RangerWickett
Legend
Chapter Sixteen: The Eastern Rift
Previously, as the early morning sun rises over the burning Thornwood:
James, Bhur, and Vic rush back to where Roth and Harley are, filling each other in on the events of the fights and fire. Bhur tells the elemental to begin putting out the flames to stop at least part of the burn, so that Oleane’s grove will be safe. When they get to the clearing, Bhur uses the last of his healing magic to keep Roth from dying, and James tosses the dark Elf woman’s spear to Harley for safe-keeping.
James shoulders Roth and carries him back to the general location of Oleane’s grove, escorted by Vic. Harley, Bhurisrava, and the elemental stay behind to manage the extinguishing of the fires. The whole time they do so, Bhur comments continually about how much he’s going to love having this water elemental for a pet. After about two hours, it begins to seriously disturb Harley. Likewise, Vic has begun to brag about how of course they used water, Vic’s favored element, to save the forest. James reminds him that the elemental is still a dangerous creature, but Vic shrugs off the concern, assuring James that his magic can control the elemental.
A few hours later, a wearied, sleepless Bhurisrava and Harley find their way back to Oleane’s grove. James is still awake, watching over Vic and Allar while they doze. It’s all Bhurisrava can do to command the elemental to sit still and do nothing. And so Bhurisrava, Roth, Allar, Vic, and Harley sleep soundly, while James guards stoically, and the elemental stews motionlessly.
And then in the early afternoon, true to form, James wakes Harley up before she can even get six hours of sleep.
“Bhurisrava, calm down,” Vic groans, blinking at the light and cringing at the wailful cries coming from Bhur. “What’s wrong, buddy?”
Bhurisrava holds up his hand, his eyes red and sad, but not teary. He splays his fingers meaningfully, then whimpers out, “They t-took my ring. My elemental is gone!”
Vic snaps his fingers in frustration, his hands clenching angrily. “Aww, I was gonna use that elemental!”
Bhurisrava turns desperately, staring at the nymph Brookthorn, who is swaddled from head to toe to cover her burns. “You. Tell me! Where did they take my- m my,” sniffling overcomes Bhur for a moment, and then he pouts at her, “my elemental?”
Shaking her head, Brookthorn shrugs, wincing as she does so. Her once-gentle voice is now tinged with a quiet crackling, like the sound of trodding on leaves. “Hera and James took the nereid back to its rightful owner. They left hours ago.”
Bhur’s expression switches instantly from sympathy-inducing sadness to rage. “Bloody Buddha!” (Bhur tends to use anachronisms like these) “I’m gonna get my elemental back from those ungodly thieves.”
From the stone pallet he’d been resting on, Allar groans and nearly awakens. Vic nudges Bhurisrava and points at Allar, then to Roth, who is likewise quite injured. “These guys can’t just stay like this. They need healing. I mean, come on, you’re a healer, so if you heal them, they’ll want to help us get the elemental back, right?”
Bhur scowls at Vic for a moment, then rolls his eyes, sighing. “I’ll get them on their feet, but I’m not some stupid miracle dispenser. If they healing, they can get it themselves.”
Brookthorn coughs, ash sprinkling around her in a thin cloud. Unhappily, she stares at Bhurisrava. “You’re being very selfish for a priest of a god who heals.”
Bhur scoffs, then adopts a reverent expression. “The Lord came back he was stabbed and crucified and stuff, so. . . ,” he frowns, “unless you want Al’ and Roth to end up like the Lord, you’d better tell me the nearest healer other than me.”
* * *
Near nightfall the next day, Bhurisrava and Vic lead the way into the construction camp at the Eastern Rift, Allar and Roth following behind on crutches. Torches and the setting sun illuminate the low wooden fence that rims the camp, and the guards look at them warily as they come into viewing distance.
“I am Bhurisrava,” Bhurisrava announces loudly, “one who spreads the word of God, and I have brought these two injured men to be healed by the pagan priest you have among you. What’s his name again?”
“Lafayer,” Allar says with a wheeze, amazed at Bhurisrava’s behavior. “Please, is Lafayer here?”
The guards ask some questions in curiosity and give Bhurisrava dirty looks, but eventually lead the four men inside the camp and get out raised cots for Allar and Roth to rest on. Roth, who had been quiet through the entire trip, falls asleep. They had hiked for eight hours the day before, stopping in Thurmaster for the evening, then set out to find the healer Lafayer at the edge of the Tunda Mountains. While they were in Thurmaster, Tauster had given a metal flask of ale to Roth, which he had been sipping all day through the hike. Now, after a trek totaling over forty miles, Roth apparently is ready to sleep.
As some of the guards go and find Lafayer, Allar explains what this camp is here for. Less than a hundred feet to the east is a wide, deep rift that spans nearly a mile east to west, but dozens of miles through craglands north or south. The sinkhole opened beneath the only clear and easy trade road between the Haranshire and the nation-state of Elsterton, to the east. The road passed through the Southern Tunda Mountains, which is too rugged to cross easily unless on a well-tended road. The sinkhole happened decades ago, and began a long-term decline in the area, but Allar and his companions had used the money they’d earned from their adventuring to help fund a bridge that would span the sinkhole.
The bridge is a huge construction, with struts over fifty feet high in places, and nearly a mile long. The only bridges to rival them are the Seven Great Spans of Seaquen, which are practically cities unto themselves. Allar makes a note to point out that much of the cost of the construction was covered by Nozama Imperial donations (the road will help trade throughout the empire), but Allar has been providing the funding for housing the builders.
Allar hired a lot of guards because a lot of Goblins and Trolls make their home on the far side of the rift, and would not want a road full of merchants and soldiers passing through their homes, so the guards are waiting in case the tribes attack.
There have been several attacks so far, but the builders have finally managed to finish the several thousand foot-long bridge, so all that remains is for the railing to be completed, and for Lafayer to symbolically bless the bridge. By now, most of the builders have left, leaving only about a hundred workmen and laborers, guarded by three dozen hired soldiers.
Vic, who has only talked to Allar for a couple minutes ever before, is quite impressed with his generosity. He has been to this bridge before (when they had to heal James’s poison spiderbite), but he wasn’t aware quite what was going on. Now that he does, he asks if Allar’s generosity would extend far enough for him to want to hire Vic.
Allar smiles in disbelief. “Why would you want to work for me? You’ve only been here a few days, and already you nearly got killed by mercenaries who are out to kill me and anyone I know.”
Smiling knowingly, Vic shrugs. “Well, I mean, those guys deserve to be tracked down, right? If I have the choice, I don’t let people who hurt others get away with it. And, um. . . . I’ve heard you’re friends with that gnome wizard, um . . . David Waryeye, right? I’d gladly risk my life for the chance to learn from the Archmage of the Haranshire.”
Allar laughs, restraining himself slightly because of his injuries. “I like your outlook, Vic, but honestly, David’s not much of an archmage. Actually, aside from him, the only two real mages in the Haranshire are Tauster and Jenneleth. If you want archmages, go to the Lyceian Academy.”
Vic leans forward, shaking a hand. “No, you don’t understand. I went to the Lyceian Academy, four years ago, and heard that Professor Waryeye was really talented in combat magic, though maybe not so much in actually teaching his students.”
[Meta: Justin, Vic’s player, knew next to nothing about the Lyceian Academy, except that Harley and James had helped save some wizards there, so it came as a surprise to me that apparently Vic had been there before. Also, I hadn’t planned David to have been a professor, but I couldn’t deny Justin’s originality.]
Somewhat nervously, Allar smiles. “I’d be a little afraid of anyone David taught combat tactics to, but when he gets back, I’ll introduce him to you. Consider yourself hired.”
Bhurisrava groans. “Vic, you’re gonna stay here? I was thinking that as soon as I can make sure these guys aren’t still coming after me, I’ll be heading some place with more Christian hospitality.”
Vic shrugs, saying that he just feels like he can do something useful here. As for hospitality, Allar chimes in that his friend David is a Christian, and has been trying to convert him ever since they first met. Gnomish Christians are even rarer than Elves who follow the faith, so this quiets Bhur for a while as he contemplates it.
Then, to provide further proof that the Haranshire is hospitable, Lafayer arrives now. He’s a kindly, middle-aged man with a slender build and an expression that looks as if he might once have tried to be unkind, but he just gave up and decided it was easier to be nice. Lafayer takes a look at Allar, going into a slight trance as he examines the man’s injuries. When Allar killed the small imp sent after him, the creature exploded, but in addition to burns, some type of lingering infernal taint has been impeding his healing.
The priest says a few prayers to Meliska, a goddess of life and healing, and manages to purify the taint, then heal the rest of Allar and Roth’s wounds. He admits that he is honestly amazed that Allar was able to hike the several dozen miles to the work camp with three broken ribs and several shattered fingers (from when a tree trunk fell on him), plus moderate burns on his face and chest.
Bhur takes this moment to interject that he was responsible for healing most of the burns on Allar. Lafayer thanks him for that, but says that in the future, it would probably be safer for him just to get bed rest in Milbourne.
Laughing, Bhur shakes his head. “No, he needs to be awake, because there are people trying to kill us. We already had one of our own friends try to steal from us; it wasn’t safe to stay where we were.”
The group makes conversation for another hour or so, Vic flipping through his spellbook and making notes on a spell of invisibility. Allar states that the next morning he plans to head out and contact an old friend who he thinks will be able to help. Hopefully he’ll be back in three days, but until then, he’ll need Vic and Bhur to meet up with Harley and James and keep watch over what’s going on. To assist in this, he sends three of the guards out on horseback to go to Milbourne, Thurmaster, and Harlaton to try to find James and Harley.
Finally, after a late dinner is served during shift changeover, Lafayer wishes them well and heads to his tent. Guards escort them to tents of their own, but Bhur and Vic have to share one, as to Allar and Roth, due to space limitations. Before Vic and Bhur go to bed, though, they discuss combat magic, trying to come up with things they could do with their combined powers.
* * *
Bhur bolts awake and grabs the small figure trying to sneak through their tent, screaming, “I won’t let you steal my ring twice!”
Vic stumbles awake and knocks into the figure Bhur has started to grapple with, and sounds come from around camp as nearby tents wake up at the commotion.
Pummeling the tiny, shrouded figure with his fists, Bhur growls, “Now why couldn’t I wake up when it counted? Sure,” he sighs, yanking a dagger out of the person’s hand, “wake up to stop a murder attempt, but can I twitch when they pull a frikkin’ ring off my finger? Nooooo.”
Allar rushes in, tearing open the tent flap. His black scimitar glows faintly along its diamond edge, providing enough light to make out the tiny figure on the floor.
“Bhur,” Vic says in astonishment, “you’re killing a kid.”
Bhur pulls the figure to its feet, then yanks off the covering hood. “You must still be asleep, Vic. This Goblin here tried to sneak in and kill us. . . . Um, they don’t have a pet Goblin in this camp, do they? If they do, I mean, . . . big mistake.”
The guards assembled around the tent assure him there aren’t any ‘pet Goblins,’ and then move to fortify the camp’s defenses. Allar has Vic and Bhur hold the Goblin still as he interrogates it quickly, since he can actually speak Goblin. Gibbering out words that all sound like “Geeba,” Allar quickly gets frustrated when all the Goblin will say is that they’re planning to attack. To Allar, that fact was exceedingly obvious.
Allar tells them to have one of the guards tie up the Goblin, and then come with him to defend the bridge, but as Allar walks off, Bhur tries speaking to the Goblin, since the language sounds easy enough.
“Geebos meesa greeb?”
The Goblin looks at him in confusion, and replies, “Geebos goob?”
Bhur shrugs, and drags the Goblin to be tied up, wondering what the heck they just said to each other.
[meta: We made a point to write down what was said. The exchange means, “Is the food bad?” and “What food?”]
Once the Goblin is thoroughly tied up and held under guard, Bhurisrava rushes to meet Allar, Vic, Roth, and two dozen other guards at the near end of the bridge. The rest of the guards are waiting within the camp, along with the hundreds of builders, in case the attackers get through. At the edge of the rift, they can see large shapes moving across the bridge toward them, but the torchlight and moonlight are too faint to make out much.
Bhur, squinting down the length of the bridge, is the first to speak. “Allar, what do you know about trolls?”
Allar pauses for a moment, then nods. “Yeah, there’s at least three of them. Um . . . what’s to tell? They’re vicious, tall, easy to trip and easy to burn, at least water trolls like these. You never saw these things much until a few years ago.” Allar then turns and tells the rest of the group that there are three or more trolls approaching, covering themselves with huge shields, and probably a few dozen Goblins with them. He suggests they save their arrows unless they have a good shot, at least until the trolls drop the shields and charge. He then dispatches four guards in either direction along the side of the rift, so they’ll be able to fire around the edge of the tower shields. They also erect a makeshift barrier at the edge of the bridge, consisting of a few dozen barrels worth of supplies to slow the advance.
All of the guards are in place and ready before the approaching creatures even get within five hundred feet, and Allar gives the order to fire a few arrows to unnerve the Goblins and Trolls, not really expecting many to hit. As the arrows begin to fly, the Trolls begin to jog forward, followed by sprinting Goblins struggling to stay within the defensive ring provided by the shields. Finally, when the trolls are about fifty feet away, Allar gives the order to charge. Allar leads the charge, with Roth by his side and the guards following close behind. Smiling, Bhurisrava holds Vic back, suggesting a plan.
As the two groups clash together, Allar cartwheels through a narrow gap between two of the tower shields, slashing at the trolls holding them before he even lands on his feet. Right behind him, Roth leaps onto one of the shields and sprints up it, even though it is nearly vertical. He leaps at the top and brings down his bastard sword upon the troll whose shield he has just scaled.
Right behind them, the camp’s soldiers hold their ground and lean their shoulders into the shields of the trolls as the huge creatures try to overrun them. In frustration, the trolls toss aside their shields (one just lifts it and cracks it over the head of a guard like a folding chair), clearing the way for full melee. Over fifty shoddily armed Goblins follow close behind, so many that the bridge (only twenty feet wide) is too narrow for them all to fight effectively. They scramble between the legs of the trolls, some clamber along the sides of the unfinished railing, and others simply hurl stones into the crowd of human soldiers.
Twenty feet away from the main rush of battle, Vic and Bhur struggle to pull down one of the heavy supply barrels that makes up the barricade. One Goblin rushes at them, slashing a stone handaxe at Vic, but he dodges and kicks the Goblin off its feet. Before the creature can get back up, Bhur slams it in the chest with his warhammer. Then, both of the magic-users go back to work on the barrel.
Allar and Roth stay close together amid the crowd of Goblins and trolls, Roth roaring wildly as he takes down foes with slashes, bashes, punches, headbutts, and spittle, while Allar divides time between disemboweling one troll and cutting down any Goblin who strays too close. Despite his fervor, Roth is set upon by a few too many of the scrawny Goblins, so he makes his way toward the side of the bridge so they can’t fully surround him. Cheering, [“GEEBA!”] the Goblins give chase, hoping to shove the warrior into the ravine below.
A few human soldiers go down, but the rest fight fiercely to prevent the Goblins from killing the wounded. The Goblins have started to swarm past the trolls and overwhelm the soldiers, when from the end of the bridge Vic shouts, “Guys, get out of the way!” and Bhur shouts, “Geebos meesa greeb?!”
The soldiers scramble to the sides when they see a heavy barrel rolling toward them, large enough to knock a man down or crush a Goblin. The Goblins, however, pause for a moment to wonder why the heck an Elf is asking them about food in the middle of battle. Right as the barrel reaches the nearest crowd of Goblins, Bhurisrava raises his hand high. A beam of flaming white sunlight springs out and strikes the barrel, tearing it in half and setting its contents on fire. The two severed halves of the barrel spin wildly, spraying the surrounding Goblins with flaming oil. Victorious’s metamorphose liquid spell has come in handy again.
Now that a huge swath of the bridge is aflame, the trolls panic, backing away from the flames desperately. Allar ducks low and slashes the back of the kneecap as one goes by, his black scimitar severing its leg cleanly. The troll starts to topple backward, but Allar throws his weight at it, trying to force it into the flames. To the creature’s relief, it manages to fall sideways, away from the fire, but then it realizes that it is too close to the edge. With a yowl of anger, the troll flips off the side of the bridge, landing with a surprisingly wet splat.
On the opposite side of the bridge from which the troll had fallen, Roth has quit roaring, and is instead looking for a way to break past the half-dozen Goblins that are trying to shove him over the edge (no railings, remember). Finally, one of the Goblins stabs a rusted metal spear into Roth’s leg, and he resigns himself to the fact that he is going to fall. His leg buckles as the blade digs deep, but before he falls, he drops his sword, grabs the shaft of the spear, and wrenches it sideways, swinging the Goblin on his own spearshaft. Roth and the Goblin fall over the edge at the same time, but Roth manages to catch himself on one of the cut stones of the bridge. He digs his fingers into the crack, then begins to shimmy sideways toward the nearest support strut, where he can see a wooden scaffolding. He makes it with a few moments of strength to spare, and collapses in near-exhaustion onto the rickety scaffold.
“Another one coming up,” Vic shouts as both he and Bhurisrava run down the bridge, rolling a heavy barrel before them. They let go a few feet before the first slick of flames, and the barrel rolls jarringly across the bodies of the Goblins who fell in the fire. It continues to bounce down the length of the bridge toward the remaining attackers, who back away quickly when they see another flaming barrel approaching them.
Allar, who aside from Roth was the only person standing on the far side of the flaming oil slick, sighs in frustration when he realizes that the rest of the guards are cut off from helping him. Shrugging, he runs alongside the second barrel as it proceeds toward the remaining trolls and Goblins. At the last moment, he slashes at the barrel’s rim with his swords, ripping it open and spilling another pool of oil, which catches aflame from the fires clinging to the wood. Then, undaunted by the fire, he keeps running, meeting a troll head on, flashing blades meeting against tearing claws. The troll manages to grab Allar on the shoulder, for which he is rewarded by having his hand slashed off. Howling, this second troll backs away, leaving one last troll and a dozen Goblins still waiting to fight.
Lafayer, who had been out of the combat so far, gathers the warriors still standing and casts a defensive spell that will shield them from the fire for a few moments. With renewed vigor, the soldiers shout a battle cry and charge through the flames to come to Allar’s aid.
Bhur, assuming the battle will be over momentarily gives Lafayer the fantasy equivalent of a thumbs up, and then begins to look for his captured Goblin. Vic grabs him and tells him to keep fighting, so the priest reluctantly follows Vic, as they both climb sideways along the edge of bridge (to avoid the flames). As Bhur surmised, though, the fight is completed before they can give any further aid, though they are able to climb down and help Roth get to safety so Lafayer can heal him.
Allar makes sure to burn the bodies of the trolls, and after everyone is brought back to be healed (none of the guards died, but many nearly did), Allar takes out a group of four guards to track down the one troll who fell off the bridge. Though the fall would have killed any normal creature, these trolls are watery, able to settle back into their natural form the way a pool of water settles if you disturb it. Vic and Bhur volunteer to go along with Allar, and Bhur makes sure to bring along the Goblin prisoner, who he has named “Gee-Bud.” Hopefully the Goblin will be able to show them the way to the troll lair.
Much intimidation and gibbering Goblinspeak later, they manage to follow the Goblin’s directions to the troll’s cave, which is nearby a large, stagnant pool, about four miles beyond the far side of the bridge. Allar scouts around and finds a few Goblin sentries, but Vic says he can handle it. He pulls out a small cup, fills it with water, and tells one of the guards to hold it, very still. He then chants an incantation, and Vic vanishes, but a wavering form of him appears in the water, like a reflection. Chuckling softly, he tells them to have bows ready, and that he’ll be back in a few minutes, assuming they don’t spill any of the water. As Vic slips away, they can make out a very faint shimmer, like moonlight reflecting off rippling waters.
Invisible, Vic manages to sneak into the cave easily. He finds the injured troll sitting on a large stone bed. Its leg has regrown into a thin, formless pseudopod, with the full features slowly appearing as it regains its normal form. From a safe distance, Vic flicks a handful of salt at the troll, chanting softly to cast insatiable thirst. The troll suddenly gurgles, then looks around for something to drink, feeling as if it will die unless it can get a drink. Roaring desperately, it bursts past the handful of Goblins that lounge around the cave. The troll runs outside toward the pool of stagnant water, and Vic can clearly hear the twanging of multiple bowstrings as Allar and the guards pepper the creature. Vic finishes off by shooting a powerful spray of water that knocks two of the Goblins unconscious (but disrupts his invisibility spell), and then he runs outside.
It is an easy matter for them to set the troll on fire and drive off the remaining Goblins, which leaves them free to rest briefly as they loot the meager treasure the trolls had accumulated. Most of it is scattered around the cot of the leader troll, consisting of a few hundred coins and a thick blanket. However, far more interesting is a small, finely made, black metal chest with an actual lock. The chest is closed and locked, and Bhur’s Goblin pet “Gee-Bud” says they got it from some humans, but they weren’t able to ever get it open. Apparently the leader troll lost the key.
They puzzle over this for a while, and one of the guards tries unsuccessfully to pick the lock, but finally they decide to just take it back to camp. Vic looks around for a weapon he could keep as a trophy, but everything available is in wretched condition, so he shrugs and makes a note to shop for a nice, good axe.
When they get back to camp, there is a small celebration, but almost everyone is too sleepy to put much spirit into it, so they put up a skeleton guard crew in case some Goblins come back, and then go to bed.
* * *
The next morning, Allar sets out at sunrise, giving Bhurisrava and Victorious the following instructions.
As soon as Allar rides off, Bhur promises Vic loudly that he won’t be letting his new pet go. The Goblin must be rehabilitated and trained, and taught humility. Still, they do follow the instruction to wait for Harley and James.
The only interesting thing that happens for the next few hours is when they learn what Tauster gave to Roth. Apparently, after Vic gave the old wizard that flask of Dwarven spirits, he enchanted a metal flask to refill with Dwarf spirits whenever commanded to do so. Even though he says it doesn’t taste exactly right, Roth has been taking small sips for the past day and a half, trying to build up his resistance. Instead, he just seems wretchedly drunk.
Around noon, Harley and James ride into the camp, along with the guard Allar had dispatched to find them. They had stopped by Oleane’s grove the night before last, and then stayed in Thurmaster last night. Though Harley is a little frustrated that Allar left them alone to go find a ‘friend,’ she is glad to hear that he’s fully healed. Also, when Vic shows her the metal chest the trolls had, she offers to give unlocking it a try. About a minute later, she manages to pick the lock, claiming she learned the trick from her time as a stage magician.
The chest isn’t trapped, though there is a glass inkwell inside that would have shattered if they’d tried to bash it open. Additionally, they a sheet of paper written in Goblin, several blank sheets, a heavy pouch of gold coins, a second pouch of smoothed stones of jet, and a map. Judging by the crispness of the handwriting, it probably wasn’t an actual Goblin writing the letter.
After getting several second opinions, they’re fairly certain that the map is to the Great Rock Dale, where Harley, Bhur, James, and Roth had fought the wyverns. It has a particular spot marked with the word, “Lorkimeht.” They also ask around the camp, and finally find someone who can read Goblin, at least vaguely. He reads the letter, as best he can:
“To Lorkimeht,
“This treasure is yours. We pay you for the ‘broken rock.’ If you killed our last messenger in anger last time, my master forgives you, but warns you not to cross us again. If you have another offer, write it to us, but do not stall. You have until. . . .
“—The Blessed Order of Eternal Night, Followers of Chult”
The guard doesn’t know how Goblin dates work, so he can’t guess what the last part of the letter means. However, everyone has heard of the followers of Chult, the human god of death.
Apparently, someone is willing to pay a lot of money for a ‘broken rock,’ and the party guesses that that someone is Limoges. It also seems like the trolls weren’t planning to deliver the message, since they’d kept the chest for several weeks according to Bhur’s pet Goblin. Vic suggests they leave immediately to track down this Lorkimeht, and though they’re weary from travel, Harley and James agree. Totally ignoring Allar’s orders, they make plans to set out and find Lorkimeht before Limoges can.
Previously, as the early morning sun rises over the burning Thornwood:
James, Bhur, and Vic rush back to where Roth and Harley are, filling each other in on the events of the fights and fire. Bhur tells the elemental to begin putting out the flames to stop at least part of the burn, so that Oleane’s grove will be safe. When they get to the clearing, Bhur uses the last of his healing magic to keep Roth from dying, and James tosses the dark Elf woman’s spear to Harley for safe-keeping.
James shoulders Roth and carries him back to the general location of Oleane’s grove, escorted by Vic. Harley, Bhurisrava, and the elemental stay behind to manage the extinguishing of the fires. The whole time they do so, Bhur comments continually about how much he’s going to love having this water elemental for a pet. After about two hours, it begins to seriously disturb Harley. Likewise, Vic has begun to brag about how of course they used water, Vic’s favored element, to save the forest. James reminds him that the elemental is still a dangerous creature, but Vic shrugs off the concern, assuring James that his magic can control the elemental.
A few hours later, a wearied, sleepless Bhurisrava and Harley find their way back to Oleane’s grove. James is still awake, watching over Vic and Allar while they doze. It’s all Bhurisrava can do to command the elemental to sit still and do nothing. And so Bhurisrava, Roth, Allar, Vic, and Harley sleep soundly, while James guards stoically, and the elemental stews motionlessly.
And then in the early afternoon, true to form, James wakes Harley up before she can even get six hours of sleep.
“Bhurisrava, calm down,” Vic groans, blinking at the light and cringing at the wailful cries coming from Bhur. “What’s wrong, buddy?”
Bhurisrava holds up his hand, his eyes red and sad, but not teary. He splays his fingers meaningfully, then whimpers out, “They t-took my ring. My elemental is gone!”
Vic snaps his fingers in frustration, his hands clenching angrily. “Aww, I was gonna use that elemental!”
Bhurisrava turns desperately, staring at the nymph Brookthorn, who is swaddled from head to toe to cover her burns. “You. Tell me! Where did they take my- m my,” sniffling overcomes Bhur for a moment, and then he pouts at her, “my elemental?”
Shaking her head, Brookthorn shrugs, wincing as she does so. Her once-gentle voice is now tinged with a quiet crackling, like the sound of trodding on leaves. “Hera and James took the nereid back to its rightful owner. They left hours ago.”
Bhur’s expression switches instantly from sympathy-inducing sadness to rage. “Bloody Buddha!” (Bhur tends to use anachronisms like these) “I’m gonna get my elemental back from those ungodly thieves.”
From the stone pallet he’d been resting on, Allar groans and nearly awakens. Vic nudges Bhurisrava and points at Allar, then to Roth, who is likewise quite injured. “These guys can’t just stay like this. They need healing. I mean, come on, you’re a healer, so if you heal them, they’ll want to help us get the elemental back, right?”
Bhur scowls at Vic for a moment, then rolls his eyes, sighing. “I’ll get them on their feet, but I’m not some stupid miracle dispenser. If they healing, they can get it themselves.”
Brookthorn coughs, ash sprinkling around her in a thin cloud. Unhappily, she stares at Bhurisrava. “You’re being very selfish for a priest of a god who heals.”
Bhur scoffs, then adopts a reverent expression. “The Lord came back he was stabbed and crucified and stuff, so. . . ,” he frowns, “unless you want Al’ and Roth to end up like the Lord, you’d better tell me the nearest healer other than me.”
* * *
Near nightfall the next day, Bhurisrava and Vic lead the way into the construction camp at the Eastern Rift, Allar and Roth following behind on crutches. Torches and the setting sun illuminate the low wooden fence that rims the camp, and the guards look at them warily as they come into viewing distance.
“I am Bhurisrava,” Bhurisrava announces loudly, “one who spreads the word of God, and I have brought these two injured men to be healed by the pagan priest you have among you. What’s his name again?”
“Lafayer,” Allar says with a wheeze, amazed at Bhurisrava’s behavior. “Please, is Lafayer here?”
The guards ask some questions in curiosity and give Bhurisrava dirty looks, but eventually lead the four men inside the camp and get out raised cots for Allar and Roth to rest on. Roth, who had been quiet through the entire trip, falls asleep. They had hiked for eight hours the day before, stopping in Thurmaster for the evening, then set out to find the healer Lafayer at the edge of the Tunda Mountains. While they were in Thurmaster, Tauster had given a metal flask of ale to Roth, which he had been sipping all day through the hike. Now, after a trek totaling over forty miles, Roth apparently is ready to sleep.
As some of the guards go and find Lafayer, Allar explains what this camp is here for. Less than a hundred feet to the east is a wide, deep rift that spans nearly a mile east to west, but dozens of miles through craglands north or south. The sinkhole opened beneath the only clear and easy trade road between the Haranshire and the nation-state of Elsterton, to the east. The road passed through the Southern Tunda Mountains, which is too rugged to cross easily unless on a well-tended road. The sinkhole happened decades ago, and began a long-term decline in the area, but Allar and his companions had used the money they’d earned from their adventuring to help fund a bridge that would span the sinkhole.
The bridge is a huge construction, with struts over fifty feet high in places, and nearly a mile long. The only bridges to rival them are the Seven Great Spans of Seaquen, which are practically cities unto themselves. Allar makes a note to point out that much of the cost of the construction was covered by Nozama Imperial donations (the road will help trade throughout the empire), but Allar has been providing the funding for housing the builders.
Allar hired a lot of guards because a lot of Goblins and Trolls make their home on the far side of the rift, and would not want a road full of merchants and soldiers passing through their homes, so the guards are waiting in case the tribes attack.
There have been several attacks so far, but the builders have finally managed to finish the several thousand foot-long bridge, so all that remains is for the railing to be completed, and for Lafayer to symbolically bless the bridge. By now, most of the builders have left, leaving only about a hundred workmen and laborers, guarded by three dozen hired soldiers.
Vic, who has only talked to Allar for a couple minutes ever before, is quite impressed with his generosity. He has been to this bridge before (when they had to heal James’s poison spiderbite), but he wasn’t aware quite what was going on. Now that he does, he asks if Allar’s generosity would extend far enough for him to want to hire Vic.
Allar smiles in disbelief. “Why would you want to work for me? You’ve only been here a few days, and already you nearly got killed by mercenaries who are out to kill me and anyone I know.”
Smiling knowingly, Vic shrugs. “Well, I mean, those guys deserve to be tracked down, right? If I have the choice, I don’t let people who hurt others get away with it. And, um. . . . I’ve heard you’re friends with that gnome wizard, um . . . David Waryeye, right? I’d gladly risk my life for the chance to learn from the Archmage of the Haranshire.”
Allar laughs, restraining himself slightly because of his injuries. “I like your outlook, Vic, but honestly, David’s not much of an archmage. Actually, aside from him, the only two real mages in the Haranshire are Tauster and Jenneleth. If you want archmages, go to the Lyceian Academy.”
Vic leans forward, shaking a hand. “No, you don’t understand. I went to the Lyceian Academy, four years ago, and heard that Professor Waryeye was really talented in combat magic, though maybe not so much in actually teaching his students.”
[Meta: Justin, Vic’s player, knew next to nothing about the Lyceian Academy, except that Harley and James had helped save some wizards there, so it came as a surprise to me that apparently Vic had been there before. Also, I hadn’t planned David to have been a professor, but I couldn’t deny Justin’s originality.]
Somewhat nervously, Allar smiles. “I’d be a little afraid of anyone David taught combat tactics to, but when he gets back, I’ll introduce him to you. Consider yourself hired.”
Bhurisrava groans. “Vic, you’re gonna stay here? I was thinking that as soon as I can make sure these guys aren’t still coming after me, I’ll be heading some place with more Christian hospitality.”
Vic shrugs, saying that he just feels like he can do something useful here. As for hospitality, Allar chimes in that his friend David is a Christian, and has been trying to convert him ever since they first met. Gnomish Christians are even rarer than Elves who follow the faith, so this quiets Bhur for a while as he contemplates it.
Then, to provide further proof that the Haranshire is hospitable, Lafayer arrives now. He’s a kindly, middle-aged man with a slender build and an expression that looks as if he might once have tried to be unkind, but he just gave up and decided it was easier to be nice. Lafayer takes a look at Allar, going into a slight trance as he examines the man’s injuries. When Allar killed the small imp sent after him, the creature exploded, but in addition to burns, some type of lingering infernal taint has been impeding his healing.
The priest says a few prayers to Meliska, a goddess of life and healing, and manages to purify the taint, then heal the rest of Allar and Roth’s wounds. He admits that he is honestly amazed that Allar was able to hike the several dozen miles to the work camp with three broken ribs and several shattered fingers (from when a tree trunk fell on him), plus moderate burns on his face and chest.
Bhur takes this moment to interject that he was responsible for healing most of the burns on Allar. Lafayer thanks him for that, but says that in the future, it would probably be safer for him just to get bed rest in Milbourne.
Laughing, Bhur shakes his head. “No, he needs to be awake, because there are people trying to kill us. We already had one of our own friends try to steal from us; it wasn’t safe to stay where we were.”
The group makes conversation for another hour or so, Vic flipping through his spellbook and making notes on a spell of invisibility. Allar states that the next morning he plans to head out and contact an old friend who he thinks will be able to help. Hopefully he’ll be back in three days, but until then, he’ll need Vic and Bhur to meet up with Harley and James and keep watch over what’s going on. To assist in this, he sends three of the guards out on horseback to go to Milbourne, Thurmaster, and Harlaton to try to find James and Harley.
Finally, after a late dinner is served during shift changeover, Lafayer wishes them well and heads to his tent. Guards escort them to tents of their own, but Bhur and Vic have to share one, as to Allar and Roth, due to space limitations. Before Vic and Bhur go to bed, though, they discuss combat magic, trying to come up with things they could do with their combined powers.
* * *
Bhur bolts awake and grabs the small figure trying to sneak through their tent, screaming, “I won’t let you steal my ring twice!”
Vic stumbles awake and knocks into the figure Bhur has started to grapple with, and sounds come from around camp as nearby tents wake up at the commotion.
Pummeling the tiny, shrouded figure with his fists, Bhur growls, “Now why couldn’t I wake up when it counted? Sure,” he sighs, yanking a dagger out of the person’s hand, “wake up to stop a murder attempt, but can I twitch when they pull a frikkin’ ring off my finger? Nooooo.”
Allar rushes in, tearing open the tent flap. His black scimitar glows faintly along its diamond edge, providing enough light to make out the tiny figure on the floor.
“Bhur,” Vic says in astonishment, “you’re killing a kid.”
Bhur pulls the figure to its feet, then yanks off the covering hood. “You must still be asleep, Vic. This Goblin here tried to sneak in and kill us. . . . Um, they don’t have a pet Goblin in this camp, do they? If they do, I mean, . . . big mistake.”
The guards assembled around the tent assure him there aren’t any ‘pet Goblins,’ and then move to fortify the camp’s defenses. Allar has Vic and Bhur hold the Goblin still as he interrogates it quickly, since he can actually speak Goblin. Gibbering out words that all sound like “Geeba,” Allar quickly gets frustrated when all the Goblin will say is that they’re planning to attack. To Allar, that fact was exceedingly obvious.
Allar tells them to have one of the guards tie up the Goblin, and then come with him to defend the bridge, but as Allar walks off, Bhur tries speaking to the Goblin, since the language sounds easy enough.
“Geebos meesa greeb?”
The Goblin looks at him in confusion, and replies, “Geebos goob?”
Bhur shrugs, and drags the Goblin to be tied up, wondering what the heck they just said to each other.
[meta: We made a point to write down what was said. The exchange means, “Is the food bad?” and “What food?”]
Once the Goblin is thoroughly tied up and held under guard, Bhurisrava rushes to meet Allar, Vic, Roth, and two dozen other guards at the near end of the bridge. The rest of the guards are waiting within the camp, along with the hundreds of builders, in case the attackers get through. At the edge of the rift, they can see large shapes moving across the bridge toward them, but the torchlight and moonlight are too faint to make out much.
Bhur, squinting down the length of the bridge, is the first to speak. “Allar, what do you know about trolls?”
Allar pauses for a moment, then nods. “Yeah, there’s at least three of them. Um . . . what’s to tell? They’re vicious, tall, easy to trip and easy to burn, at least water trolls like these. You never saw these things much until a few years ago.” Allar then turns and tells the rest of the group that there are three or more trolls approaching, covering themselves with huge shields, and probably a few dozen Goblins with them. He suggests they save their arrows unless they have a good shot, at least until the trolls drop the shields and charge. He then dispatches four guards in either direction along the side of the rift, so they’ll be able to fire around the edge of the tower shields. They also erect a makeshift barrier at the edge of the bridge, consisting of a few dozen barrels worth of supplies to slow the advance.
All of the guards are in place and ready before the approaching creatures even get within five hundred feet, and Allar gives the order to fire a few arrows to unnerve the Goblins and Trolls, not really expecting many to hit. As the arrows begin to fly, the Trolls begin to jog forward, followed by sprinting Goblins struggling to stay within the defensive ring provided by the shields. Finally, when the trolls are about fifty feet away, Allar gives the order to charge. Allar leads the charge, with Roth by his side and the guards following close behind. Smiling, Bhurisrava holds Vic back, suggesting a plan.
As the two groups clash together, Allar cartwheels through a narrow gap between two of the tower shields, slashing at the trolls holding them before he even lands on his feet. Right behind him, Roth leaps onto one of the shields and sprints up it, even though it is nearly vertical. He leaps at the top and brings down his bastard sword upon the troll whose shield he has just scaled.
Right behind them, the camp’s soldiers hold their ground and lean their shoulders into the shields of the trolls as the huge creatures try to overrun them. In frustration, the trolls toss aside their shields (one just lifts it and cracks it over the head of a guard like a folding chair), clearing the way for full melee. Over fifty shoddily armed Goblins follow close behind, so many that the bridge (only twenty feet wide) is too narrow for them all to fight effectively. They scramble between the legs of the trolls, some clamber along the sides of the unfinished railing, and others simply hurl stones into the crowd of human soldiers.
Twenty feet away from the main rush of battle, Vic and Bhur struggle to pull down one of the heavy supply barrels that makes up the barricade. One Goblin rushes at them, slashing a stone handaxe at Vic, but he dodges and kicks the Goblin off its feet. Before the creature can get back up, Bhur slams it in the chest with his warhammer. Then, both of the magic-users go back to work on the barrel.
Allar and Roth stay close together amid the crowd of Goblins and trolls, Roth roaring wildly as he takes down foes with slashes, bashes, punches, headbutts, and spittle, while Allar divides time between disemboweling one troll and cutting down any Goblin who strays too close. Despite his fervor, Roth is set upon by a few too many of the scrawny Goblins, so he makes his way toward the side of the bridge so they can’t fully surround him. Cheering, [“GEEBA!”] the Goblins give chase, hoping to shove the warrior into the ravine below.
A few human soldiers go down, but the rest fight fiercely to prevent the Goblins from killing the wounded. The Goblins have started to swarm past the trolls and overwhelm the soldiers, when from the end of the bridge Vic shouts, “Guys, get out of the way!” and Bhur shouts, “Geebos meesa greeb?!”
The soldiers scramble to the sides when they see a heavy barrel rolling toward them, large enough to knock a man down or crush a Goblin. The Goblins, however, pause for a moment to wonder why the heck an Elf is asking them about food in the middle of battle. Right as the barrel reaches the nearest crowd of Goblins, Bhurisrava raises his hand high. A beam of flaming white sunlight springs out and strikes the barrel, tearing it in half and setting its contents on fire. The two severed halves of the barrel spin wildly, spraying the surrounding Goblins with flaming oil. Victorious’s metamorphose liquid spell has come in handy again.
Now that a huge swath of the bridge is aflame, the trolls panic, backing away from the flames desperately. Allar ducks low and slashes the back of the kneecap as one goes by, his black scimitar severing its leg cleanly. The troll starts to topple backward, but Allar throws his weight at it, trying to force it into the flames. To the creature’s relief, it manages to fall sideways, away from the fire, but then it realizes that it is too close to the edge. With a yowl of anger, the troll flips off the side of the bridge, landing with a surprisingly wet splat.
On the opposite side of the bridge from which the troll had fallen, Roth has quit roaring, and is instead looking for a way to break past the half-dozen Goblins that are trying to shove him over the edge (no railings, remember). Finally, one of the Goblins stabs a rusted metal spear into Roth’s leg, and he resigns himself to the fact that he is going to fall. His leg buckles as the blade digs deep, but before he falls, he drops his sword, grabs the shaft of the spear, and wrenches it sideways, swinging the Goblin on his own spearshaft. Roth and the Goblin fall over the edge at the same time, but Roth manages to catch himself on one of the cut stones of the bridge. He digs his fingers into the crack, then begins to shimmy sideways toward the nearest support strut, where he can see a wooden scaffolding. He makes it with a few moments of strength to spare, and collapses in near-exhaustion onto the rickety scaffold.
“Another one coming up,” Vic shouts as both he and Bhurisrava run down the bridge, rolling a heavy barrel before them. They let go a few feet before the first slick of flames, and the barrel rolls jarringly across the bodies of the Goblins who fell in the fire. It continues to bounce down the length of the bridge toward the remaining attackers, who back away quickly when they see another flaming barrel approaching them.
Allar, who aside from Roth was the only person standing on the far side of the flaming oil slick, sighs in frustration when he realizes that the rest of the guards are cut off from helping him. Shrugging, he runs alongside the second barrel as it proceeds toward the remaining trolls and Goblins. At the last moment, he slashes at the barrel’s rim with his swords, ripping it open and spilling another pool of oil, which catches aflame from the fires clinging to the wood. Then, undaunted by the fire, he keeps running, meeting a troll head on, flashing blades meeting against tearing claws. The troll manages to grab Allar on the shoulder, for which he is rewarded by having his hand slashed off. Howling, this second troll backs away, leaving one last troll and a dozen Goblins still waiting to fight.
Lafayer, who had been out of the combat so far, gathers the warriors still standing and casts a defensive spell that will shield them from the fire for a few moments. With renewed vigor, the soldiers shout a battle cry and charge through the flames to come to Allar’s aid.
Bhur, assuming the battle will be over momentarily gives Lafayer the fantasy equivalent of a thumbs up, and then begins to look for his captured Goblin. Vic grabs him and tells him to keep fighting, so the priest reluctantly follows Vic, as they both climb sideways along the edge of bridge (to avoid the flames). As Bhur surmised, though, the fight is completed before they can give any further aid, though they are able to climb down and help Roth get to safety so Lafayer can heal him.
Allar makes sure to burn the bodies of the trolls, and after everyone is brought back to be healed (none of the guards died, but many nearly did), Allar takes out a group of four guards to track down the one troll who fell off the bridge. Though the fall would have killed any normal creature, these trolls are watery, able to settle back into their natural form the way a pool of water settles if you disturb it. Vic and Bhur volunteer to go along with Allar, and Bhur makes sure to bring along the Goblin prisoner, who he has named “Gee-Bud.” Hopefully the Goblin will be able to show them the way to the troll lair.
Much intimidation and gibbering Goblinspeak later, they manage to follow the Goblin’s directions to the troll’s cave, which is nearby a large, stagnant pool, about four miles beyond the far side of the bridge. Allar scouts around and finds a few Goblin sentries, but Vic says he can handle it. He pulls out a small cup, fills it with water, and tells one of the guards to hold it, very still. He then chants an incantation, and Vic vanishes, but a wavering form of him appears in the water, like a reflection. Chuckling softly, he tells them to have bows ready, and that he’ll be back in a few minutes, assuming they don’t spill any of the water. As Vic slips away, they can make out a very faint shimmer, like moonlight reflecting off rippling waters.
Invisible, Vic manages to sneak into the cave easily. He finds the injured troll sitting on a large stone bed. Its leg has regrown into a thin, formless pseudopod, with the full features slowly appearing as it regains its normal form. From a safe distance, Vic flicks a handful of salt at the troll, chanting softly to cast insatiable thirst. The troll suddenly gurgles, then looks around for something to drink, feeling as if it will die unless it can get a drink. Roaring desperately, it bursts past the handful of Goblins that lounge around the cave. The troll runs outside toward the pool of stagnant water, and Vic can clearly hear the twanging of multiple bowstrings as Allar and the guards pepper the creature. Vic finishes off by shooting a powerful spray of water that knocks two of the Goblins unconscious (but disrupts his invisibility spell), and then he runs outside.
It is an easy matter for them to set the troll on fire and drive off the remaining Goblins, which leaves them free to rest briefly as they loot the meager treasure the trolls had accumulated. Most of it is scattered around the cot of the leader troll, consisting of a few hundred coins and a thick blanket. However, far more interesting is a small, finely made, black metal chest with an actual lock. The chest is closed and locked, and Bhur’s Goblin pet “Gee-Bud” says they got it from some humans, but they weren’t able to ever get it open. Apparently the leader troll lost the key.
They puzzle over this for a while, and one of the guards tries unsuccessfully to pick the lock, but finally they decide to just take it back to camp. Vic looks around for a weapon he could keep as a trophy, but everything available is in wretched condition, so he shrugs and makes a note to shop for a nice, good axe.
When they get back to camp, there is a small celebration, but almost everyone is too sleepy to put much spirit into it, so they put up a skeleton guard crew in case some Goblins come back, and then go to bed.
* * *
The next morning, Allar sets out at sunrise, giving Bhurisrava and Victorious the following instructions.
- Wait for James and Harley to get to this camp, then take the chest to Tauster to see if he can open it. The thieves already have the Book of Darlakanand, so there has to be some reason they haven’t just taken it and left yet, and the Goblin’s information suggests that the ‘Limoges’ who is responsible for the theft also was in touch with these trolls.
- If Tauster can’t get it open, just bash it open, but be ready for casualties in case it’s trapped. He doesn’t think it is trapped, but he’d prefer not to mess with it if there’s anything fragile inside.
- Go back to Oleane’s grove and check with her to see if she has anymore leads.
- Make sure to be waiting for Allar’s return in three days. He’ll show up at The Baron of Mutton, in Milbourne.
- But before you do any of this, Bhur, get rid of the Goblin as a pet. Escort it to the far end of the bridge and let it go, but warn it never to try attacking them again. Of course it won’t listen, but it’s the proper thing to do.
As soon as Allar rides off, Bhur promises Vic loudly that he won’t be letting his new pet go. The Goblin must be rehabilitated and trained, and taught humility. Still, they do follow the instruction to wait for Harley and James.
The only interesting thing that happens for the next few hours is when they learn what Tauster gave to Roth. Apparently, after Vic gave the old wizard that flask of Dwarven spirits, he enchanted a metal flask to refill with Dwarf spirits whenever commanded to do so. Even though he says it doesn’t taste exactly right, Roth has been taking small sips for the past day and a half, trying to build up his resistance. Instead, he just seems wretchedly drunk.
Around noon, Harley and James ride into the camp, along with the guard Allar had dispatched to find them. They had stopped by Oleane’s grove the night before last, and then stayed in Thurmaster last night. Though Harley is a little frustrated that Allar left them alone to go find a ‘friend,’ she is glad to hear that he’s fully healed. Also, when Vic shows her the metal chest the trolls had, she offers to give unlocking it a try. About a minute later, she manages to pick the lock, claiming she learned the trick from her time as a stage magician.
The chest isn’t trapped, though there is a glass inkwell inside that would have shattered if they’d tried to bash it open. Additionally, they a sheet of paper written in Goblin, several blank sheets, a heavy pouch of gold coins, a second pouch of smoothed stones of jet, and a map. Judging by the crispness of the handwriting, it probably wasn’t an actual Goblin writing the letter.
After getting several second opinions, they’re fairly certain that the map is to the Great Rock Dale, where Harley, Bhur, James, and Roth had fought the wyverns. It has a particular spot marked with the word, “Lorkimeht.” They also ask around the camp, and finally find someone who can read Goblin, at least vaguely. He reads the letter, as best he can:
“To Lorkimeht,
“This treasure is yours. We pay you for the ‘broken rock.’ If you killed our last messenger in anger last time, my master forgives you, but warns you not to cross us again. If you have another offer, write it to us, but do not stall. You have until. . . .
“—The Blessed Order of Eternal Night, Followers of Chult”
The guard doesn’t know how Goblin dates work, so he can’t guess what the last part of the letter means. However, everyone has heard of the followers of Chult, the human god of death.
Apparently, someone is willing to pay a lot of money for a ‘broken rock,’ and the party guesses that that someone is Limoges. It also seems like the trolls weren’t planning to deliver the message, since they’d kept the chest for several weeks according to Bhur’s pet Goblin. Vic suggests they leave immediately to track down this Lorkimeht, and though they’re weary from travel, Harley and James agree. Totally ignoring Allar’s orders, they make plans to set out and find Lorkimeht before Limoges can.
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