The Stormsworn Saga

A knock on the door woke Arias from his reverie, though the knock was but the lightest tap. Watching the handle turn slowly, Arias took up his staff as he scooped his books into a backpack and rolled deftly to his feet, placing his back against the wall as he prepared to create a cloud of flying, whirling daggers to block the doorway should someone unwelcome attempt to enter.

Opening slowly, slowly, slowly the door drifted from its frame to allow a halfling to poke his head into the room. Rolling his eyes, Arias stood straight and waved his hand, causing the door to fly open and slam against the wall.

Marinald jumped, eyes wide and blinking at Arias in surprised delight.

“Master elf, I did’na think you’d be awake! I was trying ta be so quiet in case you were, and I thought you wouldn’t mind, us being friends and all, if I were ta look around a bit, maybe take a gander at your book. Could I maybe read it, do you think?”

Arias shook his head. “No, Marinald,” he sighed, “as I have explained before, it would be very dangerous for you to read it.” Picking up his backpack, Arias gazed sternly at the halfling. “And you should know not to enter the room of a wizard.”

“Oh!” the halfling exclaimed, “Would you have done something terrible to me? Hey, that was magic when you opened the door! Can you do it again?”

Investing a moment to stare blankly at the halfling, Arias swept out of the room. Before Marinald could follow him, the door slammed shut. Smiling at Marinald’s squeal of delight, Arias walked slowly so the halfling could open the door and catch up with him.

“What is on the agenda today, Marinald?” Arias asked blithely.

Swallowing his many questions in an audible gulp, the halfling looked up at the wizard. The elf didn’t dress like Marinald had expected a magic user to: no robes or pointy hat, no symbols of magic or demonic runes embroidered on his clothes, and certainly no long and flowing beard! Besides the pouches at his side, which could have contained anything (Arias had singed his hand the one time Marinald tried to dip into one), you might never know Arias was a wizard. The elf dressed very sensibly in breeches like everyone else, favouring a blue tunic over black or gray pants. A dagger balanced his pouches, and he wore a gray cloak and no hat at all. Soft, leather boots came halfway up his calf and tread silently through the burrow, and the elf’s eyes never stopped roaming.

Perhaps more than the pouches, Marinald thought Arias’s eyes might give him away. They certainly made him seem wise, for they rarely seemed to be focused on anything nearby. No, the elven wizard was always looking much further than the walls around him. Certainly, that must be the mark of a wizard, the halfling thought. Probably seeing elementals, or other dimensions, or maybe through the walls themselves! Marinald resolved to ask Arias some day before remembering why he had come to fetch the wizard in the first place.

“Today,” Marinald responded, “I thought I’d introduce you to some adventurers! They’ve come through on their way to Sarenka to negotiate a trade treaty.”

Frowning, Arias asked, “Why would adventurers be involved in such a task? Wouldn’t diplomats or the merchants themselves be better suited?”

Nodding, Marinald replied, “Perhaps, but each member of the band has been assigned to represent their people. With the Troubles, it was decided to send someone who could take care of themselves.”

Marinald’s bushy eyebrows were drawn low, and Arias heard the undertone to his words. The halfling was often carefree, but even he recognized that the adventurers were sent because they were expendable, and therefore cheaper to replace than diplomats.

Following a set of winding stairs deeper into the borrow, Arias and Marinald made their way to the Great Meeting Hall, used for everything from eating to dancing, weddings and funerals, and located as far from the blacksmithy and tanneries as possible. It also served as their final defense, and the room was peppered with murder holes, traps, and strong barricades that could be thrown into use at a moment’s notice.

Standing four stories tall, pillars as big around as three halflings walked down the Great Hall’s two hundred yards. Various groups of halflings ate and drank, some engaged in conversation while others napped near the various firepits built into the hall. Its architecture and arrangement was a testament to the tightly knit communities of the halflings; where other races build rooms and doors to obtain a small measure of privacy, the halflings committed themselves to communal areas with enough room to hold the entire burrow.

Marinald quickly led Arias to a group talking quietly with three halflings. Gazing intently at the adventurers, Arias wondered what sort of trade agreement could bring such disparate peoples together. Five in all, he stared at them in puzzlement.

A hulking human, clad in scale mail with a greatsword visible over his shoulder, sat awkwardly on a bench with the rest of the party speaking over or around him. Short, brown hair brushed his forehead and his brown eyes went from one person to the other, following the conversation while his hands flexed idly where they rested on his thighs. His arms were huge, as were his legs, and Arias guessed that the man was solid muscle under his armour. The elf would not be surprised if the human were able to wield the greatsword with but one hand.

Sitting beside the human was a dwarf, a pipe in his hand with smoke curling from its bowl. Many of the dwarves Arias had met in his travels were either polite to the point of cold hostility or so temperamental and rude that he avoided them entirely. This dwarf, however, looked so relaxed and confident that he gave the impression that he owned the burrow and everything in it. Where his eye rested, it shone with pride, and he chatted amicably at the quiet fighter beside him.

The elf was a surprise, for it was rare that they left the homeland, and this one more so. She appeared to be of the druidic orders, and her discomfort with the burrow was plain to see. A scimitar rode comfortably at her hip and her leather armour was supple, contoured to her thin body. Dark brown hair was pulled into an intricate braid, leaving her pointed ears defiantly exposed. Her mouth moved awkardly, as if she were either unaccustomed to Common or it insulted her sensibilities to be forced to speak it.

A gnome stood beside the elf, coming only to the druid’s thigh, though this meant that she was on eye level with the halflings and therefore much more comfortable in the burrow than the others. Arias’s thin eyebrows crept up his forehead at the holy symbol resting on the gnome’s breast. He had yet to meet one of their people, and had never heard of them practicing any sort of religion. Gnomes were often dedicated solely to their studies, which were often some new invention that exploded, destroying itself and sometimes its creator, far more often than making any progress. They were single-minded in their pursuits, but he had never heard of one becoming anointed.

Last, and perhaps the most marvelous, was a hawkbreed with a bow slung over his shoulder. Arias had heard of the strange hawkmen, though he knew little more than rough descriptions of their appearance and that they hailed from somewhere in the southern Vanguard Mountains. A green tunic had been modified with holes for his large wings and golden shoulder buttons securing the shirt. A quiver and a shortsword hung from the broad belt at his waist, and his pants went to just below the knees. He wore no boots, for none would fit over his feet that, though they rested flat upon the floor, were tipped in curved talons that shone like ivory. His feathers were a reddish brown, much like the color of clay, and he stood at least six and a half feet tall. Beak gaping slightly, the hawkbreed’s intelligent eyes looked down upon the halflings with curious interest, though he stood somewhat awkwardly to the side, apart from the rest and leaving the talking to the elven druid and her gnomish companion.

As Marinald and Arias approached, the group of adventurers finally took notice. First, it was the hawkbreed who whistled something to the human, who in turn whispered something to the dwarf, finally causing him to open his eyes and take an interest in something other than his pipe. The gnome noticed the approaching duo with a slight squeak and tugged on hem of the druid’s shirt, pointing at them. While the gnome looked excited, exclaiming something about how glad the druid must be to see another of her kind, the elf’s gaze might have withered an already dessicated corpse.

Suddenly, her eyes went wide. “Sha’ta’oth!” she cried. “The Dark Elf, here!”

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