Watch For Falling Meteors [4E KotS] Updated Weekdays!

[Xorn]

“So were ye born in Fallcrest, then?”

Omar lit the plug of tobacco stuffed into his pipe with a burning twig from the campfire, tossing the stick back into the low flames as he took a few draws in.

Daichot turned over the rabbit leg he had picked clean of meat once in his greasy fingers, a final inspection that there was only bone left, then tossed the remains into the fire. As the coals accepted the bone with a raspy sizzle, he licked his fingers clean and responded to the dwarf. “Best I can tell.” Omar just listened to him, and the tiefling continued quietly. “My first memories are in Fallcrest. No family, really. Grew up on the streets of the lower town,” he explained, holding his left hand lower than the right, as if they were a map of Fallcrest, “in some bad places. Don’t know who my father was, and only vague memories of someone that might have been my mother.”

“Which one was a devil?” mumbled Percy through a mouthful of rabbit. While an outstanding cook, well enough to fit the halfling stereotypes, he ate like a starving goat, having already polished off a whole rabbit—of the two that Oleaf procured as they had set up camp along the King’s Road that evening. “Err,” he caught his poor choice of words, “what I mean is,” he swallowed his mouthful of meat and wiped his face with his sleeve, “was yer mom a human… or?”

“Yes,” said Daichot flatly. If the halfling’s bluntness bothered him, it didn’t show. Few tielfings were strangers to such comments or curiosities. “My mother was human, I remember that, which is probably why she left.” He shrugged, “being the mother of a bastard tiefling son in the lower city had to be tough. I don’t wish her ill.” Omar considered the warlord’s words and took another draw from his pipe, nodding to himself in agreement with Daichot’s attitude.

Without prompting, he continued. “There’s bigger worries than whether you’ve been wronged when you’re a tiefling, ten years old, and homeless.” He smiled. “If you didn’t want to end up dead then you had to learn to take care of yourself—so I did. Ended up taking care of some other orphans, too. We holed up in a broken down warehouse for a time, and before I knew it, we’d carved out our own little section of the town to ourselves.”

Oleaf was sitting at the outskirts of the camp with her back to them, watching into the dark forest, sitting on a lump of rolled up hides that were her armor. She had taken the braids out of her long, silky hair, and was combing it out with her fingers. Daichot looked across the camp to her slim form, half-lit by the light of the fire, and the others noticed their quiet companion.

“What about you, Oleaf?” She glanced over her shoulder at the tielfling, but didn’t speak. Her wide eyes were hauntingly lit by the fire. “What brought you out of Harkenwold Forest?”

She turned away again, looking up at the stars; it was a clear night, with no clouds. If the foreboding menace of the tangled, overgrown trees around them didn’t feel so encompassing at the edges of the clearing, the night sky would have been a glimpse of serenity. After running her hands through her hair a few more times, and giving enough thought to the question, she called back over her shoulder, “It was too small.”

“Amen to that,” said Percy, “you can’t keep folks like us tied down to one place.” He was talking with his mouth stuffed, and only after a few moments was what he said clear. “Free spirits on the open road, ya know?” They were quiet for another while longer, till Omar was tapping the ashes of his smoke out of his pipe.

“So then how’d ye end up with’at caravan, choppin’ ye’re axe inta nae too many a kobold?”

“Oh,” Daichot shrugged, “well after a time, I’d somehow gotten responsible, for a lot of young ones. One thing led to another and I just felt there had to be more to my destiny than to defend a few dirty alleyways in a rundown city from the scum that lives there. I made arrangements with the sun temple to look after them, and decided to seek my fortune. Everything I own I’m carrying and every bit of it I earned the hard way.”

“Wow,” said Percy, “so you had this awesome ring of orphan lackeys to do all the work for you, and you gave it up because you wanted some recognition? I can relate to that!”

“No. That’s not what I said.”

“Well,” the rogue said slyly, “that’s how I would have played that out. That’s what led me here—just wasn’t enough going for ole’ Percy to stick around the last dump I was in, so I had’ta jump on the riverboat and see what there was to be seen. Now I’ve slayed me a dragon, and you guys saw it!” Percy absently toyed with a dragon tooth he had threaded on a cord about his neck. “So what about you Omar, why did ya leave Hammerfast? That’s where yer from ain’t it?”

“Me clan was wiped out. Ahm all that’s left.” Omar slid down the tree he was leaning against, and pulled his helm over his eyes, dismissing any further inquiries.

 

[RabidBob]

Well written sir! Looking forward to future updates.

 

[Xorn]

His breathing consisted of labored, rasping gulps and gasps of air as Vrax favored his weight onto the butt of a spear he clutched tightly to for support. Traveling along the King’s Road to Winterhaven was dangerous enough; making the trip alone was more risk than any sensible folk would take. Being sensible, Vrax had waited at the gates for anyone heading for Winterhaven, and ended up accompanying a single cart of goods driven by a merchant, and two hired swords keeping pace with the merchandise, which was mostly furs and salt.

They had not refused the wizards company, but it was apparent they didn’t want it. Even though the doubt they had in Vrax’s ability was plainly displayed on their faces, it was still best not to take chances with a wizard.

“You’ll hafta keep up,” the grisly-faced merchant had said, “’cause I ain’t slowin’ down my wagon fer ya.”

The dragonborn had nodded away the requirement, but the sun was getting low, just nipping the tops of the trees and painting the ground in an uneasy twilight, which only seemed to amplify the ambient sounds of the forest. By his best guess, it had been two hours since he could still see the cart, and he’d been alone since that time, hobbling with his unseemly gait without rest. His body hurt all over, but Vrax knew that he had to reach wherever the merchant set up camp if he wished to stop.

Pulling his waterskin out from under the drape of his robe, Vrax gulped a long draw from the skin, feeling his head explode with relief and pain at the same time, as the cool rush of fluid on the humid summer day made the edges of his snout ache. He probably shouldn’t have drank so fast, but he felt like his body was just about to stop, right here on the road, and leave his mind to do what it wished. Had to keep going, couldn’t stop here, and die; not yet.

As Vrax let the half empty skin drop back under his robes again, he felt a jolt of elation as he saw a thin wisp of smoke rising into the sky. He had to be very close to see a campfire rising from the trees, and his painful hobbling quickened. After only having passed another hundred paces along the old road that was fighting off reclamation from the forest, his excitement and finally reaching the small caravan quickly shattered into the realization that the thin wisps of smoke were starting to become thicker, and rising in more erratic bursts. The caravan was on fire, and farther away than it had seemed.

Feeling the urgency of the moment, Vrax grimaced at the ache in his joints and began to run as fast as his thin muscles could carry him. His step was not fluid, and he could not keep the pace long with the burning pain spreading through his body, but he managed to run long enough to see the cart, shattered by a fallen tree that had crashed across the road. Most of the cart and the tree that was lying amidst the wreckage were on fire, and kobolds were swarming over the road, overwhelming the two swordsmen quickly. Either of the men were more than a match for a kobold, maybe even two—but there were eight of the little beasts swarming about them, and both of the guards found themselves surrounded, and their roars for battle turned to cries of pain as spears pierced them.

Vrax knew there was little time left to act. He whispered a long forgotten word of power, awakening the mighty, untapped power of the arcane currents in the world, and drew their devastating potential into a ball of flashing white light upon his palm. Scanning the battlefield, he noted a larger kobold than the others, wearing a bone mask and shouting commands to the rest of the attackers. With a carefully practiced thrust, Vrax sent the tiny missile of light zipping through the air, clipping the kobold priest across the shoulder, spinning him to the ground, but not seriously wounding the leader.

He spat at his poor aim as the furious priest called for all of the kobolds to attack the newcomer to the battle. They turned as one and raced impossibly fast at the dragon mage, who began to call upon the element of his birth, the fire that burned within him—the power that surpassed his weakness. Vrax waited until the yapping wave of spears was nearly upon him, then unleashed hell on this world.

Raising his hands in a twisted pattern of arcane power, a jet of flame cascaded from his hands, flooding amidst their ranks and burning them with a fury that was not natural. The hapless kobold warriors tried to scream, but the torrent of fire consumed everything around them, even their breath, and left only a fading roar as fresh air rushed to fill the void left by the fire that was gone as quickly as Vrax had summoned it.

As the charred and smoldering remains of the kobolds cooled in the breeze, leaving a smoky trail of stinking burnt flesh rising from the blast site, the wizard noted the wyrmpriest pulling himself to his feet and hopping atop the toppled, burning tree. As the think screamed ferociously, Vrax felt a tugging urge to chuckle at the impossibly high voice that assaulted him, “You will die, draconian!” Raising both hands above him, the priest summoned a green ball of mist from the air as his own robes fluttered with the torrent of mystic energy powering his summons. Vrax calmly walked towards the creature, unimpressed with the display, and oblivious to the protest of his tired body amidst the battle.

The priest hurled the orb of hissing liquid at him, and Vrax held up his palm, thumb flat across his palm, and watched the globular ball of acid splash harmlessly across an invisible wall of force the wizard had imposed between him and the coming attack. With a grin of tiny, sharp teeth, Vrax strode confidently towards the wyrmpriest. “No, little cousin, I don’t think you understand. You have grossly overestimated your chances against me.”

Raising both his arms in a similar fashion to the wyrmpriest, Vrax continued to walk towards the kobold, as the air above him began to waver and ripple with heat. A swirling breeze began to whip about the dragonborn, and an unearthly, living globe of fire began to swell above his head. The wyrmpriest, sensing the power radiating from the wizard turned to flee towards the safety of the woods, but Vrax already had completed his conjuration. He hurled the globe of wizard fire at the fleeing creature, and the ball hurtled with a hungry thirst for flesh, enveloping the beast and consuming him with a roar of yawning, expiring air.

As the globe of flame came to rest, a scorched blast of earth trailing up to it, Vrax dismissed the mighty fire with a thought, severing the tie to the arcane storm that sustained the unnatural fire in the mundane world. As the rush of the battle slowed, and his heart slowed, he felt the familiar ache of his weak frame reminding him of hour hard he had exerted himself. Slumping against his spear which he braced against the ground, he called out. “Is anyone still alive?”

 

[Xorn]

It was the third morning since they had left the town of Fallcrest shrinking behind them, and songbirds were chirping merrily as the band of adventurers made their way up a winding path, climbing the rolling slopes of the lower foothills towards Winterhaven. The small, stone walled village was visible in the distance now, highlighted crisply by the sun splashing across its face, just now beginning to peak over the thick canopy of the dark forest lands that were slowly giving way to the Cairngorn Mountains further to the east. A bluish green haze of angular, rocky peaks clawed at the sky, and made the growing walls of Winterhaven look miniscule and insignificant.

“I tell ya what,” blurted Percy, trailing behind the towering warlord that marched in front of him, “this road has a serious infestation problem.” He was eyeing the thinning forest warily, “I gotta admit, I’m getting a little tired of killing kobolds!”

“Ye’re not tired o’ cuttin’ ther thumbs off though, are ye?” asked Omar, a dozen steps ahead of the warlord, leading their journey to the town that was now in sight. Percy had insisted on collecting the thumbs from the eight kobolds that had ambushed them only an hour before, almost within sight of the town. As they had entered a narrow pass that had been created ages ago by the weight of the looming mountains above them, the small assailants had swarmed after them, incorrectly deciding that four lone travelers would be an easy target.

“You never know,” pointed out the halfling, “they might be paying a bounty in the town!”

Daichot shrugged at the halfling’s logic. While they had won enough coin from the venture into the Kobold Hall to stay in the best inn Fallcrest had, the money would not last forever. As they got closer to the town, the forest had completely given way to rocky grassland, and the occasional thatch cottage sprouted up from the terrain along the road, overlooking well-tended farmland. Once on the way up the sloping trail to the walls of the town they noticed a group of field hands had stopped their work to watch the heavily armed and armored companions walking to the city gates.

“Do these look like terrified people to you, Omar?”

The dwarf answered the tiefling without looking back, “Cinnae say ‘at they do, lad.” He lowered his maul off of his shoulder as he walked across the worn pathway. “Matter of fact, they just look, curious, ta’ me.” Percy was waving to them enthusiastically, willing to accept any attention as a hero’s welcome. One of the workers waved back hesitantly.

“They don’t know who you are, Percy.” Daichot reminded the halfling, slightly annoyed.

“How do you know?” The rogue challenged, “Maybe our reputation precedes us!”

Daichot didn’t seem to have a lot of patience for Percy after prolonged exposure to the halfling, and did not drop the point. “I didn’t see anyone pass us on the road from Fallcrest,” Percy seemed like he was going to interrupt when the warlord looked over his shoulder, “and I’m pretty sure that if anyone had flow to Winterhaven on a dragon to tell them we were coming to help—“ the sarcasm was heavy in his words, “they would have just flown us over to Winterhaven in the first place.”

Percy looked a little miffed, but had no immediate argument to the statement. “Well, maybe it was a small dragon,” was all he could come up with, and he mumbled the comment with about the same conviction as the comment held merit.

“No one has traveled within earshot of the road without my notice,” proclaimed Oleaf reassuringly.

It took twenty more minutes to get up to the gates of the town, which was really not much more than a bunch of semi-sturdy buildings packed into a walled in rectangle. Omar seemed impressed with the stonework of the structure, even though is wasn’t dwarven in design, it was sturdy, and had stood for several centuries, at least. Two human guards, wearing cured leather armor and leaning casually on spears from atop the gatehouse hailed them.

“Omar Irontoe, of the Irontoe clan, come from Fallcrest to yer summons fer aid!” answered the dwarf.

“Daichot.” He pulled off his helm, feeling a cool morning breeze that was fluttering down out of the mountains cool his red scalp, which was a sharp contrast to the mat of blue hair that was damp with sweat and tangled from the confines of his helmet. Silver eyes sparkled as he smiled up to the guards. “Also here to answer your call to arms.” He motioned behind him to the other two. “As are these two—“ he pointed at the halfling, then to the elf, “Percy and Oleaf”.

“Percy the Dragonslayer!” whispered the rogue harshly, but Daichot didn’t listen to him.

The guard that hailed them whispered something to the other, who shook his head and whispered back. The were alternating confused glances between each other and the adventures standing at the gates.

“They don’t know what you’re talking about.” Offered Oleaf.

Daichot repressed the annoyed retort he was about to offer to her statement of the obvious, and Omar saved his stalled expression by talking first. “Ye can hear a beetle breathin’ lass, so I mean well when I say I dinnae need ya ta tell me they think we’re crazy.” The fighter let his maul thump to the ground, leaning on the handle and called up to the guards.

“Well, the lord warden of Fallcrest paid us jus’ ta come help ya out—so if’n nobody thought ta tell ya that ya need help, maybe ye could point us to tha person that woulda told tha lord warden, ya need help.” The dwarf looked back at the group for approval, and Percy chipped in.

“We were ambushed by kobolds an hour ago, on the way here!” he informed them enthusiastically. “We killed ‘em—they were just kobolds after all—but if you ask me, you all need some help.” One of the guards had walked back out of sight beyond the parapets, and the other man addressed them again.

“Welcome to Winterhaven, travelers. Thank you for the news of the kobold attack, we will notify Lord Padraig immediately. If you wish to wait at the Wrafton Inn, you’ll find it located just inside the gates, or if you have other business I will find you when Padraig can see you.”

Omar looked up to Daichot, who looked about the rest of the group. “I’m hungry,” said the warlord, “how about the rest of you?” Seeing them nod with varying levels of enthusiasm, Daichot responded to the guard, “We’ll be at the inn, for now.”

“Hey!” yelled Percy, “any chance you guys will pay a bounty for proof of slain kobolds? I’ve got the thumbs of sixteen of them from our battle!”

The guard shook his head, “No, m’Lord has not issued any bounty that I’m aware of, but I’m sure that he will pay for your meals, at the least!”

That answer satisfied Percy, and he followed Omar and Daichot into the town. Behind him, Oleaf posed a question to him quietly, “Sixteen? There were eight.”

“Yeah” admitted the halfling sheepishly, “but you’d be surprised how much a kobold’s thumbs look like their big toes.”

 

[Xorn]

For a town the size of Winterhaven, the Wrafton Inn—as the old, weathered swinging sign at the door proclaimed the establishment—was fairly clean, and surprisingly large. The building was comprised of two floors, with a main entrance on the narrow south end, and a porch branching off of the east side, facing the city gates. As the adventurers strode into the large doorway, the harsh light of the sun splayed across the floor, making the shady room seem almost black compared to the outdoors. As their eyes slowly adjusted to the dim room, they could see a dozen round tables spaced more or less evenly about the room, with wooden chairs resting upside down upon them. A few tables had chairs pulled down and were in use now, but it was clear the inn was waking up, along with the rest of the town.

“Wow, somethin’ smells pretty good!” exclaimed Percy. Everyone else agreed as the scent of frying meat and strong spices wafted in from a back area and gripped their stomachs. Hearing the halfling’s exclamation, a healthy looking, rounded woman came out of the back, wiping her hands with a towel that was stuffed into the belt of an apron that was struggling to contain her ample belly.

“Aha!” she smiled, “I see we have some travelers, in from…” she sized up the four of them quickly, “Fallcrest?” Daichot nodded respectfully at her deduction. “Well then! Have a seat, have a seat!” She turned her head quickly and called to the back room she had come out of, then extended her arm to invite them to sit at one of the tables that had been readied for use.

“Salvana Wrafton, at your service!” she exclaimed brightly as she quickly pulled chairs out from the table for each of them to sit, and deftly snagged an upturned chair from an adjacent table to accommodate them all. “Now you’ll be needin’ some breakfast this morning, and how many rooms?”

Daichot paused before sitting down and held up a finger. “Yes to breakfast—and we are waiting to meet the lord of the town, if that’s alright.”

“Oh! You have business with his lordship then! Traveling dignitaries from Fallcrest no doubt, here to talk about important matters much too complex for a simple inn keep such as meself!” She briskly snatched a pitcher of water from a young girl that had answered her summons from the kitchen, and started pouring more or less clear water into mugs and slamming them down onto the table in a rush. “Petal, dear,” she addressed the young girl, “go and fetch four plates for our dignitaries then, and be quick about it!”

“What’s fer breakfast, lass?” asked Omar.

“Oh, a delicious hash of shredded potatoes, mixed with fresh eggs, and scrambled with a fine piece of sausage; we make it ourselves!” She looked to make sure all of them had their water and looked across the room at a slender, leather clad elf sitting in the corner eating the food Sylvana had just described. “Ninaren, do you need anything else?”

The elven woman looked up from her meal quietly. She was wearing a mismatched collection of leather hides, and a bow leaned against the corner behind her, along with a string of fur pelts, suggesting she was probably a hunter in town with goods to trade or sell. She barely even acknowledged the rotund inn keeper when she shook her head to decline.

If Sylvana was at all put off by the elf, it didn’t show, and she was off into the kitchen with a final reassurance the group would be served soon. Daichot looked about the rest of them and spoke in a low tone. “Again, for a place that’s badly in need of help, you wouldn’t know from being here.”

Omar nodded in agreement. “I think from tha looks a’ that one,” he thumbed towards the kitchen, “this place is safe an’ secure.”

Oleaf was quietly looking at another customer hobbling into the inn, and old man walking with the help of a cane who sidled up to the bar and slowly positioned himself onto a stool, smiling briefly at the assembled party.

“It’s bad for business, obviously.”

All three of them looked at Percy, whom until now had never used words like ‘obviously’ in casual conversation. “What? Don’t you guys know anything about business?”

After a moment of silence Daichot found his voice first. “Please, do tell.”

Percy didn’t seem to catch the sarcasm in the tiefling’s voice, because he continued enthusiastically, for knowing something the rest of them didn’t. “Was I the only one looking around on the way in here?” He pointed out the open doors, “Okay, did anyone besides me notice that big area just beyond this inn? It’s a market square—only it’s empty.”

Omar shrugged, “Maybe they only have an open market on certain days.”

“Sure, that’s even likely,” continued Percy, “but there would be something out there. There’s nothing—except for a local selling flowers.” He turned to Daichot and answered before he could ask, “No tackle for a horse or mule attached to the cart, that’s how I know she’s local.” Daichot considered the point and nodded.

“So next take the guards on the way in. Not the two up top, but the others, that were talking about us on the way in.” Seeing the blank look from the warriors, he looked to Oleaf in surprise. “Are you telling me you didn’t hear them!?” When she shook her head as well, a huge smile broke across Percy’s ruddy cheeks. “Well how about that!? Looks like there’s a new pair of ears in this group!”

Sensing the annoyance building rapidly, he continued, “Alright, well there were two guards down by the gate that were talking about us as we walked past them,” he leaned in close, ready to share his secret, “they were talking about help finally arriving, and maybe this town would have a chance.” He sat back confidently, “Don’t ya see? The kobolds don’t have to attack the town to starve it out. You said it yourself, tall, red, and dashing—we’re probably the only thing to make it from Fallcrest in who knows how long, because no, I haven't seen any dragons! And that Wrafton lady knows—but first rule of running an inn: don’t frighten potential customers!” Leaning back in his chair, he laced his tiny fingers behind his head arrogantly and basked in the knowledge that he figured something out before the others.

Lady Wrafton returned with the serving girl and four steaming plates were quickly laid before them; the food smelled fantastic, even in comparison to Percy’s admirable skill at roasting a rabbit. The three others looked at Percy, unable to refute what he had surmised, and it only made him smile wider, before he abruptly called after their chubby host. “Missus Wrafton!”

She turned about with a flush to her cheek. “Oh I’m not married, dear halfling.”

The shock displayed by Percy seemed truly genuine and for a moment he looked speechless. “I find it hard to believe that some lucky man hasn’t swept a fine business-savvy lady such as yourself up by now—you’re what, twenty? Twenty-one?”

She laughed hard, and it was actually a frightening, raspy bellow that shook her bosom and neck with equal vigor. “That’s enough from you, shorty!” Her smile betrayed her desire to hear more flattery, but she didn’t let her job as host falter, “What do you need, my charming little halfling?”

“A fork and knife, if it’s not too much trouble.” He pointed to the table, showing that he didn’t get utensils.

“Oh my!” she seemed a bit flustered, having missed that, and quickly produced a pair for the halfling with an apology that he waved away before she ducked into the kitchen to scold Petal loudly.

Percy already had a mouthful of sausage and potatoes before Oleaf spoke up. “Why did you steal your silverware?”

The rogue reflexively looked at his pouch before meeting the elf’s gaze and accepting that she missed little. “Well,” he spouted, dribbling some grease down his chin, “they said that lord might pay for our breakfast. So… you know…” his words trailed off, as his hunger overrode any desire to explain himself.

Omar was looking at the rogue with a frown, but decided the issue wasn’t worth making a scene over, especially right before meeting Lord Padraig. Daichot showed similar restraint, but could not hold his tongue completely. “I suppose you heard the guards that we didn’t because you were busy picking their pockets.”

Percy coughed on his food as he tried to object mid-swallow. Banging on the table as if it would help him stop choking, he finally managed to gasp his protest. “I resent that! I’ll have you know for a fact that they weren’t carrying coin purses!” He stabbed another juicy piece of sausage, and then speared his fork into some of the scrambled eggs. “Not that I was looking… or anything.”

 

[Ed Gentry]

Really enjoying this one so far. Updates, updates I say!

 

[Xorn]

Oh, I wasn't actually sure if anyone was reading this one.

Updates will be coming soon, had a busy weekend of playing though, and had the late shift today.

 

[Caldarion]

Good work Xorn. Can't wait for some updates. Keep 'em coming!!! =)

 

[Xorn]

The battle in the road had been quick; that much was apparent to Vrax as he looked at the bodies of kobolds strewn at the sides of the road. Four of them had fallen in a ring just north of the path; or rather they had been felled, by something, which had crushed their torsos and heads. Blood was splattered away from the ring, suggesting that whatever killed the tiny beasts was standing in the middle of them while doing so.

A few dozen yards up the road, back towards Fallcrest, a small halfling merchant was looking up with alarm at the boulder beside him, where the corpse of another kobold was sprawled across the top of the massive rock, painting the side with a cascade of its own blood. Arrows protruded from the chest of the creature, keeping it from laying flat on the wooden shafts, and oddly giving the thing an appearance of still being alive.

South of the pathway was a different story—whatever had attacked the armored kobolds that were now lying in the grass amidst their own entrails had attacked with a viciousness that they had apparently not expected. Vrax was no tracker, but it was obvious they had not been putting up much of a fight, judging by the arrows in their backs and their slit throats and bellies. Whatever killed them hadn’t stopped when they died.

“D-do you think there are more out there, watching us, wizard?”

Vrax heard the squeaky voice of the halfling merchant that had left him hobbling after them only two days before. After pulling him from the wreckage of the little bastard’s cart, as well as doing what he could to stop the human sellswords from bleeding to death, he had certainly changed his tune. Now the two human guards, barely able to stand, let alone walk, were awkwardly floating in the air on a shimmering disc of force the wizard had conjured. The hovering, translucent platform followed Vrax around, so long as he paid it the slightest attention. Vrax half-smiled inwardly at how horrified they looked when he started breaking into a coughing fit. They weren’t actually concerned for his well-being, but for their own, if they had to continue by themselves.

He looked around the area again—the bodies had been dead for a few hours, and if he knew how to track worth anything, he might have been able to tell where the winners went. But one thing was certain, “If any of the kobolds survived this battle, I sincerely doubt they’ll be attacking anything armed on the road in the near future.” The two guards, who could barely stand, let alone fight, were relieved to hear that, as was Piddleteet, Vrax’s new halfling traveling companion.

“What do you think killed them?”

“Hard to say,” replied Vrax, “I know very little about the art of tracking—but from the looks of these bodies, these kobolds were no match for them, so hopefully they are friendly. There was talk in Fallcrest of a group of adventures that left for Winterhaven a few days ago, wasn’t there?”

Piddleteet thought about that question for a moment before he nodded his head. “Yes, I believe that’s right—do you think they did this?”

Vrax shrugged, “It doesn’t really matter,” he said flatly, “but that’s as likely as anything else. We should keep moving though, we’re nearly to Winterhaven.”

Piddleteet gave no argument, shifting a bulky pack that contained the remains of his wares on his back, and laboriously plodding along after the wizard and his floating stretcher. During the previous day he had asked if it would hold his pack too, and Vrax had lied to the little man, saying it was too much weight. Another few miles to Winterhaven, and the struggling, panting halfling would do as payback for his earlier treatment of the dragonborn.

Vrax remembered that would not quite be payback. “Remember, you owe me ten pieces of gold when I get these men to Winterhaven. Arcane spell components are not a trivial cost I intend to absorb.” The half-sized merchant nodded reflexively through the sheen of sweat that dripped off his nose, as if he had a choice to bargain.

 

[Xorn]

The morning dew had been completely claimed by the rising mid-day sun as the adventurers huddled behind a small rise in the terrain. Omar and Daichot were both crouching at the base of the rise, while Oleaf’s slender frame was flattened at the top of the hillside, carefully watching the other side. Somewhere, amidst the trees and foliage that would obfuscate most vision beyond use, she claimed to see the halfling.

“He is very close to the falls now, but I lost sight of him.” She thought about what she had whispered to the dwarf and tiefling, both of whom had not been confident in letting Percy scout ahead, and added some reassurance, “which means no one else can see him, either.”

Omar looked at Daichot, not able to put to words what he was thinking. Percy had protested that the dwarf needed to trust in the halfling’s abilities, and had slipped away before he could say anything more. Omar wasn’t worried about Percy’s ability, only his ability to protect the group, to be the front line. He couldn’t do it, crouched behind this hill. Daichot was fidgeting with the handle of his greataxe—he was itching to fight, it was evident as he looked anxiously up at Oleaf and asked for the third time since Percy had vanished into the foliage, “Can you see him, yet?”

Oleaf was already looking back over the hill, and didn’t acknowledge Daichot. She would answer when there was something to report. The valley in front of the elf reminded her a little of her homeland, in Harkenwolf Forest. Through the sparse trees and brush she could see the glimmer of sunlight reflecting off of a small stream that was drifting lazily away from a majestic waterfall, leading away to the south of their position. A rocky cliff face jutted up from the thick, green grass, leaving a naked, cold relief snarling out of the earth, leaving the stream above nowhere to go but down, with a long churning plummet fifty feet below to the frothy water. Occasionally, she would catch movement of the small reptilian kobolds about the area in front of the waterfall, a trampled down clearing that showed signs of use. Oleaf turned her face back to the others to let them know this was definitely where the kobolds were, only to see Percy casually step out of the taller grass behind them, startling all three of his companions.

“Yes!” he whispered excitedly, “I knew you couldn’t see me!”

Oleaf, stunned that the halfling had managed to walk up to her undetected, was not pleased, “Stop fooling around!” she rasped harshly.

“I kept waving at you,” he explained further, oblivious to her scolding, “and you just kept giving me that creepy stare,” he mimed the way Oleaf looked at a person, unblinking, to the other’s amusement, “so I thought maybe you saw me.” Oleaf slipped gently down the slope, crossing her arms in annoyance, realizing that Percy would finish a story once he started, quests be damned. “I mean you were looking right at me,” he turned to Omar and Daichot, “I mean I thought she was anyway.” Percy’s grin was infectious, and the others could feel it creeping onto their faces now. “But when I saw her face here—I know she didn’t see me!”

“Do you have a point, halfling?” Oleaf was wearing her disdain plainly on her face.

“Hmmm.” Percy thought about the question and answered, “No, I guess not, expect I can’t believe you didn’t see me waving!”

“Mebe ye should jus’ tell us whatcha saw, laddie,” suggested Omar, trying to divert the rogues mischief.

“Okay, okay,” he surrendered, holding his hands up, “there’s half a dozen kobolds outside the falls, most of them have spears, but one of them is carrying that great big sling like the one on the road, and there’s another bigger one carrying a dragonscale shield like the ones Oleaf and I killed earlier.”

“Outside the falls?” questioned Daichot.

“Yeah, there’s a cave on either side of the waterfall, it might even be behind the waterfall, but I couldn’t get close enough to see. I saw the one with the sling come out of there, and I couldn’t understand what he said to them, but he said Irontooth at the end of it.”

“Irontooth?” asked Omar.

“Yeah, Irontooth, who I think is a goblin.”

The others exchanged a confused glance, and Daichot spoke first, “Why do you think Irontooth is a goblin then.”

“Oh that’s easy,” deduced the halfling, “the little guy was talking in kobold-talk, then said Irontooth in goblin. I speak goblin, you know.”

“No,” replied Omar, “I didn’ know ye speak goblin, act’ully, but ‘at’s good work laddie. So let’s get a plan innae action now.”

“I got this plan all worked out already!” Percy interrupted. “I’ll slip off over that way,” he pointed a crossbow bolt he was preparing to load to the east, into the trees, “and you guys go down there,” the rogue was now pointing to the south, where the stream left the clearing. When they see you, I’ll ambush them from their flanks, and we’ll meet in the middle!” Percy started to trot back into the trees.

“Now wait a minnit, runt!” exclaimed Omar, trying to keep his voice down, “we stay together!”

“Sorry, Ironbutt, yer too loud for me! I’ll be fine!” Percy was gone from view before anymore argument could be made.

Oleaf silently drew two arrows at once and pulled the string of her longbow an inch or two back in preparation for a fight. “We better hurry now,” she stated matter-of-factly. “Because there’s something I can’t believe Percy didn’t see, either…” she looked at them, genuine concern on her face, “there’s a dozen kobolds outside the waterfall.”