Lazybones
Adventurer
Greetings! Upon concluding my Travels through the Wild West series of stories, I’ve created this new tale, which involves a group of 1st level characters whom I will run through the Shackled City “Adventure Path” of modules that are being published in Dungeon magazine. The complete series of eleven modules in this series have been released: “Life’s Bazaar” in issue #97, and “Flood Season” in issue #98, "Zenith Trajectory" in #102, "The Demonskaar Legacy" in #104, "Test of the Smoking Eye" in #107, "Secrets of the Soul Pillars" in #109, "Lords of Oblivion" in #111, "Foundation of Flame" in #113, "Thirteen Cages" in #114, "Strike on Shatterhorn" in #115, and finally "Asylum" in #116. This series ultimately takes characters to level 20, just like the original “Adventure Path” (i.e. The Sunless Citadel et al.).
This story is entirely a work of fiction, although as with Travels I’m using standard D&D 3.5e rules behind the narrative. I’ve taken a few liberties with the material; I've located the story in the Forgotten Realms, and I may change a few minor details here and there. There might also be a few connections to Travels, as astute readers from that story will quickly realize...
Character statistics are provided in the Rogues' Gallery thread linked in my signature. As always, I appreciate all feedback. Thanks for reading.
* * * * *
Chapter 1
It was a stark and bracingly clear day, with the sun a bright orb in a sky that was one unbroken sheet of azure that stretched from horizon to horizon. A few wisps that weren’t quite clouds hung in the distant sky where the land met the vast expanse of the Shining Sea, barely visible even from the rising hills that gradually rose from the border of the Forest of Mir until they graduated into the jagged heights of the Alamir Mountains.
It was a rough, untamed region. The mapmakers put it within the borders of Calimshan, and the city of Almraiven with its magical wonders and gleaming towers of bronze was only a few days’ ride distant to the south. But the difference between the low country along the shore of the Shining Sea and the interior highlands was more than the sum of the miles that separated them, and the barrier of the Alamirs, for all their looming majesty, was only a slim separator from the chaos and violence of the city-states that perched like boils along the western shores of the Lake of Steam.
But for all that it bore a look of pristine isolation, the region was not entirely untouched by the taming hand of civilization. The long coastal road that ran hundreds of miles from Manshaka to Almraiven continued north along the shores of the Bay of Almraiven until it rose up into the Alamirs, forging a tenuous connection between Calimshan and the lands around the Lake. And there were settlements here, few and far between, but adapting to the demands of life in the region in often creative fashion.
One such sign of habitation was the winding road, little more than a track, that wound its way up into the hills from the lower country that abutted the Forest of Mir. This trail had a lengthy pedigree, originating hundreds of leagues distant in the Tethyrian city of Saradush, but here, out in the middle of nowhere, it seemed of little function save for accommodating the occasional wild creature traveling on its own private errand.
High above this landscape, coasting on the updraft that rose up out of the hills, a single eagle hung alone in the sky. As it followed a general southerly course, it flew over a pair of travelers making their way in the same direction along the road far, far below. For a moment the bird swept lower, as if curious, but then it changed course and headed abruptly westward, toward the unbroken sea of green that marked the expanse of the Forest of Mir.
One of the travelers looked up at the raptor as it flew off, tracing its movement with her eyes, one hand held to her brow to offer shade against the midday sun. She was tall and lean, clad in plain but well-made traveling clothes, a tunic of faded green cotton over breeches that were tucked into calf-high leather boots. Numerous pouches dangled from the belt that ringed her waist, as well as a sheathed dagger, and over it all she wore a long woolen cloak with a cowl pulled tight around her face despite the warmth of the sun. Wearing the cowl so kept her features encased in shadow, but revealed enough to show that she was fair-skinned, with a few stray wisps of rust-colored hair showing around the edges of her face.
“It’s just a bird, Zenna. Sheesh, relax, will you?”
The speaker was the tall woman’s companion, who cut quite a different figure. She was a gnome, her three feet of height barely bringing her up to the other woman’s waist. Her face was youthful, almost childlike, although there was a knowing twinkle in her bright green eyes. In contrast to the closed-off, almost suspicious manner of her fellow traveler, the gnome bore a friendly, open air about her. Her auburn hair fell loosely around her face, curling at the ends where it hung just shy of her shoulders. She was clad in attire similar to her companion, although her clothes were more muted in coloration, soft grays and dusky browns that blended well with the surrounding landscape. She too was armed, with a small sword on her hip that looked deceptively large on her frame, and the wide arm of a light crossbow jutted out from over her shoulder, above the compact traveling pack that she carried. The two walked together in a manner that bespoke long familiarity, the taller shortening her stride automatically to match the slower gait of her short companion.
Zenna turned and glanced down at the gnome woman. Her eyes, shaded by the edge of her cowl, were dark orbs that flashed with emotion.
“There is reason for my caution, Clarese, even if you will not admit it. This is more than just a lark; these are dangerous lands, in more ways than one.”
The gnome rolled her eyes. “Gads, you love the drama. I keep telling you, if they’d really wanted to find us, they would have long ago.” At the other’s suddenly penetrating look, she added, “Yes, yes, I’m wearing my pin. Anyway, I’m not a child, no more than you, anyway; I know to be careful. And call me by my chosen name, if you please; I show you the same courtesy, ‘Zenna’.”
Zenna’s features took on an expression that bespoke long sufferance with the mannerisms of her companion. “It is a vulgar name for a young woman.”
“I like it. ‘Mole’ suits me well, and it’s not inappropriate for an adventurer, don’t you think?”
“Very well, Mole; I wouldn’t want it said that my upbringing had not included instruction in proper manners for a young lady.”
The gnome laughed, knowing full well that this conversation was one they’d already had before and likely would again. Zenna’s lips tightened, and she opened her mouth to say something further, but Mole interrupted, “Let’s change the subject. So this place we’re going, this ‘Cauldron,’ it’s really built on the inside of a volcano?”
“Indeed. From what I’ve heard, it’s quite unique. The town is constructed in concentric layers, descending down into the rim of the caldera.”
“Aren’t they afraid that it’ll erupt someday? I mean, it doesn’t sound like the safest place to build a settlement, if you ask me.”
Zenna laughed, but it was an edgy, sardonic sound, in contrast to Mole’s easy and light laughter earlier. “Apparently it’s extinct, or sufficiently so that the residents aren’t preoccupied with the matter; there’s even a lake in the center. I think that the concern was more with security, given the nature of the region, and the site is defensible.”
Mole shot her friend a sly look. “And do you think you’ll find what you’re looking for, in this place?”
Zenna didn’t respond, though her jaw tightened slightly. Mole, regretting the provocation, immediately shifted the conversation yet again.
“So, how much further is it? My feet feel like we’ve already walked to Halruaa and back.”
“We might have been able to afford horses, if you hadn’t given away half your purse to those thieves in Saradush.”
“They were just children,” Mole said. “And it’s not like we’re broke; they needed it more than we did, and there’s always more gold to be had.”
“An interesting philosophy,” Zenna commented. “I’m sure there’s more than a few laborers, peasants, and tradesmen who might disagree with you. In fact...”
She broke off as Mole abruptly touched her arm softly. The young gnome was scanning the trail ahead, where the road twisted raggedly between a series of squat, uneven hills. The entire area was choked with thick, nearly dead brush that crowded up onto the fringes of the trail, along with the occasional stunted tree eking out a meager existence on the stony soil of the hills. A great deal of cover.
“What is it?” Zenna hissed, tensing as she scanned the area.
“There’s something there...” Mole began, already reaching back for her crossbow. She’d barely touched it, however, when the brush flanking the trail ahead stirred, and three men appeared. The trio were ragged-looking specimens, their dull brown garments further darkened by layers of dust and dirt, sporting careless beards and hard, almost feral looks that took on a particular intensity as they regarded the two women. All three bore weapons at their belts, and one also clutched a loaded crossbow that he brandished menacingly.
“You jees leef thet bow where eet ees,” said the crossbowman, the steel point of his quarrel lined up decisively with Mole’s chest.
One of his companions, a reedy man with a nasty scar that ran down the left side of his face, chortled, caressing the hilts of a pair of long knives tucked casually through his belt. The final stranger, who carried a scabbarded blade almost large enough to be called a sword, smiled at them, but the expression carried little in the way of warmth.
“Good day to you, ladies,” he said, and the calm way he spoke seemed to make the statement just that much more menacing.
This story is entirely a work of fiction, although as with Travels I’m using standard D&D 3.5e rules behind the narrative. I’ve taken a few liberties with the material; I've located the story in the Forgotten Realms, and I may change a few minor details here and there. There might also be a few connections to Travels, as astute readers from that story will quickly realize...
Character statistics are provided in the Rogues' Gallery thread linked in my signature. As always, I appreciate all feedback. Thanks for reading.
* * * * *
Chapter 1
It was a stark and bracingly clear day, with the sun a bright orb in a sky that was one unbroken sheet of azure that stretched from horizon to horizon. A few wisps that weren’t quite clouds hung in the distant sky where the land met the vast expanse of the Shining Sea, barely visible even from the rising hills that gradually rose from the border of the Forest of Mir until they graduated into the jagged heights of the Alamir Mountains.
It was a rough, untamed region. The mapmakers put it within the borders of Calimshan, and the city of Almraiven with its magical wonders and gleaming towers of bronze was only a few days’ ride distant to the south. But the difference between the low country along the shore of the Shining Sea and the interior highlands was more than the sum of the miles that separated them, and the barrier of the Alamirs, for all their looming majesty, was only a slim separator from the chaos and violence of the city-states that perched like boils along the western shores of the Lake of Steam.
But for all that it bore a look of pristine isolation, the region was not entirely untouched by the taming hand of civilization. The long coastal road that ran hundreds of miles from Manshaka to Almraiven continued north along the shores of the Bay of Almraiven until it rose up into the Alamirs, forging a tenuous connection between Calimshan and the lands around the Lake. And there were settlements here, few and far between, but adapting to the demands of life in the region in often creative fashion.
One such sign of habitation was the winding road, little more than a track, that wound its way up into the hills from the lower country that abutted the Forest of Mir. This trail had a lengthy pedigree, originating hundreds of leagues distant in the Tethyrian city of Saradush, but here, out in the middle of nowhere, it seemed of little function save for accommodating the occasional wild creature traveling on its own private errand.
High above this landscape, coasting on the updraft that rose up out of the hills, a single eagle hung alone in the sky. As it followed a general southerly course, it flew over a pair of travelers making their way in the same direction along the road far, far below. For a moment the bird swept lower, as if curious, but then it changed course and headed abruptly westward, toward the unbroken sea of green that marked the expanse of the Forest of Mir.
One of the travelers looked up at the raptor as it flew off, tracing its movement with her eyes, one hand held to her brow to offer shade against the midday sun. She was tall and lean, clad in plain but well-made traveling clothes, a tunic of faded green cotton over breeches that were tucked into calf-high leather boots. Numerous pouches dangled from the belt that ringed her waist, as well as a sheathed dagger, and over it all she wore a long woolen cloak with a cowl pulled tight around her face despite the warmth of the sun. Wearing the cowl so kept her features encased in shadow, but revealed enough to show that she was fair-skinned, with a few stray wisps of rust-colored hair showing around the edges of her face.
“It’s just a bird, Zenna. Sheesh, relax, will you?”
The speaker was the tall woman’s companion, who cut quite a different figure. She was a gnome, her three feet of height barely bringing her up to the other woman’s waist. Her face was youthful, almost childlike, although there was a knowing twinkle in her bright green eyes. In contrast to the closed-off, almost suspicious manner of her fellow traveler, the gnome bore a friendly, open air about her. Her auburn hair fell loosely around her face, curling at the ends where it hung just shy of her shoulders. She was clad in attire similar to her companion, although her clothes were more muted in coloration, soft grays and dusky browns that blended well with the surrounding landscape. She too was armed, with a small sword on her hip that looked deceptively large on her frame, and the wide arm of a light crossbow jutted out from over her shoulder, above the compact traveling pack that she carried. The two walked together in a manner that bespoke long familiarity, the taller shortening her stride automatically to match the slower gait of her short companion.
Zenna turned and glanced down at the gnome woman. Her eyes, shaded by the edge of her cowl, were dark orbs that flashed with emotion.
“There is reason for my caution, Clarese, even if you will not admit it. This is more than just a lark; these are dangerous lands, in more ways than one.”
The gnome rolled her eyes. “Gads, you love the drama. I keep telling you, if they’d really wanted to find us, they would have long ago.” At the other’s suddenly penetrating look, she added, “Yes, yes, I’m wearing my pin. Anyway, I’m not a child, no more than you, anyway; I know to be careful. And call me by my chosen name, if you please; I show you the same courtesy, ‘Zenna’.”
Zenna’s features took on an expression that bespoke long sufferance with the mannerisms of her companion. “It is a vulgar name for a young woman.”
“I like it. ‘Mole’ suits me well, and it’s not inappropriate for an adventurer, don’t you think?”
“Very well, Mole; I wouldn’t want it said that my upbringing had not included instruction in proper manners for a young lady.”
The gnome laughed, knowing full well that this conversation was one they’d already had before and likely would again. Zenna’s lips tightened, and she opened her mouth to say something further, but Mole interrupted, “Let’s change the subject. So this place we’re going, this ‘Cauldron,’ it’s really built on the inside of a volcano?”
“Indeed. From what I’ve heard, it’s quite unique. The town is constructed in concentric layers, descending down into the rim of the caldera.”
“Aren’t they afraid that it’ll erupt someday? I mean, it doesn’t sound like the safest place to build a settlement, if you ask me.”
Zenna laughed, but it was an edgy, sardonic sound, in contrast to Mole’s easy and light laughter earlier. “Apparently it’s extinct, or sufficiently so that the residents aren’t preoccupied with the matter; there’s even a lake in the center. I think that the concern was more with security, given the nature of the region, and the site is defensible.”
Mole shot her friend a sly look. “And do you think you’ll find what you’re looking for, in this place?”
Zenna didn’t respond, though her jaw tightened slightly. Mole, regretting the provocation, immediately shifted the conversation yet again.
“So, how much further is it? My feet feel like we’ve already walked to Halruaa and back.”
“We might have been able to afford horses, if you hadn’t given away half your purse to those thieves in Saradush.”
“They were just children,” Mole said. “And it’s not like we’re broke; they needed it more than we did, and there’s always more gold to be had.”
“An interesting philosophy,” Zenna commented. “I’m sure there’s more than a few laborers, peasants, and tradesmen who might disagree with you. In fact...”
She broke off as Mole abruptly touched her arm softly. The young gnome was scanning the trail ahead, where the road twisted raggedly between a series of squat, uneven hills. The entire area was choked with thick, nearly dead brush that crowded up onto the fringes of the trail, along with the occasional stunted tree eking out a meager existence on the stony soil of the hills. A great deal of cover.
“What is it?” Zenna hissed, tensing as she scanned the area.
“There’s something there...” Mole began, already reaching back for her crossbow. She’d barely touched it, however, when the brush flanking the trail ahead stirred, and three men appeared. The trio were ragged-looking specimens, their dull brown garments further darkened by layers of dust and dirt, sporting careless beards and hard, almost feral looks that took on a particular intensity as they regarded the two women. All three bore weapons at their belts, and one also clutched a loaded crossbow that he brandished menacingly.
“You jees leef thet bow where eet ees,” said the crossbowman, the steel point of his quarrel lined up decisively with Mole’s chest.
One of his companions, a reedy man with a nasty scar that ran down the left side of his face, chortled, caressing the hilts of a pair of long knives tucked casually through his belt. The final stranger, who carried a scabbarded blade almost large enough to be called a sword, smiled at them, but the expression carried little in the way of warmth.
“Good day to you, ladies,” he said, and the calm way he spoke seemed to make the statement just that much more menacing.
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