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!
Lazybones's Keep on the Shadowfell/Thunderspire Labyrinth
Greetings to my regular readers and other ENWorlders. I am continuing my newest story that started with a run through Keep on the Shadowfell, bringing in some new characters for Thunderspire Labyrinth. As I did with my original Travels through the Wild West story hour, I decided to write a story using the new 4e modules as a way to help familiarize myself with a new rules system and setting.
The thread begins with Keep on the Shadowfell; go forward to page 8 to go straight to Thunderspire.
Thanks for your support!
LB
Prologue, Part 1
The road was quiet, approaching desolate, a few hours out of Winterhaven. A brisk wind, cool if not quite cold, blew down out of the north. There was little to see save for the trees that flanked the road to either side. The road itself was frequently lost in the twists and turns that were necessitated by the natural contours of the terrain, but it wound steadily upward into the hills. The forest had started to reclaim the road, but the weeds and scattered brush that marked the packed earth had not yet thickened to the point where they became a real obstacle.
Five travelers were making good headway on the road, moving with purpose. They were armed, all of them, and scanned the surrounding woods with wary eyes as they followed the path deeper into the hills. The two in the lead were warriors, but a more mismatched pair would have been hard to find. The one on the right was a dragonborn knight, armed with the customary straight sword and shield, and clad in heavy plate that had obviously been constructed specifically to fit the irregular outline of his frame. His companion was a dwarf, clad in the heavy shirt of glittering metal scales favored by his race, and armed with a maul that was almost as tall as he was. The two kept pace with each other, but did not engage in casual chatter.
About ten paces back with them, another two men were engaged in quiet but earnest conversation. One was clad in armor like the first two, but wore no helmet; his facial features identified him as a half-elf as clearly as the sunburst sigil at his throat marked him a priest of Pelor. The man he spoke with was likewise almost certainly a magic-user, his exceptionally-cut and obviously expensive garments decorated with the small pouches, belt loops, and potion crèches that were the common adjuncts for wizards. He too wore a medallion, a silver disk marked with runes, but his seemed more for decoration than for utility. A long quarterstaff marked his pace, one iron-shot end stabbing into the ancient ruts of the road with each of his long strides.
The last member of the group walked off to the side, a small envelope of empty space separating him from the others. He was a halfling, clad in plain but functional leathers, a brace of knives tucked into his belt, with another slung in a holster riding low on his left thigh, within easy reach. Because of his size he had to walk two steps to each long stride by his taller companions, but he seemed to have little difficulty keeping up with the brisk pace. He seemed troubled, though, distracted, and spent much of his time scanning the surrounding forest, his dark eyes shaded under the lip of a faded leather cap that had clearly seen many days.
“Ho, Jayse, what troubles you?” the cleric finally said.
The halfling slowed his steps until he was walking abreast the priest and wizard. “I don’t know, Kevan,” he said to the cleric. “Something about these woods is... not right.”
The wizard snorted. “There are threats real enough standing against us, Master Feldergrass. There is no need to manufacture spooks and wraiths to frighten us.”
The halfling glanced up at him; he had to crane his neck to meet the tall man’s eyes. “You hired me for my knowledge of these lands, m’lord Zelos. I know these woods, and I’m telling you, there’s something at odds here, something new.”
Kevan nodded. “What would you suggest, Jayse?”
The halfling drew off his cap and ran his fingers through his brown hair, which was starting to run to unkempt. “I don’t know. Maybe it would be a good idea to fall back to Winterhaven, recoup our strength. After the kobolds...”
“Those little yappers were but a nuisance,” Zelos interrupted. “Hardly worth the title of ‘brigands’ given them by the village folk. They might have been threatening enough to a farmer worried about his herd, but not for seasoned travelers like ourselves. That ‘ambush’ was a trivial distraction. Marak barely needed to earn his pay, what with our spell-power and the fast sword of Sir K’thar. And your daggers were used to excellent effect, as I recall, Master Feldergrass. I trust your wound is not still bothering you?”
The halfling rubbed his shoulder, and shook his head. “No, and I thank you again, Kevan, for your healing magic. But... well, I knew this wizard once before, and we had a priest in our village, and doesn’t your magic... well, run out?”
The mage laughed. “Fear not, Master Feldergrass. While it is true that certain powers may only be utilized once per day, Kevan and I have plenty of magic still in reserve. Anything we meet today will find that we are far from helpless, I assure you.”
The cleric placed a hand on the wizard’s arm. “But Ahlen... maybe our companion has a point. Those kobolds might have just been a test, to gauge our capabilites. There may be a greater danger ahead of us.”
“Indeed, my friend, I have no doubt that there is. Or have you forgotten why we have come here?”
Kevan colored slightly. “I have not forgotten, nor has my commitment wavered.”
“Good. No, I am sorry to have questioned your motives. We are all dedicated to stamping out the foulness that has taken root here. But that is all the more reason to press on. If the kobolds were in fact allies of this death cult, we need to find them before a warning may be spread of our coming.”
“That is... logical,” Kevan acknowledged.
The wizard looked back down at the halfling. “And we will rely on your knowledge and skills, Master Feldergrass, to keep us alerted to any threats that may lurk in these woods.”
The halfling nodded, although he still looked dubious. He opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off at a call from up ahead. The dwarf and dragonborn had reached a bend in the trail, and paused to wait for them.
“What is it?” Zelos asked, as they joined them. K’thar merely pointed.
The trail continued its winding course up ahead, but they could see what had alerted the warriors. Between a break in the hills, maybe a few miles distant, they could see the familiar outline of walls atop a flattened hilltop. Even at this range they could clearly note the poor condition of the site, but the ruins could only be their destination.
The Keep on the Shadowfell.
“We’ve made good time,” Zelos said. “We have plenty of daylight left; let’s move out.”
The warriors nodded and started forward along the trail. Jayse Feldergrass started after them, but slowly. He frowned, looking around at the surrounding woods. To the left, the ground sloped upward off the road; the remains of a fallen tree, moist with rot, marked the boundary between path and forest. Up ahead the road continued more or less straight for a good fifty paces before turning again to the left. Nothing out of the ordinary.
No. It was quiet. Too quiet; even the birds had stopped their chatter. The halfling felt the hairs on his arms rise; all of his experience and woodslore whispered something is wrong here. He wasn’t Jaron’s equal in woodcrafting, but he’d spent enough time in the forest to know its moods, the subtle rhythms that filled the woods like the beating of a heart. And here, it felt as though that heart had skipped beating, and was quiescent, silent, waiting.
He turned back to the wizard even as he heard a new noise, a faint whisper like a sudden breeze. But the warning he’d been about to issue caught in his throat as he saw the wooden shaft jutting from Lord Zelos’s shoulder, the bright red fletchings shaking from the force of the impact.
For just a moment, a fraction of a second, he froze. Then another whispered hiss ended with a second bolt striking the wizard in the throat. The missile went through the man’s neck, and for a moment Jayse though that the shot had missed, until a fountain of blood, startlingly red, erupted from the vicious wound. He’d only hesitated for a split-second, but it felt as though he’d been standing there for an hour.
“AMBUSH!” he yelled, but as more bolts slammed down into them from above, he knew it was already too late.
I've been following your story hours for quite some time, and it's fair to say that I'm looking forward to your take on KotS more than I am the actual module* itself.
Is that wrong?
*And I think I just indicated my age by calling it a module, didn't I?
Kevan grabbed Zelos before he could fall, dragging the crippled mage into the shelter of the rotted log on the side of the road. As both men all but fell into the shallow cover, Jayse could see that there was a bolt jutting from the cleric’s leg, a few inches above his left knee.
Another bolt thudded into the dirt between the halfling’s legs; that was enough to propel him into action. He leaped forward and dove forward, into the cover of the rotten log. A bolt narrowly missed him, its steel head slicing through his trousers and leaving a slight stinging sensation in its passage. Jayse risked a quick look out from behind the log, darting back into cover before his movements could draw another shot.
The sniping seemed to be coming from further up the hillside, where the archers were apparently quite well hidden, as he saw nothing other than bushes and trees.
He glanced up the road toward the warriors, and saw that the dwarf and dragonborn knight had their own problems. A small group of enemies had emerged from around the bend up ahead, and were coming steadily closer. The group included three humans and four goblins, all heavily armed and armored. The men were big, taller even than Zelos, but it was the smallest of the three that drew Jayse’s eyes. That one’s eyes were shaded within a helmet decorated to look like an animal’s skull, but somehow the halfling could feel the man’s stare brushing against his, and it sent a cold dagger of fear into his innards. K’thar had rushed to engage that one, but the other two men—each almost as large as the knight, and armed with huge axes—moved to block him. Marak had engaged the goblins, who were darting in and around him, trying to get in a hit through the protective scales of his armor.
A soft chanting from Kevan drew his attention back to their more immediate situation. The cleric had wrapped his hands around the unconscious wizard’s neck, and a blue glow was shining between his bloody fingers. Jayse remembered how the priest had healed the wound he’d taken in the fight with the kobolds, but he hadn’t been as critically hurt as the wizard had been. Ahlen Zelos’s eyes popped open, and he drew in a startled breath as the healing magic repaired the grievous injury to his throat. Another bolt thudded into the log, its head bursting through the rotten wood a foot from the cleric’s head, but the half-elf did not flinch.
“There’s a group of goblins and men, down the road,” Jayse told him. “Marak and K’thar are facing them, but there’s seven of them.”
The cleric nodded calmly. “I will be just a moment.” He closed his eyes for a second and touched his sigil, as if drawing upon some reserve of power. Jayse felt a sudden sense of well-being touch him through the fear that had come with the start of the ambush. Zelos, fully conscious now, started to get up, but Kevan held him by the shoulders, keeping him under the cover of the log.
“I guess I’d better see if I can distract those archers,” Jayse said, drawing one of his daggers. His leg barely hurt any more, but he wasn’t looking forward to stepping out from the shelter of the log. He rose to a crouch, preparing to dart out of cover, already thinking of the best way to get up the hill without getting shot full of bolts.
As he did, he caught sight of what was coming up the road behind them. He hissed a warning.
Kevan heard and turned his head. Five more goblin warriors were closing in, almost casual in their advance. Their leader was a fat brute, his gut bulging out from under his armor, but he looked no less dangerous for it as he lifted a big club and pointed it at the three of them in their tenuous cover.
“I will teach them the folly of their actions,” Zelos said, his voice still rasping painfully in his throat. He lifted a hand and summoned his magic. A burst of fire erupted from his fingertips, which he launched at the onrushing goblins. The scorching burst would have hurt several had it connected, but the two goblins in the front rank dodged nimbly aside, and the flames shot harmlessly between them. They lifted their javelins, chattering excitedly in their raucus language, but it was clear that facing a mage gave them pause.
Jayse lifted a dagger to throw, but Kevan stopped him, putting a hand on his. “You have to get back to Winterhaven, warn them about what’s here,” the cleric said. Kevan had pulled out the other bolt from the wizard's shoulder during the healing, and still held it, the red fletchings catching Jayse’s eye. The snipers up the hill to their left had stopped shooting, perhaps wary of risking hitting their allies, but Jayse could hear the sounds of battle from up the road, indicating that Marak and K’thar had joined battle. He didn’t have to look to know that the odds there were as bad as they were up here.
Kevan still held him with his eyes; the cleric even managed to smile slightly. “Go.” He said. “We all have our duty.” He dropped the bloody bolt and hefted his mace as the goblins hurled their missiles and charged toward their position. He deflected a javelin with his shield, and several others shot past them, quivering as they stuck in the rotten log or flew overhead to shatter on the rocks of the hillside beyond. The goblin leader lifted a crossbow and shot Zelos in the side, the impact of the bolt knocking the mage hard back against the log. The goblin warriors lifted their spears and charged in the wake of their attack, and Kevan rose to meet them, springing to his feet with a roar that invoked his patron god. He flinched as a bolt streaked down and caught him in the back, piercing him through his armor, but he still met the first goblin with an invocation of power, knocking the foe back a step, clutching his eyes against the power of the half-elf’s healing strike. Kevan channeled the backlash of that release of power into Zelos, easing the hurt of his latest wound, but it was clear that the mage’s grasp on consciousness was tenuous at best.
Jayse did not hesitate any more, although his heart pounded as he leapt up and ran across the road. One of the goblin warriors tried to cut him off, but as the creature lunged he abruptly spun and shot out his leg. The goblin, unable to change its momentum, stumbled and flew headlong into the tangled brush at the side of the road, cursing in its guttural language as it fought to extricate itself. Another bolt whizzed past, but Jayse was already running again, darting into the cover of the trees. He heard a sound of exploding flames behind him, accompanied by goblin screams, but his full attention was on dodging the low-hanging branches and gnarled roots that filled the forest around him.
He only paused once, at the top of a low rise that gave him a chance to look back at the road. Leaning against a tree, his view partially obscured by the trunks between him and the road, what he saw caused his gut to clench. K’thar was lying in a pool of slowly spreading blood in the middle of the road. Both of the human berserkers were crouched nearby, obviously wounded but in far better shape than the fallen paladin. Marak lay against the bole of a tree at the side of the road, wounded but conscious, disarmed and guarded by a pair of goblin warriors. A goblin lay on his back near the rotting log, but Jayse saw Kevan, on his knees, securely held in the grasp of several other goblins. Blood covered the half-elf’s face from a wound to his scalp, but he was able to look up as the enemy priest, the one who’d caused Jayse such a thrill of fear when they’d locked eyes, approached. He didn’t see any sign of Zelos.
Jayse knew that his position was precarious, but he felt bound to the tree, as though it was the only thing keeping him from falling over. He could only watch helplessly as the two men exchanged words. He was too far away to hear what was being said, but he clearly saw the evil cleric make a slight motion with his hand, and just as clearly saw the fat goblin smash his club into the back of Kevan’s neck. The cleric’s body went limp, and the goblin kicked the priest in the back, knocking him forward to lay sprawled out upon the road.
The halfling heard the warning hiss too late as a crossbow bolt slammed into the tree trunk, its steel head pinching the flesh of his elbow against the wood. It penetrated through the arm of his coat, pinning him to the tree. Jayse barely felt the pain as he struggled to free himself. His efforts gained urgency as he caught sight of several small, dark forms moving through the undergrowth toward his position, closing in from the left and the right. Finally he gave up and slid out of the coat, tearing his skin more as he pulled free, and ran. He clutched his wounded arm to his side, feeling sticky blood running down to his wrist, over his fingers, finally dropping onto the forest floor to mark his path.
Naught to be done for it now; he grimaced and kept on running. He wove between the trunks, taking a roundabout route that would eventually lead him back to the road. Goblins were tough little bastards, and could keep after him for quite some time, but he knew these woods, and he and his brother had hunted in them almost since they’d been old enough to hold a bow.
He glanced back now and again, but did not see further signs of pursuit. He did not stop again, but pulled out his kerchief as he ran, tucking it up his sleeve to slow the bleeding of his injured arm. No sense in making it too easy for them.
He reached the top of a steep incline that was negotiable by a wide culvert filled with weathered stones, the course of one of the many seasonal and temporary streams fed by the spring rains. It offered the best route down, and he made it quickly, jumping from rock to rock with ease despite his throbbing arm. He was getting his second wind, but it was a long way to go to Winterhaven, especially with goblins on his trail.
At the bottom of the culvert, he came up short as a figure appeared suddenly in front of him. His eyes widened at the sight of her. “What are you doing here?” he blurted out.
“I thought you and your friends might have a bit of trouble,” she said. Her eyes lifted above him, back up toward the top of the culvert, sharpening. “Look out!” she warned, lifting her bow and drawing the readied arrow back to her cheek in a smooth, practiced motion.
Jayse spun, looking for goblins. He saw nothing, and realized his mistake too late as a terrible pain blossomed in his back. He staggered forward, a dagger fumbling from his fingers, and fell to his knees. His last thought was that he’d never get to pay his brother back for the pony he’d borrowed from him, and then he was falling forward, and then... nothing.
Great to see you starting another story hour already, Lazybones!
From the looks of it though, I am inferring that few, if any, of our " heroes " were meant to survive the prologue, hehehe...
__________________ -Kaodi
Good name in man and woman, dear my lord,
Is the immediate jewel of their souls.
Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something, nothing;
'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands;
But he that filches from me my good name
Robs me of that which not enriches him
And makes me poor indeed.
-Iago, Shakespeare's Othello, Act III. Scene III. Lines 180-186.
From the looks of it though, I am inferring that few, if any, of our " heroes " were meant to survive the prologue, hehehe...
Well, these were just the pregens. I like to make my own characters.
My books haven't yet shipped (from reading the main forum it looks like I'm not alone, and quite a few folks are peeved at Amazon), so it may be a little while before I get back to this one. Besides, I still need to finish Rappan Athuk.
Well, these were just the pregens. I like to make my own characters.
My books haven't yet shipped (from reading the main forum it looks like I'm not alone, and quite a few folks are peeved at Amazon), so it may be a little while before I get back to this one. Besides, I still need to finish Rappan Athuk.
Aye, i'm peeved at Amazon, and now i'm getting peeved at Overstock.com, whose shipping date has already passed. I too am running KotS in the near future so i'll check in here to see what changes you make, and which ones i can steal!
I'll probably post my own one of these days, but it won't be the cinematic style of yours; it will be a shorter play-by-play with a nod to game mechanics, with a healthy dose of art and photos.
Hiya Lazybones- just checking in and saying hi, I just started a KotS SH myself. I like your writing style, you have a flair for scenic description.
Thanks. Your "Knights of the Silver Quill" SH was one of the things that got me interested in this medium in the first place. I look forward to reading your take on 4e.
Gah, my ship date just changed to July 7. Looks like it'll be a while before I get my hands on the books. I started writing some of the actual story this week, but I quickly got to the point where I needed more than the KotS rules to proceed.
Example 1: character generation. Now that my pregens are safely deceased, I need some characters. I've created a few of my protagonists already (if not the stats for them), but I have a few slots that aren't fully defined in my character outline (at the moment, they're mostly archetypes). Anyone want to weigh in with some suggestions?
I think it would be interesting to create a storyhour with optimized protagonists. Certainly anyone willing to fight in so deadly an environment would try to be optimized to the max. Professional Soldiers, although they don't run that kind of risks, try to get as optimized as they can, buying best equipment etc.
In that vein, I would suggest a control wizard with an orb, multiclassed into cleric or with Blood Mage paragon path. Here are quite interesting propositions:
I'm in SH- heaven, both Lazybones and Dr Midnight starting story hours .
About your last character, I would ask you to not have an optimized character. I would like to see how an average character can stand up to the module as written.
__________________ "This is not the character I wanted; I have created a killing machine!"
-some guy on the TRoS- forums
Regarding optimization: I'm certainly going to make an effort to build effective characters, but I'm going to try to make them myself and avoid online guides for now. Part of the process of learning a new system.
My long-time readers know that I often put story considerations above game effectiveness concerns, but I promise no gimped wizards this time.
I'm still waiting for my books, but I have put together some early chapters that aren't dependent on crunch. I quickly got to the point where I need concrete info to proceed, so the bulk of the story will have to wait for July.
* * * * *
Lazybones’s Keep on the Shadowfell
Chapter 1
Jaron Feldergrass looked out over the battlefield and shook his head in dismay.
He’d thought that the campaign was going well, but it seemed that his adversary was not one to admit defeat.
The halfling leapt down from the fence he’d used as his vantage point, landing lightly on the soft earth of his orchard. The saplings he’d planted last spring had taken well, for the most part, but he saw one peach tree that jutted at an awkward angle, a clear sign that the enemy had made an incursion there. For some reason, the badger seemed to want to make probes at a half-dozen spots each time it visited, as if it was consciously trying to nettle Jaron by spreading its damage as broadly across the farm as possible.
Jaron did not begrudge the creature the right of establishing a den, but surely the creature had to recognize that it would not be in the best interests of either of them for it to do so on his farm. Thus far the creature had avoided a direct confrontation, and it had not remained near its diggings in the morning when Jaron came out to check on his crops, his trees, and his animals. He’d taken to carrying a sling, just in case, but he had little interest in slaying the creature. But filling in its holes, closing them up before they could become full-fledged dens, was clearly not working.
Clearly, he’d have to be more creative in dissuading it.
He was distracted from his musings by the noise of a horse coming up the track toward his farm. The sound of iron-shod hooves was distinct on the packed earth, narrowing the possible identity of the newcomer to just a handful. Unless the visitor was a stranger to Fairhollow, in which case even more caution than he was applying to his four-legged rival might be warranted. Jaron wasn’t really worried, although he did glance back to the low rise where his neat little farmhouse was perched, flanked by a pair of low outbuildings that seemed to jut out of the hill like natural mounds. Curiosity won out, but he stayed in the shadow of the fence as he made his way through the orchard to a spot where he could get a vantage on the track without being seen.
The traveler was not coming especially swiftly, and was still some distance away when Jaron got a good look at the pony and its rider. Grinning, he climbed up onto the fence, standing easily on the stout post where the fence made a corner.
“What a nice surprise, Yarine,” he began, but then he got a good look at the rider’s face. “What is it?”
Yarine reined in her mount, a brown pony with white forelocks. The rider was a halfling as well, of like age as the farmer, still hale and energetic despite the slight crinkling of the skin that was just visible around the corners of her eyes. She wore simple clothes of good-quality wool and leather, her only adornments a narrow brass band in her hair, and a small sigil of the god Avandra carved from wood on a throng around her neck. She had the look of a woman who smiled often, but there was only sadness and pity in her eyes as she met the eyes of the farmer.
“I’m so sorry,” she said.
Jaron swallowed. “It’s Jayse, isn’t it.”
Yarine nodded. “Maybe we’d better go inside, Jaron.”
She nudged her pony forward, and offered him a hand. He accepted, swinging up behind her on the pony. The animal accommodated the two of them easily enough, and did not protest when the woman urged the mount forward again. Neither halfling said anything, agreeing to let their topic rest through unspoken agreement. Jaron looked troubled, but he helped Yarine fasten the horse’s lead to the rail of the porch in front of his house, and held the door for her to go inside.
The front room of the farmhouse was warmly decorated but not cluttered, with several hand-made rugs on the wooden floor, and heavy wooden shutters, currently drawn back, affixed to the half-dozen slit windows. A number of portraits, depicting halflings of varying ages in an assortment of simple poses, decorated the walls. A doorway to the side of the entrance led onto a neat kitchen, while another, cloaked in long shadows, gave access to the back of the house.
The most significant feature in the room was a broad stone hearth, large enough so that either of the halflings could have stepped fully inside it without ducking their head. Jaron efficiently lit the ready stack of kindling there with flint and steel, and put a pot of tea on one of the adjustable metal hooks that swung out from the sides of the hearth. Yarine took the seat that he offered, and waited there in silence until he was ready. Jaron’s preparations only took a few minutes, but he lingered over the fire, clearly reluctant to face his guest. Yarine did not press him, and finally he turned to look at her.
“What happened?”
“I received word from Sister Linora, a priestess of Avandra in Winterhaven. Your brother was working as a guide in the area, and she said he’d left town with a group of men from the East, folk with the look of adventurers.”
“Treasure hunters, probably,” Jaron said. “For some reason, people from the settled lands cannot help but think that the frontier is littered with hidden caches.” He rubbed his hand through his hair, and then looked back up into Yarine’s soft eyes. “Where did they find the body?”
“Not far from the King’s Road. They never found the rest of the group.”
“How did he die?”
“He... his body, it was...” she trailed off.
“I’ve seen a lot, in my travels,” Jaron said quietly. “Please, continue.”
Yarine’s eyes glistened in the firelight. “His body was in poor shape when it was found. It looks like it was bandits, Jaron. Linora’s letter indicated that Winterhaven’s had a recurring problem with kobolds, and that they’ve become increasingly bold of late. The woman who found him—an elf woman from the area, named Delphina Moongem—she said that there were several kobold weapons in the area, and tracks, where Jayse’s body was left.”
“What about Jayse’s employers? Do you know anything more about them?”
Yarine shook her head. “The townsfolk didn’t know much about them. Linora said that they kept mostly to themselves, but that one of them wore the sigil of Pelor.”
Jaron looked into the fire, and for a long moment a silence stretched out between them. “I will go to Winterhaven and bring back the body,” Jaron finally said, without turning.
“I believe that Callen was planning on taking a load of supplies to Winterhaven in a day or two,” Yarine said.
Jaron glanced back at her. “He knows about the bandits?”
“You know Callen.”
“Yeah. Stubborn as that old horse of his.”
There was another long silence. Finally, Yarine looked around the warmly-decorated room. “You know, I always knew that you’d come back here, someday.”
“You never would have guessed it from what I said as a young man. I made no secret of my desire to get far away from Fairhollow as possible.”
“Yes, I remember.”
“Drove my parents crazy. They could never understand. Jayse did, though.”
“And Jaela?”
Jaron nodded, but he didn’t respond. Yarine leaned forward in the deep chair, and ran a hand along the weathered stones of the hearth. The fireplace was old, and the mortar in the crevices had started to flake, but the whole had a look of permanence to it, as though it was keeping the entire house standing. “I remember when you, Jayse, and Marten went off to the War.”
Jaron’s lips tightened. “The War. You know, to the humans, it was barely a skirmish, a little raid of almost no consequence. Our “army” was barely a hundred men, in all. There are cities in the more settled lands where merchants have private companies of guardsmen that are larger.”
“Our world here is... smaller, Jaron.”
He looked back up at her. “Do you blame me...” His eyes dropped into his lap, and he worried the fringe of a seat cushion with his fingers.
“For Marten going with you? No, never that, Jaron.” She reached out and touched his knee. “Dal Durga’s raiders threatened the entire region. If you hadn’t brought the news about the humanoids, and about the humans rallying their army to stop them, someone else would have. Or maybe our first warning would have been the braying of hobgoblin warhorns. They destroyed several villages, I understand.”
“Yes, I know,” Jaron said. He stared off into the distance, as if seeing things that could never be forgotten.
“Marten would have gone even if you had never come back. He told me, before he went, that he was glad you were here. That if he had to fight to protect his people, he was glad to do it beside the Feldergrass boys.”
Jaron smiled, but it was wry. “My mother nearly killed me when Jayse volunteered. After Jaela left, then me... she thought that she was losing everything important to her.”
“Is that why you returned? After it was all over?”
“No, not really. I mean, they were already dead by the time that Jayse and I came back. Do you know that they died within three days of each other?”
“I was the one who found them, remember?” she said quietly.
Jaron fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair. “Oh, yes... I’m sorry, I guess I’d forgotten.”
She touched him again, her eyes brimming with sympathy. “It’s all right, Jaron.”
He abruptly stood up and turned away from her. “I... I’d better get ready.” He walked over to a chest that stood near the outside door, and flipped it open. He let out a tired sigh as he looked inside, barely audible, but Yarine noticed. She came up beside him, stepping past him toward the door, but she paused there, her hand on the latch.
“Thank you for coming, Yarine,” he said.
“I had to, Jaron.”
For a moment the pair lingered there, close together by the door. Finally Yarine opened the door, but she paused again in the threshold. “There’s something else, Jaron... I would not trouble you with it, not now, but I fear it cannot be avoided.”
“What is it?”
“It’s Belden.”
Jaron let out an exasperated sigh. “What has he gotten into this time? Gods, he hasn’t stolen from the Galderbrushes again, has he?”
“I’m afraid that it is a bit more... serious, this time. He... he killed Dale Wanderwarren’s bull.”
“What? Why?”
“I don’t know, Jaron. But I’m afraid that the situation is quite grim. Dale’s furious, and he’s threatening to file a claim on Wanda’s property for reimbursement of his loss.”
Jaron hit the threshold of the door with his fist. “It’s not Wanda’s fault. Beetle’s... hard to control. It was an act of kindness, taking him in. No one else would have...” Realizing he was starting to babble, Jaron clenched his jaw and stopped speaking.
“Everyone knows that your cousin... has problems, Jaron. But this is more serious than anything he’s done before. Some people are starting to get worried, afraid even.”
“Beetle—Belden—would never hurt anyone. He must have had a reason for what he did to Wanderwarren’s bull.”
“I’m not saying you’re wrong, Jaron. But I don’t know if I can protect Belden, or Wanda, if he stays in Fairhollow. You have to take him with you.”
“You mean to Winterhaven? Are you serious? I can’t, Yarine. Look, I understand the problem, but I promised Belden’s mother that I would look after him.” He hesitated, and looked away for a moment, realizing that the current situation was a sign that he’d failed in that vow. “It’s dangerous, outside,” he said.
“I know. But it’s dangerous here as well. Belden... he’s special, Jaron. He... he needs to find his place.”
“And you think he’ll find it out there? In the tall folks’ world?”
“All I know, is that Fairhollow is no longer his place. I’m sorry, Jaron.”
He did not respond, and after a moment Yarine lowered her head slightly, as if nodding to herself. She went to her horse and untied it, using the step on the edge of the porch to boost herself up into the saddle. “Farewell, Jaron,” she said, but he said nothing, only watched her as she turned her mount around and urged it back up the path.
When she glanced back at the bend in the trail, he was still there, standing in the doorway, staring after her.
Is the attack by the goblins and bandits an addition to the module?
It is a new encounter, but it only uses forces present in the module.
Quote:
Originally Posted by monboesen
So is it gonna be an all hafling PC story
No, we'll see a few more races represented shortly.
Quote:
Originally Posted by wolff96
Is that a Halfling Warlord I smell?
Jaron is a ranger.
My books are on the way; while I have tentative stat blocks for the first four characters, I'm going to wait until I get the PH and can check my calculations.
* * * * *
Chapter 2
The key rattled in the lock, then the door creaked open, letting in a generous shaft of light. The storeroom was cluttered, but clean, without so much as a stray cobweb visible in the far corners. The only other light was a small window high along the far wall, set with closely spaced iron bars set into the casement. There wasn’t much concern about thievery in Fairhollow proper, but the halfling village was an island of order in a hostile land, and the buildings tended to be constructed with the needs of defense in mind.
Jaron stepped into the room, scanning the interior. He overlooked the shadowed spot between a pair of crates twice before a slight movement there brought his attention back.
“Beetle?”
The figure that emerged tentatively from the narrow crevice was a halfling, but one look was enough to indicate that he was different from most of his kin. His arms and legs were lean and gangly, and he moved with an unusual gait, almost as though his body wasn’t quite on the same exact page as his mind. Jaron could see that he’d been washed recently, but even so a fresh patina of dirt covered the front of his face. His shirt had been torn, and Jaron could make out a red stain along the edge of the rip.
“Beetle, are you all right? Did they hurt you?”
The halfling touched the rip, and shook his head. “No hurt. Hungry.”
Jaron drew out a small apple from his pocket, and tossed it to his cousin. Beetle snatched it out of the air, and devoured it, core and all, in a few bites. He grinned through a mouthful of fruit, the juice running down the corners of his mouth.
Jaron sighed. “I heard that you got into some trouble, Beetle.”
The other halfling shrugged. He glanced toward the door, but Jaron shut it decisively behind him before coming further into the room. “No trouble, Jayse.”
“Jaron. It’s Jaron. Don’t you remember, Beetle?” It was an old thing between them, the mistake in the name, but Jaron had to fight back a sudden thick feeling in his chest. Jaron wasn’t sure if his cousin couldn’t really tell the difference between him and his brother, or if it was just a game he played. It was hard to tell, with Belden. The halfling had been born... odd, as though he lived partly in another world that was not evident to the rest of the people of Fairhollow. His parents had done their best to shelter the boy, and Jaron and Jayse had protected him from other children, who were harsh judges of anything that was out of the norm. But the plague had carried off Beetle’s parents, and it had fallen on his grandmother Wanda, who’d been well upon venerable even back then, to care for the boy. Beetle loved the old woman, but as time passed he’d become more unruly, and even less predictable.
“Jaron,” Beetle said, smiling as he sprang up onto a cask, kicking the heels of his feet against the wood.
“Don’t break that,” Jaron said absently, his brow furrowed. He walked back and forth, looking for a solution that wasn’t there.
“Whacha matter, Jaron?”
“I have to go on a journey, Beetle. A long journey, to Winterhaven.”
“Go riding?”
“Yes, I’m going on Callen’s cart.”
“Beetle come with?”
Jaron stopped pacing; they’d come to it. “Beetle... why did you kill Dale’s bull?”
Beetle’s grin vanished, and he fidgeted, causing the cask to wobble menacingly under him. “Bull not good. Bull bad, like Dale. In here,” he said, thumping his chest.
Jaron sighed. “I know Dale’s not the easiest person to get along with. But... Beetle, you know what you did, it was wrong. You know that?”
Beetle spun around, and the cask nearly toppled. The halfling was more agile than he looked, and he rode the circling barrel easily, shifting his weight on his muscled forearms. “You not know. I know, I see. Not good.”
“Not good,” Jaron said. “Beetle... you have to come with me. To Winterhaven. You have to promise me... you have to promise, that you won’t do anything like that again.”
Beetle completed his circuit, and the cask settled back onto the floor. “I promise, Jayse.” His grin was wide, and the troubled look that had been there a moment before was gone as if it had never existed.
Linear Mode
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