The Old Man / Anum 1423
"My name is . . ." thought the old man, drawing a blank. This had been going on for as long as he could remember which was not long. He could not remember his name or any pertinent facts of his life and it was as frustrating as trying to catch the full moon that had just crested the horizon. Oddly though, the one thing he could remember was that he had a master and that master needed his help; that burning desire to help his master consumed his waking thoughts and sometimes brought him out of a sound sleep, chest heaving and sweat soaking his clothes. As he hurried up the twisty, winding mountain path the name Anthony suddenly sprang into his mind. "YES!" he exclaimed to the unmoving stones and uncaring rock walls of the ravine, "my name is ANTHONY!" He had been following this torturous path for a few hours now, resting only long enough to catch his breath and stopping only as long as needed to dig up the occasional root or insect for sustenance. He drank by shoving clumps of snow or ice into his mouth, the clear cold water slowly cleansing his thoughts and body as it melted and trickled down into his gut.
The old man had left Damata's shop very late. Damata insisted on as he called it, updating the old man's wardrobe and when his back was turned the old man rewarded Damata with a lump on the back of the head. Damata hit the floor of the shop like a sack of turnips, but he was still breathing. The old man could not believe what he had done and quickly grabbed quill and parchment, writing a short note of apology to Damata. The old man could not understand what possessed him to hit Damata but he hoped Tirvan could explain it. He trotted down the road looking for the bit and bridle shop, hoping against hope that Tirvan was in and working late. Only Tirvan seemed to understand his needs and was usually very kind. Tirvan was indeed working in the shop and as the old man entered Tirvan looked up and waved him in, a knowing look in his eyes. After speaking to Tirvan about the events that had just transpired, the old man suddenly found himself at the base of the very mountain path he was currently on with no idea of how he got there. The old man did not remember much beyond speaking to Tirvan or how he got there but he knew in his heart that he was far from Vandy's. Ominous clouds scudded across the full moon and the frigid winter wind bore the sound of nearby howls to his ears. He was not afraid of what made those howls just as he was not afraid of damn near anything anymore . . . . damn near anything except failing his master.
The old man had served his master for as long as he could remember and if anyone could release this cursed valley from under the rule of that abomination living deep within the confines of Sathenge, his master could. Living?! If you could call that wretched creature's existence living. If left unchecked the mysterious lord of Sathenge would rule this valley unhindered for generations to come. Anthony knew deep in his being that this had to be stopped, regardless of the cost. He was far from Sathenge but he knew that only a fool would believe that the lord of Sathenge could not reach this far. Anthony kept looking over his shoulder and thus did not notice as he walked directly over some crudely drawn glyphs on the broken, uneven ground. In a nearby cave, several things once human stirred from their cold stone biers and began shuffling to the entrance of the cave.
"My name is, Anthony . . . . Anthony . . . .Tony . . . . Tony Haygarth!" Yes, his thinking was becoming much clearer now and his sense of purpose was also becoming more defined with each passing step. He knew he had to free the master but he did not remember exactly how. It had something to do with collecting various items and bringing them back to the castle. Ah yes, the castle - or what was left of it. His master was imprisoned deep within it's bowels after suffering defeat at the hands of Sathenge's master so long ago. Once his master was free there would be a reckoning indeed! For the life of him Tony could not remember if his master was the castle's original inhabitant or if his master was just imprisoned there, guarded as he was beginning to remember by all manner of fell beasts and traps.
As the old man rounded a bend in the path his quickly-returning thoughts were interrupted by a low throaty growl. He looked up as a very large, black wolf stopped it's meal of freshly caught venison and began padding toward him, the guttural growl enhanced by the wolf's blood soaked fangs and gleaming yellow eyes. The old man just stared slack-jawed as the wolf crossed the distance between them in one bound and bowled him over. The old man and the wolf tumbled down the path, the two of them landing together with the wolf straddling the old man.
Anthony lay on the ground waiting for the wolf to tear his throat out but the angry predator simply stood over him and sniffed him from crotch to crown, albeit roughly. The wolf then did a curious and unexpected thing - it jumped off of Anthony and began pawing the ground at his feet, whining as if afraid. Anthony stood up and then reached down and patted the wolf's head; at that touch the wolf began nuzzling up as if it was reuniting with a long lost friend. Anthony absently stroked the wolf's head and shoulders as his mind raced, scraps of memory tainted by the river water streaked across his mind's eye - as elusive to catch as if they were made by the very water that tainted them. Anthony clucked his tongue and motioned to the deer carcass; the wolf trotted over and took up his meal again as if nothing had happened. Anthony slowly backed away from the grisly scene as there was much more travel ahead this night and he wondered what other surprises lay ahead. He could not remember ever owning a pet, much less a wolf and so continued on up the path wondering if the incident that just occurred was a freak occurrence or some twisted joke by a malevolent deity. He half expected to feel the wolf knock him down from behind and so he did not look back as the sounds of tearing flesh grew fainter.
The full moon was well on it's way and daybreak near when Tony sighted the castle ruins. Where mighty turrets topped by proud banners and flags once stood, now jagged walls thrust heavenward like the fangs of some great dormant beast. Anthony debated whether to wait for sunrise or not. As he stood there pondering, he saw monstrous shapes moving about the castle's ruined interior. Dark shadows moving around within an already deep gloom, sometimes exposing fang and claw to the scattered moonbeams that occasionally penetrated the ruined roof as the full moon tracked across the inky sky. "Blast!" thought Anthony, "if only those thrice cursed Dunjonstompers could be here now!" The self-proclaimed adventurers he had met at Vandy's Inn could have probably gotten him safe passage, past some of the ruins more dangerous inhabitants. Anthony was also sure those adventurers had some of the items he needed, he could practically smell troll on one of them but the other smells in Vandy's common room kept him from isolating exactly who. Rather than risk being eaten and fail his master, Tony found a small, deserted cave and tucked himself in for the night. As luck would have it, he found a grub nest in the corner of the cave as he settled in.
As he munched on his meal of sluggish grubs, Tony remembered the items he needed and why. Vandy's Brandy to cleanse the memory taint, Pixie dust for breaking the imprisonment enchantments, troll parts for their regenerative properties and Forgotten ale to mix it all together. Once mixed, he would apply the substance to an axe from Ahnbor and strike the prison holding the master. Anthony could not remember where or how he knew this but he was certain that an individual who followed the recipe and was strong enough would succeed in shattering the prison and freeing the master. That individual would most certainly merit special attention and thanks from his master. Then his master could range far and wide and track down that bastard at Sathenge for some well-deserved revenge. Anthony took out another scrap of paper he had taken from Damata while in his shop and with a quill he had also "borrowed", wrote down the recipe, squinting at his scribblings under the waning moonlight.
Anthony finished writing and tucked the paper and quill back into his clothes. He was now wearing slightly better clothes than before thanks to the generosity of that fop Damata, and these clothes were much warmer than the rags he had been wearing. He settled in to a deep sleep as he was tired from his journeys and had a full belly, even if it wriggled slightly.
A hour or two further back along the path several creatures finished tearing apart a very large wolf that had attacked them. The wolf still had his hackles up from the meeting with the old man and when more humanoids came out of the darkness the wolf lunged without any hesitation. The silence of these humanoids and their fetid smell should have clued the wolf in but these humanoids were downwind and the wolf already angered. The wolf spit out the first bite of decomposed flesh and tried to escape but the undead overwhelmed it and tore it to pieces. As the undead left the torn wolf and shuffled up the path looking for their quarry several of them lost articles of clothing, loosened or torn off during the fight with the wolf. One article of clothing was a hat that ended up thrown upon a rock, the cold moonlight reflecting off of the gold embroidered lettering that read "Sathenge".
For more information about "The Sundered Realm" Dungeons &
Dragons (version 3.5) campaign, please contact the Dungeonmaster