[D&D 5e 2024] Heroes of the Borderlands
- Thread starter Lazybones
- Start date
Lazybones
Hero
I also have a lot of nostalgia for the Keep. It was the location for my first game of D&D, in the summer of 1982. I don't have a lot of specific recollections of that adventure, but I remember that my first character was an elf, and that he went into the kobold cave. From such humble origins is a lifetime hobby born...
* * *
Chapter 10
The warrior stared down into his mug. It was empty, the last few bubbles at the bottom quickly vanishing into nothing. It looked the way he felt inside, as if he was perched at the edge of a great chasm, one that he could plummet into at any moment. He felt hollow. It wasn’t the way he’d felt yesterday, after he’d killed that cultist. That had… it had been grim, and his hands had shook when they’d returned to the keep that night, but his dreams hadn’t been any more terrible than usual. He remembered feeling relief that morning, that his fears of trauma stemming from him practicing the new career he’d stolen had been proven as empty as his mug.
But today…
Today he had almost died.
He hadn’t wanted to go out again, not so soon after that fight in the woods. He’d slept in Cornflower’s hayloft again, but the next morning he’d still felt tired, and sore all over. But when they’d met for breakfast at the tavern Ravani had kept on about how they were so close to finishing that dwarf’s quest, and collecting their hundred gold. So they’d headed out once more, this time heading south into the fens. They’d spent hours trudging through thick tangles of bushes and sodden mires, and after a while it had looked like all they were going to find were mosquitos and mud.
The trek had been hot, useless drudgery. Until it suddenly wasn’t.
He could still remember how it had felt, when that thing had stuck him. Not the first one, though that had been bad enough. They’d appeared out of nowhere, the three of them like demon-spawned bats, sprouting out of the weeds that covered the fens like a thick carpet, attacking before he had known that they were even there. The first one had landed on his arm, jabbing its beak-thing deep into his muscle, eagerly sucking his blood from his body. He remembered screaming as he tried to cut it off him, but he’d been unable to get his sword fully out of its scabbard, nearly gashing his own neck as he’d tried to slice it clear. He’d managed to hurt it enough for Folgar to finish it off with one of those magical missiles of his, the other two missiles veering hard left to slam into one of the things that was diving toward Ravani. He remembered hearing his companions shouting as he’d pulled its bloody proboscis of the dead monster out of his body. Leana’s warning had come too late. The next thing he heard was the flapping wings right behind him, right before the last creature’s needle-sharp beak had plunged down through the gap between his neck and shoulder, stabbing deep into his body…
“Are you all right?”
He jumped and nearly fell off the stool. The empty mug was gone; the tavernkeeper must have taken it away somehow without him noticing. He looked over to see Leana perched atop the stool next to his; likewise he hadn’t heard her approach. Some adventurer, he thought.
“Yeah, I… I’m okay,” he said. “Just thinking about the fight with the… what did Folgar call those things again?”
“Stirges,” she said. “Nasty bloodsuckers.”
“Yeah.” The warrior rolled his shoulders, and for a brief terrible moment it felt like the monster’s beak was still inside him, like a dagger. Once again he felt that intense pain, and the sensation of fluids gushing as his lung had started to fill with blood… “I’m fine.” He wished that the mug was still there, so that he had something to hold onto, to keep his hands from shaking.
“It’s rough,” she said. “What we do. To engage in a profession so dependent upon violence, and death.”
He didn’t look at her. He almost blurted out his secret, almost told her what his own treacherous mind had been whispering at him since he’d set out from Dunwillow. You’re a fraud, you’re not a warrior, you’re nothing more than an imposter… But he remained silent.
“Well,” she finally said. “If you need some more time, I can tell the others. But if you’re ready, we have a meeting scheduled with the castellan.”
The eagerness in her voice broke through his own preoccupation, and he finally looked over at her. “The castellan?”
“Yeah, he’s like the boss of the whole place. Some human lord, I believe. Or maybe an elf, I’m not certain.”
“He wants to meet us?”
“Yep. We just heard, they sent a messenger over to the inn just as we were coming down from our rooms. Apparently word travels fast that we are a force to be reckoned with. I suppose Dwern told him that we completed that survey job, and about the cultists we fought yesterday.”
The warrior nodded; he could still feel the unfamiliar weight of the gold coins in his purse. He could afford to buy new clothes, gear, and something to eat besides soup. He could even sleep in a bed at the inn instead of Cornflower’s hayloft, if he wanted to. It probably would have been the first thing on his mind, if not for that ache in his chest to remind him of what had happened.
“When?”
She smiled, and gestured toward the door. “Right now.”
He stood up as Leana hopped down from her stool. “I, ah, I’m still pretty messy,” he said. He’d washed up, and changed his shirt, but he hadn’t done much else except sit here and stew in his thoughts. He hadn’t even eaten yet, he realized as his stomach rumbled.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “A little dirt and the odd bloodstain add a bit of verisimilitude.” At his confused look, she smiled and said, “Come on. Maybe they’ll even have a spread for us. Nobles have to offer food and drink to their guests, it’s polite.”
“Ah… I didn’t get a chance to thank you, before,” he said once they made it out into the street. “For saving my life.” All he remembered was the blood, and the pain that had greeted him when she’d healed him, the panic that filled him when he’d been suddenly dragged him back into consciousness.
“There’s no need to thank me,” she said. She reached up and touched his hand. “We’re an adventuring crew; we look out for each other. Now, let’s get going before Ravani says something that gets us all kicked out of the keep for good.”
They weren’t offered food, but the castellan poured them each a cup of a light, fruity white wine that made the warrior’s head swim after just a few swallows. He put the cup down and resolved not to drink any more of it.
He was a bit surprised by Lord Winvarle. The man was a half-elf, the first half-breed the warrior had met, his mixed ancestry visible in the way that his ears pointed slightly. The man had greeted them warmly, and he’d served them himself, not relying on a servant to pour the wine or show them to their seats. Although maybe there was a reason he’d kept the castle servants out of this meeting, the warrior thought.
In addition to the nobleman, Dwern the scribe was present, and a strikingly-attractive elf woman introduced to them as Elandra. She was even more unusual than Winvarle, with a dusky gray skin and pure white hair. Apparently she was some kind of advisor to the castellan, though he missed the details of what the castellan said while they were being introduced. He’d been distracted by Ravani, who hissed, “Drow!” under his breath when they’d entered the room and seen her. The warrior didn’t know what that meant, but it hadn’t sounded nice. Fortunately, she either didn’t hear the comment or was not offended by it.
The meeting room was just big enough for all of them. Once they’d all gotten their wine and gotten settled around the big table, the castellan lifted his glass in a toast. “I understand that thanks are in order,” he told them. “Dwern tells me that you dealt with some sinister fellows in the woods beyond the Keep.”
“Cultists, my lord,” Leana said. “They were gathered around an old statue in the forest. We interrupted them in the middle of some kind of ritual, and they attacked us.”
Winvarle nodded seriously. “It is because of them that I have asked you here today. Your arrival is fortuitous. I’ve heard whispers of this cult—a self-proclaimed Cult of Chaos—that reportedly operates in a cave network to the northeast. I believe that the source of the cult’s power resides in one of those caves.”
“These lands yearn for heroes,” the castellan said, placing his hands before him on the table. “For the good of the Borderlands, and the people under my charge, I humbly ask you to investigate these rumors, and, if need be, quash this evil before it reaches the keep.”
There was a pause after the lord finished speaking. Finally, Ravani said, “And we should do this deed out of the kindness in our hearts, castellan? Heroism is all well and good, but adventuring is an expensive career.”
The warrior looked at the lord, afraid he might take offense, but he just nodded, as if he’d been expecting the question. “We can provide some supplies to aid you in your quest: rations, extra arrows, even an enchanted potion of healing that can bring someone back from the brink of death. And furthermore, the Caves of Chaos abound with treasure: gold coins, precious gemstones, even magical items. Anything you find is yours, of course. We are far from any tax collectors, out here on the frontier. Completing this quest can win you both fame and fortune, in addition to our gratitude.”
The adventurers shared another one of those meaningful looks that the warrior had noted earlier. But this time, after checking with her two companions, Leana looked at him. This time he could see the question in her eyes.
After a moment, he nodded.
“Very well,” the priestess said. “We accept this charge, my lord.”
Game Notes:
The stirge fight wasn’t that remarkable, except that there was a whole lot of missing going on. Grimdark was the only one injured, taking two hits for 8 and 9 damage respectively on the first and second rounds of the fight, which knocked him out despite using his Second Wind on round 1 (his d10 will turn out to be about as cursed as his d20). The only party members who inflicted damage on the stirges were Grimdark (and only from his Graze weapon mastery), and Folgar (whose magic missiles were about the only thing that could make contact).
Half-elves don’t exist in 5e 2024 (at least not as a separate species option), but the starter box seemed confused about Winvarle’s identity (the text calls him an elf, but his card says he’s human), so I made the narrative decision to make him a half-elf.
Next: Off to the Caves!
* * *
Chapter 10
The warrior stared down into his mug. It was empty, the last few bubbles at the bottom quickly vanishing into nothing. It looked the way he felt inside, as if he was perched at the edge of a great chasm, one that he could plummet into at any moment. He felt hollow. It wasn’t the way he’d felt yesterday, after he’d killed that cultist. That had… it had been grim, and his hands had shook when they’d returned to the keep that night, but his dreams hadn’t been any more terrible than usual. He remembered feeling relief that morning, that his fears of trauma stemming from him practicing the new career he’d stolen had been proven as empty as his mug.
But today…
Today he had almost died.
He hadn’t wanted to go out again, not so soon after that fight in the woods. He’d slept in Cornflower’s hayloft again, but the next morning he’d still felt tired, and sore all over. But when they’d met for breakfast at the tavern Ravani had kept on about how they were so close to finishing that dwarf’s quest, and collecting their hundred gold. So they’d headed out once more, this time heading south into the fens. They’d spent hours trudging through thick tangles of bushes and sodden mires, and after a while it had looked like all they were going to find were mosquitos and mud.
The trek had been hot, useless drudgery. Until it suddenly wasn’t.
He could still remember how it had felt, when that thing had stuck him. Not the first one, though that had been bad enough. They’d appeared out of nowhere, the three of them like demon-spawned bats, sprouting out of the weeds that covered the fens like a thick carpet, attacking before he had known that they were even there. The first one had landed on his arm, jabbing its beak-thing deep into his muscle, eagerly sucking his blood from his body. He remembered screaming as he tried to cut it off him, but he’d been unable to get his sword fully out of its scabbard, nearly gashing his own neck as he’d tried to slice it clear. He’d managed to hurt it enough for Folgar to finish it off with one of those magical missiles of his, the other two missiles veering hard left to slam into one of the things that was diving toward Ravani. He remembered hearing his companions shouting as he’d pulled its bloody proboscis of the dead monster out of his body. Leana’s warning had come too late. The next thing he heard was the flapping wings right behind him, right before the last creature’s needle-sharp beak had plunged down through the gap between his neck and shoulder, stabbing deep into his body…
“Are you all right?”
He jumped and nearly fell off the stool. The empty mug was gone; the tavernkeeper must have taken it away somehow without him noticing. He looked over to see Leana perched atop the stool next to his; likewise he hadn’t heard her approach. Some adventurer, he thought.
“Yeah, I… I’m okay,” he said. “Just thinking about the fight with the… what did Folgar call those things again?”
“Stirges,” she said. “Nasty bloodsuckers.”
“Yeah.” The warrior rolled his shoulders, and for a brief terrible moment it felt like the monster’s beak was still inside him, like a dagger. Once again he felt that intense pain, and the sensation of fluids gushing as his lung had started to fill with blood… “I’m fine.” He wished that the mug was still there, so that he had something to hold onto, to keep his hands from shaking.
“It’s rough,” she said. “What we do. To engage in a profession so dependent upon violence, and death.”
He didn’t look at her. He almost blurted out his secret, almost told her what his own treacherous mind had been whispering at him since he’d set out from Dunwillow. You’re a fraud, you’re not a warrior, you’re nothing more than an imposter… But he remained silent.
“Well,” she finally said. “If you need some more time, I can tell the others. But if you’re ready, we have a meeting scheduled with the castellan.”
The eagerness in her voice broke through his own preoccupation, and he finally looked over at her. “The castellan?”
“Yeah, he’s like the boss of the whole place. Some human lord, I believe. Or maybe an elf, I’m not certain.”
“He wants to meet us?”
“Yep. We just heard, they sent a messenger over to the inn just as we were coming down from our rooms. Apparently word travels fast that we are a force to be reckoned with. I suppose Dwern told him that we completed that survey job, and about the cultists we fought yesterday.”
The warrior nodded; he could still feel the unfamiliar weight of the gold coins in his purse. He could afford to buy new clothes, gear, and something to eat besides soup. He could even sleep in a bed at the inn instead of Cornflower’s hayloft, if he wanted to. It probably would have been the first thing on his mind, if not for that ache in his chest to remind him of what had happened.
“When?”
She smiled, and gestured toward the door. “Right now.”
He stood up as Leana hopped down from her stool. “I, ah, I’m still pretty messy,” he said. He’d washed up, and changed his shirt, but he hadn’t done much else except sit here and stew in his thoughts. He hadn’t even eaten yet, he realized as his stomach rumbled.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “A little dirt and the odd bloodstain add a bit of verisimilitude.” At his confused look, she smiled and said, “Come on. Maybe they’ll even have a spread for us. Nobles have to offer food and drink to their guests, it’s polite.”
“Ah… I didn’t get a chance to thank you, before,” he said once they made it out into the street. “For saving my life.” All he remembered was the blood, and the pain that had greeted him when she’d healed him, the panic that filled him when he’d been suddenly dragged him back into consciousness.
“There’s no need to thank me,” she said. She reached up and touched his hand. “We’re an adventuring crew; we look out for each other. Now, let’s get going before Ravani says something that gets us all kicked out of the keep for good.”
* * *
They weren’t offered food, but the castellan poured them each a cup of a light, fruity white wine that made the warrior’s head swim after just a few swallows. He put the cup down and resolved not to drink any more of it.
He was a bit surprised by Lord Winvarle. The man was a half-elf, the first half-breed the warrior had met, his mixed ancestry visible in the way that his ears pointed slightly. The man had greeted them warmly, and he’d served them himself, not relying on a servant to pour the wine or show them to their seats. Although maybe there was a reason he’d kept the castle servants out of this meeting, the warrior thought.
In addition to the nobleman, Dwern the scribe was present, and a strikingly-attractive elf woman introduced to them as Elandra. She was even more unusual than Winvarle, with a dusky gray skin and pure white hair. Apparently she was some kind of advisor to the castellan, though he missed the details of what the castellan said while they were being introduced. He’d been distracted by Ravani, who hissed, “Drow!” under his breath when they’d entered the room and seen her. The warrior didn’t know what that meant, but it hadn’t sounded nice. Fortunately, she either didn’t hear the comment or was not offended by it.
The meeting room was just big enough for all of them. Once they’d all gotten their wine and gotten settled around the big table, the castellan lifted his glass in a toast. “I understand that thanks are in order,” he told them. “Dwern tells me that you dealt with some sinister fellows in the woods beyond the Keep.”
“Cultists, my lord,” Leana said. “They were gathered around an old statue in the forest. We interrupted them in the middle of some kind of ritual, and they attacked us.”
Winvarle nodded seriously. “It is because of them that I have asked you here today. Your arrival is fortuitous. I’ve heard whispers of this cult—a self-proclaimed Cult of Chaos—that reportedly operates in a cave network to the northeast. I believe that the source of the cult’s power resides in one of those caves.”
“These lands yearn for heroes,” the castellan said, placing his hands before him on the table. “For the good of the Borderlands, and the people under my charge, I humbly ask you to investigate these rumors, and, if need be, quash this evil before it reaches the keep.”
There was a pause after the lord finished speaking. Finally, Ravani said, “And we should do this deed out of the kindness in our hearts, castellan? Heroism is all well and good, but adventuring is an expensive career.”
The warrior looked at the lord, afraid he might take offense, but he just nodded, as if he’d been expecting the question. “We can provide some supplies to aid you in your quest: rations, extra arrows, even an enchanted potion of healing that can bring someone back from the brink of death. And furthermore, the Caves of Chaos abound with treasure: gold coins, precious gemstones, even magical items. Anything you find is yours, of course. We are far from any tax collectors, out here on the frontier. Completing this quest can win you both fame and fortune, in addition to our gratitude.”
The adventurers shared another one of those meaningful looks that the warrior had noted earlier. But this time, after checking with her two companions, Leana looked at him. This time he could see the question in her eyes.
After a moment, he nodded.
“Very well,” the priestess said. “We accept this charge, my lord.”
Game Notes:
The stirge fight wasn’t that remarkable, except that there was a whole lot of missing going on. Grimdark was the only one injured, taking two hits for 8 and 9 damage respectively on the first and second rounds of the fight, which knocked him out despite using his Second Wind on round 1 (his d10 will turn out to be about as cursed as his d20). The only party members who inflicted damage on the stirges were Grimdark (and only from his Graze weapon mastery), and Folgar (whose magic missiles were about the only thing that could make contact).
Half-elves don’t exist in 5e 2024 (at least not as a separate species option), but the starter box seemed confused about Winvarle’s identity (the text calls him an elf, but his card says he’s human), so I made the narrative decision to make him a half-elf.
Next: Off to the Caves!
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