From a dark temple evil sang,
Causing wary travelers to look right and left.
For all name-givers but the T'skrang
Were in danger from the dwarven chef.

In an ancient temple dome.
That now was an overgrown ruin,
The barbaric dwarves made their home,
And danced beneath the rising moon.

Never leaving their forest range,
They lived near Lindendale for many a day.
Until there came a fatal change,
And they began to hunt the highway.

The T'skrang merchant Silvers and his brother,
Were given Lindendale's goods and gold
For he was honest above all others,
And would buy supplies for winter's cold.

A T'skrang with the best of taste,
And an eloquence of which one never tired,
Time spent with him was never a waste:
Merchant Silvers was much admired.

As Silvers and his brother left town,
With a dwarf, two elves, and three men,
They did not know the road they went down,
Would not lead them back again.

Outside the rain poured down,
As the elven woman returned again,
Stumbled in to Lindendale town,
And collapsed within the inn.

Seeing the elven woman's lovely face,
As she slowly crossed the hall,
Gorian the archer left the fireplace,
So was near to break her fall.

The rain fell hard enough to soak,
And the road had turned to mud,
But when Gorian pulled aside the cloak,
Most of the wet was blood.

Soon all Lindendale the tale was told,
How their savings did disappear
Not to buy supplies for winter's cold,
And deprivation they began to fear.

In the inn, adepts numbering five,
Had already begun to pack.
They went to find any still left alive
And bring Lindendale's treasure back.

Windy and Elias went first,
While warrior Argen took last place.
Gorian came with arrows that thirst,
Followed by Kavros' unforgettable face.

Looking for the harm to mend,
The adepts traveled into the night.
Next day they rounded a final bend,
And found it in morning's light.

The rotting bodies of four dead horse
A hidden dwarf and two T'skrang.
The adepts buried the fallen, of course,
And to shrive them Windy sang.

A trail led off into the wood;
A trail even the city-bred could find.
The dwarves had not hidden it as they should,
For they were dragging something behind.

When they lost the trail
among pines grown high,
Windy above the leaves did sail
and saw the temple nigh.

Serving as a windborn scout
Windy approached the makeshift fort
from a smokehole she checked things out
then returned with her report.

"I've looked within the temple dome,
evading the single guard.
There the villians make their home
by a bright green yard.

Within the dome did lie
no one from the train alive.
In the other building nearby,
must be any that survive."

Knowing the number they would fight
the group formed a plan,
"Attack before the dwarves rise at night,
and catch them sleeping if we can."

Approaching the temple with stealth
the males quickly kill the guard.
Seeking to preserve the suvivors' health
They charge across the yard.

Windy flew up from the back
with flasks of oil to the smokehole.
The others at the door, she started the attack
with a fireball that took its toll.

The dwarves lived by the night
and so they were struck quite blind
by the fireball's bright light
which is what the adepts had in mind.

The oil cast into the fire below
Windy took off at high speed
to the other building of the foe,
to aid any there in need.

Her hope for survivors made it harder
when she found only dead in the stables.
Then Windy realized it was a larder;
the dead intended for dwarven tables.

Deep within Windy's heart raged
at this cannibalistic sin.
She flew to where the battle was waged
determined it wouldn't happen again.

Inside the battle was going well,
most of the dwarves were dead.
Still the nethermancer was forming a spell
weaving to Kavros each thread.

Windy attacked this Questor of Death
With Berrybriar in her hand.
She struck and stilled his last breath
which spelled the end of his band.

Their enemy fled or defeated
the group then gathered around
their wounds to be tended and treated,
but the Questor was not truly down.

His body rose from where it lay
ready to fight once more
"I am Death. Free Death." it did say
with an echoing roar.

To the attack Windy flew
as she unsheathed Berrybriar.
The questor she again slew
then threw his body into the fire.

To Lindendale they took the gold
and the people were very pleased
they'd have supplies for the cold:
medicines for when they sneezed.

From Lindendale to Breetown
They secured the road that day.
Now it can be traveled down
without giving your life away.