# Protectors of the Elsir Vale



## Pliantreality (Jan 28, 2012)

This is going to be my first attempt at a real chronicle of a game.  I am usually the GM in my RL ones, and to try organizing any account beyond my notes is usually an effort too far.  This, however, has been my first RL experience as a player in years.  I thought it therefore deserved a little effort beyond my usual.

  The DM was a player in my previous campaign- she had never played DnD before, I gave her the metaphorical bug and she surprised me by asking to run a campaign in my world.

  I had been burning out a tad, so it was a no-brainer.  This account is several months of gaming; we have at this point just concluded our first real narrative arc.

  The plot likely won’t be a surprise to anyone who has read the Scales of War modules.  She is currently sticking pretty close to them?  I think?  I haven’t read them myself.  Didn’t wanna spoil the fun.

  Right, getting off topic.  I will try to interject explanations where I can, if they are necessary.  Feel free to pop in with questions, criticisms, or signed legal injunctions against my horrid writing.


  Without further ado, the Cast;



Cillian Cerwynd – Windsoul Genasi Ranger from Orc Country.  His people, the _Tunditnir_, are half-willing vassals to a Frost Giant clan, who abuse the _Tunditnir_ at every opportunity.  Cillian abandoned the Clan after the death of his father.  Its complicated (and will be elucidated more, later), but the now 48 year old genasi still has a grudge against Jarl Gottendamurang and his ilk.

  Vargas Haxen – Illusionist Wizard from Overlook.  42 year old teacher of history and curmudgeonly arcanist.  Has a raven familiar named ‘Edgar’.

  Leaf – Elf Druid from Overlook.  Male.  Not that Cillian can seem to remember that.  Extremely interested in protecting all life, helping everyone etc.  Has been looking for his boyfriend, Craie, for several years now.

  Feare – Gnoll Barbarian from Overlook.  Ex-gladiator.  Dumb as a box of rocks, adorably puppy-like when not murderizing those who would harm his friends.  As straightforward as you can get without being two-dimensional

  Barnabas – Dwarf Fighter from Overlook.  Member of the guard.  Adopts more orphans than is good for his marriage.  Simple; but then, a knife is also simple.  Doesn’t make it less dangerous.

  Rath – Tiefling Bard.  Didn't get introduced until the second session.  Notorious drunkard.  I think the player modeled him after Sid Vicious...


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## Pliantreality (Jan 28, 2012)

Cillian didn’t bother knocking on the door to the modest two-story house before he entered.  He rarely remembered.  Vargas, for his part, had long ago stopped caring.  At least this time the ranger was expected.

  “-bsolutely absurd, frankly!” came Vargas’ voice from the sitting room.  “I am an _academic_.  A history professor of no small talent, in fact.  To be so crassly levied is rude.”

  “You’re not just a history teacher, Vargas.  Your talent in the arcane arts is at least equal to the depths of your academic knowledge.” Came the lilting, conciliatory tone of Leaf.  The young elf spread his hands.  “Who _wouldn’t_ want you on their side, after all?”

  Vargas pursed his lips, pushing his spectacles up his nose.  After a moment he snorted.

  “You’re flattering me.”

  “Yes.  Is it working?”

  “Yes.” The arcanist sniffed imperiously.  “But only because you’ve fairly estimate my abilities as a wizard.”

  Leaf stifled a smile and gently shook his head, rising as Cillian entered.

  “Well met, Cillian.”

  “And yerself, m’lady.” He grunted, hooking his thumbs into his belt.  “Ran into Barnabas on th’way here.  Had some words concernin’ the call and such.”

  “I invited him to dinner, though I expect he’ll be late.”

  “Aye.  Like as not he’ll have dinner at home ‘fore havin’ dinner here.  Har!” the blue-skinned warrior barked.  Leaf slid from the room to find Feare.  “Dunnae why yer twisted slantwise about th’call.  Been a bit since I had a proper rangin’.”

  “Rangings are messy.” Vargas muttered, waving a dismissive hand.  “The horde descending on Bordrin’s Watch- it counts Jarl Gottendamurang in its number?”

  “It- eh.  Aye.  How’d ye know tha’?”

  “You’re in a good mood.  The prospect of fulfilling your oath has that effect on you.” Vargas said.  He stood and clasped hands with Cillian briefly.  

  “Barnabas said their was reports of frost giants in the horde, aye.”

  “Don’t expect your reading lessons to stop simply because war is descending on the Vale.  Come.”

  Vargas led Cillian into an adjourning room – his study – and past several rows of thick books.  At a large oak desk, the arcanist stopped, rifling through the accumulated academic detritus to fish out a thin leatherbound novella with bright pastel lettering.

  “Here.  I assume you finished ‘Who Bruised Mister Toad’?” he said.  Cillian bobbed his head, rummaging on his belt to produce a small copy of the children’s book.

  “Aye.  Was plannin’ to read it t’Feare.  Boyo likes them Mister Toad stories.” Cillian said, exchanging books with Vargas.  He read the title.  “Hermit Crab’s New Home.  What’s it about?”

  “A hermit crab’s new home.”

  “Oooooh.”



  “Feare, are you awake?” Leaf said, gently prodding the massive gnoll.  When the two had moved into Vargas’ guest room, the elf had tried to get him to sleep in a bed, but despite his efforts Feare still preferred the floor.  Eventually Leaf had given up and found a pile of pillows and blankets on which the gentle brute could sleep.

  Feare made a quiet whining noise, but didn’t otherwise stir.  Leaf prodded him again.

  “Wake up, Feare.  Its almost suppertime.” He said.  The gnoll cracked his eyes, letting his tongue loll out.

  “Food?”

  “Food.”

  Feare stretched out, grinning contentedly at the pops and cracks of his joints, then pushed to his feet.

  “Ham food?”

  “You’ll have to ask Mr. Vargas.” Leaf said.  “He’s in his study with Mr. Cillian.”

  The gnoll’s eyes brightened and his tongue lolled out further.

  “Does Mr. Cillian have-“

  “Don’t drool, Feare.” Leaf said, poking him.

  “-Oops.  Does Mr. Cillian have a book?”

  “I expect so.  Come on, let’s-“ Leaf began.  The gnoll, however, was gone and bounding down the hallway eagerly.  The elf sighed, following.



  “The Council is hiring mercenaries, I don’t doubt.” Vargas added.  “Which certainly implies considerable threat to the Watch.”

  “Aye, but ent seen none of the Watch-boyos around town.  If’n they expected the Watch to fall, serves t’thinkin’ they’d pull back thems they could.  Better t’man the walls here if they’d lose the Watch anyhow.”

  “Then they do not plan to cede the mountain pass.” Vargas concluded.  “The levy has been ill-received about town, though.  People do not seem to appreciate the danger implicit with the call to arms.”

  “Whassat?”

  “Overlook does not press-gang its citizens often, or lightly.  That they should do so now, with such urgency, tells us a great deal.”

  “Plenny greenkind to give the price of steel.” Cillian reasoned bluntly, touching his belt, where his twin battleaxes usually rested.

  “The price of steel.  A curious aphorism.”

  “Affawhat?”

  “Aphorism.”

  “Bless you.” Cillian said.  Vargas opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by Feare’s arrival into the study.  ‘Arrival’ was perhaps generous.  Massive armies have ‘arrived’ at enemy cities with the same tact.

  Vargas watched on with long-suffering patience as genasi and gnoll wrestled- the first to get out from beneath the second, who aimed mostly to slobber on his face.  Leaf drifted in behind the arcanist.

  “He’s still licking people, I see.” Vargas remarked dryly.

  “It’s a hard habit to break.  At least he no longer bites in affection.” Leaf sighed.  “Small steps, I guess.”

Notes;
First session was mostly introductory, since we didn't have either Barnabas or Rath's player at the first session.  Good fun to roleplay out, though.


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## Pliantreality (Feb 1, 2012)

The three had just begun to dig into their meal – a honeyed ham to Feare’s delight – when there was a knock at the door.  Vargas rose, marching to the door and pulling it open with a practiced look of schoolmaster’s disapproval.  A stocky, wild-haired dwarf stood on the stoop, leaning on a heavy two-handed maul.

  “Good evening Barnabas.  You’re late.” Vargas said bluntly, gesturing for him to come in.  “We’re having ham.”

  Barnabas waved it off, however.

  “Wish I could stay, Mr. Haxen, but Councilor Stonefurth got me under special orders.”

  Vargas raised an eyebrow.  Leaf, who had tacitly followed Vargas, stepped forward.

  “Morgoth Stonefurth?  Councilor of this Ward?”

  “Myup.  That’s the fella.” The dwarf paused, furrowing his brow.  “Shantytown is near open riot.  ‘Cause of them levies.”

  “They are not an official Ward, have no walls to protect them, and little Guard presence besides.” Vargas pointed out.  “And from what I understand, they are being conscripted at the same rate as the others.”

  “Oh.” Barnabas said.  Things like ‘facts’ and ‘reasons’ tended to pass over him.  He was the kind of practical mind that swung mauls first, and often forgot to ask questions whatsoever.  In short, an excellent example of a Guardsman.  “I’m supposed to go and see the fuss.”

  “See the fuss?” Leaf asked with a quizzical look.

  “See the fuss.” The dwarf reiterated.  For him, it was enough apparently.

  “Perhaps we should go with him.” Leaf began.  Vargas gave him a sharp look.  The elf rolled his shoulders.  “We’re finished dinner, and our friend is going alone.  It couldn’t hurt, could it?”

  “My nuncle said sommat like tha’ once.” broke in Cillian’s rolling brogue.  The bulky genasi was already strapping on his belt and axes.  “We dunnae if it ended up hurtin’, since we never found th’body.”

  Vargas crossed his arms over his chest, thoroughly displeased with everybody’s seeming intent to _do things.  _Behind the crowded foyer, Feare happily tore into Cillian’s portion of honeyed ham.

  “Must be off, Mr. Haxen.  Just had to come over to say that I can’t come over.” Barnabas said, touching off a salute.

  “Oh fine.  Let me get my jacket.” Vargas said, throwing his hands up in disgust.  Leaf smiled gently, pulling on a long green cloak and searching out his oakwood staff.



  The group set off for the outer wall, Cillian meandering out front with Barnabas, Leaf next to Feare, and Vargas reluctantly plodding along behind them.  The curmudgeonly arcanist spoke quietly to his familiar – a pitch-black raven named Edgar.

  “There is, of course, plenty precedence for absorbing Shantytown as an official Ward.” He murmered.  “The Blister, for example, was not unlike Shantytown is now- certainly if they can manage it, then-“

  Vargas stopped talking, looking to his right.  A lithe tiefling shuffled along next to him, dressed in leathers and with a hefty chain wrapped around his waist.  In his hand, a mug from which he drank.  The tiefling reaked of alcohol.

  “Who are you?” Vargas asked bluntly, never one to mince words.  The tiefling shrugged.

  “Rath.  Duh.” He said, taking another swig from his mug.  Vargas noted that he should have emptied it by now- though to all evidence he had not.

    The tiefling appeared to be walking with the group.  Vargas squinted at the others, who had not noticed.  Perhaps he was a friend of one of the others.

  At the front of the group, Cillian held up a hand.

  “Oy.  Ye heared tha’?” he said.  Barnabas cocked his head to one side, then shook it.  Cillian frowned.  “Mountain’s Hearth Tavern.  Nearby.  Thought I heared a yell or sommat.”

  “Yelling isn’t a crime.” Barnabas pointed out.  If it wasn’t a crime, it wasn’t his concern.

  The group passed into an intersection of lanes where, down on the far left, a group of humans gathered ominously around a single female dwarf.

  “That’d be Misstress Reggen, aye?” he said.  The rest of the group gathered behind Cillian.  “Whaddaya think, Barnie?”

  The dwarf squinted, then shrugged.  “Could be a crime.”

  “The Lost Ones.  Local gang out of the Blister.” Vargas noted.

  “Could be a crime.” Barnabas said again, this time with conviction.

  Cillian scowled, adjusting his eyepatch before slowly drawing out his axes.  The ruffians had not yet noted the group.  The old genasi didn’t figure to waste the opportunity.

  “Oy.  Feare.” He called quietly.  The gnoll lumbered forward, unsure about what was going on.  “Ye remember tha’ story I readed ye?  The one ‘bout the Bruised Mister Toad?”

  Feare made a low keen in his throat, bobbing his head.  He hadn’t liked that story.  Mister Toad had gotten bruised.  And bruising Mister Toad was bad.  The fact that the story had been fictitious was lost on the gnoll.

  “Them’s the ones tha’ did it.” Cillian said seriously.  Leaf’s eyes went wide, recognizing too late what the genasi had in mind.

  Feare’s lips rolled back from his lips and with a twitch of his powerful legs, the creature was off, howling.

  “Cillian!” Leaf called out angrily, but he was already off, skirting the far side of the street.  Barnabas trundled forward as well, maul in hand.



  The pack of ruffians – about seven all told – heard the howl.  The tallest of them, a greasy man with inelegantly slicked back hair, was the first to turn.  He received a facefull of gnoll.

  Feare had been raised in an illegal fighting pit.  The pair of flails he used had been all that stood between him and a grisly death.  The gladiator arena had throw him against wolves, bears, and on one memorable occasion, an Imp.

  His manner of fighting, consequently, lacked anything resembling form.  It was brutish, unsubtle and _effective_.

  The ruffian screamed, going down beneath the gnoll.  Feare clamped down on the man’s shoulder with his teeth and tore.

  As one, the other ruffians began to scatter.  Two fled left while the other four went right.

  The area to the right suddenly became dark, and viscous tendrils of black oozed up from the ground to snare at the men’s feet.  Their vision darkened, and one of the two simply collapsed, sobbing in terror.  The other broke free, desperately clawing forward.

  Right into the axe of Cillian Cerwynd.

  The four on the left fared no better.  With two sharp swings of his maul, Barnabas upended a pair of the ruffians.  The other two found their way blocked Leaf, who had used his druidic powers to transform into a small but powerfully built hound.  The tiefling whirled a heavy chain around menacingly.  When one of the ruffians tried to shoulder past, he hauled off, tripping the man as he passed.

  The remaining Lost One turned back just in time to meet Mistress Reggen’s boot, swinging unerringly into his groin.

  Cillian strode around the edge of Vargas’ conjured shadowtendrils, ax liberally coated in blood.

  “Stop.  Right.  There.  Boyos.” He barked.  “Feare!  No chewin’.”

  Feare, still pinning down the man, stopped gnawing on the dislocated, mangled mess of a shoulder beneath him.

  There was a pause.  Mistress Reggen put the boot into another ruffian’s groin.

  “Well, c’mon then.  Let’s tie ‘em up!” she said.



  Barnabas and Cillian began to drag the insensate Lost Ones up against the wall.  Leaf – back in his elven form – checked on their leader’s shoulder.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt him so bad.” Feare mumbled, shifting from foot to foot.  “Mister Cillian said they hurt Mister Toad.”

  “It is alright, Feare.” Leaf said, clenching his jaw.  “You helped Miss Reggen.  That is a good thing.”

  “We’re likely to get free drinks fer life, here!” Cillian barked a laugh, dragging a corpse past the three.  There had been only one fatality; the man Cillian had axed.

  “You are overfond of violence, Cillian.” Leaf shot at him acidly.  “You should not be so quick to end life.”

  Cillian dumped the corpse next to the terrified Lost Ones.  Misstress Reggen and Barnabas chatted amiably in their own tongue as they stood watch over them.

  “Ent but two things certain in this world, she-elf.” Cillian called back.  “Death and, eh.  Bollocks, I forgot the other one.”

The tiefling lounging against the tavern's wall cackled and both Leaf and Cillian looked over at him.  He had been next to them during the fight.

"Who is that?" Leaf asked quietly.  Vargas breezed by with a snort.

"Rath.  Duh."

Notes; The GM allowed Rath a magic tankard which never emptied of ale, with the caveat that he not abuse it mechanically.  To his credit, he has not.  Rath's combination of 'great Bluff skill' and 'obscene tendency to roll natural 20's' means that we got several sessions deep before any of the characters realized that - contrary to what each thought - he was not just someone elses' friend.  And by then they'd gotten so used to having him around the characters didn't care.

We're an odd group, I know.


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