[h3]The Expedition of Darian Dangerfinger[/h3]
[color=gray]"Roarank Ankar, Khazi of the lands of honey, descendant of Earth Mother Sinnoar, dedicate my glorious victory over the Krull to the Mother. Three hundred and forty-three sphinxwood spears, forty-nine newly made widows, and seven bound Krull were here sacrificed to the Mother on the third night of the Twilight Lord's Hunt, thirty-three years after the Bubbling."[/color]

These words, etched into a toppled granite stele using a long forgotten script, are the only memories of Roarank Ankar and the Earth Mother that live on. But who, or perhaps even [i]what[/i], they were is a question that occupies many minds. For in these lands, Death wears a mask called the Krull. They do not march across the land in a great show of force, nor have they any imposing fortresses. Yet no army would dare challenge them. The Krull are the terrors that arise when shadows walk on their own accord. They are the whispers you hear when no one is around, and they are the unnerving silence before a predator swoops in for the kill. Before the recent discovery and subsequent translation of the pillar, no one had even believed it possible to harm them. But now, from the Dead Horse Bog up to the Black Cap Hill, hope shined brightly into even the most boarded-up bunker hovel.

Darian Dangerfinger, a dirty little man who made a fortune foraging the deadlands for rare magical mushrooms (but mostly less rare mushrooms that he could fool people into buying for exorbitant prices), was seated atop a grand stallion that made him seem even more diminutive than usual. Alongside him were a small detachment of the Red Flag Mercenary Company who, despite the name, were actually nothing more than a band of unglorified bandits with decently sized bounties on their heads. Behind them was a ragtag band of self-styled adventurers Darian had coaxed into tagging along at bargain prices with vague promises of glory and questing. He snorted. Those fools would surely be dead before nightfall. Taking the rear was a large caravan of laborers and supplies.

Although Darian had done well by the mushroom trade, the reward for finding a single stele with clues about how to stop the Krull would be enough for him to retire to a palace. That is, assuming he was the first to find it. And made it back alive.

Hiding his worries with an outward show of bravado, the little man signaled the beginning of the expedition by lifting his grand plumed hat as high above his head as his short arms could reach. But instead of being answered by the thud of marching feet and overeager adventurers' squeals, he heard only a spontaneous chorus of laughter. Darian looked around, both puzzled and enraged by the response. He angrily put his hat back on... which is when he realized why they were laughing.

"After that thief!"

A little gutterfolk with a nice new hat and a toothy grin could be seen skipping off into the bushes. When they finally caught up with the critter half an hour later, it was nothing more than a lacerated, bloated corpse with gouged out eyes. An ominous reminder of the lethal enemy they faced.

Fortunately, the hat was still in perfect condition.