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....