# Mike's Awesome Adventures



## the-golem (Jan 23, 2011)

*A little bit of background:*
I started playing in a new D&D 4e campaign on Tue, Jan 18 2011. Technically. Before the first group session, I had the pleasure of doing a 1-on-1 background session with the DM the Sunday before. (So, the 16th)

It's this Sunday session that I bring to you, to be soon followed by the Tuesday session, and hopefully, any other session following. I haven't done much creative writing before, so I'm using this as an avenue for that creativity. I'd appreciate any comments y'all might have. I hope you all enjoy.

I've also attached the original RTF version of this post, in case anyone wants to download it and peruse it that way.


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Fallcrest.

_I haven’t been here since… since before I was stationed over at Hammerfast. I’ve forgotten how busy this city is_,       mused Henrik as he entered the Vale’s main hub of civilization. Since Fallcrest is centrally located within Nentir Vale, most traffic invariably finds its way to (or through) the city.

Henrik enjoyed the bustling sounds of the city; it was a welcome change from the quiet and tedium that surrounded his previous assignment. His orders specified he was to report to the Captain of the Guard right at dawn the next morning, so Henrik took his time meandering through the nooks and crannies of the city, before retiring for the night.

“Corporal Henrik reporting, sir!”

“Ah, yes. Enter,” replied the captain, giving his subordinate a cursory glance as he entered the room. “You’re quite the punctual one, aren’t you, lad? I haven’t even had the pleasure of a good cup of coffee yet, and here you are. I take it your trip from Hammerfast went well, yes? No complications? Name’s Rumice Kingpost by the way.” The Captain of the Guard took a slow sip from a steaming mug before continuing.

“I’ve heard good things about you, Corporal Henrik. From what I’ve gleamed of your file, you’re quite the accomplished guardsman.  Keep it up, and you’ll have me out of a job,” he said, a smile playing on the corners of his mouth. Henrik didn’t reply, but the captain could tell his face was visibly flushed. Giving him a once-over, it seemed obvious to the captain that the man standing before him was not accustomed to complements and words of praise. _Poor sod_, thought the captain,_ the dwarves are a surly lot. I'll bet he never heard a kind word from them his whole time there._ As Rumice continued to examine Henrik, however, the captain was overcome by a vague feeling of unease, and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. _Something is off about him. His eyes; there is a darkness there... No, a sadness. Gives me the willies._

Kingpost cleared his throat before continuing. "The reason why I've called you here Corporal... Well, to be perfectly honest, it's probably a bit mundane compared to what you might've experienced in the field. Nevertheless, you're the perfect man for the job. There's a man, a trader really, who sets up shop in Lower Fallcrest. I've heard rumors he's looking for a few men for a job he needs doing. I'm sure it's innocent enough, but he is a rather seedy character. We need to be certain he's not into anything illegal. You've been away from Fallcrest for such a long time and it is doubtful many locals recognize your face. It's that unknown face I need, as a matter of fact." The captain paused to take a long drink from his mug. "What say you, Corporal? Do you feel up to the job?"

"I'm happy to serve the people in whatever capacity I'm required," Henrik answered without hesitation. "However, in order to maintain pretenses, I'll need to secure a room at the Nentir Inn. We can't have him knowing I'm a member of the Guard, right?"

"Oh certainly, excellent thought." answered the captain, flipping through the papers on his desk. "Yes, that would certainly be the wisest course of action. See to it immediately. Be sure to grab whatever belongings you need from the guards' house. Dismissed."

"Yes sir!" responded the young guard. With a sharp salute, he turned and left.

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Stepping into the Inn, Henrik was greeted warmly, an experience he wasn’t quite used to. 

 “Oh!” exclaimed the innkeeper, “Another one from out of town. We’ve been getting a lot of those lately. Tell me boy, are you seeking a bit of adventure?”

Slightly taken aback from the amount of interest in him, Henrik was momentarily at a loss for words. “A lot, you say? What sort of people?” he asked the innkeeper, recovering quickly. 

“Lots of interesting folk, young sir,” answered the innkeeper. 

“I see,” replied Henrik, narrowing his eyes slightly. “Well thanks. I guess.” Shaking his head, Henrik continued up to his room. _What an odd man,_ thought the young guard as he walked away. Henrik only spent a few minutes in the rented room before heading out again, this time for the lower half of Fallcrest.

Twenty minutes later, Henrik arrived at a small ramshackle farmhouse. I guess I really am in the slums, thought Henrik as he continued towards the house. Sitting on the front stoop was a frail looking fellow, whittling on a small stick. “Watcha working on there, my man?” he asked the fellow. 

“Oh I dunno,” he replied, looking abstractedly at the stick. “Mebbe nothin’. Mebbe I’m makin’ me a knife.”

“Uh huh,” responded Henrik, a bit dumbfounded. I guess the gods didn’t smile on this one when they made him, he mused.

Before he had a chance to ask, the man on the porch blurted out, “Names Farys. If yer lookin’ fer Dredd, he be inside.”

“Right, thanks,” answered Henrik, continuing on through the door.

The interior of the structure had tables full of merchandise, most of it looking to me furs. Across from him, centered on the back wall, was a frumpy looking man, sitting behind a desk. Henrik could tell that this fellow was once a strapping trader, but had obviously let himself go in recent years. Mostly though, he noticed, the man just looked tired. 

“I’m looking for Thornpike,” blurted out Henrik, striving to get the old trader’s attention, “You him?”

“Yes?” answered Dredd, “How can I help you?”

“Heard tell you were lookin’ for a few good men,” answered the guard, gruffly, “that right?”

 “Oh, excellent, excellent!” cooed the trader, getting excited. “Yes, you’ll do. You’ll do splendid. You’re much more suitable to the task. Much more suitable than the others.” 

He paused, looking Henrik over. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen you around before. Are you from here?”

“No. I’m not,” answered Henrik, "I just came into town, and I've been looking for work."

"Well, well, you've come to the right place," responded Dredd, rubbing his hands together. "Anyway, what I want for you is simple. All I need are a few stout looking fellows -- which you certainly fit the bill -- and accompany me to my -- uh -- friends place. See, I know this guy, a certain Ellis Triddle, and he runs the trading on the rivers. I just want to talk to him, see, and talk him into moving some, or all, of his shipments onto the road." 

Henrik narrowed his eyes. "Let me get this straight. All you want is me to do is to go with you to this guy and flex my muscles at him?"

Trader Thornpike laughed nervously, "Just about right, just about right. Don't even need to go inside. I'll do all the talking. You just wait outside."

The guard-in-cognito shrugged. "Seems easy enough. When do we get started?"

"Right now, as a matter of fact. Come outside with me and I'll rouse the rest of the men, then we'll head out. The farm's maybe half a day away, by foot. Less if we make good time."

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Several hours later, Dredd Thornpike and his crew arrived at Triddle’s farm. The farm wasn’t terribly large. The lot itself was rather square, surrounded by a low stone wall. In the far right corner of the lot was a small farmhouse, with a gardener’s shed in the far opposite corner. On the right side of the lot was a small well, likely used for drawing drinking water. Two horses were tied to some hitching posts close to the house as well.

At first, Henrik was unconcerned, but as he surveyed the area, the young guard thought he noticed some movement near the water well. As the group drew closer to the house, the “shadow” Henrik had his eye on, jumped into view, shouting (in goblin nonetheless), “That’s him! Get him!” 

“Like hell you will,” muttered Henrik, grinding his teeth. Without hesitation, he rushed the vile creature, his eyes full of rage. After smashing the goblin upside the head with the butt of his broadsword, Henrik took a quick step back, and glanced around him. To his utter dismay, the other men that accompanied him were frozen with fear. 

“What the hell is wrong with you chumps,” he thundered. “Did you leave your spines back at Fallcrest? Draw your weapons and fight!” Unfortunately, the scared men didn’t move a muscle.

He turned back to his foe just in time, as the goblin thrust a blackened iron short sword at him. Henrik easily parried it, and pummeled the goblin with his shield, the full force of his body behind the blow. His foe stumbled back a bit, snarling, but didn’t fall. Stealing a quick peek at the scene behind him, he noticed other similar creatures had emerged from the shed. To make matters worse, his companions were even more frightened. 

“Look, you ninnies!” he bellowed, while returning his gaze to the goblin still standing in front of him. “They’re just goblins. Kick ‘em in the head and they’ll likely fall over.” With that he dodged another meek attack by the goblin, then deftly knocked its blade to the side and sunk his own right through the goblin’s throat. 

The man he’d been hired to protect started blubbering. “That bastard! How dare he turn on me? I’ll have his head for this.”

“Are you going to whine all day, Boss, or are you gonna help fight this damned swamp rats?” retorted Henrik as he advanced on another of the creatures. This one also tried to attack him, but he easily blocked the sword’s thrust with his shield, and then kicked the goblin’s legs out from under it. The goblin tumbled and landed with a sickening crunch as his skull bounced off a large rock. 

“And what about you sissies?” he mocked. “Planning on standing there all day, pissing in your trousers? Or, are you going to grow a pair?” At the same time, another goblin emerged from behind the house, and cut the reins on one of the horses. The horse, afraid for its life, turned and bolted in the exact opposite direction. In its frightened state, it trampled on one of the companions as it bolted.

           Incredibly, seeing their companion nearly trampled to death, the men’s senses returned, as they each squared off against the brick-colored goblins. Henrik grinned at this, for a moment, until he saw the large figure hulking behind the goblins. That same hulking figure, an orc likely, moved out from behind the shorter goblins and advanced towards Thornpike. As intimidating as the orc was, two of the erstwhile fighters managed to dispatch their goblin foes without too much hassle. When it came to stopping the orc however, they returned to their previous cowardly state. The brute noticed their cowardice, however, and used it to his advantage. He swung a large barbed net over his head a few times, and tossed it deftly and at Dredd Thornpike, netting the out of shape tradesman precisely. Then, without so much as a glance at his opponents, the orc simply turned and started for the nearest gate, dragging Thornpike behind him.

Bewildered, Henrik stared at the cumbersome creature a moment before charging after it, shouting all the while at his unthinking companions. Even with the excess weight from the entrapped tradesman, the dirt-colored orc proved to be quite a swift enemy. Each time Henrik drew close, the orc turned and kicked him like a mule, sending the guardsman staggering back, struggling to maintain his footing. This went on for nearly a quarter-mile, until the orc, obviously fed up with being chased, turned and delt his pursuer a grievous blow, knocking him out cold. 

Amazingly by this time, the two remaining members of Henrik’s “squad” caught up just as he hit dirt. In what can only be described as herculean, the clumsy oafs attacked the orc simultaneously, just as he finished cutting Henrik down. They slid past his guard, each piercing the beast in the chest. Beaten, the orc slumped to his feet, never to breathe again.
           A short while later Henrik jerked awake, breathing in sharply. Deliriously, he staggered to his feet, while the plump tradesman blabbered in his ear, “It’s a good thing you’re awake. We thought you were a goner. Thank goodness you’re alright. If it wasn’t for you, I woulda been a goner myself...”

“Stop talking, friend, just for a moment. Where’s the orc?” interjected Henrik, impatiently.

“On the field, just over there, quite unconscious,” responded Thornpike.

Wordlessly, Henrik hobbled over to the body of his adversary, staring down at it contemptuously. Mad with rage, he then grabbed his shield in both hands, and raised it over his head. Howling, he crashed the shield down on the orc’s jugular, severing the head from the spine. He then picked up the head and stared at its lifeless eyes for a brief moment, before he dropped it and kicked it ferociously into the distance.

“Back to Triddle’s place; I’ve got a bone to pick with that spineless bastard,” he stated simply, before marching back to the farmhouse.

At the farmhouse, Thornpike insisted he be the one to talk with Ellis Triddle, despite all that had happened to the party. With naught else to do but wait, Henrik looked over some of the goblin corpses. He stopped short when inspecting the goblin with the blackened blade. 

It can’t be, he thought, eyeing a familiar sigil. Leaning closer, his suspicions gave way to certainty. Infuriated, he smashed the goblin's skull into the ground, repeatedly until he felt someone pulling him off.

“That’s enough!” cautioned Dredd Thornpike, “that thing’s already dead; it cannot hurt you anymore.” Still enraged, Henrik ripped the sigil from the red beast’s clothing, and stuffed it into a belt pouch.            

“My … apologies,” he mumbled, “I saw something, something from my old life, and I lost my cool.”           

“Look friend,” said Thornpike, “I understand your anger, really I do. They tried to kidnap me after all. Tell you what, son. Find out who these swamp rats are, where they came from, and I’ll pay you ten times what you earned today. In any case, we’re done here. Triddle says he has no idea where these things came from, and I’m inclined to believe him. For now.”

“Fine,” retorted Henrik, “let’s just get back to town. You owe me money.”

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The return trip went smoothly, and the group was able to return to Fallcrest just before sundown. Henrik collected his money, and left, not wanting anything further to do with this tradesman that nearly got him killed. Unfortunately, he couldn’t even relax, as he had to report his findings to Captain        Kingpost. 

“Oh I see,” responded the captain, after Henrik had explained the details of the visit, “So that’s what this was all about. He wants to move in on Ellis Triddle’s turf. Terrible business with those goblin’s though. Glad you pulled through. Anyhow, I’d like you to continue maintaining this cover. As a matter of fact, I’m quite interested in why the goblins have been expanding eastward as well. Come see me before you leave town, if it looks like you have to, to follow whatever leads you might find.”

“Yes sir. If there’s nothing else, captain, I’d like to retire for the night. I really need to rest my wounds,” answered Henrik, visibly worn.

“Quite right, as well you should,” answered the Captain of the Guard, “I’m sure you already planned on it, but I want you to stay at the Inn tonight, to maintain the cover. You’re dismissed.”


Drawing near to the Inn, Henrik noticed a small crowd gathered outside. As he got closer, he also spotted smoke pouring out the doors and windows.

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End of Session


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