The Whiterock Castle Campaign- Nothing better than a good old sausage in you.

[Goonalan]

Is it just me, or do your games specialise in intra-party conflict?

I wrote a long explanation in answer to the above question, then I read it and thought if my players read this they'll not be happy, even when I'd put a bunch of caveats in it, so...

YES.

Move on.

 

[HalfOrc HalfBiscuit]

Please understand that it was only intended as a (very) mildly humorous comment - not as a dig at either you or your players. It just struck me that the latest updates to all three of your storyhours yesterday all seemed to have some sort of conflict between the PCs (although the Goodman Gang haven't got as far as bopping each other on the nose). No problem with that at all - in fact it makes for more interesting stories.

I'm definitely still looking forward to more (whoever the PCs are beating up ).

 

[Goonalan]

Please understand that it was only intended as a (very) mildly humorous comment - not as a dig at either you or your players. It just struck me that the latest updates to all three of your storyhours yesterday all seemed to have some sort of conflict between the PCs (although the Goodman Gang haven't got as far as bopping each other on the nose). No problem with that at all - in fact it makes for more interesting stories.

I'm definitely still looking forward to more (whoever the PCs are beating up ).

I didn't think you were having a dig, my players read this, I just decided that no matter what I wrote about them then it would be less than complementary- believe me I spent an hour trying to word it correctly, and I'd suffer for it in the long run. Sorry if you thought I'd taken offence.

Happy, as always, to have you along for the ride.

For these players then it would be fair to say that one of them likes to tell people what to do, and the other doesn't do what anyone tells him, they are however all good friends, so they play nicely... most of the time.

 

[Goonalan]

Castle Whiterock- We’re doing monk stuff here… finding things, and that.
Turn 8.

Castle Whiterock.

“Korg demangs paymeng.” Ronnie continues.

It’s the Half-Orc and the Dwarf that share a look this time, great axes to the fore the pair rush either side of the pontificating Paladin.

WHAM-WHAM

A double whammy, both monks have barely time enough to register what’s going on, Brother Jason is struck a very low blow courtesy of Twiglet’s axe, he expires very quickly, gibbering and twitching his hands still clutching the bloody spot.
“Sorry, I’m… Sorry… I’m new.” Twiglet wipes his hands down his jerkin, smearing invisible blood.

Brother Lee Love lasts but a second longer, Grungarak has greater reach, the huge monk makes a home for the Half-Orc’s great axe between his head and his shoulder, I believe the correct anatomical term to be the neck. He sinks to his knees and then topples forward, blood gushes and pools, finds its way to the lowest point in the chamber.

“Perhaps next time you might want to keep one of them alive, ask some questions?” Gina huffs into the chamber.

“Tithge themg.” Ronnie wanders over to the corpses, wading through blood and worse, unconcerned, and rifles the bodies- comes up with gold and two very crude looking, possibly silver-plated, holy symbols.

“Dig yewg hag tog dog thag?” Ronnie stares at Grungarak.
“Yewf.” The Half-Orc finally replies.

Gina shakes her head, “sit down the pair of you, let’s get you cleaned up”, the Gnome unpacks her healing kit and gets to work on the myriad cuts and bruises that dot the combatants- its mostly superficial, in no time at all they’re as good as new, which let’s face it, is not very good at all- particularly the Paladin.

Twiglet meanwhile has shut the only other door out of the ruined gatehouse, and barred it.

They rest a moment as Gina takes a good look at the bodies, and the Paladin’s find. “Rough men, bandits”, she declares.
“Not monks?” Twiglet asks.
“Not unless they’ve got a note from the Abbot to wear armour.” Gina pulls back the robes on both of the figures, chain shirts beneath.
Twiglet feels a little better.
“Now these…” The Gnome looks again at the badly made holy symbols, “these are just plain wrong- bandits, or worse, they’re hiding something that’s for sure.”

“Okay, let’s take a look.” Grungarak heads to the door.
“Remember, one of them got away, they know we’re here.”
The three nod back at the Gnome.

Grungarak opens the door wide, light spills in, an ancient cobblestone courtyard- weeds have taken hold, low piles of rubble evidence here and there of walls and buildings long ago destroyed.

To the east, maybe forty feet away the cobblestones give out to a bank of mud, the murky waters of Whiterock Lake lap and twinkle in the light. To the west, only thirty feet away, is a large wooden building, long and thin, with two sets of open double doors facing into the courtyard, clearly a stables- a horse whinnies within. Directly ahead, are a group of large tents, although they must be some one hundred and fifty feet away. Nothing stirs except a few flies that buzz.

Grungarak shields his eyes from the sun and heads over to the wooden building in a low lope, the others, one-by-one, follow him over.

To the south of the building are the high cliff walls, the same cliffs they saw from the shade of the woods, jutting from them is a high white stone wall, much marked by time, dotted with the scars of flame and battle. The wall must be some twenty feet high, and thick by the look of it, it curls round and behind the stables, forming a dark alley there.

Grungarak leads them over, except for Twiglet who wanders, seemingly lost for a second, towards the cliff- way up he can see the spire they saw earlier, and a rough path up to it, he stores this information for later, then realises where he is and heads back to join the others.

Grungarak is pressed against the worn wood of the stables when he returns, “There’s…”, Twiglet begins, but is shushed into silence by Gina.

“Many horses.” Grungarak levers himself away from the wall, “I go.” The Half-Orc states and is as good as his word.

Grungarak creeps along the edge of the building to the front, then round to the first set of open doors, there are indeed lots of horses within, he enters.

Riding horses, mostly, there must be over twenty of them, although they appear to be a mismatched lot, many of them old nags on their last legs, a few young and lean- bred for speed, others working horses more suited to pulling carts and wagons. Grungarak heads along the line, as quietly as he can, whispering kind words as he goes, so as not to startle the beasts, all the way to the end of the building, he suddenly halts.

ZZZZZ

There lying on a pile of hay is another of the bandits, robes hitched up to reveal a layer of mail beneath, Quarterstaff leaning against the far wall and clutching to his chest an almost empty bottle of Cillamar Special Brew. The Half-Orc grins, approaches quickly and quietly and…

THUMP

Breaks the false monks jaw, Brother Beyond is unconscious before he’s awake. Grungarak grabs his rope, cuts a short length and binds and gags the man, who is barely breathing.

Grungarak meets back up with the others at the far end of the alley, a whispered conversation ensues and another crude holy symbol is handed over.
“Good work Or… I mean Ranger.” Ronnie offers and gets a grin back.

Grungarak leads them over to the tents, there are five of them- one for stores, three sleeping quarters- although the beds are mostly unused, the last contains a number of crude tables on which are bits of pottery and odd-looking lumps of stone. They do not linger long here- Grungarak sets the pace, the group double back, keeping low to the stables and then follow the white wall around, there’s a breach ahead, a sea of loose rubble, it looks treacherous… dangerous.

Through the gap, they spy the inner courtyard and the remains of the castle keep, the building has likewise seen better times, the corner they’re facing has fallen away, they can just see within, over another mound of rubble.

Suddenly a robed man pops up from behind the second rubble pile, “we are the monks of the dawning sun…”, he disappears from sight suddenly, and then as suddenly reappears, “morning sun, apparently. Anyway, clear off.”

The man struggles with something at his belt, it seems to be a small pottery jar, whatever it is he fumbles it- CRACK, the false monk engulfed in a yellow cloud- BLEURK, he’s sick down himself. He staggers backwards seemingly disorientated, then, once again, suddenly disappears from sight.

TWONK

A crossbow bolt thumps into the rubble at Ronnie’s feet, as one the group realise they make excellent targets, they drop and find cover, unleash their ranged weapons of death.

TWONG & FWUNG x lots.

A hail of bolts, there seems to be at least three monks firing at them.

They give as good as they get.

The air is thick with crossbow bolts and arrows.

Actually it’s not at all.

A stalemate plays out over the next minute or so, nobody hits anything of import, unless you count broken rubble.

Eventually a voice breaks the missile frenzy.

“Stop bloody firing will you.”

The firing stops.

Thirty seconds pass and another robed man stands up.

“Didn’t you hear him, he said we’re monks, we’re doing monk stuff here… finding things, and that- now piss off.” The monk bobs back down.

Gina, Twiglet, Ronnie and Grungarak huddle for a moment, Twiglet is elected spokes-dwarf.

She stands. “NO.” Then ducks back down again.

The firing starts back up again almost immediately.

And continues for another thirty seconds before Twiglet and Grungarak have had enough; needless to say no one is hurt in the barrage, on either side.

“Aaaarrrghhh.” It’s a collective expression of their frustration.

The pair shuffle hop and scramble up and over the first pile of rubble, Ronnie and Gina provide covering fire, the monks shoot back but the pair make their way to the second pile without mishap.

They begin to scale the rubble, Grungarak is forced to duck and take cover, however he gets a good look at the chamber beyond- a rough barracks, rows of cots, most look to have been used, a crude fire and cooking pit, tables and chairs scattered, the chamber has no ceiling and so is well lit. There’s a rubble-choked hole in the far wall, an open door heads in the same direction, and about the chamber are four more of the false monks. One lies on the floor washing his face vigorously, another two are heading for the door, while the last is keeping the Half-Orc pinned down with his crossbow.

Twiglet has better luck, he scrambles down the far side of the rubble pile and comes up almost face-to-face with the crossbow wielding false monk, who fumbles his weapon and reaches for his staff.

But not bef-FWUMP-ore he’s almost cut in two by Twiglet’s great axe, not to be out done Grungarak quickly follows in and is on the false monk completing his ablutions- CRACK, and the man is unconscious.

Not content the Half-Orc runs on- following the fleeing false monks through the door and out of the chamber, Twiglet is still stood there, admiring his work- actually not admiring, he’s still not used to the blood; when Ronnie and Gina scramble into the room.

There’s a buzzing noise.

High up on the wall, next to the breach is a hornet’s nest, the swarm of tiny creatures seem to be unconcerned with the events of the day so far, Twiglet prays they remain that way.

“Aaaargh.” The Half-Orc screams.

They race after him.

 

[HalfOrc HalfBiscuit]

Very enjoyable so far!

On a quick rules-related point, I'm assuming the Paladin of Kord is either a variant (Paladin of Freedom?) or not a Paladin at all?

Keep up the good work ...

 

[Goonalan]

Very enjoyable so far!

On a quick rules-related point, I'm assuming the Paladin of Kord is either a variant (Paladin of Freedom?) or not a Paladin at all?

Keep up the good work ...

That's it I'm breaking the radio silence, the Paladin of Kord is a mean-spirited bastard, LG but old school hellfire and damnation type of thing, I'm not sure really, he got pointed in the wrong direction at an early age. He, and his brother, stretch the limits a little, think of the Crusaders, probably terrible folk- particularly if you fall in the category of "infidel", and yet Holy warriors fighting for the Church. Kord is a very muscular religion- might is right, that kind of thing. We generally don't play variant rules, unless we do- if you see what I mean, we tend to rely on Roleplaying in game, we talk about the limits if need be...

The Player behind this horror is a bit of a Power Gamer, he likes the class skills, he's also the guy that forgot to roll up a PC at the start and so took Ronnie from the Pre-Gens- things are afoot regarding this situation.

It gets better, then worse, and then better again- sorta.

More to come.

Thanks.

 

[Goonalan]

Turn 9. May the Power of Kord flow…ERK!

Castle Whiterock

And into a great hall, actually not so great anymore, what was once a fine white flagstone floor has become pockmarked, smashed and pitted, and smeared with all manner of foul substances. The ceiling is gone, the sun shines through, the walls once adorned by fine tapestries are now home to crusty rags.

To Grungarak’s left is a door, closed, to his right an open archway, ahead a breech in the massive wall of the cliff, into some dark and shadowy underground chamber. Which is where the fleeing monks are heading, two of them are well ahead of the Half-Orc, scrambling out of sight over yet another treacherous looking rubble pile.

Alas the third Monk is a little slower.

The false monk loses a flip-flop, stumbles and stubs his foot, suddenly pulls up short- hopping, cramp or a tendon problem, Brother Louis’ face a death mask grimace, he has never before felt pain like this.

It’s blessedly short lived.

Grungarak chops his head off.

“Hold mighty Or… I mean Ranger.”

Its Ronnie’s voice, Grungarak curtails his pursuit, heads back the way he came and into the false monks former barracks.

Brother Trevor, the monk who spilled his stenchpot earlier is swiftly tied to his bed, he’s going nowhere, and Gina will have someone to question.

A brief conflab takes place with Grungarak providing the details, dodging out of the chamber into the hall to point out the pile of rubble ahead, the place that the other two monks fled to, a plan is born, well, when I say plan…

The foursome burst from their hiding space and head hell-for-leather for the rock pile, aiming to scale the thing at speed and then fall upon their enemies.

It doesn’t quite work that way.

Only a third of the way there the closed door on the left is suddenly and violently flung open- and standing in the doorway is a man, a cruel and martial looking man.

Brother Melchior is the real Monk here, his simple black robes hug his taught frame, tattoos colour his arms, he points then motions- towards Grungarak.

“You. Orc.”

He motions again, but the ‘Orc’ bit is enough to get the Ranger’s attention, Brother Melchior backs into the room beyond and takes up a fighting stance.

Grungarak however is less cautious, he follows the evil Monk in swinging furiously and is met by a fist, and then a kick, and then the fist again- before he knows it the Half-Orc is bleeding and bruised.

It’s enough to clear his brain.

Brother Melchior backs away again, smiles thinly, and motions once more for the Ranger to attack him.

Grungarak rushes forward, axe whirling, swiping, swatting- Melchior grins as he spots his opening, about to deliver another flurry of blows, but too late, Grungarak is only feigning anger, the real Monk kicks thin air.

RIPPPPP

And has his foot amputated at the ankle.

Tries to stand, mouth still agape at the damage done.

Slips and totters on his stump.

THWACK

Grungarak buries his greataxe in Melchior’s chest.

HaWWKSPIT

Gobs in the dead man’s eye.

“Human.” Grungarak delivers with as much contempt as he can muster.

Back in the great hall, the three intrepid adventurers scamper up the rubble, which proves a lot harder than they expected, particularly as… as… as… as…

“Feckin’ Garl.”

Gina looks up, and up, there before them, emerging from the shadow climbing up the opposite rubble slope is a Skeleton, this however is no ordinary Skeleton, the thing is easily eight, maybe nine feet tall, and big with it, with great clawed hands, the size of a bear in fact.

“Garl’s power.” Gina screams and presents her holy symbol, to no effect, the thing rumbles on, crests the rubble pile and heads on down to meet the three, who are forced to back away, their footing unsure.

“May the Power of Kord flow…ERK!”

Ronnie gets a little way into his war cry, and then twists his ankle on a loose stone, which fortunately causes him to duck beneath one of the huge Skeletons meatless paws, alas only to rise at the ideal moment for the creature’s other paw to slice into him.

The Paladin of Kord lurches suddenly right, blood fills his eyes, his mouth; the flesh on his face and neck ripped, almost shredded.

He stumbles, crumples, and crunches into the stones of the rubble pile- lies still.

“Grungarak.” Gina screams, and sure enough the Half-Orc comes running.

The Gnome backs further away, leaving Twiglet to face the great beast alone, Gina mumbles prayers presents her holy symbol of Garl Glittergold- the creature comes again, slashing wildly, her turning attempt has no effect.

CRUNCH

And is met in kind, Twiglet’s axe smashes almost all of one arm, bones hang limp and useless, the creatures mouths a silent scream and bears down upon the Dwarf, who’s caught a glancing blow, enough however to send him skittering back as Grungarak joins the line.

Axes swirl, swing and dance, and in seconds the awesome Skeleton is reduced to so much splintered bone.

Grungarak is quick off the mark, he grabs the fallen Paladin, and with hand signals issues orders to retreat, into the chamber he recently fought and killed Brother Melchior, the evil Monk.

Twiglet slams the door shut behind them, then opens it again, a crack, keeps an eye on the great hall. Gina meanwhile is quickly to work, Ronnie’s still breathing, her healing hands knead the spot where the Owlbear Skeleton’s blow penetrated, bones mend, skin knits- as good as new.

The chamber has a mostly intact ceiling, obviously someone of import lives here. A flickering torch in a sconce provides dim illumination; the north wall is rounded with a door situated in the middle. Pushed against the west wall is a wooden desk and positioned in the northeast corner is a fancy bed with an overstuffed mattress. An iron pot lies discarded along the east wall.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOH

Ronnie suddenly sits up, takes a gulp of air, like a diver surfacing after a long time under.

“Thank you…” The Paladin of Kord whispers in the general direction of the Gnome.

GRRRRRRRRRRIND

As the wall ahead suddenly pivots and opens.

Stepping out of the previously hidden portal is an armed, and armoured, Orc- the size of which… well, easily a foot taller than Grungarak who’s six feet eight, the creature growls a challenge and attacks.

 

[Goonalan]

Turn 10: “Nail ‘em up, that’s what I say.”

Castle Whiterock

But is nowhere near fast enough, Grungarak is however- lightning fast, the Ranger’s greataxe swings and buries itself in the massive Orc’s gut, the force of the blow is incredible, the axe blade bites deep, smashes it’s way through several important organs and severs the creatures spine.

And let me just say from a personal point of view, speaking as the DM, bugger… I mean, bugger- whose stupid idea was it to introduce “critical hits” to the game, Ikenvar, the enlarged Orc represented about the best the Slavers of the Iron Manacle have to offer, I mean… bugger. It wasn’t even close, Grungarak did about 42 damage with his greataxe, whose… I mean… bugger.

Ikenvar the Iron Manacle’s leader folds like a pack of cards, now little more than a nasty smear on the stone floor, standing behind the huge Orc is another of the false monks, in fact one of the ones Grungarak had been chasing earlier.

“I give in.” The monk, Brother Ralph, sinks to his knees and surrenders.
“Good, may Kord have mercy on your dirty black soul, although I doubt it.” Ronnie strides over to Brother Ralph and rattles the poor guys head against the wall a few times, till the bloods flowing- Paladins, a law unto themselves.

“Time for a few questions.” Gina steps close to Brother Ralph, who’s being tied up at the moment, very tightly by Grungarak, Twiglet continues to keep an eye out for movement beyond the chamber. Ronnie leers down at their prisoner, pointedly sharpens an already razor sharp dagger, making sure Brother Ralph gets the full effect.

The Q&A session lasts for a little more than twenty minutes, Brother Trevor is brought through and questioned, as is Brother Beyond, the drunk false monk from the stables- the three prisoners sing like birds, the adventurers discover that the Iron Manacle Slavers are more-or-less no more, there are one or two members of the gang unaccounted for.

“What d’ya reckon we’ll get?” Brother Trevor gulps up at Ronnie.
“Hmm?”
“Sentence? You’ll put a good word in for us wont you?”
“Crucifiction, first time offence.” Ronnie spits on his comb and fluffs his moustache.
“Crucifiction?” Brother Trevor screams, Brother Beyond gulps and then takes up the call.
“Nail ‘em up, that’s what I say.” Ronnie states.
“Crucifiction?” Brother Trevor gasps and sobs.
“Nail some sense into them.” Ronnie calls over to Gina, and winks.
Gina looks wary, gulps.

Trevor and Beyond scrabble in the dirt at the Paladin’s feet.
“Save us, save us- I’ve changed, seen the light-“
“I didn’t want to do it, I was brought up wrong, unable to tell-“
Ronnie kicks the nearest of the pair in the stomach.
“If I had my way we’d save the good citizens of Cillamar the bother, do it now- quick and clean, throats cut- watch you bleed to death.” Ronnie makes a slicing motion across Brother Trevor’s throat- the false monk feints away.

“I know something else.” Brother Ralph has been quiet for a while, “I know something you don’t know, something you need to know… I know.”
“Yes, we got that.” Gina wanders over, “now what is it that you know?”
“Let me go and I’ll tell ya?”
Gina looks at Ronnie, who shakes his head.
“You’re going nowhere.”
“Then my secret dies with me…”
“Suits me.” Ronnie takes to cleaning his nails.

The other two prisoners snivel on the floor, Brother Ralph stares hard at Gina, waiting for the Gnome to crack. It doesn’t take long.

“What if it’s important?”
“Hmm?”
“What he knows.” Gina states.
“Don’t care.” Ronnie gets back to his nails.
“Look what’s it about?” Gina asks Brother Ralph.

“There’s something down there, in Whiterock, waiting for you- I know what it is, I can warn you, so that you’re, you know, prepared- ready.” Brother Ralph states.
Grungarak wanders over, plonks himself down in front of the prisoner, cups his massive hand under Brother Ralph’s chin, lifts his head so he can see into his eyes.
“You mean Orcs.” Grungarak growls.
Ralph tries to look away, but can’t.
“Orcs, big Orcs- like me.”
“No.” Ralph fights to be free of Grungarak’s grip.
“Big Orcs that look exactly like me.”
“I said no alright, no, not Orcs- something else, there’s something else down there.”
Grungarak holds Ralph a little while longer, “You’re lying.”
“I’m not, I’m not lying- you’re the liar, liar. Bastard Orc lia-“
That’s the end of Ralph’s sentence as the air is suddenly gone from his system, the huge Half-Orc’s bicep crushing his windpipe, Ralph flails a while- his hands tied, unable to break the hold.

It’s Gina that strides over, places her hand on Grungarak’s arm, and when the Half-Orc looks up, into the Gnome’s eyes, simply shakes her head- Grungarak looses his grip.

Ralph chokes a little and then breaths again.

“We will search the area, only for things of immediate danger- no risks, no wandering off, then back here, fortify this chamber in case of attack, then rest.”
Twiglet looks around from the door, nods. Gina, who’s almost out of spells, nods too, that only leaves…

“How, in Kord’s name, did you know there were Orcs here?” Ronnie is on his feet and looking menacing.
“That’s my business.” Grungarak declares and stares hard at the Paladin.

Eventually the Half-Orc blinks first, “I’ll lead the search, anyone else coming?”
“Yep.” Twiglet nods.
“Please.” Gina states, warily watching the maniac Paladin.
“I’ll guard the prisoners then. Keep them safe.” Ronnie grins, behind him the prisoners look less sure.

Thirty minutes later the three are back, and the prisoners are surprisingly well, and much calmer than before. Gina tells the tale.

“There’s an underground complex, doesn’t look big- haven’t searched it as of yet, there must be a door in there that heads down, we did find a chest however, lots of money, and a key.” Grungarak thumps the chest onto the table.
“There’s a fallen tower on the opposite side, and a dead monk there- didn’t like the look of that so we left it well alone.”
Ronnie nods.
“Twiglet found a centipede, it darted out of the rubble, there’s a ruin of a chapel over the other side, I think there’s a nest of the things in there.”
“You kill it?” Ronnie nods towards Twiglet, the Dwarf shakes his head.
“He didn’t get chance, a huge Hawk came screeching down from up high, ripped into the thing before Twiglet could get at it- quite a fight, particularly when the centipede stung the Hawk, it couldn’t get airborne again- another two of the centipedes came out and took it down- messy.” Gina finishes the tale.
“That it?”
“Yep.” Gina nods, “now we rest.”
“There’s the tower too.” Twiglet adds, Ronnie nods again- stares at the back of Grungarak’s head as Gina starts to snore.

And here endeth the second actual session of play.

 

[Goonalan]

Turn 11: Can you track it?

Castle Whiterock.

The rest goes smoothly, well except for the bit where the eight foot tall Praying Mantis sidles into what remains of the Great Hall, grabs the body of a dead false monk and retreats back the way it came.

“Feck.” Twiglet states from his spy hole at the door.
“What is it?” Gina wanders over just in time to catch the last of the show.
“That’s a…”
“Giant Praying Mantis.”
“Hmmm.” Twiglet nods, and with that the shows over.

The adventurers also take the time to rifle through the equipment of the captured and the permanently fallen.

Rest over they head to the cliff where Twiglet discovered the track up to the tower, a fifteen minute trek later and they’re at the base of the tower, which up close is a mess. The thing must be sixty feet tall, there’s a lot of loose and crumbling stonework about, and a door in the base of the tower- which proves to be locked.

Ronnie looks up, then nods towards Grugnarak, the Half-Orc sighs and begins to clamber up the side of the tower, then suddenly stops, there’s a rope a little way around- already in place, it seems to be firmly anchored, he heads on up.

He gets a little over three quarters of the way up when just above him, out of a shadowy hole in the side of the tower a Hawk flutters out, a large Hawk with blood red plumage. Grugnarak climbs the last ten or fifteen feet as fast as he can, there’s a window, or at least an opening.

ZZZZZ

The Half-Orc grins and climbs as quietly as he can into the top level of the tower, the chamber is clean and tidy. A circle of arrow slits, and a trio of windows overlook the castle. Under one window is a bedroll- occupied, a small table, and a wooden chest. Sitting on the table is a wooden birdcage about three feet high. Inside a jet-black raven plucks at its feathers.

ZZZZZ

The wooden floor creaks, getting closer now, until…

FWUMP

And that’s the end of the false monk in the tower.

Grugnarak’s peers down from above, the Half-Orc signals, down at the base of the tower Ronnie nods and starts on up, followed by Gina and finally Twiglet.

They reassemble up above in the top of the tower, set to work, working out what’s what here.

“Hey, don’t…”
But too late, Gina watches the raven hop to the window and then flutter into the air. Ronnie looks a little sheepish.
“Why did you do that?” The Gnome asks.
Ronnie shrugs, “just a bird.”
“It might have told us something, some clue.”
“It was a bird, how could it tell…”
“Raven’s talk.” Twiglet adds and nods, “my dad said he knew a Dwarf that kept one, Barry was its name, the Raven, not the Dwarf. Mt dad said it kept him company when his wife died and his son left him to go adventuring. He said if it wasn’t for Barry then Arthur ‘the axe killer” Smith, that’s the name of the dwarf, well he would have gone mad.”
“How’d he get the name ‘axe killer’?” Gina wonders aloud.
“Oh that… I think he killed some Dwarves… With an axe, I think- my dad said he was crazy in the head, you know, semi-permeable.” Twiglet taps the side of his head.
“What happened to him?”
“He died and they stuffed him.”

The adventurers go about their business for a good five seconds, and then stop again, Gina breaks the silence.

“Stuffed?”
“Hmm.” Twiglet nods.
“Why’d they stuff him?”
“He was a friendly bird.”

Twiglet gets back to work.

Grugnarak turns back from the window, “the Raven is heading for Cillamar.” The Half-Orc pointedly stares at Ronnie.
“Can you track it?” The Paladin asks.
Grugnarak continues to stare at the Paladin, like he’s just asked the most stupid question in the world, ever- which is apposite.

“Well how can I bird tell us what we want to know, there’s no proof it could talk, and besides if you were a raven you’d head to Cillamar- it’s obvious.”
“Why?” Gina continues to investigate.
“Obvious- food supply, water, lady ravens, it makes sense.”
Gina wrinkles her nose.

“Hang on.” Twiglet is fishing about in the chest, he discovers, well… a pot of ink, a quill, a number of small strips of paper, and an object to attach the aforementioned bits of paper to the leg of a bird. The Dwarf displays his find.

Ronnie looks a little flustered. “How do we know, I mean… what I’m trying to say is it wouldn’t stand up in a court of law, just because you found… there’s no proof, I mean… highly unlikely, it’s only conjecture that…” he tails off.

Twiglet shrugs and gets back to searching.

There’s little else to find, Grugnarak indicates its time to check out the trapdoor which leads below, weapons at the ready the others circle the spot in case of any suprises.

EEEERRRR

The thing hasn’t been opened for a while, and…

SQWARK x lots.

The circular chamber below is choked with straw, twigs, dirt and decay; and lots of bird , it’s also choked with Hawk, Bloodhawks to be precise, adults and fledglings, all told there must be two dozen of the vicious birds in there.

SLAM

Grugnarak slams the trapdoor back in place.

One more quick search and they head back down the rope to the base of the tower and the locked door, there’s nothing for it. Ronnie puts his shoulder to the door, eventually all of the warriors are taking turns.

SMASH

They stumble into a dark chamber, webs, decay, another trapdoor in the floor heading down, and a huge stone spiral staircase heading up.

“I though I saw something move.” Twiglet declares, and points way up.

 

[Goonalan]

Turn 12: “D’you think I’ll be like them one day?”

The Upper Ruins of Castle Whiterock

“Are you sure?” Gina asks.
“No, but…” Twiglet tails off.

Grungarak moves past the Dwarf, hugs the wall and heads up the crumbling stone stairs; Ronnie draws his sword and follows after.

Gina shrugs at Twiglet, the Dwarf gingerly takes a few steps up the stairs, follows on, he’s not a great fan of heights, now depths, depths he doesn’t mind.

“What are we going up here for?” Gina asks out of breath a little while later, “surely it just heads back up to the Hawks?”
Which makes Grungarak think, the Half-Orc stops in his tracks, which in turn causes the Paladin to come to a sudden halt, there’s no side to the stairs and it’s a long way down.

The adventurers concertina on the stairs.

“Back down.” The Half-Orc growls, Ronnie looks a little peeved but turns tail, three of the group manoeuvre round and head back down, which just leaves Twiglet.

They’ve not gone far when- “There’s something up there, something moving.” Twiglet states and in the next instant is swathed in sticky strands, a web shot from the spider above, the Dwarf scatters down the stairs, breaking through the web with ease, alas the sticky substance appears to have had an adverse effect on the Dwarf’s armour, a fine tracery of rust creates a lattice work affect, bits of it fall away- ruined.

“Urggggggghh.”

The Dwarf cannonballs past the other adventurers causing all manner of confusion, Gina nearly ends up plummeting over the side of the stairs saved in the last moment by Ronnie.

A nasty looking albino spider descends down the centre of the tower, a huge creature, it’s leg-span some eight feet across, Twiglet makes it to the bottom of the stairs, the others hot-footing it after the Dwarf, not far behind.

FWUNG

Twiglet’s crossbow sings, the bolt arcs into the air, missing the great arachnid by a mile, careens off a stair and disappears up into the darkness, but only for a second or so… what goes up must come down.

THUNG

The bolt’s return journey is suddenly curtailed, by a stocky dwarf, Twiglet gets his bolt back, buried in the Dwarves right thigh.

The spider descends further.

“Missile weapons- keep out the way.” Grungarak screams and fires.

FWUNG

And sinks an arrow into the spider’s abdomen, which is enough, the huge arachnid quickly heads back the way it came, the adventurers breathe a sigh of relief.

“Let’s check the trapdoor down then.” Gina states and scrambles through the trapdoor, and down a ladder into an empty circular chamber, clearly the base of the tower- with no visible exits.

“We’ll see about that, I know about stone, leave it to me.” Twiglet traces his finger around the outer wall of the chamber, “nope, nope, nope, ahhh… rock and coal- here it is.”

A shove later and a stone door pivots open, otherwise the chamber is empty, Twiglet heads into a very small chamber, “hang on”, the Dwarf shouts back, and then thumps the wall ahead of him, which springs open too, another hidden door.

“You’re quite good at that aren’t you?” Gina states as she follows Twiglet through to yet another newly discovered chamber.
“We know about stone, the Dwarves I mean, my father worked in the quarries, as did my grandfather, and his father, and his father before that… and his father, no, hang on Festan Middlegrip Rockhammer AKA Goblinbane, my great-great-great-great grandfather he wasn’t a quarry Dwarf.”
“What’d he do? A Warrior?” Gina enquires.
“Goblinbane, no he made wigs- out of moss, he was one for the theatre, mostly leading ladies- he loved cross-dressing, or so the stories go, there’s a beautiful shield with his image etched into it back in the mine- he looked lovely in a dress, and heels.”
Gina smirks and starts to laugh, then catches sight of Twiglet, he’s serious, she stifles her laughter.

“Come on.” Ronnie pushes his way past the little people into the newly discovered chamber, which is a mess, like everything else around here. This large room is covered with a thick layer of dust and appears to have lain undisturbed for many years. In the centre of the room are the shattered remains of a huge dark wood table, its some kind of defunct meeting chamber, possibly. Broken chairs are strewn about the room. Hanging on the north wall are the frayed remains of an elegant tapestry.

Grungarak rips the thing down, tries to make sense of it.

“What is it Or… Ranger?” Ronnie comes over to take a look. The tapestry is no more than a dark smudge, ripped and torn. “Nothing of value.”
Grungarak nods, folds the ruined tapestry up and stows it away in his backpack.

“’Nother one.”

GRIND

Twiglet opens another secret door and marches the adventurers back into a chamber they’ve been in previously; back in the ruins.

“Right.” Twiglet states.
“Is that it then?” Gina asks.

The are a pair of double doors centred in the opposite wall, the wall to the left contains a single door that appears to have been recently repaired and reinforced with iron supports. A pile of rubble intermixed with the shattered bones of the destroyed Owlbear skeleton head off back into the Great Hall.

“Check these two.” Grungarak states.

The double doors reveal a wide hallway; the floor is covered with the rotting remains of once-fine carpeting. Stone pedestals, each about two feet high, are spaced along the walls. However, the hall ends in a massive pile of rubble, atop which sit two Centipedes tearing their way through the body of what must be the last of the false monks.

Twiglet unleashes his greataxe but Ronnie stops the Dwarf’s progress- “Leave them be, vermin feeding on vermin, Kord will be pleased.”
A little fazed, but convinced nevertheless, Twiglet backs out of the chamber, which just leaves one door.

Gina has the key, there are a set of stairs heading down into darkness, Gina is sure she can hear voices down there, but that’s for later.

“Come on, let’s go.” Ronnie states, Grungarak nods.
“Back to the Inn?” Twiglet asks.
The Paladin nods, “Time to deliver the miscreants to justice”, which causes him to grin.

An hour or so later the adventures, now mounted, with many more horses to spare wend their way back towards Cillamar, their three captives secured and the Slavers of the Iron Manacle no more.

“So…” Twiglet starts while gripping on for dear life to the mane of his mount; he’s not very good at riding.
“So.” Gina confirms.
“I’m an adventurer?” Twiglet asks.
“Yep.” Gina confirms and grins.
Twiglet grins back.
“How do you like it?”
“It’s okay, I’m not sure I like all the fighting, although… anyway, it’s a bit, you know, scary- at times.”
Gina nods back; it goes quiet for a while.
“Did I do okay?”
“Yes, of course, you did great.” Gina states.
“Good, I mean… good. How can you tell?”
“You’re alive, we’re alive.” Gina shrugs.
“Oh. Okay. I guess.”

Up front the Paladin and the Ranger ride side by side, not speaking, proud and erect, ready for any sign of danger.

“D’you think I’ll be like them one day?” Twiglet asks and nods towards the pair.
Gina thinks about it- “I hope not.”

Cillamar appears on the horizon, home, for now.