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

Dungeon!

I say the dungeon since we're here, and then, maybe, swing back and solve the ruby mystery.

I vote the ruby thief first.

References to The Empire Trilogy here. Does anyone know where in the timeline Betrayal takes place? I want to say this is referencing events that happen at the climax of the first book in that series "Daughter of the Empire" but I can't really remember.

As an aside, I think I enjoyed The Empire Trilogy more than anything else REF did, and I was a pretty damn big REF fan.

10 years after Murmandamus' Great Uprising was broken at Sethanon. (ten years after the end of the Riftwar Saga and "A Darkness at Sethanon", for those who don't know the books as well).

Edit the 2nd: I haven't actually read the Empire books yet (though I plan to at some point) or any of the other books beyond the core Riftwar saga and Prince of the Blood, but according to the official chronology (chronological order of the books on Feist's website), this game and its novelization (Krondor the Betrayal) fall after "Servant of the Empire" and before "Mistress of the Empire".

So far, Brer, I think you're doing a fantastic job with this one. Considering how open Betrayal is I don't think it's an easy one either. I think your summary/interjection dialogue fits so well with the game's own writing, in fact, that you could get away with doing it yourself sometimes, to shorten it up but still keep the flow and cut down on the screenshots somewhat.

UPDATE: I hope to finish posting the Mac Mordain Cadal and Brak Nurr segments before I go to bed tonight. Due to the size of these updates I've decided to start transcribing most of the conversations after the first few talking heads. I know I asked for opinions earlier, but frankly transcription saves me a LOT of time formatting and uploading the images, and makes for less intimidating posts. Also, I found a nice utility for making animated .gifs, and so the combats will be in slideshow format. The first few in this update will be sort of rough, but I hope that my text will make up the difference, and I should get better at making them as we go along.

Edit: if you're wondering why "slideshow" instead of animated, it's a file size thing. I want to keep everything the same resolution, and even a jerky animation of a 4-enemy fight I did was 15MB, way too big IMO.

I loved the Empire Trilogy, and thought it notch above Feist's other works.

As for where to go, I've no preferences. Its been so long since I've played, most of this will be a jog down memory lane.

I still have a soft spot for the original Magician book, as I found it randomly in my school library in 7th grade. Didn't know it had a sequel, and lost my library card in it and couldn't recall what the name was to find it again.

Fast forwards years, and I randomly found it again (misshelved) with my old library card still in it.

None of the sequels can match the mystique of actually finding a book you really liked rather than getting a recommendation. Same reason why I don't watch movie trailers if I know I probably want to see the movie, when possible.

I'm enjoying the LP so far Brer, I've never gotten very far into this game before getting my butt handed to me though.

I was never interested in the Empire Trilogy because I had no idea how it related to any of Feist's other books. Now that I've heard more about it, I'm interested in checking it out sometime.

((Damn, do we have anyone following this LP who hasn't either read Feist or played this game before? That's a pity. Knowlege of the setting and books certainly isn't necessary to enjoy this game. I came at it blind my first time. Ah well....))

"A guaranteed reward that's less than a day's travel from us is better than a possible reward we'll have to travel at least three days to even get a lead for. Given how little we have left after purchasing supplies," Owyn concluded a half hour later, tapping the very nearly depleted coin purse tucked into Locklear's belt, "I don't know if we could even reach Loriel without running into further problems."

"The Mac then," Gorath said, glancing around, “but I believe we should leave. I am starting to attract attention. Even if a few eledhel have hair as dark as mine, none have this," he said dryly, gesturing to his greying beard.

“Of all the...right, then, let's get going,” Locklear muttered, standing and offering Sumani a brief nod before following the other two into the street, and from there to the King's Highway and south. Later, just past LaMut's graveyard, Owyn was just turning to ask Gorath to explain his strange remark at the inn, was just turning to ask Gorath what he meant when the dark elf's hand shot up and smacked firmly against the young man's chest. “In the trees ahead, the blue...” the elf murmured, gesturing with his other hand. Locklear followed his gesture, eyes narrowing as he scanned the trees just south of the road.



The Moredhel warrior hadn't noticed them. “It's anybody's guess whether he's out to kill us or just taking a stroll somewhere,” Locklear said. “Probably best if we try to avoid him”.

“The hills are too steep for us to move to the far slopes here,” Gorath disagreed. “And there aren't enough trees to mask our ascent. We'd be spotted. Better to attack now while we have the advantage. I see only one.”

In the end, they agreed to attack. Going over the plan as quickly as possible, Locklear laid out a simple strategy. “We're set then,” he said. “Let's just hope our advance is undetected or our advantage will be lost.”

All three moves forward quietly, slipping further from the roadside in hopes of catching the warrior from the flank. But despite their apparent silence the moredhel warrior's head snapped around at the last minute, and he grinned widely. Side-stepping their surprise attack to try and gain the higher ground, he waggled a mocking forefinger at Locklear, his eyes alight with the anticipation of spilt blood.

http://www.getmeoutofthis.net/filedu..._the_Death.mp3

“Fine,” Locklear said, preparing for battle, “Then we do this the hard way.”



The fight was almost too easy. Even as Locklear and Gorath rushed the sneering dark elf Locklear felt a strange sensation, some force rushing past him to strike their opponent in a flash of light. The moredhel cried out, nearly dropping his sword as his other hand clutched for his eyes, stumbling backwards, and it saved his life as Gorath's blade whistled through the air where the warrior had been standing. But even as the moredhel swung wildly in the direction of Gorath's heavy blow Locklear closed in, moving with surprising grace. The pair worked in concert, and with a few quick motions it was over, the only sound from the moredhel a sort of grunt as locklear's blade went home.

"That was well done," Locklear said to Owyn when he had caught his breath, "What do you call that spell?"

Owyn's face was a little pale as he stared at where the squire was turning over fresh earth to hide the blood, but he answered steadily enough, his tone mingling embarrassment and pleasure. " 'Despair thine eyes'. At least, that's what Patrus called it when he taught me," he said before looking towards the tree line just in time to see gorath re-emerge, knocking dead needles and fallen twigs about to obscure the drag marks left by the corpse's heels.

"Nothing on him of any worth but his armor and weapon, and nothing better than what we carry now," The bearded moredhel said, meeting locklear's gaze evenly. "I'll keep them against our next stop in a town." Locklear simply nodded and gestured for them to keep moving.

They found the westward trail that Dubal had said led to the Mac Mordain Cadal less than an hour later, and something else as well.



The lid refused to budge. "No good," Locklear said. The only way were going to get this box open is with a set of picklocks. Luckily..." he murmured, and with a minute's work and a quiet snick of metal on metal, the chest lay open. Locklear stowed the Kingdom Armor and Broadsword that lay within, while passing the three oil-soaked torches to Owyn. "At this rate we'll be able to equip a mercenary company before we get to Sarth," Locklear noted glancing at the way both his pack and Gorath's bulged with surplus weapons and armor.

With that done, all three moved west along the path, winding deeper into the hills south of LaMut.





A sulphurous stench was in the wind. "This must be the Mac Mordain Cadal," Locklear said, his eyes glazing as he lost himself in thought. "I knew that it was somewhere close. As I recall Mac is dwarven for mine or cave or something like that. Now considering the dwarves are no friends of the moredhel, they might be of some assistance to us, assuming they don't take exception to Gorath here. Do we investigate or not?"

Gorath snorted, "I believe we settled this at the Inn. We go down."

Under The City

The tunnels were damp. Though the silver seamed earthen roof which stretched over their heads was tall enough that they didn't have to crouch, Owyn felt hemmed in by the shaft. He was privately thankful the dwarves were larger than they were often given credit for in the legends.



Pausing only to light one of the torches, Owyn passed the brand to Gorath and took his place between the dark elf and the squire as they moved deeper into the mine.



Introduction, Part 2

Without warning there was a thundering crash and sparks rocketed down the corridor. Slamming Owyn flat against the mineshaft walls, Locklear narrowly leapt for cover himself as something skidded along the rocky floor. Abruptly the glowing cone of fire winked out of existence as it collided with an unseen wall. After several long heartbeats, the Seigneur peeled himself away from the wall, just in time to meet the gaze of a short tree stump of a man.

"Bah!" the dwarf shouted in disgust as he retrieved his weapon, "I thought I had a Brak Nurr!"




((Note: Bad dwarvish dialect not my choice, and I don't have time to rewrite every line. Sorry folks))

"Beastie, aye!" Exclaimed the dwarf, still apparently worked up from his hammer throw. "'alf a week ago we 'eard something fierce a'bayin' in the mine, terrible cold-like. Of course a dwarf knows the sound instant whether he's heard it before or not - Brak Nurr. Curse of every hole delver since first dwarves took up hammers."

Locklear was silent for a long moment, but eventually felt moved to resond. "I've never heard of them," he said.

"No one has in quite a while, laddie. There 'asn't been a Brak Nurr in the upper mines for well on since DeLong the Great laid claim to the Kingdom of the Isles. We thought we'd laid low the lot o' them but the kobolds are stirring them up on their quest." The dwarf replied before scowling fiercely at something that just occured to him. "Gods, where are my manners? If you've come to kill the damn thing you're welcome here. Naddur Ban Doc's the name."

Locklear introduced himself and his companions, canting his head in puzzlement as he asked "kobolds?"

"Your folk call them gnomes," Naddur said. "They used to worship a dragon that lived down here, but when the dragon disappeared, they thought the dwarven folk 'id him away. Every now and again their leader Feydhir takes a notion to undertake a holy quest to find him. This time they must've woke up a clutch of Brak Nurr. Now the Nurr have collapsed the main passage an' kilt thirty of our kin. We've a reward to whomever can do it in - if you're of a mind and 'ave the spirit that is."

"I'm not saying we're interested in killing your Brak Nurr, but if we were looking for it, what would it be like?" Locklear asked, raising an eyebrow at the thought of any creature capable of collapsing even a single section of a dwarven mine.

The dwarf chuckled to himself before replying. "'alf again your height, and made o' stone, like living rock they are. From out their nostrils they breath a green mist but I'd be wary of getting too close to look, for they'll drop a boulder on your head sure enow. We've already 'ad a few bravos what's come in to try a hand at killing the beastie, but there's not much they've been able to do themselves beyond get themselves so mangled they needed the help of a temple. I'd be as wary of them though as I would be of the beastie. They, none of them, want else but then to claim the gold that we've offered to the creature's slayer."

Locklear pondered that for a moment before replyin. "The way things have been going for us recently, perhaps we would do well to seek a little help at the temples as well. Where are the closest ones?"

"We dwarves don' much dawdle outside o' The Grey Towers or Stone Mountain, but as I ken, there's a Temple of Killian betwixt Zun and Hawk's Hollow. I think there also might be a Temple of Ishap here close, but I can't recall exact where that would be," Naddur said.

Introduction, Part 2

Locklear nodded as Owyn jotted down the locations of the temples on a small scrap of parchment. And as the squire shifted his weight a jab from the edge of a steel plate that had sprung loose from its leather backing reminded him of another errand the party had with the dwarves. "The barkeeper at the Blue Wheel Inn at LaMut suggested you might be able to repair our armor," Locklear said, frowning as he attempted to bend the corner back in along his side.

"If we weren't digging ourselves out o' this pretty mess, aye, we could do something for ya, but we're all tied up to a man. Pardon my saying so, but we've problems a bit more pressing than dealing with dented armor. You might a try a hermit what lives near 'awk's 'ollow. He's gained something of a reputation for himself over the past few years," Naddur suggested, eying the trio's gear critically.

"If you can't repair our armor, do you at least think you could do something about our swords? I hate to be difficult, but we're really in a crucial situation."

"Are you deef, laddie? I told you 'afore we 'aven't the time to go repairing things at the moment. We're in a crucial situation ourselves if you 'aven't noticed!"

"We would be willing to pay you."

"I'm sure ya would, just as sure as I know the dwarves below would be willing to pay to get out from under the rock! It's a question of time, time! Bah! Look, if I show ya a trick to sharpening your swords, will ya promise not ta be bothering anybody else in the mine? I think I can turn a 'andful of sovereigns to advantage in LaMut and 'ire a few strong backs."

"You have my word of honor."

"That shall 'ave to do. I'll teach ya quick a little about weaponcrafting, but I'll expect a fee of 50 sovereigns for my trouble. Do we have a deal?"

Locklear frowned. "You do...but I'm afraid it will have to wait until after we've delt with your Brak Nurr problem. We haven't the funds at the moment."

"Well then, kill the beastie, pay me, and I'll show you how to mend all the dings you'll have put in your blades putting the thing down. Until then, I've work to be seeing to," The dwarf replied, moving past the trio and disappearing down a side passage.

Under the City

The main passage twisted and turned, and soon they arrived at an intersection. "Damned if I can keep track of all these passages," Locklear muttered, glancing down one side tunnel and then the other.



"It's alright," Owyn said, pointing to where he'd been working with a bit of charcoal and a parchment. "It's crude, but I can at least map out the basic layout as we go along. With that in mind, why don't we check the side passages first."

All agreed, they turned north...



Only to run almost immediately into a dead end. "Easy enough," Murmured Gorath as they followed the southern fork.



"Too thick to listen to," Locklear finally admitted after a full hour crouched at the door's lock plate, picks in hand. "And the lock's beyond my skills for now," he added, gesturing to the uneven splinters of metal that lay discarded and broken on the mine's floor. "We might as well continue west.



At the next intersection, a quick glance north had Gorath once more grabbing at Owyn to force him back.



"Some of those bravos Naddur mentioned," he murmured, "They'll hear us in a moment. Follow me!" And with that the former prisoner lunged around the corner, growling something foul in Moredhel and lifting his blade to strike at the first of the human mercenaries.

Charge Into Battle

Their opponents were surprised. The apparent leader of the pair screamed orders at his companions, a mix of fear and anger in his voice as Gorath bore down upon him. Seizing the opportunity, Locklear barked several quick orders and the battle was joined.



Owyn repeated his spell of blindness at the nearer of the two thugs as Locklear and Gorath each chose a target. The warriors worked quickly, forcing them down the passage while Owyn followed behind, renewing his spell once before stepping in behind the beleaguered pair to deliver the final blow, felling each with a wild swing of his staff.

Under the City



Owyn stared at the two fallen bravos. One would almost have certainly died anyway, his shoulder laid open and collarbone shattered by Gorath's sword, but the other...Owyn had actually felt the man's neck give way as his staff struck, forcing the mercenary's head sideways and down against the passage's wall.

Locklear paused as he was resheathing his blade and squeezed the young mage's shoulder. "Thinking only makes it worse. There'll be time to consider it later, but for now we need to keep moving," he said quietly, giving one more squeeze before he moved to help Gorath search the other body.

Owyn gulped, shook his head, and set aside his reservations about pilfering the fallen, crouching to go through the man's pockets and take what the goddess of luck had given them. However immoral he might feel about it, he was certain his stomach would quickly assuage his guilt if he found a bit of food to eat. Focusing on the task at hand helped. Some. Of the pair's belongings, only their blades were worthy of note, and Owyn frowned at their odd shape as Gorath raised them and gave each a spin with an air of easy familiarity.




Gorath finished spinning the blades, then slipped both through loops in his pack. "Your Kingdom blades are better. They cause smaller wounds, but are easier to strike with," he admitted grudgingly as they moved north, following the bend in the passage until it opened into a large chamber where the mine had tapped one section of an ore vein.




As Locklear moved towards the chest, picks in hand, Owyn frowned slightly, remembering a spell he'd learned during his abortive stint at the magical academy of Stardock. It had slipped his mind before, but he remembered hearing stories about how many of the unopened chests in the mines under the Grey Towers were unopened because of the danger involved...



Owyn muttered the incantation and then frowned, grabbing Locklear's shoulder before he could kneel before the box. "What is it?" the Squire asked, raising an eyebrow at the expression of strained focus Owyn wore.

"The chest," Owyn replied, "Give me a moment." Concentrating his thoughts, another scene overlaid the one already before him, different only in the fact that it included a man kneeling before the box, a skin of naphtha in his hand. "It's trapped," Owyn replied, dazed by the effects of the spell. "Someone's rigged it to explode the moment the lid is lifted. Shall we try to deactivate it?"

Locklear blinked once, then shook his head. "No. If I fail we'll be in no shape to push deeper. We can tackle it on the way out, or once I've acquired a bit more skill with the picklocks." And with that they turned and headed back towards the main east-west passage.

They followed the passage in a long S-curve west, until it terminated in a T-junction. The north-south passage widened here, and in the middle of the intersection lay an old and battered box, its lock long-since snapped off, its wood cracked and splintered and slowly rotting in the cool, damp air of the mine.



Owyn stared at the chest. With great concentration he closed his eyes and pictured the chest in his mind, studying the wood grain and metallic bands until the image expanded, rushing towards him until he was not only seeing the chest but inside it. “It's safe,” he finally said, sighing.



Locklear grinned, and was so concerned with scooping the double handful of silver coins into his coin purse that it wasn't until Gorath kicked him sharply in the shin that he realized that they weren't alone in this part of the mines.



“I don't recall having given you permission to be here,” growled the apparent leader of the thugs. The large, bull-necked man stalked towards them, one fist balled in front of him as the other dropped to a sword hilt. “Turn Round.”

“We don't want any trouble. We're simply passing through,” locklear replied.

It's a Trap

Immediately, the man turned and snapped his fingers, and moments later his men rushed them, blades drawn.



Owyn and the bull-necked man with the yellow leggings recognized each other at once as fellow spell-casters. Realizing that there were too many of the bravos for Gorath and Locklear to guard him this time, Owyn charged as the other magician retreated. If he couldn't use his spells to aid his newfound companions he could at least deny magic to the other side as well.

Locklear saw Owyn's charge and cried out, moving block a second of the toughs from engaging Owyn while Gorath engaged a third. Owyn, Locklear, and mercenary magician slipped through the melee, the magician taking glancing blows from first the boy and then the squire as they pressed the attack. When Locklear finally penetrated the mage's guard, the fight seemed to go out of the group, and when Gorath struck down his opponent a moment later it was all over.

Owyn stepped back lifted his staff to blind the remaining thugs before Gorath and Locklear stepped in, then sighed as he looked at the places where freshly spilled blood had turned the dirt into a sort of rusty red-brown mud. "Why couldn't they just let us pass?" he asked Locklear, panting a little.

"Men like this only know one way to get what they want," Locklear replied, his face grim as he knelt to begin going through the belongings of the nearest corpse. "And so most end up like this. Sooner or later."

Under the City

After Locklear had secured the money from the corpses and the three had divvied up their gear for sale at the next opportunity, he approached Gorath and Owyn in turn, lifting a strange blue stone towards them.



He explained as he carefully poured it out over their armor, then his own.

"It's a dragon stone. I don't know where they come from or how they're made, but once you treat armor with this liquid," he mutters, flicking a dimly glowing blue drop against Owyn's chest, "it'll douse any flame that hits your armor for a time, even naptha." Locklear nodded in satisfaction as the last of the stone's liquid was exhausted, rendering it inert, and tossed the dimming rock to the side of the passage.

"Anything else new?" Owyn asked.

"Just this," Locklear said, tossing something small and glittering to Owyn.



Owyn nodded, stowed the key, and then grimaced and groaned as he hefted his discarded pack back to his shoulders. "Nnnnf...I hope we don't find anything else down here. I don't think I could carry another silver royal."

Gorath said nothing, but his pack also bulged with looted equipment, as did Locklears. The squire glanced at each in turn, then nodded slowly. "I think it would be best if we were to rest a bit, then head back to LaMut, then. We can try spending the night there again, and see how much we can get for all this at the Fletcher's Post. I doubt the owner will touch the moredhel blades, but the garrison can always use more broadswords and armor.



They rested for several hours, dousing the torches and laying back against their packs in a blackness so complete that when Owyn slowly blinked his eyes he couldn't tell if his lids were open or shut except by paying attention to the feel of them. And then it was up and eastward, slowly climbing back through the winding passageway towards the mine's exit and the King's Highway and LaMut beyond.

LaMut




While Gorath moved silently among the racks of crossbows, inspecting the subtle and not-so-subtle differences of style and material, Owyn negotiated the sale of their surplus equipment with the elven owner. Locklear watched, occasionally glancing out at the foot traffic that flowed outside the shop's front before returning his gaze to his companions and the store's inventory.





With their packs lightened and their funds collected, Locklear counted their coins and smiled wryly. "We've enough for a good meal at the inn, a night's rest, and Sumani's sword lessons," he said, chuckling to himself as he gestured for Owyn and Gorath to follow him. "Things are starting to look up."

((Note: Screen caps are a little out of order. I forgot to get the shop's inventory captured the first time, so the balance there is our funds after Sumani's lesson.))

Back at the Inn of the Blue Wheel, a few moments conversation with Sumani and a quick exchange of coins sealed the bargain that they had made earlier.



Locklear gaped. Striding down from the narrow doorway of the Blue Wheel Tavern was a figure that no longer bore any resemblance to a modest tavern keeper. Obviously having taken his time to refit himself, Sumani had donned a pitted suit of blue laminate armor, the greaves, breastplate and leggings all fashioned out of a light weight glazed wood which creaked as he lumbered towards them.

"Tsurani armor?" Locklear asked.

Sumani adjusted his blue-plumed helm over his eyes. "I was a former Patrol Leader. The Earl Kasumi insisted that I should keep the armor given to me by House Shinzawai. Although I no longer serve in the garrison, my oath of loyalty is still to the Earl. Are you prepared for your lessons?"

"Yes, I think so."

A mischievous glint reflected in the Tsurani's eyes. "Then defend yourselves."

**********

Locklear motioned for a halt to the lessons as he hauled himself for the third time out of the cold LaMutian river. "Okay, mercy, uncle, whatever it is you damnable Tsurani say when you want to surrender."

"Your will, lord," Sumani chuckled, already beginning to resume his modest role as a tavern keeper. "I shall meet you inside the Blue Wheel once you have dried yourselves off."

The companions compared their bruises as they dried themselves and wrung the sweat from their garments. They were bruised and sore, but the afternoon's exertions had taught them more than a week's random skirmishes with moredhel assassins and human rogues could have.

LaMut

They returned to the inn, and after a few hours relaxing and enjoying a rich and spicy Tsurani stew, all three moved towards the beds and the nightmaster in charge of them. The nightmaster, a pocked and unpleasant-looking fellow, seemed both tired and out of sorts. "5 sovereigns for the night," he grumbled, "and if you louse my beds I'll charge you double. We turn you out at sunrise -- oh, and there's a chamberpot in the corner if you need it. Shall I sign you in for the night?"

Locklear settled up the account, and the nightmaster grunted as he pocked the coins. "Room's upstairs," he said. "Have a good rest."

The room was cramped. Shrugging, Owyn stepped over snoring bodies and selected a spot of floor which looked like it might be comfortable for the night, while Gorath squeezed into a bed already occupied by three disheveled looking men. "Ah, the romance of travelling," Owyn said, with a chuckle. "See you all in the morning." In moments, they were all fast asleep.

Daylight arrived. His eyes rimmedred and his stomach turning, James stumbled down the steps to find the inn's nightmaster. Angrily, he pounded on the counter.

"Yes?" the man said, glaring at James. "What is it?"

"One of your patrons last night must have had some kind of sickness. I've been emptying my guts in your bedpans all morning."

The nightmaster looked unsympathetic. "I shall have to see they are cleaned out." Glancing down at his guest book, he ran his finger down the names. "I still seem to have space available this evening. Shall you be staying again?"

Locklear frowned. "Another time, nightmaster," he said, rapping a knuckle against the counter. "A bit of advice, however. You want more customers, I'd advise dropping your prices. Even the Empress of Kesh would balk at what you're asking."

I have no idea who these characters are, or anything about the world the inhabit. Despite that i'm still interested in following this "Let's Play" thread for now, as i've seen people talking fondly about this game before. Another one of those classic PC titles (x-com, ultima) that I never got to play due to my preference for console games.

The trip back to the Mac Mordain Cadal the next morning was over well before noon and without incident. Knowledge of the terrain allowed the party to make good time, and once a torch had been lit



Under the City

They moved just as quickly through the mine's passages. It seemed as if their efforts the day before had not been wasted because they encountered no one but Naddur between the entrance and the passage where they had rested the day before.



After a quick jaunt south revealed nothing but another tapped out chamber, Gorath led the trio north, stopping at another T-intersection to open another chest there. Owyn smiled as the pungent aroma of familiar plants and chemicals wafted from the open chest. "I'll take these," he said, glancing towards Locklear and chuckling. "With the way things have been going since I met you two, no doubt you'll need me patching you up again soon."



Just then, as Owyn was stowing the medical supplies, Gorath straightened. He looked left, west, and pointed that way once before slipping into a crouch that was almost silent but allowed him to move surprisingly quickly. Locklear and Owyn followed, and as they turned the corner and headed south towards a massive chamber each began to catch faint whiffs of something strange, and slightly unpleasant...



Charge into Battle

The ground shook. Startled, Locklear braced himself against the earthen wall of the mine, his widening eyes fixed on the titanic creature that lumbered towards them. “The Brak Nurr, I presume.” He sighed, glancing over his shoulder at Gorath. “This is going to be harder than I thought...”



"It's slow!" Gorath shouted as he and Locklear charged forward to interpose their bodies and blades between the Brak Nurr and Owyn. "Locklear, draw it's attention while I strike, then vice versa, Owyn, take its eyes now!"

Owyn shivered at the sight of the looming creature, but ran forward at an angle even as he did so, waiting until the creature was clearly in view before he raised his staff and began to incant "Despair Thine Eyes". There was a sizzle and a flash, and the Brak Nurr gave a grinding roar of dismay, flailing wildly while first Locklear and then Gorath darted in to slash at its flanks with blades that pinged and and clanged from rock-like hide.

Still, each strike did damage, releasing hissing contrails of foul-smelling vapor, and as the pair worked Owyn continued to hold his spell, steadily directing his body's energy through the magic's structure to sustain its effects. Despite standing rock still while his companions leapt and rolled and lunged, he was as bathed in sweat as either of them, his muscles quivering as he denied the Brak Nurr sight of its enemies.

Finally both dark elf and man delivered ringing blows, cracking and shattering the Brak Nurr's hide and sending it toppling, its fading howl of agony echoing off the walls as it slammed into the tunnel floor in a whoosh of bitter greenish fog.

Locklear backed away, retching. His tongue felt thick and adhesive, a bitter, chalky taste lingering in his mouth and nostrils. He hadn't expected the creature to emit the strange little cloud when it died, but he was glad the battle was finally over. Still dizzy from the fumes and turning unsteadily for breath of relatively fresh air, the squire nearly stumbled headlong over a grinning dwarf.


Introduction, Part 2

Naddur Ban Dok laughed, running over to deliver a solid kick to the Brak Nurr's corpse before returning to grasp Locklear's hand. “You've done it! I 'eard the conflagration down the shaft but I 'ad no idea what was a'happenin'! Congratulations!”

"Right now, I think we all could just use a rest..." Locklear replied, leaning on his sword blade and taking a slow, deep breath as he watched the ecstatic dwarf.

"A rest you'll have and you'll be a'needin' it!" Naddur agreed, laughing. "You'll 'ave to 'ave your strength to be carryin' about all the gold in rewards! Well done!"

The dwarf handed Locklear a pouch of gold coins, then disappeared down the damp shaft of the mine while Owyn and Gorath gathered by his side.

Under the City



"Are we through here?" Owyn asked, mopping sweat from his brow.

"Not just yet," replied Locklear, glancing south towards where the passage was blocked by a bustle of working dwarves, then back north. "There have been several chests with valuable contents down here so far and I'd hate to leave them lying in the dirt of ages."

Gorath hmmphed, nodding towards a corner of the room. "I suggest you start there, then," he murmured, his eyes on a partially buried chest in the room's far corner.

A few moments' work with his picks, and Locklear was passing out rope, torches, rations, and another silver guilder's passkey before he gestured towards the north. "Shall we?"



North again, and North again, and east towards another closed door.



This one, however, was unlocked, and Gorath motioned for silence as he cracked the door slightly and listened. "Something about hunting the stone beast..." he whispered after a time. "It seems they have not heard that we have beaten them to their prey."

Gorath smiled wryly, and then the door was yanked open, sending the moredhel stumbling into the room. Locklear and Owyn followed quickly after, only to draw up short at the sight of the room's occupants.

Fight to the Death

A trio of lanky figures shambled towards them. Worshippers of Guiswa, the red-jawed hunter, the group moved in a disorderly clump, the hollows underneath their vacant eyes adorned with blood-colored whorls of pigment. Splaying a three-fingered hand, a ritual mutilation of The Hunter's priest caste, the largest rasped, “Today, Guiswa ordains that you shall be his prey...”



As the leader produced a crossbow and sent a bolt hissing past Owyn's ear Locklear moved left and Gorath right, each intercepting one of the religious fanatics. Freed from direct threat, the mage blinded each of their enemies in turn, allowing his friends' blades to work swiftly against off-balance defenses. Gorath's opponent was the first to fall, and he snatched up the fallen worshiper's crossbow and sent a wild bolt flying over the leader's head, doing no damage but disrupting his aim. The leader snarled and dropped his crossbow, drawing his sword and rushing towards Owyn even as Locklear polished off his foe as well, sending the gaunt man crashing to the floor clutching a four-inch rent in his stomach.

Gorath had time for a second shot from his purloined crossbow, and this one didn't miss. It slammed into the leader's shoulder, throwing him off-balance while Locklear and Owyn moved in for the kill, Gorath not too far behind. A flurry of blows, and Gorath's blade hacked into the back of the fanatic's neck, nearly severing it and sending the priest sprawling. in the dirt of the chamber.

Under the City

Gorath secured the priest's belongings, smiling slightly as he tossed the spare crossbow and a dozen bolts to Locklear before appropriating the Guiswa follower's superior armor as his own.





A chest in the corner yielded another broadsword and set of armor, and Owyn secured them in his pack before the group reassembled and headed west and south to explore the final passageway of the Mac Mordain Cadal's upper levels save for the area behind the locked door. "Do you think that's it?" Owyn asked, canting his head as they approached what appeared to be a place where the passage widened slightly before dead-ending directly ahead.

"I don't know, Owyn, I-" Locklear started to reply, then gasped and groped for his sword as figures appeared out of the darkness.

It's a Trap



Someone or something screamed a warning. By the time it reached their ears, Gorath had already sized up the situation and drawn his blade. The enemy was upon them in seconds.



The enemy was smarter this time. Knowing they outnumbered the intruders, one moved to cut Owyn off from his magic while three more attempted to mob Locklear and cut him down. The fight was vicious, and if not for the restoratives that Owyn had carried with him as a safeguard against roadside accident both he and Locklear would have fallen.

In the end, though, the added endurance allowed them to turn the tables and mob each of the rogues in turn, bashing them down with a rain of sword and staff blows until finally, it was over.

Shuddering, both Locklear and Owyn nearly collapsed against the wall, breathing hard as the fatigue that the restoratives couldn't wholly remove hit them all at once. Gorath looked them both over intently, and was silent for some time before he moved to secure the weapons, armor, gold, and other goods from their fallen enemies.



A dark sheen appeared as Gorath applied the holy oilcloth, rubbing his sword blade until its surface drank up some of the residue. While its effects could be countered if his opponent had used the same oil, it at least ensured that he would be on even footing with anyone hostile that he met.

Under the City

Moving slowly, Locklear, Gorath, and Owyn made their way back towards the entrance, pausing only to return first to the trapped chest and then to the locked door to the south.



"You said it's an explosive trap?" Locklear asked Owyn, frowning at the seemingly innocuous container.

"I believe so. A charge of naptha vapours held in a bladder, set off by a spring-loaded flint." Owyn replied after a moment's thought. "I couldn't be sure, though. The spell isn't always clear."

"It'll have to be enough," the squire grunted, kneeling before the chest and slipping his picklocks into his hand. Over the next ten minutes Locklear worked carefully. He couldn't

Locklear sweated. Working carefully, he slipped a pick into the chest just above the locking mechanism. He couldn't keep the spring from firing, but perhaps he could remove the flint if he applied....the right...pressure...there! With a dull snap the now-empty spring slammed against the thin bladder and against a metal strike plate just inside it. But without the flint now lying dormant in the bottom of the box there were no sparks and no explosion, and Locklear carefully opened the chest to reveal a small pouch of golden sovereigns, another of silver royals, and a battered but still usable shovel.

"Good," Gorath said as he took the shovel while Locklear added the chest's money to theirs. "We passed the LaMut graveyard on the way here."

"What?" Owyn asked, aghast at what he thought the moredhel must be implying. "Are you suggesting we stop on the way south to dig up bodies?"

"Just as Delekhan's spies use wordlock chests to communicate while in your lands," Gorath replied, his expression and tone giving no hint that he was concerned by the young man's shock, "they use false graves as well. The epitaphs of the false graves give hints to their contents. If we choose carefully we could make our journey easily."

"And if we choose wrong," Locklear said as he stood back up, "we could end up facing the angry spirit of whoever's grave we violated, and Owyn here has no temple magic to dispel the undead."

Gorath shrugged, but did not relinquish the shovel, and soon the group headed south towards the door they had been unable to unlock the first time. While Locklear's was still unable to meet the challenge, the silver keys they had taken from the rogue's infesting the mine's upper level proved quite sufficient, and the door creaked open to reveal a massive chamber whose ceiling was propped up by pillars of stone. A search of the chamber and one beyond it revealed not one but two more wordlock chests, and until the three had more time to ponder the riddles they returned to the entrance and to Naddur Ban Dok.

A handful of their newly acquired gold proved sufficient to satisfy the dwarf, and as the trio gathered round he produced a whetsone and abruptly snatched Locklear's sword from the squire's side.

"Watch what I do and carefully. I don't want ta be repeating meself more often than necessary. First off, ya'll want ta have a wheetstone 'andy. Without it, my trick 'ill be as useless as knees on a fish. The most important thing ta keep in mind is the angle at which ya draw the blade 'cross the stone... It's like this." The dwarf said, slowly demonstrating the stroke and filling the passage with the distinctive zip of good steel on a sharpening surface.

"That's interesting..." Locklear murmured, leaning closer. "You sharpen the blade so the metal's edge has contrary planes. Opposite sides, opposite directions in the grain. Should make for an interesting cut."

"It'll make for a cut that yer opponent won't quick forget. The weaponcrafting lesson's over, lad. We've both got more important things to get to." The dwarf said, standing and moving away down the passage.

"Well," Owyn said, "I suppose we've exhausted the possibilities of this place for now, but I hate leaving those wordlock chests behind us. I don't suppose either of you have an idea of what those riddles might mean?"

((Do we continue with the previous plan and head SE towards Hawk's Hollow? Head straight S towards the abbey of Sarth, repository of much mystical and practical knowledge? Cut back north for a ways to see if we missed any opportunities around Loriel and Tyr-Sog or to check out the rumours that Kiefer Alescook in Loriel deals in stolen gemstones? The choice is yours! Hope you're enjoying!))

Riddles and Locks

Man, I was hoping this would be more fun, but I instantly remembered the second and third.

Also I would recommend the Empire trilogy for anyone who hasn't read it.

I've never even heard of any of this lore, so I'm gonna take a crack at it... let' see...

[Brain] for the second, and
[Drum] for the third?

Well, the later ones are a bit harder, so perhaps we can stump you with those. That's also why I'm not just giving the matrix of letters (which makes it too easy, IMO).

Anything you particularly want to know while I'm waiting for more responses?

Yeah, I'm guessing the third one is drum.

"Birdie" is the the only thing I can possibly guess for the first one. Maybe "jumper."

That first one sounds familiar. [Barrow]? Some of the letters shown line up.

You can never have enough mystical and practical knowledge.

Under the City




Owyn slipped the blessed water into his belt. Despite his recent and rapid education in combat, he was still nowhere near as capable of defending himself as either the squire or the moredhel, and so might well need the blessing the dalatail milk could give him.



Smiling, the young mage slipped the ring of prandur onto his finger as well. "At least we have a backup if we run out of torches. At worst I suppose we can see what it would fetch at a jewelers," He said.



The first chest opened and its contents apportioned, they moved to the next, speaking quietly as the dark walls passed by to either side. After a time, Owyn glanced to Locklear and spoke up. "Gorath, Why are the Brothers of the Dark Path-"

"Moredhel," Gorath cut him off, glancing sharply at the boy. "That, is the name humans have given us without understanding or trying to understand the path my people walk."

"I'm sorry...Moredhel, then..." Owyn said, somewhat chastened. "In any case, why are the Moredhel so active again? Murmandamus' invasion of the Kingdom failed, and I thought that your people had too many clan rivalries and so on to unify under anyone but a legendary figure like Murmandamus claimed to be."

Gorath was silent for a long time. "The past few years have not been good ones for my people, but I will not speak of this here," he said. "I told Locklear that I would provide my information to Prince Arutha in Krondor or to no one, and I will hold to that. Suffice to say that Delekhan is a new power in the Northlands and that he will stop at nothing to prevent me from bringing word to the Kingdom of the Isles."



"Got it," Locklear said in obvious satisfaction as Gorath's fingers slipped the last wheel into place and the chest's clasps snapped upwards. "Let's see what we have..."




Locklear pocketed the money as Gorath withdrew the odd slippers, passing them to Owyn. "Eledhel make," he said as he gave them a quick glance, his expression unreadable. "They will muffle the wearer's footsteps, making even a clumsy man more with a measure of stealth."

Owyn nodded, then scowled as the dark elf added "You need them."

"Thanks," Owyn said, his voice dry as dust. Sure enough, as they moved to the last chest, his footsteps did seem far quieter, even when he tried to scuffle his feet or kick a rock against the mine's walls.

((come on, guys. Nothing for the last one?))

EDIT: ((I've played this game so many times I actually know every single one of these. If you guys can't guess or give up, should I go ahead and solve it, or just move on?))