# Ashes of AmberHaven



## kiznit (Jun 2, 2004)

A brief introduction:

This Story Hour will chronicle the unfolding events of a simple out-of-the-book D&D game that six aimless and pointlessly creative art students have started  running in the Summer of 2004.  The game is an introduction to the glories of roleplaying for at least three of the players, though the DM (me) has been doing this sort of thing for about seven years now.

The campaign world is pretty much completely off the cuff, but with the GreyHawk gods out of the Players Handbook.  The players start off knowing only that they grew up in the simple, protected valley of Amberhaven and are bored to tears and desperate to seek adventure.

The cast (all first level):
Calista, an elven sorceress
Blaine, a human thief
Gnishrak Trogg, a half-orc barbarian
Humble Red, a human cleric of St. Cuthbert
Bok, a dwarven ranger

For the spoiler-conscious, the game starts with some fairly straight-up sidetrek-style encounters to familiarize the players with the game, leads into a  modified version of The Witch of Serpent's Bridge from Dungeon #95, and then hopefully heads into The Forge of Fury from the Adventure Path series. After that is unclear, though events are being set up for something along the lines of Scourge of the Slavelords.

Any comments or suggestions as to how the campaign is rolling along is _greatly_ appreciated! None of the players poke around enworld at all, so       thoughts and ideas as to how things went or where to take things can be shared without fear of spoiling the fun. I'm writing this story hour as much to log and keep track of things as to provide entertainment, so I apologize if the campaign is not in as much of a narrative style as some of these other fine pieces of work.


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## kiznit (Jun 2, 2004)

*Stand and be delivered!*

Player's Introduction:

There’s no denying that AmberHaven is beautiful. You’ve grown up here and you have to admit that for the most part you’ve lived a peaceful and comfortable life in the quiet mountain valley. AmberHaven is called the Valley of Fog because the legend behind the DragonSpine mountains says that a great ancient dragon curled her body here to sleep a thousand years; the fog is her breath when she exhales. In truth, it’s only very foggy up in the passes, for the most part the air is fresh and clear.
Legend or no, the land is warm and fertile even in the winter months, and the valley seems blessed with an atmosphere of benevolence and protection. 
The trouble is, is that it’s bloody boring as hell. If you have to spend one more winter trapped in this dead-end corner of the world you’re going to go crazy. You’ve sworn that there’s no way you’re going to grow up and be a farmer your whole life. That’s why you’ve been testing your limits, and training with the cleverest and most skillful folks that have retired here, and now you’re ready to make your own way in the world.
You’ve worked hard all summer on the harvest and caravan work to save up some money and buy supplies, and now you’re desperate to make it through Tilver’s Gap and out into the open world before the winter storms hit.
So with the red and gold leaves of Autumn gently falling along the trail west to GoblinRock, you say goodbye to your loved ones (if you have any) and heft your meager travel belongings over your shoulder. Vestyria awaits!​
The players didn't get very far.  The half-orc, yet to join the adventure, does not get to join the fierce and optimistic group as they triumphantly leave their flea-bitten little town and march intrepidly into the unknown. Halfway through the small forest that lingers underneath the pass of Tilver's Gap the group is ambushed. An imperious and arrogant goblin steps into the path and cries out "Stand and Deliver!" in his most threatening voice, meaningfully waving his large stick (complete with nails stuck in it).  Looking around, the party notices a number of similar small shadows lurking about in the arbor on either side.  The young adventurers trade unsure looks at each other, for they are untested. At which point, the dwarf (already ridiculously stingy with the remains of his starting gold) makes a rude hand gesture at the lead goblin. The action music kicks in and our intrepid players brace for their first taste of combat!

Ten minutes later and nearby birds begin to hesitantly chirp in what late afternoon sun manages to dribble through the overhead canopy. Four bodies lie in various contortions on the leafy path. One of the humans, who happened to have actually purchased some decent armor, moans a little and clutches at his head. Staggering up, he pats himself down and finds that all of them have been robbed of all their money, though the goblins were kind enough to leave them their weapons (which were too large for them anyway).  Imperious shouts as to the unfairness of setting seven goblins on a weak party of inexperienced players float unheard through the air. The party limps back into town.

After several days of various wound-lickings and so forth, the party begins to feel the itch for revenge.  Robbed of all their money and having to stagger back into town to mooch off of relatives and friends, their humiliation burns bright-hot and the rumors of goblin camps in the hills beyond the forest tempts them. So (once again) the would-be heroes hail a bright and triumphant goodbye to the small town they loathe and love and head off into the forest.

The dwarven tracker has little trouble picking up the trail from the blood-spattered spot in the road where they had met painful unconsciousness at the hands of the little bandits. An hour or two through the forest, and the vengeful group make their way into the more sparsely forested hill-lands. There, nestled against the roots of the high mountains, several ruddy hidebound lean-tos circle a sputtering fire. A small boar slowly roasts on a spit as several goblins mutter and chuckle at each other in their base tongue.

The party scouts about and estimates that there are only a few goblins here, though it is unclear what lurks in one of the larger lean-tos.  The lead goblin sports about in a disdainful manner, obviously gloating over their recent winnings and the successful hunting they've had recently.  The party confers in eager whispers and eventually come up with as cunning a plan as could be expected. They are going to storm the camp and try to kill all the goblins. Nodding at each other in staunch approval, the order is given.

Shouts and curses as the humans charge into the firelight, the dwarf leading the way. Magic missiles arc around our heroes and immolate at least one goblin (leaving the requisite eyes to blink a couple of times before detiorating into a pile of ash). Rapiers stab, maces fly, the pick lands harshly, and goblins scatter.

The lead goblin keeps his head, however, and ducks into the larger tent, and quickly reappears, yanking at a chain. A guttural growl is heard and our companions stop in sudden worry, when suddenly the lean-to is ripped apart and charging out is a large feral wolf.

One bite and the poor cleric is yanked to the ground, badly twisting his ankle. The dwarf goes down in a flurry of swearing and flying fur.  The elven sorceress, however, is not a stranger to the blade, and drawing her own rapier, she manages to score a critical hit against the tough hide of the beast, while the quick-witted hero stabs a vital organ from the opposite side, only to turn around and dispatch the lead goblin in a triumphant slash. The day is theirs!

A little out of breath, but grinning and bloodied, the heroes loot the camp and find at least some of their pilfered gold. The thief scores a fine masterwork short sword from the lead goblin (who had been using it as a longsword), but more importantly the triumphant players have felt the rush of victory, the glory of triumph over fear, and hot taste of fresh experience points.

Next: The old orcish stand-off


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## kiznit (Jun 30, 2004)

*Orcs at the Gate?*

The intrepid quartet limp their way back in town, now feeling like truly the mightiest heroes to have graced their God's valley. The local tavern is soon aglow with late-night tales of daring and armies of goblins, as our heroes squander the last of their trust funds into the ale-casks.

Sometime the next afternoon, as most of our fellows lift their sodden heads from the inn-tables, they hear a frantic voice running through the town. "Orcs!  Orcs at the bridge!" Nervous murmurs begin to trickle amongst the villagers. A caravan is expected from the east soon, bringing crucial monies and commerce. If it were to be raided, there would be considerable suffering. One by one, heads turn toward the party... They _have_ been bragging about being the local heroes.

Tired and hungover, and regretted their egotistical bragging, the four lone saviours trudge the eastern road, preparing themselves to meet certain death at the axe-heads of a gang of vicious orc-beasts. Goblins were one thing, but these cruel humanoids are rumored to be able to rip the arms off of foolish mercenaries. Fortunately upon reaching the crest of a hill, they overlook the large chasm of the eastern valley and behold only a single humanoid arrogantly guarding the wide, thickly woven bridge of wooden planks that serves as the Iskan passage to Amroth. They trade relieved grins and descend along the road.

The Orc quickly catches sight of them. "Oy! s'a handful of gold for the passage across, or I be using your skulls for a drinking-cup."

"Garrrr, lemme at 'im," grumbles the dwarf, clutching at his hammer.

"A handful each, or for the group of us?" Blaine calls back cheerfully.

The orc scratches his head, genuinely stumped.  He heaves his heavy crossbow off his shoulder and begins peering at them and counting off great sausage-like fingers.

Blaine looks to Red. "We can totally take this guy. Just one orc? Pff."

"It might be an ambush..." Red mutters. Bok nods, and gives a casual twirl of his axe.

"A handful to cross my bridge!" The orc yells back, having finally concluded his calculations. "For each of ye's."

"We could take a couple of shots at him," smiles Calista, "Try and make him come to us?"
"He'll charge us, get here before we could reload twice." Red says, measuring the distance with his eyes.
"S'why we should charge him first!" chuckled the dwarf. Only a large boulder stood about fifteen feet off the cliff's edge on this side, and he was becoming sure that there was nothing hiding behind it.
"I don't know..." remarked Blaine, "He seems awfully cocky for being all by himself down there."


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