The StormWatch Chronicles
As seen through the eyes of Drano Battlehammer
Part 9
Update: 28/04/1998 to drano

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October 7th, 596

My eyes flickered open. . . .

I took a moment to gather my wits and view my surroundings. I'd thought I'd never see the twinkling stars 
above, the pale moon smiling down upon the dew-laden grass, or the familiar faces of friends earned and 
cherished. Yet, there they were, once again. The furry, white face of the Sarr-woman, Cynesra, cat-eyes 
sparkling in the moonlit forest, smiled at me and she said, "Well it's about time you joined the rest of us. 
Trouble's coming." 

I snapped instantly awake and looked cautiously about. Not far away were the forms of my clansman Borax 
and friend Delahr, silhouetted against the nighttime canopy of the surrounding woodland. Off to the right, I 
just barely made out the skulking shape of the Elven ranger, Gabriel Wolvestride, stealthily scouting out 
the forest path ahead. Just then, I heard them - Footsteps of our enemies; those who would bring harm to 
the Master. 

Gabriel hunkered down in the brush, like a feral animal stalking its prey. Delahr turned, came over to 
Cynesra and I, and said through pus-covered lips, "Drano, are you ready?" A few teeth fell out at the 
hissing words, but before I'd even thought about it, Borax shambled his tall, lanky form over to us and 
waved a cheery hello with his one arm. The rotten flesh shook comically with the gesture, but the glow in 
his eyes, though green, was serious in its intent. I answered Delahr with a stiff nod, and with bony fingers, 
gripped the haft of my weapon. No one would get to the Master. Cynesra, lifted her hands in preparation of 
a spell, and the light of the moon almost shone through the taut skin between her fingers as they moved in 
the spidery language of magic.

Three figures in glinting armor, and brandishing weapons, came around the bend in the path - two warriors 
and a rogue, by the looks of it. One wore leather armor that seemed made from dragon hide. A crest on his 
shield reminded me of someone - it was a silver rose. The other wore a vest of studded mail emblazoned 
with a unicorn head and hammer. He bore a glowing hammer and planted his feet firmly when he saw us. 
The third was a shadowy figure dressed in red and black leathers with an odd-looking hat. It was then that I 
heard Delahr hail them.

"Why do you draw your swords on us, teammates?" the hissing voice said. "Don't you trust us?"

"What's going on here?" asked the one in studded mail.

"Why nothing, Bishop," answered Cynesra in a sticky-sweet, lilting voice. "Koryon, come here, and drop 
your sword. I want to talk to you . . . neeewww!!!"

With that, the two warriors brandished their steel and rushed forward. Borax, caught by surprise, as usual, 
couldn't even wield his pole-arm. Instead, his one hand went into a flurry of spellfire, chaos spells crackled 
in the night like a strange lightning, damaging the one called Koryon before he went down to a flurry of 
blows by the two walking juggernauts. He did not bleed however, and fell with a sickening, squishy thud to 
the forest path.

The rogue attempted to move off into the shadows, presumably to get the drop on us, but when he arrived 
there, he was met by the wolf. Gabriel leapt from his cover, fangs gleaming, and knocked the rogue -- 
"Tempus!" the warriors screamed -- to the ground. That was all I had time to see before a rage welled 
within me and Delahr and I ran to meet blades with the fighting-men. 

Delahr's eyes shone with an unearthly light, and his toothless smile told of his joy in the battle. Koryon and 
he exchanged blow after blow, each nicking the other, but neither gaining the advantage. As often as 
Koryon's blade bit into the rotted flesh of Delahr's body, Cynesra's spells healed the withered form. It 
looked to be a long fight. 

Bishop and I squared off, testing each other's defenses. Long ago, he'd trained me in the use of the hammer. 
Only now, did I have cause to truly appreciate what this man had taught me. We finally came together, the 
two hammers rang against shields in a cacophony of sound. Like a blacksmith's song of the forge, or a 
dented bell choir, we rang blows upon each other repeatedly. The incessant banging came so hard, so 
quickly, it almost seemed as one long sounding of a bell. I'd never seen Bishop fight better. But his 
teaching was his failing, in the end, because he taught me to stand my ground when pressed. We danced 
around each other, hammers singing, until I saw weariness begin to show on his face. For some reason, I 
didn't feel tired. While I saw his blows slowing, showing fatigue, he found mine to continue at a frenzied 
pace. His blows were mightier than mine, but I felt so refreshed -- they seemed to have little effect on me. 

Perhaps ten minutes later, our shields were practically scrap metal. The dented shapes were beginning to 
twist like warped wood. I saw the light of my eyes reflected in his, and he saw his doom in mine. He spoke 
then, between gasps of air, "Koryon! We are outta here!" But it was too late. He turned right into the 
waiting smile of Gabriel's blood-drenched maw. His toothy grin and the blood of Tempus on his lips froze 
Bishop in his tracks. 

Then, the wolf was upon him. He felt the hot, fetid breath on his face as his old comrade-at-arms engulfed 
him. A piercing scream came from Gabriel's throat that was not his own. Then, with a twist and a 
resounding "crack", the body of the stalwart warrior called Bishop went limp. 

I looked quickly about, and saw the fleeing form of Koryon running off into the night. Cynesra turned to 
me with a crooked smile and said, "Now Drano, do it." Obediently, I reached down and called upon the 
forces of chaos to animate the dead form of Bishop, while Cynesra did the same to Tempus. Then we 
shambled off into the darkness in pursuit of our prey. Koryon Greymeir would not escape to later threaten 
the "Master."

Gabriel followed Koryon's scent, and led us to the cave he was holed up in. We found him inside writing in 
a book, some sort of diary, I suppose. After a brief struggle, we overwhelmed him and made him like the 
others.

The Master would have wanted it this way.

Cynesra picked up the book, read a few lines, and with a smirk, added a one of her own. The she closed the 
book and laughed; hideous cackling sounds that rolled through the night and froze the blood of all living 
things, even the forest animals.

* * *


The town lay before us. The Master had sent us here to help his friends. The Master's friends needed to 
reach the safety of a magic circle in order to survive. But minions of this evil town stood in the way. We 
stood, out in the darkness of the field, and watched as many of the Master's friends tried to make the circle 
and failed. They fell horribly to the blades of assorted peoples calling themselves Trellheim, Westmarch, 
Dragonshire and Anvil, as well as others whose names I cannot remember. One tried to sneak in. Another 
tried to cut a path of death to get to the circle. All to no avail. Finally, the one we were to escort was ready. 

We heard the assorted evildoers murmuring to themselves, awaiting the next one to come so that they could 
terrorize him before they rent his body asunder. Rallying calls were made, "Sir Grimm! Baron Northridge! 
Duchess!", they yelled. In a break in the general murmuring, a voice was heard pealing across the field.

"StormWatch! Eastwyck!!" Delahr's voice rolled across the field like a trumpet sounding. The silence that 
followed was deafening. "Eastwyck, to the Baroness!" shouted Squire Bailiwick. Someone in the distance 
was heard to curse heatedly. "To the Circle!" was Delahr's cry, and our signal to move. These fiends would 
make way for our ward. He would make it through. 

We met the evil townsfolk on the field where they stuttered pathetic pleas for us to "come out of it" and 
"wake up." Their pathetic attempts would not fool us! The battle was soon joined as we unloaded spells on 
an already soft opponent.

Some of us met them; swords clashed and spells flew. Others, like myself, tried a slightly smarter tact. I 
wandered from the fray toward the local inn, where I heard a cry of warning. 

"Look out! There's Death Knights on the road!" shouted Baron Derek Northridge. 

I turned to face the road quickly, jumped next to him, and asked, "Death Knights? Where?"

"There!" he shouted. Then, in cautious tones: "Who are you, anyway?" 

I turned and looked at him, no more than a hammer's length away, and stated simply, "StormWatch."

He seemed okay with that, at first, then did a double take. Noting my skeletal form staggering toward him, 
he promptly ran and screamed, "StormWatch?!"

I barreled after him, but was interrupted by a blow to my back, turning, I gave chase to another warrior. I 
ran blindly, raining blows upon all nearby. Then I felt it. The Master's friend had made it! My job was 
done. The last thing I remembered that night was fighting a guardian of this demonic town, a werewolf. I 
heard others call him "Archer", but he had no bow to speak of. Then all became misty before my eyes, and 
I faded. . . . 

* * *


I woke to the sounds of fighting and frantic shaking. Cynesra was urging me to get up. I blinked away the 
cobwebs from my eyes and got my hurting body into an upright position. I stared all around at countless 
graves and bodies piled high. Bishop, Sir Victdar, and Koryon formed a wall flanked on either side by 
Delahr, Tatiana, Tempus, and Gabriel. The Baroness and Cynesra were lending healing powers to 
everyone, as all seemed to show wounds of one sort or another. Malice and Squire Bailiwick fired a barrage 
of spells over the heads of the front line as we moved slowly forward. 

A seemingly unstoppable juggernaut, the combined forces of StormWatch and Eastwyck rumbled forward, 
unstoppable in our pursuit of an end to the endless battle that was upon us. I can't remember a more 
glorious encounter. I looked behind us at the long swath of destruction we had made, and marveled at our 
prowess. It was then that I saw the light. 

A glowing doorway appeared behind us, and through it, I saw the town of Ravenholt. I shouted to the 
others; sweaty, bloodstained faces turned to look at me. Then they saw the door I pointed to, and a light 
sparkled in their eyes. With renewed fervor, we battled our way to the door and dashed through. As the last 
of us emerged on the other side, the door closed and disappeared with a thunderclap. 

Around us, were the townspeople of Ravenholt, asking if we were well and if we had all made it. Suddenly, 
like a brick hitting us in the head, we realized the nightmare that had been forced on us. It was no dream at 
all! 

We had become undead, through the evil powers of the Lord of Nightmare. He turned us into his minions 
and controlled our very thoughts, making us see things as he wanted us to. We even attacked our friends 
and brought them to him to be converted as well. We had amassed our powers and sieged the town of 
Ravenholt in an attempt to escort a minion of Nikijo's into a magic circle. Once in the circle, a ritual would 
take place to bring the spirit of Nikijo, the Death Knight, back to the world of the living. There he would 
terrorize everyone in an attempt to rule our realm. 

Yes, the true horror of what we'd wrought, however unintentionally, finally set in. I felt disgusted with 
myself and lower than a worm. I saw the looks in the faces of my teammates and knew their thoughts were 
the same.

To their credit, though, the people of Ravenholt rallied about us and did not let us fall into the pit of 
depression. 

A man named Sir Grimm, a noble of Ravenholt, approached me then. I'd never before come face-to-face 
with this man, and doubted that he even knew my name. I stammered an apology for causing such 
difficulty, even though I was possessed, and begged forgiveness. But he approached just the same, looked 
into my bruised and bloody face, and smiled. A warm, comforting smile that said no apologies were in 
order, here. He said, in no uncertain terms, that I should not feel badly, he understood what it meant to be 
controlled and worse, aware of what evil deeds you were committing. 

Then, a tap on my shoulder set me whirling around. My gaze came face-to-face with the deepest pair of 
green eyes I'd ever seen. They stared into my swollen orbs and a voice accompanied those eyes. Like little 
tinkling bells, it sounded, yet it carried with it an aura of power as it asked, "Do you need healing?" I 
blinked away blood, sweat, and grime and found the person to whom the radiant eyes belonged. Dame 
Lillith smiled sweetly and asked, "Where does it hurt?" With a hoarse chuckle, I replied, "Everywhere." 
Then something strange happened. She touched me. Where her fingers passed, the wounds closed, the 
bruises cleared, and the swelling went down. It was the strangest healing power I've ever encountered. 
Nothing at all like the earth spells I cast, it was still effective. I should ask her if she would teach me this 
healing art. 

When I felt better, she turned to go and, before I could properly thank her, a hand turned me around. I 
looked down into the eyes of the one called Calico. A perfect example of why we shouldn't judge a person's 
power by their size, the slight woman offered me protective magic, to help me on my way. After receiving 
every imaginable protective spell I can think of, she patted me on the back and sent me off. 

I rejoined the others back at our small cabin for a drink and meal. We sat for a while, quietly, coming to an 
understanding of what had happened. Some apologetic looks were made between us, but the pressing 
silence dragged on. No one wanted to speak the realities of what had happened. No one wanted to be the 
one to bring up the horrors of the past few weeks. No one, that is, except Borax who said with an impish 
smile, "Well . . . what do we do next?"