The Kingdom of Tennendorf teeters on the edge of oblivion. Its beloved ruler, King Hezlean, lies slain, his royal blood staining the snow-covered roads where his caravan was ambushed. The audacity of the attack shakes the realm to its core, but the true catastrophe lies in what was stolen - the Caelan Stone, an artifact of divine power, its glow once casting an unyielding shield over Tennendorf's borders. Without it, the kingdom's defenses crumble like ancient parchment, and the vultures of war begin to circle.
Neighboring realms, once bound by tenuous alliances, now eye Tennendorf's throne with barely disguised hunger. Armies gather in shadowed barracks, waiting for the moment to strike, while the regency council scrambles to maintain control. All whispers lead north, to the cursed wastelands of Tharrabad, where the savage orc warbands lurk among the desolate dunes. Witnesses claim to have seen them retreating with their spoils, their banners disappearing into the howling winds.
But something does not sit right. These raiders, crude and bloodthirsty as they are, fought with an uncanny precision, their tactics foreign to even the most seasoned generals. Dark sigils were found burned into the bodies of the fallen, sigils of a power far older than Tennendorf itself. The regency council blames the orcs, but others murmur of a greater force stirring in the shadows - one that pulled the strings of this massacre from afar.
Tennendorf is left with but one hope: a party of adventurers, bound not by duty, but by fate. The path ahead is treacherous, but the promise of glory and vengeance calls them forward.
Heroes are not always born in castles, nor are they always the kind Tennendorf would choose to protect its borders. But destiny had its own will, and the four souls it had woven together were as formidable as they were unlikely.
Ogg Borkak, the half-orc warrior, was once a name of renown among his people. Towering at six feet six, with thick green skin and tusks that gleamed like carved stone, he was a beast of war. But fate had been cruel. Left for dead at the Battle of the Blue Hills, betrayed by his own leader Gother, Ogg awoke alone on a battlefield littered with corpses, his memories fractured like shattered glass. Now, he walks the path of a mercenary, wielding his blade in honor of his deity - Dave, a god whose only commandment seems to be drinking deeply and fighting fiercely. His drinking horn, ever full, is the only relic of faith he carries.
Nesta Archeron, a dwarf hardened by suffering, bore her past like an unyielding iron shield. Stolen from her family as a child, she was cast into the brutal life of the fighting pits, trained to entertain crowds with her skill in combat. Fate, however, had other plans. A chance encounter with a Tennendorf noble granted her freedom, and with it, a place in the kingdom's military. Now, she fights not for survival, but for justice, her axe ever ready to strike against those who would enslave others as she once was.
Heixidor Thuste, a towering wood elf of seven feet, moved with the grace of the Fey who had raised them. Abandoned as an infant and left to the mercurial whims of the Feywild, Heixidor learned the way of the monk, balancing the chaos of their origins with the discipline of their training. Their pilgrimage was one of knowledge - to uncover the mysteries of the Caelan Stone and the powerful forces that sought to wield it.
Björn Starr, a legend in his own right, once basked in the glow of fame. A bard of seventy years, his youth was spent on the road, playing to crowds who worshipped his melodies. But the road is a cruel mistress, and by his forties, Björn had fallen deep into the grip of vices - drink, smoke, and worse. Now, he wanders not to seek fortune, but to immortalize the stories of those greater than himself. Adventure, after all, makes the best song.
Fate brought them together, but war would bind them forever.
The orc barbarians, far more organized than the rabble they were believed to be, had gathered at Blackridge, deep within the Godstep Mountain range. The party had tracked them for weeks, watching as they moved with precision. Their leader, a brute known as The Ram, had fortified his position at the base of a cliff, with the frozen river acting as a natural barrier. A blizzard loomed in the distance, and the party's supplies dwindled. If they did not act soon, the cold itself would become their enemy.
The plan was simple. Ogg would walk across the bridge, relying on his past with the orcs to gain entry. The rest would slip through the shadows.
Ogg's arrival was met with suspicion, but an orc named Dogg, grizzled and scarred, recognized something familiar in him. He led Ogg through the encampment, speaking of The Ram and of Gother, and of how their new leader despised the Blackhand tribe.
Meanwhile, the rest of the party crept through the frozen camp, past warriors sharpening blades and Orogs - the elite of the orcish ranks - standing sentry. In the distance, deep within the caverns beneath the Main Hall, white magical sparks crackled, illuminating a figure from within.
Inside the hall, Ogg stood before The Ram, an orc of towering size, his presence radiating dominance. With a voice like an earthquake, he proclaimed: "Gother sent an assassin." And with that, the duel began.
Meanwhile, outside, chaos erupted. Heixidor conjured the illusion of a wolf howl to distract a rider upon a massive polar bear, while Nesta and Björn moved in. The bear, catching the scent of Björn's ever-present lingonberries, turned and roared, alerting the camp. The battle was fierce - Nesta's blade struck down orcs, and Heixidor, in a feat of sheer audacity, punched a polar bear square in the eye.
Björn noticed an individual holding a spectre aloft to the skies, controlling the lightning and channelling it within the magical staff. For a split second, he saw another figure deeper within the cave, a beautiful woman in robes of purple and red eyes before she vanished.
Back in the hall, Ogg fought for his life. The Ram's gladiators fell to his fury, their weapons unable to match his sheer force. The Ram, impressed yet wary, knew what was coming. A challenge for the throne. Ogg struck first, his blade carving a deep wound across the chieftain's chest. But The Ram was no ordinary orc - his ring glowed with arcane power, his form shifting unnaturally as he countered, his greatclub crashing against Ogg's ribs.
But The Bloodletter would not yield. With a final roar, Ogg's axe cleaved through The Ram's arms, sending him crumbling to his knees. Silence gripped the hall before it erupted into cheers. The orcs, bound by the laws of strength, bowed before their new leader. Ogg had claimed the warband.
Outside, as the battle neared its peak, an orc cried out from the Main Hall: "The Bloodletter is chief!" And just like that, the fighting ceased. The shaman Cloven, seeing the futility of resistance, yielded, presenting his sceptre to Björn in recognition of his victory.
A night of celebration followed, and with it, Gertsbar, the sacred orcish dance battle. Nesta and Heixidor challenged Björn, but the bard's mastery of rhythm proved too much. With a flourish and a bow, he took the crown, ensuring that even in the heat of war, there was always time for revelry.
With their newly acquired orc warband, the party set forth towards the looming peak of Mount Skarbrash, where Gother's dominion lay hidden deep within an ancient dwarven fortress. The journey through the frozen wastes was grueling, but after several days, they arrived at a colossal doorway carved into the mountainside. Runes of old dwarvish script lined the edges, their meaning lost to time - except to Nesta, whose keen eye deciphered them with ease. The puzzle unlocked, the ancient gates swung open, granting them passage into the silent, preserved corridors of the long-abandoned halls.
Within, the walls bore engravings of forgotten battles, legendary warriors clashing with beasts of myth - giants, manticores, hydras. At the end of a grand hallway stood another set of towering doors, their surface depicting a quartet of adventurers: a dwarf wielding a warhammer, a human archer, a dark elf sorcerer, and an orc brandishing a mighty glaive. A strange warmth emanated from the stone as Ogg pressed his palm to its surface. As if answering an unspoken call, the doors groaned open, revealing a vast, vertical chamber of interwoven pathways and elevators, suspended by thick, rusted chains.
The party, followed closely by their warband, descended a level below, where the unmistakable sounds of revelry echoed from beyond another set of rune-marked doors. Expecting battle, the four adventurers took the lead, but as they crossed the threshold, the doors slammed shut, severing them from their orcish reinforcements.
They found themselves trapped in an eerie chamber adorned with arcane symbols, the walls pulsing with an energy unknown. At its center stood a raised pedestal, upon which a large crimson button resided, surrounded by a steadily ticking timer. Across the far end of the chamber, a second set of doors loomed, locked by unseen forces. Around them, the floor bore intricate patterns - rows of arcane sigils, each representing a different school of magic. Further along the walls, faded inscriptions depicted various spells, their meanings obscured by time.
As they puzzled over the symbols, Ogg's sharp hearing caught the distant sounds of clashing steel and war cries from beyond the stone doors behind them. The orc warband was under siege. He rushed to pry the doors open, catching a fleeting glimpse of blood and fire - their forces were embroiled in battle against unseen foes. But before he could intervene, the doors sealed shut once more, barring him from aiding his warriors.
The party worked feverishly to decipher the puzzle, aligning spell schools with corresponding sigils upon the floor. The ticking of the timer grew louder, more insistent. Fifty-six times the button was pressed, each reset filling the room with an oppressive sense of urgency. But at last, the pattern was complete. As the final sigil was activated, the timer reached it's finale, and with a groaning shift of stone, the exit doors swung open, revealing the path forward.
With one last glance toward the battle raging beyond the sealed entrance, the party steeled themselves and stepped into the unknown, deeper into the heart of Mount Skarbrash.
Beyond the puzzle chamber, the party emerged into a grand hall bathed in flickering torchlight. A long wooden table, laden with roasted meats, overflowing goblets, and golden platters, stretched across the chamber, surrounded by merrymaking orcs. At the head of the table sat a familiar figure - King Gother, his massive frame adorned with a crown of rubies and steel. By his side stood a woman in elegant purple robes, her deep red eyes watching the festivities with an almost unnatural stillness.
Ogg strode forward, announcing his presence with a booming voice. Gother's face split into a wide grin, and he roared in celebration, welcoming his former warrior with open arms and a tankard of grog. The revelry swelled as the party joined in - Björn's fiddle rang out across the chamber, harmonizing with an orc fiddler of moonstone strings, while Nesta and Heixidor observed warily, sensing that something was deeply wrong.
Heixidor approached Lady Ludmiller, drawn to the beautifully wrought staff she carried. With an amused smile, she relinquished it with little hesitation, her voice lilting as she spoke of treasures and power. Meanwhile, Nesta refused the weapons and ale offered to her, earning a few wary glances from the orcs.
But it was Ogg who felt it first - the fog creeping into his mind. The whispers curling around the edges of his thoughts, the gentle coaxing voice of Lady Ludmiller urging him to follow her deeper into the fortress. As he drained another tankard of grog, memories surged - his past, his betrayals, the moment Gother had left him to die. The haze thickened, his vision warping, and before he knew it, he was walking toward the far wall, following a figure none of his companions could see.
Nesta, recognizing something was amiss, moved to intercept him, but a hulking orc stepped into her path. With practiced agility, she slid between his legs - only to collide with something unseen. The illusion shattered, revealing a squealing kobold, who had been masquerading as an orc. The trick was enough to delay her, and by the time she recovered, Ogg was gone.
Regrouping, Heixidor, Nesta, and Björn quickly devised a plan. Before much could be discussed they were approached by a female dwarf weilding a warhammer. Her curious questions left them suspicious and untrusting, but not Björn. He was filled with a deep interest to learn more from this woman, who he believed to be the same individual from the carvings they had seen earlier within the fortress. Without much hesitation he followed her lead out of the hall and deeper into the corridors.
Suspicious of the illusory wall Ogg had passed through, Heixidor flung a coin at it. The coin vanished. Testing again, they hurled one toward Lady Ludmiller - only for it to bounce harmlessly off her chest. She was real, but the walls concealed hidden paths. Before the trio could act, Gother barked an order, and orcs surged toward them. Dodging the guards, they sprinted through the illusory wall, descending into the depths of the fortress.
Ogg awoke in a room filled with phantoms of his past. Orcs he had once fought beside, now raising their drinks in his name. Dogg, his old friend, beckoned him closer, urging him to drink and forget. But something gnawed at Ogg's mind - a whisper of warning. Instinctively, he reached for the special brew on his belt, the sacred drink of Dave. The potent liquor burned through the fog, and in a moment of raw clarity, he saw the truth - kobolds in robes, brandishing sharp tools, moving toward him. His arms were bound to a cold iron chair, and a metallic device encircled his head, pulsating with arcane energy.
Rage erupted within him. His muscles bulged, his skin stretched as he doubled in size, snapping the restraints apart. With a thunderous roar, he sent the kobolds flying, their surgical tools clattering to the floor.
Meanwhile, Nesta and Heixidor stumbled upon a grim chamber of horrors - rows of comatose prisoners, their skulls partially exposed, metal tendrils burrowing into their minds. Heixidor, curiosity overcoming caution, removed a device from one of the prisoners. A sickening wet pop filled the air as the body slumped lifelessly, its mind utterly consumed.
A voice behind them snapped, "Stop tampering with the exhibits." The illusion of an orc flickered - then crumpled beneath the charging form of a 13-foot-tall Ogg.
With the kobolds scattered and the laboratory in ruin, they retraced their steps to the now deserted feast hall. The air had changed - the warmth of the torches now tinged with the eerie glow of an opening cavern passage behind Gother's table. The only way forward was down.
Meanwhile, Björn's admiration of the mysterious dwarven woman had led him through a winding labyrinth of contradictory hallways. The woman, who called herself Brunilda, spoke of a past that did not align with history, her stories muddled, her expressions fleeting between calm and panic. Sensing something terribly wrong, Björn pressed her for truth.
At the threshold of a massive door, Brunilda hesitated. Her hand trembled as she reached toward the handle, but before she could turn it, she let out a shattered cry - "Run! Get out of here!" And then, as if nothing had happened, she resumed, calmly opening the door.
Björn would not be fooled. He took her by the shoulders, forcing her to meet his gaze. A single tear slipped from her eye - the only real thing about her. With trembling lips, she whispered of a device on her head, a cage she could not escape. Björn, vowing to end her suffering, reached for the invisible contraption wrapped around her skull and tore it free.
Brunilda's body went limp. Björn caught her as she fell, gently laying her down. A fire ignited in his soul - a burning need for vengeance. He ran through the doorway ahead, only to be greeted by his allies.
With no time to waste, the party stood before the cavernous descent, the soft red glow beckoning them toward the final confrontation.
Descending into the cavern's heart, the party beheld a sight of both terror and wonder. Three vast pools of molten magma pulsed with heat, casting eerie flickers of light upon the jagged walls. A mountain of gold and jewels, enough to buy entire kingdoms, glittered in the far corner. Atop the heap, nestled like a divine beacon, lay the Caelan Stone - its brilliance undiminished by the surrounding corruption.
Björn's voice echoed first. "Ludmiller! Show yourself!" The words rang against the chamber walls, his challenge a clarion call to battle. Nesta, standing at the ready, closed her eyes and let the tremors guide her. A shape - hidden, watching, waiting - stood mere feet away. Without hesitation, Björn raised his hands, summoning forth a crackling storm of lightning, the bolts striking true.
A deafening screech filled the cavern as Lady Ludmiller's invisibility shattered, revealing her true form - a colossal red dragon, her scales rippling with fire. The time for deception was over. The battle had begun.
Ogg, still swollen with rage, launched himself at the dragon, his greataxe finding its mark across her massive jaw. Ludmiller's head whipped back, but she was not so easily bested. With a mighty flap of her wings, she sent a wave of gold and metal flying through the air, buffeting the adventurers like a storm of knives. Heixidor, already dashing toward the treasure hoard, narrowly avoided the worst of it, their focus locked on the Caelan Stone.
Nesta loosed a hail of arrows from the cavern's entrance, her shots aimed for the Drow wizard and Human ranger that emerged from the darkness - echoes of the warriors Brunilda had once known. They fought with a mindless precision, their attacks swift and lethal. The ranger loosed arrows in return, while the wizard summoned an eldritch pool of black, darkened tentacles beneath the feet of the party.
Lady Ludmiller's scales shimmered with heat, and with a guttural inhale, she released a torrent of fire. The inferno engulfed the battlefield, scorching armor, searing flesh. Björn, gritting his teeth, channeled a surge of magic to heal his allies, keeping them in the fight even as the flames licked at their skin.
Ludmiller ascended above the cavern floor giving herself an advantage over the party. But Ogg, undeterred by the blazing inferno, launched himself upwards and clung to the dragon's back, hacking at her wings with wild fury. She reared, spinning violently in an attempt to dislodge him. But the half-orc would not be moved. Instead, Ludmiller surged skyward, rocketing toward the cavern ceiling, Ogg still clinging to her like a maddened beast.
From the cavern's depths, kobolds scuttled into the fray, their tiny claws glinting with blades. Ludmiller, furious, cast a paralyzing spell, Ogg's body locking in place. She held him tight against her chest and plunged into the magma below.
A great wave of fire erupted, casting the chamber in molten light.
The Drow wizard, seizing the moment, hurled arcane missiles at Björn, leaving him crumpled and bleeding. Heixidor struck down the ranger, their strikes unyielding. Nesta, seeing an opportunity, rushed forward, ripping a strange device from the ranger's skull. The body slumped lifelessly, freed from its mind-controlling prison.
Heixidor sprinted to Björn's fallen form, pressing a healing potion to his lips. The bard gasped awake, his fury renewed. In an instant, he polymorphed into a giant crab, providing him with much needed defense. Another controlled warrior entered the fray, in the form of an orc fighter carrying a large, deadly glaive.
But Ludmiller was not finished. She erupted from a magma pool, roaring with rage, and dropped Ogg at her feet. Flaming boulders rained down, knocking Nesta unconscious. The dragon's eyes glowed with malice, preparing to unleash her final fury. The orc fighter cut through Björn's shelled exterior, knocking him unconscious once again.
Only Heixidor and Ogg remained standing. The monk, summoning every ounce of their speed, grabbed the charred form of Ogg and carried him to safety, shoving another potion into Björn as they passed his limp body. Ogg, in a moment of pause, took a deep breath and charged at Ludmiller, his rage reigniting.
Björn, restored, muttered an insult to the Orc fighter as it fled his side to protect Ludmiller. Ogg sliced through the dragon's thick hide as his greataxe found home deep within her side. Heixidor frantically searched their supplies for an advantage, only to stumble upon an ancient arcane scroll - reading the mysterious runes allowed provided aid to the group. Nesta picked herself up and redrew her weapon, only for a moment, before being polymorphed into a giant ape - an unconventional yet effective form of defense.
Lady Ludmiller, realizing her foes would not fall, made a final gamble. With a deafening shriek, she ascended high into the cavern, gathering molten energy at her core. She exhaled, releasing a massive eruption of magma clouds, scorching the entire battlefield. The party, barely standing, braced for the end.
But Ogg would not allow it. His orcish blood burned with unyielding fury, and with a final war cry - "FOR DAVE!" - he charged through the flames, cleaving into the dragon's chest with all his might. His greataxe bit deep, tearing through flesh and scale.
With a final, anguished scream, Lady Ludmiller collapsed, her body torn apart by the fury of the Bloodletter. The battle was over.
As the kobolds fled in terror, the cavern fell into a stunned silence.
The golden hoard lay untouched, a kingdom's ransom. But it was the Caelan Stone that drew Heixidor's focus. As they reached for it, the gem pulsed with warmth, whispering secrets of forgotten history, arcane power flooding into their mind. And for the briefest of moments, an eye stared back at them from within the gem before vanishing into the ether.
The battle was won. Lady Ludmiller was slain. Tennendorf would rise once more.
But some whispers, some secrets, refused to die.
With the treasure secured and their bodies battered but alive, the party began their ascent - ready to return home as legends.
Nesta, crowned Queen of Tennendorf, ruled for a century, her reign one of prosperity and unbreakable peace. Under her watch, the realm flourished, trade routes expanded, and no enemy dared challenge the kingdom that had felled a dragon. Songs were written of her wisdom, and even after a hundred years, her name was spoken with reverence.
Ogg, now feared and respected as The Dragon Rider, took his place as one of Tennendorf's Royal Captains, forging an elite force from the once-scattered orcish clans. No longer mere raiders, they became Tennendorf's fiercest warriors, trained under Ogg's iron command. Tales of his fearless leadership and battle prowess spread far beyond the borders, whispered in both awe and fear.
Heixidor, seeking to preserve the wisdom gained on their journey, founded the Order of the Stone - an illustrious monastic order dedicated to the study of arcane energies and divine relics. Under their guidance, Tennendorf's scholars and monks delved into forgotten knowledge, ensuring that no power like Ludmiller's would ever threaten the land again. Their teachings spread far and wide, and for generations, the name Heixidor remained synonymous with enlightenment and strength.
Björn, ever the storyteller, roamed the lands, his ballads of the battle against Lady Ludmiller becoming legend. Wherever he went, his songs ignited taverns and halls of nobility alike, recounting the deeds of his comrades and the mysterious warrior-dwarf Brunilda. His name lived on in bardic circles for centuries, his melodies carrying the weight of history itself.
The Caelan Stone, returned to its rightful place, remained silent. But deep in its crystalline core, something ancient still watched, waiting. Only Heixidor knew of its true location within the kingdom walls - information that would only remain with him for the rest of time.
And so, their tale became legend - one carved into the annals of time, never to be forgotten.