It was six months since the events that had led the three friends to the cellar of the warehouse and the confrontation with Sorte the vampire. The trail of the runecursed weapons had gone cold after his death - Vellix the Venturer having turned up dead a few days later - and the three had been taking it easy, recuperating.
On this particular day, Animir was in the temple of Ehlonna, talking to the priest Levian with whom she'd had dealings in the past. She'd come to check if there were any more reports of vampire attacks, but as ever the answer had been no.
As she stood chatting to the old priest, another human came into the temple. This man was dressed in a simple countryman's garb, and clutching a felt cap between his hands anxiously. He sought out the nearest priest and started talking to him, clearly asking for something rather urgently. After a few moments, the priest glanced at Animir and smiled slightly, then beckoned her over.
He introduced the man as Banir, the miller of a village called Redcliff, north of Varensen. Banir had been sent to the temple by a man called Marnor - the innkeeper of Redcliff - to ask for help, as Marnor had been to Varensen and knew Levian slightly.
Apparently, the mayor of Redcliff, Andalor, had suddenly started to act strangely - totally out of character - and Marnor, who was his son, feared that he was being magically influenced or possessed. As Redcliff nestled in a range of hills set on the border between Stryre and the Desolation, this was not unlikely. Banir was begging Levian to send a priest to help Andalor, but Levian - the youngest of the priests and no spring chicken himself - wasn't happy about risking his few clerics in such a dangerous escapade. It did sound rather a suitable quest for Animir and her friends, though, and Levian was clearly hoping that she'd agree to go and check it out. It was time to let the vampire be for a while, and seek other deeds, he suggested.
Animir agreed and, Banir in tow, set off to find her friends.
The Seagull's Pickings, Varensen, Stryre, 6th October 1601
Thorkil and Zada were sitting outside the Pickings, enjoying an unseasonally sunny day, when Animir and Banir arrived at the inn. Animir had paid her bill at the Pickings for some days in advance, so it was easy to convert some of that into an extra room for Banir. Then she put the proposition to Zada and Thorkil to see what they thought.
The dwarf shrugged. "It's a paying job," he commented. Zada looked a little unimpressed by this simplification. "I think we should help these people," she replied crisply. Despite radically different ways of saying so, both appeared to agree with the idea of going to Redcliff.
Varensen, Stryre, 7th October 1601
The next morning, they set off in heavy, cold rain. Thorkil was grumbling. "I hate the rain," he said, about once every ten minutes. "I thought it was always wet in mines," commented Animir. "In mines, you step in water," he replied. "It doesn't fall on your head all the time." Zada grinned and snuggled a little closer into her hood.
Redcliff, Northern Stryre, 12th October 1601
Silhouetted against the backdrop of an immense, truncated mountain was the tiny hamlet known as Redcliff. From a distance, it looked positively sleepy in the morning light as Banir led the way down into the settlement. As they drew closer, though, it was evident that all was not as it should be here. People stood in clumps in the street, talking and glancing about furtively. The word “mayor” was audible now and then in the conversations. Conversations stopped as the group passed by, and the people regarded the three with smiles that were polite but just short of friendly - until they recognized Banir and realized he had brought them.
Once reassured, the villagers gathered around, and directed Animir and her comrades to visit Vera and Marnor, respectively the baker and innkeeper of Redcliff.
Vera's bakery was a warm, cozy place, redolent with the smell of fresh bread, and Vera was a round, warm woman in her late twenties. Guiding the visitors out to the small garden, she invited them to sit and then explained the situation.
Several days ago, Andalor had suddenly started acting completely out of character. From the beloved, sociable mayor with a good word for everyone, he suddenly became aggressive, secretive and arrogant, ordering his townsfolk - and especially his children Vera and Marnor - around like serfs.
Worried sick, Marnor sent Banir to Varensen to appeal for help from Levian - whom he knew slightly - for help. The next morning, Andalor was gone. Two young men, who'd been staggering home from Marnor's tavern The Slaughtered Tankard, swore they'd seen him limping away up the mountain - actually, an extinct volcano. "Limping?" asked Zada. "Yes," said Marnor, "he was an adventurer like yourselves once, a priest of Pelor." He leaned forwards. "He was also once a priest of the temple of Pelor, up there - " he gestured distastefully up the mountain, "before the attack."
He related how the temple had been destroyed by a motley band of bandits, apparently comprised of humans, orcs, dwarves, and even elves, thirty years before. All the priests except Andalor had been killed, but the attackers were also wiped out. Since then, the temple had been 'haunted' and 'cursed', and no-one of the current generation had ever been there.
The pair looked at each other, and Marnor nodded slightly. Vera dug out a purse, and laid it on the table. "We haven't much," she said, "but there's five hundred in gold here. If you can rescue him, it's yours." Marnor looked uncomfortable. "I'll guide you to the crater," he said, "but no further. I'm a barman not a fighter." Animir stood up. "Let's get going then," she said.
After an hour’s hike up the steep outer slope of the extinct volcano, the party came to the abandoned temple that Marnor and Vera had mentioned. It was clear that the place hadn’t been used for its original purpose in a very long time - weeds and shrubs grew up the sides of the building, and lichen mottled the stone walls. The windows had been secured with solid metal barriers that showed signs of a long-ago siege. The temple’s main doors were cracked and warped from the elements. They stood slightly ajar, allowing easy access into the gloom beyond.
Marnor halted. "This is as far as I go," he said apologetically. "Good luck!" Animir, Thorkil and Zada drew their weapons and moved forwards. As they reached the doors, Animir tapped each with the wand of Mage Armour she'd been given by the flumph Ulmoapop, and the magic protection settled over the three comrades.
Stepping through the doors, they found themselves in a room with a stone floor. Aging and cracked ceramic symbols of Pelor hung on the walls. To the left was a smaller closed door of the same weathered oak as the first one. To their right, a similar door hung in broken pieces on its' hinges. Ahead, another set of closed double doors led further into the temple.
Animir stepped up to these, and pushed them open. Her cavalier attitude was rewarded when the sonic trap on the door went off. Thorkil and Zada broke left and right, diving to the floor, and evaded the shockwave, but Animir was too slow and was brutally battered and bruised by the shattering noise. Shaking her head to clear it, she stumbled on into the next chamber.
This huge room must have been the main area of worship for the commoners who came to visit the temple. A few pews still stood upright, but most had been overturned or destroyed. Several armour-clad corpses, peppered with arrows, were sprawled out around the room in pools of fresh blood, bearing witness to a recent vicious attack. At the back of the room stood a towering statue of Pelor behind an altar. The statue’s surface was cracked and pitted, as though it had been the target of weapon attacks.
Carefully, Animir went to examine one of the bodies, and Thorkil and Zada did likewise. She reached down to turn the corpse over - and her arm sank through it as if it wasn't there. She felt nothing as she groped around. It was an illusion; was this what the villagers meant by haunted?
A cry of surprise from Thorkil made her look up. Five human-sized figures, apparently made of shifting shadows, had faded out of the walls and were moving towards them menacingly. Not wanting to take things by assumption, Animir called out; "We come in peace, to seek a lost friend!"
A chilling metallic laugh echoed through the hall. You will rest here with them. Give me your liiiifffeee..... It was as bad as it looked, then. In an instant, it reached out and touched her; she felt the grave-cold hand dragging her soul-stuff away and her muscles weakened. A cry of pain came from Zada as she too was attacked.
Animir reached for the power of the Swift Sure Hand and cast Consecrate; around her the darkness drew back, and the battered, abandoned altar of Pelor suddenly flared with bright light. Both Zada and Thorkil struck with their swords, but both weapons simply whipped through the incorporeal shadows without affecting them. Animir then lifted her voice and bade the undead wraiths begone in the name of Nodonn. Four of them spun and fled in terror, but the fifth continued to attack Zada, draining her again.
All three of them attacked it now, slashing through the mist and this time, damaging the creatures. Whirling, the shadow struck Thorkil, drawing more energy from him with its' cold fingers. Zada slashed it again, and then Animir struck straight and true with Anvarna to disperse it to fading coils of darkness.