Eve of the Last Party

Brewfest, perhaps one of the best creations made by humans, and there were precious few things of their making that could claim to be a great creation. Not that this gnome had anything in particular against the oversized folk. Some of his closest friends were humans. Still the master warrior thought they spent too much energy on growing tall and not enough on common sense. Nothing at all like a gnome. As a rule gnomes were a practical, magical people who knew what was what. Still there was Brewfest.

The whole town had turned out for the Great Party. Even the Seldom Seen Illusionist was in attentance with his ever chilled wife in tow. Everyone was here save the Town-Lord and his Consort. Still, they would be back from the Cleric's Fortress tomorrow and the festival lasts a full week. The well armored gnome threw back another mug of ale and relaxed listening to the music.

Hours past and the party had gone into full swing when the gnomish militia lord looked again to the stary sky. Instead of the pleasant night that had been promised by the circle of druids, rising smoke caught his eye. The great guardian of the Vale was burning. The Valley had been breeched. Four flaming rocks streaked across the sky, their impact obliterated several small structures. Walls of fire erupted along the common clearing's edge. Fiendish beasts sprang from the darkness and began to chase down the hapless gnome villagers.

The warrior still couldn't make out where the enemy was. He called out for the Illusionist, hoping that the master magus would have some spell to help counter the unholy terror unfolding around him. More flaming rocks streaked down from the sky. More homes destroyed. With the next wave of magic from the sky the mighty gnome made out the shimmering image of a wizard hiding behind glamours. Now he had a target.

Running across the scorched field, dodging debree and shouting orders to the panicked townsfolk for them to take some semblance of cover. Heedless of the carnage springing up all around him the gnome stayed locked on his flying target. Picking up speed he made a mighty leap, bounding from tree to tree until with a last mighty thrust of his mystically enhanced leg muscles he went flying high into the sky. Kukri held firmly in his grip he aimed for the spot that rippled with magical energy. But it was too late.

Even as the sharpened edge connected with the transparent figure 4 flaming stones flew out from the unseen form. All hit their targets true. As the leaping gnome hero took his second swing before his arc of travel carried him away his eye took in the hell that had been rained down on the clearing below. The sculpted white form of the Frosted Lady was squarely in the middle of the conflagration. She was the reason for the all consuming fire and elemental beasts that had been unleashed upon the town.

Hitting the ground and rolling so as to avoid the caustic arrows streaking down behind him, the gnome's mind was racing in confusion. Why her? What had that sweet elemental form ever done to insight such rage in anyone? Nothing came to his mind. She was an innocent. He felt the harsh chill of realization race down his back. Not her. Her husband. The Illusionist.

He was the secretive one. He had to be the reason. She was just the unknown assailants twisted idea of bait. As if on que the Illusionist dashed out from where he had just herded a group of children to a magical rope sanctuary. The small wizard raced towards his melting love unmindful of the danger that was coming for him. Four elder elementals dashed down towards the grief-strikken illusionist, ripping into his very soul with the fire of hatred eternal. A small box was retrieved. from the crumpling form.

The battered gnome fighter screamed in anger and pain. His kinsman dead and lifeless on the field. More people were dying. Soon none would be left in the town. All the souls he led to safety so long ago now were destined to recieve the death sentence he thought they had avoided. As he readied his bloodied weeapon for battle he bent over and tore off a scrap of cloth from his tunic, appearing to clean it while running after the wizard again.

He never saw the gnoll druid appear fromthe shadows. He did feel the quarterstaff as it struck hard into his back snapping his spine with strength greater than a titan's fist. The gnome warrior fell to the ground, his body a ragdoll without a child to hold it up.

The next morning two gnomish travellers wandered into the carnage that had been their home. Hundreds of gnome bodies laid scattered across the landscape. All his work gone in the blink of an eye. As the heartbroken town lord gathered up his loyal followers he came across the body of his master bladesman. There, held tightly in his hand was a piece of cloth. Crudely written in blood was a brief message for him, "Change our fate."

He knew where he had to go.

-- The Last Party of

the Hidden Vale