Baldur's Gate : The Sword Coast Chronicles : NWN2 Persistent World

The gathering was silent and the slender elves spoke to each other in hushed tones. They sat in several small groups, sipping water and tending to their bows and fletching, making last minute adjustments to their bowstrings. Their movements were silent and graceful. The gentle wind blowing through the treetops and the rustle of small creatures in the underbrush could easily be heard. The silence made the approach of the pair all the more abrupt. One of the elves lifted her head as her keen hearing detected the clomp of heavy boots and the clank of shield on armor. The rest of the gathering looked up soon after as a lout voice bellowed forth, scattering birds and shattering the peace of the evening.

"Oi! Durgan, ye Dolt! Dat be da dumbest thing I've ever heard!" The voice was deep and heavily accented. Clearly the owner was a dwarf. Another voice replied, also deep and gravelly with an even heavier accent and a slight slur, as if the owner had been in the ale quite recently.

"Bah! Oi've ne'er 'ad no'in but troubles wit' 'at hog... so Oi threw it out th' winder!

The first dwarf made an exasperated sound and the listeners could almost envision him, for the voice was so deep, it was surely a him, could almost envision him shaking his head. "Ye dolt! Ye fergot to shut dat window afore ye threw the hog out 'o it!"

There was a moment of silence and the tromping and clanking of steel stopped, as though the second dwarf had stopped to consider the first's statement. "Oi! Oi'd ne'er thought 'o it tha' way! Roight foine oidea ye've got 'ere Kelburn! Roight foine!" The tromping and jangling started and redoubled as the second dwarf, Durgan, ran to catch the first.

The pair of dwarves rounded the bend and were confronted by over a dozen almond shaped eyes gazing at them in reddening sunlight of dusk. Kelburn slopped and looked for the leader of the group, but before he could say anything, or even identify a leader, Durgan strode forward, reached into his pack, and pulled out a finely crafted, but very small bow. He held the small bow in his hand and waved it over his head, the bow appearing ridiculously small in his large meaty hands. He bellowed at the elves, making more than a few start where they sat, and causing a few dogs in the nearby village of Gullykin to start howling.

"Oi've 'eard 'at 'ere's t'be a bow shootin' contests 'ere this foine evenin'. Me an' me brudder've commere t' win yer gold an' drink yer ale! Bwahahhahhahaaa!" The laugh was booming and even more dogs from Gullykin behan howling. A few of the elves covered their sensitive ears, and some of the closer elves covered their noses as the dwarf raised his arm to brandish the bow over his head.

After a moment of shocked silence, an elegant elf woman steps forward. "Greetings, master dwarves, I am Celeion D'Laiere. Have you come to test your archery skills against those of my kin and I?"

"Nae, lass... nae. Me an' me brudder jus' wan' 't be shootin' in yer' bow shootin' contest. We've no need fer yer arch'ry or any udder toipes o' clothin'. Oi've got me armer, an' that suits me jus' foine!" As he spoke, Durgan stuck out his chest to let the sunlight glint off of his breastplate as though to emphasize his point.

There was another long moment of silence. Durgan looked around to the elves and nodded, while continuing to display his bow as if to demonstrate that he was there for "bow shootin'" and not any "arch'ry". The elves looked at each other in wonder, not sure exactly how to respond to the matter of fact statement. Kelburn saved them the trouble. "Ye dolt! Arch'ry be da same ting as bow shootin!" He turned to the elves. "Ye'll be excusin' me brudder, 'e's a dolt."

Durgan smiled widely and puffed out his beard. "Roight! Arch'ry! Et's be bashin em arro's!".

Eventually the gathering quieted after the arrival of the dwarves and Celeon explained the rules of the tournament, interrupted several times by burps from Durgan and scolding from Kelburn. She had almost completed the rules of the contest as well as her first uninterrupted sentence when another dwarf trundled around the bend and into the circle of archers and dwarves.

"Oi! Brudders!" This dwarf had a shorter beard and his skin was darker than the other two, but otherwise the resemblance was unmistakable.

"Tagnar!" Durgan leapt to his brother, bowling over an unfortunate elf standing in the way, and headbutted him in the breastplate.

"Oi!" Tagnar laughed and slapped Durgan on the back, sending a puff of dirt and dried orc blood into the air. "Whadder ye an' Kelburn doin' here?"

"Tis an' arch'ry contest!" Durgan put extra emphasis on the word and looked around proudly, beard puffed out, to make sure everyone heard him. "An we're gon' win 't." Durgan took out his tiny bow again and presented it to Tagnar. Tagnar looked skeptical and glanced to Kelburn, who was shaking his head, so he said nothing.

The rules were explained and the contestants filed into their places. First to shoot was a very pretty elf maiden. She took up her bow and began singing a quite tune, as she sang, she held her bow more steadily. Taking aim, she drew her bow and let fly. The arrow streaked toward the target, trailing a bright blue nimbus which sparkled in the gathering darkness. The arrow thudded into the far target, very close to the center. The elf exhaled and seemed to relax as she unstrung her bow and moved to the back of the crowd.

More archers followed, human and elf. Each drew and fired in turn, striking the targets mainly, but also striking the dirt or trees near the targets. Durgan's name was called and he strutted to the firing line. He drew forth his small bow which cast a faint blue light over his prominent brow and nose. He clumsily drew an arrow from his quiver and attempted to nock it on the bowstring. A general murmer arose from the crowd and more than a few ducked behind their companions, trees, or nearby wagons.

"Oi! Ye best be gettin' down, lest ye foind an arrow in yer bum!" Yelled Kelburn from behind a nearby statue.

Durgan grumbled under his breath, but said nothing in reply. After several abortive efforts and rather creative combinations of dwarven profnity, the arrow was in place. He grunted and drew the bow back. Unfamiliar with the feel and the suddeness of the motion, he whirled in place, pointing the arrow at various parts of the crowd. Pandemonium erupted. The agile elves leapt behind rocks and wagons. The slower humans swore and scrambled for cover. Kelburn fell on the ground, rocked by peals of laughter. Tagnar muttered under his breath and a transparent shield appeared around him as he watched the whole of the affair with a bemused expression.

The turmoil behind him combined with the unfamiliarity of the bow proved too much for Durgan's concentration. His fingers lost their hold on the bowstring and the arrow flew into the crowd, deflected off of a rock, and thudded straight into Kelburn's buttock. Kelburn howled and pulled the arrow out. The glancing blow on the rock had slowed it so that it barely penetrated the chain shirt uner Kelburn's mail, but the wound still bled profusely.

"Oi! Ye've shot me! Ye great dolt!" Kelburn exclaimed with more indignation than pain.
Tagnar was rolling on the ground now, crying with laughter, unable to catch his breath.

"Bah stop yer cryin!" Said Durgan. Before Kelburn could reply, Durgan had nocked another arrow and all in the crowd hit the ground, finding whatever cover was available. Durgan closed one eye, then the other, then opened both eyes again. Wobbling crazily, he let fly. The bow flared with an inner light and the arrow seemed to curve slightly in it's trajectory and miraculously thud into the nearest target, right next to that of the elf maiden's. The arrows were too close together to tell which was closest to center and the elf maiden looked nervously at Durgan's arrow still quivering in the oaken target, next to hers.

"Oi! Dat's a good shot, brudder!" Tagnar slapped Durgan hard on the back as he moved back to the crowd. Kelburn just glowered at him and dabbed the blood coming from his buttocks with a rag. Kelburn was soon distracted as he was in the next order of archers to fire.

"Oi! Brudder... gimme yer bow." Kelburn reached for Durgan's tiny bow that he was showing off to a human next to the ale keg. Durgan looked at the bow in his left hand, and the mug of ale in his right, shrugged and handed Kelburn the bow while he drained his mug and went for another.

The second order of archers took longer than the first. Being more experienced they underwent their various rituals. One knelt and prayed to her deity, another took a sprig of grass from the ground and let it fall watching as the wind took it genlty away. Some even cast minor enchantments to enhance their aim or sight in the dimming light of evening. When Kelburn's name was called, he strode confidently up to the mark. He drew an arrow from his quiver and nocked it onto the bowstring with surprising ease. A soft but audible sigh of relief arose from the crowd which was preparing to seek cover at the sight of another dwarf at the firing line. Kelburn took a few tentative draws on the bow, gauging the resistance, then put the arrow to his mouth and blew a gentle stream of flame onto it. The flame leapt to the arrow, engulfing it, but not consuming it. The scattered exclamations from the crowd did not break the dwarf's intense concentration. He drew, held, and let fly. The arrow flew, a fiery dart in the dim light, and struck the target dead center, splitting it down the middle. Kelburn let loose a roar of triumph, which was echoed by the other dwarves in attendance. "Ironfaaaaaarrrr!" The elves and humans in Kelburn's firing order looked stricken and shocked. There was little fanfare as the last of the shooters strode to the mark and let fly. None came close to rivaling Kelburns shot, however.

"Oi! 'At's th' way th' Oirnonfaars be doin' 't eh, brudder? EH! Bwahahahahahaaa!" Durgan was well into his ale by the time Kelburn joined his brothers by the tanakards of ale. Several elves could be heard discussing in worried tones the cost of providing sufficiant ale to the dwarves. A second wagon had already been sent to the Gullykin tavern to replace the dwindling supply, and the Ironfaar brothers showed no sign of slowing. "Ye'll be winnin' th' proize fer shar, brudder!" Durgan said with a belch so loud that the next order of shooters turned and shot him several sour looks. Durgan's bellowed laughter was the only response they received for their trouble.

The next order of shooters was comprised of the elite from the sword coast. Rangers and warriors of renown were in attendance as well as a crafty-looking wizard. Bows of fine and beautiful wood, imbued with powerful magics were drawn and fired. Arrow after arrow thudded home at the center of the targets. One archer even managed to split the arrow of the shooter before him, drawing a cheer from the crowd. The wizard's name was called and he began chanting. His fingers danced and wove shapes in the air, trailing a ghostly light which shimmered in the air. Enchantment after enchantment fell upon his hands, arms, and his bow until he glowed brightly. A small cat standing by his feet also appeared to fall under the enchantments as it began to glow a fiery red. Durgan had been paying little attention to the wizard, as he was debating whether to drink from his left or right mug first, but for some reason the cat caught his attention.

"Oi! Kelburn!" He jabbed his brother hard in the ribs.

"What ye dolt?"

"Oi! Lookee! Th' cat's afoire! O'er yonder! Th' cat! Lookee!" Durgan pointed and jabbed as Kelburn searched the crowd.

"Oi see ti, oi see it! Stop yer jabbin or oi'll bib ye good! Ye know... ye should do somethin' about that cat. Mebbe ye should put it out." Kelburn said with a sly wink to Tagnar, who started chuckling.

Durgan nodded once decicively, spilling his left mug of ale. "At's just what oi'm a gon' do!" Striding purposefully to the kegs of ale, he took his axe and split the top of the nearest one. He caught some of the amber drink in his two mugs, but most of it poured onto the grass. Seeing the ale go to waste, he grabbed the keg under one arm and hoisted it off its stand and trundled unsteadily toward the unsupecting feline which was watching its master stride toward the shooting mark.

"Oi! Kitty, now 'is 'ere's fer yer own good! T'won't do 't 'ave ye afoire in t' middle o' th' shootin' connest, now 'illit? Nae, nae!" The cat turned what seemed to be a perplexed eye upon the slurring dwarf just as Durgan poured his left mug of ale on its head, drenching the feline. The cold liquid seemed to freeze the cat in it's tracks, for it did not move, but crouched and began to growl. The bright glow about the cat did not dissipate, and seeing it persist, Durgan promptly dumped his right mug onto the cat's back. "Now 'en kitty, 'ats th' way... 'at's th' way." The glow still did not abate, which perplexed Durgan. He cocked his head to the side and began to raise the keg over his head, intending to dump the remaining ale on the cat. Before he could complete the action, the cat sprang upon Durgan's face. Clawing and biting, the cat yowled like a demon, but the dwarf yowled louder. Durgan lost his grip on the keg and it fell on him, sliding over his head and halfway down his torso, pinning his arms to his side. From within the keg, the cat's cries of anger became frantic as did Durgan's. The cat scratched, Durgan bit and thrashed until he ran headlong into a great rock. The keg shattered, the cat was thrown free and Durgan fell on his back, still and silent.

Durgan's brothers were rolling on the ground wheezing and gasping for air. The other competitors were either outraged or doubled over in laughter, and the wizard was shooting daggers at Durgan as he collected his traumatized familiar. A nearby elf took pity on Durgan and dabbed at his scratches and bites with a clean cloth as the dwarf began to regain consciousness.

The crowd eventually calmed, the competition resumed, and Durgan was hauled by his brothers to the ale kegs where a few mugs of ale splashed in his face soon found him revived and bellowing that he had saved the cat's life and would be declared a hero. His brothers attempted to quiet him to little avail.

The archery contest came to a climax when two archers, both masters of the bow, shot so close together that a draw was declared and a shoot-off was declared. A single twig from a nearby budding tree was cut and driven into the ground. It was no more than half a finger's breadth and was barely visible in the dim light. The first archer, a renown elven ranger approached the firing line. He knelt and felt the earth. He picked up a handful of earth and let it fall to the ground, observing the effects of the gentle breeze.

"Oi! Are ye diggin' a cat-hole or are ye' gon' shoot yer bow? Eh?" Durgan yelled from the back of the crowd. "Oi!" He exclaimed as Kelburn and Tagnar hit him on the back of the head simultaneously.

Undisturbed by the outburst, the ranger stood and drew back his bow. The cords of his arms knotted and the stave strained against him. For a moment all was still, then the arrow leapt from the bow. The twig moved slightly as the arrowhead cut a clean line across its left side halfway up the shaft. Sounds of approval and applause rose from the crowd but the elf seemed dismayed.

A human fired next. This one was a little-known nomad from the Silver Marches. He was plainly dressed, but moved with a graceful ease to rival the elves. His bow was well crafted but certainly not ornate. He walked forward, closed his eyes and mouthed something to himself. Durgan tried to shout something, but Kelburn punched him in the gut and Tagnar clapped his hand over his mouth, so all that sounded was a muffled "oofff".

The human drew an arrow, whispered something to it, then nocked and fired it in a motion so fast that some in the crowd were still watching the human when the twig was split in two. For a moment there was silence then the entire gathering erupted in cheering. Humans and elves alike crowded around the nomad, clapping him on the back and talking all at once.

The awards ceremony was brief. The winner of each category was given two heavy bags of gold. In the first order, the elegant elf maiden won first prize. She seemed pleased and relieved. To everyone's astonishement, Kelburn was announced as the winner of the second order. The dwarves bellowed, the elves smiled and offered their congradulations, and th humans clapped the dwarf on the back. The champion of the third order was presented the two bags of gold and an ornate ring that eminated a powerful magic dweomer that even the untrained could sense. After the awards ceremony, the gathering fell upon the food and drink in earnest.

Durgan approached Kelburn, holding out his hand. "Oi, whaddye be doin, ye dolt?" Kelburn demanded as he stuffed a honey cake in his mouth.

"Ye be shootin' wit' me bow, so oi'm figgein' that th' proize be moine. But oim a good brudder an' fair, so Oi was t' be thinkin' t' let ye keep 'alf o' it!" Before Kelburn could protest, there was a growl and a hiss behind the pair of dwarves. Durgan turned just in time to see the wizard's cat spring at him. With reflexes uncanny for a dwarf, Durgan leapt back, and the cat sailed between the pain. As Kelburn watched the cat fly past, Durgan took the opportunity to snatch one of the sacks of gold. He turned to run with Kelburn in close pursuit.

Those nearby began to laugh and in the darkness away from the bonfire, could be heard the sound of dwarves scuffling, biting, punshing and swearing.

"Bwahahahahaaa!" Durgan's booming laughter filled the wood on either side of the Tradeway North of Beregost as he deftly sidestepped the goblin's thrust, then slashed him once on the shoulder then again down the center of his helmet, splitting steel and bone. The ugly creature slumped to the ground and Durgan turned toward Beregost, a bounce in his step. "Now t' get 'th rats from tha' mad hinn!".

A fortnight before, Durgan had been in one ofthe local taverns in Beregost when he noticed a rat in his stew. He went to the cook to complain that he had only been given one rat. "Oi've poid good coin fer' me stew, an' oi dunna 'spect 't be sharted in me rats! Now ye be givin' me anudder rat, or ye be givin' me th' coin back what oi pad fer th' stew!"

The cook was short, even for a halfling, and rather skinny. When Durgan had initially barged into his kitchen, he was furious and was about to begin shouting at the dwarf when Durgan made his demand for more rats in his stew. This stopped the hinn cold and rendered him speechless, a rare state for him. After he recovered from his shock, he looked shrewdly at the dwarf, at the dwarf's armor, and the heavy handle peeking over his shoulder. "Oi, ye lookin fer work, dwarf?".

Durgan's face reddened and his voice became even louder. "Foirst ye shart me on me rats, an' now ye be 'spektin' me t' wark fer' ye? Oi... oi..." He sputtered and blustered and fumed, looking for something to smash with his head.
Fearing for his kitchen and his life, the hinn held up his hands to placate the dwarf. "Now.. master dwarf... ye look like a skilled warrior... perhaps we could be of some use to each other. How does a dozen rats sound to you?"

Durgan stopped raging and turned to the hinn, a twinkle of interest in his blue eyes. "Oi! Ye say? A dozin' o' th' critters." He considered a moment, then with an air of shrewdness, declared. "Meke 't twenny, and ye've yerself a deal."

The hinn smiled again. "How about this, master dwarf. You bring me thirteen of the blue glowing mushrooms from the Wood of Sharp Teeth, the ones that grow only at the base of the stones..."

"Oi! th' Arc Lanterns... oi've seen em!"

The hinn was irritated at being interrupted, but hid his emotions. "Yes.. the Orc Lanterns. Bring me thirteen of them and I will give you access to my cellar. You may catch and keep as many of the pests... er... delicacies as you wish."

"Ohhh ho hoooo!" Durgan rubbed his hands together. "Ye've yerself a deal, hinn... a deal oi say!" He left feeling quite shrewd at having tricked the hinn into allowing him to take all of the rats from his cellar. Chuckling he had departed for the Wood of Sharp Teeth.

So it was that Durgan was returning to the same tavern, a sack full of Orc Lantern Mushrooms on his belt and a smile on his lips. As he walked, he sang in his customary loud, off key voice.

"Oi've got me an ale in me 'and,
Oi've got me a lass upon me knee.

Oi've got me an ale in me 'and,
An th' 'appiest dwarf oi be!

Slap th' lasses on 'ere rump!
Then t' th' keg an' pump!
Slap th' lasses an' make em squeak!
Then t' th' keg an' drink yer drink!

Slap th'.... oi! Oi! Avereon Oi!"

Durgan stopped singing as he saw a figure in the gathering darkness. His keen eyes picked out the delicate but strong features of an elf maiden he had met while plundering kobolds in a ruin North of the Friendly Arms' Inn. She was speaking to what appeared to be a human when Durgan ambled up and interrupted.

"Oi! Avereon! Whaddaye be doin' ere?" The two jumped a little, as they were engrossed in their conversation.

The elf looked and smiled widely. "Durgan! What a pleasure to see you. I was just telling Merek here a story about one of your brothers." She nodded to the human as she spoke his name. He turned and gave a bemused smile to Durgan. Durgan smiled widely in return, clearly oblivious to the nature of the smile.

"Ye say? Which o' me brudder's d'ye see, eh?"

Avereon stopped and furrowed her brow in thought. "I do not remember his name, but he was wearing heavy plate armor with a great shield and heavy axe.. so he must have been an Ironfaar."

"Bwhahahahahaa! Lass, ye jus' descroibed 'alf o th' dwarves on t' sawrd coast, ye did!" Durgan slapped Merek on the back, catching the tall human off guard and nearly knocking him to his knees.

Averion laughed good naturedly. "I suppose I did. Well, perhaps it was not one of your brothers, but I was at the Friendly Arms' Inn earlier today and saw a dwarf, who may or may not have been one of your brothers, passed out in the bushes on the far side of the road. At first I was worried that he had fallen victim to bandits, but when I drew close, I smelled the strong smell of ale on his breath."

"Oi! A roight foine nappin' spot! Oi've had a few sleeps 'ere meself!" Durgan nodded gravely and looked sideways to Merek as though passing a bit of vital information. Merek grimaced as smile, still regaining his breath from the dwarf's friendly slap on the back.

Averion and Merek exchanged a private smile, then she continued. Yes... well, I checked to see that no one was about, then I fetched my quill from my pack and wrote "Orc kisser" on the dwarf's forehead. I had just finished when a butterfly landed on the dwarf's nose and caused him to sneeze, then wake up. He demanded to know what I was doing, and before I could reply, he saw what I had written on his forehead reflected in my amuled" She held up a shiny golden amulet suspended from a silver chain about her neck. "He looked puzzled for a moment then leapt at me. I dodged to the side and ran, laughing from him! I had no idea your kind were so fast! I only just left him panting behind when I reached the bridge to Beregost."

Before she had finished her tale, Durgan was doubled over in laughter. Tears streamed down his face and he boomed, disturbing livestock and townsfold alike. Merek returned their concered gazes with a helpless shrug and a mouthed "dwarves".

"Oi... Lass.... 'ats th' foinnst' thing oive 'eard 'n a fartnoight! Oi've got t' be tellin' Kelburn!"

"Nae need t' be tellin me, brudder!"

Durgan turned and saw his brother, a deep scowl on his forehead crinkling up two large words: "ORC KISSER". Durgan burst into another roaring peal of laughter, heaving and gasping for breath. Merek and Avereon tried to hid their amusement with little success.

"Oi! 'T least yer gettin' sum kissin from a somewhar!" Durgan bellowed again. This proved too much for Kelburn who punched Durgan in the face. Durgan responded with a headbut to his chest and soon the two were rolling in the dirt, leaving Merek and Avereon to watch the whole spectacle in amusement.

After the final troll slumped to the ground burning on Tagnar's fires, the trio sheltered in a recess in the cliff face. Kelburn lit a fire while Tagnar and Durgan unpacked the salted meats and dried cheeses they had purchased from vendors in Baldur's Gate the day before. Durgan produced three ornate mugs from his collection and filled them from his small keg that never seemed to be empty. Kelburn looked up from the flickering flames and smiled as he saw Durgan pouring the ale. "Oh hooo hooo! We're to be havin' a treat this evenin' oi see!"

Durgan smiled to himself under his beard. The youngest of the three, he was always pleased when his brothers complimented his ale. It was what he did best, and he devoted himself to it wholly. As he poured, careful not to spill any of the bitter drink, he thought back to his childhood in the Ironfaar clanhold. Images of his parents and his elder brother, Pudd brought a deep feeling of loss, but other images lessened the pain. He thought of the old brewmaster Thorosgaard Thunderbeard who had shown him the art and the lore of dwarven brewing, he had been like a second father to Durgan. He thought of the first keg of ale he ever brewed and how, upon drinking a mug of it, his brother Kelburn couldn't stray more than a dozen paces from the latrine for a full week. The memory made him smile.

"Whaddery laughin' about o'er there, ye dolt?" Demanded Kelburn. "Ye lookee what yer doin' or ye'll be spillin' th' ale, ye will!"

"Oi's jus' thinkin' 'bout th' foirst toime ye drank me brew, brudder. Oi was thinkin 'at now yer shootin' the foire from yer mouth, but back then, ye were shootin' th' foires from yer arse fer a full week! Bwahahahahahaaa!" The booming laughter echoed in the gathering darkness, startling the small night creatures nearby.

Tagnar joined in the laughter. "Oi, Kelburn! Ye were shoutin' from both ends ye were!"

Kelburn chuckled as he poked at the fire. The dancing flames reflected in his bright eyes and Durgan noted that they were not completely round. He thought it was odd and resolved to ask his brother about it sometime. The mugs of ale were passed around as were the meats and cheeses. There was loud crunching, slurping, and belching as the hungry dwarves quickly devoured the meal.

"Oi, Durgan..." Kelburn belched deeply. "This 's good stuff! Whadderye be callin it?"

"Oi call it me 'Stout Lass'."

Tagnar raised his mug "To lasses! Th' stouter th' better!" The three brothers raised the glasses and made rowdy noises and lewd gestures for a minute or so, then grew silent again. Kelburn broke the silence.

"Oi, ye ever meke any of Th' Kings Foinest Stout anymar, Durgan? Now 'at was th' stoutest ale Oi've e'er laid mouth on."

Durgan grew uncharacteristically quiet. "Tis lost wit' th' otherns... tis back with me ol' brewery... in th' ol tunnels." There was no reply. His brothers knew how deeply the loss of the old recipes had pained Durgan. He had been a young brewmaster when the stronghold fell to the Duregar and had not memorized all of the recipes before the clan had been driven out by the dark horde. Durgan was gifted by any measure and he retained the memory of many hundreds of different ales, but there were many hundreds more that were lost to him. Lost forever. Durgan shook his head.

"Oi'll get 'em back. Oi'll foind 'em." He punched a nearby rock to emphasize his point. His brothers exchanged worried glances. They had discussed this in the past and they were afraid that Durgan would indeed try to make his way back to his old brewery and attempt to recover the lost recipes of the Ironfaar Brewmasters. Durgan was skilled, but still very young and they feared he may fall to the denizens of the abandoned tunnels. They didn't tell him, though. The last time they had tried to tell him, it resulted in a brawl that left the trio in tatters. Tagnar ended up with a partially burnt beard, Kelburn with two black eyes and a bit of ear missing, and Durgan was knocked out cold for several hours, until a serving girl had accidentally spilled some ale on him, which revived him instantly.

So the two brothers said nothing to Durgan and finished their meal in silence. As they drifted to sleep on their bedrolls, they could still hear Durgan muttering quietly to himself. "Oi'll foind 'em, oh... oi'll foind 'em."

A small gathering of travelers and, by the look of them, adventueres were sitting around a fire outside the Friendly Arms Inn. Their conversation was suddenly interrupted as a dwarf with a great blazing red beard jogged up to them, puffing and laughing. "Aye! Tagnar, Kelburn, whadderye be doin' 'ere eh?". All those in the circle turned to regard the dwarf. Unabashed, he greeted them all at once. "Greetin's!" He flashed a wide grin and put his finger to the side of his nose. "Now 'ere's what 'ah'm a gon' do. Me axes be thirsty fer' th' scalies, an ah'm gon' bash some 'o 'em afore th' naet is out. Now which o' ye wan' t' come wit' me?"

The gathering sat in stunned silence at the barrage of nearly unintelligible dwarven slang. After a moment, a elf woman approached Durgan. "Greetings, master dwarf. My kin, here is young and still learning the use of his spear. If you are venturing into the wood this night, would you consider allowing him to come and learn from the experience?" She motioned to a young looking elf sitting by the fire. "His name is Hiliel."

Durgan looked the elf over. He looked young and thin, but capable and his face held a look of firm determination. "Aye... ah'll teke 'im." Looking across the fire, he addressed his brothers. "Ye two dolt's comin' or am aey t' be killin' scalies fer th' two o' ye?"

Kelburn seemed not to hear, as he was lost in a tome he was reading. Durgan noted that the image of a serpentine head was engraved on the top of one of the pages. Tagnar waved Durgan away. "I've no time fer th' wood this evenin'. Ye go yerself."

Durgan snorted and then turned to the elf. "Ye ready?"

"Wait." The elf maiden put her hand on Durgan's shoulder. "Let me ward you."

Durgan huffed impatiently, but said nothing. The elf woman was already lost in spellcasting and did not notice the dwarf's impatience. Ward after enchantment fell on the dwarf and young elf until they, their armor, and their weapons glowed with an inner light. As the minutes passed by Durgan became more impatient. "Bah! Ye'd think we were t' be facin' a draggin' fer all yer wardin'!".

The elf woman finished her final spell and smiled bemusedly at the dwarf. "You never know what you may find in the cloakwood, good master dwarf. I wish you fair hunting." She whispered a few soft words in the tongue of the elves to Hiliel, then returned the the fire where Tagnar was watching with a half smile and shaking his head.

With a final scoff, Durgan jerked his head at Hiliel, hefted his two axes from his back, and marched into the cloakwood. Hiliel jogged easily over the uneven ground to catch the dwarf. They had not traveled long before the keen eyes of the elf detected movement in the darkness. Durgan saw it too and the pair charged in. Durgans heavy armor and boots crashed through the underbrush, alterting the large lizardman of their approach. It lifted its axe, a crude but massive weapon, to the ready and swung mightily as Durgan emerged from the bushes. Seeing the blow, Durgan ducked and jabbed the head of his axe into the beat's gut, drawing blood and knocking the wind from it's chest. With the lizardman off balance, Hiliel easily slipped his spear past it's guard and drove it deep between the scales of its chest. The beast stiffened suddenly, then slid to the ground. Durgan wiped his axe on the ground and nodded in approval at Hiliel.

"Eh? Not bad. Not bad a'tall!"

Hiliel smiled at the dwar's approval and the pair moved off into the darkness, continuing their hunt. The Cloakwood was active and they found many a lizardman and giant beetle to slay. The even encountered one wicked fey that tried in vain to enchant Hiliel before being hacked down as Durgan charged in from behind. As they caught their breath, they heard several things moving through the underbrush nearby. Durgan roared something incomprehensible and charged toward the noise. Exploding on the far side of the underbrush, he stopped suddenly and blinked as his eyes adjusted to a sudden light. He looked around to see a group of five very surprised humans, one of whom carried a staff glowing with a bright white light. Hiliel caught up and the two groups looked on, each attempting to determine the intent of the other. One of the humans opened his mouth to speak, but a great crashing interrupeted him. The two groups turned as one and saw a serpentine head and neck enter into the circle of light. The creature was little taller than a human and three times as long. Two small horns could be seen atop its head. As it moved closer, it hissed and revealed a mouth full of sharp teeth. Two wings could be seen on its back.

"Dragon!" One of the humans shouted.

Durgan's eyes went wide. "Mayhaps ah was wrong!" He muttered to himself as the beast closed with him. He dropped one of his axes and took up his shield and closed with the beast as the humans behind him began to fire arrows the the small dragon. The wyrmling was quick and it managed to claw Durgan twice on the arm and once on the leg, but his heavy armor protected him from harm. Durgan dodged and blocked with his shield, waiting for the right moment to present itsself. The dragon reared suddenly, an arrow suddenly protruding from it's left flank. Durgan wasted no time and waded in, axe swinging mightily. In three quick swipes, the dragon was bleeding heavily from its shoulder, chest, and belly. Slowed by the wounds, it bit lunged clumsily. Durgan dropped his shield, while he sidestepped, then grasping his axe in both hands, he brought it down heavily on the young dragon's neck, severing it's head from its body. Deprived of it's head, the body of the wrymling went into convulsions, writhing and flailing wildy. Durgan was thrown into a nearby tree and the rest of the group backed away as the beast eventually slowed and grew still.

Hiliel ran to Durgan and helped the stunned dwarf to his feet. Smiling, he repeated the words of the elf woman to Durgan. "You never know what you may find in the cloakwood, good master dwarf!"

Still a fuzzy from the impact with the tree, Durgan smiled crookedly at the trio of elves who looked exactly like Hiliel. "Aye, ye've th' raet o' it, Hiliel.... now... ye dinna tell me 'at ye've got two brudders..." Durgan muttered something else unintelligible, the slumped to the ground snoring heavily.

Durgan Ironfaar was heading North. His brother Tagnar had told him about a great fish he had caught at the port of Ulgoth's Beard and Durgan figured that he would try his hand at fishing. The sun was directly overhead on the narrow winding road that led to the Chionthar Bridge and Baldur's Gate when he heard a rumble and saw a flash in the distance. He pulled his axe off his back and ran to the commotion. "Looks laeke a bit'o fun's t' be 'ad 'ere!" He rounded a bend and stopped, shoulders dropping a bit in disappointment. Before him were two red-robed humans facing another human that was surrounded by three charred corpses. He recognized the third as his friend Pate, who was in the process of thanking the two red-robed ones. "My thanks, I think."

Pate seemed hesitant and on guard, which Durgan thought was strange since he was thanking the two. He thought little of it, though, and ambled up to the trio. "Oi! Pate. Greetin's t' ye!" He then turned to the two other humans. "Ayyyeee now... 'em be some faene robes ye've 'ere! Faene indeed!"

The two humans regarded him for a moment. The one on the left, a woman, looked to the other, an older man, as if to gauge her reaction on his. The older one spoke. "Greetings master dwarf, and I thank you for your compliments. Your race is certainly known for its... discernment... in clothing." As he spoke, he gestured to Durgan's bloody and soiled armor. The woman at his side tried hard to contain a smile. All of this was lost to Durgan, however as he looked at the smoking corpses. The younger woman spoke then. "These robes are the mark of our order, for we are of the Red Wizards of Thay." She spoke with marked accent and ended her statement a bit of a flourish and looked to Durgan as if expecting a reaction. She received a reaction, but not the one she expected.

"Eh? Wizzerds ye say? Good. Ah've been meanin' t' talk t' a wizzerd. Ah be wonderin' if'n ye know a way t' make 't where ah kin turn me beard different colors when ah want t'. Ye know.. t' be impressin' th' lasses." He winked at the older wizard and put a finger to the side of his nose. Pate gave the dwarf an incredulous gaze and the human woman all but burst out laughing.

The human wizard curled the side of his mouth in what may have been a grimace or a smile, Durgan couldn't tell. "Ah, well it might be necessary to combine the arcane arts with those of alchemy to produce the result you desire, good dwarf. Perhaps an ointment of some sort applied to your beard, followed by a prismatic spray spell directed at your beard would have the desired result." The other wizard chortled a bit and then the elder wizard continued. "It may be... uncomfortable, but such inconveniences must be undertaken... the lasses and all..."

Durgan furrowed his brow in thought for a moment. "Alraet. Ah'll do 't. D'ye 'ave th' spell ready raet now?"

"It so happens that I do. I do not, however, have the ointment prepared, as our order has not yet seen fit to delve into the dark realms of dwarven cosmetics." The wizard somehow maintained a grave and serious face while the other two humans began to chuckle under their breath.

Durgan's shoulders hunched in disappointment. "Aye... well, if'n ye e'er faend yerself in th' posession of such ah ointment, ye be sure t' let me know."

The wizard bowed his tatooed head. "I assure you, master dwarf, I shall. Now if you will excuse me, I have pressing matters to attend to in the city." The wizard turned and began walking slowly toward Baldurs Gate. "Come Kalia." The human wizardess turned and followed at his heels.

Pate regarded the two as they departed, then turned to Durgan. "You are a strange, strange dwarf, Durgan."

"Aye, but nae as strange as ah'll be when ah've got me beard 't change colors on command, eh? Bwahahahahahaaa!"

Pate shook his head as he watched the still laughing dwarf amble north along the road.

The courtyard of the Friendly Arms Inn was uncharacteristically silent. The traders had left for the day and many of the farmers and tradesmen were already inside taking their dinner and ale. Thus it was that Durgan Ironfaar found himself alone at the auction table, save for the auctioneer and a rather oddly dressed elf flanked by a yellow and black spotted cat. Durgan gnawed his bottom lip as he talked to himself. "Oi... a foine blade... foine 'ndeed! Foine fer openin' kegs an' openin' Duregar." He spat as he uttered the name of the race of dark dwarves. His gaze was directed at a masterfully crafted axe laying in the center of the auctioneer's weapon display. The stout dwarf had spent the better part of a week coming to the auctioneer's booth to gaze at the axe. He always came in the evening so he could be alone to admire the workmanship and to relive the happy memories the weapon brought to mind. He recalled the first time he had ever seen the axe.

He was no more than a young lad then, and intended to be a paladin of the Ironfaar clan, like is elder brother Pudd. Although Durgan proved to be an able learner and strong warrior, he lacked the subtler qualities necessary for a holy warrior to exhibit. This became unavoidably clear when Durgan somehow acquired a carrion crawler maggot and hid it in a turkey at a feast for the Ironfaar holy orders. As the cover of the serving tray was removed, the maggot burst forth from the turkey and leapt upon one of the dwarven ladies, a wife of one of the clan nobility. After the ensing chaos settled down, Durgan was summarily expelled from the order.

Overseeing the ale at the feast was one of the clan's foremost brewmasters, Thorosgaard Thunderbeard. When he saw the maggot leap upon the proper dwarven lady's dress, he laughed so hard that he shot ale out of his nose and almost choked to death. A few weeks after the dinner, when the scandal had more or less passed from general discussion, Thorosgaard sought out the young Durgan and made him his apprentice. Thorosgaard taught Durgan the secrets of the dwarven brew and the two spent many hours together collecting ingredients from remote caverns deep in the earth beneath the Ironfaar clanhold. It was on the first of these expeditions that Durgan first laid eyes on the axe. He had seen his mentor cleave great creatures in two with a single swipe of the mighty blade. Once, when a cavern had collapsed and trapped them, he had seen the axe cut through the very stone to gain their freedom.

Durgan smiled as he recalled the memories, and he lovingly caressed the haft of the fine weapon.

"It is a fine weapon."

Durgan jumped and spun around, but saw only a small yellow cat with black spots looking up at him expectantly. "Ye talkin' t' me, kitty?" He asked as he bent down to pet the cat which started to purr contentedly.

From his left he heard a soft chuckle. "No, master dwarf. I do not believe Gendal can speak, although I do have my suspicions at times." The speaker gave the cat a mock stern look. The cat meowed in reply.

Durgan continued to pet the cat, scratching its chin. "Gendel eh? That be yer neme, kitty?" Gendel meowed as if to affirm the dwarf's statement. Durgan looked back up at the speaker. "Aye... ah know ye. Yer th' elf what told me 'bout th' elve's bow shootin' contest, ain't ye?"

The speaker nodded. "I do believe so. And you are Durgan Ironfaar, if I remember correctly?"

"Aye, aye, ye've th' raet o' 't. Ah'm Durgan. An whadder ah be callin' ye? I cannae raetly recall yer neme, elf."

"Varlock Banlin." The elf replied, then motioned toward the axe. "I noticed you admiring the blade. It is a fine weapon indeed. Dwarven if I am not mistaken and likely of Ironfaar workmanship."

Durgan looked longingly at the axe, only half hearing Varlok's words. "Aye... a faene blade 'ndeed. Ah'd give all ah' 'ave fer t'. Ifn' ah 'ad enough." Durgan wasn't sure why, but he felt at ease with this odd elf. He rarely let down his rough facade, but despite himself, he told Varlock the story of the axe and how it had been lost along with his brewmaster when the Duregar overran the Ironfaar clanhold.

After the tale was finished, Gendel meowed and pawed at Varlock's boot. "Gendel, no... it is hardly any of our affair, and even if it were, that would leave little money to purchase your makerel paste. You do want your coat to stay glossy, don't you?" Gendel mewed again and continued pawing at the elf's boot. Varlok sighed. "Very well." Waving to gain the attention of the auctioneer, Varlock inquired as to the price of the axe. When the auctioneer responded, the elf's eyebrows raised and he looked to his pouch. He produced two large gems as well as several stacks of coin and slid them across the table to the auctioneer. "That should be sufficient." The auctioneer nodded the affirmative, then strode to where Durgan was admiring the axe, lifted the weapon with surprising ease, then returned and handed it to Varlok.

When the auctioneer took the axe from its display table, Durgan thought he was closing the booth for the evening. He turned away and began walking toward the inn and did not see the auctioneer hand the axe to Varlok. Therefore when Varlok caught up with him at the base of the stairs leading to the inn, he was uncharacteristically speechless. He gibbered and guffawed in disbelief and a tear even welled up and rolled down his craggy cheek. Gathering himself, he faced Varlok. He spoke gravely and seriously without his usual grin and joviality. "Ah cannae be thankin' ye enough, an ah'll allus be indebted to ye fer this. Ah swear on this axe, th' ax o me master, ah'll be payin' ye fer 't."

Varlock started to protest, but Durgan interrupted him. "Nae. Ye've seved th' blade from bein bought by some milky longshanks an ah'll be payin' ye fer 't, an ye cannae be stoppin me!"

Seeing the determination in the dwarf's eyes, and knowing the race's proclivity for stubbornness, Varlock shrugged in assent. "Very well, Durgan. You have as much time as you need." He gestured to the axe that now rested comfortably in Durgans hands. "Wield it well, master dwarf."

Durgan spoke again, with greater gravity. "Ah swear on this blade t' be reclaimin' th' Ironfaar Brewer's clanlore. Ah'll not rest 'til every recipe 's been recovered from th' damned Duregar what stole 'em." As he spoke, the blade began to glow in Durgan's hands. The runes on the side of the haft, which read in the ancient dwarven tongue "Thunderfall" began to shift and morph. The glowing stopped and when Durgan looked at the runes again, they read "Brewmasters' Oath". He felt power coming from the runes, binding him to his oath and to the blade, and knew that he would not find rest until he had regained his clan's brewing lore.

A swirling mist shrouded the low broken landscape. Breaks in the low hanging fog revealed the spectres of ruined stone buildings scattered among low hills dotted with gnarled and weathered old trees. Unnatural sounds grated and railed at the edge of hearing, making two of the three adventuers wonder whether they were real, or just their imagination. The third adventurer was engrossed in cleaning the last bits of meat from the leg of lamb in his left hand. He noisily slurped and crunched at the gristle and bone until finally his brother could stand it no more.

"Durgan, ye dolt! Ye'll 'ave 'every beast on th' plain comin' after us if'n ye keep yer chomin'!" Kelgar Ironfarr shook his axe at his brother for emphasis, making the twin serpentine dragon heads engraved on the blade dance.

"An' innit' tha' th' point, eh? T' be killin' th' beasties? An how 're we t' be killing th' beasties, lest were faendin' th' beasties? Eh?" Durgan mokingly shook the gnawed leg bone at his brother. The leg bone was moist and it suddenly flew from Durgan's greasy hand and fell several lengths from the trio, barely missing the third of their party, a human named Vala. She let out a snicker as Durgan went scrambling for the remains of his meal. As he bent to retrieve it, a bony hand shot suddenly out of the ground and grabbed his wrist. The surprise stunned Durgan for a second, but when another bony claw shot up and drug what remained of his leg of lamb beneath the damp soil, the enraged dwarf let out an unintelligible war cry. Freeing his axe from his back, he raised it high and chopped at the hands. As his blade chopped thorugh the bone a sudden hissing sound filled the air and all around the trio enormous skeletons leapt from the earth and began swinging iron bound clubs wildly.

Kelburn breathed fire onto his axe and the twin dragons enscribed on the axehead uncoiled and opened their mouths in a silent hiss. Flames erupted along the blade of the weapon as Kelburn raised it to parry a blow from one of the giant skeletons. He rolled with the force of the blow and as he came up, swung his axe wide, severing the giant's foot. Durgan leaped upon the fallen undead creature and bashed it's skull in with his shield, giving it a final kick before turning to face the rest of the brutes.

Vala closed her eyes in concentration then threw her hands out before her, summoning a wall of bluish purple flame that engulfed two of the creatures. Their bones turned black and crumbled beneath the intense heat of the blaze. Behind her, the two dwarven brothers hacked the final skeleton until the ground around their feet was littered with shards of broken bone. Kelburn turned to his brother.

"Ah told ye dat would 'appen!"

"An ah did too! Ye said ye wan' t' be killin' th' beasties an' thats what we're ah doin'!"

Kelburn scoffed and waved his brother away. As he turned away from his brother who was laughing loudly at some private joke that only Durgan was privy to, the mist parted revealing a crumbling crypt. The door was smashed and hanging by just one hinge. Kelburn couldn't be sure, but he thought he heard a mournful tune eminating from the crypt. He began walking toward it and with each step the song grew louder and more enticing. He walked faster. Then he began to run.

"Should he be going there?" Vala's apprehension was evident in her voice.

"Eh?" Durgan turned and saw his brother running toward the crypt. "Eh? Ye dolt! Whar d'ye think yer goin?" Durgan charged after him. Vala sighed and trotted behind the pair of dwarves, unwilling to be left alone in the desolate landscape.

As Kelburn reached the door, a raspy, hissing voice filled the air around them, coming from all directions at once. "Yooou were foooolissssh to come heeere, dwarf!" The voice ended with a loud crack that thundered around the trio. They were thrown to the ground as the very earth beneath them shook.

Kelburn shook his head. "Eh... what 'appened to dat music?" Vala and Durgan looked questioningly at him for a moment, then Vala's eyes went wide. Kelburn turned to see hordes of rotting humaniod shapes come scrambling from the darkness of the ruined crypt. Vala summoned a wall of roaring flame before the door and the two dwarven brothers stood shoulder to shoulder in a gap in the wall surrounding the crypt.

The undead creatures mindlessly ran through the wall of fire and burst into flames. The ones that weren't consumed instantly soon fell to the dwarven axes that waited for them on the other side. Rotting corpses, misty wraiths, ghostly shapes, and creaking skeletons poured in wave after wave from the crypt, accompanied by menacing high pitched laughter. Vala threw bursts of fire and energy at the foes with Kelburn and Durgan hacked and bashed with their axes and shields. The minutes stretched into what seemed like an eternity before the stream of undead suddenly ceased. Durgan was in mid-swing when the skeleton he was battling suddenly vanished. He nearly lost his grip on his weapon in surprise.

"Eh... whar'd 'ey go?" Durgan blinked and looked around. He and his companions looked about. Where there were once piles of slain undead only barren soil and clumps of grass remained. The laughter had been replaced by the gentle sound of the wind in the grasses, and the mist swirled gently around the trio. Cut and battered in a score of places where their armor and shields did not protect them, the brothers leaned against the crumbling stone wall to rest. Vala scanned the horizon for movement.

With a rush, the mist parted and standing opposite the tomb was a massive bony figure. It raised it's skeletal head to the sky and a rattling sonorous roar issued from its mouth, shaking the companions to their core. As if responding to the call, the mist thickened around the dwarves and the human, making it difficult for them to breathe and even move. Choking on the mist, they fell to the ground, grasping at their throats. They could feel the ground shake as the great undead beast approached. In desparation, Kelburn cried out to his deity.

"Bahumuuuuuut!"

The shaking stopped and there was the sound like breaking crystal. The mist fractured before them and fell to the ground, revealing the great bone dragon. It stopped suddenly, as if confused by the destruction of the mist. Scrambling to his feet, Durgan roared and charged the beast. Foregoing his axe, he lowered his head and slammed headlong into one of the dragon's hind legs just as it was taking a step. The blow staggered it and it jolted to the side and lowered its head suddenly as Durgan rolled away. Kelburn took the opportunity to leap high in the air and bring his axe down on the beasts head. There was a sharp crack and the dragon staggered backwards, barely missing the whow was regaining his feet. Vala spoke sharply and flames engulfed the dragons hind legs, blackening them. Ignoring the flames that licked at his arms, Durgan hacked and bashed with his axe, cutting out chunks of the blackened bone from the dragons femur. The dragon tried to leap away and bat at the frenzied dwarf but was met with a blast of flame from Kelburns mouth. The bone dragon reared, and the two brothers waded in cutting and hacking. Vala cried out loudly and a great burst of power shot from her two hands and slintered the dragons' left hind leg. It went down heavily, breaking several ribs in the process. Kelburn quickly jumped atop its head and brought his axe down on the place where the skull met the spine, his axe cleaving cleanly between the space. There was a great flash of light and Kelburn was thrown clear. The light grew ever stronger and soon the entire length of the undead dragon was glowing. Cracks appeared in its bones and more light poured out from within. The three were forced to look away and shield their eyes. With a high pitched shriek and a thunderous crash, the light stopped. A pile of grey ashes was all that remained of the undead beast.

Vala went to Kelburn who was sitting on the ground, shaking his head. She helped him to his feet and the three of them began their journey back to civilization, away from the Fields of the Dead.

Avereon Elestrae listened closely to her quiet surroundings. Her keen elven hearing detected the rustle of her companions' armor as they shifted, as well as the gentle wind that swept the barren hillocks, but she heard nothing of the two dwarves.

"Anything?" A young human named Alexandros asked her.

"No. I hear nothing." Avereon did not appear irritated or worried, however. "It isn't the first time Durgan has disappeared like this. He will return and find us.

"Hopefully before the Basilisks do." A tall archer clad in leathers approached Avereon. "I do not relish the idea of facing them on our own."

"Aye" Said the third of the party, a young human named Vino. "I'd rather be avoiding that bit of excitement.

Averone smiled diplomatically, hiding her own misgivings about the situation. "He will be back. Tagnar will find him and the two will return. Besides Durgan is so loud that all the beasts within a league will be chasing after him. Knowing chuckles arose from the group. Even those in the group who had just met Durgan had soon become acquainted with his bellowing laugh and his never ending stream of barking jokes and exclamations.

"Well, nothing to do but wait." Pate sighed as he sat down on a nearby boulder and rested a moment, taking a swig from his water skins. The rest of the party settled in and formed a defensive ring to wait for their two companions.

Two days prior, the group had set out from the Friendly Arms Inn after hearing rumors that a drow raiding party had been sighted East of the halfling village of Gullykin. Avereon had heard her friend Pate talking with another human he itroduced only as Vino. The seasoned archer nodded grimly as he passed along the information. "A band of no less than six, is what the farmers are saying. Killed several of them before disappearing into the darkness without a trace. The Fist has had no success in tracking them and everyone in the region is gripped by fear."

Vino looked interested. "And you are assembling a group to find these drow?"

Pate nodded with characteristic determination. "They will not destroy what we have been working so hard to rebuild. Our relief efforst are just beginning to breathe lift back into the merchant trade and hope was just beginning to rise within the villagers of the region before this drow band appeared. Even if it costs me my life, I will stop them."

Vino was about to reply when Avereon stode up. Her eyes were wide with astonishment. "Pate, did I hear you say you were hunting th drow party?"

Before Pate could reply, the heavy double doors of the Friendly Arms Inn burst open and a short stout figure with a small barrel lodged on its head barrelled out, rearing its head from side to side and making muffled bellowing noises. Two dwarves followed behind, falling over themselves as they bellowed peals of laughter, tears streaming down their faces. One slapped the other on the back, and both nearly fell over. "Oi! Tagnar... ye've got to stop 'em afor he knocks down th' whole inn!" Bellowed one of the dwarves.

Tagnar wiped the teas from his eyes between bouts of laughter. "Aye, brudder, but 'twas ye what dared Durgan to see if’n he could fit th' barrel o'er his head. Tis yer problem." The two started as the figure with the barrel on its head let loose a roar and charged straight into a nearby outcropping of boulders. The barrel shattered and the dwarf beneath it bounced off the stone, landed on his back then spring up into a fighting stance, looking around wild-eyed.

The entire group of people outside the Friendly Arms Inn had ceased all discussion and trading and were now looking at the red-bearded dwarf who still had the hoops from the barrel around his neck. The dwarf grinned widely and waved to the crowd. “Greetin’s, greetin’s aye, aye… faene day ‘tis… faene. Oi! Avereon! Whadderye doin ‘ere, eh?”

The elf woman smiled as her friend ambled up, followed by his two brothers. “Greetings, my friend. That is an interesting helmet you had there.” She smiled as Durgans brother burst out into another round of laughter.

“Bah! Kelburn be tellin’ me tha’ ah’ cannae fit ‘th barrel o’er me ‘ead, an ah said ah could. An ah was raet too!”

“Aye, ye dolt! But ye couldn’t get it off!” Kelburn yelled between gasps for air as he laughed uncontrollably.

“Bah! Ye be seein’ th’ barrel on me ‘ead? Ye be seein ‘t? Nae! Now ye shut yer yap or ye’ll be fartin’ yer teeth out yer bun ‘n front ‘o all ‘ere folks!”

Kelburn started toward Durgan, but before the two dwarves could start brawling, Avereon stepped in between them. “Durgan, you’ve seen a drow before, haven’t you?”

Durgan’s attention shifted from his brother back to Avereon. “Aye, an’ ah killed ‘t deed too! The spindly thing! Whydye wan’ t’ be knewin?”

“Well, there have been some sightings of a drow party and Pate and I were going to investigate it. Interested?”

Durgan’s eyes lit up as did those of his brothers. The three dwarven brothers never turned down an opportunity for battle. “Aye! Aye!” Durgan and Tagnar shouted nearly in unison.

Kelburn fell silent and looked at the ground, however. “Bah… Ah cannae be comin’. Ah’ve got t’ be meetin’ th’ scribes at th’ candlekeep about some books.”

Durgan looked stricken. “Ye cannae mean ‘t! Ye’ll miss all th’ fun! An when’re ye t’ be gittin’ a chance t’ be bashin’ drow agin? Eh?”

“Nae brudder. Ah cannae be missin th’ scribe. Tis’ an important book ah’ve been lookin fer for months.

Durgan scoffed. “Faene. Ye be careful nae t’ turn t’ dust laeke th’ dusty ol’ books yer allus readin!”

With that, the group assembled. Pate, Avereon, Durgan, and Tagnar were joined by two young humans named Vino and Alexandros. The brothers said their goodbyes and the troupe journeyed south toward Gullykin. The voyage was generally quiet save for Durgan’s constant off-key singing and the occasional goblin foolish enough to attack the party. When the party arrived at gullykin, Avereon and Pate soon soon found signs of the Drow party. They led to the wilderness around a ruined stronghold known as Durlag’s Tower. The area was said to be home to the baslilisk, great magical lizards which can turn creatures into stone with a mere gaze. They soon found the rumors to be true. Durgan caught sight of a pair of Basilisks and charged with Tagnar close behind. There was a quick fight in which Tagnar blanketed the beasts in magical energy and acid while Durgan chopped away. The fray was soon concealed in a cloud of dust and when the dust was gone, so were the dwarves. All that remained were the mangled corpses of the two basilisks. In the distance, the party heard Durgan bellowing his battecry, but had seen no more of the pair.

Thus it was that the four companions found themselves waiting for the two dwarves to return. After several hours the younger companions began to grow restless and even had mentioned returning to Gullykin for the night as the sun was dipping low toward the horizon.

Suddenly there was a great bellowing roar followed by raucous laughter and yelling.

“Durgan! Ye great dolt! Ye git yerself down frome ‘ere!”

“Bwahahaahahaaaa!”

The four jumped to their feet as they saw a huge basilisk come running at full speed around a bend with Durgan astride it, laughing maniacally and hitting it’s tail with the flat of his axe. “Onward ye! Onward!”

Durgan’s companions barely had time to dive out of the way as the great beast barreled through and turned suddenly, throwing Durgan from his back. The dwarf rolled and came up on his feet just as the beast doubled back and charged. The huge lizard’s eyes glinted suddenly and the air in front of it shimmered as arcane energy radiated from its eyes. A tuft of grass next to Durgan turned grey and made a crackling sound as it turned to stone. Durgan took the brunt of the blast and grunted as he resisted the attack. He slowed for a moment then shook his head as if shaking off a blow to the face. Bellowing, he resumed his charge toward the lizard. Just before he and the beast crashed into each other, Durgan jumped to the side, landed on a low bounder, then sprung high into the air. He held his axe overhead and swung it down on the beasts head with a mighty crunch of scales and bone. Durgan lost his grip on the axe, which had lodged firmly in the beasts skull and rolled away. The great lizard swung its head wildly and lurched to the left. It turned around in circles, then slowly started limping toward the unarmed dwarf. Durgan was trapped against a steep bank and had no retreat, so he drew his shield and prepared to charge as a sharp crack sounded above him and the basilisk suddenly slumped to the ground with a pair of arrows protruding from the base of its head.

Melodic laugher came from the top of the steep bank and Durgan looked up to see Avereon standing on the small hillock. “I guess it’s my kill, Durgan.”

“Bah! Allus keepin’ score! Ah softened ‘im up fer ye anyway.” Durgan grumbled as he clambered atop the dead beast and retrieved his axe. Avereon smirked and the two returned to the group. The six forged ahead through the maze of hillocks and shallow valleys until they found themselves looking at a massive fortress ravaged by the passage of time. Many of the turrets and battlements and even some of the main towers had collapsed in upon themselves. Vines clung to the side and the moldering remains of wooden buildings lay scattered about the courtyard. A stone causeway spanned the deep gorge which surrounded the keep and two massive bearded statues stood as silent sentinels on either side.

The group tentatively approached the causeway. Pate checked the ground and nodded, indicating that the group of drow had passed that way. The six faced the tower and grimly approached the ironbound double doors. They were heavy, but swung easily on the expertly crafted hinges.

“Dwarven warkm’nship!” Durgan boasted proudly, puffing out his enormous red beard. He pulled hard and one of the great doors swung outward with a soft squeal. Suddenly the squeal turned into a shriek, then a harsh grating sound as the weight of the door tore one of the hinges from the stone. The door tilted wildy and crashed to the ground, narrowly missing Axandros. His quick elven reflexes saved him as he rolled to the side just before the mass of wood and iron crashed into a heap where he had been standing less than a second before.

Avereon turned to Durgan and quirked her brow. “Dwarven workmanship?”

“Bah…” Durgan grumbled several unintelligible comments to himself as he lead the way into the tower, with Avereon chuckling behind him.

Even in it’s dilapidated state, the interior of the keep was awe-inspiring. Sunlight filtered in though broken windows and holes in the roof and wall revealing intricate sculptures of both humanoid and monstrous figures. Great mosaics of epic battles between dwarves and giants, orgres, and orcs decorated the floors and walls. The walls rose with great supporting columns up to a ceiling which was shrouded in darkness high above the floor. Each step resounded many times over in the great halls of the ancient fortress. Even Durgan passed in silent reverence.

The first level seemed empty, for nothing stirred amid the various rooms, chambers, and halls the group searched. A feint boot scuff here, a disturbed floor tile there, and various other signs led the observant trackers of the group along the path of the drow.

“They are out of their element, and making mistakes.” Pate observed as he noted a boot print in the dust of the keep. “No doubt this is the first time this particular raiding party has ventured to the surface. It is fortunate, for that is the only thing that is allowing me to track them.”

“Bah! Yer do’in a fane job there Patie!” Tagnar slapped Pate on the back as the archer stood. Pate shook his head and smiled. He had tried time and again to get the dwarves to stop calling him by the nickname Tagnar had given him months before when they had first met. He had succeded with Durgan after besting the stout dwarf in a duel two months prior, but the other dwarves still referred to him as “Patie”. In truth, he had grown accustomed to the affectionate, if somewhat humiliating, nickname.

The drow’s trail led to a crumbling staircase that descended deep below the fortress. The dwarves and elves let their eyes adjust to the deepening gloom and Avereon cast a simple spell to allow Vino and Pate to see a short way in the darkness beneath the keep. The stairs ended at a rotten door and the party passed into another massive hall. They moved as silently as possible, but their steps were still painfully loud to their ears, especially Durgan’s heavy iron-shod boots. When Avereon mentioned this to Durgan, he scoffed and waved her away.

“Bah. Ifn’ we cannae fin’ th’ stinkin’ drow, mayhaps ‘eyll be findin’ us. Eith’r way, ah git t’ be bashin em! Ah’ gon’ tell ye what ahm gon’ do t’ th’ first drow ah faend. Ah’ll kick me boot sooooo far up his… Oi!” Durgan was cut short as a small twang sounded in the darkness behind him. It was instantly followed by a thud as a small bolt buried itself in Durgans shoulder where the plates of his heavy armor joined. The chain shirt he wore beneath the armor absorbed the force of the impact, but the tip of the bolt still buried itself in the dwarf’s tough skin. Durgan roared and charged into the darkness, straight at the surprised drow. Durgan felt a tingle run through his body but ignored it and forced his arms and legs to obey him. The drow gave him an incredulous and hate filled look as he dropped the crossbow he was holding and drew a pair of finely crafted blades. The dark elf launched into an intricate dance of feints and jabs designed to confuse his opponent. Durgan stepped back for a second, scowled, then charged the drow headfirst. Caught in the middle of a complex spin move, the drow was unable to avoid the charging dwarf and Durgan bore him to the ground beneath the massive weight of his body and armor. Several blows for Durgan’s head and mailed glove soon ended the drows struggles.

Durgan stood, his body still tingling from the bolt, to see the other five in his party engaged with the rest of the drow. There were seven in total. Tagnar and Vino had formed a defensive formation in the hallway, protecting the two elves and Pate as they launched arrow after arrow toward the drow. Durgan took a moment to admire the skill of the drow, how they coordinated their attacks and deftly parried the arrows launched at them, occasionally cleaving the shaft of the arrow in two just inches before it impaled them. Despite the skill of the drow, the rain of arrows began to take it’s toll. Pate nocked two arrows at once and launched them at a large female drow who had disarmed Tagnar and was preparing to bring her heavy mace down upon his head. The arrows flew from Pates bow and passed inches from Tagnar’s head to Bury themselves deep in the drows neck. She fell away with a gurgle, her mace falling from her lifeless hand.

Two more drow fell seconds later, one with an arrow protruding from the middle of its chest and another from its eye. The remaining four focused all their attention on Tagnar, who was already bleeding from several deep cuts. The dwarf reached within himself and flung a burst of magical energy at the nearest drow, but the dark elf seemed unhurt and continued his advance. Cursing, Tagnar drew his pick-axe and took out the left knee of the nearest drow, dropping her to the ground writhing in agony and clutching her shattered leg. The other three were on him then and quickly scored a deep cut on his chest and thigh. Tagnar’s leg buckled and he went to one knee just as a drow blade whistled over his head. Seeing his brother’s fall, Durgan roared and charged into the fray. Using his shield, he battered the nearest drow to the ground, catching it off guard. He then slipped his hand out of his shield and threw it at the second drow. Seeing the movement, the dark elf easily ducked the shield and sneered as it passed overhead. He was not, however, able to dodge the mighty overhand swing of Durgan’s axe that followed the shield. Relieved of the burden of his head, the drow slumped to the floor and lay very still. The remaining two drow turned to flee, but a hail of arrows dropped them before they had moved more than three paces.

A thorough search of the bodies revealed a gristly sight, confirming this was the raiding party. They found several pairs of elf and human ears as well as a holy symbol of Meilikki. The companions were so disgusted by the sight that they didn’t even take any valuables off of the bodies. They heaped the bodies in a pile, poured some oil that Vino had in his pack onto the corpses and burned them. The smoke drifted up slowly toward the high vaulted ceiling as the flames crackled and popped. As they were about to leave, Durgan’s nose twitched.

“Eh? Ah smell GOLD!” He turned and hurried off toward a long wide hall. His companions exchanged puzzled glances, then followed at a more moderate pace. Their pace increased to a run when the sounds of an “OI!” followed by a great crash and a mighty roar. The five turned the corner and found themselves staring into a massive chamber. In the center was a dragon the color of night. Sparks showered the floor around it as Durgan slashed at the beast, dodging its swiping claws and biting maw. He noticed his friends round the corner and made a shooing gesture with his axe.

“Run ye dolts!”

Seeing him distracted, the dragon prepared to swipe at the dwarf, but a volley of arrows aimed at the dragons head made it recoil.

“Ah said RUN!” Durgan bellowed and charged directly at the dragon, hacking at it’s belly. Lightning quick, faster than the dwarf could dodge, the wyrm snapped its black head forward and down upon the dwarf, and he was no more.

“Duuuurrrrgan!” Tagnar and Avereon screamed in unison. It was all Vino, Pate, and Axandros could do to pull the pair out of the room and down the hall. Avereon came to her senses eventually, but Tagnar remained crazed and fought and kicked to get back to the room where his brother had fallen. It was all the four companions could do to hoist him and hold him while they made their way from the dragons lair. Their progress seemed tortuously slow and when they finally found the stairs leading up, they were exhausted. They dragged the now almost comatose Tagnar up the stairs and out into the darkness of night. Fearing the basilisks, they found an defensible spot near the keeps wall, constructed a crude barricade from the fallen door and settled in for the night. Exhausted and bereaved, not a word was exchanged between the companions. They ate what rations they had remaining and set up a watch to get some rest, but no one slept. They lay on the ground pondering their lost friend, and the inevitable thoughts of their own mortality.

The dragon was furious as the tiny creature that had dared to invade it’s lair. Its hacking stung and it brought others that shot the tiny darts at its eyes. It was with relish, then that it snapped its jaws over the dwarf and swallowed it whole. It tried to draw in a breath to bathe the other little things in a stream of acid, but something caught in its throat. It started as a prick, then grew to a pain, then the pain engulfed the beast. It began to writhe, slinging its great head back and forth, flailing with its tail and tearing at its throat. A strange guttural gurgling sound emitted from it throat and then with a mighty gag, it disgorged the dwarf that had become lodged in its throat. Enraged, it reared up to its full height to smash the dwarf, but in it’s convulsions, the dragon had wandered to a low part of its lair and as it reared up, its head snapped violently into the ceiling. The violence of the impact was such that the stone of the ceiling cracked and the dragon fell limply to the ground. For several long minutes, everything was still, then Durgan stirred, groaning, and made his way to his feet. He looked around in confusion until he saw the form of the still dragon. The sight brought his world suddenly into focus. A glint to the left caught his eye as he spied his axe. He walked unsteadily toward the weapon to retrieve it, when another glint caught his eye, then another, then a thousand glittering specks of light. Gold!

Durgan ran to the pile and began scooping handfuls of coins and artifacts into his pack until he could barely lift it. He was just hefting the pack when the great dragon began to stir. As quietly as a ironshod dwarf carrying a sack of gold could, Durgan stumbled from the beasts lair. He redoubled his movement as he heard the beast’s roar as it awoke and realized its prey had escaped with some of its treasure. He emerged from the keep just as the sun was peeking over the edge of the keeps walls. To his left, he saw five figures huddled around a low fire behind a stack of wood and iron.

“Bwahahahaahaaa! Ye dolts! Whaile ye were sleepin’ Ah was busy faending treasure! Bwahahahaahaa!”

His companions looked as if they had seen a ghost. Avereon leapt over the pile of wood and embraced Durgan. Alexandros and the two humans followed a little more slowly to pat the dwarf on the back, but Tagnar just stood with his mouth agape.

“Oi! Tagnar, ye gon’ t’ be seein’ what ah got, or just standin’ ‘ere laeke a dolt?” Durgan got his answer when Tagnar slid to the floor, unconscious from the shock of seeing his brother alive. When they had revived Tagnar, they build a fire and Durgan shoed them the treasure as he recounted the tale.

“An so th’ dragon coulna’ be meken’ a meal out ‘o an Ironfaar. Too ‘eavy, ye see! ‘Th big dolt
‘ad ‘t spit me out! Bwahahahahaaa!” His companions laughed more out of the joy of having their friend back, than the joke itself. Durgan looked at them happily, feeling quite clever at his joke completely unaware at the source of their happiness. They divided the treasure equally among themselves and began the long and thankfully uneventful, treck back to the Friendly Arms Inn.

Beer and ale flowed freely and already more than a few words were being slurred amongst the crowd gathered at the Baldur’s Gate Arena. A colorful, finely embroidered tent had been erected and beneath it sat a well to do gentleman accompanied by a striking elf woman. There were several other figures standing around the pair, clearly servants of some type. Groups of humans, elves, halflings, and dwarves drank and talked and mingled and laughed. Ocasionally glances were directed toward three dwarves standing in the arena as they arranged mugs of ale on a long rough-hewn oaken table. One of the dwarves, Durgan Ironfaar, would periodically drink one of the mugs, eliciting a reprimand from the other two. Several times the exchange nearly came to blows, but finally the table was heavily laden with frothy mugs. The red-bearded dwarf climbed atop the table and in a loud voice announced the beginning of the festivities.

“Ah’m t’ be welcomin’ ye t’ the Kraak Helzak drinkin’ contest an’ pit faet!” A few out of the crowd turned their attention toward the figure, but most continued their drinking and talking. After a few moments of staring at the crowd with his hands on his hips, the dwarf huffed, cupped his hands about his mouth, and in a booming voice, drew the crowd’s attention and also set several of the dogs in nearby farmyards to barking.

“Now ye lis’n up! Ah’m t’ be telling ye what yer t’ be doin, but first ah’m told by me brudder.” The dwarf gestured to another dwarf with dark hair standing by the table and shaking his head. “…by my brudder, ‘at th’ good King Dovkin Battle’ammer be welcomin’ ye t’ the Kraak Helzak drinkin’ contest an’ pit faet!” Cheers and yells erupted from the crowd. Durgan smiled at the response, enjoying the attention. He proceeded to recite the rules of the drinking contest in a heavy dwarven accent that caused many contestants to scratch their head in confusion and ask their equally confused neighbors what the dwarf was talking about. Eventually, those who wished to compete were made to understand that they were to take their place behind the heavy oaken table, facing the crowd.

“Now, yer’ t’be drinkin one at a taeme. Ye teke th’e drink an put yer mug down on th’ table. Ifn’ ye be fallin’ down, yer out! Ifn’ ye be spillin yer drink, yer out! Ifn ye be heavin’ yer guts onto th’ table, yer out! Ifn’ ye be…”

The dark haired dwarf beside Durgan hit him on the back of the head. “All raet, ye dolt! They get it. Now git yer contest started eh?” After several sharp words between the two brothers, and some diplomacy from their third brother, Tagnar, the contest was under way. In all there were fifteen contestants standing behind the oaken table. There were several noteworthy contestants. Among the dwarves were Matilda Stonehold, a stout dwarven lass of local renown, a thick and hearty dwarf with a red mohawk known only as Starkard, and Tagnar Ironfaar, brother to Durgan and Kelburn. There were elves as well, notably the forest warrior Mendel and close friend of Durgan, Avereon Elestar. The first few rounds passed unremarkably with each contestant easily finishing their mug and placing it empty on the table. To Durgan and Kelburn’s surprise and great amusement, their brother Tagnar was the first to waver. After finishing his fifth round, he swayed a bit before placing his mug precariously near the edge of the table. Tagnar looked with a befuddled expression at the table, his hands, and then the crowd around him.

Durgan nudged Kelburn with his elbow. “Eh, brudder, ah’ put a lil’ sommat extra in Tagnar’s ale. Bit of potion ah got from some wizzerd. ‘E claimed ‘twould put th’ stoutest dwarf on ‘is arse in less ‘en faeve minutes. Bwahahahahahaahah!”

The wizard’s claim proved true. Tagnar’s expression changed from confusion to vague relaxation and he crashed heavily to the floor. The crowd erupted in laughter as three stocky dwarves carried the snoring Ironfaar to the side of the arena where several makeshift cots had been erected for the contestants.

Three rounds later, the burly dwarf Starkard had just finished his eighth round. He slammed the mug on the table and turned to jeer the rather shaky elf, Mendel, when he slipped on a spot of spilled ale and fell heavily to the ground, knocking over several steins in the process and drenching himself in ale. He came up red faced and sputtering while the crowd roared in laughter. He tried to protest but the officiating Ironfaar brothers shrugged. “Rules be rules.”

Starkard trudged grumbling out of the arena. The next three rounds saw Avereon teeter on one leg, then the other, then both, then on her heels before she fell forward and lay still on the oaken table. Durgan roared with laughter before going to his friend and easily bearing her away to the recovery area. Two rounds later found Matilda Stonehold and the elf Mendel facing each other from the far sides of the table. Both tried to formulate jeering insults and both failed hilariously, uttering nearly unintelligible garbled phrases accompanied by wild and uncoordinated gesticulations. Matilda took up her stein, the sixteenth of the contest, and raised it to the heavens as if to propose a toast.

“Awh’ve got’ ‘g t’ blwthatdth.!” She roared triumphantly and threw back the mug all at once.

Mendel raised his mug aloft similarly in a mocking gesture, but when he tried to throw it back, he missed his open mouth and smashed the clay stein heavily into his forehead. He flew over backward and crashed to the ground snoring. Matilda raised her hands either in victory or in an attempt to catch her balance. It was unclear to the crowd as mere seconds after her competitor, she too fell heavily to the ground and began snoring loudly. The crowd rocketed to their feet and began chanting in unison “Ma-til-da! Ma-til-da! Ma-til-da!” Kelburn and Durgan rushed around the table and raised the unconscious dwarf to her feet and raised her hands above her head for her. She stirred, raised her head, smiled crookedly to the crowd, then her head slumped forward and the brothers carried her away.

The crowd quieted after a few minutes and those close to the left side of the arena, where Tagnar Ironfaar lay sleeping could hear him speaking in a high pitched voice. “Ahm a good laddie, mummie! Shar ah be! Am a clean lil’ laddie ah be!” Durgan and Kelburn were next to him, rolling on the ground and roaring with laughter.