Milo

Chapter 17: The Second Jailbreak

It took little effort to sway Zoorah into aiding the party. Gathering tools in the Blacksmith's shop used as a safe house, the two sulked into the night, ready to spring their comrades from prison. Zoorah took to the streets, prepared to distract any passing guards.

The Crimson Shadow gathered his tools and located the window where the rest of the party was hiding. He passed weapons and tools to the barbarian, who began working on the window. Once he got through, he began crawling through. He then passed the unconscious ranger through the window. Then he passed the unconscious farmer through the window. Before The Crimson Shadow could question what had happened to the poor man, he heard a horrible scream come from the jail. The wizard came running into the cell, followed by a guard who was on fire.

"Help, help!" screamed the wizard "these guards can catch fire at will!"

The guard, burning through some unholy magic, pierced the wizard's side with his long sword. Seeing no other way to save his friend, The Crimson Shadow struck the guard with his shovel. The flat of the tool rang hard upon the guard's head, and he collapsed to the ground. Unconfirmed reports say that a peacock colored cloak was involved, but The Crimson Shadow has declined to comment on this element.

With nearly all of the party assembled (if somewhat worse for wear), the party loaded their wounded into a cart, and made their way to the gates. Seeing their cleric slumped by the exit, they gathered her into the cart and made their way to safety.

Another flawless escape, masterminded by the most fantastic thief the town had ever known.

Zephyr

Fire and Freedom

Outside friends bring hope and hard tools
To bite binding bars
And slip us free

Careful stealth and diversion is needed
But gone in a moment of new opportunity
Reckless battle rages

Our unguarded bodies are no match for captors' steel
We equal the equation with fire
Their screams shall linger long in my sleep

Pushing fallen friends up to freedom
Piled comrades in a cart swiftly moving
Safety gained under guise of the dead.

---

Sadar

Dear Liniea,

If you get this letter, I beg of you please do not show it to my mother, Fatima, or anyone else from our long forsaken village. I only write now to let you know I am OK- although weak and hopefully you may pass that on to any of our old clan that you make contact with.

It's hard to know where to begin: right from wrong, escape vs. pursuit, revenge vs. justice, and self preservation vs. murder?

Before you read further I must let you know I am no closer to tracking Scontier. Quite the opposite actually...

Well, I awoke yesterday morning to the worst headache I've ever felt I my life. The events I write to you now are all from the mouths of my new comrades as I was under the land of the passing for several sunrises as sunsets. For now, I am happy to be alive!

I can't tell where it all went wrong. As I stated in my past letters we were investigating the plague and I thought I traced it to a poisoned water source. However, in the course of investigating the problem, in self defense, we ended up burning down a farmer's house, and killing his wife and older son... it was the most disgraceful day of my life. Returning to the city that requested our investigation, I thought we would be rewarded for our risk. However we were detained in a jail cell- it was the worst, most confined moment of my life. Things quickly got worse...

It became apparent that the towns excuse for a justice system may try to hang us for our actions. My comrades and I- what loyal albeit sloppy- comrades they proved to be, initiated our escape. Somehow, while attempting to detain a large, angry, powerful, and master fighter, who was also the farmer, I must have been sideswiped by one of his evil accomplices or a cruel guard, as that is the last thing I remember until now as I awoke in a forest just outside that cruel and demented City.

I found out, as a matter of life and death, in our escape we ended up torching and killing some guards and burning down the jail cell- there was no other way! Eventually, my brave comrades ended up subduing the burly fighter- who was also the farmer- and it must have taken 4 or 5 of them. They broke through the jail cell bars and pushed me outside. Then we barely escaped as one our comrades who is also a master negotiator convinced the City Gate Guard that he was taking plague infested ill heathen outside the city to be burned. We barely made it out the gate, they lay me here to rest, and with a throbbing head and shaking hand I compose this letter to you. Please burn it after you read it.

I promise you. I will not leave that death and destruction for nothing. I know in the past you told me to let Scontier rest. However, I cannot do that. If anything, this has made me twice as committed to finding him, wherever he may be. I must hold him accountable for some answers to the death of my father and the destruction of our village.

Liniea, you are so beautiful, kind, and pure of heart. May you never be troubled with the likes of what I got myself into. I miss you dearly. Please take good care of the older and weaker ones as I know you do so well.

Forever,
Sadar

---

Zoorah

The Crimson Shadow a scary man!
His real name is Clarence Samuel Humperdink,
But I like to call him Sam.
He's a real bruiser, more then you know,
He fell off a log, and stubbed his toe,
But I swear he was black & blue to and fro,
Where's my manners! He's a strong young chap,
And a friend for sure,
He paralyzed a dragon with one look, and no more,
Ah yes, a dragon that's what I said,
We battled a dragon till that dragon's blood run red.

It was a night, a night so cold,
It felt like a wraith, had touched the soul,
We heard the constable shout out for HELP!
We ran to his side, weapons drawn out!
Nothing could save us from the carnage of battle,
The stomach turned at the sight of the ground,
Half burnt bodies and blood all around,
I saw the baker's son head atop a rock,
I covered it with respect, with my peacock feathered smock.
I said a quick prayer for the brothers who fell,
I'm a religious man, my head not swell,
We got our senses in order, ready for a fight,
Faint torches burn deep in the night,
Scream's of death in the direction we follow,
Trees burnt to a deep black hollow,
Ashes of sons and father strung about,
That's when we saw it, a red glowing snout!

I grabbed my bow and let off a volley,
Sam burst into shadows, and vanished into air
I had to thing quick or the end would be near,
Volley after volley ripped the dragon's wings,
A tune I play kept the beast bound to me,
Sam crept to its side avoiding it mass,
Fire spewed from it mouth in an anger splash,
I dodged the flame breath of this evil beast,
Taunting it at every chance to keep is eyes on me,
With a howl of pain and a gush of cold black blood,
The dragon's head fell with a thud!
There Sam sat with a grin ear to ear,
Both of us knowing a Dragon steak was near.

---

To Uthellon Truthwalker Leader of the Dwin'ghymn
From Nareth, of the Seven Sons of Dwin'ghymn
44th of Midfall, Year 1022 of the Age of Hope
Via Animal Messenger

Peace be with you Uthellon and the High Council of Moridem

I have made a terrible mistake. My soul is downtrodden with the weight of this news and I can only pray to Corellon that I have not disgraced the name of our people and forefathers. I hope you can find it within to forgive my transgressions.

In our escape attempt, I knowingly sent the spirits of innocent men to the afterworld. At the time I did not feel I had a choice but in reflection I understand the foolishness of those words. I pray Corellon's hand will guide their souls to Elysium where they may find joy for eternity. This is my darkest hour. The weight of their souls will always be upon me.

I cannot even begin to relate the events, which wrought such destruction to these men and pierced my heart with darkness and foreboding. The guilt hangs too heavily upon my neck.

Pray that my soul will not be tarnished and that I might rise once again from the ashes of this evil deed to triumph over darkness and bring honor to the memories of these poor humans. To this end we move away from Culloden with the farmer. We will question him at nightfall and my quest to pacify my inner turmoil begins.

Nareth Corribrar

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ack to the Age of Hope

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