Adventure 1: Dying Leaves and Living Dead

        “A round of drinks for the house, innkeeper! Daryn the adventurer has returned triumphant and well paid!” the man himself shouted, throwing open the heavy oak door of The North Passage.  A cheer rose to meet^[a] him.

        Daryn swept into the inn’s common room, followed by a blast of wind that carried more than a little of the new autumn’s chill and threw his gear into a corner.  His chain shirt whispered metallically^[b] as he placed himself at his self-appointed “business table” in a corner of the room near a fireplace and relatively secluded from potential eavesdroppers.  He pulled his leather gloves off with his teeth and tucked them into his belt, amongst many small pouches, and listened to the din of merriment in the place while he waited patiently for his drink, and hopefully dinner, to arrive.  Even in the common room, he could smell the cook’s famous steak and ale soup bubbling in the kitchen.

        “Big shot adventurer, you sure you’ll be able to afford drinks for all these guests?” the innkeeper asked playfully, coming last to Daryn’s table to personally deliver his customary ale.  She was young for an innkeeper, roughly twenty six and two months, with slate grey eyes, a dusting of freckles on her cheeks, and a thick braid the color of molten copper.

        “For all four of them?  Amia’s not exactly a bustling city, Caryn.  This’ll cover it,” Daryn said, drawing a pair of slim coins matching his own hair and eye color out of his pouch and passed them across the table.  The copper and silver shone dully with the light of the candles hanging above.

        “Five, actually.  Uthwyn’s in the back.”

        “My mistake,” two more coppers joined their brother and cousin.^[c]

        “You’re right, Amia’s not a big city.  We’re just a logging village in the stick that barely has call for an adventurer.  The world may be full of adventures, sure, just not around here.  What jobs have you worked in the past week?  You caught a goat that wandered off, apprehended the pie snatcher, and…” she sighed, preparing herself for what was coming.

        “And chased that gnoll out of Cloaker’s Cave!  Caryn, I know you think adventuring is a fool’s profession, but it felt so right when I fought that monster.  I helped everyone, I saved everyone.  I just need to get some experience and a big job, then I’ll have more money than this place makes in a year.  Ten years, even!”

        Caryn’s face fell.  She had always been one to keep her heart on display^[d], and it was clearly breaking.  Her eyes grew hard with a bitter sorrow.  “That’s the thing about adventurers, though.  You get that big job and it takes you out to the cities.  Bersia, Radiance, Marundiel.  What could Amia have that they don’t?  You’re gonna get that job, and it’ll be the last we see of you.  You know what that’ll do to Bear.”

        Daryn frowned and stared into his ale, deflated.  He suddenly didn’t feel very triumphant.  He knew she was guilting him, and it was working.

        “It’s got you guys.  I’ll come back, Care,” he said, more to himself than to her.  He chanced a look, saw her smile and nod, but her eyes showed her sorrow.  She gave his hand a quick, firm squeeze, and then left Daryn’s business table.

        Daryn sat in silence with himself for a minute, turned to his ale, and knocked the entire thing back, asking if his anxieties could swim.

They could not.

When the stein lowered from his view, a stranger sat across the table from him in a previously vacant seat.  He appeared of an age^[e] with Daryn, early twenties, with short, unkempt, jet black hair and eyes the color of dark beer.  He rested his chin in one hand and stared at Daryn with an amused smirk.  Aside from that, though, everything about his look was completely ordinary.  His clothes were plain, brown, travelling fare, black gloves, black scarf in anticipation of the coming cold, and a glance at the cloak-hanger indicated a black cloak that Daryn wasn’t immediately familiar with.  A walking stick stood propped in a corner.^[f]

        After a long, somewhat tense moment, the smile vanished and a seriousness filled the stranger’s eyes.

        “People tell me that you’re the only adventurer in town.  Need work?”  he asked, extending a hand.

        “That depends on the work,” Daryn said, taking the stranger’s hand and shaking it.  “I’m Daryn Redhearth, by the way.”

        “Khoravast.”

        “Bless you.”

        “Nice one,” the stranger said.  He didn’t laugh, but Daryn could tell he was amused.  It was a good start.

        “Hear it a lot?”

        “Not as often as you’d think.”

“No family name?”

        “No family.  I got a job for you, though.  By the way, who do I talk to about getting some of that amazing smelling soup?  The road is long, the wind is cold, and it’s been eons since I’ve had anything in my stomach.”

        “That would be my sister, Caryn.  She should be out soon.”  And sure enough, as though the stranger--Khoravast--coming through the threshold had been a summons, Caryn emerged from the kitchen.  She came to the table and gave Khoravast a curtsy and a smile.

“Well met on life’s road, stranger, and welcome to the North Passage.  If you’re needing of food, drink, or lodging, you’ll find no better in all Wolfbriar Valley,” she said.

        Instead of answering with anything resembling dignity, Khoravast just beamed and handed her a silver coin.  He ordered soup for himself and Daryn, a glass of water, and a night’s lodging, demanding that she keep the change.  She curtsied again and glided back to the kitchen for his meal.  When she had left he turned back to Daryn.

        “Is it too early in our friendship for me to say that I find your sister utterly adorable?  Did she prepare that greeting herself?  If so, she could do well in the Bard’s College as a poet.”

        “She did.  But you mentioned a job?” Daryn probed, trying to steer the conversation.

        “Yes.  I’m a little ashamed to say this but I need you to help me break up with my girlfriend.”

        “I’m sorry?”

        “Don’t be, she’s a monster.”

        “No, I wasn’t sure I heard you right.  You need me to help with your relationship?”

        “In a way.”

        “No, sorry.  Sorry, but no.  My own romantic entanglements--future romantic entanglements--are more than enough for me, I’d rather not take on someone else’s.”

        “You’ll walk away with more gold than you can carry,” Khoravast added.

        “She’s a dead woman!”

        “That’s the spirit!”

        “Alright, what’s the catch?  Nothing is ever that simple.”  And then it hit him, “I think I’ve got it.  For some reason, a noble’s beautiful daughter has fallen in love with you, but her father wants a marriage of status, so rather than bring sorrow on his precious daughter himself, he’s paying you to break her heart, but she’s too beautiful for your weak will so you’re trying to pay me to do it!

        Khoravast stared at Daryn, one eyebrow slowly climbing.

“Not bad, huh?”  Daryn crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, basking in his own brilliance.

        “Not bad at all.  Actually, that’s exactly it.”

        “Really?”

        “No.  Of course not.  That would be silly.  I’m caught in a situation I’d rather not be in and I want your help to get me out of it.”

        “There’s got to be something.  Why would you offer that much money just to get out of a bad relationship.”

        “I think you underestimate how badly I want to not be in it.”

        “Alright, fine.  I’ll take your word for it.  What do you want me to do?” Daryn asked, now laying into his soup.  It was hot and cheesy, with bits of steak, potatoes, and vegetables cut up into it.  He still had his suspicions, but there was a lot of money at stake and it wouldn’t take a lot of work to get it.  Could it be that he was just lucky enough to land the one person in Wolfbriar Valley willing to shell out sacks of gold to get out of his relationship?

        Khoravast groaned.  “Was really hoping you wouldn’t ask a lot of questions.  That’s actually where we run into a teeny tiny itty bitty baby problem,” he said, his voice indicating that this was a detail he would really rather avoid.  “We’ll probably need to kill her.”

        “There’s that catch.  Nope, I’m out.”

        “Just hear me out,” he said.  He waited.  Daryn said nothing.  “Are you hearing me out?”

        “Yes, gods.  Just go on,” Daryn grumbled.  “But you better have a damned good reason for this.  I don’t just go around murdering people for kicks.”

        “She’s a lich.”

        A pregnant silence followed.  Both Khoravast and Daryn sat perfectly still, staring at each other in silence.  Khoravast waiting for some sort of response, Daryn letting the tidal wave of the news wash over him.  Anyone looking in on the two from a window might think the pair frozen in time, except that the inn’s patrons were still talking and moving.

        Daryn laughed, but it was the uncanny, broken laughter of an inhuman construct that sounded more like he was saying the words ‘ha. ha. ha.’ rather than actually laughing, merely imitating the sounds of human laughter.

        “So…you are...in?” Khoravast probed,

        “You’re insane!” Daryn shouted so suddenly and with such intensity that it caused Caryn to yelp and drop a tray of dirty steins on the floor.  “A lich?  Are you kidding me?!”

        Khoravast flinched and put his hands out in an attempt to calm Daryn.  He mumbled some ‘calm down’s and ‘take a deep breath’s and a ‘just hear me out for a second’.

        Daryn did calm down, his ire cooling from frantic mania to an incredibly disgruntled frustration.  Daryn frowned deeply and shot Khoravast as many looks of the deepest exasperation as he knew.  He sat and managed to arrange his thoughts into something resembling a cohesive pattern before continuing.

“A lich. A. Lich.  I can’t believe you.  I’ve only just met you and I can’t even believe you.  You’re a lunatic.  A maniac.  I’ve never even heard of anyone as crazy as you.  Who the hells even courts a lich anyway?  Who looks at a malevolent, undead archmage--kept alive through some dark ritual to stop them from dying--and thinks ‘oh yeah, that’s the girl for me, and if it doesn’t work out I can totally just kill her--because that’s so easy--, I might need a couple extra hands, though,’?  Plus, that is a horrible way to run your relationships.  Do you handle all your lady loves this way, or just the special ones?  You can not be serious!” he raved.

        “I’m very serious, and I have a plan.”

        “Do you now?”

        “Yes, and it’ll work.  I assure you.  I just need some extra help.”

        “Do you kill liches often?”

        “I don’t, but suffice to say it does happen in my line of work.”

        “Which is?”

        “Wizard, actually.  Also, let’s try to avoid shouting the word lich, I’m trying to keep this on the hush.”

        “It might be a little bit late for that,” Caryn said.  There she was, looming over Daryn and Khoravast, with arms crossed and a very displeased look on her face.  To make matters worse, she wasn’t alone.

        Flanking Caryn were two men, both built like woodsmen, but one was dressed in a stained cook’s apron and kept his copper hair and beard shorn down to stubble while the other was dressed as...well, a woodsmen, and wore his wavy copper hair tied back and kept a great, bushy beard.  They also looked displeased.

        “Khoravast,” Daryn said sheepishly, “These are my brothers, Aaryn and Baryn.”

        The woodsman, Baryn, placed a pair of heavy hands on Khoravast’s shoulders, and gave him his best impression of an intimidating brother.  He looked mad, and certainly strong enough to snap a tiny wizard in half, but after a moment his gaze softened and he just looked sad, pleading.

        “Please, sir.  He’s our baby brother.  We lost our ma and da a few years ago.  It was a troll, y’see, and each others’ all we got,” the surprisingly soft-hearted giant began.  He bowed his head and took a deep breath before continuing.  “I know wizards are powerful ‘n all, but--”

        Baryn’s monologue was cut down by a horn blast from the north.  The sound rolled through the inn and all other sound ceased, like the horn had smothered all conversation to an early grave.  Then, from the street, came a frantic voice.

“Undead!  Undead to the north!” an old man quailed.  Another horn blast sounded from the north guard tower.  All was silent save for the sound of the old man shouting about undead in the streets.

        Without a word Khoravast stood and brushed Baryn’s hands away.  He collected his cloak and staff, and headed to the door.  There he paused, and said to the collected Redhearths over his shoulder.

        “Good thing your parents stopped at four, because the name Earyn just sounds ridiculous.  Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to handle this.”  And with that, he threw open the door and strode into the night.  Without thought, and certainly without good reason, Daryn grabbed his gear and followed.

        Khoravast moved through Amia quickly, keeping his gaze locked ahead and calmly weaving through terrified villagers.  Daryn was actually a little impressed with the eccentric wizard.  He was so confident and so brave, he was what adventurers were supposed to be.  Seeing the way he rose to the challenge of an undead army of unknown size, despite only being one man, Daryn swore something to himself.  He swore that he would go with Khoravast and kill his lich, no matter what.  And Daryn always kept his promises, even ones he only made to himself.

        Especially ones he only made to himself.

        The two reached the north end of Amia, where the palisade ended and the timber began.  The woods beyond were dark with the night and with a rolling fog, so Daryn could hear the undead before he could see them, but see them he did.  There were maybe a dozen skeletons amassed, shambling, outside of Amia, armed with swords, axes, and pikes.  Their bones rubbed and clattered together, making it seem like the horrors were talking to one another.

        Daryn had never seen so many monsters in one place, let alone defeated that many, but could this wizard?

        Khoravast strode to the horde of undead and stood his ground, as if he might speak.  The assembled skeletons gazed at him with empty sockets, sizing up their next victim.

Khoravast shouted, “Hey!  You lot, over here!  Yeah, I’m talking to you out there, you piles of mouldering bone and rusted weaponry.  How dare you come to a place like this?”

There was a long silence.  For a minute, none of the skeletons moved, but neither did Khoravast.  The hair on the back of Daryn’s neck stood on end, the tension was thrilling.  Realizing himself, he fumbled into his amassed gear to get his weapon and shield, but then he heard Khoravast’s voice again.

It was happening!  Daryn’s gaze snapped back to the action, and what he said made Daryn’s jaw drop.

“Shoo!  Get out of here!” Khoravast hissed.  He flicked his hands at the undead force the way one might drive away a pesky cat or an insect.  “What’s the matter with you, just waltzing up to a nice village like this?  You should be ashamed of yourselves.  Go on, shoo!  Ssssst!”

        And then, as Daryn stared on, aghast in disbelief, the skeletons did ‘go on’.  They turned and walked away into the dark, foggy night.  Khoravast turned to regard Daryn, a lopsided smile on his face.

        “I guess it would’ve been good if I’d opened with the whole ‘I’m a Necromancer’ thing, huh?”