Prelude

"Alas, poor Maglor, it would seem,

Destined to sing to none but scaled, lidless eyes,

Nevermore to cheer the hearth with witty verse or rousing ballad,

Cry, you lasses! Bemoan our common fate!

But ever is it such: what might have been surpasses what will be.

Lidless eyes in darkest depths shall watch the beauteous bard return to earth."

"Thus, to watery grave, do I bequeath myself,

Ah, Magda, weep for your son!

Your hopes, pinned as they are,

On a weary child, doomed to never see the future,

So cheerily foretold,

By light-hearted fortune-tellers

In summer glens, filled with laughter.

To my watery grave I go:

Unloved, unmissed, forsaken.

Weep, world!"

"Lady, how is it that you come to share poor Maglor's fate: to die, near alone, in the grip of cruel waters? Speak, m'lady!" he calls to her.

Grimacing with exhaustion, an annoyed nearby swimmer shouts, "Shut your pie-hole and swim!"

Reaching the limits of his endurance, the grey-green skinned being -- a man with obvious orcish heritage in his bloodline -- can only muster the strength to mutter to himself, "If that guy doesn't shut up I am going to paddle over there and drown him myself!"

Maglor falls silent thinking to himself. What's this I hear? An angry voice? Could it be some sea-demon, come to torment poor Maglor? No, it is that Spag-creature. The orcish one I had seen shackled to the ship planks near me, before the giant tentacle of some monster from the deep fathoms ripped apart the slaver ship. Aye, there is little love lost between us. But I sense that he is honorable under his rough words.

But what care I whether he is or isn't? My hear soars at the voice of a lark! 'Tis true, no doubt that some might call her harpy, but to my eye there can be none more fair. Come to me, my love! While you live, there is yet hope!

The Lady Polradia responds to the earlier laments of the poor half-elven bard, so bereft of hope, clinging to one small plank, a slender small hope.

"Now you are not being very nice, nor very supportive, I might add. What a poor soul adrift in the sea of life, looking for shelter from the strife, something to cling to in the storm tossed waves of our all to brief existence.

Worry not my beloved, I am coming, together we can survive the turbulent seas ere we find shelter, safety, and repose from the storm, mayhap a small island of peace.

Did I ever mention how much I hate boats and salt water!? Not that we had a choice mind you, but remind me if we ever get out of this to never, ever even think about getting on a boat again."

With that she settles into a daze, clutching tightly a small remnant of the ship, as the sun beats mercilessly down on her exposed head and shoulders. Her licks her cracked and bleeding, Polradia tries to brush the stinging salt from her eyes. So crazed by thirst is she, that she contemplates gulping down the salt water, even knowing it would quickly kill her.

Suddenly she snaps awake as she worries about some great fish or another creature from the deep finding her dangling legs an appetizing meal. Weak and exhausted, she just falls back into a stupor, thinking to herself how easy it would be to just let go and sleep forever in the arms of the sea. However, setting her jaw firmly, Polradia's last thought is: But no, I am free, and I will get through this. I will survive!

Time passes at an unknown rate. Other survivors find pieces of the wrecked ship and hold on, drifting and floating, hoping for a rescue.

Delirium? Perhaps, thought Maglor. It is so hard to know. It is as if the universe has never been more than this: clinging to a water-logged plank in a vast ocean. Everything else that came before was only a dream.

A dream? Was it a dream, then, when Caranthir -- whom Maglor has never fully trusted -- proposed a toast to Maglor's performance at the inn? Was it a dream, then, that Maglor felt a drug-induced stupor fall upon him after imbibing the quaff? Was it a dream that he saw Caranthir laughing as he felt himself slumping to the floor?

"No," says Maglor. "I have been betrayed. Betrayed by my cousin. Betrayed by my own pride. Sold into slavery and by some miracle, I have been released from my shackles to drift in the sea and ponder my fate.

If compassionate Mielikki, the goddess of all that is gentle and beautiful, determines that I am to live, I make her this pledge: Ever shall Maglor strive to abolish the enslavement of good creatures. I swear it in front of these witness: my fellow castaways, including the fair Polradia.

Maglor has spoken."

In the distance, a loud splashing of oars disturbs the rolling waves. Soon afterwards, a shout permeates the air, "Captain Redous Ranther, there be more survivors oer'dare."

A commanding voice replies, "We know not how far land be, dey would only use our supplies. Now row ye cowards, row!"

Captain Redous Ranther...that is a name that Maglor shall remember. Oh, yes, my love, Polradia. And Captain Ranther shall remember us, as well. Perhaps he shall rule the day, now that he has left us here, adrift...if only we can live through this ordeal.

"Come, comrades! Let vengeance be the strength to succor us, when all strength is gone!" shouts Maglor with renewed vigor.

"The slave ship's captain yet lives!?" The thought of it stuns Spag into a moment of clarity, though he is exhausted.

"If I make it ashore, the cruel Ranther will feel my vengeance as a blade in the heart! He and his men must be killed as they are the only ones who could reveal me for the escaped slave that I am. I will not surrender myself back into bondage, ever!"

"I'm too young and too beautiful to die," Polradia thought, "though this sun and salt is totally ruining my complexion!"

Suddenly she notices her fellow survivors stirring and lifts her head weakly to look. It is none other than the slaver and some of his crew blithely rowing away, jeering at herself and the others. Well, Tymora was pretty evenhanded that way, the coin apt to fall one way as the other.

"Hmmm," she murmered as she eyed the others thoughtfully, "mayhap it will inspire determination in this lot to get through this rather and give us a common goal, giving that pig of a captain what he naturally deserves." With that, she fell into a lull thinking about how to use this setback into an advantage.

Darkness falls once again as the oars splashing moves farther and father down the horizon.

Always making sure that he had Polradia in sight as they drifted, Maglor soon spots land and beckons for her to paddle and steer in that direction. Dawn brought daylight in their favor, for had they been this close to the shore in the darkness of night, they would not have maneuvered themselves closer to it, and might easily have drifted in the opposite direction.

Setting foot on firm ground for the first time in days, they almost stumble. Immediately the two spot a large, older fellow -- a bearded elf -- approaching them, and they stepped back in caution. Polradia notices the same slave rags and loincloth on this figure and some of the tension is eased.

"Hail, friends, I am Grish. The two of you look weary and worn... just as the rest of us. I was a healer of sorts before my enslavement, and I'll tend to your wounds to the best of my abilities."

Grish helps the two of them to their feet and guides them away from the beach towards a green pasture where another survivor sat.

"Maglor? Maglor!" shouts the lithe female elf. "I'm so glad you made it!. Who's this?"

"Aye, bless Mielikki you're alive, Kyilaliana. With me is the fair Polradia. Pol, this is my cousin, Kyilaliana Jadystana."

Suddenly noticing the bard's eyes probing her barely clothed and sunburnt skin, Polradia dashes towards some foliage and places it between her and Maglor's line of sight.

"Watch your filthy eyes! I'll not have you look at me like that without some decent clothing."

Maglor begins a witty remark, but is cut short by Grish. Leaving Polradia to settle down by herself, the three begin contemplating what course of action comes next. Nevertheless, Maglor's attention is always focused on her. The land looks lush, and feels safe.

Suddenly, a rustle of the grass behind them disturbs the meeting. Another slave castaway from the wreck, an unkempt and haggard looking -- scruffier than most slaves from the same ship -- human male emerges from the direction of a eastern shore.

"Ah, pleased to see I'm not alone here. Mind if I join you? Name's T.A. Grimbergen."

Before Maglor and Grish can even respond, the young man collapses from exhaustion onto the soft grass.

By nightfall, the group has scrounged up some wood for a campfire and decide to wait till daybreak tomorrow for more survivors to trickle in before moving on.

Warmed by the fire, the five huddle together and drift from out of wakefulness, and none are able to keep watch. All have had little sleep in captivity, especially in the last few nights.

The stillness of the night is shattered by a loud cursing and sploshing from the beach.

"Mathah..ugga.. kugga! Move it, buddy!" A familiar rough voice.

Grish quickly puts out the fire in order to better conceal their position. The rest take cover among the brush, ready to bolt if danger arises.

While Maglor's half-elven lowlight sight abilities are no match for his elven cousin's, they still provide better vision in darkness than the regular human eyes that Grimbergen and Grish have. He can see the faint outlines of a hulking brute dragging along a limp body, approaching where the extinguished campfire had left an obvious visual and odorous trail of smoke.

"Spag! I don't know if I should be happy to see you or not," exclaimed Maglor as he moved into the clearing.

"Ah, you, the bard. Heh. Well, looks like we're stuck here together. I got someone here who may yet live." With that, he drops the body of a unhealthily pale and slim elven man with fiery red hair onto the ground.

"Are you sure he's still alive? His skin is blue as one who had drowned," commented Grimbergen.

"Nay, he lives. That's his natural light blue -"

Before Spag could finish, the elvish man coughs out a huge mouthful of water.

"As I was saying, his skin is normally that color. I think his name is Vren D' something or another."

"Well c'mon then, let's get this fire started again and let me take a look at him," invited Grish.

Part 2

By noon the next day, the seven castaways had slept well and were ready to move. No other survivors had come, and they decided it would be best to stick together for the moment. Vren D'Lunarae was able to introduce himself, and proposed choosing a party leader. The votes favored Maglor, as he was the ablest of the tongue and wit.

The land seemed friendly. Dense foliage immediately began to the north of the beach, with higher hills nestled slightly more inland. Gulls, terns, and other shorebirds lazily foraged along the coast. A warm ocean breeze greeted the party as they started off, a fresh sign of their newfound freedom. They began the exploration for food, and hopefully civilization, eastward along the shore. Kyilaliana and Polradia, both seemingly skilled in scouting, led the group, moving skillfully along what cover was available in order to spot threats before being noticed themselves.

The journey proved uneventful till late afternoon, when Kyilaliana noticed a silhouette of a ship farther down the eastern shore. Approaching with caution, the party soon realized it was a wreck -- although still intact -- that had gone aground many months, perhaps even years, ago. The vessel also bore little resemblance to the slavers' ships.

Unfortunately, the companions were so fixated on the ship they missed a group of animated undead skeletons skulking in. As one neared melee distance, Spag's gladiator skills shone as he sprang into action and tore the spine out of one of them. The others hastily redoubled and shattered the other two, armed with longbows, into piles of bones.

It was agreed that Kyilaliana, a woodswoman, and Polradia, trained in the arts of skullduggery and stand-off weapons, should keep the bows. Those were useless, though, as arrows were unavailable. The skeletons had used up the few they had, and those could not be recovered for reuse.

A consensus was reached to explore the ship. Now carefully surveying the land and the frigate as they moved, the group found a plank boarding the vessel on the opposite side. They paused to reflect. Was it worth it? Could there be more undead aboard? Taking a deep breath, Kyilaliana and Spag led the way onboard.

The stench of those decomposing flesh was overpowering, especially in these humid conditions. Similarly, much of the wooden superstructure had rotted in lieu of adequate care. Still, the companions badly needed provisions, and they carefully searched the ship. Vren cast a magical orb of light to aid the search in the dark quarters.

To their relief, only corpses littered the decks. They scavenged a good supply of dry rations, maggot infested after having been left unchecked for so long. Polradia finally donned some clothing to cover herself from Maglor's unwelcome glances. Filthy as it was, the bard's gaze was filthier. Also among the loot was a rusty chainmail tunic, torn off a corpse not needing it anymore. It was given to Spag, as he was the first line of defense. Most importantly, though, was a good stock of arrows for the two archers. Knives and other miscellaneous items were distributed among the adventurers.

Quickly disembarking, the group set up camp not far from the craft. The setting sun cast a beautiful red-orange gradient sky, which none had had the chance the enjoy for a long while. Ignoring the conditions of the rations, the companions were pleased to have any sort of food. Maglor began poetry and song which no one objected to. Vren began spell memorizations, and Spag took the first watch, followed by others as the night wore on.

They set off eastward at the first light of day, and soon encountered another band of animated skeletons roaming the coast. These were quickly dispatched and put of their unholy misery.

"It bothers me that the lands are tainted with these undead," began Grish as the battle ended.

"Aye, Brother Grish, there must be an origin to these foul creatures nearby." Picking a rusty but solid longsword dropped by one of the fallen, Grimbergen swings and thrusts the blade at the invisible foe to test its balance. "Anyone care if I keep this?"

"I can do well enough with my fists for now," responded Spag. The rest of the group concurred.

Readying themselves to move on, Kyilaliana returned from her forward reconnaissance. "We should try to move more inland now. We cannot advance farther east."

Polradia agreed with the elven ranger: "Yes, the beach ends quickly and a rocky shoreline begins. It would not be wise to continue east. We should try the hills and perhaps gain a better vantage point of where to continue."

Marching through the knee-high brush and up the hills proved more challenging than the flat land of the coast. The land grew more and more uneven as they advanced up the hills. Kyilaliana's skills were necessary to find the most optimal routes.

Without a warning, two rabid badgers leaped upon Polradia and Spag. They two feral animals proved no match for these slaves who had already endured much. The flesh of these beasts looked a tempting meal, but further analysis found them infected with some animal diseases that easily spread to across species.

Resuming a careful advance upwards, Polradia is first to observe a giant black bear foraging through some raspberry bushes.

"I believe we would do best to avoid this bear, and head back and find another way around," said Kyilaliana.

"Agreed. It looks quite ferocious and is not something we can easily beat like those badgers," respnded Maglor. "Let's go around."

"Are you sure? We'd have to backtrack a long way. I don't recall having seen alternate routes for some time," argued Grimbergen.

Perhaps he spoke a little too loud, as the bear came charging in, a huge mass of muscle, fur, and ferocity. A few arrows struck it, but they only angered the bear more. A flash of steel and claws later, and Grimbergen was knocked down, sporting an enormous laceration across his chest. The bear was finally put down after everyone contributed to the fray.

Brother Grish quickly layed his hands on the wounded and prayed for healing. The gash closed as muscle and skin regenerated with the divine help. He then tended to the less critical wounds of the other companions.

After a brief respite, the group pressed onward. As the sun lowered towards the horizon, the two scouts reported another contact. A small gang of halfling-sized, yellowish humanoids with pointy ears and a mouth full of sharp teeth in the clearing ahead. Goblins, stewing a pot of foul-smelling gruel over their campfire.

The party quickly siezed the initiative and attacked. Maglor began a hearty battle song as a volley of arrows shot out and mercifully ended two of the goblins' lives. As soon as the remaining turned to see what happened, one was immediately trampled by a rampaging man-orc while the other was impaled upon a longsword.

It became clear those goblins were guarding the entrace to a cave. Since they travelled in large tribes, the group quickly discerned this cavern as their settlement. Unarmed members of the group picked up the crudely assembled, spike-headed clubs -- which would barely pass as a morning star in more civilized societies - previously belonging to the goblins.

None other of these creatures were found nearby, and the consensus was to breach the caves after a good night's rest. They set up camp not far from the entrance, but far enough to be out of sight should any goblins emerge. Sleep was hard to come by, as the anticipation of what was to come in the morning weighed heavily on everyone's minds.

Part 3

At Maglor's signal, the group advanced down the dark cavern. The height of the cavern suited the goblins perfectly, which mean for most of the adventurers they had to stoop low to avoid knocking their heads. That was not anyone's concerns, though, as in anteroom they stumbeled upon a group of goblin raiders led by a shaman on the way out.

Knowing this might happen, Vren had a sleep spell ready on his lips. With a quick gesture of his arms and a spoken word, two of the goblins feel into deep slumber. The shaman easily shrugged off the effects of the this simple magic, and prepared his own spell attack. The remaining goblin archers also avoided Vren's incantation, but were subdued with a few arrows. Before the shaman could finish his spell, he was silenced forever by the frontline fighters.

While some of the party members searched dead bodies, Polradia heard something running towards them. She stealthily went to investigate with Kyilaliana. A goblin swordsman approached, one who looked a seasoned veteran from many battles. He noticed the two as well, and drew his shortsword. He closed the distance before the they could notch arrows onto their bows. Spag jumped in just as the goblin stabbed, and the little sword hit an open area in his gut where his old chainmail had not protected. Reeling from the pain, he pummeled the swordsman with his morningstar while the rest of the group finished him off.

Besides some basic equipment, an fragile looking key was found in the goblin's armor, which they took also. They peered into the chamber where he emerged, and noted many implements of torture. Many were human and elf-sized. A hastily constructed door with a giant padlock secured one exit out of the room while a wide tunnel formed the other exit.

There appeared to be no activity based on observations through cracks in the door. The key fit the lock perfectly. Ready for another encounter in case of an ambush, they pushed the door open carefully. It looked like a prison inside. A dead human warrior lay nearby, a victim of a failed rescue or escape attempt. What mattered most, though, was his scale armor and breastplates. Grimbergen eargerly stripped gear and slipped it on without bothering to wipe the dirt, grime, or dried blood caked on it.

Footsteps, though not the little goblin shuffles, paced eagerly back and fourth nearby. Walking past a few empty cells, they found the source. A wild-eyed man that looked as though he'd been incarcerated here far too long stared back at them.

"Hey! Let me out, you!"

After his cell is opened, he begs his rescuers: "Wait, no, you're in league with them! The goblins! Please don't hurt me..."

"No, sir, we have no such intentions. We mean to free you. I am Maglor -- what's your name?" greeted Maglor.

"Shelion Blake. I see. How do I know you are not with the goblins? Why do you walk this place freely?" he responds, eyeing the group suspiciously.

"We defeated them. Please, may we ask you some questions? Where are we? I mean, what is the name of this island?"

"Island? No, this is the continent of Jacklepine. Anyhow, if you mean to rescue me, will you help me get my old equipment? It's in the room at the end of this prison."

They escort Blake to the far room. He finds an old suit of leather armor and dons it, and grabs a large sword - too large to be of any use to a goblin - and sheathes it in his scabbard.

"Blake, do you have other equipment and clothing you are willing to spare? As you can see, many of us are unclothed still," inquired Maglor.

"I believe I do... here, this is my old squire's garments He certainly won't be needing it anymore."

"I don't mean to be greedy, but could you spare some more? Two more members of my party still have nothing but loincloths and rags."

"You scoundrels! I knew it, you were here to rob me!" Blake draws his sword and quickly moves to position his back against the wall to keep the party in front of his line of sight.

"Please, calm down, we mean no harm," pleaded the bard.

"Yes, Sir Blake, we are ex-slaves, as you can see. All we ask is some clothing," injected Grimbergen.

"Slaves? But you do not have any of the brandings of such."

"We were all recently captured and were being shipped."

"I see... well, then...let me see if my gem is still there, and then I'll decide to trust you."

The seven companions wait, clueless to his meaning. Blake carefully walks to the cell across his original confinement and picks up a shiny gem.

"Ah, so you speak the truth. All these years, these goblins tempted me by keeping this jewel just out of my reach in the cell opposite mine. Now it is mine! Come, let us depart this wretched dungeon."

Leading the party to the doorway out, he stops short and if and gestures for Spag to exit first.

"Why me? You seem to know the way out," asked Spag.

"I do. But how do I know you don't have a goblin ambush waiting for me?"

"Why would we come all this way to ambush you on the way out? How do we know you're not with the goblins? " sparred back Spag.

"Look at me, did it look at all like the goblins treated me as such?! You are seven healthy adventurers - you go first!"

"You'll have to trust us, Blake. We've already cleared out the -"

"Nooo!" With that, Blake once again draws his blade and swings wildly at Spag, who quickly dodges but is nicked by it, but does not counterattack. The prisoner then thrusts at Polradia, who evades and readies her bow. Then quickly an attack on Maglor, who ducks under the blade and notices the others readying their weapons.

"Don't attack him! Try to restrain him!" he commands.

Hearing the words but seeing the danger to his newfound friends, Grimbergen could not stand by idly. He parries Blake's assault and strikes back with his sword, wounding the man in his side. Before Blake can recover an arrow leaves Polradia's longbow, implanting itself into his cranium, stopping him permanently.

"No! What have I done?!" cries Polradia, who drops her bow in shock. Tears well up in her eyes, and she runs from the arms of Maglor, ready to embrace her in forgiveness.

"Tymorra, please forgive your servant for committing such an awful deed," laments Polradia in solitude. Kyilaliana moves quickly to comfort her, knowing that words can do little in times like these.

"His blood need not have been shed," commented Grish. "Blake was just a bit mad. We need to restrain our weapons better."

"He attacked her first! You'll have to understand, Pol was struck by this madman. We should be happy she's still alive," snapped Maglor.

Brother Grish was not satisfied. "It should be noted that we knew this was destined to happen, given his previous disposition."

"We did what needed to be done. He drew first blood, and there was no recourse after that," began Grimbergen, picking up Blake's excellently forged hand-and-a-half sword. "Especially with this weapon in his hands."

The others gathered what equipment could be salvaged - including a suit of mildew drenched studded leather armor and some ragged outfits for the unclothed members. They solemnly departed the jail to the torture room.

Advancing slowly through the next passageway, they found a large cavern infested with some loud goblins. These creatures tried to defend themselves against the elvish and human intruders, but were no match against the armed troupe, especially given the half-elf bard's battle songs.

The chamber appeared to be a large celebration hall, which also seemingly doubled as a barracks, supply room, and whatever else the little yellow creatures could imagine. Food, cots, some tattered rugs, and other worthless spoils of war littered the floor.

At the other end of the chamber, a dais carved out of the stone walls next to a pool of murky water dripping from the stalactites. A sweet smoke rose from the dais, and some glitterings were noted as well, but it was too far to be made out. On closer inspection, a large goblin, almost the size of an elf, sat flipping through a large book. It was obvious he was lost in thought and oblivious to what had happened at the other side of the hall.

Arrows flew at him and struck home, but he was not so easily taken down. Grabbing his sword, he sliced at Spag, cutting a deep wound in his upper right leg. He ducked Grimbergen's thrust, and also Spag's counterattack. That was the end of the chief, though, as he was no match against seven.

Brother Grish quickly tended to his bleeding leg. Vren inspected the book.

"Hmmm... some runes and writings from an old language. I see. It is a spellbook! Something about identifying unknown magical items." Stowing the book away, he found the source of the smoke. "And look at this! A pipe with some sweet halfling leaf." Dragging in a deep puff, the elf immediately showed signs of ease and relaxation.

"Say, Vren, would you mind if I tried some of it?" begged Grimbergen.

"Not at all, dear friend! Take it and pass it along."

The others seemed more interested in the real loot, which suited the two perfectly.

A flurry of footsteps announced the arrival of more goblins in the direction of an unexplored exit from the chieftain's lair. Polradia and Kyilaliana resumed scouting ahead of the group. However, the others did not realize this and stayed behind formulating the next course of action.

The two went forward alone through the twisty pathways and into a cavern emptying out to the other side of the hill, but were sighted and beset by a group of goblins returning from a raid. The advantage this time belonged to the goblins, who rained arrows upon the two. As the elves sought cover, other goblins rushed in at the opportunity. Kyilaliana let of a loud cry as an arrow struck her left shoulder and another of the small assailants swung his spiked club at her.

Brother Grish heard the cry first, and mouthed the beginnings of a prayer of healing as he sprinted towards the source. Seeing the elven ranger bleeding profusely from many wounds and surrounded, he valiantly jumped in, and touched her as the prayer completed, pushing her out of harm. Being a larger target than the others, all the arrows from the goblin archers now targeted him, and struck. A a small goblin on his flank delivered Grish's coup de grace, jabbing a spear through his soft belly.

Simultaneously, Vren rushed in and cast his battle tested sleep incantation on the goblin shaman's bodyguards, creating an opening which allowed Spag and Grimbergen to strike down the witch doctor. Maglor fired a few quarrels from his newly acquired crossbow and finished the remaining goblins with Polradia's help.

The six companions now frantically searched for bandages or other healing herbs. None was found. His body grew cold and pale, as the last of Grish's lifeblood seeped out of his body. The men vainly held back their tears, while the female elves prayed for his deliverance.

And then the miracle occurred. The cleric's wounds suddenly closed up, and color rushed back to his skin. His eyes popped wide open in amazement, as did the others'. Regaining his strength and composure, Grish immediately fell upon his knees and spoke a humble prayer of thanks, as did Kyilaliana and Polradia.

The joy of his return eased the tensions surrounding the group, and soon fatigue hit. With the caves cleared, the party made camp near the exit, preparing to move on the following morning. Grish did not sleep much, instead devoting himself to silent meditation and prayer.

Part 4

They were ready to set out before the morning sun greeted them through the cave opening. Moving with renewed vigor along the the trail on hill, everyone was as vigilant as ever. Without a warning, Kyilaliana and Polradia let out a barrage of arrows down a ridge. The others rushed to see two dead badgers at the foot of the hill.

"What are you two doing?!" barked Maglor.

"What?" replied Polradia.

"I...I had a bad feeling about those badgers," added Kyilaliana.

"We will not be killing things unnecessarily! Oh Mielikki, Goddess of Nature, I pray you forgive us for our sins upon your children," grieved the bard.

"They would have pounced upon us as soon as we arrived down there. You weren't the one attacked by them last time!" the elven huntress continued.

Grimbergen joined in: "I am most surprised that you, Kyilaliana, would initiate such actions. Plus, it is a waste of our precious arrows."

"Oh, you and your Mielikki! Maglor, you are so naive sometimes," yelled Polradia.

"Alright you two, just remember, do not attack unless there is immediate danger. Let's move on," commanded Maglor.

Resuming the march, the elven ranger soon notices a glittering body of water in the valley below the mountain. She excitedly points the group in that direction.

"Looks like lake ... probably a half day's journey from here. And... I can finally take a bath!" exclaimed Polradia.

"Yeah, I feel so filthy, especially after those goblins caves," added Kyilaliana.

Maglor quickly interjected. "A fine idea, indeed, ladies! Bathing is especially good for the body and soul, but more importantly, for my eyes. I agree, let's make haste and get you down there, out of these sullied rags and into the water, Pol. This will be a good show!"

As Vren and Grimbergen enjoyed a good chuckle, the two ladies only stared in silence at the bard and fumed. They ignored him for the next few hours.

By mid-afternoon, the group finished descending the rocky hills. As not a moment later, a few figures could be seen in the distance. Kyilaliana motioned for the others to stop, and sneak closer for a look. Large, muscle-bound humanoids, with protruding jaws and small pig-noses, armed with bloodstained great axes and rusty, mismatched pieces of scavenged armor.

"Orcs!" Kyilaliana quickly fell back to the group. They were advancing towards the hills, possibly heading for the goblin caves. "They're approaching out position quickly. We won't be able to avoid them without dashing through the trees to our sides, but then we might make too much noise to avoid being heard."

"Hey Spag, maybe you can parlay with your --"

"Watch your mouth, Grimbergen! You know I don't like those associations," growled the orc blooded human.

After an apology, the group quickly assumed an ambush. As the orcs strolled by, arrows and crossbow quarrels flew and shocked them into paralyzation. The hail of missiles stopped, and Grish, Spag, and Grimbergen dashed out from their cover behind some great oak trees. Spag slaughtered the orcs with an unholy rage, and after their victory, strained to regain his composure. He then ditched his dented longsword in favor of a large, menacing orcish axe.

By early evening, it was clear they would not reach the lake until nightfall. The forest was denser than they anticipated, and they moved cautiously through this uncharted territory. Not wanting to be stuck among the trees after dark, they quickened the pace.

This, of course, allowed many feral animals in the region to track their presence. Once again, rabid wolverines pounced on Kyilaliana. The others rushed to help, and slayed the small badger-kin.

"Maglor, do you now believe what I had to do earlier?" cried Kyilaliana, trying not to remble.

"Oh come now, don't badger him about it anymore!" mocked the other elven lady.

This time, the situation reversed itself, and Maglor responded with silence.

An hour later, they cleared out of the forest and closed in on the shoreline of the lake. A heavyset dwarf was make a loud ruckus filling two large barrels with water. He had a simple mace strapped to his belt, but otherwise looked harmless.

Maglor approached and greeted the plain clothed dwarf.

"Good on ya. Hello!"

"Eh? Oh, hail there, friends."

"Hail, I am Maglor, half-elven bard of renown, I hope we find thee well. What are ye doing here?"

"Gathering up some fresh water so that my village doesn't perish. Name's Nufgen, Genar Nufgen."

"Ah. May we help? If looks like a task that would burden one man alone."

"I am grateful at your offer. Nay, I am almost done and can travel back more quickly on my own. However, you do look like the strong adventuring sort."

"Tell me more! We're at your service."

"Well, my village is actually a good three day, maybe two if you're fast, march from here. You see, the stream that supplies our water is tainted... poisoned, actually. Most likely at the source. Most of the town is stricken by it, and I'm one of the few strong enough to come and gather water. Still, I'm too old to take the dangerous venture upstream to find the source."

"Well, good sir, then we obliged to help. We shall accompany you back."

"No, Maglor, your group looks weary from all your travels. Unfortunately, you would only slow me down - I see one of your party has already fallen asleep. This lake is safe. Rest here for the night, and head due west tomorrow. You should see our village in two- or three days after."

"Agreed, Genar. You are correct - it's been a rough day. Before you go, can you tell us of this Jacklepine land that we are in?"

"Ah, so you are from around here. Very well. The people of Jacklepine live in three main cities. Farther west from our village is Gudation, the greatest city of all in the lands of Jacklepine. Gudation is where the good of all good lives. A most glorious town for those that wish to find a home away from home. In fact, it is on the western coast of Jacklepine.

"But before you reach Gudation, you'll be in Talas Talf. It is a city, or more of a mining town, that is. They mine what we call talf. Here, this is it." He reached into his tunic and pulls out a bag of rock salt when he notices the party's puzzlement.

"To the northeast of Talas Talf if Citadel and it is the exact opposite of Guation. This town is the evilest of all towns on Jacklepine. The people that run this town would rather kill you then look at you! Beware entering this city."

"Thanks for the information. Good luck on your journey, Nufgen. We will be at your town very soon."

"Same to you, friends." The old dwarf grabs a large, thick wooden pole and lifts the two barrels by the ropes tied at the top of each. He hoists it upon his shoulders and walks off briskly.