Tartan Dreamer: War and the Hunt

This is a creative work set in the world of Elanthia, attributed to its original author(s). It does not necessarily represent the official lore of GemStone IV.

Title: Tartan Dreamer: War and the Hunt

Author: Roelon McColend

A young dwarf barely grown into his beard approaches a rustic wooden cabin engulfed vegetation.

The dwarf questions himself or rather why he has to wear this daft kilt. He pulls at the folds grunting several unmentionables. A second dwarf grunts in frustration. “Just do the job, you kobold, his coin is worth wearing that thing!”

The kilted dwarf grunts in agreement, but he didn’t have to like it did it? So he stumbled over and slammed his fist onto the door.

---

A lone fortress sits high up on the mountain as the sound of metallic footsteps march in unison, the hum of airships echoing off in the distance. Thick black smoke rolled off from a large fire above it and seemingly wraps its way down and around the mountain as if to strangle it before blanketing everything in darkness.

The emptiness is quickly filled with shouting voices. “They are coming!” one shouts as more join in to reinforce the warning. “It’s too late!” another screams.

The ringing of swords and explosion of magic erases reveals a scene of battle, Allie’s against each other, friends evading each others own attacks and confused townsfolk caught in the middle. A lithe form moves between theme, feline with golden eyes. An unnatural smirk of teeth forms across its face highlighted by a pair of golden eyes.

---

A slumbering Giantkin abruptly awakens to the sound of pounding coming from the door to his home. He comically flails around while trying to keep balance on his chair. A vaalorn longsword is knocked over in the process, falling to the ground and taking with it several crumpled wanted posters.

“Bloody kilts!” he cried as he took in his surroundings. He pinched himself several times to make sure he was awake. “Another dream, Ronan is this another warning…?” he whispered.

The door vibrates again as it is pounded on from the other side, much to the Giantkin’s protest. “Oiy, the door is unlocked, come in already!”

The kilted dwarf enters with his friend in tow. “I have come to give my report!” he mumbles and hands the Giantkin a parchment and a ripped wanted poster. “And for my payment as well.” he adds.

“Aye, aye.” The Giantkin says, his gaze focused on the report before a long sigh escapes his lungs. “Nothing at all in Zul Logoth then?”

“None at all sir, no one has seen this person that I could find. Now about those silvers...” The Dwarf glances back at his friend then to the Giantkin.

“Aye aye, check in that kilt ah gave ye, ah stashed yir payment in the second fold of the pocket, though that kilt is far more valuable ah must say.”

The dwarf turned pale and slowly did as he was told. There, a pocket within a pocket was note written out to him. His friend slapped his back hard. “I told you not to toss that kilt way! You should give me a cut!”

“What was what?” The Giantkin briefly tuned his attention towards the two.

“Nothing at all sir!” as the kilted dwarf slapped his friend upside the head and dragged him out of the cabin, the door slamming shut.

After a long pause the Giantkin removes a list of towns from within his own kilt and marked off a name next to Zul Logoth. Only one name remained and it was next to Briarmoon Cove.

“Rammael, where are ye hiding.” he finally utters before ripping up one of the wanted posters.