Chapter 4.0: Gathering at Hochoch

The Red Road North

The dream came again on the fourth night after Antonius left the towers of Niole Dra.
It was never gentle.
No soft vision sent to guide a priest through meditation. This dream came like a command written in blood-red mist.
A graveyard of ancient stones.
A road leading north.
A lone traveler walking ahead.
Eugenios.
And the voice of Wee Jas whispering like velvet over steel.
The balance of death is disturbed. Follow the road. Find the place where the dead walk without rest.
Antonius woke beneath a rain-streaked tarp beside a dying campfire. His gauntleted hand instinctively closed around the haft of his warhammer resting beside him.
The weapon was heavy, its steel head etched with scripture of the Ruby Sorceress. The metal had served him during his years in the watch of Niole Dra, and now it would serve him on the road.
Somewhere ahead of him walked Eugenios, and Antonius feared the dream meant his friend had already stepped into danger.

The Western Road
The first week of travel through the heartlands of Keoland was almost peaceful.
Golden farms rolled across the countryside. Trade wagons creaked along the road. Merchants argued over wine and cloth beneath roadside inns.
But Antonius listened closely at night.
Travelers spoke of strange things.
Graves disturbed.
Caravans disappearing.
And creatures wandering further south than they should.
The warhammer at his belt was rarely far from his hand.

Crossing into Sterich
As the land climbed into the rough frontier of Sterich, the signs of hardship grew obvious.
Ruined farmhouses stood abandoned.
Watchtowers crumbled along the hills.
The region had never fully recovered from the wars and invasions that had once swept through the west.
Antonius passed a shallow field of graves beside a ruined chapel one evening just before sunset.
The earth looked wrong.
Too loose.
Too recently disturbed.
His instincts from years in the city watch stirred uneasily.
He tightened his grip on the haft of his warhammer and stepped closer.
That was when the soil moved.
A pale hand clawed upward through the dirt.
Then another.
Bones scraped against stone as a skeletal figure dragged itself from the grave, empty eye sockets turning toward him.
Another skeleton pulled itself free beside it.
And then a third.
Antonius exhaled slowly.
"Rest was given to you," he murmured quietly. "Now it will be returned."
The skeletons lurched forward with jerking, unnatural movements.
The first swung a rusted blade.
Antonius stepped inside the arc of the attack and brought his warhammer down with crushing force.
Bone shattered beneath the strike, ribs exploding outward as the skeleton collapsed into scattered fragments.
The second lunged at him.
Antonius raised his holy symbol.
The ruby etchings in honour of Wee Jas glinted in the fading sunlight.
"Back to the silence you belong to."
Divine power surged outward like a cold wind.
One skeleton staggered away, bones rattling violently as the divine command forced it back toward the graveyard.
The third ignored the power and charged.
Antonius met it head-on.
His warhammer smashed through its skull with a sharp crack, sending the bones scattering across the grass.
The last skeleton clawed desperately at the earth as it attempted to flee.
Antonius walked calmly after it and ended the struggle with one final strike.
Silence returned to the graveyard.
He stood among the broken bones for a long moment.
Then he knelt beside the disturbed graves.
"These dead were not meant to rise," he said quietly.
He performed the proper funerary rites of Wee Jas, carefully reburying the bones and sealing the graves with sacred ash.
But as he worked, a troubling thought lingered.
Skeletons did not simply awaken on their own.
Something had disturbed the natural order.
Something powerful enough to reach even this far south.

The Northern Vision
That night Antonius slept beside the old chapel ruins.
And the dream came again.
The red mist parted.
Mountains rose like jagged teeth beneath a grey sky.
At their base stood a distant city of stone towers and narrow streets.
The gates of Gorna.
On the road ahead of him walked Eugenios.
But now Antonius saw something else.
Dark figures watching from the hills.
Waiting.
When Antonius awoke before dawn, his warhammer rested across his chest.
The symbol of Wee Jas glowed faintly in the early morning light.
He rose, tightening the straps of his armor.
The road ahead would lead north through the wild lands toward the Jotens and eventually to Gorna.
Where Eugenios waited.
And where, it seemed, the dead were already beginning to stir.
Antonius slung his pack over one shoulder and took up his warhammer.
"Hold on, old friend," he muttered.
Then he stepped onto the northern road

The elf sitting at the table would be called slender, but more because it's obvious she hasn't seen a day of hard labor than any stereotypical characteristics of her genetics. Amnestria's fingers grip the quill with delicate precision, applying just enough pressure to imbue the pages of her book with carefully-spaced glyphs and exacting annotations. Her other hand tucks the stray locks of her yellow hair behind her pointed ear, which inevitably requires realignment of the spectacles upon her narrow nose. Her blue eyes squint in the lamplight, and she shakes her head at some inner debate.

Amnestria was told to wait for someone, a warrior by her mother's account, that would escort her... no, travel with her northwards from Gorna to Javan's Crossing. The young elf huffs dismissively at the concerns expressed by her parents. While she appreciates the work they've done in securing another body to make the trip, Amnestria wishes they could do without the loaded language in their farewells. I don't need help, she thinks to herself. I need partners. If I'm to become a Dungeon Buster, I have to do it myself.

She finishes her notes and chews on the end of her quill while waiting for the ink to dry. The human warrior should be arriving soon.

The Ruby Chalice was not the sort of establishment Antonius Block usually found himself in.
The inn stood along one of the finer streets of Gorna, its polished brass lanterns glowing warmly in the evening mist. Fine carriages stood outside, their horses tended by stable boys in neat livery. Through the tall windows came the soft murmur of cultured conversation and the scent of spiced wine.

For a week Antonius had walked the city’s streets.
He had begun where he always did.

At the graves.

The cemetery beyond the northern wall had been quiet and well tended, and there Antonius had knelt among the stone markers to offer prayer to Wee Jas. The dead rested peacefully there—no restless stirring, no disturbed earth.

A good sign.

Afterward he had spent days speaking with the city watch and visiting several temples. A cleric of death was not always welcomed warmly, but the badge of former service from Niole Dra’s watch carried weight.
Eventually a watch sergeant had leaned back in his chair and scratched his beard thoughtfully.
"Work?" the man had said. "Aye, might be something. Noble family’s daughter needs an escort north to Hochoch. Something about joining those adventuring sorts… Dungeon Busters they call themselves."
A smile raised on Antonius lips, "By the Ruby Lady!".

So here he was.

When Antonius entered the Ruby Chalice, conversation near the door softened for a moment.
He cut a striking figure.
Tall and broad-shouldered, he wore dark travel-worn armor beneath a deep crimson cloak clasped with the ruby symbol of Wee Jas. A heavy warhammer hung at his side, its steel head etched with delicate funerary runes.
His face bore the stern lines of a veteran watchman. Dark hair threaded with the first hints of grey framed steady, watchful eyes that seemed to measure every corner of the room.
He did not simply walk inside.
He entered like a guard inspecting a crime scene.
Antonius paused just inside the doorway.

His nose flared slightly.

He was almost… smelling the air.
Old habits from years in the watch.
He scanned the room slowly.
A loud merchant laughing too freely with a pair of nervous companions.
A cloaked traveler keeping his hands hidden beneath the table.
A thin man with ink-stained fingers nervously watching the door.
Antonius’s gaze lingered on each of them with the cold patience of someone accustomed to recognizing trouble before it began.
Two of the men shifted uncomfortably under his stare.
Satisfied—for the moment—he continued inside.
Near the back of the room, seated at a polished oak table beneath a brass lamp, sat a woman who could only be the one he had come to meet.
She looked less like an adventurer and more like a scholar misplaced from a great library.
Her hair was a brilliant yellow-gold, falling neatly around shoulders draped in robes of restrained elegance. Her skin possessed the pale, smooth ivory tone common among high elves, and perched delicately upon her nose sat a pair of large spectacles.
Several books were stacked neatly beside her wine glass.
She read one of them while waiting.
Antonius approached the table with quiet confidence.
He stopped several feet away first, studying her for a moment.
Yes… the resemblance is there.
He had never met the legendary Cecily Rapto personally, but her reputation was well known among certain circles of magic and scholarship. The young elf before him clearly carried that lineage.
He rested one hand lightly on the head of his warhammer.

Then he spoke.

"Amnestria Elyphara, I presume."
The young elf looked up from her book.
Her sharp eyes regarded him through the lenses of her spectacles with calm curiosity.
Antonius inclined his head politely.
"Antonius Block."
His voice carried the steady tone of someone used to giving statements in courtrooms and watch barracks alike.
"Former watchman of Niole Dra. Cleric in service to Wee Jas."
A faint, courteous smile appeared.
"I understand you’re looking for someone to escort you to Hochoch."
He pulled out the chair across from her and sat with the deliberate composure of a man who never placed his back fully to a room.
"And that you intend to join a group calling themselves the Dungeon Busters."
His eyes studied her calmly.
Not suspiciously.
But carefully.
"As it happens," Antonius said, folding his hands on the table, "I may be interested in the same destination."
The faintest glimmer of curiosity appeared in his expression.
"And I’ve heard," he added, "that you are the great-great-great-granddaughter of Cecily Rapto."
He gestured politely toward the books.
"That makes the librarian’s air somewhat less surprising."
Then he leaned back slightly in the chair.
"Well then, Mistress Elyphara."
"Tell me why a young wizard of good family intends to march toward monster country."

Amnestria reflexively balks at the name drop. Of course Mother told him who we are related to, she thinks, and her lips frown in a physical display of her meditation.

"Yes," she says, confirming her identity to the man, "though I would appreciate it if you would keep my progenitor's name to yourself. There's no need to draw attention to ourselves when it's not necessary."

Out of habit, she checks that the quill has dried before setting it down and closing her book. "I am indeed traveling to Hochoch, Mr. Block, and I do appreciate your assistance if you choose to accompany me. My intention is to integrate into the Dungeon Busters through talent and deed. And yes, I have some magical talent, but let's not label myself a wizard just yet. Your description of a librarian will suit me just fine, or accountant if you prefer. Organizations become stronger with someone to manage the books, wouldn't you agree?"

As if fate has deigned to shatter the illusion, a small owl hops onto Amnestria's shoulder bag. Its long legs end in tiny talons that find purchase upon the leather buckles, and its bright yellow eyes study the armored cleric. Without words, the owl and the elf exchange a glance, though only Amnestria provides an expression bordering on exasperation. "And this is Grallaria, my pe-..." she stops herself as the owl's feathers and wings flare in annoyance. "My companion... owl. Owl companion. She's an owl. Pay her no mind."

Amnestria pushes her spectacles further up the bridge of her nose. "Well, Mr. Block? Will you join this librarian (and her owl) on a trip to Hochoch?"

As Amnestria speaks Antonius’s eyes do not stray from her, "My apologies for any offence caused, your point taken. I am all for one finding their own way on the path to death, it shows strength of character. he nods respectfully to Grallaria as the Owl is introduced. "My intention was to travel to Hochoch alone, as I too seek out the Dungeon Busters, Wee Jas has requested this of me, but a meeting with Skeletons on the road here has me seeking company to complete my journey."

He pauses briefly before continuing, "That is if you don’t mind the company of a Karuth?" Looking at him this appears to be a genuine enquiry, and not an accusation.

Amnestria gives a scholarly response. "Company is measured by right action. The Dungeon Busters should be happy to have you." She feels that she shouldn't speak for Raptor's approval, but she was eager to travel and the human was as convenient a partner as any. Besides, the common thread of magic might prove interesting conversation on the road.

Antonius gives a thankful nod, "Can I offer you a drink Amnestria? I am not one to partake but I will take some lunch, while we discuss your plans of departure." The Cleric says as he gets the attention of a Barmaid, well aware that his mere presence would be make a few patrons more than uncomfortable.

The road to Hochoch is paved with ... horse droppings. Such are Kazzak's thoughts as he steers the wagon away from a large pile to the left on this well-trodden route. In the last few days, two smaller caravans had passed his group, with obvious evidence of their passage as the miles went by. At least the entrance to Forestville is on the horizon. He knows the other caravan drivers will be as grateful for a cold ale and real bed as he is.

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When the Guild Master first offered Kazzak an opportunity to transport the clan's goods to Forestville, Kazzak quickly agreed. "I want to see the world, sir. Learn about our neighbors, our allies, and our enemies. When I come back, and I don't know when that will be, my experiences will help the clan."

Kazzak did not mention the group called the "Dungeon Busters" to anyone outside of his family. The clan views activities that don't directly affect them to be an inexcusable waste of time. Kazzak considers himself lucky -- he was born during a thunderstorm, when lightning flashed from a cloud shaped like Moradin's hammer -- and wants to see what fate brings.

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After a few days in Forestville, Kazzak gets a job on a passenger wagon to Javan Crossing. His employer couldn't pass up the combination of guard and back-up driver.

Since convincing his brother Chase to flee everything around Dell has fallen apart. Not only is there a sense of missing a piece of himself but their homeland has fallen apart. Tamarang rules it now and all the Wardens and Shadows are imprisoned or dead as far he knows. He must find his brother at all cost so he headed out on his trail. He traveled to Istivin And caught a whiff of Chase's trail but he had to leave in a hurry after a disagreement with local guild. So he set out quickly and quietly and headed to Gorna hoping the guild would not follow. While in Gorna he met someone named Cecily Raptor who thought he was Chase and she told him of his where abouts. She offered him a job with the Dungeon Busters and as of the moment he is a tavern planning on leaving soon when he heard the name Dungeon Busters. He looked over a saw a young elf girl and an armor clad human have a conversation about the Dungeon Busters.
"Excuse me miss and sir but did I hear you mention the Dungeon Busters?"

Amnestria politely declines the offer of a drink.

At the newcomer's approach, she glances the stranger up and down before turning to Antonius with a questioning look. "Um, yes," Amnestria begins, still uncertain of where this conversation will go. "Is that something of interest to you, Sir...?"

Dell will nod and smile."I am Dell Brandstone and I am also traveling to Hochoch. I am in the employ of said company. Maybe we could all travel together?" Looking around the tavern for the knight he met earlier also heading to Hochoch."Berthold my good man, over here."

Antonius turns towards the newcomer, his arm still beckoning the Serving Maid over, but his eyes scan the man. A tall man slightly taller than himself, but not as broad with brown hair braided in multiple braids which reminded Antonius of the Boundary Wardens. There was something about this one, death held close to him as if a shadow.

Antonius raised an eyebrow at the mention of the name Berthold, not a common name especially in these are but one from home.

Kazzak helps the other seven passengers step into the wagon, then takes his seat behind the driver (and his employer), Thayor. He is a tall, blond-haired human, well-muscled, with visible combat scars on his neck and arms. Kazzak notices a chainmail shirt beneath his loose gray tunic. Thayor is a man of few words, some of them curses, as he completes his preparations. "Time to go!" he bellows.

Once they leave Forestville, Thayor relaxes, as he and the horses obviously know their path well. Thayor and Kazzak converse about the value of curved versus straight-edged swords and agree that both have their uses.

Kazzak changes the topic. "Have you heard of a group called the Dungeon Busters?"

Thayor shakes his head. "No. Not in Forestville."

Turning his handsome face from a corner table where he sat with three companions, the young man looked at Dell Brandstone, who he'd met on the road earlier. 'He's had found new company', the young man thought, appraising the tall human and the bookish elf, his gaze tarrying somewhat longer on the woman. He stood up, saying something softly to his company, a trio of properly dressed but dust-caked travelers who had the look of servants, two men — one quite taller than the other — and a gnomish woman with a sophisticated hair dress with pins aplenty.

He strode across the room, having overcome a moment of hesitation, when he was first called. His expression softened and relaxed with each step he took towards the other table. Having arrived sometime earlier, he had changed into more comfortable garb, and had the appearance of an aristocrat, but the demaenor and attitude of a traveller long on the road.

"We meet again," the man said with a smile, locking eyes with Dell. Then, he acknowledged the other two travelers and with well practiced courtesy, he addressed Dell, while looking at the other two: "and who are your newfound friends?". Bowing, he added, "I am Ser Berthold of Dunsdale, at your service."

Kazzak shrugs. "I’m not sure how common they are. I’ll be looking for their place in Hochoch."

Then the Dwarf turns to the other passengers. "Have any of you heard of the ‘Dungeon Busters’?"