The Tales of Droghbarr Goldfist

EDIT: Content currently in thread:
- Campaign Intro
- Ogre Intro
- Vampire count Intro
- Ogre Part 1

Hope you enjoy the reading, and feel free to comment if the need arises.

A friend and I decided to start a little campaign, it's just the 2 of us and the whole thing will be story driven.  That means the story will develop as the campaign goes on, and many of the story elements will depend on what happens in the games we play.

Here is the first part of the intro to the story so far, should finish the intro this week and maybe even play the first game.

Hope you all enjoy it and remember to check back for the next parts:
 
                                                              CAMPAIGN INTRO:
“Dreadfully sorry to bother you my lord..”
 
“Yes what is it?” growled the figure bent over the maps spread over the massive oak table in the center of the war chamber.  The rain had started pelting the gothic arched windows, trying to knock them out of the white marble walls.  The cold was trying to creep in through ever crack and was aching to seep into the bones.  Winter had come early this year. 
 
"My lord... uhm, your guest has arrived" said the page nervously by the door.
 
"Send him in."
 
As the servant turned to leave, Count Ludwigg von Drak had already dismissed him from his thoughts.  He knew he would have to play these next few moments with a deft hand, otherwise it might be his turn for the headman's block.  He cursed under his breath and wished he didn't have to deal with this... savage!
 
But the Emperor's decision for all the military assets the Empire and its nobles could muster; to be focused to the growing threat in the north, made it impossible for him to deal with this problem on his own.
He didn't want to think what might happen to him should the Emperor find out how much money he was spending to pursue his own goals when the entire Empire knew how important the northern threat was.  But this HAD to be done, the safety of the entire Empire could be at stake and if he failed, the chaos followers to the north would be the least of the Empire's problems.
 
The doors opened as Count Ludwigg was still lost in thought.  He looked up and saw what must probably have been the largest ogre in the world duck and squeeze through the richly carved double doors.  This beast wore what seemed to have been various parts of knight's armour, bashed and stitched together to fit over his immense frame.  Every time one of its feet hit the checkered tiles of the hall it felt as if the foundations of the citadel were shifting. 
 
It also carried what seemed to be some kind of ancient and rusting bladed staff draped over its grotesquely decorated shoulder.  The weapon and ogre gave of the impression that it was capable of slaying three knights and their mounts with a single swing.
 
His tiny and obviously stressed page started rambling: "I tried explaining to him that no one may appear before your Grace while armed but he wouldn’t and the men wouldn- ." 
 
"You need not explain Jarl" interrupted the Count impatiently. 
 
Count Ludwig could see some of the tension leave the man's shoulders.  His eyes however, were exploring every nook and cranny in the room except for the rooms’ most definite and latest feature; the ogre.  The mighty war chamber somehow seemed smaller and the obvious last place the poor man wanted to be.
 
"You are dismissed Jarl, tell the men not to bother my guest's companions" barked the Count.  He had little patience for his tiny, spineless page.
 
"Thank you my lord." Jarl managed to squeak before ejecting himself from the room.
 
As the servant reached the door Count Ludwigg suddenly realized with a start that if this had been an organized assassination attempt it would have gone off without a hitch up to this point.  He realized how alone he was in the room, alone with a monster that looked like it could kill a giant with its bare fists.  Its eyes were disconcertingly small and smoldered with bloodlust.  Pulling himself out of his reverie and organizing his thoughts, the count said: "Could I interest you in a drink friend ogre?".
 
"Cut de fancyness human.  Ye send me a message that ye wanted ta do de business?" spat the orge.
 
Its voice sounded like the slow and guttural boom of a cannon barrage firing from the adjacent hill but Count Ludwigg had found his focus and inner silence; the same mental plane that he was taught to embrace during battle, he was completely calm and focused, he had planned the whole conversation to almost any outcome and was ready to start the negotiations; which he knew would have to be treated as a verbal duel (mayhap not an intellectual one).
 
"Indeed, I have heard that you have a band of mercenaries unlike any the world has ever seen, and that you rival even the great Golgfag Maneater of days past."
 
"Bah, no one be better than 'ol Golgfag, at least not yet hehe."
 
Count Ludwigg knew he had chosen the right tact and that this beast had ambitions of its own; he intended to use them to their full advantage.  Anyone that did not know the Count would not have noticed as the corner of the Counts mouth twitched up into a refracted smile for a split second.
 
"I need you and your... friends, to take care of a problem for me.  I would deal with it myself, but because of political issues I must rely on... alternative means."
 
"wat be de kinda problem?"
 
"Let's just say this problem struggles to stay dead..."

End of part 1

And so the campaign has begun!

I give you:
                                                           THE OGRE INTRO
Droghbar Goldfist led his ogres through the grass fields like a plague of huge locusts, he was pushing them hard stopping only to eat and sleep.  He thought of the legendary stories other tribes would tell of him after this job was done. It must be a hell of a fight coming his way for someone to hire his ENTIRE band.

"What's with the rush chief?  You afraid they gonna run away or somethin?"  Droghbar pulled his attention away from his thoughts of glory and looked at the firebelly who spoke to him.  Malitz wasn't always on top of his game mentally, but when the fighting started there were few ogres who could keep up with the amount of carnage he caused on the field with his flames.

"You numbskull Maliz.  You already forgot we still have a few jobs waiting for us at them 'edge princes' or how ever they call themselves.  Iz don't plan on missing out on that fighting just because of a few skellies and walking dedz." 

Droghbar's mercenaries were in high demand, and with good reason.  As long as the pay was good they always delivered.  As they were moving along he thought back to the days when he returned to his tribe after being a maneater for a few years.  He challanged and killed the current tyrant without too much trouble, and after he took over he roped up the whole tribe to become a traveling band of ogre mercenaries.  As far as he knew it was the biggest group of "maneaters" ever, although most off them are only here because they would rather fight something else than try to tangle with him.

"Iz still don't know why we need to be following that damn thinling."  Maliz commented as the human scout came running over a hill from the front.
Count Ludwigg von Drak had insisted that they take him along so they can finish this as fast as possible.  Droghbar didn't like being told where to go by some human, much less one as sneaky as this one.

The scout that was returning to the ogre horde went by the name of Erick Jaegger, although he was much better at being a witch hunter than a scout, he still knew his way around the fields and woods... 

"Erick, I must ask for your services."  Count Ludwigg said with a worried look in his eyes.
"Offcourse my lord, how may I be of service?"  Erick answered while rising from fixing a hole in his green and brown coat.
"I am sending these louts after that damned vampire, but giving an ogre any instructions past killing something will probably give him a headache.  I need you to accompany them, make sure they find the right way, and find out what you can about what this undead abomination is planning.  And if the ogre's brute force isn't enough, you must do your best to foil his plans..."

Count Ludwigg von Drak had not been very forthcoming about what the undead might be planning.  It did not matter though, he would make sure that vampire was put in the ground and stayed there or he would die trying.

"Tower in sight sir Goldfist.  Just over the next rise, this is where the invasion begins although it's still a long way to where we must go."  Erick Jaegger spoke quickly while loosening his green and brown coat, all the while making sure to keep an eye on every ogre nearby incase these beasts decided they didn't need him anymore.

"Aye, Malitz! Get a bunch o' the boyz and go get me that tower."

"You aint comin chief?" Malitz asked with a confused look in his eyes.  It wasn't normal that their tyrant wouldn't join them in a fight.
"I plan on sacking that tower of every last piece o' gold and silver, that means I have to stay here and make sure Dranneck doesn't run off after you with those damn beasts of his."  Drannek was the hunter that decided to join Droghbar's little escapade when they left the mountains.  Even though he was a lonatic, those sabretusks and stonehorns of his would remind Droghbar each battle that the hunter was worth all the trouble he caused outside a fight.
"If that crazy dolt decides to run off he would trample that whole tower ta dust!  Then we lose our first payday on this job."
"Take Briz and Dibz with ye." Droghbar said, motioning to the two bruisers standing nearby leaning on their great blades.  "Dey should give ya enough muscle ta get into that gnob ugly tower"

As Malitz started gathering a bunch of ogres to move on the tower a small smile crossed over Droghbar's face.  This would be the job that got him and his boyz, the money snatcherz, the glory and stories they deserved...

VC Intro coming soon...

And as I promised:
                                                             THE VAMPIRE COUNTS INTRO:
Varias ran down the hall. The tower was stirring, all around him piles of carcasses were moving with an eerie purpose. The tower was waking up. Varias had to move through several clumps of shambling and fetid corpses, slowly making their way to who knows where. Any normal human would have gagged and fled from the smell alone, never mind being amongst these animated bodies. Varias however felt no fear, he has been around these morbid sights and odours for most of his twisted and enslaved existence.

Piles of bones were rising as if they still had their flesh and sinew coverings. Huge rotten hulks were looming down another corridor, motionless but far from deceased. Sacharas must be furious to have roused those brutes. A booming echo from down the hall quickly confirmed his suspicion.

“Ignorant fools!” yelled Sacharas. “How dare they attack my tower?!” Varias could feel the fury in his master’s voice. He slinked into the chamber, trying to stay as close to the door and as far from the visibly furious vampire as possible. Stamping around the room, Sacharas was venting his fury at anything that came within arm’s reach, his dark red cape billowing in his wake. Varias could sense the magic surging off his master into the tower. Sacharas’ fury energised the tower and the old magic of the building was responding, preparing for the coming onslaught. The air around Sacharas was crackling with blue sparks of pure energy.

It was times like these that Varias wished he could escape his dark master. He remembered last time he saw Sacharas this angry and that time it did not end well for any of his masters’ little necromancer apprentices. He still had the scars and would forever carry them, he knew he had been the lucky one.

Sacharas suddenly spun round and faced Varias. “Where have you been little whelp?” spat Sacharas, venom dripping from his every word. Varias had just come from one of the tower’s libraries, where he was trying to make sense of a particularly intriguing tome he had found. He knew better than to admit that to Sacharas, terror taking an icy hold on his heart.

“You are worse than useless little one” declared Sacharas, thankfully before Varias could iterate any kind of weak excuse. “I promise you one thing, once I have broken and fed on these would-be usurpers, you will be my new play thing. I have heard of a particularly interesting new experiment that I cannot wait to try. But for now, run along and fetch the staff, I have need of it.” With that Sacharas turned and refocused his mind on channelling his energy into the tower. Varias felt a surge of magic pulse through the tower. He never remembered making the conscious decision but before he knew what was happening, his feet had carried him down the hallway towards the artefact room.

As he ran he heard a thunderous crash and with a start realised that it must have been the heavily re-enforced doors at the entrance of the tower that had been bashed to pieces. Suddenly the entire tower was filled with the sound of battle. He was sprinting as fast as his legs would carry him when he heard the guttural war cry of creatures he did not recognise. Had some other vampire created a new type of monster? As he glanced down a corridor at speed he saw something that made his poor weak heart skip a beat. Zombies were breaking through the floor boards and shuffling down the hall. From around the corner however he only heard mighty impacts and saw parts of his master’s minions flying back the way they had come.

Varias knew of no creature that could fit in these corridors and wield such brute strength. He came to a skidding stop and realised that the way to the artefact room would not be very safe, whatever that creature was would work its way through these miserable zombies soon. With a shriek he thought of what might happen if that creature reached the library where he had hid that precious tome. Making a split second decision Varias darted down an adjacent hall as fast as his legs could carry him towards the library. He ran into the room and found it relatively intact, just as he had left it. Except that one of the bookshelves had fallen over, the same one where he had hid the tome. Varias fell to his knees in the pile, desperately sifting through
the mess of books and grimiores strewn across the floor. The sound of battle drawing ever closer. He heard the sound of a detonation outside and suddenly the library stank of burning flesh but Varias had no time to think of what that could have been.

Suddenly his hand closed around a familiar cover, he had found the tome! Clutching the disconcertingly pale, leather covered volume to his chest, Varias darted out of the library into the hallway. He rounded a corner and could see the artefact room straight ahead. All he needed was to dash down this corridor and retrieve the staff. When he reached the door however it exploded in his face. Part of the debris hit him square in the chest knocking him to the ground, his arms sustaining many gashes and scrapes but protecting his all important prize. He lay there, dazed for a moment, blood and sweat running down his brow. He sat up, still clutching the tome to his torso, and saw what had caused the destruction.

In front of him he saw some of the largest beasts he had ever seen. They stood a head taller than a crypt horror but seemed to have more muscle and fat, they didn’t have that recognisable stoop. They also carried armour of a design wholly unrecognisable to Varias with massive clubs in their gigantic hands. Three of them came walking down the hall directly towards Varias. Their huge mouths spread into gruesome grins, or what Varias imagined were grins, their mauls dotted with cruel teeth. As they closed in on Varias, the stone walls around the brutes suddenly shattered like glass. For a moment Varias could not make out what was happening but as the dust started to settle, he saw a brutal struggle ensuing between the three fleshy brutes and two rancid crypt horrors that had come crashing through the wall.

Varias watched as clubs hit flesh, followed by the sound of snapping bones, but it did little to slow the frenzied ferocity that the horrors fought with. They started to drive the three brutes back into the artefact. Varias realised that this was his chance. He dashed into the artefact room as fast as his small frame would carry him. To his relief, he saw that the staff was still on its plinth, seemingly calm and peaceful, emanating a soft green glow amidst the titanic and chaotic struggling happening in the room. Varias was reaching out for the staff when he realised that the room had suddenly gone silent, deathly silent. As he turned he saw that his two protectors weren't doing too well. One of the unknown brutes lay on the floor, squirming and clutching at a massive gash at its neck. Varias knew that one was done for, even if it didn’t die from it's wounds, it would surely succumb to the fetid and foulness of the horrors’ claws. To Varias’ dismay he saw the crumpled heap of what was one of his defenders, a mass of bones, dark flesh and blood. The other Crypt horror was driven into a corner by the remaining brutes, hissing and swiping at his attackers. Its assailants seemed like they were toying with the last cornered horror.

Varias realised he had to do something, not to save the horror but his own skin. He focused his mind and blocked out all external stimulants as he was taught. He felt the energy all around him, he felt how the building was pulsating with it. For once he might just be able to harness it. In a ditch effort he summoned all the power he could and directed it all into the heap of smashed remains of the Crypt Horror.

The two armoured brutes closed in on the cornered Horror. With sinister and malintent written all over their smirks, confident that they had their prey cornered and defeated. Suddenly, without warning, the one brute got run through from behind. A brief look of horror and disbelief crossing its face before the spark faded from its eyes. The rejuvenated crypt Horror had slammed himself bodily into one of the brutes with such force, that its one claw had been thrust straight through the abdomen of the ogre, meat, bone and bellyplate. The other was dumbfounded for a moment but a moment is all that was needed for the cornered Crypt Horror. Varias turned his attention back to the staff, sure that the last brute would be dealt with, giving him chance to escape.  He moved closer to the staff, never before has he touched it or ever came this close to it. But it was
no time for reflection, he grabbed the staff and he ran from the room.

As he ran down the corridor back to the main chamber, he could hear that the battle was growing in intensity at the doorway. He reached the intersection where he had run down earlier to reach the
library. He saw the struggle had grown to include two more Crypt Horrors and one of the monsters. This brute however was a lot different than the previous ones. It wore no armour and had markings covering all its exposed flesh, of which there was plenty. As Varias watched, he saw how the brute ran into the Crypt Horrors and seemed to explode, bathing the whole corridor in flames.  He had to shield his eyes from the inferno and with a shock could just make out the brute striding through the fire, the flames shying away from his figure. The markings on his skin were blazing, almost as bright as the fire but the heat didn’t seem to affect him. He raised a hand towards the few grave guard standing in front of Varias.

Varias had been around magic long enough to recognise that the brute was casting a spell, so he turned and ran, one thing Varias was very accomplished in. He was fleeing down the hall, not really thinking where he was going as long as it was away from that monster. Varias suddenly found himself wondering if the brute had ever tried casting a spell inside such a magic riven place as this tower.

His answer came a few seconds later.

From behind there came a cataclysmic explosion, the force of which carried down the hall and sent him sprawling.  Varias didn’t need to see to know, he had experienced it before in the tower when young necromancers drew too much power. Varias could always feel a slight different rhythm to the pulsations of the towers magic just before something like that happened. ‘Just another spirit for the tower I guess’, Varias mumbled as he scrambled up and continued down the hall.

As he ran direction-less through the tower, he suddenly thought of the secret passageway at the back of the tower. This was strange, for he couldn't recall anyone telling him about it. Or ever reading about it. He just knew it was there. Exactly where it was, how to operate it, and where it goes. As if he always knew.  Even though this was an extremely confusing sensation, Varias had no time to contemplate where this new found knowledge came from. So he ran.

Suddenly Varias found himself at an intersection of corridors. The one direction led back to the main chamber, where Varias could still feel Sacharas’ presence, and the other direction led to the secret passage. Normally Varias would be pulled towards the vampire. Sacharas was a much stronger magic user and Varias could not deny his will. Usually. Though somehow, suddenly and for the first time in years, he found that he could choose for himself. For the first time, he could choose if he wanted to obey his dreaded master or not. As he stood there, his scars started to ache. He was suddenly reminded of all the cruel japes and punishments Sacharas had inflicted on him. Varias, with book under the arm and staff in hand, ran for the secret door.

A few minutes later Varias was moving down the secret passage, the sound of battle growing ever
more dim. He could once again feel, just for the briefest of moments, an arrhythmic pulse from the
tower and wondered if the brutes had brought another spell caster along.

Hope this doesn't count as threadomancy! I really enjoyed the first parts of your story, and hope you continue.

Particularly the vampire's tower – plenty of action and intrigue.  Nice to see the inside of one of those places, too!

Yea, sorry I haven't been keeping up with this story campaign.  My friend who plays the VC went overseas for a while. 

He is coming back early next week, then wee will try to go on with the campaign.
Glad to see someone is at least reading it, that makes it more worth the effort.

Huzah!!
After a hell of a long time, I can finally bring all you boyz and girlz the next part.

 OGRE PART 1:
The money snatcherz had left the camp they made around what was left of the tower a few days ago. There wasn't much in the ruined building that interrested Droghbarr, what did interest him though was the human scout and his companions who immediatly took to the Libraries and studies and started looking for something. "We really like to read Sir Droghbarr, that is all there is to it...". This human obviously had a twised understanding about the mental capasity of ogres. Droghbarr had a feeling this 'scout' was here for more than simply showing them the way...

"Malitz ya numbskull! How can ye let a simple thinling get away like tha? Now the whole damn Sylva place will know we're here. Dem ded unz better bring us some good fightin at least, or I'll take the fight out of you!" Droghbarr was screaming at the Firebelly after Erik Jeagger, the human scout, told him they had found a secret passage and a trail of someone escaping through it just before the tower fell.

The Firebelly looked as if he wanted to be anywhere but in front of his Tyrant at that moment. "Iz didn't see anythin chief. Honest! An it was just one thinling. It don't mean nothin."
Droghbarr started to calm himself, he couldn't afford to kill too many of his own ogres while still on this job. He had no idea how much more fighting they had to do before the end. "You'z better hope it don't mean nothin Malitz!"...

"Chief? What youz gonna do about it?" Droghbarr brought his attention back to the present, back to the bruiser who had spoken to him. Droghbarr realized Griz was almost as tall as he was, and probably the strongest of all his bruisers as well. Droghbarr would have to keep an eye on him, and that idiot brother Dibz of him as well. Griz might decide he will do a better job leading this bunch of misfits than Droghbarr, but that is something the Maneater tyrant would have to take care of later.

"We're gonna do the same thing we did at the tower Griz. We gonna run in, bash them apart and take everything we want." He could see a smile spread across the bruiser's face and a twinkle in his eyes, maybe Griz was happy to follow as long as Droghbarr pointed him torwards things he can fight and kill.

Griz was talking about the temple the scouts had just told them about. It seemed to be a gathering place for a cult of human necromancers. In their report to Erik Jeagger the Tyrant also overheard them talking about ancient tombs and places of magic that might contain magical artifacts. That along with the need for a proper fight was the main reason the Tyrant pushed his band as hard as they could go torwards the temple and it's undead inhabitants.

"There ought to be some better fighting here than just a bunch of skellies and walking dedz!" Droghbarr was getting frustrated about not having anything decent to test his mettle against. "If this is all this gnob ugly land can throw at us Iz wonder why that thinling lordy wanted our help. There aint no way the thinlings can have such a big empire if they have trouble with this rag-tag bunch o' bones."

Droghbarr made his way to the far side of his camp, he knew if he kept Drannek out of the fighting again the hunter would start making trouble with anything around him. "Drannek! Iz got sum good news for ye! Saddle up yer stonehorns, we'z got a fight on our hands." As soon as he was finished talking he could see a dangerous glint in Drannek's eyes, the hunter was definitly crazier than a gnob in a gorger's cavern. Nothing should love fighting as much as Drannek did. Ogres loved fighting, but that was because there was ussually a decent meal afterwards, Drannek just loved fighting for the hell of it. Droghbarr couldn't see how that can be healthy.

As they moved over the rise the temple started coming into view. From where droghbarr was standing on the far right flank he could see row upon row of skeletons moving up torwards the ogre force. As he was looking at them he could see more skeletons pulling themselves from the ground and joining the ranks of those already on their feet. These thinlings had been preparing for Droghbarr's forces for a while now. "Damned scouts probably went and got themselves seen." Droghbarr rumbled to himself.

Drannek, sitting on his stonehorn, rode alongside the Tyrant. Droghbarr could feel his eagerness to bash into the enemy lines, but he knew he still had to wait a little while. On the far side of Drannek the Tyrant could see the rest of his beast force moving up, a few packs of sabretusks flanking a mob of ogres who saw Drannek as some kind of hero and on the far left side was a second stonehorn with it's rider on top focusing more on keeping the stonehorn at bay than he was on the enemy.

"Oh ballz! Nothin again but skellies and walkin dedz! The only stuff lookin like they can maybe put up a fight is to busy swinging at ghosts!" Droghbarr sceamed when he noticed the hulking brutes that were coming their way, until they crossed the threshold of some kind of graveyard and suddenly angry spirits burst out of the ancient tomb gunning torwards the hulking masses. The brutes were swinging at the spirits to no avail and almost with imidiatly the spectres started pulling one of the brutes to the ground butchering it before they turned their attention to the rest.

"Iz don't have time fer these pansy-ass ded uns! Ta sod with all this! Drannek can finish this up." Droghbarr was screaming at no one in particular when he turned to leave, but then his eyes fell on an old building a way in front of him. "Dat must be the artifaks places them thinlings talked about." As fast as his ogre legs could carry him, which was almost on par with a galloping horse, Droghbarr made his way to the building. As he entered through the desolate doorway, he saw the sabretusks on the far end rush into a pack of what seemed to be undead dogs of some kind. When he entered the ancient hold he found stacks of old books that looked as though they would fall apart in a brisk wind. Droghbarr immediatly disregarded the books, for he had no need for them. Making his way over the dust covered floor he saw something shiny underneath an overturned bookshelf. "Tha's what Iz talkin about." he said while shoving the shelf over to the opposite wall. When it hit the stone the shelf broke apart and the whole building started to shake on foundations that were long past their due time. He realised he had to be more carefull otherwise he might bring this entire hold down on himself and that is no way for the mercenary Tyrant to die.

When he looked back down to where the shelf had lain, he saw a sharp point sticking out underneath a bunch of crumpled up papers and ancient books that were almost nothing but dust themselves. He cleared away the literature not even thinking about how many years of history he was destroying, until he found what he was looking for. There lay a sword, as clean and as sharp looking as if the smith has just finished it. Neither the dust, nor the look of time touched the slender looking blade or the gold encrusted handle. As droghbarr reached out for the blade he didn't know what he might use it for, seeing as it was obviously made with a human handler in mind. When his hand touched the sword there suddenly came a buzzing sound from behind him somewhere, Droghbarr spun around on the heels of his feet just in time to see a second blade, exactly like the one in his hand, burst out of a rotten wooden chest, sending shards of wood everywhere, and flying right at him. Droghbarr threw his arm infront of his face just as the blade skimmed past just missing his ear. Suddenly he felt a weight in his hand, when he opened his eyes he saw he was holding the second blade as well. The scribling on the side of the blades started glowing brightly and when it settled Droghbarr noticed that the blades were bigger, somehow the blades had changed size and weight to fit his own massive build.

Suddenly the entire building started shaking and Droghbarr decided it was past time he was back outside again. Running for the left side wall, he turned sideways and bashed through the crumbling stone with his shoulder just as the rest of the room started falling in on itself right behind him. Waving at the air in front of him trying to get rid of the dust that had risen from the ruined building behind him.

As the dust settled around his feet, Droghbarr notices a pack of what he could only describe as long dead wolves, only these beasts were snarling and their eyes were locked on him. Droghbarr had been so distracted in the room he had just left that he had completely forgot about the so-called 'fight' outside. A smile began forming on his face as he started torwards the undead wolves. "I might not be in a fightin mood, but I suppose I could take da time ta try out deze new blades 'a mine!"

Droghbarr barely finished speaking when suddenly the ground around his feet started shaking and heaving. As if summoned to spoil the Tyrant's fun Drannek appeared on top of that massive stonehorn of his, a look of dread and battle lust was locked in the hunter's eyes. Before Droghbarr could even think of what to say Drannek and his stonehorn was trampling over the pack of wolves and stomping them into the ground as if they never even existed.

Droghbarr wasn't sure if Drannek knew he angered the Tyrant or if the hunter didn't even see him standing there, but either way he was already charging that beast of his into the next line of skeleton warriors and pounding them to dust by the dozens.

"Agh! ta hell wif dis whole fight den!" Droghbarr suddenly noticed the ancient tomb in front of him as he calmed down. It seemed as if this battle was upsetting the spirits within the tomb as the spectres were pouring out of the tomb and they were hacking at whatever was in range with ethereal claws and swords, be it ogre or undead. A bunch of his own ogres were being cut down by these ghosts and Droghbarr could see the terror on their faces as they swung their clubs at the spirits and hit nothing but air. On the far side of the tomb there was a bunch of ghoulish undead creatures of the necromancers also being slowly brought down by these angry spirits.

The ogre Tyrant decided if there was even the smallest chance of finding something like these swords in that tomb then a few villager nightmares definitly won't stop him. As he ran for the tomb, one of the spirits came at him with a ghostly sword in it's hands. Using reflexes he never knew he had Droghbarr brought down one of his new found weapons, as it struck home the blade started glowing with power and it cut the spectre apart as if it were made of straw.

Droghbarr kept moving and finally burst through the heavy set wooden door of the tomb. Once inside it took a while for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of the abandoned crypt. As he could start making out the inside of the crypt he saw that the walls were covered in ornate jewels and ingravings of a language long lost to history. Regardless of the age of the tomb Droghbarr noticed there were no dust on the ground or the walls except for the dust he brought along from the outside. For a split second Droghbarr wondered who might have been important enough to justify a burial place such as this, but then he remembered he wasn't here to learn from history but to find if this important thinling might have taken any fancy presents to his grave with him.

Making his way down the granite steps the torches on the walls suddenly started bursting into flames one at a time as he approuched them, he could see the stone walls were a much darker shade of gray then any stone he had seen before and he wondered if it might have something to do with all the dark magic surrounding this entire place. When he reached the bottom of the steps he entered into a gaint hall surrounded by torches on the walls but the room held only one occupant. In the middle of the room stood a single sarcophagus, it looked like a coffin make of granite but it stood straight up on the small footprint instead of lying on it's back. The whole thing was covered in rubies and gems in every colour and shade there was reflecting the light from the torches back against the walls. On the lid there was what looked like vines ingraved into the stone and then filled up with molten gold, but closer inspection showed the entire thing was as smooth as a mirror.

Trying and failing to get his thick ogre fingers into the groove on the side of the lid Droghbarr suddenly remembered he had something much more defined to his desposal. He took one of his new blades, slid it into the groove and started to wonder if this heavy lid might break his new sword when he tried to pry it open. As he started pulling on the sword the lid didn't even budge, moving around and pushing it from the back Droghbarr started putting his entire weight behind it and slowly the lid started moving away from him. After a few more minutes of hard effort and sweat the lid was finally open, moving back to the front of the tomb he jumped as a half decomposed body suddenly crashed to the crypt floor. The entire body was covered in a golden suit of armour, the two handed sword the deceased were holding to his chest was rusted and chipped beyond repair, even the golden suit didn't look very whole anymore.

A small sparkle caught Droghbarr's eye, as he lowered closer to the body he could barely make out something lying on top of the spine of the body. He broke through the armour and pulled the rib cages of the skeleton apart and then he could clearly see what he had noticed. A talisman lay there, bright and shining among the pile of bones that were it's previous owner. It looked like a golden coin with some kind of ivory claw caught in the middle of it. Even without arcane talents or training Droghbarr could still feel the power pulsing from the trophy and he immediatly knew this trip was not a waste of time.

Making his way back up the stairs with his newly found treasures safely in his possesion he could clearly hear the victory screams of his ogre band and knew there probably didn't even remain a single bone of the enemy not broken. He might even give his ladz a while to rest and enjoy their spoils while he and Malitz tried to figure out what his new equipment could do

Let me know what you guys think