The Draakhorn #2


Maccath looks at Finnius and smiles.

“Of course I can… you’ve told me so much of yourself, and I’ve been melancholy for so long. It’s nice to receive guests in what comfort I’m afforded here. You all must have many questions…” The sound of her voice had a strange echo even in this small space, but she seemed oblivious to it.

I might too, if I had no one to talk to for years in these hollow caverns…

“You’re not at all like the others who have stumbled into these caverns… you’re quite an… eclectic band, aren’t you?” She smiled at Finnius first, then across the faces of the rest of the party.

“Well, perhaps I should tell you what I know of you? You’re no doubt in search of The Draakhorn, I’m guessing. Just like those before you. Well, I am sorry to say that it is no longer kept here; taken away weeks ago by others brave enough to enter here. If you know what The Draakhorn is, then you know that an evil plot is afoot, for the power of the horn is used only for evil. It’s horrid cry is a call to action for all evil dragons, and they hear it from across Faerun. I even suspect that it’s sound can be heard by more than just dragons, but no man can comprehend the messages it is used to communicate. I am certain, however, that it is of ancient origin, and perhaps even the Dragon Queen herself can hear the call from her lair in the pit.”

Maccath stops a moment, scanning the faces of the adventurers.

“None of you seem surprised by this? I am pleased. Those before you had no idea what lay in store for them. If you’ve come to rescue me, then surely you’re doing so on behalf of my Brotherhood? Who sent you? Davan? Taern? I have found what I sought years ago, but I am now the ‘willing’ ally to The White Death, and I cannot leave before my work here is done.”

Maccath looks over her shoulder to the back of the tent, and then forward again. Sipping her tea slowly, her eyes lose their focus for a moment, seemingly lost in thought. Snapping back to the moment, she continues:

“Aurathator will never let me leave, and I even if I wished to, I could not without the treasures of the Arcane Brotherhood he stole all those years ago. Perhaps you understand better my plight? I am condemned to this iceberg until my work is finished, but I fear even that that will not be the end of my tenure in this frozen wasteland.”

“From his cavern beneath us, Aurathator hears everything, and he knows now you are here. Escape is impossible; he treats the icy sea as his playground and it would be suicide to try. I fear that you may all have unwittingly imprisoned yourselves here with me… for it is not just The White Death who rules The Icy Sea, but Arveiaturace roams them as well.”

Maccath’s brow wrinkles slightly as the name leaves her lips. Clearing her throat, she continues:

“But perhaps you know of these things? Surely you have great influence to have in your possession such a rare artifcat yourselves…” her glance wanders again to the Black Dragon Mask. “Perhaps you’re just polite enough to humour me and feign interest.” She smiles. “No matter the reason you are here, I am glad to have you.” I’m only sorry it is to meet you with these sad facts. Tell me, what is it that I can offer to comfort you? You look weary and I fear my tea may not ease your chill.”

Maccath leans forward at the huge desk, leaning her clasped hands on a bundle of parchment there, anxious to hear from you.

Author: Turnerbuds