[D&D 5e 2024] Heroes of the Borderlands

It’s been about six years since I lasted posted a story here. This one is like most of my past entries in the Story Hour forum in that it is a fictional writeup of a playthrough through the adventure in the newly released 5e 2024 Starter Set. There are no players; however, for this one I am going to run the characters through the adventure as written, including dice rolls and random events, and let the narrative follow. I’ve created characters using the rules in the box, filling them out as needed to construct a complete story.

The party includes the following characters:
  • Greghan “Grimdark” Cossa, Human Fighter (farmer background)
  • Sister Leana, Halfling Cleric (acolyte background)
  • Ravani Whisperleaf, Elf Rogue (criminal background)
  • Folgar Ironforge, Dwarf Wizard (hermit background)
* * *​

Chapter 1

The warrior’s breath huffed in his chest as he neared the crest of the ridge. He was used to long days of work, work that left his hands blistered and his joints sore from effort, but this walk, that had been something else entirely. The scabbard of the massive sword slung across his back seemed like it wanted to break free with each step, and his shoulders felt chafed raw by the thick straps of the heavy pack he wore. The weight of the suit of fine steel mail that had felt wonderfully distributed when he’d first put it on now seemed to be trying to drag him to the ground, and he’d lost count of how many times he’d slipped and fallen on the many climbs like this one he’d undertaken since leaving Dunwillow just over two weeks ago. For all that he would have welcomed a bit more weight, if that had meant that he had something more to eat in his pack. His stomach felt like it was trying to gnaw its way out through his gut.

But the many complaints of his body faded as the man reached the summit of his climb. It wasn’t much of an ascent, just one of a dozen crests that the road had navigated in its long journey here, but this one offered a singular view. The scene was augmented by the sun finally peeking out behind the thick gray layers of cloud that had covered the skies over the last few days, covering his destination in brilliant light.

The keep was bigger than he’d expected; no mere fortress, its walls could have almost encompassed a decent-sized town. One bigger than Dunwillow, anyway, though that wasn’t saying much. The thought brought a twinge of regret, one that he quickly squelched as he studied the citadel. There were several towers visible rising above the walls; pennants wove from atop the tallest of them, but he couldn’t make them out no matter how hard he squinted. Well, he’d get a closer look soon enough, he supposed.

He glanced back at the lands he’d spent the morning covering. There wasn’t much to see; hills and more hills, along with forests and the winding blue line of the river whose course he’d been following over the last few days. The road dipped in and out of view as it passed through the hills. Off in the distance he could see a wagon with a four-horse team heading this way. It figured that he’d spot someone just as he was nearing his goal, after days of trying to find a caravan or even just a single traveler headed in the same direction. There hadn’t been any of the bandits or monsters he’d been warned about on the road, but there had been plenty of times when he’d been woken in the middle of the night by some stray sound or the cry of a distant beast. At those times he’d clutched the hilt of his sword and stared out into the surrounding darkness, his imagination manufacturing horrors from the various tales he’d heard from travelers in the common room of the village inn.

But now the promise of shelter and safety awaited him, the security of the walls luring him forward like a lodestone. He didn’t even begrudge the next climb that stretched out ahead, up to the bluff where the keep perched watchfully over these rough lands. The protests of the young man’s body faded into the background as he approached his destination: the Keep on the Borderlands.

* * *​

The loud metallic rumble of the drawbridge mechanism filled the air, finally punctuated by a heavy thud as the bridge settled into place. It revealed two guards standing in the narrow opening of the citadel’s gatehouse, a man and a woman clad in chain shirts and blue coats showing a sigil of an armored horse on a shield, with two crossed spears behind it. Both were human, a fact that the warrior found somewhat comforting.

The male guard gestured the warrior forward even before the drawbridge finally stopped moving. He looked bored. The woman had a small book, and as the warrior trudged over the drawbridge she said, “Name?”

“Grimdark,” the warrior said.

The woman cocked an eyebrow, just slightly, but she only added, “Surname?”

“Um… Cossa.”

The woman made a note. “Your business at the Keep?”

“I, ah, want to find work for my sword.”

“Mercenary? Adventurer?”

“Yes.”

The woman just looked at him, while the man said, “I suppose they’re about the same at that.”

The woman made a mark in her book. “The keep has plenty of need for hearty adventurers like yourself,” she said. To Grimdark it sounded like she was reciting a speech from memory. “If you want to make a name for yourself in this community and earn the castellan’s respect, you should visit locations within the keep and offer your aid.”

“Residents usually pay for a job well done,” the male guard added.

“Um, okay, thanks,” Grimdark said. He’d heard that sometimes there was a tax to be paid when entering places like this, but the woman guard merely snapped her book shut and the male one gestured for him to pass through the gatehouse. As he did so, he could hear the two guards talking quietly behind him, though whatever they were saying was lost as the gears of the drawbridge winch started up again.

The warrior passed through the deep shadows of the gatehouse. He could see the bars of a heavy portcullis, then a large set of thick wooden doors. As he emerged into the light, he blinked and looked around him. Everywhere he looked were buildings of all shapes and sizes, the smallest of which would have humbled any of the structures back in Dunwillow. Directly ahead of him was a large, three-story structure with elaborate dormered windows sticking up from a roof of blue tiles. It was the fanciest building he had ever seen, but then his eyes traveled past it to an even taller structure, a domed building topped by a cupola that had a gilded roof that blazed bright in the rays of the afternoon sun. There were people everyone, folk of all sorts, elves and dwarves and halflings just walking around with all manner of humans. None of them spared him as much as a look.

A little intimidated by the finery and bustle, the warrior found himself walking down a side street tucked in against the inner wall. He didn’t know what had drawn him that way until he saw a familiar-looking building up ahead, a tall wooden structure with a simple shake roof. The smells and sounds that issued from the place were even more familiar, and awoke that sense of nostalgia, even stronger than earlier. As he stood there looking into the barn, the warrior could not help but wonder if he’d made a terrible mistake coming here.
 

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Chapter 2

“Mister? Hey, mister!”

The voice jolted Grimdark out of his reverie. He looked around for the speaker, but didn’t see them at first. The inside of the barn was a bit dark with the keep’s outer wall cutting off the sunshine, but he could see a wagon half-loaded with hay a few feet past the open front doors.

“Down here,” came the voice again, this time obviously amused.

The warrior looked down to see that the speaker was a blonde-haired halfling girl, dressed in faded blue denim overalls over a white shirt. She’d been standing next to one of the large back wheels of the wagon, but as she stepped forward he could see that she had a small pitchfork that she leaned on as she gave him an evaluative look.

“You okay, feller?” she asked. “Looked a mite… lost there, for a moment.”

“I’m fine.”

She pulled a bit of stray hay out of her hair, which looked more than a bit disheveled. “You a farm boy?”

“No… ah, I mean… not anymore,” he said.

Well, you know what they say,” the girl said. “You can take the boy out of the farm…” She let that trail off for a moment, but when he didn’t respond she said, “I’m Cornflower.”

“Grimdark.”

She gave him another look, up and down, not missing the hilt of the sword sticking up from over his shoulder. “Say… don’t suppose you could help me with something?”

The warrior looked around, not sure what need there would be for a man like him in a place like this. “Um… what is it?” he asked.

“Lost me a few of my goats,” she said. “My own fault; I accidentally left the pen unlocked last night, and this morning, they were gone! I’m sure they’re still within the keep, but I need to tend to the other animals here and make sure no others get loose? I’d consider it a right big favor if you could track ‘em down and bring ‘em back here.”

“Ah…”

“I’ll give you a gold piece for each one you bring back.”

“Gold?”

“Aye, it’s the least I could do.”

“Ah… sure, I guess.”

“Splendid! Here, let me get a coil of rope for you. They’re the sweetest bunch… bit stubborn, though…”

* * *​

This was his life now, the warrior thought. Hunter of lost goats. Goat-Finder… now there was a title destined to live forever in the legends.

The first goat let out a tinny bleat, as if chiding him for such idle thoughts. The warrior’s back was sore from all the bending over, and his stomach… well, perhaps he could be forgiven for glancing back at his charge with thoughts of sauce in his head.

Finding the first goat hadn’t been hard at all, actually. He was able to find tracks in the slightly muddy earth around the barn, and followed them to a fenced-in yard behind the temple, the golden-topped structure he’d spotted earlier. How the goat got over the fence he had no idea, but it had been helping itself to morsels from the priests’ garden. The warrior quickly snuck in and recovered it before he might have been forced to confront any of the residents.

That early success had not been repeated, however. He’d been all over the keep, or at least the outer ward; the guards at the inner gatehouse hadn’t seemed all that welcoming, their attention sharp enough that he doubted even a wayward goat could have slipped past them. He’d resorted to approaching some of the residents, but they’d proven less than friendly. Maybe it was his dust-covered clothes, or maybe the huge sword slung across his back, the warrior thought.

Finally, he unslung his pack and sword and sat down with his back to the wall, not far from a fancy-looking but small building that he’d passed earlier. The place appeared to be open for business, but there was a guard—a sharp-eyed human woman—on duty out front. She was watching him closely, but didn’t interfere.

“Gods, it feels good to be off my feet,” the warrior said. The goat started cropping some of the grass nearby. “Where did your friends get off to, eh? A pity you can’t talk.”

He leaned back and rested his head against the solidity of the wall. He closed his eyes. The sounds of the activity in the keep was constant, but not too intrusive. He could hear the steady sound of a hammer striking metal; probably the smithy he’d gone by earlier. No goats there, or at least not outside. It had looked like the smith was a dwarf, maybe she had decided to have a barbeque…

His eyes flicked open and he looked at the goat. The animal looked back, its gaze strangely intent. “Maybe you can’t talk, but you can think, can’t you?” the warrior asked. “How to think like a goat…”

He maintained the gaze a few moments longer, then he pushed himself up. Shouldering his burdens, he gripped the goat’s lead rope and gave it a tug. “Come on.”

* * *​

“So I followed my nose to the tavern,” the warrior said. “And sure enough, these two were having a fine time in the refuse pile out behind the place. It was fenced in, but these guys appear to be talented climbers.”

“And escape artists to boot,” Cornflower said, regarding the three goats all strung out on the line of rope. “Ew, you stink. Come on, let me get you inside. Wait just a moment, Grimdark, I’ll be right back.”

She pulled the goats inside. The warrior glanced up; the sun had already faded behind the western walls, and the sky was quickly deepening in shade from blue to purple. His stomach grumbled loudly.

The girl returned after just a few moments. “Sorry I couldn’t find the last one,” the warrior said.

“It’s okay,” she said. “He’ll be back, once he gets hungry enough.”

“Assuming he didn’t climb the inner wall and sneak into the castellan’s pantry,” the warrior said.

The girl laughed. “Well, thanks for your help. Here is your reward.” She reached into a purse and pressed three coins into his hand. The warrior started to put them into a pocket, but stopped as he caught a look at the gleaming metal, bright even in the half-light.

“Ah… are you sure?” he asked.

“Of course! You did me a big favor. Let me know if you see Mister Snarfgoggles! He’s the last goat. I call him that because he has dark rings around his eyes and a big appetite! Hoo, it’s late, and I got to get everyone fed! See you around, Grimdark!”

The girl bounded away before he could respond. The warrior stared down at the coins in his hand. Three circles of gold. Real gold—at that he lifted one to his mouth and bit down on it. His teeth had left a tiny impression—it seemed real enough, all right. The coin was old, the stamp on it some kind of animal that he couldn’t quite make out. But he was fairly sure it wasn’t a goat. The thought caused a giggle that he quickly stifled; he was starting to feel a bit light-headed.

Adjusting his sword, he headed in the direction of the tavern he’d passed earlier.


Game Notes:

Grimdark:
Wisdom (Survival) 15 (-1): 14 vs. DC 10, Success
Charisma (Persuasion) 7 (+0): 7 vs. DC 10, Failure
Intelligence (Nature) 20 (+2): 22 vs. DC 15, Success

I know that there aren’t any critical successes in 5e 2024, but I allowed a double-success (finding two goats) on the last check.
 

Chapter 3

Leana adjusted the shoulders of her robe, though the garment didn’t really need fixing. It was strange how even after just wearing her armor daily for two weeks, she felt almost naked without it. Her hand traveled to the sigil she wore on a thin chain around her neck, and she unconsciously shifted it so that it was centered, facing outward toward the world and anyone who might see her. The sun had come out today, which was another good sign.

And, she was stalling.

She took a deep breath and started toward the tall front doors of the temple. As she approached, she saw an armored man leaving around the side of the building. For some reason, he was pulling a goat on a length of rope. That odd sight distracted her for just long enough to reach the doors, where she paused again.

The doors were closed, which wasn’t typical of her temple back in Valingard, but then again that had been in a city, not inside a fortress outpost in dangerous lands. They had handles both high and low, which was a good sign. That was per regulations, but she’d encountered plenty of temples that didn’t follow that stricture, as if members of the shorter races were not worth accommodating. As a halfling, barely three feet in height, she wouldn’t have been able to reach the upper handles at all.

You’re stalling again, she told herself.

She opened one of the doors—it was heavy, but she was stronger than she looked—and went inside. The interior was pretty standard—rows of benches, an altar, high ceiling—but the stained glass window above the altar caught her attention and drew a sigh of appreciation. It showed a sunrise that was a bit dim now, but she assumed it lit up brilliantly when the morning sun caught it.

“Hello! Can I help you?”

She was startled a bit by the unexpected greeting, but turned to see a human man approaching out of a small side room that she hadn’t noticed on entering. He was dressed like her, in a priest’s raiment, and on seeing her his face exploded into a broad smile that included more than a bit of relief.

“Ah, wonderful! I’m so glad to see you, finally! Sister…”

“Leana,” she said.

“I am Fazzir,” he said, “humble Curate of this temple, but of course, you must already know that. Why don’t we go downstairs, I can show you your quarters and review the ritual schedule…”

“Curate,” Leana interrupted. “I’m sorry, but I think you have a misconception about me. I don’t know anything about you, or this temple; this is my first visit to the Keep.”

The man’s face fell so thoroughly that Leana felt bad for him. “You mean you’re not my new acolyte?”

She shook her head. “Sorry. I’m an adventuring cleric, just arrived with a few companions, and I wanted to pay my respects.”

“Of course, I’m sorry for presuming,” Fazzir said. “It’s just… well, I submitted my request months ago, and sometimes… it kind of feels like I’ve been forgotten out here.”

“The work of a frontier priest is rarely as appreciated as it should be,” Leana said. “Out here, on the borderlands, we literally bring the light into the darkness.”

“Well put, sister,” Fazzir said. “I don’t suppose… I have a request for a travel blessing tomorrow, and I could really use an assistant for the ceremony…”

“I’m sorry, but I have obligations,” Leana said. “Perhaps, if my companions agree to spend a few more days here, I could return…”

“Of course, perfectly understandable,” Fazzir said quickly. “Though… if you have just a moment? There’s something I’d like to show you.”

“Certainly,” Leana said, wondering what the man had in mind.

A few minutes later she was still uncertain. The local priest had taken her out to the back of the building, where a small garden was pressed in against the wall that separated the upper and lower baileys of the citadel. She wasn’t sure what she was looking at, not at first; it looked like someone had splashed some kind of graffiti on the wall of the temple in red paint. Or at least she hoped it was red paint, she amended, approaching to get a closer look. The substance was still a bit damp, and it had run in lines from the long strokes left on the stone.

“When?” she asked.

“Last night,” Fazzir said. “I haven’t had a chance to wash it off yet. I thought that maybe, someone might…”

She drew back a couple of steps, and examined the marks. The design was quite simple, yet it resembled… “A bell?” she asked.

“That’s what I think too,” he said. “Do you recognize the iconography?”

She frowned at it for a few moments longer. For a brief instant there was a flicker of recognition, as if remembering something she’d read or heard, but when she tried to fan that into a full-fledged notion it fled. “No, I’m sorry,” she said. “Do you have any idea of who might have left the mark?” She thought briefly of the armored man she’d seen earlier, the one with the goat, but Fazzir had said that it had happened last night. She wasn’t surprised when he shook his head. “Unfortunately, it’s just me here, and I sleep pretty soundly at night.”

“Based on how sloppy the design is, whoever made it didn’t linger,” Leana said. “They could have been here and gone in less than a minute.”

“Could you help me wash it off?” Fazzir said. “It… it makes my skin crawl.

Leana nodded. She had the same feeling, looking at it. “That I can do,” she said.

It only took a few minutes for them to wipe away the design, once Fazzir had gathered some supplies from inside the temple. When it was done, he took out a small purse and drew out a few golden coins. When he offered them to her, she said, “No, really, I should be the one offering alms, as a visitor…”

“I’m just glad to have another member of the faith out here,” he told her, pressing the coins into her hand. “May you walk in the Light, Sister.”

“And may the Light bless this temple, Curate,” she replied.


Game Notes:

Leana: Intelligence (Arcana): 4 (+4): 8 vs. DC 13 (Failure)
 

Chapter 4

Folgar stood in front of the smithy, listening to the sounds of activity coming from within. Heat poured out of the interior, and the dwarf could feel himself starting to sweat a bit under his layered robes. The frequency and intensity of the strikes picked up; whoever was working in there was maintaining a good pace. From the sound of it, the smith was drawing out a piece of hot iron, probably for a short blade.

He waited until the pounding stopped. He could almost see the smith putting the piece of metal back into the heat of the forge. He stepped inside, nodding at the organization of the front area of the smithy, the absence of clutter or debris in the corners. A large sliding door, currently open, offered access to the workshop. The smith, a muscled dwarf woman, saw him and nodded. Folgar noted that she adjusted the placement of her metal in the forge and carefully racked her hammer and tongs before coming out to meet him.

“Big of a mess, aren’t you?”

Folgar felt self-conscious for a moment; his hair and beard were their usual mess, and his robes were torn in several places; he never seemed to get around to applying needle and thread when there were other things to be done. And with his research demanding more hours than were in the day, there were always other things to be done. “I need a quantity of powdered gold.”

The smith nodded. “I can do that. How much are you thinking?”

“About twenty-five gold pieces’ worth.”

The smith grabbed a rag from the front counter of the shop and wiped her hands. There was an assortment of tools and metal goods on display, samples of her work, but no weapons, Folgar noted. “That’s the trick, with that kind of work. It’s not just the weight of the metal; half a pound of gold would make a neat pile of powder, if you could snap your fingers and make it so. Doing it with your hands requires the right tools and a fair amount of effort, if you want to avoid introducing impurities into the end product. Assuming you need it fine, for alchemy?”

Folgar nodded. “How much can you produce for twenty-five golds?”

“You can provide the raw metal?”

Folgar hefted his purse, gave it a shake. “Fair enough,” the smith said. She considered a moment. “Four and a half ounces.”

“Done.”

“It’ll take a couple of days,” she said.

“You cannot do it any faster?”

The smith eyed him carefully. “Been real busy ‘round here,” she said. “Just got a delivery of old weapons from the keep garrison that needs to be melted down. If I could get some help with that, I could move your job to the front of the queue. Assuming you know your way around a forge?”

Folgar gave the shop another look, then nodded. “I know my way around a forge.”

The smith extended a hand. “Name’s Kalista.”

He met her grip; it was strong but not crushing. “Folgar,” he said.

The work was as he remembered, though it had been long enough that his muscles were quick to protest. Within an hour, his back had joined in the complaints, and his tunic was soaked in sweat, even though he’d hung his robe on one of the hooks in the front of the shop. The pieces of metal they were working with were battered and rusted, and had to be cleaned before the first heating; every step of the job required an expenditure of strength. Kalista watched him as he went about the tasks she set for him, but said little; she apparently didn’t like to waste words in the forge.

They were near the end of the process, with Folgar carrying a crucible full of molten iron toward an ingot mold, when his tired hands slipped. The crucible fell and shattered, spraying molten metal against the leg of one of the work tables. The old wood immediately began to smoke. Kalista instantly ran to one of the buckets of sand she kept around the forge, but Folgar reacted first. He extended a hand and uttered a series of seemingly meaningless syllables. A beam of white energy erupted from his fingertips, hitting the hot metal and causing it to hiss and crack. Within moments, the metal had stopped glowing, and the beginning fire was quenched.

Kalista looked at him. “So not an alchemist, but an arcanist,” she said. It sounded almost like an accusation.

“Yes,” Folgar said. “I am sorry for the damage.”

“I’ll finish up here,” she said. “You can pick up your powder in the morning.”

Folgar nodded. He put his robe back on, counted out twenty-five gold coins onto the countertop, and left without looking back.


Game Notes:

Folgar:
Strength (Athletics): 20 (+0): 20 vs. DC 13 (Success)
Dexterity (Sleight of Hand): 5 (+2): 7 vs. DC 13 (Failure)
The adventure allows for retries on these skill checks (up to three failures), but I skipped them to expedite the scene.
 

Chapter 5

It didn’t take long for Rav to scout out the lower ward of the keep. The elf slipped through the crowd like a shadow, not doing anything to draw the eye or stick in someone’s memory. His clothes were plain, his sword and dagger strapped to his thighs and remaining almost hidden under his cloak. He avoided making eye contact with anyone, but those eyes missed little as they slid over every building, into every side alley and nook and cranny that he passed.

Thus far, it did not look especially promising.

His explorations ended at the bank. He was surprised to find such a place in a settlement this small, but as far out as the keep was, and as dependent on imported supplies as it must be, maybe there was a need for the kinds of transactions such a place could facilitate.

He leaned against the side of the building across the way, some kind of trading post from the look of it. He studied the bank as he pretended to fish a rock out of his boot. There didn’t seem to be much business, and only a single service window within with a small woman behind what was no doubt a thick pane of glass. There was a guard outside, a tall, lean human woman wearing a shirt of mail and carrying a spear. She looked bored. There was another warrior-type sitting against the keep wall not far away, a muscled human who was apparently talking to a goat, of all things. As Rav watched, the man got to his feet and led the animal away. The elf waited until he was well on his way before starting across to the bank.

He noted how long it took for the guard to notice him. When she did, she met his smile with a scowl. He instantly disliked her, but the smile didn’t slip in the slightest as he went inside.

The front room was simply furnished, with only a pair of benches and a small table equipped with pens and parchments. He noted the bars on the windows and the apparent quality of the lock on the door that led to the back. The small woman he’d marked earlier turned out to be a halfling, who nodded at him expectantly. The name on the placard next the slit at the bottom of the glass window said, “Quink.” It seemed an odd name, but Rav hadn’t dealt with enough halflings to know whether it was common amongst them.

“Good afternoon, sir,” the woman said as he stepped up to the window. Her voice was a bit attenuated by the glass, but he could see that there were slots where it was anchored in addition to the opening below. Might be a weakness, or it might not, depending on the skill of whoever had installed it. “Yes, I’m new in town, and I was wondering what terms you offered for small loans.”

“We offer unsecured loans up to ten gold pieces in value, with an interest rate of one gold per day,” Quink said. She looked him over again in a manner that made Rav feel like he was being weighed on a scale. He forced himself to keep an easy smile on his face.

“And I assume you have strong security for deposits?” he asked.

Her lips twisted slightly at that, though her professional manner didn’t otherwise slip. Rav shifted slightly and leaned forward in a way that caused his purse to contact the edge of the counter, making the coins inside clink slightly. It wasn’t much, but he saw the way her eyes flicked toward it. “Yes, sir. Depositors may make withdraws during regular business hours at no cost.”

“Thank you so much for all your help,” he said. “I am pleased to find the elements of civilization so far out here, on the edge of the wilds. I don’t wish to make a deposit today, but I will likely return.”

She made a slight nod, and he started to turn away, but she interrupted him. “Sir?”

He turned back, surprised to see that her professional mask had slipped enough to reveal uncertainty in her expression. “Yes?”

“I heard… is it true that you arrived in the company of an adventuring group?”

The question caught him a bit off guard—and created a feeling of disquiet—but his easy smile didn’t change. “Indeed, word travels fast around here.”

“It’s a small keep,” she said. “I… ah, my guard, Yvette…” She let out a sigh that barely traveled through the window, but Rav had very sharp ears. “She’s a lousy guard. There was a break-in recently on her watch, and the burglar got away. I fear the culprit might attempt another break-in, and I’d like you to prevent the heist—quietly. I can pay you a lump sum of twenty gold pieces for your services. What do you say?”

He pressed a finger against his chin. “An interesting offer… I will have to speak to my colleagues, of course.”

“Ah, yes, of course.”

“You’ll be hearing from me soon,” he said.

He made his way out of the bank. For a moment he considered the offer. It wasn’t how he’d planned on getting coins out of the bank, but it might…

He abruptly shook his head. Even if it did work, he’d have to split the money with the others, and it would be like stepping into the glow of a bullseye lantern, in terms of his reputation in the keep. And if there was one thing that Ravani Whisperleaf had learned in his one hundred and seventeen years of life on this world, it was that escaping notice was the key to survival.

The guard—Yvette—was watching him closely, a slightly sour look on her face. Rav watched her back, his own smile deepening along with her frown. After a moment, an idea came to him. Let’s sow some chaos, he thought. He saluted her as he turned to walk past, but as he did so he leaned in and whispered, “She’s on to you.”

“What?” the guard asked.

He smiled, but didn’t stop or look back as he made his way back to the tavern.


Game Notes:

Ravani:
Wisdom (Insight): 19 (+0): 19 vs. DC 15 (Success)
Charisma (Deception): 5 (+4): 9 vs. DC 15 (Failure)
 

Chapter 6

The tavern was called the Drunken Dragon, and it was busy. Busier by far than the tavern back in Dunwillow, with soldiers, merchants, and weary travelers of all sorts filling out the dozen or so tables scattered around the taproom, or seated at one of the tall stools in front of the bar like Grimdark. When he asked the bartender—a tall, muscular black human—for an ale, the man quickly poured it for him before hurrying off to fulfill another order.

The warrior sipped the ale. It was good, and the mug was generously sized, holding more than a pint. He took a few swallows, which eased the rumbling in his stomach slightly. There was a swinging side door that clearly led into a kitchen, and the smells coming from there were becoming increasingly seductive.

“Get you something else?” the bartender asked, startling him out of his reverie.

“Um, yeah, what do you have to eat?”

The bartender pulled a thin piece of wood out from between several of the casks lined up behind the bar. It had a piece of parchment attached to it, which the warrior saw was a menu when the man handed it to him.

As soon as he saw the descriptions—and the prices—his eyes widened. “A gold piece for the ale?”

The man nodded. “That’s what it costs.” He leaned forward and placed both hands on the bar. If he was intimidated by the warrior’s armor and sword, he didn’t show it. “You should know, if people can’t settle their tabs, they have to work it off.” He nodded toward the kitchen door, where the constant sounds of activity had taken on a slightly malevolent tone.

“I can pay,” the warrior said. He fumbled out his purse and took out two of the coins that Cornflower had given him and laid them on the bar. “I’ll take the bottomless soup.”

“Good choice,” the man said. He swept up the coins and turned to help another customer. The warrior just stared at his mug.

“Welcome to a gold-based frontier economy,” a voice said.

The warrior turned and blinked in surprise to see a halfling woman standing on the stool next to him. She was leaning against the bar, holding a teacup that was almost half the size of her head. “This place is so far from anything, it costs a fortune just to ship supplies and necessary goods," she continued. "So prices are…” she raised a thumb toward the ceiling and nodded at the menu board that the bartender had left behind.

“So… everyone here has gold?”

The halfling sipped at her tea and put the cup down. She was stronger than her size would suggest, he thought. “There was a gold rush out in these parts, oh… about forty-five years ago now,” she said. “Huge influx of prospectors and treasure-seekers. Most of what they found made its way back to the civilized lands to the west, as such things happen. But enough remained out here to sustain a non-barter economy.” She held up a fat five-mark coin, spinning it to reveal the number stamped into its back. The front held another animal, but he couldn’t see what it was before she tucked it back into her purse. “I’m Leana,” she said. “You’re welcome to join us, share our meal.”

“Us?” he asked.

“Me and two other adventurers—like yourself,” she said. “Assuming you know how to handle that cleaver of yours?”

He realized she was referring to his sword. “What? Of course I do!”

She laughed and held up her hands. “Easy now, I didn’t mean anything by it. Come on, I’ll introduce you to the others. Mind bringing that?”

She got down off the stool—he realized that the frame was designed to serve as a ladder for someone small like her—and started across the room. The warrior took her tea and his ale and followed her. For a moment he lost her in the press of patrons, then emerged to find a small table pressed in against the back wall, at the far end of the bar.

There were two men seated there, who looked up as he approached. One was an elf, rail-thin with a shock of wild brown hair that accentuated his hazel eyes. He was clad in a rugged coat of boiled leather and was armed with a small sword, dagger, and shortbow, all the weapons within easy reach. The other adventurer was a dwarf, whose own hair and beard made the elf look fashionably coiffed by comparison. He wore a robe that looked to be more patches and thread than original fabric, and was not armed, at least as far as the warrior could tell. An assortment of books and scrolls were spread out on the table in front of him, which he gathered a bit protectively as they arrived.

“This is Ravani, and Folgar,” Leana said. She skipped forward and vaulted up onto one of the vacant chairs. “And this is…”

“Ah, Grimdark,” he said, as he remembered that he hadn’t yet give the halfling woman his name.

“Grimdark,” the elf said. “Really.” He snorted in amusement.

“You’re hardly in a position to mock, Whisperleaf,” Leana chided.

The elf settled back in his chair, and lifted his boots onto the table in front of the fourth and final chair. “That is a good elvish name with a vaunted pedigree,” he said. He shifted his gaze to the warrior. “What happened to your goat?”

“Ah, that’s it!” Leana exclaimed. “I knew I’d seen you before!”

“Goat?” Folgar asked, blinking.

“I, ah, was helping someone in the town,” the warrior said.

“This place is lousy with ‘quests,’” Ravani said. “But we’re not here to scramble for pennies.”

“The barn girl gave me three gold for finding her goats,” the warrior said.

“Well, then your career is set,” Ravani said. He made a shooing motion with one hand, but Leana said, “We need a fighter.”

“Leana, you should have consulted with us before making an offer,” Folgar said. “Especially if it involves splitting the treasure four ways rather than three.”

“Here, here,” Ravani said.

“Treasure?” the warrior asked.

“Sure you’ve heard the term, Grimmy,” the elf said. “Gold coins, precious gemstones, even magical items, perhaps." He waggled his fingers suggestively. "And I’m with Folgar, a three-way split is bad enough.”

“Come on,” Leana said. “We need a fighter. Unless either of you is willing to stand in the front rank, taking hits and protecting the others? He’s got height, heavy armor, and look at the size of that sword!”

“I’ve always heard that it’s not the size of the blade, but the skill in wielding it that counts,” Ravani said.

Folgar adjusted his stack of papers. The warrior could see that the top one contained a rough sketch of the region. “What say you, warrior?” he asked. "Are you prepared to stand between us and danger? To hold the line and protect your comrades from harm?”

All three of them looked at him, and he felt a sudden tension in his chest. This was it, the moment he’d thought about ever since… what had happened in Dunwillow. He cleared his throat. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I am ready.”

“Fine, fine,” Ravani said. “Whatever. A suppose a meat shield might come in handy at that. Tell me, Grimmy, you ever withstood a dragon's breath?”

“I… what… dragon?”

He was saved from having to come up with a further response by the arrival of the tavernkeeper, who placed down a bowl of soup, a spoon, and an end of bread on the edge of the table. The sight and smell of the meal drove all other thoughts from the warrior’s head, and he tucked into it with gusto.

“Anything else for you?” the tavernkeeper asked the others.

“Another drink for each of us?” Ravani asked. “New guy buys the round, that’s the rule.”

The warrior looked up from his soup at that, a look of panic on his face, but Leana shook her head. “We can pay for our own drinks,” she said. “I think we’re good here,” she said. “Say… what’s with the cake on the menu? I saw it was crossed out.”

The tavernkeeper sighed. “Can’t seem to get the ingredients. Whenever I put in an order, it gets seized by goblins, roadside bandits—you name it. I guess everybody likes dessert.”

“Well, if we run into any bandits out there, we’ll keep an eye out for sacks of sugar and chocolate chips,” Ravani said.

The tavernkeeper started to turn away, but the warrior held up his now empty bowl for a refill.

“Well, if he fights as well as he eats, we might have something,” Ravani said.
 

Chapter 7

As the warrior finished his second bowl of soup, he settled back in his chair and let out a loud belch.

“Charming,” Ravani said.

“Hadn’t had a meal in a while?” Leana asked.

The warrior shook his head sheepishly. “I just got in today,” he admitted. “There wasn’t… there haven’t been any inns or taverns on the road for a while.” He didn’t mention that he’d often skipped them even when they had been present, trying to preserve his dwindling stash of coins.

“Yes, we definitely are out on the fringes of civilization,” Ravani said.

“So what is it…” the warrior began, but he trailed off as Folgar straightened and touched the elf on the arm. “He’s here,” the dwarf said.

The warrior followed his gaze to the door, where a stout figure—another dwarf—had just entered. The newcomer was dressed in a fancy coat amply decorated with gold scrollwork stitching at the cuffs and collar, topped by a slouch hat that had a decorative feather sticking out over one ear. He wore spectacles that he lifted slightly as he scanned the room. The warrior felt a slight tingle of anticipation as the dwarf's gaze lingered on their table, and he started toward them.

“Who’s that?” the warrior asked.

“His name’s Dwern,” Leana said. “He’s a scribe at the citadel.”

“Let us handle the talking,” Ravani said quietly. “Master scribe!” he said as the dwarf reached them. “Won’t you join us?”

The dwarf scanned the room. “Not here,” he said. Without a further word, he headed for the door that led to the back room of the tavern. The tavernkeeper didn’t complain, he just gave the dwarf a nod and went back to pulling drinks for the customers crowded around the bar.

The back room was barely big enough for the five of them. It had a single window and a hearth, along with a small table and four chairs. The fireplace wasn’t lit, but there was a lantern hanging from the ceiling that brightened the room.

The scribe went to the chair furthest from the door and sat down. The warrior hesitated for just a moment too long, and had to stand. He slid into the corner behind Leana.

“I understand you have a job for us, Master Dwern,” Leana said.

The dwarf nodded. He’d taken out a small folio from a satchel at his side, and laid it on the table along with a portable writing kit. “I’ve commissioned a map of the wilderness beyond the keep,” he said. “However, the map is sorely lacking in detail, and few are willing to brave the wilds to properly survey them—but you look like you’re made of sterner stuff.” At that last he glanced up at the warrior, but if he was surprised to see him in the company of this group he gave no indication of it.

“If you help me finish my map by exploring the surrounding lands, I’ll compensate you fairly.”

“Define, ‘fairly,’” Ravani said.

The dwarf reached into a pocket of his robe and drew out a small gemstone. It was a deep purple, and the glow of the lamp flashed brightly off its facets. “Amethyst,” he said. “Lenk at the apartments by the south wall will give you one hundred gold pieces for it.”

The warrior tried to keep the surprise from showing on his face, but he suspected that he'd mostly failed. Even split four ways, that would be more money than he’d ever had in his life. It was more than the merchant back in Dunwillow had offered him for the suit of chain armor, back before he’d decided on his current course. Of course, with ales at a gold each it probably wouldn’t go very far, but still…

He realized that Folgar was talking, and quickly pushed those musings aside. The dwarf wizard had taken out his sketch map of the area and was consulting with Dwern. “So you just want detailed notes on three of these regions,” Folgar was saying. “That’s it, we scout them out, enough to fill in your map, and we’re good?”

“That is correct,” the scribe said.

The three adventurers at the table shared a look, long enough that the warrior began to feel left out. He wasn’t sure what meaning passed between them, but after a moment Leana nodded and said, “Very well. We accept.”

Dwern took out a pen from his set, dipped it into the inkwell, and made a few notes in the front of the folio. The warrior couldn’t read it upside-down and on the far side of the table, but it looked like the pages inside the booklet had been divided into categories. “Is there anything more you can tell us about these regions?” the warrior asked.

Dwern looked up from his writing. The warrior could see that the question had gotten his new companions’ attention. “There’s an ancient statue somewhere in the forests north of the keep,” the scribe said. “It was once the site of strange rituals. Some say it still is.”

“Strange rituals,” Ravani said. “Wonderful.”

“We’ll keep an eye out for it,” Leana said.

Dwern nodded and finished making his notes in the book. “Here you are,” he said, sliding it across the table toward the halfling cleric. “Just bring it by the fortress when you have finished. I look forward to hearing from you.”

“Yeah, assuming we don’t get killed,” Ravani said.

The dwarf didn’t respond to that comment; he just packed up his kit and left. The noise from the taproom intruded as he departed, but as the door swung back it left them again in relative silence.

“Seems straightforward enough,” Folgar said.

“Too easy, I think,” Ravani said. “No way he’s willing to pay one hundred gold unless there is real danger out there. And I don’t think that bringing up that statue was an accident.”

“He didn’t mention it until Grimdark brought it up,” Folgar said.

“Well, I say we don’t go looking for trouble unless it absolutely finds us,” Ravani said. “Let’s just fill in this guy’s book and collect our reward.”

“We already know that there’s bandits on the road,” Leana said. “Conflict may be inevitable.”

“Well, if they find us, at least we have him,” Ravani said, nodding up at the warrior.

“Bandits are unlikely to hazard a well-armed group of travelers,” Folgar said.

Ravani snorted. “Famous last words,” he said.

* * *​

It was full dark by the time that Dwern returned to the citadel on the northern edge of the keep. The guards nodded as he entered. The great hall was quiet, and deep shadows filled the interior of the fortress as the scribe ascended the stairs to the upper level. He entered a small, comfortably-furnished room with two slit windows that overlooked the wilderness to the north and east. The lamps were unlit, but with his darkvision the scribe could easily see the slender figure standing next to one of those windows, looking out into the darkness.

Dwern closed the door behind him and came into the room. He didn’t speak, just waited.

“Are they the ones we’ve been waiting for?” the shadowed figure finally asked.

“Perhaps,” Dwern said. “I guess we’ll know, if they survive the wilderness.”
 


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