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. . . .