Saying good bye to his wife Sheira was perhaps the hardest thing he ever had to do, knowing as he did that it might be the last time they were together. Predictably, she was determined to remain, but in the end his word won out. Undoubtedly the turning point in the ensuing argument was their 5 surviving children, the eldest, Gwyvst, a mere youngling of 25 years.

Four hours later, it was near midnight, and he awaited the arrival of a group of Khazad who were about to embark upon a desperate mission. Loath to lose even eight of his warriors, these eight were particularly hard to part with. Survivors all of dozens of battles, they were a hard-bitten lot drawn from all parts of the Kingdom, including the garrison of Brundishere.

Few of the group had ever met before, but all were tied together in Khazad society with bands of adamantium - by blood and clan oath. They were the last survivors of the once powerful clan Hardizand.

Two warriors brought in a small cask of ale, and a platter of leather mugs. Pouring out each one echoed loudly in the near empty room - a quiet reminder of where they were and the desperate situation. In an adjoining chamber, usually used for supply storage, the whinnying of over a dozen ponies could be heard, and the grunting cursing of the warriors stacking the requested supplies for the adventurers. As the different Khazad of Hardizand filed in, Gwyvern was impressed by their bearing and determined expressions. "No weaklings in this lot", thought the battle-master of Brundishere to himself.

But then, the same could be said of all the remaining Khazad within the cold walls of his soon-to-be besieged keep. Gesturing to two guards to pass out the mugs of ale, Gwyvern nodded to each as they entered, taking a quiet appraisal of each. The reports had details of each of them, the tale being almost universally one of suffering, lost battles, and dead kin. But the undying glint of victory lay in the eye of each of them, and Gwyvern was satisfied. He took a mug himself, and came right to the point.

"You are the last of your clan. All your requested goods are being stacked in the adjoining room, and your mounts and pack animals await. You know where you are going and for what purpose, one we need not speak of, even here. I salute you in your endeavor, and look forward to hearing news of your success. Little knowledge do we have of that area, but the surrounding hills are filled with enemy spys and patrols. Your first week out you should travel quickly and with as few stops as possible. I have ordered a 'recon in strength' to the Northwest that will draw the enemies' eyes. That will begin...", the battle-lord looks across the room at a water clock, "...in two hours.

The patrol will sally out for several hours, then return at dawn. You have that long to pack your belongings and equipment, and break through the enemies patrols.", Gesturing behind him to the double doors, sealed with beams of iron he says, "This doorway leads to a tunnel that ends in a portal to a surface road. The Exit warding word for the last door is "Trinst-zana". Use the word before only, as the wards will reset themselves shortly after the door is sealed again. Know that I can not give you the return pass, so your passage will be one-way", Turning to refill his mug, he gestures for anyone else to do the same.

"Your equipment request has been filled to the letter. As no clear line is left for your clan, you will have to pick your leaders yourself. It is my understanding that a scry pool exists in the temple at the 'site', so we will know of your success when you penetrate that far. If you report that all is secure, I will dispatch a company to support you. You know all too well the importance of your mission. In a matter of weeks or even days this fortress may be under an open siege. No one else knows of your mission, and you can expect no resupply or help, unless you find the scry pool and it still functions."

Pausing, he looks at you each deep in the eyes, as if in some way to impart some of his strength and will to your own. "You must succeed. May all the Gods of Light and Law look upon you with favor." With that final word, the Battle-lord drains his mug, slams it down on the table and stalks out of the room, returning to the upper tiers to organize and lead the covering sally.

You are fairly bursting with questions, but know that the Battle-lord unused to being questioned.You use the time remaining to you to pack your ponies with the equipment you requested, and your own personal equipment. Quietly and with great gentleness, the other Khazad guards aid you, and when you are ready, they remove the binding and bars of the door, slowly cranking it open. On the other side, a rough-hewn tunnel leads away.

A Guard explains as the first of your group is about to head down the tunnel - "Be sure and take only the right hand turns - all others lead to sure death" - Thanking the guard for this rather important info, you one by one head down the narrow shaft. The last to come, leading the team of pack ponies is Morvin, his skill with horses letting him easily control them. After about 20 minutes of slowly picking your way, passing several side passages to the left, you come up against a featureless wall.

Brothore speaks up, saying "Trinst .... Zana". For a few moment, nothing seems to happen. Then a fine seam appears to the side, and with a crack and then a groan the huge doorway slowly moves inward. Seeing outside, you can see a well lit starry night as you file outside. Once out, and a slight nudge the great door slowly swings shut. You hear a soft click, and a quiet deep grinding as the locking bars slide in. Then silence.

Nothing on this side indicates the presence of a door, and after you move the ponies, you return to cover-up any signs of your passing. While on the very doorstep of a mighty keep of your people, you feel utterly alone.

You mount, and follow a small path leading southwards. The forests about are quiet. Pushing onward through the night, day after day you relentlessly force your obedient Khazad ponies and yourselves to the brink of exhaustion, putting a solid distance between the well watched fortress and your party. You travel for 5 days like this, with only short rest breaks night and day till one mid-morning when Morvin demands the pace be changed or accept the death of the loyal but exhausted ponies.

Breathlessly, you decide to stop. The party collapses, Garflin and Rollo agreeing to trade 2 hr watches while the others rest. Shortly after nightfall, you all awake, somewhat rested.

You are in a small clearing, boarded on one side by rocky sided hill, and a thick forest on the other. Nearby is a small stream with fresh, cold water. There is sign of the enemy or of the Atani.

After some quiet discussion, you all come to agree that your hard travelling has shaved a few days off of your expected trip and securly put distance between you and the enemy. You estimate only 8 or 9 days more of normal travel should bring you near where you understand Grimbroar and/or its ring of outposts lies, or so your archaic maps say [GM Note: still looking for the old graphic I had of your campaign map - sorry still no luck. Let us just say you have a primitive overland map that shows some geographical landmarks that you feel will guide you, if not to Grimbroar itself, at least to one of its cunningly hidden outposts that encircle it like a necklace].

Already, the mountains of your home have faded, and the forest is deeper and totally unfamiliar. The ponies have been seen to by Jarred and Snorri, and are brushed and fed. Travelling at night has been dangerous and has led to several back-tracks -- but in your desperate-ness to put distance between you and Brundishere, it was necessary.

Your camp is in a small clearing, bordered one side by rocky outcropping, and the other by a thick grove of white pine on a hilly slope going up from you. There is a small stream just out of sight that can be pleasently heard. You have already retreaved and refilled your canteens and watersupply with its cold, fresh water.

Nevertheless, you feel the woods are quite spooky, and limestone wall of the hillside foreign.

What the party does now is entirely up to you.

It is early evening, about 2 hours after nightfall in the early fall season. Everyone is awake, but still very tired. For the first time since leaving Brundishere, you find yourselves with a few moments of breathing space. You look around, and realize you barely know each other.