Campaign Chronicles

At Onfroithalas' question, Shadow looks the elf in the eye, “I am indeed a Wizard and I am from my own Tower of Wizardry, although it may not be as High as one of yours. I have not seen them yet and will refrain from commenting further until I have.” He taps his staff once again to turn off the Light. “And I guess you were not listening to the Drow’s story, allow me to speak once again as to who we are and where we come from. We are travelers from another Prime Material Plane and we are somehow lost. We keep ending up in other worlds and having to solves their problems before being unceremoniously dumped into another world. Thus here we are. Where is here by the way?” Ra’ziir arches an eyebrow as the elf bellows, and says “And just like that, the Welcoming Party comes to an end…” Grotto sits unsteadily, his mind sent spinning by the loss of his connection to his god, Hanseath. "No magic! I will have to get to brewing when time allows! I will keep us stocked with potions to try...

Realizing his words have fallen on deaf ears, Ra’ziir speaks to Onfroithalas in Elven. Not expecting the languages to be similar but trying nonetheless, he says, “It seems the disdain for Dwarves in your world rivals even that of my own… Grotto is short tempered, and often belligerent, but he has proven to be a valuable addition to our group.” Onfroithalas rolls his eyes, "Yes, so all of your companions have said and yes, perhaps, he is as good and noble as all of your companions claim but until I see it with my own eyes, I will withhold judgment." Ra'ziir's head swims for a moment as a bit of the last night in Asgard washes over him. He sees Odin, now dressed in heavy furs and chainmail leaning over him, light spilling out from around the edges of his eyepatch, "... and you have far to travel still and challenges beyond your imagination await. I will provide each of you a gift to make your journeys easier. I grant you the ability to speak and understand any lang...

Grotto scowls at the obvious insult! "That's Mr. Dwarf to you bub!" Grotto says through pursed lips. "I will let your obvious slight towards me and my kind pass since your were hospitable enough to nurse us back to health. Think of it as your free pass!" The rest of the party leaps to Grotto's defense, citing his bravery and honor and being amongst the highest known in all of their travels. The scarred dwarf's eyes heart fills with pride and he swallows a lump that has mysteriously appeared in his throat. Onfroithalas raises both hands, palms facing the party. "I was there almost 350 years ago, in the immediate wake of the gods hurling their mountain down upon Istar before abandoning this world, I led a group of refugees to the very gates of Pax Tharkas, the so-called 'Citadel of Peace', seeking shelter from fiery rain and ash. Until then, we had though of the dwarves as friends but they showed their true nature they turned us away. Perhaps ...