Storm clouds were beginning to form as the battle weary savages began their decent from high atop the island mountain. Blood and death lay in the wake of their latest foray into enemy territory. Their mistakes were many but alas, they had what they came for – the Rune Shard! Now they must focus their energies toward a hasty retreat sensing that they had angered an ever present and growing anger from the power that emanated from this cursed place.
With the speed of wild rabbits being chased by a much larger predator they swiftly and adeptly descended from the mountan stronghold. Little care was given to covering their trail as time was of the essence if they were to escape this unknown predator who certainly sought revenge for the death of his choldren. The thunderclaps were a constant reminder of the danger that was sure to come. What entity could conjure up such a storm? Certainly an intriguing question, but the answer would have to remain a mystery to Beomer at least for the moment. His only goal was to get off the island with his allies, alive and safe.
Soon the party emerged into a small clearing where the boats had been hidden except now they had two. An Elven boat, or at least that is the name given to Beomer by Demron the Law Giver to describe the creators of such exquisite craftsmanship. They were dead and had no need of the craft. The Elves will not soon forget their encounter with Toroc, the hulking Amear, as it was his clumsiness in stealth that alerted the enemy to our presence and his sheer power in battle that brought down a great many of the children in combat. What he lacked in subtlety he made up for in his battle lust. Toroc, when provoked, was a very formidable foe for even the most powerful and ancient beings. Combine his battle proven rage with the cunning of Eirwen, the bow skills of Shansu, the new found magic of Cormyr and the ever presence of Usul and we certainly were unbeatable! Or were we? Another thunderclap rang across the darkening sky. Back to the task at hand thought Beomer. The boats must be prepared to endure the brute force of the now unescapable storm.
Pushing out to sea would be hard enough for the novice sailor. But now, with the storm upon us. Demron, must surely be questioning his choice. Usul, Brightfang, Charon and I launched the Amear craft. Cormyr steadied the Elven craft with the remaining party members and quickly slipped from sight as the rains were upon us. Visibility was non existent and our failures were beginning to mount. Suddenly… Crack! The mast had dissapeared into the grey wall! Sea, rains and cloud had become one. We were not sure how or where it came from but like a grey hammer of the gods we were repeatedly beaten and thrown until all hope seemed lost. First fatigue and then darkness overcame my body and mind. Was this the end?