Orcs on the Rampage - Tales from the Broken Lands(Updated 25-May-06)
- Thread starter Graywolf-ELM
- Start date
Graywolf-ELM
Explorer
Lo said:Just a gentle <bump>
You can't leave us hanging like this.
Thanks for the Bump. I have about half the update written at this point. I'm working on it some more tonight.
GW
Graywolf-ELM
Explorer
Capellan said:
Coming from you, the compliment is much appreciated. I read every one of your story hours that I have been able to find. Your most recent one is quite different and loads of fun to read.
The guys and I are having a blast playing this. It's my first go at being a DM for at least 5 years. I must say that discovering Enworld, the forums and the Story hours, has much fed my creative side. So much so that I have made the wild off the cuff decision to participate in the Ceramic DM competition, and expect to get thouroughly trounced in the first round. I am really looking forward to the critical evaluation of my writing.
GW
Graywolf-ELM
Explorer
Unless the board goes down, or Internet access is flakey, there will be an update later today. I have it completed, and being reviewed by the players for any glaring mis-rememberances on my part. I expected to have this done some time sooner, but ended up in real life, then participated in the Ceramic DM competition here on the board. It hasn't been rated yet, and I don't know if I'm in the second round, or out on my rump.
GW
GW
Graywolf-ELM
Explorer
A Trip to the Wayrest Trading Post
“FillexHulkil give your report. Have you recruited more Orcs to my Service? Are you growing our ranks?” The powerful words of the sending cut through FillexHulkil’s sleep like a sharp Goblin knife. He knows he must respond quickly and with only a few words or the end of the message will be cut off. “Yes Master, Ten have I ensorcelled to your cause, I will return soon with these.” The Goblin opens his eyes to look around. It felt like the Master was here, but only the snores of a half-score Orcs, during the midday sleep, surround him. It will be impossible to go back to sleep now. FillexHulkil lies wide awake; hoping he will bring back enough Orcs to swell the tribal ranks. Disappointing the Master is not high on his list of goals. Ever since being brought to the Vile Rune’s tribe by the now “Eagles Warband” FillexHulkil has been slowly charming errant or pariah Orcs. The Chief will notice soon, if not the Elders or that cagey Shaman. “Hargul Wolf-Tongue even makes me nervous” thought the Goblin, but not like the Master, few creatures in the world could cause fear in the strongest Orcs and Goblins, like the Master and his kind could.
The warband follows the caravan trail twisting and climbing through the hills, into the mountains of the Ogre lands. The trail opens up into a mountain pass, where it runs fairly straight and level for a space. At least twenty broken foundations lie on either side of the road, mostly hidden in the tall grass. Here and there, the stump of an old chimney is visible. Farther up the road lies a sprawling ruin that must cover an acre or two, and in the middle of that stands a massive stone building with shuttered windows and a great oaken door. Four chimneys, very much intact, stand at the four corners of the edifice, and curls of wood smoke stream steadily from two of them, both to the left of the massive door.
The stone building looks like a war-scarred veteran that was scrubbed clean and dressed up for a holiday. The building is constructed from huge blocks of dressed stone. Old pockmarks, some as a big as a Orc's fist, others bigger than a Orc's head, dot the walls. Most of the shutters stand open, but the windows are more than 10 feet above the ground, so even Iirkh would have to jump or climb to see inside. Orcs can be heard shouting for drinks through the open windows. Nine sets of eyes light up at the thought of a good drink after surviving the ambush earlier. Scrag is still hurt pretty badly, Iirkh is hurt some, and the others only have minor injuries if any. Gorga had made the decision not to use any of the healing slime on Scrag. They were intended for the mission to root out the Kobold tribe and really, the Orc ‘was’ still walking.
The door seems unusual. It's big enough to admit a caravan wagon or two Ogres, and it has a smaller portal, roughly Orc sized, set within. Iirkh sets the large chest off of his shoulder and sticks it under his arm.
Sharraxtharkul approaches Gorga “Let me summon the spirits, to see if any treasure we have found holds magic. It should be done before we enter and try to sell it.” Gorga nods and grunts his assent. “MMmm, go ahead”
Sharraxtharkul begins waving his arms, and barking out words of power. “Spirits of the Earth and Sky, make clear magic’s power nigh.” As the magic takes hold, he begins to see auras around some items the warband is carrying. The cape, Tyco is wearing, the earrings worn by Gorga and Iirkh, and the ring snatched up by Gorga and the clay pots of healing slime. Other items and weapons do not show the mark of magic. Sharraxtharkul points the items out to Gorga, who seems a little dubious of the results. All have seen the Mystic power of Hargul Wolf-Tongue, the tribal shaman, and this kind of casting by the Goblin Druid is not the same as the Gri-Gri wielding madman they have all come to know, if not fear.
Gorga directs Hobna and Shiglsnor to open the larger door, and the warband has come to the Wayrest Trading Post.
Beyond the strange door, the Orcs find a cool, lofty chamber. A low fire at one end and Windows covered to block most of the sun makes for a firelit room.. All the furniture in here looks battered and rickety, as though it has been forced to endure too many fights. The bar is a sight, though. It's a split-level affair. To the left, the bar is about waist-high to an Orc, and a few humans and Orcs are seated there on battle-scarred stools. To the right, the bar stands considerably higher, with stools to match. A muscular giant, gray-skinned and bald-headed, is seated there, drinking from a tankard the size of a barrel. Another is seated at a corner table sized for giants. Two Orcs sit together at a table near the Orc-sized bar and they drop their conversation to low tones as the Eagles enter the room
"Welcome to the Wayrest Trading Post," says a stout dwarven woman behind the bar, smiling broadly. "What can I get you?"
The warband falls all over itself in the rush to order drinks. Everyone who wants one gets their first taste of drink since coming back from the coming of age outing. Back at the tribe there is some mushroom grog brewing, but it won’t be ready for another week or so.
Sharraxtharkul takes an interest in the fireplaces that are not burning. He quickly makes his way to one on the East wall, and pokes around in the ashes, looking for charcoal.
After drinks have been arranged, discussion ensues about the disposition of treasure from the recent battle. It comes down to who needs armor and weapons the most. Wosroe the Dwarven barkeeper calls on Kerd to come around and watch the bar while she runs into the back looking for items the ‘Eagles’ are looking for. The giant at the corner table steps over to the bar, and takes his place behind it. Shortly, Wosroe returns with the tally. There are no great swords for any sized humanoid, much less the Half-Ogre. With the exchange of gems, and almost all of the coin treasure, they come away with Studded Leather for Iirkh and Rhgl, Hide armor for Sharraxtharkul, and a decent dagger for both of the Goblins. The sight of Half Ogres and Goblins stripping down and donning new armor is shortly the afternoons’ entertainment. Iirkh had pulled on the over-sized hide armor that one of the Ogres recently wore. The smell and look of it was quite disturbing, to the nose and eye.
While the warband is discussing the battle, the two Orcs at the nearby table, seem to be listening in on what the ‘Eagles’ have done. Their tribal affiliation is not readily apparent to any of the “Eagles” who look over. Much boasting is done all around, and it isn’t hard for anyone at the bar or the nearby tables to hear what happened. It was a great victory for the “Vile Runes” to hear it told. Rhgl makes the decision to see if he can find out more about these Orcs, if not then see what they have for the taking. Rhgl not only drops down unseen near the table, but manages to sneak under the table, and relieve one of the Orcs of his money pouch. Little can be heard of their private whispered conversation in this rowdy place. He slinks away to examine the meager contents, of the pouch, on the other side of Iirkh, who is having a dilemma of his own. He keeps hearing voices whispering in his ear. Every time someone nearby says his name, he can hear some of what is said, as if he is standing there. Gorga is experiencing the same effect. Iirkh notes that the beer is very good to make him hear voices. “Good Beer!” Gorga looks around, and sees others in the warband saying the same things that he is hearing repeated. The magic earring must be the source of this. Gorga reasons ‘I did not put the ring on, and Sharraxtharkul did not warn me of any other magic.’
With little more need to remain, the “Eagles” have a few more drinks, and Gorga rounds them up to head back to the Home Tribe.
Back on the trail, the “Eagles” run across 2 enormous black birds, feasting upon the remains of the Ogres. Tyco sees Scrag begin to run into combat, and runs up behind him, smacking the Orc from behind. With all the blood loss of the previous battle, Scrag goes down with a lump on his head. Tyco turns to Gorga and shrugs “He wuz gonna get killed. We need the bodies to fight Kobolds.” Rhgl gets a little too close to the birds, and is nearly carried away. Quick work is made of the Dire Ravens with arrows, and a few well placed sword blows. Sharraxtharkul begins humming to himself, and takes out his charcoal from the Trading Post. He begins marking the Ogres’ bodies with runes and drawings to protect against evil spirits. The eagles watch from a distance and stay out of the way, as the young mystic performs his rights.
The “Eagles” return to the tribe home late in the afternoon. There will be a full moon this night, and a special ceremony. For now, Garnash One-tusk calls for another tribal meeting after hearing about the fight with Ogres and Hobgoblins. Three pariahs from the “Eagles” warband are up for acceptance.
“You younglings have returned from a battle with the Ogre’s of the West. They are powerful enemies. Tell us of your deeds in battle and you will be given fitting names in the tribe.” Hargul Wolf-Tongue begins the naming dance to see the truth of the new tribe members’ words
Hobna stalks his way to the front. “Garnash saw fit to give leadership of the Eagles to Gorga Manhunter. Gorga led us in battle, sending Hobna to the left flank to fire arrows at the Hobgoblins. The Ogres charged and I fired many arrows at them as well. I killed many Hobgoblins with my arrows this day.
Hargul dances up with his Gri-gri flailing, and comes to stop in front of Hobna. “Pariah Hobna, I name you Hobna Gob-stopper.” A cheer goes up from the tribe at this prestigious name. “May you wear it well.” Hargul dances away to listen to the next petitioner making his claims.
Shiglsnor steps forward. “In battle with the Hobgoblins, they had higher ground. The Goblin Rhgl went up the left flank to scout. Hobgoblins appeared all around him. I braved the javelins and swords to rush up the left embankment, to fight Hobgoblins on even grounds. At least 5 died by my blade and that of the Goblin who fought as my teammate.”
Hargul dances up to Shiglsnor, and proclaims “Shiglsnor Back-biter, you are now a member of the Vile Runes tribe and the Eagles warband.” He then moves on as before, gathering spirits to him with his gri-gri.
Garnash One-Tusk looks over the warband, “You, Orc. What do you say?” Tyco stepped forward and was somewhat slow to respond, he couldn’t help picturing his new home covered with dead human and Orc bodies.
Tyco presents the eight fine longswords won in battle to Garnash One-Tusk and the tribe.
”There was a hail of javelins thrown at me by the Hobgoblins. Gorga shot an arrow into one of the Ogres, and I ran up and finished it off with a wicked slice to the stomach. It is easy for me, I am already dead. With few left to battle, I climbed the slippery rocks to hunt down and kill the last of the Hobgoblins.”
Garnash seemed pleased, if a bit suspicious. Hargul dances forward again, and looks into Tyco’s eyes. “You, once a pariah of the Screaming Monkeys, survived the massacre along with others who have joined the Vile Runes. This day, you become a member of a growing tribe. Your name is Tyco Gut-Wrench.
It is getting later in the evening with the completion of this boast. Orcs cheering and slapping the Eagles on the back is commonplace now.
Garnash raises his hands for quiet. “It is the night of the full moon. Hargul Wolf-Tongue will lead us all in the proper respects to Wogan, our benefactor. Let every Orc worship and feast.”
Another roar of approval goes up from the tribe, and the flames begin to dance in the fire pit. None of the Eagles have been privy to this ceremony before and all are curious to see what will happen.
Sharraxtharkul catches the eye of FillexHulkil, and gets the feeling that something just isn’t right with him, and the group of Orcs around him. Dancing and howling begin, and food is brought out by the females. As the festivities continue into the night, midnight brings about a change that leaves the “Eagles” a little shocked. Hargul begins to howl loudly, and begins to change form. Muscles and bones bulge out, and the normally hairy Orc begins to grow a fur coat as he transforms into a hybrid form of Wolf and Orc. Hargul finishes howling as the final throes of the transformation diminish. “All pay respects to Wogan and his might. He allows me to take this form, and teach you all his wisdom; the wisdom of hunters and wolf riders. We no longer ride wolves but we honor the memory.” Hargul begins howling again, and leaps from Garnash’s platform, and lopes out the main gate to hunt.
The next day, Gorga tracks down Gynk Lip-Biter to get further briefings on the path to the Kobold lair. Gynk pulls out the map again, and points out a path through the Kobold territories, Darokin lands, and around the edge of the Elven forests. Gorga soaks up the information and gets some questions answered. “Do not cache food and water. It may be found. Patrols are haphazard at best around the lair. This is unusual for Kobolds.
While gathering rations and water for the trip over the next couple of days, a few of the warband members see FillexHulkil, and are uneasy about how he behaves in the Vile Runes holdings.
The eagles take a long trip which is uneventful, good maps keep them from getting lost often. The path the Orcs take is overland and rarely traveled. Occasionally the spoor of other races, Kobolds, Humans, or various creatures is found. The maps guide the Eagles to a disused path that leads through the brush up to a cave entrance.
No patrols are seen while the warband waits. Gorga tells the others “Something must be wrong for the Kobolds to not patrol the lands around here. We will enter and attack what we find. Scrag spouts off “Let’s kill all inside!” Everyone gathers around to hear what the plan is.
Gorga waves him off “We enter and work to the right,” As he holds up his right hand. “And leave nothing behind us.”
Nothing looks special about the place, other than the placement on the mountain. It is not a natural cave opening. Brush lines the path on both sides, and while not moving, seems to reach for hide, clothing, boots and skin as the Orcs walk by. The path winds back and forth in the hills and cliffs leading up to the entrance. The opening is somewhat obscured by vines and branches. Beyond the vines a 10’ corridor leads straight into the rock formation.
Down the corridor, there is an old door with some chipped wood around the edges, as if it has been forced, and used recently. Some human bodies of little note are found, but the fourth body, is that of a kobold, this kobold is slightly shorter and lighter than normal. The scales bear dark coloration, with black shading. The body is sprawled on the floor with grievous wounds.
Another dead kobold lies on the floor face down. There is a small sheathed dagger on a belt that this one is wearing. There is a dark slimy substance on the blade when drawn. The body has a smashed skull. These two appear to have been lost when the adventurers where overcome. No one has returned to dispose of the bodies yet.
Next Up: Return to In Search of the Unknown
“FillexHulkil give your report. Have you recruited more Orcs to my Service? Are you growing our ranks?” The powerful words of the sending cut through FillexHulkil’s sleep like a sharp Goblin knife. He knows he must respond quickly and with only a few words or the end of the message will be cut off. “Yes Master, Ten have I ensorcelled to your cause, I will return soon with these.” The Goblin opens his eyes to look around. It felt like the Master was here, but only the snores of a half-score Orcs, during the midday sleep, surround him. It will be impossible to go back to sleep now. FillexHulkil lies wide awake; hoping he will bring back enough Orcs to swell the tribal ranks. Disappointing the Master is not high on his list of goals. Ever since being brought to the Vile Rune’s tribe by the now “Eagles Warband” FillexHulkil has been slowly charming errant or pariah Orcs. The Chief will notice soon, if not the Elders or that cagey Shaman. “Hargul Wolf-Tongue even makes me nervous” thought the Goblin, but not like the Master, few creatures in the world could cause fear in the strongest Orcs and Goblins, like the Master and his kind could.
The warband follows the caravan trail twisting and climbing through the hills, into the mountains of the Ogre lands. The trail opens up into a mountain pass, where it runs fairly straight and level for a space. At least twenty broken foundations lie on either side of the road, mostly hidden in the tall grass. Here and there, the stump of an old chimney is visible. Farther up the road lies a sprawling ruin that must cover an acre or two, and in the middle of that stands a massive stone building with shuttered windows and a great oaken door. Four chimneys, very much intact, stand at the four corners of the edifice, and curls of wood smoke stream steadily from two of them, both to the left of the massive door.
The stone building looks like a war-scarred veteran that was scrubbed clean and dressed up for a holiday. The building is constructed from huge blocks of dressed stone. Old pockmarks, some as a big as a Orc's fist, others bigger than a Orc's head, dot the walls. Most of the shutters stand open, but the windows are more than 10 feet above the ground, so even Iirkh would have to jump or climb to see inside. Orcs can be heard shouting for drinks through the open windows. Nine sets of eyes light up at the thought of a good drink after surviving the ambush earlier. Scrag is still hurt pretty badly, Iirkh is hurt some, and the others only have minor injuries if any. Gorga had made the decision not to use any of the healing slime on Scrag. They were intended for the mission to root out the Kobold tribe and really, the Orc ‘was’ still walking.
The door seems unusual. It's big enough to admit a caravan wagon or two Ogres, and it has a smaller portal, roughly Orc sized, set within. Iirkh sets the large chest off of his shoulder and sticks it under his arm.
Sharraxtharkul approaches Gorga “Let me summon the spirits, to see if any treasure we have found holds magic. It should be done before we enter and try to sell it.” Gorga nods and grunts his assent. “MMmm, go ahead”
Sharraxtharkul begins waving his arms, and barking out words of power. “Spirits of the Earth and Sky, make clear magic’s power nigh.” As the magic takes hold, he begins to see auras around some items the warband is carrying. The cape, Tyco is wearing, the earrings worn by Gorga and Iirkh, and the ring snatched up by Gorga and the clay pots of healing slime. Other items and weapons do not show the mark of magic. Sharraxtharkul points the items out to Gorga, who seems a little dubious of the results. All have seen the Mystic power of Hargul Wolf-Tongue, the tribal shaman, and this kind of casting by the Goblin Druid is not the same as the Gri-Gri wielding madman they have all come to know, if not fear.
Gorga directs Hobna and Shiglsnor to open the larger door, and the warband has come to the Wayrest Trading Post.
Beyond the strange door, the Orcs find a cool, lofty chamber. A low fire at one end and Windows covered to block most of the sun makes for a firelit room.. All the furniture in here looks battered and rickety, as though it has been forced to endure too many fights. The bar is a sight, though. It's a split-level affair. To the left, the bar is about waist-high to an Orc, and a few humans and Orcs are seated there on battle-scarred stools. To the right, the bar stands considerably higher, with stools to match. A muscular giant, gray-skinned and bald-headed, is seated there, drinking from a tankard the size of a barrel. Another is seated at a corner table sized for giants. Two Orcs sit together at a table near the Orc-sized bar and they drop their conversation to low tones as the Eagles enter the room
"Welcome to the Wayrest Trading Post," says a stout dwarven woman behind the bar, smiling broadly. "What can I get you?"
The warband falls all over itself in the rush to order drinks. Everyone who wants one gets their first taste of drink since coming back from the coming of age outing. Back at the tribe there is some mushroom grog brewing, but it won’t be ready for another week or so.
Sharraxtharkul takes an interest in the fireplaces that are not burning. He quickly makes his way to one on the East wall, and pokes around in the ashes, looking for charcoal.
After drinks have been arranged, discussion ensues about the disposition of treasure from the recent battle. It comes down to who needs armor and weapons the most. Wosroe the Dwarven barkeeper calls on Kerd to come around and watch the bar while she runs into the back looking for items the ‘Eagles’ are looking for. The giant at the corner table steps over to the bar, and takes his place behind it. Shortly, Wosroe returns with the tally. There are no great swords for any sized humanoid, much less the Half-Ogre. With the exchange of gems, and almost all of the coin treasure, they come away with Studded Leather for Iirkh and Rhgl, Hide armor for Sharraxtharkul, and a decent dagger for both of the Goblins. The sight of Half Ogres and Goblins stripping down and donning new armor is shortly the afternoons’ entertainment. Iirkh had pulled on the over-sized hide armor that one of the Ogres recently wore. The smell and look of it was quite disturbing, to the nose and eye.
While the warband is discussing the battle, the two Orcs at the nearby table, seem to be listening in on what the ‘Eagles’ have done. Their tribal affiliation is not readily apparent to any of the “Eagles” who look over. Much boasting is done all around, and it isn’t hard for anyone at the bar or the nearby tables to hear what happened. It was a great victory for the “Vile Runes” to hear it told. Rhgl makes the decision to see if he can find out more about these Orcs, if not then see what they have for the taking. Rhgl not only drops down unseen near the table, but manages to sneak under the table, and relieve one of the Orcs of his money pouch. Little can be heard of their private whispered conversation in this rowdy place. He slinks away to examine the meager contents, of the pouch, on the other side of Iirkh, who is having a dilemma of his own. He keeps hearing voices whispering in his ear. Every time someone nearby says his name, he can hear some of what is said, as if he is standing there. Gorga is experiencing the same effect. Iirkh notes that the beer is very good to make him hear voices. “Good Beer!” Gorga looks around, and sees others in the warband saying the same things that he is hearing repeated. The magic earring must be the source of this. Gorga reasons ‘I did not put the ring on, and Sharraxtharkul did not warn me of any other magic.’
With little more need to remain, the “Eagles” have a few more drinks, and Gorga rounds them up to head back to the Home Tribe.
Back on the trail, the “Eagles” run across 2 enormous black birds, feasting upon the remains of the Ogres. Tyco sees Scrag begin to run into combat, and runs up behind him, smacking the Orc from behind. With all the blood loss of the previous battle, Scrag goes down with a lump on his head. Tyco turns to Gorga and shrugs “He wuz gonna get killed. We need the bodies to fight Kobolds.” Rhgl gets a little too close to the birds, and is nearly carried away. Quick work is made of the Dire Ravens with arrows, and a few well placed sword blows. Sharraxtharkul begins humming to himself, and takes out his charcoal from the Trading Post. He begins marking the Ogres’ bodies with runes and drawings to protect against evil spirits. The eagles watch from a distance and stay out of the way, as the young mystic performs his rights.
The “Eagles” return to the tribe home late in the afternoon. There will be a full moon this night, and a special ceremony. For now, Garnash One-tusk calls for another tribal meeting after hearing about the fight with Ogres and Hobgoblins. Three pariahs from the “Eagles” warband are up for acceptance.
“You younglings have returned from a battle with the Ogre’s of the West. They are powerful enemies. Tell us of your deeds in battle and you will be given fitting names in the tribe.” Hargul Wolf-Tongue begins the naming dance to see the truth of the new tribe members’ words
Hobna stalks his way to the front. “Garnash saw fit to give leadership of the Eagles to Gorga Manhunter. Gorga led us in battle, sending Hobna to the left flank to fire arrows at the Hobgoblins. The Ogres charged and I fired many arrows at them as well. I killed many Hobgoblins with my arrows this day.
Hargul dances up with his Gri-gri flailing, and comes to stop in front of Hobna. “Pariah Hobna, I name you Hobna Gob-stopper.” A cheer goes up from the tribe at this prestigious name. “May you wear it well.” Hargul dances away to listen to the next petitioner making his claims.
Shiglsnor steps forward. “In battle with the Hobgoblins, they had higher ground. The Goblin Rhgl went up the left flank to scout. Hobgoblins appeared all around him. I braved the javelins and swords to rush up the left embankment, to fight Hobgoblins on even grounds. At least 5 died by my blade and that of the Goblin who fought as my teammate.”
Hargul dances up to Shiglsnor, and proclaims “Shiglsnor Back-biter, you are now a member of the Vile Runes tribe and the Eagles warband.” He then moves on as before, gathering spirits to him with his gri-gri.
Listening to Hobna and Shiglsnor, Tyco remembers the fall of the Screaming Monkey tribe. Darokin solders had surrounded the tribe’s hold. They had made several attempts to storm the gate, none successful. Every attempt weakened the reserves of the tribe. Warriors were falling too quickly. The chief lead the Screaming Monkeys like a warrior should, cleaving Darokin soldiers in half. The chief must have slain dozens of Darokin, but there were too many. During the Darokin’s third assault the chief was mortally wounded. The elite guard stood watch over dying chief, and the chief’s son Blorg. Blorg watched his father die. Then he commanded the gates be opened. We would make one last charge, break through the Darokin and flee to the woods. As the gates opened, Darokin rushed in. The last time Tyco saw Blorg, his head was on the tip of a Darokin lance, carried by Darokin cavalry.
Garnash One-Tusk looks over the warband, “You, Orc. What do you say?” Tyco stepped forward and was somewhat slow to respond, he couldn’t help picturing his new home covered with dead human and Orc bodies.
Tyco remembered, when the Darokin began pouring through the gates of the Screaming Monkey hold, he stole an axe from a dead Orc. He was not yet a full member of the tribe, weapons were forbidden to him. He remembered screaming a battle cry, then everything turning red as he flew into a rage.
Tyco presents the eight fine longswords won in battle to Garnash One-Tusk and the tribe.
Tyco remembered the end of his fury at the Screaming Monkey hold. Tyco watched a Darokin lance come out of his stomach. It took awhile for Tyco to realize he had been charged from behind. Tyco was pretty sure he died. Perhaps his body was too stupid to realize it should be dead. His mind knew nothing beyond that charge. He had vague images of Blorgs head and lots of walking, but no real memory.
”There was a hail of javelins thrown at me by the Hobgoblins. Gorga shot an arrow into one of the Ogres, and I ran up and finished it off with a wicked slice to the stomach. It is easy for me, I am already dead. With few left to battle, I climbed the slippery rocks to hunt down and kill the last of the Hobgoblins.”
Garnash seemed pleased, if a bit suspicious. Hargul dances forward again, and looks into Tyco’s eyes. “You, once a pariah of the Screaming Monkeys, survived the massacre along with others who have joined the Vile Runes. This day, you become a member of a growing tribe. Your name is Tyco Gut-Wrench.
It is getting later in the evening with the completion of this boast. Orcs cheering and slapping the Eagles on the back is commonplace now.
Garnash raises his hands for quiet. “It is the night of the full moon. Hargul Wolf-Tongue will lead us all in the proper respects to Wogan, our benefactor. Let every Orc worship and feast.”
Another roar of approval goes up from the tribe, and the flames begin to dance in the fire pit. None of the Eagles have been privy to this ceremony before and all are curious to see what will happen.
Sharraxtharkul catches the eye of FillexHulkil, and gets the feeling that something just isn’t right with him, and the group of Orcs around him. Dancing and howling begin, and food is brought out by the females. As the festivities continue into the night, midnight brings about a change that leaves the “Eagles” a little shocked. Hargul begins to howl loudly, and begins to change form. Muscles and bones bulge out, and the normally hairy Orc begins to grow a fur coat as he transforms into a hybrid form of Wolf and Orc. Hargul finishes howling as the final throes of the transformation diminish. “All pay respects to Wogan and his might. He allows me to take this form, and teach you all his wisdom; the wisdom of hunters and wolf riders. We no longer ride wolves but we honor the memory.” Hargul begins howling again, and leaps from Garnash’s platform, and lopes out the main gate to hunt.
The next day, Gorga tracks down Gynk Lip-Biter to get further briefings on the path to the Kobold lair. Gynk pulls out the map again, and points out a path through the Kobold territories, Darokin lands, and around the edge of the Elven forests. Gorga soaks up the information and gets some questions answered. “Do not cache food and water. It may be found. Patrols are haphazard at best around the lair. This is unusual for Kobolds.
While gathering rations and water for the trip over the next couple of days, a few of the warband members see FillexHulkil, and are uneasy about how he behaves in the Vile Runes holdings.
The eagles take a long trip which is uneventful, good maps keep them from getting lost often. The path the Orcs take is overland and rarely traveled. Occasionally the spoor of other races, Kobolds, Humans, or various creatures is found. The maps guide the Eagles to a disused path that leads through the brush up to a cave entrance.
No patrols are seen while the warband waits. Gorga tells the others “Something must be wrong for the Kobolds to not patrol the lands around here. We will enter and attack what we find. Scrag spouts off “Let’s kill all inside!” Everyone gathers around to hear what the plan is.
Gorga waves him off “We enter and work to the right,” As he holds up his right hand. “And leave nothing behind us.”
Nothing looks special about the place, other than the placement on the mountain. It is not a natural cave opening. Brush lines the path on both sides, and while not moving, seems to reach for hide, clothing, boots and skin as the Orcs walk by. The path winds back and forth in the hills and cliffs leading up to the entrance. The opening is somewhat obscured by vines and branches. Beyond the vines a 10’ corridor leads straight into the rock formation.
Down the corridor, there is an old door with some chipped wood around the edges, as if it has been forced, and used recently. Some human bodies of little note are found, but the fourth body, is that of a kobold, this kobold is slightly shorter and lighter than normal. The scales bear dark coloration, with black shading. The body is sprawled on the floor with grievous wounds.
Another dead kobold lies on the floor face down. There is a small sheathed dagger on a belt that this one is wearing. There is a dark slimy substance on the blade when drawn. The body has a smashed skull. These two appear to have been lost when the adventurers where overcome. No one has returned to dispose of the bodies yet.
Next Up: Return to In Search of the Unknown
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Graywolf-ELM
Explorer
The Axe said:
Thanks for the bump. I won't wait a whole month to submit another update this time(as I nearly did this last update) RL crept in, and my writing night this week turns into a To-Do list that I have, before I go on vacation next week. I hope to get some writing done this coming week at night, and on the laptop over vacation. I have the outlines completed for the next three sessions, so part of the work is done.
I hope you like the inclusion of dialog that the party did not know about, until they read this update. My hints have born fruit, that they have to look forward to when they complete this mission. For now, a dungeon crawl, that has actually been quite fun, and even amusing in a couple of places. Look forward to Tyco trying to figure out what kind of magic his cloak has. Scrag opening doors he has no business opening, An alliance of powers within the party. Suped up Kobolds(courtesy of Arwink, Ferrets PRC and my own plotting). Scared Orcs, Befriended Half-Ogres, and choking Goblins.
GW
Graywolf-ELM
Explorer
Update ready, it will be posted later tonight, or tomorrow morning. I'm getting some feedback from the players first. This is my first attempt at this style of post, so I hope you will all enjoy it.
GW
GW
Graywolf-ELM
Explorer
Next Up: Sidebar - Repercussions
“What! Gurt and Filp are dead!” The Hobgoblin had to fight to keep from wetting himself. Butor towered over him, as he did over all Hobgoblins, and most other Ogres. The Ogre Chieftain angry, was not what Hacek wanted to see right now. Butor glowered at him then seemed to calm down some.
“They send the goodest tribute.” Butor paced at the head of the table of leaders. Butor stopped and turned in front of Hacek; a meaty finger reaches out to poke the Hobgoblin in the chest. “What is your warband?”
Hacek straightened his back, preparing himself to die bravely. ”Mighty Chief Butor, We are the Leg Breakers.”
“Ootah’s boys. MMmm; He sent you in, to avoid the beating of bad news.” Butor turned back to his pacing. “You say to Butor, it is Orcs from across the river? Red Orcs cross the river, and kill my warband. Orcs good warriors to kill, and not lose any Orcs.” With a glance back at Hacek Butor addresses the other Ogres. “The Vile Runes will learn that Ogres not easy to kill. We show them up close.” Butor steps away from the table and reaches a hand over to a nearby stewpot, large enough to hold a full-grown troll. With the other hand, Butor points at the shaman waiting in the shadows. Butor grins at the Hobgoblin “Tell Ootah that shaman is getting hungry, report by warband leader only.”
Hacek stares at the cauldron with eyes opening in fear. It is rumored that the shaman will cook someone alive, in that enormous pot, and eat the meat from the bones. Nodding, Hacek lets out a sigh of relief. “Yes Mighty Chief Butor, I will tell him.” Understanding that he was dismissed, the Hobgoblin turns and hurries for the room’s main exit.
Stepping back to the table of leaders, Butor slams his fist down. “Now we plan war.”
------------------------------
Eric stood looking over the work on the Roadside Outpost. Eric is a tall man, powerfully built, with the look of someone trained for battle. After the death of his brother Martin, and the soldiers here, not to mention the townsfolk from down the road, this outpost was picked for an upgrade. Eric volunteered for the upgrade project. Much of the work was completed already and new soldiers were assigned for duty here.
The dead Cleric told the story of a brutal group of Orcs out searching for weapons and armor. They are almost a new breed of more powerful brutes, eager to kill and smarter for survival. His death was brutal, and slow. He did not want to be resurrected to remember those long minutes for the rest of his life. He had pieced together from bits of conversation, that they were on a coming of age ceremony to become full tribal members.
The soldiers were killed, and all of the Orc prisoners released. Darokin patrols will be increased to watch for more of these raids on the borderlands. Maybe some of the patrols could push farther North, along the trade routes through the Broken Lands.
------------------------------
Ugoora Redscale sat pondering her schemes from her throne room in Vuushkek, her fortress city in the underdark of Kol, the kingdom of Kobolds. There have been reports from all holdings across Mystara, except for the new tribe in Darokin lands. Attempts to contact Buimbu, the Sorcerer have been fruitless. Attempts to reach the tribe leader have gone unanswered as well. That sorcerer better not have killed everyone with one of his experiments. His last message was disordered and not the kind of detailed work required of operatives.
Making a decision, Ugoora settles back into her throne. “Guard, summon my advisors, I have something to discuss with them.”
------------------------------
The Master sits in a cave waiting patiently for the return of his agents. It is time for reports, and let none of them be lacking. It was not good to let these Orcs think they can shirk their duty. Power is all they understand. At least one will have to die again, as an example to the others. If only they didn’t taste so bad.
------------------------------
Enamaendra, Tiery, and Babushka sit around a campfire fire, discussing how they will track down the taint that has taken over this part of the Duchy. Duke Stefan called them together to root out the cause. Trade North to Darokin is having trouble North of Kelvin. Undead have taken residence in the swamp, and are killing anything traveling on the road. All previous attempts to disperse the problem have met with failure and none have returned. As the most powerful of the nearest vassals, these three were called up to investigate. Tiery managed to turn nearly two-dozen Wight’s to ashes earlier in the day. All evidence leads to a Dragon who lairs further to the East.
“I’ve turned nigh on 20 of the beasties so far today.”
Enamaendra sat polishing his armor and sword. “I can help with that, if you are overwhelmed my friend.”
The nearly civilized Babushka looks at both of them in the late afternoon. “We camp too early. Our enemies will come looking for us while we are at ease.”
To illustrate her point, the crashing of trees can be heard from the East, along with the soft counterpoint of the flapping of leathery wings. A huge minotaur comes stomping through the swamp and scrub trees. “What are you doing in my Swamp?”
Large even by minotaur standards, Kuurnok is an imposing nine feet of blackened steel and horns. Most of the flesh has rotted away from his skull, exposing the bleached bone beneath, and his eyes have completely disintegrated, leaving only flickering, red pinpoints of malice within his sockets. Kuurnok’s head is the only portion of his body that is visible; the rest is encased in the armor he never removes. He proudly displays the symbol of Baphomet on his breastplate, and even has the demon lord’s sigil engraved into the visible portions of his skull. Kuurnok’s mere presence seems to drain the light from his surroundings, and a smothering cloud of terror follows him wherever he goes.
Flying along with Kuurnok is Thenebrenar.
Eternally trapped in the third age of a dragon’s life cycle, Thenebrenar has had to rely on assets other than physical might to best his enemies. At just over 15 feet in length, he is by no means a large dragon, and his dry, shriveled flesh makes him appear even smaller than he actually is. Thenebrenar’s undeath is readily apparent to those versed in necromantic lore, as his entire body is gaunt and shrunken, as if it were merely an empty husk. The flesh around Thenebrenar’s head has almost completely rotted away, exposing much of his skull, and the eerie green pinpoints of light that flicker in his empty eye-sockets are enough to spook even the most seasoned adventurer.
These three seasoned adventurers stand and move towards their foes. Enamaendra quickly calls upon the power of his god to turn the undead. No dice, these guys are beyond his ability to affect. Meanwhile his world is shattered by Abyssal blast from the Fist of Baphomet (Kuurnok), who has called upon the dark powers of his deity to smite the Paladin and Cleric before him. The little ball of fury, which looks like a female with a greatsword, manages to avoid the opening blast by the minotaur.
She does not, however, avoid the blast of acid, as Thenebrenar swoops down, and manages to line Babushka and Tiery in the disgorgement of his acid breath. Flying past, Thenebrenar turns at a distance for another pass. He never gets the chance. Tiery turns and calls upon the power of his god to “Destroy these undead abominations, I beseech thee.” Thenebrenar is shaken with the power, and circles back around to flee directly west, as fast as he can possibly fly.
Kuurnok laughs off the power of the Cleric, as he is bolstered by the power of Baphomet, and his abilities as a divine champion. The next thing he is aware of, the woman is trying to chop through his legs with her greatsword, leaving barely a scratch.
Seeing his attempt to channel his gods power fail to affect the minotaur, Tiery unleashes a pillar of fire staggering the Death Knight, who flies into a rage. Enamaendra moves in to battle his counterpart, and unleashes the power of his Holy avenger upon the beast, opening wounds much more damaging than the frenzied berserker and her greatsword.
“Your weapon must be empowered with GOOD to affect this beast.” Kuurnok steps back and unleashes the powers of his halberd upon Babushka, three quick blows, and she is staggering under the vile damage and acid bursting from the weapon.
More ineffectual attacks by the Frenzied Berserker, and Kuurnok inflicts enough damage upon Babushka to kill two people. As Kuurnok is busy with pounding Babushka, Enamaendra steps in to an unguarded flank, and nearly beheads the minotaur. Kuurnok is hurt badly and not amused, and brings his weapon around to someone who he might be able to kill.
As he moves forward, Tiery holds his Holy Symbol up high. “May this healing bolster my allies, and heap goodness upon my enemies.” With a nearly audible thump, power emanates from the Cleric as his spell spreads outward from him. Healing the enormous damage done to Babushka and any done to Enamaendra.
Kuurnok manages to throw off the affects of the spell and bring about the power of Divine Wrath on the hapless paladin, with multiple slashes from the empowered Halberd, Enamaendra drops to the ground lifeless.
Tiery calls upon one of the most powerful spells in his arsenal, The Miracle. “My Lord, please bring this worthy soldier back to life, so that he may finish this battle, and continue to smite evil in battles to come.”
With lacerations from cuts and sizzling from spells slowly healing, the minotaur steps back to attack again, as both warriors crowd in to finish him off. “Baphomet, lend me strength to defeat these humans.” The plea falls upon deaf divine ears. Attempting to smite Infidel, Kuurnok makes a final attack on Enamaendra, and manages to hurt the paladin badly again.
Finally, with cuts from the Holy avenger in Enamaendra’s hands, and the greatsword in Babushka’s hands, Kuurnok falls. Just in time, as Babushka begins coming down from her frenzied state.
“I guess Baphomet will be needing a new fist.” Enamaendra laughs.
The cleric turns to his friends. “Now, where did that Dragon get off to?”
------------------------------
Kuo-Toa warriors slowly drag the body of a netted Orc back into the water. Orcish yelling and shouting can be heard further along the underground beach. “The fish-men attack, grab weapons! Eerk ”
The leader of the raid looks around. The edge of the forest is nearby, just on the other side of the beach. These Orcs were not very smart, but they will make good strong slaves. His orders were to raid Orc encampments around the underground sea, and bring back as many slaves as possible. Trouble is expected, and defenses must be built.
With a wave of his spear, and a burbling call to his warriors, Kcha-Kurrun backs slowly into the water. This raid has been successful.
Footnote: Thanks to BlackDirge for his Monstrous creations Kuurnok, Ugoora and Thenebrenar; they made for an evening of fun. See his article on the articles page
“What! Gurt and Filp are dead!” The Hobgoblin had to fight to keep from wetting himself. Butor towered over him, as he did over all Hobgoblins, and most other Ogres. The Ogre Chieftain angry, was not what Hacek wanted to see right now. Butor glowered at him then seemed to calm down some.
“They send the goodest tribute.” Butor paced at the head of the table of leaders. Butor stopped and turned in front of Hacek; a meaty finger reaches out to poke the Hobgoblin in the chest. “What is your warband?”
Hacek straightened his back, preparing himself to die bravely. ”Mighty Chief Butor, We are the Leg Breakers.”
“Ootah’s boys. MMmm; He sent you in, to avoid the beating of bad news.” Butor turned back to his pacing. “You say to Butor, it is Orcs from across the river? Red Orcs cross the river, and kill my warband. Orcs good warriors to kill, and not lose any Orcs.” With a glance back at Hacek Butor addresses the other Ogres. “The Vile Runes will learn that Ogres not easy to kill. We show them up close.” Butor steps away from the table and reaches a hand over to a nearby stewpot, large enough to hold a full-grown troll. With the other hand, Butor points at the shaman waiting in the shadows. Butor grins at the Hobgoblin “Tell Ootah that shaman is getting hungry, report by warband leader only.”
Hacek stares at the cauldron with eyes opening in fear. It is rumored that the shaman will cook someone alive, in that enormous pot, and eat the meat from the bones. Nodding, Hacek lets out a sigh of relief. “Yes Mighty Chief Butor, I will tell him.” Understanding that he was dismissed, the Hobgoblin turns and hurries for the room’s main exit.
Stepping back to the table of leaders, Butor slams his fist down. “Now we plan war.”
------------------------------
Eric stood looking over the work on the Roadside Outpost. Eric is a tall man, powerfully built, with the look of someone trained for battle. After the death of his brother Martin, and the soldiers here, not to mention the townsfolk from down the road, this outpost was picked for an upgrade. Eric volunteered for the upgrade project. Much of the work was completed already and new soldiers were assigned for duty here.
The dead Cleric told the story of a brutal group of Orcs out searching for weapons and armor. They are almost a new breed of more powerful brutes, eager to kill and smarter for survival. His death was brutal, and slow. He did not want to be resurrected to remember those long minutes for the rest of his life. He had pieced together from bits of conversation, that they were on a coming of age ceremony to become full tribal members.
The soldiers were killed, and all of the Orc prisoners released. Darokin patrols will be increased to watch for more of these raids on the borderlands. Maybe some of the patrols could push farther North, along the trade routes through the Broken Lands.
------------------------------
Ugoora Redscale sat pondering her schemes from her throne room in Vuushkek, her fortress city in the underdark of Kol, the kingdom of Kobolds. There have been reports from all holdings across Mystara, except for the new tribe in Darokin lands. Attempts to contact Buimbu, the Sorcerer have been fruitless. Attempts to reach the tribe leader have gone unanswered as well. That sorcerer better not have killed everyone with one of his experiments. His last message was disordered and not the kind of detailed work required of operatives.
“My Queen. I have advanced the schedule for integrating abilities from other races into the Kobold lines. So far I have three strains that are useful, I am sending examples of each to you for further study and breeding if you approve. This facility has increased the yield and shortened experimentation time more than I could have hoped. In a matter of months I can breed you a small army of super-Kobolds. There have been mistakes, but the losses have been acceptable. I have summoned assistance from the beyond. I knew you would not mind. Some of the soldiers are resistant to my needs, and I required unquestioning obedience. In response to your inquiries, I have not seen Tribe Leader Vetnor in days; I hope that he is well. A new batch of the greens is about to hatch, I must return to my work. I will communicate again soon. Your loyal servant, Buimbu”
Making a decision, Ugoora settles back into her throne. “Guard, summon my advisors, I have something to discuss with them.”
------------------------------
The Master sits in a cave waiting patiently for the return of his agents. It is time for reports, and let none of them be lacking. It was not good to let these Orcs think they can shirk their duty. Power is all they understand. At least one will have to die again, as an example to the others. If only they didn’t taste so bad.
------------------------------
Enamaendra, Tiery, and Babushka sit around a campfire fire, discussing how they will track down the taint that has taken over this part of the Duchy. Duke Stefan called them together to root out the cause. Trade North to Darokin is having trouble North of Kelvin. Undead have taken residence in the swamp, and are killing anything traveling on the road. All previous attempts to disperse the problem have met with failure and none have returned. As the most powerful of the nearest vassals, these three were called up to investigate. Tiery managed to turn nearly two-dozen Wight’s to ashes earlier in the day. All evidence leads to a Dragon who lairs further to the East.
“I’ve turned nigh on 20 of the beasties so far today.”
Enamaendra sat polishing his armor and sword. “I can help with that, if you are overwhelmed my friend.”
The nearly civilized Babushka looks at both of them in the late afternoon. “We camp too early. Our enemies will come looking for us while we are at ease.”
To illustrate her point, the crashing of trees can be heard from the East, along with the soft counterpoint of the flapping of leathery wings. A huge minotaur comes stomping through the swamp and scrub trees. “What are you doing in my Swamp?”
Large even by minotaur standards, Kuurnok is an imposing nine feet of blackened steel and horns. Most of the flesh has rotted away from his skull, exposing the bleached bone beneath, and his eyes have completely disintegrated, leaving only flickering, red pinpoints of malice within his sockets. Kuurnok’s head is the only portion of his body that is visible; the rest is encased in the armor he never removes. He proudly displays the symbol of Baphomet on his breastplate, and even has the demon lord’s sigil engraved into the visible portions of his skull. Kuurnok’s mere presence seems to drain the light from his surroundings, and a smothering cloud of terror follows him wherever he goes.
Eternally trapped in the third age of a dragon’s life cycle, Thenebrenar has had to rely on assets other than physical might to best his enemies. At just over 15 feet in length, he is by no means a large dragon, and his dry, shriveled flesh makes him appear even smaller than he actually is. Thenebrenar’s undeath is readily apparent to those versed in necromantic lore, as his entire body is gaunt and shrunken, as if it were merely an empty husk. The flesh around Thenebrenar’s head has almost completely rotted away, exposing much of his skull, and the eerie green pinpoints of light that flicker in his empty eye-sockets are enough to spook even the most seasoned adventurer.
She does not, however, avoid the blast of acid, as Thenebrenar swoops down, and manages to line Babushka and Tiery in the disgorgement of his acid breath. Flying past, Thenebrenar turns at a distance for another pass. He never gets the chance. Tiery turns and calls upon the power of his god to “Destroy these undead abominations, I beseech thee.” Thenebrenar is shaken with the power, and circles back around to flee directly west, as fast as he can possibly fly.
Kuurnok laughs off the power of the Cleric, as he is bolstered by the power of Baphomet, and his abilities as a divine champion. The next thing he is aware of, the woman is trying to chop through his legs with her greatsword, leaving barely a scratch.
Seeing his attempt to channel his gods power fail to affect the minotaur, Tiery unleashes a pillar of fire staggering the Death Knight, who flies into a rage. Enamaendra moves in to battle his counterpart, and unleashes the power of his Holy avenger upon the beast, opening wounds much more damaging than the frenzied berserker and her greatsword.
“Your weapon must be empowered with GOOD to affect this beast.” Kuurnok steps back and unleashes the powers of his halberd upon Babushka, three quick blows, and she is staggering under the vile damage and acid bursting from the weapon.
More ineffectual attacks by the Frenzied Berserker, and Kuurnok inflicts enough damage upon Babushka to kill two people. As Kuurnok is busy with pounding Babushka, Enamaendra steps in to an unguarded flank, and nearly beheads the minotaur. Kuurnok is hurt badly and not amused, and brings his weapon around to someone who he might be able to kill.
As he moves forward, Tiery holds his Holy Symbol up high. “May this healing bolster my allies, and heap goodness upon my enemies.” With a nearly audible thump, power emanates from the Cleric as his spell spreads outward from him. Healing the enormous damage done to Babushka and any done to Enamaendra.
Kuurnok manages to throw off the affects of the spell and bring about the power of Divine Wrath on the hapless paladin, with multiple slashes from the empowered Halberd, Enamaendra drops to the ground lifeless.
Tiery calls upon one of the most powerful spells in his arsenal, The Miracle. “My Lord, please bring this worthy soldier back to life, so that he may finish this battle, and continue to smite evil in battles to come.”
With lacerations from cuts and sizzling from spells slowly healing, the minotaur steps back to attack again, as both warriors crowd in to finish him off. “Baphomet, lend me strength to defeat these humans.” The plea falls upon deaf divine ears. Attempting to smite Infidel, Kuurnok makes a final attack on Enamaendra, and manages to hurt the paladin badly again.
Finally, with cuts from the Holy avenger in Enamaendra’s hands, and the greatsword in Babushka’s hands, Kuurnok falls. Just in time, as Babushka begins coming down from her frenzied state.
“I guess Baphomet will be needing a new fist.” Enamaendra laughs.
The cleric turns to his friends. “Now, where did that Dragon get off to?”
------------------------------
Kuo-Toa warriors slowly drag the body of a netted Orc back into the water. Orcish yelling and shouting can be heard further along the underground beach. “The fish-men attack, grab weapons! Eerk ”
The leader of the raid looks around. The edge of the forest is nearby, just on the other side of the beach. These Orcs were not very smart, but they will make good strong slaves. His orders were to raid Orc encampments around the underground sea, and bring back as many slaves as possible. Trouble is expected, and defenses must be built.
With a wave of his spear, and a burbling call to his warriors, Kcha-Kurrun backs slowly into the water. This raid has been successful.
Footnote: Thanks to BlackDirge for his Monstrous creations Kuurnok, Ugoora and Thenebrenar; they made for an evening of fun. See his article on the articles page
Last edited:
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