There was a moment’s pause from the pallisade walls, some brief conversations just out
of earshot, and movement. A creak of wood then echoed out and the doors to the eastern gate
began to open. Torchlight sprang up from within the gate and a number of armour-clad guards
The familiar faces of Jason Henrikson and Grundar Stonesthrow led a group of five or six guards
over the dry moat, heading towards the party with caution. They appeared to be a little confused
as they approached by the sheer number of people in the heroes’ group.
Henrikson stopped within thirty feet or so. ‘Prisoners?’ he enquired.
Khalin guffawed at the statement. ‘No, not prisoners. They are natives of this land.
They are friends. We have found Gilmorril, too. Where is Rindall?’
Henrikson seemed to relax and resumed his approach at Khalin’s words. ‘We thought he
was with you? Is he not?’
The other guards followed Henrikson, but there was a sharp intake of breath when they saw Rhasgar
and the sound of steel weapons being drawn sliced through the night air.
‘Hold, hold!’ shouted Khalin. ‘He is one of us! A dragonborn. A valiant warrior. Put
your bloody weapons away and help us get these people in, we need to get them to the clerics.’
There were a few dubious looks on the guards’ faces, but then Grundar stepped forward. ‘Good
to see you back!’ exulted the short dwarven guard, approaching Khalin and taking the
unconscious old dwarf from the warlord’s shoulders. ‘Let’s get ’em inside, eh?’
A sense of relief seemed to wash over everyone and the guards moved to help carry the invalids
into the town. They seemed nervous around the strange dragonborn and the huge goliath, but helped
nonetheless, carrying the unconscious bodies and relieving the burdens from the group. The heroes
then walked, and limped, into town through the gate. Rhasgar, watched carefully by all that he
passed, nodded with appreciation at the defences and construction of the pallisade walls and watch
towers. ‘Stout walls, Khalin, and ably defended judging by your guard,’ he uttered.
‘A point of light in a dark corner of our world.’
Runners scurried ahead of the group, some heading to the temple, others to raise the Town Council.
The guards, with the bodies over their shoulders, moved quickly towards the temple, the group
following. By the time they got there the acolytes had already risen and were preparing makeshift
cots inside the stone building. With reverence the bodies were laid out in the chamber, the
shroud-wrapped body of the halfling Ulmo placed down behind the altar. Salves and liquids were found
and the acolytes brushed away the sleep from their eyes and began to care for their charges.
‘His Radiant Servant will be with them promptly,’ one of the female acolytes said to the group,
probably Dania, Zero thought. ‘They are all badly wounded, but I am sure the Light of Pelor
will shine its glory on them and heal their wounds.’
This seemed to draw a snort from Rangrim, but he didn’t speak.
‘There is nothing else we can do right now, these people need rest and the help of Pelor,’ the
acolyte continued. ‘Perhaps you should go and see to your own needs and we will send word as
soon as there is change in any of their condition. As for you,’ she looked at Rhasgar, ‘perhaps
you should also rest here so we can see to your leg?’
There was some hesitation, particularly from Miri, but all agreed that they needed rest
themselves, and Rhasgar should stay to be attended to. Tired and aching, they headed out of
the temple and across to The Bronze Lion.