Copperheads: Betrayal and Strange Runes and Burning Dead, oh my (short update 02/12)

[arwink]

Servants run in with warmed mugs of honey-mead, carefully spiced with cinnamon and cloves, and everyone settles into the heavy wooden chairs that surround the king's talbe. Every except the Arezzite War Cleric, whose aging visage hovers over the kings shoulder and glares at the group - his expression speaking volumes about his attitude towards the new blood to have arrived.

“Borr is not an easy place to live,” Oleg begins, ignoring his advisors glare. “The ice and snow have been particularly harsh in recent years, and the Goblin’s in the hills north of Ulgar's Steading have been getting more belligerent of late. None of this is new. We have faced these problems for decades, since Borr was first settled, and have not been bowed by them. What worries me now is the sudden raids by the beast-men that live in the forests to the east. They have been quiet since our arrival, rarely sighted and only occasionally raiding the outlying villages, but now their attacks have become more common and they wield steel-forged weapons rather than the uncivilised bows and clubs of earlier years."

"We don’t know whether these weapons are being forged by a traitor among the towns, or if the beast-men have simply learned the art of forging them by examining those blades they’ve stolen from their raids, but it is the concensus of my council that this bodes ill. Sterna has used magic to divine the future, and the indicators point towards war. Even now some of my hunters have reported hearing war-drums in the wilderness, and the beast-men have recently started attacking larger settlements rather than outlying farms. We do not assume that Sterna's divininations are infallible, but all signs point towards the possibility they are correct. The Beast-man are driving towards war, looking to push us back into the sea. If this is the case, then Borr may well fall – many of our settlers are farmers and fishermen, not warriors. We have the manpower to hold our towns against the terrors of the wildnerness, but we cannot fight an extended campaign.”

Oleg pauses, letting his words sink in.

“Our one hope, as I see it, is to forge a treaty. We know there is a dwarven settlement of considerable size in the mountains to the north, although the journey to their caves is difficult at best and the dwarves have shown little inclination towards negotiating with us. In desperation, I’ve sent two diplomatic groups to the dwarves in recent weeks, but magic has shown that neither has completed the journey. Among those groups were my mentor, a warrior who spoke the dwarvish tongue, and the sole member of the earth-born willing to undertake the mission. Among the people left to me now, none stand even the slightest chance of negotiating with the dwarves – they either do not speak the tongue, lack the grace and tact necessary for such negotiation, or simply refuse to go.”

Oleg stands and looks directly at Halgo.

“I turn to you in the hopes that you will agree to go, as one who shares a common kinship with the dwarves. Borr is still poor, still struggling, but I can offer you gold and land should you succeed, with similar rewards for any who choose to accompany you. The Justicar who leads your mission has agreed that you may go if you wish, but will not force such a mission upon you, so I ask it of you. Will you go?”

The Copperheads look at one another uneasily.

“Um, exactly what is it that got the other missions?” Geoffrey asks cautiously.

“We don’t know,” Oleg says honestly. “The ice and snow is treacherous at the best of times, and the creatures of the wilds dangerous enough for any man. Possibly the beast-men, possibly the sabrekin, potentially anything. I will not lie to you – Borr is a dangerous place, and the journey you’re being asked to make leads you through territory that is only barely charted. It is still wide, and even before the beast-men became hostile they were known to kill travellers who passed through the mountains. I know that even the reward I’m offering may not be enticement enough, but if you need me to beg your assistance, simply ask and I’ll do so. I do not lie when I say Borr has little other chance of survive beyond alliance, should the Beast-man horde emerge from the mountains and forests we will be wiped out - man, woman and child.”

“I’ll do it,” Halgo says, his face thoughtful. “I mean, we’ll do it.”

He looks at the others. They stare back, momentarily stunned by his altruism.

“Land, fame and power,” he says with a shrug. “Isn’t that why we came here?”

 

[Krellic]

A very slick adventure hook, your DM should feel proud of himself!

 

[randomling]

Indeed. *applauds Arwink*

 

[Mathew_Freeman]

Excellent plotting.

And all credit to the players for going along with it, too.

 

[arwink]

Unfortunately, I get to claim no credit for the hook. It'sfrom an old dungeon adventure (in this case: King Oleg's Dilemma by Lee Shepherd, first published as a 2e Dungeon module and later republished in the Dungeons of Despair collection). The weird part was that two of the players (Geoffrey and Capellan) had read the module, Geoffrey's player quite recently, and we all kind of thought through the events and realised it didn't make much difference

Essentially, A Heroes Tale and the Dungeons of Despair modules are both sets of 2e adventures that I've always wanted to run, but rarely got the chance to under the old system. The one upside of the trip to Borr was that it gave me the excuse to slot Oleg's Dilemma, easily one of my favorite adventures I never got to play, in on short notice. I'd already stolen the name of the northern continent from the adventure, so it kind of made sense.

Later I worked out that I'd planted the seeds to run Olegs at least seven times in various campaigns over the years, and this is the first time anyone's taken the bait that would lead to me running it.

For that, I almost forgave them from going north.

Almost

 

[arwink]

Somehow I doubt this guy is someone we're going to like.

On the "You know, I really hate that NPC" metre, Vengallar only really comes in at about a 6 for the players. Maybe not even that.

Compare him to someone like Kelpreth (who'd probably come in at around an 8), and some of the people that're coming up, he's not someone the PC's really concern themselves with.

More interestinglly, Vengallar was one of those people who started out as an ally for the party on paper. It wasn't until I started running him, easily within the first couple of seconds, that I realised that wasn't ever going to happen

Of course, now one of the PC's will show up to point out that Kelpreth is a totally charming fellow and I'm completely misinterpretting their relationship with him

 

[arwink]

“Excellent,” Oleg says with a wide smile. “Gunnar will serve as your guide – he’s one of the few hunters left that has traveled that far inland. My servants will provide you with quarters for the evening, and you can leave at dawn.”

Quarters are found, and everyone immediately sets about enjoying their only night on a bed that doesn’t sway before they return to the pleasures of camp sleeping, trail rations and the stony ground. Yip amuses himself by curling around the small jug of mead that sits by his bed, slowly sipping the honeyed liquid and grinning blearily into the evening. Halgo revels in having a room of his own, quickly sorting through his possessions and ensuring the contents of his chest remain unharmed by the crossing. Only Blarth and Geoffrey leave their rooms at the King’s lodge, heading across the darkened township of Borr to find the small tavern where the St Cuthbert delegation has found lodging.

“Report,” Vengallar barks as soon as they enter.
“They wanted Halgo,” Geoffrey explains, snapping to attention. “There’s some trouble with beast-men in the woods around here, gradually getting more militant and dangerous, and they want us to head north and negotiate a treaty with a native dwarven kingdom.”

Vengallar thinks on this for a few seconds, his cold eyes glaring into the flame of a candle.
“Do you think it’s sincere?” he asks. “Or are they simply seeking to thin our forces before the church is fully established?”
Geoffrey starts for a moment, surprised by the Head Justicar’s line of reasoning.
“I assumed it was sincere,” he says hesitantly. “I sensed nothing but concern from Oleg…”
“But?” Vengallar coaxes.
“The Priests of Arezz,” Geoffrey says quietly. “Sterna Omenson. He didn’t seem pleased to see us, and he is part of the kings council.”
“Did it seem like the Kings idea, or the Clerics?”
“The King,” Geoffrey says quickly. “Definitely the Kings. I think much of the Arezzite’s displeasure centered on the fact that we were being sent.”

Vengallar nods once more, grunting. Eventually he gets up and starts pacing around the room, his chain armor clinking softly with every step.

“I take it you’ve agreed already?” He demands.
“Yes,” Geoffrey says.
“Good. Be careful, and hope your instincts about the king are correct. If nothing else, the church will be able to use the land you get as a reward, and having some influence over the negotiations may well prove to be…useful.”

With a wave of his hands, he dismisses them. A light layer of snow is slowly beginning to fall on the town, settling gently on the heavy armor of the two Cutherbertites. Blarth strides on, unconcerned by the events of the evining. Later, as he dreams, he mutters the words "Puny beastmen" in his sleep.

Geoffrey considers things carefully as he lies in bed, considering the delicate balance his church is forced to walk in this town. It takes longer than normal for sleep to find him.

 

[Lela]

Amazing. I've found myself drawn into this more than I ever have before. Every bit of me itches for an update. Stunningly done Arwink, don't get board too fast. I'm not sure I could take it.

 

[arwink]

Well, the good news is that there's at least one more week of updates to come before I slack off again. This weekend had no gaming whatsoever, so I went into withdrawal and prepared another week of updates

So at the very least, by this time next week, we'll have seen gnolls, big nasty things, and the dreaded dwarven bathtub of doom!

 

[arwink]

Gunnar wakes everyone before sun-up, gathering them together in the small courtyard of the King’s manor. The first few rays of the sun are slowly starting to sneak over the horizon, and a fresh layer of snow has covered the city.

Standing by the gate is a small pile of gear.
“Warm cloaks and clothes, and snow-shoes,” Gunnar explains. “I’m assuming you folk don’t have magic to counteract the cold, and you can’t walk easy through the snow drifts in normal boots. There’s a snow-tent in there as well, and some shovels. Your Half-orc can carry the tent, but none of you should be without a shovel. If there’s an avalanche in the mountains, you’ll be wanting to dig free as fast as you can.“

He pauses, shifting his lean frame to consider all four adventurers.

‘Unless you particularly want to wait underneath it all until the next spring thaw.”

Everyone quickly hauls the thick cloaks over their shoulders, and begins strapping the other equipment to packs and belts.

“I thought we were coming into summer?” Halgo asks Gunnar as they pack. “Why the extra stuff?”
“Snow doesn’t melt in some places,” Gunnar explains, showing the wizard how to bind the snowshoes to his boots. “And weather here hasn’t ever been warm. Sides, you’re more likely to get hit by an avalanche now than in the dead of winter. Everythings as close to melting as it gets, so there's big chunks of ice up there just waiting to topple.”

Once everyone has stowed their gear to Gunnar’s satisfaction, they set off. The townsfolk of Borr line the streets, watching the five men walking to the front gate, and for the first time the Copperheads get a sense of how important the king truly does treat their mission. Standing at the front gate is Oleg, with both Vellandar and Sterna standing at a shoulder. They offer a solemn nod as the party passes, and both the clerics offer a mumbled blessing.

Gunnar quickly sets the pace of the days travel, a cross-country trek that takes the group through snow covered fields and plains. For the first few hours, farmhouses are visible in the distance, but by mid-morning the fields have given away to stunted hills and the awesome grandeur of the black-stone mountains to the north.

“Three days,” Gunnar says, pointing to a peak that spits smoke into the air. “Near as we can tell, the Dwarves live in that volcano. If nothing goes wrong, we’ll be there in three days of hard travel.”

“It not look that far,” Blarth says, hand over his eyes to cut down on the snows glare.

“It isn’t,” Gunnar says with a shrug. “But we haven’t traced a path through the mountains. I know a few short cuts and mointain tracks, but it’ll still take at least two days to find our way through the peaks, and that’s assuming we can follow the river right up to the volcano. I've never gone that far in, and we may have to backtrack.”

“What river?” Geoffrey asks, looking over the snow-covered hills and seeing nothing.

“The Streel,” Gunnar says. “We should hit it by late afternoon.”

He falls silent for a moment, his eyes never leaving the horizon.

“If I fall before we get there, follow it as far as you can,” he says eventually. “And my spirit will pray that one of you has the woodcraft to get you where you need to go.”

By late afternoon, the river is found. It still flows, despite the cold, but there are heavy chunks of ice bobbing along its surface. Everyone breathes a sigh of relief, their breath steaming in the cold air.

“Should we make camp?” Geoffrey asks, his limbs aching after the hours of cross-country walking.

Gunnar shakes his head.

“We’ve got another five hours of sunlight,” he says resolutely. “I figure we can make at least another three or four miles in that. I want to be at the foot of the mountains by nightfall.”

“Five hours?” Halgo asks. “We’ve been since sunup, and that was easily eight or nine hours ago.”
“Ten, easily,” Gunnar says, looking at the sky. “It looks like sunset will come early tonight.”
“Early? How many hours of daylight do you normally have here?”

Gunnar thinks for a few seconds.

“During the summer, around twenty.”

Halgo barely manages to restrain a groan.