LoD: Looming Darkness The Adventures of Wylliam & Dorn

It is a cool autumn day in the Realm of Dyrinin. In the western foothills among the wiry forests, near an abandoned village, stands a neglected derelict church. Its roof, walls and windows were riddled with damage and decay. Nearby, the church graveyard had been over turned, exposing empty coffins and graves. Wylliam and Dorn had ventured to this location when they heard some local priests had fled their to seek refuge from the Necromancer who had recently taken dominion over these lands. Determined not to loose yet another encounter against the nefarious shade or his minions the group traveled with haste, a days ride from the near by hamlet Merham. Wylliam and Dorn arrived at the church while the night was still young, only to find the dead of the near by graveyard had been raised. Immediately the half-elf and the dwarf launched into action, making a move for the refuge of the church.

Inside the heroes found the priests a woman and man around Wylliam's apparent age and their mentor, an older cleric of the cloth. Dorn moved to secure the doors and windows and Wylliam began to chant, summoning a wall of ice to cover the entrances that lacked functional doors and windows. The banging and moaning of the undead was interrupted by a detonation of force shattering the church main doors and the ice wall used to barricade it. Through the threshold stepped the idol of Dorn and Wylliam's nightmares, the Necromancer. At that moment other barriers began to give, releasing a flood of animated corpses. They quickly swarmed Dorn who responded with a bone chilling roar as he began to swing his axe with vicious affinity. Wylliam charged, maintaining a pace's distance ahead of the breaching hordes. He could end this all now Wylliam thought to himself. He lunged, succeeding only at a glancing blow. The necromancer simply raised his hand and with a flick of his wrist, Wylliam was sent sailing across the room to Dorn with enough force to sweep them both off their feet. As the two scrambled to recover their defenses, Wylliam noticed the Necromancer had begun to chant. Seconds pass and Wylliam realized what was about to happen. Wylliam directed Dorn to throw an axe at the dark Hierophant. As the axe left his hand with ample force, the ritual completed and the Heroes fell unconscious.

Our tale starts here, after our heroes awake from the mind maze cast upon them by the powerful necromancer during a dramatic however brief encounter.

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Wylliam awoke, his body aching and stiff, like a stone statue worn with fractures from time's cruel passage. A light layer of dust, leaves and other debris had settled upon his person. As he continued to lie flat on his back, hesitant to move, Wylliam stared at the ceiling. He was back in the church, flashes of staggered memories lashed his still fragile mind. With visible recoil, Wylliam remembered the horde of undead that he and Dorn had struggled against before they were imprisoned in the mental maze. His eyes darted to steel a glimpse of the church doors, his adrenaline rising like a fuse to a bomb. With nothing but the warm light of day lapping at the threshold of the derelict temple, Wylliam melted into a pool of relief. As he did, Wylliam's ears honed in on the sound of muttering.

With a reluctant heave, Wylliam struggled to a up right position and began to survey his surroundings. The church, while it remained a disheveled shell of its once humble beauty, was less foreboding in the day. The distinct lack of undead shambling its halls also did wonders for its demeanor Wylliam thought to himself as his gaze settled on the source of the muttering. It was Dorn, Wylliams dwarven companion. He was slouched on the alter step, tending his heirloom axe ignoring the layers of silt upon his person.

"I say Dorn, if you'd treat yourself as you do your axes, you'd be an exemplar for dwarves Uldymer wide." Wylliam said, his voice hinting at his fatigue. Wylliam proceeded to stand, awkwardly balancing himself atop his own legs. Once confident he had remastered the art of standing, he began vigorously dusting himself down, ridding himself of the accumulated dust and debris.

Dorn had been muttering about the state of his beard. Apparently some small birds had taken to the collection of crumbs that tended to gather in it between grooming, and he had had to trim it by an inch to get rid of the knots and fecal matter. 

Turned out that the grooves and patterns on his Axe were particularly susceptible to getting stained by bird poo. Dorn had been so intent of hiding either of these facts from William, that he had not only completely failed to notice his companion awake, but completely neglected to take proper stock of his situation. 

He took one last look over his Axe and beard, confidant his secret was safe, and got up to survey the situation. 

The Church they had sought to defend was in shambles, the charring around the entry reminded him of the situation. They had sought to hold out against the undead in a dependable location. 

"So many.." he muttered as he continued to re align memory's with his current situation. He recalled the... dream? Hallucination? Some kind of puzzle world where nothing made any sense. 

He snapped back to the present, "What in the bloody hells was that all about."

Wylliam conceded to his current appearance, realizing he and his cloths would need a little more than a dust off. Wylliam looked to the floor where his spear lay, its tip and haft coated in dried blackened Ichor. Wylliam bent down cautiously, letting out an involuntary noise akin to those made by his elders at home. With spear in hand, Wylliam used its reliable and study build to support a portion of his wait and further aid his balance. Wylliam managed a half turn towards Dorn before he responded.

"That, was a mind maze. A telepathic Aether ritual used to trap its intended victims in a collective cognitive existence..." Wylliam went to continue, but quickly noticed Dorn's eyes had glazed over. In addition he also noticed the tell tale signs of bird droppings in Dorns beard, on his cloths and weapons, but simply smirked. Well at least hes trying now days, Wylliam thought to himself.

Wylliam cleared his throat in an attempt to goad Dorn's attention for a moment longer and rephrased, "The necromancer imprisoned us in a shared dream..."

Wylliam then moved to the window and looked out over the desecrated fields, as if looking for something more than a depressing panoramic. Hes eyes once more dropped, his stare fixing on the Ichor. Resolve began to ooze from Wylliam's demeanor, as his confidence quickly returned.
"Well, at least we know we can hurt him now..."

Dorn spat on the ground at the mention of the Hated Necromancer. "Bloody Coward..." he grumbled. 

Stepping outside, he looked around, and took in a deep sniff of the air. "They are long gone, at least from hear. We should check the Town." he said matter of factly, to himself as much as his comrade. 

Turning to look at William, Dorn took on a more concerned, serious tone. "Why did he not just kill us as we slept."

As Dorn stepped out into the open, Wylliam found his pack and began taking inventory.

"Yes, they are long gone. I feel no Aether disturbances. Judging by what is left of our rations, I believe we've been unconscious for the better part of two days. Perhaps the Warlock believed us incapable of liberating ourselves from the prison. In any case, we are free and worn. returning to Merham is a splendid notion my stout friend."

Wylliam made his last statement as he stepped out from the feeble shelter of the ageing church. Wylliam once more perused himself, checking over his sturdy leather boots and checking the straps of his pack. Content if not accepting of his current state, Wylliam moved to walk along side Dorn who had already began trudging in the directing of Merham.

"Lets hope we can avoid those nasty cultists we crossed paths with on the way here. I am still not entirely sure what they were trying to achieve during the bonfire lighting."

"Let us hope not. I could use the Exercise" Dorn said with a wicked grin. 

"Can't be good for anyone either which what way, and besides.." Dorn said patting his rather empty pack "Need more supplies."

The disheveled half-elf and the dwarf traveled for the remainder of the day, until the sunset on the ominous woods. The autumn air was chilled with the foreboding signs of winter. So the two heroes lit a fire in an attempt to fend of the cold. They sat on opposing sides of the fire and shared its warmth along with a rationed meal. As the two ate, they conversed about their quest to vanquish the Necromancer. One day Dorn could have his revenge and Wyllliam could restore his family's lands and earn the name of his fathers house, Brightwater.

"So we have been traveling together for two months now, nearly a season Dorn. I never thought to ask, why are you as motivated to vanquish the shade as I am?"

Wylliam glanced at Dorn's heirloom axe, admiring its wondrous intricacies.

"I mean, I am not even sure if your are a Holon from the merchant clans of Holdydin or a Orn from the pious Thanes of Eorgath. In any case, why have you left the refuge of the mountains? Especially to venture into the accursed west lands of Dyrinin in search of a Necromancer. This is my home, but it has fallen far from its former grace."

Down faced away from the fire, not in offence to William - it just damaged his night eyes to face the flames. 

He perked up at Wylliams sudden question, shaken out of his musings. "Same answer to both. The mountains were no refuge. I've no one who's respect to seek, because everyone i know is Undead. He killed them. He has them. I will put them down, free their souls. And then i will grant him the Thrice death he deserves." Dorn's anger flared as he talked, his knuckles whitening around the haft of his Ancestral Axe. 

Dorn turned to face the Wizard "Vengeance. Pure and simple. I come to kill him and everything like him. I shall kill, and kill, until something Kills me, or there is nothing left." Wyllyam could tell there was more too it, this surface level rage a clear deflection. Dorn's wrath was deep, but there was more he buried deep down in the pits of his psyche. 

Slowly, the Dwarf Mastered his wrath, knowing it was futile with no target.

Dorn's response had not answered Wylliam's question, or at least not to the extent he had hopped for. Wylliam went to make another attempted, preparing a more tactful approach. Wylliam confident he had conjured a more considered question began to voice it to Dorn when his intentions were interrupted by a sound in the nearby brush of the surrounding woods.

"Did you hear that Dorn." Wylliam reached for his spear.

Wylliam saw the girl and immediate dropped his weapon. He move to her aid with a waterskin and knelled as she did.

"There is no need to worry child, we mean you no harm. You simply startled me and my friend here, it is night and in Grimwold woods after all. Tell me, you look half to death, why are you running in the Grimwold alone at this hour?"

The young woman's demeanor eased as she listened to Wylliam's words. Still cautious, she stayed at a distance from the two travelers. Her voice was beset by her panting and the cold night air making it shaky and broken.

"I, I was running sirs. Merham was attacked by bandits flying a black banner with a white boned hand gripping a broken sword. I had hopped to travel to the Daelin, but I fear I have lost my way."

Wylliam glanced at Dorn in some concern as he stepped to the side, welcoming to woman to the comforts of their humble fire. He handed her the water skin and offered a small portion of their rations before he continued to his questioning.

"The Iron Bearers mercenary clan were camped not and hours ride from your village, what became of them? They were fifty strong, well armed and provisioned."

The young lady was now inhaling the water and what little food that was afforded to her. In between mouth fulls she responded.

"I do not know what happened to the mercenaries, their presence was absent during the attack on Merham. The villages were unable to mount any form of real defense. It was a raid that became a slaughter. I am the only one to escape to my knowledge."

Wylliam had many more questions, but he felt he had exhausted the young woman to her limits for one night. He reached out his hand as he looked her in the eye. he clasped her cold hands in his as he smiled.

"I appreciate you telling us all you have, and I welcome you to stay in the company of Dorn and I, until we arrive at Daelin. I should like to know more of the events that transpired in Merham however, the hour is late and we should all rest. Though before you sleep, what is your name?"

The woman now warm and fed responded with some renewed strength.
"Merin Bartain of Merham"

"Well Merin, I am Wylliam Brightwater of Brytharn and this is Dorn Crystalforge of the East mountains."

The woman nodded in greeting at each of them before lying down to rest. Moments pass and Merin drifted off to sleep. Hours pass and Wylliam and Dorn traded places as one continued the watch as the others slept.

Morning came and the two companions took the liberty of having a private discussion before Merin awoke.

Dorn heard the noise alright. Something was rushing their camp, the damned firelight must have given them away, despite all attempts to ensure it was concealed.

The Dwarf swiftly took up his axe and stepped forward with violence in his eyes as the woman fell from be bushes. Dorns mind assessed her as a non threat absently, and he stepped past prepared to fight off whatever came next...

As the Half-Elf began to sooth and query the woman, Dorn was almost disappointed to realise that no one was coming.

None the less, his blood was up now. He wandered the surrounding woods within hearing distance of the camp to be sure there were no ambushers lying in wait.

When Wylliam was done talking to the woman and she lay down to rest, he nodded to the Sorcerer, the intention to keep a vigilant watch passing between them unsaid. Even Dorn could recognize the idea she was not safe would just spook the woman, then she would have no rest, and slow them down even more than he wounds already would the next day.

Dorn did not sleep that night, he had decided he has slept enough recently. Instead, when Wyl would come up for his watch, the Dwarf would set about wandering the surrounding brush to patrol for something to fight, something to calm the nerves. He had drunk nothing in days, and it was starting to tell.

He found no foe that night, but the party was able to settle to a breakfast of Conys.

The dwarf left the preparation of the meal to occupy the woman, and went to talk to Wylliam.

"We should make haste if we want to return the Lass to safetey. Need to find regroup with anything that remains O' our merk buddies."

Wylliam nodded, agreeing with Dorn's concise statements. Though his demeanor hinted at concern for extenuating circumstances.

"I agree, though Merham is only the better part of a day away. While Daelin is near a week. I fear if we are to gain any understanding our foe's next move we must assess the situation while the wake is fresh. The priests' lives of the surrounding temples are also at stake. Merin puts us in a difficult position. What do you think?"

Dorn nodded to the Elf's points. "Agreed. We could give her our rations, and a weapon, and send her off. She will be a liability in a fight. But could also have useful knowledge of the town, she did manage to escape after all. Let her decide. Tell her we cannot guarantee her safety, but must see to her town before it is too late. She can help, or risk the journey to the next town and tell them of what happened." 

The Dwarf's demeanor was dour. The only way they could keep the girl safe was to escort her to the next town, But that risked other lives. He hated the idea of taking an innocent back to a fight, and the roads would be dangerous for a lone girl, with bandits about. But he saw not other alternative. 

"If she could get us in, we kill the bandit leader. Tend's to work with Bandits and Ork's. And undead. Most thing's really. Beats the hell outta fighting our way to the town center. Take the second in charge captive. Find out whats going on. Hell, if we put on a good enough show could probably install ourselves as the new new boss' of the more cowardly laggards."

Before Wylliam could repy, Merin interjected.

"You know, contrary to what you may think, I can hear you. I admit i'm no warrior, and would go as far as saying most would have run if they were in my position. A sole individual against scores of blood thirsty murderous bandits. However, I am an associate of the late Brax Higgle-hinge and If you are going embark of some kind of foolish quest to avenge the town of Merham. Then call me a fool, for i am going with you.

Wylliam was immediately stunned, a stall overcome when he recognized the name Higgle-hinge.

Wylliam's surprise quickly shifted to confidence supported by admiration and a cunning smile.
"Your, an alchemist?"

Merin barely let Wylliam finish before she corrected his question nearing the tone of a statement.
"Apprentice. Like i said, i am an associate of the late Higgle-hing"

Wylliam glanced at Dorn, to assess his companion's reaction before concern gripped him.
"Late? I am sorry for you loss Merin. I had heard Higgle was a brilliant Alchemist."

Merin's voice reflected sadness and admiration.
"He truly was. He was a even greater mentor. I should like to aid you as I can, these marauders cannot go unpunished. To many innocents were lost to their needless violence. Though unfortunately without my tools i'm of little use beyond herbal remedies."

Wylliam rubbed the back of his head as he looked at Dorn. The scrunched facial expression that often surfaced when Wylliam knew he was about to agree to something he wasn't entirely happy with.

"We could have done allot worse than an associate of Higgle-hing."

Wylliam paused to hear Dorn's opinion. Not because he didn't know what it was, rather it was both polite and Dorn usually offered a, unique perspective.

Dorn listened to the lass rant on about 'Higgle-Hinge'. He did not recognise the name, other than it was clearly. A spriggin, which meant either a shoddy engineer or brilliant alchemist. In either case it implied far better standards then he would have expected from a human.

Wylliams reply confirmed his suspicions of an alchemist, and so cogs began to spin in the weary dwarfs still to sober head. After his imaginary ale tangent, he spoke up with a more practical idea.

"Could ye brew something to concoct fire or smoke? A good distraction could help get us into the town, and past the guards. Perhaps some kind of sleeping gas or juice too?" With a cheesy grin, Dorn quickly added as an afterthought. "ohh, and if you have any skill with a suture, your in. Stalk leg hear has a habit of getting himself all beat up."

Merin voice was filled with passion and determination.

"Well i have been studying the arts for many years. I am particularly accomplished in the creation of elixirs that hasten the healing process exponentially, and alchemy fire is a novice concoction I am able to make with ease. However, my skill in making these concoctions is contingent on the availability of my tools. Tools that are not currently in my possession.

Gentlemen, i propose that i accompany you to the Merham and aid you in anyway i can. I am certainly safer traveling with you than alone in these woods. Should you return my equipment and help me serve justice to those responsible for the ruin of Merham, I will help you until the debt is repaid."

The challenges ahead were foreign to Merin, though she was certain that she needed to act where others could not. When she fled, Merin had hopped to reach Daelin to gain aid for Merham. However, it was increasingly apparent that her plan was doomed to fail. She couldn't decide if it was fate or luck that delivered her to Wylliam and Dorn's company, both novel notions that teased her otherwise scientific mind.

Hearing both Merin and Dorn's views Wylliam felt better about the decision he had already made, but had not yet voiced.

"Well Merin of Merham, it would be senseless to leave you here in these woods alone. It would also seem your motivations, for better or worse, align with ours. We would both welcome your company and your skills."

Content with their decision, the three packed up camp and began the day hike to Merham. The group decided to travel off the roads to avoid exposure to marauder patrols and scouts. This took them longer as none were season hunters or trackers but it was a safer route. As they traveled, Merin collected herbs and foraged for consumables to support their rations. The three companions soon came to the edge of the dense tangled forest and found themselves standing upon a hilltop overlooking the humble hamlet, Merham.

The last of the sun's rays were streaked across the sky and were quickly fading behind the distant mountains. The ruined remains of once humble buildings lay strewn throughout what was left of the town, debris still glowing from the fires used to destroy them the night before. Patrols walked the streets wielding torch and blade ignoring the scattered wreckage. Despite the failing light, the companions were still able to see the Iron Bearers mercenary camp situated just outside the town in a ruined stone fort. It was clear that the attack was less of a battle and more of a slaughter, a sight that inspired sorrow and anger. The fort itself was no longer occupied by the Iron Bearers, an astute assumption provoked by the missing banners or otherwise destroyed heraldry. The fort was still far better suited to mount a defense,  a notion that had clearly occurred to the marauding bandits who had now taken up residence.

Wylliam lowered his spyglass after surveying the landscape. He let out a heavy sigh to accompany his stern expression.
"It would seem the Iron Bearers were forced to retreat...or worse. Merham is also in an absolute shambles, little more than ash and rubble. Those ghastly chaps have chosen to use the Iron Bearer's camp as a fortification."

Wylliam paused, before continuing in an attempt to lift the weight of the information just delivered. "We are blessed with an opportunity however. The town is only patrolled by scouts, we could retrieve Miss Merin's alchemy tools. Though we would have to do it without raising the alarm. I don't feel we are up to fighting forty odd bandits, yet alone those that are extremely well supplied and now well armed."

Wylliam looked to his companions. Merin was staring at the dusk veiled town, her brow hardened and her lips pressed. When Wylliam finished, she simply glance at him, giving a single nod in support and acknowledgement before returning her steely gaze on the town. Wylliam then focused on Dorn and raised his eyebrows as if asking a question.