Jornath states "If we travel today, give me but a few moments to go purchase something that will stand me a little better in the way of protection than this flimsy shirt. Tyr's Faithful find it hard to swallow if they are not in the front where all the good action is!"

Tallandril nods in acceptance of the decision to remain together, but adds, "At least allow those of us who are able to ride a short distance out. I would not like to be caught unawares, though if we are able to deal with the creatures we encounter as we have so far, I feel comfortable enough merely being in this company. Either way, I suggest we move on the tower as soon as possible. More than likely they are still building--not the tower that is, but consolidating what strength they may have found in their raid on Mistledale. It is during this more vulnerable stage that we must strike--and from an unexpected quarter. If we had large doses of poison, we could find their water supply... but no matter. We must deal with what supplies we have." Finishing his breakfast, Tallandril excuses himself to go procure a horse from the local stables.

Following Tal, Clayton adds, "I fear we will need more aid then what Tyr can give. May Tymora shine on us.Hey Tal wait up for me..."

The following two days are spent gathering supplies, and steeling yourselves for the almost suicidal task ahead of you. Within the Priest's words, you find the courage to face the challanges ahead, knowing that your gods are watching you.

You start off on the road to Mistledale, a restful night behind you, horrors beyond your wildest nightmares ahead. After only a few hours of riding, you turn from the trail to cut through the woods, hoping to shorten your traveling time considerably. your hearts lighten considerably when the afternoon hitsand finds you strolling through the forest. The sounds of songbirds drifting upon the wind. A slight breeze rustling the leaves around your feet. There is a slight bite to the breeze, signaling the oncoming winter. the afternoon sun breaks through the canopy of leaves above you, telling you that eveningfeast is not far off. The rumbling in Belak's belly seems to second the notion, as everyone gets a good laugh at the dwarf's expense. After looking around ashamedly, even Belak let's out a good laugh. As you break for the evening meal, it seems as if the evil horde is on a whole different plane of existance. The meal goes quite well, as laid-back as the autumn day. you swap tells of past adventures, past loves, and past foes. All through the meal, Blake seems almost distant, looking about as if trying to familierize himself with the surrounding terrain. Az' romps around, chasing a squirrel untill he tires of the game and slumps down beside Myrage's seat, lying down and dozing. As everyone finishes their meal, it seems to become a common agreement to call it a day a little early, while the autumn feelings are alive. There will be plenty of time for exitement later. This point is punctuated by the snoring coming from the belly of a full dwarf.

the party tethers the horses and begin taking down their gear, when Az' jumps up from his slumber and lets out a bark of warning. The day's laziness is gone in an instant as a warrior's instincts take over in each of you. Everyone looks around in time to see Jornath picked up of his feet, in a bearhug, pinning his arms to his side. Everyone draws up short as they look around, seeing their ambushers. They are roughly humanoid, standing between six and a half and seven and a half feet tall. Upon closer inspection, you see they are not human at all, though. where a centaur is a melding of man and horse, these creatures are a melding of man and lion. Myrage recognizes the race of humanoids "Wemics," he says out loud. The party is completely surrounded, having almost 30 barbaric-looking warriors with weapons pointed in a circle around you. As you look on in awestruck terror, seeing the prematur end of your adventuring days before you. One of the pride steps forward, standing a full head above the tallest of his other warriors. His muscular body seems almost twice as wide as that of Jornath, even with his armor on! The giant warrior steps into the clearing and roars. the sound is unmistakably that of a lion, and almost deafening. He pulls a longsword from it's sheath, and tugs his shield into a ready position. Both weapon and shield have glowing blue runes upon the majority of their surfaces. Both Clayton and Tallandril wipe the drool from their lips at the sight of the heavily magicked items. Even Jornath stops kicking and admires the worksmanship of the weapon and shield. The warrior looks over the entire group, when his gaze falls on Blake. "Him." He says simply. Two warriors grab Blake by the arms and drag him to stand in front of the mighty leader, then they back off. The leader stares down at Blake and raises his arm, bringing the longsword high overhead, and again he roars. As his roar stops, he looks down at blake, who looks up at the mighty wemic and says "Brightmane, stop showing off." an incredulous look flows over the face of each of the party members as Brightmane's face breaks into a smile, then erupts in a mighty belly-laugh. "It is good to see you again, Blake," Brightmane says as he sheathes his sword and clasps wrists with Blake. "It has been many moons since you have visited us last." " Yes, well, I have traveled far and wide in the last few years, my friend."says blake, with an ear to ear grin. " What are you doing so far from home?" Brightmane's face suddenly turns grim. "We have read the omens, and the spirits have warned us of the coming horde. We have been here for the last week, scouting out the area. Our numbers were once twice as many, but we have had many skirmishes. We await two more prides to gather with us, then we will attack the horde. There are many others who work against it too. But I am here now because the spirits foretold of a pride of heroes with two leaders. One is known to us, the other is not. He will be known by his green fang. They are destined to stop this plague of evil, and we are destined to help. Come, let us share this fire with you, and we can swap tales. Just like old times." He turns to his warriors and shouts "BRING THE FEAST!" They come into the clearing carrying two whole cows, and they start your fire anew, making plans for a feast.

"Yeeeeehowwwww, more food, now that's more to me likin!!!" Belak jumps up and grabs as much fire wood as he can in a short period of time. "Come now, let's help our new found friends with the fire!!"

With Belak's help, he and two others, Snowmantle, so called for a ring of white in his mane, and Sunburst, so named because his tail ends in a patch of hair that is yellow instead of black.

Awestruck with first fear and then wonder, the learned Coble gathers information from the exchange between Blake and the maned hunters, and then moves forward to help prepare the meal and to provide what measure of foods the party can add to the bounty presented by these mightly creatures. The beef looks wonderful, although Coble cannot help but wonder how it may be eaten. Having shared in the food preparations, Coble speaks to one of the Wemics and offers his thanks. "We welcome you and your gifts to our camp and to our company, he states. May your offerings serve to bind us to our common purpose; the defeat of the evil army in our future." Now standing next to one of the mightly beasts, he looks into the wise and visaged face and continues: "I would share a drink and words with yourself and any of your friends. If this is acceptable?" Then taking a wineskin from his pack he partakes and then passes to the Wemic he has been addressing. Coble continues to talk and question the mighty one of things general and of things detailed. He is curious and captivated by the sight and presence of such beings.

The wemic looks down to Coble "We would welcome your tales. It is not often we come so far from our grasslands." He politely refuses Coble's wineskin, pulling out his own which is easily three times the size of the mage's. He uncorks the top, and raises it in salute. "May the spirits guide us to victory!" The campsite is overwhelmed by roars of affirmation from all around.

Tallandril jumps to the task of helping Blake gather firewood immediately--nothing to help get one's mind off of a near death experience like a mindless task. Addressing Blake, Tal asks, "How do you know these creatures Blake? And would they be willing to coordinate their efforts with ours perhaps? Draw fire, as it were, while we make good our entrance into the tower. Perhaps one or two would even travel with us. What do you think?"

Myrage looks to Tallandril. "Suren our friends here are not to be wanting to 'draw fire' for us, and too, I would not wish it. They are a pride, and move as one. Who are we to deem them seperate? But, anyway, let us enjoy this night, and not mar it with talk of the path ahead. There will be, I'm afraid, plenty of time for that tommorrow." Myrage looks to Brightmane, bowing his head in greeting to the proud leader of the wemic. "Tis a fine scare ye put on us me friend. I nearly had to tell Az' here to go chase some cats."

Brightmane glows with mirth and says "Just be careful it is not he being chased by cats!" then he lets out a belly laugh that near bursts your ears.

Myrage winks, before laughing aloud and standing to go help in the gathering of firewood. As he slinks into the forest, you hear him call to his fellow timber gatherers "No, DEAD wood! Do not let me be seeing you take any of the branches from them there trees. Well met Brightmane, although your greeting left something to be desired!" (Jornath grunts a little as he tries to reposition his armor appropriately. "I share your grief in the loss of your pride-mates. The Gods are sorely testing us during these travails. Have faith that the reward will be more than worth it!"

" Aye, fellow warrior. For do not think a great battle will not take place. It should be GLORIOUS!" Brightmane says. " May Tempus and the spirits of our ancestors guide our swords! I an anxious to find the one with the 'green fang'. We cannot go to battle without him. The spirits have deemed it so."

At the mention of a 'green fang', a thoughtful look crosses Jornath's face. "I know not whether this is what the spirits meant, but this is my 'green fang' as it were." Jornath reverently draws Tearulai from its jewel encrusted scabbard. He holds it up for the Wemic leader to see, then just as reverently resheathes it. "This is a weapon given me by Tyr Himself. It was He who suggested we come in force (as much force as our party represents), and He (as well as others) is surely responsible for our successes so far. What else have your spirits told you that might be of benefit in our cause? Tyr revealed to me that we would meet friends on our travel to the Red Tower, there can be no doubt that He, All-Just-One, meant you and your pride. Come, let us discuss over these wonderful victuals which you have kindly provided the way that we might topple this Red Tower and achieve the Justice that Tyr and your fallen pride-mates desire!"

At the drawing of Tearulai, the camp goes silent, as all the wemics drop to their knees and bow their heads. Brightmane stands and says "It is as the spirits of our ancesters have foretold. As leader of the Pride of Four Winds, I deem the prophecies true. tonight, we feast. Tomorrow, we search for the remaining two prides. From there, we march. Let no army stand in our way. Let no evil stop us." He draws his longsword and holds it high. "In the name of Tempus, and the Great Spirit, to war!" the resulting roars are deafening. After this proclamation, the festivities gather into full swing. Brightmane gathers you round the fire, swapping tales of past adventures, and sharing of their wine. "As for plans, we have but one. Full frontal assault. that is our nature, and anything else would seem cowardly to my warriors. However, I am not the chieftan. I understand you plan to attack the tower. Any way I can be of help, count me in."

Jacosa's eyes are wide as she joins her companions in the feast with these newfound allies. She surreptuously glances at the newcomers on many occasions, drinking in every detail of their appearance and mannerisms. She speaks little, listens much and keeps herself occupied in any way that avails itself as the flurry of activity sweeps around her.

The gathering of an army