The Calling . . .

Dobbs was of medium build. He stood about six feet tall and had a long impressive mane of blonde hair. He was clean shaven and well groomed. To Bolt, Dobbs seemed the perfect knight. His flashing blue eyes seemed to say "trust me, I'm a good-guy."

The problem was, Bolt didn't really know what Dobbs was. He had met him the other night in the pub and, upon losing a few too many arm wrestling matches, had asked him to join the adventure. Dobbs was no doubt human. It was his dress and manner which seemed so absurd. He looked rather like a traveling merchant might, with a somewhat garish shirt and necktie, under a traveling cloak. On a belt he wore two leather pouches, one on his left hip and one on his right thigh. Both were fastened tightly with leather cord. In conversation, Dobbs really seemed rather queer. He was cordial and most polite, even paying for the rounds of draft on more than a few rounds. But he asked the strangest, most annoying, questions. "How warm is your mead? Do you ever dream at night? Do you dream in color? Have you ever considered what constitutes a dream and what constitutes truth?"

All in all Dobbs could be strange. But, Bolt contended himself that Dobbs was no more strange that a half-gnoll monster and certainly not as odd as his dark companion, the crie. Dobbs carried a four-foot long, gnarled walking stick. He used it as though he was quite proficient in other uses as well for the hard wood. And, there was also the fact that the guy seemed so damn smart! Sitting across the table from Bolt, Dobbs seemed, well, almost "O.K.".

"Bolt, my friend, are you O.K? You have been so quiet. Is you mead O.K.? I hope it is not warm? So when are your friends supposed to show up? You did say we would have a group ready to set out today, didn't you?"

Bolt awoke to the strange mumbling coming out of Dobbs mouth. "Yes, they all said they would gather here at high noon. Just like you suggested. Anterbach, the shorter one I told you about, said he wanted to check out some equipment in the stores. I suggested that they all go and buy some warm furs to wear. Florimund and Dev decided to check out the town a little. My gnoll friend is still sleeping off last night's planning meeting."

"Not exactly the brightest member of your executive staff, I would guess?"

Bolt could not tell if Dobbs was serious or attempting a bit of humor. He decided to reply in kind. "Well, when you're as strong as Phth, I guess you don't need much else, hunh"

"Truer words have often been spoken," this time Dobbs seemed to crack a smile.

The crie came up behind Bolt and put a hand on his shoulder. He was a quiet character. Large mountain of a humanoid, the crie rarely spoke. When he did, his words were chosen carefully. "Larl", the crie's voice was strong but quiet, "your colleagues are at the door".

As the robed creature finished speaking, the door to the dark pub opened wide and there stood two half sized men followed by a tall mass of a warrior. Florimund, Anterbach, and Dev. They walked in and strolled right up to the table. The sun momentarily brightened the room and it seemed to lighten the spirits of the growing party. The two half sized gentlemen were always in good spirits. Anterback, Bolt thought, would smile his way to the devil. It was nice, however, to see Dev with some form of smile on his face.

"Now that is a shock, Dev. You seem almost not depressed."

"Well, It is nice to be doing something with myself. Even if it is going to hell."

"Now come on Devers," Anterback seemed likely to start his taunting, "you enjoyed removing that Ice-Orc's head from the remainder of his body."

"Ice-Orcs!" The table shook like a massive earth quake and rolled away. Phth crawled his way out of a slumbering-ish position and grabbed the nearest thing to a weapon he could find, Dobb's mead mug. "Show me where they are!"

Florimund, always the peace maker, quickly silenced the monster man. "It was just two. They met us in the market and started harassing Dev about his shiny package he keeps on his back. He took it out and showed it to one of them. The other one left rather abruptly."

"It concerns me that the Orcs are becoming more common place in the streets here. It is good that we start off today." Bolt was confident that this little group could really do something about the evil of the ice. One look across the table to Dev, of course, let him know that he was probably the only one at the table with such confidence.

"We bought a map too!' Florimund continued, seeming a little upset at the abrupt interruption. "It is a map of the region. The merchant suggests that we can follow the river upstream to the areas inhabited by the ice evil."

All geared up, the party set out on their trek. The cold was immense. It seemed at times to bite not just at their skin but at their strengths and fears, their very being.

Frozen during most of the year, the Alsvid River flows swiftly through the mountains in this season. The mountains are very old, and their peaks are worn from erosion. The width of the pass ranges from a mile across to only a few hundred yards, and the ground is covered with light snow and scattered patches of grass. The mountains, rising quickly from the base of the river, give every advantage to the attacker. When the party saw the dark armored knight on the near hill, they were justifiably concerned, but then again, they never really had a chance to look at the man. The wolves were on them long before the shadow of the knight took form.

The wolf hits you like a gray-furred projectile. If your reactions had been a hair slower, those fangs would have met in your throat. As it is, they snap shut a handbreadth from your face.