Aftermath - Campaign after the War
- Thread starter Rybaer
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Rybaer
First Post
Hey guys, thanks for the vote of appreciation.
After Boaz died, his player brought in the ill-fated Robyn (who died in his second session, I believe). His next character was the hastily created Findus. Right about where I am in the postings, his player took a leave of absence from player for several months (Findus stayed back with the local elves). We're all glad to have him back in action now, playing a halfling rogue who has stepped in for the now absent Kisty.
That's all down the road, though.
This game has been running about 13 months now. My postings, however, are running about Aug/Sept timeframe. I'm slowly catching up to where the party is at now.
-Rybaer
After Boaz died, his player brought in the ill-fated Robyn (who died in his second session, I believe). His next character was the hastily created Findus. Right about where I am in the postings, his player took a leave of absence from player for several months (Findus stayed back with the local elves). We're all glad to have him back in action now, playing a halfling rogue who has stepped in for the now absent Kisty.
That's all down the road, though.
This game has been running about 13 months now. My postings, however, are running about Aug/Sept timeframe. I'm slowly catching up to where the party is at now.
-Rybaer
Rybaer
First Post
Session #7.5 – Thrindlemond, Brother Sal, and the Prophecy of the Half Moon
The astral construct, in the form of a monstrously large tiger, ripped into the group’s midst, biting and clawing anything in reach. Rurik, the only one with respectable armor, charged up front and paid the price by suffering several hard hits. Nigel and Findus launched away with arrows and Kisty peppered it with sling stones while slowly moving around to the backside of it. Zalman tossed his wand of magic missiles to Sinea and ordered her to start launching away. He, meanwhile, launched a lighting bolt back at the creature.
The fight was quick and frantic, but the creature wasn’t quite as durable as its size and demeanor suggested and it was soon dispatched. Rurik managed to get a quick bit of healing off on himself before yet another construct was manifested. This time, it was ten foot tall, bipedal demonic-looking creature with claws and horns.
Again, Rurik took a beating as the only one willing to stand up to it directly. Zalman, summoned a celestial bison to help distract it from the wounded cleric. Sinea kept up a steady stream of magic missiles. Kisty, finally close enough to the backside of the creature, tumbled in to melee and worked away at its backside with her daggers.
This construct lasted slightly longer, and knocked Rurik unconscious, before finally falling to the group’s attacks. By this time, everyone was concerned for their fallen friend and irate at the gall of Thrindlemond to throw these things at them while sitting back and observing the results.
They were expecting another manifestation, but Thrindlemond stepped forward and called: “I’ve seen enough.” He gestured briefly at Rurik’s limp form, which began to float upward and toward the half-dragon. The group reacted badly to that and aimed everything they had toward the seemingly unconcerned Thrindlemond.
“I will do nothing to harm your friend,” Thrindlemond said as Rurik settled at his feet. “Quite the contrary, in fact. Please, try not to do anything rash.”
The group was very displeased by this turn of events and the arrogant attitude of the purple-scaled one. Nigel started moving toward the ramp while the others continued to watch closely. Thrindlemond, pulling back the sleeve of his robes, knelt beside the dwarf and did something the others couldn’t quite make out. A few moments later, however, Rurik was stirring, looking around in a bit of confusion.
Thrindlemond again stood on the ledge and looked over toward the wood box containing the magic egg that Zalman had hastily set down on the ground when the fighting broke out. Zalman, extremely put off by the whole situation, decided to be a bit defiant and planted his magical staff on top of the box and commanded it immobile. Thrindlemond just looked blankly at the box and started pulling it telekinetically out from under the immobile staff – dragging, screeching, and grinding against the stone floor until it finally popped loose and floated up to his outstretched hands.
“I apologize for the inconvenience I may have caused you,” Thrindlemond said. “However, I feel that what I have to say may make it worth your time to stay and listen. Please, join me for dinner and whatever hospitality I can offer you.”
He turned and started walking toward a small door set in the dark recesses of the upper level, then paused and turned back to the group (none of whom had started moving to take him up on the offer). “Oh, and I’ll get all of you sorted back out into your proper bodies. Right this way, please.”
Zalman was pissed enough that he’d have happily kept Sinea’s body just to avoid following the annoying half-dragon. However, he felt he needed to see Tehloan and Sinea get their bodies back. He might as well get his own while he was at it. Besides, this Thrindlemond had promised to answer their questions…for whatever his promises were worth.
The group quickly discussed things and agreed to go with him, but only for as long as it took to get the bodies back where they belonged and a few answers on the side.
Thrindlemond led them down a short hallway and into a large, two-level underground foyer. The construction was all in various shades of polished marble with gemstones and decorative touches added here and there. Magical lights made it comfortably bright. Several doors and halls led off of both levels. They were led up a flight of stairs to the balcony and to a couple of doors. “This for the gentlemen, this for the ladies.”
“Our bodies,” Zalman pointedly reminded him.
“Ah yes,” Thrindlemond said. “I’ll fetch the necessary object shortly. In the meantime, please feel free to freshen up for dinner. There is food and hot baths in each room. There are a number of magical servants in each room that will tend to your needs. You need only speak what you desire.” With that, he turned and left.
As promised, the rooms had hot baths, a table laden with fresh fruits, bread, cheese, and wine, and a number of hazy humanoid forms waiting along the walls. Zalman suspected they were something akin to an Unseen Servant. Thrindlemond returned promptly with a nearly identical wooden box in which was a similar but differently colored polished stone egg.
“All you need do,” Thrindlemond explained, “is touch this egg. You will shortly thereafter return to your normal form. The transition back is quicker and painless, as your body is happy to return to its natural state.” Zalman was still displeased, but touched the second egg. Tehloan, the squirrel, likewise touched it. Thrindlemond then took it next door for Sinea to touch it.
By this time, most everyone was willing to try to indulge in what simple pleasures they could. If Thrindlemond had any further hostile intentions, they figured it didn’t matter how prepared they were. Nigel convinced the magic servants to give him a massage while he soaked in a hot bath. Rurik also settled upon a bath, but with a constant supply of wine coming his way.
* * *
Meanwhile, shortly before midnight some forty or fifty miles away in the grassy hills to the West, Amblin and his dog were jogging along briskly. They were en route to Shadykin’s to see if he could shed any light on the transformation problem that Zalman, Sinea, and Tehloan had undergone. While he had traveled some during the daytime, he preferred running at night, under the cover of darkness due to the minimal amount of cover afforded him in the grasslands. Over the last week, the first time they’d traveled this way, they had run across an owlbear, a pair of trolls, a dire wolverine, and a full-blown red dragon. He had no desire to run into anything else, particularly alone.
Using only what light the quarter moon provided, he ran on. He was enjoying the cool night air of the early summertime, reveling in his runner’s high and the pleasure at spending time with his dog. His wandering mind was snapped abruptly back to the present when a shadow swooped overhead. A very big shadow.
He was at least a quarter mile from the nearest cover, a small copse of trees. As he surveyed the star lit sky, the shadow swooped back toward him and promptly dropped onto the ground immediately in front of him. It was a dragon. A full blown, alarmingly real dragon. Fleeing was a futile option. Attacking was right out. So, he just stood there with his dog in stunned silence.
It dipped it’s head down to Amblin’s level, about ten feet away, and in a rather pleasant and articulate voice asked: “You aren’t Amblin, by any chance, are you?”
“Why yes,” he stammered. “Uh, yeah. That’s me.”
“Good,” it replied. “I wasn’t sure how hard it’d be to find you, but you weren’t too hard to pick out against the grass. Pretty much where I expected you to be.”
“Uh,” Amblin said. “Uh, you were looking for me? Why?”
“Oh, an acquaintance of mine asked if I wouldn’t come fetch you,” he replied. “I don’t really know what he wanted you for, but he said to tell you that your friends no longer needed you to make the trip and to come back and join them for a late dinner.”
Amblin’s mind reeled a bit as he tried to sort out his friends and their issues while looking in the face of a creature whose mouth he would very easily fit within. Well, they must have sorted out this business with body swapping, he figured, and the story as to how they did it must really be interesting if a dragon was sent to fetch him back.
“Okay,” Amblin said. It was the best he could manage.
“If you’d like to settle yourself on my back,” the dragon said, “we can be off promptly. Right there at the base of my neck, in front of my wings, is the most comfortable spot for the both of us.”
“What about my dog?”
“Hmmm,” the dragon said as it gave the cowering animal an appraising look. “I suppose it’d be easiest if I just carried it. No harm will come to it.”
Amblin tried to reassure his companion, but the dog wasn’t buying it. Finally, the dragon just grabbed the dog and then lowered his neck for Amblin to mount. Once settled, they launched with a powerful leap. The dragon flew rose quickly on powerful beats of its wings.
After they had reached a cruising altitude, the dragon turned its head back to face Amblin. “I must apologize,” it said. “I don’t believe I introduced myself. My name is Glitterstone.”
“Nice to meet you,” Amblin replied.
“Just sit back and enjoy the ride,” Glitterstone said. “It shouldn’t take too long to get you back.”
Amblin watched as the moon lit landscape sped past below them. Only one thought kept going through his head: “This is so cool!”
* * *
Amblin wandered in on his companions as they finished dressing in their freshly laundered garments. “Hey guys! You’re not going to believe what I just did. Oh, hey, Zalman! That is you, now, isn’t it?”
Everyone quickly got caught back up with the activities of the others and then dinner was on. Thrindlemond sat at the end of a long, polished hardwood table. The group was seated on either side of him, using only about half the length of the table among the nine of them – Thrindlemond, Nigel, Amblin, Zalman, Rurik, Findus, Sinea, Tehloan, and Kisty. The elves had remained fairly quiet since getting their bodies back. They sensed that there was something afoot concerning the other companions, but they were willing to wait it out and see what could be learned.
The food was served by more of the ghostly servants, all of it exceptional in taste and presentation. None of them had ever had such a fine meal. For most, though, they were still too apprehensive about the mysterious Thrindlemond to be able to fully enjoy it. Rurik was sufficiently drunk by now, though, that at least he was able to relax.
After the food was finished, Thrindlemond pushed his chair back and bit and opened the floor up to any question they cared to ask him.
Among other things, this is a quick summary of some of the things they learned:
(Thrindlemond was a bit evasive or cryptic when answering certain questions, by the way.)
Thrindlemond is indeed half amethyst dragon, half elf, and somewhere in the neighborhood of 2,000 years old. He’s been living in these parts, mostly alone, for quite some time. He has no contact with the nearby elvish community, nor does he really care to.
In conjunction with some divination abilities, he was able to observe and eventually lure the group into his lair via the magical egg. It was all quite intentional because he wanted to meet and observe them in action.
Why? Well, he explained that one of his “hobbies” was the study of prophecies: The prophets themselves, the events, the context, and so on. Some forty years ago or so, a diviner at a prestigious mage school had a powerful vision and wrote of what he saw. Now, the five powerful mages who comprised the Black Hand, the group that led the armies of evil in a massive campaign of destruction over twenty years ago, were believed to be one component of this prophecy. The second component of this prophecy, another group of five, has yet to be found. Thrindlemond then explained that there were groups of people out in the world seeking the second five mentioned in this prophecy – toward their own goals, good or bad – and had been searching since the time of the Black War. Supposedly, one of these organizations had pegged our heroes (Nigel, Rurik, Amblin, Zalman, and the deceased Boaz), as potentially being this group and had already made efforts to observe and nurture them. Thrindlemond was curious as to what about them had attracted the attention of this mysterious group, and hence the staged side-trek to visit him where he could more rigorously “test” them.
This came as a bit of a surprise to the group. They probed further, but Thrindlemond was unwilling to tell them specifically more about the prophecy or the group that had been watching them. He did, however, offer to introduce them to a man who could answer their questions. Thrindlemond, when asked why he was evasive on this matter, said something non-committal about pushing the limits of how involved he was personally willing to immerse himself in a potential prophecy.
They asked if he thought they were the ones mentioned in the prophecy. He replied that he had no idea, and doubted very much if the “group” in question really did either.
They then probed a bit more into the Black Hand. He told them only a cursory bit of their history. The Hand were all fellow students in a mage academy – the very same one, in fact, where the diviner had the prophecy in question. They were renowned for their talent and power, but also for their ambition and disregard for ethics. At some point, they had a falling out with the faculty and were banished from the school. For some years, nothing was heard from them. Given where they were banished to, and under what conditions, most assumed they had perished. They were wrong. The Black Hand had united countless tribes of goblins, orcs, ogres, trolls, giants, and other undesirables into a number of massive armies that swept down from the North in waves of destruction. Countless cities fell before them. Over several years, the armies pushed further south until they finally met the combined might of the armies of the southern city-states. At long last, the armies of evil were defeated and sent into retreat back northward. The evil races reclaimed cities and towns they had taken during the early part of the war, enslaving what few survivors there were. The southern city-states lacked the finances and motivation to pursue the invaders all the way back to the far North. Now, slowly, humanity is reclaiming its old lands. As for the Black Hand themselves, no one seems to know what happened to them. Rumors exist that one or more of them may have been killed. The others seem to have mysteriously disappeared sometime near the end of the war. What they had intended to accomplish with the war remains a mystery. What the Hand might do next, should they resurface, is also a mystery.
As the discussion began to wind down, Thrindlemond again asked them if they would like to visit this man who could tell them more about the prophecy. The group was hesitant, however, not really wanting any further involvement with the half dragon or anyone else who might be associated with him. When Thrindlemond explained that the individual whom he referred to was currently within a couple days of Water Break and that he could provide rapid transportation there, the group’s opinion shifted. They decided to discuss the matter amongst themselves in private, and give Thrindlemond an answer in the morning. With that, they retired to the rooms provided where beds were now prepared.
The group discussed the pros and cons of taking up Thrindlemond’s offer and finally decided they would accept it. He hadn’t done anything threatening since his “testing,” and Water Break was where they had been destined since learning of it from Kisty several weeks earlier. On foot, the journey would be at least another five or six weeks through dangerous and unfamiliar terrain. Amblin could already attest to Thrindlemond’s ability to arrange for rapid transportation.
In the morning, they told Thrindlemond that they’d accept his offer, but that they had to return to the elf village to collect the remainder of their gear and give their farewells. He bade them to return quickly and without horses as these he could not accommodate. The group used an alternate, concealed exit and quickly found their horses – still tied up and desperate for fresh grass and water. They returned to the village, dropped off a grateful Sinea and Tehloan, and collected up their gear. A couple elves rode back to Thrindlemond’s with them later that afternoon to collect their horses.
Just before sunset, they met back up with Thrindlemond. He led them into his foyer and asked them to gather tightly in a circle. He closed his eyes in concentration and then everything around them shifted. The next moment, they were standing on a grassy hill, under a completely dark summer sky. The breeze here was a bit warmer and more humid than it had been near the elf village.
Thrindlemond again opened his eyes. As their eyes adjusted to the poor lighting, he led them up to the top of the low hill. From here they could see the lights of a small village less than half a mile away. “Down there,” Thrindlemond said, “is the village of High Hill. The man you might want to speak with is Brother Sal. He shouldn’t be difficult to find. From here, you are a few days walk from Water Break.”
“I’m pretty sure I know where we are,” Kisty said. “Or at least how to get back to Water Break from here.”
“Farewell to all of you,” Thrindlemond said and promptly disappeared.
“Well, I think we can all agree that he was something of an ass.” Nods all around. “But he sure knows how to travel in style and comfort.”
They descended the hill and approached the village center. As they approached, it became clear that there was some sort of show going on in the town commons. A crowd of nearly a hundred people was gathered in front of a garishly painted wagon. One side of the wagon was flipped up to expose a stage upon which a puppet show was underway. The audience laughed at some of the antics on the stage and applauded enthusiastically. The show seemed to be wrapping up as they arrived.
Looking around at the couple dozen buildings that made up the village proper, they wondered where best to start looking for Brother Sal. There were several shops, a smithy, a small church to Pelor, an inn, and so on. Then one of the group pointed to the garishly painted wagon. The side panel had been flipped back down over the stage and painted in bold letters was “Brother Sal’s Travelling Salvation Show.” Odd, to say the least.
A late-middle aged woman was walking about the dispersing crowd with a small bowl, soliciting change from the audience. Once no more money was forthcoming, she headed for the back door of the wagon. The group intercepted her.
“Pardon us, ma’am, but we’re looking for Brother Sal.”
She gave them a curious look – they were, after all, garbed in assorted armor and toting an unusually large amount of hardware. “Wait here a moment,” she replied, and went inside.
The door opened again and from it emerged a very plain looking human, middle aged and slightly overweight. His attire was a mix of colorful, casual, and well tailored, if a bit worn. He greeted them with a warm smile and a few handshakes with everyone in reach.
“Hello there,” he said. “Hope you all enjoyed the show. I was planning on selling my wares and offering spiritual guidance tomorrow morning, if that’s what you were looking for. I suppose I could make an exception, though, if you’re bein’ in a hurry.”
Nigel stepped up close and spoke in a low voice. “Actually, we’re interested in speaking with you.”
“Oh,” he replied. “About what?”
“Thrindlemond told us you might have some interesting things to tell us.”
Sal’s face paled slightly, but he quickly recovered. “Did he now? Are you friends of his?”
“Friends would be a bit too strong a term. More like unwilling acquaintances.”
“Mmm…I see,” Sal said, stroking his chin. “Why don’t we go find somewhere to speak in private. The innkeep has a good room for the purpose.”
Sal popped into the wagon for a moment and returned carrying a large book. He then led them off to the inn, a small affair but with a crowded tavern comprising much of the first level. He spoke briefly with the man behind the bar and then led them through a small door in the back of the room. It led into a small room with a table, half a dozen chairs, and two small windows. He shut the door behind them and gestured toward the chairs.
As they sat, a knock came at the door and a young girl brought in a pitcher of ale and mugs to go around. Once she was gone and the door closed again, Sal began. “First of all, I’m Brother Sal, as you might have surmised from the wagon. I have yet to learn your names.”
They told him, and as they did he again showed a hint of recognition in his reaction. He asked them how they had come to meet Thrindlemond and what the half dragon had told them. The group gave an abbreviated version of their encounter with him and what he had told them of this prophecy and their potential role in it. They made it clear that they did not care at all for Thrindlemond or his methods.
“I’ve heard of this Thrindlemond,” Brother Sal said once they had finished. “Never met him, though. He has been known to take an active interest in prophecy, among other things, but is generally considered to be a non-participant in the events of the land. Much of what he told you is true, or at least has some truth to it.
“He told you of a prophecy, and I know the one of which he speaks. He also told you of organizations looking for those mentioned in the prophecy, the ones other than the Black Hand. I am, indeed, a member of one of these groups. And I will also admit that I have heard of you, through another of our agents who has actually met you face to face. Let me explain by first showing you the prophecy of which I speak.”
He opened the large book that he had brought with him and flipped through several pages before he found the one he wanted. He read aloud:
The Prophecy of the Half Moon
Upon a night, at midnight’s peak,
Summer’s storm will swell and break.
Through the clouds, roiling split,
The Half Moon wanes.
Five ravens take to wing
And peck away,
The sliver shatters in inky pits.
A raven of shadow, a raven of pain,
A raven of fire, entropy and death.
From out below, the new moon breaks,
Bathed in the blood of night.
For ten and twelve, the ravens cry.
A breaking of the Bridge of Tomorrow,
Shattering of the Chain of Souls.
A new half moon rises, waxing,
Ushering in the hand of doves.
A dove of might, a dove of resilience,
A dove of mind, spirit and flight.
Across the land the full moon bathed
In the blood of hope.
For ten and twelve, the doves sing.
Light and dark, the two halves meet,
At the height of the night sky.
Born of hope or torn by pain,
Doth this Half Moon wax or wane?
“You see,” Sal said as he closed the book, “the Prophecy of the Half Moon is not unlike most others – it is very vague. That the ravens represent the Black Hand has been accepted as almost a certainty. The identity of those who would be the doves, however, is a great mystery. The prophecy seems to indicate some great struggle between good and evil, and the outcome of this struggle could shift the balance on a wide scale. Hence, the great interest in learning more about the aspects of the prophecy.
“The organization I am a part of was originally formed during the height of the war. When it became more and more clear that the members of the Black Hand fit the ravens in the prophecy, a widespread effort was launched to find and nurture the doves. We surmised that the doves would mirror the ravens in that they would be a group of five individuals who had grown up together, trained together, and shared a similar philosophy. That, however, was all we had to go on. For twenty-two years we’ve been looking and still have not found the doves. There have been countless groups who fit the profile, but ultimately nothing conclusive. One of these groups may yet be the doves we’ve sought. You five were identified by one of our agents as yet another potential group of candidates.
“My organization, unlike some others that are also looking for clues to the prophecy, has little interest in controlling the actions and fate of these ‘doves.’ Ultimately, we seek to keep others from interfering with their development so that they may come to whatever end fate and prophecy has in store. We may observe, but will rarely interfere.”
“Who was this agent that identified us?” Zalman asked.
“The Lady Shele,” he replied, referring to the mysterious half-elf visitor to New Selmar that they had met in private audience with their Lord. It seemed to explain a few things, such as the blessing she offered them and the time she came looking for them in Shadykin’s. At the time, she told them that she had been occasionally using divination magic to keep tabs on them and their safety. Through she had been elusive at the time as to exactly why she was doing this, it now made more sense.
“Look,” Sal said, “there is a very good chance that you have no role in this prophecy whatsoever. Shele saw something in you that fit a vague profile we look for, but it still is nothing but a long shot. Don’t worry yourselves over it, but don’t put it out of mind entirely, either. Other groups are out there looking for folks that fit the profile, and judging by your group’s appearance, you’re bound to stick out in a crowd. It might not be a bad idea to invest in magical means by which to protect yourselves from scrying as well. Just something to think about.”
He let them create a copy of the prophecy and then they went their separate ways. Sal wished them well and left the inn. While they still had the private room, they discussed all that they had learned over the last couple days. They agreed that the prophecy business was disturbing, but they took a healthy attitude toward the whole affair. In the first, they assumed it unlikely that they were involved in the prophecy – especially given that Boaz, one of the original five, had already passed away. Secondly, even if they were the ones in the prophecy, no matter what they did or where they went, it was bound to catch up to them on its own.
They agreed to try to get rooms in the inn for the night. In the morning, they’d see if any horses were available and then they’d hit the road for Water Break. Kisty, who had joined the group to guide them to the seaport in repayment for their rescuing her, spoke up before they left the room.
“This is as far as I’m willing to go,” she said suddenly. She had been so quiet the last couple days that they were hardly aware she was still along.
“What are you talking about? You were going to take us all the way to Water Break.”
“The rest of the trip is simple from here,” she explained. “There is a road that leads east and goes straight to Water Break. It’s only a couple days on horse. You won’t need me any longer.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to come along? You’re not bad in a fight, and you know your way around the city.”
“No,” she said, looking at the table. “I’ve got, uh, family issues there that I don’t want to risk facing. There’s a reason you found me several hundred miles away from here, alone, in the wilderness. I’ll stay here in High Hill for a week or so, probably keeping a low profile. If you find you need me, you’ll have time to get back here.”
With that, they parted ways. Or so they thought…
Next session: The party meets Shadow and his gang.
-Rybaer
The astral construct, in the form of a monstrously large tiger, ripped into the group’s midst, biting and clawing anything in reach. Rurik, the only one with respectable armor, charged up front and paid the price by suffering several hard hits. Nigel and Findus launched away with arrows and Kisty peppered it with sling stones while slowly moving around to the backside of it. Zalman tossed his wand of magic missiles to Sinea and ordered her to start launching away. He, meanwhile, launched a lighting bolt back at the creature.
The fight was quick and frantic, but the creature wasn’t quite as durable as its size and demeanor suggested and it was soon dispatched. Rurik managed to get a quick bit of healing off on himself before yet another construct was manifested. This time, it was ten foot tall, bipedal demonic-looking creature with claws and horns.
Again, Rurik took a beating as the only one willing to stand up to it directly. Zalman, summoned a celestial bison to help distract it from the wounded cleric. Sinea kept up a steady stream of magic missiles. Kisty, finally close enough to the backside of the creature, tumbled in to melee and worked away at its backside with her daggers.
This construct lasted slightly longer, and knocked Rurik unconscious, before finally falling to the group’s attacks. By this time, everyone was concerned for their fallen friend and irate at the gall of Thrindlemond to throw these things at them while sitting back and observing the results.
They were expecting another manifestation, but Thrindlemond stepped forward and called: “I’ve seen enough.” He gestured briefly at Rurik’s limp form, which began to float upward and toward the half-dragon. The group reacted badly to that and aimed everything they had toward the seemingly unconcerned Thrindlemond.
“I will do nothing to harm your friend,” Thrindlemond said as Rurik settled at his feet. “Quite the contrary, in fact. Please, try not to do anything rash.”
The group was very displeased by this turn of events and the arrogant attitude of the purple-scaled one. Nigel started moving toward the ramp while the others continued to watch closely. Thrindlemond, pulling back the sleeve of his robes, knelt beside the dwarf and did something the others couldn’t quite make out. A few moments later, however, Rurik was stirring, looking around in a bit of confusion.
Thrindlemond again stood on the ledge and looked over toward the wood box containing the magic egg that Zalman had hastily set down on the ground when the fighting broke out. Zalman, extremely put off by the whole situation, decided to be a bit defiant and planted his magical staff on top of the box and commanded it immobile. Thrindlemond just looked blankly at the box and started pulling it telekinetically out from under the immobile staff – dragging, screeching, and grinding against the stone floor until it finally popped loose and floated up to his outstretched hands.
“I apologize for the inconvenience I may have caused you,” Thrindlemond said. “However, I feel that what I have to say may make it worth your time to stay and listen. Please, join me for dinner and whatever hospitality I can offer you.”
He turned and started walking toward a small door set in the dark recesses of the upper level, then paused and turned back to the group (none of whom had started moving to take him up on the offer). “Oh, and I’ll get all of you sorted back out into your proper bodies. Right this way, please.”
Zalman was pissed enough that he’d have happily kept Sinea’s body just to avoid following the annoying half-dragon. However, he felt he needed to see Tehloan and Sinea get their bodies back. He might as well get his own while he was at it. Besides, this Thrindlemond had promised to answer their questions…for whatever his promises were worth.
The group quickly discussed things and agreed to go with him, but only for as long as it took to get the bodies back where they belonged and a few answers on the side.
Thrindlemond led them down a short hallway and into a large, two-level underground foyer. The construction was all in various shades of polished marble with gemstones and decorative touches added here and there. Magical lights made it comfortably bright. Several doors and halls led off of both levels. They were led up a flight of stairs to the balcony and to a couple of doors. “This for the gentlemen, this for the ladies.”
“Our bodies,” Zalman pointedly reminded him.
“Ah yes,” Thrindlemond said. “I’ll fetch the necessary object shortly. In the meantime, please feel free to freshen up for dinner. There is food and hot baths in each room. There are a number of magical servants in each room that will tend to your needs. You need only speak what you desire.” With that, he turned and left.
As promised, the rooms had hot baths, a table laden with fresh fruits, bread, cheese, and wine, and a number of hazy humanoid forms waiting along the walls. Zalman suspected they were something akin to an Unseen Servant. Thrindlemond returned promptly with a nearly identical wooden box in which was a similar but differently colored polished stone egg.
“All you need do,” Thrindlemond explained, “is touch this egg. You will shortly thereafter return to your normal form. The transition back is quicker and painless, as your body is happy to return to its natural state.” Zalman was still displeased, but touched the second egg. Tehloan, the squirrel, likewise touched it. Thrindlemond then took it next door for Sinea to touch it.
By this time, most everyone was willing to try to indulge in what simple pleasures they could. If Thrindlemond had any further hostile intentions, they figured it didn’t matter how prepared they were. Nigel convinced the magic servants to give him a massage while he soaked in a hot bath. Rurik also settled upon a bath, but with a constant supply of wine coming his way.
* * *
Meanwhile, shortly before midnight some forty or fifty miles away in the grassy hills to the West, Amblin and his dog were jogging along briskly. They were en route to Shadykin’s to see if he could shed any light on the transformation problem that Zalman, Sinea, and Tehloan had undergone. While he had traveled some during the daytime, he preferred running at night, under the cover of darkness due to the minimal amount of cover afforded him in the grasslands. Over the last week, the first time they’d traveled this way, they had run across an owlbear, a pair of trolls, a dire wolverine, and a full-blown red dragon. He had no desire to run into anything else, particularly alone.
Using only what light the quarter moon provided, he ran on. He was enjoying the cool night air of the early summertime, reveling in his runner’s high and the pleasure at spending time with his dog. His wandering mind was snapped abruptly back to the present when a shadow swooped overhead. A very big shadow.
He was at least a quarter mile from the nearest cover, a small copse of trees. As he surveyed the star lit sky, the shadow swooped back toward him and promptly dropped onto the ground immediately in front of him. It was a dragon. A full blown, alarmingly real dragon. Fleeing was a futile option. Attacking was right out. So, he just stood there with his dog in stunned silence.
It dipped it’s head down to Amblin’s level, about ten feet away, and in a rather pleasant and articulate voice asked: “You aren’t Amblin, by any chance, are you?”
“Why yes,” he stammered. “Uh, yeah. That’s me.”
“Good,” it replied. “I wasn’t sure how hard it’d be to find you, but you weren’t too hard to pick out against the grass. Pretty much where I expected you to be.”
“Uh,” Amblin said. “Uh, you were looking for me? Why?”
“Oh, an acquaintance of mine asked if I wouldn’t come fetch you,” he replied. “I don’t really know what he wanted you for, but he said to tell you that your friends no longer needed you to make the trip and to come back and join them for a late dinner.”
Amblin’s mind reeled a bit as he tried to sort out his friends and their issues while looking in the face of a creature whose mouth he would very easily fit within. Well, they must have sorted out this business with body swapping, he figured, and the story as to how they did it must really be interesting if a dragon was sent to fetch him back.
“Okay,” Amblin said. It was the best he could manage.
“If you’d like to settle yourself on my back,” the dragon said, “we can be off promptly. Right there at the base of my neck, in front of my wings, is the most comfortable spot for the both of us.”
“What about my dog?”
“Hmmm,” the dragon said as it gave the cowering animal an appraising look. “I suppose it’d be easiest if I just carried it. No harm will come to it.”
Amblin tried to reassure his companion, but the dog wasn’t buying it. Finally, the dragon just grabbed the dog and then lowered his neck for Amblin to mount. Once settled, they launched with a powerful leap. The dragon flew rose quickly on powerful beats of its wings.
After they had reached a cruising altitude, the dragon turned its head back to face Amblin. “I must apologize,” it said. “I don’t believe I introduced myself. My name is Glitterstone.”
“Nice to meet you,” Amblin replied.
“Just sit back and enjoy the ride,” Glitterstone said. “It shouldn’t take too long to get you back.”
Amblin watched as the moon lit landscape sped past below them. Only one thought kept going through his head: “This is so cool!”
* * *
Amblin wandered in on his companions as they finished dressing in their freshly laundered garments. “Hey guys! You’re not going to believe what I just did. Oh, hey, Zalman! That is you, now, isn’t it?”
Everyone quickly got caught back up with the activities of the others and then dinner was on. Thrindlemond sat at the end of a long, polished hardwood table. The group was seated on either side of him, using only about half the length of the table among the nine of them – Thrindlemond, Nigel, Amblin, Zalman, Rurik, Findus, Sinea, Tehloan, and Kisty. The elves had remained fairly quiet since getting their bodies back. They sensed that there was something afoot concerning the other companions, but they were willing to wait it out and see what could be learned.
The food was served by more of the ghostly servants, all of it exceptional in taste and presentation. None of them had ever had such a fine meal. For most, though, they were still too apprehensive about the mysterious Thrindlemond to be able to fully enjoy it. Rurik was sufficiently drunk by now, though, that at least he was able to relax.
After the food was finished, Thrindlemond pushed his chair back and bit and opened the floor up to any question they cared to ask him.
Among other things, this is a quick summary of some of the things they learned:
(Thrindlemond was a bit evasive or cryptic when answering certain questions, by the way.)
Thrindlemond is indeed half amethyst dragon, half elf, and somewhere in the neighborhood of 2,000 years old. He’s been living in these parts, mostly alone, for quite some time. He has no contact with the nearby elvish community, nor does he really care to.
In conjunction with some divination abilities, he was able to observe and eventually lure the group into his lair via the magical egg. It was all quite intentional because he wanted to meet and observe them in action.
Why? Well, he explained that one of his “hobbies” was the study of prophecies: The prophets themselves, the events, the context, and so on. Some forty years ago or so, a diviner at a prestigious mage school had a powerful vision and wrote of what he saw. Now, the five powerful mages who comprised the Black Hand, the group that led the armies of evil in a massive campaign of destruction over twenty years ago, were believed to be one component of this prophecy. The second component of this prophecy, another group of five, has yet to be found. Thrindlemond then explained that there were groups of people out in the world seeking the second five mentioned in this prophecy – toward their own goals, good or bad – and had been searching since the time of the Black War. Supposedly, one of these organizations had pegged our heroes (Nigel, Rurik, Amblin, Zalman, and the deceased Boaz), as potentially being this group and had already made efforts to observe and nurture them. Thrindlemond was curious as to what about them had attracted the attention of this mysterious group, and hence the staged side-trek to visit him where he could more rigorously “test” them.
This came as a bit of a surprise to the group. They probed further, but Thrindlemond was unwilling to tell them specifically more about the prophecy or the group that had been watching them. He did, however, offer to introduce them to a man who could answer their questions. Thrindlemond, when asked why he was evasive on this matter, said something non-committal about pushing the limits of how involved he was personally willing to immerse himself in a potential prophecy.
They asked if he thought they were the ones mentioned in the prophecy. He replied that he had no idea, and doubted very much if the “group” in question really did either.
They then probed a bit more into the Black Hand. He told them only a cursory bit of their history. The Hand were all fellow students in a mage academy – the very same one, in fact, where the diviner had the prophecy in question. They were renowned for their talent and power, but also for their ambition and disregard for ethics. At some point, they had a falling out with the faculty and were banished from the school. For some years, nothing was heard from them. Given where they were banished to, and under what conditions, most assumed they had perished. They were wrong. The Black Hand had united countless tribes of goblins, orcs, ogres, trolls, giants, and other undesirables into a number of massive armies that swept down from the North in waves of destruction. Countless cities fell before them. Over several years, the armies pushed further south until they finally met the combined might of the armies of the southern city-states. At long last, the armies of evil were defeated and sent into retreat back northward. The evil races reclaimed cities and towns they had taken during the early part of the war, enslaving what few survivors there were. The southern city-states lacked the finances and motivation to pursue the invaders all the way back to the far North. Now, slowly, humanity is reclaiming its old lands. As for the Black Hand themselves, no one seems to know what happened to them. Rumors exist that one or more of them may have been killed. The others seem to have mysteriously disappeared sometime near the end of the war. What they had intended to accomplish with the war remains a mystery. What the Hand might do next, should they resurface, is also a mystery.
As the discussion began to wind down, Thrindlemond again asked them if they would like to visit this man who could tell them more about the prophecy. The group was hesitant, however, not really wanting any further involvement with the half dragon or anyone else who might be associated with him. When Thrindlemond explained that the individual whom he referred to was currently within a couple days of Water Break and that he could provide rapid transportation there, the group’s opinion shifted. They decided to discuss the matter amongst themselves in private, and give Thrindlemond an answer in the morning. With that, they retired to the rooms provided where beds were now prepared.
The group discussed the pros and cons of taking up Thrindlemond’s offer and finally decided they would accept it. He hadn’t done anything threatening since his “testing,” and Water Break was where they had been destined since learning of it from Kisty several weeks earlier. On foot, the journey would be at least another five or six weeks through dangerous and unfamiliar terrain. Amblin could already attest to Thrindlemond’s ability to arrange for rapid transportation.
In the morning, they told Thrindlemond that they’d accept his offer, but that they had to return to the elf village to collect the remainder of their gear and give their farewells. He bade them to return quickly and without horses as these he could not accommodate. The group used an alternate, concealed exit and quickly found their horses – still tied up and desperate for fresh grass and water. They returned to the village, dropped off a grateful Sinea and Tehloan, and collected up their gear. A couple elves rode back to Thrindlemond’s with them later that afternoon to collect their horses.
Just before sunset, they met back up with Thrindlemond. He led them into his foyer and asked them to gather tightly in a circle. He closed his eyes in concentration and then everything around them shifted. The next moment, they were standing on a grassy hill, under a completely dark summer sky. The breeze here was a bit warmer and more humid than it had been near the elf village.
Thrindlemond again opened his eyes. As their eyes adjusted to the poor lighting, he led them up to the top of the low hill. From here they could see the lights of a small village less than half a mile away. “Down there,” Thrindlemond said, “is the village of High Hill. The man you might want to speak with is Brother Sal. He shouldn’t be difficult to find. From here, you are a few days walk from Water Break.”
“I’m pretty sure I know where we are,” Kisty said. “Or at least how to get back to Water Break from here.”
“Farewell to all of you,” Thrindlemond said and promptly disappeared.
“Well, I think we can all agree that he was something of an ass.” Nods all around. “But he sure knows how to travel in style and comfort.”
They descended the hill and approached the village center. As they approached, it became clear that there was some sort of show going on in the town commons. A crowd of nearly a hundred people was gathered in front of a garishly painted wagon. One side of the wagon was flipped up to expose a stage upon which a puppet show was underway. The audience laughed at some of the antics on the stage and applauded enthusiastically. The show seemed to be wrapping up as they arrived.
Looking around at the couple dozen buildings that made up the village proper, they wondered where best to start looking for Brother Sal. There were several shops, a smithy, a small church to Pelor, an inn, and so on. Then one of the group pointed to the garishly painted wagon. The side panel had been flipped back down over the stage and painted in bold letters was “Brother Sal’s Travelling Salvation Show.” Odd, to say the least.
A late-middle aged woman was walking about the dispersing crowd with a small bowl, soliciting change from the audience. Once no more money was forthcoming, she headed for the back door of the wagon. The group intercepted her.
“Pardon us, ma’am, but we’re looking for Brother Sal.”
She gave them a curious look – they were, after all, garbed in assorted armor and toting an unusually large amount of hardware. “Wait here a moment,” she replied, and went inside.
The door opened again and from it emerged a very plain looking human, middle aged and slightly overweight. His attire was a mix of colorful, casual, and well tailored, if a bit worn. He greeted them with a warm smile and a few handshakes with everyone in reach.
“Hello there,” he said. “Hope you all enjoyed the show. I was planning on selling my wares and offering spiritual guidance tomorrow morning, if that’s what you were looking for. I suppose I could make an exception, though, if you’re bein’ in a hurry.”
Nigel stepped up close and spoke in a low voice. “Actually, we’re interested in speaking with you.”
“Oh,” he replied. “About what?”
“Thrindlemond told us you might have some interesting things to tell us.”
Sal’s face paled slightly, but he quickly recovered. “Did he now? Are you friends of his?”
“Friends would be a bit too strong a term. More like unwilling acquaintances.”
“Mmm…I see,” Sal said, stroking his chin. “Why don’t we go find somewhere to speak in private. The innkeep has a good room for the purpose.”
Sal popped into the wagon for a moment and returned carrying a large book. He then led them off to the inn, a small affair but with a crowded tavern comprising much of the first level. He spoke briefly with the man behind the bar and then led them through a small door in the back of the room. It led into a small room with a table, half a dozen chairs, and two small windows. He shut the door behind them and gestured toward the chairs.
As they sat, a knock came at the door and a young girl brought in a pitcher of ale and mugs to go around. Once she was gone and the door closed again, Sal began. “First of all, I’m Brother Sal, as you might have surmised from the wagon. I have yet to learn your names.”
They told him, and as they did he again showed a hint of recognition in his reaction. He asked them how they had come to meet Thrindlemond and what the half dragon had told them. The group gave an abbreviated version of their encounter with him and what he had told them of this prophecy and their potential role in it. They made it clear that they did not care at all for Thrindlemond or his methods.
“I’ve heard of this Thrindlemond,” Brother Sal said once they had finished. “Never met him, though. He has been known to take an active interest in prophecy, among other things, but is generally considered to be a non-participant in the events of the land. Much of what he told you is true, or at least has some truth to it.
“He told you of a prophecy, and I know the one of which he speaks. He also told you of organizations looking for those mentioned in the prophecy, the ones other than the Black Hand. I am, indeed, a member of one of these groups. And I will also admit that I have heard of you, through another of our agents who has actually met you face to face. Let me explain by first showing you the prophecy of which I speak.”
He opened the large book that he had brought with him and flipped through several pages before he found the one he wanted. He read aloud:
The Prophecy of the Half Moon
Upon a night, at midnight’s peak,
Summer’s storm will swell and break.
Through the clouds, roiling split,
The Half Moon wanes.
Five ravens take to wing
And peck away,
The sliver shatters in inky pits.
A raven of shadow, a raven of pain,
A raven of fire, entropy and death.
From out below, the new moon breaks,
Bathed in the blood of night.
For ten and twelve, the ravens cry.
A breaking of the Bridge of Tomorrow,
Shattering of the Chain of Souls.
A new half moon rises, waxing,
Ushering in the hand of doves.
A dove of might, a dove of resilience,
A dove of mind, spirit and flight.
Across the land the full moon bathed
In the blood of hope.
For ten and twelve, the doves sing.
Light and dark, the two halves meet,
At the height of the night sky.
Born of hope or torn by pain,
Doth this Half Moon wax or wane?
“You see,” Sal said as he closed the book, “the Prophecy of the Half Moon is not unlike most others – it is very vague. That the ravens represent the Black Hand has been accepted as almost a certainty. The identity of those who would be the doves, however, is a great mystery. The prophecy seems to indicate some great struggle between good and evil, and the outcome of this struggle could shift the balance on a wide scale. Hence, the great interest in learning more about the aspects of the prophecy.
“The organization I am a part of was originally formed during the height of the war. When it became more and more clear that the members of the Black Hand fit the ravens in the prophecy, a widespread effort was launched to find and nurture the doves. We surmised that the doves would mirror the ravens in that they would be a group of five individuals who had grown up together, trained together, and shared a similar philosophy. That, however, was all we had to go on. For twenty-two years we’ve been looking and still have not found the doves. There have been countless groups who fit the profile, but ultimately nothing conclusive. One of these groups may yet be the doves we’ve sought. You five were identified by one of our agents as yet another potential group of candidates.
“My organization, unlike some others that are also looking for clues to the prophecy, has little interest in controlling the actions and fate of these ‘doves.’ Ultimately, we seek to keep others from interfering with their development so that they may come to whatever end fate and prophecy has in store. We may observe, but will rarely interfere.”
“Who was this agent that identified us?” Zalman asked.
“The Lady Shele,” he replied, referring to the mysterious half-elf visitor to New Selmar that they had met in private audience with their Lord. It seemed to explain a few things, such as the blessing she offered them and the time she came looking for them in Shadykin’s. At the time, she told them that she had been occasionally using divination magic to keep tabs on them and their safety. Through she had been elusive at the time as to exactly why she was doing this, it now made more sense.
“Look,” Sal said, “there is a very good chance that you have no role in this prophecy whatsoever. Shele saw something in you that fit a vague profile we look for, but it still is nothing but a long shot. Don’t worry yourselves over it, but don’t put it out of mind entirely, either. Other groups are out there looking for folks that fit the profile, and judging by your group’s appearance, you’re bound to stick out in a crowd. It might not be a bad idea to invest in magical means by which to protect yourselves from scrying as well. Just something to think about.”
He let them create a copy of the prophecy and then they went their separate ways. Sal wished them well and left the inn. While they still had the private room, they discussed all that they had learned over the last couple days. They agreed that the prophecy business was disturbing, but they took a healthy attitude toward the whole affair. In the first, they assumed it unlikely that they were involved in the prophecy – especially given that Boaz, one of the original five, had already passed away. Secondly, even if they were the ones in the prophecy, no matter what they did or where they went, it was bound to catch up to them on its own.
They agreed to try to get rooms in the inn for the night. In the morning, they’d see if any horses were available and then they’d hit the road for Water Break. Kisty, who had joined the group to guide them to the seaport in repayment for their rescuing her, spoke up before they left the room.
“This is as far as I’m willing to go,” she said suddenly. She had been so quiet the last couple days that they were hardly aware she was still along.
“What are you talking about? You were going to take us all the way to Water Break.”
“The rest of the trip is simple from here,” she explained. “There is a road that leads east and goes straight to Water Break. It’s only a couple days on horse. You won’t need me any longer.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to come along? You’re not bad in a fight, and you know your way around the city.”
“No,” she said, looking at the table. “I’ve got, uh, family issues there that I don’t want to risk facing. There’s a reason you found me several hundred miles away from here, alone, in the wilderness. I’ll stay here in High Hill for a week or so, probably keeping a low profile. If you find you need me, you’ll have time to get back here.”
With that, they parted ways. Or so they thought…
Next session: The party meets Shadow and his gang.
-Rybaer
For some bizarre reason or another, Nigel was less pissed off about Thrindlemond’s “test” than anyone else was. I think he had pretty much decided that he was going to get killed in that glittery chamber and was pleasantly surprised when he wasn’t. This is not to say that he liked the test (or Thrindlemond, for that matter), but he was more willing to accept the baths and the dinner than Zalman and Rurik were. And, he was kind of intrigued with the whole half-dragon aspect of Thrindlemond’s being.
Damn those mediocre reaction rolls.
Like Rybaer said, after talking to Thrindlemond and Sal about the whole prophecy thing, we all pretty much decided, Eh, screw it. We are probably not the 5 Doves to begin with, and if we are, we’ll find out about it soon enough. In the meantime, we’ll just go about our lives, establishing contacts with other cities and open lines of communication and trade back to New Selmar… which is what we’re supposed to be doing. We even had a few giggles thinking about what the legends would say about us if it really was our destiny to defeat the Black Hand and release the world from their evil grasp (continue flowing epic prose bragging about our victory). There was also some discussion about going back and showing Thrindlemond what we thought of his test as opposed to just telling him. This, of course, would happen after we had achieved Mighty Hero status and freed the good races from the threat of the evil wizards forever.
And Thrindlemond is way down on the list of people to kill slowly and painfully compared to the Shadow.
Damn those mediocre reaction rolls.
Like Rybaer said, after talking to Thrindlemond and Sal about the whole prophecy thing, we all pretty much decided, Eh, screw it. We are probably not the 5 Doves to begin with, and if we are, we’ll find out about it soon enough. In the meantime, we’ll just go about our lives, establishing contacts with other cities and open lines of communication and trade back to New Selmar… which is what we’re supposed to be doing. We even had a few giggles thinking about what the legends would say about us if it really was our destiny to defeat the Black Hand and release the world from their evil grasp (continue flowing epic prose bragging about our victory). There was also some discussion about going back and showing Thrindlemond what we thought of his test as opposed to just telling him. This, of course, would happen after we had achieved Mighty Hero status and freed the good races from the threat of the evil wizards forever.
And Thrindlemond is way down on the list of people to kill slowly and painfully compared to the Shadow.
Thrindle-schmuck
I won't mince words. I don't like Thrindlemond. He is a Half-Dragon, Psion meddling piece of crap.
Yes, he was nice to us after he "tested" us. Who does he think he is!?!? Yes, you have powerful abilities. Yes, you are much older, wiser and more mature. BUT what gives you the right to do this. He admitted to planting the Chaos Egg so that it would be found. He knew we would investigate what it does and be sucked in by its mischief. He knew we would come down and find him. He didn't know that I wouldn't like that sorry sack of...
After I had my "temper tantrum" with Amblin, Nigel and Kisty (Remember, we went one way, Amblin went the other, Nigel wasn't leading and Kisty was poking fun at him so he scorched dinner with a burning hands) well, since then Zalman decided that abuse of power (Arcane, Divine, Psionic) to your own ends at the cost/sacrifice/misfortune/manipulation of others was wrong. Thrindle-schmuck abused his power. Some day someone with the ability to do something about this guy will clean his clock. Until then, just call me Zalman the puppet. Turn into a female elf, follow my egg, fight my astral creature, come have dinner, take a bath, blah, blah, blah.
It makes me sick.
Now, The Shadow. Here is a real slime-ball. Drow thief who likes to steal and rape. The first time we encountered him he almost got us. We didn't expect the challenge. The second time we were ready for him and blind-ass luck is all that kept him from getting splattered.
...but I get ahead of myself.
I won't mince words. I don't like Thrindlemond. He is a Half-Dragon, Psion meddling piece of crap.
Yes, he was nice to us after he "tested" us. Who does he think he is!?!? Yes, you have powerful abilities. Yes, you are much older, wiser and more mature. BUT what gives you the right to do this. He admitted to planting the Chaos Egg so that it would be found. He knew we would investigate what it does and be sucked in by its mischief. He knew we would come down and find him. He didn't know that I wouldn't like that sorry sack of...
After I had my "temper tantrum" with Amblin, Nigel and Kisty (Remember, we went one way, Amblin went the other, Nigel wasn't leading and Kisty was poking fun at him so he scorched dinner with a burning hands) well, since then Zalman decided that abuse of power (Arcane, Divine, Psionic) to your own ends at the cost/sacrifice/misfortune/manipulation of others was wrong. Thrindle-schmuck abused his power. Some day someone with the ability to do something about this guy will clean his clock. Until then, just call me Zalman the puppet. Turn into a female elf, follow my egg, fight my astral creature, come have dinner, take a bath, blah, blah, blah.
It makes me sick.
Now, The Shadow. Here is a real slime-ball. Drow thief who likes to steal and rape. The first time we encountered him he almost got us. We didn't expect the challenge. The second time we were ready for him and blind-ass luck is all that kept him from getting splattered.
...but I get ahead of myself.
Last edited:
Rybaer
First Post
Aww, shucks. It's so rewarding to a DM to see players get so passionate about a villian.
I'm fairly certain that because of this next encounter with the Shadow, Zalman and Rurik have kept Glitterdust and Invisibility Purge (respectively) on thier spell lists for the couple months game time since.
-Rybaer
Rybaer
First Post
Session #8.1 - Shadow and his gang
After a pleasant night's rest in High Hill's inn, the group left in search of supplies - food, a few sundries, and horses. The horses were the biggest challenge, as this was a small village without much capacity for trade. They did manage to haggle with a local, though, for a pair of scraggly horses and a pony. Amblin, as usual, was fine with just jogging along side them with his dog. They asked the innkeep about the route to Water Break. He scratched out a map and pointed out a few key areas. The most direct route went through a marshland that was inhabited by trolls. The north route around the marshlands was mostly unoccupied except for some bands of ogres. The southern route, following the road, would be the quickest and safest, though hill giants and bandits were occasionally known to pester travelers. The group settled on the southern route.
The first day on the road was pleasant and uneventful. It was one of the first hot days of summer, made more humid by the close proximity to the ocean. They passed through farmland for a while, then reached a long stretch of grassy hills and wooded glens. It was very similar, in fact, to the area between their home of New Selmar and the elven village they had just left.
They set up camp in a secluded clearing in some woods about half a mile off the main road. After midnight, while Rurik was on watch, he heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps crunching through the trees. Whoever it was, Rurik noted, was making no effort to hide his approach. He got up and surveyed the woods, nudging the others with his boots to try to rouse them. None of his companions, no matter how hard he prodded, responded in the least. He hefted his axe and shield and called out to the intruder.
"Who goes there! Name yourself and your purpose!" Rurik spoke loudly, hoping that might rouse his companions where his prodding had failed. It didn't.
"Relax there, young one," came the gruff reply out of the darkness. A burly old dwarf, dressed for travel, came stomping into clearing. "I'm just looking for a bit of company this night. Someone to share a drink and a story or three."
He walked up to the embers of the fire, dropped his backpack and worn axe on the ground and took a seat. "Eh? You gonna sit down and join me?" he asked the perplexed Rurik. "I've got drink enough fer the both of us."
The old dwarf dug through his backpack and withdrew a pair of hand carved wood goblets and a heavy skin from which he poured strong dwarven spirits. Part of Rurik knew he should be concerned or alarmed at what was transpiring - particularly the bit about his friends not waking up - but another part of his mind put him at ease and let him accept the stranger's gesture. He sat down and took a drink. Fine drink, he noted. It had been a while since he’d had a respectable beverage.
"So, young one," the dwarf began again as he withdrew a long pipe and started packing it. "What is your name?"
"Rurik."
The old one raised an eyebrow, waiting for more. When none was forthcoming, he began to probe. "What? No family name, no clan?"
Rurik stared into the red embers. "I have no clan. I lost that privilege when I dishonored myself before my uncle."
"Really now," he said, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "And how did that happen?"
It was something Rurik generally didn't care to talk about, but he found himself recounting the story of his and his companions' adventures. He told the old dwarf of how his head was turned into that of a lion - resulting in his uncle's outburst of displeasure for Rurik's foolish dabbling in magics he didn't understand. Rurik had taken it hard and renounced his clan name, pending his uncle one day decreeing him worthy of it again.
"You're hard on yourself, Rurik," the old man said. "You might find that your uncle's reaction was due to the shock and circumstances. He might be a little more understanding, particularly after he hears how you got things set right. You and your friends have done some remarkable things...some of which were both brave and noble."
Rurik didn't respond. He was less optimistic about his chances of getting back in his uncle's graces and regaining his clan name.
"You're a cleric of Moradin, aren't you?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Well, young Rurik, there are a number of the Allfather's faithful near where you and your companions are headed that have been praying for his help. Seems they're in a bit of a bind and need guidance. Someone decided that it was your turn to answer that call."
Rurik struggled through his drunken haze with the implications of what the old dwarf was telling him. "Who decided I should help these guys? And who am I supposed to help."
"Someone a little higher up the chain of authority made the call on using you," he replied. "I'm just a messenger. As for whom you're to help, I'm not entirely sure. Somehow, I think you'll manage to figure it out."
The old dwarf looked up at the sky and the hint of predawn gray creeping over the eastern horizon. “Well, young Rurik, it’s about time that I get moving along. Good luck to you and bash some more baddies for an old dwarf.”
With that, he collected his bag and axe and tromped off toward the trees. Rurik realized he was still holding the wood goblet that the dwarf had lent him for drinking. “Sir, your goblet!”
The old dwarf turned, grinned, and called back, “Keep it. Something to remember me by.” With that, he disappeared into the darkness.
Rurik sat by the ashes of their fire, contemplating life and his place in it, until his friends began to wake for the day. There was some curious inquiry as to why Rurik hadn’t woken up the next person in the watch rotation. He muttered something about not being very tired, but chose not to say anything about the mysterious visitor just yet.
All packed, they mounted up and continued on down the road. The day was again hot but with a pleasant breeze. They passed a single merchant on his way to High Hill, but otherwise the road was unoccupied. As dusk descended, they began to consider finding a suitable campsite. From up ahead, a high-pitched shriek cut through the ambient chirping insects.
Assuming the shriek to be cry for help, Rurik immediately charged ahead. Amblin quickly followed with Nigel and Zalman a little more cautious in their approach. Rurik led his mount up a small ridge just a bit off the right side of the road. From the crest, a grassy clearing descended a couple hundred feet toward an expanse of woods. Near the wood line, a wagon and team of horses were parked. There were several bodies littering the ground around the wagon. Just behind the wagon, two dwarves were standing over a human girl, likely in her early teens. One of the two had his pants pulled down around his knees.
Infuriated beyond rational though, Rurik led out a bellow of challenge, dismounted (having no interest in fighting mounted), and charged. Amblin quickly caught up, surveyed the scene, and joined the rush. Nigel, upon reaching the top of the ridge, dismounted and drew out his deadly longbow. Zalman was slower to join, and chose to move his mount a bit more off to the right side of the action.
As they charged the dwarves, a bugbear armed with flail and shield stepped out from around the wagon. One of the dwarves grabbed a shortsword and shield from off the ground and jumped up into the back of the wagon. The other dwarf hastily pulled up his pants and picked up a wicked spiked chain from the ground.
The bugbear moved to intercept Rurik and the two clashed in heated melee, exchanging blows and neither gaining an advantage. Amblin bounced in and out with his spring attack, landing a quick kick. Rurik, deciding he’d already had quite enough of the bugbear, stepped back and called upon Moradin’s favor and landed a Hold Person on the annoyance.
Meanwhile, Nigel had plopped a couple arrows into the spiked chain wielder and Zalman had dismounted and erected a Shield spell on himself while slowly closing toward the melee.
Just as Rurik and Amblin were about to shift their focus to the chain-swinging dwarf, who was headed Zalman’s way, they caught sight of a drow elf near the front of the wagon. The drow pointed his wand in their direction and uttered a command word. Just like that, the Hold Person was gone and the bugbear was back in action. Zalman yelled out the presence of the drow, just in case anyone had missed that fact. He was about to send a spell in the dark one’s direction when the drow suddenly vanished. Uh oh.
Amblin, still working over the bugbear, experienced a violent jolt as if all his internal organs had been pummeled with a few dozen hammers. He toughed it out but was unable to tell what had hit him or from which direction it had come. So, he pounded the bugbear again. With a well-placed arrow from Nigel and another slash of Rurik’s axe, the bugbear finally fell. Again, Amblin felt his innards get pummeled.
While the chain-wielder cautiously closed with him, Zalman continued to watch the wagon. When the smaller dwarf popped his head out the back again, Zalman unleashed a lightning bolt. The dwarf was blasted back in a shower of splinters as the side of the wagon exploded. A few of the wagon’s contents began to slowly burn.
Amblin, suspecting that the person responsible for the constant attacks on his body was in or near the wagon, moved quickly to the back of it. He spotted the cowering smaller dwarf inside the smoldering wagon and was about to hop up there when he was rudely surprised. The drow, who had turned invisible, unleashed a vicious attack sequence with rapier and short sword. Amblin, a quick and nimble guy in his own right, was astonished at the speed with which the dark elf moved. The monk was also hurting now, badly. Adding to his misery, he took another pummeling to his organs just then. Realizing he was outmatched, he wisely backed off (as only a fast monk can) to get some breathing room.
Zalman, gauging the drow a worse threat than the fast approaching dwarf, unleashed another lightning bolt at the guy. It fizzled on contact, but succeeded in getting the drow’s attention in a big way. Zalman then made sure his Shield was facing the chain-wielder before they got too personally acquainted.
The spiked chain came whipping at Zalman in a wide arc. The Shield spell literally saved the wizard’s life and frustrated the dwarf. He swung a couple more times while Zalman backsteped and fired a couple magic missiles. About this time, Rurik and Nigel focused their attention back on the chain-wielder to get his attention away from Zalman.
Amblin was looking all around for the drow and spotted him charging toward Zalman – too far away to intercept. He took another pummeling and silently thanked his master for all the abuse he had been put through in his youth for how it toughened him up. Otherwise, he’d be down or dead by now. However, with the drow over by the others, the smaller dwarf in the back of the wagon was left alone…
Zalman, relieved of the chain-toting dwarf, turned toward the charging drow. Something in the back of his mind told him that this might very well be the end of his short life. To slow the dark elf down, he fired off his last lightning bolt – and this one got through the drow’s spell resistance for a solid hit. The look on the drow’s face was both one of surprise and cold fury. The drow came in hard and fast, scoring a couple hits, while taking little damage in return from the wizard. Luckily for Zalman, the Shield spell blocked just enough of the drow’s attacks to keep him alive.
Nigel’s hail of arrows softened up the chain-wielder enough for Rurik to quickly dispatch him. Rurik spat on the vile dwarf in disdain. He was quite wounded himself by this time, but couldn’t pause to heal while Zalman was in such danger. As Rurik charged to Zalman’s aid, the drow noticed that he was now alone and outmatched. He slipped back into invisibility and retreated.
Amblin cornered the remaining dwarf in the back of the wagon and was pummeled by the invisible power yet again. Now, he was almost certain that the little dwarf was responsible for the abuse. The dwarf held up his shield and short sword in defense, but Amblin deftly dodged both and pounded him into unconsciousness. He then dragged the dwarf out of the burning wagon and (carelessly) dropped him on the ground.
Rurik dropped a quick curing spell on both himself and Zalman and then raced to the body of the young human girl the bandits had been about to rape. She was still alive, but bruised and unconscious. Nigel and Zalman watched closely for any sign of the drow – particularly watching for movement in the moderately deep grass. Amblin checked the other bodies, three human men and a woman, and found them all slain. At a guess, the girl’s parents and a couple guards.
While they were discussing what to do next, the invisible drow had slipped in near their position and slit the girl’s throat. Several of the party had been alert enough to notice immediately. Rurik used the most powerful cure he had left and saved her from near instant death. The others went into overdrive trying to track the invisible drow’s movements. The dark elf appeared to be moving back around the nearby (burning) wagon. Rurik basically covered the girl with his own full-plate clad body while the others went cautiously hunting.
Zalman, lacking any other means of spotting invisible creatures, cast a Detect Magic and started the slow process of looking around the site. Amblin and Nigel spread out just a bit, straining for any hint of movement, visual or audible. Finally, as Zalman was just zeroing in on the drow, Amblin spotted movement in the grass and he pounced. The drow dropped his invisibility to strike back in a flurry of blindingly fast attacks. The drow had no interest in pursuing the fight any longer, however, and went back invisible and fled for the woods.
Amblin and Nigel both pursued for a distance, but quickly lost the trail in the dim twilit woods. Knowing that tracking him under these conditions would be dangerous business, they decided to regroup with the others and set up a defensive position.
Rurik pronounced the girl okay, but she remained unconscious. The others gathered and looted the bodies of the fallen bandits. The burning wagon was a complete loss by now. Rurik expended the last of his spells healing up Amblin a bit.
About fifteen minutes after the fight, while discussing their best course of action, the sound of many horses approaching reached them. A contingent of twenty mounted knights bearing a bright blue standard with a yellow crescent moon on it approached them.
The leader of the group, who introduced himself as Lord Trebain Durlock of Moon Hollow, Captain of Baron Murdain’s Lancers, quickly got the tale of the episode from the cooperative party. Durlock seemed quite willing to accept their story in light of the evidence in front of him. He even knew of these bandits – Shadow (the drow) and his current associates: Gloop Shroomtoes (the bugbear) and the dwarf brothers Ulotar (the prisoner) and Umbar (the deceased). He informed them that there was a bounty for both the Shadow as well as his associates, and that he would write them a letter of introduction so that they might claim it their partial reward from Duke Gosswall of Water Break. 200 gold a head for the gang members, 500 for the Shadow himself.
The captain ordered his men to secure the prisoner and to carefully bring the girl. The deceased were wrapped in blankets and tossed over horses. He informed the group of a site nearby that they frequently used for camp while out patrolling this road. If they would join him for the night, he would lead them to Unicorn valley in the morning where he could write them their letter of introduction. The party agreed, happy to have a contingent of well-armed cavalry protecting them while the Shadow was on the loose and very upset with their interference.
At camp, the captain spoke in more detail with them about the Shadow (a disreputable and dangerous local bandit). He also asked of them and their travels, as well as what brought them to the Water Break area. They were cautious not to tell too much of their adventures, but did explain that they were from New Selmar and had journeyed here in search of other cities with which to open trade routes. He seemed satisfied and then left them to sleep.
Next session: Riding with the Knights and a cool welcome to Water Break.
-Rybaer
After a pleasant night's rest in High Hill's inn, the group left in search of supplies - food, a few sundries, and horses. The horses were the biggest challenge, as this was a small village without much capacity for trade. They did manage to haggle with a local, though, for a pair of scraggly horses and a pony. Amblin, as usual, was fine with just jogging along side them with his dog. They asked the innkeep about the route to Water Break. He scratched out a map and pointed out a few key areas. The most direct route went through a marshland that was inhabited by trolls. The north route around the marshlands was mostly unoccupied except for some bands of ogres. The southern route, following the road, would be the quickest and safest, though hill giants and bandits were occasionally known to pester travelers. The group settled on the southern route.
The first day on the road was pleasant and uneventful. It was one of the first hot days of summer, made more humid by the close proximity to the ocean. They passed through farmland for a while, then reached a long stretch of grassy hills and wooded glens. It was very similar, in fact, to the area between their home of New Selmar and the elven village they had just left.
They set up camp in a secluded clearing in some woods about half a mile off the main road. After midnight, while Rurik was on watch, he heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps crunching through the trees. Whoever it was, Rurik noted, was making no effort to hide his approach. He got up and surveyed the woods, nudging the others with his boots to try to rouse them. None of his companions, no matter how hard he prodded, responded in the least. He hefted his axe and shield and called out to the intruder.
"Who goes there! Name yourself and your purpose!" Rurik spoke loudly, hoping that might rouse his companions where his prodding had failed. It didn't.
"Relax there, young one," came the gruff reply out of the darkness. A burly old dwarf, dressed for travel, came stomping into clearing. "I'm just looking for a bit of company this night. Someone to share a drink and a story or three."
He walked up to the embers of the fire, dropped his backpack and worn axe on the ground and took a seat. "Eh? You gonna sit down and join me?" he asked the perplexed Rurik. "I've got drink enough fer the both of us."
The old dwarf dug through his backpack and withdrew a pair of hand carved wood goblets and a heavy skin from which he poured strong dwarven spirits. Part of Rurik knew he should be concerned or alarmed at what was transpiring - particularly the bit about his friends not waking up - but another part of his mind put him at ease and let him accept the stranger's gesture. He sat down and took a drink. Fine drink, he noted. It had been a while since he’d had a respectable beverage.
"So, young one," the dwarf began again as he withdrew a long pipe and started packing it. "What is your name?"
"Rurik."
The old one raised an eyebrow, waiting for more. When none was forthcoming, he began to probe. "What? No family name, no clan?"
Rurik stared into the red embers. "I have no clan. I lost that privilege when I dishonored myself before my uncle."
"Really now," he said, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "And how did that happen?"
It was something Rurik generally didn't care to talk about, but he found himself recounting the story of his and his companions' adventures. He told the old dwarf of how his head was turned into that of a lion - resulting in his uncle's outburst of displeasure for Rurik's foolish dabbling in magics he didn't understand. Rurik had taken it hard and renounced his clan name, pending his uncle one day decreeing him worthy of it again.
"You're hard on yourself, Rurik," the old man said. "You might find that your uncle's reaction was due to the shock and circumstances. He might be a little more understanding, particularly after he hears how you got things set right. You and your friends have done some remarkable things...some of which were both brave and noble."
Rurik didn't respond. He was less optimistic about his chances of getting back in his uncle's graces and regaining his clan name.
"You're a cleric of Moradin, aren't you?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Well, young Rurik, there are a number of the Allfather's faithful near where you and your companions are headed that have been praying for his help. Seems they're in a bit of a bind and need guidance. Someone decided that it was your turn to answer that call."
Rurik struggled through his drunken haze with the implications of what the old dwarf was telling him. "Who decided I should help these guys? And who am I supposed to help."
"Someone a little higher up the chain of authority made the call on using you," he replied. "I'm just a messenger. As for whom you're to help, I'm not entirely sure. Somehow, I think you'll manage to figure it out."
The old dwarf looked up at the sky and the hint of predawn gray creeping over the eastern horizon. “Well, young Rurik, it’s about time that I get moving along. Good luck to you and bash some more baddies for an old dwarf.”
With that, he collected his bag and axe and tromped off toward the trees. Rurik realized he was still holding the wood goblet that the dwarf had lent him for drinking. “Sir, your goblet!”
The old dwarf turned, grinned, and called back, “Keep it. Something to remember me by.” With that, he disappeared into the darkness.
Rurik sat by the ashes of their fire, contemplating life and his place in it, until his friends began to wake for the day. There was some curious inquiry as to why Rurik hadn’t woken up the next person in the watch rotation. He muttered something about not being very tired, but chose not to say anything about the mysterious visitor just yet.
All packed, they mounted up and continued on down the road. The day was again hot but with a pleasant breeze. They passed a single merchant on his way to High Hill, but otherwise the road was unoccupied. As dusk descended, they began to consider finding a suitable campsite. From up ahead, a high-pitched shriek cut through the ambient chirping insects.
Assuming the shriek to be cry for help, Rurik immediately charged ahead. Amblin quickly followed with Nigel and Zalman a little more cautious in their approach. Rurik led his mount up a small ridge just a bit off the right side of the road. From the crest, a grassy clearing descended a couple hundred feet toward an expanse of woods. Near the wood line, a wagon and team of horses were parked. There were several bodies littering the ground around the wagon. Just behind the wagon, two dwarves were standing over a human girl, likely in her early teens. One of the two had his pants pulled down around his knees.
Infuriated beyond rational though, Rurik led out a bellow of challenge, dismounted (having no interest in fighting mounted), and charged. Amblin quickly caught up, surveyed the scene, and joined the rush. Nigel, upon reaching the top of the ridge, dismounted and drew out his deadly longbow. Zalman was slower to join, and chose to move his mount a bit more off to the right side of the action.
As they charged the dwarves, a bugbear armed with flail and shield stepped out from around the wagon. One of the dwarves grabbed a shortsword and shield from off the ground and jumped up into the back of the wagon. The other dwarf hastily pulled up his pants and picked up a wicked spiked chain from the ground.
The bugbear moved to intercept Rurik and the two clashed in heated melee, exchanging blows and neither gaining an advantage. Amblin bounced in and out with his spring attack, landing a quick kick. Rurik, deciding he’d already had quite enough of the bugbear, stepped back and called upon Moradin’s favor and landed a Hold Person on the annoyance.
Meanwhile, Nigel had plopped a couple arrows into the spiked chain wielder and Zalman had dismounted and erected a Shield spell on himself while slowly closing toward the melee.
Just as Rurik and Amblin were about to shift their focus to the chain-swinging dwarf, who was headed Zalman’s way, they caught sight of a drow elf near the front of the wagon. The drow pointed his wand in their direction and uttered a command word. Just like that, the Hold Person was gone and the bugbear was back in action. Zalman yelled out the presence of the drow, just in case anyone had missed that fact. He was about to send a spell in the dark one’s direction when the drow suddenly vanished. Uh oh.
Amblin, still working over the bugbear, experienced a violent jolt as if all his internal organs had been pummeled with a few dozen hammers. He toughed it out but was unable to tell what had hit him or from which direction it had come. So, he pounded the bugbear again. With a well-placed arrow from Nigel and another slash of Rurik’s axe, the bugbear finally fell. Again, Amblin felt his innards get pummeled.
While the chain-wielder cautiously closed with him, Zalman continued to watch the wagon. When the smaller dwarf popped his head out the back again, Zalman unleashed a lightning bolt. The dwarf was blasted back in a shower of splinters as the side of the wagon exploded. A few of the wagon’s contents began to slowly burn.
Amblin, suspecting that the person responsible for the constant attacks on his body was in or near the wagon, moved quickly to the back of it. He spotted the cowering smaller dwarf inside the smoldering wagon and was about to hop up there when he was rudely surprised. The drow, who had turned invisible, unleashed a vicious attack sequence with rapier and short sword. Amblin, a quick and nimble guy in his own right, was astonished at the speed with which the dark elf moved. The monk was also hurting now, badly. Adding to his misery, he took another pummeling to his organs just then. Realizing he was outmatched, he wisely backed off (as only a fast monk can) to get some breathing room.
Zalman, gauging the drow a worse threat than the fast approaching dwarf, unleashed another lightning bolt at the guy. It fizzled on contact, but succeeded in getting the drow’s attention in a big way. Zalman then made sure his Shield was facing the chain-wielder before they got too personally acquainted.
The spiked chain came whipping at Zalman in a wide arc. The Shield spell literally saved the wizard’s life and frustrated the dwarf. He swung a couple more times while Zalman backsteped and fired a couple magic missiles. About this time, Rurik and Nigel focused their attention back on the chain-wielder to get his attention away from Zalman.
Amblin was looking all around for the drow and spotted him charging toward Zalman – too far away to intercept. He took another pummeling and silently thanked his master for all the abuse he had been put through in his youth for how it toughened him up. Otherwise, he’d be down or dead by now. However, with the drow over by the others, the smaller dwarf in the back of the wagon was left alone…
Zalman, relieved of the chain-toting dwarf, turned toward the charging drow. Something in the back of his mind told him that this might very well be the end of his short life. To slow the dark elf down, he fired off his last lightning bolt – and this one got through the drow’s spell resistance for a solid hit. The look on the drow’s face was both one of surprise and cold fury. The drow came in hard and fast, scoring a couple hits, while taking little damage in return from the wizard. Luckily for Zalman, the Shield spell blocked just enough of the drow’s attacks to keep him alive.
Nigel’s hail of arrows softened up the chain-wielder enough for Rurik to quickly dispatch him. Rurik spat on the vile dwarf in disdain. He was quite wounded himself by this time, but couldn’t pause to heal while Zalman was in such danger. As Rurik charged to Zalman’s aid, the drow noticed that he was now alone and outmatched. He slipped back into invisibility and retreated.
Amblin cornered the remaining dwarf in the back of the wagon and was pummeled by the invisible power yet again. Now, he was almost certain that the little dwarf was responsible for the abuse. The dwarf held up his shield and short sword in defense, but Amblin deftly dodged both and pounded him into unconsciousness. He then dragged the dwarf out of the burning wagon and (carelessly) dropped him on the ground.
Rurik dropped a quick curing spell on both himself and Zalman and then raced to the body of the young human girl the bandits had been about to rape. She was still alive, but bruised and unconscious. Nigel and Zalman watched closely for any sign of the drow – particularly watching for movement in the moderately deep grass. Amblin checked the other bodies, three human men and a woman, and found them all slain. At a guess, the girl’s parents and a couple guards.
While they were discussing what to do next, the invisible drow had slipped in near their position and slit the girl’s throat. Several of the party had been alert enough to notice immediately. Rurik used the most powerful cure he had left and saved her from near instant death. The others went into overdrive trying to track the invisible drow’s movements. The dark elf appeared to be moving back around the nearby (burning) wagon. Rurik basically covered the girl with his own full-plate clad body while the others went cautiously hunting.
Zalman, lacking any other means of spotting invisible creatures, cast a Detect Magic and started the slow process of looking around the site. Amblin and Nigel spread out just a bit, straining for any hint of movement, visual or audible. Finally, as Zalman was just zeroing in on the drow, Amblin spotted movement in the grass and he pounced. The drow dropped his invisibility to strike back in a flurry of blindingly fast attacks. The drow had no interest in pursuing the fight any longer, however, and went back invisible and fled for the woods.
Amblin and Nigel both pursued for a distance, but quickly lost the trail in the dim twilit woods. Knowing that tracking him under these conditions would be dangerous business, they decided to regroup with the others and set up a defensive position.
Rurik pronounced the girl okay, but she remained unconscious. The others gathered and looted the bodies of the fallen bandits. The burning wagon was a complete loss by now. Rurik expended the last of his spells healing up Amblin a bit.
About fifteen minutes after the fight, while discussing their best course of action, the sound of many horses approaching reached them. A contingent of twenty mounted knights bearing a bright blue standard with a yellow crescent moon on it approached them.
The leader of the group, who introduced himself as Lord Trebain Durlock of Moon Hollow, Captain of Baron Murdain’s Lancers, quickly got the tale of the episode from the cooperative party. Durlock seemed quite willing to accept their story in light of the evidence in front of him. He even knew of these bandits – Shadow (the drow) and his current associates: Gloop Shroomtoes (the bugbear) and the dwarf brothers Ulotar (the prisoner) and Umbar (the deceased). He informed them that there was a bounty for both the Shadow as well as his associates, and that he would write them a letter of introduction so that they might claim it their partial reward from Duke Gosswall of Water Break. 200 gold a head for the gang members, 500 for the Shadow himself.
The captain ordered his men to secure the prisoner and to carefully bring the girl. The deceased were wrapped in blankets and tossed over horses. He informed the group of a site nearby that they frequently used for camp while out patrolling this road. If they would join him for the night, he would lead them to Unicorn valley in the morning where he could write them their letter of introduction. The party agreed, happy to have a contingent of well-armed cavalry protecting them while the Shadow was on the loose and very upset with their interference.
At camp, the captain spoke in more detail with them about the Shadow (a disreputable and dangerous local bandit). He also asked of them and their travels, as well as what brought them to the Water Break area. They were cautious not to tell too much of their adventures, but did explain that they were from New Selmar and had journeyed here in search of other cities with which to open trade routes. He seemed satisfied and then left them to sleep.
Next session: Riding with the Knights and a cool welcome to Water Break.
-Rybaer
