New "friends"..........

Kozlovnyy, Dwarf's Deeping, somewhere in Craven's pass, Keltier 1584 HC (Healyn's Count)

The sun's dim rays could hardly break through the clouds and reach the frigid surface below. The short day could do little to warm these eternally frozen lands, far to the great Ad Cravan mountain range. There was hardly any life in these parts, as even the Vos, known for their supernatural endurance and survival skills, did not venture into the region. To them, it is known only as "the dead lands" – a place to be feared and avoided. And yet there were several small human figures, slowly trudging through the snow, making their way north. Vos tribes were rarely hospitable to visitors, yet these unlikely travelers were the kind that Vos would trust the least.

The man leading the group stopped for a second to check an old piece of parchment covered with what seemed to be a crudely drawn map and several paragraphs of text in a different language. He squinted against it, and then put it back into his hard stiffed leather vest. He frowned – he could hardly feel his fingers in the biting cold. The man behind him stopped and pulled down the scarf that covered his mouth.

"Hey Mena... Menadora, how much longer? Are we there yet?"

Menadora, one of the most renowned adventurers, mercenary captains, and treasure hunters of the eastern kingdoms found out that, for the first time in his life, he couldn’t have a clear answer. One could easily lose all sense of time and direction in this wasteland.

"We are getting closer," he said, not as much to convince his fellows as to reassure him. He pointed towards a nearby natural ledge in the side of a steep snow-covered towered above the rest of the landscape. "The night will fall soon. We'll make our camp there. We've had enough for today!"

The men grunted with approval and picked up the pace. A fire and some relatively warm food were the best cure for the exhaustion of a day's walk through this treacherous If only they had a few more sips of Menadora's home-made brew, the evening could have been almost perfect. The mean drink was good for drinking, and even better as it burned hotter than the fires of hell* itself.

The travelers' fire was the only light within the endless black sea surrounding them. The howling wind was the only sound besides their voices and laughs. Six figures sat around the campfire, engaged in conversation.

"So, Menadora," started a dark-skinned man with the appearance of a pirate from the Sea of Dragons, which wasn't quite far from the truth, "You do remember that you promised about that funny nickname of yours – the one you have in the village where you grew up."

"Damn it, Chaugran," Menadora replied, "You just won't let it go, will you? All right then, listen up folks..." Menadora stood up for a better dramatic effect. "Back in my village I am known not only as the best hunter and brewer in the entire region. For many years I have been known as... Menadora the Fallen! A name earned after numerous nights contests that ended under the table."

The silence that followed was truly dramatic, until it was broken by the men's hysterical laughter.

"Menadora the Fallen, eh?" replied a tall man wearing a medallion of the Gradny Coster merchants' guild, "Many times I have drunk to the point of falling down from my bar stool, one has ever called me Baldric the Fallen... they would only go as far as to say – Hey, Baldric, you have fallen!"

"You forgot to mention how many times you fell off the horse... and you were quite sober then, weren't you?" added the fourth member of the group. With the hood removed, was now clear that it was a woman, her long black hair and white as snow skin giving away her Vos descent, "It's good for you that your life doesn't depend on your skill with the bow. These shaky hands won't do you much good. Or the missing sense of balance."

"And still you keep mocking me, Krystal, even though I saved you from that band of barbarians that had you cornered a few days ago. Or perhaps you have already forgotten about that?" Baldric replied.

"If you saved anyone, it definitely wasn't me," Krystal smiled, "You just prevented those filthy men from having their arms and legs broken."

"This is all very nice and inspiring, "Menadora interrupted, "But we do have a few important things to discuss. We are nearing our goal and it is time I told you exactly what we are after."

"The Halls of Besaiam!" Chaugran exclaimed, "If it didn't sound so good, I would not have joined you. Merchant traffic through the Sea of Dragons is particularly rich during this the year. The treasures in this place have to be exceptionally sweet if it can bring you all the way up here... and us as well."

"Indeed," Menadora continued, "Now I want you to listen carefully because this is something big, above and beyond simple grave robbing, diving into sunken ships, breaking the Sultan's palace or any other of our previous “jobs” that you can think of. This is a lot more dangerous but the reward promises to be of legendary proportions."

"Well, Menadora, I always knew you were insane, but if this treasure is even remotely as good as you say it is – I'd gladly go insane myself just to be able to share your joy finally get our hands on it!"

"I am glad you are so eager to help," Menadora replied, "We have followed the paths very precisely up to this point. There is only one last thing to do. The ancient scroll says that once we have reached the southern side of the tooth-shaped hill, we are to take fifty steps around its base, exactly like on the trail of a wounded Vosgardian snow panther?"

"I know exactly what that means," he smiled in response, "Just tell me when you are ready and I will head on”

"I knew I wouldn't regret taking you with us," Richard said, "Our campfire lies in the exact starting point. Move in the direction followed by the winter sun during the season the horizon burns with the deepest of blood-red. You should already know what that means Menadora.

Krystal stopped under a small rock outcropping.  “Richard, are you sure we should trust these men?” “He have done so for quite a while now Krystal, they seem quite capable. If they choose to take their chances against us I am keeping some surprises on my sleeve ready for them.” Walthon approached quietly on the back of the two companions, his feet were heavy and he was already falling behind than the rest. Krystal nodded to Richard and they both moved along the snow path their guide took.

Standing against the howling wind, Walthon took a deep breath and urged forth, he knew he was all alone…..

*Hell is mentioned as a place of resolute punishment in the multiverse, it is pictured as a burning place to be punished at, not been totally false.