------------- Tales of the Raptors – Masters of Bonechill

In the far reaches of the burning, shadow filled plane of Niflhel, they at last reached the place they sought, the black ice palace of the Dokkalfar Eldritch Warlock, Morgwaeth Bloodfellow. The passage through his fortress was more magical worry than physical danger. The Dokkalfar and other creatures they faced were little enough threat, not against the might of Illindiel, the Light of Correllon, Nova and the artifacts of Kollara, and Gwenvael and the Elven Mindsword, Minithindyr. Joined by Astrid Glammandarm and Bard Vansivor, two immortal Asgardians, they tore through the Bugbears and Giants, the Dokkalfar WarMages, and everything else they encountered. Up until they reach Morgwaeth and the other Masters of Bonechill.

Bonesaw was a mountain of killing flesh. Born of the unholy union of Bugbear and Fire Giant, he bore the massive rage of his father, the intellect of his mother, and an Asgardian axe passed down from the true Fire Giants of Muspelheim. His body burned with such heat that he scorched everything around himself and thus lived in an all stone and metal room in the dungeons.

Malquarren Deephate was a duplicitous, conniving bitch. There was a time when Morgwaeth and she shared something, but it had never been love. Then Morgwaeth was seduced by the outsider, the Drow who had stolen immortality. Amongst the Dokkalfar, born immortal, Lolth was little more than a poser, a petty Goddess from an insignificant cosmology. But She possessed something, something which had allowed Her to breech the defenses of Olympus itself and steal that which had given Her that immortality and divine power, Ambrosia. That device, She had offered to Morgwaeth. Apparently She didn’t need it anymore. But Morgwaeth’s dalliance with the Demon Goddess had turned Malquarren against him. She was only interested in her own hide now.

As to her master, her lord and lover, Morgwaeth Bloodfellow had studied long and hard over millennia. His powers now rivaled the most powerful mages of Arrallonian history, not that he knew what Arrallon was, or where. But he was about to learn. His magics were so powerful as to rival the very Gods of Asgard. He had slipped beneath the watchful eye of Heimdall, had fooled the Ljosalfar chieftains, and seduced one of the Valkyrie. He had infiltrated and betrayed Astrid’s party, nearly to their doom. And now, he stood before the Night Raptors, mere mortal adventurers. How could they possibly stand before his might?

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