Softwind's Tale: Companions of the Valley (upd 04/01/04) - REALLY!

[Softwind]

Ninth Session (Nov 2002)

With this news, the party decides to press on, to take Brug by surprise, and take him to town for justice. With the aid of the reluctant informers, they continued up the riverbed, further into the forests surrounding Merikest. However, their plan to surprise Brug’s band is foiled by alert perimeter guards, and the party again finds itself under fire from the trees.

Brynn, Grimnyr, and Tombit charge forward, braving the missles, to draw closer to the foes. Athena circles around, to stay near the fighters in case her healing arts were needed, and with weapons at the ready, to be drawn if an opponent revealed himself nearby. Genoa moved the other direction, to avoid the bolts and to try to get a better vantage point to cast upon the crossbowmen. Her wolf and owl staying close, ready to aid if needed. Skylar moved beside a tree, to give less of a target, while she searched, arrow nocked in bow, for a target. Her patience pays off as an orcish bowman leans out from the trees to look for targets himself. His eyes dim in death as Skylar’s arrow pierces his neck. The thump of a body falling to the ground below is heard by all, as is the loud “Yes!” from the elf.

Heartened by this early, quick success, the rest of the party moves in, trying (albeit not very hard) to subdue, rather than kill their opponents. They spread out, watchful for ground opponents, confident in their friend’s abilities with the bow to keep them covered. The find resistance to their movements in the form of a large half-orc in banded armor, accompanied by several disheveled leather clad figures, all wielding weapons of some sort. A few looked more proficient with the armaments they carried, than the others that had modified farming implements.

Brynn strides forward, demanding the immediate surrender of the bandit mob. His response is a quick attack by the group. Concealing a grin, Brynn pulls his sword and wades into battle, his honor satisfied by the offer to the bandits. His companions also leap into the fray. Tombit tries to circle around to sneak attack, Grimnyr grips his dwarven battleaxe and charges, Athena pulls her weapons out, waiting, Genoa sends in her wolf as she prepares a spell, and Skylar lays into the tree-ensconced bandits with her bow and deadly arrows.

The half-orc leader commands his men to charge, then pulls out a finely crafted greatsword and rushes in as well. Hampered by the need to bring back at least a few alive, the party takes more blows than they normally would, and as they find more of their blood being spilled (and Athena hard pressed to keep them healed), the tenor of the battle changes. No longer holding back the deadliness of the blows, their combined might slays several bandits in a row. Several thugs become disheartened, and attempt to flee, but are knocked down and out by the large wolf, Timber and the spells by Genoa.

Tombit contributes to the unconscious by stunning and cold-cocking the leader Brug, with assistance by Grimnyr and Brynn. (Grimnyr just barely holding back a killing blow – he does not like orcs, half or no). At last, the body count (dead or knocked out) reaches the same number of once-standing foes. The band of adventurers-turned-bounty-hunters relax, and begin tending to wounds. The druid assists, using a new power granted to her to close wounds over the course of just moments. Tombit, ever curious, paws through the bodies of the thugs, looking for interesting baubles, and perhaps, pie. The former is found in plenty, the latter…well, even a hungry Halfling would turn his nose up at that. With the unconscious bandits well trussed, the party sits to take a rest. Soon, the men start waking up, and with muffled shouts, try to free themselves from their bondage. In vain, as they find out, as Tombit had paid special care to the knots. Discouraged, the thugs wait somewhat quietly to see what their capturers will do with them.

Athena grabs the other captives, conveniently stowed a ways from the battle, and puts the two groups together. The addition of the previous captives earns them looks of hatred, for the fresh band knew then who had betrayed them. The party pays this no mind, as the ultimate fate of these men would now rest in the hands of the authorities in Merikest. Having rested long enough, the party pulls their prisoners to their feet, and forces them back towards town. It takes the better part of the day to reach the outskirts of town, especially with the occasional frenzied attempts by the bandits to free themselves and get away. To no avail, and soon Reg’s guards take the men away. Reg is ecstatic, because the leader of the band is recognized as a wanted fugitive. He congratulates the party, and gives them their much deserved reward. He chooses to look aside the fact that less than a fifth of the known bandits had been delivered alive. This side comment echoes in their head hours later when they pass by the Sheriff’s office and see a gallows, all nooses filled by the corpses of all the men they had brought back. The softer-hearted of the group cringes at the evidence of torture upon the bodies of the dead. Only Grimnyr mutters “They gots what was comin’ to em”, looking pointedly at the halforc leader.

After the furious activity of the past few days, the crew decides to take a break and relax in town. The mood of the town has changed; less of a pall weighs upon it, after the threat of the bandits had been removed. Townsfolk often stop to say hello, and to thank the party for the work they did in removing the menace. Even with Tombit’s tale telling, the people of Merikest seem much less cool towards the party, rarely ever crossing the street to avoid the Halfling…

Brynn takes this opportunity to look for a companion – and finds an adolescent cougar, ribs visible and coat in sad shape. For whatever reason, the dwarven ranger takes a liking to the scrawny animal, and sets about befriending it, with spell and with kindness. Within a week of hunting with Brynn, Karazak begins to fill out, his belly full and coat regaining its luster. The two find they compliment each other, both in the hunt, and the times between. At the end of the week, Brynn heads back to town, instructing Karazak to remain nearby, as he will visit when he can. The cougar reluctantly agrees, not wanting to part from his new found friend who had helped him feed. Brynn reassures the great cat that it will not be long before they rejoin each other, and tells him that his presence in town would cause too much fear. Beaming with pride, the cat slinks off into the woods again, leaving Brynn alone to return to Merikest.

Shortly, the Sheriff sends a runner to the Dancing Pony, looking for the group. When they are gathered in his office, he asks them if they are interested in another job. The party agrees, and the half-elven Sheriff proceeds to fill them in on another difficulty. It seems that there is a fort, Brightstone Keep, about a day’s ride to the north. Previously occupied by an army from Everlund, it now stands abandoned, ready to be tenanted again. Reg fears that the orcs, previously driven away by the Everlundian forces, may be returning to take over the Keep. And if that happened, it would effectively cut off Merikest from the north. He requests that the party make all speed to check on the fort, and clear it of any interlopers if necessary. He still lacks men to send with the party, but does offer to dip into the town coffers to offset any costs in preparation. Having racked up some expenses, the party agrees, and leaves to get ready.

Humphrey, having been visited several times already by the party seeking to identify items, is not surprised to see them again. He pulls out the items he has already identified, mostly armor, weapons, and beneficial items, and discusses his fee. The party agrees on paying him in gems, and in a minor fire resistance ring, which will allow the mage to better enjoy his pet, er familiar, er whatever that fire-newt thing is in the back room. The party gathers up their gear, and prepares to head north to Brightstone Keep. Having previously purchased horses, they make quick time along the road that passes north through the forest. Along the way, they encounter some of the orcs warned about, but the pig-snouted humanoids prove to be no match against these seasoned adventurers. However, they are delayed by the encounters, so camp that night near the cliff that the Keep rests on.

Having decided to take a back-door approach to the keep, the party scales the cliff wall, leaving the wolf and cat behind. They promise the animals to return soon, and instruct them to stay nearby, hunting as needed. The animal companions agree, and disappear into the woods – a strange sight, a large wolf (4’ at the shoulder by now) walking beside a great cat, without strife. Reassured of the animals’ safety (and lack of hostility to each other), the party climbs the cliffside. Making their way towards the Keep, they are startled by the remains of several humanoids rising up to confront them. The battle is brief, as the cleric in the party calls down holy wrath and Turns them, right into dust! This disgruntles Grimnyr, who was itching for a fight, but even he sees the benefit in the quick dispatch of the undead. They continue onward, reaching the Keep shortly. They spot several figures walking the walls, or peering out from on top the towers. There is much debate on when to enter, and where. The party decides to wait until night, and climb up a back wall. They settle in for a long wait, occasionally peering over the covering brush and rock to watch the Keep.

When at last the sun has set, and the partial moon is shedding its wan light, they move across the no-mans-land around the Keep, towards the back. In hushed whispers, they discuss the plan again. The Halfling is sent to climb the wall, being the most limber of the bunch. He is followed by Brynn and Athena, being the next stealthy of the group. Genoa, Grimnyr, and Skylar stay back, to provide backup if needed.

Tombit manages to get a rope, attached to a grapnel, up onto the crenulations of the wall after several tries, with pauses between attempts, looking for any response the gentle clink of metal against stone may have caused. Assured by the lack of activity above, he clambers up the rope and onto the walkway. He motions for the next group to come up the rope. The ranger and cleric gain the wall quickly, and call out for the rest of the party. Grimnyr learns to his dismay that the armor he wears is not made for stealth, but a thoughtful Silence spell muffles any noises made during his ascent. Seeing two doors, one on either side of the wall, leading into towers, the party randomly chooses and enters the eastern door. They find themselves on the second of three floors, with staircases leading up and down. Thinking the main force of the defenders will be on the ground level, they make their way to the staircase and quietly move down the steps.

The party is surprised to see rows of beds, with a variety of races chained to them. Humans, Gnomes, Dwarves, Halflings, even Kobolds rest here! And guarding the group of listless or sleeping prisoners are several goblins, and some large creature, with mottled green skin and long arms that reach the ground. The party declares this beast a knuckle-dragger, and from the look of it, decides it will be a tough fight. They send Tombit to quietly try to release the captives, and hope that in the distraction, they will be able to take the goblins and their knuckle-dragging companion. The distraction works, as the freed prisoners makes it hard for the guards to know what is going on. The party takes this moment of opportunity, and strikes!

The goblins are rapidly cut down, but the green giant seems to shrug off the blows of the party. They retreat up the stairs, followed by the creature, while the erstwhile prisoners hang back, or continue to pummel the corpses of the goblins that had held them captive. The party is hard pressed to permanently damage this foe, as every blow seems to heal up as quickly as it is dealt. Only when they resort to fire does the beast finally lay still. Athena is busy casting healing spells on the sorely wounded party, herself included, and exhausts her repertoire, resorting to using the caduceus stick laboriously filled with charges (rechargeable by 1st level cure spells cast into it).

Feeling better for the rest, the party works their way out the building and onto the walkway. Against their requests, the freed prisoners jump the wall and head into the forests surrounding the Keep. Most of them are away before orc guards spot them. The party is able to silence the guards without raising the general alarm. They open the other door on the wall, leading into the second rear tower. The set up is similar, although the stairway to the roof is badly rotted and unusable. Again, Tombit creeps down the stairway to the ground floor. And again, there are beds with a variety of occupants, goblin guards, and another of the green knuckle draggers. Tombit works on freeing the prisoners, even the kobolds, but is spotted by a goblin guard. Tombit races for the stairway, followed closely by the guards. The rest of the party heads downstairs to engage the guards, while the former slaves cheer them on, quietly. The second troll (knuckle dragger) proves to be a tougher foe, and even after the goblins are laid out, continues to batter at the party, inflicting grievous wounds. The battle rages up the stairs and onto the wall, where the party digs in their heels and focuses on the troll.

Genoa summons a Flame Blade, but finds it ineffectual against the creature – the flames seem to dim when they near the troll. Brynn’s lightning-imbued sword seems to only infuriate the creature, doing no additional harm even though electricity is seen to dance upon the blade. Someone comes up with the idea to douse the troll with lamp oil and toss an alchemical fire onto him. The flames die aborning. It is then that the party spies the ring seemingly out of place upon the finger of the troll. Magic! The battle concludes in comic fashion, as the troll, being pummeled into unconsciousness is grappled by several people in an attempt to pry the ring off its hand. Forgetting the oil generously slathered upon him, several people slip and slide, all the while coating themselves, in the struggle. Once the ring is pried free, and promptly flies from oil soaked hands over the wall, the druid’s dwindling Flame Blade ignites the creature. Its screams of agony are quickly drowned out by the roar of the fire. The party narrowly avoids being burnt themselves as they head over the wall. They decide that another assault later would be advisable, rather than remaining in the Keep.

They head away from the Keep, hiding themselves again in the brush and rocks nearby. Wounds are tended while they regroup, planning the next course of action. They spot activity on the walls, but all seems to be in confusion, with no order to the running around. Once they are feeling healthy again, they return to the scene of the “crime”, the oily, burnt flesh smell hanging in the air. They climb the rope left behind, and make their way through the tower and onto the next wall walkway, where they confront the orcish guards. With Skylar’s arrows clearing the way, the party makes it to the cover of the next tower, where they fight a protracted battle against the defenders. Tombit attempts to sneak attack several, only to discover he’s been cut off from the rest of the party. Wounded by orc javelins and swords, he tumbles past the orcs and falls unconscious at the feet of the cleric. One healing later, he’s back into the thick of things, his Halfling hands propelled to deadly force by his monkish training.

The group continues from that tower, up onto the roof, where a pair of snipers awaits. Several arrows from Brynn and Skylar pin the orc corpses to the roof before they barely have a chance to react to the death being dealt. From their vantage point, the bow-weilders do not see any further opponents, although now the creature in the courtyard, dimly seen from the other walls, is revealed. Frost covers the ground around the large wolf-like creature, and lines the chain links that keep it connected to a winch. Curious, the party descends into the courtyard, and approaches the beast. They are surprised to hear it speak!

“Free me”, it states, glaring at the band of adventurers surrounding him. “I have no quarrel with you.”

“By what shall we trust you?” asks the band’s leader, Brynn. “We know not what manner of creature you are. For all we know, you would seek to attack us for this favor.”

“I have no quarrel with you. I seek only my own freedom.” Comes the growled response. “If I am freed, all that I have gathered is yours as well.”

“What do you mean?”

“Beneath this which keeps me captive is my treasure. I cannot carry it; I have no need of it. It will stand as my bond to do you no harm, should you free me.”

“Agreed.”

Having said so, the ranger sunders the chain, granting the wolf-like creature its freedom. With a gleeful howling, the creature leaps away, out through the open gates and into the night. Tombit pulls away the stones around the winch, revealing a depression in the ground. Artfully hidden are several gemstones, a potion, and loose coins. Pocketing the bonus goods, the band of adventurers makes their way out of the Keep and into the surrounding woods.

 

[Softwind]

Continuance of the story here will be delayed while I re-find my notes. Or, failing that, recreate the events of the gaming sessions picking up from the last session posted.

I hope to have something within the next week posted here. Keep watching!

 

[Esiminar]

The small text is very hard on the eyes and makes it dificult to read an otherwise great story.

 

[Softwind]

The small text is very hard on the eyes and makes it dificult to read an otherwise great story.

Insert big D'OH! right here.

I'm having issues with the text size, font, spacing. Seems to occur when I cut-n-paste from MS Word XP for some reason. Going to try to use Notepad to paste.

Sorry for the eyestrain folks! And I found (some) of my notes. I should be posting again this afternoon.

Thanks for the hits! (and, the feedback)

 

[Softwind]

Tenth Session (Nov 02)

Having cleared the woods of bandits, and run off bands of orcs, goblins, and other forest denizens, the journey back to Merikest is uneventful for the group of adventurers. By the next day, they reach the outskirts of town, and even the ranger Brynn is relieved to see “civilization”. Dropping off their unneeded gear in the Dancing Pony inn, they head out to report their findings and success to Reg, the town sheriff. They are quickly ushered into his office. He is pleased to hear that Brightstone Keep has been cleared of its “infestation” of monsters, and thanks the party proficiently. With their newfound wealth, both from rewards and from loot gathered from the Keep, the party separates to do some shopping in town.

A small town, Merikest’s recent history of occupation from forces of the Argent Legion yet provides many of the things the party is looking for – masterwork weaponry, armor, healing potions, and traveling gear. And although many people actively avoid meeting the gaze of the party’s Halfling “storyteller”, for fear of hearing ALL about the recent adventures, and what he found in the alley, and what he had for breakfast, and second breakfast, and… (You get the picture), the party is greeted with genuine warmth and friendship. Some of the regular tavern-goers even stand the group a round on occasion.

It is on one of the lazy days after the party’s return that they hear the alarm bell ringing in the temple tower, interrupting their drinking, and halting Tombit in mid sentence, much to the barkeeps relief. Buckling on weapons laid aside, they rush out onto the streets, looking for the reason behind the alert. As they look to the north, they see a band of slow moving travelers upon the road leading towards Brightstone Keep. It takes a moment to realize that the mob’s movement is very disjointed and clumsy – almost as if there was no real intelligence behind the motion. Several town guards are already in formation, watching the advancing mob.

As one, the group moves cautiously up the street, towards this odd but innocuous band. When the distance is halved, the reason for the peculiarity is discovered; only one of the band shows any form of life! Beneath the hood of his cloak, the orc necromancer hisses his displeasure at the party, and vows that they shall join his ranks of the walking dead. The town guards take umbrage to this affront to their new local heroes, and they begin the attack.

Even the alarm bell does not drown out the laughter of Brynn as he gleefully unsheathes his weapons, a feral grin on his face. “Been too quiet round here anyhow” he is heard to say. His sentiment is echoed by all, as the quiet sound of metal being drawn is heard. Grimnyr takes a few test swings of his dwarven waraxe, and squints at the on-coming opponents, as if to determine which ones he would take down first. Skylar, allowing action to speak louder than words, fires several arrows in rapid succession, the shafts missing a guard, burying themselves in the chest of a zombie in the front row, staggering it but not stopping the creature.

Genoa and Tombit move to one side of the road, advancing forward. Athena pulls his mace, and grips her holy symbol tightly in her hand, both anticipating combat, and repulsed by the stench, both physical and spiritual, of the creatures before her. Grimnyr abandons caution, and races forward to engage the enemy. A scarce moment later, he is gripped with fear as his orc opponent casts upon him. As much as it nauseates him to be gripped by fear in the face of his enemy, he cannot help but be cowed by the force of the magic.

The elven archer, indifferent to all but her target, launches more shafts, her aim true and steady. Under the hail, one of the skeletons in the group crumbles into bone chips, fractured femurs, and dust. A sly grin crosses her face, and she growls in pleasure, startling Grimnyr. “Durn fool elf. Sissy weapon anyway” He speeds up, hoping to engage before the “durn elf” kills (or rekills) ‘em all. His speed doubles as he witnesses a town defender fall beneath repeated strikes.

Athena hurries forward, and stops to concentrate upon her holy symbol, and the advancing abominations. They halt their movements forward, and several of them turn away from her upraised hand, radiant light shining from it. “Back, ye creatures! Lay thyselves once more into the soil, bother the living no longer!” she cries, in strenuous tones unlike her soft-spoken voice. Some but not all of the gathering heeds her words; those so affected move as quickly as they can away from her, back towards the hooded orc in the back. The necromancer, not to be outdone, raises his clawed hands in a manner almost like supplication, but the words from his mouth show nothing but strength. “Be strong, my children. Let not the lies of the weak goad you to fear. Return, return I say, and wreak havoc upon the unbelievers! Go, now!”

To the amazement of the cleric, and others near her, the fleeing undead halt, and move again towards the heroes, and re-engage the guardsmen. Another brave fighter succumbs to his injuries, thinning again the ranks of the already small force. A palatable haze seems to settle upon the group, their spirits flagging in the depressive atmosphere. A grin spreads across the orc’s face. A mistake. Grimnyr, seeing a most hated enemy happy, shakes off the effects of the haze, and shouting, races ahead, through the horde of undead, intent in allowing his axe to taste orc-flesh. Adding to the original mistake, as he is slowed to a crawl by the reaching, rotting hands that surround him.

Brynn leaps ahead, and with dual swords, lops off grasping hands, working his way to his compatriot. Genoa sends in Timber, her wolf companion, to provide a distraction as she readies her sling and bullets. Skylar continues to slowly advance and launch her arrows, watching as her targets sprout like obscene trees. Athena once again calls upon divine might, and forces back many of the skeletons, to give her companions time to deal with the array of zombies, and more troublesome, the orc necromancer. She despairs as she witnesses the townsfolk struggling to defend their town against the unnatural foes.

Surrounded by the undead, Brynn and Grimnyr hack and hew in abandon, detaching hands from arms, heads from torso, and shattering ribcages, getting scratched up badly in the process. The nauseating odor of rotting flesh, bad from a distance, is magnified ten fold as their blades open up the rotting carcasses like watermelons under a mallet. Breathing through their mouths, they continue, their wounds streaming with the very fluid the undead envy. It is as though they strive together in a contest – who is the stoutest dwarf?

Growling in frustration, anger, and hatred, the orc thrusts his hands to the grey skies above, and shouts out the commands to once again strengthen his forces, goading them back at the heros arrayed before him. To his satisfaction, they once more turn upon the group. Tombit, having slowly working his way towards the orc, and witnessing this serve-return-return between the two casters, decides to put an end to the byplay. His short legs pumping, he leaps at the orc, hands clenched in the manner of his monkish fighting style. The impact stuns the necro a moment, taking him off guard. He grimaces at the Cheshire-grinning Halfling as he attempts to open his air-deprived lungs in a breath. Tombit just continues to grin at the orc’s discomfort.

Athena advances, reasoning that closing the distance will make her efforts more successful. She glances worriedly around, wondering where the rest of the town defenders are, namely the temple clerics. These, she reasons, are the ones most fit to take up the defense against the undead. Her heart aches every time she watches a guard go down, perhaps never to rise again. This steels her resolve and her commanding nature flairs as Garl’s name is invoked in defiance against the unnatural abominations of the walking dead. Several of her opponents crumble before the holy onslaught, others turn away from friend and foe alike, and unfortunately, others remain unaffected.

The orc pulls a wand from within the folds of his cloak, brandishing it against the heroes. Or at least tries to. His concentration is broken by the shattering blows of his diminutive opponent. Tombit hands, small as they are, still deal enough hurt upon the necromancer to prevent successful completion of the command word. Frustration is joined by fear, as the eyes of the orc take in just how little real effect his minions have had upon the group of adventurers, and how few remain.

“Old man, yer slowing down” Brynn taunts Grimnyr. “Yeargh!” comes the angry reply, as the dwarves continue to wield their weapons in a proficient manner. Even the mindless undead still surrounding them seems to pause at this, before resuming their assault. Grimnyr indeed does begin to slow down, as the multitude of wounds on his body bleed freely. He does not admit weakness though, and ramps up his efforts, frustrated by the slipperiness of his axe handle, and the misses that keep compounding. Brynn, secretly worried by his elder’s flagging efforts, snaps his blades at the skeletons facing Grimnyr. Outwardly upset, “Keep yer blades off’n my kills!”, Grimnyr is relieved at the respite as his target goes down. Both of them are upset at the felling of the townsfolk guards, many of them downy faced lads, and redouble their efforts, their weapons blurring.

(continued in part 2, for easier reading, I hope)

 

[Softwind]

Tenth Episode (Nov 02), part two

Skylar clears a path for Athena as the gnome strides purposely forward, eyes intent on her orc opponent. Like magic, two zombies crumple to the ground before her, as she almost absent-mindedly swings her mace to collapse a skeleton before her. Athena’s motions slow the closer she gets to the necromancer, the combat of wills almost palatable. The normally sedate cleric’s eyes show her indignation, anger and righteous fury at the perversion this, spit, creature has brought into existence. Just a few feet further…..

Fear replacing glee, the orc screams, and turns to run. Tombit, at the ready, leaps upon the knees of the cloaked figure, causing him to stumble. Genoa, her sling stones depleted, appears almost as if by magic, and attacks with her scimitar, opening a gash across the back muscles of the orc. Skylar’s arrow finds its mark in his shoulder. Timber bites at the Achilles tendon, and feels the satisfying *crunch* of tendon and bone separating. Brynn leaps forward, his last opponent felled by Grimnyr’s axe (much to the latter’s bemusement – “Slow, HAH!”) but his blade swings high as the orc crumples, screaming and clawing at his injured back

Somehow, the group manages to not slay the necromancer outright, but subdues him and begins questioning him, in his native tongue. At first, the creature remains silent, with groans the only thing escaping between clenched teeth. But when Timber, at Genoa’s request, steps upon the orc’s chest and brings his toothy maw to the creature’s throat, he begins to talk. Under questions, he reveals he was a once follower of Kelemvor, but converted to an unnamed power when his proclivity to the undead came up. He had been the nominal leader of the forces at Brightstone Keep, until the party had neatly killed them all. The resulting fires dealt too much damage to many of the corpses, and he was only able to salvage some to add to his undead forces. In his anger and haste, he neglected to count on the strength of the party. At this, he begins cursing the party, his voice cut short, literally, by Grimnyr’s axe.

Shocked, the party looks at the elder dwarf, who meets their gaze levelly. “Orc’s don’t need no reason for killin’,” was his reply. Further words are stalled as the town clerics *finally* arrive, in time to heal those needing it, and perform last rites on those who no longer had worldly concerns. Refreshed by the healing powers, the party examines the remains of their opponents. Many of the bodies carried nothing, although the “fresher” of the corpses were still wearing funerary or adventuring gear. Apparently the orc had neglected to loot in his hurry for revenge. And the orc himself carried a fair amount of rough gems, mined perhaps near Brightstone Keep. The group splits the loot with the town, having once again removed a threat to the people of Merikest. (Although they felt ashamed at missing an enemy in the surrounds of the Keep).

A somber Reg comes out to survey the damage, and assess the remaining town forces. His grim look strikes daggers into the heart of the matronly Athena especially, but he says not a word. A moment later, he quietly thanks the group for their assistance, and turns away, his posture slumped. Tombit, wishing to say something, is forestalled by Brynn, who silently shakes his head in negation. They watch the town sheriff return to his office, and the paperwork therein. The party does not envy the man and the work that lies ahead. How does one explain to a widow or an orphan or a sibling why daddy or brother won’t be coming home again?

Grim, they return to the Prancing Pony, to call for as much hot water, harsh scrubbing pads, and strong drink as they can find coin for.

 

[Genoa Redstone]

Good job!

Let's hear more about that fantastic Dwarven Druid!!!

Nice job btw, Softwind!

 

[Softwind]

The statue speaks

Eleventh Session (Dec 02)

Days pass, as they are inclined to do. The Companions seek activity to keep their minds off events just a few days old. It is too much like what occurred just a few weeks (subjective)/2 years past in their home villages. The sense of despair, and loss, lingers over Merikest. But sorrow is not a new experience, and even though the townsfolk continue to grieve their loss, life goes on. Genoa and Brynn spend much time in the woods surrounding their town, learning about their companions, teaching them new tricks, and letting the healing power of nature wash away their hurts, mental and spiritual. Even Athena occasionally joins them, to watch in gentle amusement at the antics of adolescent Karazak and gruff Brynn. Genoa joins in the laughter as the two tumble in a larger-than-life game of “cat-and-mouse”.

Genoa is more reserved around Timber, the once small wolf gaining in size from the days in the Valley. But even she displays her pleasure at the sleek coat, rippling muscle, lolling tongue, and mischievous look in her friend’s eyes. Timber thrives in her presence, and she is pleased. She and Brynn take time to instruct Athena in her budding Ranger talents, and commiserate in the seemingly slow progress she makes. (Later, they learn of their friend’s envy of their companions. Apparently, there was a favored stuffed animal in Athena’s life. A certain badger…)

Skylar too spends time in the forest, although does not seek out her companions. Her time is spent in contemplation, and in crafting more of the arrows that are her calling. Witness to atrocities, she vows each arrow fired would be in defense of the defenseless, and to the destruction of evil. That, and she just *loves* the feel of her bow, the whistle of the arrow fletching, the satisfying *thwok* of the shaft hitting and penetrating the target. With a rare display of glee, she hugs the new shafts to her chest before humming a childhood ditty, and looks about for more material to craft. Few birds escape with plumage intact, their quills adding to her cause, thankful at least she had asked them only for feathers, and not their lives, although the racket of their indignity belies their thankfulness.

Tombit, his eating schedule disrupted by the past days events, makes up for lost time. In between mouthfuls of pie (his favorite dish), he regales all that would listen of his exploits. How he single-handedly (well, okay, with a *little* help) defeated the denizens of the forest, and the Keep, and the orcs, and the undead, and, and, and…. Many a baker and innkeeper are silently glad when the pie supply runs out, and the talkative Halfling is forced to move on. “Better Gertie than I, thinks I!” whispers a particularly tired innkeeper’s wife, as she watches Tombit move down the road to an Inn, known for their desserts. “Poor Gertie, though. She takes so much pride in the fact she can out bake us all!” *cackle* “Poor, poor Gertie. Heh, serves her right!” Tombit, intent on his next meal, was oblivious to it all.

Grimnyr spends his time in town, not much taken with the idea of “pouncing” about in the forest. Instead, he seems intent in trying out every flavor, color, texture, and alcohol content level of beer and ale in town. On each occasion that he finds one “fit ta drink”, he orders more for his own stash, and perhaps to share with others. Between drinks, he listens to the general chatter in the taverns, dispensing advice and comparing techniques of dispatching foes, be they gophers in a garden, or orcs out for blood. Only the most astute notice the underlying sadness of the dwarf. A hidden pain he would be mortified to know showed, even if only to the keen-eyed. He belies his feelings with demands for more drink, and frenetic activity in demonstrating a particularly effective strike of an imagined (or, if deep in his cups, real) axe. At the end of most nights, he is escorted / supported by his drinking companions, or the town guard, back to the Inn. If any of his companions notice his state, they are wise withhold comment.

It is with relief then to many in town, adventurer and townsfolk alike, when out of a clear sky one day comes a peal of thunder, but without a following flash of light. Broken out of the monotony, the band of adventurers ponders exiting the tavern, to look for the cause. They glance at their mugs, still half filled with ale. They are forestalled by a booming, metallic voice coming from the north.

“Townsfolk! I seek a group of travelers known to be here. Bring them forward, and no harm will come to your homes.”

“What is this about?” the party wonders aloud. While Merikest is not on a major road, it is beginning to see a fair amount of travel, especially now that the woods have been made safer by the actions of the Companions. A burble of conversation begins around them, as the tavern patrons ask the same thing amongst themselves. The voice continues.

“I have been sent for a group of Dwarves, journeying in the company of a Gnome and a Halfling. Release them to me, and your dwellings will remain unharmed. Hold them from me, and I will level this place.”

Oh ho! Brynn looks at his friends, eyebrows raised. “Pretty specific, wouldn’t you say?” he asks. The rest of the group agrees, and they reach for their weapons, always at the ready. Even though it had been days since anything had threatened them, they had not let down their guard, and they still wore their armor. Weapons at their side, the last of the armor fasteners back in place, the party strolls outside, onto the main street. Curious eyes of townsfolk follow them as the advance toward the lone figure standing on the road at the outskirts of town. It stood in silence, watching them approach. It made no sound, nor motion, until they stood a dozen paces apart.

From a distance, the figure appeared to be clad in bronze or golden armor, unarmed, with a dark cloak idlely moving in the occasional zephyr. Closer, the armor seemed grafted to the figure’s body – artfully crafted at every joint, with no inhibition of movement, completely enclosing whoever, or whatever, stood within. Even the figure’s eyes were hidden; only glowing pinpoints of light were seen behind the visor. When at last the Companions stood before the armor-clad figure, Brynn asked, “Who are you, and what do you want with us?”

“I have been ordered to bring you to my Master. Failing that, to destroy you,” comes the reply.

Taken by surprise at the blunt answer, the party takes a collective step back, looking at each other. When nothing further occurs, they sheepishly grin, and turn back to the figure. Grimnyr hefts his axe, and pressing the head against the figure’s breastplate, pushes it forward, in a display of bravado. Or at least, tries to. The figure seems unperturbed, and unmoved. Grunting, Grimnyr pushes harder, to no effect. Realizing increased effort would just make him look foolish, he steps back and sizes up the opponent, perhaps for another try.

Brynn quickly steps in, and addressing the figure, asks “Who then is your master?”

“He is, The Master. Do you then come of your own accord?”

“No, we do not. We have no intention of leaving here”

“Then it is your death I seek” Flinging back the cloak, the figure leaps back, and rapiers appear in each hand. With the quickness of thought, it lunges forward, skewering Brynn. Grunting in pain, Brynn unsheathes his swords and retaliates, his blades ringing loudly against the armor of his opponent. When the blades are pulled back, the rents in the armor appear to begin to close on their own! And no blood or other fluid emerges from the injuries…

Genoa pulls her scimitar, but swings wildly, missing, as the figure seems to dodge her very blows. Grimnyr, axe readied, suffers a similar indignity as his axeblade cuts but air. Tombit, having taken the opportunity of the preceding conversation to maneuver his way behind the armor clad foe, attempts to sneak attack, only to be foiled by the strong armor’s resistance to his dagger. Athena’s mace seems to do more damage than any previous attack, but her blade finds only a corner of the cloak.

Again, the figure leaps forward, this time pinioning Genoa and Grimnyr to the ground, before the blades withdraw. The ferocity of the strikes takes their breath away as their wounds bleed quite freely. Their companions continue the attack, raining blows down on the silent figure. Only the sounds of weapons striking the metal armor, and the grunts and cries of the group are heard; the figure remains silent as the battle continues. Until one solid stroke by Brynn cleaves open a large gash in the armor.

“Ah, a worthy opponent. Good. Goooooood.” The figure appears almost excited. “Your death with be very satisfying.” Again, the blades whip out. Once, twice, thrice, and then again – four blows in rapid succession upon the ranger. Brynn staggers back, cruelly injured. Only to be partially restored by Athena’s quick healing hands. Vitality restored, the ranger’s grip on his weapons tightens, and his eyes narrow as he looks for weaknesses in his opponents guard.

Skylar, hanging back with bow ready, fires into the melee, her shafts seeking an opening through which to pierce. She is dismayed to see her arrows having no effect. Disbelieving, she continues to fire at the figure menacing her friends. Broken shafts litter the ground in short order, having snapped on impact with the bronze colored armor.

With Tombit clinging onto its back, and the other Companions harrying it from the front, the figure’s movements begin to slow, its strikes no longer falling so surely. The toneless voice speaks no longer, as, with final blows, the figure crumples to the ground, falling upon Grimnyr to pin him. Weary from the punishment of combat, and somewhat disoriented by the injuries followed by rapid healing, the party pauses to take stock, before the pinned dwarf’s shouts of indignity move them to pull the corpse off him.

Pride wounded, the freed dwarf kicks at the fallen foe, only to hop back, clutching broken toes. *CLANG* echoes between the buildings lining the streets, as do Dwarven epitaphs and curses. Startled by the now hollow sound of the armor, Brynn pulls back the helmet, revealing … nothing. The armor is empty… And, it is revealed to not be armor so much as an empty shell, immobile, and very heavy. Unnoticed, a vapor cloud departs the shell, moving towards Skylar, still anxiously holding her bow, arrow nocked.

The vapor lands in a small fountain besides the elf, and merges with the water. As she watches her companions examining the remains of their enemy, she fails to see or hear the form growing from the bowl of the fountain, composed of the water itself. Only stray droplets of water warn her as a watery limb attempts to strike her. Tumbling backwards, she rises up and fires twice before she even regains her feet. The shafts do not pass through the figure but instead stick, causing a liquid burbling from the creature. Encouraged by this success, her next series of shafts also strike true in rapid succession, and in moments, the fountain again is occupied by only water, plus a few fletched shafts. A whisper of “free” can be heard on the wind, as the water settles into the bowl once more.

The party arrives just in time to witness this, and turn as one to Skylar. She only raises her shoulders in a shrug, her face blank, and goes about seeing if any of her arrows can be recovered. Bemused, and a little puzzled, the group returns to the armor. It is Tombit who discovers that the shell holds not just air, but a collection of valuable items as well. A large brick of gold, inscribed with arcane symbols, rests in the lower section of the form, as do several scrolls, and a magic wand. The rapiers the figure wielded with such effect appear to be attached to the arms, although with a little work, they come free, much to Tombit’s glee.

Although confused by what they found, and the events leading up to them, the party accepts the gain as their due, and returns to the tavern. Behind them, curious children emerge from the surrounding buildings, swarming the remains, while anxious parents look on, arms partially raised as if to call them back. The arms slowly lower as they see no harm comes to their offspring, and they glance at the retreating backs of the adventurers, a mixture of relief and anxiety upon their faces. The Companions continue on, intent on the tavern, unaware of the scrutiny.

 

[Softwind]

Lazy day in Merikest

Twelfth Session (Dec 02)

Eventually, the bronze shell is removed from the road, and the traces of the battle fade, even as the last of the Companions wounds are healed, leaving fresh skin behind, and the need to mend some gear.

Curious about the shell, Brynn calls on Humphrey, to learn what this strange figure could be. The wizened sage listens to the description, and Lad scribes the account of the figure’s movements, construction, and speech patterns. Brynn also borrows from Tombit one of the rapiers, the glove and arm piece still attached. Covered in glyphs, the bronze material gleams dully in the flickering oil lights of Humphrey’s study. The old man’s bushy eyebrows rise and fall repeatedly as he studies the runes, and compares them to several volumes in his lap. Brynn waits patiently, occasionally looking about at his surroundings. Being uneasy around so much arcana, his gaze eventually rests upon the wet bar nearby. Despite attempts at stealth, in order to not disturb the sage’s concentration, he trips over a pile of books and substance-encrusted pots, creating a racket, and causing Humphry’s head to jerk upright.

“Nimblewraith” the wizard almost shouts, in response.

“I’m sorry, what did you call me?” asks the dwarf, thinking that this recent display does not justify the term “nimble”, let alone “wraith”.

“Not you, my dear dwarf. This…” comes the reply, as Humphry shakes the rapier/limb. “This creature, or more rightly, construct, is a Nimblewraith. A very detailed creation, requiring expenditure of time, effort, and wealth to craft. Usually created for enforcement duties. Quite rare, as you may imagine.” The mage pauses, looking at the dwarf expectantly.

“Aah, yeah, I can imagine. Thank Mielikki there aren’t more around.” He says nervously, not liking to be on the spot, and still so far away from the ale at the bar. Brynn works to extricate himself from the scattered tomes and cookware. Succeeding, he lifts a flask pointedly at Humphrey, as if to ask permission. He gains it with a negligent wave of the mage’s hand, as Humphrey returns to his books. Smacking his lips in relish, Brynn pulls out his jet-encrusted mug, and pours himself a healthy draught. “Ahhh, better in than out, I always say.”

“Brynn?”

“Uh, aye, wizard?”

“Do you have more of this creation on hand?”

“Er, well, the townsfolk pulled it off the street. But I suppose I could locate it for you.”

“If you would, dear boy. I am most intrigued, and wish to study it more.”

“Okay. If only to thank you for the help you have provided us thus far. Consider it done.”

Finishing his drink, he stashes his mug, with one lingering look at the flask. He doesn’t bother to ask the sage why he wants the old thing, thinking it better to not mess in the affairs of wizards. Nodding to Humphrey, once more engrossed in his study, and Lad, who nods back, Brynn lets himself out and hunts down the remains, to arrange for them to be delivered to Humphrey.

He encounters Genoa, returning from a woodwork shop, bearing her new shield. Fashioned of well-fitted, and very stout, oak boards, it seems up to the task of defending the druid. Proud of her new acquisition, she shows off the leaf-detailing on the front, pointing out the near-imperceptible lines where the boards join. Brynn takes a moment to congratulate her, before setting off again, looking for the nimblewraith remains. He spies Athena emerging from the town temple, and crosses the street to meet up with her. He spends a few minutes listening as the gnome cleric describes her progress in assisting in the production of healing draughts, some of which the party can lay claim to, at a much reduced price of course. Brynn is pleased to hear this, as their supply had gotten dangerously low, and while Athena and Genoa both had access to divine healing, it never hurt to carry a backup just in case. He asks the cleric where he might find the remains, and Athena directs him to locate Tombit. Seems the little Halfling had taken a shine to the construct… (no pun, no pun!)
Once Tombit is located, at a local eatery, working on his umpteenth pie, it is a simple matter to arrange delivery of the figure to Humphrey. Tombit is a little disappointed at losing the construct, but when Brynn mentions Humphrey made no mention of keeping it, the monk perks up. Especially upon realizing that 1) he really couldn’t carry the thing around on adventures, and 2) a wizard crafted item is best kept by wizards, and not silly little Halflings. “Would cut down on my pie-carrying capacity, anyhoo” he muses.

Satisfied that it was taken care of, Brynn makes his way back to the Prancing Pony tavern, to clear the *ahem* road dust from his throat. Inwardly he muses that for a predominately human town, they have some decent brew. Then again, maybe that was a commonality of the race, not having had much experience with humans in the Valley. Brynn decides that perhaps he should someday find a larger human city, and discover for himself if they are a race of brewers, much like the dwarves. His thoughts are interrupted as he arrives at the tavern. “Too much thinkin’, not enough drinkin’” he says.

Later, his thirst quenched for the nonce, he sets off to the blacksmith, to check on the completion of a commissioned weapon. There, he finds to his joy that his sword has been crafted, to his exacting standards. Light in the hand, it nonetheless carries deadly force when swung. Brynn reaches into his pouch and pays the blacksmith the remainder of the cost owed, plus some for the fine craftsmanship. “Almost like dwarven” he mumbles, only half aloud. After all, wouldn’t do to give the man a big head…

 

[Softwind]

Tam the Tinkerer and the tumultuous toys

Thirteen Session (Dec 02)

The next morning is greeted by the shouts and laughter of children and above the noise, the clamor and clanging of pots and pans hung precariously off the sides of a wagon coming into town. Pulled by a little pony, and driven by a gnome, the wagon is painted with bright colors, with gadgets and gizmos in evidence everywhere. The children of Merikest seem to recognize him, as they shout his name, “Tam!” and run up to greet him. They also ask what he had brought them this year.

Tam does not disappoint the waiting juvenile masses, for when he pulls his pony to a halt in the town square, he opens a door in the wagon wall behind him, and begins pulling out toys, and dolls, and balls, and all sorts of funny things, and hands them out to the anxious kids. With each one, he mentions the child by name, pats him or her on the head, and hands over the toy. And without fail, each child’s face lights up, and they thank Tam, before running off to play with their new plaything.

Curious, Tombit wanders over to the wagon. “Well now,“ says Tam, “You must be new in town, young fellow. I don’t believe I know your name.” Tam reaches down, and shakes the Halflings hand. “Ah, Tombit, I think you’re a wee bit old, but…” Surprised, Tombit doesn’t react as his name is said by the little gnome, and instead waits to see what Tam pulls from the wagon, “this may appeal to you, anyway.” Tam says, with a twinkle in his eye. He holds out a fur cap, in the form of a coonskin cap, although this one has a cat fur pattern, and ears, and a little cattail. “I think you’ll enjoy it.”

Tombit nods, looking over his new acquisition intently. He looks up, grins, and thanks the gnome, who takes the thanks modestly. “You are welcome, good halfling. Wear it in good health.” So saying, the gnome turns back to his other “customers”, waiting as patiently as a child can, for their own toys.

To the bemusement of the party, Tombit marches back to them, proudly displaying his hat. Tombit is taken aback as his friends’ reactions, though, as he places the furry cap on his head. “What?” he says, or rather, meows. “Yipe,” he thinks, looking down at himself. For, rather than seeing the furry feet bequeathed upon him by his parents (good hobbits, both), he sees the paws of a cat. And his hands held out before him also bear the tabby stripes of a cat.

“Woohoo!” Tombit begins to spin in a circle, trying to see if he has a tail or not… and discovers it there, always trailing behind him. Overjoyed with his new gift, he races back to Tam, to ask what manner of gift this is. The gnome’s eyes sparkle in the evident glee of the Halfling with his new present.
“That, good young hobbit, is what I like to call a beastmask. A minor enchantment I picked up some years ago – you’ll find the cats in this town will take to you like one of their own. The illusion of a cat is a side effect of the spell. Now, I’m no great wizard, so you may find that the spell weakens over time. But, if you are here next year when I return again, I’ll be glad to spruce it up again for you. Now, begging your pardon, I must be to my duties, as tinker extraordinaire.”

Tam pulls his wagon off the street, near an empty area nearby, and opens up its sides, revealing even more pots, pans, mugs, bowls, utensils, dishes and the like than which covered the outsides. He also pulls out a miniature anvil, and coal forge, with which to repair damaged cookware. Seeing that Tam has set up shop, adult townsfolk begin to congregate, some bearing kitchenware, others bearing a hunger for outside events and news of the land. (For, you know, all successful tinkerers are not just handymen, but bards and tellers of tales as well.)

Tombit gambols off in his new guise, to see how well it worked with the alley cats of Merikest. The rest of his party wanders off as well, to see to their own affairs and needs. They do not think it odd, when, even after sun had set, Tombit had not returned to the Inn. “He’s a big Halfling, or rather, kitty, “Athena said, “He can take care of himself. *chuckle*“ The sentiment is echoed by the others around the table.

In the wee hours of the morning, the Companions hear the sounds of children crying, plaintively asking where their toys have disappeared to. Rubbing sleep from their eyes, the Companions pull on their gear and step out onto the street to investigate. They are met with the sight of many children, some still in nightclothes, wandering the streets, occasionally looking in rainbarrels, or under rocks or bushes. Pulling aside one young half-elf boy, they ask the child, “What is going on?”

Holding back a sniffle, the boy looks to Brynn, and cries, “My drum is gone! I lay down in bed last night, with my drum right beside me, so I could play with it when I woke up. But, when I woke up, it was gone. I looked all over my room, but it wasn’t there! Please mister, can you help me look for it?”

Disconcerted, Brynn roughly assures the boy that he and the Companions will assist in the search. This sentiment is strengthened as the other party members hear additional tales of woe from the children. As they continue to listen to distraught children, a pattern begins to emerge. Especially when they discover other children still retain possession of their playthings. From what they can figure, mostly toys that had some effect other than making noise or colored lights were taken. They track down Tam, to determine exactly what kinds of enchantments he had placed on the toys he had given out. Tam seems puzzled, but rattles off descriptions of spells he used – a few from several professions, nothing higher than first circle enchantments. Some items created noise or lights; a lantern with Dancing Lights, or a drum with Ghost sounds. Some were for budding housewives; small sewing kits with Mending, gloves with Prestidigitation, dishware with Create Water, Purify Food and Drink, and Goodberry. Others were for future woodsmen or rangers; hats with Detect, Calm, or Speak with Animals, sandals with Jump, a toy compass with Know Direction. But the ones that caught the Companionss attention were those things that in some way modified a person or their environment. Lesser versions of Bear’s Endurance, Bull’s Strength, and Cat’s Grace embedded within armbands; Chill and Heat Metal in cups and bowls, masks with Disguise Self. These were the types of items more often being stolen.

“But, with such minor enchantments, what would be the purpose?” asks a puzzled Athena.
“I don’t know, but perhaps Humphrey would,” Brynn suggests. Thanking Tam for his help, the party walks to the town library, where the sage Humphrey makes his home. Ushered inside by a frazzled Lad, the group, very familiar with the layout of the library, heads to the back room. The old man too looks a little rough around the edges. Inquiring after his health, the group learns that the sage had spent the previous night in restless slumber.

“It’s the Ether, it is unsettled,” he states, prodded by the Companions. “There has arrived, a disturbance, within the town. I have not felt it’s like in many years; not since my days teaching at the Academy.” He seems lost in thought, then shakes himself and looks back at the gathered party. “What brings you here to my lab? Not more Identifying, please, not yet. I’m not able to concentrate properly.” he asks.

Brynn assures him that their purpose there has nothing to do with Identifying magical items acquired lately. “Humphrey, we’ve spent the past hours hearing from many of the town children that their toys given them by Tam have been stolen. From what we have gathered, there is a bit of a pattern emerging, but it still doesn’t make sense.” Brynn continues with what the party had found – most of the toys had some power that would affect the user, and most of the toys stolen were taken from the northern part of town. No discernable tracks were found near the homes subject to theft, and no other possessions or valuables were taken. “We’re dealing with a very odd thief. Not a person was awoken during the night, and coin stashes and silverware remained untouched.”

“Tam is back in town, you say? Interesting. Haven’t seen him in quite some time. In fact, since I last taught…” he trails off. “Ah, but that is not important now. Stolen toys you say? Hmmm. Have you talked to Tam about it?” Hearing an affirmative, he continues, “And for the most part, only things that changed the user were taken? Hmmm. Let me do some investigations, I’ll send Lad to you when and if I find anything.”

Brynn and the others thank him, and exit the library. They decide that nothing will be done on an empty stomach, so head to the local tavern for a meal. Over stew and ale, they discuss what they have learned so far. Their thoughts keep returning to the puzzle of why anyone would steal toys, but not coin or other valuables. While finishing their repast, a familiar form of a small halfelven boy comes up to them, a bundle clutched to his chest. The boy lays the bundle on the much-scarred table, and pulls back cloth to reveal a drum, then steps back, looking at them expectantly.

“Nice drum,” Grimnyr grunts roughly, before being shushed by Athena. She turns to the boy, “Yes child, what may we do for you?” The boy looks at her, then to the drum, and back. “I found my drum, but it doesn’t work anymore. Since you folks are trying to help, I figured you might know why…”

“It doesn’t work?” Athena taps the drum, and is rewarded with a *tap, tap* noise. “It seems fine to me… Could you show me?”

The boy takes back the drum, and taps on it. “It makes noise, yeah, but yesterday, it would make a rumble noise, like thunder!” His eyes light up, “And if I hit it harder, it would get louder…” His face falls, “Then I had to take it outside, cuz Momma yelled at me for making such a racket. It got taken last night – I just found it a bit ago, south of town…”

The Companions look at each other. “May we borrow that, child?” asks Athena gently. “We will return it, I promise.”

“Nah, you can keep it. It’s not so much fun now…” So saying, the boy hands Athena the drum, then skips out the door. “Maybe Tam’ll give me another!” he calls, over his shoulder. Chuckling, the party turns back to their meal, occasionally tapping the drum, to the annoyance of the rest of the tavern. Skylar casts Detect Magic on the drum, and detects a faint and weakening aura of illusion magic. “Whatever it had, it’s gone now,” she quips. “Kinda like it was dispelled.”

“Or drained,” says Brynn. ‘Or drained…”