1 The Camp
It was raining. Again. He hated the rain. It had followed him for the last two weeks, ever since he had arrived in Khanduras, seeking the last sheltered encampment of the Rogues. He sighed. There probably wasn't a single piece of equipment on his body that wasn't soaked through by now, he thought. His axe haft was probably going to need replacing it was so waterlogged. But he didn't care that much now. He had finally arrived in what appeared to be a sign of civilization in this tainted land.
"He" was a young barbarian named Durendal and this sign of civilization was the Rogue Encampment from which pleas of assistance had gone out, to all corners of Sanctuary. Evil slept no longer and the Rogue monastery had fallen to demons and the undead. Many of the Order of the Sightless Eye had themselves succumbed and the corrupted warriors, once the greatest protectors of light, now spread terror throughout the land. And so word had gone out to all the lands, seeking assistance in combating the darkness that seemed poised to overcome all.
Durendal had answered the call, leaving the northern home of his people, the guardians of Arreat. After many weeks of journey, he had finally arrived at his destination. Now he stood in front of the pallisaded gate of the Rogue Encampment, cold, weary, but unbowed. The pride of youth had set him upon this quest and he was determined to see it through.
"Halt stranger!" Challenged a Rogue sentry from the gates. "Identify yourself and approach slowly with our hands in front where I can see." Durendal approached cautiously, careful to keep his hands far away from the axe slung at his side.
"I am Durendal of the Northlands. I come in peace and offer my services to the battle against evil." Durendal called to the sentry. "And I wouldn't mind some shelter from this unceasing rain." He added under his breath.
The sentry emerged from the gates, moving slowly toward him. Stopping ten feet in front of him, she warned him, "Don't try anything foolish barbarian, there are three arrows pointed at your heart." Looking him over to verify what he had said, the Rogue nodded, evidently satisfied he spoke the truth. "We can't always be sure in this fog if what strangers say is true. Go see Kashya, our commander, she'll be right inside the gates. She'll answer any questions." The sentry said briskly, before turning back to the camp.
Durendal sighed again, following the rogue into the camp. Still nothing about shelter from the rain. Life was not being pleasant to him.
It was raining. Again. He hated the rain. It had followed him for the last two weeks, ever since he had arrived in Khanduras, seeking the last sheltered encampment of the Rogues. He sighed. There probably wasn't a single piece of equipment on his body that wasn't soaked through by now, he thought. His axe haft was probably going to need replacing it was so waterlogged. But he didn't care that much now. He had finally arrived in what appeared to be a sign of civilization in this tainted land.
"He" was a young barbarian named Durendal and this sign of civilization was the Rogue Encampment from which pleas of assistance had gone out, to all corners of Sanctuary. Evil slept no longer and the Rogue monastery had fallen to demons and the undead. Many of the Order of the Sightless Eye had themselves succumbed and the corrupted warriors, once the greatest protectors of light, now spread terror throughout the land. And so word had gone out to all the lands, seeking assistance in combating the darkness that seemed poised to overcome all.
Durendal had answered the call, leaving the northern home of his people, the guardians of Arreat. After many weeks of journey, he had finally arrived at his destination. Now he stood in front of the pallisaded gate of the Rogue Encampment, cold, weary, but unbowed. The pride of youth had set him upon this quest and he was determined to see it through.
"Halt stranger!" Challenged a Rogue sentry from the gates. "Identify yourself and approach slowly with our hands in front where I can see." Durendal approached cautiously, careful to keep his hands far away from the axe slung at his side.
"I am Durendal of the Northlands. I come in peace and offer my services to the battle against evil." Durendal called to the sentry. "And I wouldn't mind some shelter from this unceasing rain." He added under his breath.
The sentry emerged from the gates, moving slowly toward him. Stopping ten feet in front of him, she warned him, "Don't try anything foolish barbarian, there are three arrows pointed at your heart." Looking him over to verify what he had said, the Rogue nodded, evidently satisfied he spoke the truth. "We can't always be sure in this fog if what strangers say is true. Go see Kashya, our commander, she'll be right inside the gates. She'll answer any questions." The sentry said briskly, before turning back to the camp.
Durendal sighed again, following the rogue into the camp. Still nothing about shelter from the rain. Life was not being pleasant to him.