War of the Black Crown
Who knows where the shifting sands of time and twisting threads of fate may lead?
Introduction
The War of the Black Crown is my current homebrew campaign in my own homebrew setting, located on the continent of Arionor. The players are all brand new to D&D. This is the recounting of their first D&D campaign. The following transcripts are my best recollections of the events as they unfolded, perhaps with some…. editorial license…. taken for the betterment of this narration. I will do my best to maintain the thread as I get the time. The best way to make sure that happens is let me know if you like it! The more encouragement I get, the more alacrity I shall post with.
As of this posting, the roster includes:
Geredor Shortstrider (CG male gnome sorcerer 2)
Icarium the Dawnbringer (LG male human cleric 2 of King Arias [homebrew LG deity])
Tabuu Rawr (CN male orc [homebrew replacing half-orcs] barbarian 2)
Ulfgar Dankil (NG male dwarf ranger 2)
“Xyto” (CN male half-elf rogue 1)
The campaign suffered a setback and changes had to be made in the player roster. It appeared there would not be enough people to play on the particular evening the changes were made, and so I left my notes at home. More players showed up, however, so I threw something together as best I could. It now stands as a prologue to the campaign as a whole. The characters whose players were in attendance list:
Geredor Shortstrider
Ulfgar Dankil
Xyto
Without further ado, enjoy!
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Prologue
The rain beat down outside the inn on the early summer night. The roads of Thaynnan had turned to a muddy soup, driving strange companions together inside the inn. Two of them huddled around a table near the door, the lantern swinging above their heads unlit. One of them preferred it that way. It was turning out to be a long journey, and not always a pleasant one. The moods in the inn were nearly as foul as the weather outside.
That’s when the door creaked and the dwarf walked in. He wore a dark traveler’s cloak with the soaked hood pulled up over his head. His brown beard, sopping wet, protruded out from the cowl. Leather armor, studded with bits of metal, encased him beneath the cloak. Sticking over his shoulder from beneath that cloak was the head of an impressive waraxe; slung at the dwarf’s side was a crossbow. He trod in, the door slamming behind him, wringing water from his cloak and forming a puddle on the floor. “It’s like wading through a cistern out there,” the dwarf mumbled.
No one would have paid him any mind, but the foul mood in the inn had made the gnome bored. That was a problem, and it was about to become the dwarf’s problem. His impish interest piqued, the gnome asked loudly, “What did you say about his sister?” All eyes turned towards the door. The dwarf appeared as confused as anyone else. “Did I hear you’d like to mount his sister?” the gnome asked again, pointing to a random patron nearby.
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The brawl didn’t stop until only the moist dwarf, accusative gnome, and irritated half-elf remained. They stood looking around at the broken tankards, pools of water, beer, and some blood, and the unconscious bodies, many suffering from broken noses and cracked ribs. “We’d probably better go now,” the gnome said almost cheerfully.
“Yes, that sounds like a good idea,” the half-elf replied. He turned to open the door, the drone and mist of the rain spilling in, and the gnome bounded out. The half-elf looked to the dwarf. “Well, are you coming or not?” The dwarf looked as astounded as he was angry, but looking around the common room, realized it was the best option he had. Silently, he pushed the half-elf out of his way and treaded back out into the stormy night, flipping the hood of his cloak up once more.
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“Who in the gods’ names are you?” the dwarf finally spoke after a long silence. The rain had finally stopped, but the sky was still shrouded in clouds. They were just beginning to lighten into a gray dawn.
“Geredor,” the gnome dropped back to walk by the dwarf and stuck his hand out. He was more than half a foot shorter than the dwarf, with twinkling eyes like a mischievous sprite; but each had brown hair and tanned skin. The gnome’s shirt and leggings were green, and his cloak forest. He used a spear like a walking stick, and on his belt hung a sling and two pouches. “The tall folk have taken to calling me Shortstrider.” The dwarf looked at the proffered hand and finally shook it. “Sorry about that business back there at the inn. It was awfully boring, until you showed up that is,” Geredor said with a smile.
“Glad I could be of service,” the dwarf grumbled. “And what of you?” he looked to the half-elf, who looked back at the dwarf for a moment, then nodded to the gnome.
“I’m with him,” the half-elf said. His hair was long and ashen gray, falling around eyes the deep blue of the sea. His skin bore the tan of one who spends all his days in the sun. Around his gray tunic, worn over dark leather armor, swung the half-elf’s own long traveler’s cloak. From his belt, a short sword hung in its sheathe. The dwarf waited for the half-elf to add more, but nothing was forthcoming.
“That’s it?” the dwarf growled.
“Yes,” the half-elf replied. “I’ve heard no more from you so far, stranger.”
“I am called Ulfgar,” the dwarf replied.
“What? No long list of lineage and kindred and their deeds?” the half-elf smirked wryly.
“No,” the dwarf said, turning his eyes back to the road.
The light was fading into the west, and there had not been much more conversation than that. Geredor whistled and the birds sang, but otherwise there was only the squelching of six feet in the mud. That is until there came a moaning sound from the ferny embankment alongside the road. “Listen!” the half-elf raised his hand, calling the trio to a stop. “Did you hear that?” he asked after a moment. There was a lingering silence, then another moan. The source wasn’t far ahead.
“Sounds like someone in pain,” the dwarf said, beginning to stomp ahead towards the sound.
“Wait,” the half-elf commanded, then moved silently into the undergrowth, crouched low, and moved like a shadow towards the origin of the moans. He didn’t go sixty feet before stopping, moving a frond to the side, looking around for a moment, and then waving the other two over.
“It’s a man,” the half-elf said.
“It’s a knight!” Geredor explained. The man certainly looked like one. He wore a suit of plate armor. Over it laid a white tunic depicting a rampant black lion. The knight’s great helm was off, lying in the dirt. Beneath the remaining chain coif, the man’s dark skin showed him as one of Zakandrian descent.
“He’s bleeding,” Geredor continued. “He’s wounded badly.”
“Help me make a bandage,” Ulfgar said as he knelt beside the knight, tearing a strip of fabric from the man’s tunic.
“Like this?” Geredor asked, eagerly ripping another strip from the knight’s garb.
“Sure,” the dwarf grumbled distractedly. He probed around the man, looking for the wound. The knight groaned when Ulfgar placed his fingers on the man’s side, just below the cuirass. “There! Help me turn him,” the dwarf asked. Geredor was only too happy to comply, bending to roll the man over. The gnome began to lift, but he strained and his hands slipped, and the wounded knight fell heavily, groaning again.
“Oof! He’s heavy!” Geredor complained.
“Gently! Gently!” Ulfgar commanded. He looked towards the half-elf, leaning idly against a tree. “We could use your help here if you’re not too busy!”
“Why? What purpose is there in wasting time helping this man?” the half-elf asked with a tone of irritation.
“Because he’s a wounded man alone in the woods,” Ulfgar snapped.
“We can’t just leave him,” Geredor complained.
The half-elf stepped from the tree, rolling his eyes. “Fine. How do you want me to hold him?”
“Like this,” Ulfgar showed him, then left the man in the half-elf’s hands.
“Do you know how to treat his wounds?” the half-elf said, looking at the unconscious man.
“I’m going to try,” Ulfgar told him.
“You know, I could save us a lot of time and him a lot of pain. I could just put him out of his misery,” the half-elf said smoothly.
“You wouldn’t!” Geredor exclaimed.
There was a strange smile on the half-elf’s lips as he said “Of course not.”
The fire crackled in the night, and the stars had finally decided to show themselves. The half-elf sat on a stone near the blaze, looking at his companions sleeping nearby, and the wounded knight still unconscious. Absent-mindedly, the half-elf pulled his short sword from its sheathe and lightly ran his fingers along the blade, occasionally looking down to see how the firelight played across the metal.
Then there was a sound. The ferns rustled, not quite far enough in the distance for comfort. The half-elf hesitated, looked back at the camp, heard the rustling again, and then moved forward into the darkness. His eyes, keen from elven blood, saw almost as well in the fire and star light as they did under the sun. He was like a wraith in the night as he moved towards the sound, moving beyond the range of the camp. Suddenly, between trees in the distance, he caught sight of a man moving. He heard muttered speech, but nothing discernable. Scale armor glinted in the faint starlight. The man moved out of sight. The half-elf crouched, watched, and waited. Within five minutes, the man returned. Before he got too close, the half-elf fell back, quickly but quietly moving through the forest and returning within the range of the firelight.
“Come quickly,” he whispered, rousing Geredor and Ulfgar with light shakes. The sturdy dwarf had slept in his armor and was fully awake within second.
“What’s going on?” Geredor asked.
“We’ve got company, and more than just him,” the half-elf pointed to the slumbering knight.
The shorter two followed the tall half-elf through the night, each moving with grace and skill. They came within sight of the stranger in scale armor again. Then the half-elf was betrayed by a damned branch. The snap was loud, and the half-elf looked to his feat as if he had stepped on a flaming coal.
“What’s that? Someone there?” the stranger called, spinning quickly and beginning to move speedily towards the three stalkers.
“Hide!” Ulfgar hissed, jumping behind a tree. The half-elf and Geredor moved behind another, larger tree, and crouched.
“I know I heard you! Who’s there?” the man called as he strode close between the two concealing trees. The three hiding nearby were aghast at his appearance. He looked enough like a normal man in general features, but his eyes glinted red as if of their own light, and small black horns dotted his brow.
All he heard was a chanting sound, and perhaps he saw the motes of green light dance around the gnome’s hand, before he suddenly found himself dazed and confused. Disoriented, he hardly had time to see the dwarf charge at him from behind a tree. The stranger raised his shield to defend himself, just in time to catch the head of the axe as it landed in a powerful blow.
He heard more movement from behind him, and the enchantment wore off. The stranger pulled a longsword from its sheathe and whipped around to counter the attackers from the rear. He caught the half-elf’s shortsword by luck more than anything else, deflecting it with his own blade. He followed with a counter, twisting his arm and thrusting. The half-elf tried spinning to the side, but wasn’t fast enough to completely dodge. The longsword cut through the leather on the half-elf’s side and left a gash which turned red with blood. The man only heard the hissing intake of the elf’s painful breath before he realized he had completely forgotten about the axe-wielding dwarf behind him. About that time, the head of that axe was planted by that dwarf in the man’s back. He collapsed with a thud to the ground.
“Great,” the half-elf said, feeling the wound on his side and seeing his fingers come away red with his own blood. “Now we can’t question the… whatever he is.” The half-elf looked down in disgust at the unnatural horns jutting from the downed foe’s forehead.
“Did you kill him?” Geredor said with as much curiosity as caution in his voice, coming from behind the tree.
Ulfgar knelt and checked the man. “No. He lives. I should be able to bandage the wound as I did the knight’s.” The dwarf ripped some fabric off from the stranger’s leggings and made another crude bandage to stop the bleeding. Then he stood again and looked to the gnome. “That was a handy trick there,” he said evenly.
“Thanks. I suppose I’m what you’d call a sorcerer,” Geredor said nonchalantly as he looked at the man Ulfgar had dropped. “What in the wide world is he?”
“No clue,” the half-elf said. “We’ll have to stand guard over him until he wakes, lest he attack us again. I wish we had some rope.”
“Ask a dwarf, and ye may receive,” Ulfgar said. “I’ve some at the camp. Let’s drag him back there and we can bind him.”
The dawn broke clearly over the treetops as the three sat around their campsite, now with two unconscious warriors. That didn’t last long, however, as the knight soon moaned again and his eyes fluttered open. The three travelers stood over him. Geredor smiled.
“Good morning!” the gnome clapped him on the shoulder.
“Where… am I?” the knight asked.
“About where we found you,” Ulfgar replied. “You’re just a few feet from the fern we pulled you out from under. Who are you, and what are you doing here?”
“I am Sir Merrim,” the knight said, pulling and propping himself as upright as he could. “Knight of the Lion. The Brown Lion, they call me,” he said, the knight’s face of the same color curling into a smile.
“But what are you doing here?” the half-elf repeated without returning the man’s grin.
“I was on a quest with my brothers in arms,” the knight replied, growing serious again. “Have you seen them?” a tone of worry entered his voice.
“No, we’ve seen no one but you, and him,” the half-elf stepped back, pointing to the bound stranger.
Sir Merrim’s eyes went wide. “Baal-spawned villain! Child of Hell!” he struggled to rise to his feet, but the knight had to clutch at his side and return to his place on the ground.
“Easy there,” Ulfgar said, laying a steadying hand on the knight. “Who is he? What is he?”
“He’s an abomination of evil, the mingling of mortal and baal!” Sir Merrim grunted through his pain. “His kind are called tieflings. They attacked us! They must have killed my fellow knights, taken them!”
“Why don’t you just calm down and tell us the whole thing?” Geredor asked, using as much of his own calm as the gnome could muster.
Sir Merrim visibly relaxed, but did not take his eyes from the bound tiefling lying on the other side of the camp. “I was riding on a mission with my fellow Knights of the Lion. I haven’t been a knight very long. I was the youngest and the least of the company. We had heard of attacks on wagons in the commission of the Prince. Survivors said a foul conjurer was behind the raids. We assumed it must be a villain come across the river from Drallan, and as a man, must have some form of shelter and base of operations from which he was raiding. The closest likely place is Glenwall, the abandoned fortress not three miles from this place.”
Sir Merrim grew quiet for a moment, then continued. “We rode towards the castle, which has stood empty these long years since our kindred nations first began their civil war. As we approached the gates, statues on the wall came alive as if by fell magic. They flew at us, attacking with claws, grabbing, lifting, and dropping. We lost one of our number then. There was no choice but to fall back. We turned back to the forest. But we were pursued, by them. We may have won the skirmish, but then the conjurer himself appeared on a dark destrier. He wore the raiment of a corrupt priest of the Dark Gods, the serpent of Asmodai hung as a symbol around his neck. We did not stand a chance. I… I fled… and escaped, until I couldn’t go further and collapsed, apparently on the side of the road from what you say. I assume that’s where you found me.”
“Unless you can walk unconscious,” Geredor smiled.
“Please,” the knight said, “you must help me! I have already soiled my name as a paladin by fleeing, and I must not be a complete failure.”
“Oh, a paladin, is it?” the half-elf all but sneered. “Wonderful.”
“We certainly cannot do what a full company of knights failed to accomplish,” Ulfgar said, looking to his fellow travelers.
“No, but surely there’s some way we can help,” Geredor chimed in. “Maybe we can take him back to someone else who can help?”
“Yes, please, I must at least tell someone of what has befallen,” Sir Merrim insisted. “There is a castle held by a lord friendly to me just a half day to the south. Take me there, where I may recover. That is all I ask.”
“I think we can do that,” Ulfgar nodded.
“No.” The half-elf stepped up.
“What?” the other three all asked.
“I said ‘no,’” the half-elf repeated. “Not without a reward, that is.” He flashed a grin which some might have called wicked.
“Oh, so this is how it will be?” Sir Merrim glowered.
“Yes,” the half-elf replied. “We are busy people. We’re traveling on our own way, doing our own things, too. This is an inconvenience for us and we deserve compensation for putting forth the effort and taking the time to assist you. Or at least I do.”
“Very well, then,” the knight grit his teeth. “When you have delivered me safely, I will see you are rewarded in a way fitting whatever challenges we may face and your conduct along the way. You have my oath as a paladin.”
“You had better not break it,” the half-elf said, letting an icy tone creep into his voice as he knelt before the wounded man.
“A paladin never breaks his word,” Sir Merrim countered in an equally frigid tone.
“What about him?” Geredor asked, pointing at the tiefling that still lay bound and unconscious.
“We’ll need to take the fiend with us,” Sir Merrim said with authority. “He doubtless knows valuable information, and I shall wish to deliver sentence upon him after he has talked.”
“If he talks,” Ulfgar muttered.
“Whether or not he talks,” Sir Merrim said.
“We have to carry him, too?” Geredor looked agog.
“I’ll expect more of a reward,” the half-elf added.
“I must stop,” Sir Merrim said, clutching at his side again and setting upon the ground.
“This is taking forever,” the half-elf complained.
“Not much longer than it would take your dwarf and gnome friend on their own, I figure,” the knight shot back at him. “No offense to you, friends,” the paladin added apologetically to the shorter members of the group.
“None taken,” Geredor said.
“Fine,” the half-elf snapped. “While you waste daylight here, I’m going to scout.”
“Not by yourself, you’re not,” Ulfgar grumbled. “Geredor, stay here and keep Sir Merrim company, if you don’t mind. I’m going with our friend on a foray.”
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The cool waters of a stream lapped noisily along their course. The pair had been walking quietly through the forest for only a few minutes before they found the brook and began to slack their thirst in its waters.
“What’s that?” the half-elf said, pointing up the slope the stream ran down.
“Looks like a cavern,” the dwarf said.
“Shall we see what’s in it?” the half-elf asked with curiosity.
The dwarf looked at him for a moment. “I suppose we can,” he said. “If the cave cuts through the hill, I may be able to guide us through and save some time.”
“You lead the way,” the half-elf said without taking his eyes off the cavern entrance several dozen yards away.
The dwarf shook his bearded head, but was beyond arguing. “Fine,” he treaded along with silent skill.
The mouth of the cave yawned open, with darkness all that lay within. “What do you see?” the half-elf asked the night-eyed dwarf, both peering into the rocky hollow out of which the stream flowed.
“Nothing yet,” Ulfgar told him, the bright sunlight defeating his darkvision. A low growl arose from within the cave. “But I hear that. We may have to draw steel to see where this cave goes. You stay behind me,” Ulfgar said as he plunged ahead into the cavern.
The half-elf followed his words. Too well, perhaps. At the sound of the growl, the half-elf’s willingness to plunge into the dark hole left him, and he stole quietly back away from the cavern entrance. Ulfgar, who did not bother checking his back, now strode alone through the cavern’s arch. As the daylight faded, his eyes adjusted to the black and white world of his natural darkvision. There, glinting in the shadows, were six eyes separated in three pairs. The dwarf faced three circling wolves, unknowingly single-handedly.
“Cover my back!” Ulfgar yelled to no one as he strode across the stream. The first wolf rushed and leapt upon the dwarf, biting his shoulder. The sure-footed Ulfgar saw the charge and steadied his footing, refusing to fall beneath the weight of his attacker. But he wasn’t prepared for the second wolf, which splashed through the stream and bit at his calf, yanking it out from him and sending the dwarf to the ground. He grunted as the world flipped upside down, the dwarf on his back. He pulled his leg out from the snapping jaws of the wolf, unable to think about the pain as he saw another rushing towards him, strangely above Ulfgar at this angle. The dwarf raised the shaft of the axe just in time to catch the wolf’s mouth and keep the jaws from locking on him. That’s when Ulfgar realized there was no one covering his back. “Damn you!” he yelled as he reversed his grip on the weapon and swung the waraxe into the side of one of the wolves. It was a mighty blow that bit deeply into the creature’s side. The wild animal endured the wound, however, yelping and leaping to the side in pain, but then preparing to counter.
Outside, the half-elf was quietly and quickly making his way from the cavern. He was stopped in his tracks when he saw Geredor coming towards him.
“What are you doing here?” the half-elf asked nervously.
“I got bored waiting with Sir Merrim,” Geredor smiled. “He said he’d be all right, so I decided to come after you two.” That’s when the gnome seemed to realized there was only the one. “Where is Ulfgar?”
“Damn you!” the yell came ringing out of the cavern entrance up the hill.
“In danger,” the half-elf said quickly. “I was coming to find you. Hurry, Ulfgar needs us!” The gnome began sprinting alongside the half-elf, too preoccupied to note the hasty deception.
They arrived in the cave entrance to see the dwarf fending off the three wolves, still on his back, and in mortal danger. The half-elf froze in the entrance, momentarily blocking Geredor’s way.
“Stand aside, thank you,” the gnome said, pushing the half-elf out of the way and stepping up alongside the banks of the cavern brook. He raised his hands and began to chant in a weirdly echoing voice. Multi-colored motes of light spun for a few seconds around the twisting tips of the gnome’s digits, then coalesced into a single point of brilliant and clashing colors, erupting out in scintillating cone. Ulfgar saw Geredor begin casting his spell, rolled on the ground, and covered his eyes out of reflex. The wolves were not so prepared, and caught the magical spray full-force. All three collapsed on the ground in unconscious heaps.
Ulfgar raised himself from the ground and looked at the three wolves about him. He stood and took just a moment to cleave each of their heads in twain with powerful swings from his waraxe. Then he turned to the gnome with a polite smile. “Thank you, Geredor,” Ulfgar bowed low.
Then he turned to the half-elf with blood in his eyes. Ulfgar marched across the stream and grabbed hold of the half-elf by the collar, threatening and pointing with his axe. “If you ever pull something like that again and leave me in danger, I’ll use this axe to make your head look like the wolves’!”
Boats are unnatural things, Ulfgar thought to himself in the dark of night as he looked over the rail to the moonlit waves. The captain would have lambasted the dwarf if Ulfgar had spoken the thought aloud. The man was adamant it was a ship, not a boat. Ulfgar could hardly care less so long as it stayed on top of the water and got him to shore again quickly. For one of a race renowned as exceptionally stable amongst their other traits, the dwarf found himself alarmingly queasy with the back-and-forth rocking of the waves under the wooden hull. He would have rather kept taking the road, even if it prolonged the journey by several seasons. As aimless as his wanderings had sometimes seemed, Ulfgar had fully expected the trip to last years. The half-elf’s deal had changed all that, however.
It had been well past sunset by the time the companions had reached the safety of the castle with the wounded paladin and captured tiefling in tow. Sir Merrim was greeted with joy and exuberance, though the woeful tale of his brother’s in arms brought a much more somber air to the event. The lord had insisted on treating the knight’s rescuers to an impromptu feast, a small but delicious affair conveying the noble’s heart-felt relief and gratitude for Sir Merrim’s deliverance.
The lord had asked at the table if there was any other reward he could possibly give to the heroes, a question the half-elf had quickly answered. Ulfgar had expected the request to come, but couldn’t have dreamt what form it would take. The half-elf had asked for free passage on a boat to Caer Pannar. Now Ulfgar knew he was a madman. Yet amongst his angst about such a lengthy ride over the sea, the dwarf was amazed that, of all the places in the wide world, the stranger had picked that city. Why Caer Pannar? What business could possibly be drawing the half-elf to the exact same place as Ulfgar aimed to travel?
Ulfgar had been a wanderer for all his life, but since half a year ago, he suddenly found himself with a destination in mind. He had planned to make his way slowly northwards on the West Road, toward the island city of Caer Pannar. During a stay in one of the cities of the Merchant Princes, Ulfgar had learned of the Great Library of Orran in that coastal city. More specifically, Ulfgar had learned that the library held a book of particular interest to the dwarf: Garanus’ Genealogies.
So it seemed like nothing less than the hands of the gods at work to learn the mysterious half-elf he had fallen in with was bound for none other but the selfsame city. To be fair, Ulfgar didn’t think the half-elf had expected the twist of fate, either. When the lord asked a moment later if they would all be traveling by sea to Caer Pannar, Ulfgar answered “Yes.” The half-elf seemed as taken aback by that as Ulfgar had been when the ship was first requested.
Ulfgar didn’t speak much to the half-elf on the road as they headed for the ship docked in the port city of Enn Cartal, Thaynnan’s capitol. The Thaynnish lord had sent along several escorts, including a knight. The dwarf found it much easier to chat with them than he did with the half-elf. Ulfgar wasn’t quite ready or sure how to bring his questions to tongue yet, either. Despite that, he couldn’t help frequently looking to the half-elf with a perplexed gaze, nor noticing the same from the half-elf.
Enn Cartal was a rich and powerful city. The streets were broad and paved, the houses made of marble and other stone, and the statues gilt with gold. They hadn’t had time to rest over night or take in much of the scenery. The ship was leaving immediately. The knight sent with the travelers, bearing their papers and money from the lord to the ship’s captain, looked almost longingly at the vessel when they arrived at the pier. “This is the ship that will take you to Caer Pannar,” he said, “in the Eagle Kingdom, Eromar. Enjoy the journey, good masters, and enjoy Eromar. It is a peaceful nation. You will ride freely over the waves, far from this land of war and strife.”
Ulfgar didn’t feel so free at the moment, looking over the rail out at the heaving ocean. The moon shone like a giant silver coin, casting its cool radiance out over the water. The dwarf could hardly appreciate the beauty, however, as he stomach rolled like a counter-point to the motion of the sea below. Despite his distress, Ulfgar’s senses were still keen. He heard the hatch open behind him, but didn’t turn around. At first, he thought it was likely just one of the crew moving around. The almost inaudibly soft padding of feet told the dwarf differently, though. The half-elf was there. Ulfgar still didn’t bother responding.
There was a silence in the air for several moments, broken only by the rolling of the waves over the sea. “Xyto,” the half-elf finally said.
Ulfgar didn’t speak for a moment, then asked without turning, “What?”
“That is my name,” the half-elf replied from behind Ulfgar. “I thought you should know, since it seems we will be traveling with each other for a while.”
“Why is that, anyway?” Ulfgar asked.
“We both have our reasons, I’m sure.”
“Seems like the will of the gods to me.”
“Perhaps. It is an amazing coincidence.”
“Coincidence my beard! Only fate has the power to pull two people from nowhere together like this,” Ulfgar snorted, turning at last to face the newly-named Xyto.
The half-elf was gone. Ulfgar looked across the deck in a mixture of irritation and amusement. It only lasted a moment. The dwarf turned his eyes back to the ocean stretching out infinitely to the dark horizon beneath the light of the moon.