Old Wounds Epilogue:
Horus Von Horst sat down. He had never felt this old before. Though the night had been considered a victory he knew the end was not even close. Jack his oldest companion was dead. Rory Sturm the explorer who had the best idea where to find the artifact was also dead. To make matters worse the agent of Rory’s death seemed to be an altogether different opponent. It had been a day of set backs. It could easily have been disastrous if not for the unhesitating assistance of the brave group at the fort.
The more he thought about it, the more he came to realize that so little was known about the the Lich and the dangers faced. He knew he had not destroyed the idol. It was more likely that the Lich and his army had left the area and whatever link was shared with the idol was severed. He thought it would hearten the adventures if they thought it was destroyed. Some of the Ulven had wanted to pitch it into the swamp. There was a time when Horus had once thought this way too, but much to his dismay he knew that what is once lost can be found again.
Horus and his allies had spent the last several years chasing this monster with little success. Each encounter had left him with fewer allies and friends. It seemed as if mere men could not resist this threat, but Horus had endured and survived. He wondered why he himself was not dead yet. By all rights he should have died on Faedrun.
But there was no time for this kind of thinking. He would mourn the dead later. There was too much at stake. The undead could not be allowed to take root on Mardrun. Perhaps out of this new group of adventurers there would be more willing to join the fight. On top of that he now had an idea, provided by Rory’s map, of where the artifact was. An expedition must be mounted into the Dirge Swamp. Finding the “Soul Eater” would let him end the Lich for good, and perhaps help to wash some of the blood of his hands.
Before any of this could happen he had to pay a visit to his old friend Karl and leave the idol in good hands.
Knocking the dust off his boots he stood up. There was much work to do.
Far down the road a group of suspicious men feasted as if there were no tomorrow and some said the weeping of a rather large merchant could be heard on the wind blowing through the empty pockets of adventurers.
A mordok idol, reduced to ashes by the ever cautious and vigilant Ulven, scattered in the wind.
Mysterious runes gave up their secrets to those who had the patience.
The hermit had not seen such excitement in a long time. The bump on her head soon went away. More bells would be needed for she and her snake to be safe. Perhaps another door too.
Mordok fought mordok, though few saw it and even fewer asked why.
No adventurer had claimed the mining guild’s hidden coffers and fittingly the treasures pulled from the earth by Man would be returned there by Nature soon enough.
In a dark and forgotten corner of the once again abandoned fort, a misplaced crate of fruit, biscuits, cheese, and sausages slowly began rotting.
Photos from the event!