Adventures in the Eastern Provinces

[the Jester]

The mist limits visibility to between twenty and thirty feet- uncomfortably close range, to Karl’s mind. He scowls, hanging back as far as he can and hurling magic missiles and scorching bursts. But he only has one or two targets available at a time. Meanwhile, Kane and Cavemouth have rushed forward, completely out of his range of visibility; and while he can hear them fighting up ahead, the scholar really can’t tell how they are doing.

Shifty and Sepia move forward more slowly than the warriors. They keep close enough for Karl to see them, slashing with daggers and punching with the brass knuckles. The wizard backs them up with his magic, thinking, I hope Kane and Cavemouth are doing okay.

Suddenly a bright flash of light and a burst of warmth announce some kind of explosion up ahead. Whoops, thinks Karl.

***

At the front lines, Cavemouth staggers back. The bullywug that just belched out a fiery croak at him wears a fancy feathered head dress and dangles with bone fetishes, some of which look to be from humans. “I think I found the chieftain!” the goliath fighter cries, and springs forward with a crushing surge.

More bullywugs bound in from the side to intervene.

And, in turn, Kane charges in with a howling strike to intervene in their intervention, cutting another bullywug down.

The chieftain vomits up electric reflux, dazing Cavemouth. The goliath hacks at one of the other bullywugs nearby, cutting its belly open and spilling entrails out in an ankle-tangling mess. The bullywug falls.

Kane howls again and rushes in at the bullywug chieftain, who defends himself with a crude staff. Kane sheers it in half with a blow of his magical greataxe. The bullywug cries out and staggers back a step.

Kane’s axe sings as it decapitates the chieftain. The barbarian throws back his head and gives a loud howl of victory.

Unfortunately, many of the other bullywugs don’t know that their chief has fallen. They keep fighting, using spears, hopping to the attack throwing crude javelins or rocks. Our heroes keep fighting, and the fog keeps the bullywugs from concentrating their forces too strongly. Within minutes, the frog-folk attack has ceased; whatever survivors there might be have fled.

Panting, muscles aching of violence, our heroes regroup to catch their collective breath. The chieftain’s head goes into the bag of holding, Kane grinning the whole time. Then they turn around and head out of the swamp, universally agreeing that spending the night in it would be a terrible idea.

“We should go straight to Grumbleford,” suggests Shifty. “That’s where Bylla is, and she’s the one who is going to pay us.”

“Getting paid is good,” agrees Sepia.

“Grumbleford it is,” nods Kane.

***

Along the way to Grumbleford, our heroes stumble upon the group of peasants that told them of Novak’s presence the first time. At first our heroes are suspicious that the farmers might have had some deeper involvement, but their worries are quickly assuaged as they spend an hour or two with them. They give Cavemouth (who is seeking the recipe of a goliath wheat ale that he once had) two jugs of applejack, and then the party keeps moving. That night they camp at the crossroads where the road to Grumbleford runs south from the County Road that runs west to Overland and east to the distant coast. There are several merchants that are camping there as well, and our heroes share a fire with them and purchase a few minor trinkets (such as a necklace that Sepia buys).

The next morning the party heads south along the road. A few hours into the morning, they see a familiar face: a farmer from the Overland environs, traveling with his two sons. Oddly, they are armed.

Our heroes hail them and inquire about their weapons. “Has the road been so unsafe lately?” asks Sepia.

“Oh, it’s not that,” Saul (the farmer) replies. “But I’ve had some issues lately. My cows keep vanishing!” Saul elaborates, with his sons Paul and Gaul occasionally throwing in a few words. It seems that four of his cows have gone missing over, roughly, the last month. Always, a single cow vanishes; there is never blood or remains. “I went to Grumbleford because I was looking to hire someone to help me figure out what’s going on.”

“We’re on our way to Grumbleford to get paid,” Shifty says, “but after that we will be looking for more work. We’ll look you up.”

***

Bylla gladly pays the party another 120 gold pieces for driving away the bullywugs, with the understanding that if more reappear, they will complete the job. This seems fair enough to our heroes, who agree, take the money and head back out of Grumbleford almost immediately, with a stop at the local alchemist’s shop (Althong’s Alembic) so that Sepia can buy some alchemical fire. They reach the crossroads about an hour and a half before dark and elect to camp there again, even though it’s early; the place always has a few travelers at it, and if the population hereabouts were higher, it would probably sprout a town. So they have another pleasant evening at the crossroads, making different friends and sharing a different fire, and then return to Overland the next day.

“We should go see Saul,” says Shifty.

“Let’s stop off and have a beer first,” suggests Cavemouth.

“Aye!” Kane nods vigorously.

So it’s to the Silver Fish they go, where they have a round or two and mellow out for a little. They have spent the last almost two weeks either traveling or fighting almost every day; a little time to unwind seems warranted.

As they sit at the bar, the tender leans squints up at Cavemouth and says, “By the way, you know your friend Shaft?”

“Yeah?” Cavemouth does indeed know Shaft- a human druid of his acquaintance by virtue of being a talented brewer. They met as part of Cavemouth’s quest to find the goliath wheat ale recipe.

“He was asking around about you.”

“When?”

“Earlier today. I got the impression that he’d be around again. He wanted me to let you know he was looking for you.”

“Well, thanks.”

“No problem.”

Our heroes finish their drinks and are just about to leave when the door opens and a dark-skinned, bald, middle aged man looks in. “Cavemouth!” he exclaims, and strides quickly over to the table the party is seated at.

“Hey, Shaft!”

The newcomer glances at the others, then says, “Let me talk to you outside for a minute.”

“All right.” Cavemouth shrugs and follows his friend outside. Shaft walks him into the shade of the alley between the Silver Fish and the barn next door.

“You’ve made yourself a target,” he says. “Where are the crystals?”

“We gave them to a druid,” answers Cavemouth. “He approached us a few nights ago...”

“You gave them...? What was his name?”

“Uh...” Cavemouth wracks his brain. “I can’t remember. He was a dwarf, if that helps.”

Shaft stares at him for a moment. “They haven’t turned up, so everyone thinks you have them.”

“Everyone?”

“The druids,” amends Shaft.

”You mean the evil ones, like Novak?”

“More than just them. There are different factions.”

“What’s the Shadow Circle?”

Shaft stares at the goliath as if dumbstruck. After a moment, he replies, “A legend. They are among the other druids in secret- a cabal that believes that civilization is an affront to nature, and must be torn down. But they are a legend. They don’t really exist.”

“When we killed him,” Cavemouth says, “Novak told us that the Shadow Circle would destroy us all.”

“By the primal spirits,” whispers Shaft. “I must go. Good luck to you. You really don’t have them any more?”

“The dwarf was very persuasive.”

“Good luck.”

Head awhirl, Cavemouth re-enters the Silver Fish and recounts what his friend told him.

“I told you guys we shouldn’t have given him the crystals,” Karl sighs.

***

As there is nothing that they can do at the moment about having made themselves targets, the party resumes their current activities, which is to say: they have another round, then go to Saul’s farm.

“Is there a particular part of the pasture that the cows always vanish from or anything?” asks Karl.

“Nope,” says Saul, “they seem to go from various remote parts of the pasture. It was only three days ago the last one went, though. I can show you where that one was.”

The back corner in question is mostly unremarkable, but it is apparent where the cow vanished because the fence has been cut. The party scours the area for tracks, and they find some: small, reptilian, bipedal. Kobolds.

“We can probably backtrack them,” Karl says, “but I’m prepared more for talking and investigation than for combat today.”*

“I don’t want to lose any more cows,” Saul replies. “The sooner you look into this, the better.”

“Very well.”

***

Backtracking the kobold trail leads the party west out of town. They go across rolling plains dotted with trees and scrub, until they come to a narrow depression where they see the missing cow.

It is staked out, almost as if it were bait.

Next Time: Delicacies!


*He’s referring, of course, to his spell choices. Between a spellbook, his tome implement mastery and his Expanded Spellbook feat, Karl has a lot of options for a 4e pc!

 

[the Jester]

“Look,” Sepia says, gesturing at the brush around the staked-out cow. “There are kobolds in there.”

“Not for long!” quips Cavemouth.

But before the words are even out of his mouth, Kane is charging ahead with a wordless battle cry. Into the brush, then swinging his magical greataxe- and suddenly gore and brains are splattering in the brush. Squeals of fear and anger come from the hiding kobolds as they turn to see the barbarian spin and charge another of them, his axe a blur as it sweeps into the little dog-lizard humanoid’s neck from the side, decapitating him.

Kane roars.

The others break cover, charging in, and suddenly everything is chaos.

The poor cow. It strains against the ropes holding it, but to no avail. It trembles in fear; being in the middle of violent combat is not its natural state. The screams of the dying kobolds terrify it.

But not as much as what it senses is coming from below.

The ground, much like the cow, is trembling.

The cow lets out a terrified moo as sling bullets whiz past it. One- not really a bullet, but more like a small jar- hits Cavemouth and bursts, covering him in a sticky mess of glue. The goliath curses, struggling to free himself, but he is stuck fast. “Damn it!” he swears.

Meanwhile, Karl hangs back and directs his spells at the kobold slingers, zinging them with magic missiles and scorching bursts. Fortunately, the brush is wet enough to avoid starting any large fires. Shifty stays near him at first, throwing shuriken, but wades in quickly when it becomes apparent that the battle is going to be very one-sided.

Unfortunately for him, his assessment proves less than accurate.

The cow screams as the ground beneath it erupts and a huge, insect-like beast lurches up from below.

“It’s another ankheg!” cries Karl.

But Cavemouth, who is closer, corrects him. “No it isn’t- it’s the same ankheg! I can see the scars it took in our last fight!”

The ankheg squeals and latches onto the cow. Squirming up from the dirt around it are a pair of smaller, immature-looking ankhegs as well. “Broodlings!” warns Karl. “Watch out!!”

***

Wizzy- one of the hapless kobolds- sees his chance.

Not that he wouldn’t flee if he could; but the new boss would kill him if he returned empty handed. The new boss is very hungry, and he wants his delicacies.

Wizzy sprints forward and snatches up one of the broodlings, then turns and runs.

“No you don’t!” cries Sepia, and she punches him in the face with her brass knuckles, leaving him staggered. He drops the ankheg broodling and shakes his head to clear it.

WHACK! Another brass knuckle blow to the face breaks several of the bones in the kobold’s snout, and he drops like a sack of potatoes. Then the tiefling returns her attention to the big ankheg, who is pulling the cow down into the ground. I don’t think I want to save the cow that badly, she thinks.

Meanwhile, Cavemouth finally wrenches free of the sticky goo that the kobold slinger had stuck him with. And then, boldly, he grabs the cow and starts to pull it back up, trying to wrest it from the ankheg’s grasp. The two of them wrestle roughly over the poor cow, who is lowing in pain and fear.

With a roar, the goliath pulls the cow free- at least for the moment- and then whips his axe out and severs the ropes keeping it from fleeing. Bloody and in terrible pain, the cow lurches away, trying to reach some kind of safety. With it out of the way, Karl blasts the other broodling with a scorching burst, slaying it.

Kane, Shifty and Cavemouth pounce on the ankheg, hacking at it. It squeals again, spitting acid at them, but all three manage to dodge out of the way before returning to their assault on it.

The bug grabs onto Cavemouth and starts to drag him under as well. “No you don’t!” the goliath shouts, pushing off of its carapace with his boots and freeing himself. The ankheg, clearly hungry and angry both, emerges from its burrow and scuttles forward to attack Sepia, who jams a dagger in its eye before socking it with her brass knuckles. The beast’s forelegs wave in the air, and everyone focuses their attacks on it, hacking, stabbing, shooting and pummeling it. The ankheg fights fiercely, but it is plainly weakening.

“We have it now!” Shifty declares. He slips into flanking with Sepia and stabs it in the back. It whirls to face him, and Sepia throws herself against it, driving her dagger deep into the wound he just opened. The ankheg screams as brownish juice sprays all over. It raises itself up, then slams itself down, its antennae moving weakly. Kane and Cavemouth both drive their axes into it, and the bug gives another, faltering cry.

Sepia smashes its face in with her brass knuckles, and the ankheg stops moving (except for a few twitches).

A quick look around confirms that all the kobolds have fallen; the fight is over. Our heroes catch their breath and then discuss the situation.

“First of all,” Karl says, “isn’t it weird that we fought this same ankheg before, a few dozen miles away? Do they have that big of a territory?”

“Ankhegs are common in this area,” Cavemouth replies. “And they do have a pretty big area that they hunt. But still... you’re right, that is pretty strange.”

Kane snorts. “Maybe it wanted its revenge on us for defeating it once.”

“I don’t think that they are that smart,” muses Kane.

“What were these kobolds doing, anyway?” wonders Shifty.

“That one is still alive,” Sepia says, pointing at Wizzy. “I just knocked him out. It seemed like they were trying to capture the ankheg broodlings for some reason.”

“Well,” says Shar, “since we have a prisoner, it should be easy enough to find out...”

***

When the party brings their captive around for questioning, he proves to be more than happy to talk. Clearly a coward, the kobold informs the party that his tribe has recently had its leadership usurped by a new boss- a goblin, in fact. The goblin has taken to eating young ankhegs- apparently, they are quite a delicacy (If there was a dwarf amongst us, we’d already know that, thinks Shar)- and has demanded that his kobold minions bring him broodlings snacks periodically. “If we don’t,” Wizzy whines, “he hurts us!”

“So you have been stealing the cows to attract the ankhegs?” asks Shifty. “That makes a weird sort of sense.”

The party binds the kobold and then withdraws a few dozen feet to talk over their next move. “We continue backtracking them until we reach their lair,” says Cavemouth.

“And kill them all,” Kane adds with satisfaction.

“Well, hold on a minute,” objects Karl. “We might be able to handle this another way. If we slay this goblin, we might not have to kill them all.” Kane looks disappointed. “There might be a lot of them,” the wizard continues. “Kobolds breed like rats.”

“Very true,” agrees Cavemouth.

“If we can avoid fighting a hundred or so of them, we probably should,” Shar nods. “We also might be able to find the old chief- the one who has been usurped- and get him to turn on the goblin, once we show that we can defeat him.”

“Hey kobold! Is your old chief still alive?” demands Cavemouth.

Wizzy nods.

“All right,” says Shar, “I think we have a plan.”

***

Their prisoner leads our heroes to a ruined outpost on a hillside, indicating that it is the location of the kobold lair. The party lets him go, warning him that if he crosses them again, they will show no mercy.

Then they plunge into the kobold lair.

Their assault goes pretty much exactly as planned. They carve through the initial kobold guards, work their way inside the outpost and through a series of kobold warrens. Once they have penetrated deeply enough, the goblin that has taken control of the kobolds comes to the battle; and, once the party has pounded him with attacks to the point that their prowess is undeniable, the former kobold leader- Wyrmkin- turns on him, exhorting those kobolds still loyal to him (as well as those wise enough to see which way the wind is blowing) to join in finishing him off.

“No more stealing cows,” Shifty warns Wyrmkin sternly, after the fight is over. “You have seen what we can do. If you molest the people of Overland again, we’ll be back.”

”Don’t worry about us!” Wyrmkin exclaims. “Until that damned usurper Thox came along, we never troubled your folk. Now that I am in charge again, we shan’t do so again.”

The party negotiates an appropriate payment from the kobolds- consisting of the pink potion that Thox had carried- and departs, returning to Overland.

***

Rested, recovered and rewarded, the party spends some of their hard-earned money back in town. Soon enough, though, Shifty points out that, to maintain the extravagant lifestyle that they are rapidly becoming accustomed to, they need to find another paying job. Shortly, word reaches them of goblin bandits marauding the road east of the crossroads.

“Even if we aren’t hired to take them out,” Shifty says, “they undoubtedly have some loot.”

So the party once again sets forth to find adventure, heading to the crossroads for another night’s rest in the company of the various merchants that are encamped there. They reach it in the middle of the afternoon. Once there, the party questions the merchants, and though none of them have been assaulted by the goblins themselves, there is a general consensus that they are a nuisance that is only growing worse.

However, as night falls, another group of merchants limps into the crossroads. These ones look more like peasants than merchants, and our heroes make inquiries of them. Indeed, it turns out that the goblins had assaulted and robbed them.

“They seem to have come out of a chasm that opened up in one of the recent earthquakes,” one of the merchants says. “I don’t know if they just moved into it, or if they were there already and just gained egress after the quake, but either way, they are causing nothing but trouble!”

“I don’t suppose you’d care to hire us to deal with them?” Cavemouth asks.

The merchant snorts. “If I had any money left, maybe,” he replies, “but my money and merchandise have all been stolen!”

Yep, thinks Shifty. They’ll have some loot for us, all right!

Next Time: Our heroes make their first foray into the Dim Depths of the Earthquake Rift!

 

[the Jester]

Curse you, Sagiro, for your most excellent story hour!!

I had to go back and edit a couple of references in here- I put "Black
Circle" where I meant "Shadow Circle." Sagiro's Black Circle organization is NOT in my campaign. The Shadow Circle, dating back to the 2ed Complete Druid's Handbook, is.

Sigh. I think I made the same mis-statement in game, too, so now I need to inform the players that I'm a dork.

 

[the Jester]

Cavemouth peers down into the chasm. “Well,” he says, “I can see some ledges down a ways on either side. The highest one- closest to us- is on this side, but the next one down is on the other side.” He squints. “Looks like it narrows on the way down, too.”

“Let’s take a look from the other side and see if we can tell anything else,” suggests Shifty.

The chasm itself is only 20’ wide and 50’ long, so it takes a minimum of effort to circumnavigate it. Once on the other edge of it, they peer down again, but cannot tell anything new. Karl drops a stone in, and it bounces off the sides and out of view, but the party hears a distant splash from below.

“Well,” Cavemouth says, “since it narrows, if I fall, I will stop before I hit bottom, so...” He starts to clamber down. Shar, meanwhile, uncoils a rope and searches around for something to tie it to; she finds a tree not far from the edge of the rift.

The goliath finds the descent fairly easy. There are plentiful handholds and cracks that allow his feet purchase. Shortly, he reaches the ledge. From above, Shifty cocks an eyebrow as he sees the warrior draw out his greataxe and rush into some kind of opening with a bellow.

“Uh-oh,” the gnome sighs. “We’d better hurry down after him.”

The sounds of battle rise up from below, and the party scrambles after their point man, some of them using the rope, some just clambering down the face of the rock wall. Quickly, they reach the small ledge at the bottom and hurry into the cave opening that greets them.

Cavemouth, a few dozen feet ahead of them, has already slain several goblins, and more are coming. The passage opens into a chamber; another side passage cuts into it just beforehand. Goblins are starting to rush out to meet the party’s unexpected assault.

Charge!

Our heroes meet the oncoming enemy without mercy, hewing and blasting their way through. In only a few confused moments, the first wave of goblins has been slain or thrown back. The party quickly strips the dead of valuables, although this proves to be only a handful of silver and gold coins.

“Which way?” asks Shar, but the sound of more running feet answers for them as another wave of goblins, these ones looking meaner and tougher, storm forward. One of them has the look of a chief, with fancy tattoos on his arms and face. They rush forward.

The ringing of weapons heralds sprays of blood from both sides. The goblins and our heroes stab and cut at each other; Shar and Shifty hang back, shooting arrows and throwing shuriken. Karl, in the rear of the party, casts magic missile after magic missile into the leader. Sepia makes good use of the alchemist’s fire that she had purchased in Grumbleford.

After a few exchanges- during which both the party and the goblins suffer about equally- the two sides break apart and halt a few dozen feet away from each other.

“What do you want with us?” snarls the goblin chief.

Surprised to find a possible parlay, our heroes hesitate long enough for the priestess of the Sword Cult to speak up. “You need to stop your raiding of the road nearby,” she declares. She gestures to the dead goblins scattered about. “If you don’t, you’ll meet the same fate as your tribesfolk.”

The goblin chief stares at the party for a moment. “We don’t want any trouble with your kind,” he finally says.

”Well, leave the merchants alone and you won’t have any, but if you don’t, we’ll wipe you out,” Shifty threatens.

“All right,” the chief shrugs. “No problem. We will leave your merchants alone.” He gives them a nasty smile. “But if you come back, we will kill you.”

“Someone will kill someone, that’s for sure,” Sepia retorts, posturing with her brass knuckles. The goblin chief’s bodyguards chuckle ominously.

“Go,” the chief snaps, “before I reconsider.”

“Wait,” says Sepia. “I want a slave.”

The goblin chief spits. “Not one of my folk,” he states flatly. “But we will sell you one of our slaves.”

“Really? You have slaves?”

“Of course- kobolds.”

“All right,” Sepia agrees with a shrug.

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” says Karl from the back, but Sepia ignores his objection and gets down to haggling. In the end, for ten pieces of gold, she obtains a kobold named Yiddy.

***

Dirty, sweaty and bloody, our heroes return to the top of the chasm. Shifty says, “You know we’re just going to have to come back here and kill them all eventually. They have no intention of leaving off with their banditry.”

Shar shrugs. “So be it. When the time comes, we’ll handle them.”

And get the rest of their loot, the gnome thinks to himself.

The party starts towards home, but the hour is late enough that it is already nearly dark when they reach the crossroads, so they decide to camp there again. It is rapidly becoming a home away from home!

Since they have a kobold with them now- around whose neck Sepia has tied a rope- they set watches. In the night, Yiddy makes an escape attempt, but is caught; Shifty uses his innate gnomish mastery of illusion to scare the hell out of the little slave, and the poor little fellow spends the rest of the night curled into a quivering ball. Sepia both socks him in the snout and then tries to give him comfort; despite the beating and scare, our heroes suspect that they are treating the kobold far better than the goblins did. At least they feed him their scraps.

***

About sixty miles away, as the crow flies, in the camp of the free company known as the Double Javelins, a rider garbed all in black arrives, dismounts and strides quickly through the pickets, recognized by the other mercenaries. When he reaches the tent of the band’s fiercest warrior (and therefore commander), he stops. The flickering of an oil brazier gives away that the commander is awake, so he claps.

From within, a grizzled, rumbling voice calls out, “What do you want?”

“Captain, it is Dolorous Pete,” the rider says.

“Enter,” the commander replies at once.

Dolorous Pete pushes the tent’s flap aside and walks in. Thannox, head of the Double Javelins, glares at him. The huge half-orc has one broken tusk on the side of his face that is split by the wide scar of an old axe blow. Even at night, he wears his thick hide armor; it is said that he never sleeps without it, even when he has whores in his bed. Nor, it is said, does he ever sleep without a weapon at hand. Next to his sleeping pallet a brace of javelins lies; next to that, a pouch of deadly poison. Dolorous Pete suppresses a shudder; he has seen what that terrible venom, extracted from the deadly spider called a tarantella, can do to a man.

“Well?” Thannox demands.

“Dasserc isn’t worth the effort. Not only aren’t there very many people, they don’t even live in houses. The place is a ruin. The folk huddle under lean-tos to stay out of the rain. There isn’t a standing building in the whole place. But Woodcut is a different story. They have good, strong wooden buildings there. A couple of them are even two or three storeys high.”

“Wood,” the half-orc says in distaste.

“I know, captain. But even so, the town fronts on the Wildwood, so there would be no help for them from the north or west. South is the Troll River, and there is no ford or bridge closer than the ruins of Thrushton. The only trail out leads to Overland, and we can block that easily. Also, there are less than 200 people there. It should be an easy first step.”

“Wood burns.”

“I know, boss, but we have to start somewhere. And we can make an example of anyone that causes trouble by locking them into a building and lighting it on fire.”

“An example,” Thannox rumbles, “that they might take to heart... and try to burn us out.”

“Well, sir, it is close enough to the river that a channel could be dug to provide sufficient water to douse any fire.”

The half-orc laughs unpleasantly. “Given enough labor,” he says with a smile.

“You wanted my opinion as an old military man, sir, and there you have it. Overland is too big; same thing goes for Grumbleford. We take Woodcut first, then press the men into service by threatening their families. Then we recruit everyone in Overland and Grumbleford who has a stomach for fighting and a wish for glory. Once we have them on our side, there is nobody to resist you. After all, nobody has seen the governor or his men in decades. Or any of the Imperial Legions, since they were withdrawn to Chebonnay. And believe me, sir- I was there- those legions are gone. When the Six-Fingered Hand swept down on the city, they destroyed all resistance.”

“People have a very short memory,” Thannox says. “They will forget that they were ever part of an Empire. They nearly already have!” He pours two cups of wine and quaffs one, handing the other to Dolorous Pete.

“Yes, captain,” Pete answers, drinking his own wine down. “But they will never forget your rule.”

***

The morning sun creeps up out of the distant eastern sea. Our heroes rise, break their fast and camp, and prepare to set out.

“You know,” says Shifty, “that chasm isn’t that far from the Governor’s Tower. Maybe we should let them know about it.”

“Nobody’s supposed to go there without good reason,” Karl replies. “They say that the governor dislikes being disturbed.”

Sepia snorts and gives Yiddy’s leash a yank. “Bandits seem like the kind of thing that the governor would want to know about.”

“It is only about 20 miles from here anyway,” Shar says. “And Shifty’s right- that chasm is pretty close, all things considered.”

Cavemouth grins. “What the hell, maybe they’ll have a good recipe for some beer.”

The party turns north off of the road. The trail leading towards the Governor’s Tower. It is fairly overgrown and obviously doesn’t see much use. It is not too overgrown for them to follow it easily, however, and they tromp up the trail. By late afternoon the tower itself comes into view, surrounded by a low stone wall that also includes a stable, chicken coop and a well.

But there is no sign of inhabitants. The coop and stable are empty, and the tower has the look of a place long-abandoned. The gardens are overgrown and untended.

”I don’t think anyone has been here in a long time,” says Shar.

The party starts poking around. Cavemouth peers into the well and says, “I’m not sure, but I think there’s something down there.” He squints, trying to resolve it, but to no avail.

”Let’s send down the kobold,” suggests Shifty.

The well has a line with a bucket attached to it; they force poor Yiddy into the bucket and start to lower him down. Almost immediately, he screams in fear. “HELP!” Quickly, the party hoists the trembling, cowardly dog-lizard fellow back up.

“What is it, Yiddy?” asks Sepia.

“There’s something bony down there!”

Everyone takes another look down the dark shaft, but again, nobody can see anything. Cavemouth shrugs. “I’ll climb down,” he offers.

“You sure that’s a good idea?”

“Of course not,” the goliath grins, “but if the kobold can get in and out, so can I!”

The problem with his reasoning becomes apparent immediately: he is huge compared to Yiddy-in-a-bucket. “I don’t see anything,” he grunts up from below, and struggles back to the top. “But then again, I couldn’t really see past my own body,” he adds sheepishly.

“I’ll try,” Shifty sighs. His slight gnomish stature is much more suited to penetrating a narrow well; moreover, he will fit in the bucket, like Yiddy did. The party slowly lowers him down the well. “I don’t see anything, either,” he calls to the others.

”Here, take another look,” Shar says to Yiddy. She grabs the kobold and drags him to the edge of the well.

“Wait!” squeaks the kobold. “I’m scared! Don’t make me!”

“Oh, shut up.” Shar hoists the little fellow over the lip of the well and drops him in. A wail, followed by a crash and a splash, mark his progress.

“HEY!!” shouts Shifty from below. “You hit me with him!”

“Is he all right?” Sepia yells down. “Yiddy!”

Shifty’s voice floats back up from below: “...I don’t really think so.”

Sepia turns to Shar and glares at him. “You owe me a new slave!”

Shar shrugs. “Fair enough.”

“There’s nothing down here,” Shifty calls again. “Haul me back up.”

A few moments later, with their gnome back on the ground with the rest of them, the party heads into the tower proper. It has three storeys, although the uppermost is twice the height of the lower two; all is abandoned, but there are old foodstuffs- long spoiled- and uniforms in the place. “It doesn’t look like they intended to abandon this place forever,” Karl muses. “They left stuff behind, and there are no signs that they left in a hurry, either. Something must have happened to the governor and his men after they left.”

“Look at what I found!” exclaims Sepia. “A sprig of mistletoe!”

“That’s a druidic holy symbol,” Karl states. He examines it closely. “It looks to me like it got left here a year or two ago at most, but everything we’ve seen indicates that the governor and his men must have vanished thirty years ago or thereabouts. A druid must have come and looked the place over much more recently.”

“I wonder if it’s connected to Novak,” Cavemouth says.

“Well, let’s consider this,” Shifty suggests. “Nobody is here. Nobody has been here for decades. There are uniforms, though- and if we wear them, we can claim that we’re the governor’s new men.” He grins. “And who will contradict us? This is perfect! We can be the authorities if we want!”

Outside, the shadows have grown long. The sun is setting. Our heroes elect to stay the night in the tower and see if anything interesting happens (it doesn’t), and in the morning they debate their next move.

”Next, you need to get me a new slave,” Sepia tells Shar.

She shrugs. “Let’s go back to the chasm, then.”

“The goblins probably won’t like seeing us.”

“Then we kill them,” says Shifty.

But upon returning to the chasm, Sepia stops them. “Wait a minute. I forgot- I already used up all my alchemist’s fire. We should go back to Grumbleford first so that I can restock.” So they turn right around.

Next Time: Our heroes return to Grumbleford, the crossroads and the chasm!

 

[hippie2049]

Gotta love crossroad adventures. Reminds me of the halfling party.

 

[the Jester]

In Grumbleford, Sepia buys more alchemist’s fire, but the price is daunting. I’m really going to need a steady stream of income if I am going to use this stuff regularly, she thinks glumly, but at least I’ve got a few flasks for now.

Meanwhile, Shifty makes some discrete inquiries until he manages to find a tailor that is willing to fit the uniforms that they found at the governor’s tower to the party’s members’ measurements. He is clearly nervous about this; it is technically illegal, though tracing it back to him would be difficult if Shifty didn’t talk.

“Don’t worry,” Shifty reassures him, “we are the legitimate authority around here. The governor has employed us and we need to look good in his service.”

“Whatever you say, as long as the coin is good,” replies the tailor.

When the party reunites at their inn, Sepia has another piece of news for them: “I heard that the merchant’s guild is offering a bounty for goblin scalps- two gold pieces each.”

“We did tell the goblins in the rift that we’d leave them alone as long as they stopped raiding,” Shar points out.

Shifty shrugs. “We’ll just have to see if they’re keeping their side of the deal,” he says cheerfully. “There are still goblin raids going on, after all.”

Late the next day, once the fitting and sewing has been finished, the party departs Grumbleford and heads as far as the crossroads before dark. They set up camp there, where they meet a group of traveling halflings called the Slysneak Family Circus. While they entertain and amuse the crowd, Shifty spies at least one of them filching wallets as well. Discretely confronting the halflings with a wink and nod, he walks away with a few extra coins in his pocket as the price for his silence.

While the halflings tell tales around the fire, Shar whores herself out to several of the merchants present (as well as to Cavemouth), declaring her body the temple of the Sacred Whore, the Sword Emperor’s wife.

The night drags on. Not long before the various folk put their heads down for the night, one of them relates one last tale- apparently, a city on the coast has declared itself independent and established its own demesnes.

Very interesting, thinks the party’s gnome.

***

In the morning, as the party walks off the road north towards the rift opened by the recent earthquake, they discuss this latest piece of news.

“I wonder how long it has been,” says Cavemouth, “since they saw their governor?”

“This is perfect, though,” Shifty opines. “It seems to me that real authority around here is gone. We are the local authorities, and nobody is there to contradict us.”

“What about the Empire?” asks Karl.

“When is the last time we saw an official, Imperial representative?” counters the gnome. “I have never seen one. Have you?”

His question fills the air like the smell of an over-ripe melon, sweet and ready to burst with possibility. Especially because none of them have ever seen Imperial men either. Until now, they have always put it down to their location- Overland, Grumbleford, all of the small towns in the area, are certainly in a backwater borderland. But now... it seems quite possible that the reason they have never seen Imperial men might be quite different, after all.

***

The group reaches the rift a little bit before noon, and this time they elect to descend to the topmost ledge, rather than the second one down. This leads them to another goblin warren.

The party attacks without warning, striking down goblins with furious abandon. A pair of the humanoids fall back, pelting the heroes with arrows, but soon enough Karl blasts the intervening goblins and the group is able to spring on archers. Sepia’s brass knuckles knock both consciousness and teeth from one of them.

A quick, subsequent look around finds a large group of goblin females cowering in a cave in the rear of the area, as well as many goblin young. Another cave in the back holds a number of quivering, frightened kobold slaves. For the moment, the party keeps all of them in sight and covered with weapons, but doesn’t slay them.

A few minutes later, the sharpshooter revives groggily, coughing and spitting blood out of his smashed face. He groans as his vision clears, then cringes in fear as the tiefling raises her brass knuckles threateningly again.

“We had a deal!” the goblin cries. “You were supposed to leave us alone!”

“You’re still raiding the merchant caravans east of here,” Shifty snaps. “We warned you.”

“It wasn’t us!”

“Then why are they offering two gold for a goblin scalp?” demands Karl.

“There are lots of other goblins in the area,” whines the party’s captive. “Many live in the Black Brambles, and raid from there!”

The party draws back to discuss this intelligence, debating whether or not the goblin is lying, as well as what the best course of action might be. Finally, Shifty shakes a finger in the goblin sharpshooter’s face and tells him, “We’re going to investigate further. If what you say is true, we’ll leave you alone. If you’re still raiding, we will return and kill every last one of you.”

The sharpshooter gasps in terror.

”For now,” the gnome continues, “to ensure your good behavior, we’re going to take your females with us and put them to work. We won’t mistreat them, don’t worry- but if you want them back, you had better not mess with us!”

***

Back to the Governor’s Tower. The female goblins are frightened, behaving more like cattle than like goblins.

“There really isn’t much damage they can do,” Karl points out. “There’s no reason why we can’t leave them here, doing some of the cleanup work that needs to be done.”

“Without supervision?”

“What are they going to do, pee in the corner? This place is already a wreck.”

“Good point,” agrees the rest of the party.

“But then, what are we going to do?” wonders Cavemouth.

“There is at least one more level in the rift that we haven’t checked out,” replies Shar. “We might as well finish exploring it. But this time, let’s not kill goblins unless they attack us first.”

Everyone seems to agree with this is principle, but it will soon become apparent that this agreement is the flimsiest of things.

***

On the road headed west, a huge, dangerous-looking bird bigger than a horse, backed with a rich-looking purple howdah and driven by a well-dressed halfling, is given a wide berth by all the other travelers on the road. No trouble with goblin bandits for this one!

“Your pardon, sir,” calls the halfling to a nearby merchant.

Warily, the merchant looks over the huge terror bird that the tiny figure is mounted on. “Yes?” he calls back.

“Can you tell me the name of the biggest city in these parts? Would it still be Thrushton?”

“Thrushton’s a ruin, these days,” the merchant replies. “Grumbleford is probably the biggest town around these days.”

“Is it the seat of the government?”

“No, that’d be the Governor’s Tower. It’s off the road somewhat, from what I understand.”

“The Imperial Governor, then... Is he active much? Does he hold court?”

Nervously, the merchant answers, “Haven’t heard anything about him doing that sort of thing, no.”

“Ah. And which way to Grumbleford? Are there signs?”

“There’s an old sign at the crossroads, but it’s south from there, if you don’t have your letters.” He glances at the halfling’s garb. “Though I’m sure you do,” he amends. “No disrespect intended.”

“And none taken. Thank you, you have been most helpful.” The halfling tosses a silver piece to the merchant, who- surprised- snatches it from the air.

Huh, he thinks, looks new. He squints at it: the standard head he doesn’t know on one face, and a hand holding a rose on the other. It is new- it hasn’t even been shaved yet. He glances across at the halfling. Well, none of my business, and I probably don’t need to know anything more about this anyhow.

The merchant will find out how wrong he is in time.

***

On ropes and harnesses, the party descends past the first ledge and down to the third (the second, of course, is on the opposite side of the rift). Cavemouth leads the way in. Squeaking ahead of them announces the presence of many rats. The entryway rapidly opens into a large chamber with many different exits- and rats everywhere.

“Filthy vermin,” growls Cavemouth.

“You’re one to talk,” quips Sepia.

The goliath shoots her an amused glance, then stomps into the room. The others are not far behind him. Rats- some of the size of a large cat- start to move to investigate them.

“I don’t know about this,” says Shar. Her voice betrays her unease. “There are a lot of them...”

“A few scorching bursts would probably clear them away,” offers Karl.

“Ow!” exclaims Cavemouth, as one of the rats nibbles experimentally at him. “All right, let’s get rid of these damned pests!” He cuts one in half with his axe, and Karl follows his attack up with one of the bursts he mentioned, cooking a couple more of the rodents.

Unfortunately, this doesn’t really help. Instead of intimidating the other rats, it enrages them.

Naked-tailed vermin of all sizes start pouring at the party from everywhere, coming from the side passages, smaller holes in the walls, ceiling ledges- everywhere. Soon our heroes are facing a horde of giant rats, as well as a pair seething swarms of rats. A few of the rats are even larger than cats, reaching up to about 3’ in length (not counting their long tails, of course).

The party fights with aplomb, and soon they drive off or slay the onrushing furry mass of rodents. Karl proves adept at dealing with the swarms with his scorching bursts, while Cavemouth and the others keep the individual larger specimens from coming too close- at least, in one piece. Slowly, grimly, our heroes cut and blast their way through the rats, until they are surrounded by a bloody, smoldering carpet.

Then they start to explore, mindful of the squeaks of the remaining rats (There must be thousands of them, thinks Cavemouth). The first direction they check out is riddled with areas of unsafe ceiling, just waiting to drop down on them. They manage to “map out” the unsafe areas, and carefully skirt around them. Strange scuttling noises come from all directions.

“I hope there is something other than just rats down here,” comments Shifty. “Something with treasure.”

“Me too!” agrees Sepia, and agreement murmurs up from the others.

The party looks around. Cavemouth notices the glow of lanterns coming from one direction; this is more interesting than a bunch of rats, so the party heads in that direction. The lanterns are set along a ledge above a 20’ drop-off; a canyon ranging from 15’ to 25’ wide separates the ledge that they are on from the other side. A pair of ropes have been stretched across the gap in such a way as to allow a person to walk upon one while holding the second, higher, rope with his hands.

“Look!” Sepia says, gesturing.

Trying to be sneaky on the other side are a pair of creatures that strongly resemble skunks, excepting their size: they are about 4’ long, with huge tails and white stripes down their otherwise-black backs.

“I hate skunks,” Cavemouth declares.

Sepia nods. “Me, too. I don’t want to stink.”

The party fans out and draws ranged weapons. “I bet we can kill them from here,” says Shifty.

Then, even as Cavemouth hurls a javelin into one of the skunk-things, a dagger flips out of the shadows, hitting Sepia in the temple. She squawks, stumbles- and pitches towards the cliff.

She catches herself on the edge, managing to barely hang on.

From where the dagger came from in the shadows in the canyon below, a goblin in a climbing harness glares at them. A pick hangs at his side.

Shar fires an arrow but misses, and then Shifty sinks a shuriken into the wounded skunk’s eye. It squeals and collapses.* The goblin gives a cry of rage... and slips away back into the shadows.

Next Time: The goblin spelunker!

*This is the first time in 4e that I can recall a non-minion being slain before it had a chance to act. Hurray!

 

[the Jester]

Shar points down at the bottom of the lower section. “There he is!”

Cavemouth and Sepia leap down after the goblin spelunker, who snarls and draws his pick. He swings it at the goliath, but Cavemouth parries the blow, and Sepia rushes around behind the goblin. The three of them engage in a furious series of blows and parries, and when the goblin hits Cavemouth with his pick, he cries, “FLAME ON!”

WHOOMPH! The pick bursts into flame. Cavemouth cries out as he starts to burn.

“Nya!” the goblin chortles, and knees the hulking fighter in the groin. With a groan, Cavemouth staggers, holding his aching crotch.

Up top, Shifty and Shar send arrows and shuriken at the other skunk-beast, wounding it badly. It chitters and clambers down the wall, moving to aid its goblin master. Cavemouth, seeing it coming, gives a nasty snarl and whips his axe into it, slicing through both of its forelimbs. Blood gushes out in a massive flood, and the creature sprawls on the ground dead.

“MY PETS!” the goblin howls, and slams his pick into Cavemouth’s thigh.

“Aargh!” cries the goliath, and the goblin yanks him from his feet. He crashes to the ground and the little spelunker stomps his groin again. “Oooohhh,” he groans.

Shifty leaps to the bottom of the room, tumbling to absorb the fall. But the spelunker darts around the corner- there is a smaller alcove in the back of the room, behind the elevated area in the back of the room- and vanishes back out of view. Shar, atop the eastern elevated area, curses. “Where did he go?” she cries.

“We’ll find him,” Shifty promises, fading into the shadows.

Cavemouth clambers to his feet, his balls aching like never before, and staggers around the corner. “Where are you, you little bastard?” he cries.

Sepia edges around the corner as well, scanning the shadows for him. “Come out, we can negotiate,” she calls. “We have gold!” She pulls a few gold pieces out of her belt pouch and tosses them into the dark back corner of the room.

The spelunker emerges from cover, his pick held before him warily.

“GOTCHA, YOU LITTLE BASTARD!” screams Shifty, leaping out of hiding and hurling a shuriken. It sinks deep into the goblin’s cheek. The spelunker cries out in pain and staggers. Shifty leaps forward, and the two of them exchange another series of blows and parries even as Cavemouth roars and staggers bow-legged to the fight.

Only to have another kick to the groin land solidly right between his legs.

“Your testes belong on my neck,” he groans, and cuts at the goblin with his axe.

The goblin, for his part, swings his flaming pick at Cavemouth and catches him in the ribs. Bone cracks and Cavemouth crumples into unconsciousness. Shar, still unable to see what is happening, curses and starts to climb down.

Meanwhile, Sepia says, “Wait, let’s talk about this!”

The goblin’s response is to groin stomp the unconscious goliath and then dart back around the corner. Shifty thrusts with his shortsword, pricking the goblin in the armpit, and then pursues. The goblin reaches the eastern wall and starts to climb up towards the ledge that holds his escape- the passage back out to the level’s egress. Unfortunately for him, in his frantic haste, he attempts to climb up a crumbling part of the wall, and it simply slides out from underneath him, leaving him right where he started. He whirls around as Shifty springs forward and pokes him again.

“We have gold!” Sepia tries again, even as Shar reaches the bottom and hurries to where she can see her fallen friend.

“Why would I trust you? You already offered a parlay once, and then attacked me again when I tried to accept!” The goblin whirls his pick and swings towards Shifty’s pate, but the gnome ducks the worst of the blow. The small wound he takes is enough, however; he farts and vanishes.*

Sepia steps in, her brass knuckles on her hands, and throws another couple of coins at the goblin. “Shifty, knock it off! That was him, not me!” She moves to stand right in front of the bleeding goblin. “Come on, we can be reasonable,” she says. “Here, have some coins.”

The goblin hesitates, but is clearly ready to strike. “Put your weapons down and I’m willing to talk,” he growls.

Shifty reappears. “Put your weapon down, or we’ll kill you.”

The goblin snarls and sneers at him... but neither one attacks. After a long moment (and a hard look from Sepia), the gnome steps back. “Fine,” he says. “We’ll talk.”

From around the corner, Cavemouth comes staggering, clearly still aching between his legs. He is shaking with anger. “You owe me balls!” he roars.

“What’s your name?” asks Sepia, trying to be reasonable.

“I am called Mulcoyle,” the goblin replies. “My folk had a deal with you. You were to leave us alone. Why have you attacked me?”

“Uh, we didn’t realize that you were part of that same group of goblins,” Shifty says. (While not technically a lie, the truth is more like the party didn’t stop to think about it, nor did they care.)

“And there are still goblin bandits on the road near here,” Cavemouth adds. He shakes a finger at Mulcoyle.

“If those don’t stop, we’re coming back and wiping you all out!” Shifty declares.

“My people have not raided since you came,” the goblin retorts. “They must be other tribes. You should take it up with the goblins in the Black Brambles, not us- we have honored our agreement! Unlike you!”

Shar shrugs eloquently. Weapon arms tense again.

“Well, how do we know that it isn’t you? Does your tribe have an identifying mark or anything?” Sepia asks, trying to keep things reasonable.

“Of course! We are the Broken Nose tribe! Our sigil is obvious.”

“All right, listen,” says Shifty. “We’re the authority in this area now. If we see a single one of your tribesmen on a bandit raid, we’re going to come back and wipe you all out. So you had better tell your people to keep their noses clean if they want to live.”

“I already told you, we are honoring our half of the agreement. It is you that has transgressed.”

“We’re sorry,” Sepia replies. “We didn’t realize you were part of the same tribe.”

“I am an explorer,” he huffs.

“You mean you don’t know what is on this level?” demands Shifty. It is clear from his tone that he doesn’t believe the spelunker.

“Of course I do- now that I have explored it. But we only came to this rift when it opened in the recent earthquake. Before that, we had no knowledge of it at all.”

“Well, what else is here?” asks Shar. “Tell us what you know and we’ll show mercy to you.”

“We are already showing mercy,” Sepia points out. “But here are another couple of coins.”

With her kinder words and a few gold pieces, Sepia gradually manages to win Mulcoyle over. The party agrees not to try to take his magic pick, but only after it becomes clear that doing so will lead to renewed combat. A glance at Cavemouth, still holding his groin, is enough to convince the party that picking the fight up where they left off will no doubt cause them severe pain, even if it doesn’t kill or seriously injure any of them.

But it’s not a one-sided deal. Mulcoyle shows the party a wall in the very back of the room where fancy crystals are growing from the wet native rock. Although it would take hours to mine them out, the party and the goblin come to an accommodation that satisfies both sides: Mulcoyle will get his fellow goblins to mine the crystals, and the party will get half of them. Moreover, Mulcoyle will effectively act as the party’s representative with the Broken Nose goblins, keeping them out of trouble. As for what the goblin gets out of the deal, it soon becomes obvious to our heroes that he plans to capitalize on both the earnings from the crystal mining and the implied threat of their return and reprisals to make a power play in his tribe.

As for information, the goblin tells the party, “This level is mostly rats, with one area inhabited by- I don’t know your word for them. We call them kruthiks. They are like... like insects, but also like reptiles. They are very dangerous scavenging beasts.”

“It’s probably not worth messing with them,” opines Shar.

The goblin goes on to tell them, “The fourth level, at the bottom of the shaft, is mostly a pool of water. I looked at it from a rope, and there are ledges and boats down there.”

”Boats?” repeats Shar.

“Yes. I didn’t get close enough to see much more.”

“Very interesting,” says Sepia.

A little more posturing and discussion, and the goblin prepares to depart. But before he does, Cavemouth looms over him. “You owe me balls!” the warrior snarls at the goblin. “Don’t forget, or I will take yours!”

“With any luck,” the goblin replies, “I will bring you my chieftain’s balls.” And he grins.

Next Time: Our heroes head down further- and meet their first dragon!


*Shifty’s player always says that he farts invisibility when he uses his gnomish racial reactive invisibility power.

 

[the Jester]

Back at the crossroads, our heroes take the night off, enjoying the company of merchants and travelers again, sharing their fire and food with friendly strangers. “Some day,” predicts Shar, “a town will spring up here.”

The next morning, they trudge back to the earthquake rift, intending to descend to the watery level and investigate the boats that Mulcoyle the goblin told them about. They tie together several coils of rope and begin the long descent, dropping 60’ to the ledge that leads into the third level. From there, they rig a harness from another series of ropes and tie Cavemouth in, then lower him slowly and quietly down to take a look.

The shaft of the rift opens at the bottom, revealing a wide, roughly oval pool of water a couple of hundred feet across. A pair of narrow ledges of dry land are visible clinging to the edge of the pool; a few small boats are tied off to one of these. Cavemouth clambers back up and reports his findings to the party. “Unfortunately, there’s a long climb along slick rock to get to either of the ledges.”

“Do we have enough rope to rig a pathway over?” wonders Sepia.

“I have about 200’ myself,” Shar replies. “Is that enough?”

“Almost,” says Cavemouth, “and I’m pretty sure that between the bunch of us, we have enough.”

The party pulls out their rope collection and hands it to the goliath.

***

In the crude shelter, the miserable crippled figure lay huddled on a mass of filthy, soiled straw. Fleas and ticks crawled all over his body. Even if he were not horribly scarred and maimed, even had shackles not been closed around his ankles for decades, he was now too old to even attempt to escape. His bones ached, and all he truly wished for was death- as he had wished for over thirty years, now.

The air outside the rude lean-to stank of smoke, sweat and rot. The remains of the buildings, given over to the cruel embrace of mold and mildew, were untended and collapsing. Even one of those fouled structures would have offered him more cover from the wind, more surcease from the cold. But no- using those buildings would be a violation of the weird code that his prisoners held to.

Eyes crusted with yellow snot eased closed. His teeth were long-gone, rotted from his mouth. He was half-starved. Yet the damned humans and their strange allies would not let him die.

Lerrmurr had long ago told them all the information that he had; but it was not enough, not specific enough, not dangerous enough for them. They believed that he knew more. They believed that, somehow, despite the horrible torments that they had subjected him to, he somehow still held something back.

The fools. Trapping him was bad enough; leaving him unable to move freely, feeding him the fetid swill that he had been forced to live on rather than fresh prey, the beatings and torture- all of that simply added to his misery without drawing more information out of him. He had always been weak-willed; his greatest moment of strength had been when he forced his captain to leave him behind as their ship had crashed.

Surely, though, if she had escaped, she would have returned to save him by now. Except, of course, that she thought him dead- and, no doubt, burned to ashes by the radioactive fires caused by overloaded and exposed radiocrystal.

Old- he was old, now. He had lost count of how many miserable winters he had lived through; more than half of them, he was convinced, had occurred in this shackled hell hole. Even if he were to be freed, he doubted whether he could walk, let alone run. Escape were impossible now, and the increasing neglect of his captors was bound to kill him at last before long.

Even with his eyes closed, his keen ears detected someone entering the crude lean-to that was his only shelter from the elements. Then a voice, faintly mocking, speaking in the crude human language that he had learned over the years: “You are in luck, my friend. We are moving you. You will see a change of scenery.”

It was a struggle to open his rheumy eyes. The silhouette of one of his tormenters loomed above him, and he could hear a key being placed in the shackle binding his ankle to the thick root nearby. Then his emaciated body was being half-lifted, half-dragged clear of the structure. He couldn’t feel his formerly-shackled leg, and the smell arising from the suppurating sores where the metal band had fastened to him told him that he was in for another long, agonizing ritual to keep him alive. Just let me die, he thought hazily. I have nothing for you. I...

A scent caught his attention and made his blood run cold. It was far off; he had not been able to detect it at all in the smoky haze of his tiny shelter. But now it reached him, a hint of something from his old life- and not something favorable to him.

Canus, he thought. Trembling from weakness, he realized that there might be worse things than this human captivity after all. They were far off, but why would they be here at all?

Unless they are looking for me. Or other tabaxi. Or, worst of all, unless they are seeking the radiocrystals. As the laboring human dragged his mangy frame to the fire to warm him, Lerrmurr closed his eyes again. Let them not find it. And please, let them not have anything that can use it.

Oh please.

***

Time and effort always pay off. Cavemouth braids the ropes together, spiking them to the wall of the cavernous area above the water in place after place. Slowly he works his way over to the ledge with the boats on it, then drops down and shouts back at the entrance, “Ready! Come on in!”

***

Cavemouth’s voice echoes deeper into the caves. Rats squeal at the sound.

“Did you hear that?” asks Dranko, his high voice like nails on a chalkboard.

Corellian hisses, “Quietly, brother! Let us ambush them while they are still making their descent. Surely, anyone entering our cave will have valuables worth stealing.”

Hissing laughter, the two wererats draw their blades. But when they move, it is not first towards the entry to their chambers, but rather to the rear, where their “ally” lurks, her eyes on the figure trapped in the icy pool.

“I heard,” it says laconically. And, spreading purple wings, the wyrmling- its body the size of a large dog- takes to the air, banks around and begins flying towards the entryway. The wererats and their menagerie of rat pets of all sizes follow quickly in the dragon’s wake, claws scuttling on the cave floor.

***

Cavemouth reaches a hand up to help Sepia down off the long series of ropes and onto the ledge. She alights graciously, her tail swishing back and forth.

And the dragon emerges from the cave behind them, belching forth a radiant purple froth that catches both of them.

“DRAGON!!” screams Cavemouth, even as his head fills with pain. He howls in agony, staggering, and then draws his axe out and tries to stand firm, ready to attack. Sepia pulls out her dagger.

“There are more rats coming, too!” she warns.

Shifty hurls a shuriken at the dragon, but it just bounces off of its thick scales. Hanging from the ropes, the gnome grimaces. Are they worth it? he wonders. Can we take this thing?

Rats pour out from the cave en masse, including a couple of rather large ones- and followed by a pair of things that look like half-man, half-rat. “Wererats!” he cries. “Filthy wererats!”

The party is at a substantial disadvantage as the enemy pours in at them. Shar is still above, in the ropes; but she pulls out her bow and starts firing arrows at the rts. Sepia and Cavemouth start trying to fight, cutting down more of the rats, but the vermin swarm over them while their (presumed) leaders, the wererats, move in to flank.

The dragon flies by and tears at Shifty with its claws, tearing scarlet furrows in his chest. The gnome cries out- and vanishes, invisible.

Then he starts to scramble away, up the ropes, hoping to achieve safety.

Unfortunately, the dragon is smart enough to perceive the possibility of flight- and with powerful wings beating the air, it rises up- and with a snap of its jaws, it tears through the ropes about halfway back to the party’s egress!

Uh-oh, thinks Shifty.

Cavemouth and Sepia, meanwhile, are being sorely pressed. Sepia leaps into one of the boats and yells, “Cavemouth, to the boat! Let’s get out of here!” With a sweep of her dagger, she cuts through one of the ropes that ties the boat to shore.

The goliath turns and leaps, clearing a giant rat and landing with a hard thump in Sepia’s chosen boat. “Cast off, quick!” he cries, and the tiefling rogue swiftly saws through the other rope.

But then the first wererat- Corellian- leaps into the boat after them and thrusts its shortsword into Sepia’s midsection. Blood gushes out, flowing over his arm. With a gasp, Sepia collapses.

Meanwhile, the wererat named Dranko climbs into the other boat. “No you don’t,” he chortles. “You cannot escape us!” Rats pour into his boat after him, and he starts untying the mooring ropes on his own vessel.

Cavemouth yells and gives a great push at the wererat in his boat. With a surprised cry and a great pinwheeling of arms, Corellian goes over the side. The goliath pushes off, hoping to gain some distance- and the dragon swoops in, its claws ripping trails of blood into his back. Cavemouth screams in pain and swings his axe with all his strength, scoring a blow on the purple wyrmling.

Shifty, hanging invisibly from the ropes, groans to himself. I have to try to save them, he thinks. A glum thought, given the consequences of failure- and yet, the dragon has already made plain that escape will be difficult at best.

He is near a piton that has been hammered into the wall; with the pommel of his shortsword, he knocks it free and swings on the rope, held still to the wall by another piton further above him. His trajectory arcs out and past the boats, then back around- and he stabs the dragon in the side to great effect.*

It roars and slices him with its claws, wounding him badly. Shifty screams in pain, then stabs again- but this time he is visible. Unable to take the dragon by surprise, he cannot manage to slip the tip of his blade through its thick scales.

“Why did I do it?” he wails. “You weren’t worth it!”

Then, the second boat glides up behind him and Dranko the wererat, flanking him with the dragon, stabs him from behind. Shifty gasps in pain, and the dragon bites down on his shoulder with devastating force.

Shifty collapses, suspended over the water by the ropes, his blood dribbling into the pool below him.

Desperately, Cavemouth slices at the wererat in the other boat in front of him. He deals a fair cut to its arm, but Dranko just laughs.

The wound starts to close with appalling speed.

“Fool!” Dranko taunts, leaping nimbly into his boat. “You cannot defeat us! With our dragon at our side, we are invincible!”

The two exchange a few feints and parries- and, to Cavemouth’s horror, the wererat reaches out and snatches his bag of gold from him! “HEY!!” he cries.

The dragon rips a hunk of his arm away, and the goliath collapses.

Shar, who has been firing arrows the whole time, suddenly finds herself the only one standing. “Wait!” she says, and cuts herself out of the rope harness that she is suspended in. She lands lithely on the boat. “Please, you’ve won!” She drops her bow and raises her hands. “Just let me save my friends!”

“You must pay for your intrusion,” sneers Dranko, even as Corellion pulls himself into the boat behind her. The smell of wet rat fills her nose.

“What do you want?” she asks desperately, and kneels down to bind Sepia’s wounds. The wererats don’t cut her down, and she manages to stop the worst of the tiefling’s bleeding.

The two wererats exchange a glance. “Are you worth a ransom?” demands Corellion.

“You wear uniforms,” Dranko says. “Who do you serve?”

“We- we’re the governor’s men,” she replies. “Yes, we’re worth ransoming.”

“Fortunate for you,” Dranko sneers. “Sixty gold pieces for your lives.”

“All right! Whatever you say, just let me save my friends!”

***

The wererats prove to be surprisingly merciful, allowing Shar to keep her allies alive. The priestess, soaked in the sweat of fear, turns over the requisite gold to the pair of lycanthropes while the dragon perches on a nearby rock, glaring at her. Clearly, treachery is not a good option here- a fact that the wererats keep reminding her of.

Once her friends are stable, the wererats even allow her to bring them around. Chastened by their defeat, nobody makes a hostile move. The dragon watching over the scene is a grim reminder of the odds that they would face if they tried anything.

Instead of just leaving, however, the party talks to the lycanthropes, hoping to draw out some information about what else might lurk down here. The wererats, surprisingly forthcoming, claim that the entire fourth level is theirs.

“But there is something interesting here,” Corellion says. “We will show it to you for ten gold, so long as you agree that, each time you wish to see it again, you will pay us another ten gold without causing any trouble.”

“Fair enough,” Shar replies. “After all, if we don’t want to see it again, we can just stay away.”

With a nasty laugh, the wererat gestures deeper into their tunnels. “Right this way.”

The party follows the lycanthropes despite their misgivings, and soon find themselves in a dead-end chamber with an icy pool in there. “I predict that you will be very interested in what she has to say,” one of the wererats says. The dragon flaps over to a large boulder and sets down, watching the proceedings languidly.

“The money first,” the other wererat says.

“What?”

“Ten more gold.”

The party pays up. Cavemouth points at the money bag that Dranko snatched during the fight. “That’s mine.”

Dranko just laughs. “Not anymore. Don’t push your luck, big man. You’re lucky to be alive.”

Paid off, the two wererats withdraw, smirking, to the edge of the chamber. Cavemouth mutters angrily about his lost gold; he still has a few silver pieces, but now he is pretty well completely broke.

The party approaches the iced-over pool and gazes within it.

Someone is there- someone beautiful. Green-skinned, garbed only in pearls and shells, with long hair floating in the water, she swims easily beneath the layer of ice. When she sees our heroes, she floats up to the underside of the ice layer and presses her hands against it.

“Whoa,” says Shar. “What is that?”

“Hello,” the green-skinned woman calls. “I am Katimah, and I need your help.”

Cavemouth hefts his axe. “Are you trapped?”

“Yes, but your axe will not free me. There is an enchantment laid upon the waters here, keeping me in.”

“Did the wererats do this to you?” asks Shifty.

“No. I was imprisoned... long ago, by the duergar that dwelt beneath this level of the dungeon.”

“There is more to this place, then?”

She nods. “Yes, the duergar, in their heyday, used my powers to help control the flow of water in their demesnes.”

“Your power? What are you? What did they make you do?”

“I am a marid. As I said, I helped channel the flow of water in their underground city. They used me to help control their irrigation needs, to prevent flooding and the like. I have great power over water, which is why they bound me to their service. I am sure you can imagine that changing water levels can be a great danger to an underground settlement.”

“How can we free you?” asks Shar.

“And what’s in it for us?” Shifty adds.

“I will give you my magic items,” Katimah replies. “And you can free me by obtaining the Bell of Salash and sounding it here.”

“Where is this bell?” asks Cavemouth.

“Below, somewhere in the duergar levels. There is a canal, now submerged, that leads to the fifth level of this place, and it is through that that you must go.”

“Underwater?” exclaims Sepia.

“We aren’t really equipped for underwater exploration,” Shifty says.

“I can bestow the ability to breathe water upon you,” the marid says. “It will last for 24 hours. All you must do is touch the surface of the ice.”

Our heroes draw back to discuss this. “I think we should rest up first,” states Shar. “And we can always come back for a mere ten gold pieces.”

At this, Cavemouth growls deep in his throat.

“Let’s go back to the tower first and think this over,” suggests Shifty.

“Yeah, I need to get more alchemist’s fire anyhow,” says Sepia.

The party turns back to Katimah. “With respect,” Shifty says, “we have a few other things to take care of first, but we will be back to take you up on your offer at a later date. If that’s all right with you.”

“I am not going anywhere. I have waited a long time for my freedom- a few days, weeks or even years more is nothing to me.”

With a nod, Shar says, “Until later, then.”

Next Time: For the first time, our heroes meet the authorities!


*I gave him an extra W damage for using such a cool stunt, and with his sneak attack and all, he ended up doing 35 points of damage to said dragon! “Still not bloodied,” I said.

 

[Mathew_Freeman]

New Jester story hour! How did I miss this before?

Great stuff as usual - I love your players. Just goes to show that not all D&D is about valorous Knights & Paladins; there's plenty of room for the ale'n'whores school of adventuring too.

I caught that one of your wererats is called Dranko, BTW - have you told Piratecat?

 

[the Jester]

New Jester story hour! How did I miss this before?

Great stuff as usual - I love your players. Just goes to show that not all D&D is about valorous Knights & Paladins; there's plenty of room for the ale'n'whores school of adventuring too.

I caught that one of your wererats is called Dranko, BTW - have you told Piratecat?

Glad to have you on board!

This is a different group of players than the previous ones- with a few exceptions:

Shar's player (and Hammhokk's) is Seance, who played Hkatha in my 4e campaign in Davis, Lillamere in my 3.5 epic game, Naomi in the halfling campaign, Jerakai in the 2e days, etc...

Shifty's player was the guy who played Rajah in Cydra: the Early Years. He played a lot of other pcs through the years, but Rajah is about the only one to appear in one of my story hours so far.

Sepia's player played Maybell Nontrophia, a tabaxi jester in an era of my game that has barely been touched on by story hours at all- prolly in a flashback or two, or perhaps in the thread about Delilah's adventures- I think they crossed paths once.

Kane's player (who has missed several sessions, unfortunately) played Lochenvare in the Early Years and many pcs in my old campaign world (which has no story hours at all, but a few flashbacks referring to it).

Cavemouth's player played Grumpy Fluffbottom, as well as the most chaos-addicted pcs in my campaign, including Veil.

Edit: As for Dranko, I stole his name from PC without asking or pointing, but maybe I should mention it...

Edit 2: As for what this Dranko conversation is all about, Dranko is Piratecat's excellent half-orc cleric/rogue/lasher in Sagiro's excellent story hour thread.