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NOW LIVE! Into the Woods--new character species, eerie monsters, and haunting villains to populate the woodlands of your D&D games.
Of Sound Mind the Halfling Way
- Thread starter the Jester
- Start date
the Jester
Legend
threshel said:
Very good stuff, Jester. It always puts a smile on my face when I see that you've updated.
J
Thanks!
I do try to update lots, so hopefully that's a fairly common thing! 
the Jester
Legend
Loonies on the Loose!
The loonies are shouting, shouting; everyone is Norman.
Jawbreaker grimaces. He can hold the stairs for a while, but this is going nowhere. Why is he trusting a kobold to figure this out anyway? Irritation blossoms in his breast like a flower. Ethel, the dog’s dog, wanders over and snuffles at him, then turns to watch the stairs beside him.
“We need Timothy to see into those cells,” Martini says. “C’mere, Tim. I’ll let you stand on my shoulders.”
Timothy looks frightened, like a rabbit in the midst of wolves.
“Come on, don’t you want to help people?” Martini persists.
“Okay,” Timothy answers after another agonizing moment, and climbs up the ranger. “Is this a game?” the former inmate asks.
“Yes, Timothy, it’s the looking for Norman game,” Martini says urgently.
“Okay!” With a faint smile, Timothy starts peering into the cells, but after the first few they stop for a moment to give Martini a moment.
“Too slow,” Jawbreaker grunts. Then footsteps clatter up the stairs from below. He tenses, and a pair of orderlies ascends, with Dr. Zimmer between and just behind them.
“Stop!” he cries. “What are you doing? You’re disturbing the patients!”
Jawbreaker feels something scratch at his brain. He recoils in horror- this “doctor” is trying to rape his mind! With a single savage blow he decapitates the orderly between him and Zimmer. Then he hears Federico start singing a sarcastic song about doctors, and Martini fires an arrow into the other orderly- the group is taking his cue! The ranger keeps firing, but an arrow hits Ethel even as the dog brings down the other orderly.
Dr. Zimmer grimaces, and Jawbreaker feels a spike of psionic force whip across his ego. He feels suddenly worth less- not quite worthless,, as if nobody listens to him, as if he has never had friends or influence, but rather nearly as if almost nobody listens to him, as if he has only had two friends ever and influence once. He gnashes his teeth, more angry than disabled, and Zimmer starts to flee but Jawbreaker stops that with his axe. He severs the doctor’s head in a single mighty blow. The head drops down the stairs, bouncing no doubt to the asylum’s first floor.
As Zimmer falls, his body undergoes a strange change. His flesh flows and ripples, turning a weird grey color, and even his clothes seemed to be mostly part of the disguise.
“He was a doppelganger,” Federico whines in amazement.
“Too slow!” roars Jawbreaker. “Find Norman, or leave!”
“We can’t leave him here,” Federico protests.
“Bah!” Jawbreaker hoists a ring of keys from the body of the ersatz Dr. Zimmer and then stomps to the nearest door. “What your name?” he shouts into it.
“What...?” comes a feeble voice. This one has not been claiming to be Norman.
“What your name?”
After a pause, “Who wants to know?”
“You want out?” Jawbreaker demands. “What your name?”
“You’re out to get me! What do you want?”
Snorting disdainfully, Jawbreaker works his way through the keys until he finds one that opens the door. He lets it swing wide and snaps, “Go.”
A gown-clad form scutters past the party cautiously, obviously not trusting their intentions. She hesitates at the top of the stairs.
”Look,” says Martini, “there’s a lot of chaos right now. It’s probably your best chance to escape if they mistreat you, but on the other hand the swamp is right there, and it’s not a really friendly environment.”
Jawbreaker is letting another madman loose. “What your name?” he calls at the next cell door.* Apparently liking whatever the woman answers, he lets her go. Mad folk are now milling the hall in confusion, as well as rushing downstairs. There are shouts below.
“Maybe,” Martini comments wryly, “the bodies down below have discouraged them.”
“We killed their director,” Federico whimpers. “They’re probably s-scared of us.” His tail is tucked between his legs; it’s clear that the fear goes both ways. Jawbreaker is letting out everyone, it seems.
One human male inmate lingering in the corridor asks, “Why are you looking for Norman?”
Federico turns to him. “He’s a friend of ours, held unjustly against his will. Well, I guess he’s really a friend of a friend- Sandy.” A pair of inmates, clinging to each other, rush past. Another skirts around the group. A few more stare curiously.
“Actually,” Martini says, “I believe he’s actually a friend of a friend of Sandy’s.” He shakes his head. “But Sandy’s one of us, he’s just down with the swamp fever- the buzzing bowels.”
The man nods, seemingly having made up his mind. “Well, I’m your man. I’m Norman.”
Timothy glances over. “Oh, hi Norman.”**
Our heroes glance at each other and sigh.
”You find him?” Jawbreaker asks, approaching. More loonies run past.
“Yeah,” Federico replies.
”Good. Me let them all out.” The barbarian shrugs.
“Let’s go, you guys,” Timothy urges.
”Wait a minute,” Martini says Martini. “Didn’t you say Dr. Zimmer changed a while ago?”
“Yeah, he used to be nice,” Timothy answers.
“The doppelganger!” gasps Federico. “He replaced the real Dr. Zimmer at that point!” He frowns for a moment. “There’s a fourth floor, but they said that nobody ever goes there- it’s storage and old paperwork and stuff.”
“Nobody ever goes there,” snorts Martini. “Did you ever know anyone who went up to the fourth level, Timothy?”
“No,” the childlike halfling replies quietly.
“Let’s check it out.”
“Oh no!” moans Federico. Jawbreaker grins, then laughs, then pulls out his axe.
Next Time: The fourth floor! The first floor! And teaching Timothy to snack!
*Wondering what the hell he’s doing? He’s waiting to see if anyone will cop to being the mass murderer Manson, and he won’t let that one out.
**Realize that Timothy’s Spot check is something like -4 at this point. He doesn’t really notice anything. He’s almost totally withdrawn and oblivious.
The loonies are shouting, shouting; everyone is Norman.
Jawbreaker grimaces. He can hold the stairs for a while, but this is going nowhere. Why is he trusting a kobold to figure this out anyway? Irritation blossoms in his breast like a flower. Ethel, the dog’s dog, wanders over and snuffles at him, then turns to watch the stairs beside him.
“We need Timothy to see into those cells,” Martini says. “C’mere, Tim. I’ll let you stand on my shoulders.”
Timothy looks frightened, like a rabbit in the midst of wolves.
“Come on, don’t you want to help people?” Martini persists.
“Okay,” Timothy answers after another agonizing moment, and climbs up the ranger. “Is this a game?” the former inmate asks.
“Yes, Timothy, it’s the looking for Norman game,” Martini says urgently.
“Okay!” With a faint smile, Timothy starts peering into the cells, but after the first few they stop for a moment to give Martini a moment.
“Too slow,” Jawbreaker grunts. Then footsteps clatter up the stairs from below. He tenses, and a pair of orderlies ascends, with Dr. Zimmer between and just behind them.
“Stop!” he cries. “What are you doing? You’re disturbing the patients!”
Jawbreaker feels something scratch at his brain. He recoils in horror- this “doctor” is trying to rape his mind! With a single savage blow he decapitates the orderly between him and Zimmer. Then he hears Federico start singing a sarcastic song about doctors, and Martini fires an arrow into the other orderly- the group is taking his cue! The ranger keeps firing, but an arrow hits Ethel even as the dog brings down the other orderly.
Dr. Zimmer grimaces, and Jawbreaker feels a spike of psionic force whip across his ego. He feels suddenly worth less- not quite worthless,, as if nobody listens to him, as if he has never had friends or influence, but rather nearly as if almost nobody listens to him, as if he has only had two friends ever and influence once. He gnashes his teeth, more angry than disabled, and Zimmer starts to flee but Jawbreaker stops that with his axe. He severs the doctor’s head in a single mighty blow. The head drops down the stairs, bouncing no doubt to the asylum’s first floor.
As Zimmer falls, his body undergoes a strange change. His flesh flows and ripples, turning a weird grey color, and even his clothes seemed to be mostly part of the disguise.
“He was a doppelganger,” Federico whines in amazement.
“Too slow!” roars Jawbreaker. “Find Norman, or leave!”
“We can’t leave him here,” Federico protests.
“Bah!” Jawbreaker hoists a ring of keys from the body of the ersatz Dr. Zimmer and then stomps to the nearest door. “What your name?” he shouts into it.
“What...?” comes a feeble voice. This one has not been claiming to be Norman.
“What your name?”
After a pause, “Who wants to know?”
“You want out?” Jawbreaker demands. “What your name?”
“You’re out to get me! What do you want?”
Snorting disdainfully, Jawbreaker works his way through the keys until he finds one that opens the door. He lets it swing wide and snaps, “Go.”
A gown-clad form scutters past the party cautiously, obviously not trusting their intentions. She hesitates at the top of the stairs.
”Look,” says Martini, “there’s a lot of chaos right now. It’s probably your best chance to escape if they mistreat you, but on the other hand the swamp is right there, and it’s not a really friendly environment.”
Jawbreaker is letting another madman loose. “What your name?” he calls at the next cell door.* Apparently liking whatever the woman answers, he lets her go. Mad folk are now milling the hall in confusion, as well as rushing downstairs. There are shouts below.
“Maybe,” Martini comments wryly, “the bodies down below have discouraged them.”
“We killed their director,” Federico whimpers. “They’re probably s-scared of us.” His tail is tucked between his legs; it’s clear that the fear goes both ways. Jawbreaker is letting out everyone, it seems.
One human male inmate lingering in the corridor asks, “Why are you looking for Norman?”
Federico turns to him. “He’s a friend of ours, held unjustly against his will. Well, I guess he’s really a friend of a friend- Sandy.” A pair of inmates, clinging to each other, rush past. Another skirts around the group. A few more stare curiously.
“Actually,” Martini says, “I believe he’s actually a friend of a friend of Sandy’s.” He shakes his head. “But Sandy’s one of us, he’s just down with the swamp fever- the buzzing bowels.”
The man nods, seemingly having made up his mind. “Well, I’m your man. I’m Norman.”
Timothy glances over. “Oh, hi Norman.”**
Our heroes glance at each other and sigh.
”You find him?” Jawbreaker asks, approaching. More loonies run past.
“Yeah,” Federico replies.
”Good. Me let them all out.” The barbarian shrugs.
“Let’s go, you guys,” Timothy urges.
”Wait a minute,” Martini says Martini. “Didn’t you say Dr. Zimmer changed a while ago?”
“Yeah, he used to be nice,” Timothy answers.
“The doppelganger!” gasps Federico. “He replaced the real Dr. Zimmer at that point!” He frowns for a moment. “There’s a fourth floor, but they said that nobody ever goes there- it’s storage and old paperwork and stuff.”
“Nobody ever goes there,” snorts Martini. “Did you ever know anyone who went up to the fourth level, Timothy?”
“No,” the childlike halfling replies quietly.
“Let’s check it out.”
“Oh no!” moans Federico. Jawbreaker grins, then laughs, then pulls out his axe.
Next Time: The fourth floor! The first floor! And teaching Timothy to snack!
*Wondering what the hell he’s doing? He’s waiting to see if anyone will cop to being the mass murderer Manson, and he won’t let that one out.
**Realize that Timothy’s Spot check is something like -4 at this point. He doesn’t really notice anything. He’s almost totally withdrawn and oblivious.
the Jester
Legend
12:30 a.m., 5/25/368 O.L.G., inside the Asylum for Advanced Mental Treatment
Below them the halflings can hear screams and cries as total chaos breaks out. Between slain orderlies and a doppelganger’s head bouncing down the stairs, the staff has panicked (or at least most of them have). How many insane people are running around out there tonight? They didn’t keep track- even Jawbreaker didn’t bother to count. The short answer, then, is all of them.
Meanwhile, our heroes have crept up the stairs back to the asylum’s third level and to the door that leads up to the attic.
”Oh, that? That leads to the fourth floor, but nobody really goes there. It’s just used for old storage and things like that.” That’s what the ersatz Dr. Zimmer had claimed while giving Federico and Jawbreaker their tour of the place. But now that Zimmer has been revealed as a doppelganger, our heroes no longer believe him.
When they throw open the door, however, they find that he was at least partially honest. The uppermost floor of the place is indeed full of musty boxes of paper, old hospital gowns, stored wooden cups and bowls and more.
“Is it worth a search?” Martini wonders.
”A quick one,” Federico answers nervously.
“It’s always worth a search,” Norman says.
Timothy, former inmate of the asylum, hanging back near the entrance, urges, “Come on, you guys, let’s go. I don’t like the place.”
Ignoring him, the party starts a quick, cursory search. Roscoe’s fingers pry open chests, check boxes, move things to look under and behind them. Jawbreaker grunts and keeps watch, one eye on Timothy to make certain he doesn’t flee in fear. The kid has been very helpful, and Jawbreaker has already decided that he won’t let the lad be taken back by these evil ‘doctors.’
Roscoe gulps as he opens a chest. His nose wrinkles as the smell hits him.
“The real Dr. Zimmer,” he says quietly.
***
1:10 a.m., 5/25/368 O.L.G
Enough is enough. They could spend hours searching up there, and they aren’t even entirely certain what they’re looking for. The bound and withered corpse of Dr. Zimmer was unsettling enough; really, what they ought to be doing now (thinks Martini firmly) is getting the hell out of here.
The first floor spills out at the bottom of the stairs. A grey-colored, weird head- that of the doppelganger Jawbreaker slew- lies against the wall. A female gnomish doctor is in the room, under a table; she turns, a look of despair crossed with anger in her eyes, and spots them.
”How dare you!” she shouts, but before she has a chance to say more Jawbreaker cuts her down.
“Jawbreaker, no!” cries Federico. “She didn’t do anything! She doesn’t even have a weapon!”
The barbarian shrugs and points at her uniform. “Bad doctors,” he grunts. “They cut open heads and pour things in. BAD DOCTORS!”
“But that was Dr. Zimmer, we already defeated him,” the kobold protests as he uses his bardic magic to stop the gnome’s bleeding and heal some of her wounds. With a groan she opens her eyes.
“Leave!” roars Jawbreaker.
The gnome scrambles to her feet and backs away. With a glare, she cries, “You’ll regret this!” And she rushes away.
“Let’s go, you guys,” Timothy moans.
“Okay, okay- we’re coming, Timmy,” Federico sighs.
”No! Not Timmy!” Timothy starts rocking back and forth and moaning. “I’m Timothy! No, no, no, not Timmy, Timothy, Timothy...”
Martini groans and helps shepherd the lad outside, all the while reassuring him. “Come on, Timothy, you’re a big boy now... come on, we’re leaving the place, don’t you want to leave the place?” Shivering and groaning, the insane tallfellow stumbles outside with his friends.
They move away from the Asylum for Advanced Mental Treatment as quickly as their little feet will carry them. They pick up their companions, still sick with the Buzzing Bowels, and try to make the best time they can. Much to their unease, Thelonious is nowhere to be found. According to a very sick Airhead Ed, he had gone to the asylum to find them. The group reasons that he’ll keep up and doesn’t even stop to eat; instead, Martini pulls out some scraps of jerky and passes them around as they travel.
“Oh, is it time for breakfast?” Timothy looks at the sky, still black and full of stars, and looks confused.
”No, this is just a snack,” Martini answers.
“But we were only supposed to eat at meal times,” Timothy protests. “On schedule, three meals a day.”
“Only three meals a day?” exclaims Federico. “Oh, that’s t-torture!” He shakes his head sadly. “Oh, Timothy, no halfling should have to go through things like that! Have a snack.”
“But I’m not a halfling, I’m a human,” the insane halfling protests.
Nonetheless, he learns how to snack after some urging from his new friends. The group stops to rest in the very early morning, then continues along a few hours later.
”Distance,” comments Roscoe, “that’s what we need. Distance and clothes for Timmy.” Timothy is still wearing his backless hospital robe. He’s clutching his torch and dagger tightly. Fortunately, he did not hear the name that triggers his fits.
Clothes come two nights later, in a small thorp called Thantle. There are just enough goods for sale for the party to get him a shirt, pants and boots. They hurriedly leave the thorp behind; they are still perilously close to the asylum. None of them mind the idea of a few more miles between it and them.
***
5/27/369, 10 a.m., in the Brown Hills
“This is where they were camped,” Martini notes.
“Oh, man,” Federico moans.
The night before the party had seen a campfire in the distance, and a group of humans that looked like mercenaries. The halflings had wisely kept their distance and decided to scavenge the campsite after the others had moved on.
But they hadn’t figured on finding a wanted poster for “a band of halflings and a kobold.”
Next Time: Sandy wakes up wondering where the hell he is!
Below them the halflings can hear screams and cries as total chaos breaks out. Between slain orderlies and a doppelganger’s head bouncing down the stairs, the staff has panicked (or at least most of them have). How many insane people are running around out there tonight? They didn’t keep track- even Jawbreaker didn’t bother to count. The short answer, then, is all of them.
Meanwhile, our heroes have crept up the stairs back to the asylum’s third level and to the door that leads up to the attic.
”Oh, that? That leads to the fourth floor, but nobody really goes there. It’s just used for old storage and things like that.” That’s what the ersatz Dr. Zimmer had claimed while giving Federico and Jawbreaker their tour of the place. But now that Zimmer has been revealed as a doppelganger, our heroes no longer believe him.
When they throw open the door, however, they find that he was at least partially honest. The uppermost floor of the place is indeed full of musty boxes of paper, old hospital gowns, stored wooden cups and bowls and more.
“Is it worth a search?” Martini wonders.
”A quick one,” Federico answers nervously.
“It’s always worth a search,” Norman says.
Timothy, former inmate of the asylum, hanging back near the entrance, urges, “Come on, you guys, let’s go. I don’t like the place.”
Ignoring him, the party starts a quick, cursory search. Roscoe’s fingers pry open chests, check boxes, move things to look under and behind them. Jawbreaker grunts and keeps watch, one eye on Timothy to make certain he doesn’t flee in fear. The kid has been very helpful, and Jawbreaker has already decided that he won’t let the lad be taken back by these evil ‘doctors.’
Roscoe gulps as he opens a chest. His nose wrinkles as the smell hits him.
“The real Dr. Zimmer,” he says quietly.
***
1:10 a.m., 5/25/368 O.L.G
Enough is enough. They could spend hours searching up there, and they aren’t even entirely certain what they’re looking for. The bound and withered corpse of Dr. Zimmer was unsettling enough; really, what they ought to be doing now (thinks Martini firmly) is getting the hell out of here.
The first floor spills out at the bottom of the stairs. A grey-colored, weird head- that of the doppelganger Jawbreaker slew- lies against the wall. A female gnomish doctor is in the room, under a table; she turns, a look of despair crossed with anger in her eyes, and spots them.
”How dare you!” she shouts, but before she has a chance to say more Jawbreaker cuts her down.
“Jawbreaker, no!” cries Federico. “She didn’t do anything! She doesn’t even have a weapon!”
The barbarian shrugs and points at her uniform. “Bad doctors,” he grunts. “They cut open heads and pour things in. BAD DOCTORS!”
“But that was Dr. Zimmer, we already defeated him,” the kobold protests as he uses his bardic magic to stop the gnome’s bleeding and heal some of her wounds. With a groan she opens her eyes.
“Leave!” roars Jawbreaker.
The gnome scrambles to her feet and backs away. With a glare, she cries, “You’ll regret this!” And she rushes away.
“Let’s go, you guys,” Timothy moans.
“Okay, okay- we’re coming, Timmy,” Federico sighs.
”No! Not Timmy!” Timothy starts rocking back and forth and moaning. “I’m Timothy! No, no, no, not Timmy, Timothy, Timothy...”
Martini groans and helps shepherd the lad outside, all the while reassuring him. “Come on, Timothy, you’re a big boy now... come on, we’re leaving the place, don’t you want to leave the place?” Shivering and groaning, the insane tallfellow stumbles outside with his friends.
They move away from the Asylum for Advanced Mental Treatment as quickly as their little feet will carry them. They pick up their companions, still sick with the Buzzing Bowels, and try to make the best time they can. Much to their unease, Thelonious is nowhere to be found. According to a very sick Airhead Ed, he had gone to the asylum to find them. The group reasons that he’ll keep up and doesn’t even stop to eat; instead, Martini pulls out some scraps of jerky and passes them around as they travel.
“Oh, is it time for breakfast?” Timothy looks at the sky, still black and full of stars, and looks confused.
”No, this is just a snack,” Martini answers.
“But we were only supposed to eat at meal times,” Timothy protests. “On schedule, three meals a day.”
“Only three meals a day?” exclaims Federico. “Oh, that’s t-torture!” He shakes his head sadly. “Oh, Timothy, no halfling should have to go through things like that! Have a snack.”
“But I’m not a halfling, I’m a human,” the insane halfling protests.
Nonetheless, he learns how to snack after some urging from his new friends. The group stops to rest in the very early morning, then continues along a few hours later.
”Distance,” comments Roscoe, “that’s what we need. Distance and clothes for Timmy.” Timothy is still wearing his backless hospital robe. He’s clutching his torch and dagger tightly. Fortunately, he did not hear the name that triggers his fits.
Clothes come two nights later, in a small thorp called Thantle. There are just enough goods for sale for the party to get him a shirt, pants and boots. They hurriedly leave the thorp behind; they are still perilously close to the asylum. None of them mind the idea of a few more miles between it and them.
***
5/27/369, 10 a.m., in the Brown Hills
“This is where they were camped,” Martini notes.
“Oh, man,” Federico moans.
The night before the party had seen a campfire in the distance, and a group of humans that looked like mercenaries. The halflings had wisely kept their distance and decided to scavenge the campsite after the others had moved on.
But they hadn’t figured on finding a wanted poster for “a band of halflings and a kobold.”
Next Time: Sandy wakes up wondering where the hell he is!
the Jester
Legend
With a groan Phenyl “Sandy” Sandybanks cracks open his eyes. They are gummed up with mucus and sweat, and a layer of biological detritus flakes away as he looks around. The room spins for a moment, then stabilizes. Sandy sees a cup of water on the end table at the head of the bed. Eagerly he reaches for it and gulps it down, then gives up a fit of coughing before wiping his mouth.
“Hi, Sandy,” says a voice he doesn’t recognize.
Warily, Sandy looks at the voice. He relaxes when he realizes that it comes from another halfling, this one properly chubby but rather blank-faced.
“Who are you?” Sandy croaks.
“My name is Timothy,” the lad answers. “Are you done being sick?”
“I hope so...” He sighs. “Where am I?”
“Oh, you’re resting in an inn in a little town.” It would seem that Timothy has a gift for the obvious. “Everyone else is out shopping,” Timothy adds.
“What happened? Did we get Norman?”
“Yeah- he’s out shopping.”
“Right, right...” Sandy ponders for a moment. “I think I need some-“ He’s interrupted by a loud rapping.
“I’ll get it!” Timothy scurries to the door and throws it wide before Sandy has a chance to speak, and a large human in thick hide armor is revealed.
“Good morning,” he says, and pushes his way into the door, closing it behind him.
“Hey!” protests Sandy. “Who invited you in? You can’t just-“
“I believe,” the human interrupts, “that you need my employer’s help.” He pulls a rolled up sheet of paper from within one of his belt pouches and hands it over.
“A wanted poster,” Sandy says. Then, “A band of halflings and a kobold? What does this have to do with us? We’re just a pair of halflings, hardly a band, and I don’t see any kobold here. I think you’re-“
The human sighs and shakes his head, cutting Sandy off again. “We’ve been watching, you know. The last thing you need, in your condition, is to have someone inform the authorities that you’re here and have them burst in the door.”
“Authorities? What authorities?”
“All of the ones who would like to collect on that reward.” The big human smiles. “So my employer would like to invite you to breakfast.”
“Oh, we really can’t,” Sandy answers. “I need to wait for my friends here, and-“
“Not to worry. One of my associates will wait for them.”
Sandy’s unease grows.
***
6/7/368 O.L.G., 10 a.m., a small village on Strogass
“Be ready in an hour!” the burly Hodge calls over his shoulder as he leaves.
The deal is really simple enough, reflects Sandy, and since his meeting the day before he knows there really isn’t much choice. Hodge had led him and Timothy to his employer, a ruthless human businessman named Hoyle. Hoyle had laid the situation out nicely: the halflings are wanted, and if anyone knows where they are they become easy pickings. (Maybe not as easy as you think, Sandy had thought at the time.) He can help them, by providing them with an out of the way place to hide out for a while, if they are willing to help him.
And really, it doesn’t sound so bad.
There is a monestary of aging monks who do not believe in sex. Because of this their line is dying out; only converts join them, and not too many of them. They are old and frail, but they are master brewers. The beer they produce is of such quality that Hoyle is willing to take rather... extreme measures to safeguard it.
“They are old and frail,” Hoyle had said. “You can hang out there and avoid any trouble that might otherwise come your way, and while you’re there I want you to protect the monks. Not just protect them from danger- protect them from stress. They are old. It probably wouldn’t take much of a stress to trigger a heart attack or stroke or something. So if there’s trouble, try to avoid letting them know about it.”
Now, as he and Timothy start loading the wagon they’ll be riding in, Sandy wonders how easy this one will be. At least there will be good beer, he thinks cheerfully. And then the other thought that’s been haunting him rears its head again: ...But what happened to Norman?
***
6/10/368, Noon, in the Brown Hills
The wagon has a driver and a pair of guards as well as our heroes on it. The presence of the pair of guards is a hint- obviously, something dangerous lives around here.
At high noon on the third day of the trip, the dangerous something reveals itself. Three red-skinned reptilian humanoids charge out of the brush beside the road, breathing gouts of flame and swinging their swords. Timothy disables one with a color spray while the driver tries to calm his suddenly-screaming garen. Sandy drops from the wagon to fight with his longspear, jabbing and weaving. Things get unruly when they wagon catches fire, but soon they’ve defeated the lizard folk fire breathers.
“Are there a lot of those things out here?” snaps Sandy.
“Aye,” one of the guards grunts. “Called firenewts. If yer real lucky, they come atcha mounted.” He spits. “Nothing a good shot from a crossbow can’t bring down.”
“Great,” Sandy says, glancing at the burning wagon.
They manage to put it out, but it has suffered serious damage. There are a lot more periods of walking and a lot less periods of riding for everyone except the driver now.
***
6/16/368, 2 p.m., in the Brown Hills
As the damaged wagon rattles along it winds up to a small plateau, and the monastery comes into view. It is fairly small, with nice-looking gardens. It perches atop the next hill, which is much more rugged and seems to rise to almost mountainous proportions. A very long, narrow stairway straggles from the base of the hill to the very top.
“Oh, I like gardening,” says Timothy.
“That will take hours to climb!” Sandy groans.
And he’s right: it takes three hours to ascend. Along the way, Sandy takes many nips off the flask of hard liquor he has, and he offers it to Timothy but he says something about “for grown-ups,” which Sandy doesn’t quite understand. So, as he begins to feel the alcohol sing in his blood, Sandy tries to draw Timothy out on the subject, and slowly, to his utter bafflement, he gets a picture of Timothy’s mind.
He thinks he’s a human kid, Sandy thinks, but he’s clearly a tallfellow halfling. And he knows he’s in his twenties, but he doesn’t see the fallacy in thinking he’s just a kid. He shakes his head. “Timothy, you’re a halfling,” he states firmly.
“No, I’m just a kid.”
“Ahh, okay. Well, if you’re not a halfling, how would you like to be one? We could put you on the program.”
“The program?” Timothy asks, intrigued.
“Yeah! The halfling program!” Sandy grins drunkenly. “When it’s finished, you’ll be a halfling like all of us! Well, except the dog. But think about it! If you’re a halfling, things are good. You get to eat and drink a lot, there’s lots of adventure, and it’s a lot of fun! You’ve had fun with us so far, right?”
“Well, more fun than at the place, I guess.”
“Right! We’re more fun than the place,” whatever the hell that means, “so you should get on the program! And all it takes is ten percent of your share of the treasure.”
“Oh, okay.”
Sandy beams, then glances up at the remaining distance. Quite a ways to go...
Next Time: How fun is life at a monastery full of old monks? Boy oh boy!
“Hi, Sandy,” says a voice he doesn’t recognize.
Warily, Sandy looks at the voice. He relaxes when he realizes that it comes from another halfling, this one properly chubby but rather blank-faced.
“Who are you?” Sandy croaks.
“My name is Timothy,” the lad answers. “Are you done being sick?”
“I hope so...” He sighs. “Where am I?”
“Oh, you’re resting in an inn in a little town.” It would seem that Timothy has a gift for the obvious. “Everyone else is out shopping,” Timothy adds.
“What happened? Did we get Norman?”
“Yeah- he’s out shopping.”
“Right, right...” Sandy ponders for a moment. “I think I need some-“ He’s interrupted by a loud rapping.
“I’ll get it!” Timothy scurries to the door and throws it wide before Sandy has a chance to speak, and a large human in thick hide armor is revealed.
“Good morning,” he says, and pushes his way into the door, closing it behind him.
“Hey!” protests Sandy. “Who invited you in? You can’t just-“
“I believe,” the human interrupts, “that you need my employer’s help.” He pulls a rolled up sheet of paper from within one of his belt pouches and hands it over.
“A wanted poster,” Sandy says. Then, “A band of halflings and a kobold? What does this have to do with us? We’re just a pair of halflings, hardly a band, and I don’t see any kobold here. I think you’re-“
The human sighs and shakes his head, cutting Sandy off again. “We’ve been watching, you know. The last thing you need, in your condition, is to have someone inform the authorities that you’re here and have them burst in the door.”
“Authorities? What authorities?”
“All of the ones who would like to collect on that reward.” The big human smiles. “So my employer would like to invite you to breakfast.”
“Oh, we really can’t,” Sandy answers. “I need to wait for my friends here, and-“
“Not to worry. One of my associates will wait for them.”
Sandy’s unease grows.
***
6/7/368 O.L.G., 10 a.m., a small village on Strogass
“Be ready in an hour!” the burly Hodge calls over his shoulder as he leaves.
The deal is really simple enough, reflects Sandy, and since his meeting the day before he knows there really isn’t much choice. Hodge had led him and Timothy to his employer, a ruthless human businessman named Hoyle. Hoyle had laid the situation out nicely: the halflings are wanted, and if anyone knows where they are they become easy pickings. (Maybe not as easy as you think, Sandy had thought at the time.) He can help them, by providing them with an out of the way place to hide out for a while, if they are willing to help him.
And really, it doesn’t sound so bad.
There is a monestary of aging monks who do not believe in sex. Because of this their line is dying out; only converts join them, and not too many of them. They are old and frail, but they are master brewers. The beer they produce is of such quality that Hoyle is willing to take rather... extreme measures to safeguard it.
“They are old and frail,” Hoyle had said. “You can hang out there and avoid any trouble that might otherwise come your way, and while you’re there I want you to protect the monks. Not just protect them from danger- protect them from stress. They are old. It probably wouldn’t take much of a stress to trigger a heart attack or stroke or something. So if there’s trouble, try to avoid letting them know about it.”
Now, as he and Timothy start loading the wagon they’ll be riding in, Sandy wonders how easy this one will be. At least there will be good beer, he thinks cheerfully. And then the other thought that’s been haunting him rears its head again: ...But what happened to Norman?
***
6/10/368, Noon, in the Brown Hills
The wagon has a driver and a pair of guards as well as our heroes on it. The presence of the pair of guards is a hint- obviously, something dangerous lives around here.
At high noon on the third day of the trip, the dangerous something reveals itself. Three red-skinned reptilian humanoids charge out of the brush beside the road, breathing gouts of flame and swinging their swords. Timothy disables one with a color spray while the driver tries to calm his suddenly-screaming garen. Sandy drops from the wagon to fight with his longspear, jabbing and weaving. Things get unruly when they wagon catches fire, but soon they’ve defeated the lizard folk fire breathers.
“Are there a lot of those things out here?” snaps Sandy.
“Aye,” one of the guards grunts. “Called firenewts. If yer real lucky, they come atcha mounted.” He spits. “Nothing a good shot from a crossbow can’t bring down.”
“Great,” Sandy says, glancing at the burning wagon.
They manage to put it out, but it has suffered serious damage. There are a lot more periods of walking and a lot less periods of riding for everyone except the driver now.
***
6/16/368, 2 p.m., in the Brown Hills
As the damaged wagon rattles along it winds up to a small plateau, and the monastery comes into view. It is fairly small, with nice-looking gardens. It perches atop the next hill, which is much more rugged and seems to rise to almost mountainous proportions. A very long, narrow stairway straggles from the base of the hill to the very top.
“Oh, I like gardening,” says Timothy.
“That will take hours to climb!” Sandy groans.
And he’s right: it takes three hours to ascend. Along the way, Sandy takes many nips off the flask of hard liquor he has, and he offers it to Timothy but he says something about “for grown-ups,” which Sandy doesn’t quite understand. So, as he begins to feel the alcohol sing in his blood, Sandy tries to draw Timothy out on the subject, and slowly, to his utter bafflement, he gets a picture of Timothy’s mind.
He thinks he’s a human kid, Sandy thinks, but he’s clearly a tallfellow halfling. And he knows he’s in his twenties, but he doesn’t see the fallacy in thinking he’s just a kid. He shakes his head. “Timothy, you’re a halfling,” he states firmly.
“No, I’m just a kid.”
“Ahh, okay. Well, if you’re not a halfling, how would you like to be one? We could put you on the program.”
“The program?” Timothy asks, intrigued.
“Yeah! The halfling program!” Sandy grins drunkenly. “When it’s finished, you’ll be a halfling like all of us! Well, except the dog. But think about it! If you’re a halfling, things are good. You get to eat and drink a lot, there’s lots of adventure, and it’s a lot of fun! You’ve had fun with us so far, right?”
“Well, more fun than at the place, I guess.”
“Right! We’re more fun than the place,” whatever the hell that means, “so you should get on the program! And all it takes is ten percent of your share of the treasure.”
“Oh, okay.”
Sandy beams, then glances up at the remaining distance. Quite a ways to go...
Next Time: How fun is life at a monastery full of old monks? Boy oh boy!
the Jester
Legend
The Horror!
6/16/368, 5:30 p.m., atop the Path of Humility
The monastery is pretty small, with a literal handful of monks its only inhabitants. There are five of them only. A small chapel is off to one side, gardens to the other. A small shed looks to hold tools and such. And the monastery itself is pretty small- there can’t be much extra room in there, Sandy thinks drunkenly. But at least the group is smaller than the humans of the monastery.
Brother Astophos, a wrinkled old bald man in simple white robes, greets the group. He introduces himself, and the halflings introduce themselves and declare that they are here to help guard the monks.
“God guards us,” Brother Astophos says serenely.
“Whatever, we’re just here to help, just in case,” Sandy slurs. He got pretty darn drunk on the three-hour walk up the path up the mountain.
Brother Astophos shrugs. “As long as you respect our beliefs and our rules, you are welcome to stay, of course. Perhaps some of you will even join us.” The old man smiles.
“Maybe,” Timothy answers brightly. “Do you play games here?”
“This is a place for meditation and insight.”
“Oh.” Timothy sounds disappointed.
“Feel free to look around,” suggests Astophos, before moving off to the gardens, where he proceeds to weed. Our heroes do so. The place is pretty much what it appears to be, and is very simple. There are only a few inhabitants. The only surprise comes in the chapel- a huge skylight, and several images, that seem to indicate that this is a monastery of Galador. Shaking his head, the stout leaves the chapel. This is dangerous ground to tread on.*
A small bell rings. “Ah, it is time for dinner,” Brother Astophos explains. Our heroes brighten visibly. “You are welcome to join us.”
Sandy’s eyes wander over the garden for a moment. Wow, they’ve got a lot of good looking stuff there! I bet the meal’s pretty good. I hope they have some meat or something! The halflings follow Astophos inside the monastery proper, and soon they are seated at long low benches with Astophos and two other monks before a simple wooden table.
“Is this all of you?” asks Sandy.
“There is also Brother Melthax, who is preparing the food, and Brother Spot, who is fasting,” Brother Astophos answers.
The other three monks are also very old and feeble-looking. Sandy’s gaze lingers on them. From what the party’s employer- or maybe blackmailer is a better term- told them, the monks here brew excellent beer, and Sandy is bold enough to ask if the group can taste it. Brother Astophos shakes his head and tells him that the brew is not yet ready. Neither of the other two monks speak up, and their rheumy eyes make Sandy wonder how many more years they have in them. This monastery is clearly dying.
A delicious smell is wafting out of the back area- fried onions, peppers, herbs and nuts, mixed in with other vegetable smells... the aroma makes all of our heroes mouths water in anticipation. A nice large fire has been lit in a bowl at one end of the table. And then dinner arrives- a large wok-style affair filled with a steaming bounty of nicely stir fried vegetables and cashews. Sandy’s nose twitches. No meat, but it smells delicious, he thinks, salivating.
The monk holding the wok intones, “Great God, we thank you for your bounty and your protection. To symbolize our dedication to You and our conquest of our own bodies and minds, we grow and cook this food as a sacrifice to you.” And he turns the wok over, dumping all the food into the fire in the bowl at the head of the table. Our heroes look on in incredulous horror as dinner burns away.
The monk sets down the wok and pulls out a large bowl of white rice.
This is terrible, thinks Sandy.
Next Time: The firenewts come!
*Strogass’ ‘official religion’ is the worship of Bleak, who is the persecuted devil-figure of the Galadorian faith. Thus, where Bleak holds sway the forces of Galador must tread softly and avoid being seen for what they are or be destroyed.
6/16/368, 5:30 p.m., atop the Path of Humility
The monastery is pretty small, with a literal handful of monks its only inhabitants. There are five of them only. A small chapel is off to one side, gardens to the other. A small shed looks to hold tools and such. And the monastery itself is pretty small- there can’t be much extra room in there, Sandy thinks drunkenly. But at least the group is smaller than the humans of the monastery.
Brother Astophos, a wrinkled old bald man in simple white robes, greets the group. He introduces himself, and the halflings introduce themselves and declare that they are here to help guard the monks.
“God guards us,” Brother Astophos says serenely.
“Whatever, we’re just here to help, just in case,” Sandy slurs. He got pretty darn drunk on the three-hour walk up the path up the mountain.
Brother Astophos shrugs. “As long as you respect our beliefs and our rules, you are welcome to stay, of course. Perhaps some of you will even join us.” The old man smiles.
“Maybe,” Timothy answers brightly. “Do you play games here?”
“This is a place for meditation and insight.”
“Oh.” Timothy sounds disappointed.
“Feel free to look around,” suggests Astophos, before moving off to the gardens, where he proceeds to weed. Our heroes do so. The place is pretty much what it appears to be, and is very simple. There are only a few inhabitants. The only surprise comes in the chapel- a huge skylight, and several images, that seem to indicate that this is a monastery of Galador. Shaking his head, the stout leaves the chapel. This is dangerous ground to tread on.*
A small bell rings. “Ah, it is time for dinner,” Brother Astophos explains. Our heroes brighten visibly. “You are welcome to join us.”
Sandy’s eyes wander over the garden for a moment. Wow, they’ve got a lot of good looking stuff there! I bet the meal’s pretty good. I hope they have some meat or something! The halflings follow Astophos inside the monastery proper, and soon they are seated at long low benches with Astophos and two other monks before a simple wooden table.
“Is this all of you?” asks Sandy.
“There is also Brother Melthax, who is preparing the food, and Brother Spot, who is fasting,” Brother Astophos answers.
The other three monks are also very old and feeble-looking. Sandy’s gaze lingers on them. From what the party’s employer- or maybe blackmailer is a better term- told them, the monks here brew excellent beer, and Sandy is bold enough to ask if the group can taste it. Brother Astophos shakes his head and tells him that the brew is not yet ready. Neither of the other two monks speak up, and their rheumy eyes make Sandy wonder how many more years they have in them. This monastery is clearly dying.
A delicious smell is wafting out of the back area- fried onions, peppers, herbs and nuts, mixed in with other vegetable smells... the aroma makes all of our heroes mouths water in anticipation. A nice large fire has been lit in a bowl at one end of the table. And then dinner arrives- a large wok-style affair filled with a steaming bounty of nicely stir fried vegetables and cashews. Sandy’s nose twitches. No meat, but it smells delicious, he thinks, salivating.
The monk holding the wok intones, “Great God, we thank you for your bounty and your protection. To symbolize our dedication to You and our conquest of our own bodies and minds, we grow and cook this food as a sacrifice to you.” And he turns the wok over, dumping all the food into the fire in the bowl at the head of the table. Our heroes look on in incredulous horror as dinner burns away.
The monk sets down the wok and pulls out a large bowl of white rice.
This is terrible, thinks Sandy.
Next Time: The firenewts come!
*Strogass’ ‘official religion’ is the worship of Bleak, who is the persecuted devil-figure of the Galadorian faith. Thus, where Bleak holds sway the forces of Galador must tread softly and avoid being seen for what they are or be destroyed.
the Jester
Legend
6/16/368, 8:30 p.m., just outside the hidden monastery
“This place is horrible,” whispers Sandy. “Did you see what they did to the food?”
Miserably, Federico nods. Timothy doesn’t respond; he seems distracted by some interior dialogue, or perhaps a rock or plant or the stars or something.
Timothy and Sandy wander the grounds of the monastery. They have already seen the gardens, which hang with vegetables and a few fruits. They wander over to the head of the Path of Humility, which winds slowly down the face of the mountain to the plains below.
“Hey,” says Sandy, “look down there!”
At the base of the mountain a small encampment seems to have formed, as if of its own volition. There are a number of rude tents and several weird lizard creatures tethered near them. In the gathering darkness, our heroes can just make out the red-orange forms of more of the fire-breathing newt-men that ambushed them on their way to the monastery. There is an occasional gout of fire from them.
“Uh oh,” Timothy mumbles.
“We’d better get help,” Sandy states decisively. “There are a lot of them down there...”
“Um, aren’t we supposed to keep the monks from knowing they’re in danger?”
Sandy gives Timothy a look. “Listen, Timmy, we can’t take all those creatures by ourselves!” But he winces even as the words escape his mouth, and he braces for what he knows will come next.
“No- not Timmy! I’m Timothy!” The autistic kid starts rocking back and forth, moaning. Sandy sighs.
“Come on, Timothy, you’re a big boy! Remember, you’re on the program now- Timmy is a good halfling name...”
“Ahhh! Timothy- I’m Timothy!”
Sandy heaves a sigh. “Right.” He waits patiently as Timothy settles out of his fit, then urges the other to accompany him and seek out aid. “There has to be someone young here,” he reasons.
“I think those old guys are it...”
Timothy is wrong, but he is not far off. Our two intrepid halflings walk swiftly about the grounds until they find the only figure that they have not yet met: a young human lad of ten years, garbed in a monk’s habit. The lad, it turns out, is a sort of apprentice monk named Brother Spot. Being ten years old, reflects Sandy, he won’t be much use, but he tries to speak to him anyway. He is shushed; after dinner, the monks remain silent until breakfast.
Scowling to himself, Sandy trundles back to the top of the path, where he and Timothy can just make out enough to see a pair of the firenewts mounted on lizard-things starting up the long path. “Well, the path’s probably a good place to ambush them,” reasons Sandy.
Indeed it is. The path switches back and forth much more than it needs to, as it serves a spiritual purpose for the monks. There are many good places to lurk in wait, and Sandy selects a place about a quarter of the way down the mountain with a large boulder looming over it. He crouches out of sight above the great stone, ready to hurl missiles or launch himself down at his enemies. Timothy prepares a color spray, and when the two halflings spring out to begin their sudden assault, the ambush works almost perfectly. But when the mounts start coughing out exploding balls of flame, Sandy and Timothy are momentarily taken aback- but only momentarily. Sandy dispatches the final firenewt with a lethal blow to the jaw, which rips it cleanly off!
“Are you all right, Sandy?” asks Timothy. The other nods, but he notes that Timothy is a little singed and burnt.
“Well, that’s stopped them for now,” Sandy states, and the two head back up to the top of the mountain where they fall into the arms of sleep.
***
6/17/368 O.L.G., 4 a.m.
Dong! Dong! Dong!
The sound of a medium sized bell rolls through the air. Startled, Sandy has a moment of disorientation as he thinks back to the bell tower in Bellhold. Then he struggles up, throwing his blanket aside and moving swiftly to the hallway, stopping only to grab his spear. Is there trouble?
No; there is only breakfast.
“You guys get up too early,” mutters Sandy to himself, hungrily gobbling his small helping of rice.
After they eat, Sandy and Timothy go outside and glance again at the encampment below. All seems to be silent at this point; there is no sign of movement, though without more light it could easily be missed at this distance.
“Today we can talk to someone and see if they can help us,” Sandy says. “Maybe that kid.”
Brother Spot (as ‘that kid’ is called) is, sadly, not too receptive to their entreaties for aid. He is remarkably fatalistic for a ten-year-old. When Sandy urges him to aid them, he tells them that “god will provide.”
“Dammit,” Sandy curses, and begins keeping watch as the sun rises in the east.
Next Time: What do the firenewts want anyway?
“This place is horrible,” whispers Sandy. “Did you see what they did to the food?”
Miserably, Federico nods. Timothy doesn’t respond; he seems distracted by some interior dialogue, or perhaps a rock or plant or the stars or something.
Timothy and Sandy wander the grounds of the monastery. They have already seen the gardens, which hang with vegetables and a few fruits. They wander over to the head of the Path of Humility, which winds slowly down the face of the mountain to the plains below.
“Hey,” says Sandy, “look down there!”
At the base of the mountain a small encampment seems to have formed, as if of its own volition. There are a number of rude tents and several weird lizard creatures tethered near them. In the gathering darkness, our heroes can just make out the red-orange forms of more of the fire-breathing newt-men that ambushed them on their way to the monastery. There is an occasional gout of fire from them.
“Uh oh,” Timothy mumbles.
“We’d better get help,” Sandy states decisively. “There are a lot of them down there...”
“Um, aren’t we supposed to keep the monks from knowing they’re in danger?”
Sandy gives Timothy a look. “Listen, Timmy, we can’t take all those creatures by ourselves!” But he winces even as the words escape his mouth, and he braces for what he knows will come next.
“No- not Timmy! I’m Timothy!” The autistic kid starts rocking back and forth, moaning. Sandy sighs.
“Come on, Timothy, you’re a big boy! Remember, you’re on the program now- Timmy is a good halfling name...”
“Ahhh! Timothy- I’m Timothy!”
Sandy heaves a sigh. “Right.” He waits patiently as Timothy settles out of his fit, then urges the other to accompany him and seek out aid. “There has to be someone young here,” he reasons.
“I think those old guys are it...”
Timothy is wrong, but he is not far off. Our two intrepid halflings walk swiftly about the grounds until they find the only figure that they have not yet met: a young human lad of ten years, garbed in a monk’s habit. The lad, it turns out, is a sort of apprentice monk named Brother Spot. Being ten years old, reflects Sandy, he won’t be much use, but he tries to speak to him anyway. He is shushed; after dinner, the monks remain silent until breakfast.
Scowling to himself, Sandy trundles back to the top of the path, where he and Timothy can just make out enough to see a pair of the firenewts mounted on lizard-things starting up the long path. “Well, the path’s probably a good place to ambush them,” reasons Sandy.
Indeed it is. The path switches back and forth much more than it needs to, as it serves a spiritual purpose for the monks. There are many good places to lurk in wait, and Sandy selects a place about a quarter of the way down the mountain with a large boulder looming over it. He crouches out of sight above the great stone, ready to hurl missiles or launch himself down at his enemies. Timothy prepares a color spray, and when the two halflings spring out to begin their sudden assault, the ambush works almost perfectly. But when the mounts start coughing out exploding balls of flame, Sandy and Timothy are momentarily taken aback- but only momentarily. Sandy dispatches the final firenewt with a lethal blow to the jaw, which rips it cleanly off!
“Are you all right, Sandy?” asks Timothy. The other nods, but he notes that Timothy is a little singed and burnt.
“Well, that’s stopped them for now,” Sandy states, and the two head back up to the top of the mountain where they fall into the arms of sleep.
***
6/17/368 O.L.G., 4 a.m.
Dong! Dong! Dong!
The sound of a medium sized bell rolls through the air. Startled, Sandy has a moment of disorientation as he thinks back to the bell tower in Bellhold. Then he struggles up, throwing his blanket aside and moving swiftly to the hallway, stopping only to grab his spear. Is there trouble?
No; there is only breakfast.
“You guys get up too early,” mutters Sandy to himself, hungrily gobbling his small helping of rice.
After they eat, Sandy and Timothy go outside and glance again at the encampment below. All seems to be silent at this point; there is no sign of movement, though without more light it could easily be missed at this distance.
“Today we can talk to someone and see if they can help us,” Sandy says. “Maybe that kid.”
Brother Spot (as ‘that kid’ is called) is, sadly, not too receptive to their entreaties for aid. He is remarkably fatalistic for a ten-year-old. When Sandy urges him to aid them, he tells them that “god will provide.”
“Dammit,” Sandy curses, and begins keeping watch as the sun rises in the east.
Next Time: What do the firenewts want anyway?
the Jester
Legend
6/17/368 O.L.G., 6 p.m., the Hidden Monastery
Sandy gulps in almost physical pain as the monks once again cast a mouthwatering meal into their sacrificial flame. No! he wants to scream, but he knows that he cannot interfere with their ritual. Oh, but the pain! And now a little gob of sticky white rice- ugh! No spices, not even salt...
Almost weeping, our heroes eat their rice.
After dinner Sandy takes Brother Astophos aside. “Listen,” he says, “I don’t want to freak you guys out or anything, but there’s a bunch of monsters at the base of your mountain. We want to help you, but you have to help us help you.”
Brother Astophos smiles serenely. That’s right, Horbin thinks, they maintain silence after dinner. Argh!! The monk gestures at the chapel next to their living quarters, then makes an encompassing gesture.
“I know, I know,” Sandy sighs, “god will provide, right? But maybe he works in mysterious ways. Like, through halflings and stuff. And maybe we’re here to help him help you, but you have to help us help him help you. Now, come on, isn’t there a quicker way down to the base of the mountain than that damn Path of Humility?”
Brother Astophos smiles again. He makes a few incomprehensible signs in the air. And after a moment he leads our heroes to one edge of the plateau. Behind a screen of rocks over the shoulder of the mountain is a hidden path. His hands scrub the air some more, but Sandy has seen what he needs to see. “Thanks,” he says.
Soon the party is descending sneakily in the darkness, hoping to see signs of weakness in the firenewt camp, or at least to get an idea of the numbers they will soon be facing. Their descent is easier and more direct than the Path of Humility offers, but the darkness makes their trip down slower. It is only a few hours before dawn when they finally get a good look at the enemy camp. “There must be a couple of dozen of them,” whispers a dismayed Martini.
“Let’s camp out,” murmurs Sandy, “eat a good breakfast, and pick them off as they come up the path.”
The others agree with Sandy’s assessment of the situation, and soon (except for a watch) they are asleep. Phenyl Sandybanks himself has run himself ragged to the point of near-exhaustion, and he sinks into sleep like a rock into the sea.
Of course it doesn’t last.
***
7 a.m., on the secret path
Sandy snaps awake as Jawbreaker shakes him roughly. “They are moving,” the barbarian grunts.
“Of course they are,” groans Sandy, but he unsticks his eyes and struggles up to his feet. The group hurriedly moves back up the hidden path- by which time the firenewts have begun the long, arduous climb up the Path of Humility. The party wastes a few precious moments trying to bring Brother Astophos around to the idea of doing something, anything to protect himself, but Astophos’ response amounts to a serene, deeply spiritual ‘No.’
“Well then, it looks like it’s up to us,” states Martini. And our heroes sneak back down the secret path until they reach a place where they might cross the face of the mountain to the Path of Humility, still hundreds of yards above the advancing group of firenewts. The halflings set their trap as best they can, with Martini, Sandy and Jawbreaker arrayed to catch them with missile weapons just as they come around a corner and Timothy hiding nearby, ready to unleash his sorcerous powers. Lita hides nearby.
The advance guard of firenewts numbers half a dozen, and when they round the corner our heroes all wonder momentarily if they’re making a mistake trying to take out so many of these things at once. But though they are not all the bravest halflings on Strogass, they are no cowards; and with a cry, the three missile-firing members of the group let loose! Martini and Sandy both wound firenewts with their arrows, and Jawbreaker misses with his javelin. Then, as the newts break into a charge, the barbarian pulls forth his axe and chops a stern message into the chest of the advancing newt! It drops like a sack of grain. Jawbreaker laughs even as Sandy and Martini fall back a few paces, hoping to continue their barrage of missile fire. One of Martini’s arrows takes one of the wounded firenewts in the throat and it drops.
A volley of magic missiles zips out and blasts one of the other newts as Timothy steps out of hiding, his eyes darting around fearfully. “I’ll protect you!” the former asylum inmate cries out, standing firm.
“Timothy, no!” Sandy shouts. But it’s too late. Two of the newts have crossbows out, and now they’ve loaded them; and as our heroes watch in horror, both fire at the young sorcerer who is bravely standing in front of his retreating friends.
By some miracle, both shots miss.
The other two advance firenewts charge in on Lita. She has shrunken herself down to a tiny size, but the two newts just seem to think that makes her an easy target. They flank her and slash with their longswords, but she tumbles away unhurt. They turn to pursue her, but there is a sudden flash of colored light and one of them reels and stumbles back. He drops his sword and then falls over flat on his back. Timothy smiles. He has protected his friends.
Sandy and one of the crossbowmen exchange fire, and the halfling’s arrow is the truer. The newt misses, then gags as an arrow pierces its lung. Glowing yellow-orange blood coughs out of the monster’s mouth and it falls. Jawbreaker, meanwhile, cleaves the head of the one stunned by the color spray.
The remaining crossbow wielder switches to his blade and leaps in at Sandy, who steps away and draws his longspear, letting his bow tumble to the ground. A single deadly thrust impales the firenewt he’s facing.
The last one, meanwhile, screams as Martini shoots off its foot. It staggers for a few seconds, spewing fire-colored blood from its stump, then goes down with a grunt as Jawbreaker stabs him in the gut with a spear of his own. Talk about poking him with a stick.
“There’s more,” Martini says immediately.
“We should set up another ambush,” Sandy says, “but quickly, before they get here!”
The group scrambles up the slope a few dozen yards to the next switchback with some cover and set their trap. They prepare with missile weapons first, just as they did before. “We’re lucky they haven’t been breathing fire at us,” comments Timothy, and Lita chuckles.
“We aren’t giving them time.”
The party sets up in wait, but they don’t have long to wait.
Crap, thinks Sandy as they approach. There must be twenty of ‘em left. Crap crap crap.
One of the firenewts is about twenty feet of the others, and he carries a white flag. In thickly accented Strogassian, he hisses, “Hello! We are not here to fight! We wish the aid of the monkss!”
Uh oh, thinks Martini. This just got more complicated.
Next Time: The conclusion of our little firenewt adventure!
Sandy gulps in almost physical pain as the monks once again cast a mouthwatering meal into their sacrificial flame. No! he wants to scream, but he knows that he cannot interfere with their ritual. Oh, but the pain! And now a little gob of sticky white rice- ugh! No spices, not even salt...
Almost weeping, our heroes eat their rice.
After dinner Sandy takes Brother Astophos aside. “Listen,” he says, “I don’t want to freak you guys out or anything, but there’s a bunch of monsters at the base of your mountain. We want to help you, but you have to help us help you.”
Brother Astophos smiles serenely. That’s right, Horbin thinks, they maintain silence after dinner. Argh!! The monk gestures at the chapel next to their living quarters, then makes an encompassing gesture.
“I know, I know,” Sandy sighs, “god will provide, right? But maybe he works in mysterious ways. Like, through halflings and stuff. And maybe we’re here to help him help you, but you have to help us help him help you. Now, come on, isn’t there a quicker way down to the base of the mountain than that damn Path of Humility?”
Brother Astophos smiles again. He makes a few incomprehensible signs in the air. And after a moment he leads our heroes to one edge of the plateau. Behind a screen of rocks over the shoulder of the mountain is a hidden path. His hands scrub the air some more, but Sandy has seen what he needs to see. “Thanks,” he says.
Soon the party is descending sneakily in the darkness, hoping to see signs of weakness in the firenewt camp, or at least to get an idea of the numbers they will soon be facing. Their descent is easier and more direct than the Path of Humility offers, but the darkness makes their trip down slower. It is only a few hours before dawn when they finally get a good look at the enemy camp. “There must be a couple of dozen of them,” whispers a dismayed Martini.
“Let’s camp out,” murmurs Sandy, “eat a good breakfast, and pick them off as they come up the path.”
The others agree with Sandy’s assessment of the situation, and soon (except for a watch) they are asleep. Phenyl Sandybanks himself has run himself ragged to the point of near-exhaustion, and he sinks into sleep like a rock into the sea.
Of course it doesn’t last.
***
7 a.m., on the secret path
Sandy snaps awake as Jawbreaker shakes him roughly. “They are moving,” the barbarian grunts.
“Of course they are,” groans Sandy, but he unsticks his eyes and struggles up to his feet. The group hurriedly moves back up the hidden path- by which time the firenewts have begun the long, arduous climb up the Path of Humility. The party wastes a few precious moments trying to bring Brother Astophos around to the idea of doing something, anything to protect himself, but Astophos’ response amounts to a serene, deeply spiritual ‘No.’
“Well then, it looks like it’s up to us,” states Martini. And our heroes sneak back down the secret path until they reach a place where they might cross the face of the mountain to the Path of Humility, still hundreds of yards above the advancing group of firenewts. The halflings set their trap as best they can, with Martini, Sandy and Jawbreaker arrayed to catch them with missile weapons just as they come around a corner and Timothy hiding nearby, ready to unleash his sorcerous powers. Lita hides nearby.
The advance guard of firenewts numbers half a dozen, and when they round the corner our heroes all wonder momentarily if they’re making a mistake trying to take out so many of these things at once. But though they are not all the bravest halflings on Strogass, they are no cowards; and with a cry, the three missile-firing members of the group let loose! Martini and Sandy both wound firenewts with their arrows, and Jawbreaker misses with his javelin. Then, as the newts break into a charge, the barbarian pulls forth his axe and chops a stern message into the chest of the advancing newt! It drops like a sack of grain. Jawbreaker laughs even as Sandy and Martini fall back a few paces, hoping to continue their barrage of missile fire. One of Martini’s arrows takes one of the wounded firenewts in the throat and it drops.
A volley of magic missiles zips out and blasts one of the other newts as Timothy steps out of hiding, his eyes darting around fearfully. “I’ll protect you!” the former asylum inmate cries out, standing firm.
“Timothy, no!” Sandy shouts. But it’s too late. Two of the newts have crossbows out, and now they’ve loaded them; and as our heroes watch in horror, both fire at the young sorcerer who is bravely standing in front of his retreating friends.
By some miracle, both shots miss.
The other two advance firenewts charge in on Lita. She has shrunken herself down to a tiny size, but the two newts just seem to think that makes her an easy target. They flank her and slash with their longswords, but she tumbles away unhurt. They turn to pursue her, but there is a sudden flash of colored light and one of them reels and stumbles back. He drops his sword and then falls over flat on his back. Timothy smiles. He has protected his friends.
Sandy and one of the crossbowmen exchange fire, and the halfling’s arrow is the truer. The newt misses, then gags as an arrow pierces its lung. Glowing yellow-orange blood coughs out of the monster’s mouth and it falls. Jawbreaker, meanwhile, cleaves the head of the one stunned by the color spray.
The remaining crossbow wielder switches to his blade and leaps in at Sandy, who steps away and draws his longspear, letting his bow tumble to the ground. A single deadly thrust impales the firenewt he’s facing.
The last one, meanwhile, screams as Martini shoots off its foot. It staggers for a few seconds, spewing fire-colored blood from its stump, then goes down with a grunt as Jawbreaker stabs him in the gut with a spear of his own. Talk about poking him with a stick.
“There’s more,” Martini says immediately.
“We should set up another ambush,” Sandy says, “but quickly, before they get here!”
The group scrambles up the slope a few dozen yards to the next switchback with some cover and set their trap. They prepare with missile weapons first, just as they did before. “We’re lucky they haven’t been breathing fire at us,” comments Timothy, and Lita chuckles.
“We aren’t giving them time.”
The party sets up in wait, but they don’t have long to wait.
Crap, thinks Sandy as they approach. There must be twenty of ‘em left. Crap crap crap.
One of the firenewts is about twenty feet of the others, and he carries a white flag. In thickly accented Strogassian, he hisses, “Hello! We are not here to fight! We wish the aid of the monkss!”
Uh oh, thinks Martini. This just got more complicated.
Next Time: The conclusion of our little firenewt adventure!
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