"Out of the Frying Pan"- Book IV - Into the Fire [STORY HOUR COMPLETED - 12/25/06]
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el-remmen
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so, it's a little late. . .sue me. . 
Session #75 (part iii)
They traveled down along a dry riverbed that wedged the canyon wall in half. The walls on either side of them climbed as they marched deep into the next day, and soon they might has well have been in a cave, so little sunlight made it down to them.
The next evening brought the actual mouth of a cave where the trail tumbled into rocky darkness. Here the ravine was wider, where large stones carried by the long dry river had clogged the pass and made a natural damn. They were in a deep and wide eroded bowl, the perimeter of which was pockmarked with paths in all directions.
“We have to go in there?” Logan asked.
Ratchis nodded. “That’s what the dwarf said. It is supposed to be pretty straight and come out the other side of the range. It will save us three or four days if Martin’s estimate on the map is right.”
“If we save four days this way, will we avoid the haunted forest, or whatever it is, and take the southern route?” Logan asked.
“I think we should waste no time,” Ratchis said. “I am going to try to convince everyone that we can hurry through the forest.”
They spent the entirety of the next day underground. While there was only one basic way to go, it was a winding and often narrow path, with some precipitous drops that caused the llama to panic. Its cries echoed eerily. Several times, Ratchis found small dog-footed tracks down in the cave, but they saw no sign of the kobolds they thought must have made them. The moon was rising as they came out the other end of the underground passage damp and exhausted. A cold fog settled into the new ravine they now found themselves in. It was very narrow with natural shelves that ran along at different heights.
They made camp happy for what little sky was above them.
-----
In the night, Martin and Logan woke the others during the second watch because they heard scrambling among the shelves and tiny caves above them.
Kazrack kicked Gunthar awake with the tip of his boot.
“What!?”
“Kobolds!” Kazrack hissed.
“You woke me for kobolds?” Gunthar said turning over and pulling his bedroll up. “What kind of wimp are you? There better be three hundred of them.”
Kazrack kicked him again and Gunthar spun around punching the dwarf’s chestplate. The sound of it rang loudly up the ravine and down into the cave the party had emerged from.
Tiny stones and puffs of dust came raining down from above, but though the party waited for nearly an hour, no kobolds ever came.
------------------------
The morning found them bleary-eyed. As Martin changed to his winged reptilian form with an Alter Self spell, and took off to get a better lay of the land, Gunthar let loose a long curse-laden muttering complaint about having been woken up as he brushed the llama.
The others said their prayers and broke camp.
Martin returned to report that he thought they might make it out of the far end of the ravine by the end of the day, and that he could see the forest beyond. Roland slunk off in panther form.
Dorn and Gunthar were falling behind by late that day, exhausted. Ratchis set an excruciating pace, and they ended the night with a steep climb on to a cliff overlooking the forest. From up there they could see a great mountain to the north on the left, and the forest stretching as far as could be seen to the south and east; the shadow of another ridge was very very distant. A river cut across the forest to the distant south. It would be here that the Keepers of the Gate would have to decide if they would cut through the forest due east, or turn south to the river and avoid the so-called haunted woods.
“So which way do we go tomorrow?” asked Logan.
“It does us no go to go through the forest to save time if what is in there slows us even more, or even stops us,” Martin offered.
“I can throw the stones on the morrow and see what my gods offer,” Kazrack said.
The others agreed.
Ralem, the 8th of Keent – 565 H.E.
The sunlight rippled on the sea of green before them as they made their way down the cliff and into the woods early the next morning. The reply Kazrack read in the rune-carved stones he carried about his neck seemed very clear to him.
Long path is certain, but late. Short path is treacherous, but timely. Either way you will find what you seek, but its state? Uncertain.
The woods were lovely, but thick and the going was slow. Though only late summer, in this part of Derome-Delem some leaves already began to change into a shining golden brown. The peat blue autumn moss was covering stones and logs and even living trees. Every step was a crunch of twigs, leaves and hummus.
Roland prowled around in panther-form. He had not changed back to human for several days, and seemed to prefer it that way. Sometimes he would sit in front someone and open and close his feline-jaws and make noises in the back of his throat, but he never spoke.
The party line stretched out as they marched. Ratchis way out in front with Logan, Kazrack walking alone humming a dwarven song, Martin and Dorn even further back with nothing to say to each other, and finally, straggling behind, Gunthar was pulling along Fearless the llama.
Suddenly Logan dropped his sword and walked lazily over to a strange gray tree. It was very tall and had no branches except for a few near the top, and it was crenulated with white specks on its bark. He sat beneath it and promptly fell asleep.
“Logan!” Ratchis yelled. Dorn walked past him and curled up next to Logan.
And a few moments later, Gunthar stumbled over towards the tree. Kazrack made to grab him, but the Neergaardian swatted him away and fell over softly snoring, and then amazingly began to drag himself slowly towards it.
“What foul magic is this?” Kazrack asked. “I am glad I am dwarf and am immune to such arcane treachery.”
“It might be natural,” Martin suggested. “Some kind of pollen with a narcotic effect.”
“It is as good as magic,” Kazrack swore. “My brethren warned us this place was enchanted. Think of how many travelers go to sleep beneath those trees and never wake up.”
“Luckily, I don’t think many people pass through here, and we are not just any travelers,” Ratchis said. He walked over and grabbed Dorn and Logan and dragged them away from the tree. Kazrack did the same with Gunthar.
Gunthar was draped over his llama, and Ratchis carried Logan and Kazrack and Martin carried Dorn. They followed what looked like an overgrown woodcutter’s trail to a stream, and there splashed their sleeping companions in the face with water. They awoke with much confusion.
“Stay away from the gray trees,” Ratchis warned.
And on they marched, deeper into the forest. An hour or so later, they marched in the shadow of hill with a gentle slope that rose to the north. The hillside was wooded, but Ratchis noticed that there had been systematic logging in the area not all that long ago. Curious, he went off to scout ahead, and brought Logan with him, as the Herman-lander had expressed interest in learning more about tracking and survival. (1)
They made their way up the slope. Hidden among the three were three lodges, built partially into the ground. They were huge, and by the size of the windows and doors, Ratchis could immediately tell they were meant for people who were at least ten feet tall. He sent Logan to retrieve the others, while Gunthar and Dorn waited with the llama.
The lodges were well-constructed and made from logs, mud and wooden pins, but they were abandoned. Ratchis could tell no one had been here for weeks, if not months. He stood in the doorway of one and looked in. There was no furniture, and only the remains of some soiled and stained rushes on the dirt floor.
“Ogres?” Kazrack asked as he came in, Logan and Martin in tow. Roland scurried in, nearly unseen, still in his housecat form.
“I don’t think so,” answered Ratchis. “Ogres generally don’t have the patience or craft to build lodges like these.”
“Giants,” Martin said for him.
“Oh, thank Krauchaar! He is answering my prayer for a chance to prove my skill at arms against the enemy of my people,” Kazrack said. “But what kind of giants live in wooden cabins in the forest?”
“Forest giants,” Martin and Ratchis said, at once and both immediately grinned.
“And,” Ratchis continued. “If we see giants we are fleeing if at all possible. Giants are fierce foes and we cannot afford to be delayed by injuries, or to risk one of us might be killed.”
Logan gave Ratchis a strange look, and Kazrack frowned.
“Anyway, it seems that the giants are gone,” Ratchis added.
The half-orc went over and dug in some mounds in one corner, despite Logan’s protests, and within he found garbage and a broken wooden doll the size of small child.
“Whatever drove them away…” Martin began.
“We will flee from that, too,’ Ratchis said. “Let’s move on.”
Less than twenty minutes later, they could hear what must have been a wider river ahead of them, so Martin transformed into this flying reptilian form and took off to get a better view of the landscape. As he passed the tree line he heard something whiz past his head, and then felt something bounce against the thick hide of his form. It was tiny little arrows of a kind he had seen before. Martin made a quick revolution and saw the river about 500 yards ahead, and several miles ahead was black wooden tower of some kind atop a thickly wooded hill.
He came back reported what he saw.
“And there are pixies here,” Martin added.
“Pixies?” Logan asked.
“That explains the sleeping trees,” Kazrack said. “Rotten faerie magic.”
“Keep it down,” Ratchis said. “They might hear you and you know what they are like.”
“What are pixies like?” Logan asked, seeing the look of worry passing over the party’s faces.
Roland shrugged his panther shoulders.
“They shoot at you with arrows that put you to sleep, and they confuse you or enthrall you with lights,” Martin explained.
“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Logan replied.
“It is not just what they do, but when they do it,” Kazrack added.
“Like, while we are trying to cross the river,” Ratchis said.
“Shh! Don’t give them ideas,” Kazrack said.
“Oh, we already have a lot of ideas, Mr. Stone-head,” came a very high-pitched voice from up in the trees. Several other laughing voices joined it, and one tree limb shook, but there was nothing to be seen on it.
“We’ll head to the tower as landmark. I think that is due east, and that is the way we want to go,” Ratchis said.
“Oh yes! Oh yes! You should definitely go there!” cried one pixie voice.
“Oh what fun! What fun that will be!” Tittered another, clapping his hands, as he appeared. There were three tiny men, no more than two and half feet tall, dressed in green knickers, cream-colored shirts and suspenders. They had large membranous bee-like wings on their backs. They each had a tiny sword and a tiny bow, with a tiny quiver full of tiny arrows. One was redheaded and had a patch of hair on his chin; the other two had chestnut hair, though one wore a leather cap that was way too big for him.
“I guess we aren’t going to the tower, then…” Kazrack said.
“Oh why not?” the redheaded pixie sounded upset. “But we want you to go! It will be ever so much fun to watch you play with the…”
Another of the pixies covered his companion’s mouth with a hand and whispered in his ear with the other. The two of them started to laugh shrilly and then they both whispered in the third’s ear at once and all three burst into laughter.
”Let’s keep moving,” Ratchis said, continuing to march. The pixies disappeared.
“I don’t like this,” Martin said nervously.
“Don’t worry, we’ll give them little man to play with,” Gunthar said, gesturing at Logan. “He’s nearly their size, he can fight them for us.”
Logan grit his teeth, and his knuckles turned white on the pommel of his sword.
At the river, Roland growled, annoyed with its width and the strength of its current. He leapt at Martin, the black sinewy muscles of his panther-form shriveling and the hair folded back and springing outward again, a variety of patchwork colors. In less than a moment, Roland was a tiny black cat purring in the watch-mage’s arms.
Thomas was petrified with fear and took off down the back of Martin’s robes and scooted onto Ratchis’ head, chittering angrily.
“I hate cats!” he swore.
“Relax,” Martin told him, and placed Roland’s kitty form atop Fearless. Thomas came bounding back to his master, and Martin scratched his head.
“Gimme a nut!” Thomas demanded, and Martin obliged him.
The ringing of laughter came from above them again, and once again the pixies appeared, though one of the chestnut-haired ones was gone. The one with the too-big hat was still there, though.
“Hey, can we ask you something?” the redheaded one asked.
“It seems like you already did,” Martin replied.
The pixie put his hands on his hips and scrunched up his face.
“Haven’t we met some of you before?” the pixie asked.
“Um… maybe, we have been once visited the Circle of the Thorn, and…” Martin began.
“That’s it!” the pixies snapped his fingers, but his joy at having remembered fled his expression quickly. “You are friends with the kinslayer!”
“Oh, we don’t like him,” the other pixie said. “He killed Cerwidgen.”
“Where is he?” the first pixie demanded.
“Our destinies parted many months ago,“ Ratchis said. “And anyway, he has paid for his crime by the customs of your people and still deals with that burden.” (2)
“Hmmm, that’s true!” the pixie said. “A life for a life, that’s the rule!”
“Who else lives in these woods?” Martin asked.
“Oh, lots of things,” said the redheaded pixie.
“The dead things and the elf-witch lady,” the other said, and the first turned and smacked him upside the head.
“Shut up! It is more fun if they find out themselves,” the first one said. They both disappeared again.
Martin flew across the river with a rope before his spell could expire, and Ratchis held it on the other side as the watch-mage tied it tightly about a tree. Dorn began to make his way across, holding on to the rope while more than waist deep in the strong current.
Logan was pushing at a tree with rotten roots that was right on the riverbank and finally managed to knock it over. It reached three-quarters of the way across the river, and he began to walk carefully along it, displaying excellent balance.
Suddenly, Dorn moaned and fell over, letting go of the rope. His inert body was tumbled by the water and began to be dragged along down river.
“Grab the rope!” Ratchis yelled, and in a moment he had dived into the water after his friend.
The others heard gentle tittering, and one of the pixies appeared with a tiny bow in hand and began to fire at Logan.
“Stop that!” Kazrack commanded, as he held the rope that Ratchis dropped. “Gunthar grab the rope.” He let go as well and fetched his fiddle and bow from where it was carefully padded in his pack, and began to play it.
The other pixie appeared and both gawked at dwarf. Logan made it across, and Ratchis had managed to drag Dorn to safety on the other side. He was awake again, but sputtering confusedly.
The two pixies swung around arm in arm up in a tree, dancing a jig to the dwarf’s music, and making up rude lyrics to go along with it. Gunthar tied his end of a rope around and tree and led the llama into the river, murmuring in soothing tones to keep it calm. Roland rode atop the beast in his tiny cat form.
Kazrack put his fiddle away, and suddenly a rain of tiny arrows fell around him. He shrugged them off and cutting the rope free on his side, wrapped it around his left arm and began to walk across using the tree.
“That’s no fair!” cried the redheaded pixie.
“Now we’re not going to tell you about the witch-lady and her black beast!” said the other, and they both disappeared.
“See ya later! We’re off to let everyone know you’re coming,” the voices came from nothingness, and then they were gone.
“We’ve faced some pretty horrific creatures, haven’t we?” Kazrack asked Ratchis.
“Yes,” the half-orc replied, wringing out his clothing.
“I think I fear the pixies more than any of them,” the dwarf said solemnly.
And onward they marched, using the tower when it came into view as a landmark to make their way east-by-southeast, but hoping to avoid it as well.
Logan continued to walk up front with Ratchis, and soon they were far ahead and just out of sight of the others.
“I wanted to talk to you while we were alone,” Logan said to the half-orc.
Ratchis stopped and looked at his new companion suspiciously.
“I received a message from Alexandra the Lavender in the form a dream,” Logan continued. “It was about Martin.”
“Are you sure it was a message and not just a dream?” Ratchis asked, continuing to walk.
“I am certain,” Logan replied. He went on to explain about how the Book of Black Circles held a portion of Marchosias’ soul, and as Martin succumbed to its evil, he would be more than corrupted, he would be devoured and become the Corrupter himself, so that the vilest of wizards ever known to have lived might walk Aquerra again. “Alexandra said I am to make sure he stays on the path to destroy it, but she also implied he might have to be killed if it looks like he about to be taken over.”
Ratchis was silent for a long time.
Logan continued, “She said I should pick someone to help me do it in case I should fail, but that it should be a secret so that he could not find out and prepare against it. You seemed the best choice.”
Ratchis nodded, and then called for Dorn to join them up front.
“Dorn, I want to ask you a favor,” Ratchis said to him.
“Anything,” Dorn replied.
“I need you…” Ratchis stopped, and then crouched, looking under some brush. “Roland? Do you mind giving us a moment of privacy and not sneak around behind us?”
The tiny figure of black cat scurried back to the others.
“I need you to watch Martin,” Ratchis continued. “Stay close to him no matter what, but especially during combat. Let no one come near him and let no one take the book from him, and if it looks like he be overcome by its evil… well…”
Dorn nodded, solemnly. “I understand.”
When Dorn had left to rejoin the others, Logan stared at Ratchis with astonishment.
“I said it should be a secret,” Logan said.
“No, you said, Alexandra said it should be a secret,” Ratchis said. “And it still is a secret, but we needed another set of eyes.”
“Yeah, I guess you did,” Logan sighed.
“You and I will be deeply involved in combat more often,” Ratchis explained. “Dorn hangs back and observes and lends support when he sees it is needed. He is the good choice.”
Logan nodded, but still seemed unsure.
And on they went through the woods, and not long after Ratchis put up a hand.
“I hear voices ahead,” the half-orc said. “I will creep up to see who or what it is, you go back and tell the others to be quiet, and I’ll come back to you.”
Logan nodded and was off.
Ratchis crept through the brush keeping his ears open and his head down. In clearing up ahead, that he noticed the trail the party followed let to, were two men just over six feet tall, and broad of chest and shoulder. They wore no armor, but utilitarian clothing of green, brown and gray wool. They had greatswords on their backs, and he could see long bows and quivers leaning against a tree. They had long curly locks of auburn hair, but round fresh faces with ruddy cheeks. They were picking large ripe green melons from a patch beneath two oaks. One smashed the other in the chest with an overripe melon, and started to laugh a deep rich laugh and the other looked angry.
Ratchis crept back to his companions and reported what he saw.
“If they are six feet tall and acting that way, they could be giant children… or adolescents,” Kazrack said. “We should go kill them.”
Ratchis frowned and Gunthar laughed.
“Our mission is not killing random giant children,” Roland said, transforming back into human form for the first time in days.
“And not all giants are evil,” Ratchis offered.
Kazrack harrumphed.
“The question is, do we try to talk to them and see if they can help us on our way, or avoid them,” Ratchis added. “What do you think, Martin?”
Martin the Green scratched Thomas’ chin as he thought. “They are more likely to hinder than help us, I think.”
Logan and Roland agreed.
“Anyway, they might not be giant children, they just might be playful woodsmen,” Martin said.
“Well, then we should investigate,” Kazrack said.
“Yeah, investigate their internal organs, you mean,” Logan said, with a smirk.
“Well, if it comes to that…”
“We could talk to them for you,” came a high voice from up in the trees.
“Oh, no!” Ratchis moaned. “This way, double time!” He began to set a hurried pace further south away from where he has seen the two tall strangers. The others followed.
They had barely made it a hundred yards, when the two men came bounding out of the woods in an intercept course.
“Look an orc!” cried one of them in a baritone voice. He had a bow in one hand, and a melon palmed in the other.
“Let’s smash him!” The other said and threw a melon that smashed against the back of Ratchis’ head with a juicy pop.
End of Session #75
----
Notes:
(1) DM’s Note: As Logan was designed as an “urban” character, it was decided he would spend time with Ratchis in order to explain his ability to place points in skills like survival.
(2) Beorth was robbed of his memory to pay for the life of the pixie he killed in the Glade of Hennaire. (See Session #33)
Session #75 (part iii)
They traveled down along a dry riverbed that wedged the canyon wall in half. The walls on either side of them climbed as they marched deep into the next day, and soon they might has well have been in a cave, so little sunlight made it down to them.
The next evening brought the actual mouth of a cave where the trail tumbled into rocky darkness. Here the ravine was wider, where large stones carried by the long dry river had clogged the pass and made a natural damn. They were in a deep and wide eroded bowl, the perimeter of which was pockmarked with paths in all directions.
“We have to go in there?” Logan asked.
Ratchis nodded. “That’s what the dwarf said. It is supposed to be pretty straight and come out the other side of the range. It will save us three or four days if Martin’s estimate on the map is right.”
“If we save four days this way, will we avoid the haunted forest, or whatever it is, and take the southern route?” Logan asked.
“I think we should waste no time,” Ratchis said. “I am going to try to convince everyone that we can hurry through the forest.”
They spent the entirety of the next day underground. While there was only one basic way to go, it was a winding and often narrow path, with some precipitous drops that caused the llama to panic. Its cries echoed eerily. Several times, Ratchis found small dog-footed tracks down in the cave, but they saw no sign of the kobolds they thought must have made them. The moon was rising as they came out the other end of the underground passage damp and exhausted. A cold fog settled into the new ravine they now found themselves in. It was very narrow with natural shelves that ran along at different heights.
They made camp happy for what little sky was above them.
-----
In the night, Martin and Logan woke the others during the second watch because they heard scrambling among the shelves and tiny caves above them.
Kazrack kicked Gunthar awake with the tip of his boot.
“What!?”
“Kobolds!” Kazrack hissed.
“You woke me for kobolds?” Gunthar said turning over and pulling his bedroll up. “What kind of wimp are you? There better be three hundred of them.”
Kazrack kicked him again and Gunthar spun around punching the dwarf’s chestplate. The sound of it rang loudly up the ravine and down into the cave the party had emerged from.
Tiny stones and puffs of dust came raining down from above, but though the party waited for nearly an hour, no kobolds ever came.
------------------------
The morning found them bleary-eyed. As Martin changed to his winged reptilian form with an Alter Self spell, and took off to get a better lay of the land, Gunthar let loose a long curse-laden muttering complaint about having been woken up as he brushed the llama.
The others said their prayers and broke camp.
Martin returned to report that he thought they might make it out of the far end of the ravine by the end of the day, and that he could see the forest beyond. Roland slunk off in panther form.
Dorn and Gunthar were falling behind by late that day, exhausted. Ratchis set an excruciating pace, and they ended the night with a steep climb on to a cliff overlooking the forest. From up there they could see a great mountain to the north on the left, and the forest stretching as far as could be seen to the south and east; the shadow of another ridge was very very distant. A river cut across the forest to the distant south. It would be here that the Keepers of the Gate would have to decide if they would cut through the forest due east, or turn south to the river and avoid the so-called haunted woods.
“So which way do we go tomorrow?” asked Logan.
“It does us no go to go through the forest to save time if what is in there slows us even more, or even stops us,” Martin offered.
“I can throw the stones on the morrow and see what my gods offer,” Kazrack said.
The others agreed.
Ralem, the 8th of Keent – 565 H.E.
The sunlight rippled on the sea of green before them as they made their way down the cliff and into the woods early the next morning. The reply Kazrack read in the rune-carved stones he carried about his neck seemed very clear to him.
Long path is certain, but late. Short path is treacherous, but timely. Either way you will find what you seek, but its state? Uncertain.
The woods were lovely, but thick and the going was slow. Though only late summer, in this part of Derome-Delem some leaves already began to change into a shining golden brown. The peat blue autumn moss was covering stones and logs and even living trees. Every step was a crunch of twigs, leaves and hummus.
Roland prowled around in panther-form. He had not changed back to human for several days, and seemed to prefer it that way. Sometimes he would sit in front someone and open and close his feline-jaws and make noises in the back of his throat, but he never spoke.
The party line stretched out as they marched. Ratchis way out in front with Logan, Kazrack walking alone humming a dwarven song, Martin and Dorn even further back with nothing to say to each other, and finally, straggling behind, Gunthar was pulling along Fearless the llama.
Suddenly Logan dropped his sword and walked lazily over to a strange gray tree. It was very tall and had no branches except for a few near the top, and it was crenulated with white specks on its bark. He sat beneath it and promptly fell asleep.
“Logan!” Ratchis yelled. Dorn walked past him and curled up next to Logan.
And a few moments later, Gunthar stumbled over towards the tree. Kazrack made to grab him, but the Neergaardian swatted him away and fell over softly snoring, and then amazingly began to drag himself slowly towards it.
“What foul magic is this?” Kazrack asked. “I am glad I am dwarf and am immune to such arcane treachery.”
“It might be natural,” Martin suggested. “Some kind of pollen with a narcotic effect.”
“It is as good as magic,” Kazrack swore. “My brethren warned us this place was enchanted. Think of how many travelers go to sleep beneath those trees and never wake up.”
“Luckily, I don’t think many people pass through here, and we are not just any travelers,” Ratchis said. He walked over and grabbed Dorn and Logan and dragged them away from the tree. Kazrack did the same with Gunthar.
Gunthar was draped over his llama, and Ratchis carried Logan and Kazrack and Martin carried Dorn. They followed what looked like an overgrown woodcutter’s trail to a stream, and there splashed their sleeping companions in the face with water. They awoke with much confusion.
“Stay away from the gray trees,” Ratchis warned.
And on they marched, deeper into the forest. An hour or so later, they marched in the shadow of hill with a gentle slope that rose to the north. The hillside was wooded, but Ratchis noticed that there had been systematic logging in the area not all that long ago. Curious, he went off to scout ahead, and brought Logan with him, as the Herman-lander had expressed interest in learning more about tracking and survival. (1)
They made their way up the slope. Hidden among the three were three lodges, built partially into the ground. They were huge, and by the size of the windows and doors, Ratchis could immediately tell they were meant for people who were at least ten feet tall. He sent Logan to retrieve the others, while Gunthar and Dorn waited with the llama.
The lodges were well-constructed and made from logs, mud and wooden pins, but they were abandoned. Ratchis could tell no one had been here for weeks, if not months. He stood in the doorway of one and looked in. There was no furniture, and only the remains of some soiled and stained rushes on the dirt floor.
“Ogres?” Kazrack asked as he came in, Logan and Martin in tow. Roland scurried in, nearly unseen, still in his housecat form.
“I don’t think so,” answered Ratchis. “Ogres generally don’t have the patience or craft to build lodges like these.”
“Giants,” Martin said for him.
“Oh, thank Krauchaar! He is answering my prayer for a chance to prove my skill at arms against the enemy of my people,” Kazrack said. “But what kind of giants live in wooden cabins in the forest?”
“Forest giants,” Martin and Ratchis said, at once and both immediately grinned.
“And,” Ratchis continued. “If we see giants we are fleeing if at all possible. Giants are fierce foes and we cannot afford to be delayed by injuries, or to risk one of us might be killed.”
Logan gave Ratchis a strange look, and Kazrack frowned.
“Anyway, it seems that the giants are gone,” Ratchis added.
The half-orc went over and dug in some mounds in one corner, despite Logan’s protests, and within he found garbage and a broken wooden doll the size of small child.
“Whatever drove them away…” Martin began.
“We will flee from that, too,’ Ratchis said. “Let’s move on.”
Less than twenty minutes later, they could hear what must have been a wider river ahead of them, so Martin transformed into this flying reptilian form and took off to get a better view of the landscape. As he passed the tree line he heard something whiz past his head, and then felt something bounce against the thick hide of his form. It was tiny little arrows of a kind he had seen before. Martin made a quick revolution and saw the river about 500 yards ahead, and several miles ahead was black wooden tower of some kind atop a thickly wooded hill.
He came back reported what he saw.
“And there are pixies here,” Martin added.
“Pixies?” Logan asked.
“That explains the sleeping trees,” Kazrack said. “Rotten faerie magic.”
“Keep it down,” Ratchis said. “They might hear you and you know what they are like.”
“What are pixies like?” Logan asked, seeing the look of worry passing over the party’s faces.
Roland shrugged his panther shoulders.
“They shoot at you with arrows that put you to sleep, and they confuse you or enthrall you with lights,” Martin explained.
“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Logan replied.
“It is not just what they do, but when they do it,” Kazrack added.
“Like, while we are trying to cross the river,” Ratchis said.
“Shh! Don’t give them ideas,” Kazrack said.
“Oh, we already have a lot of ideas, Mr. Stone-head,” came a very high-pitched voice from up in the trees. Several other laughing voices joined it, and one tree limb shook, but there was nothing to be seen on it.
“We’ll head to the tower as landmark. I think that is due east, and that is the way we want to go,” Ratchis said.
“Oh yes! Oh yes! You should definitely go there!” cried one pixie voice.
“Oh what fun! What fun that will be!” Tittered another, clapping his hands, as he appeared. There were three tiny men, no more than two and half feet tall, dressed in green knickers, cream-colored shirts and suspenders. They had large membranous bee-like wings on their backs. They each had a tiny sword and a tiny bow, with a tiny quiver full of tiny arrows. One was redheaded and had a patch of hair on his chin; the other two had chestnut hair, though one wore a leather cap that was way too big for him.
“I guess we aren’t going to the tower, then…” Kazrack said.
“Oh why not?” the redheaded pixie sounded upset. “But we want you to go! It will be ever so much fun to watch you play with the…”
Another of the pixies covered his companion’s mouth with a hand and whispered in his ear with the other. The two of them started to laugh shrilly and then they both whispered in the third’s ear at once and all three burst into laughter.
”Let’s keep moving,” Ratchis said, continuing to march. The pixies disappeared.
“I don’t like this,” Martin said nervously.
“Don’t worry, we’ll give them little man to play with,” Gunthar said, gesturing at Logan. “He’s nearly their size, he can fight them for us.”
Logan grit his teeth, and his knuckles turned white on the pommel of his sword.
At the river, Roland growled, annoyed with its width and the strength of its current. He leapt at Martin, the black sinewy muscles of his panther-form shriveling and the hair folded back and springing outward again, a variety of patchwork colors. In less than a moment, Roland was a tiny black cat purring in the watch-mage’s arms.
Thomas was petrified with fear and took off down the back of Martin’s robes and scooted onto Ratchis’ head, chittering angrily.
“I hate cats!” he swore.
“Relax,” Martin told him, and placed Roland’s kitty form atop Fearless. Thomas came bounding back to his master, and Martin scratched his head.
“Gimme a nut!” Thomas demanded, and Martin obliged him.
The ringing of laughter came from above them again, and once again the pixies appeared, though one of the chestnut-haired ones was gone. The one with the too-big hat was still there, though.
“Hey, can we ask you something?” the redheaded one asked.
“It seems like you already did,” Martin replied.
The pixie put his hands on his hips and scrunched up his face.
“Haven’t we met some of you before?” the pixie asked.
“Um… maybe, we have been once visited the Circle of the Thorn, and…” Martin began.
“That’s it!” the pixies snapped his fingers, but his joy at having remembered fled his expression quickly. “You are friends with the kinslayer!”
“Oh, we don’t like him,” the other pixie said. “He killed Cerwidgen.”
“Where is he?” the first pixie demanded.
“Our destinies parted many months ago,“ Ratchis said. “And anyway, he has paid for his crime by the customs of your people and still deals with that burden.” (2)
“Hmmm, that’s true!” the pixie said. “A life for a life, that’s the rule!”
“Who else lives in these woods?” Martin asked.
“Oh, lots of things,” said the redheaded pixie.
“The dead things and the elf-witch lady,” the other said, and the first turned and smacked him upside the head.
“Shut up! It is more fun if they find out themselves,” the first one said. They both disappeared again.
Martin flew across the river with a rope before his spell could expire, and Ratchis held it on the other side as the watch-mage tied it tightly about a tree. Dorn began to make his way across, holding on to the rope while more than waist deep in the strong current.
Logan was pushing at a tree with rotten roots that was right on the riverbank and finally managed to knock it over. It reached three-quarters of the way across the river, and he began to walk carefully along it, displaying excellent balance.
Suddenly, Dorn moaned and fell over, letting go of the rope. His inert body was tumbled by the water and began to be dragged along down river.
“Grab the rope!” Ratchis yelled, and in a moment he had dived into the water after his friend.
The others heard gentle tittering, and one of the pixies appeared with a tiny bow in hand and began to fire at Logan.
“Stop that!” Kazrack commanded, as he held the rope that Ratchis dropped. “Gunthar grab the rope.” He let go as well and fetched his fiddle and bow from where it was carefully padded in his pack, and began to play it.
The other pixie appeared and both gawked at dwarf. Logan made it across, and Ratchis had managed to drag Dorn to safety on the other side. He was awake again, but sputtering confusedly.
The two pixies swung around arm in arm up in a tree, dancing a jig to the dwarf’s music, and making up rude lyrics to go along with it. Gunthar tied his end of a rope around and tree and led the llama into the river, murmuring in soothing tones to keep it calm. Roland rode atop the beast in his tiny cat form.
Kazrack put his fiddle away, and suddenly a rain of tiny arrows fell around him. He shrugged them off and cutting the rope free on his side, wrapped it around his left arm and began to walk across using the tree.
“That’s no fair!” cried the redheaded pixie.
“Now we’re not going to tell you about the witch-lady and her black beast!” said the other, and they both disappeared.
“See ya later! We’re off to let everyone know you’re coming,” the voices came from nothingness, and then they were gone.
“We’ve faced some pretty horrific creatures, haven’t we?” Kazrack asked Ratchis.
“Yes,” the half-orc replied, wringing out his clothing.
“I think I fear the pixies more than any of them,” the dwarf said solemnly.
And onward they marched, using the tower when it came into view as a landmark to make their way east-by-southeast, but hoping to avoid it as well.
Logan continued to walk up front with Ratchis, and soon they were far ahead and just out of sight of the others.
“I wanted to talk to you while we were alone,” Logan said to the half-orc.
Ratchis stopped and looked at his new companion suspiciously.
“I received a message from Alexandra the Lavender in the form a dream,” Logan continued. “It was about Martin.”
“Are you sure it was a message and not just a dream?” Ratchis asked, continuing to walk.
“I am certain,” Logan replied. He went on to explain about how the Book of Black Circles held a portion of Marchosias’ soul, and as Martin succumbed to its evil, he would be more than corrupted, he would be devoured and become the Corrupter himself, so that the vilest of wizards ever known to have lived might walk Aquerra again. “Alexandra said I am to make sure he stays on the path to destroy it, but she also implied he might have to be killed if it looks like he about to be taken over.”
Ratchis was silent for a long time.
Logan continued, “She said I should pick someone to help me do it in case I should fail, but that it should be a secret so that he could not find out and prepare against it. You seemed the best choice.”
Ratchis nodded, and then called for Dorn to join them up front.
“Dorn, I want to ask you a favor,” Ratchis said to him.
“Anything,” Dorn replied.
“I need you…” Ratchis stopped, and then crouched, looking under some brush. “Roland? Do you mind giving us a moment of privacy and not sneak around behind us?”
The tiny figure of black cat scurried back to the others.
“I need you to watch Martin,” Ratchis continued. “Stay close to him no matter what, but especially during combat. Let no one come near him and let no one take the book from him, and if it looks like he be overcome by its evil… well…”
Dorn nodded, solemnly. “I understand.”
When Dorn had left to rejoin the others, Logan stared at Ratchis with astonishment.
“I said it should be a secret,” Logan said.
“No, you said, Alexandra said it should be a secret,” Ratchis said. “And it still is a secret, but we needed another set of eyes.”
“Yeah, I guess you did,” Logan sighed.
“You and I will be deeply involved in combat more often,” Ratchis explained. “Dorn hangs back and observes and lends support when he sees it is needed. He is the good choice.”
Logan nodded, but still seemed unsure.
And on they went through the woods, and not long after Ratchis put up a hand.
“I hear voices ahead,” the half-orc said. “I will creep up to see who or what it is, you go back and tell the others to be quiet, and I’ll come back to you.”
Logan nodded and was off.
Ratchis crept through the brush keeping his ears open and his head down. In clearing up ahead, that he noticed the trail the party followed let to, were two men just over six feet tall, and broad of chest and shoulder. They wore no armor, but utilitarian clothing of green, brown and gray wool. They had greatswords on their backs, and he could see long bows and quivers leaning against a tree. They had long curly locks of auburn hair, but round fresh faces with ruddy cheeks. They were picking large ripe green melons from a patch beneath two oaks. One smashed the other in the chest with an overripe melon, and started to laugh a deep rich laugh and the other looked angry.
Ratchis crept back to his companions and reported what he saw.
“If they are six feet tall and acting that way, they could be giant children… or adolescents,” Kazrack said. “We should go kill them.”
Ratchis frowned and Gunthar laughed.
“Our mission is not killing random giant children,” Roland said, transforming back into human form for the first time in days.
“And not all giants are evil,” Ratchis offered.
Kazrack harrumphed.
“The question is, do we try to talk to them and see if they can help us on our way, or avoid them,” Ratchis added. “What do you think, Martin?”
Martin the Green scratched Thomas’ chin as he thought. “They are more likely to hinder than help us, I think.”
Logan and Roland agreed.
“Anyway, they might not be giant children, they just might be playful woodsmen,” Martin said.
“Well, then we should investigate,” Kazrack said.
“Yeah, investigate their internal organs, you mean,” Logan said, with a smirk.
“Well, if it comes to that…”
“We could talk to them for you,” came a high voice from up in the trees.
“Oh, no!” Ratchis moaned. “This way, double time!” He began to set a hurried pace further south away from where he has seen the two tall strangers. The others followed.
They had barely made it a hundred yards, when the two men came bounding out of the woods in an intercept course.
“Look an orc!” cried one of them in a baritone voice. He had a bow in one hand, and a melon palmed in the other.
“Let’s smash him!” The other said and threw a melon that smashed against the back of Ratchis’ head with a juicy pop.
End of Session #75
----
Notes:
(1) DM’s Note: As Logan was designed as an “urban” character, it was decided he would spend time with Ratchis in order to explain his ability to place points in skills like survival.
(2) Beorth was robbed of his memory to pay for the life of the pixie he killed in the Glade of Hennaire. (See Session #33)
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Hah... I guess it's bound to happen when over a year had passed, but didn't Gunthar actually get knocked out by a sleep arrow? I vaguely recall something about him being the last to cross, getting knocked out, the pixies making jokes about what to do with him, and Logan calling "I bet you couldn't throw him into the river!" from the other bank. Vaguely.
el-remmen
Moderator Emeritus
mmu1 said:Hah... I guess it's bound to happen when over a year had passed, but didn't Gunthar actually get knocked out by a sleep arrow? I vaguely recall something about him being the last to cross, getting knocked out, the pixies making jokes about what to do with him, and Logan calling "I bet you couldn't throw him into the river!" from the other bank. Vaguely.
You know, looking at the notes it was really unclear - and something in there made me think there were two different river/stream incidents (reference to the river and pixies in one place and then a few pages later some more dialogue about it involving Logan) and I decided just to truncate it.
handforged
First Post
well, faerie encounters are some of my favorite D&D moments, and I loved how the Glade was handled. It seems that this arc will be just as taxing for the KotG. I really like Logan's development, and Roland is driving me nuts(trying to figure him out, that is)
~hf
~hf
el-remmen
Moderator Emeritus
I just wanted to let everyone know that we played what will likely be the second to last gaming session of "Out of the Frying Pan" last week - and if all goes according to plan, January 14th, 2006 will be the date of our very last session - nearly five years from when we started (Feb 2001).
I have a bit started on the next installment, and soon I will no longer be able to fall further behind, I can only slowly (perhaps very slowly) catch up.
Some of things you can look forward to between what you are reading now and the end are (in spoiler tags):
So, I hope you enjoy and thanks for reading. . .
Unlike some other old school story hour authors, I plan to finish this puppy!
I have a bit started on the next installment, and soon I will no longer be able to fall further behind, I can only slowly (perhaps very slowly) catch up.
Some of things you can look forward to between what you are reading now and the end are (in spoiler tags):
- Attempted Murder of A Party Member By a Party Member
- The brief return of an old companion
- Betrayal!
- A Blood Oath Against Kazrack!
- Travel to a Demi-Plane
- A New Party Member
- Betrayal
- An epic battle against Mozek and his Hellbeast!
- Hurgun's Maze
- The brief return of an old companion
- Betrayal!
- A Blood Oath Against Kazrack!
- Travel to a Demi-Plane
- A New Party Member
- Betrayal
- An epic battle against Mozek and his Hellbeast!
- Hurgun's Maze
So, I hope you enjoy and thanks for reading. . .
Unlike some other old school story hour authors, I plan to finish this puppy!
el-remmen
Moderator Emeritus
Session #76 (part 1 of 2)
“I am only half-orc!” Ratchis called to the tall ruddy-faced men, as he and the others slowed and took cover, knowing that they could not outrun them with the llama and Kazrack.
“We’re tired of evil things messing up our forest, orc!” cried the man who had thrown the melon. There was something in both their voices that belied their height and broad shoulders, something that made them seem much younger than they might initially appear. (1)
“Yeah! Go back to your evil elf lady! We don’t want you around here!” the other added.
Logan was crouched behind a tree and Roland took his lead. Ratchis stopped and faced them from about sixty feet away.
“Ratchis! What are you doing?” Roland asked. Martin drew Fearless the llama deeper into the brush and away from the partial clearing where the confrontation was happening, as Kazrack moved behind a tree himself, his hands tight around the haft of his halberd.
“Why don’t you come and fight like real men? Pansy melon-throwers!” Gunthar jeered from his place beside Ratchis, both swords drawn.
He was answered with a melon that smashed painfully against his chest and neck.
Logan laughed.
“I thought we were trying to avoid fighting…?” Dorn looked back and forth to each member of the party, and then began to load his crossbow.
“We know nothing of evil ladies,” Logan called from behind a tree. “We are just trying to pass through this forest, you bloody fools!”
“We do not want to fight,” Ratchis added. “We know nothing of this elf woman and we are not evil. It is as my companion says, we are just passing through.”
“Well, the pixies did mention an evil elf,” Kazrack called out, honest to the last. “But let me ask you this: Are you giants?”
“Yes!” cried the first giant youth. “I am Smeaghele of the Fir Bolg Clan! And we are tired of outsiders coming into our lands and forcing us to move and trying to change our ways.”
“We just want to get out of your forest. We do not want to change your ways,” Martin piped up from in the brush.
“I am called Deaghele, and you must come with us to face the judgment of our chieftain and father, Hognir.”
“You’re not taking us anywhere,” Gunthar spat. “You wouldn’t be the first giants I cut down to size. Come on, Kazrack.” He took a step forward and readied himself to charge when the dwarf did so.
“We want to be out of your forest as much as you want us gone,” Logan said. “The best thing you can do is show us the way out.”
“Their father may show us the way out,” Ratchis suggested.
“We are to trust giants?!” It was Kazrack’s turn to spit.
“They are giants and I am an orc,” Ratchis turned to his dwarven companion. “Which of us do you want to attack first?”
“Fine!” Kazrack snarled, and turned back to face the young giants. “You are but children, be off with you before we spank your bottoms and make you run along.”
“You must come before Chief Hognir,” Deaghele said. “Now put away your weapons and come along.”
“Oh great queen Bast, though who art as nimble as though art powerful, allow me to see inside the hearts of these mortals so I may see their intentions towards us,” (2) Roland chanted softly, rubbing the golden cat’s eye engraved with an ankh around his neck.
“What direction is your tribe?” asked Ratchis.
“Towards the old fort of your kin,” Deaghele replied.
“I sense no evil in these young giants,” the Bastite called to his companions. “But I’d still rather not see their father. I have no desire to be surrounded by giants.”
“I said, move along you giantish runts,” Kazrack barked. “I will stay my hand from caving in your skulls since you are not as disgustingly evil as most of your kin.”
“Kazrack, they hold us no malice,” Martin said in soothing tones and coming out from the brush, but leaving the llama behind. He turned to the giants. “But… no offense, we would rather go our own way.”
“If you will not come then we must go and tell our kin,” said Smeaghele. “And you may not like it when our rangers find you.”
“Go off to your evil dark elfin mistress,” Deaghele said, as they both turned to move off. “She will not save you.” And with that they took off through the trees with a speed that the belied their size.
“Yeah, get out of here!” Logan called after them. “Next time we might not be so nice.”
“It boils my blood that giants would accuse me, a dwarf, of being in league with evil,” Kazrack said, combing his beard with his fingers.
Ratchis nodded. “It seems no where am I safe from the prejudice of others.”
“Gods preserve me!” Logan rolled his eyes. “A hulking half-orc and a dwarven warrior with hurt feelings, now I have seen everything.”
Ratchis snarled. “Come on, let’s get out of here before they return with others.”
---------------------------
The Keepers of the Gate continued their eastward hustle. The woods were not as thick here as they rounded the hill and then took off southward, following Ratchis’ lead. Kazrack and Martin the Green began to fall behind, and though sure-footed, Fearless the Llama could not gain much speed either.
They had not gone more than another mile or so, and the day’s light was growing long, when they saw a great mound where no trees or plants grew surrounded by over a score of the gray trees they had seen before. The party moved to circumvent the area, when shapes began to erupt from the earthen mound.
The dirt-encrusted corpses of a score of black orcs with chitinous hides crawled out the ground, old spears and axes in hands. They moved with great speed, hunched over and snorting.
“Fresh flesh,” one of them hissed in the language of orcs. He wore a rotting headdress of bones and feathers and stood nearly seven feet tall, wielding a rusted great sword in his hands, a large notch cut from it. Unlike the others, he was a high orc. (3)
“Hurry past them! Double-time!” Ratchis cried to his companions still running, but soon he realized that the undead orcs would cut the line of adventurers in half and separate them into two groups, so he stopped and doubled back.
“Come join us in the eternal war, brother!” cried the largest orc.
“Destroy them!” cried a high-pitched mellifluous voice, as a slight figure came tumbling out of the brush from the south, long sword in hand. She had very light brown willowy hair, almost the color of straw, pale skin, delicate features, with the slightest upturn of her tiny nose, and large sparking green eyes. Her ears looked even pointier than those of other elves the party had met, and her face was nearly expressionless, except for the slightest hint of a smirk. She wore leather armor, and a bluish-purple cloak with red trim, torn in one place and travel-stained.
“Anarié!” cried Martin the Green.
“She must be possessed by a witch!” Ratchis called to his friends, worried her command had been to the undead and not to her former companions. “Don’t hurt her. Stay together! Destroy the undead!”
The undead orcs came bursting through the trees as Dorn got down on his hands and knees and began to crawl towards one of the trees to fall asleep. Logan fought off a wave of drowsiness and drew his long sword, moving to cut off the orcs’ approach to Martin. The watch-mage led the frightened and spitting llama away from the attackers.
“Rivkanal, fill me with your holy might and send these undead foes back to their graves so they may rot in their hells as they deserve,” Kazrack cried to his gods, grasping the pouch of runestones about his neck, but he could feel something about this unholy site resisted the power of his gods.
“Bah! We’ll chop these things down in a second! Out of my way, Stumpy!” Gunthar flew into the melee, both blades whirling and humming as the hacked at the first undead orc he met. In a moment, he was happily creeping towards the next one.
“Death the world over! Death the world over!” several of the black orcs croaked in their language.
The tallest orc came charging at Ratchis with its great sword over its head, but at the last moment it clawed at the half-orc with cold black talons. Ratchis felt a eerily familiar coldness wash over him, but he shook it off.
“Beware, this is a wight!” Ratchis warned the others, swinging his own great sword to keep the creature at bay. .
Stepping back, Ratchis called to his goddess to increase his strength, and Kazrack followed suit.
“Bah! You are still weak in Ashronk’s eye!” the wight said, swinging its sword downward. Ratchis was barely able to parry the blow, and felt the shock run up his arm to his neck and shoulder with sharp needles of pain.
“I shall cleave your head and dedicate it to Krauchaar!” Kazrack roared, taking the top of one’s skull right off, but it did not fall.
“Lentus!” Martin chanted, but the spell had no effect.
“Great Cat Queen! These abominations show great strength, please help me to show them your own,” Roland cried, clasping a hand to his holy symbol, and a wave of holy energy burst out from a spot twenty feet ahead of him, smiting the orcish undead. Several fell, their animated force snuffed out, but Logan cried out in pain as well, as he instinctively tried to roll away from the spell’s effect, but he could not evade it completely.
“That hurt!” he complained, chopping open the chest of another orc, and then finishing it with another blow to the back of the head as it stumbled.
Gunthar laughed at the Herman-Lander, as he cut down yet another undead orc, moving through them like a scythe through the wheat, if wheat erupted into black ichor when it was cut.
Kazrack hurried over to aid Ratchis as soon as he cut down the ghoul before him. The undead orc chieftain was distracted, and the half-orc was able to cut deep into its thigh causing its defense to drop. Kazrack’s halberd blade slid into its lower back, and was jerked back out bringing a chunk of black and rotted kidney with it.
“You will join our ancestors in hell!” Ratchis roared, and drove the point of his sword into the wight’s neck, twisting. The thing fell over, unmoving.
Anarié tumbled around one of the undead orcs that finally made it to her, and cut its leg out from under it.
Logan and Gunthar argued as they herded three of the ghouls between them, driving them back and forth with blows from their swords, and making their way towards each other with anger. When the last orc fell, they stood facing each other and breathing hard, swords still raised as if ready to strike.
“Fortune smiles upon us that you would come this way,” Anarié said to her former companions. She sheathed her sword, and placed a hand on her hip, flashing one of her rare smiles. “Perhaps you can accomplish what the giants were unwilling to do.”
Martin walked over and stepped between Logan and Gunthar and the two warriors put their weapons away.
“And what is that?” Ratchis asked Anarié. He did not put his sword away.
“Cleanse this forest of the evil within it,” Anarié said. “The real evil, that is…”
“And what are you doing here?” Kazrack said, taking a place beside Ratchis, and still clutching his weapon as well.
Anarié’s face remained impassive, but her green eyes shone as they moved from one weapon and then the other.
“Business,” she replied. “Things that elves need take care of. I originally came here seeking out Aríon, who came here seeking Tirhas.”
“Nephthys! Please show me the intentions of our former companion so that we may choose freely with full knowledge of our circumstances,” Ratchis prayed openly to his goddess to detect evil.
The corner of Anarié’s mouth twitched into a momentary smirk.
“I am sorry, but many things have happened since you were gone and we cannot be too cautious,” the half-orc said in his rasping voice.
Anarié nodded. They now noticed she carried several wounds, so Ratchis healed her with his goddess’ power.
“We return to Greenreed Valley to seek the entrance to Hurgun’s Maze,” Kazrack said. “We do not have time to wander about this forest after the witch, but we still intend to help with that endeavor when times allows.”
Anarié shook her head. “Best leave the witches to my kin who are best prepared to handle the situation. Soon, we will be traveling into the Plutonic Realms to investigate the plans of our evil brethren.”
“So, what is this real evil you spoke of?” the dwarf asked.
“The undead spirits of orcs haunt portions of this forest from a war long ago during the Second Great Wandering of Elves,” Anarié explained. (4) “But they are ruled by the undead spirit of elf, she must be destroyed.”
“So that is the evil elf lady the pixies mentioned?” Martin the Green asked walking over. He and Logan had found a bag of old coins at the base of one of the trees when they pulled Dorn away from it, and he handed it to Ratchis.
Anarié paused. “Yes.”
Martin’s brow furrowed.
“And who is this?” Anarié asked, as Roland walked over, and Logan joined them as well. Introductions were made, but Logan only grunted his hello, taking the bag back from Ratchis and up-ending it to count through what it had. There were many old silver dwarven obleks and a few Tempestas silver-leaves. (5)
As the money was divided, Anarié warned them of some of the features of the forest.
“Avoid the swamp directly east of here,” she said. “The lights there draw mortals to their deaths.”
“How shall we know when we approach this evil place?” Kazrack asked.
“It will be swampy,” Anarié said, with no hint of humor.
“How fares Aze Nuquerna?” asked Martin.
“Last time I was there Ethiel and the others were much concern over the rate of growth of the area of steam in Greenreed Valley. It had gotten so it could be seen for miles, reaching into the sky, and was widening on a daily basis,” she replied.
“We’re not going there are we?” Logan asked.
“Stupid! Of course we’re going there,” Gunthar replied. “Unless you might wet yourself…”
“We are sorry we cannot give you aid now, but you know how important it is that we reach the valley in time and deal with this threat,” Ratchis said to the elf. “But perhaps we can escort your part of the way to where you need to go?”
“You need not worry. We all have our roles to play,” Anarié said. “And I must be off to see to my own, but as my people say, ‘A star shines brightly on the hour of our meeting’ I take it as a good sign of our successes to come.”
“One last thing,” Martin asked. “Where is the Right Blade of Arofel?” The mage had noticed the blade was not at her side. (6)
“Oh! I returned it to Ethiel to be placed in the vaults of Aze Nuquerna until such time it might be granted as a gift again, or some heir of Arofel or Jeremy come to claim it.”
Martin’s eyes narrowed. Something was not right about that answer.
“That would be me!” Gunthar said. “We have to go get it!”
“After this is all done,” Ratchis said. “You can go wherever you want.”
“I can go wherever I want now.”
“Then go, who’s stopping you?” Logan snapped.
“What? And miss Ratchis having to wipe your ass and powder your bottom when we come across something worth fighting and you soil yourself while hiding behind a tree?” Gunthar said.
Logan’s hand went to the hilt of his sword.
“Enough! Let’s go!” Ratchis said.
They wished Anarié luck in her endeavors, and soon made their way through the forest again, turning north this time to avoid the swamp, and in a hope that the change in direction might throw off whatever giants might be tracking them. Roland transformed back into panther form and took the rear of the line.
Martin the Green left the care of the llama to Gunthar and walked to the front to talk with Ratchis. Sweat poured off the half-orc’s ridged brow with each great step he took, his head constantly turning from side to side to pick out the best path and to stay alert for any approaching dangers.
“Anarié was hiding something,” Martin said to his companion.
Ratchis grunted.
“Both when I asked her about the elf witch and about the Right the Blade of Arofel, she seemed to hesitate as if she were picking her words carefully,” the watch-mage added.
“I detected no evil,” Ratchis replied. “And she never was one to talk much…”
“That might not mean anything,” Martin said. “She might not have intended evil to us, but still be possessed by one of the drow witches. Remember, Tirhas traveled with us while possessed and helped us quite a bit.” (7)
“Perhaps I should have checked for charm,” Ratchis said. “But even if she is possessed, we cannot afford to be pulled off track now. Autumn approaches, and we must be on that ridge when it arrives.” (8)
“We would abandon a friend to such a fate?” Martin asked in disbelief.
Ratchis shrugged his shoulders and grunted once again. Martin called back for Kazrack to join them, and the half-orc sighed and slowed his pace.
They argued for a time, but in the end, Kazrack agreed with Ratchis, the Keepers of the Gate had to press on. One day they would return to do their best to set to right all they had had to pass over.
Martin noticed that Logan had been hanging back, but had been in earshot the whole time.
Darkness crept over the forest from the east, and soon, Ratchis was looking for a good place to make camp, but before he could he was interrupted.
Roland came running up in panther form, whining and growling and throwing his head back towards the rear of the line. They could now all hear something large smashing through the undergrowth, and in the dying light there appeared a giant of a man. He was just over ten feet tall and wore studded leather armor. A huge bastard sword was strapped to his back, and a large javelin in his hand. He had long red hair braided in one great knot running down his back, and well-kept beard.
“Run!” cried Ratchis, turning to lead the way, but Kazrack turned around and brought his halberd before him, readying.
“Form a line!” the dwarf cried to his companions. “We cannot outrun this foe!”
“Can we hide?” Logan asked. Gunthar snickered, drawing his two swords and standing beside Kazrack.
“It is too late, but find cover,” Kazrack replied.
Ratchis growled and stopped, pulling his own sword reluctantly.
“Kazrack is right!” Martin said, still moving to get behind Ratchis.
“Interlopers! Begone!” the giant boomed. “You will not further desecrate this forest!”
“If you want us gone why do you keep trying to keep us from leaving?” Logan yelled back. He noticed a second giant with a long bow further back, crouched beside an ash tree.
“We only seek to leave this forest as quickly as we can!” Martin called to the giant.
“Trust me, you foul creature! At any other time I would like nothing better than to knock your kneecaps off, but for now we must leave,” Kazrack’s hatred and anger bubbled in the spit at the corners of his mouth.
“We only want to go,” Ratchis re-iterated.
“Heh! We know you were negotiating with the witch’s elfin minion!” the giant replied.
---------------------------------
Notes:
(1) DM’s Note: This adventure was adapted from “Things That Go Bump In The Night” by Rich Stump, from Dungeon magazine #38.
(2) DM’s Note: In Aquerra, the detect evil only detects evil intention, and those creatures who are inherently evil, such as fiends.
(3) High orcs and black orc never work together unless both are being led by some third greater power, such as in the times of the Humano-Orc Wars.
(4) The Second Great Wandering of Elves is said to have begun in the Year 286 of the Third Age, about 1700 years before present time.
(5) Tempestas’ money is created through a mysterious process where leaves are dipped in the molten metal, and as they disintegrate the metal takes the leaf’s shape. The money is highly valuable in most places in central Aquerra.
(6) The Right Blade of Arofel was given as a gift from the elves of Aze Nuquerna to Jeremy Northrop, and upon his death it was given to Derek Jamison to hold. Not long after young Derek was killed, the party gave the sword to Anarié.
(7) In the Honeycombe (see sessions #23 & 24)
(8) The party learned this in the map room beneath the Pit of Bones (see Session #62)
“I am only half-orc!” Ratchis called to the tall ruddy-faced men, as he and the others slowed and took cover, knowing that they could not outrun them with the llama and Kazrack.
“We’re tired of evil things messing up our forest, orc!” cried the man who had thrown the melon. There was something in both their voices that belied their height and broad shoulders, something that made them seem much younger than they might initially appear. (1)
“Yeah! Go back to your evil elf lady! We don’t want you around here!” the other added.
Logan was crouched behind a tree and Roland took his lead. Ratchis stopped and faced them from about sixty feet away.
“Ratchis! What are you doing?” Roland asked. Martin drew Fearless the llama deeper into the brush and away from the partial clearing where the confrontation was happening, as Kazrack moved behind a tree himself, his hands tight around the haft of his halberd.
“Why don’t you come and fight like real men? Pansy melon-throwers!” Gunthar jeered from his place beside Ratchis, both swords drawn.
He was answered with a melon that smashed painfully against his chest and neck.
Logan laughed.
“I thought we were trying to avoid fighting…?” Dorn looked back and forth to each member of the party, and then began to load his crossbow.
“We know nothing of evil ladies,” Logan called from behind a tree. “We are just trying to pass through this forest, you bloody fools!”
“We do not want to fight,” Ratchis added. “We know nothing of this elf woman and we are not evil. It is as my companion says, we are just passing through.”
“Well, the pixies did mention an evil elf,” Kazrack called out, honest to the last. “But let me ask you this: Are you giants?”
“Yes!” cried the first giant youth. “I am Smeaghele of the Fir Bolg Clan! And we are tired of outsiders coming into our lands and forcing us to move and trying to change our ways.”
“We just want to get out of your forest. We do not want to change your ways,” Martin piped up from in the brush.
“I am called Deaghele, and you must come with us to face the judgment of our chieftain and father, Hognir.”
“You’re not taking us anywhere,” Gunthar spat. “You wouldn’t be the first giants I cut down to size. Come on, Kazrack.” He took a step forward and readied himself to charge when the dwarf did so.
“We want to be out of your forest as much as you want us gone,” Logan said. “The best thing you can do is show us the way out.”
“Their father may show us the way out,” Ratchis suggested.
“We are to trust giants?!” It was Kazrack’s turn to spit.
“They are giants and I am an orc,” Ratchis turned to his dwarven companion. “Which of us do you want to attack first?”
“Fine!” Kazrack snarled, and turned back to face the young giants. “You are but children, be off with you before we spank your bottoms and make you run along.”
“You must come before Chief Hognir,” Deaghele said. “Now put away your weapons and come along.”
“Oh great queen Bast, though who art as nimble as though art powerful, allow me to see inside the hearts of these mortals so I may see their intentions towards us,” (2) Roland chanted softly, rubbing the golden cat’s eye engraved with an ankh around his neck.
“What direction is your tribe?” asked Ratchis.
“Towards the old fort of your kin,” Deaghele replied.
“I sense no evil in these young giants,” the Bastite called to his companions. “But I’d still rather not see their father. I have no desire to be surrounded by giants.”
“I said, move along you giantish runts,” Kazrack barked. “I will stay my hand from caving in your skulls since you are not as disgustingly evil as most of your kin.”
“Kazrack, they hold us no malice,” Martin said in soothing tones and coming out from the brush, but leaving the llama behind. He turned to the giants. “But… no offense, we would rather go our own way.”
“If you will not come then we must go and tell our kin,” said Smeaghele. “And you may not like it when our rangers find you.”
“Go off to your evil dark elfin mistress,” Deaghele said, as they both turned to move off. “She will not save you.” And with that they took off through the trees with a speed that the belied their size.
“Yeah, get out of here!” Logan called after them. “Next time we might not be so nice.”
“It boils my blood that giants would accuse me, a dwarf, of being in league with evil,” Kazrack said, combing his beard with his fingers.
Ratchis nodded. “It seems no where am I safe from the prejudice of others.”
“Gods preserve me!” Logan rolled his eyes. “A hulking half-orc and a dwarven warrior with hurt feelings, now I have seen everything.”
Ratchis snarled. “Come on, let’s get out of here before they return with others.”
---------------------------
The Keepers of the Gate continued their eastward hustle. The woods were not as thick here as they rounded the hill and then took off southward, following Ratchis’ lead. Kazrack and Martin the Green began to fall behind, and though sure-footed, Fearless the Llama could not gain much speed either.
They had not gone more than another mile or so, and the day’s light was growing long, when they saw a great mound where no trees or plants grew surrounded by over a score of the gray trees they had seen before. The party moved to circumvent the area, when shapes began to erupt from the earthen mound.
The dirt-encrusted corpses of a score of black orcs with chitinous hides crawled out the ground, old spears and axes in hands. They moved with great speed, hunched over and snorting.
“Fresh flesh,” one of them hissed in the language of orcs. He wore a rotting headdress of bones and feathers and stood nearly seven feet tall, wielding a rusted great sword in his hands, a large notch cut from it. Unlike the others, he was a high orc. (3)
“Hurry past them! Double-time!” Ratchis cried to his companions still running, but soon he realized that the undead orcs would cut the line of adventurers in half and separate them into two groups, so he stopped and doubled back.
“Come join us in the eternal war, brother!” cried the largest orc.
“Destroy them!” cried a high-pitched mellifluous voice, as a slight figure came tumbling out of the brush from the south, long sword in hand. She had very light brown willowy hair, almost the color of straw, pale skin, delicate features, with the slightest upturn of her tiny nose, and large sparking green eyes. Her ears looked even pointier than those of other elves the party had met, and her face was nearly expressionless, except for the slightest hint of a smirk. She wore leather armor, and a bluish-purple cloak with red trim, torn in one place and travel-stained.
“Anarié!” cried Martin the Green.
“She must be possessed by a witch!” Ratchis called to his friends, worried her command had been to the undead and not to her former companions. “Don’t hurt her. Stay together! Destroy the undead!”
The undead orcs came bursting through the trees as Dorn got down on his hands and knees and began to crawl towards one of the trees to fall asleep. Logan fought off a wave of drowsiness and drew his long sword, moving to cut off the orcs’ approach to Martin. The watch-mage led the frightened and spitting llama away from the attackers.
“Rivkanal, fill me with your holy might and send these undead foes back to their graves so they may rot in their hells as they deserve,” Kazrack cried to his gods, grasping the pouch of runestones about his neck, but he could feel something about this unholy site resisted the power of his gods.
“Bah! We’ll chop these things down in a second! Out of my way, Stumpy!” Gunthar flew into the melee, both blades whirling and humming as the hacked at the first undead orc he met. In a moment, he was happily creeping towards the next one.
“Death the world over! Death the world over!” several of the black orcs croaked in their language.
The tallest orc came charging at Ratchis with its great sword over its head, but at the last moment it clawed at the half-orc with cold black talons. Ratchis felt a eerily familiar coldness wash over him, but he shook it off.
“Beware, this is a wight!” Ratchis warned the others, swinging his own great sword to keep the creature at bay. .
Stepping back, Ratchis called to his goddess to increase his strength, and Kazrack followed suit.
“Bah! You are still weak in Ashronk’s eye!” the wight said, swinging its sword downward. Ratchis was barely able to parry the blow, and felt the shock run up his arm to his neck and shoulder with sharp needles of pain.
“I shall cleave your head and dedicate it to Krauchaar!” Kazrack roared, taking the top of one’s skull right off, but it did not fall.
“Lentus!” Martin chanted, but the spell had no effect.
“Great Cat Queen! These abominations show great strength, please help me to show them your own,” Roland cried, clasping a hand to his holy symbol, and a wave of holy energy burst out from a spot twenty feet ahead of him, smiting the orcish undead. Several fell, their animated force snuffed out, but Logan cried out in pain as well, as he instinctively tried to roll away from the spell’s effect, but he could not evade it completely.
“That hurt!” he complained, chopping open the chest of another orc, and then finishing it with another blow to the back of the head as it stumbled.
Gunthar laughed at the Herman-Lander, as he cut down yet another undead orc, moving through them like a scythe through the wheat, if wheat erupted into black ichor when it was cut.
Kazrack hurried over to aid Ratchis as soon as he cut down the ghoul before him. The undead orc chieftain was distracted, and the half-orc was able to cut deep into its thigh causing its defense to drop. Kazrack’s halberd blade slid into its lower back, and was jerked back out bringing a chunk of black and rotted kidney with it.
“You will join our ancestors in hell!” Ratchis roared, and drove the point of his sword into the wight’s neck, twisting. The thing fell over, unmoving.
Anarié tumbled around one of the undead orcs that finally made it to her, and cut its leg out from under it.
Logan and Gunthar argued as they herded three of the ghouls between them, driving them back and forth with blows from their swords, and making their way towards each other with anger. When the last orc fell, they stood facing each other and breathing hard, swords still raised as if ready to strike.
“Fortune smiles upon us that you would come this way,” Anarié said to her former companions. She sheathed her sword, and placed a hand on her hip, flashing one of her rare smiles. “Perhaps you can accomplish what the giants were unwilling to do.”
Martin walked over and stepped between Logan and Gunthar and the two warriors put their weapons away.
“And what is that?” Ratchis asked Anarié. He did not put his sword away.
“Cleanse this forest of the evil within it,” Anarié said. “The real evil, that is…”
“And what are you doing here?” Kazrack said, taking a place beside Ratchis, and still clutching his weapon as well.
Anarié’s face remained impassive, but her green eyes shone as they moved from one weapon and then the other.
“Business,” she replied. “Things that elves need take care of. I originally came here seeking out Aríon, who came here seeking Tirhas.”
“Nephthys! Please show me the intentions of our former companion so that we may choose freely with full knowledge of our circumstances,” Ratchis prayed openly to his goddess to detect evil.
The corner of Anarié’s mouth twitched into a momentary smirk.
“I am sorry, but many things have happened since you were gone and we cannot be too cautious,” the half-orc said in his rasping voice.
Anarié nodded. They now noticed she carried several wounds, so Ratchis healed her with his goddess’ power.
“We return to Greenreed Valley to seek the entrance to Hurgun’s Maze,” Kazrack said. “We do not have time to wander about this forest after the witch, but we still intend to help with that endeavor when times allows.”
Anarié shook her head. “Best leave the witches to my kin who are best prepared to handle the situation. Soon, we will be traveling into the Plutonic Realms to investigate the plans of our evil brethren.”
“So, what is this real evil you spoke of?” the dwarf asked.
“The undead spirits of orcs haunt portions of this forest from a war long ago during the Second Great Wandering of Elves,” Anarié explained. (4) “But they are ruled by the undead spirit of elf, she must be destroyed.”
“So that is the evil elf lady the pixies mentioned?” Martin the Green asked walking over. He and Logan had found a bag of old coins at the base of one of the trees when they pulled Dorn away from it, and he handed it to Ratchis.
Anarié paused. “Yes.”
Martin’s brow furrowed.
“And who is this?” Anarié asked, as Roland walked over, and Logan joined them as well. Introductions were made, but Logan only grunted his hello, taking the bag back from Ratchis and up-ending it to count through what it had. There were many old silver dwarven obleks and a few Tempestas silver-leaves. (5)
As the money was divided, Anarié warned them of some of the features of the forest.
“Avoid the swamp directly east of here,” she said. “The lights there draw mortals to their deaths.”
“How shall we know when we approach this evil place?” Kazrack asked.
“It will be swampy,” Anarié said, with no hint of humor.
“How fares Aze Nuquerna?” asked Martin.
“Last time I was there Ethiel and the others were much concern over the rate of growth of the area of steam in Greenreed Valley. It had gotten so it could be seen for miles, reaching into the sky, and was widening on a daily basis,” she replied.
“We’re not going there are we?” Logan asked.
“Stupid! Of course we’re going there,” Gunthar replied. “Unless you might wet yourself…”
“We are sorry we cannot give you aid now, but you know how important it is that we reach the valley in time and deal with this threat,” Ratchis said to the elf. “But perhaps we can escort your part of the way to where you need to go?”
“You need not worry. We all have our roles to play,” Anarié said. “And I must be off to see to my own, but as my people say, ‘A star shines brightly on the hour of our meeting’ I take it as a good sign of our successes to come.”
“One last thing,” Martin asked. “Where is the Right Blade of Arofel?” The mage had noticed the blade was not at her side. (6)
“Oh! I returned it to Ethiel to be placed in the vaults of Aze Nuquerna until such time it might be granted as a gift again, or some heir of Arofel or Jeremy come to claim it.”
Martin’s eyes narrowed. Something was not right about that answer.
“That would be me!” Gunthar said. “We have to go get it!”
“After this is all done,” Ratchis said. “You can go wherever you want.”
“I can go wherever I want now.”
“Then go, who’s stopping you?” Logan snapped.
“What? And miss Ratchis having to wipe your ass and powder your bottom when we come across something worth fighting and you soil yourself while hiding behind a tree?” Gunthar said.
Logan’s hand went to the hilt of his sword.
“Enough! Let’s go!” Ratchis said.
They wished Anarié luck in her endeavors, and soon made their way through the forest again, turning north this time to avoid the swamp, and in a hope that the change in direction might throw off whatever giants might be tracking them. Roland transformed back into panther form and took the rear of the line.
Martin the Green left the care of the llama to Gunthar and walked to the front to talk with Ratchis. Sweat poured off the half-orc’s ridged brow with each great step he took, his head constantly turning from side to side to pick out the best path and to stay alert for any approaching dangers.
“Anarié was hiding something,” Martin said to his companion.
Ratchis grunted.
“Both when I asked her about the elf witch and about the Right the Blade of Arofel, she seemed to hesitate as if she were picking her words carefully,” the watch-mage added.
“I detected no evil,” Ratchis replied. “And she never was one to talk much…”
“That might not mean anything,” Martin said. “She might not have intended evil to us, but still be possessed by one of the drow witches. Remember, Tirhas traveled with us while possessed and helped us quite a bit.” (7)
“Perhaps I should have checked for charm,” Ratchis said. “But even if she is possessed, we cannot afford to be pulled off track now. Autumn approaches, and we must be on that ridge when it arrives.” (8)
“We would abandon a friend to such a fate?” Martin asked in disbelief.
Ratchis shrugged his shoulders and grunted once again. Martin called back for Kazrack to join them, and the half-orc sighed and slowed his pace.
They argued for a time, but in the end, Kazrack agreed with Ratchis, the Keepers of the Gate had to press on. One day they would return to do their best to set to right all they had had to pass over.
Martin noticed that Logan had been hanging back, but had been in earshot the whole time.
Darkness crept over the forest from the east, and soon, Ratchis was looking for a good place to make camp, but before he could he was interrupted.
Roland came running up in panther form, whining and growling and throwing his head back towards the rear of the line. They could now all hear something large smashing through the undergrowth, and in the dying light there appeared a giant of a man. He was just over ten feet tall and wore studded leather armor. A huge bastard sword was strapped to his back, and a large javelin in his hand. He had long red hair braided in one great knot running down his back, and well-kept beard.
“Run!” cried Ratchis, turning to lead the way, but Kazrack turned around and brought his halberd before him, readying.
“Form a line!” the dwarf cried to his companions. “We cannot outrun this foe!”
“Can we hide?” Logan asked. Gunthar snickered, drawing his two swords and standing beside Kazrack.
“It is too late, but find cover,” Kazrack replied.
Ratchis growled and stopped, pulling his own sword reluctantly.
“Kazrack is right!” Martin said, still moving to get behind Ratchis.
“Interlopers! Begone!” the giant boomed. “You will not further desecrate this forest!”
“If you want us gone why do you keep trying to keep us from leaving?” Logan yelled back. He noticed a second giant with a long bow further back, crouched beside an ash tree.
“We only seek to leave this forest as quickly as we can!” Martin called to the giant.
“Trust me, you foul creature! At any other time I would like nothing better than to knock your kneecaps off, but for now we must leave,” Kazrack’s hatred and anger bubbled in the spit at the corners of his mouth.
“We only want to go,” Ratchis re-iterated.
“Heh! We know you were negotiating with the witch’s elfin minion!” the giant replied.
---------------------------------
Notes:
(1) DM’s Note: This adventure was adapted from “Things That Go Bump In The Night” by Rich Stump, from Dungeon magazine #38.
(2) DM’s Note: In Aquerra, the detect evil only detects evil intention, and those creatures who are inherently evil, such as fiends.
(3) High orcs and black orc never work together unless both are being led by some third greater power, such as in the times of the Humano-Orc Wars.
(4) The Second Great Wandering of Elves is said to have begun in the Year 286 of the Third Age, about 1700 years before present time.
(5) Tempestas’ money is created through a mysterious process where leaves are dipped in the molten metal, and as they disintegrate the metal takes the leaf’s shape. The money is highly valuable in most places in central Aquerra.
(6) The Right Blade of Arofel was given as a gift from the elves of Aze Nuquerna to Jeremy Northrop, and upon his death it was given to Derek Jamison to hold. Not long after young Derek was killed, the party gave the sword to Anarié.
(7) In the Honeycombe (see sessions #23 & 24)
(8) The party learned this in the map room beneath the Pit of Bones (see Session #62)
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