Swords & Spells, or: Coming of Age (Being a Sequel to Duergar & Daemons, itself a Sequel to An Adventure in Five Acts)

[ilgatto]

Swords & Spells, or: Coming of Age
Part I: Coup de foudre​

Night 167: The company reach Stalag at the end of the day. They make their way through the forest of stalagmites and stalactites and across the suspended bridges to the palace, where the duergar queen receives them at once.
“Majesté!,” the chevalier sings, flourishing as elegantly and intricately as ever. “It is an honor to be in majesté’s exalted presence once more! If majesté would allow me the honor of informing majesté that our grand tour is at an end and that we are eager to avail ourselves of majesté’s backdoor to the surface – perhaps after majesté has graced us with a discussion of trade, to our mutual benefit?”
“A-a-a-h!,” the queen says. “New wine! How humans deliver? When?”
“We are at the mercy of majesté,” the chevalier replies smoothly. “Perhaps majesté would do us the honor of informing us how and when majesté wishes the goods delivered?”
And so it transpires that the chevalier has once again spoken in haste, for the proceedings soon lead to the conclusion that it would be more practical to use the exit in the old tin mine rather than ‛majesté’s backdoor’.
“A-ha-ha-ha!,” the chevalier trills. “Majesté is, as always, quite correct.”
“Humans go now,” the queen says, gesturing at one of her generals. “I have a party to attend to.”

Nights 168-172: The company spend the night on the folding boat in the cavern with the waterfall, and set out for the old tin mine early in the morning – a six-day trek ahead of them.
“We haven’t really cleared this dungeon, have we?,” Sir Eber remarks, when they have been on the road for some time.
After the laughter has died down, the company reach the cavern of the rothmen at the end of the fourth day, where they are allowed to spend the night in the settlement again. They are enjoying some rothé steaks for dinner when the chevalier brings up installing Rodlu in the old tin mine again.
“Not sure that’s the way forward, old bean,” Navarre says. “I’d rather leave the matter to Uncle Alphonse. Good man. Head for coin and all that.”
“Mon cher!,” the chevalier exclaims. “One can hardly expect a noble of the realm to spend the rest of his life in an old tin mine! I say we give Rodlu his trading post. He is much better suited to deal with the duergar than any of us.”
“I suppose one could agree to setting up Rodlu in the mine and leaving Uncle Alphonse to deal with the rest,” Navarre admits.
“He must still remain under permanent guard,” Sir Eber says. “Underlings cannot be trusted.”
“Agreed,” Navarre says. “With things the way they are, we’ll have to protect the operation from bandit raids anyway. We shall deploy a military force with troops from all four duchies of the Alliance. They can also keep an eye on what goes on in the mine.”

Night 173: Early that evening, the company reach the crack in the ceiling that leads to the long, long way up to the tunnel to the old tin mine. Now without the benefit of an experienced guide, it takes them until late in the night to spelunk, climb, and wriggle their way up to the passage. When they are about halfway to the exit, Navarre overhears the chevalier and Rodlu discussing the trading post – as one does the talking, and the other keeps his thoughts mostly to himself, except when the conversation touches on such subjects as his rewards and the prospect of having to do any work himself.
“Duergar must come to post for trade,” the chubby duergar says. “Rodlu not go down again.”
“Et voilà!,” the chevalier says, beaming at Navarre. “A shrewd trader! Why should the company pay for transporting goods any farther than the mine?”
“Is much better trade,” Rodlu agrees, a lewd smile on his face. “Rodlu buy woman before you know it.”
“Buy a woman?,” Navarre asks, raising an eyebrow. “I thought women were sacred?”
“Certainly!,” Rodlu says. “Is why womans so expensive!”

When the company finally reach the old tin mine, Sir Eber instructs his ‛team’ to remain behind and make do with the supplies the company have left until he reaches the river and can send back more. Over the past couple of ten-days, the pale humans have begun asserting themselves ever more, and presently some of them emerge from various nooks and crannies to offer him handfuls of insects and arthropods, which he bravely declines.
The chevalier says his goodbyes to Rodlu, who promises to stay in the mine and await his return.
“Rodlu put slaves to work for trading post, yes?,” the plump duergar concludes.
“A-ha-ha-ha!,” comes the chevalier’s falsetto laugh. “Et maintenant… au revoir, mon ami!”
And was that a single tear in the chevalier’s eye?

Meanwhile, Sir Oengus has reached the cave exit.
“Bad weather ahead, lubbers!,” he hollers, looking up at the sky.
Sure enough, a furious wind is already tearing at their cloaks when his noble companions join him. They look up to see the moon disappear behind the dark clouds racing across the night sky, occasionally lit by formidable strokes of lightning followed by the sound of distant thunder.
“Gentlemen,” Navarre says. “Welcome to Dauberval.”
“Coup de foudre…,” the chevalier muses, when another bolt of lightning streaks across the firmament. “Messieurs, we are at war.”
“Best hurry up then,” Navarre says, throwing off his cloak. “Last one there’s a rotten egg!”

And so our noble heroes honor their tradition of diving into the small lake at the bottom of the meadow below the mine. Sir Eber is the first out of the water again, and he manages to track down a mountain goat and kill it before the rain comes gushing down – or rather, he stumbles upon a sleeping mountain goat and slits its throat without it being any the wiser.

Day 174: The sun rises in a clear sky and our noble heroes eat some of Sir Eber’s mountain goat before they start their trek down the mountain. Looking out over the mountains and forests of his homeland, Navarre realizes that he is already beginning to doubt the reality of his experiences in the Underdark. How can a world so dark truly exist? Isn’t all of this much more tangible – the open sky, the mountains stretching rimward, the vast forests to his left, the wind in his face? Indeed, he hasn’t felt as clear-headed as he does now in a long time, and he realizes that the memories of the past ten-days are already slipping away, like phantoms fading. Languidly giving in to the feeling, he wonders whether humans and duergar will ever be truly able to accept each other’s existence.
He is roused from his reverie when the chevalier blows a reveille on his trumpet and announces the ‛On départ!’. And so, after some four hours of hauling chests and rolls of silk down the mountain, our noble heroes arrive at “The Dancing Pig”, where they enjoy a farmer’s luncheon in the courtyard, surrounded by chickens and goats.

When they eventually continue their way down the mountain, our noble heroes soon reach the river, and then the small settlement downstream later that afternoon. Here, everything turns out to be business as usual, as it were, with the townsfolk once again proving unable – or perhaps unwilling – to provide their betters with any news of Mim and the war.
And so, eager to get the matter of the wine and gifts for the duergar queen out of the way, Navarre suggests a visit to the local wine merchant.
“Primeur in yet, my good man?,” he asks, barging into the establishment.
“Maturing as we speak, my lord,” the merchant replies with a slight nod. “Perhaps my lord would be interested in some Lillac of the finest vintage?”
“Not today, old boy,” Navarre says. “Rather looking for some plonk, you see.”
“Certainly, my lord,” the merchant says, admirably straight-faced. “What would his lordship have in mind?”
“Doesn’t really matter, old sport,” Navarre says. “Whatever you can supply in large quantities.”

After the merchant has informed them that he may well be able to provide about five hundred liters of a mixture of various wines of this year’s harvest at a reasonable price, our noble heroes inform him that someone will contact him at a later date and bid him good day. Next, they sell the copper ware from Low-Ball and two rolls of the best quality spidersilk for a grand total of one hundred and seventy-five gold coins, netting them a decent profit of fifty-nine gold – enough for the wine – and still leaving them with the remaining roll of first-quality spidersilk to do with as they please.
Then, obviously long bored with the proceedings, both Sir Eber and Sir Oengus announce that they will leave their noble fellows to it – the first to buy horses, and the second to see if he can learn anything about Mim’s barge at the jetties.
This leaves Navarre, the chevalier, and Sir Suvali to discuss their profits and what to do with them. When the subject of whether they should travel on to the capital today or tomorrow comes up, the chevalier nudges Navarre.
“Do take care of the details, will you, mon cher?,” he says, spying what can only be a house of ill-repute. “I’ve got an itch to scratch.”

“Indeed,” Navarre muses, when his noble friend has disappeared and he finds that the sorcerer is equally nowhere to be seen. So he heads for a small inn and spends the afternoon drinking beer and pondering the war. When evening falls, Sir Oengus finds him on the terrace, watching the sun set.
“Pint of?,” Navarre asks, pointing to his mug and rising from his chair.
When he returns and the noble duo have taken a couple of swigs from their beer, Sir Oengus explains that he has not learned anything new from the bargemen, but that he has arranged passage on a barge to the capital tomorrow.
“Old salt name of Butter,” he adds, emptying his mug and calling for a refill. “Not one I would trust with my life, but all the best captains have been enlisted.”
Some time later, Sir Eber joins them and announces that he has traded his dwarven armor for two horses and the necessary equipment.
“Sarazin still at it?,” he asks, when the noble trio have had dinner and the amorous chevalier hasn’t shown up yet.
“It would seem so,” Navarre says.
And so Sir Eber kicks the chevalier out of the bordello and our noble heroes spend the night at the inn.

Day 175: That morning, after a hearty breakfast and with the sun out in all its glory, our noble heroes board captain Butter’s barge.
“What’s with the barge?,” Sir Suvali asks his noble fellows when he is on board. “We have a ship.”
“Ah, yes,” Sir Oengus replies. “I may have forgotten about that.”
Much to their astonishment, the rest of our noble heroes realize that they, too, haven’t given the folding boat a second thought. Fleeting memories indeed.

Some four hours later, the barge docks at the ducal jetties just down the river from the capital, and our noble heroes are soon on their way to the Dauberval family barrows. Keeping his eyes peeled for any signs of the traitorous Mim and his rebels, Navarre is first through the gates, to find servants hurrying to and fro, unloading carts, and hauling chests and coffers into the barrows. Not sure what to make of it at first, he suddenly realizes that his noble father and mother must have returned from the mountain castle, where the family summers. When he sees his noble father appear at the doors of the great barrow in the company of his master-of-arms, he hurries to intercept them.
“Ah, son!,” the Duke of Dauberval says when he notices him. “My dear boy! Where have you been all summer?”
“We have been… preparing for the war, father,” Navarre says, quickly deciding that now might not be the time to inform his noble father of duergar and Underdarks. “May I reintroduce my friends?”
“Indeed,” his noble father replies, absentmindedly surveying the bewhiskered assembly. “Well, best foot forward!”
“I say,” Navarre says, before his noble father can turn to the master-at-arms again. “What of Mim?”
“Ah, yes,” the duke says. “Taken himself to the mainland as I understand it.”
“The mainland? Where?”
“I believe it was Sarazin.”
“What?!,” Navarre and the chevalier exclaim almost in unison. “Sarazin?! How so? By Olm! The nerve of the fellow!”
“Just so,” the duke agrees. “Well, perhaps not Sarazin as such but rather the Lake District, and in Palava at that.”
“Mon duc,” the chevalier begins, with a graceful gesture. “De Sarazin. Is there any news as to the number of men the duke currently has at his disposal?”
“A hundred and fifty of his own men,” the duke says. “Then there’s infantry from Palava, Bagabuxsha, Thuxra. Some former Royal Navy. Current estimate is around four hundred and fifty in total.”
The duke has a good look at our noble heroes.
“Indeed,” he says. “Well, I’d say this calls for a late breakfast, what? I’m sure there must be some cider around here somewhere.”

Our noble heroes spend the day at the Dauberval barrows, where a late breakfast turns into lunch, then into dinner. The war and the traitorous Mim are not mentioned again until the women have retired, the servants have cleared the table, and some of the duke’s military commanders start spreading out maps on it. Servants bring in a selection of brandies, ciders, and cigars, and our noble heroes spend the evening discussing the war with some twenty Dauberval nobles.
“All in all, the fellow has rather done us a favor by landing his troops,” the duke says, when the meeting is nearing its end. “We will move when the mud has gone.”
“A winter campaign,” the chevalier agrees.
“Just so,” the duke says, pointing at some maps. “An ultimatum will be issued once Nisibis has rallied its troops – here. Best lend some force to the argument and all that. If no answer comes, we will join forces and march to the field of battle en force. Troops will advance along the shore – like so. Supplies will follow in barges.”
“An ultimatum,” Sir Oengus says. “That leaves us ample time to harass his troops and inflict some damage.”
“I beg your pardon?,” the duke says, throwing him a sharp look. “My dear fellow! This is war, not some bar room brawl! One cannot simply start ‛harassing’ people without due warning! There are procedures to follow!”

If anything, the meeting has made it clear once again that the assembled Dauberval noblesse do not think much of the unorthodox ideas some of our noble heroes bring to the table. And so, when the nobles have retired, our noble heroes open another bottle and discuss what to do with the time they have left before winter comes and the armies march – albeit without Sir Suvali, who has long since left for Nisibis on some errand of his own.
Numerous plans of action are discussed – to their ever louder guffaws and boisterous exclamations – and a respectable amount of the best cider the ducal cellars have to offer is consumed. Sir Oengus keeps speaking of armored barges and water liners, the latter being his supposed unit of specially trained ‛marines’ he has yet to meet; Sir Eber of anything and everything involving the abundant shedding of blood, usually against overwhelming odds, and ranging from raiding supply lines and attacking scouting parties to just charging into Mim’s camp and taking it from there; the chevalier of heavy infantry, leading cavalry charges, the situation on King’s Lake, attacking blockades and crippling Mim’s fleet, an assault on Apple Island, and spies being everywhere; and Navarre of the betrayal of trust given, throwing the traitorous Mim the gauntlet to make him answer for his conduct unbecoming, of rather being against commando-style actions, and calling for caution in general.

In the end, all agree that they are quite tired of having to rely on second- and even-worse-hand information all the time, and they decide that they will ride out to the lakeside to have a look at Mim’s encampment for themselves – which has the added advantage that they will pass one of his blockades at the mouth of the River Dusk, and that they will be close at hand should developments offer them a chance to engage either the traitorous duke himself or any of his troops.
“I say we take Apple Island regardless,” the chevalier suggests at some point, as he opens another bottle.
“I quite agree,” Navarre says, emptying his glass. “If only for symbolic effect. Reclaiming King’s Castle for the Alliance will invalidate Mim’s claim to the throne – effectively exposing him for the rebel he is. No throne, no king, I say – a notion that will be understood by commoners and nobles alike.”
“Excellent,” the chevalier says. “Oengus? Send in the marines!”
“Hold yer horses, lubber,” Sir Oengus says. “My water liners won’t attack anything until they’ve had a look-see first. And they sure as hell won’t attack just because you say so, by thunder!”

Long before this, Sir Suvali has crossed the River Dusk and located the bivouac of the Nisibis army – currently under the command of Sir Oengus’ noble sister. He is granted an audience and informs her, perhaps among other things that have not been recorded, that “Navarre has ordered the arrest of the traitorous Mim” and that “he will challenge him to a duel”. When asked whether this duel will be fought by Navarre himself, the sorcerer declares that his noble fellow will not make use of his right to put a champion in the field and that he will fight the traitor himself. Which just goes to show that, even when he is alone, there’s only little the vainglorious sorcerer won’t do to claim the stage for himself.
After this, it seems that he also contacts one Shayla, apparently the head of the chevalier’s ‛secret spy service’, who informs him that Mim has some fifty cavalry in addition to the troops Duke Dauberval mentioned earlier that day; that some ninety percent of his troops are estimated to be on the mainland, probably leaving Apple Island largely deserted; that he has established blockades on all rivers leading to King’s Lake, and is imposing heavy taxes on all traffic seeking passage; and that he has called for negotiations.
The sorcerer returns to Dauberval late that night and informs his, by now quite inebriated, noble fellows of the results of his mission.
“‛Called for negotiations’? Ha!,” Navarre scoffs. “Negotiate with a traitor? Whatever will be next!”

Day 176: After an early breakfast, our noble heroes board captain Butter’s barge again. Sir Eber brings his two horses on board, and he now also has two Irish wolfhounds, which he seems to have commandeered from the ducal kennels. When they arrive in Sarazin, Sir Oengus pays captain Butter the princely sum of three gold coins. Then, as usual, there is a change of plan: Sir Oengus and Sir Suvali announce that they will continue the journey on the folding boat, and rejoin the others a couple of miles before the first blockade. And so it is that just Sir Eber, Navarre, and the chevalier disembark in Sarazin, where the latter commandeers three more horses and the trek down the River Dusk commences.

With the weather worsening and the traffic and number of buildings steadily increasing as they draw closer to King’s Lake, the noble trio have been on the road for some four hours when Navarre notices that a lone rider has been following them for some time. He alerts his noble fellows, upon which Sir Eber dismounts and disappears into the fog rising among the trees to wait for the man, and the others continue riding at a slow pace.
And sure enough, a rider comes into view only minutes later. Staying low, he starts moving back to the road, and he is within twenty yards of him when the man notices him. Suppressing a curse, Sir Eber draws his bow and fires two shots, hitting the man once for a respectable amount of damage. When the rider leaps from the saddle and starts running, Sir Eber draws his swords and gives chase, soon catching up and hitting the man twice, aiming to knock him out rather than kill him.
“Goddammit!,” the rider curses, fumbling for his short sword.
“Surrender!,” Sir Eber commands, staying his next attack.
“Wot’s innit for me then?,” the rider asks, after he has sized up his opponent for a moment and decided that he’d better come down a peg or two if he wants to survive the encounter.
“Your life.”
“Spit on it?”
“Naturally.”
The rider lowers his sword and surrenders.
“Come along,” Sir Eber says, after disarming him and whistling for his dogs. Bothersome lot, dogs.

When the our noble hero rejoins his noble fellows down the road, the chevalier opens the proceedings in his usual flamboyant manner.
“Filthy spy!,” he exclaims. “Hateful traitor! Speak, or face death!”
“Hold yer horses, fella,” the rider says, taking a few steps back. “I’m just a hired hand!”
“I remind you that you are addressing a peer of the realm, sir,” Navarre says frostily. “Well? Out with it! Who hired you?”
“I’m from Nisibis,” the man replies.
“Are you now?,” Navarre says. “In that case, you surely won’t mind telling me the name of the duke’s daughter. Well? Out with it!”
The rider glances at him uneasily.
“Quite,” Navarre says, getting back into the saddle. “Bring him along. He can explain himself to Oengus tomorrow.”

Day 179: The noble trio join Sir Oengus and Sir Suvali at the meeting point later that morning.
“This one of yours?,” the chevalier asks Sir Oengus as he brings the prisoner on board.
“No,” Sir Oengus replies.
“I serve the rightful king!,” the prisoner suddenly yells, thus spilling the beans without further ado.
“That’s it,” Navarre says grimly. “It’s going to be a court-martial for you, my friend. Does anybody have a rope?”
“No hangings,” Sir Eber says. “I have given my word. Harm him, and answer to me.”

 

[ilgatto]

Swords & Spells, or: Coming of Age
Part II: Barges and Brigandage, or: Highborn Hands in Deeds Unbecoming​

In which the DM has informed our noble heroes that it is late in the afternoon of day 181 when Sir Eber, Navarre, and the chevalier reach the point where they are to meet Sir Oengus and Sir Suvali again.

Day 179: Sir Eber, the chevalier, and Navarre wake to torrential rain and continue on their way after a hasty breakfast. The weather being what it is, there are but few folk about, most of them traveling salesmen. When one of these proves to be a hatter, the chevalier insists on inspecting his wares – but it has not been recorded whether any of the man’s hats were to our noble hero’s delicate taste.
Later that day, looking for something to fight again, Sir Eber finds tracks left by a black bear and follows them into the woods for some ten minutes, much to the discomfort of his dogs. Navarre is with him, hoping to learn more tricks of the trade, but the noble duo don’t find the bear. When they get back to the road again, the chevalier is waiting under a tree.
“Mes amis,” he begins, in what will become the crowning addition to several days’ worth of affected exchanges between him and Navarre – one which the chronicler struggles to translate, wherefore he can only leave us with: “As fortune has it, I happen to know of a charming little farmstead just up the road, where they do a rather delightful pâté.”

Day 180: When Sir Oengus and Sir Suvali moor the folding boat at the meeting point, Sir Suvali spreads the wings of his flying contraption and takes to the cloud-covered skies to see what’s what with the blockade a couple of miles ahead. When he gets there, he spends some time observing two barges moored at opposite sides of the river’s mouth, eventually counting some thirty crew on each – a ragtag collection of what appear to be bandits, bargemen, and perhaps conscripts or militiamen wearing colors that approximate the green and blue of the traitorous Mim.

Day 181: The noble trio reach the folding boat late in the afternoon.
“This one of yours?,” the chevalier asks Sir Oengus as he brings the prisoner on board.
“No,” Sir Oengus replies.
“I serve the rightful king!,” the prisoner suddenly yells, thus spilling the beans without further ado.
“That’s it,” Navarre says grimly. “It’s going to be a court-martial for you, my friend. Does anybody have a rope?”
“No hangings,” Sir Eber says. “I have given my word. Harm him, and answer to me.”
“We’ve been preparing the assault on the blockade,” Sir Suvali interrupts the proceedings. “They have sixty men, and we’re building rafts.”
“Are we?,” Navarre asks, unaware of any plans involving assaults on blockades. “Sixty men, you say? Piece of the proverbial, I’d imagine?”
“Let’s do it,” Sir Eber says – obviously.
“I see,” Navarre says. “And what does this ‛plan’ involve? Storming the barges and killing every man, woman, and child on board? Are we to become brigands, Sir?”
“My sister will be here by sundown, and there’ll be hands aplenty,” Sir Oengus ventures. “As for the barges, we’ll hit them broadside with fire rafts.”
Navarre raises an eyebrow and turns to his noble cousin.
“They’re war barges,” Sir Suvali comes in, as if this explains things. “Four ballistas each.”
“Merveilleux!,” the chevalier cries. “Two barges for the navy! We shall attack Mim from the lake!”
“That may well be a problem if they go up in flames, old boy,” Navarre suggests irritably. “And even so, Mim will see us coming from miles away if we approach by lake. Indeed, I’d say he won’t even need all of his – what was it? – five hundred men to deal with us.”
“We’ll move after nightfall,” Sir Eber says, straightening his back. “The man who can see me coming in the dark hasn’t been born yet.”
“We’ll set fire to the first ship,” Sir Suvali adds. “I will cast Web and torch it, while you board the ship on the other side of the river.”
“Hmm… I suppose all is fair and all that,” Navarre muses, somewhat warming to the plan despite himself. “But how are we going to get close enough for such an assault?”
“Simple enough,” Sir Oengus says. “We’ll sail up to them, drop anchor, and wait for them to board us and inspect our cargo for their blasted taxes.”
“Some ships are allowed to pass after they have paid and passed the inspection.” Sir Suvali explains.
“I’d say we are not very likely to pass an inspection,” Navarre says. “And don’t start about disguises again.”
“Afraid, Dauberval?,” Sir Eber scoffs. “There’s only thirty men aboard.”
“Indeed!,” Navarre says, laughing. “Only thirty? And what’s to prevent the second barge from coming to their aid? What about their ballistas? Slingers? Archers?”
“Gentlemen,” Sir Suvali announces. “We attack at midnight. I will cast Sleep on the night guard of the first ship and you will board it. Then I will fly to the other side and prevent the second ship from lifting anchor or firing its missiles.”
“Now that does sound like a plan,” Navarre says.
“To be sure, lubber!,” Sir Oengus says, procuring some sketches and pointing to some of them. “I’ll be makin’ this gangplank ‛ere. Lines to lower it onto the deck, couple of long-johns and some tow to dampen the sound fer when it hits the deck.”
And so our noble heroes begin discussing the details of their plan. When Sir Eber mentions that he cannot swim, Navarre spends the rest of the afternoon teaching him the basics.

Day 182: Sir Oengus is the first to wake up, and he sets about gathering the materials for his gangplank after hollering to his noble companions to show a leg. When these have also made an appearance, and Navarre and Sir Eber have returned from their swim in the river, our noble heroes further discuss their plan of attack. When the problem of dealing with thirty crewmen comes up again, Sir Suvali points out that most of them will likely be fast asleep in the hold when the assault begins, and that the boarding party need only nail some of the hatches to the deck to control how quickly the crew can appear on deck. All agree that this is the way to go, and so our noble heroes set about their tasks, such as helping Sir Oengus with his gangplank, and finding things that can serve as nails.

Just after sundown, our noble heroes disembark and head for the blockade to see what, exactly, they will be dealing with. Sticking to the trees and undergrowth as much as they can, they reach the blockade in a little less than an hour, take up positions as close to the barge as they can, and observe the goings on for a while. The light of weakly burning lanterns illuminates the fore and aft of the vessel, revealing only two lookouts on deck, obviously at ease as they are chatting audibly in the flickering glow of one of the lanterns. From their current position, our noble heroes gather that it’s about sixty yards to the barge, the last twenty being open terrain. After some time, they advance to within twenty-five yards of the barge, their approach concealed by the trees, the steady rain, and the strong wind. When they are in position, Navarre cannot help but think of the duergar land walkers. By Olm!, he curses silently. How useful the creatures would be for an operation like this!
Next to him, Sir Oengus gauges the distance and angle between the shore and the barge, allowing him to calculate how long his gangplank has to be. The barge is some ten yards long and four wide, and he knows that it has a flat deck with three hatches in it, two large ones for the cargo, and a smaller one for the crew.

When they have seen enough, our noble heroes return to their folding boat, where they discuss their findings.
“Gentlemen.” Sir Suvali says at length. “To summarize. We will attack one hour after midnight tomorrow. You will take your positions in the tree line as agreed. I will cast Sleep on the lookouts and signal the all-clear. Navarre, you will nail the cargo hatches to the deck. Eber and Scaralat will be at the small hatch to deal with the crew. I will fly to the other ship and cast Web to trap the lookouts and secure its hatches. Oengus will be on the stern to keep an eye out in general, ready to fire burning arrows at the web if things should go wrong on the second barge.”
“So we’re not taking the second barge?,” Sir Eber asks.
“I say we do so only if we succeed in taking the first without breaking much of a sweat,” Navarre suggests. “Now, how do we deal with the crew?”
“Tiens,” the chevalier says. “For the first barge, we shall prepare smoke bombs and throw them down the hatchway into their quarters. As to the second… they are already trapped. Et voilà!”
“Agreed,” Navarre says. “When they surrender, we must disarm them and get them ashore immediately, one by one, so that they don’t get any ideas.”
“Bof!,” the chevalier says dismissively. “I do not expect any problems. All we have to do is nail the hatches to the deck of the second barge when Suvali’s web disappears.”
Sir Oengus makes some sketches to show Navarre how he can nail the hatches to the deck as quickly and effectively as possible, until the latter admits that he hasn’t been able to find much in the way of nails so far.
“Yer be wantin’ to use some oars then,” Sir Oengus says, quickly making some more sketches. “Run’em across the hatches between the scuppers like so.”
“Bravo!,” Navarre exclaims, rather relieved that he doesn’t have to worry about nailing three hatches to the deck in what is surely not going to be enough time despite the instructions of his noble friend. “As easy as that! My dear fellow!”
And so, his sense of jubilance greatly increased by the fact that his noble companions have come up with a truly comprehensive plan of action for a change, he rises to his feet.
“My Lords!,” he announces, raising his glass. “Pour le Roi! Montjoie Saint-Denis!”

Day 183: After a day of rest and some final preparations, our noble heroes disembark at midnight beneath a cloud-covered sky. Sir Oengus reduces their folding boat to a box, and then they make their way down the River Dusk, keeping to the trees as much as possible. They have used soot to blacken their faces and armor as required, and they are carrying Sir Oengus’ gangplank and the oars of the folding boat among them. They reach the blockade about an hour later and take up their positions as agreed, with Sir Oengus, Sir Suvali, and Navarre in the first line and Sir Eber and the chevalier some distance back to their left and right, respectively.

Navarre feels the tension rising as he watches Sir Suvali unfold the wings of his flying contraption and vanish into the night sky. His heart is racing when the sorcerer appears above the barge a minute later, and he braces himself for his silent dash to the barge behind Sir Eber with the gangplank. But then, of course, the sorcerer has to make the most of being the center of attention again and, indeed, in full control of the entire operation for the moment. And so he casts his Sleep spell, waits until both lookouts have been asleep for a full round, flies to the second barge, casts another Sleep spell there, takes his time to confirm that the two lookouts there are also sound asleep, returns to his position above the first barge, casts Web at the second barge, returns to it to have a look at the result, flies back to the first barge and then, finally, signals the all-clear.

Sir Eber gets to his feet and begins his silent approach to the barge, gangplank held high. He rolls “07%” on his Move Silently check and manages to lower the gangplank into place without so much as the slightest of stirs. Silently wishing hell and damnation upon the self-important sorcerer, Navarre follows the ranger moments later, with Sir Oengus in tow, and both carrying oars, hammers, and nails. The ranger has already reached the small hatch when they board the barge and dash to the bow, where Sir Oengus takes up position to starboard and Navarre thrusts one of the oars into the starboard scupper – to find that it is too short to reach all the way to the one to larboard.
“Three curses!,” he whispers to Sir Oengus. “Now what?”
“Blimey!,” his noble friend says, without bothering to whisper. “Thar be two o’ the picaroons as be takin’ a caulk down here to be sure! Now hear this, lubber! Belay that hempen to the dead-eye and tie the end in a monkey knot! Smartly now, by thunder!”

As Navarre frantically starts securing the first hatch at his noble friend’s directions, the chevalier appears at Sir Eber’s side, weapon at the ready.
“We’re having a p-a-a-a-rty,” the ranger starts singing, weapons drawn and tapping his boot on the deck. “La, la, la!”
Moments later, the hatch opens and a crewman pokes his head out.
“Hey!,” he yells. “If ye don’t shut yer bletherin’…”
But Sir Eber starts hacking away at him before he can finish his sentence and the man only just manages to raise his arm in a reflex before his corpse tumbles down the ladder and onto the deck below with a considerable racket.
“Hey!,” Sir Eber calls after him in mock surprise. “What are you doing?”
“Alarm!,” a voice comes from below decks. “Alarm!”
“Merde!,” the chevalier yells when he rolls a “1” and fumbles his attempt to throw a smoke bomb down the hatch. Perhaps he, too, is feeling the tension. He fares better with his second attempt, and presently an acrid smoke comes billowing up from the hatchway, soon followed by a second crewman.
“For Mim!,” the man yells. “For the king!”
Although this one is able to finish his sentence, his corpse, too, crashes down the ladder moments later, felled by an arrow from the chevalier and both of Sir Eber’s swords. Immediately, two more men appear on the ladder, this time militiamen or conscripts in the green and blue of the traitorous Mim. But they, too, do not stand much of a chance against the ranger on deck, and one of them is already dead by his hand moments later.
“Ahoy up there!,” the second man hollers as the chevalier tosses another smoke bomb down the hatch. “Bandits! Surrender!”
“For whom do you speak?,” the chevalier calls back.
“In the name of the king!,” the voice comes. “King Mim!”
“Ha, ha, ha, ha-a-a!,” the chevalier yells, before kicking the hatch shut with a bang.

Meanwhile, Navarre has managed to secure the second cargo hatch, and he presently starts for Sir Eber and the chevalier at the stern.
“Not so fast, lubber!,” Sir Oengus calls. “Release the hawsers, by thunder! I’ll bring her about and we’ll board the second barge!”
“Best wait until we have secured this one, old boy,” Navarre says sharply as he turns around. “Two fronts and all that.”

Behind him, Sir Eber opens the hatch again.
“Surrender!,” he hollers down the hatchway. “You are prisoners of war!”
“Have you any idea who we are!?,” comes a voice from below. “We don’t surrender to bandits!”
And so two more militiamen come charging up the ladder, one of which quickly falls to the weapons of the ranger. Across the hatch, the chevalier engages the second militiaman, but he manages to roll his second “1” of the evening and fumbles his attack. Another militiaman takes the place of the one killed by Sir Eber in the last round and, when the chevalier also manages to make his attacks count, two more militiamen have been sent down the ladder. Though five of their number now lie dead, and they are obviously at a considerable disadvantage, pairs of militiamen keep coming up the ladder, to be cut down by Sir Eber and the chevalier without much ado. When Navarre joins the noble duo at the hatch, the chevalier manages to roll his third “1” of the evening, to his profound dismay and chagrin.

By now, the fight has acquired all of the characteristics of wanton slaughter, so much so that even Sir Eber is beginning to feel slightly embarrassed.
“Surrender!,” he hollers, in another attempt to put an end to the proceedings.
“Surrender!,” comes the reply from below.
The ranger just shrugs, and so the noble trio have to kill several more militiamen, most of them falling to Sir Eber’s swords.
“Ahoy, lubbers!,” Sir Oengus hollers from the bow. “Can we leave Eber to it yet?”
Two more militiamen come up the ladder, one of whom is instantly killed by Sir Eber. However, the chevalier rolls his fourth “1” of the evening – now to his absolute fury – which does not abate in the slightest when the DM tries to assuage him by informing him that he, too, has already managed to roll three “1”s tonight – but, of course, as the DM, he can roll as many “1”s as he likes and see if his PCs care. Besides, that’s ONE LESS!

And then, finally, the crew seem to realize that they will never fight their way past the noble trio on deck. Presently four of them come storming up the ladder, ducking attacks and trying for the larboard gunnel. But this, too, does not get them very far. Three are cut down almost instantly and, although the fourth manages to jump overboard, Sir Oengus has him in his sights when he clambers onto the shore and starts running.
“Avast, lubber!,” he laughs. “And where do we think we’re going? Come about, by thunder, or die a coward’s death!”
But the militiaman keeps running and so he dies a quick death when he is struck by four arrows, two from Sir Oengus and two from Sir Suvali, who has been watching the proceedings from high and dry above. After this, all is quiet for several minutes.
“Surrender!,” Sir Eber hollers again.
“Who do you speak for?,” comes the reply.
“I am Eber Ard Weald,” Sir Eber calls. “Son of the Duke of Weald.”
Moments later, the first militiamen appear on deck, unarmed and with their hands raised, and then more keep coming until all sixteen remaining crew have surrendered.
“This will not go unpunished!,” one of the militiamen yells, after all of them have been ordered to remove their armor and Sir Oengus has inspected the ship and given the all-clear. “This is unheard of! A cowardly attack!”
“Consider yourselves prisoners of war,” Navarre says. “Get them ashore.”
“Belay that,” Sir Oengus interrupts. “We’ll clamp ‛em in irons in the forehold and nail the door shut.”
“Gentlemen,” Sir Suvali says as he lands on deck near the assembled militiamen. “Cup of tea?”
And so the militiamen are given some of Theresa’s herbal tea and end up sound asleep and safely locked up in the forehold.

“Next!,” Sir Eber hollers, wringing his hands in gleeful anticipation.
“Sails away!,” Sir Oengus hollers. He steers the barge across the river and moors it alongside the second barge, where nothing has changed and the magical web still covers most of the deck.
“We wait until it expires,” Sir Suvali declares. “Eber, you’re strong enough to wade through the web, so you go aboard in the meantime. You may suffer some damage if the web is torched.”
“But I don’t think the crew will set fire to it!,” he adds hastily when the ranger throws him a dark glance. “Sails are expensive!”

As there seems to be no reason to change tactics, Navarre and Sir Oengus begin preparing the oars and the gangplank. When the magical web vanishes well over an hour later, Navarre lowers the gangplank onto the deck of the second barge with a loud bang, allowing our noble heroes to run aboard and take their positions on deck.
Navarre is already halfway through securing the cargo hatches when some sleepy voices start yelling below decks: “Hey! What up?! // Three gods! // Oi, knock it off up there!”
Moments later, the small hatch opens and a crewman emerges – and is cut down by Sir Eber without much ado.
“Surrender!,” the ranger hollers when the dead crewman tumbles down the ladder and the chevalier throws a smoke bomb down the hole.
Some more furious curses and stumbling about below decks initiate a shorter version of what transpired on the first barge and so our noble heroes quickly secure the second barge.

“Gentlemen,” Sir Suvali announces, when the captured crew are fast asleep and locked away, and our noble heroes have gathered in the hold of the second barge. “We will take the barges to Sarazin.”
“Merveilleux!,” the chevalier cries, pouring champagne into some glasses. “La marine!”
“Belay that, lubbers!,” Sir Oengus snaps. “I lay claim to these barges for my water liners and as compensation for losing the Varis. We set sail for Nisibis at first light, by thunder!”
“I can but bow to your wishes, monsieur,” the chevalier replies, with a mixture of surprise and annoyance in his voice. “Donc… We will sail rimward first.”
“We are too vulnerable now,” Sir Suvali adds, turning to the wind in a variation on his usual ‛I was thinking the same thing’. “We need the protection of the camp in Nisibis in case of a counter-attack.”
Since he is the only one who can steer a barge, Sir Oengus says that he wants both barges tied tightly together so he can sail them to Nisibis as a single unit. When Navarre (who else?) expresses his doubts, he is promptly assured that it will be no trouble at all. Well, it’s a game of heroic fantasy, isn’t it?

And so, after Sir Eber and the chevalier have brought the horses on board, Sir Oengus starts hollering orders.
“To Nisibis!,” he roars. “All hands on deck! Belay the hawsers! Swab the brightwork! Flemish the lines! Man the yards! Leadsmen to the fore! Haul wind, ye blisterin’ barnacles!”
“Mais…,” the chevalier protests. “Tout de suite? Surely not after the champagne?”
“Messieurs!,” Navarre calls, raising his glass. “Le Roi!”
Another toast follows, but then Sir Eber slams down his glass on the table with a bang.
“I’m still feeling a bit empty,” he starts. “I need more of this. The thrill of the fight! We must use the barges for covert operations!”
“Violence is usually followed by feelings of emptiness, old boy,” Navarre replies.
When the ranger just stares at him, Sir Suvali decides to get things going again.
“All in good time, Eber,” he says. “First, we must leave a message for Oengus’ sister at the watch post. Second, I’ll remain here to keep an eye on things when you sail rimward.”
Navarre is about to say something to this when Sir Oengus interrupts him.
“Fine by me,” his noble cousin says, shrugging. “We will sail to Nisibis, collect forty able men, and attack the next blockade.”
But Navarre isn’t convinced.
“I would suggest we start looking at the greater picture rather than engage in more piecemeal operations,” he ventures. “Murdering bargemen in the dead of night does not sit well with me at all. Need I remind you that the traitor has broken his word? I shall personally throw him the gauntlet…”

Anyway. It becomes quite clear that his noble companions prefer to continue their commando-style actions rather than confront the traitorous Mim himself, with Sir Eber caring little as long as whatever is next will involve combat. The debate continues for some time until, eventually, it turns to Apple Island again.
“I will fly to the island and see what’s what,” Sir Suvali says at one point.
“Tiens,” the chevalier says. “Reclaiming Apple Island for the Alliance must be our next objective.”
“Aye,” Sir Oengus says. “And yer be needin’ barges fer that. Might as well take all of them, I says! It’s well over a ten-day before the fine folk march to battle. We can have a whole fleet by then.”
“It would seem that we have reached an agreement,” Navarre says, raising his glass. “Messieurs, le Roi!”
Several more toasts are drunk and then, emboldened by their first success in the war against the traitorous Mim, and with the chance that things may well get back to normal again in the foreseeable future glimmering on the distant horizon – and fueled by some Dutch courage – Navarre approaches the chevalier.
“Mon ami…,” he begins. “A word among gentlemen… Mademoiselle your cousine… Eloïse… I confess to being quite taken...”
“Ha, ha, ha!,” the chevalier beams, spreading his arms. He sweeps his noble companion into a warm embrace, kissing him on both cheeks.
“Mon cher! Mon frère!,” he cries. “I thought you’d never ask! Mes félicitations!”
“Ahem…,” Navarre stammers, blushing. “Of course… A marriage… would be to both our advantage politically. An alliance between our houses...”
“Mais c’est l’amour!,” the chevalier exclaims in dismay. “F*** the houses! F*** first, then politics!”
When the laughter has subsided, Navarre opens the last bottle of Lillac and fills the glasses.
“To memorable nights!,” he cries, raising his glass in yet another toast.

But then Sir Oengus starts hollering about holystones and decks again and so, after some vigorous efforts to clear their heads, he, Sir Eber, and Navarre are on their way to Nisibis – horses on deck, and prisoners still sound asleep in the forehold. Sir Suvali and the chevalier have remained behind to keep an eye on the river and see what they can do to prevent the traitorous Mim from reinstating the blockade too soon – for the latter is still rooting for attacking Mim from the lake.

Day 183: All remains quiet until just before sunrise, when an ox-cart comes into view in the distance, prompting Sir Suvali to take the sky immediately. But he has to be careful in his approach, and the cart has already turned around before he can land in a safe spot and fold his wings again. Not wanting to risk the drivers alerting Mim of the situation at the blockade too soon, he sprints after the cart.
“Hey!,” he yells, frantically waving his arms. “Wait! Where are you going!”
Curious whether they may have missed something, the drivers stop the cart – and they are sound asleep moments later, victims of Sir Suvali’s Sleep spell. He hoists the sleeping drivers onto the cart and ties their hands and feet. Inspecting the load, he finds some bags of grain, coffers with loaves of bread, general supplies for some sixty men. He turns the cart around and heads for the chevalier down the road.
“That’s enough,” he says, when he gets there and dismounts. “You drive the cart rimward and I’ll have someone pick you up at the submerged jetty when I reach the camp in Nisibis.”
He takes to the air again and soon locates the barges with his noble fellows on board. He lands on deck and informs Sir Oengus at the wheel of the encounter with the ox-cart; that the chevalier is on his way to the submerged jetty up the river with the cart and the drivers; and that he will have to be picked up at the end of the day, or tomorrow at the latest.
“Right,” he concludes, spreading the wings of his flying contraption again. “I’m off to Apple Island.”
“Aye, captain,” Sir Oengus calls after him when the sorcerer takes to the sky. “Much obliged, t’ be sure!”

Later that day, Sir Oengus drops anchor some way up the River Dusk, close to the watch post near where the sorcerer said the Nisibis army is camped. He wakes Navarre and the chevalier, and the noble trio spend some time tending to the barge, the horses, and the prisoners – and some of them sleep some more after that.
As the day draws to a close the weather has markedly improved, and Navarre is enjoying an autumn sunset on the stern with a bottle of Lillac when some four or five dozen armed men appear on the shore, demanding he identify himself.
“Oengus!,” Navarre hollers to his noble friend below decks. “Mademoiselle your sister!”
Introductions are made and the men turn out to be a scouting party – and Sir Oengus’ noble sister is not among them. The noble trio bring the horses and prisoners ashore, and a short trek brings them to where the Nisibis army is gathering. Sir Eber leads the horses to a central corral, while Navarre and Sir Oengus hand over the prisoners to a battle-scarred sergeant.

“Gentlemen,” Sir Oengus says, when the noble trio are together again. “Meals will be served forthwith. Follow me.”
He leads his noble companions to a large tent, where his sister and about a dozen Nisibis barons are discussing logistics. Some soldiers stand guard and servants are laying a large table for dinner.
“An honor, mademoiselle,” Navarre says, when introductions have been made. “What news of the war?”
“Mim has moved his troops to the Sanctuary of Ilm,” Sir Oengus’ noble sister replies. “Battle is to take place on the green there.”
“The Tree!,” Sir Oengus says. “A good omen, to be sure!”
“Maybe so,” Navarre says. “But there may be more to this. It would appear that the traitor will leave no stone unturned in his quest for legitimacy to his farcical claims.”
Our noble heroes enjoy a copious dinner with the assembled Nisibis nobles, and they inform their hosts of their successful attack on the blockade, which seems to go down better than it no doubt would have in Dauberval. Indeed, as it turns out, the rebellion has caused the assembled noblesse of Nisibis far greater hardship than Navarre’s noble father has seen. Yet, there is little appetite for advancing ahead of plan even among them.
“The ultimatum has been issued,” a baron says. “If it is spurned, we will cross the river and join Dauberval in Sarazin. We will march to the Sanctuary and meet Mim on the green.”
“How many men does he have?,” Sir Eber asks.
“The latest reports speak of five hundred,” Sir Oengus’ noble sister replies. Though she has not reacted much to the unorthodox proposals her brother and Sir Eber have put on the table, she adds: “As to the legitimacy of his claim to the throne, I’d say that destroying his army would be the end of him.”

Day 184: When Sir Suvali arrives later that day, he reports that he has found Apple Island deserted.
“Maybe not quite,” Sir Oengus’ noble sister says pensively. “Chances are that the duke has left it in the hands of at least four dozen elite troops. Men of your caliber, I’d say.”
Whoa! Surely the DM isn’t railroading our noble heroes out of raiding the island?

Night: Sir Suvali flies back to the mouth of the River Dusk, where he finds that the blockade our noble heroes destroyed just days before has already been reinstated. But now, several lanterns and torches illuminate both banks of the river, and there are many more men about than before, most of them on high alert. He flies across the lake to the mouth of the River Dawn and finds a similar situation there. After observing the area for a while, he takes to the air again and heads for the Sanctuary of Ilm, determined to finally see Mim’s army with his own eyes.

Day 185: He returns to the camp just before sunrise and reports his findings.
“His whole army is at the Tree,” he says at one point. “Five hundred men.”
But when the chevalier asks what banners were flying at the camp, the sorcerer remains vague – meaning that he didn’t think to check.
“Everything seems to be pointing to a battle at the Sanctuary,” Navarre muses. “Two armies facing each other on the field of battle, as tradition demands. By Olm! It is an honor he does not deserve!”
“So are we still going after the blockades?,” Sir Eber asks.
“They are all on high alert,” Sir Suvali says. “Six archers on deck even at night.”
“So?”
Navarre throws his noble cousin a pensive look. More and more, he is beginning to give in to his dislike of skulking about at night like a brigand – let alone slaughtering ill-equipped conscripts and bargemen by the dozen.
“Perhaps we should change tactics if we are going to attack another blockade,” he suggests at length. “We want to retain the element of surprise, and it won’t do if Mim begins to suspect that there is a single force after his barges. Far better to make him believe that there is an organized resistance forming – keep him on his toes and all that.”
“Covert action,” Sir Eber agrees.
“Besides, we don’t want to embarrass the Alliance negotiators,” Navarre continues. “He may use it to his advantage if he finds out that we are behind the attacks. So far, I don’t think that anyone is any the wiser, and I suggest we keep it that way.”
“Are you suggesting we are not going to attack the barges?,” Sir Eber scoffs.
“Don’t ask me,” Navarre says irritably. “I’m only suggesting that we change our strategy. Perhaps this time, we could send in some men rather more used to torching barges instead of doing it ourselves?”