T. H. Lain - Treacherys wake

From the creators of

the greatest roleplaying game ever

come tales of heroes fighting

monsters with magic!

By T.H. Lain

The Savage Caves

The Living Dead

Oath of Nerull

City of Fire

The Bloody Eye

Treachery's Wake

Plague of Ice

(May 2003)

The Sundered Arms

(July 2003)

Return of the Damned

(October 2003)

The Death Ray

(December 2003)

TREACHERY'S WAKE

2003 Wizards of the Coast, Inc.

All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of Wizards of the Coast, Inc.

Distributed in the United States by Holtzbrinck Publishing. Distributed in Canada by Fenn Ltd.

Distributed to the hobby, toy, and comic trade in the United States and Canada by regional distributors.

Distributed worldwide by Wizards of the Coast, Inc. and regional distributors.

Dungeons & Dragons, D&D, and the Wizards of the Coast logo are registered trademarks owned by Wizards of the Coast, Inc., a subsidiary of Hasbro, Inc.

All Wizards of the Coast characters, character names, and the distinctive likenesses thereof are trademarks owned by Wizards of the Coast, Inc.

Made in the U.S.A.

The sale of this book without its cover has not been authorized by the publisher. If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that neither the author nor the publisher has received payment for this "stripped book."

Cover art by Todd Lockwood and Sam Wood First Printing: March 2003 library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 2002113212

987654321

US ISBN: 0-7869-2926-X UK ISBN: 0-7869-2927-8 620-17855-001-EN

U.S., CANADA,

ASIA, PACIFIC, & LATIN AMERICA

Wizards of the Coast, Inc.

P.O. Box 707

Renton, WA 98057-0707

+1-800-324-6496

EUROPEAN HEADQUARTERS

Wizards of the Coast, Belgium

T Hosfveld 6d

1702 Groot-Bijgaarden

Belgium

+322 467 3360

Visit our web site at www.wizards.com

Prologue ...Howling winds whipped through the rigging of the merchant ship. Boiling swells tossed the vessel from side to side as each new wave threatened to send it hurtling into the rocks. The mast groaned against the force of the gale. The edges of the sails snapped in the wind.

It was a large ship by most standards, a cargo runner, one of many that sailed the coast. In the depths of the hull, an ornate box broke from its bindings and slid across the hold. It was long and slender with spidery silver script covering it on all sidesthe type of container usually reserved for magical goods.

"Step to," Captain Jabarra bellowed to his men as they wrestled with whipping lines to pull down the mainsheet. "Look alive, or ye won't be much longer!"

Jabarra's name was known all up and down the Fell Coast. Stern but fair treatment ensured that he employed only the finest sailors. A reputation for generous pay rewarded him with a fiercely loyal crew. An uncanny knack for finding the most lucrative cargo made him a wealthy man. His habit of not asking questions didn't hurt.

Jabarra wasn't nearly as interested in where the box came from as in where he needed to take it. The gold he was paid to get it to Newcoast was as good as any in the captain's eyes.

"Steady, damn it!" he screamed at the helmsman.

The pilot's knuckles were white against the wheel as he fought to keep the ship away from the shore. Jabarra threw the man aside and grabbed the tiller. This stretch of shoreline had claimed countless lives. Known for its rough seas and unpredictable storms, many an admiral lost his life and that of his crew to its jagged labyrinth of stone. Skeletons of uncounted men, some Jabarra once listed among his friends, lay buried beneath the sand. The entire ship shuddered with the tremendous force of the gale.

"It'll take more than that to drag me down!" Jabarra screamed into the storm.

On a bluff above the drama, Yauktul watched Gretsch and Murgle lovingly heft a boulder. Gretsch cradled the stone in his right arm as Murgle patted its granite surface. Wind lashed the creature's hide clothing, cutting the stench of its crusted and flaky flesh. Yauktul, his own skin covered with mottled and matted fur, was thankful for the respite from the ettin's putrid smell.

The sudden storm made the gnoll commander's job easier. The boulder would be a delicious flourish to the ship's already savory demise. Yauktul toyed with the idea of letting nature do his work for him, but he thought better of it. It never paid to anger an ettin. He nodded to the foul giant.

With a howl, the ettin hurled the huge rock. It hurtled toward the ship below, growing smaller and smaller before striking with a deep thud, barely audible above the howling storm.

The next morning, as the tide rolled out it uncovered a clutter of smashed timber and broken bodies on the beach. Across the back of the hull, the ship's name was still legible. The letters stood as tall as a man and were painted in flowing script by a skilled hand: Treachery.

Red light from the fading sun brought a tinge of pink to the blanket of snow covering the streets of Newcoast. Shopkeepers throughout the market district fastened doors and shutters against the threatening sky, darkening as it was with the hint of strong evening winds and another heavy snow.

Winter hit the Fell Coast with a vengeance, its storms wheeling in on the heels of shortening days. Temperatures began dropping shortly after the season's harvest was reaped and the snows came shortly after. Throughout the region, farmers drug out their brightly colored tents and dusted them off in preparation for a lively harvest festival, yet even the cheer of the midwinter solstice celebration brought only temporary respite from the bitter cold. There was barely enough time to collect the harvest and hastily celebrate its richness by the time the first flakes fell. Soon the entire region sat under a coverlet of white.

In the city's market square, hermits and merchants alike bundled their wares for the trip back to hovel or home. Carts piled high with goods trundled down the narrow city streets, led by mule teams all too eager to escape the chill air. Young aristocrats wrapped in thick fur cloaks hustled off to the warmth and comfort of well-appointed homes, or to indulge themselves in the illicit pleasures of the wharf district. All of the city's inhabitants moved as though with a singular purposeshelter.

All, that is, save one.

A slight figure slid unnoticed amidst the bustling denizens of Newcoast. Dressed in a modest leather tunic and shrouded in a cloak of dull gray, the halfling woman passed unseen through the tides of humanity washing back and forth across the lively streets. She padded softly through powdery snow, deft feet leaving hardly a print to signal her passing. Habit led the woman along lesser-traveled streets and alleyways.

Standing a few feet shorter than the other major races of the land, the halfling woman was a lean and muscled creature. The hood of her cloak was pulled up over her head, hiding fine features and curled, flowing hair. Supple leather boots clad her small feet, their soles thick enough to keep out the cold and damp of the snowy ground but thin enough to act almost as a second skin and to ensure footing on any terrain. A small crossbow was slung over her shoulder on a leather strap. The weapon's stock rested firmly on the center of her back. A number of small daggers and knives were strapped to her thigh and down the front of her leather armor, safely hidden from prying eyes.