Bluebeard was a wild wizard. He tried to stay away from other wizards, as his latent magical power disrupted their spells. In fact it was just such an incident that gave him his bright-blue iridescent beard, and in turn, his nickname. When Griffoncaster offered him the mage’s tower in Northorn Castle, he jumped at the chance to practice his magic in peace.

That peace was shattered when Griffoncaster yelled his name up from the base of the tower. The only thing he had to do in return for staying in the tower was to advise the man; usually it was basic things, like identifying invasive plants. This time however, Griffoncaster’s voice told something was seriously wrong, so despite the risks, he teleported to the base of the tower. He apparated directly behind Griffoncaster, who was hurriedly fumbling with a battered old suit of armour that Bluebeard had never seen before.

Bluebeard followed Griffoncaster up onto the battlements and they looked out over the forests and plains of Cormyr. The warning horns were being blown. Down in the Temple of Vergadain, the dwarves were pealing the huge bells. The noise caused a panic, and Bluebeard watched as the people in the fields surrounding the castle streamed towards the huge portcullis. Soon everyone was inside and the doors locked. The soldiers, well-practised in the training room, stood in gleaming armour with swords and bows at the ready. The sight gave courage to the drafted farmers who joined their ranks, wielding rusty and mismatched weapons.

It was another hour before they first saw the movement in the trees. An army was moving towards the castle, hiding in the forest and staying out of the sun. They would soon run out of forest though, as Griffoncaster had ordered the trees cut back for 2 miles. All were surprised when grim, armour-clad dwarves emerged from the treeline. Soon thousands of dwarves were marching on the road towards the castle.

As they approached it became easier to make out details. They had many wounded with them, and their stance was strange. The dwarves radiated outwards from a giant slab of stone, as if they were guarding the most important thing in the world.

***********

Ten days later, it was King Cedric of Cormyr who was marching towards the Castle. The fields were now filled with obstacles, clearly built to slow down siege weapons and troop movements. The road was lined with supply caravans filled with wood, food and stone blocks. The traders pulled aside to allow the King and his small contingent of elite Purple Dragon warriors to pass by.

The last time King Cedric had visited Northorn Castle, it was a ruined mess known as ‘the forgotten keep’. Now it was a massive fortress. Several thousand dwarven hands had made short work of shoring up the defences and preparing the castle for war. As the King arrived, he was met by three men. He knew of Griffoncaster, the castle’s steward. The massive dwarf with the ruined face he’d never seen before, nor had he met the strange old man with the bright blue beard.

It didn’t take long to bring the King up to speed. An army of death was coming, destroying everything in its path, looking for a weapon that would allow the demigod Orcus to return. That very weapon was here, in this little castle wedged against the Eastern Stormhorn Mountains. The dwarves had dug through the floor and into the infamous dungeon of traps. They had found a massive hall there, with walls covered in a writing that had not been seen by living eyes for centuries. That was where the weapon lived now, guarded by a small number of strange dwarves with heavy black robes and crude iron swords.

The castle could hold now hold 1,500 souls. Yet there were now over ten thousand dwarves, with more arriving every day. Some had been ordered here, while others had deserted their posts, believing that the upcoming battle would be the most important event of their lives. The Wolverines, an elite unit of three hundred men from Baldur’s Gate, had arrived 2 days prior. Nearly a hundred druids had also appeared, coming out of the forest to aid in the defence of the castle. There were just under two hundred adventurers and mercenaries, most of whom had been waiting for their turn to tackle the dungeon of horrors that lay beneath the castle. Griffoncaster had promised them gold for their loyalty, which King Cedric believed was no type of loyalty at all. He would rather fight alongside one man defending his home than ten men whoring their muscles for gold.

King Cedric’s warriors, although elites, only numbered 350. He had no control here, and no-one would listen to him. The dwarves would only listen to the one with the scars, and that dwarf would not listen to the King. He said he would only follow orders from Modric or Bearn. That both had sworn fealty to the King seemed to make little difference. The druids were only interested in talking to Bluebeard, who wouldn’t do what anyone told him. The commander of the Wolverines simply said he would help when the time came, but any orders would have to come from Paws.

The following morning at dawn the King looked out over the fields and forests and saw the thick plumes of smoke rising into the sky. The army of death was coming. They were still far away at the moment, but how could the King motivate these soldiers, mercenaries and civilians? What could he do to pull them together before that army of corpses arrived? It was at that moment, when despair was setting in, that he noticed the small band of people riding out of the forest at full speed. Even at this distance there was no mistaking Modric at their head, his bright and shining armour making him stand out in the dawn’s gentle light. King Cedric wasn’t the only one to see him, and soon the whole castle was cheering and celebrating that their heroes and leaders had finally arrived.