“Losing everything can bring out the best in some people. I am not one of them.” – Toren Eringer

“Uhh sir, shouldn’t we get you to a healer?” the bartender asked, with a look between that of confusion and concern.

“No need, I will be fine,” Eringer answered, “I could use that drink, though.”

“Sure.” The woman paused, still staring. After another few moments, she poured the man a pint and placed it in front of him.

The still heavily armored gentleman replaced the pint with a few silver pieces, enough to pay for the alcohol plus a generous tip. “Thank you.” He took a swig then proceeded to a booth in the corner to think, placing the drink and his helmet on the table.

It appeared as though Kraelyn was not always present to respond, or perhaps chose not to. Eringer had tried to communicate with her several times on his thirty minute walk, but heard nothing. He resolved to make a plan on his own.

First, he would need to rest up so he could summon Sam. The healing he had to do depleted his magic reserves and all the equipment disappeared with her. As he sat back, the man noticed he was drawing the gaze of almost everyone in the tavern. Most were looking over every minute or so, with some lingering for several heartbeats before returning to their own lives.

This was fairly common, especially when he was fully outfitted. Though it did not bother him normally, it might make gathering information about the city a little difficult. Most, from what he recalled, were not inclined to speak to any type of government official, retired or otherwise.

The tavern itself looked almost identical to when he last saw it, approximately eight years prior. His first war had just ended, then. His unit had been stationed here when the treaty was signed in this very city. He took a few of his closest comrades to this tavern to celebrate; it was a night he would never forget.

Eringer, like most at the time, thought the peace would last for decades. They were all wrong then, and he felt anyone that thought the same now were delusional. Something had to be done. Something had to change.

Mith-Fell seemed as good a place as any to start, being the capitol. He was sure there would be no shortage of information, speculation, and conspiracy theories on the streets. Perhaps he could use the weight of his service to get an audience with an official that was willing to talk about what they knew.

The Boar’s Head where he now sat was neither flashy, nor mundane. It’s namesake still hung above the bar; a perfect magically preserved head of the largest boar Eringer had ever seen. What a battle that must have been, he pondered, not for the first time.

The human looked down at a now empty mug after his thoughts kept spinning off to possible past and future events. Bed time it is, then. He returned to the bar and placed some more coins in front of the woman. “Any rooms available?”

“Absolutely!” She seemed much more cheerful than when he arrived. The bartender spun around to grab a key, returning and placing it in Eringer’s hand. “Here you go! Up the stairs and second door on the right. Oh, if possible, could you make sure the sheets don’t get stained with the umm… blood?”

“Yes ma’am, do not worry about that.” He took the key and proceeded up the stairs. The human labored for about five minutes as he removed the armor and underclothing. He took his time washing up as it eased the pain of his bruises. Once finished, he collapsed on the bed, exhausted.

Following the rest, he used some of his restored magic to finish healing the wounds he sustained previously. It was starting to become a habit he was not fond of.

After hurriedly cleaning his armor, he donned it once again before leaving the room. Eringer grabbed a quick breakfast in the tavern then headed out to the nearest park.

Despite the early hour, there were people all around, already starting their day. If this is what it is like at dawn, getting around later may prove more difficult than I thought. The man had perfect recollection of the route to the park even though it had been eight years.

He knelt down and began the ritual of summoning Sam in the grass there. It required ten minutes of uninterrupted meditation, which he was able to achieve even with the light conversation of those passing.

The lustrous white horse cantered into existence a few feet away, neighing as she came up to Eringer. “Sorry girl. Thank you for saving me. Again.”

Sam sneezed as she mentally replied, anytime. He stood up to pet her and inspect the pack. Nothing appeared out of place as he retrieved his larger coin pouch hidden within.

Eyes of the citizens walking around were leering after the sudden appearance of a warhorse. Magic was common, but this was something most people would not ordinarily see happen in their presence.

The reunited duo left the park, walking side by side. “We need some information, Sam. I have an idea of someone to ask.”

People were rushing in every direction now. Most were walking, but the street was nearly filled with horse drawn carts or people on horseback. The busy nature of the day was keeping people from lingering too long on Eringer, which he was perfectly fine with. It did, however, extend the travel time considerably.

As they walked up to the University, he noticed a sign posted in front of the hitching post written in common. “Untethered animals will be confiscated. You may retrieve them from the stables for a fine of 10 gold.”

“That is a little steep,” the man announced, annoyed. “Sorry Sam, have to tether you up here. I will leave it as a slip knot, though.” He tied the knot, then showed her the dangling piece of rope. “Yank on this part if you need to get free, got it?”

Yes, she replied.

Satisfied that she would not be accosted, the retired soldier walked toward the nearest building. Eringer had only been to the campus a couple times over the years, but it was still familiar to him. Looking around, the vines had grown considerably on all the buildings he could see.

“Sir, weapons are not allowed on the campus!” A disgruntled gnome was walking toward Eringer. “I am afraid you must leave at once.”

As the small humanoid made it to him, the armor clad man said, “Apologies, but do you happen to know a professor here by the name of Brixon?”

“Yes, of course,” he replied, ushering Eringer out the door he had just come through.

“Could you let him know I am here? I will be out front.”

“What do I look like, some errand boy?” The gnome’s mood was not getting any better.

The human reached in his bag, pulled out a gold coin and offered it to the gnome, “For a coin?”

The tiny man’s lips pursed, then he held out an open palm, “Very well. Whom should I tell him is waiting?”

“Captain Eringer,” the taller man replied. “Thank you.”

The veteran returned to his steed, finding her untouched. He gazed out to the streets below, as the campus was on a hill. There were still many tall buildings in the city that rose above them, but the view was spectacular. There were parts visible of the large wall that surrounded the city’s land, even protruding a short way into the sea on either side.

“Well look who it is!” A higher-pitched voice called out.

Eringer spun around to see his old friend, Brixon, shuffling toward him. The other gentleman was almost twice his age, but half his height.

“How are you? It has been far too long!” The little man approached with open arms, looking for a hug.

“Too long, indeed.” The armored man went to meet his friend for a hug, but upon his attempt to wrap the halfling up, his arms passed right through. “Ah, up to your old tricks I see.”

There was a giggle from around the corner as the illusion in front of Eringer disappeared. Shortly after, what he assumed was the real Brixon headed his way. “You always fall for that!” He was now laughing openly, as he came up and embraced the taller man in a real hug.

“I thought you might be serious, for once. Nevertheless, it is wonderful to see you.”

“Are you retiring for good, this time ‘round?”

“Yes, I think so,” Eringer answered. “Came to see if you want to get a drink and catch up.”

Brixon’s eyes lit up, “I would love that! How about at dusk? I can show you around the city after we have a few. It has changed quite a bit in the last eight years, you know!”

“Wonderful. Where shall we meet?”

“Charendale’s! I am a part owner of that, I will have you know,” the little man beamed.

“I believe I remember the establishment. I also remember your stories of owning a tavern back in the day. Is it anything like those old stories?” Eringer asked.

“Even better! See you then, my friend. Unfortunately I have to get back to a class.” The professor leaned in close, adding in a whisper, “I snuck out in the middle of my lecture, left some tricks in there for the class that I suspect they may have figured out by now.”

“Ah, ever the illusionist. Well, do not let me keep you, for I shall see you tonight.”

The halfling gave a cheerful smile as he twirled around, heading back to work. He turned back to acknowledge Eringer, “Leave the armor, though. Should you pass out, I don’t know if anyone can move you in that!” He chuckled then started humming some tune to himself as he walked away.

-

Halflings, particularly halflings like Brixon, enjoyed indulging in drink, song, and romance, whether individually or all at once. That particular evening looked like it would be the earlier two, as Brixon was already on his second ale in as many minutes when Eringer arrived. The small man was in the middle of singing with the bard in the corner of the tavern when he spotted his friend. “Captain Eringer!” he called out, giving up on the song for the moment. He rushed over to the bar to order a drink for the taller man.

The veteran was sporting a cheap hide armor under his clothing, as he never really felt safe without at least some protection. The only other piece of equipment he brought with him was his divine sword. The rest he had packed on Sam and shunted her to her native plane of existence, where she and all the equipment would be safe.

Eringer approached the bar, where the illusionist gave him a glass. “No tricks, I swear!”

He took a swig, only to find the liquid tasted like cow’s milk. He spit it out in surprise.

“Ok, maybe some tricks!” He was laughing uproariously. “Here is a real ale.” The crafty halfling passed Eringer another.

This time, the ale was real, and it was delicious. That could also have been because he had just tasted something he was not expecting. “What is this? It is incredible,” the larger man commented.

“The house ale! I helped create it.” Brixon clinked glasses with Eringer. “To old friends!” They both drank deeply.

“Brixon, would you mind if I asked you a few questions? Maybe grab that booth over there?”

“Always serious, you are! Very well, but we will drink during this interrogation,” he chuckled, adding, “and then afterwards, no serious talk! Only drink, song, and fun!”

“Agreed,” the veteran replied with a nod and a raised glass. It had been years since Eringer truly let go out with friends, but he still did not plan on doing so this night. It would be good to relax a little, however.

The halfling ordered another round to the booth and the two took seats there across from one another. “Ok, ask away!”

Eringer took a glance around the tavern to make sure no one was listening in on their conversation. It was quite lively, with a dozen or so singing along with the bard, while the rest were either observing the performance, or engaged in their own conversations and drinks.

He caught the eye of one of the humans at a booth a ways down, getting an eerie feeling about the way the man quickly looked away. The other human was wearing a cloak which could easily conceal items, though that was fairly common.

The other human at the table was female, probably around Eringer’s own age. She was engaged quite animatedly in conversion, using large gestures as she talked to the man she sat across from.

Certain they could not hear, the veteran asked his friend, “Have you noticed anything unusual going on here in Mith-Fell?”

“Unusual? Everything is unusual here, you know that!” his voice was raised, but not loud enough to travel far in a crowded tavern.

“Yes, but even more unusual than the…” Eringer trailed off as he tried to think of a better word, landing on, “Unusual.”

“Not that I can think of. I am pretty in tune with everything that goes on around here, I’ll have you know. Between the tavern and the school, there is no shortage of rumors and information.”

“Alright, more specific then. What about the leadership? Or authority? Even the nobles; what have they been up to lately?” The veteran was thinking of anything that could have a large scale impact. “The Guild?” he added, raising an eyebrow.

The halfling’s draw dropped a little as he brought a hand to his heart, “Hey, I went straight years ago, you know that!” He feigned being insulted. “For real, though, I have had nothing to do with the Guild since before the first war. I don’t want to be volunteered for service again!”

Eringer was certain his friend was telling the truth. Though he did well in the war, his spirits always high, he often expressed how terrible it was. There probably was not much that could pull him back into that life, especially after his record was wiped for his service to [nation name here].

“As for the others you inquire about, again, nothing out of the ordinary that I can tell. What do you think is going on?” For the first time since that day, Brixon actually appeared concerned.

“I do not know for sure, but I suspect something is at play. A small contingent from Haren showed up here yesterday, one that I was personally tracking. After I warned the guards, the group attacked, killing some of those protecting the city.”

“Oh, so that was what the commotion was. The guard made it seem like it was an ordinary dispute, so I didn’t think anything of it.” Brixon took a swig, but he was clearly slowing down.

“Right, anything else like that? Something seemingly ordinary, but when you dig a little deeper, clearly a lie?” Eringer was thinking he might be onto something now, especially if Brixon could ask around.

“I have a few associates I will ask,” the little man said. “But we can leave that for tomorrow, there would be little to gain from trying to track them down at this hour. Especially since we could miss out on a good time!” He returned to drinking heartily as the round he ordered was delivered to the table.

The veteran took his second drink and matched Brixon’s enthusiasm, “that works for me! Let us drink!”

As the drinks flowed, Eringer tried to relax. He attempted to pay for some, but his friend insisted on covering everything. There was spectacular music courtesy of the Bard, so the retired soldier left considerable tips to that man and the bartender.

He just could not shake the feeling of being watched, however. The two humans he thought may have been watching him left long ago. Every now and then he would catch the gaze of someone new. lingering just a little too long to be casual.

-

Well past midnight, the bartender announced the last call. The two veterans had one quick round before they stumbled out of the tavern. Brixon was tripping over his own feet so much that their pace was little more than a crawl. Eringer himself was feeling the effects of too much ale, blurring his vision slightly and slowing his ability to process information.

It was enough that he did not see the ambush coming.

A large half-orc dropped from the ledge of a building above the two companions, landing on Eringer’s back and bringing him to the ground. As he struggled to get free, he assessed that the other humanoid was stronger. I will have to slip out of his grasp if I am to stand a chance, he realized. While they rolled around, he caught a glimpse of his friend.

Brixon was even slower to react, as two humans came up behind him and pinned him to the wall face first. One began binding his hands as the other covered the halfling’s mouth. The little man was helpless, being so small. The inebriation did not help, either.

They know he is a mage, Eringer thought. He bucked in an attempt to get the larger man off, but it was a fruitless effort. Another human, roughly his own size, came around the corner to help pin him down.

Despite his best efforts, the two men were too strong to get away from. “Help!” he yelled in desperation, but to no one in particular.

One of the humans holding Brixon came over, drawing a short sword. He bashed Eringer on the head with the hilt. The first attempt hurt, horribly, but the second knocked him out cold.

-

“When they wake up, we need to find out what they know. I say we kill them after, we don’t need them running about making a mess for us.”

Whispers, ones he guessed he should not be hearing. His consciousness returned, albeit with a splitting headache. A couple hours must have passed, because Eringer was no longer feeling intoxicated, but rather the hangover that generally followed. This was only compounded by the beatings to the head.

He relaxed, as much as he could, as he analyzed the situation with his eyes closed to not give himself away. He was bound, hands behind his back and laying on his right side on the ground. As he breathed, pain etched his side, chest, and stomach. They must have beat me to ensure I was out, he concluded. Probably a few broken ribs.

The same voice, a little raised, spoke again, “You don’t know what He is capable of! We have to take care of this!” The man pleaded.

“Shhh. Keep it down,” another whispered voice. “We will do what we have to. I suggest questioning the human first. I don’t think the other one can do much if he cannot move or speak, and I don’t want to give the little mage the chance to do either while we have another captive.”

“Agreed.”

“Yeah.”

“Sounds good.”

At least four, and Brixon is still alive. His sword was not on him, but Eringer thought he could sense its presence in the room. Damnit, I need out of these bindings. Perhaps one saving grace was that he was still wearing his hide armor, though it did not provide anywhere close to the protection of his plate. Probably mitigated some of the injuries from the beating.

Several chairs slid nearby, as people were standing up.

Eringer chanced a peak before they came over to him, but he looked right at the half-orc.

“Awake, I see. Good.” The large man strolled over, bringing a chair with him. He placed it next to Eringer, then used his considerable strength to lift the bound man and place him in the chair. As he did so, he moved Eringer’s arms over the back of the chair, so they sat on either side, restricting their movement.

While he was being lifted, the veteran was able to look around. He noticed several weapons on the table, including his own, which was now behind him. There were four men, as he had guessed. Three were human and one was half-orc. From the way they were all standing, he concluded the half-orc was in charge.

“Now, what are you doing here in Mith-Fell, soldier?” the half-orc asked.

There were no identifying marks on the clothing Eringer was currently wearing. They have probably been following me all day, he realized. “Visiting a friend, which you interrupted.”

“Perhaps, but what else?”

“I have been to the city many times. This is the first I have been kidnapped, however. How about you ask what you really want to know?” Eringer was trying to think of a way to get a hold of his sword, or any other weapon to get out of the bindings.

Reach out to me.

He could hear Kraelyn calling. I cannot reach you from here, he thought.

“We want to know what you are doing in this city. It is clearly more than just visiting a friend, we have been observing you since you walked through the gate.” Eringer was surprised the man was revealing so much information.

Trust me.

He tried to reach out for the blade, while replying, “To find out what is going on around here. By the sounds of it, something big if you accosted me for just being here.” As far as he could tell, he was nowhere close to reaching the sword.

Use your power.

As Eringer was trying to figure out what that meant, the half-orc continued. “Ok then. Who told you to come here? Who do you work for?”

“No one. I was tracking a group of the Haren military that came here. Our nation will not be pleased that you have hurt one of their men.” He reached out again, this time trying to draw upon his connection to Kraelyn’s blade. The magic felt different flowing through his body, as if it were coming from within.

He felt the blade in his hand, but it was heavier than normal. His hand tingled with the magic, as if the blood was rushing back into it after being deprived of oxygen. It was exhilarating and it gave him strength, adrenaline starting to flow with the anticipation of a fight.

“Hah, that doesn’t make any sense.” He slapped Eringer with the back of a hand. “Next time you lie, I use my fist. Now, tell me the real reason!” The man’s voice was rising, in an attempt to intimidate the bound man.

Eringer felt the normal grip of the hilt of the sword now, twirling it enough to cut the rope around his hand. As he did so, he brought his head back slightly, then rammed his forehead into the nose of the half-orc. His hands broke free as he rose from the chair, bringing the sword around in a flourish to begin his attack.

The half-orc recoiled in agony as blood flowed from his nose. All four of his assailants were flat on their feet, caught off guard by the sudden change of environment.

The now armed man slashed his interrogator across the stomach, cutting deep. His second swing was even deeper just above the other wound, flashing a brilliant white and yellow as he infused the attack with power from Kraelyn. The half-orc fell on his back, trying to keep his organs inside his body.

Eringer maneuvered to his left, standing over his friend in a protective posture.

The three other humans drew swords of their own and closed on him, attacking in unison. Though they were not experts, they seemed competent enough to work together. The first two swings were easy to parry, but the third came as Eringer swung himself, scoring a deep gash in his right arm.

It caused his own attack to swipe short, as his whole body naturally recoiled. He took a hard backhanded slash, causing the blade to flash again as it cut into two of the attackers with more divine magic.

All assailants attacked again, two stabbing through the hide on either of Eringer’s legs. He grimaced as he stabbed back, finishing the one in the middle and pushing the body into the uninjured one.

Eringer easily parried the next strike, as he was currently focused on a solo attacker. He used the opportunity to slash the man across the leg, throwing him off balance before running him through the chest.

The last man started running for the door. He was lithe and uninjured, meaning he would be much faster than Eringer. Nevertheless, the veteran pursued him.

His quarry knocked over items while passing them, trying to slow Eringer down. His legs burned from the injuries, while his chest stung with every breath from the broken ribs. I cannot catch him, he worried, as they made it to the streets.

Another surge of magic flowed through him, coalescing into two purple bolts hovering in his right hand. He had seen similar magic from mages in the past, but this was something new. Eringer willed the bolts to fly at the fleeing man, one striking him in the leg, the other the back. The man tumbled to the ground, hitting his head.

The retired soldier moved as quickly as he could, collecting the man and dragging him back to the building they had come from. He kicked the door closed, tossed the man into the chair he was recently sitting in, then tied him up.

With a moment to breath, he depleted his reserve of magic on closing his wounds. Even with rest and magic, the remaining injuries would take a few days to mend.

Eringer checked on Brixon, untying his bonds in the process. The little man was still asleep and unlikely to wake for a while, but no worse than a usual evening of drinking.

The veteran retrieved his scabbard, arranging it in the usual position. He sheathed the sword and fully investigated the small building since there were no other conscious people around.

It looked like a simple trinket shop, with nothing much of value at first glance. The back room, where he was being held, was almost barren. A shelf with nothing on it, two chairs, and a table. There was rope and several weapons on the table. A single window sat above the table. Must be some underground organization, he mused. Seemed like they were willing to kill us, too. The speed at which they found me, as well as the line of questioning, feels like I have started asking the wrong questions… or maybe the right ones.

Eringer returned to his captive, tapping his cheek repeatedly to wake him up.

The bound man stirred, “Wha… Ah! Let me go!”

“Why did you capture my friend and I?”

The man spat in Eringer’s face. “I ain't sayin anything.”

The veteran contemplated what to do. Torture never worked. He also did not like it. Against an untrained person, it would produce exactly what the interrogator wanted to hear, but that did not mean it was true. Against someone that knows what they are doing, the interrogator would get flustered, frustrated, and eventually give up without getting anything useful.

Fear, however, that worked occasionally. He drew upon his power once again, dimming the candle lit room as the symbol of Kraelyn around his neck glew a dull red.

The tough exterior the bound man displayed only moments before was gone as he paled under Eringer’s magic. “We heard you were asking questions, so we thought we’d figure out who sent you.”

“And who do you work for?”

“A noble here in the city, Herald Hightower. He’s a dwarf on the east side. Please, just let me go.”

“The half-orc said you were following me since I came into the city. Why was that?”

The other human was now visibly trembling, but he still answered, “I wasn’t involved with that, but I heard something happened at the gate. He said because of that fight or whatever they decided to tail you for a bit.”

Eringer heard talking somewhere outside, likely coming from just in front of the little shop he was in.

The bound man heard it, too. “Help! In the shop! Someone help!”

Drawing his sword, Eringer plummeted it into the man’s chest. He removed it just as quick, picking up Brixon. He opened the window and dropped the hafling to the other side, climbing through immediately after.

He picked his small friend up again, running down alleyways as fast as he could. Once he was sure he had lost whomever had shown up, he took some time to figure out where he was. He found a potions shop he had seen before, west side. Shanty town, he realized, that explains the poor trinket shop and condition of these buildings. It would be almost an hour’s walk on a normal night to get back to his room, but half again as much with his condition.

He tried to shake Brixon awake, but to no avail. He resolved on carrying the halfling the whole way. Half the weight of my armor, so it should not be difficult.

Eringer thought about what to do next, while keeping an eye out for any trouble.

As he made it closer to his inn, there were a few people about. He got some questionable looks, but no one said anything. Carrying a small friend after too much ale was fairly normal, but the blood all over Eringer caused concerned looks upon their faces.

When he got back, he put Brixon into the bed while he laid down on the ground, deep in thought. No worse than the ground after a battle, he reasoned as he closed his eyes.

-

Level 8!

Warlock Level 1

Hexblade Subclass

Pact Magic

Hexblade’s Curse

Hex Warrior

Character Sheet Level 8