Narratives of the Cold Waste - Part IV

Climbing step after step of endless stairs upwards, Orgot could not help wondering was this really the reason Talos had sent him on this quest to North. He kept telling himself "Means to an end, means to an end", but still he could not shake the feeling that something was not right on this path. 

These thoughts were quickly ended when the group reached the end of the staircase, and exit from the grueling Underdark. Breath of fresh air was of no comfort, when Orgot soon found himself face to face alone with a huge frost giant on top of a cliff. Summoning every flaming spell Talos would grant him, Orgot hoped that the unforgiving Storm Lord had not heard his blasphemous thoughts of doubt in the tunnels bellow. Apparently not, since Orgot was able to scorch the giant with unforeseen infernous might, and with the help of his friends the frost giant was quickly defeated. But not without a cost. 

Thelon had fallen on the frost giants axe after heroic attempt to aid Orgot in battle. Seeing his friends battered body lying on the cliff, barely breathing, Orgot could not help but to wonder "How much more can this guy take? The elf sure has more courage than constitution..." Joy of his friend being alive was quickly diminished, as Orgot saw flame after flame lighting on the watchtowers around the vale bellow. And as he saw the unbelievably gigantic army of orcs, frost giants and other foul creatures of the North, Orgot truly hoped that Talos would not abandon him on this day...

Narratives of the Cold Waste - Part III

Staircases of this shape have been
 known to inspire insanity.

The staircase seemed like it would continue forever. Thelon took steps after another as he walked upwards the stairs of the Dwarven cylinder in the depths of the Underdark. Even though the walk was exhausting it somehow felt as a break.

The expedition had just battled against a group of terrible beings with tentacles growing from their faces. Those creatures had struck Thelon down with some kind of spell like powers. That feeling brought back memories from ten years ago. Memories of adrenaline in his veins, sword in his hand and then... magic hitting him, striking him down and finally... darkness.

A step. And another step. The staircase went on and on. Every step was taking them towards their destination, but Thelon couldn't help shake the feeling, that each of those steps was also taking him away from his personal destination. The elf had thought that the two tracks were the same and he would find what he was searching for at the end of the path. But as they moved forward and each obstacle they faced seemed to tell them the same story, that they were the first ones here, he felt unsure.

Finally they reached the end of the staircase and found a hatch surrounded by ice. Thelon could almost feel the the breeze of the winter air. He was eager to get out of the tunnels and leave his dark thoughts behind. He had a feeling that once outside he'd have a nice moment of rest.

Narratives from the Cold Waste - Part II

Bolwyn wrapped the furs tighter against the freezing cold of the night and bit on the stem of his pipe. The ice on it's surface stuck to his chapped lips painfully. He couldn't remember when he'd last had a decent pipeful. His pipeweed was frozen and useless. It would be impossible to get it burning in these conditions, but it wouldn't stop him trying. He couldn't even remember when he'd groomed his beard. Not that there was much left after the brief visit to blazing inferno inside the remorhaz. Running his hand through the charred remains Bolwyn wondered: "Maybe I should just cut the rest of it off and start all over again?"

Cursing his blasphemous thought Bolwyn ripped the pipe from his lips a spat mightily. The slightly bloody splatter was frozen solid before it hit the ground. He didn't want to be here. He had never wanted to be here. He should be back home feeling the heat of the forge on his face as he created tools of destruction for their soldiers. He could be of use like Moradin had intended. Instead he was out here chasing idle fantasies, but orders were orders.

"Crumbling stone" Bolwyn muttered to himself , but the dwarven phrase didn't fit the situation. There were no hidden flaws. This expedition hadn't looked promising to begin with, and now it had turned from bad to worse. The message "There is no Thule" was ominous enough, but what frightened him more was the tunnel before them. He didn't know how deep it ran. If it really would take them to the Underdark, they would be in trouble.

 Journeys there were dangerous enough with highly skilled deepwardens. 

With this bunch of surface dwellers it would be fatal.

Narratives from the Cold Waste - Part I

Thelon Celtharion stood a little bit outside the camp staring at the frozen landscape. The tears flowing on Enoch Crowgale's face from seeing his son die had hardly dried and the news of the words ”There is no Thule” had hit the camp.

Eventhough the two recent deaths of their comrades and the personal wounds Thelon had suffered in the battle against the white wyrm darkened his mind, he felt surprised. Surprised that considering the difficulties they had faced so far, these were the first two deaths to happen. And how many more there would be considering that Thelon didn't believe this was the end. Didn't believe that Thule wouldn't exist. There still had to be something and they would find out what, as soon as Crowgale was ready to continue.

Thinking about the strange writings on the sign in the tunnel, another thought once again conquered his thoughts. The magical symbols and Slaadi at Sarhild. The Grey Wanderer. Thelon didn't have any evidence but still those events brought old memories to his mind. Could it be what he thought? It may have been only wishful thinking but it also seemed too convenient to be just a coincidence.

Despite these events or possibly because of them Thelon felt more confident than ever. These were only obstacles that could be passed. In the grand scale of thing his missions had not changed. Neither of them.