The StormWatch Chronicles As seen through the eyes of Drano Battlehammer Part 4 Update: 24/03/1998 to drano ------------------------------------------------------------------------ June 17, 596 Once again, I take pen in hand. . . . It was a hot, humid Friday evening when we arrived in Ravenholt. A dense fog lay across the land as the forces of weather vied against each other to gain prowess over the field. We went to the town hall for the "opening ceremonies," then back to the cabin for some refreshment and to meet some new faces. Daerath the Wondercat showed his furry face for the first time. A nice Sarr with a propensity for dealing damage. There was also Lord Alaryn (forgive me if I misspell) and Nunsa from Ashbury. I found travelling with the hobling and drae amusing and rewarding. On to other things. . . . It seems that since the jaunt with Primus, the members of Anvil, the town protectorate, have managed to finally bring relative peace to the Duchy. Not a single goblin reared its head in town that night. Feeling somewhat safe, our group split up and pursued our own avenues of entertainment for the evening. Some slept, some scouted in the woods, some went hunting for sport, and a few went to the tavern to perform music for the gathered townsfolk. Me? I got dead drunk. Which is why the next part of this tale will have to be taken with a grain of salt . . . it was relayed to me by a citizen who shall not be named at this time, while I was in my pleasant state of inebriation. "They came out of the darkness and the fog just before dawn. A pale moon cast an eerie pallor over the field and the fog cast a strange dullness to the sounds of the night. It was somewhat like being in a closed tomb. Roughly a dozen shadowy figures oozed from the blackness and singled out a small group of townspeople, including the Duchess. They asked to be led to where Vastin -- the mighty blade-swinger from Anvil -- was staying. The Duchess refused and told the visitors that they were not welcome here. Leave or be executed. The leader of the strange group was an elf in dark robes. With a haughty laugh, he ordered his followers to tend to him, and they proceeded into town. "The wispy figures then encountered more townsfolk, and when verbally accosted, the elven leader said, "Get them, my minions!" And so began the battle for our lives as we met the dreaded 'Black Rose.' Led by a Death Knight of great prowess, an elven spell-caster of incredible power, and a spectre who wielded the powers of chaos, the nine greater Revenants took that first group in the blink of an eye. A half-dozen dark elves lay at their feet in the amount of time it takes to swing a blade. Some of the more prominent members of the town rushed to their rescue. From my vantagepoint, I watched as roughly forty people including members of Dragonshire, Capulus, and the Dragon & Pawn were summarily cut down as swiftly as one could run a knife through a pat of melted butter. The speed and efficient killing of the Black Rose was a frightening sight to behold, though not as frightening as the number of people who lay in pools of blood at that time. Nearly all forty of that first wave lay dead or dying upon the cold hard ground - and not one of the Rose even appeared scratched. I could only watch, frozen in fear, as the elf laughed haughtily at what his Black Rose had wrought. Even more unnerving, they knelt to the dead and raised them as walking minions of darkness to create havoc among the town. Carving messages into the undead flesh, they sent their zombies shambling about town in a show of unmitigated arrogance. "But the town of Ravenholt has not survived for as long as it has by harboring cowards. Baron Alaric roused the rest of the sleeping townsfolk including Eastwyck, Westmarch, and the town protectorate of Anvil. They took to the field and brought the battle to the Dark Ones. It seemed as if the rallying forces of the town would scare off the intruders. But then, I saw in horror, the Black Rose performing an amazing feat of trickery. In the dark, foggy predawn, they infiltrated the crowd, proclaiming, "Beware! They're all around us!" and, "Do you need healing?" Then they laid about them in the middle of the gathered throng! We screamed for Stormwatch to aid us! Anvil! Eastwyck! - but many of them were out of earshot. Scores of townspeople fell, like so many slaughtered cattle. But then, it happened. . . . "The first one fell! With a whoop and a holler, the townsfolk rallied and rained spell and sword alike against the Evil Horde. I saw one fall to a life spell, another to a flurry of blows by multiple warriors. The Elf cried a retreat, but only half of them fled. Many more folk were dropped and healed, but we were winning! They were fleeing! Some of the braver heroes tried to pursue them, but the Elf sent two of his minions to guard his retreat -- and they did so with surprising success. Another dozen folk were felled by the spectre and revenant left behind, and the last four of the Black Rose escaped into the deep woods as dawn struck. I'm still not sure if it was the valiant efforts of the town that finally cut down those last two, or the rising sun on the horizon. Whatever it was, it was enough -- and the threat of the Rose was quelled once again. Heading back to my cabin, I saw a pair of booted feet and heard happy snoring sounds from a bearded figure near the porch of Eastwyck cabin." As I say, this information is strictly second-hand as the individual pulled my out from the corner I was happily slumped in. But the man was kind, and gave me a drink from his mug, which he said, "never runs dry." And with a wave of his hat, and salute of his rapier, he strolled off into the dawn. The light of the sun hurt my eyes, then, so with a satisfied belch I staggered to my bed. Only later would I recall this tale and the individual who told it . . . so I could retell it to you. I still have yet to see this "Black Rose," but I know I'm glad I didn't have the opportunity in the state I was. Read this and know that the Rose could arrive again, at any time . . . so be prepared. . . .