Strange Friends, Part I: Of Mountains & Molehills

[Cyronax]

This is a retelling of the D&D 3e campaign that I ran from mid-September to mid-December of 2001. Most of the players and I were students at Beijing Normal University in China, and we were all American. We played a lot, since we were all too poor to party all the time and because we seemed to never find time to study our Chinese like we should have. It’s been a long time since we parted ways, now we are all scattered across North America and East Asia. I didn't have many of my gaming materials or a computer for that matter at the time, so I was forced to rely on the bare essentials, being the 3 core rulebooks, my aging campaign notebook that has all my maps and old ideas, a tattered copy of Dungeon magazine, and an adventure who's name I'll not reveal so as not to ruin any surprises for you the reader.

Strange Friends will be retold with every effort to include what dialogue I can remember. I will probably have to take some liberties with some of it, but I plan to stay as true to what actually happened as possible. I'm even going so far as to try to keep the pace of combat true to what happened. My memory is pretty good I think.....

The name of this Story Hour pretty much sums up my feelings on how the campaign turned out. I had a great set of roleplayers who each created characters with strong and conflicting personalities. This is a party where most of the characters started out a bit greedy or downright evil, but eventually came to find their own moral compass. There several points throughout the campaign that some of us thought it'd be better for the characters to part ways, and have a new group be formed around the more "hero-like" characters, but that never really happened. The term "strange friends" is actually the English name for a horrible, horrible Chinese movie (mosheng pengyou) that a few of the players and me were subjected to during Chinese class one semester.

When we ran the campaign, I cut the bard class from the core classes and added the aristocrat class presented in the DMG. Clerics are very, very rare in my world, so I didn't allow the PCs to start off as them. There are only a handful of divine beings, about 11-15, depending on what your category of "god" is. All of the gods, except for the intermediate power Avasha, are demigods or quasi-deities. I had a witch class, which was basically a sorcerer using the witch spell list found in the DMG. We used Monte Cook's version of the ranger. I only allowed human, dwarven, half-orcish, orcish, and tiefling for the PC races. I'll say more about this later perhaps, but for now I'll briefly introduce my campaign world of Gauthon, which has been a work in progress since my senior year of high school four years ago. I'll try to post the first actual part of the Story Hour when I find the time, but for now here's my campaign world!

SOME ADVICE TO THE READER - Skip through the world introduction. Its useful for understanding some of this story hour, but its not necessary. I added it because I don't really have a homepage to put much of that sort of thing on.

 

[Cyronax]

The History of Western Mythrus

The savage Tsai Nau frontier ("Sigh Now"), a region on the southeastern part of the continent of Jera, is a wild land of misty hills and tangled forests. It is littered with ruins of a countless civilizations that have inhabited this region for millennia. Long ago it was said that the enigmatic gnomes, a race known to be steeped in ancient magic, used their unnatural wizardry to twist the land, causing all kinds of evil creatures to stalk the land. After a time however, humans (from Halthyte lands from farther west) moved into the area.

Beyond those simple facts about this region's ancient history, no one has any knowledge of the past. Only within the last three centuries, with the arrival of the restless Mytherian explorers, was Tsai Nau even remotely tamed. The Mytherians, Dendar dwarves, and orcs (followers of St. Poligran) were pilgrims from the distant continent of Faldor across the vast eastern Antraic Ocean.

The Mytherians and their allies still speak of the barbaric wilderness that Tsai Nau was and still is. Those first Mytherian colonists lost much during the first foray into the wilderness, and it was only by the luck of the saints that they survived at all. Only two generations after establishing their new city of Valis Melgrin and erecting several outposts deep in the Tsai Nau woods, dark forces of some unknown menace razed the city, killing the last descendent of the Mytherians' great ancient king and patron saint Bellas of the Whiteblade. Bellas IV's death was a great loss to his subjects, as was the death Meynard the Mariner. That venerable hero and accomplished statesman, who had founded the first colonies in Jera decades before, was done in during a battle with a many-armed aberration of unknown origin.

The three hundred years between that dark day and the present are well known to sages and commoner alike. The remnant of the Mytherian army (which included a fair number of orcs) as well as a lucky four score of hill dwarves from the Brodin (Blackhammer), Bronderk (Gatehold), Lutgehr (Delvedeep), and Khazendruk (Strongbrow) clans, as well nine young nobles from the Visted (Westlight) clan survived the fall of Valis Melgrin, and fled with a few meager possessions on eleven longships south. Their strength and their resolve to survive came from a common soldier of remarkable strength and intelligence. Taurin Blackwulf was his name. Descended from the Tulusian barbarians on far Faldor, Taurin was said to be a head higher than any orc, craftier than any gnome, and able to out drink any dwarf. Taurin would go on to become the leader of the Mytherians, but to his people, he never could (or tried to) take the place of the line of St. Bellas.

Eventually the harried refugees under Taurin's banner came south to what is now the city of Southgate. On the arid coast of northern Tyradis the Mytherians encountered the survivors of the dying Tyradian empire known as Paradise. The Tyradians had become fractious people who constantly warred amongst themselves. One side still followed their cruel god Akkadurai, while the other had thrown off the yoke of oppression and taken to a nomadic lifestyle. The Mytherians and the nomadic Tyradians forged a valuable friendship thanks to the efforts of the wise Sai'hine Aderra. An ageless matriarch, who was as much a warrior as she was a philosopher and healer.

Centuries passed as the Mytherians and their allies made a life for themselves in northern Tyradis. The Dendar under the youthful leadership of Karak, Son of Mulftor of the Visted clan founded a new homeland farther south in the deep caverns of Mount Argus. The dwarves, with their long life spans and cultural memory, have helped the Mytherians develop a thriving economy, many fortifications and aqueducts, and have even supplied them with their much guarded gunpowder weapons during Southgate's last war with Muruk. With their aid, the desert lands that the Mytherians settled soon became lush and verdant plains.

Meynard the Mariner, Sai'hine Aderra, and Taurin Blackwulf, after their own deaths, were apparently inducted into the Avatars of Fate (known as saints or soul-wardens to Mytherians ) much like Bellas, Tarkis, and Poligran were centuries before. The three new saints replaced a trio that had been killed during the Freeing of Ishtar. The Avatars of Fate are always beings of strong character and power who are granted a portion of the archangel Avasha's power. Avasha is known as the Chained Angel, and is the guardian of the Godwall, an important magical barrier that permeates the mortal plane and protecting it from destruction. The Godwall also ensures the imprisonment of Anshar, the ancient embodiment of entropy and utter annihilation.

It was Anshar who, during the War Across Forever in ancient times, nearly destroyed the entire universe, had all the gods not sacrificed themselves to defeat him. Of the original gods, only Ishtar, the cowardly Ramman, and a few angels like Avasha or Garse survived. The fact that so many of the current avatars were once a Mytherian, or one of their allies among the Tyradians and Dendar, makes many Mytherians feel very honored, while at the same time somewhat uneasy since the world is still mostly controlled by servants of the surviving Children of Doom, beings who have accepted a part of Anshar into their souls.

The fact that the cruel Akkadurai is also an avatar (and probably the most powerful one at that, having become an avatar during the final days of the War Across Forever) is a bitter pill of sorts to many self-righteous followers of the Church of the Whiteblade. The final avatar, who has little influence in Western Mythrus, is Jun Longdi ("Jun the Dragon Emperor" in Mytherian). Jun Longdi was once the ruler of a vast Halthyte empire that fought against Thaglut, the gnomes of Tsai-Nau, and sometimes Akkadurai's empire of Tyradis. Though his ancient empire lies in ruins, he still fights the servants of Chaos and Destruction in the afterlife.

Their number throughout history is always eight. The number eight is very significant to many people. One, it represents the amount of power that Avasha can grant to the avatars (though the avatars have many powers in their own right), and two the number eight symbolizes opposition to Anshar, since that god=s main servants during the War Across Forever were the Children of Doom, who numbered eight. The Children were alternately known as the Dark Eight. The Children of Doom were the archangel Garse, the fire demon Thaglut, the gnoll Worgul, the gnome Ix, and the elves Cyronax, Lilith, and Menander. They were created during the last battle of the War Across Forever as Anshar was clearly losing to the combined might of the gods. Since then, the Dark Eight divided the world amongst themselves, snuffing out all that was good and civilized. They warred amongst themselves as much as they did what little resistance the first Avatars of Fate could muster. In the ages that have come and gone since they were the created, some parts of the world have been reclaimed from Evil. It is in these areas that life for humans and the other mortal races is possible. In other parts of the world however, the utter corruption of the Children of Doom and their servants still lingers.

At the present, the Mytherians have forged an enduring civilization that is only getting stronger. They've been without a king for centuries, and much has changed since then. Taurin Blackwulf, as the saint most concerned with watching over his people (the other avatars have many other duties), is the most popular saint in Western Mythrus right now. His chosen servants, the Stokan Knights, are the de facto rulers of the Church Council, and the Grand Cardinal of the Stokan has great influence on the Grand Assembly, the semi-republican body that now governs Southgate. They are powerful warriors who are able to draw on the divine powers of their great patron. The divine magic they wield is a rarity in this world, and thanks to their wise efforts, much good has come from it.

In the past fifty years, the Mytherians have achieved several key victories against Muruk, the City of Purity, a large city-state ruled by priestesses of Akkadurai. Southgate, with the help of several Halthyte wizards and an effective use of Dendar gunpowder weapons, has finally gained the upper hand against the city, and for now Muruk poses little threat to the free peoples of
Southgate or its holdings. As a result of this victory, Southgate began using its resources for more than just defense, as it has begun to conquer or establish contact with several islands in the Sea of the Turtle Gods. These areas once were settled by a few Mytherian freebooters from before the Fall of Valis Melgrin, and some of them have survived to this day. A host of new territory has come under Southgate's control in the past fifteen years, including the lost Dendar village of Stoneroot on Gray Moor Island, the old Mytherian lighthouse-fortress on island known as Meynard's Vigil, and the crime-ridden city of Holdover, which was once a major pirate stronghold.

The most recent colonial activity of the Mytherians is the Eswhalon settlement, which is barely thirty years old. Eshwhalon is located is less than a hundred miles from the glutted ruins of Valis Melgrin, and it has become the Stokan Knights' staging grounds for a crusade to reclaim the Mytherians' original lands in Tsai-Nau, and also locate several sacred items lost during the Fall of Valis Melgrin. These sacred items include the Shield of St. Bellas, the remains of Bellas IV and St. Meynard, and several holy books of lost scripture.

Being few in number, the Stokan Knights, under the control of the aging Cardinal Redhat, has taken to issuing writs of indentured adventure. These writs often obligate individuals to a contract of two to five years of service depending on the skills of the individual. The duties entailed in such an agreement include laws for dividing spoils, tithing to the Stokan authorities, and funeral arrangements for the unfortunate. Those who complete the terms of the contract are often given plots of land, and in some cases given titles of nobility (for those who served with honor, fairness, and integrity). In the past thirty years, a new class known as the "adventuring nobility," has arisen. The practice of issuing writs of indentured adventure is a practice that is slowly falling out of use since a sizeable portion of the frontier has been cleared for non-adventuring settlers from Southgate and the Turtle Islands.

The most pressing order of business is tribes of orcs who have survived and thrived on the Tsai-Nau frontier since the Fall of Valis Melgrin, more than three centuries ago. These orcs seem to have reverted to barbarism, and have forgotten the example of St. Poligran. Nowadays, the orcs of Tsai-Nau, thanks to their race=s fecundity, are thought to out number the Halthytes and Mytherians on the frontier. Barbaric and stupid, the Tsai Nau orcs have become a devastating force that often raids human villages and other orc tribes in an endless cycle of violence. Many of these orcs follow the fire demon Thaglut. The most depraved of these orcs are known as ravagers, killing machines with no purpose other than slaughter. Ravagers, as well as some of that demon's shamans, have been known to pluck out their right eye in order to emulate their cyclopic patron. Despite missionary activities on the part of missionaries of St. Poligran, few of the proud Tsai-Nau orcs have been converted. Many of the new settlers on the frontier have growing fears of full-scale war between the orcs and the Stokan Knights.

**Note on Geography: I'll try to scan a map of campaign world sometime in the future, but for now picture the Tsai-Nau frontier as a fantasy version of Virginia, in terms of both geography and climate. Following this, the Eastern Shore is actually an island, which creates the narrow Meirlenith Sea, instead of a bay (Chesapeake). Eswhalon lies near the fall line of the Northern Neck River (Rappahannock River), and is analogous to Fredericksburg in location. The ruins of Valis Melgrin lie on the Meirlenith River (Potomac), and are analogous in location to Washington. The small city of Archaven lies at the mouth of the Brinding (James) River, and is analogous to the Hampton Roads area. The village of Cherry Knoll (where the campaign started) lies about seventy miles to the west, and is basically analogous to the southern hinterlands of Richmond. The Tsai-Nau frontier's climate is like Virginia's except that its temperate woodlands are vast and primal, while the areas near the Meirlenith Sea are swampy. Beyond those parameters, the Tsai-Nau frontier, and the rest of my world bear no similarity to the real world.

 

[Cyronax]

Common Races of Western Mythrus

Dwarves: Most of the Dendar that accompanied the Mytherians across the Antraic Ocean were either killed during the Fall of Valis Melgrin or else came south to Tyradis with St. Taurin. There are hopes though, that some of the Dendar managed to escape the wrath of the enemies that defeated the Mytherians. Reports from some adventuring groups, who have been in the deep woods of the Gorgon Mountains and beyond, pass on rumors of several lost strongholds of the Dendar farther west. Despite long years of searching, the only lost stronghold of dwarves that has been found is the village of Stoneroot on Gray Moor Island. This community of barely fifty dwarves has survived thanks to the protection of the powerful monks of Ghost Mountain, a misty mountain at the center of that small island. The aging Thane Karak and the other dwarves of the Last Clans, now wealthy and powerful in their redoubt at Mount Argus, fervently hope to find more of their brethren one day.

The Dendar are divided roughly into five clans, all but one of which are considered hill dwarves. The other clan, the Visted clan, is known as mountain dwarves. The actual delineation between hill and mountain dwarves is more of an ancient way of determining one=s lineage in relation to the great highborn families of the old Dendar Thanedom on Faldor (the only known dwarven empire). The Visted clan remains the most "high-blooded" of the five clans, and though they have intermarried with the other clans numerous times over the last three centuries, they are still considered to be the only clan with blood ties to the old lords of the Dendar Thanedom. The Visted clansmen typically have lighter skin than hill dwarves, and they usually average about 4 2 feet tall, slightly above average for a dwarf. Only a Visted clansman can become a cleric of the Valarwruk, as the dwarven pantheon (Tarkis and the Old Gods) are known, or an aristocrat. Among the Dendar, Valarwruk clerics are very rare, and they usually don't stray far from the fastness of Argus.

The dwarves of Mount Argus and the few other scattered holdings consider themselves the last bastion of Dendar culture. There are enough old-timers among them that the Dendar still vividly remember their homelands on Faldor. They know that great wars on that continent had caused the final defeat of the Dendar Thanedom, and thus many of the Dendar have a fatalistic attitude about their future. Thane Karak is usually very reluctant to send his dwarves into dangerous situations (such as the recent war with Muruk). He often makes up for this fact by donating huge amounts of gold to Southgate or loaning out gunpowder weapons. These cautious steps are often sometimes seen as cowardly to common Mytherians, and many people have an unfavorable opinion of the dwarven thane considering him and some of his people as greedy old men who sit on a hoard of gold like the dragons in old fairy tales. This has led in recent years to a lessening of Mount Argus's influence in the government in Southgate.

Elves: Known only through legend, elves are thought to have died out long ago during the War Across Forever. These powerful beings, along with the gnomes and other Elder Races, controlled the world, the heavens, and the planes themselves. Some Halthyte legends say that elves still dwell deep in the woodlands of the Tsai-Nau frontier, but no one has ever substantiated these rumors.

Gnomes: These little demihumans are feared by humans and dwarves alike for their devious and crafty minds and often sarcastic sense of humor. Greed is a virtue among gnomes, and their larcenous reputation is quite apt. Gnomes are also feared for their skills with illusionary magic, something few human wizards have any skill in.

Unlike their appearance presented in the Player=s Handbook, gnomes have wiry, gnarled physiques. Their skin is usually heavily tanned, their eyes are blue, lavender, or green, and most gnomish males are bald. Females and those gnomish men who actually grow hair have either black or silvery-gray hair. The men usually shave off their hair if they grow any. It's a mystery if the gnomes are just reclusive hermits studying mad ancient tomes, or if they have dark cities somewhere on the frontier. Many historians believe that the Anameless horrors@ that drove the Mytherians out of the Tsai-Nau so long ago were either conjured or somehow controlled by the gnomes. Few people have ever seen a gnome, but their have been accounts of them on the Tsai-Nau and occasionally the Turtle Islands dealing with Halthyte wizards in various esoteric matters.

Humans: Most humans on the coasts of northern Tyradis are of two types, Mytherian or Tyradian, though there is an increasing number of Halthytes given Southgate's growing influence. Mytherians are, as a rule fair skinned (burning easily in the harsh sun of arid Tyradis), and have a wide range of hair color and texture. They likewise have a great variety of eye colors. They are often taller than Halthytes, and Mytherians are known as great seamen and. The Way of the Shield, a chivalric code drawn from common courtesy, a warrior's honor, the stories of St. Bellas, and the Dendar thanes of Faldor, is followed by the most traditional and lawful Mytherians. Though many people thought all of the Mytherian colonists were killed during the last days of Valis Melgrin, the returning explorers have been extremely surprised to find that many Mytherians must have survived and found their way to the few Halthyte villages on the Tsai-Nau coast. The returning adventurers have spoken of many Tsai-Nau humans with characteristics of both Mytherian and Halthyte lineage. There have also been rumors of pure Mytherian villages deep in the wilds.

Tyradians have black hair and dark eyes. Most have a bronzed, olive complexion, almond shaped eyes, angular features, and are usually slightly shorter than the average Mytherian, but still taller than a Halthyte. Tyradians and Halthytes look alike in many ways, save for the Tyradians darker skin tones. Tyradians are known as excellent swordsmen, riders, and extremely obedient to their superiors. Most Tyradians have at least grudging respect for their ancient god Akkadurai, though few love him. Tyradians are also thought to be a little arrogant, if not racist. Many traditional Tyradians think that only their people are the only pure race left.

The Tyradians who allied themselves to St. Taurin and the Mytherians three centuries ago have been more or less integrated into Mytherian society, and many have forgotten their ancestral language, a language said to be drawn heavily from Infernal (the language of devils). Among Tyradians, women hold an especially important place. Men are practically slaves to Tyradian women, and they are often purposefully crippled at birth (usually by ritually breaking the infant boy's ankles and sometimes shoulders), so that their greater strength will not one day threaten.

Only noble women (usually tiefling priestesses of Akkadurai) have been allowed to rule. Among all Tyradians, it is very common for even a poor woman to have more than one man. For traditional Tyradians there is no such thing as marriage, but in Western Mythrus where some of the Free Tribes have been integrated, Tyradian women usually have more than one husband. The Church in Southgate frowns heavily on this, but has yet to outlaw this practice due to the influence of the Tyradians trading houses in the city. The highest role a man has always been the protection of a woman, and to this day, many Tyradian men take great satisfaction in helping their women. Many Mytherian women admire Tyradian culture for their strange brand of chivalry. The katana and wakizashi are the traditional tools of this protection. The patron saint of Tyradians in Mytherian society and a few of the Free Tribes is St. Sai'hine Aderra.

Halthytes are dark haired with almond shaped brown eyes, and have black hair and a pale complexion, though some are also tanned. They dwell mostly in the Turtle Islands and a few villages on the Tsai-Nau frontier. They are a relatively primitive people who were easily dealt with by the Mytherian seamen who reclaimed Meynard's Vigil and a few of the other islands in the region. Halthytes worship the spirits of their ancestors, the dragons of the Sea of the Turtle Gods, and various local nature spirits. They have no clerics, only adepts.

Despite their somewhat primitive lifestyle, Halthytes seem to have a fairly advanced writing system based on thousands and thousands of characters. There are legends among them, of a great Halthyte empire somewhere deep in the Tsai-Nau frontier over the Gorgon Mountains in a place called Kai Xin. Some sages speculate that the Halthytes living in the Turtle Islands were once more civilized than they are now. This goes a long way to explaining why there are a fair number of wizards amongst them. These magic-users usually focus on alteration or elemental based evocation magic.

These wizards, known as wu jen to the Halthytes, are constantly searching for ways to extend life beyond its natural limit. The necromantic Cult of Garse has become popular in some remote villages since its arrival from Faldor three hundred years ago. Halthyte wizards are not organized like Halthyte and Mytherian wizards in Western Mythrus (see the Wizard entry for more details). Instead, an apprentice learns the magical arts from a singular master, who often treats the young apprentice little better than a slave. These wizards, much like druids, often live the lonely life of a hermit, studying their art and nothing else. The average Halthyte villager fears any and all things magical, and usually the only spellcaster that they can tolerate is their village priest (adept) who tends to a small shrine housing the soul tablets of their ancestors. Clerics of the Church of the Whiteblade are also respected, but few Halthytes are willing to convert to a foreign religion. Most followers of the Church see the Halthyte ancestor worship as a primitive form of their own faith, given the once mortal nature of their saints.

Orcs: Orcs are another one of the races that emigrated from Faldor so long ago. In Southgate the other towns of Western Mythrus, people consider orcs to be as integral to their country as the dwarves are. Relations are generally peaceful. Orcs are usually called Arock-blooded@ by normal Mytherians due to their grayish skin color. Many Mytherians and dwarves regard orcs as more or less human, while Tyradians and some Halthytes see orcs as yet more proof that Mytherians are related to beasts. A common Tyradian insult to half-orcs is "pig-f**ker." Half-orcs are fairly common, and actually seem to be getting more numerous in the some of the towns south of Southgate. Half-orcs far outnumber dwarves in Western Mythrus.

In terms of personality and culture, half-orcs fit into Mytherian society pretty easily. Some tend to be individualistic, a little wild, and carefree, but not to any inhuman extreme. While others, lacking self esteem due to their bad looks, tend to be shy and soft-spoken. Full-blooded orcs are somewhat of a rare sight, and don=t fit in as well as half-orcs. Orcs look much different than average humans, and are usually relegated to low class jobs. Both orcs and half-orcs are usually not found in professions that rely on intelligence and education (or beauty for that matter). Orcs and half-orcs take Mytherian names, and are usually devout followers of St. Poligran, St. Bellas, and St. Taurin (in that order).

A disproportionate amount of the Mytherian military is made up of half-orcs and orcs. Nearly one third of the entire orcish race either is a soldier or was in their youth (the army has generous veterans' benefits). Still, even then, half-orcs and orcs comprise of only about 10% of the total number of soldiers. Mytherian orcs and half-orcs have fighter as their favored class, not barbarian. Most of these Mytherian orcs are neutral good, chaotic good, or neutral.

Tieflings: Despite the appearance of a hatred of anything nonhuman (and often non-Tyradian), the ancient Tyradian followers of Akkadurai saw the stern devils who served their Shining Prince as sacred beings. In time humans and devils, and in some cases Akkadurai himself (before the death of his mortal body), coupled during horrible rites, that ultimately resulted in half-devils and tieflings. Currently, devils and other outsiders having been banished or destroyed over the centuries, no longer stalk the mortal plane as much as they once did. Tieflings, however, still survive, and openly display their fiendish heritage in lands where Akkadurai's priesthood still holds power. Tieflings, due to difficulty in breeding, are still fairly rare. Among traditional Tyradians, tieflings are still given great respect, and even now only tiefling women and those Tyradian women (usually noblewomen) with devilish ancestors can become priestesses of the Shining Prince. Tiefling males have some status in traditional Tyradian lands (often as pampered studs in the heavily regulated breeding programs controlled by the high priestesses), but they are often viewed with suspicion and even a little fear. Tiefling males are usually killed outright if they show any disrespect to any female. To own a male tiefling slave in places like Muruk is a sign of status.

 

[Rune]

Ooooo! Exciting!

Great start, keep it up! (And check your thread on the main board, if you don't mind; I have a request.)

 

[Cyronax]

A beginning.......

September 16th, 407 MY

LI HAI:
The creak of wagon wheels and the buzzing of marsh weevils greeted the stranger's ears as he was bumped awake by a rut in the trail. Li Hai cursed under his breath,

"Eh...old man, its been less three days, and I already regret picking your wagon."

The graying driver pursed his lips, but whatever he was going to mutter back to the stranger he wisely kept to himself. The reins clicked again, and Li Hai sat up in the back of the covered wagon. Leaning against bails of worked cloth offered little comfort on this road. This road was actually a trail that somehow served as the single artery for travel to and from the lucrative copper mines in the Gorgon foothills. It was aptly named the Copper Way.

Li Hai climbed out the back of the wagon and followed along the wagon train. Six wagons, all but one in poor condition, made their west at a pace slower than the stranger could walk. A number of armed men on horseback rode alongside the wagons. Li Hai trailed beside his wagon, "When do we reach the next village?" he asked.

"I suppose by sun down given our pace," the driver said, "and after that......we're really in the wilds."

The next village was Cherry Knoll, a pleasant name for a rather dreary place, or at least that's what Li Hai had heard. Cherry Knoll was the last village on the Copper Way for more than a week's journey west. There was no safety passed that village, only the Tsai-Nau woodlands in all their ancient mystery. Li Hai didn't see it this way however; he wasn't worried. Even if he had had plans to continue with the wagon past this village and into the true frontier, he had no fear. He silently mocked the scared tales of the "nameless horrors" of Tsai-Nau's past. History be damned, his time was coming.

----------------

GARETH:
The creak of wagon wheels also came to the ears of Gareth Steele. He heard this and much more. His senses were as alert as they had ever been.
More so than any of the other outriders, Gareth made sure he never let his guard down. An admirable quality for someone who has never had a serious day in all his life. He felt the weight of his chain shirt fall across his broad, yet unimpressive physique.

"You seem worried Lord Steele, is something wrong?" The voice came from the driver of the first wagon, one Master Hollum, the caravan master, and a long time friend of the Steele family. Gareth drew his horse closer to the lead wagon with a natural smile playing across his handsomely broad face. "I was just wondering about what time we would reach Cherry Knoll. I can't remember the last time I've seen the Abbot." He had in fact never seen the Abbot. This was his first serious travel west of his family's castle at West Point. Hollum and the rest of the caravan didn't know this however.

"Well, Lord Steele, it should na be much further. We're making good time, and the road aien't been too baddened by the summer rains."

"Excellent my good man. Tonight, we'll call on the Abbot's generosity, and perhaps we'll taste some of the delights of Cherry Knoll. Heh, a place with a name like that must have delicious food."

Mater Hollum kept an even smile on his face, and answered, "Well I suppose sir. Cherry Knoll isn' much more than an expression though."

"What?"

"I mean to say that there are no cherries grown out in Cherry Knoll. It be just a name."

"Oh."

The caravan continued west towards the village. Gareth was already annoyed.

----------------

KELEC:
It was unlikely anyone or anything noticed their passing. Even with his own clomping gait and the impatient panting of his wolfen companion, Kelec hurried east through the unclaimed woodlands of the Tsai-Nau frontier. He had foresworn the Copper Way, knowing he could reach his destination nearly as fast if he stuck to the trails that the wolf knew best. His companion was also a bit worried about using the road, instinctively sensing danger along such a course.

It has been a long time since Kelec had seen this part of the forest, and even longer since he'd seen the marshlands and noisy villages near the Meirlenith Sea. If these thoughts gave him pain, he didn't let it slow his pace. He tried focus on the duty at hand: Illitol's Mound.
He was already tired from their march, but he kept going, knowing that the sooner he got there, the sooner he'd be able to come back. He didn't much care for civilization. It'd been at least a decade since he'd come to the frontier, and his time here could be boiled down to one word: relaxing. The only consolation he could find for coming east, was the promise of some proper ale at Cherry Knoll's only inn. Ole' Porblin's moonshine was definitely losing its strength lately, and a change would be nice. Optimism was a rare occurrence for this dwarf, and he immediately became sullen again.

He cared little for his mission, being a rather unambitious man himself. As he let his thoughts wander, Kelec began to worry that he was being pulled into something that would ruin his precious solitude. He had little doubt that this mission would take more than a week. Was this yet another plot to increase Nexatatus's influence in the Tsai-Nau? Or was this mission truly one of mercy for the wolf guardians of Illitol's Mound?

To the dwarf the wolf seemed to be in an awful hurry. The wolf would often stop and look back on the dwarf's progress before continuing on the journey to his homeland. The wolf knew that his pack was in danger, and he could only hope that the dwarf's help would prove sufficient.

"F**k it!"

He laid aside his daydreams and redoubled his efforts and began to run faster. Whatever the true reason for his mission mattered little now. He was in it up to his neck, and he knew it had to get done no matter what the true purpose. As his stout legs continued to pound eastward, he imagined that he could already smell the stench of humans and their unnatural ways.

----------------

GORBAG:
He probably misplaced his sword's sheath a day or two ago when he had camped near that pond. He didn't care. He just held the naked steel of his bastard sword idly in one hand. He barely noticed his chafing, bloody shoulders. He also barely noticed his soiled and rusting chain mail shirt. He merely lumbered east, down the Copper Way, towards an unknown future. He had stopped crying a few days before, and he barely remembered why he had left his people.

Gorbag knew he was doing something right for a change. It felt good to be away from his father's incoherent speeches, the sickening sight of their weak goblin and human slaves, and the constant fighting. If thoughts could talk, Gorbag's were definitely were mute. He merely felt the present, always living from moment to moment. The blessing and the curse of it was that Gorbag's past was little more than a murky blur. He usually couldn't remember things unless someone helped him. In his dreams he saw more, remembered more. Sometimes the dreams spoke to him.

On the rare occasion he did think about the past, even as dark and bloody his was, anger rarely came forth. Even the throbbing wound on his right temple had finally lessened. He dimly remembered what this wound would have represented had he not resisted his father that night.

He loved his dad, but leaving was the right thing to do. He was on a new road now. His homeland was more than a week behind him, and if he had been able to read it, much less notice it, he had just passed a sign upon which was sloppily written in Mytherian, "Welcome to Cherry Knoll."

 

[Cyronax]

Session I (Part I)

Session I (Part I)

Cherry Knoll had a shabby look to it in the light of the setting sun. It was the last gasp of summer, and today was even more unbearable and humid than normal. The rutted Copper Way, still muddy from last week’s rains, widened and bulged for a mere sixty feet before being tightened back to its normal size on the other side of the village. Several buildings lined either side of the bulge, with only one building having more than one story.

The only remarkable building in Cherry Knoll was a small, one-story fort on the small hill, rising just north of the village proper. It was surrounded by a wooden palisade. All in all, the fort looked barely strong enough to withstand a strong breeze, much less an opposing army.

Gorbag took in little of this in as he came to the western outskirts of the village. He passed several huts. Some had chickens meandering around out front. One had a pair of dirty peasant children that immediately froze at the sight of the newcomer. They just stared at the tired orc.

He was probably the biggest man they’d ever seen. Standing at nearly six and a half feet, with wide shoulders and a lean body rippling with muscle, the orc was the size of three men. His tangled mass of long, sweaty black hair, gray skin, and the dull, bestial yellow eyes shadowed by thick eyebrows and a prominent brow ridge made him fearsome to behold. Even more unnerving was the fact that the orc’s massive bastard sword was unsheathed and held lazily held in his meaty left hand. The orc also had several bloody bruises on various parts of his body, with the oozing cut on his right temple being most prominent.

As the orc passed the two small children, their mother appeared in the doorway behind them, and pulled both children back into the house. Gorbag paid little attention to any this. He was focused on something much more important: his stomach.

As he came through the eastern outskirts of the village, his nose picked up the scent of cooking meat coming from the two story stone building in the village square. It was “L” shaped, and even the orc could tell it was an inn.

A wooden sign with faded red letters proclaimed this backwoods oasis to be “Cutter’s Inn and Tavern,” and below it scrawled with little proficiency, was the Halthyte character for "Inn."

The door to Cutter’s was pushed open, and stooping, the big man entered, bumping his greatsword and his right shoulder loudly against the door frame. This sound caused the girl behind the bar to issue a small cry of surprise.

The rest of the common room held little interest for the orc. The only other people in the room were four bleary-eyed men dressed as woodsmen hunched, over a round table with a half empty bottle of some dark liquor and several upturned shot glasses scattered about their table. The men glanced up at Gorbag and sheepishly went back to their booze. If they had been doing any talking before he had come in, they weren’t doing any now.

“Uh….hello….si..sir, welcome to Cutter’s.” she said.

Gorbag, head nearly hitting the ceiling, lumbered over to the bar.

“My stomach hungry………”

The girl braced herself against the cloud of bad breath and body odor that surrounded the orc, and said, “What would you like?”

Gorbag dropped his sword against the side of the bar, and it fell to the floor with a loud crash. The drunken men across the room jumped up in surprise, looking at the orc even more fearfully than before. The girl backed away from the counter. The orc barely noticed.

“Uh…food. I wans meats and beer.”

The girl just nodded and told the orc to make himself comfortable at which point she hurried through the curtained door that was directly behind her.

She reemerged barely a minute later, followed by a middle-aged man with graying red hair. The pair found their new customer sitting at a table right next to the bar. The orc’s greatsword was where it had fallen earlier. A squat stool next to the table barely supported the orc’s monstrous weight.

“Welcome to my inn sir. I’m Cutter; uh…I brought you some brew.” The Mytherian offered Gorbag a large tankard of beer, which Gorbag quickly took.

The orc chugged it quickly, and slammed the empty crock on the table. He looked up at the barkeep expectantly, and the entire bar could hear him emit a long, rumbling belch.

Cutter took a step back.

“It good! More!”

“Yes well, I’d be happy to uh…..sell you some more beer sir, but first sir, might I ask what part of the frontier are you from?”

“Uh…I from the hills.”

“Oh you mean from west of here,” Cutter’s face grew even more worried, and he continued, “that’s wonderful sir. Might I ask what business brings you east?”

Gorbag looked a little perplexed, shrugged, and just said in slow and fumbling words,”Yaw………O K. I wan beer and food. My stomach hungry.”

“Very good sir, I was just now cooking some chicken in the back. It’ll be out soon.”

“Good.”

“I’m sorry, but might I ask if you have any other, uh, companions who will be joining you tonight?”

“No.”

“So you just want something to eat and drink tonight. Will that be all sir?

“Yes.”

Cutter just nodded, and as he was going into the kitchen, he wisely advised his daughter to heavily water down any more beer she served their new customer.

After a little more than an hour, night had finally fallen, and crickets and swamp bugs could be heard chirping outside. It was still humid, but the heat was dissipating. The main door and the windows were wide open to let in the night air.

The common room at Cutter’s was still fairly empty. A handful of farmers had trickled in, but most of the seats remained empty. The woodsmen had all already retired to their rooms upstairs for the evening.

The atmosphere at Cutter’s could only be described as awkward. Gorbag was well into his fifth helping of dinner and his third flagon of brew, when the sounds of wagons and horses could be rattling in from the east.

----------

Li Hai was restlessly gathering his things as the caravan came within sight of town. It had been a long three day journey from West Point, and a little over a week since he’d joined the caravan in Archaven. He was glad that he'd be away from these men soon.

As the six wagons started to roll themselves into the village, Hollum shouted, “Alright men don’t be getting too drunk tonight! We’ve got a schedule to keep!”

“Don’t worry Master Hollum,” Gareth began,”I don’t think there’s too much fun to be had in a place like this.” He surveyed the hovels that the villagers called houses, and noted the glaring differences between Cherry Knoll and even a backwater like his home Westpoint. “I didn’t expect the frontier to start to be this ....uh primitive...so soon.”

“Well Lord Steele, I’m surprised you actually wanted to come west. You were becoming quite the ah……”man about town,” as they say, back in Archaven. You'll be very bored out in Copper Country. It’s worse than this in some ways.”

And with that the Hollum stopped his wagon in front of Cutter's, and began to gather his things from beside him. Gareth dismounted as well, and led his gray horse closer to inn.

Over the course of the next few minutes, Gareth and Hollum met with Cutter, who had come outside when he had heard the caravan’s approach, and made preparations to stay at the inn for the night. Gareth suggested as much, already confused as to the run down fort on the hill, which Cutter identified as the Abbey. He had thought that Cherry Knoll’s Abbot Rethra would live in something a bit more “abbey”-like. He said as much to Cutter, but the ostler just shrugged his shoulders and helped Gareth and the other caravan guards attend to the caravan.

----------

The second that his wagon had stopped, all the while ignoring his driver’s request for help, Li Hai shouldered his light crossbow, and made his way into Cutter’s.

Li Hai’s gaze fell about the room. He saw only a few peasants, most Mytherians. He also saw a solitary orc reeking of the frontier surrounded by dirty dishes and piles of chicken bones.

He gave everyone, especially the orc, a wide berth, and he ended up sitting on the farthest stool from the door. He made the conscious effort to position it so that he could see all the doors in the bar from his seat. His stool was at the end of a row, so to his left there was merely a wall. He placed his crossbow on the stool to his right, leaving a subtle zone of personal space.

Cutter’s daughter soon approached him with a welcoming smile on her face. “Good evening sir, where are you all coming from?”

Li Hai quickly sized her up, and he replied in a dismissive tone, “Archaven.”

“Well I’m Merin, and is there anything I can get you tonight.” She obviously thought the young Halthyte attractive, and indeed she wouldn’t have been the first. Li Hai, despite the sullen frown always he wore, was a handsome man. He looked to be in his late teens or early twenties. He had fine features, piercing almond shaped, gray eyes, and flawless ivory skin. His shoulder-length hair was black, as it was for all Halthytes. Though he was of slight build, it was easy to tell that he had a well-formed physique, even from beneath his dark blue cloak. He was a definitely man who could get by on his looks.

The Halthyte ordered some dinner and glass of water. After Merin had delivered his dinner, Li Hai resisted further attempts at conversation. He ate quietly, with a look of introspection on his face.

About the time Li Hai’s food arrived, Gareth, Hollum and the other members of the caravan started trickling in, having stowed all their cargo and stabled their animals. Once they all had been seated, the small common room felt very crowded. All the seats were filled except for those around Gorbag’s table and the stool with Li Hai’s crossbow on it.

As their food was delivered and the haze of alcohol came about them, Cutter's Inn became a merry place. One of the few such places this deep into the Tsai-Nau frontier.

 

[Felix]

Kuai dianr, A!

Me and the boys here in East Asia are waiting for the next installment. Cool narrative by the way; if it stays this good, you'll be introducing Randall next Febuary!

To everyone else: Cyronax really isn't a devil; he was the sweetest, most adorable, hugable ice elemental (that is to say DM) this side of the international dateline.

ÄãдµÃÌ«Âý!¿ìµã¶ù,°¡!

Aus

 

[Cyronax]

Damn it, now i have to perform for my old players! I actually hadn't told them I was writing this. I thought I'd see how long it took them to find it .

This will definetely be a fairly stop and go story hour for awhile at least. It took me about two hours just to get that last installment written.

Once summer comes and school's out, I should definetely be able to make my insomniac-lazy ass write a little faster.

Oh, and Austin, if you or the others see any holes in my memory, let me know....

C.I.D.

 

[Cyronax]

Session I (Part II):

Session I (Part II)

The night drew on, and Gareth's face was already reddening from drink. He had been doing little save listening to his travel companions talk about what lay ahead of them on the road. His brow continued to furrow more and more. At least a week's forced march through dangerous wilderness, and then a transfer of ox drawn wagons for packs of mules at Cliff Town at the base of the Gorgon foothills; beyond that an arduous trek into Copper Country. It hadn't sounded so bad when he'd first joined this caravan. The young nobleman hoped his doubts were due to the beer.

Gareth brought himself out of his doubting reverie and began to take in his surroundings. He noticed that Cutter had returned from wherever he had been since they'd first arrived. The ostler was now serving some of the men at the bar, as Gareth made his way over to him.

"Well Master Cutter, I daresay you are getting some good business tonight!"

"I suppose so Lord Steele, this'll be the first in a long time since I've seen so many smiling faces in my inn however."

Gareth began to enquire as to Cherry Knoll's current misfortune, and Cutter told him several strange events of the past few months. The first, though hardly the most strange, was the complete disappearance of an entire caravan last June. The caravan was thought to have been well-protected, being owned and operated by the influential Clover Trading Company that based itself out of Archaven and a few other frontier strongholds.

"Now that'd be none too odd a thing to hear about in these parts. Things happen ... caravan's get raided by orcs or bandits. But usually if a caravan is raided there's some sign of battle, there's usually a survivor or something left behind that was of little value to the raiders. Given this particular caravan, I no doubt would've at least expected a ransom letter."

Gareth's eyebrows rose slightly, "a ransom for who might I ask?"

"Well I've heard that the daughter of some powerful Clover trader was a part of this caravan. I don't rightly know what a highborn lass like that would be doing coming out west."

Gareth continued to mine Cutter for more details, and he soon gathered a few more interesting things. First, despite the missing caravan and its important passenger, some of the local people have apparently seen strange men in the forest, dressed in the tabards of the Clover Trading Company. Most of the villagers have agreed that these men are simply the bandits who had taken the caravan and its spoils last June.
Cutter, however thought otherwise.

The ostler seemed completely at ease talking to the gregarious Gareth, and he confided to the unfamiliar nobleman that he had reasons to believe that these strange men had made late-night calls to Cherry Knoll's Abbey. His brought his words to a whisper and continued,” Now I'm telling you this not to do wrong on ole' Abbot Rethra, but I think the son of the lord of Westpoint, our neighbor, needs to know about the situation, given that the previous search parties haven't returned themselves."

"Previous search parties? I'm surprised that I'm the first to hear about this problem. I mean, why hasn't my father, Roderick, been informed about this?"

"Well Lord Steele, it’s by no misdeeds on my part. I'm sure the Abbot has his reasons; if indeed he's aware of this situation. Our Abbot hasn't been seen in nary a month. In fact.....his men seem to have stopped their regular patrols of the forest in recent weeks."

"Well how big were the search parties Cutter?" Gareth was steadily sobering up, and his normally carefree demeanor was darkening.

"Well sir, they weren't too big. Both consisted of some "expert" bounty hunter hired by the Clover Trade in Archaven and a few local guides. Don't know why they weren't bigger milord. Both bounty hunters seemed mighty arrogant though. Too arrogant I suppose, given that they also seem to have disappeared."

"I think I'll be doing some investigating about this missing girl. You're sure you don't know who her father is Master Cutter?"

"No sir, I surely don't."

Almost as an afterthought, Gareth quietly handed the helpful ostler a few pieces of gold, which Cutter seemed to take reluctantly.

The nobleman returned to his seat next to Hollum, and whispering in the old man's ear, "Well Hollum, I'm giving you a reprieve from my presence. I think I'd like to spend a few nights in this cozy tavern, maybe take in some local flavor. I might catch up to you in a day or three, but if I haven't then don't feel bad about dividing up my promised salary among your men."

And with that Gareth found his way up to his private room, and fell asleep.

----------------

Li Hai had been straining his ears to little avail during Gareth's and Cutter's quiet discussion, and almost immediately after he saw the aristocrat go upstairs, the Halthyte called the busy barkeep over.

Despite his best efforts to get Cutter to tell him what Gareth and him had talked about, with both coin being offered and a few subtle threats, Li Hai found himself rebuffed.

The Halthyte gave up that line of questioning, and started to question Cutter about the local history of the Cherry Knoll. Cutter was a bit more open to this, but proved insufficient for whatever Li Hai was looking for. The ostler finally told Li Hai that much, telling the man that he knew nothing of Cherry Knoll from before when he first brought his family here five years ago.

Annoyed and weary from a long journey, Li Hai bought a pallet in the common hostel upstairs, and went upstairs.

----------------

Gorbag, to everyone's disdain, fell asleep sprawled across the table that he'd been sitting at all night. The smell of many ales and even more food wreathed the orc's already potent body odor.

Cutter apparently decided to deal with the orc on the morrow, and Gorbag slept soundly, alone in the common room of Cutter's Inn and Tavern.

 

[Felix]

Cyronax:

This is your weekly alarm clock.

6 days have passed.

You have one remaining to post.

Or else large, intimidating Chinese people will be sent to visit violence upon your person.

±ð½ôÕÅ,дºÃ.µ«ÊÇ¿ìµã¶ù,°¡!

Aus