The North Plains

Patron sat in the long grass with the sun on his back. From here he could see much of Moss Vale. Looking down the valley he could see Frugkin the gnome planting tobacco into furrowed earth. Beyond, a flock of sheep followed Larian, a young half elf, towards a sprawling homestead. In the distance a dark green line marked Gorson Forest on the North Plains that filled the horizon. The sun had just crested the hills behind him, making the waterways that crossed the valley floor shine like quicksilver.

A sense of well being tantalised Patron. It had been over three years since he had found Moss Vale. When he first arrived he immediately knew there was something special, something magical, about this place. Was it his Elf blood that drew him here? He smiled, thinking of that first night. He had been wandering, spending weeks away looking for something unknown. Pushed away from his family home deep in the Alyan forest, not by his family, but by the claustrophobic forest and the water. The water that marked forest life. Water underfoot, in the trees and in the air. Wet, wet, wet; everything was so fucking wet.

Patron was not a wood Elf. His family were few in number and Patron and his mother, in particular, looked like no other Elf he had ever seen. Patron’s mother rarely spoke of what she called ‘the time before’. The time before they settled in the forest, generations ago. He remembered coming home as a child and complaining about being teased for his ashen hair and azure eyes. She would tell him that one day he would know his kind, and know the joy of life with a forever horizon, whatever that meant.

Right now, looking north over the plains, Patron was happy. In the three years since finding Moss Vale and striking a friendship with Grayson Steadman who had lived 60 years in the valley, Patron had grown and become comfortable with being different. During that first spring and summer Patron had uncovered many secrets in the hills and secluded areas around Moss Vale. He remembered stumbling on a stunning wild cherry tree, which stood next to a spring that fed the Viande stream that ran through the valley. The tree grew in a hollow, low and wide, its tangled roots almost enclosing a clear pool of viridescent water so pure he felt guilty just touching it.

Patron had passed that way many times and never noticed the hollow. It was towards the end of summer and Parton was feeling uncertain, as if an unknown question had been asked and a part of him was waiting for an answer. Without thought he found himself in the hollow, perhaps drawn by flecks of sunlight bouncing off the pool and lighting the cherry’s wide canopy. Patron spent the night by the pool, reflecting on his wanderlust, looking for meaning.

Patron left the faraway tree, as he had subconsciously named it, the next day. He had resolved to do something. He did not know what, other than it included Moss Vale and understanding his place in the world. He sought adventure, something grand, something meaningful. For the first time he could remember he felt a sense of purpose: a reason to be and to do.

Six months later he sat in the Duff’s Mug, a Dwarf owned tavern on the main street of the hamlet, Keeton’s Keep. A small group of adventurers gathered around a low table near the hearth where a few weathered sheets of vellum had been laid out. The pages, torn from an adventurer’s journal, had been purchased in Perryton -- their authenticity would soon be confirmed. This would be the start of Patron’s adventures in Lord Backgammon’s Peak.

The first foray to Backgammon’s Peak had been chaotic. Two of the party perished at the hands of the beasts and traps that infested the Peak. While the legends of Backgammon’s demise often conflicted, it was clear that the Peak had been overrun and had never been reclaimed. For hundreds of years fell creatures laid claim to parts of the Peak and the treasures that remained. Patron could see from their initial, scrappy assault on the lower halls that there was much more to be found in the Peak. Even better, the spoils and the experience was enough for Patron to establish himself as an adventurer of independent means.

Backgammon’s Peak had been a key defensive position centuries ago with Lord Backgammon himself as the Lord of the North Plains. The North Plains Patron now looked towards with the morning sun on his back. It bemused him how he had once lived in a forest where he could not see a hundred feet. To go back to that life was unthinkable. He thought of his mother. Did she know that forest life was like living in a cage?

After that first exploration of Backgammon’s Peak the party disbanded. Feeling the loss of Fiddla, the only other Elf in the party, Patron found comfort in the abundance that Perryton offered. He honed his fighting skills and spent the dark winter days researching spells and incantations. In the spring Patron headed north and returned to Moss Vale where he worked with (the caretaker) leaving coins and instructions about the construction of a house. A home.

Patron was excited about the potential for experiences and treasures in the Peak. But, he needed help: like-minded adventurers, courageous people who understood the risks. Patron packed a full kit, mounted his new horse, Drey, and headed to Keeton’s Keep, ten days' ride from Moss Vale using the abandoned trader’s tracks that cut across the North Vale. The Diary of Van Seraldin and his own accounts would be enough to garner interest in a second, more concerted assault on Backgammon’s Peak.

Going back to the Peak had been a fraught affair. Two young Wood Elves from Rivess, twins Atlas and Luna, had joined them, but they were foolhardy and lacked experience. The party overcame an old Hill Giant who had taken residence in the mountain pass that led to the Peak. The pass was chosen as an alternative to the more visible stone causeway that ran from the edge of the North Plains, through the foothills and directly to the main gate of Backgammon’s Peak.

One twin, Luna, had strayed and was plucked from the ridgeline near the pass by a giant eagle that carried its prey in the direction of Backgammon’s Peak. From then on, the other twin alternated between incapacitating heartbreak and stoic determination to retrieve her twin’s carcass at any cost.

Looking back on that sorry start to the ‘grand adventure’ Patron was pleased it had not been the end of the elves, although they were both now tenured to the church at Keeton’s Keep that had breathed life back into Luna’s bones. It was remarkable that the party had found the amulet of the Jade Eagle and been able to retrieve the remains of Luna from the eagle’s nest at the highest point of Backgammon’s Peak.

The others who joined the grand adventure were Rona Lona, a scrappy woman from Perryton who seemed to harbour some ugly secret, Wizz the Hobbit, who was trying to fool himself that he was working for a greater good, and, remarkably, Fiddla’s brother, Fixlla, who had followed the news of Fiddla’s death and was looking for closure - or revenge; something. A dwarven priest, Karr, had also joined them, against the wishes of her family and church. Her journey had been everything she hoped. Her return to Keeton’s Keep had been a great celebration, helped by the considerable treasures she brought with her.

The exploration of Backgammon’s Peak took the party to their limits. There had been so many near misses and lucky escapes. Their tour had uncovered much of the network of causeways and chambers that riddled the Peak. The presence of Orc’s in the West Face suggested there were others with an interest in the Peak; but was that interest in the riches or the location? They had found the Junction mentioned in Van Seraldin’s diary and started to piece together the history of Backgammon’s Peak.

“It has to be a black dragon in the main halls,” said Patron, standing in the Junction looking at the mirror-like ceiling that had just formed. “No one has been here for hundreds of years. And this is new,” he said, pointing to the reflective ceiling. How do you deal with a dragon? Patron thought. The clues were there, The books they had found, the Magician’s interest in black dragons, Van Seraldin’s diary and the multitude of evil drakes and lizards that infested the Peak. Like attracts like.

As he left the Peak for the second time it was clear to Patron that there were dark, unknown secrets hidden in the grand halls and deep below the Peak itself. The junction held a massive iron door, covered with a mess of runes and signs. In the centre of the door was a lock that needed Backgammon's armoured gauntlet to open. In their adventures through the peak they had collected parts of the gauntlet and clues to how to open the door. Even if they managed to piece it together, who would be brave (or foolish) enough to put the gauntlet on and put their hand into the lock?

The party, Patron, Fixlla, Wizz and Rona Lona, had returned to Perryton, in need of rest and wanting the opportunity to train and learn from their adventures. It was exploring below the cobbled streets of old Perryton when Rona Lona became the target of the Ghost Bear. Unlucky perhaps. Looking back, Rona Lona seems both blessed and cursed. While in Perryton she had been withdrawn; she never left the Guildhall uncloaked and trained in the walled courtyards of the guild. Patron understood that her decision to join them and return to the Peak may have been more about leaving Perryton than going to the Peak.

In Perryton’s Magicians Guild Hall library Patron looked into the history of the North Plains. He found that the histories of Arnor listed the Lords of the North Plains, the last of which was Lord Backgammon. For hundreds of years the Backgammon dynasty had held back the fell creatures crawling south from the stinking plains. Backgammon’s Peak was the last stronghold of man in the area, but when the Peak was lost there was no invading force. The histories described the Peak as being ‘abandoned to evil’. When Patron asked the Guild Master how Backgammon’s Peak had been taken, he simply said, “The North Plains have been lost to mankind. I can’t see that changing anytime soon. You should focus on your training.”

Patron kept a record of the halls and corridors as they journeyed within Backgammon’s Peak. Laying out the rough drawings and sketches on the floor of one of the rooms they had rented at the Earthstone Inn it looked like there were only a few places left to explore in the lower halls. The challenge looked to be the Main Halls. Patron shook his head at the thought. He alone had seen the dragon, at least, he had looked down its flank through a crack in a door. It was massive.

The party agreed the main entrance was their next target. Thinking about the first visit to the Peak two years ago Patron felt his stomach churn and his face redden. What they had done to the Wolfkin on that first visit was barbaric. He was inexperienced then - out of control, he didn’t know when to stop. He remembered thinking at the time he would not draw blood needlessly again.

The third assault on Backgammon’s peak started well enough. They had spoken to the Wolfkin and found Alfred, a man-wolf who acted as a protector and spiritual guide for the pack. It was Alfred that had suggested they join the pack at the stone circle and then saved Ronal Lona from the Ghost Bear that had haunted her dreams since she left Perryton. That night, as the Wolfkin shaman tended to the injured Rona Lona Patron wondered if their decision to leave without a priest would be their undoing.

Things turned ugly after that. Wizz had been killed in a cowardly attack by a ghost; a centuries old vendetta that needed blood to be resolved. The party had pressed on, looking for what they had called the East Face, a dressed stone opening they could see from the Wolfkin’s stone circle. The East Face was the last of the stonework that could be seen on the slopes of the Peak. And once the East Face was cleared and mapped, it was just the Main Halls that remained.

The East Face seemed to be a theater hall, set in a sheer cliff with its back wall an opening that looked south across the forested valley. A geriatric Manticore occupied a raised stage across the front of the hall. The party had not been surprised, the sour, big cat stench had warned them. But, by chance, Fixlla had his arm stripped of flesh by the ragged claws of the decrepit Manticore. The beast was eventually skewered by Rona Lona’s spear, but Fixlla could not go on.

Patron added the East Face to the sketches of the Peak. A search of the smaller rooms that surrounded the theatre hall revealed two secret passages, both with stairs heading up into the Peak. While Fixlla rested and bound his arm as best he could, Patron scouted to the end of the largest, and found himself in what looked to be a throne room. Intricate patterns and scenes were carved into the masonry of the walls, and the floor had a raised circle of stone in the centre. Just to the left of the hidden door Patron had just emerged from, a pair of massive doors sat ajar. Patron crept to the doors and peered through the gap.

Weak daylight from a distant source seemed to be absorbed into a wall of matt black scales that ran away into the distance. Patron could see claws, a massive leg perhaps, in the light-sucking darkness. He realised he was looking at the back end of a Black Dragon. Semite, the mage had named it. Patron backed away and carefully closed the secret door he had emerged from. It took a few minutes to calm his heart and head. A Black Dragon, he thought, we are going to need help. It’s hundreds of feet long.

The party decided to return to Perryton. They had been just two nights at Backgammon’s Peak after six months away. Patron chafed at the idea but couldn’t see a way around it. They needed brawn and a healer. Fixlla’s arm was wrecked, he would be lucky not to lose it. As much as he tried Patron could not see a future where they had vanquished the Black Dragon, Semite. Nevertheless, Patron was determined. Whoever, or whatever, commanded Backgammon’s Peak had control over the western side of the North Plains and that meant they were neighbours of Moss Vale.

Months had passed since they had left the Peak for the third time and the days were shortening. The search for mercenary help had been fruitless. ‘Too dangerous’, they said. And the ones that didn’t say that were fools. Patron had more luck speaking with the Church of War. There were divisions in the Church, Dwarves had formed their own chapter, but the chapter’s leadership was disputed. The Perryton diocesan brokered a spiritual meeting between Patron and Drak, a self proclaimed Lord of Dwarves from the East. It looked to Patron like the Church was fuelling the Dwarven chapter’s leadership feud. Not his problem.

It was agreed that Drak would join them at the Peak. They would meet at the causeway that led from the North Plans to the Peak on the day of the autumnal equinox. Drak will have to be both a fighter and a healer. If Drak was what he said he was, and if he actually showed up, they might have a chance at taking the Main Halls, Patron thought.

---

Patron stood and stretched. Time to head back. Meet up with Rona Lona and Fixlla down the valley and hopefully, once they have crossed the North Plain, meet the Dwarf Priest.

Rona Lona and Fixlla were itching to leave. Moss Vale was restful, but too much time here would soften a person. Perhaps that would be a good thing at a different time. They saddled their horses and collected their gear. Their heavy armour, (chainmail, helmets and breastplates), along with adventuring equipment (ropes, lanterns, caltrops and spikes) was strapped to the saddles or stowed in saddlebags. Patron hoped that they could cross the North Plains without incident. Riding in armour was unpleasant, but if they saw sign of Orcs they would have to suit up.

There was no trail north from Moss Vale. The land was gently sloping away from the Nimnen Hills that sheltered Moss Vale. Gullies cut by streams concealed pockets of autumn fruiting trees. Waterfowl and small deer flushed as the three adventurers made their way to the flat grassland of the North Plain. Here the small waterways came together with occasional rock formations creating deep pools and rushes of water.

On the morning of the second day Patron, Rona Lona and Fixlla came to where two tributaries met and formed a small lake bordering a vibrant wetland. A rock shelf, diminishing as it tracked west, provided a natural edge for the new river to run against. The stream they were following dropped ten feet into a pool that merged into the fen. Lying in the flow on the edge of the cascade lay a naked man on his back. He was big. Too big to be human. His skin looked green - but that could just be the light, thought Patron. Water banked up behind his bulk, rushing past his feet and arms, which he moved snake-like as if playing a game with the flow. Leaving their mounts, the party cautiously approached.

“Morning,” said Rona Lona.

The man-beast flipped on the spot and looked at them, surprised but not alarmed. No wonder, thought Patron, something this size would have little to fear here. The beast stood and Rona Lona took a step back. More than eight feet tall and well muscled, Patron’s heart raced, was the beast smiling or baring his teeth?

“Oh, hello,” said the beast in Common Tongue and took a step towards them. Patron heard Fixlla’s sword in its scabbard. The beast put his hands out, palms up. “No stress little Elf,” it said. It turned and strode to the far bank where Patron could see its belongings scattered around, including rough-looking armour and a two handed sword in a gaudy scabbard.

“My name is Grog,” it said over its shoulder and started to pick at the gear on the bank. It stopped and turned to look at the others across the stream, seemingly waiting.

“Patron,” said Patron. “And this is Rona Lona and Fixlla. We are heading west across the plains.” Grog began strapping rough scale mail onto his legs and arms. Patron continued, “What is your business here?”

“I dunno.” Grog paused and looked west. “I didn’t like where I was so I left. It seems nice here.” He continued dressing, finishing by strapping the two handed sword to his back and picking up an odd looking helmet. Grog stood on the opposite bank. Formidable. “I don’t do business. I just do whatever.”

Imagine fighting along-side this monster of a man thought Patron. “We are stopping here tonight. Let us share some tales and replenish our supplies,” he said. Rona Lona and Fixlla looked at Patron.

“What the fuck,” said Rona Lona under her breath and turned away. “I’ll sort the horses,” she called back, “you lot find us some food.”

Grog’s story spooked Patron. A man out of place. Grog’s description of living with a sense that something is missing, that there is something else to be done, somewhere else to be, triggered Patron’s own sense of displacement; of destiny unfulfilled. They had lit a fire and roasted a brace of coneys. Grog left and came back wet with a fistful of writhing eels. He took care skewering them and laying them in the coals of the fire. Grog seemed happy to talk. Perhaps it had been some time since he had company.

Grog told a confused story about a misfit living in a mean world. He drank something that smelt like gum trees from a small barrel he pulled from his duffle. He spoke about wandering further and further from Tor-Dak, the border town where he grew up. Two summers ago he had gone to Tor-Dak to spend some cash he had (Patron presumed Grog had mugged some travellers for it) and found himself harassed by an ugly mob of townspeople. “Too dumb to learn, too dumb to learn,” they had chanted as they drove him out of town with their burning brands and home-made weapons. As the fire died he spoke less and drank more. It was clear to Patron that Grog was looking for something, perhaps someone.

“So, you don’t really have a home? People?” Patron asked.

“Fuck it. Who needs people? They don’t care. I only trust myself,” Grog shouted, smashing his fist on his chest and waking the others.

“So, you wouldn’t want to join a group of misfits for a foolhardy adventure to free a kingdom from a Dragon?”

Grog was silent. Looking over the coals Patron thought Grog was thinking. This could be the first time he had been asked to join anything. Thinking looked like it was difficult for Grog. Patron lay back and scanned the stars. I will never live in a forest he thought, under the open sky is where I belong.