Gulls squawked, swooping in low over the bay, while waves gently lapped the wooden dock as shouts and ringing bells came from numerous moored ships.
​
Kel’dhos stopped at the edge of the pier, taking in the sights of a beautiful morning. The sun had just crested the horizon, shining a warm light upon his face. He inhaled deeply, letting the briny scent of the sea fill his lungs.
​
He opened his eyes, smiled and took stride toward the nearest building.
​
Reaching the large wooden structure, he noted its sizable sign hanging above the door that read: “Harbormaster – Bilton Yarbrough.”
​
Kel’dhos pushed his way through the lone door and came upon a spacious room with a large worktop in the rear. All manners of rope, navigational tools and other various nautical implements lined the shelves on the walls. Everything was both fascinating and unfamiliar to Kel’dhos. Intrigued, he slowly walked around the room, confused about whether it was a shop or a supply depot or something else entirely. Kel’dhos had only ever read about things like this during his time back home at the Temple of Sioch.
​
A deep voice cut into his thoughts. “Can I help you?”
​
Kel’dhos looked up from the thick rope he had been fiddling with and saw a large, dark-skinned man standing behind the worktop, eyeing him suspiciously.
​
“I don’t get many priests in my building,” said the portly man, leaning on the table.
“Oh, I, uhh—” stammered Kel’dhos.
​
“Spit it out, boy. I’m a very busy man.”
​
Kel’dhos straightened, gathering himself. “Right. I was hoping you might be able to help me track someone down.”
​
“Oh yeah? Do I look like a bounty hunter to you?”
​
“I’m very sorry. I didn’t mean track someone down in that sense. I am trying to find my father, and I heard he came through these parts,” Kel’dhos explained. “I was curious if you had a record of him—or any paladins—passing through the docks for any reason.”
​
The man’s eyes narrowed as he stood tall behind the counter. “Your father is a paladin?”
​
“No, no. My father is a cleric, as I am. He was traveling with a group of sacred warriors known as the Heralds of Sioch,” Kel’dhos said, trying to clarify the matter for the stern-looking man. “This is where my search has brought me. I would very much appreciate if you could help me.”
​
“Alright, alright.” The man sighed and scratched the greying scruff on his chin, then waddled around the counter and into the room. “My name is Bilton Yarbrough. I help run the show here at the Ridgeton Port.” He grabbed a large black book from his station and flipped through the thick, dirty pages. “What’s your old man’s name?”
​
“Cassemir,” Kel’dhos replied. “Did you find something?”
​
“Stow your sails, boy,” He held up a hand while the other continued flipping. A moment later, he stopped and ran his finger from the top of the page about halfway down. “Aha! Here you are.” Bilton set the book back down and jabbed a stubby finger at the page.
​
Kel’dhos leaned over the book. There it was. His father’s name, scrawled in familiar handwriting. Five more names were written below.
​
The paladins that father was with! So, they are all still together… That’s great.
​
His gaze drifted further down the pages. He realized this was a ship log. They paid for passage to go... somewhere. The destination was smudged, rendering it unreadable.
​
“Do you know where they went?” asked Kel’dhos, looking up at Bilton.
​
The Harbormaster shook his head. “Not my business, kid. I’m just here to help people find ships if they ask and make sure this dock stays running efficiently.”
Kel’dhos looked back at the log and saw the name Sea Siren at the end of the sentence under the column for ship names.
​
“I do recall the captain of that particular ship saying it would be at least three weeks before they’d return,” said Bilton, following Kel’dhos’ eyes.
​
Three weeks! Well, I guess I’ll have plenty of time to help the others with that job of Telerek’s.
​
“I thank you for your kindness.” Kel’dhos dipped his head in gratitude. “May Sioch bless you.”
​
Bilton snorted. “I don’t do gods or goddesses, kid. Money is my patron.” he winked and laughed as he walked into the backroom, leaving Kel’dhos alone in the room.
​
“Ah, I see.” Kel’dhos reached into the pouch at his waist and pulled out a few silver pieces, setting them onto the worktop. He stood there for a few more seconds until he realized Bilton wasn’t coming back any time soon.
​
Kel’dhos left the Harbormaster and began his trek back to the city gates to meet yesterday’s newfound companions.
​
***
“Wait for me!” called Kel’dhos, sprinting and waving at the wagon that had started to rumble away from the town gates.
​
“Well, look what we have here!” bellowed the shirtless dwarf, Magnar, as the wagon jolted to a halt. “We thought you up and disappeared! Just like the people we’re going to look for!”
​
“I am sorry,” Kel’dhos said, grasping the outstretched hands of the dwarven brothers, Magnus and Magnar, as they lifted him into the cart. “I was tracking a lead on my father at the docks. I learned that he and his companions boarded a ship called the Sea Siren and won’t return for three weeks or longer. So… it looks like I will be joining you for a while.”
​
“We could use the cleric,” Telerek hissed from the front of the wagon, his dirty-blonde hair spilling from beneath his hood. Val—thankfully clothed again—sat next to him, staring off toward the woods in the distance. “We may need a few wounds healed before the end of this, and a blessing or two might not hurt either.”
​
Kel’dhos nodded at the wood elf and settled in at the back of the cart, resting his mace and shield at his feet. He still wasn’t quite sure what to make of Telerek and Val. The former seemed like the roguish type while the latter was the most aloof being Kel’dhos had ever met. A strange duo, but Kel’dhos would do his best to aid them.
​
Magnus sat beside Kel’dhos, putting his hand over his face and groaning as Magnar struck up conversation with Val, or at least tried to.
​
“So, what’s your deal?” Magnar asked in a not-so-quiet tone.
​
Val turned to him with a blank stare. “Who are you?”
​
Magnar laughed as he ran his fingers through his long blonde beard, turning back to Telerek.
​
Kel’dhos glanced at Magnus, concerned. “Are you alright, friend? You look as sick as you did on our short boat ride the other day.”
​
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Magnus grumbled waving his hand dismissively. “Had too much ale after going too long without any… not a good combination. The academy softened me to its effects, but I’ll be fine.”
​
The wagon lurched forward, pulling away from the town’s half-built walls. They slowly rolled westward along the dirt road, toward the Tiuv Forest. It was a slow, bumpy ride and not at all comfortable in any way.
​
They hadn’t been traveling long when another wagon approached from the opposite direction, manned by three dismayed passengers. The wagon itself looked no better. Its planks were dark, wet almost, and covered in a green fungus.
​
“What in the hells is wrong with that?” Magnar shouted, pointing at the oncoming wagon.
​
When the two carts neared one another, the wagoner slowed, warning them of strange happenings in the Tiuv Forest ahead. He mentioned the disappearance of loggers and workers, just as Telerek had told them the night before.
​
“Don’t go into that forest!” the man shouted in one final cautionary gesture as he continued past.
​
“Ha!” laughed Magnar, looking at Magnus then punching his shoulder with a solid blow. “Are you excited, brother? You’ll get to finally show off your stupid magic tricks to me, and I’ll get to show you my kind of magic.” Magnar patted the head of his maul as he gave a toothy grin.
​
“Just you wait and see, Magnar,” replied Magnus, smiling coyly.
​
These two dwarves are something else. Kel’dhos could only shake his head and smile as he regarded the brothers. I’m not used to the boisterousness of the mountain folk… but it is a nice change and I’m finally getting to do something outside of the Sepulcher and my books.
​
The Temple of Sioch was a vast compound built into the Sepulcher Hills, northeast of Ridgeton and Eldrin City. The clerics of Sioch were healers and caretakers of the dead, while the holy paladins—known as the Heralds of Sioch—formed a more militant order, often responding to wars of faith or to keep the peace in realms that call for aid.
​
After a while, the wagon entered the forest, rolling slowly along the well-worn trail, deeper and deeper into the woodland. The ambience changed drastically. Trees as thick as houses weren’t uncommon and the sounds of birds cawing and other unseen creatures scurried about the thick brush. It was unsettling.
​
A grey fox darted onto the narrow trail, paused long enough to eye the oncoming wagon and continued into the thicket.
​
“There’s all kinds of creatures about,” Kel’dhos said. “It’s nice to experience things I’ve only ever read about.”
​
“I’ve never read a full book in my life!” Magnar said, voice booming through the quiet forest.
​
It was so jarring to Kel’dhos how loud a creature of smaller stature could be. Though, to be fair, his ignorance of the mountain folk was not for a lack of trying. He’d read many books about dwarven culture and history, but nothing truly prepared you like firsthand experience. Unfortunately, not many of the mountain folk wandered near the Sepulcher or Eldrin City, for that matter. Before meeting Magnus, he’d never seen a dwarf in person. The dwarven brothers may be shorter than he, but they were far stouter than Kel’dhos had been, is, or probably ever would be. The legendary fortitude of the mountain folk was all Kel’dhos had read about, and now he was experiencing it up close and personal.
​
Magnar, eager as he was, remained standing the rest of the trip to the logging camp, while Magnus kept summoning a searing flame, letting it dance from hand to hand. There was something about Magnus that calmed Kel’dhos, as if the dwarf’s confidence affected those around him.
​
Telerek, however, was much different. He hunched in the corner of the wagon and seemed to be a bit more on edge. It always felt as if he was watching or scheming—a calculated elf.
​
I’ll have to keep an eye on that one until he proves himself, Kel’dhos thought, spying the wood elf in the corner of the cart, hood concealing most of his face. As for the other one… I’m not sure she even cares to be here.
​
Val, as she was called, idly picked at her fingers with a small dagger, humming softly to herself. Strange. Thankfully, she had enough sense to wear leather armor beneath her dark green cloak. She’d be hard pressed to defend herself wearing next to nothing under that cloak like she had been the previous night.
​
The wagoner called for the horses to halt, bringing the cart to a stop. Beyond the field of felled trees, the rhythmic sound of chopping and sawing echoed through the air. Three wooden buildings and a scattering of tents stood in the distance with smoke billowing into the sky.
​
Hopefully that’s a bonfire...
​
A short humanoid female stalked their way, flanked by two big-armed humans. Kel’dhos recognized a gnome when he saw one. There were quite a few gnomes in the Sepulcher Hills back home.
​
The approaching trio stopped short of the wagon, and the curly red-haired gnome stepped forward. “You don’t look like loggers. You must be the help Varlok sent.”
Magnar hopped out of the cart, followed closely by Telerek. Magnus followed suit and Kel’dhos joined him, leaving Val alone in the wagon, still picking at her fingers.
​
“Aye,” Telerek said, taking the lead. “Varlok is my uncle. He hired me and my companions here.” He gestured at Kel’dhos and the others behind him as he spoke. “We are to look into the disappearances of your workers.”
​
“Well met. The name’s Nibbleroot. Supervisor Thistlefoot Nibbleroot.” She placed her hands on her hips and gave a proud nod. “Well, I’ll show you where you’ll want to focus your attention, unless you have any questions first.”
​
Just then, a loud crashing noise came from behind, followed by a thud.
​
“Oof!”
​
Kel’dhos and the others spun around, only to see Val face first in the dirt beside the wagon.
​
“I’m alright,” she said quickly, standing to brush off the dirt from her cloak as if nothing happened. She glanced around with a confused look. “When did we get to the forest?”
​
Telerek shook his head and turned back to Thistlefoot. “What can you tell us about the disappearances?”
​
“Not much,” she said with a shrug of her small shoulders. “It’s the strangest thing. I had three loggers head out in the morning a couple days ago, but they never returned. All we found was their wooden cart covered in a strange fungus that none of us had ever seen before.”
​
One of the burly men beside Thistlefoot spoke up. “There’s gotta be some sort of evil magic going on. You’ll see when you get out there.”
​
Magnus perked up. “What makes you say that?” His hand drifted to the book at his waist. It was held in a similar contraption to Kel’dhos’ holy book, 'The Word of Siochainn.'
​
I’ve read about wizards and their spellbooks. I bet he has all sorts of powerful spell incantations.
​
The logger crossed his arms, their muscles flexing. “What else would do this? There’s no trace of them anywhere. No bodies, no blood, no nothing.”
​
Magnus twisted the ends of his short beard. “That is strange.”
​
“How hard did you look?” Magnar asked, his massive warhammer resting against his shoulder.
​
The logger clenched his fists, locking eyes with Magnar. “We looked pretty damn hard, dwarf. They were friends of mine.”
​
Magnar grunted and spat on the ground. “We’ll find them. Whether they’ll be alive or not is another story.”
​
The logger rested a hand on his axe handle, gripping it firmly. “You have a death wish, dwarf?”
​
“Maybe. But nothin’s managed to kill me yet.”
​
Before the two could act, Thistlefoot stepped in front of her man and Magnus intervened quickly to prevent Magnar from doing something incredibly stupid.
​
“Easy, brother,” Magnus said, putting a hand on the barbarian’s chest. “We’re here to help, not cause more problems.” The wizard turned to Thistlefoot and the logger. “We’ll find out what happened. And if there is magic at play, I’ll know. Wizards always know.”
​
Thistlefoot managed to calm the hulking worker before leading Kel’dhos and his companions away from the logging camp and into the thicker woods. She pointed them in the direction where the loggers went missing.
​
“There’s a clearing up ahead where we found their wagon. Their axes were on the ground beside it with no trace of where they went.”
​
“Alright,” Telerek said, pulling his hood back over his head. “We’ll get to it.” He carefully stepped into the undergrowth toward the clearing, leading the way. Val, Magnar and Magnus followed closely behind.
​
As Kel’dhos started after them, a small hand grabbed his. He looked down to see Thistlefoot’s bright green eyes, her face painted with concern.
​
“Be careful,” she said, releasing his hand. “I don’t know what’s out there, but it’s dangerous.”
​
“We will be, Thistlefoot,” he assured her. “We’ll find your loggers and we’ll bring them home if we can.”
​
“You’re a holy man, aren’t you?”
​
“Yes, I am.”
​
“If you find them out there and they’re gone,” Thistlefoot said softly. “Will you perform rites for them?”
​
Kel’dhos nodded, gripping his pendant. “You have my word.”
​
“Thank you.”
​
With that, Thistlefoot turned and left, disappearing into the trees, leaving Kel’dhos and his companions alone in the heart of the Tiuv Forest.
​
***
After nearly fifteen minutes of struggling through the dense undergrowth, they finally came to the clearing Thistlefoot had mentioned. The sun broke through the canopy above, casting thin beams of light onto the ground, lighting the way for their search.
​
Telerek and Val moved methodically about the grassy, muddy-slick forest bed, pausing every so often to inspect things more closely, while Magnar stomped off on his own, grumbling and sighing loudly as he went.
​
Kel’dhos stepped up beside Magnus, who was flipping through his spellbook. “Do you really think magic could be involved here?”
​
“I’m about to find out,” Magnus replied, tracing his finger along an incantation. “Stand back. I’ll need room for this spell.”
​
Kel’dhos watched as the dwarven wizard performed a series of hand gestures. As he spoke the incantation, his voice became resonate, slipping into a language unfamiliar to him. That’s likely the Arcane tongue. I’ve never heard anyone use it before.
​
“Profero incantatum.”
​
Pale blue light burst to life in Magnus’ hand as he flourished, and Kel’dhos watched in curiosity as the wizard’s eyes even began to glow. Hmm… I wonder if my eyes do that when I channel Sioch’s divinity.
​
Leaving Magnus to his casting, Kel’dhos wandered to the northside of the clearing where he found a bed of leaves that appeared to have been disturbed recently. He knelt beside the pile, noting it looked as if something—or someone—was dragged through the area.
​
“I found a pond over here! I dove in to cool off.”
​
Kel’dhos turned to see Magnar stomping back into the clearing, soaking wet, ringing out his hair and beard.
​
“It’s not even hot out,” Telerek muttered to the muscular dwarf. “It’s quite literally winter.”
​
“Bah! I always get hot when I’m out and about.” Magnar violently shook his head like a dog shaking water from their coat.
​
Kel’dhos let out a sharp whistle, getting the attention of everyone but Magnus, who was still in deep concentration of his incantation.
​
“This spot here looks recently disturbed,” Kel’dhos said, showing Telerek and Val as they knelt, studying the area.
​
“Aye,” Telerek said, running his fingers over the dirt. “This is where we go once the wizard is finished.”
​
After another minute or two, Magnus stopped chanting, his eyes fading back to their normal hue. “Nothing. No presence of magic at all.” An air of disappointment seemed to wrap around his words.
​
“Great. I told you magic was stupid,” Magnar said, laughing and pointing at his brother. “Now can we get movin’?”
​
“Oh, just you wait,” Magnus said, stowing his spellbook into its pouch. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”
​
Kel’dhos and Telerek led the way past the pile of leaves into more rough undergrowth, though not as thick as it had been before they arrived at the clearing. The tree bark seemed sicklier and the vegetation looked like it was thinning out the deeper they went. But why?
​
Before Kel’dhos could even think about the answer, he heard creaking up ahead and raised his shield, gripping his mace tightly. Telerek gave the signal to halt as he pulled out his bow, nocking an arrow.
​
The trees began moving.
​
Three grotesque looking trees ripped themselves free of the dirt, lumbering toward Kel’dhos and the others. Their limbs blackened and covered in a wet, green fungus, and each one had a pair of ruby red eyes.
​
The closest one swung its lanky, jagged limb toward Kel’dhos and his companions.
“Look out!” shouted Kel’dhos as he raised his shield just in time to deflect a wooden spike.
​
Magnar let out a ferocious roar of fury. “Finally!” He leapt ahead of the group, dashing straight at the creature, warhammer raised high.
​
Telerek loosed an arrow, striking the creature in the back. It flinched and shrugged its bulky limbs, snapping the arrow shaft in half. It screeched an awful noise—like wood grinding against wood with a shrill shriek mixed in—and began stumbling toward them.
​
Kel’dhos heard Magnus incanting once more, feeling the heat from a ball of fire sear past his head toward the monstrous tree. The red flame soared over the top of the creature, missing it entirely, continuing into the shadowy tree line. Loud curses came from behind Kel’dhos as Magnus quickly began incanting again.
​
“Sioch, grant me your sacred flame!” shouted Kel’dhos, raising his mace to the heavens above as he charged after Magnar. The head of the steel weapon burned a radiant gold as Kel'dhos aimed his mace at the closest twisted tree. Another blazing ball of flames hissed passed Kel’dhos just as his own golden flame burst forth. Together, both spells struck the gnarly creature in unison, engulfing the decrepit tree in a fiery blaze. Magnar reached their burning foe, heaving his heavy hammer with a battle cry, smashing its head, crumpling it to the ground in a smoldering heap.
​
Magnar roared in agony as a second creature struck him in the back with its razor-like limb, slicing into him. The raging dwarf repaid the tree in kind, striking it in the chest with the butt of the warhammer, stunning the awful wood monstrosity. Another fireball struck the creature in the face, narrowly missing Magnar. With another feral roar, the hammer-wielding dwarf swung his mighty weapon, sending the creature’s head flying into the thicket as the rest of the creature burned from Magnus’ fire.
​
Nearby, Val stood beside Telerek, raising her hands in front of her face, channeling a meager red flame. Telerek nocked two more arrows and took aim just as a pair of dagger-sized bark pieces struck him in the shoulder. One glanced off harmlessly, while the other bit deep into him.
​
The wood elf grunted and launched his arrows at the beast, piercing both its glaring red eyes. Val bounded in front of her wounded cousin and hurled her flames at the tree, igniting the wooden menace.
​
The final creature screeched and moaned as the flames consumed it, snuffing out whatever gave it life.
​
“Yeahhhh!!” Magnar roared. Kel’dhos could see blood streaming from the cut on his back, but the dwarf didn’t seem to care in the slightest.
​
Before rushing over to Telerek, Kel’dhos turned and nodded at Magnus, who looked rather pleased with himself. Kel’dhos reached the wounded wood elf and set eyes on a jagged, wooden spike stuck out of his left shoulder.
​
“What in the hells were those things?” asked Telerek, wincing in pain.
​
“Hold still.” Grasping his stone pendant with one hand, Kel’dhos took firm hold of the protruding piece of bark. He called upon Sioch as he yanked the bark from Telerek’s shoulder with one swift tug. The elf, who normally had a light green complexion, began to pale as he let out a long, pained groan.
​
A bright golden light flared from Kel’dhos pendant as he pressed his palm to Telerek’s wound. The radiant light flashed brighter beneath Kel’dhos’ hand, sealing the once mangled wound to smooth, unblemished skin.
​
Telerek’s breathing slowed from its frantic cadence to a more relaxed one, tension easing from his face. After a few more seconds, Kel’dhos stood and helped pull Telerek to his feet.
​
“Good as new,” said Kel’dhos. He was pleased with himself. He held his own in combat while providing aid to the wounded. His first real test in this new, wild world was a success.
​
“I told you a cleric would come in handy,” the roguish Telerek said, a sly grin stretching his face. “What were those things?”
​
Before Kel’dhos could answer, booming laughter ripped through the clearing. He turned to see Magnar, still bleeding profusely, doubled over, pointing at Magnus.
​
“Don’t think I didn’t see that!” the barbarian howled. “You missed the giant fuckin’ tree! So much for ‘you’ll show me.’ Ha!”
​
“Two of them burned because of my fire, brother,” Magnus retorted with a scowl, trying to prove his point to Magnar.
​
“Still missed the first one,” Magnar laughed. “All that build up, only to miss the first damn magic ball you throw.”
​
“It’s a firebolt. Not a ball.”
​
“Whatever.”
​
Kel’dhos approached Magnar and helped the obnoxious dwarf, placing his hands on his back. The wound wasn’t as bad as it initially looked, thankfully.
​
With their wounds tended, the group inspected the charred remains of the tree creatures, but the beasts didn’t have anything of significance. Magnus attempted to determine if these creatures were magically possessed, but, again, didn’t have any luck perceiving if magic fueled these monsters. The group opted to move on, heading the direction the trees came from, which gave Kel’dhos time to ponder.
​
What could have spurned those creatures after us? Surely not the Goddess of the Wild Wood… Freyil is too kind-hearted to create such beasts. I’ll have to think on this…
​
After some time, they came to another clearing. As they exited from the thicket, Kel’dhos saw a large cave mouth gaping from the earth a few hundred feet ahead. Boxes were stacked outside in an orderly fashion, and standing torches lined a pathway up to the opening.
​
“Be alert,” Telerek said as he motioned toward the cave. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
​
“I hope there’s more things to kill in there,” said Magnar, cracking his knuckles.
​
All five companions carefully moved into the cave, weapons at the ready. The cave swallowed the sunlight, darkness taking hold as the group descended deep into the rock and dirt. Luckily, Kel’dhos had been blessed with the darkvision of his mother’s people, though he couldn’t discern colors—only shades of greys and blacks—but it was enough to manage where others may need torches.
​
Kel’dhos led the way, shield up, mace at the ready when they came to a cavern within the depths. The cavern was still dominated by darkness, but a faint glow from the rear of the expanse cut into the void. A large, silhouetted black mass sat before the light, squirming.
​
“By the divine peace of Sioch, what is that?” Kel’dhos asked. He squinted, trying to see anything that may let him know what lay ahead.
​
Magnar knelt, putting his hand on the cavern’s rocky floor as he closed his eyes. He gave a low, guttural hum for a quick moment before standing. “Just the large thing in the back of the room. That’s all I can sense.”
​
“Good one, brother,” said Magnus.
​
“Heh. You may have all that fancy schoolin’, but I have the practical smarts.” Magnar pointed to his head as he gloated.
​
As everyone crept forward, the shadowed shape began squirming and chittering louder and louder. Kel’dhos got a detailed look at the object, which now looked like an egg sack of some sort. Veins pulsed and strange objects within pushed against its undulating fleshiness.
​
Magnar took a step closer just as the mass lifted off the damp rocky ground, stretching into the air, as if inhaling a deep, ragged breath. The squirming mass fell to the ground, letting out a deafening shriek that resonated throughout the cavern.
​
Kel’dhos winced at the shrill noise, but he wasted no time, channeling Sioch’s divine power through his mace once more, launching a volley of holy flames at the monstrous coagulation of flesh. The golden fire struck the sack, but it only seemed to shriek louder at the pain.
​
Magnar leapt forward, swinging his hammer with a fury unlike anything Kel’dhos had seen before. The barbarian’s hammer smashed into the sack, splitting it open, spilling a slimy, rancid ichor all over the rocky ground. The awful screeching waned as the creature died at Magnar’s feet.
​
Before anyone could even speak, more twisted tree creatures burst from the edges of the cave. Smaller trees appeared at the back of the room, skittering into the open cavern, laughing evilly as they began shooting wooden spikes at the group.
​
Kel’dhos raised his shield, blocking a barrage of the needle-like projectiles, saving himself and Magnus from impalement. Val dove out of the way of a another deadly volley, and Telerek began loosing arrows at the little creatures.
​
Kel’dhos and Magnus fell back toward the tunnel. Magnus, invoking his Arcane spells, launched firebolt after firebolt as Kel’dhos deflected incoming spikes from the dreadful creatures.
​
Just when Kel’dhos thought things couldn’t get any worse, he heard a loud noise coming from the tunnel behind them. The sound of metal clanking. Armor. Someone in armor was moving quickly.
​
And whoever it was, was headed straight for them.
​
Kel’dhos looked over his shoulder and saw Magnus already turned, two firebolts blazing from the palms of his hands, facing down the unknown threat in the tunnel.
Across the cavern, Magnar leaped about, swinging futilely at the nimble imp-ish trees as he chased them. Telerek was holding his own, but his arrows didn’t seem to affect the thick bark of the larger tree monsters, and Val was nowhere to be found.
​
“Help us, Sioch.” Kel’dhos turned and stowed his mace. He began to call upon his divine magic, a radiant flame dancing to life in his palm.
​
Kel’dhos whispered a final prayer as he and Magnus awaited whoever, or whatever, was coming their way.
​
End of Chapter Two
Kel’dhos sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes, still groggy from the night before.
​
Forgive me, Sioch, Kel’dhos thought, glancing at the deity’s pendant resting on the wooden stand beside his bed. I may have indulged in too much ale last night.
​
Sunlight shimmered through the slatted shutters of the room’s lone, rotting window, casting a warm glow onto the creaky floor. In the distance, the sound of eager ship bells rang, coaxing Kel’dhos quickly out of bed. He rushed to the window, pushing it open, but all he could see was another rundown building of grimy wood a few feet away. No harbor or ships in sight.
​
I need to hurry to the docks. Someone there must know about father.
​
Kel’dhos splashed cold water from the rickety basin in the corner onto his face and ran a wet hand through his shoulder-length black hair, smoothing out the unkempt strands. He threw on his white tunic and grey-blue trousers—the holy colors of Sioch, the God of Peace—and sat on the edge of the bed.
​
After sliding his grey-steel greaves over his aching feet, he stood tall, facing his chest armor resting peacefully on the floor. He knelt beside the well-crafted scale mail, inspecting it. The scales were perfectly matched and lined the entirety of the breast plate, showing off a unique blue-grey color with a golden trim lining the edges. He threw the armor over his head, cinching the straps taught around his flanks to secure the hefty piece of steel to his torso. His grey cloak tied nicely to the small pauldrons atop his shoulders.
​
Kel’dhos paused, gazing down at his divine pendant of Sioch. The God of Peace gave him strength, and just the mere sight of the alabaster stone pendant invoked a sense of serenity within him. Strength and serenity. Such an odd combination, but his father always preached that a harmony of the two would lead to an unbreakable fortitude.
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Kel’dhos reached out, grabbing the circular stone, pulling it close. An artistic aureate S sat at its center, with a golden topaz inlaid in the core of the letter. Four more topazes lined the edges at the top, bottom, left and right of the pendant. He closed both hands around his cherished symbol of Sioch and whispered a prayer.
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“Sioch… hear my prayer. Please give me the strength to find my father and bring him home. Bring me good tidings on this day and lend me the courage to keep the peace as best I can while traveling with my new companions… They seem like the rough sort. They will need your wisdom.”
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Kel’dhos held the pendant to his forehead for a moment before hanging it around his neck. “Let’s conquer this day.”
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He picked up his round shield—a sturdy piece of steel with Sioch’s symbol at the center—and mace with a wooden shaft, black leather grip and heavy steel head. Kel’dhos stowed his weapon into a ringlet on his belt and latched his shield to his back, then grabbed his most treasured book, The Word of Siochainn—the sacred text of Sioch. It was no bigger than his palm and fit nicely into a small leather pouch fashioned to his belt opposite the mace.
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Kel’dhos gave a final glance around the room, making sure he did not forget anything. Attentiveness. It was one of his father’s tenets—among countless others—that he instilled in Kel’dhos early in life. His father was a godly man, and one who prided himself on always being observant.
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‘He who is attentive is oft prepared.’
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His father’s simple words echoed in his mind, reminding Kel’dhos of how much he missed him. The next words came easily to Kel’dhos.
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“Preparedness lends itself to success. Success brings peace and serenity.” Kel’dhos smiled at the words and made sure to scan the room for the second final time.
Leaving his quaint room behind, Kel’dhos stepped into the narrow hallway and moved to the room next door. He leaned closely, listening in on the room of his dwarf companions—Magnum and Magnar. Loud intermittent rumbling was all he heard from inside, which he could only assume was snoring after their long night of ale.
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I’m not surprised in the slightest. I’ve never seen anyone drink so much. I don’t know how those two even managed to make it up the stairs.
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Reminiscing about the night before, Kel’dhos shook his head with a bemused grin as he descended the tavern stairs, through the main room and out into the bustling streets of Ridgeton, hoping to find answers at the docks.
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***