LordVyreth
First Post
How many books make up Pathfinder at this point? I got the soft-cover beta rules at Gen Con, but I 'm not sure what else I would need. How crunchy is the campaign setting book?
JollyDoc's Rise of the Runelords...Updated 12/22
How many books make up Pathfinder at this point? I got the soft-cover beta rules at Gen Con, but I 'm not sure what else I would need. How crunchy is the campaign setting book?
JollyDoc
Explorer
So far, I have the gazeteer, campaign setting, classic monsters revisited, and guide to Korvosa. By and large, not especially cruncy, but richly detailed, and excellent reads. The campaign setting does have some new prestige classes and feats specific to Pathfinder.
Neverwinter Knight
First Post
Wow, that was close. With Xanesha that powerful and the sourroundings adding to her favour like that, your players avoided a TPK, while still winning the day, ahem Xanesha's ledger & stuff.
Having wittnessed how your players learn from their defeats, I'm sure that the outcome of the next encounter will be very different, as with the advanced eyrines from SCAP, Dyr'ryd, Kelvos, etc.
Joachim, WarEagleMage & Co: Any plans for revenge, yet?
Having wittnessed how your players learn from their defeats, I'm sure that the outcome of the next encounter will be very different, as with the advanced eyrines from SCAP, Dyr'ryd, Kelvos, etc.
Joachim, WarEagleMage & Co: Any plans for revenge, yet?
Cerulean_Wings
First Post
Pelor almighty, that boss battle was intense. I'm surprised only one character fell to that deadly lady. Darkness + Silence spell + deadly monster = tpk material. A well built encounter, but I don't know if I'd use it as written.
Loved the update, JollyDoc, can't wait for Xanesha's return (and I guess the group can't, either. Payback time!).
Loved the update, JollyDoc, can't wait for Xanesha's return (and I guess the group can't, either. Payback time!).
Hammerhead
Explorer
Wow, that was close. With Xanesha that powerful and the sourroundings adding to her favour like that, your players avoided a TPK, while still winning the day, ahem Xanesha's ledger & stuff.
Having wittnessed how your players learn from their defeats, I'm sure that the outcome of the next encounter will be very different, as with the advanced eyrines from SCAP, Dyr'ryd, Kelvos, etc.
Joachim, WarEagleMage & Co: Any plans for revenge, yet?
And that stupid wastrlith. Project image-using pansy.
JollyDoc
Explorer
Funny you should mention him. His name was indeed brought up this past weekend as a comparison...
JollyDoc
Explorer
KEEP ON THE BORDERLANDS
“We just…left him…,” Luther said, as he sat on a ripped sofa in Foxglove’s townhouse, his hands clasped between his knees.
“We did not just leave him!” Wesh snapped, exasperated by the priest’s maudlin self-recrimination. “You were right there with us, Luther. You saw what happened as well as any of us. If we’d stayed, we’d all be dead right now. And you heard what Skud said. Randall chose to stay behind. He sacrificed himself, and I don’t think he’d want that sacrifice to be remembered like this.”
Luther remained silent. They were all still shell-shocked after their flight from the Shadow Clock, but the cleric seemed the most deeply affected. Wesh attributed it to the naiveté inherent in the life of a cloistered priest. The deputies had been facing death constantly since they’d met, but it had all seemed…impersonal until now. Like they were untouchable. On some level, Wesh had known this moment would come. After all, no one lived forever, but now that it had arrived, it was more of a blow than he’d anticipated. He could only imagine what it was like for Luther.
“Well, what do we do now?” Dexter asked. The rogue leaned against the wall across the parlor, or rather, slumped against it. Of them all, Dex looked the worst for wear. Wesh hadn’t known he was still in the tower as it was coming down. It was a minor miracle that he hadn’t been killed as well.
“I mean, I don’t think we’ll exactly be welcomed with open arms by the authorities,” the rogue continued. “So far we’ve succeeded in killing a couple of dozen mill workers, as well as a court justice, and now we’ve managed to collapse an entire building in the heart of a heavily populated neighborhood. You think they’ll just take our word that we did it all with the best of intentions?”
“We’ve already given them Ironbriar’s journal,” Adso commented. “That should clear us of the mill matter.”
“Assuming they believe it,” Dex snorted. “Which I think is highly unlikely once they learn of our part in the clock tower. I’d say it’s a good guess someone saw us well enough to identify us.”
“Ahem,” Rico interrupted. “If I may. I think you’re all forgetting something, aren’t you?” The druid held up the slender scroll tube he’d taken from Xanesha’s aerie.
Wesh’s eyes widened. “Where did you get that?”
Rico shrugged. “Just because I’m not from the big city doesn’t mean I’m a complete bumpkin.”
Wesh chuckled and held out his hand. “Let’s have a look.”
Wesh was speechless as he read and reread the document inside the case. It was an extensive list of names and professions, many of which had been crossed out. It bore the heading, ‘Sihedron Sacrifices.’ Some of the names were recognizable to Wesh as citizens of Sandpoint, but the majority where people who lived in Magnimar, all of them merchants, moneylenders, gamblers, adventurers and thieves. The one name that drew the wizard’s eye over and over again, however, was the last on the list: Haldmeer Grobaras, Lord-Mayor of Magnimar! In addition, there were extensive notes on the mayor’s habits, including when he took his meals, who he visited, his favorite taverns, even the hours he slept.
“This is it!” Wesh said triumphantly. “This is our ticket! We take this directly to the mayor’s office. Forget the constables. With this evidence, there can be no doubt about our innocence!”
Dexter looked dubious.
“That paper has a lot of personal info about the mayor,” he said. “Like where he sleeps…and who he sleeps with. Do you really think he’s going to appreciate us having that sort of goods on him?”
“I think it will secure our position even more,” Wesh said, grinning. “Nothing inspires gratitude like a little dirt.”
______________________________________________________________
The next morning, as the group gathered in the courtyard, Luther was the last to arrive, and when he did, he was wearing his backpack and travelling clothes.
“You’re dressed a little informally to meet a city official, aren’t you?” Wesh asked with a raised eyebrow.
“I’m not going with you,” the priest said. “In fact…I’ve decided I’m going home…to Windsong.”
“What??” several of the companions asked in unison.
“I’m done,” Luther nodded slowly. “I’ve come to realize this is not the life for me. I’m not cut out for it. I thought I was, but I see now that I was mistaken. I need some time to…sort through some things. I’m sorry I’ve let you all down, but as things stand, I wouldn’t be any good to you anyway.”
He raised his eyes and looked at each of his friends in turn, seeing in their faces a mixture of sadness, disappointment and anger.
“We each have to travel our own road,” Wesh said at last. “I hope you’re making the right decision. You’ll be missed.”
Adso stared at his friend for a long moment before he spoke.
“If you ask me, I’ll accompany you, but I feel that my place is here. My duty is here.”
Luther nodded. “I know you were charged with my safety, but that was not my decision, and as far as I’m concerned, you’ve discharged your duty admirably. I will report such to the elders. I will also stop in Sandpoint on my way home and tell Sheriff Hemlock of all that transpired here. I hope and pray our paths cross again some day, my friends. My hopes go with you all.”
One by one, each of them came forward to take his hand and wish him well…all save Skud. The half-orc turned away in disgust and walked out the door.
___________________________________________________
“May I help you?” the pasty-faced nobleman asked, looking down his narrow nose at the five companions gathered in the lobby of the mayor’s office. After much cajoling, Wesh had convinced the clerk that they indeed had important business to discuss with the Lord-Mayor, but that had only gotten them and audience with the man before them, one Valanni Krinst, assistant to the mayor.
“As I already explained to your underling,” Wesh said, exasperated. “We must speak with Mayor Grobaras. It is a matter of life and death!”
“I’m sure,” Krinst said in a bored tone. “The Lord-Mayor is a very busy man, and doesn’t have time to entertain every vagrant off the street.”
Wesh’s face turned a dangerous shade of umber, but he visibly calmed himself, reached into his belt pouch and drew out five gold crowns which he folded into Krinst’s hand. The nobleman looked at the coins as if the wizard had just spat in his palm.
“Busier than that,” he said.
One-hundred crowns later, the deputies were escorted into Mayor Grobaras’s office. The mayor was a paunchy, middle-aged man, who looked up in obvious annoyance as his visitors were escorted in and not offered seats.
“Yes, yes,” he flipped his hand. “I’m told you have something that you think is important to tell me. Get on with it then.”
Rather than speak, Wesh silently laid Xanesha’s list on the desk in front of Grobaras. Impatiently, the mayor picked it up and began reading. After a few moments, his eyes grew wide, just before all the blood drained from his face and he fainted dead away.
A few moments later, Wesh slapped Grobaras awake, and none too gently, then helped him back into his chair.
“Now,” Wesh said, pulling up a chair for himself. “I believe some explanations are in order.”
He recounted and synopsized their tale, starting with the goblin raid in Sandpoint, and finishing with the demise of the Shadow Clock. All the while, Grobaras listened raptly.
“Justice Ironbriar?” the man asked incredulously once Wesh had finished. “I…I can’t believe this. You…you saved my life! Possibly even Magnimar! I…don’t know how I can repay you, but please know that you have my eternal gratitude. In fact, you will all join me tomorrow night at my home, Defiant’s Garden, for a feast in your honor. I’ll not take no for an answer, and tonight, you will stay in Magnimar’s most exclusive hotel as my guests. Krinst! We have VIP’s in our midst!”
_________________________________________________________
The Hotel Magnimar was indeed luxurious, and Skud did not hesitate to avail himself of its services, and those of several of its maids. Wesh secluded himself in his suite, stating that he needed time to study his books, and Adso refused his own suite entirely, opting for the lowliest room available (which was still grand in comparison to any of the other hotels in town). Rico (much to the hotelier’s chagrin) chose to sleep in the stable with Shadowmist, claiming claustrophobia. Dexter shared Skud’s room, but while his friend was…occupied, the rogue headed outside to stretch his legs around the district and clear his mind of the cobwebs from the previous night’s events.
Dexter had been born and raised in Magnimar, and knew its streets like the back of his hand, so he knew that even the opulent Alabaster District where they were staying still had its share of dangers for the unwary or unwise. He was neither, and when he noted the cloaked figure trailing him as soon as he left the hotel, he kept one hand on the hilt of his rapier, and the other on his purse. Finally, he ducked into a narrow side street, little more than an alley really, and waited. As soon as his tail turned the corner, the rogue seized him by his cowl, shoved him against a wall, and had his dagger blade at the man’s throat before he could react.
“I don’t know you, stranger,” Dex hissed, “and it makes a man like me nervous when people I don’t know take an interest in me.”
“Peace, friend,” the other man said, raising his empty hands. “I’m not looking for trouble. In fact, I believe we have something in common…the Skinsaw Men.”
Dexter’s eyes narrowed dangerously as he gauged whether or not the man had just made a subtle threat. After a moment, he made up his mind and resheathed his dagger, though he didn’t take his hand from its grip. The man straightened his tunic, then pulled back the hood of his cloak. He was human, perhaps a few years older than Dex, bald, with a carefully trimmed goatee and mustache. From head to toe, he was dressed in black. He wore a silver medallion around his neck which bore a strange, spiraling symbol.
“I’m called Reaper,” the man said, “though it’s more title than name. I am a servant of Pharasma, the Lady of Graves, and I was tasked by my order to investigate the murders that had been plaguing the city of late. It is my job to…root out such evils. My investigation apparently led me on the same path as yours, for I arrived at the lumber mill shortly after you and your friends left, and discovered your…handiwork. Well done. I also witnessed your unfortunate encounter at the Shadow Clock and regret I was unable to lend my assistance. You have my condolences for your loss, though I suspect my Mistress judged your companion favorably within her Boneyard. It would seem our paths have intersected for a reason, and I would offer you and your comrades my services. I think you’ll need them in the days to come, for I believe you have stumbled across something larger than you can imagine.”
_______________________________________________________
Later that evening, Dexter introduced Reaper to the others, who listened to his tale with interest.
“So it is as I explained,” he finished. “The Church does not take an…overt role in these sorts of things, and that is where such as I come in. I am the black hand of Pharasma. I mete out Her will where Her other servants may not, and I believe that the bearers of the Sihedron Rune are not done yet with their foul goals. With you, or without you, I will continue my search.”
Wesh nodded.
“I’m sure you are aware that we have lost two of our number in as many days, and so we do in fact find ourselves disposed to accept your offer at face value, but might I ask where your talents lie? You do not strike me as a priest.”
“Indeed I am not,” Reaper chuckled. “I…dabble in the arcane, with a particular interest in the field of negative energy.”
“So you’re a necromancer,” Wesh observed wryly.
Reaper tsked. “Such a vulgar term. I prefer to think of myself as a practitioner of the shadow arts. I’m no voodoo shaman who trucks in making the dead walk. I teach those that oppose me a healthy respect for the parts of the Weave that absorb the Light rather than reflect it.”
Wesh shrugged. “Just so long as you don’t animate me or my friends, we’ll get along swimmingly.”
___________________________________________________
The feast at Defiant’s Garden was an opulent affair with a veritable who’s who of Magnimar’s elite in attendance, including many members of the Council of Ushers, the remaining Justices, as well as select representatives of the Varisian Council. All present were suitably impressed by Grobaras’s ringing accolades of the ‘Heroes of Sandpoint and now Magnimar!’ The liquor flowed, and the women danced, and there was much glad-handing and offers of minor political appointments, all politely declined. At the conclusion of the festivities, the Lord-Mayor presented each of the deputies with the Order of Indros, Magnimar’s highest honor, named after the city’s heroic founder, Alcaydian Indros. A much more tangible award came in the form of six-thousand gold crowns given to each member of the company, a king’s ransom in coin, as well as the deed to Aldern Foxglove’s townhouse. It was a jovial, intoxicated band that made their way back to the Hotel Magnimar that night, the pains of their recent losses temporarily put aside.
It seemed, however, that being dubbed a ‘Hero of Magnimar’ did not come without obligation. Within the week, Valanni Krinst appeared on the doorstep of the townhouse.
“The Lord-Mayor requests your presence,” he said simply, and then motioned to two coaches that were drawn up on the curb. When the deputies arrived at Grobaras’s office, the Lord-Mayor greeted them happily, pumping each of their hands in turn as he rose to meet them.
“Ah, my saviors!” he gushed. “Thank you so much for coming. You will forgive my abrupt summons, but I have a bit of a situation on my hands, and of course, you were the first people that came to mind! Perhaps you’ve heard of Fort Rannick?. No? No matter. Fifty odd years ago, one of my predecessors made an arrangement with a small village many miles east of here called Turtleback Ferry. It seems the town was having ogre problems, and they appealed to Magnimar for assistance. In exchange for the town becoming a protectorate of the city, the Lord-Mayor at the time agreed to station a band of rangers there, the Order of the Black Arrows. They handily defeated the ogres and subsequently established Fort Rannick near the base of Hook Mountain, the ogre’s ancestral hunting grounds. The problem is this: there’s been no contact with Fort Rannick for some time now. Granted, the rangers have traditionally been isolationists, but such a long silence is uncharacteristic, even for them. You see, I’ve been trying to convince the Council of Ushers to send a patrol to investigate, but you know how bureaucrats can be. Well, with your recent exploits still fresh in their minds, I’ve convinced them to allow me to ask you to be my agents in this. The city is willing to pay for any expenses you might incur, of course. Say…three-hundred gold each?”
Wesh glanced at his companions and then nodded.
“I’d say that’s a fair price, Your Honor. When would you like us to leave?”
“As soon as you can make preparations,” Grobaras replied. “Oh…I almost forgot. There’s one more small detail. You see, politics in Magnimar being what they are, no one branch of the government quite trusts the other, and in this matter, the Council wishes to be certain that the interests of their constituents are served. Towards this end, they have requested that I send a…liason of their choosing along with you. Understand, no insult towards you is intended by this. Rather, take it as their way of asserting their own petty authority over me.”
Wesh looked dubious.
“Do you know this…liason?” the wizard asked.
“Personally,” Grobaras grinned broadly. “You may come in!” he called, and a side door to the office opened. A young man entered, dressed in full body armor, with twin swords crossed on his back. The family resemblance to Grobaras was obvious, though he also had a distinctive Varisian cast about him as well.
“Allow me to introduce my…nephew, Maximillian,” Grobaras said, the grin on his face looking stiff and forced. “Say something,” he hissed through his teeth at the youth after he’d remained silent for longer than was polite.
“Hello,” Maximillian said sullenly.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Maximillian,” Wesh said.
“It’s just Max,” the other replied.
“Yes…well…,” Grobaras said quickly. “I’m sure you’ll all become well acquainted on the road. Safe journey then!”
______________________________________________________________
The following morning dawned cold and grey. Winter had come upon Varisia, and the rains were coming. The Sandpoint company, now seven in number once more, rode out of Magnimar at first light. The four-hundred fifty mile trek would take them along the Yondabakari River, due east for much of the way, until they reached the town of Wartle, at which point they would strike northeast through the Sanos Forest. The Old Sanos Trail would take them through the swamp known as the Shimmerglens, to the trading post of Bitter Hollow, and then southeast to Turtleback Ferry, on the northern shore of Claybottom Lake. The road along the Yondabakari was lightly patrolled, and they passed the occasional traveler along the way. They were barely a day out of Magnimar when one such traveler pulled up on horseback along side them. The mounted figure was slight and heavily cloaked against the weather, their face not visible in the folds of the cowl. A well-made bow was hung across the saddle horn.
“Well met,” came a lilting, musical voice from within the hood. “And what would you band of vagabonds be doing so far from home?”
Rico turned abruptly, recognizing the owner of the voice immediately.
“Shalelu?” he asked in disbelief.
“In the flesh,” the elven woman laughed as she threw back her hood revealing her tapered ears and emerald green hair.
“What are you doing here?” the druid gaped.
“A little bird told me that you might be headed towards Hook Mountain,” she replied. “I have friends among the Black Arrows, and they’ve been out of touch of late. I thought you might could use some company on the road.”
“Indeed we could,” Wesh smiled. “You’re a point of light in this wilderness, my dear!”
The road was a long one, the entire journey taking the better part of nine days, mounted a-horse as they were. Along the way, the Sandpoint deputies took the opportunity to try and get to know their new travelling companions better. Reaper was fairly tight-lipped, revealing little more than he already had, but seeming earnest about his desire to help. Max was another matter…
“You don’t seem very happy to be along on this job,” Dexter remarked one afternoon as they paused for a brief lunch. Max glanced cautiously at him, then went back to his rations.
“As a matter of fact,” the young man said, “I’m thrilled beyond words.”
“You have a funny way of showing it,” Dex smirked.
“I don’t make friends easily,” Max shrugged. “I’ve never had many, and not much family to speak of.”
“What do you mean?” the rogue asked. “Your uncle is the Lord-Mayor of Magnimar!”
“Hmph,” Max snorted. “That and a copper would buy me a cup of coffee. I’m not exactly welcomed with open arms by the Grobaras’s. My mother was Varisian.”
He said no more, and didn’t need to. Dex understood. Max was illegitimate. Chelaxian nobleman did not openly dally with Varisian women, though the many half-Varisian children roaming the streets of Magnimar told a different story. Dex decided to let the matter rest for the time being.
________________________________________________
Turtleback Ferry, so named for its three distinctive ferries crafted from the shells of giant turtles, was a village of perhaps four-hundred souls, though when the delegates from Magnimar arrived, there were very few folk on the streets. This was due in part to the increasingly bitter cold of the high country, but also to the torrential rains that had not ceased since the seven companions had entered Sanos Forest. The town streets were mud-choked bogs laden with ice-covered puddles just waiting for the unwary to submerge a boot into. The town was the central trading area for the region, and thus functional rather than picturesque. It sat on the northern shore of Claybottom Lake, renowned for its fishing, but equally notorious for its nightbelly boas, ravenous giant gars and deadly giant snapping turtles. The Skull River emptied into Claybottom Lake as it made its way south from the Storval Deep on the opposite side of the Wyvern Mountains, where Hook Mountain and Fort Rannick lay.
The company wasted little time with sight-seeing, and instead made their way immediately to the town hall which also doubled as the sheriff’s office. As they entered, shaking the rain from their cloaks and stamping their boots clean, a middle-aged, kindly-faced man looked up from a ledger on the desk at which he sat.
“Can I help you folks?” he asked.
“We’re looking for the mayor,” Wesh said.
“You’ve found him,” the man said smiling. “Father Maelin Shreed, at your service.”
Wesh nodded, impressed by a man that handled his own business rather than rely on functionaries.
“I’m Wesh Baltar,” he said, extending his hand. “My companions and I are here on official business from Magnimar. We’ve been sent as envoys to investigate a recent lapse in communication with the rangers of Fort Rannick. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Baltar,” Shreed replied. “No, can’t say as I do, though I admit, we’ve not had any contact with the Black Arrows for several weeks now. Normally, one or two of them will come into town every few days for supplies and such, but since the rains started, nothing.”
“I see,” Wesh said. “Have there been any unusual happenings around here of late?”
“Now that you mention it,” Shreed answered, “the hunters and trappers have reported a sizeable increase in the number of big predators they normally see in the Kreegwood; bears, firepelts, boars and so forth. You know, I sent one of our own patrols up to Rannick earlier in the week, but I haven’t heard from them since. They haven’t been gone long enough to worry me yet, but I’m glad your heading up there just the same.”
“If we see them, we’ll send word,” Wesh replied. “Thank you for your help, mayor. We’ll be staying overnight in town and leaving at first light.”
“Glad to have you,” said Shreed. “You’ll find rooms at the Turtle’s Parlor. Just tell them I sent you.”
___________________________________________________
The next day was just as gloomy and sodden as the several previous. The eight companions set out on horseback once again, following an old logging road north along the banks of the Skull River. The road crossed an old wooden bridge to the western shore some three miles north of Turtleback Ferry. As they made their way single file across, Rico abruptly brought Shadowmist to a halt and turned his head to and froe, listening.
“Did any of you hear that?” he asked.
“Hear what?” Wesh replied. “My ears are too full of water to hear much of anything.”
“An animal,” the druid said. “Can’t tell what kind, but it sounded large, and in pain. It came from the woods ahead.”
“So?” the wizard asked. “I’m sure animals get hurt around here all the time. Probably one hunting another. That’s what animals do, but I shouldn’t have to tell you that.”
“This sounded different,” Rico said calmly. “I want to check it out.”
Wesh rolled his eyes, and was about to explain that they didn’t have time to pull kittens out of trees when Shalelu spoke up.
“I agree with Rico,” the ranger said. “The mayor said the predators have been acting strange. I think we should investigate.”
Wesh threw up his hands in exasperation, but nonetheless motioned for the tree-huggers to lead on.
Rico lead the group into the woods along a game trail. They had gone no more than a hundred yards when they rode into a clearing. In the middle of the clearing stood a large, black bear, its left hind foot caught in a cruel trap. When it saw the riders, the animal became quite agitated, moving towards them until the trap brought it up short.
“There’s something odd about its behavior,” Shalelu observed.
Rico nodded. “It seems…acclimated. Wait here, all of you.”
The druid dismounted Shadowmist and approached the bear cautiously. Behind him, his companions watched tensely, hands on weapons. Rico stopped several feet beyond the bear’s reach and began making an odd assortment of grunting and growling noises. To the amazement of the others, the bear responded in kind, alternately shaking and nodding its head.
“It’s as I thought,” Rico called back. “His name is Kibb. He is a bonded companion. He says that his human companion was captured by what he calls ‘monster-men.’ He says that he escaped but that these creatures have been hunting him for the last few weeks. He says that he can lead us to where he last saw his companion.”
At that moment, the ears of the horses all pricked forward as the baying of hounds sounded from somewhere close by. Kibb grew restive, growling and turning to nip at the trap which held him.
“Dexter!” Rico called. “Help me free him! Quickly!”
Dexter rushed forward, wary of the bear’s razor-sharp talons, but the animal offered no resistance as the rogue deftly unhinged the trap. No sooner was Kibb freed, than the howling of the approaching pack reached a crescendo and no fewer than ten shaggy, black dogs raced into the clearing. As they crouched and snarled and yipped, the sound of off-key singing came from the woods behind them.
“Ohhhhh, I’m gonna git some bare!
But I don’t like all that hair!
When he sees my mug,
He’s gonna be my rug.
Yeah, I’m gonna git some bare!!”
At that moment, a grotesque creature strode confidently out of the trees. He was as tall as a man, but half-again as broad, with a savage looking visage and teeth filed to jagged points filling his wide mouth. He clutched a long spear in his left hand, while his right was malformed, tapering into one huge, misshapen finger. When he saw the company assembled before him, he came to an abrupt halt, and anger filled his red eyes.
“I’s Rukus, and I’s huntin’ bare!” he bellowed. “No concern o’you’s less you’s wanna be hunted too!”
“Skud,” Dex said, backing up behind his big friend. “I do believe that big fella’s calling you out.”
Skud growled low in his throat and drew his sword, ignoring the snarling dogs as he advanced on Rukus. When he was still several yards away, he began to jog, building momentum until, when he was only feet away, he leaped into the air and brought his blade down solidly on Rukus’s shoulder. The creature grunted and yelped, but despite his size, he moved with amazing speed. Gripping his spear one-handed, he stepped a pace back from the half-orc and then drove the tip of the weapon home solidly into Skud’s side. Ripping it loose, he slashed horizontally with it, slashing viciously across the barbarian’s face.
“You’s back off now, ya heah?” Rukus snarled. “I’ll sic my dogs on you’s!”
For a moment, Skud did back off. He was bleeding profusely from his wounds, and the power behind the creature’s attacks had taken him by surprise. There was more to the simpleton than met the eye.
“Skud, down!” Wesh’s familiar command suddenly echoed across the clearing, but the barbarian was moving too slow from his wounds to avoid the deafenin explosion of the wizard’s fireball. The flames totally consumed six of the dogs, and thoroughly scorched both Skud and Rukus.
“You’s killed my dogs!” Rukus bawled.
“Yes, and you’re next!” Adso hissed as he vaulted past Skud. The monk’s hands flashed as he brought them together on either side of Rukus’s head, feeling the skull crack beneath his blows. Like a pole-axed steer, Rukus sank to his knees, eyes still open as blood poured from his ears. Then he simply slumped over, dead. The remaining dogs, panicked by the flames and their master’s abrupt demise, turned tail and disappeared back into the woods.
“What…was that?” Dexter asked, toeing Rukus’s body in disgust.
“Ogre-kin,” Shalelu answered. “The offspring of an ogre’s vile mating with a human.”
Rico turned to Kibb and spoke to the bear again in his growling language. The bear bobbed his head up and down.
“He says these are the creatures that attacked him and his companion,” the druid reported.
“I would say this is incontrovertible proof as well,” Wesh said. He held up a ratty blanket that Rukus had tucked into the back of his loincloth. Sewn on it in several places were insignias of the Black Arrows.
___________________________________________________
Following Kibb’s lead, the company headed deeper into the Kreeg woods. As they traveled, they began to find cornhusk-and-leather humanoid-shaped fetishes hanging from the trees. When they plucked one down and cut it open, it was stuffed with a mix of dirt and human hair. The woods soon came to end at a tangled field of corn and other diseased-looking plants. Across the field slumped two sagging buildings…a barn and a farmhouse. Both appeared to have their windows boarded over, and moss and fungus grew heavy on the shaded sides of the decrepit structures. Cautiously, the group made their way through the field, coming out near the closed front doors of the barn. No sooner had they stepped out of the corn, than an awful scream came from around the far side of the building. Emerging around the corner was an eight-foot tall creature with a horribly deformed head that resembled a pumpkin on the right side…a huge, puffy mass of tumors and overgrown bone gave it a lopsided look. Gripped in both hands was a large, rusty iron hook.
“I’ve got him!” Wesh called as the half-ogre charged, and he loosed a spray of blue energy. To his dismay, however, all of the bolts ricocheted off some invisible barrier in front of the monster.
“What the…?” the wizard gaped, open-mouthed.
Still wailing his disturbing cry, the creature rushed forward and slashed down with his vicious hook, opening an ugly gash down Rico’s chest from his neck to his navel. Blood bubbling from his mouth, the druid staggered backwards. As the brute prepared to finish him off, however, Skud, Dexter and Adso hurled themselves at him, and the misanthropic half-breed went down beneath their fists and blades. Reaper, meanwhile, knelt beside the wounded druid and held his hands over him. Black energy coalesced around the necromancer’s hands, and slowly but surely, the terrible rent began to knit itself back together. With a minute, all that was left was an ugly scar.
“You see?” he said as he helped Rico to his feet. “The power of death doesn’t always equate with grave robbing and zombie making.”
“So I noticed,” Rico said, massaging his puckered skin. “Luther was a bit neater about it, but I still owe you one. Thank you.”
Kibb sniffed restlessly around the barn doors, whuffing quietly and pausing to scratch occasionally.
“Seems like that’s where we need to go,” Wesh observed.
Rico sighed. “Yes, I suppose. I only hope that we’re not too late. These ogre-kin don’t seem to the sort to keep prisoners around for long.”
The doors opened with protest on squealing hinges. Inside, the building housed several mounds of molding hay, grain stores, and even a large but crude still. Two catwalks rose up along the walls, leading to doors near the ceiling in the opposite wall. Lower, a pair of massive doors, boarded over with thick timbers, allowed ground access to the room beyond. Several dingy kennels were built into the walls under the catwalks. Three figures stood in the sunlight-pierced gloom of the barn. One was a hulking brute with a vestigial arm growing from his left elbow, and a no-necked, dented head. The second was almost normal in his appearance, save that his eyes were huge and milky white, and his skin was as pale as the full moon. The last one was the shortest, standing barely more than five-feet, with crooked, stumpy legs and constantly twitching skin. None of the three appeared armed, but that didn’t prevent them from lumbering forward, giggling stupidly.
The creature with the vestigial arm, Hograth Graul by name, didn’t get more than three steps before an arrow loosed from Shalelu’s bow sank deep into his thigh. He howled like a child as he yanked at the shaft, but a moment later, he had more urgent matters to worry about when his clothes caught fire, triggered by the small ball of flame Rico lobbed his way. As he squealed and rolled on the floor attempting to extinguish the flames, Wesh silenced him permanently with a volley of magic bolts. Meanwhile, Hograth’s brother Sugar, he of the crooked legs, fared little better as a dark, disembodied hand drifted across the barn, guided by Reaper. When it touched the half-ogre, he screamed as his skin began to blacken. His wails were cut short by Adso’s foot subsequently crushing his windpipe. Jeppo Graul was the only one left, and was too stupid to realize it. He reached Skud and smacked the half-orc with one meaty fist, but as he did, he overbalanced and struck his head on a support beam, which sent him staggering and reeling like a drunkard. Dexter used the distraction to drive his rapier point through the brute’s lung. He wheezed and coughed up blood, but a moment later he was set ablaze by Rico much like his brother before him. Reaper’s ethereal hand ended his misery as it seized him by the neck, leaving a gaunt, blackened husk behind.
The lower doors were impossible to open, even with the combined efforts of Skud, Max and Adso, so the companions split into two groups of four, each heading to an opposite catwalk. The upper doors opened easily enough. The majority of the large, stuffy room beyond was covered with filthy webs that formed a funnel which dipped down into the ground. The catwalk continued on both sides around the rim of the room near the ceiling. In each of the opposite corners, the walkways expanded into ten-foot square platforms that were fenced in by wooden beams, forming cages. The walls within each cage were hung with iron manacles. Most of the manacles, while bloody, were empty, but three in the southeast cage imprisoned emaciated men. Cautiously, the two groups began moving forward, but as they proceeded, Dexter and Rico both spotted movement in the webs below. Scuttling up through the funnel was a truly enormous spider, easily fifteen-feet in diameter. Before they could warn their companions, however, the arachnid has swarmed up the webs with amazing speed. Skud saw it coming for him, but was too slow to move. The spider sank its mandible’s into the half-orcs leg, and Skud could feel the fiery burn of its venom coursing through his blood, instantly making him feel weak, nauseated and fatigued. Dexter, following behind his friend, whipped his dagger at the beast, scoring a minor wound before it returned to his hand. He tried to move around Skud in order to offer his partner some protection, but as he did so, the spider lunged at him as well, and he too felt the stinging fire of its bite. Grunting with the agonizing pain, the rogue sank his silver blade deep into one of the beast’s compound eyes. With an inhuman shriek, the spider released him, dark green ichor dripping from its wound.
Across the room, on the opposite catwalk, Reaper concentrated, closing his eyes as he sent his spectral hand flying through the intervening webs. When it reached the spider, it laid its palm gently on the creature’s carapace, but one would have thought the beast had been struck by lightning. It leaped into the air and landed facing in the opposite direction, smoke drifting lazily from the hand-shaped impression on its back. It lunged towards the necromancer, but Adso threw himself into its path, leaping nimbly over its clumsy charge and planting the heel of his foot into its already wounded eye. It shrieked in agony again, and then a final time as both Skud and Max struck simultaneously and from opposite sides. The monstrous vermin tumbled down the webs and back into its pit.
___________________________________________________
Dexter worked quickly to unlock the cage and then the manacles holding the three prisoners. Each slumped to the floor, still alive, but only just. Rico knelt next to each in turn and popped plump, red berries into their mouths as he moved their jaws and massaged their throats to get them to swallow. Gradually, the men began to come to.
“You gents are lucky to be alive,” Wesh said, smiling. “Would you happen to be members of the Black Arrows?”
The oldest of the men, a scarred veteran with an eye patch nodded once.
“The last of them, in point of fact,” he said morosely. “I’m Jakardros Sovark, formerly second-in-command of the Order. My companions are Vale Temros,” he indicated a tall, well-muscled dark-skinned and bald man, “and Kaven Windstrike.” The latter was a rakishly handsome young man, but fear and distrust were in his eyes. “We owe you are lives, and are truly grateful.”
“Thank your bear,” Rico said. “He led us here.”
“Kibb?” Jakardros asked, hope in his voice. “He still lives?”
“Indeed,” smiled Rico. “He’s waiting outside.”
“Can you tell us how you came to be here?” Wesh asked.
“It’s a sorry tale,” Jakardros replied, glum once more. “I had actually been away from Fort Rannick on patrol when the attack came. By the time we returned, it was too late. Ogres had overrun the fort, and I saw them carrying off Captain Bayden as we arrived. I lost a third of my men attempting to retake the fort, but we were ultimately forced to flee into the Kreegwood.”
“Are the creature’s we’ve encountered here the same ones that attacked Rannick?” Rico asked.
Jakardros snorted. “Not likely. These here are the Grauls, an inbred, incestuous clan of ogre-kin bastards. In the state we were in, my men and I were easy targets for them. There were twelve of us when we were captured. We three are all that remain.”
“Then who attacked the fort?” Wesh asked.
“Kreegs,” the ranger answered. “A powerful ogre clan that we’ve managed to hold at bay for over four decades…until now. I don’t know what could have happened. The Kreegs were always as vicious as they were stupid, but I’ve never known them to be so determined or organized.”
“Well, we were sent here by the Lord-Mayor of Magnimar to ascertain what happened at the fort,” Wesh explained. “And that is still our mission. It is our intent to continue on to Rannick, after we’ve dealt with any more of these Grauls that are lurking around here. We’d appreciate any help you could offer.”
As Wesh spoke, he noticed that Jakardros had become distracted. He was staring at something over the wizard’s shoulder. When Wesh turned, he saw Shalelu standing there, gazing down at the older man intently. Jakardros’s eyes suddenly widened, and then abruptly, he buried his face in hands and dissolved into tears. Vale Temros looked at him in disbelief, obvious discomfort on his face, while Kaven Windstrike just snickered silently. Shalelu turned away and walked out of the barn. Rico followed her and caught her elbow.
“What was that about?” he asked. “Do you know him?”
“Yes,” the ranger answered. “He’s my stepfather.”
“We just…left him…,” Luther said, as he sat on a ripped sofa in Foxglove’s townhouse, his hands clasped between his knees.
“We did not just leave him!” Wesh snapped, exasperated by the priest’s maudlin self-recrimination. “You were right there with us, Luther. You saw what happened as well as any of us. If we’d stayed, we’d all be dead right now. And you heard what Skud said. Randall chose to stay behind. He sacrificed himself, and I don’t think he’d want that sacrifice to be remembered like this.”
Luther remained silent. They were all still shell-shocked after their flight from the Shadow Clock, but the cleric seemed the most deeply affected. Wesh attributed it to the naiveté inherent in the life of a cloistered priest. The deputies had been facing death constantly since they’d met, but it had all seemed…impersonal until now. Like they were untouchable. On some level, Wesh had known this moment would come. After all, no one lived forever, but now that it had arrived, it was more of a blow than he’d anticipated. He could only imagine what it was like for Luther.
“Well, what do we do now?” Dexter asked. The rogue leaned against the wall across the parlor, or rather, slumped against it. Of them all, Dex looked the worst for wear. Wesh hadn’t known he was still in the tower as it was coming down. It was a minor miracle that he hadn’t been killed as well.
“I mean, I don’t think we’ll exactly be welcomed with open arms by the authorities,” the rogue continued. “So far we’ve succeeded in killing a couple of dozen mill workers, as well as a court justice, and now we’ve managed to collapse an entire building in the heart of a heavily populated neighborhood. You think they’ll just take our word that we did it all with the best of intentions?”
“We’ve already given them Ironbriar’s journal,” Adso commented. “That should clear us of the mill matter.”
“Assuming they believe it,” Dex snorted. “Which I think is highly unlikely once they learn of our part in the clock tower. I’d say it’s a good guess someone saw us well enough to identify us.”
“Ahem,” Rico interrupted. “If I may. I think you’re all forgetting something, aren’t you?” The druid held up the slender scroll tube he’d taken from Xanesha’s aerie.
Wesh’s eyes widened. “Where did you get that?”
Rico shrugged. “Just because I’m not from the big city doesn’t mean I’m a complete bumpkin.”
Wesh chuckled and held out his hand. “Let’s have a look.”
Wesh was speechless as he read and reread the document inside the case. It was an extensive list of names and professions, many of which had been crossed out. It bore the heading, ‘Sihedron Sacrifices.’ Some of the names were recognizable to Wesh as citizens of Sandpoint, but the majority where people who lived in Magnimar, all of them merchants, moneylenders, gamblers, adventurers and thieves. The one name that drew the wizard’s eye over and over again, however, was the last on the list: Haldmeer Grobaras, Lord-Mayor of Magnimar! In addition, there were extensive notes on the mayor’s habits, including when he took his meals, who he visited, his favorite taverns, even the hours he slept.
“This is it!” Wesh said triumphantly. “This is our ticket! We take this directly to the mayor’s office. Forget the constables. With this evidence, there can be no doubt about our innocence!”
Dexter looked dubious.
“That paper has a lot of personal info about the mayor,” he said. “Like where he sleeps…and who he sleeps with. Do you really think he’s going to appreciate us having that sort of goods on him?”
“I think it will secure our position even more,” Wesh said, grinning. “Nothing inspires gratitude like a little dirt.”
______________________________________________________________
The next morning, as the group gathered in the courtyard, Luther was the last to arrive, and when he did, he was wearing his backpack and travelling clothes.
“You’re dressed a little informally to meet a city official, aren’t you?” Wesh asked with a raised eyebrow.
“I’m not going with you,” the priest said. “In fact…I’ve decided I’m going home…to Windsong.”
“What??” several of the companions asked in unison.
“I’m done,” Luther nodded slowly. “I’ve come to realize this is not the life for me. I’m not cut out for it. I thought I was, but I see now that I was mistaken. I need some time to…sort through some things. I’m sorry I’ve let you all down, but as things stand, I wouldn’t be any good to you anyway.”
He raised his eyes and looked at each of his friends in turn, seeing in their faces a mixture of sadness, disappointment and anger.
“We each have to travel our own road,” Wesh said at last. “I hope you’re making the right decision. You’ll be missed.”
Adso stared at his friend for a long moment before he spoke.
“If you ask me, I’ll accompany you, but I feel that my place is here. My duty is here.”
Luther nodded. “I know you were charged with my safety, but that was not my decision, and as far as I’m concerned, you’ve discharged your duty admirably. I will report such to the elders. I will also stop in Sandpoint on my way home and tell Sheriff Hemlock of all that transpired here. I hope and pray our paths cross again some day, my friends. My hopes go with you all.”
One by one, each of them came forward to take his hand and wish him well…all save Skud. The half-orc turned away in disgust and walked out the door.
___________________________________________________
“May I help you?” the pasty-faced nobleman asked, looking down his narrow nose at the five companions gathered in the lobby of the mayor’s office. After much cajoling, Wesh had convinced the clerk that they indeed had important business to discuss with the Lord-Mayor, but that had only gotten them and audience with the man before them, one Valanni Krinst, assistant to the mayor.
“As I already explained to your underling,” Wesh said, exasperated. “We must speak with Mayor Grobaras. It is a matter of life and death!”
“I’m sure,” Krinst said in a bored tone. “The Lord-Mayor is a very busy man, and doesn’t have time to entertain every vagrant off the street.”
Wesh’s face turned a dangerous shade of umber, but he visibly calmed himself, reached into his belt pouch and drew out five gold crowns which he folded into Krinst’s hand. The nobleman looked at the coins as if the wizard had just spat in his palm.
“Busier than that,” he said.
One-hundred crowns later, the deputies were escorted into Mayor Grobaras’s office. The mayor was a paunchy, middle-aged man, who looked up in obvious annoyance as his visitors were escorted in and not offered seats.
“Yes, yes,” he flipped his hand. “I’m told you have something that you think is important to tell me. Get on with it then.”
Rather than speak, Wesh silently laid Xanesha’s list on the desk in front of Grobaras. Impatiently, the mayor picked it up and began reading. After a few moments, his eyes grew wide, just before all the blood drained from his face and he fainted dead away.
A few moments later, Wesh slapped Grobaras awake, and none too gently, then helped him back into his chair.
“Now,” Wesh said, pulling up a chair for himself. “I believe some explanations are in order.”
He recounted and synopsized their tale, starting with the goblin raid in Sandpoint, and finishing with the demise of the Shadow Clock. All the while, Grobaras listened raptly.
“Justice Ironbriar?” the man asked incredulously once Wesh had finished. “I…I can’t believe this. You…you saved my life! Possibly even Magnimar! I…don’t know how I can repay you, but please know that you have my eternal gratitude. In fact, you will all join me tomorrow night at my home, Defiant’s Garden, for a feast in your honor. I’ll not take no for an answer, and tonight, you will stay in Magnimar’s most exclusive hotel as my guests. Krinst! We have VIP’s in our midst!”
_________________________________________________________
The Hotel Magnimar was indeed luxurious, and Skud did not hesitate to avail himself of its services, and those of several of its maids. Wesh secluded himself in his suite, stating that he needed time to study his books, and Adso refused his own suite entirely, opting for the lowliest room available (which was still grand in comparison to any of the other hotels in town). Rico (much to the hotelier’s chagrin) chose to sleep in the stable with Shadowmist, claiming claustrophobia. Dexter shared Skud’s room, but while his friend was…occupied, the rogue headed outside to stretch his legs around the district and clear his mind of the cobwebs from the previous night’s events.
Dexter had been born and raised in Magnimar, and knew its streets like the back of his hand, so he knew that even the opulent Alabaster District where they were staying still had its share of dangers for the unwary or unwise. He was neither, and when he noted the cloaked figure trailing him as soon as he left the hotel, he kept one hand on the hilt of his rapier, and the other on his purse. Finally, he ducked into a narrow side street, little more than an alley really, and waited. As soon as his tail turned the corner, the rogue seized him by his cowl, shoved him against a wall, and had his dagger blade at the man’s throat before he could react.
“I don’t know you, stranger,” Dex hissed, “and it makes a man like me nervous when people I don’t know take an interest in me.”
“Peace, friend,” the other man said, raising his empty hands. “I’m not looking for trouble. In fact, I believe we have something in common…the Skinsaw Men.”
Dexter’s eyes narrowed dangerously as he gauged whether or not the man had just made a subtle threat. After a moment, he made up his mind and resheathed his dagger, though he didn’t take his hand from its grip. The man straightened his tunic, then pulled back the hood of his cloak. He was human, perhaps a few years older than Dex, bald, with a carefully trimmed goatee and mustache. From head to toe, he was dressed in black. He wore a silver medallion around his neck which bore a strange, spiraling symbol.
“I’m called Reaper,” the man said, “though it’s more title than name. I am a servant of Pharasma, the Lady of Graves, and I was tasked by my order to investigate the murders that had been plaguing the city of late. It is my job to…root out such evils. My investigation apparently led me on the same path as yours, for I arrived at the lumber mill shortly after you and your friends left, and discovered your…handiwork. Well done. I also witnessed your unfortunate encounter at the Shadow Clock and regret I was unable to lend my assistance. You have my condolences for your loss, though I suspect my Mistress judged your companion favorably within her Boneyard. It would seem our paths have intersected for a reason, and I would offer you and your comrades my services. I think you’ll need them in the days to come, for I believe you have stumbled across something larger than you can imagine.”
_______________________________________________________
Later that evening, Dexter introduced Reaper to the others, who listened to his tale with interest.
“So it is as I explained,” he finished. “The Church does not take an…overt role in these sorts of things, and that is where such as I come in. I am the black hand of Pharasma. I mete out Her will where Her other servants may not, and I believe that the bearers of the Sihedron Rune are not done yet with their foul goals. With you, or without you, I will continue my search.”
Wesh nodded.
“I’m sure you are aware that we have lost two of our number in as many days, and so we do in fact find ourselves disposed to accept your offer at face value, but might I ask where your talents lie? You do not strike me as a priest.”
“Indeed I am not,” Reaper chuckled. “I…dabble in the arcane, with a particular interest in the field of negative energy.”
“So you’re a necromancer,” Wesh observed wryly.
Reaper tsked. “Such a vulgar term. I prefer to think of myself as a practitioner of the shadow arts. I’m no voodoo shaman who trucks in making the dead walk. I teach those that oppose me a healthy respect for the parts of the Weave that absorb the Light rather than reflect it.”
Wesh shrugged. “Just so long as you don’t animate me or my friends, we’ll get along swimmingly.”
___________________________________________________
The feast at Defiant’s Garden was an opulent affair with a veritable who’s who of Magnimar’s elite in attendance, including many members of the Council of Ushers, the remaining Justices, as well as select representatives of the Varisian Council. All present were suitably impressed by Grobaras’s ringing accolades of the ‘Heroes of Sandpoint and now Magnimar!’ The liquor flowed, and the women danced, and there was much glad-handing and offers of minor political appointments, all politely declined. At the conclusion of the festivities, the Lord-Mayor presented each of the deputies with the Order of Indros, Magnimar’s highest honor, named after the city’s heroic founder, Alcaydian Indros. A much more tangible award came in the form of six-thousand gold crowns given to each member of the company, a king’s ransom in coin, as well as the deed to Aldern Foxglove’s townhouse. It was a jovial, intoxicated band that made their way back to the Hotel Magnimar that night, the pains of their recent losses temporarily put aside.
It seemed, however, that being dubbed a ‘Hero of Magnimar’ did not come without obligation. Within the week, Valanni Krinst appeared on the doorstep of the townhouse.
“The Lord-Mayor requests your presence,” he said simply, and then motioned to two coaches that were drawn up on the curb. When the deputies arrived at Grobaras’s office, the Lord-Mayor greeted them happily, pumping each of their hands in turn as he rose to meet them.
“Ah, my saviors!” he gushed. “Thank you so much for coming. You will forgive my abrupt summons, but I have a bit of a situation on my hands, and of course, you were the first people that came to mind! Perhaps you’ve heard of Fort Rannick?. No? No matter. Fifty odd years ago, one of my predecessors made an arrangement with a small village many miles east of here called Turtleback Ferry. It seems the town was having ogre problems, and they appealed to Magnimar for assistance. In exchange for the town becoming a protectorate of the city, the Lord-Mayor at the time agreed to station a band of rangers there, the Order of the Black Arrows. They handily defeated the ogres and subsequently established Fort Rannick near the base of Hook Mountain, the ogre’s ancestral hunting grounds. The problem is this: there’s been no contact with Fort Rannick for some time now. Granted, the rangers have traditionally been isolationists, but such a long silence is uncharacteristic, even for them. You see, I’ve been trying to convince the Council of Ushers to send a patrol to investigate, but you know how bureaucrats can be. Well, with your recent exploits still fresh in their minds, I’ve convinced them to allow me to ask you to be my agents in this. The city is willing to pay for any expenses you might incur, of course. Say…three-hundred gold each?”
Wesh glanced at his companions and then nodded.
“I’d say that’s a fair price, Your Honor. When would you like us to leave?”
“As soon as you can make preparations,” Grobaras replied. “Oh…I almost forgot. There’s one more small detail. You see, politics in Magnimar being what they are, no one branch of the government quite trusts the other, and in this matter, the Council wishes to be certain that the interests of their constituents are served. Towards this end, they have requested that I send a…liason of their choosing along with you. Understand, no insult towards you is intended by this. Rather, take it as their way of asserting their own petty authority over me.”
Wesh looked dubious.
“Do you know this…liason?” the wizard asked.
“Personally,” Grobaras grinned broadly. “You may come in!” he called, and a side door to the office opened. A young man entered, dressed in full body armor, with twin swords crossed on his back. The family resemblance to Grobaras was obvious, though he also had a distinctive Varisian cast about him as well.
“Allow me to introduce my…nephew, Maximillian,” Grobaras said, the grin on his face looking stiff and forced. “Say something,” he hissed through his teeth at the youth after he’d remained silent for longer than was polite.
“Hello,” Maximillian said sullenly.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Maximillian,” Wesh said.
“It’s just Max,” the other replied.
“Yes…well…,” Grobaras said quickly. “I’m sure you’ll all become well acquainted on the road. Safe journey then!”
______________________________________________________________
The following morning dawned cold and grey. Winter had come upon Varisia, and the rains were coming. The Sandpoint company, now seven in number once more, rode out of Magnimar at first light. The four-hundred fifty mile trek would take them along the Yondabakari River, due east for much of the way, until they reached the town of Wartle, at which point they would strike northeast through the Sanos Forest. The Old Sanos Trail would take them through the swamp known as the Shimmerglens, to the trading post of Bitter Hollow, and then southeast to Turtleback Ferry, on the northern shore of Claybottom Lake. The road along the Yondabakari was lightly patrolled, and they passed the occasional traveler along the way. They were barely a day out of Magnimar when one such traveler pulled up on horseback along side them. The mounted figure was slight and heavily cloaked against the weather, their face not visible in the folds of the cowl. A well-made bow was hung across the saddle horn.
“Well met,” came a lilting, musical voice from within the hood. “And what would you band of vagabonds be doing so far from home?”
Rico turned abruptly, recognizing the owner of the voice immediately.
“Shalelu?” he asked in disbelief.
“In the flesh,” the elven woman laughed as she threw back her hood revealing her tapered ears and emerald green hair.
“What are you doing here?” the druid gaped.
“A little bird told me that you might be headed towards Hook Mountain,” she replied. “I have friends among the Black Arrows, and they’ve been out of touch of late. I thought you might could use some company on the road.”
“Indeed we could,” Wesh smiled. “You’re a point of light in this wilderness, my dear!”
The road was a long one, the entire journey taking the better part of nine days, mounted a-horse as they were. Along the way, the Sandpoint deputies took the opportunity to try and get to know their new travelling companions better. Reaper was fairly tight-lipped, revealing little more than he already had, but seeming earnest about his desire to help. Max was another matter…
“You don’t seem very happy to be along on this job,” Dexter remarked one afternoon as they paused for a brief lunch. Max glanced cautiously at him, then went back to his rations.
“As a matter of fact,” the young man said, “I’m thrilled beyond words.”
“You have a funny way of showing it,” Dex smirked.
“I don’t make friends easily,” Max shrugged. “I’ve never had many, and not much family to speak of.”
“What do you mean?” the rogue asked. “Your uncle is the Lord-Mayor of Magnimar!”
“Hmph,” Max snorted. “That and a copper would buy me a cup of coffee. I’m not exactly welcomed with open arms by the Grobaras’s. My mother was Varisian.”
He said no more, and didn’t need to. Dex understood. Max was illegitimate. Chelaxian nobleman did not openly dally with Varisian women, though the many half-Varisian children roaming the streets of Magnimar told a different story. Dex decided to let the matter rest for the time being.
________________________________________________
Turtleback Ferry, so named for its three distinctive ferries crafted from the shells of giant turtles, was a village of perhaps four-hundred souls, though when the delegates from Magnimar arrived, there were very few folk on the streets. This was due in part to the increasingly bitter cold of the high country, but also to the torrential rains that had not ceased since the seven companions had entered Sanos Forest. The town streets were mud-choked bogs laden with ice-covered puddles just waiting for the unwary to submerge a boot into. The town was the central trading area for the region, and thus functional rather than picturesque. It sat on the northern shore of Claybottom Lake, renowned for its fishing, but equally notorious for its nightbelly boas, ravenous giant gars and deadly giant snapping turtles. The Skull River emptied into Claybottom Lake as it made its way south from the Storval Deep on the opposite side of the Wyvern Mountains, where Hook Mountain and Fort Rannick lay.
The company wasted little time with sight-seeing, and instead made their way immediately to the town hall which also doubled as the sheriff’s office. As they entered, shaking the rain from their cloaks and stamping their boots clean, a middle-aged, kindly-faced man looked up from a ledger on the desk at which he sat.
“Can I help you folks?” he asked.
“We’re looking for the mayor,” Wesh said.
“You’ve found him,” the man said smiling. “Father Maelin Shreed, at your service.”
Wesh nodded, impressed by a man that handled his own business rather than rely on functionaries.
“I’m Wesh Baltar,” he said, extending his hand. “My companions and I are here on official business from Magnimar. We’ve been sent as envoys to investigate a recent lapse in communication with the rangers of Fort Rannick. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Baltar,” Shreed replied. “No, can’t say as I do, though I admit, we’ve not had any contact with the Black Arrows for several weeks now. Normally, one or two of them will come into town every few days for supplies and such, but since the rains started, nothing.”
“I see,” Wesh said. “Have there been any unusual happenings around here of late?”
“Now that you mention it,” Shreed answered, “the hunters and trappers have reported a sizeable increase in the number of big predators they normally see in the Kreegwood; bears, firepelts, boars and so forth. You know, I sent one of our own patrols up to Rannick earlier in the week, but I haven’t heard from them since. They haven’t been gone long enough to worry me yet, but I’m glad your heading up there just the same.”
“If we see them, we’ll send word,” Wesh replied. “Thank you for your help, mayor. We’ll be staying overnight in town and leaving at first light.”
“Glad to have you,” said Shreed. “You’ll find rooms at the Turtle’s Parlor. Just tell them I sent you.”
___________________________________________________
The next day was just as gloomy and sodden as the several previous. The eight companions set out on horseback once again, following an old logging road north along the banks of the Skull River. The road crossed an old wooden bridge to the western shore some three miles north of Turtleback Ferry. As they made their way single file across, Rico abruptly brought Shadowmist to a halt and turned his head to and froe, listening.
“Did any of you hear that?” he asked.
“Hear what?” Wesh replied. “My ears are too full of water to hear much of anything.”
“An animal,” the druid said. “Can’t tell what kind, but it sounded large, and in pain. It came from the woods ahead.”
“So?” the wizard asked. “I’m sure animals get hurt around here all the time. Probably one hunting another. That’s what animals do, but I shouldn’t have to tell you that.”
“This sounded different,” Rico said calmly. “I want to check it out.”
Wesh rolled his eyes, and was about to explain that they didn’t have time to pull kittens out of trees when Shalelu spoke up.
“I agree with Rico,” the ranger said. “The mayor said the predators have been acting strange. I think we should investigate.”
Wesh threw up his hands in exasperation, but nonetheless motioned for the tree-huggers to lead on.
Rico lead the group into the woods along a game trail. They had gone no more than a hundred yards when they rode into a clearing. In the middle of the clearing stood a large, black bear, its left hind foot caught in a cruel trap. When it saw the riders, the animal became quite agitated, moving towards them until the trap brought it up short.
“There’s something odd about its behavior,” Shalelu observed.
Rico nodded. “It seems…acclimated. Wait here, all of you.”
The druid dismounted Shadowmist and approached the bear cautiously. Behind him, his companions watched tensely, hands on weapons. Rico stopped several feet beyond the bear’s reach and began making an odd assortment of grunting and growling noises. To the amazement of the others, the bear responded in kind, alternately shaking and nodding its head.
“It’s as I thought,” Rico called back. “His name is Kibb. He is a bonded companion. He says that his human companion was captured by what he calls ‘monster-men.’ He says that he escaped but that these creatures have been hunting him for the last few weeks. He says that he can lead us to where he last saw his companion.”
At that moment, the ears of the horses all pricked forward as the baying of hounds sounded from somewhere close by. Kibb grew restive, growling and turning to nip at the trap which held him.
“Dexter!” Rico called. “Help me free him! Quickly!”
Dexter rushed forward, wary of the bear’s razor-sharp talons, but the animal offered no resistance as the rogue deftly unhinged the trap. No sooner was Kibb freed, than the howling of the approaching pack reached a crescendo and no fewer than ten shaggy, black dogs raced into the clearing. As they crouched and snarled and yipped, the sound of off-key singing came from the woods behind them.
“Ohhhhh, I’m gonna git some bare!
But I don’t like all that hair!
When he sees my mug,
He’s gonna be my rug.
Yeah, I’m gonna git some bare!!”
At that moment, a grotesque creature strode confidently out of the trees. He was as tall as a man, but half-again as broad, with a savage looking visage and teeth filed to jagged points filling his wide mouth. He clutched a long spear in his left hand, while his right was malformed, tapering into one huge, misshapen finger. When he saw the company assembled before him, he came to an abrupt halt, and anger filled his red eyes.
“I’s Rukus, and I’s huntin’ bare!” he bellowed. “No concern o’you’s less you’s wanna be hunted too!”
“Skud,” Dex said, backing up behind his big friend. “I do believe that big fella’s calling you out.”
Skud growled low in his throat and drew his sword, ignoring the snarling dogs as he advanced on Rukus. When he was still several yards away, he began to jog, building momentum until, when he was only feet away, he leaped into the air and brought his blade down solidly on Rukus’s shoulder. The creature grunted and yelped, but despite his size, he moved with amazing speed. Gripping his spear one-handed, he stepped a pace back from the half-orc and then drove the tip of the weapon home solidly into Skud’s side. Ripping it loose, he slashed horizontally with it, slashing viciously across the barbarian’s face.
“You’s back off now, ya heah?” Rukus snarled. “I’ll sic my dogs on you’s!”
For a moment, Skud did back off. He was bleeding profusely from his wounds, and the power behind the creature’s attacks had taken him by surprise. There was more to the simpleton than met the eye.
“Skud, down!” Wesh’s familiar command suddenly echoed across the clearing, but the barbarian was moving too slow from his wounds to avoid the deafenin explosion of the wizard’s fireball. The flames totally consumed six of the dogs, and thoroughly scorched both Skud and Rukus.
“You’s killed my dogs!” Rukus bawled.
“Yes, and you’re next!” Adso hissed as he vaulted past Skud. The monk’s hands flashed as he brought them together on either side of Rukus’s head, feeling the skull crack beneath his blows. Like a pole-axed steer, Rukus sank to his knees, eyes still open as blood poured from his ears. Then he simply slumped over, dead. The remaining dogs, panicked by the flames and their master’s abrupt demise, turned tail and disappeared back into the woods.
“What…was that?” Dexter asked, toeing Rukus’s body in disgust.
“Ogre-kin,” Shalelu answered. “The offspring of an ogre’s vile mating with a human.”
Rico turned to Kibb and spoke to the bear again in his growling language. The bear bobbed his head up and down.
“He says these are the creatures that attacked him and his companion,” the druid reported.
“I would say this is incontrovertible proof as well,” Wesh said. He held up a ratty blanket that Rukus had tucked into the back of his loincloth. Sewn on it in several places were insignias of the Black Arrows.
___________________________________________________
Following Kibb’s lead, the company headed deeper into the Kreeg woods. As they traveled, they began to find cornhusk-and-leather humanoid-shaped fetishes hanging from the trees. When they plucked one down and cut it open, it was stuffed with a mix of dirt and human hair. The woods soon came to end at a tangled field of corn and other diseased-looking plants. Across the field slumped two sagging buildings…a barn and a farmhouse. Both appeared to have their windows boarded over, and moss and fungus grew heavy on the shaded sides of the decrepit structures. Cautiously, the group made their way through the field, coming out near the closed front doors of the barn. No sooner had they stepped out of the corn, than an awful scream came from around the far side of the building. Emerging around the corner was an eight-foot tall creature with a horribly deformed head that resembled a pumpkin on the right side…a huge, puffy mass of tumors and overgrown bone gave it a lopsided look. Gripped in both hands was a large, rusty iron hook.
“I’ve got him!” Wesh called as the half-ogre charged, and he loosed a spray of blue energy. To his dismay, however, all of the bolts ricocheted off some invisible barrier in front of the monster.
“What the…?” the wizard gaped, open-mouthed.
Still wailing his disturbing cry, the creature rushed forward and slashed down with his vicious hook, opening an ugly gash down Rico’s chest from his neck to his navel. Blood bubbling from his mouth, the druid staggered backwards. As the brute prepared to finish him off, however, Skud, Dexter and Adso hurled themselves at him, and the misanthropic half-breed went down beneath their fists and blades. Reaper, meanwhile, knelt beside the wounded druid and held his hands over him. Black energy coalesced around the necromancer’s hands, and slowly but surely, the terrible rent began to knit itself back together. With a minute, all that was left was an ugly scar.
“You see?” he said as he helped Rico to his feet. “The power of death doesn’t always equate with grave robbing and zombie making.”
“So I noticed,” Rico said, massaging his puckered skin. “Luther was a bit neater about it, but I still owe you one. Thank you.”
Kibb sniffed restlessly around the barn doors, whuffing quietly and pausing to scratch occasionally.
“Seems like that’s where we need to go,” Wesh observed.
Rico sighed. “Yes, I suppose. I only hope that we’re not too late. These ogre-kin don’t seem to the sort to keep prisoners around for long.”
The doors opened with protest on squealing hinges. Inside, the building housed several mounds of molding hay, grain stores, and even a large but crude still. Two catwalks rose up along the walls, leading to doors near the ceiling in the opposite wall. Lower, a pair of massive doors, boarded over with thick timbers, allowed ground access to the room beyond. Several dingy kennels were built into the walls under the catwalks. Three figures stood in the sunlight-pierced gloom of the barn. One was a hulking brute with a vestigial arm growing from his left elbow, and a no-necked, dented head. The second was almost normal in his appearance, save that his eyes were huge and milky white, and his skin was as pale as the full moon. The last one was the shortest, standing barely more than five-feet, with crooked, stumpy legs and constantly twitching skin. None of the three appeared armed, but that didn’t prevent them from lumbering forward, giggling stupidly.
The creature with the vestigial arm, Hograth Graul by name, didn’t get more than three steps before an arrow loosed from Shalelu’s bow sank deep into his thigh. He howled like a child as he yanked at the shaft, but a moment later, he had more urgent matters to worry about when his clothes caught fire, triggered by the small ball of flame Rico lobbed his way. As he squealed and rolled on the floor attempting to extinguish the flames, Wesh silenced him permanently with a volley of magic bolts. Meanwhile, Hograth’s brother Sugar, he of the crooked legs, fared little better as a dark, disembodied hand drifted across the barn, guided by Reaper. When it touched the half-ogre, he screamed as his skin began to blacken. His wails were cut short by Adso’s foot subsequently crushing his windpipe. Jeppo Graul was the only one left, and was too stupid to realize it. He reached Skud and smacked the half-orc with one meaty fist, but as he did, he overbalanced and struck his head on a support beam, which sent him staggering and reeling like a drunkard. Dexter used the distraction to drive his rapier point through the brute’s lung. He wheezed and coughed up blood, but a moment later he was set ablaze by Rico much like his brother before him. Reaper’s ethereal hand ended his misery as it seized him by the neck, leaving a gaunt, blackened husk behind.
The lower doors were impossible to open, even with the combined efforts of Skud, Max and Adso, so the companions split into two groups of four, each heading to an opposite catwalk. The upper doors opened easily enough. The majority of the large, stuffy room beyond was covered with filthy webs that formed a funnel which dipped down into the ground. The catwalk continued on both sides around the rim of the room near the ceiling. In each of the opposite corners, the walkways expanded into ten-foot square platforms that were fenced in by wooden beams, forming cages. The walls within each cage were hung with iron manacles. Most of the manacles, while bloody, were empty, but three in the southeast cage imprisoned emaciated men. Cautiously, the two groups began moving forward, but as they proceeded, Dexter and Rico both spotted movement in the webs below. Scuttling up through the funnel was a truly enormous spider, easily fifteen-feet in diameter. Before they could warn their companions, however, the arachnid has swarmed up the webs with amazing speed. Skud saw it coming for him, but was too slow to move. The spider sank its mandible’s into the half-orcs leg, and Skud could feel the fiery burn of its venom coursing through his blood, instantly making him feel weak, nauseated and fatigued. Dexter, following behind his friend, whipped his dagger at the beast, scoring a minor wound before it returned to his hand. He tried to move around Skud in order to offer his partner some protection, but as he did so, the spider lunged at him as well, and he too felt the stinging fire of its bite. Grunting with the agonizing pain, the rogue sank his silver blade deep into one of the beast’s compound eyes. With an inhuman shriek, the spider released him, dark green ichor dripping from its wound.
Across the room, on the opposite catwalk, Reaper concentrated, closing his eyes as he sent his spectral hand flying through the intervening webs. When it reached the spider, it laid its palm gently on the creature’s carapace, but one would have thought the beast had been struck by lightning. It leaped into the air and landed facing in the opposite direction, smoke drifting lazily from the hand-shaped impression on its back. It lunged towards the necromancer, but Adso threw himself into its path, leaping nimbly over its clumsy charge and planting the heel of his foot into its already wounded eye. It shrieked in agony again, and then a final time as both Skud and Max struck simultaneously and from opposite sides. The monstrous vermin tumbled down the webs and back into its pit.
___________________________________________________
Dexter worked quickly to unlock the cage and then the manacles holding the three prisoners. Each slumped to the floor, still alive, but only just. Rico knelt next to each in turn and popped plump, red berries into their mouths as he moved their jaws and massaged their throats to get them to swallow. Gradually, the men began to come to.
“You gents are lucky to be alive,” Wesh said, smiling. “Would you happen to be members of the Black Arrows?”
The oldest of the men, a scarred veteran with an eye patch nodded once.
“The last of them, in point of fact,” he said morosely. “I’m Jakardros Sovark, formerly second-in-command of the Order. My companions are Vale Temros,” he indicated a tall, well-muscled dark-skinned and bald man, “and Kaven Windstrike.” The latter was a rakishly handsome young man, but fear and distrust were in his eyes. “We owe you are lives, and are truly grateful.”
“Thank your bear,” Rico said. “He led us here.”
“Kibb?” Jakardros asked, hope in his voice. “He still lives?”
“Indeed,” smiled Rico. “He’s waiting outside.”
“Can you tell us how you came to be here?” Wesh asked.
“It’s a sorry tale,” Jakardros replied, glum once more. “I had actually been away from Fort Rannick on patrol when the attack came. By the time we returned, it was too late. Ogres had overrun the fort, and I saw them carrying off Captain Bayden as we arrived. I lost a third of my men attempting to retake the fort, but we were ultimately forced to flee into the Kreegwood.”
“Are the creature’s we’ve encountered here the same ones that attacked Rannick?” Rico asked.
Jakardros snorted. “Not likely. These here are the Grauls, an inbred, incestuous clan of ogre-kin bastards. In the state we were in, my men and I were easy targets for them. There were twelve of us when we were captured. We three are all that remain.”
“Then who attacked the fort?” Wesh asked.
“Kreegs,” the ranger answered. “A powerful ogre clan that we’ve managed to hold at bay for over four decades…until now. I don’t know what could have happened. The Kreegs were always as vicious as they were stupid, but I’ve never known them to be so determined or organized.”
“Well, we were sent here by the Lord-Mayor of Magnimar to ascertain what happened at the fort,” Wesh explained. “And that is still our mission. It is our intent to continue on to Rannick, after we’ve dealt with any more of these Grauls that are lurking around here. We’d appreciate any help you could offer.”
As Wesh spoke, he noticed that Jakardros had become distracted. He was staring at something over the wizard’s shoulder. When Wesh turned, he saw Shalelu standing there, gazing down at the older man intently. Jakardros’s eyes suddenly widened, and then abruptly, he buried his face in hands and dissolved into tears. Vale Temros looked at him in disbelief, obvious discomfort on his face, while Kaven Windstrike just snickered silently. Shalelu turned away and walked out of the barn. Rico followed her and caught her elbow.
“What was that about?” he asked. “Do you know him?”
“Yes,” the ranger answered. “He’s my stepfather.”
Hammerhead
Explorer
I'll be the first to admit my ignorance about most of the Pathfinder rules, but just what classes are Max and Reaper? Max seems to be some kind of Rogue, just like Dex.
JollyDoc
Explorer
Max is actually a straight fighter, just like Randall was. Reaper is a Dread Necromancer, which is an alternate class from...I think Complete Arcane.
Joachim
First Post
Max is a straight fighter played by Courtney (Randall / Daelric's player).
Reaper is a Dread Necromancer from Heroes of Horror (Mine - formerly Luther / Mandi's player).
If you were wondering, Reaper's healing ability comes from the feat Healing Devotion from Complete Champion (Healing is, actually, one of Pharasma's domains as she is the goddess of life and death). Due to the Dread Necromancer class Rebuke ability, Reaper's high Charisma, and Extra Turning feat, Reaper had 10 rebukes, which were all traded in for extra uses of Healing Devotion. At this level, that lets me give fast healing 2 for 10 rounds per use, or a total healing ability of 220 points per day (which will continue to increase with level as the fast healing scales up and my Cha increases, resulting in additional rebukes to be dumped into uses of Healing Devotion). I figured that this, when supplemented with Rico using a 'cleric-on-a-stick' (aka wand of cure light wounds) will make up for the loss of Luther's healing.
BTW, your eloquence in describing Reaper discussion with Wesh while trying to join the party was impressive, there, Joe.
