(Cydra) The Year 271 Campaign (Low Magic experiment)

[the Jester]

“Whew,” breathes Goer. He wipes his brow.

The blocked door has at last been uncovered. The rubble has been moved away, accommodating our heroes’ desire to see what is sealed away in the room.

“Open the door,” Otis barks in Goblin to the meek captive he has on a leash. The goblin cringes and moves to the door. He pulls at it, and for an instant the door sticks; but then it opens- and the smell hits them: corruption. The stink of rotting flesh- and the sight of it, too: for a terrible, snarling beast that was once a man springs forth, biting the goblin savagely in the shoulder. The goblin screeches in fear and struggles to throw the beast off of him.

Its flesh is the sick grey of untended corpses. Its tongue is long and black, swollen and cracked. Tatters of clothes still cling to the horrible monster.

How can it move if it’s dead??

Otis knows the answer. He casts disrupt undead, and a crackling bolt of eldritch energy shoots out and blasts the monster. It does not falter, though, instead merely taking another bite of the goblin. The little captive screams in pain and terror and the bloody-lipped monster chortles and flicks its black tongue.

“RAAAGH!!!” Cur rushes forward, swinging his sickle. It whistles through the air, but the monster darts aside, snickering. It looks at the goblin again, who is quivering in fear and cowering against the wall.

Then Sir Cedric intervenes, shoving the goblin out of the way and moving in front of the terrible creature. “Foul fiend!” the knight cries. “We thall dethtroy you!”

The monster darts to the side and takes another cruel bite of the goblin. The rest of the party shouts in anger as the poor little prisoner collapses limp to the ground. Cedric jabs the monster with his longspear, even as Otis steps up with a slightly shorter spear. As they pin the horrible corpse-thing, Goer moves in and hacks it ruthlessly with his sword. A moment more and the monster is dead on the end of Otis’ spear. The wizard shakes the creature off the end and the party stares at it. Goer touches an amulet around his neck and makes a sign to ward off the evil eye.

“That thing was... unnatural. Disgusting,” comments Dahlia.

“I’ve never ekthperienthed anything like it before,” admits Cedric. “But clearly, we are the equal of any challenge that thith plathe might throw uth! What could withthtand thuch a powerful group ath uth?”

“Hey, the goblin’s still alive!” exclaims Cara. “He’s breathing, and his eyes follow me, but he can’t move.”

“He ith paralythed,” Cedric says in wonder.

But only for a moment more. In less than a minute, the goblin- his name is Shazo- can move again. He is badly wounded, however, with major wounds from the filthy mouth of the undead creature. “Maybe we shouldn’t make him open the next door,” remarks Cara. “That didn’t work too well this time.”

The dead monster wore a pair of tarnished silver rings and a gold necklace covered in filth. The group gathers the jewelry up and then continues on their way. More empty chambers that show the signs of being recently inhabited by the bandits testify to the thoroughness of the group’s victory over them. The group finds an old trophy room, with the mounted heads of various creatures including a dragon on the wall.

Our heroes keep exploring, and soon they find a chapel. The icons and images indicate to the more learned of the group that the place is dedicated to the god Clymorian. Sir Cedric enters the place and starts exploring, but when he glances over his shoulder, he finds that the others have hung back: whenever any of the others of them tries to enter, lancing pains force them back out. Finally, Cur Sed Seed straightens his kilt and leaps into the room. Immediately he screams in pain and his eyes bug out. He starts bleeding from his ears, eyes and mouth, and then a great gout of scarlet blasts out his nose. Staggering, Cur manages to make it to the threshold and collapse just over the threshold, groaning. Our heroes try to help him, but he’s shaking and sore, covered in small cuts. But the bleeding has stopped- he has survived it.

Sir Cedric stares, dumbfounded. Why am I the only one who can enter? he wonders, then shrugs. “I thall thearch,” he announces, and after looking through everything he finds a book of prayers to Clymorian in the altar. He passes it around the group, but nobody finds it especially noteworthy, so he enters the room again and replaces it in the altar, and the group moves on.

Soon the party finds the door to the chamber that is home to the mosquito swarm that they encountered previously, entering from outside. As soon as Jorgen opens the door, a buzz rises up from the dank pools in the rubble, and the cloud of bloodsucking bugs rises up.

Wisely, Jorgen slams the door shut.

“We can’t fight them!” exclaims Jorgen. “What good will our swords do?”

“Perhapth you can help, withard?” Sir Cedric says, looking at Otis, but the mage shakes his head.

“I am afraid that my spells are not suited to such a disgusting concentration of vermin,” he answers gravely.

“Well, maybe we can smoke ‘em out,” suggests Goer.

”Surely they’re vulnerable to fire,” points out Cara.

After some discussion and argument, Goer finally collects some bandit bedding and piles it against the wall near the door. “All right,” he declares, “I’ll light the blankets on fire. Once they’re going good, we can open the door and throw them at the mosquitoes!”

”Wait a minute, is this a good idea?” Dahlia asks, scratching her chin, but Goer is heedless, piling the blankets together and sparking a flame.

“Sure it is,” he grins. Soon the pile of bedding is blazing merrily. Jorgen throws open the door dramatically, and Goer looks at the flaming blankets (beginning to catch the wooden interior wall) and frowns. “Er, there isn’t really any way for me to grab it,” he comments.

The buzz of the mosquitoes rises.

“The wall, you fools!” shouts Dahlia, and she turns and rushes away, towards the exit.

“What? Oh no!” cries Jorgen. He lurches to the burning area and tries to pull the blankets away from the wall, but-

Otis walks a few steps backwards and then turns and flees after Dahlia. “Run!” squeals Cara, “The place is on fire!” She runs away after the spellcasters.

“Ah...” Goer goggles at the flames.

”Let’s get out of here!” shouts Jorgen.

“Yeth, our work ith done here,” declares Sir Cedric, trying to muster as much dignity as he can. “Perhapth the thmoke will drive them out.”

***

Our heroes flee back to Whitewater as smoke rises from the edifice behind them. “Well, we thall thee what hath become of our fine cathle there on the morrow,” Sir Cedric announces. “For now, we mutht wet our whithles. Let uth head to the Fat Mallard.”

Cara begs off, going home instead. It is evening, and she wants to check in with her mom. When she gets home, her mother is sitting on the porch with a glass of wine, watching the sunset. She smiles at Cara. “I’m glad you’re in one piece.” Her tone is light, but there is a clear undercurrent of real concern.

“Everything went okay, mom. Mom... we need to talk about something.”

“What is it, honey?” her mother asks.

Cara takes a deep breath. “I’m engaged.”

Her mom’s jaw drops open.

”To... to the knight’s son.”

“That’s great, honey!” her mom cries. They embrace. “Tell me how this happened!” Her mom beams at her. And they talk for several hours. Cara’s mom is the town’s retired adventurer; she settled down to have children, and the loss of Cara’s dad still pains her greatly.

As she has before, Cara’s mom admonishes her to always carry a missile weapon. Ah, motherly advice.

Night embraces the sky, and eventually sleep settles upon everyone in their own place.

Next Time: Our heroes return to Laagos! Will there be anything left to explore? Will there be anything worth finding? We’ll get the answers next time!

 

[Brain]

“Well, maybe we can smoke ‘em out,” suggests Goer.

”Surely they’re vulnerable to fire,” points out Cara.

After some discussion and argument, Goer finally collects some bandit bedding and piles it against the wall near the door. “All right,” he declares, “I’ll light the blankets on fire. Once they’re going good, we can open the door and throw them at the mosquitoes!”

”Wait a minute, is this a good idea?” Dahlia asks, scratching her chin, but Goer is heedless, piling the blankets together and sparking a flame.

“Sure it is,” he grins. Soon the pile of bedding is blazing merrily. Jorgen throws open the door dramatically, and Goer looks at the flaming blankets (beginning to catch the wooden interior wall) and frowns. “Er, there isn’t really any way for me to grab it,” he comments.

The buzz of the mosquitoes rises.

“The wall, you fools!” shouts Dahlia, and she turns and rushes away, towards the exit.

“What? Oh no!” cries Jorgen. He lurches to the burning area and tries to pull the blankets away from the wall, but-

Otis walks a few steps backwards and then turns and flees after Dahlia. “Run!” squeals Cara, “The place is on fire!” She runs away after the spellcasters.

“Ah...” Goer goggles at the flames.

”Let’s get out of here!” shouts Jorgen.

“Yeth, our work ith done here,” declares Sir Cedric, trying to muster as much dignity as he can. “Perhapth the thmoke will drive them out.”

That was some pure adventuring genius right there. [hannibal]I love it when a plan comes together.[/hannibal]

 

[the Jester]

The Ruins of Castle Laagos- concluded

Half-expecting to find naught but a smoking ruin, our heroes are pleased to find that Castle Laagos still stands. Better yet, the smoke did drive out the mosquitoes. Fortunately, the general dampness has preserved the building from the fire. Our heroes elect to continue their exploration, though there are no signs of renewed bandit activity- or indeed, any activity since their last foray. By now summer has left them behind; the days are cooler than they were, and where there are trees their leaves are just starting to turn colors.

Our heroes explore the ruin. Otis looks pensive; he has lost the goblin in the night, after Lady Xastys refused to allow him to keep it in the tower. Instead, he tied it up; but in the morning, he found the rope cut and Shazo gone. Otis suspects that Tad Ranger has something to do with it; Tad hates goblins, and lives on the outskirts of town. He chews his lip for a moment.

Well, he has instructions, in any event. “Your pardon, my lord,” he says to Sir Cedric.

“Eh? Yeth?”

“I was hoping I could persuade you to retrieve that book for my Lady Xastys. She instructed me to try to retrieve any books or writings possible from the ruins.”

Sir Cedric glances at him. “Hm. It ith a work of religion, not of thorthery. What uthe can the have of it?”

“She is a scholar, and a pursuer of knowledge,” Otis remarks softly.

“Thertainly. I thee no reathon why the thouldn’t have it,” Cedric replies.

“Thank you, my lord,” Otis says gratefully. He bows deeply.

Sir Cedric does indeed retrieve the book for Otis who buries it in his backpack with relish. Surely this will please Lady Xastys, he thinks with a mental sigh.

The party finishes their search of the ground floor of the castle ruins, finding both a narrow stair leading down to the dungeon and a spiraling staircase that ascends to a shattered second story. They are attacked by a pack of hungry rats, but this is no real trouble. They fend the vicious little rodents off with sword and club. After a search, the upper level proves empty. Then they descend the stairs.

The squeaking of rats echoes as vermin scatter before our heroes. They are truly in a dungeon. The entry chamber houses a desk that holds ruined papers and a ring of rusty iron keys. A single claustrophobic passage leads away. Carefully, Sir Cedric leads the way. Goer follows with a torch. The others are close behind. It is not long at all before the party reaches a damp wooden door set in the left wall. The flickering torchlight reveals another beyond it, on the right, and yet another on the left past that.

The first door yields to one of the keys on the ring, and suddenly something within the cell gives out a blubbering scream and pushes out into the hall! The stench of death rolls out, and the walking corpse snarls and bites at Goer, who gasps as the fangs sink into his shoulder. He groans, his sword dropping from his hand to clang on the ground as he collapses.

“It hath paralythed my thquire!” shouts Sir Cedric, driving the bastard sword that the party took from the bandits into the monster. It staggers back, nearly cut in two, but then snarls and starts to retreat- grabbing Goer’s limp for by the arm!

“No you don’t!” cries Cara, lunging forward with her rapier. The blade stabs into the monster’s chest, impaling it. It collapses with a groan and sick, wet thud.

“Is he all right?” worries Dahlia.

“He will be fine,” declares Sir Cedric. “Remember the goblin? He came around after a few momentth.”

And Cedric proves correct. Shaken, Goer rises to his feet after a minute or so. He shudders when he binds his wound. “That thing stinks,” he complains.

There is nothing of note in the cell, so our heroes move on down the hall. One of the chambers smells so badly that our heroes decide to avoid it completely. The other yields rats, some as big as a housecat. After the group dispatches them, they search the litter of the nest the rats have created in the straw and refuse of the cell and find a few pennies.

The final chamber holds a metal cistern. Once it was probably an efficient way to keep a fresh source of water, but now the cistern has cracked, spilling a small flood of water out across half the chamber. The floor in this area slopes downward to the south, and a variety of strange subterranean growths dot the wet floor.

“Other than the ants, it looks pretty safe here,” comments Dahlia. “I am going to move out here.”

Next Time: Dahlia receives a mysterious visitor! Cur meets an aged orc! Otis angers his mistress, Lady Xastys! All this and more!

 

[the Jester]

In Between Adventures

Lazarus squints at the books open before him and sighs. He is half done, probably, but not much more. He leans back and stretches, sighing as bits seemingly frozen in place pop and shift for the first time in hours. A glance out the window reveals that evening has fallen- nay, full night. He missed the evening completely, so wrapped up in his work was he. Bemused, he glances again at the books. If only Bevin Tanner kept neater records, this would be much easier, he thinks wryly. Then again, if he kept his books well he would have no need of my services. I must count myself lucky- and must remember that my place is there, pouring over the books.

Still, before Lazarus gets back to work, he takes a moment to gather a bowl of stew. Settling before it, he devours it quickly. Chunks of goat, peas and potatoes and carrots- it is a filling and delicious meal.

Or so he tells himself.

In reality, the broth is thin, the chunks are smaller and the flavor is blander than he might have wished, but for the nonce there isn’t much he can do about it. Not until he gets paid, and that won’t happen until he finishes the books for his client.

Nonetheless, Lazarus maintains a cheery disposition as he returns to his labors. Ever since his youth in Kamenda City, he has shuffled papers for a living. It is his only way to make up the money he was robbed of at the festival.

His quill jabs into the inkwell, then slashes across and down the paper in a long list of items sold, their prices, their cost, the time that Tanner put into them and the value of the time he spent on the item. He is deep in his work when a gentle rapping comes at his door. Surprised, Lazarus answers- and he finds that it is Otis, a local scribe and apprentice to the sorceress of the tower. The two have long since made each other’s acquaintance. A scribe and a bookkeeper have a certain natural affinity for each other, and a tendency to need the same things for their professions.

“Greetings,” says Otis. “I have acquired something that I think you might find interesting.” With that, he pulls a book from his backpack- the book that only Sir Cedric could retrieve.

As he sees the script on the front of the book, Lazarus looks up at Otis. “This is fairly old,” he remarks.

“We found it in the ruins of Castle Laagos,” Otis replies. “My Lady Xastys bade me retrieve it, but it is in a somewhat archaic style. I thought you might be able to make more of it than I.”

“It’s a book of prayers,” Lazarus says, wonder tinting his voice. “To Clymorian!” He looks at Otis.

“Lady Xastys wishes to study it, but I thought I could leave it with your for a day. Perhaps later, she might be persuaded to part with it...”

Lazarus turns the book over in his hands and then returns his eyes to Otis. “By what right does she claim it? I am a priest of Clymorian. I would think that gives me more right to it than her.”

“She is very powerful,” Otis says tactfully, “and she commanded me to retrieve it.”

“You think she would blast me over it?” Lazarus demands.

“I think she would blast me over it.”

”I see.” Lazarus puts the book down on his writing desk. “Well, then, a day will have to do.” He glances ruefully at the books he was working on; he knows that they will now wait for another day. His think stew will have to do for a little longer.

He sits and begins to read. After a minute Otis leaves, heading towards the tower, past the swimming hole, out north past the east edge of town. When he arrives, he finds Xastys sitting up, reading a book. She glances at him. “Ahh, you return. How did it go?”

“It went all right,” Otis allows. “We captured or killed the bandits and fought a couple of intriguing undead creatures that-”

“Did you retrieve the book?” Xastys demands.

“Yes. I did more than retrieve it- I have begun the process of translating it into a modern vernacular.”

“Let me see it.”

“I don’t have it.”

“What? You fool! Who does?”

“The- the bookkeeper, Lazarus. I thought he-“

“He is a priest of Clymorian. That book could be very valuable to him!”

“Exactly. And I thought that if he had a chance to study it-“

“He might learn its secrets for free! Go retrieve it at once!”

Chastened, Otis hurries from the tower. He spends several bitter hours wondering what it will take to win Xastys’ affections. Then he returns to the bookkeeper’s house, where Lazarus reluctantly turns the book over to him. “When she’s done with it, I want it!” he affirms. There is some sort of curse upon the enemies of Clymorian in the book that I could learn, he thinks ruefully as he watches Otis hurry off. What does a sorceress want of it anyway?

***

Autumn is truly settling in. Cur is striding along under cloudy skies one minute, and the next he is in a deluge. The first true rain of the season has begun.

Moving through the deepening shadows as evening sets in, Cur Sed Seed sets about looking for shelter. After a few short moments, he spies a flicker of firelight against a boulder, and upon giving it a closer look he finds a small shelter and fire, with a single figure huddled in it. There looks to be just enough room for two.

”May I join ya?” Cur calls in Kamendan. There is no answer. He switches to Orcish. “It’s a devil of a storm- may I share in yuir shelter?”

To his surprise, a deep, gravelly voice answers in the same tongue. “An you mean no harm, come in.”

Cur crawls in next to a burly orc. The two eye each other across the tiny fire. They are filling the shelter so much that their feet are out in the rain. They must lie down, for there is no room to even squat or sit.

“A half-blood, huh?” The orc’s snort rankles Cur. “What’s your name, boy?”*

“I am Cur Sed Seed,” replies the half-orc. “An’ now I’ve given ya mine, how about you give me yuirs?”

“I’m called Skeetles. What are you doin’ out in this?”

“I am an outcast,” growls Cur. “I have no home. I live off the land, wanderin’ from place ta place, huntin’ my own meat.”

“You must be pretty tough,” remarks the orc with what sounds suspiciously like a sneer. “Tell me, boy, how many men ya killed?”

Cur licks his lips. “Well, there was this dead guy- and we’ve killed lots of rats-“

“No, how many men have you killed? Human, dwarf, orc, whatever?”

“Well, none, but-“

“Then you’re just a boy.” The sneer is stronger now. “Until you kill a man all you will ever be is a boy.”

“What about you?” demands Cur Sed Seed. “How many men have you killed?”

The orc shrugs in the shelter. “I don’t know. More than my fingers and toes. More than twice that. Maybe more still. Plenty.”

That’s a lot of men, Cur admits to himself. “Well, why are you out in this?”

Skeetles laughs softly. “I’m old. No matter how many men you can kill, eventually you start to slow down. I stay with my old tribe, and some young buck will come along eventually and put me down. That’s why I left.”

The two lay in silence beside the tiny fire for nearly an hour. Finally, Skeetles observes, “Rain’s letting up.”

“Yep,” agrees Cur.

“Once you’ve killed a man or two, why don’t you come seek me out,” suggests the orc. “Maybe we’ll talk more then.”

Or maybe we’ll dance, thinks Cur.

***

Dahlia is staring at the fireplace in her hut. She still hasn’t really decided to move to Castle Laagos’ ruins; those ants are still there, and they are potentially a very dangerous threat. She is daydreaming when the knock on her door comes. Startled, she almost spills her tea. A visitor? she wonders. Did I imagine-

Knock, knock.

Dahlia answers the door and finds a heavily robed, muffled figure standing on her doorstep. “Good evening,” the figure says in a clear, feminine voice. “Ah, you must be Dahlia.”

“Uh- who are you?”

The figure bows. “I wish a moment of your time. I wonder if you might perhaps be able to help me with some questions about my heritage. May I come in?”

“Reveal your face,” Dahlia insists. “Nobody needs to come into my home hiding their face.”

After a moment’s hesitation, the figure throws back her cowl. She appears to be a human woman, probably in her late twenties or early thirties. As she steps in, she introduces herself as Persiparie. Soon she has drawn Dahlia into a deep conversation. She claims to have a certain amount of elvish blood, “though much less than you,” she tells Dahlia. Still, she is very interested in elven culture, any elvish ruins or elf blooded folk that Dahlia knows, etc. She answers vaguely when asked about her origin, claiming merely to be a traveler and to have wandered from somewhere far to the north, but she makes no threatening moves.

Ultimately, Dahlia tells Persiparie, “You know who would know a lot about the elves? The old-timer! He claims to be the first baby born in Whitewater, and he’s definitely an elfblood.”

“Really? Hmm... I have an errand to run first, but perhaps we could meet at Whitewater in a couple of days.”

“What sort of errand? Maybe I could help you,” Dahlia offers.

“Oh, I’m afraid I can’t say,” Persiparie demurs. “It is something... held in confidence.” She smiles reassuringly. “But as I said, why don’t we meet in a couple of days?”

“...All right,” agrees Dahlia after a moment.

But, a couple of days later, Persiparie never shows up.

Next Time: Brandon Mallard makes a sad announcement! Our heroes find a new adventure! Find out what it is- next time!


*At this point all the jokes about prison sex started from the other players. “You got a purty mouth!”

 

[the Jester]

For the record, this party has three 'outrageous voices' in it:

Sir Cedric, with his lithp (played to perfection by omrob)
Kyle Goldenbow, with an over-the-top American interpetation of an Austrailian accent (played by seance)
and Cur Sed Seed, with a thick Scottish brogue (played by Dave, who I don't think posts on ENWorld, though I know he reads the story hours)

 

[the Jester]

Our Heroes Find a New Mission (or two, or three, or...)

Otis has stacked boxes, dusted shelves, arranged books alphabetically and by language, washed dishes, washed laboratory beakers, flasks, vials and bottles, copied over correspondence, repainted faded walls, weeded the garden, monitored experiments and a hundred other things over the last week. He is tired but happy: mistress Xastys has released him for a day.

So it is that he walks into town in the evening, after doing the morrow’s chores. He wanders about, looking for something to do, but of course there isn’t much in a town the size of Whitewater. There is the swimming hole... but it’s already almost dark, and cool enough that the bugs will be out. That pretty much leaves the taverns as a place to go. Well, he thinks, perhaps I will run into some of my friends there. That thought gives him pause for a moment: for years he has not had any friends. Since entering the Tower of Xastys, his life has been dedicated to magic. Nothing else has entered the equation for him- or at least, not until the recent events surrounding Castle Laagos, the bandits and Bangus Redcoat. For most of his life Otis has served the mercurial, capricious Xastys, hungrily consuming all the knowledge of the hidden world that she could provide. But with his adventure against the bandits, Otis had made friends- people who risked their lives with him.

When he reaches the Honest Man, he finds some of those friends: Cara Reed is singing a melody, accumulating a few copper pennies, while Cur Sed Seed drinks sips on a mug of ale. Goer, Dahlia and Jorgen are all finishing a meal- the smell of Goer’s shepherd’s pie is delicious. Otis nods to them and walks to their table to join them.

“Greetings, Otis,” Jorgen declares. “Please, join us.” The wizard pulls up a chair and murmurs polite greetings to his friends. “We were just discussing some rumors that a couple of us heard,” the sheriff tells him. “There was a fire in Cotton Hill a while back, and we’ve heard that it might have been started by some sort of winged devil.”

“A devil,” muses Otis. “That would be... most unfortunate.”

“Especially for the cotton crop,” remarks Goer.

Dahlia adds, “And for anyone whose home burned down.”

“Anyhow,” Jorgen continues, “we were considering going to Cotton Hill to investigate the matter. I think that your aid would be invaluable- especially if it is some sort of devil that started the fire! Why, our weapons might not even have any effect on it.”

Otis nods hesitantly. “My lady has had much for me to do lately,” he says. “I must check in with her.”

“Of course,” Jorgen replies.

“I’m still worried about the Old-Timer,” Dahlia says.

Goer asks, “What’s wrong with the Old-Timer?”

“Well- er- there was this lady who came to my hut and asked a bunch of questions. At the time I thought she was okay, but now I’m not so sure. She was supposed to meet me here today, but she never showed up. And she said she had an errand to run first, but she wouldn’t tell me what it was.”

“Why do you think she’s after the Old-Timer?”

“Well, I don’t know that she is, but she asked a bunch of questions about elves and elfbloods, and I know he’s an elfblood. And I mentioned this to her.”

Jorgen thinks out loud, “Well, that’s interesting. Why would someone be so interested in elves? I wonder if the crazy old lady got her name. Hey, Dahlia, did you get her name?”

Dahlia stares at him for a moment. Then she answers, “Her name was Persiparie.”

The group sits and chats for a few more minutes. Dark has fallen outside. Dahlia grows increasingly worried. Cara, her performance over, comes and joins the party at their table, ordering up some wine. They tell her about the subject of their discussion. “Unfortunately, none of us know the Old-Timer, or exactly which house he lives in,” remarks Goer.

“I do,” Cara says. The others turn to her, surprised. “I trained with him,” she adds. “He’s a hell of a fiddler, you know.”

“Well, do you know where he lives?” asks Jorgen.

Cara nods. “He’s actually right next door.”

“Then let’s warn him!” Dahlia springs to her feet. “Who knows what terrible things Persiparie is plotting!”

The party pays their tab, then exits the Honest Man. Next door is the house the Old-Timer lives in. It is a small, homely place, with a few ill-tended gardens. The door is shut and the windows are dark and shuttered. The group spends a moment listening for signs of trouble or life, and hears nothing, so they begin pounding on the door and calling for the Old-Timer. Eventually, they wake him up; he is safe and sound, but very irritable when awoken. He yells at the group to go away and let him sleep, and after a few moments of trying to calm him down the group realizes just how senile the Old-Timer is becoming- he seems to have little, if any, recollection of training Cara, for instance- they determine that coming back in the morning is their best course if they wish to question him as to whether he has been visited by the mysterious Persiparie.

Afterwards, Goer remarks, “Well, we can at least make a journey to Cotton Hill.” Then his face falls. “Although I may not be able to go. Sir Cedric is enraptured by some tales of a land covered in ice. I may have to stay with him, if duty requires it.”*

But as it turns out, Sir Cedric is happy to allow his squire to go along with the party to represent him. In the morning, therefore, he hurries the dangerous mile between the Whitewater estate and the town of Whitewater, joining his friends at the Fat Mallard. They have breakfast together, then go out to speak to the Old-Timer, who is in a much better state of mind now that he’s already awake. He doesn’t seem to remember last night’s intrusion, but he does know Cara after a little prompting. He claims that he has not been visited by any strange people (other than our heroes) lately.

Then, when Dahlia explains why the group is concerned and remarks that Persiparie had seemed interested in old elven ruins, the Old-Timer’s demeanor changes. Cara asks him if he has been to any- Dahlia mentioning the rough location of the one she’s aware of, in the Ashen Valley beyond Goblin Gorge- and the old elfblood begins muttering direly.

“No, no, no, no,” he growls. “Bad, bad idea. No, no.” He shakes his head over and over again. “Not for a long time. Don’t go. No, no, no, no. Bad. Bad idea.”

The party, puzzled by this change, tries unsuccessfully to draw more out of the old man, but to no avail. He clearly does not want them to seek the ruins, and just the mention of them seems to have shaken his grip on sanity. The party thanks him for his help and withdraws to the Fat Mallard in order to talk it over (and have lunch).

Otis purchases a bottle of the finest wine that Brandon Mallard has on hand as a gift for Xastys, hoping once again to win her affections. Then he sets to his fish stew, think with chunks of potato and cabbage. It is Cara who notices Brandon Mallard heave a sigh. He reaches up and pulls out another bottle of fine wine, twin to the one that Otis just bought, and uncorks it. He takes a lingering sip and sighs again.

“Hey, everyone,” Brandon says. “Take a sip and pass it along. This is my last bottle of the fine Kamendan wine.” Sadly, he adds, “I won’t be getting it any more.”

“Why not?” asks Cara Reed.

“Oh, it just... doesn’t turn a profit like it used to,” Brandon replies.

“What do you mean? It doesn’t sell so well anymore?”

“Oh, it goes as fast as it should- it just doesn’t bring in enough.”

“Well, did your cost go up?” Jorgen asks.

“No, no- it just...” Brandon stops, puzzled. “I don’t understand it,” he admits.

“Maybe you should have the book keeper look through your books,” suggests Goer.

Brandon shrugs helplessly. “What good would that do?”

“Well, at least you would know where the loss is happening.”

“Maybe someone is stealing from Brandon,” the sheriff muses aloud. “Or is it possible that he is being shorted on his shipments? Well,” he says to Brandon, “let me know if you turn up any evidence of thievery.”

Brandon looks like he’s been given something to chew on. He nods. “You’re right. I’ll hire Lazarus to go over everything with a fine screen.” He sighs yet again. “But I fear the fault is my own- I’m too generous sometimes,” he admits.

“But generous with that?” Goer says doubtfully.

“Aye, yeh’ve given me beers before, but never that fine wine,” Cur remarks in his thick brogue. “At least, not afore now, when it’s yuir very last bottle.”

Brandon Mallard nods again. “I’ll hire Lazarus,” he repeats. “Thanks for the advice.”

Our heroes return to their previous discussion. “Well, so far this Persiparie person doesn’t seem to have done any harm,” Jorgen points out. “We have no idea of where to find her, what she’s after or if she’s a danger. Let’s put that on hold. Now, this fire in Cotton Hill sounds worth investigating- especially if there’s some kind of devil running around.” He shudders.

”A devil!” yawps Cur.

“Yep,” nods Goer. “It could be very dangerous.”

“Well, danger’s my middle name, then, innit?” Cur grins, showing uneven teeth. “Don’t forget, lad- I run with the Outcasts. We’re a tough bunch!”

“It’s decided, then- we’ll go to Cotton Hill,” declares Jorgen.

And the party sets off.

Next Time: Our heroes journey overland through a very hostile world! What will they encounter? And what will they find once they reach Cotton Hill? Find out next time!


*omrob, Cedric’s player, was on vacation in Iceland. Goer’s player actually said something along these lines in game, and it was amusing enough to deserve mention and this footnote here.

 

[the Jester]

Cotton Hill

Dahlia unfolds her map, squints at it, then turns it right side up. “Aha,” she breathes. The others cluster around her. She points out Whitewater and then traces a line to Cotton Hill, probably 20 miles away or thereabouts. “We’ll have to follow the edge of the rise of the land, but it should pretty much take us right there,” she says. “We’ll probably get there tomorrow.”

“Fair enough,” Cara answers.

So far the journey has been uneventful. To the party’s left, the ground slopes upwards, eventually rising into the distant mountains. Hills punctuate the area. It is cooler than it was just a week ago; our heroes know that winter is not far off.

“You know, I was thinking,” Goer says. “Maybe after this we should take a trip to Kamenda City sometime.” The others shrug noncommittally, and he scowls. He didn’t get a much better response when he suggested it to Sir Cedric, either.

The band trudges through the morning and into about noon without event. They are all too aware of the dangers of the wilds between communities; bandits, goblins, gnolls and worse all lurk in the shadows of the hills, the forests, the mountains. Why, even between the Whitewater estate and the town, sometimes people are assailed. Traveling in numbers- such as our heroes are doing currently- is one way to lower the odds of trouble. So far it has worked.

Unfortunately, our heroes’ luck on that score runs out about half an hour after lunch. The sun is high in the sky, with clouds scudding in, when Dahlia calls out a warning, “Look out! There’s something moving in the bushes!”

The party pulls out weapons and begins strapping on their shields, and suddenly there is movement in the manzanita bushes along the side of the hill. About half a dozen small creatures burst forth and rush down the hill at the party. Cara begins singing as the others brace themselves. The creatures appear to be small shrubs with a bare semblance of arms and legs. Cur whips his sickle into the first of the creatures to reach the group, but he barely scores its bark.

Then, with a crash and a thud, the monsters reach our heroes. Cara’s song abruptly cuts off in a scream as one of them smashes her from behind, breaking one of her arms! Shaking and crying in pain, she uses her other hand to draw forth her rapier and she sticks one of the monsters in what might pass for an eye. It trundles about for a few seconds and then collapses into a pile of sticks.

The battle rages fierce about her, but Cara is dizzy. She sinks to her knees as she stabs another. From the corner of her eye she can see Dahlia club one of the wooden creatures down. “Help,” she croaks. “I’m hurt... help!”

Another of the creatures is bearing down on her. Goer leaps in front of it and swings his sword, landing a mighty blow that hews the thing in half like a piece of firewood! He flashes her a quick smile before yelping and defending himself as another presses him. He, Jorgen, Kyle and Dahlia form a line, driving the manzanita monsters back. And then it’s over: the plant things withdraw to fight another time. Panting, our heroes mop their collective brows. Dahlia does what she can for Cara, who winces in pain as the weird old lady sets her arm and constructs a crude splint from some of the wood the fallen monsters left behind. Then she feeds Cara a few goodberries, hoping to alleviate the worst of it. When all is said and done, Cara’s arm, though not fully healed, is much better; a day or two of rest should suffice for it. Still, it throbs and itches, and the pretty young bard has to periodically bite her lip against a particularly harsh wave of pain.

Our heroes continue along.

Of course, now that they are wounded, it is inevitable that more trouble will find them. As they travel along, they notice movement atop a hill to their left.

”Uh-oh, I hope those aren’t bandits,” muses Jorgen aloud.

Indeed, riders are beginning to emerge from a area concealed by thick undergrowth. First one, then a handful, then a dozen... then more. And more. They keep coming, headed towards our heroes, more than two dozen strong- more like forty.

“Crap,” breathes Goer. Cara bites her lip.

“Let’s not mess with these boys, all roight?” Kyle urges in a low voice. “Crikey! We’re outnumbered!” Cur growls low in his throat.

“Good day to you,” calls the leader, reining in a few dozen paces from our heroes. The ruffians behind him draw up as well.

“Good day,” Jorgen answers pleasantly.

“You have the look of travelers about you,” the other observes. “Surely you know how dangerous these wilds can be.”

“Ah yes?”

“Unless you travel in, shall we say, significant numbers.”

“Ah, I see.”

“Yes, you see,” the horseman replies, “there are bandits about.”

“So we understand,” Goer says sardonically.

“However, as you can see, we number quite a few. I’m sure that, with the right inducement, we could ‘persuade’ these bandits to leave you along.”

Jorgen scratches his chin. “Oh, really? What sort of inducement?”

Kyle leans towards him and stage-whispers, “They want a bribe.”

“A few good coins,” the man responds dismissively. Behind him, several of the ruffians chuckle. One guffaws.

“And in return you will escort us to where we’re going?” Cur asks. Just below the surface there is a dangerous note in his voice, but the spokesman of the group ignores his tone.

”Oh, no. In return we will make sure the local bandits don’t molest you.”

Jorgen ponders for half an instant, and then replies, “Actually, we’re on official business of Lord Whitewater. I’m the sheriff of Whitewater, actually,” he taps the metal star on his breast, “and we recently took care of one group of bandits. I doubt whether we have much to fear.”

“But you are so few,” the spokesman says. “I would hate for an accident to happen to your fine group.”

“Well,” acknowledges Jorgen, “we are a small group here, but my friend Tumenore and his band are also nearby.”

It’s half a bluff; Tumenore and his band of bandit-hunters probably are still nearby somewhere, but they have no fondness for our heroes. Still, this band of horsemen are clearly brigands themselves; several of them blanch at the mention of the half-orc’s name.

“I see,” the horseman says after a moment’s reflection. “Well, in that case, sheriff, we’ll trouble you no more. It sounds as though you’re safety is already assured, at least for the time being.” He smiles and tips his hat to Jorgen, then wheels his horse back to his men. After a minute’s low conversation, the group gallops away.

Jorgen lets out a long breath. “Whew! I didn’t know if that would even work!”

“Good job, sheriff,” Kyle smiles at him. “Now let’s be on our way, shall we?”

***

That evening, back in Whitewater, Lazarus begins going over Brandon Mallard’s books. It doesn’t take long to confirm a few key things: Brandon is using more of certain supplies than he used to, yet he is not making as much money on them as he should be. It’s puzzling.

Well, he’s known to be too generous from time to time, but surely there’s more to it than that, Lazarus thinks.

He keeps investigating until deep into the night, and finally grins in triumph.

“It’s all one merchant’s wares!” he says to nobody in particular. With a grin, he closes the books for the nonce and rubs his eyes. I’ll finish going through them in the morning, he thinks, but I believe I have half the answers already.

Brandon, you’re dealing with an unscrupulous thief.

***

Early the next day our heroes can see Cotton Hill in the distance- Cotton Hill, and the signs of much fire. Large swaths of the ground are blackened, and many of the manzanitas have burned to ashen husks. The fire clearly reached town, too. When our heroes finally reach the outskirts, they have walked over a mile and a half of burned ground.

Stabling their animals is first; fortunately, the stable is just next to the Pair o’ Dice Inn. The party then enters the inn itself and begins asking around about anyone who saw any kind of fire devil. “Haven’t heard anything about that here,” says the bartender, surprised by the question. “From what I heard, the fire was started by stupid travelers.”

“How do you know that?” wonders Jorgen.

“Couple of the local boys checked it out and found the site,” the barkeep replies.

Otis, meanwhile, wanders over to a table in the back where several of the locals are playing a dice game, and soon he’s losing money hand over fist. He wins a few, too, and the man running the table (named Tiberius) keeps enticing him to stay in the game by occasionally offering better odds on specific hands. (“Bet at least 2 sp and I’ll give you 4:1 if you win,” he tempts.) Even after out heroes wander over to tell him that they’re getting ready to leave (and Cur plays a hand or two), Otis lingers for a while, seemingly unable to resist the itch to gamble. Finally, noticing that his friends have left, he hurries after them, his purse a little lighter than it was before.

The group walks back towards Whitewater, first hiring someone to show them where the blaze started. Indeed, in the midst of the devastation there is the remains of a campsite, with one especially long blackened log that runs from the firepit in the camp to what must have once been a clump of dry grass. Dahlia swears in elven. Cur shakes his head and mutters, “Idiots.”

Convinced that the tale of the fire devil was just rumor, our heroes return to Whitewater. This time they are uninterrupted, and not long after dark they reach the town. They variously retire, agreeing that on the morrow they shall meet again at the Mallard.

***

“Drougal Traveler,” breathes Lazarus. “He’s your man, Brandon... he’s your man.”

Next Time: Our heroes help Dahlia move! Lazarus tells them more about Brandon’s money problems! And our heroes learn a valuable lesson about the dangers of the wilds!

 

[the Jester]

Fwaigo Smith goes down on one knee and bows respectfully to his lord, Sir Martin Whitewater. Goer (as Fwaigo is called) is nervous; the topic he is about to broach could be... sensitive. Nonetheless...

“Well, Fwaigo, what is it?” Sir Martin asks. “You wished an audience with me?”

“Yes, my lord, thank you,” Goer responds. “I... I am aware that Lady Raven is very ill.”

Sir Martin’s face blanches a little.

“I... I do not wish to bring up a painful subject, my lord, but I wanted to tell you- Cedric and I, and our friends- well, we’ve already made the trip to Cotton Hill and back successfully. We’re willing- that is, if you know of anything that could help, we would be willing to make a journey. Perhaps there is a physician or herbalist in Kamenda City we could hire to look at her, or-“

“Fwaigo... Goer.” Sir Martin sighs heavily. “Believe me, we have searched far afield. We have checked Kamenda City. We have checked with the priests and the herb-mongers. We have even,” he adds dryly, “checked with your friend Dahlia. My wife’s ailment has no known cure.” He sighs again. “I appreciate your offer, and if I hear any word of anything that could help her, I will not hesitate to employ you and your friends, or whatever other method I feel is warranted, to gain that help. But for now...” Trailing off, he shakes his head.

Goer bites his lip.

“Thank you for the offer,” Sir Martin says tonelessly. His face is a stoic mask, but there is pain in his eyes.

***

Lazarus and Brandon Mallard emerge from the office of the Fat Mallard, talking in excited tones. They shake hands, Brandon passing over a purse to the book-keeper, and then Lazarus spies Otis sitting with Cur, Cara, Dahlia, Kyle and Jorgen. He heads to their table; Otis is one of the only friends he has in this little town. Ah, for the city, he thinks regretfully. He has made mistakes in the past; it seems to be town for the near future for him. Well, that’s what I get for forgetting my place, he chastises himself.

Burgeoning with pride, Lazarus tells the others what he has discovered. “There’s one merchant in particular that has been shorting Brandon,” he announces. “His name is Drougal Traveler, and he usually comes through town three or four times a year. In fact, he was just in here about a week or so ago.”

“How thorough is your evidence?” Jorgen- Sheriff Jorgen, that is- asks.

Lazarus nods firmly. “Oh, it’s pretty good. Brandon has been buying a certain amount of goods, but not all of it is selling. He may be too generous for his own good, but not on this kind of level.”

“How much has this merchant stolen from him?” inquires Jorgen.

Lazarus fixes him with his eyes and pronounces, “Almost eighty gold.”

A shocked silence settles over the table. No wonder Brandon can’t afford to keep the nice wine on the menu! Eighty gold pieces- that’s as much money as any of them have ever seen at one time (with the exception of Lazarus, but hey, mistakes were made, all right?).

“Well, it seems to me,” Jorgen says slowly, “that if this merchant is victimizing people in my town, it is fitting that I bring him to justice.”

“Do you think he’s done it to anyone else?” wonders Cara.

“Who else in town does he serve?” asks Jorgen.

“Well,” Brandon puts in, meandering over, “I know the Honest Man buys some of the same things that I do from him.”

“Let’s check their books,” says the sheriff.

As the party leaves the Mallard, they spot Goer headed their way. Jorgen and he clasp hands in greeting, and the sheriff fills the squire in as they walk. When they reach the Honest Man, the proprietor (one Jimmy Goodman) has no complaints about the merchant in question, one Drougal Traveler. He shrugs and lets Lazarus examine the books when questioned, and there is no sign of his being defrauded like Brandon.

Several minutes later, the party has taken a table in the corner. They are talking over the best way to proceed with their investigation of the situation. “Could it be related to the feud between the Cookers and the Gardens?” Jorgen muses aloud.

“Why would a traveling merchant be interested in their feud?” objects Dahlia. “Wouldn’t he get more money by serving them both?”

“Then why just steal from one of them?” points out Goer.

“Opportunity,” Cur Sed Seed answers flatly. “He’s probably got more of a chance to do it to Brandon, plain and simple. And if he only steals from one of them, he still has business in town even if he gets caught.”

“The only way to really know is to ask him,” Dahlia says. She rummages in her backpack and pulls out a map of the Barony. After some discussion and a hurried trip back to the Fat Mallard, the party ascertains the rogue merchant’s most probably route. “He probably went up to Cotton Hill first,” Dahlia murmurs, tracing the route with her finger. “Then almost due northeast to Lumber, on the woods here. Then he will follow the road to Kamenda City.”

“Cotton Hill?” exclaims Goer. “We were just there!”

“I wonder if he had anything to do with the fire,” Cur speculates. That shuts everyone up for a few minutes.

“Well,” Jorgen finally picks up the conversation, “I think I’ll have to go up there, probably to Lumber, and see if I can pick up his trail.” He looks the others over. “Is anyone willing to come with me?”

“When are you going? I’m going to be moving,” Dahlia declares.

“You’re moving? Where, into town?” Cara asks.

“No!” Dahlia looks almost offended at the idea. “I’m going to move in to Castle Laagos. It’s pretty nice there, except for the ants. And hey, maybe sometime we can get them to leave somehow. Maybe we can come up with some way to lure them away, or something...”

“Well, not for a day or two,” Jorgen answers Dahlia’s original question. “I have to see Sir Martin first- I have an audience with him this afternoon.”

“Really? I just had an audience with him too!” Goer beams. “What are you talking to him about?”

“Defending the town,” the sheriff pronounces. “I want to see what he thinks about trying to train up the peasantry.”

***

When Jorgen’s audience comes, Sir Martin nods at his concern. “I’ll think over the training issue,” he says. “And I want you to start surveying the town for possibly building a wall. That would be a major project- but it might be one worth doing.”

Thus it is, the next day, that Goer and Jorgen go to visit the sorceress, Xastys, for she is the only person in town that they can think of who might know more about architecture than how to build a simple sod hut. Indeed, she takes their commission, agreeing to do some planning with Jorgen’s surveying information.

The next day, Dahlia moves. Cur, Goer, Cara, Kyle, Jorgen and Otis all help her haul the strange collection of things she has from her tiny hut along the river two miles downstream from Whitewater to the ruins of Castle Laagos. Along the way they are suddenly assailed by a giant praying mantis taller than any of them that leaps out from behind a screen of brush and almost kills Cur in an instant, then tries to flee with him in order to feast on his unconscious form! But Jorgen is having none of that, and in a pair of mighty blows he single-handedly slays the terrifying thing.* Afterwards, the others look at him with respect-filled eyes. “Good job!” Kyle enthuses. “Crikey, that was a hell of a bug!”

When they reach Castle Laagos, the party helps Dahlia move stuff in. Kyle sidles up to her and tries to sweet-talk her into bed, but in the end the most he can manage is for Dahlia to allow him to sleep in a separate room on abandoned bandit bedding. The others return to town in a group, dragging the unconscious Cur on a litter, and no more dangerous predators attack them.

***

The next day, when Kyle is heading back to town, he runs into Otis, who is headed back to town himself. Kyle chatters incessantly while Otis remains more aloof; but then the scream of a hawk above them gets their attention.

Not a hawk; hawks. Three of them, circling Kyle and Otis as if they were prey. And then-

Blood-red, they dive in. Otis and Kyle cry out as the vicious beasts rip at them with their razor-sharp talons, inflicting terrible, bleeding wounds. Desperately, Otis casts mage armor, then blasts one of the scarlet terrors with a magic missile. But then one of the hawks slashes Kyle across the face and he stumbles into a heap on the ground, blood pouring out of him.

Ashen-faced, Otis struggles to retain his calm. Deep breath. His head is going light. He’s bleeding badly- the talons of these hawks inflict terrible wounds. With a groan, he blasts the hawk with another magic missile and it falls in an explosion of feathers.

As the others swoop past him he casts himself aside. His head is pounding. His vision is getting blurry. “I can’t take much more,” he croaks. His leaden fingers pluck his sling from his belt. He drops a stone in the cup and starts twirling it. The birds are curving back towards him.

He lets fly.

The stone pegs one of the hawks in its shoulder, and the bird lets out a scream of anger, and then Otis feels a terrible wound open as the hawk’s talons rip into him.

Then he feels like he’s floating, and then he feels nothing.

***

Late that afternoon, Dahlia is finally satisfied with her current arrangement of oddments. She smiles happily and gathers her things for a trip to town. She is going to meet her friends and they are going to go to Lumber. She likes that idea- the idea of being around so many trees. Maybe there are surviving elf-ruins in there, or maybe even an elf hidden deep in the woods!

She daydreams about elves as she sets out, but her daydreams crash to a halt when she sees the bloody fields before her.

“Kyle! Otis!” she exclaims. “What happened here?”

Neither one of them can answer her. There is blood everywhere; she can’t even tell if they’re still alive. Quickly, she casts a cure minor wounds on each of them, then starts examining their wounds.

Talons, as of a bird. And then- it looks like the bird, or perhaps birds, must have taken the time to feed on them.

Feeling ill, she checks to see if her friends yet live. Otis is clearly in better shape- Dahlia detects his breathing after only a moment. Kyle, on the other hand, teeters on the very edge of death. Only some strange intervention of fate has kept him alive so far.** And he will show the scars of this experience for life. Yes, the birds fed on him: they ate out his left eye and took one of his fingers.

Next Time: Our heroes head to Lumber while some knights visit Sir Martin and bring terrible news!


*Which is to say, he hit- everyone else missed- he hit and killed it.

**I believe I have mentioned Wyrd before.

 

[the Jester]

At this point our heroes are:

Otis, wizard 2
Dahlia, elfblood druid 2
Cara Reed, bard 2
Kyle Goldenbow, rogue 1
Lazarus of Kamenda, priest 1
Cur Sed Seed, half-orc ranger 1
Sheriff Jorgen Boatwright, fighter 2
Fwaigo "Goer" Smith, fighter 1
Sir Cedric Whitewater, knight 2

I hope to have an update done today before we play this game again- I would hate to fall behind, since it's a new story hour!

 

[the Jester]

Journeys to Lumber

It takes several days for Kyle and Otis to recover enough to travel. Otis spends the time being badgered and harangued by Xastys; finally, his heart aching, he confronts her.

“Once, you were a teacher to me,” he tells her. “I thank you for all that you have given me and all the mysteries you have opened before me.” He takes a deep breath. “But lately, you seem to want to harm more than help. You seem to want power for its own sake, not for the good of others. You set me pointless tasks, yet my skills have gone beyond alphabetizing your tomes and dusting your shelves. I am a wizard in my own right, now.”

Slowly, he counts out five pieces of gold. “My last contribution,” he announces gravely, “to your research.”

“If you walk out that door, you won’t be returning,” Xastys declares.

With a nod, Otis turns and gathers his bags to depart the Tower of Xastys for the last time. On his way out, Nodding, one of Xastys’ other apprentices stops him.

“Fool,” Nodding sneers. “You will be back here in a few months, begging Lady Xastys to take you back.”

“I will be beyond you in a few months,” Otis retorts tartly.

“I look forward,” Nodding chuckles, “to seeing you fail. You’re going to need Lady Xastys’ help, and I will enjoy seeing her cast you out.”

“I look forward to seeing you fail!” snaps Otis. “Someday, you will need my help. And when you do- I will give it to you.” With that, he makes his exit.

***

Dahlia, Cara, Kyle, Cur, Jorgen and Otis begin their journey before noon, heading directly across country for Lumber. There is no real road or path, though (according to Dahlia’s map) there is a road that connects Lumber with the capitol of the Barony, Kamenda City.

“It looks like it will only take us a day or two to get there,” Dahlia comments.

While we’re out here, I’m going to keep my eyes open for that orc, resolves Cur silently.

***

The sun is about to touch the tops of the western mountains when our heroes encounter the goblins. As soon as they come into view, Sheriff Jorgen gives a warning cry and charges forward, sinking his longspear deep into the chest of the first one before the goblins even have a chance to draw weapons. Then the grasses start entwining around them. The scrubby arms of the red-barked manzanitas seize the little red-skinned humanoids.

The goblins scream in terror. One of them manages to throw a javelin at the party, but it is caught by the wind and flies wide. No one can even tell which of our heroes it was aimed at. Two of the goblins manage to squirm free of the entangling plants and wriggle out of the area of effect; another, not caught by the plants at all, turns and runs away. Jorgen thrusts into the ribs of one of the ones escaping the entangle and strikes him down in a single forceful blow, and then, as another attempts to flee through his reach, he strikes it through the head, destroying the goblin’s black brain in an instant.

Another of the little humanoids manages to claw his way out of the grasping plants and starts to run away. Otis blasts him with a magic missile, but the goblin continues to stagger away.

Kyle smirks. Persistent little cuss, ain’t he? he thinks cockily, whirling his sling. He draws back his arm to fire- not as easy to line up a shot now, with the eye gone- and somehow, the straps on his pack come undone! The backpack collapses off of him, throwing his aim off; his sling stone bounces into the air pointlessly. He almost trips as the pack catches on his belt and nearly pulls his pants off.*

One of the goblins screams out in crude Kamendan, “We surrender! Please no hurt!!”

“Drop your weapons,” Cur Sed Seed commands. After only an instant’s hesitation, two of the goblins give up while the last one- Kyle’s persistent little cuss- manages to flee. Our heroes let him go while Kyle re-straps his backpack, buckles his pants again and generally straightens out his kit.

By the time the goblins have been thoroughly searched and bound, it is dusk. Jorgen interrogates them at length. “What are you doing here?” he demands.

“We sorry,” the one that speaks Kamendan says, cringing. “We mean no harm.”

Otis glares at him. “You mean no harm! You are goblins! You steal babies and goats and raid and kill our people!”

The goblin only cringes. Jorgen walks Otis aside and settles him down, then returns to the questioning.

“If you mean no harm, why are you here?”

“We flee Goblin Gorge.”

Kyle cocks an eyebrow.

“Why?” asks the sheriff.

“Something terrible came,” the goblin answers. Then, “You... you kill us? We mean no harm, we just run...”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do with you,” Jorgen responds soberly. “It will depend. If you tell me useful information, and you don’t lie to me, and you truly mean no harm- well, then, I will probably release you in the morning.”

“Please!” the goblin squeaks. “Me tell!”

“What happened?” Jorgen asks. “What came?”

“One night it comes,” the goblins gasps, his face contorting in fear. “From old elf ruin, something comes. Fire and death!” The goblin stares at Jorgen, fear on his face. “Monster, burns goblins, fear and flight. Goblins on south side of gorge driven out- some go north, some run away. We run away.”

“This must be why there have been so many rumors of increased goblin activity lately,” muses Jorgen aloud. He nods. “Very well. In the morning we shall decide your fate.”

***

Meanwhile, that same evening, about a mile west of the town of Whitewater, from whence our heroes came, lies the estate of Sir Martin Whitewater and his family, including Sir Cedric. It is here that we find both Cedric and Goer, in conference with Sir Martin and a visiting group of knights from Kamenda City. They have come with a message of great concern.

“It appears that Sir Bors has gone rogue,” one of the visiting knights announces to the Whitewaters (and Goer, Sir Cedric’s squire).

Sir Bors was always a knight of some repute, but recent tales have him performing more and more abuses on the peasants and even killing in cold blood.

“He must be found and stopped, before he besmirches the name of knighthood everywhere,” declares Sir Martin.

“Of course. That is why we have come. We would like you and your sons to join us as we comb the surrounding lands for him.”

“You think he ith here?” Sir Cedric says incredulously.

A shrug. “Perhaps.”

“We should also inform the sheriff,” Sir Martin states.

“Thquire, you mutht go track him down and let him know of thethe developmentth poththathte!” orders Sir Cedric.

Thus it is that, the next morning, Goer uneasily begins a lone journey, borrowing a horse from Sir Martin and getting Tad Ranger to point out the way to Lumber. His heart pounding, Goer kicks the horse into motion. Going alone... across country... for a day’s journey is a very risky proposition.

He shudders, thinking of Kyle and Otis and their brutal encounter with the hawks, and anxiously fingers the hilt of his sword.

Next Time: A midnight encounter on the road! The fate of the goblins is decided! And Goer breaks the horse!

*This was a particularly bad fumble.