Dr Midnight's Keep on the Shadowfell - Unbelievably updated on 7/30

[Dr Midnight]

Session 1 – Chapter 1
Fire and War are Good for Commerce
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The group of travelers walked on, and Berak began speaking again. “You know, in a perfect world you could be a working man AND use magic items. You could… I don’t know… use a magical quill to sign important documents. Or you could use some great ancient artifact to help you move boxes on a loading dock.” This made him laugh.

The halfling, walking behind the cart, said “Don’t you think we’ve heard enough of your jokes?”

Berak spat again. “When you’re the boss, maybe you can tell me when I can and can’t make jokes. As you’re just the hired help… do your job.” They rode on in silence for a moment, and Berak seemed to bristle under the rebuke.

The halfling was named Greldo. He walked point, as his eyes were sharper than most. He sneered silently to show his derision for his employer’s comments, and refrained from responding. He was three and a half feet tall, with the kind of rakish smile and devious wit that was characteristic of halflings in his line of work. He wore two daggers on a leather strap that crossed his chest, and he walked with an agile gait.

About a hundred yards up the road, Greldo spotted a flash of activity. A creature had peeked out from behind a pile of boulders at the approaching company, then darted across the road. It looked like a kobold. Greldo considered calling out to the group, then smirked. He fell back casually and spoke to the one of his partymates walking alongside the cart.

This was Lathon, a dragonborn paladin in the service of the god Bahamut. He was seven feet tall, and thickly corded with muscle beneath his gleaming armor. His scales were an oily black that faded to a dull charcoal at points. One red scale, the shape of a diamond, was at the base of his throat. His eyes were alert, bright red, and unnerving.

“Kobold ambush coming up,” Greldo said. “Pass it on.”

Lathon looked at the halfling. “Are we not notifying the fat man?” He glanced over to Berak with his reptile’s eyes.

Greldo smiled. “Why should we? We’re paid to guard, not to warn.” He shrugged, as if the matter were simply out of his hands.

Lathon chuckled and nodded, then lumbered off to speak to the half-elf. Gloraen was a cleric that was also dedicated to Bahamut. He wore chainmail accented with deep purple wool at its fringes. A wicked-looking mace hung on his hip. Lathon conveyed the message and Gloraen nodded, then sidled over to the dwarf.

The dwarf was named Moltezom. He was a stout creature, wearing ornate scale mail about his barrel chest. A yellow-orange beard split into five braids, the center being the thickest. Each braid ended in a bronze ring. A great maul hung across his back. Moltezom stifled a laugh at the halfling’s idea and ambled over to pass the message to the last member of the adventuring party.

Osivan was a wizard of human descent, and a queer one at that. He was whip-thin but wiry, unshaven, and he gnawed on a pipe. His eyes crinkled at the corners. He wore dingy blue-gray robes that hung open at his side, where a wand in a holster was strapped about his upper thigh. Osivan’s hat was tall and pointed in the fashion of wizards, but the brim curled upward at the sides. He trailed pipe-smoke over his shoulders as he walked with long strides.

“Kobold ambush coming up,” Moltezom said. “We’re not telling Berak.”

Osivan grinned. “Greldo’s idea?”

“Of course.”

“This is going to be good.” The wizard put his hand to his side and twitched his fingers, ready to grab at his wand at a moment’s notice.

The adventurers walked along, readying to grab their weapons and feign surprise. The cart began to pass between a scattering of boulders, and it happened. Kobolds leaped out, yelling high-pitched war cries. Berak shrieked with alarm. The mules stopped as their owner pulled on the reins, screaming for help. “Zounds, an ambush!” cried Greldo, causing his partymates to barely restrain themselves from doubling over in laughter. “Follow me, Lathon!” The halfling ran into the fray.

“I don’t follow YOU, little man,” Lathon replied in his gravelly voice. He tossed his backpack onto the cart, drew his gleaming longsword and began sweeping it down through kobold bodies. Moltezom smashed his maul into the side of one, and its limp body tumbled off over the bushes to the north. Osivan snapped his wand free from its holster and began firing quick bolts of light. Gloraen hefted a rather large mace and used his free hand to guide radiant spears into his enemies. Greldo was quick, darting among the kobolds and working at them with his daggers.

One of the kobolds fell back. He was wearing a bandolier across his chest, and on it were three small ceramic globes. He popped one free and loaded it into a sling, then began swinging it. “That one’s going to be trouble,” Gloraen called to the others. The kobold fired the sphere and it arced straight into the carriage, where it shattered. Fire blossomed along the cart’s right side.

Berak began screaming anew. “Ack!! Fire, fire! My cart is on fire, put it out! Put it out right now!” His employees seemed not to hear him, fighting on as the fire spread on the carriage. He dumped his mug of mead over the burning side of the cart, but it didn’t seem to help at all. “HELP, HELP ME, SOMEONE PUT OUT THE FIRE! I’LL PAY EXTRA!”

Moltezom crushed an enemy with his maul, grunted, and ran with all the energy he could muster toward the cart. The heavily armored dwarf jumped and hit the side of it at a great speed, rocking it towards its left side. As it fell back to its right, Moltezom leaned back, pulling on it with all his weight. “Hurrrgh!” The cart began to tip over.

Greldo, who was engaging a kobold adjacent to the merchant’s carriage, noticed the flaming cart as it crashed down upon them. He backflipped out of the way just as the hulking mass of wood and metal thundered to the ground, smashing the kobold there into the dirt.

The mules, yoked to the cart with straps and planks, turned sideways with it. Berak was flung bodily from his seat on the cart and he landed in the grass. He hollered as he flew and landed in the grass some distance away. The cart was now smothering its right side, but the fire had spread too far, and it was still catching. Osivan squirted his wineskin into the fire, and helped to dim the flames briefly. “It’s not enough, it’s still going!” The fire was growing in intensity. Soon the cart would be a lost cause. Moltezom and Osivan began reaching into the bed of the cart, looking for the small barrel of water they had themselves loaded into the cart the day before.

“Where is it, where is it… Ahah!” Moltezom grabbed a barrel and opened it over the fire. Baby powder poofed out, and the dwarf coughed and sputtered as white powder coated his beard. Osivan opened another barrel and dumped a glittering mass of thumbtacks onto into the flames. Moltezom yelled “It’s too late, save what you can!” and began pulling handfuls of unburned trade goods from the cart, flinging them behind him. Some of them shattered audibly. Berak’s groans turned to sobs as the fire consumed the body of his cart.

The kobolds were dispatched in short order and the combat was finished. The adventurers watched, not without some pleasure, as Berak unhitched his mules from the cart. The mules fell to the ground and clambered to their feet, looking no more alarmed than ever.

Moltezom was a kinder soul than most, and though he didn’t care for Berak’s treatment of the party, it didn’t do him good to see a person in misery. He collected the things he had thrown free from the cart and brought them to the merchant. The sum of Berak’s wares, cradled in the dwarf’s arms, were three snow globes, two embroidered hand towels, and a salt and pepper shaker set that resembled castle towers. Moltezom passed these gingerly to Berak. “Cheer up, mister Berak. Fire and war are good for commerce.” It was the only thing he could think of to say.

“What’s the plan now, sir?” Osivan asked.

Berak spoke through clenched teeth. “What’s the plan? WHAT’S THE PLAN? I’VE LOST EVERYTHING, YOU IDIOTS!”

“Watch your tongue,” Lathon hissed. “We just saved your life. You still have some trinkets.” He took one of the hand towels and, glowering down at Berak, used it to wipe kobold blood from his longsword. He then pointed the sword to the coin pouch on the trader’s hip. “And you still have your money. For now.” Lathon had lost his backpack to the fire and had only managed to recover two sunrods and his flint and steel. His mood was darkened as well, and a dragonborn in a bad mood was a dangerous thing.

Suitably intimidated, Berak mounted one of his mules and clutched his remaining treasures to his chest. He headed west, continuing the journey toward Winterhaven, without a word. Greldo shrugged and followed him.

Moltezom walked up to Lathon, holding one of the kobold’s shields. It was made of a dragon’s scale. “Look, Lathon. You’d like this. It’s dragon, too!”

Lathon looked at the shield with disgust. “Are you suggesting I carry around the body part of a distant relative as an accessory?”

The dwarf blinked with surprise and looked at the shield. “I guess I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

_______________

Next time
A Bad Day for the Working Class​

 

[Dr Midnight]

Note: the physical descriptions of the PCs isn't "official" yet, barring Osivan's. Everyone else's is subject to change as soon as the players get me their descriptions. I just wanted to get the story up there.

Osivan Zoffa:

 

[Dr Midnight]

Session 1 – Chapter 2
A Bad Day for the Working Class
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That afternoon, the company of BERAK’S FINE TRADE GOODS reached the village of Winterhaven. The town itself was walled off from the surrounding farms and countryside, and these walls were lined with defensive palisades. The Cairngorn Peaks loomed over the walls of the town, to the north. To the south and the west lay only dark woods. If the stories about the outer territories were true, those woods could go on forever, as far as anyone knew. This was reportedly the end of the line for civilization in this region of the world… a point of light in the darkness.

Two guards at the gate nodded in greeting to the sullen group as they walked into the town square. Here, market day was in full swing. The town was festooned with colorful tents, wagons, stands, and shoppers and vendors of all kinds. It was the last thing Berak wanted to see at the moment. The space he had reserved to sell his goods from was sitting there in space G13, and it was exactly the size of his now charred cart.
“What now, boss?” Greldo asked.

Berak sneered. “What do you mean, what now? I’m going home.”

“Um… you are, or WE are?”

“You’re fired.” Berak began walking to a large caravan of wagons, where people could charter safe passage to the eastern territories. Greldo exchanged a look with the others. They hadn’t been paid for their week’s worth of work. He moved quickly and stepped in front of Berak with his hand outstretched. “What the hell do you want now?” Berak snapped.

“Our money. You owe us three gold pieces each.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Greldo began raising his voice. “This isn’t funny, Berak. We’ve worked for you for an entire week!”

“I would have paid you to guard my cart. You failed, so you don’t get a copper. Get out of my way or I’ll call the guards.” He shuffled by Greldo.

“Son of a bitch. That son of a bitch! What are we going to do?”

Gloraen was the appointed party treasurer. He took out the communal purse and looked through it. “Uh… well, we had four silver pieces when we were hired. Those kobolds had thirty-four silver, so we’re at thirty-eight.”

“Thirty-eight silver pieces won’t last us two days,” Moltezom moaned. “We can sell the shields the kobolds had, and their short-swords.”

“That’ll buy us a bit more time to figure out a plan, I suppose,” Gloraen said.

The party quieted down as the caravan started moving out toward the front gate. Berak’s mules were yoked to the rear of the wagons, and Berak himself sat in one of the coach wagons along a dozen other travelers. He looked at the party, and they looked back at him.

“I’m going to tell everyone back home,” he hissed, “of how you failed completely to do your jobs. I’m going to ruin your names.”

Lathon’s nostrils flared and he reached up into the wagon, grabbing Berak by the tunic and flinging him down into the hard-packed dirt of the village square. The entire market gasped and all talk ceased. The dragonborn pointed down at the merchant and spoke with bared fangs. “You will not drag our good names through the mud. You will not.” The party backed a step away from Lathon. His anger was palpable.

“Ack… HELP! HELP, GUARDS!”

“Our honor is all we have, and I demand that you don’t sully it, you filth.”

The two guards from the town gate ran up, brandishing spears. Berak scrambled to his feet and hid behind them. “Arrest that thing, it just attacked me!!”

The guards clearly did not like the sight of the immense, seething paladin. One spoke nervously. “What has happened here?”

The two sides told their stories. Greldo tossed in “And he stole my snow globes!”

The guards, with their spears pointed firmly to the dragonborn, said “All right. Uh. We can get this all figured out. For right now, though, we’re going to need you to come with us.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Lathon said.

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to hand over your weapon and come with us!”

“No,” the paladin said coolly. The guards glanced at each other. Neither seemed confident that they could bring the creature down, if they needed to.

“Do as he says,” a voice called over the crowd. The onlookers in the market parted, and five more guards moved in. The captain of the guard walked up and said “Drop your weapon, dragonborn, and come with us. If you don’t, we’ll take you by force.” The seven guards were surrounding Lathon, spears angled inward.

“Come on, then,” Lathon said. His body was perfectly still and his eyes were blazing.

Gloraen moved in, with his hands held up and outward. “Wait, wait! This needn’t turn into more senseless violence. I can assure you, this man refused to pay us and threatened to besmirch our honor. I’m afraid our friend is very sensitive where issues of honor are concerned.”

The captain of the guard said “That’s irrelevant. He’s assaulted someone in our town square and WILL be arrested and the merchant will be questioned. We can have a local magistrate review the case, but for now, he comes with us.”

“I don’t have time to be questioned, I have to travel east,” Berak pleaded.

“I believe I have a solution,” Gloraen said. “I propose this. We let you go, Berak, with the fifteen gold pieces you owe us.”

“And my snow globes,” Greldo added.

“In return, you do NOT drag our names through the mud in our hometown. If you agree, we can end this right here and go our separate ways. What do you say?”

Berak looked to the cleric defiantly, then to the paladin. The look on Lathon’s face frightened the merchant badly, and he suddenly wanted to be as far from here as possible. “That’s fine. I won’t say a thing. Just let me get out of here.”

Gloraen smiled at the captain. “Well, are we finished here?”

The captain gestured to Berak. “That’s fine. He can go if he wishes, but the dragonborn comes with us. I cannot overlook violence in our town square.”

Lathon’s eyes smoldered and the square was silent for a moment before he spoke. “I’ll go,” he said, “But I’m keeping my weapons.”

The captain sighed. “If it means you’ll go without trouble, I suppose I’ll allow it. Peacetie your sword.” He tossed a small cord to the paladin, who caught it and wrapped it about his crossguard and belt. The shoulders of the guards seemed to slump in relief. Berak sprinted for the caravan and clambered aboard. It began rolling again and passed from sight through the gate.

The guards, captain, and Lathon walked north toward a walled portion of town. The party watched them go. “Well, this is fantastic,” Greldo said. “We’re marooned at the far edge of the territories with a few silver to our name and the paladin, who’s supposed to uphold good and law and all that other religious puffery, has a fit over nothing and gets arrested.”

“You know how Lathon gets about certain things,” Osivan said. “He won’t compromise. I’m surprised he even went without a fight.”

Moltezom looked around and scratched his head. “Okay. We’re stuck here for the time being and we’ve lost our paladin. What’s the next move?”
Gloraen said “I want to start working on his release. I believe that if I can find a clergyman of Bahamut here in town to vouch for him as a holy knight, it’ll be easier to make a case for him to be let go.”

“Probably a fine idea,” Osivan nodded. “We’ll stay here, sell the kobolds’ things and get a room for the night.” The group split up.

Gloraen was saddened to learn that there was no temple of Bahamut here in town; the temple was one of Avandra. The temple made allowances for different good faiths, though, and there was a small altar dedicated to Bahamut within. It was a very progressive touch. In speaking with Sister Linora at the temple, he enquired about influential townsfolk that might be worshipers of Bahamut. She replied that the town’s lord, Ernest Padraig, was one. Gloraen thanked her and headed toward the noble house. Finally, a piece of luck.

At Lord Padraig’s manor, he was allowed in. He found Padraig in a plush burgundy room with a broad oak desk and elegant furnishings. Padraig stood and met the cleric with a smile. “Ah, good afternoon. I’m Ernest Padraig, greetings and welcome to Winterhaven! To what do I owe the pleasure?” He poured a glass of water and placed it before Gloraen.

“Well may I just say it’s a lovely town here, my lord. I come to you today to amend a wrong that’s been committed by a friend of mine. My adventuring party were traveling into town earlier today, guarding a carriage…”

“I’m sorry, did you say ‘guarding?’ Are you not visiting dignitaries?”

“Uh… no.” Padraig slumped in his seat, visibly disappointed. Gloraen, seeing he was losing his audience, quickly rushed to regain ground. “We are, however, an adventuring party. We’re just moonlighting as guards. Anyway, we were traveling into town and we were attacked by a band of kobolds, who set fire to…” He told his story and Padraig listened.

Finally, Padraig took a breath and spoke. “You’re not the first group of travelers to be menaced by the kobolds that have turned the old King’s Road and our outlying farms into their personal hunting grounds. These beasts… they vex me. Sorely.” He stood and strolled slowly to a window looking out onto the street. “The villagers, however, refuse to recognize the seriousness of the problem; they won’t allow me to form a group to go out and exterminate them. Attacks along the road have grown more frequent over the past few months. Something’s stirring the kobolds up.” He paused for a moment, then turned and sat back down. “Perhaps we can help each other out.”

Gloraen nodded happily. “What can we do to help Winterhaven?”

“If you and your group agree to go out and rid us of the kobold nuisance, I will secure the release of your friend the dragonborn, and on proof of exterminating the menace, will render to you a payment. I’m afraid I can’t offer you much, though.”

“Whatever Winterhaven can pay will serve, my lord.” Gloraen hoped for fifteen gold. That would book passage for the group back home, if they wanted, or at least help them to hold out for the time being. It would certainly make up for the last week of misery in dealing with Berak. Twenty gold pieces would be fantastic.

“How does one hundred gold pieces sound?”

Gloraen coughed, sipped his water and said “We accept.”

__________

Next time
Gone Hunting​

 

[Dr Midnight]

Let me introduce the players-

Mike (Gloraen the Cleric) - We play at Mike's house. I've said many times that it's the best location to play an RPG at that I've ever tried. There's access to mood lighting, mood music, a candelabra-type thing, we can play until the wee hours of the night, and the general atmosphere of the place is just right. Snacks and drinks are always well-stocked. Mike's okay too. I guess. Mike played The Amazing Thendrick in my Ravenloft campaign.

Patience (Moltezom Granitar) - This may be the weirdest name for a PC I've ever heard, but what the hell, Patience is great. She's a friend of mine from back in grade school and together we smash skulls with elbows. She's pretty new to the RPG, but she's enjoying herself. She played Ashlyn in my Ravenloft campaign.

Roundy (Osivan Zoffa) - I've known Roundy for years as well, and he's been playing D&D for a lot longer than I have. He was saddened to learn that there wasn't a ranger pre-gen for this campaign. He was Gerrit in my Ravenloft campaign.

John and Dave (Greldo and Lathan) - I don't really know these two too well just yet, but as we've seen already, they're my kind of roleplayers. They're friends of Mike's and if yesterday was any indication, friends of mine too.

 

[pogre]

New blood in a group can certainly jump things up - sounds like the group is meshing well. Enjoying the SH - keep it up!

 

[Mathew_Freeman]

I've also got my players escorting a caravan to Winterhaven - I think they'll pick up a suitably unpleasant companion in the next session to help them on their way.

Thanks for the work on the Story Hour - looking forward to keeping an eye on this one.

 

[Metus]

I'm digging it. Please continue.

 

[Dr Midnight]

I've also got my players escorting a caravan to Winterhaven - I think they'll pick up a suitably unpleasant companion in the next session to help them on their way.

Thanks for the work on the Story Hour - looking forward to keeping an eye on this one.

Thanks- did you find the hooks lacking too?

Funny thing, the paladin's assault on Berak began a huge stray away from the intended plot. After that, everything managed to pull towards furthering the adventure, but it took a big detour around lots of planned events. Anyone who knows me knows that I love PC actions that cause dramatic problems within peaceful boundaries (like within a group or within a town). Looks like Lathan's uncompromising views on honor are going to foot the bill nicely.

Funny thing #2, putting out the fire was a skill challenge. I had several skills listed in my notes and their difficulties. Osivan at one point says "Well, no point using Ray of Frost..." He'd assumed it wouldn't be effective enough to even try. I had it listed as the easiest way to gain successes in the challenge.

There was a little more to Session 1, including the next combat, but I thought it best to pick up at the beginning of the next Session's write-up.

 

[Qwernt]

I will not get addicted... I will not get addicted... I will not get addicted...

Crap too late.

 

[Dr Midnight]

I will not get addicted... I will not get addicted... I will not get addicted...

Crap too late.

Haha, gotcha again SUCKERRR