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It had felt like a long while since the creature had spilled blood. Imprisoned against his will for so long: the foul magics around him twisting his mind, driving him to madness. There were others, yes, those creatures who waited on his every whim. Yet he could only feel that they were involved in his imprisonment. He now had so much anger and frustration within him that he felt he would lash out at those nearby, those obediant thralls, who seemed to only wish to please him.

How exultant it felt to finally meet a foe face to face. To do the dance of combat and prove his basic superiority to these feeble creatures. It had been too long, too long since he had seen that final light snuffed out. Seen a body shiver as the soul fled the husk that once held it. Feeling that intoxication that comes...

There was a common saying along the Sword Coast, "Many hands make light work." The saying, simple as it was, estolled the virtues of community and camaraderie. Working side by side for a common cause with the goal to ease the burden which would be suffered by each alone. This saying, apparently, was not well known by this adventuring group.

Mariz drove the edge of his shield into the ground as best he could trying to dredge some of the rich earth of the feygrove into the shields basin-like backing so he could dig this shallow grave. A shovel would have made easy work of the soil, yet such a tool was nowhere nearby so a shield would have to do. The strain on Mariz's back and shoulders was terrible but he had left one woman unburied today and could not in good conscience leave this stranger...

Seldra Tylmarande was dead. Her ancestor, corrupted by undeath, lay staked in a tomb saved for those who fell to the influence of the enemy. The Knights of Helm's Hold used this tomb to prepare themselves and steel their minds to the horrors worse than death that could befall them. In one clear evening the last two Tylmarandes were swept from Faerun.

The time for mourning was not now though. Cleansing the temple mount had awaken terrible spirits and caused a cacophony which roused the Uthgardt below. The barbarian's looked upon the temple and knew an enemy was there, one who weilded dark magic. Armed with blade and bow the Uthgardt started up the path which led to Dragon's Roost. Their war cries filling the night.

The group only had minutes to prepare themselves. Payne was battered and bloody....

Eldon was hurt but could not will himself to die in the Hall of Moradin. He left his creations to their deaths and withdrew in his ghostly state as the Lady willed. Her instructions though were not perfect and he saw a time to act, a slim chance to save the lives of those who would free him.

As the gnome released his ectoplasmic form he focused all his substantials powers against the dragon Chartilifax. He preyed on the beasts arrogance and multiplied that trait as much as he could. Once that was done he focused on a lesser trait, a more difficult task, and magnified the Green Dragon's own lazy nature. He knew this much push would be felt by the beast but it was the least he could do, and it would buy the adventurers some time to thin the herd Chartilifax kept in his chambers.

Eldon was unable...

Eldon knew the time was coming. His abominations tensed at the sounds of combat echoing through the halls and turned to look at him for some freedom to act. He ignored their pleas to aid their families, their parents, against this hostile force. Instead, the gnome simply closed his eyes and felt the psychic reverberations flow through him.

He felt fear, anger, hope upon occasion, but mostly pain. Not the sort of pain one feels when run through by a dagger, but the sort of pain that comes from loss. When those closest to you are ripped from your life maliciously and against all effort on your part to stop it. He drank of this pain like sweet wine and let it nourish him. Eldon was bound to this place, to these creatures of his yet he hated them to the last. He was pleased to feel their deaths...

Seldra held a small planning session with the gathered heroes once they came into sight of Helm's Hold. The remainder of their contingent set up base camp near the High Road to await further instructions. It was the small expiditions job to scout the area and make sure it was safe to move in the refugees. Seldra left the refugees under the care of her second-in-command and chose to accompany the group on this first mission.

Barra had successfully moved in close to Helm's Hold and updated the group on their options. The main gates were still held by a small group of Uthgardt. The guards were alert and signs of a larger force were present (probably inside the village proper. There was also a verdant area of the hillside that could cover a small groups entry but the place sent a strange sensation...

The saviors of the city were escorted, some in chains, to the seat of Lord Neverember's power: The Hall of Justice. Assembled on a dias before them were the three voices of New Neverwinter; Lord Dagult Neverember, General Sabine, and Mayor Soman Galt. Of the three Mayor Galt obviously seemed out to punish Dunn and his companions. The gruff dwarf rained caustic tirades down upon the heroes as he repeatedly twisted their words and made unjust insinuations. General Sabine - on the other hand - seemed downright congenial. Never before had the group seen her so personable. Her strict persona softened perhaps by recent events? Lord Neverember was ever the voice of grace and control. Continually he nudged the conversation back onto topic and towards an all around agreeable goal.

Little did the ...

Alek's eyes opened slowly. His head pounded and his entire body felt like it was on fire which was the first sign that he was actually alive. The throbbing in his mind had not abated but they had lessened considerably. It was a small comfort to the Warden, but as his eyes focused on the room around him he realized it may be the only comfort he'd know for a while.

Directly to his left Mariz slept, his eyelids fluttering madly and his muscles spasming as if he was still trapped in combat even in his dreams. There were others too, multitudes of wounded lay on cots and makeshift bedrolls where they could. Those able to sit upright or stand were packed along the walls of the temple: all shared the same war weary expression on their faces. Like flies around a corpse the Sisters of Selune flitted...

The whispering madness had taken its toll on Alek and Dunn. Both adventurers were bruised, bloodied and exhausted yet neither was willing to turn back from their charted course. The Rust Monster lay dead among those guards assembled in the pipeworks. Orcs and Mintarn alike all killed in the line of duty protecting an enemy against their wills. It was a waste of life yet both adventurers felt the deaths were necessary...or did they? Could it be the whispering madness nudged them down this path of violence? These were the sorts of thoughts neither was willing to delve into at the time.

Just as Dunn's strength finally gave out; one of their comrades finally found them admidst the slaughter. Mariz, who had followed their trail and heard from witnesses topside of the duo's descent into the sewers...