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In the Valus - The Heroes of Marchford (Chapter 14 Continues - 12/24/08)
- Thread starter Funeris
- Start date
TheYeti1775
Adventurer
Yes those were the 3 that the dice fell upon
Yes the three escorting the Merchant were those that fell to the dice.
There is so much more for you all to read in our adventures,
especially from this point in the story.
Alot of our roleplaying occurs offline through our group email throughout our downtime. I think at yesterdays count we were over 750 some odd emails on our group all revolving around our game of 5 sessions so far. I'm loving the Valus setting, to me it's refreshing from the Standard Worlds (Greyhawk & FR), something new around each corner. Where even low level characters as us can affect the world we live. (Currently 500exp's from 4th )
~~Magnus~~
Party Mage and nowhere near being the groups moral compass, as shall be told in the story.
Yes the three escorting the Merchant were those that fell to the dice.
There is so much more for you all to read in our adventures,
especially from this point in the story.
Alot of our roleplaying occurs offline through our group email throughout our downtime. I think at yesterdays count we were over 750 some odd emails on our group all revolving around our game of 5 sessions so far. I'm loving the Valus setting, to me it's refreshing from the Standard Worlds (Greyhawk & FR), something new around each corner. Where even low level characters as us can affect the world we live. (Currently 500exp's from 4th
)~~Magnus~~
Party Mage and nowhere near being the groups moral compass, as shall be told in the story.
Funeris
First Post
So much more to tell
Yes there is so much more to tell from this point onward....I almost feel like I'm in a Monty Python movie with the rest of the group shouting "Get on with it!"....because I've been busy and haven't had time to write. But I'm working on the next update...and I'm glad someone else is reading these
Oh, by the way, we lost another party member recently that should keep you reading (if I keep updating).
Yes there is so much more to tell from this point onward....I almost feel like I'm in a Monty Python movie with the rest of the group shouting "Get on with it!"....because I've been busy and haven't had time to write. But I'm working on the next update...and I'm glad someone else is reading these
Oh, by the way, we lost another party member recently
that should keep you reading (if I keep updating).
Funeris
First Post
Chapter 4 – Cont'd: No Love for Strange Help
“Come again?” Eddam blurted.
“Dwarves…with black skin. Hundreds of them. They were throwing themselves at the portcullis and the walls. Testing our defenses. When the sun broke the horizon, they were gone. I was…” the rider paused for breath. “I was sent to warn Dun Meggen and Dun Tullow.” He looked pleadingly to the mayor and the captain, begging for their dismissal.
“Yes, yes go then. Warn them.” Eddam turned to Wallach as the rider thundered off in the opposite direction. “Captain round up our women and children. Send them to Dun Meggen. We’ll need the men to stay to hold the keep. Get them moving and lower the gates. Now!” Wallach pivoted and attended his duties.
“Mayor?” Magnus stepped into his view. “Could I offer?”
“Look we can’t pay you. You can go with the women or you can stay here with us.” Eddam interrupted.
“Actually, I was thinking,” Magnus continued, “that we could travel to Dun Beric and warn the Duke. He needs the information we have. What if this is a war on two fronts? Also, we could return here to relay the information we gather.”
“I couldn’t possibly pay you.”
“Oh, well, I was thinking free of charge. As a courtesy.” Eddam had a highly skeptical look upon his brow. “You know, for your generous hospitality and fine ale.” Then Magnus smiled.
“Very well. I will have a letter for you to deliver then. Give me leave for a few moments.” The party turned to gather their gear before leaving.
******
An hour later, the Heroes of Marchford traveled beside the well-trodden path east toward Dun Beric. Fully a quarter-of-a-mile ahead of the rest of the group, Motega crept like a shadow on the ridge of hills north of the road. The rest of the party had their eyes trained oh his silhouette; waiting for a signal of some kind.
The Rornman did not speak often. And had not spoken for long lengths of time. He had interjected his own opinions on the group from time to time. But for the most part he was silent, just observing, resembling an animal stalking its prey. Probably, he preferred his own company. Or perhaps, people that hailed from the Rornlands reserved their words for times when they were necessary.
The silhouette on the ridge, the hunter, paused and knelt. Then his arm waved the rest of the party onward to his position. Once they approached, they saw why he knelt. A dust cloud rose from the road, fleeing toward the heavens. A group approached and they were about a quarter of a mile away.
“What do you think?” Funeris asked Motega. “Looks like, maybe twenty.”
Motega grunted his assent.
“So, then. It can’t be the whole of the dark dwarven army. Not if there were hundreds. Who do you think?”
At that Motega shrugged. “A division. Someone else. Time will tell.”
He stalked forward through the scrub, letting the rest of the party decide their tactics.
The party walked down onto the road; Funeris and Fitz in lead, with Magnus and Calyx trailing. Motega shadowed them from the hills until he found a suitable cranny to nock an arrow and wait.
The dust cloud continued its course along the path oblivious of the heroes ahead. It traveled slowly, like a lumbering, wounded bear over rough terrain. Until the heroes were in its sights and screams echoed within the curl of dust. Ten dirt-laden creatures dove into the woods. As the air cleared, two men in leather armor stood, swords drawn facing the approaching heroes.
Funeris did not bother unsheathing his great sword; rather he opened his arms in a sign of peace and stopped twenty feet from the filthy soldiers. The men eyed him, then his companions. Their eyes lingered on the druid and they did not lower their weapons. Behind the men, in the edge of the forest, ten sets of scared eyes watched the confrontation.
“We mean you no harm,” Fitz called out and took a step toward the men. But the men still would not lower their weapons, their eyes constantly trained on Calyx.
“She is merely a traveling companion of ours. Tell me, where do you hail from?”
One of the soldiers grunted, “Dun Beric.”
“Oh wonderful. That is our destination.”
“You don’t want to go there.” And the soldier paused, lowered his sword and pointed toward Calyx, “especially with strange company.” By this point Motega returned arrow to quiver and began the descent to the road. The sudden movement nearly caused the guards to jump. “And how many more of you are there?”
Magnus intervened, “Just us five. We have been sent with a message for the Duke, from the Mayor of Marchford. Tell us what happened.”
The guards hesitated, deciding if there were a battle, they would easily be defeated by numbers alone. Then they sheathed their weapons and stepped toward the Rhelmsmen, Funeris, Fitz and Calyx, all the while wary of the Rornman and the Pagan.
“The dwem or dark dwarves attacked last night. We’re not sure o’ the numbers. At least a hundred. Guards were wounded, but no deaths on our side. Maybe a score of ‘em died. I think they were testing our defenses. They charged the walls and gates. Maybe looking for weaknesses. At sun up, they were gone. The Duke ordered the women and children to leave. We’re escorting ‘em to Dun Meggen.”
“When you pass through Marchford, would you tell them exactly what you told us?” Magnus questioned.
“The Duke gave us specific orders and we’re not to stop.”
Funeris reached into his purse and pulled out ten silver pieces, tossing five to each soldier. “You will tell the mayor exactly what you told us. Exactly. And then you’ll get your women and children to Dun Meggen. The road ahead of you is clear. Travel well.” Funeris patted the soldiers on the shoulders and the dusty band of children and women reassembled.
As the Heroes headed off toward Dun Beric, a giant cloud of dust resumed its journey toward Marchford and Dun Meggen.
“Come again?” Eddam blurted.
“Dwarves…with black skin. Hundreds of them. They were throwing themselves at the portcullis and the walls. Testing our defenses. When the sun broke the horizon, they were gone. I was…” the rider paused for breath. “I was sent to warn Dun Meggen and Dun Tullow.” He looked pleadingly to the mayor and the captain, begging for their dismissal.
“Yes, yes go then. Warn them.” Eddam turned to Wallach as the rider thundered off in the opposite direction. “Captain round up our women and children. Send them to Dun Meggen. We’ll need the men to stay to hold the keep. Get them moving and lower the gates. Now!” Wallach pivoted and attended his duties.
“Mayor?” Magnus stepped into his view. “Could I offer?”
“Look we can’t pay you. You can go with the women or you can stay here with us.” Eddam interrupted.
“Actually, I was thinking,” Magnus continued, “that we could travel to Dun Beric and warn the Duke. He needs the information we have. What if this is a war on two fronts? Also, we could return here to relay the information we gather.”
“I couldn’t possibly pay you.”
“Oh, well, I was thinking free of charge. As a courtesy.” Eddam had a highly skeptical look upon his brow. “You know, for your generous hospitality and fine ale.” Then Magnus smiled.
“Very well. I will have a letter for you to deliver then. Give me leave for a few moments.” The party turned to gather their gear before leaving.
******
An hour later, the Heroes of Marchford traveled beside the well-trodden path east toward Dun Beric. Fully a quarter-of-a-mile ahead of the rest of the group, Motega crept like a shadow on the ridge of hills north of the road. The rest of the party had their eyes trained oh his silhouette; waiting for a signal of some kind.
The Rornman did not speak often. And had not spoken for long lengths of time. He had interjected his own opinions on the group from time to time. But for the most part he was silent, just observing, resembling an animal stalking its prey. Probably, he preferred his own company. Or perhaps, people that hailed from the Rornlands reserved their words for times when they were necessary.
The silhouette on the ridge, the hunter, paused and knelt. Then his arm waved the rest of the party onward to his position. Once they approached, they saw why he knelt. A dust cloud rose from the road, fleeing toward the heavens. A group approached and they were about a quarter of a mile away.
“What do you think?” Funeris asked Motega. “Looks like, maybe twenty.”
Motega grunted his assent.
“So, then. It can’t be the whole of the dark dwarven army. Not if there were hundreds. Who do you think?”
At that Motega shrugged. “A division. Someone else. Time will tell.”
He stalked forward through the scrub, letting the rest of the party decide their tactics.
The party walked down onto the road; Funeris and Fitz in lead, with Magnus and Calyx trailing. Motega shadowed them from the hills until he found a suitable cranny to nock an arrow and wait.
The dust cloud continued its course along the path oblivious of the heroes ahead. It traveled slowly, like a lumbering, wounded bear over rough terrain. Until the heroes were in its sights and screams echoed within the curl of dust. Ten dirt-laden creatures dove into the woods. As the air cleared, two men in leather armor stood, swords drawn facing the approaching heroes.
Funeris did not bother unsheathing his great sword; rather he opened his arms in a sign of peace and stopped twenty feet from the filthy soldiers. The men eyed him, then his companions. Their eyes lingered on the druid and they did not lower their weapons. Behind the men, in the edge of the forest, ten sets of scared eyes watched the confrontation.
“We mean you no harm,” Fitz called out and took a step toward the men. But the men still would not lower their weapons, their eyes constantly trained on Calyx.
“She is merely a traveling companion of ours. Tell me, where do you hail from?”
One of the soldiers grunted, “Dun Beric.”
“Oh wonderful. That is our destination.”
“You don’t want to go there.” And the soldier paused, lowered his sword and pointed toward Calyx, “especially with strange company.” By this point Motega returned arrow to quiver and began the descent to the road. The sudden movement nearly caused the guards to jump. “And how many more of you are there?”
Magnus intervened, “Just us five. We have been sent with a message for the Duke, from the Mayor of Marchford. Tell us what happened.”
The guards hesitated, deciding if there were a battle, they would easily be defeated by numbers alone. Then they sheathed their weapons and stepped toward the Rhelmsmen, Funeris, Fitz and Calyx, all the while wary of the Rornman and the Pagan.
“The dwem or dark dwarves attacked last night. We’re not sure o’ the numbers. At least a hundred. Guards were wounded, but no deaths on our side. Maybe a score of ‘em died. I think they were testing our defenses. They charged the walls and gates. Maybe looking for weaknesses. At sun up, they were gone. The Duke ordered the women and children to leave. We’re escorting ‘em to Dun Meggen.”
“When you pass through Marchford, would you tell them exactly what you told us?” Magnus questioned.
“The Duke gave us specific orders and we’re not to stop.”
Funeris reached into his purse and pulled out ten silver pieces, tossing five to each soldier. “You will tell the mayor exactly what you told us. Exactly. And then you’ll get your women and children to Dun Meggen. The road ahead of you is clear. Travel well.” Funeris patted the soldiers on the shoulders and the dusty band of children and women reassembled.
As the Heroes headed off toward Dun Beric, a giant cloud of dust resumed its journey toward Marchford and Dun Meggen.
Cinerarium
First Post
Keep the faith Funeris. And keep posting. Your writing's getting better and some Destan is better than no Destan. I tried writing up a story hour last time he ran a local campaign and it takes time but it's worth doing for no other reasons than you end up with a chronicle of the campaign that'll be useful if it runs long, and you get a chance to work on your writing.
One question -- I assume that now we're into the second session? How are the players and characters bonding? In the story hour they're still somewhat a group of misfits.
One question -- I assume that now we're into the second session? How are the players and characters bonding? In the story hour they're still somewhat a group of misfits.
Funeris
First Post
Cinerarium said:
Chapter 4 is set during the second session (and between the 1st & 2nd) and
we're almost all the way through it. I'll have one more post that'll wrap up the session. And then we can move onto some...fun experiences
As for player bonding, we all get along pretty well. During our "down time" Magnus and I typically fire emails back and forth all day (while at work) and we usually like to bombard Destan with questions (because he doesn't have anything better to do, right?
) As for the characters, they're kinda loose knit. They see a definitive plus to keeping the other guys around, but they haven't quite opened up and truly became friends yet. This will change. And our tactics start to become a little more sound in places because we work together.
Not to keep you guys hanging or anything, Funeris is the first to try to let the others in. And he does it with a confession.
TheYeti1775
Adventurer
What me waste time at work, never...
I would never waste time at work....
..what yeah have that report to you in no time...
now where was I.
I get a lot of down-time throughout the day as my reports run. I think the other day I had about 20 emails off to the group list before my morning coffee, mainly between me and Funeris. Glad none of us are on dialup for these emails.
At the beginning I would make all sorts of charts in Excel, like all the other bean counters in my office. I have a bad habit of making things complicated.
Now I just keep it simple, basic listings and all.
The emails are the worst from me right after a session, somehow I have become the team accountant. They seem to think I'm good with numbers or some such trash.
Just cause I can keep track in my head almost every encounter and what we got from it. Seem to remember someone calling me Rainman last session. But who do they come to when they can't remember how many coins they have.... Fitz???
Well here's the shameless bump in time for me to finish off my work for the day and drive to Destan's.
I would never waste time at work....
..what yeah have that report to you in no time...
now where was I.
I get a lot of down-time throughout the day as my reports run. I think the other day I had about 20 emails off to the group list before my morning coffee, mainly between me and Funeris. Glad none of us are on dialup for these emails.
At the beginning I would make all sorts of charts in Excel, like all the other bean counters in my office. I have a bad habit of making things complicated.
Now I just keep it simple, basic listings and all.
The emails are the worst from me right after a session, somehow I have become the team accountant. They seem to think I'm good with numbers or some such trash.
Just cause I can keep track in my head almost every encounter and what we got from it. Seem to remember someone calling me Rainman last session. But who do they come to when they can't remember how many coins they have.... Fitz???Well here's the shameless bump in time for me to finish off my work for the day and drive to Destan's.
Funeris
First Post
Chapter 4 Cont'd : No Love for strange help
Just so everybody knows, Magnus cajoled and taunted me into an update before our game tonight. So, thank him
***
Chapter 4 Continued and Concluded:
When the Heroes topped the last hill before the decline into Dun Beric, they could see a group of soldiers guarding the gates and a set of workers repairing damage. Briefly they began to discuss the perks of leaving Motega and Calyx outside, when they were spotted and a guard ran through the gate to signal their approach. An earnest sigh on all of their lips, they descended the hill toward Dun Beric.
As they approached, a noble, obvious due to his clothing and his sneer, trotted out of the gate on his faithful, fat steed. The remaining guards moved to position around the old, obese horse creating a wall of flesh between the Heroes and the courtyard. The noble shifted slightly, aiming his richer-than-thou sneer more precisely at the group.
“ ‘Ello ‘Ello. What have we here?” His hawk eyes peered at each of the Heroes for moments, trying to size up a possible threat. “I assume you wish to gain entrance to the castle of Dun Beric?”
Fitz stepped toward the noble. “Yes, we bring news for the Duke.”
“Ha! I’m sure you do. But, the Duke has no time for your,” his sneer increased in the pause, “band of men and I think, I think that’s a woman. Obviously not from around here, are you lass?” Lurid thoughts bounced around behind his dark eyes. “At any rate, you three,” he gestured to everyone except Motega and Calyx, “may enter. If your friends want to join you in the safety of our castle, they will each have to pay a toll.”
“And, um,” Fitz answered, “how much would this toll be?”
“A day’s rations of food for entrance. Now, good day.” The noble kicked the horse in the sides, and pulled the reigns to turn the slow beast around. Then he trotted back through the gates.
After the toll was paid, the party moved into the courtyard of the castle. Debris from the attack littered the yard, but was little in comparison to the wounded soldiers that lie on makeshift cots. Fitz headed directly to the soldiers and the rest of the group began questioning guards for any way of seeing the Duke.
The questioning proved fruitless, so the party headed toward the temporary hospital ward where Fitz had been left to his own devices. A crowd had gathered around the cots, and the crowd was murmuring in awe. The party had to fight their way through to the front, to see what the commotion was about.
Fitz was going from cot to cot, laying his hands upon the brows of the wounded soldiers. He was using Ceria’s power to heal those closest to death. He neared a cot, whereupon a boy, maybe a year shy of Funeris’ age, lied in the grip of death, his leather armor bloody and rancid with stink. As Fitz placed his hand on the child’s brow and murmured to Ceria asking for her healing caress, the boy jerked upright. A cold breath issuing from his lips as he began to weep. The crowd cheered.
The crowd cheered until a noble thundered up on his horse, parting the spectators. “Get back to work!” he ordered. Although his horse was more able then the previous, his sneer seemed all the larger for it. The crowd dispersed, leaving the Heroes, the noble and a few of his guards.
“You’re the group that claims to need an audience with the duke, right?” His glare alone could have made babies cry.
Fitz again took the role of diplomat, saying, ”Yes we are. We bring a message from the Mayor of Marchford, Sir Eddam. We also have information about another possible attack. Could we have our audience?”
“No. The Duke is far to busy planning strategies now to deal with the likes of you. However, anything you can say to him, you can say to me. I’ll give him the information.”
“And you are?” Funeris questioned defiantly.
“I am Sir Gathil, and you will address me as such while in my home. I am an advisor to the Duke. Now spit out your information.” Fitz was slightly distraught with the noble’s rudeness but continued on anyway. Funeris just gritted his teeth.
“Sir Eddam wants to know what you would have his men at Marchford do in preparation for the possible war.”
“Tell him we don’t have time to worry about a little sh*thole of a town. No, scratch that. We have our own problems. Tell him to deal with his. And what of your other information?”
Fitz sighed before continuing. “There is a group of creatures, Scorpiots, from the underdark that have infiltrated Castle Llyndofare. If the dwem are attacking, they may be aiding each other.”
“Oh, so you bring us theories?” Sir Gathil harrumphed. “We don’t have time for theories, we’re at war. And we don’t have time for you spreading the gospel of your goddess.” He tossed a tiny sack of coin at Fitz, hitting him square in the chest. “There is your payment for your healing abilities. Now, remove yourself from MY castle.”
Fitz bent to pick up the sack of coin, feeling a bit like a whore. The last young man he had helped grabbed his sleeve. “Sir, thank you. If ever you or your friends need a place to stay, my father owns a farm just south of town. I would be honored if I could entertain you as guests.”
“I’m sorry, what is your name.”
“I am Greffan the younger.” As the youth finished the sentence, the noble grabbed Fitz by the shoulder and shoved him toward the gates. The noble gave him a good, hearty kick in the arse and the guards erupted in laughter. Fitz steadied himself and fought off a tear of indignation while the Heroes exited Dun Beric. Once they were out of the castle, portcullis slammed down, denying any strangers entry.
Just so everybody knows, Magnus cajoled and taunted me into an update before our game tonight. So, thank him
***
Chapter 4 Continued and Concluded:
When the Heroes topped the last hill before the decline into Dun Beric, they could see a group of soldiers guarding the gates and a set of workers repairing damage. Briefly they began to discuss the perks of leaving Motega and Calyx outside, when they were spotted and a guard ran through the gate to signal their approach. An earnest sigh on all of their lips, they descended the hill toward Dun Beric.
As they approached, a noble, obvious due to his clothing and his sneer, trotted out of the gate on his faithful, fat steed. The remaining guards moved to position around the old, obese horse creating a wall of flesh between the Heroes and the courtyard. The noble shifted slightly, aiming his richer-than-thou sneer more precisely at the group.
“ ‘Ello ‘Ello. What have we here?” His hawk eyes peered at each of the Heroes for moments, trying to size up a possible threat. “I assume you wish to gain entrance to the castle of Dun Beric?”
Fitz stepped toward the noble. “Yes, we bring news for the Duke.”
“Ha! I’m sure you do. But, the Duke has no time for your,” his sneer increased in the pause, “band of men and I think, I think that’s a woman. Obviously not from around here, are you lass?” Lurid thoughts bounced around behind his dark eyes. “At any rate, you three,” he gestured to everyone except Motega and Calyx, “may enter. If your friends want to join you in the safety of our castle, they will each have to pay a toll.”
“And, um,” Fitz answered, “how much would this toll be?”
“A day’s rations of food for entrance. Now, good day.” The noble kicked the horse in the sides, and pulled the reigns to turn the slow beast around. Then he trotted back through the gates.
After the toll was paid, the party moved into the courtyard of the castle. Debris from the attack littered the yard, but was little in comparison to the wounded soldiers that lie on makeshift cots. Fitz headed directly to the soldiers and the rest of the group began questioning guards for any way of seeing the Duke.
The questioning proved fruitless, so the party headed toward the temporary hospital ward where Fitz had been left to his own devices. A crowd had gathered around the cots, and the crowd was murmuring in awe. The party had to fight their way through to the front, to see what the commotion was about.
Fitz was going from cot to cot, laying his hands upon the brows of the wounded soldiers. He was using Ceria’s power to heal those closest to death. He neared a cot, whereupon a boy, maybe a year shy of Funeris’ age, lied in the grip of death, his leather armor bloody and rancid with stink. As Fitz placed his hand on the child’s brow and murmured to Ceria asking for her healing caress, the boy jerked upright. A cold breath issuing from his lips as he began to weep. The crowd cheered.
The crowd cheered until a noble thundered up on his horse, parting the spectators. “Get back to work!” he ordered. Although his horse was more able then the previous, his sneer seemed all the larger for it. The crowd dispersed, leaving the Heroes, the noble and a few of his guards.
“You’re the group that claims to need an audience with the duke, right?” His glare alone could have made babies cry.
Fitz again took the role of diplomat, saying, ”Yes we are. We bring a message from the Mayor of Marchford, Sir Eddam. We also have information about another possible attack. Could we have our audience?”
“No. The Duke is far to busy planning strategies now to deal with the likes of you. However, anything you can say to him, you can say to me. I’ll give him the information.”
“And you are?” Funeris questioned defiantly.
“I am Sir Gathil, and you will address me as such while in my home. I am an advisor to the Duke. Now spit out your information.” Fitz was slightly distraught with the noble’s rudeness but continued on anyway. Funeris just gritted his teeth.
“Sir Eddam wants to know what you would have his men at Marchford do in preparation for the possible war.”
“Tell him we don’t have time to worry about a little sh*thole of a town. No, scratch that. We have our own problems. Tell him to deal with his. And what of your other information?”
Fitz sighed before continuing. “There is a group of creatures, Scorpiots, from the underdark that have infiltrated Castle Llyndofare. If the dwem are attacking, they may be aiding each other.”
“Oh, so you bring us theories?” Sir Gathil harrumphed. “We don’t have time for theories, we’re at war. And we don’t have time for you spreading the gospel of your goddess.” He tossed a tiny sack of coin at Fitz, hitting him square in the chest. “There is your payment for your healing abilities. Now, remove yourself from MY castle.”
Fitz bent to pick up the sack of coin, feeling a bit like a whore. The last young man he had helped grabbed his sleeve. “Sir, thank you. If ever you or your friends need a place to stay, my father owns a farm just south of town. I would be honored if I could entertain you as guests.”
“I’m sorry, what is your name.”
“I am Greffan the younger.” As the youth finished the sentence, the noble grabbed Fitz by the shoulder and shoved him toward the gates. The noble gave him a good, hearty kick in the arse and the guards erupted in laughter. Fitz steadied himself and fought off a tear of indignation while the Heroes exited Dun Beric. Once they were out of the castle, portcullis slammed down, denying any strangers entry.
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