- * *
They fell quickly, to the sword of Grenna, the arrows of Kyra, the hidden blades of Ruvin, the hoofs of Sifna’s beast and the magicks of Walter Pennyworth. The jailers, the slavers that were readying the fighting pit for the evening’s entertainment, their blood flowed in the dusty sand. In each cell, a fey, magical, or half-blooded creatures stared out, terrified, but hopeful of rescue.
Grenna tore the cage’s door from its hinges.
“Come. You are free.”
“Where do we go?” said the patriarch of the elven family, his fair eyes glinting the shafts of sunlight beaming in from cracks in the warehouse’s walls.
“We’ll get you out,” said Kyra confidently, before remembering how difficult getting in was. She looked at the members of the party, looking for approval. She was greeted with looks of consternation. Getting them out might not be as simple a task as they thought…as long as the guards didn’t wake up soon.
Kyra knew it would be up to her, and her spellbook, the old tome that had been a gift from her Elders when she had come of age, its yellow and leathery pages which held the runes, glyphs she had transcribed as her own knowledge grew. She turned to it – there must be something in here that can help an escape. Yes, she thought, this should do nicely.
“Come in close, everyone, it’s time to get out of here.”
Under the cover of concealment magics, they left the fighting pit and warehouse, where so many had been cut down – proud they had rescued these poor creatures, and emboldened by their growing fame as Westcrown liberators, it barely crossed their mind that their notoriety was growing, too.
And by freeing these captors, they had made a new, powerful enemy as well.
- * *
“I want to introduce you to Ailyn Ghontasavos,” Arael said. The party was back at the abandoned shrine that had become the headquarters of the Red Dawn, dining on the roast ox someone had prepared in the makeshift kitchen behind the alter. The shrine’s population seemed to be growing, as the Red Dawn’s mission spread, somehow the secret of where the Red Dawn was operating, seemed to be less well-kept.
From the shadows stepped out a tall woman, with long flowing black hair tied tightly behind her, dark, incisive eyes, and a face which seemed to have seen several ages – or at least several miles. Grenna knew it was not combat which aged this woman, but almost as if heavy knowledges were her burden.
“I am a member of the Pathfinder lodge in Absalom,” she paused to see if any recognized the name of the ancient cabal of truth-seekers. One did, but he hit it well.“And I am here to seek your help. Your deeds have not gone un-noticed.”
Sifnas adjusted himself in his seat, hoping the ill stink of horse which permeated his armor did not offend this beautiful woman.
“I am here on a mission, to