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The Realmsian Jaunt, a Forgotten Realms Story Hour (re-updated May 10th)
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<blockquote data-quote="NiTessine" data-source="post: 2806867" data-attributes="member: 475"><p>Okay, admittedly not quite "within the week" as originally promised, but stuff got in the way. Christmas, real life, other gaming. I'd apologise, but it'd be insincere since I've got no regrets and a new girlfriend.</p><p></p><p>Here's the next installment. I'll make no promises about the next one, but it'll probably show up in early January. Happy holidays!</p><p></p><p>----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p></p><p>Clerk Almon Deges of the Seven Suns Trading Coster looked at the doorway through which the strange gnome had exited just moments ago and then glances back at the contract paper before him, its ink still wet. He was not quite sure what’d happened, just then. The gnome had arrived, and… had he had companions? Didn’t matter, the gnome did all the talking. Gus, said the name on the paper, in handwriting Almon recognised as his own.</p><p></p><p>He was quite certain he hadn’t been ensorcelled or charmed by magic, though his memory of the past few minutes was a bit fuzzy and he could not quite remember what the gnome had said to him that had sounded so convincing.</p><p></p><p>Almon winced when his eyes scanned over the sum jotted down on the contract paper, of which he was fairly sure he’d given a copy to the gnome. Well, at least the gold was to be paid for defeating bandits, not for anything frivolous. Perhaps he could still keep his job after his superiors found out about it.</p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">* * *</p><p></p><p>Some hours later, the four adventurers were comfortably seated in the back of a turnip wagon in the Six Coffers caravan bound for Waterdeep. The gnome had somehow negotiated them free passage to the crossroads. The going was slow, but they’d been unable to secure mounts and with Gus and Wulgar, they wouldn’t have moved much faster than the caravan on foot.</p><p></p><p>Evendur glanced at his fellow adventurers and smiled.</p><p>“So, how are we to pass the time until the crossroads? We shan’t be there until this time tomorrow.”</p><p>“We’re not going to play three-dragon ante for money, if that’s what you’re going after,” Dorn replied.</p><p>“Oh, no, not at all. Say, have you heard the one about the elf, the man and the dwarf?”</p><p>“Which one?” the priest asked blankly.</p><p>“Ah, let me tell you,” Evendur replied, smiling. He had the audience, now. “An elf, a man, and a dwarf walk into a tavern’s latrine and go about their business. The elf is the first to finish. He only dips his fingers in the water and dries them with but a single piece of paper. On the way out, he remarks to the doorman: ‘I am an elf, old and wise. Our elders have taught us to conserve our resources, that they should last to our grandchildren’. And with that, the elf leaves.</p><p></p><p>The next one to finish is the man. He uses a liberal amount of water, splashing a bit and dries off with a whole wad of paper. At the door, he mentions: ‘I am a man, young and strong. Our elders taught me that this land is to be ours, and its resources to be used by us as we see fit’. And with that, the man leaves.</p><p></p><p>The final one to leave is the dwarf, who just walks to the door, without washing his hands. He says: ‘I am a dwarf, stout and proud. My elders have taught me not to pass water on my hands’.”</p><p></p><p>A collective groan emanated from the rest of the wagon’s passengers, yet Evendur was unfazed.</p><p>“A dwarf walked <em>past</em> a bar.”</p><p>Wulgar’s hand began to feel for an opening in the turnip bag beside him, while Gus chuckled and elbowed him.</p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">* * *</p><p></p><p>A few days after leaving Daggerford, the sluggishly moving caravan finally made it to the crossroads. A rotting body hung from a high gibbet. “BANDIT”, a sign proclaimed. Below his decomposing feet, encased in an iron frame, arrows pointed north and east. A hundred and twenty miles northwards lay Waterdeep, the City of Splendours, and in the east, 185 miles distant, was the town of Secomber.</p><p></p><p>“This is where we’re getting off,” Gus announced, and jumped off the wagon. He was followed by the nimbly moving bard and the considerably less graceful Wulgar and Dorn. They waved farewell to the driver of their wagon and at once began their long trek eastwards.</p><p></p><p>“How are we to find the bandits once we get to the Hills?” Evendur asked as they’d walked for a while in silence.</p><p>“We’re not,” Gus replied. “They’re going to find us, I’ll wager. Then we will improvise.”</p><p>Behind the gnome’s back, Evendur and Dorn shared a horrified look.</p><p></p><p>Thus, they trudged on for two days and a night, camping under a small copse of trees on the northern side of the road on the eve of the second day, their fire carefully concealed by rocks from sight of the road. First watch was taken by Gus, and as the shadows of the evening deepened into darkness of the night, it was Wulgar’s turn to stand guard, with his dwarven eyes that saw through the pitch black.</p><p></p><p>‘Twas in the early hours of moondark that the shield dwarf observed movement to the north of the camp, the reflection of a glint of moonlight. Selûne was high in the sky, but clouds obscured her light and little illuminated the nightly terrain.</p><p></p><p>Wulgar tensed, focusing his senses and peered northward. Whatever moved there was beyond the range of his darkvision. Then, as dark shapes, hunched over, and lumbering forward, they separated themselves from the gloom in distinct forms as they drew slowly nearer, trying to keep quiet. They were approaching directly, and carried weapons.</p><p></p><p>Moving slowly, Wulgar jabbed Gus and Dorn, the nearest sleepers, in the ribs with his axe.</p><p>“Orcs,” he whispered. “Sixty feet, five, approaching. They know we’re here.”</p><p>The others wasted no time in shaking off their grogginess. Evendur was stirred up in short order as well.</p><p></p><p>The orcs now spied their movement with their night sight, and deep, guttural voices rose up in a single warcry as the beasts charged, all pretence of stealth now gone. It was answered by the gravely battle chant raised by Wulgar, hefting his axe and standing to receive the leading orc’s charge. The scene of battle was now bathed in yellow light, Evendur’s attempt to lighten the mood.</p><p></p><p>The first orc crashed headlong into Wulgar, their blades biting deep into each other and sending both sprawling to the ground. The dwarven battle song was abruptly choked off and the orc roared.</p><p></p><p>A second tusker charged towards the diminutive Gus, but the gnome merely held up his empty palm up, concentrating. As the onrushing orc’s expression of rage and hatred lapsed, Gus took on an alarmed face and pointed at something behind the orc. Acting on instinct, the ugly beast took its trusted, new friend’s warning and turned around, sinking its great, curved falchion into its erstwhile raiding companion’s gut.</p><p></p><p>Dorn was hard-pressed on his own side. An orc was coming after him with gusto, the cleric only barely able to block the raining blows of a crude iron axe that were chipping his quarterstaff down to kindling. As was the way of his hallowed order, he wore no armour to hinder his casting of spells. Then, from somewhere below the cleric’s field of vision, the steel head of an axe appeared, dark stains on its surface reflecting the magical light, and sank into his assailant’s lower back. As the orc went down, howling in pain and paralysed, Wulgar clambered up from his prone position, dust and blood covering his scowling face.</p><p></p><p>“Fight on, friends! They cannot be any stronger than they are ugly!” Evendur cried out in encouragement behind his companions. Then, he was forced to attend to one more of the grey-skinned creatures, who’d crept up on their flank. Leaping back from the swinging axe, he threw a pinch of wool at the creature’s face. The spell energy burned away the wool in a bright flame, leaving the after images dancing in the orc’s light-sensitive eyes and buying Evendur a brief respite.</p><p></p><p>It was not much, but it was enough, as Gus’ new pet orc charged the dazed creature and slew with a single, diagonal stroke of the rusty falchion. As it cut down its former companion, the last thing the orc saw was a furious dwarf with a large axe appearing from behind the falling body.</p><p></p><p>Panting, Wulgar leaned on his axe.</p><p>“That fight was too close to my liking.”</p><p>“We cannot move camp in the darkness without attracting more assailants,” Evendur said, nodding.</p><p>“Shove their stinking bodies behind a rock. We’ll keep a fire going the rest of the night, keep away the scavengers,” Wulgar answered, wincing a bit as Dorn traced the lines of his wounds and cuts with a shining fingertip, leaving them closed with new and healed skin.</p><p></p><p>Gus was already sleeping, back in his bedroll.</p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">* * *</p><p></p><p>The rest of the night passed by uneventfully, and the next day, their journey finally brought them to the broken hill country that marked the former northwest boundary of the Kingdom of Man. In the hills lay many a ruin of the ancient nation, fallen to the onslaught of orcs as so many before it, as the legends told. Even in its death, however, the kingdom had dealt the orcs of the North a telling blow from which they had yet to recover in this day, centuries since.</p><p></p><p>Where the plain had been grassy and fertile along the Delimbiyr, here the land turned barren, dominated by rock and stone. There was no trail here, no tracks in the bare rocks. Unfazed, the four adventurers pressed on, entering the hill country, climbing atop the first high hillock to get a full view of the area. The landscape that spread out before them was one of monotonous grey and brown, with some clumps of scraggly hay and dry grass growing here and there among the stone.</p><p></p><p>“Well, now what?” asked Wulgar, as they stood there, silhouetted against the summer sky, wind in their hair and billowing their cloaks.</p><p>“We search,” Gus replied. “Either we will find them or they will find us.” With that, the gnome began to descend the gravel slope, sending small rockslides of pebbles down as he went.</p><p></p><p>The others shrugged and followed, scanning the surrounding hills for movement, tracks, marks, anything.</p><p></p><p>They had not walked the uneven ground for long when Evendur turned around and pointed at an outcropping not far away.</p><p>“There’s something over there.”</p><p>They looked at each other and approached the rocks, weapons out, crossbows loaded.</p><p></p><p>“That’s quite far enough, I think,” a voice called out from high behind them. As they turned to look, they saw a tall, strong, dark shape silhouetted against the sky. “Drop your weapons, lest we be forced to hurt you. You are trespassing on the land of the Ramhorns.”</p><p></p><p>“Well, seems we’ve found them,” Wulgar said under his breath.</p><p>“Or they found us,” Evendur replied.</p><p>“Should we try and fight?” Dorn asked.</p><p>“Probably an army of them hidden in here,” Gus answered.</p><p></p><p>As if on cue, over a dozen dark-clad human shapes rose atop the hillocks surrounding them, aiming crossbows.</p><p></p><p>Gus shrugged weakly and threw down his crossbow. The others followed suit, Wulgar as the last one, attached as he was to his waraxe. They were then blindfolded by the scarred and dirty bandits, and prodded and led over what felt like miles of uneven, rocky ground, up and down hillsides, and finally, as they felt by the changing of echoes and ambient lighting, into an underground cave.</p><p></p><p>Finally, the blindfold was removed, and they each saw a bare stone cell with a cot of straw for furniture and little else. They were shoved inside and the door was shut. They were prisoners.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="NiTessine, post: 2806867, member: 475"] Okay, admittedly not quite "within the week" as originally promised, but stuff got in the way. Christmas, real life, other gaming. I'd apologise, but it'd be insincere since I've got no regrets and a new girlfriend. Here's the next installment. I'll make no promises about the next one, but it'll probably show up in early January. Happy holidays! ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Clerk Almon Deges of the Seven Suns Trading Coster looked at the doorway through which the strange gnome had exited just moments ago and then glances back at the contract paper before him, its ink still wet. He was not quite sure what’d happened, just then. The gnome had arrived, and… had he had companions? Didn’t matter, the gnome did all the talking. Gus, said the name on the paper, in handwriting Almon recognised as his own. He was quite certain he hadn’t been ensorcelled or charmed by magic, though his memory of the past few minutes was a bit fuzzy and he could not quite remember what the gnome had said to him that had sounded so convincing. Almon winced when his eyes scanned over the sum jotted down on the contract paper, of which he was fairly sure he’d given a copy to the gnome. Well, at least the gold was to be paid for defeating bandits, not for anything frivolous. Perhaps he could still keep his job after his superiors found out about it. [center]* * *[/center] Some hours later, the four adventurers were comfortably seated in the back of a turnip wagon in the Six Coffers caravan bound for Waterdeep. The gnome had somehow negotiated them free passage to the crossroads. The going was slow, but they’d been unable to secure mounts and with Gus and Wulgar, they wouldn’t have moved much faster than the caravan on foot. Evendur glanced at his fellow adventurers and smiled. “So, how are we to pass the time until the crossroads? We shan’t be there until this time tomorrow.” “We’re not going to play three-dragon ante for money, if that’s what you’re going after,” Dorn replied. “Oh, no, not at all. Say, have you heard the one about the elf, the man and the dwarf?” “Which one?” the priest asked blankly. “Ah, let me tell you,” Evendur replied, smiling. He had the audience, now. “An elf, a man, and a dwarf walk into a tavern’s latrine and go about their business. The elf is the first to finish. He only dips his fingers in the water and dries them with but a single piece of paper. On the way out, he remarks to the doorman: ‘I am an elf, old and wise. Our elders have taught us to conserve our resources, that they should last to our grandchildren’. And with that, the elf leaves. The next one to finish is the man. He uses a liberal amount of water, splashing a bit and dries off with a whole wad of paper. At the door, he mentions: ‘I am a man, young and strong. Our elders taught me that this land is to be ours, and its resources to be used by us as we see fit’. And with that, the man leaves. The final one to leave is the dwarf, who just walks to the door, without washing his hands. He says: ‘I am a dwarf, stout and proud. My elders have taught me not to pass water on my hands’.” A collective groan emanated from the rest of the wagon’s passengers, yet Evendur was unfazed. “A dwarf walked [i]past[/i] a bar.” Wulgar’s hand began to feel for an opening in the turnip bag beside him, while Gus chuckled and elbowed him. [center]* * *[/center] A few days after leaving Daggerford, the sluggishly moving caravan finally made it to the crossroads. A rotting body hung from a high gibbet. “BANDIT”, a sign proclaimed. Below his decomposing feet, encased in an iron frame, arrows pointed north and east. A hundred and twenty miles northwards lay Waterdeep, the City of Splendours, and in the east, 185 miles distant, was the town of Secomber. “This is where we’re getting off,” Gus announced, and jumped off the wagon. He was followed by the nimbly moving bard and the considerably less graceful Wulgar and Dorn. They waved farewell to the driver of their wagon and at once began their long trek eastwards. “How are we to find the bandits once we get to the Hills?” Evendur asked as they’d walked for a while in silence. “We’re not,” Gus replied. “They’re going to find us, I’ll wager. Then we will improvise.” Behind the gnome’s back, Evendur and Dorn shared a horrified look. Thus, they trudged on for two days and a night, camping under a small copse of trees on the northern side of the road on the eve of the second day, their fire carefully concealed by rocks from sight of the road. First watch was taken by Gus, and as the shadows of the evening deepened into darkness of the night, it was Wulgar’s turn to stand guard, with his dwarven eyes that saw through the pitch black. ‘Twas in the early hours of moondark that the shield dwarf observed movement to the north of the camp, the reflection of a glint of moonlight. Selûne was high in the sky, but clouds obscured her light and little illuminated the nightly terrain. Wulgar tensed, focusing his senses and peered northward. Whatever moved there was beyond the range of his darkvision. Then, as dark shapes, hunched over, and lumbering forward, they separated themselves from the gloom in distinct forms as they drew slowly nearer, trying to keep quiet. They were approaching directly, and carried weapons. Moving slowly, Wulgar jabbed Gus and Dorn, the nearest sleepers, in the ribs with his axe. “Orcs,” he whispered. “Sixty feet, five, approaching. They know we’re here.” The others wasted no time in shaking off their grogginess. Evendur was stirred up in short order as well. The orcs now spied their movement with their night sight, and deep, guttural voices rose up in a single warcry as the beasts charged, all pretence of stealth now gone. It was answered by the gravely battle chant raised by Wulgar, hefting his axe and standing to receive the leading orc’s charge. The scene of battle was now bathed in yellow light, Evendur’s attempt to lighten the mood. The first orc crashed headlong into Wulgar, their blades biting deep into each other and sending both sprawling to the ground. The dwarven battle song was abruptly choked off and the orc roared. A second tusker charged towards the diminutive Gus, but the gnome merely held up his empty palm up, concentrating. As the onrushing orc’s expression of rage and hatred lapsed, Gus took on an alarmed face and pointed at something behind the orc. Acting on instinct, the ugly beast took its trusted, new friend’s warning and turned around, sinking its great, curved falchion into its erstwhile raiding companion’s gut. Dorn was hard-pressed on his own side. An orc was coming after him with gusto, the cleric only barely able to block the raining blows of a crude iron axe that were chipping his quarterstaff down to kindling. As was the way of his hallowed order, he wore no armour to hinder his casting of spells. Then, from somewhere below the cleric’s field of vision, the steel head of an axe appeared, dark stains on its surface reflecting the magical light, and sank into his assailant’s lower back. As the orc went down, howling in pain and paralysed, Wulgar clambered up from his prone position, dust and blood covering his scowling face. “Fight on, friends! They cannot be any stronger than they are ugly!” Evendur cried out in encouragement behind his companions. Then, he was forced to attend to one more of the grey-skinned creatures, who’d crept up on their flank. Leaping back from the swinging axe, he threw a pinch of wool at the creature’s face. The spell energy burned away the wool in a bright flame, leaving the after images dancing in the orc’s light-sensitive eyes and buying Evendur a brief respite. It was not much, but it was enough, as Gus’ new pet orc charged the dazed creature and slew with a single, diagonal stroke of the rusty falchion. As it cut down its former companion, the last thing the orc saw was a furious dwarf with a large axe appearing from behind the falling body. Panting, Wulgar leaned on his axe. “That fight was too close to my liking.” “We cannot move camp in the darkness without attracting more assailants,” Evendur said, nodding. “Shove their stinking bodies behind a rock. We’ll keep a fire going the rest of the night, keep away the scavengers,” Wulgar answered, wincing a bit as Dorn traced the lines of his wounds and cuts with a shining fingertip, leaving them closed with new and healed skin. Gus was already sleeping, back in his bedroll. [center]* * *[/center] The rest of the night passed by uneventfully, and the next day, their journey finally brought them to the broken hill country that marked the former northwest boundary of the Kingdom of Man. In the hills lay many a ruin of the ancient nation, fallen to the onslaught of orcs as so many before it, as the legends told. Even in its death, however, the kingdom had dealt the orcs of the North a telling blow from which they had yet to recover in this day, centuries since. Where the plain had been grassy and fertile along the Delimbiyr, here the land turned barren, dominated by rock and stone. There was no trail here, no tracks in the bare rocks. Unfazed, the four adventurers pressed on, entering the hill country, climbing atop the first high hillock to get a full view of the area. The landscape that spread out before them was one of monotonous grey and brown, with some clumps of scraggly hay and dry grass growing here and there among the stone. “Well, now what?” asked Wulgar, as they stood there, silhouetted against the summer sky, wind in their hair and billowing their cloaks. “We search,” Gus replied. “Either we will find them or they will find us.” With that, the gnome began to descend the gravel slope, sending small rockslides of pebbles down as he went. The others shrugged and followed, scanning the surrounding hills for movement, tracks, marks, anything. They had not walked the uneven ground for long when Evendur turned around and pointed at an outcropping not far away. “There’s something over there.” They looked at each other and approached the rocks, weapons out, crossbows loaded. “That’s quite far enough, I think,” a voice called out from high behind them. As they turned to look, they saw a tall, strong, dark shape silhouetted against the sky. “Drop your weapons, lest we be forced to hurt you. You are trespassing on the land of the Ramhorns.” “Well, seems we’ve found them,” Wulgar said under his breath. “Or they found us,” Evendur replied. “Should we try and fight?” Dorn asked. “Probably an army of them hidden in here,” Gus answered. As if on cue, over a dozen dark-clad human shapes rose atop the hillocks surrounding them, aiming crossbows. Gus shrugged weakly and threw down his crossbow. The others followed suit, Wulgar as the last one, attached as he was to his waraxe. They were then blindfolded by the scarred and dirty bandits, and prodded and led over what felt like miles of uneven, rocky ground, up and down hillsides, and finally, as they felt by the changing of echoes and ambient lighting, into an underground cave. Finally, the blindfold was removed, and they each saw a bare stone cell with a cot of straw for furniture and little else. They were shoved inside and the door was shut. They were prisoners. [/QUOTE]
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