# Three Kingdoms and Empire



## the Jester (Jul 31, 2006)

Alathion, situated in the southern reaches of Forinthia’s Wortharian Jungle, is a medium-sized port situated at the end of the Alathion Canal, which- several centuries ago- was the Alathion River.  Since the reclamation of Forinthia after the defeat of the Tarrasques two centuries ago, Alathion has grown into a major center for lumber operations; it is surrounded by miles and miles of wild jungle.  It is also a growing trade hub due to its geographical location- the Alathion Canal dumps into the sea, and wherever two major waterways meet, commerce flourishes.  

Alathion also has a definite seedy underbelly.  The neighborhood in question is called “the Night” by the locals, for reasons we will probably explore at a later time.  It is mostly run-down, with thieves and thugs common.  The authorities send watch patrols through the neighborhood fairly often, though there is no watch house within the Night itself since the last one burned down.  This is not a safe place to be alone and unarmed after dark.  At night, the street seems to sprout fires as those with no where else to go huddle around small piles of burning wood.  Roving gangs menace those without the strength or charisma to look out for themselves.  Rumors of a powerful thieves’ guild called the Quiet Girls persist.  

The Night’s features include a shabby, run-down church of Galador, an elven fruit and vegetable stand, a retired illusionist recluse who lives in a tower surrounded by deadly glass thorns, a notorious house that hosts the local population of dwarven _crahk_ addicts (_crahk_ is a dwarven drug: strange crystals taken from deep within the earth, which the addicts smoke), multiple abandoned buildings (including the burned-out shell of the old guard house) and a few empty lots turned into small parks with worn benches at which the homeless sit.  Though it is not the nicest place to be, to many folks of the city it is, nonetheless, _home._

Take Snave, for instance. 

Snave grew up in the jungle, amongst his mother’s folk.  As a youth, he played with the other children, enjoyed climbing trees and swinging from branches.  Like the elves, he learned to ignore sleep in favor of trance.  His senses grew uncannily acute, until he could discern the details of sight and sound well in excess of those of a normal human.  He learned the elven hate of things unnatural, and of undead.

It was in trying to exercise his skill as a hunter of such unnatural beings that his frustrations finally grew larger than the comforts of his home and family.

The human blood in his veins made him grow faster than the children around him.  He learned more quickly, absorbing in but a few weeks things that young elves took years to fully take in.

An incursion of unliving things had begun to creep southwards into the elven camps, and most of the elven warriors were called to the fight.  Snave was eager to join the battle, and was indeed allowed to accompany the scouts.  He watched and soaked up everything that they had to teach about tracking and slaying the undead.  Yet, when the time came, he was not allowed to help.  The elves spoke to him as if he were still a baby- as, indeed, an elf of his age would have been- and refused to allow him to take any part in the battle.  His aid was rejected, again and again.

Afterwards, when the elves were triumphantly returning to their lodges high in the trees, Snave left.  _They won’t even notice I’m gone for two years,_ he thought bitterly, leaving without saying goodbye.  All he had wanted was to help.  If they had let him, he might have been able to prevent the loss of a few of the dead.  Maybe he could have blooded his swords (of elf-make, of course!) in the ichor of zombies and ghouls; maybe he could have been the bulwark that prevented the one elven platform that had been overwhelmed from falling.  Maybe, maybe, maybe.  Nobody would ever know, now; it was too late for that.

So Snave determined to make his own way, and came to Alathion, where he sought out frugal living quarters in Porter’s Tenements.  

In the Night.

***

Eron had come from a group of elves that commingled to a great extent with Snave’s people.  They had met, briefly, in Snave’s youth; but only once, and never again, under Alathion.

Eron had come to the Night in search of something greater than himself.  The elven loose reverence of nature was not enough for him, and the remnants of the Old Faith (which espoused cannibalism and sacrifice) made him shudder.  He could always sense that there was _something greater_ out there, but _what was it?_  His dabblings in Galadorianism and the Dexterite faith were profoundly unsatisfying, and Eron would stare into the water for hours, watching it flow past, always changing, always the same.  He would tell himself that there must be something more, something larger than all the things that he could see.  He had thought to find it in Galador, but Galador was so static, so in denial of the need for and inevitability of change, that faith in the Light seemed to him to be nothing more than spiritual constipation.  

Then, one day, in the woods not far from a lumber camp just to the north of Alathion’s edge, Eron came upon a vicious battle.

There were over a dozen men, garbed in the uniforms of Imperial Peregrines- that branch of the military assigned to hunt and kill the Empire’s deadliest enemies.  They were renowned for the skills, and there were over a dozen present- and, Eron began to note, there were nearly a dozen more dead in the grass and bushes.

The Peregrines surrounded a human woman.  She moved with grace and speed, blurring from one deadly attack to another.  In each hand she wielded a greatsword that should, by all rights, have required both hands.  Her only armor was a bare chain mail bikini.  Red hair whipped through the air like a matador’s cape as she danced amongst them, sending one after another across the threshold and into the grim reaper’s domain.

Awed, Eron hid behind a screen of brush and watched.  

One by one, and two by two, and even four by four, the Imperial Peregrines fell to the might of the flame-haired woman.  When it was over, she wiped her blades on the tunic of their dead leader and then turned and looked straight at Eron.  He felt her eyes pin him.  Knowing it was useless to do anything else, Eron emerged from his protective screen of brush and met her eyes.  

Her goddess was Coila, mistress of time, authority, inevitability and relentlessness.  All his searching seemed to condense down into a droplet of certainty.  _This was it._  This was what he had been searching for.  Coila.

The woman- Sheva- gladly told him of her goddess.  He implored her to take him on as her apprentice, but she scoffed.  “You elves are too flighty!” she declared.  “I don’t think you have the focus for it.  If I’m wrong- if you do- you can find me in the Shining City, on Tirchond.”

That journey, of course, would take considerable funds.  Thus, Eron, too, came to Alathion, where he rented a small, cheap room in a tenement building.

***

Barouk had worked since his youth to develop his physical and mental self-mastery.  Entering the Order of Saint Spadron, he had aspired his entire life to become a full-fledged Spadronite.  The right to wear the beard girdle pin was something he strongly desired.  Oh, he realized that the odds were against him; even amongst the monks of the Order, only one in perhaps 700 succeeded.

But he would be one of those few, he vowed to himself. 

As his training continued and intensified, Barouk toughened his mind and body.  His hands he strengthened by smashing stone and brick with them, again and again.  Other monks of the order tested him constantly, sparring with him whether he expected it or not.  He learned the meditations, the visualizations, the prayers.  Spadron had been High Priest in Dexter’s time, and was one of the Companions of Dexter.  To walk in his footsteps was a worthy goal for any dwarf

When his final tests came, Barouk managed them all, one by one, physical, mental and spiritual.  Regardless of the pride building in his breast, Barouk knew that the true test was yet to come: the Walk.  Only if he completed his Walk would he have the right to wear the beard girdle pin.

The beard girdle pin was a celebration of Spadron’s quality as a dwarf.  Sadly, no human tongue has ever had a true equivalent word for this quality; usually, scholars translate it loosely as ‘quality,’ ‘manliness’, ‘goodness’ or ‘beardedness’.  All of these terms have elements of truth to them, but a truer translation would somehow wrap all these things- and somewhat more- into it.  Regardless, Spadron’s quality as a dwarf was evident by the fact that his beard was long enough that he knotted it and wore it as a belt.  Thus, the beard girdle pin, which depicts him doing so, really symbolizes just how much of all good dwarven traits he held: _a whole lot._ 

To earn the pin, a dwarven monk of the Order of St. Spadron must first walk Cydra for seven years, aiding those in need.  In order to do that, Barouk reasoned, he must first go somewhere full of those in need.

The Night seemed like a good place to start.

***

Kifla had long been fascinated by the intersection of two quintessentially gnomish things: magic and mischief.  When she was young enough that her innocent looks were still believable, she would make mischief in places too high for her to reach via _prestidigitation._  Always good-natured but always a joker, she loved it when the tricksters and jesters came and showed off in the gnome-homes.  She was fascinated by their ability to weave colors and lights in fascinating patterns.  She gawked admiringly at their illusory shows.  The things they did always made her think the same thing: _Some day..._

When she got to be old enough, she began studying magic.  It was her own father that taught her to put people to sleep or to make the clashing colors fan out and dazzle those in their cone.  She soaked it up eagerly, drinking in knowledge and secrets as quickly as he served it up to her. 

There came the inevitable day, of course, when there was no more that she could learn by studying.  “You can now only learn by _doing,_” her father told her.

She stayed with him for another two years, reading his tomes and doing what research she could to find lore related to her two loves intertwined.  There were great enchantresses, illusionists and shadow casters that she could seek; powerful transmuters, enchanted glades and groves, fairy magi and more.  There were so many possible avenues to follow!

By the time she had read enough, her father’s travels had taken them to Alathion.  Kifla was always a little unclear as to exactly what her father did; some kind of boring diplomatic kind of stuff.  He always seemed to be trying to negotiate for gnomish interests.  He told her that he would be ready to leave in a few days, and, after a moment’s thought, she responded, “I’m staying.”

There was an illusionist- a _gnomish_ illusionist- reputed to live somewhere in the city! 

Somewhere in a neighborhood called the Night...

***

_*7/29/372 O.L.G., 5 p.m., Porter’s Tenement*_

The building is large but shabby, painted a yellow that has since faded badly to a bleached piss color.  It is divided into eight sections per floor, each section consisting of eight small individual rooms strung along a hallway with a single kitchen, bathroom and communal area.  In one of these communal areas in this shabby tenement building in this run-down neighborhood, three people sit on worn couches.  All are male.  One is a dwarf, one is an elf and one is a half-elf.

“I’m getting low on money,” Snave (the half-elf) complains.  “I can’t afford to pay rent, and it’s due in a few days.”

“Well,” replies the elf- whose name, as we already know, is Eron- “you could always try to find work...”

“I don’t want to work!” snorts Snave is disdain.

“I’m pretty low on money too,” the dwarf- Barouk- states.  “Maybe we could try to rustle up some action at one of the local taverns.”

“Not a bad idea,” Snave nods, and the three of them head down to the Drunken Dolphin, a rather rough tavern aimed at the sailor crowd more than anyone else.  When they reach it, the place is at the very end of a bar fight, and by the time they enter the swinging doors, the fight is over.  Fortunately, there is now a table with three vacant seats at it, and our heroes push through the crowd to claim it.

A barmaid bustles over and soon Snave and Barouk have bowls of fish stew and cups of mead before them.  The elf takes only water and stares obsessively at it.  After a few moments, they drift off in the crowd to try to pick up bits of conversation and- perhaps- a lead on some easy money.  When they reconvene, they have each heard something: some king from a faraway land has declared himself a god, there’s some sort of big war going on in distant places (must not be too important, since it hasn’t touched Forinthia proper) and- bingo!

“I heard an old man,” says Snave, “telling a story about some caves in the King’s Cliff behind the water tower.  I guess his dog Skip went into a hidden cave and when he found him, he was dead of two small wounds.”

“Caves, eh?”  Barouk nods.  “All right.”

The three of them finish their drinks, then go outside.  Glancing around, they can’t help but notice something fortuitous: the water tower is the next building over from the Drunken Dolphin, and the cliffs are right behind them!  Grinning in the darkness, they move to the base of the cliff and begin searching.  It takes them less than half an hour to find what they are seeking: two rocks with a third crossed above them, but with a navigable opening allowing ingress into a cave. 

Cautiously, they move in.  A small amount of light comes in from the entrance, but not far ahead it becomes pitch black.  As they begin to move carefully forward, Snave suddenly whispers, “I hear something- squeaking.”  He listens intently and then gulps.  “It sounds like stirges,” he whispers.

And then, suddenly, a flock of the horrid little beasts, like mosquitoes the size of a small dog, is flying out at them!  

Snave splits one of them in half before it even reaches its target.  The other three, however, all attach themselves to Barouk!  The dwarf grimaces and smashes one of them with his bare hand!  “Kiai!!” he shouts.

But the other two begin sucking his blood at a prodigious rate.  The three would-be adventurers struggle to destroy the parasites before they kill Barouk.  Eron casts _light_ on Barouk’s quarterstaff, hoping to distract the stirges with it, but they are already attached to a warm, blood-filled target.  The dwarf groans as he smashes another of the monsters, and then, a moment later, the last one is destroyed.  Shaking, light-headed, Barouk takes a moment to gather his wits before the group proceeds down the hall.  

It is here that Snave departs.  “I think I drank too much mead,” he groans, and stumbles back out of the cave.  

Barouk and Eron push forward, mostly at the dwarf’s urging.  “Just a little further,” he insists.  At the end of the hall is a shaft that descends at about a 40 degree angle.  Carefully, they start their descent.  It is slick with moisture, and though it isn’t a sheer shaft, it looks like a painful fall regardless.  Soon Barouk tests this theory and decides that it is correct, wincing in pain as he picks himself up at the bottom.  Eron follows, descending through about 30’ of hallway into a large cave with two exits coming out of it.  Rubble is strewn about, along with a few bones. 

“Let’s try that one,” gestures Barouk at one of the entrances. 

“I think we should go back,” suggests Eron.

Ignoring him, Barouk starts heading for the exit he had designated.  Shaking his head, Eron follows.  Suddenly, from the rubble behind him, a 7’ centipede springs forth, biting at his leg!  He gives a great cry and begins trying to shake himself free.  Simultaneously, Barouk leaps forward, striking at the humungous bug with his pudgy dwarven fists.  The two of them struggle with the immense centipede as its mandibles chew great holes in Eron, injecting dose after dose of poison into him!  “Aargh!” the cleric cries, and the bug pulls him down!  He collapses in a bloody pile of unconsciousness.

Barouk gulps, but springs forward and grabs onto the monster by its segmented body!  He begins swinging it so that its head smashes down into the nubbin of a young stalagmite, and soon bug ichor sprays out all over!  Barouk releases the centipede’s corpse with a groan, panting.  After a few moments, he catches his breath; and then, checking Eron, he finds him unconscious but stable.  The dwarf breathes a sigh of relief.

_Now what?_ he wonders.  _I am wounded, Eron is unconscious... do I go on by myself?_  His desire to explore the cave that they have found, and hopefully to find some easy money, wars for a few moments with his wiser side.  Finally, reluctantly, he decides that, rather than risking both of their lives, he will attempt to carry Eron out of the cave and get some rest.  Maybe if they can recover from their wounds- and if Snave has shaken off the liquor- they can return with more success.

So Barouk slings Eron’s limp form across his shoulders and begins to climb.  Immediately he recognizes that it is much harder to go up with 130 lbs. of elf and gear on his back than it was to climb down carrying only the few pounds of gear that he has in his backpack.  The slope is treacherous and wet; and, almost at the top, Barouk’s toe slips.  His fingers dig at the rock, trying to find secure purchase, but he is no match for gravity.  There is a disorienting moment of vertigo, and then pain bursts in his lower back as he slams into a flat spot midway down the shaft.  The dwarven monk grits his teeth against the pain, and slowly drags himself upright.  Swaying, blinking sweat out of his eyes, he realizes, _I can’t make the climb now... I’m too badly hurt.  If I try, I’ll end up killing us both._*  With a groan, he sinks to his knees.  A few moments later, his eyes slip shut and he allows sleep to overtake him; after all, what other choice does he have?

Oblivion...

***

_*7/30/372 O.L.G., 9 a.m., Porter’s Tenement*_

Kifla is just finishing her breakfast in the communal kitchen shared by her flatmates and herself.  Interestingly, three of them are missing this morning- the elf, half-elf and dwarf.  (The other people in their section are all humans, who are present.)  It is unlike any of them to miss breakfast.  Idly, Kifla wonders what is going on with them as she _prestidigitates_ her dishes clean.  

Then Snave, the half-elf in question, staggers in looking awful.

“What happened to you?” asks Kifla.  

Snave groans something about lots of liquor, and then shakes his head.  “Where are Barouk and Eron?”

The others shrug.  “I kind of thought they were with you,” Kifla replies.  

Snave suddenly winces.  “That’s right- we were going into this cave, at the cliffs... I started feeling an unhappy reaction to the drink I had had at the Drunken Dolphin, and left... but they were still in there!”  He winces again, holding his temples.  “I hope they are all right- we encountered stirges in there.”

Kifla shudders.  Every gnome has heard stories about the dangers of stirges!  “We should go check on them,” she declares.  “Can you lead me there?”

Snave nods.  He staggers up, his face green, and soon Kifla is following him along the edge of the cliff.  “It was somewhere up here,” the ranger mutters.  Finally, he spots the rock crossing the top of the two stones that form the side of the cavern entrance.  “There,” he groans.  Then he adds, “I think I need to go...”  He staggers off, trying to shake off the aftereffects of the previous evening’s drink.  

Kifla nervously slips beneath the crossing stone and into the cave.  She gives her eyes a moment to adjust as best they can to the poor lighting; and then she slowly begins moving forward.  After only a few yards, she gasps at the sight of several large bloodstains surrounding the mangled corpses of the stirges.  “Hello?” she calls in a quavering voice, but there is no response.  Biting her lip, Kifla casts a _dancing lights_ ahead of her and continues following the passage until it ends in a cave with a shaft dropping out of it.  “Hello?” she calls again, and this time she hears a groan from below.

“...Help!”

Kifla attaches a rope and starts to make her way down, but her skill with rope is minimal and she, too, takes a fall!  She lands on her side and hip, scraping herself badly, but she finds herself next to Barouk and the unconscious Eron on a flat shelf midway down the shelf.  Shakily, she climbs to her feet and checks for broken bones.  Then she and Barouk make their plan to escape: they will tie Eron into a bedroll and drag him up once both of them are at the top.  Kifla will go first and tie the rope off up at the top to (hopefully) give Barouk a little assistance on the climb.  

This time things go according to plan, and shortly Kifla and Barouk are pulling the limp form of Eron up.  They begin heading back into the Night, dragging him in the bedroll.  “Maybe we can get some healing from the local temple,” states Kifla.  Barouk nods agreement, and they begin heading in the direction of the local temple.  But they are less than a block into the Night when they see a trio of tough-looking gangsters coming their way, lions tattooed on their arms and legs.  

_I’m not even giving them a chance to start anything,_ Kifla thinks, analyzing the danger instantly.  She drops her end of the bedroll and casts _sleep._  All three of the oncoming gangsters collapse in the street.  “Let’s go,” Kifla says, and she and Barouk hurry past with their burden.  “I kind of want to call the watch on them,” she sighs, “but they didn’t actually _do anything_ yet!” 

Soon they reach a run-down temple of Galador.  Sitting within, a waterskin in one hand, is a middle-aged human man with crumpled, threadbare vestments on.  There is dust on the friezes and the stained glass windows could use a cleaning.  He looks up at them as they enter.

“Greetings,” he sighs.  “What can I do for you?”  

“We are wounded, and we come seeking healing,” Kifla says.  

“Ah, of course.  I am Brother Simon.  I will be happy to help you for the standard fee.”

“Fee?” asks Barouk.

“Twenty-five gold pieces,” clarifies Brother Simon.  He takes a pull from his waterskin.

Barouk and Kifla look at each other is dismay.  That’s more money than all three of them have put together!  “Is there some service we could perform for you or something?” the gnome asks sweetly.  “Perhaps if we cleaned the place up?” 

He glances around.  “Well, it certainly wouldn’t equal the value of the healing,” he says slowly, “but I suppose I could heal one of you in exchange for cleaning up...”  He takes another long pull from the waterskin, and Kifla’s keen gnomish nose detects the odor of a strong alcohol coming from within. 

The deal is made, and once again Kifla’s gnomish ability to use _prestidigitation_ makes her life easy.  Soon the windows are clean, the dusty areas and cobwebs have been swept out and the floor looks freshly mopped.  Drunkenly, Brother Simon casts _cure light wounds_- but he casts it on Barouk rather than on Eron by mistake!  Though he agrees to heal Eron the next morning, he laments that he can do nothing further for him today.

So Kifla and the mostly-healed Barouk head back to Porter’s Tenements with their unconscious friend.  Rent is due tomorrow.  They can be a few days late, but... rent is due tomorrow. 

_*Next Time:*_ Will our heroes pay rent?  Are they moving out into the streets?  Will the Lion Gang remember Kifla?  Who knows what will happen, this game is brand new and we haven’t even played the second session yet! 

*The fall reduced Barouk to 0 hp.


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## genshou (Aug 1, 2006)

Subscribed.  It'll be nice to get in on the ground floor on one of your Story Hours.  I'm liking what I've read so far.


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## the Jester (Aug 1, 2006)

genshou said:
			
		

> Subscribed.  It'll be nice to get in on the ground floor on one of your Story Hours.  I'm liking what I've read so far.




Cool! Welcome aboard! 

This one is a new game I'm running with some co-workers.  It looks to be a 1-2/month game; I'm going to try to keep this SH updated within a few days of the game.

I also need to point the players to ENWorld and this thread.


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## gavagai (Aug 10, 2006)

I like what I read.
Whats with the name, though? Any special thoughts?

EDIT: must be a bit more specific. I meant the name of the storyhour - Three Kingdoms and Empire...


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## the Jester (Aug 11, 2006)

gavagai said:
			
		

> I like what I read.
> Whats with the name, though? Any special thoughts?
> 
> EDIT: must be a bit more specific. I meant the name of the storyhour - Three Kingdoms and Empire...




Time will tell. 

The thread title refers to what (I hope) will be the eventual focal adventure of the group; but giving out more details would be, ehhh, premature.


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## Sandain (Aug 11, 2006)

Your starting city sounds strangely familiar - good to see another story hour of yours.  Can you tell us what year it is set in? is it the same time as Great Conflicts?


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## the Jester (Aug 11, 2006)

Sandain said:
			
		

> Your starting city sounds strangely familiar - good to see another story hour of yours.  Can you tell us what year it is set in? is it the same time as Great Conflicts?





Thanks, glad to have you aboard! 

The city may have been mentioned in passing in another of my SHs, but I'm not certain that it has been.  As to the timing, this campaign begins on the day that the epic party began their assault on the Bastion of Law (which we haven't quite reached yet in Great Conflicts, but we are very, very close to that point).  That particular battle hasn't quite played out all the way yet, and its repercussions are bound to be felt everywhere in the world.  We'll see if and how it affects this group- but let's just say that the title of this thread relates directly to the Great War of Ethics, Prayzose, etc...


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## Sandain (Aug 16, 2006)

The city I am thinking of was in a Dungeon magazine and featured an Aboleth - I will try and find the issue number as it may be a good resource for you.

Edit - Found this from Grodog's website.

121 (April 2005) The Styes Richard Pett D&D 3.5, levels 7-11 (9).  

A generic murder-mystery that Pett adapts to Prymp, The Styes focuses on role-playing and investigation as the PCs attempt to unravel the execution of an innonent, framed for murder by a cult of Tharizdun founded by an aboleth savant.


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## Hairy Minotaur (Nov 3, 2006)

the Jester said:
			
		

> Her only armor was a bare chain mail bikini.




*Bing* Sold.   


I also love Brother Simon, hopefully the party _needs_ to visit him often.


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## the Jester (Nov 11, 2006)

Okay, looks like we're finally playing this group again today- so there should be another update before too long!


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## the Jester (Nov 28, 2006)

I would just like to note that I have apparently Forinthianized Barouk's name.  In dwarven, it is Baruk, with an umlat (like a colon but horizontal) over the u.

Update later tonight; I'm almost done with it.    It's reasonably long, and will cover the second session of this game in its entirety. 

A couple of notes:

Snave's player is having a baby soon and may not be able to play very regularly.  Kifla's player works for the first couple hours of the game, so he misses the first chunk of the game.  Aron's player has to leave early, so _he_ misses the _last_ chunk of the game.


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## the Jester (Nov 28, 2006)

_*7/30/372 O.L.G., 1 p.m., Porter’s Tenement, Alathion*_

Aron crawls up to his room to rest and recover from his wounds while Barouk groans his way into a chair in the common room.  He grumbles to himself.  Rent is due on the morrow, and although he has enough to pay it, it will pretty much deplete his funds- never a good condition for a dwarf to be in.  The monk scowls.  His many wounds ache.

“What happened to you?” 

Barouk glances up.  A tough-looking buxom blonde human girl smiles at him from across the table.  She looks to be about sixteen years old.  She is wearing light armor and has a throwing axe at her hip.  

“Several of us went into the caves in the north end of the Night, hoping to find some coin,” he grunts.  “We fought vermin and stirges, but found little for our trouble.  Still, I’m convinced there’s stuff to be had there... money to be made...”

“Coin?” she inquires, cocking an eyebrow.  “I might be interested.  My name is Allyendra.”

“An equal share, if you can handle that axe,” the dwarf says at once.  “And it will have to wait until I can heal a little.”  

She shrugs.  “Bah.  All right.”

He appraises her thoughtfully.  “Well, Ally, there might be a way that we can make some money in the meantime.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why don’t you go walk the streets and, ahem, make us some money?”

She stares at him for a minute, then bursts into emotional tears.  Quickly she flees to her room.  Barouk shrugs.  “Humans,” he mutters.

***

_*8/1/372 O.L.G., 9 a.m., Aron’s room, Porter’s Tenement*_

With a groan, Aron finishes chanting, casting a _cure light wounds_ on himself.  Instantly the worst of his wounds close, and he sighs, pleased that his goddess so favors him with power.  _Praise Coila,_ he thinks, and the image of the red-haired warrior woman that he briefly met flashes briefly before his eyes.  _Sheva,_ he thinks.  _Her name was Sheva._

Then he must turn his attention to more practical things: rent is due. Twice Aron counts his funds, and each time he comes up just so slightly short. Frowning, he contemplates his options for a moment.  Then he draws himself to his feet with a wince and descends into the common area.  As he suspected, Barouk is down there- and so is Kifla.  But, in addition, a big blonde woman is chattering at them.  Barouk looks slightly annoyed, but Kifla seems delighted.  Snave is nowhere to be seen.

“Ahh, Barouk,” Aron nods as he approaches.  Drawing the dwarf slightly aside, he murmurs, “I notice that you are still wounded.  The grace of my goddess, Coila, can repair your wounds, if you would like.”

“Why, thank you!” the dwarf nods stoutly.  “That would be much appreciated.” 

“It will require only the most meager of donations.”

“Ah, donations?  Well, rent is due and I-”

“The most meager.”

“...how meager?”

“A mere 4 coppers.”

Barouk cocks an eyebrow and digs out a silver piece.  “Keep the change.”

***

Thus it is that everyone pays rent.  This leaves Aron with only the 6 copper tip that Barouk had given him, and the rest of the party is low on funds as well.  They decide to go the Tavern of Caverns for a meal and some discussion before setting out for the caves at the edge of town again.  A small snag arises when Aron refuses to do anything until he has recovered his spells.  Kifla flitters off, leaving Barouk and Ally to mull over ways to make some coin while in town.  Ally suggests that the two of them go to the caves on their own.

“In a bit,” Barouk grumbles.  “It would be very useful to have another ally or two in there.  It’s dangerous.  It almost killed us all before.”

Instead, for the moment, the dwarf decides to try begging.  Plopping down outside of the Tavern of Caverns, he pulls out a wooden bowl and begins trying to solicit a few coppers, only to find Ally roundly mocking him.  After a few moments, she demands, “Let’s go to that cave!”

“In a bit,” Barouk repeats.

About twenty seconds later, Ally pokes him again.  “How about now?”

“Later!” he barks.

Twenty seconds later: “How about now?”

Twenty more seconds: “How about now?”

Twenty more: “How about now?”

Finally, after several repetitions of this, Barouk snaps, “All right, all right!  We’ll go!”  Grumbling, he puts his begging bowl away and pulls himself to his feet.

“Hurray!” shouts Ally.  The dwarf just sighs and leads the way.  Soon enough they reach the cave that Snave, Barouk and Aron had first ventured into, and the two of them head cautiously inside the cliff face.  The human gasps at the sight of the massive gouts of blood left by the slain stirges, turning slightly green.  Deeper they go, descending the treacherous slope that proved nearly lethal to them before.  At the bottom they find a chamber with two passages leading out.  The corpse of a giant centipede lies immobile near the pile of rock and debris that it had scrambled out of, and Barouk smiles for an instant. 

“Which way?” wonders Ally.

“Haven’t been either way yet,” grunts the dwarf.  The two adventurers peer into the darkness down each path (Barouk has, by now, lit a torch and handed it off to Ally).  Nothing is obvious down either passage.

With a shrug, they start to the right.  The passage winds about 50’ before opening up into another irregular natural cave.  Stalactites dangle from the ceiling above; the nubs of stalagmites seem to creep upwards from the floor.  Barouk glances around suspiciously, and then the two adventurers start moving gingerly into the chamber-

_*Swoosh!*_

A _thing_ detaches from the ceiling and drops down towards them, grabbing at Barouk!  Initially disguised as one of the stalactites, the thing seems like some sort of living bag, and it tries to wrap itself around the dwarf.  “Hey!” he shouts.

Ally, meanwhile, pulls her axe out, winds up, and chops.  The blade slices through the beast, slaying it in a single blow!  Black ichor sprays all over both of our heroes, and Barouk sprawls on the ground for a moment as the force of the blow throws him to the side.  Scrambling to his feet, he grins fiercely.  

“I guess you do know how to use that thing,” he admits.

Ally grins.  “Of course.  It’s not the first time, you know.”  She gestures down one of the three other passages leading out, to the right of the entrance that the two of them came in through.  “And look- there’s light down there!”

Barouk squints where she indicates, and indeed, there seems to be a red-orange light coming from the passage she is pointing at.  The two of them start down it, and after only 25 or 30 feet, it opens into another chamber.  The light is coming from a pair of strange beetles the size of large dogs banded with odd glands that glow.  Immediately the hungry bugs scurry towards our heroes, obviously intending them no good.  

Ally smiles confidently to herself as her greataxe whistles through one of the beetles, cutting it in half in a single blow- but a moment later, her confidence is undermined when the other beetle almost kills her, tearing a huge chunk of her flesh free and masticating it with its mandibles!  With a cry, Barouk tries to pummel it, but its exoskeleton turns his fists.  His blows bounce harmlessly from it, and then it bites him back.  Blood gushes from his thigh as the beetle rips at his leg!

Staggering, barely able to stand, Barouk tumbles back.  He grabs the bleeding, unconscious form of Ally by the hair and jerks her body towards him, then tries to hoist her over his shoulders.  But he is thrown off-balance and sinks momentarily to one knee.  His eyes blur for a moment as the beetle churns towards them- but then it stops.

Barouk lets out a loud breath as the beetle begins feasting on the corpse of its companion.  Slowly, the dwarf staggers out with his human friend.

“Damn it,” he rumbles to himself, “we _still_ haven’t found any coin!”  

***

Upon emerging from the cave Barouk stops to contemplate his options.  A trip to the drunken priest, Brother Simon, seems in order, especially since he had healed the wrong person the day before and had promised to do some more healing in recompense.  As Barouk struggles with the limp form of Ally, Kifla skips up.  

”Hi!” the gnome calls.  “Oh, wow, you went in the cave again, didn’t you?  Wow!  I would have thought you’d have learned your lesson!”

“Grumble, grumble,” replies Barouk.

Half an hour later, the priest has made his drunken prayers and Ally stirs, still badly wounded but conscious.  Still, the three of them- Ally, Barouk and Kifla- agree that this is no time to head back into the cave.  “I’m becoming more dubious about whether there is anything of value in there after all,” Barouk mutters.

“Well, it’s all bugs and stuff,” Kifla points out. 

“Maybe they like shiny things,” suggests Ally.

“Haven’t found any,” grunts Barouk. 

“Good point,” she concedes.  

“Well, what now, then?” asks the dwarf.

“Hey, do you guys want to come with me?” Kifla inquires.  “I’m actually looking for this gnome illusionist who is supposed to live in the Night.  I wonder if we can find him!”

“What do you need him for?” Ally wonders.

“Oh, I want to learn from him,” Kifla replies.  “I am a little bit of a magic-user myself.”

Barouk and Ally shrug, and the three of them start asking around about this gnomish wizard.  Very quickly they learn that he lives somewhere called the Scintillating Tower, which they approach.  The tower is strange and reflective, and it is surrounded by a garden composed of plants made out of glass.  Though they appear to be living, growing plants, they certainly are strange.  _I wonder what kind of soil they need?_ Kifla thinks idly, and then the party has reached the door.

Knock knock, anybody home?

Our heroes wait for a moment, then a window above them opens for a second before slamming shut again.  A few moments later the door opens, and a gnome peers out at them, especially Kifla.  “You must be Bolzack,” he says with a nod.  “Please, come in, come in!”

The party soon finds itself bustled into a spacious room whose space is mostly taken up by strange knickknacks, odd pieces of art and even a few potted plants of glass.  The strange gnome- whose features keep shifting in every so subtle ways that our heroes can’t even be sure that it is happening- chatters away, until finally Kifla (who has been happily playing along with the idea of being ‘Bolzack’) explains that she is, in fact, _not_ Bolzack.  The gnome grows instantly wary and suspicious, and a muddled and confusing conversation ensues that seems to clear things up, at least a little; and at the end of it, everybody knows that Kifla is Kifla, and the illusionist has learned Barouk and Allyendra’s names. 

The strange gnome then asks, “Well, if you aren’t Bolzack, what is it that you want of me?”

“Oh...” Kifla shrugs, embarrassed.  “Well, I am a wizard myself, and I was hoping that we might be able to trade some spells.  Perhaps I could study under you for a time...”

“Hmm,” the other gnome muses.  “I’ll consider it.”  He studies the other two.  “And you?  Why have you sought me?”

“Uh... no reason, really,” admits Barouk.

“We’re with her,” Ally states, pointing at Kifla.

The gnome regards the party thoughtfully.  After considering them for a few seconds, he continues his inquiries.  Having deduced that they are adventurers (which is, frankly, not a very difficult deduction) he soon offers them a small job.

“There are bandits,” he declares.  The illusionist explains that the bandits dwell somewhere inland to the northeast of Alathion.  The Alathion Canal runs for several hundred miles before reaching the city, and an old road parallels the canal.  This road is, of course, a major artery of trade, and it is this that the bandits prey on.  It seems that at some point the bandits must have interfered with the illusionist’s interests, for he entreats our heroes to capture one of these bandits.  “They’ve been a thorn in everyone’s side for quite a while,” he complains.  “If I can interrogate one, I can learn where they dwell, and then they could be dealt with.”

“Sure!” says Kifla. 

***

_*8/3/372 O.L.G., 11 a.m., Porter’s Tenement*_

Kifla, Barouk and Ally shoulder their packs and head out the door.  They are going to be on the road, seeking bandits!  A couple of days of healing, with a little help from Aron and Brother Simon, have put them in better shape and better spirits.  There is a spring in their collective steps.

Soon they have joined a flow of traffic as they leave the city behind them.* There are merchants with covered caravans, farmers with carts of melons, oranges, cheese, eggs, bread or any of a hundred other types of farm food, pilgrims heading inland to gaze with their own eyes upon Bleak’s Maw, the volcano at which Dexter gave his life to save Cydra, even a hunting party of knights with their retinues and retainers.  The canal flows strong beside them, and in the afternoon it rains briefly.  They are hoping to find a bandit, either by being there when they attack or by finding clues as to their location.  

As night falls, our heroes begin looking for a place to camp.  The combination of firelight and a delicious aroma of food leads them to a group of halflings- a branch of the Peachtree clan, by name.**  There are probably around twenty of them, male and female, of all ages.  The party is welcomed and fed, although our heroes do sort of get the feeling that Kifla’s presence really helped with that (as she is a gnome, she is both of similar stature to the halflings and of a race that, traditionally, tends to ally with the halflings).  One of the halflings is a young girl dressed all in black, with black hair (dyed) and dark eye shadow over pale face makeup.  She and Ally hang out and commiserate about how life sucks.  Dinner is great.

***

_*8/5/372 O.L.G., 8 a.m., on the Alathion Canal Road*_

Ironically, it isn’t until the night _after_ they hang out with the halflings that our heroes are robbed in their sleep.  When they wake up the following morning, both Kifla and Ally notice that their purses are empty.  Barouk, strangely, is untouched.  

While Ally curses, Kifla says decisively, “From now on, we’re setting watches.”

***

_*11 a.m., further up the road*_

To the left our heroes have the canal.  The road stretches out ahead and behind, cracked cobblestones and potholes mixed to form a pitted lane.  It probably has not been seriously attended to since the time of the Tarrasques.  Off to the right is jungle.  Somewhere, after miles of the jungle, is the Deadgrass Land- a huge area of dead plants, grasslands strewn with gnarled thorn bushes and withered shrubs.  It is an area tainted by Bleak.  Each day of their journey has seen the traffic thin out as some of it returned to smaller communities on the way or to little farms or manors off the road.  

As our heroes pass by a thicket of brush and bright flowers, an elven trading outpost comes into view.  Our heroes have little money, though the illusionist promised them a reward for capturing a bandit.  Nonetheless, they stop in and chat.  Upon informing the elves that they are looking for the bandits, our heroes are told, “Ah!  They seem to lair in the Deadgrass Lands.”

The party perks up and pays attention.  “Really?” Barouk asks.

“Yes.”  The elf that is speaking- one of the owners?- nods.  “The road splits up ahead, and one branch heads inland.  They seem to come down from that.”

“How far up ahead is that?” asks Ally.

“Oh, about two hours travel.”

Our heroes exchange very meaningful glances.

***

*1:30 p.m., the split in the road*

Our heroes veer away from the canal.  There is no traffic on this route, at least not within sight.  The jungle has started to creep in on the edges, and here and there sturdy jungle grasses have pushed cobblestones aside, but on the whole, the road remains intact. 

Our heroes travel about an hour before a wagon comes into view ahead of them.  They close the distance between them and it rapidly.

Kifla speaks suddenly.  “It’s not moving.”

Indeed, now that she says it, it is obvious.  The wagon is stopped.

“This may be our bandits,” Barouk declares.

“Shh!”  Ally holds up her hand.  In a whisper, she adds, “I think I can hear something.”  The others fall silent, and she cocks her head.  

_Crunch... slurp..._

“Something,” she whispers, “is _eating_ in there.”

Our heroes move forward as quietly as they can manage, but whatever is making the noises within the wagon stops abruptly.  

“Uh-oh,” says Kifla.

Almost catlike, the beast springs forth, leaping at our heroes!  There is a flurry of motion, a cry, and then- the beast lies dead!  Ally wipes the blade of her axe off and the party begins to search the destroyed wagon. 

_*Next Time:*_  At this point, the question is obvious: _Will our heroes find the bandits??_  Find out- next time!

*Upon reviewing some of my notes, one thing that I _totally_ neglected when the party left the Night (their neighborhood) was all of the toll bridges you have to cross in Alathion in order to get from place to place.  Prolly should have cost each of them a couple of gp to get out of town.  

**Astute readers of my halfling story hour may recognize the Peachtree name.  Benjy Peachtree was involved in their second adventure (Jam Session, involving the Best Jam contest), and later, Heather Peachtree was the halfling that Jawbreaker tried to beat into submission in order to take her as his wife.  They will also be making another major appearance in the halfling story hour before too long.


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## the Jester (Feb 12, 2007)

“That poor man,” sighs Kifla, staring at the half-eaten corpse of the wagon driver that the creature that Allyendra slew had been munching on.  “We have to bury him.  Hey, will you guys help me dig a hole to bury him?” 

Barouk stops looting long enough to give Kifla a look.  “What?  Bury him?”

“We can’t just leave him out here,” Kifla insists. 

“I’m not helping,” snorts Allyendra.  

Barouk looks at Kifla.  The little gnome’s arms are not exactly bulging with muscles.  Heaving a sigh, Barouk digs out a copper piece and flips it.  

“Fine,” he says, after taking in the answer to the coin toss.  “I’ll help.”  Ally snorts again.  “Otherwise, this will take forever.”

Even with the two of them working together, the grave digging is slow going.  After watching for a few minutes, Ally gets bored and wanders off, returning a few moments later with a small collection of huge leaves gathered from the nearby banana trees.  “Why don’t we just cover him up with these?” she suggests.  

“That’s a great idea!” Barouk replies enthusiastically, glaring at Kifla.  “Good compromise!”

Kifla looks downcast, but does not object.  However, when Barouk grabs the body by the hair- below which its face is mostly eaten- the scalp tears free of the body, grossing everyone out.  “That’s it, I’m done,” Barouk groans, stomping off.

“Here, why don’t you have a banana?” offers Ally. 

Kifla is left to dig the grave by herself while the other two sit and chat and snack, trying to forget the sick sound the scalp made when it peeled off of the skull.  Ick.  After about an hour, they return to Kifla, who has excavated about 6” of dirt. 

“Well, if one of you big strong people would help,” she chides them, “it would probably go faster!”

Barouk, who was earlier digging with his hands, kicks a plank loose from the wagon, and using this as an aide, sets in to help Kifla dig without a word. 

“What a waste of time,” Ally scoffs.

Finally, after another hour, the body is buried.  Off our heroes go.  Ally is so fed up that she walks along quickly, rapidly outdistancing her dwarf and gnome companions.  When she realizes it, she slows just enough to keep them within about a mile, muttering to herself the whole time about short-legged, time-wasting fools.  

***

_*8/6/372 O.L.G.,  7:30 a.m., on the side of the trail*_

Barouk greets the day, as he always has, with meditation, following the excellent example of Saint Spadron, one of Dexter’s Twelve Companions*, who it is said spent the first hour of every day in communion with the Light.  Barouk might regret that he cannot spend an hour of every morning in meditation; but if so, he does it later.  Now, his mind is empty, and he allows the world to flow in and through him, over him and around him without affecting him.  The breeze washes over him, but there is no breeze.  A drop of water falls from the canopy of the jungle overhead, splashing against his forehead, but there is no water.  The song of the birds leaps from branch to branch, passing around him in the trees, but there is no song.  There is only Light.

Ally shakes her head, eating a banana.  “Stupid,” she mutters to herself.  “A good sword and a good pair of boots- that’s what you need.  Not all this thinking about stuff and looking within crap.”

Meanwhile, Kifla, hoping to emulate Ally’s ability to find food in the wild, wanders away from the path and into the woods.  She quickly spots a banana tree, and easily cuts down a huge bunch of bananas.  Cheerfully, she peels off about four and begins walking back towards camp.  She is rather startled when, suddenly, the plants begin to twine and grasp at her.  She’s _entangled!_ “Help!” she cries.

Something emerges from the foliage.  Kifla squeaks in terror.  It’s a plant, but it is shaped like- it moves like- some kind of four-legged predator.  It has an obvious head (that she thinks looks like that of a cat) with a snapping mouth.  It seems to be composed of branches as a ‘skeleton’ and leaves to fill out the spaces- and it moves purposefully forward towards Kifla.

“HELP!!!” she screams again.

***

“Did you hear something?” Ally asks. 

“Yeah, I think I did...” Barouk trails off as he tilts his head, listening intently.

“It’s the gnome!” Ally exclaims. The two adventurers dart into the woods- into a most confusing scene. The plants are waving about, wrapping around Kifla, who is conjuring. Worse, some kind of bizarre plant-monster thing is stalking her. Ally grins, pulls out her axe, and rushes forward- but the plant thing is _fast._ It lashes out and bites her in the throat! Grabbing hold, it shakes her with brutal strength, then drops her limp body to the ground. 

Kifla screams again, as her spell goes off.  A magical beetle appears from some far plane, and it holds the beast off for a moment.  Barouk cries, “Allyendra!”  He grits his teeth and springs forward to stand over the body of his companion.  Is she dead, or just unconscious?  He cannot know- but he will not leave her for this monster to dine on!  His training serves him well as he ducks a _color spray_ that Kifla tries, then sprints through the _entangle_ without being grabbed by it. Unfortunately, as he kicks at the thing, he finds himself unable to connect with it!

Then the beetle vanishes, returning to the Outer Plane from whence it came. Barouk braces himself for the oncoming attack- but to his surprise, the plant monster ignores him and instead grabs up Ally’s axe in its wooden mouth. The haft begins to quiver. “It’s trying to break the girl’s axe!” Barouk cries.  He unleashes a flurry of blows, but each attack is foiled, either by poor aim or the creature’s surprising dexterity.

“Damn it!” curses the dwarf.

“The fire!” cries Kifla. “We need to get to the fire!” Barouk doesn’t turn, but he can hear the gnome running towards the fire. 

_Snap!_ The haft of the axe splinters as the plant monster bites down on it. Then it begins moving through the _entangle_ towards Kifla. Barouk kicks at it again, but he can’t seem to get through its defenses... Still, he decides to look on the bright side: he has a moment to check in on Ally and try to stabilize her.  _If_ she is still alive.

Kifla is almost at the fire.  She can hear it bounding towards her- and she realizes she won’t quite make it to the fire in time.  She is still ten feet short when it lands behind her and snatches at her with its maw.  With a shriek, she ducks beneath the mouth, dances two steps left and keeps running. Startled that it missed, the plant monster hesitates just long enough: Kifla reaches the fire and pulls out a brand. Spinning around, she bravely points it at the plant monster. “Go away!” she yells at it.

_She’s alive!_ Barouk thinks, and glances towards the creature. It seems hesitant to approach the fire, which is good in that it aids Kifla, but it is bad in that the frustrated creature is likely to turn its attention back to Barouk and the wounded Ally.

Ever practical, the dwarf hoists his ally over his shoulders and begins bustling towards the fire. Just in time, he arrives; the creature had just decided to turn on the monk. Barouk dumps Ally on the ground, then hurriedly binds her wounds and stops her bleeding. _She’ll live,_ he tells himself, then pulls out a torch and sticks it into the fire. It sputters into life.

The plant thing, though reluctant to approach, is not out of tricks yet. Its eyes flash blue, and suddenly- a squid, of all things, appears!**  It flops around on the ground, asphyxiating. 

“That’s weird,” comments Kifla.

Barouk grunts and hurls his torch at the thing. He misses, but apparently it has had enough of this. It fades back into the jungle. Though our heroes remain on guard for a few moments, it is soon clear that the plant monster is gone- for now, at least. 

“I think,” Kifla says, “we should rest, at least until the big human is conscious again.  I mean, I sure can’t carry her.”

Barouk sighs.  “Damn it,” he grunts.  “All right.”

_*Next Time:*_ Our heroes make some friends, as well as some progress!

*A quick lesson on the history and theology of Dexter, Galador, et. al.

Galador (also known as the Light, the Lord and the Law; the latter is an archaic term, but one still used by many older dwarven priests) is the god of the Sun, the Light and the Forinthian Empire.  Until about the year 100 O.L.G. Galador’s faith was essentially monotheistic, although there is a devil figure, called Bleak.  Galador is a Lawful Good god, the main deity of the campaign, whose influence is pervasive and spreads over incredibly vast distances. 

About the year 100 O.L.G., Dexter (the son of Galador) was around.  He caused a major reformation in the church, and so the Church of the Light now encompasses both Dexter and Galador (think of Dexter as kind of a Jesus figure; he even gave himself up for the people of Cydra, not once but twice).

St. Spadron was high priest of the Church of the Light during Dexter’s lifetime.  He was a dwarf whose beard was so long that he could wrap it around himself and wear it as a belt.  He was one of Dexter’s stalwart 12 Companions, and his legacy lives on; he is a Saint now.

Somewhat later- such as, hmm, current times- one of Dexter’s descendants, Prayzose, took the Imperial Throne of Forinthia in order to stabilize, strengthen and reorganize the Forinthian Empire.  He came to be worshiped as a God-Emperor, and thus there are now _three_ branches of the Church of the Light: the _conservatives,_ who venerate Galador (only) and are often disapproving of the others; the _orthodox,_ who venerate Galador and Dexter; and the _Imperial_ branch (which is an official state institution of the Empire), which venerates Galador, Dexter and Prayzose as divine.

All that is the ‘official’ history, which was written by the church.  The truth is vastly more complex; Dexter himself was a pc, and was far from the perfect fellow that the church tries to paint him as. Anyone interested can read about Dexter in Cydra: the Early Years.

As to current events with Prayzose, watch current events in my Great Conflicts story hour, which takes place at very nearly the same time as this update here...

**The plant monster had an int of 4. It had a summoning ability, but it chose the creature it summoned randomly.


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## Hairy Minotaur (Mar 8, 2007)

the Jester said:
			
		

> The plant thing, though reluctant to approach, is not out of tricks yet. Its eyes flash blue, and suddenly- a squid, of all things, appears!**  It flops around on the ground, asphyxiating.
> 
> “That’s weird,” comments Kifla.
> 
> **The plant monster had an int of 4. It had a summoning ability, but it chose the creature it summoned randomly.




That is one odd creature, _freedom of movement_ (or something similar to get through the entangle) , _summoning_ , and a really good bite.


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## Slickenfiber (Mar 9, 2007)

*More Please!!*

Hey Jester!!

Awesome writeup so far!!  Very funny!  Love to read some more!

Will those fingers to type!!

- slickenfiber (aka. Barouk)


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## the Jester (Apr 5, 2007)

_*2 p.m.*_

Barouk and Kifla sit bored over Allyendra’s unconscious form. They have made camp without ever moving, knowing that neither of them can carry the big girl for very long. As always, Barouk is grumbling; as always, Kifla is being annoying, singing gnomish songs. 

They snap at each other half in jest, and it rains briefly in the afternoon (as it does on most afternoons in the jungle). Slowly, throughout the day, Barouk removes splinters from Ally’s throat from where the plant monster bit her. 

Night falls, and Barouk watches all night. Kifla snores, her large gnomish nose vibrating happily. When morning arrives, the gnome searches out some coconuts and feeds some of the milk to the unconscious barbarian. She revives briefly, but is too wounded to travel and soon lapses back into unconsciousness. The girl is feverish, but starting at about 3 pm it rains heavily, which helps sooth her. 

When night falls again, Barouk insists that Kifla share the watch, and the gnome agrees readily enough. But when her watch comes, she is constantly distracted, and as a sentry she is fairly poor. 

By morning the heavy rain has turned to a light sprinkle. Ally gets up to go pee, using a stick to lever herself, and spies a group of people on the trail the party is camped near. “Look!” she cries, pointing. Her companions follow her finger and see a covered wagon and a group of traveling pilgrims. The wagon is pulled by a _bosoch,_ a type of giant beetle used as beasts of burden by dwarves and other races.

“I can’t fight right now,” Ally groans. “I’m still too weak.”

“They look like pilgrims. Maybe they can help you. I’ll talk to them,” Barouk says gruffly, and steps out onto the road. Behind him, Kifla whispers, “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” –but it is too late. 

“Hail, travelers,” Barouk calls.

The wagon’s bosoch keeps plodding forward. The driver nods to the dwarven monk even as he picks up his crossbow. One of the men walking beside the wagon quickens his pace, smiling and nodding at Barouk. “Hello, friend,” the man returns. “We are humble pilgrims. Who are you, fine dwarf?”

“My name is Barouk,” harrumphs the dwarf, “and I and my companions are in these woods seeking to defeat and capture bandits.”

“Well, we are not bandits,” the other replies. 

“Of course not!” Barouk chuckles. “But you _do_ appear to be pilgrims.”

“Indeed,” the man nods. At this point, the wagon draws up, about 10’ short of Barouk’s position. “We are followers of Galador.”

“Of course,” Barouk answers. “I myself follow the teachings of Saint Spadron.” He pauses, licks his lips, and plows ahead. “Hey, one of my companions is wounded. Is there any chance that you could, ah, heal her?”

“Perhaps,” the man allows, “if your friend is not evil.”

“Oh, no,” Barouk assures him.

“We shall see.” The man- Finneas- begins casting a spell.

***

A few minutes later, Ally blinks and gasps as many of her wounds close and knit together. She is not in perfect health, but she _is_ in fighting shape.

Finneas heals Barouk as well, but in return he demands that both Ally and Barouk donate 50 gp each to the church of Galador. They agree gamely, and soon the considerable wounds that he has taken on this trip close up as well. 

“Say, do you think you could use your magic to make our broken weapon whole?” suggests Kifla.

“No,” Finneas replies. “We are pacifists. We will not help you do harm to others.”

Disappointed, Ally picks up the head of her axe to store in the hopes of affixing it to a new haft later. Then the party debates resting a little longer. 

“Yes, let’s,” Ally insists. “I can stand and fight now, but I won’t be able to take any hits. I need some time to recoup my resources.” The others agree, and in the evening, the pilgrims move on, bidding our heroes farewell. The party goes hunting; in the end, a couple of birds, a possum, some mushrooms and some bananas make for a fine dinner. 

The night holds three watches tonight, as Ally feels up to the task. A cool light rain allows the party to fill their skins with fresh water. They are still fairly wounded, so they elect to rest another night. That night proves uneventful, and when the next morning comes and, though antsy, the party heads further along the trail. 

It takes only about half an hour for the group to reach the edge of the jungle and to emerge abruptly into the Dead Grass Lands. And, when they emerge from the canopy, they are awed. 

Far away in the distance, _thousands_ of miles away _at least,_ thunderous booms so loud that they are reaching our heroes are booming. Flashes of light so bright that, even this far away, our heroes can see them are flashing. 

Jaws dropped, our heroes can only stare. The low growl of the distant conflict is a constant background.*

All around, the Dead Grass Lands spread as far as the eye can see. Tall clumps of foul grey grass grow all around. The long grey blades are nastily sharp. Here and there, a clump of brambles interrupts the dominant grey grass. It is a dusty area, far different from the jungle immediately behind our heroes.

“What _is_ that?” wonders Barouk, staring at the flashes. The rumble of the distant, desperate battle are audible as a low growl through the air. 

“Who cares?” Ally retorts. “Let’s go find this bandit, so we can get paid.”

“She has a point,” Barouk nods to Kifla.

The gnome shrugs. “I don’t care so much about the money as I do about pleasing my master.”

“That gnome in the Night?” Ally snorts. “Did you even catch his name?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Kifla mumbles. 

“Suuuure,” Ally laughs. “Come on.” She starts walking, annoyed with her companions, and given her long stride, she is soon significantly ahead of both of them. Barouk puffs and sputters, but Kifla only smiles wanly.

The party continues forward for about a mile before Ally reins herself in and lets the others catch up. When they do, she gestures. “Look,” she says, “it’s the pilgrims’ wagon.”

Indeed, up ahead, the group can see the top of the wagon. Slowly, they approach it, and find the driver full of arrows, but no other corpses.

”They were pacifists,” Barouk states. “They wouldn’t have fought.”

“There are lots of tracks,” Kifla opines.

“What happened?” Ally wonders. “Could it have been the bandits? Maybe they came and took the wagon, and are holding the pilgrims hostage or something.”

“Maybe,” Barouk answers doubtfully.

“Well, we have to look for them,” Kifla says. “Especially because they’re pacifists.”

“Help!” gasps a voice from behind the party.

_*Next Time:*_ Bandits at last! But our heroes are getting into more trouble than they know!

*Readers of the epic story hour (Great Conflicts, link in sig) will see the cause of this rather directly when the current battle culminates in a few updates.


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## the Jester (Apr 7, 2007)

The sky flashes and rumbles with incredible power from whatever battle of the gods is happening far away. Beneath it, the Dead Grass Lands spread out for miles and miles, a carpet of high sharp grey grass and stunted malformed shrubs. The land itself seems brittle. Near the jungle, a broken and shattered wagon sits disconsolately on the side of the path. Allyendra, Barouk and Kifla turn their backs to it, seeking the voice they heard.  Even as they do so, the voice croaks out again: “Help!”

A ragged-looking man, dirty and hungry looking, staggers from the tall grass. Kifla immediately notes, “He’s one of those pilgrims!”

“Yes... please... bandits,” the man gasps.

Our heroes take a moment to ensure that there are no enemies immediately nearby, and then they question the pilgrim, whose name is Herb. He is, indeed, one of the pacifist hermits that the group encountered two days ago. He tells the party that the pilgrims had continued along their journey to this point, but that they had been assaulted by bandits.

“They shot our driver,” Herb groans sadly, “but they didn’t try to hurt the rest of us. They captured my friends, and took them up to a hillock nearby.”

“How many of them were there?” Ally asks. 

Herb pauses to consider. “Perhaps half a dozen, no more. But they had dogs and garen, too.”*

“Which hillock?” Barouk inquires, and Herb points the correct one out. “All right,” the dwarf announces, “I’ll go scout.” He proceeds forward, vanishing into the tall grass.

“I don’t know about this,” Kifla mutters. “Half a dozen of them, plus mounts!”

Ally snorts confidently. “No problem.”

The two of them wait a while, but Ally grows more and more impatient. Finally, she says, “All right, I’m going after him. I’m sick of sitting around. We’ve been sitting around for days.” She grabs up her pack and starts to walk off.

“Wait for me!” Kifla squeals, and follows.

Behind her, the pilgrim Herb hesitates for a second, and then hurries after. Better to be with friendly people, even though they might do violence, than to face the chance of meeting the bandits or some grassland monster alone.

***

Barouk steals forward, veering left to avoid a direct approach on the hillock. He moves 60 yards out and stops for a moment to peer at the hillock. It is still a good 40 yards away, and he sees nothing. He moves a little closer, and peers again. His eyes widen. For a moment, he thinks he catches a glimpse of Ally! _Did she get impatient and just forge ahead of me?_ he wonders.** _Damn it, girl! I’d best get up there so she doesn’t get herself in trouble..._

The dwarf hurries forward, but he does notice a wisp of smoke coming from the hillock. _A small fire,_ he realizes, his pulse quickening. _This may be them._ He continues moving, slowly and carefully. He cocks his head and listens intently, and he hears a distant voice speaking. 

_Got to move closer,_ he thinks, and he starts moving-

“No further,” calls a voice. 

Two bandits step into view, their crossbows trained on Barouk with arrows already nocked. He halts and, sensing that it is the prudent thing to do, raises his hands.

***

Ally and Kifla move forward sneakily. The tall, brittle grass of this region really helps their attempts at concealment; it is almost always taller than Kifla, and often it is higher than Allyendra’s head. Herb moves behind them, emulating their stealth as best he can. Suddenly Kifla catches a glimpse of movement. She grabs Ally’s elbow and points. 

_Two figures._ One of them is wearing leather armor, the other a chain shirt. They have the look of guards about them.

Kifla casts _sleep,_ and both of them collapse without ever knowing that our heroes are there. Ally hurries forward to slay them. “Wait!” Kifla hisses. “We can-”

Ally slits a throat.

“-tie them up,” the gnome finishes uselessly. 

Ally slits the other’s throat. “They’re _bandits,_” she reminds Kifla. “They would do it to us.”

“We don’t know that for sure,” Kifla objects. “That wasn’t very nice. We didn’t have to kill them, they were asleep!”

Ally rolls her eyes as she begins stripping the chain shirt off of the guard who had worn it. “For how long?”

“Well, only a few minutes...” Kifla sighs. “Do you remember what our mission is? We need to _capture_ one and return him to my master!” But Ally ignores her, and Kifla sighs and gives up the argument. She tries to stabilize and save the bleeding guards, but to no avail.

“Hey, a new great axe!” Ally enthuses.

After upgrading her equipment- although the new chain shirt is a little bloodstained from the throat slitting- Ally nods to Kifla and the two of them continue along towards the hillock.

Behind them, Herb stares in horror at the two bodies. _They will do anything to save their friend,_ he thinks slowly. _It is horrible. But I must save my friends as well..._

His stomach twists. He hurries after the two killers that are helping him. _At least the gnome advocated keeping them alive,_ the pacifist broods.

***

Barouk, his hands bound, is led into a natural amphitheater. The pilgrims are there, unbound, in one area; a bandit and three dogs are watching over them.  A tall, handsome half-elven man is speaking to them in an earnest and persuasive voice, but he stops as Barouk is led forward. 

“Well, well,” the half-elf says. “And who are you?” He smiles, showing perfect teeth.

***

Kifla pulls Ally up short again. “Hold on a second,” the gnome says. Then she crouches down next to a small hole in the ground and chitters down it. 

A groundhog pokes its head out. 

The gnome and the groundhog chitter back and forth for a few brief moments, and then Kifla stands up and says, “This way. We’re looking for a big hole in the ground.”

“Kifla, did you just get directions from a groundhog?” Ally snickers.

The two of them walk along, moving up the side of the hillock until they find a large natural depression; they creep forward to observe it. Along the far side of it, a set of natural steps curves down to the bottom of it. The pilgrims are in there, as are three bandits- and Barouk! A crossbow is trained on him, and his hands are tied behind his back.

Suddenly the dogs begin to bark, and everything gets crazy.

Ally runs for the far side of the natural amphitheater, where the steps will allow her entry. One of the bandits, near the top of the stairs, strikes at her with a spear, but she dodges out of the way, pulling out her new great axe as she does so. One of the dogs springs up the steps and bites Ally in the leg. “Aargh!” she calls out, and gets _really_ angry. Rage bursts through her, and in a single great swipe of her axe she decapitates the bandit guard! The blow continues on through, cleaving towards the dog, but the wily animal dances away from it. 

Kifla, meanwhile, casts _dancing lights_ on the opposite side of the amphitheater, and cries out, “Give up, you’re surrounded!” Then she draws out her short bow and fires an arrow at the half-elf, actually hitting him!

The half-elf glares up at Kifla. _“The South will rise again!”_ he bellows, and his bandits cheer when he does; and then he reaches into a pouch and pulls out a bit of sand. Murmuring secret magical words, he gestures- and puts Kifla to _sleep!_

The bandit with his crossbow trained on Barouk is rather distracted, so the dwarf decides that he probably has the best opportunity he is going to get. He leaps forward and kicks the man hard in the solar plexus. The bandit flies back, limp and unmoving, and Barouk lands on his feet.

_My hands are bound,_ he thinks, _but I am a monk. I do not need them._

Then the other two dogs tear into him. He spins, leaps, tries to guard with his legs alone- but one of them manages to bloody his ankle. He kicks back, and dances with the dogs. He can’t seem to land a blow, but the dogs are tearing at him. Pain jolts him as the dogs tear at his legs. 

The half-elf tumbles past Ally, gaining the high ground, and jabs at her with his rapier. Ally roars in anger and cuts the dog attacking her in half, then cleaves at the half-elf- to no avail! The slippery bastard dodges her blow!

Up above, shaking with shame, Herb throws a rock, hitting one of the dogs in the head. It yelps and growls. The pacifist pilgrim weeps at what he has done.

The half-elf stabs at Ally again, but her newfound chain shirt saves her. The half-elf, scowling, tries to tumble away, but a rock slips out from under his foot and he stumbles. Ally grins and swings, but misses her attack of opportunity. Then she rushes after the half-elf- who is clearly trying to flee, as things have done awry- and buries her axe several inches deep in his back. The bard dies in an instant, and Ally howls in triumph, then whirls to leap into the pit, accepting a minor ankle twist in order to get to Barouk’s aid.

Barouk manages to stomp one of the dogs on the neck, killing it, and suddenly that new great axe of Ally’s is slicing in. The last dog dies as the axe decapitates it. 

Herb hurries to check on Kifla, fearing the worst, but she wakes easily. The two of them head down into the amphitheater. Kifla hurries over to her friends and slits Barouk’s bonds with her dagger. 

“Now, if one of these guys is still alive,” grumbles Barouk, “we may be almost done with our first mission!”

Kifla opens her mouth to reply, but stops as she hears Finneas, the leader of the pilgrims, speaking behind them.

“I am sorry, Herb. I know your intentions were good, but you cast a stone to harm another being. You may not travel with us any longer. You may not go back to the mission house. You are cast out.”

_*Next Time:*_ What will Herb do? Will our heroes find a still-living bandit? And who were these bandits, anyway?


*In this era of the Cydra campaign, there are essentially no horses. Garen are equine beasts similar to a zebra, but are two colors out of green, brown and yellow. They are roughly equal to a light horse, and are used as mounts by the folk of Cydra. Cydra folk also extensively use big riding birds called kocho, although kocho are much harder to control and are notoriously foul-tempered.

**No, Barouk just fumbled his Spot check.


----------



## the Jester (Apr 19, 2007)

“Ahh, good,” chortles Barouk, “this fellow is still alive! Now we just need to bind him and take him back to your master, and- Kifla?”

The gnome is walking away from Barouk, hurrying towards the small cluster of pacifist pilgrims that the party has just rescued. Finneas, their leader, stands with his hands clasped solemnly before him. Herb, the pilgrim who aided our heroes in their fight with the bandits and dogs, looks crestfallen. 

Finneas has just cast Herb out. 

“Hey, he was just trying to help,” Kifla protests. “In fact, if he hadn’t helped us, we might all have been killed- and you might have been too!”

“They weren’t going to kill us,” Finneas replies.

“How do you know?” Ally demands, glowering. She is still catching her breath from her rage. “They were bandits. What, were they going to take your money and then just let you go?”

Finneas says calmly. “They were trying to sway us to their cause.”

“Like they converted your driver?” Ally sneers.

“He insisted on fighting,” the pacifist answers with equanimity.

”What’s going on?” Barouk asks, walking over. 

“Aw, come on,” Kifla wheedles, “he was just trying to help...”

“He has broken our vows. It is not up to me.” Finneas sighs. “It is the rule of our order: none may do violence against another living being.”

“But-” Kifla begins.

“He is right,” Herb sighs. “I _have_ broken my vows.” His voice cracks. “I must find another path.”

There is a pregnant pause. Then, Barouk slowly says, “Well, we’re going back to Alathion with our prisoner. If you’d like, you can come with us.”

Herb seems close to tears. “Thank you. I suppose it is... safer than traveling alone.”

Finneas is willing to heal Barouk and Ally as best he can in thanks for our heroes intervention with the bandits, but- although Kifla tries once more- he is unrelenting in his rejection of Herb as one of his pilgrims. “I am sorry,” he says, not for the first time. “I wish you well, Herb, but your path does _not_ follow ours.”

A search of the bandit leader turns up a mix of gear, including a rapier, dagger and light crossbow, a disguise kit, a substantial purse (holding over 200 gp worth of coin!), a sealed fancy bottle of wine, a meerschaum pipe carved with a dragon symbol (as well as a pouch of pipe weed) and two potions.

“Let me check those out!” Kifla squeals effervescently. She mutters a series of arcane words while waving her hands around; then she nods. “Aha! They’re magic potions!”

Our heroes examine the two potions. One of them is a light pink color; Kifla says, “I _think_ that’s a healing potion. At least, it’s conjuration magic.”

Ally looks at her doubtfully. “What about the other one?”

“I can’t tell about that one,” Kifla sighs. The party looks at it; it is brown in color, with little nasty clumps of hair floating in it. “Eww,” Kifla says.

“Let me see it,” Barouk grunts. The others warily give over the vial, and he uncorks it and sniffs it. 

“I can smell that from here,” Ally announces, wrinkling her nose. She waves her hand in front of her face, attempting to drive away the unpleasant odor. “It smells like B.O.,” she adds.

“Yeah, close that up for now!” Kifla exclaims. Barouk shrugs and sticks the cork back into the vial’s mouth. “Say, I just thought of something,” the gnome goes on. “How are we carrying the bandit? I certainly can’t lift him- he’s big, and I’m _really_ small.” She looks, big-eyed, at Ally and Barouk. “Can one of you do it?”

“We should just drag ‘im,” Ally suggests.

“That’s not very nice,” Kifla complains.

“Well, neither was trying to kill us, and kidnapping pilgrims, and killing their driver,” Ally sniffs back. 

“Have you forgotten our mission?” Barouk asks. “We need to capture one of them and bring him back to Kifla’s master.”

“Oh, hells,” Ally snaps, “I can see where this is going!”

“Well, I’m too small to carry him,” Kifla points out again. 

“I don’t think I’m strong enough,” Barouk admits grudgingly.

“Fine!” Ally grumbles. “I”ll do it- for now.”

Muttering to herself, the young barbarian hoists the unconscious bandit over her shoulders, and then the party begins heading back towards Alathion. Out of the Dead Grass Lands and back into the jungle the party goes. Behind them, they are keenly aware of the flashes of light and the distant thunder, an incredible distance away. It is not quite drizzling, but the leaves are beaded with moisture and fat drops of water hang like pendulums from jungle flowers.

Unfortunately for our heroes, a dire snake’s coloration blends very well with the jungle; and suddenly it drops down, nearly on top of Ally. She cries out in pain as it bites her in the shoulder, the wound burning with poison, and then tries to loop itself around her! She manages to throw the beastie off of her arm with a great grunt of strength; then she pulls out her axe, dropping the bandit. 

_Whisssk!_

She misses. 

Kifla tries a _color spray,_ but the snake is unaffected by the illusion. However, as the unconscious form of the bandit hits the ground, the serpent changes to an easier target: it sinks its teeth into the unconscious bandit, then loops its long, strong coils around the limp man.

“It’s just an animal, don’t harm it!” Herb yells.

Barouk aims a kick at the snake, but his foot bounces off of its thick scales. He curses, but then grins as Ally brings her axe around again, chopping into the reptile and wounding it badly. Kifla, meanwhile, fires her crossbow; however, the bolt snaps off of the beast’s tough hide. The snake itself unhinges its jaws and then begins trying to swallow the bandit!

“RAAAHG!!” Barouk grabs it, attempting to pull it off his prisoner. He tries to force its jaws to stay open so that it cannot work its victim further into its body. Herb rushes in to help, trying to aid Barouk in freeing the bandit, and the three of them struggle for a moment. 

Kifla hesitates over the sites of her crossbow. _If I fire,_ she realizes, _I might hit my friends!_ She gulps, then pulls a crossbow bolt out and rushes up to stab the snake, thrusting the sharpened head into the monstrous reptile’s side. It hisses, squirming in the grip of Barouk and Herb.

Ally screams a war cry and swings her axe again. There is a scarlet splash of blood, and the snake’s body is severed, cut in two!

“That got it!” she smirks.

Panting, the party takes a moment to catch their breath. Barouk hauls the bandit from the serpent’s mouth and checks for vital signs, then begins cursing, long and loud.

“Uh-oh,” Kifla sighs.

“Crap!” Ally exclaims.

“He’s dead,” Barouk grunts. “We’re back to square one.”

Our heroes give out a collective groan. Glancing up at the jungle canopy, Ally points out, “It’s getting dark. We’d better make camp anyhow.” The others reluctantly agree, and the party starts working on building a small fire. As they are doing so, Barouk catches glimpse of a small, monkey-like humanoid off in the trees. He scowls, but the thing leaves the party unmolested. Rain is starting to trickle down, only a light drizzle, but enough that neither the dwarf nor the gnome can find enough dry wood to get the fire started. Ally snorts and shakes her head, and, using her axe, she cuts into a fallen log, taking the dry wood from the heart of the log. Soon a crackling fire is giving our heroes both light and warmth, and, after dinner- which Barouk declines, fasting- they bed down. Barouk takes the first watch.

Meanwhile, in the trees, the tasloi gather for the attack...

_*Next Time:*_ Tasloi attack!!


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## Brain (Apr 20, 2007)

the Jester said:
			
		

> “He’s dead,” Barouk grunts. “We’re back to square one.”




Classic Jungle Jamesing.


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## the Jester (Apr 22, 2007)

The sudden sound of branches rustling in the dark is Barouk’s only warning, but his paranoia is running high. After the snake, the bandits, being stolen from in the night, all the terrible trials that our heroes have had to overcome, he is in no mood to take chances. “Wake up, all!” he bellows. “There is something in the trees!!”

Then spears fly, invisible to Ally’s human eyes but clear to Barouk; Kifla can’t quite make out enough with her low-light vision to see the source, but she has a good idea of the direction, for a spear stabs out, slicing the gnome’s side. Kifla screams in pain. Herb, meanwhile, scrambles back, seeking cover in the bushes. 

“I can’t see anything!” Ally cries out. “Kifla! Are you all right?”

“I’m okay,” the gnome’s voice comes from the darkness. Barouk, with his dwarven ability to see in even complete darkness, watches as she casts a spell at the treetops. An instant later, two figures plummet out of the trees and to the ground, landing with sickening thuds!

“Damn, Kifla,” Barouk says admiringly.

“OW!!” Ally curses as another spear sails out of the trees and hits her. “There are still more of them!”

“Stop your attacks!” Barouk cries. “We are friends of the jungle!”

Meanwhile, Kifla has fallen back to the embers of the fire that the party had cooked their dinner on. She grabs a fresh brand and stirs it up, blowing, hoping to start a fire and give a little bit better light to the situation. Crackling flames blaze up, and the little illusionist is gratified to see the silhouettes of more foes moving in the trees. Ally, now able to glimpse at least roughly the location of her enemy, shouts, “Come down!” and moves over towards one of the trees that the creatures are in. 

Her foe leaps from branch to branch, swinging over and under limbs, until he brachiates down to a low enough position to drop to the ground without taking damage. The other one, meanwhile, leaps down, catches a vine, swings across and attacks Ally! At the last instant, the barbarian ducks aside, and the monkey-like humanoid misses. Ally whirls to face it, but even as she does so, she hears some noise in the woods. “I think there are more of them coming!” she cries. 

Barouk rushes forward and invokes his _fiery ki fist_, but he misses. Still, his foe is startled and disconcerted by the blazing ki flame that surrounds his hand for a moment. Then it tries to claw him back, but Barouk wards off both of its blows with practiced blocks. The other one is slashing with its dirty nails at Allyendra. She is too quick, dodging the first blow, and then the monster throws itself off-balance with its second blow- so badly, in fact, that it falls prone.

Four more of the humanoids arrive, high in the trees, each throwing a spear. Half are aimed at Barouk, half at Ally. None of the hail of spears hit our heroes, but Barouk cries out, “Ally, this sucks! Pull back!” He drops back to Kifla’s location (where the gnome has been using her crossbow without much effect).

Ally bares her teeth as she aims a blow of her massive axe at the foe that has fallen prone before her. The axe hacks into its back, nearly cutting the thing in two!

The other little humanoids scream in rage. The one on the ground charges Ally, but she parries its claw with her axe. Three of the newcomers also ground themselves, rushing to join the attack on her. The last newcomer remains in the trees, and hurls another spear at Kifla (almost hitting Barouk on the way). The spear narrowly misses.

The party is falling together now, with the enemies pressing Ally back towards Barouk and Kifla. The dwarf springs forward and pummels one of the creatures into unconsciousness with a flurry of blows. Then he kicks another of the enemy in the solar plexus. 

Herb, meanwhile, quakes in terror and prays. 

Ally and Kifla both spot more creatures moving in, including something coming from _behind_ them. _We might be surrounded,_ Kifla realizes. As quickly as her little gnome-legs will carry her, she moves around to the side and casts a _color spray_, knocking all four of the current humanoid combatants out! Ally has no compunctions about attacking them when they are down, and in but an instant she slays one and lops the leg off of another. 

One more hurls a spear from the trees, and it lances into Ally- but fortunately, her chain shirt deflects it! Simultaneously, the figures moving in from behind them move into view: a mixed group, but mostly humans! There are at least half a dozen of them.

“Friend or foe?” calls Barouk harshly. His rock-like fist smashes the last of the standing monkey-like humanoids, and it drops. He notices that, in the face of a larger group, the incoming humanoids have begun, instead, to pull back.

“We are friends,” one of the men calls, jabbing a spear through one of the still-living tasloi on the ground. He looks up at Barouk and smiles. “I am called Bors.”

There is a round of introductions, during which it becomes clear that Bors is the speaker, if not the leader, of the band that had come to the rescue of our heroes. “We couldn’t just let you be taken by the tasloi,” Bors states seriously. “But tell me, what are you doing here? You’re pretty far from anything right.”

“We’re hunting bandits for my master,” Kifla replies.

“Really,” muses Bors. “And how is that going?”

“Not so well,” admits the gnome. 

“It was going all right, until the snake bit our guy,” Ally complains. “We had a prisoner, but this giant snake fell out of a tree on us and tried to eat him. We managed to kill it, but it managed to kill him too. Now we’re back to square one.”

“And,” Bors addresses Kifla again, “who is your master?”

“Um,” Kifla hedges, “er, Bignose! Yeah, that’s it! And Bignose wants to question a bandit.”

“Who is Bignose?” 

“He’s this powerful gnomish wizard in the Night, in Alathion,” Kifla enthusiastically tells Bors. “He’s going to teach me all kinds of spells and things!”

“Interesting,” Bors nods.

The group chats for a while, coming to an arrangement. Our heroes already have a fire; the other group has several rabbits to stew, ready for the pot. The conversation drifts to politics, and Bors gives the party a small history lesson. “In the old days, before Forinthia was a single kingdom, there were _three_ kingdoms of Forinthia- three separate, independent kingdoms. There was the North Kingdom, the South Kingdom and the West Kingdom.”

“What happened?” asks Kifla.

“A combination of alliance and conquest. In fact, year 1 of our calendar measures the formal union of the three kingdoms and the formal union of church and state. But you know what is interesting about all of this? The alliances were predicated upon the ruler of Forinthia being of the royal blood of all three kingdoms. But _God-Emperor Prayzose_ doesn’t have the royal blood! The blood of Dexter flows in his veins, yes, but the blood of our ancient _kings_ does not!”

“But how could that be?” wonders Ally.

“Well, a couple of hundred years ago, of course, we had the rampage of the tarrasques- five terrible monsters so powerful that they pretty much drove everything else off of Forinthia. It took over a century for them to be defeated; nobody even really knows exactly what happened to all of them. Anyway, when the tarrasques first came, they slew the king in their initial rampage. The royal family was displaced from Forinthia proper, and over the years while they were waiting for the tarrasques to finally all be defeated, the lines grew weaker and weaker. It is harder and harder to find someone who is a true descendant of all three lines.

“Well, when the line finally broke and Prayzose was elected emperor, it was a complete breaking of the deal. Prayzose doesn’t have _any_ of the royal blood of _any_ of the three kingdoms! Not only that, but the deal was sealed with an object, which was stolen... but I don’t know much about that part of it.”

“You sound like you’re... passionate about this,” Ally observes.

Bors smiles. “My men and I are. By law- and law is what Forinthia is _founded_ upon, it is the bedrock principle under which we all exist!- by law, Prayzose may be Emperor, but he is no king of Forinthia!”

“Well, then,” Barouk inquires, “who is? You?”

“Oh, not I!” Bors is abashed. “Oh, no! I have no royal blood myself. But I have heard tell of a man named Arthur, the last descendant of the last South King...” He smiles for a moment, a big, friendly grin, but then he turns serious again. “I think your friend’s master” –he gestures at Kifla, who is sniffing obliviously at the stew- “is looking for signs of insurrectionists.”

“Really,” Barouk says slowly. “And you wouldn’t happen to know of any, would you?” Barouk asks rhetorically.

“I know of some _simple bandits_ that should serve your needs,” Bors replies. “Road scum, raiding caravans and lone travelers alike.”

“With no political ambitions,” Barouk says slowly.

“Exactly.”

“Thus allowing us to complete our mission and fulfill our duty,” Barouk considers, “while still leaving more, uh, _political_... hypothetical... bandits or insurrectionists out in the wilds.”

“You might also help- in whatever way you can- to place the rightful kings on their thrones.”

Barouk mumbles noncommittally. He and Bors continue their discussion for a time, but it is late, and soon everyone is bedding down. The two parties agree that the watches will be served by a mix of our heroes and Bors’ men, but the night is uneventful and no one tries anything treacherous. In the morning, Bors and his men scramble some eggs, cook up some bacon and reheat the rabbit stew. Everyone chows down, and the breakfast is filling and tasty.

Bors assigns one of his men, Kain, to the party. “He will help you catch a bandit,” Bors explains. 

“Oh, thanks!” Kifla bubbles effervescently. 

Kain sneers at her. “Come on,” he says curtly. “We have to back towards the Alathion Canal.”

The party sets off, once again traversing the jungle. 

_Let’s hope we get our damn bandit this time,_ Ally grumps to herself.

_*Next Time:*_ More jungle trouble for our heroes!


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## the Jester (May 5, 2007)

Kain leads the party through the jungle, along the trail. The air is thick and humid, pregnant with moisture. The songs of hundreds of brightly-colored birds fill the air. Barouk notes that Kain has removed the armband that he wore, much like the rest of Bors’ men- an armband with the symbol of a longsword. 

_Insurgents,_ the dwarf muses.

Eventually the party reaches the Alathion Canal and the trade road that parallels it. They turn to follow it to the right, heading away from the city of Alathion from which they came. Wagons and walking farmers head both directions on the road; traffic is fairly heavy.

“How far do we have to go?” Kifla asks.

“It’s about a day’s journey from where we met,” Kain replies. “We follow the road until we get to the split tree. Be patient. We’ll be there soon enough.” 

The group walks along. They pass a dwarf with a plodding beetle bearing many saddlebags stuffed with goods; yet more are netted to its back. A trio of elves walks silently by in the other direction. A family of peasants, chattering about the market. A messenger rides a _kocho_, a large green flightless foul-tempered carnivorous riding bird. He moves by at a gallop. 

The party draws near a wagon driven by a half-elf in green, with eyes of dark jade to match his garb. He glances over at Allyendra. He stares at her, his face changing into a look of surprise. “Excuse me,” he calls.

Ally looks at him. “Yes?”

“What’s your name?”

She answers, “Allyendra. Ally, they call me.”

“You... look familiar.”

Ally blinks. “I don’t recognize you.” She shrugs.

He stares at her intently for a moment. Slowly, he says, “Be careful, Allyendra. Here, I have something for you.” From his belt, he draws a dagger and hands it to her.

“Thank you?” she says, quite puzzled.

“Be careful,” he repeats. “This may help you with a foe you might otherwise not be able to hit.”

“Thank you.” She sounds more sure this time.

The half-elf twitches the reins, and his garen draw his wagon away. “Did you know that guy?” Kain asks.

“I don’t think so,” Ally shrugs.

“Weird.”

Barouk looks the dagger over. “I think it’s adamantine,” he says. 

“Hey, look!” Kifla gestures ahead of them. “The split tree!”

Indeed. Another quarter mile sees them to the tree. It is more forked than split, and at it, Kain leads our heroes into the jungle. It begins to rain as Kain and Ally hack a trail through the thick vegetation. “Damn this rain,” Barouk growls. 

The party breaks into a clearing, where they encounter a pair of red colored beetles that Ally charges and slays immediately.*

“Well, I didn’t even break a sweat on that one,” Barouk observes.

On the party goes. Another hour, and they stumble upon some of the promised bandits. Through some brush, our heroes spy a figure (they can’t discern much). At the same moment, they hear a voice cry out, “Hey, there’s someone here!”

Battle! The bandits and our heroes move around the brush to engage in combat. Kifla _sleeps_ two of them, but there are still four more! 

Ally charges in. She slashes one of the enemies- who turn out to be mostly human- and wounds him. He tries to move back, but Ally decapitates him as he tries to fall back. Another of the enemies attacks her, but he fumbles and drops his sword! A most comical look of dismay comes over his face. The third of the bandits hurls a throwing axe at Ally, hitting her in the shoulder. She growls as it wounds her. Behind the first three bandits, the fourth begins waking up yet more of them. 

“This is trouble,” Barouk says. 

Kain moves in, thrusting with his shortsword, but he misses. His enemy attacks and then retreats, and Kain makes another attempt at landing a stab, but again he misses. Still, he harries his foe, attempting to get into flanking and land a blow. 

Ally is a whirlwind, slaying bandits left and right. Barouk begins throwing punches as well, but he calls out, “Remember, keep one of them alive!”

Things are going pretty well, even as the new bandits are getting up, until the really big half-orc goes into a rage. “RAAAGHHH!!!!!” he roars, and charges Ally! His bastard sword whirls in- and hacks into her pelvis, shattering it and killing her instantly.

The half-orc howls and whirls to face the rest of the party.

_*Next Time:*_ Holy crap! Can our heroes get their bandit- or will their bandit get our heroes?


*She killed one, cleaved and killed the other, all on the first full round of combat.


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## Slickenfiber (May 7, 2007)

the Jester said:
			
		

> Battle! The bandits and our heroes move around the brush to engage in combat. Kifla _sleeps_ two of them, but there are still four more!
> 
> Ally charges in. She slashes one of the enemies- who turn out to be mostly human- and wounds him. He tries to move back, but Ally decapitates him as he tries to fall back. Another of the enemies attacks her, but he fumbles and drops his sword! A most comical look of dismay comes over his face. The third of the bandits hurls a throwing axe at Ally, hitting her in the shoulder. She growls as it wounds her. Behind the first three bandits, the fourth begins waking up yet more of them.
> 
> “This is trouble,” Barouk says.




Ally ran way ahead of the rest of the PCs, putting herself in threat range of at least 3 bandits.  It took the remaining party 3 rounds just to catch up!  This, and the crit from the half-orc, is what killed her...  Alas, she was only 16, and impulsive.

MORAL: stay together, and stay alive!

-- Monk Grunleaf Baruk


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## the Jester (May 27, 2007)

“Ally!” shrieks Kifla. “NOOOOO!!!!”

Kain doesn’t have time to mourn the fall of his busty companion. He is fighting desperately, two short swords in his hands. His left hand twists as he parries a blow, sending the bandit’s blade out of guard position, and Kain lunges with both swords, impaling the man! With a gurgle, his foe falls. A crossbow bolt- launched by Kifla- whizzes past him and hits the raging half-orc that just slew Ally in the thigh.

He only howls again, spittle spraying from his mouth. 

Barouk kicks out at another of the bandits- _Are there more behind those bushes?_ he wonders- but misses. A spear jabs him in the side. Gritting his teeth, he stumbles forward at the half-orc, giving a wild jab- but the half-orc knocks his blow away, then chops down, slashing deeply into Barouk’s shoulder. The monk collapses in a bloody heap.

“Oh no,” whispers Kifla. Fear washes over her. _This could be the end for all of us._ She glances at the mad half-orc. _And we’re supposed to take one of them alive!_ She casts _expeditious retreat_. _If nothing else, maybe I can make it out and bring word to my master, or to that guy Bors who sent Kain with us..._

“Coward!” screams Kain. “You can’t leave me alone like this!!” Desperately, he faces the half-orc and the other remaining bandit.

The half-orc roars and rushes forward at him, greataxe whistling. At the same instant, the other bandit leaps at Kain as well- and, through a stroke of incredible good fortune, the axe cleaves through the bandit!* Kain grins fiercely, leaps up through a spray of blood and viscera, drops his off-hand weapon and thrusts at the half-orc, trying to land a stunning blow against his head.

He misses, and finds himself face to face with a huge, raging, froth-at-the-mouth, foul-smelling half-orc barbarian bandit. 

“Gnome- HELP!!!” he screams again.

Kifla is backing away, but when Kain yells for help again, she suppresses a sob and moves forward. _Only one spell left,_ she whispers to herself. _If this doesn’t work, I have to flee, or we’re _all_ dead!_ 

Her _expeditious retreat_ becomes an expeditious advance as she moves up and to the side, to where she can cast without catching Kain in the area of her spell. Then she begins chanting the mystic syllables, linking her fingers together in weird positions- and a _color spray_ hisses out, catching the half-orc in its cone of clashing hues! The bandit leader (?) gives a great roar, stumbled a few steps... and falls unconscious!

“Oh thank the gods!” bursts out Kain.

“Quick!” Kifla exclaims. “We have to make sure that Barouk is okay! And that will only keep the half-orc down for a few minutes- we need to bind him before he awakens!”

“Right,” Kain agrees. While Kifla is distracted, Kain surreptitiously reaches into the belt of Allyendra- poor, deceased Allyendra- and filches the adamantine dagger that she had been given by the traveling merchant on the road earlier. 

The two of them bind the half-orc before he comes around. Kain has more expertise with ropes, so Kifla leaves that task mostly to him; meanwhile, she digs out the pink potion that the party found, crosses her fingers and pours it down Barouk’s mouth. The dwarf splutters and coughs, but some of his wounds close, and his eyes flutter open. 

“Did we take one alive?” he groans.

***

When the party searches Ally’s body, Barouk notices a distinct lack of Ally’s new dagger. Kain does not confess to taking it, so the dwarf eyes him suspiciously but lets the matter drop for the moment. As soon as Barouk and Kifla have their backs turned, Kain slips the dagger into the half-orc’s belt, and as the party searches him, they discover it. Barouk harrumphs, but the mystery appears solved- at least for the moment. 

“We have to bury her,” Kifla sniffs, indicating Ally’s body. For once, no one argues, and everyone starts digging. But after a few moments, they realize how poor the prospects of making a good grave are, and they change their plan (at Barouk’s suggestion) from a grave to a funeral pile. They begin gathering what dry wood they can find.

“Hello,” comes a new voice.

Everyone drops their firewood and whirls. Another half-orc faces them! 

Barouk adopts a fighting stance. Kifla whips out her crossbow. Kain draws both shortswords.

“Whoa!” the half-orc exclaims, raising his hands to show that he is unarmed.

“State your business,” Barouk barks. “We’ve just had a rather _bad_ encounter with another half-orc- a bandit- and it cost us dearly!”

“Whoa,” the newcomer repeats. “I’m no bandit! I am a traveler, seeking aid for my homeland, where we have a goblin problem, and I heard voices... so I thought I would investigate.” He glances at Ally’s body, laid out atop the beginnings of a funeral pyre. “Maybe,” he offers, “I can help you guys gather wood for your friend’s pyre.”

Barouk and Kifla exchange a glance. Kain shrugs. “Sounds good to me,” he snorts. 

So it is that our heroes meet Grom, the half-orc. He tells them his tale as they dig: he is from the Elsir Vale to the north, from a town called Drellin’s Ferry. Recently his folk have been harassed by goblins, and although this is nothing new to them, the goblins seem bolder than usual. Moreover, the usual tactic of the local folk is to slay a few, send some pursuit to frighten the goblins and let them know that their incursions will be met with swords and arrows, and not tolerated. This time, however, the usual approach does not seem to be bearing fruit. Though the town has only had a few of its folk slain (and several more injured), the goblins are worrying in their persistence. So they sent Grom as a representative to the nearest big city, Alathion, for aid.

“But the local troops said they already had too much on their hands,” Grom sighs. “They said that the city has a bunch of problems with gang violence, as well as bandit activity going on around it. So they left me pretty much on my own. I figured that if I could find some independent adventurers that were interested in helping us, my town might be able to pay some coin to them for their help.”

Kifla, Kain and Barouk exchange looks.

“Well, we need to go back to Alathion first, to speak to my master,” Kifla says solemnly. 

“Yes, we’ve finally just about finished our first real mission,” Barouk grumbles. “_If_ we can get a live bandit back to town this time!”

The pyre is finally finished. Kifla says a few last words: “She was our friend, though she didn’t talk much. Well, grunted, really. Allyendra, we will miss you!”

She begins singing a gay, happy gnomish song while Barouk gravely lights a brand and thrusts it into the wood of the pyre. Several pieces are soaked in pitch, and the flames catch rapidly. Soon Ally’s corpse begins to burn, the fire licking upward at the night. 

Barouk sighs. _You may have been a silly human girl,_ he thinks, _but you were a hell of a warrior!_ 

***

A night’s rest sees our heroes back on the road to Alathion, with their half-orc captive bound within a large sack. When they reach the trade road that parallels the Alathion Canal, the traffic again picks up, and soon the party is stopped by a sheriff mounted on a kocho, searching for someone. However, the sheriff releases them when they show him the bandit that they captured: he is not the bandit the sheriff is looking for. 

“Who are you looking for, then?” asks Kifla. 

“The daughter of someone important,” the sheriff says vaguely. “Keep your eyes open and report anything you come across. There is a reward for her safe return.”

By evening they reach the walls of Alathion, but the gates are closed for the night. With an eloquent shrug, Barouk begins setting up camp again. 

_*Next Time:*_ Back in Alathion! Will our heroes finally turn a live bandit over to Kifla’s master? Will the party follow Grom? Will they learn anything about the missing girl? Find out- next time!

*This is a great example of a fumble (yes, I use fumbles) turning the tide of the battle. If that half-orc’s blow had hit Kain, that would have been it for him- he’d have been written in the dead-book for certain.


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## the Jester (May 29, 2007)

With the morning light our heroes head back into Alathion. The city is criss-crossed with canals; each bridge requires a meager toll. Fortunately for Kifla and Barouk, they live here. The others must pay a smidge more. Kain grumbles about the pennies he has to spend; after all, for a jungle-dwelling insurrectionist, the opportunities to make money are... limited. He huffs. “I’m gonna sell some of the gear we got while you visit your master,” he tells Kifla. “What was his name, again?”

“Uh...” Kifla thinks for a minute. _Hmm, I never got his name,_ she realizes, but aloud, she says, “They call him Big Nose.”

Kain snorts laughter. “All right, why don’t we meet after you’re done with Big Nose and I’m done selling loot?”

“Sounds good,” grunts Barouk.

Grom, who has accompanied the party back to the city, reminds them, “I can’t stay here long- I need to get back and help my folk.” He smiles his tusky smile. “Don’t forget- they’ll probably reward you guys if you can help us.”

For a half-orc, Grom is surprisingly persuasive. The party agrees to try to hurry things along so that they can go to his people’s aid. Then they split up. While Kain tries to sell a bunch of weapons and armor to the neighborhood smith (and discovers that he isn’t buying or selling anything until some stolen property is returned), Grom, Barouk and Kifla head towards the Scintillating Tower, surrounded by its Garden of Glass, to see Kifla’s master within. After knocking, they are greeted by a construct that leads them into a sitting room- and then turns into a gnome, but not the one that they met before. Clearly, this is ‘Big Nose’. When they show him their captive, he is overjoyed, giving the party a bag of gold and handing Kifla a scroll. “The spell on that scroll is somewhat unusual,” he tells her. Upon closer examination, it turns out to hold the spell _paint memory,_ which will allow her to create an image, perfect in every detail, of something that she has seen.

“Do you know anything about the kidnapping of the daughter?” Barouk asks. “We met a sheriff who was looking for her- the daughter of someone important, apparently.”

Big Nose shrugs. “Oh, yes, everyone is talking about it. The rumors that I heard said that she’s the daughter of a wealthy jeweler, and she was kidnapped for extortion purposes.”

This seems like a logical story, and our heroes talk briefly about pursuing the matter, but again, Grom reminds them, “We need to get moving soon.”

“Well, we’re staying the night in town tonight, right?” Kifla says, as the party exits the tower of Big Nose. “We might as well keep our eyes open while we’re here, and maybe we can tell the authorities about anything we hear.”

As the party moves down the street, they run afoul of a trio of sneering young men. They eye the party and call a few insults at our heroes, who respond in kind. “Fools, don’t you know you’re in Lion Gang territory?” one of the gang members taunts as the three thugs assume fighting stances. They are unarmed, but to Barouk’s eye, they look like practiced unarmed fighters.  

“Yeah?” the dwarven monk returns, taking up a stance of his own. “Well, I think the authorities need to hear that the Lion Gang had something to do with a certain recent kidnapping that is the talk of the town.”

“Huh?” The shortest of the street thugs seems confused.

The one who spoke earlier, a blond man with a dusting of moustache, pipes up. “We didn’t have anything to do with that, none of us!” He seems uneasy at the accusation.

“But I bet you know who did,” Grom accuses.

The Lion Gang members move close together and have a quick murmured discussion. The blond one turns back and states, “She isn’t kidnapped, anyway. She joined up with the Furies.”

“Who?” Kifla asks.

“They’re our rivals,” another of the gangsters tells them. “Girls. No matter what they start off as.”

The two groups drift apart, having managed to avoid violence. “Thanks for the info!” Kifla bubbles, waving at them.

It starts raining. Everyone goes back to the tenement building where Barouk and Kifla live. Kifla gladly lets Grom sleep in her room; Kain and Herb, who has gotten very quiet, are left out in the common room. Kain sleeps on a couch, Herb in a chair. When he awakens, Kain finds that he is missing some money and goes into a cold, murderous rage. He is unsure as to who the culprit is, but he knows that if he finds them, he will extract payment from them one way or another. As the morning moves towards noon and our heroes buy gear with which to travel, he looks again and again at Herb. Finally, Kain accuses him of stealing his money in the night. Herb looks horrified at the very thought, and a shakedown reveals that he is completely broke. 

“Damn it!” Kain curses. “Who took my money?? Argh!!”

“I think it is time for me to leave you,” Herb says abruptly. 

“What?” exclaims Kifla. 

“It is clear that I am not trusted here, nor do I have much to offer you. I... I must find myself. My path.” He heaves a sigh. “I am lost. I must find my way.” And with that, he walks away, into the city. In the distance, thunder peals.

“Good riddance,” spits Kain. The others give him a collective hard look.

By noon the party begins winding its way through the thronged streets and across the canals, and by about two in the afternoon they reach- and pass without- the city gates. During their shopping, they bought a beast of burden, a _bosoch_- a large beetle, domesticated by dwarves. Soon they are on their way down the trade road that parallels the Alathion Canal- they will be following the same route that they have for all of their adventures so far, only this time they will be following it much farther. Grom tells them that, when the time comes, they will turn north off of the road, head into the Deadgrass Lands again, and cross to the north end of them.

The traffic on the road is thick as always. The rain grows heavier, splattering our heroes’ legs with mud from the road. Squabbling brothers wearing wide-brimmed hats against the downpour drive a load of hay; a wagon plods along, pulled by more of the great domestic beetles, either _bosoch_ or _bodokod._ A man and his dogs herd a muddy flock of ducks and a few geese. A fellow with a cart of soaked firewood grumbles sourly to himself.

When night draws her curtains, our heroes set up the driest camp they can manage, stretching some blankets from branches and erecting Grom’s two-man tent. Better than nothing...

Our heroes do their best to settle in for the night while thunder rumbles. Flashes of lightning illuminate the night for an instant now and then. Kain takes the first watch. The wind blows through the camp; the rain flies nearly sidewise at times. Kain shivers. _Hell of a night,_ he thinks. There is another flash of lightning, closer; ozone tickles at his nostrils. 

_Wait a minute,_ he realizes, _that didn’t come from the sky._

Kain draws his weapons. He squints into the darkness. _Something’s moving,_ he realizes. 

“Wake up!” he shouts. “Beware!”

There is a buzz of electricity, and a strange flying beast charges at him through the night, its tail crackling with electricity. It looks almost worm-like, but it has a distinct head and eyes, and strange, hair-like growth along its head and around its mouth. The long tail glows with the power of lightning.

Kifla summons a celestial own, which swoops in and strikes the weird monster. It spits and squeals, and its tail lashes out, the electricity racing around it. It misses, and as it moves forward, Grom springs, swinging his weapon, and lands a solid blow to the head! The electrical worm thing spins away, its uppermost bits a bloody ruin. 

“Wow, nice blow!” exclaims Kifla.

“I’m going back to sleep,” grumbles Barouk.

The next day the party moves forward along the trade road. The rain has slackened, but it is still coming down, and the road is a muddy mess. The party stops to help an old man unstick his wagon from the mud; in thanks, he gives them a chicken and a dozen eggs. The rain finally stops, at least for a while. 

Soon enough our heroes move off of the road, and along the track heading north through the jungle and then into the Deadgrass Lands. The skies are clearing. As they cross into the grasslands, everyone notes that the flashes in the distance are still visible, and those who have not seen them before gape in wonder. Whatever is happening, it is happening _far away_. The power being displayed is unfathomable.

As they move north through the tall, brittle grass, the party is assailed by a pair of weird wolf-like things that peel their faces back when they attack, but they are defeated easily (despite Kifla’s _color spraying_ most of the party!).

It isn’t until the toad that things get ugly.

*Next Time:* The Toad!!


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## Slickenfiber (May 31, 2007)

Fear.

Poor Grom went flailing some 70 feet down the dirt road at the sight of the peeling faces of the weird wolf-like things...  Aren't half-orcs supposed to be fearsome in their own right??   HA!!

-- Monk Grunleaf Baruk


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## Slickenfiber (Jun 8, 2007)

At this point in our adventure, Baruk is 2nd level.  But, as game play always exceeds excellent storytelling, I'll post Baruk's current 3rd level stats.
Note: I chose to round out Saves, AC, and HP, creating a well rounded character strong on defense.  Thus, STR is low.


Campaign: Three Kingdoms and Empire
Location: City of Alathion, Island Empire of Forinthia, Cydra

Medium Humanoid (Male Dwarf)
Clan: Grünleaf (as in Grünleaf Barük)
Monk 3 (ECL 3)
AL LN
Init. +3; Senses: darkvision 60 ft. (black and white), stonecunning; Listen +3, Sense Motive +7, Spot +5.
Languages: Forinthian (Common), Dwarven.

AC 16 (20 vs. giant monsters), touch 16, flat footed 16, total defense 20.
(+0 size, +3 Dex, +3 Wis).
HD 3d8+6, hp 27.
Saving Throws: +2 vs. poison, +2 vs. all spells, +4 vs. enchantment spells  (+2 vs. enchantment effects), evasion.

SV Fort +5, Ref +6, Will +6.

Special Actions:  add WIS bonus to AC (if unencumbered and unarmored), lethal  damage with unarmed strikes 1d6, +4 dodge bonus to AC vs. giant monsters (negate if Dex bonus lost to AC).
Speed 30 ft. walk (6 squares), 60 ft. hustle (12 squares), 150 ft. run (30 squares).
Base Attack +2, Grapple +3.

Attack Options: fiery fist (uses stunning fist daily allowance), flurry of blows, stunning fist 4/day (DC 14), +1 vs. orcs, half-orcs, and goblinoids (e.g. goblins, hobgoblins, bugbears).

Melee:
unarmed strike +3 (1d6+1/x2),
quarterstaff, one or two handed +3 (1d6+1/x2),
stunning fist +3 (1d6+1/x2 plus stun 4/day) DC 14.

Ranged:
sling +3 (1d4+1/x2, range 50 ft, max 250 ft.),
shuriken +3 (1d2+1/x2, range 10 ft, max 50 ft.).

Flurry of Blows: (- 2 FOB + 2 BAB +1 STR)
+1/+1 (1d6+1/x2, unarmed strike), plus optional fiery fist (1d6 fire 4/day),
+1/+1 (1d6+1/x2, quarterstaff),
+1/+1 (1d2+1/x2, shuriken, range 10 ft., max 50 ft.).

Abilities: Str 13, Dex 16, Con 14, Int 11, Wis 16, Cha 6.

Special Qualities: dwarf traits, flurry of blows –2, improved unarmed strike, weapon proficiency (club, light crossbow, heavy crossbow, dagger, handaxe, javelin, kama, nunchaku, quarterstaff, sai, shuriken, siangham, sling).

Feats: Exotic Weapon Proficiency (Lajatang), Fiery Fist 4/day (bonus),  Improved Unarmed Strike (bonus), Path of Inner Discipline (homebrew), Stunning Fist 4/day (bonus).

Skills (20 + 4/level): Balance +7 (+11 vs. bull rush or trip attempts), Craft (weaponsmithing) +8 (apprentice level 6), Escape Artist +7, Move Silently +7, Sense Motive +7, Spot +5.

Carrying Capacity: light 50 lbs, medium 51-100 lbs, heavy 101-150 lbs, lift over head 150 lbs, lift off ground 300 lbs, push or drag 750 lbs.


CHARACTERIZATION:

Artisan (Background): As a young child, Barük underwent extensive training and apprenticeship under his father, Grünleaf Tordek (LG), a master weaponsmith during the time of Dexter and a prominent merchant in arms for wealthy lords.  Barük learned the craft, excelling to 4th level apprentice, before his father was captured and either tortured, imprisoned, or killed by an unknown assailant, seeking a magical lajatang crafted by Tordek.

Seeker (Archetype): After this traumatic event, Barük de-emphasized his weaponsmithing apprenticeship to focus his efforts into finishing his training as a monk.  He reasoned that his monk training would provide him with the strength of character, discipline of mind, and focused attention to eventually find his father’s captors (or killers), avenge his father, and find the stolen lajatang.

Alignment: Barük started his life as a lawful good weaponsmith following the religion and practices of the Galadorian faith.  With his fate forever altered by the loss of his father and mentor, Barük, a vengeful heart beating within, became lawful neutral.  He was unable to heed the warnings of his Grünleaf clansmen: “Vengeance will lure you away from Good, Barük.  Be wary of Bleak!”  But, he knew that Good would not allow him the leniency to track all leads and paths required to find the persons responsible for his father’s disappearance.  Justice, and therefore Law, is his primary compass.  Moral flexibility, and therefore neutrality, is his most expeditious path.

Fear: Barük fears failure, especially on his quest to avenge his father.  Barük also hates, and fears, Chaos.  The masters of St. Spadron taught him that Chaos is the path through which strife spawns, so Barük challenges Chaos whenever he finds it’s allies acting on its behalf.

Kind: Instead of bitterness and resentment, Barük’s monk training has taught him to act with compassion to others’ needs despite his own trials, as there are many who have suffered worse histories in life.

General descriptors: Barük prefers a careful plan to recklessness, prefers quiet to noise or hustle and bustle, for it his through silence that he remains most focused on his quest.  He believes St. Spadron and Galador will show him the path to justice, as long as he stays true to The Walk, and The Way of The Monk.  Barük tends to get impatient with indecisiveness, yet is not so hurried that he wont stop to admire the simplest of things.  He believes the means is just as important as the end and always acts in the best interests of Law.


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## the Jester (Jun 10, 2007)

Nice write up of Barouk, Slickenfiber!

To the readers- please note that I spell Barouk differently than Slickenfiber does, much like Horbin/Horben in the epic game. As always, this started off as a simple error, but I have subsequently justified it via the old "Forinthian spelling vs. Dwarven spelling" line. 

Edit: Oh, and I encourage the other pcs to post their characters as well- the party has grown substantially since the session in this story hour's most recent update. We now have a regular group of 8 players for this game...


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## the Jester (Jun 10, 2007)

*The Tragedy of the Toad!*

The Deadgrass Lands are uneven, unreliable terrain. Sometimes, it is flat and favors easy walking for miles; at other times, sinkholes abound, cracks and chasms cut the landscape and rises and depressions are everywhere. The grass itself is sharp, brittle and unpleasant, and varies in height up to eight or even ten feet high. 

Our heroes are traveling through a lower area, with several shallow creeks cutting across it. The day creeps into afternoon. As the party moves through a particularly foul-smelling and scum-covered pond, they hear a frighteningly loud croak.

“What was-” Kain starts, and suddenly a toad hops forth.

A toad larger than Kain.

His mouth hangs open in disbelief as the thing’s throat-sac inflates to the size of a large shield, and it gives out another thunderous croak. And then it opens its mouth to attack- and a long, sticky tongue shoots out, swatting- and sticking to- Kain!

“Hey!” he shouts, drawing his sword out. He is being reeled quickly towards the dire toad’s mouth, despite his strongest struggles.

“Kain!” barks Barouk, and he springs forward, smacking the toad with one meaty fist. It barely seems to notice the blow, merely concentrating on pulling its chosen victim to its mouth. The party unleashes a storm of attacks with weapons and fists, but the toad catches Kain in its mouth and begins gnawing on him, trying to pull him into its throat and swallow him whole!

“Aagh!!” Kain yells as the toad’s bite cracks the bones of his arm. His struggles are growing weaker. The sticky tongue jerks his upper body into the thing’s mouth! “Help!!” he screams.

Grom springs into the fray and Barouk redoubles his efforts, but in his frantic haste to strike it, he misses. A bolt from Kifla flies wide. Grom cuts the toad across the back, but it ignores the blow.

Kain struggles to push himself back out of the frog’s mouth. He is, quite literally, looking down its throat. Its tongue convulses, shoving him further in, and he screams in pain as the monster’s powerful bite crushes his ankles. Only his feet are still outside of the beast. 

Grom and Barouk kick, pummel and chop into the toad to great effect, and it stumbles away a pace. It is now battered, bruised and bleeding, but with another convulsion of its mouth and throat, Kain is completely lost from view. “Noooo!” cries Kifla, firing another bolt from her crossbow. Frantically, our heroes struggle to slay the dire toad. It tries to hop away, but they manage to catch and slay it before it can do so. Quickly, they cut open its belly.

Too late. Kain is dead.

Barouk harumphs. He grudgingly shows Kain the respect due the dead, but to tell the truth, he never liked or trusted the revolutionary anyway. Being a dwarf and therefore practical, the monk quickly strips his dead companion’s body of everything of use. Kain even had some money- almost 70 gp in mixed coins!

“We have to bury him,” Kifla says. 

“Of course,” Grom agrees, before Barouk can object. The dwarf sighs and nods.

So they set about to do so. It takes about an hour of digging to create a grave of appropriate size, and then another twenty minutes to bury the body; and then Barouk, Kifla and Grom share a moment of silence over the death of their friend. Well, companion, anyway.

The three of them continue on. It is almost dusk by now; before long, they are forced to begin looking for an appropriate spot to camp. Upon finding one, they build a fire and cook some food, then erect the tent and roll out their respective bedrolls. Soon everyone but Grom (who is taking first watch) is asleep. 

The night is beautiful, warm and pleasant. The stars glitter like jewels in the firmament above him. He keeps a sharp eye out. _I hope my people are okay,_ he thinks. _Thankfully, these folks are willing to help us. Goblins have always plagued us- but they are never so persistently harassing as they are being this last year._ He broods over the goblin menace to his home town of Drellin’s Ferry for several hours, until his watch is over and he wakes Barouk. Then Grom goes to sleep with a sigh.

In the morning- for the rest of the night is uneventful- our heroes wake and begin their morning routines. After a quick breakfast, they set out, but they have only traveled for about twenty minutes when Barouk spots a campsite up ahead, with two elves in it. He motions to his companions to drop back behind some cover. Quietly, he informs them of what he saw, and Grom volunteers to go check the campsite out. He heads down the slope towards the elves, trying to be sneaky, but they have plainly seen him by the time he arrives and are watching him.

“I’m friendly!” Grom tells them, holding his empty hands out. “I’m, uh, just checking out what you’re up to.”

“We’re travelers,” one of the elves- the male- says. 

“Uh, yeah, us too.”

“Us?” the female elf asks, arching an eyebrow. “Are there more orcs with you?”

“No- I’m a half-orc, and my companions are a gnome and a dwarf.”

The two elves exchange a glance. Grom has encountered racism before, and he imagines that they are debating internally whether to believe him or not. Then the two relax, letting their hands fall away from the hilts of their weapons. Grom calls up the hill, and Barouk and Kifla descend. 

The two elves are named Skaal (the male) and Tempe (the female). The party tells them about the goblins menacing Grom’s homeland, but the elves decline to join them, stating that they already have a mission of their own. “We’re going to somewhere called Vraath Keep,” Tempe tells the party.

“That’s right near my home town!” Grom declares. “Right outside of it!”

”Well, maybe we can join forces after all, then,” Skaal replies quietly. “At least for a time.”

“Well met, then!” Kifla cries. “Hurray, new friends!” Then she turns sober. “After all, we just lost a friend.” She relates the tale of the tragedy of the toad to the elves, and they commiserate with her. The elves finish their breakfast, and the party helps them break camp; and then, the newly-expanded party of five continues on.

As they move on, the grass grows higher, and in thicker, hedge-like clumps. Often these are impenetrable. The party breaks for lunch. Soon after, they come to a long hedge, with a single break leading into it. More thick grass is visible on the other side. It is a veritable maze of the deadgrass.

“I wonder if anything lives in there,” Grom mutters. He moves up and cocks his head to listen; after a moment, he says, “All I hear is rustling grass.”

The party moves in, Grom in the lead, his head still cocked. He pads forward about 20’. The path through the maze splits into a T, with one passage heading to the right and the other to the left. As he creeps forward into the intersection, Grom suddenly feels the floor go out from under him.

A pit opens. 

He flails for the edge, but he is not quite fast enough. As he comes down, he manages to roll with the fall. Fortunately, his tumbling skill is sufficient to prevent any damage from such a short fall. But- “That was a trap!” he exclaims.

“Oh no!” Kifla cries.

Skaal moves up and peers down into the pit. “Here,” he calls, throwing down one end of a rope. “I’ll help you- AAHHH!!”

A stone _pings_ off of Skaal’s head. The elf stumbles, shakes his head and glares up. Poking through the wall of grass, through a tiny opening, is the head and forebody of a kobold. Then, suddenly, there is a great tug at the rope that Skaal is not prepared for, and he is pulled into the pit as well! He lands much more poorly than did Grom, and to add insult to injury, he smashes into the half-orc as well! Skaal groans into unconsciousness, while Grom is wounded fairly badly but still in fighting shape.

Tempe cracks her whip at the kobold, but misses; and it withdraws back through the hedge.

“Damn it!” curses Tempe.

The party stays quite wary for a few minutes, but the kobold does not reappear, so they get back to the whole ‘rescue people from the pit’ business. Soon both Skaal and Grom are back up above, and the application of a potion that the party had previously obtained brings Skaal back to consciousness, and in fact to full health. He in turn demonstrates the ability to heal and restores Grom’s lost vitality.

They withdraw from the maze to camp, restore their resources and reconsider. 

“A maze full of kobolds can’t be good,” Skaal opines. 

“I wonder how long it would take to go around it,” Tempe murmurs.

Our heroes look over the hedge maze. It seems to extend for a considerable distance, and there is no guarantee that they will find a direct path around it at all. After much discussion, they decide that they must take the maze.

“At least the beetle will fit in there,” Barouk points out.

_*Next Time:*_ Into the Deadgrass Maze in earnest!


----------



## the Jester (Jun 27, 2007)

*Into the Deadgrass Maze!*

During the night, those of our heroes that are in the best shape keep watch, constantly jumping at shadows. Nervously, they strain their ears for the tell-tale yipping of kobolds or the sound of the tall grey grass rustling in the darkness. They have a small, low fire; it is easily hidden amongst the tall embankments of grass. Hopefully. 

When the morning sun finally drags itself out of the eastern sea and the night sky lightens and gradually turns pink, our heroes rise. There is a maze to conquer. 

Grom leads the way. He claims to have a good deal of skill with locating traps, and suggests that (as they have already encountered one trap) he is thus probably the best one to take point. When Kifla points out that the reason that the party “encountered” the one trap was that Grom failed to detect it, the half-orc offers to let her take the lead instead. She declines, Tempe snorts in amusement, and Grom takes the lead.

The so-called “deadgrass” is an ashen grey, spotted with brown and green. It is brittle and shatters into sharp edges; though not strong, it can easily slice through skin and flesh. It grows around seven to ten feet tall throughout the area of the maze. Skaal eyes it dubiously as the party moves in. Everyone is excruciatingly careful; with Grom scanning the party’s path for traps, they are able to take their time without slowing the group down.

Into the maze. 

Our heroes enter the place warily, eyes wide open, ears listening for anything suspicious. They move in to the pit that they encountered the night before. Keeping their eyes open for kobolds (or anything else), they creep through the T-shaped intersection that the pit is in the middle of and head off to the left. 

***

As soon as the intruders are past the pit, Yizfip creeps back through the tiny passage through the center of the thick grass until it intersects another, bigger passage, big enough to run down. He creeps to the corner and listens.

Yes. The intruders are making lots of noise. Even as far away as they are, probably 50 feet, most of which is full of the grass, he can hear them clearly. He sprints down the open path between walls of deadgrass, leaving the intruders behind- for the moment. He follows the passage straight through a four-way intersection (_the intruders will be off to my left,_ Yizfip thinks) and follows the path as it curves right. Pass the opening to the left, it doesn’t go anywhere anyway. Straight ahead- and the kobold skids to a halt in the only large open space in the entire maze. The boss’ chamber.

And there he is.

Yizfip quails every time he sees the great lizard man. He is always afraid- _every single time!_- that the boss is going to rip out his heart and eat it! He starts to tremble and his tail tucks, quivering, between his legs. “Boss,” he whines, “the intruders from yesterday are back!”

Voorsikthss stirs on the wooden and bone chair that he has fashioned for himself. It is festooned with the skulls of those whose hearts he has eaten, foes and kobolds alike. His red eyes flare and his lower jaw drops open with a hiss that Yizfip recognizes as the lizard man’s malevolent laugh. 

“Let’s start the fun,” the boss rumbles.

***

Left. Right. Left again.

“This place is a maze,” Tempe comments. 

No one answers. Are there kobold eyes spying on them from hidden peep tunnels in the grass? No one is certain, but they are nervous about the possibility.

In the lead, Grom wipes sweat from his brow and moves another few feet ahead. So far, nothing. But he knows better than to get complacent- kobolds have a reputation, you know! Even if this _is_ the first time he has actually _met_ them... He takes another step, momentarily distracted, and suddenly, to his dismay, he realizes that he has just stepped into a noose hidden in the dirt. It tightens swiftly, seeking purchase on his ankle-

He yanks his foot free just in time. Though he was distracted, he reflexes are still amazing. Still, he gulps. Just as he is opening his mouth to tell his companions of the trap, four kobolds charge around the corner ahead, clearly expecting the party to be experiencing some trouble from the trap. “Look out!” he shouts. “Kobolds!”

Tempe reacts with elfin alacrity, hurling her spear at one of the kobolds. It throws itself flat and the spear misses; then, the lizard-like dog-man scrambles back up to its feet, growling and baring its teeth. The two foremost kobolds spring forward, slashing at Grom, and one of them hits! It slices across his left leg, drawing a bloody line on his thigh! The half-orc bites back a scream of pain. It feels like his leg is on fire; from his thigh down, his leg is suddenly wet. The rearmost two kobolds fire sling bullets at him, too, and one of them hits him in the chest, leaving a tremendous bruise. He staggers back, hit twice, noticeably wounded.

Barouk draws and throws a dagger, catching one of the rear kobolds in the arm. It gives out a loud yip of pain, then glares at him. Skaal tries to emulate the dwarven monk, throwing a dagger of his own, but he misses. The kobolds are fast! Grom draws his short sword and engages the two kobolds on him; despite his two wounds, he is ready to fight! Unfortunately, the little dog-lizard men are quick and manage to evade his first clumsy stabs. 

Tempe grimaces and glares at one of the kobolds.. The smell of burning metal fills the air, and suddenly the creature screams. Blood bursts from its eyes, nose, ears and mouth; it collapses, dead. 

“What did you do to it?” Barouk cries, astonished. Tempe just smiles. 

The kobolds in the back, with the slings, fire again. One fires at Grom, but the half-orc zigs when the kobold wanted him to zag, and the stone hits one of the other kobolds! It howls in pain, staggering. The other kobold slinger hits Skaal, who gives out a screech. The stone connects less than an inch from his eye!*

Grom misses another thrust. _Forget this,_ he thinks grimly. He leaps back, tumbling through a backwards summersault and ending up on his feet behind his comrades. His leg throbs with pain, as does the right side of his chest. “Get them!” he exhorts his friends.

Tempe’s brow crinkles again, and again there is that weird smell of burning metal. Another of the kobolds gives out a loud howl and collapses, blood gushing from its mouth and nose, its eyes suddenly extraordinarily bloodshot. Its tongue lolls from its lifeless mouth.

The other two kobolds take a step back. 

Skaal whips out his two sickles and begins advancing. 

The two remaining kobolds break and run. They veritably dash away, scampering back and around a corner in mere seconds. Our heroes begin to pursue, but Barouk reins them in.

“Now hold on,” the dwarf says. “You’re just going to get split up and killed in the maze.”

The party gathers up and re-forms their ranks. “We could just try to find another way around this place,” Tempe points out. 

Barouk shrugs. “Sure. We could. But it might delay us for days.”

Tempe nods. “Then let’s go.”

The party keeps going. They advance in the same direction that the kobolds fled in, and ignore the first side passage. It is to their left; so far, they have gone left-right-left, so it is the next right-hand passage that they take. 

“Listen,” Skaal commands suddenly. “Do you hear that?”

The sound is impossible to miss. “Drumming,” grunts Barouk.

“The kobolds?” wonders Tempe.

Barouk nods. “I’d bet on it.”

The party keeps moving. As the party travels down yet another path between walls of deadgrass, Grom abruptly says, “Stop!” Without question, the other members of the party do so. 

The half-orc squats down to examine whatever he has seen. To the others, it looks like normal hallway. Grom seems to brush at the floor with his finger, then to do something- what, the rest of the party cannot ascertain, except that it involves hunching over that particular section of hallway- and then a pit opens in front of him. It is small, just big enough to catch a leg, and is less than two feet deep.

But the bottom is filled with black widows. 

“Nasty,” Skaal remarks. There is more than a hint of admiration in his voice. “A formidable type of poison.”

“I’m just glad that I didn’t step in it!” Grom declares. 

Deeper in. The party’s journey continues, Grom staying in the front. The sharp-edged grass sighs around them. The air is growing warmer as the sun creeps up the ecliptic towards its zenith. 

“Stop!” Grom commands the others again.

“What is it?” grunts Barouk.

“A trip wire.” The half-orc gestures, pointing out what he sees. “Right here. It’s very thin...” He pauses, looking it over carefully, pulling out a few long, slender tools to try to disable it. After a few moments, he shakes his head. “I can’t disable it,” he says.

“Then stand back.” Tempe pulls out her whip. “I’ll trigger it from far away.”

Grom scurries back behind the female elf. The others watch as she cracks her whip at the tripwire.

_CLANGACLINGACLANGA!!_

“Aw, crap, it was an alarm,” Grom says.

_*Next Time:*_ Our heroes get lost in the maze! What kind of drastic measures can they take? How about- _lighting it on fire!!_

*Threat; not a crit.


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## the Jester (Jul 31, 2007)

The sound of kobold feet scurrying towards the party is all too clear. Barouk begins hurrying forward, followed by Skaal, who draws out both of his sickles. Then a pair of kobolds come into view from around the corner! Grom immediately charges, his growl growing into a shout as he launches himself forward. Tempe unleashes a _mind thrust_, but fails to penetrate the startled kobold’s mental defenses. The two kobolds strike back with their spears, and four more join them from around the corner. A furious press develops, with our heroes striking and parrying. 

“Listen!” shouts Grom. “I can hear more of them barking. I think there are more coming!”

“We have to break through these,” Barouk barks, smashing his fist into one of the yipping kobolds’ nose. It drops. 

It is right about then that the kobolds break and run. Our heroes roar and charge in pursuit, but suddenly there are spears coming at them from _behind!_ Swiftly, the party turns to deal with this new assault, and they engage another group of kobolds that has snuck up behind them. Skaal’s kocho kicks and bites, screeching wildly. Another group of kobolds comes in to reinforce them- but these ones are carrying a figure bound to a pole. 

Still, the kobolds are cowards by nature, and when they realize that our heroes will bloody and beat them, the kobolds flee. In their haste, they leave the bound figure behind (and, of course, the pole). 

Gasping to recover their breath, our heroes glance warily around. There are no imminent, obvious threats. Tempe wipes her brow. “These guys are sneaky and treacherous,” she remarks.

Barouk nods. “Well, they are kobolds,” he grunts. 

“What about this guy?” Skaal gestures at the bound figure. It appears to be a nude half-elven male. His head is bloody. A collection of what the party assumes to be his gear is on some of the dead kobolds. The party cuts him free; he hardly seems a threat at the moment. Skaal tends his wounds as best he can, and after a few moments and a _goodberry_ or two, the strange half-elf’s eyes flutter and open. 

“Gah!” he groans. “Who are you? Where am I?” He looks completely confused. 

“You were captured by kobolds, as near as we can figure,” Barouk responds. “What is your story? What’s your name?”

“I am Romdar. I...” The stranger trails off, wincing. “I can’t remember... anything. Except my name.” He groans; his face takes on a profoundly lost cast. “What’s going on??”

“It must have been that blow to the head,” mutters Skaal. 

“Listen, here’s the important thing: We’re in the middle of a dead grass maze that appears to be the lair of a pack of kobolds, and it’s full of traps. Now, what useful talents do you have?” Barouk gestures at the gear. “Is that your sword? Are you a warrior?”

“I...” The half-elf pauses and frowns. “I am more than a warrior. I am a duskblade.”

“A whatwho?” asks Skaal.

“I... am not entirely sure.” 

“Well, listen, Romdar,” says Barouk, “we’re in here together, and we’re against common foes. Why don’t we work together for the time being?”

“All right.” Romdar’s face turns stoic. For the moment, he has something to focus on. _But I can’t remember my past,_ he thinks. _Any of it!_

Suddenly drumming starts up in the distance.

“Crap,” mutters Grom. “This is not good. They are going to hunt us like animals.”

“They’re just trying to scare us,” Barouk growls.

“It’s working,” nods Skaal.

And then it stops abruptly. Which is just a slight bit more unsettling.

***

Our heroes keep moving, and as they move- trying to make good time- they keep hitting traps. First a spear flung by an unseen mechanism, then a blade of the sharp dead grass, then another pit.

And then the drumming starts again. 

Grom groans. Romdar snarls. Nobody is happy. The party stops to cross the pit, but a kobold assault comes right then, and the heroes are forced to reverse course and make a stand.

Unfortunately, this time the kobolds have a sorcerer, and she keeps trying to put our heroes to sleep and stuff. Soon the pitch of the battle rises, and furious blows are exchanged and spells are being slung. A solid spear blow to the head puts Skaal down, and another takes Grom from the fight, but the kobolds’ morale soon breaks and they flee, leaving our heroes to tend their wounded. 

“Kobolds are a pain in the ass,” Romdar remarks. Barouk chuckles and nods. 

“Uh, guys,” Barouk says slowly. “We may have a problem.” 

“What’s that?” asks Romdar. 

“We’re lost.” Barouk gestures at the parchment that he holds. “If my map is anything like right, we should be right near one of the pits up here. But there’s no pit.”

“Let’s backtrack,” suggests Romdar.

They retreat the way they came, but something doesn’t match up on the map. Barouk tries to lead them as best he can, with the unconscious folk strapped to the beetle, but the bewildering maze just gets them more and more confused. 

Finally, frustrated, in a fit of pique Barouk lights a torch and then hurls it off into the maze over the tall grass adjacent to him. Romdar shrugs and lights a fire in the grass nearby as well.

The party moves away from the flames. But soon the smell of smoke is everywhere. Soon they face a curtain of fire. They retreat, taking another side passage, and move along... only to find the fire again. They retreat- they must go another way, but there are more flames. Back again- and again, another way... and another, as smoke fills the sky...

_*Next Time:*_ Will we have a tpk by fire? Find out!!


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## Slickenfiber (Aug 4, 2007)

*BLOODY MAZE*


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## the Jester (Oct 20, 2007)

_Cough cough!_ 

Fire everywhere! Smoke chokes our heroes. They are sweltering in the waves of heat. The dead grass maze that they are in is burning, it seems, in nearly every direction.

“This should be the way out!” cries Barouk. “The pit should be just up here...” He trails off.

No pit.*

“Somehow, we’ve gotten badly turned around,” moans Romdar.

“Lost. We’re lost.” Barouk’s tone is mournful. 

“We’re going to die,” Romdar groans.

“Come on,” Barouk responds. “The fire is coming that way. If we backtrack, I think there’s still a passage that hasn’t ignited yet.”

But when they reach it, they are just behind the spreading flames coming from the other direction. They dash through the blistering heat, their beetle shuddering from the damage it takes. They stop to ensure that their unconscious companions aren’t deteriorating. Then they move on, hurrying away from the fire. The grass walls on either side rustle and shift in the wind. The group rounds a corner, and ahead of them- they see a flickering sheet of flames traveling along the grassy walls. 

“Flames ahead, flames behind,” sighs Romdar. 

“Well,” Barouk reasons, “there might be a non-flaming path somewhere ahead... we know that there isn’t one behind us.”

Romdar nods unhappily. The two lead the beetle, and begin to dash through the flaming hall as quickly as they can manage. Flames singe them; their hair smokes, and some of it curls and crisps away. The beetle shudders again, giving off a distressed squeal. Kifla bites her lip and hisses in pain as blisters rise on her skin.

The passage branches, and Barouk turns to the right. A few paces later, it branches again; he goes left. 

Ahead is a burnt kobold body, not moving, on the ground. 

Barouk and Romdar kick past it, dragging the screaming beetle. The passage is curving to the right, then to the left. Another body. Two more, one of them still breathing in harsh little gasps.

Suddenly they burst out into the open! Flames roar behind them as they drag the blistered beetle, and their own burnt forms, forward and collapse. They gape in awe at the conflagration behind them: the dead grass maze is aflame! Foul smoke rises from it. Brownish-orange flames reach twenty feet above the maze. The stink of burning grass is disgusting.

Suddenly, Barouk realizes that the party is being watched. He gulps and turns around.

A semi-circle of several dozen kobolds have their weapons trained on our heroes. Bows and slings and crossbows, all loaded and ready to fire. And snarling at their head, several wicked red burns on his skin, is a foul-looking lizard man, three humanoid skulls at his belt. His teeth, sharp by nature, have been filed into exaggerated points. 

He growls at our heroes. 

“Uh oh,” Barouk moans.

_*Next Time:*_ Our heroes survived the maze and the fire- but can they survive the entire kobold tribe??

*Unfortunately for our heroes, the pit was there, but the kobolds simply re-set and re-covered it, so the party couldn’t tell! If they had advanced another, oh, 30’, they would have fallen into the pit and found out- but alas, they retreated.


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## the Jester (Oct 28, 2007)

Gnashing his filed teeth, the lizard man leading the kobolds begins stalking towards our heroes. Romdar is too weak to fight; he can only cough, his lungs full of smoke. Blisters cover his body. Only Barouk and Kifla can stand.

They move to protect their friends from the lizard man. Grinning, slavering, it begins to advance- and then Kifla casts a spell at it.

_Sleep._ 

For a moment, it slows, blinking its eyes; then Barouk rushes forward, swinging his staff at the lizard man! It shakes its head, throwing off the influence of Kifla’s spell, and then ducks under Barouk’s blow. The monk and the lizard man struggle for a moment; the dwarven tenacity and muscle of Barouk against the wiry, reptilian strength, sharp claws and teeth of his enemy. The clench together for a moment, striking, blocking, ducking and slashing; and then they explode apart for a moment, neither one of them injured. 

The crowd of kobolds seems restless. They yip and bark, watching the fight eagerly. 

Kifla casts _mage armor_ and _expeditious retreat_ while Barouk and the lizard man occupy each other. Then she begins edging around behind the lizard man. The bestial creature hisses and throws a javelin at her! She yells out in dismay as she dodges to the side, and the javelin whizzes by, nearly skewering her. 

“That wasn’t very nice!” she calls out, and casts _color spray,_ but again, the lizard man throws off the effects of her spell. Growling, it bares its teeth again, then hisses at the gnome with obvious malice. “Try to talk to the kobolds!” she shouts at Barouk.

“I don’t speak Draconic,” he replies.

“Try Dwarven! They’re like dwarves, right?”

Barouk almost drops his guard for an instant. “No, they are _not_ like dwarves.” He tumbles away to the smoking beetle and drags out the adamantine dagger. “Maybe I’ll have better luck with this!” he hopes fervently.

Kifla, too, draws her dagger, and with a gulp, she closes in on the lizard man. It slashes with its claws, but both of our heroes manage to dodge- for the moment. Finally, they draw blood from the lizard man! Kifla pricks him in the upper arm with her dagger. The lizard man shouts what sound like threats, but then Barouk finally manages to land a blow as well, smacking him in the mouth. 

The lizard man retaliates swiftly, tearing into Barouk, who is in too close to escape the lizard man’s slashing claws any longer. He is left barely standing, while Kifla shouts Orcish curses at the lizard man and casts _true strike_ on her crossbow.

The lizard man hisses something terrible (and incomprehensible) at Barouk before biting him on the shoulder. With a cry, the dwarf falls!

“Uh oh,” Kifla moans. “Help!” she shouts at the kobolds. She fires, landing a quarrel in the lizard man’s shoulder. It laughs and strides quickly towards her; she backpedals, trying to get away. It casts a spell as it advances, and she recognizes it as _vampiric touch._ Kifla gulps again, realizing that this could be it for the entire party.

Then one of the kobolds starts casting a spell. 

_It just got worse,_ Kifla thinks- but, shockingly, the kobold’s _sleep_ spell targets the lizard man! It blinks, as surprised by this turn of events as Kifla is; then it collapses, unconscious.

Kifla turns to the kobolds, ready to defend herself; but they are too busy cheering and hugging each other to pay any attention to her. Clearly, there is some sort of subtext to what is happening that the gnome is missing; but she doesn’t care. Hands shaking, she slits the lizard man’s throat, ensuring that he won’t wake up to trouble our heroes any further. Then she glances back up at the kobolds.

The one that cast a spell has been yapping at them while Kifla killed their- leader? Tyrant? She isn’t sure how to think of the lizard man. But the spellcaster seems to be urging the kobolds to leave. In fact, many of them are already trotting away across the fields of grass, vanishing below the tall blades. 

Kifla glances around at her blistered, smoke-choked friends, scattered on the grass or strapped to the dying beetle. 

“We’re alive?” she asks.

After a few moments, when nobody contradicts her, she begins dragging her friends away from the baking heat of the burning grass maze. She can tell that they are on the same side of the maze as they entered, but- for now- she is just glad that they are alive. She grunts, groans, struggles to haul her friends- all much bigger than she is- just a few dozen yards away. Just to the back of a small embankment, where they will be shielded from the fire. “Gonna burn a long time,” she mumbles to herself as she totes Grom. Finally, after what feels like hours of work- at least there is plenty of light to work in, from the flames- she collapses to catch her breath, all of her party having been taken to safety. Breathing hard, Kifla closes her eyes and shakes her head. _I’m exhausted,_ she thinks.

The next thing she knows, the sun is up, and she’s blinking sleep out of her eyes. “I fell asleep!” she exclaims.  Quickly, she checks on her friends; they all prove to be okay. Nobody is dead, but nobody is close to conscious, either. Kifla sighs. _I’ll have to guard them until someone wakes up,_ she realizes. 

A branch to the southeast cracks. Kifla turns her head and gasps. Two humans, a man and a woman, are walking towards her. She thinks ruefully, _I still haven’t prepared my spells for today. I hope they are friendly!_

Fortunately for her, it appears that they are, for the first words out of the man’s mouth are, “Do you require assistance?” Shrewdly, he eyes the scattered, burnt, battered party. 

“Yes!” Kifla exclaims. The man has a rough, unshaven look that she likes. “Say, you’re cute. But we’re all hurt! My friends are hurt very badly! If you can help us at all, we’d really appreciate it.”

“We’ll do what we can,” the man assures her. “I’m Severin.” 

“And I’m Zelda!” the woman says. She is a gorgeous sex pot of a woman: leggy, busty, blonde, beautiful. She oozes sensuality out of every pore. When she tosses her hair, the light scintillates through it as if it were contemplating casting a rainbow. Her eyes are like sapphires; her lips are the soft velvet red of rose petals. 

After staring for a moment, Severin shakes his head and asks, “So, uh, what are you folks doing out here? It’s dangerous.” 

“I could ask the same of you,” Kifla replies primly. “But we’re traveling to a valley somewhere, to help him with some goblin problems.” She points at the unconscious Grom. “I guess his home town is having trouble with some raids and stuff.”

Severin’s eyes flash fiercely. “Goblins, eh? Well, I’m a ranger, and defending frontier towns is just my type of thing. I wouldn’t mind accompanying you for a time.” 

“It sounds like fun to me,” Zelda nods. A strand of hair falls across her fair cheek. When she smiles, she lights up the room. (Except that our heroes are outside. But hey, you know what I mean.)

***

Rest, and a search of the lizard man, follow, with a serious downpour right on their heels. With Severin and Zelda to help keep watch, Kifla can at last rest enough to feel- rested. She regains her spells, and despite her recent exertions, she feels more powerful than ever. She feels as though she has unlocked certain powers that were previously beyond her, like she has had certain insights that will allow her to transcend her current limitations.

Most of her friends are still badly wounded, but the next day, as Severin, Zelda and Kifla sit around in the mid-morning, the ranger’s eyes narrow. His nostrils flare. “I hear something,” he murmurs, very softly. “In the grass. Tittering.”

Kifla cries, “Maybe they’re fairies!” She leaps up and looks around. After a moment, she declares, “I don’t see anything.” 

Suddenly, from behind her, she hears a voice in Gnomish: “Who are you guys? What are you doing?”

The gnome looks around for a source, but finds nothing. _Invisible?_ she wonders. “Are you like me?” she asks. 

“We’re not gnomes, but we’re friends if you are friends.”

“Well, we want to be friends.”

“Really?”

“Yes!” Kifla smiles. “You should come out! Say, can you help our friends?”

“Um, we probably could. Come out? I don’t know...”

“I’ll give you an apple!” Kifla wheedles.

For a moment, there’s no answer. Then, the voice demands, “An apple- and a _gold piece!_”

“All right,” Kifla agrees eagerly, digging apple and coin from her backpack. “Here, now come out!”

“Hmm... well, all of you, close your eyes.”

The party complies. Nothing obvious happens for a moment. Tempe can’t resist; she peeks, but sees nothing.

“Hello?” Kifla calls. No answer. 

“I’m going to open my eyes,” says Tempe.

“Let’s all do it,” replies Kifla. 

They do. Kifla starts. She did not realize that the apple and gold piece were no longer in her hand, but they are gone. There is no sign of anyone that was not previously visible. But the wounded are covered in flower petals, which are dissolving even as the startled conscious heroes watch.

“What is that?” cries Tempe.

“A gift?” hopes Kifla. “Wait, look- their wounds are healing!” Indeed, the wounded are recovering, at least somewhat. Barouk and Grom both groan and awaken. They are still weak enough that another full day’s rest is warranted; but the next morning, the party- now swollen in size with two more members, Severin and Zelda- moves along. 

They decide to move around the burnt maze to the northeast. The pregnant clouds burst, and the downpour pours on down. The thick burnt masses of vegetation look too tough to simply force the party’s way through, even after the fire. “We should be careful,” Grom points out. “This is kobold territory.” The half-orc begins searching for tracks. Soon enough his caution proves warranted, and soon the treacherous path that our heroes are following proves to be laced with pits and worse. The ground beneath their feet turns to mud in some places, leading to a couple of minor slips. After a time, the warm rainfall stops and the land starts to steam, filling the air with humidity. 

“Hey, what’s that?” Zelda gestures. 

Up ahead, a small, shriveled body lies in the midst of the path. 

“Hmm,” comments Grom.

_*Next Time:*_ Ambushed!


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## the Jester (Nov 6, 2007)

“Looks like a dwarf,” comments Barouk. 

Indeed, the shriveled form beneath the juniper tree in the midst of their path does seem to be a dwarf- shriveled, almost mummified, wearing corroded armor and with a rusty axe in the dirt next to it. The body is half-buried in the soil, with some grass growing on the clumps of earth covering its lower portions; there is no doubt that it is dead, and has been here for some time. The party tromps forward to the corpse and begins to check it out; curiosity is a powerful motivator, after all.

As they approach, Kifla hears a strange scrabbling sound, like a bundle of sticks being rubbed against each other. She glances to the side and gasps in shock. All around the party, a bunch of small creatures seemingly made of twigs and branches formed into semi-humanoid shapes are advancing on them. The adventurers, except for Kifla, are caught completely by surprise. The twiggy creatures rake ragged twig-claws across the heroes, but most of them fail to penetrate the armor protecting their targets. Unfortunately for Grom, one of them gets through. He draws in a hissing breath as he feels a burning sting in the wound.

“Poison!” he cries. “Beware! Their claws are poisoned!”

The party rallies, drawing weapons and beginning to strike back. But what follows is a comedic dance of misses, with blades and fists and claws flying every which way to almost no effect. Barouk manages to stick a shuriken in one of them, but his other throwing stars fly wide and away. Severin flails about with a greatsword significantly larger than his small wooden targets, which dart about evasively. Grom finally manages to stick one with his shortsword, but even though it’s a solid thrust, he can barely penetrate the wooden hide of the beast. Severin finally hits, and finds himself facing the same problem. Zelda, too, is foiled by the wooden beasts’ damage reduction. Another of the creatures scores a wound on Severin, and he winces. He can feel the poison flowing into his thigh where the wound is, burning as it is carried through his body.

Then Barouk clenches his fists and they burst into flame.

The wooden monsters shrink back for a moment, and the dwarf lashes out, punching one of them in the face. It squeals, bursts into flames and falls to the ground, unmoving. 

This seems to rally our heroes, and they redouble their efforts. Grom seems to have better luck chopping with his sword rather than stabbing, and he manages to destroy one of the twig monsters that way. Zelda scores a telling wound at last, and Grom finishes it off with a blow from the other side. The party hacks, chops and bludgeons the two remaining plant monsters down quickly once they have superior numbers on their side. 

The battle is over. Their weapons sticky with sap, our heroes tend their wounds. Kifla examines the sap for useful properties, but determines that there is no reason worth carrying it around for. Barouk searches the long-dead dwarf. His banded mail is corroded past the point of usefulness, as are his weapons. However, in his boot is a rolled up, stained piece of parchment. 

“What’s that?” Kifla exclaims. “Let me see!”

Zelda, meanwhile, has begun strumming on a harp, playing a soothing melody that relaxes the others. “Does anyone know what those things were?” she asks. “I know a lot of songs and tales, and I have never heard of those things before.”

Severin shakes his head. “I know a lot about plants,” he says frankly, “but I have no idea what those things were. They certainly weren’t natural.”

“It’s a deed,” announces Kifla. 

“What?” Grom looks over at the little gnome.

“This,” she waves the parchment around. “It was in the dwarf’s boot. Not Barouk, the dead dwarf. It’s a deed- to something called the Highgate Mine.”

Everyone scratches their collective head over that. 

”Never heard of it,” is the unanimous verdict. 

“Well, let’s move on, then,” Grom urges. “My people need help with those goblins.”

“Wait a minute,” Kifla cries. “We can’t just leave him there!” She points at the dead dwarf. 

“Oh, come on,” groans Tempe.

“No, this time she’s right,” Barouk says curtly. “We should at least build him a cairn.”

The party moves the body off of the trail and then spends an hour gathering stones of various sizes and piling them upon the corpse. They bury his gear with him as well. Soon enough the body is concealed securely beneath a mound of rocks, adn our heroes move on. Severin lingers long enough to take a sample of the twig monsters, then hurries after the others.

That night, it rains. It is warm but wet. The various watches see occasional flying silhouettes and hear the croaking of frogs, but nothing eventful happens. The rain keeps coming even as the sun rises, though, and through breakfast. When the party strikes camp and begins to walk, the rain lightens for about an hour, but it keeps coming down. 

Across the Deadgrass Lands our heroes move, heading north along a series of rolling hills. They clamber up a short ridge, weaving amongst clumps of thick grass. As they crest the ridge, Severin calls out, “Hold on a second!” 

The party slows to a halt, looking at him questioningly. 

“Look over there!” He gestures. Down the side of the ridge there is a small scarp, and at the base of it is a small boggy area. There are clumpy, tangled bushes in the bog, with berries visible on them.

“What are those?” asks Tempe. 

“Cranberries!” exclaims the ranger. He smiles broadly. 

The party heads down into the bog. Zelda triggers a rather dramatic mudslide in the process, but fortunately it does not cause anyone any harm, herself included. “Whew,” she says, brushing mud off of her pants, “that was a close one!”

“Yeah, well, look at what you uncovered,” gestures Grom. 

She turns, and to her surprise, her mudslide seems to have revealed the outline of a door of some kind. The party clusters around, checking it out, and Grom suggests using water to clear off the door. Kifla points out that they don’t really have a way to carry water to it without filling their water skins with bog water, but she does have a shovel. Grom shrugs and empties a waterskin on the door, then trudges down to fill it from the bog in order to do it again. Kifla starts scraping, and between the two of them, they soon manage to clean off the door enough to open it. It is a massive stone slab. It swivels open part way when Grom kicks it. He tries to push it open further, but can’t get it open very far. His eyes widen when he notices that there is a crown carved on the door.

_Could this be an ancient king’s burial mound?_ he wonders. He licks his lips and throws his weight against the door. It budges open enough that everyone will be able to squeeze through and get inside. Grinning to himself, Grom slips through the gap and looks around warily. 

Skeletons are pouring out of alcoves in the room.

Immediately he pushes himself back through the gap. The others are just starting to approach the door, but he waves them off. “Skeletons!” he gasps.

“We should let them come out to us,” Kifla states. She draws and loads her crossbow, and Zelda does the same. Severin moves up and puts his strength against the door. Finally, whatever is obstructing it gives way, and he throws the door wide. 

Four skeletons are moving towards the party.

Grom draws and loads a crossbow too. _Hmm, who is going to stand in the front?_ he wonders nervously. Barouk moves to stand before Kifla, ready to intercept any attackers. _Not him,_ thinks the half-orc. _Not this time, at least._ 

But Skaal and his kocho move to the forefront as the skeletons advance. The druid has his two sickles gleaming in his hands. He scowls at the unnatural things approaching him. 

Then, from the darkness behind the skeletons, a large, bright red centipede comes crawling out. 

The party’s first volley of bolts entirely misses, but suddenly a pair of darting bolts of light and force streak out from the shadowy depths of the hallway in the hill. They blast into Tempe, knocking her unconsciousness. Fortunately, her facility with autohypnosis saves her from bleeding to death.

“What was that?” cries Skaal.

From the depths of the corridor comes an evil laugh.

_*Next Time:*_ Our heroes fight for their lives!


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## Alcar (Nov 7, 2007)

*Good Boy*

Git 'um, go on and git. Kobalds, and lizard man, good show. Now git.


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## the Jester (Nov 18, 2007)

The skeletons press forward, swinging their rusty weapons at our heroes, who dodge and parry madly. It is all they can do to protect themselves. Barouk tries to stand guard over Tempe’s unconscious form, but it is all he can do to fend off the slicing scimitars of his bony attackers. He turns them one way or the other or deftly steps out of his undead attacker’s way. 

Severin falls back. He raises his crossbow and sights at the unnatural-looking centipede. His finger twitches on the trigger and his bolt flies forward, piercing the centipede’s head and sticking it to the ground. Unlike the juice he expects to see coming from a bug, the centipede bleeds bright red, coppery blood. Severin feels a little ill. Its legs wave in the air for a few seconds, and then the thing goes still. Its body suddenly catches fire with a dirty brown flame and burns away to filthy ash in seconds.

Zelda fires her crossbow at one of the skeletons. Unfortunately, the bolt passes through the monster without harm. She pouts prettily for a moment, tossing her golden hair, and then stows her crossbow on her back. She begins to sing, encouraging the party, praising their skill and ability. The heroes’ collective confidence swells. 

Kifla uses her _acid splash_ spells to good effect. She can’t see a crossbow bolt doing much harm to them, and there’s no way that she’s getting into melee with them! She casts the spell twice, but does not have it prepared a third time. _That’s a useful spell,_ she thinks. _My illusions won’t be much good here!_

Barouk catches a skeleton’s arm as it descends, attempting to chop at him. He slides inside its guard and slams his fist through its skull. The skeleton collapses into individual bones immediately. The monk tumbles towards another of the undead, but there are too many obstructions on the ground for him to avoid a telling blow to the head that leaves him momentarily helpless. Skaal is having less luck; his dual-sickle attacks don’t seem to be able to scratch the skeletons. “Slashing doesn’t work so well,” he calls to the others. He backs away and begins to cast _summon nature’s ally I_. A few moments later, a wolf appears from nowhere.

The lurking, spell-casting creature- whatever it is- blasts Severin with another _magic missile_. The ranger groans in pain and takes one last shot with his crossbow, collapsing into unconsciousness as he does so. Alas, his shot goes wide.

Grom is attacked by one of the skeletons, too, and is forced to drop his bow in favor of a sword. He slashes with his shortsword, and although his blade passes through the rib area and cuts some empty air, he does manage to do some damage, crashing through a few of the thing’s ribs. The half-orc cries out gladly and shakes his fist at it. 

Romdar enters the fray by falling on his face. Skaal’s kocho and wolf step up in front of him before the skeletons can take advantage of his plight. Two of the remaining three skeletons attack the kocho, but only one hits; the other one remains locked in combat with Grom, striking him hard. Staggering, Grom drops his blade as he tries to tumble away to safety. He groans again at his misstep. 

Zelda pulls her sword and slashes at the nearest skeleton. Again, it skitters away without doing much damage, if any. She curses. Then she gives a startled laugh- as Skaal summons _another_ wolf, this one near enough to charge the spellcaster. Barouk follows it in, activating his fiery fists in a burst of ki power. He misses, but the wolf hits- and pulls the caster off of its feet!

At last our heroes get a good look at it: some sort of undead creature, with the grey pallor of death in its skin and unblinking, dry eyes. It looks roughly like a man- a dead man- but it has a distinctly arcane mode of dress (albeit rotten, decayed dress).

The thing mutters arcane words and attempts to cast another spell, but the wolf growls and shakes him, spoiling his concentration. Then, Skaal leaps at it, using both sickles to hack- and misses.

The kocho, meanwhile, is still under attack by two of the skeletons. It kicks out, finally connecting, and smashes one of them into pieces. It bites the other one, tearing off several ribs, and ruffles its feathers. That skeleton strikes back, but the kocho dances away, avoiding the blow. The skeleton steps forward and the kocho kicks out again. This time its talon connects with the pelvis of the skeleton, breaking the bone into six pieces. The skeleton collapses.

Now that Grom has gotten out of its immediate reach, the remaining skeleton turns its attention on the nearest target: Zelda. It slashes her across the belly, cutting open her shirt to expose her midriff. She cries out and hacks at it with her longsword, but her blow glances off of it. “Help, I’m not a fighter!” she cries.

“We don’t _have_ a fighter,” Barouk grumbles. 

The undead spellcaster manages to maintain his concentration long enough to cast another spell, and suddenly the wolf yelps in fear and flees. Skaal curses.

Simultaneously, Grom retrieves his lost sword and tumbles in to attack the remaining skeleton. He misses; the skeleton is surprisingly quick and agile. Romdar, picking himself up off of the ground, comes in to aid him after first attempting to dazzle the (eyeless) skeletons with a _flare._

The spellcaster, still on the ground, tries to cast defensively, but he again fails to get the spell off. He makes an exasperated sound and struggles to stand up, giving Barouk an attack of opportunity. The monk attempts to grapple him! Unfortunately for Barouk, the creature bites his hand, ruining his attempt to grab on. With a growl, the dwarf continues his unarmed assault. His hits the caster in the stomach.

Romdar finally shows his stuff. He smashes his longsword through the skull of the last skeleton, destroying it. Then he, and everyone else, turns to face the spellcaster. 

Suddenly it’s a running battle, with the caster attempting to retreat but unable to get away. There are too many adventurers for a solitary spellcaster to take. Skaal’s kocho kicks it in the belly and finishes it after a few more seconds of skirmishing.

The sudden relative quiet- for our heroes are panting loudly- is gratifying. 

***

Deeper in the mound is the burial chamber, with two sarcophagi in it. When Romdar tries to open one, there is the tell-tale flash of a _ghoul glyph,_ and he falls to the ground. 

“He’s dead!” cries Kifla. She begins to weep.

”He’s not dead, is he?” Barouk says uncertainly. “That... that can’t be.”

The party checks him out, and soon it becomes apparent that he is merely paralyzed. In a few more minutes, he begins to move again. “P-pins and needles,” he groans, shaking his hands. “I have no idea what just happened to me.”

On that note, the group breaks for dinner.

_*Next Time:*_ The sarcophagi and other matters!


Edit: Correction: It was a _ghoul glyph,_ not a _glyph of warding._


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## Slickenfiber (Nov 20, 2007)

yes..... beware of unassuming mounds in an otherwise flat and featurless plane....

query....wasn't there a glyph of warding on the floor of the hallway leading to the chamber of sarcophagi??  didn't grom read it and get hit with some sort of explosion???

grumbling and triumphant --- baruk.


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## the Jester (Nov 21, 2007)

Slickenfiber said:
			
		

> query....wasn't there a glyph of warding on the floor of the hallway leading to the chamber of sarcophagi??  didn't grom read it and get hit with some sort of explosion???




No, that was the _glyph_ that Romdar read- it paralyzed him for a short time. The final bit of the update. 

Or if there was, there is no note of it in the notebook, and I don't recall it. And, on a double check, you didn't get xp for it.


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## the Jester (Nov 24, 2007)

Skaal moves around outside, gathering berries, eggs and frogs for later consumption. The party settles in to rest outside the mound. They will recover their strength first, and then go back inside to penetrate the two sarcophagi. Severin binds wounds and tends aches as best he can, fixing poultices and teas from the herbs in the area, and soon our heroes bed down under the stars. Only whoever is on watch remains awake, tending their fire. When dawn creeps in to the east, Tempe adds a few twigs and a log, and watches the flames climb slowly up the wood. She glances at the entrance to the mound and yawns, then stretches. She stands up, performing a few mental exercises to sharpen her edge, and then starts to cook breakfast. The others stir, and soon enough everyone is strapping on weapons, tying boot straps, and stretching fatigued muscles. The wounds that they have previously suffered are somewhat healed, and Skaal touches up the worst with a _cure light wounds_.

Then they return to the passages within the ancient burial mound. Before they attack the first sarcophagus itself, they search around, making sure that there are no hidden passages or alcoves from which more undead might leap. Then Grom moves over and searches the sarcophagus for traps. “Aha!” he exclaims. “There is a poisoned needle trap here.” 

“Can you disable it?” asks Romdar. 

“Let’s find out,” the half-orc replies. He pulls out his thief’s tools and gets to work. After a few moments, he grunts in dismay. “It’s tricky,” he admits. His fingers dance at the end of slender sticks of metal as he fiddles with the trap. He mutters to himself; then there is a snapping sound. “Got it!” he cries. “Snapped the needle off.”

“Open it, then,” says Barouk. 

Grom tries to lift the lid, grunts, “It’s heavy,” and struggles for a minute to no avail. He shakes his head. “We’re going to have to get three or four of us on this thing to move it,” he says. 

“Let’s make sure the other sarcophagus is safe first,” suggests Skaal. The party nods collective agreement to this, and Grom checks for traps on it.

“This one is clean,” he announces. He and Severin together try to muscle the lid open. 

“Aw, no,” says Grom.

“What is it?” asks Kifla.

The half-orc holds up his hand. The back of it has a small bead of blood on it. “I missed a trap,” he laments. “Another poisoned needle. I can feel it burning.” Grom leans against the wall and sweats as the poison begins working its way through his system.

Severin, meanwhile, shows a surprising facility with traps as he moves over and disables the needle with some thief’s tools of his own.

“Are you going to be all right?” Kifla asks.

Grom nods wordlessly. 

The party works together, and slowly they manage to open the two sarcophagi. Each one stinks faintly of old decay, but the remains in them are clearly hundreds of years old. Most of what remains is bones, though some tatters of hair and flesh are there. 

And they are buried with treasure.

One of the corpses, in addition to some fancy jewelry, wears a breastplate of impressive quality and fancy workmanship. It also holds a ceremonial, jeweled greatsword. The other body has the rusted and pitted remains of fancy armor, some jewelry and a longspear.

Kifla casts _detect magic._ “That’s magical!” she exclaims after a few moments, pointing at the spear. She claps her hands together in glee. 

The party gathers up their loot and then exits the cold barrow. “Let’s get moving,” Grom urges. “My folk need help with those goblins. The others nod, and the party resumes their northward march through the Deadgrass Lands. For a time, the land gradually slopes downwards, and our heroes are forced to traverse a waist-deep swamp. They grumble about it, but slog along. Skaal grumbles and almost stumbles. Suddenly his eyes widen. He looks around wildly. 

“LEECHES!” he bellows. 

Leeches the size of small dogs. And they are already attached to him, to Tempe, to Romdar, to Barouk and to Zelda! And though the rest of them only have one on each of them, Tempe has two attached to her already!

Our heroes go into a frenzy of motion, stabbing, pulling, screaming and yelling. Now that they know the leeches are there, they can feel a strange numbness in the parts of their bodies that have the leeches attached to them. Kifla summons a celestial porpoise to attack the leeches, while Tempe finds- to her dismay- that the leeches on her are essentially mindless, and thus are not subject to her mental attacks! Grom manages to tear one of them off of her, though, and she smiles in gratitude at him. Romdar can’t seem to get free of one; as some are cast off by other party members, they seem to find their way to him! He cuts and kills, but there seems to always be one on him, sucking out his strength, leaving him weaker and weaker...

Everyone is stabbing, grabbing... more leeches die. Skaal skewers the one sucking his blood with his sickle. Kifla’s porpoise smashes one to pieces. Zelda cuts one. Severin stabs one and it bursts like a balloon filled with blood. Finally, the last leech dies as the porpoise smashes it with its nose. The bog is full of blood. 

“That is so gross,” Zelda says, swaying on her feet. She has lost a lot of blood. So have Tempe and Romdar. 

“Let’s get out of here,” groans Grom. 

As quickly as they are able, the party hurries across the boggy area to the high ground on the other side. It still takes half an hour, but by double-timing it, they manage to get out shortly before dark. They inspect each other: no leeches. 

They rest.

They rest and rest and rest, for two days and one night. Barouk and Zelda come down with a rash and a fever; Skaal diagnoses it as the red ache, a disease that may have been carried by the leeches. Skaal and Severin do their best to tend their sick friends. The party, far from fully recovered, continues to rest. Four more days and nights of rest... finally, although both Romdar and Zelda are still not fully recovered from their encounter with the leeches, at least Barouk has thrown off the red ache.

The party moves on across the Deadgrass Lands. In the distance, they can see the mountains; smoke rises from Bleak’s Maw, that terrible mount of evil. _That’s the reason that there are Deadgrass Lands at all,_ thinks Zelda. _The ash falls from Bleak’s Maw killed all the more wholesome vegetation that used to live in this area during the Time of the Tarrasques, when the five tarrasques ran rampant over Forinthia. It is hard to believe that was less than three centuries ago!_

The party moves along. There is a little vegetation of other sorts here and there; doubtless it grows up quickly between ash falls in a given area, only to be wiped out again when Bleak’s Maw speaks, broods Skaal. At about noon, the party passes into a wide canopy of large, quick-growing trees. 

Just inside, something attacks from above. 

Grom senses it at the last minute and whips his sword out. It is a blob of living sap, dripping malignantly at him from above- the size of a man! He stabs it with his sword, but it is so sticky that he barely wrenches his blade free! “Look out!” he cries.

Barouk hurls a handful of shuriken at the blob. _Plop, plop!_ Where they hit, they stick, but they also cause it to leak some kind of clear fluid. He moves towards Kifla, throwing more shuriken as he goes. 

Zelda, emulating him, fires her bow. Arrows plop into the living sap; she cannot tell if they are hurting it or not. She shrugs. As long as she _might_ be having an effect, she might as well keep it up. It does look like Barouk’s first couple of shuriken hurt it, so why not?

The living sap strikes with a pseudopod, smacking Grom a ringing blow to the head. When it withdraws its pseudopod, it takes a remarkable amount of Grom’s hair with it, tearing it out by the roots. Grom howls in pain and smashes his lantern on the blob, covering it in oil. He pulls out his tinderbox and strikes a spark. 

_WHOOSH!_

The sap thing bursts into a sizzling flame. It starts to make a loud squeal. Severin leaps in and slashes at it with his greatsword, damaging it further, but he, too, can barely keep ahold of his weapon. “It’s sticky!” he shouts. “Be careful when you strike it!” 

A burning pseudopod strikes him. With a yell, Severin finds himself drawn towards the burning creature. He kicks the pseudopod and then pushes off against it, tearing himself free and leaving a layer of skin and flesh behind. 

The living sap is burning rather merrily, making a bunch of sizzles and squeals, but it is still going. _I don’t think it likes fire!_ Romdar thinks gleefully, and jumps in close to cast _burning hands_ on it. The squealing, sizzling and smoking on increase, and the flames leap higher for a moment. The air is filled with a smell like burning maple syrup. Kifla shouts, “Yes, that’s it! Use fire!” She hurls a torch into the mix, adding fuel to the fire. The blob writhes and squeals, extending pseudopods in all directions, then tries to escape the fire by flowing back up one of the trees. It makes it 15’ before it stops and begins to spatter down to the ground in flaming pieces. 

“It’s dead,” Skaal announces with finality. 

“Ow,” Grom groans, sitting down. His scalp is a bloody mess, as is Severin. “Do you have any healing?” 

Skaal goes to work, but can only do so much. Glancing up, he says, “We should move on. The tree is on fire.”

The party moves on. 

***

_*3 p.m.*_

Bleak’s Maw is spewing out considerably more ash and smoke than our heroes have seen before, at least from this close distance. “I wonder if there’s going to be an ash fall,” mutters Severin. 

“There isn’t much we can do about it, if there is,” Skaal says. 

“What would happen if we were caught in an ash fall?” wonders Kifla. ]

“I’m not sure,” the druid replies. “But I doubt that it would be pleasant.” 

They make camp early, making a point of choosing a location with a reasonable amount of overhang. As they are gathering what firewood they can find, they notice a figure coming towards them across the Deadgrass Lands. “It looks like a human, from the size of it,” says Romdar. 

“Maybe he’s friendly,” Kifla hopes. 

The man hails them from about 30’ away. “Hello,” he calls. “I am a traveling herald. May I share your fire?”

The man wears armor and wields a falchion. “You look like a warrior, not a herald,” remarks Barouk.

“Well, I am both,” the man admits. “My name is Cooper.”

“Well, Cooper, so long as you mean us no harm, you may join us,” the dwarf replies. 

The man walks forward, keeping his hands in view. He helps the party finish setting up their camp and pulls out some food to contribute to dinner.

“So what are you a herald of?” asks Kifla. “Does it have anything to do with that flashing in the distance?”

“Kind of,” Cooper smiles. That gets everyone’s attention. “I’m here to announce that the old emperor, Prayzose, is dead, and that there is a new emperor- Emperor Thrush.”

Our heroes digest this. “I hope you understand, that is a little bit unbelievable,” Romdar says.

“Yeah, I mean, how could the Emperor die?” Kifla says. “He’s practically a living god!”

“Believe me,” Cooper says confidently. “If you had met this man, the new emperor, you’d understand. He is... amazing. He is the foremost swordsman of our age.”

“Huh,” Zelda grunts disbelievingly. “I still don’t believe it.”

“Well, that’s okay. I don’t have to convince people, just to spread the word.”

“Why you?” asks Severin.

“He hired a bunch of us.” 

“Just to wander around and tell people that he’s the new emperor?” Zelda sounds amused.

Cooper just smiles. “You’ll see,” he predicts. “That flashing in the distance? What else could that be, but the sign of great change?”

***

The party rests, then moves on. The ash is starting to fall. They hurry along. Soon they come upon a clearing. Within it is a small thorp of four sod and mud huts clustered together. A small creek runs behind the huts, providing water. Gardens of vegetables struggle to survive the foul soil, and a flock of scrawny chickens is scratching for bugs or seeds. A number of people are outside, farming or gathering in laundry. Severin moves in and starts a conversation with some of the villagers. “We’re adventurers headed north to help deal with some goblin troubles,” he tells them.

“Adventurers, eh?” replies one of the peasants. He introduces himself as Tahl, and offers the group shelter for the duration of the ash fall. “You don’t want to be outside in this,” he tells them. “We wouldn’t turn a thief out in an ash fall.” 

***

Several days pass in tiny community as the ash falls. Our heroes get to know the villagers fairly well. There are a total of 17 people here. They are simple farmers, for the most part, though their leader- Simon, an old man who has seen 70 years- is something of a philosopher. The others consist of four men (Tahl, Kevin, Trevin and Jeffrey), their wives (Lois, Tellindra, Liabelle and Herretta) and their children, a mess of lads and lasses that is very difficult to keep straight (boys: Tahl Jr, Alentis, Dexter; girls: Shadra, Nellyse, Chanticleer, Rinva, Leanna).

The folk are friendly and have plenty to eat. They have seen ash storms before, sometimes lasting for a week or more. Generally, afterwards, the area is a mess, and often strange, dangerous things appear is the wake of the ash rain- demonic forces loyal to Bleak. In fact, Simon warns our heroes about “ash zombies,” which he claims suck the heat from their victims.

But when the ash fall is finally over, our heroes thank them for their hospitality and take their leave. Adventure awaits them. They do not wish to overstay their welcome, nor do they any longer have any need to stay.

The landscape is starkly different. The waves of deadgrass are covered in thick drifts of black ash. The air smells of brimstone and foulness. Many plants are dead, and even some trees have fallen. Our heroes shudder to think of what it must be like to be caught in the ash. 

Cooper has accompanied the party. His next stop, after all, is to be the same valley where they are headed, though he plans on first going to the city of Brindol. But, as our heroes well know, another sword can make the difference between life and death.

As they proceed along, a wind rises, stirring the ash. Our heroes pull cloaks across their faces and squint as the black ash swirls everywhere.

And something starts to form. 

“What the...?” Barouk exclaims in surprise. 

A veritable palace forms before them, composed of fragile-looking ash. They can see a gate leading into a courtyard, and within the courtyard is a palace- but it seems ready to blow away in the wind. Neither wood nor stone are in evidence; the entire structure seems composed of grey ash.

“Uh, I don’t know about this,” Romdar says cautiously.

“Hello?” calls Barouk.

There is a faint scream. Then, “Help me!” Not everyone hears it; but both Cooper and Barouk sprint into the courtyard. The rest hang back for a moment, but when nothing immediately ambushes the monk and fighter, they follow them in to the courtyard. Directly ahead of them is the palace, constructed entirely of ash. Four towers, about 50’ high, adorn the corners of the place. There is a subtle asymmetry to the building that troubles the eye. A pair of burnt trees, their shapes captured in ash, flank the obsidian flagstones that lead up to the entrance

“Where did the scream come from?” asks Kifla. 

“I don’t know,” Barouk growls, looking around warily. 

Suddenly there is a _clang!_ from behind them, like the sound of metal, but from the ashen gate. The party whirls. 

The gate has shut, and now is gone, replaced by ashen wall.

”It’s a trap!” cries Zelda. 

Abruptly, villainous laughter echoes out from the top of the palace. A dark figure appears on the top balcony of the northeast tower. It is a humanoid goat of some kind, with fur as black as coal. Its horns curl chaotically over its head. It is naked except for a thin black robe. “Greetings!” it cries at the party in Forinthian, in a very manly, masculine voice. “Welcome to the Ashen Palace of Bleak! I am His mouth. I speak his words, and all that I eat is a sacrifice to His glory. Here we will celebrate the triumph of the Black Sun. Please, make yourselves at home; we will feast soon enough.” The figure chuckles. “Unless, of course, you can find your way out. Pass in, and up, and down, and out! Pass the test of Bleak, and you will rewarded! Fail and you will be devoured!”

With that, the figure retreats into its tower.

Our heroes exchange a glance.

“I guess we don’t have much choice,” says Romdar grimly.

_*Next Time:*_ Into the Ashen Palace of Bleak!


----------



## Slickenfiber (Nov 28, 2007)

Ah yes.... we stayed for hours with the folk of the thorp.  Such a strange and unlikely place for a town.  And Kifla had a long meeting with the elder cheif of these sorry pilgrims.  Of what they talked about is between them.  But I remember wandering the fields as ash began to fall, thoughts reeling about the news from Cooper and the chaos that our Alathion must be in... with Prayzose dethroned and even my Lord and Patron Galidor unable to stop the chaos in the city.  I must go back, I thought.  Lo for the ash.
Baruk, Fist of the Sun.


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## the Jester (Nov 29, 2007)

Into the Ashen Palace of Bleak our heroes go. Immediately as they pass the threshold, they are assaulted by a group of the so-called ‘ash zombies’ that they have heard of. They are waxen corpses radiating cold menace, dusted with drifts of ash. Cooper immediately moves into a posture of attack, his falchion poised to hack downward. Barouk moves in behind him, his crossbow at the ready. Skaal, too, moves into the room, his sickles gleaming naked in his hands. Romdar follows close on his heels, his longsword at the ready. 

The ash zombies move in, pawing clumsily at the party. One connects with Cooper, even as the herald of Thrush cuts savagely into it, nearly severing one of its arms. It doesn’t react at all, just continues attacking mindlessly. Cooper rocks back from its blow and cries out. “Ahh, watch out! They’re strong, and _cold!_” Romdar, too, suffers a blow. He feels the frost creep into him, bone deep, in an instant, and staggers back gasping.  

But our heroes return the ash zombies’ attacks. Cooper lays his foe low and heads towards the next, shivering with cold; meanwhile, Barouk swears as he finds his crossbow ineffective against the ash zombies. He switches to shuriken, but his first throwing star just bounces off of his target harmlessly. 

Severin is finally able to move up and into the room. He sees the zombies, notes Barouk’s crossbow on the floor and drops his bow. Quickly, he pulls his greatsword from the baldric slung across his back. He strikes a quick blow on one of the remaining zombies, and Skaal moves in from the other side and slices its head off with a sickle. The zombie’s neck vents ash, rather than blood; then it collapses. 

The last zombie is surrounded by Romdar, Skaal’s kocho and Cooper. In only a few more moments it is hacked mercilessly to pieces, with Cooper striking the finishing blow. 

Then, alertly, our heroes survey the scene. They are in a large reception room. There is a burnt and charred carpet underfoot. Tapestries on the walls look like they were once rich and valuable, but now they are burnt to cinders. Several wooden chairs and stools are in here, also burnt almost to ash. Two exits lead out of the chamber. The air is quite chilly. Severin checks one of the passages leading out; it opens into some kind of feast chamber. “Nuh-uh,” he says nervously. Barouk looks down the other passageway: it has two halls leading away at a ninety degree angle from each other. Down one of them he can see a couple of doors; the other way seems to open up into some sort of room off to the left at the end. He points these out to the party as they strike up light sources for the majority of the party, who cannot see in the dark. Then, they decide to head towards the open room. 

When they reach it, they are disturbed to find it some kind of trophy room, with heads mounted on obsidian plates that hang incongruously from the walls of ash. The trophies are truly grisly- mostly the heads of humans or elves, though a dwarf and gnome head are also visible.

“That’s not right,” Kifla cries. “That goat man is _mean!_” She can’t stop staring at the mounted gnome head.

“He worships Bleak,” Barouk replies gently. “Of course he’s mean.”

One wall of the room is curved; clearly, this must be the edge of one of the towers that are in the four corners of the keep. There is a door in that wall. Opposite it, set in a flat wall, is another door.  

“Let’s check out the tower,” Barouk suggests. “It seems to me that we should go up to find that goat-headed fellow, and hopefully to get out of here!”

Romdar asks, “Does anyone remember what he said about how to get out? In, and down, and up and around or something?”

“That wasn’t it,” objects Skaal. “Uh, it was... hmm.”

The party gives a collective shrug. “Well, we’ll see,” Severin quips. “Maybe we can ask him when we see him again.”

Barouk, meanwhile, opens up the tower. It is cold and empty, but for a stair that winds upwards along the wall of the tower. Barouk and Severin begin clambering up the stairs a short way, but the ashen steps shift and collapse under their weight! With a cry, Barouk finds himself landing 20’ below, with a rain of debris coming down all about him. He shields himself from the worst of it, but is pummeled by a few pieces. Severin was not as far up the stairs, but he is pitched right onto his face, breaking his cheek bone.

The stairs are a total loss; without climbing- and who knows how the ashen walls will respond to that- the upper level is, at least for now, unattainable. 

Romdar shrugs. “There are three more towers.”

The party decides to go back to the two doors that Barouk first saw down the other half of the L-shaped hall. They easily penetrate the door of the first room. It bears a pair of bunk beds, badly burnt and ready to fall apart. Several footlockers, also marred by flame, are at the bases of the beds. But as soon as our heroes step within to investigate in more detail, two ash zombies spring up from within the ruin of the beds, disintegrating the ashen outline of the beds. However, the zombies are quickly dispatched by the group dog piling them.

The next room is roughly the same, including the pair of ash zombies lurking within it. Between the footlockers in both rooms, the party manages to pull out about 40 gold pieces. 

“Well, why don’t we go back to the trophy room and check out that other door?” suggests Tempeh. The others nod agreement, and head back to the trophy room and to the door on the straight wall. This proves to lead to another hallway, with two doors to the right and one at the end of the hall. The first door on the right proves very interesting indeed. Obviously, it was the room of someone important. A large metal bed frame holds a thick ashen bed that was plainly once quite rich. A vanity, with a broken mirror, a charred counter, several blackened jars of various burnt substances and a wooden stool burned to ash before it, is against the wall next to the bed. A small writing table is near the other side of the chamber, and along the corner of the wall are the destroyed remains of a bookshelf. Only one feature stands true and undamaged in here: a portrait of a beautiful woman hangs on the wall of ashes. It is of exquisite craftsmanship.

.”Interesting all over again,” muses Tempeh. 

Examining the room turns up something else interesting: the fire that burned this place down seems to have started in this room.

“You know,” muses Zelda, “it’s interesting that, of all the things we’ve seen here, only the painting wasn’t touched by the fire.”

“That’s... very interesting,” admits Kifla. She peers at it closely. “Say, do you hear a hissing sound? Or a crackling?” She cocks her head. “It sounds like fire-“

Abruptly, the fire in the fireplace in the painting seems to leap out of the painting and into the room with our heroes. They shout in surprise, falling back a pace or two at the sudden appearance of the living flame.

It lashes out, searing Severin across the face. “Aargh!” he cries out, throwing up his arms to cover his head. Barouk hurls a throwing star at the elemental, damaging it, and Kifla fires her crossbow at it. Her shaft strikes home too! The elemental flickers, and Romdar attempts to finish it off with a _ray of frost_, but unfortunately, he misses it completely!

Then Severin swings around, and his greatsword snaps into the elemental. The thing puffs out like a candle flame in a high wind! 

“Another close one,” comments the ranger. 

There is another exit from the chamber, but our heroes elect to fall back and continue to the door at the end of the hall. This proves to lead to another hallway, but this one has a goat-headed humanoid and two of the ash zombies in it! The goat-man is armed with a longspear and crossbow. Our heroes move towards him, but he retreats up the stairs even as the ranger slices a red line across the goat-man’s arm. As he retreats, the goat-man fires an arrow and narrowly misses Severin. Meanwhile, the ash zombies move to engage the party as well. A brutal combat develops. 

“It isn’t the same guy!” shouts Romdar. “It isn’t the Mouth of Bleak! Look, his fur is a different color!”

“Either way,” Barouk says with equanimity. He runs nimbly up the stairs after the goat-man, dodging the ash zombies. The goat man snarls as Barouk approaches, launches himself into the air and kicks with enormous force. The goat man’s neck snaps! He collapses, spasming horrifically as he dies, and Barouk whirls around to help deal with the ash zombies.

***

“I think we need to rest,” groans Zelda. She is tending to Severin, who has been rendered unconscious. The part choruses an agreement with her assessment, and they drag their wounded friend to the room with the portrait in it. 

“This is probably as good a place as any to rest,” opines Barouk. “We haven’t seen any places that are specifically friendly yet, anyhow.”

“Sounds good,” sighs Romdar. “I’m pretty wounded.”

The party spends some time tending each others’ wounds, sewing up cuts, salving burns, binding gashes and so forth. Finally, they settle in to attempt to get some rest. But as they start to drift off, Romdar- who is on watch- stiffens. “Hey, guys,” he murmurs. “I think there’s something in the other room.”

“Huh?” Barouk snaps back to wakefulness. He cocks his head, listening carefully.

Yes. There is a sound... muttering? Puzzled, he concentrates fiercely, but cannot discern more. But it is definitely muttering. 

The party rises and girds on their weapons. Then they proceed to the next room, from which the muttering seems to be coming. The small chamber that they walk into is set with two windows in the ashen wall. A stone tub, possibly for bathing, is in the chamber, below the windows, and steam rises from the water within it. This room is noticeably warmer than the rest. The charcoal remains of several buckets are near the tub, and a burnt up shelf is near the wall adjacent to it.

“Steam?” blinks Romdar.

Something sloshes in the tub. 

Eyes wide, Barouk gestures at the tub. Nobody moves. 

Then, suddenly, there is an explosion of water and steam from the tub! Something small, Kifla-sized or smaller, surges forth- a man-shaped form of steaming water, with weird, frothing, steaming wings. 

“What the-“ cries Barouk.

The steam creature belches forth a blast of super-hot steam at him. “Aargh!” he cries, backflipping away from the cone and evading. Then, with a glare, he moves in, attempting to grapple the little monster. The creature, meanwhile, claws Cooper and tears a deep wound in his back as he tries to move away. Cooper groans and collapses into unconsciousness. 

”It’s a mephit!” cries Kifla. “Watch out!”

Nobody really knows what that means, so they all ignore her words. Romdar dazzles the steaming creature with a _flare_, and Barouk throws a flurry of punches at it, but misses each time. Zelda begins to sing, inspiring courage in our heroes. Our heroes throw a multitude of blows and fire several arrows and bolts, but seem almost unable to hit it. The steam mephit, on the other hand, tears a great rent in Barouk’s chest with its boiling-hot claws. 

The mephit cackles and dives back into the tub of steaming water. Kifla steps up and, despite the intervening water, manages to sink a crossbow bolt into the creature’s side. Then Romdar thrusts his blade into the water and hits it to pretty good effect. However, he is forced to admit that his blows are not doing as much damage as he would have hoped.

The mephit hisses, and it erupts from the superheated water again to belch forth a cloud of searing steam at Romdar. He covers his face and cries out in pain as the steam raises blisters on his arms.

Then a sudden flash of blinding, clashing colors explodes in the middle of the fight. The mephit is knocked unconscious, and Romdar- who is also in the area of the spell- resists the spell’s effect! Quickly, he administers a coup de grace on the mephit and slays it. 

“Damn,” swears Barouk. “Now we’re in even worse shape!”

“At least we dealt with the threat before it attacked us in our sleep,” Romdar points out. 

“Hey, look here,” Zelda gestures. She points into the tub. “There is some sort of vial in there.” 

The water is very hot, so our heroes carefully use long objects, such as swords, to roll the vial out of the tub. It does not radiate magic when checked, but everyone is too paranoid to open it. Finally, Kifla shrugs and smashes it. The amber contents prove to be nice perfume, but now that the vial is smashed, it is wasted. Oh well.

Again, our heroes attempt to rest. This time, they are more successful.

_*Next Time:*_ Further adventures within the Ashen Palace of Bleak!


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## the Jester (Nov 30, 2007)

*CURRENT PARTY ROSTER*

Tempeh- elf psion 1; CN
Skaal- elf druid 2; CN
Barouk- dwarf monk 3; LN
Romdar- half-elf duskblade 2; LN
Zelda- human bard 1; NG
Severin- human ranger 1; CG
Cooper- human fighter 1; CG
Kifla- gnome illusionist 2; NG
Grom- half-orc rogue 1/fighter 1; NG


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## Slickenfiber (Dec 1, 2007)

Damn Gnome.

Oh how the party lamented and lashed out at Kifla....


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## the Jester (Dec 1, 2007)

The light is grey and thin. Our heroes can barely tell that it is morning. The smell of ash clings to their nostrils. 

They do not take their time rising; they get up, albeit a little stiffly from the cold, uncomfortable flooring, and shake a few of the kinks from their limbs. They take a few minutes to eat some trail rations, dried fruit and jerky. Then they turn their attentions towards continuing their explorations of the ashen palace that they are trapped within. After only the briefest of discussions, they decide to investigate the dining room that they had previously spotted. A strange table, made from a single flat slab of what appears to be polished black glass, dominates the chamber. Cracked clay plates, pots, bowls and other dishes are set as if a large party was expected for dinner. Several covered plates are set in the center of the table, and the smell of cooked meat wafts from underneath.

“That isn’t beef,” Tempeh says, lifting one of the covers from its tray. “It smells good, and it looks like a nice cut of steak, but I don’t know what it is. No way am I eating anything in a place like this!”

“No kidding!” agrees Romdar. “This place isn’t exactly... wholesome.”

Barouk, meanwhile, is examining the exits. There is a door, as well as two different archways leading out. He moves around the corner of one to take a look and sees a hallway with at least one branch and one doorway in it. _Too many choices._ He decides to go back and open the door in the dining room. It reveals another hallway with doors on either end. _More choices!_ he grumbles to himself. Skaal moves to join the dwarf as he peers out the other archway. Beyond it is a kitchen. However, despite the hot food under the trays in the dining hall, the kitchen doesn’t seem to have a fire going. On the other hand, there is something spitted over the empty, cold fire pit. Cabinets of ash are along the walls, and metal cooking instruments are strewn about, twisted by heat until they almost resemble torture implements. 

“Hey,” both Barouk and Skaal say together. They both see it at the same time: the cupboards are moving. The dwarf pulls out and loads his crossbow while Skaal alerts their companions. Everyone stands ready as the cabinet door continues to clatter and shake. 

Suddenly it bursts open to reveal- a burning rat! Smoke pours out of the cabinet, and flakes of hot ash burst up from the creature. 

Barouk fires, his crossbow bolt transfixing the creature for a moment before it collapses. Its fire goes out.

From the various cupboards and cabinets, three more of the creatures pour forth! They are the size of small dogs. Chittering and squeaking, they rush forward, tearing into Zelda’s flesh. Another spits a lick of flame at Barouk, who dodges nimbly out of the way. But the party is far from helpless in the face of this assault; Tempeh _mind thrusts_ one of the rats, but it remains conscious. Skaal has more luck, slashing down with twin sickles and cutting one of the weird ash rats in two.

Romdar observes carefully. _They are burning,_ he thinks, _so maybe cold will affect them especially well._ Unfortunately, as he fires a _ray of frost,_ he cannot get a clear shot in; there is too much movement, too much action going on! _Curse it!_ he exclaims inwardly. He moves around the dining table, trying to get a better shot, but misses with his second spell too. “Dexter’s eyes!” he swears. Cooper pulls out his sword and jumps up onto the dining room table, moving across it, also trying for a better position. 

Skaal’s kocho* screeches and steps up, kicking at one of the ash rats. It misses. Then it slashes its beak down, axe-like, and skewers it. The rat squeals and dies.

Barouk, meanwhile, is having an interesting contest, wherein he tries to back up, load and fire his crossbow while the ash rat tries to eat his legs. Barouk leaps up as the rat charges in, and it rams its head into the wall, knocking itself senseless! Quickly, Barouk takes advantage of the situation and administers a quick coup de grace.  Relative silence falls across the kitchen, broken only by the panting breath of our heroes. 

“Is everyone relatively okay?” asks Zelda.

Nobody denies it. “Then let’s move on,” Romdar suggests. 

Barouk gestures to one of the kitchen’s walls, which shows a curve. “That has to be another tower,” he announces. “The door out of the dining room leads to a hall with doors at either end. I’d wager that the door to the left goes into that tower.”

“Good thinking!” exclaims Romdar. The others nod, and Barouk moves to the door that he believes leads to the tower. He presses his ear against it at first, straining to hear any sounds, but there are none that he can discern. He gives the others a warning look, and then hurls his shoulder against the door with a smash!

Unfortunately for him, the door holds. Barouk curses in Dwarven, then tries the knob. The door opens easily. 

Barouk’s deduction proves correct: the party is staring into one of the palace’s towers. A stone staircase ascends from the level they are on, going out through the ceiling 30’ above. Cold air wafts down from above. Near the exit, about 20’ above them on the stairs, the party can see what appears to be an open chest of gold.

“Hey!” exclaims Barouk. “Gold!”

He begins to advance up the stairs immediately, but just before he reaches the chest, the stairs twist into the wall. With a wail, Barouk falls with bone-jarring force on the ground.

“Are you all right?” cries Tempeh. Skaal hurries over and casts a _cure light wounds_ spell on his dwarven friend.

“I’ll live,” Barouk grunts. He climbs gingerly to his feet, testing his ankles; he sprained one in the fall. Fortunately, the druid’s spell seems to have repaired the damage easily. He glares at the chest above. After a moment, he says, “Well, I can climb up there... anyone have a rope?”

“I do,” nods Skaal. “I can throw it to you once you’re up there.”

“I’ll tie it off, and we can all climb up,” Barouk declares. Carefully, he feels the ashen wall for cracks and slowly begins to ascend. When he reaches the level of the chest- and the stairs above it- he tests it gingerly with one foot before stepping on with his full weight. Then he ties the rope around the chest itself, as well as around the stub of one of the steps that has twisted, and then tosses it down to his companions. Within a few more minutes, the others have all climbed up to the chest and the non-trapped stairs, either via the ramp or the rope. Several of them take a few falls on the way, but nobody is badly wounded.  

Tempeh examines the coins. “I’d say that there are about 500 coins here...” She pauses, squints and picks one of them up. She scrapes a fingernail across the surface and frowns.

“What is it?” asks Cooper.

“We’ve been suckered,” she sighs. “These are copper pieces painted gold.”

Barouk barks a laugh. “Well, I got hurt for that copper. We’re going to take it anyway!” The party dumps out the chest and divides the coins amongst themselves. 

The party continues their ascent. As they ascend to the second level of the tower, they pass arrow slits in the walls that allow them to see a little bit of the courtyard outside, though the view is somewhat obstructed by ash. The party continues up through the third tower level, which is also cut by arrow slits. At the top of the stairs is a doorway. Barouk throws it open- and our heroes find themselves looking out at the burnt rooftop of the weird palace. The footing looks treacherous and uncertain here; the ‘floor’- really the roof- is burnt to ash and holed in places. Two catapults rest on the ceiling before the party; beside each is a pile of good sized stones, clearly meant to be used as shot. A visible, open trap door is also in the center of the rooftop. Although our heroes can see all four towers surrounding the roof, only one- the one that they came out of- seems to have an entrance.

Laughter rings out. “At last you have come!” cries a voice. Our heroes whirl.

There are five goat-headed figures standing on the rooftop. One of them is wearing the open robe and has the same markings as the Mouth of Bleak.

“Now, my minions, we feast!!” 

_*Next Time:*_ Our heroes fight for their lives on the rooftop against the Mouth of Bleak!

*Kocho are flightless war birds. Skaal has one as his animal companion; though it technically might deserve to be a slightly above 1st level companion. But oh well.


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## the Jester (Dec 7, 2007)

*Rooftop Battle!*

Slavering, laughing malignantly, the five goat-headed forms stalk towards the rooftop entrance that our heroes are behind. Cooper leaps forward, chopping downward viciously with his falchion. The first goat man falls back with a scream as the blade slashes his shoulder open, crashing into his collarbone with punishing force! Tempeh rushes out and to the side, trying to put some distance between herself and the entrance. “Don’t let them bottle us up!” she cries. Then she _mind thrusts_ one of the goat folk near her. It gives a shrill, pained cry and reels about; but it remains standing, and turns threateningly towards her.

The Mouth of Bleak sneers. Spittle flies as it intones a dark prayer to Bleak and gestures at Cooper. The herald of Thrush falters for a second and shakes his head to clear it, then grins. “I don’t think so!” he calls at the goat headed figure.

Skaal, meanwhile, has spent a few moments focusing on calling forth an ally. Suddenly, with a loud howl, a wolf appears, literally from nowhere, and launches itself at the goat-man that Cooper has already wounded. The canine locks its jaws around his right ankle and pulls. With a cry and a crash, the goat man falls down on the ashen roof of the palace! The wolf tears at its throat viciously, and in seconds the first of the goat folk has stopped moving in a puddle of blood!

“Yes!” Tempeh cries enthusiastically. She puts her head down and tries to sprint away from the two goat folk threatening her, but one of them cuts her across the back with a heavy blow, and she is knocked sprawling. For a moment, she struggles to rise, but as blood floods out of the huge cut across her, she falters and collapses.

“Tempeh!” shouts Skaal. He rushes past the goat folk, who are turning to try to fend off his wolf and kocho, and comes to a halt next to the bleeding psion. Again, he calls on the power of nature. There is a green glow from his hands, and slowly, her wounds start to knit together, closing... closing. The flow of blood slows, slows; it does not quite stop, but it is now much less dangerous. With a groan, she opens her eyes. 

“Hurry up, get out of the way!” Romdar yells. He is still stuck partway down the stairs behind the party members who have not yet been able to force themselves through the doorway. He curses at Barouk, who is standing ready, waiting for a moment to spring out when the entrance is finally clear. 

Meanwhile, one of the goat men grins at Skaal as it grabs Tempeh by the hair. “I have our dinner!” it cackles. She screams and tries to shake herself loose, but she is still woozy from the cut across her back. The other two goat folk engage the kocho, and it clucks and makes stranger noises at them as it dances and kicks and bites at them. Cooper steps back and rushes around the bird-battle, coming up behind the goat man trying to drag his companion away. With a mighty blow, he decapitates the goat man! Then he turns to face the Mouth of Bleak- just in time! With a shout of malevolent glee, the goat man swings its blade- a longsword with strange patterns running down the blade, and a hilt fashioned to resemble the foot of a frog or toad- and cuts into Cooper. The fighter grunts and staggers, but brings his falchion back up into a guard position.

Tempeh groans, “I’m too weak to fight.”*

“Here,” the druid says grimly. “This is all the remaining healing that I have.” He casts a healing cantrip; it isn’t much, but it permits the psion to stand up, at least... which she does. 

Meanwhile, Barouk finally sees his opportunity and manages to leap out through the entrance to the roof. The goat man nearest him swings its axe, slicing into his thigh. He yelps in pain, staggering, and aims a blow at the villain. _Smack!_ It’s a light hit, but a hit nonetheless. The dwarven monk presses forward, hoping to finish the goat man, but his next blow is absorbed by the goat man’s thick hide. 

That draws one of the goat folk from the kocho, but the other manages to hit the bird with a telling blow from its axe, causing it to scream in pain. Skaal jerks in response, turning wide-eyed to see what is happening to his animal companion, but there is nothing that he can do as the goat man head butts it in the head! The kocho wavers and collapses, knocked cold by the blow! With a cry of rage, Skaal draws his sickles and leaps to the attack. They begin to trade blows- two sickle slices across the belly for a head butt to the face. 

At last, Romdar is able to squeeze forward and into the fray, his sword whistling as he comes to Barouk’s aid. Unfortunately, his blow is wide. But now, with both of them working together against the goat man, they start to press it back. Barouk aims a kick at its head, but it ducks under it- right into the tip of Romdar’s blade! The sword rips up into the creature’s head, entering the skull under the chin, shattering the lower jaw and erupting out of the top of the skull covered in bloody brains! With a twist, Romdar frees his sword.

Tempeh, meanwhile, staggers over to the bleeding kocho. She pulls out some strips of cloth and begins binding its wounds, being in no shape to actually fight. _One more blow and I’m out- or dead,_ she thinks. Her head swims. She is still losing blood. She bites her lip to stifle a moan of pain. Adventuring is more dangerous than she had really realized!

After a furious exchange, the Mouth of Bleak and Cooper each back off from each other, panting. “I have the best of you,” the Mouth taunts. “Come, follow me to your death!” With that, it leaps away to the center of the roof and drops through the trap door leading downward. 

“Soon enough,” Cooper promises. “But first...” He turns and joins the furious assault on the remaining goat man atop the roof. Skaal is pressing his assault viciously, with Barouk and Romdar moving in to flank it. Cooper joins the fun with a grin. The goat man laughs, slicing Romdar with its great axe and knocking Barouk away with a head butt. The heroes stagger back for a moment, and it presses the attack. With a mighty blow, it sends Cooper sprawling, bloody and unmoving! 

Romdar, badly wounded, thinks, _This is too close! Tempeh is barely on her feet, Skaal is pretty well staggering, Barouk is wounded, and I can barely stand! I can’t afford to get too close; one more blow will take me down, and I don’t know that anyone else can take much more!_ He falls back and casts an _acid splash,_ wounding the remaining goat man further. Its makes a sinister-sounding noise, a combination of pain and glee and hunger. He shudders, throws down his shield and pulls out his bow.

Skaal, meanwhile, falls back as well, switching to throwing daggers. His first one goes wide, but at least he doesn’t stick it into one of his allies! Frowning, he realizes that he doesn’t have another dagger, so he pulls out his club and throws that. Again, his missile goes wide. 

The goat man dances over to Cooper’s unmoving form and grabs him by the arm. This time, there is no resistance from the body when he starts dragging it, laughing, to the secret door. 

“NO!” shouts Barouk. He springs forward and grabs Cooper’s legs. “You won’t take any of my companions!” The goat man sneers, and for a moment the two struggle over Cooper, disputing possession in a most physical fashion.

Then there is a _twang!_ and an arrow sinks into the goat man’s eye.

It topples over instantly, spilling foul, brown blood onto the ashen roof underfoot. Barouk gives a surprised cry and tumbles backwards as all resistance to his grasp on Cooper vanishes. He springs back to his feet only seconds later, but there is no enemy in evidence.

“Good shot,” Skaal nods to Romdar.

Everyone in the party is badly wounded. They are teetering on the edge of defeat, and they know it. So they shut up the trap door, bar it and the tower entrance as best they can, and set out to rest. 

Cooper, unfortunately, is dead. It seems that the last goat man’s slash was lethal to him.

Our heroes curse the Mouth of Bleak. “We need to kill that thing,” Skaal says grimly.

“After we rest,” Tempeh replies.

_*Next Time:*_ On the trail of the Mouth of Bleak! 

*She was at 0 hp after Skaal’s _cure light wounds_. Note that after Skaal’s _cure minor wounds,_ she is still only at 1 hp...


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## Slickenfiber (Dec 8, 2007)

I remember this day well.  Limping and tired from discomfort sleeping on an ashen floor...  Ridiculous!  Though I am used to meager settings, a hard hewn floor would have been more comfortable... ah but I am a dwarf and tougher than Bleak!!  A challenging climb to the top of the stair only to be rushed when we open the door to the rooftop...  A most difficult combat strategy and effective -- I must remember this.  Alas, fighting while at the brink of losing consciousness is not a feeling I shall soon forget... Dare I hope it never happens again... Yes!  I fear I have acted with too great abandon!  HAHA!!  As if I, Baruk, Fist of the Sun of Galidor and lawful through and through, should act so carelessly!!  Yay, but this is the Walk and The Way of the Monk.


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## the Jester (Dec 17, 2007)

They rest, and wake, and rest all day as best they can on the ashen roof. There are a pair of catapults on top of the burn palace, both of which are still functional. It takes three of our heroes to crank the catapult’s arm back, and then they put a few rocks in the cup (there is a pile of ammunition for the catapults atop the roof).

Severin pulls the lever, and the arm hurls its payload away, over the wall and beyond. 

“Hmm,” muses Barouk.

The party continues to rest, letting their wounds heal for another night. Then, in the morning, they begin their pursuit of the Mouth of Bleak. The trap door leads to a shaft heading down, set with rusted rungs set loosely into the wall. Romdar’s eyes widen. “Did you hear that?” he whispers. “Laughter! He’s down there!”

Everyone scowls at the rungs and the shaft. Finally, Barouk mutters, “Wussies,” and begins to descend. The rungs groan, but hold him. The others, breathing easier now that the rungs have held the heavy dwarf, begin to descend. All of them find it an easy climb- except for Kifla. She agonizes at the top for a while, gnawing her lip at the thought of a 70’ fall, but in the end she clambers cautiously down and manages to reach the bottom safely. 

At the bottom is a small chamber, with a ceiling only about 7’ overhead. Small bits of rusty metal are scattered about on the floor, including the remains of several of the rungs of the ladder running up the wall and out of the ceiling via the shaft that our heroes descended. Both a passage and a single door lead out of the room. Suddenly the adventures realize that the room is earthen- a tunnel hewn from earth, not an ashen structure!

“Be careful,” warns Barouk.

Kifla casts _mage armor._ She knows that it will last a while, and she has a feeling that she might need protection at any moment. 

Barouk and Severin move to the hallway leading out of the room. It is small and cramped; the hallway has a multitude of small, iron-bound doors with tiny windows in them running along its length. The doors occur on both sides of the hallway about every five feet, all the way to the hall’s end (where a final door, straight ahead, lies).

The two of them move up and peer through the small windows. “It’s a cell,” Severin says. “I think there’s an old body in there. It’s just a skeleton now.”

“Mine, too,” Barouk rumbles. 

“It’s locked,” Severin announces, after trying his door. Barouk nods, rattling the handle to the door he is next to. They move along to the next door on each side, and find essentially the same thing.

There are a total of 17 doors, with eight on each side and one at the end. They begin checking them all. Severin pauses a few doors down. “I think there’s a dire rat in here,” he says.

“We have no need to mess with it,” Romdar points out, “and probably nothing to gain.”

“I bet that there is a torture chamber beyond that door back there,” Barouk says dourly, nodding back to the room the party just came from. Kifla shudders.

“Well, let’s go check it out,” Romdar suggests. “It doesn’t seem like there’s anything here in these cells except for the skeletons of prisoners, and I doubt whether they’ll have anything on them- they were prisoners.”

“Good point,” nods Severin.

The party goes back to the door and throws it open. Indeed, it is a torture chamber; Barouk was right. A rack is along one wall. In a corner, an iron maiden seems to radiate menace. Opposite the entrance, an oven large enough to force several people inside rests above a cold pit of ashes. A cage of steel bars squats in another corner. It looks as though the bars of the ceiling are adjustable, allowing a torturer to restrict the space available to his victim. Straps and knives and pincers and other implements of horror are everywhere.

Kifla blanches. She hasn’t the stomach for such terrible things.

“No exits,” Barouk grumbles. “And no Mouth of Bleak.”

“He has to be here somewhere,” protests Romdar.

“Maybe there’s something in one of these cells,” Severin muses.

“Hold on a second,” Romdar says. He casts _detect magic_ and scans around- but there is nothing. “Let’s go back to the hallway, and I’ll look in there too, while I have this spell up,” he offers.

The party returns to the hallway, and Romdar scans the entry room on the way. _Nothing,_ he thinks, exasperated. _Where is that goat-headed bastard??_

The party moves down the hall of cells to the end and Barouk begins trying to force the door. It is a heavy, solid thing, however, designed to hold dangerous prisoners; the dwarf fails, though he throws his full strength against it.

As he pauses, drawing back, Barouk suddenly stiffens. “Laughter!” he growls. “I heard him!” He whirls around. “He was this way!” He starts to stalk away back towards the entry room. 

“Hey!” Severin interjects suddenly. “What’s that buzzing sound?” His eyes narrow. He knows what it is already; he knows that sound. _Vermin._ He moves over to the little window that opens on the cell that the noise is emanating from and looks inside. 

Most of the cell is filled up by an enormous wasp’s nest.

Romdar comes over and takes a look through the window once Severin moves aside. He whistles. “That’s a lot of wasps.”

Severin lights a torch. The window into the room is just about the right size for the torch to jam into perfectly. Not quite perfectly, but close enough. He shoves the torch into place. And the cell is _small._ Severin smiles grimly. _The smoke should eat the air in their, and eventually suffocate them. At the least, it will leave them sluggish and weak._ He feels a grim satisfaction: _vermin._ He has studied them and their ways. Now he has slain (or at least incapacitated) a full nest of them! He feels a burgeoning pride. After a few moments he pulls out the torch to verify that things are going well, and indeed they are. Dozens of wasps lie dead or in a stupor on the ground. Quickly, he shoves the torch back in.

“It was over here somewhere,” Barouk calls. He is in the entry chamber, opposite the ladder of rungs. “But there’s nothing here.” _Could be he’s invisible,_ the monk muses.

”Maybe he’s behind a secret door,” Kifla suggests. Reluctantly, she goes back into the torture chamber and begins a thorough search, looking for secret doors. There are bloodstains everywhere, and the little gnome finds a number of things that she wishes she hadn’t (including an ear and several little bits of bone and flesh). “Nothing,” she says mournfully. Everyone else comes in, and they search it again, hoping to find something- to no avail.

The party moves to the entry room and carefully searches again. This time, they uncover a very cleverly hidden door, built to look like plain stone opposite the rungs. A few more moments of searching, and Romdar turns up a hidden switch that opens the door. It swivels open, exposing a 10’ wide hallway about 15’ long that ends in some sort of chamber.  

Romdar moves forward, halting at the threshold to the room. It’s big, 40’ wide by 20’ deep. At the center is a small covered wooden square with four statues beneath it: a lion, a goat, a wolf and an angel. In each corner of the room is a column with a hollow area facing into the room. The hollow areas have a thick screw like device coming up from the bottom of the area. Each pillar seems to have some writing engraved upon it. In the northwest corner, the writing reads, “I burned it down.” In the northeast, it reads “I betrayed them all.” In the southwest, it reads, “I am lost forever.” Finally, the southeast pillar’s message is, “I came to see.”

“It’s some kind of puzzle,” Romdar says.

The others cluster up behind him, but nobody wants to go in. “Now who’s the wuss?” Romdar says wryly, and crosses the threshold into the room. Nothing appears to happen to him, but the others don’t exactly hurry to follow his example. Romdar moves up to the northwest pillar. The hollow area in the pillar looks to be about the same size as the statues at the central covered area. “It looks like you would screw something onto this,” he calls out to the others. 

“That’s weird,” says Severin. He steps into the room. Nothing happens, so he moves to the central structure and begins looking over the lion statue. Barouk and Kifla continue to watch from outside the room. Severin reaches out to see if the statue is attached, and as soon as he touches it, a portcullis slams down, cutting Barouk and Kifla off from Severin and Romdar! Simultaneously, Barouk hears a pair of sounds from back towards the cell block. The first sounds like well over a dozen cell doors swinging open. The second sounds like the rattle of bones moving. Finally, at the same instant, a rain of freezing cold ash begins to fall inside the room with the statues and Romdar and Severin. The two of them scream in pain from the chilling ashen rain.

Barouk grits his teeth and rushes over to the secret door leading to the entry chamber. His eyes bulge. “Gnome, get over here!” he screams, and throws himself against the door. “All those remains are coming, as animate skeletons!”

_*Next Time:*_ The conclusion of the Ashen Palace of Bleak!


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## the Jester (Dec 24, 2007)

The bits of ash floating down from the ceiling above are so cold that they burn where they touch. Severin shrieks in pain, swatting at the stinging flakes, as several of them sap the heat from him. In only seconds he is faltering, falling to his knees. He screams again, but it is a fading sound. 

Barouk and Kifla, on the opposite side of the portcullis, are a little bit too busy to help him. The two of them desperately brace themselves against the secret door, struggling to stop the mass of skeletons on the other side. _How many cells were there?_ wonders Kifla. _I didn’t keep count. There were a lot, though- a dozen or two. If there was only one skeleton per cell, then we’ve got at least a dozen skeletons to contend with here. Oh dear! They won’t grow tired, and we will- and I’m so weak anyway... I hope Barouk can hold the door!_ She looks around for ideas, but nothing presents itself immediately. 

“Whatever you two are doing in there, _hurry up!!_” Barouk shouts, straining to hold the secret door closed against the mass of skeletons. “We’ve got almost twenty skeletons trying to get in!”

“Help!” shouts Romdar, from the ash-filled room where the freezing ash is falling. 

“Sorry, we can’t!” Barouk yells back sarcastically. “Unless you want those twenty skeletons coming in here!”

As it is, both Kifla and Barouk are horrified by the insistent scrabbling of the skeletons’ finger bones against the secret door. The dwarf and the gnome press against it with all their might, but the implacable horde of skeletons manages to force the secret door open a crack! First an inch, then two... slowly the gap grows wider... and suddenly, several skeletal arms thrust through the gap, seeking living flesh to tear at. Both Barouk and Kifla suffer attacks. Barouk feels a rip of pain as the bony claws gouge furrows in his arm and shoulder. He gnashes his teeth and _heaves_ against the door, as hard as he can. Kifla groans with effort, giving her all and pushing; and slowly, the door swings back shut. For the moment, the gap is closed. 

Yet the skeletons keep pushing, trying to thrust their claws back through the doorway. Kifla bites her lip; they can’t hold out forever. _What’s happening with Severin and Romdar?_ she wonders, but she cannot spare the attention to try to discern what is happening in the thick fall of ash within the chamber.

If she could, however, she would see Romdar marshal all his concentration and cast a spell on himself. If she had still more attention, such that she could observe closely enough to discern what spell he had cast, she would realize that he cast _resist cold_ on himself. And if she had a few more seconds to watch, she would see him cast another one on Severin, just as he staggers and nearly keels over.*

Suddenly immunized from the cold damage, Severin is nonetheless shivering, profoundly chilled to the core of his body, but now that Romdar has ensorcelled him, he looks around warily. “Thank you,” he groans to his companion. Romdar nods.

The two of them examine their situation. The ash continues to fall. They move to check out the statues. Bearing in mind the screws in the pillars in the corners of the room, they check to see if the statues will unscrew from the structure in the center of the room. To their great pleasure, they do.

“Hurry up!” shouts Barouk from the far side of the portcullis. “I don’t know how long we can hold them! Aargh!! Dammit, Kifla, close that door!!”

Severin and Romdar exchange a grim look. “We have to figure out what goes where,” Romdar predicts. 

“Then, if we’re lucky, the portcullis will lift, and we’ll have to fight the skeletons,” Severin chuckles faintly. He is swaying on his feet. His head is swimming. Nonetheless, he helps Romdar unscrew the various statues and try moving them from one corner pillar to the other while Barouk and Kifla struggle to hold the door. Their shouts encourage Romdar and Severin, but it proves somewhat difficult to unscrew the statues. They rush to random corners and begin trying to screw them on. When all four statues are screwed in to the pillars, the central platform trembles and shakes, but nothing seems to change.

“Hurry!” Kifla’s shrill voice cries out. “Ow!! Really, hurry!!”

Romdar thinks about it. He recalls the bedroom with the unburnt painting. _We found indications that the fire that burned this place down started there,_ he remembers. _But which one represents her?_

They figure that they don’t have enough information to solve the puzzle in a timely fashion, so instead they just try reconfiguring the statues so that the goat moves from the southwest to the northwest, and the lion to the southeast, and the wolf in the southwest... they try moving the goat back to the southwest, with the angel in the northwest... 

Again, there is a significant shift and tremble in the central platform. “That must mean that we’re close!” exclaims Severin. “I bet we just have to switch two, but _which two?_”

Romdar peers intently at the trembling central structure. “I’ve got it!” he cries. His keen eyes have managed to discern that the angel and lion are trying to shift, but the other two aren’t. “Hold on just another few seconds!” he yells to Barouk and Kifla. Quickly, they switch the goat and the wolf, so that the lion is in the southeast (“I came to see”), the goat is in the northeast (“I betrayed them all”), the angel is in the northwest (“I burned it down”) and the wolf is in the southwest (“I am lost forever”). Exactly what each one represents, our heroes neither know nor care. All they care about is the sudden cessation of the ash fall, the clatter of the portcullis chains as the gate begins to rise again, and the sound of nearly twenty sets of bones falling to the ground. 

Against the door, Barouk and Kifla both slump in exhaustion. “Thank the gods!” Barouk barks. “Took you long enough, though,” he starts to complain.

Next to him, a new secret door opens up, and the Mouth of Bleak is there, rage in his eyes, froth upon his Billy goat lips. He stabs violently at Barouk, but the monk dives away from the blow just in time. Then the Mouth of Bleak retreats a few steps and gestures, invoking a _hold person_ on him. However, the monk’s willpower is too great, and he throws off the spell-like ability. 

Kifla hangs back and begins summoning a celestial dog. It appears a moment later, and darts in growling for the goat man’s legs. Then the little gnome casts _magic weapon_ upon Severin’s greatsword. Grinning, the bard swings for all he is worth, hitting the Mouth of Bleak across the arm! The villain yells and snarls and laughs, spittle flying from his mouth.

The party dances across the doorway as the Mouth of Bleak falls back into the secret room it was hiding in. They trade a few blows, and the goat man runs the celestial dog through, killing it.

So Kifla summons another one. 

Severin lands another greatsword blow to the Mouth of Bleak’s body. It rolls back, avoiding being cut in two, but the blow is almost perfect. Surely, this fiend can’t handle much more... can he? 

Barouk punches him in the face, trying to be sure. Unfortunately, the Mouth of Bleak is still standing.

”What does it take to kill this guy?” shouts Romdar, exasperated. 

“Another celestial dog?” suggests Kifla. She begins summoning a third time. 

The party presses the Mouth of Bleak back against the wall, but he is still defiant. Gnashing his teeth, laughing, spitting at our heroes, he keeps slicing and chopping until the end. But the end comes soon enough, as Romdar swings his sword and chops the Mouth of Bleak’s hand off at the wrist and simply continues the blow until it smashes into the goat man’s face. He slices the Mouth’s mouth in two, skewers his brain... and when he pulls the blade free, the Mouth laughs again, insanely- and then falls to the ground. “Urrrbll,” he croaks, and his body starts to bubble and smoke. Soon he is liquefying and burning away simultaneously. In moments all that is left is his gear. 

Sweet victory! And what could be more convenient? The secret room that he attacked from was the treasury! Our heroes loot thousands of gold, silver and copper pieces, as well as gems and jewels and a fancy-looking pair of boots. When everything is examined by means of _detect magic_, the boots prove to be magical. Moreover, the longsword and the breastplate of the Mouth of Bleak radiate magic as well. The hilt of the longsword resembles the paw of a frog. 

“Hey, look,” Kifla says suddenly. 

The walls are beginning to disintegrate, turning first ashen, and then into blue-white flame. At first our heroes cringe away from this, but quickly they realize that there is no heat. In wonderment, then, they watch as the flames blaze higher, momentarily surrounding the party with the silhouette of a magnificent palace, before suddenly bursting into a spray of ash.

The party stands outside, beneath the setting sun in the Deadgrass Lands. All around them, carried by the wind, ash floats away.

Barouk’s breath catches in his throat. For an instant, he sees the golden white form of a haloed, bewinged woman. She catches his eye, and a shocking sense of betrayal runs through him. _Her betrothed, and his brother. The masters of this palace, in their time. Murder... betrayal... locked up like a bird in a cage. Never! She’ll die first! Burn it all down!_ His eyes are wide. _Cursed. Lost. And now... free. Justice is done._ 

The figure is gone. 

Barouk shakes his head in wonder. 

The party continues their journey north.

_*Next Time:*_ Romdar can’t remember anything about his past... but he’s about to encounter it. Who calls him “Captain Romdar”- and what is their connection to Barouk’s father’s murderer??

*Severin was reduced to 1 hp by the ash fall by this point.


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## Slickenfiber (Dec 25, 2007)

What luck Saint Spadron placed on me that fierce and deadly day in the basement of the ashen palace!  Hold shut the secret door from the onslaught of skeletons.  Why, I am a dwarf of reputible defense.  Though with a strength of only 13, and cut down to only 1 hit point myself -- and joined by a young gnome girl too! -- I did have the will of Galidor at my side.  And then to triumph against a servant of Bleak!!  This was a most glorious day -- and most deserved of such treasure!!  I wonder what magic those boots hide??...

Baruk, Fist of the Sun


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## the Jester (Jan 10, 2008)

*"Captain" Romdar*

“How much longer do we have to go through these thrice-cursed grasslands?” grumbled Barouk the dwarf. 

“It shouldn’t be much longer. Look!” Severin gestures to indicate the mountains in the distance. “Another day or two and we’ll be on the skirts of the mountains.”

“This valley is somewhere along the range of mountains, then?” Kifla asks.

Grom nods.

“Well, let’s not tarry, then,” the dwarf mutters grumpily. He scuffs the ground with one wide boot. “Come on.”

They keep moving. More weary hours of marching slowly pass. The sharp, long grasses leave little cuts on their exposed skin. Only hardy creatures live here: armies of ants and small snakes and lizards underfoot, occasional tough old buzzards in the sky. And there are bound to be more kobolds, but at least our heroes don’t see any for the moment. Flies cloud around rudely before scattering on the wind; fleas and grasshoppers leap merrily onto the passing arms and cloaks of the adventurers.

_Perhaps there is less to be said for adventuring than I initially thought,_ Zelda considers sourly, limping on a twisted ankle.

Barouk shades his eyes and squints. _Did I just see movement up ahead?_ he wonders.

“Halt!” shouts a voice. 

A group of riders appears, thundering forward. The leader is mounted on a green-blue kocho- a type of flightless war bird, used as mounts by the daring and notoriously difficult to control. The others, about half a dozen of them, ride garen (zebra-like animals, each striped in two colors of green, brown and yellow). The leader is dressed as some kind of knight; his followers are clearly some sort of men-at-arms.

“Identify yourselves!” the leader demands, as he approaches them. 

“Why should we?” Romdar retorts. “Who are you to ask who we are?”

“I am Sir Cranston, leader of this patrol,” the man answers sternly. “You are in our operational zone. Now, tell us who you are immediately, by the authority of the Emperor!”

Immediately, Severin and Romdar think of Cooper. The so-called “herald of Thrush” claimed that the Emperor was dead. _Still,_ thinks Romdar, _he is an agent of rightful authority..._

He explains to the knight that they are headed towards the goblin invasion at Drellin’s Ferry, and that they are here as adventurers. But as he speaks, the knight’s face darkens. Clearly, Romdar has somehow said something uncouth or gauche. “Drop your weapons immediately,” the knight demands.

_Thunk._ Onto the ground the party’s weapons go. One of the men-at-arms hurries forward and gathers them up, and then our heroes are surrounded and marched off.

“Where are we going?” Severin asks.

“To our encampment,” the knight snaps shortly.

Indeed: our heroes are led further into the foothills, to an area where a small military encampment sits atop a hillock. There is a palisade of stakes beyond the wall, with a moat before the palisade. There are dozens of tents set up, and many soldiers in Forinthian uniform hustling and bustling about. The place shows typical Forinthian military efficiency, with guards posted at watch towers and everything ready to be broken down and carried away or burnt at a moment’s notice. The Imperial flag, as well as the banner of the maniple itself, fly from the watch towers. 

The party is led into a tent, guards are stationed to watch them and the knight stomps out. Kifla and Barouk can hear some talk about local bandits, and Kifla groans inwardly. _They’re going to try to blame us for, for something,_ she thinks. 

Soon enough, the knight returns with several other guards. They begin badgering the party with questions, and it immediately becomes apparent that they suspect that our heroes are local bandits or thieves. Despite their protests, the soldiers strip them of their gear. The knight snarls, “We’ll get to the bottom of this, all right!” He sends a page to fetch “the list,” whatever that is, then fixes Romdar with a baleful eye. “We’ll soon see whether you are as innocent as you claim,” he declares.

“All right,” Romdar nods. “Then maybe we can get back to what we were doing.” He gives the knight a mild, but clearly annoyed, look.

The page returns a few moments later with a ledger, which he hands to Sir Cranston. Obviously expecting our heroes to be frightened by the news, the knight announces that the ledger contains a list of goods stolen in the surrounding areas in the last couple of years.

Romdar shrugs again, eloquently. 

The guards begin sorting through the party’s equipment, none too gently. Meanwhile, Sir Cranston’s superior arrives and listens carefully as the knight relates the tale of his patrol’s meeting with the party, their arousal of his suspicions and “capture”, and now their interrogation and the status of the search. 

Unfortunately for Sir Cranston, however, only two minor items (pieces of loot from the party’s adventures) appear on the list of stolen goods, and it is plain enough from everyone’s faces that even those are dubious matches to the list. Sir Cranston’s superior is none too pleased. He says, “It appears that you have misjudged these folk. Fine and release them.” With that, he leaves the tent.

Thus it is that the party pays 100 gold pieces to regain their gear, less the two confiscated items, and leaves the military camp, more than a little disgruntled.

***

Into the foothills, out of the Deadgrass Lands at last! Ah, free of the cutting, high blades that constantly irritate the legs (and often higher places). Away from the ash-tainted terrain, away from mazes of hedgerow and tangles of unwholesome growth! 

“It may be slightly slower travel in the foothills,” Skaal notes, “but it is far more pleasant.”

Around dusk, Romdar and Severin both find excellent camp sites. The party chooses the one with water running through it, and soon they have a merry fire crackling as they cook dinner before bedding down. By morning, the sky has turned grey and overcast; the humidity is high, and the temperature has dropped from the normal tropical heat to a sticky mellow warmness. The group breaks camp and starts to march on, and as if to encourage them, it starts to rain a dirty rain. Severin notes that there are bits of ash in the rain yet. Clearly, the air is not yet clean, but the ranger is confident that a few hours of rain- or a few dozen more miles northward- should take care of that.

As the party heads down a slope, Kifla points at the opposite face of the defile. “Hey, look over there!” the gnome cries.

Another mounted group is coming towards our heroes, moving across a small creek. These ones are clearly _not_ soldiers. They are shabbily-dressed, mounted on skinny garen, and five of the six of them wear studded leather, shortbows and longswords. The party halts and takes a somewhat defensive formation. The group reins in a few dozen yards away. Their leader, who is a middle-aged human with thinning grey hair in fancy-looking leather armor, squints at the party. “Huh!” he exclaims, and canters towards the group. “Captain Romdar? Is that you?” He looks everyone over. 

Romdar looks puzzled. “I, uh, well, my name is Romdar,” he admits. “But I don’t... I mean... I lost my memory. I don’t know anything. I don’t recognize you...”

“You- what?” The man looks nonplussed, then looks the rest of the party over again. His eyes linger momentarily on Barouk. “Ah, I see. Maybe the earl can help. Well, it looks like you’ve at least kept yourself in good company!” He winks. “Come along, then; we’ll go back to camp and see what we can see.”

“What’s your name?” Romdar asks helplessly.

“Striker,” the man replies. “You really don’t remember anything?”

Romdar shakes his head. 

“Well, you’ve been missing for weeks. You’re our captain, Romdar. You work for the Earl of Thyrozim, same as us. Let’s hope that he can help you with your, uh, little problem.”

The party falls in with the Thyrozim men. As they move towards their camp, the party relates the tale of how they met Romdar, captured by kobolds. Romdar listens closely to everything Striker says, hoping that something will provoke a memory, but... nothing. 

The camp, which is very near to a small keep that looks run-down but not ruined, consists of one great pavilion tent surrounded by a dozen or so smaller tents, with several small fires and one great one beneath the pavilion. A banner with a heron emblem flaps soggily in the wind. As they approach, Striker pulls Romdar ahead and indicates that the others should wait for a few moments. 

Together with Striker, Romdar walks into the pavilion. Several more of the- men-at-arms?- are beneath the great tent. Seated at a worn, crude table is another man, this one dressed fairly aristocratically. He wears fancy clothing, with a silver circlet set with a heron above the brow. “Look who I found!” Striker cries out.

“Romdar!” the aristocrat exclaims, and stands with a slight smile. “Well, well! What happened to you?” 

“I don’t really know,” Romdar replies uncertainly. “Forgive me- I have no memory- who are you?”

“More importantly,” Striker interrupts, “Romdar here comes with _very interesting company._”

“Oh?” The earl cranes his neck, to peer at the rest of the party, and his face undergoes a remarkable transformation: from a slight expression of pleasure to an exultant, predatory-looking expression of _victory._ He turns back to Romdar. “Is that him? The dwarf?”

“I, uh, don’t know what you mean,” Romdar admits. “But those people are my friends. Look, Striker said that you might be able to help me recover my memory...”

“Yes, in due time. But for now, have a seat.” The Earl of Thyrozim smiles and gestures to Striker. “First, I must speak with your friends. Bring them forward,” he commands Striker. The man nods and walks back to the party.

“The earl will see you now,” he announces. The party moves forward eagerly, barely noticing that the men-at-arms are closing in behind them. As they move forward and the earl comes into sight, Barouk comes to a dead halt. 

“YOU!” he shouts. He begins to quake with rage. 

*“MURDERER!!!”

Next Time:* What does Barouk mean? When did he meet the earl before, and what is Romdar’s connection to all of this?


----------



## the Jester (Jan 28, 2008)

*The Lajatang*

_As a youth in a dwarven hill community, Barouk was the son of a smith named Tordek. Tordek had a very good reputation amongst his own, and all the surrounding, communities. Some even called him “Truehammer” for the skill with which he wrought metals, base and noble alike. For Tordek Truehammer could craft silver bells or golden bangles nearly as well as he could iron weapons and steel armor. 

Most folk of such lofty and diverse skills would have trouble come, if anything, because of their skill with gold and jewels. But for Tordek Truehammer, it was his proficiency with forging even the strangest of weapons. 

It was called a _lajatang._ It was a weapon originally of Peshan origin, said the customer- a haughty human aristocrat. It was a curiosity. Yet he had heard of Truehammer’s skills, and he would have no lesser smith work the weapon for him. He offered Tordek an exorbitant price for the work- for his finest work. Near to bursting with all the things the nobleman said to inflame his pride, Tordek carelessly agreed and set to work immediately, spending day and night laboring over the strange dual-ended weapon. 

Young Barouk watched his father work as if possessed. The amount of money that the aristocrat was willing to spend was outrageous. 

Tordek finished the work in just over two months. When the nobleman arrived to claim his prize, his breath left him at the sight of the work now before him. “It is perfect!” he exclaimed, feeling its weight, its balance. He tried a few experimental cuts in the air. “Perfect!”

Tordek smiled proudly. “Ah, I am glad you like it,” he declared. Then he cleared his throat. “Now, as to the matter of payment...”

“What? Oh, yes. I am afraid,” the earl sniffed, “that this piece does not measure up. What I told you I would pay in gold, I offer instead in copper.”

The dwarven smith was thunderstruck, outraged. He spluttered, he demanded, he shouted; and the aristocrat laughed in delight, for the dwarf had played in his hands. “You dare to raise your voice and your fist in anger at me, earl of these lands! Well, I dispense judgment here, and I judge that treason!” And as simple as that, the smith was hanged by the neck until dead. 

Barouk hid, then fled, joining the Order of Saint Spadron, where he learned to discipline his mind, his body- and his voice. For he knew that to level such an accusation at someone from the upper class was asking for trouble. Indeed, the earl was perhaps within his rights. No, Barouk would never speak of it... until the time came for his revenge.

_Someday,_ he vowed, _I will reclaim my father’s lajatang._

But somehow, that day never came, as months became years, and years decades, until at last, Barouk was ready to go on his Walk and to earn his beard girdle pin._

***

It is him.

After all these years, it is _him._ Barouk recognizes him: the earl is the man who betrayed his father, who hanged his father, who _killed_ his father, who _murdered_ his father.

All around him, well over a dozen men-at-arms shift their hands onto weapons.

“You know this man, Barouk?” asks Severin boldly.

“Yes,” the dwarven monk bites out. He spits on the ground.

The earl chuckles. “Come now, Barouk. We are acquainted, yes. It is fortunate that you have come along; I require... a _favor_ of you.”

Barouk cannot believe his ears.

“Yes- aid me in what I require, and you and your friends will be on your way in an hour, probably less.”

Barouk’s fingers flex. He glances around, trying to count the number of men-at-arms serving the earl. _Over fifteen,_ he thinks grimly. He glances at Romdar; the duskblade looks lost and confused, standing near the earl.

“Uh,” Romdar says, then stops, shaking his head. “Do I know you? Do you know me?” He pauses, frustrated. “I don’t remember _any of you,_ or much of anything else... just a woman’s face,” he groans.

“Ah, the woman,” Striker nods sadly.

“What?” Romdar wants to pounce on any clue as to his lost memories. “What do you know about her?”

“Not much... you talked about her, and you used to say-”

“There will be time enough for this soon,” the earl interrupts smoothly. “Assuming that Barouk here cooperates.” He rubs his hands together. “Ah, Barouk, years ago I was too hasty. It was a mistake,” he admits. “Now, will you help me?” His tone is soft, but the menace is implicit. 

Romdar looks at his friends helplessly, then looks back at these people who seem to know a great deal about him. _I was a captain here,_ he thinks. _I could be again. It’s obvious that these people are ready to follow me- all of them except the earl. He must be the one that is really in charge. I have probably sworn myself to him at some point that I can’t remember._ His teeth clench together like lovers in a very small nest. _And I have to know! I have to know who I am, and whatever these people can tell me is the most that anyone I have encountered so far can._ He almost groans in indecision. He doesn’t want to see his friends hurt. 

But he _has_ to find out what he can!

“What do you want me to do?” Barouk answers the earl at last.

“You aren’t very nice,” Kifla declares, pouting at the earl. 

The earl ignores her. “Come with me,” he replies to Barouk, “into my keep. Just for a few moments. I need you to open something for me.”

“Something trapped?”

“Not to the best of my knowledge,” the earl shrugs. 

“I’m not killing anyone for you,” the dwarf grumbles.

“I am not asking you to hurt anyone, or any thing. Now, are you coming or not?” The earl is clearly not a patient man. The image of his father, eyes bulging out and tongue protruding grotesquely from his mouth, dancing in the wind beneath the tree...

“All right,” Barouk sighs. He steps forward. 

“Excellent,” the earl moans. 

Barouk, the earl and four guards walk away towards the empty-looking keep a few hundred yards away. 

The others watch, fascinated. Kifla glances over at Romdar. _What is he doing?_ she wonders. _Is he under a spell? Does he remember things, like these people?_ He looks very confused and uncertain. She sighs and shrugs. _I guess we’ll see what happens,_ she thinks, and gets distracted by murmurs of conversation from some of the men-at-arms, talking about the best way to cook a pheasant. 

Severin keeps his eyes open. _We’re in a very bad situation,_ he realizes. _Something is clearly up between our dwarven friend and this earl. There is bad blood between them. I worry about what is happening between them right now. I hope that Barouk is okay. The earl- well. If Barouk is right that he’s a murderer, then I hope that Barouk is pounding his face in right now._ He has counted the men-at-arms as best he can, though he is not sure that he has seen them all, and he may have counted some twice; but he _thinks_ that there are about seventeen of them, plus Striker and the earl. 

Well, minus the earl and four of them, for the moment. 

_We could take them,_ Severin thinks. Looking them over, he has come to the conclusion that the shabby men-at-arms are a rabble that will frighten easily and break almost as easily. He mutters his conclusion to Kifla. She looks at him like he is crazy. 

“What about Romdar?” she whispers. 

“He’ll fight for us.” He glances over. Romdar is engaged in conversation, laughing and joking with Striker. “Hmm. Or will he. I see your point.”

The two of them exchange uneasy looks. 

***

The keep is abandoned, but not ruined. It is clear that this is the earl’s keep, though why he and his men choose not to inhabit it is... unclear. The architecture, to Barouk’s dwarven appraisal, appears sound. But no fires are lit, none of the rooms appear lived in, and, in fact, the earl leads him directly to a descending stairway and into the dungeon. 

Barouk prepares himself. If the earl intends treachery, the dwarven monk vows, he will pay for it. _I won’t go down without a fight, and I swear that I’ll go straight for that bastard._

The stairs lead to- and through- the keep’s dungeon, via a narrow passageway. _Cramped quarters,_ Barouk thinks, _are nearly ideal when one is outnumbered._ But he doesn’t make his move, not yet. What would he do about the dozens of men-at-arms? _Romdar,_ he thinks grimly, _if you don’t buck up and help us, I am going to kick your ass._ 

The narrow passage ends in a slightly wider room. The earl ushers Barouk in. Two of the guards remain in the hallway to prevent retreat, and the other two move in to flank Barouk. _Here it comes,_ he thinks grimly, and clears his mind for battle. 

The earl draws out the lajatang- the lajatang Barouk’s father died for. The lajatang that the earl killed for. Barouk starts to fall into a fighting stance, but the earl hands the lajatang to the startled dwarf. “Here,” the earl says. He gestures at the wall behind Barouk. “Insert the end of the lajatang in that slot.”

Uneasily, Barouk turns to regard what the earl has indicated. Indeed, the rock wall of the passage has a metal piece affixed to it in one area, cut by a thin slot. 

Reluctantly, Barouk inserts the lajatang.

_Click!_

The metal bracket around the slit starts to slowly push itself forward out of the wall. It seems to be some sort of drawer.

“Well done, Barouk,” the earl smiles wickedly. “Now return to your friends.” The guards close in on Barouk, leaving him no choices save to go with them or fight.

He _almost_ attacks. 

Instead, he turns and slowly leaves the chamber. 

“At last, at last, at last,” the earl croons behind him.

_*Next Time:*_ Will the earl let our heroes go? What will Romdar do? Find out- next time!!


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## the Jester (Jan 30, 2008)

Had Baruk been at full hit points, he may have had a go!  But at less than half, he didn't dare.

Edit: Posted by Baruik in disguise.


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## the Jester (Mar 17, 2008)

*Decisions*

A short update, but a fairly pivotal one. 

Sorry the pace of updates has been slow, but most of my creative efforts have been going towards the prep for the epic game. One of the things I'm really looking forward to about 4e is lower prep time. 

Anyway, here's the update

***

“What do you think?” whispers Severin. He glances around.

“I don’t know,” murmurs Kifla. “I don’t like the odds. There are _a lot_ of them.”

“Yeah, but if Barouk doesn’t come back soon...” He trails off as one of the shabbyu men-at-arms sidles a little closer. Speaking a little louder, he says, “Well, those soldiers back a little ways were very helpful.” But the guard stays right where he is, and any further collusion between the heroes will just have to wait. 

“Look, it’s them,” Romdar calls, pointing up the hillock towards the keep. Indeed, Barouk, the earl and his men are emerging from the cracking walls and starting to move back towards the camp. As Barouk returns to the group, he glares at Romdar, who is with the earl’s men. 

“So, Romdar, it seems your loyalties have shifted,” the dwarf grumbles.

“These people know me. I have to try to find out what I can about my past. My history.”

“Perhaps you should look to your present, instead.”

“Barouk, imagine if you couldn’t remember your clan. Imagine if you didn’t even know who _you_ were.”

“I would know what _loyalty_ is.”

“I hope to rejoin you later...”

“Bah,” Barouk sneers, and turns his back. 

“You see, Romdar?” the earl says quietly, after Romdar has rejoined him. “They aren’t really your friends anyway. They turn their backs on you as soon as you need something.” He shakes his head sadly.

Romdar says nothing.

Across the camp, under the predatory eye of well over a dozen men, the rest of our heroes cluster together beneath the sunset.

“What did he want you to do?” Kifla asks.

“There was some kind of secret chamber. He needed me to open it.” Barouk grits his teeth, thinking about the lajatang. _I will avenge you, father._ He glares hard towards the earl, who is talking to Romdar. The desire to attack, despite the odds, is so strong that he can barely resist it. He certainly does not _want_ to resist it. He wants to give in and run raging at the bastard, the murderer. 

But... if he were to fail... his father would remain unavenged. And the odds of failure, right now, are too high. 

“Can we go now?” he snaps loudly.

The earl looks up. Slowly, a smile slides across his lips. “Of course,” he nods. He waves them off with one hand, and then, as if it were an afterthought, adds, “Thank you for your help, Barouk.” 

It is all Barouk can do to swallow his anger. Whatever it is that the earl got from the locked chamber, it can’t be good. _And he’s taunting me. I want to rip those taunts right out of his chest. He killed my father! MURDERED him!_ He finds himself starting to growl aloud and seizes control of himself. He knows discipline; he must simply exercise it. He breathes deeply, regularly, and the burning anger crawls from his face down into his belly. 

The party- minus Romdar- makes their escape. They hurry away from the earl’s camp, traveling for several hours into the night before setting up camp.

***

Watching Romdar walk around the camp like an aimless child, the Earl of Thyrozim cannot help but smirk. He turns to Striker and says, “Take a few men and go after them. Kill or capture them, I don’t care which.”

“What?” Romdar says.

The earl turns to him. “They are criminals,” he pronounces. “They have stolen from me, the rightful authority on this land!”

“They did?”

“Yes. And there must be justice. Come now, Romdar, surely you agree.”

Romdar glances around at the men-at-arms all around him. “Of course there must be justice.”

“And, of course, you are ready to help me, if need be?”

“I... those people are my friends. I’ve been traveling with them. I owe them my life. If there must be justice, there must be justice; but if that means that they have to die, I... would prefer not to be involved.”

“But you are ready,” the earl presses him, “to help me as I require?”

“Yes,” Romdar says.

“Good!” The earl grins and claps Romdar on the shoulder. “Come, then. Now that that’s all settled, let’s have a little ale.” He turns to Striker. “Go. Get your team.”

Striker grins. “I’m on it, milord,” he answers, and then he turns and trots away.

Romdar winces.

_*Next Time:*_ Betrayal! Attacked in the night! Things get far uglier!!


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## the Jester (Mar 21, 2008)

*Captured!*

Kifla moves away from the low-banked fire, casting her eyes about furtively. Well, okay, she’s not really furtive about it. She’s looking for a bush to hide behind, so nobody can see her while she pees.

But our heroes have camped in a depression with a good view of the surrounding area. 

Pinching her legs together, she spends a moment doing the pee dance and then hurries up and out of the depression, blushing at her own modesty. _There has to be somewhere,_ she thinks. Desperately, she scans the surrounding areas- aha! There it is, silhouetted against the night sky- a tree. Quickly, she scurries over to it. A few seconds of fumbling with her robes- you can’t be a dignified illusionist if you pee on yourself- and she sighs with relief, at last unclenching her bladder.

A blissful minute later, Kifla composes herself. She starts walking back towards the camp, still straightening her robes- and freezes.

In the light of the campfire, she can see battle. 

In fact, it is the _end_ of a battle. 

Horrified, Kifla can only watch as Striker’s team herds her companions off. She recognizes the earl’s chief henchman.

“Oh no,” she whispers. “Oh no, oh no.” 

The figures vanish all too quickly into the dark night. The meager radiance of the campfire is not enough to keep them in view even long enough for the gnome to reach the camp, but as she comes closer, she stops. _I’m alone,_ she reminds herself. _What if they left a guard behind? I’m no warrior, I’m just a gnome._ 

For a moment her face screws up in indecision. Then, slowly, something else dawns on her. _Yeah, I’m just a gnome- but I’m a _gnome._ We’re tricky. Sure, maybe these big mean human ruffians could take me in a fair fight... but I’m a _gnome.[/i] 

Lots of things can out-fight me- but I don’t think that there are many,[/i] Kifla thinks, _that can out-trick me._

She sneaks up to the campsite. There is no guard behind, but there are a couple of dead men-at-arms. One of them doesn’t have a mark on him, but he seems to have fallen dead instantly clutching at the strange, frog-hilted sword that the party captured from the Mouth of Bleak.

_Interesting,_ thinks Kifla. She gingerly retrieves the sword; it does no harm to her. Puzzled, she straps it to herself and then resumes her pursuit of her captured friends. She can’t keep up with them, especially once they mount up- but she knows where they’re going.

***

When Kifla reaches the area around the earl’s camp- which she can see from a good mile off, thanks to their campfires- it is late, late, late. Many of the rough men-at-arms in service to Thyrozim are dozing, some at the crude tables that they eat at. More are still awake, drinking or drunken or both.

She spies her friends immediately. They are painfully obvious. They have been left in small cages along the edge of the earl’s camp, with their hands bound behind their backs and their ankles bound. Severin’s face looks broken.

_There are a lot of guards,_ Kifla sighs mentally.

She watches for a few moments, keeping her distance, circling the area. After she circles around twice, she decides on her approach- the least observed approach that she can spot that will get her up to the cages. Fortunately, as a gnome, she is very small, and thus she manages to get perilously close to the cages unnoticed. Careful to act when nobody is looking her way, Kifla casts a _ghost sound_ as far away on the other side of the camp as she can, and suddenly the sound of marching soldiers comes from that direction.

There is an immediate commotion from the conscious men-at-arms, and others begin to rouse from a bleary half-awake state. Interest turns heavily in that direction. The earl cries out, “What’s that?” He frowns, staring off into the darkness. 

“YOU WILL GET YOUR DUE!!” Barouk roars at the earl and his men. And Romdar. _Especially_ Romdar. 

Romdar, who looks more uncomfortable with every passing second. 

As Kifla reaches the cages, she sees the earl speaking to Romdar, attempting to distract him from Barouk’s baiting. “What do you remember about losing your memory?” the earl asks him. 

Romdar stares at him. “As important as that is to me, I feel that I first need to ask- what is your interest in this dwarf?”

“He stole from my family,” the earl answers glibly. “And now our fortune shall be restored, and _he_ will face justice.”

“Shh,” Kifla whispers to Barouk, “it’s me, Kifla.” She saws at his bonds, cutting his wrist slightly in the process. Once that is done, she glances over to where her distraction is. _They’re going to realize there isn’t anything over there,_ she thinks, _unless I _make_ something over there._ 

“Watch this!” she tells Barouk quietly.

Again, she weaves a spell. This time, she summons three celestial dogs near the Thyrozim men. Immediately, a melee breaks out. More attention is drawn over there. 

“I hope that I can count on you to be in the right side in this, Romdar,” the earl comments. 

“I will not stand in the way of justice,” Romdar replies cautiously.

“Then we understand each other.”

“Those dogs came out of nowhere,” the duskblade points out.

The earl stares at him. “It is time for you to prove yourself yet again, Romdar,” he says. 

Romdar draws his sword. “I’ll check on the prisoners.” He begins moving towards the cages. 

_Oh crap,_ thinks Kifla. She saws madly at Severin’s bonds, finally slicing through them. “Here, I brought you something,” she whispers, and hands over _Frogspaw._

Barouk emerges from his cage just as Romdar comes around the corner. He halts for a moment, blade down. 

Barouk darts into the darkness. 

Severin emerges from his cage and stares at Romdar. He shakes his head, and follows Barouk. Kifla darts after him, motioning for Romdar to follow.

Romdar hesitates for a long moment. The face of a woman- one of the only clues he has had, outside of this group of thugs and ruffians- appears in his mind for an instant. _Who am I?_ he cries. _I need to know!_

Yet... something is plainly wrong here. This earl is asking him to betray his friends. He has shown no sign of honor or honesty yet. He has a shabby entourage that lives in a camp outside his neglected keep. What kind of earl is this?

Romdar casts _swift expeditious retreat_ and rushes after his friends. 

Severin glares as the duskblade runs up towards him, and then past him. “Keep going! Keep going!” Romdar urges him. Severin blinks in confusion; he had expected an attack. 

They rush away, as the _ghost sound_ fades and the Thyrozim men dispatch the celestial dogs. Into the night they go, running off for about twenty minutes before slowing to a walk.

But almost immediately, Severing demands, “What were you doing in the tents with them? Why didn’t you help us?”

“I thought they could help me... they knew me. I don’t remember anything. Loyalty- I had ties to them, even if I don’t remember them.”

“Loyalty! How about loyalty to us, your friends, your companions! If we’re going to travel together, we need to know that we can count on you in a fight. When there is trouble, we need to know that you’re on our side. We put our lives in each others’ hands every day, man! We need to know that you’re reliable!”

“I’m reliable! I just...”

Barouk, angry past the point of containment, yells incoherently and throws a deadly blow at Romdar. The duskblade rocks back, taking the blow without defense or complaint. His eye starts to swell and turn black immediately. “Feel better?” he asks Barouk sarcastically.

“That wasn’t very nice!” Kifla cries. “Barouk, you shouldn’t do that, he’s our friend!”

“No, he’s not,” Barouk retorts. 

“Can we just keep moving?” Romdar asks.

“And you!” Kifla impales him with her eyes. “You shouldn’t have been hanging out with them. They were bad, bad men!” 

He shrugs uncomfortably. 

Kifla storm off in a huff. Which is to say, she leads the way in a huff as the party continues on, becoming more and more aware of their weariness. They haven’t slept, and the eastern sky is starting to turn light and pink. They continue along for another couple of hours; they want to put some distance between themselves and the earl’s men. 

Severin climbs a tree as the dawn starts to peek out of the east. He looks all around for a likely place to camp, and spots what appears to be an abandoned thorp of several buildings, at least one of which still looks intact. 

By mid-morning, our heroes are, at last, bedded down- though they always leave one on watch. And not Romdar; oh no, a _trustworthy_ party member. 

_I made a pretty bad mistake,_ Romdar thinks. Again, that woman’s face. _Who am I?_

_*Next Time:*_ The drawbacks to going to the authorities to complain about the nobility!


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## the Jester (Apr 5, 2008)

“Now what?” Severin asks Barouk and Kifla. The three of them cluster around, keeping one eye on Romdar. Their trust has been broken, and it will take some time and effort for the duskblade to regain it... if he can.

“I want to go back to that camp of soldiers,” Barouk says. “I want to report that Earl.”

“Report him for what?” Kifla pipes up.

“For being a hoodlum! For murdering my father, years ago! He has no right to be a noble. What good is he doing his people?”

After a pause, Kifla inquires, “What does any of that have to do with anything? Do you really think they’ll listen to us?”

But Barouk will not be discouraged. The party marches on, traveling as discretely as they can while still making reasonable progress. They start their journey in late afternoon, and march past nightfall. Just after the sun goes down, the dwarf hears an odd buzzing sound. It sounds familiar. It is something that he has heard before, at the beginning of his adventuring career- something that he has feared ever since. 

“STIRGES!!” Barouk bellows. 

Then the little things fly into view, silhouetted against the star-filled sky. There are quite a few of them, fanning out as they rapidly approach. Kifla immediately casts her _mage armor_; then the stirge swarm is upon our heroes. They slash, punch and jab all around them, feeling the little terrors pierce them and cling to their bodies! Barouk punches one and it pops, exploding in a shower of blood like a bloated mosquito. Severin draws _Frogspaw_ and jabs the tip of the sword at another stirge, but the little beast wheels through the air, avoiding the attack. Romdar moves up, his sword naked in his hand, and begins attacking the stirges as well. Kifla summons up a celestial eagle, which immediately starts attacking the stirges with a shrill cry. 

But the little stirges are dangerous. They dart this way and that, wheeling around the adventurers like bats. They dart in, but thankfully, they must get very close before they can attack with their proboscises, and our heroes are able to attack them as they move in. Through a combination of skill and luck, the first wave of stirges fails to get a single hit on anyone!

The second wave comes in, and again, our heroes try to slay them before they enter striking distance. This time, however, a stirge gets through, landing on Severin. “Aargh!” he cries, and commences frantically trying to pry it off of his body. “Help!”

The stirges are falling; Severin finally manages to impale the one sucking his blood with _Frogspaw._ With a roar, he rips it from his body, then flings it off of his blade. Whirling to face the battle, he finds that the other remaining stirges have just been put down. “That was close,” he gasps, wiping his brow.

“Are you all right?” rumbles Barouk. “I know what stirges are like. They almost killed me in my first adventure!”*

“Yes... I’m a little light-headed, but I’ll be okay,” Severin replies. He takes a deep breath. _I seem steady enough,_ he thinks. _Right, I’m okay._ “Let’s keep moving.”

They do, traveling onward until dawn. Romdar, Severin and Barouk go hunting for food while Kifla finds a place to build a fire for breakfast. They bring back mushrooms, fish, eggs, shallots, quail and a squirrel. It makes a nice meal. Severin hunts out a nice spot with an overhang- the party is paralleling the mountains- and they set up camp and rests through the day. Again, the group travels into the night. Soon they come upon a shallow creek and follow its path by starlight.

Across the creek, a figure slides out of the shadows and calls out at our heroes. 

“Did anyone understand that?” Barouk asks. Nobody did. Everyone begins calling out to it, in different tongues.

Speaking Forinthian in an odd accent, the dim figure says, “You are in our area. You must pay tribute to pass. And you must toss your sources of light aside.”

“All right,” Barouk shrugs. He pulls out his torches and drops them. _I have darkvision anyway,_ he think.

“Uh, sure,” Severin bluffs, and drops one torch. He has more in his backpack. 

Romdar argues, “We need our light sources. Why do you want us to get rid of them? What if we promise not to use them? We could-”

Three grey figures wielding spiked chains appear from the shadows and attack.

The first one lashes its chain across Romdar’s face. “Aargh!” the duskblade cries. “Wait, we are parlaying!!”

Not anymore, apparently.

The second shadowy creature attacks Barouk, but the dwarf throws himself down below the spiked chain. It whistles overhead. Barouk pops back up and settles into a fighting stance. It strikes again, but he ducks beneath the blow. 

Severin, meanwhile, is attacked by the third figure. It strikes him twice across the chest. “Woof!” he gasps. 

The first of the three, meanwhile, whips his chain squarely into Romdar’s groin. The duskblade howls in agony. Then, in reprisal, he quickdraws his sword, casts _shocking grasp_ and channels the spell into his blade. With a mighty lunge, he nearly trips over himself, completely misses, and discharges his spell into the earth below him. His foe shakes his head and whacks Romdar with his chain again.

Kifla hurries up to Barouk and casts _magic weapon_ on his fists. “Here, this should help!” she cries. Barouk grins and springs forward, unleashing a flurry of blows at his opponent. One hits, bloodying his face, but the dwarf’s other strike misses. He growls, but his enemy just grins. 

Severin begins dancing with the one on him, and he manages to land a very solid blow with _Frogspaw._ However, the grey-skinned, sad-featured figure he is fighting is still standing. “Take that!” the ranger cries. 

The other creature, on the other side of the river, scowls at the scene. Like them, he is grey-haired, grey-skinned, wearing strange-looking studded leather armor and jewels that seem to be pierced into his skin. He begins to whirl his chain and starts crossing the river. 

“This is bad!” Kifla squeaks. She casts _color spray_, and the one that is pressing Romdar shrieks and drops its chain, blinded and stunned! Romdar takes up a similar strategy, casting _flare_ on the enemy that is crossing the river. Unfortunately, the grey-skinned creature throws its arms up, covering its eyes, and continues to advance.

Barouk continues to duel with his enemy. Each of them has wounded the other; now, Barouk focuses his _ki_ into his fists- and they burst into flame. His shadowy adversary’s eyes widen in surprise. “What,” he says, and it is his last word. Barouk is a lethal, flaming blur; and in seconds, the chain-wielding figure has fallen.

Then the one that just crossed over charges him, raking its spiked chain across the dwarf’s flank! Barouk groans in pain, and blood splatters down the side of his robes. He throws another flurry of blows at his new enemy, but the shadowy figure ducks and weaves away from his punches. 

Meanwhile, Severin continues to duel with the figure that he has already wounded. _Frogspaw_ seems to sing in his hand as he stabs forward; but the grey figure dances aside and swings his chain around to slap Severin in the nose. “Urgh!” the ranger grunts. The two exchange a series of quick, whirling feints and slashes. _Clang! Clang!_ Steel clashes on steel as they dance.

Kifla has spent a great deal of time watching Barouk’s techniques for tumbling. Now, as she is too close to multiple enemies, she thanks the gods that she had the foresight to do so. She is nowhere near as good as the monk, but she has been practicing- and now, she flips and tumbles back out of range of the enemies and into position. She unleashes another _color spray_! This time, however, both enemies throw the effects off completely. Romdar unleashes a _burning hands_ spell that catches two of the party’s foes in it, but both remain standing!

“These guys are tough!” Romdar shouts.

“Not so tough,” replies Severin, as he nearly decapitates his foe. At last, the figure drops to the ground lifeless. 

“Hah! Well done!” exclaims Barouk, just in time for his enemy to whack him in the face again! Then the shadowy figure turns and starts to flee. Barouk growls, reaches out and grabs him by the shoulder, spins him around and shoves his fingers in its eyes, nearly knocking the crown of its head off! It collapses, slain.

The party turns to their last adversary, who is just shaking off the _color spray_ at last. They spring on him collectively, grappling him. The figure struggles wildly; finally, Barouk forces its head down onto some of its own spiky accoutrements, and it collapses with a wail. 

Is it over?

It’s over. 

Everyone looks around warily. “We made it!” Kifla cheers. 

“Those guys were tough,” Romdar groans. He is badly wounded, and he is not the only one. In fact, except for Kifla, everyone is badly damaged. 

“We need to rest,” Severin says, wiping his blade off on the tunic of one of the fallen grey figures. “Search these guys, then move on and back into the Deadgrass Lands a little bit. That is, if you still want to go to those soldiers,” he nods at Barouk. 

“Yes,” Barouk replies curtly. 

Severin sighs. “All right. But we need to rest first.”

The dwarf scowls. After a moment, he nods. 

***

In the morning, as the dawn rises, our heroes rise as well. They didn’t make enough progress before the fight last night to really need to sleep in much longer, and now they have, in one fell swoop, adjusted their collective sleep cycle back to what might be considered ‘normal’ for most folk. They search the dead chain-wielding creatures. Now that it is light, Romdar is able to identify them: “They’re shadar-kai, fey from the Plane of Shadow.”

A search finds only a few coins- 22 gold, to be precise- but Grom decides to take the shadar-kai spiked chains. “They’re fairly valuable,” he points out. “We’ll be in a city before long; we were within spitting distance of the Elsir Vale as it was, before we turned around to go talk to these soldiers.” He frowns. “I don’t like that we’re traveling away from my people now; let’s try to get this over with in a hurry.”

“Yeah, let’s,” agrees Severin.

The party continues along their way, starting to edge back into the Deadgrass Lands. Before long, they spy a patrol up ahead, with a number of garen-mounted soldiers leading the way. 

“Hail!” Barouk calls.

“This is a bad idea,” mutters Severin.

_*Next Time:*_ Is Severin right? What happens when Barouk tries to turn the authorities in to the authorities??

*Back at the beginning of this thread- the very first post, in fact!


----------



## the Jester (May 3, 2008)

*Turning the Authorities in to the Authorities*

The patrol of soldiers stops, and their leader approaches our heroes. “Good morning,” he nods to them. His mouth is a thin taut line. “What are you folk doing out here? You don’t look to be from these parts.”

“We’re heading for my home town of Drellin’s Ferry,” Grom speaks up. “There are some goblins causing us trouble. Maybe you folks could come help?”

“We’re stationed here, I’m afraid.” The knight shrugs.

“That’s not really what we want to talk to you about, though,” Barouk harrumphs. “There is an earl nearby that is a criminal. He’s a thief and a murderer.”

“Really!” exclaims the patrol’s leader. “What evidence do you have?”

Barouk stops. “Well,” he says, and stops again. “Well,” he picks up after a moment of silence, “he has my father’s lajatang!”

“And?”

“He killed him for it!”

“Is there a body?”

“Years ago!”

“Is there any evidence now?”

“I...” Barouk grumbles.

“Come, walk with me for a moment,” the commander sighs. The dwarf and the human walk a few dozen yards away in silence. The man’s brow furrows; clearly, he is thinking hard about what to say or do next. Then, he says, “Listen, dwarf, if you go accusing a member of the aristocracy of a serious crime, you had better have some good solid evidence. If it comes down to your word versus his, he will win. _He’s an aristocrat._ And you’ll make enemies, and probably be brought up on charges yourself for slandering him, or inciting insurrection or some such.” He stares Barouk in the eye. “Now, if you want me to take you to my captain, I will, and you can make your complaint. But if you don’t have any evidence to back up your claim, I suspect that you will be dealt with rather harshly- especially given your previously-proven association with bandits.”

“What!”

“We searched your party,” the man snaps, “and you had stolen goods on you.”

“It was loot we found when we _fought_ the bandits!”

“So you say,” the commander answers, clearly unconvinced.

Barouk sighs. “He’s an evil man, and he is guilty of many crimes,” he says wearily.

“Gather evidence, then accuse.”

Barouk stares at him. _I cannot just abandon my oath of vengeance,_ he thinks, _but I am a dwarf. I can be patient. We must take time to recover ourselves, to grow in power- and then I will seek my revenge. Then I will return to you, Earl of Thyrozim, and I will destroy you! I swear it!_

***

The patrol rides off, leaving our heroes again on their own. Barouk, clearly in a very foul mood, snaps at Romdar several times. The duskblade tries again to explain his actions with the earl, but Barouk will have none of it. Kifla tries to settle the two of them down, but Barouk needs to lash out at someone. His anger cannot be completely contained. 

The party discusses their next course of action. Barouk declares that he still wishes to slay the earl in time, staring at Romdar when he says it. 

“Look, I’m not going to fight against you guys,” Romdar said. “I never did!”

“You need to fight _with_ us when the time comes,” Severin replies. “Can we count on you?”

”Yes! Yes, I’ll fight with you!” Romdar cries.

“Bah,” says Barouk.

***

The party begins journeying into the mountains. There is a path above them; they climb towards it, finally reaching it, and continue their ascent towards the saddle that leads to the Elsir Vale.

Suddenly, Barouk cries out, “Look! In the sky! A beast!!” His pointing finger indicates a strange monster in the sky, part eagle and part horse. He darts over to a boulder and scampers up to the top.

“It’s a hippogriff,” Kifla announces. “They can make good mounts, but the wild ones might try to eat us, especially those of us that are, um, smaller.” Her eyes widen in dismay. “Hey, that’s me!” Quickly, she casts _mage armor_.

“It looks friendly,” Romdar says. He still draws his bow. The creature flies over the party, spiraling down and slashing at Kifla’s face. “Hey!” the duskblade exclaims. “Maybe I’m wrong- that wasn’t friendly at all!” 

Kifla squeals in dismay and casts _expeditious retreat._ She tumbles back- she’s been practicing!- and escapes the hippogriff’s reach. “Scare it off!” she shouts. “It’s trying to eat me!”

Grom jumps forward. “If we can tame it,” he cries, “maybe we can ride it!” He grabs the hippogriff’s mane, but it pushes him back and breaks free. He poises himself to try again.

Barouk, meanwhile, leaps from the boulder and manages to kick the hippogriff in the beak. It squawks in pain. He lands on his feet, ready to engage it, but it steps back a pace and instead turns its full attentions on Romdar. Both of its razor-sharp talons tear across him, slicing open his chest and belly. Romdar screams in terrific pain as his intestines spill out on the ground, looping around his ankles! Then the hippogriff’s beak flashes out and it literally bites his head off. 

Romdar’s screams cease, immediately and forever.

“NOOOOO!!” Kifla screams. “ROMDAR!!!”

Everyone is paralyzed in horror for a split-second. Then Grom backs away. “Dexter’s nadlies,” he gasps. 

The hippogriff weathers a few thrown punches by Barouk as it clutches Romdar’s body in its talons and his head in its beak. It begins to crack his skull like a nut’s shell and leaps into the air. Our heroes can only watch as it flies away to enjoy its meal.

“Wow,” Severin says. 

“I feel bad now,” Kifla nods. “We were all mad at him, and we never had a chance to make up!”

“He was a traitor,” Barouk shrugs, but even he sounds less harsh than normal. 

***

With no choice but to continue, the party goes over the saddle of the ridge of hills and proceeds down into the valley. Soon they are moving through fields of grains along a trail that leads to the gates of a decent-sized city called Brindol. It costs each of the adventurers a silver coin to enter the city, but they quickly find a tavern-the Thirsty Zombie- where they can sit down and enjoy a drink and fresh food. The proprietor is a corpulent half-orc named Torgin, and a heavy crossbow hangs behind the bar. Grom gravitates to him by virtue of their shared ancestry, and soon they are chatting amicably while they both sip on a brew. Grom explains the party’s mission, and Torgin scratches his chin.

“So,” the bartender says, “you’re adventurers, eh?”

“Yes,” Grom nods. “But we’re on a quest already, and we’ve already been delayed too much. We can’t really afford any more time...”

“Fair enough.” Torgin shrugs. “It’s just that my friend Callus has been having, well, a pest problem. Some kind of big beetles. And his farm is just outside of town.”

“Beetles?” Severin perks up.* “Which side of town does your friend live on?”

“He’s outside of town about two miles, to the north,” Torgin replies. 

“He’s on the way,” Severin nods. 

***

A night’s sleep in a bed is quite luxurious, after what feels like years on the road (but is more like weeks). In the morning, our heroes are reminded of just how wonderful fresh bread is, and after a very nice breakfast, they set out to find this fellow Callus.

It takes a few hours, during which they are traveling the right direction, although less quickly than if they weren’t looking for someone, but eventually they find him. Callus is a middle-aged human male. When he hears that Torgin sent them, he breaks into a grin. “Ah, Torgin, always helping his friends out!” He grins. “Well, I don’t know if you’re willing to help for what I can afford to pay- which is fifty gold coins each plus some goat cheese and juice- but if you are, I have a small problem.”

“We heard something about beetles?” Severin inquires. 

The farmer nods. “Yes. I’ve had trouble with these things eating my crops and livestock.”

“They’re big enough to eat livestock?” Severin sounds impressed.

“Goats,” Callus answers. “They aren’t so big.”

“Ah.”

“Anyway, there’s a small nest of them- and they’re some kind of earthquake beetles.”

_*Next Time:*_ Our heroes fight jishin mushi!



*Vermin, of course, are Severin’s favored enemy.


----------



## the Jester (May 16, 2008)

West of Callus’ farm, our heroes find the beetle lair: a large nest of dirt, sticks and leaves, stuck together with saliva. Two large, ugly beetles the size of a small cow are crawling upon it.

“A mated pair,” Severin hypothesizes. 

The beetles notice our heroes and begin crawling towards them. “Well, here we go,” Grom says, drawing his crossbow. Barouk rushes past him, a kama in his hand. With a wild cry, the dwarven monk launches himself at the closest beetle- to no effect! His kama bounces off of the bug’s exoskeleton.

Severin nocks and fires an arrow at the other beetle in one smooth motion. The arrow sinks in, puncturing the beetle’s carapace and sticking into the great vermin. It hisses and it begins to vibrate, pushing itself against the earth. 

There is a rumble, and the ground _undulates_ towards the party.

Grom gives a great cry as he is thrown from his feet. Severin is thrown to the ground as well!

“Oh no, that farmer was right!” cries Kifla. “They _are_ earthquake beetles!”

Barouk and the beetle he is on begin a series of attacks on one another, but at least for the moment, neither is willing to commit to an all-out attack. Thus, each manages to defend against the other. The beetle scurries forward, then back, snapping at the dwarf with its mandibles, while Barouk punches, kicks and blocks.

Kifla starts to cast a summoning spell, but the unengaged beetle vibrates the ground again. She is thrown down, as is Severin, who had just regained his feet. He lets out a stream of mighty curses. Kifla, however, manages to maintain her concentration and continues casting. 

Grom fires his crossbow at the one that keeps shaking the ground, but his bolt flies wide and shoots off into the distance. “Bah!” Grom cries, casting down his crossbow and drawing out his shortsword. With a roar, the half-orc rushes forward to aid Barouk, who has by now suffered a pair of serious bite wounds that have left him pretty wounded. 

Then Kifla’s spell goes off at last, and a pair of celestial fire beetles appear! They flank the other earthquake beetle. Beetle against beetle they struggle; but the earthquake beetle quickly demonstrates its might, biting the head of one of the fire beetles completely off. Severin, on his feet again, leaps at the bug, _Frogspaw_ naked in his hand. He slices at it wildly, but his blow misses it completely. The beetle snaps at Grom, but then the other fire beetle attacks it and snips one of its legs off! It shudders, and the fire beetle takes another nip of it, this time tearing out a large part of the earthquake beetle’s head! With that, the first beetle dies. 

Grom and Barouk flank the other one, and although Barouk’s strength is flagging, they keep the beetle from focusing effectively on either one of them long enough for Grom to land a fatal sneak attack on it.

***

Severin is gathering arrows when Grom nudges him. “Hey,” the half-orc says, “look at that.”

The ranger follows his companion’s gaze. A single figure, armed and lightly armored, with a backpack and a walking stick, is making his way along the nearby trade road. Severin looks back at Grom. “So?”

“He’s an adventurer. We could use him. We just lost Romdar; we need to replenish our ranks.”

Severin shrugs. “Maybe, if he really is an adventurer.”

“Let’s go ask.”

“All right.” The ranger gives another shrug. “Why not?”

They approach and greet the man, who regards them with the kind of wary eyes that an adventurer watches the world with. His name is Seivus, and he turns out to be a dragon shaman (whatever that is) who worships the black dragon Lithos.* He relaxes once our heroes prove to be friendly, and fellow adventurers besides. He has no particular destination; he is, as they say, adventuring. 

”Well, we’re trying to clean out these beetles,” Grom explains. “Perhaps you’d like to join us for an equal share...?”

“All right,” Seivus agrees, “there is more safety in numbers.”

Thus, the dragon shaman joins the party, and they continue their work on the beetle nest. A few more beetles do show up, and the dragon shaman turns out to be able to produce auras that enhance his companions. Thus enhanced, our heroes manage to overcome the remaining earthquake beetles. 

“Not bad,” Barouk nods at Seivus. 

“You aren’t bad either,” admits the dragon shaman. 

The party searches the nest, and finds several half-devoured corpses within it. In addition, they find some treasure- about 500 gold pieces, a moonstone necklace and a scroll. Kifla is overjoyed, upon casting _read magic_, to find that it has two arcane spells upon it- _vertigo_ and _burning hands_. Although _burning hands_ is out of her area of expertise, _vertigo_ is an illusion of the second valence- just right for her!

***

Back to Callus’ farm our heroes go; they collect their reward (agreeing with him that they will pay Seivus out of their reward, as the farmer had never agreed to hire him). Then it is back to town, for it is starting to look like rain, and no one in the group even has a tent. Furthermore, Barouk and Severin both took serious damage in the battle against the beetles.  

So they go to rest and recover, and they buy some appropriate gear for the remainder of their journey. While her companions heal, Kifla trades in the _burning hands_ from the scroll and, throwing in some additional cash, buys the formula to _Therena’s steam jet,_ which is known instead in some circles as _Malford’s steam jet._ While they are just leaving, they run into a fellow named Olin from Grom’s home village, Drellin’s Ferry. 

“Oh, thank goodness!” Olin exclaims. “We feared that you had been lost!”

“It has been a long, strange journey,” Grom replies, “but I have found adventurers to help our village, and we are on our way there now.”

Olin joins with the group and they proceed down a busy trade road towards Drellin’s Ferry. Some of the traffic on the road is foot traffic; some of the foot traffic is herding chickens along with them, or is accompanied by sheep or some such. Much of the traffic is wagons or carts, drawn by garen, bodokod or bosoch. By the time the sun goes down, they have made nearly fifteen miles. Well-satisfied with their day’s travel, the party makes camp past a screen of brush a little way off the road. They build a fire and are just starting to discuss dinner when a loud, distressed squealing disturbs their conversation.

“What’s that?” exclaims Kifla.

“It sounds edible,” Severin declares, and then it breaks into their camp site and they can see it in the firelight: a huge boar the size of a bull, bristling with arrows. 

Kifla hears a _thwap!_ Suddenly a great pain blossoms in her arm. She is amazed, when she looks at it, to discover an arrow protruding from it. 

“What?” she says. 

Then, as the strange crocodilian things firing arrows come into view, the poison takes hold. 

_*Next Time:*_ The boar, the reptilian monsters and our heroes all fight each other!

*Readers of my epic story hour may recall Lithos, the legendary black dragon of the Swamp of Lithos, who was asleep for an age before the party woke & slew her.


----------



## the Jester (May 24, 2008)

“What are these, some kind of crocodile-men?” shouts Severin. It is hard for them to see; it’s dark. The ranger quickly pulls out a torch and thrusts it into the campfire in order to shed some light on things. As near as he can tell, there are only two of the green humanoid creatures. He hurls his torch forward through the night, towards the two strange creatures. 

_Thwack!_ An arrow sinks into his side, scraping across his ribs. “Ack!” he exclaims. He feels a strange burn in the wound, and realizes that he is poisoned. His body throws off the initial effects, but...

“I can barely stand,” Kifla groans. She is trembling with weakness. Haltingly, she casts _mirror image,_ hoping to protect herself from the assault. Suddenly there are six Kiflas, all shimmering and shifting around. 

“Whoa there,” Barouk says gruffly to the dire boar. It is wounded, angry, confused, poisoned and worst of all, boxed in. Its eyes are rolling in its head from fear. It has no escape route- it must make its own escape route! The dire boar lowers its head and charges, churning the ground beneath it as it rushes Barouk. 

The monk waits until the last instant and then steps aside. The huge pig doesn’t seem to be interested in fighting, just surviving.* Yet it really has no escape before it, since now the six shimmering Kiflas are in its way. It bellows frustration and confusion, and rampages through one of the party’s tents, totally destroying it.

“Nice piggy,” Kifla gulps.

Barouk cries, “Kifla, get out of there! Its head is as big as you!” He takes his own advice, beating something of a retreat and then attempting to assess where he can do the most good. He watches as Severin shoots one of the crocodile men in the chest, wounding him severely; so Barouk pulls out his own crossbow and quickly loads it. He takes careful aim as the crocodile man shoots another arrow at Severin, and then pulls the trigger. His bolt catches it in the throat. It spasms and drops its bow. For an instant it clutches the arrow, and then it collapses!

Severin whips _Frogspaw_ from its sheath and advances on the other green-scaled creature. It has just shot the dire boar again, bringing out a terrific squeal from it. Kifla leaps out of the way as the pig charges forward, but then it stops, confused and upset by the fire and the smell of the other folk camped off the side of the road. Barouk quickly interposes himself between it and Kifla. “Stay back,” he commands his friend, who is so weak from the poison that she can barely stand. 

“Don’t worry, I will,” she moans. 

Meanwhile, Severin and the green creature dance. The reptilian creature uses some sort of strange weapon with a long, short sword-like blade off one end and a shorter, shovel-shaped blade off the other. The two of them parry and dodge each others’ blows for the first few moments, but then Severin lands a killing blow, decapitating the monster in a single shot!

This gives the dire boar the opening it needs. Severin backs away as it shoots past them into the night. 

“Is everyone okay?” asks Severin. “I’m poisoned.”

“Me too,” groans Kifla. 

“Well,” Barouk opines, “it’s a good thing that we are resting anyway.”

***

Indeed, they decide to extend their rest through the next day. They trade for a bag of fresh tangerines from some traveling farmers, but mostly just sit around recovering. Both Kifla and Severin have suffered fairly heavy strength damage, but by the next morning, both of them are in much better shape. They head off, moving along the trail with Kifla (who is still suffering worse effects from the poison) riding their garen while the others walk. In the middle of the day, they come to a town called Marthton, where they eat a hearty lunch. Kifla goes to a temple of Dexter in search of healing for the poison’s effects, but to her consternation discovers that she cannot afford it. (Barouk just snorts. He won’t go into a temple to that upstart pup Dexter.) The party spends the night in town, sleeping in Olin’s uncle’s barn. 

In the morning, the party heads off with a new tent, lantern and provisions. They join the flow of traffic, and Barouk ends up buying an orange-yellow cat named Spadron from a merchant with a wagon packed with cages of cats.

“What happens if you can’t sell them?” Kifla asks. “Do they stay in cages forever?”

“Oh, they’ll all sell, even if just to a cook,” the merchant answers.

Kifla stares. She can’t believe her ears. “I’d like to buy all the cats,” she announces.

“Why?” demands Barouk.

“If he doesn’t sell them, they’ll kill them and cook them!” Kifla wails.

“No he won’t,” Barouk argues. “He’s just trying to sell them to you.”

“Well, I don’t personally,” the merchant says, “but like I said, I sell them to cooks.”

“I want to buy them all,” Kifla repeats. “How much?”

“One gold piece for the lot of them,” the mercnant replies.

Kifla hands over the money. The merchant starts pulling the cages off of his wagon, but Kifla says, “Just let them out.”

The merchant shrugs and retorts, “They’re yours now. If you want to, go ahead.” He doesn’t really seem to believe that the gnome is serious, but he is being good-natured about things nonetheless. When Kifla starts actually letting the cats out, he shakes his head and walks to the other side of the wagon.

Barouk sighs. “Oh, Kifla,” he says.

An elf walks up. “What’s this? Why are you letting all these cats go here? You can’t just dump them off the side of the road!”

“But he was going to kill them!” Kifla explains the situation to the elf.

“Oh, that’s different, then,” the elf says. “Where is that merchant, anyway?”

***

By midafternoon, the party is in an area of gently rolling hills. Olin points out a swimming hole, and they decide to spend a few moments there. It is a hot day. A narrow trail zigzags down to a creek, where a few other folk are. Barouk tippytoes through water waist deep, being careful to keep his beard above it and lifting it up to keep it dry. Meanwhile Kifla makes the acquaintance of a handsome and charming male gnome named Lucky. The two of them really hit it off, and they are chatting animatedly when a scream rings out across the area. 

Barouk cries out, “What’s that?”

There are shapes in the water- some kind of giant crayfish as big as Barouk is! And one of them is right near a child!

Lucky starts singing, and Kifla casts _expeditious retreat_ and scurries over to the child. The others close in on the river, and the crayfish come in on the attack. One of them seizes Barouk’s arm in its great claw! He kicks the other one in the head, stunning it, while Kifla learns that her _phantom foe_ spell won’t work on them- they are vermin, and thus mindless!

Barouk struggles in the crayfish’s grip, and it soon becomes a contest of fumbles, with both himself and the crayfish horribly flubbing their attempts to grapple each other. Barouk ends up stunned on the ground, while the crayfish drops him and retreats a pace. Kifla reacts instantly, using a _steam jet_ to cook it in its shell! The first crayfish falls. Lucky and Barouk (once he has recovered) manage to quickly slay the other one. 

“Hmm,” muses Barouk. “Smells tasty.”

“Oh, you saved us!” exclaims one of the women present, sobbing in relief.

***

The next day is warm and muggy, and as the party hits the road, Kifla pines for Lucky. “He was so handsome,” she sighs. “And smart.” 

Barouk just shakes his head. “He was a _bard._ How can you take that seriously?”

But Kifla just heaves another sigh.

*Next Time:* Garbage Plot!

*We actually had a guest player for the wounded dire boar (Alcar).  That was really cool, and helped to make this whole thing a great atypical fight.


----------



## the Jester (Jul 5, 2008)

*Garbage Plot*

The city of Brindol is not as large as Alathion, by any means; yet it is still a large enough city to have walls, a busy road running through it and a mass of vendors on the streets. There are somewhere over eight thousand inhabitants; it is clearly a fairly prosperous community that has made its way in the world mostly via farming. 

Our heroes rest a night in town, then spend a portion of the next day shopping. Barouk is disappointed to find that he cannot locate a lajatang. The memory of his father’s work in the hands of the earl burns within him. He could commission one, but how long will it be before he can return to Brindol to reclaim it? And the party must keep moving- they are heading into danger, after all, heading to aid the folk of Drellin’s Ferry with their goblin problem.

By mid-afternoon, our heroes leave town and head down the Dawn Way towards Drellin’s Ferry. But though the shadows are lengthening, it is not yet evening when they hear a plaintive cry for aid. 

“My baby!”

Our heroes hurry towards the cry, and soon they find a sobbing peasant woman. “My baby is gone!” she wails. “Please, I can’t find him!” 

“It’s okay,” Kifla tries to comfort her. “We’ll help you find him. Tell us what happened.”

The woman sniffles. “I was gathering mushroom, near the edge of the woods,” she explains. “I didn’t want to actually go in very far, because everybody knows that there are fairies in there, and if you aren’t careful, they’ll steal your baby. Well, I didn’t think I was too deep in- but I must have been, because I turned around, and she was gone!” The woman starts to become hysterical again; but Kifla and Severin, together, soothe her. 

“We’ll find your baby,” Severin promises her. “I’m a tracker. Have no fear! Just show us where you were when you lost her.”

The weeping woman- whose name is Amara- leads the party on a short walk, then indicates the baby’s last known position. 

Kifla wrinkles her nose. “What’s that smell?”

“The dump,” Amara informs the party. She points. “It’s just a couple of miles that way, not far from here. When the wind shifts, you can sometimes smell it here.”

“Eww,” Kilfa opines.

***

Severin leads the party into the woods, his eyes scanning for tracks. He moves with confident speed, but soon slows down. The tracks are starting to become confusing- doubling, vanishing, turning back on themselves.

“The lady might have been right,” the ranger muses. “The involvement of fey would explain a lot here. And they _are_ said to steal babies sometimes...”

“Maybe I can help,” Kifla suggests. “I know a little about trickery and illusion. If they were using magic to cloak their journey, I might be able to help guide us to them.”

“I’ll see if I can see anything from up this tree,” Barouk says, and starts climbing. Once he gets up to the top, he looks around in all directions for anything unusual, but he doesn’t really know what to look for.

Almost as if she’s reading his mind, Kifla shouts up, “Barouk, look for rings or circles of some kind! That might show us where the fairies are!”

“Humph,” Barouk mutters to himself, “fairies.” But he has a good look around, and he notes what appears to be a ring of mushrooms on a nearby hill. He drops out of the tree, slowing his descent with his monkish skills, and reports what he saw to the others.

“It sounds like our best lead so far,” Severin says. “Let’s check it out.”

The party walks a few hundred yards uphill until they reach a clearing on the face of the hill. There is, indeed, a ring of mushrooms on the hillside. The party spreads out and searches around, and soon Severin turns up a secret door in the hillside! 

“Let’s be careful,” the ranger urges his companions, drawing out _Frogspaw._ He can feel a surge of squirming power run through him while he holds it. 

The party moves into the cramped passageway revealed behind the secret door. Barouk and Kifla hold torches aloft; all three of them have their eyes peeled. Into the hill they go, into the earthy smell. It is cool but not unpleasantly so; the air feels moist but not wet. 

In no time at all, the passage opens up into a chamber. And there, our heroes find the baby, as well as his fairy kidnappers. 

_A lot_ of fairy kidnappers.

The baby looks perfectly happy; she is playing with some small blocks. The fey watch the party impassively as they survey the scene. There are almost two dozen small, winged fey figures in the room. 

“We’ve come for the child,” Barouk barks.

“I think not!” squeaks one of the sprites. 

“He must go back to his mother,” Severin states.

“He is not safe with her.”

“Safe!” the ranger exclaims. “And you think that he is safe here, with you?”

“Safer here than out there,” the little man replies tartly. “At least we don’t have garbage trouble!”

“What do you mean, garbage trouble?” Barouk asks. 

“There is an infestation of terrible monsters in the dump,” the little fey man answers. “Living garbage. They try to wrap around you and take over your body.” He strokes a lock of the girl’s hair with a tiny hand. “The very young are especially vulnerable.”

“Well, then, what if we took care of the garbage monsters for you?” Severin asks. “Perhaps they are even vermin!”

Negotiations break out, and soon the sprites are convinced to release the baby- _if_ our heroes can root out these “garbage monsters”. They return to Amara, who looks despondent when she sees them returning without her child; but when they explain that they saw the baby, she was healthy and they are still trying to get her back, the peasant woman seems to gain some hope. “Thank you so much,” she tells them. “The Light be with you.”

So our heroes set out for the dump. It’s only about two hours away, cross country; it should take a little under an hour to get there. They are nearing the outskirts of the dump when a wind springs up. A pile of garbage, mostly the rags of discarded old clothing, starts to swirl about. At first, it appears to be carried by the gust; but suddenly, it starts to advance on our heroes. It is obviously no normal pile of garbage!

A few blows cuts the trash into smaller pieces, and whatever spirit animates it seems to flee the scene. The garbage falls back to the ground, unmoving. “Weird,” comments Barouk. 

“Stinky,” answers Kifla.

The party continues, closer to the dump. The stink has become much stronger, and much fouler. Kifla keeps waving her hand in front of her nose and wrinkling her face. 

Something clatters to the side, in a pile of garbage as big as a small hovel. A dire badger trundles out and charges. 

It is wrapped in bits of old cloth, jewelry and scraps of rope. A worn and tattered burlap sack covers its back. 

“Another one of them!” exclaims Barouk.

Kifla tries her _color spray,_ to no avail, while Severin and Barouk spring to flank the hapless badger. It growls and yowls and bites and claws at them, but they are experienced, savvy warriors. They hack and punch at the badger from both sides, keeping it from inflicting more than a few minor wounds before they manage to slay it. 

“This could get pretty ugly, before it’s over,” Severin states, bandaging a cut along Barouk’s arm.

Just at that moment, a pile of trash nearby moves- and our heroes realize it isn’t a pile of trash at all: it’s a strange creature, with several long, strong-looking tentacles, one of which has eyes at the end of it. Its drooling mouth is stained with offal. In its non-eye bearing tentacles, it holds some kind of chest or box.

“It’s an otyugh!” exclaims Severin.

_*Next Time:*_ Garbage Plot, part 2!


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## the Jester (Jul 21, 2008)

*Garbage Plot (pt 2)*

To our heroes’ amazement, the otyugh towering over them-

_Speaks._

Yes, its words come out in a gurgle. Yes, they are accompanied by the foulness of otyugh halitosis. But it is undeniable: the trash monster _speaks._

“What did it say?” exclaims Barouk in disbelief.

Simultaneously, Severin’s jaw drops, and he cries, “Did it just _speak??_”

“Yes,” the creature rumbles. “Me speak. You help. Take junk. Give junk.”

Our heroes, whose hands had been readying spells and weapons, hesitate- and, who would have ever thought it, parlay with an otyugh.

***

The otyugh is a foul-smelling, garbage-dwelling eater of filth. It subsists on rotting food, sewage and refuse. Yet, somehow, it seems to differentiate between ‘good junk’ and ‘bad junk’. 

It takes a while for our heroes to negotiate with the beast. It takes a while to figure out what it wants, and what it is offering. But soon, our heroes manage to piece together this much, at least: the otyugh considers the city dump to be its home (and really, having a few otyughs around probably keeps the dump from growing too quickly). It likes junk- at least, good junk. But lately, some ‘bad junk’ has come to infest its landfill. And so, to get it out, the otyugh is offering the party some ‘good junk’ to do the dirty work.

Shake shake. It shakes the chest it is holding and thrusts it forward, making it apparent that the ‘good junk’ it is offering is... treasure! 

Negotiations with an otyugh... who would ever be prepared for such a thing? What could one offer an otyugh? Poop?

Or... to help it with a problem.

The otyugh consents to let them look in the box. It contains a pair of boots and a pair of potion bottles. All are smeared in waste, making them unappealing. On the other hand, the boots look fancy, and Kifla’s _detect magic_ confirms that the potions and boots are all magical. The otyugh doesn’t appear to understand the question when they ask what the items are; it maintains that they are ‘good junk.’ Right. They certainly are. 

The bargain struck, our heroes move along, their strange ally clumping along behind them. The otyugh (whose name is Spoot) promises to turn the box over once the ‘bad junk’ has been driven away.

“I think we know what the bad junk is,” Barouk mutters. “We’ve already fought one of them.”

The group advances into the dump. They make no real effort to hide themselves. They are well aware that the strange living junk creatures that they are facing are perfectly camouflaged here. Uneasily, Severin scans the refuse for movement. Barouk, too, is trying to watch everywhere at once. Spoot’s eye-bearing tentacle swivels this way and that, alertly watching for any signs of trouble.

Kifla, as usual, is completely oblivious.

“There!” cries Barouk. 

Atop a nearby mound of refuse, two giant flies the size of large dogs, wrapped in garbage, buzz into the air and prepare to move towards the party. Two more whirlwinds of garbage rise up, as well.

Spoot charges. Its potato-shaped body trundles forward with relative quickness, and it slaps a tentacle out at one of the flies. _Whack!_ Then it wraps the tentacle around the fly and begins to constrict it, squeezing it hard! Then the otyugh releases its grasp on the fly and smacks it again! The monster is badly wounded; Barouk adds a crossbow bolt to the mix.

Suddenly the garbage sheathing it falls off, and its behavior changes immediately. Its aggression vanishes, and it immediately flies away. Our heroes let it go. 

Kifla begins summoning immediately, while Barouk begins moving in. Meanwhile, Severin fires his longbow at the fly that isn’t grappled. He hits it with his first shot, but misses with the second. 

Spoot turns its attention to the other fly. In an instant, it has the vermin grappled and is squeezing it with all its otyughish might.

Meanwhile, Kifla’s summoning brings forth two celestial dogs. They rush in at the fly, and one of them wounds it further, but the two whirling ragamuffins zoom in and attack. One of them wraps itself around one of Kifla’s dogs, but it shakes and bites and growls, and finally manages to throw the ragamuffin off of it! Unfortunately, the effort, combined with the wounds that the strange garbage monster has inflicted, is too much. The dog is overcome, collapsing. 

The second ragamuffin whirls in and attacks the otyugh! Spoot roars in distress as the tattered refuse wraps itself around him. It struggles valiantly, trying to pull the stuff off of itself, but it cannot tear it off fast enough. The ragamuffin’s substance starts to shroud Spoot, and it gives a bellow of confusion and fear.

Barouk throws himself in, tearing at the ragamuffin trying to take control of his otyugh ally (_damn peculiar, using those words together,_ he thinks).

The ragamuffin endures the blow, which is mighty, and continues to try to dominate Spoot. The otyugh bellows again, struggling to resist. Meanwhile, Kifla’s remaining dog knocks the remaining fly out, and the garbage wrapping it immediately unwraps and begins to move towards the dog. 

Severin’s bow drops to the ground as he draws forth _Frogspaw,_ the anarchic blade that the party retrieved from the Mouth of Bleak. Grinning fiercely with the blade’s thirst for battle, Severin charges up to the top of the mound and swings at the garbage wrapped around Spoot, dealing a telling blow to it- a blow that also deals telling damage to Spoot. “Sorry!” the ranger cries, aghast. “I was trying to knock it off of you!”

“Glurgh,” responds Spoot. Or maybe it isn’t a response. 

Then Severin’s eyes widen. “On the other side!” he shouts, “it’s the kids we’re looking for!”

“Uh-oh,” Kifla moans, as Spoot turns on Severin and begins trying to slay him. “Barouk, let me reach you!” The dwarf, about to move away, instead springs closer to his gnomish friend. She rushes over towards him. “Here!” she cries, and casts _magic weapon_ on his fist. “That should help!”

“Especially when combined with _this!_” Barouk invokes his _fiery fist,_ and his fists burst into flame! He strikes the garbage that got rejected by the celestial dog, and it attempts to wrap itself around the remaining active dog. Barking furiously, it drives the ragamuffin off of it!

Severin, meanwhile, finds himself fighting for his life against his otyugh ally wrapped in trash. _And if that isn’t a strange combination of circumstances, I don’t know what is,_ he thinks wryly. He parries, dodges a tentacle blow and then aims a counterblow, attempting to slice at the garbage. 

For his trouble, he is slapped upside the head by the otyugh’s other tentacle. The blow knocks him senseless, and he drops to the ground like a sack of corn. 

Meanwhile, Kifla manages to destroy the ragamuffin that disengaged from the slain fly with a _steam jet._ Then she turns to aid the struggle against Spoot. She tries a _color spray_- but to no avail.

The air is seemingly whirling with garbage. Suddenly Kifla realizes that the one that Barouk is engaging is not like the others. Where they are mostly bits of cloth, paper and such, the one that he is fighting is composed largely of fragments of metal and shards of glass. “Be careful, Barouk!” she cries. 

Barouk is, at least for now, holding his own- but only just. Especially with his _flaming fists,_ he manages to land several telling blows against it. It’s tough, though, and it looks like a very painful thing to be hit by.

Spoot roars and begins moving towards the enclosure holding the kids. 

Barouk continues his dance with the whirlwind of metal, glass and debris. He keeps ducking and dodging, fighting defensively, and he keeps slipping very lucky blows in against the... creature... over and over again, while it can’t seem to harm him. But even as he pounds it with another flaming flurry of blows, he can see Spoot getting closer to the children.

“Barouk, stop Spoot!” cries Kifla. She hurls an _acid splash_ at the guttersnipe that the dwarf is combating, and it collapses in a heap of twisted metal and broken glass. Barouk springs immediately towards the otyugh and the enclosure.

Too slow.

Spoot reaches into the enclosure with a tentacle and wraps it around a young boy who looks to be about 12 years old. The lad screams, and by some miracle, manages to twist free of the otyugh’s grasp.

Barouk barrels into Spoot, kicking him- but not stopping him. 

Spoot reaches for the kid again, but Barouk unleashes a flurry of blows- albeit a non-flaming one- and knocks the otyugh down! It groans and does not rise.

The garbage makes an audible _whip-whip-whip_ as it unwraps itself from around the otyugh. 

“Stop it!” cries Kifla. 

The ragamuffin is attempting to fly away, moving up into the sky. Barouk takes a swing as it ascends, but misses; Kifla fires her crossbow, but she also misses. 

Quickly our heroes check on Severin (stable) and the kids (okay, but meant to be fodder for the ragamuffins to control). The enclosure is easily broken by weapon-wielding adults, and our heroes escort the kids back first to the fey, whom they inform of the success of their mission.

As agreed, the fey let the children that they had ‘rescued’ go as well. 

Charges in tow, the party continues back towards the Dawn Way, where they meet up with Amara, who gratefully takes charge of the children. 

And then our heroes continue on their way down the road to Drellin’s Ferry. “We should be there in another couple days,” remarks Barouk.

Little do they know that war awaits them- for the Red Hand of Doom is about to strike.

_*Next Time:*_ The Red Hand of Doom begins!


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## the Jester (Aug 14, 2008)

Birds whistle in the trees. The sun beats down relentlessly. The air is swollen with humidity. Insects buzz in the air. Off to the side of the road, squirrels scamper away as the group of people approaches. 

“We’re almost there,” Grom tells the others. They are all hot, sweating in the mid-morning sun. He gestures ahead of them. “See that farmhouse? I recognize it. We’re getting close to Drellin’s Ferry.”

“That’s your town, right?” Barouk asks.

Grom nods. “And hopefully, we can root out these damn goblins once and for all. Drive them away and leave my people in peace at last!”

The party of adventurers heads down a small rise. The farmhouse, partially visible through the trees, has an abandoned look to it. Grom frowns. _Wasn’t that where Old Man Hogswood lived? I hope he’s okay._ He starts to veer towards it- and his eyes catch motion in the trees.

Goblins.

Without warning, over half a dozen hobgoblins burst into view, charging forward at our heroes. Two charcoal-black hounds lope along beside them, their eyes and mouths flickering with scarlet flames. 

“Look out!” shouts Barouk.

The melee is as furious as it is sudden. The hounds bark blasts of fire at the adventurers, and the hobgoblins are seasoned veterans, not novices. It is a mighty struggle, with both sides trading multiple blows and Kifla expending most of her spells in a frantic bid to defeat the onslaught. 

When the second wave comes into view, Grom thinks, _Poor Old Man Hogswood!_

Then an arrow catches him in the throat. Blood gushes all over in a shower before him. He tries to scream, but there’s no noise except for a gentle wheeze and the splashing blood.

Grom sinks to the ground, dead. 

Severin bellows a war cry as he hacks back and forth with _Frogspaw,_ desperately trying to defeat the hobgoblins. One after another, they fall- to him, to Barouk, to Kifla’s _color spray._ The tide turns- and in another few seconds, the last hobgoblin bolts for the party’s garen, but Severin’s arrows bring him down before he can escape.

Kifla looks at Grom. Her eyes are watery. “Poor Grom,” she says. “We should bury him.”

Barouk shakes his head. “No. Kifla, there are goblins lurking here. We can’t take the time.”

“Maybe,” Severin suggests, “we can bring him to his village and _they_ can bury him.”

“That works for me,” Barouk nods.

“Okay,” Kifla agrees.

“Oh,” Severin adds, “by the way, this one is still alive.”

***

When the hobgoblin opens his eyes, he finds himself tied tightly. The adventurers- what else could they be?- are surrounding him, watching him.

“Who are you?” one of them asks, in Goblin. 

He spits. 

In Forinthian, the dwarf says, “Well, that was clear enough. Let’s kill him.”

The hobgoblin struggles with the ropes for a moment. Then, groaning, he falls back. “You aren’t going anywhere,” the little she-gnome tells him (again, in Goblin). “Answer our questions! Who are you?”

The hobgoblin sneers. “I will tell you nothing- save that the Red Hand of Doom will crush you!”

Then he falls silent. The party demands more information, but he only threatens them with the doom of this “Red Hand”.

Finally, after some debate, Severin reluctantly executes him. He is clearly an enemy, and a threat to the people in these parts- especially once the party investigates the farm house and finds the murdered farmer within.

***

A few miles later, our heroes finally reach Grom’s home town, which he recruited them to aid so long ago- Drellin’s Ferry. It is a town of just over one thousand souls, built mostly along the River Elsir. Most of the west side is farmland; the east side of the river is where most of the buildings and the center of town are. The river itself is crossed by a ferry- obviously, the source of the name of the town. Six old stone piers jut from the water, marking the spot where a bridge once stood, but the span itself is long-gone. 

As they approach, the party is challenged by a group of four armed townsfolk. “Halt and state your business,” one of them says. 

“We’re here to help you with your goblin problem!” Severin declares.

“And we bring the body of a friend,” Kifla adds sadly. “Grom.”

“Oh no!” one of the locals exclaims. 

The party recounts their tale, and one of the guards- the one who wears mail, instead of mere leather- leads them to find the town’s Speaker. They also, as Kifla reminds the others, need to find Grom’s family- a sad task, but one that they all agree is necessary.

Both prove to be surprisingly easy to do. One of the locals speaks up: “Grom was my brother.” He steps forward, the orcish blood tainting him made clear by his skin. “I am Gorsh.”

Gorsh promptly takes the party to Speaker Wiston, Wiston is a tall, balding man of about fifty years of age. He is overjoyed to hear that someone has finally come to deal with the town’s goblin problem- and crushed when he learns that they have brought Grom’s corpse with him.

“Ah!” he declares mournfully. “He was a good boy. Gorsh, lad, I’m sorry.”

“Well, he brought us here, at least,” Barouk replies.

“Yes, yes- most excellent,” Wiston nods. “And you’re willing to help us?”

“I hate goblins,” Barouk declares. “We were already ambushed by them on the way into town.”

“We’ll help you,” Severin confirms.

“Excellent!” Wiston repeats. 

“They killed my brother!” Gorsh growls. “I want revenge! I’ll join you in hunting them, if you’ll have me!”

“Another sword is always useful,” Severin replies. 

“Well, if you’re going to be wandering around the Witchwood looking for goblins,” Wiston says, “I would advise you to seek out Jorr. You can’t find someone who knows the woods better. His cabin is out of the way, but it could be worth the trip. If you take the Witch Trail, go left at the first big trail crossing; his cabin’s about seven miles in. Or, if you’re on the Dawn Way, take a right on a trail about nine miles from the forest edge. Jorr’s cabin is near the Blackwater.”

“We could do worse than to have a guide,” Kifla nods. “Thanks.”

The party finds lodging at one of the local inns, the Old Bridge, and settles in for the night. 

_*Next Time:*_ The party goes goblin hunting!


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## the Jester (Oct 22, 2008)

*Jorr*

“Where did the speaker guy say that this guide guy is, again?” Kifla’s voice holds more than a hint of reproach. She has to hurry to keep up; her little gnome legs have to work hard to match the distance her larger friends cover. 

Barouk glances over his shoulder at her. Dourly, he replies, “There’s supposed to be a trail that leads off to the right of the path at some point in a few miles. It leads to his home.”

“Isn’t there any way we can speed this up?” the gnome whines. 

Barouk just sighs. “We have to travel, Kifla. Just like we have been walking ever since we left Alathion, what seems like centuries ago. No, there’s no way to speed this up.”

“Actually,” Severin says thoughtfully, “maybe there is.” He halts, squints at the sky, glances at the shadows of the trees, marks some landmarks with his mind, and goes on, “Maybe we can cut across country. Assuming that Speaker Wiston’s directions were fairly accurate, I have a pretty good idea of where we would need to go. And I was thinking that we might want to avoid the main road- after all, if there are goblins up ahead, they’re bound to be watching the road for trouble or easy pickings.”

“Good point,” nods Gorsh. “And I know the woods around here fairly well, so we shouldn’t get too lost.”

“All right, then, it’s decided.” With that, Severin leads the party away from the main road at an angle into the woods. They move for about a mile before they encounter a little-traveled trail that leads to the right, and they take this, hoping that it will lead them to Jorr. Soon enough, they come upon a cabin. As they approach, three dogs bound out, snarling and barking, and rush up to our heroes, snapping and keeping them at bay. 

“Good dog,” Severin says firmly. “Good guard. Sit.” He begins attempting to calm the dogs. But Kifla has no patience for such things, and the dogs are big and scary- so she casts _sleep_ on them, putting the two that Severin doesn’t have under control yet into a state of slumber.

“Hey! What are you doing to my dogs?” a gruff voice shouts from the cabin. The party turns to look- and they find themselves looking at an angry, grizzled man with a bow trained on them.

“They’re fine,” Kifla squeaks. “I just told them to go to sleep. They were scaring me.” She clasps her hands together and blinks innocently at the archer.

He scowls. 

“They’ll wake up in a few minutes,” Kifla adds.

The man continues to scowl. After a tense moment, he rasps, “What do you all want?”

“We want your help,” Barouk replies. “We understand you can help guide us around the area. Drellin’s Ferry has been having a lot of trouble with goblins lately, and we’re here to help them.” He pauses, then says, “You are Jorr, right?”

The archer scowls some more. “Got no use for goblins,” he admits. “Yup, I’m Jorr.” His eyes flick to the sleeping dogs as Gorsh shakes one awake. “All right, so long as my dogs are all right, I’m your man.” His scowl deepens. “I _hate_ goblins. Yeah, I’ve seen worgs and troublemakers all over lately. Specially the Dawn Way.”

“Where do you think they’re lairing?” asks Severin. “We should try to take out their leadership, if we can.”

“Well, they live up yonder in the mountains, but it seems to me like there’s a big war party in the forest. Maybe they came down the Old Forest Road, might be they came from Skull Gorge.” He lowers his bow warily and rubs his stubbly chin. “My money is on Skull Gorge. Speaking of money, I want five gold a day- or ten if you’re thinkin’ of going somewhere dangerous.”

“Done,” Kifla and Severin say together, before Barouk can object to the price. 

“Let me grab my things.”

_*Next Time:*_ Tragedy strikes our heroes as death steals one of them away!


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## the Jester (Nov 17, 2008)

Back through the woods and onto the Dawn Way Jorr leads our heroes. Beneath the boughs of the trees the day is cool, but the air is still and a little bit stifling. The group walks along the trail. Jorr, though brusque, is willing to talk about the plants and animals they pass along the way, which is an endlessly fascinating topic for Kifla. He points out various types of flower, fern and bush, gestures to point out the groundhogs and shushes the others so they do not disturb the feeding of a porcupine. The trail meanders through the woods, circumventing falling logs and thickets of vegetation. The land begins to dip and grow wetter. “We’re coming up on the causeway that crosses Cold Creek,” Jorr announces. “Blackwater Causeway, they call it.”*

Soon the group comes upon a small vale. A wide expanse of water has flooded the central depression, leaving a roughly 20’ wide expanse of slow-moving, dark water. Boggy ground surrounds it, with tall marsh grasses and cat tails poking up. Many large reaches of the water are still, almost stagnant zones, choked with algae and thick lilies. Frogs croak in the water, accompanied by the buzzing of insects. A rickety wooden walkway extends from the end of the path out over the water. It seems to lead for a couple of hundred feet, to the far side, only a foot or so above the surface of the water. The wreckage of a wagon lies on its side, half-sunk in the flooded forest about thirty feet from the causeway.

“Look!” Barouk barks, pointing. “Eyes! I think there’s a crocodile in the water.” He pulls out his crossbow and drops a quarrel in it. Siting carefully, he fires into the water. _Think!_ The bolt strikes home, and the eyes vanish under the surface.

“Should we investigate?” asks Severin. 

“We’re kind of on a mission,” Kifla says. “But if there’s someone in there, we should try to help.”

“There’s no one in there,” snorts Barouk. “The crocodile ate them already.”

Kifla’s face scrunches up. “That’s mean!” she exclaims.

The dwarf shrugs. “It’s not me, it’s the crocodile.” He strokes his beard thoughtfully. “But there might be _gold_ in there. It’s probably worth a look.”

“Is this an old wreck, Jorr?” asks Severin.

“Nope,” the party’s guide answers. “Never seen it afore.” He squints at the wagon. “Don’t think I recognize it; it might be from a traveling merchant. It’s hard to tell from here, with it half-buried.” 

The party talks the situation over. Nobody really wants to go into the bog and check the wagon, but they all want to know what’s in it and what happened to it. Finally, Severin sighs. “I’ll go,” he says, and slogs his way in. 

When he reaches the wreck of the wagon, Severin frowns. “Hey, there are hobgoblin bodies here,” he calls to his companions. “And it looks like they were driving the wagon. I wonder-”

He is cut off as a huge beast suddenly rears up from under the surface, sending a spray of swampy water all over. It screams a challenge from two of its heads. “Uh oh,” Severin gulps. 

It’s a hydra- a dinosaur-like beast with six heads at the end of long, flexible necks. Brown and green and black in color, with beady dark eyes and wicked teeth as long as a man’s finger, the hydra roars another challenge from two different heads, and then all six heads are screaming at once. 

“Get out of there, boy!” shouts Jorr, sending an arrow at the hydra, but it just bounces off the monster harmlessly. But before the ranger has a chance to try to escape, almost as if it understands Jorr’s cry, the hydra reaches down and bites him on the head, dazing him!**

“Oh no!” Kifla cries. “We have to save Severin!” She casts _haste_ on Jorr and his dogs, since the party is too spread out for her to catch more than one of them otherwise. Jorr keeps firing on the hydra, while it keeps biting at Severin. It catches him on the arm, ripping along his shoulder; another head comes in and tears a piece of his leg open. He shrieks in pain. But then one of Jorr’s arrows hits the hydra in one of the heads, and now it is the beast’s turn to be dazed!*** 

“Severin, go!” shouts Kifla. She runs up until she’s in range, and casts her other _haste_ spell on him. Severin nods in thanks and limps back a few steps. Then he shoots a rapid succession of arrows at the hydra. “No, run!” Kifla shouts. 

Barouk, meanwhile, has quaffed a _potion of mage armor_ and drawn out and loaded his crossbow. But his bolt bounces off of the monster’s thick hide. He utters a Dwarven curse, but notes, _At least our guide seems to be able to hit it some of the time._ Indeed, Jorr is keeping up a steady stream of bow fire at the beast, and his dogs rush in.

The hydra snatches one of them up as it comes, lifting it from the ground and crushing the dog in its massive jaws. With a yelp, Jorr’s trusted companion dies. He screams a wordless cry of rage and keeps his attack up. 

Then the hydra snaps down at Severin again. One mouth catches the ranger’s right arm at the wrist and tears it off. Another sinks knife-sharp teeth into his neck. Blood fountains up and out in a wide spray. A third tears a huge chunk of meat from his belly. Severin doesn’t even have a throat left to scream with as the hydra tears him to pieces. 

“Oh no!” cries Kifla.

The hydra drops Severin’s ravaged corpse and hisses. A quarrel from Barouk’s crossbow sinks into one of its heads, and that head turns to glare in the monk’s direction; but the other heads are focused towards Jorr, who is continuing to sting the monster with his arrows. The creature begins lumbering towards him. 

Kifla blasts it with a _steam jet_ and then retreats (hopefully) out of reach of the great beast. It keeps moving towards the guide, tearing up the other dog as it goes. Jorr fires two more arrows into the head that Barouk shot, and that head wails and dies. The party cheers, and Jorr falls back a little. _That hydra is tough, but it’s slow,_ notes Kifla. _We have to take advantage of that. Oh, Severin! Another friend, gone!_

The party keeps firing, but suddenly things get more complicated. 

The dead head rots and withers away in only seconds. And from the stump, in only a few more seconds, grow two new heads. Hissing and snarling heads, as baleful and dangerous as the others. 

“We probably need fire!” shouts Kifla. 

“We probably need to get out of here,” replies Gorsh. 

The party decides that this is a good idea. The hydra, as Kifla had noted, is slow. The party runs off, leaving it behind when they exit the causeway. It doesn’t really need to pursue them; it has already gained a meal.

***

Having lost Severin, the group makes camp a few miles away under a tall tree. “We’re _not_ going back to bury his body,” Barouk firmly tells Kifla. “No.”

“There won’t even be a body,” Gorsh opines. 

Kifla settles for a quiet ceremony and saying a few words about their dear friend. She cries a lot that night. 

***

In the morning, they talk about whether or not to go on. Jorr snorts. He makes his opinion quite clear: the goblins aren’t going away on their own, and they’ve already taken quite a few lives and caused quite a bit of trouble. If nothing is done about them, Drellin’s Ferry will continue to suffer their depredations.

Kifla is melancholy, but she nods. “You’re right. He’d want us to go on.” 

“Well, then, let’s get to this Skull Gorge place and see what we see.” Barouk stands up, and the others follow suit. They break camp, douse the ashes of their fire and move along their way, up the Dawn Way. Jorr explains that they’ll probably reach the gorge in a few hours. “If we travel hard, probably before noon.”

The track the party is following winds deeper into the woods, growing dimmer under the canopy of the trees. As the party walks, they come to a spot where a wide trail leads away from the trail to the west. A strange, massive effigy, 15’ high humanoid effigy made from a sagging, moss-covered frame, stands at the junction, looking almost like a crude, giant-sized skeleton. Birds nest in the barrel that serves the effigy as a head. 

“What do you make of that, Jorr?” asks Gorsh.

Jorr frowns. “Giants,” he says. “It’s a marker of their territory. We want to be careful around them.”

“We don’t need to go there at all, if you ask me,” grumbles Barouk.

He’s right, the others agree, and they continue towards Skull Gorge. The ground begins to rise, and after a few more miles the forest itself peters out. It’s not quite noon; Jorr’s estimate was right on. Ahead is a stretch of barren ground almost sixty feet wide that ends in a gorge. The gorge looks like it’s about 100’ across at its narrowest point. A massive stone bridge crosses the gorge; at either end are a pair of massive towers. On the far side is a goblin encampment. 

And atop one of the towers is a green dragon. 

“Whoops!” exclaims Barouk.

Gorsh pulls everyone else back into the woods. “Holy crap!” he hisses. “A dragon!”

“I think this situation just got a lot more serious,” whispers Barouk. “I think we should report back to the town council.”

“I think you’re right,” Gorsh nods. 

Quietly, quickly the party retreats.

_*Next Time:*_ Vraath Keep! Goblins even closer to Drellin’s Ferry!


*For those keeping track, I moved this encounter one river north from how it is in the _Red Hand of Doom_ adventure. This is because I went to a great deal of effort to make a full sized color battle map for the hydra encounter, and the pcs promptly went off the path to find Jorr, bypassing both it and Vraath Keep. So I moved it one river north so I would still get to use my cool props. I blush at my audacity and the meanness of my motivation. 

**Critical hit!

***Another critical hit!


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## the Jester (Nov 29, 2008)

When the party comes back to the causeway, they halt their journey. Drellin’s Ferry is to the south of it, but they know that a monstrous hydra lurks in the water. It took one of their friends from them, after all. After putting their heads together for a moment and talking it over, Kifla casts _haste_ on the party, and then all of them run together, bursting across the causeway with incredible speed. The hydra doesn’t even show itself; perhaps it is still busy with its recent meal. Tears stream down Kifla’s face at the thought.

Once well past the causeway, the group slows again to a walk. The gnome’s spell only lasts a few moments anyway. The shade of the trees overhead is comfortable and calming. The trail winds along, and Kifla and Barouk banter as they walk, with Gorsh throwing in an occasional half-orc witticism (such as they are) and taciturn Jorr mainly keeping his eyes and ears open, rather than his mouth.

“Hey, whatever happened to that ruined keep that Speaker Wiston told us about?” Kifla asks suddenly.

“Vraath Keep,” Gorsh puts in helpfully. 

Jorr grunts. “It’s not too far ahead,” he says in his deep voice.*

“We must have missed it when we went cross-country before,” Barouk grumbles. Glancing at Gorsh, he adds, “I blame Kifla.”

The party continues along for a little while. Then something comes into view. Up ahead, half-screened by trees, are the ruins of a keep. The old castle sits on a small rocky hillock, and there is a broken tower thrusting drunkenly upward into the sky. There is an overgrown footpath that appears to lead up the hillside towards the keep.

“Should we check it out?” wonders Kifla. 

“We need to report in at Drellin’s Ferry,” Barouk points out.

“Yeah, but if there’s anything here- so much closer to town than Skull Bridge- we should know about it,” Gorsh counters. This seems to win the argument, and the party advances cautiously up the hillside, staying away from the footpath in order to maximize discretion. 

The old keep is in terrible shape. The gatehouse is partially collapsed, as is one section of wall in the south. A small wooden building sits next to the remains of a long-abandoned garden in front of the structure. The walls surrounding the keep are about fifteen feet high, with a two-story tower looming in the southwest corner of the courtyard within. Large boulders lie strewn amid the ruin of the two watch towers, and a giant skeleton slumps in the ruin of the northern one. The skeleton still wears tattered fragments of hide armor, and a large club lies next to one of its bony arms.

Approaching cautiously, the party enters the courtyard. They move quietly to one of the many doors leading into the various rooms of the keep. Jorr motions at one of the doors and whispers, “I hear voices back there. Can’t be sure what kind...”

_Well, whoever is here is most likely up to no good,_ thinks Barouk, and exchanges a glance with- and gives a nod to- Gorsh.

Gorsh strides forward and kicks in the door with a loud BOOM!\

Beyond are not only a pair of goblins, but also their worgs. 

Instantly, the battle begins, with Jorr snarling and unleashing a pair of swift arrows at one of the goblins, plugging him in the chest twice. But the goblin is tougher than the wily human expects, and even with two arrows sticking in him, he still begins to sprint for his worg. His friend does likewise, taking a crossbow bolt in the shoulder from Barouk. 

The worgs quickly prove themselves smarter and more dangerous than a normal wolf by a long ways. They try to pull the heroes down (sometimes succeeding, if only for a few brief moments). Kifla uses a _spectral weapon_ spell to easily land blows on the goblins, while Barouk and Gorsh take a more direct approach. Barouk even manages to drag one of the worg-riders from atop his worg!

Just as our heroes are starting to get the sense that they’ve got this one in the bag, with Gorsh slaying one of the goblins and Barouk the other, a loud roar comes from part of the ruin. One of the buildings seems to have either no roof, or a large hole in its roof; for a terrible beast emerges from it, standing catlike atop the wall of the keep. With a body resembling that of a tiger, huge, bat-like wings, a tail that sprouts dozens of long, vicious-looking spikes and a face with a disturbing resemblance to a human’s, the monstrosity is the most terrifying thing that our heroes have ever seen. 

Fortunately for them, it doesn’t seem to interested in jumping into the fight. For a moment, it just perches, watching. Its tail flicks back and forth like a cat’s, excepting the deadly mass of spikes at the end. 

Then it flicks its tail up and over its head, contracting certain muscles, and a volley of spikes shoots out. Barouk tumbles out of the way as best he can, but still ends up with a spike about 6” long and as big around as an arrow lodged in his leg. The dwarf groans as the manticore unleashes another burst of tail spikes at him; he dodges most of them but takes another pair of wounds. _This is bad,_ he thinks, and quickly quaffs a _potion of cure light wounds._ 

Meanwhile, Jorr stabs one of the worgs most unkindly, ramming his knife up inside its tenderest parts and ripping a huge rent out of its body. It falls, dead. The other worg gives out a howl and then flees out into the open air. 

The manticore, meanwhile, has had enough of toying with Barouk, and leaps upon him in earnest, ripping terrible wounds into his chest, his guts and his hips. He gives a cry of outrage and pain, and with a terrific effort he throws it back, off of him.

”Time to go, Barouk!” Kifla screams, casting her last _haste_ on him as she takes her own advice. Indeed; everyone in the party begins to retreat. 

Fortunately for them, the manticore is not interested in pursuing the heroes. They hurry away, gasping and badly wounded. Barouk is in immense pain from the manticore’s attack, and they move off a couple of miles and then make an exhausted camp. Kifla takes the first watch, but she doesn’t see anything of note.

At least, not until it reveals itself to her.

_*Next Time:*_ Corbin the Conjurer!


*Think of Jorr as having the voice of Sam Elliott.


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## NorwegianBadger (Dec 8, 2008)

A very nice Story Hour, Jester! I'm now a big fan. But, do the players have to die all the time? 

Can you give us an update of classes and levels?


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## the Jester (Dec 11, 2008)

Hey, glad you're enjoying it!

At the time of the most recent update, the party consists of Jorr, who is an npc, and the pcs as follows:

*Barouk*, dwarven monk 5
*Kifla*, gnome illusionist 5
*Gorsh*, half-orc fighter 4

...with a new pc (Severin's replacement) about to be introduced:

*Corbin the Conjurer*, human druid 3/wizard 2


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## the Jester (Jan 14, 2009)

Exhausted and cold, Kifla doesn’t keep a very good watch. The first figure creeps up silently, sniffing at the ground. It holds its body low, moving slowly, its grey fur blending into the shadows. It observes for a moments, tasting the scents of our heroes. 

Kifla stares up into the stars.

After a few moments, the lupine shadow slinks away. Once it is forty feet from the camp, it picks up speed, loping up the side of the hill overlooking the party’s camp. Silently, it returns to its master.

Kifla continues to stare into the distance, though her gaze has fallen onto the side of the hill opposite their resting place. She is glum; her friends are dying left and right, and she isn’t even sure that it’s worth it to continue adventuring. She glances at the snoring form of Barouk: her only remaining friend from Alathion. 

Alathion... 

It seems so far away, so long ago. All the dangers that she has faced on her way to this point have forced her to stretch her limits, over and over again, and have helped her powers of illusion grow and swell. She is far more powerful now than she was just a few months ago. She has faced down the Mouth of Bleak, fought bandits and goblins, escaped a burning maze in the Deadgrass Lands, defeated the Ashen Palace of Bleak... she is nearly a legend. She-

Kifla’s musings are interrupted as a figure abruptly steps into her field of view. 

Kifla yelps, startled. Barouk snorts and keeps snoring. “Hi,” the figure says, “I am Corbin the Conjurer!” 

“Uh, uh, who are you?” Kifla squeaks, trying to overcome her surprise.

The figure pauses, and then repeats, “I am Corbin the Conjurer! Ahem, as I said.”

“Oh, oh, all right.” The man doesn’t seem to be hostile, Kifla realizes. He is a middle-aged human, very brown. His clothes, his pack, his staff, his hair- he is brown all over. Belatedly, Kifla adds, “I am Kifla the Illusionist, Master of Light!”

“Nice to meet you,” Corbin says. A walk stalks by behind him, and Kifla is immediately distracted.

“Is that your dog?”

“No,” Corbin says quickly. “He’s a wolf. Be careful around him, he’s not a pet.”

“Oh, okay.” Kifla sounds crestfallen. She frowns, as she realizes that meeting a man and a wolf in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night is a little odd. “Hey, what are you doing out here anyway?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Corbin replies dryly. “But I’m looking for... a lich.” His voice takes on an oddly sad intonation when he says that. “He must be stopped.”

“A lich!” the gnome exclaims. “That doesn’t sound nice!”

“Would you shut up over there,” groans Barouk, rolling over and remaining asleep. 

“Can you make a fire? I’m freezing!” Kifla asks.

“Sure, I have tindertwigs,” Corbin says. “Why don’t you have one already?”

“Oh, Barouk- that’s the grumpy dwarf over there- is afraid that we’ll be attacked by goblins.” She sighs. “Come to think of it, he has a point. I guess maybe we’re better off if we don’t have a fire after all.”

The two of them talk for a while, and Kifla relates the party’s tale so far to the newcomer. He, on the other hand, tells her that he is seeking out a lich. Kifla gets the sense that there is a connection between the brown man and the lich, but it is not quite clear what it is. 

When Corbin offers to keep watch and let Kifla rest, she gladly accepts his offer.

***

Barouk awakens to a very pleasant warmth spreading throughout his body.

He opens his eyes. There is an unfamiliar form leaning over him, with a hand on his arm, and he can feel his body’s wounds knitting shut. Torn muscles are being mended, bruised ribs coaxed back to full health. 

Behind the brown man, Kifla says, “Good morning, Barouk! This is Corbin the Conjurer. He’s a nice man! He healed you.”

She continues to chatter while Barouk warily introduces himself to Corbin. Within minutes, though, he has grown to trust the man, who says that he is both a druid and a wizard. Gorsh and Jorr are both there, too.

_We lived through the night,_ Barouk realizes. 

Corbin proves able to feed any of our heroes with but a single berry. His magic allows him to heal their wounds, and he offers them his aid. “Kifla told me of the threat to your town,” he begins.

“It isn’t our town,” Barouk harrumphs. “We’re just helping them out.”

“It’s my town,” Gorsh returns. 

Jorr nods. “Not my town, but they’re my folk.”

“Either way, I don’t want to see _the_ town destroyed,” Corbin continues evenly. “If the goblins are as much trouble as you say, perhaps I can help you help the town.”

“We could use all the help we can get.” Gorsh grins. “Welcome aboard- and thanks!”

***

They rest a day and another night, then debate attacking the hydra before deciding to return to Vraath Keep, determined to slay the manticore. They approach relatively stealthily, attaining an outbuilding with no sign of enemies. But when they investigate the outbuilding- really a rickety shack- it collapses, and Barouk takes a minor amount of damage from a falling timber. He tumbles out of the shack before it completely implodes. 

As he does so, he sees the head of the manticore poke up from the main keep.

“We got trouble!” he cries.

Jorr chuckles. “_Something’s_ got trouble, all right!” He starts shooting his bow at it immediately. He begins edging his way towards cover as he and the manticore start exchanging arrows and spikes.

Kifla moves up and hits the deck, presenting as small of a target as possible. She squirms into position and _hastes_ Barouk, Jorr and herself. “Get it, guys!” she yells.

Barouk pulls out his crossbow and starts firing, but Jorr is clearly a better, quicker shot. The manticore screams a harsh challenge and keeps flinging spikes at the archer, sticking him with several. Jorr dives into cover. And things get a lot more complicated as a group of hobgoblins trots out from the keep, weapons naked in their hands. 

Then a hippogriff appears out of nowhere, and attacks the manticore immediately. Corbin is beginning to show just why they call him the Conjurer. His wolf leaps at one of the hobgoblins and begins to tear at it. 

Corbin starts to conjure something else, but the manticore snaps its tail and a volley of spikes shoots out, piercing Corbin in several places. With an anguished cry, he goes down in a puddle of blood. Is his quest for the lich over before it has even begun??

Meanwhile, one of the keep’s towers proves to have a hobgoblin archer in it, and from his vantage point, he starts firing arrows at the party.

The wolf and the hippogriff rip into the hobgoblins while the manticore remains engaged with the hippogriff as well. As they struggle, Jorr darts in to Corbin’s side and pulls out a potion, preparing to bring his ally around- he hopes- and quickly administers the magical drink. Corbin blinks in surprise as he comes around with his wounds largely healed. 

The hippogriff and the wolf tear at the manticore, and even though the hippogriff vanishes as the duration on its summoning expires, the manticore decides that it has had enough of this. It launches itself in the air, nearly collapsing as Gorsh and the wolf hit it with attacks of opportunity. But it escapes, flying up into the sky.

“No you don’t!” cries Jorr fiercely. He fires three arrows from his bow, and all three land solidly in the manticore’s body. The beast gives a cry of despair and then falls, spiraling, out of the sky.

But a minotaur and a bugbear arrive to replace it. The minotaur snorts, lowers his horns and charges the wolf, killing it in a single blow. Then it turns on the others. 

Gorsh leaps over a pile of rubble, swinging his flail with all his might. It slips from his hands and flies across the room.* Gorsh gives a cry of despair and ducks back behind the rubble, as the hobgoblins start circling around after him. The bugbear shoots a _ray of enfeeblement_ at him, and he ducks back behind the rocks and avoids it by a hair. 

The minotaur comes in on one side of him, the hobgoblins on the other. He twists away from the worst of a sword cut, but the minotaur gores him savagely. He cries out. Meanwhile, Corbin is conjuring more animals, while Kifla _hastes_ the rest of the party.

A terrific battle evolves, with the party desperately pulling out every trick they’ve got. Barouk uses his tanglefoot bag, but the minotaur tears free. The bugbear keeps targeting the gnome with spells, but Kifla somehow manages to keep resisting. Jorr keeps shooting arrows at everyone, but tries to focus on the minotaur. 

Then, tragedy strikes. The hobgoblin archer in the tower shoots Gorsh in the heart, instantly killing him.**

“Noooooo!” Kifla cries.***

Jorr immediately switches targets, focusing on the hobgoblin archer in the tower. “Get that minotaur!” he shouts. “If we let him stick around, he’s gonna be the end of us!”

Barouk leaps up into the minotaur’s face, smashing his nunchaku into the beast’s head in a flurry of blows. 

And the minotaur falls. 

The bugbear gives an angry ejaculation, and fires a _lightning bolt_ at Jorr and Barouk. The monk evades the blast, but Jorr takes it in the face. Blood sprays from his nose as the force of the electric bolt breaks it. 

Corbin rushes up and heals him. “Here!” he cries. Jorr glares at the bugbear, but another arrow zips down from the tower. With a grimace he keeps up his return fire. Finally, the hobgoblin in the tower gives a wail and tumbles out of the window, falling to the base of the tower to lie in a ruined and broken heap.

Meanwhile, Barouk rushes the bugbear, and in seconds he has landed a series of blows on the spellcasting goblinoid. The bugbear growls and strikes back with magic. Another _lightning bolt_ blasts out and catches Barouk off-guard, leaving his hair smoking and standing on end. He gives a yelp, but keeps fighting, and now Jorr is able to turn his attention to it as well. 

The bugbear’s eyes flash defiance. It _charms_ Kifla, but it’s too little and too late. Barouk, _hasted_, brings the battle to a rapid close with his nunchaku. 

There’s nobody left to fight, but it takes a few minutes for our heroes to realize that. When they do, as they survey the carnage, they realize that they have lost another friend.

But, as they will discover shortly, they have gained a keep- and insight into a problem that is much, much larger than they had believed.

_*Next Time:*_ Our heroes realize the scope of the goblin problem!



*Fumble. Oooh, that’s a bad one!

**Crit. Oooh, a longbow’s x3- that’s a bad one!

***Pretty much all my groups really play up the obligatory Hollywood “Noooo!” whenever someone dies.


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## Sandain (Mar 10, 2009)

Hi Jester, I am really enjoying this story hour.  I was wondering, now that Frogspaw is in a swamp in a Hydra's lair - could you tell us the stats?  Also any other magic items they foiud such as the boots would be great.  I am always curious about the mechanical aspects of a storyhour.


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## the Jester (Mar 11, 2009)

Sandain said:


> Hi Jester, I am really enjoying this story hour.  I was wondering, now that Frogspaw is in a swamp in a Hydra's lair - could you tell us the stats?





Sure, _Frogspaw_ was a +1 anarchic weapon iirc.

A good example of how a little flavor can really make even the simplest magic item come to life.


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## Sandain (Mar 11, 2009)

Thanks, I thought you may have taken from the Gygax school of treasure placement and put in an Amphibian bane weapon in preparation for that Hydra.


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## the Jester (Apr 9, 2009)

The party discusses resting, but they decide that the odds of more goblins either returning to or already being in the keep precludes staying for long. Instead, they settle for a thorough search. This turns up over 1000 gold pieces’ worth of loot- a considerable haul! Of course, our heroes are sobered by the realization that, if they are slain by goblins, they won’t get to spend it, and so they continue their search without interruption.

Up in one of the towers of the keep, the party finds a strange, ominous-looking apparatus of wood that has an old, partial corpse lashed to it, which in turn has been stuck by a dagger that gives off a ghostly white glow. Kifla immediately declares it cursed, and no amount of persuasion can convince her otherwise, so the party leaves it alone for now. 

Down below, Barouk finds a hidden trap door that leads down to a sort of hidden vault. It is here that the party finds the _real_ treasures of Vraath Keep, including several thousand more gold pieces in cash and several magic items, including a staff of white ash that is carved with hundreds of small mystical sigils and glyphs, a mithral chain shirt and a single, extraordinarily large, gauntlet.

“Wow,” comments Corbin the Conjurer, “we’re going all right!”

“How can you say that?” wails Kifla. “Several of our friends have died to get here!”

“No point crying about it,” grunts Barouk. “There are still goblins to kill. And one day, I’m still going back to slay the damned Early of Thyrozim.”

Kifla sniffles, but hushes. 

Corbin, meanwhile, says, “I’m so sorry- I did not know about your friends. Except Gorsh, anyway. For whom I am also sorry. Um.”

“Anyway,” Barouk harrumphs, “let’s finish our search.”

“There are a lot of papers around,” Corbin says. “It will take time to read them, but I’ve already seen a bunch of maps and stuff.” He pauses. “They look like war plans.”

“What? Where?” Barouk demands.

Corbin leads the others to a large area where he has been organizing some of the papers. Atop the stack is a large map of the Elsir Vale, and Corbin is right: it is clearly an invasion plan.

”Galador’s Light, look at this,” Barouk exclaims. “They even have a timeline. Look! Day 5, they attack Drellin’s Ferry! And they think that, by day 35, hey can take pretty much the whole Vale.”

“This can’t just be the work of a couple dozen goblins,” Corbin says. Kifla nods vigorously. He continues, “I’ll need some time, but I want to read through these papers. I think it’s vital.”

“I think you’re right,” Barouk nods. “There could be valuable intelligence here.”

“Plus,” Kifla adds, “we need time to bury Gorsh.”

Barouk groans, but Jorr nods. “Seems right to me.”

***

While the others bury the bodies, Kifla and Corbin pour over the notes from the bugbear- whose name, it turns out, was Koth. They learn a few key pieces of information. First, the goblin horde is gathering at Cinder Hill, preparing to march on Drellin’s Ferry. It’s the first place that the goblins will attack en force. Kifla and Corbin look again at the map. _Day 5._

But what day is it now? 

The papers do not tell them this, perhaps most important, piece of information. They do reveal a lot of other details, but on the crucial issue of timing, they only say: _We will strike lightning swift._ Nowhere is the date of the initial attack given. 

_It could have been yesterday,_ groans Corbin to himself. 

The papers do reveal other bits of information: the leaders of the Red Hand of Doom, as the enemy calls itself, are called the four Wyrmlords. Koth was one of them; now, his corpse lies in the woods, outside of the keep. The others are a goblin ranger named Saarvith, a hobgoblin bard named Ulwai Stormcaller and a hobgoblin Talon of Tiamat called Hravek Kharn. Saarvith has been sent to the ruined city of Rhest on a special mission, and Wyrmlord Kharn commands the horde itself, but from the papers, it seems that Koth did not know what Ulwai Stormcaller was up to. Over them all reigns a fearsome cleric of Tiamat named Azarr Kul. 

The Red Hand horde itself consists of dozens of goblinoid and ogre tribes, advised by several dragons. Koth’s notes indicate that he had only had contact with one of them- a green dragon named Ozyrrandion. The horde is marshalling at Cinder Hill, with the intent to march down and across the bridge that crosses Skull Gorge. There is a heavy emphasis on the bridge in the notes; it seems as though destroying it would delay the march of the horde by at least a few days. 

“I think that there are more of them than we thought,” Corbin tells Kifla. 

The gnome only nods. 

***

Our heroes return to Drellin’s Ferry with all due haste, and once they tell Captain Soranna of the town guard what they have learned, a council of war is quickly convened. Unfortunately, between the antics of our heroes almost setting the table on fire and the politics of the council, nothing much gets resolved.

“We need to go take that bridge out,” Barouk mutters to his friends as the council argues. 

“About that,” Jorr muses, “I might have an idea...”

***

The giant gauntlet that the party found in the vault of Vraath Keep. The skeletal remains of a few giants in the rubble of the keep. Jorr was a local old-timer. He had figured it out quickly. 

_There aren’t many left, but there are giants in them hills. Our folk used to fight them, a long time ago. Long time ago, and that fight was pretty much the finish of it. After that, we didn’t have the stomach to go after them any more, and they didn’t have the numbers to come after us any more. 

That gauntlet- it was a trophy. The Vraath captains, they took it to thumb their noses at the giants, and that is what caused the final attack. I might be wrong, but I don’t think so. I think that’s damn close, even if it’s not quite dead on. 

We have to give it back. Give it back- and get giant help to break Skull Gorge Bridge._

***

The party heads out again. “That strange wicker thing we saw,” Barouk says, “not the frame with the body and the cursed dagger in the tower, but the wicker thing in the path- that was a giants’ warning, wasn’t it?”

Jorr nods. “Yup. Best to take it seriously, too- except, we _want_ to find the giants.”

_*Next Time:*_ Our heroes find the giants!


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## the Jester (Oct 10, 2009)

Jorr led our heroes down the pathway guarded by the wicker warning. The forest grows thick on either side. Jorr leads the way, with the others not far behind. It isn’t far before they come into a clearing with a primitive lean-to before the embers of a fire.

“Someone has been here recently,” murmurs Jorr, frowning as he examines the ground. “Someone... big.”

“As we expected,” nods Corbin the Conjurer. “We should-“

A sudden loud roar interrupts him, and a huge form stomps forth from the woods. It stands much taller than any of our heroes. It is clearly some kind of giant, with rough skin resembling nothing so much as the trees themselves and hair like the leaves of an oak. His arms are corded like knotted wood, and he holds a large tree branch like a club. 

“LITTLE ONES!” he screams. “YOU DARE!!”

“Wait, stop!” cries Kifla desperately. “We come in peace!”

“We aren’t like the other little ones!” shouts Corbin.

“We have something that belongs to you,” calls Jorr.

Barouk harrumphs and crosses his arms.

But the old giant- for our heroes can now see that the looming figure is covered in wrinkles and his hair is sparse- ignores the dwarf, and instead seems to respond more to the friendly overtures of the others. He peers at Kifla first. “You are small,” he rumbles, his voice loud even when he doesn’t shout. “Smaller than... the others. The bad ones.” He turns to face Jorr and Corbin. “But you two are the same size as them...”

“But we’re _different,_” Corbin insists. 

Jorr is digging in his pack. “And we have something for you,” he repeats. “I believe that it was taken from your folk during the, uh, conflict.”

“Murders,” the giants pronounces direly.

Jorr retrieves the huge gauntlet that the party liberated from the ruined keep. “Here,” he says, tossing it to the giant.

The huge figure peers at the gauntlet for a long moment. 

“We’re very sorry,” Kifla adds, “for what happened to your kin. But it wasn’t us- and now, there’s a much more dangerous threat approaching.”

“We need your help,” Corbin the Conjurer nods. “And as a show of good will...” He pulls forth the staff that the party found in the same secret area as the gauntlet. “I notice that you’re moving a little slowly, a little painfully. Clearly, you have, uh, some of the maladies of age.”

“Warklegnaw’s joints hurt,” the giant mutters.

“Exactly,” Corbin says. He smiles gently. “This may help.” The _staff of life_ in his hands begins to glow with a warm white glow as he lifts it towards the giant.

***

Old Warklegnaw, his aches and pains largely _healed,_ proves to be most eloquent when speaking in Giant. Only his limited vocabulary prevents him from sounding much more educated and cosmopolitan when speaking in Forinthian.* The party finds him to be a generous host, offering up the meat of the deer that he has brought down. 

And, thanks to the fact that they healed him, he proves much more interested in and able to help them than they could have dreamed. 

The party explains what they know: that there is a force of goblinoids preparing to attack Drellin’s Ferry, and that is probably presents an equally imminent threat to Warklegnaw and his remaining kin.

Warklegnaw tells the party that his kin is not within a couple of days’ journey, and that he is the last of their kind to remain in the area. He plainly refused to flee the giants’ defeat at the hands of the defenders of Vraath Keep, but equally plainly, the rest of his folk have abandoned the area. 

The old giant, feeling better than his has in years, agrees to go with the party to check out Skull Gorge, and they set out in the morning. Their path is uncontested, but when they come close to the canyon, they are met with a dismaying sight. From the cover of the woods, they can see that a force of goblinoids holds the bridge across- and they can see, perched atop one of the towers at the far side, a dragon.

Beyond it, in the distance, an army- not hundreds strong, but _thousands._

“Oh dear,” says Kifla.

They retreat for a moment. 

“We can’t just let them stay there,” Barouk states. “We know that they’re going to attack soon, although we don’t know when. We have to knock out that bridge.”

“But how?” asks Corbin. 

Old Warklegnaw frowns, looking around. After a few moments, he finds a large stone. “Get more,” he commands.

The party spends a few hours gathering up a good-sized pile of rocks that Warklegnaw says are suitable for throwing. Then, once they have enough ammunition for the wood giant’s taste, the party stands back and watches. 

Old Warklegnaw spends a few minutes stretching his arms and back. “Old Warklegnaw hasn’t felt this good in years!” he exclaims. Then he picks up a heavy rock, tests its weight- and spins around with it clutched to him. He gathers momentum until, with a snap, he lets his arms uncurl from his torso, extends the rock and _hurls_.

Up, out of the woods in the dying light of the evening, the rock sails up and out and over- and into the bridge.

*KATHOOM!*

Dust and pebbles spray everywhere, There is the sudden outcry of goblin scouts shouting and trying to alert their allies, but it is hard to miss the new pot hole that has suddenly appeared in a shower of stone. 

Old Warklegnaw picks up another stone.

The dragon spreads its wings and launches itself into the air even as the second rock crashes into the bridge. A sudden array of cracks spiderwebs the stone. 

Hobgoblin and goblin sentries scramble for weapons, put on helmets and begin to respond, but by then Warklegnaw has launched another stone. This one comes down less than a foot from the last, and cobbled stone explodes in a cloud of dust. A great noise begins to rise from the bridge. 

The dragon flies quickly towards the area that the onslaught is coming from- just in time to catch another stone in the body. It flaps quickly to avoid plummeting from the sky, and the sudden crackle of magic launches skyward as both Corbin and Kifla cast spells at it. A hippogriff appears in mid-air, disorienting the dragon.

_Green,_ thinks Kifla. _It’s green. What does that mean? Poison gas, or acid?_

The dragon answers for her, breathing a cloud of chlorine gas out- in the wrong area. Our heroes are untouched, hidden in the woods.

Another rock whizzes by the dragon, missing it by inches- but striking true at its real target.

With a loud crack and groan, the bridge collapses into the gorge below it. 

The dragon screams in anger and descends, but as it moves towards Barouk another boulder smashes into it. It rocks back, and our heroes- rather than fleeing, as the dragon had hoped- attack it. Barouk leaps forward, kicking it in the chest. Kifla and Corbin harry it with spells, and Jorr launches a flurry of arrows at it, one striking true and punching into its wing. 

The dragon tears into Barouk, wounding him gravely, but another boulder followed by the sight of the wood giant lumbering towards it is enough. The dragon flexes its powerful wings and takes again to the air. Another boulder to the snout convinces it, and it retreats across the fallen bridge.

The first battle for the valley is won.

_*Next Time:*_ Now what??


*The Common tongue of the area the pcs are in- which is on the island of Forinthia, for the record.


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## the Jester (Nov 14, 2009)

“It’s a start,” Barouk coughs, as the huge cloud of dust created by the falling bridge slowly settles. 

“Let’s get out of here,” Corbin says. His normal brown color is gaining a layer of grey. “If there are more flying things- or if that dragon comes back- well, we don’t want to be here for that.”

The rest of the party agrees, and they move away from the bridge. “We need to warn the town about everything we’ve found,” Jorr states. “They need to know what’s coming. An army of goblins is no laughing matter.”

The party moves quickly, hurrying down the trail, but as they draw up to where Warklegnaw lives, the giant draws off. “What’s wrong, Warklegnaw?” asks Corbin. 

“Nothing,” the giant grunts. “But I must go.”

“Why?” exclaims Barouk. “We could really use you against the Hand!”

“Aye,” nods Jorr.

“I am old,” Warklegnaw rumbles, “and my tribe must be alerted to this goblin army. I must rouse them to battle.” He smiles. “If you are lucky, they will send warriors to aid you. But I am sore, and old; my teeth are loose and my bones ache. I am done.”

With that, the giant departs, and our heroes can only pray that he will gain them further aid.

***

Back to the causeway, where the accursed hydra dwells. They party stops to look for signs of the hydra that lives in the water, but it is too well hidden. 

”Sure is sneaky, for something the size of a house,” Corbin sighs.

“You know,” Corbin muses, “this hydra might actually help us. It could slow the advance of the goblins if we leave it here.”

The group chews on this idea for a few moments. While the hydra is a danger to the local folk and has clearly already slain several people, it could be devastating to the goblins. They decide to try to pass by it without fighting it again. To this end, the party creeps along as quietly as possible.

The hydra, however, may be a dumb brute, but it has a _lot_ of eyes and ears. 

When it attacks in a huge explosion of swamp water and muck, things go to pieces very rapidly. The hydra’s huge, razor-sharp teeth tear at the party.

Barouk concentrates on his _ki,_ and his fists burst into flame. He leaps, striking at the hydra, smashing one of its eyes. 

Another head darts in at him and he tumbles over it. Its jaws snap shut on empty air.

“Go!” the monk roars. “I’ll hold it off!”

The others run.

Barouk leaps to the side as a massive, dagger-toothed maw snaps at him. This time, however, _another_ head comes in at him from the side, crushing down upon his left thigh. Blood squirts out. Barouk roars and pounds his fist into the joint of its jaw. Bone crunches, and the flames on his fists sear it. Its grip weakens, and he knifes his other hand into its eye. 

With a scream, the hydra releases him. He lands sprawling on the causeway, almost rolling into the swamp, and starts to scramble to his feet. Before he can rise, however, another hydra head rips into the meat of his back.

Barouk screams.

_Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!_

Arrows land in the beast’s body. Then, summoned creatures, called forth by Corbin, are all around the hydra, biting and clawing at it. It screams from its remaining mouths, and grabs Barouk by the shoulder with one mouth and by the leg with another. It begins tearing him apart. Blood is everywhere, splashing in huge arterial waves. Barouk howls, and manages one final blow- as he is torn in two.

“Barouk!!” Corbin cries. “NOOOOOO!!”

“Time to go!” shouts Jorr.

“No!” Corbin counters. “We need his body!”

“Are you mad??”

“The staff, Jorr! I can bring him back to life with it!!”

Grimacing, the ranger turns back to the hydra and begins grimly landing arrow after arrow in it. Corbin keeps conjuring more beasts to keep it occupied- including a shark in the water- and the hydra cannot escape. It shrieks angrily again as a hippogriff lands on it and starts worrying its back. The beast thrashes about; the shark attacks its bloody flanks. More arrows, and more; until it finally collapses, still screaming, in the water, a bloody mass of bites. 

Corbin scrambles forward to where Barouk lays, nearly ripped in twain. “Help me carry him!” he cries. Together, he and Jorr lug the gory corpse off the causeway.

“So much for leaving the hydra to kill the goblins,” grunts Jorr.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Corbin replies grimly. “I don’t think my creatures killed it, and they only stay around for a few moments. It might have survived.”

They put Barouk’s corpse down. Corbin draws forth the _staff of life_ that they recovered from underneath Vraath Keep, closes his eyes and holds it over the dead dwarf. 

Slowly, it begins to glow- and Barouk’s ravaged body knits. After a few moments, his eyes flutter open.

***

Back at Drellin’s Ferry, our heroes grimly tell Speaker Wiston about their findings. “You’re facing a lot more than a few score goblins, I’m afraid,” Corbin tells him. “They had a dragon guarding the bridge at Skull Gorge. That alone is serious cause for concern. From the documents we found, it looks like they’re confident that they can take the entire valley, even Brindol.”

“This is bad,” the speaker mutters, pacing back and forth. “Very bad.” He halts, and stares at the party. “What can we do?”

“Prepare,” says Barouk. “Work on your defenses. Train with weapons, including bows or slings.”

Wiston nods. “And what will you be doing?”

“Well,” Corbin replies, “the notes we found also mentioned that one of the goblin commanders is on some kind of secret mission in the ruins of the old city of Rhest, maybe looking for something. The one we took out didn’t know what he was up to, but had the sense that it was important.”

“So, whatever he is doing, we’re going to stop him,” says Barouk.

_*Next Time:*_ To the ruins of Rhest!


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## the Jester (May 4, 2010)

The journey to the ruins of Rhest will take approximately a week. It is about 80 miles to the small town of Talar, and another 80 miles north to the Blackfens, a murky swamp in which the ruins lay.

The group travels quickly, efficiently, finding hidden nooks and glens to sleep in and always keeping a watch. They stop in Talar just long enough to resupply, then head to the swamp, where the local fauna proves hungry and dangerous. They fight off a crocodile attack and then Jorr hunts up some herbs to help cover their scent. 

The party's plan is to cut across the swamp, hopefully avoiding attention Fortunately, both Jorr and Corbin have a great deal of wilderness lore, so they manage to avoid the various swamp hazards. Moreover, Corbin manages to bring the party a brace of wild turkeys one evening, leading to a wonderful feast. 

The next day, the party realizes to their bemusement that they have overshot their goal and gone west past the edge of the fens. Corbin quips, “Well, at least we're moving faster than we thought!”

Barouk grunts and shrugs. Kifla just laughs.

The party turns back east and works their way across country until they find a road heading north, cutting across the lowlands. They follow this for a time; then Corbin halts them. 

“Look,” he says with a gesture. 

From just over the next hill some smoke is rising- perhaps a campfire. With a twitch of his brown-clad arm, Corbin sends his hawk to inspect the situation. 

“I don't get a sense of danger,” he reports. “In fact, my hawk seems to be... hungry.”

It turns out that the smoke is from a fire that is roasting a rabbit, surrounded by a small group of peasants. They eye the party suspiciously, but Corbin and Jorr reassure them, and shortly they are chatting amiably with our heroes.

“You guys should be careful,” Corbin warns. “There is an army of hobgoblins and their ilk making ready to storm the entire valley.”

“And they are supported by terrible monsters,” Barouk adds. “Including a dragon.”

The peasants look frightened. One of them volunteers, “The road north is blocked by hobgoblins! I wonder if they are part of this army that you're talking about.”

Our heroes exchange meaningful glances.

“Well,” Barouk declares, “we'll find out.”

***

But it isn't that simple. The party gives serious thought to sneaking around them completely. Kifla advocates the more discrete approach, pointing out that a few escaping goblins could forward the enemy in Rhest that foes are coming for them.

“They wouldn't necessarily know we're coming for them, though, would they?” Corbin points out. “We might just be travelers on the road.”

“True enough,” agrees Barouk. “What do you say, Jorr?”

“I just want to kill some goblins,” the woodsman grunts.

“Let's check out the road block,” says Barouk.

It proves easy enough to sneak up on the road block, between Kifla's _invisibility sphere_ and _ghost sounds_ to distract the group manning it (which includes a pair of ogres and over half a dozen hobgoblins, two of whom are wearing uniforms vaguely fancier than the rest). The road block itself is a crude, ten foot high pallisade of logs that extends about 40' to either side of the road. It completely blocks progress. A rude watchtower, about 20' high, is the centerpiece of the place. But starting stealthy lets the party strike at the right moment, after they have a fair idea of the opposition they face. 

Even so, the battle is fierce. The party underestimated the ogres badly; the power of their blows is sufficient to crush stone or shatter bone, and it is all our heroes can do to stay ahead of those terrific smashes. Things grow so desperate that Barouk even tries to light the tower afire before being forced to tumble past some of the hobgoblins and enter the tower to obtain a defensible position!

Jorr leaps to the attack. Now swinging _Frogspaw,_ he proves more than a match for the first regular hobgoblin, cutting it down and rushing to Kifla's side. 

The damned ogres! A ham-sized fist connects with Barouk, sending him spinning across the hall, and he cannot seem to connect a fist himself. They are too big, too mean, too strong. 

But Corbin manages to find a place where he is away from the fray for a moment, and he begins to chant, using his druidic magic to summon allies. First wolves, then a hippogriff tear into the hobgoblin defenders. Then the brown man directs his servants to attack the ogres, and although this quickly turns ugly, they do manage to tear one of the large monsters down at last. 

From the roof, more of the foe starts firing arrows at the party. One hits Barouk in the head, spinning off his skull but leaving him near-senseless. Kifla and Corbin return fire with _magic missiles_ and _Melf's acid arrows_ while Barouk and Jorr face off with the remaining ogre, which smashes a wolf's back with a vicious strike of its club, slaying it instantly. 

The hippogriff flexes its wings and launches itself at the rooftop archers. Screams from above drift down even as the last ogre lands a crushing blow on Barouk, and the dwarven monk flies back and lands hard, rolling twice before coming to a bloody halt. But he staggers to his feet, and as the ogre roars and thunders forward, Corbin zaps it with a pair of _magic missiles._ His summoned creatures are already vanishing; they tore a bloody swath through the hobgoblins and ogres, but it isn't over yet! Corbin yells in triumph as his missiles slay the ogre, and suddenly it's just a matter of mopping up. 

Soon it's over. From the top of the tower, Barouk surveys the surrounding area. He can see the marsh spreading for miles away to the east, but there is no immediate sign of more hobgoblins or other Red Hand troops. Below, Jorr methodically searches the bodies while Corbin and Kifla bind the one hobgoblin that they spared. 

“Well,” Barouk says with relish, “it's time for some questioning.”


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## the Jester (May 5, 2010)

Sadly, that is likely to be the last update in this story hour. Several of the players relocated or had babies; I ended up moving the remaining guy into my "alpha" game (see The Fall of Civlization, in my sig) where he plays Summer, er Autumn, er whatever based on the season.

This group was a lot of fun. I wish it had gone on longer- _Red Hand of Doom_ was a great module, and I really wanted to play it out; the group was really fun in pretty much all of its permutations; and I really had a wonderfully cool idea for the eventual campaign arc that related to the title- the Three Kingdoms of Forinthia and the magic sword that had been stolen that bound them together by treaty, symbolism and magic. (Readers of my various epic level 3e story hours may recall God-Emperor Prayzose having some political issues with this.) 

The cool thing about good ideas that you don't get to use is that you may get your chance later.  Here's hoping that the _Sword of the South Kingdom_ and the accompanying storyline gets resolved one of these days, as it's been out there dangling since a group in around 2002 or 2003!

And you never know- it's just barely possible that, one day, we might get back together and play this out. I'd love it. But meantime, it was fun, and I'm sorry this particular ride is over.


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## Mathew_Freeman (May 5, 2010)

As ever, Jester, I enjoyed reading it and it's a shame it's over. One of the things I most enjoy about your Story Hours is the sense that it all ties together, and that's a testament to your great DMing skills.

I'll enjoy seeing the Fall of Civilisation continue!


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## the Jester (May 27, 2010)

Mathew_Freeman said:


> As ever, Jester, I enjoyed reading it and it's a shame it's over. One of the things I most enjoy about your Story Hours is the sense that it all ties together, and that's a testament to your great DMing skills.




Thanks... and I need to amend my "it's over" to "it's over _for now._"

It turns out that the guy that played Kifla has moved back into the area that I moved away from, so the two mainstays of this group are in the same neighborhood again, even if I'm not. So there's hope that we'll eventually get them back together and run a game of this periodically- I try hard to get my game on when I go to visit. 



Mathew_Freeman said:


> I'll enjoy seeing the Fall of Civilisation continue!




Sadly, we're not too far from the wrap up on that one too- again, I moved away. However, that one we still have at least one session to run- which we _will_ pull off one of these days, I'm going to make a special trip down to do it when we can all pull off the timing- and I'm still about ten sessions behind in the SH (as you can see here if you wanna track my progress as I go). So tFoC should continue for a good while with additional bits leaking out as we play one-shots after the main arc concludes.


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