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Quest Objective

- Reach the Mountain Stronghold of Stonefold

A powerful dwarven lord with many connections on the surface of Coroleya has sent out the call to all warriors of courage to come to the Mountain Stronghold of Stonefold to aid them in eradicating a nest of feral dwarves that have attacked the City of Torfiol. Having recovered from your wounds and sensing an opportunity for more adventure and gold, you take the next caravan out from the village of Brolen as a caravan guard and head towards the dwarven realms to make your fortune in the underground vaults. The road to the mountains, however, is long and treacherous with many perils to be faced before you can reach your destination.

***

Standing in the blistering hot winds of the desert, you cover your mouth and crouch down lower to avoid being easily seen. The cool touch of steel in your palm a small comfort as you scan the barren horizon. The wasteland of rocky terrain interspersed with sand dunes and the constant heat of the four suns that begin to sink lower in the sky. The Red Lands aptly named for the color of the blood-red sand and for the thousands of lives that had been shed here, the only source of shade coming from the immense rock formations that dwarfed over them like huge slumbering titans that waited to be awakened.

Having spent several years traversing this once great land, you’d come to appreciate this place as a sort of testing ground for those who desired inner strength. The people that populated the desert sands as resilient as the land itself, but that was not the only reason you’d come to admire this place.

Staring out towards the rolling sand dunes, you watch the few trees that dot the horizon shimmer with inner light as though their hearts were beating in the sunlight. The magic that had given them birth exposed for all to see beneath the rising darkness, a part of you unable to help but feel a sense of wonder at the thought that they could exist here of all places. The knowledge imparted to the humans here by the fae'lon (Elves) had allowed them to create a sort of magical oasis that stretched the length and breadth of the country. Though even their magic could not dispel the overpowering heat and hundreds of creatures that still lurked within the desert sands.

Just looking at this place, you could already see the eternal struggle between the desert which fought to reclaim the land, and the magical forces that held it at bay, the thin line between life and death intermingling so closely together, you sometimes imagine the ground littered with the bones of thousands lost in the struggle.

Throat parched with thirst, you glance back towards the line of wagons perhaps hoping the caravan master would call a halt for the night when your eyes catch sight of the basilisks dragging the cartload of goods across the desert sands. The ingeniously designed wagons made to glide across any type of terrain using steel sheets underneath, and a touch of magic to give them a certain slickness.

Proud, majestic beasts that dwelt deep within the deserts, the basilisks were, and are the natural predators to most creatures dwelling here, their ability to turn their meals into stone or shoot poisonous vapors from their jaws make them the deadliest creatures by far in the wasteland. Guided by red-robed riders who were taught how to handle these ferocious predators from an early age, the creatures were blinded at birth to ensure no one could be turned to stone and their poison glands removed to protect their riders.

Once the redlings (humans) most formidable enemies, the basilisks had slowly been tamed over time to become their greatest assets in these arid lands. Their ability to move fast across any type of terrain and deter other creatures from attacking enough to make them the best method of transport. Easily the size of fully grown ogrekans (ogres) and with scales the color of emeralds, they had forked tongues that could detect enemies from miles away, and an unwavering sense of direction despite being blind.

Still, despite the danger this creature could have posed to them all, you can’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy for the poor beast each time you see those empty eye sockets. The holes appearing like small, empty caverns, tarnishing the beast with a single irreversible brush stroke that could never be undone.

Distracted by the sound of moving sand, you turn to see Jydor stride up to join you, the orc’s battle-scarred face appearing over the ridgeline, his face a ruin of crisscrossing claw marks with dark green skin covered in a thin layer of sweat and flame-colored eyes that rarely showed emotion.

“Night comes,” he stated.

Nodding your head in agreement, you reply, “Halthane will call a halt soon. We should send out scouts to look for a good spot to camp for the night.”

Jydor grunted in reply, and gazed back towards the caravan, the scars on his face stretching to create an almost hypnotic pattern. “Halthane will kill us all.”

And not for the first time, you can’t help but agree with the orc’s blunt assessment. The caravan master had pressed them hard for several days now, sapping the basilisk's of their strength, and pushing the guards to the brink of exhaustion. If not for the short breaks they took in between, many of the caravan hands would have keeled over from exhaustion. It also didn’t help that the greedy, fat gnome had hoarded much of the food stores for himself and his fellow merchants, causing an uneasy tension to grow among the caravan guards who risked their lives each day to protect them.

Many a night you had considered slipping out under the cover of darkness to slit open the gnome’s throat in the dead of night but then where would that leave you? Jydor despite his hatred of Halthane would not help you, and the other merchants would not stand by while one of their own was murdered.

Perhaps you’d get lucky, and one of the bandits that roamed these lands would slip into camp one night and fix the problem for you. But that kind of thinking was neither here nor there.

Rejoining the column of wagons, you trail after Jydor, the big orc kicking up sand into your face, while the soles of your feet are burnt black by the shifting soil, the hot desert breeze almost alive as it pushed against you.

For miles and miles, they slogged together across the endless sand dunes, your lips becoming parched and cracked with thirst, while the hot air slapped against your cheeks. The only thing to keep you going was the thought of the riches and wealth that awaits you at the end of your journey.

Slowed by the coming of nightfall as the suns finally sunk below ground, Halthane eventually called a halt for the night. The wagons circling to create a tight knot as they set up camp by the forest of Doranmere, the resting place of Pariquin a powerful elven mage that had died rescuing children that had been captured by raiding giants. The forest a tribute birthed by the fae'lon to honor their fallen kin.

Fingers stiff from the chill that crept into your bones from the sudden drop in temperature, you stand watch by the edge of the woods, thinking how you’d dearly like to get closer to the campfire, even for just a measly second…

(Click here to warm yourself by the fire.)

Spoiler: Spoiler

Deciding to risk it, you move closer to the flames for a few seconds to warm yourself, before returning to your post.

Perhaps once in the past when the Black Hands had ventured further out from the city walls, you would have stayed longer by the fire, but not anymore. (Due to loss of night vision in the next battle you will need to temporarily remove - 20 Resilience for that fight.)

(Click here to stay where you are.)

Spoiler: Spoiler

However, your better judgment kicks into gear and you turn away.

No point losing your night vision. Perhaps once in the past when the Black Hands had ventured further out from the city walls, you might have risked turning your back on the forest, but not anymore. (- 5 Health Points.)

The days in which Black Hands patrolled the land and made sure the roads were safe were over now, with most of them gone off to fight in a war brewing to the north with none barely venturing forth from the city walls anymore. This, in turn, had caused the Red Lands to become considerably more dangerous with a thick infestation of ghouls, bandits and others would-be marauders looking for easy prey.

It's why most merchant caravans didn't travel alone anymore, instead choosing to pool their resources together to better protect their goods. If not for the rise of the Merchant Houses, many of the cities would already have been reclaimed by the desert.

Given some dry bread to chew on while on watch, you pull it out and try biting into the hard lump when you spot the faint hint of smoke in the air. Smoke that was not coming from the camp behind you.

Tensing up at the possibility of danger, you rise to the balls of your feet, and stare off into the darkness. Wondering if there was someone or something out there watching you?

Heart pounding loudly in your ears, you decide now would be a good time to get away from the roaring campfire which would put you at a significant disadvantage and head in towards the safety of the forest.

Eerily quiet, you move forward slowly, dry leaves crunching beneath you, your hands brushing aside the branches that get in your way. The ground broken up by gnarled roots and tree trunks as though the land itself refused to accept them when you hear the muffled sound of voices close by.

(Click here to try and lose them in the forest.)

Spoiler: Spoiler

...Teeth gritted, you suddenly ghost forward rapidly, the hiss off arrows quick to follow behind as you sprint through the forest. The branches scraping, and cutting at your skin before you finally come to a halt beside a stone boulder. (- 25 Health Points.)

Already knowing what Halthane would say if you returned back empty-handed, you circle round to try and find them when you hear the distinct whisper of voices and catch a glimpse of your would-be hunters.

(Click here to do nothing.)

Spoiler: Spoiler

Continuing on as though all were normal, you pretend not to notice them when an arrow burrows itself your back, a second arrow slamming into a tree inches away from your skull.

Face clouded by a wave of pain, you sprint through the forest, feeling warm blood sliding down the spine before slowing down to pick up a thorny bush and removing the trail behind you.

Clear of the danger, you quickly deal with the wound on your back when you hear the distinct whisper of voices and catch a glimpse of your would-be hunters. (- 60 Health Points.)

To your surprise, you discover them to be a rather small motley crew of bandits, wearing leather jerkins and carrying steel blades that had been recently sharpened. They seemed to be discussing what to do about you, when the leader of the band a tall, brutish looking warrior spoke up, "You've done well to avoid us, but I think it's time we talked. There is no need for us to fight. After all, all we want are the chests of gold stored on the back of those wagons."

Curious, you stay silent and listen.

"You can either join us and attack the caravan? Or you can die here with the rest of them? What do you say?”

Half surprised by the unexpected offer, you peer out into the clearing and count at least four raiders with god knows how many more hiding out in the shadows where you couldn’t see them. As for those in the clearing, one of the bandits a short wiry figure, seems to be armed with a dozen small round metal balls that were attached to a belt looped around his shoulders and across his chest.

Choice 1. Do you step out of your hiding place to join the raiders and attack the caravan?

Choice 2. Do you charge in headfirst to attack the group of raiders?

Choice 3. Do you dart around the trees to get a better angle on the raider holding the combust ball?

Choice 4. Do you slip away to warn the caravaners?

Choice 5. Or do you simply walk away?