Tramp4life
First Post
Old One said:
Actually, Cragen has a Dwarf's life-span. He can fit in all the butt-whoopins before he retires!
Against the Shadows VII - A Faded Glory Story Hour (Re-Updated - 5/17)
- Thread starter Old One
- Start date
Actually, Cragen has a Dwarf's life-span. He can fit in all the butt-whoopins before he retires!
Session 22 (Part Six)
Mysteries and Explanations
Rowan cursed silently. ‘By Corelian…after all this…damn gnolls!’
He glanced at his sorely wounded companions and at the battered survivors of the trading caravan and felt overwhelming frustration, coupled with rising anger welling up. He listened as Ollandia Battenhorn, one thigh swathed in a bloody bandage, spoke earnestly with Quintus.
“That damned Ned Galway stole away in the middle of the night with ore wagons. He and his cronies knifed a couple of the guards and made off to the southwest. He must have used some manner of magic to dampen the sound of his departure, because no one heard him leave. We discovered the theft at first light, but my familiar alerted us to the presence of the bandits shortly after and we were barely able to mount a defense before they were on us. I don’t know what we would have done had you not arrived when you did.”
Her voice trailed off as she surveyed the carnage and then she continued, “The ore wagons carry the profit for the entire journey. If we can’t recover them, several of the trading houses will suffer a serious financial setback…my own among them. We are in no condition to chase after him now, as we have many wounded to look after and are still in hostile country.”
Quintus nodded, “I should have taken care of that bastard many moons ago. But why is he striking to the southwest? The only crossing over the River Farthing is along the Oar road and there are no settlements betwixt here and the river.”
The diminutive Ollandia chewed on the ends of her coppery hair for a few grains before a unpleasant look crept across her face.
“That’s what the extra lumber was for! That jackass is going to build rafts and float the shipment down the river. There is a transient smuggler’s base at the mouth of the Farthing. He will be able to bypass the Oar tariffs and turn double the profit…especially if he has arranged a deal with a Jewel Cities merchant. Damn him!”
The halfling launched into a most un-ladylike stream of expletives and Quintus added a few choice words of his own. The sorcerer’s mind formed and discarded half-a-dozen plans in as many grains. He desperately wanted to chase after Ned, but knew they were long overdue back in Glynden. In his mind, the Cult of Ashai was a far greater threat than a lost ore shipment, but the possibility of forming an alliance with the Battenhorn Trading House was rife with opportunity. His head hurt.
(DM’s Note: Ned Galway is/was the mining foreman for the Brathwaite Mining Company, Quintus’s former employer. After an altercation with Ned, during which Quintus received a severe beating, the sorcerer “borrowed” a scroll from the foreman’s office that contained a map of the Glynden area and copious notes. Quintus felt that Ned was up to something, but could not decipher all the notes. Thinly veiled threats against the elder Scipio and his family by Ned and his thugs, intended to force Quintus to return the scroll, did not bear fruit (although Quintus did manage to move his family into an annex of the Abbey of Osirian for greater protection). The meaning of the scroll was now clear to Quintus. It was a plan to screw the mining company, the town and the halfling merchants by scoring the entire ore shipment – worth a small fortune – in one big score!)
Quintus picked up a discarded crimson and black standard from Skilron’s band, spat on it and hurled to the ground again.
“We should get behind the wagon barricade.”
The group nodded their assent and began limping towards the battered wagon wall, save for Rowan. The ranger stared at the tattered gnoll banner, looked at the approaching gnoll battle line, then back at the banner. A grim smile etched itself onto his face. Cragen, helping to support a barely-conscious Sextus, paused beside charred wagon and watched Rowan move towards the gnoll line carrying the black and crimson flag.
“Is the lad daft?”
The rest of the companions and many of the gathered merchants, Swords of Glynden and their surviving retainers watched the ranger march up the heights to meet his hated enemies, alone.
Emotions of varying intensity raced through Rowan as he neared the gnolls, who had halted their advance in preparation of his own. The pain of his torture as a lad of ten winters, the satisfaction of killing his first, the sorrow over the death of Drusilla’s two sisters and the thrill of the triumph over the shape-changed Acrius Sestius. Several of the huge wolves, red tongues lolling from their enormous maws, strained at their chains as he approached, but the rest of the line remained still and silent. He angled towards the center of the line and stopped a stone’s throw away, raising the standard over his head.
“We have defeated the forces of the Bandit king Skilorn and will do the same to you, if you mean us harm.”
He broke that flagstaff over his knee and flung the remains to the ground as his voice echoed off the hill behind the gnolls. The gnolls stood impassively for a moment, and then a trio broke from the line and approached the ranger, weapons at the ready. Rowan barely dared to breath, his fingers clamped around the hilt of the Old Man’s sword, his palm sweaty. His eyes widened in disbelief as the three dog-men stopped a few paces away, and then narrowed as he stared at the device branded into their leather breastplates.
Down below, Quintus took stock of their collective situation and cursed under his breath. Nearly half the caravan was either dead or too badly injured to be of much use. Two of the three members of the Swords of Glynden were still up, but over half their retainers were not. Among their own band, a knife thrust would finish Sextus, Drusilla and Röse, with Cragen not much better. He cringed as he tested his internal reservoir of power and found little. He glanced up the hill and noted, to his surprise, that Rowan was still standing…the gnolls hadn’t eaten them yet.
Nearly half-a-turn of the hourglass passed before the ranger raised his hand to the gnolls, slowly backed away, spun on his heel and headed back towards the ruined square of Greenspires. One of the trio that had been facing him stooped to retrieve Skilorn’s standard and the battle line began to withdraw to the southwest. Cragen looked askance at Quintus, but the sorcerer only shrugged. ‘By Osirian’s light, what good fortune is this?’ He mused.
A look of profound wonder and relief graced Rowan’s face as he entered the tense laager. He stood before his friends for twenty grains, struggling for words. Sextus, propped up against a wagon wheel, couldn’t stand the ranger’s silence. “Well…out with it, man. There is a strange story here to be sure!”
Rowan nodded and spoke. “If I live to be a hundred winters, I don’t think I will get a bigger surprise.” He paused for a moment before continuing.
“They are followers of Corelian…at least as they know him. They are guardians of the wilderness and have long fought against Skilorn and his ilk. We have their thanks for ridding the area of his plague, but they also warn us to take care when harvesting animal, bird and branch. I assured them that we would do so.”
A slow grin began to spread across the ranger’s face. “I have negotiated safe passage for the survivors of the caravan back to Oar…they may see the green and brown clad gnolls from time to time, but they are not enemies. They have not fed our horses to their wolves and we may retrieve them at our leisure. And…they have agreed to slow Ned Galway’s progress so that the remnants of the caravan might beat them to the bridge across the Farthing and recover the shipment of ore. They refused to attack him directly, but will seek to impede his path as they may without coming to blows.”
Looks of astonishment greeted Rowan’s words, followed by several hearty cheers from the halfling merchants. Quintus grinned at his friend and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “And they call me a schemer…well done!”
After a brief council, it was decided that the party would stay with the caravan for the balance of the day and all the next to assist with repairs and healing. The surviving Swords agreed to continue escorting to caravan south and assist with the recovery, if possible, of the ore shipment. The companions would make their way north, following their own path.
Sextus and Quintus secretly reveled in the discomfiture of the Swords, particularly Orsen Jucadius, their sister’s paramour. They once again reminded him that they would hold him personally responsible for any ill befalling her. Tomas “The Bull” Nacalius was a bit friendlier, especially towards Quintus, but overall relations remained frosty. Cragen found himself the object of intense curiosity, particularly from the halflings. After being gawked at, whispered about and even prodded on occasion, he became quite surly.
“Paint a curio…it’ll last ye longer!” He grumped.
The caravaneers managed to salvage two-thirds of the remaining wagons and mounted a reduced, but effective, guard for the journey south. The assembled halfling merchants again expressed their heartfelt thanks and the Swords managed to proffer grudging respect. The favors of Moradin did not fully refresh everyone in the party, with Röse still bearing several raw wounds when they set out two morns after the battle. They passed over the northern rim of the Greenspires bowl as the caravan passed over the southern rim. Rowan booted his horse in the ribs and grinned.
“Last one to Nan’s buys a round for the house!”
To Be Continued…
Next: Interlude – The Storm
Enjoy
!
~ Old One
Mysteries and Explanations
Rowan cursed silently. ‘By Corelian…after all this…damn gnolls!’
He glanced at his sorely wounded companions and at the battered survivors of the trading caravan and felt overwhelming frustration, coupled with rising anger welling up. He listened as Ollandia Battenhorn, one thigh swathed in a bloody bandage, spoke earnestly with Quintus.
“That damned Ned Galway stole away in the middle of the night with ore wagons. He and his cronies knifed a couple of the guards and made off to the southwest. He must have used some manner of magic to dampen the sound of his departure, because no one heard him leave. We discovered the theft at first light, but my familiar alerted us to the presence of the bandits shortly after and we were barely able to mount a defense before they were on us. I don’t know what we would have done had you not arrived when you did.”
Her voice trailed off as she surveyed the carnage and then she continued, “The ore wagons carry the profit for the entire journey. If we can’t recover them, several of the trading houses will suffer a serious financial setback…my own among them. We are in no condition to chase after him now, as we have many wounded to look after and are still in hostile country.”
Quintus nodded, “I should have taken care of that bastard many moons ago. But why is he striking to the southwest? The only crossing over the River Farthing is along the Oar road and there are no settlements betwixt here and the river.”
The diminutive Ollandia chewed on the ends of her coppery hair for a few grains before a unpleasant look crept across her face.
“That’s what the extra lumber was for! That jackass is going to build rafts and float the shipment down the river. There is a transient smuggler’s base at the mouth of the Farthing. He will be able to bypass the Oar tariffs and turn double the profit…especially if he has arranged a deal with a Jewel Cities merchant. Damn him!”
The halfling launched into a most un-ladylike stream of expletives and Quintus added a few choice words of his own. The sorcerer’s mind formed and discarded half-a-dozen plans in as many grains. He desperately wanted to chase after Ned, but knew they were long overdue back in Glynden. In his mind, the Cult of Ashai was a far greater threat than a lost ore shipment, but the possibility of forming an alliance with the Battenhorn Trading House was rife with opportunity. His head hurt.
(DM’s Note: Ned Galway is/was the mining foreman for the Brathwaite Mining Company, Quintus’s former employer. After an altercation with Ned, during which Quintus received a severe beating, the sorcerer “borrowed” a scroll from the foreman’s office that contained a map of the Glynden area and copious notes. Quintus felt that Ned was up to something, but could not decipher all the notes. Thinly veiled threats against the elder Scipio and his family by Ned and his thugs, intended to force Quintus to return the scroll, did not bear fruit (although Quintus did manage to move his family into an annex of the Abbey of Osirian for greater protection). The meaning of the scroll was now clear to Quintus. It was a plan to screw the mining company, the town and the halfling merchants by scoring the entire ore shipment – worth a small fortune – in one big score!)
Quintus picked up a discarded crimson and black standard from Skilron’s band, spat on it and hurled to the ground again.
“We should get behind the wagon barricade.”
The group nodded their assent and began limping towards the battered wagon wall, save for Rowan. The ranger stared at the tattered gnoll banner, looked at the approaching gnoll battle line, then back at the banner. A grim smile etched itself onto his face. Cragen, helping to support a barely-conscious Sextus, paused beside charred wagon and watched Rowan move towards the gnoll line carrying the black and crimson flag.
“Is the lad daft?”
The rest of the companions and many of the gathered merchants, Swords of Glynden and their surviving retainers watched the ranger march up the heights to meet his hated enemies, alone.
Emotions of varying intensity raced through Rowan as he neared the gnolls, who had halted their advance in preparation of his own. The pain of his torture as a lad of ten winters, the satisfaction of killing his first, the sorrow over the death of Drusilla’s two sisters and the thrill of the triumph over the shape-changed Acrius Sestius. Several of the huge wolves, red tongues lolling from their enormous maws, strained at their chains as he approached, but the rest of the line remained still and silent. He angled towards the center of the line and stopped a stone’s throw away, raising the standard over his head.
“We have defeated the forces of the Bandit king Skilorn and will do the same to you, if you mean us harm.”
He broke that flagstaff over his knee and flung the remains to the ground as his voice echoed off the hill behind the gnolls. The gnolls stood impassively for a moment, and then a trio broke from the line and approached the ranger, weapons at the ready. Rowan barely dared to breath, his fingers clamped around the hilt of the Old Man’s sword, his palm sweaty. His eyes widened in disbelief as the three dog-men stopped a few paces away, and then narrowed as he stared at the device branded into their leather breastplates.
Down below, Quintus took stock of their collective situation and cursed under his breath. Nearly half the caravan was either dead or too badly injured to be of much use. Two of the three members of the Swords of Glynden were still up, but over half their retainers were not. Among their own band, a knife thrust would finish Sextus, Drusilla and Röse, with Cragen not much better. He cringed as he tested his internal reservoir of power and found little. He glanced up the hill and noted, to his surprise, that Rowan was still standing…the gnolls hadn’t eaten them yet.
Nearly half-a-turn of the hourglass passed before the ranger raised his hand to the gnolls, slowly backed away, spun on his heel and headed back towards the ruined square of Greenspires. One of the trio that had been facing him stooped to retrieve Skilorn’s standard and the battle line began to withdraw to the southwest. Cragen looked askance at Quintus, but the sorcerer only shrugged. ‘By Osirian’s light, what good fortune is this?’ He mused.
A look of profound wonder and relief graced Rowan’s face as he entered the tense laager. He stood before his friends for twenty grains, struggling for words. Sextus, propped up against a wagon wheel, couldn’t stand the ranger’s silence. “Well…out with it, man. There is a strange story here to be sure!”
Rowan nodded and spoke. “If I live to be a hundred winters, I don’t think I will get a bigger surprise.” He paused for a moment before continuing.
“They are followers of Corelian…at least as they know him. They are guardians of the wilderness and have long fought against Skilorn and his ilk. We have their thanks for ridding the area of his plague, but they also warn us to take care when harvesting animal, bird and branch. I assured them that we would do so.”
A slow grin began to spread across the ranger’s face. “I have negotiated safe passage for the survivors of the caravan back to Oar…they may see the green and brown clad gnolls from time to time, but they are not enemies. They have not fed our horses to their wolves and we may retrieve them at our leisure. And…they have agreed to slow Ned Galway’s progress so that the remnants of the caravan might beat them to the bridge across the Farthing and recover the shipment of ore. They refused to attack him directly, but will seek to impede his path as they may without coming to blows.”
Looks of astonishment greeted Rowan’s words, followed by several hearty cheers from the halfling merchants. Quintus grinned at his friend and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “And they call me a schemer…well done!”
After a brief council, it was decided that the party would stay with the caravan for the balance of the day and all the next to assist with repairs and healing. The surviving Swords agreed to continue escorting to caravan south and assist with the recovery, if possible, of the ore shipment. The companions would make their way north, following their own path.
Sextus and Quintus secretly reveled in the discomfiture of the Swords, particularly Orsen Jucadius, their sister’s paramour. They once again reminded him that they would hold him personally responsible for any ill befalling her. Tomas “The Bull” Nacalius was a bit friendlier, especially towards Quintus, but overall relations remained frosty. Cragen found himself the object of intense curiosity, particularly from the halflings. After being gawked at, whispered about and even prodded on occasion, he became quite surly.
“Paint a curio…it’ll last ye longer!” He grumped.
The caravaneers managed to salvage two-thirds of the remaining wagons and mounted a reduced, but effective, guard for the journey south. The assembled halfling merchants again expressed their heartfelt thanks and the Swords managed to proffer grudging respect. The favors of Moradin did not fully refresh everyone in the party, with Röse still bearing several raw wounds when they set out two morns after the battle. They passed over the northern rim of the Greenspires bowl as the caravan passed over the southern rim. Rowan booted his horse in the ribs and grinned.
“Last one to Nan’s buys a round for the house!”
To Be Continued…
Next: Interlude – The Storm
Enjoy
!~ Old One
Last edited:
Tramp4life
First Post
Old One said:
That reminds me...The next time Cragen gets drunk and someone lets revelers touch him for a denar, he's going to start hurtin' people!
TFL
Tramp4life
First Post
Old One said:
BTW, the story doesn't even BEGIN to tell you what happened! We were going between astonishment that Rowan wasn't dead, to wondering how we could kill that many gnolls, to peeing ourselves because we believed violence was coming at any moment!
Oh yeah, "Gnolls that follow the light and Humans bowing shadow. By Moradin's beard, 'tis a strange world we are born to." --Cragen
Thanks!
Rel,
I will let Tortoise answer directly if he is so inclined, but from my perspective, I had let a couple of hints drop...
(1) The green/brown clad gnolls had shadowed them on both their trip to and from Oar, without attacking. Of course, the paranoia inspired by hard-bitten gnoll woodsmen running around your flanks and rear with huge, slavering wolves was fun...fun for ME that is
!
(2) They didn't attack immediately (like every other gnoll band they have run into). It did take a big set to walk out there alone, however, since for all Rowan/Tortoise knew, they were just another, allbeit rival, gnoll band to Skilorn.
Not only did he essentially negotiate a truce with his 1st favored enemy, he also was able to get them to do the caravan and, indirectly, the party a favor by slowing down Ned Galway's crew.
~ Old One
Rel said:
Rel,
I will let Tortoise answer directly if he is so inclined, but from my perspective, I had let a couple of hints drop...
(1) The green/brown clad gnolls had shadowed them on both their trip to and from Oar, without attacking. Of course, the paranoia inspired by hard-bitten gnoll woodsmen running around your flanks and rear with huge, slavering wolves was fun...fun for ME that is
!(2) They didn't attack immediately (like every other gnoll band they have run into). It did take a big set to walk out there alone, however, since for all Rowan/Tortoise knew, they were just another, allbeit rival, gnoll band to Skilorn.
Not only did he essentially negotiate a truce with his 1st favored enemy, he also was able to get them to do the caravan and, indirectly, the party a favor by slowing down Ned Galway's crew.
~ Old One
Old One said:It has been interesting to watch Rowan/Tortoise's journey from a DM's standpoint. He actually stopped taking Ranger levels at 3rd, because Tortoise didn't feel that Rowan was pious enough or "believed" enough to gain access to spells at 4th level.
He took a couple of levels of rogue (very appropriate as they were sneaking about the sewers of Oar), then finally picked up R4 after seeing Sextus returned to life by Volakir/Lew. Truly excellent RPing!
~ Old One
PS - Of course, 2d6 sneak attack + evasion doesn't hurt either
OUCH! I think I just tore one of my ears off trying to get through the doorway due to the inflated ego I'm getting from the praise.
When I first envisioned the character's developement path at the time of creation it was my wish to have a highly mobile archer/ranger/sneak type. Working out the rationalizations for what classes and levels to take and when during play has been a slight bit tougher than just thinking of a concept, but Old One has been a big help with how he plays the storylines to weave character/player concepts and interests into the campaign. We as players still have the choices of where to go and when, and each of us has our personal goals for our characters, but I must say I've been fortunate the timing of things has worked as well as it has.
Hey, any of you other players have anything to chime in on how the campaign has worked for or against your original character conceptions/plans?
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