Characters

Olten Narlagh - a male dwarf

As long as you can remember, you were in his shadow. Even though he was a little more than a year younger than you, your brother Hjorvard was always the son to make mom and dad proud, not you.

In school, when you passed the DAT (Dwarven Aptitude Test) with a score of 86, your parents congratulated you for your efforts. A year later, when Hjorvard scored a 98, he got a surprise party. When you were on the elder school Blood Bowl team, you made it all the way to the championship game before losing to the five-time returning champions. The next year, Captain Hjorvard led his team to an undefeated season, beating the same unbeatable school in the final game. Hjorvard made the winning tackle.

But the worst part was that he never had to work at it. While you were studying, desperate to get enough points to pass the next test, Hjorvard was out with his friends playing brokenball or some other such game. When you were dieting to slim down for the big game, Hjorvard was indulging himself with a softee shaver topped in hoppy sauce, and it didn't slow him down.

But that was your life and you accepted it, though grudgingly. It's not that your brother was a jerk. He never rubbed his successes in your face or mocked you out for screwing up. He just never failed. And that bothered you.

When you graduated from elder school, you went to Santos Academy, a school that trained prospective warriors in the art of battle. You figured that it would get you away from home during Hjorvard's senior year, where he was sure to get the entire town of Michiana to come out to the games just to see him. Also, you always had a desire to become a warrior. You liked competition, as long as it wasn't with your brother, and what better than one on one combat where it was pure skill against pure skill. You progressed well in your studies and earned a yellow sash. When you sent word to your parents, they told you about Hjorvard's selection to the all-range Blood Bowl first team. Oh well.

When Hjorvard graduated he was accepted, full scholarship, as an initiate to the Hephaestus Institute in Drageer, the dwarven capital city. At first you were sort of happy for him. He wouldn't be horning in on your profession, outdoing you as a warrior at every turn. After a while, however, as tales of his rise to power within the temples of the god of blacksmiths became more momentous, you started to feel a little jealous. You warrior training was getting a little routine, and Hjorvard's stories were pretty interesting. In one note he wrote:

His messages inspired you. You desired to enter the priesthood. Perhaps one day you would become a Product Manager like Hjorvard. But you could never out-do him as a cleric of Hephaestus. You thought about it for a while and then the idea hit you. What if you could make it as a cleric of Zeus? Zeus was the ruler of the gods, who overthrew the Titans and lorded over the air. His symbol was a lightning bolt. Now there was a god to respect. Who was Hephaestus anyway? Only the lowly lame, misshapen worker of the gods. His symbol was an anvil. Certainly a Product Manager of Zeus held more clout than a Product Manager of Hephaestus. You made the decision and enrolled in the School of Zeus in Drageer.

Your first few years at the temples found you constantly deep in study. As a student, your task was to absorb the stories, the customs and the values of Zeus and his followers. You also studied various subjects of interest related to Zeus. 'Dynamic Weather Mechanics' by a man named Jared Cloudsqueezer was a particular favorite of yours. It explained the nature of lightning and how it occurs. It also touched slightly on how certain magics could be employed to harness the extreme energies of lightning. Another interesting topic had to do with one of Zeus' symbols: the eagle. There were other symbols representing Zeus that you found somewhat interesting: the oak tree and the ram, but the eagle was special. Majestic and bold, you imagined yourself as one of these creatures of flight, soaring high above the city, looking down on all of the people below.

As you neared the end of your studies, and prepared to make the leap from student to full-fledged cleric, you had gotten word that your brother had been chosen to be in some ritualistic event across the Great Sea. It sounded a little hokey to you, but your parents made it seem like he was being crowned King or something. Anyway, all you knew was that just as you were going to finally catch up to him, he went another step further. Oh, well. You really weren't worried so much about that anymore anyway. The studies of Zeus had hold on you now. The only thing that you really envied was the fact that whatever the thing was that Hjorvard was asked to do took place across the Great Sea. You had always wanted to see the other continent, but certainly didn't have enough money to travel. 'Maybe one day', you thought. 'When I finally get to go there, my brother will probably be in charge of the place'.

Now, at the time of your graduation from student to cleric, there were several job titles that you could have received. These included Acolyte, Holy Man, Communicator, Master, Traveler, Overseer and many others. Unfortunately, there was no such job entitled 'Product Manager'. You asked around, and several of the elder clerics thought that the 'Project Manager' position was about equivalent to 'Product Manager' in other sects. You hoped that this was the title they would assign to you, 'Project Manager'. You asked your mentor, High Communicator Yorrik, to put in a good word for you for this position.

Well, your assignment came and it was as you had hoped. Project Manager Narlagh. Now you weren't quite sure what projects you'd be managing, or how many novices they would assign to you, but it was sure to be a great opportunity.

You were assigned to High Holy Man Dabúls Dabaírs. You reported to him and were very excited in anticipation of your first project.

"Ah, hello, Project Manager Narlagh", the High Holy Man began. "Come in, please. Sit down."

You eagerly sat and awaited your fate.

"Well, it seems that we have a few problems that we need you to straighten out for us", he began. "Report to High Preparer Lappis and tell him that I've assigned you to Infiltration Control."

"Yes, sir!" you said. This sounded good. Maybe some clerics of Loki were trying to sneak into your hall of records and you and your men had to stop them. You weren't sure who High Preparer Lappis was. You started by looking in the main temple, figuring that he prepared the rituals for prayer or something. A cleric there told you that he was in the mess hall. 'Probably having lunch', you guessed.

Now, you were sure that Dabúls Dabaírs had said Lappis, but the man in front of you was the cook for the afternoon meals. Maybe he was in disguise to avoid the Loki spies. He looked you up and down.

"Infiltration, huh", he said with a smirk. "Hold on a minute." He went into the back and returned shortly with a broom, a rather large mousetrap, a big block of moldy cheese and a small box of poison. "The rats have gotten into both the back room and the alley." He pointed to the back room and started to walk away.

You stood there dumbfounded. This was the job of a Project Manager? There had to be some mistake.

"Excuse me", you started, "Preparer Lappis? I think there's some mistake."

"No mistake", he said not turning around to face you, "Rats."

"Well, don't I even get some novices to assign this to?" you asked, hoping you misunderstood.

He just peered over his shoulder and gave you a look. There was no misunderstanding. You were to clean up the rat problem. You wrote in your journal that evening 'Rat Project #1 - Managed to get rid of one.'

Things like this continued for some time. You were regularly assigned to tasks like cobweb removal. Eventually, you went into High Holy Man Dabúls Dabaírs to ask if you had done something wrong, but he just explained to you that someone had to do the work, and the students were much too busy studying.

You pleaded with him for something a little more 'clerical' in nature. Maybe you could at least work down at the aviary, training eagles or something. That's when he assigned you to heal the lepers.

You were home agonizing about your job when you received a message. Hjorvard had won the contest across the sea, and was now very rich. He had sent your parents some money, so that the three of you could travel across the sea to see him. You flatly refused. A handout from Hjorvard was not something you wanted right now, and just so you could go see him in all his glory. You sighed deeply. You were sort of happy for him, really, but you just felt like life wasn't fair. Even when it seemed like things should be even-handed, they weren't. If a Product Manager was like a Project Manager, why did Hjorvard have it so great, and your job sucked? You waved a farewell to your parents as they sailed off to see your brother.

Life continued about the same for you, however. Then, you received a traveling assignment. You were to travel to the town of Senrab and assist a multi-denominational group of clerics in exorcising a ghost from the town forge. Now, although this sounded like a real 'clerical' job, you knew that the town of Senrab was as backmountain as you could get. This 'ghost' was probably a small hole that whistling steam was pouring out of or something. You were sure that the High Priests knew this as well, and that's why the job fell to you. Anyway, at least it would get you a trip out of the city.

You arrived in Senrab to meet your colleagues. There was Gurdar Stöan-Jawe, a gnome from the temple of Hermes; another gnome named Punf Burbix, cleric of Dionysus; and a dwarven cleric of Hephaestus, Henry Kaltargh.

Henry immediately came up to you and said, "Greetings friend, I can't say how proud I am to meet the brother of Hjorvard Narlagh." You smiled a small smirk and shook his hand. He smiled back and laughed. As an aside, he said to you, "My brother Dorien was a genius over-achiever too. Pissed me off, so I know where you're coming from. Unfortunately, as good as he was, he was killed adventuring about eight or nine years ago."

"I'm sorry", you said, "but thanks for the story." You liked this Henry guy.

The four of you, although from different denominations, were all on the same wavelength when it came to this 'ghost'. You joked about it at first (not in front of the mountainfolk, of course), however, after a cursory review of the forge, Henry seemed concerned.

"This forge is in tip-top shape, no holes, crack or leaks", he said.

Stöan-Jawe piped in, "I'm willing to bet there's more here than meets the eye."

Well, Gamblin' Gurdar Stöan-Jawe was right, and pretty soon the four of you found yourselves casting every spell you could think of to dispatch what turned out to be a real, honest-to-goodness ghost. You really wanted to blast the thing with a lightning bolt, but you didn't want to wreck these people's forge. You worked rather well together, and were offered free drinks at the tavern in town, which you all obligingly accepted. Punf, the cleric of Dionysus, god of wine, of course led the way.

Sitting there amongst peers, albeit of a different sect, you couldn't help but bemoan the predicament you were in regarding your hollow title.

"...and last week, they had me removing grease gatherings in the kitchens", you finished.

"It's the same with me", said Gurdar. "Except they call me Project Supervisor. A few weeks ago, there was a leak in one of the library rooms. I spent three weeks 'supervising' the drying books page by page."

"I hear you", interjected Punf, who was beginning to get a little tipsy. "Wash this cask out. Wash that cask out. Wash this cask out. Hic! Dat's no job for a Provision Coordinator."

"Well", said Henry, "at least we all finally did something real that we can be proud of."

Everyone nodded in agreement.

"What about at your temple, Henry?" you asked. "My brother wrote me that Project Managers there have it great. I think they're called Product Managers, though."

He laughed. "Well, he was pulling your leg, I'll tell you. In fact, I remember hearing that when he was there, they used to have the Product Managers stitching up holes in the bellows that were torn. I remember hearing someone calling him Hjorvard the Seamstress or something... no offense."

"Offense?" you said, buckling laughing. The wine was getting to you. "That's the best thing I ever heard!" You imagined your brother sewing up a small hole in some bellows, with some High Holy Priest like Dabúls Dabaírs standing over him with arms crossed. It was hysterical.

On your return journey to Drageer, you were in good spirits. You had made some good friends. You didn't feel like your temple was hosing you any worse that any of the others. And you realized that maybe your brother colored the truth a little bit in his stories to make himself sound better. That made you feel a lot better.

It was shortly after you returned to the city, that a small, non-descript man, with a weasely voice approached you about an opportunity. He said, "Hello. My name is Silas Wishbone, and I represent Pharondondalae, the Most Great and Gloriously Reverent Grand High Pooh-bah of the Splendiferously Excellent Council of Six of the Great City, Kingdom and Empire of East Lansing, and I'm here to offer you a most unique chance for adventure and riches. I am ... a talent scout of sorts and have hand-picked you, amongst others, to form the single greatest adventuring party to quest on the single greatest adventure."

Wow, you thought. Why me? What had I done?

He then explained that he had sought out the brother of the past Hunt Champion, Hjorvard Narlagh, to compete in the upcoming Great Hunt. He claimed that your brother had recommended you for the job. At first you were shocked. It never occurred to you that your brother might have thought of you while he was living it up across the sea. Then you came to your senses. This man didn't care about anything you had done. He was going on your brother's word, nothing more. This certainly wasn't respect. It was pity. Hjorvard thought that throwing you some work might make you feel better about yourself. He probably expected you to fail, and figured that even if you won, you would only be as good as him. Well, you weren't going to be a part of a handout. You declined Mr. Wishbone's offer.

You went back to work, and it turned out to be your worst day ever. "Project Manager Narlagh! Please remove the moss from the trees in the oak grove! Project Manager Narlagh! Please refresh the air in the eagle's areas with a dust devil spell! Project Manager Narlagh! Attend to the lepers! And when you are finished, please scrub the healing facilities thoroughly!" It was about all you could take. You went home and seriously thought about Mr. Wishbone's offer.

What did it matter that the offer was made because of Hjorvard's success. That didn't mean that you couldn't succeed. In fact, if you turned it down, you'd never have the chance to accomplish what he had. Besides, you had learned many spells, and your skills as a warrior were still respectable. But you weren't going to get a chance like this anytime soon through the temple. You wondered how well your brother had done. Was it possible to do better than winning? Could you do whatever it was it faster? More cleverly? You decided that you had to try. You sought out Mr. Wishbone to tell him that you had changed your mind.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Narlagh. The spot has been filled", said Mr. Wishbone.

"What?" you said, incredulously. "But it's only been a few days. How could you get someone else so fast?"

"Well, you see", he began, I had originally thought that the famous Cleric of Poseidon, Woffadin the Elite, had retired from adventuring. But as it turns out, he's ready to go."

Now you had heard of this guy, who hadn't? Woffadin supposedly helped banish the great Kraken who was ravaging the coast several years ago. He also had helped recover some magical staff from a castle on another plane filled with foul demons. He was also rumored to have helped some mermen rescue a kidnapped princess in an underwater castle. There was no way you were going to convince Mr. Wishbone to take you over this guy.

You went home, disappointed. It was your own fault. In a moment of anger, you turned down what could have been the best thing to ever happen to you. Your brother had tried to help you out, and you thought it was about pity. You had really blown it. Well, there wasn't much you could do about it now.

Two days later, there was knock at your door. It was Silas Wishbone. Evidently, the legendary Woffadin the Elite had died. Drowned in his bathtub. You accepted Mr. Wishbone's offer to meet at the Inn of the Dripping Fang in Tobril-o-de-Marsh, and discuss the details of the opportunity further.

Upon arriving at the Inn of the Dripping Fang, the stout proprietor seemed to expect you. "Good to see you, knew you'd come", he said, "the good ones always do." He led you to a room, and pointed out that the room and breakfast, which is served promptly at seven, had already been paid for.

You came downstairs in the morning to meet two of your colleagues; a gnome named Bones Granitt-Bröugh, and a halfling, introducing himself as Mikey Two-Eyes. You weren't sure what to make of the gnome. Although he was wearing the robes of Hermes, the god of thieves, had a serious, thoughtful look about him, for a gnome. The halfling's name seemed familiar. Then you remembered, and were shocked. This was THE Mikey Two-Eyes; the same halfling who was said to be in charge of 'the net', the most sophisticated network of underground rogues and informants across the lands; the same halfling who was said to have been behind the great Gerrico vault thefts; the rogue responsible for the incident at last year's wizards' council. In fact, you seem to recall at least a dozen other separate accounts of deeds, or perhaps misdeeds, that he had perpetrated.

Luckily, you don't recall him being particularly brutal or cutthroat, and he seems friendly, but then again, it's always the nice ones that you have to watch out for. Anyway, you hoped that the paltry monies you were carrying would mean nothing to someone so powerful. You wondered at how difficult this task must be, to be in such elite company.

Soon, the innkeeper's wife brought food: hamhocks, bacon, eggs, longthorpes, etc... Midway through your breakfast you heard a weasely voice from the front door, and as you turned to look you saw a small, non-descript man removing his cloak. "Good, good", he said, "I'm glad to see you all made it, the good ones always do." He then told you that the three of you were to partake in the greatest quest of all time. He said that he couldn't reveal the nature of the quest unless you accepted, but he did tell you of your rewards for success: landholdings, titles of nobility, and the coup de grace, one hundred thousand gold pieces each.

Something about that seemed wrong. You were almost sure that your brother had said something in his letters about becoming a millionaire when he won. Well, it was probably another one of his exaggerations to make himself look better. You then accepted the offer, as did Bones and Mikey. "We leave on the 'morrow", Silas said.

The next morning you were greeted with a similar breakfast and upon finishing, Bones, Mikey, Silas and you mounted four well-provisioned, barrel-chested mounts and headed towards the port city of Smiorgan. You crossed the marshes and the Weeping Waste and even the Dead Zone, and finally reached Smiorgan. Silas escorted you to a ship with merchant markings of East Lansing, which left at the next tide. During the journey, Silas filled you in a little about the quest. "In East Lansing we have a unique way of deciding the rulers. The day after the vernal equinox, every seven years, we hold the Great Hunt. It is a scavenger hunt of sorts. Any number of teams may enter, but only the first six teams back win. The very first team to complete the hunt, well, their sponsor becomes the Most Great and Gloriously Reverent Grand High Pooh-bah of the Splendiferously Excellent Council of Six of the Great City, Kingdom and Empire of East Lansing. Anyone can sponsor a team, or Party of Hunters, as they are officially called, so long as they can afford the 100,000 gold piece entrance fee. And having the money to hire up to seven Hunters is helpful. Oh, and don't worry about the money. Pharondondalae will have that. He is the defending Pooh-bah, after all." Silas said that he had never personally been a Hunter, but that there would probably be some experienced Hunters on your team.

After a long journey, you arrived in a city named Elkton. Silas made arrangements for lodging, and you left along what Silas called the 'Old Country Road' the next morning for East Lansing. Although Silas seemed to know most of the tricks of the road, avoiding any bandits, you did have a few rather unpleasant encounters with monsters. Bones held his own, casting some clever spells and fighting well with his sword. Silas, seemingly some type of mage, was often able to scare at least a few away using some spells. Mikey Two-Eyes was amazing. As soon as you saw a monster, he disappeared, as if into thin air. Then, at the critical point in combat, he suddenly appeared behind the strongest foe, cleverly surprising him with a backstab. You were amazed at his quickness. You managed to invoke the powers of Zeus more than once, and used your axe effectively. All in all, you were pleased that you would be questing with Bones and Mikey.

You soon arrived at East Lansing. Silas produced a stack of papers from his bag. "You'll need to fill these out", he said. You looked them over. I.D. forms, immigration forms, all sorts of licenses... it took you hours to complete them. Finally, the forms completed, Silas escorted you through town, quickly past the sights, sounds and smells of the large city, and finally, to a large palace, the biggest in the city. "Ok", said Silas, "let's go meet Pharondondalae, and the rest of your team."