Enforcer's Wheel of Time Story Hour [Last Update 5-20-02 (finally!)]
Enforcer
Explorer
Part 2 of 3
Tarlan had just risen somewhat steadily to his feet and had gathered his weapons when a foul odor wafted through the stable yard. The stench was more terrible than even the stink of the Maule, which itself was one of the few things I was happy to leave behind me in Tear. Soon the source of the aroma was walking towards my cohorts and me, the crowd of travelers and merchants parting to allow him a wide berth. Somewhere within the hunched-over mess of dirty garments, I could make out an oversized hooked nose and a piercing gaze. That iron-hard stare would have parted the crowd without aid from its owner’s scent or disheveled clothing. Father had that same look in his eyes when he refused Aes Sedai help for Mother—it is the look of a man ready to kill to get what he wants. I could tell that Tarlan and Resara were taken aback as well, the stunning woman looked like a Tairen lady ready to faint. Ronan was unperturbed; would nothing agitate this man?
“Rol!” Master Ferrin shouted at the bouncer who had inadvertently started this mess, “That wretched beggar is dirtying my inn for the fourth time in half as many days!”
“Should I fetch my dogs Master Ferrin?” Bennet asked. I was more than half hoping the stout innkeeper would let him.
“You need me,” the beggar interrupted even as Ferrin began to nod his head. “The monsters went right by me as I lay in the alley. I can take you.” The man’s voice sounded somewhat like the croak of a man I had diced with once at The Dolphin’s Swim. He was in a knife fight where his opponent had slashed him across the throat—not a killing blow, but enough to make his voice a mockery of its former self.
Ferrin’s nodding took on a different meaning. “He can show the way! Follow him, and quickly!”
“Yes, we have precious little time, let’s be off,” Tarlan said, sounding eager to take revenge for the cruel cut that still showed under his damaged tunic. I could not agree more.
We followed the beggar into the alley, onto a road, and out to the fringe of the outermost buildings of Caemlyn. We each carried a weapon: Tarlan had an arrow the length of my arm nocked in his enormous longbow, Ronan held his morningstar easily at his side, Resara had her dagger ready to throw, and I gripped my longsword the way Andreu had taught me. Looking at our hastily assembled group, I had to admire the strength of character that was being displayed on my companions’ faces. There was fear yes, except for Ronan, but still a righteous determination. Or perhaps I am just remembering us all as looking braver than we actually did. Mother said that men remember things the way they want to remember them, not the way they actually happened.
The beggar stopped and pointed along a hedgerow that led into a copse of trees about 200 paces away. I could only make out the outline in the darkness. “That’s where they took her,” he croaked. The wretch sounded as if he was enjoying all of this.
We had gone perhaps a third of the distance when Tarlan looked over his shoulder. “Good, he’s out of earshot. Ugh, I wish I had gone outside to look for a trail before we agreed to his help. I surely could have tracked two trollocs this far.” He sounded rather defensive about his skill at woodcraft, perhaps because his sword returned to its sheath unbloodied in our first fight.
Resara laid a soft, delicate hand on Tarlan’s shoulder, “I forgot to tell you how astonished I was that you kept fighting after taking such a tremendous blow. Surely you have the fortitude of three men.” The sly smile she flashed him left little doubt as to what she meant. The woodsman could only stammer a few words of thanks in reply as his cheeks flushed a bright crimson. He did square his shoulders and appear more relaxed though—my respect for Resara went up a notch.
In a low voice, Tarlan said, “Their tracks follow along this hedgerow, they may be watching this way for pursuit. It’d be best if we all followed me across the field so we can approach from a safer side. I know it’s hard, but try not to be seen or heard.” It was sound advice that we all agreed to. This Andorman knew what he was about.
We all made it safely to a shallow ravine that lay to the west of the small wood. I was worried that Resara or I would give away our position, given that Tarlan gave us concerned looks every time we made a sound. At least the woodsman and Ronan seemed to be adept at moving noiselessly.
Crouched in the ravine, we looked into the trees. I saw only one trolloc, perhaps five paces away from the squirming sack that undoubtedly held poor Sirene. Fortunately, Tarlan and Ronan spotted the two that I had missed. The woodsman was right; the two trollocs I had overlooked were indeed watching the path along the hedgerow.
When Ronan unwrapped a sling from around his arm, we decided that it would be best if Resara and I crept up to the trolloc nearest Sirene as far as we could (we had no bows or slings), then wait for Tarlan’s arrow and Ronan’s sling bullet to hit it. Resara and I would then rush in to finish it off, if necessary. Then the four of us could deal with the other two, instead of fighting three of them at once. It was also decided that after the one trolloc was down, Resara and I would get in between the sack and the other two Shadowspawn to protect Sirene. And hopefully live long enough for Tarlan and Ronan to come and help us…
Tarlan double-checked his arrow while Ronan readied his sling. Ronan did not look well, his brow shone with sweat and he appeared as if he might sick up. Perfectly understandable, given the circumstances, though I found it interesting that he looked even more resolute than before, if that is possible. Resara and I began to sneak towards our target.
The trolloc had its back turned to us, and so the two of us made it to within ten paces before it whipped around, cruel sword held strongly in its thick hand and howling with hate. The howling abruptly stopped as the trolloc’s chest sprouted the arrow from Tarlan’s enormous bow. A split-second later, its neck exploded. Ronan’s sling bullet must have actually pierced flesh rather than simply strike the beast. A lucky shot. Resara and I were already running towards the other two trollocs as the first fell lifeless to the ground.
I worried for Resara, as she and I were each facing our own nine-feet-tall monstrosity, and she had never received any battle training as I had. Fortunately she seem quick enough to protect herself, though I doubted her tiny dagger would be of much use against her much larger opponent.
The trolloc I faced had the head of a hawk, with a sharp beak protruding where a mouth should be. It tried to rush past my right side, probably meaning to grab the sack, but I made a deep cut across its belly before it could get out of my reach. My blow stopped the trolloc’s charge, as continuing would have only deepened the wound. After my blade was clear of trolloc flesh, I brought my left hand to the bottom of the hilt. Taking the longsword with two hands, I cleaved it into the Shadowspawn’s back. My arms went slightly numb due to the force of my sword severing the trolloc’s spine, but I was just happy that the monster would not be rising to attack me.
Resara, on the other hand, was not doing as well. She showed no injuries, but it was taking her every ounce of concentration to avoid being hit by the trolloc’s curved sword. I reached her a mere moment before Tarlan and Ronan had caught up to the battle. In my haste I thought that I could take advantage of the trolloc’s distraction long enough to strike a killing blow. With animal cunning it managed to deflect my sword enough that my blade glanced uselessly off the black mail that it wore. With the trolloc’s focus on my attack, however, it never saw Ronan bring his morningstar up over his head to crash into its ram-like temple. Yet it did not fall!
By now the trolloc was frantic, its horns were twisting about with its desperate attempt to keep its eyes on all four of us simultaneously. It realized how futile that was when Tarlan’s Warder’s sword was buried hilt-deep in its lungs. It was over.
As Tarlan, Ronan, and I were cleaning our weapons on ragged trolloc garments, Resara went to the sack that held Sirene. She was such as pretty girl, with long blond hair and cute dimples. I was so relieved that we had succeeded—having to return to Bennet empty-handed would have been unbearable.
Sirene did not seem to realize she was out of danger as Resara was asking her if she was hurt, but received no response. It was only when Tarlan went over to her stunned form and lifted her in his arms that her expression changed. She simply clasped her arms around the woodsman’s thick neck and cried softly into his shoulder as he held her. It must have hurt Tarlan greatly to have Sirene in contact with the chest wound he had received at the inn, but one would not know it to look at him. The man simply looked content.
Our reception back at The Golden Stag was enthusiastic, to put it mildly. Bennet and Sirene were reunited, with the girl not touching the ground as Tarlan handed her into the loving arms of her father. Master Ferrin approached the four of us after fighting through the swarm of patrons who wanted to pay their compliments.
“The four of you stay free at this inn for as long as I can afford it. I’ve even asked several people to sleep three to a room, so each of you can have a private bed. They fought to be one of the ones inconvenienced, if you can believe that,” Ferrin held his gaze to the floor, as if he were addressing an assembly of nobles.
I was about to tell him to look us in the face when the stench of the filthy beggar once again assaulted my senses. He even had the nerve to grab Tarlan by the cloak. I dare say that if I possessed the small size of this beggar, I would never think to grab a man as big as Tarlan. Even being of roughly equal strength to the man, I would certainly think twice first.
“Please sir, it’s so cold out in the alley. Allow a poor beggar the humble reward of your cloak, that I might keep warm,” he croaked, and I thought it a reasonable enough request, despite the man’s greedy and more than half-mad expression. That stabbing gaze still had not changed a bit.
“I’m afraid not friend beggar. This cloak has been an heirloom in my family for as many generations as we can recount. I’ll not part with it, though I’d be happy to buy you one of your own, and new woolen clothes to go with it if you like,” the woodsman replied. It seemed to me that he was ashamed at refusing the beggar his cloak, and was being overly generous to compensate. I learned much about reading a man during my dicing days in the Maule.
Master Ferrin diffused the situation by offering the ragged man some blankets and a place in the loft. Though the beggar seemed far from satisfied, he accepted the innkeeper’s charity graciously enough. As for my companions and I, we were hounded repeatedly to recount the story of our supposedly epic battle. Somehow I was chosen to tell the tale; Tarlan was too busy being fussed over by the maid that had tended to him earlier while Resara was asked to dance by nearly every man in the inn. One look at Ronan’s cold face sent the curious away from him, though he never had to pay for a refill of his mug.
Late in the evening, we were finally permitted to go to our rooms. I cannot recall a time when I slept more soundly. I dreamt of tomorrow, when I would get to see what I came to Caemlyn for. The False Dragon Logain was to be paraded through the streets.
Tarlan had just risen somewhat steadily to his feet and had gathered his weapons when a foul odor wafted through the stable yard. The stench was more terrible than even the stink of the Maule, which itself was one of the few things I was happy to leave behind me in Tear. Soon the source of the aroma was walking towards my cohorts and me, the crowd of travelers and merchants parting to allow him a wide berth. Somewhere within the hunched-over mess of dirty garments, I could make out an oversized hooked nose and a piercing gaze. That iron-hard stare would have parted the crowd without aid from its owner’s scent or disheveled clothing. Father had that same look in his eyes when he refused Aes Sedai help for Mother—it is the look of a man ready to kill to get what he wants. I could tell that Tarlan and Resara were taken aback as well, the stunning woman looked like a Tairen lady ready to faint. Ronan was unperturbed; would nothing agitate this man?
“Rol!” Master Ferrin shouted at the bouncer who had inadvertently started this mess, “That wretched beggar is dirtying my inn for the fourth time in half as many days!”
“Should I fetch my dogs Master Ferrin?” Bennet asked. I was more than half hoping the stout innkeeper would let him.
“You need me,” the beggar interrupted even as Ferrin began to nod his head. “The monsters went right by me as I lay in the alley. I can take you.” The man’s voice sounded somewhat like the croak of a man I had diced with once at The Dolphin’s Swim. He was in a knife fight where his opponent had slashed him across the throat—not a killing blow, but enough to make his voice a mockery of its former self.
Ferrin’s nodding took on a different meaning. “He can show the way! Follow him, and quickly!”
“Yes, we have precious little time, let’s be off,” Tarlan said, sounding eager to take revenge for the cruel cut that still showed under his damaged tunic. I could not agree more.
We followed the beggar into the alley, onto a road, and out to the fringe of the outermost buildings of Caemlyn. We each carried a weapon: Tarlan had an arrow the length of my arm nocked in his enormous longbow, Ronan held his morningstar easily at his side, Resara had her dagger ready to throw, and I gripped my longsword the way Andreu had taught me. Looking at our hastily assembled group, I had to admire the strength of character that was being displayed on my companions’ faces. There was fear yes, except for Ronan, but still a righteous determination. Or perhaps I am just remembering us all as looking braver than we actually did. Mother said that men remember things the way they want to remember them, not the way they actually happened.
The beggar stopped and pointed along a hedgerow that led into a copse of trees about 200 paces away. I could only make out the outline in the darkness. “That’s where they took her,” he croaked. The wretch sounded as if he was enjoying all of this.
We had gone perhaps a third of the distance when Tarlan looked over his shoulder. “Good, he’s out of earshot. Ugh, I wish I had gone outside to look for a trail before we agreed to his help. I surely could have tracked two trollocs this far.” He sounded rather defensive about his skill at woodcraft, perhaps because his sword returned to its sheath unbloodied in our first fight.
Resara laid a soft, delicate hand on Tarlan’s shoulder, “I forgot to tell you how astonished I was that you kept fighting after taking such a tremendous blow. Surely you have the fortitude of three men.” The sly smile she flashed him left little doubt as to what she meant. The woodsman could only stammer a few words of thanks in reply as his cheeks flushed a bright crimson. He did square his shoulders and appear more relaxed though—my respect for Resara went up a notch.
In a low voice, Tarlan said, “Their tracks follow along this hedgerow, they may be watching this way for pursuit. It’d be best if we all followed me across the field so we can approach from a safer side. I know it’s hard, but try not to be seen or heard.” It was sound advice that we all agreed to. This Andorman knew what he was about.
We all made it safely to a shallow ravine that lay to the west of the small wood. I was worried that Resara or I would give away our position, given that Tarlan gave us concerned looks every time we made a sound. At least the woodsman and Ronan seemed to be adept at moving noiselessly.
Crouched in the ravine, we looked into the trees. I saw only one trolloc, perhaps five paces away from the squirming sack that undoubtedly held poor Sirene. Fortunately, Tarlan and Ronan spotted the two that I had missed. The woodsman was right; the two trollocs I had overlooked were indeed watching the path along the hedgerow.
When Ronan unwrapped a sling from around his arm, we decided that it would be best if Resara and I crept up to the trolloc nearest Sirene as far as we could (we had no bows or slings), then wait for Tarlan’s arrow and Ronan’s sling bullet to hit it. Resara and I would then rush in to finish it off, if necessary. Then the four of us could deal with the other two, instead of fighting three of them at once. It was also decided that after the one trolloc was down, Resara and I would get in between the sack and the other two Shadowspawn to protect Sirene. And hopefully live long enough for Tarlan and Ronan to come and help us…
Tarlan double-checked his arrow while Ronan readied his sling. Ronan did not look well, his brow shone with sweat and he appeared as if he might sick up. Perfectly understandable, given the circumstances, though I found it interesting that he looked even more resolute than before, if that is possible. Resara and I began to sneak towards our target.
The trolloc had its back turned to us, and so the two of us made it to within ten paces before it whipped around, cruel sword held strongly in its thick hand and howling with hate. The howling abruptly stopped as the trolloc’s chest sprouted the arrow from Tarlan’s enormous bow. A split-second later, its neck exploded. Ronan’s sling bullet must have actually pierced flesh rather than simply strike the beast. A lucky shot. Resara and I were already running towards the other two trollocs as the first fell lifeless to the ground.
I worried for Resara, as she and I were each facing our own nine-feet-tall monstrosity, and she had never received any battle training as I had. Fortunately she seem quick enough to protect herself, though I doubted her tiny dagger would be of much use against her much larger opponent.
The trolloc I faced had the head of a hawk, with a sharp beak protruding where a mouth should be. It tried to rush past my right side, probably meaning to grab the sack, but I made a deep cut across its belly before it could get out of my reach. My blow stopped the trolloc’s charge, as continuing would have only deepened the wound. After my blade was clear of trolloc flesh, I brought my left hand to the bottom of the hilt. Taking the longsword with two hands, I cleaved it into the Shadowspawn’s back. My arms went slightly numb due to the force of my sword severing the trolloc’s spine, but I was just happy that the monster would not be rising to attack me.
Resara, on the other hand, was not doing as well. She showed no injuries, but it was taking her every ounce of concentration to avoid being hit by the trolloc’s curved sword. I reached her a mere moment before Tarlan and Ronan had caught up to the battle. In my haste I thought that I could take advantage of the trolloc’s distraction long enough to strike a killing blow. With animal cunning it managed to deflect my sword enough that my blade glanced uselessly off the black mail that it wore. With the trolloc’s focus on my attack, however, it never saw Ronan bring his morningstar up over his head to crash into its ram-like temple. Yet it did not fall!
By now the trolloc was frantic, its horns were twisting about with its desperate attempt to keep its eyes on all four of us simultaneously. It realized how futile that was when Tarlan’s Warder’s sword was buried hilt-deep in its lungs. It was over.
As Tarlan, Ronan, and I were cleaning our weapons on ragged trolloc garments, Resara went to the sack that held Sirene. She was such as pretty girl, with long blond hair and cute dimples. I was so relieved that we had succeeded—having to return to Bennet empty-handed would have been unbearable.
Sirene did not seem to realize she was out of danger as Resara was asking her if she was hurt, but received no response. It was only when Tarlan went over to her stunned form and lifted her in his arms that her expression changed. She simply clasped her arms around the woodsman’s thick neck and cried softly into his shoulder as he held her. It must have hurt Tarlan greatly to have Sirene in contact with the chest wound he had received at the inn, but one would not know it to look at him. The man simply looked content.
Our reception back at The Golden Stag was enthusiastic, to put it mildly. Bennet and Sirene were reunited, with the girl not touching the ground as Tarlan handed her into the loving arms of her father. Master Ferrin approached the four of us after fighting through the swarm of patrons who wanted to pay their compliments.
“The four of you stay free at this inn for as long as I can afford it. I’ve even asked several people to sleep three to a room, so each of you can have a private bed. They fought to be one of the ones inconvenienced, if you can believe that,” Ferrin held his gaze to the floor, as if he were addressing an assembly of nobles.
I was about to tell him to look us in the face when the stench of the filthy beggar once again assaulted my senses. He even had the nerve to grab Tarlan by the cloak. I dare say that if I possessed the small size of this beggar, I would never think to grab a man as big as Tarlan. Even being of roughly equal strength to the man, I would certainly think twice first.
“Please sir, it’s so cold out in the alley. Allow a poor beggar the humble reward of your cloak, that I might keep warm,” he croaked, and I thought it a reasonable enough request, despite the man’s greedy and more than half-mad expression. That stabbing gaze still had not changed a bit.
“I’m afraid not friend beggar. This cloak has been an heirloom in my family for as many generations as we can recount. I’ll not part with it, though I’d be happy to buy you one of your own, and new woolen clothes to go with it if you like,” the woodsman replied. It seemed to me that he was ashamed at refusing the beggar his cloak, and was being overly generous to compensate. I learned much about reading a man during my dicing days in the Maule.
Master Ferrin diffused the situation by offering the ragged man some blankets and a place in the loft. Though the beggar seemed far from satisfied, he accepted the innkeeper’s charity graciously enough. As for my companions and I, we were hounded repeatedly to recount the story of our supposedly epic battle. Somehow I was chosen to tell the tale; Tarlan was too busy being fussed over by the maid that had tended to him earlier while Resara was asked to dance by nearly every man in the inn. One look at Ronan’s cold face sent the curious away from him, though he never had to pay for a refill of his mug.
Late in the evening, we were finally permitted to go to our rooms. I cannot recall a time when I slept more soundly. I dreamt of tomorrow, when I would get to see what I came to Caemlyn for. The False Dragon Logain was to be paraded through the streets.
A wanderer, in game terms, is a bit like a rogue... Rand's friend, Mat, is a wanderer. The wanderer has senak attacks, skill focus and a feat that gives a reroll (Dark One's Own).
The story goes great! Have you already prepared/played next adventure? Will it be a home made adventure or and adaptation of something?
The story goes great! Have you already prepared/played next adventure? Will it be a home made adventure or and adaptation of something?
Enforcer
Explorer
I've somewhat prepared the next adventure (it's home made), but I don't know when we'll get to play. Tarlan's player doesn't seem to be free, ever, so it could be a while. Alternatively, I could hand the character over to someone else, or make it 3 NPCs and one PC. I've done it before...
Riekhan, Horacio did a good job describing the wanderer, but if you want more, ask away or check out the rulebook at your game shop.
As for part 3 (the conclusion), I have a quiz on Thursday and some other work as well. Grr...I hate homework!
Riekhan, Horacio did a good job describing the wanderer, but if you want more, ask away or check out the rulebook at your game shop.
As for part 3 (the conclusion), I have a quiz on Thursday and some other work as well. Grr...I hate homework!
Derulbaskul
Adventurer
Hi Enforcer,
I also wanted to say that I really enjoyed reading your posts and am looking forward to seeing what else happens. I confess that I'm also looking for a bit of inspiration to help me put together my own WoT campaign (I'm more familiar with FR and GH) so I'll personally be hoping that you knock over your homework ASAP.
Cheers
NPP
I also wanted to say that I really enjoyed reading your posts and am looking forward to seeing what else happens. I confess that I'm also looking for a bit of inspiration to help me put together my own WoT campaign (I'm more familiar with FR and GH) so I'll personally be hoping that you knock over your homework ASAP.
Cheers
NPP
Plane Sailing
Astral Admin - Mwahahaha!
I like the story, and your style is nice - very readable. I'll watch with interest for future installments.
Enforcer
Explorer
Derulbaskul said:
Derulbaskul: After Reimon arrives in Caemlyn, the adventure I ran was the one from the back of the Wheel of Time Rulebook, so you don't need to wait for the conclusion of this adventure to run it on your own.
Be advised, however, that anyone who runs that adventure should be prepared to possibly fudge some dice rolls. Multiple trollocs are not appropriate for a 1st level party, despite what the rulebook says. They've got something like 15 hp on average and a +4 to hit. They also do a noticeable 2d4+2 with those scytheswords. Challenge code 'A' my...er...posterior.
You may have noticed that Tarlan was the only one to get hit so far, that's because I rolled like...er...doody, whereas the players did awesome. Ronan had something like 5 crits with his morningstar (sigh), though I've changed the combat a little to make it flow more quickly, so you haven't seen all 5 (and won't, probably).
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