Author's Notes

These 'Author's Notes' are much longer than I'll be planning to write as a rule; most of the time there probably won't be any at all. Before this first section, I wanted to explain where the story came from, and to give credit where it's due.

This story is actual D&D games played out by a gaming group and then put into prose. Throughout, I've tried to remain faithful to how the characters interact with one another while we're around the table, and this is the starting point for a lot of the main characters' traits: I have been pulled up on this when I've interpreted it incorrectly and made changes so that each players' character is the person that they've imagined. In some cases though, this is a deliberate mis-reading: my character (Elantar) is the eyes, ears and voice of most of it, and a lot of what you'll read is her opinions and observations. For this reason though, the characters are not all my own creation by any means, even after being put into prose: some short sections (where the perspective switches) were written in collaboration with the other players in the group, or written/edited by them (I'd do a final edit so that it fit stylistically).

More than anyone else, credit needs to go to our DM, John, who (obviously) is responsible for the overall plot. He has used parts of published adventures in places, but there's still a fair bit of modification that needs to go on, not least with us being a larger than average party (six at the smallest, eight at the largest). So; the main structure of the plot comes from John, and us, the players make it twist and turn based on our decisions. You're probably familiar with how D&D works… All I've done is collate and present (and sometimes embellish) that as the text that follows: this is very much a group effort.

We are adventuring in Elsir Vale; a region written for the Red Hand of Doom supplement. At time of publishing, we are still working through this supplement in our monthly get-togethers (after a couple of other adventures to precede it and introduce us to the game). I have over sixty-five thousand words already written between this (the beginning) and where we are up to now (The Fane of Tiamat). My writing has improved significantly since I began, and I've wanted to go back to the start and re-roll my Craft (Author) checks on it. By publishing it in short sections from the start, I felt that this could help me to structure this, err, re-structuring.

Game Mechanic Information - Please skip down if you're not interested :)

We play 3.5 edition with a couple of House Rules. To quote our DM:

"All skills are class skills for everybody. You want your Cleric to have picked up some ranks in 'Survival' on his travels? Go right ahead. You want your sorcerer to come from a Mongol-esque Barbarian tribe and have some ranks in 'Ride'? Do it.

"'Spot' and 'Listen' have been combined into 'Perception'. 'Hide' and 'Move Silently' have been combined into 'Stealth'. This is mostly to cut down on rolls.

"You may choose to treat 'Intimidate' as a Strength based skill, because your Half-Orc Barbarian should not be less intimidating than the party Bard."

Between us, we've used material from a lot (if not all available) expansions and supplements, so this always seems to be an option for us. None of us are really into min-maxing and optimisation, and look more for fun options (which, personally, I think makes for a much more fun experience all-round). Some examples:

- Our Barbarian has always wanted to be a Bard deep down, so she's invested skill ranks in Perform, and has taken a couple of class options towards that too…
- Our Cleric is edging ever-gradually towards Evil alignment, so can't spontaneously cast healing spells. We don't really have a dedicated healer...
- The Rogue that I play is far more interested in showing off her acrobatic skill than smashing enemies (+23 Jump at level 10 isn't too shabby...)
- Our Wizard's most valued trait is his arrogance…
- We have a Gnome Fighter who's supposed to Tank for us, but who most delights in riding his Dire Badger mount and aiming a lance at "sensitive areas" of enemies' bodies…

I'll try to include notes on character levelling as I go, but I don't have most of it to hand. We began with 3rd level characters that John provided for us, and nobody broke outside of their starting class until 7th level (we're currently 10). A couple of us had dabbled with D&D before beginning this, but most hadn't had any prior involvement.

Finally, a reiteration of thanks to our group (I'll include notes on party changes as they happen): John (DM), James (Boshley), Jeff (Eldrann), Melissa (Arden), Mike (Eldarion), Rebecca (Buttercup) and Steve (Gravak).

Enjoy!

Glen (Elantar)

The Sleeping Cleric

** I **

Elantar held her breath as the lock clicked open. It seemed to clap thunderously in the otherwise silent hallway, but she exhaled with relief when nothing seemed to have noticed. Once inside, the flickering glare cast by the last remaining candle afforded her a decent enough view of the chamber. This accommodation was pretty plush compared to what she was used to, but Elantar and her newfound companions had bought back a good haul from the ruined fortress in the mountains, and they were spending it well.

Hand on her dagger, Elantar crept silently towards the bed where Gravak lay, eyes closed, his gnarled face twitching every few seconds. She had spent the past few days in the Orc's company, but now she reflected on it, she'd only seen his face for a rare few moments. He seemed overly fond of his full-face helmet, and this, amongst everything else in Elantar's world, made him harder to trust.

She sat and watched him for a long time, thinking over the events of the past week or so.

Ten days earlier.

The South Gate of Dennovar was a wonder to behold, if you liked that sort of thing. Guard-Sergeant Claré had got rather bored of it these past few years.

He watched the small party of Halflings who were appraising it, open mouthed and excited, and reflected that he'd felt that way once. His father, who'd stood guard on this gate for thirty years when he was alive, had made clear to him the honour that the post held. He found it hard to believe now that it was all he had aspired to growing up; he'd become nothing more than a tour guide a lot of the time. Knowledge of the craftsman Rudi Corethio and his bloody gates had become one of his most valued skills.

Claré had just arrived for a six-hour shift, but found that he needed to immediately relieve Bates, while Bates relieved himself. He didn't expect anything interesting to come of the hand-over meeting, but knew they were necessary.

"Thanks for that Sir," Bates sighed with comfort, "you just made it in time to prevent a flood of the armour!" Claré smiled in response, but wasn't really in the mood for Bates' humour today.
"Anything unusual this morning?" he asked, fully expecting a negative response.
"Yes, actually," Bates responded, and looked pleased to have surprised his sergeant. "A few strange folk coming through asking after Nethril," he added with a nod to the castle on top of the hill.
"How many? Did they say why?" Claré asked.
"There was an Elf Wizard first, which I suppose is fairly normal… then that Bard, Arden; you know the one? She's often playing her flute in The Startled Weasel." Claré narrowed his eyes at him: Bates knew very well that Claré did everything he could to see all of Arden's shows. Bates chuckled. "It's alright Sir, don't blame you at all there," he said with a wink.

"Anyone else?" Claré asked, moving on.
"Yeah, a couple of Half-Orcs…"
"Together?"
"No, about an hour apart," he answered, handing over some parchment. "I took names and descriptions, and had them followed. They both went straight to Nethril, like they'd promised."
"Good…" Claré answered, perusing the notes. "Gravak," he nodded, "and… Buttercup? That's not exactly a typical Orc name…"
"Said it's the only name she uses now," Bates shrugged.

"So, who of these talked?" Claré asked.
"None of them," he answered, "but there was also a very heavily armoured Gnome who wouldn't stop talking. Quite handy, as it turned out." He stepped closer and dropped to a whisper. "The gist of it is, one of High Wizard's apprentices has gone missing, and Nethril wants him found again. He's put up a reward and everything."
"Did he say which one? Anything else?"
"Taran Goldstar," Bates answered. "Just that, and that he was last seen in Torlynn." Claré nodded slowly. He knew Taran a little; he was very personable, for an Elf, but impetuous. It seemed that the latter had landed him in trouble.

Claré thanked Bates for the report, and dismissed him. Perhaps today would be more interesting after all.

"Excuse me sir?" Claré looked around, and finally downwards to see one of the Halflings gesturing at him. "Do you know where we can find the home of Rudi Carethio?"

Claré continued to field questions about the gate and the layout of the city for another hour before anything of note happened. A cloaked and hooded figure rode up on a very fine looking horse and dismounted about twenty feet away. From the figure's graceful movements, he guessed that it was a female, or possibly an Elf, but couldn't tell much about them from this distance, so watched with caution. Whoever it was, she looked lost. She did very little for a couple of minutes, but gradually move closer, looking very reluctant to seek aid.

"Can I help you?" Claré finally called across. The stranger glanced up and pulled down her hood. He gasped with surprise; Elven women were usually breathtakingly beautiful. This one may have been once, but two brutal scars that ran the length of her right cheek marred her features. She wasn't a patch on Arden, and the Bard was apparently only Half-Elven.
"I'm looking for Nethril," she announced as she stepped closer. Claré had suspected as much. He glared back at her and smirked.
"What would an Elf traveller want with the High Wizard?" he asked mockingly. "You're not even… well…" he looked her up and down, "you're not very presentable, are you? Do you have an invitation?"

She reached instinctively for a sword hilt at her belt, but curtailed the movement of her hand before Claré needed to react with force. The Elf fixed him with a stare. Claré rarely felt afraid, but this was quickly becoming one such occasion.

"Do you know where he is, or not?" she asked sharply. Claré quickly re-assed. The Elf wasn't going to be free with information. While confident he could take her in a fight, he didn't really need that today.
"You'll find him at the fort at the top of this hill," he gestured with his shortspear. The Elf turned away and raised her hood again. "Can I take your name for the record?" he called after her. She said nothing, but mounted her horse and trotted back towards him. She glared at him for a few more seconds in silence.
"Elantar Moonwhisper," she stated, and headed westward, into the city.

"Hi! You here for Nethril's job too?"

Elantar peered out from under her hood as the room turned to face her. The Human girl who'd spoken was approaching with a smile. She noted a few features and corrected her understanding.
"You're half-Elven," she stated. The girl stopped short and gave a very brief frown, before quickly smiling again and taking a bow.
"And proud!" she grinned. "Where are you from?"

Elantar disliked her immediately. Anyone who could speak this confidently in front of a group of strangers made her anxious. Not only that, but the flute hanging from her belt loop suggested that there'd be music on this job.
"North of here," she answered slowly.
"We're in Dennovar!" she responded with a chuckle. "There isn't a whole lot of 'south of here'…"

"Hello again Arden," the guard who'd escorted to the room gestured with a blush.
"Hello Simpkins," she responded, forcing a smile. "Is Nethril going to be much longer? Some of us have been here a couple of hours now, and we're not exactly blessed with comforts."
"I'll err… He shouldn't be much longer. I'll… I'll see what I can do about some more drinks."

Arden smiled and turned back to Elantar. "Anyway…" she began, but stopped short when she noticed that Elantar had already moved to the far corner of the room, the furthest point from all the others.

Elantar lowered her hood, and quickly appraised her companions. It was inevitable that she'd be working with others, she told herself. Being one who preferred to work alone, she knew that there was every chance that this would prove to be the most difficult part. Besides the half-Elf, who apparently went by the name of Arden, there was an Elven Wizard, and two half-Orcs who seemed to have just stopped talking amongst themselves. All three of them were staring at her silently: the wizard with a puzzled look, as if he was trying to recall some important information. The half-Orcs were much harder to read; she'd never got to know any before now. She fought and killed them in the past, but never spoken with or observed any for long. Both of them were powerfully built, and would have stood at least a foot-and-a-half taller than her were they not sitting. One had a calm, almost noble look about it, the other cradled a huge two-handed axe and wore an angry expression, which may have just been how its face was formed. She could not tell if they were male or female. Besides the four occupants, the room also contained some unattended equipment: a small suit of full plate armour amongst it.

Warily, the Wizard stood and approached her. "Good to see another Elf here," he said as he neared, his hand outstretched. "I'm Eldrann."

Elantar had been raised amongst Elves, most of whom despised her. She had felt the same about all of them, with one exception. Eldrann simply being an Elf was not going to win her trust.
"Elantar," she said slowly, taking the offered hand for the briefest moment. "I'm yet to meet a Wizard who I've trusted," she added. Eldrann frowned, but cast surreptitious glances at her scars. She was in no mood to explain them.

She glanced around the room, and received a nodded greeting from the calmer looking Orc. The other only glanced up briefly, before the two resumed their conversation in their unintelligible tongue.

Arden joined the two Elves and introduced herself by name, using the Elven tongue. "Their names are Buttercup and Gravak," she said, gesturing to the Orcs sat against the opposite wall, "I'll let you work out which is which."
"There's a half-Orc named after a flower?" Elantar responded hesitantly.
"We don't think it's her birth name," Eldrann stated. Arden nodded at him, with an expression that suggested he'd said something particularly deep. Once he'd looked away, she rolled her eyes and smirked.

"I think that Gnome had the right idea," Arden continued after a short silence, "going to wait at the Tavern instead like that."
"More-fool him if he misses Nethril," Eldrann responded.

"You said you'd been waiting a couple of hours?" Elantar asked.
"Eldrann was already here when I arrived at the same time as Buttercup," she answered, "and Gravak about an hour after that which would have been…" she turned to the Orcs and interrupted them: "How long have you been here Gravak?" The calmer Orc looked up at them and simply answered "about forty minutes," before resuming his conversation with Buttercup. Elantar had guessed their names the wrong way around.

"Hello again new friends!" a voice called from the doorway. A Gnome staggered in, looking slightly worse for wear, closely followed by another Elf, lightly armoured and carrying a longbow. He was very handsome, and carried himself as if he knew this. Elantar determined to show him no special favour for this reason. "Ah, another new arrival!" The Gnome squeaked and approached Elantar. He took a deep bow and exclaimed: "Boshley Badger Bentock, of Clan Beren from Garfen!"

Elantar looked on in stunned silence. "Is one of those words your name?" she finally asked. The Gnome looked taken-aback and chuckled in an attempt to hide his discomfort.
"All of them," he stated.
"You know how Gnomes love their names," Arden smiled.
"Not really…" Elantar responded.

"I've been calling him Boshley," the newcomer said, answering Elantar, but only interested in looking at Arden. "Eldarion Starsinger," he said, introducing himself to the Bard.
"I met Eldarion at the tavern," Boshley added, "told him about our job and he thought he'd join us too." Eldarion smiled uncomfortably around the room. His gaze lingered on Elantar for a few seconds.

"What's wrong with your face?" he suddenly blurted out.
"Hey!" Arden exclaimed. "There's no need for that…"

"Right, sorry…" Eldarion smirked. "Do we know what the pay's like?" he asked.
"It's good," Arden answered, "but this Taran is worth more to Nethril alive, so a lot depends on his fate. Even if we only manage to recover his body we'll be well compensated though."

Elantar hadn't thought much about the money. She already had more than she'd known in her life, and not much idea how to spend it. She still spent most nights sleeping under the stars, caught her own meals and she'd stolen much of what she carried. The draw for her had instead been the Apprentice himself: he was said to be an expert on Elven history, and she had unanswered questions.

Simkins re-entered the room, and blushed as Arden greeted him. "Nethril will see you now," he announced.

She tried to adjust to the company as they moved north to the village of Torlynn, in the southern foothills of the Giantshield Mountains. Arden had managed to swing them guard duty on a wagon train that was going the same way as them. It paid well, especially factoring in the complete absence of danger on the journey. Elantar kept to herself on the road and observed her new companions, looking for ways to overcome the indifference or dislike that she felt towards them all. She didn't understand how others made friends so easily.

Eldarion seemed ill at ease around most of the others too; she thought that he may have been more likely to make a trustworthy companion, but instead, with both of them struggling to relate well to new people, it just made it more difficult. The Ranger did however have an aptitude for stealth and scouting that had impressed Elantar, and in truth, she needed to raise her game a bit to keep up. If nothing else, she would be able to learn from him. There was certainly an arrogance about Eldarion that she didn't like though.

Eldrann being a Wizard made her instantly dislike him. In the tribe she was born into, Wizards had a fairly high standing, were treated as if they were the wisest amongst them and were the King's most trusted councillors. She'd learnt that the best wizards in Khirin Alithenen were the ones who could fake it the best, and she had no reason to believe that Eldrann was any different. His knowledge of the arcane and ancient history provided outrageous and vague nuggets of trivia. As far as she was concerned, he was making it all up and wasn't even very good at that.

Arden and Boshley were both far too talkative, and anyone so at ease around people they barely knew intimidated her. The Orcs were both intimidating for more physical reasons; both towered over her, and were hugely built. Making enemies of either of them would be incredibly dangerous; she'd done her best to keep out of their way. Buttercup was obviously dangerous, and having seen her move when they hunted, Elantar doubted that she could even out run her. Gravak had a quiet dignity about him, but she felt that there was also a deep-rooted rage inside.

Arden, despite how annoying she could be, had shown some value: the party wouldn't have found their way into this easy ride north without her, and when they arrived in Torlynn, her diplomacy once again came into play.

"Ogres?" Arden confirmed.
"Yes! They've been causing us some problems for a number of weeks now," Gustovan responded. The Mayor of Torlynn was panicked. This was his town, and he could do nothing to defend it from the two Ogre tribes who'd moved into the region. Elantar had heard people in the tavern talking in hushed whispers of taking action themselves, and not against the Ogres.
"Well, it seems we got here just in time!" the Bard boasted. "It just so happens that we're heading north anyway, and I'm sure dealing with a few Ogres will cause us no problems."
"Really?" The Mayor asked warily. "I heard your names, but none of them were familiar to me…"
"Surely you jest sir!" Arden managed to feign wounded pride pretty well, and Elantar became alert to the charade that was beginning to play out. "Pray, tell me you are not serious when you say that word of Buttercup, Fist of the East, has not reached your ears? She has slain Giants and Dragons – Ogres will be no problem for her!" Elantar had listened carefully to the stories on the road. Buttercup had spoken once of seeing a Giant fighting a Dragon. Arden was making this all up on the spot, and potentially playing a dangerous game.
"My friend Eldarion here," she gestured to the Ranger behind her, "has killed many Ogres. He collects their knuckle bones, and has filled over twenty large chests with them!"

Gustovan raised an eyebrow. Elantar didn't think he was buying any of it. "Well," he pondered, "if that's true, and I'm sure you have extravagant tales of your other companions exploits to match…"
"Oh, but I do!" Arden cut in. "I haven't told you about our brave Gnome warrior yet!" Elantar's throat caught. Eldrann audibly groaned. "Boshley Badger Bentock of clan Beren! Defender of Garfen! Keeper of the peace!" Boshley's chest began to swell with pride. "His town was once attacked by a rare breed of mutant Badger-Kobolds, and Boshley led the defence. He single-handedly…"
"Wait, wait!" Boshley interjected. "No such thing ever happened!" Everybody looked at each other. Then they looked at the Gnome. He finally caught on, and his ears turned red… "That is to say, err…"
"That's right!" Arden leapt to the rescue, "It was Kobold Knights on Riding Badgers! I do apologise, Mr Mayor; so many tales of heroism that I confuse the details every now and then…"

"Look here," Gustovan interrupted. "The long and the short of it is, if you'll pardon my expression Mr Gnome."
"Not at all!" Boshley assured him.
"We are losing our crops and cattle to these Ogres, and every now and then a person has gone missing too. If you are all you claim to be, we would be delighted if you could help us. Only… can it be… sort of… now?"

Buttercup hadn't spoken much. She rarely said anything to anyone except Gravak, and had only been coaxed into speaking the Common Tongue around the campfire a couple of times on the journey. It was for this reason that everyone in the room was surprised when it was she that asked the inevitable question:
"Ow much?"
"Well, err…" Gustovan seemed flummoxed, or perhaps a little threatened. Elantar wondered if Arden had planned this move with the Barbarian.
"I'm very much a believer in performance related pay," the Major continued.
"Wossat?!" Buttercup asked. Gravak put a hand to her shoulder and gave a reassuring nod.
"So," Arden took over, "you're thinking of a per-head bounty? Something else along those lines?"
"Quite. Say; ten gold coins per Ogre head?"
"Ten!" Arden acted insulted. Elantar had to admire her work; she was getting better at this. "I'd want ten in labour charges to haul them back here! I was thinking more along the lines of a hundred per head."
"Well… That is, I'm afraid, impossible."
"Well, my associates and I do have other business to attend to. We'd be very reluctant to do it for less than ninety."
"Ninety! For ninety gold, the whole town could eat for a month! I might be able to go to thirty?"
"And what will you eat?" countered Arden. "The Ogres are taking all of your food. Think of it as a necessary, but wonderful long-term investment." The Mayor looked crestfallen. He really had no choice here, he was desperate for help and Arden had him exactly where she wanted him.

"I tell you what," she said, adopting a sympathetic tone, "I can see you're in trouble, and we're not monsters. We'll do it for sixty gold per head of Ogre, and that's my final offer." Gustovan looked up, a plethora of emotions on his face.
"Fifty?"
"Done."

Arden clapped him on the shoulder, and immediately turned to the party grinning.

They didn't see any Ogres on the road. The way the people of Torlynn had gone on about them, they expected them to be lining the way. Having no real inkling to where the Ogres were, they continued with their own plans. If they managed to hew an Ogre neck or two in the process, so much the better.

The Old Mountain Fortress, as the somewhat unimaginative locals called it, appeared to them over the tree line at midday, the second day out of Torlynn.

"I'll go take a look," Elantar announced.
"Err, are you sure?" Eldarion responded. "This is the sort of thing I do."
"I'll be quicker on my own, and I have good eyes. Wait here," she stated, keen to assert her role within the party. Gravak caught her by the shoulder as she turned away.
"You should both go," he stated simply.
"I agree," Arden shrugged.

Eldarion and Elantar looked at each other briefly, before both slipping into the undergrowth to approach the fortress.

They silently made progress and were approaching the edge of the small wood that they had been travelling through. Elantar winced as a twig snapped under her foot. As expected, Eldarion turned to glare at her furiously. She shrugged, and waved him on. Seconds later, Eldarion crunched over another twig and froze. He turned slowly to meet Elantar's gaze and chuckled as if in apology.

They crouched together amongst the greenery and observed the fort.
"Only one way in from this side," Eldarion whispered. "And one look-out."
"Is that an Orc?" Elantar asked. Eldarion nodded. "We should get a closer look at that side," she continued, "and take out the guard."

The lookout wasn't doing a particularly good job, as it turned out, as they circled to the left of the fort, staying amongst the trees and remained unseen. The tower on which the guard was keeping watch was no more than thirty feet from them now, and was not particularly tall. They had a clear view of him from where they were.

"Now what?" Eldarion asked.
"I'll take him," Elantar answered, and began to stand.
"Why you?" Eldarion demanded.
"Don't start this again…" she breathed. Eldarion took down his bow and began to fit an arrow. She pushed his bow aside. "That's too unreliable," she insisted. "You miss, or only lightly wound him and who knows how many Orcs will come pouring out of that gate?"
"What do you suggest then?" he snapped. She drew a dagger.
"I go bury this in his throat," she suggested.
"Or I do…" Eldarion said, drawing his own weapon.
"You're impossible…" she shrugged.
"Boulder, Blade, Parchment?" he suggested.
"Fine…"

They made their shapes on three.

"Boulder smashes blade," Eldarion grinned, tapping her fingers with his fist. He sprang from cover to the foot of the tower. As he began to climb, Elantar's attention was drawn to approaching footsteps. The remainder of their group, apparently restless, were approaching. The guard had noticed too, and moved to the edge of the tower, his hand resting on a horn at his hip. This helped to disguise Eldarion's ascent, and the Ranger gained the top behind the guard and silently drew his sword. Grinning, the Ranger swung for the Orc's neck, but only managed to ring a clanging blow off of his shoulder guard. Surprised, the Orc sidestepped a panicked second swing, and drew his own sword, swiping at the Ranger and cutting him deeply on the shoulder. Eldarion bit back the pain and tried to compose himself. Elantar drew her hand crossbow and quickly fitted a bolt. She didn't get an opportunity to fire though; an arrow flew at speed from the treeline and struck the Orc cleanly in its left eye. It keeled over, quite clearly dead. Eldarion breathed with relief and quickly plucked the arrow from the Orc's eye, discarding it over the far side of the tower.

By the time Elantar had reached the top of the tower, Eldarion had run his sword through the guard's heart and was looking to claim the kill for himself. Elantar kept her knowledge of the situation quiet; such information may prove strong currency at another time, after all.

The rest of the party took some time to approach the fortress, mostly down to the smallest and slowest member of their party. The Gnome was, quite simply, becoming a nuisance. She flinched with each minute step he took, his plate armour crashing together with every movement. He looked ridiculous, and making this much noise, he was a liability to them all. The rest of the party looked upon him fondly though, and wouldn't hear of him being left behind. She was simply glad to be nowhere near him when they reached the fortress gate, and the voices she'd been able to hear in the tower beneath fell silent.

Buttercup, being no fan of subtlety, wrenched the portcullis open with the shrill sound of grinding metal as the rest of the party poured into an empty hallway. It was about this time, she later learned, that the Gnome managed to get himself trapped in a pit, his armour being too heavy for him to pull himself free. He might have had help but for the Orc archers who ambushed the party from the rafters of the room, landing arrows amongst the adventurers. Shouts went up from her companions and she looked across at Eldarion.

"What do you think?" he asked. Elantar said nothing, but unholstered her hand crossbow and re-loaded a bolt. She didn't particularly like this weapon, but it was all she had to shoot with. Eldarion fitted two arrows to his longbow and Elantar opened the trapdoor beneath them with her free hand.