The StormWatch Chronicles
As seen through the eyes of Drano Battlehammer
Part 1
Update: 03/03/1998 to drano


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April 16, 596

Seeing as the local deities are sated, I can now recount the tale of Stormwatch, the group to which I belong.

This Friday past, I traveled up to the town of Ravenholt, which is not far from the capital city of Evendarr, 
and just thirty minutes north of Springfield. My travelling companion at the time was Delahr the Gray, 
magister and warrior of some power. We arrived, actually, in late afternoon after stopping at the local 
blacksmith's to pick up some unhilted blades which we would be affixing hilts to later in the evening. We 
then journeyed to Ravenholt proper and found our new group's quarters to be in the same building as those 
of the barony of Eastwyck. We greeted Baroness Ganth and Sir Victdar (the poor boy's slowly turning into 
a Liche -- I hope he can stave off the curse. . . ) [Cynesra's Note: Victdar's actually much better now.] as 
well as some of the other members of our team. Cynesra the half-vampire [Cynesra's Note: Umm, Drano, I 
really don't want that so casually announced.] was there, preparing the quarters in shrouds of cloth and 
candles. Her alchemy lab was carefully set up in one corner and her personal belongings in another. Lady 
Chastity, my tutor in the ways of healing arts, was assisting her. Her true love, Squire Gabriel (one of the 
high-powered fighters of our group), was nearby doing the finishing touches to a shield, as Bishop the 
Warrior -- to be wed this weekend -- strode in with his large cache of weapons and armor, one piece of 
which was the dwarven Hammer of Thunderbolts. He bestowed this great gift upon me then, as he was the 
one who trained me in its use, and with a wink, stated, "You'd better not lose it!" Delahr and I took this 
time to hang our name from the front door so that all in town would know where the protectors of the 
common man dwelled. We turned around to a hearty greeting from Sir Nork, Knight of the King, and his 
chosen female -- the wood elf, Rael (a finer elf you've never laid eyes on). Knowing that our other 
companions, Scourge the Half-Ogre, Koryon Greymeir, Tempus, and my clansman, Borax (yes, my two 
clansmen's names are Borax and Ajax - go figure), would not arrive until later, we went about the task of 
preparing ourselves for the weekend to come.

The first night, after opening ceremonies were held, during which the Duke welcomed everyone to town, 
we found ourselves beset upon by the random band of roving trolls and ogres. These being no match for the 
likes of our team, we patrolled the town to prevent the possible harm to any of the townsfolk. Later, while 
patrolling, we came across the evil Warlord Sagramore and his cohorts. Each blow he swung dealt death if 
it connected, and we foolishly ran headlong into it. After a masterful rescue of Sir Nork, who was cut down 
in the initial fray, we decided to perhaps find another way to defeat the Warlord.

The night was cold, but the rain held off, so we awoke in fair spirits the next morn'. The day was spent 
finding a weakness in the Warlord's proverbial armor. When evening fell, we were prepared for the worst . . 
. but it never came. Apparently, Sagramore found his position in our town weakened and thought it better to 
attack when his power was stronger. (Actually, the rain finally came, and that is what forced the Warlord 
back to his own realm.) But he did not leave before our resident Mage Supreme, Tempus, called him a 
"Weenie." It seems Tempus' goal in life is to call each and every high-powered being a "weenie." 
[Cynesra's Note: Tempus isn't going to live long.]

That same evening, by bizarre coincidence, the Brood, a race of bug-like beings, hurling acid and attacking 
with claws and teeth, came to town. Our evening was spent on the cold, wet fields of Ravenholt defending 
the town from the attack of these nasty creatures. Our position was clear -- flank the enemy and hit them 
from where they least expect it . . . among their own lines! It was stated by some that the hit-and-run tactics 
of Stormwatch was a godsend to those who made battle with the bugs. We went through the ranks of the 
chitinous creatures like a hot sword through butter. Our speed was our strong point as we were able to 
cover the entirety of the fields, while other groups maintained their positions. Sir Nork and Squire Gabriel 
cleaved through their armored shells with ease, and the magic forces wielded by Delahr and Tempus 
burned them from the inside out. The Sheriff's men, Anvil, held the Healer's Guild while the forces of the 
baronny of Eastwyck held the manor house and tavern. The bugs tried more than once to rip through the 
magical protective barriers that sealed our cabins, but Stormwatch was on the move and an otherwise 
horrifying situation was made bearable. 

The next day was the raid on the Queen Brood's lair. In a horrendous fight that led us deep into the bowels 
of the earth (where we dwarves are quite at home, thank you) went the combined forces of the Town of 
Ravenholt. Some of the people were impregnated by the Brood, while others felt the paralyzing touch of 
their filthy claws. Still others were burned by their acidic spittle, while some succummed to the constant 
pressing attack of the innumerable ceiling crawlers. Finally, in the close quarters of the Queen's lair and 
amongst some of the most powerful heroes of the realm, Squire Gabriel unleashed a barrage of deadly 
paralytic poison gasses that froze the Queen in mid-bite. The explosion of her paralyzed body shook the 
very foundation of the ground we stood on and covered many people, who were too close, from head to toe 
in her fluids.

The threat of the Brood quelled for the time, we retired to our cabin to enjoy the fine goblin-steaks prepared 
by Chef Scourge . . . .

Until next time....