the Final Countdown

Log 4

...End of Line.

Alexjo recounts the further story of the road to Ten Towns.

“Well, we met a few more beasts on the road. Ice lizards, hobgoblins, bugbears, orcs, and goblins…even a maddened ogre. We found a raided cart, and a stout Dwarf guard that had been killed. We collected a fair share of loot, even some magic. Dangerous road, that one.”

“Then, that group following us, one our psion, Gardle, could sense following us…they were upon us. It was led by Romsh’s mentor, and adopted parent…and they had some talking to do, themselves. Not much of it, those Luskanites are a vicious lot. Romsh brings a tingle of fear in me when I think about him, and I’m his friend even.”

“Peddywinkle revealed himself…and that we were going back to Luskan. I suppose that maybe the Arcane Brotherhood apprentice figured that they had to play it out, since Romsh had made a powerful friend of the high priest of Gond, the one that turned even the High Captain Taerl out on his ass and heading back to his house…the Brotherhood doesn’t like to interfere with priestly business, though I hear they stand up when priests try and dig in theirs. I guess its a matter of respect. I’d wager on a wizard any day to kill a priest but I figure theres the whole church the wizard has to contend with after that. Such is way of it, I guess.

Anyhow, that famed Drizzt, he came out of nowhere, with our new friend Alric, the druid of Mielikki. He was like a blur, hacking the wizards apart first, then helping us with the Red Brotherhood mercenaries hunting us down. So goes Peddywinkle. I forget the name of the Brotherhood apprentice he is…or was. All three of them vanished when Drizzt cut through them. Who knows.

Drizzt delivered us Alric, and he made a good bargain…he’d sell Peddywinkle’s food and wares in Ten Towns, and return to Haggash with the gold and knucklehead trout ivory that we’d make doing it ourselves to enrich Haggash…and lessen some of that anger. Seemed good enough for us, and we took our share of the loot, and our new friend Alric, the druid.

Seems Drizzt Do’Urden was out looking for that barbarian Krakon, the Uthgardt abandoned by his people, and taking up control over the orc hordes. Drizzt said that he was making use of wizards…Zhentarim maybe, Arcane Brotherhood, or who knew whoever else…wizards that were teaching the orc-kind battle magic, or some even allying with them. Krakon is seven feet tall, unmistakable with two boar’s tusks he studded in his own cheeks…a real nightmare of a human, to turn to a Orc god.

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Romsh told Gardle, as well…he had a dream, of his dead orc mentor, and then the high priest of Gond…before looking deeper, he saw a illithid held together, all patchwork and steamworked, and magic keeping the old and dilapitated creature alive. It challenged him…something like this…
“I see a change in you, Romsh, that transpired with the Gondsman. Good, some intelligence showed, and that breaks the stereotype of your breeding, doesn’t it? Good. A step in forging a true weapon.”
The illithid holds up a mirror to Romsh, and Romsh finds himself looking into the mirror, while the dreamscape turns from the cold-blasted north to a sandy arena. Calmishan? Maybe. Now in a cell, just outside is a large arena, and within it, a powerful looking gladiator, with a net and trident. The warrior is known to Romsh; he is a master with the Trident, and thus far more likely to win in a martial test.
“Let us see if you are worthy of leading the fight for the others you have been fate bonded to.” The illithid holds up the mirror, for Romsh to see himself, and then he lowers it, offering up a blade hilt…a two handed sword clasped in the monster’s slimy, three-fingered taloned grip.
“Romsh…which is the better weapon? You have five minutes to prepare. Look upon your death…he is five times the warrior you are.”
Romsh takes the mirror. He studies it for a moment, and then takes the sword. Donning scaly armor, his shoulders thicken into the likeness of a cobra hood, a shimmer of white scalyness taking the half-orc’s hide, his skin toughening as if he was made of scale armor himself. Then he lays the warrior low with a psychic blast, and when the gate rises…Romsh steps forward to cut the weakened, fearful gladiator down.
“Good, Romsh. Know that with the power you have been given, no one can stand before you in single combat.”

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