Against the Shadows IV - A Faded Glory Story Hour

[Old One]

Interlude - Quintus' Journal

Quintus' Journal

Heading south to Oar, I felt an odd sense of relief. For a short period at least, our most serious troubles would be behind us.

Over our campfire, we discussed the potential of a getting one of the halfling trading companies, probably House Bramthin since it is known for dealing in ore, to work with us on surveying the abandoned mines. What I saw inside the mine led me to believe they may still have some valuable ore deposits. I figure House Bramthin will have some representatives in the caravan we hope to meet on the road. One of those representatives might be amenable to a little side job with us. I told Sextus to work on his songs of our adventures. His ability to entertain weary travelers with tales of our accomplishments will come in very handy on this trip.

We also discussed turning the ruined structure we jokingly call Fortress Scipio into a trading post for the barbarian tribes. Its location appears to be excellent for that undertaking.

After hearing my ideas Sextus remarked, "My brother always did have the mind of a merchant and the ambition of an emperor."

I'm glad that I did not mention my ultimate goal- a seat on Glynden's ruling council. Such a role requires the sort of wealth these ideas might generate. I do not desire the position for ambition's sake though. My reason is far simpler than that. Frankly, the position will make it more difficult for the Gallways and Orsens of the world to take advantage of me and mine. I grow weary of unscrupulous people like them tarnishing the
memory of Emorian rule over Glyndyn. May Emor arise from her fading glory.

Our pleasant journey, and my fantasies of actually having some influence over my life, ended when Sextus and Rose spotted a scrap of blue cloth fluttering in the woods.

Sextus pointed it out to me. "Send Rose..." I started.

My brother shot me a withering look. It seems that, like Sebrina, he wearies of my protective nature.

"...unless you want to check it out."

He flashed me one of his cocky grins and headed for the tattered fabric.

A short while later, I found myself looking at the remains of Ittis, a Cassivius family house steward. He was not long dead. I recognized the man from visits to the Cassivius compound with my mother. She hails from there and still has friends within its walls.

We took his blue cloak, the source of the scrap Sextus had originally spotted, to send to the Cassivius compound. Lew dealt with the remains. In the meantime, Rowan took a cautious look deeper into the woods.

The Ranger returned all too soon, reporting more bodies in a nearby glade.

Once there, details were added to the story of Ittis' demise. An outing, perhaps a picnic, interrupted by beastly gnolls. Two more Cassivius servants, Ronus and Archerus, left slain. Judging by tracks leaving the glade, Rowan estimated that the gnolls had at least one hostage.

We debated a course of action. I argued that the threat to the caravan, whose demise would threaten Glyndyn's viability, was a greater concern than a single hostage. My reasoning seemed strong. However, it sounded callous even to me. Sextus, really finding new confidence since his recent training with Kyndalyn, countered that the Swords were already headed south, and no one else would be around to help this poor wretch. His logic, and more chivalrous attitude, won nods of agreement from the others.

Tying our mule Pratto, more commonly referred to as Josephus, in the glade we moved out with hopes of rescuing the hostage.

Rowan soon located a crumbling compound the gnolls were using as a headquarters. While the rest of us hid, he observed the place for a few hours.

After returning, he sketched the compound in the dirt. Closest to us was a small hut, where the gnolls seemed to be living. A small pool of water stood next to the hut. At the far side of the compound, in a straight line from the hut, was a crumblingblack barn. Next to the barn was a stack of crates, and at right angles to that was an unruly hedgerow. If the hut and barn formed two corners of a square, the opposite corners were crumbling ruins. The gnolls seemed to use these as a latrine. In the center of these ruins were the foundations of a building. From here, Rowan surmised, we could cover the openings of both the barn and the hut with our ranged weapons.

Rowan also reported a man who seemed to be issuing orders to the gnolls. All of them wore black and red, colors we know to be associated with the Cult of Ashai. Rowan did not locate the hostage.

A simple plan was formed. We would move into the ruined building and use a combination of sleep spells, arrows, and bolts to eliminate the gnolls piecemeal. We assumed the man to be a spell caster so we assigned Rose the primary task of killing him. Lew, with the ability to create an area of silence that would thwart any casting, would support Rose. Rowan's primary job was to kill a rather large gnoll we figured to be the leader.

As we approached the crumbling building from where we planned to launch our assault, I spotted a crudely constructed wall. It formed an enclosure between the hut and barn. Try as I might, I could not remember Rowan mentioning this. It would provide excellent cover for our adversaries. Part of me wanted to retreat and flesh out our plan, but daylight was fading and Rowan had warned us that the gnolls had excellent night vision.

Inside the enclosure, I spotted the both the man and gnoll we had decided were our main concerns. They were walking together toward the hut. Inwardly, I smiled. This would be easy.

I cast.

They both kept walking. The gnoll shook his head slightly. They exchanged puzzled looks.

I cast again.

Doubt fled from them, weapons came out. The man's mouth opened, but nothing came forth. Lew's Silence spell at work. The man ran, and as he passed from the area of Lew's magic the words "...under attack" obliterated the forest calm.

I dropped another Sleep spell into the hut's dim interior. Rose ran toward the hut as Lew called Osirian's blessing upon us. Sextus began to sing a warlike song that filled me with courage.

Two identical men, along with some gnolls, ran from the hut. I dropped another Sleep spell. Again, its effect was minimal.

After initially running past his position, the men spotted Rose and moved to engage him. The barbarian's face went bright red and twisted with a murderous rage. He began to rain brutal axe strokes on one the men. My stomach tightened as I noticed the man seemed to easily fend off the blows.

Emerging from the barn, two more gnolls turned and disappeared from sight, probably running to circle behind us. Rowan agreed with my assessment and ran to deal with them. Then I watched as Sextus went over our protective wall and ran toward the crates that were stacked next to the barn. I fretted for him since I knew two more gnolls had taken up a position behind the crates. I dropped another sleep spell in their direction.

Lew chanted and a large dog, surrounded by Osirian's blue aura, appeared. The cleric commanded it to attack the men who were rapidly overpowering Rose.

I wanted to follow Sextus. But I was torn between his safety and Rose's. Our initial plan was already cast to the wind, but now our teamwork was eroding as well. My gut grew tighter.

Before I could pursue my brother, a gnoll rushed toward the crumbling building. Only Lew and I remained in the redoubt. I pegged a bolt into the beast's scruffy hide, but it kept coming. Leaping up on the wall before Lew and I, it issued a challenge. Stepping back, I dropped my crossbow and for the first time in my life I prepared to use my spear in hand-to-hand combat. Kyndalyn's advice that I stick to ranged weapons flashed through my head as I erected a magical shield in front of myself.

A bolt from Lew's crossbow flashed past the beast as it leapt down into our protective enclosure. It swung a malformed weapon my way and my efforts at erecting the shield were rewarded as the blow bounced off the solidified air. I threatened the creature with my spear and it hesitated long enough for Lew to fire again. Again, the bolt sailed past its target. However, I used the gnoll's momentary distraction to drive my spear into its leg. It collapsed in a heap.

Quickly, I tried to assess the scene. Rose lay crumpled on the ground. His former assailants, as least two men and a gnoll, were charging our position. I could not see Sextus or Rowan.

From behind the crates a voice yelled, 'You stop. You stop now or I kill girls. I warn you."

Girls. More than one hostage. Things were now very out of control.

"Do that and you will die when the rest of the Cassivius troops arrive," I yelled back. This was a pitiful ploy, serving only to reveal my desperation.

Another gnoll cleared the wall in front of Lew and I.

"Run," I yelled. I leapt forward thrusting my spear. The beast joined its brother on the ground, impaled by my weapon.

Loyal man that he is, Lew remained beside me. I needed him to leave so I could find Sextus. I could not see him and his singing had ceased.

"Run!" I urged him. This time Lew listened. He sprinted through the aperture that had once been the building's door. I turned to follow just as another gnoll moved to block this single exit. A quick pass of my hands flashed a light in its face that dazed it for the moment I needed to run past.

A feminine scream, laden with hopelessness, chilled my spine. Our clumsy assault was now the cause of some innocent's death.

Still seeking my brother, I leapt upon a crumbling wall to better view the area. With this height advantage, I spotted him atop the crates, bloody and fixing a bolt into his crossbow.

"Sextus, run. The others are gone," I yelled.

He fired at something behind the crates. Then amazed me as he stood his ground and started to reload. All I wanted to do was run from this place. However, my brother, filled with heroic tales and ideals more noble than mine, elected to continue the fight. I was forced to remain. He is family.

I now found myself engaged by the men who had killed Rose. One nimbly leapt up on the wall next to me. The other engaged me from the ground. They worked in unison, trying to flank me. I spun the magical shield I had erected to face one and prodded at the other with my bloody spear-tip. I only needed a moment to become certain that they were going to best me with ease.

I continued my tirade at Sextus as a sword slashed down my front, ripping open my tunic and spilling my blood. The pain was incredible.

Pale and bloody, Rowan burst from the forest. Lew accompanied him. Rowan engaged the man on the ground just as a gnoll joined their assault against me. His face set with purpose, Lew sprinted past us all.

Another female scream sounded.

In my need to assure myself of my brother's safety, I spared a glance in his direction. The distraction was enough for my enemy. Intense pain shot through me as I felt something plunge into my body. As the steel lanced out my back, it took my hope and dreams with it. Toppling from the wall, consciousness left me.

(Corey's note: I should point out that Quintus has no idea of Rose's actual condition. I only wrote what the character saw. As for Quintus, it's up to Old One to tell the rest of the tale. All I can say is I may be playing "Manx the Misunderstood", much maligned, mislead, and mange-covered, Saar thief/sorcerer as early as next session. Hopefully, we will hold off the neccessity of seeing "Manx the Misunderstood", but we shall see... !)


~ Quintus Scipio

 

[Old One]

Interlude - Aftermath

We did a little "behind the scenes" work in-between sessions. The results are as follows...

Aftermath

The rain comes swiftly, preceded by powerful winds that carry the sounds from the compound away from your straining ears. In one spot, the badly wounded and winded Rosë struggles to his feet, draws his daggers and take a step back towards the battlefield, mumbling that he must retrieve his weapons. Lew, dashing water from his eyes with a free hand, persuades the furious barbarian to wait until they find the others.

Rowan hides Sextus and the unconscious Quintus deeper in the thicket and cautiously moves back towards the ruined villa. The howling wind and sheets of rain make scouting with any certainty nigh impossible, but the ranger sees no immediate signs of pursuit. He doubles back to his companions, stopping several times to make sure that nothing is following. Satisfied it is as safe as it is going to get, he and Sextus collect Quintus’ limp form and head back to the spot they had stopped earlier in the day. They swing wide around the compound, stopping frequently for Rowan to watch and listen.

Meanwhile, Lew has come to the same conclusion and he pulls the reluctant Rosë along with him. The duo arrives first and hunker down ten paces off the trail. Half-a-turn of the hourglass later, a flash of lightening silhouettes the forms of Rowan and Sextus emerging from the darkness of the woods. The joy of each group finding the other living is quickly dampened by the horror that Sextus relates in quiet, clipped tones. Rowan, concerned about their proximity to the trail, pulls the group further into the woods to a small hollow beneath a massive fallen oak. Once they are well-hidden, the ranger, aching in both body and soul, announces that he is going back out to scout.

Rosë struggles to his feet, draws his daggers and announces that he too is going. Seeing that is would be useless to argue, Rowan nods his assent and the pair slip off into the woods into the rapidly approaching dusk. Rosë wants to go straight to the spot where he fell earlier, but Rowan insists on swinging wide and coming in from behind the ruined villa. They are about halfway there when they hear a horse neigh in the distance – towards the compound. They go to ground for a few moments, then continue on. As they approach the crumbled walls, the rain begins to slacken and the wind diminishes. The both catch the scent of woodsmoke. Rowan hazards a peek over the top of a villa wall and sees, to his dismay, that both the hut and the barn are ablaze and burning fiercely!

Before Rowan can stop him, Rosë shouts and runs toward the paddock area. The ranger curses and rises to follow him when a movement catches the corner of his eye. To his right, a huddled form inches its way along the outside edge of the hedgerow and stops. Rowan raises his bow and sights on the shadowy shape. Again, it inches forward and stops. As it does so, a pitiful whimper issues from it. The ranger lowers his bow and moves forward cautiously. From five paces, in the failing light, he sees the blood-covered form of a young woman, fingers caked with mud, pulling herself along the base of the hedgerow. One piercing blue eye shines forth from under a tangle of auburn colored hair, locking on Rowan’s face, before the girl collapses and lies still.

Standing in the center of the compound, Rosë screams his anger at the sky. The enemy is gone – signs of a hasty departure are everywhere. They have fired everything left behind…bodies, trade goods and buildings. As he yells again, the barn collapses in a shower of sparks that light up the night air. Fists clenched in rage, the barbarian swears that someone will pay!

Old One

 

[Old One]

Session 9 (Part One)

(DM's Note: Below is the first part of Session 9. Unfortunately, Lew's player (Kris) was unable to make the session. If we are not in a place that an absent PC can be easily removed from the action (like "in town"), I just have them "fade" into the background. They don't make suggestions, will act if called upon (and it is reasonable) and don't really take any initiative.

Also, despite new dice on the part of several players, the Curse of the Table of Elemental Evil remains active! Fortunately, few bad rolls came during combat...)

A Brief Respite…Or Is It?

Rowan checked the blood-soaked and mud-covered girl and determined she was stable, but needed additional care. He called Rosë over. The Brigante reluctantly left the ruin of the compound. As he turned to leave, he made out several burning bodies stacked in the doorway of the flaming hut…empty eye sockets flickering. He grunted in surprise as he found Rowan tending to the badly wounded young woman. The two fashioned a rough hammock from Rowan’s cloak and carried her to the hollow that held Lew, Sextus and the unconscious Quintus.

Lew examined her as well, checking Rowan’s bandages, and nodded his agreement with the ranger’s assessment that she was out of immediate danger. Lew then moved quietly among his companions, cleaning their numerous wounds, applying salves and changing dressings.

Sextus sat quietly for a long time, staring at the unconscious girl and silently reliving his failed attempt to rescue her and her sisters. In his mind’s eye, the scar-nosed gnoll’s curved dagger plunged into one soft throat after another and all of their faces, framed in horror and despair, turned towards him. Finally, the young bard leapt to his feet with a strangled cry, heavy with self-loathing, and ran blindly into the darkened woods. For thirty grains, the younger Scipio trashed through the trees, flailing his arms about wildly and sobbing uncontrollably.

His headlong flight came to an abrupt halt as he stumbled into an unyielding maple tree. His head bounced off the trunk with a meaty “thunk” and Sextus plopped to the ground. Badly wounded and overwrought with guilt, he lay huddled on the ground for several minutes, sobbing, before slipping into an exhausted slumber.

Rowan, preparing to keep watch, looked up in alarm as Sextus bolted into the woods. He heard his companion thrashing about, followed by silence. Concerned, he followed. The ranger noticed that a thick ground fog was starting to form as the rain ceased and the temperature fell. After a few minutes, he found the slumbering Sextus. He reached out a hand to wake the bard, then thought the better of it and left the diminutive man to his dreams. Rowan returned to the campsite and found everyone fast asleep. Putting his back to a tree, he settled in to keep watch.

Rowan awoke with a start.

He found himself completely enveloped in mist, unable to see more than a handbreadth in front of his face. He suppressed a rising feeling of panic and forced himself to listen. To his left, he heard the familiar snoring of Rosë. To the right, he made out the gentle breathing of several others. Besides the distant call of a hunting owl, he night was quiet. He carefully got to his feet. The thick ground fog rose to his waist, covering all beneath it. Trusting in his sense of direction, he ventured into the night to retrieve Sextus. It took much longer than he had anticipated. Nearly two hours after departing the camp, Rowan returned with the sleepy bard in tow.

They settled down again, backs to a tree, to keep watch until morning. Sextus promised to help keep Rowan awake on watch, but a quarter-turn of the hourglass later; the two were leaning against each other – fast asleep!

(DM’s Note: Normally, I don’t make PCs roll to keep awake on watch. If they are badly wounded or very tired – due to battle, forced marches, etc – then I will call for a CON check vs. DC 8 to 15, depending on the circumstances. Both Sextus and Rowan failed miserably!)

Rosë awoke in surreal surroundings. Thick mist washed over him, yet bright light filtered down opaquely from above. Startled, the barbarian yanked out his daggers and rolled to his feet, despite the protests of his battered body. Emerging from the ground fog, he blinked rapidly in the bright morning sunshine – he judged it to be several hours after dawn. Perplexed, he glanced around and spotted the head and shoulders of both Sextus and Rowan protruding from the mist. They sat with their back against a silver birch and their heads were resting together. The Brigante suppressed a chuckle as he observed his sleeping friends. He quietly slipped from the camp and returned to the ruined compound, searching for anything useful.

He returned thirty turns of the minute glass later, empty handed and frustrated and awoke his companions. Rowan was deeply embarrassed that he had fallen asleep twice the night before on watch, but no one else seemed concerned. Lew quickly set about his morning prayers and soon the power of Osirian restored everyone to wakefulness. As the sun began to burn the fog away, the five companions and their guest took stock of the situation.

Quintus, although pleased to be alive, was deeply despondent over the loss of the two Cassuvius daughters and greatly apprehensive about dealing with the surviving one. He was also concerned over the loss of many weapons and the shaky state of health that most of the band was still in. Some of his fears proved to be unfounded, however, as Drusilla Cassuvius proved to be cut from fairly resilient cloth.

Although Lew’s strength through the Lightbringer had knitted the flesh of her throat back together, an ugly scar remained from the middle of her throat to the base of her right ear and Drusilla’s attempts to speak brought nothing more than a harsh croaking sound. Lew determined that stronger magic might be neccessary to heal her damaged vocal chords.

Communication proved difficult, as they possessed no quill or parchment and the girl was forced to scratch out her story using a stick and patch of cleared earth. Over the next two hours, pantomime and “dirt-writing” revealed some of the girl’s experiences and she proved to have some valuable information. They learned:

• She and her sisters were out for a picnic when they were set upon by the gnolls and a human named Rak
• The band that captured them was but one of four or five operating in the area
• Everyone worked for someone named Skilorn (which several party members recognized as the reputed “Bandit King”)

Most surprisingly, she did NOT want to return to the Cassuvius compound, but wanted to travel to Oar. She was very emphatic about this last point. Quintus felt strongly that there were items that she was leaving out – particularly on why she wanted to travel to Oar instead of returning home – but he decided not to push the issue too far. He also sensed a quiet determination and strength within her that immediately won his admiration.

After a brief conference, they decided to send one group to the waterfall to retrieve Pratto/Josephus and bury the dead retainers, while the other group remained at camp. Then, they would spend one more night there to fully recover before continuing south towards the ruins of Greenspire and Oar. To their surprise, Drusilla insisted on accompanying them to the waterfall. Rowan, Lew, Quintus and Drusilla set out as the last of the fog dissipated. Rowan had little trouble backtracking to the waterfall and pool. They found little changed – the bodies and carriage were where they left them – but Pratto was not in evidence.

Weapons were readied and they all started when a voice called down from atop the waterfall.

“Now ain’t this a sight! Lookin’ fer somethin’?”

Rowan drew a bead on a cloaked form perched atop the waterfall on a large rock. He made out a threadbare brown cloak, patched innumerable times with a cacophony of colors. An unruly thatch of gray-white hair and scraggly beard framed a lean, weather-beaten face that hadn’t seen the inside of a building for a long time. The man puffed contentedly on a carved wooden pipe and seemed unconcerned by the weapons pointed at him.

“Normally, I minds my own business…things is healthier that way…but I come along to a curious sight. Dead men, a fancy wagon all broke like and a fine mule grazing in the middle of it all. Tracks goin’ off every which way…a mystery for sure. Soin’ I figure I might as well have a seat, grab a smoke an’ see what turns up. And here you are!”

Rowan lowered his bow slightly. “We are looking for our mule.”

“Aye…he’s up here by the crick within’ Bogwell…they's keepin’ each other company, right happy like! Come on up an’ see for yerself.” The old man stood and waved them up.

Rowan could see battered armor that might pass for studded leather, a broad leather belt with a cascade of pouches, trinkets and a short sword hanging from it. A faded blue tunic, oft-patched breeches and battered boots trimmed in fringe completed the threadbare ensemble. They advanced guardedly, but found their mule grazing contentedly next to another, much larger mule. In fact, it was the biggest mule any of them had ever seen! Atop the creature’s back was an impossibly large load, strapped down with all manner of leather and rope bindings.

Several sets of cooking utensils, sacks of flour, furs, staves, a crossbow or two, a worn axe, bedrolls and countless bags dangled precariously from the barely visible pack saddle. The size of the load seemed to dwarf the mule beneath, lending the creature an almost comical appearance.

“That there’s Bogwell – finest pack mule in all the Northlands! Say ‘hello’, Bogwell.”

The mule raised its head slightly, regarded the companions with one large brown eye, twitched its ears and sidled around so its large rump was facing directly toward Rowan and the others. Quintus, noting the weapons and some of the other gear atop the mule, ventured, “I see you have some weapons among your goods. Would you be interested in parting with any of them?”

“Oh, I am always interested in tradin’…as long as your coin is good, we can do business!”

Quintus chatted with the old man, who introduced himself as Lathan, while the others laid the Cassuvius retainers to rest. Lew prayed for their souls, Rowan dug graves and Drusilla traced a small circle of dirt on each of their foreheads (except for the one whose skull was split). Afterwards, she took a few moments to wash the worst of the mud and blood off in the cool water of the pool. A little cleaning went a long way…Quintus, Rowan, Lew and even Lathan took noticed as she combed her wet hair back with her fingers.

Quintus followed suit and took a few moments to examine the rocks behind the waterfall. All seemed solid and no niches or passageways were evident.

They invited Lathan (and Bogwell) to accompany them back to the camp. The old man agreed and they prepared to depart. Rowan, eyeing Bogwell struggling under the heavy load, offered to transfer some of the goods to the less heavily encumbered Pratto.

Lathan cheerily declined, “Don’t let that sour look fool you…Bogwell’s just fine. In fact, he can carry twiced as much ifn’n need be!”

Bogwell brayed loudly and looked directly at Rowan with a look of equine disgust. The ranger found the gaze of the mule slightly unsettling…there was something very strange about Bogwell the mule!

As they traveled, Quintus and Lathan bantered back and forth. It seemed the old man didn’t visit “civilized” areas very much. He claimed he hadn’t been around Glynden in some time (too many people), but had recently spent some time with traveling amongst the clans of the Monrovian Highlands. He was very disappointed when he found that the companions did not have any coffee and was keenly interested in what would be served for dinner. Quintus found his misgivings about the strange old man lessening with each step of the return trip. From time-to-time, Lathan would stop in mid-sentence and ask Bogwell if he had his facts right. The mule would either bray or snort in reply and the old trader would thank the creature and continue with his tale!

They returned to the campsite around mid-afternoon. Quintus introduced Lathan to Rosë and Sextus. The bard warmed to Lathan immediately and was soon regaling him with the sad tale of their encounter with the gnolls and the unfortunate death of Drusilla’s sisters. Lathan encouraged Sextus at every turn and Quintus, who was helping Rowan prepare dinner, cleared his throat loudly (and often) as his brother revealed detail after detail of their adventures! Irritated at the constant interruptions, Sextus bellowed at one point, “Oh brother…do shut up!”

Quintus returned to roasting venison, mumbling under his breath about "operational security" all the while.

Lathan insisted on building a large campfire and deflected fears of attracting gnolls or worse by sniffing the air for several moments and declaring it safe! With looks of resignation all around, the companions acquiesced and all were soon seated around a roaring fire. Lathan was disappointed that biscuits were not provided with dinner, but was pleased with the quality of the food.

Over the course of the evening, Lathan and the group told tales, bartered, exchanged information and enjoyed each others company. It became clear that he was completely out-of-touch with current events (at least around Glynden). He inquired after Kyndalyn the Elder and Farinmail and was greatly disappointed to find they were dead.

He seemed to have an amazing quantity of items secreted away on Bogwell’s back, although his trading skill was haphazard. He let a crossbow and bolts go to Quintus for a song, yet drove a hard bargain with Rosë over a battered woodsman’s axe. He also sold Sextus some extra bolts and found a satchel with parchment and writing quills that Quintus purchased as well. On Rowan’s request, he examined the ranger’s battered short sword using a curious magnifying contraption that he pulled from his myriad of belt pouches.

Under the magnifying contraption, the double-headed eagle of Imperial Emor was clearly visible. The talons clutched part of a fanciful and stylized capital “L”. When questioned about the significance of the letter or the sword, Lathan tugged at his beard for a moment and replied, “Don’t know what it might stand for…it’s Emorian fer sure, but I don’t know what it stands fer. ‘Course, it could be for ‘Lathan’!” He cackled, before returning the blade to Rowan.

Quintus persuaded him to carry several missives to Glynden, paying well for the courier service. The sorcerer used his newly gained parchment and quills to pen three notes – one to Kyndalyn describing the action around the ruined villa and suggesting scouting of the are, one to Father Thomas describing much the same and one to Luella instructing her to seek out Roget Crow to discuss reopening mining operations in the western traces.

Returning the favor of the tales told by Sextus, Lathan related the tale of the Fall of Ironoak to Felevar, describing the creatures in some detail.

“Out of the woods they came, two handbreadths or more shorter’n you, your Sextus. Long pointy ears, teeth filed to sharp points, ridin’ furry spider-lookin’ things, shootin’ everyone with their durned poison arrows and wigglin’ their finger about, castin’ all manner of evil spellwork! The good folk of Ironoak had ‘nary a chance. ‘Bout ten of us broke away ‘n were runnin’ fer our lives – them finger wigglin’, arrow shootin’ critter ridin’ cannibals in hot pursuit.

That’s when it happened! My innards froze up an’ ol’ Bogwell skidded to a halt, brayin’ in fear. Over our heads it flew…IT…the biggun’…THE dragon. Right down toward them Fels it went, spoutin’ a huge gout o’ flame! Three time it came around an’ I must admit I chuckled a bit to see them Fels and their furry critters blaze up! Them furry spiders burned up right nice! Anyway, haven’t heard too much outta them Fels since then…think they been lyin’ low on account o’ the dragon. Even tho' it saved my hide - an' Bogwell's too - I don't think I wanna see that critter again anytime in this life!”

Prompted by Quintus, Rowan pulled out the Felevar arrow and passed it to Lathan.

“Yep…them pointy toothed ones made it alright! They put their blasted poisons…greens and browns and blues…down in this hollow. Heck, they even got’em that explode into fire or freeze ya up…there bad’uns alright, them Fels!”

Underwhelmed by the amount of information received, Rowan took the arrow back and stowed it. It was growing late and most of the party was still tired (and wounded) from the battle the day before, so they banked the fire, set watches and retired.

Lathan was up before dawn the next morning, preparing a delicious breakfast of mutton porridge, flaky biscuits and potatoes. “This is how ya do it, young’uns! Maybe you can teach that little girl of yours how to whip up vittles properly!”

Drusilla cast a disapproving eye at him, but the unkempt old trader winked at her and grinned a snaggle-toothed grin. A shy smile crept onto her face and she shook her head in mock despair.

Following breakfast, Lew called upon the miracles of Osirian to return everyone to full health. Quintus noticed Lathan digging into one of the sacks atop Bogwell. He pulled out a small item – a comb or brush by the look of it – and gave it to Drusilla. He also left them the battered skillet, claiming it worked a lot better than roasting things on a spit.

“Well young’uns, it occurs to me that everywhere you travel, trouble follows! I think I’ll be taken my leave now, ‘afore too much more daylight gets burned away. Never fear, lad, I’ll get yer post delivered up Glynden way…’bout time I stopped in for a visit anyway. Take care of yerselves and say ‘goodbye’, Bogwell!”

The over-loaded mule cast one more desperate glance towards Rowan, brayed loudly and followed the old trader north. As he departed, Lathan began singing a loud, off-key tune. Strains of “I Never Met a Rock Troll I Wanted to Kiss” faded into the distance as he departed!

As they packed up their gear and prepared to depart, the companions began to notice some peculiar things.

Quintus felt a strange tingling sensation when his hand brushed up against the leather satchel that contained the parchment and quills. Sextus saw that the bolts he purchased the evening before now bore a slight blue tint on the fletching and the metal heads were pitted with faint blue specks. Rowan saw that the faint design on his short sword was now plainly visible and he felt a slight tingling sensation when he touched the hilt. Finally, the battered axe that Rosë had purchased the night before had transformed into a well-balanced hand axe. Stunned, the companions looked at each other in amazement…just who, exactly, was Lathan?

To Be Continued…

Next: Session 9 (Part Two) Gnoll Rematch or Redux?

Old One

 

[Old One]

Session 9 (Part Two)

Gnoll Rematch or Redux?

They traveled south for the next several days, returning to the Oar road to make up for lost time. Using Detect Magic spells, the Bros. Scipio determined that much of what they purchased from or were given by Lathan bears weak dweomers. Sextus’ crossbow bolts and Rowan’s sword both reflected slight transmutation magic. In addition, the frying pan bore a faint aura of conjuration. They are unable to decipher the exact dweomers of the satchel, Rosë’s axe or Drusilla’s hair comb – but they all held some type of enchantment. Speculation flew back and forth as they tried to determine the nature of Lathan…

During the journey, Quintus tried to show Drusilla how to use a crossbow. His early attempts were nearly disastrous, as a premature discharge almost puts a bolt in Sextus’ forehead. She proved to be a quick study, however, and was soon able to put 4 bolts out of five in a 3-pace circle from a bowshot’s distance. In addition, Rowan began to teach her the rudiments of Handspeak, the sign language often used by rangers, druids and rogues. The young ranger also noticed, as the journey continued, that Drusilla was becoming very attractive – especially after brushing her hair. He mentioned his observations to Quintus, who bristled uncharacteristically and growled, “That’s all well and good…just don’t forget about my sister, Maxima!”

Rowan sputtered for a moment, but the sorcerer stalked away, body stiff with anger, before the ranger could fully reply. ‘Geez,’ Rowan thought to himself, ‘Can’t a guy acknowledge a little beauty? Wonder what’s eating him!’

Rowan didn’t mention it again and Quintus avoided the subject as well.

Midway through their second day on the road, they left the southern edge of the Thuringian Wood. Before them, gently rolling grasslands rose toward a line of low hills a days march or more distant. According to Lew, Rowan and Rosë – the ruins of Greenspire lay amongst the hills. By morning of the third day, the clouds began to gather in the skies once again and a light drizzle began to pepper them by mid-day. Shortly thereafter, Rowan noticed several buzzards circling two or three bowshots to the east. A quick, but cautious, advance revealed two slain retainers of the Swords of Glynden and a dead pony.

While Lew performed the burial ritual and the others kept watch, Rowan performed a careful inspection of the area. He determined that the retainers had been riding north, where they were waylaid by about half-a-dozen gnolls. The gnolls, clearly victorious, continued south – towards Greenspire – with one pony and at least one wounded member. Quintus commented grimly that at this rate, Glynden would soon be depopulated - with the losses they had seen in the last week (although he wasn’t too moved by the demise of the retainers).

They camped under the stars that night, a bowshot from the road. During the night, several of those on watch heard the howling of wolves far too the west. At first, Rowan thought it might be a gnoll pack and called everyone to arms. Rosë laughed at the ranger’s jumpiness and pronounced that they were naught but wolves, howling at the moon. They ate a cold breakfast the next morning, wary of starting a fire too close to the ruins of Greenspire. They continued to move through the hills and, shortly before mid-day, crested a hill and found themselves looking down into a shallow, wooded “bowl”. Amidst the trees, several ruined towers, made from green colored stone, rose skyward.

As they gazed at their interim destination, Rowan spotted movement in a swale to the left and the Bros. Scipio caught the dull gleam of sunlight off metal to the right. “Damn,” cursed Quintus under his breath, “so much for the element of surprise!”

Shouted warnings rose in tandem with the all-to-familiar barks of a gnoll warband. Quintus thrust his crossbow and bolts at Drusilla, who readily accepted them. Rowan stepped forward and let an arrow fly. Answering arrows fell among the party and the battle was joined!

The party occupied a high hill in between two groups of four gnolls each. One group was on ridgeline, slightly lower than the party and the other group was in a low dell between two smaller hills. Yipping at each other, the gnolls loosed arrows and moved to converge on the party. Quintus moved forward, gathered his will and dropped a Sleep spell among the group on the ridge. Fortune favored the sorcerer as three of the four slumped to the ground.

Quintus paused for a moment and called a protective shield into existance then, screaming like a banshee, he charged forward, yelling for Lew and Drusilla to follow him – he wanted to make sure the remaining gnoll didn’t have an opportunity to wake his fellows.

Rosë, who had been acting as rearguard, sprinted to the left and was just able to catch sight of the left-had group at the end of his run. Rowan, Lew, Sextus and Drusilla all rained missile fire onto the left-hand group and several hits were scored. Sextus also raised his deep baritone and began to recite a tale of valor about the legions of ancient Emor. That group concentrated its fire on Rowan and the ranger soon felt the unwelcome bite of several gnoll arrows.

The remaining gnoll on the right put an arrow into the wildly charging Quintus, who kept coming, yelling at the top of his voice. Slightly unnerved, the gnoll moved back, but nocked another arrow.

Rosë crested the hill above the left-hand group of gnolls and slammed an arrow into one that had already been wounded by Drusilla’s crossbow fire. Rowan sent another arrow into a gnoll he had struck previously and the creature staggered and dropped to one knee. Quintus reached the spot where the three gnolls lay in magical slumber and received another arrow for his troubles, he continued his tirade, but his calls now included a request for healing from Lew. The cleric and Drusilla followed the sorcerer up the ridgeline.

Meanwhile, the gnolls in the valley began angling towards the companions on the hill, firing as they came. Rowan took another grazing hit, but the others sailed wide. Sextus’ voice rose above the fray, strengthening the spirits of his comrades, but it failed to improve his aim…his bolt sailed wide.

In the space of a few heartbeats, the tide of battle turned dramatically. Rose hit the wounded gnoll in the upper left leg with a well-aimed shot and the creature crashed to the ground and lay still. Quintus ducked under another arrow and called forth another Sleep incantation as the gnoll turned to flee. The others, seeing all of their companions on the ridge down, began to beat a hasty retreat south towards Greenspire. Rowan cursed them haltingly in their own language, but they declined to take up his challenge.

Rowan, Rosë and Sextus pursued for a few moments, but three gnolls – one badly wounded and another grazed – broke contact and made good their escape. After a brief debate, the four slumbering gnolls were put to the sword. Quintus and Rowan expected some dissension from Lew, but after the events at the abandoned villa, the cleric of Osirian was not kindly disposed towards gnolls. The group quickly looted the fallen bodies while Lew called upon the miracles of Osirian to heal their minor wounds.

(DM's Note: The first part of this battle was picture perfect for the PCs. They used great teamwork, had the dice working for them and neutralized about 2/3s of the gnoll combat teams in short order. Unfortunately, the others were able to break contact and get away, with seriously adverse results!)

The gnolls were well armed and armored. Each torso was encased in Lorica Squamata and each member of the warband bore a short bow, arrows, battle axe and large wooden shield. Several hundred denarii worth of mixed coin and two oblong black gems were also recovered. A quick examination showed the armor to be overrun with fleas, so they quickly cut the straps to render it temporarily useless, broke the handles on the shields and prepared to leave the area. Their departure was hastened by the barking of numerous gnolls from the south – the escapees had friends!

They cut west, traveling at right angles to their previous line of march. Several minutes later, a collective howl arose behind them…apparently the gnolls had found the previous battle site. Rowan, Sextus and Rosë caught movement along a ridgeline to their left (south) and two ponies with humans mounted atop, crested the ridge. They yanked their mounts to a halt and one of them raised what looked to be a bone to his lips. The companions couldn’t hear anything, but the cries of fury from the gnolls redoubled!

Cursing, Rowan and Sextus sent bolt and arrow into the rider with the bone – Rosë’s shot sailed wide. The human reeled in the saddle, but remained upright and the pair wheeled their mounts and disappeared from view before anyone else could act. As they vanished, Rosë recognized them as the pair that had bested him outside the thatched hut and he yelled a challenge after them.

With the yapping of the gnolls growing closer, then group began to run. Cresting the next hill, they saw the two riders galloping along a parallel hilltop, but their hastily launched missiles fell short and the pair again rode for cover. Rowan turned to look behind them and his heart sank. Cresting a ridgeline three bowshots behind them was a veritable gray and brown wave of gnolls. The ranger stopped counting at twenty and urged his companions to make greater speed.

Unfortunately, the heat of the day and the energy expended in the earlier fight must have taken their toll and the grueling pace of the chase began to sap the strength of the small band. First Sextus and Rosë began to flag, followed in short order by Rowan and Quintus. Their legs screaming from the exertion, each willed themselves to keep moving. Rowan looked around desperately for a defensible location and spotted a low ridge with a small rocky promontory just past the next hill. Gasping for breath, he yelled at his friends to make for it. By the time most had reached the base of the ridge, the majority of the gnolls were not much more than a bowshot distant. Grimly, they clawed their way toward the top and temporary succor!

Everyone but Rosë gained the summit and turned, readying missile weapons and preparing to fire. The heavily-muscled barbarian could go no further. He stopped, dropped to one knee and began jamming arrows, point first, into the ground next to him. As the wave of gnolls poured into the valley below, he nocked an missile and prepared to fire into the on-rushing horde.

‘Today,’ he thought with grim satisfaction, ‘is a good day to die!’

To Be Coninued…

Next: Session 10 (Part One) - "Scarnose" Redux

Old One

 

[Old One]

Session 10 (Part One)

When we last left our intrepid band, they had handily defeated a gnoll ambush but allowed some of the enemy to escape. The brutish humanoids soon returned in far greater numbers and the chase was on! Despite their best efforts, the group was unable to outrun the hardy raiders and was soon brought to bay by the snarling pack. Rowan spotted a suitable defensive position and the heroes turned and prepared to fight. A ragged line of gnolls, strung out from the chase, ran toward them howling…

(DM’s Note: The players have put together their own e-group to discuss thoughts, tactics, etc outside of the watchful eye of the Rat Bastard DM ™! They did a pretty good job of planning out tactics, as we will soon see.)

“Scarnose” Redux

Atop the rocky tor, everyone but Rosë took up hasty defensive positions, hunkering down behind several large boulders that crowned the hill and gasping for breath. The party positions - from right to left - were Lew, Drusilla, Quintus, Sextus and Rowan. The barbarian, severely winded, began to loft arrows at the advancing gnolls while slowly retreating up the hill. Quintus, a plan forming in his head, began handing flasks of oil to Drusilla; instructing her to tear strips of cloth from her cloak and “stuff” them into the mouth of each flask. Sextus summoned arcane power to cloak the unarmored young woman with a protective barrier, then moved to provide the same protection to his brother. Unfortunately, his hand caught on a strap of his armor during the final pass and the gathered arcane power fizzled!

(DM’s Note: Sextus wears studded leather armor and has to roll for arcane spell failure for spells with somatic components. Just prior to his roll, I said “Here comes a spell failure!” Very prophetic…it was the first time that Sextus has not made a roll. Steve (Sextus’ player) is going to file a grievance with the D&D Player’s Union against the DM for unduly influencing the dice roll !)

Lew and Rowan added their crossbow and short bow to Rosë’s missile fire. Bolts and arrows began to fall among the lead gnolls and although several minor hits were scored the tide of gray and rust colored fur merely slowed slightly while they unslung and readied large wooden shields. Rowan’s practiced eye noted that the chase had strung the gnolls out into several distinct groups, with half a bowshot separating each group. If they could quickly defeat the lead group, they just might have a chance! A pair of gnolls dropped under the sustained missile fire, but the rest came on, howling in anger. As they approached, Sextus’ voice rose in song and his companions felt their spirits begin to lift.

(DM’s Note: Never let anyone say that a bard is useless! The bonuses added by Sextus’ inspiration made the difference between hitting and missing in a number of attacks made by the party. This was the second or third combat where his ability made a major impact!)

Rosë retreated to the cover of the rocks just as the lead gnolls reached the base of the hill. Instead of charging straight up, the ragged line split into two groups and began circling around on either flank, yipping and barking all the while. Rosë, Lew and Rowan all scored hits, forcing one gnoll to drop to the ground and cower behind its shield. Quintus called forth his power and summoned a magical shield to deflect the enemies blows and scored a solid hit with a crossbow bolt shortly thereafter. Beside him, Drusilla continued to prepare oil flasks for hurling and soon had four vials prepared. Sextus was firing the strange bolts he had purchased from Lathan and finally sank one deep into a gnoll after several misses. The effect was astounding…

A grain or two after the bolt struck home, crackling blue electricity engulfed the gnoll’s upper body. The creature jerked spasmodically and howled in agony before dropping to the ground, blackened and smoking. The other gnolls slowed their advance slightly, eyes darting nervously towards their erstwhile companion. Quintus, seeing an opportunity, leaped to the highest boulder and called out in his most intimidating voice, “By Imperial Emor, if you do not flee immediately, we will strike you down with our powerful magic and not one of you will live to see sunset!”

He then raised his crossbow, loaded with one of Lathan’s bolts and snapped a shot at the closest gnoll. The creature swung its shield up just in time and deflected the missile harmlessly into the grass. The sorcerer remained atop the rock - in full view of the enemy - and continued his tirade. Lew focused his faith and called forth a glowing mace from the power of Osirian and sent the weapon streaking towards a knot of gnolls. Rowan rained arrows down on his hated enemies without pause and Rosë called for Drusilla to hand him an oil flask as he spotted a cluster of three gnolls moving to the flank. Unfortunately, a small amount of oil had spilled onto the side of the flask and the slippery container flew from the Brigante’s grasp as he drew his arm back to throw it. The flask shattered on the ground five or six paces behind the group and burst into flame!

The barbarian looked sheepishly at his companions and mumbled, “At least I have secured our rear!”

(DM’s Note: Rosë rolled a “1”, followed by a fumble confirmation. Fortunately, the flask did not fall among the party…that might have been very bad!)

Sextus scored another hit with one of the ensorcelled bolts, but the tough gnoll resisted the worst of the effects and remained standing. Lew, not content with his Osirian-powered mace, raised his holy symbol once again and began chanting the prayer to summon a celestial hound to aid him. Quintus continued his pronouncements of doom, but missed with his next shot. Rowan noted that several of the gnolls coming around his flank were pulling out bows and arrows soon began to fall among the companions.

The second ragged group of gnolls was almost upon them when the tenor of the battle shifted considerably. Lew’s Spiritual Weapon continued to follow its designated target around the battlefield and his summoned celestial hound made its appearance. The priest of Osirian followed up his magical attacks by a well-placed crossbow bolt to the chest of a gnoll. Sextus, Quintus and Rowan all scored additional hits and more gnolls fell. Rosë, his string of ill-luck continuing, heard a “crack” as he drew an arrow back on his bow and saw the wood on the weapon split. With a third of their number down, faced with obvious magical attacks and under constant verbal assault from Quintus’ sharp tongue, the initial wave of gnolls began to falter and pull back (with the exception of several gnoll sharpshooters on the extreme left of the party’s battle line).

Furious howling erupted from the second gnoll line as it reached the battle area and Rowan made out the gnolls word for “coward” several times from the shouting. The ranger and bard traded arrows with the gnoll archers. Both received minor wounds, but the gnolls continued to drop, including one that succumbed to the crackling electricity of the last of Sextus’ magical bolts.

Lew, Rosë, Quintus and Drusilla could see a huge gnoll rallying his faltering troops to the party’s right front. Drusilla’s eyes snapped wide with fear as she recognized the scarred visage of the brute that had killed her two sisters. Rosë discarded his cracked bow and hefted his newly acquired hand axe, preparing to charge down among the enemy. Below, a dozen gnolls formed into a tight wedge – locking shields – and charged uphill toward the center of the party’s position.

Still standing atop the boulder, heedless of the arrows falling around him, Quintus slapped his last magical bolt into his crossbow, carefully sighted on the lead gnoll and let fly. The missile passed just over the raised shield of the gnoll warrior and struck the creature squarely between the eyes. A ball of crackling electrical energy engulfed the gnoll’s head and upper torso and the body parts disintegrated in a spray of blood all over his companions and into the face of “Scarnose”.

Lew followed up immediately by calling upon one of his most powerful miracles. Faint blue-white tendrils of light streaked toward the gnoll leader and played about his form. The huge gnoll limbs froze in mid-stride and a taunt halted on the tip of its tongue. The power of Osirian completely prevented all voluntary movement, but the gnoll’s momentum caused him to pitch forward onto the ruined carcass of his companion. Rosë roared a challenge and began charging down the slope. The powerful display of magic and the fall of their leader was too much for the remaining gnolls. Even though they still outnumbered the party almost two-to-one, the surviving creatures turned tail and fled.

(DM’s Note: The gnoll morale was already wavering when Quintus and Lew delivered the 1-2 punch! Quintus scored a critical hit for close to max damage + the electrical damage and did around 30 points total. Lew followed up with Hold Person to take the leader out and that did the trick. Both the players and the DM were amazed at the outcome of the battle, but the players did well. I rolled very well for Quintus’ Intimidate check earlier in the battle and Lew put together a great string of spells with highly visible effects to support Quintus’ claim of great magical power. Sextus took a couple of arrows and Rowan took one, but they escaped unharmed otherwise!)

Rosë arrived at the prone and magically-held “Scarnose” and began hacking at his head. Rowan, Sextus and Quintus chased the fleeing gnolls with missile fire and flushed the last of the gnoll archers from a small copse of trees. Lew stood guard by Drusilla and noticed the two human bandits, still mounted atop ponies, crest a hill a short distance away. He snapped a shot at them, but, after surveying the scene, they set their heels into the ponies and disappeared.

After several strokes with his axe, Rosë separated Scarnose’s head from his body and raised it into the air while waving his bloody axe and howling in triumph. As he raised the grisly trophy, the head shimmered and changed. The barbarian found himself staring into the death-glazed eyes of a young human man, perhaps twenty winters old, with shoulder length dark hair and a thin mustache. His roar of victory faded away as he stared at the severed head.

To Be Continued…

Next: Session 10 (Part Two)…With Family Like That, Who Needs Enemies?

Old One

 

[Old One]

Session 10 (Part Two)

With Family Like That, Who Needs Enemies?

The Brigante noticed the silvery chain of a necklace around the bloody stump of the severed neck. The transformed body lay in the now ill-fitting, flea-infested armor meant for a gnoll. Without pausing to think about it, Rosë dipped his hand into the mess and pulled the pendant free, holding it aloft to take a better look. A silvery chain passed through the pommel of a small stone dagger that was carved from dull gray-black stone. It looked innocuous enough, but the barbarian felt a tingling sensation soon after grasping the necklace.

Rowan’s eyes grew wide as he saw the air above Rosë shimmer and begin to discolor. He shouted a warning to the barbarian, who turned and caught a glimpse of the phenomena. A shimmering, smoky gray disturbance – about the size of an oblong shield – wavered just above his head. Rosë made out a dimly lit chamber and a silhouette moving towards him. With a cry of alarm, the ranger charged down the hill and struck the pendant from Rosë’s grasp, sending it spinning half-a-stone’s throw down the hill. The translucent oval held for a few heartbeats and Rosë felt a mental force of malice directed towards him before the shimmering dissipated.

Sextus and Quintus returned from their pursuit too late to see the mystical force, but both Scipio brothers noted the brief look of shocked recognition that flitted across Drusilla’s face when she beheld the severed head still grasped in Rosë’s blood-stained fist. Rowan and Rosë gave a quick account of what had occurred and Sextus, Quintus and Lew all agreed that it was probably some manner of scrying magic. Wisely deciding to leave discussion of the mystery for a later time, the group quickly gathered what equipment they could use (piling it atop the loudly complaining Pratto).

They cut all the belt pouches from the fallen and deposited them in a large sack. Sextus quietly cast Detect Magic in the area of the transformed human and discovered fading transmutation magic on the body, a magical ring that radiated faint abjuration dweomers, two crystal vials that radiated conjuration magics and the pendant, which reflected divination auras. They hastily scooped all of the items into the sack (with the exception of the ring, which Sextus “palmed” and secreted in his own belt pouch). They then rendered the vermin-ridden armor and the shields of the gnolls temporarily unusable by slicing straps and beat a hasty retreat to the West, before the gnolls could regroup. Before departing, Quintus, using the tip of a dagger, carefully lifted the stone dagger pendant from the ground and secured it in a pouch.

Shortly after they began marching, several party members felt the hair on the back of their necks rise to the uneasy feeling of being watched. After a hasty conference, the three magic wielders in the group decided that the black stone pendant could be a foci for scrying and stashed the necklace in a secure location, easily identifiable, before continuing on. They found a good place to camp for the evening and discussed their next move. After a lengthy conversation and much disagreement, they agreed to turn South after retrieving the necklace in the morning, cross the Great Western Road, then turn Southeast towards the Oar Road and attempt to intercept the caravan before it reach the ruins of Greenspire.

Examining their loot over dinner, they found a goodly store of coin and some gems among the pouches, along with a missive from “R” to Skilorn, the bandit leader. The note implored Skilorn to leave the Glynden bound caravan unharmed on the northern journey, since “R’s” agents had business with it, but indicated the chieftain could do what he wished when the caravan on the return trip to Oar. The second scroll was a crude map of the area, with the location of several other bandit encampments indicated.

The note from "R" to Skilorn read as follows:

Most Noble Skilorn, Lord of the Northern Roads,

I trust this missive finds you well. I am entrusting it to your servant and pray that it reaches you in time. I also took the precaution of sending a second missive by another route, so you may receive two. It is imperative that the caravan from Oar be allowed to reach Glynden unharmed and unhindered. My friends have business with it that must be transacted. If you accede to my wishes, I will double the payment we discussed before.

After the business in Glynden is complete, you may do as you will. I believe our other friend has use for any ore that is in the cargo and will pay well for it. There is no need to contact me…arrival of the caravan in Glynden will be proof of your word.

Until we meet again,

-R.

Prior to bedding down, Quintus and Sextus took Drusilla aside and gently, but firmly, demanded to know whom the head that Rosë still carried with him belonged to. It took the considerable persuasive powers of both brothers to overcome the young woman’s fear and reluctance, but she finally submitted to their request and penned a response.

(DM’s Note: Despite Lew’s best efforts, the severe wound to Drusilla’s neck has left her mute.)

She identified the dark-haired young man as one Acrius Sestius, son of Calian Cassuvius’ second wife, Domita Sestius of Oar – her own step-brother! She had met the young man only once, at the wedding the previous year, but thought him to be a well-connected merchant in Oar. The revelation that Acrius was “Scarnose” the gnoll confirmed – in Drusilla’s mind, at least – that her step-mother was behind the abduction of the Cassuvius girls and the subsequent murder of two of them. She indicated that she had “acquaintances” in Oar that could help protect her, but refused to say more, even when pressed. The trio returned to the camp and a subdued Drusilla quickly bedded down, sobbing silently.

The rest of the party was quite alarmed by the news related to them about Drusilla’s family entanglements…there seemed to be enemies, or potential enemies, at every turn!

With the singular exception of Rowan, fitful sleep and disturbing dreams plagued everyone in the party during the night. Although the exact form was slightly different, party members felt themselves start into wakefulness by a bone-chilling cold. Above them, gray haziness shimmered and a dull, black stone dagger descended towards their chests. They found themselves powerless to move, but just before the dagger touched them, it dissolved into a bright white light and they truly awoke, soaked to the skin in a cold sweat.

The following morning, bleary-eyed and tired, they discussed their similar dreams over cold venison. Quintus and Sextus quizzed Lew on his knowledge of curses and the trio posited and discarded several theories. In the end, they could reach no clear conclusion and prepared to break camp. The stoic barbarian seemed untroubled by his dream and Rowan, strangely left out of the shared experience, was afraid for his companions. They quickly, but carefully, backtracked to the spot they had left the pendant and retrieved it before resuming their march.

Shortly afterwards, several in the party felt a return of the uncomfortable sensation of being watched. They couldn’t determine a source of the ill feeling, but again suspected the pendant. When they reached the Great Western Road, around midday, they decided to rid themselves of the emblem once and for all. Rosë cut a sharpened stake, atop which he mounted the ripening severed head of Acrius Sestius. Drusilla blanched and turned away as Quintus scrawled out the word “Heretic” on a piece of wood and affixed it under the head. Finally, they carefully retrieved the necklace from its pouch and added it to the grim totem.

After a brief pause, they pushed on, hoping to make the Oar Road before nightfall. Rowan guided them through the unfamiliar woodlands for hours and afternoon stretched into evening. With less than an hour of daylight left, the emerged from light woods and found themselves standing by the stone ribbon of the Oar Road. Rowan quickly checked the ground and grimly informed them that they were too late…the caravan had already passed the spot and continued North. Tired, dirty and hungry, they decided to rest for a few hours, then pursue the caravan. Based on the age of the tracks, Rowan thought it likely they could overtake the slow-moving traders before dawn.

They ate a cold supper, grabbed a few hours of sleep and arose around midnight. Fortunately, a nearly full moon made travel fairly easy and the soon found themselves marching into the hills that contained the ruins of Greenspire. Near dawn, a ground fog started to form and Rowan called a halt at the crest of the shallow bowl that the former crossroads town lay in. The bellowing of oxen and the muted glow of banked fires revealed the caravan resting in the ruins below. Drusilla refused to enter the encampment, since the companions were almost sure the Swords of Glynden were now with the traders. She had once been betrothed to Tomas Nacalius and was afraid he would take her back to Glynden and her step-mother.

After a short discussion, it was agreed that Sextus would stay with Drusilla. Lew and Quintus would seek out any representative of the Church that might be travelling with the caravan and ask him to deliver a missive to Father Thomas and Rowan, accompanied by Rosë, would attempt to trade the extensive store of weapons for additional coin.

As they descended toward the camp, feeling their way forward through the fog, several diminutive shapes appeared around them. “Halt and state your business, bigguns!”

Quick assurances by Quintus and the presence of a Cleric of Light soon saw them past the halfling outpost and down among the caravan proper. More than 20 wagons and almost a hundred merchants, guards and teamsters lay in a tight defensive circle around the ruined fountain at the center of the crossroads. Quintus and Lew soon found the tent of one Sergeant-Brother Patrosian of Tyrial – a knight of the Church of Light. A squire ushered them into the simple, yet well appointed compartment.

Patrosian of Tyrial was a tall, lean man with close-cropped black hair that was going gray at the edges. Even though the hour was very early, he was already clad in a heavy lorica segmentata and was strapping on his greaves. He gazed at the pair with stern eyes, quickly taking their measure. Lew nervously stepped forward. “We are from Gandlewyn…” he stammered. “I mean, I am Gandlewyn and we are from Glynden…”

Having badly botched his introduction, the cleric stopped, red-faced with embarrassment. Quintus stepped forward and smoothly took over. After regaining his composure, Lew returned to the conversation, which remained pleasant but formal. In the end, the Church Knight agreed to carry their missive to Father Thomas and asked several penetrating questions about the affairs of the town. Quintus glared at Lew in silent exasperation as the priest, recovered from his earlier discomfiture, babbled on and on about their mission and encounters. After three quarters of an hour, they took their leave of Sergeant-Brother Patrosian, who bade them go with Osirian’s blessings.

Meanwhile, Rowan and Rosë where able to roust one Byuth Schulcross of House Schulcross, who dealt primarily with weapons. Unfortunately, the unshaven Byuth seemed to be recovering from a night of drinking and was none to pleased at being awoken. Bellowing for one of his assistants, the grumpy halfling bade them good day and crawled back into his wagon, after instructing his assistant to give the pair "Special Treatment"! Rosë and Rowan, used to dealing with the affable Garrick, were somewhat taken aback.

The halfling drove a hard bargain – first gaining agreement that the gnoll weapons were poor at best, then using that bargaining point to discount the prices offered even more. Once he had driven the price offered down, he pulled out a beautiful bow of polished horn and a curious recurve. Rowan had noticed that several of the halfling guards bore similar weapons and learned that it was a Sythian horsebow. The ranger immediately fell in love with the weapon and the halfling, sensing an even greater advantage, pressed his “attack” home. Rowan and Rosë were accomplished warriors, but traders they were not!

In the end, they traded well over a dozen battle axes, some spears, a score of daggers and ten shortbows for ONE Sythian horsebow and 50 arrows! The ranger hummed happily to himself as he stroked his shiny new bow while strolling back to meet the others.

To Be Continued…

Next: Session 11 (Part One) - Quintus Invents a Flying Machine!

(DM’s Note: One item I forgot to put in the last write-up was the effect of the bolts obtained from the strange trader Lathan. On a successful hit, the target suffers an additional 2d8 of electrical damage - FORT save vs. DC 15 for half, targets in metal armor save vs. DC 17.)

Old One

 

[Old One]

Interlude - Lew's Journal

Lew’s Tale

Lew slowly peered over the bolder. His hand sunk into the soft moss that grew in the quiet shadows of the stone. He surveyed the crisp, green field below. From this vantagepoint, they could see nearly 100 paces in every direction. The scattered growth did little to screen their view. How did he get here?

The events leading up to this moment seemed but a dream. He had placed one foot in front of the other without any real conscious decision to do so. He shrugged off the question. How they got here was not important. His eyes focused on one of the gray-snouted warriors on the far side of the field. “Is there no place more defensible that this?”

No answer was needed. He knew as well as the others that this was the place, the only place, for them to make their stand. He raised the crossbow and took aim at the lead group of gnolls. The red and black tabards of the enemy made for easy targets against the field of green. He whispered a prayer to himself, but the words were lost in the face of the gnollish battle cries. He took aim, and fired. As soon as the bolt had cleared the bow, he began reloading. His fingers fumbled with the complicated mechanism as he raced to get the next bolt into the air. He struggled to keep up… Lock… Load… Aim... Fire… It seemed unending, but in mere moments the lead gnolls had reached the foot of the hill.

Some had fallen, but their numbers were too great. Suddenly, the lead gnoll burst apart, as if it had been hit by lightening. The gnolls halted their advance for a brief moment, shaken by whatever had killed the first gnoll. Quintus was already on top of the boulder, shouting out threats to the advancing hordes. Lew knew what had to be done if they were to walk away from this battle. He raised his holy symbol to the heavens, reciting the prayer that he had recently learned.

A flash of golden yellow light appeared before the young preist, then solidified into a glowing mace. Lew pointed towards one of the minions of the dark priestess with hatred in his eyes. “In the name of the Light” was his single whispered command as the weapon speed into combat under its own power. Lew raised the symbol of his faith once again, this time calling forth a celestial being from the heavens to fight on Osirian’s behalf. A Blue-White light streaked down from the sky. The earth shook as the beam impacted a few feet in front of the advancing gnolls. As the light dissipated, a pristine white dog pounced ferociously on the nearest gnoll.

With greater confidence, Lew raised his crossbow, this time watching the bolt as it sank into the target’s chest. Other spatterings of blood around the field indicated were more gnolls had met a grim, magical death. The gnolls had begun to retreat… Some shouting on the left side of the field brought everyone’s attention to bear. One of the gnolls was beginning to rally the troops. In moments, they had formed a tight wedge, and began charging up the hill. Melee combat seemed inevitable… Lew began reloading his crossbow. Maybe he could get in one more shot before they made it up the hill.

He heard the undeniable “twang”, then “thwank” as a crossbow bolt sunk deeply into the lead man in the wedge. Lew looked up to see lightening ripple through the creature’s body before it exploded in gobs of bloodied gore. Lew dropped his crossbow. Bearing his holy symbol for all to see, he prayed for Osirian to stop the charging force in its tracks. Blinding bright light sprang forth from the talisman, striking the commanding gnoll in the chest. The gnoll leader’s arms and legs froze in awkward angles as he dropped paralyzed into the pool of flesh and blood that had once been a gnoll.

Any spirit that still remained in the creatures broke with the fall of their leader. The strange army quickly retreated off into the forest. Lew’s mind reeled. He had not dreamed that they would walk away from this fight. He took stock of the mule and the woman, glad that each was unharmed. The young priest bowed his head, whispering sweet prayers of thanks giving to the god who watched over them. After several minutes, the others returned from where they had given chase to the retreating army.

As they approached, he saw that Rose carried a severed human head. Before Lew could reprimand the vulgar barbarian, Rowan spoke up. He explained how Rose had cut the head from the body of a gnoll, and that the body and head had then transformed into that of a man. Lew’s head spun. Evil priestesses commanding gnoll armies, and one that is not a gnoll at all, but a man magiced to look like a gnoll. What happened to the days when the biggest trouble in their lives was when a handful of the miners got too drunk, and a bit rowdy?

That was only weeks ago, but it seemed like years. “Let’s gather what we can”… “Then we better get moving before they come back”… Lew wasn’t sure who voiced the suggestion, but he nodded his acquiescence. A few, short minutes later the party was once again cutting its way across country, hoping to put some distance between them and the gnolls.

"What was that?" The brothers voiced in unison. The entire party came to a stop, waiting to see if something more would happen. Nothing did. The brothers debated for some time about the magical items that had been recovered from the fallen gnolls. After several minutes, they had concluded that one of the items, a strange black amulet, carved in the shape of a dagger, might give its creator the ability to see, hear, or track whomever carried the item.

Lew, having little knowledge of such sorcery, wondered at the powers of arcane magics. The small amount he had learned from Quintus surely was only the tip of the iceberg. He made a mental note to probe deeper into the arcane when they spoke again. The party generally agreed that, if the brothers were right, they must rid themselves of the artifact as quickly as possible. Lew added the fact that, even if they were mistaken, it was not worth the risk to keep the amulet.

Before long, Rowan had found a suitable spot to leave it. A hole was dug with due haste, and the amulet was carefully dropped inside. The dirt was packed back over the hole, and some loose brush was used to disguise the place where the earth had been torn up. The party moved on a little quicker now, having had to waste precious moments depositing the amulet. Before long, darkness fell, and they reluctantly decided to make camp. Both brothers had tired after the battle and could go no further. Little effort was made to create a camp, all had been through too much today to care. Lew began unpacking the rations for a short, unappealing, but necessary dinner.

Sextus and Quintus took to training the young woman in the use of a crossbow, and Rowan disappeared into the woods to scout the perimeter. When the brothers returned, they recounted the information that had gotten from the young woman. Apparently, the man's head that Rose carried so proudly was once that of the woman's brother by marriage. Son of her stepmother's first marriage, he had been an important man in Oar. Instead of answers, they only had more questions. Why was such a man so far from home? Why did he wear the black and crimson of Ashai? Why was he disguised as a gnoll? Why did he lead gnoll armies?

Lew's head spun as he closed his eyes, adjusting the traveling cloak that served this night as a pillow. The night past restlessly, as Lew was becoming accustomed too. The dream this night, however, was somehow different. The others, he knew were dreams… vivid, detailed dreams, but there was no doubt that they were dreams. This… Had he dreamed it, or had he been awake? The dream… if that was what it was… was cold… dark… hazy… A black dagger floated towards him in a field of white mist. Before it struck his chest, the dream ended…. "I had the strangest dream last night…" Sextus mumbled as he gathered his things to leave the next morning. "Really? What kind of dream?" Lew's brows furrowed.

He had a strange feeling this was more that just a dream. As Sextus began describing the dream, Quintus and Rose both piped up that they had similar dreams. The elder brother must have been thinking the same thing, as he piped in with a ominous question "Lew, what do you know about curses?" "Well… Curses can be extremely powerful. Most… If I read where you are going with this… only last as long as the item is in your possession. I have heard of curses that can taint a victim even after they have released an item… but that is rare, and would require someone with immense power to create such an item. Still it seems odd that it affected all of us… Sextus, Quintus and I had no contact with the thing, and yet we had the same dream… and Rowan knocked it out of Rose's hand, yet it apparently did not affect him. The whole situation is quite unusual."

Concern creased the faces of all, but nothing was to be done now. They had to catch the caravan before it passed. Before long, they crossed the great western road. Sextus handed the mule's reigns to Lew as he slipped to the back of the party. Several minutes later, the two had erected a pole along side the road. Atop it, they placed the severed head, with a sign marking him as a heretic who had paid for his lack of faith. Lew frowned slightly, but said nothing. Had he been consulted, he would not have let the barbarian desecrate the body of a fallen man. But his thoughts mattered little to Rose. The act of placing a man's head on a pike was barbaric, crass, disgusting, but not forbidden. Such were the ways of man. Lew sighed outwardly as the party continued on. At least, if this had to be done, it was done in the name of the light, against the powers of darkness. It was a noble reason indeed. If such acts could be accepted, this was the only reason that could justify them.

Hours passed as the small party moved as quietly as they could through the forest. The large, weighted down mule made more noise than Rowan deemed acceptable, but nothing could be done to silence the stubborn pack animal. The trees thinned and finally gave way to the main road. Rowan frowned as he pointed to rut marks, a day or so old, that could only have been made by the passing caravan. The discussion was short - they had to reach the caravan. As they marched north they began discussing what they would do once they reached the Caravan. Lew offered a suggestion that many caravans would have at least one man of the cloth among them. He suggested that a letter be drafted, sealed, and given unto this person to deliver to Father Thomas.
With the security of Glynden in good hands, they could then turn their attention to Oar, and their original mission. Lew was a bit surprised that the others agreed. Ever since they had teamed up some weeks ago, his opinions had counted for little. It seemed those motivations of greed, and personal ambition had often overcome the greater good.

Quintus always seemed to be plotting something, six steps ahead of the rest of the party. It was not that Lew didn't like the man, but how can you really trust someone who doesn't trust anyone? And Rose… Lew continued to pray for the man's soul, but each day he found the big man dancing in the shadows more and more. He feared the day when the barbarian would cross the line forever. Sextus was a good man, but, blinded by brotherly love and duty to family, he would follow Quintus into hell itself if need be.

Then there was Rowan. The man was an enigma. His heart was good, his mind sharp, yet since Garrick's death. He too, deferred to Quintus more often than not. As Lew concluded his mental assessment of the men around him, he realized that they had begun to slow. "Maybe we should take a break for a while?" Quintus spoke up. "I can't keep up this pace, but we can not afford to loose too much time. Let us just take a few hours rest, then we can get back on the road."

Rowan studied the tracks etched into the mud. "The Caravan is only a few hours ahead. We can rest for a while, and still catch up by dawn."

Lew started to raise an objection, but the weary brothers had already found a small patch off the road and were beginning to make camp. The priest shrugged in the darkness of twilight, whispering to himself, ‘glad to see things are back to normal’!

The short period of rest passed uneventfully, and before long they had caught up with the caravan. A quick discussion with one of the guards revealed that there was indeed a holy man among the caravan. The party huddled for a moment before finally deciding to split up. Rose and Rowan took the spoils of war into the camp to sell for whatever they could get, while Lew and Quintus set off to seek the warrior-priest. Sextus agreed to remain behind with the woman, who feared being recognized. It was not long before Lew spotted the Silver winged helm standard of the order of Tyrial, faithful warriors who fought in the name of the light.

A quick exchange with a young squire, and the two travelers were granted an audience. The man finished donning his armor before turning to his guests. He was a large, burly man, covered head-to-toe in armor and weapons. Lew smiled lightly. The man was exactly as he had imagined. He remembered days long ago now - when he and his brother, Marcus, fought side-by- side pretending to be warriors of light. He remembered asking his father time and again to tell them stories of the Knights of Osirian, in all their glory. A smile touched his lips once again as he remembered the battle a few days gone. He had stood before darkness without fear, and had fought well. Is that what how this man feels each day? He wondered absently if he could ever be the warrior of faith that this man was.

Suddenly, he realized that everyone was waiting for him to speak… "We are from Gandlewyn…" Lew was mortified, as his crimson cheeks clearly indicated. "I mean… I am Gandlewyn, and this is Quintus, We are from Glynden, where you are now headed. There I serve father Thomas in the ways of the light. I have urgent news that must be delivered to him. Would you… I mean, your assistance would be greatly appreciated, if…"

The powerful man cut him off in mid sentence. Lew began to stammer out an answer, but was quickly saved by his silver-tongued friend. He could not believe himself. Was it lack of sleep? He hoped that was it. Why I am I so tongue tied? Damn… Lew may not entirely trust his secretive companion, but he had to admit that Quintus' slick talents came in useful from time to time.

As the warrior began questioning their motives, Lew finally slipped back into the conversation. "We have reason to believe that the Cult of Ashai is up to something…" He handed the man the note that they had found on the gnoll's body, and proceeded to explain the events of the last few weeks in a cursory fashion. After several minutes of discussion, they had finally managed to convince the priest that their intentions were true, and that their actions were on the path of light. The man graciously accepted the letter, and vowed that it would be delivered. Lew and Quintus turned back to rejoin the others, and see what Rose and Rowan had gotten for all of their goods…

~ Lew of Osirian

 

[Old One]

Interlude - Quintus' Journal

Quintus’ Log

When the exertion of fighting of an ambush and our subsequent flight caught up with Rose, it appeared once again that we were to be destroyed in detail. However in our time together my friends, brother and I have become more attuned to one another.

We fought the gnoll mob like a band of Emorian legionaries, as a team. The weapons Lathan sold us turned out to be particularly lethal. Their effect on our enemies' morale, coupled with my loud but less than accurate claims of our magical prowess, was devastating.

There was a moment at the end that will remain with me forever. Their right flank was broken and running. On the left, a small group led by Scarnose had formed a wedge and was rushing our position. Standing atop a boulder, I launched one of Lathan's bolts into the lead gnoll. The shot struck the beast in the face and the subsequent release of magical energy blasted caused its head to erupt. Lew, who is growing ever more capable, then fixed Scarnose in place with Osirian's power. These blows, one right after the other, broke the spirit of the remaining gnolls and they routed.

I am sure what happened next is of fundamental importance. I missed the actual event as I was chasing after Sextus. He continues to win my respect with his courage, but his use of it remains questionable. This time, he charged alone into a copse of trees near the bottom of the hill we were defending. Several gnoll archers had remained there and were pestering us with inaccurate archery. At the time of the the big event, we were coming back up the hill and saw only the shocked look on Drusilla's face. It was also a look that bore recognition.

Regardless, following the traditions of his people, Rose felt the need to severe his enemy's head and hold it aloft while howling. His victory ritual was interrupted when Scarnose's head transformed into that of a human. Seeking answers to the mystery had to wait while we looted what we could off the gnolls that had fallen and got out of the area before the gnolls could rally. From Scarnose, we acquired a necklace. The ornament was a simple chain with a dagger carved of dull black stone hanging from it. The stone reminded me of a similar necklace worn by Luc, the assistant of the mysterious "R". Rowan slew Luc, who then later returned as an undead wearing a black stone necklace. When I attempted to snatch Luc's necklace, I received a jolt of rancid energy that close to ended my life. I used great care in acquiring Scarnose's necklace.

We also found a message from "R" to the bandits and a map on Scarnose. The message notes that "R" wants the caravan to reach Glyndyn safely saying that her agents have business with it. The map shows the locations of all the bandit camps in the area.

As we attempted to find safe place for the evening I kept getting the sensation that some magical power was being used on us. Perhaps it was someone searching for our location. The necklace was the most likely object for a spellcaster to focus on, so we left it behind in a spot we could find later.

That night, on the thin pretense of continuing Drusilla's crossbow lessons, Sextus and I separated her from the rest of the party. I did this in case the knowledge that caused her to recognize Scarnose's human form did not pertain to our mission. Ladies deserve that courtesy.

It took some cajoling to get her to relate her tale. But finally, she opened up- telling us not only why she recognized Scarnose but also why she wished to travel to Oar. According to her, Scarnose's human face was that of Acrius, a merchant from Oar. Acrius is the son of Domita Sestius of Oar. He is the son of her first husband, after whose death she married Callian Cassuvius of Glyndyn. This is foul news. The most imperial minded household in our village may have a servant of Ashai in its inner circle.

Drusilla continued, telling us that she was running to Oar to avoid Domita. As in too many of my brother tales, the stepmother is less than friendly. Sextus and I could only shake our heads. Our general state of discomfort spread to the rest of the party when we related the tale to them. That night as I lay sleeping, or perhaps I was awake I am not entirely certain, I sensed a blackness that was seeking me. It seemed a black void opened above me and some formless dread was descending out of it.

My sense of foreboding did not lessen with the sun's return; others related the same experience. What was that poem grandfather used to recite when he was in the depths of alcoholic brainfever? "Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world," he would say, "The blood dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere, the ceremony of innocence is drowned." I felt the truth of his words that morning. I thought I was hard-bitten while working in the mines of Braithwaite. I was the son of a crippled man. For four years, I had been forced into back breaking and soul rending hours to support my large family. Today, I can see that I knew nothing of suffering then. My innocence is indeed drowning in a sea of blood.

I am become melodramatic. I will have to ask Sextus the name of the poet and listen to a few of his jests.

We retrieved the necklace. The sensation of being sought took hold of me again shortly thereafter. I decided, in hindsight probably incorrectly, that the necklace must be the source of the problem. We left the thing attached to two crossed logs near the Great Western Road. Acrius' head, which Rose had kept, is keeping it company. I wrote the word 'Heretic' on a small slate that I hung below the head. That act of spite, taken from one of my grandfather's war stories, produced no satisfaction. In fact, I feel unclean.

From that low point we tracked the caravan and finally came upon it near the intersection of the Great Western Road and the Oar Road, easily within sight of Greenspire's ruins. We learned that the Swords are accompanying the caravan north. Once Drusilla heard that the sons of other noble Glynden families, including her former fiancee Tomas Nacalius, were with the traders she would not enter their camp. Her fear at being discovered by them was extreme.

We left her outside of the camp with Sextus. Lew and I went to seek out Sergeant-Brother Pantonius, a representative of the Church of Light who was journeying to Glynden with the caravan. Rowan and Rose took all the equipment we have looted to a trader in hopes of bringing our group some much-needed cash. Initially, I let Lew take the lead with Pantonius. However, I could not keep my mouth shut as Lew began to give away every detail of our lives and current mission. If Ashai's servants can infiltrate a family so noble as Cassuvius, who knows where else they may be. So I eased over Lew and told a more restrained version of recent events. As I talked to the man, I began to have a better feel for his sincerity, but still I am opposed to telling anyone more information than is necessary.

We asked Pantonius to take a letter to Father Thomas detailing information we have acquired since leaving Glynden. I also asked him to consider staying in Glynden to aid our village in its struggle against the growing power of the Ashai cult. I laid compliments, thickly spread with honey, on the priest. I hope he will respond in the same idealistic manner that other committed members of the Church seem to when faced with evil.

Following that meeting we returned to Sextus and await Rose and Rowan. I hope their bargaining went well, as I believe that with just a few more denarii I can finally purchase the components I need to summon a familiar to aid our mission. I am also very certain that in the next few days I will be able to work out the final details on a new spell.

~ Quintus Scipio

 

[Old One]

Interlude - Quintus' Schemes

Quintus' Schemes, Problems & Issues

Cult of Ashai - Who is "R" and what is her problem? What is her connection to the bandits? Who are her people in or around Glyndyn (Domita Sestius of Oar, Cassuvius' wife is a good candidate)? She is operating near Glyndyn and the bandits are interdicting same, is there a reason? Will Cthulu be waking soon?

Oar - Outside of more info on Ashai types, what do we want? We need more info on Acrius/Scarface. How do we tie Drusilla to us after we deliver her to Oar? Do we seek out a couple of adventurous types to help us clear up the bandit problem on the way home?

Scrying - without looking it up in the book (until PC's actually research it), how do we stop it and who the hell is scrying us? R?

Fortress Scipio - we need to finish clearing it, that necromantic light was blue usually Osirion's color. Can it be established as a new western trading post w/ Tribes? Maybe solidify Kothric connection to further this.

The Mine Traces - can they be a source of profit? Luella to talk to Roget Crow about this. Tried to get Olanda Batterhorn of the caravan to meet with Luella. Braithewaite will be rather upset if he finds out.

Drusilla - Does she stand to inherit Cassuvius holdings? Q would not marry her for that reason, but he would certainly dream of it (conscience interferes with purely Machiavellian political manuevers). Q is hung up on Abigail so would not move beyond consideration of a relationship. Probably blew that option with weak first impression, plus she's 21 too old for us. How do we tie her fate to ours following our journey to Oar? Her brother went missing near Lords fifteen years ago is a recon in our future (did not one of R's maps look like it led to Lords?)

Ned Gallway - still have his scroll, his lacks original leverage over Q. With family in close proximity to and working for Fr. Thomas more overt retaliation such as violence or kidnapping seems unlikely. Need to come up with good way to resolve this.

Abrigal - missing, only clue was footsteps leading into and out of mine trace that may have been hers, Q hung up on her.

The Swords of Glynden - Encounter w/ Tomas at caravan less than satisfactory, Orsen needs to be put in his place. No murderous violence allowed. What is their connection to Cassuvius' wife? Tomas was engaged to Drusilla at one time.

Glynden's Council - must be rich to get on. As a member of the council Q could bring the Scipio name back into some prominence, plus its harder for local opposition to mess with him.

Sabrina - gotta get her away from Orsen. Best course to leave her alone and use subtle manipulation like gifts and letters to soften her heart.

Josephus of Bremerton - pissed at accusation but probably guilty, Sextus and Q "allowed" one of Gallway's flunkies to overhear that Joe may have scroll. Could eliminate a problem, could result in alliance against us.

Others - What is up with Lew's shoes (DM's Note: Somewhat of an inside joke with the group. Virtually every time Lew rolls a spot or listen check, the result is 5 or less, so we say that "Lew is busy examining his shoes!")? How do we get Rose to hit something in combat? Why does Sextus look so sexy in that tunic? Is Rowan's relationship with his new bow going to cause moral concerns for the rest of the party? Why did Corey take the Woodrow Wilson Bridge when past xp says this is a dumb move?

~ Quintus Scipio

 

[Old One]

Session 11 (Part One)

When we last left our intrepid band, they had finally found the Glynden-bound caravan and warned them of the gnoll bandit activity in the area. They unloaded most of the captured gear from their last several encounters with a hard-bargaining halfling trader from House Schulcross and made the brief acquaintance of Sergeant-Brother Pantonius of Tyrial, a church knight enroute to Glynden. Sergeant-Brother Pantonius agreed to carry several missives to Father Thomas on their behalf. While departing the caravan encampment with Lew, Quintus heard a familiar voice…

Quintus Invents a Flying Machine

“I heard that you were around…the whole encampments abuzz with news of the ‘gnoll-slayers’ from Glynden.”

Quintus turned slowly to see the squat, broad-shouldered form of Tomas “The Bull” Nacalius perched nonchalantly atop a crumbled wall, legs dangling. The young warrior was clad in a well-polished lorica hamata and greaves. His heavy helm, inlaid with silver designs, lay next to him and the silvered hilt of a spatha jutted from a tooled leather scabbard. Tomas had adopted a new hairstyle since Quintus had last seen him. His reddish-gold hair was cropped short, but two long mustachios, twirled and waxed, crowned is upper lip. Behind Tomas, barely visible in the morning fog, lounged retainers. Everything about Tomas spoke of wealth and power. Quintus, beset by financial obligations and perennially scraping for every denarii, hated him for it!

Warily eyeing his erstwhile friend, Quintus greeted him cautiously.

(DM’s Note: Tomas and Quintus were friends when they were younger. As they grew, however, station and wealth began to separate them and they had a final falling out when Tomas refused to help Quintus search for his missing cousins, Meikos and Wynda and took the side of Orsen Jucadius in the “Sabrina incident”.)

They spoke amiably with each other, sharing news of the road and other mundane pleasantries. Lew, watching the interplay betwixt the pair, felt the palpable tension that roiled just below the surface of the outwardly civil conversation. Quintus noted a momentary look of concern flit across Tomas’ face when he related the fate of the two slain retainers, but the red-haired warrior smoothly deflected additional discussion by commenting on Orsen and Sabrina. Quintus, unable to keep his growing frustration in check, wished Tomas and the rest of the caravan safe journey to the North.

“We are so glad that the Swords of Glynden will be providing additional protection for the remainder of the Northward journey,” the sorcerer said, forcing the sarcastic words through his unwilling teeth.

“As are we, my friend, as are we. These halfling merchants are paying a handsome bonus for our blades!” Tomas continued to gaze at Quintus with a maddening half-smile playing across his lips, his voice dripping with insincere mirth.

Quintus turned on his heel, “Until we meet again then…come Lew!”

Fuming, the eldest Scipio son stalked through the morning mist without looking back,grumbling to himself all the while. Behind him, Tomas “The Bull” Nacalius fingered the hilt of his spatha and chuckled to himself. After 40 or so paces, Quintus pulled up so abruptly that Lew almost ran over him. “Damn. There is one more thing we must do!”

Retracing his steps, the sorcerer led the priest back into camp, inquiring from all they passed about anyone with known magical powers. After several false starts, they were finally directed to the encampment of House Battenhorn with the name of one Ollandia Battenhorn. Approaching a well-appointed pavilion with topped by a blue flag bearing a white ship, Quintus spotted an enormous raven perched atop the banner. Fingers twitching reflexively, the sorcerer began to summon the power to launch a magic missile at the bird before catching himself.

The avian creature regarded the pair with a depthless black eye and croaked throatily. After a moment, the flap to the pavilion stirred and an attractive young halfling female, hair pulled back in a simple ponytail and clad in fine traveling leathers, emerged from the pavilion to the continuous cawing of the bird.

“Yes, yes…I see we have visitors. I am Ollandia Battenhorn. How may I be of service this fine morn?”

Quintus inquired about several items, including identification of the magic items acquired during the bizarre meeting with Lathan and Bogwell, the type of trading House Battenhorn was known for and the potential for doing business with ore from abandoned Western Mines. If Quintus was expecting great things, he came away somewhat disappointed. Ollandia’s repertoire of spells did not include the spell the sorcerer sought and the more they spoke, the more Quintus came to suspect that her power was similar to his own – natural and untrained.

Ollandia explained that House Battenhorn’s main business was shipping, but they had a strong sideline in the trade of raw ores and metal goods. Quintus probed further, hoping to reach some kind of accommodation or assistance from the trade representative in re-opening the Western Mines. She indicated that the House was always interested in new sources for trade, but that they had neither the manpower nor the inclination to actually participate in the extraction process. Disappointed, Quintus at least secured her agreement to speak with Luella (his sister) about making arrangements for future contacts.

Mostly dissatisfied with the results of the morning’s efforts, Quintus and Lew departed to find the others. Quintus said little as they checked their gear and turned south, retracing their steps down from the hilltop bowl that held Greenspire and continuing down the Oar Road. As the morning sun burned away the mist, they say the trading caravan cresting the other side of bowl, bound for Glynden.

The journey south took them into unfamiliar territory – land that none of them had seen before! Fortunately, the Emorian-built highway made travel easy and the party quickly left Greenspire behind, traveling through rolling pastoral lands and light woods towards a line of low hills several days march distant. The weather began to warm significantly as they went and they soon smelled of sweat and unwashed clothes. They kept a hard pace, seeking to make good time to Oar. At night, they could hear the howling of wolves floating along with the evening breeze – sometimes close-by and other times far in the distance – but were not bothered by any. From time to time, they spotted one or two of the enormous brutes skulking well out of arrow range.

As they reached the summit of the hills, they decided to halt and rest for several days. Rowan wanted to refresh their waning larder by hunting, Drusilla was flagging somewhat from the continuous marching and Quintus wanted some time to ponder the increasing power that was filling his mind. For several days, he felt as if he were on the verge of opening a new door to additional power and need some time to rest and concentrate on it. They found a fine campsite just over the crest, which overlooked a broad river valley that ran from the northwest to the southeast across their line of march. Beyond the river, another line of hills, slightly lower than the one they were on, awaited. Rowan’s sharp eyes made out what looked to be several buildings clustered around a stone bridge in the middle of the valley.

They rested for two days. Rowan located a lovely waterfall and pool several bowshots from the camp and everyone had the opportunity to clean up (except Rosë, who insisted that the rains would come when he needed to bathe). Rowan and Rosë had several successful hunting forays and Quintus was able to unlock the secret from his mind, obtaining the power to call upon Alter Self. That evening, several of those on watch were awakened by the sounds of a large animal moving about near the camp, but despite several false alarms, no attack was forthcoming. The departed the camp and headed down the stone road into the valley.

During the morning, several party members felt as if they were being watched, but none could discern the tell-tale flickering or disturbance in the air the usually presaged magical scrying. Concerned, Quintus asked everyone to stop for a breather and disappeared into a thicket. Several of the party members looked questioningly at Sextus, but the younger Scipio merely smiled broadly. A few moments later, soft chanting arose from the thicket and a huge, misshapen flying creature – somewhat of a cross between a goose, a turkey and an eagle – flapped drunkenly from the bushes and rose into the air with ungainly flaps of its mismatched wings. Rosë stifled a cry of alarm and quickly nocked an arrow, but Sextus, chuckling, placed a hand on his arm and whispered, “That’s Quintus.”

Shaking his head, the barbarian lowered his bow and watched as the creature fought for altitude. As Quintus rose from the ground, he fought hard against the feeling of vertigo that threatened to send him plummeting to the earth. He had been atop high places before, but had never seen the world from such an vantage point. Fortunately, the winds were calm, so he did not have to contend with additional buffeting. For about 15 turns of the minute glass, Quintus tested the form he had created with Alter Self, discovering how to turn, climb and descend without falling out of the sky. Satisfied, he began to circle about the area and fly up and down the party’s line of travel, looking for signs of enemies or pursuit. He attempted to “fly casually”, so any watchers would not be able to discern him from a normal bird – thus was Squawk born!

(DM’s Note: I had Quintus’ player make a DC 10 Int check to get the size, shape and coloring of his “bird” right. I think he rolled a “2”, so his first effort was haphazard in the extreme! In addition, since the Alter Self spell only allows weight to be changed by 50%, the critter weighed 65-lbs, which is incredibly heavy for a bird! The players quickly dubbed his effort “The Squawk”. Subsequent uses of the spell improved the form somewhat, but it is still big, ungainly and ugly!)

Shortly before the spell was due to expire, the Squawk caught some movement atop the ridgeline they had vacated earlier that day. Wheeling in for a closer look, the Squawk’s feathers ruffled when he noted several gnolls, dressed in brown leathers with stripped green and brown cloaks, nosing about their former campsite. Just before he turned to rejoin his companions, Squawk spied another gnoll emerging from some scrub brush. Straining against their chain collars were two enormous black wolves, over two paces high at the shoulder! They were, at most, two hours behind his companions. Winging his way back to where the rest of the party waited, the Squawk’s blood ran cold…they were being hunted!

To Be Continued…

Next: Session 11 (Part Two) – How Paranoid are We?

Old One