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While Gorfang was doing all this, Lynien and Eloy had objectives of their own. Lynien, having found out for herself who the best armourer in Vorsand was, went down to see Lynnil. Having established that he was the man doing Gorfang's commission, she handed over her share of the plundered mithril and detailed her own requirements. Gorfang had not gone into any detail over the design of his mailshirt, stressing efficiency and protection over design, but Lynien wasn't going to have just any scruffy jerkin if it was to be made from something this special. She wanted it form-fitting, flattering, and jewelled with some gems that she had been keeping back. Lynnil called over one of his apprentices, who was good with a pencil, and he took some sketches and measurements of the tiefling with enthusiasm.
 DM Note: The player wants to find Gloves of Dexterity, but I'm trying to record it as the character would view it rather than descending to crass game mech terms!. |
Next she went to see the Boggart, to discuss her other requirements. She was aware of magics that existed to speed the hand and eye, to enhance her already considerable deftness, and was, she explained delicately, willing to negotiate hiring her especial skills in part payment for such magic. The Boggart agreed to investigate this, while assuring her of his discretion in the matter.
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Meanwhile, Eloy had spent several hours in the vast libraries of the Dark Tower, doing some research. He'd started off with research into temples and religions, but gradually it had dawned on him that, rather than learning about dogmas and systems belonging to other religions, he would be better cutting Sabath's cult from new cloth. There was no established church to offend if his rituals and forms were different to the old ones - and his god was in no position to be fussy. Given the fate of His original worshippers, it was quite likely that improvements were there to be made. He turned to other subjects, and learned some interesting aspects of Tarlanoran law as applied to religions. There was considerable scope, he thought, to fit Sabath's cult into this society, but there were some lines that could not be crossed and he made careful note of them.
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Next, he went to meet Skufruss (in point of fact, though he didn't know it, he was the next appointment after Gorfang). Like the orc, he related to the Lord of Tarlanor their adventures since leaving Vorsand a week before. Unlike Gorfang, he described the lizardlike intruders and their interplanar abilities. To conclude, he drew the black dagger and handed it to Skufruss. The Lord of Dragons examined it carefully, casting an Identify spell which told him it was an Opener of the Way. He then cast an Anti-Magic Shell and moved the weapon in a careful arc as Eloy had described. A hole in the world appeared, leading through to somewhere totally other - a desert somewhere, under a redder sun than Alair's. A hot breeze blew on their faces. Skufruss extracted the dagger, and the rupture in reality healed itself. "Impressive," said the Lord of Dragons. Eloy shrugged. "It's little use to me," he said, "keep it if you'd like." Skufruss appeared surprised, a rarity for he seldom showed emotion. "Thank you," he said, inclining his head slightly. "This is a princely gift."
Gorfang had also been enquiring about enchantments - enhancements to the mail shirts Lynnil was forging, and similar improvements to his agility to Lynien's. He'd found a wizard willing to take on the commissions, but the cost was higher than even the wealth Gorfang had managed to plunder recently could support. A solution would have to be found. He glanced out of the window at the setting sun. He'd been 'working' far too long; it was time to go off duty...
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The next morning, Eloy and Lynien were startled when Gorfang joined them for breakfast, apparently none the worse for his night. They'd seen him when he came in, utterly and speechlessly intoxicated - his addictions having had their revenge for being suppressed for so long. Now, however, he was ready for the day and in good appetite.
Shortly after breakfast, a message reached them from Skufruss, inviting them to attend him at their convenience. Gorfang muttered a bit, "Fella can't leave us alone," he said, but his heart wasn't really in it. The Lord of Dragons might be many things, but boring wasn't one of them. 
He stood to greet them, and said a few words to each of the three in welcome. Lynien had something on her mind, and piped up, "Can I see your treasuries before I go?" The Lord of Tarlanor looked at her knowingly. "You'd never sleep soundly again," he said in diplomatic refusal. Lynien subsided, unconvinced.
Skufruss cleared his throat. Here we go, thought Eloy. "I am aware," said Skufruss, "that each of you has been enquiring and seeking after services or items of magic - logical, there is no better place to do so. I have been watching your progress and development, and young Lynien here has the correct idea. You are in a position to perform a service, a trade,an operation for me, in return for which I am prepared to ... arrange the results you desire."
| DM Note: For an eyewitness account of the Elf Hammer, click here. For a picture, click here for the Classic Alair gallery. |
He glanced around the three, saw understanding and interest, and continued. "As Lynien has suggested, you three are a good choice to obtain something that I want, which is held by someone else. It's not really stealing, either, because it's actually mine. I would like you to recover the Elf Hammer for me."
The three pondered this for a moment. "Why now?" asked Gorfang shrewdly. Skufruss shrugged. "I could probably have freed it myself if I went there, but I'm not ready for a war with the elves. Belamir is small yet, but adding the forces on Viridor makes them strong enough not to tackle lightly. You, on the other hand, can slip in without being noticed; the main road - if you can call it that - that goes into Belamir runs right past the mound. You're the first opportunity I've had to try and retrieve it."
"What will it do if we do free it?" asked Lynien, "will it continue attacking the elves?" Eloy was right on her heels; "Will it attack us?" he asked urgently. Skufruss shook his head definitively. "It'll do whatever I ask it to," he said firmly. Eloy smiled slightly. "What will you use it for when you get it back?" he asked. "It will improve my country's security," Skufruss said blandly.
"We'll do it," said Gorfang. "There is one thing I would ask though. I am trying to arrange supplies for Gadûhvrás. Can you organize getting them teleported up there please?" Skufruss nodded and it was settled.
They spent the rest of the day organizing supplies and equipment for the journey to Belamir. Gorfang bought two months' supplies for his settlers, added some barrels of ale, and watched as one of Skufruss' wizards teleported the lot across the miles to the ancient orc city. Lynien and Eloy both added to their stocks of poisons, Lynien concentrating on sleep poison whereas Eloy sought out more deadly lethal chemicals.
The next morning, Skufruss once more summoned Gorfang. This time, the page brought the orc outside the Academy for a steep climb up the cliffs behind the Academy of Magic. It was worth the climb; the whole city was spread below him in the morning light, the Dark Tower looming ominously at his right shoulder, by the time he reached the dragonheights.
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These were the homes of the dragons that served Skufruss, and had obviously been created by magic; wide flat ledges, each with a deep cave behind for the dragon to lair in. The monsters were grouped by breed, but nevertheless, there was no way this many dragons would ever live in this proximity naturally. There would be a terrible fight and one fat dragon left afterwards. Only the domination of the Sceptre kept them from it.
Skufruss was waiting there, standing next to a red dragon somewhat smaller than Setram, though fully adult. "Gorfang," said Skufruss. "I thought it fitting that you negotiate your wishes directly; and alone - it would never do to let Lynien see this," he gestured at the dragons' hoards. "This is Ohmond." The huge head tilted towards Gorfang. "Good morning, orc," came the dark, rumbling voice, "what service do you desire of me? Lord Skufruss has told me I may not eat you, but has not laid instruction to agree to your proposal on me."
Gorfang, remembering dealing with Setram, laid on some flattery, telling the dragon that the honour and kudos of possession armour dragonforged with Ohmond's fire specifically was something he had come a great distance to obtain. The dragon appeared impressed - to a point. "I shall require paying in gold, as well," he said. Gorfang offered him a golden statue of Lolth, obtained in Lossal what seemed an age ago. Gorfang asked what else the dragon desired, and the answer surprised him. It seemed Ohmond was bored; he desired riddles, puzzling talk, strange languages to listen to, tales of adventures. Gorfang agreed to talk to him all through the forging process and the deal was struck.
For two days, the huge red dragon had lain coiled through the alleys behind Lynnil's forge, his head in the furnace, breathing a slow, constant needle of intense heat into the forging. Lynnil and his journeymen and apprentices had worked non-stop, forging and moulding, their movements strangely formal and ritualized. As the glowing metal came out of the forge, Gorfang thought he could see a strange aura to it. Was it the results of being forged to weapons-quality? Or the effect of being dragonforged? He couldn't tell, and wasn't free to go and look. For two days and nights, he'd sat in the smothering heat next to Ohmond's vast head, talking constantly; in as many langauges as possible, of as many things as possible. He had also listened; it had taken very little leading to bring the dragon onto the subject of his slavery, and the depth of his loathing for the Sceptre of the Dragon Lords and its' wielder awed Gorfang, himself no stranger to the art of hate. It grew on the orc as he listened that Skufruss' empire was balanced on a needle's point; were he to lose or break the Sceptre, the whole edifice would fly apart explosively.
Then it was done. Ohmond flew back to the 'heights. Lynnil and his forgehands stumbled away or collapsed into sleep where they were. Even Gorfang was tired enough to need sleep.
While all this had been going on, Eloy had taken Shamlakh for some excercise, allowing the warg to run outside the gates of the city though there was little to hunt there.
The next morning, they left the city, leaving a request with the Boggart to have someone scry them in three weeks' time, just to check progress.
| DM Note: The fight actually started this session, but I'll keep it all together in the next log rather than split it up. |
A week later, the uneventful trip through Tarlanor was complete, and they were more or less where they reckoned the border with New Tellare to be. It was a glorious summer day, just past noon, and they had stopped for lunch under a small stand of trees near a stream. Lunch, as always when cooked by Bog, had been excellent, and everyone was dozing quietly in the shade when Lynien's quick eyes caught the surreal sight of a hole in the air. A short black blade speared into reality from nowhere and began to describe an arch through nothing. Well aware of what this meant, the three rolled rapidly to their feet, meaning to swarm the gate and kill the openers before many lizards could get through. Unfortunately, when they looked around, they realized that there was not one gateway in the air.
There were five....
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