Chapter 1 Part 4: Nurturer

Silvanus, soul of growth,

Let their passage be true to the right they have earned,

As their nature decrees them to be.

As breath clings on to breath and life to life,

Take these who have been called back to your light.

“FOR HUNGER!”

Lesamien Xelephia Vaebar looked up over the body of the newly charbroiled hobgoblin she’d been searching. The battle – if one could call it that – had taken less than two full minutes. Six dead or dying hobgoblins, and two already beginning to smell like their ale thanks to Azareth’s lightning spell. She wrinkled her nose.

She lifted the body and flipped it over. The belt had a few bulges here and there that were clearly visible against the sunken leather. Lesa slipped a hand in, and produced a small bottle full of fluid. “Wizard?” She looked over her shoulder. The three other women were crowded about the pantry door and seemed to be picking over a few loaves of moldy bread.

“You mean you’ve never eaten crusty and moldy bread?”

“Let’s throw a party in the basement!”

“We have to focus on the task at hand!”

“Azareth, would you try to identify this?” Lesa tossed the bottle at the wizard. He caught it with all the unrefined grace of one kept indoors too much.

“Ah, a potion of cure moderate wounds. Acantha should likely keep it.”

“Maybe the half-elf should keep them. All eight of them. She has her liver sticking out half the time,” the party’s swashbuckler, Milica, commented. Lesa had nothing against the young girl as of yet, but her ill-whispered comments had been slowly wearing away at her patience. She’d always been slow to warm up to people, too, so the girl’s sharp tongue had been acting as a rather effective deterrent.

“Hey! If you ever get hurt, I shall personally make sure you don’t get any!” Kieran, the said half-elf with the current reputation as the ‘unlucky rogue’, quipped. Lesa paid the rest of their bickering no more notice. All in all, the party had collected eight potions of cure moderate wounds and two oils of magic weapon, plus one strange-looking exotic weapon that she didn’t recognize, which had gotten stashed in Alioth’s pack.

“What is it with you and detecting evil!?”

It was Milica again, though it wasn’t Kieran she had directed that last comment towards. Alioth was facing down towards the basement of the keep, his eyes shut and a look of concentration on his features. Lesa had thought that Milica had feelings of some sort towards the Aasimar, but it seemed the paladin’s penchant for silence had whittled away that feeling quite quickly. It didn’t help, she thought, that Alioth used his ability to detect evil auras like a dog looked for the scent of food – liberally and literally.

“In any case,” Lesa said, recalling the map somewhat, “I think there were still a few areas we have neglected to check -”

“Will there be treasure?” Kieran’s head snapped up with a large smile ripped straight off the face of an expectant cat. Out of nowhere, she produced their map of the keep. “There’re still the captain’s quarters and the quartermaster’s chambers.”

Lesa nodded. According to Alioth, there weren’t any hobgoblins left on the first floor. That meant it should at least be safe enough for them to split up. “I advise we split into two groups to search the remaining rooms.” General murmurs of agreement rose around. “So, who will go with whom?”

“Can I have the human? I want to bicker with her,” Kieran whined.

“Fine, half-elf.”

“May I go with them?” Acantha asked.

“So it will be Kieran, Milica, and Acantha searching the-?”

“Captain’s quarters will probably have a bit of gold.”

“GOLD!”

“The captain’s quarters, then,” Lesa sighed. She swore that mere lack of physical resemblance was the only thing that prevented her from calling Milica and Kieran twins. “I’ll search the quartermaster’s chambers with Azareth and Alioth.”

The twins and the cleric wandered towards the right side of the hallway while the rest headed towards the quartermaster’s on the left. Lesa stepped out last. Something large, warm, and furry crashed onto her back. ‘What in the name of-!?’

Flipping over, she saw the large pink gums, pearly white teeth, mottled green fur, and bright obsidian eyes of her elven hound, Nealla. She’d forgotten her promise to play with it after the battle, Lesa realized. She signaled Alioth to search the room without her. Nealla took precedence over treasure.

She tossed a hobgoblin bone torn off one of the dead for Nealla to fetch. Quite gruesome and crude, really. It landed near the now-open door of the captain’s quarters. Nealla bounded over to it, but stopped a short while before the door and looked to the side for some reason Lesa couldn’t guess. “What is it, Nea -” A loud crash resounded through the doorway.

“I’ll create water, just don’t use my holy water.”

“Why didn’t you do that in the first place!?” Lesa thought she heard a much weaker word muttered under the swashbuckler’s breath.

“What’s the difference, it’s going to burn her anyway.” Lesa heard the sounds of a fire sizzling as water got poured over it.

“Make the half-elf search the ashes.”

A few moments later, Lesa started off towards the other room, Nealla close behind her. She’d heard a fair bit more than what would probably be revealed during questioning later on. Whatever they found in the fire’s ashes said something about a god named Bane with the epithet “the Black Hand” who’d ordered the garrison take-over.

Alioth looked up at her as she entered. “Lesamien, the Purple Dragons’ logs do not record anything past a date about a ten-day ago.”

“I see. Has there been anything else?”

“No, nothing is left in this room. There is a door over there, however.”

Lesa stepped up to the door Alioth had pointed out. Azareth was busying himself with the bookcases about the room. The doorknob rattled in her hand, but the door itself stayed solid as the oak it was made of. “Who wants to break it down?” Lesa looked up to see the party’s wizard brandishing about a staff like an ape swinging its arms.

“I advise against that. Let me go get Kieran,” Lesa said as she ran the short distance towards the other room. The sounds of more bickering floated towards her ears. “Kieran, we need your assistance in the opposite room.”

“But I was arguing with the human!“

“There might be something in the arsenal!” Lesa scrambled to figure out something that would make the half-elf interested enough to drop her argument.

“Is it GOLD!?”

And that was a good enough reason. “Maybe!”

“If there’s gold involved, take me with you,” Milica seemed equally eager to drop the enjoyment of a good word-fight in favor of gold.

“I don’t want to get left alone,” Acantha ventured. What was the point in only trying to get Kieran again? Lesa had forgotten. Apparently, she had been going to get everybody else.

Back at the quartermaster’s arsenal door, Kieran took her time poking and jabbing and basically toying around with the lock. After two minutes, the oak door swung open and the twins sped towards the twin chests sitting opposite the doorway. “The twins seem quite eager to have treasure,” Lesa accidentally said out loud.

Kieran’s head snapped up for the second time in ten minutes. “We are not twins! That is an insult to my kind!”

“I do not blush such a pitiful shade of blue!”

Like Milica said, Kieran was indeed blushing a pale shade of blue about the tops of her cheeks, possibly in anger, “It’s because I’ve got blue blood!”

“So do I. But do I blush blue?”

“I meant real blood, darnmit! That’s it, I’m not opening your chest.”

While Milica attempted to convince the Kieran who was now picking the lock on the treasure box she’d reserved for herself, Alioth had left the room and Azareth had unearthed an armful of scrolls. “Now, let us see, what language is this written in~?”

“Orc.” Everybody else intoned flatly.

“I can speak Orc~! And this is a scroll of Stinking Cloud!”

“Sounds pleasant,” Kieran made a face.

“It is not,” the wizard didn’t seem to realize the dripping sarcasm.

Two scrolls and two opened chests (Kieran had been driven more by the argument that there could be gold inside than by Milica’s words) later, the party had gained a set of leather armor and a few other miscellaneous items. “So, what did you find?” Lesa asked. She wanted to figure out how much her companions would tell her willingly; it helped gauge how much they were able to pick out important details, at the very least.

“There was a set of stairs in the other room. According to the map, it’s one of two stairs to the second floor. We saw the other one in the hallway,” Milica unrolled the map as she spoke. “The hallway stairs lead to the barracks, while the captain’s stairs lead onto the open courtyard.”

Alioth returned at this moment, and leaned beside Milica to peer at the map. The low torchlight made the girl’s blush only just visible. “I have been trying to detect exactly where the auras are: it seems the one moderate aura I detected last is in here.” His finger landed on the curly label of the barracks.

“Well, they could be sleeping.”

“That moderate aura could possibly be the leader of the squad,” Lesa noted.

Alioth shrugged. “Not exactly, Lesamien. Detecting auras is quite tricky. Any evil cleric would give off a much stronger aura than an equivalently powerful fighter.”

“So, we’re not sure where the big bad guy is?” Kieran piped up.

“I would suppose so.”

“In that case, I say we go onto the roof.”

“If the other room has the cleric, wouldn’t it be better to get rid of the cleric first?”

“Come on! We need at least one breath of fresh air!” Kieran’s voice had taken on an exasperated tone.

“I go with the half-elf,” surprisingly, it was Milica who made that comment. “I’m going to make sure nothing with a pointy stick kills her until I do.”

“I HEARD that!”

“I’ll go with Milica,” Acantha intoned.

“Well, it will be a little dangerous facing off against eleven opponents in two groups,” Lesa commented. “I propose we all go up together this time.” Beside her, Nealla whined. It still hadn’t gotten over being almost forgotten, apparently.

And thus, all six of them found themselves standing beneath the spiral staircase leading up to what was presumably a rooftop guarded by three hobgoblins. Milica took the lead this time, vividly arguing with Kieran who stood right behind. They’d taken no more than just a few steps upwards when a cracking sound caught Lesa’s ears. Too quickly, the roof over Milica’s head crumbled and collapsed. The swashbuckler was dexterous, and had almost gotten out of the way without a scratch. She slipped at the last possible moment, and a large piece of debris now pinned her to the stairs.

“We should put her in front more often,” Kieran noted with a voice only slightly tinged with glee. She still pulled the human out from under the rubble, though. “I wouldn’t worry. The cleric heals well.”

“Cleric, heal me now,” was the almost-grunted reply.

Acantha poured the contents of one of the potions they’d found earlier on Milica’s wounds. She then placed her hands on the rapidly closing wounds, and intoned a prayer to Kelemvor. When she stood up, the only signs of Milica ever having wounds were the torn and slightly stained clothing. “Told you she heals well,” Kieran said as she checked the rubble.

“It seems we can still ascend these stairs,” Azareth said, “Might Milica want to stay nearer the back–?”

“No, I’m staying in front,” Milica glowered as she stood up. Lesa decided that it was probably for the best that she did, given the large chance for even more traps as they moved. They managed to reach the top of the stairs without any occasion. A small door stood slightly ajar. Behind it, Lesa could just make out a large and seemingly complex contraption.

“It’s a trebuchet,” Azareth stated as the party spilled onto the roof. “It is a type of siege weapon, like a catapult though it works very differently. Cutting the rope over there should keep it from firing.”

Lesa squinted her eyes to make out the general direction of the projectile the trebuchet could fire. There was supposedly another garrison to the south of the Red Spires. The trebuchet seemed pointed there. She felt quite sure that this god Bane would continue to try to expand into Cormyr territory. The rope Azareth mentioned innocently stayed taut on the opposite corner of the trebuchet from her, near a door that led into a storage shed.

“And I thought we were here for fresh air,” Kieran sniffed. The scent of the gunpowder and the sulfur from within the shed was quite pronounced, and Lesa felt like a canary in a coalmine as she cut the rope with her kukri. Her eyes looked up past the mechanism. In the shadows beside the door they’d just exited, she saw a strangely flickering flame in the shape of a sword. The sword-like shape pulsed and danced with all the deadly shimmer of a fire.

“Everyone, something is over there.”

“Do you guys want to, like, flee?” It was Kieran, already beginning to step back.

“No,” everyone else replied. “We were hired for this, correct?” Lesa added.

“Damn you brave people! I came for the money!”

“Stop being pathetic, you half-elf!”

“You’re just using the same insult over and over again! It’s not even an insult!”

“I would not worry. They’re simply too occupied to think of anything better. Like maybe likening you to bat dung,” Lesa was getting quite irritated by their shouts.

“Ouch!? And I thought you didn’t like getting involved in word-fights.”

“Can we just fssssshk them?” Azareth gestures indicated what seemed to be a fireball.

It was at this moment that the holder of the large sword stepped out from the shadows. It was hobgoblin, about as tall as the wall behind it, with ruddy orange skin, a bright blue nose, and reddish-brown hair. It brandished the huge greatsword – it was probably as long as Kieran was tall, Lesa noted – without any seeming difficulty. Behind it was a six-foot tall gnoll that was gibbering nonsense from its lips. A large battleaxe was in one of its huge paws while the other clasped a smaller handaxe. Both axes reflected the available torchlight with a deadly shine. It threw its hyena-like head back with a laugh as insane-sounding as a hyena’s bark, and Lesa felt her blood run a little colder. A third figure was huddled close to the wall. It wore a black cloak, but it was clearly a normal-sized hobgoblin. Spell component pouches were on a sash-like belt slung over one shoulder and fastened beneath the other.

The gigantic hobgoblin smirked, an action that only made its flat face look contorted. “Did you really think you could go up against the Black Hand?” his voice was low and feral, like some sort of cross between a human bass singer and a howler monkey.

“That is not an orc!” Azareth’s voice came out slightly squeaky. Everyone else gasped in response.

“The Black Hand of Bane shall fall under the might of Tyr,” Alioth responded with all calmness. Lesa noticed Milica’s head turn towards Alioth. Maybe the paladin’s first sign of real conviction had again captured the girl’s heart? Lesa thought she heard a low muttered “Amaazing”.

“I now consider you as unliving as the pebble at the bottom of a stream no longer.”

“That was a weird line,” Kieran told Lesa as she stepped behind the ranger. “Hey, hobgoblins hate elves, right?”
by Vasanti

Chapter 1 Part 3: Scoundrel

How crude.

Kieran Aquilaë merely raised an eyebrow as the door crashed open. Was some stealth too much to ask from these people? They were supposed to surprise the hobgoblins from behind, after all. As it was, they were now charging into a mess hall full of enemies, who were probably already aware that a rogue, a noisy swashbuckler, and a wizard were about to try to skewer them.

Or, they would have known, if said rogue, swashbuckler, and wizard’s comrades hadn’t engaged them in battle five seconds earlier. The paladin, ranger, and cleric stood atop a table in the middle of the room, their weapons at the ready. Near the table lay two hobgoblins, already incapacitated; Kieran thought she saw teeth marks on one of them. There was a howl from the ranger’s hound; add to that the cries and grunts from the hobgoblins, and the door crashing open was really no issue.

Still, it was through pure luck that their team wasn’t noticed; Kieran turned to her teammates, bent on telling them that it wasn’t likely that every single time there was to be a surprise attack, there would be teammates on tables or hobgoblins bleeding and writhing all over the floor to distract their opponents.

“They’re distracted-” she began, but the wizard merely waved her off and charged inside. Kieran sighed, and started counting under her breath as Azareth braced himself against a wall, planting himself right in front of a line of hobgoblins. The creatures, obviously surprised that an enemy had suddenly popped up out of nowhere, did not attack. Yet.

“One.”

The wizard started waving his hands around in a series of complicated gestures. Impressive, but waving wasn’t lethal; a few hobgoblins had already started to regain their bearings. Hoping that the elf wouldn’t get skewered before he completed his spell, Kieran kept on counting. If I reach three and he still hasn’t done anything, I’ll rush them.

“Two.”

The hobgoblins raised their weapons, eyeing Azareth warily. Lucky they were smart, and thus, more careful. The elf glared at them and chanted, his voice quiet as ever, but suddenly ominous.

“Ibul…”

A hobgoblin moved forward, slowly, carefully, his sword raised. So much for smart, Kieran thought as she watched the brute’s steady progress towards the elf.

“Soleilo…”

Another hobgoblin, seeing his comrade advance unharmed, brandished his falchion threateningly. The wizard was unfazed.

“Salat’ka…”

Kieran unsheathed her rapier, and moved closer to the doorway.

“Three.”

“Foozhing!” Azareth cried. Crackling bolts of electric blue lightning shot out of his fingers, slicing through the line of hobgoblins in front of him. The bolt immediately fried the injured ones to a crisp, and sent a couple more to the ground, twitching uncontrollably. The strange smell of ozone mixed with the stench of burnt hobgoblin flesh and hung in the air with the brownish smoke the scorched brutes produced. Azareth dusted off his hands, and admired his handiwork.

“I have defeated the orcs!”

Kieran smirked. The spell was absurd, but effective. They were lucky today. Apparently the swashbuckler thought so, too; she stormed inside, rapier drawn.

“Hobgoblins!” Milica corrected, lunging at the nearest one. Alerted by the shout, the hobgoblin ducked out of the way; the swashbuckler’s rapier merely snagged on its armor.

Kieran raised an eyebrow (it was becoming a habit of hers, considering). This human was supposed to be the tactician around here, and yet here she was flailing around like a drunken brawler. Tsk. Still, she had at least managed to upset the creature’s balance.

The hobgoblin stumbled, trying to recover-an opening for the half-elf. Slipping into the fray, she snuck up behind the hobgoblin and quickly plunged the blade into the creature’s back. Howling in pain, the creature fell to the floor, bleeding. The swashbuckler scowled.

In an attempt to irk her further, Kieran flicked the creature’s blood off her weapon and gave Milica a thumbs-up sign. The latter glared back, but the irritation was immediately replaced by a look of alarm. Kieran raised her eyebrow yet again, and twisted around to look.

A hobgoblin had crept up behind her. Sensing her surprise, it lifted its falchion above its head with a sinister grin and struck, ripping a large gash into the rogue’s left arm. Nearby, another one tried the same attack on Lesa, the ranger; its scimitar smashed into the wall as the elf nimbly evaded the blow.

“This is all your fault, Azareth!” Kieran yelled, staggering away from her attacker while she tried to keep hold on her rapier. “Why did you make them so angry?”

“But I am the wizard!” Azareth answered indignantly. “I need you to protect my fragile body! And it is my duty to kill orcs!”

“Hobgoblins!” Alioth grunted, swinging his greatsword at the half-elf’s assailant. Kieran stepped out of the way at the last minute; perhaps in his attempt not to hit the half-elf, the paladin’s blow was off the mark, grazing the hobgoblin’s shoulder but doing no other damage.

“Irrelevant,” Azareth said, adding wryly, “Tymora must be smiling upon us.”

Kieran rolled her eyes, inched closer to the wall, and scanned the room quickly to assess the situation.

Lesa still looked extremely irritated by the hobgoblin’s attack. She sprang at her assailant, twisting in midair to build momentum for her blade. The elven thinblade flashed silver as it sank into the hobgoblin’s chest; the kukri, however, merely snagged on the brute’s armor. Straightening up, the ranger whistled for her hound to deliver the final blow; however, Nealla, the dog, simply wagged her tail and barked.

“Not now,” Lesa protested. “I shall play with you later. Now keep-”

The ranger suddenly swung around. Another hobgoblin had fired at her with its shortbow; luckily, it was a miss. The arrow shot past and sank into the wall, quivering.

Kieran shifted her gaze to the hobgoblin that had attacked her. Acantha, the cleric, leapt off the table and deftly pummeled it with her heavy aspergillum. With a loud crack, the blow connected, and the hobgoblin reeled. Good thing she learned from last time, Kieran thought, her eyes wandering over to Azareth.

The wizard whipped out his bow, drew an arrow from his quiver, and set it to the bowstring; pulling the string back as far as he could make it, Azareth aimed at the hobgoblin that had shot at Lesa, and loosed the arrow. It flew slightly upward, over everyone else, and then angled down, burying itself squarely in the hobgoblin’s chest. The creature let out a terrifying howl, and flailed about.

“I thought you said you weren’t skilled with a bow?” Kieran called.

Azareth simply grinned, and muttered, “The student of the great Fyren has defeated those foul orcs!”

Milica, casting him a withering look, rolled her eyes. “Again with the ‘orcs.’” She glanced at Kieran, and barked, “Oi, half-elf!”

Here we go again. Scowling, Kieran turned to the swashbuckler; once again, her eyebrow was raised, mocking. She had to suppress a laugh at the glare that appeared on the swashbuckler’s face. This was amusing; so very amusing.

“I’ll show you skill,” Milica snarled. Swiftly stepping towards a hobgoblin-the one that had tried to cleave the ranger in half-she let it attempt a couple of hits for a while, parrying the strikes, before feinting to the left and pivoting quickly to thrust her rapier into its neck.

Kieran had to admit; it was some fancy swordplay, and pretty good footwork, too. Still, she wasn’t about to say that in front of the swashbuckler; her ego was bloated enough as it was. She simply raised her hands and clapped once, wincing as pain shot through her left hand. Her ears pricked up as she heard the sound of heavy breathing a couple of steps behind her. Hearing the hiss of a sword slice through the air, she smoothly stepped aside.

A hobgoblin stumbled past, its falchion striking the ground-hard. The creature spun a couple of times, thrown off balance by the force of its hit. The rogue smirked.

“What, you thought I wouldn’t hear you the second time?”

The hobgoblin grunted as it lifted its weapon again, aiming to strike once more. Alioth took the chance to lunge forward with his greatsword; the hobgoblin blocked the attack with its own blade, and sidestepped as their swords slid apart with a hiss.

The hobgoblin sneered; it gave a grunt of pain, and fell forward as Lesa attacked it from behind. The elven thinblade struck true, puncturing the creature’s back and drawing blood.

Lesa whistled for her hound again. This time, Nealla responded to its master’s call. The elven hound sprinted across the room, headed for the hobgoblin that had tried to shoot its master. Nealla leapt, and lunged for the creature’s throat. The hobgoblin fell backward, screaming and thrashing, as the hound ripped out a fair amount of flesh from its neck. Blood streamed from the hobgoblin’s throat as it finally threw the hound off. Nealla slid across the floor and promptly leaped back onto its feet, growling.

Kieran eyed the hobgoblin. It was seriously injured, bleeding, and probably wouldn’t speak again. It seemed a fair chance for a kill. Clutching her rapier tightly in her right hand, she darted past the hound and thrust at the hobgoblin. The blade struck nothing but air.

That swashbuckler better not rub this in, the half-elf thought irritably. The hobgoblin tried to stagger away; Kieran took the opportunity to take another lunge. This time, her rapier drew blood. The hobgoblin let out a final shriek, and fell to the floor.

“All right, now that that’s over,” Alioth declared, from the other side of the room. “I will try to find out how many are left on this floor.” He closed his eyes, and bowed in concentration.

You do that, Kieran thought, making a mental note to tell the paladin how uncomfortable the silence was for everyone else whenever he checked for evil creatures.

Presently, Alioth looked up, and said, “I do not detect any enemies on this floor.”

“Could you check upstairs as well?” Lesa asked. “We cannot risk bursting in there only to be outnumbered. Meanwhile, I will try to look for any magical auras.”

The paladin nodded, and both he and the ranger closed their eyes.

“Hurrah,” Milica whispered to no one in particular. “Now let’s all help them concentrate! Quick, everybody-close your eyes and hum!”

Kieran rolled her eyes, looked around, and waved Acantha over. “Could you help me a little here? There’s something quite unnerving about seeing the bones in your limbs.”

The cleric nodded, and passed a hand over the rogue’s arm, concentrating. The wound closed up, and Kieran flexed her arm. Good as new, except for the bloodstains. She grinned at the cleric.

“Thanks.”

A few more seconds passed, and Alioth declared, “I discern eleven creatures stained with evil on the upper floor. Ten of them have faint auras.”

“I can feel an aura, but I cannot tell how many, or how strong,” Lesa said tersely.

Milica gave her a contemptuous look and muttered, “As if that helps.”

Kieran raised an eyebrow; if her half-elven ears heard that, surely the ranger’s ears picked it up to. She shrugged, wondering why the ranger didn’t retaliate.

“Those ten,” Lesa continued, turning to Alioth, “are probably just more hobgoblins.”

“Orcs,” Azareth corrected.

“Irrelevant. What about the last one?”

A crease appeared on the paladin’s brow as he answered, “A moderate aura.”

Another tense silence fell.

“That,” the rogue said, looking around at everyone’s worried faces, “is probably not a hobgoblin.” Seeing the wizard about to correct her, she added, “Or an orc.”

(by Neurotic Bunny)

Chapter 1 Part 2: Highborn

Milica Illancet turned her nose up at the chaos. One would expect a party of pseudo-experienced adventurers to at least try to be stealthy as they entered a fortress manned by gods-know-whats who could operate siege weaponry well enough to give pause to entire kadraths of the Purple Dragon Army. But no, they just marched in, clanking in their armor like golems that had taken a bit too much kammarth. Now they were all swinging blindly at the hobgoblins, nicking the brutes here and there but not doing any serious damage. A frustratingly moronic bunch of commoners.

The half-elf was the most frustrating to watch, Milica thought. Kieran was far too nervous for her profession and hesitated too often-and she was doing so right now, looking like a shaking little kid goat in front of a snarling wolf.

“Hurry up, half-elf!” yelled Milica.

Kieran looked back at her quickly then lunged at one of the hobgoblins. Her rapier merely scored the beast’s armor, and the dagger pierced nothing but air.

Stupid half-breed, Milica snapped inwardly. You could learn a thing or two from me. Vexed by the mad flailing of her companions, Milica waited for an opening. She did not like watching them at all-except for the aasimar paladin.

Alioth grunted as he swung his greatsword at the neck of one of the hobgoblins. The monster tried to raise its shield, but the paladin’s blade found its mark and separated the brute’s head from its body.

Milica’s lips parted a little, her eyes fixed on the paladin.

Alioth pivoted with the momentum of the swing and lunged at another hobgoblin, but the creature had already raised its shield. The mighty sword bounced off with a shower of sparks. The paladin recovered from his swing, snapping the weapon back into position by flicking his wrists. He quickly glanced in Milica’s direction and nodded, his sweat-matted hair bouncing lightly against his high forehead. Milica managed a small smile. While his swordplay was far from perfect-at least by Milica’s standards-Alioth’s catlike topaz eyes had a very soothing effect on the girl and somewhat ameliorated her building head of steam. Still, the steam was there, and it was rising.

Lesa, the ranger, turned to face the brute that had attacked her. She lunged with her light elven sword-it was a miss, but her inherent grace made the miss look like a feint-still, the thinblade found nothing but air. The hobgoblin grinned for a fraction of a second-then grimaced in pain as Lesa’s kukri plunged into its belly. It dropped to the ground, groaning as it bled out on the floor.

You were just lucky, Milica mocked in her head. Her eyes wandered over to Alioth once more, who had just torn a large hole in the remaining hobgoblin’s armor. The beast growled angrily, snarling at Alioth in its native tongue. Looking around frantically for a weaker target, it lunged at Azareth instead, but the nimble wizard ducked under the slash aimed at his neck. In a single motion, his hair flashing like quicksilver, the wizard drew, nocked and loosed an arrow-while dodging a second swing from the hobgoblin’s longsword. However, the arrow simply snapped as it snagged on the beast’s armor.

“This brings to mind a gem of truth from a great wizard,” grunted the elf. “Knowing how to use a weapon is very different from skill with a weapon.”

“I’ll show you skill,” Milica whispered to herself.

Milica tumbled toward the remaining hobgoblin, ducked low and slipped her blade between the sections of the brute’s armor. The momentum of the blade ripped through the creature’s abdomen. The beast growled in pain, clutched its torn belly, and fell into a heap onto the ground.

A self-satisfied smile crept across Milica’s face. Others may be more graceful, she thought, but grace was nothing without deadliness.

“Now that we’re done,” Milica announced, “maybe we could-”

“You’re forgetting something,” Lesa said, pointing to the hobgoblin she had dropped. The creature was unconscious, but still breathing.

“Well excuse me for not noticing,” snapped Milica. She added “Miss Wild Thing” under her breath. She was fairly sure the wood elf’s sharp hearing picked up the insult, but she didn’t care. She wanted it to be clear to everyone that Swordcaptain Milica Illancet was not about to be ordered around by a tree-hugging elf who smelled of dead leaves.

“Maybe we could tie it up?” suggested Kieran. “We could try to get some information out of it.”

Acantha, the black-robed cleric, silently nodded her assent.

“It’s just a sentry,” replied Alioth, “so it might not know much. It might know who its leader is, however.”

Azareth raised an eyebrow. “How does that help us?”

Milica shrugged and knelt down beside the incapacitated hobgoblin. She pulled a rope out of her pack and began hogtying the creature, grimacing at its sticky blood.

“If you’re done discussing the mind-boggling puzzle of whether to end this wretch’s life or not,” Milica grunted as she strained against the creature’s weight. “I just want to tell you that I’m making sure that the beast doesn’t do anything in the first place when it comes to.”

“It will take a while for the creature to come to. It will be of no use to us,” said Lesa. “Kieran, I think you should just put it out of its misery.”

The half-elf shrugged and thrust her rapier into the hobgoblin’s ear. It gave a final series of jerks, and stopped moving. Kieran flicked the greasy blood off her blade as Lesa knelt down beside the body. The ranger bowed her head and prayed.

O Silvanus

Guide the light back to the source

As breath gives way to death

As life gives way to earth

So does earth give to life

And death gives to breath

And we struggle on in thy Great Balance.

Milica crossed her arms and tossed her hair. “Do we have to pray for the enemies we slaughtered unceremoniously in the first place?” She turned to the paladin, who was standing behind her. His head was also bowed, and he kissed the holy symbol of Tyr that hung around his neck. His eyes were closed in prayer as well. Milica simply rolled her eyes and shrugged.

“It is all we can do, young one,” said Lesa. “If we take their lives, we should at least give back these lives to the land properly.”

Milica clenched her teeth and set her jaw as she retrieved her rope from the hobgoblin’s body. She glared at Lesa and silently contemplated putting honey and bees in the ranger’s hair to see just how much she liked nature.

Why is she giving orders anyway? Young one? Young one?

Milica’s thoughts were interrupted by an unexpected suggestion from Acantha.

“I could probably speak with it before its spirit departs. We might learn from it.”

“Then again,” said Azareth as he brushed past Milica to examine the body. “It might not know enough to be useful. Perhaps you might want to save your spell for later.”

“True.”

The black-robed cleric raised the symbol of Kelemvor and made a gesture over the corpses.

“Go thou into the court of the Judge, and let his gaze lay thy lives bare.”

Milica tapped her booted foot onto the stone floor. “Hurrah, we’ve prayed for them. Now can we get on with this mission?”

Lesa spoke again. “It might be wise for us to position ourselves correctly when we open this door.”

“Maybe,” chirped Kieran. “We could put Milica in the front. She does kill pretty well.”

Milica shot Kieran an icy glance, but the half-elf was looking elsewhere. You half-breed brat, she thought. The ranger orders people around more than my brother, for Tempus’s sake, and now you’re grating on my nerves.

“I think she meant that as a complement, Milica.” It was Alioth’s voice-dark and deep and soothing, like the Sea of Fallen Stars.

“…alright.” was all Milica could manage. She drew her rapier and stood near the door. “Now what?”

Acantha stood beside her and brought to bear a heavy aspergillum, an instrument that resembled the rods priests used to sprinkle water-only this specimen was over two feet long and was heavy enough to use as a mace. In her other hand, Acantha carried a large shield with Kelemvor’s Scales embossed on it.

“It will be impossible for anyone to hear through such a thick door-even elves would have difficulty hearing anything,” said Azareth.

“Still, we need to find out if anything is waiting behind the door,” replied Lesa.

Without a word, Alioth walked up to the door, closed his eyes, and held his hand up with his palm forward. Several seconds of pregnant silence passed.

“There are nine creatures tainted by evil that stand beyond this door,” he said. “I cannot tell exactly where they are, only they are in this direction.”

Nine, Milica thought. Not good. “So, should we enter?”

She began turning to her companions, searching their eyes. Admittedly she wasn’t good at guessing what people thought, but it was more out of a need for assurance. She turned to Alioth first.

The paladin’s softly glowing eyes blinked once. He nodded. The wizard and the ranger both looked her with calm and solemn expressions, their chiseled faces otherworldly in the dim torchlight. They nodded. Kieran merely raised an eyebrow, taunting. Milica finally turned to Acantha. The cleric simply looked straight at her.

“Let’s do this,” she whispered.

Milica nodded and shoved the door open.

The interior of Red Spires was brightly lit, with torch sconces on the walls every five feet. The floor was covered in a fine layer of dust, and the place smelled to Milica like it had not been scrubbed in months. A hobgoblin sentry-his head lolling with drowsiness-leaned against the wall.

Acantha took a quick step forward and cracked the heavy head of her aspergillum against the creature’s skull. Hobgoblins are built tougher than humans in general, however, so the creature awoke-dazed and bleeding, but still very much alive.

“The faster we finish this, the faster we get out of this dump,” Milica said as she ducked low and thrust her blade directly into the creature’s groin. Alioth and Azareth winced as the creature fell to the ground, uttering vile-sounding words in its native tongue.

“That is the most painful death I have ever seen,” said Azareth.

Milica merely shrugged. “So, shall we move on?”

“With caution,” said Lesa. “There are eight more of them.”

The hallway split into two passages, one leading east and the other leading west. Milica unrolled her map and spread it out onto the floor. The others huddled around her.

“According to this map, there is a mess hall at the end of this passage” Milica said, pointing to a door at the end of the hallway. Bright light and the smell of cooking food leaked out from beneath the door.

“Then there’s a good chance the eight other hobgoblins would be behind this door,” Alioth said.

“I might as well take a look,” Azareth said, bending down to peek through the crack. “Yes. There are eight such creatures in the mess hall.”

“Since they’re still eating,” said Lesa. “It might profit us more to look for supplies we could use. The map shows a rest area that might contain fewer guards. It might be better to dispatch those before entering this room. We do not want to be surrounded.”

Milica rolled her eyes. Giving orders again. The silly elf probably hasn’t been around civilized soldiers long enough to know how fortresses worked.

“So we don’t enter this room first?”

“I’m with Lesa,” said Kieran.

Everyone else nodded.

“Fine,” Milica snapped. “Let’s move.”

“Let’s take the eastern passage,” said Lesa. “The western one ends in a dead end, according to the map.” The elf rolled up the parchment and handed it back to Milica as she stood up. “In any case, get ready.”

Kieran and Lesa took point as the group made its way down the western passage. The passageway turned north, and in the corner were three doors. Lesa cautiously peeked into two of the doors, and found nothing but darkness. She then opened the door that led to the rest area.

The room was dark and empty except for a single straw bed that lay unmade in one corner.

“There’s another room beyond this,” said Lesa. “And it seems to be connected to the captain’s chambers.”

“I wonder where Master is,” mumbled Azareth to himself as he came up alongside Milica.

“Do you always talk to yourself like that?”

“Rarely,” replied the elf. “But Master’s disappearance was one of the reasons I joined this expedition in the first place. Enough talk about this for now”

The six of them walked cautiously through the rest area and came to a small room that had arrow slits cut into the eastern wall. The refreshing smell of outside air-faint as it was-drifted in and lifted Milica’s spirits somewhat.

“Hey, I see something,” said Kieran. “There’s something wrong with this wall.”

The half-elf walked to the northern wall and touched one of the bricks. The brick shifted and sank deeper into the wall, and a section slid sideways, revealing the secret door in the map.

“Oh, neat. There’s a switch inside here,” Kieran said, pointing.

On the wall at the other end of the tunnel was a small lever.

“Should we pull it?” asked Milica.

“I could pull it,” said Azareth. “But please watch my back-I almost died because an orc attacked me from behind, many years ago.”

“But these are hobgoblins,” replied Milica.

“Irrelevant,” replied the wizard as he walked up to the switch. He grasped his staff tightly as he reached up.

“Wait!’ said Lesa. “I don’t think it would be wise to do that.”

Here she goes again, thought Milica.

“It might be a trap, or it might trigger an alarm. I do not want to risk that.”

Azareth looked back at her over his shoulder.

“Would you rather be seen by orcs-”

“Hobgoblins,” corrected Kieran.

“Irrelevant. In any case, I think there is a larger risk of getting caught if we continue walking around.”

Coarse laughter erupted from the mess hall on the other side of the wall. Plates began to clatter loudly.

Lesa cocked her head in the direction of the sound.

“They seem to be finishing up.”

Tempus’s bloody axe, Milica swore inwardly. The ranger gets the idea to sneak around, then she suddenly realizes that it’s pointless! What kind of ranger are you?

Lesa turned her head back to her companions. “It might be wise for us to attack the hobgoblins-now.”

Fantastic, Milica thought. There were many things in the world that made Milica angry, and stupidity in battle was high on her list-along with her bossy brother’s smothering “concern” for her, her family’s general disdain for anything she did, and the general stress of having to enter a military career in her late teens. Still, stupidity in battle could get you killed-and this ranger was being very, very careless.

“Alright, ranger,” said Milica. “How do we go about this?”

“We split up. I will attack from the southern door along with Alioth and Acantha. You, Azareth and Kieran can attack from the northern door that we saw on the map.”

“Then how do we know when to attack?” Milica challenged.

“Listen for the sounds of battle. That’s the only signal we can give. I’ll call my hound.”

“You have a hound? Why didn’t you bring it?”

“You never asked.”

Milica was seething.

“It’s time. Take your positions,” said Lesa.

The group split up as planned.

“I really hate her,” Milica whispered as she, Kieran and Azareth walked to the northern door.

“Shh!” Kieran said, holding up her hand just as they reached the corner that led to the door. She pulled her hood over he head and peeked around the corner.

“Clear.”

Milica braced her shoulder against the door, while Kieran pressed her ear to the wood. Azareth stood behind them, closed his eyes and set his jaw.

A crashing sound-loud enough for all of them to hear-came through the heavy wood. Behind the door, weapons were drawn, and curses were screamed.

“That’s our cue,” Milica said. “In three…two…one…”

Milica stepped back and kicked in the door.

Chapter I: Beyond the Red Spires

Chapter I: Beyond The Red Spires

Shieldmeet 1372, The Year of Wild Magic.

The departing Flamerule sun was utterly tyrannical, and the coming month of Elesias promised no more mercy. Stiff, hot, northerly winds blew from the Great Desert of Anauroch down to the Cormyrian capital of Suzail, heavy with the scent of dead sand, sand-blasted rock and more dead sand. The lush greenery of Cormyr was beginning to wither under the oppressive weather.

The heat beat down mercilessly on Princess Regent Alusair Obarskyr’s helm as she sat at the royal box high above the opening ceremonies. The sweat from her brow seemed to evaporate and hang heavily inside the confines of the helm, mixing with the heat from her breath to form an entirely noxious atmosphere.  Although she could have opted for lighter clothing in this awful heat, she knew she had to keep up her image as the Steel Regent. Her father had left her a kingdom that had been viciously trampled upon by a red dragon’s rampage, and the nobles were looking for signs of weakness in her that would allow them to expand their own power base. Laying down the helm of the Steel Regent would cause rumors of weakness to stir.

And that was the way it had to be. Through all the trials of the recent past, Cormyr, Land of the Purple Dragon, had to push onward. This Shieldmeet was an important reminder to the people of the beleaguered land that they were still strong, still proud. Shieldmeet would always push through. It was Alusair’s way of giving them hope, as futile as that may be.

“Caladnei,” whispered Alusair to her aide. “Any word from the Stonelands?”

“Still as tense as ever, highness,” replied the sorceress, slightly above the noise of the crowd. “Although the Tilverton detachment can easily march in on the Stonelands after a day’s journey, they run the risk of being attacked by catapults. Furthermore, abandoning Tilverton is certainly unthinkable.”

“Agreed,” replied the princess. The city of Tilverton was still engulfed by the shadowy anomaly that had obliterated it a few months before. The detachment that guarded it was the only force in the area, abandoning it would allow other interested parties access to the ruined city-a possibility the Princess Regent would rather not think about.

A wind began to blow into the city, but this time it was a southwesterly from the Sea of Fallen Stars. The princess inhaled its cool dampness, welcome relief from the oppressive summer. Once she scented the approach of rain, however, he mind began to churn. She knew that bad weather during Shieldmeet was a terrible omen, but in this heat, she argued, which weather is worse?

“Caladnei,” she whispered. “Summon the recruits to the audience hall. We have much work to do.”

***

 

A howling gale drove black clouds mercilessly over Castle Obarskyr. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Its low, echoing voice boomed among the mountaintops of the Storm Horns. Caladnei sighed as the wind continued its rampage outside. Outside the window, she saw the banners of the Purple Dragon flying strong and proud atop the battlements, defiantly lashing out into the darkening sky. She grasped her staff tightly, seeking comfort from the magical currents locked within. The sensation soothed her, warming her to the veins like a steaming cup of Amnish tea. She wrapped her cloak tighter around her and rested her forehead against the staff. Behind her was the dissipating glow of the teleport spell she had cast on the six recruits that responded to the summons.

“Caladnei,” came a clear, female voice, accompanied by a gauntleted hand lightly touching her shoulder.. It was the Princess Regent. “You seem troubled.”

“Perhaps you could say that, Milady,” replied the sorceress. “I am not entirely comfortable with sending these people on this mission. We don’t even know what’s going on in the Stonelands, let alone Red Spires Garrison. Why not send the Purple Dragons instead?”

“You know that the Purple Dragon Army is spread thin enough as it is. That isn’t an option. Furthermore, we sent Swordcaptain Illancet to supervise them.”

The sorceress sighed. “Forgive my insolence, Highness, but she may very well be one of the biggest reasons I feel uneasy. Add to that the omens…”

A lone lightning bolt ripped across the sky, and thunder followed on its heels.

“I know. But I feel that waiting for the omens to come true is far less favorable than dealing with known problems, namely the unknown occupants of Red Spires.”

“This is true. Forgive me, Highness.”

“Nothing need be forgiven. Let us hope that these six adventurers may be more than hirelings. Let us hope they become our champions.”

The Princess Regent stepped up beside Caladnei and joined her in watching the thunderstorm. The rain began to pour.

“Champions in this time of darkness.”

***

The sun was dipping below the horizon as Swordcaptain Milica Illancet landed hard on her rump as the teleportation spell faded away. She bounced up into a standing position, brushed off the fine reddish sand off her leather armor, and straightened the pink carnation pinned to her collar. Looking around her, she saw that her companions were either lying in a daze from the spell or dusting themselves off. Tossing her dusty blonde hair, she turned to the fort that loomed before them.

Red Spires was one of the older and more important garrisons that were built during the thousand or so years of Cormyr’s existence, Milica remembered. Although it appeared black at night, it was actually built out of red sandstone quarried directly out of the hundreds of huge rock formations that stood in the Stonelands. It was the last major border stronghold an invading enemy army would have to tackle before pushing on into the heart of Cormyr, at least before reaching the now-ruined city of Tilverton. With Tilverton obliterated, Red Spires was cut off from Cormyr proper and could be easily used as a staging area by an invading enemy force-and this was precisely what the Purple Dragons feared.

Only days before, the garrison detachment lit a distress signal signifying an attack. However, any force that attempted to move close to investigate was fired upon by the fort’s trebuchet, so it was decided upon that a small force be teleported close enough to retake Red Spires. This was easier said than done-the team would have to sneak up undetected and be able to fight its way through whatever was guarding it-which could have been anything from a raiding tribe of orcs to a young dragon looking for a new lair. Standard infantry would have been too ill-equipped to take on such a wide variety of possible threats. Fortunately, the promise of gold and glory was always more than enough to convince common adventurers to take part in such a risky endeavor. In Milica’s case, she was just happy to get out from under her brother’s supervision.

Milica sighed as her companions fumbled with their belongings and struggled to pull themselves together.

“Alright, I’m the Purple Dragon here, so from here on, I’m in charge,” she announced. “We need to get up there and retake this fort! Are there any questions?”

A slightly-built half-elf girl with pale, bluish skin and messily-cropped black hair raised her hand.

“I have a question. Are you really supposed to be that loud?”

“I-”  Milica was caught off guard. She was never talked back to by someone she considered a subordinate. She strained to recover. “I am merely attempting to maintain some order here,” she managed. “You would do well to follow my orders.”

“Sure,” replied the half-elf. “But whatever’s hiding in there,” she said, pointing to the garrison. “Would have heard you by now.”

The young swordcaptain gritted her teeth and glared at the half-elf, crossed her arms and turned away. “Anyone else?”

The four other companions, who had been watching the short repartee, decided it was best not to speak-yet-and merely shook their heads quietly.

“Good, at least some people here know who’s the boss.”

As Milica turned away, the half-elf girl rolled her eyes. “Nobody recognizes the value of stealth,” she whispered to herself.

“Oh, by the way,” said Milica as she turned back. “I think we should establish a marching order. You!” she said, pointing at a heavily armored man with silver hair. “Take point. We need a big guy like you up there. I’ll be second.” The man-an Aasimar, a human with the blood of a celestial-nodded his assent and took his place.

“You,” Milica said, pointing at a young woman robed in black. “You’re a cleric, right? Your healing magic will support us best with you in the middle.” The woman walked into place, unhooking a heavy metal rod from her belt as she walked. As she passed by Milica, she whispered without expecting a reply.

“I have a name. It’s Acantha. Please use it.”

“I will address you in any manner I wish, Blackrobe.”

The woman opened her mouth to protest, but merely shook her head.

“You, with the book!” Milica half-yelled as she turned to a platinum-haired elf in ornate silk robes. “Stay in the middle of the line so you won’t die so quickly.”

The elf kept a steady eye on her as he walked by, a look of slight confusion on his fine-boned face. “Perhaps it was too much to expect manners from humans in this land,” he whispered. The swordcaptain did not hear him.

“The two of you! Take up the rear. We need strength at the rear as well.” The remaining two companions-the black-haired half-elf and a well-muscled elf with copper hair, tan skin and a serene look on her face-fell into position without a word.

“Alright, hands to weapons, men. March!”

The Aasimar began walking, his hand ready on the greatsword that was slung across his back.  When he came up to the stairs to the fortress’s front gate, he raised his hand to signal the party to stop.

“Why are we stopping, mister…uh…Aasimar?”

“My name is Alioth,” explained the warrior. “And I think that before we go on, it would be good for everyone to agree that we are to call each other by name.”

Milica rolled her eyes, annoyed at the upstart’s ability to overturn her authority. Still, she found it difficult to complain once she looked into the paladin’s eyes-unearthly topaz with a faint amber glow. Milica nodded.

“Fine. Swordcaptain Milica Illancet, of the House Illancet, of the Third Kadrath of the Purple Dragon Army.”

“Acantha Trannyth,” whispered the black-robed cleric. “Loyal servant of Kelemvor, Lord of the Dead, may His blessed hand guide thee.”

“Azareth Starsmiter,” announced the elf wizard, bowing. “Scholar of Silverymoon and servant of Mystra.”

The petite half-elf introduced herself next.

“Kieran Aquilaë,” she said with a wry smile. “Appropriator and redistributor of ahh…ill-gotten wealth, also known to some as the Sembian Scoundrel and to many as ‘that blasted long-ears.’”

A soft chuckle floated up from the other members of the party, except for Milica.

“Can we please stay serious?”

“Levity is a rare commodity these days,” spoke the serene-faced elf with copper hair. Her voice was rich and melodious, though her diction was slightly stiff. “Take not their share. I am Lesamien Xelephia Vaebar, servant of Silvanus. Though you may call me Lesa.” She bowed slightly at the waist.

“I am Alioth Ras’Elased,” said the paladin. His voice was powerful and soothing, deep and entrancing, like the still waters of a cold mountain lake. “Paladin and servant of Tyr. Now, perhaps we should proceed up the stairs with caution. Kieran, would you kindly keep an eye out for an ambush?”

“Sure thing.”

The paladin led the party up the stairs. Kieran looked up at the crags that loomed above them, sifting through the shadows for the figures of possible attackers. However, there were torches in sconces high above them, making it difficult to see past a certain point.

Alioth stopped as the path reached its end: a heavy hardwood door, reinforced with brass bars. He held up his hand again and pressed his ear to the door.

Nothing.

“It’s clear.”

He pulled back the door, expecting to see nothing. This was why the sight of three burly humanoid creatures clad in black leather armor surprised him. Each was at least six and a half feet tall, and their features had an angry, feral cast to them. Their hair was reddish-brown in the torchlight, their noses were flat and their jaws solid and square.  All three had their swords drawn and shields raised. Hobgoblins-bigger cousins of the common goblins. They were smarter, stronger, and far more disciplined than their smaller kin.

“Um…are they friends?”

Milica strained to remember what these creatures were, but the term escaped her at the moment. She merely managed to say “I don’t think so” before one of the creatures spoke.

“A pitiful attempt at storming a fortress,” growled the one closest to them. “You woke up every last one of us in the garrison as you came up the stairs.”

Kieran was the first to react, drawing her rapier and lunging straight for the creature’s neck. The blade sparked as it bounced off the creature’s shield, and it roared angrily as it twisted its longsword and took a swing at the rogue. Kieran attempted to pivot out of the way, but the blade sliced into her leg.

“I need some help here! I don’t want my kidneys to end up as wall ornaments!”

“Fear not.” Lesa sprang into action, leaping off the walls and over Alioth’s head. She landed beyond Kieran and with a flourish, attempted to stab the second beast. Her blow only met the creature’s shield. It growled and retaliated, swinging at her legs to hamstring her. The ranger, however, was too quick for the creature. She leapt up, kicked off the creature’s shield, and dropped lightly back into position as she drew her second weapon-a kukri-from a strap on her chest.

Alioth roared as he drew his huge sword.

“For Tyr!”

He swung the mighty blade at the first of the guards, but his blow only sliced through the air above the ducking creature’s head. Sensing an opportunity to move closer, the third guard took a step and slashed at the paladin.

The blow struck true, slipping between plates of armor and drawing blood.

Alioth cried out and glared at the guard. “Beast! You shall not do such a thing again!”

Azareth clenched his fist and began summoning the power of the Weave-the source of all magic on Faerun-and charged forward. Ducking beneath the swinging swords and cursing guards, he spoke a spidery word of magic and blasted the creature that stabbed Alioth from behind. A searing ray of pure fiery energy struck the creature square in the middle of the back, burning a smoldering hole in its armor and filling the narrow entry platform with the pungent smell of scorched flesh. The hobgoblin howled in pain and turned to face Azareth, its eyes seething in blind fury.

The elf winced. “Next time, can we just try talking to them first?”

Milica drew her rapier and leapt over Alioth’s bulky frame, landing on the tips of her toes. With a flourish and a cry, she lunged at the first hobgoblin’s neck, but its shield was still in the way.

“Dammit! Is this supposed to be beginner’s bad luck?”

Acantha had not been as quick to act as she had hoped, but she ran up to Kieran’s side.

“Be strong, sister,” she said as she touched the half-elf’s wound. “Kelemvor does not require your life yet.” Kieran looked up to her with slightly frightened eyes as the wound closed. She briefly put an arm around Acantha’s head and gave a quick squeeze.

“Thanks.”

“Enough of that!” snapped Milica. “Keep fighting!”

“But I’ll miss!” replied the rogue as she lunged at the first hobgoblin again, this time with both her weapons. As sharp as the blades were, they snagged on the tough leather.

“…see?”

“Try harder!” the hobgoblin growled at Kieran, but it quickly turned to Alioth and swung its blade again. The sword slipped off the paladin’s armor, allowing him to recover from the blow he had received earlier.

Sensing an opening, Lesa pivoted and thrust her blade into the center of the hobgoblin’s back, striking true. Although the kukri was unable to slice through the leather, Lesa’s elegant elven thinblade drew blood, further injuring the creature. Howling in pain once more, the hobgoblin began to rethink its options. Lesa was just about to smile when the hobgoblin’s face twisted into a feral grin.

Steel cut into flesh. Lesa screamed as the third hobgoblin’s blade bit into her back.

As the elf woman turned to face her new foe, she reached up and touched her wound. Her leather armor had absorbed most of the blow, but it was still a significant wound. She squinted and brought her weapons to bear.

It was going to be a long night.

A long, bloody night.