[Lakelands] Six For Adventure

[Samuel Leming]

"Ah, there's nothing like a good run", thought Maldordo as he chased and bedeviled birds on the rooftops of Selby-by-the-Water. He was exercising and playing, not hunting. Maldordo remembered well the first, and last, sparrow he brought down. Coughing up that feather-laced hairball was not an experience he ever wanted to repeat. Maldordo would have laughed if his natural cat form permitted it as he leaped and scattered a small flock of pigeons.

Hearing an almost silent 'caw', Maldordo jumped across a narrow alleyway and crept cat-quiet up to the apex of the peaked roof. Peering over he spotted the largest, fattest corby he'd ever seen. The ugly black carrion crow was looking intently back and forth at the street below, her back squarely towards the amused cat. "What's a corby doing here? This bird would be worth hacking up a feather-ball", Maldordo thought as he crept over the roof's peak and down towards the plump bird.

The corby was seemingly oblivious to Maldordo's approach as he pounced, but she took flight a split instant before his claws could dig into her back. His momentum carried him skidding out over the edge, but Maldordo twisted around to catch hold at the last second. As he hangs over the roof's edge, he notices the full barrel of rain water directly below.

Scrambling rapidly back onto the roof, Maldordo noticed out of the corner of his eye the corby landing on the roof's peak. Keeping a careful, but nonchalant, watch on the carrion bird, Maldordo immediately sat down and begans to groom the fur on his forelegs as if nothing at all had happened. This was no normal corby!

"A bath? I just tried to give you one, you silly mouse," cawwed the corby in the language of cats.

Glancing over at the dirty black bird Maldordo casually replied, "Many have remarked that grooming would be a good habit for your kind to cultivate."

"Shut up, Maldordo, and listen to the humans walking below us", replied the large crow. The oddity of this strange and arrogant corby knowing his name was enough to give him pause.

"They say t'was a giant cat! Perhaps a panther out of the Weirwood or a summon'd Hellcat!", said a tall human wearing the garb of a workman.

"Nah, was probably wolves driven to hunger by the winter", replied a shorter workman walking beside the first. Maldordo watched the pair pass by while keeping the corner of his eye on the bizarre corby.

"No, I heard they found the paw prints of a cat larger than any wolf. They say it snuck into someone's farmhouse and snatched a child while the bumpkins were out huntin' it," said the tall one.

"Well, whatever it was will be sorted out soon enough. Those villages will be full of winter-dulled adventurers before the week is through," the second workman stated as the pair turned a corner.

Maldordo turned to address the fat corby just as she launched herself rapidly into the air and flew off towards the river. "That must be what the humans refer to as a 'queer bird'," he thought to himself as he started to trot towards a second-storey balcony with stairs down into an alleyway half a dozen rooftops over.

"This creature distracts its enemies and preys upon the weak. That certainly does sound like a cat", thought Maldordo as he leapt one of the wider alleys onto the balcony. While sauntering down the stairs he thought, "If this is a feline cousin, he must have no idea of the crap storm he's called down upon himself hunting humans this close to a large town. This cat needs a good talking to! I better go see what's going on down there before anyone else gets hurt."

At the foot of the stairs Maldordo looks down the alley both ways before beginning his transformation. Where once crept a black shorthair cat, a short though handsome man with black hair now walked. Maldordo began to grin. He adjusted his black studded leather for comfort and checked his rapier as he began to walk towards the south to leave the town to go check on this marauding 'cat'.

Maldordo stopped grinning as he thought, "What if this isn't a cousin at all, but one of those evil weres that can assume the form of a feline? That would not be good at all!"

"Well, there's nothing like a good run," Maldordo said to himself as he resumed walking towards the farmlands south of Selby-by-the-Water.".

 

[Ulorian - Agent of Chaos]

Fellan Margrib reined in his horse and leapt from the saddle, intent on something he spied in the mud of the abandoned farmyard.

"What is it?" Horsom asked the tracker as he and the others dismounted. Horsom approached Fellan carefully and crouched beside him. "Cat spoor at last?"

Rogger Spanwaithe, sometime farmhand and sometime town drunk, spat and churlishly added: "It better be". Horsom eyed his old childhood enemy angrily. "You can sleep off the hangover later, Rogger" spoke Fellan as he rose up from where he crouched. This drew a few guffaws from the rest of the riders. Turning around, it was Rogger's turn to cast a baleful look. "Not sure what happened here. Could be these folks were attacked, or it could be they packed up and moved somewhere safer. Or safer as they saw it, anyhow. The long and short of it is this mud is too trampled to yield any proper prints." Fellan saddled up, indicating with a nod of his head that the other members of the Long Archer Panther Posse should do so as well. "Let's keep moving while we've got some daylight left. We can pitch camp once we get closer to Selby."

 

[Krug]

Glom spied the group and approached them cautiously. After all, being a goblin, he doubted they would have a positive reaction. However, there was something aboout them.

"Uh... are thoust going to Selby by the water?" the goblin said in its most ungoblin like voice. "And before you cut me down... first I admit I am a goblin, but one seeking adventure, and I am not malicious. I have been thrown out by my tribe, and now seek knowledge and quest in this realm." He gives his best smile. Maybe they'll take me in as a mascot, Glom thought.

 

[Ulorian - Agent of Chaos]

The first attack had been shocking. As the cart bearing the body creaked into town, driven by the ashen-faced woodsman and guarded by the woodsman's three sons, who gripped the cudgels and woodaxes they bore nervously. Even if Horsom had known the young shepherd, the body was ravaged and mauled to such a degree that recognition would have been impossible. The cart trundled past Horsom amidst the shocked whispering and angry murmuring of the crowd that had gathered and made its way through the early morning mist to the home of the town elders.

The response was swift: armed patrols were sent out, but to no avail. As the days wore on, and women and children began disappearing, the patrols were increased, but with the same result: the panther or panthers were too wily to be caught. It was decided that more help was required to save Long Archer from the depredations of these killer cats. Among other plans feverishly concocted by the desperate town elders was recruiting mercenaries to bolster the patrols. Because of his recent career as guard for the merchant Corvo Snowmantle, it was decided that Horsom would be sent to Selby-by-the-Water with a purse full of coin to hire some of his former colleagues to the task. Since travelling alone in these times would be foolhardy, Horsom would accompany the so-called Long Archer Panther Posse, led by Fellan Margrib, a quiet man, but a cool-headed and well-respected woodsman, hunter, and tracker. The Posse would take him close to Selby, and he would enter on his own.

Later on...

The Long Archer Panther Posse reined up in surprise as the goblin stepped out into the road, their horses whinnying in complaint. The group gawked as the disfigured little creature offered to accompany them to Selby-by-the-Water, following its speech up with a smile that could best be described as lying somewhere between a grimace and the death rictus of a week old corpse.

A quick scan of the area seemed to indicate that the goblin was alone, and the fact that Fellan's broadsword remained in its sheath told Horsom that the tracker had reached the same conclusion. The rest of their companions, though, grumbled nervously among themselves, and some fingered their weapons. Though goblins were a fairly common sight in the Lakelands, and he himself had travelled with a few in his days as merchant guardsman, Horsom worried that his less worldly companions would allow their distrust and limited knowledge of goblinkind combined with their fear about the panther attacks to take this situation into... an unhealthy direction for the friendly young goblin. Maybe they'll take him in as bait, Horsom thought.

Horsom quickly decided that this would be an opportune time to split from his companions, both for his sake and the goblin's. "Hail, goblin. My group is not making for Selby-by-the-Water, but I am. I would be glad of some company on the way."

 

[Krug]

"Oh good, let us go yes?" Glom said, grateful that the man did not want to stab him in the heart immediately.

 

[Ulorian - Agent of Chaos]

I guess RC takes it from here. Horsom has to go to Selby-by-the-Water to hire some mercs, but I suppose there's no reason the six PCs couldn't be the group that he hires. Either that or Horsom spends a day or two spreading some coin around town and directs any interested parties to Long Archer so that the group can pursue some other plot hook.

RC, I left details in my posts as deliberately minor and/or vague as possible so as not to interfere with any existing characters and plot lines you may have set down. I'll edit my posts if you find anything that doesn't fit e.g. if Long Archer isn't ruled by a group of town elders.

Edit: Just noticed the OOC tag.

 

[Raven Crowking]

Dain's mind was made up. He went straight away to the chambers of his superiors to ask what was happening and to volunteer his services to help root out whatever it was.

The Mellorites -- the Devoted of Mellador, Goddess of Mercy and Healing -- had been taking the forefront of comforting the sick and injured. But, of course, mercy alone isn't enough to make a civilization function. The Archdeacon of the Church of the Seven Good Gods in Selby-by-the-Warer leaned toward Mardan the Lawbringer, and that was good to Dain's mind. Legend had it that the first dwarves had been crafted using blood spilled by the Great Titans. Law and order were in their bones.

It was not difficult for Dain to get a meeting with Archdeacon Warmund. In fact, the Archdeacon seemed pleased to see him.

"Selby-by-the-Water was not the first city built upon this site," the old man said. "This whole area was once an outflung region of the Parthelonian Empire, and before that it was held by the Esk. The region is rife with old barrows and hidden holds, for the Esk often built their sacred sites below the ground." He coughed. "Of course, I do not mean that they understood the sacred in the same way we do. The Esk worshiped fairies, you know. Angels and demons were things they thought to bind and control. Misguided, of course, but the War in Heaven had been but recently fought then."

The Archdeacon offered Dain some heavy sweet bread made with dried candied fruits and nuts, or a glass of red wine. He told the dwarf, with many an aside to elucidate some point of history or theology, about the attacks on the farms and homesteads south of the town.

"We have at last a witness," he said finally. "A goodwife, returning home late at night from brining relief to those hunting the beast. Of course, she was keeping a frightfully low profile, and the creature did not see her. She said the creature came from the sky on great bat's wings, silent as a ghost. It's shape was like to a lion's, but it had a man's head, she said. There are no lions in these parts, having been hunted into extinction for the amusement of the Parthelonians, but there could well be manticores again, coming out of the Grey Hills to bedevil us here. What else it could be, I do not know."

He paused.

"What it was carrying, sheep or man or deer, she did not say, but it carried some meat down into the old burial chamber not far from Kell's Reach, a place she called the 'Dwarfie Run' -- I am sure no disrespect to your kin was meant by the name. These rustic folk are not at all versed in history, and they tend to think every ancient burial or standing stone was placed there by dwarves, giants, or trolls. Or fairies." He snorted. "Human hands often enough. If your kinfolk had done the work, I doubt we'd even know they existed."

He poured more wine and offered some cheese.

"If you would truly like to help, my friend, you could gather together a group. With the Church's blessing, of course, and any reasonable aid you might need. After this tallowbone epidemic, there are not enough guardsmen to go around, let alone enough to send after such a fearsome beast. Of course, I would understand as well if you think the creature beyond you."

 

[Raven Crowking]

"Well, there's nothing like a good run," Maldordo said to himself as he resumed walking towards the farmlands south of Selby-by-the-Water.".

Normally, the town collected two pieces of silver for passing the gates -- four per horse -- but it was easy enough for Maldordo to bypass any unpleasant exchange of coin. If he chose, he could easily enough put on cat-form, walk out the gates, and take human guise again as soon as he found a quiet spot to do so. Since the Amoreth the Arcane incident, this town had not been friendly to anything overtly supernatural, but changing form was not a violation of any law Maldordo had ever heard.

On the other hand, something about the corby was nagging at him. He played the incident over in his mind as he walked. Of course! The closest true town to the south was Rookhaven, where the sorcererous Ravenlady ruled. A very different sort of place from Selby-by-the-Water from all accounts. It was said that the Ravenlady sent intelligent ravens both as messengers and as spies. Perhaps this was one of hers.

Of course, the same thing was said of the dwarves. And of some giants. Not every rumor was worthy of believing, but still.....

 

[wolfheart]

"If you would truly like to help, my friend, you could gather together a group. With the Church's blessing, of course, and any reasonable aid you might need. After this tallowbone epidemic, there are not enough guardsmen to go around, let alone enough to send after such a fearsome beast. Of course, I would understand as well if you think the creature beyond you."

Dain almost took offense to the remark about a creature being beyond him. He was no ecclesiastic who had never seen the outside of a temple, he had been a member of The Hunt. He knew how to handle beasts. But before he could protest he realized the Archdeacon was trying to be diplomatic.

"If you want this beastie dead, I would be the dwarf for the job," was all that Dain could think to say. As soon as the words left his lips it struck him that he would not have the rest of The Hunt with him, and that finding suitable companions would be no small task ina town the size of Selby-by-the-Water. "It may take a fair amount of gold to convince people to put the necks on the line for these southerners. They may feel it to be a local problem." Dain was embarassed as soon as he said the words, but it was all he could come up with at the moment.

Dain tried to recover, " I will begin searching for canidates immediately, with your blessing, of course."

His mind spun through the streets of the city, trying to come up with a place to start looking for those who would be able to do the job and be acceptable to the Church.

 

[Raven Crowking]

"Oh good, let us go yes?" Glom said, grateful that the man did not want to stab him in the heart immediately.

They could have waited for Baron Karl Archer to have taken some official action, through his Provost of the Forest, Lord Calder Brookman. Yet, often enough in the last few years, those official actions had been to post rewards for whomever could end what the problem was. The current Lord Archer was growing old, though. Though few would say it, there were many who secretly hoped that he would step aside and let his eldest, Meginhard, assume his place. Some problems needed a firm hand. By the time that adventurers arrived, there were more needless deaths than necessary. After the orc raids last fall, the town elders decided to take action themselves if another emergency arose.

There had never been any real doubt, with Weirwood the Great so close all about, that such an emergency would arise.

And now, here they were, near the outskirts of Long Archer's far-flung farms, speaking with a creature that most humans instinctively treated with fear and disgust. In the Lakelands, goblins were seldom seen above ground during daylight hours -- it was said that the sun hurt their eyes. They inhabited old raths and hill forts, caves and abandoned towns, but even then their dwellings were seldom found. Horsom racked his brains, trying to recall what he could about goblins.

While they bore no love for humans, neither did they bear especial animosity. Sometimes, it was said, they would capture those who slept too near their dwellings, and take them deep into the ground to dig in the dark forever. Their cattle were said to be small and shaggy, driven out to pasture on moonlit nights, and their sheep ate meat. Many were thought to worship the Infernal Powers, but some placed their faith in the Faerie Lords, as did the druids. Once, in Selby-by-the-Water, Horsom had heard a goblin nest had been located in a portion of the city that had collapsed. The goblins had been living stealthily among the sewers.

Still, it was common knowledge that goblins were bound to humans in some way, for they were often seen skulking about farms and mills, and sometimes they even did work during the wee hours in exchange for food and milk left by the doorstep. They were nearly as smart as humans -- some of them much smarter than some humans, Horsom thought, glancing at Rogger Spanwaithe. If they were willing, there were some goblins who could match the dwarves in stone and metalwork.

Horsom had travelled with goblins in the past. They were different with humans. That did not make all of them bad.

Rogger Spanwaithe spat unpleasantly toward the goblin, and muttered beneath his breath as the thick, wet missile fell short. He stared at Horsom, and his eyes were puffy with anger. "You'd go off with one o' the Dark Folk, Horsom?" he asked. His breath still smelt like sour ale, though they had been riding all day, and surely he could not have had been drinking then without the others knowing. "After those blue-gummed orcs raided our farms in the fall? I wouldn't a-thought even you would betray your people like that. Not even you." The other riders stirred. Some, Horsom thought, in embarassment. Others in nervous agreement.

Glom watched the humans carefully. He didn't want to provoke them, but he didn't want them to hurt him, either.

Rogger clearly thought the posse was of the same mind. He pressed his point. "That thing isn't even an orc, Horsom. It's less than an orc. It's a piece of filth that creeps around at night stealing children."

"Enough," Fellan said, but another member of the posse spoke up.

"Spanwaithe's a horse's arse, but he's right enough," the man said. "I lost family -- my sister, her husband, their two boys -- not far from here, either."

"You're a good woodsman, Fellan," said another -- Tancred Appley was his name -- "And I doubt that yonder...yonder...well, that goblin thing...is much to worry about by himself. But they are tricksy, and it's a long, long way to Selby-by-the-Water. I don't think you appreciate how long. Over a hundred miles, by any reckoning, and even with horses that means more than one night out-of-doors. Do you really want to be sleeping with that" -- here he indicated the goblin -- "close at hand? Maybe wake up to find your horse gone? Maybe not wake up at all?"

"The orcs were ever evil," said Fellan, "but it is said that they were once an honorable people, before the Fell Host was cast out of Heaven. Do not be so quick to judge."

"Besides, Horsom," Rogger said, ignoring Fellan and gleefully playing his trump card. "Do you know how long you'll be heading to Selby if you wait for that filth to play catch-me-up on its short little legs?"