Cry of the Wolf

It was nearly the end.

Goblinoids attacking along the road, a clear ambush, but this was no mundane raiding party. These foes fought with purpose. Deadly purpose.

Raising a shout to Hana, they declared the presence of "the Defiler," clearly he that desecrated their grotesque shrine to the God of Goblins. And they descended with both bloodlust and cold calculation.

The Hobgoblin Chief directed his forces, while a mage traded spells with Hana. So caught unaware were we that the Chief descended upon Hana, cutting him down. As a bugbear continued the assault, intent on ensuring the elf's demise, Oskar rushed forward and provided divine healing.

Perrin and I leapt into action, managing to maneuver tactically between foes. Perrin brandished the Sword of Dreams..."Bloodbringer" as he prefers it be called...and brought an explosive end to one of the Bugbear raiders. We looked hopefully to Master Vanesh seated in the cart, who encouraged us to continue the fight while he protected the cart.

Reality set in for us all--this fight could be our undoing.

Hana, desperately maneuvering away from danger, having just needed to defend himself magically was unable to prevent the dreadful magic of the Goblin Mage, as arcane fire descended upon us all.

I found myself alone, separated from Hana (and the cart) by a wall of force, amid two dying companions. Perrin at first seeming to miraculously recover, only to once again be nearly slain...

All the while, darts continued to pepper us from unseen assailants in the wood. I took cover by the fallen log that had first impeded our progress, and Master Vanesh in a moment of bravery actually went about engaging the mage, while also providing illusory magic to further obscure the terrain. Were it not for his guile, I may not yet be standing.

But as this brief moment of respite drew to a close, I heard it.

That sound. That horrible sound.

The cry of a man-wolf.

It was them. It had to be. Why here, why now? So far from the frontier, far from Yartar land of my birth, to say nothing of my adopted home of Triboar. Dear gods...there is no strength left in my hand. No power at my command to crush these new threats, let alone the goblinoid host that still sought our undoing.

Yea, Crimson Mistress. This is the very tenet I swore unto thee-to douse the flames of hope. And mine was far from alight at this point.

Entering the fray, their gray war-painted faces like ghastly wolves, harbingers of death and destruction. To my absolute shock, they appeared to assail the goblins.

By the gods...

I managed to reach Oskar, returning in kind the healing he provided to Hana. He soon thereafter stabilized Perrin; I then summoned the spectral lance of the Red Knight and commanded it pierce the goblin mage. Within seconds, he was impaled upon my lady's lance, and for a moment, it felt like victory.

Until the Uthgardt Wolf Clan approached. And again I found myself not the knight-errant I am, but the child I was.

It's always the same. That same night, the moon's eerie glow casting frenetic shadows through the open door and broken-through window of our home. I try to be still, so still! As I was taught to be: cowering beneath the straw amid the cold packed clay of our cottage. Father has fallen already, assailed at the door, his head bashed in against the hearth, unrecognizable. Already a fur-and-fang festooned abomination tearing at his throat. 

I think myself hidden, but as more and more monsters flood into our hovel, the livestock rushing about in a panic before they too are seized upon and consumed while yet alive...I see mother as she is thrown to the ground, landing with a sickening crunch as her arm contorts at an unnatural angle in a failed attempt to soften her fall. And she sees me, somehow, through it all. We remain wordless as we lock our gaze with one another and time seems to stand still. 

Then a rush of fur-lined motion, a blood choked snarl, the sound of fabric and sinew tearing. I want to look away, but any move would surely alert them of my presence. So I watch. I watch in horror as the form of my mother is ripped asunder, and I silently stare, watching the life exiting her eyes as her blood pools upon the cold, uncaring earth.

But I must remember, I am not that powerless child. I am not a homeless beggar of an orphan, unwanted, unkempt, unwelcome. I am Lady Bronwyn Alywaris of Triboar. And while I yet draw breath, there is strength within me. Above all.

Snapping back to the present moment, I mounted Beruthiel and held aloft Lightbringer. Again, Master Vanesh conjured illusions to augment the luminous nature of the mace and its interplay with my armor and shield, dazzling the wolfwights. Indeed, his wiles saved us from further conflict, beguiling these tribesmen into withdrawing, leaving us to lick our wounds and proceed on our journey.

Hana seemed to notice my disquiet at the presence of the Uthgardt. I think I brushed him off with a remark of knowing the savagery of the wolf clan personally, but I'm unsure. I feel as though he read into my vague remarks, if for no other reason than he proceeded to drop the subject and allow me my space...

Hastily the others collected a pair of severed heads--those of the Hobgoblin Chief and one of the Bugbear Brutes. I took the mage's head and did my best to impale it upon a pike as a sign of the terrible battle fought here and a warning of dirty work afoot.

Despite that, we arrived without incident to a splendid sight: an ancient keep already undergoing rudimentary repairs. I can imagine the parapets as they would have appeared in the structure's heyday, the gatehouses and arrow loops poised to make the structure well-nigh impregnable. Quite an oddity to have a temple be the focal point of such a building. But of course, Hana would have his mage's tower to research and experiment within. I understand the arcane but little, yet it's clear from our exploits that there is much power and strength to be summoned by a practitioner of magic.

To that end, we met with a cleric of Oghma who communed with the corpse-heads of our foes, from which we have learned several key facts, but paramount between them: Glasstaff has indeed joined a goblinoid army, that army has allied with dragons and the dragon cult, and (here's the kicker) they're HEADED THIS WAY.

This place is not yet ready to withstand an assault. Even if fully manned, it's in no shape to rebuff a siege. Besides, the current intrigue with the Mercenary Constabulary in Neverwinter and the ambitions of the Neverwinter Guards prevent either Hana or Master Vanesh from moving forward with plans to reconstruct this fortress.

And that's when it hit me. My Lady brought me here, in this moment, to be the defender of the weak and leader of the strong here. In this moment and this place in the Neverwinter Wood. I am to hold back the tide of chaos and exert order through my prowess and might. Yes. This is why I was sent on this fool's errand, why I was to deliver a magic blade to a bloodthirsty halfling, why I was to pledge my service with this group.

So naturally...I have offered to be the Lady of this Keep in the future. Hana may have his tower as he's craved for some time. But my good name is unsullied by the events in Neverwinter, and my duty to the free folk of this land demand my intervention.

There is yet the problem of amassing a down payment in excess of 2,000 gp. And that's when yet another revelation came to pass: In our journey as we approached Phandalin, a distinct cold permeated the land--the effects of a white dragon roosting in a lair. And I've heard tale of many a dragon's lair littered with gold, gems, jewels, and other treasures. So it seems it is in our best interest to slay a dragon.

I remind myself that hobgoblins almost destroyed us. This may yet be a foolhardy undertaking. But I am convinced in the necessity of our cause, and in its virtue. May the Red Knight bless our next move--and may it not be a gambit refused.