The Chronicles of Jhool: A Hero twice Born, Once Dishonored | Chapter 3

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The Chronicles of Jhool

Chapter 3

    With the adventurers making their way further into the darkness beyond, it was not long before a deathly silence settled over the city's entrance. The silence of the tomb that it had once become fell back into place.
    Light faded.
    Dust settled.
    The only sounds that infiltrated the darkness was an occasional boom from somewhere deep below, where the adventurers fought and bled against the unknown they had sought to find. And, infinitesimal to the veritable thunder-claps of far off combat, a soft chittering and scratching noise coming from the road leading in.
    A ferret, lithe and furred, chipped, chittered, and squeaked as it moved along the hard stone road. Its fur was patched with blacks and browns against a dirty ivory and it moved with the uncertainty of any wild beast in a new world. It had never been in this city before, this cave of sorts, and it wished to take no risks of being discovered by something larger and more ferocious that might have a taste for mustelids.
    Earlier in the day, it had seen the three humanoids, strange and goblin-like in their tendency to stand on two legs, pry open what the ferret had believed to be a sheer cliff-face. It had ignored the action as little more than a curio, an oddity the little weasel couldn't quite make sense of, in favor of hunting down something to fill its aching belly. But he was curious by nature and, once sated with a rather unfortunate field mouse, found himself returning to the scene a few hours later.
    He was hesitant at first to enter the hole the creatures had made in the cliff. While it didn't mind the dark of the cave, there was something distant that lingered in the air that he couldn't quite identify. Something smelled wrong about the air.
    Something dark.
    Something far below.
    The ferret's nose worked wildly, often catching a whiff of whatever it was that sullied the world of darkness, but occasionally finding something new and interesting. Very little smelled like food here. The most interesting thing thus far that didn't make his hair stand on end was the splattered remains of the elf's fists on the semi-broken statue.
    After a brief moment of investigation, the little mustelid considered that he was a fan of the hole left in the statue's side and that the elven blood tasted strangely sweeter than the mice he normally fed on, but that the statue offered little else.
    He moved on quickly.
    Doing what he could to avoid any contact with the offputting smell and the sounds of screams and explosions from down below, the ferret followed a branching path off of the main road that led away from the stench and the noise. The path lead down and away, curving smoothly past any number of closed doors and sealed portals. Every now and again he'd slither or snake his way through the occasional ancient skeleton or over a pile of debris, and soon found himself at the end of the road.
    The portal before him gave him pause, if only due to the ferret's attraction to shiny objects.
    The end of the hall was mostly blocked by a massive set of double doors that appeared to be made out of a forged tapestry of golds, silvers, and blues. Gems glittered and shown, accentuating the edges of the doorway in sapphire blues and ruby reds. In its hay-day, the little weasel could never hope to get through the nearly foot-thick metal, but gave little thought to the door short of a quick and valiant attempt to pry a gem from its socket before passing through the cavernous hole that rent most of the doors' base inward.
    What did it care of the obvious destruction? It knew nothing of the force required to cause such a hole. It just knew that the way was open.
    Better yet, there were other shiny things inside.
    With an excited squeak, he scampered through the destroyed door and promptly clambered up a glittering pile of gold coins and gems. He was so overwhelmed by his discovery that he tried to hop and accidentally rolled back down the loose terrain, buried in a tiny avalanche of gems.
    The ferret held no understanding of the colossal wealth before him, but his excitement was baser than that. While it wasn't food, he had a love of shiny things, and this room fit that love quite nicely.
    For as far as the ferret could see from the top of his little gold mound, the world around him shimmered. He could see golds and greens and blues and reds everywhere he looked, piled in veritable mountains that rivaled the hills and trees from the world outside. Everything seemed to buzz with an energy that, though he didn't know it, was the magic of thousands of different enchantments and items of untold power.
    The ferret didn't know what to do with himself.
    All thoughts of the sounds and smells from outside were gone. He lost himself running over, around, and digging through the different piles. He picked up and dropped coins and gems and baubles, replacing each with a new, more interesting one seemingly every moment. This world was overwhelming and he wanted all of it to take back to his den.
    The cycle repeated itself countless times as he worked his way further back. While he was unaware of it consciously, he knew that he had to find something. The perfect something.
    A green something.
    Yes, he agreed with the thought, something green.
    Something green as the trees. As deep as the forests. As alive as nature.
    That sounds good.
    The ferret snuffled and hunted. Sniffed and prodded. Licked and bit. Ran and scampered. The romp had become a hunt.
    He had to find it.
    Find me.
    He had to find it.
    Were the ferret paying attention as he had when he'd entered the city, the scent leaking through the walls might have given him pause or maybe even made him run back the way he'd came with the first shiny object he could find clamped in his teeth.
    But his attention was elsewhere.
    Find me!
    Why would he pay attention to that squishing noise? He had to find it. Whatever it was.
    Green as the trees. the voice whispered in its mind. Deep as the forests. Alive...
    He cared about the green of the thing after all. Not the black oozing through the walls. That didn't remind him of forests at all. It looked like tar. Tar didn't matter.
    FIND ME!
    Only it mattered.
    And find it he did.
    The green something, a strange smelling green gem unlike any the ferret had seen, was buried at the base of one of the many piles of treasure. Staring into the starry center was like staring into the deepest grove of oaks at twilight. The green seemed to glow but the dark core glittered with unseen starlight.
    Carefully, gingerly, the ferret closed his mouth around the iridescent green gem and felt a soft buzz of energy running through his body. It tingled and made him feel happy.
    Rewarded.
    Good.
    And then the mountain of treasure before him exploded outwards, a mass of black tar and shadow filling the space before him, reaching for the squealing ferret as he was thrown backwards into the air.

The Chronicles of Jhool: A Hero twice Born, Once Dishonored | Chapter 2

All Rights to Elder Scrolls and Bethesda for their wonderful Artwork.

The Chronicles of Jhool

Chapter 2

  

    BOOOOOM!

    The sound of the statue's head exploding reverberated through the empty city with a baritone Tarver could feel in his bones. It was promptly followed by a sprinkle of gravely bits raining at the stone man's feet and the shiiiiiiiiink of cold steel drawn from the now decimated neck hole where the warhammer sat partially embedded.
    "Wow." the little halfling commented through food stuffed cheeks.
    Lenna didn't even bother to acknowledge him.
    Instead, the well-built, elven woman, warhammer firmly grasped in both hands, strode several feet down to the next stone effigy. She looked it in the eyes, spat, and swung again.
    BOOOOOM!
    This time the head didn't powder as much as before. Instead, the sprinkle of gravel and bits was accompanied by a soft rush of air as a large chunk, a good half of the stone head, quickly soared several yards backwards past the limits of the road, over the the precipice, and into the darkness below.
    "Yea!" Tarver cheered as he ripped off another far-too-large bite of jerky. He was gnawing at it and opening his flask when something caught his attention. "Looks like Bron's on his way."
    Once again, Lenna didn't bother looking up, intent still on destroying the next in what Tarver thought was a bizarrely long line of humans, notably the same human, for what was supposed to be a Dwarven city.
    That didn't much matter to Bron though.
    "Whit th' bugger is wrong wi' ye?" the massive brawler demanded in his near indiscernable Truskin accent. "Urr ye trying tae wake th' deid, ye dumb boot?"
    BOOOOOM!
    The larger man openly growled, baring his teeth and reaching out to grab the hammer's hilt. But before his meaty fingers could wrap around the cold steel, he found the head of the weapon pointed directly at his face, Lenna's eyes narrowed into vicious slits.
    "Don't tell me what to fucking do, dirtwhore!" the generic insult for Truskins was literally spat through a snarl just as menacing as the much-larger man's but with far more ferocity and venom.
    "Whoa!" Tarver exclaimed in surprise, a dribble of whiskey trickling from his lips. "Calm down. No need for that."
    "Shut your face, Tarver!" Lenna barked, her ire stilled locked on Bron who was bristling at the challenge. "It's neither of your fucking business!"
    The two stood there like that for far too long, their eyes locked; each one furious and daring the other to move. Luckily, neither made the first move.
    "Calm down." the little halfling repeated, having set down his lunch and moved slowly up to the duo. "Len'. You wanna destroy a bunch of statues of....ehh..."
    He glanced at the line of stone humans, each in a different pose.
    "Whoever that is than I'm sure that Bron-"
    "WHOEVER THAT IS?!" the elven woman roared, spittle spraying as she glowered down at the halfling.
    Whatever the next words were supposed to be, it was lost in a moment of rage as she turned away from her adventuring party and roaring again, swung the warhammer like an oversized baseball bat, slamming the head of the weapon directly into the chest of the nearest statue. The statue's entire torso was rent from its legs with a crunching and grinding sound. Stone flew backward into the chasm beyond while mithril rebar glittered in the pale torchlight, bent and broken in a dozen different angles.
    The three of them watched the granite soar into he darkness below for several seconds. Lenna's chest heaved with anger and Tarver backed away slightly, but it was Bron who spoke first.
    "Urr ye dane destroying hings noo, ye doolally wifie?" his anger with Lenna the moment before quickly turning to exasperation.
    Lenna screamed again and threw down the hammer, carving a chunk out of the road below, and began pummeling the next statue down the line with her bare fists. Her blows landed with far more purchase than any flesh really should against a stone anything, however a brief universal misunderstanding of physics and biological fortitude didn't stop her from caving a rather large hole into stone man's chest and side along with leaving behind more than a few chipped dents scattered about his torso.
    "Fur th' loue o' th' gods, let me ken whin this doolally witch gets her heid oan straecht." Bron groaned. "A'm aff tae scout ahead."
    "Yeah. Okay..." Tarver nearly whispered, his eyes still locked on the elven woman whose breath was now hitching in her throat. She wasn't quite cradling her hands, but he could plainly see blood dripping from shattered knuckles and gouts of the crimson liquid staining the glittering mithril rods in the freshly opened holes in the stone. "We'll catch up."
    But Bron was already gone, muttering something the little halfling couldn't make out as he wandered off into the darkness of Bhar-al'Jhool.
    Lenna, on the other hand, collapsed to her knees. Each breath brought either a racking sob or a furious, albeit small, roar.
    "Easy, Len'. Easy." Tarver whispered, trying to comfort her. "It's okay."
    Once again she glared at him but this time it was plain to see the tears bubbling at the corners of her eyes.
    "It's okay." he repeated, trying to muster a smile.
    Lenna glanced back to the bloodied statue before finally speaking, her voice a rasping whisper.
    "I'm not okay."
    "Sure, you are. I mean, you made that statue know what's-what, am I right?"
    "It's not the statue, you stupid fu-"
    "Let's not start that again now."
    She glared at him for a moment before a new fit of rage gripped her. She stood and swung again. However, her fury was quite short lived this time as her roar was instantly replaced with a scream of pain. Despite her keening wail, Tarver could hear the crunching of her splintering knuckles and saw the bone shards jutting through the back of her hand as she collapsed to her knees once more, one hand gripping the bloody meat.
    This time there were only sobs racking the woman's chest.
    "Yea. I pretty much figured that would happen." he said, already digging through his hip satchel. A moment later the halfling fished out a small vial with a glittering red liquid inside. Popping the top, the smell of dust was immediately replaced by a whiff of summer blooms and cherries and he couldn't help but feel a little giddy even smelling the concotion.
    "Drink, stupid." he said cheerfully.
    Lenna shook her head hard from side to side, tears streaming down her face, cradling her openly bleeding compound fracture.
    "Driiiiiink." Tarver said again with a smile in a sing-song voice, softly shaking the red liquid. "Tastes goooooood. Makes the pain go away."
    The elven woman let out one more heaving sob before tilting her head back and letting the little halfling help her drink the elixer. A wash of warmth ran through her body the instant it touched her lips and a buzz of pleasure ran through her very being that replaced her cries with a hushed moan. Her eyes roll into her head and closed a second later as her bones began to reknit and the lost blood quickly replaced itself. Within moments, the healing potion had made the horrific injury nothing more than a distant memory that, through the intoxicating effects, she couldn't quite recall. A passing thought about a nightmare lost in a dream.
    "Beeetter?" the halfling asked cheerfully, a smile still played across his lips.
    She nodded.
    "Wanna tell me about him?"
    She shook her head.
    "Why not?" he jidedly softly as he tucked away the empty vial.
    Lenna stared at the bloodied statue in response. She sat like that for a long time unblinking. Far too long. Her eyes slowly unfocusing as her eyes met the cold, granite ones above her.
    "That's Jhool..." she finally rasped through a raw throat.
    Tarver's eyebrows shot up in realization. He should have put it together sooner. The stories the elven woman had told him about the Liar God-Bourne. About the things he had done. About the things his cowardice had caused. Had taken away from her.
    "THAT'S him?" he asked, more out of shock then needing confirmation. After all, she'd been mad enough to break her own fist on a statue of the man.
    Lenna gave a small nod.
    Now Tarver found himself staring at the statue, disbelief and horror washing away any semblance of cheer or joviality in an instant.
    "I'm sorry..." Tarver whispered after a long moment.
    And he meant it.
    The elf was much, much older than him. She had lived so many more lives than any one of his race could ever hope to achieve. Been so many things. Seen and felt and experienced so much. But with that age, certain things that were nothing more than legend to him today could still burn bright hot for those that lived near to it. For those that were children when it happened. For those that lost so much that even millenias later, their fury was insurmountable.
    "Come on..." he whispered, very gently coaxing her to her feet. "Let's go."
    Lenna sobbed again, all rage gone for her, replaced by an overwhelming sadness he'd never seen in his lover before. Despite her powerful frame, she shook like a leaf on a dead branch and felt weak beneath his palms.
    "Let's go see what Bron found. Get out away from these ghosts." he cooed, his voice soft. "Don't forget your hammer."
    The elven woman nodded one last time and reached down, drawing the weapon up to her from the dent she left in the road. As they walked, she seemed to cradle the weapon like a child holds a toy to protect themselves from the dark; leaving behind the damaged statue, her blood still wet and dripping from the broken hole in its side.
   

The Chronicles of Jhool: A Hero twice Born, Once Dishonored | Chapter 1

Image credit: https://www.deviantart.com/caoranach/art/Erebor-440164029

The Chronicles of Jhool

A Hero twice Born, Once Dishonored

    Stone.
    It is said that the Dwarven clan of the Cragbourn, despite their legendary works of steel, gold, and mithril, held a special regard for the majesty of stone. Cut and hewn from the hard grey granite, every young dwarf of the clan, be them future craftsman or warrior alike, worked a single piece of stone as a symbol of their transition to manhood.
    Legend has it that the stone was both their mother and their child alike. That the rocks and crags bore them and they, in turn, bore the stone and metal they were recognized for. And, within that towering mound of rock and ice lost within the Pehrmaroust Mountain Range, they toiled and lived within the womb of the world.
    Bhar-al'Jhool was one of the seven great cities constructed by the Dwarven people during the Age of Th'uun the Builder. It was an immense work of military might and artistic mastery built by the Cragbourne.
    Its construction within the mountain's berth honoring the God-Bourne hero Jhool Grayscale-Cragbourne and his adventuring compatriots rivaled any city known then or now with its stone halls easily as grand as the Elven capitol of A'na'katal or the Human metropolis of Placid Lake. It was a marvel of engineering, dedication, and talent that housed hundreds of thousands of men and women, merchants and diplomats, dwarves, elves, and men.
    But that was before the fall of the Age.
    Before the treachery of man and their broken promises.
    Before the arrogance of the elves and their ceaseless warring.
    Before the greed of the dwarves and their hunger for riches.
    And it was before darkness.
    Like many tragedies in history, one only has clarity for the events to come when they already know the events that are coming. As the old gnomish precept goes: "Hindsight is clear as crystal, but foresight is but mud only to be divined by witches and charlatans." It is by that same unfortunate truth that the peoples of the land, mired in their own selfish matters, never realized the dangers that pressed in until they were drowning in pools of their own blood.
    Historians often spin fanciful tales of the great darkness that quelled the Age of Th'uun. Their favorite metaphor is that of a tankard of ink poured across a great map; of liquid blankness spreading and boiling across the surface of the world, marring and engulfing all that it touched.
    In reality, it was nothing so obvious.
    It started with the disappearance of the little town of Gold Fields. A human farming town on the outskirts of any map, no one took heed when the twenty three men, women, and children vanished without a trace. It was explained away or ignored. Who cared for peasants? Perhaps monsters got them.
    The scene repeated itself in Ogre's Bend. The village mattered to nothing and no one short of the few farmers that lived there, scraping together a simple life far from the clatter or chaos of crowded cities. Who was to care at the disappearance of another twenty some six months later?
    Who would even think such events, separated by time and a hundred miles, were even related to each other?
    Unfortunately, only the historians would see the pattern.
    As time rolled on with crops sprouting and harvesting, snow falling and receding, and the stone of Bhar-al'Jhool ever unchanged short for the addition of new statues, halls, and homes, very few realized first hand that anything was happening. The world is, after all, a very dangerous place. Monsters are a vicious sort and lives come and go.
    Only when the Golden Gates of Kana'ka'Loe, hidden within the Emerald Sanctuary, were broken in by hundreds of thousands of walking corpses, flanked by monstrosities of bone and monsters from the depths of the Forgotten Darkness, did anyone truly take notice.
    And by then it was far too late.
    The creatures of darkness washed over the lands in a flurry of blood, chaos, and death. Many of the great cities and even some races, now forgotten, were wiped away, sometimes overnight. Adventurers and heroes great and small stood before the flood and nearly all were washed away, many joining the very ranks they sought to defeat, with only a select few leaving a wake behind their bravery and sacrifice for the races of light to survive in. Pools of safety surrounded on all sides by unending, unyielding death.
    It was late in the cataclysm that the monstrosities reached the guilded gates of Bhar-al'Jhool. Of the original six heroes that once called that place home, only Jhool Grayscale-Cragbourne, weathered by the centuries and old age, and his Elven partner Ava Quihana stood behind the shuddering, crumbling doors of stone and gold. One hundred thousand Dwarven warriors in armor of mithril and wielding weapons of silver stood with them. Unfortunately, Jhool knew better than to believe they would make a difference against the millions of slathering monsters pressing in.
    Jhool had lived far too long and far too comfortably for far too many years. Though he was human in appearance, his God-Bourne lineage, also known as a demi-god to some for his father's divine standing, had blessed him with long life only rivaled by the near-immortal elves. He had been honored as a hero by the Dwarven people for centuries in the halls of Bhar-al'Jhool and it showed to even the most casual of passerby.
    His lustrous hair was long since grey and thinned. His hardened physique turned to a doughy pot belly. His glittering eyes dull and drab. Everything about him that had once made him a hero had been weathered away except for his smile and his tales.
    Stories turned to tales as time goes on. Tales to legends. And legends to myth. Unfortunately, when the focus of such myth lives within your city gates, very few remember or realize that many of the stories told before their transference to lore were told by the very same man that they recognizing.
    Were Jhool ever questioned, he'd always deny it, but only the Elven woman at his side remembered the truth of the story spinner. She remembered the battle with the Hundred-Headed Hydra and that is was not Jhool, but her compatriot that slew the beast. She also remembered the Lion of Alza'jam and how it was not Jhool, but actually HER that tamed and conquered it. She remembered all of his falsehoods and lies that led to his remembrance and good standing.
    For many years, Ava let the story spinner weave his webs of exaggeration and fancy for all that would listen. She didn't care for the glory Jhool always demanded to be surrounded by. Nor did any of her compatriots. Perhaps, she pondered, with the failing gates before her, that's why the lying demi-god had a city named after him for all the good it did.
    No. With age came the failure of the handsome young man's looks. The dwindling visage and years of placation had given way to a fat old man who stood terrified in piss-soaked britches before crumbling stone and the hordes of monsters beyond. The only thing left was a smile white as a freshly polished pearl and gilded words that fell from his lips as a viper might drool its a noxious green venom.
    And, it was with that same smile, still painted on his face like a playwright's mask, that Jhool turned and walked away from the failing gates, stating he would gather reinforcements to make their last stand.
    A hundred thousand warriors watched him slither away like the snake he was.
    Their anger was short lived though. As were the remainder of their lives in general.
    While the city of Bhar-al'Jhool fell along with many others before the darkness was vanquished, those few survivors did not forget the cowardice of the Liar God-Bourne Jhool Grayscale-Cragbourne. Like a fire in a dried thicket, the tale spread of the man who abandoned his city, people, and partner to the slathering hordes. Jhool found no purchase and no home ever again, dying alone in the woods hated and despised; eaten half-alive by a large snake just looking for a meal and finding the nice fat story spinner.
    So hated was Jhool Grayscale-Cragbourne that many families remember his name and the anger is palpable still today. While, in the scope of offense, a single coward in the face of overwhelming adversity is not as exceptional as many make it out to be, he stands out among the crowd. Maybe it had to do with the centuries of stories that he himself weaved into the world. Maybe it had to do with the fall of the great city that held his name. No matter the reason, many historians have realized a rather unfortunate truth for the legacy of the Liar God-Bourne:
     Stories turned to tales. Tales to legends. And legends to myth.
     Now the only thing that remains outside of anger for Jhool Grayscale-Cragbourne are his effigies. The stone statues, carved from the hard stone granite deep in the heart of Bhar-al'Jhool, have survived several millennia and would have survived several more were it not for the intruder into the dead city: a wicked smile on her thin lips and a massive warhammer across her shoulders.

The Dragon's Maw (Part 5) - Chronicles of Braum Stormforge

    Rattle.
    Rattlerattlerattle.
    Slowly. Cautiously. The pair glanced around the corner into the room.
    Rattlerattle.
    The celestial monkey had the armoire's knocker in hand and was pulling hard on it to no avail. It let out a few little frustrated screeches before turning and glaring at the both of them as though they were pulling some sort of prank and it only just realized.
    Judging them.
    "It's locked." Braum commented thoughtfully, trying to ignore the horrid little simian.
    "Didn't think of that one."
    In the room, they both found themselves just staring at the large cabinet once again. Given the other traps they'd already found, they were pretty certain it was going to go off like a bomb. However they'd never considered that maybe the magic was holding the damndable thing closed.
    After a moment of pondering, Braum was the one to take the lead this time.
    "Take a look around. Whoever this belonged to had a way to open it."
    Maybe it was some divine will. Maybe it was some sort of magic of the cabinet. Maybe it was just raw curiosity. No matter what it was, he felt determined to open the damn thing now. Earlier it was just a mild need to know what was inside. Now it was a mission.
    They spent the next several scouring the room looking for anything that stood out or might aid them in popping the cork on the cabinet. After nearly turning over the desk and actually turning over the chest, Braum noticed that the very edge of the bed seemed slightly higher than the other. And, with nothing else to go on, flipped the mattress.
    To his surprise, he found a journal and-
    A symbol of Trudd.
    He picked up the small, silver trinket. The masterfully carved symbol of a throne with a shield upon it's gleaming back was well worn and covered in five, large runes on either side. He felt his heart sink.
    This had been the home of a priest of Trudd.
    While it might have explained his desires to keep searching the place, it hardly forgave blowing up the man's chest or trying to crack open the armoire.
    "Ooo~" Ember cooed. "Found something?"
    "Maybe." Braum said half-heartedly, still examining the trinket.
    The symbol was nearly identical to his own but the scrawl of Trudd's name along the sides of the throne were in old Dwarvish. It was a language that he didn't speak and-
    And was on the armoire.
    Staring at the little symbol in his hands and carefully examining the runes, his gaze drifted back and forth from it to the large cabinet on the far wall. All of the symbols, the runes that he didn't initially recognize, were in old Dwarvish. And while he couldn't speak or read them, he had an idea.
    "Maybe." Braum repeated as he walked over and carefully cross examined the symbols.
    Hand shaking, he reached out to touch the first one. The first rune of Trudd's name in old Dwarvish.
    "Whoa, whoa. What're you doing?" Ember remarked.
    "Opening it."
    "Yea. Just in case. I'm going to be outside." the summoner said, already high-tailing out of the room, his monkey right behind him.
    Braum waited just long enough for Ember to leave the room. His fingers touched the glowing symbol gently and, to his surprise, the rune lit up a different color. It didn't explode or burn him or even set off an alarm. Just turned a different color.
    Emboldened, he did the next one.
    One by one. Five runes. Braum touched each one and each time felt a wash of relief when he didn't die. After the fifth one, there was an audible click and the door popped open.
    The old wood creaked as he opened it. Unfortunately, what he found inside was neither exciting nor surprising.
    Robes.
    The robes of the priest of Trudd hung neatly and cleanly in a row, albeit some were covered in a soft sheen of dust and cobwebs. There was a small broom and dust pan off to one side and a pair of well oiled, leather boots beneath the robes. But, aside from that, the armoire was empty.
    "Damn it." he cursed low under his breath.
    "What've you got?" Ember asked from outside.
    "Just a closet." Braum returned, unable to mask the disappointment in his voice.
    "Color me surprised."
    The summoner rejoined him, the monkey chittering softly as it sat on his shoulder, and shared the same look of disappointment that Braum was certain he wore as well.
    Something inside had told him getting this thing open was important. So why was he supposed to care about some musty old priest robes; Trudd's or otherwise.
    Ember dejectedly poked through the meager belongings, his annoyance plain on his face, when suddenly something at the back of the armoire caught his attention.
    "Wait a minute..." he said, reaching deeper into the cabinet.
    "What is it?"
    "This wall isn't real. It's an illusion..." Ember began before being suddenly cut off.
    A loud, horrible screech filled the hall outside. It might have been a roar short for the fact it came from a creature too small to produce such a fearsome cry. The cry was met and echoed by hundreds of others that called out in unison accompanied with the banging of shields, the thudding of boots, and the clanging of weapons far-too-nearby.
    Glancing outside, it was plain to see what caused it.
    A horde. No. An army of kobolds was advancing on them from the city. Literally hundreds if not thousands of small, dragon-like men brandishing bronze and steel armor and weapons were whooping and hollering and charging their direction from the unexplored city beyond.
    And the men were trapped in a room barely bigger than a broom closet.
    "Shit!" Braum bellowed, slamming the door not moments before the first wave of the fearsome dragonesque humanoids ran headlong into its simple wood.
    "Where the hell did they come from?" Ember demanded.
    Braum didn't answer. He had already drawn his massive tower shield Khadgar, using it to brace the door, and his lead-lined warhammer Magna waiting for the fight to come. The door was bowing and cracking beneath the force of an army and splinters and shards rained from its quickly collapsing doorframe despite his efforts and soon it would only be him and Ember against a thousand.
    But the fight didn't come.
    Instead, he suddenly felt Ember grab him from behind, tugging hard as the summoner pointed towards the armoire.
    "Here! Get in here!" he ordered Braum.
    The paladin spared one more glance at the collapsing door, at the vicious, snarling faces that could be seen through the cracks and holes in the splintering wood, before turning and following the mage into the armoire.
    They dove through the old, musty robes and through the illusionary wall into the darkness beyond. Just as the door finally gave way, Braum reached back through the false back and slammed the magically locking armoire shut from the inside; sealing the kobolds out. Or, perhaps, sealing themselves in.

The Dragon's Maw (Part 3) - Chronicles of Braum Stormforge

Image Credit: BioWare and Dragon Age Game Series.

    "This bloody cave reminds me of an anthill." Braum spat.
    "So kind of like all Dwarven cities then?" Ember offered with a snide grin.
    "Not like this. Whoever put this place together must have been drunker than a fish in a tub of whiskey."
    "So, like all Dwarves then?"
    Braum shot him a brief glare.
    The door they'd passed through had led them through a drastically smaller tunnel. Unlike the previous, monumental passages, this was more akin to a large hallway than anything else. Worst yet, it appeared less like it had been carved out by a skilled group of engineers and more like it had been accidentally formed by a giant, blind, mildly idiotic worm with a tendency to lean to the right.
    The hall twisted, turned, went up, went down, double back on itself, and even featured one, lone secret door that led literally nowhere.
    Braum, not for the first time in the last day, felt a fire starting to light in the back of his mind. In a decade of service to Trudd, he'd never felt particularly disrespected by the deity's plans, but ever since this recent, rather cryptic dream, he'd felt outright wronged and like someone was yanking his chain. Everything about where he was, who he'd been with, and just the general lack of clear directions was quickly getting under his skin.
    "You know," Ember began. "It has a sort of a majesty to it in a way. Like a piece of art. Made by a very stupid per-"
    click
    Braum didn't really hear the depressing stone as much as feel it and immediately, unconsciously regret what he knew was coming next. He'd been in a few of these ancient ruins and it always seemed some designer or architect liked to leave little surprises for those who would come later. Normally there was at least a reason; a logic to the wheres and whys a trap might be laid.
    As far as he could reason in that brief millisecond of thought, whoever put it here was just an asshole.
    The slab of stone shot out of the cross section of the hallway like a hydraulic press and hit him with surprising force. With a distinct clatter and clank, he found his head and upper torso brief slammed into the far wall. He saw stars and tasted copper but, to his surprise, he wasn't dead; more beat up than anything.
    He was bleeding lightly from the forehead where he'd slammed it into the stone and he couldn't quite remember the alphabet, but he wasn't much worse for wear. All in all, he could have been in much worse shape. Apparently the trap had either lost its edge over the years or it hadn't been built to try and crush such a heavily armored assailant.
    The enchanted steel of his platemail was already rebuilding the cracks and dings by the time he crawled up from the dusty stone.
    "Son of a rotten troll fucker..." Braum growled through the taste of blood and dirt.
    "You really should watch out." Ember commented dismissively.
    Braum glared a warning of pain and suffering at the summoner who, despite having just watched him slam into a wall, had remained rather cool about the whole thing. Ember and his massive, ephemeral beast simply stared right back.
    Mentally, he added that to the list of offenses he'd had to deal with in the last day.
    "Fine. Fine. Let the..." he stared at the eidolon that was hovering just next to the summoner, searching for the right word.
     He didn't find it.
    "...Let the thing go first."
    "What?" Ember said with the first look of surprise and emotion he'd seen on the man's face. "You can't be serious!"
    "What're you talking about? Of course, I'm serious."
    "But what if there's danger!" Ember demanded. "He's not immortal after all. If he dies from some beast or some trap down here I'm gonna have to STOP. Then I'm gonna have to summon him. And then we're going to have to start walking again! I just couldn't bear it if something happened."
    For just the briefest of moments, Braum wondered if they would be lucky enough to find a Dwarven tomb. This was quickly followed by considering whether or not he could fit the summoner's corpse in it.
    Ember let out a laugh and waved his hand dismissively. The man's monster pushed forward through the cramped tunnel and soon they were pressing on through the hewn-rock maze.
    Braum, despite his feelings of frustration, continued to keep himself between the mage and any potential danger that might appear from their front however he decided to let the eidolon have a good distance this go around in case they tripped on anymore traps.
    Soon enough, the tunnel widened once again into another large hall. Unlike the ones before, however, this hall actually appeared functional. Two doors could be seen, one on the left and one on the right, both made of simple wood. Additionally, there was a wide expanse shrouded in darkness further beyond...perhaps the main area of the city?
    With the exception of their echoing footsteps, however, absolutely nothing stirred.
    "What do you think?" Braum asked with a motion towards the vast expanse beyond.
    "I think we should figure out what's behind these doors before we move on."
    He considered for a moment, glancing back and forth from the void just outside of the realm of their visibility and the simple wooden doors and quickly agreed with the summoner. After all, it wouldn't take to have something sneak up on them from behind. Nor would it pay to accidentally pass over the orb that they were looking for because it was in some study or storeroom that they just walked past.
    What they found in the first door in the left was hardly exciting, however.
    A little room with a desk, a bed, a single chest, and a large armoire sat quietly in darkness, seemingly forgotten by time. The bed was made while the floor and everything else appeared relatively clean and undisturbed short of a fine layer of age and dust that seemed to cover everything.
    Braum wouldn't have given a second thought if not for Ember.
    "Ooo~" The summoner chortled as he approached the chest at the end of the bed.
    With a shrug, the paladin joined him in the little room and began to take a closer look around. The table was made of a fine cherrywood; smaller but well crafted. The bed appeared to have woolen sheets. The armoire-
    He blinked in surprise.
    Braum hadn't noticed it the first time, but the armoire's face was glowing softly. A ring of runic symbols that he couldn't readily recognize had been carved out of the wood; the diameter of the ring having been intersected the by doors' seam.
    "Huh." he thought outloud. "Hey Ember, what do you thi-"
    But he didn't get to finish his question. Behind him, Ember had been tinkering about with the chest at the foot of the bed. At the same time Braum was turning to ask the summoner about his thoughts on the runes, the thunking and clanking of Ember's mechanations were replaced by very hasty footsteps exiting the room.
    A half second later, the world was on fire and Braum found himself airborne.


----

(Hey all, sorry about my absense for the last two weeks. In short, it's one of those times that life just catches up to you and grinds everything else to a halt. As it stands, I'm working to play catch-up and hope to punch out more of Braum's tales in the next few days; hopefully with a return to regular releases. I hope everyone's doing good and that you have a wonderful day!)

The Dragon's Maw (Part 2) - Chronicles of Braum Stormforge

Artwork Property of CubeHero - https://cubehero.deviantart.com/art/Ice-Dungeon-393285731

    The cave system was massive.
    Braum held his shield aloft in one hand with his hammer ready and primed in his other. White hot flames sparked and licked across the head of the enchanted weapon, giving off strange and monstrous shadows that hid in every corner and seemed to seethe around them as they moved. As a dwarf who'd lived for over a century in the darkness of mines and caves, he could see the specters of darkness for what they were, yet it always made him just slightly uneasy.
    Some shadows should be feared.
    They had been walking for a short period. The cave had narrowed slightly but still seemed large enough for an entire troop of wild bull elephants to pass unhindered and it always seemed to be moving downward in a soft corkscrew shape.
    Whether it was the shadows, the thought of a dragon, or some pre-programmed requirement to be the first into danger, Braum moved in front of Ember. This put him lockstep with the hovering beast that the summoner controlled and in full range of snark for it.
    "You know that's completely unnecessary."
    "Old habits." Braum responded shortly.
    "You realize we have a beast of extraplanar capability, right? Quite literally a monster from another dimension. Why do are walking AHEAD of it? Just let it deal with whatever we find."
    "I'd think you'd be happy having someone else willing to throw themselves ahead of you."
    "Well, when you put it that way. Lead on. Make sure to step on any funny shaped rocks. Particularly if they make a loud clicking sound when you do."
    Braum gave the summoner a sideways glance but said nothing in retort. He'd learned over a decade of travel that mages, no matter their school, had a certain way about them. Perhaps it was the innate ability to unravel and reweave the laws of the universe as one saw fit that made most mages act like certified assholes, but Braum had long since stopped letting it get to him. If the worst he dealt with from someone who could quite literally summon monsters into being by sheer force of will alone was a bit of smart-assery, he could certainly take it.
    They walked on in silence for a few minutes more before something caught his eye.
    The walls of the cave seemed to be shifting as they moved deeper into it. The change wasn't stark, but among crags and uneven marring in the walls, he started to notice pillars. Stonework. Signs of handcarved architecture and structural engineering that struck too close to home.
    "Dwarven."
    "What?" Ember asked in confusion.
    "The walls. The stonework. There." he said with a few jabs of his hammer. "And there. This looks like Dwarven work."
    Ember, to his surprise, didn't say anything. Instead, they kept walking in silence.
    Everytime Braum glanced at the walls, they progressively became more and more solid. More and more carved out and resembling an actual Dwarven city. Pretty soon, he might have just been walking through the darkened, abandoned halls of Ironcore or Kaldoran themselves except that he knew those cities were much farther East and most definitely occupied.
    More to the point, they still had all their treasures. Unlike the massive, empty horderoom they'd just entered.
    "The five hells is this?" Braum asked, glancing around the echoing room they'd just stepped into.
    The room passed cleanly from the cavernous hall to create an even more monumental space. At first, it gave the impression that they'd entered a new cave system, but a few sparing glances around showed drag marks, scuffs, and lost and scattered coins from the treasure that had once been here.
    There had been chests here. And gold. Enough treasure to fill the coffers of the human kingdoms for generations.
    "Looks like a party." Ember commented offhandedly as he picked up and pocketed a loose gold coin that had somehow been overlooked. "And we missed it."
    "I guess we know where the other adventurers found their lucre."
    "Could have left some for us."
    The tinkle of disturbed rocks grabbed both of their attention in the near vacuous silence. For the first time, Braum noticed that the room had a pair of doors, both tucked away at the far end of the room. One, a massive set of double doors near as high as the imperceptible ceiling, were made of stone and metal and set into the far wall. The other, notably smaller and made of simple cherrywood, was off to the left.
    "Well now." Ember commented as he glanced at the massive set of doors. "Think that's where they keep the good stuff?"
    Braum thought that's where they kept the dragon, but kept that to himself and approached it anyway. As he did, he noticed something in the dirt on the floor.
    "We've got some footprints here." he commented, staring down at the scuffles in the collected ages of rock and dust.
    Ember snapped at the monster that followed him and it joined Braum in examining the marks.
    "What's that about?" Braum asked tentatively.
    "What?"
    "The..." he pointed at the massive eidolon and then back to Ember before imitating the summoner's snapping.
    "I'm telling him to look at the footprints. That's pretty obvious."
    "O...kay. And you don't because...?"
    "Because, unlike some of us, I can't really see without his help. It's a bit dark in here, afterall." Ember shot back snidely.
    Braum just stared at the man who'd just followed him perfectly through the caves and ruins for the better part of an hour before scratching his head. The summoner answered the unasked question.
    "I'm ok with SOME dark, but you might have noticed it's pitch black in here and the most light you have is that." Ember said, motioning towards the softly flaming hammer.
    The enchanted weapon cast a glow, but did nothing to actually light the way.
    "I see through his eyes." he quickly added, with a nod towards the monstrous creature.
    "Got it." Braum said with a nod, although he didn't understand the intricacies of the magic. "We'll see about getting you a torch."
    The summoner shrugged dismissively and Braum returned to examining the footprints. There were a wealth of marks around, entering, and exiting the smaller door on the lefthand side. The massive double doors, however, only featured a single set of tracks that entered and no sign that they ever left.
    "Way less traveled." Braum regarded towards the single set of tracks.
    "Sounds fine to me." Ember agreed. "It's not like we actually know where we're going down here."
    With considerable effort, Braum and the Eidolon were able to forcibly open one of the double doors. Even with all their combined strength, they were only able to get it open a foot or so, but it was enough to be able to slide in.
    And what they saw...was nothing.
    The other side of the double doors was simply a void. The footprints continued on into utter darkness; an inky black that even his trained eyes couldn't penetrate. Stepping past the door, he could make out the walls near him and a good couple dozen feet away, but that's where it stopped.
    It was as if he was staring into nothingness.
    "Huh."
    "This is enormous." Braum commented, his eyes falling on the sheer emptiness.
    "Yea..." Ember agreed before quickly adding. "Other door?"
    "Other door."
    They started back on their way before Braum quickly added.
    "Let's make sure this is closed. Don't want anything sneaking up behind us."
    "Good idea."
    With a little more straining, they were able to reset the massive door back into place with a hollow, echoing boooooooooom that they could feel in their very bones. A few moment later, they were on their way through the other door and following a small, winding path through rough hewn stone, completely unaware of what they had woken up as the echoing sound reached its sensitive ears.

Little Island Tales - Part 8

    Despite what Diego had told Tamah, he had no 'stuff'' to do. He honestly didn't even know why he was walking away. He just knew that the prospect of sitting down with her and Ka'lani made him a little sick to his stomach and he didn't know what to to do about it.
    And so he walked back into the village. Away from the boot prints in the sand and away from his friends on the beach.
    It was strange. He felt conflicted.
    He had known Ka'lani for basically his entire life, but in the recent months, it seemed like something was changing and he just couldn't put his finger on what. She was acting oddly and, even more, he found that this upset him for some reason.
    Why wouldn't she tell him who the flute was for? Better yet, why did that stupid detail seem to matter so much?
    The feeling he'd had a couple days prior when they were sitting under the coconut trees returned and he really didn't know what to do with it. It felt like his guts were tied into a knot and he just kept asking himself the same questions.
    Even with the discovery of tracks in the sand, human boot-prints that the warriors didn't recognize, his mind drifted elsewhere and that fact alone made him even more upset with himself. But he just couldn't knock away his distracting thoughts.   
    So Diego decided to turn to the person he always turned to when he didn't know any better.
    And within a few minutes, he had found his mother.
    Initially, Diego had checked a few places in town. He knew she wasn't at Grammy Koula's, since he'd just been there, and ended up checking at home at around the town center. It was as he was walking around the pyre, watching several men pack wood onto the flames, that she called out to him from Johanas' hut.
    He couldn't help but grimace.
    Walking up to the little wood shack near the town center, Diego was immediately struck by the smell of the place. Despite the fact the cookpot his mother was working in front of was producing a wonderful aroma of roots and vegetables, the house still smelled.
    Diego loved his mother's stew. While the recipe changed slightly depending on whether they had meat available and on what kind of vegetables were in season, his mother always mixed in a hefty amount of spices and potatoes that gave the dish a unique flavor no matter any minor alterations in ingredients.
    But that just didn't matter in Johanas' hut.
    The smell was something that had always been unique to the man that lived there and, for that reason, Diego often avoided the home despite it being so deep into the town proper. It wasn't anything rancid like rotting meat or foul like stooled fecal matter. It had a husky, deep scent that one adult had referred to as smelling like a 'skunk', though he had no real reference to the accuracy of that claim. Much like the incense the town burned every month, the stench came from the plants that Johanas grew, dried, and smoked in his meager little garden.
    While cigarettes and smoking were uncommon overall, it seemed Johanas pretty much always smoked. He could regularly be seen with a hand-rolled cigarette hanging from his lips, a smile on his face, and a glaze in his eyes.
    Today was no exception.
    "Hey Diego." Johanas greeted with a genuine smile and a wave, the smoking cigarette dangling precariously from his widening grin.
    "Hey Johanas." Diego responded with a quick, cursory nod as he made his way for his mother.
    Johanas leaned back in his chair and smiled wider, his mind clearly elsewhere.
    Diego couldn't help but stare for a moment, though.
    The man was not too much older than him really, maybe a few years at most; however he looked like he'd aged decades. He had been a relatively promising warrior despite a more carefree attitude, however some said that same attitude led to his failure. And his attack.
    Now, sitting there rocking back and forth, his wood chair covered in pillows and blankets, Diego found it fascinating how the man tended to stay so calm and happy. The once powerful, albeit stocky, ex-warrior had shrunken away from his short-lived prowess. His left leg was shriveled and destroyed, forcing him to walk with a cane and a semi-permanent splint around the leathered remains. On top of that, his left eye had been gouged out, leaving an empty, staring socket, and his left arm had been equally mangled although it was at least still usable.
    Supposedly it had all happened when he was caught out along by a aka-akua. Yet, to everyone's shock, he had somehow survived the encounter, albeit far from un-marred.
    The longer he stared, the more Diego thought that Johanas resembled a ghoul; some sort of monstrous creature half-alive and half-dead. Except for that permanent smile.
    Diego had been young, but he still remembered seeing the mangled remains carted in off the beach and into Grammy Koula's hut. The smoking started shortly after he'd returned home; roughly half of what he'd been still functional.
    But Johanas never stopped smiling. Never stopped laughing even if the laughter was at his own suffering.     "Hello Nani." Tula said with a soft squeeze of her son's shoulder and a kiss on his forehead, drawing his attention away from Johanas. "I saw you wander by a few times."
    "I was looking for you." Diego answered his mother's unasked question.
    "You found her." Johanas confirmed with a widening grin.
    "What did you need, dear?" Tula asked with another squeeze of his should, her free hand still methodically stirring the stew.
    "I guess I just wanted to talk... 
    Diego glanced back at Johanas who was now rummaging about in a bag next to his chair. His mother stared at him expectantly.
    "...it's ok though. I know you're busy." he said quickly, changing his mind about speaking near Johanas. "It's nothing important. I can talk later."
    "Are you sure?" Tula asked with a look of concern.
    "You alright, kid?" Johanas asked as he retrieved several pale white sticks from the bag.
    "Yea..." Diego commented half-heartedly and watched in confusion as the older set several of the sticks aside. "What are those?"
    At first glance, he had thought the sticks were another kind of cigarette. Just a different version of something. But they seemed hard. Too solid. They didn't look like wrapped paper as much as some sort of small carved stick.
    "Ha!" Johanas explained. "These? They're cane."
    Diego glanced up at his mother who started to smile knowingly.
    "Cane?"
    "Yea!" the older man said excitedly. "Here. Try one. Its the only cane in this house that doesn't suck to use."
    Tula chuckled a bit as Diego hesitantly took one of the little white sticks.
    "I mean, I guess it doesn't suck as much as you do." Johanas quickly added.
    "I...what?" Diego asked in exasperation.
    As an example, Johanas took one of the little sticks and popped it half way into his mouth. He proceeded to demonstrate biting down and sucking on the stick.
    "I...I'm not sure I want..."
    Tula gave her son a little nod as if in confirmation that Johanas wasn't insane for chewing on sticks.
    Diego tried in turn.
    The result was a blast of sweetness like Diego had never experienced. It made him openly gasp. Even though the stick itself seemed to be just that, an actual stick, the rush of sweet was more than enough to take his mind off it.
    "Wow!" Diego exclaimed.
    "Pretty sweet, eh?"
    Tula groaned at him and Johanas laughed harder. He proceeded to go back and forth for a moment between his quickly dwindling cigarette and the chewed 'cane' stick as he called it, sucking on both with equal fervor.
    "This is really good!" Diego told him after sucking on the little white cane a few more times.
    "I like 'em." Johanas confirmed with a chuckle before closing his eyes and drifting back into a quiet stupor as he rocked back and forth in his chair.
    Diego sat in silence for a few minutes, chewing and sucking on the 'cane', just watching Johanas rock and his mother cook. That simple exchange had made him feel a little better and, when he'd thoroughly gnawed upon the little stick, he turned back to his mother.
    "Mom, can I talk to you for a second?"