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Meanwhile, earlier this evening...

The panting of the wolf in the corner snapped the yellow-robed wizard out of his reverie. Golthar, looking out his tower window at the darkening sky, gave a grunt, then rose to his feet. He opened the door to his study, and the wolf, standing tall as a pony and white as snow, ambled past him out the door and down the stairs.

Golthar stood still, listening to the creature's clawed footfalls on the stone stairs. Every few days he would let the wolf out to hunt. It seemed to have developed a taste for goblin flesh. Lucky for him goblins were in no short supply here amongst the ruins of Xitaqa.

What did seem to be in short supply was his lieutenant, Vlack. The hobgoblin had surprised and impressed the wizard in rallying the goblins of the Dymrak Forest to his cause. Homesteads had been burned to the ground, and lumber camps destroyed. Settlers robbed, killed, and taken captive. His masters would be pleased, but only to a point.

For they hadn't found the map. And without it, the silver needle with the golden thread was useless. This whole endeavor was for nothing. Surely Vlack was responsible for this lack of progress. But where was he?

Shaking his head, Golthar threw himself with a sigh back into his chair, returning his attention to the spell book on his desk. Though his eyes moved across the page, his mind failed to comprehend.

It was no use. He couldn't concentrate. Not right now.

His reavers had set chains across the rivers. Their brainwashed bowmen had lined the banks. There should have been no interference from Kelven, or any of the towns and villages to the West. Could he have underestimated the might of those filthy peasant Traladaran homesteaders?

Closing his spell book, Golthar rose to his feet. "Time to have a little chat with our horse trader friend," he said, grabbing an iron key off the desk.

**

Night fell on Xitaqa as the goblins awoke from their slumbers. They crawled amongst the ruins, scrounging for food, hoping like the nine hells to avoid the notice of the white wolf. Then they heard it! Somewhere in the tower: the snorting of a bull, and the scream of the Traladaran horse trader.

Cut to: bank of the Volaga River, a few minutes past midnight...

Day 22, Nytdain, Thaumont 22nd, northern edge of high moors, after midnight

You stand on the moors, watching Loshad depart. Based on his directions, you estimate that you can reach the cave in about four hours. Your weary limbs and necks remind you that this could be a very long night.



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Athelstan - Fighter

Athelstan stares at the departing Loshad with thinly veiled contempt, and as he fades from view he says "kill wolves AND release our mounts. Filthy beast. It will be a cold day before I relinquish this fine steed to some flea bitten animal... no matter. Let's get moving. We've got some dogs to kill and a homesteader to rescue."

He spurs Bud on, intent on covering the distance as quickly as possible.

Old Anja (Shaman)

Old Anja nods as she rides Radnik, following Athelstan. She is not nodding in agreement, it seems she is falling asleep.

Harn Hammerhand
Friend Meringered, you may borrow my shield. It has a magical aura about it, forged by the ancestors of my clan. It may aid you against the foul things we face. Use it with pride, it has symbol of my clan upon it!
He will loan the shield if Meringered wants it.
Harn then attempts to clean the axe of dirt and goblin smell.

Tret, rogue

Tret scouts ahead.

Meringered is touched by the Harn's gesture, but at the same time computes that the shield has been handed over to him to allow the dwarf to handle his two handed axe. He accepts politely, with a smile. "Maybe I will be able to knock a few of these creatures down before it gets too bloody?" he thinks to himself. Without much hope, though.

Soldath - Mage

I wonder if their blood would be worth anything.... he whispers to himself under his breath as he moves with the others.

Day 22, Nytdain, Thaumont 22nd, banks of the Volaga River, the dead of night

You head north across the final stretches of the moors, and back to the banks of the Volaga. Some of you sleep in your saddle, seduced by your weariness and the rushing of the water to your left. Others think about the grim task ahead of you. None of you has ever seen a werewolf, much less killed one. Rumors say that only enchanted weapons and magic can harm them. You've also heard that if a werewolf hurts you badly enough, you become on yourself. Some of you begin to wonder just how long you have left with yourselves before, well, you dare not think about it.

About six miles back, the river had forked, continuing north. Dark though is, Soldath recognizes the other river as the Castellan. At the mouth of this river, many a days journey from here, stands Castellan Keep, known to many adventurers as the Keep on the borderlands. It was from here that you and Marion explored the Caves of Chaos. It seems like a lifetime ago.

A waning quarter-moon does little to light the night sky, but the stars make up for it, and you have little trouble making your way along the river. To either side, the banks slope higher and higher, punctuated by occasional outcroppings of rock.

About 100 yards or so from the next outcropping, your horses start to fidget and snort. It's as if they don't want to travel any farther.

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