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 Saladin Scrawls

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Phlegm

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Number of posts : 751
Registration date : 2007-04-26

PostSubject: Saladin Scrawls   Tue 21 Jun - 13:23:09

Saladin scrawls

A thousand blessings be upon you and your house, may the light of your gods illuminate the path to peace and pure waters. I hope you might wish me the same, for the orchids in the garden of my father’s house have flowered and died more times than I care to remember in the time I have been travelling the roads of the infidel, yet never have the winds of fortune blown the sands of fate into such unscaleable dunes as now.

Truly it is said that everything is written, but I think the writer may have been overdoing the hashish when this particular chapter was prepared. This group of characters surely wield a power so great that one feels the very greatest powers of the cosmos are watching our progress and kingdoms and realms tremble at their whim.

We had fled the unwelcome attentions of the Imperial party who had stolen the stone of power from my comrades, a fact about which they seemed remarkably sanguine. I was recovering slowly from my injuries, but a loan of a handy magic amulet and I was one hundred percent in minutes. Only the curiously accented miner remained wounded.

The reason for their calmness became clear when the powerstone returned by some great sorcery later, though I have to say my new friends seem a little, shall we say, unusual? In appearance. Mitchell Getz glows dully and radiates extreme heat; Digger appears soaking wet at all times and wakes every morning looking like a piece of driftwood freshly arrived on a beach.

The beautiful pale skinned elf is as chilly as Getz is hot and her hair and garments often appear to float like gossamer seeds in the wind. Finally Andilwei reeks with an overbearing stench that makes the great dung pits of Sidi El Birani smell like the aroma of the most fragrant desert crocus after rain.

We continued north towards the mountains, one eye always cast behind us for signs of pursuit, but even as our injured scout carefully swept tracks and rearranged damaged brush in our wake, we could not help but feel that we were already being watched. I nursed my empty pistols as we travelled an empty road, one where pickings had always been scarce for bandit and highwayman alike.

Some richer pickings did appear, in the form of a load of crap neatly positioned across the trail ahead of us. Still steaming fresh, the elf concluded that it was beastman spoor, deliberately placed in six distinct piles. He even claimed that he could identify two distinct types. I always knew he was full of sh*t.

Then after a nights rest another unexpected sight greeted us as we rose to break our fast: A kernel of stones arranged like an altar had been placed close to the camp, without the knowledge of any of our sentinels. It had definitely not appeared on my watch, and it quickly emerged that Getz had not been woken for his shift, suggesting that our necromantic elf babe had been less than wakeful.

The gods though had watched over us and no harm had been done, indeed, closer examination by our elf revealed that several clay pots place by the altar contained offerings of raw meat. Now it is said that when the camel reaches water it does not stop to ask the clouds from where the waters came, but my paranoid comrades seemed disquieted by the gifts, even more so when I roasted the offerings into a very tasty breakfast.

They seemed concerned that the meal was halfling meat. My only concern was that this meant there wasn’t all that much, even for just me. Such squeamishness ill became them; from my short acquaintance they hardly seemed paragons of virtue, but the elf and Digger do seem particularly susceptible to attacks of self righteousness.

We continued onward, reaching a trappers’ hut where we met a solitary hunter. We stayed the night and the hunter shared some directions and background on the region. We tried to obscure our true destination but did learn the route* to the very mountain the scholar had mentioned, where a dwarf hermit** led a lonely existence.

* We made him repeat it three times and wrote it all down very carefully so as to be absolutely sure we didn’t accidentally take the eastern route he outlined.

**Kerching!


Quite how he existed there seemed very mysterious: An annual visit by a force of dwarves seemed to sustain him, although there were hints that the visit was not necessarily a welcome one. The hunter also spoke of snowfields infested with ice worms that burrowed into the flesh infecting their hosts, hordes of goblins roaming the area and large numbers of deadly dive bombing hawks.

All in all it seemed our possible doomstone expert had chosen a neighbourhood where insurance premiums for third party fire and goblins would probably be prohibitive, though to be fair the insurance company’s funds were unlikely to be troubled by any surviving claimants, so maybe they employed some sort of ‘No survivors’ discount.

Armed with the word that the trail for the mountain lay just three days further on, plus some non halfling related foodstuffs purchased from our lonely friend, we hurried onward, hoping that our attempts at misdirection towards Nuln and Winters Teeth Pass would be successful if the Imperial forces arrived in our wake.*

*With a bit of luck, terminally stupid stormtroopers*
*These are not the doomstones you are looking for


The next incident of note was also in the unexpected category: Six beastmen appeared and prostrated themselves, appealing plaintively to us in their guttural dark tongue. How could they expect us to respond to that? Well guess who just happens to speak that reviled chaos language? Turns out our witch elf by lucky chance is completely fluent. What are the chances?

Certain party members who shall remain nameless, looked pretty worried at this development and a great deal of uneasy weapon fingering* went on for the next few minutes whilst Oakshadow/ Cyrilliac conversed with the chaos horde. It seemed obvious to me that all was well as the creatures were clearly humbling themselves and our Necromancer quickly confirmed that these were worshippers offering their services to us, us in this case being the incarnation of some chaos god called Stench or something like that.**

*I believe that this is outlawed even in the four US states where marrying your cousin is regarded as acceptable only if you have no brothers or sisters
** Beastmen are definitely pretty stupid: I’ve not been with these guys long and I can tell you it didn’t take me more than five minutes to work out that they are about as far from gods as you can get.


One of the beasts, a flying creature of some sort called Slurk, more slightly built than the beefier heavy brigade, seemed more intelligent, and at least one of his two heads could speak Reikspiel.* It was pathetic in its efforts to ingratiate and was clearly anxious to please. Again, for some inexplicable reason this caused an argument. I look forward to the day I see these people agree on something.

*Barely a notch above the dark tongues of course; I haven’t heard a civilised word in months

Digger and Andilwei, (Who else) favoured sending our new allies/ cannon fodder/ slaves off on some mad errand. Digger wanted to order them to capture the presumably pursuing knights on the theory that they would die in the attempt whilst slowing pursuit. He even wanted to give them misleading information about our destination so they would reveal it if captured. The elf favoured sending them on a mission to round up all beastmen in the area and lead them on a wild goose chase.

I lost my patience with them at that point and had to point out to the simpletons what was as one of their own idioms puts it, ‘bleedin’ obvious.’ The elf at least was convinced and Getz and Cyrilliac, always more in tune with my approach carried the day. We headed east towards the snow deserts that cloaked the all enveloping Volt Mountains, a more formidable force now with our chaos escort.

I did have hopes to recruit some to my own personal banner, but not speaking the lingo or bearing any aspect of the power stone that they worshipped, I decided to bide my time as they followed the Necromancer’s all too natural barked commands as surely as if they were her own raised corpses.

We had now travelled for several days with no sign of pursuit and approached the base of Vulture Claw peak. Here were clustered the nesting grounds of a great multitude of hawks. They took exception to our approach, and a great cloud of them took to the air. I waited expectantly for some great magic to be used in our defence, but in vain. What good is the power stone if these cowards are too terrified to wield it?

Then the hawks were swarming about us like giant angry bees, their talons slashing madly at our faces, targeting our eyes. Hand weapons were useless as it was like slashing at water droplets, but my bow was singing and started to transfix the creatures. How I missed my trusty brace of pistols! Cyrilliac fell clutching her face screaming, Digger just missed a nasty blow, and we were in significant trouble.

Andilwei took to his heels and the rest followed his lead, Digger in particular showing some remarkable leaps. I just kept on plugging away and the hawks were learning not to mess with me as my arrows sent a dozen of them to whatever after life is granted to their kind. So I saw them off, and they flew back to their nests.

The beastmen duly gobbled up the dead hawks after I’m happy to say, I recovered most of my arrows. Our first hurdle it seemed had been overcome. We continued into the snow, and proceeded as best we could. Ceaseless vigilance was required, as this was ice worm territory, and several were spotted and despatched before we found shelter for the night, crammed in an alcove that provided something of a windbreak. Huddling up to Getz provided some much needed warmth, at least we were unscathed by the worms so far and had not attracted any marauding goblins…

19.6.11
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Al-Farrak Bin Saladin

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PostSubject: Re: Saladin Scrawls   Tue 21 Jun - 20:17:57

I sent the motherless infidel hawks of HAWKS'S CLAW PEAK to the third level of tartarus!
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