Story HourPost your ongoing tales from your campaigns, and read those from others for inspiration. Lots of other RPG boards post "Story Hours", but this is where it started!
Good stuff! Loved Mara's back-story, very cool. I don't think you've done something like this in The Doomed Bastards, and I think it's a good way to explain a character's past without having them say it to another character.
And you're writing chapter 26 already? Easy, Lazybones, don't you go about getting carpal tunnel with so much story hour goodness!
Good stuff! Loved Mara's back-story, very cool. I don't think you've done something like this in The Doomed Bastards, and I think it's a good way to explain a character's past without having them say it to another character.
I did more of this back in the Travels days (with Lok, especially), to fill in character backstory, but I haven't used it in a while. More on Mara's history today.
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And you're writing chapter 26 already? Easy, Lazybones, don't you go about getting carpal tunnel with so much story hour goodness!
Heh, I type fast. I haven't done any KotS writing this week, as I'm editing TDB for a PDF release, but I have a good chunk of story and am working on the outline for the latter part of the module/story.
I haven't gotten H2, any comments from owners? I see that H3 is coming out a bit later this month as well.
* * * * *
Chapter 13
Mara rubbed a towel around the back of her neck, wiping away the sweat that clung to her under her heavy tunic. She felt hot now, after the workout, but knew that the chill of the air would penetrate every tiny gap in her clothes, turning the beads of sweat into ice.
Her uncle Torvan drank deeply from a leather waterskin, and handed it over to her. She unstoppered it and drank. Growl, watching from a comfortable-looking bed of fallen pine needles short distance away, lifted his head slightly, then dropped it back down between his paws. Mara rubbed her sore arms and envied him.
She was thirteen years old.
“Tomorrow we will start you on the longer blade,” Torvan said.
Mara nodded, and put the waterskin down on the fallen log, next to her wooden practice sword. Her eyes fell to the sword that Torvan had laid against the log in its scabbard, a sleek and deadly weapon with a blade a full forty inches in length. He’d never used it in their sparring, of course, but she’d been tasked with cleaning and oiling the blade, and knew that it was without flaw, and as sharp as a razor.
“Why do you like fighting so much?” she asked him.
Torvan fixed her with the steely gaze that she’d come to know so well. “I hate fighting,” he said finally.
“But we practice so much...”
“The world that we live in is a violent one, Mara,” he said. “There are many things that would kill you, if you let them.”
“The monsters,” she said. She’d learned a lot, in her two years living with her uncle. She’d heard of such things as trolls and giants and dragons, growing up, but it was another thing entirely to know that they were real.
“Yes,” Torvan said. “But the worst by far is men. Men will present you with a pleasant face, and then smile as they slip a dagger into your back. You must always be wary, Mara. As a woman, you have something that men want, and there are those who will not shy of hurting you to get it.”
She nodded grimly.
Torvan seemed agitated at his own words, and Mara was not surprised when he stood, taking up his own practice sword. It wasn’t much bigger than hers, but in his meaty fist it seemed tiny. “Another round, before supper.”
She knew better than to protest; her uncle had no patience with complaints when it came to training. Instead she took up her sword, and headed back into the training circle. Her uncle didn’t wait, slashing his sword at her back, but she was ready for that as well, warned by his earlier words. She spun around, deflecting his stroke with her weapon, and fell back into a defensive stance.
“Good,” he said. “You can never let your guard down, Mara. For someone will be there to take advantage.”
And then there was no more talking, no sound save for the clack as their weapons met quickly and repeatedly in the circle.
Good stuff! Loved Mara's back-story, very cool. I don't think you've done something like this in The Doomed Bastards, and I think it's a good way to explain a character's past without having them say it to another character.
I agree, the character backgrounds add a lot to story development, and to the attachments we (well, I) form. It's going to be hard to set aside my fondness for the 'Dar' and 'Varo' archetypes, but this "Beetle" character is adding a lot of conflict and mystery... and potential Me likee lol
Mara yelled and tore her arm free of the drake’s grasp. With her other hand she pulled her shortsword out of its scabbard and whipped it up into the seam of her cloak, tearing the fabric. The other drake fell back, spitting out cloth, snarling as it pressed her again.
Mara was still outnumbered and hurt, but her companions had not been idle in those initial moments of duress. The charging drake opened its jaws to attack, but it suddenly shot up, jumping almost comically in the air, screeching in sudden pain. Beetle, all but forgotten in their ferocity in attacking Mara, had come up behind it and delivered a two-handed strike with Mara’s axe to a rather delicate part of the creature’s anatomy. The drake, dazed by the unexpected attack, landed off-balance and tried to turn around, still not quite sure where the assault had come from.
The other drake lunged at Mara before she had time to recenter her stance, but before it could bite her again the silvery streaks of witchfire exploded from its mouth and eyes. The drake, hissing in sudden pain, pressed its attack, but this time Mara easily avoided its snapping jaws.
The fighter was merciless in her counter. Hoping that Beetle could handle the distracted drake he’d drawn off for at least a few seconds, she turned her full attention to the other. Her hands and legs moved in harmony, unleashing the maneuvers that Torvan had drilled into her until they became automatic. She made her first stroke count, stabbing the tip of her sword into the muscled juncture where the creature’s left leg met its body. The drake screamed and started to draw back, but she followed with a vicious kick that knocked it sprawling.
“Hang on, Beetle!” she yelled, stepping forward to finish the bloodied foe.
A thug with a club yelled and ran at Beetle’s back, only to go down as Jaron shot an arrow through his neck. The halfling rogue was doing a fairly good job of evading the drake, which had recovered enough to recognize him as an immediate threat. Beetle had lured the drake away from its companion, and it was having a difficult time on the rocky slope. But on the other hand, Mara’s axe was an awkward weapon for the halfling to wield effectively, and after the initial strike that had so distracted it, he hadn’t really been able to hurt it.
Jaron wanted to rush to his cousin’s aid, but knew that he was far more effective here, wielding his bow. He’d clipped the gnome with an arrow, but the wily bastard had simply vanished after that, and now could be almost anywhere. The last tough had made it up to the top of the slope, and was now moving cautiously around the perimeter of the pit, thinking to come up on Jaron from his flank. The ranger was not going to be caught that easily, and the thug froze as Jaron lifted his bow, the arrowhead pointed directly at his heart.
Something whizzed by his head. His brain processed the threat and he dropped back even as a second stone glanced off of his bracer, stinging him even through the thick leather.
“Watch out, there’s a sniper!” he yelled in warning. He started to look for the new threat, scanning the brush that gathered along the far lip of the depression, but before he could see anything another stone zinged off his temple, sending a blinding flash of pain through his skull.
“Aaaah!” he yelled, as the thug rushed toward him, club raised.
Beetle echoed his cry a moment later, as the drake seized his shoulder in its jaws, lifting him off his feet. The halfling batted his axe uselessly against its thick neck, but before it could shake him into submission a black fog gathered around its head, seeping into its eyes. The drake, stunned by the curse of the dark dream, dropped Beetle and staggered several paces from the halfling. It stumbled on the rocky slope and fell onto its side, sliding roughly down to the bottom of the pit.
Fighting through the stars that flashed across his vision, Jaron lifted his bow and fired. The shaft flew through the thug’s body, and he stopped as if he’d hit a wall. His club fell from his hands, and he toppled over, landing in a tangle of twisted roots.
The ranger turned to see Beetle’s opponent trying to get up from the bottom of the pit. His cousin seemed fine, and Mara was just extracting her swords from the carcass of the first drake, looking grim but hale. Elevaren had not been hurt at all, save for the grazing hit he’d taken from the gnome’s crossbow at the start of the battle.
There was no sign of the gnome, or of the still-unseen sniper that had buffeted him with rocks. Jaron lifted his bow and put a shot into the head of the wounded drake, finishing it. He fitted another arrow to the string at once and held it, although he suspected that their remaining foes had likely fled by now.
“Is everyone all right?” Elevaren asked. Mara grumbled something as she wiped blood from her swords, favoring her battered side, while Beetle seemed none the worse for wear for his encounter, rushing down into the pit to recover his knife. Jaron kept a close eye on the downed humans, but none of them stirred; his shots had proven accurate enough this time.
“Nice shooting,” Mara said to him, before turning and following Beetle down the treacherous slope. Elevaren took his time following, but Jaron remained up at the top, making his way cautiously around the perimeter of the depression, scanning the brush for any more surprises.
Beetle was the first to find the figure concealed under a blanket at the far side of the excavation. Mara was there in a flash. “Douven!” she exclaimed, bending to slice through the prisoner’s bonds.
The old man looked all right, although his hair and clothes had been mussed and his face was smudged with dirt. Once Mara freed his hands, he pulled away the gag that had been secured over his mouth. “Mara, my dear. And Elevaren! Thank the gods that you found me. These rascals had no good end in mind for me, I fear.”
“Lucky for you that Gelira found us, and sent us to find you, you mean,” Mara said. “Gods, Douven, I thought that you were smarter. Coming out into the wilds alone like this? What were you thinking?”
“Perhaps I was thinking that I was an adult, and capable of making my own decisions,” Douven said, his tone slightly scolding. But he accepted Mara’s help in standing, and leaned on her as he regained his bearings.
“These bandits, what were they after?” Elevaren asked.
“An old mirror buried here, that supposedly dated back to the days of the Empire,” Douven explained. “Agrid wasn’t very talkative, I think that the men working for him were just hired help.”
“Agrid was the gnome, I suppose?” Mara asked.
“Yes. There was a halfling, too. Real quiet fellow.”
“Probably the sniper,” Jaron said, who’d been listening from up above. The ranger rubbed his forehead, where a spectacular bruise was already growing into what would be a painful lump.
“Did they find this mirror?” Elevaren asked.
Douven nodded. “It was over there, by those bags. They were getting ready to leave, when you came. Quite good timing, my dear.”
Mara looked at Elevaren, who poked into the bags with his staff, but the eladrin shook his head.
“Do you think that these guys were connected to the kobold bandits?” Jaron asked.
“I doubt it,” Douven said. “Gnomes and kobolds have a quite intense racial rivalry; I have never heard of them cooperating on anything. However, I do believe that Agrid was working for someone. I heard him mention the name, ‘Kalarel’ to the halfling.”
The adventurers exchanged a look, but none of them recognized the name.
“Well, we’d better get going if we’re going to get back to Winterford before dark,” Mara said. “Douven, can you walk? Are you all right?”
“Just a bit knocked around. I’ll be fine, don’t worry. Are my things in that pile? Agrid stole my locket, quite poor behavior. Oh, hello, little fellow.”
Mara shared a glance with Elevaren as Douven shook hands with Beetle, who’d come over to join them after looting the corpses of the dead humans. She looked up at Jaron. “Any sign of our missing friends?”
The ranger shook his head. “They knew how to cover their tracks.”
Mara nodded. “Well then. We’d better get back to Winterhaven. Once we’ve seen Douven returned safely, we’ll see what we can do about these bandits.”
As it turned out, however, there was no need; the bandits saw to them first.
“Maybe those kobold bandits we fought were stragglers,” Mara said. “I examined the shields that the dragonshields were carrying, and they were old, worn. I’d heard that there was a band following a dragon in an old keep near Fallcrest that was taken out by a group of adventurers a few months back. It’s possible that these were survivors from that group.”
They were making their way back toward Winterhaven, making decent time as the afternoon sun started down on its path toward the western horizon. They were taking a more direct route this time, knowing that they’d hit the King’s Road regardless of whether their course shifted slightly from their destination. Elevaren remained back with Douven Staul, listening to the exchange between Jaron and Mara.
“I don’t think so,” the halfling said. “From what the priestess of Avendra said, Jayse was escorting a pretty strong group that included a wizard, a cleric, and a dragonborn paladin. They would have been able to handle a group twice the size of the one that attacked us.”
“So you think there’s a lair nearby?” Mara asked.
“I’m just saying that there might be more to this than we can see. Kobolds aren’t typically this aggressive. Sure, they might raid a farmstead if they think they can get away with it, but attacking armed bands of adventurers?”
“They might have a leader putting some spine into them,” Elevaren pointed out. Jaron turned and nodded at the eladrin, but then started looking around.
“Wait, where’s Beetle?”
* * * * *
Beetle was enjoying their journey. The halfling, having never left Fairhollow before, was finding the world outside to be a wondrous and diverse place. There were new sights, sounds, and smells around almost every corner. Sure, there were some bad folks that had to be put down, and the town had been a little confusing, but overall the changes had been welcome ones for the diminutive halfling.
He didn’t even notice that he’d wandered off until he looked up and saw the kobold watching him, not ten feet away.
It was a skirmisher, clad in light armor with a short stabbing spear clutched in its right hand. It blinked at him.
Beetle blinked back. Then the halfling drew out his dagger, yelled at the top of his lungs, and charged at the kobold, which turned and darted away.
The kobold was fast, but Beetle kept pace, even as their path traveled through some dense brush and into a small forest. They’d only been running for about thirty seconds when the kobold led him into a small clearing ringed by ancient trees. It sprang over a small mound of scattered leaves and twigs, and darted behind a fallen log.
Beetle was only a few steps behind it. He triggered the snare in the pile of leaves and fell onto his face. He moved like an eel, slicing through the leather cords tangled in his legs with a single stroke of his dagger, and was back on his feet within three seconds.
In that time, three kobold dragonshields had emerged from behind the trees to face him. The skirmisher was still there was well, too, taunting him with a draconic laugh from behind the log.
Beetle lifted his dagger, stepped forward into a menacing stance, and then turned to run.
He found himself facing another kobold that had emerged to block the path he’d taken into the clearing. This creature, though it barely came up to his chin, radiated menace. It was clad in hides that were streaked with ochre and decorated with odd totems, and it wore an animal skull as a helmet.
Beetle recovered quickly, and started to dive past the unnatural creature. But before he could win clear, it opened its jaws wide, and sprayed a fog of acid into the halfling’s face.
Beetle staggered back, crying as the acid seared his face and burned in his eyes. He sensed something behind him and lashed out with his dagger, only to carve empty air. He never even saw the kobold that slammed the hilt of its sword into the back of his skull, and he was only semiconscious as the dragonshields ruthlessly bound him with thick leather cords.
By the time they picked him up, he was no longer aware of anything.
Oh noes, Beetle has been kidnapped by the armed lizards!
Still, the moment he realizes there's a kobold right in front of him is quite funny
I'm enjoying writing Beetle. In addition to his low Wisdom score, I deliberately chose not to give him Perception as a trained skill. Should make for some interesting situations. However, despite those weaknesses (or maybe, because of them!) he's got more than a few surprises up his sleeve, as we'll see shortly.
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Chapter 16
Jaron ran toward the sound of Beetle’s cry, heedless of the brambles that were slashing at his arms and face as he ran. Behind him, Mara and Elevaren were coming, but the fighter was weighed down by her armor, and Elevaren was likewise burdened with Douven Staul, who they were not about to leave behind. Mara shouted after him, but Jaron could only hear the fear in his cousin’s voice as it replayed in his mind, and that drove him on to run even faster.
Distances and directions could be confusing in the hills, but he thought he had a good bearing, and the shout sounded like it had been pretty close. The hills gave way to a small forest, and the underbrush quickly began to thin out as the shadows under the canopy of branches began to deepen.
Jaron began to slow down, out of necessity; his cousin could have been anywhere in here. He knew it was probably a mistake to give away his position, but he had no choice.
“Beetle?” he said, softly at first, and then again, louder. “Beetle!”
There was no answer, but he caught a hint of movement out of the corner of his eyes, far ahead through the trees. He ran in that direction. “Beetle!” As he got closer to the motion, he heard other sounds, the rustling of dead leaves, the occasional crack of a twig under a foot. More than one of them, and moving quickly.
He followed, trying to avoid betraying his position, although whoever it was already knew that he was there, from his earlier shouts. Up ahead, the ground began to rise, and the trees began to thin out.
He emerged on the edge of a broad meadow, bordered on one side by the forest, and on the other by a low ridge shaped like the curving blade of a scimitar. He was just in time to see several small figures cross over the crest of the ridge and disappear from sight.
He was about to rush after them when three dragonshields appeared out of a gully almost directly in front of him, and charged, their swords flashing in the afternoon sun.
I haven't gotten H2, any comments from owners? I see that H3 is coming out a bit later this month as well.
I'm happy with it. My group will finish H1 this weekend, and I've pretty much got them set up to head north by north railroad after that right into H2. (There's a LOT of openings to hook them.) H2 is pretty non-linear, which was a nice surprise.
__________________ "We all take our risks, here in the dungeon." --Bargle
Thanks, Xorn. I may pick it up with my next Amazon order (man, there's a ton of video games coming out in the next 3 months!).
* * * * *
Chapter 17
Jaron cried out as the kobold warriors swarmed him, as much out of surprise as out of a desire to alert his companions to his location. In his haste to catch up with his cousin, he’d let three very dangerous foes get the jump on him.
The first dragonshield slashed at him with its small but very sharp shortsword; Jaron felt the latter keenly as it sliced through the armor protecting his side and left a shallow gash on his torso. He almost felt it again as the second dragonshield tried to cut the hand holding onto his bow; the blow glanced off his bracer but didn’t hurt him.
He got a respite from the last kobold, but only because it circled around, obviously seeking to surround him and open up a deadly flanking situation with its brethren. Jaron sprang away before it could close the gap, coming up in a tumbling roll with an arrow already fitted to the string of his bow. The kobolds were quick, and shifted with him, but he evaded their lunges and fired an arrow point-blank into the chest of the nearest foe. The missile slammed into its heavy dragonscale armor, and while Jaron thought it had penetrated, the kobold only hissed and surged forward again with its companions.
Prudence won out, and Jaron turned and fled.
The kobolds were fast, their heavy armor of dragonscales seeming to have no effect on their speed as they darted after the halfling ranger. Jaron’s legs were short, but he was in good shape, and better at negotiating obstacles than the kobolds. He led them back into the forest, and chose a path with more such obstacles in an attempt to delay his pursuers.
For a moment, it looked like it would work. Jaron surged up a low rise that delayed the kobolds for a few precious seconds, and he sprang over a gully choked with brambles that gained him a good twenty feet as the kobolds went around. He could hear them chattering in their staccato language behind him; it didn’t look like they were planning on giving up anytime soon.
A fallen log blocked his path up ahead. Adding a burst of speed, he leapt onto it without breaking stride. Unfortunately, his luck had run out. A female badger had built her den under the far side of the log, and she’d heard their approach. As he sprang up, it surged out of its den, hissing in challenge. The log wobbled slightly under him, and he fell forward, his balance ruined. His momentum carried him forward a good five feet, but he landed hard on his belly, the wind exploding from his lungs in a sudden whoosh. His bow went flying from his hands. To add insult to injury, the badger snorted at him, ducking back into the shelter of its lair.
Jaron struggled to his feet, ignoring the sudden wobbling of his legs under him. He turned to see two of the kobolds charging around the nearer end of the log, while the last scrambled up onto it. As it saw him there, still a bit dazed, it barked something. Jaron didn’t speak Draconic, but even he could recognize the triumph in its voice.
He glanced back at his bow; no time. He managed to get his sword out in time to meet the dragonshields’ rush. Steel forged in Dambren’s forge in Fairhollow clanged loudly off the blade of the first kobold, and he darted back from the thrust of the second, which glanced off his side but failed to penetrate his armor, leaving just the makings of another bruise to his tally of wounds.
But the third kobold let out a high-pitched whelp and leapt forward off the log, swinging its sword down in a high arc. Jaron, already hard-pressed by the kobold’s companions, couldn’t fully get out of the way, and as the kobold landed its sword, backed by the considerable momentum of its leap, slammed hard into the side of his head. His leather cap saved his life, but the impact sent him hard to the ground. Bright colors flashed in his vision, and he found that he couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything but lie there as the kobolds surrounded him.
The creatures exchanged a few words, and then one of them lifted its sword to strike, its intent clear. A stray ray of sunlight filtering down through the canopy above caught the blade, causing it to glitter brightly, but Jaron could not nothing to stop the creature from putting a finish to him.
Jaron heard the whoosh a moment before the dragonshield staggered back, clutching its head. Mara’s handaxe fell to the ground, a slick of blood trailing on the edge of the blade.
As the kobolds turned, the head of one erupted with the now-familiar white tongues of witchfire. Jaron was quick to take advantage of the respite, staggering to his feet and slipping out past the circle of distracted kobolds. The last of the three thrust its sword at him before he could get fully free, but the halfling had caught his second wind, and the attack merely glanced off his side, biting into his armor without cutting fully through. The kobold shrieked and went after him; the other two turned to face Mara and Elevaren, who were rushing down the slope toward the melee.
Jaron stumbled to the edge of the fallen log. He kicked a rock into the dark mouth of the opening under the log, and then rolled over its top, grimacing as the movement sent another stab of pain through his battered torso. The kobold lunged at him, and might have been able to stab him again if the badger hadn’t surged out of its den, lashing out in a furious lather with its long, curving claws. The kobold let out a yell and dodged back, only its armor keeping it from suffering worse wounds as the claws dug into its spindly legs.
Mara had both of her swords out as she clashed with the first of the two kobolds. Their initial exchange was inconclusive, as neither pierced the guard of the other. Similarly, Elevaren found himself more successful than he’d hoped in distracting the other kobold from Jaron. The creature, still suffering from the aftereffects of Elevaren’s witchfire, failed to connect with its initial thrust against the warlock, but likewise the eladrin failed in his first attempt to hex the creature; the blinding effects of the witchfire helped shield it from his eyebite.
The battle was quick, furious, and decisive. The badger was furious, but no match for the veteran kobold warrior. But by the time it had dispatched the creature, Jaron had circled back around the battle, and had recovered his bow. Mara and the second dragonshield continued to fight to a stalemate, until she came in with a low swing that took the kobold’s legs out from under it. Elevaren took a wound as his foe recovered from his initial attack, a shallow gash that ran long his left ribs, but in turn he met its gaze, dazing it with the power of a fey curse. The kobold ran forward, swinging its sword blindly, but Elevaren had drawn back, joining the others to form a wedge with Jaron opposite him, and Mara as the point. A tree guarded their back, protecting them from flanking attacks.
The kobolds likewise regrouped and surged forward, fighting with an almost unnatural ferocity for creatures of their race. Mara met their rush and deflected their attacks with precise sweeps of her two swords. One tried to shift to face Elevaren, but Mara struck it with an extended thrust of her long blade, forcing it to keep its attention on her. Another tried to come around at Jaron, but the ranger fired a precisely-aimed shot into its left hip, staggering it. Already seriously injured, the kobold tried to fall back, only to collapse as blood loss sapped its consciousness.
From there, the collapse was swift. Elevaren cursed the nearby kobold again, opening it to an attack from Mara that opened a deep gash in its throat. The other dragonshield disengaged and fell back, obviously now only interested in flight, but it didn’t make it farther than the log before an arrow from Jaron’s bow brought it down. Mara went to make certain of them; she was too experienced to leave a fallen foe that might be shamming behind them.
Jaron started past her, back the way he’d come, but Mara stopped him. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“There were others; they escaped with Beetle. I have to go after them.”
“Gods above, Jaron, you can barely walk. In your current shape, a blind kobold with a blunted spear could take you down. You need to rest.”
Jaron started to protest, but Mara guided him firmly over to the log, where she sat him down and took a look at his wound. He grimaced as she pulled his cap off, revealing the nasty gash in his forehead caused by the kobold sword. Elevaren—and Douven Staul, who’d remained back at a safe distance during the fray—came forward to help. Mara used her waterskin and a clean rag to wash the wound and clear away the sticky blood trailing down his face.
“This is going to leave a scar,” Mara said, as she tore a strip from the cloth and used it to fashion a bandage around his temple. “I would tell you to take it easy for a few days, except I know that you’re not going to listen.”
“If they do have a lair nearby, that’s where they took Beetle,” Jaron said. “We have to get him out of there.”
“They’re going to be expecting us,” Mara said.
“Then we shall have to be clever in our approach,” Elevaren said. “Agreed?”
Jaron nodded, taking his cap back from Mara. His head still hurt, but the bleeding had stopped, and at least his vision had returned to normal. “Agreed,” he said.
Looking good LB, liked Beetle from the start. He seems to have a spiritual aspect (yet low wis) so will be interesting where he's developing.
I thought it would make for an interesting challenge to write a character that is in some ways mentally ill (or at least sees things through a completely different lens than most people). I honestly have no idea where he'll end up but I'm sure it will be an interesting journey there.
* * * * *
Chapter 19
“He’s coming back,” Elevaren said.
“About time,” Mara replied. “I don’t know about this. Leaving Douven...”
“He’s safer on his own than with us right now. We’re only a short distance from Winterhaven, and he is not entirely without skill, when it comes to navigating the wilderness.”
“Yeah, yeah,” the fighter said. “But I still have a bad feeling.” She broke off as Jaron appeared out of the trees up ahead. She had to admit, the halfling knew how to move quietly when he wanted to. She suspected that if he hadn’t deliberately revealed himself to them, he could have crept up close enough to touch them without being seen or heard. Of course, neither she nor Elevaren were possessed of especially sharp senses, which explained the ambush where they’d first met Jaron and his cousin.
“What did you find?” Mara asked, once Jaron had gotten close enough for them to speak without raising their voices. The halfling’s bleak expression, however, revealed his sentiments before he spoke.
“It’s damned near impossible, as far as I can tell,” Jaron said.
“Tell us everything,” Elevaren said.
As Jaron laid it out, sketching the details in the dirt using a long stick, the others began to share his initial assessment. The kobold lair was inside a cave next to a waterfall a few hundred yards to the east. There were at least a dozen kobolds outside, scattered around the area, but not so widely that there was any chance of picking off a few without the entire group knowing. There was at least one dragonshield, and another of the slingers like the one that had destroyed Callen’s cart.
“I was able to get pretty close to the entrance of the cave,” Jaron explained, once he’d sketched out the approximate position of the outside guards. “Not close enough to look in, but enough to see that it’s pretty big, and lit inside. And there’s more kobolds inside; I could hear them talking and moving around.”
“Do you think we could get inside without being detected by the outside guards?” Elevaren asked.
Jaron shook his head. “I might be able to, but you two... no offense, but they’d hear you coming a league off. At best, we’d get inside, only to be caught trapped between those inside the lair and those outside.”
Meepo liked the feeling of the water rushing past his ankles; it felt soothing. Some of the other kobolds liked hunting, or raiding, but for him, a quiet day in the shade, with cool water running over his feet, was ideal.
He was supposed to be keeping watch, and he was, scanning the surrounding area with his spear in one hand and a squat throwing javelin in the other. Two more javelins were stuck through the leather straps slung across his back. Keeping watch was easy, as long as there wasn’t anything to see. Today that wasn’t likely to be the case. From the way that Kurgus came rushing past—and Jakko, all but bent double with a huge burden slung over his shoulder—there was trouble, and one thing that Meepo knew was that trouble tended to come in groups.
So he watched, but the splashing a few feet away was getting real distracting.
“You need to watch, Deekin, not catch fish,” Meepo said, annoyance in his voice.
“Almost got it,” the other kobold said. He was thrusting his spear into a crevice in the rocks of the stream bed, in a way that Meepo knew was almost impossibly unlikely to result in a catch. The fish in the stream were tiny, anyway, and tasted nasty. All the good ones had been caught and eaten by the kobolds long ago.
“Kurgus see you, he’s going to be pissed off,” Meepo said, trying another tack.
“Nah, he go in to talk with Irontooth,” Deekin said, not looking up from his intense concentration on his task. “Hear if he come back. Besides, you keep watch good.”
Meepo shook his head, and turned for another scan of the area, as already had done a hundred times today. This time, however, he froze when he saw the halfling. The halfling was standing on a rock right at the edge of water, maybe sixty or seventy feet downstream. He had a bow, and had already lifted it to his cheek.
“Umm... Deekin,” Meepo hissed.
“I said I almost got—,” the other kobold started to say, but the end of its statement was cut off by the soft thunk as the halfling’s arrow buried itself to the feathers in Deekin’s chest. The kobold toppled over backwards into the stream, making a small splash.
Meepo felt a sudden chill as the halfling calmly reached for another arrow.
The kobold lifted its javelin, and hurled it. The halfling was pretty far away, and the hasty shot fell well short, but it hit a rock and skipped up, glancing off of the halfling’s shin. The halfling bit off a curse, but as he loaded his bow and raised it again, he said, quite clearly, “Not good enough, kobold.”
Meepo let out a bloodcurdling yell, and turned to run. The arrow caught him in the side, and then he was in the stream, the water that had seemed so refreshing just a few moments ago suddenly like a cloak of ice that folded over him, carrying him away.
Jaron fired a few more arrows, drawing, aiming, and releasing so fast that his hands barely seemed to feel the touch of the arrows. Another kobold, coming forward to investigate from the trees on the far side of the stream, went down with an arrow in its gut, but another shot went well wide, vanishing in the brush near the cave entrance.
Javelins were starting to fall around him, most well short, and none even remotely as effective as the lucky hit from the kobold guard. Jaron grimaced as he turned and darted back through the trees, moving parallel to the course of the stream. He’d chosen his path of retreat quickly, and didn’t encounter any obstacles that would slow him.
The kobolds came on quickly behind him, shouting out to each other as they formed a half-circle that slowly began to close as they pursued the halfling. A sling bullet whistled through the trees above him, but it was well off its target, and Jaron didn’t break his stride.
It took less than half a minute before he came to his destination. The stream bent back through the woods here, forming a shallow gully choked with brambles. The far bank rose up into a low, muddy embankment, woven through with the exposed roots of the trees closest to the water. Jaron leapt over the bushes on his side, splashed through the stream in three strides, and leapt up toward the far bank. He was well short of the crest, but a hand shot out and grasped him, pulling him over in a single heave.
“They’re right behind me,” he said to Mara, as she dropped him into the sheltered nook behind the embankment. Elevaren was beyond her, crouched down behind a tall arching root that made a viewing slit of sorts. Jaron saw that she’d gathered a small pile of disc-shaped rocks the size of his fist, likely gathered from the stream, in front of her.
“Go,” she said. “We’ll hold them here.”
Jaron looked doubtful. “There’s still almost a dozen of them. Maybe I’d better...”
Mara thrust him behind her, down the reverse slope behind the embankment. “No changing the plan. Now, go!”
He opened his mouth to respond, but she’d already turned back toward the stream and the woods on the far side. He did as she bid, rushing off deeper into the woods. As he left their position behind him, he could hear Elevaren saying, “There. They’re coming.”
Thinking of Beetle, and a promise made in Fairhollow, he didn’t look back.
Teehee, not one, but two famous kobolds! Can't decide which one I like better, maybe Deekin, since I've had him during the Hordes of the Underdark campaign :P
Beetle stirred. He felt bad. It wasn’t pleasant, not at all. He blinked once. He was in a dark place, but there were torches not far away, and he recognized the smells.
He was lying on the floor. It was cold. He was tied up, with his hands bound behind him; he couldn’t move. A gag that tasted nasty, like old fish left out in the sun, was thrust between his teeth.
Something poked him in the back once, then again. Something sharp, stabbing him. Not to hurt, although it did. He felt like the way he’d had that time that Farmer Jamberson’s cattle had trampled him. Beat up all over.
He heard a laugh, behind him. He didn’t move, not again, and the poking eventually stopped. He lay there, quiet in the dark, and took a deep breath, slowly. His muscles tingled, but he ignored the urge to try to move again. He could feel them watching him. The voices, again, low, just a few steps away. He didn’t understand what they were saying. He was a mouse. A mouse caught in a trap, maybe. He felt a moment’s remorse for the creatures he’d caught in like fashion. Maybe they’d felt as bad as he did now.
A few minutes passed. Beetle did not spend them idle. When he heard the others approaching, he cracked an eyelid, just enough to see the bottom of a hide tunic that he recognized. His abused skin burned a little just at the memory of it. At least he could see, his eyes hadn’t been burned out by its terrible spit. He wanted a drink of water, real bad.
The creatures were talking again. He thought there were two behind him, and two others that had come in with the one that had spit in his face. Those two were the nasty kind with the shields made of dragon skin.
Someone else had come in; he hadn’t noticed it, but there he was. Booted feet, not the scaly bare feet of the kobolds. This one was bigger, too. Bulging with muscles. Not a kobold, he had green skin and a squat head, with a huge tooth bulging from one side of his mouth. He stank; Beetle could smell him from here.
“Get him up. Take off gag, hold him,” the spitting kobold said. Beetle realized he understood what the kobold had said, this time, it was in his own language. He almost flinched as the kobolds behind him picked him up. He kept his head lolling forward as the kobold yanked off his gag. His tongue felt big and awkward in his mouth; he really wanted that drink of water.
“Wake him up,” the kobold spitter said. “Lord Irontooth wants to speak to the prisoner.”
The big green guy came forward. Beetle decided that he didn’t want to be here any more, and he certainly didn’t want to talk to Lord Irontooth. He shifted, and the ropes holding him fell away.
The kobolds looked at him in surprise. The one holding him grabbed at his belt for a knife, the same knife he’d taken from Beetle, but found only an empty scabbard.
The big goblin reacted faster. He lunged at Beetle, not even going for the big axe slung across his back, but his hand forming a fist that no doubt would have hurt quite a lot, had it connected. But Beetle dodged back, and felt the wind of the punch as it swished through the air right in front of him. Even the kobolds holding him fell back a bit in the face of that attack. The goblin was a skilled fighter, and he recovered real fast, not even lunging off-balance the way that a stupid brawler might have done.
But Beetle was pretty fast as well.
The natural reactions of the kobolds behind him had given him just enough space to move. He grabbed the strap holding the goblin’s axe in place and leapt up as he drew back. The goblin grabbed at him but he was already up and moving past, kicking off the goblin’s shoulder. As he sprang he reached down and caught the tip of his knife on the goblin’s ear, slicing a deep notch in it. Blood spurted out and the goblin staggered back, clutching at the nasty wound.
That had to hurt.
Beetle landed just outside the reach of the nearest kobold, which looked down at him with its jaw dropped. It reached for its sword, but Beetle was already running, darting through an opening into another room beyond. Something splashed against the wall behind him, and he felt droplets of something splatter onto his collar and sleeve. Fortunately, none of the acid touched his skin.
“KILL THAT HALFLING!” came a truly echoing cry from behind him. Ahead of him, kobolds shifted, blocking two passages that exited the room. There were kobolds all over the place. Luckily, they were as surprised to see him as he was to see them. Directly ahead of him, a wall of water glowed bright with the light of the sun. More kobolds were coming into the room behind him. A javelin sliced past his ear, almost doing to him what he’d done to the goblin. The ones in the room he’d just entered unlimbered spears and javelins, and Beetle realized that in a second or two he’d be a pincushion, like the one his Aunt Wanda kept on the table near the fireplace.
There was only one thing to do. Charging forward, he sprang into the wall of water. Something hard struck him in the side, and then he hit the waterfall, and everything vanished in a chaos of water and noise and motion.
Mara ran, favoring her left side. A few paces ahead of her, Elevaren moved with considerably more grace, although a long trail of blood ran down his cheek as he glanced back at her. Well, he’s not wearing forty pounds of blasted metal, she thought.
She didn’t need to look back to know that the kobolds were right behind them. They’d held back for a while back at the stream, taking cover behind the trees on the far bank, sniping at them with thrown javelins. That strategy hadn’t worked so well for them, as Mara and Elevaren’s position had given them excellent cover, and they’d killed several of the kobolds. Most had fallen to Elevaren’s magic, although Mara had caught two with javelins that she’d recovered and returned to their owners, point-first.
But the kobolds had eventually run out of javelins, or maybe they’d just been waiting for the reinforcements that came surging out of the forest. A dragonshield had joined them, leading the charge that had split around the embankment and crossed the stream to either side of their position, obviously intent on closing their flanks and swarming them from behind. They must have found out that there were only two of them defending, as the kobolds pressed their attack even when Elevaren blasted one with his eyebite power, and Mara threw a javelin through another, sending it down in a bloody heap. But the kobolds responded, Mara taking a hard hit to her side from the slinger still on the far bank, while Elevaren took the gash to his face from a javelin that would have taken his eye had it been a few inches higher.
Now they were falling back, the kobold horde raging behind them. They’d identified a second position on their approach, a holdout they could get to quickly, and Mara urged Elevaren on ahead as she saw it through the trees. The kobolds continued to close the distance behind them. There was no way the pair could hope to outrun them, not with Mara weighed down by her armor.
The holdout was a huge, majestic tree, its bole split down the middle by some ancient tragedy, likely a bolt of lightning. The split had turned the upper part of the tree into a giant forking “V”, but its lower half remained solid and hale, its roots protruding out to form deep earthen niches that ran into the depths of the tree’s base. The side that faced them was deep, inviting, the flanking root-ramparts like arms ready to enfold them. They could stand there, one good defender able to hold off superior numbers without getting overwhelmed.
At least that was the theory.
Another lead bullet caught Mara hard on the calf as she ran, and she staggered and nearly fell as she cried out, her face tight with pain. Elevaren started to turn back toward her, but she yelled for him to get into position, into the protected niche in the hollow. It was a one-way trip, or at least it would have been for anyone other than the eladrin.
Mara made it to the niche as Elevaren hexed a kobold skirmisher that had gotten ahead of the others, and tried to catch the fleeing fighter from behind. The kobold, affected by the eyebite, wisely drew back to clear its head and wait for help. Mara, settling into the position in the tree’s base, spun and took up a defensive stance.
“If I go down, teleport to the far side of the tree, and keep on running,” Mara said, her jaw clenched as she fought through the pain that she was obviously in.
“I won’t abandon you,” Elevaren began, but Mara cut him off. “If I go down, then you’ll only join me if you stay!” she growled.
The kobolds arrived. Once they saw that they had their prey run to ground, their approach became almost casual. They formed a broad half-circle behind the dragonshield. Mara tensed and readied her sword, but they stopped a good twenty paces off.
“If they decide to hang back, this could get ugly for us,” Mara whispered. The kobolds had a lot of javelins left, and the slinger had already proven his accuracy.
Elevaren raised his voice, and spoke to them in Draconic. “Bastard hatchlings of the dragon!” he cried. “I would challenge you to die in glorious battle, but I know to whom I speak! Lower your tails and creep back into your dens where you belong, and you may yet live this day! For all know that ‘kobold’ is the name of the coward, not even worthy of being called ‘slave’, bits of mere dung that cling to the claws of the mighty lords of the dragon race!”
A roar went through the kobolds, building into a wash of fury.
“What did you say to them?” Mara asked him.
“Just tried to provoke them a bit,” the warlock said.
“I’d say it worked!” Mara said, as the dragonshield lifted his sword and shouted something, and the kobolds came forward in a wave.
Blood continued to ooze from the gash in his ruined ear, but he did not deign to so much as notice it. He held his huge axe, now, and his expression suggested that he would bury it in the flesh of an ally if any enemy was not forthcoming.
Wisely, the kobolds kept their distance.
“I want that halfling found,” the goblin said, its voice like a deep rumbling in its barrel chest.
“It likely fled to the others that are attacking to the west,” Kurgus said. The wyrmpriest was the only kobold who did not seem to be intimidated by the goblin warrior, but even he knew better than to provoke him.
Irontooth looked distracted; the goblin had turned and was looking back toward the cliff.
“My lord?” the kobold prodded, after a moment.
“Order your skirmishers to cut off any possible route of retreat,” Irontooth said. “Send the rest of the tribe to engage the attackers. I want them killed, all of them. If any escape to warn the human town, I will hold you responsible, dragonpriest.”
“As you say, lord,” the kobold said, inclining its head slightly. It turned to the nearest scout, issuing the necessary orders. But as the skirmisher bounded off, and the priest turned to follow, Irontooth forestalled it.
“Hold. I have something else for you to do...”
The darkness enfolded Jaron as he slipped through the mouth of the cave, into the dank mustiness beyond. The darkness wasn’t total; there were torches in cracks in the walls further in, and once his eyes adjusted to the change he could see fairly well. But the whole sense of being underground was more than a bit unnerving, especially with the stink of kobold thick in the air around him.
But Beetle, if he was still alive, was somewhere inside, and so he had to go in.
He was careful, his booted feet making not even a whisper on the bare stone as he moved ahead. The passage opened onto a larger interior space ahead. Jaron peered around carefully, but there were no signs of any kobolds. Thus far, their plan seemed to be paying off. Maybe too well; he felt another twinge of guilt at having left Mara and Elevaren, but then quashed the feeling. He had to get Beetle out of here and quick, and then they could return to help the others. He wasn’t going to leave them behind, any more then he could abandon his cousin.
He knew better than to call Beetle’s name. Even if most of the kobolds had abandoned the lair, he expected them to have left at least one guard watching their prisoner.
If he was even still alive.
That thought added some speed to his steps. But it took him only a few moments to scan the interior of the lair. As he moved into what looked like the deepest room in the place, he saw a wooden chest banded in iron, a small mound of discarded bones, and some scattered trash. Nothing big enough to have concealed Beetle.
“Damn,” he said, and turned to leave.
He never even saw the goblin until it appeared in the entrance of the room, silhouetted in the light of a torch burning on the wall behind it. Jaron had fought goblins before, and even hobgoblins, but this thing almost dripped menace. It wasn’t its size, although it was big for a goblin. Rather, it was something in its beady eyes, that gleamed in the reflected torchlight as it fixed them on Jaron. It was holding a nasty-looking two-handed war axe, and wore a shirt of chainmail links that looked stretched over its muscled frame.
“Looking for your little friend? He squealed like a pig when I gutted him. But my axe is still thirsty.”
He was trying to provoke Jaron, but the halfling was experienced enough to know that rushing the goblin would only result in a messy and quick death. The goblin saw that he knew that, and laughed.
“So. You’re not stupid. Good for you, even if this can end only one way, halfling.”
The goblin came forward, but only enough so that was fully in the room, still blocking the exit. Jaron could see that the goblin was wounded, blood trailing from a deep notch in its ear, but it might as well have been a splinter for all it seemed to take from the goblin’s vitality.
He thought about reaching for an arrow. He would only get one shot, he knew.
As if reading his mind, the goblin laughed again. “Even as you cower, halfling, your friends are being torn to pieces by my kobolds. You may very well be the last to die.”
“Did you kill those other adventurers? The ones led by that wizard out of Fallcrest?”
A look of confusion crossed the goblin’s face, but only for a moment. “Ah, them. So, you knew them, eh? Or maybe one of them in particular. I’d heard that a runt halfling was in that group. Your daddy, maybe?”
“Brother,” Jaron said.
“Ah, more’s the pity for you, then.” He lifted his axe.
“So it was Kalarel, then?”
The name brought the goblin up short. “You know that name, eh? Well, it won’t do you no good, halfling. Whatever you know, it dies here, right now.”
He stepped forward again, and this time Jaron knew that nothing would stop him until he had buried his axe in the ranger’s skull.
Easy, Lazybones, don't you go about getting carpal tunnel with so much story hour goodness! 
Me likee lol
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