The Nemedian Chronicles

To the Top

Tereus had been a noble’s military messenger through several border conflicts with Koth and had run missives between commanders of thousands, but never had he seen such conditions as that night. Count Clavanades’ messenger made his way through the fields of carnage and torrential rain. The ground still quivered from a tremor which seemed to radiate from Tor Al’Kiir. The effort to reach Tullweim, the barbarian commander of the Crimson Wolves, caused the Ophirian soldier to pant between words and raw fear masked his face at what he was told to ask. “Sir, <huff> Count Clavanades <huff> wants a report on the lights atop the Tor. <huff> Does the god of legend awake? <huff> Does doom approach?” The Aesir cast a grim look towards Tor Al’Kiir and told the messenger to tell the Count the Crimson Wolves would check it out. Tullweim then ordered Countess Synelle’s cavalry to escort the messenger and join Clavanades’ main column against General Iskandrian.

As the mercenary company made towards Tor Al’Kiir, Dhak heard a gurgling noise on the ground. Among the bodies of the dead he found one of the Ophirean soldiers pinned underneath his horse and drowning in a puddle of rain. The sorcerer grabbed the man’s hair and lifted his head out of the water. The fallen man-at-arms gasped for breath and panicked when lightning flashed and he saw the murderous intent in the Stygian’s eyes. Dhak spoke ancient words of dark aspect and pushed the soldiers’ neck into the edge of the his blade, which allowed him to harvest the man’s life for sorcerous power. The Stygian then dropped the man’s head back into the puddle which quickly grew darker as blood mixed with water.

As the Crimson Wolves approached Tor Al’Kiir, occasional ghostly lights were still seen at the top, but there were fewer of them among the crashes of lightning. The moon slipped behind racing black clouds, which plunged the company into oppressive gloom. The 23 mercenaries paused at the bottom of the Tor and knew no horses could ever make it up the steep slope. They dismounted knowing they must climb and searched for handholds among their sputtering torch light. Though the Tor was covered with ledges and bushes, the rain hindered the soldiers from making much progress. Only the Cimmerian Cuana had an easy go at it. He climbed up the 250 feet to the top and paused only to tie a 50 foot length of rope in intervals. Some close calls were had where a mercenary lost his grasp and dangled perilously for a moment but none of the Crimson Wolves fell. Finally, after much toil and effort the top of Tor Al’Kiir was reached.

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Taking the Scepter

Cuana, Dhak, Tullweim, and Xacksmith managed to avoid the looters and few city watchmen who attempted desperately to maintain a semblance of order in the darkened streets of Ianthe. The mercenaries returned to their headquarters on the Street of Crowns, ate a quick meal of Fabio’s and went to the chimney where they removed their armor and covered themselves with soot and ash. Once their pale skins were sufficiently darkened, the sellswords moved about the cities’ labyrinthine alleyways towards the Royal Palace. Their movement was silent but for a single misstep by their Aesir leader, who knocked over a pile of refuse with a loud crash. Shortly thereafter, hushed voices and heavy footfalls were heard from the streets, headed towards the parties’ location. The watchmen shone a torch into the alley, barked out a challenge, but did not see anyone and deemed not to enter. They were putting their lives at risk just wandering the streets that night and did not wish to tempt fate further. One of the watchmen decided it had been a cat that made the noise and they backed out into the street to continue their patrol. After the watch were gone, the mercenaries stepped out of the shadows, sheathed their blades, and stole into the night towards the Palace.

Once the Palace walls were in sight the sellswords found the gates barred, the portcullis down. Amid the rising blood-red full moon they maneuvered to the rear face of the wall and Cuana quickly scaled the 40 feet to the top with Xacksmith’s silken rope over his shoulder. The Cimmerian crouched low, he could see the torch lights on the wall the guards carried in the distance, and in the nearest tower he heard two men make nervous conversation behind a closed door. The barbarian quickly uncoiled the silk rope, wrapped it hastily around a merlon, and threw it down to his companions below. Xacksmith grabbed the rope and climbed up, getting about halfway before the loose knot Cuana had tied came undone. The barbarian attempted to catch the rope before it fell but was not quick enough and the Hyrkanian plummeted 20 feet to the hard ground below. Xacksmith was agile enough to twist himself in mid-air and roll with the fall, and received little more than a few cuts and bruises. The Hyrkanian picked up the fallen rope, saw no cut on it, and looked up with an annoyed expression. Cuana could not quite make out his allies in the darkness but saw the rope Tullweim tossed back up and caught it. The Cimmerian wrapped the rope around a merlon but did not attempt to again tie it. Instead he held onto the rope and braced himself while his companions climbed up.

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The Request

The next morning several wagons arrived, full of gear for the Crimson Wolves. There were blankets, red wool cloaks, razors, mirrors, and good food. There was also one pair of high black Aquilonian boots for each member of the Free Company. The troops were appeased by these presents and along with them came slaves to clean the house.

Shortly thereafter, another slave arrived with a message from Countess Synelle, requesting that Tullweim go to her mansion. Cuana, Dhak and Xacksmith wondered if they should go as well and it was decided that they would all travel to see what the Countess had to say. The party ventured to the opposite side of Ianthe and walked through an area of the city full of gleaming palaces and exalted temples. Synelle’s servant who had accompanied the mercenaries pounded a ring on the gate and was met by a bearded, one-eyed soldier who eyed the sellswords suspiciously. Tullweim held out the note he’d been given and was told only he would be admitted.

The Aesir took in the sight of the Countess’ mansion as he moved through the gardens to the heavy front door. Once Tullweim entered the front hall he saw a broad-shouldered man with black hair and a proud nose lounging on a divan. The man sneered at the barbarian with a scathing remark to which Tullweim responded in kind. Affronted, the noble drew his sword and declared, “You must not know who I am, outlander. I am Lord Taramenon, and will not be spoken to in this manner without challenge.” Obviously skilled with a blade, the enraged noble landed two solid hits on the Nordheimer, but could not penetrate past the mercenaries’ armor. Tullweim lifted his greatsword in response but found both of his mighty swings easily parried by the noble. Before the fight could go further, Countess Synelle intervened and demanded an end to the swordplay. Taramenon sheathed his sword, bowed before the Countess and begged her pardon. Tullweim put his sword away as well and also offered his apologies. The Countess thanked the barbarian for arriving with haste and led him to her study where she asked him to sit, then pointedly said, “You torment me, you know that, don’t you?” She stood perplexed for a moment, then seemed to change her mind about something and suddenly became quite business-like. She called a servant in to fetch the Aesir’s companions and handed Tullweim half the company’s wages as promised.

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Night 3 continued

Galbro leveled a steely gaze at Tullweim and repeated his demand, “give me the crucible!” The Aesir’s barbarian instincts screamed at him to rush into the room sword swinging but Tullweim knew he couldn’t take all 4 thieves and live to tell the tale. The desperation in Galbro’s face was obvious to the barbarian so he took a step back and said, “I’ll take you to it.” The master thief nodded, “drop your sword.” The barbarian dropped his greatsword and 2 of the Ophirean thieves flanked Tullweim, followed by Galbro, who held his sword at the barbarian’s side. Tullweim told the Zingaran thief that the urn was downstairs. Galbro turned to the thief who restrained Accalia and said, “If you hear any struggle, kill the girl.” The young slave-girl gave a frightened look to Tullweim and the thief stifled her scream. Tullweim turned with a stern but resigned look on his face and led the 3 thieves to the stairs. When they reached the stairwell, Taras stood in the way. The Zamorian had traveled down from the floor above to investigate. Tullweim told him to return upstairs and the surprised Zamorian quickly nodded in assent.

Meanwhile, in the gardens below, Xacksmith and 3 Crimson Wolves squared off with 3 bandits, garbed differently than Galbro’s men. The brigands’ sling bullets bounced off the Wolves’ armor and they were able to close in on 2 of the intruders. The thieves both attempted to tumble out of reach and one was killed in the attempt. The other was knocked unconscious by the Hyrkanian, and the third scaled the wall and was over in seconds, he quickly vanished through the streets and alleyways before the slower mercenaries could give chase.

At the same moment, Cuana made his way up the stairs and was surprised to run into Tullweim surrounded by enemies, one of which he recognized from the Bull and Bear, and no resistance was apparent. The Cimmerian growled and reached for his sword when Tullweim ordered Cuana to back off. Cuana slowly moved back down the stairs and Galbro demanded he move 30 feet past the landing of the lower floor. Dhak’s keen ears had heard the Aesir’s order to Cuana just as Xacksmith re-entered the palace with his captive. The Stygian gave a knowing look to Xacksmith, told the Crimson Wolves that entered with him to stand ready and hid behind a divan with bow drawn. The Hyrkanian pressed up against the stairs so nobody who walked down would see him.

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Day 3 continued

The adventurers concluded their discussion with the slave girl who until his death, belonged to Urian the slaver. The party was still hurt from wounds previously received and went to the merchant district in search of curatives. They did not have to travel far as Urian’s home was on the outskirts of the mercantile district and an hour’s worth of asking around led them to an apothecary. A plethora of herbs and poultice scents wafted around the mercenaries within the smoke-filled shop. Behind a counter stood a short, older Ophirean merchant. He eyed the foreigners warily and curtly asked what they wanted. When told of their desire for curatives, the merchant went behind a curtain and retrieved a clay jar which contained several doses of a poultice made from Acacia extract. The party haggled and was able to purchase several doses of the healing mixture. They left the shop and ducked behind a nearby alley, removing their armor to apply the poultice and immediately felt it’s effects.

Dhak mentioned his need of power to fuel his sorcery to the rest of the party and they agreed to aid him in harvesting the necessary mystical energy from whatever street folk they encountered. It was not difficult for the mercenaries to locate 2 unfortunates in an alley. Cuana and Tullweim each grabbed one of the vagrants, who kicked and fought helplessly within the barbarians’ vice-like grip while Dhak placed his hands firmly on their faces and drained them of their senses. After setting them back down, Cuana slipped a single silver into each vagrants’ tattered tunic. With Dhak flush with power the party made their way further into the slums towards the Tovalis mansion.

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Night 2

The party had traversed the crowded streets of Ianthe and questioned the inhabitants of the Old City district for a long, hard day. Tullweim, Cuana, Dhak, and Xacksmith needed a tall mug of ale. The group traveled across the emptied streets through the dim light to the Bull & Bear inn. Once there, they looked around for any familiar faces but found only 6 of the Gate of Avenrakash’s guards who gambled with 2 mercenaries, and the wench who had attempted to lighten Tullweim’s purse the parties’ first night in Ianthe. The party took a table and gruffly ordered ale from the wench, listened for any mention of the group in the inn, and heard only low grumbles from a couple of the guards. Tullweim bought the gate guards’ table a round as well. Dhak approached the guards about Galbro and got a racist remark for his troubles. Dhak turned away with a sneer on his face and was about to walk back to his table when one soldier told Dhak he’d heard of Galbro’s network of thieves. Dhak turned at the soldiers’ words and was told to search a certain sewer in Ianthe’s slums for a secret entrance to the Zingaran’s lair. Dhak sensed the guards’ true intent was not to aid but to have the party tromp though the cities sewers and provide the guards with a joke to tell in future nights. Dhak spoke to his comrades, they finished their ale and left the inn in a resentful mood.

The adventurers returned to Baron Timeon’s palace and met with Enaro, who informed them of the low level of the troops’ morale. Cuana attempted to rouse the companies’ spirits but could not find the right words. Tullweim then promised the troops they would win through this difficult time with their lives and plenty of silver to take home to Nemedia. A loud cheer rose in response and Tullweim turned to see Timeon’s chamberlain fast approaching down a corridor. Vanemoth informed the party the Baron was not happy that half his slaves had fled in the night from the display of mummery and sorcery Dhak had shown. Tullweim shot Dhak an annoyed look and had the chamberlain lead him to the Baron. Baron Timeon spat vitriol and bile at the adventurers for the loss of his slaves and swore that the cost of each one would come out of the mercenaries’ pay. Tullweim was able to calm the Baron down with assurances that no such thing would again occur and Dhak intimidated the Baron, who let them be for the moment.

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The Search for the Assassin

Tullweim, Xacksmith, Lady Julia and three members of the Crimson Wolves stood in the room with Katos’ lifeless body. Several of Baron Timeon’s servants arrived to clean up the mess in the room and remove the body of the dead Argossean merchant but Tullweim wouldn’t allow it. The Aesir demanded that nothing in the room be touched until Cuana and Dhak had a chance to survey the scene. Tullweim posted 2 mercenaries at the door and put the rest on high alert. They were to sleep in shifts and patrol the grounds for the rest of the night. Tullweim wanted to post 2 guards at the Baron’s door, but the Baron refused to allow the guards within 30 feet of his door. Though he too was concerned for his safety, Timeon desired privacy even more, and insisted, quite importantly, that his friends in court would never allow him to be assassinated. After the Baron left, Tullweim ordered Taras to keep watch over Timeon’s balcony.

Lady Julia was rather bored by the mystery and would rather stay at the palace than get involved. The Nemedian troops were quite fretful and Lady Julia’s beautiful hand-maiden Torali added to their fear when she said “only a supernatural being could have penetrated into the heart of the palace.” Tullweim’s slave Accalia then ran up to Katos’ room to find the barbarian. She stopped in shock at Tullweim completely naked in the hallway with Lady Julia in a bed sheet at his side. The barbarian clumsily attempted to smooth the situation over while he walked with Accalia back to his room.

Once preparations were made and armor was donned, Tullweim decided to locate Cuana and Dhak. Cuana had left word that he would be at the Bull & Bear inn so the Aesir and Hyrkanian headed that way down Ianthe’s darkened streets. When they arrived at the inn, they found Cuana had purchased a large keg of ale for the troops. Tullweim pulled the group outside and explained their current predicament. Dhak was eager to have a look at the crime scene and Cuana and Tullweim carted the keg back to Baron Timeon’s palace. When they arrived they looked the scene over and all the clues found were made known to the Cimmerian and Stygian. It was decided they would need to question Baron Timeon and perhaps confront him with what they already suspected about his dealings with Al’Kiir.

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The Riders

Early, on the second day traveling back from the mines, Xacksmith scouted ahead of the caravan in the fog and saw a band of 10 riders who were trying to remain hidden traveling parallel to the caravan. Xacksmith reported his findings to Tullweim and company. Once the 10 riders realized they’d been spotted they withdrew into the forest. Later, at noon, the caravan stopped to rest and replenish. The 10 riders were again spotted. Dhak and Xacksmith stealthily moved towards the riders while Tullweim and Cuana got the caravan moving again. The Aesir and Cimmerian then trotted to the riders under the guise of parleying. The riders immediately fled and disappeared over a hillcrest.

Tullweim and Cuana chased after them, but lost sight of the riders. The two experienced trackers did see horse tracks leading down towards a small hut. An elderly woman was in front of the hut doing her washing in a brook. She seemed very old and a bit mad. The Aesir called out to the woman and noticed that she was blind, yet seemed to see them easily. Tullweim and Cuana coaxed some information out of the her, some of it quite startling. When asked about the riders, the old hag responded, “I saw no riders but sensed an unholy presence pass by this spot. The poor ground shook in her terror. Beware. Worry not yourselves with gold. The earth herself is in fear. The crucible which will forge him anew has been exhumed, lost from my care. For millenia I have watched it and now it is gone.” Dhak and Xacksmith caught up to Tullweim and Cuana in time to hear the old witch’s most shocking revelation, “With Al’Kiir’s return all hope will be gone. None can escape his will. He is impervious to puny weapons such as yours. Only the Staff of Avanrakash can destroy him. He is not far away. His purpose is at hand. At nights now I hear his servants calling him. They lacked yet the crucible, but now that it is in their hands the last rite will be performed and the earth doomed.” Dhak’s Stygian mind was quite intrigued by the old woman’s tale, and wished to spend more time discussing matters with her, but the rest of the party was eager to give chase to the riders. Dhak requested any aid the old hag could give, and she gave him 4 doses of a healing salve she had concocted.

The party followed the horse tracks into a small woods. They found a bind of 10 horsemen clothed in red and faces hidden by hoods. Steel sparked and blood was shed as the outnumbered party fought their foes on horseback. The riders’ tactics of spiritedly charging the party with ride-by attacks took its toll on even the heavily armored Tullweim. Xacksmith shot arrow after arrow into a single rider, who fled, near to gasping his final breath. Dhak threw his last orb of Acheronian demon-fire at a rider who wore a bronze charm around his neck and was startled to see the rider was not shaken by it. Cuana was quickly pressed by 3 of the riders and responded by striking a mighty blow which felled one rider and immediately cleaved another. In the end, 2 of the riders were taken prisoner and their leader felled. The leader’s body was examined, the hood removed and the party discovered a familiar face underneath. It was Darios, the dead Argossean! The old wounds from several days past were easily discernible on his body. How he came to be alive again sent a shudder down all but the Stygian’s spine.

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The Morning After

The mercenaries ate breakfast at the inn and Katos met them there to lead them to Baron Timeon’s palace. The party passed a wide boulevard near the Golden Circle, where money and stolen goods often changed hands, loud trumpets brayed out, followed by an expectant murmur of the crowd, The Street cleared to make way for a procession. A large group of Ophirean cavalry pranced by, followed by numerous courtiers dressed in gaudy finery. Behind them rode General Iskandrian, a proud veteran with a shock of white hair belyied the strength still apparent in his bulged neck. This was the man who would determine the future of Ophir. Behind him, in a litter, rode King Valdric, a frail old man in obvious poor health. Across his lap laid a long gem-encrusted staff, the royal scepter of Ophir. Behind him rode another large unit of cavalry. They passed by.

Sandwiched between a temple to Mitra and a pottery shop, stood a small pretentious palace. Tastelessly brocaded columns ran across the front veranda. Wide marble steps decorated with poorly carved flowers led up to two huge bronze doors which bore the Timeon crest, two red wolves on a field of deep blue. The crest might have been impressive, except that the wolves were smiling rather than snarling. Katos mounted the steps and looked a little pale. “I wish Darios might have been here,” he whispered. “It will mean great grief he has been murdered. He was the Baron’s favorite”

Tullweim pounded on the door, and a thin, sour-aired chamberlain opened it and asked their business. The chamberlain, Vanemoth, was irritatingly condescending, even to Katos, and insisted that the Baron was too busy to be bothered with any military trifles that day. It appeared Katos had fallen out of favor. It was also obvious Vanemoth considered the mercenaries’ tattered clothing and foreign accents abominable and would rather not see them again. Lady Julia cursed him loudly. A threat from Tullweim and Cuana cowed the chamberlain and gained the party admittance.

The chamberlain disappeared up some ornate stairs. As they party waited, they looked about and noticed the palace’s garish decor. Flimsy furniture, pretty flowers, and second-rate tapestries abounded.

The mercenaries soon heard a shout from above and saw the chamberlain retreat down the hall backwards, he bowed as he went. A balding man in a silk robe approached, his stomach bulged, his pasty little legs popped in and out from beneath his brocaded gown. He was obviously drunk, “What is all this noise? I’ve told you, Vanemoth, never to disturb me while I’m researching! What do those stinking barbars want?”

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The Kingdom of Ophir was the most ancient of kingdoms existing in the Hyborian Age, dating back to the time of sorcerous Acheron itself. It was a place of mystery and power, dark forests, haunted mountains, black crypts steeped in gloom, where horrors and treasures laid rotting beneath the soil.

Yet it was also a place of life, ruled by kings and feuding nobles, peopled by sturdy peasants and cunning city-folk, ravaged by bandits, defended by mercenaries and armies alike. It was a country isolated by its own stubbornness, suspicious of the world beyond, and lacking real allies. It was friendly to Aquilonia and Corinthia, distrustful of Nemedia and Koth, disdainful of Argos.

Ophir’s troubles were growing. Childless King Valdric was dying, his physicians had found no cure. He had faith in their powers to restore him and refused to name an heir, fearful that any heir might be eager to hasten the king’s departure. His nobles were sure that no cure would be found and that the country would soon be left without king or heir. They maneuvered for the throne, amassed private armies, plotted. No noble had yet dared to kill another, but the mercenaries had ridden past burnt villages and fields, past plundered warehouses, past murdered captains laying in stained fields while vultures circled overhead. The king’s army hid while bandits raided freely, and the Ophireans became refugees within their own land, fleeing to the safety of the cities.

It was through this land the Crimson Wolves journeyed for there were reports of good work for any who could swing a sword or cut a purse. The only catch was to avoid having their own purse or throat cut, for that is what the parties’ fellow freebooters were paid to do.

The mercenary company recently crossed the Nemedian border and traveled toward the Ophirean capital of Ianthe where, according to rumor, rich employment awaited them. The roads were thick with refugees, their carts piled high with the few humble goods which escaped flame and bandit.

Meeting in the Sarellian Forest

The 50 hardy Nemedian Adventurers traveling with the party were trained in war’s ways, and were a company the party could confidently lead into battle. But the parties’ silver was fast disappearing and the troop’s contract was nearly over. It was quite clear to Tullweim den Morder, leader of the Crimson Wolves, these were men who fought for coin, not honor or glory. According to their guide, the party was in the Sarellian Forest, a half-day’s ride northeast of Ianthe. As Tullweim, Cuana, Dhak, and Xacksmith mused over their nearly empty purse, the company rounded a bend in the forest-darkened road. Ahead they saw the remnants of a caravan, most of the travelers laid dead beneath the dark trees. Twenty horsed bandits were amusing themselves by taunting the four survivors who were still trying to fight. Two of the survivors looked to be from Argos, judging from their apparel. One was a blond-haired woman who, as the company watched, skewered a bandit on the end of a sword, then leapt astride his vacant horse. The fourth appeared to be a madman from Khitai, a berserk warrior frothing at the mouth. The bandits kept their distance from him.

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