See, this all started because of a minor event that soon proved to have major consequences. As you may know, there is a small keep known as Seawatch that has served as a watchful eye over the western coast, and the nearby village of Jefrys, for centuries. Supposedly, it was built by the Flintburn clan of dwarves centuries ago, was eventually lost to orcs, was reclaimed by humans, and the dwarves have been snotty about the whole thing ever since. But we'll get to that later. If I wanted to comprehensively research for historical accuracy, I'd've never made it out of the seminary.

What you really need to know about the location for now is that it is a sturdy place, one whose most frequent conflicts have been with bandits on the roads and pirates on the seas seeking quick fortunes by fleecing unfortunate travellers and villagers; a place that recently had fallen into a certain amount of grieving. The Lord Amrys, long-time lord of the castellan and protector of the region, had just passed on, taken at last by old age, and for a full moon's time, all those within abstained from the pleasures of the flesh in memorial and in grieving. Some groused about the lack of frivolity and merriment, not a few were unhappy about the interruption in their carnal pursuits, and many were at least a little on edge that for this period of lamentation, the keep's prodigious cellar and its stores of ales and other alcoholic beverages had been sealed. But all of that was to change for the better - the Lamentation was about to come to an end, and on the morrow's eve would be a great feast, to celebrate the new command of Lady Amara, and to mark the passing of our former Lord.

The day before this feast was to take place, Kiendra and I had been assigned to wall duty. It was a beautiful day, all things considered - I was looking forward to seeing the spirits of the keep's inhabitants return, and Kiendra was looking forward to lifting spirits and consuming them in great magnitude. (It may be wrong to jump to assumptions regarding any people, but when it came to dwarves' reputation for drinking, Kiendra was certainly no slouch in maintaining that reputation.) It probably would have remained a perfectly normal day of duty, had not Captain Moren caught up with us and sent us on an errand that would shape our futures.

The keep's quartermaster, Brother Maylen, was a somewhat portly fellow, and had been spending the morning in the cellar looking to the preparation of the stores for the feast to come. However, he had been down there by himself for an awfully long time, and as such Captain Moren had requested that we offer our assistance in carrying the materials upstairs… and, perhaps, our guidance in not sampling the festivities early. (Brother Maylen was no drinker of ale, but he did always favor his wines.)

So, we descended to the cellar, where the foodstores to the keep were kept, and where the ales and wines of the keep were kept safe behind locked doors, lest soemone's passions run rampant with them. We lit a torch from the walls, and could not help but hear a not too unfamiliar sound - the squeaking of vermin, and the clattering of claws on stone. The cellar could have probably stood to benefit from the employment of a few trained hunting cats – preferably the larger ones from the plainlands, as once we rounded the corner, we set eyes upon a monster of a rat, the sort of thing that castle architects despise, easily three feet long from the tip of its tail to its teeth. A bolt of Pelor's radiance, however, was enough to convert this creature from a glutton on our stored grain to a smoking pile of barbecued meat – not the sort one would bring up to a feast, mind you. From the look of things, the cellar had become infested with the wee beasts during our fast, and they had been having a merry time of it with our perishables. And making an unpleasant mess of our floors, in the meantime.

“Pelor's hairy ballsack…” Kiendra grumbled, upon discovering the leavings of one of these creatures feetfirst. It was unpleasant enough, aye, but still no reason to take the sunlord's name in vain. Upon noting my expression, and after a bit of further grousing, she shushed, and we proceeded onwards into the main storage area. There was little in this room for rats to ravage, perhaps fortunately, and as such, the room was mercifully clean of them. However, the light from the room beyond was clearly visible… as well as the click and clatter and cry of more of the unsavory little pests. We continued onwards to investigate, and quickly discovered why Brother Maylen had not been heard.

The room that we had entered was one in which most of the keep's non-perishable stores had been kept, basic staples such as dried meats, grains, and smoked fish from Jefrys. However, there was one perishable item in the room - brother Maylen, the former quartermaster. Judging from the fact that the rats had already worried away one of his eyes, and made a meal of his face, and by the cool clamminess of the skin, he'd been here and dead at least an hour, possibly more. As for what had killed him – as we looked around warily, we spotted the source of Maylen's mortal wounds - or, more to the point, having feasted on a breakfast of quartermaster, the rats in question emerged for a lunch of lackeys.

Anyone who ever tells you that a three foot long rat is a minor threat is either an experienced combatant who has faced down far worse foes, or a man who has no idea what he is talking about. Somewhere a hero is laughing at this story, at the fact that rats - however large - could be considered a worthy adversary; and somewhere a tavern drunk is thinking of the wrong sort of rat and giggling at the thought of some three inch long pest latched onto a dwarf's face. Unfortunately, these were the three foot variety, and we did get a few scratches and bites in the fight - though we did manage well enough, hacking and clubbing the verminous pests into bloody, twitching messes. After a short fight, the room was once again silent, and we had a chance to look about - to observe details more carefully, to arrange the quartermaster's remains in a more peaceful posture, to acquire his keyring, and to notice the large hole that had been chewed through one of the support beams into the room where the ale was stored. Not a good sign.

Seeing as how this was the apparent source of the rodent population - and seeing as how we weren't particularly inclined to try to crawl through the rathole and end up stuck with a rat eating our face or something, we decided to investigate the old-fashioned way via the door. Kiendra could hear the rats scuttling behind it as she listened at the door (and smell the alcohol - it had been a long fast), and we unlocked the door with Maylen's keys, and opened it up to investigate. Behind the door, unsurprisingly, were rats. Four of them, feasting upon the wines and ales, one of them a large brute even for a giant rat, and all of them bearing down with animal fury. The mere fact that they can find and bite into the weak points in a dwarf's plate mail should give the casual tavern-goer due warning, if the thought of a rat larger than a dog wasn't enough cause for pause. The fact that the light of the gods could burn into them, and the axe of an angry dwarf could split them in half, was fortunately enough to help us in dealing with the problem… and to observe the route they came in by. A six foot tall hole in the back wall, through stone a foot thick.

Now, rats are known to chew through wood, especially given a month of time to do their work in. They had obviously made good work on a few of the barrels, as well as damaging other supplies in our cellars. But a foot of stone – a new trick if ever we saw one. While I inspected the wall, Kiendra inspected the ale casks – might it be said that if someone ever offers you a wineskin of 'Rat's Tail Ale', seasoned with the leavings of rodentia, you should turn it down at once. Yes, apparently the unique 'flavor' was interesting enough for her to keep, though I refuse to consider touching the stuff. As we discussed the 'merits' of her new concoction, and how best to block up the hole, we heard something from the hole and the tunnel beyond. Heard a soft scuffling sound, and saw a dim light in the distance - one that paused, and went out. We had lit torches in the room to make inspecting the damage easier, and so we came to the conclusion that whatever was down the tunnel had pretty clearly noticed that someone was down at the other end.

I decided that the wisest course was to lock the door, back out to the room we had found the quartermaster in, and use the hole to observe what came out, and so we did so, Kiendra sipping at that damnable concoction, myself wondering whether we would have to make a break for the stairs if it proved to be some sort of open assault. Eventually, eventually, after much waiting, a figure emerged. The hole was low, and we could only see his legs - a pair of boots, bloodied and worn and battered; a slim pair of legs clothed in satin or silk that had seen better days; the trailing end of a robe, tattered and bloody. Whoever it was entered the room, alone, and slowly shuffled towards the door; we heard the sound of the door being tried, and a despairing cry. Whatever it was, we were reasonably certain that it was worth closer inspection.

As Kiendra carefully began making her way through the narrow hole, I headed around to open the door. That is how I was introduced to Vashiarell d'Mallasseon a Corellis, elven mage - when he literally fell on me the moment I swung the door open. He was hurt, and exhausted, and had apparently been on the worse end of a few rat troubles, and was half-expecting this to be his final hour. We explained to him where he was, and what we were doing there, and asked for an explanation as to the large tunnel he'd just come out of. He explained, as I did my best to heal his injuries and give him something to drink that wasn't rat-contaminated, that he had come from Gaion, where he and some of his friends had been exploring the ruins. Several of them were killed immediately. The rest were taken prisoner and hauled into the caves. He claimed that he had managed to escape eventually, and had been wandering from tunnel to tunnel searching for a way out, trying to stay hidden. They had many outposts under the ground, and Vash told us of what he had seen as he attempted to find a way out - of orcs yelling excitedly as they prepared, of troops drilling for battle, of tribes and banners in unison in the guttering darkness. Things which spoke of invasions and bloodshed to come…

That is how Kiendra and I met Vash, and how this story began.