D&D: The City of Shaldra~Zin

[Redsirrah]

Jameak listened to the stories around him and drank, pondering everything he heard. He found Adrik in the mess of things and spoke to him in Dwarvish. "Adrik, I need you to tell me everything you know about the history of this city and the temple of Pelor. I want to figure out whats behind the attack today."

 

[Grimsvald]

As Jameak approached Adrik’s table he was being told a story by Finruk and Rockheaver, “Rrrammmdurr seerrr dennnckkkkk hurkks…Crushed ‘is ‘elmet withkkk my shielll..” Rockheaver talked with half a smile, the other side was a long scar that hooked all the way up to his forehead. His voiced sounded like someone dragging an armored orc corpse down a gravel road. It was nearly impossible to understand, but Adrik laughed when his friend stopped talking. “Any tale you live to tell is a good one to hear old friend.”


When he saw Jameak approaching he stopped laughing in an instant. His face turned stoic and he slammed his mug down so hard ale sloshed out wetting the splinted wood of the tavern table. He hopped up to his feet and gave Jameak a hug. “The cleric who saved Bethany’s life. Praise whatever god you hail to friend. You fought well boy. I’m happy to see you survived the night. Wish my bar had done as well..” He sighed and jumped back into his chair. “Aye, we can tell you plenty of the history.”


Finruk chimes in, “ Once upon a time there were 3 dwaven kings named Finruk, Adrik and Rockheaver. Finruk, the mightiest one, beloved by all women and envied by all champions…” Adrik cut him off, “Ah shut it ya old fool. No one is going to believe that hog spit.” Rockheaver punched Finruk in the shoulder and said something that sounded like wet coughs. “Yeah, exactly like Krendlin Moor. One hell of a time we had there.”


Adrik started to tell that story then shook himself, “Sorry lad, dwarven habits. You wanted to know the history of Shadra~Zin. I think we need to start at Blackwood. There used to be a city here known as Blackwood. Back before the city of Shadra~Zin existed Blackwood was right here where we stand. This city was locked in a furious war against unyielding foes. One day portals to the Shadowfell began to open all around the city, Gods know why. Demented Duergar poured out of these portals killing everyone in sight. It looked like the war would last forever..that is until one man made a stand..”


“A devout cleric of Pelor returned from his great journey to find knowledge. He succeeded in unearthing legendary arcana from the depths of ancient ruins. It was magic no one had every seen, no one had ever used, but he had to try something to end this. The components were nothing to shake a stick at. He carved the spell into his body, sat on a pile of treasure in the center of town square then set himself on fire. His screams read out the lost scriptures of Pelor. His body and the gold melted together. Suddenly the entire city was gone. The buildings, the people, the portals, everything was gone. The war was affectively over to the rest of our world, but no one knows what happened to the city of Blackwood. “


“Since that day the cleric of Shaldra~Zin has been praised as a profit beneath the god Pelor. Those who were not in the city when it disappeared came together and we wrote down these stories. Together we built this city in Shaldra~Zin’s name. We cut down the black wood forests which surrounded the city and used their wood for our buildings.” He tapped his foot on the black wooden floor. “Parts of the forest came to fight, tight to fight us off. That’s where Finruk got the name Entfeller. Needless to say we won that battle. You have to travel pretty far south to see the black woods these days. Since then we have lived in peace. We build, we live, we pray and we drink. For god’s sake most of these poor city guards hadn’t even seen combat before today. Some never will again, rest their souls.”


“I’m not sure any of this has to do with our hellish night good cleric. Sometimes the damned simply spill onto the earth tearing good men from good homes. Sometimes the blessed are dragged to hell undeserving of it. Maybe this is a new planner war. Our own armors stood against us. Our own swords in the grips of a ghostly beast cut us down while we were left to defend ourselves with nothing. Tragic tragic…”

 

[Redsirrah]

Jameak nodded. "Thanks for telling me all of this. I don't know what happened but I want to make sure it can never happen again." Jameak finished his drink and fished out his purse to pay for the beer. "For now though, I'd like to finish my damn sleep. I hope my room is still open."

 

[Grimsvald]

Jameak felt large breast press up against his right side. The pleasent smell of ginger and strawberries followed by sweet liquired breath. Bethany pushed the cleric's coin purse back to his hip. "You don't pay for anything here anymore holy man." She winks at him and walks away to serve more free drinks.


Adrik went wide eyed, "A bit forward...but shes right. Your money is no good here anymore cleric. Your room should still be just as you left it."


Finruk jumped of his chair with a smile, "Aye, I've saved your life before. Where's my free boobs and beer!?" He haggled chasing Bethany down.

 

[Redsirrah]

Jameak smiled. "Thanks Adrik." He turned and searched the bar for Kelter or Jaks, spying Jaks in the throng of people. Jameak approached the rouge. "I must thank you for your help at the temple, thief. What are your lodgings for tonight?"

 

[Yesman]

"I was planning to leave town tomorrow," replied the rogue. "But it doesn't look like that's going to happen."


He sighed and took another swig from his cup. "I guess I'll ask the dwarf if there's any more rooms free in the tavern tonight. If not, I think most if not all the houses are abandoned by now. I could probably catch some sleep there."

 

[Grimsvald]

Jaks would find an available room at the tavern if he requested one. There would be no fee.

 

[Yesman]

The rogue went to bed early, leaving the mourners and drinkers downstairs. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow

 

[Redsirrah]

Jameak listened to the stories swapped around the bar for a few more minutes before he too, went to bed. Before he got into bed, he cautiously dismantled his armor and tied it down, just to soothe his mind before bed.

 

[Grimsvald]

The near death experiences of this citywide war had truly taken it out of this Cleric and Rogue. They both slept soundly for 12 hours. In their sleep their minds churned, reflecting on the days turmoils and triumphs. They relived moments where they failed, but as victories. Their minds learned from their mistakes and developed them towards something greater.


Jaks would dream of the moments where he could have hidden, but failed to see his opportunity. He could see himself moving faster in this dream. His footing upon the ruins was flawless and he was uncatchable. He relived the moment when the greatswordsman had cut halfway through his body, but in this dream he was able to jump backwards just in time to dodge the attack. The experiences of the day had made this rogue quicker, more nimble and more aware of hiding places. The real question is how he would choose to use this. Would he disappear in an instant pocketing someones most valuable possessions like a grand thief? Would he strike out from the darkness as a deadly assassin? Was this skill even natural or had some arcane power been awoken in his bones?


The clerics dreams were not much different in nature. He envisioned himself holding up his holy symbol and the enemy cowering at its sight. The damned bent to his will and fled. The living around him rose up with great vitality. His holy symbol held greater power than he had ever seen it before. Jameak recalled the moment of his death and this time the creature could not bare to hit him. As it attempted to bring its weapon down something inside it turned the blade away. It withdrew and Jameak was able to heal his own wounds. Next time would be different. Next time he would refuse to fall. Clearly these events had gifted him favor with his deity, but how would he use it? What page numbers stick to his mind, what words of prayer sit at the tip of his tongue?


Keltor's dream began at his death. He remembered looking down at his bloody hands and seeing the two swords tips peeking out from beneath his armor. The realization that he had been run through by the sneaking foe. From here the events played out in reverse order. He saw the weapons removed. He watched the enemy sneaking up on him. He recalled moments before striking this enemy to the ground with a firmly placed strike of his mace, but not being able to make a killing blow. At this point he realized there was not a mace within his hand but a large sword. He gripped it tight in both hands. He cleaved the weapon down upon his foe and his attention was not to keep them at bay and shield his friends. His intentions were to destroy this enemy with furious vengeance before they ever had a chance to cause harm.


The paladin could hear a prayer to Pelor in his own voice. The words echoed through his mind while the battle played out. "Glorious god of the light may I be your hand of vengeance. Where your mercy ends may I be your intolerance for evil. Let your clerics and priests bask in the warm sun, healing the ill and aiding the meek. I wish to live at the edge of your light, pushing back the darkness so that it may never reach your children. I will cure the ill by hunting down the sickness. I will protect the weak by hunting down the powerful. No matter how deep into the darkness evil runs I will bring light to its door step. I will scorch your name into their corpses. In the name of Pelor I am a crusader."


Keltor's eyes happily eased open. The smile on his wrinkled face made his eyes look like white pin holes. His bushy white brows hung over those beady eyes, bent into a pleasant ascension. He climbed out of bed and slowly began to don his tattered armor. He could hear people debating downstairs. Some discussion of great importance. A discussion he did not intend to miss. Keltor placed his mace and shield on the bed, "Someone will need you, but I don't intent to decide who. I hope you serve them as well as you had served me." He looked around for something to sheath his new weapon. It took him this long to realize he had no way to holster the sword. With a heavy sigh he shouldered the sword and exited the room. One day his journey will bring him to a functioning market and that sheath will be the first thing on his mind. He looked down at his damaged armor, ~Maybe not the first thing~

 

[Yesman]

Jaks slowly sat up with a yawn. The sun had barely risen and the sky was still dark, save for the fiery orange that lit the horizon. His dream was not a light hearted one but it was not a nightmare either. Considering he had almost died yesterday, he felt refreshed from his sleep. He stretched, got dressed, and headed down to the tavern. It didn't seem like anybody else was awake yet but Jaks didn't want to stay in his room.

 

[Grimsvald]

Not many people were awake when Jaks went down stairs, but the room was far from empty. Every seat was filled and most spots on the floor. People left homeless or too afraid to be alone sleep everywhere. This tavern had become a shelter. Four people stand guard out front. They chat about anything and everything they can to stay awake. Jaks would hear them laughing, talking about their children and even the weather.


Over the next hour all these people began to wake up. Thought this wouldn't be the chatter that Kelter wakes up to. Something would soon rouse these people.

 

[Redsirrah]

Jameak awoke and his eyes snapped to his armor. Right where he left it. He geared up and headed downstairs to see who was awake and grab something to eat.

 

[Grimsvald]

Jameak and Keltor would be heading down stairs at nearly the same time. At this point the commotion was in full swing. Everyone in the bar was awake and conversing. The people gathered in a halfcircle opened towards the front door. There at the front door someone spoke over the crowd.


"Hear me good people of Shaldra-Zin! The city lay in ruins after last nights attack. Businesses we know and love have been reduced to rubble. Just like we need soldiers to protect, we need craftsmen to rebuild, but before all that we need embassadors to seek funding! Though this event has been most tragic and horrific, it could not have come at a better time.


There is an annual summit for the faithful in a nearby city. Priests, clerics and paladins will be meeting in the Bexley city temple of Pelor west of the Daylin Moors. A short journey indeed to have your names scribed into history books as saviors to our city. We request 3-5 adventurers no more. Please someome step forward."


It looked like most if not all in the bar refused the job. "If I go, who would watch over my son? If mother was crushed beneath stone only hours ago." One man cried. "I have no golden tongue to kiss the asses of priests today. Where was their god last night? By tomorrow I will have burried everyone one I know." A half orc names Grumlish stepped up. "I go! Grum can speak good to holy men" a human stepped forward to pull Grumlish back. "You got a heart of gold mate, but your damn near retarded. If we let ya go we would end up owing them money." The orc lowed his head and stepped back.


Kelter stepped forward from the crowed, "As a paladin of Pelor, I will attend." His fist knocked against broken chainmail and he bowed to the man speaking. It was a short fat man with several gold chains around his neck riding a large green beetle. This was a messenger from the mayor. Even though he is human he stands only 4ft tall. "Good paladin your offer is accepted by mayor Kalricktor Beauregard. Does anyone else travel with you?"

 

[Redsirrah]

Jameak stepped forward. "If no one else will, then I will also step up." Jameak fingered the silver cudgel around his neck and peered through the crowd to find Jaks and stare him down.

 

[Yesman]

Jaks, downing another mug, looked up to meet the paladin's gaze. He sighed and picked up his rapier. "I guess I'm going too," he said as he arose. "But stop looking at me like that."

 

[Redsirrah]

The cleric scoffed. "Not a chance thief. I'll be watching you every step around the good priests of Pelor." Jameak smiled. "Anyone else wish to step forward and help us?"

 

[Grimsvald]

The messenger looked sceptical about the rogues volenteering. Since the cleric seemed to be affiliated, the messenger shrugged that feeling off. "Seems you three will need to brave it alone. Everyone else is less than enthusiastic about joining in this journey.." he looked over the crowed and many people turned away their gaze. They each had a bit of shame in them for not volenteering. They made their excuses to rationalize their actions and make themselves feel better.


"Very well" The messenger sighed, "A traveling cart will be by to pick you up shortly. If you need anything at the market now is the time to go. Hopefully a shop is open to selling what you need." His little beetle scuttled around and opened its wings. With a loud low buzzing sound the fat man took off into the air.

 

[Yesman]

Jaks watched the messenger as he flew off. He shrugged and turned to the cleric and paladin, "That's one way to make an exit. He said something about us getting picked up by a cart but I don't see any around. I'll be inside drinking if you need me."


He spun around on his heel and walked back into the tavern.

 

[Redsirrah]

Jameak frowned. "I'd join you, but I'm going to check out the local blacksmith, I had an idea." Jameak grabbed his rucksack and his shield and headed off to the market.

 

[Grimsvald]

---Moradin's Blessing---


Jameak finds himself wandering into the town smithy only 10 minutes later. The hearth and anvil sit outside under a wooden overhang. The overhang extends from a two story stone building. All the smithy tools hang up on hooks attached to the buildingside. The building is full of raw materials both common and exotic. A stone sign is built into the side of the building just above the overhang. It reads "Moradin's Blessing".


Under the overhang a dwarven woman patiently labors over a stone maul. She cuts and polishes the heavy stone little by little hoping for perfection. She is too obsessed with her work to notice Jameak enter.


There is a wooden table beside her with some premade wears. Common swords, maces, hammers, axes and above average stone weapons like cudgles, mauls, hammers and clubs.


----Dizzy Dwarves----


Jaks drinks with nothing eventful happening around him. The bar is slightly quieter now that some warriors are left feeling shameful for not answering the call to arms given this morning. Several people pass Jaks and thank him for going across the Moors to help the town.


---Krug---


After the cleric and rogue walk away leaving the paladin quietly standing alone at the tavern enterance he decides to seek out a sheath for his sword.


Kelter's search lands him at a cart in the traveling market. A lopsided wooden cart small enough to be pulled by a man not a horse. The cart is covered in worn out weaponary and armor. Some armor has bloody holes in it and some sword are nearly broken or dulled. A flattened ogre's chest plate hangs off the top of the cart by 2 of 4 hinges. KRUG is painted on the metal in blood.


A skinny grey skinned orc eases himself off of some creates, "Can I help you holy man?" Kelter looks him over and presents his beaten greatsword. "I need a sheath for this, are you Krug?"


The orc adjusts himself. Chained earings decorate his ears. He wears no shirt and dirty pants. His waiste is wrapped a few times over with tanned leather. More than a dozen different types of knives and tools are hidden throughout the leather wrap. "My name is Nar, Krug is what I do. My wares are scavenged...I mean salvages from the battlefields. They may not be the best quality, but they are the best value." He smirks with snaggled teeth while presenting the product.


The orc tried to talk Kelter into buying more, but the paladin didn't have much money to spend and wasnt greedy. He felt disapproving eyes on him as he purchased a sheath. Simple leather that straps over his shoulder. A bit of metal at the opening and bottom to prevent ware. It wasnt bad for 5 silver. Once the deal was done Kelter returned to the bar. It had been about 1 hour.

 

[Redsirrah]

Jameak watched the woman work, biding his time until he was sure he could say something without disturbing her work. He spoke in Dwarvish "Excuse me, I was wondering if you could help me with something."

 

[Grimsvald]

---Moradin's Blessing---


The dwarven woman would be pleasantly surprised to hear him speak in hear language. She smiled and put away the maul she was working on. She spoke to him in dwarvish, "Ofcourse how may I help you?" She smiled taking off her working gloves and glasses. " My name is Hemmindal." She reached forward to shake his hand once her gloves were in her pocket.

 

[Redsirrah]

Jameak smiled and took her hand. "I have a very strange request for you." Jameak pulled out his tome. "I'd like to be able to use this tome as a large shield. I need to be able use prayers during battle but I'd also like to defend myself. Can you help me?"

 

[Yesman]

Jaks was sipping on a mug when he suddenly spat out his mouthful and sat up, smacking his forehead with his palm. "Arrows! Jaks, idiot!" he exclaimed as he grabbed his gear and charged out the door of the tavern.


Several minutes later, a panting rogue arrived at the market looking for any stall that might be selling arrows.