The Kingdom Mine - Let's Play Betrayal at Krondor!

((This is it for tonight. I may get further tomorrow, maybe not, as poet got me Company of Heroes Gold for valentine's day and it's looking awfully tempting.))




The leg between the statue and Malac's cross was even more silent than the one from Silden to the statue. James brooded while Owyn watched and Gorath kept his own council, watching the passage of clouds and of birds, scanning the trees to either side of the road for signs of possible ambush all the way to the muddy streets of the great trade city. They slept rarely, with James pushing them until nearly midnight, then rousting them after only a few hours of sleep to get them back on the road, and by the time they reached Malac's Cross all their nerves were beginning to fray.

Malac's Cross



James led them to the Abbaye Ishap almost immediately, and they didn't wait long before the Abbot agreed to see them.




"We are always at the disposal of the King's wishes," the Abbot said, offering James and his companions a gracious smile. "How can we help?"

"There were two objects found on the bodies of the dead men," James explained. "One was a rather ordinary looking brass spyglass and the other was a small spider statuette made of silver. Would you know anything about either object?"

Graves frowned. "Spyglasses are common devices, but silver spiders, now those would be quite rare. I've seen them catalogued in books as magical poisoning devices but they would be prohibitively expensive for a common murderer. Whomever used your spider would have to be a man with a great deal of money and would have to have connections with Kesh. That's where they are made."

James nodded slowly. "Thank you..." he murmured, turning to leave and then halting at the Abbot's quiet cough.

"Glad to be of service," the robed man said. "Incidentally, would you gentlemen be interested in attending a lecture this evening on tactics? It's being instructed by Baron Troville in our special lecture hall and it promises to be very enlightening. The tickets are only twenty sovereigns. Do you wish to go?"

James began to refuse, but before he could speak Owyn handed the Abbot a handful of sovereigns from his own coin purse and accepted the carefully sealed tickets. "You need a rest, James," Owyn said to the fuming squire as they left the Abbaye Ishap and descended to the town. "You're beating yourself up about a nighthawk that's been in Krondor for weeks. We'll get there, but in the meantime we need to be sure that we're in fit condition while we're on the journey. So tonight we're going to attend this lecture and then sleep at an inn, and you're going to rest and let go of things that are not in your power to control."

James opened his mouth, then sighed and shrugged. "You're right," he said, "we do need rest. But we visit the temple at first light tomorrow."

A man took their ticket at the door. Waving smoke from his face, James was surprised by the number of young nobles seated in the lecture hall, most looking as if they would rather be drinking ale in the tavern across the street. He shuffled his way through shoulders and elbows, finding benches for both Owyn and Gorath before taking a seat next to a scrawny soldier wearing a tabard emblazoned with a red stone tor - the colors of Highcastle.

Against the back wall a small stage had been set up, its perimeter surrounded by flickering candles, casting an eerie yellowish glow on the faces of Baron Troville and the two men who attended him. When at last they had set up the hardwood podium, the baron stood and looked across the room.

"I wish I could deliver this speech under happier circumstances, but to the north the Dark Brothers are massing for yet another siege against us," the baron started slowly. "I am here not by request of your Abbot, but because I await the arrival of volunteers from Darkmoor and Salador to come and join my forces at Highcastle. We have received word that the moredhel's new prince, Delekhan, has unfurled the war banners of Murmandamus."

A rumble passed through the congregation of nobles, the significance of the old moredhel name not lost on the students. Looking at most of the faces in the room, James knew that most in the room had only been children when Murmandamus had led his troops to Sethanon and had likely lost fathers or uncles in that deadly battle.

"I think therefore this lesson will be a little more practical for our purposes and will concentrate on the defenses at Highcastle," Troville continued. "Page, please fetch my maps..."

For five hours the baron lectured on defensive techniques and the essential tactics known to be of use in Northlands. When at last his energy began to flag, he took a few questions before calling the meeting to an end and exiting the hall through a rear exit.



As they entered the inn James caught sight of Ivan Skaald and gestured the owner over to them. Before the squire could arrange for their rooms the young businessman let out a sound that was somewhere between a snort and a growl and threw up his hands.




"No," Ivan snapped. "The neighbor's dog digging up your begonias and piddling on your front step, that is grief. No, what the Abbaye and her blessed students have given me is a twinging ulcer and a head full of grey hair!"

"That's strange," Owyn murmured, then almost stepped back as Ivan snapped his head around to stare at the young mage. "I would think that students would be excellent customers."

"Oh well now, customers, yes," Ivan said, rolling his eyes. "I can't stock ale fast enough to keep their eyeballs floating, but as someone that has to babysit their noble asses...that is another matter. I say lock the sorry prats in the basement until they're twenty or thereabouts."

James smiled despite himself. "Are you sure that you haven't been speaking to the Prince? Sounds like something that he would say about his twins. Borric and Erland may be princes of the blood royal, but in Arutha's eyes they are nothing but a royal pain in the behind."

"Kids are all the same, whether their blood's blue or not. What can I get for you today?" Ivan asked with a sigh.

They paid quickly, ate quickly, and were soon abed and asleep.

((The NPCs you can talk to all say different things in each chapter. So if you sequence break and have Locklear come to Romney in Ch.1, for example, he'll have a talk with the abused lad at the Black Sheep and promise that he'll come back soon to take him away from his abusive master. They even react differently depending on which chapter you first talk to them in. This combines with the chapter structure to give you a really neat sense that the world is changing and the plot is advancing even when you're not looking, and it's something I want to see in more RPGs. Pathologic did the same sort of thing with the progression of the illness through its town.))

It just struck me that the Oracle has a very long snout. I imagine it's so she can get to the nectar in narrow flowers more easily.

Krondor



They emerged from the mandala system in the Palace's chapel to Astalon early the next morning, and immediately James set off for the audience hall. Gorath and Owyn had to half run to catch up, only to find themselves nearly colliding with the squire when he halted abruptly at the entrance to the nearly empty chamber. Only one person occupied the vast hall, and she turned to James with a sad smile.

Mourning




"No, no," Katala said quickly. "Actually I am quite pleased to have you here, James. Things around the palace have become very peculiar. Prince Arutha hasn't held court in weeks and Pug has been locking himself up with Makala and our daughter Gamina discussing who knows what."

"And you feel left out of the circle, is that it?" James asked, nodding. "I've known the feeling."

"I suppose I have been privileged- spoiled even -in the past because he has entrusted me with whatever he was thinking," Katala replied, shrugging. "He's shown me things that I could never have imagined and yet now he's hiding something from me. At some level, I'm almost inclined to think that something is frightening him."

James shifted uneasily. "Frightening Pug? I don't like the sound of that...May I speak to him?"

"I wish you could, but he has gone to our Academy at Stardock," Katala said. "I don't know when he plans to return. To make matters worse, when I went to see Prince Arutha he sent word that he couldn't speak to me because he was busy with matters of state. That's not at all like him."

"No, it isn't, but I have a few suspicions about what this may all mean. First, there are a few things I need to know..." James said.

Katala nodded. "Of course. I am at your service."



"Has anything happened in Krondor since I left, or has the whole town closed up of boredom waiting for me to return?" James asked, trying a slow smile that managed to elicit one in return from Katala.

"Nothing unusual, really," she said. "The most exciting thing I've heard is that there appears to be an outbreak of quegan fever in some of the ports, but they don't expect things will get too serious. The priests from the Temple of Sung have sent men down to the docks to deal with any cases that show up there and the palace guards have been advised to keep a lookout for anyone who seems to be suffering from delusions. They think it will be contained in the areas north of Krondor."

"And Arutha's gone or locked away in council," James muttered. "If he isn't here, then he must have already begun..."

"Begun what?" Katala asked.

"Sorry, I was thinking aloud," the squire said. "If you would, do you think you could tell him something for me? It's fairly important that he hear it."

"What is the message?"

"Tell him that the party in Romney was cancelled because our host took ill and now we're looking for his pet parakeet that flew away. As soon as we find the perch, we will meet him for tea at mother's."

"I'm not sure I understand..." Katala said, her brow furrowing slightly.

"But the Prince will," James assured her. "I don't mean to be mysterious, but it's better that only we two know what is going on at the moment. Thank you, Katala. I'll be in town only a little longer and then I think we have business elsewhere."

They left the palace by the front gate this time, but almost immediately James turned towards the sewer entrance they'd used before.

"Not again," Owyn groaned, glaring at James' back as they picked their way down to the old heavily tarred doorway.

"We need to be sure," James said, sighing. "Even if I'm fairly sure what we're going to learn. The Crawler's more aggressive than I would've imagined, but I doubt he realizes just what he's bought himself..."

Krondor





Under the City

They'd barely entered the sewers when a familiar voice called out. "Stop right there," Limm said, emerging from the darkness with a dagger in hand. His voice was tight with fear and at least half an octave higher than usual, though he tried his best to conceal it behind his usual bravado.




"If you're any friend of the Mockers, you'll understand what I mean when I tell you it's a matter of family business," Limm said, starting to relax as he recognized the three. "Meeting at Mocker's Rest."

"The Upright Man?" James asked quietly, his lips pursing and drawing down.

"You haven't heard it from my lips," Limm said, a little too quickly. "I'm just a night watch and a stupid one at that."

"I understand," James said, nodding slowly. "Who do you think was responsible?"

"Same one as clapped hands on you a few months back." Limm almost snarled the reply. "Whoever it was must have had a hand on the inside. The Upright Man was poisoned. In the Rest they're calling him The Crawler - still don't know what exactly he hopes to gain. We'd never submit to him after all he's done to us. Sooner see him dead than in charge of things."



"Good," James said, nodding sharply. "Now, a few things before we go on our way. I've heard there's a portcullis down here that none of the Mockers can open. Can't pick it, can't break the lock. Is it true?"

"Might be," Limm said cautiously, shrugging. "Might be pigs can fly, who's to say? Why are you interested? You're no son of the sewers, not anymore. How did you hear about it, anyaways?"

"Maybe not now," James said, smiling at the young thief, "but we both know I used to be. I was just wondering if anyone ever found a key for it."

"Isn't no key I know of," Limm said, "least not one a body's snitched about. If you want my opinion, there's nobody what can get the eternity gate opened. Impossible."

"Mmm...speaking of keys, how many do you have on your ring?" James asked

"Good thief don't need 'em," Limm responded almost immediately, flashing the squire a grin. "I knows when somebody left a shutter on the spring or a door off the latch. Got a keen eye. I'm all the better without having to depend on them as I see it. I'm probably the best thief what the Upright Man's ever seen and I know I'm already the quietest."

"Is that so?" James asked, unable to repress a little smile at the familiar ring of the young thief's cocksure words. "How interesting. Well. Would you know how to get hold of Yellow Bill? Perhaps he could sell us a few keys."

"Bill?" Limm asked, blinking. "What, you talking about Old Bill? He got done down not more than a month ago by the rogues sent by the Crawler."

The squire sighed, nodding. "Pity. He was a good man in his own way... Who else could we get keys from?"

"I have a key," Limm said, giving them a sly look.

James chuckled, raising an eyebrow. "I thought you said good thieves didn't need them," he said.

"I don't need it," Limm said, bristling a little. "I just happen to have one at the moment. Found it near the dead body of someone dressed like a Death Guilder. He was an ugly bloke, but then again, with half his head smashed in..."

James held up a hand. "Spare me the details, please. How much you want for the Nighthawk key?"

Limm shifted for a few moments before replying. "It's yours for nothing," he finally muttered. "I don't like carrying it about and I don't want to bring bad luck off it on meself. Take it. Don't ever say Limm never done nothing for you."

James pocketed the small golden virtue key, then eyed Limm speculatively. "You say you're the quietest thief in Krondor. Prove it."

"Why should I?" asked Limm, puffing himself up.

"We have business that may require great stealth on our part and some of us could use instruction," James said, glancing at Owyn and seeing the young mage color even in the dimness of the sewers. "Would you be willing to teach us what you know?"

"For the right price, I'll steal the crown right off the Prince's head and it'll be half a day before he'll even know it's gone," Limm boasted, thumping his sparrow chest with a fist. "Sounds interesting. How about a hundred and twenty sovereigns? That sound reasonable to you?"

"Agreed," James said, and the lessons began...


Dropping to a crouch, Limm pointed down the length of the tunnel and instructed them to walk away and then return.

"Common problem. You're coming down too much on your heels," Limm said, watching as one of his pupils reappeared from the darkness. Grabbing Owyn's foot, he pivoted it so that it rocked from side to side rather than rear to front. "Imagine your feet are like waves. You have to let 'em roll. Down on the outside, then roll to the center. Now go down and back. We'll keep this up 'til you have it."

After a few more trials, Owyn began to catch on to the technique. "Astonishing how much of a difference it makes," he murmured, trying the step again. "I could barely hear myself."

"That's it then," Limm said with a smile, taking his fee. I've got to get back to my guard duty. We can still chat a bit if you like."

"No, we should be on our way. Thank you, Limm, and watch out for yourself," James said.

((An interesting detour with fairly long-ranging implications for the setting. The Upright Man is a fairly influential figure in Midkemia, albeit indirectly, and I've always wondered if this part of the game became 'canon' in the latter books. Anyway, this concludes our little detour west, and now it's north to Prank's Stone, Kenting Rush, and Cavall Keep.))

Thanks for going with the detour. The 'organized crime' guild was always one of my favourite inventions in Feist's world.

((While I'm piecing together the next set of images, enjoy the chests from Prank's Stone, Cavall Run, and Kenting Rush.))

Riddles and Locks

Hey Brer. I think 2 and 3 are duplicates.

1)Wrong
2)Unknown
3)Snake
4)Shadow
6)Peace
7)Cards
8)Wall

Some of mine are probably wrong. In fact I know one of mine is definetly wrong.

2. SILENCE - did we see this one before? It seems familiar.
3. WAGON - using that valuable Oregon Trail knowledge!
5. SAWS

No, but the riddle is similar to the "secret" riddle from a few chapters back. Still looking for answers for the last two, although Indalecio's for the last one is close:

Hints: Knives cut and may serve, but they aren't -themselves- cut and served at table.

Moats don't usually run -past- gates, but either inside or outside them. What runs past a gate to either side.

guesses:
8.) cards (they don't say DINNER table)
9.) wall

((And good guesses they are, dwolfe.))

Krondor



There was nothing left but the road north of Romney, and with the mandala system their travel time was relatively short. They reached Silden that night, and in another few days had passed the bridge to Romney. As they travelled the trees began to thicken

Owyn was whistling. Suddenly aware his travelling companion had grown irrepressibly cheerful over the last few miles, James turned and favored the squire with an inquisitive stare. "Why the sudden lift in your spirits?"

"Unless I'm mistaken, we're heading towards my uncle Corvalis' estates in Cavall Keep, assuming we keep heading this way. We are going that direction aren't we?"

Owyn talked as they travelled. Pointing out familiar geographical features, he related a good deal of history about the region's history as they attempted to ford a small river. Soon, they found themselves back upon a major road...



As they neared the southern shore of Lake Rom, Gorath motioned for them to halt. He frowned and gestured up the road where a bridge could be seen spanning the headwaters. "Someone's coming," the dark elf said, drawing his sword and motioning them off the road. James and Owyn slipped into the trees, and the young mage felt prickling around his calves as he slid to his knees against a juniper bush. Owyn stifled a curse and was shifting to a more comfortable position when a hissed warning from James stilled him. He looked back to the road, and froze.

Nighthawks were moving down the road. They moved slowly, seeming to scan the landscape. "Looking for an ambush site," James whispered. "Let's turn the tables."

It took another few minutes to find Gorath in the underbrush on the other side of the road and catch his attention, but then it was only the matter of a few hand gestures before they were ready. The assassins passed them, and were beginning to pick up speed when the companions leapt from the brush and charged.

Charge Into Battle



James had just enough time for a single fruitless shot from his crossbow before the battle was joined. As the squire charged the leftmost assassin Owyn's magic filled the air around the other two with flames, crackling and roaring as both were knocked backwards. And then Gorath was between the two, cleaving the first from shoulder to hip and spinning to drive a savage thrust hard at the belly of the second. The killer parried and counter-thrust, angling his sword's tip down to skewer Gorath's thigh, but the dark elf stepped back and disengaged, bringing his blade up into a high guard while Owyn readied a second spell.

James, meanwhile, was driving on hard, his blade lashing out again and again. The nighthawk counter-attacked, but his blow was driven up over the squire's shoulder, opening his stomach to a quick thrust. The assassin doubled over, clutching at the seeping wound, and James' blade took him in the neck. James twisted his wrist, opening his opponent's throat neatly and then turning away to help his companions, his eyes moving to the other melee just in time to see a streak of dark ice fly from Owyn's outstretched hand to wrap the last assassin in a rime of frost. A final thrust of Gorath's blade and the searing heat of a final flamecast and the last nighthawk was dispatched. The road was quiet again.

I can't but help being pleased at how combat (and your descriptions!) work in the Krondor setting. It's visceral, more so than most Western or JRPGs I've ever played; with a reasonably high chance of death or serious injury that takes time to heal (thank god they do fully heal). Your tactic of fireballing friend and for alike is working so well, yet I never could bring myself to do so when I tried playing.

...that single tactic is probably why I had so much troubles with the game in the past.

I almost feel like you're playing this game just for me

As I said before, the real trick is to get your casting accuracy up as high as you can as fast as you can. If that means taking some hits, do it early in easier combats, because a friendly fire incident late game CAN turn an easy combat into a really deadly fight. In some ways, missing with Fetters of Rime (the iceball attack that does up to 40 damage and freezes your opponent) is worse. Getting a party member immobilized is a big deal in BAK because there's no in-battle cure. You have to let it wear off.

"Well, we know we're on the right track at least," Gorath muttered as he began to search the corpses. "For the guild of death to have taken such an interest in this unremarkable stretch of your kingdom there must be something here to interest us."

"We'll see when we get to Cavall Keep," James said, cleaning his blade on one of the black tunics before resheathing it and gesturing towards the lakeside, visible through the trees to the northeast. "Let's dispose of them nearer the water."

They dragged the three bodies into the trees and the underbrush and left them there, but before they returned to the road James caught a glimpse of a familiar silvery gleam near the water's edge.



The squire's expression darkened as he tucked the plant away. "I hate the way this stuff has spread. When this business to the north is finished I swear I'll convince Arutha to put a bounty on this plant. We'll have every peasant from Krondor to Northwarden and Crydee to Ran digging the stuff up."



They returned to the road and soon approached the headwaters of the Rom River where it emerged from the great lake. A final bridge spanned the river, and as they approached it Owyn caught a glimpse of several men milling about a few hundred yards further on. Before he could stop to make out more details, however, he was distracted by the familiar sounds of a magical trap springing to life before them, barring the bridge.

It's a Trap






Thankfully, the trap was simple or perhaps only partially constructed. It took James only a few moments inspection before the former thief was able to trigger and disable it, and the three quickly passed through to the far bank. Sure enough, there were men ahead, spread across the road and looking none to happy to see them. The battered and stained boiled leather armor they wore and the swords in their hands made it clear that they were not simply out for a stroll.




"No, we have no interest in the trouble in Romney," James replied, eying the leader of the men, a burly black-haired man who eyed him back with little in the way of warmth.

"Then you must support Ian?" The other man asked, taking a few steps closer.

James sighed, shaking his head. "As I said," he began, letting his impatience creep into his voice, "we have no interest in the Romney. We want no part of it, and in fact are headed away from that fair city, not towards it."

"Men without commitments, eh?" The black-haired man said, glaring and then spitting nearly at James' feet. "Well, better liars than one of the rabble running Romney at the moment. But I warn you, you best stay clear of all that mess!"

"We will," James assured him as the two parties passed each other warily, the men disappearing over the bridge while the companions approached the small town of Prank's Stone.

((And we're back. I know I've been slacking off on this. In my defense I've felt a bit overwhelmed with both other gaming and more important non-gaming responsibilities. Anyway, let's return to Midkemia. When we last left our heroes they were headed for the odd little town of Prank's Stone. I'm going to avoid most of the scams, ripoffs, and so on, but I'll tell you what a few of them are if you want.))



The town was...odd. One small cottage's walls was covered entirely with old wooden bucklers, garishly painted. The roof of another bristled with a dozen tiny chimneys, weathercocks, and metal devices that none of them could recognize. A hedge wizard had set up shop across the way from the town's inn- and James snorted at the flapping image of a winged pig that graced the inn's awning -but rather than operating in the relative anonymity most minor practitioners of the Art preferred, especially in remote villages, this one had a giant placard out on his front walk that proclaimed his willingness to provide the townsfolk with "love philtres, magick sunderys, & potent remedys for the common alements".

"You can see why one of the largest temples to Banath in the Western realm is here," Owyn said to Gorath, gesturing to the sign. "If there's an actual magician in that hut I'll eat my staff. This town's an interesting place to visit, but if you're not careful you'll end up..." Before the young mage could continue the moredhel's attention was arrested by the shrill voice of a woman calling for help.

"No one can help you now! Ha ha ha ha!" boomed a raucous male voice. "The Goddess of death
will -"

Before another word could be uttered, Gorath took several steps back and charged at the door of the large house the cry had come from, hitting it with his shoulder. The door gave way with a splintering crack, and the force of the impact caused him to lose his balance. The dark elf quickly regained his poise, drawing his sword as he quickly surveyed the room. He found himself eye to eye with a half dressed man wearing a wig. There was no one else in the room.

"What did you do with her?" Gorath demanded.

The man sputtered a reply, still trying to catch his breath as he stared at the looming moredhel. "Wha-- who-- I-- what did I do with WHOM?"

"The woman. We heard a woman yelling for help. What did you do with her?" Gorath repeated, more with bewilderment than anger this time.

"I haven't done anything with anyone! I'm an actor. I was just preparing for a play I will be performing tonight at The Flying Sow."

Gorath swallowed hard. "A play?" he asked, weakly. "We thought...I thought..." Owyn and James drew up behind Gorath then, and James grinned as he saw the moredhel's face darken. "Sorry about the door," James offered, tossing a handful of sovereigns to the still-sputtering actor. "That should cover it." The man was still shaking his head when they left.

"As I was saying," Owyn said between bouts of giggles that earned him a glare from his flustered companion, "If you're not careful here you can find yourself out a good bit of coin. Don't trust your first impressions and don't buy anything anyone wants to sell to you, and you'll be fine."



They didn't stay in Prank's Stone long, but before they left Owyn insisted in dragging them to the old slab of rock from which the town had taken its name. It was unremarkable, really, but when James reached out towards it Owyn grabbed his wrist.

"Remember what Waylander and Abuk said?" Owyn asked, letting go of James' wrist once the squire relaxed. "People who touched the stone would lose their belongings. I don't think we want to trek all the way back to Silden to retrieve them from that chest."

((I haven't forgotten about this LP. Part of it's RL issues, but honestly at this point I am just boggled as to how to translate this next bit into a coherent narrative form. In game form you basically do the "Talk to every NPC about everything until you open up new dialogue topics, then repeat the cycle until it advances the plot" thing, but that wouldn't work very well. I'm tempted to go out and grab Krondor: The Betrayal and use it for guidance, but I'd prefer not to. I'll figure something out, just wanted to let you guys know.))

Is this LP dead for realz?

Ok, I have to speedrun my way back to my old position, but that should only take me a week or so if all goes well. Ring and a few others still ask me if I'm ever going to finish this, so I might as well at least make a sincere effort. I'll edit this post once I've got something new to put up.

EDIT: Hey! I guess my compulsive save-hoarding pays off. It looks like I still have all my saves from this LP. If that's so, I just have to reread the thread, get an animated .gif maker that works in windows 7, and find my photobucket password and I'll be good to go. I can have new posts much sooner.

Oh man, I think I need to catch up with this LP, this is one of my all-time favorite games (and probably the one I've played through the most times). Gotta love the riddle chests.

*so happy*

((And we're back! First question? What do you guys need from me to catch everyone who still gives a damn back up? I'm going to make this post a short recap of the events in the last two chapters, but let me know either in this thread or by PM if you need more info and don't want to reread the thread.

Also, I'm skipping most of the little encounters in Prank's Stone for now unless there's a strong desire to see them. The short version is that just about every last one of them are ripoffs that will cost you time, money, and items.))

Previously, In Betrayal At Krondor:

It's been a decade since the great war leader Murmandamus ended the vicious in-fighting of the Moredhel clans, united them under his banner, and marched on the Kingdom of the Isles and Elvandar. Ten years since the invasion was broken at the city of Sethanon, leaving the city a smoking ruin and breaking the Moredhel's alliance. In those ten years magic has started to become more common in the Kingdom.

With Pug expanding the academy at Stardock and he and Prince Arutha once more allowing a permanent Rift Gate to open between Midkemia and the Tsurani Empire on Kelewan, trade between the worlds in both physical goods and magical knowledge has been steadily growing.

Still, it has been ten years. Enough time for Murmandamus' generals to recover, to build their alliances and power bases once more. And so once again the warring clans of dark elves are being united in the frozen Northlands. The warleader Delekhan has declared that Kingdom will fall beneath the swords of the Moredhel, and already the Kingdom of the Isles is awash with dark elf scouting parties, spies, and assassins paving the way for an army.

But at least one dark elf has decided that war against the humans is a mistake. Gorath of the Ardanien clan has chosen to break the vows that every Moredhel makes. To leave his generalship in Delekhan's forces, to flee south across the Teeth Of the World mountains and into the Kingdom. To warn the humans that war is coming.

With the help of Seigneur Locklear, an agent of Prince Arutha and member of his court, and Owyn Beleforte, would-be magician and younger son of a minor noble, Gorath has brought his message to the palace in Krondor. He has also informed the prince that the Nighthawks, the Guild of Death, have been resurrected by Delekhan and put to use as spies within the Kingdom, and that a nest of them in the merchant hub of Romney could provide invaluable information about Delekhan's specific intentions.

The prince agreed, and while Locklear was dispatched to the keeps and lands bordering the Teeth of the World, his childhood friend Squire James was assigned to escort Gorath and Owyn to Romney, there to rendezvous with a company of Krondorian Lancers and root out the Nighthawks. Upon arriving, however, the trio discovered the Lancers butchered to a man, and with a trail of clues pointing northward to the towns of Cavall Keep and Kenting Rush.

((Here are the clues available so far:

-A Brass Spyglass with magical scrying properties was recovered from the possessions of the Lancers. Upon tracing its origins, it was found to have been in the possession of one of Romney's guild leaders, Mitchel Waylander. Waylander had in turn acquired the thing from a magical chest connected to the eponymous Prank's Stone in the village with the same name.

-Anyone touching the stone would lose possessions, and the items would reappear in this magical chest. Having acquired the chest years ago, Waylander would sell the contents in Silden. According to Waylander, the spyglass itself came from a man looking to be of noble birth and dress from somewhere north of the town of Prank's Stone.

-The Silver Spider figurine is of Keshian origin, and quite rare and expensive.

To sum up: A noble or noble-seeming gentleman with ties to Kesh and who lives somewhere between Prank's Stone and Northwarden.))

Plus, Jimmy's not the sort to be taken in by them. +1 for skipping.

As they followed the westward bend of the river out of Prank's Stone the local graveyard caught James' eye.

"Given your warning, and that this little patch of Banath's own caprice is on a straight run between Northwarden and Romney, let's have a look at the graves," James muttered, shooting the hooded elf a slightly resentful glance even as he started to work his way through the irregular rows of carved stone.

Sure enough, they not only found two small supply caches with money, crossbows, and quarrels in the graves but more money, gems, and a dragon stone in a pair of poorly-concealed wordlock chests that some advance party had attempted to partially bury in the river bank.



A bit further west where the were stopped by two men,

"You will go no further," one of the men commanded. "Before any shall enter the temple grounds they must strip off all metals."

James scowled, "Under whose authority do you make these demands? We are representatives of Prince Arutha and order you to let us pass."

The men seemed a bit taken aback by this news, but as they departed they continued to speak of their levy. "Metal is base and offensive to our god. He who enters this temple with metal on his person shall be struck dead..." From the other side of the temple, almost out of earshot, James heard, "...by the will of Banath!"

"By the will of Banath my sore behind," James griped as they turned north, heading towards the pine-covered hills that marked the transition between the Blackwood to the east and the grasslands of the High Wold to the west.

"Banath?" Gorath asked, one brow quirked slightly as he watched the fuming squire. "You mentioned the name before. One of your gods?"

"The god of thieves, gamblers, and other such shady characters," James replied with a shrug. "Of course there's a temple to him in Prank's Stone, and of course they tell people passing by to divest themselves of all their metal. Coins...valuable arms and armor..."

"I see," the dark elf rumbled, and Owyn thought he caught a slight quirk to Gorath's lips before he was forced to turn his attention back towards the road.

((This is just a quick post to get me back in the habit of posting and to work myself back towards writing half-way competently. More to follow as I'm able to. EDIT: Oh, and in case it's not clear from my flavor text, the guys at the temple are lying bastards. They won't attack you, Banath doesn't care, and if you divest yourself of metal items they'll be gone when you get back. On the one hand, it's sort of a dick move, on the other, if you really fall for the guys outside the temple to the GOD OF THIEVES telling you to drop your inventory and leave it with them....))

Seeing this return after such a long hiatus warms my heart, it really does.

I only came across this a few months back, and was heartbroken to see that it had been dead for some time.

Thank you! Thank you thank you thank you for continuing to work on this. You know, I kept checking back on this every once in a while, even knowing that it's dead, just on the off chance. And now it's like a dream come true.

I've got nothing but the fondest memories for this game. Watched my dad play it when I was seven, the ending hit me like a hammer, I was never the same afterwards. And your narration is just win. I particularly like the little filled-in details, like Owyn trying to poke Gorath for details about how the moredhel live, or James bringing up the Returning.

If there's anything to nitpick about, it's that Gorath possibly isn't quite aloof and solemn enough in the first chapter for someone who's just traded leadership of his clan, the lives of kinsmen pursuing him (after siding with Delekhan over their own chieftain) and the support and love of his wife for the company of two suspicious humans, the status of traitor and the likely prospect of passing on his message to the Prince (possibly while on the rack) and being imprisoned or executed afterwards.

Besides, he's almost downright fuzzy as he is now. I'm both curious about and looking forward to seeing how you'll be portraying his transition to his even more gracious, thawed self later in the game.

Wait, is James annoyed for a particular reason that I missed or did he just suddenly remember that he's travelling with a freaking dark elf? Speaking of which, I think James's distrust in the game should be a bit more emphatic in your narration, considering how ballistic he goes at the start of Chapter III. And remember, his direct experience with moredhel is limited to hearing ghost stories about their vicious ways like any other child growing up in the West, and, well, the Uprising. There should be an intense aversion there beneath all the professionalism. Think UK special agent being forced to cooperate with a former Nazi higher-up in post-war UK.

But in any case, you're doing an absolutely smashing job.