# Cormanthyr Spring



## ShawnLStroud (Jan 23, 2002)

*Your Introduction* 
This is a low-level campaign that takes place in the Forgotten Realms' Cormanthyr Wood.  It's a place in flux since the recent departure of the elves from the area.  

For hundreds of years, the Moon Elf population, housed in their capitol area, helped police the Wood.  They, along with indigenous Wood Elf and feral Wild Elf populations, prevented incursions from goblinoid races such as Orcs, goblins, kobolds, etc.  They held agreements with the human settlements in the various Dales regarding logging and other environmental issues.  

Then they left.

It's spring, 1372.


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## ShawnLStroud (Jan 23, 2002)

*Cormanthyr Spring - The Player's Introduction*

*This is the text of the Player Introduction* 

The woods here are dark and the tiny pools of light that make it to the ground seem overwhelmed by the shadows of the giant trees all around.  The air is stifling; as if the forest acts like a huge woolen blanket on the ground – insulating the ground from the air, but trapping the heat and humidity.  Out in the fields, the air was pleasant; in here the air wraps around you like a coat.
Of course, you might be more comfortable if you weren’t roped to a slave coffle, or if you hadn’t spent the last day and night being chivvied along like a truant child by the Orc raiding party.  You might be more alert if you’d eaten the foul swill the Orc guard tried to pour down your throat this morning – even if it did smell like the bastard child of Gorgonzola cheese and month-old sewage. You might even have an idea where you were in the forest if some bastard Orc didn’t cuff you on the side of the head every time you looked up from the dismal animal track you’ve been shuffling along for the past eight hours.  

Then again, perhaps being able to think may not be your best option.  Even now, you shudder to recollect the horrible victory party that was held around the smoking ruins of the small tavern in Tavolo Verde.  You pity the women, passed from one Orc to another; and you try to forget their piteous shrieks as they were used again and again.  Tears of shame well up in your eyes when you remember the colicky baby that was so casually killed right in front of you, and you can’t erase the sight of that tiny body cast so roughly aside, blood and brain matter spattering on the flinching mother.

Tavolo Verde had been in the middle of the Spring Festival, and you’d been in the village because of the light ale brewed in the area.  Battledale is known for its hardened inhabitants, but Mistledale is the blessed Dale.  Your day had been spent at the fair, haggling over trinkets for loved ones at home, idly watching some of the competitive events, going for the gold ring in others and generally enjoying your first free spring in years.  You fell into a heavy, self-satisfied slumber at the end of the evening, sated with spicy bratwurst, pale ale and good company.

You awakened to a nightmare of screams and fire, orcs and wolf-riding goblins running amok through the village.  You have a memory of the raid leader, a slender, dread locked orc female who ruthlessly suppressed and corralled the mage staying at the inn with you.  You remember the cries of dismay when the orc raiders weren’t effected by what were called sleep spells.  

You grind your teeth, and that bastard orc cuffs you on the side of the head with a growled, “Shut yer trap, meat!”
You decide to wait for your opportunity.  These bastards are going to slip up, then you’ll make them rue the day they put you in a collar.  That’s the thought that keeps you alive.


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## ShadowJester (Jan 23, 2002)

very very cool great narriatave


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## ShawnLStroud (Jan 23, 2002)

*Cormanthyr Spring Continued*

*The players in our tale of woe:*

*Dain*: A slender moon elf male with abnormally pale skin.  He wears a dark robe over muddy trousers and a tunic.  
*Edo*:  A well-built human male.  He wears a torn white robe with a tabard that marks him as a priest of Torm.  He's young, and his eyes are haunted by what's just happened to him and the village of Tavolo Green.  
*Erev-Ba*: A cat-like moon elf female in a torn tunic, trousers and light boots.  Her hair is dark, her eyes are green, and she moves with quick grace -- although it's hard to see under the dirt.  She's got a bruise on her temple, a cut on her right cheek and an alert, watchful gaze. 
*Tannon*:  A slender moon elf female with light coloring:  Green eyes and reddish hair.  She moves with an unusual economy of movement.  She's dressed in a simple tunic and trousers, with no footwear at all.  One might be tempted to take her for an intinerant priest, but for the lack of markings on her clothing.
*Jared*:  A rough-looking older human male.  He's obviously seen some 50 summers, as the silver in his chestnut hair and beard can attest.  He's dressed in leather trousers and torn leather tunic, with woodsman's boots.
*Tethka*:  An obviously young human female.  She's striking because of the silver-white hair worn in warrior's braids down her back.  The muscles in her arms and back move smoothly as she trudges, indicating great strength and agility, but the look out of her eyes is world weary and frightened.  She's dressed in a tunic, leather vest and trousers with solid walking boots.

*Their current situation:*
The folks above, as well as at least half of the population from Tavolo Green, are tied to a coffle with rough rawhide laces.  Each person wears a heavy leather collar that is tied to a heavy rope hawser some 4" in diameter and some 60' in length.  The people are tethered in pairs, with each individual supporting a length of the hawser.  Each person's hands are tied together in front of them, with their elbows also tied together.  This means that each person's hands are currently just below their chins, with their bound elbows at just about waist level.  This is an incredibly uncomfortable long term pose, and allows a guard to ascertain what a person on the coffle is doing with their hands at a glance.

The coffle (slave chain) has been traveling all night (about 8 hours), and has covered about 15 miles from the smoking ruins of Tavolo Green.  The pairs of our focus party in the coffle are:  Jared and Tetka, Erev-ba and Tannon, and Edo and Dain.  

*Our Story Begins with the Next Post!*


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## Rel (Jan 23, 2002)

Sigh.  Just what I need - another cool story hour to follow.  Thanks a lot Shawn.  Perhaps if your opening narrative hadn't been so good, I could have escaped.  But no.

Well, count me in for the duration.


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## ShawnLStroud (Jan 23, 2002)

Rel said:
			
		

> *Sigh.  Just what I need - another cool story hour to follow.  Thanks a lot Shawn.  Perhaps if your opening narrative hadn't been so good, I could have escaped.  But no.
> 
> Well, count me in for the duration.
> 
> *




You have only yourself to blame, Rel.  You and Old One have bewitched me with your silky words and totally cool campaigns...  I just *had* to try to document my own campaign in your style.  We'll see if I can back up my bluster with some content.

By the way.... Thanks.    It's good to measure up!


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## ShawnLStroud (Jan 23, 2002)

*Episde 1:  the Coffle*

*It's noon -- not quite two days since the raid.  *

The orc raiders had pushed the coffle unmercifully for many hours through that night and the next day, then finally allowed everyone to rest several hours after sundown.  The unwholesome victory party was repeated by the orcish raiders -- and the latter half of the coffle noticed that their female members were approached by one or another of the raiders, but left alone after a long gaze and a sulpherous curse from the raider in question.

Just after dawn, orc raiders had kicked awake the people in the coffle.  A young-looking orc in studded leather had passed up both sides of the coffle, offering a ladle of some foul smelling and no doubt poisonous swill to each of the captives.  Most of the villagers from Tavolo Green, frightened and hungry, had taken the swill and a swig of spring water from this captor.  None of our heros accepted the ladle, but did accept the proffered water.  

Feeling somewhat better, the captives were unsurprised when one of the most fearsome of the orcish brutes dragged the front of the coffle up and shouted in broken Trade Tongue, "*UP!  You go now!*"  A  leading man in the coffle, the tavern keeper, attempted to say something, and was cuffed viciously across the face.  "*You MEAT now!  MEAT don't talk!  MEAT just WALKS!*"

The next few hours passed without incident, if you discount the numerous times coffle members were cuffed and spat on by their orc captors.  During this inverval, the young  priest, Edo, noticed that his moon elf companion, Dain, seemed almost... well... not entirely lucid.  The elf mumbled under his breath, perspiring and glancing up at the sun and then around.  Several times this resulted in Dain being cuffed and struck about the head and shoulders by one or another of the orc raiders.  By noon, Dain's pallid face was covered in bruises, his lips split and torn by the rough handling of the captors.  Further up the coffle, Jared was stealing glances around at all of the raiders he could see, while Tethka merely bowed her head and walked.  She seemed to have sunk into herself, providing no additional excuse for abuse at the hands of the raiders and seemingly becoming invisible.  As to the two elfin females, Erev-ba and Tannon, each walked through the morning with little or no difficulty.  More than once each of these winsome elf maidens were eyed, sniffed and then spat at by one or more of the raiders.  The two looked at one another quizzically, but never spoke.  

Now  the coffle is stopped in a meadow some 60 feet wide.  One of the orcs, a huge barbarous fellow with a face almost obscured by swirling tattoos shouts out in Trade Tongue, "*You rest now!*" 

Jared whispers to Tethka, "Ye alright, lass?"  She merely nods, not meeting his eyes.

Suddenly, there's a commotion at the rear-most point of the coffle.  An orcish voice shouts out, but is clipped short and... one of the captives, a middle-aged man with greying blonde hair is sprinting for the tree line.  His hands are free, and he charges for the nearest bush.  With whoops and yips, five young orc raiders charge after him, easily catching him short of the concealing trees.  One raider reaches out and swings the man around, perhaps to cuff him into submission, but is surprised as the fellow whips around with a small knife and gashes his face.  The first orc stumbles back, clutching his face, but the other four pile onto the man, forcing him to the ground.  Then they beat him.  Badly.  The group of orcs is joined by another of the older-looking, tattooed orcs who yanks up the man by the scruff of the neck and frog-walks him up to the raid leader.  The younger orcs follow, chest-thumping and high-fiving one another.  The injured orc still clutches at his face, and blood wells out through his pale fingers.

The orc raid leader shouts something in an almost pleasant tenor voice, and then the remaining orcs force the coffle into a shallow crescent shape.  Now all of the members of the coffle can see the fate of the middle aged man.    His head hangs to one side, his face distorted with swelling and fresh blood.  The orc female, her dreadlocks bobbing around her strangely slim face, turns to the coffle and speaks in unaccented Trade Tongue, "Listen to me, people of the village!  Your old lives are over.  Before you owned property, you held land and you farmed for yourself.  Those days are through.  Now you are mine.  You are slaves. You are mine to kill, sell or eat as I choose.  Before you had a name.  Now you are MEAT.  To live, you must learn a new way, and now I will teach it to you."

She turns to the man and picks up his head by the forelock. 

"This man tried to run away.  He denies he is MEAT.  When we try to capture him, he harms us."  She takes a curved dagger from her belt and suddenly slashes the man across his face, then repeats the process so that he has a huge "X" centered on his nose.  His eyes pop open and he screams, with fresh blood running down his face into his eyes and onto his soiled night shirt.  

"You don't *EVER* run.  You don't *EVER* resist.  You are *MEAT*!   You don't have to be pretty to be MEAT.  You don't have to be pretty to be useful."  The man is still screaming, but has begun to curse and spew at the orc female.  She listens to him for a moment, then grabs his tongue and spears  her dagger down through it, pinning most of it outside his mouth.

"You don't have to have a tongue to be useful. "  She nods at the tattooed orc holding the man up, who reaches around and yanks the tongue from the man's mouth.  A gout of blood shoots from the man's mouth, cascading onto his chest.  The orc female reaches behind her and unlimbers the Great Club slung across her back.  It is a beautiful, yet disturbing club, carved into the shape of clouds and distended faces on the striking area.  She takes the club in two hands, and, with a speed and power that belie her comparative slightness, smashes both of the man's legs.  The long bones of his legs shatter, and the sound of crushing and breaking meat resonates through the meadow.

"You *DO* need legs, though."  She nods at the tattooed orc, who snatches a hand axe from his belt and quickly beheads the man, holding up the head for all to see.  Many of the people in the coffle scream and cry, but these cries don't last long.  The orcs wade into the coffle, cuffing the kneeling captives into submissive silence.

"Where you are going, they will treat you worse than this.  You are MEAT now.  You follow directions, you live.  Defy us and you die -- slowly.  That is all. "

This has been too much.  Dain, who before had been somewhat pacified, begins to struggle with his bonds, crying out, "...They are here!  They're all around us!  They can see us!  We must flee!  Help me, you fools, they're coming!" Before Edo can do so much as flinch, the other tattooed orc smashes Dain in  the face.  Dain's nose shatters, and he slumps toward the ground, unconscious.  This proves to be somewhat of a problem for Edo, who now must support Dain's weight and that of the coffle hawser.  Edo does what he can to get his shoulder under the unconscious moon elf, and is barely able to support them both as the coffle is prodded and poked back into a line.  Everyone is quiet for the rest of the day.  Dain wakes an hour or two later, and has some difficulty breathing through his mouth.  He is wisely quiet for the rest of the afternoon.


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## Old One (Jan 23, 2002)

*Great Start!*

SLS -

I have to echo Rel's words though...I spend way too much time reading Story Hours as it is...now I have another one to follow!

Great start and I am looking forward to more!

Old One


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## Dain (Jan 23, 2002)

*Extra Character Details for flavor*

Dain has long, unkempt hair with bangs that have probably never been trimmed. His hair hangs wildly in his face, only allowing an occasional glimpse of intense dark eyes with an unbalanced gleam in them pretty much most of the time. He rarely speaks, but when he does it is very slow, deliberate, almost melodic, and very dramatic. Hearing him speak, one knows immediately he is insane, evil, dramatic, or just putting on one heck of an act to try to impress or intimidate those around him. Unfortunately his appearance and body language are as unusual as his speech, and the whole package matches perfectly, making it impossible to tell if it is all just a really bizarre act or if he has...other problems.

As noon starts getting closer, Dain seems to get increasingly agitated, trying desperately to cover himself and keep to the shadows, eyes darting back and forth across the sky fearfully. Shortly before noon he becomes truely frantic. He begins shrieking, "We need to get under cover! They're watching us! You fools, they'll see us! They'll see us!". He seems to have lost touch with reality here as he begins lurching frantically against his collar towards the nearest cover, doing as much damage to himself as has already been done to him by his captors. He is obviously in such extream terror that he seems to have completely forgotten his current situation, utterly oblivious to the fact he is endangering his own life by becoming such a nuisance. "Get to the Trees! Get to the Trees! While there's still Time! They'll s..." Whump! Dain collapses unconscious to the ground.

Those nearby stand stunned in confused disbelief. What in the world could drive this bizarre elf into such sheer depths of terror? What did he know that they did not...or was he just nuts? Thinking back, they did recall that in the short time they've been together he did always seem agitated near noon and calm down afterwards as if nothing were wrong in the first place...but he was NEVER excited to this level before...then again they'd never been in the wide open near noon before either. What unknown horror was this elf so sure was up above? Only time will tell as Lhathordainadin (Dain for short) Mordre's story continues...or comes to an abrupt and violent end.


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## Rel (Jan 24, 2002)

*Wow!*

Shawn, if you GM half as good as you write, your games must be a real treat!

I recently mentioned in a thread titled, "What Makes A Good Adventure" that the PC's having a personal stake in the game is far more compelling than them just being adventurers seeking cash, magic items and experience points.  Your description conjures such a visceral hate for the slavers that I foresee you having no problems getting the characters to want to engage them later (assuming they survive their current predicament).

Your real problem might come in if you try to get them to follow any adventure leads that don't include them exterminating every orc on the planet.

Great story so far.  Can't wait for more.


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## sword-dancer (Jan 25, 2002)

Another story hour I must follow.


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## ShawnLStroud (Jan 28, 2002)

Rel said:
			
		

> *Wow!
> 
> Shawn, if you GM half as good as you write, your games must be a real treat!  .....  Great story so far.  Can't wait for more. *




Thanks, Rel.  Oh, and thanks to everyone who's complimented the thread.

I've had some real world difficulties crop up, but I'll post again sometime tonight.


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## Broccli_Head (Jan 28, 2002)

*another fan!*

SLS, I like the premise of the PCs starting off as captured slaves in Cormanthyr.  They definitely have to use their wits.  Will be great to follow and see what happens. 
How many players do you have? Does each player have one PC? 

Can the priests and/or sorcerers  regain their spells? Did you start them at 1st level?


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## ShawnLStroud (Jan 29, 2002)

*Episode 1 (continued)*

The rest of the day is spent in silence; the entire coffle trudging along at a quicker pace (if that were possible). If anyone looks up from their feet, there seems to be an orc who cuffs or snarls at that person, forcing their eyes down.  Our heros numbly notice that the rest of the coffle has no trouble handling the grueling pace, even some of the older grandparents.  

Several hours after sundown, the coffle stumbles into a large clearing.  One of the tattooed orcs strides up and down the coffle, shouting "*You get down now! You rest now!*" 

Slowly, the members of the coffle attempt to slump to a comfortable position, but not fast enough for the orc raiders.  
The members of the coffle are kicked and tripped into laying down.  Their elbow straps are released, and there are groans and shrieks as numbed,  long-constricted blood vessels are suddenly flooded with life and sensation.  Again, as was done in the morning, a pair of orc raiders circulate up and down the coffle, offering a ladle of water, then a ladle of cold, soupy gruel.  It's been a long day, and our heros succumb to hunger -- having long ago succumbed to other, less savory bodily needs. 

After that, several orc raiders move up and down the coffle, untying and taking more of the women from Tavolo Green to the farthest part of the clearing (some 70 feet away) for another hideous "Victory Party."  

A group of four younger orcs build a small campfire midway between the "party" and the rest of the coffle, and are obviously the first set of sentries for the night.  Two of the sentries look longingly at and call encouragements to the rest of the orcs "enjoying" themselves at the far end of the clearing.  The raid leader has had a lean-to shelter constructed for herself with a small fire in front, and disappears inside it.

For the first time in almost two days, our heros are left to their own devices; albeit uncomfortable and bound.  Huddled and tumbled together, each pair in the coffle makes discoveries and plans.

"We've got to get out of this situation," Tannon whispers to Erev-ba.  "I'm afraid we'll be the next victims.  Can you think of why they haven't ever picked us?"

"Hmmmmm.  I don't know." answers Erev-ba.  "Maybe we smell wrong..."

Tannon becomes aware that part of her discomfort is because of something sharp laying underneath her.  She begins shifting her weight around, and is finally able to pick up the sharp item -- a broken off pork rib bone, its splintered end both pointed and sharp.  She looks at Erev-ba and smiles.  "I have our way out of here, I think"

Erev-ba smiles back, "I always have a way out.  I've just never had the time or privacy to use it."  She turns her right hand toward Tannon, then produces a large, sharpened coin.  Both young elves lean forward, then begin cutting at their bonds.

Jared and Tethka are together.  "Girl, we've got to get out of this, you hear?  These orcs ain't actin' normal.  I don't know what they'll do now, and that scares me.  I been huntin' these bastards for twenty years now,  and I've never seen a band act like this.  They left FOOD behind, do you hear?  Orcs don't leave food behind!  It don't make sense."

Tethka merely looks at Jared with weary eyes. " Unless you have something to cut these bonds, I cannot help you.  I've been trying since we got here to break them, and they won't."

Jared grins, then reaches carefully back over his head, and comes back with a small knife.  "I always keep an insurance policy on a string, girl.  People see the medicine pouch on my chest and never think to see how long the back is.  Give me your hands, then we'll get out of here.  Maybe we can cause a commotion and lead some of the stupider orcs out into the woods.  We jump 'em there and we'll get us some weapons.  You with me?"

Tethka looks at him for a moment, then mutely holds out her hands.

Edo and Dain are tumbled together, their faces almost touching in the dark. Dain is still having trouble with breathing, his nose swelled to almost twice its normal size and clogged with crusted blood.  

Edo whispers, "We must free ourselves, friend, so that we can rescue the inhabitants of Tavolo Green.  Are you with me?"

"I can barely breath, but I can try to help." Dain answers.

"What skills do you have, Brother Elf?  I myself am a Priest of Torm, and have been blessed with his power.  Some of His blessings include healing.  Is there aught I can do for you?" hisses Edo.

"I can weave some spells, human, " answers Dain.  "With luck and timing, I believe I can lead off most of the orcs, then you can try to escape.  If this works, then we can meet back here at midnight tomorrow.  What do you think?  And, if you could do something about my face; I can barely breathe."

Edo reaches into his torn cassock and pulls forth a pendant in the shape of a metal gauntlet.  "Do you accept the blessing of Torm, Brother Elf?"

Dain looks at Edo for a moment, then nods in assent.

"The in the name of Torm, who protects the weak and guides the strong, I bid your torn body be healed.  Let his divine power sweep away your wounds and weariness."

Hidden by their bodies, a blue-white glow passes from Edo's pendant, through his outstretched fingers, and into Dain's body.  He closes his eyes, the opens them.  "That's good, human.  What may I call you?"

"I am Edo, of Torm.  And you?"

"I am Lhathordainadin Mordre.  You may call me Dain." The slight elf looks up at the stars, then back at his coffle-mate. "I am aware that you carried me, Edo.  I owe you a debt; and that means something to me.  But this will have been in vain if we cannot escape these cursed rawide bonds!"

Slowly, each of the pairs begins to notice that they're trying to speak to another.  By inches, they creep together and formulate a quick plan.  Dain will create a diversion to lead away as many of the orcs as he can, and in the confusion, the group will slip away.  Edo is opposed to this, but in the end agrees to slip away in order to find weapons so that he can then 
rescue the rest of the coffle.  Jared and Erev-ba look at each other and smile, then shinny away through the darkness.  Almost immediately, they disappear into the knee-high grass of the clearing.

* Next time... A Battle! *


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## ShawnLStroud (Jan 29, 2002)

*Re: another fan!*

Broc (can I call you Broc?);



			
				Broccli_Head said:
			
		

> *How many players do you have? Does each player have one PC?  Can the priests and/or sorcerers  regain their spells? Did you start them at 1st level? *




I currently have 6 players, although at the time of this episode I only had 5.  Each player has only one character.  You get to guess who the NPC is (heh heh).  

Priests and sorcerers regain their spells IAW the standard rules... but nobody's had the chance to renew anything as of yet.  (_I have priests and paladins get their spells *after* their prayer time.  I think it adds color, and it certainly adds tension to the table in this game.)_

Each of the characters started off at 1st level, except Dain and Erev-ba, who are "apprentice" level, multiclass characters.  Hmmmm; there's a clue.  Can you guess who the NPC is now?


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## Broccli_Head (Jan 29, 2002)

*answer?*

Not anymore! I thought it was the old guy!


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## ShawnLStroud (Feb 4, 2002)

*The Coffle:  Conclusion*

Dain, carefully crawling through the grass of the clearing, slowly makes his way across to the opposite side of the clearing.  Some 60 feet from the coffle line and some 80 feet from the raid leader's lean-to, he turns over on his back and begins to count under his breath.

The  three remaining coffle mates (Edo, Tannon and Tethka) slowly slink through the darkness to the southeastern-most part of the clearing.  Being  careful to straighten the grass behind them, they wind up in a shallow swale, almost completely obscured by the grass and some scrub brush growing at the crest of the small hillock.

Laying on his back, Dain composes his features and mutters a quick  incantation, making a subtle series of gestures.  A few seconds later, he  shimmers in the starlight, and a young-looking orc raider sits up and rises at the southeastern edge of the clearing.  Stepping forward to some trees, he undoes his trousers and relieves himself against a tree.  Looking into the forest, he suddenly snaps open his eyes, then shouts,  "Hey, they're getting away!  The Meat are getting away!"

The stars glitter in the spring night as the call revounds from the trees. For a second, time seems to stand still -- for the orc raiders disporting at the northern edge of the clearing, for the cofflemates still strapped together on the ground, for the raid leader in her lean-to, and for the guards at the far western end of the clearing.  Then, as one, two of the guards at the fireplace leap to their feet, snatching up hand weapons, and speed across the meadow toward their compatriot.  As they leap over the supine slaves on the coffle rope, they notice that, indeed, several of the slaves are missing.  Their compatriot, still urninating against the tree, points and says, "There!  In the woods!  There they go!"

As if a bell was rung, the raid leader steps from her lean-to, assesses the situation, and begins barking orders.  "Schrot! Grab your teams and come with me!  Zhazzbat!  You keep four back and watch the rest of the slaves!  NOW!  Let's go!"

It takes an amazingly short time for the partying orcs to be kicked and grabbed into a coherent group, and the raid leader charges into the trees at the western part of the clearing, chasing the escapees she can see going around a tall bush.  Her 16 raiders follow her like hunting dogs after a scent, howling invectives.  The "orc" that had sounded the alarm follows behind, helping to guide the hunting party and providing sounds for the seeming of the escaping party.  One of the heavily tattooed orcs begins grabbing the freed women at  the "party" site, and two other raiders help him secure them back in the coffle.

One lone orc, standing too close to a bush at the western edge of the clearing suddenly is jerked backward into the brush.  Starlight glints off something in a feminine hand that sweeps across the throat of the young orc,  while another feminine hand covers his mouth.  The combination of actions stifle the cry of alarm that dies, stillborn, in the orc's throat. 

Fifteen feet back in the brush, Erev-ba and Jared grin at one another over the dying orc and help themselves to the his weapons.  Erev-ba takes the battleaxe, shortbow and arrows, hissing, "I'll hand off the axe to one of the others.  You sure you'll be alright with just the daggers?"

"Girlie, a shiv is all I need to take on that tatooed beast.  You 
get them kids back over here -- as good as I am, I can't kill four 
orcs by my lonesome.  I'll count to 13 five times, then I'm takin' 
the big one out.  You hear me?  We can free the whole ding-dang coffle ifn we take out these guards.  We'll never have another chance!"


One hundred feet into the forest off southeastern edge of the clearing, a short, whispered discussion is taking place. Standing close together, Edo, Tannon and Tethka have reached a crossroads.

"By Torm's hand, I need all of you to help me rescue the villagers!" Edo is agitated.  His mission in life is to protect the weak.  He continues, "We can't just leave them out there! How will you all sleep at night if you escape but leave all those helpless villagers to the attentions of the orcs? What kind of people are you?"

"I'm the kind of person who doesn't want to be enslaved.  If we attack the guards with nothing but our hands, we'll die for nothing," hisses Tethka. "It makes more sense to get back to our gear, then track the raiding party and pick our moment!  We try to free them all now, we could be killed -- who then would free the villagers?  Your God?  I didn't see him doing you any good when your hands were tied!"

"Surely we can come to a peaceful understanding here," whispers Tannon.  "The three of us can do very little by ourselves.  We should seek out more help.  Then, surely, we can effect a rescue.  I have to agree with this human here.  Attacking with no plan and no weapons would be sure suicide for you, and foolhearty for me."

Already Tethka is carrying a stout cudgel, picked up from the ground just inside the woods.  It's not much more than a stick, but it will protect her in a fight. 

The three spin around as a dark figure stalks up to them.  "I could hear you a mile away!  Do you WANT the remaining guards to come and find you?  There's only four of them, but I'm thinking they could take you unawares just like I did!"

Tannon is the first to reply, "Erev-ba!  Are you alright?"

"Sure I am, Tannon.  Say, can any one here use a battleaxe?  This bastard is heavy, and besides, I've got me a really cool bow."

Tethka says, "I could use such an axe, if anyone else doesn't want it."

Edo looks doubtfully at Erev-ba, then at Tethka.  "I don't use battle axes.  But if you can use it, then let's go back and rescue the villagers.  You heard her say there's only four guards left.  Surely we can attack suddenly and, with surprise and Torm's blessing, win the villagers' freedom."

"I agree.  This does change things." Tethka says.  Tannon merely nods.

"Then hurry yourselves up!  Jared's gonna attack the big tattooed bastard in a second!  We gotta take out the rest of the guards so that he doesn't have to fight them all," says Erev-ba, "There's no time to waste talking!"

Tethka takes the proffered battleaxe, then hands the cudgel to Edo.  "Say a prayer, priest.  We're not out of the woods yet."

"Hmmmm.  Right."

As one, the four turn back towards the clearing.  It's now or never.  

Seconds later, they peer out into the clearing from behind some brush.  The old man has begun his attack already, and has engaged the heavily tattooed orc.  From a distance things don't look good for the old woodsy, and they're about to get worse.  Two of the other raiders are racing over to where Jared and Zhazzbat are fighting, daggers against great axe. 

Erev-ba suddenly nocks an arrow and lets fly at Zhazzbat.  "Go get 'em.  I'll make it difficult for any one of 'em to concentrate on you."

With speed, the three coffle mates spring into the clearing, sprinting toward raiders.  Tethka is the first to strike, and scores a clean hit on her chosen prey.  Sadly, the scales of his armored torso turn most of the axe edge away, and the raider merely spins around in surprise.  He grins at the slightly built human girl before him, then raises his own battleaxe and pounds it on his shield.  "You die now, MEAT!"

The next twenty seconds are a blur of flashing blades, the sound of wood on bone and  falling bodies.  At the end of it, Tethka is clutching at a wicked cut on her arm, being supported by Edo, while Tannon cuts loose the remaining villagers.  

Farther north, Erev-ba slowly closes the staring eyes of Jared.  "You were brave, old man.  But you should have waited.  You could have got out of this thing alive."  She slips his daggers back into his hands, then goes back to the rest of the group.  

"We've got to get these people out of here, now. Anybody got a plan?"

"Let's just go.  We'll get a plan when we've got the time." 

The next few hours are stressful.  There are sixty people from Tavolo Green, twenty of whom have been badly misused by the orcs.  One of them, a woodsy-looking girl named Jessica, mentions that there's an old fort some few miles from the clearing.  It's got a partial palisade, and the orcs might not know where it's located.  She leads the way down the twisting, 
half-ruined track that leads to the old fort.  Tannon, Tethka, Edo and 
Erev-ba keep to the back of the group, watching and waiting for the orcs to follow them.  After some three hours of walking and hiding, the whole group walks into the ruined fort.

Four days later, the villagers, their rescuers and Dain arrive at the remains of Tavolo Green, to be met by a squadron from the Riders of Mistledale.


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## ShawnLStroud (Feb 4, 2002)

*GM's Notes on the Coffle*

Well, there you have it.  The first adventure in my campaign.  As you might have guessed by now, Jared was the major NPC -- who died well and bravely by attracting the attention of the 2nd level barbarian Orc, Jazzbat.  

I decided not to even try to detail the battle in the adventure, because the actual game took place at the end of November.  I'm currently writing up the next few game sessions for this (look for that in the next three days or so) story hour.

Next time:

*Ashabenford Nights*:  Our heros arrive in the big city and find out things aren't really what they seem.  One heo finds out who she truly is, and several dream important dreams.


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## Lazybones (Feb 5, 2002)

A dark yet compelling introduction.  Not the sort of "hook" you normally see in games, but it worked to bring the players together as a coherent group.  Looking forward to future updates.
LB


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## Broccli_Head (Feb 5, 2002)

How where the rest of the orcs duped for so long?


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## Dain (Feb 5, 2002)

*A night out with the "boys"*

"Another debt I must honor. I can't believe I've willingly taken on a debt from..... Wait! Freeze idiot! Is that one looking your way? Nope,...ok nice and easy. Almost there now...just a few dozen more feet. Ah, edge of the shadows, don't have to be quite so quiet now. Home. Just a few breaths before the task. They should about be to the opposite side by now. Just a few more seconds, then I become an orc...smirk...I've been worse. Ok, time for an installment on your new debt...we'll just call this little number...one."

A few shimmering seconds pass, and a new orc is "born". 

Glancing around, "nobody heard that?...good...now just one more little trick. Time to put those faces and bodies you memorized from the chain to good use. I think about 5 or 6 figures slinking off into the woods should be sufficient...no sound, but then again they'd be trying not to make any anyhow...should work. They went to the opposite side, and I'm over here, so option number 3 down there near the dark edge it is...but not a true 90...that makes it too easy to figure out...angle my own way a little."

A little more shimmering off near the edge of the clearing, and some "escaping prisoners" appear to be stealthily creeping off into the woods.

"Now time to see if you remember your orcish...keep the voice harsh and stupid...another smirk...and a little imagery for effect...solves two problems at once....ahhhh....HEY, THEY'RE GETTING AWAY!!!!...well, look at that,...they seem to be buying it. No sale is complete without a salesman to keep you from noticing a defect or two...think I'll tag along until they're out of earshot of the clearing. If they lose interest a few times, I don't think it should be too much of a problem to re-spark it a little with some carefully chosen sights and sounds of the deep dark forest...so long as I lag enough behind they can't hear an arcane word or two softly spoken...or hear a branch hurled far off to the side and turn to see a glimmer of movement near where the sucker thrashes the brush. When stuff starts getting iffy, I'll just do the woodsy fade into the forest...and they'll be an "extra orc short"...if they know how to count that is.

No need to pay back the kidnapping debts to them just right now...smirk...I'm sure their superiors will handle that for me when half a dozen of us disappear without a trace...I'll have to just wait to see what I can do to finish the job on those that survive after I get my gear back, and a little rest. So glad those moronic goody two shoe elves and the priest back there didn't insist on rescuing everybody in the chain...that would have been stupid...they meant nothing to us...on the other hand...great big smile...the beatings would have been awesome to behold had the whole chain vanished. Enough daydreaming...back to work. Then I have to go back find that priest that cut me free and take care of two through ten before the "be good...be good" crew starts chirping. Have to admit I do kind of like the idea of being accepted as I am for a change instead of being outcast yet again, doomed to wander the forest alone year after year...maybe I'll stick with them for a while if the elves don't irritate me too much. Uh oh, they're pausing...time for a little sales action...WHUMP!...THERE, OVER THERE!...I can't believe they bought that!...there's 3 month old puppies that would have seen through that!...look at them go!"


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## Broccli_Head (Feb 5, 2002)

Funny! Gotcha Dain. Fooled them with illusions and stuck with them. I must've missed that part--you changing into an orc and tagging along behind them.


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## Rel (Feb 6, 2002)

Just wanted to put up a quick post to let you know I'm still reading and enjoying the story.

I like the player input as well.

Keep up the good work.


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## Dain (Feb 8, 2002)

*Out of character note*

Just a note to those wondering. Dain is no more or less a central character to this campaign than any of the others. He's just another plain old character. The others just haven't found a timely point yet to insert their own commentaries. Have no fear however, I'm sure the storm is coming.

Enjoy, and avoid the open areas near noon...They're watching us you know.


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## ShawnLStroud (Feb 8, 2002)

*Player Introduction to Episode 2*

The trip from the smoking ruins of Tavolo Green to Ashabenford took just over two days.  Even accounting for the numbers of children and old folks in the group, it was a fairly fast trip.  
Hailed as saviors by the other members of your coffle, you have been treated with all due courtesy from the members of the village -- and even the professional soldiers seem to feel you're something special.

You felt secure during the trip southwest to Ashabenford -- the group of Mistledale Riders that secured the town seemed professional and on top of things.  They sent two riders ahead as scouts, and kept at least two riders at each cardinal point of the caravan of refugees.  Although you might have just walked or ridden along as a refugee, the Rider leader seemed to feel that you could be a secondary security force, so he deputized you as guards for the trip.  As this granted each of you the ability to draw a few days of pay(1 gold, 5 silver per day for each person), you had very few  reservations about being deputized.

After arriving in Asabenford, the Riders took you and the refugees from Tavolo Green to the Riders of Mistledale headquarters on the east side of the river Ashaba.  Ashabenford itself was a small, 
unfortified town with no more than 2,000 souls inhabiting it normally.  the buildings seemed mostly to be post-and-beam construction, utilizing the abundant oaks and pines from Cormanthyr Wood only a day or so away.  The Riders' headquarters building was a small fortified keep with a parade ground and plentiful stables.  Some of the riders cheerfully told you about their history, of how their fathers and grandfathers turnied aside a larger army from another dale some thirty years before, and how they were going to do the same with this orc scourge.  From their commentary, you gathered that there had been some other raids on hamlets thorughout the eastern portion of Mistledale north and east of the river.

You finally partied company with the inhabitants of Tavolo Green but not before they tearfully pressed on each of you the sum of 15gp, 35sp, 22cp as a reqward for your heroism and leadership.  
This money, in mixed coinage from throughout the Dales, Cormyr and Sembia, gave you something to jingle in your pockets and purses while you decided your next move. 

After drawing your pay, you found that there were two or three inns capable of putting you up for the night.  The White Hart was noted as being the most inexpensive and pleasant for mercenaries and adventurers -- not to mention that the owner used to be a Mistledale Rider and adventurer himself!  

You found that the White Hart *was* a pleasant place, and that 2 hearty meals were included in the 1gp/night rental fee.   Holfast Harpenshield, the owner and operator of the 'Hart, turned out to be a gruff but friendly fellow -- short and stocky, with a face like a pit bull's.  He readily agreed to give you 2 rooms at the group rate for a few days while you pondered your next move, then his wife cheerfully fed you a hearty and spicy vegetable beef stew with some spring Ale.

And so it was that your first night at Ashabenford passed with little or no controversy, and everyone went to bed.


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## ShawnLStroud (Feb 8, 2002)

*Ashabenford Nights (Dain's Vision)*

*Dain's Vision *

*You've begun to dislike your reverie. *

You don't sleep; not the way the weaker races do, but you *do* rest when you enter _Reverie_.  And when you rest in reverie, _HE_ speaks to you.  At least, that's what you'd prefer to think.

Because the voices that whisper to you speak of riches, of power, of you striding across the face of Faerun like a God, enacting _HIS_ will with a flick of your fingers.  It's all so attractive, and yet you can't be meant to do the terrible things of which the voices speak.  Surely this is just another stumbling block in your way.  Then again, if the voices were a stumbling block, then you'd be mad, wouldn't you?  And you don't want to think about that, now, do you?  Because how useful would _HE_ find a servant who was mad?

Foolishness!  It's all foolishness!  Elves *are* the superior race, comparatively speaking, so it makes no sense that you should hear voices in your head when you're in reverie, unless those voices come to you from _HIM_.  And if you're receiving messages from _HIM_, then you can't be mad, now, can you?  Because you've pledged your life to _HIM_ and _HIS_ desires, and because you don't care to contemplate the alternative, you choose to believe that the voices come from _HIM_.

Sometimes, if the voices are weak, or if your will is strong (you're not quite sure which applies here), you have a vision:


> _
> The man is, like you, one of HIS priests.  You're not sure if he exists before or after HIS false death, because he seems to wear signs with which you aren't yet entrusted.  Nevertheless, you
> recognize him as a True Priest.  He is in close combat with a Servant of the Light.  You don't know exactly which Power the Servant follows--they're all tiresome and foolish, and the wise don't pay attention to such--but you must allow that the Servant of the Light is quite powerful in her own way.
> 
> ...



You are always jolted from your reverie from the words, which seem to come from your mouth, but not in your voice.


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## ShawnLStroud (Feb 8, 2002)

*Ashabenford Nights (Edo's Dream)*

*What you see in dreams are whispers from Torm.*

That's the third statement of Altamir's Fourth Credo.  You had to memorize the entire thing when you were ten years old--Brother Caderic wouldn't let you have your own holy symbol until you could recite the Fourth Credo in its entirety.  You remember resenting him at the time, but when he finally awarded you the pewter disk with Torm's own hand embossed on the front and your name cut into the back, your pride nearly burst your chest.

You've dreamed lucidly since you first felt the call to Torm's service, three years ago.  You know that Torm or one of his saints whispers to you in your dreams.  You also know that not everything you dream will transpire, and sometimes such visions are more warnings than anything else.

Lately you've been dreaming of measuring scales.  You use the scales in some dreams, while in others the scales are using you to measure the weight of something else.  In the current dream, you are holding a set of scales



> _
> They are dirty, battered and small.  You hold a set of measureing scales in your had and glance up at the merchant selling them.
> 
> "I can't tell what they're made of... you surely can't be wanting 100 gold lions for such dross!" you drawl softly at the merchant.
> ...



And of course, you awake before you can ask the Merchant if the scales truly come from far off Tethyr or not.  Torm's whispers or not, you wish these dreams could be a trivle more to the point.  
What's the significanse of a small set of scales, anyway?  Ah, good.  It's still dark outside.  Perhaps you can get a few more hours of sleep before morning.  You need the rest.

Nope, there's to be no sleep for the Servant.  When Torm wants to whisper, he just can't seem to stop.


> _
> You've dreamed this before.  It's a stormy night, with thick clouds before the moon and strong winds.  It's the middle of the winter in some large city.  You're pretty sure that you might recognize the neighborhood if you ever saw it in the waking world--unless this hasn't actually happened.  You're not really sure of too much; but you watch the events nonetheless.
> 
> A man and a woman are sneaking out of a large, walled villa in the city. As they slip out the postern gate, you see a new detail.  The gate has a sigil carved into each limestone pillar--three teardrop shapes in a triangle.  You see the sigil as lightening flashes, and the woman winces.  The man says something that you can't understand, then they scurry down the poorly-lit street, avoiding the mouths of alleys that open onto them.
> ...



You awaken in a cold sweat, slightly congested. The morning sun shines in through the window, and you notice that you're alone.  That strange elf fellow, Dain, has apparently already headed down for breakfast.

The odd feeling fades with your morning ablutions, and entirely disappears as you take your morning prayers.  In fact, you marvel at how hungry you are as you head downstairs.


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## ShawnLStroud (Feb 8, 2002)

*Ashabenford Nights (Tethka's Dream)*

*Don't call this a dream:*

You don't ever dream.  Or if you do, you don't remember the dream after you awake.  A slave doesn't have the luxury of dreaming--not even for freedom.

But you are free, now, aren't you?  Your Master freed you after he trained you to be a warrior, then he died and you had to run to this far-off spec on the map to forget him.  You have skills you're not quite sure how to exploit and a destiny of which you can't even dream.  Sure you have been damned.  Surely no GOD could accept your devotion; as no man would accept the flawed love of a slave.

Because you *are* a slave, no matter what you say, until you free yourself from the bondage of your soul.


> _
> You sit up in the bed you've rented with the other two females from Tavolo Green.  They've assured you that they aren't going to steal from you, but you can't really trust strangers, can you?  Strangers poisoned your Master and threatened to re-enslave you after he died.
> 
> You're not sure exactly what it was that awakened you, so you grasp the dagger that you've taken to bed with you and gaze around the room.  Across the room, in a pool of moonlight, a greatsword has been driven into the floor.  You can clearly see the crosspieces of the guard--they form the arms of a cross, with the blade of the sword being its body.  Hanging from the end of each crosspiece arm are two medallions.  They glint softly in the moonlight as they slowly spin on their chains.
> ...



You are sitting up in the bed, morning light streaming in through the window of your shared room.  The great sword is gone, and nothing remains of it... but you have the silver medallion clasped in your hand.


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