obviously more honourable than even he would expect.

“So yer awake… didn’t think I’d see you again.” The voice was familiar to him, and as his eyes fully opened and he regained his senses, he couldn’t quite believe them. The young dwarf woman he had saved from Riala the slaver, here?

“No, it seems you escaped the city alright then.”

“Yes, thanks to you.” She smiled, apparently pleased that he remembered her.

“Baldun.” He nodded in greetings.

“Lela.” She replied. “Some of the boys saved you from those goblins… nasty blighters… they say there’s a bunch more of them out there though.

“Typical, alright then I’d best be seeing to them, I owe you all that much.”

“Wouldn’t expect nothing less from a brave warrior like you.” She smiled mockingly. He grunted as he shifted from the bed, taking his hammer in one hand and resting it on his shoulder.

“Us brave warriors eh?” He grinned, stepping outside and looking around the Dwarven settlement. His guilt started to build as he realised they were likely coming after him in revenge, he had endangered the settlement for his greed. That would require some repayment, he summarised grimly, but first it was time for some fighting.

He stood atop the palisade, ten or so Dwarves lined up next to him with mismatched gear, only a few of them looking like they could use it.

“Stranger, you do us honour fighting with us.”

“I repay my debts brother, names Baldun.” The impromptu leader of the Dwarves looked at his hammer with a curious gaze.

“Harad, and with a hammer like that I’m glad you’re out ‘ere with us.” He pointed out into the dark, where numerous slinking goblins lurked.

“I ‘ave a feelin we’ll need as much ‘elp as we can get by the end of this night.”

“Truly.” Baldun replied, hefting the hammer and watching the night. The Goblins weren’t too smart, fully intending to charge straight from the direction of the entrance Baldun had found right towards the palisade they waited on. Still, three of four dwarves were positioned on the other sides of the settlement, and as one they lifted their weapons high.

“For Abbathor lads!” They cried, roaring at the oncoming goblin hordes in defiance, true Dwarven valour Baldun thought cynically, while his lungs were rubbed roar by the force of his own war cry. He drove his hammer down on the first face that appeared over the wooden wall, and the battle was truly joined.”