Everyone slips out of Widenhoft’s house, approaching the alley as the fiery rays of dusk cast the docks of Tallagad in cruel awe, adding to the smoke and flames from riots that seem to have taken the town while you searched the apothecary’s manse. A group of berserk zealots step out of the havok and charge right for you.

“Perish them! Perish them all!”

The stalwart members of the Six-Bladed-Doom-Cult take down the advancing zealots with little difficulty: X splits one at the pelvis, and two more at the skull, Roland severs a zealot in half, decapitates another, Crellion beheads a zealot with a swing of the White Wolf hammer and breaks the neck of another mortally wounded by Elu’s hefty halberd and Alette takes down the last, thought she is severely wounded.

The streets at night are a mess — rioters, refuges, zealots, the scattered Talabheim watch, and the first sightings of more walking dead. You stray out of sight and keep to your mission — to return to the temple a Shallya.

At the temple, a cadre of priests have assembled a makeshift barricade near the docks and you see a group of them set three zombies on flame with torches and flasks of oil. They see you approach, uncertain, until Elu shouts out a Watchman’s call. Gladdened, they escort you inside.

It seems death has made a visit to the rudimentary hospital, and a few priests of Moor hold vigil over several bodies thrown upon a hulking pyre. The priestess in charge offers to heal Alette after checking her for the plague and agrees to have a look at the items you brought from Widenhoft’s residence.

She studies them for several minutes then reports:

“Seems to be notations of a alchemical sort… The bowl is labeled Talabec – 1 Bell after Dawn. The silvery powder is labeled: River Extract. The blue fluid – Not an inoculant – an antidote. Well, if it is, there isn’t much here to do anything. But it does tell us there could be a cure. This leads me to inquire, where is Mr. Widenhoft?”

Crellion, Elu, X, Roland and Alette find the herbalist’s home down an alley just off the main road adjacent the Wizard’s Way. The door to the place has been reinforced, and a sign swings above with an ivy plant etched into the wood. At this time Taalagad has fallen into complete lawlessness, with most of the watch M.I.A. So far, none have dared molest your party.

Crellion gives the door several stout knocks but no one answers the call. Even the repeated thumps of X’s fist against the wood fail to draw an answer. The door itself would require a strong assault to break open, but it is possible one could pick the lock. Elu notes that there is a small walled garden in back.

Roland removes a set of picks from his cloak and turns the latch. “Why wait?”

He pushes the door ajar and steps in…

The residence seems simple enough, for a two story dwelling. You pass through a kitchen, then a dinning room, and lastly a large, book-filled study, where the body of an middle-aged bearded gentlemen in slumped over a desk, a simple throwing blade buried in the base of his neck…

The streets of taalagad have always been dangerous, but now they’re downright nasty; townsfolk are being denied egress to the ports, rats are infesting the docks, and groups of citizens are taking disease control into their own hands, looking to burn anything that suggests a symptom of the plague. You manage your way to the Municipal Office and find the doors and windows completely sealed and barred. X pounds on the door with the heft of his axe until, overhead, a dozen crossbow-bearing figures appear on the roof.

One of them steps forward. “Just exactly what is your business with all the banging, clod?”

X: “We want Hohenlohe and our reward money. And I’ll take your head if you’re not careful with your tongue.”

“Ah, so you’re a malapert rogue, too.” He counts each of you – five – and tosses over five leather pouches.

“There’s your money, cretins – eight crowners in each purse. Hohenlohe has fled to the city so whatever other deal you had is forfeit. A bit of advice… spend it elsewhere.”

X looks at coins and pours them out onto the street. “Keep your gold and plague! You’ll all soon be feeling the sharp end of my axe, either as the living or undead. It makes no difference to me.” To the party: “Looks like we’ll need another way in. Anyone up for a trip through the sewers to secure entry to the city?”

Crellion speaks first. “Ummm…that’s…40 Gold Crowns! I hate to say it but we may need it. You can throw your eight away, but I’m taking mine. ’Tis a pittance for catching the plague.” Crellion picks up one bag of coins. “I’ll try my luck in the sewers with you. Probably a local thieves guild can get us in. Has anyone seen evidence of a thieves guild or an open tavern in town yet?"

Roland: “Crellion, the last thing we need is to mix with anyone in the town in close quarters from fear of the plague either way. We’ll follow your first bet and try the sewers by tracking those rat men. Yet, it might be worth a toss to try the temple of Shallya and consult the priests for any leads on cures. We can use this gold to persuade them.”

“Crellion, did you say? Hold on a minute you worthless curs.” The guard steps away from the roof of the building, then returns and tosses down rolled up piece of parchment. “You should have revealed your names earlier. I upgraded your approval letters for a two-week stay based on Hohenlohe’s recommendation. He must be out of his gord. Either way, if you can prove you are not sick in any way you’ll get in. But if you can’t, you’ll be turned away like a flea-ridden mutt. Best of luck, lads.”

Alette: “Temple of Shallya anyone?”

Elu: “I agree. Let’s go. The priests often have unique and powerful cures. And unique diseases of their own which we can hopefully avoid.”

You move quickly to the temple of Shallya where the priests have set up a makeshift hospital of sorts in a warehouse on one of the docks. They are completely overrun with sick townsfolk. Shivering bodies cover the floor of the place. A few priests of Morr give last rites to those who have died. The smell of burning flesh permeates the air, as the dead are dragged off and burned on a huge pyre.

Near you is a young priestess of Shallya sitting on a cobbled-together chair formed from an old barrel. She’s in hysterics.

“Hopeless, hopeless. Not a disease. A curse. It’s a curse. I’m lost. Lost.”

Several of her fellows swiftly move in and start dragging her away…

The two day ride back to Talabheim is fraught with little trouble. On the morning of the second day only a nagging cough from Crellion that seems to have developed over the travel stirs the calm. That evening, within sight of the walls of Talabheim, X notices some hunched figures while on watch. They run off the road to the north and race off at great speed towards the dark wall of the Taalbaston in the distance, illuminated by the pale light of Mannslieb. A quick perception test and X is certain the figures ran faster than any human can. Though they are long gone, X makes a quick follow trail test on the prints – rodent prints – man-sized – gotta be Skaven.

X alerts the party and they follow the trail which ends at the bank of a river and the tracks are no more. The party returns to camp, Crellion coughs all night.

ENTER TALABHEIM

Dawn breaks and the party heads to the docks. You can already hear the cries of anguish before first sight of the buildings of Taalagad. Shouts of plague echo everywhere as does violent reaction to the closing of the Wizard’s Way effectively closing the citizens AND YOU out of Talabheim.

A quick gossip roll by the party and a few things are learned – the plague starts as a cough – then develops in shivers then death. And then some come back – as flesh eating zombies!

A group of flagellants is also lose as rumor has it, roaming the streets at night, setting ablaze any who seem to be sick. Lastly, the docks seems to be infested with unusually big rats!

“Let’s collect our pay at any rate,” issues Elu. The party agrees and moves quickly to see the Magistrate.

Not surprisingly, the Eel is shutdown, the magistrate nowhere to be found. Tacked on the door is a poster that reads:

CLOSED BY ORDER OF THE MUNICIPAL ENTRY OFFICE.

Crellion, Elu and Alette re-group and ride back towards the refugee camp, Arvid’s body slung over Elu’s horse and Regimius’ head dangling from Alette’s saddle bag. The trip is cut short as they near the clearing. The grassy expanse is empty – not a single refugee in site. Only Enrico, holding two horses at bay occupies the flattened field. Strangely enough, he wears a torn piece of cloth over his mouth and nostrils.

The Fabluso points out the caravan on the far horizon and quickly reports the news to Crellion and the others of the sickness and their choice to move on to Breitblatt, leaving Enrico behind. The most important detail saved for last: the wagon lagging behind — full of sick Hochlanders. He adds in a muffled voice:

“Masters Roland and X thought it best to keep them isolated. We can still catch them if we hurry. How did you fare? Did you find the ambushing bastards?”

Alette lifts up the severed head of Regimius Janicke. “There was only one bastard.”

“And the bow?” add Enrico.

Elu grips the bow string across his chest. “Safe.”

“Not without a loss,” says Crellion pointing out Arvid’s body.

Enrico shakes his head, hands a piece of cloth to everyone. “Sad. Put these on. You don’t want to catch you death.” Enrico mounts his horse, leaves the other behind and rides ahead.

With little choice left, Crellion and the others ride forward, Elu mounting the spare house and join the group mid afternoon – on this the 4th day of the journey. It is only a few hours later that the forested town of Brietblatt enters the view and the job of releasing the refugees begins…

The peasants are happy to arrive at their new home. Flutes are produced songs are sung, and a general sense of festivity blooms amongst them. The few villagers left in Breitblatt turn out to meet the mass of new arrivals and start inspecting the incoming goods as does the small militia of six men that are posted to the village, all of whom are eager for the news from the city.

Roland glances to X and nods, prompting X to look over his shoulder. The wagon of sick peasants is parked about a 100 yards beyond the village limits and as he stares intently, the swarm of flies around it becomes very discernible. The rest of the party takes notice then remembers Arvid’s body turning ripe on Elu’s horse. Alette quickly draws her cloak over Regimus’ head.

Elu treks off into the wooded area south of camp, following the false trail with, Crellion, Allete and Arvid. The group moves a hundred yards off, nearing a hillock still soggy from morning dew embanking a small clearing.

While pausing in the calm to think over the next move, two arrows fly overhead and find their mark – buried a foot deep in Arvid’s chest! His moan seems muffled as the Talabhiem watchman collapses to the patchy earth. Ever so quickly, Elu is the first to point out the assassin on the cusp of the hillock…

The woodsman, Regimius Janicke…

The wiry, weathered-skinned, man stares down at the lot of you, arrow knocked in the fine great bow within his grasp.

“You Hochlander lovers will find a quick death if you step any further!”

BACK AT THE CAMP

Roland, X and Enrico fan out through the startled refugees, drawing weapons, and intimidating the lot of them. Roland goes to work with his crowd-pleasing Oratory skills.

Roland: “Listen to me for your very lives. We will find the thief even if it means leaving you here to face the hordes of chaos. Each of you will pass through the checkpoint one by one where you will be searched for the missing bow…”

Roland mounts his horse and withdraws the repeating crossbow.

Roland: “The checkpoint is the great axe of my associate, the Executioner…” Roland glances to his old friend, who cuts a deep line in the soil with one sweep of the great axe then rests the haft over his shoulder, beckoning the first of the refugees to pass. “If any of you decline or attempt to flee… I will have no choice but to shoot… Enrico, if you would, please.”

Enrico sighs in compliance and bids the first refugee forward, the eldest maiden in the throng, and she passes the Executioner — no bow in her possession.

The shakedown continues one by one as the sun climbs the eastern horizon until half the refugees have been cleared. Enrico wipes the sweat from his brow, ready to call another when a young boy tugs his shirt, pulling him to the side.

It’s the eldest of the Keller children.

“There’s a thing you need to see, Sir.”

He leads the Estallion Destro to one of the small camp fires where Susi Keller, her eyes red from crying, sits near her youngest boy.

Matthias Keller prods her, “Susi please..”

He pulls the blanket back from her son – grey blotches mark the boy’s arm, face and chest. He coughs once, feebly, then shudders violently, his body shaking as his mother’s tears begin to flow again.

Enrico gasps, unsure of the sight. Roland rides close, dismounts.

Roland: “What’s this?”

“Plague! Plague!” shout a few of the closest refugees, attracting the attention of the Executioner who sprints over.

X: “What in Taal’s name is this? Chaos mutation?” Roland cuts him off, pulls X back, tears a a strip from his cloak.

“Do the same, quickly.” Roland wraps the torn fabric around his neck, covering his mouth and nose.

Roland: “Keller, put your family in the wagon and follow the camp at a bow shot’s distance – or we’ll be forced to take deadly precautions.”

Keller: “What are you saying, kind sirs?”

Roland: “You’ve brought whatever malady was in Talagraad with you. Now get in the wagon.” Keller nods and helps his family into the wagon.

Enrico crosses himself, tears a piece of his shirt and covers his mouth. Roland turns to X.

Roland: “Well, shall we keep searching for the bow or break for Breitblatt before half these peasants are infected?”

Dawn of the third day brings a keening wail throughout the small refugee camp that awakens each of you: X jumps out of his tent, casting off two young ladies… Crellion throws aside Alette and their blanket, reaching for his armor… The Fabulouso gathers the rest of the party as you all run to the source of the scream. In route, Roland springs forth from the tree line, joins your march.

Ahead a crowd of refugees has gathered, blocking the view. “Protect us good sirs!” “Taal save us!” Elu is quick to act, charming a few to make a path to what lies ahead.

At the south edge of the camp, a grisly sight awaits… A small group of peasants stand around a blood-spattered tent. Slashes in the canvas reveal a family of three: man, woman, and girl child, brutally slain, their bodies mauled as if by a wild beast…

IN THE FORGE

Mourendar and his cohorts stare at the iron gate and the dozen or so rabid orc zombies trying to squeeze through.

Mourendar: “Imrak, you and I shall crush the heads of the pinned zombies with your axe and my hammer. Sigurd, will you raise the portcullis slightly, and I’ll shout for you to drop it when the zombies begin crawling beneath it. Let’s hope this works well, I don’t wish to loose the planks to our bridge.”

It was a fair idea. Sigurd lifted the gate, the zombies that could sure enough tried to crawl under, reaching out for human flesh to eat and the hammers fell, flattening skull and brains. However in a frenzied state the mass of zombies kept pushing under the gate and began to raise is up with sheer force, knocking Sigurd back off the chains. Mourendar and Imrak slew a few more zombies easily before the remaining foes where through and were upon them. The harrowing fight was short with only four zombies walking, the last one tossed into the boiling lava by the tall Norseman.

Mourendar thought to himself – An army of the dead. That’s what Koros wanted. An army to take the hold. But what of these things? An army that can grow with every fallen soldier rising up to join the zombie ranks? In mass there would be no wall they couldn’t knock down. No front line they couldn’t trample. No siege they couldn’t outlive. But is this Koros’ work or something else…

Immediately the company moved into the mine room, looked down upon the one entrance and thought of how it might be secured when the sound of a horn , barely audible, caught their ears.

“The Horn of Valaya,” exclaimed Sigurd.

“Then we have guests,” added Imrak, turning in direction of the sound…

ELSEWHERE IN THE RUINS

Kwarjieh studied her two adversaries then spoke:

“I’m grateful for your assistance sir, and I truly hope we haven’t caused you undue concern! My name is Kwarjieh and my companions are Taro and Grunril (gesturing in their respective directions.) Assuming that you are sharing your quarters with us, may I ask your name?”

The bronze armored warrior replies, with an accent unlike Kwarjieh’s heard in the voice of an Old Worlder, “You assume much. I’m not satisfied.”

Kwarjieh turns to the dark-skinned brute: “I would like to apologize; I didn’t remember to pick up your throwing club, but I doubt the undead will find a use for it – and we may recover it later as time allows. Pray tell though, how is it you find yourself in the ruins and worse yet, by yourself?”

The dark-skinned warrior responds in a language unfamiliar to the party. Kwarjieh moves to Grunril, examines his wound and begins to heal the dwarf.

Valaya show mercy to your child Grunril; these wounds he received in your service and the fault was entirely mine! Alleviate his discomfort; bless the water I use to cleanse these wounds – may your tears wash away his ills.

The armored warrior lowers his spear, removes his helm. “Pardon my friend, he speaks only his native tongue, which I happen to understand. We’ll go first if that’s what you need, but make no mistake, I require full answers from you if you’re thinking of staying here. We’re mercenaries. We were hired by El Gatto. Do you know him..?”

INSIDE THE FORGE

No matter your upbringing, character, race, or world view, it’s a sight to behold. After crossing the lava chamber chasm you are led through a corridor of worked stone and walk into “the forge…”

The space is easily two-hundred feet on all sides with a barrel-vaulted ceiling of near fifty feet. In the center flows a tributary of lava that also breaks into a horseshoe shaped canal creating an island of carved stone in the center before flowing out into an exit cavern. This gives ample light and warmth. There are four bridges that connect the island to the entrance, two furnaces, and a sealed chamber. There is a guard wall some 15 feet high splitting the island in half, and obstructing a view of any work therein. Most remarkable are the orange glowing ruins carved onto wall, floor and ceiling…

There are also two large statues of Grungni in the southwest and east corners of the chamber and a set of closed double-doors in the east wall.

Moving towards you from the doors is a very tall human who introduces himself as Sigurd (Gene son of Eric).

Imrak: “Let’s hang here until we hear from Mourendar.”

Sigurd: “Good. I haven’t had time to set the table.”

IN THE HALLS OF SKORRUN CLAN

Kwarjieh, Grunril and Taro readied themselves after a night’s rest with Gilmann and K’Tush determined to make the journey with them. Kwarjieh had offered to lead them to a secret entrance under the hold but she did not specify the details to the two mercenaries.

The stalwart troupe prepared to carry out their plan of escape, ready for a fight as it was assumed the orc zombies were at the door. Kwarjieh gave Valaya’s blessing to the group and reached for the door. As the massive wood portal was inched back, only the empty and silent halls of the Skorrun Clan lay beyond. They stepped forward on the cold stone floor, waiting for the hissing sounds of the flesh eaters yet heard nothing but the low audible clank of Tilmann’s armor, echoing in his step. To the Exit!

They made for the far end of the hall and as the threshold advanced closer, they perceived a strong white light blasting the entire volume of the hall to right – from the desecrated the temple of Valaya!

In the light the skeletal remains of the orc zombies were piled along the floor in neat mounds. Kwarjieh looked back at her allies – they were awed, K’tush fell to his knees, covered his teary eyes. The bright light invited the dwarf priest inside…

Inside the small chapel of her patron deity, Kwarjieh is filled with a light that hasn’t touched the ruins in decades… The inner temple is no longer the bastion of orc filth and disdain, but blanketed in the purity of Valaya herself. Whatever evil had festered in the Skorrun hold has been extinguished and the shrine restored.

The carvings in Khazalid adorning the walls have returned to full artistic grace, the crude Gork and Mork statues of orc dung have been blasted out of existence, and on the spot where the statue of her holiness once stood, is an angelic image of the goddess herself.

Kwarjieh bows at the sight and hears a distinct soft voice vibrate in the air of the shrine:

No more shall the foulness stain these halls. The pestilence of these ancient ruins has awakened the ire of your gods and now the cleansing light shall shine forth. You must retrieve my staff and give it to highest priestess of your order. It can dispel the dead that have returned and remove the torment of those who have yet to die. When you have done this you shall reclaim this keep and guide its future. A gift for you to ensure your new friends choose the right path.

With the last word, the light dims, but does not fade. On the place where the image spoke, are two small gemstones. Enough for any soldier of fortune…

IN THE FORGE

Gus looked at his set of cards and then at the grimace of the tired Norscan. The apprentice wasn’t surprised he’d already taken Sigurd (Gene son of Eric) for most of what he was worth, but the dogged persistence of the brute impressed him. After all, it was the Norscan’s invitation to share quarters in the forge and he had quickly confessed a taste for gambling. Three pair. Gus was sure he had this play. Then, the horn of Valaya shook the walls.

Sigurd, stood up, dropped the cards on the table. “At last. At long last.”

“I’ll join you,” replied Gustavus as he slid his winnings into his belt pouch.

In the great entrance the two of them found Kwarjieh Headstone and her party waiting for the bridge. She had new company with her, but there was little reason to doubt her choice of friends. They welcomed her back and made haste to alert the forge.

Kwarjieh wasted little time calling the fellowship together in council. They met together, all assembled for the first time amid the lava flows and glowing runes of the central forge, twelve dwarves and five humans. The news was heartening. She revealed that the Staff of Valaya has the power to cure the vile plague and must be retrieved from the Halls of The Dead and placed in the hands of Balikina Furlisdotr to cleanse Karak Azgal of the foul disease of walking dead.

Gustavus withheld his excitement, though this was what he had been seeking these last few weeks. A dungeon crawl into the unknown…

“A toast to the fellowship then,” blurted Sigurd, raising a goblet. Kwarjieh stood and shook her head.

Kwarjieh: No… It’s time we take the mantle of honor of our true calling, if you wish to remain here and honor the task before us…

She glanced to Mourendar, certain he knew the charge, and continued: The fellowship was a brief beginning. Its task has been accomplished. From this day forward begins The Order of the Sceaf and Scyldingas of Valaya!

Through the mazy tunnels and passages of the Yellow-Eye Goblin mine, spurious Dwarf activity echoes through deep cuts in the earth, but not enough to wipe away the feeling that this place was befouled by Greenskins as a faint remaining smell of their filth still prickles one’s nostrils.

Thirty miners in all have taken over this cavern; some with pick and hammer working on shards of rock, others moving carts along new railings, some tend the fires roasting up a hearty meal while the remaining few on guard duty, having escorted Gustavus and his party into the center of this lone outpost.

At a makeshift table, Gustavus dines with Thrunbor and they discuss the events above. With them, a human that Gustavus had met once before, Bertold Frank, the fellow who loaned him a bit of coin as a gift from Gorlaz the Golden, and Molatok Norkinson, master of the mining guild. The conversation was stark and long. Thrunbor relayed that a plague above has broken out in the city – dead coming back to life. The hold is under a state of martial law, the entrances to the mines closed and no answer to where this infestation originated, be it Deadgate, the ruins, of some foreign land. Dwarves seem to be somewhat resistant to the plague, though nothing can be said for certain. Humans seem to succumb easily. Thrunbor is going to inform Mourendar Boulderdash and deliver his seven miners to him. Anyone wishing to go may travel along. At this time he introduces Gustavus, favoring his skills, and lays out two roads: assist the miners here or travel with the blacksmiths to the forge.

Molatok takes the news with unease, and wonders if they should aid the city or search the ruins for a cause. Many of the miners have family above and keeping them here may prove difficult. He introduces Bertold to Gustavus and the party, explaining that two weeks ago the merchant offered to pay for all the needs of the miners and their goal of taking back the ruins. His funds have been very helpful.

“I would love to meet this Mourander," proffers Bertold. “He is a light to us all, and our deep pockets may be able to funnel him the needed funds. I am regretful of what is happening above, but perhaps a plan from the forge might required. If I may, sir Thrunbor, I would like to accompany you to the forge. Gustavus, I hope you will journey with us…”

Leaning back from the table, Gustav considers his options while working the stale crust of bread around his mouth.

“Herr Grimgrigson, I owe you my life after the dustup with the squig. I would like to continue on to the forge and offer what help I can. Never let it be said that Gustav Kohler doesn’t pay his debts.” With a sheepish grin at Bertold, “I’m still working on yours, Herr Frank.”

With that, a short nightcap, the company is off. Seven smiths, two miners, a soldier and two humans – out of place as they tower over the group of Dwarfs. Keep your heads low is a common remark as the company twists through the fresh mines.

A long nine hour journey yet without incident… Gustavus is able to absorb the doom-ridden caverns of old. Dwarven constructions made of tightly finished stones with barely a crack between them… Dwarven mines with rails still intact… Natural caverns of limestone formations, stalagmites, stalactites, flowstone formations and the occasionally drip of running water… Burrowed caverns that are nothing more than crawlspaces of darkness, who knows what lurks within?

The heat of a nearby lava flow assails the company as they near the forge. Thrunbor, leads them around a twisting stair and into level six, where part of the lava flow has formed a small lake of fire. Also in the chasm a random array of stepping rocks several yards across connected by tight rope bridges… except the last step… near ten yards to jump. A failed leap is certain death.

Mopping the sweat from his brow, Gustav gazes into the slowly swirling miasma. “If I was covered in soot and soil, this would be like back home.”

Thrunbor moves aside a few small boulders, removes a Dwarven horn. “Time to let our hosts know we’ve arrived.” He winds the horn and the sound bounces across the chasm…

ELSEWHERE IN THE RUINS

Kwarjieh: “I am certain the shrine is this way, if the two of you would follow me, we may find our rest therein. Our rest may be delayed though, as I cleanse and consecrate the shrine; one of you should stand watch, and the other may assist me or rest. I hope that I’m not eroding your patience though, with my request; I only wish to serve our ancestors, but if either of you have another suggestion I will honor your appeals. I implore you to keep this in mind though, inside these corridors is a stairwell leading to the only supply of water we have yet found within the ruins. If our fellowship is to remain below, it is vital that we secure the source for our continued survival! What say you?”

“Lead the way,” responds Grunril.

Down the first passage to the right some fifty feet is a large oak door that has been barred from the outside. No one can remember if that was set by the party before or not, but it’s the entrance to the shrine of Valaya without question.

Standing perplexed before the barred oak door, Kwarjieh speaks to herself as much as to the others, “Strange, I don’t remember barring the door, but I can’t recall not doing so either. This is the place in any case; would the two of you stand ready while I open the door?”

Both her comrades nod acknowledgement.

Kwarjieh removes the bar and opens the doors, picks up the skull lantern and peers in. It’s the temple of Valaya just as you remember it. Including the corpses of the Orc Shaman and his four followers that are now moving toward you…

Kwarjieh casts Blessing of courage on herself – she has no fear. It seems Grunril and Taro are fearless as well and charge… A rough battle in the Shrine as the dwarves learn to bash the brains out of each zombie. Grunril is wounded while Kwarjieh struggles with the last zombie, the former Orc shaman when a flying club from behind the party strikes zombie shaman in head, cracking skull and oozing brain.

Behind the party, a dimly lit tall human with dark brown skin wearing some skins and leather armor, with a strange headdress beckons you to follow his as he turns and runs into the dark…

Kwarjieh to the stranger: “Dear friend I beg of you, don’t be so hasty — we are but ambling dwarves unable to move as quickly as you! I hope the course you would lead us on, isn’t a long one; I can plainly see one of my companions is wounded, and I would very much like to attend to his injuries.”

The stranger has long fled, and does not answer.

Kwarjieh to the party: “Taro would you follow him quickly as you may; Grunril and I will follow if he is able, and at his best speed. Grunril do you feel well enough to move, or do you require rest and aid first? I will remain with you, and I’m sure Taro will come back for us once he arrives at his destination.”

Grunril: “Aye, I’ll be fine. Let’s see what this character is up to then we can tend to these scratches.”

Following behind Taro, turning the corner, you see the figure standing at the now open door to the inner keep, light flickers behind him. He’s waving at you, urging all of you to run for it.

Off down the many dark passages of either side, the hissing sound of more zombies…

Kwarjieh and Grunril move as quickly as their dwarven feet will carry them, into the inner keep to join Taro and the human.

Once inside the iron rimmed wooden door slams shut, a bar falls in place. Behind the door, a bronze armored human in a defensive stance behind a shield and a sharp spear pointed within striking distance of the group.

“Friend or foe? Speak now or its your lives!”

CONTINUED IN S3 Session 4

TAALAGAD DOCKS – FIRST LIGHT

You know you’re in the right place by the cacophony that greets you as you stroll the early morning streets of Taalagad. A crowd of over a hundred adults, plus a fair number of children, mill about a half a block away from The Eel. Several oxen stand with them, along with several wagons filled with provisions and supplies. A fair number of wary-looking Talabheim Dogfaces who’ve been called to Taalagad to assist in clean up duties watch over the group.

A clerk trots up to you and hands your party a small parcel, and states that Magistrate Sorland Hohenlohe sends his regards, good journey and the luck of Taal. The parcel consists of a map of the Talabheim region (your destination clearly marked) and six dated letters of passage singed by the Magistrate stating its bearers work for Talabheim and not to obstruct them in their duties.

One of the Dogfaces approaches and you recognize him as the fellow who apologized to Crellion “The Hellion” in The Eel.

Dogface: Name’s Arvid. Seems a friend of yours named Zurg has volunteered to join the watch in my steed and I may join you at your request. Master Crellion, I am at your service. May I suggest we take the Old Dwarf Road north round Talabheim. Take about a half a day longer but there’s been some Greenskin mischief down south o’ Waldfahrte. Sides, if there’s trouble, we could hail a passing ship or such along the river.

“Well met and thanks for the suggestion. However, I would just as soon we cleared the road of vermin on our way to Breitblatt. Would be good to secure the route if it is quickest. Creates more options for the future. What do the rest of you think? Anyone concerned about a few orcs?”

“Well it isn’t a few Orcs… might be a war band or two from the news. But, we need to get these refugees to Breitblatt alive. Many might die if we go that road.”

Roland: “Who’s navigating the map?”

Crellion: “I had thought to try my hand at the navigation.”

X: “Since Avrid is so knowledgable of the way, why not he lead us along the “safe” route?”

Roland: “I’ll take the map. Crellion, Avrid’s in your service, can you keep watch on him? If there’s 100 of these refugees, we need to place ourselves strategically within this mob of filth. Elu, do you want to give commands to them on behave of Taalagad or would you care to have one of us do it? Crellion’s a charmer, X can intimidate a group of chaos warriors and my oratory has drawn quiet a crowd. Which approach is best say you all?”

Elu to Roland: “Certainly. I’ll get these refugees organized.” Elu announcing to refugees: “Women and children stay close to our party. The most able and well-armed men should cover the back of the group.” Elu to Ebore and Irmagard: “Please be quiet. Complaining tends to attract creatures who will kill you.”

X: “I say we have the entire party in front. Place the women and children closest to the party and have the most able men in the back with whatever weapons they have available.”

Roland: “Fair enough, though I think we should have one or two of us protecting our rear. We don’t want any of these refugees wandering off or slowing us down. Crellion, are you comfortable with having Avrid and Alette watch our backs?”

You line up the refugees – mostly peasants and Elu takes the lead position turns to the gathering and says in his best human Talabheim accent:

Listen up, people. These lads and I will be taken yer to yer new homes. You mind us and keep them kids close.

With that you head out of Taalagad’s north-eastern gate onto the Old Dwarf Road.

THE FIRST DAY

The day is trouble free and traveling in the road is very easy. The imposing wall of the Taalbaston continually brackets the south just as, hills permitting, the Talabec River can be seen to the north. The only happening of note is that some of the children and old folks have come down with a hacking cough. Road dust seems to be the likely reason for it.

Elu points out that night at camp that none of the Hochlanders have the cough. Roland suggests the party rests a apart from the refugees but close enough to monitor any adverse situations. The group pairs off in watches until dawn, selecting a few of the able refugees to watch over the camp. It’s all peasants and campfires with a few of the more well-to-do travelers shacking up in their wagons and tents.

THE SECOND DAY

Travel goes much the same at first but in the late morning hours Elu spots potential trouble ahead. Four Ogres have set up makeshift chairs on the road and point at your enormous wagon trail and mimic with each other. The foursome is gaily clad in a riot of colors and voluminous shirts that show a great deal of wear despite their bright shades. They seem to be studying your party, weighing up their options.

The refuges up front are on the verge of panic, staring fearfully at the huge creatures. One of them moves towards the refugees as the party gathers in front of your scared charges, the very ground of the Old Dwarf Road noticeably shaking with each step the colossal brute takes towards you…

Roland stays mounted, levels his repeater crossbow. “Four ogres… there’s gonna be some casualties. You wanna see what they want or take them out?”

Elu, “I prefer discussion to bloodshed.”

Crellion yells out in Dark Tongue, “You have seconds to save your life. Speak your business or the lone man approaching will end your life.”

The Ogre, not understanding the Dark Tongue, stomps and folds its arms, the tusks sticking out of its maw contrast the feathered foppish hat it wears – if Enrico were the size of an Ogre they would have the same tailor – minus the stench. The damn hat is almost as big as it is, with a wider brim that most men are tall. The brightly plumed feathers snap in the morning wind as it doffs the hat briefly to make a slight bow.

Ogre (in Reikspiel): “Oi, slims. Lads and I reckon you all have a right fine herd here. We was wondering if you might be willing to help fix us up a breakfast.”

He looks about at the peasants, smiles with his fanged maw at a group of children (who promptly burst into tears and soil themselves) and then looks back at you expectantly…

X, dismounting his horse and stepping forward, “I’m sure we could spare a few of the old weathered ones. They may be a little tough, but if you like jerky, they’ll do nicely. Or we could bury our weapons in each of your skulls and enjoy a little pig on a stick. I choose for the later, what do the rest of you say?”

The Ogre: “Is ’dat ye deal? Thugredd Heartseizer does not have the taste for weathered meat.”