# Maissen: Shades of Grey    [UPDATE 12/12, post 199]



## Beale Knight

*Introduction*

This Story Hour is set in Alish2o’s homebrew world of Maissen. 

The session notes and write up were all* done by me. Following our first session I simply typed up a brief summation of the night’s highlights, and made sure to include the names of prominent NPCs. It’s horribly dull, even for those of us that were there, but it was never meant to be anything but a list of reminders. 

Obviously that won’t do for a Story Hour. So those notes have been extensively rewritten to resemble conventional prose. I took the opportunity to showcase some facts about the setting, using my character Ren as the main focus (which let me type up his backstory as prologue   ).  

Starting after the second session I made an effort to make the write-ups actually interesting to read, but I also wanted to prevent them from coming off as, “The Adventures of Ren and Pals.” The price of that was widespread use of the passive voice.

So there will be a drastic change in voice once the story goes into the second gaming session. Short of a complete re-write of every session’s write up (currently at 53 pages!) and centering the perspective on Ren, the passive voice is here to stay. 

For that same reason, the episodes following the first two or three are going to read more like an adventuring log than a story. I hope you find it all interesting nonetheless.  

If I follow through on my plans, this Story Hour will be updated two to three times a week, with any relevant meta-game notes posted following the updates. 

*except session 05, which I missed.


----------



## Beale Knight

*Prologue*

With a smile, Ren d’Hayson backed quietly out of the kitchen. Popa Thorson’s servants were too busy looking over the kill he had just brought in to notice his exit. This doe wasn’t the biggest the hunter had ever brought to the nobleman’s house, but it was close. It would more than do for this feast Popa Thorson was said to be preparing. 

Ren didn’t care about any of that. He did care about the two gold coins he’s been promised for the deer, but even that wasn’t the focus of his thoughts. All he really wanted right now was what he only ever really wanted when he came to Popa Thorson’s home. He ducked through a side room, opened one of the doors, and there she was.

The dark haired beauty sat with her back to him, concentrating on her stitching. To her right was a tall stack of neatly folded and freshly mended clothing. The pile yet to be mended was much smaller and Ren’s smile grew wider at the sight. It meant she could probably spare a few moments. 

He stepped softly into the room and eased the door closed behind him. The woman’s rhythm didn’t miss a beat, and Ren was satisfied she didn’t know he was here. Step by quiet step he crossed over to her, ready to cover her eyes and surprise her.

“You know they don’t like you sneaking around like this, Ren,” the woman said, not even looking up from her work. 

Surprised, Ren stopped short and felt his heart throb in his throat. He shook his head to regain his composure and then leaned in close to her. “What about you, Lela?”

She giggled and finally set her stitching down. Casting her glance up at him, she smiled. “It’s not really sneaking when you stink of hunting so much I can smell you across the room.” She stood and took his hands in hers. “But let me show you how much I like you sneaking your way to me.”

Lila stepped closer to Ren and their lips met in a long kiss. When at last they broke it, the couple smiled happily at each other. Both faces showed a mix of Maissen and Churky blood - Ren’s more the latter, Lela Needleset’s more the former. They were minorities in the nation, and though neither were slaves the potential was always hanging over their heads. Anger the wrong full blood Maissener noble and their fate would be set. 

Happier thoughts were on their minds just now though. Quiet moments alone together were all too rare. 

Lela’s smile turned to a teasing smirk. “You left a few deer in the woods to hunt later I hope?”

“For now,” Ren answered. “But if I had to kill off the lot to bring our wedding day closer I would.”

Lela looked away and chewed at her lip. “How much further do you think…..” she let it trail off.

Ren knew his love’s worry. It had been awhile since she gave it even that much voice, which meant he could give her a pleasant surprise today after all. “Soon. Within a year, I think. Counting what I got promised today I have 62 gold saved.”

Lela turned back to him, her eyes so wide Ren could see every bit of their pretty brown color. “You’ve been busy,” she said, “You only had 49 when winter began.”

“The gods have blessed us with an exceptionally good season,” Ren replied. “If they keep it up through summer, by fall I’ll have enough to satisfy your father.”

With a gentle laugh, Lela shook her head. “He won’t know what to make of that. Stars, *I* don’t know what to make of that.” She paused. “It won’t make him happy, that’s a for sure thing. He’s still trying to arrange a marriage to someone with full blood.” Another pause and her eyes drifted. “Anyone with full blood I think.”

“The way the Maissen are about full blood marrying someone not full blood, with their rituals, long engagements, and other tricks they make us do, I think his chance has passed,” Ren said. His smile opened to show teeth. “And he made his condition right out in public at the temple, I know two or three priests heard it, so he’s bound to it.”

Lela’s eyes brightened again. Dropping her voice she comically quoted her father. “’When you have four score gold you can marry my daughter.’” She shook her head again, smiling. “He never imagined a groomer’s son could gather such a fortune.”

“This one will,” Ren said. 

He paused, imagining the shocked look Lela’s father would have when he threw the bag of gold to Goodman Needleset’s. It would have to be someplace public, probably a temple feast, so he couldn’t deny the proof before him or back out of his word. This had been his goal for four years, the main reason he took up hunting.

Once he started, Ren discovered how much he enjoyed being out in the wild, and how good he was at hunting. He’d quietly developed a reputation as the premiere hunter of Vaunth-on-the-Lake, bringing fresh meat to the local nobles and common butchers. Not only did it also allow him to build up the small fortune he needed, but it was a far better way to earn a living than the life of a groom. Tending horses, mules, and the other common pack animals of the town was the d’Hayson family business, but Ren only helped a little since he’d focused on hunting. His parents and eight siblings were really more than enough to handle the work. 

The door opened, stirring Ren from his thoughts. He and Lela, hands still clasped together, turned to see Shonder, Popa Thorson’s chief servant, standing in the doorway. The old man glanced briefly at the couple’s hands, which promptly released each other. 

“There you are, Ren,” Shonder said in his signature low, gravely voice. “I have something for you.” With one hand he reached into his finely stitched tunic and pulled two gold coins and a small bit of rolled parchment from a deep pocket. He held these out but didn’t move toward Ren. The implication was clear. 

Ren gave Lela a smile and rolled his eyes before walking to the door. Shonder stepped into the next room, making the leather clad hunter follow. The servant closed the door to the sewing room and stood before it. 

“Your promised payment for the deer,” he said as he handed the coins to Ren. He waved the scroll before Ren’s nose. “This,” he said, “is an invitation to an audience with Lord Thorson tomorrow evening.” Shonder held it for Ren to grasp, but did not let go. “I suggest first that you interpret it as something more than a polite request, if you can grasp my meaning. Secondly, I suggest most strongly that you bathe before entering this house again.”

Shonder released the small scroll and stepped across the room. He opened the far door as Ren opened the scroll. It was nothing more than what Shonder had said. There was no hint why one of the most powerful men in Vaunth-on-the-Lake wanted to speak with Ren. The two had met once or twice and exchanged expected pleasantries, but nothing to merit a private meeting.

“What’s this all about?” Ren asked. 

Shonder pointed to the next room, the servants entryway. “Good day, Ren.”

Knowing he’d get nothing from the pompous old man, Ren pocketed the scroll and coins and made his way home, wondering all the way if he was in trouble.


----------



## Beale Knight

*Session 01, part 1  Meetings and Explanations*

Dusk the next day found Ren standing before the door to Popa Thorson’s home. The FRONT door. He had never crossed that threshold before and was having trouble bringing his hand up to knock. 

Shonder’s advice, despite how arrogantly it had been given, was good advice. Ren had bathed and dressed in his finest clothes, which made him look like a cleaned-up field hand but that was the best he could do. He wasn’t about to spend precious coin on clothes he’d only wear once. 

Over the last day and a half, Ren had dreamed up countless reasons why Popa Thorson wanted to see him. Most were ridiculous. Quite a few involved Ren being somehow in the noble’s bad graces. But none of them really made any sense. Ren’s ragged fingernails, now bitten down to the nubs, were testimony to how much this was driving him mad.

Steeling himself, Ren forced his hand to knock on the door. 

It opened almost at once. Shonder, in another of his fancy outfits, looked him over. “You cleaned up. Very good. This way then.” With that, the old man stepped aside and gestured Ren inside. 

As soon as he crossed that threshold the hunter felt very much a fish out of water. Thick rugs, detailed tapestries, colorful plants in fine pottery atop delicately carved stone stands, and more shows of wealth decorated the wide hall. Ren gawked at the riches as Shonder closed the door and led him to the corner stairs. They walked up those stairs and around an inner balcony and Ren’s nervousness returned. Any one of the things he’d seen could feed his entire family for months. What would such a wealthy man want with a common hunter, or even an extraordinary one, that needed a private meeting?

“You are the last to arrive,” Shonder said, bringing Ren out of his thoughts.

“The scroll didn’t say anything about others,” he said.

Shonder sniffed. “Would it have made any difference whatsoever?”

Ren bit his lip. 

“I didn’t think so,” Shonder said at the hunter’s silent answer. “Here we are.” The old servant gently rapped on a heavy looking door and waited. A muffled answer came from inside and Shonder opened the door. 

Ren took a deep breath and stepped inside.

The smell of scented oil from the lamps struck Ren at once. Two of them sat on the wide table that dominated the room. Two others hung low near corners, casting light on the nearby shelves, full of books and scrolls. 

Ren recognized Popa Thorson immediately. The big, bearded man was a large as he was generous and in his oversized chair he was the focal point of the room. Three of the other four seats around the table were occupied; Popa Thorson waved Ren to the one that wasn’t.

“And here is the fourth,” the master of the house said as Ren took his seat. “Shonder will send word for the dinner.”

The servant wordlessly nodded and closed the door. Ren took that moment to glance over the other guests. Next to him was a man he didn’t recognize, but judging from his expensive looking outfit the two probably ran in very different circles. Next to that man was a woman in leathers much like Ren’s own and suddenly Ren felt a little bit of relief. That was Bessie Fisherman, a druid that he had met once or twice before. On Ren’s other side was someone wrapped head to toe in robes. It was impossible to even tell if it were a he or she. 

Popa Thorson cleared his throat, snapping Ren’s attention back to his host. “You are all here to answer the call of heroes. I have been given permission by the Council to assemble a team for the decennial quests. I have chosen you four, if you are willing.”

He paused to let that sink in. He had to pause for several moments. What he was saying was outrageous. 

Everyone knew about the Quests. Every ten years or so the ruling council in Maissen chose several prominent national figures to assemble a team of Heroes, “Heroes of Maissen”, to spend a few months out beyond the national borders. If the heroes returned in time and with proof of heroism, then it proved their sponsor was a good and wise leader. He, or she, was then allowed to found a new settlement somewhere. 

Critics, what few there were that spoke openly of such things, decried the whole thing as stifling, resulting in inorganic national growth. They also decried the restriction of traveling beyond Maissen’s borders. The ruling council’s age old reply to the critics was the simple fact the nation’s resources had to be tightly managed. Willy nilly growth and far wandering citizens would stretch things dangerously thin, and Maissen was surrounded by enemies. 

The system had worked so far. Maissen boasted several towns and cities and was safely stretched along the coast. But that all left a burning question.

“So why us then?” asked the man beside Ren.

It was exactly what Ren had been thinking. People that went out on these adventures as Heroes of Maissen were the great ones. He checked himself. People that -returned - from these adventures were the great ones. Their lives were lives of fame and fortune, without the sort of mundane concerns that hung over common folks such as the d’Hayson family. It would be great beyond words to be a Hero of Maissen.

But most of the people who went out into the wild to chase that title never returned. They were honored and remembered in death, but they were still dead.

“I picked you four for your talents, Thorson answered. "Killian, as a sorcerer your natural spell casting talent will be useful wherever you find yourself. The rest of you excel at thriving in the wild. Bessie, as a druid you have an innate connection with nature and can heal any wound. Ren is hunter known for his stealth and keen eye. Madge is ranger, at home in the wild and strong in a fight – and there will be fights.” 

Ren squirmed in his seat. A sorcerer, a druid, and a ranger?! He felt a little outclassed and a little redundant. 

Popa Thorson seemed to read this. “I assure you all, I have given the composition of this team long and serious consideration. Individually you are outstanding. You represent strength and stealth and magic both arcane and divine. You are the best at these that Vaunth-on-the-Lake has to offer. Together – I have complete faith you will be even better.

In her robes, Madge spoke up. “How long do we have to prepare?”

At the question, Thorson’s shoulders dropped. “You are to be in Maissen the city, ready to depart, in three weeks time. The local ceremony to see you off is in three days.”

The other four glanced back and forth at each other, mouths open, eyes wide in disbelief.

Popa Thorson held up his hands. “I know. Believe you me, I know,” he said. “Tradition calls for a year, but little about this is traditional.” He stood and began to pace around the table. 

He’d only taken three steps when the door opened. Dinner had arrived. Shonder and three other servants laid out a small feast of spiced fowl, potatoes, and more, while Popa Thorson and his guests sat in uncomfortable silence. When at last all the food was in place and the servants departed, he continued.

“I have made enemies on the Council,” he said, “and I believe they are trying to present me as a fool. If I, by way of you four, fail, I become irrelevant in all things.”

“You become irrelevant,” Madge said, her voice gravel. “We become dead.”

“You are not forced to do this. None of you are.” Thorson paused and took a long drink. “I regret that this is thrust upon you so suddenly but there is nothing to be done about that. What I can promise you is that you will have the very best equipment available. You tell me what you want and I will get it for you.” 

That got Ren’s attention. “Really – anything?”

“Short of horses,” Thorson answered. “Those are beyond even my reach.” Everyone nodded at that. A single horse cost probably as much as the house they were in, and everything in it.

“That,” said Killian as he reached for some chicken, “I believe we can work ‘round.”

Thorson smiled at the group. “Furthermore, I have gifts now that will help your adventure.” He stood and stepped over to one of the room’s shelves. 
After gethering four bundles, Thorson stepped over and handed them to his new Heroes one by one.

 "Bessie, a scroll that will summon a powerful ally of nature to aid you. Killian, a wand that detects magic. Ren, a pair of arrows that will slay any natural beast they strike. And Madge, two doses of a potion that will increase your strength and stamina."

Popa Thorson let them handle their gifts for a few moments before speaking. “So then. What do you say to my offer?”

Only one thought was playing through Ren’s mind. Lela. If he returned, Goodman Needleset wouldn’t dream of standing in the way of their marriage. He smiled. That was worth any risk.

“I’ll do it,” he said.

Beside him Killian was stroking his chin as if a beard were there. “Y’ can count me in too, Thorson.”

“It sounds interesting,” Bessie said. “I’ll be a part of it.”

All eyes turned to Madge, still wholly obscured in her robes. Slowly she nodded. “It suits me to come along as well. I’ll get my affairs in order.”

“Wonderful!” Popa Thorson said. His face brightened and he looked ten years younger. He raised his mug, “Here then is to the newest Heroes of Maissen.” 
The others joined him in the toast and then he turned to the matter at hand. “Let’s turn our attention to this food and I’ll tell you the other news.”

Over dinner, Popa Thorson told the group about three others in town that would have business with them as the newest team of heroes for Vaunth-on-the-Lake. Corrin the brewer, Shayder, wealthiest of the local shipowners and fisheries, and Petris, a local high priest, really didn’t want much to do with Thorson himself, but they were eager to speak with a group about to venture beyond the borders of the nation. What they wanted, Thorson didn’t know, but he suggested that between tonight and the departure ceremony that the four take time to visit and speak with each of them. 

Talk then turned to Popa Thorson’s own adventures. He’d been a Hero of Maissen as well, and pointed out the badge he’d been given at his departure ceremony. 

There were rules to follow, he explained. The team would have ninety days. That was all. Ninety days to go and do heroic deeds and discover exciting and interesting things. And to not die. “Don’t return too soon,” he said, “or the council will just presume you didn’t really try. And certainly don’t be late. Bringing back the keys to the universe on day ninety-one counts for nothing.” 

No help would be offered by past heroes. The point was for the current heroes to discover things, and deal with them, themselves. He could help on basic geography though, just general guidelines that any well educated Maissener knows. Even the ones that were never official heroes.

“To the south of Maissen is the great desert, home to Idien, the witch king whose name parents use to scare small children into behaving. Despite that, have no doubt that Idien is real. He is lich, and an ancient enemy of Maissen.

“West of the nation are the endless plains. The Chakta, bison riding barbarians live there, and they aren’t the only threat. As many heroes as they have killed, more have died simply by becoming lost in the featureless grasslands. They get their days confused, don’t know if they’re heading east or west, and often wander in circles until they die of thirst and starvation. 

“The northwest leads to hills, forest, and eventually the Ghost Dragon Mountains, said to be home to dwarves. Also in that general direction is the Valley of Drayne. Due north and northeast are swampland – bad lands. East of Maissen of course is the sea, from where the earliest Maisseners came during the troubled, hard days after the storm.”

Popa Thorson answered a few more questions after that, but the night was wearing down. Soon the quartet left his home, having decided to meet in the morning and start calling on those that wanted to see them. Their host broke with tradition and saw them to his door personally. He stood at the open door and watched as they went their four separate ways, praying to all the gods he hadn’t sealed their doom. 

But he knew he had. 

One way or the other, the life they knew had come to an end.

[continues on post #8]


----------



## Piratecat

I vote for the Ghost Dragon Mountains.


----------



## alsih2o

*does a litle DM dance*


----------



## edge3343

Killian is teh kewl!!!


----------



## Greylock

Damned groupies...


----------



## Beale Knight

*01 – 2	Exposition and Ceremony*

The next morning the team met up at the Ale’s Well. Ren was the first to arrive. Not only was he used to getting up early, but he was anxious to get out of the house. His family did not take well his announcement; there was much hand wringing and gnashing of teeth and attempts to talk him out of it. It was a long night. Ren remained resolute and they all calmed down, but none of them were happy. They were sure his death was immanent. 

Bessie arrived just minutes later, followed by Killian. Madge arrived well behind the others, and she was a sight.

She wasn’t wearing the face shielding robes she had the night before. The others had heard the rumors, everyone in town had, but seeing her scarred and pitted face was jarring. Madge could tell what they were thinking. 

“If I am to be a Hero of Maissen, I will no longer hide my face,” she said. “The people will have to see that heroes may come in any form.”
The others nodded, but it was Killian that spoke up first. “Aye, lass. That they do. All kinds of forms.” He had a odd grin when he said it, but didn’t elaborate. “Who to first then?”


First was Crowin the brewer and proprietor of the illustrious Feathered Prow inn. He had arraigned with Papa Thorson to put the new team of heroes up in his inn for the three days before they left. What he wanted was straightforward enough. 

“Ale,” he said. “One pint of dwarven ale. I’ve tasted it once, when I was a hero of Maissen and I have long wanted a pint of it so I could discover its secrets. Do this for me and not only will I pay you handsomely, but I will also host each of you, and your families, at my inn and taverns for free for ever.”
Corwin went on to tell the group what he could about the dwarves, primarily assuring them that they were, indeed, real. They made their home in Ghost Dragon Mountain, which lay beyond the valley of Drayne, which itself was beyond a forest on the other side of a narrow rift valley. 


“That all sounds too fantastic to believe,” Lela said. 

She was sitting across from Ren at a prominent table at the Feathered Prow. The hunter had wasted no time in indulging his new standing. If he was going to be treated to a few days at this grand establishment, he wanted to share as much of it with Lela as he could. 

“That’s what I thought, too,” he said. “But there’s no reason to think what he said was anything but the truth.”

Lela shook her head, more in amazement than disbelief. “Real dwarves,” she said. “What did the others want?”

“Shayder wants to make some kind of special ‘coche’ biscuit,” Ren answered. The man he referred to was Vaunth-on-the-Lake’s wealthiest ship owner, with a fleet of more than a dozen fishing vessels. “To make it he needs a special kind of honey made by giant bees.”

Across the table, Lela laughed. “_Giant_ bees.”

Ren laughed too. “I know, it sounds ridiculous. But he said there’s a rift valley up to the northwest that’s home to hive of bees as big as cats. He gave us a container to fill and warned us not to eat any or we’ll never want to do anything else.”

“That must be some good honey.”

“There’s a race of beast men that have fallen prey to it,” Ren said. “Furry things called kerbals. He has the pelt of one on his wall. Said it killed three men before Youst the paladin finally did it in.”

Worry formed on Lela’s face. Ren reached across the table and took her hands. “I plan to avoid them,” he said. “Or at least shoot from a safe distance.”

Lela just looked into his eyes for a long moment. At last she said, “You’ll come back, right? Please say you’ll make it back.”

Ren smiled despite his own concerns. He’d hunted too often to not know that any venture into the wild might be the last. Going out beyond the borders of Maissen was certainly going to be even more dangerous. Lela was as right to be worried as his family was. But there was no sense adding to it.

“I have to come back,” he said. “I’ve got High Priest Petris’ box.”

Lela blinked. 

Ren took the opportunity to steer her away from worry. “He wants us to get some special rocks from a valley off northwest. They come in different colors and have some kind of magic in them that he can use to create stone walls out of nothing. But the different colors can’t touch each other, so he gave us a box built to hold them separate from each other.

“And I imagine he’d be…” Ren straightened bolt upright and made an exaggerated frown, sticking his lip out as far as he could, “Most! - Put! - Out! If that box comes to harm.” 

Lela laughed and Ren joined in, happy he changed her mood, even though it meant replaying the team’s meeting with Petris. It had left a sour taste in his mouth. The old man was more pompous than pious, invoking the gods’ names and an obligation of duty more to pressure and guilt the team into doing what he wanted than to inspire them. And unlike the other two requesting favors from the new heroes, Petris offered nothing in exchange for the errand, and seemed offended when the issue came up. Only with Ren’s badgering did he agree to use the magic to construct better housing for Vaunth-on-the-Lake’s poor – once the town’s defensive wall was complete. And Bessie had to turn the guilt back onto him to squeeze the priest for a few scrolls of healing.

Their laughter ebbed and the couple smiled at each other. Then Lela turned somber again. “Just two more days,” she said.

“We’ll make the most of them,” Ren said. He waved one hand to sweep her attention to the grandeur of the Feathered Prow’s central hall. “In the finest inn around.”


The two days passed in a blur. Ren tripled checked his supplies, and was measured for proper armor. Popa Thorson was following through on his promise to outfit his team the finest equipment. Ren asked for top quality leather armor, the metal stuff was too hard to move quietly in, and master crafted spears and arrows. His short bow wasn’t the finest quality, but it was the one he’d learned to shoot with and it didn’t feel right to leave it behind. Armor and weapons, Popa Thorson assured him, would be waiting when they arrived in Maissen the city.

Madge and Bessie saw to getting the team a goat and wagon. A mule would have been better, a horse even more so, but such animals were so rare in Maissen that their price was even beyond Papa Thorson’s resources. The goat (named Jimmy by Bessie for some reason) would serve well enough though. If the team was going to be venturing into valleys, nimble feet would be needed.

Though he never gave his concern voice, Ren prepared for the worst by writing directions to where he’d hidden his stash of gold. He sealed the letter and gave to Popa Thorson to pass to Lela. In the event he didn’t return alive, Ren wanted her taken care of. 

Despite his new status as Hero of Maissen, Ren still wasn’t getting the approval of Lela’s father. Indeed, Goodman Needleset’s opinion of Popa Thorson seemed to plunge simply because he’d chosen Ren to be on his team. This didn’t bother Ren in the least. Not only did it make Lela’s father look foolish, but it also gave Ren all the more reason to make it home alive and successful. 

At last the day of the group’s departure arrived. Ren joined Bessie, who brought her pet owl along (“He isn’t a pet,” she said, “he’s a companion.”), Killian, and Madge, face fully exposed, on a stage in Vaunth-on-the-Lake’s central square at mid-morning. There they were subjected to more blessings and praise than they had ever known. They were showered with flower petals and perfumes, enveloped in the smoke of expensive incenses, draped with fine oils, and sprinkled with holy water. 

Then began the speeches. The chair of Vaunth-on-the-Lake’s council spoke first, explaining just what the team would be doing, what it meant to the town, and how it was part of the grand old traditions of Maissen. He took three times as long as needed, and used words most in the crowd probably didn’t know to do it, but everyone cheered anyway. 

Popa Thorson was next. He thanked the council for the opportunity, diplomatically skipping the fact he’d been given less than a month to do what the two other chosen leaders had been given a year to do. Thorson named each of the Heroes on his team and explained their strengths and how well they could work as a team, despite that they didn’t look like the usual type of Heroes. That was in fact, he said, their greatest strength.

Once his speech was finished, Popa Thorson was followed by an endless stream of dignitaries. Each one seemed determined to out speechify the others. 

Beside Ren, Killian soon began to squirm in his seat. “This has already passed too much,” he whispered.

Ren nodded. “I hope the speeches don’t count against our ninety days. There’s no way we’d make it back in time.”

“I never knew we had so many so many very important people in Vaunth-on-the-Lake,” Bessie said. “Perhaps they should move the capitol here.”

The three of them chuckled at the druid’s joke, but Madge only grumbled. “These people live and die on prestige like we do meat and water. It doesn’t matter they have nothing to say, they’re deathly afraid if they say nothing they won’t truly be real.”

Killian nodded. “Aye. The elders always said a wise man speaks because he has something to say and a fool speaks because he has to say something.”
Ren and Bessie looked at the sorcerer then at each other. He didn’t know about Bessie, but Ren had never heard that particular turn of phrase – but it sounded wise and true enough. 

Fools or wise men, there were still plenty of people lined up to speak. Ren let his attention drift. He started watching the crowd, and most of them had quit paying close attention to the speakers as well. Ren easily picked out his family, standing together as their own knot in the crowd. He saw Lela, standing with the rest of Popa Thorson’s servants (even Shonder) and he smiled. Though too far away to tell if she were watching him of not, Ren drank in the sight of her. It would have to sustain him for many weeks to come. 

At last, after the sun had peaked, the last speaker finished. The newest Heroes were directed to stand and make their way to the street. There, waiting to ceremoniously guide them out of town, was Vinne – paladin of Simus the Uncaring. More impressive than the holy warrior in his gleaming armor was his steed. Vinne owned one of the very few horses in Vaunth-on-the-Lake, and his was easily the most impressive of them all. 

Ren, Bessie, Killian, and Madge were the centerpiece of an elaborate procession through the town’s main streets and then finally out the north gate. The crowd, they couldn’t help but notice, grew thinner with nearly every step. By the time they were outside the gate and Vinne had bidden them farewell, there were only a handful of towns folk still watching. 

“Well,” Killian said, “we’re off.”

[continues on post #11]


----------



## alsih2o

There are so many details and such I want to add but I cannot because of the players. Watch out for some of these names getting thrown around.


----------



## Greylock

Edited to streamline things.


----------



## Beale Knight

*01 – 3 Histories and Hairshirts*

The four heroes, goat and wagon in tow, headed east along the river. Their basic route had been decided two days earlier and was simple enough. Follow the river road to the ferry at Kern, take the road north to Tawgor’s Ferry, and then across the lake to Maissen the city. While most people didn’t travel very much even within Maissen’s borders, none in Ren’s family except Ren himself had ever been more that a few miles outside Vaunth-on-the-Lake, the roads were well maintained and generally safe. The excitement of the real “wild lands” was still days away. For the next several hours the new companions simply walked and chatted, trading stories but not, for the most part, histories. 

Killian was full of rousing stories about his youth, many of them focusing on ale houses, fires, and his friends of the day. But beyond that he came to Vaunth-on-the-Lake from Seaborn, Maissen’s northernmost city, he would say nothing specific about times and places. 

Almost everything that Madge had to say related to interesting animal behavior she had witnessed. She had plenty of good fish tales, an unexpectedly fascinating account of a battle between a group of wasps and a honey bee hive (though outnumbering the wasps at least ten to one, the bees lost. Decapitated bee heads were everywhere), and advise on boot cobbling, but Madge pointedly avoid speaking of that day everyone knew a little bit about. 

The day when she was twelve, one week after her mother’s sudden and mysterious death. That night when screams awoke most of the town and the guard came to find her father dead, a dagger still in his chest. They found Madge close by, unconscious, her face burned by acid. Of that, she had never spoken before and she didn’t today. Her new companions did not ask.

Ren had nothing in his history to hide, and happily told tale after tale of growing up in a family of eight siblings. The only other one to be almost as open was Bessie. Pure Maissen blood, she was born to a well off fishing family in town. However, her intimidating size, eye to eye with Ren, made her the target of so many taunts as a youth that she spent more and more of her time out alone in the “wild”. That’s where she caught the eye of the regional druid, who took her on as a protégée. Bessie wouldn’t say much about her training or trials, “druidic secrets” she said, but happily told about the first thing that happened when they were complete. Before she even reached the town walls, Bessie, a brand new druid, came across a team of loggers beginning to clear cut a grove. 

The confrontation could have gone very badly, but when the team leader sarcastically asked the druid to find them some better trees to cut, Bessie took him up on the challenge. She led the group to half a dozen huge trees that were on their last decade of life, relocated the handful of animals nesting in them, and gave the loggers more than their quota of lumber. 

In that way she fell into employment with the loggers. For most of the past year she’d been working with them, selecting the trees that would give the loggers the greatest return while disturbing the forest as little as possible. Balancing the resource needs of an expanding Vaunth-on-the-Lake and the demands of a thriving forest hadn’t been easy, but had worked. Those with stakes in the timber industry, including Popa Thorson, had profited, the forest remained well maintained and viable, and the only people that were unhappy were the loggers themselves. They were the ones that had to work a lot harder than if they’d been allowed to simply clear cut wide sections of the forest. A few of them had even gotten violent about it, usually after a night of drinking and complaining. But Bessie was far from helpless.

“That is an incredible crossbow,” Ren said as he looked the weapon over. It was the size and shape of an ordinary light crossbow, but its difference was the material. No metal had been used on it. The weapon was entirely crafted from wood, bone, horn, and some sinewy material treated in a way Bessie said she couldn’t divulge. 

“There’s only four of them throughout Maissen,” Bessie said. “I was given this one by the head of the Circle the day I gave my vows.” She looked up and into space. After a quiet moment she smiled and shook her head. “He said I was likely to need it before long. It seems he was right.”

From a few feet over there was a sudden WHOOSH and wave of heat. 

“Now THAT ‘tis a proper fire!” Killian said. He stood akimbo before a suddenly raging bonfire almost as tall as Ren, smiling with a greater joy than any of the others had seen before. 


"Proper to bring every rogue, bandit, and vagabond straight to us!” Madge said. “What’s the matter with you?”

Ren stood and looked over the bonfire. “That’s a lot of fire going on, Killian. I’m thinking they can maybe see it back home.”

“It’s too much,” Bessie said, “it’s a waste and it’s going to have to go.”

That was easier said than done. The group had no simple buckets to carry water from the river, and their campsite didn’t have enough loose dirt to make a difference. Breaking up the burning wood was as likely to spread the fire uncontrollably as put it out. In the end, they had to let it burn, but Killian was no longer going to be in charge of the campfire. 

It was well into the night when Killian’s bonfire burned down to a more conventional campfire. The group was just broaching the subject of watches when they heard sounds from down the road. Their talk came to an abrupt halt as they focused their attention to this unexpected turn of events.

What they heard was chanting. As the others prepared for the worst, Ren crept a little ways from the campsite and peered down the road. Some one hundred fifty yards upriver was close to a score of people, chanting, marching, and carrying torches. They were headed toward Vaunth-on-the-Lake, which meant they were going to pass right by the group’s campsite. 

“That’s a sight I don’t know what to make of,” Ren muttered to himself. He made his way to the others and told them what was coming down the road. 

“They probably won’t pay us any mind,” Madge said, “unless to beg for food.”

Killian stroked his bare chin. “Would be better t’ be prepared for trouble though.” 

Ren nodded. “I’ll head to the shadows over there,” he said, pointing to a nearby tangle of trees and undergrowth. Then, glancing at another one across the campsite, he added, “Could stand someone else over there for a crossfire if it comes to it.”

“I’ll go,” Bessie said. “We’ll leave the wizard and warrior to treat with the chanters.”

“Sorcerer,” Killian corrected. 

Smiling at the man’s indignant correction of Bessie’s joke, Ren took his position. He readied his bow and double checked it, then set arrows where they’d be easy to grab, and squatted low, watching. 

As the chanting grew louder and the procession came into view, Ren found himself biting at his lip. What if things went badly? There were at least twenty chanters and he was one of four. If it came to a fight it would be long odds, even though it didn’t look like they’d be facing any kind of warriors. 

Ren suddenly realized he had never killed a man. Never even tried to. Except for a few fist fights in his youth he’d never even tried to hurt anyone. Hunting animals was different and never bothered him; the meat was needed and he strived to kill with a single shot. And while he had known there would be battles during this adventure, the few times Ren had thought about what awaited him in the wild he mentally pictured fights against great beasts and monsters. Not men. 

Now, not even a full day out of Vaunth-on-the-Lake, his first battle might well be against other human beings. Suddenly Ren felt the full gravity of what he was doing, and it was unsettling. 

He took a deep breath and thought about Lela. That was his truth. He was here for her and for their future together. He would do what had to be done to see this through. For her. For the both of them. If it came to a fight he would fight. He would defend himself and his companions. 

Another deep breath and it was decided. If the threat warranted it, he would kill. Not because he could. Because that would be what it took. 

Ren re-focused on the scene before him. The procession hadn’t stopped, but two of the men, wearing what looked like hair shirts, were speaking with Madge and Killian. It seemed peaceful enough, even if there were no smiles. After a few minutes, Madge went to the wagon and dug out a water skin and loaf of bread. She handed these over to the two strangers, who then bowed politely and returned to the procession. 

As the group moved on and out of sight, Ren relaxed a bit. He was beyond grateful there’d been no fight, but wondered if they’d been shaken down for supplies. It wasn’t anything they couldn’t afford, but the idea rubbed him wrong. 

Ren broke cover and rejoined Madge and Killian, Bessie right behind him. He raised his eyebrows and glanced toward the road, and Madge answered the unspoken question. 

“A religious procession,” she said. “Lamenting for those beyond the borders until they return.”

“And the water and bread?” asked Ren.

“’twas politely requested,” Killian said. 

Madge nodded. “We can get more easily enough.”

Now Ren fully relaxed. A donation he had no issue with. And there’d been no fight. He smiled. “True we can. And giving up to the faithful might even help us some way.”

Hopefully. Hopefully the rest of the night would be as peaceful. He’d decided that he’d kill if he needed to, but that didn’t mean he was looking forward to it. 

“Now then,” Ren said. “About the watches tonight.”


----------



## alsih2o

I swear, they get in a fight eventually!


----------



## Beale Knight

*01-04  A peculiar institution illustrated*

01 – 04

The rest of the night did indeed pass peacefully, and morning found the quartet, and goat, marching on toward Kern. The road, at least this stretch of it, was familiar to all of them and they made good time. Focused on reaching Kern, and trying to beat the rain that was threatening, they spoke little. 

That made it easy to hear the fight up ahead.

“Wolves,” Bessie said. “Quite a few.”

Madge nodded. “And they’ve got something cornered.”

“I’ll take a look,” Ren said. He sped up the road, then ducked off into the brush just before the bend. A short climb up a rise and he could see the others were right. Madge’s call really impressed him. He had guessed wolves, but the ranger had the situation dead on.

A pack of a dozen wolves had a huge man surrounded. The man, dressed in nothing but furs, was holding them at bay with a large club, but there was no doubt he wouldn’t last long. Blood trickled down his legs and forearm. Even in the moment Ren took in the scene another wolf lunged at the man, nipping his calf. 

Ren dashed back to the road and signaled the others to hurry. Bessie ran up and off into the bush. Madge, leading Jimmy the goat, sped her pace and drew her sword, Killian right beside her.

By the time Ren got back to his position on the rise and readied his bow, Bessie was striding up, her unique crossbow out and loaded. Ren smiled, then turned his attention to the fight. 

His first arrow plunged into the closest wolf. It yelped and turned. The big man took the opportunity to smash it with his club. Bessie’s bolt landed in the leg of a second wolf. It turned and snarled, looking for the new threat. The attacks against them, and death of one of their own, threw the pack into disarray. About half lunged and bit at their target, only one drawing blood. The  rest shuffled around, sniffing the air and trying to take in what had suddenly changed. 

Ren and Bessie coordinated their next attacks on the wolf Bessie had just wounded. With an arrow and second bolt in it, the wolf fell. The big man was smiling now; it was clear the tide had turned. He swung at an attacking wolf, hitting its snout and sending a splay of blood flying. 

Suddenly a fan of flame burnt through the air. Thin shoots of fire scorched three wolves, with one actually catching fire. All three turned and fled. Ren glanced to the bend in the road and saw Killian standing statue-still, hands out, thumbs together, and wearing a smile bigger than last night’s. Madge had dropped Jimmy's lead rope and was now charging into the wolf pack. With a single deft stroke she sliced open the side of the wounded wolf. The predator took a step and fell dead on the road.

Ren and Bessie took another set of shots. Both just nicked their target. The wolves’ would-be victim smashed another with his club. It staggered away, limping on a broken leg. The remaining five wolves realized they couldn’t win the fight, and turned tail. Killian looked ready to begin another spell, but Madge waved him off. She caught up with the last wounded wolf and put him to death with a quick, merciful, swing of her sword. 

She then turned to the man with the club. “Do you want healing?”  

He shook his head. “Its look is its worst.” As Ren and Bessie came down from the ridge, the man looked over the four. “I am Leggend of the Berku. Who may I say rescued me?”

Ren waited, but no one said anything. He nudged Bessie. Only she and Madge were full Maissen blood, and that made either of them the natural speaker for the group. The druid caught the hint and ran through introductions, adding at the end the fact they were working for Popa Thorson. 

Leggend nodded at that with a frown. “Heroes then. Bear in mind what all Maissen really means when you return in glory.” With that he pulled his furs down enough to reveal a brand on his torso. “I leave you in peace and with thanks.”

Ren felt the bile rising in his throat. He’d seen the slave brand too many times before, and it made him feel sick each and every time. If he had the brand on him, Ren knew he’d certainly try to escape and join the Berku in the swamps too. The Councils called them rebels, but to Ren they were people who decided slavery wasn’t right for them and took their chances to be rid of it. 

“Let’s get going,” he said. 


The rain began to fall soon after their fight with the wolves, and it matched Ren’s soured mood. Over a cold meal that night, he explained his feelings to the others, along with his sympathy to the Berku. He wasn’t surprised that Madge and Bessie had only a faint awareness of the group, though he was pleased to hear that neither of their families were slave owners. 

What surprised him was Killian. The sorcerer was at least half Churky blood, which made him legally a potential slave as much as Ren was. Yet he was as ignorant of the Berku as the others, and even parroted the official line of their being rebels. All he would say to Ren’s questions about it was that he had, “never had opportunity to give it real thought.”

“You do indeed have something strange about you,” Ren said.

Killian shrugged. “Are y’ sure we can’t work up a fire?”


The rain did not stop through the night, and it fell all the next day. Time and distance were impossible to accurately gauge. Only that they were both passing was certain. Finally, with no other indication than they were all tired, they decided to see to camp. Finding a good spot was a challenge, everyplace was either too rough or a mud pit. 

They at last found a passable place, tied Jimmy in place, and started to work on shelter. That task had just gotten underway when it was interrupted.

By screams.


[continues on post #17]


----------



## alsih2o

DM note: 

Leggend of the Berku(chaotic good), Barbarian 3, 5 ft tall-stocky and unkempt.
 hp 30; Init +3; Spd 40 ft.; AC 14 (+3 Dex, +1 hide)

 Attack +6 melee, or +6 ranged

 SV Fort +4, Ref +4, Will –1

 Str 17, Dex 17, Con 12, Int 11, Wis 7, Cha 7.

Languages Spoken: Common.


Skills Climb +8
 Craft (Stonemasonry) +2
 Handle Animal +1
 Hide +3
 Jump +9
 Knowledge (Geography) +3
 Listen –2
 Move Silently +3
 Open Lock +5
 Ride +9
 Spot –2

Feats: Improved Sunder, Power Attack, Run.

Gear: Greatclub, hide armor, lockpick set (primitive, -2), 2 lead figurines of Fespa and Kalin (the sister moons)

 Leggend was a stonecutter and hauler owned by a wealthy family in Ballos. As all slaves he was called on to defend his lords manor and was occasionally sent abroad as protection for members of his lords family or important guests.

 Leggend had one of his eardrums burst in a construction accident and was granted permission to seek an herbal healer. While on his search Leggend (normally a compliant slave and eager servant) was visited by and recruited by a rebellion leader. Leggend now serves as a travelling scout for the rebellion taking advantage of his wide ranging knowledge of Maissen geography and his stealth to track the movements of Maissens various armies.


----------



## Beale Knight

alsih2o said:
			
		

> DM note:
> Leggend of the Berku




So I'm guessing L3-5 Warrior? And for some reason I was imagining him taller. No biggie, just an irrelevant guess.


----------



## alsih2o

Beale Knight said:
			
		

> So I'm guessing L3-5 Warrior? And for some reason I was imagining him taller. No biggie, just an irrelevant guess.




 Sorry, forgot his char class. Barbarian 3 it is.


----------



## Beale Knight

*01 - 05   River Rescue*

Ren grabbed his pack and weapons as he tried to pin down the location of the screams. The wind and trees were distorting everything. He saw the others doing the same, and it was Madge that finally pointed and said, “That way!”

The group slogged their way through the mud back to the road. There the going was easier and Ren broke into a sprint. Mere moments later he saw dots of light ahead. The screams continued, but now he could make out other voices, shouted words lost to the wind. As he ran closer, the screams formed into words too. 

“My baby!”

Ren suddenly found himself fighting for footing on a slick slope. The lights were showing him people standing clustered together in knots as their torches and lanterns struggled to stay lit. Buildings came into focus and suddenly it all fell in place.

They were at the river, at the ferry stations across from Kern. The buildings were the ferrymen’s shacks. The group had stopped for the night not a quarter mile from the river and decent shelter. 

Ren stopped at the closest group of people and asked, “What’s wrong? We heard the screams.”

One of the strangers pointed to the river. “Tav’s ferry rope broke. Anna’s three year old is trapped out there on the platform.”

It took a moment of scanning the river for Ren to see what the man was talking about. His gaze followed the line of shacks and rows of ropes running from this side of the river to the other. At the end of one was a woman that had to be Anna. She was still screaming and tearing at herself and pointing out to the river. 

Tav’s ferry rope had broken almost right in the middle of its length. The current had naturally carried the rope, and the ferry platform, down river. Cruel as that was, the gods had given the girl a chance. The platform was still connected to the ferry line, and had gotten caught on an outcropping of rock. 

But it was slipping. 

Ren heard Madge’s gravely voice from beside him. “Did that Tav person fall?”

“No,” one of the bystanders answered. “He climbed the rope back.”

“HE LEFT THE GIRL?” Madge yelled. “AND NONE OF YOU ARE DOING ANYTHING BUT WATCHING?”

Someone said something about sending someone else for help, but Ren didn’t hear it all. He shook his head and sprinted to Anna, trying to gauge the distance to the ferry platform. He felt like beating the tar out of this Tav, but there was no time for that. Bessie came up behind him and they were both suddenly assailed by pleas from Anna.

“Please save her! She’s all I have.” Her face, already rain drenched, was streaked with tears. It was heartbreaking. 

“We’ll get her,” Bessie said. She embraced the soaked woman and looked with wide eyes at Ren.

“Seventy, eighty feet maybe,” he said. “More than I’ve got rope.” He bit his lip. “Killian, what about your magic?” 

The sorcerer shook his head. With a sigh he said, “I’ve gone over my spells three times all’ready. Nothing I can do’ll reach out that far.”

Ren ran a hand through his hair. He had an idea but didn’t like it a bit. He dropped his pack and dug out his rope. Fifty feet. More than enough by far. 

“I’ll go. I’ll get this looped around the ferry line on one end and me on the other,” he said. “Can’t get swept away that way.” He could still drown, but there was no point in bringing that up.

“A good plan,” Madge said as she walked up, “but for one thing. You’ll tie me on and I’ll go.”

Ren started to protest. “I can swim….

“So can I,“ Madge interrupted. “And I’m the better choice.” She began to strip her cloak, weapons, and armor away, and Ren saw her point. Her arms and legs were far more muscular than his. The power in those limbs was plain. She was undeniably the strongest of the four. 

Ren nodded and tied the rope around her. He looped the other end around the ferry line, checked it, and nodded. “Tight as I can make it.”

Madge dove into the river without hesitation. As soon as she did, Ren slapped the side of his head. “More fool me,” he muttered. 

Some of the bystanders had wandered close by. They apparently wanted to be useless a little bit closer to the action. Ren pointed at one. “Get me some more rope, and something that floats.” The man he pointed at glanced at the others nearby, who were glancing at each other, confusion written on their faces. 

There was a BANG and flash of light right before them. “Y’ all hear him,” Killian bellowed. “Go get it.”

In the river, Madge was making slow progress toward the trapped child. She was fighting a strong current, along with the rain and wind. But she was getting there. 

Suddenly a wave crested beside her and she went under. 

On shore, Ren, Killian, and Bessie held their breath. They waited. An eternity passed in just a few hearbeats.

Then Madge surfaced. 

“Where’s that rope?” Ren shouted over his shoulder.

Someone, Ren didn’t notice if it was man or woman, ran up and tripped, dropping a coil of rope at Ren’s feet. He grabbed it and asked, “floats?”

A few corks, bottle stoppers, were thrust into his hand. It would have been funny if the situation hadn’t been so desperate. 

“I’ve got something,” someone else said.

“Fine. Get it.” Ren spat. He stepped over to his pack and dug out his grappling hook. It’d always been very useful to get into trees without lower branches. He hoped it would work if Madge needed some help. 

“She’s down again!” Bessie cired.

Ren tied the rope to the hook and stood. Madge was nowhere to be seen, and it was too dark to see where the rope was looped to the ferry line.

"Where?” Ren asked.

“Thirty span – feet” Killian said, “And ten out.”

“Mind the wind,” Bessie added.

Ren nodded as he wound his arm around. He let the rope fly and it hit almost exactly where Killian directed. He saw the splash, felt the rope slack and then move with the current. 

How much time had passed since she went under? Longer than last time, that was certain. How much longer did he dare let the rope linger out there? Another toss might get it right to Madge, or she might be about to grasp it right now. 

It tugged. 

Ren tugged back, and was answered with another one. 

“She’s got it!” he yelled.

A moment later Madge’s head was above water again. Ren and Killian pulled on the rope and she swam toward the ferry line. She lost some relative ground, but made it safely there. More than halfway to the ferry platform, Madge traveled hand over hand along the ferry line to reach it. 

She climbed up onto the platform, and her weight made it shift. Madge reached out and grabbed the child, pulling her close. Holding the three year old with one arm, Madge looped the rope around the both of them twice. From the shore, Ren saw her say something to the child before plunging back into the river. 

The ranger was moving slower and more carefully now that there was no danger of the girl being swept away. There was still the chance Madge might lose her grip and go under again, so Ren stood ready with the extra line. 

When Madge at last made it to the shallows and stood, a great cheer erupted. Ren turned to see all the bystanders had gathered close by. He let his anger at them go, and just helped Madge to shore. He and Killian undid the ropes, and Madge handed Anna her child. 

There was another round of cheers. As they died down, a voice rose above the din. “Well done! Spectacular! Heroic!”

The four looked over to see a portly, balding man striding over to them, a young lantern bearer beside him. The man reached out and took Madge's hands in his own. “You’re a hero,” he said, looking her right in her acid scarred face without flinching. “You all are,” he added, casting glances at Bessie, Killian, and Ren. “And you will be celebrated as such, oh yes you will!” 

He released Madge’s hands and shook the accumulated rain from his shoulders. “But let’s get you out of the rain. Follow me.” He turned and stepped away.

“Uh, don’t mind me asking, but…” Ren started.

“Just who are you?” Madge finished.

The man came to an abrupt halt and turned back around to them. “Of course, you wouldn’t know would you? I am Portis, Mayor of Kern. And you four are most honored guest of my fair town.”

[story continues at post 22]


----------



## Beale Knight

alsih2o said:
			
		

> Sorry, forgot his char class. Barbarian 3 it is.




Ah - should have noted his move rate!


----------



## ledded

Beale Knight said:
			
		

> <snip>The group had stopped for the night not a quarter mile from the river and decent shelter. <snip>



Oh, that made me grin, not only because it was funny but our group has done this very thing more than once in our old D&D game.

Nice story so far, keep up the good work.


----------



## edge3343

Beale Knight said:
			
		

> She began to strip her cloak, weapons, and armor away, and Ren saw her point. Her arms and legs were far more muscular than his. The power in those limbs was plain. She was undeniably the strongest of the four.




Must...get...image...out...of....head....


----------



## Greylock

....


----------



## Beale Knight

*01 - 06 Freedom and Dinner*

The mayor’s guards cleared a path through the crowd, as Portis led the four to his ferry. They were almost there when Bessie came to an abrupt halt.

“Jimmy!” 

Ren slapped his forehead. “And the rest of our gear.”

Madge was exhausted, so Ren and Bessie made their way back to the camp. They returned only a few minutes later, leading the goat and wagon full of supplies. These were slowly loaded onto the mayor’s canopied ferry, and then the other, including Anna and her child, hopped on. There was a last burst of cheers as the ferry pulled away.

“Well they seem to like us,” Bessie said.

“OF course they do,” Portis said. “Heroism is to be admired, and what you did was admirably heroic!”

Madge, now wrapped under a blanket to stave off the chills, said, “We did what any decent people should have done.”

“And THAT,” Portis said with a point of his finger, “is what makes you the heroes. You did it. They didn’t.”

The ferry lurched, sending everyone grabbing for something. 

“Choppy river,” the ferryman said, “keep hold ‘till we get across.”


The rest of the ride across the river passed in general quiet, except for the ferryman’s complaints and curses to the river. When they landed, Portis arraigned for a team of servants take Jimmy to a stable, and sent a runner up to tell his cook to ready a dinner for five. 

As the boy left on that errand, the mayor pointed toward the center of town. “My house is this way. You can’t see it for the weather, but it isn’t far.”

It wasn’t far but it was up hill most of the way. To his credit, the mayor walked right beside the others, Anne and her child included. Ren had a hard time imagining the mayor of Vaunth-on-the-Lake doing the same. He was growing very fond of the man already, but then Portis said something that nearly reversed his opinion entirely.

He’d been talking the entire way up the hill, but Ren hadn’t paid close attention since the fifth time he reiterated how they were heroes. But then he heard Portis say slave.

“What was that?” he asked the mayor.

“I was telling Madge,” Portis said, “that in gratitude for rescuing my slaves, I’d like to give them to her.”

Instantly Madge said, “I accept.”

Ren glared at her. She narrowed her eyes at him and gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod. 

Ren bit at his lip. He had just seen Madge dive into a cold river to save a child. He’d seen her fight mercilessly against wolves to save a stranger and heard her rail against the most pompous leaders of Vaunth-on-the-Lake. He could at least give a chance to explain herself, that seemed all she was silently asking. Ren softened his glare and nodded back at her. 

They were crossing the gate into Portis' home now, a surprisingly simple two story building of stone. The group was met at the door by an aged woman and the boy that had been sent ahead. Anne disappeared with her child, returning a moment later empty handed. “She’s fast asleep,” she said. Anne helped to take the cloaks to dry and the older woman announced that dinner would be served within the hour. 

"Thank you, Glatelle," Portis said as he shuffed off his own cloak and handed it to her. He led the others up a set of stairs and into a large room. A fire was already roaring in the hearth, there were thick bedrolls spread out, and pillows everywhere. A low table in the center of the room held bowls of fruit, a small keg and mugs, and a taller one in the corner had a large bowl, real soap, and a large water pitcher. Towels were neatly stacked on a lower shelf. 

“Here you will be my guests,” Portis said. He bowed politely to them. “I leave you to freshen up. Glatelle will knock when dinner is served. I will see you then.”

As soon as the door closed, Killian put a hand to his ear. “That sound! I remember it. ‘tis quiet!”

Bessie chuckled. Ren might have but he was far too concerned with hearing what Madge had to say. She knew it. The ranger looked to him and held up a single finger. Then she turned to Anne. 

“Anne, what did you do before you were a slave?” Madge asked.

The slave looked a little startled. This seemed to be the last sort of thing she expected to be asked by a new master. She stammered a moment before saying, “I was a herbist, before my husband died.”

“A healer?” Bessie asked, a tone of astonishment in her voice.

Anne shook her head. “Nothing so grand,” she said. “I just grew herbs. Though there were some healers that bought them, a few bakers and cooks too. I did well for awhile, but…” Her face fell and she took a long breath. “…then my crop got tainted. That was the same year Mel died. People got to thinking I was cursed. Then from there it just….”

Madge reached out to take Anne’s hand. “I understand.” She gave Anne a moment and then asked, “Would you like to go back to that?”

Suddenly Ren broke into a wide smile. He saw where Madge was going with this. And he whole heartedly approved.

Anne blinked at the ranger. “I…I…yes, but how?”

“I’ll give you your freedom and you can return to being an herbist.” 

Tears began to well up in Anne’s eyes. She threw herself against Madge and embraced her. “Thank you – oh thank you,” she cried. Then she stiffened and sat back. “No. There isn’t a way. Even free I wouldn’t be able to?’

Bessie cocked her head. “Why not?”

“It’d take more money than I’ve been able to save up,” Anne answered. “Much, much more.”

“How much more?” Ren asked.

Anne spread her fingers over her chin as she thought. “I’m not sure. There’s rent payments, supplies, I’d earn nothing as the first crop grew, and….”

“Just a general guess,” Madge said. “Ten gold to get started? Twenty…”

Anne gasped. “Gold? With ten gold I could go a season. More maybe.”

Ren started digging into his money pouch. Bessie and Madge were doing the same. “Here’s five,” he said, putting the gold onto the low table. Popa Thorson had given each of them a starting allowance, and he’d been conservative with his. He could be generous and still have a few gold left over. There’d be no use for them in the wild anyway.

“Seven here,” Bessie said.

“And I’ve five more,” Madge said. 

Anne’s eyes were wide as saucers as she gaped at the pile of coins. The others’ eyes were on Killian.

“All right,” he said. “Three more for an even twenty,” he said as he pulled out the gold. “But I’ll want some good flavored bread when we come back around this way.” His voice was gruff, but he couldn’t hide the smile. 

Anne broke down in a fit of joyful sobbing then and there. 


Dinner was as elegant as Popa Thorson had served them earlier in the week. Portis was indifferent to the news that Madge had freed Anne. He moved straight on to a new topic.

“What brings you to fair Kern?”

Bessie and Madge exchanged glances. Killian continued to eat. Ren let the silence hang for a three count and then spoke up. “Heading to Maissen the city.”

“Ah,” Portis said. “A wonderful place Maissen. Huge. Some of everything a man, or woman, could want. Are you trading?”

Ren shook his head and swallowed a mouthful of chicken. “No, we’re supposed to meet up there before heading out for the quests.” He took another bite.

Portis dropped his knife. “Y-you’re Heroes of Maissen?” Why didn’t you tell me?” His shocked face changed to a broad smile. “No wonder then you were the ones to go and save the girl! How wonderful! Who’s your sponsor, if you don’t mind my inquiry?”

“Popa Thorson is sponsoring us,” Bessie said. 

Portis nodded. “Ah I see,” he seemed to be reading something more into Bessie response, but didn’t say what. “A good man Popa Thorson. Well I wish you the best.”

Madge nodded. “Thank you.”

The mayor continued. “You know, Kern has also sent a team of heroes to Maissen for the quest. They left a few days ago, probably the same day you left Vaunth-on-the-Lake. It is quite something to be a Hero of Maissen.”

Ren could hear the capitol letters in the mayor’s voice. “That’s what we keep hearing. Mostly in long speeches.”

“I was a Hero of Maissen myself, years ago,” Portis said. 

Now everyone’s faces turned attentively to their host. 

“What was it like?” Bessie asked.

“How’s the land out there?” Ren asked. 

Portis chuckled. “Weeeelllll. We aren’t reeaaally supposed to help the new heroes. The whole point is prove yourselves good choices after all.” He grinned. “But there’s no rule against my telling you the tales of what *I* did.”


The rest of the night was filled with Portis telling his adventures. Ren was certain there was plenty of exaggeration, but he didn’t care. He kept asking pointed questions about the landscape, just like Bessie kept asking pointed questions about the animal life and Madge did about the threats. Portis carefully couched all his answers in stories about what he’d experienced. It took a little doing to pick out the gems of useful information from the mound of adventure tale, but it was worth it. 

Portis confirmed what Ren had learned about the general geography of the wild. A vast plain full of chakta to the west, a rift valley with giant bees and a red stone stairway north of that. Dangerous swampy land to the north. Ghost dragon mountain, with its dwarves, far to the north. And a valley of perpetual storms a little southwest of there. 

Portis finally asked if there were anything more he could do to help. It struck Ren as a little odd that he would do so much for a team of heroes that were essentially rivals of a team from his own town, and he said as much.

“No matter their home town, we all benefit when one of the good teams wins,” was the mayor’s answer.

The group took that at face value, but it seemed to stick in the back of everyone’s mind. He then made his offer again and was taken up on it. Portis volunteered four minor healing potions from his personal stock, and arranged for a horse and wagon to speed the group’s trip to their next stop – Tawgor’s Ferry. 

It was a night well spent.


----------



## Beale Knight

*01 - 07 Last step to Maissen*

The next morning Ren woke up very late. As he stirred he saw that Madge was already out of the room, but Killian and Bessie were still asleep. Ren jumped to his feet and crossed to the window, pushing the shutters open with a loud bang. The clouds had cleared away, and it was a sunny day.

Too sunny. He should have been awakened hours ago. They were losing time. There were only so many days to get to Maissen!

“Wot’s the noise?” Killian asked. 

“We’re late,” Ren said. “We’ve got to get on the road. We…” He stopped. There was something he’d forgotten. What was it?

Bessie stirred. “Hmmmm? What?’

Just then the door opened and Madge entered. “Good,” she said, “You’re awake.” Her voice was hoarser than usual. Ren’s mind flashed back to the ale at dinner last night. 

Last night! Portis had promised them…

“Our ride is here,” Madge continued. “A draft horse and wagon with enough room for all of us. Once we and the horse get fed we can be off.”

Killian was on his feet. “Ah! So that’s what you we’re gettin’ to then, Ren.”

Madge looked quizzically at Ren. “How did you know? We just got here.”

Ren winked at her then turned around to gather his gear, hoping no one could tell how red his face felt like it was getting. 


 After a breakfast that filled everyone enough to eliminate the need for lunch, and possibly dinner, the group loaded into the wagon Portis had arraigned for. Jimmy was hitched to the rear, and then there was nothing left to do but say farewell. Anne, tears in her eyes, hugged each of them tightly and thanked them for setting her on a new life. Portis shook their hands and wished them all the luck they would need, and Glatelle gave them each a bag full of biscuits for the road. 

The tale of Madge rescuing Anne’s child had already spread through Kern, and there was a small crowd to cheer them on as they rode out of town. Ren took the opportunity to tell them how they enjoyed their stay – and to announce Anne’s return to the herb business. 

Traveling from Kenr to Tawgor’s Ferry was a blissfully uneventful experience. Bob the driver had driven the route countless times and knew just where the rough spots were, and where he could quicken the pace safely. What would have been a three and a half to four day walk was complete in two days. Bob also knew the ideal overnight spot, which meant a comfortable campsite safe from wolves. 

Tawgor’s Ferry originated as a military fort, and the influence was never abandoned. The city sat atop a tall mountain crest overlooking the intersection of the river and bay that led to Maissen. Now located centrally north and south, the city was a trader’s paradise. As the group wandered the streets they saw all manner of goods, food, and animals for sale. The slave market was pointedly avoided. 

No boat was leaving for Maissen until the next afternoon, which gave them most of a day in the city. Thanks to their wagon ride, they were a full three days ahead of schedule, and could afford the time to enjoy themselves. They found lodging for the night, agreed to meet in the morning and went their separate ways. 

Low in coin and long used to being frugal anyway, Ren spent most of his time just wandering the streets and sightseeing. He watched the chicken beat a score of people at simple x/o games, looked over the fancy dresses and imagined Lela in each one, tested a few short bows – but the only one he found that he liked was well beyond his means, sampled some various ales, and wound down his day watching the sunset over the river. 

Later at the inn, he called for ink and parchment and began a letter to his family. He told them of the people he was traveling with, what they had seen and done so far, and how everything was going perfectly well. Then he wrote another to Lela, addressing it to Popa Thorson so her father wouldn’t intercept it. 

The next morning he paid to have the letters speeded home and caught up with the others. Bessie seemed almost blissfully happy but said little about her day. Killian was talking enough, going on and on about the tavern party he spent the full day, and night, at – drinking everyone else under the table. Madge was complaining. Not about her day. She’d already been up awhile and saw to booking passage across to Maissen.

Not only was the boat captain an extortionist, but his fellows added to it all by demanding another huge fee to get Jimmy and the wagon down to the docks. With Tawgor’s Ferry built atop a virtual mountain, the docks were three hundred feet below, down a generally sheer cliff face. Plenty of wooden switchback stairways had been built, but none were designed with a goat cart in mind. 

Getting across was not an option though; it was a necessity. The four pooled their funds and had enough even to provide for a decent tip for the captain. A precaution against any “incidental” expenses cropping up. Fees paid, goat down, and funds almost depleted, the Heroes of Maissen, Vaunth-on-the-Lake company, were on their way across the rivers to Maissen. 

The trip took more than a day, the distance was that great even by boat. Once past the rivers and into the bay the going was easy. Despite cramped quarters, the group slept well enough for a few hours en route. Late the next afternoon they saw it. 

Maissen loomed over the bay like a sunrise. A wide dock graced the waterfront like the frill of a wedding dress. Sand colored walls rose to the north and south, winding out of sight to the west. Inner walls, dotted with towers, had the look of a graceful elder age. Between the two razor straight streets checkered the hill sides. Further up the hill, the older district’s narrow, twisting streets spoke of the organic growth when the city had another name. 

Atop the hill was the Castle. Immense beyond words, it dominated the skyline and could likely be seen from anywhere in the city. The homes of every wealthy aristocrat in Vaunth-on-the-Lake, and probably Kern too, could easily have fit within the castle’s walls and still there would be room left free. 

This was where the first Maisseners had made their home. Where a rough fort had been brought to the grandest castle in the world. This was where the Council of Maissen met. This was the heart of the nation. This was where every Hero of Maissen had passed through.

This was where a druid, sorcerer, ranger, and hunter from Vaunth-on-the-Lake were going to join their number.


----------



## alsih2o

Below is Portis, the mayor from Kern. This is some of his backstory, can't give away too much yet.   



Portis, Mayor of Kern Brd1/Pal2/Nob5  5 ft., 7 in. tall (lawful good) Well kept. Formal and in-charge but friendly. 

 hp 59, Init +1, Spd 30 ft.; AC 11 

Attack +5 melee, or +6 ranged

 SV Fort +7, Ref +6, Will +9

 Str 11, Dex 13, Con 12, Int 12, Wis 12, Cha 15.

Languages Spoken: Common, Giant



Skills and feats: Craft (Blacksmithing) +3
 Craft (Weaponsmithing) +4
 Craft (Woodworking) +6
 Heal +2.5
 Hide +1
 Knowledge (Arcana) +7
 Knowledge (Religion) +10
 Listen +1
 Move Silently +1
 Perform (Comedy) +10
 Perform (Keyboard Instruments) +8.5
 Perform (Percussion Instruments) +6.5
 Perform (Sing) +9
 Perform (String Instruments) +7
 Perform (Storytelling) +10
 Spot +5

 Feats:  Diligent, Point Blank Shot, Toughness, Weapon Focus (longsword). 

Bard Spells Known (2): 0th -- Daze, Flare, Mending, Summon Instrument. .

 Portis has parlayed a mediocre lot in life into a comfortable existence.

 He adventured for a short while and was part of a very succesful team.  Under the guidance of a cleric of the Two Sisters he came to be a paladin and discovered his true calling in gov’t when he returned to Maissen. Portis took advantage of his likability and his talent for telling tales of his adventures.

  Most see Portis as being very humble when he speaks of past adventures as he rarely emphasizes his role. They would be misguided as he was not a significant part of his parties successes.

 Despite his shortcomings as a roving adventurer Portis has all the necessary requirements to ba a fantastic mayor for Kern. He acts mostly as the face of the town council and excels at that role. With his limited powers as mayor he does his best to make decision that benefit the people of Kern with little or no concern for himself. The people of  Kern have a strong respect for their mayor and will readily come to his defense if an outsider speaks poorly of him.


----------



## Beale Knight

*01-08/02-01  Maissen the castle*

At last the boat made its way into Maissen’s port and docked. As the four gathered their equipment one question was finally taking shape.

“Just what are we supposed to do now that we’re here, anyway?” asked Ren. “Just make our way up to the castle gates, knock and say ‘we’re the heroes from Vaunth-on-the-Lake?’”

“I don’ see why not!” Killian said. “That’s what we are, that’s what they should expect from us!”

Madge cleared her throat, a sound something like a minor avalanche. “I believe our agenda from this point forward is set,” she said, pointing down the pier. 

Striding toward the little boat were two imposing men. Tall and draped in elegant clothing, they wore power and confidence with the graceful comfort of people that had earned it the hard way. Even in rags they would have stood out as leaders. Without even noticing they’d done so, Ren and the others had stopped unloading their gear just to stare at them as they approached.

“You are Popa Thorson’s band from Vaunth-on-the-Lake,” the taller said. It wasn’t a question. 

Madge spoke up. “We are. I am Madge Hannibal. This is Bessie Fisherman, Ren d’Hayson, and Killian.”

Both men nodded to each as Madge introduced them. “I am Kord,” the taller man said. 

“And I am Kerros the Black,” said the other. “Leave your goods; porters will come for them. We have the honor to escort you to the castle.”

“Y’ are putting us up then?” Killian asked.

Kord and Kerros both raised their eyebrows at the question. “Of course,” Kord answered. 

Ren nodded. “Good to hear. Our funds are about to nothing.”

Now their mouths dropped open. “You mean to say you’ve been charged for things?”

The four from Vaunth-on-the-Lake looked at each other and blinked at the odd question. 
“Mm – yes,” Ren said finally. “At Towgar’s Ferry anyway, the inn and ride over did a….”

Kerros scowled at the boat pilot. “You charged Heroes of Maissen for transportation to their duty?”

The man stammered for several long moments, throwing out random words from time to time, but never actually managing to piece them together as a real sentence. 

“Enough,” Kerros said. He placed his hand heavily on the pilot’s shoulder. “You will return what you charged them and you will apologize.” 

The pilot meekly did as instructed, whispering an apology that could barely be heard over the waves lapping at the docks. It was enough to satisfy.

With that business concluded, Kord and Kerros led the four official Heroes up toward the castle. Maissen’s street were crowded with activity, but however thick the crowds, they always parted for the group. Every uniformed soldier they passed came to attention and saluted. Every other person that noticed the six of them, from the rag clad street sweepers to the fat men in their delicate, jewel-encrusted outfits, stopped what they were doing to give a slight bow, nod, wave, or some other polite acknowledgement. 

In that way they were soon at the castle itself. It was more imposing up close, but in a different way. When seen from the dock the castle dwarfed everything else in view. Its gargantuan size was obvious but vaguely unreal, like a distant mountain you’ll never climb. However, once there, not only was its existence undeniable, but each part of it was proportionally huge. Doors twice as large as a coach, every inch featuring intricate carvings, draw chains with links the size of a man’s forearm, halls larger than houses, statues and paintings that towered over the people staring at them, braziers that must have demanded a cord of wood each day. 

Ren thought it was simply amazing. The place was so large it was almost like being outside! What the others thought was hard to tell. They continued to keep silent as Kord and Kerros guided them through the immense castle. Madge might have had a scowl on her face, but the scars made it difficult to be sure. Bessie and her owl both looked a little nervous. In contrast, Killian wore a large smile and kept turning this way and that trying to see everything he could. The sorcerer seemed perfectly at home. 

The tour at last brought them to a room so large it might have had its own weather. It was as if someone had cleared out the market square of Vaunth-on-the-Lake and put walls and a roof around it. For its size the room held only one object. 

A ship.

“This is the one remaining ship of the three that delivered our ancestors to these shores,” Kord said, solemn respect heavy in his voice. 

Just then for some reason, Ren remembered a joke his uncle had once pulled. The hunter was very tempted to adapt it and break the moment by pointing to the very important ship and asking, “why’d they spell the name wrong?” He fought the urge down. Even if his town mates laughed, Ren was pretty sure Kord and Kerros wouldn’t. 

From there the two led the way to the chambers the Heroes from Vaunth-on-the-Lake would be using. The goods promised them by Popa Thorson were there waiting on them.

“One group has already arrived,” Kord said. “When the third arrives we will hold the feast.” He went on the explain a few general rules, where they could go, where they couldn’t, who they could ask for what they wanted, and so forth. 

What followed was day and a half of unabashed luxury. There was more food and drink than any of the four could consume. There were scented baths with small flowing waterfalls built into them. Elegant clothing so light and airy it felt weightless. Beds as soft as clouds or as firm as stone. Chambers where music was performed at all hours. There was no want for activities or anything else. 

The second night was the grand feast. As requested by their hosts, the Heroes wore the outfits they planned to wear in the wild. Once in the feast hall, their clothing made them easy to pick out, and made the other two groups just as easy to notice. The three groups were kept separate from each other, even being led into the hall through different entrances. But each had no shortage of well dressed people coming up to them, shaking their hands, and giving them thanks and blessings for taking on the mantle of Heroes. Only when they finally got to their table did the four have opportunity to speak to each other. 

“Those four must be the group from Kern,” Bessie said. She pointed to a group dressed much like themselves, in leathers and with bows and mostly small hand weapons. “Portis said there were four.”

Killian was pointing at the third group. “I’d like to know why that group gets t’ have more folk in it. Doesn’t seem right t’ me.”

“That’s the team from Balos,” Madge said. She was frowning. “Popa Thorson said nothing about a set number per group. And that one obviously has some coin behind it.”

There were six at that third table, all trying very hard to seem above and bored by the whole feasting business. They wore different outfits, some in leathers, some in chain, some in robes – it was plainly a group well balanced in talents - but there was one thing in common. Each one of their outfits was red. 

“Hmph,” Ren said. “Redbreasts. Obviously all the better to blend in with the grassland.” He reached across the table to the spice jars and took three of them. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Madge hissed at him. 

“We’re going to be in the wild awhile,” Ren answered. “Spices can go a long way to making a poor meal grand. And we might find them useful if we meet someone who wants to make some trades.”

Madge frowned again but didn’t say anything.

The courses then began to arrive. Once Ren began eating, it was to him one of those odd instances when time seemed to flow fast and slow at the same time. The courses never seemed to stop. He would barely, if at all, finish one when the next would be at his elbow. Ren’s glasses of wine, water, and ale, never went empty.

And then all of a sudden it was over. Then it seemed as if only moments had passed. One of the twelve people at the head table then stood up for a speech that was blessedly short. He made a few of the now usual remarks regarding the Heroes, their bravery, the importance of what they were about to do, and the grand traditions of Maissen. The final blessing ceremony, and presentation of the Badges would be tomorrow, he said, and then the Heroes would be on their way. 

With that the feast was over. Their escort came up to the table and Ren expected they would be led back to their chambers. “Not just yet,” the escort explained. “First you must meet with the council, as will the other two groups.”

“What’s this all about?” Ren asked.

“Tradition,” the escort said. “I also imagine they’re curious about your plans.” She led them down the same wide hall they’d traveled to the feast, but then turned off into a hall so small it had gone unnoticed when they passed it earlier. From there, the group was led to a room about the size of Popa Thorson’s entry hall, which made it the smallest room they’d yet seen in the castle. 

“Wait here,” their escort instructed. “The far door will open when they’re ready for you. They’re meeting with each group separately, so it may be a little while. Make yourselves comfortable.”

She closed the door behind her, leaving the four Heroes from Vaunth-on-the-Lake alone. Each sat in one of the comfortable chairs provided and took a deep breath almost simultaneously.  

There was a brief moment of tense silence, which Ren finally broke.

“I suppose we need to decide what we’re going to tell these people, don’t we?”


----------



## Beale Knight

*For comparison's sake*

Everything up to feast covered in the last post happened in the first session of the campaign. As I mentioned in the first post, the notes for that session were sparse. Now that you've (presumably) read the dramatic write up, I thought it might be interesting to see the source notes. 

Session 1:
We are independently gathered at Papa Throson’s home. He has been given permission to assemble heroes for an expansion quest, but only three weeks to have one presented to the council in Meiseen proper. Traditionally a year is given so Popa thinks he is being set up for failure. He gives us each a gift for taking on this task, I receive two arrows that will instantly slay any beast born of nature.

He tells us of three others in town who would have business with us since we’re a hero team. 
• Corwin the brewer wants to know the ale secrets of dwarves. He’s tasted theirs once before and wants a pint to reverse-engineer. He says the dwarves are in the Ghost Dragon Mountains, beyond the Valley of the Storms, beyond the woods, beyond another valley to the general northwest. He will host us for life if we do this, and pay a handsome gift.
• Shayder the richest fisherman/boat owner/etc wants to make a “coche” biscuit, which requires the honey from giant bees, which can be found in the Rift Valley with the red stones. Follow the red stones to the bottom of the valley, but beware of the guardian “kerbels” and whatever you do, don’t eat the honey! The haughty paladin Youst killed the one whose pelt decorates Shayder’s den.
• Petris the haughty priest wants us to find the valley of Drayne and gather four stones: black, brown, orange, and yellow. They are foci for the Wall of Stone spell. He provided a container with spots for each stone and warns they should never touch. He promises to use the spell to provide quality housing for the poor once the protective walls around Vaunth-on-the-Lake are complete. We also squeeze him for three healing scrolls.

Apparently Valley of the Storms is the same as Valley of Drayne. The tale is that a wizard battle the fey that lived there and the storm he magically called to drive them away is still going. It seems the other valley Corwin mentioned is the rift valley of the giant bees. No clue regarding the forest that’s between them. 

Three days later, spent staying at the illustrious Feathered Prow inn, there is a long ceremony, and we are escorted from Vaunth-on-the-Lake by Vinne, the local paladin of Simus the careless, er uncaring. Outside the city we make for Kern on foot. We meet a Hairshirt procession, discover Killian’s strange compulsion for bonfires, and help an escaped slave against some wolves. At the river beside Kern, we find a child is trapped on a ferry whose line has snapped. She is hung up in the rapids and likely to fall and drown soon. 

We tie Madge, the strongest of us, to the ferry line and she makes her way to the ferry – almost drowning as she goes out there. Once we get going, the crowd of folks that had been standing around staring decide to do something to help out, which amounts to little. Anna, the three year old child’s mother, is immensely grateful. As is Portis, the mayor of Kern. Our rescue was witnessed from the far side of the river and we are greeted as heroes.

Anna is the mayor’s slave and he gives her to Madge. We are put up in the mayor’s home and decide to sponsor Anna in her herb business, and give her enough gold to live on for a year while she gets things going. Portis gives us an overview of the wild, confirming what the three dealers in Vaunth-on-the-Lake told us about the general geography. One thing seems important, in the plains to the west, don’t venture far from the river or you may be eternally lost. Mayor Portis also gives us 4 “goodberry” potions from his personal stash. 

We travel by wagon to Tawgor’s Ferry, a military fort turned port. I send a letter home and we are soon being transported to the city.  There we are met by Kord, a council member, and Kerros the Black. After a tour we are delivered to our rooms. We are told one hero group has already arrived, the other should be here soon.


----------



## Beale Knight

*Opinions Wanted Please!*

I mentioned in the first post there would be a dramatic change of voice once I got past the first session and that’s where I am now. Session 02’s write up include first person comments from Ren, but thereafter the existing session write ups are neutral and passive in voice; they weren’t written as a novel starring Ren the Wilderness Rogue. 

I see three ways I can proceed. 

1 Upload the write ups as they are.
      This will allow for very frequent updates. I’ll double check for errors and plain bad writing, but won’t change anything else. This means they’ll read much more like an adventure log than what you’ve read so far. 

2 Continue the complete re-write
     This makes for more interesting reading, but it’s a real time-sink. Going this route will mean much (much!) less frequent updates. It will also put me in the position of putting words into the mouths of the other PCs that they may not have said, and that might be in contrast to how they view their character. 

3 A weird combination of the two
     This will use most of the existing session write ups as they are, but I’ll re-write the most interesting parts to read more dramatically. I’m not sure exactly how I’ll do this, what the criteria for a dramatic re-write will be, or how well it’ll work in practice. IF it works, it will make for irregular updates. My gut tells me I’ll run hot and cold on this method.

I welcome opinions. I’d like to know what all you folks that have read this far think.


----------



## alsih2o

Complete re-write. Do it!!!


----------



## edge3343

I'm hesitant to goad you into more work, but since I think you secretly like writing these brilliant accounts of Killian and his trusty sidekicks, I vote for the continued rewrites.  






teh maximum OWNAGE!


----------



## ledded

Re-writes.  I'm diggin' what you've put down so far, so if you have the time and inclination I'd like to see more of it.


----------



## Greylock

I'm fine with the re-writes. Makes for eminently better reading. Looking forward to seeing how my guy fares under your pen   .


----------



## Prothall

I'm liking the re-writes.

Naturally, I'm happy to see Mark got to run the game again. I want to see how things turn out.


----------



## alsih2o

Prothall said:
			
		

> I'm liking the re-writes.
> 
> Naturally, I'm happy to see Mark got to run the game again. I want to see how things turn out.





 I fill them in on the choices your group made regularly


----------



## Beale Knight

alsih2o said:
			
		

> I fill them in on the choices your group made regularly





 Is this the group that spent most of a day on the five foot drop in the grasslands?


----------



## alsih2o

Beale Knight said:
			
		

> Is this the group that spent most of a day on the five foot drop in the grasslands?




 This is the group that almos had a tpk at a pit trap. One at a time.

 They were a ball to dm, made a lot of different choices than you guys.


----------



## Prothall

That *was* a day I wasn't in, right? If it's the same session I think it was, I remember that I was the only one that hit anything... Which was rather sad, considering I was the mage and was being run _in absentia_.

But good times, good times.


----------



## Beale Knight

*02-01 Sayonara Civilization*

02-01

“Well we probably shouldn’t tell them about all the side arraignments we’ve made,” Bessie said

Ren shook his head. “No, that would for sure be a bad idea.”

“We can be honest enough and just say we’re going north,” Madge said.

Killian smiled. “To the dwarves.”

“That’s good,” Ren said. “It gives us a goal and for me I’d like to see about them anyway.”

The others agreed and then there was nothing to do but wait. Under the weight of anticipation, it felt like hours dragging by as the four sat in the small room. His belly full, and relaxed in a comfortable chair, Ren began to doze off. 

Then at last the door on the far wall opened. No one was there to direct the group in, but almost as one they rose and crossed the threshold into the next room. Ren noticed right away that there were three other doors into the room.  

As he looked it over, he was surprised to notice this room wasn’t much bigger than the one they’d just left. But it was crowded with people. The same nine people that had been sitting at the council table during the feast. Ren, underclass hunter and son of a groom from distant Vaunth-on-the-Lake, was standing before the entire ruling Council of Maissen. 

He recognized Kerros the Black and Kord the Pious. The others he didn’t know, but there were soon introductions. A man in green stepped forward from the group to address the four Heroes.

“Welcome Heroes from Vaunth-on-the-Lake,” he said. “I am Thraud the Hunter, chair of the Council of Maissen.” He swept his hand across the room introducing the others one by one: Ofieg the Short, priest of the two sisters; Hiphez the Willing, a cleric of Balea, Bowlaf Thill the paladin; Kord the Pius, the pantheist priest; Lady Miriam the Still; Kerros the Black; Caunlog the Ranger; and the lady paladin Berjolt. 

When the list of names was complete, eighteen eyes fell on the four companions. “You understand the conditions of the quest you have agreed to?” asked Thraud.

The four nodded. “We have ninety days to explore out in the wild and bring worthy treasures back to Maissen,” Ren said. 

Thraud nodded. “Ninety days. No more.” He looked them over once again. “Now, we would know your plans for this quest.”

Madge spoke up this time. “We planned to head north and try to make contact with the dwarves.”

At that Kerros and one of the others, Ren had already forgotten his name, stepped back and huddled together, whispering. 

Once again Thraud nodded. “A fine goal. Is there anything more that you need or that you would care to say?”

The four Heroes looked at each other, each clearly wracking their mind for something they wanted that they didn’t have. Ren went over his personal inventory and was satisfied. He considered asking for some magic arrows or a ring or something, but didn’t expect the council chair meant that, and he didn’t want to look a fool. But he did remember something that he suddenly wanted to make sure the rulers of Maissen knew about.

“I’d like to say that we appreciate the faith Popa Thorson and our townsfolk have put in us,” he said. “Petris especially too.” 

Madge and Bessie gave him an odd look at this, but Thraud smiled. “Ah yes,” he said. “I know Petris. He is a good man.”

Ren smiled and nodded. “True. You know he said he was planning on making some better quality housing for the poor of Vaunth-on-the-Lake? After the wall around town is done, he said that was going to be his next project.”

“I’m sure he will deliver on his promise,” Thraud said. He looked at the others. “Was there anything more?”

Ren smiled and in his mind he chuckled. Petris had hemmed and hawed and done everything he could to put off any solid timetable for the housing Ren had pushed him about. Now the ruling council knew about it, and that made it all the more likely it would actually get done. 

“I think that we’re as ready as we will be,” Madge said. 

Thraud put his hands together. “Very well then. Tomorrow there will be a late morning blessing ceremony. You will then receive your badges, indicating to any Maissener who you are and why you are beyond the borders. After that you will be escorted to Tasformel, the last temple to the west, where you will spend the night. The next morning is the first day of your ninety.”

He paused long enough to let that sink in and dismissed them, saying their escort awaited them in the waiting room. With that the council member began to filter out through a different door. The four Heroes from Vaunth-on-the-Lake turned to leave but were stopped by Kerros.

“A word if you please,” he said. With him was the councilman he’d been whispering with moments earlier. “As you are planning on going to the dwarves, there’s something we’d like to see you about tomorrow morning. Please expect us.”

Ren and the others nodded, were nodded back at, and then the Heroes and Councilmen went separate ways.

“That was odd,” Bessie said. “I wonder what we stirred in them?”

“I guess we’re for sure going to find out,” Ren said.

Killian grunted. “Aye. And probably too early in the morning at that.”

=======================================================

Whatever Ren had been dreaming about, it was replaced by a den of wolves howling around him. He shifted in his sleep and soon began to wake. As the hunter blinked the sleep from his eyes he first noticed it was still dark. Then he realized he was still hearing the wolves. 

That didn’t make any sense. He yawned and shook his head, trying to clear the fog of sleep out. Finally he realized the sound he was hearing was some sort of chanting or singing coming from outside. 

Ren looked out the window in his quarters, but couldn’t see anything but the tree just outside. He walked into the common chamber shared with the others. Madge and Bessie were already there, the doors to their quarters open. They were gazing out the chamber window into the courtyard. 

“What is this?” Ren asked, exasperated. 

Madge pointed out the window. Gathered in the courtyard was a small host of hair shirted chanters, much like the ones the group had seen just outside Vaunth-on-the-Lake. “Those are our Criers,” she explained. “They have a special connection to all the questers.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? I don’t remember making a special connection with anyone around these parts.”

“You don’t have to,” Bessie said. “Each group has one and those are ours. According to the lore, they’ll wail for our souls until we return.”

“Or die,” Madge added. 

Ren brought a hand to his face. “Very nice. Can they do it quieter? I don’t mind someone wailing for my soul, but I’d a lot sure rather have the sleep.”

=======================================================

Morning came, as Killian had predicted, much too early. Ren was awaked by a loud knocking at the common chamber’s door, followed almost at once with it being pushed roughly open. He came out from his quarters in time to see a group of brown garbed men tumbling in. They moved with quiet grace, but it seemed like an invasion. Only that he could see Kerros and the other councilman from last night at the doorway, and that an attack on their chambers in the heart of Maissen castle was as likely as a green sky, kept Ren from going back for his bow. 

When the hoard of guards stopped tumbling around and assumed positions throughout the room, Kerros and the other man stepped in. Kerros carried a large, ornate case with the care a father carries his newborn son. The other reached into his coat and pulled a set of matching glass lenses out. He put those to his eyes, and then gazed over the room. After a few moments he put them away and nodded. 

Kerros put the case on the chamber’s central table, and the four heroes gathered around as he slowly opened it. 

Killian gasped and stared, open mouthed, at what was inside. Bessie and Madge’s eyes grew large as they looked into the case. Ren whistled, impressed. 

“Dwarven made” Kerros said. He reached in a pulled out a great sword, covered with intricate runes. “Forged by the hill dwarves of Ghost Dragon Mountain.”

“Impressive,” Killian said. “That is a kingly sword.”

Ren suddenly noticed an odd thing about it. He’d never seen a dwarf, never knew them to be real until a few days ago, but everything the tales said indicated they were short. “Forged by them for who?” he asked. “Aren’t they supposed to be too small to use a full size sword like that?”

“Forged for us,” Kerros said, “a long time ago. And now it is time for it to be returned from whence it came.” He placed the sword back in its case. “Will you agree to take it?”

Everyone nodded. “Yes,” Madge said, just to remove any doubt. 

Kerros closed the case. “Very good. This will be among your gear when you depart this afternoon. Now - one more thing. You've heard the tales of halflings?"

Everyone nodded. "Good," Kerros said, "because they are true."

"What?" Ren said.

"Yes," Kerros said. "They are now extinct, killed by Idien. I bring them up because over the course of history halflings have become synonymous with gnomes."

Ren was running a hand through his hair trying to take this all in. The little people were real? What else that was myth would turn out to be true? Now gnomes? "I'm guessing you're about to tell us they're real too?"

"Indeed," Kerros said. "Few still live, but they are 'real'. We believe some of them live between Maissen and Ghost Dragon Mountain. Should you meet any, I implore you to invite them to come live in our nation."

"Why, may I ask," Madge asked.

"Their population is so small to be under threat," Kerros said. "And I will admit to you that they know rich secrets, secrets that would benefit Maissen."

Silence fell over the room. Ren was still reeling from the revelations. What the others might be thinking he was too mentally busy to consider. 

"This I ask. Please keep it in mind," Kerros said.

He then nodded at one of the brown garbed guards, who made a hand gesture that sent half the guards bounding out of the room. The two councilmen followed, and then the other half of the guards left. 

Bessie broke the silence that lingered behind the guards. “Well I guess that means we'll really be going all the way to the dwarves.”

“Aye,” Killian said as he stroked his beardless chin. “That it does.” 

====================================================

The blessing ceremony in Maissen was a larger version of the one in Vaunth-on-the-Lake, with one crucial difference. Each of the three groups had a shelter to protect them from the sun. Apart from that, there were again more speeches than anyone could be reasonably be expected to pay attention through and there were again more blessings than anyone could reasonably be expected to keep track of. Before the ceremony was halfway complete, every Hero from the three towns was drenched in blessed water and oils, sitting in a cloud of blessed perfumes and incenses, and weighed down with blessed beads, feathers, miniature icons, and anything else remotely sacred to one of the multitude of gods that made up the Maissen pantheon. Ren was a pantheist himself, having never seen wisdom in putting too much devotion into any one god, but this was far too much for even him. 

He and the other Heroes silently endured it all and at last they were presented with their official badges. Colorful stones set in a pendant with a soft ribbon, these were their permission to be out beyond the borders of Maissen. Ren smiled at the thought of showing this off to Lela and how her father would react to it. Then he remembered that receiving these badges had been a death sentence for scores of people. That sobered his thoughts. It could be him. He had to remember that. He had to be careful. There was too much to return to. 

When at last the ceremony came to a conclusion the Heroes were led to their gear. Ren saw that the group from Kern had no animals or cart at all, while the group from Keros had an expensive mule. Escorts kept the groups separate as they all were paraded through the streets of Maissen and out into the countryside. Crowds of well wishers lined the streets, throwing even more flowers at the Heroes feet as they passed by. This blessing meant more to Ren than all the ones the various priests had delivered. 

That afternoon the procession reached Tasformel. The westernmost temple was small, little more than a large main chapel and two small rooms, one the head priest’s home and one for storage. The Heroes were expected to make do.

“And here’s where we begin the rough of the wild,” Killian said. 

All three of the other laughed. “We got a roof and walls,” Ren said. “And we’re not sleeping on dirt,” Madge added. “And we can be blessed again!” Bessie said, but in a low voice; the sarcasm in her voice was all too obvious.

The temple did indeed provide another set of blessing, but they also provided dinner for the Heroes and their escorts. As the groups ate, the escorts explained that they would travel with them the next day as far as the border fort, only a few hours away. Then they were turning around for home. The Heroes would be on their own.

======================================================

“This is silly,” Bessie said, as she looked over the chapel. Dinner was long over and the three groups of Heroes had retreated to different corners of the chapel; the escorts were already sleeping.  “We’re acting like we’re poison to each other.”

Madge was checking her pack bindings. “No one wants to tip their hand to the others. Remember there’s more prestige for the group with the greatest success.”

“I think one of them just thinks it’s already the winners,” Ren said. He was looking at the red garbed group from Balos. They sat in a circle, going over something and occasionally looking over their shoulders. Sometimes they pointed at the other groups and chuckled, sometimes they looked ready to knife anyone who came too close. 

“Them I already don’t take a liking to,” Killian said.

“That’s two of us,” Ren said. Madge nodded her agreement. 

“Well I’m going to the other ones then,” Bessie said. “Kern treated us well, we can at least introduce ourselves.”

Killian grunted. Madge shrugged but didn’t move. 

“I’ll come along,” Ren said. 

They walked over to the group from Kern, which looked as much like a cleaned up team of rag tag Heroes as themselves. That made them already more likable that the redbreasts. The Kern group looked up, plainly surprised, as Bessie introduced herself and Ren. 

“My name’s Morten,” the apparent leader said. He wore leathers like Ren and Bessie, but had a nasty looking sword. “This is Cane, Janos, and Anteros.” They all nodded in turn, and there was an awkward moment of silence that Morten finally broke. “Soooooooo, can we ask what ya’lls plans are?”

“We were thinking of heading northwest,” Bessie said. “There’s supposed to be an interesting valley up that way.”

Morten nodded. “Not us. We’re headed due west. Kill as many Chakta as possible. That’s where the money and fame come from.” He was speaking faster now, letting his excitement show. Apparently the two had established enough trust for some basic honesty. 

Ren crouched down. “What do you think of the redbreasts over there?” he asked in a low voice. 

“I’m trying not to.”

“We were thinking of trying to get them to head south, let them think we’re going after something great down that way.” Ren said. Bessie gave him a look. It was the first time she’d heard about it, but that was simply because it only just then had occurred to Ren. 

Morten just laughed. “Head south? That takes a special kind of stupid.”

From there Bessie steered the conversation to their night in Kern. The others were happy to talk about their home town, and the time passed quickly. Walking back to Madge and Killian, who despite his earlier complaints was already asleep, Bessie whispered, “What was that about a trick?”

“It just came to me,” Ren said. “If we could trick the redbreasts into going south to get whatever they thought we were after, then they might get eaten by Idien. Didn’t work, but I figured it was worth takin’ the shot.”

Bessie rolled her eyes and didn’t say anything.

=========================================================

“You can stay for three days,” the fort commander said. “After that, you work like the rest of us. Got it?”

The three groups of Heroes nodded. They had just reached the last border fort a few minutes earlier and been introduced to its hard as nails commander. 

“Good,” he said. “Now feel free to drop your gear someplace, find a bunk, get some grub, or what have you. If you need something find a trooper and ask.” He turned and walked over to the escorts. They all traded some scrolls and signed them before giving them back. Then the woman that had led the Heroes from Vaunth-on-the-Lake came up to them one last time.

“You are now on your own,” she said. “Do Maissen proud.” With that she turned and joined the escort for the redbreasts, who had apparently felt no need to say good bye to his group. When the escort for the Kern Heroes joined them, the trio of escorts left the fort and headed east to Maissen. 

And then there were three groups of Heroes standing at the far end of civilization, each waiting for another to make the first move.


----------



## Beale Knight

*Style*

Thanks everyone that responded to my call for opinions on a syle to use for future updates. It's pretty clear everyone prefers the more dramatic style so that's what I'll use. This will slow down the updates, so expect one about every week to ten days. But it should be a decent read. If I start to to get dry please let me know. 

 Also, if some names seem to mysteriously change between readings, it means our DM has corrected my errors, or with some of the names I've simply made up in the typing (Tasformel being one example. I figured the last temple to the east would have a name other than "Last Temple to the East," but with none remembered or mentioned in my notes I just created it on the spot).


----------



## Beale Knight

*02 - 02  Into the Wild*

02-02

Nearly an hour passed with the three groups giving each other suspicious glances before anyone moved. Finally the redbreasts from Ballos gathered their gear and headed out. Ren wandered to the edge of the fort’s gate and watched as they marched due north. 

“Good,” he said to himself, “not the direction we’re going.” Ren couldn't help sneering as he watched them go. There was just something about them. If he ever laid eyes on them again it would be too soon. He watched until they disappeared into the haze of the horizon and then nodded to the others from Vaunth-on-the-Lake. Bessie, Madge, and Killian gathered their gear and readied Jimmy and the cart. 

Across the compound, the group from Kern was doing the same. “Best of luck with the Chakta,” Bessie said to them on the way out. 

Another few steps and they were outside the fort’s perimeter. They took bearings, confirmed northwest, and were on their way. The adventure had really begun. They now had eighty-nine and one half days to find something worthwhile, and return. 

==============================================================================================================================

Killian blinked against the unrelenting sun. “Are we really going anywhere?” he asked to anyone. “It’s hard t’ tell in this place.”

Madge, leading Jimmy, shook her head. “Watch the ground. It’s plain we are.”

Bessie chuckled. “Plain we are,” she repeated. At glances from Killian and Madge, she shrugged. “I see his point though.” She waved her hand around. “There’s nothing but flat grassland as far as the eye can see. An endless see of ankle high grass. It’s no wonder people get lost and wander in circles until they die out here.”

“There’s something else,” Ren said. “Right up ahead.” He had been scouting about twenty yards ahead since the fort fell out of sight, and this was the first time he’d come back to the others. “It’s not a pleasant sight though,” he added, his face pale.

He led them to a horrific landmark. A line of poles, twelve feet tall, stretched out of sight to the group’s left and right. Impaled on each pole was a chakta body. From the decay, these weren’t dead a month.

They simply stared, open mouthed for several long minutes. It was Madge that spoke first. “See how it runs,” she said, pointing up and down the line. “Generally northeast to southwest. Like the edge of Maissen.”

“This is how we mark the border?” Bessie whispered.

“A warning.” Killian said.

Ren shook his head. “I’m thinking it wouldn’t do the job,” he said. “If I saw my family put up on poles all it’d do is make me want to attack whoever did it all the more.”

“You’re right,” Madge said. “This won’t dissuade the chakta. All it does is make the army and council feel intimidating.”

Bessie turned away and gazed north. “Let’s get back on our way, please.”

==============================================================================================================================

“That’s not right,” Ren whispered to himself. Once again ahead of the others he’d just noticed a strange groundswell. He held a hand up to tell the rest of the group to hold their place a moment, then crouched down for a closer look. 

There was a tiny rise just about twenty feet ahead. Tiny but neat, almost exactly the height of his little finger and flat as the surrounding ground. Ren tilted his head, then scurried back and around the rise, keeping his distance even. What he saw confirmed his suspicions, unbelievable as they were. 

The rise was a circle. Not exactly, but close enough to suggest a burrowing animal. What made it unbelievable was that no burrowing animal made a lair like that, nothing larger than an insect anyway. Ren drew a deep breath, and then his eyes fell on another rise just like the first. This one just twelve or fifteen feet away from its mate. 

Then it made sense. Walking as softly as he could manage, Ren made his way to the others. “Ambush,” he whispered. “Two covered up pits up ahead, maybe with chakta waiting inside.”

The others nodded. Bessie secured Jimmy and the goat and pulled out her unique crossbow. Ren and Madge readied their bows. Killian smiled and began to flew his fingers. They spread out, Ren and Killian flanking the first pit, Madge and Bessie further away but dead ahead. Weapons and magic ready to go, they all began to stomp the ground as they approached the pit. 

Fifteen feet away they saw what they expected; the pit cover flew open. Then everything they’d assumed was proven wrong. No chakta came out.

It was a monster. A spider with a body as large as a dog and legs as long as a big man’s. The spider jumped from the pit and charged at Madge. Then a second spider, just as large, sprang out from the second pit and ran for Bessie. 

Arrows and a bolt flew into the first monster spider, and the air sizzled with fire from Killian. The spider made it almost as far a Madge’s feet before the ranger put another arrow into it, dropping it dead to the ground. 

Ren and Bessie had already turned their attention to the second spider. It was nearly on Bessie before they got their shots off, but even with the arrow and bolt in it, the moster barely slowed down. Killian ran a few steps to one side and sent another fan of flame to it. Every strand of the spell-born fire struck the spider, and the hair of its back caught and began to burn. Ren sent another arrow into it and Bessie plunged her dagger right into the center of its eyes. The spider made a weak attempt to bite its chosen prey, but fell dead with its fangs barely scraping the druid’s leathers. 

Bessie jumped back and retrieved the crossbow she’d hastily thrown down, then fired a bolt into the burning spider’s head. “Unnatural hellspawn!” She took a breath and looked to the others. “Spiders should never get that big! It isn’t the proper way of the world.”

Ren suppressed a joke about reporting the spiders’ violations to the church (maybe they’d impose a fine) and walked up to the first spider. As Madge led Killian and Bessie in putting put the fire on the other one; “no sense calling attention to our presence,” she said, Ren dug out his knife. After a struggle he flipped the spider carcass over and cut into it. If it was built the same as a normal spider, it would have a poison sack of some kind that he could retrieve if he were careful. 

After a few moments the hunter found what he sought. A few more minutes of careful cutting and he lifted out a fist sized sack from the spider’s body. This he tied off and proudly presented to the others. “May not last more than a week,” he said, “but it could end up as good to have.”

Others had wandered too close to the spiders in recent days. With Bessie holding the rope and the others standing guard, Madge went down into the two pits. Each held bits and pieces of bone that were once people, and she found a small gem in one, but nothing else. “Probably chakta,” she said. “This is too far out for any Maissener to wander out.”

“At least they don’t work together,” Killian said. “I say let the spiders have all the chakta they want. Let’s get back to it.”

==============================================================================================================================

The rest of the afternoon was trouble free. All around the group was endless grassland, a prairie unbroken by any landmark.

Except one. 

As evening approached the group came across a wide swath of dead ground. A twenty foot wide stripe ran out of sight from the northeast to the southwest. Between the three of them, Bessie, Madge, and Ren determined the land had been stomped from grassland to dirt by scores or hundreds of bison – probably with riders. 

Chakte. Headed southwest not fourteen hours ago. 

It was a chilling reminder that they were deep in someone else’s land.

=======================================================================================

Late on the morning of their second day outside Maissen, the four Heroes noticed spot in the sky were moving about. As they got closer they were able to make them out as birds, and soon after they realized they were buzzards - scores of them, circling an area as they do when waiting for a meal to finally give up and die. 

By then they could also see the smoke rising from the horizon, and smudges in the distant haze that suggested buildings. Like the buzzards, they were dead ahead. 

“Civilization?” Killian asked.

Madge shook her head. “Chakta camp. It must be.”

“So,” Ren said, “are we sneaking up to raid it or sneaking around to avoid it?”

“We have more immediate problems,” Bessie said. She pointed off to the southwest. 

The others turned to see two forms. As they focused, the Heroes could tell that they were bisons, and there was a shadow of a rider atop each. They were headed north, but not toward the Maisseners – they hadn’t appeared to have even noticed them yet. No one had to say it. These had to be chakta. And their destination was obvious. 

“They’ll see us soon,” Madge said. 

“We have a chance to take them,” Ren said. “The grass is too low to hide Jimmy and the cart, but if we crouch down it can hide us. Three of us hide and wait, the other makes it look like there’s a lone Maissener wandering lost through the grassland.” 

“Hah!” Killian said. “I like it, but who’s y’ have in mind t’ play target?”

“I’ll do it,” Madge said. 

She took Jimmy’s lead and waited as the others spread out and dropped out of sight. Madge then stood and took a long slow drink from her waterskin. By the time she put the skin away, the riders had noticed her. 

Ren could only see her feet from his position, but he saw them turn and then plant. He imagined Madge standing as if afraid, putting a look of horror on her scarred face. Then her feet turned again and she began to move. She limped! Brilliant, Ren thought. The chakta would be expecting an easy target.

Ren nervously waited as Madge limped away. He began to feel something and realized it was tremors. The chakta must be charging. He gripped his spear a little tighter and waited.

“Now!” Madge shouted. 

Ren jumped to his feet and spent exactly one heartbeat taking in the situation. The chakta had separated and were coming at Madge from either side. One was in perfect range. He threw his spear at the rider. It was a blessed throw. The spear flew dead on target, hitting the chakta rider’s chest and piercing through his back. 

Madge launched an arrow at the same rider, hitting him in the leg. Desperately hurt from the two attacks, he fell from his bison and landed hard on the ground. 

Bessie shot at the second rider, nicking one of his arms. Killian was jogging closer to the scene, cursing that the chakta was out of range. 

That rider was bearing down on Madge, a long spear in his hand and an evil look on his face. Madge spun back to face him, readying another arrow. Ren pulled his bow around, knowing he’d never get an arrow off before this rider was trampling Madge. As the bison closed, Madge made a desperate jump to the side.

The chakta’s spear cut her cloak but touched none of her flesh. The rider then had to release the spear and turn his mount, which was headed right for the other bison. With no rider, the first bison had simply slowed to a stop and was now standing there, directly in the way of the second. 

As he turned, Madge and Ren fired. Both arrows hit the chakta and he fell from his bison. A third shot from Bessie hit him on the way down, and the fall did the rest. The chakta landed wrong and when Ren and Madge ran up to him it was clear he was dead. 

Ren walked to the first rider and saw he was still breathing. The spear had been pushed most of the way back out when the chakta hit the ground, which probably made the impact all the more painful. Ren grabbed the shaft and the chakta stirred. 

“Not good getting ambushed when you’re ganging up on someone, you think?” Ren said. 

The chakta muttered something, spat on Ren’s spear, and then fell back – dead. “Cur Spran?” Ren repeated. Wondering what that meant, Ren pulled his spear free. 

“Y’ should have given me a chance t’ do something!” Killian shouted as he ran up. 

“”Next time hide closer,” Ren chided with a smile. 

“Enough,” Madge said. “We’re going to have to get moving. These bison can probably be seen from that camp up ahead, and they’ll probably send someone to come take a look before long.”

“Shouldn’t we examine what they have on them?” Bessie said. “Getting things is the whole reason we’re out here after all.”

“Don’t take too long,” Madge said. 

Ren was scanning the north horizon. “While you do that, I’ll sneak up onto that camp so we can know what we’re facing.”

“That’ll take too long,” Madge said. “By the time you get there and back we will certainly have been seen by them.”

“Head that way,” Ren said with a point to the northwest. “Skirt the camp wide and I’ll catch up as you’re going.”

“It’s too dangerous.”

Ren smiled. “Keep a watch that way. If I get noticed I’ll run and scream so you can rescue me.” 

Madge frowned but didn’t say anything more. Ren gathered his gear and dropped low, ready to crouch, crawl, and slither his way to the chakta camp.

[Story continues on Post 44]


----------



## alsih2o

So, right when the story is about to really pick up- our author gets called for jusy duty.  :\ 

Seems a good story hour would be a valid excuse, yes?

 (No, I don't really mean that)


----------



## Beale Knight

alsih2o said:
			
		

> So, right when the story is about to really pick up- our author gets called for jury duty.  :\
> 
> Seems a good story hour would be a valid excuse, yes?
> (No, I don't really mean that)




It's called cliffhanger!


----------



## Greylock

Beale Knight said:
			
		

> It's called cliffhanger!




Bah, it's all prelude. Get to the good stuff already. You know what I mean     .

Since when does jury duty preclude writing and posting updates anyways, hmmmm? Excuses, excuses. First Halloween, then your "job", now this... I'm so very disappointed in you.


----------



## Beale Knight

Greylock said:
			
		

> Since when does jury duty preclude writing and posting updates anyways, hmmmm? Excuses, excuses. First Halloween, then your "job", now this... I'm so very disappointed in you.




Since it's Grand Jury and there's less dead time to wait and write!   

But now, at last comes more! Within two updates comes what you're looking for.


----------



## Beale Knight

*02-03 Into the Rift*

Ren crawled on his belly for what seemed like miles. Twice he came to a dead stop, sure that he heard someone approaching. Both were false alarms, causing him to quietly curse innocent animals before moving carefully on. Finally a small midden of bison dung told him he was at the edge of the camp. 

Slowly he lifted his head. He suppressed a gasp. What he saw was no small camp of chakta. This was nothing short of a full size town. Ren couldn’t see all the yurts the chakta had erected, and there was no hope of counting the chakta themselves. As silently as he could, Ren lowered himself back to the ground and eased away. 

“That way’s no good,” he said when he caught up to the others. “We need to really hurry along this route.”

As the day wore on, Ren explained to the others what he’d seen. “I’d heard they were a mobile people,” he said, “but that’s a lot to mobile.”

“They’re gathering,” Madge said. “And it can not be good that they do so.”

The night and next day passed peacefully as the group made their way northwest through the valley. Only their coming across a sudden five foot drop made a mark on the day. There was a small creek, enough to refill their water skins after the considerable task of lowering a goat and wagon down a five foot drop was accomplished. 

Day four of the adventure was only marked by the group making their way to the fringes of the plain. A copse of low trees here and there and clumps bushes became more and more prevalent. It held the promise of an exit from the endless plains.

However, the stress was beginning to wear on some of the group. Killian especially seemed to be suffering from poor sleep. By day five he confessed he hadn’t been able to get enough rest to properly focus on spell casting. Madge and Bessie reported similar trouble, but not to the extent of the group’s sorcerer. 

What was frightening was the dreams they described. More accurately, the dream they all described. For it was the same one - a woman about to be burned at the stake by the hands of fanatics directed by a wild eyed halfling. The victim cried out to save her baby, but to no avail, and she seemed to stare at the dreaming Heroes, begging them for help. 

To offset the damage of insufficient sleep, the group decided to simply camp and rest a full day under the thickening trees. There was shade and there was water, and Bessie soon found there was something more. 

“Bees,” she said. “Bees the size of pigs.”

No one suffered the nightmare that night, and on day six of the adventure the group was on the move again. The giant bees suggested most strongly that the rift valley was close, and that one of the side missions could be accomplished.

===============================================================

“That is one long drop for sure,” Ren said as he gazed down the rift valley. 

“Two hundred forty feet,” Madge said, “just as Shayder described.” She gazed north to focus on the far side. “And about two mile across.”

The rift valley had been easy to find. In truth it would have been harder to miss. Not only was it huge and rright in their path, but giant bees were regularly flying in and out of it. The valley ran east to west out of sight, and simply by following alongside it the Heroes from Vaunth-on-the-Lake had found the red stone steps leading down into it. 

“That’s too much for tonight, even with those steps,” Killian said. “I say we camp up top tonight and take it on in th’ morning.”

The others nodded. It was already dark down below, and getting that way where they stood. “No fun looking for a camp site in the dead dark,” Ren said. 

Just then an inhuman howling sounded from somewhere in the valley. It echoed off the rift walls, and was joined by more. Everyone glanced at each other with wide eyes. Ren shook his head. “Nope, no fun at all,” he said.

When the morning came the wisdom of their choice became clear. They freed Jimmy from the wagon, and Bessie led the goat easily down the steps. The wagon was a far greater challenge. Madge took the brunt of the weight as Ren and Killian stabilized the wagon from the higher end, keeping it from tilting over or sliding off the steps.

The redstone staircase switched back halfway down, leaving a wide landing at the midway point. It was perfect for a rest. The four tied Jimmy to the wagon, and put blocks at the wheels. Secure as possible, they sat to eat. 

Suddenly something brown splattered beside Ren. 

“What in the – “ he shouted as he jumped to his feet. The others stood as more brown pellets and patties fell around them. One wide patty hit Bessie square on the head. 

From above, there was laughter. Leaning over the edge of the rift were the redbreasts. One threw a bag down at the group and shouted, “Good luck! Most don’t return from down there.”

“At least we ain’t shoveling dung with our hands,” Ren shouted back at them. The redbreasts pulled back from the edge, still laughing.

“We’ll see them again,” Madge said, scowling. She kicked the bag, which fell apart to reveal three chakta heads. “They’ve seen some chakta too.”

“Too bad they weren’t on the wrong end of the ambush,” Bessie said. She was doing her best to clean off herself. Most of the dung was old and in pellets. What struck her was fresh from this morning.

Killian cast a spell that cleaned the druid up completely, and the group continued down. 
It was still early afternoon when they reached bottom. They double checked their gear and then headed toward the interior. Giant bees were all around them, buzzing to and fro without giving the adventurers so much as a glance. 

“There,” Ren said, pointing off into the trees. “That tall one, on the branch off right.”

The others followed his point to see the largest bee hive any had ever laid eyes on. 

“It’s the size of a house,” Bessie said. “How that’s all hanging from the one thread I can’t imagine.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Killian said. “All we need to worry about is getting to it.” He pointed to the ground around the tree. 

Primitive walls were there where he pointed. Rude stacks of roughly cut tree trunks, thrown together with less planning than an ant hill, surrounded the tree. Each was some twelve feet high. 

Ren went ahead to take a better look. Climbing a nearby tree he could easily see within the primitive fort, and he wasn’t happy at what he saw. 

“Three kerbals,” he reported to the others. “Two big ones and one that’s really big. The good news is they’re sleeping.”

“Three,” Madge repeated. “And Shayder’s paladin friend was killed taking down one.”

Killian nodded. “And they’re on the other side of those walls.”

“They must be nocturnal,” Bessie said. “Last night’s howl was probably them waking and stirring. That gives us an advantage if we do this before sunset.”

Ren smiled. “We have another advantage too, something that’ll for sure make a difference in this hunt.”


They moved up to one corner of the walls and secured Jimmy and the cart to a tree. As a group, they walked around the rude little fort and noted choice trees, the ones easiest to climb and with limbs extending toward the giant bee hive. When four were chosen, two on opposite sides, they had only one more bit of preparation to make. Ren gathered up some arrows from his stash and Madge’s, and two of Bessie’s bolts. He then carefully opened up the sack containing the bladder of giant spider venom and even more carefully coated as many missiles as he could with the supply. 

“Don’t nick yourselves,” he said as he handed the now poisoned projectiles back. “This was good timing,” he added. “I don’t see that that poison would’ve stayed good more than another day or so.”

Madge nodded as she took her arrows. “You know that split like we’ll be, one side or the other’s going to be out of the fight quickly.”

“The crossfire at the start’ll be worth it,” Ren said. “Hopefully we’ll get ‘em confused for a few moments and they won’t have much fight left by the time they pick a target to go for.” He looked the others over. “Everyone ready?”

They split up then. Killian and Ren went to the fort’s south side and climbed trees close to each other. About twenty feet up they scooted out on branches as far out as they could. Across the fort, Bessie and Madge did the same. The two teams were out of sight of each other, but birdcalls sent between Ren and Bessie confirmed everyone was in place. 

Ren shot first, sending a poisoned arrow into the biggest of the kerbal. Madge followed at once with one going into a smaller one, and Killian sent a glowing bolt of magical pain into the one Ren shot. Bessie’s shot never came. Ren heard a crash and a curse from across the fort, but before he could say anything there came a howl from within the fort. 

The kerbals were fully awake and very angry. 

Ren and Madge sent a pair of arrows into the biggest one. She, as they could now tell, staggered in pain and howled again. The other two joined her howls and looked around the fort for an enemy. The biggest one pointed up and over, toward Ren and Killian. 

The sorcerer sent another bolt of magic into her and she fell to her knees, weaved, then fell forward. Ren shot one of the pair that were now climbing the bee hive tree and he shouted, “They’re climbing this way!” To Killian, he shouted, “Let’s us knock out that healthy one first!”

He was answered by a fan of flames from Killian’s fingertips. The rays of fire struck both kerbals as they scurried onto a large branch toward their attackers. “That’s good enough too,” the hunter whispered, readying another arrow. 

If the kerbals noticed or cared that their apparent leader was dead neither showed it. Ren put an arrow into the lead kerbal, the one he thought healthier, and another one struck it from below. Braving a glimpse down, Ren saw Madge – readying another of her arrows. 

Killian sent another bolt of magic into that lead kerbal and it finally fell from the tree branch. Madge, for good measure, shot it once it hit ground. 

Ren put another arrow into the last kerbal, but it was getting dangerously close. It jumped from its branch onto one ten feet below Killian. The sorcerer sent another bolt into it, but both Ren and Madge’s arrows hit tree bark. The kerbal made a quick climb up and stretched a clawed paw out to strike Killian.

A bolt suddenly appeared in its belly. The kerbal howled and took a desperate swipe at the sorcerer above him, but it was no good. He lost his grip and fell from the tree. When he hit the ground he didn’t even twitch.

 Ren looked down to see Bessie. She was breathing hard and favored her right leg when she walked, but she was whole. “Looks like giving me this crossbow was the right thing for the Circle to do,” she said between huffs. 

With things calmed down, Bessie explained that she had shifted her weight wrong as she took aim. Her foot slipped, her crossbow fired prematurely, and she fell through the branches and landed hard on the ground. It took a moment for her head to clear and for her to cast a healing spell on herself, but she was determined to not be kept out of the fight. 

The rest of the afternoon was much less demanding. They managed to get Jimmy and the wagon in the fort and set up a camp. Gathering the honey didn’t take long once Ren was able to make it up the tree. Most of the lowest branches had long been broken off, the kerbal didn’t need them, which made the first part of the climb a challenge. Finally though the group had a pot filled with the honey of giant bees, and managed it without disturbing its makers. Furthermore, they now had two kerbal skins to present as trophies when they returned to Maissen. The third had been too badly shot up to be of worthwhile value, but even so that left them with twice what Shayder’s paladin friend had managed to obtain.

Flush with success, the Heroes decided to spend day eight of their adventure relaxing in the kerbal made fort. They swam in the nearby lake, took advantage of the bountiful fruit trees, and slept extra hours. It was to prove a wise choice.

They all had the dream. Some on the first night, some on the second, but by the time the embarked on day nine out of Maissen, they all had seen the woman being burned at the stake. Before the day was over, they would know all about what that dream meant.


----------



## Beale Knight

*02-04 & 03-01: Hilltopple House pt 1: Island in a Sea of Fire*

2-02

The dream was the topic of conversation as the group made their way across the valley floor that morning. It made the arduous task of getting the cart up the red stone stairs on the far side go that much faster. Only when faced with the forest on the rift valley’s north side did their thoughts focus back on the task at hand.

Traveling through the forest took up a full day. Gradually the land began to rise. It was subtle, but noticeable to the three Heroes familiar with the ways of outdoors. Somewhere on the other side of the forest would be the foothills of Ghost Dragon Mountain. 

Everyone had the dream again that night. The bonfire, the woman tied to a post in the midst of it, the halfling leading the burning, holding aloft a silver spoon like a conductor’s baton, and a set great golden gates – all of it as vivid as life. So vivid it awoke them all. 

There was a light that didn’t come from the sun. Before the four Heroes was a golden gates, the same featured so prominently in their common dream. For a long time, all they could do is stare. 

“It’s real,” Bessie finally managed to say.

Madge nodded. 

Ren shook his head. “It can’t be real, this is somebody playing magic with our heads.”

“Magic – aye,” Killian said. “but it’s also real.” He frowned. “And right in our way.”

“Let’s see,” Ren said. The gate stretched about twenty feet in each direction, so Ren trotted off to the right. As he made to move around the gates’ far side, it moved. The gates turned to face him. His face ashen, Ren walked back to the others. “Did you see….it won’t let us…there’s no way…”

Just then the gates opened. Only a reddish orange light could be seen beyond, but there was a very clear voice.

“Save my babies!”

Madge looked at each of the others in turn, and then without a word dashed through the gate. 

Killian followed, and then Bessie. Ren shook his head, double checked that Jimmy was still safely tied in place, and then followed the others. 

The four Heroes were in a courtyard - four walls, a gate to the right, and the one behind them closed. A few buildings and a tower dotted the grounds, otherwise empty but for signs of a recent bonfire in the center of it all.

In a low voice that betrayed his amazement, Killian said, “This is where the dream happened.”

Madge nodded and pointed to the walls. “See the murals. The halfling leading a parade of followers? That’s the same man from the dream, right down to the spoon he’s holding up.”

Killian walked closer toward the center of the courtyard. There he knelt and ran his finger through the soot. “This was no bonfire,” he said after a moment. Standing, he pointed out the blackened area. “See how this is an exact circle, and by far too big for a common fire, even one built to burn someone to death. This was done by mage, a fireball, or something like it.”

“I’m going to take a look into those buildings,” Madge said. “They may yield some clues about this place.” 

She went to the first of two small shacks toward one corner, and well out of what Killian called the “blast area.” Only a moment later she left that for the next one, where she lingered for several minutes. At last she entered the edge of the blast area and ascended the tower that sat on the fringe there, only to come down a moment later. 

“Well?” Bessie asked when the ranger returned.

“The first are guest houses,” Madge said. “A halfling in the first abruptly told me I needed to go next door - - - to the women’s house.” She snorted in disgust. “The halfling woman there offered me soup and fowl, but had nothing – nothing – useful to say except to tell me we’re in Hilltopple House, for whatever that’s to mean.”

“Real halflings?” Bessie asked. “Was one of them the one who called for help?”

Madge shook her head. “They didn’t know anything about someone calling for help, but they looked and sounded real to me.”

Biting his lip, Ren asked, “Is that really good enough when we’re someplace that isn’t where we should be? Who really knows if any of this is real or not or what?”

“It’s going to have to do,” Madge answered. “Let’s see what else is here.”

The scarred ranger led the way to the gate off to the right. It wasn’t as huge as the golden set, but still required the full effort of all four Heroes to push it open. Another courtyard awaited on the other side. As the first, this one had mural covered walls and a gate on one wall – the left. There were only two buildings, a stable and what seemed to be a blacksmith’s shop surrounded by an empty moat. Nowhere were there any signs of life. 

“Okay,” Ren said. “There’s no babies here to save, there’s no one to tell us what’s going on, and I don’t want to get caught up in an endless series of gates and courtyards. How about we go back and try the gate that got us in here in the first place? See if it opens up to where we woke up?”

Killian nodded, “Not a bad idea. I don’ like the idea of someone leading us on an’ toying with us.”

“I suppose,” Madge said. “But I still want to investigate this place. If the first gate does open back to camp, let’s spike it open and return. That way we know we’ll have a means out.”

Killian and Bessie nodded. Ren bit his lip and said nothing. They returned to the first courtyard and collectively pulled on the golden gate. After some struggle, it opened – to a nightmare. 

First the wave of heat hit them. Then they saw the flames, endless flames where the forest should have been. They were trapped, trapped on an island in a sea of fire. The four Heroes looked at one another and without a word, closed the gate. 

“The way is closed,” Killian whispered. 

“That leaves the only the obvious,” Madge said.

Bessie nodded. “Through the other gates.”

Ren took a deep breath. “Then let’s get to it and get out of the place.”

They headed straight for the third gate and pushed it open without much resistance. As soon as they did, they heard a pitiful cry from inside.

“Help me.” Crumpled at the base of a statue in the middle of the courtyard was an old woman in rags. 

“I’ll get her,” Madge said.

“We’ll see to the next gate,” Ren said. He, Bessie, and Killian made their way through what looked like an army training yard toward the gate to the left. 

Madge came up to the woman and kneeled beside her. “Come, we’ll help you get out.”

“You will be of some help!” the woman replied in a changed voice. Not pitiful this one, but cruel and proud. She stood and was suddenly no longer a woman at all. In her place was a man, a tall and strong warrior, armed and in armor. Madge staggered back in surprise and the warrior struck her with the pommel of his sword, sending the ranger to the ground – unconscious. 

Then the chaos of earnest combat really began. Ren shot at the warrior and Killian sent his magic bolts of pain into him, but the warrior shrugged both of the attacks off as if they were nothing. Bessie began summoning some help as the warrior charged toward us. Then from the gate they’d just crossed came more trouble. A woman with a prickled bow sprinted in and shot Bessie. 

The warrior swung his huge sword at Killian, cutting him open across the gut and sending him to the ground. Bessie’s summoned wolf appeared behind the archer, distracting her long enough for Bessie to shoot her crossbow at her. Ren made a desperate attack against the warrior with his sickle, which barely cut through his foe’s armor. 

Then the other gate opened. Standing in the threshold was another warrior. Bereft of armor and weapons, his stance was nonetheless unmistakable. He fearlessly surveyed the battle before him as his hands worked the only weapon he’d been able to find. A mere garden hoe, the stranger seemed ready to turn it into a lethal weapon. 

The shape changing warrior glared at him. “You!” he shouted. “You were to stay where we PUT you!” With that he charged, and his foe followed suit. The two closed and engaged – sword versus hoe, armored warrior versus an angry one.

An arrow pierced Bessie and forced her and Ren’s attention back on the archer. As Bessie made a wild crossbow shot, Ren decided on a desperate plan. He made a show of feeling about in his quiver before pulling an arrow out. It was nocked and ready before the archer woman made her next arrow ready, and Ren had time to aim his short bow at her and shout out. 

“This one’s a slaying arrow, lady,” he shouted. “You’ve seen me hit; I won’t miss from this short distance. Go back or suffer it.” 

It was all a complete bluff, but the woman hesitated nonetheless. She let her bow drop, but as Ren and Bessie glanced at the warriors off to the side, the archer dropped to her knees and drew her dagger. She held it to Killian’s neck and spoke for the first time. “Let us speak terms.”

At that moment there was a loud shout from where the two warriors were fighting. The newcomer was bloodied in several spots, but his foe’s armor showed he had suffered hard blows from the hoe. That warrior shouted as he swung with all his might at the newcomer, who wheeled just out of range and followed through with a blow of his own. The hoe struck at just the right angle and with great force at the shape-changing warrior’s neck, cutting through the neck completely in a bloody mess that sent the head flying from the body. 

It bounced once and landed near the archer. In the moment she gaped, Bessie and her wolf lunged. The druid’s scimitar tore through the archer’s light armor, and her wolf tore open the archer’s throat.  All at once that battle was over. 

Bessie leaned over to tend to the still bleeding Killian as Ren approached the strange warrior. 

“Thank you for your help,” he said. “I think we’d pretty sure be dead except for you coming in.”

“He betrayed me,” the stranger said. “He killed my fellows and took all that I had. Weapons, armor, badges, and,” his eyes flashed red in anger, “my horse.” The stranger looked past Ren, glaring at the headless corpse at his feet. 

Ren looked down at the corpse and back up. “Well I’d say you did a fine job of getting him back,” he said. The stranger nodded but didn’t say anything. Ren waited, then continued. “Look then. You helped us considerably, we’ll help see about finding what he took.” He paused and looked at the sky. It was as blue as a bright spring day should be, with no sign of the sea of fire that lay beyond the walls. “I’m willing to bet they’re all in the place somewhere. We’ll help you get them all back.” 

The stranger again just nodded. Ren glanced over to Bessie, who had just gotten Killian back to consciousness. Turning back to the stranger, he said, “That’s Bessie Fisherman over there, tending to Killian the sorcerer. And my name’s Ren d’Hayson.” He paused. 

“Ren,” the stranger said. “I will indeed take your offer with thanks.”

“Wonderful,” Ren said, desperate to keep him talking. “So….what’s your name?”

The stranger finally looked up from his vanquished foe. He stared up into the sky for a moment, and then set the hoe to the ground as if it were the grandest of standards. Coming to a stiff attention, he said in the clearest of proud voices, “I am Aneirin Allin, son of Mahavir, Lieutenant Guard of Paras in the Service of Lord Maissen.”

Bessie and Ren both looked at him with widened eyes. “Lord Maissen?”


[The Tale continues on post #49]


----------



## Greylock

Nicely done.     

The Meat Shield has arrived.


----------



## alsih2o

Crit with a hoe, nice entrance.


----------



## Greylock

And don't forget, he was first level in that encounter ;p. I remember the look of suprise when you realised that, and promptly hustled me out of the room to level him up.

That was my second PnP session after a loonngg absense frrom the game [I missed 2ed entirely], and you made it a great experience. It certainly helped it for me that the group had already gotten through the char meet'n-greet phase, and that Wes had already introduced me to you all in his one game shot.

And kudo's to Wes for writing away my n00bishness as stoical attitude  .


----------



## Beale Knight

*03 - 02 Hilltopple House pt2: Stories Fantastic and Twisted*

Bessie and Ren looked at each other and then back at the strange warrior. “Lord Maissen?” they said in unplanned unison. 

Aneirin furrowed his brow and frowned at them. “Indeed. Why do you seem surprised that I would be in his service?”

Bessie wringed her hands. “Um – just how long have you been here, Aneirin?”

The warrior took a breath and looked into space. “Five days now,” he said at last. “Five days since my party was betrayed and chained.”

“Your party?” Bessie asked.

At her question Aneirin began telling a fantastic tale. That he had been one of Lord Maissen’s soldiers, part of a team that had been sent out mere days ago to meet with the halfling that lived in this compound. He told of how a pleasant first day turned into betrayal by the halfing, who had his guests drugged, stripped of their gear, and chained at the back of the house. Almost every day since, the warrior he’d just slain would come and take away one of the prisoners. None had been seen since. Aneirin was the last survivor, the one who finally managed to free himself after days of work. 

“And with him dead,” Aneirin said, “I want my sword and armor back, and Avarshan returned.”

“Who’s Avarshan?” Ren asked. “I thought all your companions had been taken.”

“My horse.”

“You have a horse?!” Ren and Bessie said as one.

Aneirin looked surprised at their reaction. “Of course,” he said.

Before the others could say anything, there was a  loud scrape from behind them. They turned to see the archer pulling her bow to her. She’d apparently been conscious for several minutes, quietly trying to gather her weapons. The cobblestone path had betrayed her.

Bessie and Ren went for their weapons, and Aneirin took a step toward the woman, but in that moment a dagger flew into the archer’s neck. From his place by the still unconscious Madge, Killian was slowly getting to his feet. “Next time,” he said, “check ‘em t’ be SURE they’re dead.”

Aneirin led the others through the forth gate. It opened into a another square courtyard, one that featured a short two story house, a reflecting pool, and the strangest beast the Heroes from Vaunth-on-the-Lake had ever seen. Almost as tall as the house itself, the animal was simply massive. Four thick, stump-like legs supported its gigantic gray body, with a thin tail on one end offset by a head larger than Ren would be curled up in a ball. Strangest of all was the animal’s face; between two long tusks a hung long snake-like appendage that seemed to be prehensile! The beast didn’t seem threatening. He – an intimidating he – simply wandered the courtyard using his facial appendage to take leaves from the uppermost tree branches to eat. 

Everyone but Aneirin came to a dead halt to stare at this bizarre animal. The warrior nudged them on. “The ellefant won’t bother you if you leave him alone. Now come – I want to get in that house. He must have my gear within.”

At that moment there came a shout from the house. “GO away! This is Mine. MINE!” From a brass slot in the door the tip of a wand protruded. The wand shook and the voice on the other end of it repeated his demand.

“I want my sword, Armis,” Aneirin shouted. “Return it and no harm will come to you.”

“It’s Not MY FAULT!” Armis cried from the other side of the door. “Now go away. There’s nothing I can DO about it.”

“Who’s Armis?” Bessie asked.

“The halfling lord of this House,” the warrior answered. 

Ren looked around the courtyard and suddenly his heart sank. “He’s the lord of this place?” he asked.

“Yess,” Aneirin repeated as he pounded on the door. A bolt of light shot out from the wand, striking him and making Aneirin step back in pain. “Armis – you will let us in!”

“We have to get in there and deal with this Armis man,” Ren whispered to Bessie and Killian. He waved his arm around to direct their gaze around the walls of the courtyard. “There’s no gate. If we want to get back to the real world we’re going to have to deal with this Armis and get him to get us back.”

“We’ll break the door in then,” Killian said. “It looks delicate enough.” He went up to join Aneirin. 

Bessie took a step that way and suddenly stopped. “I wonder,” she muttered to herself. Then she wheeled and walked to the ellefant. 

“Well maybe she can, she’s the druid,” Ren said to himself. He was thinking of a quieter way in. As Killian and Aneirin began pounding on the door and Bessie worked to convince the ellefant it should become a battering ram, Ren ran around the corner of the house. On the long side he noticed a row of upper story windows – real glass ones – and that there was plenty of little hand and foot holds on the rough stone walls. A few seconds later he was breaking open the foremost window. 

He stumbled on a bed unexpectedly shoved all the way against the wall under the window, and remarked on its small size. It would fit a child of eight comfortably, but never an adult. Ren felt a twinge of excitement hit him. In moments he would likely be laying eyes on a real, living halfling! He opened the bedroom’s door, a sliding one, and found him self in a long room that ran the length of the house – and which was filled with bookshelves! 

From below, the pounding on the door continue. Armis’ whiny voice was clearer now. 

“It wasn’t my fault, none of it!” Armis shouted. “I didn’t want her killed! I didn’t want ANY of this!”

Suddenly there was a loud CRASH from downstairs. “NO!” Armis shouted. “GET OUT! THIS HOUSE IS MINE! MINE!!” There was another whoosh sound of a magical bolt followed by sound of something breaking. Then another one, slightly different in tone.

Another exchange of demands from Aneirin and protests by Armis followed that, but upstairs Ren was ignoring it. He look around the room and saw an expensive looking box displayed on a table. Without hesitating he walked over and took it, then began walking to the stairs on the far side of the room. En route he pulled a random book from the shelves. 

By now Armis had back his way to the bottom of the stairs Ren was at the top of. When the former stopped his delirious tirade to take a breath, the latter loudly cleared his throat. 

Eyes wide, the halfling turned up to see Ren holding the book in one hand and his sickle in the other. “NO!” Armis shouted. “THAT’S MINE! GET OUT! IT’S MY HOUSE! MINE”

Ren shook his head. He could hear Aneirin and Killian rushing across the lower floor. “We’re going to destroy this house of yours and all in it if this keeps up,” Ren said. “What about if you calm down and we all actually have a sit down kind of talk.”

Armis looked from Ren at the top of the stairs to Aneiring and Killian – now just a few feet from him – and back again. He blinked a thousand times in five seconds, trying to decide what to do, confronted on both ends. Stuck, he finally relented – a little bit. 

“Him,” he said, pointing to Killian. “The sorcerer can stay. I’ll talk with him. The rest of you – out. OUT!” 

Ren, Killian, and Aneirin exchanged glances, and finally nodded. Aneirin wasn’t happy, but satisfied for the moment that he was closer to getting what he wanted he left the house. Ren retreated from sight, dropped the book loudly atop a shelf, and then waited just out of sight, ready to eavesdrop on the conversation between the sorcerer and the halfling.

What he and Killian (and Bessie and Aneirin, who were listening just outside the broken remains of the house’s front door) was a twisted tale of ancient tradition, desperate survival, and general cowardliness. This was indeed a halfling, despite the fact Maissen history reported them all long dead, and his name was Armis. His father had died just days ago, by his reckoning, and per tradition his wife was to be placed on the funeral pyre. She made a dubious claim of pregnancy, which would have spared her from the flames, but the human warrior, Belzle, and archer - hirelings of the late lord - didn’t believe her. They staked her to the pyre and set it alight, over Armis’ objections (as he emphasized again and again and again). This scene was the truth behind the vision the Heroes from Vaunth-on-the-Lake had all repeatedly seen in our nightmares over the past several days.

The pyre exploded, killing all the witnesses except the three we had met and some guests, including Aneirin, that were in the house at the time. The widowed halfling had become some sort of demon that returned every night, apparently demanding live sacrifice to keep her placated. To Belzle and the archer, the human guests at Hilltopple House were perfect for that purpose, as were the people who came through the front gate every night. 

The villains that drugged and imprisoned Aneirin and his comrades had discovered there was no getting out of Hilltopple house, but so long as they could offer victims to the demon spirit, they would live. To their delight, fresh victims entered the compound almost every night – apparently driven to do so by the same nightmares that haunted the four Heroes from Vaunth-on-the-Lake. Armis had discovered that he was safe so long as he stayed in his house, and had simply refused to come out ever since. 

When the tale was told, Armis collapsed in his overstuffed chair. Killian left to confer with the others. 

“So it will return tonight?” Bessie asked. 

Killian nodded. “I haf’ta presume there’s no reason it won’t.

“And you don’t know what it might be?” asked Aneirin. 

The sorcerer shook his head.

“He’s got a pretty grand library upstairs,” Ren said, “do you think that might help?”

Killian stroked his beardless chin, and then nodded. “Couldn’t hurt. Probably take awhile.”

“We can’t go anywhere anyway,” Bessie said. 

While Killian went to conduct his research, the others investigated the courtyards that made up Hilltopple House. They discovered the outermost courtyard, where the widow had been burned to death and returned every night, was a sort of guest house for servants. The two little buildings were much like little inns, and the halflings that had addressed Madge were not people at all. They were manifestations of magic based off statuettes that sat on the mantle – manifestations that would prepare meals of soup or fowl several times a day. 

The second courtyard was where Aneirin was reunited with his horse. Avarshan and two other horses were well kept in the stables there, which were also home to a mother dogs and her two pups. Those animals had the curious ability to be someplace other than where they appeared. The other building in that courtyard was some sort of blacksmith shop, wherein a man of iron was being constructed! A stockpile of weapons was discovered here, as was Aneirin’s weapons and armor. From the books recovered in that place, it was learned that the trench around the building held monsters that rusted and ate metal. 
The third courtyard was simply a drilling area, equipped with an archery range, tilting targets for ride-by attacks, and cleared spaces for fighter practice. 

The group was making their way back to Armis’ house when Killian shouted from the top window. 

”I have it! But we’ve got t’ hurry!”

[story continues on post #52]


----------



## Greylock

Thanks. I know that was a little quibble, but it's important to Aneirin...


----------



## alsih2o

For those who care: Hilltopple House has been run 3 times. For a 7th, 2nd and 3rd level parties, maps and stuff available if you want 'em.


----------



## Beale Knight

*03 - 03 Hilltopple House pt3: Solution*

03 03

Ren, Bessie, Madge, and Aneirin sped into Armis’ house. The halfling had fallen asleep in his overstuffed chair and barely stirred as they tromped past him and upstairs. There they found Killian sitting on the floor amidst several piles of books. 

“Right here, this is it,” he said as the others entered. “Najeff.”

“Bless you,” Ren said. 

“No – a curse,” the sorcerer answered. “a wronged, tormented soul that transforms into a demon spirit demanding vengeance. So we must satisfy the widow’s demands.”

His explanation met with four blank stares, Killian continued. “The widow was wronged, perhaps she really was with child, perhaps there was some other reason, but she was earnestly wronged enough to empower her to become this demon. The people sacrificed to her have placated her enough to leave each night, but she won’t free this place until she gets her proper justice. We must offer up the ones she holds responsible.”

“Armis?” Bessie asked.

Madge shook her head. “No – he objected to burning her, remember? The demon spirit wants Belze and the archer.”

“Do you think she’d care that we already killed them?” Ren asked.

“Not a bit,” Killian said. “Not a single bit. I’m thinking we simply display the corpsesand she ought be satisfied.”

“This sounds too easy,” Ren said.

Killian waved his hand over the piles of books he’d scattered around. “Easy? Take a look at what it took to learn this, and that with help! ‘Easy’!” he huffed.

“What help?” Madge asked, “surely not Armis.”

The sorcerer thumbed his chin. “Pfft. No. He’s worthless.” A smile formed on his face. “But his father, the elder Hilltopple, now there was a wizard. And a properly organized one. Watch.” He cleared his throat, pointed to three of the four piles of books and said, “Chandelier, these books are ready to be replaced.”

There was the sound of thin chains rattling, and then a hollow, metallic voice said, “As you say.” Suddenly the chandelier lowered itself from the ceiling and began to move its multiple arms. The ends wrapped themselves around individual books, and the entire chandelier slowly floated to the far end of the room like a spider in total control of its web strand. The books were replaced on the shelves, and then the chandelier returned for another set. In this way, the piles of books were quickly put away.
“It’s a wonderful device,” Killian said. “Knows every book in the room and what’s in it. Just asking it for where information might be is enough to send it after the proper book.” He picked up two that the chandelier had not replaced and headed downstairs. “These I have a use for. Tell Armis what we’re planning while I take another look at that first courtyard.”

Armis was still fast asleep in the chair, but jumped awake when Bessie put her hand on his shoulder. “What?! What are you doing in here!” he said, his voice rising to a high pitched whine. “I said only the sorcerer! Just the sorcerer!”

Madge slammed her hands on the halfling’s shoulders, forcing him to keep still. “Listen to me you whining little coward,” she hissed. “We have solved your problem for you. Killian learned what exactly is going on and how to stop, and we’ve finished half the work already. I should think a little bit of gratitude should be shown – don’t you?”

Armis’ eyes widened, partly in fear, partly in disbelief. “You – you can stop this? Really?”

“Really,” Madge said.

“Of course, we might need a thing or two,” Ren said.

Armis smiled and began sobbing in joy. “Yes, yes, anything you need. Anything you want. Free me and it’s yours.” He paused. “Anything but what’s in the house.”

Aneirin snorted. “Let’s get started,” he said, turning his back on the halfling. 

Moving the bodies from the third to first courtyard was simple enough. First they were stripped down to shirts and breeches. Then at Killian’s direction they were placed just beyond the blast perimeter, face up. Then it was just a matter of waiting for nightfall.

The hours between were spend in a shameless exploiting of Armis’ permission to take anything wanted. Scores of arrows and spears were removed from the armory, as was a book Killian believed explained how to create golems. The two other horses were befriended, and the four food-making statuettes in the guests houses were claimed and distributed. Then at last the sun began to set in that little bit of pretend sky that shown over Hilltopple House. The four heroes from Vaunth-on-the-Lake and the out of time warrior took shelter in the closer of the guest houses and watched through the glass window. 

As the sky darkened, there was a sudden spark of light in the middle of the debris pile. This erupted into a full blown fire that lit the entire courtyard without burning a thing. Then in the middle of the fire grey smoke took form, coalescing into the form of a short woman. Her hair was fire itself and so were her eyes. When her gaze fell on the two lifeless bodies a fiery smile formed. The najeff waved her hand and the bodies began to float toward her, and they began to twitch as a semblance of life was returned to them. Their eyes opened and both let out the haunted screams of the damned. The najeff began to laugh, a crackling sound that chilled the observers to the bone. 

There was a sudden implosion of smoke and fire, and then all three were gone. The five observers felt a sudden sickness in their stomachs, but it passed in an instant, and soon they forgot it. 

Ren stepped out and looked up. His eyes watered as he smile and said, “The sky is back.”

[stroy continues on post 54]


----------



## Greylock

Beautifully written, Wes. You captured the excitement and wonderment of the moment perfectly. Brought me right back into the feeling of that gameday. Thanks   . Made my morning...


----------



## Beale Knight

*03-04 Back to the wild*

03 04

The others came out and gazed up at the sky with Ren. The flash from the departing najef had been so powerful, it took a moment for any of them to notice how the sky had suddenly changed. 

“The sun’s up,” Aneirin said.

Madge blinked. “You’re right.” She furrowed her brow as she glanced over to the sun and then down to the shadows it cast. “It can’t be more than three hours past noon.”

Ren shivered. “Praise to every single god out and above that we’re out of that place.” He paused. “We ARE out aren’t we?” Without waiting for an answer he sprinted to the main gate, shoved the locking bar to one side, and gingerly pulled. The gates swung open as if they’d been oiled yesterday. Beyond was the forest they stood in the day before. From close by was the bleating of a goat. “Jimmy!” Ren shouted. He ran out of the courtyard and found the group’s goat and wagon, both where they’d been secured the night before. 

From the debris field came a different noise. The high-pitched crying of baby. When the others walked to the ruins of the pyre where Lady Hilltopple had been wrongly burned to death, they saw him. An infant halfling, no larger than a two month old kitten and with almost as much hair. 

“She wasn’t lying,” Bessie whispered as she bent to pick the child up. 

Killian smiled. “Of course not. If she hadn’t been with child she would have been so wronged to return.”

From the second courtyard there were happy shouts. “You did it! You really did it! The curse is lifted! Happy day! You - - - -“ Armis came to an abrupt halt as he saw Bessie, Madge, and Killian gathered together. They turned to face him, and his eyes fell on the bundle in the druid’s arms. “What - - “ 

“Armis,” Bessie said, “meet your brother.” She handed him over to Armis, who carefully cradled his brother in his arms.

“My brother,” he whispered. He turned and slowly began to walk back to his house, followed by Bessie, Madge, and Killian. 

Aneirin stepped outside to join Ren. “You’re not going with them?”

Ren collapsed onto the dirt with a happy smile. “No, those three can handle this. I want to just enjoy being where I’m supposed to be – in the real world.”

Aneirin crossed his arms and stared into the distance. “The real world,” he said. “But not *my* real world.”

Ren propped himself on his arms. His face and voice full of sympathy, he said, “I’m sorry, Aneirin. You got taken on a ride that you didn’t want, and ended up where you can’t go back.”

The warrior from the past didn’t say anything for a long minute. Then he pointed south. “Is the thin valley still there?”

“Yes, most of a day’s walk,” Ren said.

“I’m not going to walk,” Aneirin said. He whistled a pattern of notes and turned to the hunter. “I’ll be back.”

Ren nodded. “I hear you. Go. We can wait.”

Avarshan trotted up beside her rider and Aneirin climbed on. He patted his mount and leaned to whisper in her ear. “Let’s ride.” And then they were off, sending a spray of dirt and grass behind them.



“HE LEFT?!” Killian shouted.

“He’ll be back,” Ren said. 

“We’ve got to get moving.”

“We still have to load up the cart. He’ll be back before we’re ready to actually go.”

“But…”

Bessie put a hand on his shoulder. “We can wait. He just needs to clear his head.”

“And come to terms with the stark truth of his situation,” Madge said. “Everything he knew is antiquated and everyone he knew is dead. He’s an orphan in the worst way. We can spare him the time to settle this within his soul.”

“If he’s not back by the time we’re ready to go, we’ll go looking,” Ren said. “Or I can go now and you all can load the cart.”

“You’re not getting out of that task,” Bessie said with a grin. 



Aneirin returned just as the last of the new supplies was being tied down. “Where do you go from here?”

“North,” Ren replied. “We have a mission that takes us to the dwarves of the mountains. After that, we’re not sure.”

“You’re welcome to come with us,” Bessie said. 

“Thank you,” the warrior said. “I will. The time will help me get used to the fact of my circumstances, and I surely do not care to return alone to a strange home.”

With that, the four Heroes from Vaunth-on-the-Lake, became five Heroes of Maissen. Soon they were on their way, leaving Armis with his infant half-brother. They freed the elleefant, and the big beast stayed close to them for a while before wandering his own way. The rest of the day wore on peacefully, and by the time they settled for the night they were able to confirm one important fact.

The night sky had barely changed. Whatever magic made the days pass slower in Hilltopple house had not affected them. They had spent no more than most of a day there. They were still ten days outside Maissen. 

The eleventh day of their adventure was refreshingly uneventful. Their journey had brought them into ancient, virgin forest, heavy with low fog and rabbits that watched their every step, but no adversaries. The next day the fog grew thicker, as did the rabbits. It seemed a legion of the animals was keeping track of the Heroes progress through the forest. The conditions were odd, but hardly worrisome.

Then they came to what may have been the tallest, oldest tree in the forest. It stood in the midst of a wide clearing, which is what led Ren to notice the what was strange about it. He’d looked up to the sky exposed by the clearing, happy to see it was properly blue and clear, and noticed the top of the tree. 

It was unnaturally flat, as if a giant knife had cleanly sliced off the top quarter. That was strange enough, but Ren’s hunter’s eyes noticed a gleam of metal up there. It was a speartip! And it was moving back and forth.

“Someone’s marching guard duty,” he muttered to himself.

“What was that?” Madge asked.

Ren turned to her and, in a voice just loud enough for the others to hear, said, “We’ve come upon a civilization.”


[Tale continues on Post 57]


----------



## Greylock

> “She wasn’t lying,” Bessie whispered as she bent to pick the child up.




Nooooo!! Put him back, put him back!


----------



## Beale Knight

Greylock said:
			
		

> Nooooo!! Put him back, put him back!




Well sure we know that NOW!


----------



## Beale Knight

*03-05  Talks with Gnomes*

“A civilization?” Aneirin asked

Ren pointed at the spear tip, still moving back and forth along the top of the truncated tree. Everyone stopped and took a long look.

“Who do you think?” Bessie asked.

Ren shook his head. “One way to find out,” he said as he started walking closer to the clearing. He’d just taken one step out of the cover of the last trees when the spear tip stopped moving. A head popped up over the edge of the tall tree’s top and stared for a moment. Ren stared back. This was no human head – it was close, just smaller in size. At the same time it was far bigger than Armis’. So it was no human and no halfling. That left one option.

“Dwarves,” Ren said to the others.

The dwarf standing guard shook his spear at Ren. “Further yugo, leaf” he said. Then he paused and shook his head. “Leafs you father knot can.” Ren looked back at the others in his party and then back at the dwarf in the tree. 

“What?” he called, spreading his arms to show his confusion. 

The dwarf frowned. “Leaf knot farther go yew,” he said after a moment. 

First Killian then the other stepped up beside Ren. The dwarf started to looked worried and he shook his spear again. “Father knot yugo leaf, father knot yugo leaf!”

“Does he want us to tie up his father with leaves?” Bessie asked.

“Are y’ sure that’s even a dwarf?” Killian said.

Madge shook her head. “No, but it’s too small for a man and too big for a halfling.”

“Well this is stupid,” Ren said. “He’s not trying to kill us outright, and we’ll lose our voices shouting back and forth. We’ve got to let him know we don’t mean any harm.”
He sat down and spread his hands open. The others looked back and forth between themselves and followed suit. 

This seemed to greatly confuse the dwarf. He blinked at the sight of the five humans sitting on the ground before his guard post, then disappeared under the fortifications. After a few moments he returned with another guard. The entire round of various versions of “leaf knot father yugo,” repeated itself, with the Maisseners simply remaining seated. 

Finally both heads disappeared and the clearing went quiet. “How long should we wait?” Bessie asked. 

“They’ve gone to get a superior,” Aneirin said.

The warrior’s observation soon proved true. After some ten minutes of waiting, the Maisseners saw a short form walking calmly toward them out of the fog. Only about four feet high, he had the wise face of an elder and the grace of a confident leader. Behind his kind smile was an aura of power that far outclassed the assembled Heroes he approached.

“Good day,” he said in perfect Maissen. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Balfour, leader of the gnomes of this forest.”

“I told you they were n’ dwarves,” Killian said.

Balfour smiled wider. “Indeed we are not.” He looked over the humans before him. “You are plainly Maisseners. I would know your business in this forest.”

The Maisseners looked at each other, silently voting on how much to tell this stranger. It only took a few hearbeats to decide that deception would simply not work.

“We are making our way to the dwarves; our council’s given us something to deliver to them,” Ren said. “It took us directly through these woods. We meant no harm, and have killed no more than we’ve needed.”

“Ah, to the dwarves,” Balfour said with a nod. “Has the time come around again for one of the Hero Quests?”

Madge cocked a scarred eyebrow at him. “You know of these?”

“Oh yes,” the gnome said with a chuckle. “Every few cycles we see teams of Maisseners passing through our area. Usually they don’t make it this deep into the forest, but sometimes…..” he spread his hands. 

“We have a message for you,” Bessie said.

“For myself?” Balfour asked.

The druid shook her head. “Well, no. We were charged with delivering a message to any gnomes we might come across – though they honestly didn’t seem to think we would come across any.”

Balfour nodded. “We do keep ourselves - - shall we say, inconspicuous.” He smiled. “Well then. If you have a message for the gnomes, you should come to the gnomes to give it.” He reached into a pocket and pulled out a handful of rings. Selecting five and replacing the others, Balfour said, “You understand we must keep our home and the way to it secret.” The Maisseners nodded and the gnome continued. “These will fog your mind just enough to make remembering the way from here to our home impossible.”

“Is that all they do?” Madge asked.

“You have my word,” Balfour said as he extended his hand. One by one the Maisseners took the rings and put them on. “Now, follow me.” The gnome led them deeper into the woods, and to the Maisseners it seemed they were walking through a dream fog and forest at the same time. Before they knew it they came to another clearing, one crowded with gnomes.

The gnome village was a wonder, constructed out of felled trees in perfect position and with homes carved inside. The homes were splayed out in a wheel pattern with a common area at the hub. At the fire there, Balfour introduced the Maisseners to three gnomes that also spoke their language, a wizard, a druid, and a warrior. They bid the humans welcome and invited them to sit. Drink and fruit were brought to the group as more and more gnomes gathered around the fringes of the common area. 

“Now then,” Balfour said. “What is this message?”

Bessie cleared her throat. “Kerros, a member of the ruling council, has extended the invitation to any gnome to come and live in the safety of Maissen,” she announced.

Balfour and other gnomes that knew the language chuckled. The wizard among them translated for the rest of the gnomes, and they all began to chuckle and laugh gently. 

“Kerros made us that very same offer thirty years ago,” Balfour explained. “It’s a kind thing that he offers, but we gnomes are not so in need of the safety of Maissen as he supposes.”

“Thirty years ago?” Ren exclaimed. “They never spoke of gnomes – ever, until we were in that room with the council, and now we find out they’ve known about you for thirty years!”

Balfour frowned. “I’m afraid there’s probably a great deal more your rulers haven’t told the general population.” He hesitated, then nodded and continued. “Let me make clear first the Kerros is an honorable man. Do not doubt that. But sometimes honorable men ruling over a people keep secrets to keep peace, and keep the face they need to rule.” He let that sink in before continuing. “You have been taught what happened to the halflings?”

Except for Aneirin, the Maisseners nodded. “They’re all dead, eaten by Idien.” Ren said.

“They are all dead,” Balfour said, “so far as we know. But they were not all eaten by Idien. Indeed a great many were slaughtered by Maissen.”

Bessie covered her mouth and whispered, “no”; Ren shook his head and frowned; Madge steepled her fingers and brought the tip to her chin; Aneirin scowled at the gnome. Only Killian seemed nonplused at Balfour’s pronouncement. 

The gnome continued. “The halfling natives of this land considered themselves friendly to Maissen when your countrymen first arrived on these shores. Friendly, but independent. Though Maissen outlawed wizardly magic, the halflings felt no compulsion to obey what they considered a foreign law. They studied magic freely. When they would not swear fealty to Maissen, the ruling council began to see them as a threat – their magic could be used against Maissen all too easily. With Idien rattling his saber to the south, the council would not abide the threat of the halflings.”

He took a deep breath. “And so they killed everyone of them within their borders. Some are said to have escaped, some are said to have been too far beyond Maissen’s reach, some fled to another doom in the realm of Idien. But within Maissen proper, the pogrom was a complete success. There were no more halflings and there have been none ever since.” 

The Maisseners had gone pale at Balfour’s words. “So,” Ren finally said, “generations ago our home engaged in genocide in the name of security?” Balfour nodded and Ren continued. “And it didn’t even work – it didn’t keep war from coming. How many times has Idien struck since?”

“Speaking of that,” Balfour said, “are there rumors in Maissen that he is on the rise again?”

The Maisseners looked at one another, seeking answers in each others’ faces. “No,” Bessie said at last. 

Balfour furrowed his brow. “Curious, I thought that might have something to do with your council sending you to the dwarves.”

Killian stood. “I don’ think they’d mind our showing you,” he said as he walked to the goat cart. He returned with the sword case and placed it at Balfour’s feet, then opened it to show him the rune covered weapon.

Balfour leaned forward and took a look. He nodded and said, “Ah – this does clear it up. ‘War is coming. It is time for mutual aid.’”

“That’s what it says?” Ren asked. 

Balfour nodded. “Distilled, yes. The dwarves have allied with Maissen before against the Chokta and Idien.”

“And the council feels it’s about to happen again,” Madge said.

“They’re securing an alliance before the fact,” Aneirin added with a nod. 

Ren snorted. “And they’re keeping all Maissen in the dark about it. Most of the common folk don’t even believe in dwarves, and now we learn that our ‘leaders’ have allied and fought with them in the past, and have plans of calling each other to do it again?!”

“I told you that leaders keep secrets,” Balfour said.

“Secrets I can understand,” Ren said. “I keep secrets about my hunting, and I know that there’s things that the council has to keep secret – but that’s things like how many soldiers are stationed here and there, what kind of secret weapons we have and where they’re hidden. I can even ‘understand’ why they’d want to keep their slaughter of the halflings a secret – who wants to admit to having a hand in the death of a race? But keeping a whole civilization a secret? A friendly one? Why?” He was starting to turn red, but rolled on. “We were all raised thinking that beyond the borders there’s nothing but hostile chokta, wild monsters, and Idien. You’d think we might all be a little happier knowing that at least there’s some friendly little people out there. Even if they’re far away, just knowing the whole world isn’t set on our destruction would ease our minds, slack that fear fed worry we all live with everyday. All of us that the council doesn’t deem worthy of knowing the truth anyway.” He shook his head and took a deep breath.

Silence hung over the group for several long minutes. At last Madge spoke up. “Reprehensible as these revelations are, I would still rather Maissen not fall to Idien. Balfour, can you tell us what we can expect between here and Ghost Dragon Mountain?”

The gnome nodded. “We will lead you near the edge of the forest as we led you here. From there you’ll wish to go north-northwest. Once beyond our forest you’ll enter a wide plain. Within two days you’ll reach the swamp of the farunk. Know that the farunk are a primitive people and proud hunters and one of them is a match for two humans.” He glanced at Aneirin and then to Madge. “Well, most humans.” He smiled and continued. “You can avoid the swamp to the east or west, but it will add more than a day either way, and you’ll have a river to negotiate regardless. West of the swamp is the Valley of Drayne, which you may have heard tales of.” When the Maisseners nodded, Balfour resumed, telling them of the forest beyond the swamp, the foot hills, that there might be ogres or giants in that are, and then which paths to take to the dwarves – there were more than one. 

“Thank you,” Madge said when he was finished. “This will do much to help us.”

“Excuse me, Balfour,” Ren said. He was a world calmer than when he last spoke. “If you don’t mind sharing more of what you know, could you tell us more of the world beyond Maissen’s borders?”

The gnome nodded. “Indeed. There is much I know, but I can not say I know everything.” He paused to think and then said, “probably what would most interest you would be the existence of another settlement of humans.”

All the Maisseners began to talk at once, expressing amazement and disbelief in various exclamations. When they quieted Balfour continued. “Beyond the desert at the east end of the Seven Peaks Mountains – the chain that Ghost Dragon mountain is a part of, by about two weeks march.” He bent down and, using a stick, sketched out a rough map. “This is our forest, here is the swamp of the farunk, this long chain is the mountains, the dwarves are about here and here, this is desert, and the humans are up – about – here.” He leaned back and sketch some more. “Maissen lies this way. You’ve traveled across the curble valley here, and then up to our forest.”

Bessie pointed to the a spot in the dirt. “So Hilltopple House would be about here then.”

Balfour’s eyes went wide, as did those of the three gnomes nearby that could also understand Bessie. “You know about Hilltopple House?”

Ren shuddered. Madge nodded. “We were there”

“That’s where we met Aneirin,” Bessie said. 

Balfour stared at the tall warrior. “You were IN Hilltopple House?”

Aneirin nodded slowly, a scowl on his face. “I was. I was there invited with others of my nation. We were betrayed and captured by servants of Armis, and used as fodder for the demon whose thirst for vengeance shunted the grounds beyond the world.”

At Balfour’s urging, the Maisseners related their experience in Hilltopple House. He listened closely, asked only a few pointed questions, and was very clearly amazed at the tale. When the Maisseners were finished, he shook his head. “I knew Armis. A pathetic little wizard but not really a bad man. Just caught up in circumstances beyond his power to control. I am glad he is at peace and free now.” He paused. “The circumstances make me wonder of his new half-brother,” he said quietly, more to himself than the humans. Then his eyes focused and he asked, “What became of the elder Hilltopple’s spell books, do you know?”

Killian began to laugh. “As a matter of fact I do. They’re sitting right over there on the cart.”

Madge looked to him. “Those were the two books you carried out as Armis slept!”

The sorcerer looked back to her and smiled. “And that’s not all. I also packed that book we found in the forge, next to the metal man frame.”

“Metal man frame?” Balfour repeated. “Could I see this book please. Could I in fact see all of them.” 

There was a tone in his voice the implied this was less a request than a polite command, and Killian didn’t put him off. He went to the cart and returned with all three books. Balfour looked them each over for a few moments. “These are  - - very powerful books,” he said. “This one,” holding up the one pulled from the forge, “explains how to create golems of metal. These other two contain some of the most powerful spells a wizard can cast.” He looked Killian and then the others straight in the eye as he continued. “It would not do for these books to fall into the wrong hands. It will not be safe to cart them through the wild countryside.”

“You’d like for us to leave them with you,” Bessie said. 

Balfour nodded. “I believe that would be best. Here they will be safe from evil hands.” He held up a hand of his own as Killian started a protest. “I understand that you worked hard in what you did to gain these, and you deserve compensation. On this we can talk.”

“Your hospitality is a fine payment,” Aneirin said. Madge nodded agreement. 

“You are welcome to them,” Ren said. “I’m no longer so sure evil hands don’t include Maissen’s own council.”

“Well they’d be against the law there anyway,” Killian said with a sigh. “But they’d be the only ones around.”

Balfour chuckled. At the questioning looks from his guests he said, “You are so sure wizardry is removed from Maissen?”

“It’s outlawed,” Madge said.

The gnome smiled indulgently. “As is thievery I’m sure. Has that law stopped thefts?” He paused. “Nor has the law stopped wizardry. There is in fact a circle of wizards operating in Maissen, and as one of them is the high priest of the southernmost city I expect the Council is fully aware.”

“Southernmost city?” Bessie repeated. “That’s Vaunth-on-the-Lake.”

“Petris,” Ren hissed.

“It can only be,” Madge said. “We will have much to say to him when we return.”

The Maisseners all slumped. The weight of truth was growing heavier. Balfour looked them over with sympathy in his eyes. “Take rest,” he said. “You are welcome and safe here.” 

Next – Farunk! POST #60
Coming Soon – Betrayers and the Big Bad Evil Guy


----------



## alsih2o

Woo-hoo! Seems like the story is really starting to take shape.


----------



## Greylock

Beale Knight said:
			
		

> Coming Soon – Betrayers and the Big Bad Evil Guy




Ah yes, Episode IV, in which our bold Adventurers run screaming for their lives.   

And it won't be the last time.


----------



## Beale Knight

*04-01 The Swamp and the Farunk*

The night in the gnome village was the most relaxing for the Heroes since they’d left Castle Maissen. Well fed and without the worry of a night attack, they all slept as if stones. Morning came all too early but brought with it another fine meal by the gnomes. The breakfast conversation brought no more uncomfortable revelations about Maissen. Balfour seemed to purposefully keep the topics smaller and more personal; he spoke at length about his huge collection of moths and butterflies. 

When at last the Heroes began to consider their next move, they decided that delivering the sword to the dwarves was the highest priority. If war was coming, the more advance the notice of it the better. That decided, the next thing was the direction to take. 

“Through the swamp would be fastest,” Madge said.

Ren nodded. “Won’t be able to take Jimmy and the cart through that place, no way.”

Bessie turned to Balfour, “Could we impose on you to take charge of our goat and cart until we return?” 

The gnome smiled and nodded. “It will be our pleasure. But I would reiterate – do not take the farunk lightly. They know their swamp and they know how to hunt.”

Duly warned, the Heroes once again put on the magic rings that clouded their minds and were then led by the gnomes to the edge of the forest. Balfour wished them the best of luck, and then he and his warren kin retreated into the woods. 

“So then,” Killian said. “Here we are at the edge of another blasted open plain.”

“Better for the riding,” Aneirin said.

“’sides,” Ren added, “it isn’t near as wide and open and that first one. Look, if you squint your eyes just right you can see a smudge on the horizons. That’s got to be our first glimpse at the Ghost Dragon Mountains.”

The sorcerer shielded his eyes with the flat of his hand and squinted. “Ah! Who kin’ tell from here?”

“Well then let’s stop looking and get closer,” Madge said. Without waiting for the others she started making her way north.

The blur of mountains slowly grew more distinct as the Heroes hiked north. Soon a closer smudge came into view. Lower and darker than mountains, it grew until it stretched fully across the horizon. By then the smell had reached the Heroes. They were upon the swamp. There was no discussion about going in or around, just a reshuffling of their order. Ren made his way a few score feet in front of the others, Aneirin mounted Avarshan and kept close to Killian and Bessie, and Madge stuck to the rear, keeping a watch behind them. 

The swamp was thick with trees and the sunlight filtering through the canopy of leaves cast strange shadows, distorting shapes and throwing off any estimations of distance. The sounds of frogs and birds and other swamp life echoed strangely, as did the sounds of the Heroes own steps through the water. However, these soon grew into a symphony of sounds, not quite predictable, but close enough that Ren, Bessie, and Madge all noticed when something about it changed. 

“Something’s here,” Bessie said.

“We’re in a swamp,” Killian said, “There’s lots a’ things here.”

“”No. New things,” Ren said as he nocked an arrow. “And a bunch”

“Farunk?” Aneiren asked as he drew his bastard sword.

Madge shook her head. “Too small. Hold still; they may move on.”

A silence fell as Madge said that. Thick and heavy, it lasted only a moment. Then came the chittering and light splashes. First ahead of them, then on both sides and behind. Ren turned to the closest source and saw a rat, a rat the size of a small dog, twenty feet from him. He let loose his arrow, nicking the giant vermin across his side. “Rats,” Ren said as his target skittered to him. “Big rats.”

“See them,” Madge said as she shot one. Like Ren’s, hers only nicked the creature. 

They were coming from all sides, and there were no less than a dozen, perhaps more. With his spear, Ren jabbed at a giant rat that was closing on him. He missed and the rat launched himself at the hunter, sinking his teeth deep into his calf. Ren made a desperate jab at the thing, nicking its side and driving it off of him. His vision blurred for a moment and he felt his stomach turn. “Posion,” he muttered as Aneirin stepped up and cut the rat in half. 

Across the way, Ren saw a flash of fire spring from Killian’s outstretched fingers and incinerate a rat. However, the sorcerer didn’t see the rat move in from behind him. Ren cried out a warning too late, the rat bit Killian moments before Bessie came up and drove it off with her scimitar. Killian was soon looking as green as Ren felt. 

Madge drove two away, injuring them with her sword but not killing them, before she was bitten as well. The hearty ranger quickly scraped the giant rat off her leg and stabbed it before the poison could do her harm. Ren, Bessie, and Killian made a few more feeble attempts to kill giants rats, but ended up only harming them a bit. Only Aneirin managed to slaughter a fair share of rats. 

Ren was about to say how embarrassing this all was when a whistle pierced the swamp. At the sound the rats broke off their attack, scurrying back into the shadows. From ahead of the group, deeper into the swamp, came the rhythmic splashes of someone not bothering to even try and sneak. The group drew close together and readied their weapons. Ren and Killian did their level best to not fall over. 

A shadowy form, vaguely human, began to come into focus. As it approached it was soon obvious this was just what Balfour had warned the Heroes of. Shorter than a man but far wider at the shoulder, the creature’s head had an extended snout that featured thick tusks and short, bristled hair. Farunk. The boar men of the swamp. One of them anyway. 

What stood out was the farunk’s clothing. From Balfour’s description, Ren had expected primitive dress, loincloths or simple robes. He realized he had done just what the gnome had warned against – he had underestimated the farunk. This one was dressed in an elegant tunic, embroidered with strange but intricate symbols. He wore jewelry on his head, around his neck and waist, and about his tunic. 

The farunk’s demeanor suggested no hostility, so none of the Heroes shot at him as he approached. At last the farunk stopped, about twenty yards away. A thick fingered hand reached behind him and pulled forth an hourglass, not elegant, but an hourglass nonetheless. He dramatically placed it on a knoll and looked at the assembled Maisseners. 

“One hour,” he croaked, holding up a single finger to emphasize his statement. Then the farunk began to back away, keeping the humans in his sight. After his first few steps there was more splashing from either side of the retreating farunk. In the distant shadows could be seen six or so more of his kind. His insurance had the Heroes chosen to pepper him with arrows. One of those others in particular stood out.

He wore the armor of a redbreast. It had been altered to fit his frame, but there was no doubting the deep crimson color of the leather armor. Nor was there any doubting the farunk’s message. 

“Status,” Aneirin said.

“I’m wounded but not overmuch,” Madge said. 

Bessie was cradling one arm. “Two bad bites, but the bleedings stopping. I don’t know that I can stand up to much more.”

Killian was taking fast, shallow breaths. “I feel horrible. I think th’ rat poisoned me.” He wheezed. “That an’ I’ve jest about exhausted me magic out.”

“The poison’s got to me to,” Ren said, weaving on his feet. “I got bit a few times too. Not to mentioned how my morale’s sunk pretty deep from getting beat up this bad from a few damn rats.”

“We’re in no shape to take on the farunk then,” Madge said. “From everything Balfour said we’re facing a tribe of hunters in a swamp of unknown size that they doubtlessly know like the back of their furry paws.”

‘Retreat then,” Aneirin said matter-of-factly. “We’ll make our way through the plain. If they follow, they lose the advantage of their home swamp. If they don’t, we have time to rest, heal, and regroup. Let’s go.”

The Heroes made their way out of the swamp with less caution than they’d shown on the way in. As the trees thinned and the ground grew firm the paused long enough to take bearings. ‘That way,” Ren said. “If we head southwest we’ll get a good distance between us and the swamp, and still get kind of closer to a way around.”

It was barely past noon, so the Maisseners were able to get miles and miles from the swamp. As night fell they made a cold camp. Bessie resolved to prepare healing spells for the next day, and she and Killian were given the full night to sleep. Madge, Ren, and Anierin would trade watch shifts. 

There were no clouds that night, and though the moon wasn’t quite full it cast a good light. In the openness of the plains, Ren could see quite a ways. He lay low during his watch, rising as high as his knees only when something caught his attention. It was deep in the night when something did. It was a shuffling sound, like a rodent digging a burrow. 

Supported on his elbows, but otherwise prone, Ren focused in that direction. For several long minutes nothing moved and all was quiet. Then he heard the sound again, and with it some of the tall grass shook. Ren glanced over at his bow and arrows. They hadn’t moved in the five minutes since he last checked on them. Looking back into the open plain he finally saw what he feared he would see. A rounded shadow about the size of a farunk’s head. It was moving – slowly – toward the camp. Ren smiled. The farunk was approaching Ren's position just like so many game animals had before Ren brought them down.

Without so much as a glance away from the farunk, Ren reached for his bow and an arrow. By feel alone he nocked the arrow loosely. The farunk moved again; he seemed to be on all fours, taking a step, then raising his head to take a look, and then repeating the whole cycle. Ren watched him and took a judgment of the distance with his eyes as he studied the breeze on his skin. When the farunk moved the next time, Ren was ready. He raised himself to his knees, pulled the arrow back, and let it fly all in a single move. In the back of his mind he wished someone had been awake to see the smooth flow of his attack. 

The arrow flew to the farunk as if it had eyes and its own will to strike. It struck the farunk somewhere in the upper torso. It didn’t kill, but it convinced. The farunk jumped to his feet and ran. Ren shot another two arrows before the farunk was too far gone. 

Ren glanced over at the spellcasters. Bessie and Killian were sound asleep, as were Madge and Aneirin. Ren smiled. Whether the last arrows had hit or not he didn’t know, but they had all done their job. Satisfied, he settled back down to his original position and waited for another attack. 

There were no more that night. Dawn came and Bessie and Killian felt worlds better. The druid cast her magic on Ren and the sorcerer, healing their wounds and driving out the last lingering effects of the poison. Within a half hour of rising, the Heroes of Maissen were on the move again. Ren reported the overnight incident with the one farunk, and they all wondered about the redbreast armor that the other was wearing. On the surface it seemed like palatable news. The redbreasts had obviously been into the farunk swamp, and it appeared as if they came out the worse for it. 

After a few hours without any sign of farunk pursuit, the Maisseners began to relax a bit. They took turns trying to ride the two horses they acquired from Hilltopple House (Aneirin advised that Avarshan was unlikely to welcome other riders, especially novices). By noon they could hear a low roar from the northwest. Soon they saw how the sky to the west was far darker than the rest of the sky around it. 

“Rain up that way,” Aneirin said. 

“That’s no ordinary rain,” Bessie said. “Though I didn’t expect we’d reach here quite as soon as we have.”

The warrior raised an eyebrow. Bessie smiled. “From what Popa Thorson and Petris…”

“The illegal wizard posing as a holy man,” Ren interrupted. 

Bessie cleared her throat. “What we’re looking at is the permanent storm that marks the Valley of Drayne.”

“Drain?” Aneirin asked.

“Drane,” Madge said. 

“Yeah you right, that has to be Drein,” Ren said. He looked north. “And that’s the river that feeds it. Now we just got to figure out how we’re going get ‘cross it.” 



Next: Post 64 – MORE Farunk. Plus betrayers and the big bad evil guy.


Later – Even MORE Farunk, and Someone Else’s Civilization.


----------



## Greylock

Beale Knight said:
			
		

> Next – MORE Farunk. Plus betrayers and the big bad evil guy.
> Later – Even MORE Farunk, and Someone Else’s Civilization.




And after that, the Farunk reappear.

Alsih20 is awfully proud of his Farunk, and plays them with zest. They are written deeper than most of his NPCs. A truly intriguing race.


----------



## alsih2o

The Farunk are just slightly modified Farrow from Monstronomicon with a semi-elaboprate backstory.

 I lves me some Monstronomicon.


----------



## Greylock

alsih2o said:
			
		

> I lves me some Monstronomicon.




Yes, and you've managed to put the fear in us with it. "What's that book he's reaching for? No! NOOOOOO! Not again!


----------



## Beale Knight

*04-02 More Farunk and surprises*

“There’s no way we can make it across here!” Madge shouted. The roar of the waterfall into the Valley of Drayne made shouting a necessity. “It’s too wide, too fast, and probably too deep.”

“What about magic?” Ren asked. “Bessie, can your spells do anything to get us across?” 

“Nothing,” the druid answered. “Maybe Killian.”

The sorcerer was kneeling at the edge of the waterfall, gazing into the valley below. All four of the others had to shout to get his attention.

“I can see the stones Petris wants,” he said as he trotted over. “We’re definitely in the right place.”

“We’ll have to get them on the way back,” Madge said. “Do you know any spells that can get us across the river here?”

Killian laughed. “Nothing even close.”

“We’ll have to head up-river then,” Madge said “find a point to ford.”

The Heroes headed east, checking the river every hundred yards or so. They found no place that afforded a safe place to even think about crossing, and soon they were getting dangerously close to the swamp. With no other choice, they readied their weapons and headed right for it. They were a good quarter hour into the swamp proper before the river finally became shallow and slow enough to ford. They went one at a time, keeping a careful lookout for farunk every second. 

To their relief, they not only crossed the river without incident, they also made their way fully outside the swamp without so much as hearing a suspicious sound. When the swamp was miles behind them, the Heroes stopped to take stock of their position. It wasn’t long after noon, and in the distance they could see the foothills of Ghost Dragon mountain. Madge, Bessie, and Ren held a quick conference and decided it was quite possible to get well into the hills before nightfall, and so they continued north. 

The hills didn’t flow smoothly with gentle rises and slopes; they looked as if they had been scooped out of the mud with a ladle and dumped in place. There was little vegetation, a few scrub bushes and some low trees were just about all. Even so, next to the mountains that dominated the landscape, the hills themselves seemed positively crowded. Soon there were signs that people were also crowding in the hills. 

“That’s smoke over there,” Ren said as the Heroes topped a hill.

“No, that’s trail dust,” Madge said.

They looked at each other and realized they’d been looking in different directions. Both were right. Off to the northeast was smoke as from a campfire, and to the northwest was a billow of trail dust, suggesting a small troop of people. 

“Which to do go toward?” Bessie asked.

“And do we really want to go toward either one?” Aneirin asked. “After our encounter with the farunk, it might be prudent to avoid contact with others unless we can scout them out first.”

“The marchers then,” Killian said. “They’re probably dwarves, and we’ll likely be able to check before getting too close.”

“Dwarves don’t make campfires?” Ren asked.

“They live under the ground, where fresh air is at a premium,” Killian answered. “Even with a quality ventilation it’s stupid to foul up the inside of a tunnels with smoke.”

“How do they cook?” asked Aneirin.

“Coals and briquettes, of course,” the sorcerer answered. “From, um, what I’ve been given to understand.”

“That’s good enough reasoning to me,” Madge said. “We have to pick a way and that’s as good enough reason as any other.”

They all agreed and headed off to what they presumed was a troop of people – hopefully dwarves – on the march. As they crested the next hill though, there was loud, low squeal from behind. Turning, they saw a lone farunk standing atop the hill they’d just left. When he saw them turn, the farunk squealed again, waving his arms from the Heroes to himself. 

“Well I am impressed he found us this far from the swamp,” Ren said. “They are some good trackers, yep.”

Aneirin scowled. “He’s taunting us.”

“Let it go,” Madge said. “We have higher priorities than him.”

“Don’t want him coming up on us at night though,” Ren said. 

The farunk gave another loud squeal and grunt, then tuned and bent over and slapped his buttocks. 

“That’s it!” Aneirin said. “This time he’s not facing wounded men.” With that he spurred Avarshan and galloped to the offending pig-man. 

“Devor kin del!” Killian shouted; he ran full speed behind Aneirin.

“Wait! Oh stars damn it,” Madge said.

“So….” Ren started. “Should we go along?”

“No,” Madge said. “He’s being stupid and deserves what he gets.”

“It is only one,” Bessie said. “And you said there was only one last night.”

“I only SAW one,” Ren said. “It doesn’t seem right that a lone pig-man would go after a group. I just can’t see it.”

“We should help then,” Bessie said. “At least be ready to come in as support.”

“You’ll have to hurry,” Madge said. Her arms were crossed, but she nodded in the direction of the farunk.

The pig-man ducked behind the crest of the hill as Aneirin closed on his position. A moment later horse and rider were out of sight on the far side of the hill. Killian continued to speed across the valley between hills, and just as Bessie and Ren were about to follow, Aneirin came riding back over the hill top.

He had three arrows sticking out of his body and was galloping hard for the rest of the party. Aneirin passed Killian, who only took a second to look at the five farunk coming over the hill top before turning around himself. 

“Well good. The ambush didn’t kill him,” Madge said. “Let’s get ready to lay one of our own in case they’re just as stupid as he was.” The ranger walked part way down the hill and got readied her bow. Ren and Bessie joined her, Ren dropping prone at the top of the hill to keep an eye on Killian. 

There was a chorus of piggish grunts and squeals as Aneirin reached the others. Ren then turned to the party and said, “Never mind, they’re leaving and Killian is just about here.”

“I had to give it a try,” Aneirin said. “And I hurt them.”

“Of course you did,” Madge said with a scowl. “Now let’s see how much hurt they gave you.” 

The warrior’s wounds looked worse than they actually were. Within a quarter hour he was patched up, healed with druidic magics, and everyone was on their way again. However, the delay had cost them catching up with the marchers. The dust cloud had dissipated well before they drew close, but they did find something heartening. 

“It’s a road,” Bessie said. “A real road. Add some paving and it would be fit for a civilization.”

“No paving stones doesn’t mean it isn’t fit for a civilization,” Killian said. 

“Still, it’s not just a track in the wild,” Ren said. “This was laid out and stomped down on purpose, so it’s a good sign.”

Madge knelt by the tracks left by the marchers. “Not a sign of dwarves, though. The foot prints are too large – unless dwarves really aren’t little people.”

Killian looked over her shoulder. “I’d say human for sure from the size.”

“Could they be from that other settlement Balfour told us about?” Ren asked.

“Maybe,” said Madge, “only one way to really find out.”

They followed the path into the mountains proper, noting with some trepidation that it was beginning to get late in the day. In due course the path took a dramatic turn and the Heroes were looking at a stunning vista. The path cut through picturesque mountains on either side, but far ahead was a single tall mountain, dramatically decorated with a huge white cross. Whether crafted by intelligent design or the whim of nature, the cross was certainly the size of a city block, if not larger. The vista demanded attention to the point of distraction. With every step one's eyes naturally turned to the immense cross in the distance. 

Suddenly there was a loud SPLASH, followed by Ren letting out a string of curses.

“Are you alright?” Madge asked.

“Yes, stars damn me,” Ren said. “Kept watching the mountain ‘stead of where my feet were going. Should know better, especially when crossing a creek.” He stood and stepped out of the water, onto the far side of a narrow creek the road forded. 

“What’s that you stepped in?” Aneirin asked.

Ren bent down, taking a closer look at the wooden contraption his foot had crashed into. He blinked and looked again, then reached and pulled it out. “It’s a fish trap,” he said, turning the thing around in his hands and studying it closely. “Strange though – it’s the same make as what we use in Vaunth-on-the-Lake.”

“Fish traps are fish traps,” Killian said.

“Well that may be true enough,” Ren said, “but it kinda makes you wonder how whoever made THIS fish trap out here so far from Maissn knew the same way we make them there.”

“Interesting,” Madge said, “but it’s getting too dark to put too much thought into that just now.”

The path twisted as mountain paths do, and led the Heroes toward a plateau, sheltered by an overhang, along the side of the closest mountain. On that plateau was a small village of sorts. The buildings were carved out of the rock and had ladders propped up against them – apparently the only ways in were above ground level. Eager to make contact, and find shelter for the rapidly approaching night, the party approached.

There was no way to avoid being seen as they got close to the plateau, the path was fully exposed with cliff to the left and sheer mountainside to the right. As the others waited at the last vestige of shelter, Ren went ahead to scout the situation. When he got within twenty yards of the plateau he got a rude surprise.

A ballista sat atop one of the buildings. From out of another came two farunk. Stepping into view next were several humans. All but one of them in outfits of scarlet.

The redbreasts hadn’t died in the swamp after all. 


continues in post 69

Next: Betrayers and the BBEG (I promise this time for sure) and MORE farunk
Soon: Dwarves and a headcold.


----------



## alsih2o

I used 2 different Thomas Moran paintings as inspiration for this part of the world.

 One here describes the scene the party saw with the cross on the mountain, the other is the cliff dwellings-


----------



## edge3343

We're close to the part where Killian comes out to his party!


----------



## Greylock

And, very soon, the party begins to sense some pride. Sure, there are many more "advances to the rear" to come, but they are nearing the point where valor overcomes timidness.


----------



## edge3343

Greylock said:
			
		

> "advances to the rear"


----------



## Beale Knight

*04-03 Betrayers and Fighting Farunk*

One of the redbreasts, a thin man with dried mud still splattered on his leather armor, stepped forward and wagged a finger at Ren. “Oh no you don’t,” he said. “You get on back. This is our fortress; we’re the ones that found it first.”

Ren waved the others from Vaunth-on-the-Lake forward. “Relax,” he said to the redbreast. “Just a little surprised to see you still alive, is all.”

“Huh! We’re doing fine, mate.” He waved his hand to show off the “fortress”. “We’ve got this place, and we’ve got a lot more to. A lot more than you do.”

“What’s so great about all this?” Ren asked, determined to not seem impressed. “A bunch of old stone buildings in the middle of nowhere.”

The redbreast laughed. “Nowhere? Shows what you know. We’re going to win this contest, mate. We’ve got the goods.”

“I see you havin’ two farunk, a ballista, and some crumbly old buildings.”

“See – that’s cause you don’t look at what’s really there.  The farunk’ll count as prizes when we get home, and all it cost us was some armor. But that’s just the small beans. We got the greatest prize set up, mate – trading partners. What’ve you got that’s even close?”

Ren decided tipping their hand about they did have was probably not a good idea. Instead he nodded sagely. “Oh well, trading partners, I see now, yeh. Well that for sure beats all our stuff. Yeh you right.”

From behind him, Bessie said, “We’ve done alright for ourselves. We came through the valley alive and well. Despite getting goat dung dropped on us.”

All of the redbreasts except one in red robes began to chortle. “Oh that. Well, c’mon. That was only a spot of fun, y’know?” When none of the Heroes from Vaunth-on-the-Lake moved to agree he just shook his head. “Ah well, uptight tarts and all.” 

Behind Ren, Madge and Aneirin were whispering. He couldn’t make out all of what they said, but the snatches of it suggested they were weighing whether to start a fight and the best way to do it. The redbreast noticed the whispering as well, and for the first time his eyes fell on Aneirin. “Hey! Who’s that! He’s not a quester! You folk are breaking the rules hooking up with someone that ain’t supposed to be outside Maissen.”

Ren smiled. “Oh he’s supposed to be outside Maissen. He’s got all kinds of permission like you wouldn’t believe.”

“I don’t believe it you cheaters,” the redbreast threw back. “The council’s going to hear about this, they are. You get going out of here.”

Ren looked over his shoulder at Madge and Aneirin. The ranger was looking over from the ballista to the farunk and frowning. The warrior beside her held his chin in the cup of one hand and shook his head slightly. 

“Alright, we’re out,” Ren said, spreading his hands. He started backing away, and heard the shuffle of the others doing the same behind him. 

At that moment there was a great flash of light between a set of buildings. Smoke billowed out from nowhere and a sickening smell of rotted flesh wafted over the area. Everyone’s eyes turned to the source – a immensely tall and gaunt figure, well over eight feet high with deep, bleeding cuts across his flesh. Wings folded behind his back, and horns from his forehead caught the last fleeting bit of sunlight. 

The redbreasts turned and bowed.

Ren, Bessie, Aneirin, Killian, and Madge hastened their departure. They didn’t turn their backs on the redbreasts and their demonic visitor until passing a bend in the trail, but at that point they doubled their pace. 

“Consorting with demons, a fine ‘trading partner’ they’ve found,” Killian said. 

“That’s something the council’s *really* going to need to hear about,” Bessie added.

“Less talk, more distance,” Ren said. “It’s dark and we really, really need to find us a place to camp down for the night.” 

It was a mile or so down the trail where the Heroes found what amounted to a wide spot in the road. With a steep hillside overgrown with grasses on one side and a steep cliff on the other, it was far from ideal, but it would let them stretch out and sleep. There was no fire that night, and watches were doubled up. That turned out to be a wise decision. 

Late in the night Ren and Killian were on watch duty when the heard the sounds of people approaching. Light, subtle steps on the trail to the south – not from the redbreasts’ fortress. In the scant moon light Ren made out a handful of short, wide figures coming up the trail. 

“Farunk!” he hissed to Killian. The two of them scurried to wake Aneirin, Bessie, and Madge, getting them on their feet as the farunk roared and charged the camp. 

The battle was chaos in the dark. Killian launched fire at charging farunk, throwing a little bit of light up for a moment – enough for Aneirin, cursing that he hadn’t time to don armor, to thrust his sword through the boar-man. Light flashed off Bessie scimitar as she cut into another farunk, aided by Madge and her sword. Ren threw one spear and then another at a farunk charging his way. The first just nicked the monster; the second missed completely. Ren backed into the overgrowth and made a desperate slice with his sickle, cutting the farunk enough to throw off his attack slightly; Ren was severely bruised by the farunk’s crude mace instead of having his head smashed open. 

Aneirin engaged the largest of the farunk, the one that had lured him into ambush earlier, and the two exchanged blows and blood for a few desperate moments before Aneirin opened the farunk’s gut. He turned and crossed the campsite to run through the farunk that had just bloodied Madge. The ranger finished that one as Anierin took another few steps to down the farunk attacking Ren. A moment later the last of the farunk fell dead, killed by the combined blades of Madge and Bessie, and the fire magic of Killian. 

Bessie and Madge took stock of everyone and, despite the blood splayed everywhere, found no one too greatly injured. The druid’s healing magic wasn’t enough to heal anyone’s wounds completely, and went mostly to Ren and Anierin. Still, the battle might have gone much worse. The dead were unceremoniously shoved down the cliff, and the Maisseners got what more sleep they could before dawn. 

Continues on post 74 with: Dwarves and a headcold         
Soon:  Sidetrip and Follow the Poem


----------



## Greylock

Aneirin eventually figures out that he needs to sleep closer to Avarshan. In the open, he's half a warrior without his horse.


----------



## alsih2o

And now we have stepped into the actual plot.


----------



## Beale Knight

alsih2o said:
			
		

> And now we have stepped into the actual plot.




So THAT's what's been stuck to the bottom of my boot all this time!


----------



## Greylock

Beale Knight said:
			
		

> The dead were unceremoniously shoved down the cliff, and the Maisseners got what more sleep they could before dawn.




I was rereading this, and started to chuckle when I thought about how often we've done this. I'm suprised the party isn't trailed by a flock of buzzards. 

Looking forward to the next installment, BK. Things start getting good soon (after a little misguided spelunking.)


----------



## Beale Knight

*05 01 Dwarves, a Headcold, and a Revalation*

Morning came all too soon. Though everyone was tired from the fight, no one cared to linger amid the blood and bones that remained in their campsite. Breakfast was put off until a suitable distance could be covered. With bellies full, the group decided to head toward the plume of smoke they’d spotted the day before. 

The mountain trail met up with another and soon the Maisseners came across a campsite. The ground had been cleared recently and there was a well defined fire pit, but it was cold. Whoever had camped here had moved on, but probably only hours earlier. The trail continued easterly, and after a few miles it widened considerably. 

There it was suddenly blocked. A massive iron wall stretched across the entire trail. The wall was some twenty feet high, smooth but for rivets, and showed no way through or around. 

“This is nothing I expected to see out in the wild,” Ren said. This was followed by a loud sneeze. 

“The engineering behind this is outstanding,” Aneirin said.

Madge scanned the top of the wall. “Dwarf work; it must be.”

Suddenly a head came into view at the top of the wall. Helmeted and sporting a large beard, the man leaned partly over the wall to peer down at the five people below. “Who are you and what is your business here?”

The Maisseners looked at one another for a moment, and then Bessie stepped forward. “We are travelers from Maissen and we bring a gift for your leader.”

“Maisseners, are you?” The man rubbed his bearded chin. 

Killian then stepped up beside Bessie. In a loud voice he said something that none of the other Maisseners could understand. As they stared at their fellow traveler in wonderment, the man atop the wall started to chuckle. “I wondered if it was,” he said. “You wait right there.”

Not so much as a minute later there was a series of loud clangs from the other side of the wall. Then the entire middle third of the wall began to pivot in a remarkable way, as if the entire section of wall was a single huge door. From the other side walked a short man in robes. He was taller than the gnomes the Heroes had met earlier, but not by very much. His long white beard was testimony to his age, but his eyes were still clear and sharp. He strode to Killian and the two shook hands. The old dwarf did the same to the other Maisseners, leaving the mark of a small black circle on each hand. “Now, come with me,” he said at last. 

The old dwarf led the group into a small building attached to the far side of the door. A troop of some thirty armed dwarves were crowded into that large room. All of them were watching the procession of strangers, but many seemed focused on Killian. At the old dwarf’s command, a door on the far side of the building opened. “You’ll go on. They’ll certainly want to talk to you, they will.”

Bessie couldn’t stand it any longer. “If I may ask, what is this place?”

The old dwarf chuckled. “Just an outpost. The point of first watch. Head on down the trail another,” he paused, twitching his mouth in thought, “two miles. Yes, that’s the conversion – two miles and a little.” He escorted the Maisseners out onto the open trail beyond and waved them on their way. 

When the door closed behind them, the Heroes walked a ways in silence. Finally though, Ren spoke up. “Alright Killian. I hoped that y’ might just tell us, but nope. So out with it.”

“Out with what?” Killian said.

“You know,” Madge said. “That was dwarf you spoke back there wasn’t it? How did you come to learn the language?”

“And what was that about the first guard wondering if it was you?” Bessie added. “Do they know you somehow?”

“I’d say they must,” Aneirin said. “Judging by the gazes he received from most of the guards at the fort.”

Killian took a deep breath and let out a sigh. “Well there is something of a story here.”

Madge nodded. “Well how about you tell it to us so we don’t get caught by surprise at this next gate?”

“There won’t be any bad surprises,” Killian said. “I promise. And that’s all I can tell y’ now, and that’s the truth. If ye’ve trusted me any at all since setting off with me, trust me for one more mile.”

Silence fell at that. Only when the next few miles were behind them and another great steel wall came into view, blocking the trail, did Madge speak up. “Killian, we’re almost there. It’s time.”

The sorcerer sighed and nodded. “This is my home, the city of the hill dwarves.”

“What!” “How?” “That’s a sort….” “Why didn’t…”

Killian held up his hand to silence them. They had reached the wall. The sorcerer shouted out something in the dwarf language to the iron the loomed over them. After a few moments one dwarven head after another began to look over the side. 

“Call you names and that of your fathers’.” One of them said in the language of Maissen.

One by one the group complied. First Killian, in dwarven, then the others, one by one.

“I am Aneirin Allin, first born of Rasheirin called Mahavir, warrior of Paras in service to Maissen.”

“Madge Hannibal, child of the wild, unluckily fathered by the crazed Rowan.”

“Bessie Fisherman, daughter of the elder Fisherman.”

“Ren d’Hayson, one of the many sons of….pa.”

With that, there was a deafening screech from the wall as it pivoted to allow the five entry. Killian led the way without hesitation, though worry was etched on his face. On the other side of the great wall was a cavernous room, roofed in metal. A block of armed dwarves, they could only be such, shorter and wider than men, but taller than gnomes, stood on either side of the Maisseners. And Killian. 

For the sorcerer was no native of Maissen. He was in fact not even of the same race. The moment Killian crossed the plane of the steel gate, he was revealed as a dwarf. 

The amazement of the others at this revelation trumped the scene around them. They stared at the man they had traveled with for so many weeks. Only now did the vague evasions he gave of his earlier years make sense. As did his habit of stroking his chin when in thought – for now that chin was no longer clean shaven. It was host to a beard as long and full as any elder of Maissen. 

“KILLIAN!” came a shout from one side of the great room. The walls of this place had tall ladders leading to caves bored into the mountain itself. Along one was a gilded balcony, upon which an old dwarf in robes that suggested a wizard stood. “You had been ordered to leave,” he said, “and told when to return. You have ignored the wisdom of your elders and have violated our law. What have you to say for yourself?”

“I have been doing as bid,” Killian said. “I have studied the humans of Maissen without revealing myself as anything other than one of their own. I have traveled with these humans and seen adventure. We have defeated chakta and spiders, slain kerbal, and found ourselves swept into the plane of fire that held Hilltopple House in curse. There we removed the curse and punished those that deserved it. We have met well with the gnomes and battled farunk. I have learned much and come with news. I do not break the elders’ laws lightly.”

The elder dwarf stared down at Killian for several long moments. Then he nodded at the guards around the Maisseners, who led the way down a long hall with scant lighting. 

“Killian, what’s this all about?” Bessie asked. “Are you really a dwarf or under some spell or…

The sorcerer shook his head. “I truly am a dwarf. I was born in these halls. When I was younger I….well…there was an accident and the beer hall burned to ashes. For that I was exiled to the humans lands, made to live there in human form.”

Ren couldn’t help but smile, despite the fact he felt the onset of a bad cold. “Like an accidental big bonfire?”

Before Killian could answer the group entered a large and well lit room. There were no means of entry visible, but as soon as they came to a stop dwarves began entering the room by simply walking through the walls. After a few moments the room was crowded with dwarves: sixteen that seemed to be officials of some sort, three times that many attendants, and the escorts that had led the Maisseners this far. 

One of the dwarves in the more elegant attire stepped forward. “I know Killian; who are the rest of you all?” Names and histories were given again, and then Killian presented this leader with the rune encrusted sword hand to the Heroes by Kerros. As he pulled it free of the case, the sword began to glow with magic. 

A long time passed as the leader dwarves studied the sword in turn. At length the wizard that had confronted Killian when he entered the first hall came into the room to examine it. He whispered an incantation over the sword and the runes began to glow and swirl and change. The wizard then handed the sword back to Killian. His features softer now, the wizard asked, “How is Popa, I worry for him.”

“He is well but fearful the Maissen council seeks to make him irrelevant.”

“Tell him our hearts are with him.” He looked over the four humans. “Now – how do you care to return?”

The Maisseners looked at each other for a few moments. None of them had given the matter any thought. “Can we let you know?”

“Indeed,” the wizard dwarf said. “You are welcome to stay a short time here, as long as realize something very important. Those marks, the circles on your palms, they indicate that you are Killian’s responsibility, and he yours.” He then reached into a pouch and handed a crystal to Killian. “Present this to Kerros when you return. For now, stick to the three wall and you will find your rooms.”

At that the dwarves began to depart. When at last the five Heroes were alone Killian had to explain what the wizard had meant and lead the way to a set of rooms. There he read the runes to the others. “Allies once, allies always. Name your place and time.” 

“So they will help in the coming war,” Madge said.

“Without doubt,” Killian answered.

“It is good to know these folk have honor,” Aneirin said. “But what do we do now?”

“I know that I need to rest,” Ren said. “That fall in the river I thinks gotten me a little sick.”

“Well now that we’re here, there IS something I’d like to see to,” Killian said. “It might take a few days, but that’ll let Ren here get over his cold.”

Next: Spelunking
Soon: Not Spelunking and Follow the Poem


----------



## Greylock

I've got to say, even though it happened early on, The Revelation of Killian is still one of my favorite dramatic, non-combat moments in the game thus far. Well written, BK.


----------



## edge3343

Greylock said:
			
		

> I've got to say, even though it happened early on, The Revelation of Killian is still one of my favorite dramatic, non-combat moments in the game thus far. Well written, BK.




Mine too.


----------



## Beale Knight

*05 02 Underland*

Bells rang, echoing throughout the caves and startling the Maisseners. 

“What was that?” Bessie asked.

“Dinner,” Killian answered. “Prepare to hear bells quite a bit here. It’s the common way of announcements.” He led them down a tunnel to a great room filled with tables and hungry dwarves. There he announced that he wanted to investigate getting a wand crafted. “Something that’ll help us all, Mage Armor.” When he returned to the Maisseners’ chambers later he said it would be four days, and that he had traded one of the food preparing statuettes for it. 

That left the Heroes with time to kill. Killian showed them around some of the common areas of the underland community, but meals, and the cacophonous bells announcing them, interrupted their tour several times. 

“This is tiresome,” Madge said. “Is there something we can DO, someplace we might go to get away from these bells?”

“What are the plans?” Aneirin asked. “All that you all had decided was to come here and deliver that sword message. Now that that’s been done, what do you WANT to do next? It seems we have time to think about it.”

“We had talked about trying to get to that other community of humans the gnomes mentioned,” Bessie said. “And there were supposed to be some elves that way too, weren’t there?”

“We should see the Keeper of Maps,” Killian said. “If there’s communities out there, he’ll know of them, and probably know a way to get there.”

The Keeper of Maps was old even by dwarf standards. With a bone white head of hair and beard to match, his face held as many wrinkles as his many maps had lines. After a short wait, the Maisseners gained an audience, and asked of nearby above land settlements. The Keeper shuffled toward a collection of tiles, and laid them out to form a regional map. 

“Humans have a town here,” he said, pointing at a dot next to a long squiggle. “There are elves in the area, but they wander. Usually along this sort of circuit.” He pointed at a stray triangle and traced his finger over an oval, another set of triangles, around curled crosses, and back around another set of triangles to the first one again. 

The Maisseners scratched their heads. “I mean no disrespect,” Madge said, “but I don’t understand your map at all.”

The old dwarf chuckled. “Of course not, dear. You haven’t the training.”

“Do you know the valley of Drayne?” Bessie asked. “Could you show us a route there?”

“Certainly.” The Keeper of Maps set out some more tiles and pointed. “It’s here,” he said pointing to a collection of circles. Then, tracing his fingers over a line that jagged in several spots, said, “You can travel this route to it, but I suggest you take a guide that’s traveled the way. Clan Bonton would be your best choice.”

Just then there was another series of bells sounding, but in a different pattern than those announcing meals or gatherings. The Keeper of Maps looked up from his tiles and clucked his tongue. “Hm, strangers.”

He continued to point out features on his map tiles for a few minutes when he was interrupted by a dwarven warrior. “There you are,” he said in the tongue of Maissen. “There are farunk here for you.”

The Maissners all looked at one another with trepidation. “This can’t be a good thing,” Killian said. “How many?” he asked the warrior

“All of them I think,” the other dwarf answered. “They wait outside the inner gate.”

“Well they’ll be no match for the Defenders there. We should see them then.”

The Heroes were escorted back through the tunnels to the cavernous room at the inner gate. They climbed up to the balcony overlooking the trail and there the gatekeeper dwarf said, “They say you are members of their clan.

“What,” the four said in unison. 

The gatekeeper led them out a door and, despite what the guard had said, the Heroes were shocked at the number of farunk gathered outside.

“There must be hundreds,” Madge whispered.

Aneirin nodded. “It will be a real fight if that’s what they’ve come for.”

Their appearance on the balcony prompted the farunk to begin squealing. “Do you know what they’re saying?” Bessie asked the gatekeeper.

By way of answer, the gatekeeper handed her a necklace and indicated she should wear it. As soon as she did, the squealing and grunts of the farunk became words in her ears. “New of Clan, New of Clan,” chanted the assembled farunk. Bessie held up her arms and said, “hello?”

There was a roar of approval. Bessie smiled widely. “This is a wonderful necklace,” she said to the dwarven gatekeeper. 

One of the faunk then stepped forward. He let out a series of accented squeals and grunts that Bessie translated for the others. “He says that since we killed their sons in a fair fight we have become one of them. He also wants us to come down there so he can present us with something.”

The Heroes made their way down the ladders and the gatekeeper ushered them outside. There the farunk gave Bessie some teeth and a necklace. She and the farunk had a lengthy exchange after that, and finally Bessie went “Oooh,” and nodded. She grunted something to the farunk and turned to her companions. “These are items from the farunk we killed, given to us as a present. Their tradition calls for a gift from us in return. That will seal our entrance into the clan.”

After a little bit of scrambling for gifts, Killian gave the farunk a mace, Aneirin one of the swords taken from Hilltopple house, and Bessie several sheets of paper, something the farunk considered wondrous. The farunk all squealed and grunted loudly when the exchange was complete, and welcomed the Heroes of Maissen into their swamp at any time they wished to visit. Bessie took the opportunity to ask them about the redbreasts. The farunk said that those men had come into the swamp asking for seven bottles in trade. There was nothing special about the bottles except that one had a piece of paper in it. They also made a separate trade for some farunk slaves. After that, the farunk left for their swamp home and the Maisseners returned to their chambers underground. 

There were still almost four full days to wait until Killian’s wand would be ready. Ren was still ill and contently resting, but the others were getting restless. 

Someone suggested a daytrip – “just to have something to do.” 

Tale continues on Post 82
Next - spelunking (I promise)
Soon - follow the poem


----------



## Greylock

"How many?" asked the warrior. "All of them."

Forgot that bit. ;p And how Bessie was really jazzed about meeting elves.

Minor correction: Aneirin gave up his old sword that came with him in time, not a sword from the Hilltopple stash, as the Farunk were looking for presents that had special meaning to their owner.


----------



## alsih2o

Beale Knight said:
			
		

> Next - spelunking (I promise)




 When the party splits up and I go Non-Legitimi Muridae.


----------



## Beale Knight

Greylock said:
			
		

> "How many?" asked the warrior. "All of them."
> 
> Forgot that bit. ;p




No you didn't. I totally ripped it off from T2.   



			
				Greylock said:
			
		

> Minor correction: Aneirin gave up his old sword that came with him in time, not a sword from the Hilltopple stash, as the Farunk were looking for presents that had special meaning to their owner.




Just the sort of detail I miss when I'm not there!


----------



## Greylock

Beale Knight said:
			
		

> Just the sort of detail I miss when I'm not there!




Hey now, wait a sec. That's right. Ren never made good with the Farunk! Give up that necklace, kiddo, you never paid for it...


----------



## Beale Knight

*05 03 Have Fun Storming the Underworld!*

The dwarf looked up from his work to stare at the Maisseners before him. “You want a guide to WHERE exactly?”

“The underworld,” Killian said. “S’ long as I’m here I thought I’d let ‘em see the kind of place I was raised.”

“And you want a clan Bonton guide,” the other dwarf continued, “just so you can go look around?”

“I see the light of understanding beginning to glow in your eyes,” Killian said. 

The sage dwarf rolled those eyes. “Fifty gold for one guide for one day.”

Killian related this information to his fellows, who nodded. Aneirin was getting the gold together when the sage said something more. 

“Quite dark down there, you know.”

Killian again translated for the others and they chatted in Maissen for a few moments. As they spoke, the sage reached behind him, fumbled through a cabinet, and set a wand on the table before him. 

“Do you happen to know…”Killian began. The sage pointed to the wand and Killian stopped, rubbed his beard, and said. “And for this….”

“ A bagful of kresvilhur,” the other dwarf interrupted. “I have a bag right here.”




“What exactly is ‘kresvilhur’?” Madge asked as they left the sage’s chambers. 

“A kind of fungus that emits a glow,” Killian answered. “Very useful for a lot of things.”

“Like seeing below ground,” Aneirin added. 

“In color anyway,” the dwarf answered. 

“So what’s a ‘gruell’?” Bessie asked, remembering what the sage had mentioned as they left his chamber. “And what about its beak and tentacles is so valuable.”

“A beast of some kind, that’s all I know,” Killian answered. “If we see anything with a beak and tentacles I suppose we’ll have a better idea. Now, is there any other equipment we need?”

Everyone double checked their gear and shook their heads. They each had food, water, weapons, and pouches of miscellaneous gear. Ren was still convalescing, so the others headed to the Low Intersection, the place where the tunnel to the underground met the community's primary tunnel. There they met with Grolsh, the Bonton clan guide and the wiriest dwarf any of them had every seen. They exchanged brief pleasantries, but Grolsh was eager to get started. “A long walk to the seven doors. Then another long walk before there’s anything to see.”

The guide’s description couldn’t have been more apt. The three humans and two dwarves marched down the tunnel from the Low Intersection for hours, occasionally passing off-shooting tunnels and less occasionally a dwarf or two marching the other direction before finally reaching a huge chamber. There twenty one heavily armed and armored dwarves stood in a phalanx. There was a brief exchange in dwarven, which Killian translated as, “Orders to advance and be recognized, and a proper reply. A formality, since they saw our light ages ago.”

Seven door of varying sizes lined the walls of this last chamber. Grolsh explained that this was the end reach of dwarven civilization. Beyond those doors were the fully threatening wilds. He pointed to one in particular and said, “This is the one that leads to the kresvilhur patch. It won’t be an easy way.”

The Maisseners nodded and the dwarves shifted position to make themselves ready for any threat that launched itself from beyond that door once opened. Grolsh opened the door and let the light shine into the inky black on the other side. There was no waiting threat and he waved for the others to come, giving Killian the honor of first in the group to cross into the wilds. 

For all the dramatic build up, the next several hours counted among the dullest the Maisseners had experienced since beginning the journey. The tunnel here was natural, which made it a novelty compared to the neatly cut and smooth walls of the civilized tunnels. But that newness quickly faded as the group continued marching deeper and deeper into the bowels of the world. Finally they came to a chamber larger than that of the seven doors. The light from the borrowed wand did not reach a ceiling or even other walls. 

“Which way?” Bessie asked, tilting her head at the echoes.

“One is as good as the other at this point,” Grolsh said. “We can find kresvilhur in either direction.”

“Right then,” Madge said.

The group followed the cavern wall to the right until they came across another tunnel. They traveled down this one for more than a mile and then it opened up into a chamber. The smell of moisture greeted them as they entered. 

“This way,” Grolsh said. He pointed across the chamber to a pool of water. Without hesitation he walked right up to it, and then right into it. The others waited, expecting him to turn around at any moment, but he never did. In moments he was out of sight below the water. 

One by one the Maisseners followed. Feeling their way along, they were able to swim through a short tunnel and reach air after just a minute or so. Where they surfaced however, presented them with a different challenge. The water was at the bottom of a vertical shaft that Grolsh was already climbing. Madge had the rope and the best chance, so she followed first. It was a struggle to get everyone going, but eventually they were making their way up the shaft. 

So far no one had remarked on the beauty of natural wonders, expressed amazement at being so far from anything they’d ever known, or garnered much insight into dwarven culture. There was, however, a great deal of grunts and curses as they slowly made their way up the shaft.

Up top they were greeted with a horrible stench, like eggs gone bad in spoiled milk. The chamber the shaft led to was wide enough for them to stand beside each other, and Grolsh pointed to a tunnel leading out one side. Before he could take a step toward it, they all were stopped by the sounds of something shuffling just beyond their light. 

Suddenly three green scaled people ran toward them out of the darkness. They resembled lizards with spears, and attacked ferociously. Aneirin and Madge’s swords flashed and the battle was on. Killian let loose fire from his fingertips, and Bessie slashed at another with her scimitar. Then there were two more of the monsters behind them. Aneirin and Madge charged the first group of three, while Killian and Bessie, with Grolsh, fought the newcomers. There was blood spilt on both sides, but the lizardish people lost more. Soon three were dead on the cave floor and the other two retreated down the shaft. 

Bessie poked at one of the dead monsters with her scimitar. “No beak, no tentacles. I suppose these weren’t gruell.”

“Troglodyte,” Grolsh said. “Primitives. Only a threat in great numbers.” 

“Not so primitive they don’t know wealth,” Madge said. She held up a small nugget of gold. “This one had four of these.”

Eight more were quickly found. Then, their spirits raised, the group carried on. The tunnel Grolsh led them through made a turn and suddenly they could all see a green glow ahead. “Kresvilhur,” their guide said as they walked closer. 

“The wall is completely covered,” Madge remarked. “It must be forty feet high!”

“It’s enough to get some for us too,” Killian said, pulling out the sage’s bag and then one of his own. He walked up to the wall, drew his dagger, and cut some of the fungi off.

The wall screamed. It screamed like a hurt child, wailing in agony loud enough to be heard in Maissen. 

“Just get enough for the sage,” Madge said. “That’s going to draw every predator for miles.” 

Killian nodded and quickly filled the sage’s bag. The group then quickly made their way back to the last chamber, but were stopped short. 

Another half-dozen troglodytes were waiting for them there. 

The battle was almost too quick. Anierin and Madge again fought almost as one, drawing blood and forcing the monsters back to the shaft. The troglodytes leapt in without hesitation, hissing and making a sound that felt like laughter to the Heroes that still had to get passed them. 

“We’re fools,” Aneirin said. “We let them make our fight a great deal harder just now.”

Grolsh was shaking his head. “There’s no other way to go, and they know it.” 

“Nothing for it,” Madge said. “We’ll have to go down there.”

Aneirin went first, ready to take on any troglodyte he saw. They didn’t attack as he came down the shaft. They didn’t attack as the others made it down to the watery landing. With faint hope that the monsters had fled, the Heroes readied for an ambush underwater. 

And they got it. Struggling to speed through the water filled tunnel, the Heroes felt the stabs of troglodyte spears. Desperately trying to find their feet, hold their breath, and fight all at the same time, the Maisseners thrashed and stabbed at anything that moved. The light flickered, throwing off weirdly bent beams and strange shadows that were as much hindrance as help. Blood began to mix with the water and no one could tell whose it was. 

One by one the Heroes came up out of the water and fell gasping on the tunnel floor beyond. All were bloodied, but Aneirin’s wounds made them all gasp. His armor was ripped open and a hand sized gash at his hip was bleeding down his leg. Bessie used her magic to stop the bleeding and close the wound, but the fighter was still exhausted. They all were. The battlefield had been their enemy as much or more than the troglodytes. They got to their feet without seeing anymore of the monsters, but before they could step out of the chamber there was another hiss from before them.

They saw nothing, but there were countless places to hide from light in the chamber. Another series of hisses and clicks came from the darkness followed by something in dwarf that Killian translated. “They say to ‘give our gold’.”

“Tell them it would be better for them to just let us go unhindered,” Aneirin said. Killian complied. He was answered immediately. With a downtrodden look, the dwarf simply quoted, “’We are many.’”

“Status, everyone,” Madge barked. The replies were bleak. Everyone was wounded and exhausted. “And we do have a long way to travel,” Grolsh added. 

Hearts heavy, the Maisseners decided to drop the gold they’d taken from the things they’d killed. For that, the return trip seemed to take even longer. Hours later, they said goodbye to Grolsh, returned the wand and bag of fungi to the sage and headed to their chambers. It had been a long day with little to show for it. They entered their chamber wanting nothing more than a long sleep. 

Ren looked up as they dragged themselves in. “So – what’d you bring me?”




Next: Make ready and follow the poem.  POST 87
Soon: The Bridge


----------



## edge3343

Dern Ren and his sickly self.


----------



## Beale Knight

edge3343 said:
			
		

> Dern Ren and his sickly self.




Well you guys just HAD to play on a Sunday afternoon when I had plans already!


----------



## Greylock

*sighs* Ahh, the memories. Getting our butts handed to us by Troglodytes. Such a proud moment...

Guess it's a good thing you weren't there. Working out underwater archery rules woulda made Mark's head 'splode.


----------



## Greylock

...


----------



## Beale Knight

*06 01  Sunlight, Stars, and following a poem*

Deep in the home of the dwarves, the Heroes of Vaunth-on-the-Lake began to prepare for a descent into the depths of the world as they waited for Killian’s wand to be crafted. Word of their plans to cross under the Ghost Dragon mountains had spread and they were approached by an entrepreneur dwarf selling Ultimate Spelunker Kits. It was a well packaged set of equipment, with chalk and waterskins, seeds that would grow instant caltrops from rocks, oil and whistles and ropes and special hooks, but the group was low on the hard coin the dwarf wanted. After some discussion, they decided to take another dwarf up on his offer to buy a magic box acquired from Hilltopple House – a box that anyone could reach into and pullout a silk shirt of perfect fit. With the funds from that and the sale of another of the Hilltopple servant figurines, there was enough to buy five of the kits. 

The days were also spent casting about for a guide through the underworld. After some efforts word came back to them of a family that often served as professional guides, and that they had a guide available, but with severe conditions. Firstly the price – it was simply out of the party’s reach. The family was willing to work a deal, but it involved a two day detour to collect more special underground fungi. Though there was plenty of time left on the Heroes’ deadline, any delay was a potential disaster. Furthermore, a second condition was that, should the guide die before returning, the party would owe his family a year of service – if they themselves survived. The conditions demanded the party give the deal long consideration. 

The point of meeting death in the wild depths beyond the dwarven influence was getting brought up more and more by almost everyone the party spoke with. No one seemed to think the group would survive the trek through such dangerous territory, deep below ground and into the realm of monsters. Doubt began to creep into the minds of some of the Heroes.

“This is nothing different than what we heard before leaving Maissen,” Madge said.

Ren shook his head. “There’s one real important difference, Madge. The most dangerous wild lands we’ll ever see are more familiar to us than anyplace underground.”

“We also have space to move above ground,” Aneirin added. “We can move, go around a threat or obstacle if need be. Underground is a labyrinth. We might travel for days only to hit a dead end, or run into a flooded chamber.”

“That’s what the guide is for,” countered Killian. “So we don’t haf’ta worry about such things.”

“For so long as he stays alive, Killian,” Ren said. “Which is something a whole lot of your kin, and his, don’t seem to think is going to be all that long. Without a guide, it’d be real easy for us to get lost for the rest of our lives.”

“Exaggeration is only going to make you worry more,” Madge said.

“I don’t think he’s exaggerating, Madge,” Aneirin answered. “Just from that day trip we took we saw how many twists and turns these cave tunnels take, and how many options we might face at once. Above ground direction is simple to determine. Not here; there’s no clues even to hint if we’re going the right direction or not. A wrong turn and our journey north could turn into a endless western trek under the breadth of the mountains. We’d never know until it was too late.”

Killian shook his head. “There’s plenty of clues if you know what to look for,” he said. “And I do. We can do this, I say we go underground.”

“I’m with him,” Madge said. 

Aneirin shook his head. “I think it’s a bad idea and too much of a risk. We’d also have to see to the stabling of our horses, spreading our limited wealth even thinner.”

“That makes us split so far then,” Ren said, “because I’m with Aneirin.

All eyes turned to Bessie, who had been silent through the entire exchange. The druid felt the weight of their stares and sighed. “Both have their merits and drawbacks. If all goes well, underground will be much faster than going around. But if anything goes wrong, I believe I’d rather it go wrong above ground.”

Madge and Killian nodded. “Above it is then,” the dwarf said. “I have a bad feeling about it, but would rather we keep together.”

Decision made, there remained the problem of getting around the mountain above ground. The party only knew that there was a settlement of humans somewhere to the northeast. How to get there was still a mystery. It took another day to learn of a loremaster that was willing to present the old directions for a price. The directions were in the form of poetry (which translated perfectly into Maissen’s tongue), and the group paid to hear it plenty of times. Writing it down, at least in the loremaster’s presence, was against his conditions.

What he recited was: 

_Begin at the breeches, stout, iron and true,
Through brushland and hill to the rope bridges two.

The bridge gives way to a valley of fair,
With green and tall pines and sodden wet air.

From there to the steppes, rising this way and that,
Come up towards the top and follow the bats.

Past them is sunlight and downward again.
To desertland, walking north three days in.

Follow the river that's never quite there
It leads to the ocean, a beach white and rare.

The ocean has surf that breaks and you follow
to look for the land that breaks in a hollow._

With the directions memorized, the group said their goodbyes to the dwarves they’d met, and made a final stop to pick up Killian’s newly crafted wand. Then it was a long march up to outside. After five days underground the sun felt like a lover’s kiss. Seventeen days since leaving Maissen, and the Heroes from Vaunth-on-the-Lake were on the move again. They now had four horses. Killian, whose appearance returned to the familiar human once the Heroes were above ground, rode with Bessie.

That first day out of the dwarven underground was a joy. The weather was sunny and pleasant, and even having to walk their mounts through the mountainous terrain they made fine progress. They made their way alongside the mountain’s south side, and by afternoon were riding through a temperate forest. 

“Breeches, stout, iron and true,” Bessie quoted. Her memory of the poem was the finest of the five, and it soon served them well again. As the sun began to wane, the group found themselves at a three way fork in the path. The druid looked over the ground in each direction and determined the leftmost led to brush land. They followed that a little ways before finding a place to camp.

The night under the stars was quiet. It seemed as though the sky was as happy to see the Heroes as they were to be out under it. The morning of day eighteen out of Maissen was cool and refreshing as the Heroes set out on their way. The forest began to thin and the hills grow as they made their way north, and the sun was at its zenith when they came to a great chasm spanned by a rope bridge.

“Through brushland and hill to the rope bridges two,” Bessie said. And as the poem indicated, there were actually two bridges. Each was made of three primary ropes and secured planks to walk on. The first section ran about sixty feet to a rock island that grew like a tower from the valley below. The second span ran from the island about one hundred forty feet to the chasm’s far side. 

“How far is it down?” Killian asked. 

Ren lay flat at the chasm’s edge and stuck his head over. “About eighty feet I’d say. A lot further than I’d want to fall.”

“One at a time then,” Madge said. “Let’s see how sturdy this thing is first. Then each after the first leads a horse.”

“I’m willing to go first,” Aneirin said, “but I’m going to go ahead and bring Avarshan with me.” 

And so Aneirin stepped out first onto the bridge. It swayed with his weight, but didn’t give. He and Avarshan made it about halfway when Ren stepped on it, leading a second horse. Though everyone’s face was etched with worry at the beginning, when the bridge didn’t fall apart under the weight of two people and two horses, everyone began to relax. Soon Aneirin and Avarshan were at the island, and then Bessie stepped onto the bridge with a horse behind her. When Ren was on the island with his horse, Madge and Killian stepped onto the bridge with the last one. 

“We have a problem,” Ren called out to Madge. “We won’t all fit here on the island with the horses.”

“You and Aneirin go on then. We’ll keep the horses on the island until you’re safely across.”

Aneirin frowned. “Let’s keep to the same pattern we’ve just used. We may need mounts right away on the far side.”

Madge shook her head. “They’d be too vulnerable if you did. Let the Avarshan go with Bessie. We’ll bring the rest.”

Aneirin frowned again, but nodded. He patted Avarshan and stepped onto the longer length of bridge. Once he was a ways out on it, Ren followed. When the hunter was well out there, Bessie stepped onto the bridge with Avarshan. 

That was when a malevolent figure stepped out from behind a tall rock on the far side. 

Next: The Bridge  - Post 89
Soon: Elves and Maisseners


----------



## Greylock

And that sound you hear, friends, is the DMs head banging on the table after his two weeks worth of planning for the session goes flying right out the window. 



> Let me get this straight, you're NOT going through the caves? Your're SURE????"




He shouldn't have worried. His wickedly twisted plans came to fruition anyways.


----------



## Beale Knight

*06 02 The Bridge*

On the far side of the chasm a short, cloaked woman stepped out. She flung back her hood to reveal a face once elegant but now twisted with evil, and shouted words lost to the wind blowing over the bridge. Only one word was plain to the ears of the Heroes of Vaunth-on-the-Lake, “Master.”

The woman waved her arms and chanted as Aneirin and Ren kept crossing the bridge. A moment later there was a red flash and from nowhere a devil of slime appeared between the two heroes. On the far side of the bridge a hoard of goblins rushed out from behind the rocks to join the summoner. 

Aneirin and Ren reacted almost as one. The warrior wheeled around, slicing the slime devil through with his sword in a powerful swing as the hunter plunged an arrow into the monster. It vanished in a puff of red smoke and sulfur. 

The wizard was prepared for the quick slaying of her summoned devil. As Aneirin turned to face her again she pointed at him.

He stopped. Frozen in place. 

Killian and Madge had already begun to run toward the unexpected fight. Madge deftly squeezed by Bessie, who was keeping the horse behind her calmed. Killian however, had grown too used to his original dwarven stride. Rushing in human form for the first time in over a week threw him off and he landed face first on the rope bridge. 

Chaos overwhelmed the scene. Goblins surged onto the bridge. Ren shot at them, killing one and then another from the middle of the bridge. Madge made her way to the paralyzed Aneirin’s side, fighting back the goblins closing in on the warrior. Killian got to his feet and stood at Ren’s side, casting fire and bolt magic at the surge of goblins. From the rear, Bessie launched crossbow bolts while keeping the horses from panic. 

At last Aneirin broke free of the spell that held him still. He and Madge began to push their way through the sea of goblins to their master. The tide had turned, and the wizardess knew it. Her next move was one of escape. With a spell she brought a cloud of fog up around herself and the goblins closest to her – including those on the last yards of the bridge. 

With plenty of goblins still in sight, Madge and Aneirin held their ground. The others continued to support them from down the bridge. 

Then one of the bridge’s support ropes snapped. Cut. Everyone all held on, even the one horse on the bridge. Bessie promptly got him back to the island. Ren made another last shot and joined her. Aneirin, Madge, and Killian continued to fight the goblins they could see. 

It was a fateful decision. The next moment the other two ropes were cut. The far end of the bridge fell, plunging the three party members to the valley below. Many of the wizard’s goblins went with them, testimony to her callous evil. Of their lives and fate, she couldn’t care less.

From the rock island, Ren and Bessie gazed in open mouth horror as their friends and comrades-in-arms disappeared into the trees below. The heavy thwap of the bridge slamming against the tower of rock shocked them back into action. Ren grabbed hold of the ropes dangling down and began to climb to the valley floor. Bessie followed right behind him. In moments they were down and gazing over a horrific scene.

The goblins had scattered as they fell. Their still and twisted bodies were all over.

Killian had landed on a large stone and was little more than red and brown ooze, splayed over a wide area. He was recognizable only by his gear, most of which had been broken into bits, even the wand that he’d only just used for the first time. 

Madge was in one piece, partially covered in leaves and branches, but her limbs were bent the wrong ways and her eyes wide open but unseeing. 

By the blessings of the gods, surrounded by the tree branches he had smashed through on his way down, branches that had clearly slowed his fall enough to keep it from being fatal, was Aneirin.

He still drew breath.

But so did the evil wizardress and many of her goblins. They were climbing down the vine encrusted cliff wall, determined to slay the rest of the party. It was not to be. The vines they clung to were not nearly as sturdy as the rope bridge. When they were but halfway to the valley floor the vines stretched and then snapped. Like the victims of their bridge cutting, the wizard and her goblins plunged to the valley floor. 

Though her goblins died, the wizard woman lived – but only long enough to stand up. As she got to her feet, one of Ren’s arrows neatly pierced her forehead and she fell again. 

When she did, her body shimmered. The wizard's clothes fell to the ground as her body became a swarm of bees and other insects. They dissipated, probably throwing curses at her slayers in voices too high pitched to hear.

Suddenly the valley was still. In the quiet, the enormity of what had just happened began to weigh on the surviving heroes. Bessie and Ren stared quietly at each other for a long moment, silently wondering what to do next. A distant growl spurred them to action. 

“No time for letting sadness stop us right now,” Ren said. “Scavengers are going to catch the scent of death and get her before too long.” 

Bessie nodded. “I’ll put my magic to healing Aneirin.”

“Then see about what gear we can salvage,” Ren said. Then he sighed. “I’ll get to the graves.”



Next: Elves and Maisseners  [POST 95]
Soon: Dumb Bear and the graying of truth begins


----------



## alsih2o

A friedn fo the gaming group who had not been able to game in a while dropped by and he ran the bad guys that night. I knew it looked like a vicious set-up and Will proved me right.

 I made a rules error that went against the PC's, but we are a good group and it all worked out.

 VERY dramatic night.


----------



## edge3343

Alas poor Killian....oh well...crap happens!


----------



## Greylock

alsih2o said:
			
		

> A friend of the gaming group who had not been able to game in a while dropped by and he ran the bad guys that night. I knew it looked like a vicious set-up and Will proved me right.




The next time I happened upon Will in some shop somewhere, I literally jumped. Honest-to-gawd, the sight  of him startled me. And when I saw him sitting on the sofa for the next game, my heart sank. Then I found out he was gonna be a PC.   His devilish brain was going to be working for US, HUZZAH!


----------



## brellin

I would like to say that this story is cool and I hope the next post is as good as the rest

-brellin


----------



## Beale Knight

brellin said:
			
		

> I would like to say that this story is cool and I hope the next post is as good as the rest




Glad to hear you're enjoying it! The next post is in place and I hope you like it just as much.


----------



## Beale Knight

*06-03: Aftermath, Elves and Maisseners*

There was little time for ceremony. The mortal remains of Madge and Killian were hastened into graves Ren knew weren’t properly deep and then he and Bessie recited prayers of blessing. By then Aneirin was coming back to consciousness. Bessie volunteered to fill the warrior in on the tragedy as Ren packed the collective gear together. 

“What now then?” Aneirin asked as Ren walked up. 

“First we climb back up to the island,” the hunter answered, “and hope we still have horses waiting for us up there.”

They did. Safe on the towering island of rock, the horses had the sense to stay there, and no one had come along to bother them. The shorter bridge from the island was intact, so the surviving Heroes retraced their steps to solid ground. The sun was sinking then, and so they made a camp to discuss their plans. 

“So really we just have the one choice to make,” Ren said. “Are we gonna say enough and head on back to Maissen, or carry on as best we can with going northeast.”

“I honestly don’t think we’ve enough to show for ourselves,” Bessie said. “Especially with Madge and Killian dead. All we’ve got are a few trinkets that can hardly be held up as ‘Heroic Trophies’.” 

“I say we carry on,” Aneirin said. “I know the witch that did this is dead, or as close to it as we might know, but she said something about a master. He’s the one responsible. He’s the one we must make pay for the lives of our friends. I say we make our way around this chasm and keep to our plans until we learn more of this master. Once we do – I say we have the duty to deliver justice on him.”

Bessie and Ren could feel the warrior’s passion from across the campfire. “So long as we do that smart, I agree with you, Aneirin,” Ren said. “So we’re all together then. We’ll keep on northeast and try to find that settlement of wayward humans the gnomes told us about. That I think’ll be a fine kind of heroic trophy – first contact with others of our kind outside Maissen.”

With the morning the surviving Heroes set out again, backtracking west around the chasm. It wasn’t as long as they’d feared. Not long after noon they’d found and rounded the western tip. It was only a little while later that Ren noticed something else. He signaled the others to halt, and jumped from his horse.

“What is it?” Bessie asked.

Ren looked up and pointed at the tracks on the ground. “Footprints. Three sets going the same way we are. And they’re just  a few hours old.”

Aneirin peered down from Avarshan’s back to take a look. “Rather small,” he said.

Ren nodded as he mounted up. “Yep.”

Bessie took a look for herself and then the three exchanged looks for a moment, mouths firmly shut. They were all thinking that these footprints suggested only one thing, but none of them wanted to say it out loud. Not yet.

It was late afternoon when the three found themselves back at the ruined roped bridge. Without anyone saying to, they all stopped and dismounted. Travel had lessened the weight of yesterday’s tragedy, but standing back at the chasm brought it all back. The trio stood in heavy silence for several minutes. 

Then Bessie chuckled. Aneirin and Ren started as if someone had ignited a fireball nearby. “What?” Ren asked.

Bessie chuckled again. “I couldn’t help it. I was looking down at the bridge and thinking how much effort it must have taken to build it. It would take a few ellyfants a few days to haul all that up. And now it’s ruined and even though it took Madge and Killian, all I can imagine is that whoever built this is going to be so mad to find it ruined. My mind just threw up a picture of some laborer walking up here and saying, ‘aw man.’”

Now Aneirin chuckled. “’Not again. This is the fifth bridge this year.’”

“’Villains’,” Ren said with a smile. “’Why do they always have to ambush people at THIS bridge? We’re going to have to put up a sign’.” Then he snapped his fingers. “A sign.”

He reached in his dwarf-made spelunker kit and pulled out a piece of chalk, then walked over to the stones on the far side of the trail. Looking around for a minute he found a flat one just about the size of a shield. He wrote on it for another minute, then wedged it into place between some other rocks in a place slightly sheltered from the weather. “What do you think?” he asked.

“’This bridge destroyed on the 19th day of the month of the Twins by a villainous witch woman, despite the effort of Maissiner Heroes – two of which paid for their efforts with their lives – that finally slew the one responsible’,” Bessie read.

“A fine sentiment, Ren. And a fine effort,” Aneirin said. He stroked his chin. “But when we get to civilization I insist you seek the tutorage of a proper poet.” 

The warrior was smiling so Ren took his words in the spirit intended. He blushed anyway.  

The three then continued east. As the next few hours wore on the land changed from the brown dirt hills to a lusher landscape. Soon they saw blackberry bushes growing in a line and other plants showing signs of cultivation. Crops.

They crested a low hill and found themselves looking over a large valley. A large, and inhabited, valley. All through the wide valley were cone and dome shaped structures organized in a crescent surrounding a long house of wooden planks. Flags with animal motifs dotted the area, and in the center was a circle with a huge goat on one side, a ten foot high constrictor snake on the other, and a person in the middle of it all. As the three Maisseners watched, the person in the middle changed his shape. He turned into smoke, then into a murder of crows, and then back as an audience of people watched.

From their vantage point, the three Heroes weren’t able to make out details of the people they were watching, but over those few minutes they watched they were able to conclude one most important fact.

They weren’t human. These people were too short. They looked as if they’d fit the footprints Ren had spotted earlier. 

“We’ve found the elves,” Bessie said. 

“They’re wondrous,” Aneirin said. “Amazing.”

Ren smiled. “Now THIS will be something we can……” he broke off and leaned forward to stare at something down in the valley. Then he slumped in the saddle. “No, no, NO!”

“What?” Bessie and Aneirin said as one.

Ren pointed. “There. By the group of elves off by that red….tent....thing.”

The others followed his pointing and felt their elation ebb. There were four taller people amid the shorter. The Heroes representing Vaunth-on-the-Lake had found the elves, certainly, but so had their rivals. These weren’t the redbreasts, but the other group with more ragged gear. They were milling about with the elves, clearly having been accepted as friends.

“Just like at the mountain, we’ve been beaten here,” Bessie said. 

Ren was shaking. “Balcla's firey ballsac! More wildlands than Vanpo could use for a sandbox and we keep running into folk from home! Where on Simus' tablet do we have to go to get somewhere that our rivals haven't beaten us to!” He shouted. “If I live to be asked advice by later Heroes of Maissem mine will be to not stop for a full day anywhere unless absolutely necessary. Because if you do, then your rivals will beat you to where you want to go.”

Bessie was about to say something to answer that, but just then a gargantuan crocodile with nine people riding it burst through the woods to the southwest of the valley.




Next: Meetings, Greetings, A Dumb Bear, and the Graying of Truth Begins  POST 103
Soon: Miriam the Still


----------



## brellin

very nice but I have a question (?) what subrace of elves are they or do you plane on putting that in the next post?


----------



## edge3343

brellin said:
			
		

> very nice but I have a question (?) what subrace of elves are they or do you plane on putting that in the next post?




Some Maissen specific Wild Elf that get a +1 STR -1 INT. If I remember correctly. alsih2o is really the one to answer.


----------



## alsih2o

Wood Elves, Pg. 104 DMG.


----------



## Beale Knight

brellin said:
			
		

> very nice but I have a question (?) what subrace of elves are they or do you plane on putting that in the next post?




All we knew in character at the time was that they were elves. Our PCs had never seen elves, and the general population of Maissen always considered them to be legends - like dwarves. Our PCs never more thought to ask what sub-race the elves were than they would have thought to ask about the calibre of a pistol (were they to see one). They were just - - elves.


----------



## Greylock

I think it's funny you've attributed this line to my char...



			
				Aneirin said:
			
		

> “They’re wondrous,” Aneirin said. “Amazing.”




The session prior to us heading to the elves I thought Johanna (Bessie) was OOC _thrilled_ about seeing them finally. This was Johanna's first serious long-lasting experience with DnD, and sometimes she gets bubbly.  You're right though, none of us even believed the elves existed (IC).

But BK, the story just gets better and better. You write my guy better than I play him sometimes.


----------



## Beale Knight

Greylock said:
			
		

> I think it's funny you've attributed this line to my char...
> The session prior to us heading to the elves I thought Johanna (Bessie) was OOC _thrilled_ about seeing them finally.




Y'know, now that you bring it up, you're right. It probably would have been better to have those two lines said by the opposite characters. I'd fix it in editing, but then no one wold understand what we're talking about here!


----------



## brellin

thanks a lot


----------



## Beale Knight

*07-01 Meetings, Greetings, A Dumb Bear, and the Graying of Truth Begins*

The giant crocodile wheeled around and jumped and bucked like a fierce wild animal, but the elves on its back hung on and laughed. They steered it around for a few minutes before settling down and giving it a rest. This wasn’t the fierce beast the Maisseners has thought, but something more akin to a giant pet.

Bessie was grinning widely. “So what are we waiting on?” She brushed some dust of her tunic and began to ride down to the crowd. 

Aneirin and Ren looked at each other. “Well,” Ren said, “I guess they’ll see us coming and send someone to meet us halfway.”

Ren was proved right. As the trio casually rode down the slope they soon saw some figures jogging up their way. Humans. 

“Amazing,” one of them called out. “Just amazing. We never thought we’d see any of the other questers outside Maissen.” He re-introduced himself as Morten, and the other three as Cane, Janos, and Anteros. “Those are some fine horses!” Cane said. “Wasn’t there another woman in your group?” asked Anteros. He eyed Aneirin. “And you weren’t with them, were you? I seem to remember a shorter man.”

“This is Aneirin,” Ren said. “We sort of found him along the way.”

“How did you all come to be with the elves?” Bessie asked. There was more than a little tinge of eagerness in her voice. 

The Heroes from Kern laughed. “We were decidedly un-heroic,” Morten said. We headed in a sort of westerly direction from that fort, fought a few chakta, and nearly got killed. We happened to come across these elves here on their travels, they’re nomads you see, and they’ve let us stay with them since.”

“We decided we can stick with them for another few weeks, then go on back to Maissen and retire as famous heroes,” Cane said. 

“And still be alive,” Janos added. “It’s pretty dangerous out here.”

“We know,” Ren said. “We just lost two of our party the other day.” He sighed. “Is there a mayor or something like it here? We’d like to talk to someone in charge that might know some things.”

“Sure,” Morten said. “These are a clan kind of folk, and we can introduce you to some of the clan chiefs, but later. Right now you’ll want to see what’s about to go down in the Challenge Ground. One warning – the elves don’t mind visitors, but keep your weapons sheathed. Act like you’re going to draw one, and you’ll be peppered with more arrows than you can count faster than you’d believe.”

The Heroes of Kern led those from Vaunth-on-the-Lake to the edge of the crowd gathered around the large clearing in the middle of the camp. As he did he explained that each clan has an animal avatar – not a symbol, but an actual avatar. All the gigantic animals about the area were the protectors of the clans. They aren’t immortal, they age and can be killed. Every so often, there is a change in avatars, with a younger, healthier one challenging the current one. That’s what was about to happen. The bear clan’s current avatar was being challenged for the position. 

“And there’s betting,” Janos said. “The smart money’s on the challenger – the big one there.” He pointed to a monstrous bear striding toward the challenge grounds. Approaching the grounds from the opposite side was an oversized elf with an equally oversized flail. 

A horn sounded and the two began to slowly move toward each other. Ren turned to Aneirin. “It’s not hard to guess why the money’s on the challenger,” he said.  By the time he turned back, the contest was over. The elf was on his back and the giant bear was howling in triumph. 

“No, not hard at all,” Aneirin said. “Well that was interesting. Now, about talking with the clan chiefs.” 

Morten led them through the camp to a large tent. Inside, amid the shadows and haze of smoke, were three figures sitting and passing a pipe between them. Morten bid the Heroes from Vaunth-on-the-Lake to wait as he quietly stepped up and whispered something to them. They nodded and Morten waved the others over.

“These are the chiefs of the Crow, Brown Bear, and Python clan,” he said. “They’ll be happy to talk with you. If you’ll excuse me though, I have to see to some winnings.”

Bessie made the introductions, and the three were invited to sit. “You saw the challenge just now, I suppose?” the Crow chief asked.

“Indeed,” Bessie said. “We didn’t know quite what to make of it though.”

“Ah, it’s an ancient way,” the Brown Bear clan chief said. “The avatars are guardians and they’ve kept us safe for more generations than we remember. The loser will have to leave of course, ostracized and unnamed now, but the clan will be healthier for it.”

Ren held his tongue. Bessie mercifully changed the subject. “So where have you traveled? Morten said you were nomads.”

The chiefs nodded. “That we are,” the Crow chief said. “We have a regular way that we travel, going as the land calls us in its own time and way.” He took a draw on the pipe and offered it to Aneirin. “Where have you been?”

“We just came from the dwarves,” Bessie said. “And recently were ambushed at the rope bridge not far from here.” 

The clan chiefs nodded. They obviously knew the bridge. 

“I’m afraid the bridge has been ruined,” Bessie said. “And we lost two of our party in the battle there. We were wondering if you might know something of the villain we fought – a witch woman whose body was a shell hosting a swarm of insects.”

The clan chiefs perked up at this and began speaking in their own language. From the shadows a new figure stepped forward from the tent’s shadows. “Tell me about this ‘witch woman’!” he demanded, anger thick in his voice. 

The Maisseners took in the sight of this elf and concluded at once that he must be from a different tribe, if not a different culture altogether, than the nomads here. Where all the other elves they’d seen had been wearing leathers and feathers and seemed generally relaxed and happy, this one was hard muscled in thick leather armor and armed to the teeth. And his demeanor was far from relaxed. He looked ready to explode into violence. 

“And just who are you?” Aneirin said. His hand drifted to his sword, but he kept from gripping it. 

“Call me Kane,” the elf said. He waited a moment. “Well, tell me of this ‘villain,” he repeated. 

Bessie told the tale of the ambush, of the goblins and the witch woman, how the bridge was cut, and how the last arrow broke the woman’s skin apart and let loose the swarm of insects. When she was done, Kane’s shoulder’s slumped. 

“That was my sister,” he said. “She was taken by a lich and transformed. I had hoped to find and save her. Now….”

The Crow clan leader said something the Kane in elvish, and the warrior stepped over and pulled a scroll from a case. “We’d like you to see something,” the clan chief said to the Maisseners. Kane unfurled the scroll to reveal an intricately detailed picture of a horror. It was a figure of human shape, but taller and with body parts segmented as if patched together. Blood oozed from where the pieces met. The entire figure had a withered, dry appearance to it. 

Aneirin, Bessie, and Ren gasped at the portrait. This wasn’t the insect witch woman, but it was someone they’d seen. This was the demon that appeared out of smoke during our last meeting with the redbreasts. 

“We’ve seen him,” Ren said. 

The eyes on the elves grew wide. They briefly exchanged some words in their own tongue and then the Crow chief faced the Maisseners. “You’ve seen this one?” he asked. “When, where?”

Ren recounted the party’s encounter with the redbreasts at the plateau village at Ghost Dragon Mountain, and how the figure appeared just as they were leaving. 

“You were very lucky,” the chief said. “Few who are not his servants lay eyes on him and live.”

“Who is this demon then?” Anierin asked.

“That is no demon,” the Python Chief answered. “That is the lich that captured Kane’s sister by force and turned her into the monstrosity you battled. He is the master she spoke of. A ruthless demagogue that, every fifteen years or so, makes another push for additional power. And this is that time.”

Anierin sighed. “Yes, but who is he?”

“Idien.” 



Next:  More Gray, a “Blessing and a Burden”, and Miriam the Still   [POST 109]
Soon: Desert Battles


----------



## Greylock

Slipping this little notice in here. Doesn't seem to be much traffic in the GSG forum, so what the hey...

Seeking Players in the Midsouth, TN/MS/AR 

Nice telling of the Elven camp, BK. I imagine Sandy is going to get a paragraph all her own?


----------



## brellin

a lich huh this is starting to get good.But I have a question Mr. DM aren't the players a little in Lv. to be playing with a lich  oh yeah MORE STORY! MORE STORY! MORE STORY!


----------



## Greylock

brellin said:
			
		

> ...oh yeah MORE STORY! MORE STORY! MORE STORY!




   

Beale Knight certainly gets pestered by the rest of us. He does an excellent job writing this up, but whoo-eee! The boy needs some focus, FOCUS I tells ya. What's it going to be, wife, child, job or the Story Hour? Betcha anything that right now BK is out playing in the mud.


----------



## Beale Knight

*Mud*



			
				Greylock said:
			
		

> Beale Knight certainly gets pestered by the rest of us. He does an excellent job writing this up, but whoo-eee! The boy needs some focus, FOCUS I tells ya. What's it going to be, wife, child, job or the Story Hour? Betcha anything that right now BK is out playing in the mud.




As a matter of fact, at 7:17 yesterday evening (local time) I was indeed slooging through mud that's at the stage of just-starting-to-dry wherein you're not sure if the mudpile ahead of you is just slushy and wet, or it'll swallow your shoe.   

Another update by dawn Monday.


----------



## alsih2o

brellin said:
			
		

> I have a question Mr. DM aren't the players a little in Lv. to be playing with a lich




 They aren't trading punches with him yet. 

 There is an overarching plot, trust me.


----------



## Beale Knight

*7-02 More Gray, "A Burden and a Blessing", Miraim the Still*

The Heroes from Maissen gaped, then began to speak at once. “Idien?” “The same Idien?” After a few moments they calmed down and the chief of the Crow Clan nodded. 

“He is the same one that was once brother to Maissen and Lastell, the one that left for the desert and forsook his humanity for power and virtually immortality. The evil, the old one, the broker. That is him.” He paused to draw from the pipe just handed him. “His activities are not unexpected. Every fifteen full seasons he rises from the western desert to attempt another drive for power. None of his evil schemes have yet succeeded, though thwarting them has ever carried a high price.”

“Such as my sister,” said Kane.

Ren was scratching his head. “This means the redbreasts aren’t just consorting with a wizard, or even some demon. They’ve actually thrown in with Maissen’s greatest enemy.”

“That is something that you should tell your council about,” the elf chief said.

Bessie nodded. “That’s something we will have to do once we return to Maissen.”

“There’s no need to wait for that. Lady Miriam, the loremaster, is hunting in the mountains just north of here.”

“What? How can she be there?” Ren asked in disbelief.

The Crow Chief shrugged. “She has a flying horse as I recall. It can get here there well enough.”

That he had just mentioned a flying horse washed right over Ren. “But Maisseners can’t leave Maissen.” 

Bessie nodded. “It’s prohibited by law.”

The elf chuckled. “And who makes the law? Don’t you imagine they’d make exceptions for themselves? The council member of Maissen cross freely the border of their nation. We’ve met most of them at one time or another.”

Ren’s jaw dropped. He rubbed his forehead. “They’ve lied. They’ve lied to us about the law. They’ve never said the first word about exceptions.”

The Crow Chief looked at him oddly. “What would if had mattered if they hadn’t? What would that change in your life?”

“Nothing practical, for sure. But they demand trust and obedience from us, and here we are finding out they have no trust for us. They could say there’s exceptions and say why. What would that change about their special privilege?”

The pipe had circled around again and the chief took another draw. “That I leave to you to say to your leaders. If you’d care to tell the council about what you’ve learned, you have an opportunity close at hand. Your issue with them will not be solved in this tent, so why not let us turn the conversation to other topics. We would be very interested in hearing more of the adventures that brought you to us.”

The trio began telling of their days since leaving Maissen. They told of the spiders, the buffalo riders they’d killed near the giant chakta camp, of what happened in the rift valley, and then the tale of Hilltopple house. That last drew a great many nods and quiet noises of respect from the elves. They told of meeting the gnomes, dealing with the farunk, breezed over the encounter with the redbreasts, and then spoke of their time with the dwarves and the past two days since.

“You sound very much like Heroes then,” the Brown Bear chief said. “Even if you have not yet fought any giants. I believe you would do well against them.” He thought for a minute and a smile grew on his face. “It seems to me that you being great Heroes you deserve something of burden and benefit.”

Aneirin, Bessie, and Ren looked at each other, trying to unravel the enigmatic praise. The chief made it clear a moment later. “The large, now nameless, elf you saw defeated in the Avatar Challenge needs a place to go. Kane wishes to track down Idien. You are the answer to both their needs. What do you think of it, Kane?”

The armored elf wore his scowl again. “It will serve, for awhile. I have my own sources and leads that may come through at any time.” His glance to the humans suggested that he wouldn’t hesitate to leave them behind if he thought he had a better way to meet his goal than to travel with them.

“You don’t plan on just murdering us in our sleep do you?” Ren asked. He smiled as he said the words, but the question was earnest. The elf had an obvious contempt for humans, but still seemed to be a thoughtful and competent warrior. Or ranger. Or well armed sorcerer. Or perhaps some kind of bard. Ren simply had no idea what Kane was capable of, but the trio could use some bolstering. 

“I assure you the chances of that are nil,” the Brown Bear chief said. When Kane smiled a toothy smile without otherwise letting up his scowl, the chief added, “virtually. Now – let us introduce you to the nameless one.”

A few moments later the tall elf, last seen sprawled on his back in the dust of the Challenge Ground, entered the tent. The elves spoke to him in their own tongue, but even they did so slowly. The Maisseners studied him as the conversation, mostly one sided, went on. The elf was certainly large for his race, taller than Ren’s shoulder and with muscles larger than  Aneirin’s – adjusted for overall size. The elf carried a huge flail with odd writing on it, elven the Maisseners supposed, and he held the weapon in a death grip that paled his knuckles. After many long minutes the chiefs turned their attention back to the Maisseners. “The nameless one has agreed to come along.”

“We’re going to have to have something to call you,” Aneirin said to the big elf.

“Alas, he speaks only our tongue,” The Crocodile chief said. He sighed. “And that none too well, I fear.”

“There’s the burden part,” Ren said. “And one other reason we need Kane to come along.”

Kane and the nameless elf exchanged a few words just then. Suddenly the bigger elf was nodding ferociously and smiling with great enthusiasm. Kane translated. “He says that even though he lost his fight he is happy to continue his role as Bear, a protector. And that it doesn’t matter if he is thought Dumb if he can still be Bear. So he is now Dumb Bear.”

“Oh Great Stars,” Bessie exclaimed with a chuckle. Ren suppressed laughter and shook his head. Aneirin muttered something about dignity, but nodded nonetheless. All of the Maisseners had formed the same opinion of the big elf. Though he was plainly as smart as Madge had been beautiful, he was powerful and of good heart. He would be a worthy companion. 

That settled they engaged in more interesting things – trade. The Maisseners had little coin, but the Crow clan leader was interested in Ren’s Arrow of Beast Slaying. For it, he offered his mount – a horse sized monitor war-lizard. Ren was amazed. He rode the animal for many minutes and bonded well with her. For the hunter from Vaunth-on-the-Lake, it was an easy trade. Bessie sought some herbs and lore she might not know, but her success was limited. 

Before they bedded for the night the Maisseners learned one other amazing fact about elven culture. One that seemed in some ways obvious but in other ways far too conincidental. The elves worship the same gods as Maisseners. 

The next morning marked twenty days since the original party left Maissen, and it began early; elves don’t sleep as humans do and get going earlier. With Dumbear and Kane, the Maisseners mounted up and headed north: three humans, two elves, three light horses, one war horse, and a giant war-lizard. With the tallest of the mountains to the west they made their way to the great steppes. A wide and well worn path led up and soon they were high into the mountains’ western reaches. 

A great roar echoed through the mountains as they climbed. They turned as one and saw a huge beast, long and scaled as a dragon, but with the head and mane of a lion. It sat on a peak about 900’ away, contentedly chewing on a wild horse. The group stared in amazement for a few moments, than continued before it thought about a dessert. 

The path later forked, but there was no real choice. One branch led to an endless field of spiky rocks. The other made its way into the mountains. The switchbacks of the trail into the mountains cut the party’s line of sight considerably. After the experience on the rope bridge they had no desire to be ambushed again, so Ren left his mount and scouted ahead. He had gone about halfway from the rest of the group to the mouth of a cave when a woman’s voice called out.

“You can’t sneak up on me.” 

Ren froze and hoped he was still out of sight. “Who might you be now that I can’t sneak up on?”

There was a laugh. “As the one here first I say I have the right to know who approaches more than you to whom you approach.”

Ren and the unseen woman went back and forth in that way for several minutes. The hunter was sure to whom the other voice must belong, but kept going until he had no doubt. Finally he was convinced he was indeed bantering with Miriam the Still of the Maissen ruling council. Only then did he step forward where she could see him. She was there in a large cave with her horse, which had no wings, and a mousy looking squire lingering in the back with a mule.

“Lady Miriam? We have a lot to talk about.”

Ren spent about twenty minutes with Miriam, capsulising what had happened since the party left Maissen, and then asked to bring the rest of the group forward to speak with her. Then with everyone assembled, they began to tell more details. Though the two elves were plainly bored, the Maissen council member listened intently. Her reaction wasn’t even close to what Ren and Bessie expected. She frankly scoffed and laughed at the tale of Hilltopple House and Aneirin, and doubted what the party said about the redbreasts and Idein. 

At last, feeling exasperated, Ren asked, “So with all your power have you got some way to read into our minds to tell if we’re telling the truth or not?”

Miriam gave him a quizzical look. “If I could, you would be willing to subject yourself to that? It is a rather intense invasion of your person.” Ren nodded. So did Bessie and Aneirin. “Very well then. As it happens I can do that, but it will be tomorrow before I can make the attempt. The process is not easy on the reader any more than it is the read.”

“We’ll wait here,” Bessie said. 

Miriam waved her hand. “Oh no need for that. Keep your travels going, you have a quest to see to after all.” She reached into one of her many bags and pulled forth a jeweled broach. Handing it to Bessie, Miriam said, “Keep this with you, it will enable me to find you.” She smiled when Bessie took it and then said, “Now, let’s to more interesting topics. How have you found the hunting in these parts?”

The other Maisseners blinked. “uh – fine,” Ren said. “We actually were hoping to ask you some more about Idien.”

Miriam waved her hand. “Yes, yes. Big lich, the brother that turned to evil. Still comes back about every generation and someone raises an army to give him the boot. What about large animals? Have you seen any sign of those.”

“A few,” Bessie answered. “We saw an elefant at Hilltopple house. But we were wondering about this other human settlement to the north. Do you know anything about it?”

“Well yes,” Miriam said. She paused to take a drink and Ren jumped in.

“So you know about it?” he asked. “This is something that the council knows about but has kept a secret from the common folk of the country?” 

“Well you know politics and political concerns sometimes keep things that way,” she answered. “Have you seen any wild beast like that lizard mount of yours? She’s fantastic.”

“She’s been very good so far,” Ren said. “The elves might know where her wild cousins are. So the council doesn’t think that telling the people that there’s other people alive in the world might do them some good, give them some hope in dark times.”

Miriam waved the comment away. “I told you it’s a matter of politics. Have you seen any great beasts since leaving the elf camp?”

Ren and Bessie both sighed. Aneirin only rolled his eyes as if he’d had experience in that kind of political thinking before. “We saw some kind of dragonish lion, or lionish dragon, just as we came up the trail,” Bessie said. 

Now Miriam lit up. “A dragonne!” She exclaimed with an almost girlish squeal. She turned to her squire and said, “Load up!” She stood and gathered some of her nearby equipment. “Thank you very much for that lead. I will find you tomorrow.”

Ren started to say something, but let the words die in his open mouth. The group stood and quietly watched as Miraim mounted her steed. Joy on her face, she galloped out of the cave and jumped into the air beyond, the horse flying as if it had wings. The squire on the mule followed suit, but neither had anything close to joy on their faces.

Once they were gone, Anierin asked, “What were you about to say, Ren?”

Ren shrugged. “I was wondering why it isn’t called a dragon-lion, or if dragon-knee means the same thing in another language. But she probably would have said it was matter of politics and that’s the way things are.” He huffed. “C’mon, let’s load up and get moving ourselves. 




Next: The tunnel, the reading, and the desert battle.   POST #112
Soon: Seaside fight, coming to Lastel


----------



## brellin

*Power Is Within Your Grasp*

It seems to me that the council are a braindead lot. maybe you players should take over Maissen


----------



## Beale Knight

brellin said:
			
		

> It seems to me that the council are a braindead lot. maybe you players should take over Maissen




Well...


----------



## Beale Knight

*7-03 The tunnel, the reading, and the desert battle*

The three humans and two elves stepped out of the cave and back onto the mountain trail. 

“So what now then?” Kane asked.

Bessie spoke up. “We’ve been over the bridge that gave way to valley fair, or valley of fair, whichever it was. But it had the green and tall pines and sodden wet air,” she said, paraphrasing the dwarven poem. “We’ve gone from there to the steppes that rise this way and that, and are going toward the top. So at some point we’ll come to a way to follow the bats.” 

“We’re taking travel directions from dwarves,” Kane said with a sneer. Dumb Bear looked at the other elf quizzically and Kane repeated his comment in elven. The bigger elf just shrugged.

“It’s worked very well for us so far,” Aneirin said. “Accurate if flowery.” 

“I think this is it,” Ren said. He pointed to a cluster of bats hanging on an outcropping near what he’d thought was the back of the cave. “The cave turns here, but keeps going. And if I remember it right, the trail led right here and doesn’t carry on past the cave.”

Kane double checked the trail and confirmed Ren’s suspicion. With that settled, the party brought their torches out to where they’d be handy, lit two, and began making their way down the cave. 

“All that dickering about it last week and here we are traveling underground anyway,” Bessie muttered.

Aneirin nodded and smiled. “It seems to be straightforward enough though. And we’re too high in the mountains to get lost beneath them.”

Ren had one of two torches in hand as he scouted a little ways ahead of the others. The tunnel was mostly flat and only featured moderate twists. There were no inhabitants but for scores and scores of bats that, at most, gave the party passing glances that said – put out that light! After most of an hour he stopped and took a closer look at a glint of light. “There,” he said as the other caught up to him.

“A side passage,” Kane said. “With just a hint of sunlight at the far end.”

“It’s big enough for us and horses, but only for single file,” Bessie said. “I think we’re better off carrying on the straightaway.”

The others nodded and the party carried on forward. It was almost another full hour later when Ren stepped in something sticky. He inwardly groaned and made to pull up his foot. He couldn’t. It was stuck fast to the floor. “What could this….” he muttered.

His question was cut off by a screech. From above a blur jumped down at Ren. He swung his torch wildly and ducked, then had a heartbeat’s time to take in the sight before him. It was a horror just about man-sized, with a bloated mid-section on spindly legs and long, gangly arms that ended in claws. Its jutted spider face hissed at Ren as it took another swipe at him. The hunter yelled for the others and thrust the torch at the monster, driving it back a step. In the torchlight, he now saw that the floor, from his trapped foot forward several yards, was covered in some kind of sticky, web-like substance.

By then Bessie was there. Through druid magic Ren’d never seen her use before, fire shot from her fists into the monster. Then Ren felt a powerful arm wrap around him and tug. A moment later his trapped foot was free and Dumb Bear was setting him down on the cavern floor. Aneirin was then right there, his sword shining in the torchlight at he cut the monster open.

That was when the second monster stuck its foul head out from a shelf up on the wall. Web shot from its mouth, striking Aneirin and sticking him fast in place. Dumb Bear jumped beside the warrior and the druid and pounded the closer monster with his flail. The spiked ball smashed into its head and barely slowed down as blood, bone, and brain flew from the other side. The monster stood for a half beat more, then fell dead onto its own webs. 

Ren launched his spear at the second web monster. The weapon flew true and impaled the thing. It didn’t die, but retreated back into the cave it’d come out from. Bessie worked to help Aneirin get free from the webbing as Dumb Bear scaled the wall to chase down the wounded monster. It only took him a moment to get to it, dodge another spat web, and smash the thing to death as he had the other. By the time Ren managed to work his way around the webs and up the cave wall, it was all over. Dumb Bear stood in the low cave over the bloodied monster corpse with a grin as broad as any Ren’d ever seen. 

The hunter smiled back and retrieved his spear, then began to nose around. The high alcove these two monsters had used as a lair was shallow and after only a minute Ren found twenty gold coins and three rubies hidden amid the bones and leaves. He jumped down to find Dumb Bear had freed Aneirin. Kane was coming up with the horses he had gathered and guarded through the fight. 

Ren handed one of the rubies to the big elf. To Kane he said, “let him know it’s for a job really well done.” Kane translated and Dumb Bear smiled his big smile again. Ren announced what else he’d found and gave the loot over to Bessie, who had the most room for it. After that, the party put fire to the webs and moved on.

It wasn’t long afterward that they emerged to daylight. Before them was a grand vista. A wide valley stretching as for scores of miles and filled with herds of wild horses. The rough, spiked rock wasteland bookended the valley, and far ahead of them they could see the coloration change from green to yellow. 

The descent from the cave tunnel to the valley floor was a difficult challenge. The switchback trail was narrow and steeper than the trail they’d taken up from the elven valley. With due care they finally touched bottom to realize they were much lower than they’d been on the other side. Exhausted, they decided to make camp then and there, though the sun was still well above the horizon. 

“What can we expect tomorrow,” Kane asked, “according to the dwarves?”

“'Past them is sunlight and downward again. To desertland, walking north three days in',” Bessie answered. “So I’m going to make sure I’ve prepared spells to create water and keep our directions straight. I suggest the rest of you break out anything that can be used as a water skin and fill it up now.” 

The waterskins were filled and camp was then set. The night passed without incident and then, true to her word, Miriam and her squire flew down from the sky the following morning.  “Thank you ever so for your tip of the dragonne,” were the first words from her lips. “We had a fine hunt and now a new trophy.”

“Glad to help,” Ren muttered. Bessie stepped forward and nodded. “Well and good,” she said. “Now then – about what you….”

Miriam waved her off. “Yes, yes. I’ve prepared the magic. Gather here and we’ll get started.” She sat on the grass and directed the three humans to do the same. The Maissen leader then began her spell. Sparkles of light danced around her finger tips as she chanted and then touched her forehead. Miriam pressed a fingertip then to Bessie’s forehead, and the druid felt as if she were watching a dream of the past twenty days. After a few moments Miriam withdrew her finger and frowned. Wordlessly she pressed her fingertip to Ren’s forehead. As the next moments passed her frown turned into a scowl. She moved her fingertip to Aneirin next, and held it there for far longer than she had with Bessie or Ren. Her face alternated between wide-eyed fascination and slit-eyed fury over those long moments. When at last she withdrew her finger, Miriam quickly stood. 

“You have been truthful,” she said. “And I must tell the council what you have experienced.” Miriam made to mount her horse and Ren stopped her. He’d been hastily scribbling as the Loremaster had been reading Aneirin.

“I wonder if you would carry this back to Maissen,” he said. “Just a letter to my family, letting them know that I’m still out here alive and mostly whole.”

Miriam took the note and nodded. “I promise. And you keep to your quest.” With that, she spurred her mount into the air and in a few moments she and her squire had vanished on the other side of the mountains. 

“Well that should stir things up a bit,” Bessie said. 

The party was soon on their way as well. They cleared the valley before noon and soon after the grassy land turned to scrub. By afternoon that had become sand and they were soon in a full fledged desert. Before the hot and boring day of travel was over, there was nothing but sand as far as the eye could see. 

With their number bolstered to five, the group indulged in doubled-up watches. The elves took the longer one at the front of the night, and Ren and Aneirin the shorter second watch. It was while they were awake and the stars the brightest that they heard a sickening CRACK from where they’d cobbled the horses. 

Ren and Aneirin turned to the sound to see one of the horses flailing about and neighing in pain. Its back had been broken, smashed at the middle. The two looked up from the crippled horse to see a gigantic arm of sand reaching out from a nearby dune. It rose from the body of the horse and vanished into the dune. Shouting, Ren went to loose the other horses, better they flee into the night to be recaptured later than die like the broken one would. Aneirin likewise went around prodding the others awake, sword in hand as he sought a sign of the sand arm. 

It reappeared just then to strike at another horse, but Aneirin’s swipes disrupted it, driving it back into the sands. Awake now, the entire group made ready for another attack. One didn’t immediately come, so Bessie and Kane double checked the condition of the other horses and healed the one the second attack had grazed. They continued to wait for most of an hour before deciding the attack was over. Bessie and the elves settled back down to rest. 

Just as they did, the sand monster reappeared. Still wide awake and ready, Aneirin and Ren attacked it. As their weapons tore through the sandy form it suddenly fell apart, becoming just a long pile of sand, slightly discolored from the natural sands of the desert. Ren gathered a bit of it into a vial that had held a healing potion as Bessie took a closer look at what was left of the monster. 

“Earth elemental,” the druid said after a moment. “That’s what I thought it sounded like.”

“We sure enough then picked a dungpile of a place to camp then,” Ren said.

“I don’t think so,” Kane said. “There’s no lore of these things in this desert; my folk have traveled through this area enough to be sure of that. This was a deliberate attack on us.”

Aneirin’s hand fell to his sword hilt. “So there’s someone nearby directing it then. We need to find them before they make another attack.”

Kane shook his head. “I don’t believe the culprit is anywhere near here,” he said. “I believe we’re being scryed.”



Next: Seaside Fight, Coming to Lastell.    POST 114
Soon: “We’ve been expecting you.”


----------



## Greylock

Beale Knight said:
			
		

> “We’re taking travel directions from dwarves,” Kane said with a sneer. Dumb Bear looked at the other elf quizzically and Kane repeated his comment in elven. The bigger elf just shrugged.




Dumb Bear told us the Elven name for the Dwarves. What was it again?


----------



## Beale Knight

*7 04 To the Sea, Beach Battle, Coming to Lastelle*

“Scryed?” Ren repeated. He’d heard the word before but was unsure what exactly it meant.

Bessie was nodding. “That makes sense. And Idiein is almost certainly the one behind it. The only question is,” she said, looking at Kane. “Is he scrying us or you?”

“You laid eyes on him,” Kane said. “And your countrymen could well have told him who you were and what you represented.”

“True enough, but he also must know you’re seeking him out for vengeance,” Bessie countered.

Aneirin held up his hands. “Who’s being scryed doesn’t matter if we’re together. What matters is that we’re prepared for more attacks. If Idiein can see us to target us, he can also see that his efforts have thus far been useless. We still live, and though we’ve lost a mount that will do little to hinder our progress.”

“That’s why he attacked the mounts,” Kane said. “Trapping us on foot in this desert is a death sentence.”

“The horses are fine,” Bessie said. “I was able to use my magic to heal them, even the first one the elemental smashed. Here on though we’ll have to night them some distance from each other. We’ve got most of three days to go yet. We can take nothing for granted except the worst.”

Aneirin turned to look at the mounts. Indeed they were all standing, almost asleep again already as if nothing had happened. The warrior felt his shoulder, where the elemental arm had landed a powerful blow. “If you’ve any more of that magic I could stand to partake.” 

Bessie complied and in moments Aneirin’s wound had healed. “How does that put you, Bessie?” Ren asked. 

“That almost depletes me completely,” the druid answered. 

“With the fight there’s no way any of us are going to get any good sleeping done tonight,” Ren said. “What if we just keep in place through the day and start out again at sundown? We could all get the rest we need, and it’d be better on us traveling at night through here anyway.”

After a little discussion, everyone agreed. The next day was a long boring stretch of making shade to sleep under and keeping watch over the endless sands. That night, with waterskins filled and direction determined by way of Bessie's magic, the troop set out again. Traveling under the starlight was far more pleasant and the group made fine progress, much better than that of the first day’s travel. However, the unspoken question in everyone’s mind was just how large the desert truly was. The dwarven poem clearly indicated three days, but there was no way to know if that accounted for mounts or a human pace. Though useful to gauge relative positions of major geographic features, the scale of the hastily drawn dwarven map was laughable and useless for determining real distance. Without Bessie and her spells, the party’s chances of making it through the desert would be dangerously thin. 

At dawn they made their camp and prepared for another long, boring day under a relentless sun. They weren’t disappointed; that was exactly what they got. Though boring, it was much better than another battle. Once the sun dropped to the horizon, they set on their way again. 

Late that night the sand began to be peppered with more and more dirt. By dawn’s first light they found a dry riverbed, east to west. The dwarf poem was still holding true. This was “the river that’s never quite there;” found after three days in the desert. Though the landmark was cause for relief, the party of Heroes was still in a desert, even if a less extreme part of it. They made camp at the riverbed and once again spent day as night. When the sun set again, they began traveling west along the north side of the riverbed.
After about two hours they noticed a trickle of water in the riverbed. An hour later there was more – it was a real stream! A little later the bed broke north and there was even more water in it. 

Not long afterward, Ren brought his war-lizard mount to a halt and cupped his ear. “Listen,” he said with a smile on his face. “Can you hear it?”

The others gathered beside him. “A low roar,” Kane said. He translated for Dumb Bear, who nodded. 

“It sounds like that waterfall at Drayne,” Aneirin said. 

“But not quite exactly,” Ren said. “Hear the light splashes going on with it?”

Bessie took a deep breath through her nose and smiled. “And the salt is thick in the air even here.”

They resumed moving and in minutes the light of the moon confirmed what they’d already deduced. Before them was water. Endless water, stretching out of sight to the east and to the west. The end of land. The Maisseners looked at each other. They had now touched two coasts. 

“Follow the river that's never quite there It leads to the ocean, a beach white and rare.” Bessie said quietly. 

“Which way now then?” asked Kane. 

“West,” Ren said with a point. “The gnomes’ dirt drawings put the settlement off that way from the desert.”

The rest of the night was simple and pleasant travel along the beach. The cool air was a welcome change from the unbridled heat of the desert, and the rhythmic lapping of the waves on the beach was soothing. When dawn began the spread its light, the Heroes noticed the desert was fully behind them. A pine forest was now to their left. 

“How long do we travel today?” Ren asked once the sun was full in the sky. 

“It’s a good time to switch day and night back to their usual roles,” Kane said. “If you humans can stand a short rest for once.”

Ren and Aneirin looked to Bessie. “I’ve not cast any spells through the night, so I don’t need for a full ‘night’s’ sleep,” she said. “If we just take some time to eat and rest that will suit me well enough.”

“There’s a shady spot right ahead then,” Ren said. “Let’s break off a few hours and get on the way before noon then, you think?”

That was just what they did. A few hours spent enjoying the luxurious shade of a grove and getting some food in them was enough to inspire them to move on. As the were gearing up for the next leg – the last stanza of the dwarven poem – Aneirin pointed out to sea. 

“Take a look,” he said. “A three master.”

The others took a look and saw a ship far out in the ocean. As the warrior had said, it featured three masts. 

“I’ven’t seen one like that before,” Kane said. 

Bessie shook her head. “No, the ones at home have just one, or sometimes two.”

“We have seen one like it before, Bessie,” Ren said. “So have you I’d guess, Aneirin.”

Bessie looked at him a little confused, but Aneirin gave him a look like the hunter had said he’d guessed the warrior had seen a sword before. “Of course I have. The ships that brought us over had three masts.”

Now Bessie’s face lit up. “And there’s one displayed in Castle Maissen,” she said. 

Ren nodded. He watched the ship for a moment as it plowed east through the waters. “Which says that someone off that way knows how to sail in the ocean. More than we can do.”

“How do you forget how to make ships like that?” Aneirin asked. 

“Couple hundred years of worrying about just surviving, I guess,” Ren said. 

The ship moved on out of sight and the Heroes continued west. The last lines in the dwarven poem called for them to follow the ocean’s breaking surf and look for the land that would break in a hollow. The last hours of morning were spent in simple travel, keeping one eye peeled for another ambush from servants of Idiein and the other alert for a hollow in the land. 

Just after the sun peaked, they saw a pair of figures far down the beach. They were walking slowly east, as if they hadn’t noticed or didn’t care about the mounted figures coming their way. 

“What do you think?” Aneirin asked.

Ren shrugged. “We’re pretty sure we’re getting close on to some civilization, so I guess seeing folk isn’t much of a surprise.”

“It certainly doesn’t look like they're threatening,” Bessie added. 

Aneirin nodded. “We can’t be so sure anymore though. We’ll be careful and keep a close eye on them.”

Over the next few minutes the pair continued to walk toward the Heroes. Their walk was clumsy, stiff even, as if their legs weren’t working quite properly. As they drew closer, their odd posture was evident; one in particular – the shorter – seemed to weave and wobble with every sluggish step. 

Suddenly Dumb Bear sat up rod straight on his horse. Kane followed suit almost immediately. “What is it?” Aneirin asked. 

Kane drew his sword. “They’re not human. They’re not even alive. Idien is striking again, but his power must be waning. These should be no great challenge.”

“Beware of secret abilities, elf,” Anierin said. “We’ve been surprised by ‘easy’ foes before.” 

The Heroes made ready for battle as the undead continued their march toward them. Soon the distance was almost perfect for the charge Aneirin was hoping for. Then suddenly, the three humans were brought up short. They could make out features on the undead things.

“Blessed stars, no,” Bessie whispered, a hand to her mouth. 

Aneirin clenched his fist in mounting fury. “You devil, to make us do this,” he hissed.

Ren tore at his hair. “This is just too wrong. Just too wrong.”

Kane and Dumb Bear stared at them. “What is it?” Kane asked, impatient confusion in his voice. He waved at the approaching pair. “Undead. Zombies. Destroy. How is it you have a problem with this?”

“We recognize them,” Bessie whispered. 

“He desecrated Madge and Killian’s remains to use them against us,” Aneirin said through a clenched jaw. 

Ren looked to Kane. “He did to them what he did to your sister.”

The elf warrior’s eyes narrowed and he translated the exchange for Dumb Bear. The bigger elf said a few words back and Kane nodded. Before he could tell the others that there was no sense in waiting, they had moved.

Aneirin charged and the others followed – weapons drawn and ready. One thought ran through the minds of the three from Maissen. “How dare he abuse the corpses we had put to rest! Filling their bodies with whatever unnatural magics that made them mock sacred life!”  Their revulsion and outrage had turned to fury. Kane’s anger was now theirs. 

Having led the charge, Aneirin reached the monstrosities first. From horseback he sliced them without mercy, ignoring their clumsy attacks – driving Avarshan to nimbly avoid those few blows that would have struck the mount of a lesser rider. Here Aneirin was in his element as never before. Fighting like that from horseback, he and his mount seemed as one. A single, focused, force. 

The others engaged the undead. Ren’s war-lizard showed her talent with claw and teeth, not the least bit bothered by the chaos of melee. Bessie summoned a water elemental that slammed the zombies from behind. Kane and Dumbear surrounded the zombies and beat and sliced them with a passion equal to the three that knew the souls that had been in these bodies. 

It was a furious and short battle. The undead bodies were sliced to bits and still in moments, and delivered virtually no damage to their living foes. But the Maisseners were exhausted from it. Less from the combat than the spiritual strain of seeing their friends’ bodies so abused, and from having to battle the faces they had come to love. 

When it was all over there was nothing for it but to insure it couldn’t happen again. Through tears, the Heroes built a pyre and burnt the remains to ashes, hoping that Idiein was scrying his latest failure. 

The rest of the day was spent quietly riding. None of them had very much to say. Toward evening the beach ahead began to curve south. The ocean was opening into a bay. A huge bay, larger than a city. At its southern end a stream headed inland, and around that a village stood. 

“The bay is the hollow,” Bessie said. “We’ve made it.”


Next: The Tonk   POST 119
Soon: Lastelle Town, "We've Been Expecting You"


----------



## Greylock

Ooooh, this is where things really start to pick up.  I can't wait...

Well, things pick up after we tease the fellows in the bar and talk to the elders, but still, this IS where things get reliably lively. You're doing a great job, Wes.


----------



## brellin

undead yummy Mr. DM I love that you used the dead bodys of the dead Pc´s very cool.
great post but I need more


----------



## Greylock

brellin said:
			
		

> great post but I need more




Well, it's Sunday AND it's been a slow weekend. I'm pretty sure BK is willing to oblige. If he was thinking of slacking off, maybe this will coerce him into obliging you.


----------



## Beale Knight

Greylock said:
			
		

> Well, it's Sunday AND it's been a slow weekend. I'm pretty sure BK is willing to oblige. If he was thinking of slacking off, maybe this will coerce him into obliging you.




Indeed. A new post comes later this a-m. I've gotten into a pretty solid routine of Monday updates, I think, so that's the day to check in.


----------



## Beale Knight

*The Tonk*

“Just about in time too,” Ren added. “Starting on getting pretty dark.”

Indeed it was all but completely dark by the time the Heroes reached the distant village’s first outlying building, a small, 10’ by 20’ shack without even a proper door. The curtain hanging over the threshold did little to contain the bawdy singing within. Bessie and Ren grinned. “We’ve found the tonk,” Ren said.

“The ‘tonk’?” Aneirin asked.

“The wild tavern on the outskirts of town,” Bessie said. “I don’t know about this one, but the tonks in Maissen aren’t usually completely legal.”

Ren smiled again. “Which is part of what makes them whole lots more fun.”

“We should see what they know of where we are then,” said Kane. 

Bessie shook her head. “They’re not going to know anything useful,” she said. “Rather, if they do, they’ll have a hard time telling it.”

Aneirin rubbed his chin. “We won’t take long then,” he said, urging Avarshan toward the shack.

“Bessie’s right,” Ren said. “We’re better off just pushing on to the town.”

The warrior ignored them and dismounted. “They must know something. I don’t care to walk into a situation without foreknowledge if I can help it.”

“Didn’t he charge madly against a ‘lone’ farunk?” Ren whispered to Bessie, who snickered quietly. 

Kane dismounted as well, and Dumb Bear followed suit. With Aneirin they walked to the curtained entrance of the shack. The bawdy singing continued full strength as the revelers within sung the chorus about a woman, her sisters, and what they did with fish. Then Aneirin moved the curtain aside and stuck his head in. 

Silence fell like a tumbling wall. Aneirin looked the single room over, noting several kegs and about two dozen men, all humans and all but one awake with a drink in his hand. Wearing the simple clothes of fishermen, they all stared at the armored, sword bearing man standing in their doorway. “Excuse me,” Aneirin said politely. “I was wondering if you could tell me just where I’ve found myself.”

The men inside looked back and forth at each other, their wide eyed eyes and slack jaws testimony to their utter confusion. After a moment a few of them managed to stammer out some syllables and unintelligible babble. Finally someone managed to get out, “who are you?”

Aneirin reached to the recesses of his memory to recall what his father and lords and tried to teach him about diplomacy. With a smile he spread his hands away from his weapons and said, “just a traveler, and I’m afraid I’ve gotten a bit turned around.”

Standing just out of sight, Kane translated the exchange for Dumb Bear, and they both chuckled at the humans’ confusion. 

“A what?!” Many of the men said this, some to Aneirin some to each other. Several others took long drinks from their mugs. Kane chose that moment to squeeze in past Aneirin. A gasp traveled through the room as the men stared at the fierce, but small, man with the pointed ears and piercing eyes. Kane returned the stare and for an eternity of seconds no one moved or uttered a sound. 

“Boo!” Kane shouted suddenly. Every man in the shack jumped back. Mugs hit the sandy floor across the length of the shack. Aneirin fixed the elf with a hard stare, but Kane only grinned and stepped back outside. 

Bessie and Ren, still on their mounts, shook their heads. “This is going nowhere,” Ren said as he slid from Sandy’s* back. He trotted over to the curtain where Aneirin was waiting for the drinkers to collect themselves – or where he was trying to figure out just how to get something useful from them. Ren wasn’t sure, but he had been in enough tonks to have an idea how to talk to the people in this one.  He stepped into the shack and found someone close at hand that looked less drunk than the others. “You,” he said with a point, “Who’s in charge of that town down the bay?”

The man he pointed to looked to his left and right as if hoping Ren had actually been pointing to someone else. When no one stepped up to help him, he stammered out, “uh – Lastelle.”

“Thanks,” Ren said, ducking back outside. He tugged Aneirin’s sleeve as he exited, prompting the warrior to come along as well. “That’s an interesting answer.”

“How so?” asked Kane. 

“Lastelle was a brother to Maissen,” Aneirin answered as he climb atop Avarshan. “I don’t imagine they could mean him.”

“It could be descendents of him,” Bessie said. “In the histories, Lastelle left with some followers in quest to find a way back to the old homeland. This could be as far as he got.”

“The answers for sure don’t lay back there though,” Ren said. From Sandy, he pointed west. “Let’s see if we can get all the way there tonight and start finding them from whoever this particular Lastelle is.”

As they rode, the Heroes left a small group of drinkers crowded in the doorway watching the strangers in disbelief. 

Kane glanced back at them. “What do you imagine their problem is?” he said. 

“They probably don’t get very many travelers up this way,” Bessie said. “Most Maisseners don’t know there’s other human settlements beyond the borders. They’d probably be just as frightened of mysterious strangers - mysterious, heavily armed strangers – dropping in on their marginally legal tavern.”

“If there’s no where to travel to, there’s no such thing as a traveler,” Ren said.



* Ren named his war lizard after the battle along the beach. As she delivered most damage with her claws, and the battle happened on the sand, Ren combined the two and named her Sandy Claws. He did this without any sense of irony or homage, as the poor hunter from Vaunth-on-the-Lake has never even _heard_ of Tim Burton. 

Next: Lastelle Town, Evil Dragon Halflings!, "We've been expecting you"    POST 126
Soon: The Old Temple in the Mountain


----------



## Beale Knight

Sorry for the short update. Too many hands on my time this a-m. I'll see to getting another update later this week.


----------



## Zaruthustran

Beale Knight said:
			
		

> Sorry for the short update. Too many hands on my time this a-m. I'll see to getting another update later this week.




Of Kane and Dumb Bear, which is played by which player of Killian and Madge?

-z


----------



## alsih2o

Zaruthustran said:
			
		

> Of Kane and Dumb Bear, which is played by which player of Killian and Madge?
> 
> -z





 Madge's player left the group, as his GF is only in town on weekends.

 Killians player started playing Dumb bear.

 Kane was another fellow altogether.


----------



## alsih2o

...


----------



## Greylock

alsih2o said:
			
		

> ...




Worst. Photoshop. Ever.

I'm at least 3/4's of an inch taller than that.


----------



## Zaruthustran

alsih2o said:
			
		

> ...




Nice shirt, clay.

-z


----------



## Beale Knight

*Lastelle Town*

The Heroes left the tavern behind them and rode toward the nearby woods as the darkness of night fell. Once amid the trees, they lost sight of Lastelle town, but the trails ran in the generally proper direction and no one feared getting lost. Other fears were preying on their minds. 

“How much do you think we can really trust Mirriam?” Bessie said. The thought had been stewing in the back of her mind for days. Now, comforted by the close presence of so many trees, the druid felt safe enough to give it voice.

“I think she’s got too many other priorities above Maissen,” Ren said. 

“Do you think her deceptive, Bessie?” asked Aneirin.

Bessie shook her head. “I don’t know. It just bothers me that we were attacked twice so soon after getting the amulet from her – the one that lets her find us without any trouble. Do you think Idien could be using it the same way?”

“He can scry,” Kane said. “I’m sure of it.” 

“Could that thing make it easier for him to do that?” Ren asked the elf. “What if Mirriam isn’t the only one that can use it to locate us?”

Aneirin cupped his chin. “It borders on paranoid, but I confess I don’t know arcanna well.”

“Should we get rid of it?” Ren asked. “The ocean isn’t all that far.”

Bessie shook her head. “I think that’s going too far. We could bury it somewhere in the wood here.”

“I don’t know,” Aneirin said. “We may end up needing it sometime later.”

“I’ll mark the spot,” Bessie said. “Subtly, so a druid could notice the mark, but probably no one else.”

The others tossed the idea back and forth for a few moments and agreed. Bessie rode off by herself for a few minutes to handle the deed. She returned a little later and nodded. Feeling slightly better, the Heroes rode on through the woods. 

As they rode, the three humans bantered back and forth, wondering what awaited them in the city that bore the name of their nation's founder’s brother. They held to hopes of a peaceful meeting with questions on both sides finally getting answers. Filled with anticipation, Bessie sent her owl friend for a look ahead. A moment of sudden dread filled them as the owl plunged out of sight, but he returned safely to the druid with a fresh, fat mouse. 

The two elves kept their thoughts to themselves, only occasionally saying something to one another in their own lilting language. 

Whatever their expectations, when the Heroes reached the edge of the wood they were dashed. "Lastelle's Town" was a cramped wooden city build in steps up the steep mountainside, with a wide harbor at the bayside. Crude, ineffective fencing filled in the gaps between buildings at the fringes of the town, forming a makeshift wall. There was a defensive ditch around it all, and a single gate facing up the hill. At the gate was a scene of disaster. A stack of still burning bodies lay outside the gate, along with a cart and other carcasses.

The five Heroes sat slack jawed on their mounts, trying to take in and make sense of the scene. 

“What could have happened here?” Bessie finally said. 

“War,” said Aneirin and Kane, almost as one voice. As they looked at one another in astonishment, Ren said, “I’ll go up for a closer look.” He spurred Sandy and the war lizard strode up toward the horrific scene. 

Holding his nose against the smell of still burning flesh, Ren carefully rode up to the gate. Claw tracks, like lizards walking upright, led in and out of the town’s entry. Heading inside the walls, Ren saw green smears coating many of the doors along the main street. Every building was severely damaged and virtually empty. Fighters and looters both had been here. 

Ren turned a corner and found himself face to face with a rough barricade, a hastily thrown together pile of furniture, barrels, fencing, and other sundry bits and pieces of wood and stone. 

“TRAITOR!” 

A dirty faced adolescent rose from the other side of the barricade and threw a stone at Ren. “Get out of here, turncoat! Betrayer!”

Other youths rose up beside the first. They were armed, holding short bows armed with flaming arrows. Ren wheeled Sandy fully around and dashed away. Fiery arrows flew near him, but not close enough to be a threat. Ren doubted the youths could hit him in their best hour, but didn’t have the ego to test his theory. 

“What’s the status?” Aneirin asked as Ren rode up. Ren related everything he’d seen and concluded with, “If it was lizard-people that attacked here – and I’d have to lay gold it was, they likely figured I’d thrown in with them because of Sandy.” 

“We’ll have to go back in force,” Aneirin declared. “You hang back.” 

With Aneirin and Avarshan in the lead, the five Heroes rode up and into the town. They weren’t twenty feet past the gate when they heard the whoosh of arrows. 

“Where?” Aneirin shouted. 

“Kane pointed to a nearby roof. “There. Right. High.” He fired a shot at something small and greenish. 

Ren followed suit and watched as a child sized body, two arrows sticking out from its chest, fell from the roof. Ren stared at the corpse, green and scaled like a lizard, then looked to the others. “Dragon halflings?” 

“Enemy,” answered Aneirin. He’d pulled his bow out and now shot at another one up on a different rooftop as Bessie shot her bone crossbow. Dumb Bear looked this way and that, then shouted something in elven. Kane spun in his saddle as a small arrow whizzed by his head. The elf shot at a third small lizard-man and it fell from its rooftop position. 

Just like that the ambush was foiled. Ren slid from Sandy and trotted to the last lizard-person to fall. He pulled his sickle and quickly cut the head off the body, then stuck it atop his spearhead. “Maybe this’ll let those boys know we aren’t on the side of these lizard people.” 

A few moments later they reached the corner. Ren waited out of sight as the others rounded it and approached the barricade.

“What the - - ?” came cries from the other side of it. “You folks, come on! Hurry over before the monsters come back!” 

Aneirin held his hands palm out toward the youths. He counted six, but there seemed to be more milling about out of sight on the far side. “We’ve killed a group of the monsters just now, so we’re safe for the moment.”

A lanky, tallow haired adolescent shook his head. “The big ones are coming back to town. They already sent out a scout.”

”One that we scared away,” boasted a raggedy girl. 

Aneirin smiled. “That was our scout. Let me assure you he is not in league with the monsters. He even now waits out of sight with the head of one on his spear.” He looked over his shoulder. “Ren, come on forth.”

Holding the head loaded spear ahead of him, Ren walked into sight, leading Sandy behind him with his other hand. 

“See?” Aneirin asked. “He is not your enemy, and neither are we. Indeed we would be interested in lending aid if we could. But we need to know what ill’s befallen your community.”

The youths in sight atop the barricade looked at the warrior as if he were mad. “You don’t know?” the leader asked at last. “How can you not know?”

“We aren’t from here,” Bessie said. “We’ve ridden from far to the south and weren’t aware your town was in trouble until we saw it.”

The youths again looked at each other in disbelief. “You didn’t feel the ground quake down where you were?”

“When we were with the dwarves,” Bessie whispered to the others. Aneirin and Ren nodded, as did the elves after Kane translated for Dumb Bear. 

“That caused a big problem around here,” the youth said. “It ripped open a hole up in the mountain there.” He pointed up beyond the forest to the mountain that rose from it. “Since then we’ve had raids by the lizard people, little ones and big ones, and the drakes too. Big versions of normal lizards, kind of like what your friend there rode up on, but with more scales and different colors.”

“The lizards came from inside the mountain?” Aneirin asked.

The youths nodded. “There’s some temple or tomb or something up there that got opened up in the quake. The lizards have been coming ever since and we’re all about wiped out.”

“What are your leaders doing?” Bessie asked.

The leader youth snorted. “Nothing. Nothing worth it.”

“Can we talk to them?” asked Aneirin.

The tallow haired boy thought about it a moment, then nodded. “Your horses, and that, will have to stay here. We can’t open up the barricade to let them through.”

Ren frowned. “You promise you aren’t going to do any harm to Sandy here, just cause she’s a lizard?”

“Mister we’re not even going to get close to that thing.”

“Good enough,” Ren said with a smile. 

He and the others dismounted. The raggedy girl, her hair matted with mud and dried blood, led them through the back streets that hadn’t been ravaged by war – yet. She brought them to a large stone building that looked something like a three big wheels set atop one another, smaller atop bigger. There were no guards at the door, nor in the massive, tiled entry chamber inside. The girl led the Heroes across there to a stairway at the rear. It rounded up the bend to the highest floor and ended at a heavy looking wooden door that she effortlessly pushed open. 

Inside was a single large room, virtually the entirety of the floor. The room was dominated by a large table, which had a large contingent of old men holding their heads in their hands. These men looked up almost as one as the three Maisseners and two elves entered, and the look of relief on their faces was astonishing. 

“You are heroes!” they said. “Our prayers have been answered. We have been expecting you.”



Next - Lizard-People     Post 142
Soon - The Mysterious Temple


----------



## edge3343

alsih2o said:
			
		

> ...



I miss you guys!!!   

Oh and the dog's name is Dakota and he belongs to me!


----------



## brellin

great new post Beale Knight but as always i need more


----------



## Greylock

edge3343 said:
			
		

> I miss you guys!!!
> 
> Oh and the dog's name is Dakota and he belongs to me!



Dude, we miss you, too. I'm doing my best to keep teh funny going at the table,  but I'm far too droll. And Walther is a beast to play. I couldn't figure out what to do with him two sessions back when we hit on a small battle, so I decided to have him search the walls for secret doors while Pascal, Syl and Ariel fought mech-zombies off. Son of a bitch actually found a secret library with a Djinni bottle. Fun stuff.


----------



## Beale Knight

Greylock said:
			
		

> Dude, we miss you, too. I'm doing my best to keep teh funny going at the table,  but I'm far too droll. And Walther is a beast to play. I couldn't figure out what to do with him two sessions back when we hit on a small battle, so I decided to have him search the walls for secret doors while Pascal, Syl and Ariel fought mech-zombies off. Son of a bitch actually found a secret library with a Djinni bottle. Fun stuff.





That was fun for me to DM. The others were nowhere NEAR the hidden alcove with the secret door (mech-zombies - they had metal plates attached to their chests (because they're zombies and kept losing the armor)). Greylock put you as far away from the fighting as possible with a busy work task that I was able to totally exploit to lead you folks to the McGuffin (it was getting late in the night and pushing was needed or we would have ended without a cliffhanger). 

We do miss ya' too. Now with Alish2o and wife moving to WV, GL's going to be the old man of the group!


----------



## edge3343

more


----------



## brellin

Story hour post. please i need story hour fix (pleas with the dude in charge)


----------



## brellin

*please*

please please please please please please


----------



## Greylock

Hey, Brellin. I won't pretend to speak for BK, so this is not gospel, but he does tend to post his updates early on Monday mornings. Not sure why he missed this week, but it happens. I promise you,  I will browbeat him and stare him into submission when I see him next. 

I'm glad you're enjoying the tales.


----------



## Greylock

Little update to my last posting:

I didn't think of this before, and should have. BealeKnight has a limited amount of writing time, and he usually divvies it up between a new setting he is writing and the campaign covered here. We absorbed four new players into his own campaign this week, however, and with BK in charge that means a mammoth amount of writing to work in the new characters. He spends an enormous amount of time with new players, in background and in getting them to the action. He never just plops a new char in. That took away his weekend of prepping the Story Hour.

The Maissen campaign is going to slow down in our play time considerably, because our DM moved and the game is moving to PbP. But no worries. The Story Hour is less than a third of a way into the actual sessions, and there is plenty of support among us for BK to continue the story. That should keep it going for quite a long time. There is plenty of adventure left to tell.

Keep looking for updates, Brellin. A bunch of us are going to continue leaning on BK to keep up the story, and I know he's gonna keep at it.  And maybe, someday, we'll get a second tale out of him as well.


----------



## brellin

i¨am sorry to be a pain from now on i give a bit more time between posts


----------



## Greylock

brellin said:
			
		

> i¨am sorry to be a pain from now on i give a bit more time between posts




Oh heck, don't sweat it. I think BealeKnight is thrilled to see you posting. I know I am. 

Sorry there wasn't an update this morning as I suggested there may be. Turns out BK is working out a couple of kinks. He'll be back.   

Glad you're enjoying this, keep posting as much as you like.


----------



## Arbiter of Wyrms

*Sorry to Interrupt*

Beale Knight:
As in Beale Air Force Base, in Yuba County, California?
ray newland atsign gmail dot com


----------



## Greylock

Arbiter of Wyrms said:
			
		

> Beale Knight:
> As in Beale Air Force Base, in Yuba County, California?




I am thoroughly safe in speaking for BK on this. I know he was never in the service. And his handle refers to the street he used to work on, world renowned Beale Street in Memphis, TN, and the shift he works.


----------



## Arbiter of Wyrms

Greylock said:
			
		

> I am thoroughly safe in speaking for BK on this.



 Thanks.  I live in an obscure, rural region of Northern California, known for Marysville, destination of the Donner party and key to the economy of the gold rush, 150 years ago; and slightly less famous for being near Beale Air Force Base, home to the SR-71 Blackbird and PAVE PAWS, a super-duper radar array that made us a top-ten Nuke target during the cold war.

What's actually pretty cool about Beale is that it's named for its first mission:  It served as the home of Edward F. Beale's Camel Cavalry.  What sucks about the whole region is the relative dearth of roleplayers who are actually good company.

Oh well.  Life is good when you've got EN World


----------



## Beale Knight

*Back at it!*

Sorry for my extended absence everyone. 

Thanks, Greylock, for playing host during it. Brellin, I appreciate your interest even more than Greylock expressed. Without an interested audience I'm talking to myself (and in a bad way!   ). Arbiter - Greylock's description of my handle is dead on accurate. Hope you're able to find a good group soon. 

So far as the story hour goes, as Greylock said, I missed one week prepping for my D&D campaign (a not quite total reboot, just introducing four PCs to the one that remained after the three others that started the campaign with him moved  ). That was followed by surgery that left me unable to sit upright for more than a few minutes at a time (and taught me just how much time I spend sitting at a computer). By the time I could sit and type I had to work on my project for Silven publishing (almost finished!).  That's all past, but I thought you folks might like an explanation about the delay. 

However, without further ado - here's the next installment in the Maissen story hour!


----------



## Beale Knight

*8 - 2 Lizard-men*

The Maisseners and elves looked back and forth to one another at that strange declaration.

“You’ve been *expecting* us?” Bessie asked, finally.

The most venerable of the old men slowly got to his feet. “Indeed we have. You *are* heroes are you not?”

“We’ve had people call us that,” said Aneirin.

The old man smiled. “Then you are truly the answers to our prayers.”

“Well,” Ren said, “if we’ve answered your prayers, how about you answering some of our questions? Seems like a fair thing.”

Confusion showed on the old man’s face. “You don’t know what’s happened?”

“How would we? We only just arrived.”

“But – I –“ the old man stammered and looked at his fellows at the table for help. He sat back down and the men at the table put their heads together for a whispered conversation. 

“Why would they think we know what’s happened here?” Bessie asked.

Ren shrugged. “Apparently as the answer to their prayers we should have come down from heaven itself, fully informed and with a plan ready to go.”

Just then the old man stood again. “Well…then, what are your questions – exactly?”

“Who exactly are you and where are we?” Aneirin asked.

“We are the Sons of Lastelle,” the old man said. 

Bessie nodded. “That answers a fairly old historical mystery.”

“A mystery to us,” Ren said. “I’d wager our fair leaders know all about this place.”

The old man went on to explain that when the earthquake hit, most of their adult men were out in the fishing boats. Virtually none returned. And then the raids came. The raids, the Sons of Lastelle explained, were the work of The Drake of Legend, or The Legendary Drakemaster and his clan of lizards. These were either different aspects of the same legend or their telling depending on which old man was doing the talking at any given moment. Regardless, the raids every few hours were a cold hard fact. Pole arm wielding Lizard-Men, and their smaller counterparts, called Kobolds, had used Drakes, big lizard mounts (“That explains why the youths at the barricade were so angry when they saw me,” Ren muttered), to knock down the town gate, and had been coming down the mountain, raiding the town at their leisure. 

“And now you have come to put an end to it,” the old man said. 

“Because we are the answer to your prayers,” Aneirin said. “But that’s all you’ve done?”

The old man blinked at him. “What else should we have done? We’ve no warriors to speak of in town. We needed heroes. We prayed for them. And it worked. Here you are.”

“We are here,” Bessie said. “But we could use a moment to talk amongst ourselves, if you’ll excuse us.”

They stepped out into the hall and closed the door to the council chamber. “These people are mad,” Kane said. 

Bessie nodded. “That doesn’t make their plight any less serious though.”

“Why haven’t they brought over that drunken hoard at the tonk, I’d like to know,” Ren said. “Once they sobered up they might be helpful.”

“We should at least investigate,” Aneirin said. “Determine the nature of the threat for ourselves. These people are obviously helpless, and if we can help them it would an act of good to do so.”

Kane translated for Dumb Bear, who grinned from ear to ear. “He’s been restless since catching his breath after the last fight,” the other elf explained.

Bessie stepped back into the council room to tell the old men the party’s decision, and soon afterward the Maisseners and elves were walking past the town’s broken gate. From there, a trail ran up into the mountains. The trail entered forest about 120’ feet from the gate. Some 600 yards beyond the tree line was a briar bush barricade, stretching fully across the trail. Ren dismounted and crept up to the barricade. He heard nothing beyond and dared to climb a little ways up a tree. Beyond the barricade the trail soon turned closer on toward the mountain. Ren followed it with his eyes, and just barely visible at the edge of sight was an opening into the mountain side. 

An entry with sharp angles. No natural cave. 

Ren returned and told the others of his finding. “It must be there they’re coming out from,” he said. 

Aneirin nodded. “It’s too late to try an assault now,” he said. “Let’s get back to the town and get some sleep and see if they’ll feed us. We can come back in the morning refreshed.”

However, when they returned to town they were met by Jon, a sergeant of the guard and one of the town’s few surviving warriors. He was leading a team bringing debris to the town’s main street, hoping to slow the next wave of raiders.

“When was the last raid?” Aneirin asked. 

“Several hours ago,” Jon answered. “I expect it won’t be long before the next one.”

The three Maisseners let out a sigh as one. 

“So much for rest then,” Bessie said. “If they follow the trend the elders described, they’ll be back before we could even get in a good nap.”

Ren stifled a yawn. “I guess we ought to be waiting for them, don’t you?”

The others nodded. The party took a survey of the town just inside the gate, and took up positions. And then they waited. At some point during the waiting, Kane departed. He left word that a “source had come through with a lead,” the very thing he had warned the others might happen when they set off together. It was later when the others in the party learned this though. They were busy waiting for lizard-men to arrive. 

Three long hours of rooftop and windowsill sitting later, they came. Two lizard-men and about eight kobolds. No riding drakes. When the first of them crossed into the town, the attack began. 

Aneirin shouted and charged at them from a doorway. Dumb Bear jumped from a nearby rooftop and landed in their midst, swinging his flail wildly. Bessie and Ren shot from empty doorways with cross bow and short bow. 

Caught by surprise, three kobolds fell dead before they knew they were under attack. A fourth was wounded almost to the point of death. But the others rushed in to join the fight. Dumb Bear was wounded by a pole-arm wielding lizard-man, and Aneirin scratched by a kobold’s short sword. Between them they took down the lizard-man as Bessie and Ren peppered the two nearest kobolds with bolts and arrows. 

The three remaining kobolds and other lizard-man made a feeble attempt to press against the human and elf warrior, but when Dumb Bear sliced cleanly through a kobold the survivors turned and fled. Aneirin and Dumb Bear pursued, and Bessie came out from the shelter of the ruined building to follow. Ren climbed up to the roof of that same building. 

Bessie shot one of the fleeing kobolds and Dumb Bear turned that wounded one into so much putty with a massive strike from his flail. Up on the rooftop, Ren made a masterful bowshot, sending an arrow through the head of the last kobold, more than one hundred feet away. Aneirin chased after the last lizard-man with all his might and breath, but could not manage to catch him. The warrior ran back to the town, frustrated and swearing. 

“We’ll get them now, by gods” he said. 

“Oil!” Ren cried as he came down from the roof. “and lanterns or torches. Jon! Get as much as you can.”

In minutes the sergeant and a handful of youths delivered thirty vials of oil, several lanterns, and an armload of torches to the Heroes. Soon after, the Maisseners and Dumb Bear were mounted and riding hard up the mountain trail. They soon were in sight of the briar barricade. Arrows flew toward harmlessly toward them from the other side. The surviving lizard-man had sounded the alarm. 

“They aren’t ready for this I bet you,” Ren said. He lit and tossed two vial of oil to the barricade. It was dry, having been cut and placed days earlier, and caught fire easily. In a minute it was ashes. To Bessie’s great relief, the fire died out without spreading to the forest itself. 

The minute it took for the fire to destroy the barricade was enough time for the kobolds and lizard-men behind it to panic, then calm down enough to retreat into the mountain. The Heroes from Maissen, and Dumb Bear, cautiously made their way over the ashes and up the trail. It led up to a clearing right at the mountain side; right up to the crafted entry leading inside. 

It was a well made, fancy entry - cut at sharp right angles and using difficult architectural methods. The party wasted no time admiring it though. They lit a lantern and peered inside. 



Next – The Mysterious Temple          POST 147
Soon – Some Unexpected Revelations


----------



## Baron Opal

Glad to see you back, Sir Beale. I have enjoyed this story hour greatly, and am intrigued by the world. Is this world the DM's ongoing campaign or something crafted just for these adventures?

Baron Opal


----------



## alsih2o

Baron Opal said:
			
		

> Glad to see you back, Sir Beale. I have enjoyed this story hour greatly, and am intrigued by the world. Is this world the DM's ongoing campaign or something crafted just for these adventures?
> 
> Baron Opal




 OOhh! I'll answer this one!   

 The world is mine. I am the DM for this particular mess. The world is Maissen. It exists in 3 different ages, this being the age of exploration.

 It was run briefly for a group of ENWorlders as a chatroom game and the Age of War was run for some ENworlders as a PbP involving the now-famous mod Brother Shatterstone and 8 (!) others.


----------



## Greylock

*glances at his watch in anticipation*


----------



## Beale Knight

Greylock said:
			
		

> *glances at his watch in anticipation*




*considers waiting until 4:30a CDT until posting, but decides against it, since it's all ready now and everything.*


----------



## Beale Knight

The party’s light revealed part of a massive room, too huge to even see the far walls in shadow. The Heroes carefully stepped in, mindful for traps that the fleeing lizard-men might have placed. There were none to be found, but there was plenty of space for them. The entry chamber was simply immense and crafted with sharp angles. 

It was also filthy. Mud, feces, and worse were everywhere, as if a midden had exploded in the room. The filth muted the party’s footsteps, which would have been considerable. The floor, walls, and probably the out-of-sight ceiling were crafted from smooth, glossy stone. 

There was only one other exit, a large door opposite the main entrance, so the Heroes settled their mounts inside and examined it. The door had a single, apparently decorative, knob in the center and pushed away from the room. Beyond was a wide hall going left, right, and forward. The door was almost as wide as the hall, and when fully opened it completely blocked the hall to the left.

“Spike it,” whispered Ren. Aneirin nodded but added, “No point to whisper. The noise of the hammer will announce our location.” He was right, the noise echoed through the halls, but after a few moments the door was spiked open, blocking one possible path the lizard-men might use against them. 

The hall was just as filthy as the entry chamber, and yielded no clues about which direction the foes had gone. The party headed down the right hallway first, and were soon looking at a set of double doors. After a quick look for traps, Ren took hold of a handle. Aneirin and Bessie had weapons ready as Ren tugged. To everyone’s mild surprise, the doors opened without struggle. 

Ren picked up the lantern and peered inside. He saw a long room going off to the left, just as filthy as the hall, but before he could take a longer look there was a “wisshh” sound. An arrow flew right beside his head!

“We’ve been spotted,” he said, ducking back into the hall. Aneirin and Dumb Bear charged inside just in time to see a kobold scurry through a small hole in the far corner. They moved cautiously ahead. Bessie remained in the hall, her crossbow pointed toward the intersection, ready for lizard-folk to try and sneak up from behind. Ren entered a few steps into the room, keeping the light central. 

“What’s there?” he called to the warriors when they reached the kobold’s escape tunnel. 

Dumb Bear was crouched down by it and looked up to Aneirin, shaking his head. “Tunnel. Low,” he said. Aneirin looked back to Ren. “A tunnel we’d have to traverse on our bellies. We’ll have to find another way.” 

After they left the room and shut the doors, Ren had a thought. “The doors open into the room there, but they’ve got good solid handles on this side.” He paused then began to dig through his pack. After a moment he pulled out the rope he’d bought as part of the dwarven spelunker kit. Ren pulled the doors as tightly shut as he could, then tied the two together at the handles. “That’ll kept those shut good and tight,” he said. “Or at least delay someone from getting through there.”

Returning to the nearby intersection, the party took the last option, heading straight forward. The polished stone floor was just as filthy here as where they’d already explored, so the Heroes were tense and ready for attack. 

After a some fifty feet, the wide hall ended at another set of double doors. However, these were huge, fifteen, perhaps twenty feet high and proportionately wide. “We could ride through these,” Aneirin commented. They inspected the doors closely and found no indications of traps, then carefully opened them – bows ready. 

The doors opened easily and revealed another huge chamber. This one featured a low, flickering glow about thirty feet from the doors, suggesting a pit with a dying fire. Even with that extra touch of light, the Heroes couldn’t see the far edges of the room. Casting the light left and right, they saw the room was squared off even with the doors, and that a pair of pillars, fifteen feet from each other, stood about twenty feet away. Beyond that, the room was shrouded in shadow. 

Aneirin, then Ren and Bessie followed by Dumb Bear, slowly entered the room – Ren keeping the lantern high and away to spread light as far as possible. Their footsteps echoed in the massive chamber as the Heroes cautiously walked to the pillars. They spread to the extent of their light, hoping one would notice something the others couldn’t (the threat of a spell or trap taking them all out in one fell swoop was an unspoken worry in each or their minds). 

They soon discerned the room was about sixty feet side to side, with no obvious side passages. The two pillars turned out to be part of a set of four, equally spaced in the center of the side walls. In the exact middle of the area created by those pillars was the glow – a fire pit over which hung an oversized stew pot that bubbled with a foul smelling gruel. 

Standing there, the far wall finally came into view. Only it wasn’t a wall at all! Ren brought the light a few steps closer and the Heroes could see it was a red curtain. It looked thick and heavy, perhaps velvet.

“A kingly decoration,” Aneirin said. 

Ren cast the light from side to side. “It doesn’t look like it’s been damaged. Worn, sure, but there’s no big holes or rips.”

“There are rings up top,” Bessie pointed out. “It slides.”

Aneirin nodded. “Hiding what’s beyond. Which is probably their nests.”

Just then there was a clatter behind them. They spun to see a kobold standing up in the stewpot, a gong in one hand and hammer in the other. Before the Heroes could move, the kobold smashed the gong, sending a loud signal throughout the room – and certainly well beyond. As the kobold scrambled out of the stewpot, the red curtain was brushed aside at either end. Two lizards, as tall as a man and walking on their hind legs, emerged. They hissed, bared their hand-long fangs, and charged. 

“These can’t be the drakes they told us about,” Ren said as he put the lantern down and drew his bow. 

“Too small,” Dumb Bear said. 

“Talk later,” Aneirin said. “Monsters to slay.”

He ran toward one, Dumb Bear headed for the other. Ren and Bessie each shot at the fleeing kobold, who fell just feet from the stewpot with an arrow and a bolt sticking out from his back. They then turned and followed the warriors, Ren to Dumb Bear and Bessie to Aneirin. 

The Maissener warrior fended off the drake’s claws and sliced the beast across its chest as Bessie sent a bolt into its thigh. Dumb Bear wailed at his drake with his great flail, smashing it hard in the shoulder before suffering a bite from the monster. Ren put an arrow into the creature’s neck and it drew back, letting the elf warrior smash it in the jaw. A shower of teeth and blood marked the drake’s death. Down the red curtain, Bessie shot at the other drake as Aneirin plunged his sword through its chest, ripping it out its right side in a violent display of strength. Only then did he notice he was bleeding.

“The claws got you deep there,” Bessie said. “But you’ll be alright in a moment.” She chanted low and a glow green grew around her palms. She pressed her hand to Aneirin’s wound and the glow shifted, covering the wound like a bandage. When it faded, Aneirin’s flesh was whole. 

She smiled, then walked to Dumb Bear and pointed at his wound. He shook his head. “Scratch.” 

“There’ll be more,” Aneirin said. “Stay ready.” The Heroes gathered by him as he moved aside the far end of the curtain with his sword. 

He was immediately proven correct. When he moved the curtain aside, Aneirin revealed a large, scaled, snout. The Heroes stepped back as the snout pushed the curtain away. Stepping toward them was lizard much bigger than the pair they’d just fought. This monster moved on all fours, but was still taller than Aneirin when mounted on Avarshan. 

The Heroes maneuvered for position as the huge drake stomped toward them. Aneirin and Dumb Bear took front rank with Bessie and Ren a few steps behind – bows loaded. The warriors struck the monster, but its scaly hide was too tough. Their blows did no good. Bessie and Ren had better luck striking the drake’s neck, but it barely noticed their missiles plunging into its flesh. 

The massive head turned to Aneirin, who tensed to dodge the coming bite. Instead the drake spat. A heavy glob of acid struck Aneirin. He staggered back in pain. Bessie moved forward and performed her healing magic on him, keeping him on his feet, but he was sorely wounded. Dumb Bear’s flail drew a little bit of blood then, but neither warrior could reach the drake’s more vulnerable spots. 

Inspiration struck Ren. “Be back with odds evener,” he shouted. Leaving the lantern behind he ran full speed back to the entry chamber, hoping his memory of the temple’s layout was accurate. It was a straight run, no turns and no surprises, and Ren soon saw sunlight. In the entry chamber, he hastily mounted his war-lizard Sandy and charged back to the battle. He passed the pillars just in time to see Aneirin pull his bloody sword out of the drake’s flesh, and Dumb Bear rip a chunk of flesh from its leg. The drake fell before Ren could launch the arrow he’d managed to nock en route. 

“What the hell was that?!” Aneirin shouted. 

“I was trying to help even the odds for us,” Ren said. “Looks like that wasn’t needed.”

He and Aneirin argued over the merits of Ren’s idea for a few moments before Bessie called a halt to it. “It’s done,” she said. “However a good idea or not it was, it’s done. We don’t need to argue this here.” That calmed them all down enough to explore passed the red curtain. 

Beyond was a throne room, but not much of one. Two sad looking wooden high-backed chairs passing as thrones sat in the middle of a room with a curved back wall that gave the whole room a near oval shape. The room was as filthy as the others. It was also a dead end. 

“This can’t be it,” Ren said. 

Aneirin nodded. “Search around. There may be some hidden passage.” 

The room was not so large to have any part of it lost in shadow, so they split up to search its walls. After only a few moments, the three Maisseners heard a surprised yowlp from Dumb Bear at the back of the room. They turned to see him vanish behind the wall. The next moment the wall shimmered and vanished. Then the room itself changed. 

No longer was it a pale imitation of a throne room. This was a large, squared off room featuring two elegant, bejeweled thrones in the center. On the walls hung grand tapestries. Grand but bizarre. Strange people, half flesh and half metal work of impossibly intricate design, were depicted on these tapestries. Many of these folk were winged and battling strange and fearsome looking monsters.

“This is amazing,” Bessie said. “Look, the threads themselves are metal, silver and bronze I think.”

“This is some grand work,” Ren said, “but I like the gems on those thrones myself.” 

“There’ll be time to look closer at those,” Aneirin reminded them. He pointed to the far end of the room. Two small side halls led off down there, and the rear had another wider opening leading to another chamber. 

“Which way then?” Ren asked.

Aneirin pointed to the back. “Straight on,” he said.

As they made their way to the back of the throne room they heard snorts and hisses, and claws on rock from somewhere beyond the next chamber. Then a great roar came from there, echoing throughout the chambers. 

The Heroes moved closer and soon the light revealed where the man crafted temple ended and natural tunnel work began. And there was the source of the roar. 

It was the biggest drake of all. A scaled horror the size of a small house with horns as big as a man’s arms. And atop the huge drake a lizard-man was riding it like a war mount. Wearing an elaborate helmet and with lance in hand, the lizard-man shouted a command and they attacked!

Aneirin and Dumb Bear met the charge with their own, attacking the huge drake directly. Bessie summoned an earth elemental, bringing it into this plane on a natural shelf not far from the rider. Atop Sandy, Ren saw a band of lizard-men and kobolds running up from another part of the complex. He wheeled his war-lizard around to take a side hall around and cut them off.

Both Aneirin and Dumb Bear drew blood from the monster, but paid for it with their own. The great drake clawed and stomped them several times, repaying them almost blow for blow. Its lizard-man rider struck Aneirin with his strange, twisted bone lance, but then had to turn his attention to a new foe. Bessie’s earth elemental jumped from the shelf and to the drake. There it beat on the lizard-man, deliver punishing blows with its boulder-like fists. 

Ren followed the hall around to where it met up with the chamber, and found himself behind the huge drake, but before a crowd of charging lizard-men and kobolds. He steadied himself and fired shot after shot into the crowd. First one kobold, then another fell dead. 

Behind him, Aneirin and Dumb Bear continued to slice and beat the drake, and suffer its claws and teeth. Bessie fired her crossbow incessantly as her earth elemental continued to pound the rider. The elemental finally vanished, leaving the rider alive. By then though, the drake was on its last legs. It raised a huge foot, took a last, feeble, swipe at Dumb Bear, then fell to the ground dead. 

Seeing this, the surviving lizard-men and kobolds that were nearly upon Ren and Sandy turned and fled. Ren continued firing, killing a lizard-man, as Aneirin strode up to the drake’s rider and plunged his sword through him. 

Bessie ran up to Aneirin and Dumb Bear. She looked each of them over and shook her head. “I can’t tell how much of this blood is yours. How bad are you two hurt?” 

“Hurt,” Dumb Bear said. 

Anreirin replied by falling to his knees. “I need some help,” he said. 

Bessie used the last of her magical healing on the two warriors as Ren kept watch for any more drakes or lizard-men. 

“We win?” Dumb Bear asked after Bessie had performed her druidic healings. 

“Don’t know,” Ren said. “No way to be sure that what you just killed was that ‘Drake of Legend’ the council talked about.”

“And there’s still much of this complex we haven’t investigated,” Bessie said. 

“It doesn’t matter right now,” said Aneirin. “We’ve got a victory and that must serve for now. We’re in no shape to look deeper into this place. We must get some rest and some food.” He sighed. “There’s no doubt the lizard-men will bolster the defenses in our absence, but there’s nothing for it.  If we press on now we’ll end up dead.”

The others agreed and they turned to head out. “Do you realize,” Ren said, “We’ve been going non-stop since this morning? It’s been nearly a full day.”

Bessie nodded. “And we got precious little sleep before starting out that day too.” 

“Stars, you’re right,” Ren said. He mentally counted back the hours. “Twenty-four hours ago we were riding through the night out of the desert. It was just dawn today that we were at the desert’s edge.”

“We hadn’t even faced those blasphemous zombies yet,” Bessie said. “Was it really only hours ago we came up on the tonk?”

“We’ve had a really full day,” Ren said. “I bet we sleep through the next one.”




Next: Revelations Happy and Furious    POST 151
Soon: The Temple depths


----------



## Baron Opal

alsih2o said:
			
		

> Al4 Si4O10 (OH)8




Nice matrix, but oddly polar. A favored mineral? Not a crystal, I think...


----------



## alsih2o

Baron Opal said:
			
		

> Nice matrix, but oddly polar. A favored mineral? Not a crystal, I think...




 Kaolinite, good for making pots with. 

 BK, you are rocking the story. "Hurt" made me laugh out loud, taking me back to that exact moment in the campaign perfectly. What a great read.


----------



## Baron Opal

alsih2o said:
			
		

> Kaolinite, good for making pots with.




And if you mix it with one part pectin and two parts water, an agreeable tonic for diarrhea.    Agreeable in the sense of effectiveness, not taste.

More than what you wanted to know, probably.


----------



## Beale Knight

*Revelations Happy and Furious*

In the quiet that followed Ren’s comment, the only sound to be heard was water, flowing faintly in the distance. Then that tranquil sound was broken. Splashes and the sound of tramping feet echoed up the cave. 

“That’s enough reflection,” Aneirin said as he finished double checking his gear. “We obviously haven’t killed or driven off everything in here, and there’s more coming.”

Just then there was a big splash, followed by heavier stomps and the distinct sound of a huge tail dragging and swishing atop the ground. “With another drake in their number,” Bessie added. 

Ren nodded. “For sure it’s then time to go on.”

“Go,” said Dumb Bear with a nod. He pointed toward the exit. “There.”

The Heroes left the carnage of the room behind them. They paused briefly in the throne room, eyeing the treasures it held, but the sound of more and more tromping feet persuaded them to hold off on looting. Whoever, whatever, was down there would certainly make their return trip all the harder, but the Heroes had been on the go for far too long to endure another fight just now.

Outside, the night was brighter than it should have been. A starburst filled the sky. “Look there,” Ren said, pointing up to a nearby ridge. Three figures stood atop the ridge, two tall women and a short man, all bathed in a blue glow. 

Aneirin blinked and squinted. “Is that….”

Bessie gasped. “Yes! Madge! And Killian!”

Ren looked to the third figure and saw she held a tablet in one hand. He nearly dropped to the ground, overwhelmed. It could only be the goddess Fespa he was seeing. “A miracle,” he whispered. 

They stood rock still and stared as the forms of Madge and Killian blurred, becoming patterns of light that ascended upwards. Their light flowed through the night sky and condensed into bright points. The late companions of Maissen had joined the ranks of legends. They were new stars. They had received their eternal reward, they would never be forgotten. A moment later Fespa the storyteller herself ascended into the night sky and disappeared.

Bessie, Ren, and Aneirin exchanged silent smiles. Elated that their friends had been rewarded with honorable peace, they made our way back to the town in happy silence. 

The town was just as dilapidated as it had been when they left. The Heroes had expected no different. What caught them by surprise however, were the cheers. As soon as they stepped through the broken town gate and to the barricade, the Heroes were greeted by lines of people cheering and clapping for them. The sons of Lastelle met them in the square and led them to the council building, where the Heroes told their tale to the assembled crowd. 

“The important point to remember,” Aneirin said as the tale wound down to the end, “is that the threat is lessened but it is not, I say again, NOT, vanquished.”

The oldest of the sons of Lastelle stepped forward. “You have done much good, Heroes,” he said. “I could not make out from your tale however, whether or not you slew the purple drake.”

The quartet stared at him. “Noooo,” Ren finally said. “We never even saw a purple one. In fact, this would be the first time a purple drake has come up in – anything. So, what purple drake?”

“Well we haven’t seen one either,” the old man said. “but we heard tell of it.”

Aneirin cocked his head. “Old tales? Records?”

“Oh my no,” a different old man said. “We captured one of those little lizard men…”

“A kobold,” said a third son of Lastelle.

“Yes, that’s it. We captured a kobold and he said, most vehemently, that the purple drake was as big as a house and would be our doom.” 

Bessie sighed. “So there’s at least one more *really*  big threat in those caves.”

Aneirin cupped his chin. “Which means more of a threat to the town. So there’s work to be done.” He looked around the square and thought for a minute. “Where’s Jon?” 

“Here!” The town’s last living soldier stepped out from the crowd. 

“With the punishment we gave the lizard-men, they should be busy rebuilding their defenses. That gives us time to do the same here,” Aneirin said. “Gather some of the heartiest town folk and set to work getting that gate back up.” 

“Up we can do, but it won’t hold against those monsters,” Jon said.

“It doesn’t have to. It just needs to stop them from walking in here effortlessly.” He paused. “But we’ll be going back and will need a way in and out.”

Jon nodded, then snapped his fingers. “I have an idea. We could…”

“Don’t bother explaining it,” Aneirin interrupted. “I believe you. Make it work. And post sentries on the wall too. It’s no good having all your eyes inside the walls. At the first sign of lizard-men coming, have everyone gather here at the square. At least there’s a little bit more safety behind the barricade.”

“And when the sentries see them,” Ren said, “have someone come and wake us.”

Jon nodded and turned away. He pointed at half a dozen townsfolk before he’d taken five steps, and soon had a crew gathered. 

“Wake you?” one of the younger sons of Lastelle said. “You’re needed. We need your hands and back making repairs to the wall and gate. And someone needs to guard….”

Bessie wheeled on her heel. “Listen to me. We have been on the move for more than a day. More than One Full SOLID day. We last slept for a handful of hours at the edge of a desert. We have fought and bled for you where you wouldn’t. We have bought your town a reprieve and we have exhausted ourselves doing it. If you want more hands on repairs I suggest you put on some workpants and get to it. WE are going to get some sleep. Is that clear to you?”

The son of Lastelle was positively quivering before her. Everyone still in the town square, Aneirin, Ren, and Dumb Bear especially, were staring at the druid with wide eyes. Then her companions smiled. Ren leaned to Aneirin. “When she gets pushed…,” he said. Aneirin nodded, still smiling as the man before Bessie called out in a shaky voice for someone to show the town’s Heroes to some quarters. 

Once in their quarters, and after waving away the apologies for its condition, the Heroes collapsed into a deep and much needed slumber. How long he slept before feeling a hand shaking him awake, Ren didn’t know. But it wasn’t long enough. He blinked his eyes open and was staring at a dirty boy in ragged clothing. 

“There’s some people here to see you,” the boy said. “At the gate.”

One question came right to Ren’s mind. “Humans?”  The boy blinked, as if it were an absurd thing to ask, but nodded. “Show me,” Ren said as he got to his feet. He looked down at Bessie. She was still fast asleep and Ren decided to let her stay that way – she’d need the rest to do whatever it was she did to get ready to cast spells. Ren bent down by Aneirin and gave him a few hearty shakes, but the warrior didn’t wake. “Ah well,” Ren said. “He was hurt the worst of us after all.” 

He looked over to see Dumb Bear standing. “We go?” the elf asked. Ren nodded and the two followed the boy through the streets and to the gate. 

Jon’s crew had been busy. The gate was now closed and a set of ramps led to the ramparts. When he saw Ren and Dumb Bear walking up, Jon came down from the walls to meet them at the gate. “It’s shut for good now,” he said. “But we can get you, and  your mounts, up and over and back when needed. But it won’t be quick.” 

“I’m sure it’ll do all kinds of fine, thanks” Ren said. “I guess the visitors are on the far side?”

Jon nodded and led the two Heroes up the ramp and to the top of the wall. From there Ren saw two men and a woman in especially fancy and shiny armor, one with a tall red plume, and all on magnificent mounts. One he recognized. When he and the elf climbed down the far side of the wall and stood before the three, the familiar one held a lance down almost to Ren’s nose. Dangling from it was Miriam’s broach, the one Bessie had buried the day before. 

“One would think,” Miriam said in the haughty tone of an experienced powerbroker, “that certain people would appreciate being able to be found.” 

Ren crossed his arms. “We were unsure why we were being found quite so much,” he replied. 

“Why are there only two of you? Why have the others chosen to ignore our summons?” Miriam asked. 

“They were both more exhausted than us,” Ren said, his arms still crossed. “I chose to let them sleep some more. Especially since I didn’t know who had come by, and wouldn’t have guessed it’d be you.”

“That the messengers here are lacking is not an excuse,” Miriam said. “I’d know why my broach, entrusted to you, was cast aside.”

“We were ambushed twice more by agents of Idien,” Ren said. “He hit us with dead on accuracy. We were getting to thinking that maybe he was using that little broach there to scry on us. Is that something that could happen?”

“This is a powerful broach, but it’s power is mine,” Miriam said. “You should have trusted it.”

“So it’s impossible for Idien to use it to scry on us?” Ren asked, happy he’d apparently used the word scry correctly. 

Miriam huffed. “So far as I know it is impossible for anyone not on the council to use this broach to scry. Certainly not anyone evil.”

“Well he’s done something that kept an eye on us.”

“It is strange, and I don’t have all the answers regarding how that you seem to want,” Miriam conceded. “But it would do you well to hold onto this.” 

Pleased he’d at least gotten a council member to confess she didn’t have all the answers, Ren reached out and took the broach. 

One of the other riders with Miriam coughed. Now Ren recognized them both, Kerros the Black and Ofieg the short. The former had coughed and now spoke. “The reason we have come to you is to let it be known to you that one of the teams has turned.”

“The redbreasts,” Ren said. 

Kerros nodded. “The team from Balos, yes. They located the phylactery of Idien – and returned it to him. Since, they have settled with the giants in the lands west of the mountains. They have a bounty of 5000 pieces of gold. Each.”

Ren nodded. “Good to hear. Maybe we’ll see them again and do something about it. Now I’ve got something to ask you.”

He explained how the town was under dire threat from the drakes and lizard-men and kobolds, what he and the others had done about it so far, what they hoped to do, and asked if the mighty council members of Maissen, assembled in their full combat regalia, could help the town. 

“No.” 

Ren’s mouth dropped open. “’No’? How ‘No’?”

“It is against the rules,” Ofieg said. 

“This is your test,” Miriam said. “You will be told all when you return in victory. Perhaps then you will understand why we lend no aid here.”

Ren could think of no answer to those callous refusals. He stood mouth agape as a circle of light grew on the ground beneath the mounted trio. It brightened and encompassed them, and then when the light faded they were gone. Ren thrust the brooch into his pocket and stalked back into town.

Dumb Bear put the relative importance of things into unique perspective. “Lady shiny.”

“Like a fishhook,” Ren muttered.


Next:  The Temple Depths  POST 155
Soon: Radical Actions


----------



## Zaruthustran

"Like a fish hook." 

Yeah! Great line.

Er, "quip". Great quip.

-z


----------



## alsih2o

Zaruthustran said:
			
		

> "Like a fish hook."
> 
> Yeah! Great line.
> 
> Er, "quip". Great quip.
> 
> -z




 Total agreement. Awesome line. 

 The players were making it all fun for me, but as we reach this point i the story I started to feel that they were all really getting a completed grip on their characters.

 Great stuff.


----------



## Greylock

It was certainly around this time that I was getting comfortable with Aneirin. I recall getting my first real sense of him in the battle with the drakes. Do you remember it? When Aneirin poked his sword under the curtain because he refused to get down on his knees?   

"You see [big dramatic DM pause] a snout."


----------



## Beale Knight

*Deeper into the Temple*

Ren and Dumb Bear returned to the quarters to find Aneirin and Bessie still fast asleep, and they joined them in slumber. Afternoon was waning when the woke and addressed what to do next. While getting back to the temple was a certainty, there were a few other points that came first on their agenda. 

First was a visit to the Sons of Lastelle council chambers to ask the question Ren had voiced earlier. 

“Why aren’t you using those folks at the tonk, the tavern, on the other side of the woods?” he asked. 

“Bah!” the eldest Son answered. “Those drunken sods are a waste of flesh. Lazy and useless. They are worse than no help.”

“Ridiculous,” Aneirin said. “They are warm bodies. If nothing else they could throw rocks at the invaders. You must go and recruit them.”

“And how,” the Son retorted with a sour look on his face, “are we to do that when we have barely the manpower to see to our defenses. We can’t risk a troop going throught the woods when they might be ambushed by lizard-men at any moment.”

“You’ve got boats,” Bessie said. “Use them.”

“They won’t care,” the Son said. “They care only about their drinking.”

“We’ll come along and motivate them,” Aneirin said. “Just ready the boats and pilots. We’ll handle the rest. We insist.”

The Sons reluctantly agreed, and a little over an hour later a handful of small boats came ashore near the tonk. The Heroes walked up and strode right inside. There was a little activity; the sun was still up so things were generally quiet. What men were awake stopped what they were doing to stare at the strangers that had returned. 

Ren banged two metal pots together, making enough of a clatter to stir the rest of them. Without preamble, Aneirin began to speak. “The town is under attack. Vicious lizard-men have broken its defenses and most of their able bodied men are out at sea. They may return home to find it is no longer there. Many women and children and men have already met death at the hands of these inhuman monsters, and those that survive need your help. We, my companions here and I, have already taken the battle to the lizard-men, and have slain many of them. They can be killed and the situation is far from hopeless. But your help is needed. The town needs more defenders and we have brought the call to you!” As he spoke, Aneirin stood as heroically as he knew how, doing his best to present a picture of the noble, inspiring warrior. 

Someone threw a chunk of cheese at him. “Sod off!” “Yeah, what do we care about what goes on there?” “Them folks ain’t never had nothing to do with us, why should we ought to put ourselves out for them?”

Bessie stepped up. “Don’t you see that they’ll just come here when they finish off the town. You won’t be safe.”

“We’re safe enough here, always have been.” “Yeah – sounds like you’re just shilling for the Sons.”

Ren cleared his throat. “We found out one of the things they want,” he said. “They want your ale. And apparently aren’t too particular if they have to get it out of your blood.” The men in the tavern blinked at Ren, then turned to look at each other, then back at him. Ren continued his lie. “Oh yeah. We found where they wrecked up that place in town with the drink. They weren’t happy with the ale they found there. They’re trying to find out where the good stuff is. The Sons aren’t saying so, I think they’re embarrassed that their town’s attacked because the lizard-men want your ale, and not something more high minded.”

“They want – the grog? Our grog?”

Ren nodded. “Near as we can tell. And we are obliged to defend the town there. We want to do it by slaying the monsters that are attacking it, but if we have to do it by giving them what they want we’ll do that. It’ll send them right here, but the town’ll be safe for it.” He looked down and shook his head. “Be a shame about all the grog though. What doesn’t get spilt going down the throats of the lizards. Pity really.”

Fifteen minutes later the boats were filled with the men from the tonk and headed back to the town. Once they docked, the drunks were handed over to one of the young fighters that had been manning the barricade yesterday. The Maisseners went to check the progress on the gate, and found it impressive. 

Jon’s team had the doors hammered shut and braced. These would slow down an assault considerably. He proudly showed off the rope and plank method he’d overseen that would let the Heroes ride out over the wall and past the defensive ditch. In a day, he had gone from over his head overwhelmed to an able and  clever commander. 

“And there’s some more good news,” Jon said after the tour. “While you were asleep we saw a flare from the fishing ship. They should be back in town within a day or so.” 

“Wonderful,” Aneirin said, mentally checking off that last item from the Heroes’ agenda. “With that set, it’s time to get ready for a second assault on the lizard-men’s lair.” Within an hour all their last minute preparations were made and the Heroes were making their way over the town’s wall. 

“One last thing,” Jon said. He handed two arrows to Aneirin. “These are flares. We’ll be keeping a watch on the wall. Send up one and we’ll take it to mean to expect you coming hard and fast with monsters right behind you. Send up both and we’ll take it to mean things are even worse – we won’t be looking for you.”

Aneirin nodded and handed the arrows to Ren. “Hopefully we won’t need to use either.” 

The ride up the trail into the wooded mountains went quietly. Soon the briarwood barricade was in sight, but before the Heroes could draw close there was a WHOOSH! and the thing went up in flames. 

”They’re using our own tricks against us,” Ren said. 

“Ready for attack,” Aneirin said. 

No attack came. The flames died out leaving a pile of burnt brambles on the path. Ren scouted ahead, but came back reporting nothing. “Looks like they scrambled inside during the fire. This one’ll be tougher I bet.” 

Carefully, the Heroes rode up to the temple entrance. No ambush came. They lit their lantern and slowly stepped inside. That huge first room was the same as before, still filthy and empty of life. Ren and Aneirin chose to ride their mounts on into the place, just so one wouldn’t have to run back to get them. 

At the far end of the great entry was the first sign the lizard-men had worked at bolstering their defenses. The door that had been spiked open was shut. It opened with the same ease as before, but this time the Heroes left it free. Off to the right, Bessie pointed out where the rope Ren had tied around the double doors to the west lay in pieces on the floor. 

Those doors were closed, so Ren dismounted and carefully pushed them open. Aneirin dismounted, but let Dumb Bear took the first step into the room, using his elf sight to peer further than the humans were able. 

An arrow nearly struck his pointed ears. “There!” Dumb Bear shouted. “Bad!” He pointed to a barricade at the far corner of the room, and Aneirin charged. Dumb Bear roared something else and followed on his heels. Ren stepped close enough to fire a few arrows but it was the two warriors, standing on a hastily made barricade of bones and rubbish, that slaughtered most of the kobolds. Two escaped down the tunnel, which the Heroes packed tight with the garbage to hamper any future efforts by the kobolds to occupy the place.

The entire scene replayed itself when the Maisseners investigated the opposite door. It wasn’t until they entered the big pillared hall that they found where something significant had been changed. 

“There’s light,” Bessie said. Indeed the room was quite well lit. As Aneirin and Dumb Bear carefully stepped in, they could see the entire room perfectly well. Four torches had been attached to each of the four pillars. 

“Too strange,” Ren said. “They don’t need this kind of light, do they?”

“See better,” Dumb Bear said, pointing to his own eyes. 

“This means they can see us as well,” Aneirin said. “Be ready.”

Weapons drawn, the four entered. Sandy’s claws and Avashan’s hooves echoed as they stepped on the smooth floor, but there was no other sound. No ambush came as the Heroes crossed the room. 

“They’ve closed the door at the back,” Bessie said. “They might be waiting just on the other side.”

Aneirin and Ren dismounted and the party assembled in a now-standard formation to open the door. As Ren  crouched down at the door handle he noticed something odd. “There’s a wire,” he said as he stood. “They’ve rigged this door.”

“Can you dismantle it?” Aneirin asked. 

Ren looked back at the door, then to the others. “Well, no. I know what I’m doing with some simple hunting traps, but this is more than I’ve ever dealt with.”*

The Maisseners discussed a variety of ideas for several minutes, but it was clear that they simply had no delicate way to get around the trap. Finally the decided on a brash method. 

As the other three took cover with the mounts on the far side of the room, Dumb Bear hoisted the large cauldron from its position between the pillars. He carried it toward the rigged door, judging the distance carefully, then threw it. The cauldron, still mostly full with cold, town-person soup, hit the door handle almost dead on. 

It was close enough to trigger the trap. 

The party had expected some sort of fireball blast. What they got was much subtler. From the ceiling an odd power fell. When the powder made contact with the torch flames it hissed and became a gas. The gas billowed throughout the room, catching all the Heroes in its midst. It wasn’t a deadly poison, none of the Maisseners died, but they all coughed and wheezed and hacked for several long minutes. 

“Trap works pretty good,” Ren said through a cough. 

Bessie nodded. “We’ll have to give our compliments to the designers. Then kill them.”

The party stayed in the room recovering their breath for a few minutes longer, then carried on to the throne room and then deeper into the caves. Their initial impression that the man-made section of the dungeon had ended were quickly proven false. The wide tunnel going into the dark narrowed and its walls became as smooth as those in the first rooms. They heard the sound of flowing water again, and it grew louder as they progressed down the hall. 

Then they began to hear the sound of heavy breathing.

At last they found the source of the water sound, in another smooth walled room the size of a tavern room. Cutting the room in half was a twenty foot wide river, flowing through a squared off ditch that disappeared into the left and right walls. Beyond were a pair of pillars, and then blackness. Their lantern’s light only cast so far. The heavy breathing continued, but from where, and how far away, was still impossible to determine. 

“Well this is some puzzle,” Ren said. He’d dismounted from Sandy and was standing at the edge of the ditch. 

“Too much to jump, and the mounts probably couldn’t make it either,” Bessie said. 

Aneirin stood from where he’d been checking the water’s depth with a spear. “About fifteen feet,” he said. “And flowing too fast for a safe swim.”

Ren shook his head. “All this power we got. Strength, stealth, weapons that have been the death of more foes then we can remember, all kinds of supplies for dungeoneering, and here we are stumped by a stretch of water.” He was thinking that just getting across wasn’t the problem. Getting across with everyone and all the gear they’d need – that was the challenge. 

“Pitons and ropes are going to be our best option,” Aneirin said. 

“Have we got enough?” Ren asked.

Bessie nodded. “Probably, I still have the dwarf spelunking kit, and there should be more on Avarshan.”

As the three of them discussed how to go about it, Dumb Bear, bored by the conversation in a language he could barely understand, decided to test the water for himself. He stuck one foot in and there was a sudden screech from upstream. 

* As a wilderness rogue (from Unearth Arcana), Ren put no points in Disable Device (or Tumble, but that’s another story).

Next: Deeper in the Depths - Two Grand Discoveries   POST 157
Soon: “Oh and by the way - - -“


----------



## Greylock

Man, in retrospect it is really amazing how many sessions it took to play out that part of this adventure. It was epic in every sense, in game and in real life.

Good work, Wes.


----------



## Beale Knight

*Deep in the depths - two grand discoveries!*

From up-river three lizard-men rode small logs into the room, spears ready to throw. From behind the pillars came two drakes, the smaller type that walked upright. The battle was on!

Bessie immediately took a step back and began a long chant as Ren pulled his bow and shot at the approaching lizard-men. Aneirin joined Dumb Bear at the channel’s edge and waited for the drakes. 

They soon had their targets. The drakes ran and jumped over the water, but neither quite made it all the way across. As they scrambled to climb out of the water the warriors attacked. Aneirin’s sword cut through one drake with ease, and Dumb Bear’s flail smashed the other one. The drakes made feeble swipes with their too-short arms, but the warriors barely felt the claws. They pressed the attack and soon the two drakes were so much pulp, sliding back into the flowing water. 

Meanwhile, Bessie had called forth a water elemental and set it after the log riding lizard-men. It rose into a great waterspout and slammed first one, then another lizard-man. Both of their chests were crushed from the force of the water, and Ren’s arrows sent the last to his watery grave. 

“Easy Meat,” Dumb Bear said with a grin. 

“Not so much,” Bessie said. She leaned down to look into the up-stream tunnel. “There’s many, many more eyes looking this way. They’re just waiting for us to get vulnerable again.”

They’ve got the numbers too,” Aneirin grumbled. “And probably the patience to wait us out.”

“Dumb Bear rope,” the elf said, holding his hand out. He glanced at the twenty foot expanse of water. “Jump.”

The other three looked at each other. “If any one of could make it, it’s him,” Ren said. “We could secure the other end on Avarshan. She’s about the only one that could hold it firm when we went across.”

They talked about the specifics for another few minutes. No one was especially happy with the plan, they were certain to be attacked as they crossed, and the mounts would have to be left, but finally no one could come up with a better plan. 

So one end of the rope was secured to Avarshan, and held more secure by Aneirin. Dumb Bear took the other end of the rope, ran to the ditch, pushed off the edge, and jumped. 

He very nearly made it. But not quite. Dumb Bear splashed in right at the far edge of the waterway. Though he climbed up quickly and easily, his splash was the catalyst for more attacks. 

There was another great screech from up-stream and another set of three log-riding lizard-men swam down to attack. They threw their spears, missing the Heroes wildly. One was killed from Ren’s arrows and Bessie’s bolts, and the other two escaped down-stream and out of reach. 

With Dumb Bear safe on the far side and holding his end of the rope tightly, Ren jumped into the water and grabbed hold of the rope. He quickly swam across, but unsurprisingly his splash brought another set of log-riding lizard-men. Bessie killed one of them as they floated by, making spear attacks that nicked and bloodied Dumb Bear and Ren. The druid was next. Once Ren readied his bow, she jumped in the stream and used the rope to speed her way across. She lost her grip at one point, throwing a scare into everyone, but she quickly caught herself. Ren managed to kill two of the three lizard-men that floated by that time, but not before they drew some blood from Aneirin and Bessie both. 

Finally it was Aneirin’s turn. He made it into the water safely enough, but his armor proved a little too much. Avarshan gave a step and Aneirin’s grip slipped. Ren dove in after him as another set of lizard-men came to attack. Bessie shot one dead as it hit her hard with a spear. Meanwhile Ren, one hand on the rope, reached out and grabbed Aneirin’s hand. Avarshan gave another step, but with Ren’s aid, Aneirin was soon safely on the far side with the others.   

Soaking wet and bloodied from the relentless attacks, the Heroes of Maissen were finally on the other side of the underground stream. After half an hour of work, they had progressed twenty feet. It took that long again to dry themselves and their gear. As they did they noticed something unusual. First Bessie and then the others realized just how hot it was. It was far hotter than it had been just down the hall. And that strange, immense breathing sound, continued unabated. 


“Look at this,” Ren said. He’d circled around to the back side of the pillars. Very relieved there was no ambush waiting there, he found something quite odd. 

“What is it?” Bessie asked as she and the others walked up. 

Ren held up the light to focus it on his discovery. “Wheels,” he said. The hunter pointed to a large wheel, like that of a ship, mounted midway up the column. There was an identical one on the other column. 

Bessie bent down for a close look. “They’re covered with gunk and grime," she said. "It looks like they haven’t been used in years. Decades even.” She tried to give one a turn, but couldn’t. “They’re stuck fast.”

“Let’s see how fast,” Aneirin said. He stepped up to one but Dumb Bear put a hand on his shoulder. “Me,” the big elf said. Aneirin smiled. Dumb Bear had made the jump that got them here, if he wanted to take the first chance to make these things work, Aneirin wouldn’t stand in his way. 

Dumb Bear stood before the wheel and flexed his muscles for a moment. Staring at the wheel he threw both hands on it and turned. The wheel resisted for just a moment, then with a metallic groan it turned. The elf turned it until it stopped, and by then the Heroes could see what it had done. 

The water level was going down. With a smile, Dumb Bear bounded over to the other wheel and repeated his impromptu ritual. The second wheel gave under his strength as the first had. This time there was a loud, metallic “THOOOMP!” sound from downstream somewhere. 

“Well that’s quite something,” Ren said. He frowned. “Still no way to get the mounts across though, even with the ditch empty.”

Aneirin was frowning too. “We’ll have to leave them there.” He sighed. “They’re both trained for battle though. They ought to be able to take care of themselves.”

Ren nodded. “Yep.”

Bessie thought they both sounded an awfully lot like they were trying to convince themselves of what they were saying. 

With that, they turned their attention to the continued exploration of this ancient temple place. The rear of the room squared off and gave them three options. Each back corner opened into a hall, and there was a third hall directly in the middle of the rear wall. With no hints about which way would be best, they went right. 


That hall turned and soon opened up into another chamber too huge for their light to take in at once. They could make out massive pillars dotting the front part of the chamber, but no more. 

“Plenty big,” Ren said. 

“This would be a good place for defenders to make their move,” Aneirin said. “But  we need to go on through.”

The warrior’s judgment proved dead on. As soon as the Heroes set the first foot into the room the attack came.

With a loud “screeeech” a hoard of lizard-men ran out from behind various pillars. Some had real swords, some axes, some just their claws, but at least one had a bow. From the darkness to the back of the room a light shown and flew toward the fight. It clattered on the floor, doing no harm, but lighting up a wide area. 

“This’ll help,” Ren muttered as he fired an arrow into one of the charging lizard-men. 

Aneirin gutted a sword wielding foe. “It’ll help them all find us without trouble!” he shouted. “Dumb Bear! Here!” He pointed with his sword to the floor beside him. The elf understood and the two of them formed a short front line. From behind, still in the hall, Bessie and Ren held back and shot at choice targets. 

The lizard-men came on and on and on. There seemed no end to them. They soon flanked Aneirin and Dumb Bear, and others were able to slip passed the warriors to directly engage Bessie and Ren. The hunter did his best to slice open the lizard men with his sickle, but he was getting sliced up himself by two of the lizard-men’s axes. Bessie’s fire magic bought him much needed breathing room, and he was finally able to get one from behind. Up front, Dumb Bear and Aneirin were slaughtering lizard-men in bulk, but the elf was paying the price for it. Barely moving, his feet were soon coated in blood, his own as well as the lizard-men. 

Finally there were no more lizard-men attacking. From the sounds at the back of the massive room, many escaped, but the Heroes had higher priorities at the moment. Except for Aneirin, for once, they were each deeply wounded. 

“We’ll have to get into the potions and scrolls to heal these wounds,” Bessie said. “Knowing we’d be fighting I prepared battle flavored spells today.”

Watching for a renewed attack, Aneirin asked, “how’s the supply of those?”

Bessie shook her head. “Dwindling, but I see no other choice. We can’t go on so wounded.” Aneirin nodded and Bessie distributed the healing magics as best as she could. With everyone’s wounds magically tended as much as they were going to be, the party readied their gear and pressed on. 

The pillared room was huge, larger than the first room of pillars. At the rear was an alcove that opened into a hallway going even deeper. A few steps ahead of the others, Ren heard frightened whimpering as he approached the alcove, and soon saw the source. Gathered in the alcove was the pathetic sight of frightened lizard-women, huddled together and avoiding eye contact with the Heroes as they came up. 

“What should we do?” Bessie asked.

Ren shook his head. “There’s all kinds of solid reasons to slaughter them here where they sit, but….”

“But there’s no Good in it,” Aneirin finished for him. “Mercy?”

The other humans nodded. Dumb Bear took an extra moment to process the signs, but then he nodded. “They go.”

It took the Heroes several moments to get the lizard-women’s attention, get them to stand, and direct them to go. They stared at the strange invaders for a long minute before it sank in that they weren’t about to be slaughtered in cold blood. Then they ran full speed away, down the way the invaders had come. 

Beyond the pillared room, the hall quickly turned into a mess of twists and turns, as though someone was planning to build a maze but never got very far along with it. From the trash, filth, and junk in these halls, they were clearly the lairs of the hoard of lizard-folk. There was one central hall turning left or right every few steps, and two side halls that did much the same thing. The side halls may have been symmetrical like so much else of this place, but from the crude, “just enough to not get lost” map Bessie sketched it was hard to tell. Both came to sudden dead ends though. 

The central hall came to an end by opening into a good sized chamber that the lizard-men had turned into a temple. On a pedestal at the rear of the room was a statue about the size of a large sport ball. It depicted some blobbish lizard-man god and looked to be made of gold! 

“I’ll go up for a close look,” Ren said. “Keep me covered.”

Aneirin nodded. “I don’t think there’s anyone left to keep you covered from. We’ve seen no signs of life since the pillar room.”

Ren found the pedestal rigged for a trap. The top of the pedestal looked as it were a solid piece of stone, but a close look discovered it was two, a central circle inside an outer one. “I think it’s a weight based trap,” Ren said. “Get a bag and fill it with pebbles and stuff until it’s about this size.” He demonstrated with his hands a size equal to the statue. He was only guessing that the weight would be right, and that he could switch the bag for the statue fast enough. 

When the bag was ready, everyone else backed away. Ren placed one hand on the statue and had the bag ready to take its place as soon as he pulled the statue away. But he wasn’t fast enough. He pulled the statue off, but even as he was dropping the bag into place the pedestal flashed with fire! The fire singed Ren in several places, but he came through it whole and smiling. 

“It was worth it,” he said. “It was more than worth it. This thing feels like it must be solid gold. Solid! A few healable burns? A bargain!”

There was nowhere else to go in that direction, so the Maisseners turned and made their way back, debating if they should return to town and come back a third time or press on. They’d had reached the second room of pillars when they heard shrieks of animals in pain. The mounts were under attack!

Racing back to the stream room they found Sandy the war lizard was being attacked by a half dozen of the females the Heroes had just granted mercy! The lizard-women had apparently found and turned the proper wheel, for the water was gone. Aneirin and Dumb Bear jumped most the way across the ditch, Ren shot from the far side, and Bessie took a slower, but more reasonable, way across the ditch. Sandy, bless the elves that trained her, more than held her own. After three of the female lizard-men were killed the rest fled. 

That was enough of a sign for the party. They decided to return to town, see about some healing, and come back to the Drake Temple sans mounts. 

As they were leaving, Bessie said, “Do you realize it was cooler in the lizard-men’s lair that it was in the stream room?”

“Another mystery for us to solve on our next visit,” Aneirin said. 

The town was in wonderful spirits when they returned. As the Heroes made their way over the wall they saw why. A ways out to sea were three single mast ships. The promise of last night’s flare was coming true. 

“Looks like your folk will be here soon,” Aneirin said to Jon as they began walking toward their quarters. 

“Within the day we think,” the guard answered. “You didn’t use the signal arrows, but I see you’re wounded. You left more of them dead there then?”

Aneirin nodded. “A hoard of the lizard-folk lie dead in one of the chambers of that place.”

“We did get hurt pretty bad,” Ren said. “Is there anyone in town that know some healing tricks?”

Jon nodded. “Poepah,” he said. “You’ve not been introduced to him. He’s a priest of Simus, and so old he rarely gets out of his bedchamber anymore. But I’ll take you to see him.”

The priest was every bit as venerable as Jon indicated. But his eyes were clear. When Jon told him the tale of the Heroic strangers, those eyes lit up and he nodded. With mumbled words the Maisseners couldn’t understand, he healed each of them, and Sandy as well. Then he patted each of them on the head and nodded, smiling. 

“This – this puts quite a different spin on the day,” Ren said. 

Bessie nodded. “Yes. We’re healed to full strength, and I’ve still plenty of spells uncast. I say we head back now.”

“Indeed,” Aneirin said with a sly smile. “They may know we’ve left, but they certainly won’t expect us to return so soon. We may catch them by surprise.”

Fifteen minutes later they were back on the trail to the temple. Nothing had changed in their brief absence, not until they reached the stream room. The water there was flowing again. 

“Clearly we haven't eliminated all the inhabitants,” Bessie said.

“Or some that fled, returned,” Aneirin said. 

There were no eyes peering down from up-stream, so once again they gave Dumb Bear the rope and he jumped across the stream. This time he cleared the water with room to spare. Dumb Bear turned off the water flow and the rest of the party crossed over, ready to see where the other two corridors led. They scouted the one going “west” as far as its first intersection. There were no signs of life, but it grew even hotter that way. 

After a moment’s discussion they decided to backtrack and take a look down the central hall before going any further. This one didn’t go far. It led right to a wide room that was blisteringly hot. The mysterious breathing sounds were coming from this room – somewhere.

“Are those wells?” Bessie asked. She pointed to three low walls in the floor in the middle of the room. 

“They’re the right size,” Ren answered. 

Spread out and ready for an ambush, the party made their way to the closest wall. “They’re surrounding holes in the ground,” Ren said – the warriors still had their eyes peeled for an attack. “But I can’t see anything but dark down in them.”

Bessie threw in a pebble, making Ren jump. He hadn’t noticed she was about to do that. The two leaned partway over the pit and waited. Bessie counted to six before they heard the pebble hit something. “So there is a bottom,” she said.

“And it’s not water,” Ren added. “Let’s get one of those torches.” He lit a torch and dropped it. He and Bessie watched as it tumbled down some one hundred feet or so. When it clattered on the bottom it illuminated a frightening sight. 

“What do you see?” Aneirin asked. 

“Eggs,” Bessie answered.

Ren nodded. “Lots of eggs. They’re lining the floor and go on out of sight. Come on and look.”

Aneirin and Dumb Bear joined Ren and Bessie in staring down into the abyss just in time to see something down there move. And then the breathing sounds stopped. 

The scaled head of a drake came into the light. It was much like what they’d seen and killed before, but this head was bigger than Anierin. 

And it was purple. 

The Heroes  had a moment to stare. The purple drake sniffed at the torch and then snorted – blowing it out. Automatically the Heroes all stepped back from the well wall and waited for disaster. None came.

“What if we leave now?” Ren asked. 

“A fine strategy,” Aneirin answered. 

Once out of the room, their collective heart rates slowed to normal rhythms. “So it looks like we found the purple drake the kobold prisoner spoke about,” Ren said.

“And it looks like there’s ittle doubt about either of his claims,” Bessie said. “That monster’s as big as a house. If it attacked the town there would be no town left.”

Aneirin frowned and nodded. Then they all fell silent. They’d seen the horrible threat of the temple depths, but what they could do about it – they had no idea. 

So they went on and explored the last hall. The heat grew as they progressed, finding at least two dead ends before reaching a large, empty room. It was even warmer here, and there was something else. A squeaking sound from down the last hall out of this room.

That last hall turned twice and led to another square room, and there the Heroes came upon a sight unlike anything they’d seen before. Eight long chains, one from each corner of the room, held a human figure over a pit in the floor. A prisoner, but not any man that they’d ever seen. 

This figure was made of metal, with metal wings partially ripped apart, legs completely gone, and coated with the dust of decades, perhaps centuries. He was the source of the squeaking; every few moments he would release a silent burst of energy into the pit, rattling the chains and himself. 

When the Heroes entered his room the metallic man looked up to them. In a hollow voice that sounded as if it were coming from a metal cave, it said, 

“By Simus’ uncaring eye – kill me!” 


Next – Radical Actions (I promise this time) and “oh by the way….”   POST 159
Soon – Babrack and Moving On


----------



## Beale Knight

Beale Knight said:
			
		

> The lizard-men came on and on and on. There seemed no end to them. They soon flanked Aneirin and Dumb Bear, and others were able to slip passed the warriors to directly engage Bessie and Ren. The hunter did his best to slice open the lizard men with his sickle, but he was getting sliced up himself by two of the lizard-men’s axes. Bessie’s fire magic bought him much needed breathing room, and he was finally able to get one from behind.




During this fight I was in real fear for the first time that Ren was going to get killed. I built him up around a hunter theme, and so he excelled at spotting and hearing stuff, survival, profession: hunter, knowledge: nature, and so forth, and of course at shooting. But when it came to melee fighting Ren was simply horrible. His AC was moderate, his hit points average, and as you see above, his primary melee weapon was a sickle. A SICKLE! I chose that because it fit the setting and his character (common born folk in Maissen are not known for carrying swords), knowing it would be crappy if I actually had to use it. And I was right! 

So I ended up not the least bit afraid of Ren getting killed during the battle against the giant lizards, the elemental in the desert, the lich thrall at the bridge, the ettercaps, or anywhere else. But a bunch of lizard men put the fear of death into me. Just had to share.


----------



## Beale Knight

*Radical Actions and “oh by the way….”*

The Heroes of Maissen stared gape-mouthed at the impossibility before them. Its chains rattled and another burst of energy silently shot down into the caves below it. “Kill me - - Now!” it repeated. 

“What are you?” Bessie asked.

“I am abused, made to nurture what I was created to destroy,” it answered. “End it.”

Dumb Bear began to walk around the pit, ducking under the chains as he studied the metal man. 

“That’s not a whole much of an answer,” Ren said. “How about an answer that’s not a riddle?”

“If it will speed your hand to do what I ask, gladly,” the being said. “I am the mechanus.”

“Picture man,” Dumb Bear said. The others turned to stare at him. “Picture man,” the big elf repeated. “Wall pictures. Shiny throne place.”

It took a moment for his roughly translated conclusion to sink in, but it was sudden when it did. “The tapestries!” Aneirin said. “In the throne room. You’re the being fighting the demons.” 

“I am the mechanus. I was created to battle the evil that is Idien. Those tapestries show my failure.” He grimaced and the chains rattled again. Another burst of energy shot down through the hole in the floor. “Idien imprisoned me here. Forced it to be that my energies warm the eggs of the great purple drake. She cannot leave this place, but her offspring can. They can because I have nurtured them.”

“How long,” Bessie asked. 

“Centuries!” the mechanus answered. “I am eternal. As my energy is drained it is ever renewed.”

Ren was biting at his lip. “But,” he said, “but would it work better for you if we freed you from the chains? You don’t have to die.”

“I DO!” the mechanus bellowed. “I am eternal. My death is not the death you know. I cannot be unmade anymore than a soul. Loose me from these chains and Idiein will find me and defeat me again, I cannot best him weakened as I am. Kill me and I will return from whence I came. There my power will return in full. Only then will I have the might and power to defeat the evil one. You must kill me.”

The Maisseners stared at each other, trying to decide if they believed what they heard. 

“We must think this through,” Bessie said.

“What’s to think?” the mechanus shouted. “Every…” he paused. The chains rattled as another bolt of his energy fired down. “Every moment you pause you aid his cause.”

“We have screwed things up before by jumping too fast in the wrong way,” Ren said. 

“The only way you can ‘screw this up’”, the mechanus said, “is to NOT kill me.”

Despite his insistence, the Heroes stepped back and gathered together. Their whispered conversation was short; they were each convinced already but wanted the reassurance that the others felt the same way. Finally they nodded and Aneirin stepped forward. 

The warrior drew his sword as he walked to the prisoner. In two swift strokes he ended the mechanus’ torture. 

The Heroes’ reward was a cold, mechanical smile, and a promise. “He will not care, but I will tell Simus that you are Good.”

With that his form turned to dust. The chains dropped and hung limp from their shackles. There was a heavy moment of silence, broken suddenly by Dumb Bear sneezing. His was followed by Bessie’s, and then Aneirin and Ren sneezed almost as one. 

“It’s gotten cold,” Bessie said. In just a few seconds, a strong chill had filled the room. The disappearance of the mechanus and his heat caused a sudden and dramatic change. 

“The drake!” Ren said. He turned and headed for the “well room” and, as he had the lantern, the others quickly followed. 

In the well room, sounds, scrapes and deep huffs, drifted up from the caverns below. The Maisseners lit and dropped another torch down there. In its light they saw the great purple drake gathering her eggs about her as best as she could. There was panic in her hasty grasps. She knew and feared what the sudden temperature change meant. 

“That’s good,” Bessie said. “Even if it’s sad in a way.”

Ren nodded. So did Aneirin, who also said, “We aren’t yet finished here. There are still threats to be answered.” 

The Heroes retreated to the neighboring room and discussed how to handle those threats. The lizard folk and kobolds were still living deep in the caves, and those caves led to who knew how many other monsters and threats to the nearby town. There was also the possibility that the purple drake would find a way to save her eggs. If not all of them, then possibly enough to make for another real threat. Collapsing the temple was not an option; it was simply beyond their power. 

It was Aneirin that had the final idea. He outlined it to the others and after a few tweaks they decided it could work. They certainly had no better idea. 

They returned to the well room and smashed down one of the wells’ side wall. Then they made their way back to the “river room.” There they turned the handle that lowered the block “down-stream.” With Aneirin and Bessie guarding up top, Ren and Dumb Bear ventured into the dry ditch and then into the rough natural tunnel. The two followed that for almost a half mile before coming to a steel plate that blocked the tunnel entirely. Smiling, they returned to report that their conclusion was right. 

That left the final step. Aneirin, Bessie, and Ren crossed the dry ditch as Dumb Bear stayed behind to turn the first wheel. The big elf had just given the wheel a single good turn when a monstrous growl came from the back of the room. 

Dumb Bear shouted in surprise and turned to face his new foe. A monster of a lizard-man roared with rage and charged the elf. Dumb Bear dodged the lizard-man’s club and pulled his flail free. 

Water began to flow into the ditch. Across it, the other three Heroes heard the fight start, but could see nothing. Dumb Bear and his foe were lost is the shadows. Ren pulled the flare arrow he’d recovered from the fight in the many-pillared room and shot that toward the sounds. The arrow sparked and landed to illuminate the scene: Dumb Bear in battle against a lizard-man almost twice his height. 

As the water level rose, the battle raged like a shooting star. The three across the water shot arrows and bolts to help Dumb Bear, who honestly needed little help. The lizard-man landed one good, solid blow with his club and ducked one of the elf’s attacks. But in moments Dumb Bear’s flail had turned the lizard-man’s head to so much pulp. 

When his foe fell, Dumb Bear turned and ran full speed for the ditch. The water was just beginning to lap over the sides as he jumped, clearing the ditch by several inches. The Heroes spared only a moment for congratulations before running on. They were up into the throne room just moments later, separating to pry as much loot as they could in a show of naked greed. 

As Aneirin kept watch behind them, the others gathered what they could. Gems were plucked from the thrones, the four tapestries were brought down and rolled up, as the carpet already had been. The red velvet was already down, and was hastily folded and used to gather everything together, making a great bundle atop a few sacks ready to be carried outside.

“How’s the water level?” Bessie asked over her shoulder to Aneirin. 

“There isn’t any sign of it yet,” he answered. 

Ren went to stand by Aneirin. “That must mean it’s working,” he said. “With all of it flooding down into the egg cave, it shouldn’t make it up here.”

Bessie joined them. “Well there’s no way to check, but that’s logical. And who knows how deep those caves go? At least we’ve cut this place off from access by underground.”

Ren smiled. “And got some good things for our treasure presentation.” 

Elated and awed at all they’d seen and done in the past two days, the Heroes made their way back to the town. The atmosphere that greeted them was celebration. The ships they’d seen earlier had docked! The men were back with a huge haul of fish. Adding that to the fact the Heroes the elders had prayed for were back and victorious, the town decided it was time to throw a grand party.

But first there was fish to unload and prepare, and much information to get. The returning Heroes found a secure place to store the bundle and went in various directions on various errands. Aneirin and Dumb Bear helped unload fish. Ren went to the Sons of Lastell to finally spend some time learning what they knew of this area, Maissen, and the city to the west. Bessie went to the venerable priest of Simus to tell him of the Mechanus, and to see about healing potions and scrolls. 

The Heroes' twenty-sixth day outside Maissen ended with a huge banquet. There the four regrouped and finalized their plans. They still had much traveling to do, sights to see, heroic acts to perform, and treasures to claim for Maissen. 

Bessie had the most important task. She would be working with Poepah, scribing scrolls of Healing. The party knew they were certain to need them. Poepah also agreed to create a special substance for Aneirin and Dumb Bears’ armor. This unnamed substance would magically liquefy their armor and store it in a durable bottle. When needed, all the fighters must do is pour the liquid over them and in a heartbeat they would be wearing their armor – much faster than the conventional way of getting into armor. Ren would work in Taken’s bowyer shop, crafting arrows. Aneirin and Dumb Bear planned to work with Jon, helping him put together and train a new guard unit for the town. 

All told they’d had taken on three full days of work, but the town folk happily put their heroes up and saw to their mundane needs. They regarded it as a small price to pay for their saving Town. Little did anybody know there was to be a slightly higher price coming down the mountain.

As they went about their tasks, the underground river the Heroes blocked continued to flood. Though they’d expected the underground would accommodate the water, they were wrong. They’d sealed the only way for water to leave that entire area. After two days the water had filled the entire complex. The only place left for it to go was out, and then down the mountain.

Straight for the Town.

Next: Babrack and Moving On     POST 162
Soon: A keep in the middle of nowhere


----------



## Beale Knight

*Title of the previous post*

The above installment's secondary title doesn't come through well in the write-up, and it deserves a moment in the sun (the two radical actions are, I hope, clear enough). 

Our ninth session had started just after that battle with the drake riding lizard man and carried through to the party after we mercy-killed the mechanus and flooded the temple. The beginning of session ten covered all the various errands and tasks that I mention, and then went into what's going to be part of the next installment, "Babrack and Moving On." 

We were almost two hours into session ten when Alish2o virtually slapped his forehead. He'd forgotten something. We were loaded up and about to leave the town, and there was something he'd intended to tell us right at the very beginning of the night. 

"The town's flooding. I meant to bring this up earlier, so there you are. You're doing the this and the that, and OH BY THE WAY - The Town's Flooding!"

We backtracked and handled it without much disruption to what we'd already established, but it was a funny moment. For months afterward any slight brain fart moment would be cause for someone to shout that out.

"I meant to tell you that I did cast the heal, and Oh By The Way, the Town's flooding."

"I did go and retrieve the arrow - and Oh By The Way...."

etc.


----------



## Greylock

Awesomeness.


----------



## Beale Knight

*Babrack and Moving On*

The Heroes awoke to find the town ankle deep in water. They exchanged embarresed glances. “So the cavern wasn’t as endless as we expected,” Aneirin said. “Town’s getting a good clean though,” Ren added. 

As they slogged through the flooded streets, they were met with a galaxy of reactions. Some of the town’s folks were angry at this new problem, other laughed at the absurdity of it. A few threw out good natured comments about washing out the town, and how they could get water enough from the wells, they didn’t need it delivered by the mountain. Whatever the comment, there was one common aspect.

“They aren’t looking at us so reverently anymore,” Bessie said with a smile. “We’re people now, not icons.”

Ren laughed. “One big fat mistake’ll do that I guess.”

The Heroes met Jon at the gate and took a look at the situation from the top of the wall. “Well there’s nothing for it,” Aneirin said. “We can’t go back and open the valve up again. The controls are certainly deep under water.” He thought for a minute, looking the area over like a battlefield. “We’ll have to shunt it to the ditch, let it flow out to sea,” he said. 

That full day was spent digging, extending the town’s partial defensive ditch to meet the ever flowing stream. To their credit, all four Heroes took their time with a shovel, which went a long way to stifling the grumbling that some of the town folks were still doing. Then at last the deed was done, and the water was flowing out to sea instead of into the town. There was still some grumbling about the clean up left to do, but most realized that the flood was proof positive that the temple was cleaned out (so to speak) and there would be no more raids from lizard men. 

The next evening the town threw a huge feast for the Heroes. Virtually everyone in the town turned out to the freshly cleaned town square for the huge event, and most of them brought gifts, pressed flowers, little carvings, handfuls of spice, small steins of beer, and  much, much more.

Then during a lull in the festivities, a man strode out to the town square, a war hammer slung over his shoulder. “I am Babrack. My wife and my child were killed during the raids this past week. You have avenged them, now I would serve you. I would go out with you when you leave tomorrow and serve you as a man-at-arms.”

The Heroes, shocked, looked at each other before turning back to the man before them. He was big certainly, and stood with a warrior’s stance, but they wondered if he really knew what he was offering to do. 

“You ought to know that we may well never come back here,” Bessie said. 

Babrack nodded. “There is nothing to hold me here. If I return or not, I am content.”

“We’re going off into the wild, and there’s probably going to be a lot of things out there that want to eat us,” Ren cautioned. 

Again Babrack nodded. “I have faced things here recently that wanted to eat me. I do not fear facing others.”

Aneirin turned to Jon. “Can you vouch for his prowess?”

The new captain of the guard nodded. “He’s a strong fighter and knows how to handle his warhammer. I didn’t know he wanted to leave us though. I had him in mind for a sergeant.”

Babrack smiled. “There then. Will you have me as your companion?”

Ren and Bessie nodded. Aneirin said, “So long as you understand the risks, I welcome you.”

Beside them, Dumb Bear stood. “I test,” he said. The big elf dropped his flail and hide armor and flexed before Babrack. 

The Town warrior looked from Dumb Bear to the other Heroes. They all smiled and nodded. “We all got to ask you stuff,” Ren said. “Now he wants to – but he doesn’t know the language so well.”

Bessie grinned. “So he’s asking in the universal.” 

Babrack sighed. He dropped his warhammer and stripped his leathers off. Dumb Bear led the way to a space in the square free of food and revelers, where he and Babrack faced off. Ren started counting as Dumb Bear charged. Babrack dodge the charge but his punch missed the elf. He tried to tackle Dumb Bear next, but the elf evaded the effort. The two went back and forth like that, each evading the others attempt to grapple for nearly a thirty count before Dumb Bear finally pinned Babrack. The elf then stood and nodded. “Good. Keep.”

That settled it. Groaning, Babrack rose and joined the three Maisseners and the elf for the rest of the feast. The next morning he met them at the square, fully armored and leading a mule. “My other contribution,” he said proudly. The new mount was immediately laden with the weighty tapestries looted from the temple, as well as the various supplies the Heroes had gathered for their trek. The red velvet, rug, and other two tapestries remained in town. Babrack rode Scout, the horse Ren had adopted from Hilltopple house, and the Heroes set up the mountain trail and off into the wild, their goal – the wizard city of UrZin. 

Heading west, they were soon in the high foot hills of the great mountains. That afternoon, with the drake temple well behind them, they started seeing ruins. Tall columns and arches that certainly predated Maissen. Some were along the trail, some off it, but there was no indication of who built them or why. With no compelling reason to investigate, the Heroes carried on.

That night they heard deep, guttural growls from deep in the woods. They spent the night on double watches, letting Barbrack to sleep through, but never saw any sign of what animal made the noise. Not until the late the next morning.

Riding a little ahead, Ren saw the signs first. He halted and waved the others to him. “Tracks,” he said when they were close enough to hear. “Big ones.”

“They look like a cat,” Bessie said, “but they’re too large for even the biggest of them.”

“Dragonne?” Aneirin asked. “We know the lair in these mountains.”

Ren shuddered. “Maybe. But I hope if it is one, we see it from as far away as we saw the last one.”

Hyper alert for monsters now, the party set off again. They saw no more evidence of monsters, but that afternoon Ren spotted something more unexpected. He came to a stop and stared, unsure if he should trust his eyes. 

“What is it?” Bessie asked as she rode up. 

Ren pointed to the north. “There. Tell if you don’t see a castle.”

The druid followed his point to a spit extending onto a small lake, and nodded, as did Aneirin and Babrack.

“It is a castle,” Aneirin said. “Part of one anyway. There’s the keep, a set of towers, and they’ve got a few walls up. Probably a ruin.” A moment later he added. “We should go take a closer look.”

Bessie nodded. “It may have something to do with those ruins we passed yesterday.”

Ren studied the distance. “Shouldn’t take a couple hours to get to it. Might as well. At least they’ll give us shelter for the night once we get there.”

They left the trail and rode toward the incomplete castle. As they got closer sounds of activity reached their ears. 

“That’s construction!” Aneirin said, excitement in his voice. 

“Amazing,” Ren said. “Who’d build a castle out in the middle of nowhere?”

As the afternoon began to wane, the Heroes found a path leading around the lake. Riding openly and slowly on it, the were soon noticed by the castle inhabitants. Pikes appeared along the walls and where a gate house was under construction. 

“Fast with the weapons,” Bessie said. 

Ren nodded. “They’ve got reason to be, they do,” he said, pointing over to the right. “Look at the ground over there. A line of stomped down ground.”

Bessie gasped at the tell-tale sign. “Chakta! Less than a half mile from the keep. No wonder then.”

They continued to round the lake and soon rode up the spit toward the keep. Pikemen piled out of the incomplete castle and formed up in three rows where the spit opened up. Halfway down the spit, Aneirin called for the Maisseners to halt. “Better to show them we’re not hostile.”

A short, wide-shouldered man stepped forward from the ranks of pikemen. “State your name and you intentions,” he shouted. 

“We are travelers from Maissen,” Bessie yelled back. 

Before she could say more, the sergeant repeated her last word. “Maissen? Approach, but slowly if you please.” He turned and said something the Maisseners couldn’t hear, then one of the pikemen dashed back to the castle. The sergeant barked an order and the pikemen relaxed their stance, but still kept their hands on their pikes. 

The sergeant walked up and met the Heroes at the end of the spit. “My lord will certainly want to speak with you,” he said, eyes going up and down each in turn. He looked about to speak when the pikemen behind him parted. A tall man with a full dark beard rushed up. “Are you Heroes of Maissen,” he asked. 

“Indeed,” Bessie said. She introduced the others, and each showed their badge in turn. 

The lord of the castle smiled and produced a similar badge. “I an Ungri,” he said, “and you are welcome in my keep.”

Unrgi was true to his word, making the Heroes welcome in all ways. Their mounts were tended to and a dinner was prepared. Through the pleasant evening they all exchanged stories, and like everyone else who heard it, Ungri was fascinated by Aneirin’s tale. Ungri explained that he had been a hero, and then spend many years as an agent of the church, a path he recommended. Eventually though he decided to try his hand in forging a settlement, and so here he was. All had gone well for him, he generally ignored the communalists of the Town the new Heroes had just left, signed a non-aggression pact with the wizards of UrZin (who had otherwise generally ignored him), and tried without success to befriend a Maissen sorcerer that had started his own keep further west, close UrZin. The most excitement he’d had recently was the Chakta. “Seven years with no sign of them, and days ago a hoard moved through,” he said.

His countrymen told him of the traitorous actions of the redbreasts, and got an unexpected bit of information. “In red, you say? That would be the work of Cocrus the Red.” Ungri went on to explain the Cocrus was one of an ever expanding list of Maissenian wizards, one not to be trusted, and one tolerated by the Council for delicate political reasons. Political talk dominated the rest of the evening. Angri explained why he sees the nature of the Maissen government as the best way of governing under the circumstances, that while survival is not so much an issue, Maissen is still a society under threat. That to him justified the secrecy regarding the wider world, the outlawing of wizards on the one hand while sheltering them on the other, the use of “heroes”, and keeping the average citizen within the bounds of the country. To the newer Heroes, Ren especially, it was all unconvincing.

Ungri was most helpful informing them of the geography that awaited them to the west. The mountain trail was the safest, “keep to the stone and the giants will not bother you,” he said. Ungri explained that there was a pact between the giants and dwarves, and should the former cross into the mountains there would be war. The ruins the party had seen were markers of ancient entries into the dwarf tunnels under the mountain. There were three entries on the northern face of the mountains, though they had all fallen into disuse. 

“There’s still one that’s still used from time to time,” Bessie said, briefly telling of the party’s aborted plans to travel north under the mountain. 

The next morning Ungri presented them with a sealed scroll, a letter to his mother in Ballos, and asked if the New Heroes would deliver it. THey happily agreed and waved off his offer of payment. As they left, Ungri gave them a final word of advise, “Make for the Temple of the Crow, it is a fine place to shelter for the night.”

Clouds were already gathering as the Heroes left Angri’s keep. By the time they made it back to the mountain trail it was overcast, and heavy rain soon began to fall. The rain apparently drove any threats to shelter, for they had the trail and day to ourselves. 

Almost. 

Around what they estimated to be noon Bessie called out, “There. Look up.”

The others looked up in time to spot a shadowy figure in the sky. It flew like it didn’t really know how, and growled the same guttural growl the party had heard two nights earlier. 

“What is that?” Aneirin asked. 

“Too far,” Dumb Bear said. “Clouds make seeing hard.”

“Probably a good thing,” Ren said. “Maybe it can’t see us either, and if it IS a dragonne that’s a good thing for sure.”

“Think we’ll be lucky enough to not see it again?” Bessie asked. 

Aneirin snorted. “Us? We’ve been lucky for too many days in a row now.” 



Next: Unlucky at the Temple of the Crow
Soon: Sorcerer’s Keep ; UrZin


----------



## Greylock

HUZZAH! Story Hour goodness!


----------



## Baron Opal

Still reading and enjoying.

By-the-by, I've receintly discovered that hunting spiders like apple juice. Be careful when you are about to throw away an apple core that's been laying around in the middle of the night.


----------



## Beale Knight

Baron Opal said:
			
		

> By-the-by, I've receintly discovered that hunting spiders like apple juice. Be careful when you are about to throw away an apple core that's been laying around in the middle of the night.




Hmmm! That give me an idea for the campaign I'm running.


----------



## Greylock

OK, then. I gave you a grace period of two weeks. New campaign and all. I understand. 



Time to update this thread!!!!


----------



## Beale Knight

*Change of voice and style*

Early on I mentioned I was thinking about posting slightly edited version of the campaign logs that had already been typed up once I got to the point in the campaign where I'd kept logs that were interesting to read. But with everyone's encouragement I decided to continue re-writing everything for the Story Hour.

As you can probably tell from the derth of updates lately, I'm having trouble keeping up with that. There's only so much time to type and the Story Hour was what kept suffering. 

But I don't want to quit mid-tale. So I'm switching back to my old plan and will be posting slightly edited campaign session logs to the point where they run out. Then I'll work from my note to cover the last few sessions. 

This way you all get to find out what happened, but the downside is the style change. It's much broader in scope, and uses the first person plural perspective. I hope you like it all anyway. 

The upside is - updates will be much much more frequent, up to the point where I run out of session logs anyway. Then I'll probably to a faster recap, but we'll see. 

So with out further ado, here comes the first session log style SH update.


----------



## Beale Knight

*Session 10*

Unlucky at the Temple of the Crow; Sorcerer’s Keep ; UrZin

Clouds were already gathering as we left Angri’s keep. By the time we made it back to the mountain trail it was overcast, and heavy rain soon began to fall. The rain apparently drove any threats to shelter, for we had the trail and day to ourselves. Almost. 

Around what we estimated to be noon we saw a shadowy figure in the sky. It flew like it didn’t really know how, and growled the same guttural growl we had heard two nights earlier. It was too high and distant to see detail, but we decided that was a good thing. If it was a dragonne as we suspected, it probably couldn’t see us thanks to the rough weather.

It was late afternoon, we think, when the trail widened and the forest opened to a clearing. We could see a collection of ruined buildings up ahead there, and felt certain that they must be the shelter Angri had mentioned. 

Aneirin’s scouting of the buildings confirmed them empty, and that they were all amply decorated with crow designs. This was indeed the Temple of the Crow, but whatever grand history it may have had, today it was four buildings and a well, all in horrific ruin. Still, there were walls and each building still had part of a roof. We crowded four horses, one war-lizard, a mule, and us into the largest of the buildings, and somehow managed to get each under a portion of roof. We made a fire and settled down for the night.  

It was during the last watch when the attack came. Aneirin was on watch and he heard the thing land heavily on the roof, on the far end of the building from where we’d bedded down. He took a look through the massive hole and saw a winged shape. Then Dumb Bear’s horse screamed and collapsed. That naturally woke the rest of us and we opened our eyes to see the horse on the ground with two huge spikes - spikes the size of a man’s forearm! - sticking out from its side. There was a terrible wind and sparks spread from the fire. The battle was on!

Aneirin was already getting on his war horse and preparing for battle. Ren shot at the monster on the roof, driving it away. Bessie and Dumb Bear got to their feet and followed it outside. 

The rain had stopped and in the moonlight we could see the monster more clearly. It was no dragonne. It was like nothing we had seen before. A huge feline body with dark fur, great, wide wings, a squat head, and a long tail that ended in a ball full of spikes. It was so absurd that it would have been laughable had it not been so deadly. It was a slow, clumsy flier, but it could fly and it could shoot those monster spikes to lethal effect. 

Its new target was Aneirin and Avarshan. The monster launched spikes again, striking both horse and rider before it flew away. Bessie went to tend the wounded, Ren shot at the thing again, and Dumb Bear and Barbrack followed it, looking for some way to attack. 

Our quick action was too much for the monster and it flew completely away, getting out of bowshot range quickly. We groaned in frustration, but we weren’t finished yet. Ren had a plan. 

We dragged the horse carcass out to the open area between buildings and then took cover. Aneirin waited on Avarshan, lance ready. The rest of us were in various ruined buildings, waiting. At last, we heard wings.

The monster had returned. It landed clumsily at the carcass of the horse it had killed, sniffed it, sniffed the air, and then decided it was safe. It put its all too human looking face into the carcass and began to eat.

Aneirin charged. His shout prompted the rest of us and we went into action. Hitting the monster at full charge, Aneirin buried his lance and ripped it free. The beast screamed in pain as part of its shoulder fell to the ground. Ren and Bessie moved up and shot the monster with bow and crossbow. Dumb Bear charged. The elf ran full speed to the monster, ready to jump from the horse carcass to the monster’s back, but the thing was too fast. It met Dumb Bear in mid-leap with a powerful paw swipe that sent the elf hurdling backwards. This it followed up with a volley of tail spikes that knocked Dumb Bear unconscious. 

We landed another round of blows on the monster and it retreated to the air. It made a clumsy flight over the Temple of Crow’s grounds, shooting tail spikes at which ever one of us caught its attention. Most of us were wounded by these things, but Ren and Bessie kept up the fire on it even as the thing flew higher and higher. It was making for the ridge, and if it made it there it would get away – again. 

As it got close it was clear that our missiles were doing it grievous harm, and that escape was its only plan now that it had launched all its tail spikes. Aneirin, who had been holding and readying in case the monster landed again, took out his bow and joined in the missile fire. The three of us launched another volley into the beast and that finally did it. 

With a yowl, the monster flapped its wings one final time and plummeted to the ground like a brick, almost landing right on top of Ren. We had done it! We had taken on a beast that would probably have harassed us night after night for days to come, probably killing more of our precious mounts. We had tricked it, chased it down, and brought it out of the sky. We were exhausted. 

Dumb Bear was greatly wounded, but not in danger of dying. Bessie made us of two of the Healing scrolls to tend his wounds and he was soon as fit as ever. The rest of us would heal well enough in time. For his part Barbrack had obeyed orders and stayed with the mounts. He kept them calm and kept them from becoming a target, a service of value that can’t be underestimated.

Needless to say, we got to a late start on Day Thirty Three. Thankfully it was a quiet day of peaceful travel and no rain. It was also free of low, guttural growls from somewhere in the forest. On the evening of Day Thirty Four we came to a rise, which gave us a clear view to the north. There we saw the other keep Angri had mentioned. It was much too far to reach before nightfall, so we simply camped where we were. 

The first business of Day Thirty Five was to pay a visit. This keep and its lands had clearly been established only recently. Not only were there no completely constructed buildings, but the lands were still heavily wooded, and the workers were living in tents pitched around the area. However, as we got closer we were treated to a most unusual method of construction. 

Two men in robes were at the edge of the construction site, one sitting, one standing. As we rode up we saw the standing figure cast a spell and before our eyes a wall of stone appeared, perfectly in place. The caster looked winded and sat, and the other figure did the same. It was an amazing thing to see. This was the very thing that Petris, the “priest” in Vaunth-on-the-Lake, wanted the stones from the Valley of Drayne for – and how he had promised to construct better housing for the town’s poor. It was nice to see how it actually worked. 

Our approach was finally noticed. One of the robed figures sped toward the shelter of the partially built keep, as did the workers. The other robed man took a different route. He flew into the sky. 

We on the ground stared at he in the sky for several moments before we heard a whisper in our ears, “Drop the arms and approach.” We glanced at each other, confirming that we had indeed all heard it, and then choose Bessie to approach the man. 

He was a haughty sorcerer named Kore, and he wanted nothing more than to have us move along. He acknowledged Bessie’s greeting and bid us to leave. He had no interest in trade or talk. In short, he was an ass. When asked about his neighbors he had little to say. Regarding the giants, all he said was, “the giants fear me.” Disgusted, we alerted him to the traitorous redbreasts and moved along. 

Angri had said that Kore’s keep was virtually in the shadow of UrZin, so we decided to ride overland from this point. The rest of the day was peaceful woodland travel, but as night fell we were still a ways from the coast. We made our camp and tried to be hopeful about tomorrow's visit to the city of wizards. 

Day Thirty Five began early. Barbrack was on last watch and heard the thing first. He shouted a warning to wake the rest of us, and that was just about the last thing he got to do in the battle that followed. We got on our feet to see a giant stomping toward us. 

The giant was almost as tall as two men, even hunched over as it was. It had uprooted a full grown tree to use as a club, and before we could act it beat Barbrack senseless with it. Now it was our turn. Arneirin and Dumb Bear made use of their enchanted armor and were ready to fight. Ren moved around a tree and threw his spear at the giant, missing it horribly. Bessie made up the difference, scoring a critical hit with her crossbow. 

Ren took another shot, distracting the giant as Dumb Bear, enraged for up close and personal fighting, charged. Aneirin circled around and flanked it. The giant was bleeding, but still had plenty of fight in him. He pounded Dumb Bear with the tree trunk club, but the elf landed a solid blow with his flail – and we all got a surprise. 

When Dumb Bear’s flail connected with the giant’s skin there was a hiss from the weapon. Acid was flowing out of it! The giant staggered back, screaming as the acid ate into his belly, and then fell dead to the ground. For once though, none of us were looking at our vanquished foe. All eyes were on Dumb Bear and his flail. For his part, the elf was smiling so broadly we could see every one of his stained teeth. He was the happiest barbarian elf in the entire world.

The giant had a chain of crudely linked gold coins and a pair of dwarf skulls, one with three gold teeth, but nothing else of value. We took those, debating the merit of keeping the skulls before leaving them on the corpse and rolling it off the ridge. Bessie brought Barbrack back to consciousness, and he seemed to be getting some doubts about his decision to come with us. Ren retrieved his spear, certain it must bear a Chakta curse. It had missed its target every single time he’d tried to use it since killing that Chakta rider two days outside Miassen. We packed up and set back onto the trail. 

It was almost noon when we broke out of the woods and onto the beach. A mile ahead we could see what could only be UrZin, city of wizards. It was an amazing sight. 

The city was on an island nestled in a small bay. There was a central tower larger than the tallest tower of Castle Maissen, at least 200 feet high. Around it were six towers only slightly smaller, each one fully a mile from the central tower. Those six towers were connected by a wall of smooth ebony, taller and thicker than any we had ever seen. But the most awe inspiring of it all was the lightning. 

Every few moments the sky above the city lit up as lightning flashed from the central tower to one of the five that surrounded it. We had been told about this, but the words were nothing to seeing it with our own eyes. To think that six weeks ago we hadn’t any idea this city existed – or could exist. 

We made our way to the shore, as close to the little island, more of a rock outcrop really, as possible. There was no bridge and no obvious way to contact the city, and so we discussed various means to get their attention. The idea of an arrow with a note was rejected as too likely to be interpreted as an attack to be answered with (unquestionably lethal) force. So we ended up using our whistles from the dwarven spelunking kits. 

After a few minutes we were greeted by a gull. Literally. It landed right beside us and, in a voice as clear as bright day, asked “What is your business?” We replied that we were travelers from Maissen and wished audience. Without acknowledging what we’d said the gull flew off and into the city. And we waited.

	And we waited.
	And we waited some more.
	And we blew our whistle again.
	And we waited.
	And we watched the cold northern surf splash against the rocks.
	And we waited.
	And Dumb Bear took a nap.
	And we waited.
	And Aneiren threatened three times to ride off.
	And we waited.
	And we blew our whistles some more.

Finally even Ren and Bessie, the most enthusiastic about visiting the city, admitted we were being ignored. Ren wrote a note, “Peaceful Greetings from Maissen. Ren d’Hayson, Bessie Fisherman, Aneirin,” tied it to an arrow and stuck it into the ground. We at last turned to leave. 

After less than five steps we heard a voice behind us.

“Tell Thraud he has our blessing.”

We turned to see a gaunt old man in a long robe. 

“The blessing of who” we asked. 

“Of UrZin”

Now that we had the attention of someone from city of wizards we began our questions. They bounced off the old man like rain off a duck. What they did here was wizardly business. It would take faaar too long to explain it, or how the lightning worked. We seemed mildly entertaining to this man, but he was quickly reaching the end of his patience. So we asked one of our big questions.

“What do you make of this?” we asked as Aneirin pulled out the gold idol. 

THAT got a reaction. We had something that caught the old man off guard. And it knocked a little bit of the haughtiness out of him. We were suddenly worth talking to. 

So much so that he invited us into the city. Dumb Bear refused to go, but the old man would not have us separated. With a word and gesture he compelled Scout, which Dumb Bear had been riding since the monster killed his horse, to move along with the rest of us. 

We were led to an invisible bridge. An Invisible Bridge! We had spent hours waiting on the shore and never even thought to search for such a thing. 

As we approached the ebony walls the old man made another gesture and a small opening appeared. He placed his hand in there and pushed and pulled the opening, enlarging it to the point where it could accommodate us all. We entered and were inside the wall itself. A troop of soldiers was waiting there, in case we decided to become suicidal and start trouble, and we were led down the “hall”. One interesting thing we noticed, the soldiers all seemed to be almost as old as our host. 

We were asked about how we got our hands on the statue, and our tale of the drake temple and mechanus further impressed the old man. He told us that we had indeed done the right thing by “killing” the mechanus and flooding the egg hatchery. 

Moments late we stopped at a nondescript part of the hall. Our host touched the wall and an opening appeared. As before he inserted his hand to expand it, but this one he only opened to the size of a large window. 

Another old man faced us from the other side. We handed him the statue and he examined it thoroughly, asking us what we knew about it. Once again we told the tale, but this time we accented the telling by bringing out the tapestry we’d brought with us. This widened the eyes of both old men. The two of them engaged in a whispered conference and then turned to us.

“What is your price?” they asked.

We all glanced awkwardly at each other. Actually selling these things here had never advanced past an abstract possibility. Faced with the reality of having two things these people actually wanted we were at a loss for an answer. 

“Could we confer privately for a few moments?” we asked. 

They agreed and we stepped away. We pretended that they couldn’t hear every single hushed word we said and they pretended they weren’t listening. Nonetheless we took our time. Never again would we have the opportunity to name a price in a city full of wizards that could very possibly craft anything we could possibly ask for. 

At last we presented our purposely outrageous list. For Aneirin – armor worthy of his father. For Ren – a legendry bow. For Bessie – a means to speak with anyone with a language and wisdom. For Dumb Bear – speed in battle. Additionally – a map of the world.

They considered and partially agreed, more so than we had reason to hope for. We would give them the idol, the tapestry, and individual accounts of our meeting with the mechanus. We agreed and were each paired with a scribe. When our tales were told and recorded, we were led out. 

Dumb Bear had one final request. He held his flail to the old man, indicating that he wondered if our host knew anything about it. And he did. After a quick examination, the old man told us that Dumb Bear’s flail was the weapon of the Frost Giant King – and he wanted it back. We must be careful. 

When we asked, he did confirm that there was a treaty between the giants and dwarves that prohibited the latter from coming onto the mountains, but that didn’t mean some giants didn’t go up there anyway. When we told him of our fight with the giant just this morning he nodded at the example. And told us that we had not faced a true giant, but one of their agents – an ogre. We must also be alert for trolls. 

Finally we were outside again. Our host bid us goodbye, directed us to the invisible bridge, and told us a man would meet us on land with our goods. We were once again on solid land when a man stepped out from a tree (“I want to do that!” Bessie declared at the sight. “You will one day,” this old man answered). He opened a bundle and handed each of us something, naming it in turn. 

For Aneirin an enchanted chain shirt of mithral. For Ren an enchanted composite short bow of quill make. For Bessie an amulet of all languages. For Dumb Bear a ring of deflection, that becomes invisible when worn. 

We gratefully thanked the old man for delivering the goods (at least one us was not completely convinced we wouldn’t be betrayed) and turned to be on our way. He left us with one final thought. “Tell the council that UrZin is an excellent place for trade.”

Nodding, we agreed to tell them. Silently, we were thinking that it shouldn’t be so hard to get the attention of excellent places to trade.

Next: Wayden, Mawgs, and Ballog the Trollkin  POST 173


----------



## OaxacanWarrior

The new format is not bad and I'd much rather have more updates than a polished story anyway.  I liked the city of wizards, by the way.


----------



## Zaruthustran

Yep. New format is just fine.

And that city of wizards sounded really cool.

-z


----------



## Beale Knight

Glad you don't mind the change. I'll be able to get onto twice-weekly updates for a while now.


----------



## Greylock

Beale Knight said:
			
		

> Glad you don't mind the change. I'll be able to get onto twice-weekly updates for a while now.


----------



## Beale Knight

*Session 11: Wayden the Gobber, Mawgs, and Balloong the Trollkin*

We left the city of wizards elated at our new acquisitions, but still with a slightly bad taste in our mouths. At least they had confirmed what Angri had told us about the trail of stone, so that way we went. We managed to make it back into forest before nightfall, set up our camp and hoped to not be attacked by any giants that night.

It was the dead middle of the night when we were awakened by Barbrack’s screams. We scrambled to our feet and saw sails falling on us from below the tree canopy. Great sheet of white moving with a will of their own. Our natural reaction was to shoot at these things that were swooping down on us. The arrows and bolts we sent into these things had little effect. Scores of them continued to float violently down at us.

By then we had cleared the sleep fog from our heads and realized what these were. Moths. Huge moths, but still moths. The first one, whose wings had been pierced by bolt and arrow, ignored us and flew straight into our campfire. It caught fire, flopped out onto the ground, spreading dangerous sparks with its death throes. 

Another moth then did exactly the same thing. 

Barback worked at kicking the fire out and the rest of us either put the burnt and dying giant moths out of their misery (Dumb Bear excelled at this), or kept watch at the perimeter in case all this attracted the attention of something that WOULD be inclined to attack us. 

No such attack came though. With the fire out the remaining giant moths moved on. We scooted about half a dozen charred corpses off into the woods and went back to sleep. 

Day Thirty Seven greeted us with a spectacular sight. When we reached a clearing we saw the fog over the westernmost mountain peak taking the form of wings. It was a grand sight made all the more wondrous by the fact we had seen it before – from the other side. 

The first half of the day was simple and peaceful travel south to the mountains. Just about noon the trail opened up to an almost perfectly round clearing. It was about 60’ across and in the exact center was a tall pole. From the top of the pole, about 30’ up, dangled a cord. Our trail led out the far side of this clearing so we took a few minutes to investigate. 

Large, nearly giant-sized boot prints were all around the area. The pole and ground around it were riddled with deep scratch marks. The cord itself had been neatly cut. The picture this painted wasn’t pretty, but there was no one or thing around any longer. We carried on. 

A few hours further south Dumb Bear heard some whimpering off in the woods, some distance from the trail. We followed the sounds and soon came to edge of another clearing. It was just like we had seen before, except this one had a living creature tied to the end of the pole’s cord. 

It was a fascinatingly ugly creature, though to its own kind it might have been the epitome of beauty. It was short as a halfling with skin that looked like blotched, sickly green leather. His fingers were as oddly long as his feet were oddly wide. With narrow, pointed ears that extended far out from his head, a jutted haw, and oversized eyes he looked like a nightmare version of a halfling.

We watched for a few moments as the creature nervously twitched and whimpered and chewed at its fingers. Ren rode around the clearing just to be sure this wasn’t some elaborate trap for unwary travelers – as unlikely as that was. When Sandy crashed loudly through some bushes, the bound creature almost leapt out of its ruddy skin. 

Satisfied there was no ambush waiting, we entered the clearing. The creature shouted in fear. When Bessie said hello (thanks to her amulet, we were easily able to talk to the creature) it screamed again. We finally got him to calm down and then slowly learned what he was and why he was here – in between his nervous stammers, fearful glances, lip tremblings, and overall fright.

He was bait for the mawgs, which we eventually learned to be a sort of land piranha. A few of the therrick had tied him here to attract the creatures. They were attracted by fear, which this creature had plenty of. When the mawgs arrived, he was to blow a whistle and try to get out of their way by climbing the pole. The therrick would arrive to slaughter the mawgs. They harvested a gland from these little monsters that made them stronger and tougher. Although to hear him tell it, the therrick were already plenty big and strong, and when enraged they got even bigger and stronger.

For himself, he was a gobber named Wayden, and like all gobbers he was a slave. The last clearing we had seen had been where his brother Reloy had been staked up as bait – but he hadn’t been rescued.

It was altogether horrible, but then we learned more. It seems that Wayden, and his brother, had not been forced to do this. They had been hired. Though slaves, they took on this job as bait in order to get extra luxuries and privileges. If they died, their families received the benefits. 

So it wasn’t quite as horrible as we initially thought. This left us with a dilemma. Though he asked us to consider freeing him (“I’m good at cleaning, and digging holes,” he said) Wayden said that if we did that the therrick would probably be very angry and follow us. If we stayed to see the mawgs first hand, our mounts would be in terrible danger – the only way to avoid them is to climb something. If we just left, the little gobber would probably be killed. 

We dithered for almost twenty minutes until finally Bessie took action. She rode up, cut Wayden free, put him on the back of her horse, and rode off. That settled it, and so the rest of us followed. 

There was no immediate hoard of therrick following us. We made it back to the trail and continued south without hearing so much as a foot fall behind us. The day wore on and we still seemed unpursued. Wayden seemed grateful for the rescue, and not worried about what would happen to his kin. Perhaps he believed the therrick would just assume he’d been ambushed and eaten before there was a chance to blow the whistle. 

As the shadows of afternoon began to lengthen, we heard a wail from up on the trail. Listening closer we could discern the wail was made up of several, perhaps scores, of creatures. Wayden knew what it was; he shivered and whimpered as he whispered, “Mawgs.” Amid the mog wails were cries of pain and anger. This we expected to be therrick, so we approached with the greatest of caution. 

We rounded a bend and saw a small hoard of what had to be mawgs, catlike creatures with extended claws and mouths that were virtually half of their body. The mawgs were converging on a huge man. He wasn’t human but for his general shape, being as large as an ogre but standing upright and with skin like granite. The weapon he swung at the mawgs was a strange combination of glaive and axe, and he used it with a brilliant precision – far from the clumsy swings of the ogre we’d killed. We initially thought he must be a therrick, but Wayden said otherwise. The gobber gazed at the huge man and whispered, “Trollkin.” And now he wasn’t shivering in fear.

We had no more idea what a trollkin was, or if they compared well or ill to therrick, but one thing was clear. This trollkin was being mawled by the mawgs, and there were more coming. So we did what had grown to come naturally.

We attacked.

Aneirin charged into the closet clot of mawgs. Dumb Bear went into his rage and joined him on foot. Ren and Barback began shooting, Barback targeting those furthest away from anyone (the better to not accidentally hit a comrade), and Bessie cast an entangle spell as the trollkin killed two of the mawgs.

The entangle captured most of the mawgs, but a few near the trollkin and near Aneirin escaped the vines. Unfortunately, both Aneirin, already dismounted, and Dumb Bear were caught as well. The next few minutes were a chaotic series of bow and crossbow shots, escapes, attacks, recaptures of those in the spell range, and mawgs nipping away at anyone they could with even more of them popping up from underground. 

Aneirin would break free of entangling vines only to be grabbed again almost at once. Dumb Bear smashed several of the trapped mawgs, Bessie, Barbrack, and Rens’ missile fire took out some that were entangled and some that were not. We mostly concentrated on those closest to our entangled comrades, which prompted the trollkin to shout, “thank you SO much for hitting the ones that are trapped!” Even though he was killing as many as we, he was also getting bitten far more. When Ren moved about and put an arrow in one that was at his feet, the trollkin’s attitude changed a bit (“Give THAT man a Cyggarian gold piece”), but by then the tide had turned. When the trollkin worked his way out of Bessie’s entangle spell he called out, “Fire or Meat!?” 

At our question he answered that those were the two way to beat them. He did not, however, wait for us to choose. Instead, he knelt to the edge of the entangling vines and launched fire from his hands. The vines caught, the mawgs burnt, and in an another moment there was nothing to do but make sure those mawgs still on the surface were all the way dead. 

With the fight over, we introduced ourselves. The trollkin was named Baloong and these were, as he put it, “his woods”. We stood alongside the forest path talking for several minutes and noticed Baloong's speech and mannerisms belied his bestial giant appearance. He articulately explained that the mawgs were “burrow-mawgs”, prized by the therrick hunters for that gland at the back of the neck. He also warned us to not anger the therrick, as they swell to twice their size when enraged. 

Baloong gave us some simple instructions regarding the trail ahead. We’d eventually come to a rock wall and the path would fork. Going west would take us straight to the giants’ City on the Lake. Going east would lead us to the Path of Stone, where we could safely resume our westward travel. We were just about to part ways when he remembered something. Baloong dug through a pouch and flipped Ren a piece of gold almost the size of his palm. 

So we offered to share our camp with him. We hadn’t made it yet, but as we had come across a powerful and honorable warrior mage, it seemed advantageous to keep him with us through the night. Polite also. 

Baloong took us up on our offer and did it one better by inviting us to stay with him.  With the grace and ease of a deer, he led us off the trail and through his woods to a field of stone spires. One of these, thirty feet at its base, he walked up to and put his hands on. With a wink he pushed his way though the rock. Ren jumped off Sandy and followed suit, followed by the rest of the party.


Next: Of the region, around the bend   POST 175


----------



## Baron Opal

Interesting cultural development. Makes me wonder what Maissen, et.al., were running from.


----------



## Beale Knight

*Session  11 cnt: Of the Region, Around the Bend*

Inside was a luxury cabin. Bookshelves lined the walls, a meal was cooking in a large pot, there were chairs and couches and tables scattered around, sleeping furs and blankets were plentiful, and the place was accented with exotic birds in large, fancy cages. It was amazing. Baloong showed a safe place for Barbrack to secure our mounts and then jumped into the role of generous host. 

One of the things he mentioned he liked, but could rarely get was beer, and so we pulled out the last of what we’d received from the people of Town and proceeded to talk late into the night. 

Baloong was part of an extended family of forest guardians. His task, for the past one hundred thirteen years, was to keep an eye on the giants to the west. They had a massive city on the lake just beyond the edge of the mountains and, being giants, were known to make trouble from time to time. Judging from what we had seen him do with our own eyes, skilled fighting, casting fire, and even healing our wounds once we got into his home, we were sure he and the related trollkin could handle giants (of course except for the ogre, our own eyes hadn’t actually seen any giants).

We learned a little more of the therrick from Baloong. They were shape-shifters, akin to werewolves, and generally savage. Our host also told us that the dwarven gates on this side of the mountain hadn’t been used in ages. Long ago there was a great deal of gold trade between the dwarves and the giants, but no more. Baloong knew the chakta had ventured to this side of the mountain; they’d been in these parts for months now but he didn’t know why.

He warned us about Bran the Ogre, who had been acting independently from the ogres loyal to the giants. Our host also warned us to not shoot the Big Elk, and to avoid the mating grounds of the Rowin. Neither would be hard to distinguish. The former was an unmistakable creature should we be so lucky as to even see it. The latter would be marked by immense piles of dung. 

That image largely spoiled any further conversation, and so we all called it a night. The night in Baloong’s secret cabin had been the most pleasant evening and the most restful sleep we had experienced since our time with the gnomes the month before. Baloong apparently felt the same way. Before we left the next day he let us know we were invited to return any time. 

Day Thirty Eight began with a fine breakfast and reiteration of directions to the trail of stone: “Go east to head west.” So we did, passing the great oak tree by mid-morning and reaching the tall granite wall about noon. The east bound trail switched back west and that afternoon we were once again on the trail of the stone, high in the mountains and beyond the border of the giant lands. 

The day’s travel was largely uneventful but for one brief stop. Not long before we needed to start looking for a good place to camp for the night we came across another set of dwarven ruins. We knew now that these marked a gate into the mountains, and Ren couldn’t resist trying something. He followed the ruins to the nearby gate and knocked, expecting nothing.

He got more than that, but just a little. As soon as he knocked a rivet popped forward and a hole opened. The cloud of dust that this stirred suggested this hadn’t happened in an extremely long time. We could see a dwarf’s face looking out and a brief conversation began. 

“Yes?” asked the dwarf.

“We bring peaceful greetings from Maissen.”

“And?”

“That’s all,” Ren said with a smile.

“Okay then,” the dwarf responded. He withdrew and the rivet went back into place. 

We all looked at each other and shrugged. There was probably nothing we could learn from the dwarf about this region that Balloong hadn’t already told us, and we had no interest in heading underground. Short of just making this dwarf’s day unnecessarily more complicated there was no reason for us to linger, so we moved on. Whether word of our greetings will make it back to the hill dwarves before we do is an interesting question. 

It was only a little later when the trail began to turn southward. South! We had traveled the length of the mountains! The trail here was atop a high cliff and overlooked a huge lake. Water extended westward as far as we could see, but there was no sign of either city or giant. There was a brilliant sunset though, and while this wasn’t even close to an ideal camp site it would have to do. We spent a cautious night without a fire and with every effort to avoid rolling over the cliff. A three hundred foot drop into a lake would be just about the most unpleasant way to wake up there could be. 

Sunrise of Day Thirty Nine was gorgeous. There were no mountains to block the view, and the sun’s first rays reflected off the lake in a cascade of red and orange. That we were rounding the far side of the mountains and venturing close to territory we had traveled buoyed all of our spirits. Even Wayden the gobber was less nervous than usual. For his part, Barbrack was pleased to have traveled several days without injury.

Not long after we got moving, we laid eyes on the magnificent city of the giants. The expectedly huge buildings stood on an island constructed of wood far out onto the lake. A series of massive planks led from the city to first one small island and then another and another before reaching dry land. Evil and violent the giants might be, from what we’d been told, but their city was a marvel of engineering. 

By this time the trail of stone had begun to slope down. As the day wore on the trail continued to get lower and lower, eventually getting to only twenty feet above the water level. Just before nightfall we reach a three way fork. We could now head south, up into the heights of the mountains, or carry on around. It was late and this was a fine spot to camp, so we chose to sleep on it. 

Really though, we’d made our decision days ago. When Day Forty began we took the path that continued around the mountains. It wasn’t long before we noticed the trail had subtly turned fully east. 

We were heading east! We had rounded the mountains! What had seemed an insurmountable barrier when we first saw it as a blur on the horizon had been traveled! With a sense of deep satisfaction, we broke to eat and consider our options. 

Our initial plan had been to head straight for the hill dwarves once we rounded the mountains. However, now that we stood here we realized how close we must be to the Valley of Drayne. By the combined reckoning of the druid, elf barbarian, and hunter, we determined that by heading south-south-east we should reach the valley somewhere on the far side of where we stood before it weeks earlier. Since we HAD to get to the valley at some point we were going to half to backtrack a little ways regardless of whether we went there or to the dwarves first. So to get the last side task completed, we decided to head for the Valley of Drayne.

Next: Farunk, Ogres, Go Avarashan Go, Dropping into the Valley of Drayne.  POST 180
BACKGROUND post 177
MAP post 178


----------



## Baron Opal

If you ever get the time, a rough map with where the party traveled would be awesome.


----------



## Beale Knight

*The Official story*



			
				Baron Opal said:
			
		

> Interesting cultural development. Makes me wonder what Maissen, et.al., were running from.




This is the doc we players were given before generating our characters. You may notice how some spellings have _obviously_ changed in the intervening years (at least that's my story to explain the differences in how spellings changed from this doc to the SH you're read, and I'm sticking to it!  ) :




On a glorious spring morning 253 years ago the 3 learned sons of  Paraskus  the merciful set out on a quest to obtain gifts to obtain gifts to impress their father. Idein the mage, Lastel the hunter and Maissen the Moongazer each set forth down the Motherriver with a fast ship and a large and loyal crew. 6 smaller ships sailed in support of the young princes, each laden with the provisions and protections that the princes would need for the journey.

On the 7th week of this journey the vessels and their princely cargos made to the open sea, rounded the western horn and made for lands unknown. They ushered bravely past the last permanent settlement of  the great kingdom and set for the southern islands determined to conquer and collect in the name of their father and homeland. Following the wisdom of the ages, they knew to never leave the sight of the shore gulls, for the broad expanse of the waters held terrible horrors that had swallowed every ship that wondered beyond the terns eyes.

All passed well for the princes under the guidance of Felspa and Kalin, the sister moons until the passing of Felspa into darkness in the 2nd quarter of the year. At this point, when the artist Felspa was hidden from men’s sight, they each had a dream. In the dream their father, Paraskus, stood in the mother-river as it turned to blood. His brow was heavy, and as he opened his mouth to speak his teeth fell into his hands as maggots and crawled away. His eyes turned, his flesh swelled and as he fell on the river his hair loosed and spread towards them in a great wind. The princes, startled awake, found their ships captured by this wind, forced in a rage to the open sea. The great wind tossed the waters violently and pushed the ships at unmatched speed thru day and night for nearly a week. Many on the ships claimed visions of terrible, dark lands belonging to the horizons, but none could steer the ships for the lands, or find them on any map.

On the 7th day, as Balcla, younger brother of the moons, rose in the northern sky all of the ships but 1 found themselves in a quiet bay. Setting foot on the new earth the expedition found strange new plants, odd animals never before encountered and eyes peering towards their tenuous foot on the delta.

Founding : Idien is put in charge of the vessels as Maissen and Lastel lead an expeditionary crew. The crew stays to shore for 3 weeks, and finding no evidence of hostility and beast and fruits aplenty decides to set camp on the eastern shore of the delta of the great river of the bay. In that first month, the 3 princes argue greatly over the meaning of their vision and attempt to determine the best course. As Maissen sets the site for an appropriate place of worship, it is decided than an expedition to find home must be mounted. 

Two methods are decided upon for the expedition towards home.  Tawgor, the brave captain, will set to the sea with a crew to find a water route home, and Lastel will search for an over land route with a smaller crew. Maissen and Idien will remain with the mass of peoples and attempt to explore the local country and contact the natives.

Three months pass while Maissen and Idien erect a camp at the great rivers mouth and attempt to “civilize” the natives.  Idien dubs these people “churkey” meaning ‘swamp people’. An uneasy peace is made with these Churkey while Maissen supervises construction of a small fort from the local timber and a tower in honor of the two sister moons.

At the end of 3 months time Lastel returns with only 1 surviving member of his formerly proud hunting band. He tells a tale of a great and evil snake with a demons head that destroyed nearly the entire party, and of a vast desert to the south that swallows men. Tawgor and his crew are never heard from again.

The sixth month passes without word from Tawgor, and hope begins to fade of a quick rescue. Maissen decides that the best course of action is to claim all the land in the name of his father and gather the natives into the fold. Idien argues that they are worthless as people, and should be treated as slaves, and nothing better. The three brothers can only agree on one goal, the founding of Paras, a city celebrating the glory of their father.

As preparations begin for the spring festival, which would mark the one year anniversary of the beginning of their quest the subjects approach the brothers seeking permission to “mix” with the native women. Idien sees this as an abomination, but Maissen convinces Lastel to side with him and it is decided that if no sign of rescue is apparent by the anniversary of their landing, wives can be made of the locals with the understanding that rescue will break all oaths made to the women should the man wish. 

F+1: Maissen conscripts many of the locals to help in construction of his tower and begins a church in honor of all the heavenly bodies. Idien and Lastel begin to grow further and further apart over arguments about the best use of men and resources, Lastel favoring all of Maissens plans, and Idien growing more and more jealous of his younger brothers status with both the natives and the fellow castaways.

F+2: Marriages begin between the unwed citizens and the locals, Maissens tower is completed and Lastel begins conscription of the natives into a sound military and expeditionary force.

F+3: Idien comes to Lastel in the night and urges him into the swamp to see a “new beast, never seen before, and the delight of any who hunt”. once deep into the swamp, Idien enchants Lastel, urging him on a westward course. Lastel is never seen again.

When Maissen finds out what Idien has done, he fends off the citizenry’s calls for his immediate execution, opting to banish Idien into the vast waste to south. Seventy citizens choose to follow Idien, believing that his magic is likely to keep them safe and restore them to their home.

F+10: Maissen decrees the “martyrdom of motherhood” and declares that all women who bear 6 or more children will be promised a place in the heavens, to light the steps of their children thru the darkest of nights.

Maissen also declares a religious council will preside over all affairs of law. In an attempt to further draw in the natives, a position will be granted to a representative of any church that is good and seeks to further the causes of the citizenry. The council is named “the shield” and is given say over most of everyday life, pending approval of its head.

F+11: The first meeting of the shield. 

F+15: official treaty of cooperation signed between the “uncivilized” churkey and the citizens.

Maissens first son is born, he is blessed in the name of the luminaries and is called Sirus, in honor of the great northern star.

F+18: A plague of locusts come, many claim to have seen Idiens face in the cloud of insects. An official investigation into the cause is started. An elite group of 7 is sent with a militia of natives to find the cause, they head south, searching for Idien and his followers.

F+19: The party of 7 returns, warning of a great city to the south, built of stone and protected by a hideous lizard. They claim to have barely escaped the wrath of it’s residents. They also claim that Idien’s rune was carved large on the city gates. Idien is declared an outlaw, and all travel out of sight of the great river is declared to be by permission only.

F+25: Maissen falls ill. The natives say he has river sickness, and none have ever survived it. Maissen spends every night under the stars, praying to the Kalin, the academic, for a cure, after seven days and nights of constant prayer he recovers. The natives declare it a miracle, and pledge eternal loyalty to “Maissen the undying”.

F+28 The northern nomads, called Shokta by the churkeys swarm down the river. Maissen meets them and issues a wish for peace The shokta warn that the citizens have 1 year to collect tribute enough to appease, or they will fall, the churkeys beg Maissen to give in to their demands. Maissen refuses, issuing instead an order to build fortifications along the river and to the west of the town, which he now dubs “Belsdark” , meaning ‘unfailing’. 

F+29: Maissen stands guard over the city’s defenses, and sends forth a contingent of churkey to warn of his might and preparation. The churkey messengers float back to Belsdark with their hands and feet bound and heads removed.

The citizens of Belsdark are each commissioned to stand to the last man should an attack come. When the Shokta arrive, they are riding bison painted in the color of night and calling for the blood of the citizens who they consider invaders. The siege of Belsdark begins.

Maissen calls the shield together and 3 are chosen from it’s rank as champions. Kolor, the war priest, Hestus, the natural mage, and Gurdus the warrior step forward and issue a challenge to the best of the shokta, who vainly accept. Hestus and Kolor boldly strike down their opponents, but Gurdus is killed in the fray In a fit of rage over the defeat of his champions the shokta chieftain hurls his black stone axe at Hestus, who is killed by the blow. Kolor manages to escape to the safety of the ramparts with the axe and Hestus and Kolor are declared the first “heroes of Maissen”. The siege continues for 45 days, and on the rising of the sun in the south the army of the shokta is gone. Maissen declares it a miracle provided by the luminaries, but is soon refuted by a messenger who arrives saying he was sent by Idien. The messenger says that Idien has formed powerful alliances with a desert spirit who was called in to destroy the army and that it is the last act of brotherhood that Maissen can ever expect to see unless Idien is forgiven of all his crimes and placed at his brothers side as a head of the new state. Maissen refuses.

F+35: Maissen dies. Many mourn what they see to be their ultimate doom before Sirus steps forward and claims that the city shall be named Maissen in his honor, and he will now head the shield, for the betterment of all.

F+38: Sirus declares that 2 more cities should be built, and proclaims that a new temple shall be erected in the name of his father. Contingents are chosen and sent forth to the river bend and the north bay to build.

F+40: Sirus declares that the spirit of his father shall be honored by the best and brightest competing for a great prize. Games are held with admission to any who wish. Contests of magic and might dominate and the winners are “rewarded” by being sent forth with the supplies they wish to find home. The winners wish for construction of what will be the largest boat ever seen and begin preparations for its construction and armament.

F+42: The boat is ready and armed, and its crew selected to aid the heroes. On the selected day, the boat leaves its shelter in the bay to much acclaim. Before it can break the horizon it is destroyed by a huge turtle and the survivors are slain by a the denizens of a swift ship who appear from seemingly nowhere. The population is crushed and blames Sirus. Sirus declares the crew all “heroes of Maissen” and promises that new stars will appear soon in the sky in their honor.  The next night two new stars burst into the sky, providing so much light at to even be seen on the daytime. The citizenry is in awe of Sirus for his prediction and even when the light fades and the stars shrink to a normal size there is a palpable sense of dedication to Sirus and the new society he heads. Many begin to believe that all has been for a good reason, and Sirus will show them the path to the future.

F+45: Sirus declares new a new quest. Rather than games he decides that every five years the elders and members of the shield from each town shall choose at least 4 who are capable of a quest. These adventurers shall issue forth on the land and make peace, strike trade, and gather rewards in the name of his father. The greatest of these shall be equipped by the church to go forth overland and attempt to find a way to the homeland. The response is overwhelming, with many youths from the many villages and towns clamoring for a position on a “team”. Political maneuvering in some places spoils many groups, but most are prepared with the greater good of all in mind. The groups meet in Maissen for a great feast before being sent off for 3 months into the wilderness. All are given a stirring speech by Sirus in which he notes that it is their duty to “spread law, make peace, strike down the war-mongering heathens of the wild and bring pride to the realm”

F+50 Few have returned from Sirus’ new quest. Those who did were granted lands and title. Many of these set forth on the Holiest Quest, the search for home. Sirus grants the right to join the luminaries to any who further the cause.

F+60 The elders of most towns begin to see the questing as too great a strain on the economy and population and petition Sirus to continue with his plans, but at a slowed pace that preserves some of the young and talented for the here and now. Sirus, being fair and just, hears their needs and declares that each chartered town shall produce not less than four capable of the quest each time a member of their elder board is replaced. The shield officially recognizes the elder boards of Vaunth-on-the-Lake and Seaborn. 

F+63 Sirus dies without a direct heir. In a surprise announcement on the 3rd day of his funeral an announcement is read stating that Maissen will no longer be ruled by royalty, but by order of the Sheild.

F+72 A questing group known as Biddles Six returns from the wilds, they bring with them 12 Shokta and request acknowledgement of the small batch of natives as citizens. The Shield refuses and Biddles Six declares the shield in violation of natural law refuse their status as citizens of Maissen.

Biddles Six move north with over 50 followers, swearing to build a better state. Rumors soon spread of the group being assimilated into a woodland culture.

F+81 Dorn, a druid of the swamps, arrives in Seaborn preaching about the status of the natives and trying to convince people that they are the equals of the founders. He is declared a heretic and an outlaw. Dorn disappears into the northern swamp with a band of runaway natives freed from slavery with the help of mixed breeds. The natives begin to worship Dorn as their redeemer and secret sects spring up amongst natives who worship his image.

Controversy surrounds the swamps and their inhabitants as the population tries to decide whether Dorn is a visionary or a rebel bandit.


----------



## Beale Knight

*Map*



			
				Baron Opal said:
			
		

> If you ever get the time, a rough map with where the party traveled would be awesome.




This is a map built off the map the gnomes drew for us in the dirt. Ever since, "drawing pictures in the dirt" has been an ongoing joke in our group. What you see is updated up to the point where we reached the Town of the Sons of Lastelle.


----------



## OaxacanWarrior

Great updates!  I really like the way that the leaders have become mythical with a lot of religious significance.  Great background info.

The map does look like it was written in the dirt.


----------



## Beale Knight

*Session 11 (end): Farunk, Ogres, Go Avarashan Go, Dropping into the Valley of Drayne.*

We made our way out of the mountains proper and to the foothills before noon. The hills slowly became less and less noticeable until finally we were on generally flat ground marked with an abundance of rock outcroppings. We were traveling through these when we heard the sounds of fighting up ahead. 

Racing forward, we saw a half dozen farunk battling a pair of ogres – and losing. It took only a glance for us to each confirm that these farunk were of the tribe that had “adopted” us, and that was all the more reason to join the battle. 

Aneirin charged. Avarshan’s hooves barely touched a high outcropping of rock as Aneirin slammed his lanced into the first ogre. Ren rode Sandy the war-lizard atop another outcropping and shot at the other ogre. Dumb Bear and Babrack surged forward as Bessie began a summoning. A moment later a hippogriff answered the druid's call and attacked the arrow-struck ogre. Aneirin’s sword delivered a punishing blow to the ogre he’d charged, and a raging Dumb Bear pounded his mace into the monster to finish it off. 

The summoned hippogriff suffered two deadly blows from the ogre, but that saved the nearby farunk from taking them. Ren and Babrack peppered the ogre with arrows and were soon joined by Bessie with her crossbow. The farunk continued to shoot arrows at the remaining ogre, but to little effect.

With an annoyed scowl at Dumb Bear, Aneirin charged that second ogre, who proceeded to pound him with his club. Avarshan took great offense to this monster hurting his master so, and bit him. 

To death. 

The rest of us stared in stunned silence for a moment before breaking out laughing and cheering the valiant war horse. 

We saw to the farunk dead and sat to share bread with the survivors. Through Bessie and her translating amulet, they told us that the world was ending. “Chakta are riding north, ogres are coming down from the mountain, and all is wrong!” they lamented. These ogres, the farunk said, were followers of Bron – a blue skinned ogre. A few pieces of information fell together for us. Balloong had warned us about Bron, and Angri had warned us that blue skinned ogres were powerful magic users. Bron was apparently powerful enough to strike out on his own from the giants and be a regional power. 

The farunk had been on patrol when they encountered these ogres. Patrols had become more frequent since the world began to end. Brons’s ogre followers had been coming to kill farunk every few days. They were based in a cave house, they said, and another piece of information fell into place. With some questioning we deduced that this cave house was the plateau in Ghost Dragon Mountain where we had last laid eyes on the redbreasts, and Idien. The farunk confirmed this by saying the redbreasts  had returned three weeks earlier and robbed the tribe of women and gems and more. 

So now we knew what the redbreasts were doing, even if we hadn’t quite figured out why. But we weren’t going to just then, so we made ready to set forth again. 

Through out our talk with the Farunk, Dumb Bear had busied himself with the practical task of looting the ogre bodies. Someone had been paying them, because they carried gold bars that we loosely appraised at ten gold pieces each. It was a tidy sum, but the farunk asked if they could take their share of the booty in the person of Wayden. They could use a slave skilled at cleaning things and digging holes, they said. Wayden was more than willing to go along with this, especially after we made it clear to him we expected to run into much more fighting. That settled, we divided the gold bars by five – six for each of us, three for Barbrack, and three to Maissen (we were going to have to present the elders with SOMETHING besides some kerbal skins).

The rest of the day was simple and peaceful travel. By evening we could see the clouds of endless storm in the distance. Though it was no surprise that the storm was still going, by the time we approached the Valley of Drayne on Day Forty One, it was still amazing to realize this was the same storm we’d seen weeks earlier. 

At the edge of the valley we easily found a orange rock and loaded it into the rock case Patris provided. That left us with three to get, and those were clearly not going to be so easily obtained. The valley wall was virtually sheer, and there was no sign of the rocks we needed up top. Undaunted, we headed east to hunt for them, or a good way down. 
We did not find either by nightfall. What we did find was where the river from the east fell into the valley. 

At that point it dawned on us. We’d been here before! We were standing just across the river, a literal stone’s throw from where we had stood once before. We had traveled fully around the Ghost Dragon Mountains and returned to familiar territory. 

It was a bittersweet moment. On the one hand, we had accomplished an amazing trek that few had tried and fewer matched. On the other we had lost two of our dear companions doing so, and we weren’t nearly home yet. Despite the magnitude of the moment, there was still plenty of time and chances to die. 

We also still had a task at hand. After that little bit of reflection we continued east to the swamp. We met a group of farunk and children there, and were greeted with the casual pleasantries of tribesmen. They truly had adopted us into the tribe. 

It was a relation made all the easier thanks, once again, to Bessie translation amulet. She was able to relate our problem to the farunk over dinner, and seek out a solution – hiring an experienced farunk to either go into the valley and retrieve the stones or to tell us how to do it. 

As it turned out, there was just such a farunk. Malkirk had gone into the valley many times and readily told us how to do it. His method was characteristic of the farunk – simple and straightforward: jump into the river, float downstream and go over the falls. That had successfully gotten him into the valley each time. Getting out was harder – that involved a lot of tough climbing up a valley wall slick with rain water. 

We didn’t really care to try his method. Without enough rope to safely reach the bottom, we began to negotiate with Malkirk. After a conversation that without Bessie wonderful amulet would have probably taken two days, we settled. Malkirk would go into the valley and retrieve the stones we wanted. We would give him Aneirin’s old scale mail and the gold coin necklace we’d taken from the ogre just outside Angri’s keep. If Malkirk died in the attempt, one of us had to marry his wife and care for his children. We agreed to this, volunteering Dumb Bear to the task (since he was out of the hut and earshot at that vital moment). 

With everything settled, Malkirk was ready to go at it. We went with him to the valley’s edge and watched as he jumped into the river. His massive form floated with an odd grace to the falls and then tumbled over. 

We held our breath and looked over the edge into the valley. After fewer tense minutes than it felt like we saw Malkirk emerge from the lake below. He waved at us and vanished into the rain. After what seemed like hours we saw him at the base of the cliff. He put one hand on the cliff and began to climb.

Malkirk climbed the valley wall like a champion. It was obvious he had done this many times before, and had probably learned this section of wall was best suited to the task. The farunk made his way one quarter of the way up. Then halfway. Then two-thirds. He was three quarters of the way to the top when his hand slipped. 

He fell. 

His hand reached out wildly and saved him. He grabbed hold of a bit of cliff and stopped his fall, but was in a precarious spot. We threw down our rope and he free hand was finally able to get a grip on it. All of us pulling together were able to assist Malkirk the rest of the way to the top. 

The farunk’s pockets were overloaded with stones of all colors. Malkirk was taking no chances to get the wrong stones, or not enough. Aneirin handed over his old scale mail and the gold coin necklace as Ren gave the farunk one of the small gems from the drake temple. 
Meanwhile, Bessie put as many stones as she could into the various containers of the box. 

Once the box was crammed full with the stones, Bessie closed the lid and we beheld an unexpected sight. The box glowed with a multi-colored light and began to stretch and flatten. A few heartbeats later it was no longer a box at all. It had transformed into a six foot high staff of black, brown, orange, and yellow. 

We could only hope that was what Petris had intended. 

Tired and satisfied, we hiked back up river with Malkirk and settled in for the night.


Next: Requiem for a Giant, Witness to War    POST 183


----------



## Baron Opal

The city of Maissen is near the sea, yes? And, if you travel far enough westward you reach a coast. This is where the third brother, Lastel, apparently traveled. 

It's neat to see other's worlds unfold.


----------



## Beale Knight

Yes - Maissen the city is close to the sea. It sits on a large lake connected to rivers that run out to sea. IIRC, there's two seaside towns, but the presence of great sea monsters prevents Maissen from serious sea exploration and travel. Hence the big deal a while back about the ship with THREE!!! masts.  

I went back and added a map of Maissen national geography to Post #25, if anyone wants to take a look.


----------



## Beale Knight

*Session 12 pt1: Requiem for a Giant, Witness to War*

Our night with “our” tribe of farunk was well spent. We filled up on swamp rat and sticker root stew and traded tales and news. The farunk were worried. The ogres had been more active and more wide-ranging of late, and the farunk rarely ventured far out of the swamp anymore. Horror stories of “the blue one” abounded.

That night though, deep in the swamp, there was no horror. We awoke the on Day Forty-Two and discussed our plans. With more time than expected on our hands we sat on some choices. We could go and see about the blue ogre to the north, we could pay a return visit to the dwarves, or do something completely different. After some thought about the empty areas of the map, we decided to follow the river east out of the swamp. There was a coast in that direction somewhere, and odds were we’d end up due north of Maissen. 

With the real threat of wandering ogres, we decided to ride close to the swamp’s north side. If we encountered ogres we could take advantage of our mounts. If we encountered too many ogres, we could head into the swamp and take advantage of the terrain. It was a solid plan, but the entire thing was about to be made irrelevant. 

Well before noon we saw smoke to the northeast. Bessie's owl friend flew ahead and had no ill reaction to what he saw, so we rode toward the scene. Several small fires were burning and as we closed in on the sight we saw why. We had ridden upon a fresh battlefield. Scorched areas of ground, a littering of broken armor and weapons, foot and hoof prints  scattered everywhere, as were bodies and carrion eaters. 

All of the bodies were larger than we five. There were plenty of ogres, and kerbals, but also many real giants. Some of the latter looked simply like larger version of ogres, but many were larger and with skin of stone grey. One of them was moaning.

Aneirin, Ren, and Barbrack remained mounted, weapons ready, as Bessie approached the fallen giant (Dumb Bear was with us, but the swamp rat stew, or the spices the farunk used, had severely disagreed with his elven stomach). The giant was prone beside a huge, once-luxurious sedan that had been broken into several pieces. Even without other giants for comparison it was plain that this one was old, perhaps venerable. Clearly he was someone of importance. 

“Can we help you?” Bessie asked, confident her amulet would do the necessary translating. 

There was no need. In perfect Maissen, the giant responded, “You have come too late.”
He went on the explain that he was leading a troop to the dwarves when they were ambushed by ogres and giants led by “The Mage,” the blue ogre we had heard so much about lately – Bran. He detailed some of the battle, telling us how The Mage could turn into a cloud, change his shape, become invisible, charm the minds of his enemies, and so much more. It was a frightening revelation. To think we had considered hunting him down ourselves!

Our giant narrator’s name was Dolemite, and he told us he was friend to Olaf the Short. As Maisseners we should try to get in touch with him to let him know what had happened. Dolemite still had much to tell.

A new gate had been erected along the path to the stone city, that place we had seen the redbreasts last month. The stone giants were standing with the dwarves against The Mage. The Sintars, horse-men whose hoof prints were all over this battlefield, had been driven out of their homelands and were headed south. Those storm giants that could be bothered stood against The Mage as well, but the frost giants were with him (which fit with what we’d already learned). 

Much had happened as we’d been making out way around the mountain. It was a lot to try and absorb. So we turned our attention to more practical matters. 

Bessie offered to heal Dolemite, but he politely refused. “My time is at its end.” We asked if there were anything at all that we could do and he did have a favor to ask. His prepared crypt was not far from here. It was a place he would rather die over the open air of a battlefield. 

We prepared a travois from the ruined sedan and slowly drug Dolemite off the field. He directed us north-northwest, passing in and out of consciousness, over the next few hours. At last we were well into the mountains and the stone giant bid us stop. We had arrived.

The place looked like any other rock wall we had passed since getting into the mountains, but Dolemite pointed out a subtle depression. He handed Bessie his amulet, the size of a dinner plate to us, and told her to place it in the depression. As soon as she did the wall opened up to reveal a kingly crypt.

Painted skins decorated the walls. Statues stood throughout the room. Stands displayed works of art. All of it, of course, scaled to stone giants. In the center of it all was the great stone slab that would be Dolemite final resting place. Huge stones were close by to be used in constructing an cairn. 

Dolemite told to not worry with those. “Some of my kind will come here in time to build that,” he said. We eased him, as best as we were able, onto the slab and he thanked us deeply. For aiding him, Dolemite granted us any single burial item. We chose a melon sized ruby etched with a scene of giants throwing rocks. This was something we could present to Maissen. 

We left a scroll with our names on it, detailing all that had transpired since we came upon the battlefield. Dolemite asked that we toss his amulet back into the crypt once we used it to close the doors. With it inside, only his own kind could open the hidden doors. We complied, Bessie scooting it back as the stone doors began to close. Once sealed closed, there was virtually no sign the crypt was there at all. 

Now we were well west of both the dwarves and the stone town where had last seen the redbreast – and Idien. Our plan now became to reach the dwarves and tell them all Dolemite had told us. But the day was nearing end. Finding a safe place to camp was out next step. Real safety was more dubious than usual. Smoke was rising in the mountains to the north-northeast – just about where we thought the plateau of stone buildings were. 

Day Forty Three began with each of us unexpectedly well refreshed from an uneventful night. We set off to the dwarves along the same path we had traveled weeks earlier. 

How things had changed. By the time we reached the fork in the trail it was evident just how much traffic this area had seen recently. What had been a rough, narrow track through the mountain was now a twenty foot wide road pounded out by the tramping of countless giant feet. Scores, perhaps hundreds, of giant kin had passed back and forth this way within the past few days. 

The change wasn’t the biggest surprise. That honor went to the two nervous looking kerbal waiting for us – specifically. Unlike the primitive ones Ren and Bessie had defeated a lifetime ago, these were geared out in warrior garb accented with white flags atop tall poles. 

“Karkove wishes parley with you,” one of them said. Again the blessing of Bessie amulet came to our aid. She heard what they said, the rest of us heard grunts and growls. Through Bessie we learned that Karkove was a blue ogre. 

ANOTHER blue ogre. 

That wasn’t anything we wanted to hear. Not after what Dolemite had told us Bran could do. Now we learn there was ANOTHER involved! And this one wanted to talk with us. 
The two kerbals had no more information to offer, and honestly seemed nervous to be around us. Deciding we might learn something useful, perhaps how to steer clear of this entire mess, we agreed to the parley. 

We were led up the mountain road a few miles and soon came before something that wasn’t there before. Where there had been an open trail through wooded mountains, there was now a tall wooden gate stretching between two tree bare, muddy slopes. Half a dozen or so armed kerbal stood guard atop the gate. Along the path about 100 feet before it was a long table, gold and gems piled high in the middle of it. 

The kerbals pointed us to the table and went ahead to the gate. We settled our mounts a little way from the table, left Babrack with them, and walked to the table. From the gate came what could only be Karkove. He was an ogre in size and shape, half again as tall and wide as Aneirin, tusks, horns, and limbs thicker than Ren. Most striking was his bluish green skin. 

Karkove sat and bid us to do the same. Once settled, the blue ogre proceeded to tell us how much we had impressed him. We had, after all, killed two of his ogres! He wanted us to join with him, become a part of the army he was incredibly proud of. 

He directed our attention up the mountain. We had seen the big white cross on that mountainside before; now there was a long line of ogres marching into it. “The mountain dwarves will fall,” he told us. “For you can see nothing can stand against such an army.” 
The blue ogre freely admitted he worked under Bran (“for now”), who we already knew worked under Idien. He confirmed most of the giants were also allied with what would doubtlessly be the winning side. He then surprised us. 

“You are invited to be a part of it. You will have power and riches, and see the domination of your enemies,” he said.

We were left momentarily speechless.


Next: Speechful, Surprises, a Sad Loss, and a Decision Presented POST 185


----------



## Greylock

I have Bessie's speech ready, and will post it after the next installment.

A belated Hap-hap-happy Birthday to the Maissen Story Hour, and considerable thanks to Wes, for his time and commitment to seeing this story come to where it is today.

Wes, you are The Man.


----------



## Beale Knight

*Session 12 pt2: Speeches, Surprises, a Sad Loss, and a choice*

"What of Maissen?" Bessie asked. 

"Maissen," Karkove said, "will fall, of course. They take more than they need, enslave their own kind, refuse free entry or exit, starve their people, and all in the pretend service of ‘gods’.”

Those were all true points, though slightly exaggerated, and he made a tempting case. But his arguments had the flaw of all warlords’ arguments. He craved power for its own sake. 

Ren pressed this point with a question. "So once you get all this done, what are you going to be doing with all this power?"

Karkove’s only answer was that he would seek more power. He couched it in terms anyone can sympathize to – a desire for security, to see his offspring raised in the best of environments – but under it all was a greedy lust for control. Not the control that an architect has over a construction gang. Not control in order to accomplish something. Control for fear someone else will have it and do to them what they would do to others. 

The more we pressed him on this issue the more uncomfortable Karkove became. Again and again he tried to impress us with how powerful his army was and that we could share in its power. We could join his forces to our powerful benefit or we could die with the other resistors. Then came the surprise.

BOOM

From the mountain there was an explosion. Scores of ogres flew backwards from out of the cross, followed by a gigantic ball. 

At the table, we all turned and gaped for a moment. 

Pointing up to the pile of devastated ogres, Ren grinned and asked, “So was this part of your plan to defeat the dwarves?”

Karkove snarled and leapt up. “Kill them all, but save that one.” He pointed at Aneirin, the “antique” he’d said Bran wanted to meet; “Bran wants to drink his soul.” With that the blue ogre flew over the gate, presumably to see what had gone wrong with his plan. The gates opened and two horrors marched out. Two monsters that looked vaguely like men, but with their limbs replaced by metal parts. Steam hissed out of their joints as they moved toward us.

Bessie began a summoning spell. Ren reached in a grabbed a something from the pile of treasure on the table, noticed what Bessie was doing and how close the mecha-men were to her, and realized she’d be dead in twelve seconds if he didn’t act. He slipped an arm around her waist and began pushing her toward the mounts and away from the mecha-men. Her spell was wasted, but she would live.

Aneirin, meanwhile, was facing his own hard choices. Escape for himself would be easy. He chose otherwise. Aneirin scrambled quickly to Avarshan and wheeled around to get the mecha-mens’ attention from the rest of us, still on foot. As Bessie, Ren, and Barbrack climbed atop their mounts with a mecha-man close on their heels, Aneirin sped with Avarshan to charge the second mecha-man. 

Alas, the lance hit the metal part of the horror and did little damage. Emotionless, the mecha-man brought its arms up and hit Avarshan hard with its metallic left fist. Blood sprayed from Avarshan's mouth, but the horse never flinched, carrying his master steady on, ready to wheel around for a second attack. Then the mecha-man pivoted and its right arm drew back further than natural, steam hissing out and metal clicks sounding out like some twisted version of a catapult. Then as Avarshan galloped by, the perverse creation released the pent up power in its arm with a follow up blow to Aneirin’s noble steed. 

It was more than the grand horse could stand. There beside a table of riches, the mount Aneirin had raised from a colt, the steed had adjusted without flinching to fighting beside a giant lizard, the equine warrior that had recently killed an ogre, collapsed. Aneirin's triaining and instinct spared him from being pinned under his beloved friend; he dove and rolled away, springing to his feet a step away. Only then did his eyes land on Avarshan's still form. Aneirin’s grief was silent, but shook the stars.

The mecha-men had no sympathy. Nor did the ogres that were strolling out of the gate, confident they would be needed for nothing but mopping up the blood of the humans before them. Bessie rode around to pick up Anierin, who hadn’t let his grief cloud his mind. Without delay, he remembered what the rest of us had forgotten. Reaching under his equine companion, Aneirin pulled the dwarven sword of runes free before mounting up behind Bessie. 

And then we all demonstrated the advantage of being mounted. We left the deathtrap behind us at full gallop. Glancing behind us we saw the mecha-men, ogres, and kerbals were pursuing us, but that wasn’t what captured our attention. High in the sky over the white cross there was a battle between two blue ogres, Karkove and, we presumed, Bran, and three richly armored humans. It would surely have been an amazing thing to watch, but we didn’t have the luxury. We had to keep riding.

One we were confident our pursuers were well behind us, we slowed – but didn’t stop. Now there was even more reason to get to the dwarves.

The trail to the hill dwarf community had seen much recent traffic, and we soon saw why. The first of the great iron gates was hanging loose on its hinges. There had been a battle here and from the looks of things, the dwarves lost. Our hearts sank, but there was a ray of hope. The dead had been retrieved from the battlefield. This suggested the hill dwarves had been pushed back, but not conquered. 

When we approached the second of the great iron gates, our hopes were confirmed. It still stood as strong as ever. What had been a border post on our last visit was now the gate of a fortress, ready for siege. Armed dwarven guards were everywhere.

Including the road we traveled. Apparently our dust trail had been seen. Waiting for us before the gate was a unit of armed dwarves. With them was a dwarf in robes who seemed to cast a spell as we strode forward. Whatever he did satisfied him. We were waved forward and eventually recognized. When the dwarves realized who we were, the gestured us to hurry through the gate. The great iron gate closed behind us and we felt our bodies finally relax. We were as safe as we could get just now. As the wizard dwarf and entourage led us to the city, we were caught up on all that had happened.

Two days ago was when the battle at the first gate had happened, against ogres and lesser giants led by The Mage. As Dolemite had done, the wizard described all the various magical tricks the blue ogre pulled during the battle, and how that had made all the difference. Now the hill dwarves were preparing for siege. An offense was out of the question, and unnecessary at this point. 

The mountain dwarves, isolationists long estranged from the hill clans, would most assuredly not fall. They had secrets the ogres would discover to their sorrow. When we mentioned the explosion we’d witnessed, the wizard nodded. “The cannon is but ONE of their secrets. They are the first race, and it is with good reason their home has never been taken.” He also told us that they had seen Ofieg the short and others “going over” the mountain about five hours ago. With that bit of information we were able to conclude that it was they we saw battling the two blue ogres in the sky. 

Suddenly the gravity of the situation sunk in. This was all critical enough that Council members were getting personally involved. They weren’t showing up just to deliver some news and tell us that we needed to handle the situation. The dwarves however, were more concerned with our revelation that there were TWO blue ogres! 

Once in the dwarven city, we saw to getting settled in and then set to the business of getting Aneirin a horse. Avershan would never be replaced, but we all needed to have mounts. It was no easy task to find an appropriate war horse in a city of dwarves, but Aneirin saw the duty through with his grief in check. 

We had just gotten that matter settled when there was a sudden commotion in the city’s center square. We peered down from the balcony to see Ofieg standing there, surrounded by a host of Maissen soldiers and tan garbed elite guards, calling for aid. At their feet were the bodies of two other Council members: Kord the Pious, shriveled like a dried fruit, and Hiphez the Willing, who had been quartered. Though we raced down there, we arrived after the dwarven religious leaders. They were gathering the pieces of Hiphez, deciding on just what would be necessary to raise him. 

That was the good news – he could be raised. Kord, on the other hand, could not. His soul had been stolen. The fate Bran had in mind for Aneirin. They would entomb the body for sixty days in the faint hope Kord’s soul could be restored, but that was all the dwarves could do. 

We were personally unable to do anything but try and console Ofieg. His spirits lifted somewhat when we asked how the battle had gone. “We won the day!” he said. Bran had been killed, the ogres piled high on the side of the mountain. But the price, obviously, had been high. Not only in what we saw, but Miriam the Still was lost. Not dead, necessarily, just lost. Missing. We still had her amulet and offered that to Ofieg. “Perhaps this will help in finding her.” He agreed it might well do just that and eagerly took it. Before departing, he bid us to help the soldiers he’d arrived with. “Remember they are your superiors,” he said.

A perfectly fine conversation soured by a closing comment. 

For their part the soldiers didn’t really seem to need any aid from us, nor did they indulge in any sense of being “our superiors.” They had bivouac in the dwarven town plenty of times before, and made their way to their usual quarters. It was another illustration of the differences within Maissen. The common folk generally dismissed tales of dwarves as folklore, but the soldiers stayed with them enough to have regular quarters. 

We spent much of the night talking with the soldiers. Aneirin quickly bonded with them – the basic truths of soldiering hadn’t changed in the centuries. The soldiers told us of activity on Maissen’s southern border, raids that they had been able to counter well enough. However, they were frustrated that there was no real army to battle. When asked how the common folk were taken it all, their answer wasn’t at all surprising. They were a little unnerved by the raids, but the show of force by the army had kept them calm. The rest – they didn’t know about. 

So all is well and good. Just a few raids from the evil boogie men from the south. Nothing at all to really worry about. Everything is fine citizens. Go about your lives without undue care. Take care of your business. Nothing to worry about here. 

But your leaders are involved in lethal battles against deadly and powerful foes. Forces are aligning in a war that is already consuming the north and will almost certainly spread. Things are far from hopeless, but they may well get much worse before they get better. And there’s the chance that if something goes wrong your life and all you love will collapse without warning. 

Because you’re better off ignorant and don’t deserve any kind of warning. Just keep farming and let us knowledgeable and wise types handle everything. Because certainly you don’t think that YOU could contribute anything do you? 

We didn’t think so. Praise to the gods, death to all wizards, and don’t forget to lock up the slaves.

As it seemed to be shaping up, there was the considerable power of Idien on one side. With him stood Karkove and the hoards of ogres and lesser giants, the frost giants, and the Chakta masses. On the opposing side, “ours”, were the mountain dwarves, sintars, trollkin, farunk, and probably the trollkin. Of those only the mountain dwarves had numbers and organization, and they were unlikely to care what happened beyond their mountain. Only the hill dwarves and Maissen seemed to have the capacity to field real armies. The elves were an unknown, though by their nature it would seem they would never support Idien or the giants. 

From the looks of things, it seems like it will come down to how the leaders fare against each other. Idien’s masses do not by nature form into armies. It takes strong leaders to drive them to do so. If the leaders bring them victory, they will be an inspired and formidable army. If not, or if the leaders are removed, they will likely break into independent bits and bands.

We mulled this over for quite a while before deciding to call it a night. Back at our quarters we were about to fall into our beds when Bessie pulled out a bottle. Where and how she had obtained it was a mystery, but she set it on the room's table and found several cups. The druid poured out an amber liquid from the bottle, filling each cup and passing one to each of  us. Raising her cup, Bessie said, "We have seen good days and we have seen hard days. Today has been one of the hard days. Tales make much of the heroes but too often forget those without whom the heros would have failed. We must not do the same. Here's to Avarshan. We'll miss the great horse, with his courage, spirit, and determination. He died in service of the master he loved. He, too, was a true hero of Maissen."

We downed the drinks as one. Aneirin started to say something, but shut his eyes and nodded his thanks before retiring. The rest of us traded a few stories of Avarshan, his skill at the beach fight, how he killed an ogre, and other things that happened in quieter moments, and then went off to sleep ourselves.  

Deep into the night we were awakened by Ofieg. “Idien’s army is raised,” he told us. “Go home. The contest is done. You are heroes and you are needed.” Ofieg looked at Barbrack and then back at us. “Here I have a problem though. Is he really one of you?”

“Of course. He has been with us through thick and thicker.”

Ofieg sighed, probably dissatisfied but certainly too busy to argue the point. He told us that Mirrian is unable to be found, even with her amulet to aid the search. This means she is most likely in Idien City. That is his priority. He placed four keys upon the table before each of us. “Here you have your choice to make. What path will you choose?”

Each key was a choice. We may become Agents of the Government, working essentially as a “special” unit of the army. We may become Agents of the Church, investigating activities within and without Maissen that may be work of the enemy. We may become Landed, awarded a tract of land that extends the border of Maissen that we are to develop and defend. Or we may become Independent, with nothing to do with Maissen and with Maissen having nothing to do with us.  

The choice is ours.

Next: Talks, a Dream, Portagrumble   POST 188


----------



## OaxacanWarrior

That is a pretty big choice!  I hope they have some time to discuss it amongst themselves before having to decide.


----------



## Greylock

OaxacanWarrior said:
			
		

> That is a pretty big choice!  I hope they have some time to discuss it amongst themselves before having to decide.




I think it was two weeks or more of hard and furious emails. The session ended on that note. Unfortunately, most of the discussion was private, and the DM wasn't in on it. So of course, when the next session began it quickly became clear that we hadn't been terribly attentive, and we reversed our choice pretty fast.


----------



## Beale Knight

*Session 13 pt1: The Dream, Portagrumble*

It seemed like we discussed our options for a month. None of us really wanted to leave Maissen, so we didn’t consider independence, and none of us really wanted to become locked into a particular tract of land. Left with the options of becoming Agents of the Church or Agents of the State. From Kerros’ descriptions, it sounded like being Agents of the Church would have us doing the same sort of “adventuring” missions we’d grown used to in the past weeks. 

That at last became our decision. We slept secure in the knowledge that if nothing else, we could soon start to head home. 

What a difference a dream can make. Late in the night Aneirin, Ren, and Dumb Bear all awoke at the same time. After a few moments discussion, they realized they’d been stirred by the same dream. The EXACT same, very vivid, dream.

Each of us, alone in the dream, walked through a fog. A figure formed in the distance and a voice from all around boomed, "I AM THE FINGER!”  That figure receded and another figure formed to boom, “I AM THE PALM!” A series of figures formed and dissipated, and each repeated that they were the palm. Then a last figure formed, and boomed that he was the finger. We were each then alone in the dream fog.

As we each moved through the fog we came to a figure standing with his back to us. He turned and revealed himself to be none other than Thrand the hunter, leader of the Maissen council. “I am the Thumb,” he said before dissipating. 

The fog then receded and we each stood alone on the island between the two rope bridges, the site of Madge and Killian’s deaths. The destroyed bridge was repaired and a crowd of some three hundred people were in the valley. As one they looked up and shouted, “WE ARE THE GRIP!”

We were then each alone on the island, holding a scrap of parchment which read, “The truth is here if you want it. Independence will give you independence. Throw off your shackles and join us. Return to this spot and whisper your allegiance to the peoples of Maissen rather then the rulers.”

It was very unsettling. Clearly someone was trying to manipulate us into returning to the rope bridge, but there were a host of questions. Who was doing it? Was it Thrand? That seemed ridiculous, that the head of the council would encourage us to act against Maissen; so who? Could it be a trick of Idien, or the Ogre Mage? Maybe even the cloud giants, but why would they bother to utilize a figure only two of our group would know – one, considering Bessie seemed wholly unaffected by the dream message. 

Our discussion woke the druid, and after some more conversation, we decided to investigate the dream. We were only a day or so from the bridge anyway, it was too close to not look into. 

Before we left the next morning we tracked down Kerros for one more question. How long would our term of service be if we signed on as Agents of the Church or State? Clearly leaning toward “as long as we wish,” we finally came to realize that meant at least five years, that was the standard agreement - five years at a time. 

That settled, we packed our gear and let the dwarves know we were headed out. We were met with looks of disbelief. Didn’t we know there was a huge encampment of ogres and giants just beyond the gate? We’d be taking not only our lives in our hands, but also the safety of the entire community if we left now, at least if we left through the main gate. The dwarves agreed to take us out via one of their many secret doors – one very far away from the main gate and all the fighting. 

It turned out to be a blessing that they did that. Led by one of their own, we trekked through the underground for several hours in all but total safety. At last our guide touched a section of wall. Dirt shifted and fell away, and he pushed open a wide portal. 

We were about fifty yards above the trail we’d traveled weeks earlier. After thanking our guide profusely, we exited and made our way down. Despite our efforts to take careful note of exactly where the secret door was, half of such a door's secret is spoiled just by knowing it’s there, we could tell no difference between it and the mountain side. It was truly a masterwork of dwarven engineering. It’s doubtful we could ever even stop at this same spot again on purpose, so seamlessly did that door fit the landscape. 

By our reckoning it was a few hours after noon. It was actually possible to reach the rope bridge before nightfall. There was no activity on the trail, nor signs of any recently. The war had obviously not reached here yet. It’s sobering to think what we would have had to battle to get even this far had we left through the dwarves’ main gate. 

We headed east. Our travel went smoothly for almost hour or so, and then things came crashing down. Ren, riding ahead to scout the trail, had the trail collapse under him. He and Sandy the War lizard fell about ten feet into a tunnel. Sticking its head out from one side of the tunnel was a badger – a giant badger, his head alone the size of Sandy.

And it spoke.

“Wait,” it said, “we can work this out.”

The rest of the group made their way to the collapsed section of tunnel and listened as the badger, “Portagrumble”, explained how he had friends in trouble and how he had come to appeal to us for aid. He had been tunneling throughout the area for more than a week, just underground – close enough to hear activity and conversations. He believed us to be the kind of heroes he needed.

It seems Portagrumble awoke two weeks ago. He didn’t remember falling asleep; he’d been eating, and then something happened to wake him up. Bessie concluded it must have been the earthquake. The fallout from that event seemed to have no end. 

Portagrumble noticed that his home was now covered with ivy, and he feared that a great deal of time had passed. It had. There was no doubt he was from the same era as Aneirin. Especially when he told us that his friends were halflings. Halflings brought to his home by Maissen personally. 

Maissen had been leading the halflings and Portagrumble to safety. Idein was on the move and, as the giant badger said, he had a recipe for halflings. So Maissen led them to a place of safety, where they constructed a village and lived safely for awhile. And then they all fell asleep. Portagrumble awoke, but he found the halflings were all asleep. This was why he needed help. 

Portagrumble told us where the village was, how long it would take to get there, and warned us we would have to enter the palace, where he couldn’t go. Understanding, we agreed to help and said we would meet him there – at the main building he said. 

Wondering how this would affect the war and balance of power, we kept on the trail. The halfling village was well southeast of our position, so we could easily continue our investigation at the rope bridge and then go to see about this strange situation. 

The afternoon wore peacefully on into Day Forty-Six, which saw us head into thick woods. The trail was familiar but we weren’t the only ones on it. Late in the morning, we were ambushed. A pair of minotaurs ran out from either side of the trail, swinging strange, horn crafted axes. 

The first cut through Dumb Bear’s horse with a single clean stroke, turning the animal into pieces before we could blink. The elf’s instincts took over, and Dumb Bear jumped off his horse and landed square on his feet before the monster before the horse even hit the ground. 

The second minotaur charged at Aneirin’s new horse, but the fighter’s skill on horseback wasn’t limited to the late, great Avarshan. Aneirin neatly dodged the charging minotaur, then wheeled around to strike him from behind with his lance even as Ren sent an arrow into it. The minotaur barely noticed the missile, too distracted by the lance that literally ran him through. 

Bessie had already begun a summoning, and now a hippogriff appeared to join the fight, striking at and distracting the first minotaur as the druid sent a crossbow bolt into it. He pounded Dumb Bear with his axe and gorged him with his horns, but the raging elf barbarian answered with his flail, hitting the minotaur so hard muscle and flesh flew from the monster’s chest. 

The second minotaur realized his advantage, if he had indeed ever had one, was lost, and tried to flee the way he came. Ren drove Sandy back down the trail and into the woods and then fired another arrow into him from his enchanted bow. The arrow struck right at the back of the neck and was just enough to send the minotaur to the ground. 

Aneirin, poised to chase down the second minotaur, now charged on to the first one. His already bloodied lance pierced the minotaur, who was now surrounded – Dumb Bear on one side, Aneirin on another, a dead horse carcass on a third side. The minotaur turned to the last avenue of escape, forgetting completely about Bessie’s summoned hippogriff. The noble animal raked the minotaur with its claws, reaching into the wound Dumb Bear had delivered and opening the minotaur’s chest wide open. The monster was dead before its body hit the ground. 

We had won the battle, but the price was a valuable horse and severely wounded Dumb Bear. Bessie’s druidic magic healed him, and he confessed another worthy hit would probably have dropped him. Then he kicked the nearby corpse. 

From our attackers we gained the two horn-axes, probably valuable gold nose rings with inset green gems, the monsters’ horns, and their armbands. The last gave us pause. The armbands were decorated with a flat stone bearing the Chakta symbol of a cow atop a bison. That there was a connection was obvious; what it was remained a mystery.

Once we pushed the corpses from the trail, we prepared to put our looted gain into our newly acquired portable hole. Only when we opened the cloth did we realize we had never emptied it of the water and fish Balloong had filled it with. The decision to empty it right then and there was easy to make, and made us laugh – thinking about the inevitable pursuers and what they will think coming across this scene. A battle, blood everywhere, a horse carcass nearby, two dead minotaurs devoid of horns just off the trail, and a big – BIG -pile of rotting fish! 

Levity aside, we still had a place to reach today, and so we continued, Dumb Bear riding behind Ren. Once it was in sight we were amazed to find that one aspect of our dream had already proven true: the bridge was repaired. 

The elf was the first to hear it. Someone was on the far side of the bridge. We dismounted and left Bobrick with the animals, and then cautiously walked up to the bridge’s edge. As we did, we saw a figure come out from the rock on the far side. 

It was Legand! The slave we – Ren, Bessie, with Madge and Killian, had saved from the pack of wolves. “Greetings” he called. “I am pleased to see you chose to come.”

“We have chosen to investigate our dream,” Ren said. “Was that your doing?”

“I had a hand in that,” he said. “Will you meet me on the island?”

We decided that would be safe enough, and it beat shouting across the canyon. On the middle island Legand explained our dream to us. To our relief, he avoid being mysterious. 
He was, he told us, the Palm. The Grip was a group of revolutionaries and their leader, the Thumb, was none other than Tharand. The same Tharand of our dream. The same Tharand that was leader of Maissen’s ruling council. 

The Grip was not the same as the Barcu, but they were allied with them. Their goal was the same. Not the destruction of Maissen, nor war against its people, but the overthrow of the ruling council. The council had over time come to stand against what Maissen the man had chosen to stand for, and the time had come to return to the ideals of the past. If we would meet with Tharand, here at the island, he would further answer our questions. We need not necessarily commit ourselves, Legand said, but he seemed confident we would.

We agreed to meet and listen to Tharand, already interested in the proposal. We shared Legand luxurious camp that night, and late the next morning he arrived – and not alone.

Next: Throwing Our Lot, Redbreats' End   POST 191


----------



## Greylock

Man, this was after the game moved to my apartment after my troubles got serious. It amazes me how much I actually missed, even though I was sitting at the table with everyone else.


----------



## Beale Knight

Well you were on drugs! 
And with good reason (surgery, big surgery).


----------



## Beale Knight

*Session 13 pt2: Throwing our Lot, Redbreasts End*

With Tharand was a group of nine guards, a wizard we later found out was named Karun – and who wore a fully concealing helmet. Rounding out the group was a farunk, but one unlike we’d ever seen. He was very well dressed in finery that would make most merchants envious. His necklace bore the emblems of all the farunk tribes. He was, Tharand said, king of all farunk, and we couldn’t deny he looked the part. 

Introductions made, Tharand gave us his tale. It was much the same as what Legand had told us the night before, but the council leader expanded with goals. Idiein and his threat were the immediate priority. Once that threat was removed, the goal would be to remove the threat of the ruling council. Slavery would be abolished. Freedom of movement would be allowed so long as a new threat didn’t surface. And there would be a more open flow of information. The common folk wouldn’t be kept thinking dwarves and gnomes as myth, or that Maissen was the only civilization on the continent. 

He reminded us that anything, anything, we brought back to Maissen would be considered property of the council. That would certainly include Dumb Bear, who would probably be killed outright for being an obvious barbaric monster, and Aneirin, who would probably find knife in his back with hours of crossing the border. 

Bessie and Ren’s lifetime of experience, and what we had all experienced with council members beyond Maissen’s borders, only buoyed his arguments. The problem was choosing independence. Tharand had told us he expected to have a new and better council, with scores or hundred of members, in place before the solstice. None of us, save perhaps Dumb Bear, wanted to live as Maissen expatriates even for that long. 

It was our error. Choosing independence did not require leaving Maissen. It only meant that if we DID leave we could not return. But we would be allowed to live within the borders as retired heroes if we chose.

That was an entirely different set of conditions! Dumb Bear and Aneirin would still have to slip away to safety, but Bessie and Ren could go back to their lives until the moment was right. And we could all join the cause to make Maissen a much better and just place. 
We were in. Without hesitation we made our pledge and were then standing against our government. We would see our goals made true or die. 

Tharand sweetened our commitment by offering to help us get our contraband inside the borders. He would take anything we would offer today, and have it for us when we returned. Bad for us was that most of what we would want snuck into the nation we either needed for the trip back, and our upcoming side trek, or was stashed with the gnomes. After considering possibilities, we devised a plan to store our contraband with the farunk of the swamp, and Tharand would retrieve it some time after we returned, maybe a day, maybe as much as a week. Aneirin gave Tharand his instant armor fluid, just in case things went suddenly ugly right away Tharand could toss it to him. We also each gave up our six gold bars. 

That settled, we brought up our meeting with Portagrumble. Tharand was shocked to learn that the “lost tribe” was not necessarily lost any longer. He told us of Lyncos, the guardian, who was probably the reason we would have to enter the palace. If we could aid the halflings, they could make good allies for the Grip’s cause. 

It was growing late, and Tharand offered to put us all up for the night in his magical portable tower. We spent a night of full luxury there, and learned a little more of the events unfolding in the war. The chakta had a virtual line along the border of Maissen. Getting in would be challenging. There were three big camps of Barcu, with hundreds of escaped slaves and descendants thereof. Things were complicated, but we were for the first time in our lives getting a real picture of how they were connected. 

The morning of Day Forty Seven saw Tharand helping us to the supposed halfing village. He conjured a misty horse from nothing, and whispered into the ears of all our mounts. “This will speed you on your way,” he said. Then with a final word of warning, “Keep your heads at the gate,” he, the wizard, the guards, Legand, and the king of the farunk (with a name unpronounceable by us) turned and departed. 

We then began southeast, and found we were almost flying. The mounts were speeding along at double, perhaps triple, their normal speed, and it seemed to tire them out not at all! This great speed faded a little after noon, but the misty horse remained. By evening we had reached the river and traveled well east along it. There we made our camp, having traveled at least a day and a half of distance in those hours. 

On Day Forty Eight we continued east, and around noon the land opened up for us. To the north we could see the rock Portagrumble had told us to seek. We changed course for it and after another two or three hours came upon an unexpected barrier.

Ivy. Portagrumble had mentioned it but never painted a clear picture. Ivy was everywhere. Well ahead we could see massive pile of it, buildings covered by the stuff we thought. We circled around the edge of the ivy to discover it covered a wide area, an almost perfect hemisphere to the stone rise. 

There was nothing for it, so we pulled out weapons and began hacking away a trail. After another two or three hours work we managed to go perhaps a mile and a half, up to the entry of a smaller mound. Close to it, we saw that it was built as a ziggurat, the bottom section about 25’ across.  

This we discovered was a house. We had to burst down the door, and found ourselves inside a large, but at the same time small, room. The room was a pleasantly decorated place, with a fireplace and nice wooden chairs and doilies and yarn for knitting and a thick floor rug. It was a very grandparent looking place, complete with two sleeping grandparents. Each the size of a three year old. 

This was indeed the halfling village, and they were indeed asleep. We went through the room and found that the next one had a door. That one readily opened and we were looking back outside. We could make out a central building larger than the rest, and thought that must be the palace. 

As we plotted out next move, the ground crumbled before us and Portagrumble stuck his head out. We asked him to point out where it was he woke up, and he indicated a tree off toward the edge of the ivy. It was too far to travel overland, so we had him tunnel that way so we could get a close hand look. 

The ground around the tree had been disturbed by more than the giant badger’s diggings. It seemed Bessie’s idea about the earthquake was right. When the ground shifted, it shifted Portagrumble just beyond the edge of the ivy. 

This made some things very clear while still leaving much more unexplained. The ivy was apparently what caused the village to fall asleep, nothing beyond its line had been effected so far as we could tell. This meant that the ivy was extremely powerful magic that must have been purposely set upon this village, and that it had encompassed the entire area virtually at once. It obviously caught Portagrumble and the two halflings we saw by complete surprise. 

Or perhaps the ivy was a side effect. Or perhaps we were just completely wrong. But there was nothing more we could find out here. We asked Portagrumble to tunnel us to the palace. Our guess that the large central building was the palace was proved incorrect when Portagrumble led us to the face of the giant rock slab. “This,” he said, “is the entry to the palace. That central building is the community hall.”

The entry to the palace was a fancy gate in the shape of an inverted triangle, and it was a place the giant badger could not cross. Whatever awaited within the palace, we would face it on our own. 

Dumb Bear stretched his muscles and forced the door open for us. Inside was a hall of dressed stone, stretching in each direction. To our left and right the hall was more like a pair of extended alcoves – dead ends with armored skeletons equipped with spears and shields. With the paranoia of experience, we disarmed the skeletal statues, but opted to not outright destroy them (dissapointing Dumb Bear, who greatly wanted to smash them into dust). 

The hall stretching ahead went beyond our light, but Dumb Bear said he could see an end to it, with a door. A quick check of the hall revealed a series of murder holes along the walls, a trap for the unwary! Ren took the shield from one of the skeleton statues and pressed that down on the first set of hall tiles.

Darts shot out from the murder holes and clattered against the opposite walls. With a smile, Ren stepped forward and repeated the process to the same results. He did it a third time, and then fresh trouble began. 

As the darts shot out, we heard movement from behind us. The skeletons were moving! “Dumb Bear said we ought smash them,” our elf barbarian said. They turned out to be no real threat though. Aneirin and Dumb Bear destroyed each one with a single blow in turn, while the skeletons could not even land a blow. The combat was so inconsequential that Ren continued to press forward methodically down the hall and Bessie held the light for the warriors*. 

After a few minutes we reached the end of the hall and the door there that Dumb Bear had reported. It was unlocked but not without protection. As soon as we handled it, gas spewed out from all sides. Thankfully, we were all so tense with anticipation that we were all holding our breath even before the trap was sprung. The gas dissipated to nothingness after a moment and we opened the door.

Beyond was a huge room. Even Dumb Bear couldn’t see across to the far wall, and he could only barely notice walls to the left and right. Ren threw the skeleton’s shield across the room, sending it skidding over the floor in hopes of revealing any traps. None were sprung, but any element of surprise was eliminated. And we soon discovered how much of a bad thing that could actually be.

On the right wall, Dumb Bear had noticed something off. We went to take a look and saw a difference in the levels of dust. Deeper into the room the dust was thick on the floor. Here along the wall it was almost gone. So someone HAD been here recently, but not so recently that the traps hadn’t had time to be reset – unless they had been bypassed some way. 
Odder still were the hand and footprints we found. They were on the wall. Aneirin found a glass vial on the floor, and it was easy enough to deduce what had occurred here, but there was still mystery. How many people had spider walked along the wall? How long ago? What was there connection to the halflings and their guardian Likos? We would soon find out.

As we scooted along side the right wall the far end of the room at last came into our sight. We had just noticed that there were two doors on that back wall when the closer one opened. A dwarf looked out, noticed us, and then gasped. He ducked back into the room, closing the door behind him. It reopened almost at once and a human looked out.

A human garbed in red. A human we’d seen before. It was one of the redbreasts, the one who seemed to do all the talking. 

The voice of the redbreasts sneered at us and said we were too late. The door slammed shut as we ran for it, and was well secured before we reached it. 

We didn’t care. We were getting through that door and we were getting our hands around the throat of any redbreast we saw, and any that stood with them. 

Getting through the door was far easier said than done. We had no magic or tools to blast it down, but we did have Dumb Bear and Aneirin. We also had Bessie, who used her druid’s magic to augment the elf’s already amazing strength. 

It was still a very strong door. Our minds were razors, our spirits fire, and our bodies steel – but it took several poundings by our best steel to break open the door and the bar on its other side. When the two warriors at last burst it open, our foes were ready (and perhaps even getting bored, so it might have been a good thing it took so long to get inside). 

The very first thing we saw through the splinter littered doorframe was a huge dragon asleep or dead atop a small mountain of gold and silver. There was no time to pay that much mind, awesome as it was. On the far end of the room we saw our foes. 

There was the dwarf we saw earlier, now behind a tower shield and with an axe in hand. The voice of the redbreasts was standing by an overturned dias an huge crystal, ready with a bow. Near the dragon’s head was a second redbreast, in leather armor and half hidden, no doubt preparing something sneaky. 

The battle was on! Aneirin and Dumb Bear charged the dwarf, Bessie began a summoning just outside the doorway, and Ren ran into the room and jumped atop the dragon’s tail to sprint up his back. 

Shots from the redbreasts went long and short, and their ace in the hole fizzled. A wizard, hiding on the other side of the dragon, climbed up its side and cast a Magic Missile at Bessie. Its destructive energy was completely absorbed by the amulet she had been wearing since Hilltopple House. Our druid was unfazed and completed her summoning without bother. We now had a wolf fighting on our side.

The dwarf took a heavy swing at Dumb Bear, but the elf side stepped it as he whirled his flail for a powerful attack. Aneirin flanked the dwarf and thrust his sword between the bits of his banded mail, ripping flesh and blood out as he swung it free through the armor. 

Fearful of the elf, the Voice redbreast threw a tanglefoot bag at him, securing him to the floor. That only meant the barbarian had to stand there and finish what had been started. Dumb Bear smashed the dwarf’s new wound with his flail, sending the spiked ball all the way through. With the chain tearing through the body as well, the dwarf’s side was cut wide open. Flesh and bone mixed with armor and padding as they flew out, littering the floor behind in a bloody splay. 

Bessie’s wolf was now well on its way across the room to attack the voice, and the druid also direct her owl companion to swipe at the wizard on the dragon’s back. That wizard was now focused on Ren, who was running full speed up the dragon’s tail up to him. He launched a magic missile at the hunter, hitting him square but not slowing him a bit. Ren had pulled out the thunderstone as soon as the wizard came into view, and now he threw it. The stone landed right at the wizard’s feet, banging against the dragon scales and seemingly deafening the wizard. 

As Dumb Bear freed himself from the tanglefoot bag, Aneirin ran to the half-hidden redbreast. An arrow nicked him en route, but the fighter barely noticed. He swung twice, bloodying the redbreast both times. The foe got in a feeble attack, but fell on Aneirin’s next swing. 

The voice of the redbreasts had by then begun using his talent. He started to sing. Focused on Aneirin, the redbreast sounded as if he were trying to charm the fighter against us! 

Instead of gaining an ally, the apparent bard only gained the attention of a powerful enemy. Dumb Bear was now free, he burst out from the sticky mess of the tanglefoot bag and was upon the bard. 

So was Bessie’s wolf. It bit into the bard and brought him to the floor, making him an easy target for Dumb Bear, and then for Aneirin.

Ren charged at the wizard, but lost his footing when the dragon confirmed he was alive by taking a deep, slumbering breath. Ren landed well, as did the redbreast wizard, but they were on opposite sides of the dragon. However, that put the wizard within easy range of Bessie’s bone crossbow, and he suffered a bolt for it. 

That was enough for the wizard, and made a run for the doorway. Aneirin, Dumb Bear, and Bessie’s summoned wolf had finished with the redbreast bard. The voice of the redbreasts, the most annoying of them all, the one that offered to sell a farunk for a magic item, the one that led the taunting when his fellows dropped dung on us, was now nothing more than meat. 

The two warriors and the druid gave chase to the redbreast wizard as Ren ran up to see about the mysterious one near the dragon’s head. Some were needed alive. There were too many questions. Questions that we needed answered. While the other three surrounded and beat down the wizard, Ren bound the other redbreast’s wounds and kept him alive. Bessie did the same for the wizard. 

We had won the day! More – we had taken out vicious rivals that had thrown in with Idien. The irony that these traitors to Maissen had been taken out by us just after we agreed to become the same was not lost. We however, had not joined the forces of a lich.

Next: Loot, Likos Kanterros

*: The writer is not intentionally thumbing his nose at the DM’s dungeon, but in this case the monsters were fantastically out matched.


----------



## Greylock

Beale Knight said:
			
		

> Tharand sweetened our commitment by offering to help us get our contraband inside the borders. He would take anything we would offer today, and have it for us when we returned.




Don't forget Timmy the Goat!


----------



## Greylock

In case you forgot, the DM of this campaign is also gonna DM our pbp. Best not tick him off. Post, bro.   

Bumpity.


----------



## Beale Knight

*Session 13 pt. 3: Loot and Likos Kanterros*

Our next task was securing the two surviving redbreasts and taking an inventory. We gathered what we could from the redbreasts and their dwarf friend, ending up with the following:

[From “the Voice”]
 A nice red leather armor set;  A shiny (read adamantine) dagger ; a tanglefoot bag ;
 A shortbow; 17 arrows of MW quality ;  a bison/raven charm on a necklace of solid gold
 a cool thin gold headband ;  a scrollcase with a map in it 

[From the sorcerer]
An everburning torch ; matching antique daggers, MW ; red leather armor ; red silk cape
a small bag (think dice bag) of silvery metal pieces (not silver, think platinum) 75 ;
handheld xbow

[From the  mystery rogue]
Wand ; 2 tanglefoot bags ; iron bars with a small button on the end of each. They are segmented like a worm but do not bend ; red leather armor ; bison/raven necklace (gold)
2 potion vials

[From the Dwarf]
Banded mail (in need of repair) ; Tower shield, wood in the middle with iron edges. the shield has a switch by the handhold ; a big (not great) axe ; very fancy and rune covered
 nice helmet ; MW boots ; 2 potions ; 1 glove, an odd glove, with a really clean spot in the middle shaped like a tiny axe.

The loot gathered, Bessie went to speak with Portagrumble. She suspected the dragon was Likos Kanterros, the guardian of the halfling village and wanted to learn what the big badger knew. His response was about what we’d gotten used to, “"A Dragon!!! Oh...my. um, well, I SUPPOSE Likos could be a dragon, I never met the...man. I was always just told he was reclusive, but, you know, he never did really come out that I saw. Some of the halflings met with him...Maybe they would know."

As Bessie was learning this, Ren was checking out an idea. He righted the stand, and then hefted the big crystal, surprised at how lightweight it actually was, atop it. The result was startling. 

A burst of light issued forth, expanding quickly in a ever increasing circle. The light wave even seemed to pass through the walls. Suddenly the trophies from the minotaur fight were littering the floor around Ren. The room’s ceiling, already high, vanished; the room now stretched out of sight. Dim light issued from the deeper part of the granite. There was a great snort and a loud “Whoosh!” of air as the dragon’s head bolted upright, sending dust flying everywhere. 

Its eyes wider than shields, the dragon stared briefly at each of us and roared a mighty roar.
"IDIEEEEEEN!" he screamed. Bits of stone fell from above at the strength of his roar. "TOO LONG! TOO LONG HAVE I SLEPT A WAKING SLEEP!!!"

Ren and Dumb Bear stared agape at the legend made real before them. Aneirin stepped forward, and said, "we are no friends of Idein, and were bade to come here and free you.” He introduced the other two and referenced Bessie, who by now was dashing back to see what trouble the men had started. Aneirin then continued, “We presume you are none other than Likos, Protector of the Halflings?"

The dragon nodded. "I am indeed. And Likos Kanterros is fully aware of who you are. For several human lifetimes I have laid awake and asleep. I heard all around me, every mouse and bat in this hall, every thief who attempted the gates, every drop of dew drying as Balcla drove them from the surface of the stone. 

"And yes, every hero of Maissen who fought away thieves and malcontents intent on sealing my fate." He then turned a sharp and close eye on Ren- "Even those who scaled my back," he said with a small puff of frost escaping his lips with the last word. 

Likos leaned slightly closer to Aneirin and inhaled deeply "You...you stir my memories." He swung his head in very close and inhaled deeply, strongly enough to make Aneirins clothes ripple as if in a breeze "You were there before the migration - but you are not dragonkind.

"Further, how is it you retain the stench of that bastard Hilltopple? I saw and smelled his death myself, I listened for his beating heart and heard an empty chest."

The dragon closed his eyes for a moment and let out another puff of frost. "Obviously there is much to tell, much that has transpired. By your markings I assume you serve the founder of new peoples in the south."

We all nodded, including Bessie. She had come as far as the doorway and just stopped.  

"There is much to tell, much to do....many to kill and vengance to seek,” Likos said. "However, these wings have been too long without wind beneath them. I assume I can take to the sky and peruse my lands, feel the clouds upon my face once again and return to find you...waiting. Even a band of men who travel with an elf must be still enough to rest for some short hours whilst I watch Balcla run from the sky once more?"

We all nodded again, but now Bessie spoke. "Lycos Kanterros, we most certainly await your return. Can you please, before you depart, give us some advice about how to comfort these halflings of your village, who have also just awakened?"

The dragon blinked and looked unsure for the first time. "Three centuries have left me without recourse for the comfort of those robbed of life. I would speak better to a departed soul than I could to the concerns of a man or halfling trapped in himself for the life of nations and trees."  Likos then stretched his wings over us and leapt into the air. He burst up, leaving a terrible churning vortex in his wake. 

When the wind died down, the four Heroes of Maissen stared at each other. Ren finally spoke up. "So - - is he flying off to talk to the dead, or just to get some sun? Or was that supposed to help us decide how we should try and comfort all these halflings?

Bessie pondered the words and finally answered Ren. "I think he is just stretching his wings, and will return tomorrow. We need to talk to the halflings and tell them as much as we can about what has happened to them. Anerin, I imagine your story will be a bit of a comfort to them at least. And they no doubt will have kitchens, perhaps someone will allow us to prepare our meal." 

Aneirin let a long, slow sigh escape his pursed lips. “I at last realize why my father took up the pipe,” he muttered. “A little bit of pipe-weed now would do much to help me gather my thoughts.”

Then, louder, he repeated something Likos had said, "’There is much to tell, much to do....many to kill and vengance to seek.’ That’s what I wonder most about.” He shook his head. “We will learn in time. For now, Bessie, I believe you’re right. Let’s see to the halflings.”

Ren and Dumb Bear remained behind, gathering up the goods that had once been in the portable hole. “Did the dragon make the magic die?” he asked. 

“I hope not,” Ren answered. “I hope it’s just some sort of power in his lair here. Killian talked about spells to undo spells and counter spells and all kinds of things like that that play magic against magic. I reckon the magic’s still there, it’s just put asleep someway.”

The elf nodded. “Hope dragon god can wake it up.”

“You and me both,” Ren said.

Next: Questions and Decisions


----------



## Beale Knight

*Session 14 pt1: Questions and Decisions*

Aneirin and Bessie walked out to notice rain was falling. Portagrumble had retreated to the depths of his tunnel, but all around the overgrown town there were halflings wandering out from their homes. There were no signs of panic; they had been as aware as Lykos during their time asleep. They now only wanted to reassure themselves it had all been real.

The local chief of the halflings, Bindis, led the series of thanks and, after moving to shelter, answered a few of our questions. They did remember the “angry people” coming through recently, and how they talked about their “three goals.” We presume they meant the redbreasts, as the map we recovered from them had three specific goals marked on it. Of this the halflings could tell us no more.

The history of this town was as had been explained to us by our giant badger friend and Thrand. These were the halflings of the Clobhopple clan, led here long ago by Maissen for safety from Idiein. Bindis’ concern was for the old treaties – were they still good? Not coming from the political establishment of Maissen, we didn’t even know halflings were real, much less that there had been treaties made with them. Bindis explained they were for non-aggression and mutual defense, and seemed almost desperate for reassurance they were still in effect. We did our best to explain our position of ignorance and offered our personal assurances that we would hold to them. 

As we spoke Lykos returned. He swooped in majestically from above, breathing his frost breath on the damp ivy. The greenery turned into a breathtakingly beautifully display of reflective, almost crystalline sculpture, but only for a few moments. The dragon then smashed the frozen plants with his massive front paws, clearing away cast tracks of the ivy in moments. Soon most of the village was free of the ivy and Lykos joined our conversation, politely changing into human form. 

We presented the map to Lykos and asked what he could make of it. The first X marked with the “Eliminate” notation was in a range of mountains. Lykos said that was Ferralie Pass, but he knew of no settlements there to be eliminated – of course his information was 200 years old. The second X with the Eliminate notation was home to a society of tree dwelling elves. As for the X designated “Meet”, Lykos confirmed that it was indeed in the middle of a vast ocean, with no island anywhere close. A mystery we would have to question our prisoners about. 

As we headed back to begin the interrogation, we asked Lykos about Derros, a name he had mentioned with disdain twice already. Derros, he told us, was a massive red dragon. Presuming he was still alive, he would be grossly powerful – but unlikely to take sides in the war. The dragon also told us of the Kouba – free trade zones in chakta territory, centered around colossal bronze statues. The origins of these idols, men lying on their sides, were lost to history, and getting to them was certainly risking chakta attack, but he made them sound like a sight to behold. 

Back in Lykos’ lair, we separated the sorcerer from the rogue. The dragon changed back to his natural form, situated himself atop his mound of treasure and then we started our interrogation with the former. He gave his name as Kallus, but was generally uncooperative on subsequent questions. 

Lykos ate him. Swallowed him whole. He then left, promising to be back for “his turn” in a bit.
The other prisoner was suitably impressed. He gave his name as Kotrose, and began his life story. It was a pathetic tale. Ballos seems to be held under the fist of their local boss, and Kotrose seemed to be indebted to him. The rouge was not given a choice about embarking on the quest. All this he said before admitting it, to him, was all about the money. 

For the money he didn’t try to get out of going in the first place. For the money he went along with the others when Idien approached and recruited them. He had been promised lordship over one of Idien’s many cities to the south, and for the money it never entered his mind that the lich might be lying. Everything was for the money.

Except for dumping dung on us back at the rift valley. That was for fun. 

As for the map, it was given to them by Idien as instructions. The redbreasts, what there were left of them – some had died at farunk hands, and they had picked up the dwarf along the way, were to eliminate the settlements at the indicated locations and then meet the lich out in the ocean. How they were to go about accomplishing these missions were not Idien’s problems. 

Kotrose was a pathetic figure. All the more so because he seemed so sure, so utterly certain, that we would not do him harm. Why? Because he was a Maissener, and so were we. That was all. He had complete faith in that tenuous connection for reasons incomprehensible even to the two of us from contemporary Maissen. Kotrose was as surprised at our disagreeing with him as he was that the council had a 3000 gold price on his head. 

Lykos returned then and asked if we were finished. For all except deciding what to do with him, we said. We had too much to do to try and keep him prisoner throughout, and outright killing him just didn’t feel right at this point, despite what we’d told him. 

The dragon presented a fine solution. He would keep Kotrose as a servant. To insure he would flee, Lykos bit off one leg just past the knee. That suited us, as did the scroll Lykos wrote crediting us with the killing of the other redbreasts, and his devouring the proof of one. He backed the bounty for that one, personally giving it to us then and there. 

Our next favor of Lykos was asking him to investigate the magic items we’d claimed from the redbreasts. We wanted nothing that might be cursed or tainted with Idien’s evil, and we wanted to know what the other things did. As it turned out, only the four armbands had the lich’s taint on them, and these we turned over to Lykos (who artistically placed them on his hoard). The other, unknown, magic items included a wand of Black Death (command word apparently “die”), a pair of Immovable Rods, a Gauntlet that would hold any single handed item in a magic nowhere space, ready to give it to the wearer on command. The huge shield wasn’t enchanted, but was excellently crafted to allow it to fold down to a normal shield, and then back to a tower shield, with just a simple mechanism. 

That then brought us to a choice. Did we stick to our plan, go to the gnomes and retrieve our items, then drop them off with our farunk tribe to be snuck through the border to us? Or did we warn the two settlements marked for elimination by Idien that the lich had them targeted?

After much discussion, we finally chose the nobler road, and recruited Lykos to help. We would go to whomever was at Ferralie Pass and he would fly to the Tree Elves further north. If nothing else, these two places would have some warning that the lich had them on his agenda.

By the time all this had come to pass, the halflings had been hard at work – dismantling their houses! Bindis explained to us that they were going to Maissen. They felt they would be safer there than our here in the middle of nowhere. We warned them about the chakta that lined the border, but they felt they could manage. 

None the less excellent hosts, the Clobhopple clan fed us well and gave us comfortable accommodations for the night. Ren located a crafter in town that knew much about locks and traps and gizmos and how to dismantle them as his clan was their houses. The halfling loaned a book on the subject, which quickly became the focus of the hunter’s free time. After the dinner Bessie declined the offered bed, and made here way to the far fringes of the village. 

When she returned the next morning it was with a smile. A smile that spoke of secrets learned and powers understood. It was a smile of comfortable protection and frightening danger at the same time. 

We set out on Day Forty-Nine following Lykos’ advice on the best route to Ferralie Pass. This brought us deep into a pine forest. The narrow trail we followed snaked upward as the hills began to turn into mountains on either side. By late afternoon the trail opened up to a wide clearing. Ren was scouting ahead and noticed a collection of odd stone structures, about eight feet high and vaguely resembling beehives. His, and everyone’s, attention was then stolen by strange cries – like animals barking. 

Then someone cried for help.

Next: Battle! , Ferralie Pass


----------



## Zaruthustran

Wow, good stuff! Liked the bits with the dragons, and The Choice. And Bessie learning wildshape! Can't wait to see that.

-z


----------



## Greylock

Zaruthustran said:
			
		

> Wow, good stuff! Liked the bits with the dragons, and The Choice. And Bessie learning wildshape! Can't wait to see that.
> 
> -z




Our DM was at his finest when he played Lycos. Damned good stuff. The level of drama was so high, I think we were all sweating as if we'd actually met a real dragon. Props, Mark. We were all deeply buried in the moment.

Of course, I was pretty doped up, so that could be the -codones influencing my memories.


----------



## Beale Knight

Greylock said:
			
		

> Our DM was at his finest when he played Lycos. Damned good stuff. The level of drama was so high, I think we were all sweating as if we'd actually met a real dragon. Props, Mark. We were all deeply buried in the moment.
> 
> Of course, I was pretty doped up, so that could be the -codones influencing my memories.





It was indeed a very satisfying moment to see him eat that redbreast!

I also credit the group at large with the coolness of the last half of post 194. Most of that was done between session in e-mail. Save me much time in writing!


----------



## Beale Knight

*Session 14 pt. 2  Battle! , Ferralie Pass*

Ren waved the others forward and rode Sandy on to the scene. Soon he saw that a pair of dog-men had a gnome strapped to a crude alter and seemed ready to sacrifice him. One heard Ren’s approach and turned. The other received an arrow through the neck. It tore through the bones of the spine and sliced through the artery, sending a splay of blood outward as the dog-man fell dead to the ground. 

His companion decided to flee. 

The others right behind him, Ren rode up to free the captive. As soon as he loosed the binding he realized he’d been tricked. The ropes weren’t tight. 

The gnome victim turned into a repulsive woman with sickly green skin and stringy dark hair. The hag reached out to Ren and drained his strength by half. He staggered back toward Sandy as the others came to get the fight started. 

Bobrack shot and missed, Dumb Bear destroyed the alter trying to get at the hag, Bessie and Ren both sent off wild shots, and Aneirin managed to actually wound the woman and avoid her touch. 

The hag then yelled out, “Now!”

At her bidding some dozen gnolls emerged from the hiding places. Suddenly the battle took a turn against us! 

Anierin and Dumb Bead were in the thick of it, concentrating on the hag woman. She only managed to get her hands on Dumb Bear once, draining some bit of strength from the barbaric elf. Bessie and Bobrack found themselves surrounded a desperately trying to get off blows and crossbow shots while avoiding the gnoll attackers. Ren pulled back from the thick of battle, sending arrows into the fray – some with more success than others. Bobrack was grievously wounded by two of the gnolls and fled the scene entirely. Dumb Bear and Aneirin were landing blows against the hag and gnolls while suffering only a few themselves. It was still anyone’s battle at that point.

Then Bessie changed everything. She retreated from the gnolls and began casting intensely, as when summoning a creature. But this time no creature appeared. This time the clouds gathered and the temperature rose. Winds shifted and humidity shot up. 

The druid from Vaunth-on-the-Lake pointed and lightning struck the hag. 

For a moment the entire world stood still save the winds whipping about Bessie’s smiling face. We saw Aneirin and Dumb Bear standing amid dead and wounded gnolls, facing a hag blackened by the force of lightning but still on her feet. 

Then she vanished. All but two of the surviving gnolls turned on their heels and fled. Aneirin and Dumb Bear struck them down as Ren wheeled Sandy around one of the stone hives. It blocked the sound of the slaughter and the hunter focused his ears. 

A twig snapped. Ren shot right at the spot, but saw his arrow fly harmlessly through the air. He bit back a curse and rode back to the others. 

We expressed our amazement at Bessie’s new mastery of natural magic, and now understood her smile from this morning. Bobrack to returned, and we all resolved to use a different plan the next time we came upon a helpless victim calling for help. Both times we’d been fooled by a shape changer. 

Our thoughts then turned to these gnolls. We wondered out loud what they were and what they were doing here when the ground shook.

“They work for me,” came a voice like thunder. 

Coming down the trail was a giant, twice as tall as any of us and with three heads. 

We wasted no time. Ren, still on Sandy, shot the giant. Aneirin rode full speed to it, Dumb Bear ran to the fight, and Bessie stood still. It hadn’t been two minutes since her spell began. 

Lightning struck the three headed giant. Followed by an arrow, a deep biting lance, and a flail that emitted acid against giants, the attack brought the giant down quickly. 

Sandy, ordered to be on guard for the hag’s return, noticed a strange scent. We followed this to another lizard-like mount, this one armored in scale barding and with full riding gear. Saddle bags contained silver coins and blue gems, foul herbs, and other bits of miscellany. These we put in the portable hole, along with the heads of the giant, all still connected by shoulder skin. 

Aneirin took charge of the lizard, what we presumed to be the hag woman’s mount, and tested himself with him as we progressed further up the trail. Night was coming and we wanted to put some distance between us and the ambush site. 

We were all on edge that night, ready for the hag to return, but it passed without incident. Day Fifty saw us continuing through the forest and watching the mountains grow on either side. Abundant game indicated the forest was thinning and as the sun began to sink we saw a grand castle in the distance. Though not as large as Maissen castle, it was fancier by far.

As we approached we could see light and smoke but no other sides of activities. No farm fields surrounded the castle, no guards walked duty. 

Not until we got closer. We rode up to the edge of the waterless moat and saw elfin heads and bows rise above the walls. Dumb Bear hailed the castle, saying we came in peace. We waited.

These elves were kinder than the wizards of UrZin. In minutes the main gate opened and a wizened elf appeared to bid us welcome. We gave him our message regarding Idien and were allowed to enter the castle. He gestured and from the wall itself a bridge formed out to meet us. The wizened elf offered us shelter for the night, had handlers stable our mounts (without the slightest grimace toward Sandy and the other lizard) and that we would meet with himself and the others tomorrow to discuss things. 

Shelter was an eight story tower. Just for the five of us. Bathing was encouraged and fresh garments would await us come morning. 

It was luxury. Not the traveling tower of Thrand, the hidden cottage of Balloong, the tents of the wandering elves, all of The Town, nor even the castle of Maissen could compare to the luxury of that tower. Scented oils and soaps, roaring fires, sweet wines and breads, thick robes and rug, and soft beads. Not the sort of place most of us wanted to live, but it was a delight to visit. 

The morning of Day Fifty-One the fresh robes awaited us. As did two guards just outside the tower doors. They led us to a huge hall, half as tall as the tower and featuring a stained glass window running the full width and height of the hall itself. There the wizened elf and two others that seemed just as old met us. 

Filling the hall were all manner of craftworks. Every single one a unique and perfect example of a style of work. The trio of elves led us around the hall explaining that this entire castle was  a museum of crafts, perfect crafts – crafted by elves. These elves held the most perfect examples in display for any proper folk to see and study, and sponsored talented artisans to come to here and engage in their craft. 

We were then led up a stairway that felt as if it stretched to the stars. A wide meeting hall at the top had chairs for twenty-four. As we waited for the other elves to show, our host explained that there were only nine resident elves in the castle, along with a modest guard and the sponsored artisans. Nonetheless they were unworried about Idien. They were supremely confident in their defenses, but very pleased we had taken the trouble to come and warn them. “It *was* the Good thing to do.”

After Bessie went over everything that had happened to us since gathering at Popa Thorson’s home, the elves answered what questions we had. Derros, they told us, was  responsible for the destruction of so much of the eastern Seven Peaks mountain range – the Valley of Shards. They indicated the herbs we found could be used to craft evil potions but not heal or aid, so we let the elves destroy them. We obtained a common moth for Balford, and elves presented us with a blue one. They told us the hag we fought was one of trio, and would never rest until we or she were dead. 

The elves showed us a remarkable magical device built from a tree trunk and moss. It was a locator. Speaking the name of an individual to the tree prompted it to form a map of moss indicating where that individual was on its flat surface. It occurred to us to ask it where the hags were. Our wizened elf guide nodded and asked us to step back. 

He leaned in close and whispered a name. Ren’s sharp ears caught him saying “Bloomis,” and he made a mental note. The map of moss quivered and slide about the flat surface of the tree until it formed a map of the region of the stone hives. We then asked about the other two. 

Again our guide leaned in close and whispered a name caught as Noomis. This time the moss moved to show a wider area Bessie and Ren recognized as northern Maissen. A hag in North Maissen! How did this relate to the escaped slaves there?

Then we asked for the location of the third hag and again the elf leaned close to the tree. He whispered Toomis and the moss moved to the edge of its display region. There was no map.

“She is beyond the map’s ken,” said the wizened elf. He explained that menat she might be in an area protected from scryes, but that most likely she was dead. 

It was a lot to take in and it was alredy well passed noon. We opted to stay another night and leave for the halfling’s on Day Fifty-Two. We bid the elves farewell and were welcomed to return whenever we wished. 

Travel that day was simply. We camped a peaceful night and Day Fifty-Three found us passing the ambush area again. Armed with knowledge, and with better tactics in mind, we dallied there, taunting Noomis by name. We thanked her for the mount, mentioned the elves had destroyed her herbs, and finally wished her the best as she hid and to send our regards to her sisters Noomis and Toomis. 

“But  wait – oh that’s right,” Ren called. “Toomis is dead isn’t she?”

Fate dutifully tempted, we rode on. 

By the time we reached the halfling village it was almost gone. They were ready to move on to Maissen. We were ready to shake the road off of us. Ren returned the borrowed book and the group met with Lykos. He had just returned and reported the tree elves were warned. We told him our tale, and then it was time to find something to eat.


----------



## Beale Knight

*Session 15: Fey Favor, Watch & Plot*

The halflings continued to make ready for their move to Maissen the morning we left. There were no pressing concerns, so we followed our original plan and headed to the gnomes. Our course took us to the swampy region that lay between the halfling village and the gnomes, and though we saw evidence of ogres and dog-men (gnolls) on the move (about a day ahead of us and headed a different direction), we saw no trouble.

As we reached the river we heard a horrible animal cry. Ahead of us we saw a pitiful sight. A bear cub had somehow gotten itself trapped on a rock well out in the river, beyond the reach of its mother, who was fretfully pacing on the riverbed trying to help. 

Dumb Bear and Bobrack waited at the horses, ready to help the rest of us make a quick exit if our rescue efforts went bad. Aneirin stood ready to fend off a possibly angry bear as Bessie summoned a hippogriff to distract her. Ren meanwhile crept along the far side of some trees and made a lasso. 

It took three efforts and suffering some fierce warning growls from the mother bear before we successfully roped the cub and pulled it to shore. As soon as we did, the nearby tree and river itself shimmered. 

From nowhere a woman’s soft voice said, “I told you they could be trusted. Speak your names that we may be sure.”

A woman with skin like soft bark stepped out from the tree to face us. At the river bank, the water coalesced and took the form of a second woman. We found ourselves face to face with a dryad and a water nymph! 

We gave our names and the pair were pleased we were who they supposed us to be. It seemed that they had a problem with which they needed some help. The help of heroes whose reputations had preceded them. Our help.

Two hags had taken over a cave behind a waterfall up river. One was the hag we had fought days earlier, but these forest fey called her Gelda. She and her sister, along with a host of ogres, gnolls, goblins, and other monster men had set up a fief there, scorching the earth within a wide perimeter. 

They were despoiling the land and had to be removed. Furthermore, they had stolen things from River, the water nymph. The fey were naturally limited in what they could do, and requested out aid. We promised to take a look, and decide based on what we saw.

Our hours of observations yielded quite a bit of information. The site was simplicity to find – following the river took us right to an area of scorched earth surrounding a waterfall. On an outcropping of rock atop the falls was a ballista operated by an ogre, and on one slightly downriver from the falls hosted three goblins more interested in their dice game than on their watch duties. Most intimidating was the trex, a giant bipedal lizard that seemed to live at the falls, something like a friendly stray dog that likes the people that live where it does, but that isn’t any kind of pet. As we watched we saw a water ogre jump up from the river to discipline the goblins, forcing their attention back on their duty.

Slowly, we developed a plan. Then we changed it several times. Bessie came up with the idea of asking the fey to see if the local farunk tribes could and would send aid, and the answer came back in the affirmative. Come the morning of the attack, we would have the aid of 18 farunk from three different tribes. River further agreed to aid us by subduing the trex; it was within her power to make it sleep. It was also within her power to “freeze” the river for a short time, making it as a solid surface for easier crossing. 

We took this all into account and changed out plan some more. Aneirin and Ren spent the next day observing the site, learning a bit more, and returned to change the plan a little bit more. The following day, Day 56 since leaving Maissen, we were ready.

Dawn saw us meeting one group of farunk and heading east along the river’s south bank. We got as close as we dared to the caged kobold guard Aneirin and Ren had noticed the day before and began to put our plan into play.


----------



## Beale Knight

*Important Notice*

We have now reached the end of the session notes I've already typed up into interesting form. There's still several more sessions that I've notes for, but they've never been assembled, typed up, or so much as studied since January. As a group we did get to a good finishing point before we had to break things up due to moves, and I'll get the story to that ending, but it may take awhile and I've very unsure about how I want to go about it. 

Trying to present it as I've been doing may be the more time consuming, and more frustrating as I try to pull memories of game sessions more than a year back. I may do it as one big flashback from a character that lived through it (not going to say which one   ). Or I may do something else. I'm just unsure at the moment.


----------



## Greylock

:sweetjeebus:

UPDATED!   

<goesbacktoreadtehupdates>


----------



## Zaruthustran

A brief summary would be best, I think. Even bullet points would work. 

-z


----------

