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<blockquote data-quote="the Jester" data-source="post: 3589447" data-attributes="member: 1210"><p><strong>WHOOSH-BOOM!!!</strong></p><p></p><p>Nobody notices anything coming until the <em>fireball</em> goes off. Strangelove is on watch, but he sees nothing- until the bead has blossomed into a beautiful yellow-red rose of flames all around him.</p><p></p><p>Naturally, the rest of the party awakens at this point. They are, after all, somewhat on fire and stuff. </p><p></p><p>Scrambling to their feet, groggy, the halflings pull up weapons, ready spells and powers- and are surprised to find that their fire-flinging foe is a troll. Three of the warty-skinned, wire-haired giants rise up from the nearby creek, one of them cackling and screeching commands to the others in Giant. The two charge. </p><p></p><p>Ari, Rush, Finndo, Strangelove and Rock meet their rush with weapons drawn, and a terrific struggle ensues. The troll sorceror bombards our heroes with various spells, but restrains herself from unleashing another <em>fireball</em> due to the proximity of her allies (brothers? Husbands? Brother-husbands? Who knows, with trolls).</p><p></p><p>The trolls are tough; clearly, they have fought their share of battles. But just as clearly, they were not expecting such fierce resistance from a group composed almost entirely of little halflings, and soon both of the fighters fall. The party turns their attention on the crone, who cackles in Strogassian, “You little ones are more formidable than I had expected!” With that, she flees underwater. Our heroes make a brief attempt at catching her, but venturing into the water- where, apparently, the troll sorceress is in her element, and our heroes certainly aren’t- sounds like a recipe for disaster. </p><p></p><p>Instead, our heroes try to burn the defeated trolls. Strangely, they do not burn; they seem waterlogged. Still, neither do they regenerate, so our heroes shrug and call it even. </p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>Deeper, deeper into the woods the party goes, poling and rowing upstream. The woods are thick, and where the river narrows- which is for a lot of the trip- the foliage closes overhead, leaving the river in perpetual gloom. </p><p></p><p>As they journey, they have a brief clash with some kind of plant monster, but it is over in seconds. Finndo shows quite a talent with reciting poetics during this battle, and our heroes are heartened by his words, improving their prowess. </p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p><em><strong>9/26/372 O.L.G., 11:45 p.m., resting in the Lofta Forest</strong></em></p><p></p><p>Solid ground, a large fire, a bed that isn’t moving- these are nice things, so the halflings tends to make camp alongside the river while Captain Tarth and the crew stay on board. Everyone is asleep, except for the watch- and Finndo and Queffe, who are in the middle of a nice, long, quiet lovemaking session (nothing like constantly risking your life to fire up the blood!). </p><p></p><p>A loud voice suddenly calls out in Strogassian. “Ho there, little ones. You are in my wood. To pass, you must pay me tribute.”</p><p></p><p>Coitus interruptus, alas. Queffe and Finndo scramble apart, reaching for weapons. Ari- on watch- stands up. “Uh, who are you?”</p><p></p><p>There is a low laugh. “You wish to see me? Very well.” The words are followed by a slithering sound, and then- a long, sinuous form, reptillian and green, emerges into the light of the campfire. It has no wings, but otherwise looks like some kind of dragon. </p><p></p><p>The rest of the party is scrambling to their feet and pulling out their own weapons, but the dragon rushes forward and strikes Rush a blow with one of its claws. “TRIBUTE!!” it roars.</p><p></p><p>Blood has been drawn. Our heroes will not let that pass unanswered. They attack. The dragon, much like the trolls before it, soon proves surprised by the level and quality of resistance that the halflings put up. Soon it is on the defensive, and then it is trying to escape. But Rush’s strange psychic blade catches it in the back, and the thing roars and staggers and falls, dead. </p><p></p><p>“Damn!” exclaims Ari. “A dragon!”</p><p></p><p>“I don’t think it’s a true dragon,” Strangelove answers. “Look, no wings. I think it was some kind of drake.”</p><p></p><p>“Either way,” Finndo says cheerfully, “in the morning we should backtrack its trail and try to find its lair!”</p><p></p><p>Indeed, when the day breaks and the adventurers rise, that is exactly what they do. The ship waits where it is while the party moves inland, following the drake’s trail until they find a sinkhole with a cave leading off from it. The lair in the cave proves to have some loot in it, which our heroes naturally appropriate. </p><p></p><p>Then it’s back to the ship, and further upstream.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p><em><strong>9/27/372 O.L.G., 11:00 a.m., on the river</strong></em></p><p></p><p>“We should be nearing Stetva,” Captain Tarth says. “If my estimation is correct, we should pass through it sometime late this afternoon.”</p><p></p><p>“Captain!” someone cries from the crow’s nest. “A boat is coming!”</p><p></p><p>Our heroes crowd on deck, and Captain Tarth takes up a spyglass. In a minute, a small boat holding a quartet of well-armed elves comes into view. Soon enough they are close enough to hail <em>the Promised Land,</em> but as they reach that distance, they back oars and halt in the water, maintaining their distance.</p><p></p><p>“Travelers,” one of the elves calls. “Soon you will pass by Stetva. <em>Pass it by.</em> Do not stop.” The elven boat begins to reverse course.</p><p></p><p>“Why not? Is there plague?” Ari shouts back.</p><p></p><p>“Visitors are not presently welcome,” is the reply. “Just pass by! Do not stop!”</p><p></p><p>Our heroes exchange looks with each other. The elven boat is moving much faster than the larger vessel that our heroes are on. Soon it is out of view.</p><p></p><p>“Right,” sighs Captain Tarth. “I guess there’s nowhere big that’s friendly before we get to the Stern Mountains, then.”</p><p></p><p>“How far is that?” asks Queffe.</p><p></p><p>“We aren’t yet half way.”</p><p></p><p><em><strong>Next Time:</strong></em> Captain Tarth is right, there’s nowhere friendly that’s <em>big</em> coming up- but there <em>is</em>... Squirrel Town!</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="the Jester, post: 3589447, member: 1210"] [b]WHOOSH-BOOM!!![/B] Nobody notices anything coming until the [i]fireball[/i] goes off. Strangelove is on watch, but he sees nothing- until the bead has blossomed into a beautiful yellow-red rose of flames all around him. Naturally, the rest of the party awakens at this point. They are, after all, somewhat on fire and stuff. Scrambling to their feet, groggy, the halflings pull up weapons, ready spells and powers- and are surprised to find that their fire-flinging foe is a troll. Three of the warty-skinned, wire-haired giants rise up from the nearby creek, one of them cackling and screeching commands to the others in Giant. The two charge. Ari, Rush, Finndo, Strangelove and Rock meet their rush with weapons drawn, and a terrific struggle ensues. The troll sorceror bombards our heroes with various spells, but restrains herself from unleashing another [i]fireball[/i] due to the proximity of her allies (brothers? Husbands? Brother-husbands? Who knows, with trolls). The trolls are tough; clearly, they have fought their share of battles. But just as clearly, they were not expecting such fierce resistance from a group composed almost entirely of little halflings, and soon both of the fighters fall. The party turns their attention on the crone, who cackles in Strogassian, “You little ones are more formidable than I had expected!” With that, she flees underwater. Our heroes make a brief attempt at catching her, but venturing into the water- where, apparently, the troll sorceress is in her element, and our heroes certainly aren’t- sounds like a recipe for disaster. Instead, our heroes try to burn the defeated trolls. Strangely, they do not burn; they seem waterlogged. Still, neither do they regenerate, so our heroes shrug and call it even. *** Deeper, deeper into the woods the party goes, poling and rowing upstream. The woods are thick, and where the river narrows- which is for a lot of the trip- the foliage closes overhead, leaving the river in perpetual gloom. As they journey, they have a brief clash with some kind of plant monster, but it is over in seconds. Finndo shows quite a talent with reciting poetics during this battle, and our heroes are heartened by his words, improving their prowess. *** [i][b]9/26/372 O.L.G., 11:45 p.m., resting in the Lofta Forest[/b][/i][b][/b] Solid ground, a large fire, a bed that isn’t moving- these are nice things, so the halflings tends to make camp alongside the river while Captain Tarth and the crew stay on board. Everyone is asleep, except for the watch- and Finndo and Queffe, who are in the middle of a nice, long, quiet lovemaking session (nothing like constantly risking your life to fire up the blood!). A loud voice suddenly calls out in Strogassian. “Ho there, little ones. You are in my wood. To pass, you must pay me tribute.” Coitus interruptus, alas. Queffe and Finndo scramble apart, reaching for weapons. Ari- on watch- stands up. “Uh, who are you?” There is a low laugh. “You wish to see me? Very well.” The words are followed by a slithering sound, and then- a long, sinuous form, reptillian and green, emerges into the light of the campfire. It has no wings, but otherwise looks like some kind of dragon. The rest of the party is scrambling to their feet and pulling out their own weapons, but the dragon rushes forward and strikes Rush a blow with one of its claws. “TRIBUTE!!” it roars. Blood has been drawn. Our heroes will not let that pass unanswered. They attack. The dragon, much like the trolls before it, soon proves surprised by the level and quality of resistance that the halflings put up. Soon it is on the defensive, and then it is trying to escape. But Rush’s strange psychic blade catches it in the back, and the thing roars and staggers and falls, dead. “Damn!” exclaims Ari. “A dragon!” “I don’t think it’s a true dragon,” Strangelove answers. “Look, no wings. I think it was some kind of drake.” “Either way,” Finndo says cheerfully, “in the morning we should backtrack its trail and try to find its lair!” Indeed, when the day breaks and the adventurers rise, that is exactly what they do. The ship waits where it is while the party moves inland, following the drake’s trail until they find a sinkhole with a cave leading off from it. The lair in the cave proves to have some loot in it, which our heroes naturally appropriate. Then it’s back to the ship, and further upstream. *** [i][b]9/27/372 O.L.G., 11:00 a.m., on the river[/b][/i][b][/b] “We should be nearing Stetva,” Captain Tarth says. “If my estimation is correct, we should pass through it sometime late this afternoon.” “Captain!” someone cries from the crow’s nest. “A boat is coming!” Our heroes crowd on deck, and Captain Tarth takes up a spyglass. In a minute, a small boat holding a quartet of well-armed elves comes into view. Soon enough they are close enough to hail [i]the Promised Land,[/i] but as they reach that distance, they back oars and halt in the water, maintaining their distance. “Travelers,” one of the elves calls. “Soon you will pass by Stetva. [i]Pass it by.[/i] Do not stop.” The elven boat begins to reverse course. “Why not? Is there plague?” Ari shouts back. “Visitors are not presently welcome,” is the reply. “Just pass by! Do not stop!” Our heroes exchange looks with each other. The elven boat is moving much faster than the larger vessel that our heroes are on. Soon it is out of view. “Right,” sighs Captain Tarth. “I guess there’s nowhere big that’s friendly before we get to the Stern Mountains, then.” “How far is that?” asks Queffe. “We aren’t yet half way.” [i][b]Next Time:[/b][/i][b][/b] Captain Tarth is right, there’s nowhere friendly that’s [i]big[/i] coming up- but there [i]is[/i]... Squirrel Town! [/QUOTE]
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