So, how did we come to face the spirit? It is a long story, but I shall cut the first act a little short. After appearing on the shores near a fishing village (a great coincidence, I can assure you), we fought with a small party of orcs. Our performance was nothing short of pathetic, and yet they possessed no great skills themselves. In the wake of this skirmish, we could hear people screaming to all sides but the ocean. It seems that the orcs of this land had been blessed with a sudden influx of wayward travellers, all stumbling about and blinking, wondering where they were just as I and my companions did. Ripe for the harvest, the whole lot of them were. Sadly, most were not fortunate enough to find themselves clustered with others sufficiently armed to fight off these ugly beasts. We barely survived ourselves, and several hundred others were considerably less fortunate.
In time we found our way to a fishing village where we stood guard for a time as its main protectors went out to fight off the greater threats. We drove off a demon mermade of sorts from the sea, and we fought more orcs. Upon questioning a prisoner, we learned that the monsters of the region were gathering forces to harvest the fishing villages after dining on the fruits of the jubilee. We fought many orcs, and we forced the co-operation of a village of goblins. It was all very dramatic at the time, but it is the stuff of yawns today, so I will move on.
Then we turned to the east where we were told we would find a city, Pflorendriene, and in that city we were told we might find a mage, Pholshare. Pholshare, we were told might bear the key to bringing Justice to this land. I know. I would rather just go home myself, but I do not know how to accomplish that goal. Justice is a quest I did not choose to be sure, but my present company is a comfort and a life-saver (literally), so their quest is mine, at least for the time being.
Anyway, off we went.
OF BRIDGES AND ORCS: A TALE OF SUCCESS AND EXCESS
Upon coming to a river a day or so out, we soon faced an interesting dilemma. At the mouth of the river to the North is elven territory. The river was just wide enough, just deep enough, and just fast enough to pose a little bit of a threat to any who would cross here. Blessed with a bridge, we soon found that Spleenfritter was unable to cross. A Ward bearing the symbol of Fair folk had been placed on the center post of the bridge, and being of a Brutish nature, Spleenfritter was helpless to take a step across the damn thing.
We talked for a bit about removing the ward or dispelling it. No-one wished to risk the damage that could be done to us by such an effort. So, we turned our attention to the prospect of crossing the river after all. Hanse, at least should have been able to ford our weaker swimmers safe crossing. Elven waters would prove hostile to the orc, at least, but it was not such a challenge as to be insurmountable.
And yet, foolishness finds a way wherever it can. Our spell casters soon found a way to resolve the matter themselves. They simply put up a wall diverting the waters to flatter ground. We walked through the bed of the river unmolested. But here is what I mean by foolishness, because our casters were not content to do this. They changed the river bed to rocky terrain, and (still worse) they extended the walls as far as they could so as to divert the river from its original course. We left the site smirking a bit, proud of ourselves, and thinking to have given the elves a bit of a lesson about something called “discrimination.” (It is a magic about which I know little, but to hear Ilkahn talk, only the most evil of mages practice this art.)
Yes, we had shown ourselves capable of a thing or two, and we had put a few pointy eared bastards in their place.
THE WINDS OF CHANGE ...OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT
So, I suppose it should not have come as a surprise that a Free wind beset upon us the following day. It began as a gentle breeze, one which could hardly have stirred the leaves about our feet. And yet it grew rapidly in a short time. Soon it was clear that something was wrong. We attempted to outrun the wind, and I assume the futility of that will have struck you as obvious enough without my telling you about the matter. Then we began to cast spells in preparation for battle. But when the wind reached its height, there was no-one to strike. The orc, being a brute, howled in pain for the same reason that he had been unable to cross the elven bridge. More to the point, all amongst us devoted to honour and justice felt great pain with every movement made in the presence of this gale. To most of us, certainly to myself, the wind was but an annoyance. It tangled my hair and whipped my arrows loose n the quiver. But to those bent on orderly thoughts, this wind was a pain to their minds and their bodies. Had it lasted long, we would have been well short of our present numbers. The matter was quickly laid to rest though with a simple spell. Quenthalos cancelled the effect, and we all counted our good fortune. The first tactic that had occurred to us had n this case worked. For that reason and that reason alone we could still count the goodly honourable types among our numbers. So, we continued.
It does of course make sense, if you think about it. The free folk of the forest are no friends of order. Their values are not ours, and that may yet prove to be the weakness which brings us down. Sadly this doom will most likely begin with the greatest among us.
AN UNFORTUNATE AMBUSH
The next day we encountered an ambush. Elves, most of them archers, began shooting us from just off the side of teh road. The greatest of their marksmen fired a number of deadly arrows into our midst, bringing Daidoji, Spleenfritter, and Quenthalos, all within a hair’s breadth of their own doom. Red too felt the sting of his first volley, though I believe she had the benefit of a poorly placed shot. To say that the first volley of arrows left us greatly weakened would be an expression far too timid to merit the efforts.
For a time we struggled to keep ourselves alive and put some pressure on our newfound foes. Daidoji charged and closed with the enemy’s leader and Hanse positioned himself to charge their flank. Red and Quenthalos both worked to protect us, casting healing spells and providing us all with magical armor. The party as a whole soon gained the benefit of an Invigoration spell, allowing us to draw on mental strength in reserve against the physical attacks levelled against us. The great danger here is of course that when one has been mortally wounded this spell will only keep one alive as long as it lasts. Should one fail to find a Healer before that time is up, it is the end.
Daidoji failed to get in an attack on the enemy Captain. Yet when the elven swordsmen tasked with protecting that very Captain closed upon Daidoji, he did so on the point of Daidoji’s spear. Several archers also fired at my friend, though none scored. Hanse, on the other hand took a serious wound or two in his chest, enough to make it clear he would not be able to carry out the intended charge. For myself, I traded arrows with an enemy archer. He nicked my cloak and I lodged a shaft in his armor. Little came of that exchange in any event. Both Daidoji and Hanse were too weak from their wounds to fight effectively, and that left our front line unable to press the attack. Victory now depended on our spell casters. Whether striking directly at the enemy or supporting the rest of us, our casters would have to come up with something good.
(Yes, I know, I am a caster too, but only just. Trust me, the fate of the party on this day most certainly did not rest in my hands.)
It was clear by this point that all of these elves had the benefit of support spells making them tougher. Invigorated and blessed with Pre-emptive Healing, the enemy were all surviving attacks which should have brought them down or at least weakened them. It was a thin veneer, this magical protection, but it was sufficient to tide them through our first feeble efforts.
And then the enemy captain cut loose with another volley. With 3 separate arrows, Daidoji was brought to near death. He survived only because the Invigorate spell had not yet spent itself out. Standing there with his spleen half out of his hide and his heart oozing out of his own chest, Daidoji fought with what little strength was left to him and breathed on borrowed time. A 4th arrow lodged further in Hanse, helping him also to negotiate one foot into his own grave. And then, the enemy Captain began a spell. He did not finish it, but we all knew its intent. It was a simple spell designed to push people over, to simply knock them off their feet. If he could get it off, and if he could do so with a wide radius of affect, the enemy Captain could knock nearly our whole party on the ground in one fell swoop. (Indeed, the sole exceptions would be two very ineffectual fighters, both of whom could do little but await a finishing blow.) It is a trivial matter to stand up to be sure, but there is always the fear that lodges in one’s heart when enemy magic grasps hold of it. And in the rush of battle, the time it takes to stand up is sufficient to cost on an arrow, a spell of one’s own, a stretch of ground covered, ...who knows what else. Even this simple spell could not be allowed to finish. It would have been the end of us.
I am still writing, am I not?
Quenthalos cast the same exact spell himself. (Perhaps he thought to mock the enemy elf; perhaps he just found it a convenient option to take). He set the spell to affect a moderately wide radius, and knocked down 3 lesser archers with ease. One looked to have the fear of the gods in his eyes even as he hit the ground. But most important, the Elven Captain struck the ground himself. He too suffered the fear of magical effects, and he too would have to contend with the ground before moving on. In a moment, he was struck with one of Stump’s arrows, and after a some healing frm Quanthalos, Daidoji quickly ran over to dispatch the enemy Captain.
With that, the rest of the elves ran away, all save one who could not have survived a parting blow from Hanse. We ended the morning happy to be alive and happy to have one prisoner.
Fear not. The tale of the spirit awaits.