the Jester
Legend
4/1/2530 S.C.
It’s a nice spring day. The weather is just right- a little overcast, a little windy, warm but not hot. It’s the perfect kind of day, Shifty reflects, for a mark to come into town.
The balls arc in the air, from one hand to the other, then reversing direction. He adds another ball to the mix. Most of the locals have seen it before, but it still gets him a drink or two from time to time- not to mention the occasional coin from visitors. Of course, most of Overland’s traffic comes from Woodcut, which is a small, not-too-wealthy village a little less than 20 miles away. That means that the average visitor doesn’t have much more money than the average local. Things used to be busier, but that was before the river shifted, drying up the creek that the village had used to float logs to Overland. Now the lumberjacks have to haul their timber by wagon, which is slower and more expensive.
Shifty catches all the balls in his small, weathered hands, tucks them into his satchel and bows to the smattering of applause from his regulars. Someone buys him a cheap cup of wine and he sits at the window and sips at it, hoping he will see an opportunity coming his way.
The small gnome strokes his van Dyke beard and nurses his wine for a few moments before he sees a pair of figures crossing the creek on the ferry. The Swift Wagon is at the edge of town, just below the ferry itself. As it is so close to the crossing, the inn attracts a lot of the strangers in town and is therefore a wonderful place to find a mark to steal from. That is why Shifty hangs out here so much. At first, as the figures approach, his interest deflates, for he recognizes them as a pair of locals. But then it is piqued again, for they are battered and bruised! The two figures look like they have been beaten, and both of them look scared and shaken.
Shifty tries to hide his keen interest in them as they sit at the bar. Curly, the man tending said bar, exclaims, “What the hell happened to you two? Here, these are on me!” He pulls the bung from an ale keg and pours each of them a draught.
“We were at the mud baths,” one of them says, “and we were attacked. A group of frog people came and drove most of the people there off!”
“I think they killed the old man that tended the baths, too,” adds the other.
”They beat us- we were lucky to escape alive.”
”Were there other people at the baths?” Curly asked. “What happened to them?”
“I don’t know for sure. They drove us off. But I saw that they captured a couple of other folk.”
“One of them was that woman, what’s her name, Bylla,” the other says.
Curly whistles. “They say that she’s got some property down in Grumbleford. She’s a pretty wealthy landowner, isn’t she?”
Aha, thinks Shifty.
***
The hardest tavern in town is the Silver Fish. Tall-Oh-Gee (but call him Cavemouth) is trying, but he just can’t sucker anyone into arm wrestling him or engaging in a drinking contest. The fact that he is penniless doesn’t help, as he has nothing to wager (and the keeper has already stated that he will not accept a mace as payment).
Maybe the fact that he is an imposing 7’8” tall and nearly 300 pounds of rock-hard, dark grey mottled muscle has something to do with it, but it’s disappointing nonetheless. He could really use a drink. Too bad the townies don’t have any good old fashioned moonshine, but you can’t win them all.
“I’ll drink any of ya under the table,” he challenges again, but again, most of the tavern’s other patrons ignore him. This time, however, one of them responds.
“Ha! I’ll bet you the cost of the drinks that I can outlast ya!” the dwarf sneers.
“Um,” the goliath admits, “I can’t really afford that.”
“Well, then, what do you have to wager?”
“No maces,” the keeper says severely. “I only take coin.”
The goliath scowls. The dwarf laughs. “Here, I’ll buy you a round,” he chuckles.
“My thanks,” Cavemouth replies. He takes the watery beer from the keeper and sips it. Just a sip- he’ll need to make this one last. “I don’t suppose you need anyone to help you brew beer?”
The dwarf laughs again. “Not me,” he answers, “but if you’re looking for work, I know a farmer a few miles outside of town who needs some strong arms to split some wood and do some labor. And if you’re interested in brewing, I know he makes some very good applejack.”
Cavemouth grunts. “Thanks for the beer.” He scowls up at the keeper and stands. I think it’s time to find a new tavern, maybe see if I can find someone who’ll take the bait. He heads out to the street, limbering his arms as he goes. His plate armor clanks around him; his greataxe is strapped to his back. I should try the inn at the edge of town. Maybe I can get some out of towners to wrestle me or something.
He walks north to the edge of town and pushes through the doors into the Swift Wagon. An old gnome, with white hair, a combover and a van Dyke is walking towards the door.* He stops, stares at the huge goliath, and cries, “You’re exactly the kind of person I’m looking for!”
Cavemouth halts, somewhat puzzled.
“There’s a damsel in distress,” says the gnome. “A rich damsel in distress. I need some muscle to rescue her. By the way,” he adds, “I’m Shifty.”
“Call me Cavemouth,” the goliath replies. “All right, you’ve got my interest. Tell me more.”
“Well,” the gnome answers, “it seems that she’s been kidnapped by frog people at the mud baths north of town. I was about to go try to find out more information about them- I know a local sage.”
“All right,” nods Cavemouth. “Sounds good so far. I’m in.”
The two of them proceed across town to the tower of Karlinndan, the local sage and wizard. (Shifty met him once, long ago in the Feywild, before the terrible events that led to the loss of his village, and now Karl sometimes provides him information about interesting items that the gnome has picked up.) Shifty raps at the door, and a few minutes later the party is inside, conversing with a middle-aged eladrin with long hair and spectacles. Books are everywhere in his tower.
“Frog men, eh?” muses the eladrin sage.
“Yeah, and the guys I talked to said that they were repulsive to be around,” Shifty replies. “They used primitive weapons and armor, too.”
“Sounds like you’re dealing with bullywugs. They’re foul little buggers. It is said that they are the creation of primordials rather than gods, and that nature itself is revolted by them. It’s fascinating, really.”
“Well, we need some help to deal with them,” Shifty says, “and there’s a rich damsel in distress involved...”
***
Shifty, Cavemouth and Karl head to the market square, where (so Shifty says) they can probably pick up some more muscle to deal with the bullywugs. They find the person that he is looking for seated on a bench, watching the crowd (or rather, looking for marks, much as Shifty had been doing at the Wagon). Karl cocks an eyebrow at her startling blue color and horns. “Sepia,” he nods to the tiefling. “It has been a while.”
“You two know each other?” asks Shifty.
“We met about a year ago,” the wizard replies. “I was doing some research about tieflings, so naturally, it seemed logical to go to the source.”
“What’s going on?” the tiefling asks, and Shifty explains the situation. “I’m in,” she says, “and if there’s room for one more, I see a friend of mine over there.” She gestures towards a small figure that at the others at first take to be a human child, but then realize is a halfling. She walks over to him. “Good afternoon, Hammhokk,” she says.
“And to you,” the small figure pipes up. “I was just looking to see whether you might have anything going on that you might need help with.”**
“Funny you should ask,” she replies.
***
The newly-assembled party heads out of town, going north along the creek side. It is early afternoon- they figure that they’ll reach the mud baths sometime the next afternoon. They make decent time, trekking along the rough, intermittent trails, moving amongst dry scrubs and brush.
Until, suddenly, parts of the brush come to life and attack.
Small, twig-like creatures that rush in, surrounding the party in waves of almost overwhelming numbers! Cavemouth starts hewing about him with his axe while Sepia and Shifty start fighting back with daggers. But the strange twig monsters leave an itching, burning poison behind in their wounds, and soon Sepia is retreating, trying to keep her distance from her attackers.
Karl fey steps out of a circle of the enemy, and then fires a scorching burst where he had just been, blasting two of the twig blights to pieces. Then, to his horror, he sees two large vines in the brush start to move. One creeps forward and lashes out, impaling Sepia. She screams in pain, almost fainting. The other impales Cavemouth, dealing terrific damage, and then draws back, pulling him with it. “It’s trying to eat me!” he screams, and hacks at it with his axe.
Sepia pulls herself free and tries to back away, but more of the twig blights scratch her and the poison grows worse. She falters, then collapses.
”You can do it!” Hammhokk cries majestically. “You’re my best friend!”
Arcane power courses from the halfling, and some of Sepia’s wounds close up. Her eyes flutter open and she groans in pain.
Shifty dispatches the last of the twig blights tying him up and bounds in to aid his goliath ally, slashing with his dagger. The vine writhes as he cuts it deeply, and then Cavemouth hews it in two with his axe!
Another explosion of fire nearby eliminates two more of the twig blights, allowing Hammhokk to withdraw and pull his bow out. He fires an arrow, but misses the remaining vine. However, the party is now able to focus on it, and in a few moments it dies, cut to pieces.
“What were those things?” wonders Sepia.
“The little ones were twig blights,” Karl states. “The vines, I’m not so sure about.” He picks one up and examines it. “But look, the thorns are hollow.” He looks up at Cavemouth. “These things are bloodsuckers. You’re lucky you broke free of it!”
***
The party rests and sets watches. The night is chilly and clear, and they are undisturbed. While they strike camp, Hammhokk- whose first name is Jexx- comments, “We should reach the mud baths today.”
“Hopefully,” Shifty says, “we can also rescue that damsel in distress.”
About an hour after noon, they do indeed reach the mud baths, immediately encountering a group of the strange creatures known as bullywugs. Ranging in size from about 4’ to about 6’, the strange frog-folk are surrounded by a miasma of foul air that almost makes our heroes gag just to be around them. They prove immediately hostile, hopping to the attack. Behind the mud pits is a large willow tree whose branches reach the ground; another bullywug proves to be lurking back in there. Two of the frog-folk hurl rocks while the others move up to engage our heroes. Two of the three of them fall and hurt themselves while attacking, and the party dispatches them shortly, leaving one alive but unconscious as a captive.
“I don’t see any sign of the damsel,” Sepia says, after the party looks around, “but at least they had a few gold and silver pieces.” The party splits the loot; each of them ends up with 7 gp and 10 sp. It is certainly better than nothing, and for Cavemouth, it is the difference between no money at all and a few coins! He grins happily.
Karl says, “We can ask this fellow where the captive is, once he awakens, and if need be, I have a ritual that will allow me to comprehend his language.”
This proves to be a good thing, because the bullywug proves to be very, very stupid. It doesn’t understand much that the party says, does or pantomimes, but eventually, after a very trying series of agonizingly-slow breakthroughs, the party gets the bullywug to start leading them in the direction that his fellows took their captive.
About 200 yards down their trail, however, there is a complication: next to a large mud pit lays a pair of dead bullywugs, and no sign (at least from a distance) of their captive.
“Do we approach?” wonders Hammhokk.
“We ought to at least check out those bodies, I suppose,” Shifty says.
The group’s captive is clearly distressed. Karl can still understand its croaking, and he tells the others that it doesn’t seem to know what happened. “In fact, it seems to think that we killed its companions, and now we’re going to murder it.”
Hammhokk shrugs. “I’m going to let it go,” he says. “We’ve learned everything that we can from it.” With that, he unties it. “Go on, now. You’re free. Run!”
The bullywug bolts, hopping away, but as the party advances to examine the scene, the brush at the far edge of the mud pit rustles- and a pair of drakes emerges. Immediately, they charge at Cavemouth, working in concert and almost pulling him down before he even has a chance to draw his axe! One of them tears a chunk of his buttock out. Blood gushes and he bellows in pain.
“Uh oh,” says Shifty.
The mud starts to churn, and a pair of muddy figures rises up. They start throwing great big gobs of mud, plastering Sepia and Hammhokk, and the thick muck clings to them, slowing their movements.
The party starts to fight back, but then things get much worse. The ground starts to shake directly underneath Cavemouth, and in a spray of earth, a huge, insect-like creature emerges.
“ANKHEG!!” bellows Hammhokk.
Next Time: Will I TPK the new party so soon??
*Shifty’s player described him as “a fantasy Herb Tarlick.”
**Hammhokk’s player described him as “McCauley Caulkin with a harmonica.”
It’s a nice spring day. The weather is just right- a little overcast, a little windy, warm but not hot. It’s the perfect kind of day, Shifty reflects, for a mark to come into town.
The balls arc in the air, from one hand to the other, then reversing direction. He adds another ball to the mix. Most of the locals have seen it before, but it still gets him a drink or two from time to time- not to mention the occasional coin from visitors. Of course, most of Overland’s traffic comes from Woodcut, which is a small, not-too-wealthy village a little less than 20 miles away. That means that the average visitor doesn’t have much more money than the average local. Things used to be busier, but that was before the river shifted, drying up the creek that the village had used to float logs to Overland. Now the lumberjacks have to haul their timber by wagon, which is slower and more expensive.
Shifty catches all the balls in his small, weathered hands, tucks them into his satchel and bows to the smattering of applause from his regulars. Someone buys him a cheap cup of wine and he sits at the window and sips at it, hoping he will see an opportunity coming his way.
The small gnome strokes his van Dyke beard and nurses his wine for a few moments before he sees a pair of figures crossing the creek on the ferry. The Swift Wagon is at the edge of town, just below the ferry itself. As it is so close to the crossing, the inn attracts a lot of the strangers in town and is therefore a wonderful place to find a mark to steal from. That is why Shifty hangs out here so much. At first, as the figures approach, his interest deflates, for he recognizes them as a pair of locals. But then it is piqued again, for they are battered and bruised! The two figures look like they have been beaten, and both of them look scared and shaken.
Shifty tries to hide his keen interest in them as they sit at the bar. Curly, the man tending said bar, exclaims, “What the hell happened to you two? Here, these are on me!” He pulls the bung from an ale keg and pours each of them a draught.
“We were at the mud baths,” one of them says, “and we were attacked. A group of frog people came and drove most of the people there off!”
“I think they killed the old man that tended the baths, too,” adds the other.
”They beat us- we were lucky to escape alive.”
”Were there other people at the baths?” Curly asked. “What happened to them?”
“I don’t know for sure. They drove us off. But I saw that they captured a couple of other folk.”
“One of them was that woman, what’s her name, Bylla,” the other says.
Curly whistles. “They say that she’s got some property down in Grumbleford. She’s a pretty wealthy landowner, isn’t she?”
Aha, thinks Shifty.
***
The hardest tavern in town is the Silver Fish. Tall-Oh-Gee (but call him Cavemouth) is trying, but he just can’t sucker anyone into arm wrestling him or engaging in a drinking contest. The fact that he is penniless doesn’t help, as he has nothing to wager (and the keeper has already stated that he will not accept a mace as payment).
Maybe the fact that he is an imposing 7’8” tall and nearly 300 pounds of rock-hard, dark grey mottled muscle has something to do with it, but it’s disappointing nonetheless. He could really use a drink. Too bad the townies don’t have any good old fashioned moonshine, but you can’t win them all.
“I’ll drink any of ya under the table,” he challenges again, but again, most of the tavern’s other patrons ignore him. This time, however, one of them responds.
“Ha! I’ll bet you the cost of the drinks that I can outlast ya!” the dwarf sneers.
“Um,” the goliath admits, “I can’t really afford that.”
“Well, then, what do you have to wager?”
“No maces,” the keeper says severely. “I only take coin.”
The goliath scowls. The dwarf laughs. “Here, I’ll buy you a round,” he chuckles.
“My thanks,” Cavemouth replies. He takes the watery beer from the keeper and sips it. Just a sip- he’ll need to make this one last. “I don’t suppose you need anyone to help you brew beer?”
The dwarf laughs again. “Not me,” he answers, “but if you’re looking for work, I know a farmer a few miles outside of town who needs some strong arms to split some wood and do some labor. And if you’re interested in brewing, I know he makes some very good applejack.”
Cavemouth grunts. “Thanks for the beer.” He scowls up at the keeper and stands. I think it’s time to find a new tavern, maybe see if I can find someone who’ll take the bait. He heads out to the street, limbering his arms as he goes. His plate armor clanks around him; his greataxe is strapped to his back. I should try the inn at the edge of town. Maybe I can get some out of towners to wrestle me or something.
He walks north to the edge of town and pushes through the doors into the Swift Wagon. An old gnome, with white hair, a combover and a van Dyke is walking towards the door.* He stops, stares at the huge goliath, and cries, “You’re exactly the kind of person I’m looking for!”
Cavemouth halts, somewhat puzzled.
“There’s a damsel in distress,” says the gnome. “A rich damsel in distress. I need some muscle to rescue her. By the way,” he adds, “I’m Shifty.”
“Call me Cavemouth,” the goliath replies. “All right, you’ve got my interest. Tell me more.”
“Well,” the gnome answers, “it seems that she’s been kidnapped by frog people at the mud baths north of town. I was about to go try to find out more information about them- I know a local sage.”
“All right,” nods Cavemouth. “Sounds good so far. I’m in.”
The two of them proceed across town to the tower of Karlinndan, the local sage and wizard. (Shifty met him once, long ago in the Feywild, before the terrible events that led to the loss of his village, and now Karl sometimes provides him information about interesting items that the gnome has picked up.) Shifty raps at the door, and a few minutes later the party is inside, conversing with a middle-aged eladrin with long hair and spectacles. Books are everywhere in his tower.
“Frog men, eh?” muses the eladrin sage.
“Yeah, and the guys I talked to said that they were repulsive to be around,” Shifty replies. “They used primitive weapons and armor, too.”
“Sounds like you’re dealing with bullywugs. They’re foul little buggers. It is said that they are the creation of primordials rather than gods, and that nature itself is revolted by them. It’s fascinating, really.”
“Well, we need some help to deal with them,” Shifty says, “and there’s a rich damsel in distress involved...”
***
Shifty, Cavemouth and Karl head to the market square, where (so Shifty says) they can probably pick up some more muscle to deal with the bullywugs. They find the person that he is looking for seated on a bench, watching the crowd (or rather, looking for marks, much as Shifty had been doing at the Wagon). Karl cocks an eyebrow at her startling blue color and horns. “Sepia,” he nods to the tiefling. “It has been a while.”
“You two know each other?” asks Shifty.
“We met about a year ago,” the wizard replies. “I was doing some research about tieflings, so naturally, it seemed logical to go to the source.”
“What’s going on?” the tiefling asks, and Shifty explains the situation. “I’m in,” she says, “and if there’s room for one more, I see a friend of mine over there.” She gestures towards a small figure that at the others at first take to be a human child, but then realize is a halfling. She walks over to him. “Good afternoon, Hammhokk,” she says.
“And to you,” the small figure pipes up. “I was just looking to see whether you might have anything going on that you might need help with.”**
“Funny you should ask,” she replies.
***
The newly-assembled party heads out of town, going north along the creek side. It is early afternoon- they figure that they’ll reach the mud baths sometime the next afternoon. They make decent time, trekking along the rough, intermittent trails, moving amongst dry scrubs and brush.
Until, suddenly, parts of the brush come to life and attack.
Small, twig-like creatures that rush in, surrounding the party in waves of almost overwhelming numbers! Cavemouth starts hewing about him with his axe while Sepia and Shifty start fighting back with daggers. But the strange twig monsters leave an itching, burning poison behind in their wounds, and soon Sepia is retreating, trying to keep her distance from her attackers.
Karl fey steps out of a circle of the enemy, and then fires a scorching burst where he had just been, blasting two of the twig blights to pieces. Then, to his horror, he sees two large vines in the brush start to move. One creeps forward and lashes out, impaling Sepia. She screams in pain, almost fainting. The other impales Cavemouth, dealing terrific damage, and then draws back, pulling him with it. “It’s trying to eat me!” he screams, and hacks at it with his axe.
Sepia pulls herself free and tries to back away, but more of the twig blights scratch her and the poison grows worse. She falters, then collapses.
”You can do it!” Hammhokk cries majestically. “You’re my best friend!”
Arcane power courses from the halfling, and some of Sepia’s wounds close up. Her eyes flutter open and she groans in pain.
Shifty dispatches the last of the twig blights tying him up and bounds in to aid his goliath ally, slashing with his dagger. The vine writhes as he cuts it deeply, and then Cavemouth hews it in two with his axe!
Another explosion of fire nearby eliminates two more of the twig blights, allowing Hammhokk to withdraw and pull his bow out. He fires an arrow, but misses the remaining vine. However, the party is now able to focus on it, and in a few moments it dies, cut to pieces.
“What were those things?” wonders Sepia.
“The little ones were twig blights,” Karl states. “The vines, I’m not so sure about.” He picks one up and examines it. “But look, the thorns are hollow.” He looks up at Cavemouth. “These things are bloodsuckers. You’re lucky you broke free of it!”
***
The party rests and sets watches. The night is chilly and clear, and they are undisturbed. While they strike camp, Hammhokk- whose first name is Jexx- comments, “We should reach the mud baths today.”
“Hopefully,” Shifty says, “we can also rescue that damsel in distress.”
About an hour after noon, they do indeed reach the mud baths, immediately encountering a group of the strange creatures known as bullywugs. Ranging in size from about 4’ to about 6’, the strange frog-folk are surrounded by a miasma of foul air that almost makes our heroes gag just to be around them. They prove immediately hostile, hopping to the attack. Behind the mud pits is a large willow tree whose branches reach the ground; another bullywug proves to be lurking back in there. Two of the frog-folk hurl rocks while the others move up to engage our heroes. Two of the three of them fall and hurt themselves while attacking, and the party dispatches them shortly, leaving one alive but unconscious as a captive.
“I don’t see any sign of the damsel,” Sepia says, after the party looks around, “but at least they had a few gold and silver pieces.” The party splits the loot; each of them ends up with 7 gp and 10 sp. It is certainly better than nothing, and for Cavemouth, it is the difference between no money at all and a few coins! He grins happily.
Karl says, “We can ask this fellow where the captive is, once he awakens, and if need be, I have a ritual that will allow me to comprehend his language.”
This proves to be a good thing, because the bullywug proves to be very, very stupid. It doesn’t understand much that the party says, does or pantomimes, but eventually, after a very trying series of agonizingly-slow breakthroughs, the party gets the bullywug to start leading them in the direction that his fellows took their captive.
About 200 yards down their trail, however, there is a complication: next to a large mud pit lays a pair of dead bullywugs, and no sign (at least from a distance) of their captive.
“Do we approach?” wonders Hammhokk.
“We ought to at least check out those bodies, I suppose,” Shifty says.
The group’s captive is clearly distressed. Karl can still understand its croaking, and he tells the others that it doesn’t seem to know what happened. “In fact, it seems to think that we killed its companions, and now we’re going to murder it.”
Hammhokk shrugs. “I’m going to let it go,” he says. “We’ve learned everything that we can from it.” With that, he unties it. “Go on, now. You’re free. Run!”
The bullywug bolts, hopping away, but as the party advances to examine the scene, the brush at the far edge of the mud pit rustles- and a pair of drakes emerges. Immediately, they charge at Cavemouth, working in concert and almost pulling him down before he even has a chance to draw his axe! One of them tears a chunk of his buttock out. Blood gushes and he bellows in pain.
“Uh oh,” says Shifty.
The mud starts to churn, and a pair of muddy figures rises up. They start throwing great big gobs of mud, plastering Sepia and Hammhokk, and the thick muck clings to them, slowing their movements.
The party starts to fight back, but then things get much worse. The ground starts to shake directly underneath Cavemouth, and in a spray of earth, a huge, insect-like creature emerges.
“ANKHEG!!” bellows Hammhokk.
Next Time: Will I TPK the new party so soon??
*Shifty’s player described him as “a fantasy Herb Tarlick.”
**Hammhokk’s player described him as “McCauley Caulkin with a harmonica.”
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