a recounting of a great d&d campign- part 1

Despite the grey hair and newly arrived age lines, the man seemed to still have the zeal of youth in him. Everything except for those eyes. Those sad eyes. Those eyes that were half open and frozen in a dead stare into nothingness. His gait was balanced and extended. His arms were long and firm. His back was straight, though his head hung a bit. Perhaps it hung due to the weight laid upon his shoulders. Perhaps that weight was the same reason for those awful eyes, sunken into his skull just enough that in the right shadow, it would seem as if he had no eyes at all.1

He strode into the wayside inn and pub making straight for a stool by the bar. The usual patrons quieted their humdrum conversations involuntarily by the gaunt man’s presence. A few shifted slightly to avoid his glare, if he would give them one. But despite their fears, or maybe because of them, the man offered no looks to any one save the barkeep.2

The barkeep had dealt with more than his fair share of strangers. After, Palinvale was on the main trade routes and often times visitors from the far south came. There were few of those men living in the northern parts of the continent. However, this man ranked among the strangest of peoples to come in. 3

“May I help you?” the barkeep’s question came as if by surprise to the man. His brows drew closer together as if the question had been a difficult one. If truth be told, than there could be no harder question for the man. 4

His eyes rose to meet the barkeeps and stayed their long, tarrying a bit more than was to be expected. He seemed to be drawing something out of the barkeep through his eyes so intense was the gaze. “I thank you…” the stranger voiced. “Just a room. Preferably away form any other guests.”5

The last request unsettled the barkeep just enough to think it was to seek out the city guard to be extra attentive tonight, but regardless of that appeal the barkeep did his best to accommodate the man. He had a guest come in earlier, who was also quiet. But he had asked for the simplest of rooms. He carried little coin with him and rightly so, for that man had disciplined himself to be a monk. He was not a simple monk, like the kinds that stayed in monasteries to write books. Rather, he was a Sentinel. A Sentinel was the name given to those monks who learned to harness their inner ki and focus it to be wielded as a protective force. To put it simply, they were guardians of the road. Due to the harsh weather, the monk had taken for a roof this evening. The barkeep had given him a small room, to which he refused and paid for a place in the stables.6

The stranger with the gaunt face paid a little more than needed, and solemnly ascended the stairs for his room. As the barkeep watched him leave, he took note of his shadow, which seemed to be far larger and slightly different than it should have been. Something was definitely strange about that man. The problem was, the barkeep wasn’t sure what it was exactly.7

In his room the stranger placed himself in the furthest corner and crouched down, resting his head against the corner of the room. He glanced down at his left hand. Slowly, methodically he removed the glove. His hand was charred and cracked. He flexed his digits. Portions of dried skin flaked off, turning to ash as they touched the floor. Clenching his fist and closing his eyes, the man explored the inner reaches of his soul. There, in his meditation, did he find the dark creature that shared his body. There was Karkaroth.8

In a meditation of his own, the monk who was in the stables suddenly was thrown back. A powerful force was in action. He could feel a tinge of something on the back of his neck. He rose and walked briskly to the inn. The barkeep frowned upon his arrival since he could tell something odd was about.9

He asked about the room, to the chagrin of the barkeep, who in turn answered. As the monk went up the stair the barkeep called to him. “Please, good sir, don’t cause trouble. Let the man be if he isn’t doing anything that’ll hurt somebody else.” The grimaced a bit. With a nod of his head he continued his trek. “I’ll just investigate.”10

The monk knelt beside the stranger’s door and pressed his ear against the aged wooden frame. Soft muttering could be heard, but nothing more. The monk felt somewhat inclined to enter but thought otherwise. He did not wish to become the antagonist in a matter that was not necessarily his to be involved with. He closed his eyes and once more attuned his senses to the man on the other side of the portal. 11

Inside the room, the stranger had collapsed onto the floor, slumped awkwardly against the wall. Within his mind the man stood face to face with something man like. A faint trail of smoke or some nether energy emanated from the being. Its skin was somewhere between grey and ebony though its eyes were pearl and opaque. It stood a few feet taller than the man and so, seemed a bit stretched. 12

A battle of wills had begun inside the man, and it seemed at the moment, he was losing. He felt the monk’s presence and forced himself to grunt a warning. “Leave.” He had hoped the monk would leave and be saved. By exerting himself to speak, even for the briefest of moments, he had allowed the being to win, and soon a horrid scream echoed in Palinvale. 13

The fresh dew of the morning revived him. As he started up, the monk’s body coursed in pain. Blood, coagulated and drying, was splattered about him. His vision blurred into focus, only to burn at the horrific sight. The town lay in smoldering heaps, great fires still nibbling upon the remains of houses. 14

His mind flashed to last night. The words of the stranger-the warning. The door had swung open and the stranger was not there. Something terrible. The rest eluded him, but the recollection of some portent lingered. 15

The monk struggled to get up, using a nearby stick as a crutch. Bodies adorned the scene and a thick dark cloud of smoke hung in the sky. 16

He looked to the west. He must hurry to the monastery and spread news of what had transpired.17