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(Cydra) The Year 271 Campaign (Low Magic experiment)
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<blockquote data-quote="the Jester" data-source="post: 2454523" data-attributes="member: 1210"><p><strong>Cotton Hill</strong></p><p></p><p>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.”</p><p></p><p>“Fair enough,” Cara answers. </p><p></p><p>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.</p><p></p><p>“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. </p><p></p><p>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.</p><p></p><p>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!”</p><p></p><p>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. </p><p></p><p>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. </p><p></p><p>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!”</p><p></p><p>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 <em>goodberries,</em> 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.</p><p></p><p>Our heroes continue along. </p><p></p><p>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.</p><p></p><p>”Uh-oh, I hope those aren’t bandits,” muses Jorgen aloud. </p><p></p><p>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 <em>forty.</em></p><p></p><p>“Crap,” breathes Goer. Cara bites her lip.</p><p></p><p>“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. </p><p></p><p>“Good day to you,” calls the leader, reining in a few dozen paces from our heroes. The ruffians behind him draw up as well.</p><p></p><p>“Good day,” Jorgen answers pleasantly.</p><p></p><p>“You have the look of travelers about you,” the other observes. “Surely you know how dangerous these wilds can be.”</p><p></p><p>“Ah yes?” </p><p></p><p>“Unless you travel in, shall we say, significant numbers.”</p><p></p><p>“Ah, I see.”</p><p></p><p>“Yes, you see,” the horseman replies, “there are bandits about.”</p><p></p><p>“So we understand,” Goer says sardonically.</p><p></p><p>“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.”</p><p></p><p>Jorgen scratches his chin. “Oh, really? What sort of inducement?”</p><p></p><p>Kyle leans towards him and stage-whispers, “They want a bribe.”</p><p></p><p>“A few good coins,” the man responds dismissively. Behind him, several of the ruffians chuckle. One guffaws. </p><p></p><p>“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.</p><p></p><p>”Oh, no. In return we will make sure the local bandits don’t molest you.”</p><p></p><p>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.”</p><p></p><p>“But you are so few,” the spokesman says. “I would <em>hate</em> for an accident to happen to your fine group.”</p><p></p><p>“Well,” acknowledges Jorgen, “we are a small group here, but my <em>friend</em> Tumenore and his band are also nearby.”</p><p></p><p>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. </p><p></p><p>“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.</p><p></p><p>Jorgen lets out a long breath. “Whew! I didn’t know if that would even work!”</p><p></p><p>“Good job, sheriff,” Kyle smiles at him. “Now let’s be on our way, shall we?”</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>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. </p><p></p><p><em>Well, he’s known to be too generous from time to time, but surely there’s more to it than that,</em> Lazarus thinks. </p><p></p><p>He keeps investigating until deep into the night, and finally grins in triumph.</p><p></p><p>“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. <em>I’ll finish going through them in the morning,</em> he thinks, <em>but I believe I have half the answers already. </em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>Brandon, you’re dealing with an unscrupulous thief.</em></p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>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. </p><p></p><p>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.”</p><p></p><p>“How do you know that?” wonders Jorgen.</p><p></p><p>“Couple of the local boys checked it out and found the site,” the barkeep replies.</p><p></p><p>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. </p><p></p><p>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.”</p><p></p><p>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.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>“Drougal Traveler,” breathes Lazarus. “He’s your man, Brandon... he’s your man.”</p><p></p><p><em><strong>Next Time:</strong></em> 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!</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="the Jester, post: 2454523, member: 1210"] [b]Cotton Hill[/b] 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 [i]goodberries,[/i] 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 [i]forty.[/i] “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 [i]hate[/i] for an accident to happen to your fine group.” “Well,” acknowledges Jorgen, “we are a small group here, but my [i]friend[/i] 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. [i]Well, he’s known to be too generous from time to time, but surely there’s more to it than that,[/i] 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]I’ll finish going through them in the morning,[/i] he thinks, [i]but I believe I have half the answers already. Brandon, you’re dealing with an unscrupulous thief.[/i] *** 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.” [i][b]Next Time:[/b][/i][b][/b] 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! [/QUOTE]
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