The Seekers of Harranshire [Night Below Campaign]

[Brisk-sg]

THE SEEKERS OF HARRANSHIRE

INTRODUCTION

To introduce some old friends who recently moved back into my area to the 3rd Edition Rule Set, I agreed to convert and run one of their favorite campaigns, the Night Below. My conversion is set in the Forgotten Realms campaign setting. Due to one of the players having DMed the Night Below many times with the 2nd Edition Rule Set, I have taken liberties and introduced new sub-plots and alternatives to the standard Night Below campaign. I finally broke down and decided to write a story hour of the campaign as it has turned out to be one of the most enjoyable in memory. We started with 3rd Edition rules, then converted to 3.5 after its release. Currently we are on the second book of the campaign. I will be starting at the beginning with the story hour, so it will take a while to catch up.

STARTING CHARACTERS:
· Gurog: Chaotic-Good Half Orc Barbarian (Dual Wielding)
· Silvasa: Chaotic-Good Human Wizard
· Flight: Chaotic-Good Wild Elf Rogue (Archer)
· Calvin Hobbes: Chaotic-Good Cleric of Sune


PART ONE: THE JOB

LOCATION: Town of Lot, SwordCoast of Faerun
TIME: Evening

The relative silence of the small town gave way to laughter and conversation as the small band of mercenaries trotted into the ‘Dancing Horse’, a small homely inn tucked away near the northern wall. The mercenaries were four in number, paying for their rooms and board with a gold piece newly earned escorting a caravan up from Athkatla in Amn. The proprietor of the inn accepted the payment graciously, “May I ask your names for the register?”

“Silvasa” replied a wizardess in a prompt, to the point manner. She was dressed in durable, yet stylish, traveling robes, a fat speckled barn owl gripped her shoulder, “and this is Bupo” she said with a slight smile, stroking the owl beneath its beak. It eyed her coldly.

“The names Calvin Hobbes.” a portly human offered next, “May the love and passions of Sune brighten your day”. He was dressed in drab tan robes and bright armor, a holy symbol depicting a Locke of red hair hung from his neck.

“Hi… I’m Gurog” a half-orc warrior with a scar across his face offered with what could be interpreted as either an ugly smile or vicious grin. “What’s that smell? It smells good!”

“Flight” an elf decked in muted greens and browns replied, his eyes never settling. A longbow was slung along his back, and a fierce hunting knife was strapped to his side. He eyed the door with an anxious look before looking back at the innkeeper. “We didn’t get your name…”

“My apologies, I am Larry Flyn. Welcome to the ‘Dancing Horse’” he offered, proceeding to show them thier rooms.

The rooms proved to be of great comfort for the cost, earning praise from Silvasa and Calvin. Taking a seat around a large table, the band of mercenaries prepared to enjoy a long night of hot food, drinks, and laughter. They were served pot pie for dinner, good pot pie, so good in fact as to earn a shout of approval from Gurog, “Got more of that there Pot Pie?!” he would ask often during the remainder of the night.

While the half-orc filled his face, the band was approached by a middle-aged, dark-haired, portly man. “Good evening,” he began with a smile, “I am Gordrenn, purveyor of magical paraphernalia, material necessities, and related items to many wizards of note.” Silvasa brightened with interest, and with the exception of Gurog, the band turned there attention to the portly man.

“You look like the seasoned sort. I am looking for a band of hardy individuals to make a delivery for me. You interested?” he asked.

Both Flight and Silvasa replied yes. “Excellent!” Gordrenn responded, taking a seat. “I need a chest of material components delivered to a wizard by the name of Tauster. He lives in the village of Thurmaster, over in Haranshire in the Western Heartlands. I am offering good pay for a week of your time; one-hundred and fifty gold pieces.”

Gurog looks up from his meal, “That could buy a lot of meat pies” he offered. The rest of the band looked at each other and each nodded in turn. “Well do it” said Flight.

“Great!”, Gordrenn rose. “I will bring the chest over tomorrow morning then, along with the contract and letter of credit.”

The paunchy man then left with a smile upon his face. The party began to discuss the job as they lounged, and they all agreed that a mule should be purchased first thing in the morning to help bare the burden of the chest.

The next morning saw a flurry of activity from the group as they prepared for the week long journey to Haranshire. A mule was purchased and supplies acquired. Calvin purchased a steel shield with the remainder of his gold, having been in need of one for some time. The band met back at the “Dancing Horse” just in time for the delivery of the chest by Gordrenn. He levitated the chest into the common room of the inn, earning several gasps from the rustic regulars.

“Here is the contract; I will need you each to sign here, here… and here.” He stated, offering pen and paper to Silvasa, “The letter of credit. This will only become negotiable when countersigned by Tauster upon delivery.” Gordrenn said, waving another piece of paper in front of Flight. Flight took it and looked it over with a careful eye before sequestering it in a pouch secured at his belt. “Ah… grab that, will you” Gordrenn prompted Gurog. Gurog, not being one to argue, grabbed hold of the chest as Gordrenn dispelled the effect. Gurog grunted slightly as the weight of the large chest settled in his arms. “And don’t even think about stealing it,” Gordrenn warned, “It’s got a wizard’s mark inside it, and I’ll know where it is. Steal it and I’ll send all kinds of bad things after you.” With the warning issued his face brightened with a smile, “Have a nice trip”, he then proceeded out the door.

The band departed the ‘Dancing Horse’ without a further word, strapping the large chest to the back of the mule. The simple job they were about to embark on would forever change the course of their lives. And for some, it would end it.

 

[Brisk-sg]

Ambush In The Lyrchwood

AMBUSH IN THE LYRCHWOOD

LOCATION: the Lyrchwood, county of Harranshire, Western Heartlands
TIME: Afternoon

It was the fifth day, and the small band was on the last leg of the journey, a few more hours and they could rest in the village of Milborne before traveling to Thurmaster to deliver the chest for an easy payment. Bupo soared above the party, only visible when he darted beneath the dense canopy of leaves and branches. Flight was in the lead, his keen elven eyes peering into the shadows. He talked lightly with Silvasa concerning the sighting of several wolves earlier that morning. She didn’t think there was anything to worry about. Though Flight was certain the wolves did not mean them harm, he was concerned. Gurog was not far behind, keeping his eyes on the ground in front of him and not saying much. Calvin had the duty of leading the, at times stubborn, mule.

“Someone is up ahead”, Flight said, alerting the others to the presence of three farmers heading toward the party. Flight began to ease his bow from his back. “They are only farmers” Silvasa reasoned. Flight glanced at her and nodded, releasing the end of the bow.

“Hello there” Gurog bellowed as the farmers neared. Each of the farmers offered a simple smile, with one responding “Hi”. The farmers offered no other comment as they began to pass. Two arrows flew from the surrounding trees, one embedding itself in Gurog’s chest, the other barely missing Flight. Flight dropped to his knee drawing his bow in a fluid gesture, turning, he searched for a target.

“Ambush!!!” Gurog bellowed, drawing his longsword and shortsword, turning in preparation. Blood oozed from a wound on his side, the arrow shaft evident. One of the farmers pointed to the south, “Bandits”. Gurog glared in that direction, prepared to bring the fight to the bandits. As he did, the farmer brought a club down upon Gurog’s back while his companions attempted to club Silvasa and Calvin. Two more arrows flew from the tree line, one scratched Flight’s arm as he narrowly hit the dirt, the other glanced off of Gurog’s armor. Gurog took a five foot step to reposition himself to prevent one of the ‘farmers’ from harming Silvasa and deal with his own assailant. His longsword chopped down in an overhand blow toward the ‘farmer’ that was assailing Silvasa, while his shortsword stabbed back toward his attacker. But luck was not on his side, he had repositioned his foot into a branch, and he stumbled, missing both with his two attacks. As Bupo launched himself from Silvasa’s arm, she mumbled an arcane word and threw her hand forward, a bright blue orb [magic missile] spun forward, impacting the farmer who assailed her. He gave a shout and jumped back. Calvin was locked in combat with his assailant. He swung his quarter staff wide at his opponent, who was able to deflect it. Neither could manage to land a solid blow.

Flight’s keen eyes noticed one of the archers from his vantage point against the road. He sprung up from the dirt, drawing his bow and letting loose an arrow into the tree line. A painful shout confirmed his hit. The ‘farmer’ attacking Gurog scored another hit, this time across the head, dropping the half-orc to the ground unconscious, blood oozing from a wound along his head. Silvasa cast the spell again and another bolt of blew flew forward, slammed into her assailant, dropping him to the ground. Calvin brought his quarterstaff up into his opponents chin, knocking him flat on his back. Calvin scanned the battle, his eyes locking onto Gurog’s unconscious body. He began to move in that direction but found his way blocked by a new assailant, a hefty man who had just emerged from the treeline, armed with a large and wickedly spiked club. The hefty man’s first blow hit the priest, drawing blood and breaking bone.

Flight began to charge into the treeline, intent on defeating the remaining archer. He leapt through the brush, his eyes locking onto an archer who was in the process of readying an arrow. Flight let the arrow fly from his bow, but missed his target who narrowly avoided the shot. The archer dropped his bow and drew a shortsword, closing with Flight. Silvasa turned her attention to the third ‘farmer’ who still stood, his club stained with Gurog’s blood. She brought back her staff and lunged forward with all her might, hitting the man across the shoulder. He grimaced and swung down his bloodstained club, smashing into her side and throwing her to the ground. The archer’s shortsword stabbed at flight as he charged into him, scoring a blow across Flight’s stomach. Knowing that he stood little chance in his current condition, Flight narrowly avoided another blow as he dashed into the brush. After several meters he dropped to his stomach and rolled beneath a rotting log.

The archer, attempting to pursue, scanned the ground for tracks while moving forward. As he passed by a large rotting log, an arrow caught him in the throat and he fell to the ground dead. Flight took a deep breath, biting back the pain in his side. His eyes scanned the brush, seeking a new target. He couldn’t see anyone from his vantage, only ferns and some fresh wolf tracks. Calvin desperately fended off the hefty man’s powerful blows, but his strength was already giving out under the unrelenting barrage. After a powerful blow that dropped him to his knee he made a desperate attack with his staff toward his attackers head, delivering a glancing blow. The hefty man stepped back, his left hand brushing blood from his scalp. With a roar of rage he lunged forward, driving his vicious club into Calvin’s shoulder. Calvin fell to the ground, blacking out from pain.

Flight rose from behind the log, sighting the hefty man. The archer he assumed dead lunged upwards, jabbing a knife into Flight’s side. His bow fell from his hands, the arrow flying wildly as Flight’s knees weakened and gave way. Silvasa crawled backwards as the ‘farmer’ loomed over her, his arm rearing back to deliver a powerful blow. The hefty man grabbed his arm, “Remember, we need her alive…” he said. The ‘farmer’ nodded then brought his club down across the back of her head. The last thing that Silvasa sensed as the darkness took her was a deep and viscous growl from behind her.