(Cydra) The Year 271 Campaign (Low Magic experiment)

[the Jester]

The Traitor Revealed

Five years ago, Jorgen’s sister Reedia ran away. She was never seen again.

Until now.

Now, rescued at last, she sobs into Jorgen’s arms. Pulled from this unlikely dungeon in a crypt in the cemetery of Kamenda City, a dungeon held by a demon- a succubus- Reedia Boatwright tells her story.

She had run away in a burst of childish anger, but not long after dark she ran into Dalgen, a relatively new arrival in town. He encouraged her to go back with him, and he promised her he would intercede with her parents for him. But when they returned surreptitiously to his house, he knocked her unconscious and shackled her in his basement.

For five years.

Jorgen resolves instantly to bring him to justice as soon as possible.

“Thinthe we have rooted out the demon’th lair, we might be able to catth the true traitor,” Sir Cedric suggests.

“Yeah, perhaps he checks in here,” nods Goer.

“But what about Sir Galadon?” queries Otis. “He appears to be the traitor.”

“I don’t think so,” opines Dahlia. “I think it’s Harth.”

“Let uth wait, and we thall thee,” repeats Sir Cedric.

“We can’t leave your sister here,” protests Dahlia. “I’ll take her back to Whitewater.”

“I shall accompany you,” Otis says. “Waiting here is a waste of time. We already have the traitor.”

***

That very night, as Sir Cedric is on watch in the front of the crypt, he spots movement in the darkness. Quietly, he nudges his friends into alertness, but the figure seems to sense their presence. It bolts. A chase ensues, with our heroes in hot pursuit as the figure darts towards the wall that surrounds the cemetery. Me moves with incredible speed, and he clambers up towards the top of the wall at the same moment as the dark figure.

“Smash traitor!” Me roars, and then his grip slips. He falls, skidding to a halt at the bottom of the wall, shaking his head to clear it. Then he points up and shouts a single word.

“Harth!”

Kyle swears. “I knew it!” He unleashes his magical power in the form of a magic missile. It zips out and blasts Sir Harth. He glares over his shoulder for an instant, and then Jorgen’s lasso falls around him. He cries out.

Me gains the top of the wall as Harth struggles with the lasso, and then the big half-orc bull rushes him off the wall. The knight falls to the ground with a loud thump! Sir Cedric cries, “Traitor!”- and rides in, swinging his sword at Harth. The villain ducks the blade and finally manages to burst out of the rope holding him.

Me drops down from above, elbow-smashing Sir Harth. The knight groans and reels from the blow. Then an arrow from Kyle sinks into his arm. He grimaces, tries to rise, and suffers several blows from our heroes, who are clustered around him.

Sir Harth gains his feat, and in a single blow, he brings down Me (who was wounded from earlier). Then he is taken.

***

“Of course they could plant false evidence at Sir Galadon’s house,” Jorgen nods. “The succubus could teleport. It wouldn’t take long at all.”

“Still, it is pretty shocking that one of the advisors would be a traitor for the Tydonians,” Kyle says.

“I’m not so sure he was related to the Tydonians except through convenience,” Dahlia comments. She and Otis have made it back to Kamenda City. “I think his group is different.”

“Well, there really isn’t time to worry about that right now,” says Goer. “Their forces are almost here. The battle is going to be tomorrow; we’re to rise just before dawn.” He pauses. “I guess we’re going to be a strike force, to deal with problem elements that might arise.”

“That’s better than being in the forefront of battle,” Kyle smiles.

“Nonthenthe,” snorts Sir Cedric. “The forefront ith a plathe of honor!”

“Of course, you’re right, my lord,” agrees Kyle.

“Here, have a drink,” suggests Goer, handing a flask over to Sir Cedric, who gratefully takes a deep draught.

***

In the morning, our heroes rise early. The buzz of activity is everywhere. Armored men bearing swords and bows and crossbows are rushing about, forming ranks, preparing to move out into the field of battle. The sun is barely peeking above the horizon when our heroes join the reserve, from which they will be dispatched. Sir Martin is there, as are Sir Byron and Sir Gygax. Sir Cedric ebulliently greets his father, then the party is sent off to the wings to await orders.

The Kamendan army marches out, 2500 strong. There are groups of infantry and cavalry, plus a reserve. The field of battle is several miles south of the city, and by the time the army is ready, offering battle, the sun has ascended and begins to beat down. It is a plain, with a fenced-in ranch to one side and a wooded area to the other.

The enemy is more numerous, being some 5,000 in all, including 600 gnoll mercenaries. They draw forth, leaving a healthy number in reserve- something the Kamendan forces cannot really afford. Our heroes watch nervously as the enemy approaches the rude ditches dug between the ranch and the woods to impede them in the little time allowed the Kamendan forces since they arrived. Then, as they close in, the Kamendans reveal their first surprise: archers hidden in the woods! They begin raining death down onto the advancing gnolls. But the Tydonians have archers too, and they begin firing at the Kamendan infantry manning the ditches.

Then a fireball explodes in the woods.

“A fireball!” cackles Otis.

A messenger hurries over.

“I think we’ve got our first mission,” comments Goer.

Next Time: The Battle of Kamenda City!

 

[the Jester]

Let me just say that I am incredibly glad that I write my story hours up in Word before posting them these days...

My plan: one post per day (in one or more of my SH threads) until the old posts are all back in place, and then more- presumably by that time, I'll have a few new ones written and be able to leapfrog forward...

 

[the Jester]

Our heroes are dispatched to deal with the wizard who fireballed the archers. The gnolls are dispatching a group into the woods to hunt the bowmen. “We should take out those gnolls next,” calls Jorgen as the party gallops towards the wizard. He is surrounded by a gauntlet of spearmen, but our heroes overwhelm them. In only a few moments, a combination of swords and spells has overwhelmed the bodyguards, and the wizard himself falls to lightning that cracks down from the sky at Dahlia’s beckoning. Heedless of danger, Sheriff Jorgen cries, “To the woods!” and charges away into the foliage, quickly outdistancing his allies.

Behind him, Otis and Kyle quickly search the wizard, looking for a spellbook. To their delight, they find it. Otis stows it, then the two of them gallop after their friends.

In the woods, it is only when Jorgen stumbles into a trio of gnolls that he realizes that he is alone. He can hear the snap of arrows seeking gnollish flesh and the growl of the hyena-headed humanoids up ahead beyond a thicket. Immediately, he charges one of the gnolls, dealing a telling blow with his longspear. The gnolls rush forward, Jorgen dealing another one a blow as it closes with him, and the four of them melee wildly for a moments, pricking one another. “For Whitewater!” Jorgen cries, and stabs one in the heart, killing him. Then he stabs another, who manages to turn with the blow and only be wounded across the ribs. But this is enough for him, and he turns and runs; and the last gnoll, seeing so clearly how the tide has turned, flees as well. Jorgen takes him through the back as he attempts to leave the fray, and then he is gasping for breath, letting the last one go. He is bleeding from but a single wound.

Still, he can hear the sound of more gnolls not far ahead. “I’d better get the others,” he says aloud, and whirls his horse around.

In but a few moments, the party has reassembled. Swiftly, they move on the gnolls Jorgen heard. Dahlia peers ahead through a thick spread of trees and sees slightly over half a dozen gnolls advancing on a retreating group of archers.

With a cackle, Dahlia entangles them.

Then it is mostly a protracted missile battle, with the party moving in at the end of the battle to finish things off. When the odds have been shifted dramatically in favor of our heroes, Dahlia dismisses the entangle and the party moves in for the kill.

The archers cheer our heroes as the last gnoll falls, but tell the party that there are more of them. “They’re in small parties, out to hunt us down and stop us from doing our part in the battle,” the archer sergeant says grimly.

Our heroes hurry to the defense of the next group of archers. This time there are ten gnolls, and the party does not entangle them; but the party wins victory over them nonetheless.

The remaining gnolls assaulting the archers withdraw, and our heroes soon find themselves hailed by a messenger as they leave the western edge of the woods.

“How goeth the battle?” Sir Cedric demands.

“I couldn’t say,” the runner pants. “I am not a general. I know that their cavalry has been broken, but one charismatic knight seems to be reforming them. You must stop him!”

Our heroes gallop away, leaving the archers to their own devices. Dust hangs over the battle, obscuring much of it. They know where the cavalry engagement took place, northeast of the large fenced ranch on the east edge of the battlefield. Quickly they ride towards the scene, where a single knight and his four retainers are riding back and forth, exhorting the Tydonian cavalry to reform. Hacking their way to the knight, our heroes defeat them soundly. Moreover, they are delighted when, at one point, Kyle’s urging manages to elicit a fireball from the crippled elf that the group is carrying. The routed cavalry stays routed.

Bone-weary from all the fighting, our heroes withdraw to the command post. From there, they can see the situation much better. The Kamendan forces have held surprisingly well, given the odds against them, but the gnolls are starting to catch them in a pincer movement, and the lines are starting to buckle. After the priests attending the command center tend their wounds, Sir Martin motions the party to him. Grimly, he says, “We have made them pay for their attack, but there are too many of them. We must withdraw our forces to the safety of Kamenda’s walls. They will suffer grievously for any attack on the city, especially now that their numbers are reduced.” He gestures out to the battlefield. “But they are being surrounded. You will have to cut your way through the gnolls and help rally the troops so that they can make an orderly retreat. Otherwise, we will lose too many men- and we cannot afford that at a time like this.”

“Yeth, father!” exclaims Sir Cedric. He leads the rest of the party out again, fortifying himself along the way with a stout jolt of whiskey. The heroes thunder into the back lines of the gnolls and hew at them, causing the humanoids no small amount of consternation. With the party’s aid, the Kamendan 2nd Infantry slowly manages to pull back from the enemy, keeping their withdrawal orderly lest the Tydonians rush and overwhelm them.

As the afternoon sun hangs fat and orange over the field, the Tydonians, too stung by the feisty Kamendan defense to pursue in earnest, watch the Kamendans return to the walls of the city. As the gates shut behind them, Sir Cedric approaches his father atop the wall.

“Father!” he cries. “What newth? How did the battle go?”

Sir Martin smiles at him. “Much better than I had feared it might,” he declares. It seems we dealt them a sufficient blow that we’ve left them with too few men to properly invest the city! The scouts say that the Tydonians are withdrawing a few miles to the south.” He frowns. “I do fear that they have reinforcements coming, but for now we have held them off.”

Next Time: Why are the Tydonians attacking from the south when Tydon is to the east? Find out soon!!

 

[the Jester]

When the sun sets, our heroes- except Otis, who insists on staying behind to study the spellbook he and Kyle captured in the battle- ride out to scout. They find that the enemy is not far to the south, and they find reinforcements coming only a few miles further south, along the edge of the river.

“They’re probably using the river to transport troops and goods,” comments Goer.

“It makes no sense that they’re attacking from the south,” Kyle objects. “Tydon is east, isn’t it?”

This is a puzzle, the others are forced to admit.

The party encounters and dispatches a group of Tydonian scouts, and Otis- when he rides after them hours later- encounters a trio of gnolls. His protection from arrows saves him from serious injury, and his magic missiles defeat or drive off the gnolls. Later, when he encounters some Tydonian scouts, there is a similar exchange.

As the sun rises in the morning, the invading Tydonian army’s cook fires exhale smoke into the sky, clearly marking their presence. They are only a few miles away. From atop Kamenda City’s walls, the army can be seen, encamped along the edge of the river. They withdraw a few more miles, but their presence so close to the city can almost be felt as a palpable presence.

In Baron Rusk’s citadel, our heroes stand in the council of war before Sir Martin as the leaders discuss what to do next. The empty chair of Sir Harth seems to mock them; he has escaped from the gaol, probably with the help of one of the guards. The battle has led to a partial victory, with the Tydonians unable to invest Kamenda City as yet.

“We must find out where their reinforcements are coming from,” declares Sir Martin to the party. “We want you to find out. Has Tydon allied itself with our southern neighbor, or already taken it? Is there some other explanation? You must uncover the answer.”

“Of courthe, father,” Sir Cedric replies.

“There is something else, as well,” Sir Gygax announces. “If the Tydonian scum really are using the river, you must raise the chain. That will hamper them severely.” He instructs our heroes on how to find the chain, and they are on their way.

The chain is raised via a hidden mechanism along the bank. The party activates it and brings the chain up; this will prove a deadly barrier to water transport. “They shouldn’t be able to get too close to the city by river,” Goer states with a grim smile.

Then our heroes ride south. They are along the west side of the river, while the enemy force is on the east. Ascending what high ground or tall trees they can find, they watch the Tydonian forces. It looks as though boats are coming downriver, disgorging men and supplies. Thoughtfully, Dahlia pulls out her map.

“Look at this,” she says. “If you follow the river upstream, you run first into the Dipper- a low-lying area of swampy terrain- and then back up into the mountains. There’s nowhere for the Tydonian forces to have come from!”

Our heroes follow the river upstream discretely, trying to avoid being seen by enemy patrols, and soon they can see the thick mass of the Dipper a few miles away- a sodden marsh full of thick trees and mist. They cannot see anything within it, but as they watch, they see a troop ship emerge from the marsh onto the river.

“That’s it,” says Dahlia. “They’re coming from in there somewhere.”

“But where?” wonders Kyle. “And why?”

Next Time: The dreaded swamp deathcow!

 

[the Jester]

Our heroes (less Jorgen, who has returned to Whitewater to ensure justice is served on the man who held his sister a prisoner in his basement for so long) make their way downslope towards the muck of the Dipper, leaving their mounts tied at the edge of the first big sink in the ground. They know that horses will do them no real good in the marshy ground of the Dipper. But surely the party can stay stealthy enough to avoid a major engagement, and perhaps unearth the reason why the Tydonians are coming from the Dipper at all. After all, a fetid swamp that requires a significant detour seems an unlikely area from which to stage a war!

The Dipper is a large area, miles across, where the ground has sunken. According to old bards’ tales, this happened generations ago, during some kind of magical war. Water drains into it from the higher ground that lays in all directions, and a small river runs from its western edge, eventually to join the Roaring River that runs through both Whitewater (the home town of most of our heroes) and Kamenda City. It is up this small river that the Tydonian forces are coming; yet the Dipper is a swamp near the south side of the Barony of Kamenda, and the Duchy of Tydon lies to the east. The south is the wrong side for Tydon to attack from, but that is the direction they are coming from. Why? How? Finding the answers to those two questions is the essence of our heroes’ mission.

Of course, if they were to hurt the Tydonian advance in the process, Baron Rusk would not be disappointed.

Down into the Dipper our heroes go. Dahlia’s attempts to scout in eagle form are fruitless, as the foliage is too thick to allow a bird’s eye to see the ground and water. Goer suggests following the water downhill, reasoning that if the Tydonians are taking troops towards Kamenda City by boat- as our heroes have seen- they will be where the water concentrates. They must be, if they are going to float boats at all! His logic seems indisputable.

As he explains his reasoning, Dahlia approaches Kyle. “How’s the elf?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” he replies, fidgeting and biting his lip.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“Ask Otis.” Kyle is plainly unhappy. He drops his gaze to his feet.

His master comes to his rescue. “I gave him to the Keepers of the Cerulean Sign,” Otis announces.

“You what!” exclaims Goer.

“That elf was nothing but trouble.” Otis is firm. “As long as we had him, the Tydonians are going to be looking for us, not to mention the black magic cult or whoever Sir Harth was working with. Ever since we got to Kamenda City, we’ve been misled, sent in the wrong direction and tricked. We got sent after red herrings outside the city and missed a chance to catch the cult the night we found their altar while we were patrolling. We were tricked into accusing Sir Galadon of being the traitor. All along, that elf brought us nothing but trouble. Think about it.”

“But the Keepers of the Cerulean Sign will kill him!” Dahlia groans.

“No. We came to an agreement.”

“Oh yeah? And what was your half of the agreement?” demands Colder.

“I gave him to them,” Otis says.

Kyle remains silent, the unhappy look remaining on his face. It is clear that he does not (and, at the time, did not) like Otis’ decision. Neither does much of the rest of the party. But everyone has to agree that Otis has a point: the elf is a big juicy target for enemies. Moreover, it’s too late to do anything about it; done is done. He’s gone.

“Shikexil,” Dahlia says mournfully. She gives Kyle a dirty look. He only shrugs unhappily.

Down the party squelches, following rivulets that trickle beside muddy banks. Soon the party is surrounded by thick groves of banyans and tall clumps of marsh grasses. Swamp willows hunch over the wet ground, their long, concealing branches dangling above the adventurers. The buzz of insects drifts through the air. Everyone curses the mosquitoes at one point or another.

Finally, after about half an hour of trudging through increasingly marshy areas, some strewn with random large broken boulders, the lower areas of ground around the party are starting to be full of water. Abruptly our heroes emerge, warm and sweating, in a clearing. A strange beast is there, chewing on some grass. It has an ugly, warthog-like head with curving tusks perched at the end of a long, weak-looking neck; a stout, club-like tail; and a body much like that of a cow, complete with fat pink udders.

Kyle shrieks in fear at what is obviously a terrible monster and casts a magic missile at the ugly beast. Me pulls out his sling, gaping at the weird monster.

“It’th kind of cute, but what ith it?” Sir Cedric wonders.*

The creature’s eyes fix on Me and a green ray shoots out of them. Me gasps and clutches at his chest, coughing- but just manages to resist the death gaze. “Me not like this creature!” he cries fearfully.

“Moooo,” says the creature.

Dahlia calls lightning and begins zapping the thing with bolts, one after another. Otis fires a volley of magic missiles at it as well, and the monster moos loudly in pain. Again it fires a death ray from its eyes at Me, but the scout manages to throw off the worst of the effects again: he lives, though pain courses through his body.

“Mangle dangle, I’m taking cover!” Colder squeals. He moves closer to the monster and ducks behind a bush. Even as he does so another crack of lightning descends to strike the strange cow-like monster. Sir Cedric slogs forward towards it as best he can, and the thing trundles through the muck to meet him.

“Mooo!!” the beast cries, and swings its great tail at Sir Cedric. The knight catches the blow on his shield and prepares to reply. Meanwhile Otis is incanting yet another magic missile, and the thing weakens visibly. It is now scorched and pocked from multiple magical assaults, and a final blast from Dahlia’s call lightning is more than it can take. Already bleeding and burnt from multiple wounds, the monster crashes sideways into the marsh with a last, despairing “Mooo.....” A splatter of muddy water sprays from the impact of the bizarre creature’s body on the wet ground, and then it lies still.

The party gathers round the corpse to examine it. “What is that thing?” asks Colder. “Mangle dangle, it could have killed us all! Otis, do you know what it was?”

“Of course,” the wizard bluffs. “It was a swamp deathcow. They moo like cows, their gaze brings death and they live in swamps.”

“It could not overcome the power of my pinkie finger,” Sir Cedric declares sternly.

“Uh- right, my lord. Here, drink this.” Goer knows just how to distract Sir Cedric.

Me sits down at the thing’s side. Experimentally, he squeezes an udder. Milk squirts out. Everyone looks at one another, not quite sure what to make of this.

“Me thirsty,” says Me, and squirts some milk directly out of the teat into his mouth. He swallows, and then loudly smacks his lips. “Ahhh!” he sighs, sounding quite satisfied.

Aghast, Kyle warns, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” Me looks puzzled. He drinks another squirt. The party watches for a few moments as the big half-orc guzzles some more, and then most of them decide to try it.

It is delicious.

“This is surreal,” comments Goer. “Here we are, sitting in the Dipper, enjoying a little deathcow milk...” He laughs heartily.

The party resumes their movement. As they traverse the swamp, a very large, horny-scaled snake assaults them, trying to eat Dahlia, and they dispatch it. Dahlia identifies it as a dire snake, and the party talks about skinning it but decides that it will take too long. There is considerable debate over whether to simply leave the body- it seems too big to move easily- or leave someone behind to skin it. In the end, Dahlia and Me remain behind to skin the snake. The group plans to rendezvous the next day.

When the rest of the party resumes its journey through the mud and grass, the sun is showing late afternoon. Half an hour after they set out, they stumble into a wooden fence- certainly not intended for security, but more as a property marker, or perhaps intended to keep cattle in.

You can, of course, see where this is going.

Next Time: Jorgen dispenses justice in Whitewater!

*Everyone with Knowledge (arcana) failed their check to recognize this creature. Several players knew, though.

 

[the Jester]

“It’s a fence,” murmurs Colder softly. He crouches and scans the ground, then frowns. “Cow patties.”

The group collectively thinks of the swamp death-cow they faced a few hours ago, shortly before they battled the dire snake. The Dipper is the unfriendliest place any of our heroes have ever been. Clouds of mosquitoes bring to mind the mosquito swarm they met long ago in the ruins of Castle Laagos. Strange birds nest in ugly trees. Green moss hangs everywhere. Mud seems to grab at their feet when they walk, and all too often they have had to cross ankle-deep water. The swamp death-cow almost killed Me, shooting him with a beam from its eyes. They cannot help but wonder, here at the edge of what appears to be a small fenced-in pasture...

“Does anyone want to scout it out?” Dahlia challenges. “Kyle?”

Kyle gulps. He can never resist a dare, and this dances dangerously close to being a dare. He takes a deep breath. “Wait here,” he urges the others, and slides through the dimness towards the edge of the fence.

The fence is a simple wooden affair, made from the trunks of small trees and the branches of large ones. Kyle nervously proceeds along the edge of the fence past a screen of trees- and freezes.

A swamp death-cow, chewing its cud, is less than 20’ from him. It lifts its long neck and looks at him. “Moo,” it says. Its ugly warthog face is placid.

Kyle swallows through a constricted throat and glances behind it. His face goes white.

There is a herd of death-cows behind the one. Dozens of them.

One of them trots towards him as he begins to slink away. Kyle freezes again as it comes up to the edge of the fence. “Moo,” it says.

“Nice death-cow,” Kyle quivers. He is terrified- these things can kill with a look!

The thing looks at him, all right- and more of them are starting to trot over or look in his direction as well. But no rays shoot out, stopping his heart or turning him to ash or- or whatever other terrible death they inflict. Kyle reaches out and tremulously pats the closest death-cow on the head. “Nice death-cow, easy there,” he murmurs, and slowly backs away.

“Mooo,” the death-cow comments.

Kyle escapes behind the screen of trees and returns to the others.

“What did you see?” demands Goer. “Was there a death-cow?”

“You could say that,” Kyle replies, taking a deep breath. He wipes his brow. “There’s a whole herd of them back there! There must be dozens of them!”

“Did they see you?” asks Colder.

The lapidary nods. “We might be able to sneak past them,” he comments. “And I think I saw a cabin on the other side of the pasture.”

“You mean someone lives there?” Dahlia is intrigued. If they think I’m a hermit, she thinks wryly, I’m sure this person will give them a whole new perspective!

“Should be check it out?” wonders Colder.

“It seems like a waste of time,” Goer states. “And does it help us against the Tydonians?”

“It might,” replies Otis. “If we could rest here safely, we would have a formidable barrier against attack.”

The party ponders this for only a few minutes and then decides that they ought to find out what they can about this place. Moving quietly and speaking softly, they move around the fence. The swamp death-cows watch them with dull interest, a few of them mooing out their observations. When they reach the cabin, our heroes realize that it is very small in size- in fact, it is sized for a very small person. And indeed, a small person turns out to dwell within: a swamp gnome.

***

Meanwhile, Sheriff Jorgen approaches Whitewater. He is as grim as he has ever been, and it takes most of his self-control to maintain his hold on his anger.

Only a few days ago, Jorgen and his companions had found his sister Reedia captive in the dungeon in which a succubus had held Cara. His sister had been held by the succubus only for a few weeks, however, and she had run away five years before. For almost that entire time, she had been secretly held prisoner and tormented in the home of one of Whitewater’s residents, a man named Dalgen.

Dalgen, thinks Jorgen grimly. Dalgen is a relative newcomer in town- in fact, he is one of Whitewater’s newest residents, having only lived there a decade. He had always kept to himself, building a high fence and growing thick gardens to guard his privacy. In truth, Jorgen doesn’t know much about him. Well, I’ll find out soon enough, he vows.

When he reaches Whitewater, he first sets out to find one of his deputies, Valkor Smith (one of Goer’s brothers). He fought well when the Tydonian probe came, thinks the sheriff. He’ll be helpful now, just in case Dalgen resists.

Valkor collected, Jorgen walks through the village to Dalgen’s house. He knocks and waits for an answer, his face frozen in an expressionless mask. The door opens after a moment, and Dalgen stands there before the two of them. “Sheriff Jorgen, what a pleasant surprise,” he says. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m placing you under arrest for holding my sister,” Jorgen begins.

Dalgen’s hand is a blur, and Jorgen gasps as a dagger sticks in his throat, almost severing his artery. He can feel the burn of poison in his neck.

Jorgen is shocked, but not too shocked to reply in kind. He swings his sword, connecting, but Dalgen twists away from the worst of it. Valkor draws out his own sword, but only cuts himself when he fumbles it nearly out of his grasp. Dalgen drifts lithely away from the two of them, another dagger slipping into his hand, and he strikes a ready pose.

Jorgen draws forth a lasso and begins to twirl it. Valkor darts forward, and Jorgen throws the lasso at the same moment. Dalgen leaps through the loop of the rope and slashes at Valkor, but the deputy dodges to the side and stabs Dalgen in the shoulder! It is a solid blow, knocking the villain to the ground. He cries out in surprise, rolling to dodge the lasso again and tumbling away. Almost instantly he regains his feet.

Jorgen lets the lass drop into his left hand only and charges, hacking with his sword. The anger he feels is plain on his face now. His blow strikes Dalgen on the arm and disarms him as well. Dalgen hisses in pain and tumbles away again, into his garden. He whips out another dagger, but is forced to back away as Valkor engages him in a series of strikes. He feints and then slices out, cutting Valkor’s throat. With a bloody gurgle, Goer’s brother falls. Jorgen gets another stab in at the rogue before him and glances at Valkor’s inert body.

Dalgen smiles threateningly. He feints, taking Jorgen off-guard, and stabs him in the kidney. The sheriff groans, barely standing. Dalgen exudes confidence, but he is bleeding from several reasonably severe wounds. Gritting his teeth, Sheriff Jorgen makes one last mighty effort and stabs at Dalgen. The reprobate twists away, but not quickly enough! The tip of Jorgen’s sword thrusts into his side, slicing between ribs and tearing through organs. With a groan Dalgen collapses.

Panting, Jorgen hurries to bind Valkor’s wounds. The deputy is still alive, though barely. Then he turns to Dalgen and checks him out. “He’s still alive,” Jorgen gasps, catching his breath. “I could let him die- he tormented my sister- but I have a responsibility.” Grinding his teeth, Jorgen binds the miscreant’s wounds. “I’m the sheriff,” he tells himself. “I have to bring him to justice.” His eyes are hard. “And besides, I need to question him.”

Next Time: Our heroes meet the keeper of the death-cows! Plus: at last- the secret of the Tydonian advance!!

 

[the Jester]

The swamp gnome is friendly enough. He rambles on about death cows at length (apparently they are called “catoblepas” in the Gnomish tongue), offering up cheese that he has made from their milk. Fascinated in spite of themselves, our heroes try the cheese- and find that it is fantastic. They wonder at how the swamp gnome can handle the catoblepas safely, but the little person just kind of waves the question off without much of an explanation beyond, “They like me.” The thought of trying to bring some of the beasts back to Whitewater- well, although intriguing, the possibility for disaster is just too great to risk.

The party remains with the swamp gnome for quite some time, and he mentions two things of interest: there is at least one black dragon within the swamp (which news causes Kyle to nearly wet himself, as he contemplates just how sexy meeting a real dragon would be); and the gnome has seen a halfling in the swamp of late, and even traded with him on several occasions. Said halfling, according to the swamp gnome, wears a uniform.

“A Tydonian scout?” hypothesizes Dahlia.

The party discusses looking for the halfling, waiting for him to come visit the gnome and a number of other tactics. In the end, they don’t really decide on anything, but they recognize that there is a serious need for haste in their activities (whatever they might be). Bemused by his nonchalant and oblivious friendliness, our heroes spend the night with the friendly swamp gnome. They figure it has to be relatively safe; any dangerous inhabitants of the area must know better than to attempt to attack a herd of death cows!

Indeed, the morning rolls around without any disturbance, and after buying some cheese (and receiving a gift of something not quite milk and not quite cheese that the gnome calls “cottage cheese”), the party continues their downhill journey, the lowing of the death cows receding behind them as they depart. They are in luck. Within an hour, they find a lost Tydonian cook who has somehow gotten separated from his folk in the swamp. Now he is frightened and alone, and he surrenders almost instantly to our heroes.

Upon questioning the unhappy Tydonian, the party learns a great deal. “We were told to move immediately away from the area, and not to stop on pain of death,” he recounts, speaking in the tongue of his people (which several of our heroes understand). “There were thousands of soldiers all around us, but we moved through the arch and then- then we were here! There were just a few of our people in the area- about a dozen- and not all of them even looked like soldiers. There were a few people there. I don’t know who they were, but they weren’t in uniforms. A man, a woman and a halfling. We were marched away immediately and told not to stop until we had reached a certain distance, as our sergeants would inform us. I... I dropped behind for a few moments to relieve myself, and- and I lost my unit, and now I’m lost...” He stops helplessly. “Please, do you have any food?”

Kyle tosses him some rations. “Now you are our prithoner,” declares Sir Cedric.

The man is helpless. Our heroes leave him behind after questioning him as best they can, seeing no threat in him. After all, he is only a cook; he is not even a soldier! If they can, they will retrieve him on their way out and take him back as a prisoner of war. If they cannot... well, good luck to him.

***

The party finds the circle after traveling for six hours in the swamp. The area has been roughly walled off by hedgerows; a lowered area has become a stagnant, stinking pond. The circle itself is on a roughly cleared area that is covered in mud and scum. The trees within the circle have been cleared with the exception of one massive willow. Around the base of the tree, an area about 20’ in radius has been built up with dirt to provide for a dry hump for the collection of tents near the tree. A palisade surrounds the motte.

The Tydonians’ secret method for movement is, at last, revealed!

Some kind of archway is in their clearing as well, and it appears to be the centerpiece of the encampment. It is painfully obvious that this is what our heroes must deal with to end the Tydonian incursion!

The party skirmishes with the Tydonians, drawing a few of them out and leading them away from the Tydonian camp. A night-time battle ensues that runs far longer than most.* Our heroes at last manage to overcome their foes, but the enemy is remarkably tough. “These are elite troops,” Otis muses after the dust settles.

“Bah!” Sir Cedric snorts. “By the power of my pinky finger, they cannot withthtand uth!”

“All right,” Goer says, “We’ve weakened them, now let’s get back there and take out the rest of them!”

Next Time: The battle for the archway!


*14 rounds. Entitled “The Battle of Miss” in the notes. From Goer’s turn on round 9 to Dahlia’s turn on round 14, there were 4 hits and 24 misses!

 

[the Jester]

Our heroes move quietly into position near the archway that the Tydonians are using to move their troops into Kamenda. There are only a few guards, notes Dahlia. Why? Why don’t they have hundreds of troops guarding it now? That cook we found said there were thousands on the other side- why not move more of them here? There must be a reason... but what?

From beneath the great willow tree’s drooping branches, sounds drift out. The Tydonians are joking amongst themselves, laughing and talking like all soldiers do when not expecting trouble. They aren’t too concerned about their friends, thinks the hermit. They must be confident in themselves.

Me begins creeping forward quietly, a feral grin on his face. The few sounds he does make are masked by the combination of swamp insects buzzing, the burbling and dripping of water and the laughter of the Tydonians themselves. The rest of the party slinks after him, staying low to the ground, attempting to be as stealthy as possible. At first all is well, and our heroes close the distance. They are almost at the outer perimeter of the camp when there is a cry from the willow. And then, almost instantly, the battle is joined! Arrows whiz out from beneath the concealment of the leaves, and a strange chanting fills the air.

“They have a wizard!” screams Kyle, naked fear in his voice. Then he gives an incoherent cry as he feels magic stealing over his body, slowing him. He looks at Goer, who is suddenly moving as if he was walking through water and not air, and groans. The apprentice wizard begins falling (slowly) back. “Master, help!” he wails.

At the front, though, Me puts on a burst of speed, attempting to tumble past a pair of the Tydonians. They are skilled enough to land darting blows on him, however!* He growls like a bear, but he’s focused on the wizard. He ignores the Tydonians that slice and stab at him, viewing them only as obstacles attempting to prevent him from taking out his chosen target, and suddenly he has managed to get right in front of the spellcaster. A single mighty blow from the barbarian scout cleaves the head off the shoulders of the wizard! The decapitated corpse collapses to the ground, but Me is already frantically defending himself as the Tydonian warriors leap to the attack, jabbering angrily in their tongue. He no longer views the wizards’ guards as mere obstacles, for he is suddenly fighting for his life!

A crack of lightning descends from the sky, however, damaging one of Me’s assailants. From a short distance away, Dahlia watches and smiles grimly. She will do her part; the elements are at her command! Meanwhile, the Tydonian archers, cleverly stationed on perches in the tree, launch a volley of arrows. One pierces Sir Cedric’s epaulet, wounding him. He yells, “By the power of my pinky finger!!” and blunders forward, swiftly cutting one of the archers down with a few blows of his sword.

Colder fires his crossbow over and over to support his friends. Most of his shots miss, and he growls in frustration as he winds the crank back and slips another quarrel home. Finally, one of his shots lands true, sticking a Tydonian champion in the leg.

In the front of the action, Me aims a tremendous backhand slash at one of his attackers. There is a spray of crimson and the man’s body spins back and to the ground. Then Me tumbles away, with more success than he had when he initially tumbled into the fray. Goer, slowed by the wizard, ponderously moves to do battle with one of the enemy. Even though his blows move less swiftly than they should, the man finds himself pressed back, then wounded, and then finally cut to the bone and bleeding to death. He collapses and Goer turns to charge the next closest enemy.

From their perches, the archers have identified Dahlia as the source of the lightning. They start firing at her. She begins moving towards them, presenting the most difficult target she can by dashing back and forth, and draws her scimitar. One of the Tydonian swordsmen charges at her, and they begin dueling. She squawks at the strength in her foe’s arm, and Sir Cedric, having overcome his opponent, moves to aid her.

That is when the hidden halfling strikes, flanking Cedric and stabbing him in the back. “Aargh!” the knight cries in pain. “Mithcreant! I thall thtrike you down!!” He swings around to face the halfling who, until now, no-one had seen. But then the Tydonian champion facing Dahlia aims a grim blow at the wounded Cedric, hoping to take him out of the fight, and deals him another wound. Sir Cedric grunts angrily and turns back to him, blood covering his torso. With a mighty blow he finishes the Tydonian. Then Me tumbles up and, in another of his spectacular displays of puissance, hews open the halfling’s chest in but a single blow! A great gout of crimson washes over him and stains the marsh grasses around.

Dahlia blasts one of the archers in the tree with one of her called lightning blasts, and he screams, falls out of the tree and breaks his neck.** Then there is only one archer left. He drops from the tree, hoping to flee, but both Sir Cedric and Me are close enough to swing on him. Only the greatest luck in the world could save him from these two mighty (albeit badly wounded) warriors.

He does not have it.

For a few moments our heroes remain on guard, looking for other threats. None of the enemy survived; none fled successfully. They have done it! They have secured the archway! As the night insects of the swamp begin to congregate to feast on spilled blood and hewn flesh, the party slowly relaxes.

And so they turn their attention to it. The archway itself is big enough for three men to march through abreast. It appears to be very old, shaped of stone. It is worn smooth, with no signs of decoration or ornamentation. “We mutht dethtroy it,” declares Sir Cedric.

Me smiles and flexes.

***

Flee!

It’s very late by the time Me is done. The party’s attack took place deep in the night, of course. The party has no doubt that, at some point, someone will notice that the portal has been destroyed and its guards dealt with. They have no intention of sticking around to see what happens then. The Tydonians are- should be- cut off. Now the party’s goal is to report the news. Then, with luck, the invading army will either withdraw or be lured into a costly siege.

We’ve done it! Goer thinks with a thrill. We’ve as good as beaten them!

The party moves about an hour away from the Tydonian site after destroying the altar. Dahlia turns into a mangrove tree, and the others camp beneath her roots. The swamp buzzes with mosquitoes and the strange sounds of frogs and night-birds haunt our heroes’ exhausted sleep.

They set watches, of course, and hear distant shouts in the dark- but far enough behind them that they can rest, never coming close enough for them to feel in imminent danger. After several hours of fitful sleep, the party moves on. Soon, as the morning brightens, they break out of the dipper and onto the plains, and then it’s just a matter of moving as quickly as they can to get back to Kamenda City. The Tydonian forces, across the river, appear to be beginning to fall back.

Our heroes grin. Word must have reached the main Tydonian force. They really did do it! They have broken the back of the invasion!

Colder offers to run ahead with news of their victory, but wiser heads prevail and he agrees to simply ride with the others. Were he to run into a Tydonian patrol, he could be captured. “They may not know they don’t have any reinforcements coming,” Otis says, “but if they torture you they could find out.”

But our heroes return to Kamenda City unmolested. They report in to Sir Martin, Sir Gygax and the baron, who grin at them upon hearing their report.

“Well done!” declares Sir Martin. “Now, you all look exhausted. You should get something to eat and some rest.” Grimly, he adds, “And we’ll be harassing the Tydonians while you do it.”

Our heroes are exhausted. They can’t help but agree to his suggestion. A meal, some heavy drinking (especially for Sir Cedric) and some rest are in order.

Sweet sweet sleep.

Next Time: Rewards! A baby! And don’t we have a New Year’s Eve appointment with a black magic cult?


*We use the countertumbling option from Sword & Fist- if you have ranks in Tumble, you may make an opposed roll against someone’s tumble check to get past (or through) your square without taking an AoO. If you succeed, you get your attack of opportunity after all.

**The call lightning bolt knocked him below 0 (knocking him out). The falling damage finished him off.

 

[the Jester]

Who would have thought our heroes could rise so high? Certainly, none of them ever anticipated this ceremony in the baron’s own hall, and certainly none of them ever expected to be so greatly rewarded for their efforts. None of them ever thought, until the last few days, that their efforts could be so pivotal in something so important, so large, as a war.

But the war is over, now; the Tydonian forces are withdrawing so quickly that it is nearly a rout. They have obviously learned that the archway is lost to them. The archway presumably led from Tydon to the heart of the Dipper in southern Kamenda, though nobody is positive about that (since nobody actually went through the archway), and the Tydonian forces used it to bring their reinforcements in from an unlikely angle. Now the archway lies shattered in the marsh, with its defenders’ corpses strewn about in the muck. Our heroes have slain them and destroyed the archway. The Tydonian forces are not sticking around to feel the full wrath of Kamenda’s forces when their food runs low. They have very little in the way of a supply train (as they had counted on the portal to allow easy transportation of food and materiel), and no secured route of escape. The journey home for them will be dangerous, full of harassment, arrows and sling stones.

But all that is in a distant portion of our heroes’ minds. Now they are focused on one thing: the ceremony that is bestowing upon them the rewards that they have earned.

Beneath Baron Rusk’s grand hall, our heroes stand proudly. They are bathed, brushed and primped. They wear clean clothing for the first time in a week or more. They are perfumed and combed. The proper amount of makeup has been applied. Their weapons are polished, their armor oiled and buffed. A large audience of knights, courtiers and peasants watches, beaming at our heroes.

Smiling at them, Sir Martin intones, “You have done great service to the Barony of Kamenda. You have done great service to Baron Rusk. And you have done great service for the Kamendan people. Your aid has been pivotal: without you, our enemies would still have a direct path to the heart of Kamenda.” He beams at them. “I am very proud of you, and more than pleased to present you with suitable rewards.”

Pages step forward, pinning on the breast of each of our heroes a medal celebrating their valor. Sir Martin announces, “You have all earned this medal. You have fought hard and well, traveled through dangerous areas to overcome our adversaries, and risked your lives to oppose the Tydonian scum who would have destroyed us.” Applause wells up around the party from the courtiers.

“Furthermore,” Sir Martin continues formally, “I hereby announce that, by the will of Baron Rusk himself, those of you who are not already gentrified are hereby raised to the gentry, entitling you to own land for yourself, as well as for your liege.”

Our heroes gasp, save for Sir Cedric, who is already a noble. The right to own land sets them fundamentally apart from their previous lives! No longer are they of the peasantry, bound to their lord and their land. Now they can own a plot of their own, or perhaps even more! Dahlia wonders if this might formalize her ownership of the ruined Castle Laagos- a boon she had asked of Sir Martin previously. Baron Rusk beams at them from his baronial chair, a great seat of oak filigreed with silver and inlaid with precious stones. He seems excited and full of joy, as well he should be: had things gone too much worse, he would likely be a head on a pike now. He nods slightly to Dahlia, and her pulse quickens. She finds herself more than pleased when Sir Martin goes on in ceremonial tones, “I hereby bequeath upon Dahlia ownership of the Castle Laagos. With this,” he warns, “goes a great responsibility. She must defend her land and her liege with all her might- not that she has not done so already.”

Dahlia grins, her normal reserve and discomfit and being around so many people at once breaking down before the swell of gratification that rises from her chest.

Sir Martin smiles again. “Jorgen Boatwright, step forward.”

The Sheriff of Whitewater does so, looking uncertain but proud.

Sir Martin draws his sword. “Kneel,” he commands. Jorgen’s eyes widen as he obeys, unable to speak. He recognizes the great honor about to be bestowed upon him. “I dub thee Sir Jorgen,” he declares, smacking the flat of his blade onto Jorgen’s shoulders and head. Jorgen’s head swims. He has just been knighted! He never dreamed it was possible, and yet... there it is!

“Fwaigo Smith, step forward.”

Goer blushes at the use of his proper name, but he bites his lip and steps forward. At Sir Martin’s bidding, he kneels. He is in shock as the liege lord he has served his entire life knights him. I’m not a squire anymore, he realizes with shock. I’m a knight, now. Sir Fwaigo. A knight... He shakes his head. I won’t be able to go by Goer anymore, except amongst my friends. But I’m a knight!

Colder is called up next. When he steps back in line with the other members of the party, he has become Sir Colder. His face is as shocked and awed as those of the other two. Then an odd thing happens, as Sir Martin speaks up next, calling an unfamiliar name.

“Percival, step forward.”

Percival? Who’s that? wonders Kyle. And Me steps forward. The others realize with a shock that the fellow that they have called “Me” for the last week or more has a different name. Me isn’t his name: he just isn’t able to pronounce his own name! (Our heroes have noted that Me seems to be limited to words of two syllables or less.) But now they know his real name: Percival. And suddenly, Percival is not enough: he is Sir Percival, and surely he has earned his title. Me- Percival- is a knight now.

“Sir Percival and Sir Colder,” Sir Martin continues, “you are both hereby promoted to the rank of Knight-Captain in the forces of the barony. Do not shirk your responsibilities, nor abuse your privileges.” The two of them nod, overwhelmed at the honors bestowed upon them.

“Finally,” Sir Martin says, looking at his son, “with the disgrace of Sir Harth, I will be joining the baron’s council. This means I must needs be absent from Whitewater for extended periods of time.” His tone becomes suddenly less formal. “I am passing the day to day administration of our land to you, son. I am naming you Lord of Whitewater.”

“What!” exclaims Sir Cedric, suddenly paying close attention. He is quite intoxicated, and cannot believe his ears. “But father, what of my brother?”*

“You will have an heir,” Sir Martin states firmly. Left unsaid is the fear that Cedric’s older brother will not. “Beyond that, your achievements are incredible, and you deserve a commensurate reward.”

Sir Cedric can’t seem to gather his (drunken) thoughts at first. After gaping for a moment, he protests, but Sir Martin is not to be swayed. He tells his son, “You must protect Whitewater as best you can. You yourself have seen the kind of dangers that surround the town.”

“But what of my adventureth? May I thtill go on thothe?” Cedric asks.

“You must protect Whitewater, son. If you leave, you must appoint a caretaker seneschal to watch over our land.”

“Oh, a thenethal. I thee,” Sir Cedric nods. His brow furrows in concentration and he goes silent, pondering his father’s words.

Baron Rusk stands up. “Congratulations, all of you- and thank you.” He grins at our heroes and squeaks, “Thanks in no small part to you, we’ve beaten the damn Tydonians back!”

Cheering erupts from the audience at the baron’s words, and our heroes and heroines grin at each other. They’ve done it! They have defended their baron and their homeland!

And for months, all is well.

***

The wizard who had been helping the Tydonians guard the arch had a book- a very interesting one at that. Written in Elven, it was called the Book of Forbidden Knowledge. It was heavily notated in Tydonian. Together, Kyle and Otis poured through it, translating the interesting bits for the others.

...our folk looked far away, across the gulfes of space and tyme, through vast distances to dimensions far and far away. Through the centuries our diviners ferreted out more and more of the secrets outside reality. It would be our salvation in the end. Our wizards developed more and more mighty magicks, delved deeper and deeper into lore unknown by mortals. Compacts with far beings allowed us a greater and greater vision of the true nature of reality... To the side in Tydonian: Taught magic to them? How long ago? Above it, the notation Far x2 in the same Tydonian hand. To the other side, Elves = secret of immortality? Never shared!

...tensions built over the centuries as the other nations ceased cleaving closely to the elf-ways. The human wizards, fearing the things we had learned, began attempting to cast down our works. The greatest assembilage of magical power in twenty thousand years struck out at us, and soon all the terrible disasters began. The Invisible Playgue was first, and it led directly to the War of Wishes and then the Transvalent Storm. After that the conflict only worsened until the very continents and islands began to be broken and melted down. Though victorey was possible, it would not come without a terrible price- one too terrible to pay...

To the side, in Tydonian: Power must be centralized to avoid mistakes like this. *Only us*

...they decided to depart. Some few of use would not go; we elected to remain behind, but most decided to wend their way through the Gates of Glass and Fire when the comet blazed overhead. Those of us unsure of the wisdom of this policy begged them to leave weapons and items of power behind against the need of their return some day, but whether they did or not I cannot say...

On the left of this passage: ”Ancient hubris of Elder Elves?” (from book of Elven history)? On the right: How many stayed? Hidden enclaves?

...when the black moon rose into the sky, as it does every seven years on New Year’s Even, they chanted the spell and performed the sacryfice. The Sword of Sacryfice was necessary, and the life’s blood of an elf; a terrible price, but those departing all drew lots. With the proper numerological roles filled, the ritual proceeded perfectly. The sacryfice’s blood opened the gate at the Tower of Inverness and our people left our plane...

Sword of Sacryfice = Glass Blade? Glassteel? Or something else?

Another notation in the margin: Subtitute? Ghost Tower? Inverness = Battle Rise?

The book becomes more disturbing near the end. Very much so indeed.

...a few of them have come back, but they’ve changed. The touch of things material can burn them, and sometymes they are born deformed and translucent. I fear that our people have changed beyond recognition...


...I am afraid. Most of the others that stayed behind are gone, missing or vanished; and the humans in this area, a piece of a kingdom calling itself Pellinsia, have a wizard on their side, one that they keep in a box. A weasel decorates it. I pray I am wrong, but I suspect it may be Hologrim...


...I must put these writings away for the last tyme. I dare not return here. My former people, elves no longer, seek me from the shadows and from within strange anghles. I must flee, forever. This will be the final entry in this tome, which I have upon reflection determined to call the Book of Forbidden Knowledge, for never again must the powers of the elves be called forth. Entire continents were sunken beneath the waves by our arrogance. Our magical playgues ended forever hundreds of species. Worst of all is what happened to my folk...

Kyle lets out a low whistle and closes the book. He shivers.

***

Sir Cedric and Cara have a baby on 11/2/272 A.F.

The birth is hard, but not too hard, and Dahlia stands ready to help. She is not necessary, however; Ovina, Whitewater’s priestess, is enough help for this.

Dahlia Shikexil is her name. Shikexil... sometimes Sir Cedric wonders if Otis did the right thing in turning the elf over to the Keepers of the Cerulean Sign. Jorgen- no, Sir Jorgen- occasionally thinks on the matter of the elf and curses his luck. He actually ran into the Keepers of the Cerulean Sign while heading back to Kamenda City after capturing Dalgen, the villain who had kept Jorgen’s sister prisoner in his basement for years. It is quite possible that the Keepers had held the elf in their wagons when the sheriff encountered them. Shikexil might have been only yards away, for all he knows. (And indeed, to add insult to injury, the elf had been only yards away in a wagon.) But at the time, Jorgen had had every reason to believe that Kyle still had the limbless elf. He curses aloud each time he replays that meeting, that missed opportunity. His face twists in a frown when he wonders what the Keepers have done with the elf. “Killed him, perhaps,” Jorgen mutters to himself, and then sighs.

As the new year comes closer and closer, soon only a month away, the party assembles again.

“New year’s eve at the ghost tower,” states Jorgen. “We can take out the rest of the black magic cult that Sir Harth was involved with.”

“If they go,” points out Kyle. “We’ve interfered with them quite a bit. Who knows whether they will still go to the tower? What if we’ve scared them off?”

“Not likely,” snorts Sir Colder.

“I believe we will see them there,” states Otis.

“We should try to get there about a week early, or at least a few days,” opines Goer- er, Sir Fwaigo. “They probably aren’t going to wait for the last minute.”

“That’th a very good idea!” Sir Cedric takes a deep drink from his cup.

“I have to agree,” nods Dahlia. “Besides, if they’re already there, we might need a little time to take care of them. If we get there at the last minute, we might find that we’re too late- we can’t stop them in time.” Beneath her breath, she mumbles, “A nice place like that in the middle of nowhere, they should leave it for the hermits. One of use could fix it up nice, I bet.”

“It’th thettled, then!” declares Sir Cedric. “We thall leave in time to arrive about a week before the end of the year! And by the power of my pinky finger, we thall finith off these black thorthererth onthe and for all!!”

And, late in the year, our heroes mount up and leave sleepy Whitewater for the Rise of Battle and to the Ghost Tower atop it.

Next Time: The Ghost Tower!


*Sir Cedric has an older brother, whom we have not yet seen in game but we have talked about. This brother is a ‘saved slot’ for a pc to take at some point in this campaign (there are only so many available ‘slots’ for pcs in Whitewater, though there are also some pcs not from Whitewater. Er, I guess there have been two- Cur Sed Seed and Colder. Anyway, Cedric and his father (Sir Martin) had a conversation once that implied Cedric’s brother is unable (or unwilling) to have children.

 

[the Jester]

It is just shy of two weeks before the new year when our heroes arrive at the Rise of Battle. It is south and east of the Dipper by a few miles, the site of several famous battles from the glorious past when the Barony of Kamenda was a part of the Kingdom of Pellinsia, before Pellinsia fragmented and fell apart. Now the tower that once proudly watched over the surrounding land is a half-collapsed ruined shell. Weather, siege and monsters having taken their toll on the place; time has not been kind to the Ghost Tower of the land once called Inverness.

As they approach, everyone keeps a wary eye out. Who knows whether the cult they are seeking might have someone here already, keeping a lookout! But there is no evidence of recent trespass- no tracks, no old camps, no smoke coming off of a cook fire. As the party gets closer they can see that the upper levels of the tower are gone, and broken stones and chunks of shattered masonry lie about the surrounding space. Clumps of weeds grow here and there, and a single withered oak tree hunches about thirty yards from the tower’s wreck.

There is a walled courtyard surrounding the square tower. As our heroes approach it, they note that there are many holes in the wall, and in places it looks like they could walk through. A rusted portcullis stands shut, but it is damaged and bent and looks easy to pass. Passage into the courtyard is easy, and when they enter the group sees large pile of rubble along the most-ruined edge of the wall that edges up almost to the tower itself. The tower was once whitewashed, but sun, rain and dirt have obfuscated almost all evidence of this. It is now obvious that only the ground floor has truly survived; pieces of the second floor still exist, but they appear to be buried in the rubble of the higher levels.

“Well,” says Sir Colder, “let’s move in and check it out.”

Dahlia agrees. “We should make sure it’s clear before we set up our ambush for the cult.”

The party begins moving towards the ruined tower, but suddenly a noise from the rubble pile catches their attention. Something growls, sounding almost like a big cat. There is the sound of rocks shifting and pebbles bouncing down the pile of rubble; and then a terrifying and unnatural thing creeps into view atop the mound.

For a moment, our heroes can only gape. It is hideous.

It has the body of a lion. Great bat-wings flex, and a tail bristling with spikes lashes the air behind it. It growls again, a weird mix of cat-yowl and man-sound, and it shakes its head. As it does so, its most terrible feature becomes clear: it has the head of a man. Then, with a bristling growl, the monstrosity launches itself into the air, its wings beating powerfully as it moves above the party.

Our heroes scatter, some seeking cover, some drawing bows. Otis gets a good angle and cackles wildly as he casts a fireball into the sky! The blast of flames roars around the monster, sizzling and burning its flesh. The creature gives another roar, this one full of pain and outrage. Then its tail snaps down, and a volley of spikes zings at Otis and Kyle! Each of them cries out in pain as long black spikes sink into their flesh. Kyle is nearly rendered unconscious, and immediately turns to flee to a safer location.*

“My apprentice!” cries Otis, and launches a volley of magic missiles back at the monster. Bolts of force zip back up at the creature, blasting three small wounds into it. Arrows, sling stones and crossbow bolts fly at the thing as our heroes rally, but they seem to be having a difficult time connecting...

The monster again screams in rage, and its tail snaps down again violently, releasing a barrage of spikes. Otis staggers back as one hits him, another, another. The others miss, as if by the intervention of fate.** Unfortunately for the creature, it flexes its tail so hard in doing so that it breaks it!*** Gritting his teeth, dizzy with pain, the wizard staggers away and flees towards Sir Cedric, who stands ready for the monster’s approach with his sword.

But it is still circling out of range. Arrows keep missing, until finally Colder lands a shaft in the things wing. Its flight becomes slightly erratic. Both Otis and Kyle launch more magic missiles at it.

“Thith varlet ith not coming any clother,” complains Sir Cedric. He drops his sword and draws out his bow, fits an arrow to the string, and fires true. His arrow strikes it in the eye, and it gives a loud, outraged bellow before plummeting to the ground. His arrow does not kill it- but the fall does. A cheer erupts from the rest of the party, albeit a rather ragged one in the cases of Kyle and Otis.

“Well done, my Lord!” cries Sir Colder.

The party checks out the rubble nest, where they find a few scraps of bone and some silver coins. Then they return their attentions to the tower itself. Entering the place, they find that the remaining floor is choked with rubble, and that there are few features remaining. However, each corner of the tower (for it is a square tower) holds a stairwell leading downwards.

“Let uth thtart at the thouthwetht,” suggests Sir Cedric.

“Stairs,” Me- that is, Sir Percival- expresses. He smiles dumbly, pointing.

“Yeth, of courthe,” Sir Cedric replies, taking a nip off the flask that Sir Fwaigo hands over to him. The party begins their descent.

Down they go, finding a passage that twists and turns beneath the earth for a couple of dozen feet before ending in a door. Sir Percival throws open the door and steps through out of sight of his friends. From beyond the threshold he yells, “Big thing, CRUSH!”

Even as our heroes surge forward into the room to help Sir Percival, the ‘big thing’- whatever it is- disappears. They catch just a glimpse of something fading into the air as they spill into the chamber. Sir Percival cries out in rage and strikes where it just was, and to his glee his hits! Something grunts, then chuckles. Then the ‘big thing’- some kind of 12’-tall, blue-skinned humanoid with little horns- appears out of nowhere as a cone of cold slaps over the party!

*Kyle is 6th level and has 13 hp at full.

**i.e. Otis burned Wyrd here. A Wyrd is kind of like a fate point in my game, though it also has other effects.

***Pretty bad fumble on one spike.