Adventure In Earnest
At first the world was white. Everything all around him was nothing but white. Yet, it wasn’t a soft white, it was a harsh blinding fullness of colour. It washed over him and into his pupils burning them. Suddenly though, it was the opposite. All the storyteller experience for what felt like the longest time was utter darkness. Devoid of all light he almost wished the searing whiteness would come back. Maybe it had caused the darkness, maybe he would never see again. Shankee remained motionless almost afraid to move. Time had no meaning, he could have been there several seconds or several cycles, he had no way of knowing. No way, until the darkness began to be pierced ever so slightly. It was as if a curtain was being drawn ever so slowly; ‘no’ he thought, it was more like the walls of a darkened room were crumbling. Eventually, surely, the wall broke and sight returned to the old Farrg.
At first all he saw were the tufts of grass. It took him a moment to realise he was lying on his side, in a bit of a heap in the hollow. The words of the gods still rang through in his head; as did those of the Necromancer. It was the Crypt Of Giants of which they had spoken he was sure.
Rising to his feet a little unsteadily he turned and faced the gathered travellers again. Among them he saw an orc, a goblin, a dwarf, a witch, an alunei and a Northern knight, among other hardy looking men. It was quite the ensemble of would-be-heroes. Taking it all in, Shankee suddenly got a little flustered. The artefact! Time was of the essence.
“Come now. Enough dilly-dallying.” He proclaimed, probably looking a bit silly shaking his staff about at them. Wasting no more precious time he immediately began to stride away in a generally north-easterly direction.
Exclaiming as he walked “We venture to were giants lay!” sounding a little excited by the prospect.
Iron End is a days march north, we should gather supplies there first. Well those of us that actually go.”
The old bard and wizard seemed extremely nonchalant about the whole affair, and was internally hoping to infect the rest of the group with his obtusely good mood.
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“I’m glad we understand each other.”
The words slipped from Bawzel’s tongue and floated along the air to Sariloth. Nodding at the massive, now undead, dragon, Bawzel trained his attention on other matters and began walking across the expansive stone arch that served as the Underkeep’s drawbridge.
Inside he summoned Celabrin and Mizat, anxious to hear the report of their meeting with Vrikdarok.
