The Chronicles of Caylor: Book One: The Stillmire Tower

By Alan Farber

Four disparate souls come together to seek their fame and fortune. They soon find themselves embroiled in a mystery beyond their abilities.

Morganna is a newly-graduated member of the Mages' Guild. Confident she is ready to adventure on her own, and find her place in the annals of history, she joins the Protectors' Guild and forms a group to begin her career.
Giovanna left the forest and mountains to find her own place in the world. Having studied under a ranger since she was a small girl, she is now ready to travel into the world and find a place to call her own. She takes a detour to Thule, where, on a whim, she signs up at the Protectors' Guild.
Lance is a Brother of Thor, and is ready to adventure through the world spreading the word of Thor. Hiding his half-elven heritage hasn't been easy, but he has managed to do so from all but his Father Hammer. Now ready to gain glory and fame in Thor's name, he joins the Protectors' Guild.
Frizzle was an odd gnome, even among the gnomes. He'd never been good with mechanics or machines, but he'd always been drawn to magic. Following a visiting illusionist one night, he is taken away on a journey by the old illusionist and taught the ways of magic. Alone on his own after his tutelage, he finds himself in need of adventure and income. He signs up with the Protectors' Guild in hopes of finding treasure and magic.

Together, these four newly-minted adventurers find themselves neck deep in adventure, perhaps only to sink in over their heads and drown in the swamp-or perhaps to rise to the occasion and reach their goals of success, fame, glory, and a place to call home.

Their first job for the Protectors' Guild is to investigate the grisly deaths of several workers in the Stillmire Swamp. Their investigation leads them to a dangerous creature, and after some difficulty, they manage to destroy the foul thing. In the process, they discover an abandoned tower deep in the swamp. While beginning to explore it, they find themselves outnumbered by the undead and in need of assistance. They return and are victorious against the horde of undead, but ridding the tower of its unsavory residents is only the beginning. Inside, the tower seems to have only one story, yet from the outside there are windows visible high in the walls. A strange object hangs from the ceiling in the center of the tower that puzzles even the mages. While it has clearly been abandoned for decades, there are settings on the tables, as if the residents never left. There are no windows on the ground floor, nor are there any torch sconces or other sources of light. And how can it be warm inside when there are no fireplaces?
Eventually they find the way to the upper floors, only to find many more mysteries, and more adventure than fits within the tower's walls.
While exploring the tower, the new friends must also learn about each other, and how to get along in order to survive.
Who built the strange tower? And why in the depths of a swamp? Why did they abandon the fantastic structure? And why is it linked to other towers in distant lands?
And someone is watching them, manipulating their fates. Not only to bring them together, but to control their actions and decisions, and those of the people around them. Who, and why?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alan Farber
• Release date: Aug 16, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311792372

Alan Farber

Alan lives in a small town in Indiana where his is currently employed as a factory drone when not writing.

Book preview

Prologue

The Stillmire Swamp dominates the lowlands south of the Burning Mountains. The vast wetlands formed a buffer between those far-ranging peaks and the Red Desert to the south. Many streams and rivers ran southward from the The Burning Mountains to form the Stillmire, and then onward to feed the great Halvern River. That great river, though, dried up and vanished in the immense Red Desert.

In summer, the swamp grew bloated with plant and insect life. Vines wrapped around trees, often forming thick, dense curtains of green between them. Thorny bushes and razor-edged grasses grew on every scrap of land and rock, their sharp points poking and prodding their way into the smallest gaps in clothing and armor. Insects of all sizes and coloration swarmed over the ground, the plants, and filled the air.

In the cold of winter, the Stillmire Swamp becomes desolate, dire place. Shallow water, frozen over, breaks underfoot, forming sharp and jagged cutting edges often hidden by snow. There was no place of refuge or safety.

Settlers had arrived several generations ago, finding the deserted city on the plain between the swamp and the mountains. The abandoned city was constructed of heavy gray stone, in the proper scale for humans, but of a style and design unfamiliar to them. Humans being humans, they moved in and claimed it as their own. Soon, the fact that the buildings were of an unknown origin was completely forgotten. The city lived and thrived again. Its new inhabitants call it Thule.

The population is nearly twenty thousand now, almost all human. A few members of the other races dwell there as well, either in the open or in secret. A few dwarves and halflings are regularly seen in the gathering places of Thule, and then there are the more discreet races too; the elves and the gnomes. Discreet in they remained less visible–though for differing reasons. The gnomes, being the way they are, dangerously explosive, are generally not well received and quickly move on. Elves, being the way they are, secretive and aloof, are never seen unless they wish it.

Thule is a series of concentric circles built around a central core. Three walls define the city: The two innermost walls are tall, thick, level, well-cut, and made of gray stone; the outer wall, mostly constructed by the current inhabitants of local limestone and wood, varies in height and thickness, and has several irregular sections–though portions of the older, well-constructed gray stone wall remains in places, as if unfinished or ruined.

Huge homes with high private walls and gardens fill the central core of the city. Many of the buildings there were well constructed of the hard, gray stone before the current residents arrived; the rest are less meticulously and more recently built of limestone and wood. Here, the streets are also cobbled with the gray stone of old.

The middle ring has many buildings of the old, gray stone variety, spaced well apart, with smaller, newer, less appealing buildings of wood and limestone between them. Many of the older, gray stone buildings that remain are now homes to the upper-middle class, most divided internally by recent construction into several individual residences. Some serve as both home and places of business to a successful few.

Most of the buildings in the third ring, and all of those outside of the walls are generally poorly built by the recent residents out of wood. The bulk of the population resides in this outer ring of the city, along with most of the shops and merchants.

One section of this outer ring was given over to the magicians many years ago, and is called the Mages’ Quarter. Separated from the rest of the city by high, new walls of local limestone, the buildings within are very well constructed, with paved roads and open places, all dominated by the tri-colored, three-towered Mages’ Guild building. The paved streets in the other areas of this outer ring barely outnumber the unpaved variety, but within the Mages’ Quarter are only smooth, level, stone roads.

There is only one gate into the central core of Thule; two gates penetrate the second ring, but a gate breaches the outer wall in each of the cardinal directions.

Outside of the outer wall lies what the locals call Shanthule. It is a nearly random construction of poorly built hovels and slums. Lying unprotected from the outer wilds, only the poor and the newly arrived stay there.

Goblins and orcs are numerous in the forested hills of the Burning Mountains, and more fearsome beasts lurk deep in those twisted and convoluted peaks and hidden vales. The Stillmire hosts its own creatures as well–though they rarely leave the swamp’s environs. While these fearsome beasts no longer pose much of a threat around Thule, in hard times some wolves and other creatures grow desperate enough to come close to the city, threatening the residents of Shanthule.

The great Halvern River forms a natural boundary against these wild dangers as it flows southward out of the Burning Mountains, past the city, into the Stillmire Swamp, and then further to the south to its doom in the Red Desert. Teeming with fish most times of the year, Thule is well-fed by its bounty. Along its shores are the warehouses and fisheries of Thule, which provide both wealth and sustenance.

To the city’s southeast lie the rich and green fields and farms that also feed Thule–before the sands of the Red Desert swallow the fertile lands into its vast desolation.

All in all, Thule does fairly well. It has grown to become one of the largest cities in the kingdom of Emira, having had a head start with all the buildings and secure walls that remained from an age long past and forgotten. Lord-Mayor Denubic is fair and respected, and many of the merchants, tradesmen, and guildsmen do well–as does the Thieves’ Guild.

Thule prospers and grows from trade, the bounty of the river, the fertile farmlands, and the Stillmire Swamp. The swamp provides the precious peat used for heating in the winter months, and for cooking and to feed the forges the year round. Its vast waterways give marine life a place of sanctuary during the cold winter as well as breeding grounds. Many mosses and plants grow only in the swamp, providing medicines and tinctures, magical components, food, and spices. Without the Stillmire, life in Thule would be much less possible, pleasurable, and profitable.

But the Stillmire is also the source of many dreads and dangers, and the source of many a child’s nightmares–and those of some adults.

And unbeknownst to any living creature in Thule, deep within the Stillmire Swamp lies a secret that would change the lives of a very few at first, but a great many in time.

Yes... in time.

Chapter One

The Incident

Winter was in full force: Low, dark clouds hid the sun, and large flakes of snow fell heavily, covering the shallow, fetid waters of the Stillmire Swamp beneath a smooth, white blanket. The bare trees and bushes wore a shinning white sheath, disguising their rough branches and sharp thorns.

In a particularly bleak and remote area of the swamp, a man was shoveling the snow, revealing the precious peat and mosses left from the summer. The area would provide materials for some time, and make his foreman happy. That was the best part–making Kalric happy.

The lone man paused from the hard work, sweating even in the cold. With a sigh, he sat on a large rock, set his shovel aside, and pulled out his smoking pipe and weed. As he poked a stick into the small fire, he heard voices approaching.

Must be Kalric, the ‘ol bastard, he mumbled, tossing the stick into the fire, then putting the pipe and pouch away. Wouldn’t do to be caught lollygagging by the boss.

Kalric is not the type of man anyone likes to work for. He is self-important, brash, rude, boastful, dirty, and most of all, resentful. To him, everyone else in the world has it easy, and all the burdens fall on his shoulders. He'd worked at the swamp for years, searching for and digging out the precious resources. One winter, when his foreman fell ill, Kalric checked out an area he’d had a good feeling about. There he found a large deposit of peat and mosses, impressing the owner enough that he was temporarily promoted until the foreman could recover. Kalric, however, saw to it the foreman never recovered.

And when we saws all the peat, we thoughts it best ta come gets ya, Kal, one of the three men on foot was saying to the man on horseback.

And you say it’s deep as well, Clark? Kalric asked, scowling down at the man.

Ayup, an’ looks like Bert’s gots it uncovered a fair bits a’well, Clark added, as the four men entered the cleared area.

You mean, in the time it took for you to get back to camp, and drag me out here, this is all you’ve uncovered? I could’ve done more with a fork! Kalric snapped loudly, as he surveyed the area as if a noble over his realm. Well, you all best be gettin’ busy. I’ll have Trandle and Scott bring the sled.

With his proclamation complete, Kalric turned his horse back up the narrow trail.

Uh, um, well, surely you don’t mean us ta be diggin’ tonight? I means, it’s cold, ain’t it? And supper’ll be ready in an hour… Clark trailed off.

"Yes, I mean you to be working, tonight! Kalric said, turning his head and talking over his shoulder. That peat is needed in town, and we are going to get it there! Now, get shoveling!" With this said, he beat his knees against the horse’s flanks and rode quickly up the trail.

None of the men said a word as they shared irritated glances and joined Bert in clearing the snow.

*     *     *

Trandle and Scott huddled close to each other on the bench of the sled. Pulled by four horses, it was a large and lumbering thing. It had taken nearly two hours to get the sled this far through the deep snow and the swamp’s dense growth. They had stopped innumerable times to cut away brush, widening the trail to accommodate the wide sled so that the two horses could pull it through the snow-covered foliage.

Between the weather, the work, and the fact that they had not yet eaten, they were dour indeed. Travel had only gotten harder and colder as the sun had set, and now they were trying to gain headway with a single lantern to illuminate the night. They knew they were getting close, though, as they could see the small fire flickering in and out of sight through the trees ahead.

Let’s try ’round ta’ the left, Trandle, Gotta be easier there, said the teen-aged, tow-headed boy riding next to the older driver.

Naw, let’s just take down those there two bushes along the trail and cut right through, I wanna gets to that fire! Trandle replied, scratching at his short beard.

With a soul-wrenching sigh, young Scott sank deeper into his coat, gripped his axe tighter, and jumped off the sled.

Once the boy had cleared a suitable width for the sled, Trandle urged the horses through the gap with the whip, using it more as a sound device rather than as a painful incentive.

As Scott climbed back aboard the sled, a long, wailing scream rang out in the night, followed by loudly shouted curses and oaths to many of the gods in several voices.

Cripes Trandle, ya hear that? What’s goin’ on? Scott asked, crushing the wind out of Trandle with his arms, the axe he had been holding since fallen into the snow.

"Don’t…know…get…off…me! With a push, Trandle separated himself from Scotty’s grasp. Let’s get up there and see!"

Trandle jumped down from the sled, Scotty close behind, as more screams filled the night air. "Hurry, boy! Hurry!" Trandle yelled as he ran, weaving, through the dense brush. More screams, though fewer in number, rang in the frigid air, as the two ran as fast as they were able in the treacherous, snow-covered swamp.

Crashing into the dimly lit clearing, Trandle and Scott were at first lost, having never been to this recently explored area. When they entered the clearing, the campfire burned on the right, several shovels stood upright in the surrounding ground, and shadows danced from the many low torches set near the spots being cleared and cut.

A shadow moved near the campfire, drawing Trandle’s attention. He ran that way, motioning Scott to follow, and then stopped in mid-stride. A man-shaped shadow loomed upright, two glowing red dots where eyes should be, the rest of its outline blurred and indistinct. Trandle froze. Scotty was shivering again, but this time not from the cold. At the creature’s feet, if it had had feet, lay three men, motionless.

The shadowy creature glided towards the two newcomers, neither of which moved despite their frantic thoughts to do so. The cold, once uncomfortable, now was something more–something neither of them had ever experienced before. They felt the chill deepen as the shadow grew closer, its red, glowing eyes holding them motionless. Trandle and Scott both shivered and whimpered, unable to move. As it touched Trandle, the man screamed, deeply, loudly, and long, sending a soul-frosting chill deep into young Scotty. As he watched, horrified, Trandle shuddered violently, then crumpled to the ground. Then the thing turned to him. Scotty’s last sight was that of those two red dots, staring deep into him, as it reached out to him. His last cry lingered on the crisp winter air.

Satiated, the creature seemed to float toward the south, deeper into the swamp, unaware it had left behind a living man. With a soft, hissing sound, Bertram Blackwell’s smoking pipe fell from his nerveless fingers into the snow at his feet, closely followed by Bertram himself.

Neither Bertram nor the foul wraith could have seen or sensed me as I watched the entire scene unfold. Even the firelight ignored me and cast no shadows of my form. As Bertram remained insensate, the only sound, other than the crackle of the small fires, was my statement, merely a whisper, And now it begins, again…

Chapter Two

The Missive

Sir, a message, the slim man said, entering the lavishly appointed office of the Chancellor of the Protectors’ Guild.

With a disinterested wave, Chancellor Reed indicated to his assistant to leave it on the desk with the others. He was very busy this day. I had been careful to make sure of that.

The Protectors’ Guild mostly hired swords for protection to caravans and merchants. Once, the Protectors’ Guild had been the front line of defense against the dangers of the wilderness surrounding the city. Now, those dangers remained far from the city, and the guild was little more than a hired-hand service. 

Little did Chancellor Reed know that today would mark a return to the old ways. At least, in this one instance.

Nearly the entire day passed before the Chancellor remembered the message and read it–he was easy to distract and keep occupied.

My Honorable Lord Chancellor 

It is my duty to relay urgent news. Five workers were killed while harvesting in the Stillmire Swamp. While it is unusual to work so deep in the depths of this dangerous region, a vast resource of much needed materials was discovered. It is therefore requested that you dispatch a group to the swamp workers camp. There was a single survivor, Bertram Blackwell, who was driven mad, and is now at the temple of Pelor where they are attempting to aid him. He claims the men were attacked by a foul creature of shadow which drew the life from them.

The owner of the camp is requesting express resolution. I believe you are somehow indebted to him, as he feels you will affect all due haste in this matter.

Regards,

Havendal Rhendoras

"Rampaging balrogs! Why didn’t I read this right away? Taneris! Get in here now!"

The small man re-entered the office. Yes, Chancellor?

"I need a group at once! Tell them to get here first thing in the morning. And I will soon have messages to be delivered to Rhendoras and Denovan immediately. Move!"

In his rush, I was able to prevent him from specifying what type of group he wanted summoned.

Among the Protectors’ Guild are three ranks: Novices are the newest members, used for simple and dull assignments; Sollys are the men and women who have been tried and tested, are slightly more in demand, and have begun to make a name for themselves; Crowns are accomplished fighters, mages, clerics, and other skilled persons of notable abilities.

Very well, Sir, Taneris replied, with a small bow.

Turning to leave the office, he smiled secretly to himself.

Last night, at the bar where Taneris spent much of his time and money, an old man had paid him to make sure that a certain group of novices was called upon to tend to any troubles in the swamp. He hadn’t asked why I wanted that specific group called upon, or how I had known that there would be trouble in the swamps.

*     *     *

The next morning, three people sat in the Chancellor’s clerk's office at the appointed hour.

The largest was a man wearing a black great-helm that covered both sides of his face but allowed the sharp, defined features of his face to show. His ring-mail armor was black-and-gold, emblazoned with a golden oak tree on the chest. Over his armor was a black cloak with an oak tree on the back worked in gold threads. At his side hung a great, black-and-golden war hammer. His slight, narrow, and sharp features looked odd on his massive build. Even with his fair skin, and light, piercing, clear-blue eyes, his half-elven heritage was not evident, thanks to his helm covering his ears and his bright golden hair.

Sitting next to him was a large woman, powerfully built, with red hair, wearing a dark gray outer robe over clothing of the same gray. Her sharp, defined features wore an impatient scowl, matched by the burning in her green eyes. No weapons were evident, other than a small dagger at her belt, along with a few pouches, and the large wooden staff she held upright before her with both hands.

On the other side of the large man sat a slender woman with honey-colored hair and brown eyes. She was dressed in thickly padded leathers and furs, a longbow comfortably resting on her shoulder, its base between her softly booted feet. Her gentle features looked well-worn despite her apparent youth. Here was certainly one who spent vast amounts of time outdoors: her complexion and clothing clearly marking her as a ranger.

The large man stood, paced quickly, then returned to his seat. He glanced at his companions and asked, Where is that little tinkerer? He knows we are to be here at nine bells! I tell you, I don’t trust that one! We could have gotten by without another mage. Morganna, you’re enough.

He will be here, Lance, you will see," said Morganna, stroking her staff, her expression not holding up to her words.

Humph," was all the reply the large man gave.

Within minutes, the door burst open, and in strode a four-foot high pile of robes, pouches, and hair, with an enormous nose and piercing gray eyes, carrying a trident nearly twice its own height. Heya! it said, plopping down on a chair, its feet dangling above the floor. Judging by the clothing it wore, and the pouches around its waist, it was a practitioner of magic.

Well, it is about time, Frizzle!" Lance replied angrily.

Hey-I-had-something-to-do. I’m-here-now-isn’t-I?" the gnome replied.

Short, round, and hairy, any gnome was a frightening sight to any sane being. Spending time near a gnome was almost always exciting, often dangerous, and frequently deadly. Gnomes are well known for their mechanical aptitude, or ineptitude, depending on with whom you were speaking, and the thought of a gnome practicing magic sent most people into paroxysms of fear.

Just try to be more on time. That’s all I ask, a little promptness," Lance stated with a scowl.

The inner door opened, and the clerk, Taneris, motioned to the group.

Chancellor Reed will see you now." he said, standing aside, and motioning them through the door with a broad smile on his narrow, thin face.

Perhaps I should ask these poor souls if they have their affairs in order? he wondered. No matter, I can get their places of residence from the records, and set their affairs in order myself, before any formal statement of their deaths.

Inside the office, across from the door, was a large, elegant desk of dark oak. A rug woven of fine materials into a pattern of crossing circles covered most of the room’s floor. The group moved in and sat, arranging four of the large chairs together before the enormous desk. Chancellor Reed looked up, a smile on his face, which was replaced by a look of astonishment before he shook it off and bid welcome to the party.

A good morning to you, er, all. Recently, a disturbing occurrence has taken place in the Stillmire Swamp," the Chancellor began.

He wondered if the right kind of group had been summoned, but the well-made armor of the big man, and the wear-worn air of the slight female seemed well-suited to the level of adventurers he needed. The larger woman wore the robes of the mages’ order of The Grays, so her experience level was indecipherable. It was the odd, little gnome that had him wondering for the most part. He had never seen a gnome in what appeared to be mage’s robes before, let alone carrying a trident.

Surely it doesn’t practice magic? The Chancellor worried, a shudder washing down his spine.

This letter arrived, er, recently, and it will be your duty to investigate the matter," Chancellor Reed continued, as he handed a scroll to the cleric of Thor.

He was about to ask if the four were actually Crowns. This looked like as pathetic a group of novices he had ever seen. The fact that one of them was a priest of Thor dissuaded him from inquiring of their ranks. The last thing the Chancellor needed was to anger another priest. I made sure he remembered that well, else the plan could end all too soon.

With five men missing and another insane, and a large amount of valuable materials waiting for harvest, it is important that this be cleared up as soon as possible. None of the rest of the workers will even go near the area, stating their rights as guild members to safe working conditions. The camp is located a day’s ride south, beyond the crossroads and an inn named Haver’s. He handed Lance eight blue markers of painted wood. These chits will compensate you for two days at the inn. The fee will be a thousand gold, half to start, and the last half with proof of rectification of the matter."

He dropped a pouch on his desk, which clinked heavily. Had this been a group of Crowns, a thousand gold would have been a fair fee. However, the members of this group nearly choked at the mention of such a sum. Luckily, none of them showed their surprise. Or, perhaps, unluckily.

As the gnome reached to claim the pouch, the gray-robed mage slapped his hand, then claimed it herself.

The Chancellor eyed them momentarily, then continued, You will have until the last night of the white moon to return with proof, or a mind read, as to the completion. Now, are there any questions?

Yes, what of the man who survived, this Blackwell? Can we talk to him?" asked Lance as he handed the scroll to Morganna.

Yes, you may, though I don’t know if he can provide any further information. You are welcome to try. Is there anything else?" The Chancellor seemed to be rushed, or in a hurry to have this group out of his office.

What-about-our-supplies? Will-we-have-to-pay-for-them-or-will-you-cover-them?" asked Frizzle.

The Chancellor eyed the gnome, and scowled, replying, I believe you have enough there to see to any provisions you may need.

Oh, so-the-expenses-are-our-problem?" asked Frizzle.

A cold stare from the Chancellor was his only answer. It was all I could do to keep him from inquiring about the group’s credentials.

Again, I expect a quick resolution of this matter. Until then, good fortune for you. Taneris, will show you out," he said, shouting the man’s name.

Taneris opened the door, and as the group filed their way out past him, the Chancellor motioned to Taneris to stay.

Taneris closed the door, and before the Chancellor could speak, said Sir, the Lord-Mayor sent this message, laying a scroll on the desk.

As he opened the scroll, the Chancellor was saying, About that group, I noticed they seemed a little, well, raw. Are you, sure…they… he trailed off in mid-sentence, his face blanching. "Great flying hordes of stirdges! What the hell does that man expect of me? Now he wants me to provide security at the meeting of gemologists next week! Gods above! How am I to prepare in that time? Quickly, Taneris, get Drake here! Hurry!"

As Taneris headed out the door, closing it behind him, his smile grew even larger, as the thought that a message to Drake would take hours to reach him… especially if it didn’t leave until after sunset. 

Chapter Three

It Begins

A-thousand-gold! We’re-rich! I-can-get-new-robes-with-many-pockets! You-can’t-have-too-many-pockets!" the gnome shouted, kicking up his heels.

Shut up, Frizzle! hissed Morganna. The tall, robed woman was imposing when she wished to be. Do you want some thief to hear that we are carrying that much gold? She turned to the others, and asked, Did anyone else get the impression that we weren’t what the Chancellor expected?"

Yes, Lance agreed. The circumstances of the mission seem a bit above our abilities. Perhaps we should go to the Protectors’ Guild and suggest they appoint a more experienced group?"

Nonsense, Morganna interjected. We do not even know what the actual circumstances are. We should at least gather more information before we decide such a thing."

We-can-take-care-of-anything, Frizzle claimed confidently. Aside-Morganna-and-myself-the-cleric-can-certainly-be-of-some-use-against-this-undead-creature. With-the-ranger-along-we-shouldn’t-become-lost. I-can-see-no-reason-we-can’t-take-care-of-this-on-our-own."

We will need supplies if we are to spend any time in the swamp. And horses. Giovanna, are you familiar with the swamps?" Morganna asked her.

No," was her short reply, her face steely.

Do you have any experience in swamps at all?"

No," was her short reply, again. She looked to be very displeased with the prospect of the swamp altogether.

Lance, do you think you can deal with this thing?" Morganna asked the towering, armor-clad cleric.

I do not know. I will speak with the survivor, and then my Father Hammer. Perhaps one of them can shed some light on what this creature is. Who has the message?"

I-do. said the gnome, hunting in his pockets. Somewhere. Eventually, he withdrew the now crumpled parchment from a pocket in his inner robe, then handed it to Lance. Here-ya-go. See-what-I-mean? Can’t-have-too-many-pockets."

Lance asked, We will meet at Morganna’s apartments this evening?

Nodding, Morganna said, We will purchase the supplies, and then meet you there.

*     *     *

Lance headed directly to the temple of Pelor to meet with the survivor. Pelor’s priests enjoyed great renown as healers, and many people appealed to them for help. Thor’s priests were also known for their healing abilities and were competitors, somewhat, for the healing trade in Thule. It was a congenial competition, though, and Lance was welcomed at Pelor’s temple, where he was taken to the stricken man. While the survivor had improved under the care of the priests, he was unable to offer any further information. His only memories of the creature were vague and sketchy. Lance left with nothing new to share with his Father Hammer other than the information in the message from the Chancellor.

Senior Hammer Theodus welcomed Brother Lance warmly. He had been a priest of Thor for many decades. He hadn't been a Templar or adventured, but had remained in the temple effecting healing and performing rites. Now he served as a teacher and guide to those Brothers who wished to advance to become Hammers by leaving the daily routine of the temple to adventure and spread the word of Thor. Lance was just such a Brother, and he had joined the Protectors’ Guild to begin his path toward becoming a Hammer.

With so little information on the creature,