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

"Earth", maybe?

Mmm... or world.

Those are round, but "Deep as a cup"? Also, I've decided for the sake of making decent daily progress that I'm going to go ahead and play through traps (which you should see before too much longer. They're basically movement puzzles) the way I do combat instead of waiting for the audience to figure them out. I'm still debating how to handle graveyards (of course, I could just dig up every grave, or just the ones that give out goodies).

I had no idea what the answers to any of those were. I am the worst at riddles.

Seive?

Under the City






As Gorath and Locklear each secured one of the blades, Owyn carefully lifted a leatherbound book from the bottom of the chest. Examining its binding closely, the mage turned it this way and that before opening it and beginning to read.



A journal of an unknown dwarf, the majority of the pages in the book were concerned with the creature which the author referred to alternately as a Braek Nuir, Braak Noor, and Brak Nurr. Some mention was also made about a secret chamber in the lower levels of the Mac Mordain Cadal which had once been occupied by someone named Rhuargh.

By the time they reached Naddur's usual spot near the mine's entrance, Owyn had explained the book's content to his companions, and Locklear was ready to ask Naddur about the journal.




The dwarf said, looking wistful for a moment. "It's buried somewhere beyond where our digging is at the moment. At one time there was quite a bit of treasure there - an unfortunate large amount of it concealed in chests with moredhel wordlocks - and perhaps there may still be. Come back later and mayhap we'll see it together!"

"Yes, we found this journal in a moredhel chest," Locklear said. "What do you know about these wordlocks?"

"A more bastardly lock never there has been crafted, not by dwarf nor man," Naddur said, shaking his head sadly. "It's got little wheels what a body turns, each representing a letter of the alphabet. In order to open the chest, you've got to make the letters spell out a word what the lock's designer had in mind to open it up. Most 'ave a clue plate attached to the front what's written in moredhel - in case the lockmaker forgets the word. Of course the clue plate's of no use to the vast majority of Kingdom folk. Written in bloddy moredhel!"

((Transcriber's note: You can only ask about wordlocks after you get the journal and ask about Rhuargh...which means you have to have opened a wordlock chest. Well, no one ever said dwarves were bright.))

Locklear nodded, hiding his smile at Naddur's grasp of the obvious before asking for the lesson the dwarf had promised on weapon repair. A handful of gold later, the dwarf was ready to teach, and gathered them in close as he produced a whetstone in one hand and whipped the squire's sword from its sheath with the other.

"Watch what I do and carefully. I don't want ta be repeating meself more often than necessary," the dwarf said, holding the sword out so that they could all clearly observe the way in which he set the blade's edge against the whetstone. "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 demonstrated the technique slowly, repeating it several times so that each could grasp the fundamentals, and the sound of steel on sharpening stone filled the passageway.

"That's interesting..." Locklear murmured. "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 yar opponent won't quick forget," said Naddur, smiling as he returned the sword to Locklear. "The weaponcrafting lesson's over, lad. We've both got more important things to get to."

"Very well, Naddur, and thank you," the squire said, nodding to the retreating dwarf before gesturing towards the mine's exit passage.



Daylight filtered in from above. Following the ascending shaft of the Mac Mordain Cadal into daylight, they emerged at last on a road leading to the east and the King's Highway.




((Unless there's a sudden change in votes, it looks like most of the active followers have posted, and so I'll be doing a bit of logistical cleanup, then heading towards Hawk's Hollow. From there, we'll see what develops with regards to Makala's stolen Ruby, shall we?))

It could also be that being the earliest those were the ones I obsessed over the most. I'm definitely looking forward to more of them.

Excellent job so far, Brer! You're spoiling us with those animations, you know. And I forget how much of the text is Feist's and how much is your own, but they seem to blend well enough. Nicely written.

(And even though reading about the Hunters of Guiswa and Dalatail Milk is like singing along to an old favourite on the radio, I can't actually remember how this game ends. Rest assured, I'm in this for the long haul.)

I found that screenshots couldn't capture the combat system, I don't really have a good setup to do video capture (though that might be an easier solution), and I don't have the writing chops to make all the combats there'll be before the end different and interesting. It's certainly more labor intensive than I'd like but I don't really see a better option, though I'm open to suggestions.

As for the writing, it is a mix, and thank you. Although -I- can certainly see places where I think it's shit, and the writer for this game was actually Neal Hallford, not Feist (Feist approved everything, but all the text you see in the game is Hallford. I don't know what happened to him when Sierra and its studios like Dynamix got butchered).

I'll try (no promises this time) to get one more post up tonight, and one or two more per day until wednesday assuming feedback on choices and riddles and so on, then I'll be on hiatus while I drive from CO to MI and set up shop on my father's computer. I don't know how often I'll be able to update while visiting family, but I'll try to work a couple in there.

This time as they headed back to LaMut for rest and supplies, Gorath gestured towards the town's cemetary to the south of the western road. Seeing the moredhel begin freeing the shovel from his pack, Locklear shook his head once, and then a second time more dramatically. “No. You can't seriously be thinking of desecrating graves because some might contain caches of equipment or notes being passed between Delekhan's agents.”



“Would you prefer to move south in ignorance?” Gorath asked, gesturing towards one headstone with the inscription 'Rosel LaMutian: Her face was sweet and her hands could heal'. “Before I came south and met you I spoke with kin who had worked in your Kingdom for a time. They told me of this graveyard, and there are four caches here. This is one. Watch.”

Locklear grimaced in disgust, but fell silent as the broad-shouldered dark elf began to dig. After a time, Owyn shot the squire a guilty look and moved to help, and before long they found not a body or coffin, but a carefully maintained hollow of earth filled with an oilcloth sack. There was a clink of glass from inside, and when Owyn reached into the sack's mouth his hand emerged clutching a vial of bright green liquid. “Restoratives,” he murmured, glancing first towards Locklear and then towards the inscription.

“ '..and her hands could heal.'” Locklear muttered, his face darkening before he spat into the earth. “Of all the places to set up caches of goods....where are the others?”

Gorath gestured to three other graves, and as the three took turns each disgorged a small prize. From 'Goldie Crowe: In death her face was that of a sovereign' they found a pouch of the golden coins. From 'Klamontala Pechta: Touched by flames for honor's sake' they retrieved a small quarrel of bolts with naptha bladders attached to the heads




LaMut



The night passed quickly enough, a mixture of sleep in the Blue Wheel's rooms and careful work by Gorath and Locklear as they sharpened their swords and inspected their armor. The next morning they headed back to the King's Highway...but north, not south. According to Sumani, the nearest place they could possibly sell their moredhel blades was The Crossroads in Yabon. It was that, or go all the way to Questor's View for less than half the price.




((Note: In the books, most of the towns are way bigger than in the game. It was 1993. For the time, these were some moderately high poly counts.))

As they approached the outskirts of the town Owyn paused, looking a bit nervous.

Mercantile



Owyn haggled over the price for the lampreys, while Gorath carefully lifted the massive but startlingly light and razor-sharp greatsword, only to pale slightly when the shopkeeper told him the price.




Locklear busied himself by selecting more practical goods, and ones within reach of his recovering purse. "Owyn, you can deal with the man about these," he said, handing the young man a whetstone and armorer's hammer.




"You mean you'll pay that much?" the shopkeeper gushed by the time Owyn finished negotiating with him over the price of the two items. "Eh, why that will be...fine. I'm taking quite a loss of course, but it's good for business." The mage was smiling as they left the shop and turned into town, but the expression was tinged with more than a little puzzlement. He wasn't quite sure who had gotten the better of whom back there.

They decided to loop through the town before returning to the King's Highway, and the trip was quick and mostly uneventful, though several times Gorath stopped to look at a band of Hadati where they passed, their twin swords and tartans marking the hillmen as warriors, or at the larger town-houses. At one, Owyn started and leapt forward to tug his companion's sleeve forcefully.

"Definitely not a good idea," Owyn said, glancing up at the house for only a moment before he renewed his efforts to move the dark elf. "This is my aunt's house. As much as I would love the opportunity to explain why I'm traveling with a moredhel, I think we should leave."

The only other point of interest was an abandoned and shuttered laundry at the town's northern outskirts. It had been closed long enough for the windows to be completely fogged over with accumulated grime, and in a moment of unexpected inquisitiveness Locklear insisted on picking the lock and was rewarded with a set of kingdom armor for his troubles.

The town thoroughly explored, the trio headed back south, soon passing LaMut and the road to the Mac Mordain Cadal as they continued south towards Zun.

They had come perhaps an hour south of the road to the mine when Locklear's steps slowed, then stopped. They were being watched. Frowning and unsure where their observers were located, Locklear wheeled about just in time to see a pair of moredhel slipping from behind the trees and rushing towards them!

Charge into Battle



The fight was over quickly. Moving rapidly to execute a strategy that had started to become second nature to them, Locklear and Gorath each intercepted a warrior while Owyn held back, concentrating as he darkened the vision of first one would-be assassin, then the other. Locklear's blade flashed as he neatly deflected a heavy downward blow from his opponent off to the side, leaning left for just a moment before his arm snapped out to drive the tip of his broadsword neatly through the dark elf's neck. Gorath had slightly more trouble, but when his blade finally did connect the enchantment of the clerical oilcloth he'd used in the Mac Mordain Cadal took hold, seeming to almost pull the blade deeper into flesh. Locklear moved to flank Gorath's foe, and within moments the second moredhel lay dead as well and silence returned to the road.



Divvying up their spoils, Owyn smiled at first when he caught sight of a ration bundle in a sack at one moredhel's hip. His smile faded, however, when he took a closer look.



“Come on,” Locklear said as Owyn tossed the ruined food aside. “We're nearly to Zun, and from there it's a short jaunt to the road to Hawk's Hollow. Since it was obvious by now that staying off the roads was useless, the group made better time and in more comfort, proceeding rapidly towards the large tavern that marked where the outskirts of Zun intersected the King's Highway.




They turned west at The Green Cat, the tavern's name proclaimed by an inexpertly carved and painted feline that swung above its door. “It may be that the locals have news of the area,” Owyn said, glancing around the village. “We should ask around before we move on.”

Locklear nodded and picked one door at random, knocking firmly and then blinking in surprise as the door was yanked violently open. Bleary-eyed and smelling of alcohol, a fortyish-looking man sneered at them. “Well, what do you want?” he shouted. “Out with it!”

“We were hoping you could give us the local news or perhaps some directions,” Locklear tried to say, but the man cut him off, bloodshot eyes blazing with a mixture of confusion and anger.

“Directions?! Directions?!” He bellowed, lifting an empty wine bottle from the floor. “I'll give you directions!”

Before Locklear could react, he felt the impact of the wine bottle against his skull and stumbled backwards into Owyn's arms as the door slammed shut. Gorath strode forward, his face grim and his blade already half drawn before Locklear managed to get out “Leave it be, Gorath...it's just a bump on the, nnf, head. I'll live.”

They had better luck elsewhere. At one house a woman was preparing mushrooms she planned to sell to the local herbalist, Kege, for use in his restoratives. “You know what they say,” the cheerful woman chattered on as she chopped the fungi up and dropped each handful into a pot full of boiling water. “You can kill me but you can't eat me.”

“That's a...strange expression,” Owyn said after a moment's thought. “What does it mean.”

“To tell the truth, I don't know,” the woman admitted with a wide grin. “It was something that the Baron Kevin always used to say. Never could make any sense out of it. Now if you'll excuse me I really must be running along.”

They said their goodbyes and kept moving, stopping only long enough for Gorath to find a crossbow string in one of Zun's deserted houses.



Gorath swapped his crossbow's string for the newer one, and then they were back on the road, moving south towards the crossroads that was visible in the distance.

Do you get any new spells in Chapter 1?

You can get most of the spells for Owyn in Ch.1 if you really want to and are willing to do some tricky sequence breaking (mostly by getting enough money for supplies and healing and heading into the Dimwood to raid the moredhel chests there).

There are at least three copies of Flamecast on a semi-direct route to Krondor and so I'm sure the developers intended you to at least pick that up (which I have, as you'll see once I get this next set of posts up ). The surplus scrolls are an excellent source of starting capital. It's been awhile, but I'm pretty sure I'll also get Fetters of Rime, and possibly others. You can buy spells (mainly at Sarth), but they're several hundred gold apiece, you can't haggle the prices down, and every spell in the game is available from combats and chests so I usually prefer to acquire them that way.

I also suck at riddles, but I'm really enjoying your style. I tried to play through this game via DOSbox, but I just couldn't get it to run properly. Which is a shame, since I am a Feist fan and read through the novelization of this game.

"Hold here," Locklear said, stopping suddenly and gesturing to the east. "Do you see that?" He asked, pointing a gap between two hills.

Gorath squinted, then nodded slowly "Someone has moved a heavy load along a path there and then attempted to conceal it. Recently. We should investigate."

"Investigate?" Owyn said, canting his head at the other two. "What happened to our need for haste?"

"I'm starting to think that speed won't help us," murmured the Squire as he led them to where the partially obscured footpath led towards a low saddle in the hills.




The cache was shallow and poorly concealed, fresh dirt standing out clearly against the ground cover, and while a quick search turned up only another bad ration and a few handfuls of silver, it was something and confirmed that someone had passed this way in the last few days. Gorath motioned for silence as they proceeded, rounding a bend and coming to a hollow in the hills bounded to the east by a sheer slope, almost a short cliff. A chest lay in the center of the clearing, and as they saw it Locklear and Owyn moved forward, their caution slipping for a moment even as a little rain of pebbles scattered down from the eastern slope.

Gorath frowned, bending forward to examine a part of the debris that looked odd.

It was a small brass button.



"Locklear, Owyn, ware!" He shouted, even as their attackers leapt at them from the slope above.

Fight to the Death



The fight was quick and vicious. Despite the element of surprise, Owyn was able to tumble away, sending up a spray of twigs as one of pair of moredhel warriors swung at him, his blade whistling just over the boy's back. Gorath lept forward before Owyn's attacker could recover, sending his curved lamprey snaking in past its twin to slice a shallow but painful gash along the moredhel's side.

The dark elf howled in pain and thrust at Gorath again and again, but each time the other's guard remained unbroken. And then it was Gorath's turn as he slammed his weapon into the other moredhel's, nearly knocking the warrior off his feet and following up with a series of hard fast strokes with his curved lamprey. The blade bit hard, repeatedly slipping past an uneven defense to sink the teeth that gave the lamprey its name into wool and leather and flesh, until finally the moredhel collapsed backwards, sword falling from his hands. Gorath snarled, springing forward and swinging his curved blade in a tight arc that opened the other moredhel's throat while his body was still falling backwards, so that it was a corpse that hit the ground.

While Locklear lacked Gorath's strength, he was a better swordsman, and the squire's sword-arm twisted and then extended again and again, deflecting the moredhel's strike each time before lashing out in reprisal. Finally, he finished it, a quick parry slapping his opponent's blade aside, baring the back of his hand for a quick disarming stroke before the sandy-haired man lunged forward and neatly ran the moredhel through.

Owyn panted, kneeling by the unlocked chest and lifting its lid as the other two searched the bodies of their foes.




He blinked in surprise at the parchment and the familiar sense of power. It had to be a transcribed spell.



Locklear and Gorath approached the mage and glanced down at the scroll in his hands. "What have you found?" Locklear asked, his voice quiet.

"A spell...one meant for use in combat, I think. It's getting dark, but if we can camp here for the night I'll have time to learn it, I think." Owyn said, starting to examine the cord that held the tightly wrapped scroll closed.

They agreed, and as the day's light left them they started a small fire. Although he could have wished for better circumstances under which to study it, Owyn broke the scroll's wax seal and began to read. After a hour's laboring with the difficult language he was able to commit the incantation to memory. While the words on the parchment etched indelible patterns in his mind, the scroll grew brittle, then crumbled slowly between his fingers like sun-dried leaves.

"I have it," Owyn murmured, looking a little dazed. "The spell summons a ball of fire that will fly through the air and explode when it encounters a solid object."

Gorath nodded slowly. "You may have need of it before long," he said.

A bird shot into the sky. Searching the landscape for the source of the animal's discomfort, Gorath whispered...



Locklear cursed suddenly as a low hum filled the air. “Don't move!” he called to the others, watching as several rods topped with strange crystals began to rise out of holes in the roadsize. “We wandered straight into the trap.”He'd seen the holes, but the significance of their identical size and perfect alignment had escaped him until it was too late. Now the only way out of the trap was through it. What had that damned note said?

Into the Trap



((You can see why turning on the grid is a good idea for traps. This was really the "tutorial" trap.))

Locklear carefully threaded his way between the odd poles and, once the other two had followed his lead, they gave a collective sigh.

Introduction, Part 2






Gorath nodded slowly. "It is entirely possible. Even before I escaped from his fortress, it was rumored that the magicians with whom he has been keeping company had such talents. I know that his assistant Nago claimed to have such powers, though I never saw evidence of such," he said, glancing north for a moment.

"And if Delekhan has the capacity, then he'll use it and his assistants," Locklear added, sighing. "We will have to be cautious and watch out for any who seem like magicians as we head for Krondor. Both of you, keep your eyes open."

Owyn and Gorath both nodded, and they set out down the eastern fork of the road, passing through a cut in the hills towards Hawk's Hollow.

It wasn't too long before Locklear's fears about the Moredhel lines of communications seemed to be borne out. Not an hour later a small party of moredhel in line abreast appeared on the road, sweeping west toward them.

"They know we're here," Gorath said, drawing his sword and moving forward to place himself in clear view before Locklear could order them off the road. "We must cut through."

Locklear swore again, but nodded, his own sword rasping free while he moved to the moredhel's side. Owyn, meanwhile, swallowed hard and frantically reviewed the spell he had learned the evening before. With his heart pounding in his chest, he watched the enemy close in. Fighting the urge to turn around and run, he forced himself to remain calm, forced himself to show no fear – despite the feelings of near panic that threatened to overwhelm him. He'd killed for the first time just a few days ago, and now he was about to try and use his magic to kill again.



Charge into Battle



The mage concentrated, lifting his staff and beginning the incant the spell. The air around them grow cold even as a glowing spark of light grows between his cupped free hand and the head of his staff. The spark grew rapidly, flaring into a ball of yellow-orange fire that roared when he released it towards the moredhel, swelling as it flew until it was nearly two feet across.

It struck the center moredhel dead center, and the dark elf screamed as he was first engulfed in fire and then blown back by the fireball's explosion, his charred corpse tumbling even as the warriors to either side twisted away, seared by the heat and partially stunned by the blast. Locklear gaped for a moment, then took advantage of their enemies' surprise to unsling the crossbow he'd acquired in the Mac Mordain cadal, sending a bolt into the side of the furthest moredhel while Gorath intercepted the nearer.

Owyn shuddered, both with the effort of the spell and with its effects, but when Locklear demanded another spell Owyn gathered his will and began to pour it into the spells structure. The effect was weaker this time to spare his friends the worst of the damage, and with two more flashing orbs the second moredhel collapsed, writhing about in a vain effort to extinguish the magical flames while Locklear and Gorath cut down the last enemy.

((phew. Are these combat descs getting too long, guys? They're sort of fun to write, but I wonder if they're helpful and if I can keep them going for the whole game.))

They searched the bodies, and Owyn again secured several packs of rations.



Frowning, he sniffed carefully, then set the rations aside. "I don't know," he said when Locklear noticed his troubled look. "I just don't trust these two here. We've enough food for now that we don't need to take everything we find."

Locklear nodded, and soon they'd regathered their packs and set out east once more, threading between the hills until a broad white building appeared in the distance.





Like most of Midkemia's places of worship, the temple's exterior was devoid of any kind of adornment that might be carried off by wandering thieves. "I would really like to know why it is that the priests who design these Temples can’t see fit to let someone know what god or goddess is being worshipped inside," Locklear growled. "Would a sign really be too much to ask for?"

Temple

Incense swirled. Striding between the columns of the temple, Locklear made for the heavy wooden doors which had been sealed against the daylight and which preserved the privacy of any ceremonies in progress. Pulling a tasseled rope which hung next to the door, he awaited the response of the door warden...



Noting the odd design on the room's wall, Locklear stepped closer, frowning as he examined it's many lines and prcecise angles.

"I see the mandala interests you." Turning, Locklear noticed a thin young man standing in the archway, his hands hidden in the folds of his robe. "While the relations between the temples and the new Academy of Magic at Stardock have been cool, it is one of the treasures they have passed on of the Tsurani magic. It has given us great mobility."

"Mobility?" Locklear asked. "How can a painting help you move?"

The acolyte smiled. "It would be easier to explain by example. Tell me about a place you are familiar with, a place where you have spent a good deal of time." Locklear shrugged, describing the place he had grown up, the layout of the rooms, the various things associated with his home.

"Very good," the man replied. "As you described those things to me, doubtless you also experienced certain memories through which you were able to relive your past. In the same way, these mandalas help us locate a place. By memorizing a pattern painted on the wall of a specific temple, we may will ourselves there."

"I could think my way home with this?"

"No. The memory of your home would be too unfocused for you to make the attempt. But, if you were to memorize this pattern, you could return here by recalling its image in your mind when assisted by the power of another Temple."

Locklear looked back at the mandala, lost in thought for a moment, his eyes soaking up the intricacies of it. "I assume there would be some fee associated with moving between locations?"

The acolyte nodded. "As simple as it is in concept, it still requires a great deal of effort to move even a single individual, though I am told the Tsurani Great Ones move about with less effort. I believe Pug wished to restrict our knowledge of this in some ways until we had proven we would not abuse its power."

A bell sounded.

Abruptly a darkly robed priest swept into the room and came to a halt behind Locklear. "I was alerted that you might desire to use the mandala."

"Desire, perhaps, but I haven't seen any of the other symbols," Locklear said. "I don't suppose you could go with us?"

"I am regret that I cannot assist you," the priest said. "My duties require I stay here to guide others that wish to arrive. I am sorry."

Temple



"I don't suppose we may speak to the high priestess of this temple?" Locklear asked, and when an acolyte agreed they were shown to a chamber.

Here, there were no flagstones or chipped tiles underneath their feet, but instead a thick carpet of grass jeweled with dew. At the far end of the room, a pair of yew trees overarched a throne of woven reed, upon which was seated a striking looking woman, her shoulder length black hair bound behind her back with a green cord.

"I am the High Priestess of this Temple," she said musically. "Killian welcomes you to her domain. Come. Be seated."

Listening with keen interest to the stories told by Locklear, the priestess remained as motionless as a statue. At last, she folded her hands in her lap and sighed heavily.

"That was most entertaining," she said. "I particularly liked the part about the drunk. But I would advise you in the future to keep an eye on the food you eat. You shouldn't simply gulp down the first thing you find without taking a look at it first."

Properly chastened, Locklear shrugged his shoulders and promised he would be more careful in the future. Cheered, he didn't mind when the High Priestess escorted them from the room and the temple.




Not far east of the Temple, they came across two northern paths. While the first led to nothing but a long-disused campsite, a plume of smoke rose from the end of the second.

Locklear gasped.

Severed heads spun in grey space before him as disembodied arms and legs flailed together with a sound much like the clashing of...kitchen scullery? Looking closer, he realized that the body parts were not in fact, body parts, but instead very tarnished pieces of armor that had been suspended from the shops rafters.

"You there, careful! It may all come down on our heads!" A gnomish man approached from the rear of the shop, a match held tight between his fingers. "Should have knocked. Nearly didn't hear you from upstairs - I can see why you came in though. Your armor is in quite a state. Another blow to your suit and you'll look like those lot up there. I'll fix you right up."

"If it's all the same, I'd prefer to buy an armorers hammer..."

"I'm sure you would, but I'm not in the business of ruining my livelihood. I'm an armorer and I make my living in repairs. People go fixing their own and I'm out of business. Right?"

Mercantile



Locklear paid and the three rested while Joseph meticulously examined and repaired their armor, not finishing with a single piece until it was as good as the day it was made. "Thank you, Joseph," Owyn said as they retrieved their mended equipment, "but why put a shop like this way out here?"

"I'm not much for company," Joseph said as he turned to head back into his shop, "and I'm good enough that any who really need my services can come to me. It's quiet out here except for my own hammering, and I like it that way. Good day to you."

Back on the road, they turned southeast and had come another few miles before Owyn spotted something in a low area to the north of the road.



Riddles and Locks



((Alright, it's time to pause again. Feedback and any requests for changes in direction are encouraged, as are guesses for this riddle.))

((Edit: Since the Brak Nurr sidequest is complete, I'm going to go ahead and procede with recovering Makala's Ruby in preparation for my next set of posts unless people post and want me to skip it and get with the fleeing south. For reference, in this chapter there are two other quests, one relatively minor one you can start up by Tyr-Sog, and one over by Tannevers and Eggley. There's also a plot-relevant encounter between Questor's View and Sarth which we can skip or hit at your discretion. I'd like to hit it because it yields plot, good gear, and if I remember correctly a spell for Owyn))

I bet the answer is fog this time.

I forgot how many moredhel chests there are. Change of plans. I'm going to post them in batches to give me breathing space while I work on getting segments uploaded, and you can guess while I work ahead. If no one can guess them, I move on in the game without opening them. How does that sound to everybody? In the meantime, here are a few more to chew on:



Also:

[L][T][R][F][K][Q][I][E]

You will invite him into your house, Yet you know him not.
Once you get to know him, This thing he will no longer be.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
[B][O][C][D][L][F]

He gets short when he gets old. He goes out then it gets cold.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
[S][P][D][V][Z][W]

It can move over water, But cannot fly.
It can move under water, But stay quite dry.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
[N][P][L][D][F][X]

In all the world, none can compare
To this tiny weaver,
His deadly cloth
So silky and fair.

Also, I'll try to get an update up tomorrow, but if I can't it'll have to wait until the weekend. Sorry, but I have a car trip to prep for tomorrow.

Hmm... I distinctly remember another trap. And using Owyn to "solve" it.

EDIT: Some of these locks seem familiar. I wonder if I encountered them when I played.
2: STRANGER
3: CANDLE
5: SPIDER

1: KEY
4: SHADOW

And I'm always up for extra plot, by the way.

If I have time before your next update, maybe I'll try taking a crack at these riddles.

In any case, if that plot-relevant encounter is what I think it is, we need to go do that. And the Makala's ruby thing, too. After that, I say we go to Krondor and look for some betrayal or something.

I've white'd out my answers, thanks to everyone else that did so!

1.) KEY
2.) STRANGER
3.) CANDLE
4.) SHADOW
5.) SPIDER

please hit all plot points, we want to see the whole game!

Locklear secured the picklocks and equipment from the wordlocked chest with the fog riddle, then stood slowly. “Alright, let's keep moving. We'll stop at Hawk's Hollow and see how the land lies. If it looks clear, we can push south, and otherwise we can try looping north to Loriel to throw off pursuit and to see this Alescook fellow about Makala's stolen ruby,” he said, gesturing back towards the road.





Hawk's Hollow lay tucked into the southern end of broad and hilly valley that marked the transition between the high Yabon Hills to the north, and the Calastius Mountains that separated the King's Highway from the narrow strip of civilization that ran along the Dimwood's southwestern borders. The little town seemed quiet as they approached, and when Gorath tried the door of the Dusty Dwarf Inn he found it locked. When it was apparent no one was coming to open up, Locklear shrugged. "Well, it would seem the common folk have taken Prince Arutha's laws to heart. Doors only open from midday to midnight," he said with a sigh. "But I suppose someone had to ensure the farmers weren't drinking when they should be in the fields. Sometimes he really takes all the fun out of life..."

Owyn shrugged. “Well, if nothing else we can sell the shells we saved at the Woolen Man. I've heard my father speak of it before and the owner's one of the best brokers in the Western Realm for gems and jewelry.” He said, gesturing to the low building tucked deeper into the small community.





While Owyn took their small supply of looted baubles to deal with the shopkeeper, Locklear led Gorath around the town. At an old abandoned tavern they found enough preserved vegetables and cured meats to make a week's ration for their party, as well as a pile of spoiled food. Most of the other homes were closed as their occupants were out for the day working in their fields or hunting in the valley. A few, however, were occupied.

At one, Gorath was met by a fractional crack in the door and a hissing, frantic voice from within. “Your hands,” it demanded.

“Excuse me?” Gorath said, shooting a puzzled glance at Locklear, who simply shrugged back.

“Show me your hands,” the voice repeated, sounding even more insistent. “Palms up, thumbs out, and don't make any sudden moves.”

A slight smile playing about the corner of Gorath's lips, the dark elf complied, extending both his hands for the stranger's examination. On command he turned his hands over again, waiting for the judgment of the voice in the house.

“You pass,” it finally said, though it sounded no calmer. “All right then, listen carefully and don't ask any questions.”

“What is this about?” Gorath asked, starting to scowl at the barely opened door.

“I said no questions!” the voice snapped. “Suffice it to say that I know you can be trusted with what I have to say because you don't bear The Sign. You should be be on the lookout for scrolls or anyone bearing scrolls. Read them carefully. They could save your life. Be Safe.”

“Scrolls?” Gorath asked, “Why? What's on these scrolls? Does it have anything-” And then the door slammed in his face.

“Well, that was strange,” Locklear said, shaking his head slowly. “Let's move on.”

In a way, the next house was stranger still.





Shrugging, the squire lead his companion to the last house in the village, one on its western outskirts, where A man invited them inside. "Come in. My name's Lucan," he introduced himself as he slapped his guests on their backs. "Nice to meet you. I haven't had visitors in some while. You know it gets kind of lonely up here and the kids don't come down too often. You have kids? They're a marvel don't you think and..."

Locklear seized Lucan's wrist and gave it a savage twist, forcing a shiny sovereign to fall from the man's pained fingers. Everyone watched in shocked silence as the gold clattered to the floor. "I almost didn't feel you nabbing that from my purse," Locklear said. "You're not bad thief, but not good enough."

"Don't kill me," Lucan pleaded. "Please. I don't have anything to give you, but I'll do anything. I'll...I'll teach you!"

"You'll what?" Gorath sputtered.

"I'll teach you, yes, that's it!" Lucan said, his face brightening. "Spare my life and...and I'll teach you what I know about locks! Everything! What do you say?"

Locklear arched an eyebrow... "Very well, Lucan," he said. "You may teach us, but if we leave here with any less than we came in with..."

"No, no, no. You have my word. Just sit here and I'll be right back. I'll go and fetch my practice locks and I'll be right back."

"Nice try, but no. You're staying here." Locklear pushed Lucan to a seated position. "Just tell Thorgath where your practice locks are and he'll fetch them. Then we'll start our lessons..."

Having resigned himself to the fact that he wasn't going to escape, Lucan lectured and demonstrated for the better part of the day before he set his practice locks aside. ”That's it," he mumbled, wiping perspiration from his brow. "That's all I know."

"Good enough," Locklear said. "I think we will be on our way now. And Lucan, for your continued health, I would suggest that you get out of the thieving business."

As the pair walked back towards The Woolen Man in a comfortable silence, Gorath once more examined a human settlement. He was always amazed at how fast the humans bred and built, spreading like rabbits...or rats, across the continent despite feuding among each other much in the way his people's clans had since the Moredhel had been left this world by their long-departed masters.

“-ing to lose it, Gorath.”

The moredhel shook his head, setting his thoughts aside and glancing back to Locklear, noting as he did that Owyn had apparently finished in the shop and was now walking towards them. “Excuse me?” He said, head canted slightly.

Locklear chuckled and shook his head. “I said, Gorath, that if you didn't keep your head in the here and now until we get to Krondor you were likely to lose it,” the squire said, gesturing west. “But first, I noticed something when we were at Lucan's. A well-worn path headed behind that hill to the west of town. If he's been thieving in this area long I'll bet my sword that he's got a cache for his loot off that way.”

Owyn blinked as he heard Locklear's last statement, shooting the slightly older man a puzzled glance even as he handed over their profit. “Lucan?” He asked.

“Another time,” Gorath said, nodding to Locklear. “He is right, we should investigate this.”