Enter the
Halfling: Episode 3

Trouble Brewing

by Orogurath

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Cailag Beaststrider sat huddled
in chains befire Eechik, cringing as the kobold barked and chipped
orders to his messenger. Full defenses were being erected after the
discovery of intruders. Cailag had come to Clan Tunnelworm hoping to
free a man named Venn, only to find himself severely outnumbered and
overwhelmed by shamanic magic. Now, prisoner himself, he could only
hope his companions would notice his absence in time to free him. 
The first thing he discovered about Tunnelworm was that the rumors were
true: death was preferable to imprisonment here.  



Torture began only minutes after his subdual. Dragged before Eechik, he
could only grunt in agony as the chief kobold twisted and severed…fresh
baked cherry turnovers right in front of him! Knowing full well the
Halfling weakness to pastries, Eechik reveled in Cailag's anguished
cries. The screams echoed through the prison, and despair washed over
the few living inhabitants.



Back in Stormreach, Pigface focused. The Wayward Lobster Festival of
Ale culminated in an ale-swilling storm of excitement as two mighty
beings faced off for the last time. This was a contest for only the
strongest in Stormreach: it was the drinking game of chamions, target="_blank"
href="http://www.alcohol-stuff.co.uk/drinking-games/fuzzy-duck.html">fuzzy
duck!



The dwarf across the table was a master. Pigface became aware of that
the second the round commenced. He kept his gaze level and taunted
mercilessly. Pigface had never met anyone so skilled in the craft
before. The dwarf began the round again.



“Fuzzy Duck.”



Pigface repeated, “Fuzzy Duck.”



“Fuzzy Duck.”



“Ducky Fuzz” A switch! Pigface was hoping to throw off the dwarf with
his shift in tactics.



“Ducky Fuzz.” Undaunted the brown-faced dwarf grinned. This was child's
play.



Pigface was sweating. The ale was taking a serious toll on him, and his
pronunciation was failing. If he slipped once, it was all over and the
glory would belong solely to his accomplished opponent.



“Fuzzy Duck.”



“Ducky Fuzz,” came the reply.



“Fu-zzy Duck,” Pigface managed, eyes wavering and unable to control his
functions much longer.



The two might go on for hours until one of them slipped up or uttered a
swear word.  At the entrance to the bar, away from the excitement,
a bedraggled elf pleaded with Preston.  



“Tunnelworm has both Venn and Cailag! Your friend managed to free me
before they took him, but I was too weak to do anything but run. Please
help!  I don't know how long either of them will last!”



Preston looked across the bar. What would Cailag want him to do--cheer
Pigface to glory at the Ale-lympics; or rescue him? And in what
order?  He muttered something unintelligible, then stepped outside
into the night air.  Finally, he decided; he would let Pigface
seek his title while he, Preston, went off in search of their
companion. This was a job for steady (and moderately sober) hands.



Heading to the other haunts around Stormreach, Preston came to the
small square where adventuring types were known to train. Various
warriors loitered around in the night air, some with new wounds and
purses full of plunder, others fresh off the boat from Khorvaire, with
light in their eyes and hope on their faces. Preston didn't care about
any of them; he had come for someone specific.  



Approaching the cleric trainer he uttered a single word: “Kegbreaker.”



The trainer pointed to the Hammer and Nail, an arms vendor just off the
central walkway.  Inside, a wide-built and muscular dwarf poured
over the selection of war hammers.  His long beard attested to his
status among the dwarves of his clan, so proud and full it was. Braided
for war, it was tucked behind his surcoat and dragged below his
beltline. His shield was emlbazoned with a gleaming symbol of a frothy
mug gripped in a fist.  



“Kimma ik Nord Kegbreaker?” (Are you Nord Kegbreaker?)



The dwarf turned as if surprised, and replied, “Hey! Sneakin' around
surprisin' me ain't gonna make yer day easy!  Who are ye, and what
de ye want wit' me?”



Preston sensed the complication of language barriers and pointed. “You
Nord. Big Hammer.  Cailag tikka kuat.” Desperately trying to
communicate, he mimed bars and mimicked a kobold.



“What's this then, lad?” the stout cleric replied. “Yer friend Cailag
Beaststrider is imprisoned by Clan Tunnelworm kobolds, undergoing
torture this very instant, and you need my help to bust in, find him,
and free all of the prisoners while singlehandedly facing off against
their chief?” 



Preston smiled and nodded.  



“I'm gonna need a bigger hammer.”

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