Dungeons & Dragons 4th Edition: Secrets of the Snakewood.

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Boindal's words fall heavy upon Lord Padraig, his cheerful demeanour quickly diminishes.

"Troubles, eh?" he says quietly, almost as if to himself. His eyes wonder the room, a frown across his face, "All I wish to keep these people safe. We have a way of life here. It is calm, we grow produce and make merchandise, and merchants from all around come to sell their goods and trade in our market. These are difficult times, I am sure you all know..."

Furgin speaks up, and Padraig listens.

"The Kobolds are becoming a real problem. I wish you were right, Mr Furgin, but these creatures have attacked our walls no less than five times in the past three weeks. My handful of guardsmen can cope with the occasional bandit or monster incursion, but this is getting ridiculous. Last week we had our first..." Padraig trails off momentarily, swallowing hard, "...our first casualty on the watch. A young man by the name of Paul Hallows. I told his family myself, and I never want to see that look of fear and desperation upon another young woman's face."

Padraig leans back and runs his hand over his hair, sighing loudly, "I have a proposition for you."
Leaning forward again, he looks about the room and speaks quietly, obviously apprehensive of anyone over hearing them, "Thank you, for saving John Ore, the merchant on the roadside. He is one of our regulars; I was worried when he hadn't returned. His wife Dora is a friend of the family, and I implore you to find her." One of the guardsmen leans in and whispers in Padraig's ear. He thinks for a moment, before continuing, "There has been such an increase in Kobold and Bandit activity within the Snakewood that it can't possibly be mere coincidence. Something... bad, is going on."

"We have two leads, which I would ask you to follow up for me. There will be a reward of gold. I only ask you because I simply do not have the man power spare pursue these leads myself."

He takes a long sip, finishing off his Ale.

"Firstly, a group of archaeologists were excavating what they thought to be a dragon burial site locally, a few miles to the south. One of them returned two nights ago, he managed to escape an attack on the site by another group of surprisingly well organised Kobold's. These creatures managed to kill the mercenary body guards employed by the scribes with ease, and I fear they will up the road and attack Winterhaven soon. What they would want with the burial site, is unknown to me, that is, if they want anything and this isn't just another seemingly random attack. The second lead is that one of the farmsteads to the west was attacked today, the men were slain but the women and children were kid-napped. The similarity between this and the disappearance of Dora Ore can't be ignored. My guards looked over the crime scene and found tracks heading into the woods around that area, but as ordered they returned to the Winterhaven before nightfall. I have an unofficial curfew in effect, because the Snakewood has become a dangerous place, even more so after dark."

"So, will you do this for me? Find out what is happening in the Snakewood? Feel free to rest up the night and take in our local hospitality, the Market is on tomorrow, so if you are in need of supplies I recommend you take a look at our local craftsman and merchants wares in the morning." Padraig begins to smile, feigning laughter as if putting on a show for anyone who is watching, "And one last thing," he says, pointing at Pietre, "Stop spreading rumours of a cult operating in Winterhaven, such an idea is ludicrous, my people are honest and moral, and we praise Pelor and Avandra for our bountiful harvests. Keep your ridiculous theories to yourself." His tone lapses into seriousness and anger for a moment, before he smiles once again, awaiting a response from the party.

Furgin looks at Pieter, the insufferably odd raven bobbing up and down on his shoulder. Burying his face in his ale, Furgin then eyes Padraig suspiciously. Sister Marla and this Pieter both mentioned cults he wonders. Is Padraig lying here? But he seems such a pleasant man.

Without having drank any of the drink, Furgin lowers his tankard and shifts his weight onto the other foot. Furgin had remained standing because all of the seats were of human size; he didn't want to compromise his integrity by having his feet dangling a few inches from the floor. Lowering the tankard, He begins to address Padraig uncertainly.

"Um...Padr- um...Earnest. You mention Pelor. We four," he gestures to Boindal, Kriv and Baldur, "have been sent here to investigate rumours of cult activity." He grips the tankard in both hands, staring into it's muddy contents. "...By a good priest of Pelor." He finishes quietly.

Seeing the anger spreading across the ocunt's face, Furgin quickly proceeds. "Perhaps there is a chance you are unaware of these kinds of goings-on? After all, Avandra cannot grace us with her fortune at all times..."

Pieter stayed quiet and followed his new found companions, joining the lord at his table and sitting for a while. He did not have much to say at this point, so he let his companions do the talking, for they had traveled well to get here and had much to say. He listened carefully to the things they were saying, and his heart sunk a little when he heard mention of the name Derindahl by the other members of the party. This may be worse than I thought if he was dragged into this... Pieter waited for the others to finish talking before saying anything, milling about the possibilities and ideas in his head while they spoke. When they finished speaking and the Lord had warned him about talking about the cultist activity, He began to speak.

"Your lordship, I meant no ill tidings toward your people, I was sent to investigate, and that is what I shall do, lest my superiors grow angry with me for returning empty handed. So I will take heed of your words, but only to a certain degree, I will still investigate secretly, but no one else will I ask, Unless I deem it necessary." He said, with a certain bow of his head. "But this man that you speak of companions, you said his name was Derindahl, Yes? This may bode ill for all of us, for he is a rogue wizard, a criminal in Baldur's Gate, and he has performed many disturbing crimes. I fear if he is here, someone of greater power than he recruited him, for I have never known him to work in large groups, such as with these Kobolds." Pieter said, then grew quiet for a while, petting his raven on the top of its head.


Baldur finishes his ale and wipes his mouth and beard with the back of his hand "Shame on you all!" he bellows "Thy quiet country life has been threatened by Tiamat's foul spawn and you would not take up arms against them?! Your women and children, friends and neighbours and being snatched away into the night. I pity your wives for having such yellow husbands and your husbands too for having simpering waifs at thine side. We will and face this evil! Will not one of you prove your mettle and join us in defending your homes?"
Fuelled with nordic passion, Baldur turns to back to the barmaid. "Madam, a flask of ale for any man who would join us when we ride out once our preparations are complete!"

Pieter twitched as Baldur bellowed to the entire tavern, letting everyone know that he knew he was upset with everyone in a great way. He coughed quickly as his raven began squawking due to the excess of noise, and he quieted quickly. He spoke up and said "You would do well to try and hold your tongue on this issue, friend, we do not need to scare the villagers more than they already are, most are not fit for battle and would get in the way.". He had to raise his voice more than he would have liked, but the ruckus in the inn was building quickly.

"You cannot expect peasants, farmers and merchants to stand any chance in a real fight, Baldur. They barely have enough competent men to hold their own walls, let alone go out hunting for the Kobolds on their own turf." Kriv makes an effort to stand just a little bit taller and prouder, his deep, powerful voice hinting at his noble heritage.

"We are warriors, and the true purpose of a warrior is to protect those who cannot protect themselves. To guard the weak from the corrupt, greedy, and wicked so that they might know peace. Such was my pledge when I swore my Knight's Oath. I would expect a warrior of your years to understand this Baldur. Let them lick their wounds and guard their homes. We shall destroy this evil where ever it might dwell."


At his comrade's words, Baldur shrugs grudgingly. "My apologies, I forget myself. The lack of fire in these people's hearts casts a cloud over my own. You are right Kriv, my friend; warriors, we must inspire deeds of greatness and lead by example. Let our actions resonate in the hearts of these people and spur them to their own deeds of greatness. Anyone who wishes to join us is still welcome, though. I would gladly die alongside any man who wanted nothing more than to protect his home and prove his mettle in battle." His fire no less diminshed, but instead redirected, Bladur rallies. "So, tomorrow we take a walk in the woods. Shouldn't be too difficult. Fancy the need to procure any special gear for the journey just in case?"


Boindal smiles at Baldur as he sits back down and takes another swig of ale before speaking. "Aye, we be hardened warriors who be used to the adventurin life. Best leave the fightin o Kobolds to the likes of those who can best do the most damage. But before we leave I've something we might want to enquire about." Boindal takes a moment to look around. Satisfied that no one is paying too close attention to them he, very carefully, removes the small wooden chest from his belt.

Boindal sets the small wooden chest on the table and opens it, revealing the small flask of black liquid held inside. "I took this off of the Kobold that Eponas felled when I first ran into Furgrin, and being as we were promptly chased after by a large gang o the blighters, I be thinkin that this may be important to them. Does anyone have a clue what it is?"

Pieter gazed at the now opened box, looking at it with great interest. A chance to learn something new excited him, and he wanted to gaze at it for a long time. He carefully reached over and lifted the torn tag, the word "Death" still remained on it. He thought for a while, as he gazed at the liquid inside of the vial, wondering what it could be. He tried to think back to his training, wanting to know what was in there.

Padraig glares at Baldur upon his outburst. The bustling noise of the tavern quietens momentarily, before the patrons sheepishly go back to their discussions of farm business and local events.

"Please, sir, refrain from your attempts to rally the troops, for lack of a better term. We currently have twenty five local farmers and young men training with the town guard twice a week to attempt to create a defensive militia. And that is how they will remain, a simple defensive force. I will not send out inexperienced young men to hunt monsters, just for them to be injured, or to catch some disease these disgusting creatures have brought to our woods."

Padraig pauses to rub his hands, his eyes weary from tiredness, "I will pay you well, to keep my people safe."

One of his guardsmen draws a map from a small side satchel and rolls it out on the table. "Do any of you have ink, a quill, or something with which we can ma-" but before the guard could finish Furgin had produced a small stick of glowing chalk, "Will this do?" asks the Halfling with a smile. The guard eyes the unique looking stick of mineral, before nodding and proceeding to mark the local map with two crosses.

"The northern most mark," Padraig narrates, "is the farmstead at which was attacked this afternoon, while the southern mark denotes the location of the 'dragon burial site'. Once you have found anything useful please report to my captain, Rond Wintermane at the barracks, he will call for me if you need me."

Padraig and his watchmen shakes hands with the party, and wish them luck with their task, before making their way through the crowded tavern to shake hands and greet other patrons.

Boindal takes a moment to look around the room upon Padraig leaving the table. Other than occasional glance from a drunken farm hand, no one appears to be watching the party. Boindal carefully brings the small ornate chest out and places it down upon the table with a thud. Kriv notices that the etchings upon the top of the chest's lid are archaic Dragonborn symbols, but he is unable to decipher them.

Boindal's small glass vial of liquid amazes Pieter. He casts his mind back to his days with the elder mages of his order, scouring over tomes of ancient lore and arcane teachings. The liquid is familiar, despite never having seen any with his own eyes; he has read many a tome about this substance, and the plane from which it originates. This is residual materials left over from a portal to the Shadowfell, the plane from which shadow magic and for the most part, necrotic energies, originate from. A foul echo of the Prime plane, any non secure portal to the Shadowfell could allow for foul creatures and undead to find their way into this world.

Pieter also knows that this substance, if left to ferment can be used as a potent alchemical agent, creating dehabilitating and deadly poisons, or can be used to create planar portals with relative ease, to the Shadowfell. This liquid is dangerous, and is highly sought after by Wizard's across Faerun, mostly due to the dangerous nature of procuring such a substance. Unfortunately, due to its dangerous applications, it is also outlawed in most regions of Faerun. The Cowled Wizards of Amn sentence possessors of Shadowfell matter with life imprisonment.

Pieter sat quietly after examining the liquid, knowing what it was is one thing, but knowing what it could accomplish troubled him. He slid the box toward himself and shut it, looking around for prying eyes. He began to speak, slowly and quietly, to the rest of his party. "Well my dwarvern friend, I do not know how you came by this liquid, but it is very valuable, in the right hands, and while valuable, it is also exceedingly dangerous to those that wish to use it for vile purposes. While I would want to hold onto this and keep it safe myself, it belongs to you, and I am sure you are capable of keeping it secure." Pieter said as he pushed the box back toward the dwarf.

"If that should fall into the hands of Derindahl, the result could be... disturbing. I will tell you this, we would have a lot more problems to deal with, and the least of them would be the kobolds." Pieter said, falling silent and petting his ravens chest, and the Raven cawed slowly and quietly.


Boindal tucks the small chest back into his belt. Pieter's words confirm his suspicions about the liquid being dangerous, and he knows that he must keep it safe till he can get it to the right person. "So what exactly does it do? I wouldn'a want ta sell it case it goes to the wrong person. Should we destroy it or do ye know of someone would could put it to good use?"

Furgin swallows hard, listening to Pieter's careful explanation of the magical liquids properties and uses.

Furgin waits for a moment before speaking up "The Shadowfell? This might be a bit more dangerous than I first thought...." Rubbing underneath his weary eyes he gives a weak smile, "Maybe we should get some rest then, meet back here tomorrow morning, have a nice heart breakfast and then proceed on to this site where a dragon is supposedly buried?"

Furgin waits to hear what the party says before moving over to the barmaid to collect a key for his room, and proceeds upstairs to rest his head.


As night falls the patrons of Wrafton's Inn stumble home to rest for the night, ready for another day selling goods in the market square, or toiling in the surrounding farmlands.

Boindal, fast asleep upon his bed, dreams of battle and future glory. The lock to his room clicks and the door slowly creeps open. The Dwarf rolls over in his sleep, but remains unaware of the intruder. A hooded figure, a humanoid standing at approximately six feet tall makes his way into the room and momentarily stands over the Dwarf, eying him up. But his mission is not assassination, not tonight anyway.

The figure begins to search through Boindal's possessions, ignoring a small pouch of gold and the Dwarf's expensive magical weapon. At first, the intruder doesn't find what he is looking for, but upon searching the room for a few moments more he finds it, the ornate chest that contains the Shadowfell matter, hidden beneath the bed. Smiling to himself, he pockets the chest, and leaves the room, pulling the door closed behind him.


A cockerel caws somewhere in the distance, awakening Furgin. Sitting up in his bed he stretches. Though rested, his sleep was plagued by imagery of shades and ghosts; visages ripped straight from the horror stories he had been told as a child, of the creatures that inhabited the Land of Shadows. Shaking off the images of restless undead spirits, he gets dressed and heads downstairs.

"Morning 'andsome'" squeaks a young maid behind the bar, not the one from last night, "What can I get ya?" He sheepishly takes a single gold from his coin purse and puts it atop the bar,

"Breakfast, for five please." He says, shyly.
"Of course darlin', take a table, it will be out in a moment." She smiles back.

Taking up the table they used to discuss 'business' with Lord Padraig last night he rests his head in his hands, thinking of the dangers that may lie ahead. He had never fought a wizard before, and if this Derindahl character is actually involved with the bandit and kobold problems in the area, he might have to.

His day dream is cut short with the clank of cutlery upon plate. Looking up he sees two maids placing down a couple of plates of dark rye bread upon the table, a large bowl of wet oats and several smaller bowls. Last of all, spoons and a few tankards of ale.
"I hope you're hungry little fella'" one of the women laughs.


Boindal wakes, after donning his armour and checking his weapon, he remembers the chest. But when he looks for it in the place that he hid it, he finds that it is no longer there. It is missing.


I put it under the bed last night, no one could have moved the bed without me feeling it! Boindal thought as he searched frantically around the room for the wooden chest he liberated from the Kobold's corpse on the road to Winterhaven. Satisfied that he looked everywhere, but very troubled that it appears it was not in his possession, Boindal hastily makes his way downstairs to inform the others. At the bottom of the stairs Boindal spots Furgrin over at the table last night that they sat with Lord Padraig. He makes his way over to his friend with haste and sits down next to him. "We may have a slight problem. It appears that last night someone came into me room and took the chest with the Shadowfell liquid! It's gone!"

Pieter quickly rolled out of bed, eager to get going with the day. The promise of finally making some progress with his mission excited him, and he would not delay it for long. He quickly munched on a few trail rations he produced from his bag. He did not like to eat breakfast often, but he would need his energy today. Zed, his raven, still snoozed beside the bed. He carefully made his way over to the raven, and poked him in the side of the head, not hard enough to hurt him, but just to give him a jolt when he awoke. Pieter chuckled as Zed squawked to life, his wings flapping rapidly until they slowed, and Zed shot a nasty glance over at Pieter.

"There are better ways to wake me you know." He said in a deep human voice. Pieter just continued to chuckle as he got ready and said "I know, but this way was more fun." as he grabbed his pack and slung it over his shoulder, then grabbed his staff. "Coming?" he asked with a sure voice as Zed flew quickly over to his shoulder and perched there, still brooding over the poke to the head. Pieter made his way downstairs quickly and spied his companions sitting at a table. He casually walked over and took a seat close to them, but saw the look of concern on Boindals face. "What troubles you dwarf?"

Kriv awoke feeling quite rested, and good thing too, as he would need all the energy he could muster for his quest. The already difficult search for a kidnapping victim had become much more overnight and he was beginning to fear the worst for Dora. But he swore an Oath to find her and bring her back, even if it was only her body, and he would or die trying. Getting up, Kriv made his way to the wash bowl and mirror. After splashing some water on his face he took a wet rag and quickly washed himself a bit. He took the time to examine his bare chest in the mirror. The wound where the Kobold's blade had struck was healing quite nicely. It would soon be but another addition to the collection of scars he had on his body. The life of a wandering knight was not an easy one, but it suited Kriv.

Satisfied that he was clean, Kriv spent a few minutes donning his armor. The steel suit of full plate would be quite heavy for most, but the Dragonborn had grown used to it over the years and wore it almost as though it were a second skin. He gave the pieces reassuring tugs making sure they were properly strapped and wouldn't come off in a tussle. Pleased with his appearance he finally made his way down to the tavern closely behind Pieter.

"Whatever has got you upset friend you must put aside quickly. The more time we waste the less likely we are to find the missing villagers alive. We must eat and head out as soon as possible!"


Baldur, awake before cock-crow, began his day in the usual fashion: offering a prayer to Ammuantor for light and strength and sharpening his sword while reciting the victory-runes etched upon it. Upon hearing the creaks and groans of stairs under full-plated Dragonborn, Baldur heads out.

"Agreed," says Baldur, following Kriv's descent. "We don't have time to look for it while lives are at stake. But a thief in town should be made known to the militia. We can mention it to them on our way out of town and perhaps they will catch the swine by the time we get back."

Furgin shifts awkwardly in his chair.

"I understand that John's wife and this... cult, are our first priority. But if i am right. That liquid is incredibly dangerous in the wrong hands..."

Finishing up his oats, the halfing shrugs, "Once we have eaten, we should move out. The quicker we find her, and stop these attacks, the quicker we can track down that vial of foul liquid."

After breakfast, the party head out on foot to the 'Dragon Burial Site'. Boindal informs the town guard that he had some valuables stolen while he slept at the Inn last night. Horrified, they inform him that they will ask around town and look into it.

The morning is cool, but it is evident that as the sun rises further in the sky the day will be a hot one much like yesterday. After a short walk of twenty or so minutes, the road splits into two routes, and the party follow their map to the left.

Another fifteen minutes and the forest opens up once again, a small body of water sits to the right of the party, while ahead of the adventurers a steep-sided crater punctures the wilderness. Near the center of the depression, a group of four Kobold's stand, squawking idle conversation with each other, their maces holstered upon their belts and backs. Asleep at their feet lies two reptile quadrupeds, roughly the size of a large dog; their muscular bodies rise and fall steady with deep slumbering breaths.

On the right side of the crater is a large stone door, apparently sealed. In front of it stands a Gnome mage, reciting arcane words and gesturing with his hands; it is obvious that he is performing a magical ritual upon the door, stood to his right is a Hob Goblin wielding a sling, who appears to be keeping a look out. Despite this, he hasn't spotted the party upon the ridge.

In the furthest corner of the pit sits two bound and gagged human women, one of them looks directly at the party but it is difficult from this distance to tell if they have seen the group.
At the feet of the party is a steep incline of fifteen feet. The group seem to be able to take the Kobold force, with accompanying mage, by surprise.

"I'm going to get a better view. Try and get down as best you can...avoid the loose shingles. I'll cover you from up here." Keeping low to avoid unwanted notice from the kobolds below, Furgin scurries towards a large boulder to the party's left. Surveying the scene, the halfling notes the kobold slinger and determines that dispatching him quickly would benefit his companions greatly.

Furgin hefts his bow as he slowly pulls two arrows from his quiver. Notching one above the other, Furgin takes aim, pulling the bowstring to his cheek. He glances over to the rest of the party and nods down to the kobolds, patiently waiting for his companions to make their move.


"As long as ye got my back little friend, I'll be down there...smashing some Kobolds!" As Furgrin moves into position Boindal slides down the slope and charges toward the knot of enemies, intent on catching the big sleeping lizards unaware.

As Boindal charges up to the lizard he focuses his psionic abilities and prepares to project the image of a striking cobra attacking his foes from his hand. "Wakey wakey ya scaly fiend!"

As the shocked Kobolds turn their heads to Boindal he shouts, "Come on and hit me...I dare ya!"


Seeing the gnome caster at the door, Baldur decides to get a closer look...with his sword.

Pieter, seeing the enemies they now face, decides to try to get down the hill, much to his disliking. He was never a good climber.. or a strong person in any sense of the word. When he made it to the bottom of the hill he got as close as he could to the southernmost kobold, and began chanting under his breath.

Kriv deftly maneuvers down the cliff, poises for the assault and charges headlong into the enemy shouting a warcry, "NI TOR'ASH BALASAR!" The draconic speaking Kobolds recognize it meaning glory to the Balasar.

Furgin quietly moves up and takes cover behind the rock, taking aim, he waits for the others to engage in combat.

As Boindal, Baldur and Kriv all charge the enemies, Furgin's arrows fly towards the slinger and scores two direct hits, drawing blood, and taking the creature by surprise.

Boindal's psychic attack kills one of the Kobold's out right, while the Guard Drake awakes from its sleep, wincing in pain before leaping to its feet and hissing loudly. The other Kobold's unseat their clubs and set their sights upon the dwarf who had just slain their clan mate. "You will die, pyyyg Dwarf!" squeals the Kobold, his pronunciation of common words a little off.

Baldur slides down the slope, reducing the distance between him and the spellcaster, before eventually bursting into a charge, attacking with his sword at the Gnome mage. But the Barbarian misses his target by no more than an inch.

Pieter makes it down the slope carefully and moves into the pit, his charm spell appears affective, as the furthest Kobold suddenly twitches, and enraged jumps at his ally, swinging his club. The attack lands, and caves the creatures head in, his helmet falling to the floor among the half-excavated dragon bones. The once enraged Kobold now stands, dazed and confused.

Kriv climbs down and stalks the outside of the combat, making progress under the cover of Boindal's frontal assault. He then charges at the furthest Drake, scoring a heavy blow, cutting through scaled hide to draw dark green blood.

The Gnome is startled by the sudden shift from arcane ritual casting to combat; he scowls at Baldur before pointing a bony finger and stepping back, "I don't know who you are, but you will die here today, Human!" From his outstretched hand flies scintillating bolts and sparks, the largest of which hits Baldur square across the chest, the bright lights and colours making the Barbarian's head feel light for a second, but there appears to be no lasting ill effects. Baldur knows that the Gnome is casting illusory magic on him.


Seeing the Gnome casting, Baldur lashes out instinctively with a fierce back-handed swing.

After firing the first two arrows, Furgin quickly notches two more and draws the bowstring tight. Seeing the gnome strike Baldur with a vicious-looking spell, the halfling changes the angle of his bow. Just like I was taught... Furgin says to himself before releasing the arrows.

One of the arrows flies straight at the kobold slinger as the other follows a curling path past Baldur's head before hitting the gnome.


Boindal side steps the Drake in front of him and swings his hammer at the Kobold behind the creature. As the hammer connects with the small creature Boindal focuses his psionic powers and changes the density of his skin making it more resilient to attacks. As he pulls his hammer out of the ruin that was the Kobold warrior's face, Boindal turns to the Drake next to him and smiles, "Yer next, ugly!"

Baldur's blade and Furgin's arrows hit their targets well, but alas, the Slinger and the Gnome fight on.

The slinger holster's his sling and draws a short sword, and thrusts at Baldur, missing completely.

As the gnome staggers and recovers from the arrow now protruding from his left arm, he begins to laugh manically, "Fools..." he whispers, staring Baldur straight in the eye. Then he is gone. The Gnome appears to completely vanish before the party's eyes. As this happens, the Kobold Slinger's image begins to shift and contort, evidence that some spell has been cast.

The Drake with which Kriv is engaged attempts to bite him, its jaws meeting armour, but not finding a weak enough area to do any damage. It then carefully moves back, staying within range of its prey, but positioning itself next to its kin.

Meanwhile, Boindal's hammer scores a nice hit upon the Kobold, knocking the creature down dead. The Drake adjacent roars in anger, its large sharp teeth glistening with a thick layer of dripping saliva.


"kápa skjald-maer!" Baldur shouts a bolstering kenning before swinging at the wobbly kobold.

Baldur's attack misses the shimmering image of the Kobold, the creature as surprised as Baldur that he still draws breath.

Pieter continued to chant under his breath as he observed the battle going on. He could not follow where the Mage had gone, but he knew what was close to him. He turned toward the far slinger and held up his staff, as high as he could. A bolt of lightning shot from the tip and, arcing over his allies, he attempted to strike the Kobold Slinger down. And he hoped, invisible or not, that it may Arc toward the Mage, but he was not sure what protection he had.

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