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

[the Jester]

The sky is black, pierced by the blaze of the stars above. A few wisps of fire burn sullenly in the ashes of the campfire.

Otis glances meaningfully at the goblins, bound and sleeping. He looks at Kyle. “They are a threat,” he insists quietly.

“That’s why we’ve got ‘em tied up,” Kyle points out.

“We should ensure that they are not a threat,” Otis returns.

“Oh, we will.”

There is a moment of silence. Then, “We should slay them,” Otis clarifies.

“Well, that’s up to the sheriff, then, isn’t it?”

Otis scowls. “True. But what if they attempt to overcome us in the night?”

Kyle glances at the bound, sleeping and helpless goblins dubiously. “Not bloody likely.”

Otis shrugs. For the next few minutes he stares into the fire, brooding.

***

It is midnight when Jorgen jerks to awareness. Someone is shaking him-

“What’s going on?” he whispers.

“Listen,” Cur grunts back to him.

There is a sound in the dark night: crying, as from a child. The party is rising, buckling on weapons and pulling up shields. Otis casts light on his spear and he and Cur begin cautiously creeping towards the sound. The eerie sound seems to be coming from a clearing not far off, and the rest of the party reluctantly follows Otis and Cur as they move towards it.

Then the two leaders break into a clearing amongst the scrub. In the pale eldritch light emanating from Otis’ spear, the party can see what appears to be the figure of a hideously ugly child who appears to be about six years old.

“Help me,” the lad snuffles. “I lost my red cap.”

Nervously, the party draws to a halt. “Where are your parents, little child?” asks Kyle.

“Help me find my lost red cap,” the child repeats plaintively.

“I don’t trust him!” declares Otis. “Something is wrong!” The wizard strides forward and begins to move his hands through the intricate gestures of a sleep spell. When he sees this, Cur Sed Seed grins and springs forward, attempting to attack the boy, but his foot catches and he stumbles, almost falling on his head!

“HELP ME FIND MY RED CAP!!!” the child screams, and suddenly a length of gut is in its hand, whirling- and a sling stone flies at Cur! The half-orc gives a surprised grunt as the stone cracks into this head, knocking him back a pace and leaving stars dancing before his eyes.

“Child, what are you doing out in the middle of the night?” cries Jorgen, unable to believe what is happening. “Where is your mother?” He draws forth his sword as the child slashes at Cur with a scythe that seems, frighteningly, to appear from nowhere. The wide blade slices into his back, cutting deep into his body! In a spray of blood Cur falls to the ground, nearly cut in half!

“Stop your attack and we’ll help you find your cap!” Kyle yells, but the ugly child is not listening. Screaming and wailing, it attacks, its scythe glowing a marshy green. Jorgen parries a blow with his sword and then stabs deep into it- but not as deep as he would have hoped! Meanwhile, Otis curses the failure of his sleep spell, and, yelling imprecations at the monstrous lad, starts slinging stones of his own at the weird youth.

“You’re ugly,” Cara declares, and she stabs the lad in the face. Her rapier pierces the thing’s upper lip and knocks out more teeth- as if it weren’t ugly enough without her help! The child screams and staggers back, but Jorgen is attacking it now, pressing it with his blade. And then Otis charges in with his spear; and even though he doesn’t even know how to use it, he nonetheless lands a blow so mighty to its face that he removes its lower jaw!!* With a last wail, the boy falls dead to the ground.

“What the hell was that?” Jorgen asks into the following silence. “Was it a v... v... vampire?”

“Whatever it was, it was horrible,” Cara replies.

***

When dawn breaks, Goer stares balefully at the horse that he borrowed from Sir Martin. He is having a great deal of trouble already.

I broke the horse, he thinks miserably, and winces as the horse limps again as it takes a step.

He sighs. Sir Martin is going to kill me, he groans to himself.

Well, there’s no helping it- and certainly he can’t simply leave the horse out here. Gingerly, he begins leading it across the fields towards Lumber. He made good time yesterday; if he could still ride (wince) he would be in Lumber by ten. But walking the horse- well. It will slow him down.

He ends up leaving the horse with a farmer in the outlying area around the town, paying him a few silver and then hurrying away in the hopes of finding a... a... a horse doctor?

Goer sighs.

When he reaches the town gates, he is utterly consternated to find that they require that he pay to enter the town. “It’s a toll,” one of the guards tells him helpfully.

***

Jorgen releases the goblins with a stern admonishment to behave and not to cause any trouble again. They cower and simper and quickly scamper away.

“I can’t believe you released them,” Otis says.

“They’ll cause no harm now,” replies the sheriff.

“They are goblins,” the mage answers.

The group breaks camp and makes for Lumber. They reach it soon enough, early in the morning, and enter Lumber through the gate, grumbling a little at the fact that they have to pay to do so.

“What do they have that we don’t have in Whitewater?” complains Cur, despite the fact that he doesn’t actually live in Whitewater.

“Lots of wood,” says Jorgen.

“Too many people,” adds Dahlia.

***

Four pennies lighter (one for his person and three for the weapons he bears) Goer enters the town. Wooden buildings, rather than the sod he is used to, seem to be the rule. There are many trees that dot the outskirts of the town, though most of those within the walls have been felled long ago. Just a few hundred paces from the gate is a tavern called the Howling Wolf, to which the guards had directed him. Goer passes through the door and into a room full of conversation and the smells of breakfast- and there, chatting at a table, are Dahlia and Jorgen.

The first place I checked! he thinks elatedly, then realizes that it is simply the first place one can have a drink after passing through the gate.

“Goer!” exclaims Jorgen. “What are you doing here?”

“I came looking for you, sheriff,” the squire replies. “I have terrible news. There is a rogue knight somewhere in the area. Sir Cedric, his father and some knights from Kamenda are searching for him, but his lordship wanted you to be aware of the situation.”

“A renegade knight!” Jorgen says, shocked. “My goodness! Well, did they say how we would recognize him?”

“Well, he’s a knight,” Dahlia points out. “Probably he’ll be mounted, and he’s bound to be armed and armored.”

“That’s true,” the sheriff answers, nodding. He strokes his chin. “Well, it sounds like we should probably keep our eyes and ears out for him. We’ve just secured rooms- you might want to do the same.”

“There are too many people here,” Dahlia mutters to herself in Elven.

***

The group stashes the gear they don’t want to carry while they’re in town in their rooms. Then they head out into Lumber’s commercial district. They have three basic goals here. First is the renegade knight, Sir Bors; clearly, he is a danger to any people he might be around. Second is the corrupt merchant, Drougal Traveler; if they can, they would like to catch him as well. He owes Brandon Mallard a great deal of money, after all! Finally, they are going to inquire about the price of wood while here- the idea of building a wall certainly requires a great expenditure, but how great? Nobody in Whitewater knows, as nobody in Whitewater has ever tried to buy such a humungous amount of wood before. While they are there, Goer manages to sell a sword he forged at home, as well as a pair of axes for his father.

And they hear rumors- among them rumors of a black-hearted bastard of a rogue knight running around the town. “I don’t think he’s a real knight, though- I think he’s just a bully in armor,” one man says scornfully.

Still-

“That sounds like our man,” Jorgen muses aloud. “But if he’s a fully armed and armored knight, we’re probably no match for him!”

“Well, we haven’t even found him yet,” Cur Sed Seed points out.

But that afternoon they do.

Next Time: The rogue knight, Sir Bors!


*Both Cara and Otis rolled crits to the face! Ugh!

 

[the Jester]

Though I don't often post the stats for npcs where pcs can see them, I'm going to make an exception in this case and post a preview of "Sir Bors."

There's a twist to him, as you can plainly see, and you shall soon discover just how deep it goes.

‘SIR BORS’
Human knight 1/rogue 3
CE medium humanoid (human)
Init +6; Senses Listen +5, Spot +5
Languages Kamendan

AC 21, touch 11, flat-footed 20
Hit Dice 1d10 + 3d6 +4 (22)
Fort +4, Ref +5 (plus evasion), Will -1

Speed 20 ft. (4 squares)
Melee bastard sword +6 (1d10+2/19-20)
Ranged dagger +5 (1d4+2/19-20)
Base Atk +3; Grp +5
Atk Options immediate charge 1/day, sneak attack +2d6
Combat Gear vial of acid

Str 14, Dex 15, Con 12, Int 13, Wis 6, Cha 9
SQ evasion, trapfinding
Feats Exotic Weapon Proficiency (bastard sword), Improved Initiative, Weapon Focus (bastard sword)
Skills Bluff +3, Handle Animal +3, Heal+2, Hide +3, Listen +5, Move Silently +3, Ride +9, Spot +5, Survival +5
Possessions combat gear plus Bors’ full plate armor, Bors’ heavy steel shield, Bors’ bastard sword, thieves’ tools, dagger, purse of 14 gp, 55 sp, 12 cp, 11 farthings (quarter-coppers)

Edit: He really is a 'rogue knight!'

 

[the Jester]

Sir Bors

The tavern is called the Lumberfell Inn. It is smoky from the pipes of the various drinkers within. The sour smell of lumberjack sweat permeates the place, mixing with the aroma of ale and cooking potatoes. Sawdust on the floor soaks up wasted drinks. Here and there something scuttles across the ground.

In the back corner of the place is a table where a card game is being played, and dominating it is- Sir Bors?

He is dressed in the heaviest armor our heroes have seen. He also has the biggest sword they have seen- a monster of a blade, just waiting to hack through flesh and bone.

Plainly, he’s winning at the table.

The party wants badly to identify him for sure, and they aren’t at all certain that they want to confront him. (Look at that sword!) But he is suspicious and almost as soon as they try to talk to him he gives them a very dangerous look. Mere moments afterward, he punches one of the gamblers playing against him, takes all the money and leaves.

“Do you think that was him?” Dahlia asks breathlessly.

“Well, it matches the description, at least initially,” admits Jorgen.

“Should we confront him?” wonders Cur.

“Maybe we should follow him,” suggests Kyle, and Dahlia darts out the door to the Lumberfell Inn to get a glimpse of him. Almost immediately, she screams, and the others bolt after her.

But she is unharmed, at least so far. The party draws up short. The man (Sir Bors?) has mounted his horse and drawn his massive sword. He points it at Dahlia warningly, then wheels his horse and trots away.

“Are you all right?” asks Jorgen. Dahlia, her face pale, nods.

“I’ll follow ‘im,” Kyle volunteers. “I might be a little more stealthy than you. The rest of you, stay a little ways back. Maybe we can find out where he’s going.”

“And what do we do about him?” asks Goer. “It’s not like he’s going to surrender to us.”

“Don’t worry, mate- we’ll figure somethin’ out!” With that, Kyle dashes away after the horse, and the others follow a little more slowly.

“What do we do about him?” asks Goer again, and Jorgen frowns.

“Perhaps we could capture him somehow. Maybe he will surrender if we arrest him.”

Goer guffaws.

“Maybe we could poison him somehow,” suggests Cara.

“We can’t do that!” Jorgen exclaims. “Poison is for evil people!” Cara shrugs by way of reply.

The party follows Kyle, who is following the mounted figure, and unfortunately, they soon pass a badly wounded man on the side of the street. A small crowd has gathered around him; the party can hear from their conversations that the man was brutally cut by the armored horseman just a moment ago, for no crime greater than not getting out of the way fast enough.

“This guy is brutal,” Cara breathes while Dahlia administers a goodberry to the wounded man. Then they hurry on after their quarry.

Moments later they find Kyle walking back to them. “He’s in that hostel,” gestures the elf-blooded lapidary. “His horse is in the stables next to it. And it’s Sir Bors, all right- I asked ‘em in there.”

“Well, great- now what?” murmurs Jorgen. “If we try to take him, he might well be able to slaughter us all...”

“Did you see the size of that sword?” Kyle interjects. “It’s huge!”

“We can’t just let him go,” Dahlia objects. “He’s hurt a couple of people just in the last hour! Who knows what he’ll do given more time!”

“We can send word back to the Whitewater estate and see if the knights can come subdue him,” Goer suggests. He frowns. He certainly doesn’t look forward to crossing swords with a knight!

“That will take a couple of days. By the time they get here, he could be long gone.”

Sheriff Jorgen sighs. He looks at the entrance to the hostel. “Maybe we could slow him down if we took his horse,” he muses.

“I bet he’d come out if we took his horse,” comments Kyle wryly.

“Hmm...” Jorgen rubs his jaw. “I think I’ve got an idea.”

***

While Dahlia moves into the stable, Jorgen and Kyle crouch on either side of the door, a rope stretched between them. Their hope is to lure out Sir Bors and trip him. Hopefully, Dahlia will be able to cause enough of a distraction to bring the corrupt knight forth.

Dahlia enters the stable and pauses. There’s a groom there too. She starts clucking and whinnying at the horse, and the groom stops brushing the horse he’s working on. “Hey, what are you doing?” he asks suspiciously.

“Oh, ah- nothing, it’s all right,” Dahlia bluffs, then starts trying to take the horse from its stall in the stable.

Outside, the groom’s cry of, “Help! Thief!” is loud and clear. So far things are going well, and then it all changes.

Sir Bors’ head pops out a second story window and his visage darkens until it goes purple. One second later he drops from the window, fully armored, right on top of Jorgen. There’s a terrible crash and Jorgen stumbles back, nearly knocked from his feet! Goer gives a cry and draws steel, but the blow he directs at Sir Bors deflects with a clear ring from his breastplate. The sound of Cara’s singing suddenly fills the air, harmonizing with the ringing of metal on metal as Goer and Sir Bors fence.

Jorgen leaps forward. Time seems to slow down as he sweeps the knight’s leg with a spinning kick, and with a crash Sir Bors collapses to the ground. Then Jorgen makes a valiant attempt to disarm him, but the knight maintains his grip on his sword.

“Hey, I’m over here, I’m stealing the horse!” Dahlia shouts, and the screams of the groom are still ringing out from within the stable.

With a curse, Sir Bors tries to lever himself to his feet, but both Jorgen and Goer strike as he does. Jorgen slices open a great hole in the knight’s breastplate. Worse yet, Goer thrusts and sticks him through the neck! Sir Bors collapses, twitching, and it is clear that he is dead.

“He wasn’t so tough,” Goer comments bravely.

“We got lucky,” replies the sheriff bluntly.

“Damn fine armor ‘e’s got there,” Kyle remarks.

“We’re going to have to return that to his family,” says Jorgen.

“What?” Kyle exclaims. “It’s got to be worth a thousand gold or more! What are you talkin’ about, return it??”

“Yeah, and it’s covered in his heraldry.”

“Besides,” Goer adds, “there’s a reward for bringing him down.”

“Well, let’s have it!” chortles Kyle.

“It isn’t from me,” Goer says patiently. “You’ll have to talk to Sir Martin.”

“Well...” Jorgen pauses, thinking aloud. “We should get back and tell his lordship about this. Then he can send word to Kamenda and let the Baron know.”

“What about Drougal Traveler?” asks Kyle.

“Drougal Traveler will have to wait. This is more important. Besides,” Jorgen adds, “he comes through Whitewater about thrice yearly. He’ll come to us if we just wait.”

***

The party makes their exeunt from Lumber. Goer is relieved that Dahlia can mostly heal the horse’s leg; though its gait is a little funny, it is able to walk and even to support his weight. Nonetheless, he often walks it instead out of sheer caution. At noon of the next day they cross paths with a dusty looking but formidable man. They pass a word or two and the man proceeds on his way (towards Lumber, it would appear). About two hours later it starts to rain, the first cold rain of the season. Winter is coming soon.

The next day the party easily overcomes a pair of weasels afflicted by a terrible, often lethal disease called the frothing madness.* Kyle suffers a bite, as does Dahlia’s mule. This makes everyone nervous; the frothing madness can take hold and overwhelm one’s senses. Kyle tries to laugh it off, but it’s a sort of forced, frightened laughter.

A few hours later, at dusk, as the rain thins and becomes intermittent sprinkles, the party reaches Whitewater. The Roaring River seems already to have risen on its banks a few inches; the influence of the rain upstream, no doubt. The sky is getting cloudy. They cross the bridge and head immediately for the Whitewater estate. The corpse of Sir Bors is slung over the back of his horse.

It’s a long mile to the estate, especially through the rain in the dark. And winter is coming; it’s much colder than it has been in months. As the party moves along, they suddenly here strange barking noises in the bushes. Dahlia recognizes them right away, but before she can say anything Otis has lit up the scene with a light spell cast upon his robes. Perhaps it provokes them- for it is then that the pair of dire badgers within the scrub burst forth and race to the attack!

“Oh no!” cries Dahlia. “We’re being attacked by badgers!”

And they are much bigger than her badger companion.

They charge forth, moving towards our heroes with obvious harmful intent. Dahlia gestures and can feel her energy shifting as she calls out wordlessly to the oncoming badgers. One of them falters, then squats calmly on its haunches, panting.

The other charges forward and tears into Kyle with a savage bark of glee. Kyle gives a shout of pain as the badger nearly guts him, and he collapses into oblivion.

“Oh no!” cries Dahlia, “Kyle!”

Otis chants his own magic, and a blazing bullet of question mark-shaped force shoots into the attacking badger. It yeeps, then arfs! and continues its forward rush, engaging Dahlia, who fends it off with her club, delivering a stinging rebuke to its nose! But it presses forward at her and she is hard pressed to defend herself, taking a wound along one leg. Behind her she can hear Goer struggling to dismount from his horse- he isn’t much of a rider tonight- and she divines from the thump! that he has fallen from the saddle.

Then Hrar, Dahlia’s badger, leaps at its dire cousin and begins fighting against it, chittering madly! A moment later Goer is finally there, stabbing the dire badger deep in the body. It is clearly enraged, and if not for that... if not for that, it might fall. But screaming in fury, it instead fells Goer for his impertinence!

Another magic missile blasts the thing, and it weakens; and Otis presses forward with his spear. It’s do or die, he realizes. Still, he maintains his calm.

Side by side, Otis, Jorgen, Dahlia and Hrar force the dire badger back. Finally, Hrar strikes it down with a well-placed flurry of furry fury!**

Panting, our heroes make to rest for a moment, but Dahlia warns, “The other badger will only remain calm for a couple of minutes.”

“Uh, can’t you make it go away or something?” Jorgen asks awkwardly. “All the rumors say that you can speak to animals.”

She smiles briefly. “I can try.” Turning to the calm badger, she mutters to herself for a moment, then speaks to it.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hello,” it answers. It yawns.

“What are you doing here?”

“We saw the light. Yeah, the light,” the badger says.

“Oh, but what were you doing before that?”

“Umm... I don’t know.” The badger seems a little confused. “I like to fight,” he adds.

“Really?”

“Yeah, it’s fun. It’s fun to fight.”

“Oh, well, um, you don’t want to fight us.”

“No... I did a little while ago, but then, hmm, I decided not to.”

“Well, I bet there’s a good fight over there,” Dahlia suggests, pointing away from the group’s path.

“Oh, I don’t want to fight right now,” the badger replies. “I don’t feel like it. Hmm, maybe I’m hungry. But I like to fight!” he adds brightly. Shortly, the dire badger wanders away to its burrow to seek a meal. Jorgen just shakes his head.

Soon the party reaches the Whitewater estate. Goer instructs Sir Martin’s footman, Bartholomew, to rouse him at once. Moments later, Sir Martin arrives in his bed robe, a sword strapped to his side. “What is it, Fwaigo?” he demands.

“My lord, we believe we have slain the renegade knight, Sir Bors!”

Sir Martin stiffens. “Ahh...” He takes a deep breath. “Bors was once a good man,” he says sadly.

“You knew him, my lord?” Jorgen asks softly. At Sir Martin’s nod, the sheriff says, “Perhaps you could positively identify the body.”

Again Sir Martin nods, and he accompanies the party out to the stable, where Bors’ horse stands happily munching oats. The body is laid out on a blanket next to it.

Sir Martin takes a deep breath.

“His horse... his armor... his shield and helm and sword. And yet,” he says, “that is not Sir Bors.”

Next Time: Who was Sir Bors really? Will Kyle survive the frothing rage? And what will be our heroes’ reward?

*Yes, call it a dnd-ized rabies.

**I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it.

 

[the Jester]

Winter

“NYARRGHH!!!”

Kyle twists against his restraints. The nurses mop his brow and carefully avoid putting anything within reach of his bite. Froth dots his lips. He is a weak man, but his little muscles strain to tear him free from the bed he is in.

Dahlia shakes her head. “There isn’t much we can do for him,” she comments.

“Except hope,” returns Goer.

***

It takes most of a week, but finally Kyle Goldenbow manages to fight off the disease. Sweaty and exhausted, he falls into a deep slumber for almost a full day; and when he awakens, his color has begun to return. His eyes are clear. He coughs and vomits out the remaining sick bile and froth that lingers in his mouth, throat and stomach. Finally, he is released and staggers weakly to his feet.

It is only a day later when the band of brave heroes that overthrew the villainous knight in Sir Bors’ regalia are called back to Sir Martin’s estate, where they learn what happened to the true Sir Bors: he had been betrayed and murdered by his squire, who then took his place. Henceforth to be known as Bando the Black, the squire is the fellow that our heroes defeated.

“As to the real Sir Bors,” Sir Martin declares, “his family has at last found... his body.”

Despite this unfortunate turn of events, the Baron of Kamenda has sent along the agreed-upon reward of 50 gold crowns, to be split amongst the party. Sir Bors’ family has also sent a reward: a large, brass-bound chest holding some 800 sp. Between the gold and silver, our heroes are richer than they have ever been!

But there is not much to be done with the money, at least for the present, for the weather has truly turned and the long days of winter have set in. Rain begins to come down regularly, and soon there are the first flurries of snow. Winter has come for real.

Over the course of the winter, Jorgen, at Lord Whitewater’s request, begins working to establish a group of a half dozen or so trusty deputies- a cadre that can defend the town, build additional forces, and seek out dangers to the folk of Whitewater. He manages to find Skeetles in the wilderness months after a conversation with Cur Sed Seed about him, but the old orc is completely uninterested. Nobody is quite sure what motivates him. Tad Ranger agrees to help at need, but declines actually being deputized. Greybold, an old veteran warrior, won’t do it either; “I’ve killed enough men,” he states flatly.

Goer starts to train his brother Valkor how to use the longspear, but he doesn’t have much natural talent for it. Nonetheless, once he gets a little experience with it he will probably do all right. Scowling, Goer reflects that he hopes his brother never has to get any experience with it- it’s a bloody, dangerous business. But then, it’s better to fight than to knuckle under if those damn bandits come and try to carry off our wares and our women, he growls to himself. The last year has really shown him just how helpless his little village is against any sort of force in numbers.

Dahlia has plenty of shelter in the ruins of Castle Laagos. The storms make puddles here and there, but the giant ants seem to mostly stay in their holes during the cold and wet, and the strange hermit manages to be mostly undisturbed during the bad weather. This is how she prefers it; there is a reason she does not live in town. She spends a great deal of time frolicking among the trees in the courtyard and chatting with her badger. No monsters that the group missed rise from the rubble; nothing disturbs her solitude.

Cur Sed Seed, on one of his trips into town, finds himself offered a position as a deputy to the sheriff. After pondering for a few moments, he says, “Well, it might be kinda nice to have a job...” He accepts, although he understands that the position does not come with a salary per se. Jorgen reassures him that Sir Martin has been more than generous so far, and Cur smiles as he realizes that he is actually part of a community now. Sure, he has grown up with the Outcasts, but they are less a community than a loose band of backbiters. You can’t turn your back on your own ‘brothers’, although they would trust their lives to each other when relating to outsiders. Now Cur abruptly has a foot in both worlds.

The winter sweeps on, cold but not too cold. Nobody freezes to death by New Year’s Eve, and as always, both the Gardens and the Cookers have phenomenal parties. Cur and Jorgen go to Castle Laagos to see if they can rustle up Dahlia for the events, and the hermit allows herself to be coaxed out into town for some fun. The Garden party has a great deal of entertainment, including some from out of town (they must have paid well to get someone to travel through the winter!). Cara performs for them, singing and strumming her lute. She goes through more than a dozen traditional New Year’s songs, several drinking tunes, a couple of original compositions and even a song or two about her mom’s adventuring career.

Dahlia and Kyle eventually move drunkenly to the Cooker party. It’s already late, and things are winding down, but the remains of a veritable feast of goat and chicken is in evidence. There is plenty of drink, too; and before the night is done, Kyle ends up coining the term ‘dwarven breakfast’ for puking. He also continues to flirt incessantly with Dahlia, who is a little put off by his forwardness. However, when he starts mumbling drunkenly in Elven she shows a little more interest.

Spring comes to Whitewater. The river rises higher, higher on its banks, filled with the melt water from the mountains upstream. There is still some snow on the ground, but the paralysis of winter is broken.

One morning, as Jorgen walks along the river’s banks on patrol, he is hailed by one of the Cookers’ hands. “Sheriff!” he cries. “We’ve been looking for you!”

“What’s going on?” asks Jorgen.

The hand looks angry. “Last night we had a major goblin raid. They took a bunch of our goats.” He glares at Jorgen. “Junior wants to talk to you.”

Jorgen nods immediately. “Goblins!” he curses. They can’t be trusted. Maybe Otis is right- maybe we shouldn’t have let those ones we captured go. Now look what has happened!

***

Meanwhile, at the Whitewater estate, Sir Martin is speaking urgently to his son, Cedric.

“Has she quickened yet?” demands the father.

“Well, we have no, uh, conthummated the relathionthip yet.” The son looks uncomfortable. For some reason, images of boyish thighs and firm buttocks keep flashing in his mind.

Martin Whitewater sighs. “Remember, son- we must be sure that she is fertile. As I have told you, there is no shame in a child’s birth being six or seven months after the wedding.”

“Of courthe not, father.”

“And before we... formalize the arrangement, we must ensure that she can continue the line.”

“I underthtand, father.” Cedric stifles a sigh. “I will move things forward more quickly.”

Sir Cedric nods, his face serious. “Good.”

***

Cara and Kyle are eating breakfast together at the Fat Mallard. The place is abuzz with rumor and speculation. “There was a raid on the Cookers last night!” “Was it the Gardens?” “I heard it was goblins!” “They stole a bunch of goats!” “I hear they killed ten people!” “I heard that it was a witch that did it!”

After they eat, the two of them decide to go take a look at the ranch. They stroll west along the north bank of the river until they reach the Cooker Ranch. The guard there, easily swayed by Cara’s beauty and persuasive ability, directs them along the west edge of the fence. “They cut a hole,” he spits, “and got away with quite a few of the goats. But we got a couple of ‘em.”

When the two start heading along the fence, they can hear a great haranguing taking place. It appears that a few of the Cookers- especially Blake Jr., a man of middle years and foul temperament- are giving Sheriff Jorgen a tongue-lashing he’ll not soon forget. “Are you stupid?” Junior barks. “Can’t you do your job? This was a full patrol of goblins, mounted, and you didn’t even notice?”

“I-“

“I demand you do something about this immediately, ‘sheriff’!” The way he pronounces sheriff is filled with disdain. Junior’s face is purple with anger and his voice booms like thunder. Clearly, this is a man used to having his way.

“We’ve come to help,” announces Kyle.

Blake Jr. whirls on him. “You?” he sneers. “You’re a lapidary! What can you do?”

“We can help,” says Cara. “Just as we fought against the bandits and cleared out Castle Laagos.”

“Yeah, we were just collectin’ the sheriff so we could go get our tracker,” Kyle adds.

Eventually, after a fair amount of disparagement, Kyle and Cara manage to rescue Jorgen from the Cooker haranguing. “Whew!” he says, “Thanks!” Damn goblins, he thinks. He has just grown a significant hatred of them. “Now what?” he wonders aloud. “I guess we should inform Lord Whitewater, and then we can see if Dahlia can track the goblins for us.”

The group sets out for the estate. A short while later, they reach it, inform Sir Martin of the situation, and leave again with Sir Cedric with them, mounted upon Thunderpuss, his bold palomino. As the group heads back towards the ruined castle where they will find Dahlia, they discuss the situation.

“We already know that thomething drove the goblinth from the thouth thide of the Goblin Gorge,” comments Sir Cedric. “Maybe we thould look into it.”

“Goblin Gorge!” exclaims Kyle. “Crikey! That sounds dangerous!”

“Certainly, it can’t be more dangerous than letting the goblins run loose all around our town,” points out Jorgen.

They reach Laagos, collect Dahlia- who is only too happy to help, as she thinks of the terrible mistreatment the goblins might subject the goats to- and head back to the ranch, where they pick up the trail. By now it is early afternoon. “They have quite a head start at this point,” comments Dahlia. “But there were quite a few of them- their trail is easy to follow.”

“Not to mention the fact that they’re herding goats,” adds Cara.

Next Time: Our heroes encounter some of the goblins in question!

 

[the Jester]

The party present at the last session (which starts with spring in the last update):

Dahlia (druid 2)
Cara Reed (bard 2)
Kyle Goldenbow (rogue 2)
Sir Cedric Whitewater (knight 2)
Sheriff Jorgen Boatwright (fighter 2)

The others are, at this point:

Otis Optimus (wizard 2)
Cur Sed Seed (ranger 2)
Fwaigo "Goer" Smith (fighter 2)
Lazarus of Kamenda (priest 1)

 

[the Jester]

Parlay with the Goblins

The treacherous ambuscade reinforces Jorgen’s growing dislike of goblins.

Lurking in the brush, a group of nearly a dozen goblins, with six riding dogs with them, bursts out and waylays the group. The engagement is very dramatic, with the plants suddenly coming alive to grasp the dogs’ and goblins’ legs, preventing them from carrying the attack forward. They struggle and squirm, trying to get free, but they are now fatally divided. As Sir Cedric rides past them again and again, hewing goblin after goblin down, Dahlia draws her scimitar (acquired at the beginning of the winter) and rushes to the attack as well. Kyle springs in, jabbing with his shortsword, while Cara sings and fires her bow.

It is the dogs that prove deadliest, rushing in, barking and growling. Frightened, Kyle attempts to tumble away and use a goblin for cover. Unfortunately, his foot snags on a root and he tumbles down to the ground. A dog leaps in, savagely biting him into unconsciousness and then, mercifully, turning away to deal with Hrar, Dahlia’s badger.

But the dogs are no match for a concerted effort by our heroes, and Jorgen and Cara end up side by side against a wall of dogs, parrying bite after bite and occasionally getting a telling slice or stab in. Then Dahlia somehow manages to calm the dogs, and the party manages to regroup for a moment. Cedric slides off of Thunderpuss and swiftly binds the worst of Kyle’s wounds, using his healing skills to good effect.

But, though several goblins remain in the entangle, two of the ones that are free of it prove to be able skirmishers, moving and hurling throwing axes at Cedric and Cara. Both suffer wounds, though Cedric’s armor stops the worst of his.

Then our heroes press forward. It’s only another moment before there are only two goblins left, and they surrender (though a third manages to make his escape).

“We should kill them, my lord,” Jorgen tells Cedric.

“Perhapth. But perhapth they can tell uth thome utheful informathon.”

“Can we speak to them?” wonders Cara.

“Cur speaks goblin,” remarks Dahlia.

The group spends a few minutes trying to communicate with the goblins, but they deduce that it will have to await Cur’s presence. They do discuss the possibility of finding someone else in town who might speak the language, but they don’t really know who to talk to about it (though they suppose Tad Ranger is a good bet). For the time being, they take their pair of prisoners to the Whitewater estate’s dungeon. Jorgen also manages to rope an entangled dog, and the group drags it along as well.

After delivering their prisoners, the group splits up. Sir Cedric visits the town’s cleric, Ovina, in the hopes that she will be willing to heal him. Dahlia warns him that Ovina made her and Cara work 20 days in the fields in exchange for a healing previously, but Cedric merely shrugs. He shoulders Kyle’s unconscious form and heads to the church of Belthizar. When he reaches the place, he asks Ovina if she might be able to aid in the tending of his wounds (and those of his companion) so that they might pursue the goblins besetting the community, and she gladly does so, asking nothing in return for her prayers of healing. Kyle is still sorely wounded, but between the goodberries that Dahlia fed him earlier and Ovina’s prayers, his eyes flutter and open.

Meanwhile, the others go to visit Tad Ranger. He is at home, and when they tell him that they just fought some goblins, he nods. “I’m not surprised,” he grunts. “There is a large group of them not ten miles from Whitewater. My sons and I have been keeping an eye on them.” Unfortunately, as it turns out, he does not speak their tongue. “I don’t talk to them much,” he admits with a wolfish grin.

By now night is falling. Our heroes meet for a quick drink at the Fat Mallard and decide to meet in the morning at the Honest Man (Whitewater’s other tavern). “We shall seek out and destroy these goblin brigands!” announces Jorgen.

“We thall have to thee, theriff,” replies Sir Cedric (who is in his cups yet again).

The band is still largely wounded; Cedric attends to everyone’s bandages, making sure that their injuries are treated as best he can. His father and his mother’s nurses have trained him well. After he tenderly re-bandages everyone, he murmurs, “I hope my bandageth are thoothing to your thucculent thkin, Kyle- er, ahem!” he abruptly coughs, as if caught thinking out loud.

“What does that mean?” wonders Jorgen aloud. (But then again, he thinks out loud as a matter of course.)

***

In the morning, when the group meets at the Honest Man, Sir Cedric makes a point of buying a delicious glass of wine for Cara. He begins to woo her over breakfast, and she smiles prettily for him. Beneath her tunic is the necklace his father gave her- a token of familial affection, surely.

The group heads north after breakfast. Dahlia takes the lead, leading the party towards the goblin camp the Ranger family has been keeping an eye on. She keeps an eye open for signs of the trail of the raiders and their stolen goats, and sure enough, here and there she spies droppings. The party follows her over the rolling plains, moving around low hills and winding between scrub oaks and manzanita bushes. The group manages to avoid hazards of all sorts as they travel across the fields, and finally, early in the afternoon, after an 8-mile trek, they come upon a large group of bandits.

“How many are there, do you think?” asks Dahlia.

“At leatht two dozen, perhapth more,” Sir Cedric replies.

“We should charge and kill them all, my lord,” Jorgen snarls.

“There are a lot of them,” Cara points out.

“They are goblins,” the sheriff sniffs.

“So what? They think and eat and breathe, just like us,” Dahlia opines. Jorgen just snorts again.

Cara suggests, “Maybe we could parlay with them.”

“Yeth, I think tho,” Sir Cedric says. “I will approach them under a flag of truthe.” He dismounts. “What do we have that ith white, to uthe for the flag?” The group digs around for a few moments and ends up empty. “Well, I will thimply go forward open-handed. They will thurely thee that I mean to negothiate rather than to fight.”

“I can’t let you go out there alone, my lord,” Jorgen chokes. “I will come with you to guard against treachery.”

So it is that, instead of a white flag, Sir Cedric brings forward a bottle of liquor. Once he and Jorgen are detected approaching, a good dozen goblins eventually surround them, and there is some jabbering while they search for a common language. One of the goblins turns out to speak Pellinsian,* so the two negotiators manages to hold a dialogue that eventually leads to the coming of a much larger goblin, obviously a leader-type, and a painted, shaman-looking goblin of more typical stature. The big fellow- looming twice as tall as the 3’ goblins- is introduced as “the great and powerful Brart” by the painted fellow, and the negotiations begin in earnest.

The goats, meanwhile, are chewing the grass obliviously amongst the goblins.

The problem seems to be that the goblins have had their crops destroyed and have been driven from their home. It seems to Sir Cedric that the best solution would be to help them go home again, but first there is the issue of the goats. When Brart offers 4 cp for the 16 goats the goblins took, Jorgen shakes in outrage and cries, “They insult you, my lord!” He nearly draws his sword right then, but Cedric’s cooler head prevails (aided by having shared a hefty shot of liquor with the goblin leader).

Obviously, that is not an acceptable price for the goats. After some reasonable discussion, it turns out that what the goblins are really worried about is living through the next winter; with no crops, and nowhere to plant any new ones, they are going to starve without help. Cedric definitely sympathizes, while Jorgen simply points out that the goblins all starving would solve problems in the future.

The goblins eventually offer to return the goats and serve as protection for Whitewater for the winter as long as they are fed through the winter, but neither Cedric nor Jorgen think much of that deal. “They are cowards, my lord!” cries Jorgen, and Cedric has to admit to himself that this is true. Besides, they are hardly trustworthy even without taking the cowardice into account.

In the end, as a gesture of good will, the goblins return half of the goats to the party, who promise to convey their demands to Sir Martin and return on the morrow. Then they return to Whitewater, reaching the town just before sundown. They return the eight goats to the Cookers, who rail against Jorgen again, suggesting to Cedric that “you and your father should consider replacing the sheriff!”

Jorgen bites his tongue, but his face turns purple. For once he doesn’t think out loud.

Afterwards, Sir Cedric invites the others to dinner at his estate. When they reach it, they have a good meal and most of them drink quite a bit. Sir Martin joins them for a report. Upon hearing the goblins’ demands, he snorts. “Impossible,” he states. “Tell them that we will sell them chickens for a penny each. That way they can have eggs as well as meat. And offer to let them keep the remaining goats for a silver each- if they agree, return the money to the Cookers. If they object, tell them that it was my decision.”

The discussion continues for a few more minutes before Martin hies himself off to bed. Then our heroes retire, with Cara and Cedric going to his room together.

She passes out, but wakes up again as he fondles her. Despite the fact that the thighs of young boys keep flashing before his eyes, he manages to find his way with her.

Well! Neither of them have ever done that before!

Next Time: Will our heroes manage to make a deal with the goblins, or will it turn to open battle??

*Pellinsia was the kingdom that the Barony of Kamenda was a part of; Pellinsian is sort of a mother tongue to Kamendan and several other languages. Pellinsia is now pretty much defunct, alas.

 

[hippiejedi2]

Jester your an updating madman, keep it up.


In the tavern Lumberfell Inn, Sir Bors punched out a fellow cardplayer. Shortly thereafter, Cara was approached by drunk who tried to take her to his room. Fortunately, when the drunk called or alluded to her as a whore Goer and Sheriff Jorgen stepped in and demand he leave her in peace. As the drunk walked past, the Sheriff tripped him so that he stumbled into the midst oof the cardgame. Sir Bors then proceeded to knock out the drunk and claimed all of the money on the table because the winnings got mixed up. After Sir Bors left, Dahlia and Kyle followed while Goer, Sheriff Jorgen, and Cara attempted to gather information on the knightly gambler from some of the Lumberfell patrons. I believe we learned his name from one of the patrons.

 

[omrob]

Shennaigans

She passes out, but wakes up again as he fondles her. Despite the fact that the thighs of young boys keep flashing before his eyes, he manages to find his way with her.

Well! Neither of them have ever done that before!

Poor Cedric thought he was going to have the martial life of being the second son, and not have to deal with all the propriety of preserving the family. He was really looking forward to being surrounded by his "Brotherth in Armth!" and so this development with Cara has got him all confused. So he took the only approach he knew how - alcohol. He still likes to ride behind Kyle, Goer, or the Sheriff tho...

So know we are all awaiting the results of the J's percentile based conception check.

Whee!

 

[the Jester]

Goblin Gorge

In the morning, before joining their friends, Cara and Cedric have a second passionate lovemaking session. They’re both still a little drunk from the knight- er, night before. It helps. Sir Cedric, immediately afterwards, finds himself pining for his brothers in arms, and brusquely dresses, then gallantly helps Cara into her clothes before the hungry couple emerges for breakfast.

Sir Martin beams at his son, but for the nonce he says something.

Jorgen has a large lump on his head. He’s a little embarrassed about it, but when asked, he admits that he was sleepwalking and Bartholomew, Sir Martin’s footman, thumped him with a sap, mistaking him for an intruder. Kyle continues his attempts to woo Dahlia, giving her a haiku written in Elvish:

I see Dahlia
Her hair flowing like water
If I could but drown.

She finds herself moved more by this thing than by anything else that Kyle has tried so far.

It is still mid-morning when our heroes set out for the goblin camp. The eight miles goes much more quickly since they know where they are going this time. Just shy of noon they reach the goblins, and again Brart and the painted goblin (that they take for a shaman of some kind) enter into negotiations with them, and once again the negotiations are fruitful. Brart is quite reasonable, purchasing both the goats and the chickens.

“Now then, we shall invethtigate thith creature that hath come into your gorge and driven you forth. And then,” Sir Cedric admonishes with a shake of his finger, “you shall go home.” Jorgen scowls threateningly at the goblins, and our heroes depart.

“I still say we should have killed them, my lord,” grumbles Jorgen.

***

Goblin Gorge is several days upstream, away from the more civilized areas of the Barony of Kamenda. Our heroes know already that the journey will be dangerous, with many wild animals, renegade goblins, bandits and worse prowling the foothills. Nonetheless, they bravely move west, following the gradual rise of the hills towards the mountains. Though none of them have ever been there, they have all heard many rumors about it: Goblin Gorge, a terrible area overrun by the little red-skinned monsters.

Although, perhaps, not anymore. At least, according to Brart, not on the south bank.

So our heroes travel along the south bank of the river, looking for trouble. There are still bits of snow on the ground here and there, where the shade is deep and the sun rarely touches. Our heroes disregard it; it is nothing special. Soon it will be gone, melting into the ground and the burbling river that seems to climb fuller every week as the runoff from the mountains continues to make its way down, down, down towards- eventually- the sea.

It is fear of what is in the dark, rather than fear of the dark itself, that provokes our heroes to keep watch. They are rewarded for their efforts, for the first night of their trip they are beset by four bloated things like a cross between bats and mosquitoes. Long proboscises stab and suck while our heroes struggle to defend himself, and though both Dahlia and Jorgen does manage to stab themselves at various points, the party does manage to slay all four of the beasts.

Despite the night’s misadventure, and despite growing misgivings, the group moves on in the morning. And by the next day at noon, Cara, Kyle, Dahlia, Sir Cedric and Jorgen have reached Goblin Gorge.

To either side of the river the land rises, with the water slicing a canyon between. On the opposite bank, the north side of the gorge, our heroes can see a number of small mud and sod huts and wooden fortresses. But here to the south, there is virtually nothing except burnt ground. Something lies along the ground; it is too far away to identify but something about it makes our heroes profoundly uneasy.

Cara gestures. “Look at that- it’s like a whole village burned. And all their crops, too.”

The party cautiously advances into the burn zone. Their boots crunch on the cracked earth and leave footprints on the ground. Dahlia takes the lead to check for tracks, and soon she is frowning, her forehead creased in concentration. Finally, she reports, “There’s been something here since the fire...”

“An animal?” wonders Kyle.

“No. Some kind of humanoid.”

“Goblins?” speculates Cara.

“No,” Dahlia says, puzzlement obvious in her voice. “Something with a foot like I’ve never seen.” She studies the tracks carefully. “Its foot is almost as wide as it is long, and it... it kind of splays open.” She shakes her head. “I have never seen anything like it,” she repeats slowly.

“Hey, look over there!” Jorgen points towards what appears to be the rough center of the area that had been a village.

Our heroes turn and see a small area with life- but something about it looks wrong. It is like a single 15’ diameter area of bizarre garden remains, choked with writhing weeds of strange hue- orange, magenta and chartreuse. Six sunflowers with red centers and white petals loom six feet high. Two long, thin, flesh-colored tendrils lie coiled like intestines near the edge of the thing.

“What the hell is that?” Cara asks, disgusted.

“Dahlia, you know a lot about plants, roight?” Kyle queries. “What is it?”

“I have no idea,” the hermit admits.

“Let uth ekthamine it in more detail,” suggests Sir Cedric.

The party approaches, but as they get within about 60’ of it, there’s a chiming sound and something appears next to them! Similar to a humanoid beetle, it appears to be made of a shimmering iridescent substance. Strange mucus-like slime drips off of it, but it evaporates almost faster than it can reach the ground.

“What the-?” Kyle cries, startled, just as the thing begins squelching through its own slime towards our heroes.

Next Time: ‘What the-?’ indeed!! Our heroes fight- er- that is- what the hell is going on here anyway??

 

[the Jester]

Goblin Gorge- pt. 2

Sir Cedric does not hesitate as the slimy, beetle-like thing starts to trundle towards him and his friends; he charges.

Thunderpuss, his horse, gives a loud whinny and her hooves pound the earth. His battle axe draws back, raises up, and then smashes down, crunching into the monstrosity’s shoulder with a splash of translucent goo.

The beetle-thing is silent. It swipes a thick claw at Cedric, smashing into his leg and leaving a rapidly-evaporating trail of disgusting slime on him. He gives a wordless cry of pain and anger as he is almost knocked from the saddle. He swings his axe again, but misses. He curses as the thing charges past him at sheriff Jorgen. Jorgen has his longspear out; as the thing rushes towards him, he jabs at it, but its thick carapace turns the point away and it smashes into him, pushing him backwards towards the bed of strange flowers.

The strange sound, almost like breaking glass, occurs again and again, and Dahlia and Kyle both wheel to look at the sunflowers. “Hey, I think the noise is coming from the sunflowers!” he exclaims.

Maybe I can counter it, thinks Cara. She begins to trill out a song, hoping to override whatever the sound is doing. Of course, so far it has had no real effect that she can discern, but still- better safe than sorry!

Sir Cedric wheels Thunderpuss about. “Oh indeed?” he cries, and puts his heels to her flanks. The horse lunges forward, moving next to both the sunflowers and Cara, and Cedric whirls his axe up and over his head, landing it with a terrific crunch! in the stalk of one of the flowers. This seems to draw the beetle-thing’s ire, and it rushes back towards him. Both Jorgen and Kyle stab it as it retreats, but it does not bleed anything other than more of the vanishing slime.

“What is that thing?” wonders Kyle.

Cara lunges forward, her rapier pricking the beetle-thing dead center, and she runs it through. It collapses immediately into a liquid mass of goo, which vanishes completely in only seconds. She stares in shock; she didn’t even think she hit it that hard.

Dahlia, meanwhile, has retreated and drawn out her sling. She drops a stone into it and prepares to fire on the sunflowers, but suddenly a great cloud of stinking gas appears from nowhere all around her! Gagging, she nearly drops her weapon as she staggers away. And then Cedric gives a cry of pain and clutches at his head. Blood starts to pour from his ears and nose. “AAARGH!!” he screams.

“Oh my god,” gasps Kyle.

Suddenly the sunflowers seem morph into an even more bizarre form, a heaving boil on the earth splattering reddish, blood-like liquid everywhere. In this form the petals become tentacles, the seeds of the sunflowers become hundreds of tiny staring eyes, and great brain-like bulges keep forming fleetingly in the roiling flesh of the monster, a seething combination of flesh and woody material. None of our heroes have ever seen anything even remotely like this before.

Cara is the first one to recover, lunging with her blade, but she can’t seem to penetrate its thick... hide? Trunk? Whatever it is, she can’t seem to hurt it. Cedric reels again as another wave of intense pain shoots through him, and he crumples, falling unconscious from the saddle to land in a heap on the ground. Meanwhile, suddenly neither Kyle nor Cara can reason. Roaring in anger and confusion, they both stagger around as if drunk, seemingly no longer in full possession of their faculties.

Jorgen screams and stabs at the- the thing, whatever it is. Over and over he thrusts his spear deep into it. Kyle shakes his head and throws a bottle of whiskey (purchased earlier at the Fat Mallard) at the thing, crying out, “Burn it, burn it!!” Cara, too, seems to recover her wits, but she finds her rapier ineffective.

Dahlia has stumbled out of the stinking vapors (smells like a sick room, she thinks) and hurries over to the pale form of Sir Cedric. He is sinking rapidly towards death. She lays her hands on his head and murmurs, and the power of nature flows from her, stopping his descent into oblivion.

Jorgen keeps stabbing with all his might. He can feel washes of mental pain wash over him. He feels something deep within him struggle to overcome his reason, to force him into a state of confusion. He grits his teeth and resists with all his might. The stench of sickness all around him threatens to overwhelm him. He refuses to succumb.

Dahlia glances from Cedric’s fallen form at the battle. We can’t even tell if we’re hurting it significantly, she thinks. It looks like raw meat as it is. How badly damaged is it? What are we facing? She shakes with fear as she grunts and manhandles Cedric until he is draped over the snorting Thunderpuss. Then she pulls herself awkwardly into the saddle and draws out her scimitar. Fight or flee? she debates.

Jorgen staggers and grits his teeth. He shakes his head and notices blood pouring from his nose. I can barely stand, he groans inwardly. But I cannot fail now! It’s weakening, it must be!

He stabs again, feeling his spear sink deep, deep into the mass of bizarre flesh and wood and pulp before him, and with a shudder the thing collapses into its previous sunflower-like state. Suddenly there is quiet. The flowers are trampled and cut to pieces; the fleshy tendrils have been mashed into pulp. The only sounds are the wheezing of our heroes’ breath.

“Is... is it dead?” asks Kyle cautiously.

“Or dormant,” replies Dahlia, sheathing her scimitar.

“Either way, I think we need to get the hell out of here,” Jorgen groans.

“Agreed,” Cara nods.

The party retreats, Sir Cedric still shallowly breathing but far from conscious. They hurry away from the burnt goblin territory, electing to return to the place where they camped the previous night. They arrive there in short order and do their best to set up a hidden camp.

“That thing was disgusting,” comments Kyle.

“Well, hopefully we killed it,” Cara replies.

“Have you ever heard of anything like it?”

“Never.” Nor have any of the others.

“Maybe if Otis was here,” murmurs Dahlia. “This seems almost more like his area of expertise.”

Aching, exhausted, our heroes set up watches and rest.

Next Time: Our heroes meet a living goblin in the wreckage! Plus: what made those footprints??