The latest Chronicle? or Memoirs of the Drunken Dwarf
by Drano Battlehammer
May 5, 1998


Good evening.

	Regrettably, I have not been able or inclined to take pen in hand for some
time.  The winters up here in the mountains can be long, cold, and
depressing.  I look forward to the day I can step from my cave without the
protection of many layers of furs.  The time I've spent however, has been
in reflection.  I spent many a night gazing at the fire and sipping my ale.
 The rich, brown fluid helped me organize some of my thoughts^Å and many
thoughts needed to be organized.  Even now, I pour another mug of warmth
and take my pen in hand.

	Time seems such a precious thing.  Maybe more so for humans who don't have
the luxury of longevity that the elves and dwarves do.  Every day that I
stay here in my cave I regret more and more that I am not with my
companions who have become family to me.  Time also has a way of bringing
about change, and many things have changed this past year indeed^Å.

	Delahr^Å ahem, Squire Delahr has become knighted.  Now a knight of
Eastwyck, I continually hear stories of his heroic deeds.  It only saddens
me that he may have forgotten his past. 
I first met Delahr about four years ago at Old Man Koryon's farm.  I had
only just come out of the Mountain, grief nipping at my heels (more on this
later), when I came across the farm of the gentle, though somewhat bizarre
farmer.  The good farmer introduced me to his daughter Ivory and took me in
for a brief stay.  I found the time spent there to be very distracting,
albeit thankfully so.  It gave me the chance to forget my past and devote
my attentions to others.  
On one particular afternoon, the day was interrupted by the sounds of a
brief scuffle.  A small band of goblins were approaching the farm, no doubt
to raid some livestock for food.  Koryon grabbed his trusty hoe and bade me
watch his daughter and keep her safe.  I hurried the daughter inside their
abode and peered out the window. 
The fight in the field was not going well.  The goblins outnumbered Koryon
four to one and it seemed only a matter of time before they got the best of
him.  He showed a number of scrapes and cuts, but due either to his great
courage or extreme stubbornness, he was holding them at bay.  I stowed
Ivory in a small footlocker and grabbed a nearby log.  As I stepped onto
the porch, Koryon knocked one down with his hoe, but two were quickly
closing from behind.  I shouted a warning but knew it was too late. 
Just then, a bolt of magical energy shot across the field, slamming into
the back of one of the wretched goblins.  In a shower of colorful sparks,
the goblin screamed and fell writhing to the ground.  The fighting stopped
for a moment as we all turned our heads to see where the bolt of energy
came from.  There on the path stood a human man dressed in robes of grey. 
His booted feet were set firmly, a walking stick was in his left hand, and
his right was extended toward the goblins, still smoking.  The grey hood
was pulled back to reveal the features of a young man in his early
twenties.  Dusty brown hair waved in the breeze, his eyes stared intently
at the two remaining goblins, and his lips curled in a half-smile.  Then he
spoke, "If you would see tomorrow, I suggest you run over yon hill and
don't stop until the sun dips below the horizon."
The goblins, seeing their two dead companions, looked first at the corpses,
then the man in grey, then each other before they turned tail and fled into
the forest, running as fast as their feet would carry them.  The man in
grey then lowered his arm and came to us.  He introduced himself as Delahr
the Grey.  Farmer Koryon invited him in and we shared food and story
together.
Some time after this, the huge half-ogre, Scourge joined us, and then, the
wizard Tempus took us under his wing and brought us to a town called
Ravenholt.  We called ourselves Lioncourt, after our leader Tempus, and set
about doing good deeds.  We met Squire Gabriel, Sir Nork, Chastity and
Bishop, and after a year, we became co-founders of the group Stormwatch.

Now he's a knight.  How far we've all come...  

I've learned much in the ways of healing.  The late Sheriff Alaric and
Taimar taught some of the early lessons and later, I learned from Cynesra
and Chastity.  I remember my first lesson with Alaric.  I asked him if he
would teach me the third circle of healing.  A serious look came over his
face and he peered at me with his one eye and asked, "Do you know the
incantation to create undead?"
"No", I replied, unsure as to the nature of the question.  I was worried
I'd failed his test of knowledge.
"Good!", he said. "I'll teach you, then!"
It never ceases to make me wonder.  Many nights go by as I sit and ponder
the nature of humans^Å  but I still never understand them.

I remember the joy I had learning the eighth circle of magic from Cynesra. 
She brought me to a place called "the Bahamas" and fed me "umbrella
drinks".  As we dipped our toes in the warm blue waters of the sea, she
explained the intricacies of paralyzing a person, how magic can be
reflected back upon the caster, and the ability to draw from the earth the
power to heal mortal wounds.  
Then, the greatest joy of all, Chastity taught to me the nature of life and
death.  She brought me to a place she called the "Unicorn Pool".  Here, all
was at peace and it was very hard to imagine death showing its head in such
a place of beauty.  Chastity took time to remind me how even the purity of
this place could be tainted by the power of chaos.  "And where there's
chaos," she said, "there's death." 
It was with this knowledge that I used my first "life" spell.  Sure enough,
we were fighting elementals of chaos on the fields of Ravenholt.  One
struck down the brave Sir Grim with a missile of pure chaos energy and I
realized Chastity's lesson.  I bent down, and calling up the energies of
the Earth Mother, I gave Sir Grim back the breath of life.  No personal
achievement has given me more pride to this day.
	I had the opportunity to learn a new form of healing this past year.  In
the spring, I met a woman, Dame Lilith.  She had the power to draw some
kind of energy from herself to heal others.  Some said she was a succubus,
but I doubted it.  She seemed nice enough.  She tried to help me realize
this power in myself, but then she disappeared during the war with the
Sessuar.  I haven't seen her since.

	Speaking of wars^Å I felt a loss this year past.  The gallant Northstar
passed into the realm of the dead.  But something remarkable happened; his
spirit came back.  We were on a mission ^Ö a vampire had kidnapped Koryon's
daughter Ivory.  When the moment of truth came and the confrontation with
the vile undead was at hand.  Northstar appeared and lent his wits and
blades to our cause.  
	This whole "spirit" thing has given me many a night of contemplation. 
Aside from Northstar, I've seen spirits coming out of the woodwork this
year.  The young lads from Dragonshire were killed and their spirits were
taken to the Necropolis ^Ö the city of the dead.  Some townsfolk and I went
to the city to destroy the tolling bells in what was supposed to be a
doomed mission.  I went with the full understanding that we were not
expected to succeed.  Yet when we got there, our small group was met by the
spirits of the Dragonshire lads and together, we destroyed the bells. 
Then, being chased by all of the evil of the Necropolis, we leapt from the
top of the bell tower to the lake hundreds of feet below. 
	We washed ashore on the beaches of Ravenholt.  When I finally spit the
water from my lungs, I heard gasping sounds all about me - not just the
noises of my waterlogged companions, but the restored bodies of the lads
from Dragonshire.  I quickly used all the healing skills I'd been taught. 
How their spirits found bodies I don't know.  How we survived the fall from
the tower and the swim across the lake is also a mystery to me.  I'm sure
that my dwarven constitution and trusty armor had something to do with
surviving the fall, but I can't understand why I didn't sink like a rock^Å
	Then there is the matter of the spirit Felthis.  Apparently, a barbarian
shaman in life, this spirit has bonded to me and wants to restore
something.  It doesn't feel uncomfortable, but knowing my thoughts aren't
necessarily my own is somewhat unnerving.  Perhaps when I get back to
Ravenholt I'll have the spirit transferred to someone else.  I have been
told "they" can do that.

	One of the things that made some of this long stay in the mountains
bearable is the contact with the outside world via messengers.  These lads
have braved the cold and deep snows to deliver news of the goings-on in the
world for only a few coins.
I understand that the vampire Malava is dead.  She entered my dreams only
once, but many members of the team felt her presence for many years.  I'm
glad that those woes have been laid to rest.  
Another matter is the war with the Sessuar.  Though the war is over, I
understand that many lives were lost and many things have changed.  The
Viscount Daramor is missing in action, Northstar lost his life to the war,
and an interesting event took place^Å

Just before I'd left for the mountains for the winter, Stormwatch was
called to the presence of Countess Altair of Dragonshire.   She requested
we perform a reconnaissance mission into the town of Haven.  She believed
that a small, nominal Sessuar presence was there and wanted us to
investigate ^Ö not engage.  Gabriel and Tempus led us along the road to
Haven; a pleasant journey as the leaves were changing color and the fiery
reds, oranges, and yellows gave a pastoral backdrop to the sound of
crunching leaves underfoot.  
Chastity and Tristemere engaged in light conversation while I carefully
eyed two new companions.  Willow Treespeak journeyed with us and stepped
lightly about the autumn foliage.  She did not concern me overmuch; she was
well known as a heroine of Ravenholt and her good deeds have been told and
retold in taverns night after night.  The other individual gave me pause. 
His name was Thrakkish.  He was a Sarr warrior/healer of great ability who
had been convicted of practicing chaos magic within Ravenholt's borders.  
Now I understand that sometimes Chaos magic might be deemed necessary as a
means to an end.  It is one of the "harming" magics available to a caster
but is in direct opposition to earth magic.  While earth magic can heal the
sick and cure the diseased, chaos magic takes life energy away ^Ö it makes
wounds open where there were none, infects folk with deadly disease, and
can animate dead bodies, which become zombies under the control of the
caster.  In war, chaos is a tool of the earth caster ^Ö instead of causing
damage with a sword, one could cause damage with a spell.  A tool of harm
is only as evil as the person wielding the tool.
But it is only a tool, and only a tool of harm.  Therefore, there is some
question in the realms of the humans as to whether its use is immoral or
not.  Gabriel has said that when chaos spells are cast, life is destroyed
somewhere.  It can be argued that casting a chaos spell to harm someone
that would harm you, though it may kill a tree, is okay, but in the eyes of
elves that is no excuse.  They love the land and I would not do something
to hurt a friends love interest intentionally.  Hence, I do not practice
chaos magic.
The reason for my concern of Thrakkish though, is that he might not have
learned the lesson of respect for other people's laws.  I'm not saying he's
evil, mind you, but his willingness to use the chaos tool to do what is
deemed necessary could be very influential on the impressionable mind of
young Borax.
Borax is still young as far as dwarves go, and though he is almost half my
age, his skills in earth magic have already surpassed mine.  My problem
with the situation is that this past year, Borax expressed that he would
use whatever means necessary to prevent his companions from dying,
including the use of chaos magic.  Unfortunately, if let's say Gabriel were
about to perish and Borax cast a spell of chaos to save him, I believe
Gabriel would turn and strike him down then and there.  If Gabriel had
already fallen dead, Borax cast the chaos spell and then revived the downed
elf I believe that, if Gabriel found that he was alive because of chaos
magic, he would strike down Borax and then himself.
In any case, I've explained to Borax that elven and human understanding of
chaos and its use is very different from dwarves and sarr.  Then I told him
that as long as we traveled in their realms, it was our duty to obey their
laws and wishes.  He didn't seem convinced of this and I wasn't convinced
that he wouldn't turn right around and ignore everything I'd just told him.
 So I feared that Thrakkish's acceptance of chaos would rub off on my young
dwarf cousin.  As it turned out, my fears were unnecessary.  Thrakkish has
decided to avoid any further temptation by having himself stripped of all
magical power by force of a powerful ritual spell.
 Anyway, Nork and Koryon led the front of our main group, which only
consisted of eleven - Gabriel, Tempus, Nork, Koryon, Chastity, Tristemere,
Borax, Adrian Willow, Thrakkish, and myself.  A formidable group, mind you,
and extremely good for the job at hand ^Ö recon.  Unfortunately, the
Countess had apparently sent us into something completely different.
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary as we came over a small rise in the path
and spotted a patrol of Sessuar regulars coming our way. There were eight
of them ^Ö a leader, two casters, an alchemist specialist, and four
warriors. Their uniforms were tattered and patched; it looked like they'd
been in this war for some time.  Then the leader snarled some orders to one
of the warriors who started to take off down the path away from us.  I
quickly mentioned to Tempus that he was probably sent to get support. 
Tempus gave a quick nod and bolted off the path into the underbrush.  I
noted a brief flash of red and black as he dashed through the trees to
intercept the runner.
Gabriel, Nork and Koryon drew their blades and Borax and Thrakkish took up
spots behind them where they could make use of their long reach with their
pole-arms.  Chastity and Tristemere stood behind them; healing spells at
the ready, and I prepared both my sword and a spell so that I might fill in
wherever I was needed. 
These Sessuar were no green troops though.  They took up a similar
formation and slowly approached us.  It was then that I noticed there were
only six of them.  The alchemist had disappeared!  I suspected a flank from
him and was well rewarded when the first glass bottle of deadly poison shot
from the nearby foliage ^Ö right at Chastity!  
I saw the globe hit her squarely in her feline head; the glass shattering
tinkling shards all about her.  The glass cuts didn't look deep but I knew
that the viscous poison that was in the bottle was now splashing all over
her and could only mean grave consequences.  Then I saw a brief flash of
energy as a magical protective spell was set off.  We call them "poison
shields" for they react only when the recipient of the spell comes in
contact with some form of poison.  Then the spell negates the effects of
said poison, saving the recipient from the effects of sleep poison,
charming poison, or worse ^Ö death.  
Chastity snarled and cursed; her hair was wet and she was unable to see her
attacker, but she was alive.  I realized my place in this battle just as
the front lines of warriors engaged.  I ran into the trees to the side of
the path in pursuit of the alchemist.   The sounds of clashing steel just
behind me.
I glanced quickly in every direction, looking for some sign of the
despicable rogue when I felt a "thwap" on my back.  I am seldom without a
simple protection-from-blows spell (we call them "magic armor spells") and
this time it saved my life.  The assassin's backstab was ineffective.  I
spun quickly about to the dismay of my assailant and brought my sword in a
broad arc at his waist.  The rogue jumped back quickly, barely avoiding my
swing.  As he did so, he drew another deadly vial from his belt.  
My eyes went red.  If you've ever been truly angry, you'll know what I
mean.  It's almost as if you aren't you anymore and everything seems to be
tinged in red.  Some folk say the red glare is caused by a sudden rush of
blood to your brain in times of extreme stress.  I say that's all
rubblegut.  Either way, I gripped my sword tighter and strode toward my
attacker with a sense of purpose.  The look in his eyes told me that he
felt I was a dead man.
The first globe hit me square in the chest.  Glass flew everywhere slashing
my tunic and splashing a black oily substance that stank of hot tar and
sizzled where it landed upon me.  My own protective magic shield went off
and I strode closer.  The next vial smashed upon my shield, completely
showering me with liquid death.  Unfortunately for this poor bastard, we
dwarves are particularly resistant to poisons^Å something in our blood I
suppose.  I snorted, shrugged off the burning sensation and pushed my way
even closer.  The look in the rogue's eyes started to change.  It began to
show real fear.  It showed that he knew his death was at hand.  I
maintained my steady stride toward him, gritting my teeth against the
stench of the death poison.  
I never wavered in my resolve.  The next bottle hit once again, and once
again, my dwarven blood staved off death.  The rogue really looked
terrified now.  He fumbled for another bottle, accidentally catching it on
his belt.  It was then that I launched myself at him.  Both feet left the
ground as I, covered in poison, landed on the assassin.  The alchemist fell
under a flurry of angry blows.  The look of horror on his face would have
shocked me had I been in a more sensible state.  As it was, I reveled in
the thought that his own poison was burning into his clothes ^Ö for you see,
as I hit him he dropped his bottle of doom and promptly fell on it.  The
glass shards forced the poison into his backside as I forced my sword into
his front.  
I wiped the oily substance from my eyes and came back to my senses.  I
heard the clash of steel back on the path and headed for the battle.
The two groups on the path seemed to be at a stalemate ^Ö casters supported
both and each group used good fighting tactics.  That was when I came out
from the woods on the flank of the enemy and Tempus arrived from the rear. 
We quickly launched a number of spells into the ranks of the Sessuar patrol
destroying the casters before they knew what hit them.  When we struck, our
group responded as well and surged forward.  Without the support of their
casters, and with enemy spellfire at their heels, the patrol was quickly
eliminated.  
I asked Tempus, "Did you get him?"
He only gave a quick nod that suggested any other result was ludicrous
before saying, "That was a pretty tough patrol for an area that's supposed
to be lightly occupied!" 
Gabriel agreed and we took a few moments to assess the situation.  We
decided to make our way through the brush off of the road.  So it was that
we came to the town of Haven.  
Haven seemed to be a nice place^Å except for the presence of an entire army
of Sessuar!  The place was crawling with them!  There had to be entire
battalions here!  We weren't sent to remove any last presence of Sessuar or
scout out any small groups of them.  It seemed we'd been sent to our
deaths!  We quickly assessed the situation and understood that in no way
were we going to try to do something now.  This was a job for the Kin's
men.  We made a stealthy withdrawal and headed back to Ravenholt wondering
all the while if we'd been set up by the Countess^Å

Now to get to the matter of my grief^Å I've come a long way since that day
four years ago, and maybe my ninety-three years have tempered me somewhat. 
It has taken this long period of time and a surprising event for me to come
to terms with this enough so that I might be able to relay it.

Perhaps some fifty years ago, I was apprenticed to a torturer.  Yes, it's
true.  I imagine word has gotten around more than folk's will admit.  It's
a rotten job but somebody has to do it.  Unfortunately, it's also a
misunderstood job and a lonely one.  You never hear about a "popular"
torturer.   You never hear someone talking and saying, "Well my buddy the
torturer did this and said that."  Well, have you?  I know I sure haven't ^Ö
and it's my profession.  The reason for this turn in life was because of my
ability to remain fairly unemotional and unattached to people and events. 
My emotions are a lot like a candle flame.  I can snuff them out at will
and light them again later.  So when the clan torturer was looking for an
apprentice, he came to my parent's cave.  
To me, it was just a job, and at that young age it seemed perfectly normal
to be in the business I was in.  Eventually, I became very good at my trade
and took the position of Head Torturer and Executioner of the clan.  I
worked directly for the king and he trusted me with everything.  After all,
part of the job is to extract information and you can't just "forget"
information, can you?  I suppose a whole bunch of "forget" potions could be
made, but when you talk about the natural ability of a dwarf to resist such
things, it doesn't seem very economical.  So we rely more on trust.  
In any case, to keep a long story from getting to long, suffice it to say
that working for the king was very good and I didn't want for anything. 
But on the other hand, the king was my only companion.  I had no friends to
speak of and even my family alienated themselves from me.  Most of the
time, there was only me and my mug.  Mind you, talking to your mug might
seem weird, but it never talks back, never yells at you, and is always
there when you need an understanding "ear".
Anyway, about four years ago, the patrols had captured a young elf maiden
whom the king believed was a spy of some sort.  So it came to be that she
ended up on the torture table and I snuffed out my candle.  The young elf
was truly a beautiful woman.  She had eyes of purest green and her hair
appeared to be fine thread and mithril woven together.  Her features were
as most elves ^Ö timeless.  I am guessing that she was less than thirty
years of age, which I believe puts her at about seventeen in human years;
much too young to be an effective spy.
I thought that she must have had the resolve of a hundred dwarves, not one
elf lass.  She resisted my efforts, or so I thought, for days.  The king
would often stop by to check on my work, but as of yet there was still no
information.  After four days of torture, I thought the girl might finally
break.  Her body had been twisted and mangled in my torture room, damaged
and re-healed, scarred permanently for the rest of her short life.  It was
then that I realized that she would not live throughout the day and no
earth magic would be powerful enough to bring her back.  I sat back
exhausted from my continuous efforts and pondered the problem.  I realized
that it was not my skills that were lacking, it was the information ^Ö she
had none because she was no spy.
I checked this with the king but he insisted that the patrols had caught
her wandering too close to the entrance of the mountain not to be a spy. 
He then ordered me to keep going until her will gave or her body.
The long walk back to the torture room gave me time to consider things. 
Unfortunately, it also gave my candle time to re-light.
I arrived back at the room and looked at the battered thing that used to be
an elf.  Her body was so broken ^Ö I had done my job so well ^Ö that she was
almost dead.  I took my hand and moved her sweaty, matted hair, which was
shaved off on one side now, from her face.  I looked down into her swollen
black eyes and saw just a sparkle of green there.  Her breathing was raspy
and short and suddenly, I felt pained.  I had done this to her ^Ö taken the
life of a young woman who I believed was innocent of any crime.  Not only
that, but I had taken that life slowly and calculatedly, not a merciful
quick death.  I tried in vain to extinguish the flame that was my emotion
but could not, and a tear escaped my eye.
Even in the state she was in, she remained remarkably lucid.  She struggled
to reach out with her hand, placing it in mine.  From her puffy,
blood-stained lips, she spoke to me, "I'm sorry."  Then she died.
I felt something break inside me and it fell upon me as if the mountain
itself had collapsed.  The weight I would bear for the rest of my life
crushed down upon me with overwhelming force, sapping my will to live. 
Without knowing why, I gathered my things and left the mountain.

This story may seem long and boring, but I needed to get it out to tell you
the next part.  This past year, Stormwatch traveled to Mirr (I think that's
how it's spelled).  There I met Shustar, one of the leaders of the sarr
peoples.  She sent a small group of us on what she called a "spirit quest".
 This was not a thing of evil, but could be potentially dangerous. Under
the effects of a spirit potion, we had to confront our greatest fears or
regrets.  Our fears took form in the "spirit realm" and we were forced to
deal with them.  My regret was that I couldn't save that young elf woman. 
So once again, I had to relive the experience.  
Some of the other's fears were comparatively worse and we had to deal with
them all as a group.  One that stood out in my mind was the battle with
Dreadnought the Death Knight.  The citizens of Ravenholt had stopped him by
sheer numbers last year ^Ö some hundred and fifty townsfolk to one death
knight.  For our group of six, the dread was incomparable.  

Well, I suppose I have rambled enough.  It is time for me to pack my things
and leave the mountain once again.  The snows have melted and it is past
the time that I rejoin my companions.  They, who are family to me.  They,
who are true friends.  Who give me pride and joy and accept me for who I
am, not who I was.  I go now to rejoin Stormwatch.

-- As seen through the eyes of Drano Battlehammer ^Ö May 5th, 898